#it is 2020 and yet there is still a death sentence in place?!?!?!

[mariacallous]

Driven by hardline prosecutors and tough-on-crime governors, the number of executions jumped 64 percent in 2022 and increased again in 2023 to a total of 24, the highest in five years.

Perhaps the most crucial player in the death penalty’s resurrection, though, is the U.S. Supreme Court, whose historic role of maintaining guardrails has given way to removing roadblocks. Under the conservative supermajority put in place by President Donald Trump, the justices are far more likely to propel an execution forward than intercede to stop it, including in cases where guilt is in doubt or where the means of carrying it out could result in a grotesque spectacle of pain and suffering.

...

In 1976, the Supreme Court famously declared that “death is different,” and demanded an extra level of scrutiny because a mistake is irreversible. Historically, in particularly troubling instances involving state misconduct or abysmal defense lawyering, the Court sometimes intervened at the eleventh hour — from 2013 to 2023, it stayed an execution just 11 times and vacated stays of execution 18 times, according to Bloomberg Law.

Since the death of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg and her replacement with Amy Coney Barrett in 2020, the Court has stopped an execution only twice and reversed a lower court to permit an execution nine times. In 2023, 26 condemned prisoners asked the Court to hear their cases; 25 were rejected. The message is clear: Prosecutors eager to seek and swiftly impose death sentences can reliably do so without judicial interference.

...

In Bucklew v. Precythe, a majority of the court opined that the Eighth Amendment’s prohibition against cruel and unusual punishment “does not guarantee a prisoner a painless death — something that, of course, isn’t guaranteed to many people, including most victims of capital crimes.” In the court’s reasoning, the excruciating pain the defendant might suffer during execution paled in comparison with the terror and mayhem he inflicted during his crimes.

In that same opinion, the Court indicated an impatience with pausing executions while it considered whether to hear the underlying claims from appellate attorneys. Justice Neil Gorsuch warned his colleagues to be skeptical when reading eleventh hour death row appeals: “Last minute stays should be the extreme exception, not the norm.”

It has been. Consider the 13 federal prisoners who were sent to the death chamber in the final months of Trump’s presidency. In a series of terse orders, issued without briefing, argument or public airing of the legal issues, the court blessed the rushed, furious pace. Using this opaque process, which legal scholars call the “shadow docket,” the justices erased lower-court injunctions against executions in seven cases and turned away last-minute requests for stays in the other six. During the 16 years in which Barack Obama and George W. Bush occupied the White House, the Court had invoked the shadow docket to rule for the government a total of four times and “never in a death penalty case,” according to Stephen Vladeck, a professor at the University of Texas School of Law. In Trump’s single term in office, the number jumped to 28, including non-capital cases.

More recently, the Court has rejected cases that advocates say are riddled with error or rest on shaky evidence.

...

Death penalty cases are notoriously rife with racism, questions of innocence, mental health of the accused and whether they received competent legal counsel. Sometimes the facts are too dire for courts to ignore, and even some pro-death penalty politicians are unwilling to take actions in flagrant violation of established norms. The total number of executions over the past decade is still a fraction of its peak in the 1990s.

And yet, the death penalty machine continues to crank on. These days, the battles over who lives and who dies are increasingly local — waged courtroom by courtroom because the Supreme Court has largely abdicated its decades long role as the final arbiter.

“It is becoming more and more clear that the Court is reluctant to interfere in state court cases even to enforce its own precedent,” said Robin Maher, the executive director of the Death Penalty Information Center. “They are saying, ‘This is not our problem to deal with.’”

An ‘Execute-Them-At-Any-Cost Mentality’: The Supreme Court’s New, Bloodthirsty Era

[genericpuff]

The LO TV show isn't happening, and here's why.

Now, before I begin, courtesy to /u/Princess_Space_Goose because they're one of the driving forces behind these observations concerning stuff in the entertainment sector and they were the first ones to make a comprehensive post about it over on reddit shortly after we got into it in the Discord and compiled everything we knew. But I also REALLY wanna talk about this and I'm surprised to see I haven't yet. They've covered reddit, so I'm covering Tumblr LMAO

Disclaimer: Long post ahead. Much of what I say below is speculation but there's a lot of damning evidence to support it. Take it with grains of salt.

Rachel has vague-posted about the show a couple times over the past few years, but very sparingly so, always stating that it's "in the works" without anything to actually show for it. This would have been fine back in 2020 or even 2021 (the pandemic did bring a lot of television/movie development to a crawl) but we're over halfway through 2023 now.

So where's the show? Who's running it? What is it gonna look like? Which streaming service is it going to be hosted on?

We literally do not know any definitive answers to these questions because nothing has been revealed and at this point in the game, that's basically a death sentence. LO has been on a noticeable decline in stats over the past year, while we obviously can't access the backend numbers (and neither can Rachel as far as I know because WT guards them with an iron fist which is a whole other topic for discussion) it's still very clear by the comic's rating slowly but surely dropping and the like count average lowering (obv the like count isn't indicative of view count but if the ratio has remained the same, that means if the like count lowers, the viewership is likely lowering too). There's also been certain behavior from WT over the past year that hints at the comic not doing well, such as its VERY aggressive ad campaigning which often undercuts other series on the platform that are far better than LO and deserve the spotlight, but lose it anyways because WT just wants to keep its golden goose on life support even after its heart has stopped beating.

So the fact that we don't know the answers to these questions still after 4 years is NOT good. We don't know anything and while that was excusable 3 years ago, at this point, it's more indicative of the project being at a standstill or dropped completely, and what we dug up and discussed in the ULO Discord (and what was later posted to reddit) proves it with some very telling information dissected from LinkedIn and other sources.

So far, the only people we know connected to this project are Rachel Smythe (the creator of LO) and Stephanie K Smith (the appointed showrunner). Showrunners are the lifeblood of television series, remember this. Here's a little bit about her:

Lore Olympus still doesn't have a network, this means it has no definitive spot to air, which is not good at this point, because the network is what primarily funds these projects. Think of "Netflix shows" - they're not necessarily made by Netflix, they're made by studios that Netflix funds and as such they're given the Netflix branding because Netflix is their proprietary distribution network and benefactor. So LO has no network or streaming service funding its production. All of her other credited works have affiliated networks/distributors, but LO doesn't.

"But what about Jim Henson Company?" Jim Henson Company bought the rights to LO in 2019 to produce it, that doesn't necessarily mean they were onboard to fund the entire project. Again, these studios need networks to back them, not just for monetary purposes, but with the promise that their project will have a place to go when it's finished, whether it's Netflix, HBO, etc. Think of it like a movie theater - the movie theaters aren't the ones making the movies, but they have deals with the studios to air those movies with the agreement that both sides will be making money.

Jim Henson Company is a production studio, not a network. Not only that, but they're primarily for-hire for puppetry/animatronic projects, they're not the same kind of studio as, say, Laika, or Disney, or Warner Bros. Much of their work is done on the backend, creating animatronics and puppets for kids' productions, monster movies, etc. Currently they're working as the animatronic designers for Five Nights at Freddy's, but that movie isn't a JHC movie, it's a Blumhouse production, which has hired JHC to create animatronics for them.

So, the fact that they were the ones to buy out LO for production rights is... very odd. Because for starters, they don't tend to buy out production rights like major studios, they're typically for hire, but they're also not an animation studio. Any animation projects they've worked on were for concept art and design, such as Word Party, but the folks at JHC primarily specialize in conceptualization and practical effects. That's their whole shtick, it's what they're selling, it's what they get hired for.

That's all early stuff though, stuff we've been speculating on for ages. What came to light recently that spurred on this whole essay was discovering this one section on Stephanie K's LinkedIn:

There are a couple things we can glean from this. First, we know this has to be LO even if it isn't being named, because LO is the only one that was bought by JHC.

This also confirms that LO did end up with a distribution network, specifically HBO Max.

But it also confirms that Stephanie K Smith, the showrunner, is no longer on the project, either due to willingly quitting or being removed. According to the time stamps, she left in April of this year.

This is especially not good because without a showrunner, there's no leader. Showrunners are essential to these projects. So without a showrunner, and without any sort of announcement of a replacement, LO's television show is a ship without a captain, a car without a driver, a Hell's Kitchen without a Gordon Ramsay.

There's mention of an "animated presentation" but as mentioned in that reddit post above, that's not necessarily a pilot, it's more likely it was this. Which can't even really be called "animation", it's just video editing, rigging and tweening, but I digress.

There's a lot more in that reddit thread that dives into some of the details of Stephanie K's stuff, including the HBO Max affiliation and how that potentially connects to the Sydney Sweeney trailer, but ultimately, all of these breadcrumbs add up to one of two things:

LO's television show is in severe development hell which it likely will not come out of for quite some time, especially right now with both the writer's strike and streaming services gutting their animation connections.

LO's show isn't happening at all but with LO's numbers declining and its audience growing more fed up with the series (look no further than the comments on Instagram about LO's recent Eisner win, people are PISSED) Rachel and WT are trying to do as much damage control as possible by dangling a carrot in front of the audience they have left in the hopes that they'll stick around long enough on the promise of a TV show happening to keep siphoning cash and views. After all, there are two things many readers are still sticking around for - the SA plotline, and the TV show, and both of those things are being unnecessarily dragged out in the vaguest way possible with no real resolution in sight.

Neither of these are good, but I think what's even more telling is that, since that post was made on reddit, Rachel has attended SDCC and taken part in a new interview from Girl Wonder Podcast, and when asked about the show, all she had to say was this:

"Um, it’s been really interesting. It’s been educational for me. So, what I—what has been done so far is beautiful. Like, if I could share it, I would. But I can’t. Because it’s very naughty."

IDK if the "naughty" bit is referring to the show or just her revealing info about it, but the fact that NOTHING was shown at SDCC is just. Y'all, I'm sorry, but the show is not happening. If you're gonna show off previews for television ANYWHERE, it's SDCC. It's like the E3 of comics and entertainment media. So the fact that she's STILL VAGUE-POSTING ABOUT IT EVEN AT A MAJOR EVENT WHERE IT'S COMMONPLACE TO REVEAL TRAILERS AND PREVIEWS OF NEW PROJECTS, like... it's just not happening. Jim Henson Company bought the rights to produce LO as a TV show in the summer of 2019. Since then, we haven't seen a SHRED of news, if you google "Lore Olympus TV show" it'll still be the same 2-3 articles from 2019 talking about JHC buying the rights and that's it. If you do further sleuthing, all you'll find is Rachel saying "yeah it's still happening but I can't say anything!" which means fucking nothing at this point. The only 'hope' I have left is that they'll announce it at NYCC which has Rachel in a top billing spot in its advertising, but I'm really not holding my breath at this point.

Animated productions take a while, sure, but LO wasn't the only comic bought for TV production in that late 2010's/early 2020's era. Heartstopper was bought in 2019, and it made it to Netflix by April 2022. And it was live action, a medium SEVERELY affected by the pandemic, unlike animation, which wasn't affected as much because a lot of animation development can be done from home. What did affect the animation sector was streaming services like Netflix gutting their connections to animation studios and putting animated projects on the chopping block... which also doesn't bode well for LO.

It's 2023 now and we still don't even have anything beyond those initial announcement articles and Rachel making empty promises. It's not happening. Don't fall for the "it's coming soon but I can't say anything" nonsense. It's far less genuine now than it was 3 years ago and it has nothing to support those claims that it's actually in development, and ironically far more to support mere speculation that she's lying or doing damage control.

And, if it actually is happening, on a shred of belief in that being a possibility, then it sure as shit isn't being marketed well. Knowing how to build hype in a product is an entire course of knowledge. Marvel is practically the king of building hype, they're why people sit until the very end of the credits now in the hopes of seeing an after-credit scene, even in movies that aren't made by them. LO's numbers are bleeding right now, so to not show anything at even the major events like SDCC is a blatant misfire. Almost like there isn't anything to show in the first place.

You can take all of this evidence as you will. Some of it you may dismiss as "overthinking" or whatever have you. And a lot of it is speculation based on the crumbs we've picked up along the way.

But let me pose you this as a final thought: how can it be a good sign when everything being asked about the show, by fans and critics alike, comes down to "Is the show still happening?"

The best time to reveal proof of the LO television show was 3 years ago. The second best time is now.

[therealcrimediary]

Adam Swellings, the ringleader of a gang of thugs who beat Garry Newlove to death in 2007, is nearing the end of his minimum sentence of 17 years for the murder. Swellings, who was 19 at the time of the attack, had been freed on bail just hours earlier over a similar assault and had ignored a court order banning him from Warrington, where the killing took place. Despite being cleared for a move to open prison conditions two years ago, the decision was blocked by the then-Justice Secretary Dominic Raab. Garry's widow, Baroness Helen Newlove, is expected to read an impact statement at Swellings’ upcoming parole hearing. She has expressed feeling helpless during parole hearings and supports the Mirror’s campaign for a victims’ rights bill, which would give victims the right to be updated and consulted on their cases. The Victims' Law that the Baroness supports would give victims a voice in the criminal justice system and put them at the center of it. Swellings’ fellow killers, Jordan Cunliffe and Stephen Sorton, who were 16 and 17 at the time of the attack, received minimum jail terms of 12 and 15 years respectively in the 2008 trial. Two other suspects were cleared of involvement. Sorton's sentence was reduced by two years on appeal, and both he and Cunliffe were released in 2020. Despite the Parole Board review panel rejecting then-Justice Secretary Robert Buckland's attempt to keep Cunliffe in jail, he was released. The victims' rights bill would aim to address issues like this and give victims more agency in the criminal justice system. Baroness Helen Newlove expressed the importance of the victims' law, stating that only by giving victims a voice will they truly be at the centre of the criminal justice system. The bill would ensure victims are updated and consulted on their cases, providing them with more information and support throughout the legal process. The implementation of a victims' code last year was seen as a step towards this legislation, but the formal bill has yet to be announced. The impact of violent crimes like the murder of Garry Newlove can have lasting effects on the victims and their families, making it crucial to give them a platform to share their experiences and perspectives. Adam Swellings' upcoming parole hearing raises concerns for the Newlove family and emphasizes the need for better support and rights for victims of violent crimes. Garry Newlove was attacked and killed in 2007 after confronting a group of drunk youths vandalizing cars, an incident that forever changed the lives of his loved ones. The pending release of Swellings, the last convicted murderer still in prison over the killing, underscores the importance of victims' voices and the need for legislation like the victims' bill. Baroness Helen Newlove's involvement in the case and support for victims' rights initiatives highlight the ongoing impact of violent crimes on families and communities, emphasizing the need for reforms that prioritize victim support and empowerment. As Swellings' minimum sentence comes to an end, attention is drawn to the wider implications for victims of violent crimes and the importance of ensuring their rights and well-being are prioritized in the legal system.

