#like i legitimately used to get into with my former white friends

[maxellminidisc]

No but like its genuinely crazy how so many people in their 20s and younger have like 0 awareness about actual Gay icons in music and like the historical importance of these figures, both prominent and especially undersung artists who are usually of color. And thus they call like literally anybody shitting out some half assed tune an icon.

[purerae]

What if the reader was high/drunk and when she’s high/drunk she’s the sweetest and very loving. How would Kieran react? Would he be all lovey with her?

╭���───༺♡༻────╮

YANDERE!PLAYBOY X FEM!READER.

DRUNK IN SWEETNESS // ONESHOT.

warnings ;; yandere behaviour, possessive behaviour , fluff, obsession, lying (??), jealousy etc, slight angst (if you squint)

click here for the masterlist!

╰────༺♡༻────╯

Kieran walks into the party that he was dreading going to. Because he gave up hooking up with girls, going to parties was too boring for him. He can’t get drunk because he has a very high tolerance and the conversations he has with his so-called ‘friends’ makes him want to feel pain so he can shoot himself five times in the head.

The white-haired male would much rather talk with you, feel you, and joke around with you. Too bad, every time he asks for your number you mutter out a sarcastic response and switch the topic.

It’s not his fault he wants to speak with you at all times! I mean…He could just sneak into your house and watch you from there. But he isn’t going to do that of course! He’s not a fucking creep.

As he walks deeper into the house party, alcohol is pushed against his nose as his past hookups wink at him, the ones who want to be his new girl attempt to walk up to him but he just gives them a wink and pushes past them. If he got a coin for the number of people who dabbed him up and knew his name while he didn’t know theirs, He’d probably be twice as rich as he is now.

The playboy (or ‘former’ playboy) gets pulled into a conversation with the football jocks as they speak about the next game, who they’re going to go for and just basic stuff etc. Kieran makes a joke here and there and he can’t tell if they’re laughing at it because it was legitimately funny or if they’re laughing because they want to get on his good side.

With you, he never had to think that. He knows that you laugh if something is actually funny and God, it makes him feel so proud when he’s the one who gets the laugh out of you.

Speaking of you…His eyes glance away from the group for a split second and the same eyes widen at the scene in front of him. It was you. Dressed up for a party he would never imagine you would go to and hell, you looked fine as fuck. But there was no way you would go to this shitty party! Who would even invite you? The jocks?? No, no it couldn’t have been. Could it?

Maybe he’s just too obsessed with you that he’s imagining you there. He quickly disregards the conversation and walks up to the couch he’s supposedly imagining you on. But there you were, In the flesh. He gives you an infamous smirk before smoothly saying

“Woah, didn’t kn—“ “Oh, my god!! Kieran! Helloooo!!” You grin at him before jumping up from your seat, almost stumbling to the ground and give him a big hug before giggling. “Fancy seeing you here~!”

Kieran remained still for what felt like hours but was actually around 5 seconds. Why were you happy to see him? Why are you hugging him??? “…Haha hey now— What’s gotten’ into you princess?”

This was one of the first times he was almost speechless. Normally you reject his advances constantly. Even if he put an arm around your shoulder, you would give him a sharp glare and push him off. But now…You’re hugging him?!

Unfortunately for him, you let go of the blissful hug before looking up at him and pouting with wide glassy eyes.

“Are you not happy to see me…I’m r-really happy to see you, Kieran!” You sniff and flop back onto the couch. Glaring at him with narrowed eyes and a pout on your cherished lips.

The blue-eyed male recovers from his shocked flustered stare before realising…bottles everywhere, your eyes were struggling to stay open, emotions off the rail. You were obviously drunk! Your personality seemed more intimate too. He could use this to his advantage. Kieran quickly sits down next to you and holds onto your arm.

“Of course, I'm happy to see you, cutie! I'm always happy to see your pretty little face~” He flirts back at you, wondering how the drunk version of you would respond.

You lean into his touch and smile. “I knew you’d be happy to see me..!!” you look at his face and then his shirt before placing a hand against it. “Woah— your shirt suits you so much, Kier! You should wear blue more often” You compliment him with a wide smile and your eyes closed.

Kieran looks at your flushed face. In his heart, he knows it’s because of the alcohol but ignorance is bliss so he’ll pretend it was because of him. His face matched yours despite not drinking anything. The new nickname and the compliment which you never give him, gives him electrical pangs in his heart.

He looks down at you with a widened smile and you’re so close to him, he just wants to kiss your red plumped lips but decided against it. He wanted you to be sober when you guys kissed. He wants you to remember his lips on yours.

“Jesus, how much did you drink princess?” He mutters to himself, intending for you not to hear but since you guys are only 8 cm away from each other, you hear him loud and clear.

With a big frown, you say “I'm not drunk…at all… barely even dranked…drunk..drank?” you slur your words out and struggle to keep your head up before giving up and placing it on his chest.

To people surrounding you guys, it looks as though you’re his millionth girlfriend and he’s just flirting with you. But Kieran doesn’t care what people think. The male turns you around and lets you lean on his chest with a content smile, he wraps his hands around your shoulders.

“Hm? I believe you babe~ you’re not drunk at all, yeah?” He says with a humming tune in his voice.

You let out a “Mhm!” noise and you guys stay like that for a while. Kieran is flirting with you and instead of your sarcastic responses, you giggle and laugh while acting all sweet to him too. He knows if you were sober right now and saw how you were acting with him, saw the very public display of affection, You’d vomit all over the place and never speak with him again.

But he was always good at keeping secrets.

Your sweet conversation got cut off by one of Kieran’s ‘friends’ who walks up to you both with a drink in hand before laughing.

“Yoo, this your new bitch? She’s hot as fuck, where’d ya’ get her?” He yells out, obviously drunk and high and everything in between.

Kieran’s smirk turns into an angered look. Something no one has ever seen before. His eyes darken as he hears the cunt refer to the love of his life as a ‘bitch’…as well as complimenting her too! No one deserves to compliment what's his. He should be the one to call you hot, not some guy who doesnt even know your name.

He snarls out “She’s my girlfriend you freak, Say shit like that one more time and I’ll knock you the fuck out. Got it?” He places his signature smirk back on but his eyes remain the same.

The poor guy has never seen Kieran act like this before. This was a look he never wanted to see ever again. He responds meekly with a “m-my bad bro” Before scurrying off like a lost little sheep.

Kieran’s smirk drops once again as he holds you even tighter in his grasp. His fingers dig into your skin as you yelp in pain.

“Ow!”

His touch loosens. “Sorry princess, just close your eyes again for’ me, okay?” He looks down at you and sees your tilted head staring at him with a confused and worrying stare. He raises his eyebrow before you softly explain

“I’m…your girlfriend?” Kieran laughs and nods his head confidently.

“Of course! Did my cute girl drink so much that she almost forgot?~” He pecks your nose before leaning back onto the armrest and closing his eyes, his arms still resting against your body.

You make a noise of confusion before accepting the fact that you’re his ‘girlfriend’ and get comfortable against him again.

“Ah…Sorry!” You giggle out. and hold onto his arms.

Kieran knows this is wrong. He knows that if you knew he did this, you'd hate him forever. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help the domestic feeling of being a boyfriend. Your boyfriend.

Although he loves your snarky responses, He could definitely get used to the sweet side of you. Just one more hour of this. Please.

purerae<3

[cringefaecompilation]

DORIAN STORM, ROBBIE DAYMOND, AND THE CRITICAL ROLE FANDOM: AN ADDENDUM

aka: zoinks, scoob! it got worse!

(same disclaimer as before: we’re talking about racism, not how annoying you think xyz white character is or how much you want to punt all xyz shippers into a fire. keep your comments focused on dorian himself; it feels counterproductive when conversations about the racism experienced by actors of color and the fictional characters they play snowballs into shitting on fictional white characters and completely ignoring the former.)

as should be obvious, this is an addition to my other long post about dorian storm's racist treatment by fandom which can be found here. now onto my suffering for the past couple of weeks!

so in my original post, i said the following:

i guess i shouldn’t have jumped the gun on how racist people really could be, huh?

now, i did initially want to discuss the people who immediately assumed dorian would be vocally anti-god upon reuniting with the hells and join the vanguard in that post or wished death on him for abandoning dariax. i was already frustrated at how eager everyone was to jump on that train; there’s certainly something to be said about people wanting him to join the vanguard because it’d be “sexy” which very much ignores the fact it’s a soul-sucking cult that uses emotional manipulation and violence to keep its members in line. why would you wish that upon a character you allegedly like?

but there were enough people who were just happy to see him again to drown them out for the time being and it wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before: both orym and laudna had tons of people insisting post episode 63 that they were turning evil and imogen couldn’t have so much as sneezed without people insisting she was a pure evil bitch destined to become the bbeg. maybe this, too, would peter out. and it seemed like it did when everyone was hunky-dory with dorian returning up until episode 102.

the cr cooldown for episode 102 had robbie say that he could see what ludinus was getting at: the gods struck first so ludinus was on some level, justified in his actions and orym’s family just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. he could relate due to seeing melora and lloth basically team up to kidnap opal and maul cyrus to death. fandom went berserk and assumed he would join the ruby vanguard immediately and bell’s hells would need to kill him. usually orym for angst, but i did see a few people who really hated dorian already because of do/rym shippers that wanted imogen to kill him to spite said shippers and prove her innocence. these people legitimately assumed that he would tell orym to his face that his family deserved death because the gods made ludinus sad.

so, what about when the exact opposite happened in canon and orym more or less told dorian that if ludinus hadn’t activated the malleus key, then his brother wouldn’t have had to die by the gods’ hands? or that if his brother had been killed by ludinus or the vanguard, then he wouldn’t care about the gods having done awful things in the past?

the best-case scenario here is that orym overstepped in trying to keep them away from ludinus’ dangerous rhetoric of letting everything burn down out of spite and didn’t think his example through before saying it. the worst-case scenario is that orym told dorian he’s insincerely using his brother’s death as an excuse for ludinus’ fascistic actions and isn’t actually traumatized by it.

eithher way one thing is clear: intent and actions are two very different things. his intentions (prevent his friends from being indoctrinated into a murder cult no matter what) were good but the implicit statement that he does not trust dorian to make the right decision without being herded into it is nothing short of condescending. i can imagine he’ll apologize for this, but as it stands it was an incredibly awful thing for him to say, especially after coming off him realizing how nasty he’d been to laudna in the past few weeks. it hurts even more when you take into consideration that dorian trusts orym as a leader and protector over anybody else and took his side in an argument completely no more than two days ago.

fandom, of course, did not see it that way. from calling him a spoiled brat who sympathized with the evil wizards of aeor instead of the gods because of his royal status (misapplying intersectionality and implying the squall is the same as a fascist mageocracy, ew!) to directly telling him to watch his tone (holy fucking shit) or shut up because he was an idiot that didn’t know what he was talking about.

even “nicer” posts about the situation tried to imply it was all dorian’s fault for not being forthright with everything that had happened to his brother and the crownkeepers and if he’d just done that, orym wouldn’t have been such a jerk. which, if i may crib the tags off @tiredqueermushroom, why do people of color need to explain their motivations in detail when white characters can just insinuate something and their (usually) white fans will headcanon themselves into complacency? and no, he didn’t omit any details or underexplain, both orym and fearne looked miserable after finding out what happened to their old team! they knew damn well what happened and how it affected him! others said that he needed to be educated by all these white people on how great the gods are which is... uh… please read a history book. please.

and this starts to form a pattern: how come deanna was tone-policed and accused of being emotionally abusive for questioning an awesomely being that could vaporize her out of existence but fcg is treated as being completely innocent and kind when he asked the exact same question to another awesomely powerful being? outside of this campaign, how come beau had to be seen sobbing about her abusive family for episodes on end and explain all her motivations in detail before anyone believed her or gave her the time of day outside of characterizing her as an asshole, but caleb was allowed to be self-centered and objective with only his own trauma as an excuse? outside of race, how come astrid becke, a woman groomed beginning at age fifteen was seen as an evil cackling minion to the bbeg, but essek thelyss, a grown man who made the active decision to screw over his entire country out of spite is a sad innocent baby who was tricked by a mean ol’ hubris wizard and has no agency in his actions?

and again, almost none of the fanbase acknowledges he’s native or even that he is a person of color, which makes all of this even more horrific! does your racism really run that deep that even past all your whitewashed headcanons, you see an actor with an ounce of melanin and instantly assume the worst? is it because he's here with his own opinions and a narrative you cannot personally control that makes you uncomfortable?

in the words of the great lou wilson: y’all freaks.

[artsninspo]

Hey I appreciate you probably have loads of requests but can you do a Jamie from top boy imagine where they have a pregnancy scare but then reader gets her period and Jamie looks after her then tells her they could stop using contraception?

“PREGNANCY SCARE”

Author's Note: Just slowly working my way through the requests.

Pairing: Jamie (Topboy) X Reader

Word Count: 900

Times like these make it all worth it. The bass from the song playing is synced with your heartbeat. The car smells like his cologne and you sip your coffee as Jamie bants with Kit about something light. He has a few errands to run today and it’s one of the rare occasions when things are settled enough to be seen together outside and in the daylight. 

Things have been good, Jamie’s rivals got put away because of  a sting operation and now the ZT’s are top of the food chain again enjoying a monopoly. Not to mention Jamie’s ready to leave the game. Your mind goes back to a week and a half ago, you were five days late for the first time. Jamie being Jamie remembered before you because he had a tracker in his phone. It was a whirlwind. You didn’t feel different, no queasiness, tender breasts or hormonal behaviour outside the norm. You’d agreed to give it one more day before taking a test. The day came and went without a period but to your surprise it wasn’t stress and horror in Jamie’s expression. His eyes were different as he sat beside you waiting for the results, scared yes - but maybe excited too. It was hard to be sure. You run your hand over your stomach instinctively and it gets his attention.

“You alright? Cramps?” He asks, pulling the phone from his ear.

“I’m fine” you smile and he leans in kissing you softly. The pregnancy scare had changed him so much in such a short amount of time. He’d become more attentive. More affectionate and more present. He’d also begun talking about the future more, something he didn’t do unless it was broad things. You all had started off as a fling. Jamie came in to spend the night at a hotel you were managing. He didn’t fit in and the mostly white patrons unsettled him. You’d watched the scenes in silence, then Jamie came with his proposition. He flirted like all the other men with money. He seemed insulted by your refusal of his number. You were sure he was when you’d joined a friend at a party. Jamie was there and with a group of men you could tell we’re not good. It made you happy about your decision but you’d always had a thing for bad boys. Liquid courage had you asking Jamie if he was done being a bitch about the past or was he ready to fuck? He put it on you like a man with something to prove in the backseat of his car. Wasn’t romantic but it felt incredible. Then Jamie turned up at the hotel and it was excited sneaking into empty rooms with him between shifts and on breaks. 

