#i was mostly thinking in application of like police state shit

[loonybun]

magical girls as living weapons magical girls and living weapons magical girls as living weapo

[disfordevineaux]

I don't know if you've done this before. But, do you have any Chase headcanons about his childhood or early teens? I'm kinda curious about how my favorite disaster boi could've been like back then 🤔

Chase childhood/teen/early 20s headcanons

I actually answered an ask I will link HERE with a little bit into what I think about his whole ‘growing up’ situation, if you can even call it that. I’ll delve a bit deeper into my hcs but I recommend you read that post I linked. It establishes my thoughts on his childhood to where a lot of these hcs will spawn from. So essentially this is a Part 2 of my Chase childhood headcanons. Going to focus on his late teens and early 20s.

As stated in my previous hcs Chase was an ‘orphan’ until his uncle (his mothers older brother) who magically showed up to adopt him for the government checks. His uncle was a long haul fisherman or something along those lines. This is where he officially received his last name of Devineaux once again.

I have a feeling his name wasn’t originally Chase. That being most likely his middle name or one he came up with which he changed to be his first, either shortened from something or just as is. He seems like an Alexandre to me. He would have negative connotations towards that name and preferred to decide a name a for himself rather than keeping the given name from a mother or family who didn’t really want him. He would have changed it once he left home.

No matter the living situation he was in, there wasn’t a lot of money around and if there was it wasn’t shared with him.

The majority of his teen years or the years that sculpted him into who he is now were in a town North-West of Paris along the coast. Somewhere like Dieppe, a fishing-port town.

You’d think by looking at him as an adult he was a bully or one of those ass hats at school who tried to be cool by being a dipstick or forcing a ‘class clown’ motif. In reality, he did everything in his power to blend into the shadows as he hated school, especially the social aspect of it.

Still, he was a sarcastic little shit when needed.

Spent a lot of his time outside or working dead-end jobs. Sometimes couldn’t return home or had to get into his house through a window instead of the front door.

Didn’t have many valuable possessions but had many crazy experiences like witnessing a flock of birds attack a drunk man, and won.

Was strangely optimistic about his future. Couldn’t get any worse than this, yeah? Yeah, it can and it will buddy.

Did watch Footloose religiously and intensely enjoyed it. *Wink*

He was reasonably good at school and tried to fast track it and graduate a year early. His application was accepted even with the few blemishes on his school academic report thanks to a few fights he partook in.

He was best at literature, English studies and writing in general. He was the top English and writing student and once even tried joining the drama club but the second he walked in the door he was instantly annoyed with everyone inside and did a full 180 out of that hellscape.

He then tried out for the sports clubs and teams but didn’t have time between work after school.

Chase actually made a friend during his last few years at school who managed to be the school’s main weed dealer (Chase draws chaos to him enough said). They actually were a good duo and Chase developed a serious attachment to him. His friend had a lot of money thanks to his business and often would get Chase to be his ‘bodyguard’ when selling to older clients.

They were both weird guys with different levels of intensity over random things. Both had that ‘dudebro’ vibe who would listen to Abba but in reality, the type of dudes who sit right next to each other in a hot tub, no need for 5 feet apart.

Somehow both comfortable with their sexuality which is refreshing. But, that won’t last long :(

They never got to really developed their relationship further before Chase left but it was a silent agreement between them that they liked one another on a physical and emotional level. They rekindled and I guess, ‘officially’ date when in the Air Force when training together. (Lovers in the military trope don’t @ me it fits him PERFECTLY.)

He and his friend were actually going to join the Air Force together. And they did. Chase first and his friend later.

Dude did some stupidly impulsive shit. Especially once he had a friend. Antics? Yes, many. Young, bored lonely boys with repressed feelings do stupid shit to fill the long hours. Jumping off things at high speed? Yes. Buring stuff? Yes. Smashing stuff? Yes. Listening to Green Day? Unironically, Yes.

No doubt they once burned down an abandoned house while trying to hotbox in one of the rooms. Nearly replicated the incident with the school DURING CLASS in the janitors closet. Boys just wanna get high and kiss okay?

Chase was born strong physically but mentally? Nar. Could fight a bear but would crumble under an anxious moment.

Never wanted to appear weak. It was what everyone expected but he never backed down from a fight or rivalry to his detriment. Stood up for himself no matter the circumstance. He always stood up for his boyfrie- SORRY I MEAN FRIEND.

He was an angry guy, mostly because people constantly tested his patience and intelligence and his home life was always a tense situation where there was no time to be soft or delicate.

Did get into many fights with one particular guy during school and out of school hours.

He was an attractive teenager. I like to think (like is a strong word) he was targeted by this one particular asshole because of their pent up feeling towards Chase. Chase either rejected his advances which set it all off or you just got that vibe from all their exchanges. Either way, at one point the tormentor made his feelings cryptically clear and Chase made sure they weren’t reciprocated.

One particular final fight between them, Chase wound up with a bat to the face which broke his nose badly.

The nose never really healed the best or back to how it was originally. This was something that scared him forever, becoming more resentful and unable to let things go. A lot more guarded from then on.

Chase used to be the pretty buff tall boy but the nose downgraded him to just a tall buff boy who has hints of a pretty boy in him.

Worked a few jobs during most nights. Needed money, mostly supported himself financially. Worked as a dish boy in a local restaurant and at the cinema as a cleaner. He always seemed to get the cleaning jobs.

Chase used to skateboard. He was pretty good at it too.

He started smoking young, around 15-16. And thanks to his companion, would often smoke weed supplied to him by his friend.

Loved going to the dentist when he could. He started eating those strong cheap dusty mints when he smoked as it was a cheap form of keeping his breath fresh after he smoked. Also, he thought it made him look cool and ended up getting addicted.

He wasn’t a joyless kid or teen, He just wasn’t one who smiled a lot.

Chase never really trained for his driving license. He just went for his test at the police station. They made him drive around the block once and they just gave it to him.

Chase: the aspiring pilot.

Chase wanted to be a pilot ever since he was young, specifically the French Air Force. No real trigger set that dream in motion, he just liked the idea of piloting a high-speed plane and seeing the world from up above. Moving fast is his ultimate goal.

He studied and prepared early to join the École Militaire de l'air (Military Air Force before it folded into the Air School). But you have to be over 18 and with his plans to complete school early, he would spend the year until then in basic military training, then would transfer over. All of this was to increase his chances of being accepted along with the examination, which he passed thanks to his passion for it.

Of course, things don’t always go to plan and even though he was on a path to graduating early a huge final brawl broke between him and a longtime bully halted this.

He had always fought with him specifically and this time, after years of building it all up, it hit the fan.  The incident put a hold on his plans and wasn’t able to graduate a whole year early.

Fast track forward and due to home pressures and school weighing him down he decided to just leave school and home and when he left, as one last ‘fuck you’ to his tormentor, his friend helped him break into his house and stole his car and drove it straight to Paris, abandoning it in the countryside just before. No one ever knew it was him and it is by far his greatest victory, as he knew how much he loved that car. Major mood. Chase was tempted to push it off a cliff in spite but couldn’t find one.

Chase still went into the general military before transferring to the Air Force once over 18 and acing his entrance evaluations.

Chase and his ‘friend’ managed to get in at the same time. Que, LLLLLLLL LOVERS!

They made sure they were in the same dorms, ‘classes’ and that their schedules lined up. They even swapped around so they had the same duties.

Chase thrived and was a great pilot. He achieved his pilots’ license and began working his way to completing the 2 years here then moving on to a higher position. His friend focused more on the engineering courses.

For someone spontaneous in an impulsive way, he liked the regimented schedule. It gave him purpose and meaning

Chase ended up getting kicked out after a massive brawl incited by an argument with another cadet about the particular notion of his relationship with his ‘friend’.

It was made clear to him such behaviour receives no second chances and was forced to leave, meaning he never officially completed his 2 years and was never allowed back in the foreseeable future.

Chase was desolated and once again hardened by this turn of events.

His 20s in a nutshell

Chase sought employment in the police force thanks to his military origins. He did, in fact, complete the basic military training aspect so he was a front runner for the police force.

He needed a job as all his money was wasted on a fruitless dream.

Spent the first few years of his police force employment as a ‘beat cop’ until his arrest numbers/success and work availability sought his promotion to a detective quite early in his 20s.

Chase was used to working full time and all the time at odd hours from very early on. He started his work career young.

They say you have 10 years in the prime of your career and Chase used that up instantly, shooting up the police then detective ranks fast due to how hard he worked, non-stop. His obsession and dedication with keeping busy and solving cases made him unmatchable.

Chase was physically skilled despite his smoking habits and mentally quick too, even if he acted dangerously without foresight sometimes.

He was very successful as a detective. It was his true calling

Chase has seen some nasty things and is a very good shot with a handgun.

Has he killed anyone? You decide. Personally? Yes, obviously. This has never and will never phase him.

He has been through so many police issued cars he now gets the second-hand cars due to how reckless he is.

Perused criminals with crazy car chases even when he was just a lowly beat cop. It got worse when he became a detective.

No doubt he kept and took home case files (sometimes even evidence) and didn’t give them back even when he became an Interpol liaison. He worked on those cases, he solved them, they are his. He keeps them all either at his apartment or in a storage unit.

Work became his life. His only vice.

Opted out for a partner as it wasn’t a department regulation just a personal option if wanted. Don’t need someone wasting his time, slowing him down or possibly taking away his shine.

Developed obsessive tendencies.

Detective work is competitive. You end up running around trying and fighting to get the best brutal murder homicide case as it will look great to your superiors. It was all a race to see who was the best. Chase was one of the best thanks to having no outsider life to distract him.

Somehow Chase wasn’t a suck-up his those above him. You would think he would be but Chase just enjoyed working and solving, completing things.

You are measured by your achievements and you have to be sure of yourself and your capabilities to survive in the race.

For work that was on the outside very heroic and selfless. Most detectives he worked around and ‘with’ were selfish, heartless and egotistical. The successful ones were anyway. Chase one of them.

He hated them all just as much as they hated him.

Ended up not caring for normal citizens and fellow employees disdain for his abrupt nature. Developed a superiority complex as a result.

But he remained composed and well mannered when dealing with victims and witnesses.

He was very susceptible to the alluring nature of the egotistic know it all.

All of this aged him rapidly. I have no doubt he is only in his early to mid-30s (in the show) but has aged himself visibly with unhealthy working hours and lifestyles.

(I’m not going to go too deep here as at this point I might as well insert my dam fanfiction. I have a whole story planned for what I think his detective days were like. I’ll give you a hint, it’s dark.)

Final relationships.

In regards to his love life? Don’t have one. One night stands? Eh, maybe very occasionally but he isn’t the sort of person to get wrapped up in such things. He is very professional and despite being touch starved he can live without physical relationships easily. They also make him uncomfortable now due to certain events.

His ‘friend’ asked for Chase to wait for him, that once he was finished in the Air Force his partner would come find him. Chase did for the entirety of his 20s and pretty much would for his entire life. First loves are hard to forget.

They only met up again once when Chase was in his late 20s and his friend no longer felt that way towards him or that kind of way anymore. He had a family. Chase sort of understood that his lover realistically would have moved on and blamed himself for not looking for him instead. He became obsessed with his success with work after all.

He couldn’t comprehend why his friend would finally contact him after all these years just to tell him he didn’t love him anymore. He always assumed it was to tie up loose ends or to make fun of him for waiting. To hurt him.

Chase was physically and mentally devastated to say the least. Especially when the last interaction they ever had was his old friend handing him a goddam conversion camp pamphlet.

This really dragged on and I’m sorry I really went off there. I hope it was at least relatively what you were after.

[violetsystems]

#personal

I was invited the other day to join a community as a Creative Advisor from a survey I filled out for Adobe.  I made the choice last November to purchase Creative Cloud for an entire year at a discount.  When I worked at an art school I had all those applications free.  Anybody in the arts community will tell you that software is expensive.  I don’t necessarily feel too connected to the local arts community these days.  But being a Creative Advisor basically means I participate in focus groups and offer my opinions in writing.  It’s a not a bad way to stay active as a creator.  I bought a drone basically so I had 4k footage to mess around with in Premiere.  I am a YouTube Creator by definition.  Yesterday after posting a video of the stream there was another survey in the right hand corner.  I cautiously opened it and read through it.  It was an inclusion survey.  YouTube wanted information to help with their community.  The first question was what race I identify as.  I can’t really argue I’m not white.  The next question was if I identified as part of the LGBTQ community.  I don’t so I answered no.  The third question was what gender I identified as.  I said male because I’m cis.  I completed the survey and went on about my business.  A few minutes later another popup asked me how satisfied I was with the YouTube community after all this.  I answered Very Satisfied and closed the window.  I’m also part of a larger community here in Chicago.  This can be drilled down so far that you can find yourself standing in a lonely circle with a thousand fingers pointed back at you.  My immediate neighbors identify.  I wouldn’t know what specifically or why so I don’t ever really pry.  I live on a pretty diverse property when it comes to tenants.  That expands into a pretty diverse neighborhood with a pretty diverse set of issues when it comes to power sharing.  I live the mad max sort of mentality these days.  Think more Fury Road than Road Warrior.  Where he helps out then silently fades away to focus on his own car wreck of a life.  One winter while shoveling snow I discovered somebody had written something in front of one of my neighbor’s doorstep.  It said “gay people live here.”  I processed it, shrugged and shoveled it away.  I couldn’t tell if my landlord was supposed to discover it, if my neighbors actually wrote it, or if it was somebody being hateful.  I made a judgement call on the account of safety and made a mental note of it then made it disappear.  I cared enough to think about it no matter how much this entire process exhausts me.  People join communities for connection.  People seek out authentic communities for safety, pride and respect.  And people in America should be able to do this freely without being exploited, judged, watched, or compared.  Communities overlap and the geopolitics therein get a little tricky.  When you live in a city with so many different influences, cultures, and hang ups the fog of the ideological war muddles up everyone’s intentions.  I think we retreat to the sanctity of our own communities because they understand the narrative and context best.  I’ve been welcomed into many communities that aren’t my own.  But my circle is pretty small these days.  Mostly because for all the care and attention I apply to the concept of community, I’m often left out to fend for myself here in my bachelor Castle of Doom.  Communities do consolidate power for better or for worse.  Just like rich people hoard money and dodge taxes.  Communities have their own cultural queues and signifiers.  Communities in America have increasingly become more like tribes in the economic desert.  Impenetrable communes at war with myopic definitions and hidden rules that are meant to keep people out for resource sake.  So much so that the Road Warrior doesn’t seem like science fiction to me from personal experience.  

It was the great poet Lord Humungus who may have set it best.  Just walk away.  Safe passage in the wasteland they said.  Be your own boss.  Own your sexuality and answer for your horny crimes.  Shit, I don’t even know where to begin when it comes to where I belong in all of this.  For me things have become equally obfuscated and easy to understand at the same time.  I’m more of an anarchist these days than I would like to admit.  I don’t really want to be on Tucker Carlson’s radar.  Simply because everyone is looking for something to label you as so they can pass an easier judgement on you.  People want you to identify so they can fit you into whatever conversational hole they wish to project at you.  I run into my neighbors all the time.  I treat people like people.  Simply because I’ve been treated enough like shit to know I don’t want anyone else to experience that.  I don’t really want revenge.  I want all this nonsense to stop getting in the way of my pursuit of life, liberty and happiness.  And the constant arguing and debate team every step of the way is troubling.  It’s people with a beaten down sense of self confidence proving themselves in the arena of mob rule.  For all the chest beating online on twitter or facebook people are kind of shook in the streets.  It is a winner take all mentality.  And even the more valid sides of the fight have taken to dirty tactics leaving some of us in the middle of an absolute shit show.  Par for the course if you ask me.  There are plenty of opportunities to be the hero these days.  Not many to be acknowledged as one.  You can be you and still support people that think differently.  I had a dream about guns last night.  I don’t own a gun.  That’s not the right choice for a person like me.  It doesn’t mean I can make a sweeping generalization for the rest of America.  Neither do I actually care to.  I’m cis.  I don’t spend my time psychoanalyzing or judging gender or sexuality other than my own biases towards it.  This is to treat people better and learn respectful communication.  Communication is a two way street.  And some communication is blocked, obfuscated or hidden for it’s own protection.  It can also be self serving.  Some of my closest friends are behind infinite onion layers of identities.  Layers of firewalls that I pirouette through like a whirling dervish just to show I still care deeply.  We take the time to show love.  We take the time to understand the obstacles.  And we have patience to understand that we have to sacrifice things sometimes for the sake of change.  Make no mistake the way I see things on my own is fucked.  I am part of a community here on Tumblr.  A much wider community.  There are times when I don’t fit in.  When it’s not about me or you or whoever behind the screen.  It’s what we connect to and how we learn to respect each other as human beings first.  Not as names.  Or fame.  Who we really are behind all of this doesn’t really matter as much as the content and ideas we share.  Community has it’s own memory and it’s own duty to hold things sacred.  Some larger communities do a totally shitty job of understanding the needs of their ideological neighbors.  And passion, pride, and lack of patience can burn bridges more quickly than building them.  There are times when you realize you are part of a community that doesn’t honor your identity at the core.  Sometimes it’s worse.  You find you aren’t welcome in a community for whatever reason.  If you are an abuser this is a safety issue and not really up for argument or discussion.  But sometimes its far less deserving.  And it’s a game of musical chairs to understand where you fit in and where you aren’t welcome.  For me I’m part Swedish and also a minimalist in nature.  Just look at Ikea and my habit of rearranging furniture.  I grew more inward this year in terms of who I trust.  Now it’s just me and a small percentage of screen names that might be owned by the same person or people.  I identify them as my closest friends.  