[ear-worthy]

New iHeart Series About The Conviction of Black Activist To Debut

Like many, H. Rap Brown has a complicated legacy. He was a human rights activist, Muslim cleric, black separatist, a convicted robber, and convicted murderer who was the fifth chairman of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) in the 1960s. He served as the Black Panther Party's minister of justice during a short-lived (six months) alliance between SNCC and the Black Panther Party.

Yet over 20 years later, questions still linger about his arrest, trial, and conviction. Perhaps the biggest piece of exculpatory evidence is the confession by Otis Jackson of the murders before Brown's trial. At the time, the court did not consider Jackson's statement as evidence.

 Premiering December 5, 2023, the podcast tells the story of Jamil Abdullah Al-Amin, a Muslim leader who was convicted of shooting two sheriff’s deputies — one fatally —in 2000, outside a mosque in one of Atlanta’s oldest neighborhoods. Prior to converting to Islam, Al-Amin was known as the Black Power activist H. Rap Brown, and was one of the most polarizing figures of the movement, gaining a reputation as a charismatic orator and passionate revolutionary. H. Rap Brown was an honorary officer in the Black Panther Party, and like his peers, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King JR., and Stokely Carmichael, was a target of the FBI’s COINTELPRO surveillance program.

The trial for the shootings took place just months after the September 11 attacks — a time of unprecedented anti-Muslim fervor in the United States — and Jamil Al-Amin was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison.  Al-Amin, in prison to this day, has maintained his innocence, and by 2020, a glimmer of hope emerges as a “conviction integrity unit” begins to reexamine the case.

Leading Atlanta-based independent content production company Tenderfoot TV, and award-winning podcast studio Campside Media, have announced a multi-show partnership agreement. Both of the first-announced series sit at the intersection of social justice, true crime, and journalism, focused on stories from Atlanta, Georgia, where both companies have roots.

“Radical” is hosted by Mosi Secret, a former reporter for The New York Times and ProPublica who grew up in Atlanta’s African-American Muslim community. Secret takes listeners through this odyssey that spans the Jim Crow South, the Civil Rights Movement, the War on Drugs, and post-9/11 America, unraveling a story that transcends a murder trial to explore the impact on a community of Black Muslims in the South, revealing something deeper about violence in America, and who deserves to be called radical.

“Jamil Al-Amin was a crucial figure in Black history, and a vibrant leader who played an integral role in establishing a religious community in one of Atlanta’s oldest neighborhoods, yet many people do not know his story,” said “Radical” host, Mosi Secret. “This podcast is not just a story of a brutal murder and a manhunt, but a complex historical and political story, and one that showcases the consequences of violence for a small community of African American Muslims in the South.”

On the heels of the recently announced Cop City documentary with award-winning production company Ventureland, Tenderfoot TV and Campside Media will release an investigative podcast surrounding Atlanta’s controversial proposed police training facility. The indie podcast will cover the protests, violence, arrests and accusations of domestic terrorism erupted last year in response to the proposed $90M, 85-acre ‘Cop City,’ which is set to become one of the largest militarized police training centers in the United States. Told in eight episodes, the narrative will center specifically on the death of Manuel Esteban Paez Terán, a young activist killed by police in January 2023.

“Atlanta’s cultural and political influence is unmatched both nationwide and globally. The stories and figures that have shaped Atlanta — both historical and present-day — are as complex as the city itself,” said Donald Albright, CEO of Tenderfoot TV. “We’re proud to partner with Campside Media to take a deeper dive into the events taking place in our own backyard and told through the voices of our neighbors.”

[yellowpencilcrayon]

Hi all, I know sometimes we get on social media to get away from the world but I wanted to shed light on this because I haven’t seen many posts about this on Tumblr at all unless I specifically search for them. The post I have reblogged is a great post with lots of information to thank you! Also @cloudystevie​ has provided links to places you can donate to, Khalsa Aid is a great place to donate!!! I think you might be able to volunteer with them depending on where you are (also make sure its safe during these covid times!!) Also I would like to add a few links: - This link leads to the Khalsa Aid India instagram page, it’s a great way to gain more knowledge of what is happening in India right now!!  - This one is also on insta it’s from brown.journals  - Another post from phvnkaur  Thank you for taking the time to read!! It means a lot to the farmers to see that their voices are being heard and that people around the world are trying to help! 

what’s going on in india?

hi- i sincerely apologize if this is annoying but i’d really hope to raise awareness on what’s going on in india right now! basically modi has passed 3 new reform laws which makes it extremely difficult for farmers; the backbone of india’s economy; to make money. essentially private companies now buy directly from farmers rather than the government having a set price on crops grown by kisaans (farmers) all year long. thus leading to a significantly lower income. overtime many farmers will go into extreme debts and would be incapable of supporting their families. 65 farmers in punjab have already taken their lives since this bill was passed.

there have been peaceful protests in delhi where many sikhs and punjabis (as well as farmers from other states and religions) are fighting for their livelihood back, however the police brutality that they are currently facing is unfathomable. they are getting shot with water cannons and tear gases for protesting against bills that make it borderline impossible for them to live.

3/4 of punjabs population are farmers, my own immediate and distant family are currently out protesting and are being actively impacted by this.

you can donate to khalsa aid right here! they are providing protesters with food and water!

you can purchase from kisaani.co! all their profits are sent directly to the kisaans in need.

i apologize for such a long post but not enough people are talking about this and i really hope that if you have the means you donate or share the links so it reaches someone who might be able to. thank you :)

[firebettercallnct]

petitions to sign. it only takes a minute.

Ahmaud Arbery

on february 23rd 2020, ahmaud arbery, an unarmed, 25-year-old black man, was shot to death while jogging in a neighborhood outside brunswick, georgia, after being pursued by two white men in a pickup truck. neither of his pursuers, a father and son named gregory and travis mcmichael, were arrested or charged with a crime until may, even though gregory admitted to police that travis was responsible for the shooting. 

Emerald Black

on june 7th, 2019, emerald black a pregnant, black woman, and her fiance were pulled over by police officers after coming from a doctors appointment. the reason for being pulled over was for bad registration tags. the officers spoke to ms. black's fiance while she stayed in the car. the officers began to order her out of the car. ms. black was clearly pregnant and she had let them know  that she had just gotten back from a doctors appointment where she was also informed that she was at a high risk for a miscarriage. despite this, the officers yanked ms. black, still in her hospital clothes, and threw her to the ground. they taunted her, piled on top of her, and stomped on her stomach causing her to miscarry. the stomp had also left a shoe mark. because of the abhorrent attacks done by the police, ms. black suffered not only physical, but emotional injuries. she lost her unborn child. 

Julius Jones

julius jones was 19-years-old, he was convicted of a murder he says he did not commit. Julius has lived on death row for almost 20 years, and is held in solitary confinement for 23 hours a day. he is allowed one hour of sunlight a day, and three showers a week. at the time of the crime for which he was convicted, julius was a 19-year-old student athlete with a promising future, attending the university of oklahoma on an academic scholarship.  eyewitnesses place mr. jones at his parents’ home at the time of the murder, miles away from the crime scene. 

Chrystul Kizer

chrystul kizer is an incarcerated trafficking survivor who is being charged with life in prison for acting in self-defense against her trafficker. 

Regis Korchinski-Paquet

regis korchinski-paquet was murdered by toronto police. a call was made for a domestic incident and toronto police officers were present on the 24th floor in a high park apartment building to "observe" 29-year old, regis. shortly after, she allegedly fell off the balcony. 

James Scurlock

on may 30, 2020 james scurlock, 22 years old, was shot by jacob gardner, while protesting for justice and equality in omaha, ne. no charges are being filed because "there was consensus among law enforcement that gardner's actions were justified". the citizens of omaha, are demanding the grand jury needs to decide if charges will be filed, not don kleine or his office.

Tony McDade

tony mcdade was a transgender black man who got killed by police in tallahassee.

João Pedro

14-year-old joāo pedro was killed by the rio de janeiro police. joāo was shot at his home and his body was taken by the rio de janeiro police. his family waited 17 hours until receiving news of his whereabouts. they finally found his dead body at a medical examiner’s office. the family counted 72 bullet marks on the walls of the house. cops say joāo died in a shootout started by criminals. neighbors say that is a lie.

Tamir Rice

more than a year after police shot and killed 12-year-old tamir rice as he played in a park with a toy gun, a grand jury declined to charge the officers who opened fire on tamir in less than 2 seconds of arriving to the scene.

George Floyd

george floyd was murdered by a minneapolis police officer. george was handcuffed and restrained and being completely cooperative when this all went down. the officer put his knee on george’s neck choking him for minutes on minutes while george screamed that he could not breathe. bystanders beg for the police officer to take his knee off george’s neck, but the officer didn’t listen and continued to choke him. not that it would matter at all, but george was not even wanted for a violent crime. 

Willie Simmons

in 1982, army veteran willie simmons, was prosecuted under alabama's habitual offender law. mr. simmons he had three prior convictions, one of which was for grand larceny. he told reporter beth shellbure the other two were for receiving stolen property. at the time mr. simmons had become addicted to drugs while stationed overseas. he was convicted of 1st-degree robbery and sentenced to life without parole for stealing $9. 

Darrius Stewart

darrius stewart, an unarmed 19-year-old, was gunned down by a white cop in a case of mistaken identity. 

Breonna Taylor

breonna was asleep at home when a rogue task-force of the louisville police broke down her door in the middle of the night and murdered her. they were attempting an illegal drug raid in the wrong neighborhood for a suspect that they'd already arrested earlier that day. the police officers have yet to be arrested or charged.

Zinedine Karabo Gioia

on her 21st birthday, july 21st 2018, she was date raped by brendan rundle in gaborone, botswana. nothing was done. forensic evidence went missing, she was told that because she was drugged and had no clear story that it was unlikely he would be charged. 

Slave Market House in Center of Downtown Fayetteville NC

the market house as it is known is in the middle of downtown fayetteville. it has a troubled past in the african american community. though it is admired by the city and used as a trophy for the city’s “business of the year” award, the history of this building and area is lynching and selling of african american slaves. the city of fayetteville has known that most african americans in the city wish for it to be taken down and replaced with something more positive about african american history. the market house building is a reminder of slavery and fuels white supremacy. it should be replaced with a beautiful landmark funded by an annual city or state grant and remain a historic site. 

Get rid of Rubber Bullets

rubber bullets can be extremely lethal. they may cause bone fractures, injuries to internal organs, or even death. it’s been proven that rubber and plastic bullets are too dangerous for crowd control.

Shukri Abdi

a 12-year-old girl was drowned in the river irwell in greater manchester. police had suggested shukri drowned after going into the water to "cool off" – despite the fact she couldn’t swim and her family reported that she was terrified of water. a group of children were with her at the river in the period before she died and one of them was reported to be laughing as it watched the girl drown.

petition for a bullying investigation regarding shukri abdi's school

[puredramione]

My 2020 Reading List - Dramione

This year, I’ve read way more dramione than I’ve ever read, and I’ve been reading it for 7 years now. I even read things, tropes, I had never bothered with before. 2020 may not have been a kind year, but in the dramione community it has been a wonderful year of reading for me. Please be aware I may spoil some plot lines to dramione fanfictions you haven’t read yet. I have tried not to as best as I can. But anyway below is 20 fics I’ve read this year that have been there for me when I needed them. No particular order. Just a lot of love for these fics.

Wait and Hope - by @mightbewriting - memory loss is one of my favourite tropes but this story. I have never cried over a couch before. But this story. From the moment she first awakes in St Mungo’s to that beautiful ending, I was hooked. I loved how the story left me with not really a care about whether or not Hermione got her memories back. Those bloody text messages 💔 a journey I’ll never forget.

The Unofficial Diary of an Omega - MrsRen - my first time reading anything omegaverse. It still isn’t my favourite trope. I much prefer Veela for some reason 🤷🏻‍♀️ but overall it was a good story, just not my thing.

Apple Pies and Other Amends by ToEatAPeach - I actually gave up on this story the first time I read it. Unsure as to why because the story as a whole is just amazing. Baking and dramione? Yes please! Also dealing with their psychological trauma after the war? Heck yes! The relationship in this story develops at a lovely pace. There were moments I was on edge, others I was smiling ear to ear whilst reading this. Definitely one of my favourites now.

In Search Of Sunrise - @indreamsink - actually just reread this and I still get that warm feeling in my chest. So turns out my break up hasn’t made me lose the ability to enjoy dramione falling for each other. Anyway, the story was so heartwarming, like if I were to describe it as anything I would describe it as a hug. The best non-date fic there is.

Sex and Occlumency - Graendoll - this was the start of my slippery slope into reading smut stories. Like I had read smut before, obviously but I didn’t pay it much attention, normally just swiped past 😂 but this one was a completely different story.

Manacled - @senlinyu - this is truly the most beautifully haunting story I’ve ever read. I remember when I first started reading it, I thought to myself, how the hell could I ever ship dramione in this world? Then those flashbacks. Fuck those flashback chapters were a punch in the gut. The way everything links and connects. I love it’s realistic ending. I often think of this story in the shower cause I had to force myself to go shower whilst I read this cause I honestly couldn’t put it down. And SPOILER, but I laughed so hard at a certain characters death even though I probably shouldn’t have but she was such a bitch. I get flashbacks myself of this story. I’ll be in the shower and I’ll remember a certain sentence, a certain scene in my head as if I truly walked with Hermione on this heart wrenching journey. But fuck manacled Harry, I hate that boy.

He Becomes by @abromaposts - I needed this story. This was the first thing I read after Manacled. Draco Malfoy looking after rabbits with the sole reason being to get close to Hermione, yes please. Rabbits are my favourite animals. It’s just so much fluff. And after Manacled I was grateful.

The Right Thing To Do - @lovesbitca8 - this was the bookshop, slow burn, fluffiness I needed in the summer. The start of a truly wonderful universe. Idiots in love, I’ve never went through so much second hand embarrassment. Every interaction between Hermione and Lucius was fantastic. Especially the final one! Every character was written to a way that I loved them so much. Plus this story makes you think (like the rest of the series) it doesn’t spoon fed you information.