It was never supposed to be this. But Jamie was more than a road man. He didn’t carry around and perpetuate trauma in his relationships with the exception of what his job brought. It didn’t take long for you to learn his truth. Had tragedy not struck he’d have been a shining star. 

Legitimately.

He gets your door, there’s no need for performative acts, there’s no one around and sex isn’t being withheld - it’s who he is. The transition from the man who just wanted to blow your back out to the best friend and lover that cares happened so seamlessly you hardly recall the former persona. He takes your hand as you walk towards the entrance.

“Are you sure were okay?” You ask.

“Yeah” He nods oddly relaxed. In the beginning he wasn’t shy about other women. He was honest about not being prepared to be anyone’s boyfriend seriously or a father. Father was his most serious preoccupation. Making sure the pill was popped daily and checking the period tracker to know when to stay away. There was no intimacy without protection on both ends.

“Kit, I’ll check you later” he calls from your side.

“Do your ting!” Kit laughs before pulling off. You wonder if anyone aside from Jamie knew about the scare. Heading into your flat Jamie Carrie’s most of the groceries. 

“What do You want for lunch?” You ask and he smiles, closing the distance between you.

“You’re not cooking for me, I’ll order in.” He says kissing your neck. 

“Babe what’s wrong, are you upset that I forgot to take my pill a couple of times?” I ask looking up at him. His eyes narrow and then squint. He closes them shaking his head.

“No, no y/n, I’m not” he says clearly.

“Then what is it? Do you have to go away?” You ask, trying to understand the distance.

“Babe, I’m right here” he says but you can feel he’s keeping something from you.

“Then what is it?” You ask and his hand goes onto your stomach. It stays there.

“Thought I didn’t want a kid but I’m nearly out and I love you and it was something to look forward to. A family. I didn’t expect to want it so bad but I did.” He says and you need to sit down.

“Jamie, I thought you didn’t want children or responsibility?”

“I didn’t” he agrees looking into your eyes.

“But now I do, I want that for us” he says, making your heart flutter.

_________________

Thanks for reading, like comment & reblog. Hope you like this one.

[albertbutyoucancallmebert]

@stuckinuniformdevelopment

(prev) Teddy had sat next to Bert and spent the battle taking notes whenever Bert was too focused on it to notice. For awhile it seemed as if Commander Peepers had it in the bag. He had learned forward and squinted in an attempt to identify that white powder Commander Peepers threw was. Did he add another decoy suggestion for if anyone asked what Teddy spilled during his “interrogation?” Or was this a legitimate strategy? Once he saw that it affected Bishop Percival and Commander Peepers equally he started to reach for his phone to send a text asking about it. But on second thought, he couldn’t miss such a historic event. Instead he leaned and squinted forward so far that he was literally on the edge of his seat. Just as he had solidly counted this as Commander Peepers’s victory/Bishop Percival’s delightfully public execution the tables abruptly turned. His rare bright smile quickly fell as the world seemed to chill around him. Was that a paralysis spell!? Did it only activate by touch? More importantly: If Commander Peepers couldn’t beat him then what chance did two mediocre ex-soldiers have!? When Commander Peepers’ protests made the spell’s true effect clear Teddy’s pen clattered against the floor and went on its way to the bottom row, never to be seen again. Contorted..? Was it some sort of hypnosis? …No, it couldn’t be. His mind was very present and under his complete control. Applied kinesis? Then why wait to get jumped before activating it? But what else would it be..? Now that it was clear that Teddy would glean nothing useful from watching Bishop Percival psychologically torture Commander Peepers (this was the worst time to realize that he genuinely cared his former parasocial nemesis’ wellbeing) he turned his attention to someone who cared far more than him. It had hit as hard as expected, leaving him at a loss of what to do. He hesitantly reached out to Bert several times as he calculated whether comforting physical touch would be beneficial or detrimental. But he never decided. When Bert took off Teddy lagged behind in the aisle, muttering “excuse me” to those in his way and nudging (more like jabbing for stubborn assholes) watchdogs out of his way. Teddy wanted to follow Bert down there. At least to protect him if necessary. Yet he was afraid of attracting attention from the Glornists after he’d subtly refused to (publicly) take a side. That and being seen following Bert wouldn’t help his current dubious status. All he could do was anxiously fiddle with his blaster as he prepared to draw it at a moment’s notice. His free hand clutched his heart as he struggled to focus on the blurry blobs on the field. Could he distinguish them if taking action was required? The other, of course, turned off safety and set power to full. Caution was replaced by urgency when the Glornists grabbed Bert. His feet had just reached the ground when Bert, thankfully, managed to flee. Teddy dashed– while staying in the shadow of the wall– as he ran to meet up with his distressed friend. Once they were close enough for the crowd to not completely drown him out he took a deep breath and put his all into shouting, “BERT! Did they hurt you!?”

Bert perked up at Teddy’s shout and looked around to spot him. Once he did, he made his way over to him and shook his head no. He pocketed the Commander’s blaster. 

He removed his glass to rub his eye and took a deep breath before finally speaking.

“...I think I need to take the day off. I’m going back to my room.”

Unless he was ever too injured to work or specifically instructed to, Bert never took days off. But there was just no way he’d be able to focus on anything today even if he tried.

[furrytacofire]

What kind of person is Zhuang Haiyang (Ding Bochen) included in the vulgar Wiki?

Ding Bochen, formerly known as: Manor, Zhuang Haiyang, aliases: Dazuo Axe, Fighter Against the Village. The main reasons why Zhuang Haiyang (Ding Bochen) blasted the vulgar wiki at that time was that he had no money, and the second was that being a webmaster was useless to him. After all, the vulgar wiki strictly prohibited hanging people without a valid reason at the time. He was a master of internal fighting, which means hanging. Outsiders have no practical meaning to him at all, and many of his friends are on vulgar wikis, wishing to delete all black history passwords, the happiest person. The third is that I wanted to use this to make a profit, but you know that the original purpose of the vulgar wiki was to advertise against profit. Wouldn’t it be ridiculous if it was used for profit? It will also give some old seniority a reason to burst into long-suppressed dissatisfaction, and the reputation outside the circle is not good. After all, there are still many people who know the vulgar wiki in inm and the Oriental circle. The pxj who read Chen Rui's entry by dssq will also Create some bias. There are also some minor reasons, such as the fear that some stupid and bad things I have done will be exposed, so I won’t list them. Speaking of this, I felt distressed for a wave of blue q. At that time, Zhuang Haiyang paid several thousand yuan a month to ask a high school student to build a music MAD website. As a result, Zhuang Haiyang was in a bad mood, so he directly deleted the library and pretended to be stupid. Of course, the blue q was not a good thing before, but in my eyes, it is better to reform than to pretend to be stupid.

This person is very double-standard. He used to say that he hates little ghosts and at the same time chatted happily in the little ghost group every day. He especially likes infighting. He caused a lot of unnecessary troubles without reason, but the group of relatives and friends covered more than half of the vulgar circle. He is very powerful and can't be provoked, and out of inferiority, he made up a lie that his father is the director, so even though many scandals were revealed and the ratings were extremely bad, he was not persecuted. He is still a white-eyed wolf, no matter how much help you give him, he will break up with you because of small disagreements. If you want to get along with him, you have to lick him all the time. Now he has transformed into a vulgar dog. Some insiders who were not pleasing to the eye that he dared not blatantly post in the vulgar wiki period can finally post on the new wiki with "legitimate reasons".

Let's talk about Vicky, who said he was a vulgar dog, and finally let's take a look at Zhuang Haiyang's good friends. 1. Yang Ke, before there was no search result on Wikipedia. 2. Lin Shangjun, a vulgar little ghost who follows the trend and hurts others, has been on the wiki for his former master Bai Mo and other followers, just because this person plays well with Zhuang Haiyang so he can follow him? 3. Yu Chaoyi, pretended to commit suicide and tricked a group of people to transfer Zhuang Haiyang to his heart and soul. This person didn't go up, but he was persecuted by blue q. The real depression TV chef who didn't hurt anyone went up? ? ? Let me tell you from here that you stand up for some real persecuted people who have been used as dagger cards, and don’t call them vulgar dogs. The happiest few of you will be editors with you on the station Find someone to take the blame for the joke. Groups of relatives and friends on some platforms are also popular. This can be seen from the answers, how to comment on xyr, how to comment on blueq, how to comment on so and so, and so and so. But if his character is good, there will be people who can't see that it is the same group of people who smeared others and washed Baizhuang Haiyang? Don't make me laugh. In any case, I wish the vulgar dog Vicki managed by Zhuang Sang to close down as soon as possible so that I can fly to the Czech Republic with your dear same-sex partner and the two of them can die happily.

[uniquecomputerwhispers]

What kind of person is Zhuang Haiyang (Ding Bochen) included in the vulgar Wiki?

Ding Bochen, formerly known as: Manor, Zhuang Haiyang, aliases: Dazuo Axe, Fighter Against the Village. The main reasons why Zhuang Haiyang (Ding Bochen) blasted the vulgar wiki at that time was that he had no money, and the second was that being a webmaster was useless to him. After all, the vulgar wiki strictly prohibited hanging people without a valid reason at the time. He was a master of internal fighting, which means hanging. Outsiders have no practical meaning to him at all, and many of his friends are on vulgar wikis, wishing to delete all black history passwords, the happiest person. The third is that I wanted to use this to make a profit, but you know that the original purpose of the vulgar wiki was to advertise against profit. Wouldn’t it be ridiculous if it was used for profit? It will also give some old seniority a reason to burst into long-suppressed dissatisfaction, and the reputation outside the circle is not good. After all, there are still many people who know the vulgar wiki in inm and the Oriental circle. The pxj who read Chen Rui's entry by dssq will also Create some bias. There are also some minor reasons, such as the fear that some stupid and bad things I have done will be exposed, so I won’t list them. Speaking of this, I felt distressed for a wave of blue q. At that time, Zhuang Haiyang paid several thousand yuan a month to ask a high school student to build a music MAD website. As a result, Zhuang Haiyang was in a bad mood, so he directly deleted the library and pretended to be stupid. Of course, the blue q was not a good thing before, but in my eyes, it is better to reform than to pretend to be stupid.

This person is very double-standard. He used to say that he hates little ghosts and at the same time chatted happily in the little ghost group every day. He especially likes infighting. He caused a lot of unnecessary troubles without reason, but the group of relatives and friends covered more than half of the vulgar circle. He is very powerful and can't be provoked, and out of inferiority, he made up a lie that his father is the director, so even though many scandals were revealed and the ratings were extremely bad, he was not persecuted. He is still a white-eyed wolf, no matter how much help you give him, he will break up with you because of small disagreements. If you want to get along with him, you have to lick him all the time. Now he has transformed into a vulgar dog. Some insiders who were not pleasing to the eye that he dared not blatantly post in the vulgar wiki period can finally post on the new wiki with "legitimate reasons".

Let's talk about Vicky, who said he was a vulgar dog, and finally let's take a look at Zhuang Haiyang's good friends. 1. Yang Ke, before there was no search result on Wikipedia. 2. Lin Shangjun, a vulgar little ghost who follows the trend and hurts others, has been on the wiki for his former master Bai Mo and other followers, just because this person plays well with Zhuang Haiyang so he can follow him? 3. Yu Chaoyi, pretended to commit suicide and tricked a group of people to transfer Zhuang Haiyang to his heart and soul. This person didn't go up, but he was persecuted by blue q. The real depression TV chef who didn't hurt anyone went up? ? ? Let me tell you from here that you stand up for some real persecuted people who have been used as dagger cards, and don’t call them vulgar dogs. The happiest few of you will be editors with you on the station Find someone to take the blame for the joke. Groups of relatives and friends on some platforms are also popular. This can be seen from the answers, how to comment on xyr, how to comment on blueq, how to comment on so and so, and so and so. But if his character is good, there will be people who can't see that it is the same group of people who smeared others and washed Baizhuang Haiyang? Don't make me laugh. In any case, I wish the vulgar dog Vicki managed by Zhuang Sang to close down as soon as possible so that I can fly to the Czech Republic with your dear same-sex partner and the two of them can die happily.

[dzpenumbra]

6/27/23

Alright, let's dive into this head-first. I'm having a bit of a meltdown.

I streamed tonight. I did some work on my abstract piece, about an hour. Then I ate dinner and watched skate videos on-stream, then played Session. A guy I didn't recognize came in. He said he found me through another stream like a year and a half ago and really liked my art and wanted to support me.

He DM'd me and we chatted after. And I've been in full panic-mode since. Because this guy legitimately wants a tattoo design commission. And I'm over here like... bro, I haven't done a commission in like... 7 years? At least?

He tuned into my stream when I was drawing the owl that is my profile picture on here. I drew that on stream in colored pencil, it took me over 40 hours. He wanted that piece on the back of his shoulder.

I'm gonna level here. I don't know how to price my shit. I am absolutely lousy at it. I always have been. And I have always underpriced my shit, and the vast majority of my work has just been given away for free. Because I have really low self esteem and cave under pressure way too easily... and just get super anxious. It's overwhelming. And I just, the whole fucking process is horrible for me. I hate talking money. I don't even like talking about bills that I'm getting. Just money as a fucking concept is just really fucking uncomfortable for me. Obviously not a great problem to have in fucking America, yeah?

I scrambled and... tried to find a scan of the owl, so I could just... give him a scanned copy? And then charge less. I don't know, I have an idea how to charge for hand-drawn shit. Originals. Art. I can price things that are already done. But like... prints? Scans? I don't know. And this is a tattoo, it would be weird if someone bought the original piece and this guy has a tattoo of it. I don't know. It just all feels weird all around.

I've gotten really settled in to this place of just worrying about making things. Just keep creating, just keeping making new and interesting things. This whole sales piece is absolutely nerve-racking and immobilizing. And I feel like it immediately makes me look unprofessional.

So... I did the math on the piece... 40+ hours rounding down, at $25 an hour... that's $1000 as a base... Hand-drawn original, realism, full size. I priced it to him as $1500. I'd let the original go for that, I guess. I still have the original, it's sitting in my portfolio.

So I just told him that as a reference point, so he knew what he was getting into. And he came back with some corrections. Reduced size, black and white, less detail. He wanted 7"x5", a Barn Owl, B+W and I guess a bit stylized (i.e. less photorealistic detail). So... I quoted him $350. And he came back with $300. On the premise that he's going to have to pay the tattooist 300-350 as well, plus a tip.