The thing about community I’ve learned over the years is that it can always be infiltrated.  Trust can always be broken.  We find we don’t belong to the bigger picture because motives are out of place.  We long to just be normal and accepted for that.  It’s exhausting to have to identify every time you walk out the door.  I identify as human.  Mostly I identify as Tim.  Freedom in America is best summed up by a quote by my favorite person in the world.  She’s from China.  She said once she loved New York because it was the only place where she felt free to cry in public without anybody prying into why.  I’m paraphrasing.  But that shit has stuck with me like a knife for years.  That isn’t what America is about right now.  It’s almost like it’s looking for victims.  Looking for signs of weakness to trick into a confidence game.  It’s a setup on every corner.  A prank waiting to happen.  A constant obstacle to your main quest.  And this isn’t what America is about.  At least not the way I live it.  I don’t think I solve the situation with more policing.  I don’t think I solve it by doing anything other than continuing to live free. The challenge here in America is constantly evolving as it is around the world.  America’s idea of free isn’t always well thought out.  It’s riddled with paradoxes.  And yet this is all I really have.  I’ve seen enough people stalking me in the streets with shirts emblazoned with messages.  Freedom isn’t free.  Penetrate the world.  Blue lives matter.  Make seven up yours.  I’ve made statements too and found myself more and more alone.  And then I’ve started to realize geographically what’s worth fighting for.  I’m tied to an address.  That’s the address where the government sends my ballots and rejects my state taxes at.  That’s the address where the utilities are in my name and I pay my rent on time.  Sometimes even a month ahead.  I’m fiscally responsible for once in my life.  I’ve conquered years of societal glue that held me to mediocre and half assed standards.  I’m a diamond in the rough except I’m not really all the rough.  I’ve stood up for people who aren’t like me so much that I feel more isolated and weird every day.  And I learn that sometimes it’s better to shy away from places where you aren’t welcome than to make a scene.  I am stuck in my little hole here.  If the answer were getting out there and networking, I’d ask people to look at my passport.  It’s not good enough for the state to acknowledge as proof of my identity.  But I spent a lot of money going back and forth to Asia trying to do just that.  And I paid off all that debt awhile ago.  I know the world is bigger than me.  And I believe sometimes people think they’ve travelled the world in their computer.  They’re the authority on everything.  And here is the problem with freedom in America.  The authority isn’t always right.  This is why we seek out communities.  For democracy.  For peer review.  To have our narrative understood and respected.  And we need communities to be more about democracy and less about autocratic reactions to a zero sum game.  I think it’s okay to not be part of something you don’t belong.  And I also think it’s okay to respect people’s wishes to seek out where they do.  But we have to learn to live together in America despite of this.  And well this would require us as Americans to really look the beast in the eye.  And doing that alone is scary.  I should know.  I do it every day.  So much so that I’m literally not fucking around with much of anything other than what’s easy enough to read.  Even when it’s easy to read it doesn’t mean it’s done in earnest.  I can only really worry about the things I hold intimate and secret.  The creative culture I’ve salvaged with my bare hands.  I really don’t care if you don’t get who I am.  But I want you to know I care about the world being free.  At least for the people I care about.  If you ever catch yourself crying in public just remember I’m right there over your shoulder cheering you on.  I’ll fight for your right to cry about it and scare off anybody who interferes.  That’s just who I am and nobody will know or even acknowledge me by name.  Sometimes I do feel like a ghost.  I’m not trying to walk through walls people set up for protection.  But I will break down the barriers people put up to keep us from living together.  <3 Tim

[bom-bombon]

Texas?

Yeehaw

Name: Sebastian Inglesias

While Texas does have a second last name because he’s Hispanic, he decided to drop it. I know many Hispanic who have either both of their parents’ names and of only their fathers’ last name with the former being more common. Those with one last name has less complications with paperwork, applications, etc., than with those with two last names. Considering all this, I think that Texas would drop the second last name to make his life more easier.

Age: 27-29

Gender: Cis male

Ethnicity/Race: Hispanic (Mestizo)

Siblings: Coahuila (perhaps Chihuahua and Nuevo Leon too but it’s still a wip)

Height: 5′11 (180.34 cm)

He’s sad that he’s not 6′0. He may be taller than some of his fellow Mexican brethren, but he gets reminded that he’s not the tallest in the Union, or at the very least, he’s not 6′0. This annoys him to no end.

Relations:

-Arizona: They’re buddies. They both share a love for guns, have similar conservative ideologies, and they love a/c. No matter how much New Mexico tries to discourage Arizona from talking to him, Arizona just doesn’t care. He thinks that Texas is cool (which fuels his already big ego)

-Arkansas: They get along. That’s it. I suppose that sometimes he does call her Ar-kansas and she don’t talk to him for a whole day after that, but they’re cool nonetheless.

-California: They don’t like each other. He finds her annoying and thinks she’s an idiot. When she was first introduced to the states, he thought that they could be together and be some sort of duo. But they thought different things and it upset him. To him, it almost felt like betrayal because he thought he knew her and she supported and admired him. So why doesn’t she support him now? Today, they just bicker and often start arguments. Both of their egos will never let it go and make up.

-Coahuila: It’s complicated. Coahuila was enraged when Texas broke away from her and even more so when the US helped. While I’m not sure their relationship was during this time period, I do know that they didn’t talked for a while. Texas believed he was doing the right thing in following his own dreams. Though that is debatable at best. Nowadays, they get along well and Coahuila sometimes invite him to parties. Sometimes…

-Louisiana: They chill with each other. Louisiana, although criticizes him on some occasions, think he’s a nice guy. He has helped her in the past and she no doubts never forgot about it, so she helps him whenever she can. They’re also dumbasses together so that’s fun too.

-Minnesota: They’re together! Minnie is like 6’2 so she calls Texas cute for being tiny and he loves and hates it!! They are both tough as nails. For example, Minnie surprised him by beating him on a mechanical bull, Virginia complained about how strong Minnesota was during the Civil War, and Montana always remarks about how Minnie was the only other state who can keep up with her in the World Wars. And Texas is Texas. They are both incredibly sweet in relationships. Minnesota is known for being nice and it’s tru. Texas in relationships is sort of like the Latin Lover, excluding the constant need for uhh bedroom stuff. They are both gentle to each other out of respect and always get each other meaningful gifts. Not to mention the daily reminders of “you’re beautiful” or “you’re my sunshine”, they’re too pURE. They both like similar hobbies such as watching and playing football, taking care of animals, and roasting the hell out of people. Texas helps Minnie into confronting problems and people

Minnie: Idk how to tell them

Texas: It’s easy, I’ll show you how

Texas: Hey New York!

New York: I’m not listening…

Texas: New York!

New York: *looks up*

Texas: I like your shirt but I don’t like you!

She teaches him about considering other’s feelings. Sometimes Texas is too caught up about himself to realize how he’s affecting others around him and she knows this. She reminds him that people that not everyone will understand him emotionally and might take offense. Slowly, Texas thinks more often. Minnesota and Texas also love having adventures together. They would go and snowboard (though Texas has fell off a mountain one time). No matter what they’re doing, they always seem to compliment each other and have fun together. 

-Montana: They’re cowboy buddies. I would imagine them talk to each other about animals, particularly horses and cows. Since Montana is also a tough person, she and Texas loves to have small competitions with lifting or who has the most power. He sees her as a buddy and likes to talk to her, which is good because Montana herself has trouble fitting in when all people know about her is just cows and nothingness.

-New Mexico: New Mexico hates him. From what I can remember, Texas tried to claim parts of New Mexico three separate times. The last attempt was the Civil War, and with the attempt to take Santa Fe, New Mexico won’t let it go. Texas doesn’t really care about him nor seem to remember that he even exist. He mostly focuses his rivalry with Oklahoma. Plus, he think New Mexico is a bad driver.

-Oklahoma: They’re rivals. The extent of this rivalry, I’m not too sure and admittedly haven’t delved into much. What I can say is that he always honk his horn at her because she’s a terrible driver. At some point she called him Baja Oklahoma and he cried

-Tennessee: They’re friends. Tennessee is gay for him. So when the Texas Revolution was starting and the US helped out, a good chunk of the people were from Tennessee. So Tennessee helped Texas out wherever he can and that was his first friend from the US. They love to go hunting and talk about guns and stuff. Tennessee really admired him and is glad that he’s consider to be close friends with the big boi of the South. They also play music together and have nice country vibes.

-Wyoming: They’re Yeehaw buddies. They also had a relationship is perhaps early 1900s but I’m not too sure yet.

Things I don’t know how to title but it exists:

-Texas has tattoos of all his state symbols on his arms and back

-They played a “special” game of Truth or Dare. In the end, Texas threw up and vowed to never go to Vegas or hang out with Nevada for 9 months.

-Texas gave some of his friends in the Midwest and South (who aren’t Hispanic mind you) the “spicy” Mexican candies and almost all of them are more cautious about Mexican candies. Plot twist: they’re not spicy at all; they’re just weak

-Yee in the streets, haw in the sheets

-He’s bisexual

Some things about her (development? idk):

Texas has this arrogance that kinda makes it unbearable to work with at times (his closest friends can attest to this). But to be fair, this arrogance would be provoked by someone either messing with his lovely state or someone who’s just curious. Besides that, he is actually pretty charismatic, confident, and charming that attracts people despite his (non intentional) brash behavior. (It’s a joke that he purposefully made Tennessee gay). He’s also intelligent as he’s musically talented, exceeds surprisingly well in mathematics and sciences, and fluent in a couple languages such as English, German, and Vietnamese. He worked hard to be where he is and he can be closed minded in some parts but that’s because he likes to stay relatively the same. He doesn’t like a lot of change; you can say he’s afraid of it and what it might bring because he doesn’t want to lose who he truly is deep down inside. (It’s kinda funny because with this new influx of Californians, he’s stressed and upset at her more than ever).

Some quotes,, things?: 

New York: I’m hot shit and that’s the only thing I’ll take away.

Texas: Didn’t you hear her? I’m also hot shit. And that’s the power of the Texan charm ;) Checkmate, liberals.

New York: Yeah well why don’t you shut up.

Texas: You shut up

–

Northern Mariana Islands: *gives everyone a glass shot of tequila*

Everyone: *downs the shot and put their shot glass on the middle of the table*

Delaware: More please!

Ohio: No more please…

Arkansas: What the fuck was that??

Utah: Ugh, that so strong what the heck-

Texas: Can we do this every night?

–

Priest: You may now read the vows you have prepared.

Texas: I think I misunderstood the assignment.

Minnesota: Just read what you wrote, dear.

Texas: Ok *deep breath* A E I O U

–

Texas, drunk: SI YA SABEN COMO ME PONGO PA QUE ME INVITAN???

–

South Dakota: But it’s couples like you that give hope to the rest of us. Minnesota, you deserve the best, and you found it.

Texas, don’t you dare hurt her.

Everyone: *laughs*

Texas: I won’t.

Michigan: Don’t laugh. She means it.

Texas: Okay, I-I won’t

.Nebraska: Seriously, don’t hurt her.

Texas: Okay, I’m not planning on hurting her.

Indiana: You better not be

Texas: I’m not!

Ohio: Hey, Texas, you best be watching yourself

Texas: Why would any of you think I would hurt Minnesota? Y’all my friends too.

Illinois: Nah

–

1945

Tejas, a los otros estados: Me das una úlcera cada vez que me despierto y tengo que venir ‘pa trabajar para ti, para ti!

–

Texas, grabbing a toy police car: Coahuila! Can you buy me this?

Coahuila: No.

Texas: You never buy me anything!

Coahuila: You’re over 300 years old!

–

Texas: Yee in the streets, haw in the sh-

Oklahoma: No.

–

Texas, drunk: You’re so pretty,, are you seeing anyone?

Minnesota: Yeah, I’m married

Texas, crying: To.. to who?

Minnesota: You, you smol idiot *kisses his forehead*

[withastolenlantern]

The late morning sun peeked between the Center City towers to the south, breaking through the smog haze emanating from the drone freighters parked at the port. The streets of Rhawnhurst were already abuzz with life; she passed the barbershop and Señor Rodriguez’s dry cleaners and old Madam Tupolov begging for change outside the automat café as she walked down Bustleton Avenue toward the intersection with Cottman, taking the long route to school. Not that anyone would notice that she was late, or ditched entirely; it would be hard to make out any individual student in classes that ranged up toward fifty students. The public schools were still drastically underfunded with an urban tax base that was quickly dwindling. They said on the holo that the state had threatened to bring in another private contractor to run them, but they’d tried at least twice before to little avail, and what would they pay them with? The Delaware had flooded three out of the last five years, each time cresting to a new record and washing out more homes along its banks and tributaries. Turquoise had overheard her mother and aunt whispering about property values, and she knew that in some way that was tied to school funding. 

A drone truck cut the corner at Cottman trying to make the light, clipping the curb and sending a splash of sewage run off spraying up on the cracked sidewalk. “Watch where you’re going!” she screamed in vain as she dodged out of the way, knowing full well it couldn’t hear her. “Piece of shit truck.” She wiped the water from her coat, a dark purple hand-me-down from her sister Destiny, and flipped off the truck as the cross-walk indicator turned. Her shoes, worn with age, were soaked through to her ratty socks, and now made squishing sounds as she walked.

Turquoise hated school, but she’d made a deal with her mother that she’d keep going, to her science and math classes anyway, and when she finished her homework she could go down to Mister Krystkiewicz’s studio in the basement. Mama stressed that she needed to focus on her education, that it was the only way she’d ever make her way out of here. But the universities were just as packed as the public schools; her counselor had told her there were ten applicants for every seat, even at the community colleges, and her grades weren’t good enough to qualify for a scholarship. Her mother worked three swing shift jobs just to keep food on the table, and even then they were all crammed into a two-bedroom apart they shared with her aunt’s three children. There was no way any of them could afford any kind of higher schooling, but Turquoise had never had any interest anyway: she was born to be an artist, she was sure, no matter how impractical that might be in the current age. Kris, as she shortened her neighbor’s borderline-unpronounceable eastern European surname, had told her numerous times she had promise, and some days that was the only thing that kept her going. At fifteen, her life was approaching a turning point, where adulthood would quickly become a pressing reality, and with it the requirement to find some way to provide for herself or become one of the hundred million Americans living below the poverty line.

Her grandmother had been the one to inspire her; her mother agreed, but would likely prefer the term “blame.” Dolores Quinlan had been a woman out of time, before her lungs had given out, a remnant of an era of opportunity. She would take Turquoise and her sister to the art museum once a month on the free Sundays, and afterward she would walk the girls down Fairmount Avenue for ice cream, making sure to point out the large mural of Irene Brevis, even then still mentioned with the reverence of hushed tones. The elderly woman, an idealistic academic in a world rapidly devolving towards the brutally pragmatic, did her best to instill in her granddaughters an appreciation for the abstract and intangible. Turquoise delighted in the visits, drinking in the history and the artistry in equal amounts. The sculpture gallery was her favorite; she loved to walk underneath the dangling installation chimes of Ole Sted as they glittered and whistled in the ambient breeze. One day she hoped to work in a similar medium, and Kris had dug up an old MIG weld unit for her to practice on tin cans and other sheet metal she collected from the building recycling dumpster. Her mother was skeptical but supportive, and mostly concerned that she didn’t burn down the only building she could afford to house them.

As she rounded the corner onto Cottman, she noticed the same drone that had nearly hit her driving erratically and squealing to a stop at the next stoplight. Catching up to it, she looked through the window, and noticed that this particular truck was being piloted by an actual person. It was peculiar to see, but not altogether strange; she knew some trucks carried armed security to protect valuable cargo or oversee important deliveries. The man in the truck was not wearing a Union uniform, though, and he had what appeared to be a bandana wrapped around his nose and mouth. He was sweating, even through the air conditioning of the truck, and pounding on the steering wheel as if to will the traffic light to change.

In the distance, she heard sirens wail, and as she turned to look, the engine of the truck roared to life as it flew forward into the intersection, through the red light. Horns blared as the cars in the cross-traffic swerved to avoid it, and with a loud thud a sedan collided full-speed with the back corner of the truck, sending both vehicles spiraling through the intersection. 

The sedan barreled toward Turquoise. She screamed, more instinct than conscious fear, and dropped her school bag to the pavement, ducking into a squat as if that might offer any protection. The car crashed head-on into the support pole for the traffic light, the metal and plastic bending and buckling with a terrible groan as a shower of sparks flew to the ground. The front end crumpled to a heap, and she heard the loud pop of airbags deploying from within the passenger compartment. A dark black smoke belched and hissed from under the crushed bonnet cover. 

Turquoise was disoriented; her ears rang from the sounds and her head spun as she tried to stand back up. She stood before bending reflexively at the waist, and steadied herself by leaning against the now-bent light pole. Her vision was blurred, likely from shock, and she felt slightly nauseous, probably just as much from the stench of the car’s burned electronics as the adrenaline flooding her system.

She heard a low moan from the passenger of the sedan. Turquoise breathed deep and cautiously tip-toed around to the side of the car, peering through the shattered window. It was a woman, slight and not much older than herself. She was dressed in business clothes, a blazer and slacks, and blood caked her white blouse. Her head was supported by the deployed airbag, its cushion now stained with a mixture of blood and makeup. She wasn’t moving, and her breathing was heavy and laborious. Turquoise shook her shoulder gently. “Ma’am? Are you okay?”

The woman screamed, high and shrill. Turquoise jumped back, startled. “Are you okay?” she asked again. “Here, let’s get you out.”

The woman’s screams turned to sobs. She was clearly still in shock from the crash. Turquoise tugged at the door, trying to free the woman from the car, but it was stuck. She pulled again at the handle, harder this time, and it gave way; the door came free from the broken hinges at the frame and slammed to the pavement with a heavy clang. There was blood everywhere. The woman’s leg was pinned below the now-crushed console; a long jagged piece of the bent door frame was jammed deep into her calf muscle. She continued to cry, deep painful gasps. “I think my leg is broken,” she mewed through the sobs.

“Stay here. I’ll get help,” Turquoise said, summoning a calmness to her voice that masked her internal panic. She turned away from the car toward the rest of the chaos. Across the intersection the truck had spun a half-rotation and bounced off a fire hydrant before slamming sideways into the glass facade of a storefront. The hydrant rocket into the air, a geyser of pressurized water throwing the cast iron fixture high into the sky only to come crashing onto the roof of a parked car, its bleating alarm now adding to the cacophany of the scene. 