All The Wrong Things - @lovesbitca8 - I never thought I’d be into first person POV. The last thing I read like that was The Hunger Games back in school, many years ago. But I truly felt as if Draco were telling me the story. I love how it filled in things we never seen in the first story. I love Draco’s characterisation. Unlike TRTTD, this feels more lighthearted. Could just be the horny Draco though and his dramatics?

The Auction - @lovesbitca8 - this story. where do I start? When I started reading this story I was in a completely different life. This story has seen me through a terrible time in my life. Honestly the last few chapters before the final chapter were a blur and I had to go and reread them cause my head was all over the place but the story. This story, on it’s own, I would say is better than any fiction I’ve ever read 🤷🏻‍♀️ it grips you, pulls you in. Every question you ask, you get answered with a ribbon and bow. I cannot express my love, for this story and for the hard work that has went into it. The characters in this world so vastly different yet similar to the ones we already learned to love. I could write a love letter to this story.

Hindsight by @floorcoaster - if you haven’t been following this year long, monthly updated story, then you’ve really missed out. Each chapter is a month of the year. The story starts with Hermione planning to trim down her calendar for the year ahead. Although it’s fiction it gave me a sense of hope for my future. I had started this year on a different note than Hermione, and I’m now ending it on a different note as well. I think this story does a good job of capturing the passage of time and just how quickly things can change. I also really love these adorable idiots in this story.

Bring Him To His Knees by @willhavetheirtrinkets (WIP) - the best co-worker, friends to lovers, fake relationship story I’ve read. No question. I sent @magicaltraveler3 a tearful voice memo after that last chapter that was posted (chapter 20). It isn’t the first time I’ve cried at a fanfic, but it is the first time that I predicted something bad would happen, but I didn’t expect the bad thing to be what it was. I can’t wait to see where this story goes. At this point I have completely forgot about the murder plot. I know it exists, and we’ll get back to the murder but I’d honestly read the characters in this story eating breakfast.

The Flat In Bath by @adaprix (WIP) - this was the first story I got into that ada has wrote. Instantly I was fascinated with the use of “flat” over “apartment”. Being Scottish I knew this was someone British. Anyway, a very interesting story and I can’t wait to see how the rest of it plays out.

Good by @lovesbitca8 - I am dying for the update of this story. As so many are, it is 🔥🔥🔥 all I can say. I can’t wait for the update!

The Erised Effect by @adaprix - When ada first told me she was thinking about writing a story about Pansy and Hermione working in a sex shop together. Telling me about having the idea of them meeting in the pub and how she “needed to get some filthy smut out of your system”. I didn’t think it would be my thing. Boy, did she prove me wrong!

The Cell by WrathOfMacy - I don’t know how I came to read this one. But damn, this was a good one (who am I kidding they’re all good ones). I’m still reading through it though. It’s a warfic in which Dramione end up locked in a cell together. The relationship builds nicely. I cannot wait to read more of it.

The Melody Of Touch by @magicaltraveler3 - I never knew I needed a dramione story like this story. I love that there is so much musical imagery incorporated into it. I haven’t read anything like it before. The story, the smut, the taxi and the freaking art work. It is everything!

Every Day, a Little Death by @lovesbitca8 - I’ll be honest with this one. I read the first chapter and the last chapter 🙈 BUT only cause everyone scared me so much. I plan to revisit. SPOILER. I may not care too much that Hermione cheated. Just me? Like yeah I hate cheating and she shouldn’t have done it, but like she admitted to it, and was very regretful for it. Anyway, the chapters I read were very interesting I look forward to revisiting it sometime.

Away by @indreamsink - written for the romcom fest and I got to say I think this one may be my favourite from the fest. Not only do you get dramione but you get the amazing side pairing of Harry/Pansy, which this year has really became my favourite side pairing. It’s like reading two love stories at once, I was interested in the dramione plot line obviously, but I was equally interested in the hansy/potts&pans plot line.

The Path Unexpected by @magicaltraveler3 - this story is a cute little domestic dramione fanfic. And I lived for it. It shows dramione going through the process of having a child and honestly, they’re so damn cute in this fic. The fanart is next level also!

[jaminjims]

heartbeat || p.jm

@jiminiestanposts requested: Hiii, could I request a top male reader x bottom jimin please?? Where the reader likes jimin but jimin doesn’t like him back. After a few months, though, jimin gets jealous when the reader and another member seem close, and this is when he realises that he loves the reader. Angst at the beginning, but fluffy at the end when reader and jimin get together😊 Thank youuuuuu!! 💜💜💜

a/n: ahh its been awhile hasn’t it? over the past few months sooo much has changed for me! i’m getting into the colleges i applied to (hallelujah) and i’m almost done with the college craziness (hopefully)! i’m so sorry this is posted so late, but my computer broke a few months ago and is still broken, so i had to write this using my phone (which was icky) but i hope my writing skills aren’t too rusty. thank you so so so much to the lovely jiminiestanposts for requesting and i hope this is what you were looking for bub! (also, i hope everyone has had a good holiday and is staying healthy!) 💖💖

pairing: jimin x male danceinstructor!reader

genre: angsty at the beginning, christmas fluff at the end <3

words: 2.1k

warnings: unrequited love (at the beginning), sadness, jealousy

~**~

Your hands were numb as you walked into the BigHit building. This winter has been grueling and even you can admit to being a baby when it comes to the cold.

You shrugged off your jacket and pulled off your hat once you entered one of the many dance practice rooms that BigHit had within its walls. Setting up the sound system was almost second nature as you were rounding the three month mark of being one of BigHit’s dance instructors. You technically weren’t supposed to be promoted as early as you were (you had been working as a back-up dancer for only a year before being promoted) but one of the instructors was on leave because his wife gave birth, and it quickly became apparent that the dance staff needed another set of hands for teaching.

But the other dance instructors didn’t look down on you for being promoted out of necessity, as did any of the other background dancers. They agreed that out of all of them, you were one of the most talented because of the sheer amount of power you held over your body and the dominance that you portrayed when you were dancing. Because of the talent you held, you were assigned to work with BTS themselves.

Today however you were working with the trainee’s because Miyoung, a fellow instructor, got sick with the flu and needed someone to take over. You were glad to help, but most of the trainee’s weren’t glad that you were teaching. You’ve been told that the way you taught was really hardcore and labor intensive, especially to people who don’t train with you often, but you just wanted them to be the best they could be.

The trainee’s didn’t see it that way.

So when the time came when you announced that practice was over, all of the younglings dropped to the ground and heaved out groans of relief. You could’ve sworn some even fall asleep.

It was then that Jimin decided to peak his head into the door of the practice room and smile at the scene. The trainee’s all scrambled to their feet to greet him but he just smiled and told them to rest. They made their way out of the room, thanking you timidly as they went.

Jimin started walking over to you and your heart skipped a beat. “Hyung! I thought we talked about working the young ones to death!” He laughed and you would’ve felt lightheaded if you weren’t leaning against the mirrored wall.

“If they wanna be as good of a dancer as you, Jiminie, then I have to be hard on them.” You laughed, still a bit out of breath.

Jimin just hit you on the shoulder and scoffed, “You are better than me 100 percent, hyung.”

You swore this boy was out to kill you.

Park Jimin was perfection in human form. While you wholeheartedly agreed that everyone in BTS was handsome (you had no qualms admitting it out loud) Jimin just did something to you that the other boys didn’t. His personality was nothing to look over, either. All Jimin had to do was be himself and you were there at his beck and call.

Ever since you had started working as BTS’ personal dance instructor, it was like a part of you that you didn’t know was missing fell into place. You had become fast friends with all of them, and there was a certain calmness you felt around them. They were like a family, and you were surrounded by that positive energy almost instantly and brought into their circle.

For a while you passed off your growing affection for Jimin as that. You were enveloped by the good vibes they gave off and that was how you rationalized suddenly wanting to be around Jimin. Hold his hand, make him smile.

But eventually you had to face the music. When your thoughts started to stray to him whenever you had any free time, or when you fantasized about kissing him, taking care of him, you knew what had happened.

You were falling head first in love with this man. (if you weren’t in love with him already)

Yet, you were also scared of what the implications of that were. You started to question yourself more. How does he feel about you? Is he even interested like you are? Does he feel the connection you do? There were so many questions and sometimes your feelings got overwhelming. There have been a couple close calls when you almost confessed just to get it off your chest.

But it’s not like you could just go around confessing your love to one of the members of the world’s biggest boy band.

You almost jumped when you felt a head on your shoulder. You looked down and got a face full of Jimin’s hair and you felt your skin burn where his bare arm touched yours.

He suddenly looked up at you with his big doe eyes and a pout on his face, “What’s on your mind? Are you ok?”

No, you were not ok and he was the reason.

You tried to sort through your thoughts as he looked at you like that, but all you could hear was your heartbeat all the way up in your throat. You were suddenly overcome with the strong urge to kiss him and pull him into a hug so you could protect him from the world. You battled with yourself as the both of you looked into each other’s eyes.

Screw it.

You pushed yourself off the wall (causing Jimin to stand up straight as well) and leaned down before you had the chance to chicken out (where this sudden braveness and affection came from, you would never know). Your lips met his soft ones as you grabbed his head in between your much larger hands.

It was sweet and soft, and you had no intention of deepening it if he didn’t want it. A few seconds went by before you felt his tiny hands push against your chest.

You leaned back and looked into his shocked eyes. Your hands were still cupping his cheeks as he struggled to make a sentence, “Y-Y/n I-“

You interrupted him; you had to let your feelings be known. It was unfair to both of you at this point, and you felt like you were going to explode. Besides, you were already to far over the edge to stop now. “I love you. I am in love with you, Park Jimin.”

His eyes widened even more than before and his mouth parted in disbelief. The room seemed to hold its breath with you as you waited for his response. After a few seconds he stepped back with a frown on his face.

Oh.

“I’m sorry Y/n, but I don’t feel the same.”

Oh.

He left the room, almost slamming the door behind him. In his place was the love that would never be reciprocated.

So much for not confessing.

~~

It had been two months, three weeks, and six days since you confessed. Not that Jimin was counting or anything though.

After the Confession of 2020™️, as he had dubbed it, he’s felt rather misplaced. He doesn’t really know how to describe it.

After he had left the practice room that day, Jimin almost ran back to the dorms. His mind was on overdrive and he didn’t even know what to think, let alone feel.

You loved him. Not like, but love.

He couldn’t fathom how you, the dancer that got promoted in a year (that was a record), the guy that fit in so easily with him and his brothers, the one who had such a deep voice it made something inside him tremble, was in love with him. He was angry at first; how could you just say something that monumental, just out of the blue like that? What was Jimin even supposed to say? The lack of regard you seemed to have for his feelings on the matter made him angsty and upset.

What made him stop and think was the fact that you had pretended like nothing had ever happened.

You went back to treating him like you did before and didn’t bring it up again. But, there was a certain air about you. You seemed sad, and if you were a little more distant than usual, Jimin pretended not to know why when it was brought up one night while BTS was having dinner.

But after thinking about this for longer than he would like to admit, he realized that you only had his feelings in mind.

You decided to not let your feelings get in the way of your relationship with the others. You acted like nothing happened because he had rejected you, and you didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable.

Jimin felt like an ass after he figured it out. Of course you would be that considerate, that’s just the type of person you are.

The kind of awkward ‘what happens now’ energy surrounding you both went on for a couple more weeks, but it was when Jimin saw you in the practice room, lights off, head down, and shoulders shaking that he realized maybe you weren’t as ok as you made yourself out to be.

He wanted to go in and check on you, apologize, do something to make sure you were ok.

In the end, he didn’t.

Maybe that’s why, months later, he felt an uncomfortable prickly sensation deep in his gut when he saw you leaning against Hobi-hyung, laughing with tears in your eyes.

Yeah, he just felt guilty. Nothing else.

Yet that same prickly feeling only amplified when he saw you hanging out with Hoseok, dancing with him, grabbing lunch with him. Jimin didn’t get it.

All he knew was that he wanted you here with him instead of his hyung. He wanted you to be laughing, dancing, and eating with him, not anyone else. All of a sudden you were the one that he was thinking about. What were you doing at the moment? Were you smiling? Suddenly he missed your smile. Were you happy? Now he wanted to talk with you, to make you laugh.

This was getting ridiculous.

It was Christmas Eve, but Jimin was anything but cheery as he saw you hugging Hobi in greeting, thanking him for letting you spend the night on Christmas.

Was it just him or could he see you blushing?

All of a sudden, without really knowing what he was doing, Jimin pulled you away from Hoseok and marched you both into his room. You were surprised at the action and a little concerned as you looked at Jimin’s agitated face.

“Hey, are you alright? What’s up Jiminie?”

His heartbeat sped up.

You frowned when he didn’t answer your question. You put your head to his forehead because he looked a little red. “Are you sick? You don’t feel like you have a fever.”

Jesus christ, was this what it felt like to you when he would do anything? He could barely hear you over the sound of his own heartbeat. He wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear it too.

Your eyes softened when you saw tears at the corners of his eyes. You whipped at them softly, “Hey, whatever is bothering you, you can tell me.”

It was quiet for a minute and just as you thought he wasn’t going to answer, Jimin inhaled sharply.

“I love you.”

You paused, short-circuiting for a minute as you processed what he said.

He stepped closer to you, “I love you, L/n Y/n.”

His lips timidly met yours and before you knew what you were doing, you were kissing him back, full of passion.

You put every once of love, sadness, everything into the kiss to try to convey what you couldn’t say in words. You put your hands on his cheeks and tried to push him closer.

Once the two of you parted for air, you looked into his eyes. “God, I love you so much. Park Jimin, you have no idea what you do to me.” Both of you were a blushing mess.

A very small part of you wanted to be angry at him. He made you go through all that heartache, for what? But you would worry about that later; right now, you just wanted to be close to him.

You pulled him into a hug and his small hands found their place at your sides, tugging you closer. Jimin giggled into your chest, feeling lighter than he has in the last few months. “Merry Christmas, Y/n.”

You kissed his head, a giddy smile on your face. “Merry Christmas, Jiminie.”

[end]

~**~

end note: for some reason i love this fic so much!! maybe it’s because it’s my slow progression back into writing for them, but something about this one hits me in the feels (in a good way). i hope you guys have an amazing new year (here’s to hoping 2021 is bounds better than 2020!!🥂) and christmas break. again, thank you so so much to jiminiestanposts for the amazing prompt! and i want everyone to know that i support them and that they are loved 💖💜❤️

masterlist

request something!

taglist: @boba-tea1206​

[extremelyblackandwhite]

cardigan

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence

a/n: this is a limited three part series based on three of my favourite songs from taylor swift’s 2020 life saving albums; cardigan, willow and invisible string. this one is cardigan, hope you enjoy xx

WILLOW

She clutched onto her worn out brown leather bag as she stepped inside the her father’s precinct. There wasn’t much that looked different from when she was a little girl, the tables still stood on the same messy layout which made no sense, the officers still didn’t look up whenever someone came in and the whole room smelled like stale coffee and burnt bread. The only difference was that the once endless room now felt small, nauseating, confining, a place where she didn’t want to be. 