Quick tangent here. Really think this one over. Who do you pay more? The original artist of your tattoo, or the person tracing their work into your skin? I mean... you don't want the tattooist to fuck it up, sure... But like... are you saying the act of tattooing someone else's work is worth more than the act of creating the art in the first place? And... you don't have to tip me? I hadn't really thought about it much before, it's a weird thing. Especially since I've designed several tattoos for former friends, and they went to an artist who fucked up my work. In the end, the buyer was the one who got fucked, but yeah. It just kinda sucks.

Anyway. I'm afraid I might've lowballed myself there. And then he brought me even lower. And now I'm just like... well... it better be right. Because now we're agreed. And now I have to do a commission.

It's not the end of the world, I'm just freaking out. I don't want to fuck it up. I don't know what medium to use, I don't know whether to do digital or pencil. If I do pencil, how do I get it to him? Do I mail it? How do I process payments? PayPal? I guess? Do I keep records of this shit?

I feel way out of my depth. And I feel like I have to act like I know what I'm doing. Which I tried to do, I think it worked well enough. I just feel like I'm going to fuck this up. And the hardest part? I don't have anyone to talk to about it. At all. No one to run prices by for second thoughts, no one to help me research stuff, no one to reassure or ground me. I'm just swimming in the anxiety and self-doubt and depression, barely keeping my head above water.

I hate this. I should be excited. I should be happy. And it's one fucking commission. This will cover like... two orders of groceries. And will likely take me a full week of work.

I don't like this way of working. I like coming up with my own ideas and putting the pieces together. I don't like trying to guess what someone else is picturing, and trying to get close.

This is all very foreign. Very weird.

The weirdest part? In an alternate timeline, this is what I would've been doing full-time for 10 years now. Plus the actual tattooing too. Getting out of college, my first idea was to start a company that I tentatively named "Evo Customs" which was a design company that would put customized art on anything. Skateboard, helmet, shirt, computer tower, you name it. Then I transitioned into pursuing tattooing. I was heavily encouraged by my friend, and we spoke to my then tattooist about it. She was a one-woman operation working out of a pretty small town. She pointed me in the direction of the program that she went to, and offered for me to finish up my skin-time hours with her, and she'd sign off on an apprenticeship and I'd be good to go either work with her or open up my own shop. Welp... I went and did the program, and I came back, and I went to her... and she said "what are you talking about?" And then she hired some teenager to work her register and apprentice under her instead. And I was absolutely crushed, devastated.

All of my tattoo designs - the one I did for my friend's ex-wife (for free), the one I did for my former best friend (for free), the one I did for my former best friend's husband (for free). Even four of my own tattoos which were all self-designed, she inked them all. And she just walked the other way and acted like it never happened.

I was never able to find another artist who would take me on. I just transitioned into tattoo design instead. I had all my tattoo equipment in boxes for years. Inks, cups, ointments, bands, needles, my machines, stencils, all of it. Last year, I threw it all away. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I felt like I just gave the fuck up. But, I think I gave up long before that. And this was just... cleaning house. Stopping myself from clinging.

When I went to vocational rehabilitation in winter 2019, right before the pandemic hit, I mentioned my past aspirations of being a tattooist to the person who was working with me. They urged me to go to a shop about 40 minutes south of me. They had a connection there. I really struggle to just... interact with strangers in a professional setting. Which is pretty clear right here tonight, I get super insecure and super anxious. I act confident, I'm sure it doesn't read as though I'm anxious, but I'm fucking losing it inside. So... it's really hard for me to do. I can't really explain it, it just is and no matter how much I try to puff out my chest and "be a man" and just ignore it or whatever, it just tears me apart. So, because of that, I really just needed a professional connection. And this was supposed to be it. This was the first one I had gotten, an in. Someone to vouch for me.

They set up an appointment with me in the middle of winter at fucking like 8 AM. So I get there early, and I'm sitting in the parking lot for like 20 minutes freezing my balls off drinking coffee. Then I go inside and they have me sit in the waiting room. And I flip through their art books and they had some pretty cool shit, but I was just trying not to completely freak out. And then the guy brings me back and I introduce myself and then pull out my phone and start showing him some pictures and he just has no fucking idea what's going on. At all. He was just like "okay, so which of these pieces did you want done?" He scheduled the fucking meeting and he thought I was there for a tattoo, not a fucking job interview. I don't know if the fucking state agency that set that up dropped the ball or if it was that guy... but I got a nice talk from this dude on how he trusted someone to be an apprentice once and he "learned that fucking lesson" because the guy went and set up his own shop... like an hour away... in a different county... and he saw it as "competing with him". And he didn't want to "train his competition". In fact, his entire shop was... him, his wife, his daughter and her boyfriend or fiancée. And that was it. So... I went there for fucking nothing. And that whimper was the death of my tattoo career ambitions. I completely tapped out after that. And last year, when I had to move and sort through all my shit? I finally tossed my tattoo gear. All of it. For good. The only thing that survived was my Kuro Sumi outlining ink, which I used for the goat skull and staining the wooden beads on my necklace. That's why it's such a powerfully symbolic medium for me, because of how much gravity in my personal life is attached to it.

Can you tell this commission is making me flash back to some really devastating memories? I'm trembling a bit and my chest is a bit tight.

It really hurt to lose that purpose, that direction. Even more so that... I just sorta let this social anxiety barrier stop me from approaching other shops. I fucking hate this emotional brick wall that stops me from going. I hate it so much. Like seriously, if one friend went with me? To a local tattoo shop, or something. I would gladly go. But alone, I am way too timid, way too passive, too chill, too back-seat. My interest in working at their shop wouldn't even come up in conversation unless they brought it up. I'd have to like... become a regular. The awkwardness of it just makes my skin crawl.

And what upsets me the most is that some people love doing that. And they won't help me. It's so aggravating. Like... this is clearly one of my greatest weaknesses that has completely crippled my ability to establish myself as a professional artist, and it clearly stems from mental health stuff... and I can't get a single living organism to help me do it. I just need to... wait... and slowly chip away at my mental health barriers... until I can do it myself. It might take a year, it might take 10 years, however long it takes to gradually get to the point where I can comfortably interact like a human. And meanwhile, I'm surrounded by others who can easily, intuitively do this. And could easily help me out, and vouch for me in the process. But they don't. Because "I should be doing it for myself".

Can you tell I'm a bit upset about this? XD

There's nothing more frustrating to me than having a small nuanced problem... that's hard to articulate to others, that they don't seem to really understand because they don't share that problem. For instance - having a trauma response associated with going grocery shopping pre-food-delivery-apps. People who don't suffer from this have no fucking idea how massive of a difference just going along with that person to the store can be. And it costs like... nothing. But I've always heard shit like "can't you just do that yourself" "why do I need to do that for you?" Shit like that. Like I'm just fucking lazy. Not like it takes me 45 minutes to pep talk myself into going out there, then I'm wading through a lava river of emotional overwhelm and every bell in my head that says "your life is in danger and we don't even know what from" is clanging. And I'm alone through it. And I have to fake a fucking cheery conversation with the fucking checkout lady.

Since those days (that was probably... close to 10 years ago when I had that grocery store problem, I've gotten much better with it over the past several years) I have developed experience and a "script" for those kinds of interactions. I learned. It took me a long time, lots of practice, lots of exposure, but I got there. This one? The work one? Negative. I have very little experience, and all of it has been bad. And honestly...

I'm just getting really sick and tired of having to be good at everything and do everything myself.

I had this butting of heads with my therapist before. "What's the point of a social network if I'm going to have to do all this myself anyway?" Like... all I've looked for in life is a wingman, someone to vouch and make introductions, to help in literally any way. So I don't have to go around and method act being a fucking extrovert. I have been in extreme isolation for over 4 years. I am not good at pretending to be an extrovert. I should not be expected to be good at extroverted behaviors, I have no idea why anyone would expect me, of all people, to be in any way good at that. It should be expected that those encounters would be extremely overwhelming for me.

Who the fuck am I ranting at? XD I don't even know anymore. I'm just sorta shaking my fist at the sky pissed off that I don't have anyone to like... brainstorm this stuff with. Run price quotes by, shit like that. I don't know.

And I guess I'm just kinda upset because... I don't really want to do commissions. I kinda just want people to be supporting what I'm doing now. I worked pretty hard to develop the rhythm I have now, where I cultivate a mindset for creativity to form, then seize it when inspiration strikes and... I'm trying to incorporate streaming into the process. I finally, like... a year ago?... took the plunge and dedicated myself towards Fine Art. My intentions being... work that is displayed publicly. Private ownership feels... secondary, optional. I decided to move more towards trying to get stuff in galleries. Again... with some pieces.

Okay, you know what? Maybe I'm freaking out because I don't know. I don't know what I do. And I'm kinda having an existential crisis because of it. Over winter, I polished stones and made jewelry, and made a custom painted hoodie. Spring, I did The Path (a fine art video/digital art piece), the goat skull and about 10 abstract ink pieces. Now, I'm working on a mini Zen Garden and my Fractal digital abstract piece which will probably eventually be an ink and cloth tapestry.

Everything I have done, I'd have to brainstorm pricing individually. I have given it zero thought. The necklace and the mala I could come up with a decent price for, I guess. The hoodie, too, or a custom piece like it. Even the skull, or my abstract drawings. But I literally haven't even given it thought. I don't want to care about that. I wish all I had to do was just worry about the process. For the past decade, that's all I've known. And this is all very foreign and bewildering. I don't want to "screw it up".

So yeah. I went with 300, took the 50 under asking price. Don't really know why. I just did. And he sent me some reference. And I'll just figure that out tomorrow. The pose, the size, the medium, how to pay, all that. I'll just wake up after my night of what I'm sure will inevitably be night terrors at this point... XD Put on a pot of coffee and just... figure out what I'm doing.

I was saying today on stream - I want to get back into representational work. I want to do a piece that is of something. And I was considering doing the Blue Jay that visits me. I wish I could break through these intense overwhelming emotions and see the good in this.

This is such high praise. A person who has barely spent any time around my work... wants to pay me $300 because he fell in love with my work a year and a half ago and wants to get it tattooed on his body permanently. I think I'm in shock. And denial, a bit. I think my self esteem is so devastatingly low that... I don't fully believe it's happening? And I'm adding a shit-ton of pressure to make sure... I "get it right".

I'm scared. I'm scared I'm gonna fuck it up. The piece itself, or already fucked up by underpricing myself. I was going to ask for half up-front and then half when I finish. I think that's fair. Just so neither of us flake out on it. Once I get the details ironed out on exactly what he wants, but before pencil touching paper.

God, I hate business. Ugh. I just want to draw and create and make cool, interesting shit. And have people donate or something. Idk. I'm just not enjoying myself right now.

That said, I got my package today. Sheets that actually fit my "new" mattress, the sieves and a suncatcher that's like a multifaceted prism that catches sunlight and refracts rainbows around the room. I'm excited to see that in action now that the smoke has cleared a bit.

Man, I almost got away from the topic of freaking out. XD I'm scared of disappointing this guy. I'm scared of fucking up the drawing, or taking too long or something. I'm sure I won't... I'm just... I'm very anxious. So... to remedy this... I'll just not stream that piece. And apologize to him about that, but... yeah, fuck it, I can just say I've been dealing with a lot of anxiety lately and I feel like I'd do better work behind closed doors. I'm sure he'll understand. It's usually just the sketching phase that I feel like that with. When it's just starting to take form. Once I've got that down, I'd be fine with streaming the piece taking shape.

Anyway, enough of that. I need to wrap up. Besides this giant turn of events, my upstairs neighbors were being loud as shit. The boyfriend was back over again last night, they were really loud, then there was an actual child visiting and running all over the apartment, and they were talking really loud. All evening. Until like 10. And that's just what it is. I was cranky about it. I wish I could be happier for other people. Maybe that's why I crave the late late hours. It's so quiet, so peaceful, so still.

I also shaved my head and my beard today. Buzzed, gone. Fuck it. The only reason I grew it out was because the doctor told me the clippers were giving me micro-abrasions and those were getting infected, but... we ruled that out. And he has no idea what this is. So I decided to just go back to shaving my head. It makes me a bit more insecure to have these big fucking weird pimple-like swollen red spots on my head, and have them super visible because my head is shaved... but what the fuck am I supposed to do? I can't even get in to see a doctor about it, no one knows what this is. I did an antibiotic regimen, it did nothing. I do steroid cream, it makes them fade quicker, but they just come right back in different spots. I'm just waiting on a specialist. So, I might as well be comfortable in the process. And the cream is easier to put on when my head is shaved, so... there's that. Going on 2 years of dealing with this shit, I'm gonna be so much less anxious once these things are gone.

Okay, I'm going to do tarot and go to bed, it's super late.

Past - Two of Wands, inverted (Planning, scrutiny, taking risks and moving a plan forward.  The active force needed to put a plan into motion.) Present - Four of Wands (Stability, a sense of completion.  A major milestone, taking a moment to reflect on accomplishment so far, before moving to a new future.) Future - Three of Cups (Celebration, calling in good fortune, joy.  Social gathering, a heartfelt belonging in a community.)

Alright, we're starting with inverted Two of Wands. I actually pulled some cards when I was setting up my webcam earlier today and Two of Wands came up. That was my first reaction. It was inverted then too. Two of Wands is planning, surveying the landscape. Inversion representing a blockage, barrier or dissonance around this symbol. Difficulty or struggle planning or seeing ahead. Hmm...

This is connected to Four of Wands in the Present position. And it made me smile. Four of Wands is a milestone, a memorable event and the ensuing celebration. The image this artist provides is a birthday party. Fitting, that's what I should be doing now...

And this concludes with Three of Cups. Upright, for once. Fucking rare in my readings! (At least it feels that way, definitely rare in my life...) Three of Cups is the "party card", it's a celebration shared with loved ones. It's the card I immediately thought of when I saw Four of Wands, because I was like "I could call this the 'celebration card', but I already have the 'party card'."

Okay, with the definitions all added in... let's stitch it all together. So... I've been struggling to take risks and move shit forward... but I've landed here. Somehow. And this is actually a milestone. A pretty big one. And this will lead to a celebration, one shared with others.

I'm going to add this on while I'm here. When that guy came into my chat, complimenting me and being super friendly and nice? I thought he was fucking with me. I thought he was full of shit, or like... scheming something. He mentioned a streamer's name "buddha" who I... I have like... never been in their room. It was there like... maybe once or twice? Years ago. And this guy said he knew me from that chat... and came to see my art... and fell in love... and a year and a half later he wants to commission me to get my art. When I have like zero fucking viewers. It was really hard to believe. I felt like I was getting conned or scammed, like he was setting me up for something. I feel bad that I was a bit harsh and skeptical of him. Just getting that out there.

The bonus placeholder card was inverted Two of Cups, a new one. That one is a strong connection forming, but... with the disruption of inversion. So... that's a thing.