Turquoise walked slowly across the street, taking care to avoid the shards of broken glass that now littered the intersection. Traffic had come to a stop, and people were slowly getting out of their cars to assess the scene. A man on a mobile had a holo open, and it looked like he was coordinating with an emergency dispatcher. She approached the truck quietly, and the door to the passenger compartment flew open, the driver spilling down into a heap on the sidewalk the sidewalk. His shirt was torn slightly, but he seemed mostly unharmed apart from a cut across his forehead. He quickly bolted upright and clutched his arm gingerly while he looked around, confused. She tried to ask him if he needed help, but as she got close he took off, sprinting toward an alleyway behind the ruined storefront. 

“Hey! Hey asshole, get back here!” she yelled after him, giving chase, but after a few steps she thought better of it and let him go. She’d gotten a good look at him, and the police were sure to want her statement when they arrived.

A bang behind her caused her already quickened pulse to skyrocket. She turned around and found that the loading door at the rear of the truck had sprung open in the crash, and was swaying in the early morning breeze, clanging against the side of the building. Boxes and crates had spilled out of it and were scattered across the sidewalk, and several people were now gathered around, gawking at the contents.

Turquoise joined them. Several of the crates had broken up, and her eyes quickly went wide in terror. She immediately recognized what she saw from the nightly news feeds; one didn’t grow up in one of America’s most violent cities without knowing a gun when they saw it. But these weren’t the small handguns she’d seen tucked into the waistbands of wanna-be thugs and bangers; these were large and heavy, with polished chrome finishing that glinted in the morning sun. There were five to a crate, and she counted at least ten more crates. 

Inside the truck were more, and things she couldn’t name but looked just as dangerous. Large tubes with switches and holo-projectors were scattered on the floor. A dozen or so heavy-looking vests were piled in a cardboard box; a large, inactive drone was parked on the bed, but not the type of delivery or advertising drones she’d seen before. This one was sharp, angular, and with much bigger rotors. It had small stanchions to either side where large, multi-barreled guns were mounted. It was painted matte black with cartoon shark teeth along the front edge. 

And in the far back of the cargo area, near to the passenger compartment, sat a large plastic vat. It had various tubes connected between it and some kind of controller that sat next to it. The apparatus hummed quietly, but ominously. Turquoise wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but she knew it couldn’t be good.     

Sirens wailed in the distance, and she was never so glad to hear them.

[thebarefootking]

So, this pic hit me with a pretty sudden realisation of how weird and dystopic my teenage years were. Not that I didn’t already know, but it seems like I notice more and more every day how incredibly not normal shit was for me back then.

Story time!

When I was in my mid-to-late teens, my church’s regional council hosted a yearly Christian youth summer leadership camp. Although my youth group participated in many trips, conferences, and camps throughout the year, this event (which I will not name, except to say that its name was alliterative and deeply generic) was generally regarded at the most desirable to attend. This was for a few reasons, the primary one being its exclusivity.

Unlike most events and trips our group went to, there was more to the application process than merely paying a fee, filling out a form, and getting parental permission, although those were all certainly required. [Event] participants had to earn their slot. They had to be chosen.

The application process was arduous, and lasted around half a year. There were church attendance requirements, special classes (with books to be bought), other (expensive!) trips that should be attended as prerequisite, and a multi-stage interview process with in-depth application questions. The first year I applied, as a 15 year old, I didn’t make the cut. I had not been attending that particular church long enough to have been able to make one of the (not necessary, but heavily recommended) prerequisite trips, and it cost me the opportunity to network with the youth pastor and other leaders of the youth program. In the end, they said they simply didn’t think I was ready, and I should try again next year. The youth pastor later admitted to me that I should have been allowed to go, but he disliked one of my friends, and hadn’t had the opportunity before [Event] slots were filled to realise that I wasn’t ‘like her’. In other words, all the hoop-jumping was mostly pointless unless you were well-liked.

Anyway. None of that has to do with Mountain Dew and fruity cereal. In the two following years, my applications were successful. Finally, after putting in all that work, I was allowed to go to [Event]! The camp was held at the denomination’s largest college in my state. They roomed us in dorms, and gave us a strict and demanding schedule. We were split into color teams along year groups, and attended classes with our color. While, in theory, the schedules were less full, realistically, they looked something like this:

5:00 am - Get up! Otherwise, no shower for you. The whole dorm building is full of people with the exact same schedule, so a 6:30-7:30 breakfast means early rising to filter everyone through the limited showers. 6:30 am - Breakfast. Meals are actually really nice! All you can eat of all kinds of stuff. Shame you probably arrived late after showering and walking across campus, and shortly have to be at

7:30 am - Morning Chapel. Sing songs to God. Dance! Dance FASTER! (No, seriously.)

8:30 am - Color Time. Colors split up, each year going with a separate leader for bible study. Bible study is the primary activity of [Event], and over the course of the week, entire books of the bible might be studied verse by verse. Additionally, but less prominently, some preparations for Color War may take place.

9:30 am - Private Reading. Read your assigned bible readings, to prepare for more bible study. It’s not really ‘private’. Everyone’s in the same general area; they just find a spot by themselves to read, usually (by necessity of the space) within eyeshot of at least two others.

10:00 am - Family Groups. Almost as creepy as it sounds. The year group splits into smaller groups with one ‘Dad’ and one ‘Mom’ (a male and female youth worker brought along with the churches as chaperones), and up to 5 youth ‘kids’. A more intimate environment for discussing what you have studied, with a focus on how it affects you personally.

10:45 am - Color Time. Reconvene.

12:00 pm - Lunch.

1:00 pm - Color War Activities! Your year group competes against the others in silly outdoor challenges to win points. Some challenges are athletic, some are creative, some are just... odd. (On day one, this slot is replaced with Team Building Exercises that you and everyone else will hate, and which may result in bruises and/or bleeding rug burns. Yes, rugs, outdoors.)

3:00 pm - Color Time. SSDD

4:00 pm - Family Groups.

5:00 pm - Quiet Time. Time for private prayer and study. Almost certainly still in ‘public’ space.

6:00 pm - Dinner.

7:00 pm - Evening Chapel. More singing, less dancing. A sermon by the week’s speaker. More singing, often some amount of crying.

9:00 pm - ??? Everyone spends about half an hour filtering out of Chapel, maybe meeting with their Family Groups.

9:30 pm - Free Time! Eat snacks and tell stories. Stay in the dorm building; there’s nowhere else to go, and you’d be too tired to go if there was.

11:30 pm - Lights Out. Better hope you can get to sleep quickly. I have faith in you!

It was this grueling schedule that I believe led to the ‘invention’ of the [Event] Special, a morning pick-me-up tradition among some of the campers. Your favorite fruity cereal (classically Fruity Pebbles, but sometimes Froot Loops), with Mountain Dew instead of milk. Coffee beverage optional.

For some of us, it was the only way to make it through Morning Chapel.

In the years since, I have come to recognise [Event] for what it was: a powerful thought-control program. The inherent elitism, the sheer volume of information we were made to consume, the lack of sleep and real private time, the ‘accountability’ of our Family Groups. The hyper-emotional evening services and coordinated dances of the morning services. They made us proud of the fact we were there, made us accept just about anything they said, made us police each other, and made us want to come back for more.

I feel fucking gross just thinking about it.

The cereal was surprisingly good, though!

[delkios]

(We’re Not the Same) That’s What Makes it Perfect (DCU)

ColdWave Week? More like ColdWave-featuring-titles-from-whatever-song-AJ-is-listening-to-because-they-can’t-think-up-titles-on-their-own Week. Title from Seal’s Every Time I’m With You. Playing very loosely with pre-52 comics timeline and lots of references to said comics. Title: (We're Not the Same) That's What Makes it Perfect Fandom: DCU Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 9905 In Responds to: ColdWave Week 2018: Opposites Attract Characters: Len, Mick, various appearances by Lisa, Jim Harper, Kon, Wally, Mark and James Summary: It can be a complicated business, heroes dating their rogues. In part due to a somewhat limited skill set and mostly by having spent a number of years using that same skill set to be a crook before switching sides, Cold was regulated to the lower tier heros. Which was fine by him. He didn’t care much for tangling with near-gods and cross-dimensional beings and the like. Didn’t mean he hadn’t dealt with them on occasion but he much preferred street-level crooks and organized crime to all of that. He and his sister had gotten quite good at it over the years. Even had some team-ups with other ground level heroes like Question and Argus, though the less said about that job with Detective Chimp, the better. Which was why he was surprised to get a call from Cadmus.