      - Y/N. - her father’s voice rang through the small room, making her look up to where he was standing. Captain William, or dad if she was lucky enough to call him as such, was an intimidating presence even after all these years yet after her mother’s death it was him who was left of her family. - Come in. 

Her shoes felt heavy as she stepped inside his office, two more officers standing inside as she walked with her father. He closed the door, nodding his head which was a tell tale for everyone to sit down. She sat at the end of the dark green couch, away from the other two officers who were looking her up and down as if she were a prey.

       - I told you she would be perfect. Inconspicuous, he wouldn’t even think she’s undercover.

       - She’s not the type of woman Barnes go for.

       - She doesn’t need to be the type of woman he goes for, she needs to be the one who works in his bar and listens to their plans. 

Her father had told her about James Barnes. They had been trying to get him in for minor offences yet nothing seemed to pan out. The force knew they could never apprehend him for the crimes he knew he had committed but if they could get him in for something small: weapon charge, drug charge, something. For that to happen they needed someone to be in their circle and unluckily for them, Barnes and his men knew everyone who worked in the force but they didn’t know her. In return for her working in his bar, the force would pay her tuition fees as well as any books she needed. 

“It won’t be hard” was what her father had told her but as they dropped her at the bar she couldn’t help but freeze at the door. They were expecting her, she had gotten the job yet she couldn’t find herself walking inside. In any other situation she would’ve rushed past it, it wasn’t the place she would like to be in. Her hand grasped the bar of the door, pushing it open. The nightclub looked vastly desert with squeaky clean floors and bright lighting which showed the dark aesthetic of every single owned Barnes club in town. She didn’t know the man but she knew his style, dark, sleek, leather, sensual even, enough to make people feel sexual whenever they walked into his club. Yet, in broad daylight it was merely an abandoned establishment with one a table with a few hangover men still nursing a bottle of beer each, waiting for 7 PM for the club to come back to life. 

She stood out like a sore thumb, dressed in brown tones. A loose gingham black dress over a brown turtle neck covered and low black Mary Janes. Her eyes roamed the room, looking for someone to speak to but someone found her first. A tall man, probably pushing fifty, toothpick hanging from his lips and dirty rag on his left hand. She felt short, cowering under the gaze of the man.

     - You're the new girl, or what? - he questioned, thick Brooklyn accent yet Y/N didn’t dare reply, instead nodding at him. - Do you have a name?

     - Y/N.

     - Y/N, that’s nice. I’m Bobby, I’m the bar supervisor. You wanna talk to anyone? You talk only to me and you’ll do well.

She nodded her head quickly, almost like a bobble head figure, following him behind to bar. Now Y/N knew about bars or at least what they did in them, she just wasn’t expecting to see the huge amount of spirits, wines, and beers behind her. She was almost sure if someone robbed the club, they’d be better off with the booze than the money in the cash register.  The man, Bobby, ran through the basics, showing here with the cleaning products were, where some more complicated cocktail mixtures were written, how the washing machine worked and how crucial it was to constantly collect glasses from the bar and put them in there. She held a small reporter notepad, pen scribbling down messy wiggles which she wouldn’t be able to understand later on but it was still worth it. She could memorise it, she was a university student after all hence her memory for cocktails shouldn’t be hard. Everything was so polished, meticulously placed, almost too organised for a bar; the bottles placed onto glass shelves which light from under, placed almost the same measure apart in a sea of expensive beverages. 

     - Don’t serve any drinks to people who haven’t presented a payment form. If the boss comes in, serve him whiskey on the rocks. Glenlivet, no other brands. 

     - I’ve never seen the boss.

     - You’ll know. 

She was left there watching as more staff came in, the sun going down at the same time. “Just breathe, Y/N” she remembered her father’s words, she could do it, she could do it. How hard could it possible be to be a bartender? Just breathe, Y/N. She can do it, she can help his father, she can do this and then no longer have to worry about how many hours she would have to do at that little mean shop which had taken more of her than she gave them. She could be a regular university student, she just needed to breathe.

The purple, blue lights started to light the sunlight coloured bar as people started to queue up outside for a chance to get inside one of the most famous bars in town. She could faintly remember hearing her friends talking about how exclusive it was but as she looked out the window and at the queue she could finally understand it. As the doors opened and people started flocking in, suddenly she was serving drinks left and write, vodka and other shoots drenching her dress and apron as she messily tried to serve everyone at the bar screaming at her to hurry up. She kept running around like a crazy person, dragging bottles and bottles and pouring drinks which kept overfilling and dropping onto the floor. People kept yelling at her “hey sugar, how long does it take you to bring me some vodka?” but one man who was sitting still, gaze glued onto her while a cigarette hanged from the middle of his lips. She cowered under his gaze returning to hand a tray of jello shots to some girls. 

She continued to work until the last person was out of the bar but the man remained calmly leaned against the bar, the flame of his cigarette dying down. She tried to avoid him, pretending to clean the spot over and over again but the man merely scoffed, rubbing the butt of the cigarette against the ash tray.

      - You’re terrible. - he spoke out, voice raspy. - Who hired you?

      - That’s nothing to do with you. - Y/N turned around to place back the bottles onto the shelves.

      - Are you the owner?

      - No. - she placed the bottles on the shelf, hands shaking. 

      - Then it is something to do with me. - the air seemed to be punched out of her lungs, as her grip tightened around the neck of the bottle she was holding. She refused to turn around and look at him, understanding what it implied. Instead she just looked at herself in the glass wall. Just breathe, Y/N. - Can I get a ...

      - Glenlivet. - she rose herself on her tippy toes, interrupting him mid sentence. Grabbing from ice from under the bar, she added it to the glass, topping it with the expensive whiskey before placing it under a black square napkin. She continued to wipe down the counter until Bobby came back from the storage unit with more alcohol. 

     - You can go now, Y/N. I’ll see you at 7. - Bobby dismissed her and almost like thunder, she bolted off, not even stopping and allowing him to question why their boss was sitting at the bar.

Clutching her bag against her chest she started walking up to campus. She had done it, or at least managed to do something yet get no information her father wanted. That is unless her father wanted to know James Barnes’ drink of choice which she was pretty sure he didn’t want to know. Reaching her flat, she turned the key around, opening the door to see her friend Wanda waiting in the couch. 

    - You’re alive. - she mocked, turning the TV on. - Once again, tell me why you said yes to working in a mob bar ...

    - It’s not a mob bar, Wanda.

    - It is a bar owned by a mob boss who has been blamed on several murders. It is a mob bar. 

    - I’m just a bartender, nothing is gonna happen.

    - Can you tell me again why you’re doing this? Your father is the reason why you were raised by John Hughes’ movies. 

    - Okay, Wanda, you made your point. - Y/N took her jacket off, hanging it onto one of the hooks in the door.

    - I’m buying you pepper spray.

    - Pepper spray is illegal, Wan. 

    - So is the bar you’re working.

    - Okay. I’ll be careful, don’t worry. I’ll go to sleep now.

Wanda continued to ramble about her working where she was but there was really nothing she could do other than continue. All she had to do was breathe and listen and the department would pay for her tuition for the rest of her degree. Small price to pay for a much bigger price. 

As another day started, the routine started once again with her awaking up and running into class with Wanda complained about her brother followed by spending the rest of her free time until her shift began. Walking back to the bar she was telling herself once more that she would be just fine and that Wanda slipping a knife inside her bag was only her overreacting. Stepping inside the same building, Bobby was setting some shoot glasses on the counter.

    - Y/N. - he acknowledged her. - Glad to see you’re still here.

    - Wouldn’t be anywhere else. - she placed her bag and jacket under the bar and tied her apron around her waist. - Busy day?

    - Fridays are the busiest. All the university kids. Let me know if you need a hand.

    - I’m sure I’ll be okay.

Once again, wrong. She was not okay and as everyone found themselves flocking to the bar she was already running around like a crazy person, holding two bottles on each hand as people. The lights were blinding, shining on her as she served and slide more drinks onto the bar counter and to the waitresses who’d give her snide remarks whenever she took too long. Her hands were numb from the ice already yet her face was warm from moving side to side. At least, Mr. Barnes wasn’t around and that was already something she could be thankful for. She knew she had to eventually speak to him if she wanted to ever hear anything or maybe she wouldn’t have; she was good at being invisible, maybe she could just overhear something without having to ever speak with him.

   - Hey, sugar, where’s my drink? - a sluggish voice came from the bar and Y/N ignored it. Bobby told her, if anyone sounds or looks drunk to cut them off that “Mr. Barnes doesn’t need drunk people being roudy in his bar”. She continued to serve the group of girls celebrating passing an exam until the man moved over to them. - Hey, I asked where is my drink?

   - Sorry, you’re cut off. - she shrugged, grabbing some glass onto a plastic bucket so Bobby could put them in the washing machine.

   - What the fuck? C’mon give me my drink.

   - No. - Y/N just ignored it, turning around to put the bottles back onto the shelves.

   - Well then be useful and show me your tits. - the man scoffed as if it was the best joke in the world. Y/N turned around, speechless at what he had said before grabbing an half empty drink from the bar and throwing it at him which surprised the man just as much. - You bitch!

   - What’s the problem here? - fuck. Of course he had to show up. Mr. Barnes made his way towards them, holding that same powerful yet frightening stance as the strobing lights painted his face. His eyes were on her, waiting for her to say something but Y/N was mostly frozen. That was it, she was about to get shot, or worse, lose a finger or a leg or an arm. Oh god, how could she take exams without an arm? 

   - Your bartender isn’t serving me. - he pointed at her as if he were a 5 year old. 

   - Really? - Barnes stood slightly behind him and all she could see in a glimpse second was his metal arm, reflecting the strobing lights, come up to the nape of the man’s neck before he slammed his face against the glass topping of the bar counter. Y/N was startled by this, jumping back against the wall of drinks. - Get the fuck out of my bar. 

The man ran off, bloody nose, like a scared wounded animal leaving Y/N only to stare at him. Her mind rushed miles an hour, wondering if he had done that to someone what he would do to her. She should’ve taken the pepper spray from Wanda. 

   - Get back to work. - he left her with that, turning around and getting lost in the sea of people dancing. 

   - Hey ... - Bobby touched her arm, waking her from her own mind. She looked at her hands; good she still had both hands. - Go take a break, wash the glasses, I’ll do the bartending for a while.

   - I’m fine, Bobby.

   - I know. I just want you to go do something else. - Y/N nodded, not wanting to disobey anyone yet she couldn’t help but be glad she would be in the back where the big washing machine was for most of the pint glasses and other oddly shaped cups. After all, Mr. Barnes wouldn’t be hanging in the kitchen.

She pushed her hair away from her face and put on the big pink gloves and started to wash the glasses and plates from some small appetisers they sold until closing time started to near. Once the bar was cut off, she joined Bobby to clean the always messy bar and make it look as precise as it looked every single day. Another day survived, no limbs lost. 

   - That was a good one, Y/N. See you tomorrow. - Bobby bid her farewell as he exited through the door. Y/N stayed behind, moping the floor behind the mar which was mostly a pool of mixed drinks that she always somehow managed to overfill and drop onto the floor on her way to serve them. As she continued to mop, the person who she didn’t want to see sat at the bar and without much thinking, she served him his drink of choice. 

   - I ... hm ... I have to go, I have to walk home and my flatmate is waiting for me.

   - You’re walking home with your flatmate?

   - No, she’s waiting for me at the flat. - Y/N grabbed her cardigan, putting it on which immediately brought her a nostalgic warmth. 

   - I’ll drive you. 

   - Oh .. no, Mr. Barnes. It is not necessary, I’ve walked home before, I know the way. 

   - And I know the type of men who walk around my bar. - he downed the whiskey as if it were water. - Come on. 

Oh god, I’m going to sleep with the fishes. He’s gonna kill me in his car. Y/N thought to herself as she followed him to the back of the bar where he had parked his car. Of course it was a good car, a new model black Audi with sleek matte black leathered seats which looked more expensive than everything together at the bar. She wondered how much money he made. Her father hadn’t told her much about him and all she knew was merely gossip. He opened the door for her which she took as a sign to get inside the car. Once in, she noticed how awfully warm it was, he probably had the heating on so she took off her cardigan, shoving it in front of her feet as he entered the car. 

   - Where am I dropping you?

   - The student campus, south building

   - You’re a student? - he asked as the motor roared, signalling the start of the car. - Why you working here then?

   - It pays well. My mother paid for my first years but I still have my third one and a possible masters. 

   - Why not ask mum for the rest of the money then?

   - Well she’s dead. - she said, not taking the eyes off the road. - Her inheritance lasted as long as it could but tuition is expensive.

   - I’m sorry. - he tried to sneak a look at her but gave up, instead keeping his eyes on the road. - You’re a terrible bartender.

   - You’ve said that one time already, I’ve heard it. If I’m so terrible why don’t you fire me?

   - Bobby likes you. Says you’re a quick learner. Yet again, he likes every single wide eyed Disney Princess girl who works behind the bar. I give you a month or two before you quit or get knocked up.

   - I’m not gonna quit and I’m not gonna get knocked up either. 

   - Got a boyfriend?

   - No.

   - Husband? Friends with benefits?

   - I don’t have the time so if you want to get rid of me you’ll have to fire me.

   - I don’t fire people. - she saw her building come closer and closer from the car window. - Is it that one?

   - Yes. - she grabbed her bag, eager to leave the car before anything could happen. 

   - Hey, you got a black dress? - he asked as she exited the car and she nodded yes. - Good, bring it to work tomorrow. 

She mumbled an okay as the car drove away. God, she was alive. Good.  All she wanted now was to return to her home and in a few minutes she was back in her living room where Wanda and her twin brother Pietro were waiting for her. Of course waiting meant watching Shark Tank and discussing how bad all the inventions were. 

   - How was work in hell? - Wanda didn’t even look at her, eyes glued to the TV while she stuffed popcorn in her mouth.

   - I didn’t need to use the knife you snuck into my bag, thank you.