I'm fucking wiped. Physically, emotionally. Super drained. Heavy workout, giant anxiety/depression/trauma episodes for two hours straight. I'm just bushed. I'm gonna go pass out, hopefully sleep decent and figure all of this out tomorrow over coffee.

[burningexeter]

Here's some more notes/details/trivia that I can share on Where The Magic Happens, which should be interesting on my end so have at it:

• This legitimately awesome deleted scene from Destroy All Aliens, which is not a good movie at all but still, with Gwen having her moment and kicking ass will be reused for the series as the context here is Gwen wanting to prove herself to Sandra and decides to stop a trio of bank robbers all on her own to which she actually succeeds yet it ends up feeding in to her ego.

• Frightwig will appear in the show as a sort-of ally to Charmcaster, only for that to change when Gwen is captured by Charmcaster and when leaving her with Frightwig, she disobeys her order and decides to kill Gwen. However, after returning from the future she accidentally transported herself to, Charmcaster immediately discovers the deception and races to save Gwen. There, she and Charmcaster have a fight to the death with the former using the latter's very own lair against her but Charmcaster comes out on top with her killing Frightwig by ripping her whole skin right off, saying "How DARE you treat my future wife so shamelessly!".

• While it will never be on the nose, it will be either heavily implied or even at times flat-out shown that the five protagonists are in fact bi. Not only do you have it be revealed that in the future, Gwen and Charmcaster are married to each other, but also it's shown that Sandra and Xylene were girlfriends when they were teenagers, Camille has a photo of Xylene in her room with tissues crumbled up surrounding it that she instantly puts away and Gwen shows interest in Charmcaster when the latter puts her ass up to the former's face by accident and Gwen just smiles.

• If the show proves to be a success or critically well received than we'll turn it into a trilogy with the sequels focusing on UAF Gwen, UAF Charmcaster, UAF Sandra, Xylene and Camille along with Julie Yamamoto, Jennifer Nocturne and Elena Valadis and even characters from Generator Rex, such as Rebecca Holiday, Circe, White Knight, Beverly Holiday and Claire Bowman.

• Here's a major spoiler for the ending so if you want to not know it than skip this last part and go about your day but if not than here ya go —

It looks like it's going to be a happy ending after all. They've defeated the true villain of the story, Sandra has come into her own, Xylene has faced her past and Camille faced her parents after all. Better yet, Gwen has become a better person and Charmcaster turned around and joined the good guys.

That is, until the real ending, where Gwen gets into her parents' car ready to go home only for it to be revealed that it's Charmcaster driving with Sandra, Xylene and Camille by her side. Before the moment, they decided to become a permanent team who is about to go across the galaxy and become bounty hunters and tell Gwen that she's part of it but she turns them down now having a complete change of heart and decides to be a normal kid with her new friends and her mother and father. But it turns out, to Gwen's horror and shock, they didn't ask if she wanted to come along. She's going to come along with them whether she likes it or not with Charmcaster and then the other three in unison all saying, "I hope you like being among the stars because you're gonna be with us for the rest of your life!". They then laugh maniacally as the doors lock and as she tries to break out of the flying car, Gwen screams her head off with her parents both looking for her and calling out her name not noticing her being driven off into space.

Top it off, this is the "How did Ben get the Omnitrix off in Alien Force" of Where The Magic Happens because it will never be explained what happened after and how Gwen is back on Earth like nothing happened BUT it is referenced and why Gwen is hesitant on teaming up with them again.

[PITCH]

Where The Magic Happens

What is it —

A 25 episode limited series event that's both a second yet truer Ben 10 reboot and an action-animated series that's a combination of not just action but also sci-fi, horror and magic.

PREMISE:

Set in the fictional Bellwood, California, we follow Gwendolyn "Gwen" Frankenstein, a 10 year old girl who is incredibly intelligent and well read for her age but at the same time she's also a rude, mean, obnoxious, spoiled and stuck-up brat who rarely gets into any trouble due to her manipulation skills. Her summer break has been planned out by herself and herself only and Gwen seems perfectly fine and comfortable being the awful know-it-all who nobody likes. That is until the night that summer vacation starts when Gwen is forced to answer the front door since she's the only one home, she is kidnapped and bagged by three women — her mother's closest friend Sandra Tennyson, her school principal April Munroe who's revealed to be a green skin alien named Xylene and one of her neighbors Camille Mann who's revealed too to be a dark purple skin sludge alien — who proceed to bring her to a deadly, twisted, boisterous, vile and sadistic femme fatale teen witch named Charmcaster that is responsible for the disappearances of several spoiled girls and has her eyes set now on making Gwen her 100th victim to add to her body count.

However, things that have already taken an unexpected turn takes another turn equally unexpected when Charmcaster decides to let Gwen go once she senses that unlike the other girls, she has a magical aura which leads to her giving Gwen her dark purple lipstick as a way to contact and have her come by and visit.

In doing so, this ends up setting off a chain of events that not only brings Gwen into this almost-hidden world of witches, wizards, aliens, creatures and enhanced robots but also has Gwen, Charmcaster, Sandra, Xylene and Camille form together as an unlikely team in order to take down the main threats that affects them all in some way, shape or form with each of them changing for the better in too their very own ways.

NOTES/TRIVIA/DETAILS:

• While the limited series will be done in the same animation style and overall aesthetic as the original Ben 10 series, it won't be the only thing that the show will share with the OG. The series will have the same dark and intense edge in this case to show the high stakes and danger that the characters are in especially Gwen who is devoured whole by Charmcaster who blows her out of her stomach later, has her nose fall off, is split in half, her eye squeezed so hard her pupil pops out of it and is kissed by Charmcaster on the cheek only for her lips to stick to it.

• Meagan Smith, Kari Wahlgren, Tara Strong and Grey DeLisle will all reprise their roles as Gwen, Charmcaster, Sandra, Xylene and Camille but will be given new and interesting material to work with and be given new and fresh takes on their previous characters.

• A perfect example of the type of dark storytelling that the limited series will have is that in a middle episode, Charmcaster finds that she accidentally traveled into the future and she's arrested by a police force with ways to block and subdue magic. Here, she discovers that not only is she the captain of this police force but that also she's a good guy and married to Gwen. We delve into what this does to Charmcaster and her having to come to grips with who she'll be.

• All five of the protagonists will each have their own distinctive arcs where they both learn, face and see the consequences of their actions and how it affects others, especially Gwen whose main arc is turning into a better, kinder and more caring person.

• The influences for the limited series are the following: Return To Oz, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2003), The Incredibles, Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Beware The Batman, in terms of the tone, dark edge and most of all style.

[soulmate-game]

Maribat March 2021 @maribatmarch-2k21

Day 1: Found Family

“Ah! Bonjour!” A cheery voice called, as a short Eurasian girl bound over to the unfairly intimidating mob of tall people with sharp eyes. Chloe had called in a favor. “My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Chloe told me that your tour guide cancelled at the last minute, so she blackmail—sorry, begged me to fill in for them. You are the Wayne’s, non?”

The one at the front of the group, clearly Bruce Wayne since Marinette didn’t live under a rock and had seen the man on several American news broadcasts before, nodded and cleared his throat. Man, was he intimidating. Even when he shot her a dazzling smile that was sure to blind Paparazzi with fake cheer. It was a nice smile, Marinette wasn’t about to deny. But it was empty. Distant. And Marinette wasn’t going to buy it for a second.

“Yes, that’s us. Mademoiselle Bourgeois mentioned she had asked a close friend of hers to take care of our tour.”

Marinette nodded again, clasping her hands behind her back. “I guarantee, you won’t miss anything the tour guide would have shown you. In fact, Chloe mentioned that you all were very curious about the now retired Parisian heroes, right? My former best friend ran the Ladyblog back when they were active. I am more than confident that I can answer any questions you have while we go through the city.”

A boy with a white streak in his hair rose his hand, as if he was in a class and needed to wait to be called on. Which, considering the sheer size of their family, Marinette was actually grateful for. But damn, this was another imposing figure. Slightly taller than even the six-foot-three-inches that Bruce Wayne owned, he was solidly built and rocked a brown leather jacket and ripped black jeans. Marinette smiled and nodded for him to speak.

“How old are you? Because I don’t know if twelve year olds are allowed to do guided tours,” there was an obvious tease in his voice, but there was also legitimate concern in his blue-green eyes. Marinette almost missed that concern amid her quickly building annoyance. She even felt her eyes twitch.

“I’m turning eighteen in a few months if you need to know, Monsieur,” she evened out the bite in her voice with an overly sweet smile. “And if you want to get lost and possibly pickpocketed in the busy streets of Paris, then please continue to make comments on my height. If not, we can begin our tour and you might even enjoy it.”

Several Wayne’s snickered at her comeback, one man in particular elbowing the white haired gentleman with a little too much glee. Even the stoic Bruce laughed softly, and a boy with enough bags under his eyes to make the airport jealous nearly fell over himself with his suppressed laughter.

The man himself just snorted, sending her a lopsided smirk that oddly radiated approval. It was almost as if she had passed some sort of test.

“My name’s Jason, Pixie. You already know B. The guy trying to break my ribs,” he pointedly shoved off the one who had elbowed him, “is Dick. He’s Bruce’s first adoptive casualty. The one that looks like a zombie is Tim, we might need to take a break to get him more coffee before he passes out halfway through. The one who hasn’t stopped glaring at you is Damian, the badass redhead is Barbara but we all call her Babs. The annoying blonde is Stephany, the other cool badass over there is Cass. She doesn’t talk much. And the one trying to pretend he doesn’t know us is Duke.”

Each member he introduced gave her a little wave or nod. Even Damian managed a short nod of acknowledgement before resuming his glare. He looked to be a couple years younger than her, so she just brushed it off as teenage drama.

“Alright then! It is very nice to meet you all. Now, Chloe did inform me that you guys are very multilingual, which is another reason she asked me instead of one of our other friends. If you ever need it, I obviously am fluent in both French and English. But added to that, I am fluent in Cantonese, Mandarin, Italian, and I know basic survival Japanese. I also know French Sign Language, though I’m not sure if that’s very useful for you unfortunately. If you ever need to communicate non-verbally, I will do my best to accommodate that. Now, I believe you guys were scheduled to start the tour with a visit to the Louvre, non? Right this way.”

As Marinette led the large group out of the Grand Paris, they didn’t bother taking time to admire the sights before asking questions.

“Have you ever met one of the heroes?” Dick, who might have been shorter than Jason and Bruce but was muscular enough to still inspire caution (and admiration), asked. His blue eyes seemingly stared right through Marinette as he continued; “If you’re almost eighteen, then they must have been active through a lot of your school career.”

Marinette smiled. “They did only retire last year,” she agreed with a nod. “Yes, I have met all of the Parisian heroes at least once,” she snorted at a stray thought. “In fact, I met Chat Noir quite a lot. You see, my old College was basically ground zero for a lot of akuma attacks. And by a lot, I mean a majority of them,” she shook her head before pausing to get everyone to cross a street. “After a while, Chat Noir started calling me ‘princess’ to make fun of how often he had to save me. He’s an annoying ass.”

Despite her words, everyone behind her could easily hear the fondness there. They all traded glances. What if this was a Lois and SuperMan situation? Regardless, they all had a suspicion that Marinette knew more about the heroes than she let on. Or, at least more about Chat Noir.

“When you say that your school was a hotspot for Akuma attacks,” Bruce spoke up cautiously, his Dad Senses going haywire. He didn’t like how nonchalantly she had said it— she was far too casual. Sure enough, he watched as the muscles between her shoulders stiffened slightly at the conversation change. “What do you mean? Surely it couldn’t have been that bad if the school is still around.”

Marinette sucked her teeth, grimacing. “The school is still there, yeah, but only because of Ladybug’s ability. You’ve heard about the Cure, right?” It was Tim who answered her;

“Yeah. It fixed the damage done during a fight, right?” He asked, tilting his head a little. Marinette ignored her brief thought that the gesture made him look like a curious puppy. She sighed.

“Yeah. But when they say damage, they mean everything. Injuries, collateral. Death,” she said the last example darkly, far too much weight behind the word for it to be meaningless. She heard Jason hiss in sympathy. “But there are good things. The Cure also erased anyone’s memories of dying besides the vague knowledge that it did happen, so there isn’t much trauma there to unpack. Not as much as there could have been anyway,” she assured them. “And I’m one of the lucky ones. I never died, and I was never Akumatized.”

“Hmph,” Damian’s voice cut through the brief silence that followed her admission. She looked back at him to see his sharp green eyes staring right into her. “You don’t honestly believe that’s lucky.” It wasn’t a question. Marinette clenched her jaw, turning around and ignoring him.

Because, no. It wasn’t luck. It wasn’t lucky that she was the only one that remembered everything— all of the deaths, all of the Akumatizations, everything that others mercifully forgot. Since she lived through all of it, she remembered all of it. And survivor’s guilt is nothing to scoff at.

But she wasn’t about to reveal her trauma, or at the very least the full scope of it, to people she had just met and was leading on a tour.

“If you look to the left, you’ll see a statue that was made depicting Ladybug and Chat Noir back during the first years of their activity,” she suddenly told them, gesturing to the still-standing statue. Nobody missed the obvious topic change, but nobody commented on it either. Turns out the statue was something they had been looking forward to seeing in person, Tim even went up to take a few photos with his camera. Barbara took a few circles around the statue, easily pivoting her wheelchair around it as if she was trying to see every angle and imperfection possible. Marinette couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at the sight.

“Your family are pretty big fans, huh?” She asked Cass and Duke, the only ones that had stayed back with her. Duke snorted, and Cass gave her a small grin.

“They like to keep up to date with all the heroes,” Duke answered with a shrug. “Since we’re so high profile, it isn’t weird for us to be saved by one here or there even when we’re away from Gotham.”

Marinette just gave him an odd look, furrowing her brows. “But the Miraculous team has been disbanded since HawkMoth was defeated,” she reminded them. “There’s no need for them to save anybody anymore.”

“Old habits,” Cass spoke up softly, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes locked with Marinette’s. “Not easy to break.”

The smaller woman had a feeling that Cass wasn’t talking about her family’s habit of keeping up to date on heroes.

“Alright! We need to head to the next stop or we might not have time to see everything!”

The tour went pretty similarly. The walks between stops were pleasant, and filled with questions about the period of time where HawkMoth was active. Marinette wasn’t even the least bit surprised nor put off; everyone was curious about those years now that the tourism restriction was lifted and people could ask freely about it. Besides the many questions about the Heroes, Marinette found the group to be very pleasant company. They were polite, but also rowdy in a very endearing way. She caught a lot of inside jokes they had with each other, and a lot of good natured teasing and fighting. They even managed to rope her into it somehow, and she found herself snidely teasing Damian or casually threatening Tim with not allowing them a coffee break. She even got to ride on Jason’s shoulders for a bit after he made another comment on her height that she Did Not Appreciate. But the ride she got made it worth it.