Despite having developed and built his cold gun- and the knowledge to utilize it to its full extent -Cold didn’t know much about science. Nor did he have any kind of connection to Supers, even a tangential one like Superboy. But he supposed he should at least see what they wanted and answered it. His initial thought upon seeing the gold helmet was Dr. Fate before the name Guardian came to him. As far as Cold knew, Guardian really didn’t leave Cadmus and there surely were other ice wielders closer to Hawaii than him. “You need something?” Cold asked, not bothering to hide reticence. “/You seem to have misplaced one of your Rogues,/” Harper said wryly. Cold blinked behind his visor. His rogues gallery wasn’t what one would call extensive and, in all honesty, most of what he had tended to be shared with Wally across the river in Central. “/Heatwave’s been showing up sporadically for almost two weeks now. None of us have been able to figure what he’s after, so I figured I should call you, see if you might have an idea./” Cold just barely held himself back from saying Heatwave’s name. His actual name. The name Cold hadn’t found out through arrest records but because Heatwave had told him with a grin that melted something in Cold’s bones just before slipping away. Fixing a scowl firmly in place, Cold said, “It’s not like I’ve got access to his day planner.” “/Considering no one in Cadmus has dealt with him before, I was hoping you’d give some insight as to his goals and general operation./” “He’s not a serial killer or anything. Probably just looking to steal something. Probably got hired by someone to do it.” Harper tried to hide his frustrated frown behind stoic professionalism. “/He’s been making himself rather visible and he’s known for working with others. Have you seen any of the other Rogues recently?/” “Yeah, they’re all accounted for.” Mostly. At least he knew the ones that had been in jail were still there. Who knew about that others. “Look, you’ll just have to figure out what he wants for yourself. That’s part of the heroing gig, ain’t it?” Harper started protesting but Cold just cut him off with, “Cold out,” before closing the line. He slouched in his seat for some time after, glaring at the blank screen. He’d been wondering why he hadn’t seen Mick around. He hadn’t called, hadn’t picked up Cold’s calls, hadn’t even left a note. And all the way in Hawaii? Something had to be up since, with McCulloch still locked up, Mick would’ve had to find other means of travel other than commercial. But what got Cold the most was that he hadn’t known about it. It wasn’t like he and Mick were connected at the hip- usually -but Mick always let him know when he was going out of state for extended periods of time. Not because Cold worried he just… liked knowing those kinds of things. “Whatever,” he eventually said to no one. “He’ll be back sooner or later.” ~*~*~*~ Cold may not be a speedster or be able to fly but his ice bridges still got him around pretty quickly and often times through means most criminals weren’t expecting. This particular crook, he saw as he came in through one of the upper windows of the bank, was bent over a number of lock boxes that had been melted open, tossing the contents into a bag. Cold groaned quietly to himself over the fact that an ass that fine was being wasted on crime. “Hands up,” he said, as if he weren’t admiring the flattering fit of a… he wasn’t entirely sure, actually. It was some sort of costume. “Play it cool until the cops get here and I won’t have to put you on ice.” The man- judging from the strong back and broad shoulders though considering he’d also met Barda Free, those really weren’t sure fire indicators -turned just enough to give Cold a sidelong look. “Captain Cold.” The voice was slightly muffled from some kind of respirator but was definitely a man’s. “Good guess,” he said sarcastically, “considering you’re robbing banks in my town.” The man sighed, turning around. Cold noted something like cables or hoses that attached from whatever was on the man’s back to some wrist mounted device and a gun holstered at his chest. “This is a disappointment.” “Yeah, getting busted usually is.” “I mean you,” he said, tone conversational but bored. “Giving up your freedom to be a lapdog for a bunch of capes.” He heard sirens and tires screeching. Good, they were right on time. “Buddy, if you knew anything about me you’d know the amount I care about your opinion is in the negatives.” The man huffed, eyes crinkling behind his goggles. “I do know one thing: you ain’t hot shit.” The man’s arm dropped, shooting something from his wrist but Cold was prepared, firing off a wide cold beam. Instead of freezing, losing momentum and dropping to the ground like he was expecting, though, a foam-like substance- regular fire suppression foam, he’d find out later -splattered against him, blinding him long enough for the man to run by. Instead of taking the time to wipe the foam off, Cold just pulled off his visor, just in time to see the man use his gun to send a jet of fire toward the ceiling, setting off the sprinklers, then turning that flamethrower toward the oncoming police in a wide, sweeping motion. More to get them out of his way than to hurt them. Firing a cold beam into the water ran the risk of injuring the officers with countless dagger-sharp icicles and Cold struggled with his childhood distaste for the police before he pointed his gun away and gave chase, cursing all the way. There was an explosion when he reached the doors that knocked him off his feet. One of the police cruiser engines was on fire, its bonnet rocking on the ground some twenty feet away. By the time Cold got back on his feet and bridged himself high enough to look over the gathering crowd, the man was gone. ~*~*~*~ Lisa was standing in the doorway, tapping her foot in irritation. “What?” Cold asked, bristling slightly. Not because she was annoyed at him but because he already knew what she was annoyed by and very much did not want to get into that conversation with her. “You’re being dumb,” she said simply. “About what?” “About the fact that Mick is in Hawaii.” “Is he? Didn’t know.” Cold wasn’t particularly good at lying, especially to Lisa, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. “Right. You just asked Linda if she heard of any supervillain activity going on in Hawaii where he just so happens to be right now.” She tilted her head to the side, hair slipping over her shoulder. “You haven’t been looking at your phone.” “I often don’t look at my phone. I’m not like Walker.” “It’s the way you haven’t been looking at it.” Cold shot her a look and Lisa rolled her eyes. “You’ve been looking like you want to pick it up but then force yourself not to. You’re very deliberately not looking at your phone.” She pressed her lips together, expression turning vaguely sympathetic. “Did you two get into another fight?” “No,” Cold said bitterly. Then, before he could stop himself, “That’s the entire damn problem! He’s giving me the cold shoulder and I don’t know why!” He jabbed a finger in Lisa’s direction. “Shut up, not every cold-related turn of phrase is a goddamn pun.” Deciding to be lenient, Lisa didn’t press her brother to put a coin in the pun jar- only applicable outside of superhero fights, she wasn’t a monster after all. “Have you thought of going to see him?” “Why?” He crossed his arms, slouching down and pretending to be enthralled in whatever was on the television. “He’ll be back whenever he’s done doing whatever he’s doing.” “Are you sure? Because he’s been there for three weeks now and no one’s heard of any activity on any of the islands.” She came over quietly, rubbing her hand over Cold’s shoulder. “Lenny, if he’s really mad enough to drop all contact with you for close to a month, he might not come back on his own.” Cold just sank down further until he was out from under Lisa’s touch. “Not my problem if he doesn’t want to talk about it.” She snorted at that. “Right. Because you’re so good about talking about feelings.” ~*~*~*~ Ever since Heatwave came onto the scene the fans and groupies very quickly pegged him as Cold’s rival, perfect opposites in all things, their fights talked about like some championship bout. Honestly Cold found it all rather annoying. On the other hand he had to agree that whenever he and Heatwave went head to head, it was pretty even odds for who would come out the victor. In just about every aspect they were either fairly equal or perfect opposites so that every strength was negated. The only real edge Cold had over Heatwave was the fact that he had Lisa on his side. Which, seeing as she was dodging boomerangs while Cold was fighting fire, looked like that may no longer be the case. Cold and Heatwave crashed across the office lobby, both using their weapons sparingly to keep the building from coming down on top of them- or their partners, wherever they may be. Didn’t stop the lobby from being filled with steam, ice patches and scorch marks peppering the place. Most people, due to the cold gun being a ranged or area of effect weapon depending on how Cold used it, didn’t think he was a capable hand to hand fighter. Sure, he wouldn’t be much of a warm up for any of the Birds of Prey but against someone that didn’t have ‘master martial artist’ in their wheelhouse, he was no pushover. Unfortunately the same could be said about Heatwave. Heatwave was the bigger of the two in terms of breadth and weight and he hit with the force of a sledgehammer. Cold, on the other hand, had maneuverability and endurance on his side. As they grappled together, Cold had no idea who would come out on top until the fight was over. They slammed into a wall, each with a grip on the other’s wrist that held their weapon of choice. With his options limited, Heatwave pressed against Cold’s chest, seemingly intent on crushing him between the wall and his own body. Despite the strain, Heatwave’s lips pulled back into a grin. “So much for stopping me cold.” Cold didn’t even try to keep from grinning back. “Not like you’re too hot for me to handle.” If he were honest, he liked fighting Heatwave most out of his Rogues if not just for the fact that the man would actually banter with him. Weather Wizard’s preference for storms made talking difficult, Kadabra was too pompous for Cold’s patience never minding the fact he was too dangerous to humor, the combination of Boomerang’s accent and colloquialisms made him difficult to understand and the new Mirror Master was even worse. The only other ones he could trade quips with were Trickster, who straddled the line between entertaining and annoying, and Piper, who was trying to go straight-ish. And, no matter how hard Lisa tried to convince him that puns were neither funny nor cool- he was convinced she was just jealous because her gimmick didn’t give her as many opportunities -Cold loved them. He grew up reading his grandfather’s pulp magazines, puns and wordplay were what people did back then. So he felt pretty justified in tossing them right back whenever Heatwave threw one out. “I dunno. The last two time we clashed, I managed to get away. Seems to me like I’m on a hot streak.” “We’ll see how you feel when you’re cooling your heels in Iron Heights again.” Heatwave’s grin grew into an outright smile and Cold had to slide his gaze away. Heatwave was unfairly hot and that wasn’t just for the pun. He was attractive and fun to banter with and was thoughtful and considerate on the rare occasions they actually had a conversation. It wasn’t at all helped that Cold had very few friends in or out of the hero business and even less opportunities to get as close to someone as he currently was with Heatwave. If he didn’t get out of this quick, Cold was going to be in a trouble other than mortal peril. Gathering his strength, Cold heaved, trying to find some kind of leverage and- -his foot slid back, letting his legs fall open a little wider and- -Heatwave reflexively moved into that space, pressing Cold harder into the wall and- Suddenly they were hip to hip, pressed tightly against each other and Cold’s breath caught in his throat and Heatwave growled low enough it reverberated through Cold’s body and suddenly all that tension just spilled over. Suddenly they were pressed flush together, panting against each other’s mouths, and one of Cold’s hands was wrapped around Heatwave’s back pulling him in tighter. He didn’t know how long they were like that, rutting mindlessly against each other but he didn’t want it to stop. This was- fuck, he’d been dreaming about this, as much as he wanted to deny it. It was perfect. It was beautiful. Cold let out a shaky, guttural moan and Heatwave answered in kind. Then, just as suddenly as it began, Heatwave pulled away, eyes wide and mortified. Before Cold could do anything, Heatwave pulled back a fist and clocked him across the face. He’d been hit harder in his life- he’d been hit harder by Heatwave -but the suddenness of it caught him off guard and Cold hit the ground hard. “Fuck, oh god.” Heatwave stumbled back a step or two, hesitating between running and staying. “Shit, that wasn’t- it isn’t because- I didn’t- I really like-” he scrubbed a hand over his head. “Fuck!” “Hey!” Cold recognized Lisa’s voice in a daze. “Crap. Uh, sorry. Just… sorry.” Heatwave sighed and just before he put up a wall of fire Cold heard him mutter, “Dammit, why did it have to happen like this?” The curtain went up thick and hot, far enough that Cold wasn’t in any danger from it but he could still feel the heat of it. The cold discs Cold had put in Lisa’s gloves, while powerful enough to make ice bridges so she wasn’t dependent on her brother to get around, wasn’t near strong enough to take on Heatwave’s flame so she slid to a halt next to Cold. Distantly he wondered how mad Rory would be when he remembered he left the loot behind. “Lenny, are you okay? What the hell happened?” Cold got himself on an elbow, rubbing a hand over his tender jaw. “I think he likes me,” he slurred. ~*~*~*~ Cold didn’t normally work outside of Keystone, not even Central unless he was asked to help first. He figured it was only fair given he didn’t like when other heroes popped over into his city unannounced, either. So when he saw the thick plumes of smoke rising up from across the river, he turned on the police scanner just to see if it was something he should consider intervening on. The voices over the radio confirmed it was a meta fight and that Flash was engaged and Cold decided to join in because… because… well, he didn’t have an excuse yet but he would before Lisa asked him. He'd rather not have the Captain "No Chill" Cold nickname reemerging again. As useful for getting around as his ice bridges were, it was too far a distance to get there in a reasonable amount of time. So instead, Cold went to a storage closet and opened up a false panel in the floor. There was a locked box in there, keyed to his and Lisa’s genetic signature. From the box he pulled out a dusty mirror gun, one he snagged from lock-up during Scudder’s time, back when everyone- including himself -still considered Cold more thief than hero. Despite having it in his possession Cold only used it in dire emergency, not wanting to accidentally run into someone in the mirror world. If the Rogues knew he had it, they’d either try to steal it back or find a way to lock him out. It took Cold some time to find a reflective surface in the correct area and when he stepped through, he created an ice bridge so he could get an aerial view without getting in range of the battle. The first thing he thought once he got up there was that things were a mess. There were fires, ice patches, low lying storm clouds and a couple whirlwinds trying to trap a streak of lightning. It wasn’t difficult to spot Mardon in it all given it was the one calm spot in a chaotic area and that the weather wand glowed. Cold looked around, trying to spot Mick before he realized… Mardon was the only Rogue there. He’d thought- he’d hoped- but it was just Mardon. Jaw clenching so tightly his teeth creaked, Cold shot out another ice bridge, angle steep so when he slid down it, barreling into Mardon from behind, it was like being hit by a freight train. From the force with which he hit the ground, Mardon was knocked out and Cold roughly cuffed him. The only reason he did that rather than beat the unconscious man to work out his anger and frustration was the fact that he probably wouldn’t be able to stop once he started. Lightning continued to zip around, taking care of the whirlwinds and larger fires and spiriting the wand away before Wally came to a stop before Cold. “Well, thanks, I guess.” He said, hands on his hip and head tilted slightly, utterly bewildered. “Uh, why exactly did you decide to help?” “Got bored,” he snapped. “You got bored so you decided to cannonball Mardon from fifteen stories up? That’s more Glider’s style of reckless than yours.” “Working on a new aggression therapy technique.” “Yeah, I know for a fact J’onn already talked to you about taking your aggression out on criminals.” At Cold’s feet, Mardon groaned painfully and Wally’s cowl twitched in that way it did when his eyebrows jumped. “Expected him to be out longer, I’m impressed. But seriously, Cold- I know how you feel about people butting into other people’s fights.” “So I’m a hypocrite, what a surprise.” “Uh-huh.” Unconvinced, Wally’s eyes wandered around the city, as if that might offer up some insight. There were a couple groups of firefighters taking care of straggling flames that weren't dangerous enough for Wally's immediate attention. His head swiveled back to Cold. “Wait, has Heatwave not come back yet?” Cold bristled, a scathing retort ready but was derailed when Mardon, still a little groggy, blurted out with wide eyes, “Still?” Cold didn’t even make it half a step closer before Wally was there, hand lightly blocking his way. “The hell do you know about this?” Mardon scoffed. “He’s a difficult guy to piss off. If you’ve managed to do that, you really must’ve crossed the line. Even taking into account how many times you two have broken up and got back together over the years.” At the look Cold gave him, Mardon just said with a kind of importance that was at odds with his current situation, “Yeah, we noticed. We just don’t make a big deal out of it because Mick’s one of ours. We know he has our backs.” When Cold went into a full-on growl, Wally said, “Okay, you know what?” In an instant he was gone and back, sweeping Mardon away in a whirl of lightning. “Don’t feel like dealing with that right now.” “You jacked another pen from CCPD.” “What?” Wally looked down to see a pen, still smoking slightly from speed-completing Mardon’s processing forms, in his hand. “Dammit.” Again he was gone and back, this time sans pen. “Every time.” Brushing that off, Wally stood next to Cold and said lowly, “Look, Snart-” A sharply jabbed finger to the chest cut him off. “Hell no. I am not getting relationship advice from the mouthy brat I’ve watched crash and burn 90% of the relationships he’s been in since he was a teenager.” Wally didn’t look nearly as bothered by that as Cold had hoped which meant that wasn’t enough to derail the conversation. “Then take it as advice from someone that doesn’t want to see their friend crash and burn the same ways they have.” Cold ignored the way his gut twisted, not entirely unpleasantly, at the fact Wally apparently considered him a friend. “I may not know Heatwave as well as you, but he’s always been the steadfast type. If he left, he did it for a reason that’s important to him and you’re not going to find out unless you talk to him. And even if he ends it, as cruel as it may sound, it’s better that you know. It’s better than you waiting, hoping he comes back.” Cold laughed bitterly, stomping over to a reflective surface and pulling out the mirror gun again. “You say that like I’m expecting him to come back.” ~*~*~*~ In hindsight, Cold supposed he should’ve left this new Dark Flash to the other speedsters to deal with. Not that he’d actually gone out looking for the guy, but he’d been running patrols through both Central and Keystone and after how badly he beat down on Boomerang, Cold wasn’t about to let the guy stomp around his city like he owned the place. So instead Cold was the one getting stomped on. Thankfully Lisa was out on some cruise with Fire, Jade and Argent. When she got back to find he’d picked a fight with a speedster on his own, whatever pieces Dark Flash left behind, she was going to crush underfoot. Sure, it had been years since he’d fought against one- not since Barry -but he shouldn’t have been this out of practice. The guy was everywhere at once and barely seemed bothered by even an absolute zero field by stealing the speed from nearby objects. Didn’t help that the guy seemed to have a real hate-on for him, either, barely gave Cold time to catch his breath between passes. A streak of dark red and silver lightning barreled straight at him and Cold braced himself, too disoriented from the last blow to move- The world erupted into light and heat and hands were grabbing him, forcibly dragging Cold away. When he was able to see again, Cold thought he saw a figure, transparent save for a gleam where the light hit and tendrils of orange energy coiling around its insides. “Cold? Jesus- are you alright?” “Mick?” Cold gasped. Wait- his eyes hadn’t cleared up entirely, he couldn’t see who else was around. “Heatwave? What’re you doing here?” “Saving your hide apparently.” Rory said, his hands strong and firm on Cold’s arms. They were in a pitch black space save for random rectangles that spilled out light. The mirror world. Cold had been stuffed in them enough times to know it in an instant. “What the hell did you do to piss that guy off?” “I dunno. Stole his lunch money in high school or I guess.” Cold eventually got his feet under him again, walking on his own though he didn’t move away from Rory. He wiped some blood from his face and gently probed his tongue around his mouth to figure out where that blood was coming from. Didn’t feel like any teeth were missing, must have cut the inside of his cheek. “Guy refused to believe I’m a hero for some reason.” Rory snorted. “Been there.” They walked in silence for a bit until they found a mirror a good distance away from where Cold had been tangling with the Dark Flash. They stepped out of the mirror world and Cold finally asked, “Who the hell was that?” “Replicant.” “Who?” “He’s, uh, new.” Rory looked a little sheepish. “It’s not like I can tell you who he actually is other than a Rogue. And Rogues look after our own.” So he was out for blood on Boomerang’s behalf. Cold could respect that. If the Rogues had been around before Cold switched sides, he might have chosen differently. “So why’d you guys save me?” “I don’t like people touching you.” Cold gave him a look and privately enjoyed the way Rory turned red. “Your our hero, alright? Some… random jackass can’t just come along and hurt you.” “Careful, Rory,” Cold said with amusement. “I might think you care.” Rory hesitated. His mouth suddenly crooked into rakish but nervous grin. “Ah hell. I’m a thief and I’m a selfish bastard, so.” He gripped Cold by the hood, pulling him into a rough kiss, their respective eye protection clattering against each other. It was quick and sloppy and Cold was momentarily stunned when Rory let him pull back. The grin was just a faded, barely there thing on Rory’s face. Hell, it looked more like he was about to be ill and Cold realized he was probably waiting for him to say something. Cold put on a scowl- not an actual one but the pretend scowl, the one he used when trying to take in Rory, no heat behind it, just a mask and it made Rory’s grin return just a bit. “Just ‘cause you saved me doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you go after stealing a kiss.” The grin turned into a full blown smile. Rory backed away and Cold let him. “Look forward to seeing what kind of payback’ll be in store.” Rory winked, turned and walked off. Not the most impressive exit but Cold enjoyed the view until Rory tucked around a corner. Then he grabbed the sides of his hood, pulling it forward as he turned and braced his head against the wall until his giddy school-girl-smile was under control. ~*~*~*~ “/Please tell me you’re not calling about Heatwave./” Being told that in lieu of a greeting, or even a joke, had Cold snarling into the receiver. In part because he was annoyed that he was apparently that predictable. “What are you talking about?” “/You’re not fooling anyone, Cold,/” Jesse said. There was a faint whirring sound over the line like he was playing with an RC helicopter. Can’t take the Trickster out of the g-man, Cold supposed. “/I’ve heard it from Hartley. And Lisa. And Linda. And even Wally./” “Fine, whatever. What do you know?” “/In case the name dropping didn’t make it obvious, I’ve already been grilled for information. Really, you think they’d call me just to gossip?