   - You snuck a knife onto her back? - Pietro looked dumbfound at his sister who immediately snapped back with a response. 

   - She’s working for James Barnes, she needs to carry a knife block and she’s lucky I only put a steak knife. - Wanda turned around in the couch. - Hey where’s your cardigan? I swear you left with it. 

   - Shit. - Y/N looked around. - Fuck, I’ve left it in his car.

   - Whose car? 

   - Mr. Barnes’. He gave me a ride and I took my cardigan off because the car was so warm. Fuck. I’ll never see it again.

   - Why were you in his car, are you crazy? - now Wanda was interested. Clearly her best friend’s lack of judgment was more interesting than the poor soul trying to pitch a tuna can opener shaped like a tuna to a bunch of executives.

   - He gave me a ride ... oh and do you have a black dress?

   - I do. - Pietro said gaining an odd look from the two girls. - What? Girls love me and I love them. Stuff get’s left behind. What can I say?

   - You’re disgusting. - Wanda rolled her eyes. 

taglist: @lookiamtrying @mariamermaid @sebastianstansqueen @unmagically​

[ladyonfire28]

Came back from my little break for that new article ! Here is the translation of Adèle and Aïssa’s interview for Libération. It’s a very long, but very interesting one. So i recommend to read it. There may be a lot of incoherencies so please tell me if something doesn’t make sense ! 

Aïssa Maïga and Adèle Haenel : «Finally there’s something political happening»

They stood up together at the César and have since been striving to invent a common front against all forms of discrimination. For "Libération", actresses Adèle Haenel and Aïssa Maïga retrace the journey of generational awareness.

Some kind of symbol. A large mural, in tribute to George Floyd, a 46-year-old black American who died on 25 May when he was arrested by a white policeman, and to Adama Traoré, who died at the age of 24 on the floor of the "caserne de Persan" (Val-d'Oise) following an arrest in 2016, was painted at the beginning of the week on the façade of a building in the 10th arrondissement of Paris. Close by, the Adama Committee organized a press conference on Tuesday. Words, demands and the announcement of a new march to fight against police violence. It takes place this Saturday in the capital, from the Place de la République to the Place de l'Opéra. The organizers dream of seeing a huge crowd come together. This demonstration comes at the heart of a tense period. Young people are demanding answers and action, while many police officers feel that the Minister of the Interior is letting his troops down in the face of the scolding.

In the street, we will find associations, politicians and many people. Adèle Haenel and Aïssa Maïga will be there. Not a first. They were already present on  June 2nd at the rally in front of the Paris high court. The actresses didn't really know each other before the last César ceremony, marked by the speech of one and the shattering departure of the other. Since then, they have never left each other. Both describe the moment as a "turning point". The fights converge.

When the idea of a cross-exchange came on the table to put words to their commitments, they did not hesitate. On Thursday, in a roadstead near Belleville, Adèle Haenel arrived first, followed by Aïssa Maïga. They are not of the same generation, the journeys and paths are different. The styles too. The one who got up at the announcement of the prize awarded to Polanski goes up and down, talks with her body. The one who, at the same ceremony, invited to count the black people in the room appears calmer, stays seated on her chair, speaks in a low voice. Adèle Haenel and Aïssa Maïga complement each other.

From where are you speaking?

Adèle Haenel: I speak from my personal political background, rooted in feminism, a background that is shaken by the worldwide movement around police violence and by the French movement around the Adama Committee. I would say that taking charge of my own history has given me the ability to deal with other broader issues that do not immediately affect me. I'm talking about a kind of political awakening. This desire to show my support for the families of the victims, for the political movement against racism and police violence in France, and for the actors who take a stand. I'm thinking of Omar Sy, Camélia Jordana and you, Aïssa.

Aïssa Maïga: This intersectional awakening evoked by Adèle is a place where I have been for a long time without necessarily being able to name it. For a long time, the racial question in cinema was so pervasive in my life that it cannibalized everything else. I felt that it was less difficult to be a woman, in a world that discriminates women, than it was to be a black woman. The work done by Afrofeminists in France and abroad put the words in my mouth that I didn't have because I didn't have that heritage. I am speaking from a place that is on the move and that is not made up of certainties, that is made of interrogations, especially about the fact that I can implement changes on my own scale. And I'm also speaking from a place that is purely civic and is tinged with various influences. I didn't grow up in a poor suburb, I didn't live in financial precariousness, I come from a rather intellectual middle class, it gave me certain tools, and yet I haven't escaped this very French thing, a soft racism, rarely seen but which is haunting... because it's omnipresent.

Why did you get involved with the Adama Committee?

A.M.: Because this is a fight for justice. It was Assa Traoré who came to meet me during the release of the collective book Noire n'est pas mon métier ("Black is not my job"). I knew her from afar, I knew her struggle, and she appeared. The support became obvious and it has really taken shape in the last few months. I was immediately impressed by this woman, her quiet strength, and this ability to forge a bond, to think of her family drama in political terms. Her voice matters. She's not just an icon: she allows a movement to emerge.

A.H.: For me, it's even more recent, I had to go through a problem that was going through me, that involved my body in discrimination in order to mingle with other injustices. I was listening to what Assa Traoré was saying and I was struck by her determination and intelligence. But it is only very recently that I also became physically aware that I could not fail to support this woman and the whole fight against police violence and racism, in the same way that I am taking up the fight for feminism and against sexual violence. I can't have it two-tiered.

On June 2nd, more than 20,000 people gathered in front of the High Court of Paris, at the request of the Adama Committee. An unprecedented turnout, with many young people, why?

A.M.: The Adama Committee saw very well the link between George Floyd's drama and their own. The death of Adama Traoré, choked under three gendarmes, was materialized before our eyes with the unbearable images of Floyd's death. The French youth who look at these images cannot fail to make the connection, it is obvious. There is also a form of accessible activism that is developing via social networks. Activists will involve others through simple, accessible sentences: if you are not a POC, you are still involved, it is your responsibility to listen and take an active part, at your level, in the fight for equality. There is also the idea that we need to establish a link between police violence, the racism that can be found in other social spaces, the issue of gender equality, the environment, and the urgency of dealing with these problems now. There is also a form of anxiety among young people: they are told that in fifty years' time there will be no more water. And finally the feeling of injustice, which is omnipresent and linked to the circulation of images on social networks. Police violence follows one after the other, and this creates an accumulation effect. It is not just a dogmatic political vision, but a reality that is lived or perceived as real.

A.H.: There is a turning point in the effectiveness of the movement as well. This feeling carried by Assa Traoré that we are powerful. It's not just ideas that go around the world, it's ideas that make the world happen. It gives hope and responsibility to a whole generation.

During Aïssa's speech at the Césars, in which she confronts the profession with the near-invisibility of actors, filmmakers and producers from French overseas territories and African and Asian immigrants in French cinema, you are in the room, Adèle. You don't know each other yet. Do you understand her speech immediately?

A.H.: It's obvious, but it's not immediate, it takes a little time to understand the extent of the racist mechanism when you, yourself, haven't been forced to see how it works. I was brought back to particular assignments, but not to this one. So it takes a long time before it becomes unbearable evidence. When Aïssa takes the floor, it's courageous because the room is very cold and it's making it even colder. I thought it was funny and I thought "finally, something political is happening".

Did you both understand that people find it violent to count black people in the room, and even that they might find it paradoxical to split the audience?

A.M.: Counting isn't splitting, it's measuring the gap between us and equality. When it comes to inequality, to be blind to color is to be blind to the social burdens that come from our history and the imagination that flows from it. I am fighting for art and culture to deconstruct racial fictions. In our field, cinema, there is a tendency to believe that when a few exceptions appear, the problem of racial discrimination is solved. I do not think that my presence, that of Omar Sy, Ladj Ly or Frédéric Chau, Leïla Bekhti, for example, however gifted they may be, exonerates French cinema from an examination of conscience. There is always an over-representation of people perceived as non-white in roles with negative connotations - and it's not me saying this, it's the CSA, through its diversity barometer. There are still too few opportunities for younger people, who today in 2020 deplore what I deplored when I was starting out. Still too few non-whites behind the camera and almost no one in decision-making positions. I started this job when I was 20 years old. I am 45. A generation, not a few exceptions, should have risen. It hasn't. And it's unbearable as a citizen, a mother and an artist.

At the César ceremony, I deliberately used a inflammable symbol. If we refuse to measure differences in access to opportunities in terms of racial discrimination, perhaps we are accepting the status quo. Today, we need concrete action by decision-makers and numerical targets in order to measure progress. A few personal successes, however brilliant they may be, cannot justify the violence of large-scale unequal treatment.

A.H.: The substance of what Aïssa said to the César is relevant, it speaks to the moment, and being shocking has the virtue of awakening. The criticisms that followed were "I agree but"... In fact, it means that even when the substance is right, the form is never the right one. It's a form of censorship, there are people who have the right to speak and others who don't.

A.M.: Allowing oneself to express anger head-on is taboo because we are actresses and we are supposed to preserve the desire that others project on us. And also because it highlights the precarious nature of this profession: are you able to overcome your fear, to express your opinion, with the risk of losing something?

A.H.: From my point of view, that of a white woman - forgive me for putting myself in this position, but it's still unfortunately an assignment - I see that when I spoke about what happened to me personally, I received a lot of support, especially from people who are not especially on our side. However, as soon as I spoke up, politically, to say that giving the prize to a rapist fleeing from justice was an insult, all of a sudden I was really overstepping what I was entitled to do, what I could interfere in...

Do you think there's a "white privilege"?

A.M.: Words are so tricky...

A.H.: When Virginie Despentes uses the term "white privilege", it's a bit related to Aïssa's gesture when she counts the black people in the room. It's a question of pointing out, by calling up words that should be those of the past, the gap between the evolution of universalist ideals and the facts of manifest exclusion at work. Provocation points out this flaw and invites us to close it.

Is there state racism?

A.M.: I don't know about "state" racism, it would have to be written into the laws to say that. The right word is systemic: it means that there is something that does not allow for real equality, something in the established rules that allows a small number of people to discriminate without being worried. What also raises the question is the inertia of the state in the face of the continuation of systemic inequalities.

From what you say, we are at a turning point in the struggle against racial, gender, social and other forms of discrimination...

A.M.: I felt the turning point in 2018 with #MeToo, Time's Up, and when I saw all these women from such diverse backgrounds (in the streets) after Trump's election. It was an image I had never seen before in my generation. It was in the United States, and yet something happened to me in France, because I had been dreaming of this convergence for a long time. I'm not here to defend my chapel. I'm not going to be satisfied with a breakthrough if blacks have more roles while Arabs and Asians are still in a degraded situation in French cinema. The convergence I'm talking about didn't quite take place at the time of #MeToo, which quickly became a white women's movement in my eyes. In French cinema, there is also the "50-50 for 2020" movement [collective for parity and inclusion founded in 2018, editor's note] that I saw coming like the guerrilla movement we had been waiting for for a long time, pragmatic, quick, positively impatient, very constructive. The work done in favor of parity is colossal. On the other hand, I regret that diversity is the next program. But it cannot be the next program for me, that is the mistake. I've talked about it very openly, and frankly in a fairly relaxed way with some of them.

A.H.: Much more relaxed than I was, by the way!

A.M.: And then I said to myself that the battles are progressing on different levels and that we're going to have to find some kind of alignment. The fight for women's rights is not just a women's issue, it's a men's issue, just as the fight against racism is not just about POC. And it wasn't until 2020 and the murder of George Floyd that there were those voices, especially white voices, that said, "This is my problem too." Including in France, where this awakening of consciousness is made possible by the work done by the families of victims of police violence.

A.H.: In my political journey so far, I had forgotten to understand the places where I am not just in a situation of domination. I am also, as a white woman who is not in a precarious position, in a dominant position in certain aspects. Understanding that, feeling that, is essential. My political agenda was focused on feminism, and I didn't realize that it was implicitly white feminism, unintentionally excluding. What Aïssa says seems fundamental to me: the agenda that would order one cause after another is not conceivable and leads to inertia. It leagues us against each other in identity issues that are sterile, since they reiterate the terms of oppression. This is a major issue in the effectiveness of political struggles: how can we mobilize without reiterating the categorization we are fighting against? This implies understanding that there is a deep articulation between all systems of domination and that there is a need to defend these causes in a cross-cutting manner.

Aïssa's speech on June 2nd, during the demonstration initiated by the Adama Committee, called for a fair, dignified and positive representation of minorities in the media. But who can judge what is dignified and fair? Only the ones who are affected ?

A.H.: Today, in France, female characters in films are implicitly white women: I have a much wider range of possible jobs than that offered to a black actress. But in my field of so-called universal women, very often, women are offered satellite roles around male characters. These roles take up what is considered to be the normal white female nature, of restraint and reification. What appears natural here is a cultural construction of identity that is done precisely through stories. This is one of the reasons why the political stakes of representations in the cinema are so important.

Is this a criterion for assessing or rejecting a work? What should be done with existing works that have been reassessed as problematic?

A.H.: Works must be recontextualized. They are not created out of nowhere, out of time. Let's question them! That doesn't mean that we stop watching them, but that we ask ourselves what their political substratum is and what they convey. Questioning representations is a sign of vitality. And that does not mean that we would no longer have the right to see these works.

A.M.: With this waltz of statues of slavery figures in the United States or in the French overseas departments at the moment, the citizens gives their answer. Either the work must be contextualized, in a museum or in a place with a historical explanatory note, or it must stand out.

Is it women, more willingly than men, who carry this convergence of fights ?

A.M.: I feel a change in the scale of our lives, a major turning point in the way we perceive each other and allow ourselves to hybridize in these battles. Regarding the massive presence of women from cinema in front of the High Court on June 2, I wonder. In particular about my own capacity to build bridges... while guaranteeing the visibility of the fights against discrimination against women or POC. How do we ensure that the fight against discrimination, for equality and equity, is as visible as the rest? I am not at all sure how to do this. But it has to be done. When, the day after the César, I received a text message from Adèle, even though we don't know each other, and she writes to me to say "I heard you. I'm here. Let's meet", it can be as simple as that.

Why did you send that text?