But soon the sun was high in the sky, and it was about time for them to take a lunch break. They had all been walking for hours with only a few chances to rest, and honestly Marinette was impressed that none of them seemed too tired out by it.

“Alright,” she put her hands on her hips proudly. “Since some of you won’t stop whining about needing coffee or being hungry— Dick, don’t you dare buy anything from that vendor! I’m gonna lead you all to my parent’s bakery so we can have lunch and caffeinate all of you. And conveniently enough,” she smiled widely. “The bakery is right across the street from my old College! So you’ll be able to get a look at where the majority of Akuma attacks happened, and maybe I can tell you a few specific stories if you want,” she offered. There were a couple cheers (Tim and Dick) from the crowd and everyone seemed pretty pleased with the next step in their tour. Smiling, Marinette turned and began to lead them in the direction of her home.

Sirens blared, a fire truck zooming down the street next to them.

Headed in the same direction.

Marinette frowned, watching it go. “That’s weird. I hope everyone’s okay, whatever happened,” she mused idly. But as they kept going forward, the sirens didn’t get any softer. If anything, they started getting louder again after a while. Marinette was visibly concerned by then, her pace picking up. “This is my neighborhood,” she told the solemn group behind her. “I know everyone on this street—“ they rounded the corner, and Marinette stopped in her tracks. Her world ground to a halt.

There was the fire truck, stopped right in front of her bakery.

Which was completely ablaze.

A string of curses flew out of her mouth, the little Eurasian wasting no more time before sprinting towards the building. She could hear people yelling at her to wait, slow down, stop! But she ignored them. The only thing on her mind was that her home was on fire.

“Marinette! Wait!” Dick reached out to grab her arm, but like a snake Marinette easily slipped out of his grip and continued forward. Steph was next, deciding to just tackle Marinette— to no avail. The Parisian just shouldered the bigger woman off of her with pure adrenaline fueling her muscles, and everyone else knew by then that they could not stop her. The Wayne’s decided all they could do was jog behind Marinette, keeping her in sight as they tried to gauge the damage.

“The top floors don’t look like they have even been touched by the fire yet,” Tim whispered, though his eyes flew between the building and their tour guide. Marinette was speaking rapidly with a firefighter that wasn’t immediately busy, trying to get information. But before anyone could decipher what was said, Marinette tore a large strip off the bottom of her shirt and tied it in a hasty mask around her mouth.

“Wait!” Bruce was the first to realize what was happening, with his years of experience with self sacrificing children and their stupid stunts. But Marinette managed to kick him away before he could grab her, dashing into the inferno without paying any heed to the many protests that followed her.

The group of Gothamites could do nothing but watch the flaming building, then. If they went inside, it would only overcrowd a hazardous area. Minutes passed, and there was movement in the fire. Out of the doorway came Marinette and a firefighter, both having to work together to carry the body of a large man outside. The sight of the man made the Gotham family blink— he was as big as Bane! And that was nothing to scoff at. But despite his unusual size and muscle mass, the man had all the signs of being a normal civilian.

Marinette didn’t stop there. She ran back in. Coming out a lot more quickly this time with a barely conscious Asian woman— everyone saw the resemblance between her and this new woman immediately.

It had to be her mother.

“Shit,” Duke hissed. Nobody else could say a word. It wasn’t looking good, and this wasn’t a situation where random vigilantes showing up out of nowhere could actually help. Not this late into the fire. Bruce’s hands curled into fists.

The woman that everyone guessed was Marinette’s mother was suddenly struck by lucidity; she gasped and grabbed at Marinette’s hand without seeming to see who she was even talking to. A single word that none of the Waynes could hear left her throat, and judging by Marinette’s returning panic it hadn’t been good.

She rushed right back into the building, and came back out with the last firefighter who had been searching inside.

Marinette carried a child. She screamed out in panicked French;

“She’s not breathing! I need first aid now!”

That was their cue. The firefighters started their hoses, focusing on getting rid of the flames now that nobody was left inside the building. Bruce and Damian got to Marinette first, and this time she listened as they instructed her to set the child down. Damian, being smaller and having more hands-on medical knowledge, took charge of the resuscitation. Marinette sat there silently, eyes riveted to the small child— a girl.

But Marinette wasn’t reacting like a normal civilian to tragedy. She was eerily calm, eyes focused and barely concealing a terrible rage. She took over chest compressions when Damian started to lose momentum, not giving up.

But then the EMTs arrived, and it was only five minutes with the child hooked onto oxygen that the news arrived—

Marinette heard the monitors on the ambulance flatline before she even registered what people were trying to tell her. Manon. Manon was—

Marinette didn’t register Nadya Chammack at first. She was just another body in the quickly growing sea of them. That is, until she heard Nadya’s pained shriek. A mother who had just lost her baby girl.

“Perhaps we should head back,” Bruce offered softly, giving Marinette space but keeping a keen eye on her. He saw her begin to tremble, then shake. He was pretty sure he could hear the grinding of her teeth for a second before she went still. Just… all movement stopped, the tears that had been building just falling silently for a second before they ended.

And he recognized that carefully practiced emptiness in her bluebell eyes. The same emptiness he had seen in Damian’s eyes when he had first arrived at the Manor. The same emptiness he saw in Dick’s eyes in the days following his parent’s deaths.

The same emptiness he saw in the mirror, every time he had another nightmare about the day Jason had been taken from him, years ago.

Suddenly he could imagine all too well exactly what kind of strength she had to have, to avoid her negative emotions ever being used against her during Hawkmoth’s reign. Especially if she had constantly been dealing with her friends and family being Akumatized and/or dying on multiple occasions.

She didn’t even seem to have heard him. Bruce sighed.

“I called Chloe,” Barbara informed everyone solemnly, holding up her phone for emphasis. “She’ll be here in five.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Chloe hadn’t come alone. With her had been Adrien Agreste, former model when his father hadn’t been… well, in prison. Nowadays he was just a normal student who occasionally gave lectures on neglect and child abuse, and how to help children in those situations.

And, apparently, he was also Marinette’s closest friend. Even more so than Chloe. As soon as they arrived back at the Grand Paris, Chloe herded everyone up into her suite and she and Adrien surrounded Marinette with pillows and blankets. Adrien curled around Marinette like an affectionate cat, and Damien even swore he heard the guy purr at some point

“We should probably leave,” Bruce whispered to their hostess, who looked inbetween him and her friends for a moment before jerking her head towards the door.

“I wanna talk to you first,” Chloe whispered back. Once they all filed out into the hallway and the door was safely closed, Chloe took a breath. “First, I want to tell you that I got a call from the hospital. Marinette’s father is stable, but in a coma right now.”

“Is that the man who looked like he could bench press a car for fun?” Dick asked, earning a weak grin from the Bourgeois heiress.

“Yeah, that’s him. But…” Chloe’s face fell, and she looked around as if to double check nobody was eavesdropping. She still lowered her voice anyway. “Her mother, Sabine. She…” Chloe swallowed a lump in her throat, images of the extremely kind Chinese woman flashing through her mind without permission. “She didn’t make it.”

Several people took a sharp breath, acknowledging everything that had gone so wrong for Marinette on a day that had started so perfectly.

“The smoke?” Cass asked gently, but Chloe winced and shifted on her feet.

“No. They… there were rope marks on Sabine’s neck,” Chloe clenched her eyes shut at the admission. “Marinette’s dad might be big, but he’s not a fighter. Sabine, though… Sabine was. She was raised in a martial arts family back in China. I’ve seen Sabine take down five men at once, all twice her size,” Chloe kicked her lips, shaking her head in disbelief. “Somebody knew… somebody knew that the little Chinese woman was a threat but the big baker with tons of muscle was harmless.”

Nobody took that well. Not only had Marinette just lost her home and half of her family, but her father was in a coma and it had all been foul play.

“Okay,” Bruce nodded once the news had time to sink in. They could help with this; this was their specialty. They might have only known Marinette for six hours, but she had made a big impression. It wasn’t just anybody that could mesh with his family so seamlessly in that short span of time. “Is there anything else?”

“I want you to get temporary custody of her,” Chloe said it the way only Chloe Bourgeois could. With her back straight, chin high, and the tone of a woman who expected to be listened to or else she’d make life Hell for the person that didn’t take her seriously. Bruce could only blink.

“Can I ask for your reasoning?”

“Marinette has been closing herself off more and more over the years,” Chloe admitted. “Hawkmoth’s reign was hard on her. Only Adrien really knows everything she went through during those years. But even after the disbanding of the team, she hasn’t… she hasn’t allowed herself to get close to anybody new. That’s why I tricked her into doing your tour. She needed to socialize with new people, and if she wouldn’t do it herself then I had to pull some strings.”

A few eyebrows raised at the admission that Chloe had fully planned for Marinette to be their tour guide the whole time. It honestly seemed like the kind of well meaning manipulation that one of them would try to pull off.

“She likes you,” Chloe’s voice went soft again, showing how uncharacteristically serious she was about that fact. “She was comfortable enough to let you guys carry her back here. To let you try to help Manon. That might not seem like a big deal to you, but it says a lot to me and Adrien. And… getting her away from Paris for a while is probably a good idea. She was planning to go to Gotham for university anyway.”

The Waynes traded glances before Bruce crosses his arms and asked some more questions first. Doesn’t Marinette have other family? Answer; only her grandmother, who travels all the time and nobody ever knows where she is until she shows up. Bruce agreed that Gina Dupain didn’t exactly seem like a good candidate for Marinette’s new guardian with that description. But finally, to none of his children's surprise, he did end up agreeing.

“But,” he held up a single finger. “We’ll Wait here in Paris for a week, so that she can try to salvage everything she can from her house and so we can get an idea on how her father is doing. There’s still a chance he’ll come out of his coma fairly quickly. And of course, we will only go through with this if Marinette agrees when we ask her tomorrow.”

Chloe agreed to those terms, looking like a weight had been lifted off of her.

Chloe never cut corners when taking care of her hive. And if that meant making sure that her brave soldier bee could move on to start a new hive, one that was better equipped to take care of her, then Chloe would do everything she could to help that move. And really; Chloe was far more resourceful and observant than people gave her credit for. The butts definitely matched, and Bruce Wayne was her last hope to get Marinette the support she needed. Outside of Adrien, anyway.

Chloe took a breath, watching the Waynes trickle off into their own rooms. Marinette was like the little sister she never wanted, but grew to love more than anything. Though, Chloe knew she really chose Marinette as her sister the same way they both chose Adrien as their brother. She just didn’t want to admit she was sentimental like that. But Chloe knew that someone like Marinette needed a bigger family. More support.

She could only hope that Marinette and the Waynes grew to become family for her like she and Adrien had. Kwami knew that Marinette needed all the help she could get for the foreseeable future.

“You did good, my Queen.”

“I know, Pollen. Now we just have to find out who dared hurt my hive.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Dude this took so long to write, but I’m actually really proud of it. Probably gonna take this Maribat March a little differently than last year, and make a few longer stories by connecting some of the prompts together. Maybe each week will be a full story? Idk I’ll figure it out. I know I’m behind but I’m working on it.

I tried to keep the angst out, but it found it’s way in here anyway. Oh well!

[blackwoolncrown]

”This essay has been kicking around in my head for years now and I’ve never felt confident enough to write it. It’s a time in my life I’m ashamed of. It’s a time that I hurt people and, through inaction, allowed others to be hurt. It’s a time that I acted as a violent agent of capitalism and white supremacy. Under the guise of public safety, I personally ruined people’s lives but in so doing, made the public no safer… so did the family members and close friends of mine who also bore the badge alongside me.

But enough is enough.

The reforms aren’t working. Incrementalism isn’t happening. Unarmed Black, indigenous, and people of color are being killed by cops in the streets and the police are savagely attacking the people protesting these murders.

American policing is a thick blue tumor strangling the life from our communities and if you don’t believe it when the poor and the marginalized say it, if you don’t believe it when you see cops across the country shooting journalists with less-lethal bullets and caustic chemicals, maybe you’ll believe it when you hear it straight from the pig’s mouth.”

>>Copied here in case anyone gets paywalled when they click the above. The full article is...a lot.<<

WHY AM I WRITING THIS

As someone who went through the training, hiring, and socialization of a career in law enforcement, I wanted to give a first-hand account of why I believe police officers are the way they are. Not to excuse their behavior, but to explain it and to indict the structures that perpetuate it.

I believe that if everyone understood how we’re trained and brought up in the profession, it would inform the demands our communities should be making of a new way of community safety. If I tell you how we were made, I hope it will empower you to unmake us.

One of the other reasons I’ve struggled to write this essay is that I don’t want to center the conversation on myself and my big salty boo-hoo feelings about my bad choices. It’s a toxic white impulse to see atrocities and think “How can I make this about me?” So, I hope you’ll take me at my word that this account isn’t meant to highlight me, but rather the hundred thousand of me in every city in the country. It’s about the structure that made me (that I chose to pollute myself with) and it’s my meager contribution to the cause of radical justice.

YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS

I was a police officer in a major metropolitan area in California with a predominantly poor, non-white population (with a large proportion of first-generation immigrants). One night during briefing, our watch commander told us that the city council had requested a new zero tolerance policy. Against murderers, drug dealers, or child predators?

No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.

See, the city had some kickback deal with the waste management company where waste management got paid by the government for our expected tonnage of recycling. When homeless people “stole” that recycling from the waste management company, they were putting that cheaper contract in peril. So, we were to arrest as many recyclers as we could find.

Even for me, this was a stupid policy and I promptly blew Sarge off. But a few hours later, Sarge called me over to assist him. He was detaining a 70 year old immigrant who spoke no English, who he’d seen picking a coke can out of a trash bin. He ordered me to arrest her for stealing trash. I said, “Sarge, c’mon, she’s an old lady.” He said, “I don’t give a shit. Hook her up, that’s an order.” And… I did. She cried the entire way to the station and all through the booking process. I couldn’t even comfort her because I didn’t speak Spanish. I felt disgusting but I was ordered to make this arrest and I wasn’t willing to lose my job for her.

If you’re tempted to feel sympathy for me, don’t. I used to happily hassle the homeless under other circumstances. I researched obscure penal codes so I could arrest people in homeless encampments for lesser known crimes like “remaining too close to railroad property” (369i of the California Penal Code). I used to call it “planting warrant seeds” since I knew they wouldn’t make their court dates and we could arrest them again and again for warrant violations.

We used to have informal contests for who could cite or arrest someone for the weirdest law. DUI on a bicycle, non-regulation number of brooms on your tow truck (27700(a)(1) of the California Vehicle Code)… shit like that. For me, police work was a logic puzzle for arresting people, regardless of their actual threat to the community. As ashamed as I am to admit it, it needs to be said: stripping people of their freedom felt like a game to me for many years.