/” There was a brief pause. “/Okay, so all of them but Wally do, but still. Everything I know, they’ve already passed on to you. And don’t bother with Oracle, I know for a fact both Lisa and Wally already asked her and I also know for a fact she’s far less patient with repeatedly giving the same information./” Disappointed as to the lack of news, and not knowing what his next step now was, Cold lapsed into a petulant silence. Eventually Jesse sighed, the whirring turning off. “/Snart, have you thought how much easier things would be for everyone if you just admitted how you feel about Rory? Everyone that knows you two already figured it out./” “I don't-” “/Know what I’m talking about? C’mon, Snart. Pull the other one, it’s got an egg-grenade-laying rubber chicken on it./” “You don’t know anything about it,” Cold groused. There was barely any heat in it. Between Lisa and Piper and Linda, he’d gotten tired of trying to justify his concern. “/I know that I’ve been on the receiving end of your cold gun enough to know when you’re holding back. And I’ve worked with Mick for years. Plenty of time to notice the way you two look at each other. Also, keep in mind that Wally can run every single street in the state in under five seconds, he has absolutely accidentally run across you two getting it on in some dark alley. Multiple times. And you know he can’t keep a secret unless he knows at least one other person knows. And given that Hart’s such a good friend of mine-/” Not wanting to hear how far that particular game of telephone went, Cold hung up the phone. ~*~*~*~ Mick was out of it by the time Cold saw him. Between Girder working him over, baby Trickster dosing him up with whatever random shit Jesse left in his gear and whatever illusions McCulloch threw at him, it wasn’t surprising that he was barely coherent. Cold cursed himself. He’d had heard the rumblings of something happening in the underground channels, something big that was rippling under the entire city. But, like an idiot who thought he was on top of things, Cold hadn’t paid it any mind. And as a result he hadn’t realized when Blacksmith did not take kindly to Mick rejecting her offer to join her version of the Rogues. While Cold had been helping Cyborg and Wally free Central from the Thinker, Piper had snuck into Blacksmith’s operations, found a half-dead Mick locked away and dragged him to Cold’s apartment. “Because,” he’d explained to Cold and Lisa, “if the Rogues really want to hurt Wally, they’ll target the helpless.” Meaning hospitals and those inside them. Piper had already gone to back Wally up as he faced off with Blacksmith’s Rogues by Van Buren Bridge. Cold and Lisa would be joining them once Lisa finished making sure their gear was in order. Cold… Cold didn’t want to leave Mick’s side. “I’m sorry,” he said, hand gentle over the bruises darkening Mick’s face. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve listened, checked things out.” Something was bubbling up in Cold’s throat, something important, something he’d never be able to take back once he said it. “Just rest up,” he said tightly. “I gotta go beat in the heads of some idiots thinking they could take over my city. But I’ll be back before you know it. You won’t be alone for long.” Mick’s eyelids fluttered, lips parting to take in a deep breath before saying softly, “Goldface…” Cold leaned in close. “What?” “Goldface,” each word sounded like it took effort to say. “He’s… unions…” Mick took in a deep breath. As deep as he could with his ribs in the state they were in anyway. “Was digging dirt on Blacksmith for him. Found out her time table ‘fore I got the ultimatum.” “Heh. I get it.” Keystone had always been a working class town and while the busters would come and go, the unions never really went away. Because Keystone always protected its own and it seemed like Goldface was making sure the unions would be ready to protect its city. Even against meta-powered criminals. Good thing they had meta-powered heroes on their side. There was a reason he loved this city. “You know,” Mick said, voice almost dreamy, “I put this costume on for you.” The non-sequitur made Cold pause. “What?” “This… thing.” Mick waved a hand at himself. “All of it. Was because of you.” He didn’t know what to make of it. Was it like that thing people said, that superheroes created villains just by existing? “Why?” “Wanted to work with you. Back when you were still a criminal.” He reached out and laced his fingers with Cold’s and Cold couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “I read about what you did, what your gun could do and I thought… I could do something like that. Something similar but different. Something,” he licked his lips, the medication obviously kicking in hard, “useful. ‘N then you’d keep me around…” Mick’s eyes fell closed, words trailing off to sleep. Cold stared down at him for a long moment before lifting their joined hands, kissing Mick’s knuckles softly. “Yeah. I’ll keep you around. You don’t have to worry about that.” ~*~*~*~ Cold came back from the ice rink- he hated running with a passion but give him some ice and blades and he could go for miles -only to be forcefully manhandled into the house. “Hey- what the hell?” “Ugh! I am sick and tired of you moping!” Lisa cried, pushing her brother from one room to another. “Just go get him already! And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, you’ve been driving everyone nuts! Go to Hawaii, find Mick, apologize for whatever you did and bring him back!” Cold dug his heels in but Lisa was both strong and determined. “What makes you think I did something wrong?” “Because between the two of you, you’re the one most likely to put your foot in your mouth!” While that was probably true, that didn’t mean Cold couldn’t take insult from it. “Lise-” “Seven weeks, Lenny,” she said, expression and tone brokering no interruption. “Don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t love him. Lie all you want to Piper or Linda or whoever, but don’t you dare with me. Not about this. Not now.” Cold’s mouth moved soundlessly, trying to form up some kind of defense without making Lisa explode at him. She stopped and turned him around, her eyes soft and sympathetic in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. “Lenny, everything Dad ever told us was bullshit. He’s a hateful, hurtful little man who could only be happy pushing around those smaller than him.” She ran her hand over Cold’s face, cupping his tense jaw. “But you took all his crap and still managed to make something of your life. And I know it’s not easy- even now it’s still not easy to forget everything he’s said to us, but that voice in your head right now, the one that’s telling you not to go after Mick, that you’d be better off just forgetting how you feel about him, that’s not you. That’s Dad. And like hell am I gonna let you listen to him.” Cold laughed, chest feeling a little tight. “You, uh,” he cleared his throat, “you think Mick’ll come back?” She smiled brightly, looking every bit as golden as her name said. “He will for you.” ~*~*~*~ Cold got back to his apartment exhausted, sore and with a migraine the size and shape of Grodd’s ugly mug. He stopped short in the doorway; Mick was lounging on the sofa in one of Cold’s t-shirts and sweats, flipping through a newspaper. Normally what would be enough for Cold to forget about his bad mood to focus on something a little more interesting except that, on the stand right below the wall-mounted tv, was a fucking jewel encrusted tiara, sitting on a museum-grade cushion. “Hey, Lenny,” Mick called out, barely looking up. “How was Gorilla City?” “What. The fuck.” “That bad?” “No. What,” Cold repeated, jabbing a finger in the tiara’s direction, “the fuck. Why did you bring that into my house?” Mick looked over at the tiara, then back at Cold like it should be self-explanatory. “Hit a couple snags on my heist and I needed to lay low for a bit.” “So you brought this shit to me?” Mick sat up, a scowl beginning to work its way onto his face. “Never bothered you before.” “The hell it didn’t! You know I hate when you take advantage of the fact you know when I’m not around!” It wasn’t a new argument, just like Mick hiding out in Cold’s place whenever the heat was on wasn’t new. Still aggravated the hell out of Cold because he was trying to keep some sort of distance between their personal and professional lives, given how they were on different sides professionally speaking. This time, though, Cold was just tired. He didn’t want to deal with bullshit but here was Mick, dumping it in the middle of his goddamn living room. “You told me I could come by whenever I needed to, even if you weren’t here.” “That doesn’t mean use my place to stash your stolen goods!” Mick bristled and stood. “Do you really think it makes things any better if you don’t have to see it? Like it makes what I do any more legal if you don’t know about it?” “Don’t start that shit up again,” Cold said, pulling off his gloves and throwing them in the direction of a table. He retreated toward his bathroom but Mick was right there, face dark. “So now the discussion you started is my fault, too? Well, surprise, Snart! I’m a thief! I do illegal shit all the time! None of that changed just because you get to stick your dick in my ass sometimes!” “What about you? Did you magically forget I’m a cape? I got the good grace to look the other way on occasion but that don’t mean you can walk all over me! The least you can do is not drag me into your shit!” Mick got real red in the face and Cold knew he’d just jabbed deep into one of Mick’s issues but, at that moment, he really didn’t care. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll leave you alone since I’m just dragging you down.” If he were a smarter man, Cold would have apologized. Were he as cold as his moniker suggested, he would have just let Mick go. Instead, when Mick picked up the tiara, Cold said, “Drop it, Rory.” Mick froze and when he turned his shoulders broadened, doing a very good job of appearing bigger than he was. “You really gonna do this, Snart?” Cold’s hand didn’t go to his gun still holstered at his thigh but the way he stood made it obvious that that was a conscious decision. “You’re not going anywhere with that thing.” Mick snarled and for a brief, heart clenching moment, Cold was certain Mick was going to test him on that. Instead, Mick half turned and threw the tiara out the open window. Cold watched it sail out, stunned, and Mick stalked to the door, roughly shouldering him aside. “Go get it, hero.” ~*~*~*~ When he materialized in Cadmus, Cold was glad to find the people there to meet him were human. At least to appearances. He didn’t know much about the place asides from its love of genetic experimentation but Cold had met a couple of what they called DNAliens and, call him a speciest, they kind of freaked him out. Harper was there to give him a curt nod and, “Captain Cold.” Cold bit back a sneer. “Guardian.” He’d told Harper to keep him updated on Mick’s activities under the guise of trying to figure out his plan. Ultimately all that happened was it proved what a damn masochist Cold was, hearing about how Mick was apparently making a life for himself half a hemisphere away. Mick only showed up in costume when Superboy was out with his team, Harper was certain Mick had managed to befriend the Kid under a civilian guise. Considering he hadn’t been created with an identity to keep secret, this didn’t surprise Cold. Superboy wasn’t stupid but he had all the awareness of any other teenager: if it didn’t personally affect him and wasn’t pointed out to him, he wasn’t aware of it. But the thing that got Cold the most was how Mick had been acting around Harper. Bantering. Puns. Letting Harper get in close when his heat gun worked best at a midrange. On the occasions Mick had been forced to abandon his objective, he still went off with a grin and a promise of seeing Harper again soon. He was flirting. He was being a goddamn tease and the knowledge it was being wasted on Harper who hadn’t even noticed drove Cold mad. Not Harper's fault, Cold told himself. As if he normally listened to his own logic. Not his fault. Though Cold couldn’t help noticing the way Harper was gradually becoming more fidgety. Like there was something he was trying to edge toward as he caught Cold up on recent happenings. Never one to beat around the bush, Cold snapped out, “What?” That seemed to startle Harper and, it was a little difficult to see due to the helmet, but Cold thought he was turning slightly red. “Ah, sorry. I was going to ask, it’s probably just misinterpretation on my part-” “Just say it.” “Does, uh, is Heatwave normally very… flirty? With you?” Cold sucked in a breath and willed his fist to stay at his side. It wasn’t Harper’s fault, he told himself. He didn’t know and it sounded like it was on Mick’s part only. For now. He caught a growl in his throat and, when he thought he could talk without biting Harper’s head off, he said, “No point in wasting time. Where is he?” ~*~*~*~ He’d barely materialized on the teleporter pad when someone shouted, “Len!” and suddenly arms were crushing the breath out of him. “You’re alright.” It took a moment for Cold’s exhausted brain to place the wavering voice as Mick’s. “Thank God, I thought… I didn’t know what to think.” He sniffed loudly and muffled quietly into Cold’s shoulder, “Fuck.” It took some doing to untangle his arms from Mick’s hold but Cold manage to cup Mick’s face, pulling him back just enough to look at him, relief sinking in bone deep. “Are you okay?” Mick laughed, tears in his eyes and gripping Cold like he might disappear. “You hero types are the ones that drop like flies during these kinds of things.” He went quiet again, pushing back Cold’s hood so he could rub soothingly at the base of his neck and Cold was so tired, emotionally and physically, that he was tempted to fall asleep just from that. “There was a list. I didn’t find your name on it but… I couldn’t be sure. Everything had gone crazy. It was like… like when Scudder died.” Cold’s grip on Mick tightened. “I heard you were in that tangle in Metropolis.” Cold closed his eyes, throat knotting. The thought that he could have lost Mick- and Lisa -without even knowing about it… it made something in Cold’s chest tighten painfully. “The two of us and Hart were helping evacuate civvies. We kept away from the worst of the fighting.” Cold jerked back to find Lisa, just as dirty and worn as Mick, lounging nearby, her skates carelessly tossed aside for once. “We’re fine, too, by the way.” There was more relief than tease in her grin. “Oh, uh.” Cold’s eyes darted between his sister and Mick, whose face was again tucked against Cold’s neck. “Just kiss the man,” Lisa said. She leaned over to grab her skates. “Not like I haven’t walked in on you two doing worse.” Still, just for his own pride, Cold waited until she sauntered- more of a limp, really -out before he did just as she said. Mick sighed against his lips. “C’mon,” Cold told him. “Let’s go to bed. We can clean up in the morning.” ~*~*~ Hawaii, he decided, was overrated. It was hot and humid and apparently rained at random times. He supposed it was pretty if you liked that sort of thing, but overall it looked like everywhere else. Trees and flowers and people and buildings, just like any other city, just with different detailing. Taking Harper’s advice, Cold headed off in the direction Kon had last been seen going. There was a path off the main road that looped around the side of Cadmus, leading to a small, rarely used clearing that had become overgrown with grass and brush. Kon liked going there sometimes, when he need some place quiet to get his thoughts in order. It wasn’t difficult to get to from any direction, Harper said, it just wasn’t popular with the locals. Cold- thankfully having the foresight to wear civvies -kept along the path, grumbling to himself because did there really have to be so much damn vegetation? Then he rounded a corner to find Kon lounging on his back a good six or so feet in the air and sitting on top of a worn picnic table, paint coming off it in curls, was Mick. Now Cold would deny to his dying day that he had anything resembling a romantic bone in his body but… it was so damn good just to see Mick again. He wore a light t-shirt, shorts and a ballcap, just chatting with Kon about whatever. But seeing that easy little grin on Mick’s lips, that spark of humor in his eyes, it made a tension knot that had been sitting unknowingly in Cold’s chest ease. He knew, then and there, he was going to bring Mick back somehow. “Kid,” Cold called out as he approached, “take a fly around.” Kon looked at him, thoroughly confused. “Cold? What are you doing here? And why should I listen to you?” Constantly challenging authority, Cold always liked that about Kon. “‘Cause he’s one of mine and I need to talk to him.” He pointed at Mick in confusion. “He’s- wait, what?” “Mick Rory. Heatwave.” He stopped a few feet from the bench, ignoring Mick’s glower. “He’s mine.” Kon’s expression ran the gamut of confused to betrayed to angrily ashamed of himself. “You said your name was Rory Calhoun. Oh my god. Guardian said you’ve been popping up while I wasn’t here and I still didn’t make that connection, I’m such an idiot.” “Kid, c’mon.” Mick reached over and patted Kon’s ankle, the only that was within reach. “No one’s expecting you to remember the real names of every single costumed criminal in the world." “Ugh, I need to go be embarrassed in private.” He peeked up at Cold between his fingers. “Don’t tell Rob.” Cold scoffed. “Like I’d voluntarily tell any of the Bats anything. Imp, on the other hand...” “No, don’t tell Impulse! Everyone will know about it, even the Lanterns on Oa!” Cold chuckled. “Relax, Kid. I just need to talk to Mick. Anything more than that, I don’t really care.” Kon narrowed his eyes at Cold, still not convinced until Mick said, “It's alright, Kon. Guess I’ve held it off long enough.” For a moment it looked like Kon was still going to argue but eventually he said, “Fine. But if he gives you any trouble, just call out my name. I’ll hear you.” Then, just before leaving, he gave Cold an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture. Cold went over to the picnic table, climbing up to sit on the top with Mick, leaving ample space between them. They both stared off into the distance until Cold broke the silence first. “You’re pretty good with the Kid.” Mick just shrugged, that even expression never leaving his face. “He’s a good kid in kind of a shitty situation. It’s like the people he lives with a half babysitter, half his boss. He doesn’t really have anyone to talk to that’s not one of his friends. Can’t really get an adult’s perspective when the only adults you know are co-workers.” “So you came all the way over here to play therapist for Superboy?” Mick turned, slowly, to give Cold a hard look. “Is that really what you came here to talk about?” “Ah… no.” Cold turned his eyes back to the ground. The silence stretched brittle between them. “You’ve been gone a while.” Mick just made a flat noise. “It’s not the same without you around,” he tried. “I, uh, I missed you.” To his surprise, Mick sneered. “Don’t know why. Not like you don’t have options.” Thrown by the sudden venom, Cold pulled back a little. “What does that mean?” The silence that fell between them this time was vibrating and on the verge of snapping. This time Mick was the one that broke it. “You said you’d date Wonder Woman.” The words were so low, so petulantly muttered that Cold was certain he didn’t hear right. “What?” “You said in an interview,” Mick said louder, seething between his teeth, “that you’d date Wonder Woman.” “So?” Mick threw his hands in the air. “Right. Of course. What was I thinking. Why would you care about a side piece, right? Fuck me for having emotions.” “Wait, stop- what are you talking about?” “I’m talking about how this- us -means nothing to you!” “Who the hell said that?” “You said you’d date Wonder Woman!” “Everyone has a thing for Wonder Woman. I know for a fact that you do, too!” Cold glared, leaning into Mick’s space. “You honestly gonna tell me that you wouldn’t jump at the chance if she asked you on a date.” “That… that’s not the point!” “I said her because she’s safe! Everyone in the League is a little bit in love with her, no one would blame me or think it actually means something that I say that.” Cold scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not like I can tell the fucking press I’m involved with one of my damn Rogues, now can I?” Mick just looked away, lips folded together and jaw clenched tight. Cold reached over and palmed Mick’s shoulder and, when he didn’t flinch away, pulled him into a one-armed hug. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were a side piece or that I don’t care about you. I wish… fuck, I wish things were easier. I wish you came to me instead of just running off.” His own words made Cold pause. “You usually handle this sort of stuff more maturely. Moreso than me, at least. Why’s this different?” Mick pulled away, just far enough that he could brace his elbows against his knees and forehead against his hands. “I’ve been thinking. About… what I do. The kind of person I am. And that maybe I could change that. Be something other than a crook with a flamethrower. Probably wouldn’t go as far as Piper did. Maybe more… Selena’s level. Going after people that deserve it, maybe helping the capes out when they need it. Not looking to be a hero but someone… someone you can actually tell people that you care about.” Cold’s breath caught in his throat, the hand he was rubbing over Mick’s back stilling. “Wait… you were… you were going to change alliance? For me? Mick… I...” “I want to be with you,” he said quietly. “Flirting and fighting and quickies in alleys are fun but… I want more than that.” He looked up at Cold, brown eyes dark and vulnerable in a way Cold had rarely seen them before. “I want to be by your side.” Cold slide his hand down to grabbing Mick’s tightly. “Mick… I had no idea…” That would be an incredible jump to make, one that would take a lot of work and faith- and then that stupid interview happened. “Look- that interview, I was just saying what they wanted to hear. You know that’s how those are.” “I know but…” Mick swallowed hard, hands tightening around Cold’s. “I’m not used to being happy. It’s like… every time I am, something goes wrong. Usually it’s me, the fire taking control and I can’t stop it. So when I read what you said I just… I thought that that was it. The universe decided that I’d been happy with you long enough it decided to take you away.” He laughed, eyes a little wet. “It hurt so bad I didn’t want to think about it. I just… ran.” Cold surged forward, catching Mick’s lips in a harsh, searing kiss that left them both breathless. “You haven’t lost me yet,” he growled. “And I’ll fight like hell every time the universe tries to break us apart.” He stared into Mick’s eyes, intense and defiant. “But you gotta fight, too. I want to be with you. I want to be happy with you and I want to make you happy, but I can’t do it alone. Promise me. Next time you think the universe or fate or whatever is trying to take that away, you’ll fight just as hard.” Mick laughed, pulling Cold in for a bone crushing hug. “Yeah. Promise.” He breathed in deeply and Cold nuzzled against his cheek. “Take me home?” “Damn right I will. I gotta ask, though,” Cold pulled back a bit. “Why Hawaii?” Mick shrugged. “Different location, different climate, different culture. About as far as I could get from Kansas without leaving the country.” “So, uh,” he cleared his throat. “It wasn’t because you like Guardian or something?” “Eh,” Mick shrugged. “He’s alright. Definitely nice to look at but that’s about it.” “So the flirting thing…?” “Trying to distract myself from you.” Cold was oddly flattered. “Did it work?” “Nah. It was like flirting with a brick wall. Guy’s got a stick wedged too far up his ass for anything fun. Or maybe he just hates crooks that much.” Mick gave him a sly, seductive smile that ratcheted Cold’s heart up a notch. “I prefer someone that’ll give as good as they can get.” “Sounds like my kind of guy. You find someone like that, introduce me.” Mick let out a little laugh, letting Cold lean in close. “I’ll think about it.” Cold chuckled, head tilted until they were forehead to forehead. “Ugh. If I had parents I imagine this is what it would feel like watching them flirt.” They both pulled back to glare at Kon, floating above their heads on this stomach, hands folded under his chin and heels kicking idly. He couldn’t look any more comfortable than if he were on a bed. “You mind?” Cold growled. Kon just shot that disgruntled look right back at him. “What? I went for a fly around and it sounded like you two were wrapping up your conversation. Remember, this is my island, not yours. Series of islands. Whatever.” “Fine,” Mick said lightly, pushing himself off the picnic table. He reached back for Cold’s hand, tugging him along. “Since we’re not wanted, we may as well head back to Keystone.” Kon abruptly sat up, looking slightly alarmed. “It’s not that you’re not wanted. Well, Rory at least. Don’t really have strong feelings about Cold either way. But, y’know. You can come over. If you want.” Kon shrugged, trying to look nonchalant about it. “I’m sure Guardian and Dubbilex will be okay with it if you let ‘em know first.” Mick’s lips quirked upward, undeniably charmed by the teen’s awkward offer. “Honestly, I think it’ll be easier on everyone if we do it the other way around.” “Mick-” “Really?” Kon blurted out. “You don’t mind?” “I mind!” Cold interrupted and Mick just looked at him coolly. “Good thing he won’t be visiting you, then.” Cold sighed dramatically. “Fine. But none of your youth justice group gets to tag along. I get Imp zipping through every other day because he doesn’t want to deal with Flash or that old guy.” “You’re such a bleeding heart,” Mick teased fondly. “Yeah, yeah, sure.” Kon finally touched down with a sigh and crossed arms. “I’m really annoyed that you guys are together, by the way. Now I owe Booster $20.” “Why would you bet with Booster?” Cold asked, somewhat aghast. “Did no one tell you never do that?” “But it seemed like such a random pick! How was I suppose to know?” “The more random it seems, the more likely he is to be right,” Cold drawled. “You know why everyone says never to bet with Booster? ‘Cause he’s a history major from the future.” “He’s what? Oh, that little sneak!” Mick leaned in close to ask, “Are you telling me our relationship is important enough to be recorded and taught in history books?” “Well, the alternative is that bimbo figured it out on his own.” He paused. “I’m not sure which is more unlikely.” “Same.” Cold- daringly for him -wrapped an arm around Mick’s waist and began ushering him back to the labs. “Well, lesson learned, Kid. But we got places to be, can’t hang around here all day.” “For the record, I’m glad you’re not dead anymore!” Mick called over his shoulder as Kon waved them on. He leaned over to Cold. “How is he not dead anymore?” “I don’t know, I’ve just stopped being surprised whenever a dead hero randomly shows up again.”