A.H.: Because of the solitude in this room. And the brave gesture of saying what she said on stage. We'd met the same evening and maybe I hadn't caught the moment, I was captivated by our own event... That is, what had happened after we'd, let's say..., gone to get our coats a bit earlier in the dressing room... (Aïssa Maïga laughs) And I thought, let's not forget the constructed gesture, the political intentionality of Aïssa in there. I wanted to get closer to her courage. So I think that we shouldn't talk about masculinity by saying "men", that we should consider masculinity as a field of organization of power with its own complexities, and its intersectional repercussions. I refer to Angela Davis' book, Women, Race & Class, on the issue of the difficult articulation between the civil rights movement in the United States and the emerging white feminist movements where there was a lot of racism. Why don't we think of ourselves as spontaneous and necessary allies between categories of discrimination, racial, social and gendered? We need to take the history of this division seriously in order to work on it and overcome it. As Assa Traoré does in an ultra-intelligent way when she says "Whatever your religion, your sexual orientation, wherever you come from, whatever your skin color". It is an invitation to self-criticism of our own movement. This is my discovery at the beginning of this year: the self-criticism of my history as a white feminist.

When you get up during the César, is it thoughtful or impulsive?

A.H.: This award was a claim to the right to do whatever you want as long as you are at the top. That is to say: rich white men who don't feel concerned when we talk about violence. What it means beyond sexual violence is that there are people to whom repressive laws do not apply. It's as if the police and the laws shouldn't act against them, but around them... And that's what you feel in that moment in the room. What happened on César night was a dissolution of the status quo. Now it's either you stay in the room or you don't stay in the room.

A.M.: And it was important to be there at the César, because I read a lot about boycotting that evening, but for me there was no question of backing out. A boycott is not just staying at home behind your television, not being there without anyone really noticing. It was important to say that the home of cinema is also our home, our space, our place of expression. We are in a position to speak out and for that to have the virtue of provoking discussion. When that person wins that award, it's the time of the turkey, where someone praises the rapist grandfather, when everyone knows. And you're breathless, you can't move, time becomes elastic, everything is extremely heavy, it's unreal. You enter another dimension. And the fact that a person manages to regain possession of time, to become master of their time and master of their body by standing up and saying no, it put oxygen back in, it woke us up. Adèle and I looked at each other two or three times during the evening, we knew we were together. There was something like a physical experience. We boarded the ship together.

We're spotting the allies.

A.M.: That's right. And time returned to normal when Adèle, Céline Sciamma and others, including me, got up. It was a coherent political gesture in which many people recognized themselves.

Do you think that your political positions, formalized at the César, can have an impact on your career?

A.M.: The question is how do you break a family secret? Festen is one of my favorite films. (Laughs) I wasn't born at the time of the 2020 César, it's the result of a personal journey and a legacy. Others before me have spoken, for example Luc Saint-Eloy and Calixthe Beyala on the same issues at the Césars in 2000. When Canal + and the César invited me to come and give an award, I said "yes, but I want complete freedom". Blowing up a family secret is a movement for self-liberation, it's an essential meeting with yourself. Choosing to be on the side of silence, of the status quo and therefore of injustices with full knowledge of the facts is something I was quite incapable of doing. The consequences for one's profession are not that one doesn't care, but spitting out what one has to say is a top priority. The question of what it is going to cost behind it is resolved by the feeling of freeing the word, provoking debate, making a generational contribution to the fight for equality, which in essence concerns us all. I have an appointment with myself around 60, 65, the age when my children will be about the same age as I am today. There is something about transmission. I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror. I don't want to tell myself that I haven't taken advantage of my little privilege of being a POC exception in French cinema to the detriment of all those young people I meet on the street, who aren't white and who say to me with fear in their stomachs, "Do you think I can still do this job?"

What about you, Adèle?

A.H.: The message that was sent to me very clearly by a casting director is that I will never work again. Obviously, this person was very sure of himself, since he wrote it in print capital letters about a dozen times. What do you say when you ask for respect and silence? They say, "Don't speak out politically because it's not your role". But also: "Don't take the lead artistically either because you're an actress, you have to follow the genius of your director". This whole structure is part of this culture where you shouldn't listen to yourself but to submit. I don't know what the consequences will be for my job. What is certain is that I will never regret it. We did something that night that freed the voices of a lot of people. That is worth much more than all the threats to my career, which in any case is always fragile, because it is a precarious environment. If I totally respected the rules and said, "Yes, yes, you have to separate the man from the artist", that wouldn't stop me from being able to get out of the game. It's as much about inventing one's life as trying to open up the future.

Written by Cécile Daumas , Rachid Laïreche and Sandra Onana. Photo by Lucile Boiron

[truecrimecrystals]

Cases resolved in 2021(pt. 1)

A list of cases covered on this blog that were resolved during the past year. Links to full write-ups on the cases are provided.

The kidnapping and murder of Linda Stoltzfoos.

Amish teen Linda Stoltzfoos was kidnapped in broad daylight on June 21st, 2020. The 18 year-old was abducted while walking home from church services in Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania. After Linda was reported missing, investigators reviewed surveillance camera tapes from local businesses along that route where she was last seen. The camera’s footage actually revealed that Linda had been abducted by a man shortly before 1PM.  Her kidnapper was later identified as 34 year-old Justo Smoker. Smoker was arrested shortly thereafter and charged with kidnapping. 

In December 2020, murder charges were added as well--despite the fact that Linda’s body had not yet been found. However, Smoker eventually led authorities to Linda’s body during April 2021. Three months later, in July 2021, Smoker pleaded guilty to kidnapping and murder. He was sentenced to 71 years in prison.

The murder of Ally Kostial.

Ally Kostial (21) was shot to death by Brandon Theesfeld during the early morning hours of July 19th, 2019. Both Ally and Brandon were rising seniors at the University of Mississippi, and they had on-and-off relations throughout their years in college. On April 12th, 2019, Ally reached out to Brandon to tell him that she thought she might be pregnant. Despite this news, Brandon continuously ignored Ally’s messages for the next few months.Finally, on July 18th, 2019 Brandon messaged Ally again and said he was willing to meet up. During the early morning hours of the 19th, Brandon picked Ally up from her residence in Oxford and drove her 40 miles away to Buford's Ridge at Sardis Lake. There, he shot her to death and then left her body behind.

After Ally’s body was found, it did not take long for police to identify Brandon as a suspect, and he was arrested just two days later. Reports initially stated that he planned to plead not guilty, however in August 2021 Brandon ultimately pleaded guilty to first-degree murder. He received an automatic life sentence. It’s believed that Brandon’s motive was that he was angry about Ally’s potential pregnancy, however during the court proceedings it was revealed that Ally was not pregnant at the time of her death and never had been.

The disappearance and murder of Tianna Phillips.

Tianna Phillips vanished in Berwick, Ohio on June 13th, 2018. The 25 year-old was last seen at her boyfriend’s home in Berwick. Tianna reportedly left the residence between 11 PM and 12:30 AM. She never returned home to her sons and was never seen or heard from again.  Over two years later, a man named Harold Haulman III was arrested and charged with murdering 26 year-old Erica Shultz. While investigating that case, detectives found a link between Haulman and Tianna. In fact, they discovered that Tianna and Haulman had been having an affair at the time of her disappearance. Eventually, Haulman’s wife told investigators that Haulman confessed to her that he killed Tianna shortly after it occurred. Haulman then took his wife to the murder site, where they both gathered Tianna’s remains and placed them in a dumpster. Her remains have still never been found.

In September 2021, Haulman pleaded guilty to murdering both Erica and Tianna. While behind bars on those charges, Haulman also admitted to murdering another young woman who has been missing since 2005. 

[therealcrimediary]

Adam Swellings, the ringleader of a gang of thugs who beat Garry Newlove to death in 2007, is nearing the end of his minimum sentence of 17 years for the murder. Swellings, who was 19 at the time of the attack, had been freed on bail just hours earlier over a similar assault and had ignored a court order banning him from Warrington, where the killing took place. Despite being cleared for a move to open prison conditions two years ago, the decision was blocked by the then-Justice Secretary Dominic Raab. Garry's widow, Baroness Helen Newlove, is expected to read an impact statement at Swellings’ upcoming parole hearing. She has expressed feeling helpless during parole hearings and supports the Mirror’s campaign for a victims’ rights bill, which would give victims the right to be updated and consulted on their cases. The Victims' Law that the Baroness supports would give victims a voice in the criminal justice system and put them at the center of it. Swellings’ fellow killers, Jordan Cunliffe and Stephen Sorton, who were 16 and 17 at the time of the attack, received minimum jail terms of 12 and 15 years respectively in the 2008 trial. Two other suspects were cleared of involvement. Sorton's sentence was reduced by two years on appeal, and both he and Cunliffe were released in 2020. Despite the Parole Board review panel rejecting then-Justice Secretary Robert Buckland's attempt to keep Cunliffe in jail, he was released. The victims' rights bill would aim to address issues like this and give victims more agency in the criminal justice system. Baroness Helen Newlove expressed the importance of the victims' law, stating that only by giving victims a voice will they truly be at the centre of the criminal justice system. The bill would ensure victims are updated and consulted on their cases, providing them with more information and support throughout the legal process. The implementation of a victims' code last year was seen as a step towards this legislation, but the formal bill has yet to be announced. The impact of violent crimes like the murder of Garry Newlove can have lasting effects on the victims and their families, making it crucial to give them a platform to share their experiences and perspectives. Adam Swellings' upcoming parole hearing raises concerns for the Newlove family and emphasizes the need for better support and rights for victims of violent crimes. Garry Newlove was attacked and killed in 2007 after confronting a group of drunk youths vandalizing cars, an incident that forever changed the lives of his loved ones. The pending release of Swellings, the last convicted murderer still in prison over the killing, underscores the importance of victims' voices and the need for legislation like the victims' bill. Baroness Helen Newlove's involvement in the case and support for victims' rights initiatives highlight the ongoing impact of violent crimes on families and communities, emphasizing the need for reforms that prioritize victim support and empowerment. As Swellings' minimum sentence comes to an end, attention is drawn to the wider implications for victims of violent crimes and the importance of ensuring their rights and well-being are prioritized in the legal system.

[dat-town]

his kiss tasted like death

Characters: gladiator!Hyunjin & maid!you

Genre: angst

Setting: gladiator au, set in ancient roman empire (inspired by their 2020 MAMA stage)

Warnings: contains mentions of slavery, forced sexual acts, physical abuse, animal cruelty, blood and murder

Summary: He kissed you like he was going to die.

Words: 1.3k

For @lily-blue​, the one and only, in celebration of our friendship. I know it’s angst, sorry, but I know you love the aching pain of it and I love you lots! ❤️ 

His kiss tasted bittersweet.

It tasted like dripping honey from blood-stained lips.

It tasted like a bite of anger and a dart of tongue to soothe the pain.

It tasted like death and yet, you never felt so alive as next to him.

The feast was still on the table - the most expensive fruits of the empire on golden plates and wine straight from the consul's storage -, almost untouched. The candle burnt low, its dying ends leaving white marks on the table. Neither of you cared though, not when his warm hands were firmly on you, holding onto your waist as if you were the only person you could keep him on the surface, who could keep him sane. His staggered breathing fanning against the balsamic skin of your neck, his long locks of hair tickling your powdered face. You felt his hammering heartbeat against your chest despite the togas' rough material between your bodies.

Hyunjin was about to die tomorrow.

In an arena, surrounded by bored elites watching the bloodshed, this ruthless game for fun, making bets with lives they thought they owned. His just as much as yours. It was an unfair world, it had always been unkind to both of you.

A gladiator and a maid.

A love story destined to end in blood and tears.

While he was thrown into the sandy field to fight for his life surrounded by cheers as if his struggle was for the show, you were thrown to men whenever they paid enough gold to your owner. Nobody before him touched you so gently. Nobody for whom you were sent by your master treated you like a human being.

You remember the day clearly, it was much like this one. The night before the circus, you were escorted to the small, dark room, more like a cell, of the gladiator. He barely spared you a glance before turning towards the wall on the hard concrete of a bed and you held your breath back. Was it some kind of trick? You stood there, in the dark, not daring to move. You were startled when the boy, barely man told you to sleep in a raspy, deep voice. You gulped, not trusting him. Instead you sat in the corner and stayed awake for the whole night before watching him walk out when the guards came as if he was sure he would die.

But he didn't. He always survived.

He had beaten the best fighters of the arena one by one, or sometimes two at the time and soon, he became the consul's new favourite. A favoured one but still a slave.

His room might have gotten bigger and lighter but it was still a cage, still a cell. He still had a leash on like wild animals. Maybe they were right to do so. With the rage he had in his heart for them. With the anger burning in his veins. They were right to fear him.

After yet again triumphant fight, he asked especially for you and you didn't dare to look him in the eyes as you cleaned his scars. You tried to be as gentle as you could but the wounds left by a trident were deep on his chest and he hissed at the first touch of alcohol. You mumbled out an apology and continued treating him until he grabbed you by the wrist. It was nowhere near as rough as the guards around the place and not like how you imagined but you got tense either way. He let you go right away.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.

It was your second time hearing him talk. He had an accent from the South and his words were laced with some kind of hurt. Or was it loneliness? A plea?

You blinked at the absurd question. Nobody ever cared how you felt and as a slave they made sure you were scared to death. But not him, not the boy with blood on his hands and more pain in his eyes than you had ever seen. Not the boy who threw a dagger flying across the audience in the arena just because he saw you being harassed by some noble man. Not the boy who caressed your reddened cheek after you got a slap from a guard.

"No," you whispered looking up at him and in that moment you both found a piece of heaven within each other, a sliver of peace and serenity. Home in this hell.

But calm like this never lasted too long. The storm was about to come.

Consuls came and went, wars should be fought, slaves rebelled and nobles punished. Life was ever changing and you both knew what it meant when Hyunjin was put up against a vicious Egyptian lion with a single spear. The feast and the suite for the night were just another sight of a losing the consul's favour. Or more like him losing reign.

So when Hyunjin kissed you, it tasted like goodbye.

It tasted like rain on a scorchingly hot day.

It tasted like ambrosia and nectar.

It tasted like death.

Body pressed close to yours, you didn't want to let go. Not even when you heard the guards banging on the door. Especially not after he kissed your forehead as if you were a naive child. You both knew you had no choice. You were both just pawns in a game too big for you.

"Come back to me," you whispered, desperate, grabbing on his armor he just put on. The metal was rowdy and old but it served well, it had saved his life many times before.

"I will," Hyunjae promised, sweet like dates with nectarine, your teeth sticky with nougat. His words spilled like pomegranate seeds. They were dangerous like thrown knives. Yet, he whispered them into your red mouth, sealing it with a kiss. "I will win and I will take you away from here."