I know what you’re going to ask: did I ever plant drugs? Did I ever plant a gun on someone? Did I ever make a false arrest or file a false report? Believe it or not, the answer is no. Cheating was no fun, I liked to get my stats the “legitimate” way. But I knew officers who kept a little baggie of whatever or maybe a pocket knife that was a little too big in their war bags (yeah, we called our dufflebags “war bags”…). Did I ever tell anybody about it? No I did not. Did I ever confess my suspicions when cocaine suddenly showed up in a gang member’s jacket? No I did not.

In fact, let me tell you about an extremely formative experience: in my police academy class, we had a clique of around six trainees who routinely bullied and harassed other students: intentionally scuffing another trainee’s shoes to get them in trouble during inspection, sexually harassing female trainees, cracking racist jokes, and so on. Every quarter, we were to write anonymous evaluations of our squadmates. I wrote scathing accounts of their behavior, thinking I was helping keep bad apples out of law enforcement and believing I would be protected. Instead, the academy staff read my complaints to them out loud and outed me to them and never punished them, causing me to get harassed for the rest of my academy class. That’s how I learned that even police leadership hates rats. That’s why no one is “changing things from the inside.” They can’t, the structure won’t allow it.

And that’s the point of what I’m telling you. Whether you were my sergeant, legally harassing an old woman, me, legally harassing our residents, my fellow trainees bullying the rest of us, or “the bad apples” illegally harassing “shitbags”, we were all in it together. I knew cops that pulled women over to flirt with them. I knew cops who would pepper spray sleeping bags so that homeless people would have to throw them away. I knew cops that intentionally provoked anger in suspects so they could claim they were assaulted. I was particularly good at winding people up verbally until they lashed out so I could fight them. Nobody spoke out. Nobody stood up. Nobody betrayed the code.

None of us protected the people (you) from bad cops.

This is why “All cops are bastards.” Even your uncle, even your cousin, even your mom, even your brother, even your best friend, even your spouse, even me. Because even if they wouldn’t Do The Thing themselves, they will almost never rat out another officer who Does The Thing, much less stop it from happening.

BASTARD 101

I could write an entire book of the awful things I’ve done, seen done, and heard others bragging about doing. But, to me, the bigger question is “How did it get this way?”. While I was a police officer in a city 30 miles from where I lived, many of my fellow officers were from the community and treated their neighbors just as badly as I did. While every cop’s individual biases come into play, it’s the profession itself that is toxic, and it starts from day 1 of training.

Every police academy is different but all of them share certain features: taught by old cops, run like a paramilitary bootcamp, strong emphasis on protecting yourself more than anyone else. The majority of my time in the academy was spent doing aggressive physical training and watching video after video after video of police officers being murdered on duty.

I want to highlight this: nearly everyone coming into law enforcement is bombarded with dash cam footage of police officers being ambushed and killed. Over and over and over. Colorless VHS mortality plays, cops screaming for help over their radios, their bodies going limp as a pair of tail lights speed away into a grainy black horizon. In my case, with commentary from an old racist cop who used to brag about assaulting Black Panthers.

To understand why all cops are bastards, you need to understand one of the things almost every training officer told me when it came to using force:

“I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6.”

Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”. We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.

When you look at the actions of the officers who killed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, David McAtee, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, or Freddie Gray, remember that they, like me, were trained to recite “I’d rather be judged by 12” as a mantra. Even if Mistakes Were Made™, the city (meaning the taxpayers, meaning you) pays the settlement, not the officer.

Once police training has - through repetition, indoctrination, and violent spectacle - promised officers that everyone in the world is out to kill them, the next lesson is that your partners are the only people protecting you. Occasionally, this is even true: I’ve had encounters turn on me rapidly to the point I legitimately thought I was going to die, only to have other officers come and turn the tables.

One of the most important thought leaders in law enforcement is Col. Dave Grossman, a “killologist” who wrote an essay called “Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs”. Cops are the sheepdogs, bad guys are the wolves, and the citizens are the sheep (!). Col. Grossman makes sure to mention that to a stupid sheep, sheepdogs look more like wolves than sheep, and that’s why they dislike you.

This “they hate you for protecting them and only I love you, only I can protect you” tactic is familiar to students of abuse. It’s what abusers do to coerce their victims into isolation, pulling them away from friends and family and ensnaring them in the abuser’s toxic web. Law enforcement does this too, pitting the officer against civilians. “They don’t understand what you do, they don’t respect your sacrifice, they just want to get away with crimes. You’re only safe with us.”

I think the Wolves vs. Sheepdogs dynamic is one of the most important elements as to why officers behave the way they do. Every single second of my training, I was told that criminals were not a legitimate part of their community, that they were individual bad actors, and that their bad actions were solely the result of their inherent criminality. Any concept of systemic trauma, generational poverty, or white supremacist oppression was either never mentioned or simply dismissed. After all, most people don’t steal, so anyone who does isn’t “most people,” right? To us, anyone committing a crime deserved anything that happened to them because they broke the “social contract.” And yet, it was never even a question as to whether the power structure above them was honoring any sort of contract back.

Understand: Police officers are part of the state monopoly on violence and all police training reinforces this monopoly as a cornerstone of police work, a source of honor and pride. Many cops fantasize about getting to kill someone in the line of duty, egged on by others that have. One of my training officers told me about the time he shot and killed a mentally ill homeless man wielding a big stick. He bragged that he “slept like a baby” that night. Official training teaches you how to be violent effectively and when you’re legally allowed to deploy that violence, but “unofficial training” teaches you to desire violence, to expand the breadth of your violence without getting caught, and to erode your own compassion for desperate people so you can justify punitive violence against them.

HOW TO BE A BASTARD

I have participated in some of these activities personally, others are ones I either witnessed personally or heard officers brag about openly. Very, very occasionally, I knew an officer who was disciplined or fired for one of these things.

Police officers will lie about the law, about what’s illegal, or about what they can legally do to you in order to manipulate you into doing what they want.

Police officers will lie about feeling afraid for their life to justify a use of force after the fact.

Police officers will lie and tell you they’ll file a police report just to get you off their back.

Police officers will lie that your cooperation will “look good for you” in court, or that they will “put in a good word for you with the DA.” The police will never help you look good in court.

Police officers will lie about what they see and hear to access private property to conduct unlawful searches.

Police officers will lie and say your friend already ratted you out, so you might as well rat them back out. This is almost never true.

Police officers will lie and say you’re not in trouble in order to get you to exit a location or otherwise make an arrest more convenient for them.

Police officers will lie and say that they won’t arrest you if you’ll just “be honest with them” so they know what really happened.

Police officers will lie about their ability to seize the property of friends and family members to coerce a confession.

Police officers will write obviously bullshit tickets so that they get time-and-a-half overtime fighting them in court.

Police officers will search places and containers you didn’t consent to and later claim they were open or “smelled like marijuana”.

Police officers will threaten you with a more serious crime they can’t prove in order to convince you to confess to the lesser crime they really want you for.

Police officers will employ zero tolerance on races and ethnicities they dislike and show favor and lenience to members of their own group.

Police officers will use intentionally extra-painful maneuvers and holds during an arrest to provoke “resistance” so they can further assault the suspect.

Some police officers will plant drugs and weapons on you, sometimes to teach you a lesson, sometimes if they kill you somewhere away from public view.

Some police officers will assault you to intimidate you and threaten to arrest you if you tell anyone.

A non-trivial number of police officers will steal from your house or vehicle during a search.

A non-trivial number of police officers commit intimate partner violence and use their status to get away with it.

A non-trivial number of police officers use their position to entice, coerce, or force sexual favors from vulnerable people.

If you take nothing else away from this essay, I want you to tattoo this onto your brain forever: if a police officer is telling you something, it is probably a lie designed to gain your compliance.

Do not talk to cops and never, ever believe them. Do not “try to be helpful” with cops. Do not assume they are trying to catch someone else instead of you. Do not assume what they are doing is “important” or even legal. Under no circumstances assume any police officer is acting in good faith.

Also, and this is important, do not talk to cops.

I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.

Checking my notes real quick, something jumped out at me:

Do

not

fucking

talk

to

cops.

Ever.

Say, “I don’t answer questions,” and ask if you’re free to leave; if so, leave. If not, tell them you want your lawyer and that, per the Supreme Court, they must terminate questioning. If they don’t, file a complaint and collect some badges for your mantle.

DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?

Reading the above, you may be tempted to ask whether cops ever do anything good. And the answer is, sure, sometimes. In fact, most officers I worked with thought they were usually helping the helpless and protecting the safety of innocent people.

During my tenure in law enforcement, I protected women from domestic abusers, arrested cold-blooded murderers and child molesters, and comforted families who lost children to car accidents and other tragedies. I helped connect struggling people in my community with local resources for food, shelter, and counseling. I deescalated situations that could have turned violent and talked a lot of people down from making the biggest mistake of their lives. I worked with plenty of officers who were individually kind, bought food for homeless residents, or otherwise showed care for their community.

The question is this: did I need a gun and sweeping police powers to help the average person on the average night? The answer is no. When I was doing my best work as a cop, I was doing mediocre work as a therapist or a social worker. My good deeds were listening to people failed by the system and trying to unite them with any crumbs of resources the structure was currently denying them.

It’s also important to note that well over 90% of the calls for service I handled were reactive, showing up well after a crime had taken place. We would arrive, take a statement, collect evidence (if any), file the report, and onto the next caper. Most “active” crimes we stopped were someone harmless possessing or selling a small amount of drugs. Very, very rarely would we stop something dangerous in progress or stop something from happening entirely. The closest we could usually get was seeing someone running away from the scene of a crime, but the damage was still done.

And consider this: my job as a police officer required me to be a marriage counselor, a mental health crisis professional, a conflict negotiator, a social worker, a child advocate, a traffic safety expert, a sexual assault specialist, and, every once in awhile, a public safety officer authorized to use force, all after only a 1000 hours of training at a police academy. Does the person we send to catch a robber also need to be the person we send to interview a rape victim or document a fender bender? Should one profession be expected to do all that important community care (with very little training) all at the same time?

To put this another way: I made double the salary most social workers made to do a fraction of what they could do to mitigate the causes of crimes and desperation. I can count very few times my monopoly on state violence actually made our citizens safer, and even then, it’s hard to say better-funded social safety nets and dozens of other community care specialists wouldn’t have prevented a problem before it started.

Armed, indoctrinated (and dare I say, traumatized) cops do not make you safer; community mutual aid networks who can unite other people with the resources they need to stay fed, clothed, and housed make you safer. I really want to hammer this home: every cop in your neighborhood is damaged by their training, emboldened by their immunity, and they have a gun and the ability to take your life with near-impunity. This does not make you safer, even if you’re white.

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?

So what do we do about it? Even though I’m an expert on bastardism, I am not a public policy expert nor an expert in organizing a post-police society. So, before I give some suggestions, let me tell you what probably won’t solve the problem of bastard cops:

Increased “bias” training. A quarterly or even monthly training session is not capable of covering over years of trauma-based camaraderie in police forces. I can tell you from experience, we don’t take it seriously, the proctors let us cheat on whatever “tests” there are, and we all made fun of it later over coffee.

Tougher laws. I hope you understand by now, cops do not follow the law and will not hold each other accountable to the law. Tougher laws are all the more reason to circle the wagons and protect your brothers and sisters.

More community policing programs. Yes, there is a marginal effect when a few cops get to know members of the community, but look at the protests of 2020: many of the cops pepper-spraying journalists were probably the nice school cop a month ago.

Police officers do not protect and serve people, they protect and serve the status quo, “polite society”, and private property. Using the incremental mechanisms of the status quo will never reform the police because the status quo relies on police violence to exist. Capitalism requires a permanent underclass to exploit for cheap labor and it requires the cops to bring that underclass to heel.

Instead of wasting time with minor tweaks, I recommend exploring the following ideas:

No more qualified immunity. Police officers should be personally liable for all decisions they make in the line of duty.

No more civil asset forfeiture. Did you know that every year, citizens like you lose more cash and property to unaccountable civil asset forfeiture than to all burglaries combined? The police can steal your stuff without charging you with a crime and it makes some police departments very rich.

Break the power of police unions. Police unions make it nearly impossible to fire bad cops and incentivize protecting them to protect the power of the union. A police union is not a labor union; police officers are powerful state agents, not exploited workers.

Require malpractice insurance. Doctors must pay for insurance in case they botch a surgery, police officers should do the same for botching a police raid or other use of force. If human decency won’t motivate police to respect human life, perhaps hitting their wallet might.

Defund, demilitarize, and disarm cops. Thousands of police departments own assault rifles, armored personnel carriers, and stuff you’d see in a warzone. Police officers have grants and huge budgets to spend on guns, ammo, body armor, and combat training. 99% of calls for service require no armed response, yet when all you have is a gun, every problem feels like target practice. Cities are not safer when unaccountable bullies have a monopoly on state violence and the equipment to execute that monopoly.

One final idea: consider abolishing the police.

I know what you’re thinking, “What? We need the police! They protect us!” As someone who did it for nearly a decade, I need you to understand that by and large, police protection is marginal, incidental. It’s an illusion created by decades of copaganda designed to fool you into thinking these brave men and women are holding back the barbarians at the gates.

I alluded to this above: the vast majority of calls for service I handled were theft reports, burglary reports, domestic arguments that hadn’t escalated into violence, loud parties, (houseless) people loitering, traffic collisions, very minor drug possession, and arguments between neighbors. Mostly the mundane ups and downs of life in the community, with little inherent danger. And, like I mentioned, the vast majority of crimes I responded to (even violent ones) had already happened; my unaccountable license to kill was irrelevant.

What I mainly provided was an “objective” third party with the authority to document property damage, ask people to chill out or disperse, or counsel people not to beat each other up. A trained counselor or conflict resolution specialist would be ten times more effective than someone with a gun strapped to his hip wondering if anyone would try to kill him when he showed up. There are many models for community safety that can be explored if we get away from the idea that the only way to be safe is to have a man with a M4 rifle prowling your neighborhood ready at a moment’s notice to write down your name and birthday after you’ve been robbed and beaten.

You might be asking, “What about the armed robbers, the gangsters, the drug dealers, the serial killers?” And yes, in the city I worked, I regularly broke up gang parties, found gang members carrying guns, and handled homicides. I’ve seen some tragic things, from a reformed gangster shot in the head with his brains oozing out to a fifteen year old boy taking his last breath in his screaming mother’s arms thanks to a gang member’s bullet. I know the wages of violence.

This is where we have to have the courage to ask: why do people rob? Why do they join gangs? Why do they get addicted to drugs or sell them? It’s not because they are inherently evil. I submit to you that these are the results of living in a capitalist system that grinds people down and denies them housing, medical care, human dignity, and a say in their government. These are the results of white supremacy pushing people to the margins, excluding them, disrespecting them, and treating their bodies as disposable.