[braindamageforbeginners]

The apocalypse is here

Pictured above: Either the I5 North or the current political races. I’m no longer sure. So, this will take a bit of time to get to, but I promise it’ll be good. I guarantee that, I’ll be quoting directly from candidate statements/descriptions (we’ll get back to the abyss soon enough, and the time a DIY project almost killed/crippled Dad)(the man attempted an electrical project, I’d like to point I quietly though this was a bad idea). Anyway, I’m certain that decent, kind, honest, noble, and educated and mostly-human Congresscritters must exist - people do vote for them, after all. However, having met one Congressman and, being lied to the staff of another (pro-tip; no matter how pro-military or manly and awesome you like to think you are, it’s not a reassuring thing to your constituents if there’s an explosion on a large photo in your office. So I have rather low regard for them, as a group (I know, that’s baseless stereotyping).

So you can imagine my surprise at coming to rest in Daryl Issa’s old district, a man so loathed even by his own party that they quietly told him to go away. I’ve seen a lot of strange political events, but, believe me when I say I’ve never seen anything like this; a completely vacant Congressional seat that could be inhabited by a Democrat, Republican, Libertarian, Green, or even some type of salamander (the salamander would’ve been an improvement over Jerry Lewis). Anyway, since there are also assorted state assembly judicial races at stake, they’re all included in this pamphlet (and potentially included in this oversized piece). As usual, I will be selecting choice quotes, and, remember, candidates may include an age and/or occupation.

Kistin Gaspar: “[...] A mother, small business owner, and the mayor of encinitas, she has the get-it-done approach we need in Congress.” Fantastic, just as I start to enjoy the peace and quiet of life without Larry the Cable Guy in the public light, there’s this call-back. Or so I thought, until I found out that the “Get It Done” app is used in our area to report “non-emergency problems to the city.” Now, I hate potholes as much as any American (possibly more, since I used to live in a country where drivers used them to help corner while going 80 mph on unpaved roads). Still, “Fixing potholes” seems a little below the pay-grade of a pre-conviction congresswoman.

Diane Harkey: Healthcare: Diane will worke for policies that increase choice, costs, and allow patietns and doctors to decide what care is best. No, no, she isn’t. Diane’s endorsed/puppeted by the American Independent Party, so she has about as much chance of winning as a large rock. But, more importantly, I’m pretty sure the AIP is only concerned with healthcare as a business that sends them money. The big take-away here is less what I say, and more the fact that third party-associated candidates with little-to-no chance of winning feel compelled to tell everyone their healthcare system will be fine, even if it won’t.

David Medway: “I want to protect working families from increasing taxes, healthcare bills, and gun violence (while protecting our right to bear arms). I want to prevent national catastrophes like pandemics (which I wrote a book about) and environmental disasters (such as protecting our coastline from nuclear waste and oil spills that would devastate our shores). I support women’s rights and the melting pot of cultures tha tmake up California. I support lower taxes, less government and the best healthcare and education in the world for all Americans at reasonable prices. Please define “reasonable,” sir, I suspect our answers will differ. Also, you’ll notice he’s making the classic math mistake - better, improved services at a mere fraction of the tax cost! Which is a bullshit political statement/proposal. You might be able to get a great vaccuum cleaner for a fraction of the name-brand because slavery is still totally legal in some parts of the world (meaning the company saves a lot on payroll), and wholesalers/transportation will give bulk purchase discounts. Unless your local police and firefighters are staffed by robots (always a possibility), imagine City Hall telling them that they now have to do the same job, only much better, and with a pay cut. Oh, and we’re firing one-in-three of their employees. Society tried hat in Silicon Valley (with choppy results), I don’t think you want to try it with ambulances.

Crag Nordal: “I am an Evangelical Christian who will defend and protect Israel, protect innocent human life from conception to birth, and to natural death, defend and protect marriage between a man and a woman, restore Christian and Jewish morals and ethics to our public schools, and protect religious freedoms. I vow to enforce and enhance border security, build that wall, protect and defend our 2nd Amendment as an NRA life member, and wok to shrink government daily and drain that swamp. I believe I have a conviction from God, to enter this race. I ask that you consider my moral character and conviction above any other experience or attributes. Nothing is more important in selecting our leaders in in the Congress of the United States of America. Our country is engaged in a spiritual battle between the guiding force of moral law and those that are working to remove God from every aspect of our society. We need Christian moral leaders to stand up and fight for the God given rights that our Founding Fathers based our Declaration of Independence and the United States Constitution. In the creation of this great country God and His laws were relied on to form the greatest founding documents of any country ever formed by men, and thereby the greatest country ever conceived. The United States was formed to be God’s hammer in this world to contain and destroy evil.” Holy shit (almost literally), is there a lot to discuss - I included all of it because every time I thought I’d gotten to the funny/pertinent point, it went on, like a Harry Potter book . First of all, even though you get looney-tune candidates like this and parts of the GOP that always like to nod to the idea of instituting a theocracy, let’s get that out of the way; this is basic civics, First Amendment expressly forbids the idea of instituting a state religion. Speaking of which, even if that were legally possible, whose religion? When he simultaneously restores Jewish and Christian ethics to the schools, will bacon be allowed in those schools? You get a different answer depending on if you go to church on Saturday or Sunday (which is also something different Christian sects have different ideas on). For the purposes of brevity, I’ll have to just say, everyone’s welcome to their own religion, but the institution of a theocracy - while appealing in theory - would be horrific, brutal, and possibly genocidal (I’ll admit I like the idea of communism, in theory, but I’ve seen enough of the results in the real world to know it’s not a good idea). Also, I appreciate his desire to look after Israel, which is always a positive attribute when you’re voting for someone to look after your own country’s interests (I know there’s a tenuous Biblical connection, but, come on, guys, Isarel’s gotta start fending for itself)(the flip side of hat sentiment would be, “We can talk about Israel when every American has a job, home, and healthcare”). And there’s “I believe I have a conviction from God.” We all have convictions, maybe some of them come from God, but most are personal. Unless he means “I believe I have a mission from God.” Which is more grammatically correct, and, compared to the rest, no crazier or dumber. BTW, I feel like I have to put out a disclaimer about religion and say that I don’t really care if you’re religious, or, as long as it’s not hurting anyone to what extent your religion informs policy proposals (and I wouldn’t expect anyone to be able to determine exactly where one ends and the other begins; our minds just aren’t built that way) - there’s a massive difference between that and standing up in the middle of church (let alone Congress) and shouting, “GOD COMMANDS ME TO CAST OUT THE UNWORTHY.” I do like his demand that we judge him exclusively on his faith and not on what he says, does, or anything else that might involve objective reality. Oh, and that bit about “God’s hammer in this world” really upset me when I first read it, and I couldn’t figure why, until I remembered this quote, “ "I am the Flail of God. If you had not committed great sins, God would not have sent a punishment like me upon you. “ which is attributed to Genghis Khan (even if you think the temporary stability and increased trade in Asia as a result of the Mongol Empire is awesome, remember that 40-60 million people died due to his campaigns and policies)(the Mongols tended to obliterate cropland, so whoever they didn’t kill usually starved).

Robert Pendleton MD, PhD - Surgeon/Biochemist/Small Businessman/Visual Artist: “ My name is Robert Pendelton Md PhD and I feel a calling to awaken the apathetic and unite disenfranchised moderates. I am an eye-surgeon, biochemist, small businessman, and visual artist, and the K9USA Party is my vision for a better world. K9 is a political party and philosophy of decision-making based upon the attributes of dogs that make “man’s best-friend” so special: Unconditional Love, Simple Needs, and Readiness to Defend. Adapted to national politics, international politics, and our personal lives, these attributes become the nine K9 principles: Socially Progressive, Fiscally Conservative, and militarily prepared (national, Altruistic, Sovereign, and United (international), and Loving, Lean and Strong (personal).2020 Application of K9 Principles yields the “six results” of Tolerance, Security, Health, Happiness, Peace and Freedom. My “2020 Vision” is for the K9USA Party to elect a majority of representatives (50% women) to the United States Congress and Presidency by the year 2020... Donkeys and elephants have failed. It’s time for dogs to lead.” I have only just heard of this man and I love him.

[tessatechaitea]

Batman #87

James Tynion IV and Guillem March team up to make me stop buying Batman.

Part of me just wants to write "UGH!" and be done with reviewing this comic book. But another part of me is hungry. But still another part of me, the one that is against just typing "UGH!", is outraged that I just paid five dollars for a regular issue of Batman because of a stupid glossy and thick cover and that part of me demands that I vent more fully. And yet that's not even why I'm fucking livid! That's just my first and most shallow complaint! I'd prefer if DC Comics just gave me a regular issue of Batman with a regular comic book cover and simply printed on that cover, "We know this is the exact same quality comic book that we'd sell for $3.99 usually but it has Batman in it which means it will sell way more copies than the other issues we sell and we want that sweet, sweet extra dollar per issue windfall!"

Complaint #2: The Riddler believes that a riddle without a solution is the greatest riddle.

Never mind that Guillem March drew The Riddler naked while he's thinking about the greatest riddle ever while on weapons grade amphetamines and he has no visible erection. That's a minor side complaint that I simply assume was on everybody's list of things wrong with this issue. But the revelation that James Tynion IV doesn't understand the concept of riddles is beyond criticism. It's post-critical! The entire purpose of a riddle is that it has a fucking clever answer! A riddle with no answer is a mystery and The Riddler isn't called The Mysteryer! A riddle with no answer is something The Mad Hatter might be into but not The Riddler, Mr. Scott-Snyder-Lite IV! And before some Riddler-loving cuck nerd decides to argue that what Tynion meant was that The Riddler loves a super duper challenging riddle, let me say this: "Then he should have fucking wrote that in the dialogue, shouldn't he have? Not that a 'riddle with no solution' is 'a riddle befitting a riddler.' But 'a riddle with a fucking super tough and challenging solution' is 'a riddle befitting a riddler.' Now go jerk off to your tepid Riddler sex role play Tumblr blog." Just an aside about my use of the word 'cuck': it's just fucking funny to use! The only good thing the terrible incel Internet community (unless I mean the MRA community (unless I mean the PUA community (it probably doesn't matter. They probably mostly share the middle area in a Venn diagram))) has done for this world is to bring back the insult "cuck." I don't even care about using it in the historically accurate way! I don't actually care if Riddler fans' spouses have a little extra side of ass on the down low. It's just fun to say! Plus, if you say it to the kind of person who actually thinks "cuck" is a scathing insult, they get super fucking angry when called one! It's Goddamned hilarious.

Complaint #3: Guillem March's depiction of The Riddler.

Yes, yes. March fixes my whole "The Riddler doesn't have a visible erection" problem from the first scan by implying one with his Riddle Wand here. But the main problem is why did March think The Riddler suddenly needed to look like Bernie Wrightson's Anton Arcane? The Riddler has always just been a skinny creep who was so into getting punched in the face by a muscular man in a bat costume that he planted clues that would ensure it happened. But I guess March has decided that his obsession needed to be mirrored in his physical appearance? Or is it a kind of pervasive attitude that Batman is such a scary and serious fucking cartoon hero that his villainous gallery of rogues has to be just as wickedly serious and horrific? Sometimes it feels like fans still feel as if the Batman television show was some kind of pernicious poison that, to this day, needs continual application of anti-toxin. "Batman isn't silly and his villains shouldn't be either," scream the rabid base of comic book fans that take this shit way too seriously. Hey! Fuck you! I'm angry for valid reasons and not stupid comic book fan reasons! Don't try to use my own words against me!

Complaint #3: Guillem March's depiction of The Penguin.

See my previous argument for Complaint #2. Although there's a history of making The Penguin as creepy and fucked up as possible because nobody needs the image of Burgess Meredith playing The Penguin to already come to the conclusion that a short dapper fat man with a bird obsession isn't the most intimidating villain, even with the mob attitude and homicidal tendencies.

Complaint #4: Batman and Catwoman's banter.

My main complaint with this conversation is that Batman and Catwoman never once argue about whether they met on a boat or on the street. I thought that was how they always began conversations! Also, they don't call each other "Bat" and "Cat." I'm sure a lot of people are thrilled about this change. But to me, it's a slow reset to getting them back to a relationship that denies the strength of their love and commitment to each other. They're slipping back into professional modes of communication! Next thing you know, we'll find out that Alfred didn't really die! It was Clayface the entire time and Alfred simply let people believe he was dead so he could have a peaceful vacation for once in his long life of servitude to an obsessed man-boy with too much money. Okay, that's enough poking fun at Tom King and the people who hated Tom King. I'm sure I'll get my fill of the Bat/Cat relationship whenever King's Bat Loves Cat comic book comes out. Let me be serious about my complaint in this paragraph (although not the kind of serious where I'm a comic book fan taking shit too seriously! The kind of "serious" where I pretend to be in an apoplectic rage which convinces a number of casual readers into thinking things like "This fucking Lobo fanboy wants to fuck Lobo in the face" and "Why is this nerd so obsessed with Supergirl's butthole? Can't he get a real woman down at the real club where he probably dances like a fucking dreamboat?"). Batman is supposed to be the World's Greatest Detective and yet he engages in stupid retorts like "What makes you think I don't have that device?" You fucking imbecile! What makes her think that was expressly stated by Catwoman when she said you wouldn't have needed to ask her if she was still with the body! Also, even Batman can't have that technology because it would take magic to use that technology and Batman is against magic which is why he keeps Kryptonite on hand to defeat Superman instead of the Ace of Winchesters. Side Complaint #4: Guillem March draws asses in the uncanny valley. He wants you to know they're sexy asses that do more than poop and fart. But he tries too hard to make them sexy and they fall into the uncanny valley of sexy asses. Those are asses where you go, "No, no. I can see that that ass is sexy but I am not in any way going to put my tongue into it." Complaint #5: The villains' plan is so complex that it relies on things that couldn't have been planned for happening. This is a standard complaint of mine and such a comic book trope that I probably should have gotten over being upset by it twenty years ago. I suppose it's why I stopped reading comic books for ten of those twenty years though. A bunch of assassins planned to get caught so that one of them could escape so that Batman would be distracted by that one while the others escaped. Batman falls for it although this time there's a twist to a plan so well planned that it works no matter what the hero does: this plan was stolen! This plan was originally the Penguin's plan and he recognized it when the first part fell into place: five assassins came to Gotham and were caught by Batman. Yeah, see? That was part of this stupid plan! So at least The Penguin is going to interfere with this awesome plan. Although, being that the plan was so well planned, the person who stole the plan probably planned for The Penguin to recognize the plan and to interfere. So The Penguin interfering is probably now part of the overall plan.

Complaint #6: Batman builds a prison that even he can't get out of which means Deathstork gets out of it immediately.

Every time, right? Every time a hero does something that is super duper foolproof to the nth degree of foolproofness, they get fooled! Fool the DC villains once, shame on the DC villains. Fool the DC Villains twice, and, well, you know what? That's never actually happened because they've never actually been fooled once. They only get fooled in the ultimate issue of a story arc when the hero decides maybe they should redouble their efforts and buck up their willpower and believe in themselves slightly more than they did in the previous five issues.

Complaint #7: A Cheshire-sized clay body double was captured by Batman, hauled into custody by police, and locked up without anybody noticing.

Batman uses the word "clay" so I'm assuming we're supposed to believe this is some kind of non-Clayface clayface body double? Some kind of mindless automaton that walks and moves and blinks and breathes and acts exactly like a living person? Sure, it's not presented in that way. But the audience has to assume some level of intelligent trickery went down here or else they're going to read this and think, "Batman was fooled by a squishy, drippy sex doll? This is worse for the Batman mythos than when Kevin Smith had Batman confess to peeing his pants!" Complaint #8: Both Deathstork and Cheshire tell Batman they're "playing a game." Why do they call their terrible and vicious crimes a game? It's bullshit to make everything the villains do some kind of contest pitted against Batman. It inherently makes super hero comics less about trying to make the world a better place and more about how heroes are the cause of all of the trouble because the villains' only ever expressed motive is to best the heroes. It's lazy and ultimately damaging to the entire medium. Yes, I said the entire medium! That's not hyperbole! But that was facetiousness!

Complaint #9: Cheshire wears see-through undies and we never get to see them from the front.

Okay fine. Not all of March's asses are in the uncanny valley. That one is staunchly in the valley of cans. Sweet, sweet cans.

Complaint #10: Batman kills Cheshire.

Sure, sure. Cheshire is still talking after getting creamed by a semi truck so Batman didn't really kill her. But he should have killed her doing this and the only way we accept that she isn't dead after smashing her face into an advancing semi is because we, the reader, know Batman doesn't kill. Maybe Batman lovers would defend this as an accident brought on by Cheshire herself. But then what is Batman's defense in letting her get smashed by a truck instead of saving her from being smashed by a truck in the amount of time it takes him to smugly say, "Brace yourself"? This fits into my belief that Batman has killed dozens of people but they die later at the hospital after which he can pin the deaths on the doctors who failed to save them from the mortal injuries Batman gave them. Side Complaint #10: Cheshire's last words are asking Batman how he survived her poison. I mean, she's obviously dying here and that's all she cares about? I would think she'd be all, "Tell my daughter I love her! ACK!" Batman #87 Rating: C. I think I made my points. My main problem now is that I've declared I'm going to stop buying Batman but I'm not the sort of person who avoids staring at train wrecks.

[ramrodd]

Where were you on May 4, 1970?

On 4 May 1970, I wanted to get out of the Georgia sun and into some air conditioning before the starch in my summer khaki uniform wilted completely.

COMMENTARY:

I assume that you mean, where were you when you heard about Kent State?

My first visual memory that comes up is walking just south of the Post PX/Commisary cluster at Ft. Benning with the packet of my orders to Vietnam in my hand as I was clearing off post going to some office I had to present a copy of the orders to. The US Army has always depended heavily on personal initiative from the Seven Years War, going forward. It is still pretty much the frontier society it was the day George Custer dropped a letter to his wife off at the Quartermaster and trotted cheerfully off to glory. As a result of MacNamara, the Army community was beginning to lose some of this capacity that showed up for me on C-SPAN in the run-up to Desert Storm: the community was very sluggish. The Army noticed and began to fix that in 1994 just in time for the continuing decades of high cycle deployment the applied stupidity of Richard “Dick” Cheney and the neo-cons created with their historic and totally unnecessary diplomatic blunder compounded by their cosmic incompetence when they got us into Iraq and realized that the planning for occupation based on chocolates and flowers suffered from the basic operational assumptions inherent in “The Art of the Deal” and Duck Ass Don’s government shut down and tarriff wars.

But on 4 May, 1970, I was done with spring training as a Boy Soldier and the next step was the Big Leagues. I mean, you don’t go to Ranger School to run a Wall Street bucket shop and Vietnam was where the series was being played that year.