A wishful thinking you thought but there was tension in the palace when you stepped in to help prepare the chariot for the new consul. Slaves hushed the word death, they talked about bad deeds and when a kitchen slave gave you a bottle of wine to bring to the arena for serving, you didn't have to ask anything, you knew what it was for. It was your revenge and your life sentence.

Hyunjin kiss tasted like a reminder you could never forget. Not when you bowed to the consul or poured wine for him. Not when he jerked his hand away as if you were too dirt. Not when he opened the event with a flick of wrist.

Hyunjin's kiss was heavy like his promise that echoed in your ear when the audience roared and the boy who you had grown to love stepped onto the sandy field clean of the blood the god of Death had left a week ago.

Hyunjin's kiss tasted like the fragile prayer on your tongue as you asked Mars, the god of wars to help him. Then you turned to Venus too, asking her to spare your love but in the cacophony of the arena you couldn't hear their answers.

It all happened too fast: a swing of spear, a spill of blood, a scream.  The consul lying in his own blood. The archers ready to shoot. The guards coming for you. But it was Hyunjin who grabbed your hand and you ran and ran and ran. You ran like the dogs of Pluto were coming after you.

Your white toga was dirtied with blood and mud. The sun was all too bright above and the humid air made your breathing ragged. The sand was hot under your feet. It hurt, it burnt, it mourned you. You fell but Hyunjin caught you.

And at the end of the road, his kiss tasted like freedom.

[solalunar-eclipse]

SYCS - 1 Year Anniversary

Chapter title: Set In Stone

Word count: about 4000 words

Next

Author’s Note: On July 26, 2020, I posted the first chapter of Scars You Can’t See. One year later, I’ve written five stories of varying lengths and am currently working on a sixth (wow)! My writing’s come a long way since then, and a lot of my improvement is thanks to everyone who encourages me to continue said writing, whether it’s through likes, reblogs, or comments. Thank you all so much for your support so far! :)

This is a rewrite of the very first chapter of SYCS, since the original could use a little fixing. Some important notes: I’ve edited a few parts of the story to be more in character, Chapter 2 starts in a different place after this updated version, and I’ve also fixed up chapter 13 because apparently I forgot to finish the motif I started?? Somehow??? At least I remembered eventually...

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the (revised) story!

Before, Shadow had always been able to just ignore what it meant to work for G.U.N.

He’d managed somehow to convince himself to brush aside the fact that the soldiers he worked with (had been coerced into working with) wore the same uniforms as those who killed Maria, his dear sister and first friend. To push away any idea that he couldn’t deal with serving the same organization that had once wanted him dead. (It was the only way to stay with his friends, of course he could deal.)

The same thing went for using guns during the Black Arms invasion- even though he’d had amnesia, he remembered enough that he’d needed to rely on adrenaline near constantly just to make it through those times. Despite this, he had still taken the better part of a month to recover afterwards.

His memories of that day were particularly fresh for a while.

Once the invasion had been successfully repelled, G.U.N. had hired him to work for them very rapidly, as a matter of fact. During the process, some of the people along the way strongly suggested that if the organization wasn’t able to keep an eye on him, then…well, then they’d be very displeased. 

Shadow knew all too well that you did not want G.U.N. displeased with you.

The hybrid felt nothing but exhausted as these thoughts whirled through his head for the hundredth time. They’d only become a major problem recently, ever since the military organization had begun to require him to resume using guns on his missions. Every single time he touched one, the cold steel left his palms slick inside his gloves and made his head swim with flashes of memories too often repressed. Still, he had to use them- he’d be taken off missions entirely if he refused, and Shadow would never leave Rouge and Omega in the lurch like that.

However, his mental health had been growing ever worse these past few weeks as a result. He thought (hoped) he’d done a good job of hiding it from Rouge and Omega, but Shadow had been sparring with Sonic noticeably less. The hybrid had struggled with the idea of inflicting more violence on others in his spare time, and the hero had asked him about it several times, trying to figure out the reason for his sudden change in behavior.

Shadow shook his head, pushing his doubts and worries away just as he always had before. He couldn’t allow himself to become distracted by his thoughts- they might spill over into missions if he wasn’t careful. Forcing himself to focus on his schedule for the day and nothing else, he walked out of his room to take on whatever might come his way.

…

He was skating through the halls of an old, decrepit building (currently being used as a hideout by Eggman) on a mission. A robot stepped into his path.

Shadow hadn’t used his weapon yet on this assignment. He remembered the thinly veiled threat after his first refusal- we may have to remove you from missions if you cannot handle this responsibility- and felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.

He shut his eyes, whipped out the firearm, and pulled the trigger. Flinching at the sound out of instinct, he refused to open his eyes until the gun was away, when he didn’t have to see it anymore. The robot lay on the ground, a smoking hole in its center. He tried to ignore the lingering sensation of the G.U.N. logo embossed on the handgrip in his palm.

Shadow felt the floor tilt for a moment under him before he regained his bearings.

He refused to look at the machine as he rushed by.

…

The exhausted hedgehog curled up in bed at night, unable to keep himself from hearing gunshots over and over and over. He fought against the memories of that day, refused to let them spill over into his thoughts.

Yet despite his best efforts, he knew he’d dream of it again tonight. He knew that he’d wake up screaming with her name in his mouth and the sight of blood still burned into his eyes. It had happened every night since he’d received the weapon.

Shadow swallowed down his fearful apprehension over what would come next. He forced himself to breathe deeply, to close his eyes, even though he wished to do the exact opposite. Dreams were not real. He could not let them hold power over him.

But still, he shivered as he tried to fall asleep.

…

He and Omega were standing in the center of a courtyard, broken badnik scrap lying all around them. This mission was supposed to be easy, just a simple in-and-out. Take out the bots, grab the intel, and go.

Rouge had asked them to cover for her as she searched for information in the abandoned computers alone. Shadow hadn’t liked the idea of leaving her alone but agreed grudgingly anyway.

He looked down at the firearm he held in his hands and tried his hardest not to cringe.

Flashes of memories threatened to surface again, of escape pods and gunshots and too much blood-

“Shadow.”

He jumped, not expecting Omega’s loud voice so suddenly.

“Yes, what is it?”

“You have been distracted for nearly ten minutes. Are you unwell?”

Shadow sighed, projecting a relaxed attitude. “Everything is fine. I was simply thinking.”

“About what?” Omega asked curiously.

“Nothing much.”

Silence descended upon the two again for a minute. 

“Shadow.” the E-series robot repeated.

“What.” he snapped, sounding more irritated than he’d intended.

“Tell me what you were thinking about. You looked distressed.”

“I’m fine, alright?” Shadow insisted. “Just- forget it, Omega.”

Omega stepped closer. “Past experience has informed me that you tend to hide important thoughts from others. Therefore, I will assume that this is essential knowledge until proven otherwise.”

“It’s not important.”

The robot placed his hand on Shadow’s shoulder. The latter wouldn’t admit it, but the weight was comforting, in a way.

“This is not adequate proof. Do you not trust me, Shadow?”

He sighed. “I do trust you, Omega. You know that.”

“Then talk.” Omega’s processors whirred for a moment, before adding, “Please.”

The hybrid’s shoulders slumped- he knew his friend wouldn’t stop until he told the truth. “I was thinking, how weird is it, that I work for the same organization that ki-...caused my sister’s-” He paused on the word, fighting not to trip over his sentences. “-death and...attempted to cause mine. Among other things. And how now...I must use weapons like the ones that took her from me...to harm others.” He sighed, nearly worn out just from the effort of discussing that event’s existence.

Omega jerked away from him, startling Shadow. “G.U.N. is the organization that killed your sister?” he asked, sounding- if it were possible- shocked.

“And the one that locked me away in cryostasis for 50 years, yes.” Shadow said, feigning calm.

Omega made a staticky noise that sounded like a sharp exhale. “Shadow. Why did nobody tell me this before? And why in the name of Chaos do you still work here?”

Shadow looked away, hiding the bitterness in his expression. “Multiple reasons. One, the organization has somewhat cleaned up its act, as far as I can tell. Two, it wants to keep me under surveillance, since I am still ‘potentially dangerous’ to them...and consequences would be severe if I did not obey.”

He tapped his heel on the ground. “Also, it was one of the main avenues for us to become heroes. Unlike Sonic and his friends, we don’t have the luxury of fighting someone who wants us to know where they are. And you know we didn’t exactly have the best record with law enforcement beforehand.”

“Still.” Omega replied. “I am highly opposed to the concept of fighting in the name of such an organization. Have they at least apologized to you? Or admitted their wrongdoing?”

Shadow frowned, thinking. “No, actually, they never did.”

Why did he have to bring this up? There’s no point in talking about what’s past. Let’s just get over it and move on.

Omega looked down, his eyes dimming slightly. “Processing.”

He was still processing by the time Rouge arrived, and remained mostly silent for their exit, post-mission briefing and the entire ride home.

Once the three had gotten inside, Rouge faced the E-series robot. “Alright, what’s up with you? You’re never quiet, but you’ve barely said a word since I got back.”

“I am considering an important decision.” Omega said.

“Oh? And what might that be?” she asked, folding her arms.

“My potential resignation from the government organization known as G.U.N..”

“Wait, what?” Rouge gasped. 

Shadow shouted out from the other room simultaneously. “Omega, what are you thinking?!”

“Current logic process is as follows: G.U.N. hurt one of the few decent people on this planet and my friend fifty years ago by murdering Maria Robotnik and many others aboard the ARK, as well as imprisoning him for said fifty years against his will. It has not apologized or shown remorse for those actions. Therefore, this organization clearly has no respect for Shadow, and therefore I refuse to aid them one moment longer.”

Shadow appeared at the robot’s side, placing a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Omega, but you don’t need to do that for me. I’m alright with this.”

(He was lying, of course.)

“Hold on a minute here, Omega’s got a point.” Rouge said pensively. “I started working here so I wouldn’t go to jail for stealing, but I’ve served my ‘sentence’ ages ago. Honestly, I kind of hate it there anyway? Like, nobody even respects us and it’s got way too much bureaucracy and too many outdated ideas. It’d be much better if it was just the three of us doing our own thing away from them, wouldn’t it?”

“Besides, hon, you’ve got to start standing up against those guys. I know you were going through a major existential crisis a while back when this all started, and that was the main thing you had to deal with. But now that you’ve started to figure everything out, it’s time to stop letting people treat you this way! We don’t have to give G.U.N. anything. They never helped you at all.”

“Agreed.” Omega said. “This organization does not deserve you- or any of us. They have wronged you, and though forgiveness is supposedly a ‘virtue’, it is likely so only when it is deserved.”

Shadow stared at the two of them. “That was...actually kind of philosophical for a minute. And convincing.” He huffed, frustrated, his hands curling into fists. “I just…how would I even go about dealing with my grievances with an entire military organization? I would need proof...and I don’t want to damage my standing with the government. G.U.N. can easily claim that I have gone rogue.” 

He swallowed, trying to ignore the various insecurities at the corners of his mind. “I’m just...should I really be digging all of this up again? I’ve finally started to get over it…”

“Okay, so first of all, hon, you’d better not let G.U.N. walk all over you just because they can make up fake blackmail.” the bat insisted. “And second, you’re clearly not over it. Shadow...I can hear you when you wake up from your nightmares, you know. You deserve some kind of closure to help you, and if G.U.N. won’t give it to you, then you have to take it.

“Also, here’s another thing- how much worse would you feel if G.U.N. hurt someone else, and we had never said anything to warn anyone?”

Shadow stiffened, feeling ill again. The very idea was abhorrent. That another person’s Maria could be lost due to his silence...“That...that would be unimaginable….” he breathed.

“Exactly.” Rouge replied. “So, consider it.”

Shadow frowned. “I...I’ll keep it in mind. But we should at least see if they’ll do something first before we try to attack them. We might be able to convince them to make amends, after all. I mean, if we fight, we’ll be completely out of a job, and I don’t know if the funds from Club Rouge will be enough to keep us afloat- if we succeed. It’s too risky, at least for now.”

“If that’s what you want to do, then we can definitely stick with that to start.” the bat said. “I don’t know if I could’ve taken any of their apologies if it were me, but it’s not my life, it’s yours. So I’ll be right with you no matter what you decide to do, okay?”

“As will I.” Omega added, placing a hand on Shadow’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Rouge. Thanks, Omega.” the hybrid said, finally allowing relief to show on his face as he looked at his friends.

He couldn’t help but feel that with them by his side, everything would be alright.

…

They talked through most of the night about how to bring it up, what they would say, and even where they would sit to keep Shadow feeling as safe as he could. The hybrid had final veto power over anything the other two suggested, and he tried to keep the wording of the speech he’d give as controlled and polite as possible. 

However, he tried not to bring up the “maybe G.U.N. still thinks I’m a weapon to be stored and used, not a person” topic during his proposal. Those insecurities could wait for another day.

They fell asleep late at night, all three in the same room- Shadow made a blanket nest on the floor, Omega plugged himself into the wall, and Rouge was on her bed.

Pleasantly enough, Shadow didn’t have any nightmares that night.

…

“You want us to do what?” 

The head of the public relations department stood behind his desk, cutting a slightly dominating figure in front of the team in his room. Omega could easily detect an increased heart rate in Shadow. He was not betraying any nervousness externally, however, and the robot was impressed by his friend’s willpower.

The PR head sat down, and he gestured for Team Dark to do the same. However, since there were only two chairs in the room (as they had known), Omega remained standing. Among other things, it would allow him to more easily defend his friends should the talk go awry.

“I’m afraid we just can’t do that kind of thing...Shadow.” He said the last word like it was distasteful, like it didn’t belong in his mouth. (Or, perhaps, like he wanted to add a “Project” or “Experiment” to the front of it, but didn’t for fear of a missile to the face delivered by Omega.)

“Why not?” The hybrid asked. “Sir,” he forced himself to add politely. “Don’t you agree that it was wrong? That G.U.N.’s soldiers shouldn’t have done...what they did?”

“I am incredibly saddened that Miss Robotnik’s death occurred in the search for you, and that the head of G.U.N. at the time considered you unworthy of any basic living rights.” the PR leader said, sounding more than anything like he was reading a script off a teleprompter. “However, I am not going to make a public statement digging up something that happened fifty years ago.”

Rouge leaned forward in her chair furiously. “So you’re just going to pretend it never happened? What about the trauma Shadow experienced? What about the fact that this kind of thing could happen again?”

The leader looked at her coldly. “I can assure you that this is an isolated incident, and that such an occurrence has not happened before or since.”

“But you can't just-! Can’t we speak with the commander?” Rouge gasped, outraged.