Equally important to remember: disabled and mentally ill people are frequently killed by police officers not trained to recognize and react to disabilities or mental health crises. Some of the people we picture as “violent offenders” are often people struggling with untreated mental illness, often due to economic hardships. Very frequently, the officers sent to “protect the community” escalate this crisis and ultimately wound or kill the person. Your community was not made safer by police violence; a sick member of your community was killed because it was cheaper than treating them. Are you extremely confident you’ll never get sick one day too?

Wrestle with this for a minute: if all of someone’s material needs were met and all the members of their community were fed, clothed, housed, and dignified, why would they need to join a gang? Why would they need to risk their lives selling drugs or breaking into buildings? If mental healthcare was free and was not stigmatized, how many lives would that save?

Would there still be a few bad actors in the world? Sure, probably. What’s my solution for them, you’re no doubt asking. I’ll tell you what: generational poverty, food insecurity, houselessness, and for-profit medical care are all problems that can be solved in our lifetimes by rejecting the dehumanizing meat grinder of capitalism and white supremacy. Once that’s done, we can work on the edge cases together, with clearer hearts not clouded by a corrupt system.

Police abolition is closely related to the idea of prison abolition and the entire concept of banishing the carceral state, meaning, creating a society focused on reconciliation and restorative justice instead of punishment, pain, and suffering — a system that sees people in crisis as humans, not monsters. People who want to abolish the police typically also want to abolish prisons, and the same questions get asked: “What about the bad guys? Where do we put them?” I bring this up because abolitionists don’t want to simply replace cops with armed social workers or prisons with casual detention centers full of puffy leather couches and Playstations. We imagine a world not divided into good guys and bad guys, but rather a world where people’s needs are met and those in crisis receive care, not dehumanization.

Here’s legendary activist and thinker Angela Y. Davis putting it better than I ever could:

“An abolitionist approach that seeks to answer questions such as these would require us to imagine a constellation of alternative strategies and institutions, with the ultimate aim of removing the prison from the social and ideological landscapes of our society. In other words, we would not be looking for prisonlike substitutes for the prison, such as house arrest safeguarded by electronic surveillance bracelets. Rather, positing decarceration as our overarching strategy, we would try to envision a continuum of alternatives to imprisonment-demilitarization of schools, revitalization of education at all levels, a health system that provides free physical and mental care to all, and a justice system based on reparation and reconciliation rather than retribution and vengeance.”

(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)

I’m not telling you I have the blueprint for a beautiful new world. What I’m telling you is that the system we have right now is broken beyond repair and that it’s time to consider new ways of doing community together. Those new ways need to be negotiated by members of those communities, particularly Black, indigenous, disabled, houseless, and citizens of color historically shoved into the margins of society. Instead of letting Fox News fill your head with nightmares about Hispanic gangs, ask the Hispanic community what they need to thrive. Instead of letting racist politicians scaremonger about pro-Black demonstrators, ask the Black community what they need to meet the needs of the most vulnerable. If you truly desire safety, ask not what your most vulnerable can do for the community, ask what the community can do for the most vulnerable.

A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE

If you take only one thing away from this essay, I hope it’s this: do not talk to cops. But if you only take two things away, I hope the second one is that it’s possible to imagine a different world where unarmed black people, indigenous people, poor people, disabled people, and people of color are not routinely gunned down by unaccountable police officers. It doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, this requires a leap of faith into community models that might feel unfamiliar, but I ask you:

When you see a man dying in the street begging for breath, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a mother or a daughter shot to death sleeping in their beds, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a twelve year old boy executed in a public park for the crime of playing with a toy, jesus fucking christ, can you really just stand there and think “This is normal”?

And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of? I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.

Look, I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of this for much of my life. You reading this now may not be able to hear this yet either. But do me this one favor: just think about it. Just turn it over in your mind for a couple minutes. “Yes, And” me for a minute. Look around you and think about the kind of world you want to live in. Is it one where an all-powerful stranger with a gun keeps you and your neighbors in line with the fear of death, or can you picture a world where, as a community, we embrace our most vulnerable, meet their needs, heal their wounds, honor their dignity, and make them family instead of desperate outsiders?

If you take only three things away from this essay, I hope the third is this: you and your community don’t need bastards to thrive.

RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH

Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics

Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete?

CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit

Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect?

Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video]

[florallychaotic]

Episode 1x03 Earth Kills (that can't be the actual title)

"[Japer's] pulse is 380" IM SORRY ITS WHAT

Girl talking about her dead parents: "They seeded my dreams" HUH????

We are 90 seconds into the episode what is up with the dialogue???

Someone called sex "pound town" yeah so this episode has lost a point for dialogue alone already

Tip to know if the scene is a flashback, there's enough lens flares to make JJ Abrams orgasm

Legitimately I could believe so much more about this world if the series took place like 250 years after the apocalypse as opposed to 100. Like we later meet the grounder who have their own language distinct from English (made by the linguist that did dothraki) and its distinct enough from English that I don't believe the language evolved that quickly. Or that a forest grew thick enough to complete bury a car as shown in this episode in only a century

Bellamy: my 16 year old sister can't leave my sight but this 12 year old girl can absolutely have this knife and hunt a pig (like this isn't a poor writing decision I totally get his thinking especially since he's teaching this girl Charlotte how to hunt its just funny)

I do find it kinda cool that this show uses this like mustard yellow color to represent evil, not only is it interesting because you don't often see yellow in film used that often, but it's thematically relevant considering the world was ruined by nuclear war so it makes you think of mustard gas and atom bombs and nuclear fallout. Good job showmakers that was a good choice 👍

The speeches that both Clarke and Bellamy give to this girl Charlotte about being brave throughout this episode are cheesy as hell but also very accurate to a teen trying to help

"All that matters [about being afraid] is what you do about it." "........but I'm asleep"

Alright Clarke I get your mad at your former best friend Wells for getting your dad executed but maybe telling him to go kill himself via acid fog is a little extreme

Clarke's dad is like a knock off Timothy Olyphant

12 year old Charlotte who's never killed anything before *subtly slides knife into Bellamy's hand implying they should mercy kill this one dude*

This episodes asks Charlotte "hey kid you been traumatized enough yet?"

Hey Bellamy and Clarke working together for the first time yay!

Hey my yellow equals evil theory has another applicable instance! Murphy, the most "evil teen bad boy" of the group, his knife is yellow! Haha I told yall I can do analysis

Wells was literally willing to take the fall for Clarke's dad being executed when it was literally her mom's fault nobody deserves Wells

I mean at least Clatke apologizes

Jasper is okay! Yay!!

THEY KILLED WELLS WAIT WHAT I GENUINELY DONT REMEMBER HIM DYING THIS EARLY

AND CHARLOTTE KILLED HIM???? BECAUSE WELLS' FATHER IS THE CHANCELLOR AKA THE PERSON WHO WAS IN CHARGE WHEN CHARLOTTE'S PARENTS WERE EXECUTED????

OH THIS IS SO AWFUL

Final rating: 4/10 maybe don't kill your only black lead three episodes in after finally revealing the audience has no reason to dislike him and that he's universally the best person in canon. Maybe don't have a twelve year old white girl do it under the guise of "making the nightmares stop". Thats....thats gross. I'm gonna take a break for the night I'm legitimately mad I thought Wells died at like the end of the first season to the grounders nope turns out I blocked out this awful memory

The 100 Live Blogging

Alright yall, I'm gonna take a dive back into the only show aimed at teens that I watched as a teen. Everyone had their one CW show and this was mine. Separate posts will be made for separate watching sessions but episodes done in the same watching session will be added as reblogs. Block the tag "alli watches the 100" if you don't want this on your dash (no shame to ya)

Episode 1x01 Pilot

We are off to a bad start Netflix started playing suits when I opened it for some fucking reason

Right off the bat, Eliza Taylor's American accent isn't bad at all, but it's got the American vocal fry that I hate

Also it's really funny to me that the lead actors of this show have names that are near identical to people who are way more famous than them (Eliza Taylor and Bob Morely)

Not a good sign that the UK part of the Ark, the spaceship these people are staying post apocalypse, looks like it has cardboard on the exterior

Juvenile offenders call lockup "the sky box" which is was teenagers are never in charge of naming things

CW dialogue exposition my beloathed

Wells got himself arrested not for Clarke, but in my headcannon, that The 99 isn't as good of a title

My only solace for having to deal with Finn is that unlike the first time I watched this show, I know he dies instead of just wishing for it

Ah season one Bellamy hair, it makes him look like a middle school teacher

You see I hate CW dialogue but I also absolutely would have screamed "We're back bitches" if I was the first person back on earth in a century

Cue too on the nose pop song, radioactive by imagine dragons

I swear to god a solid 20% of Finn's dialogue is calling Clarke princess and im supposed to like him?

I will say off the bat Bellamy is the best character because so far he's the least clichéd and most interesting lol. Meanwhile I can't wait for his sister Octavia to be a good character because she does, she does get better but for now....yikes

Monty!!! Monty best boy!!!

FUCKED UP DEER MY BELOVED!!! TWO HEADED DEER WOOHOO!!!

I dont know how to explain it, everything on the Ark...like it doesn't look greenscreened but it does look weirdly hazy like it's not there??

The actor for Kane has a very bad American accent, it's so far up his nose it's like he's sick lol

Love the random girl who yelled "It's water!!!" When it started raining

Begging this society to stop using the term "floated" for executed it sounds so fucking stupid

Kane absolutely said the word "majority" instead of "maturity" and that's the take they used for some reason

Clarke is a beautiful artist and normally I don't wanna be the person to question this but how does she know what the Arc du Triumph is

Kane please don't say you're willing to "take us down to a cosmic Adam and Eve" to your female co-worker clearly both you and the writers don't realize how extra creepy that it

This show really likes shot to shot scenes where the camera is just panned up a little so you can see up the actor's nose and it's so awkward

I dont want to be that person, but I think it's very telling that Abby (Clarke's mother)'s best friend is an Asian woman who is still unnamed despite having more lines than multiple white characters who are already named. Like this show is quite diverse and it's not going to be fun rewatching and seeing how poorly they handled that diversity.

Director: "okay can you boys just improv for a moment to delay the scene so we can have the big moment at the chorus of the song?" Actors: "Sure boss!"

What!?!?! You're not alone on Earth?!?! I never would have seen that coming! /s

Final rating: 7/10 despite its flaws I'm far too interested to not continue. What shot Jasper?? Idk! It's a fun lord of the flies story that is really interesting if only its dialogue was better

[adultswim2021]

Moral Orel #11: “God's Image” | November 13, 2006 – 12:15AM | S02E01

I'm not totally sure, but there MAY be season two episodes of Moral Orel that I haven't actually seen, or only saw once. THIS ONE I remember, though, but I forgot certain bits here and there. Let's DIG IN, BABY!

We open the episode acknowledging the massive cliff-hanger (if you're watching the episodes in the correct order, that is) about Clay and Bloberta's splitting up. Clay tells Orel over Chinese food that they've decided to stay together purely for appearances, which is sorta thematic for this episode. The Chinese restaurant becomes instructive of the segregation in Moralton; Clay describes that the Chinese restaurant is just the right distance from the white center of town to be “deliciously far” and not dangerously close. This folds into Orel's understanding of God's Image; which is the subject of that day's Church sermon. The Reverend describes how the light-skinned protestants that make up his congregation look more like God than others.

After chatting with the Reverend Orel decides that segregation is godly, and immediately starts in with the Figurellis, the sole Italian family in Moralton. The Figurellis wind up sowing jealously from the rest of Moralton when their separate-but-equal accommodations actually wind up being more of a boon to the Figurellis than not. The Figurelli kids are able to skip the line at the water fountain in favor of their own dedicated one right next to it, they get the spacious back of the bus while the rest of Moralton's school children have to cram in the front, and in the funniest scene they are denied entry to the over-crowed community pool and hosed off by authorities in an attempt to quell a perceived race riot. All they do is give the Figurelli family a pleasant cool down the likes of which the rest of Moralton can't achieve on their own.

Kids start rebelling and using the dedicated Figurelli utilities, and even start adopting Figurelli affectations (sweeping the sidewalk, shaving their heads into male-pattern baldness, cheerily saying “no problem!” in the face of adversity. The Moralton adults worry, calling these kids Wigurellis.

I'd forgotten that entire subplot, and it was a nice surprise. I don't remember loving this one at at the time, and I'm not sure why. I mostly remember a friend of mine reviewing this episode as having no laughs, except for the part towards the beginning where the Figurelli's cat-washing van drives away; it has a big Mr. Figurelli head with a loud speaker for a mouth and has a looping message as the car moves: “I WASH CATS ON MY DAY OFF!” He got into my head, and I remembered this as the episode as “the one where the only funny joke is 'I WASH CATS ON MY DAY OFF!'”. It is exquisitely funny.

The truth is, maybe I didn't give it up for this one because the racial satire was enough to make me turn my nose up at it. I feel like a lot of comedies of this stripe had a satirical allegory-for-the-segregation-movement episode. Mr. Show, Dino's former stomping grounds featured a sketch where slackers were treated like black people in Alabama during the Civil Rights movement. In 2022, where any non-dead-serious attempt to comment on racism is met with a vocal minority ready to virtue signal their way to a higher-ground to condemn it makes this kind of thing seem less attractive to attempt. Not saying that's a good or bad thing; some people are so tired of racism and are legitimately traumatized by it and deserve to be cut some slack when they don't respond to stuff like this in the spirit it's intended. I guess all I'm trying to say is that this time around, I laughed. And the reason might be because jokes like this are rare nowadays.

[britishassistant]

Imagine a seperate Villian, upon seeing what Villian Yuu has to deal with, decided to publicly use some sort of concoction to make Yuu essentially Overblot and have them attack the civilians constantly harassing them to try and help them? Like they legitimately are trying to help, but their way of doing so is very very warped.

Oh. Oh.

Warning for Dark, Character Death and Body Horror under the cut

Seriously, if you don’t want that. Do. Not. Read.

“Beautiful.”

Yuu can barely hold in their screams, the place where they were injected throbbing, throbbing, throbbing—!

They can’t feel their legs. They can’t feel their legs, they can’t feel their legs, they can’t feel their legs, they can’t feel their legs, they can’t feel their legs, they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs they can’t feel their legs—

“Truly, truly, you are the most beautiful, most noble flower of evil.” The villain enthuses, staring down in awed delight as the exposed bone of their thigh gradually dissolves into black sludge.