Kent State was not a surprise to me: it was an accident waiting to happen. The Nation Guard had been gunning down black folks since 1963 in places like Watts, Detroit and DC: the only difference this time is that it was white kids getting shot down and the reaction of the mostly white anti-war mob was, from my perspective, virtually the same as Roger Stone’s complaints about being arrested like your average black male who happens to be in the room when the FBI breaks down the door with the right address on the warrant but the wrong address afor the perp. I mean, they let him pull on some pants and polo shirt for his perp walk and he got about the same kind of coverage the times George Clooney got arrested for DUI or something. I mean, come on. But I digress.

I was in ROTC at Indiana University from the beginning of the drafts in 1965 until I graduated in the lull between Nixon’s election and Kent State. On my way to report to Infantry Hall, I picked up a couple going to the Atlanta Pop Festival on the 4th of July and I took them there and stayed unti almost dark and listened to a lot of music I didn’t recognize and drove to Atlanta for a shower and a little clubbing. The Atlanta Pop Festival was the first in a series of concerts leading to Woodstock. I was going through the Patrolling Committee training of Officer’s Basic that weekend and I didn’t really get the scope of the gathering, but it was like a migration celebrating what they believed was the end of the war because the Selective Service was shutting down and the All Volunteer Military coming on line. And, all in all, I think Woodstock is probably the one thing that has prevented assholes like Steve Bannon and Newt Gingrich from finally blowing up America like John Galt in Atlas Shrugged. If you were there and you remember the underlying moral statement being made by everybody being there (I think first of Joan Baez’s cover of Joe Hill soaring across the crowd and, today, I can see AOC guiding a generation of Secular Humanists into the tabula rasa of the 19th Amendment), I went to Vietnam for exactly those values.

I know why I went to Vietnam and I haven’t changed my mind. AOC validates my expectations and, before her, Barack Hussein Obama. On 4 May 1970, I was on my way to do my bit to make sure Obama got elected President. I wasn’t surprised about Kent State except in the timing, because I was surprised by the sheer brilliance of the Cambodian Incursion, after the fact, and by the sheer chutzpah of Nixon launching the operation at all.

As I say, I am an Army brat and I was raised around major headquarters all my life until I actually reported for duty. I knew about the Tet Offensive Christmas before the Tet Offensive. Ft. Monroe knew about the godless commie cocksuckers were going to spring something and it was clear to everyone that the holiday of Tet was the first pitch. My Professor of Military Science at IU didn’t know it was coming during the last class of the semester. I may have asked the question, how did he, a Major with at least two tours at the company level behind him, measure progress in Vietnam and his answer was the party line coming out of Saigon at the time, but it wasn’t informed of Saigon’s expectations in the next three weeks.

I was surprised by Cambodia because I was no longer hooked into that command level except when I was home. It was now literally above my pay grade. At the time, my first response was that it was a very gutsy move on Nixon’s part because the memo the Woodstock Nation was circulating. This was before the Oliver Stone version of Vietnam solidified around the mythology Ken Burns presents in Vietnam because it was still happening, but the first complaint about the incursion was that Nixon was widening the war and that establishes the boundaries of the emerging mythology. The common wisdom of the Woodstock Nation is that we invaded Vietnam in 1961 and 1961 in order to prop up French Colonialism. Noam Chomsky riffs of several versions of what happened in Vietnam in 1962 and he’s full of shit, lingusitically speaking.

Anyway, Nixon stole the march on the NVA in Cambodia and Laos and on the expectaions of the MSM and the Woodstock Nation and landed the sucker punch on the godless commie cocksuckers that let Nixon keep his promise to turn the war over to Saigon and to pull the troops out of the country without reprising either Dien Bien Phu or Dunkirk. The NVA was a world class military and Hanoi fanatical about siezing Saigon as a property of the People, etc, but the US military kicked ass and took names and kicked what was left to the curb and, when I got there in July, just after everybody got back from their road trip, there were 525,000 American soldiers in Vietnam and when I left in May 1971, there was less than 165,000. The Army knew what it was doing and Nixon let them do it. The Cambodian Incursion probably avoided 30,000 US casualties as a low ball estimate and the only cost the Woodstock Nation tallys is 4 dead in Ohio. They don’t even count Jackson State, because, after all, it’s a black university and the National Guard had been gunning down black folks in places like Watts and Detroit and DC since 1963 and they weren’t white boys and girls.

Do you see how I could turn this into a sermon about #BlackLivesMatter and why it was important for me to to go Vietnam to make sure Obama got elected? I mean, if I was wrong in 2008, I’ve been wrong since 4 May 1970. And, if I was wrong in 1970, I might as well pony up for a MAGA hat and go kiss Nick Sandman’s ass at half-time in the Super Bowl for ever suggesting his MAGA hat was hate speech.

So, anyway, my first real response, walking across post in the sub-tropical George sun at high noon, was not surprise that it happened but that it took so long for it to happen if it happened at all. After all, the only thing about the Chicago Police Riots in 68 that prevented it becoming a lethal blood bath like something out of the Russian Revolution or Ghadi’s peaceful resistance movement. I’ve had a chance to review what happened and I think the troops just wanted to frighten the crowd by putting some live rounds over their heads: the sizzle of volley fire can discourage a heavy investment in a “fuck you” attitude facing troops with fixed bayonets. And a couple of them didn’t fire quite high enough.

And here’s why I believe it was an accident: I could put myself in the place of that company commander. I wouldn’t have issued live ammo in the first place. If even weekend warriors can’t handle a crowd, defensively, with fixed bayonets, they need to transfer to the Air Force. That’s the first thing. They had secured the public property and why anybody felt a need to clear the meadow is a bit hazy to me. It’s like a high-speed car chase: you don’t really want to catch him so much as pen him in: let time work for you.

I wasn’t there. I don’t know, but from what I do know, that’s what I would have planned to do. The Kent State protests were not really structure but spontaneous, kids on their way to class up for a little heckling of the National Guard. There were professors there, talking the crowd down and outrage was going to drain away, nation wide, as the military operation completed its mission and returned from the thrust, no harm, no foul. And then these kids get shot and it mobilizes everything, all over again.

But it was an accident. If I had been the CO and determined that lethal force was the necessary action, I would have killed everything going up that hill side and anybody trying to get away at the top. Not 4 dead. 400.

In the numerology of the Bible, 4 is what’s left after the Finger of God touches down. There were 67 rounds fired up that hill at Kent State and, in my application of the numerology of the Bible, 67 reduces, first, to 13 and 13 is an ideogram that symbolizes the triune crown of Yaweh, Queen of Battle, with a lightening bolt above Her crown, the Finger of God. And, then, 13 devolves to 4.

From a military point of view, Kent State was an accident waiting to happen, but, as a Secular Humanist and Christian heretic, I have come to see divine purpose in the event.

But on 4 May 1970, I really just wanted to get out of the sun and into some air conditioning before the starch in my summer khaki uniform wilted completely.

And that’s the truth.

[it7s]

It was: Colder than Antarctica in Chicago today, the day I went to court for the second time, and the day I got a rejection letter from UN.

I’m in Akron, or more exactly slightly south of Akron, somewhere between Akron and Oar’s Rest. Oar’s Rest is where we were pulled off that freight train back in 2009. Here is what I remember about that: When the cops pulled us off, they told us that if we had run, they wouldn’t have chased us, which I’ve always thought was ridiculous because we were sleeping when they found us. The night before they found us, I had clumsy almost entirely clothed missionary sex with this dude I was seeing at the time on a 2-foot-wide strip of frigid steel, inches from the edge of a void in that self-same metal, beneath which the ground was rushing past at probably like 80 mph. At the time, I viewed this as a sort of accomplishment, and I guess I still do. The cops who went through my backpack at booking remarked on how many pairs of underwear I had1. The people in county jail got mad if you shit in the latrine, because it stank up the area with the bunks. I mostly slept through jail and tried not to shit and sang for anyone who asked me to. The police took us to the Oar’s Rest municipal courthouse in leg irons and orange jumpsuits and while waiting to be loaded into what could only be called a paddywagon, the dude and I kissed this perfect movie kiss2. Let me remind you, we were wearing leg irons.

Today it came to light that Judge L., who sentenced us back in 2009 - in retrospect, a crossroads in the course of my life3 - had retired or resigned and I saw a new Judge, A.Z., who wanted to talk about the Fibonacci sequence with me while I was sitting at the Defendant’s table feeling sort of vaingloriously like I was on Law & Order and also anxious crying.

AZ: So you came all the way from [home state] for us? Please tell me you have some family or something you’re visiting.

SNF: I went to the Rock N Roll hall of fame?

At this point, laughter. The Judge tells the prosecutor to suggest some entertainment for me before I leave, then opens the record and asks me why I’m seeking the expungement. I explain that I’m afraid it might affect my chances at getting into a Ph.D. program in physics, but this isn’t what he wants.

AZ: I’ll be a little more pointed - imagine that you’re applying to the Ph.D. program at [top school of choice] and there’s one spot left, and you’re competing against another young person who, lo and behold, shares your name and looks exactly like you, except that they don't have a criminal record. Who do you think gets the position?

SNF: Well, the one without the criminal record.

AZ: And why do you think that is?

SNF: (Admits nervousness, repeats the question, begins to tear up) Because they have an understanding of how society works, and respect for its conventions?

He asks me about my field of study. It’s [mathematically-oriented subfield of physics].

AZ: You’ll have to help me, what… what exactly does that deal with?

I say something about natural numbers, prime numbers, and density.

AZ: So if I asked you to calculate the Fibonacci sequence, out to what degree could you do that?

SNF: Right now, maybe like 3.

AZ: Because I’ve made you nervous, right? But you could explain to the prosecutor what the Fibonacci sequence is, right?

The prosecutor doesn't want to hear about the Fibonacci sequence. She turns to me and says: "That's above my pay grade."

At the end of the hearing I feel inexplicably as if I want to stay in the courtroom for the rest of the workday just to be near the Judge. I’ve been waddling around all day in every piece of winter gear I own because it is almost as cold as Antarctica here. The Judge pronounced me rehabilitated, and congratulated me, and the clerk congratulated me and shook my hand and suggested that I make extra copies of the expungement papers because you never know. I waddled out to my shiny black rented Nissan Versa with Illinois plates. Then I drove away from Oar’s Rest and scream-cried into the windshield. I can’t imagine why I would ever return to Oar’s Rest, Ohio in the future.

So I get back to the shitty motel I’m staying at between Akron and Oar’s Rest and watch Storage Wars for awhile4. In a fit of compulsion I check my inbox for grad admissions letters again and find that I’ve been contacted by J.R.5, graduate coordinator at the UN math department, with a short rejection letter containing a lame excuse about UN having received “an unusually high number of applications this year,” as if had they received one fewer, I would have been accepted. This is significant because I told someone a few days ago about a feeling that I wouldn’t be accepted there, which when pressed about why I had the feeling I said I didn’t know, but really it was because [name] and [name] are on the admissions committee, and I’m aware that they don’t think much of me.

You buy them in a 12 pack. ↩︎

Later that year, I was staying with his family in Dallas, and his mom called me into the room while she was folding laundry. Carmen thought I was cute and called me "Polaca" and had a freaking ponderous collection of baskets in her sitting room.

Carmen folds the sleeve on a t-shirt into the middle of the rectangle she's making.

"It seems like you're good for my son," she says. I laugh nervously.

"Yeah, it's gotta be his lips," she says and sort of sighs. "Those lips." ↩︎

Railroad criminal trespass was, at the time, considered a class 4 felony in the state of Ohio, punishable by up to 18 months in state prison. I believe it still is. Had Judge L. not reduced the conviction to a class 1 misdemeanor, I could have served that time, never worked that weird carnival job, never met J2, never moved to the desert, maybe never gone into STEM at all. ↩︎

Storage Wars is a reality TV show set entirely in Southern California’s inland empire, wherein upper-middle-class couples in dysfunctional marriages and leathery bachelors with wraparound sunglasses bid on abandoned storage units and try to sell the stuff inside them. ↩︎

Who was definitely banging or at least making out with M.M. for awhile. I know. I saw them together. Later I saw her wearing this pretty conspicuous gold crucifix and things got more tense, I stopped seeing them together, and I’m pretty sure she’s dating this graduate student who is, finally, better than me in every conceivable way. ↩︎

[warlockextraordinaire]

Character Questionnaire

Full name

Caleas Mirlyth

Preferred name/nickname

Cal

Generally referred to as

Caleas

Appearance.

FACECLAIM: n/a SEX: male HEIGHT: 5′11 WEIGHT: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ light? BUILD: Thin as fuck, this dude is a toothpick HAIR: Long black hair, generally pushed to the side and well kept SKIN: pretty pale, not a lot of blemishes EYES:  fel green NOSE: sharp nose features, as well as the rest of his face SCARS: nah CLOTHES: typically wearing robes, fancy or not.

Speech.

ACCENT: thalassian, whatever that is VERBAL TICKS: n/a ARTICULATION: he articulates things, and sometimes too dramatically EDUCATION: MAGE SCHOOL EDUCATION BUT HE AIN’T A MAGE NO MORE LAUGHTER: Caleas laughs lightly usually, though when he truly does laugh, he gets embarrassed and probably snorts

Mannerisms.

FACE: he shows disgust and judgement a loooot, especially judgement. one judgey bitch HANDS: he gestures from time to time, usually when he’s frustrated or very into the convo POSTURE: typically proper PERSONAL SPACE: he favors his own personal space but won’t like, die if someones invading it

Health:

SLEEP: he doesn’t get enough sleep thanks to dumb nightmares and general insomnia but he does his best to not have bags like a certain warlock (lorisia) ODOUR: incense always lingers, plus a slight hint of sulfur NARCOTICS: socially ADDICTIONS: fel i guess, the power fel rewards is encouraging but he’s well aware that it can be negatively effecting him INJURIES: not typically

Personal.

INTROVERT/EXTROVERT?: extroverted tho he gets exhausted OPTIMIST/PESSIMIST: in between, but he’s usually pessimistic SEXUALITY: whatever happens, happens! ROMANTIC: he’s more for receiving romance than giving romance MEMORY: he’s p good about remembering things, even the things that don’t matter or are long gone to being important GOALS: be like, actually important. caleas is very personally driven and knows that he’s not a great Grand Warlock or anything, but still considers himself important for whatever reason, which becomes more of a cocky vain thing than anything. having respect and being successful are longterm definite goals INSECURITIES: he’s actually pretty insecure despite whatever facade he might put on to say otherwise - he probably won’t talk about it unless he reaaally trusts / knows the person, and with that he’s very dramatic and whiney ACHIEVEMENTS: uhh warlockery ANXIETY: yes, he’s an anxious person. nothing really in particular other than maybe anticipating what people think about him (which is probably negative) and mapping out social situations in his head that never happen SELF-HELP: himself! friends! (lorisia) COMFORTS: solitude or ignoring it BAD HABITS: not sleeping, sometimes smoking/drugs while stressed, anticipating what people think / say, hiding things from others, being vain

The Past.

PARENTS/GUARDIANS: no bueno - have not been in contact with his parents since he was essentially kicked from the family for picking up the fel. he’s in contact with Vemril, his older sibling, but caleas often regrets interacting SCHOOL: not a whole lot. paladin school? ADOLESCENCE: [How did puberty go? Was it a hard change? What was particularly hard (or easy) about it?] LEAVING HOME: [What was it like for them leaving home for the first time? What prompted them to move out of the home they grew up in?] FURTHER EDUCATION: [Did they go to college? University? What did they study, and how well did they do?] FIRST JOB: [What was their first job? Did they enjoy it?] LIFE EVENTS: leaving home and becoming independent pretty much immediately was a jump but he became self-sufficient pretty fast which helped a lot. parents are still a rough subject as well as any functional family, but nothing is too jarringly traumatic WORST DAY OF THEIR LIFE: not happened BEST DAY OF THEIR LIFE: [What happened?] LESSONS: [What are the most important things they have learned through experience?] LOOKING BACK: maybe he shouldn’t have done the fel? nahh the fel is cool. right? right.......?

Relationships.

FAMILY: Vemril + select friends. As previously stated, Caleas generally regrets interacting with Vemril because they’re typically not serious and when they are, he doesn’t find himself enjoying their presence as much as he did when they were kids. FRIENDSHIPS: ya, he’s social. perhaps not as much close friends as he would want, but there are plenty of ye olde friends FRIENDS IN NEED: caleas becomes a distant fucker when people are in need of help / soothing. not because he doesn’t care, but because he probably doesn’t know what to do and ends up aloof NEEDING A FRIEND: he tries to deal with things on his own but that usually doesn’t work out. asking for help wounds him, but he’ll do it when the time comes ANNOYANCES: voices it ROMANCE: single and ready to mingle MARITAL PROBLEMS: [How do they deal with problems in their love life? Do they talk it through with their partner? Or do they bury their head in the sand?] ADVERSARIES: [What would turn them off a friendship or romance?] ENEMIES: enemies generally come from show of cowardice, lying, mockery, and honestly any bad intent shown towards him STRANGERS: if the strangers lookin to chat he’ll chat. FUN STUFF: reading (nerd), learning new spells (nerd), getting new grimoires (nerd), fancy parties, acting like he’s important DATING: [What kind of things to they like doing with a romantic partner?] BEST FRIEND: [If applicable - who do they consider their best friend?] LOVE: na, he had a steady boyfriend once ago but their personalities got the best of them and it didn’t work out WORST ENEMY: HIMSELF WHOA EDGY RESPECT: [Do they respect their enemies, even if they don’t like them? Is there anyone they disrespect? Why?]

Interactions.