“I can, and I will. And you know very well that the commander is taking a well-deserved vacation, and we are not to disturb him for any reason except an emergency. Now then. Did you have anything else you needed?” he said smugly.

Omega was so, so close to just arming the missile launcher anyway.

Shadow looked up at him carefully, clearly going over the words in his head. “Sir. May I respectfully ask why G.U.N. considered it necessary to arm me? I can apply lethal force if necessary in other manners.”

The PR head frowned. “Close quarters are not necessarily a safe space for you, Shadow. We need you alive, and if that means you’re farther back, then so be it.”

“But- me? Destroying with impunity? In such a cold, distant manner? That’s not what G.U.N. wants to see from me, I thought. And with my experiences, I really don’t think-”

The human folded his arms. “Don’t worry about thinking, just worry about completing your missions on time. And what’s past is past, right? Now then, I expect no more complaints from you three. This meeting is concluded.”

Shadow stood up stiffly. “Yes, sir.”

Rouge froze. “Wait, Shadow, you’re not just going to-”

“We’re leaving, Rouge. Now.” Shadow said firmly, but the two other members of Team Dark could hear the unsteadiness in his voice. Omega remained silent, but internally was playing a very nice simulation in which he repeatedly punched the head of the PR department.

Once they had exited the office and walked through the facility for a while, Shadow leaned heavily against a wall. “He’s not sorry at all.” he muttered. The robot didn’t need his sensors to tell that he was experiencing far too many negative feelings at once. It wasn’t healthy for organics to deal with all that all the time…

“Agreed.” Omega said. “I would not be surprised in the least if he was lying throughout all of it.”

Rouge sighed, before pulling an unresisting Shadow into a hug. “Honey, I’m...” She paused for a second. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. You shouldn’t have to cope with people like that, ever.”

Shadow closed his eyes quietly and stood like that for a long time. Eventually, though, he spoke up. “.....I know what we have to do. I...I know we need to fight, like you said last night. I don’t feel ready, but just…it has to happen.”

Omega looked down at them both. “You two go out to the car. I will go and get your sister’s files myself while you take a few minutes, Shadow. I am bulletproof and the most likely to make it out unscathed, and if I need help I can call.”

Rouge rolled her shoulders briefly, her wings flexing. “Alright. I’ll be ready to get out of here the second you get in. Sound good?”

“Alright.” Omega agreed. “Let’s go.”

The robot marched down the halls, on a mission. He stopped first to gather everything from their office- or at least all of their personal items. They might need them later, after all. He placed them into his empty chest compartment (he hadn’t refilled on weaponry in a while) and moved on. 

The lower levels of the G.U.N. facility were darker and less well-maintained. This was most likely on purpose, to keep people from wanting to go down there. Omega, however, did not fear the dark. He had a flashlight, and a hulking five-foot robot was usually enough to scare most creatures.

Thankfully, the guards stationed throughout these levels knew him, and simply stepped aside to let Omega pass. Quite a few of them were honestly nervous down there themselves, and barely even noticed him.

He noticed a small door marked ‘Records Room- Classified’ and knew he was in the right place. The door did not give him access, but that was alright. Rouge had hacked the system a while back and given herself the highest clearance possible...and now Omega had her spare card.

Once he was inside, he scanned the cabinets methodically until he found the file marked ‘Maria Robotnik’. Inside were papers detailing her death and her life. Everything one could have wanted to know about her was inside. 

The red stamp on the front reading ‘Terminated’ was pretty ominous, and Omega briefly wondered if he would be able to remove it. He considered the possibility that Shadow would not be quite so pained upon seeing it if the stamp were gone.

It was unlikely, and so he moved on.

Omega exited the room, hoping that the guards in the security monitor room were slacking off. They often were, so he calculated at least a 70% chance of exiting the facility without incident. He placed the file inside his compartment and continued on.

Being a robot meant that he could not act nervous. Therefore, nobody questioned him as he walked through the halls and outside, where he saw Rouge talking to Shadow inside their black-and-red car.

The hybrid appeared to be rather panicked about the whole plan, so as Omega slid into the backseat, he placed his hand on his friend’s head for a brief moment. “Everything is going to be alright, Shadow. I promise you that.”

Shadow sighed and slumped back against the seat. “Let’s get out of here before someone notices what we did.”

Rouge pulled out of the parking lot with a screech of the tires and didn’t let the speedometer dip below fifty until they got home.

“Right.” she said, once they were all inside. “We’ll probably have G.U.N. beating down our door by tomorrow morning, so let’s make sure they don’t catch us still here by then. Omega, refill your weapons and pack us some clothes and stuff. Shadow, you just try and chill. I’m going to look over this file.”

As Rouge flipped through the pages, Shadow decided that he needed to see these for himself and walked over to stand behind her. Before long, though, he recoiled in shock upon seeing that when G.U.N. discussed Maria’s death, they justified it. Made it seem like Shadow was the villain. A monster. A weapon.

“Shadow?” the bat asked.

“...yes?”

“You know we can’t use this by itself, right? We need more proof. Like, video proof.” she said, sounding resigned.

“I know.” he said quietly, disappointed that so little had changed despite the fact that half a century and some new management had taken place. 

Omega cursed out G.U.N. from the other room in response and came over to them, his eyes in their ‘angry’ shape. “We need to stop them now. This revolting organization does not deserve to spend another minute active anywhere on the planet.”

“Let’s get them, then.” Rouge hissed, clearly furious as well. 

Shadow felt terribly apprehensive, but despite that, he agreed as well. “Then they won’t be able to hurt anyone else in the future.” he said, sounding more determined than he had in a while.

“You ready, guys?” the bat asked, holding out her hand in the midst of their little group.

Omega allowed his giant metal hand to hover over hers. “Always.”

Rouge looked at the hybrid. “You sure you’re up for this, hon?”

“Not entirely…” Shadow admitted, but took a deep breath and held out his hand too, allowing Rouge to guide his hand to Omega’s, just like she had so long ago. “...but I need to do it, and so I will.”

“Then we’ll expose them, Shadow.” she said confidently. “And we’ve totally got this, because we’re doing it together.”

And as they all clasped hands for a moment, before breaking off to head to the garage, Shadow felt like they really had a chance to succeed.

[acreepqueen]

Inktober 2020 |Day 2: Wisp|

Okay, so it’s pretty late but I swear I’m going to get caught back up!!

Word Count: 1,125

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For most following the little twinkling blue lights through the trees would be a death sentence. You weren’t sure why you were the exception. They had always led you exactly where you needed to be. Though, often you felt rather odd following the wisps. The hair on the back of your neck would stand up and you’d find yourself subconsciously scanning your surroundings. You’d never actually seen anything but you just had this unwavering feeling that there was something you were missing. 

Though, today it was worse than it ever had been before. Perhaps it was the fact that you hadn’t been back into these woods in ages that was making your nerves run haywire. You hadn’t been back in the area since your great aunt was alive and living in the cottage near the edge of the forest. She had passed long ago when you were still a small child. Recently, to both your delight and surprise your great aunt’s daughter was putting the cottage up for sale after deciding to start her own family. You snatched it up as soon as it had been put on the market and had moved all of your boxes into the house within a week. Moments before now, you had been putting off packing and were relaxing in the back garden. The smell of the forest and somehow always chilly breeze never failed to settle you down.

That was when you’d spotted one at the edge of the garden. The blue flame flickered tauntingly as you stared at it from your comfortable spot. You didn’t really want to get up, but the wisps always had something cool to show you. You had found memories of the little things lighting your way through the dark forest, bringing you to patches of glowing mushrooms, little waterfalls, and fields of white flowers that only bloomed in the dead of night. Your fondest memories of this place consisted of you sneaking out in the dead of night to go chasing after a wisp you’d seen from your window. For the longest time you’d felt guilty about going behind your great aunt’s back. That was, until you’d found her journal detailing her daily life after she’d passed. You hadn’t understood some of the things she wrote or talked about in it, but she knew you were sneaking out to follow the wisps at night. She’d called you ‘touched’ in the journal but you’d never quite figured out what she meant by that. 

Anyhow, you’d begun to follow the wisp. The sense of familiarity that flooded you when you took a step into the treeline was overwhelming. Crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl or rustling in the underbrush brought back such nostalgia towards your childhood. You remembered the path you were following until suddenly, you didn’t. The part of the forest you were in now you were sure you’d never been in before. Above you the canopy thickened to the point where you were sure if the wisps were not lighting your way you would not be able to see. The nostalgia you’d been feeling as you’d reminisced was replaced by that odd paranoia. Sure, it was alarming but you didn’t really want to turn back. You were curious to see where they were taking you and also didn’t think you could find your way back without them at this point. 

Before you had a chance to panic again you came upon the largest tree you’d ever seen. It dwarfed the oaks and even the evergreens around you, but didn’t provide more than a small gap for moonlight to seep in. Like they always did, the wisps disappeared as you began to explore where they’d led you. You thought you’d be tripping over roots as you struggled in the dim light until as if on cue what had to be thousands of fireflies lit up the area. Or at least, that’s what you had assumed they were before one landed on your outstretched palm. You blinked slowly before you could ever begin to process the small creature in your hand. 

Their wings emitted a gentle yellow light, and they smiled up at you revealing a mouth full of strangely pointed teeth. The skin on their shoulders and face was a pale grey dappled with freckles. Light auburn hair fell past their hips, though for you it was merely a few inches long. With a striking determination they grabbed at your hair. Huffing in annoyance when the wind blew it from their grasp. The tiny snow white fur coat that they wore drew your attention momentarily. Compared to the rest, this one was also decked in far more jewelry. It was a bit odd, but you didn’t think much of it as you placed your hair back into their hands. They made what you could only describe as an excited cooing noise before twirling your hair and wrapping it around themself like a giant scarf. 

Never before had you felt such a strange sense of familiarity for something you’d never seen before. Something about their presence brought such a strong feeling of nostalgia that crashed over you like a wave. Then, it clicked. How you’d always felt while following the wisps through the forest as a child is how you felt in this very moment. A gentle, comforting warmth that permeated around you as though you were the source of it made you more relaxed than you should have been in that moment.

“It was you, was it not? All these years, you’ve been the one leading me through the forest, haven’t you?” you questioned, looking down at what you could only call a faery. The faery looked up at you from the palm of your hand. Mischief gleamed in its eyes as it grinned, showing of those pointy inhuman teeth. The words were not spoken out loud, but you heard the confirmation in their expression. Still, that only left you with more questions to be answered.

“Why?” you asked only growing more curious. A lilting laugh slipped from them as they tucked a strand of their auburn hair behind one of their pointed ears. Shrugging playfully, the faery fluttered up and sat down on your shoulder. For the first time since you they had landed on your palm, you looked around at the other faeries. Some were becoming more brave with each passing second and it looked like you would have more little friends soon. Yet, before that could happen the faery perched upon your shoulder made a loud chittering noise that made the others disperse, some rather slowly. Then, they planted a delicate kiss to your cheek. Even without words, the message was clear. You were theirs and theirs alone.

[heavenseed76]

Say Their Names, revised

Rodney King took a beating in 1991

Hold on, dear friends, we’ve just begun

1999, Diallo wasn’t the rapist

Took 41 bullets, too bad he was Haitian

Eric Garner in 2014

was just selling cigarettes-

Please, I can’t breathe

Trayvon Martin, just newly 18

Shot 12 times in 2014

Walter Scott was killed in 2015

For a broken tail light, no taser was seen

And Freddie Gray died alone

Pleading for help, injury

Philando Castille was too close to home

Young eyes were watching, he was not alone

So too, Jamar Clark, in handcuffs, by police

Bystanders were filming the entire scene

Don’t forget Anthony, an Air Force vet

He was naked and scared, and we’re not done yet

Breonna Taylor, Tamir Rice so many names

Oscar Grant, Fruitvale, on the BART train

Say them out loud, they don’t sound the same

Antwon Rose, Sean Reed and De’von Bailey

People of color murdered daily.

And now George Floyd, the kind, gentle giant

Accused of a crime, albeit non-violent

The police became his judge and his jury,

His executioners were in an awful big hurry

To end the life of a person of color

He was our friend, and our partner, our brother

On Memorial Day, the police decided,

The rule of law does not apply

Tensions ignited

Tear gas was thrown

Businesses looted

Minneapolis, where kindness is rooted

I awoke to the sting of smoke in my eyes

Hoping the powers that be would realize

And the pain of my city

Dear god, what a pity

Make no mistake

We have come no farther

Than Emmett Till, his poor mother

An open casket for Emmett

So we would remember

He was lynched, beaten, thrown in the river

And we wonder if this is something to fix

Something broken, not working, turn a screw, grab a hammer

It goes all the way back to ships filled with

Black sisters and brothers

And trails of tears and Pearl Harbor

On and on and on it goes farther

2020, COVID-19

Come together, they said,

We’ll get through it, we will

We social distanced, quarantined and masked and yet still…

Those people on the other side of your screen, they have no idea,

they cannot see what we see.

It is not his blackness that caused him to die

It was racist, white nationalists with law on their side

What then, dear reader, what should we do?

Murdered and jailed and demonized too

Sing kumbaya while six feet apart?

Hold signs, boycott, make peaceful art?

Yes, dear friends, that’s a very good start,

And if that fails, take it all apart

Like MLK said, riots are the cry

Of an unheard minority, why?

We vote and we care for our city with heart

And yet it is OUR lives torn apart

Unless and until we see a sea change

The unrest will continue, yes we will rage

Because the sight of Emmett was not so scary

We will have our day

By any means necessary

Last night

Not even one year later

Not even one degree more

Daunte Wright

Again

Nearly right outside our front door

—heavenseed April 12, 2021

Duante Wright was murdered when he was pulled over for having an air freshener hanging from his rear view mirror. He was a 20 year old father. OUR BLACK SONS ARE NOT TARGET PRACTICE. My black son shouldn’t have to fear for his life when he gets pulled over. I shouldn’t have to question whether or not I need to rethink allowing my children to get their driver’s licenses because a traffic violation may be a death sentence. This kid went to high school with my son. My family is one degree from George Floyd. The school where Philando Castille worked and the intersection where he was killed is less than 5 miles away. You think it won’t happen to you, or in your town? If Minneapolis isn’t immune, no place is. People of color have been demanding rights and justice. To be heard. To be valued. We haven’t demanded retribution. Consider than. Consider what would happen if we did. One day, there might be a reckoning. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise that if justice it’s delivered, retribution will come. And it will be all ya’ll’s own damned fault. The victim can only take so much before the bully gets a black eye.