MINGLING: hell ya get him in there put caleas in coach COMFORT LEVELS: he’ll try to comfort ppl and fail probably and then need comforting himself PHYSICAL: as caleas loves receiving attention, if touch is in the name of attention he’ll accept it. if people are just willy-nilly touching his hair? hell nah that took time to get ready in the morning to look that good bro. but in relationships / etc, he’s a real sucker for touch ,’:) GROUPS: he’s not really apart of any group OPENNESS: USUALLY closed, but is open to being open GENEROSITY: ehh... not too much. his vanity and drive for personal success usually overrides generosity. JEALOUSY: o hell yeah he can get real jealous, especially for being a sucker for attention. TEMPER: yeah, his temper can get bad but it’s not particularly explosive or groundbreaking. he can just get petty and heated. EMPATHY: a bit, yeah? not the most empathetic but not the worst either. AFFECTION: hell yeah ETIQUETTE: caleas follows sin’dorei traditions / etiquette fairly closely and berates Vemril for being a shit trash lord RESPONSIBILITY: he’s pretty childish when it comes to owning up to things - it’ll take a good long self realization for him to be like ohhh yeah I was wrong haha whoops. SELF ESTEEM: not the highest, once again despite facade CONFIDENCE: higher than self-esteem and definitely comes across as a confident person HONESTY: from the amount of judging he does passively and internally, Caleas’ honesty is surprisingly low from the amount of things he’ll tell people in what he’s truly thinking, typically on a smaller scale of gossip and petty things LEADER OR FOLLOWER: leader for sure PARTY TRICKS: behold! i’m not a warlock! what’s that? you can feel the fel around me? ha ha! nope! (he doesn’t really have any) PRAISE: fuck yeah give that attention yyyyyeaaaaahh CRITICISM: he does not take criticism well - it becomes personal fast and that’s not too great, and he knows he should chill from time to time INSULTS: if someone insults him, Caleas will probably insult back or figure out why they insulted and their motive EMBARRASSMENT: ya, he can get embarrassed in select scenarios but tries his best to play it cool. embarrassment probably mostly comes from romantic scenarios, or blatantly failing at something publicly  FLIRTING: it’s probably pretty apparent when done so, perhaps a bit subtle at start to see if he’s getting any bites ATTENTION SPAN: pretty good, especially since he reads a lot and practices magic

Life.

CAREER: [Do they have a career? Are they good at it and do they like it?] PROMOTION: [Are they hoping to advance their career?] BOSS: [Do they have a good relationship with their boss?] DUTY: [What kind of responsibilities do they have?] TECH: [Are they good with modern technology or do they prefer not to tough a computer?] POLITICS: sin’dorei snooty elf politics are seen as fun and a game and not all that important COMBAT SKILLS: thru magic, not physical. he’ll melt physically HOME: messy, tomes everywhere. ‘organized’ he says, to only him DAILY LIFE: depends! INDEPENDENCE: definitely COOKING: he’s... okay. not the best, not the worst, can definitely get some tips from someone. loves 2 be made food. BUILDING: [Can they put together an item of furniture or do basic DIY?] CLEANING: hygiene is 10/10 good  SHOPPING: [Do they like to shop? Or do they prefer to only go to the store when absolutely necessary? Are they prone to impulsive buying or do they shop sensibly?] DRIVING: [Can they drive, or operate any vehicle?]

FINANCES: [Are they in a good position financially? Are they good at taking care of their bank account? Do they usually pay their bills on time?] MARRIAGE:  KIDS:  PETS: DEPENDANTS: [Do they have anyone to look after, such as an elderly relative or a sick friend?] LAW: fuck the police COURT: [Have they ever been in court? Why? And what was the verdict?] PRISON: [Have they ever been in prison?] TRAVELLING: [Have they ever been on holiday, or would they like to?] MEDICAL: [Do they go to the doctor/dentist when they need to? Or are they afraid of going to see the doctor?] ILLNESS: [Do they have any mental illnesses that affect the way they live their life?] WORRIES: PEACE: [Do they like peace and quiet? Or do they prefer always to listen to the radio or playing their favourite songs?] PARTYING: social boyo HOBBIES: reading cos he’s a neeeeerd who loves to learn like a nEEEEEERD

[truehonestmarriage-blog]

True Honest Marriage

The truth is most people lie about their marital happiness. Why? Because real commitment takes so much more work and energy then many are willing to do. So they prefer to appear picture perfect whenever they are being observed. Which often includes not letting their own family not know the truth.

After thirty years together we were once again faced with the big secret of our marriage. My husband Sven is bisexual. It's neither upsetting or a problem. It just simply is what it is. Sven has had some relationships throughout ours. It's never been an issue until this last time.

We are currently in the last time. It's so far been six weeks of trials and tribulations. For the last week we are in a very new place. We are in an open marriage. Which isn't what most think it is. It's not about whoring around. It's being honest sometimes we need more than what we have. It also isn't about being jealous. It's simple. Sven likes being with men. This time it may stay that way. Or we remain open and allow our boyfriends to be an actual part of our lives. For me it's simple. I've been faithful and that isn't from a place of self righteousness it's just a fact. I am perfectly happy pleasuring myself and going on with my day. However when I received a phone call from an old friend who I was with last time Sven was on a binder (hahahahaha). I didn't reach out to him he just happened to call at the right time.

Boris and I were involved in 1997. I flew to meet him. When we were together he was in his whore stage. Although I was originally probably planned to be another notch on the bed post we clicked. When I flew to see him we had a great time. When we broke it off he just stayed friends. We were now friends and Sven and he always had good communication. Me getting back with him somehow gave the new uncertainty in our marriage a bit of normality. It was with Sven's blessings we rekindled.

Sven was with a local guy, John. John was a piece of work. He was really the first scammer to cause chaos with us. So many are our to cause mayhem and he was a master.

I don't remember who stopped seeing who first but eventually we returned to a closed marriage. Both of us knew it would reopen. Neither of us did anything to keep it closed or reopen it. We grew older, had kids, moved out if state, bought a house. Lived. But marriage for Sven and I have always been full of challenges. Nothing with our feelings for or toward each other just external forces. I'm a brash bitch. I have lived through more shit than anyone I know. I make no excuses for others. If I can live through what I have so can others. It takes being honest with yourself and actually recognizing faults, then working to improve them. We have stumbled so many times. Surgeries, illness in both of us, both mental and physical. We have had financial problems. We have had friends try to turn us against each other, in fact we have even had family members do that to us also. But what we have always been able to do is once we are able to focus we are able to work through it.

So where are we now.. We are six weeks out of me picking up Sven's phone to see pics of a man. I knew immediately. Panic.. sheer panic. I don't even know why it hit me so hard other than he was hiding it. I was so bothered by him hiding. That one was Peter. Peter is a scammer from Tobo, Africa. He told Sven everything he ever wanted to hear. It ended when he requested even more money.. after the $100 he had already sent.

I was so conflicted when Peter was exposed. I suspected I was right about him, but me being right meant there was indeed a scam. I really didn't want to be right. It wasn't long before a new interest came along. Actually two, one is who knows where as his location on the app he is on fluctuates between 2500 miles and 5000 away. He goes by a letter. The letter B. Who knows what his deal is, the other is Roy. Roy ran a good game. I think part of Sven fell in love with Roy. However what Roy really needed was someone to run drugs with him. Which we learned when the police appeared here to inform me Sven was a person of interest in an investigation.

The second time they came for the evening I was so livid with the whole deal i spilled the beans. I told them he was not doing whatever they thought he was doing. He was just either giving or getting a blow job. The cops didn't know what to say but they did tell me he should get better company, which to I replied ya think??

So how did we get to where we are now.

Day by day, minute by minute we hashed shit out. We fought. But we never said or did anything to actually harm each other. We never said anything in malice. But we did indeed butt heads.

I journal. I have to. I need to get ideas and thoughts out. If I can't say them I have to write them.

This is what I sent Sven the evening this started.

Ok here's what I think.. financially you can't leave till I get my associates preferably my bachelor's..we need to get Steven in college and Richard into high school. We appear us when we go out. What we do in private is our business. We can set you up in Steven's room when he leaves blame the mattress.. then Richard is good for high school, Steven has his associates and I can support them and the house. It's most fair to them.

You do what you do but be discreet untill then.

It's the best bet for the boys. You go now Steven will get a job and never do college.

Where I was so proud of this I now see how completely unfair it was of me. It took a few weeks to see.

Written less than 48 hours after discovery I spoke this to my phone on my way to my friend Dennis' house. Dennis is one of my best friends. While we are both friends with him I hang out with him more. Mostly because we catch up during the week and when Sven joins us he can't make work the next day. While he knows we are currently arguing niether he or his wife know the sexual aspect of our relationship. I don't necessarily share that because I don't find it all that relevant. The other reason is sadly many men become squirrelly when they are friends with a bisexual.

last night I said be careful what you wish for and you want you wanted to think it was something that I was saying nasty but as I'm driving to Dennis's right now I'm thinking about everything and I'm so proud of you because like it's amazing to that you actually listen. I think that's so fucking awesome because it is. Anyway what you wished for a very long time ago was for me to be healthy and I'm here but what you didn't realize what is for me to be healthy. I had to become a new person. Each day as I made steps forward you still saw me as the broken person making improvements and it's not anybody's fault it's just what it is. Now the kids are taking your lead on this which is what my frustration always is. So I kind of need you to stay in this state of heightened Enlightenment because I need you to see who I am. Because one of the reasons why I get so angry is the person I improved for doesn't say it so I need you to see it because you wished for it and now you have it.

I didn't correct the insane tone that has because it's important to see how manic I was the first few days.

Three days into the journey

Ok I'm know you are confused. So I'll put it in writing so maybe you will understand. None of what I just said is said or meant nasty. Ok. Read it again without the attitude you read it with the first time. Ok if you are not angry read more. If you are angry or upset do not read anymore till you can.

Ok we have mutually agreed the best interest of the kids is we are normal for them. We have also agreed to treat this time as counciling. It doesn't matter what either of us thinks we want. We have agreed we will be friends or married at the end. But we have to work at either.

Read no more for at least an hour.

Has it been an hour? Are you either mad or upset. Are you confused? If none of those are applicable read more..

When we are alone with Sue and Marc we are raw. We are working on learning who we have become the past few years. We have both had a metaphorasis.

Read no more for a while.

Ok same question as before mad? Confused?

We need to get through this ugly muddy part. We will. But you can't think I am being controling when I am asking you to do things they are only something we already agreed with.

I know you are mentally exhausted. I know you had a bit too much to drink. But it was the idea that although we made a verbal agreement and you didn't honor it..All yiu needed to do was text or call and say just come here..it felt like you were avoiding me and trying to make me act angry

Break time.

Same deal read on as long as you are not angry or anything.

Remember we talked about cunt Mia. She isn't welcome in this. And how as long as I am navigating the waters I can do this. When this happened she tried to come out. I fought her off but it caused me to have a very emotional night with very little sleep. I need to remain level headed and although it feels like I was being controling I was actually fighting off cunt Mia. I am very proud of myself because I did. I did not do anything old Mia would have done.

I'm still so angry here and Sven was so obstinate. But we were at least attempting to communicate.

Sven found excuses to go sleep at Marc's. I suspect he was equally overwhelmed but at the other angle. But he was also communicating with Peter and it was clouding his judgement. Scammers are good. They are everything you are missing in your life. Sadly because most humans react the same to certain stimuli it is really textbook how they gain trust so quickly. Sven has never really shared the intimate details of any of this nor does he have to. Simply put its intimate and that is his.

Over the next few days and weeks we really talked. The most of the time it was civil and just talking. But more importantly we begin listening to each other. We figured out neither one of us were listening to the other. We were slowly becoming complacent in our relationship. It sounds so cliche but we were just going through the motions. A long time ago I heard an interview of a women who said basically no one is always in love with their mate. It's a series of falling in and out of love. Sadly somtimes the back in love doesn't always happen. We have shed so many tears the last few weeks. I really don't even want to remember all of them. However the past two weekends were the most meaningful. Sven processed so much last weekend that he began talking my anxiety meds. It was raw. He apologizes for his sexuality. How insane is that. Being sorry for who you are. I refuse to accept such a silly apology. It's like I'm sorry I am left handed. But he knows there is a part of this that means I have to be different in our relationship than people in other relationships. I really am at peace with it. He has a need.

Three weeks into it Peters scam blew up. He asked Sven for more money, Sven ghosted him. In true form however he got back on the apps and started looking again. Along comes Roy. A trainwreck in disguise. Roy was close living less than a half hour away. They messaged often. I knew shit wasn't adding up but he must of had Sven's eyes covered with his balls. They did get one night together. Although I knew there was bad intent with Roy I was happy Sven was at least able to be intimate with someone. He so badly needed it and it definitely helped things at home.

Roy convinced Sven he needed to go to rehab and needed a ride. The biggest flaw Sven has is he is gullible. He wants to see the best in everyone, because of this he is so easy to manipulate. So to a known drug trafficking place Sven drove Roy believing he was taking him to rehab. Within a few hours he was calling with more lies. It's a doozy. He was too late to check in so his probation officer came to get him and brought him back to the abandoned house he was squatting in. He would have to check into rehab next week and of course need a ride. Fortunately when they went back out that night the police alerted us to the situation. It was tough the next day or so. They connected or at least thought they did. One evening a few days later we he gets a call from some inmate phone service, he was trying to make contact and thought we should pay for that contact. Whew.

Which brings us to now.

This was the best weekend we have had in a long time.

Friday was a normal day. But he was still seeking someone. We heard about a local place who is very gender fluid and it was hosting a party. We bought tickets and went. We had a blast. We danced and laughed. He was himself.

We came home and he got a message from a local guy who he has hooked up with a few times. He asked me if I could give him privacy and I did. I kissed him and went to my room. I called Boris and we had phone sex. We have always been good at that. I enjoy it with him. I enjoy fucking him in person also but ya know that isn't always doable. We were talking and Sven messaged me that Ethan left. I knew it was too quick for him so I joined him to see why. Apparently Ethan is a bit gunshy and saw a shadow got spooked and ran off. Sven was hot and bothered. I generally don't have relations with him when he is in this mode. But this time I needed to suck his dick. He needed it. It was odd at first then he got into it. We were connecting. It felt good. He came and I needed to take it all the more he came the deeper I went on him. Swallowing so much of him. It was so amazing I get wet just thinking about it. Boris actually called while I was busy. I swept the call away and finished. Sometime later I called him back. Told him I couldn't take the call cause I was sucking a dick. He wanted to know if we could send him a video next time. We accommodated his request.

So we are a bit out there with our sex lives. But what I learned with the literal few days I was on dating apps is there are many unhappy married people. Unhappy and lying to their spouses. Creating a false reality in their world. There are so many people who seek porn daily just to wack off.

We won't live in dishonesty. We will live in the light of our truth..

[sphillips2-blog1]

Assignment #5

“The Hate U Give” is a story told over and over in the media in the modern day. The names and the faces change, but the theme is always the same. A law enforcement officer, claiming to have feared for their life, unjustifiably assaults them, often killing them. The aftermath is almost always the same. There is a half-hearted or even corrupt investigation, and, in the end, no charges are filed.

While this story is by no means exclusive to the black community, we must ask “why are black people disproportionately affected?” The first reaction of most people who recognize the problem is to blame the police. Saying that the police are racist and target black people out of spite simplifies the situation into an easy to solve problem. Just get rid of the racists. This is a very easy position to take for minorities, especially in the south, as nearly all of us have been confronted by an openly racist officer at some point in our lives. I myself have had a gun barrel jammed into the side of my head by an officer, who informed me that he is a proud member of The Southern Brotherhood (A supposedly less radical sub-group of The Aryan Brotherhood.), during a routine traffic stop and told I need to move out of the small, north Alabama town that I had lived in most of my life, as I am a Jew.

However, I believe the problem is systemic in our laws. In 1968, President Richard Nixon led a campaign known as “the war on drugs”. While the stated goals of this campaign were to get drugs off the streets and protect children, it didn’t take long for people of color to realize that they were in the crosshairs. This is brilliantly summarized in the outro of “Dontgetit”, a song by Lil’ Wayne. When he says, “Due to the laws we have on crack cocaine and regular cocaine, the police are... only I don't want to say only right, but shit, only logic by riding around in the hood all day and not in the suburbs, because crack cocaine is mostly found in the hood.” he illustrates how the law incentivizes racist action without racist intention. Former Nixon domestic policy chief John Ehrlichman confirmed what everyone in the black community already knew when he admitted “We knew we couldn't make it illegal to be either against the war or black, but by getting the public to associate the hippies with marijuana and blacks with heroin, and then criminalizing both heavily, we could disrupt those communities. We could arrest their leaders. raid their homes, break up their meetings, and vilify them night after night on the evening news. Did we know we were lying about the drugs? Of course we did." (Dan Baum, Harper’s Magazine, October 21, 2017) To fix this problem, we can’t just fix racist cops. We must fix the racist laws.

So, while we know why black people are targeted by police, we still must ask “why are encounters with police so deadly?” Again, we find ourselves with a problem with no clear solutions. There are many factors that play into this. There seems to be a severe lack of standards in training amongst police officers. If they get any training at all, it seems to be centered around the officer’s safety rather than everyone’s safety. The psychological testing among officers is almost non-existent. Many departments seem to only require a pulse and a background check of their applicants. The “Thin Blue Line” breeds an “us vs. them” mentality.

In T.H.U.G., we see several examples of the media rationalizing on behalf of the officer. This is the same in real life, and is likely the biggest factor of police brutality. When an innocent black person is shot by police, we see a constant torrent of images, social media posts and speculation, all painting them as a violent thug. By the end of the 24hr news cycle, half the audience is convinced that, had the officer not killed them, the “scary black person” would have committed some horrible and unspeakable act. We hear all about the death threats officers receive in the media, but they never mention the praise. After every single event such as this, you can find a countless legion of people praising the officer, posting their image across social media with the words “Support our heroes!” or similar and raising massive sums of money for them. How could one possibly think they had done something wrong when met with such adulation?

These are only a couple of the questions I could ask. I could go on for many pages. Why is it okay for an officer to shoot an unarmed person because they feared for their life, and yet, and untrained civilian is expected to remain completely calm while a gun is aimed at their head? Why is it important for you to go home to your family, but not us? Why do some people treat drug dealers as though they deserve a death sentence? Why do conservatives treat “I thought he had a gun.” as an excuse for shooting someone when we live in a nation with the right to bear arms? Unfortunately, until these questions are answered and resolved, the body count will rise, and none of these questions seem close to being answered.