“The others...the others, they taint this transformation with their own imperfect quibbles, too caught up in their own petty squabbles to appreciate the gift they’ve been given, turning it into a mockery of ridiculous outfits and issues.” The one who did this too them scoffs. “But you? You’re so pure in your hatred and anguish. It’s beautiful. Truly, truly beautiful.”

Yuu tries to drag themself away from her, hardly able to breathe through their sobs. It hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, hurtS, hurts, huRts, hUrts, huRTs, hURts, huRTS, hURTS, HURTS, HURTS, HURTS HURTS HURTS HURTS HURTS

They can hear things screaming their name—no, no, not things, never things, it’s-it’s people, it’s their friends, it’s Ace, and Deuce, and Grim and Yuuken, and Epelle and Jake and Se-Se-S-S-S—

The blot has devoured everything below their ribcage.

The thing that caused them this pain is laughing, laughing, laughing, laughing—!

Splorch.

No more laughter. That’s better. No more. No more. No more. No more. No more no more no more no more no more no more no more no more no more no more no more no more no more ENOUGH!! NO MORE!! IT HURTS!!!

Every day, every day, growing up with the fear, the agony, never being able to trust, never being trusted, protected, shielded, guarded, from risks dangers enemies manipulators heroes murderers suitors lovers friends family love life happiness, and for what?! A birthright they never asked for and can never give up, a fate they can’t run from even if they want to?!

They’re the villain.

They don’t win.

They don’t get saved.

They don’t get the guy.

Their fate is to be taken, and taken, and taken from until they’re left hollow and useless, like an upended inkwell. An inkwell is only valuable so long as it has ink it it, dipping pens and brushes in again and again and again until it’s drained dry. Another piece of trash to be discarded.

The blot is dissolving their clavicle. It’s not sure its host has the neurons left to feel pain anymore.

The things are screaming louder. The things are important. The blot is not sure how it knows this, but it knows. They are important. They are important. They are not to be touched. Even if the blot wants to, even if it can feel their anguish, their power and hate, yearns to draw on it, feed off of it, until they’re wrung dry like the trash that’s almost been consumed.

They are not to be touched.

The thing that used to be Yuu Crowley moves it’s mouth for the last time.

“Please.” It whispers. “RUN.”

Neige is crying.

Yuu-chan’s pain is obvious from here. Even if what’s left can’t even be called “Yuu-chan” anymore.

It’s a mass of inky black substance, almost sack-like in appearance, curled up on the outskirts of the city. It keeps moaning, reaching out compulsively and then attacking itself, as if it somehow recognizes the waste its presence is bringing to the land around it.

The others who were afflicted like this could at least be saved. They at least had enough superpowers, no matter how latent, that there was time to wear them out and disperse this thing before they were fully consumed.

Yuu-chan doesn’t have any powers. Yuu-chan has nothing left of themself at all.

Nothing but fear and hate and resentment and all of it directed at themself.

“-eige. White Neige!”

“H-huh?” He looks over at Farena-senpai, blinking excess tears from his eyes.

“It hurts. I know it does.” Farena-senpai looks like he’s barely unable to keep the tears from his eyes either. “But we need to stop this. That isn’t the Supervisor anymore. They’d hate it if they hurt anyone like this, you know that. We’ve got to stop that thing. For them.”

Neige heaves in a shuddering breath, swiping the tears from his face. Farena-senpai’s right. He always is.

“Y-Yuu-chan. I’m so sorry.” He chokes out, brandishing his magical scepter. “B-but don’t worry! It-it won’t hurt anymore. I promise it won’t.”

He lifts the scepter, chanting the incantation he’s said time and time again before. It glows with a purifying light, cleansing the land around it of the taint and corruption oozing off the former supervillain.

The inky thing shrieks. It sounds like a frightened child.

Farena-senpai steadies his resolve, pinning it down before it can run. Neige wishes it would stop screaming. It’s making his ears and heart ache.

The Champion takes his place over it once it’s reduced in size enough. The Vorpal Blade in his hand looks like a heavy weight.

One two, one two, and through and through.

The Vorpal Blade goes snicker-snack.

The heroes leave the Blot dead. Not even able to collect it’s head. They go trudging back.

From: Ambrose the 63rd (ambrose63@RSA.gov)

Re: Dire Crowley (nightraven1@evil.loe)

Subject: Re: Burial Services

Dear Crowley,

It is my deepest regret to inform you that there was nothing left of your homunculus that our heroes were able to retrieve upon defeating the threat. Due to the nature of the attack the homunculus suffered, it is hypothesized by Dr. Milo that it had been consumed in its entirety within two minutes of injection of the drug Tache Plus. The testimonies of the unfortunate young men who bore witness to this event support this hypothesis entirely.

Yuu was an admirable villain and heir to your legacy, for all that it was artificial, and one who had the potential to carry on the Game admirably in your shoes. I know I do not speak just for myself when I say its absence will be sorely felt among many of the heroes here at the Royal Sword Association.

My deepest condolences once again for your loss.

Regards,

Ambrose the 63rd (CEO of Royal Sword Association ltd.)

Bad End 1: An Overblot by Any Other Name...

Insert Coin to Play Again?

[kamreadsandrecs]

This was the most recent book I finished: The Sacrifice by Rin Chupeco. Perfect for spooky season (I read this over the long Undas weekend!), it features a Hollywood film crew going to a tropical island to film a documentary about the island’s curse. Nothing could possibly go wrong, they think - except then everything goes spectacularly, horrifically wrong. Spoiler-free review: Overall a very fun read, quite spooky in lots of places - I will never look at makahiya the same way again, and this just upped the balete spook factor significantly. Would make an amazing movie imo, given the visuals. Twists were pretty good for the most part, sometimes predictable but mostly not, and that ending was not a bad way to cap the entire story. Most importantly though, every single jerk in this story got their comeuppance, and I am so happy they did. Rating: Four Mumu and One Duwende (4 1/2) Buy here: https://read.sourcebooks.com/young-adult/9781728255910-the-sacrifice-tp.html More comprehensive rambling take under the Read More for spoilers and language.

From the moment this book started I knew whose side I was on: the mumu’s (or the Diwata’s, to give it its proper name). It’s so clear that the white people are disrespectful, and are someplace where they really shouldn’t be, that they’ve paved their way by paying bribes and by just outright ignoring what other people have told them. This is a running theme throughout the book that’s established very early on, and every time it happens I find myself wanting the Diwata to kill every single puting dayuhan that disrespects them. Eventually it’s clear that they don’t all deserve to die, but it takes a while to figure out which ones don’t and which ones do, and generally speaking the ones who do really deserve to get killed. Actually this whole book is a send-up of all the stupid things white people do when they’re abroad: disrespecting local traditions and people, taking things that don’t belong to them, and looking down on things they think are “primitive” or “beneath them” just because it’s unfamiliar or they don’t understand how something works. Also utterly unsurprised that most of the shit is perpetrated by a Hollywood film crew: a microcosm of all the things that are terrible about Americans abroad (and even in their own country, as the novel will show). I don’t want to get into specifics because spoilers, but honestly, read this book and you will be cheering the Diwata on just like I was, especially if you’re from a country that’s a former colony or, y’know, are intimately familiar with a certain type of tourist (who are not always white, it must be noted, but have privilege regardless). Speaking of the Diwata: for all that I was cheering them on, they are legitimately terrifying. There were moments throughout this novel that had me thinking that this would make for a very good movie, because damn me if I didn’t visualize certain parts in my head the same way I would a scene in a show or a movie, and spook myself out something fierce. The use of balete and makahiya as key visual components just ups the spooky factor incredibly. Now, I know balete are spooky enough on their own, but the use of makahiya was new and interesting and very very spooky. (I was also watching Guillermo del Toro’s Cabinet of Curiosities in between reading this, so my imagination was working very well indeed - especially after Episode 6.) On a more serious note, and going back to white people and colonialism: some of my friends, who read the ARC version of this novel, mentioned they weren’t quite sold on the inclusion of Cortes, a fictional Spanish soldier who traveled to the Philippines with Magellan and who’s involved in the history of the island and the Diwata. While I can see how that character can feel extraneous to everything that’s going on, I tend to think of them as a reflection of the Hemslock character in the present of the novel - something which I think works, given how Hemslock is obsessed with Cortes’ journal and the information within it, which supposedly tells him how to control the Diwata on the island. There were also some concerns about how Lapulapu was made out to be the villain in Cortes’ journal for supposedly participating in sacrifices that allowed him to “control” the Diwata and therefore helped him win against the Spanish. To my mind, though, I don’t think that’s the case, since that information comes solely from Cortes, who I consider unreliable as fuck because he’s an invader and a white man looking down his nose at anyone who doesn’t Look Like Him, so of course he would attribute Lapulapu’s success and prowess at holding onto power to a god, and not to his own capabilities as a leader and warrior. Because surely, surely this brown savage needs the help of a higher power in order to succeed against white men with guns. This ties in with what Hemslock himself thinks and does towards the latter end of the novel, where he claims that these “brown bastards” don’t deserve the power of the Diwata, and that he does, because as a white American man with a shitton of guns, he’s “better” - which is of course utter horseshit. Things do not go as he planned, obviously - much like things did not go as planned for Cortes. (What all of this reminds me of that bullshit “ancient aliens” idea: how brown people couldn’t have created things like the Pyramids and the Nazca Lines because they were “primitive” so they had help from aliens. The surface might be different, but the thought is more or less the same: racist and paternalistic all the way down.) Now, while all of the above is anger-inducing (as it should be imo), there’s also parts that are a bit softer and more heartwarming. One of the bigger underlying themes has to do with filial love and piety. It’s not obvious at first, and is only really made clear towards almost the end of the story, but I think the way it was handled was beautiful and bittersweet. There’s also the romance between Alon, the nonbinary protagonist, and Chase, the son of one of the members of the Hollywood crew. I can see where some reviewers are coming from when they say the romance was superfluous, but I thought it was rather lovely and appropriate. I appreciate that didn’t go any further than it had to, and that while it was there as a kind of sweet undertone to all horrific things that were going on, it didn’t get in the way of the horror at all. i do admit that it was a bit jarring in some places, but that was something I was able to let slide fairly easily. One thing though that I didn’t quite agree with: the use of Tagalog in the narrative. While there’s nothing wrong with Tagalog itself, it’s just weird that this island is located in Leyte, in the Visayas, and Alon, the Diwata, and some of the other minor characters are all using Tagalog. Hell, if I’m not mistaken the term “diwata” itself is Tagalog. The thing is, Tagalog isn’t much used in Leyte: they use Waray, or a form of Bisaya. So why are these very likely Bisaya characters talking in Tagalog, of all things? Likely because that’s what Chupeco’s familiar with, but surely they could’ve, Idk, talked to someone from the region to help them with this? Surely there would’ve been a lot of Waray and/or Bisaya speakers out there who would’ve been glad to give them a hand.

[feelingbluepolitics]

We Must Handle the Truth

There's no question that the management of Donald trump will be an issue of on-going global importance. Knocking him from his (alleged) official perch is only the first step.

The more crucial steps must follow, because trump will retain his influence and his supporters, and they will do whatever he hints that he wants, even up to treasonous attacks, assassination attempts, and mass murders.

We must be clear. There is no cozy "look to the future and heal" pretence of an option in our present situation. This is aside from the fact that taking that Pollyanna path repeatedly --from Watergate to Reagan to Bush-- helped to criminalize and radicalize the Republicon Party into the danger they are today.

Shame, honor, and true patriotism have become vestigial on the Right. Their criminal administrations and elected representatives keep getting away with what they do because we embolden them each time with a blind eye.

That is not how justice works. The blind eye of justice means that no one, no matter how powerful, is exempt. The time to work on that is January 20, 2021, and we are far overdue. Politicians, corporations, tax cheats, polluters: we still have laws, for all of trump's and his administration's destructive efforts.

We sully our government offices and endanger our nation by not requiring accountability to the office and to the people, over and above any present occupant. Where we are blocked by pardons we must still have thorough public investigation. That is not a waste of time for lack of a prosecutorial path. It is existential. It's the accountability we cannot do without. It's the foundation of the future laws we need to draft and pass to safeguard this country.

Pardons become entirely corrupt when we acquiesce to them blocking investigation. Democracies survive on information and truth, combined. We are where we are now in part because we still have corrupt actors left-over from Watergate active in our politics.

What are we to do about trump? That isn't initially, or perhaps ever, all about pardons, or state versus federal charges, or orange jumpsuits. In this instance, ironically, the potential solution is all about trump. This is where an examination of how trump interacts with the rest of the human world can guide us.

He forms specific categories of relationships which are actually invariable, because he is permanently shallow and unperceptive. Because trump the consumate narcissist is always the center of every relationship, and because he is, without introspection, forever fixed in all his defects, all of his various relationships fall into the same patterns within their categories. Here they are:

1) The Strongmen. Shades of daddy Fred trump, these are aspirational relationships teaching the type of utter control the core pathetic trump would like to wield. But because of daddy, trump is conditioned to the "love me, admire me, and be useful and loyal or I will harm or destroy you" format, but on the weaker side.

This is why we have seen trump pushing the United States of America into eagerly obsequious deference with respect to Russia, North Korea, and Turkey, and also pandering to Saudi Arabia's power which is additionally derived through vast transactional wealth.

But we cannot and do not want to transform America or Biden into this Strongman mold, because then it will have been pointless to remove trump.

2) The Assets. This category comprises trump's immediate family members and all Republicons in office, from Mitch McConnell to Kevin McCarthy, and from Michigan’s Republicon Senate members to, potentially, Gorsuch, Kavanaugh, and Barrett. This category also extends to trump's supporters, mostly as a collective.

These are the flipside of the Strongman category, where trump gets to play the opposite role. These people are tools, who work constantly to remain in good standing with trump, rendering obsequious deference and servitude as a matter of advantage but also, essentially, as a matter of status survival.

trump is a horrible antagonist or enemy.

This, by the way, is exactly the relationship this country cannot continue to allow with trump, as a matter of national security.

3) The Targets. We know who they are. They caught trump's wrathful attention. Some of the targets are personal to trump to varying degrees, while some are a matter of expediency, or are demonstrated examples, or are, so far, peripheral.

But everybody knows trump will never stop -- that is the personna he cultivated-- unless a Target person has something of value to make them an Asset again. (This is why trump is called purely transactional, in combination with having no beliefs, no morality, and no honesty.)

Fauci, and Birx, (who for a while pulled off a mommy-style interaction with trump as he tried to impress her with nifty genius like injecting bleach), are in a no-man's land, transitional between Asset and Target, in part because trump doesn't like attention on covid if he can help it.

We don't know exactly what trump will try to inflict on Mary trump for writing her book, but we've already seen a variety of attacks against Bolton, Kelly, and Michael Cohen, along with innumerable others. (It isn't just books. It's that these people did not keep flattering, and obey.)

He ousted from political power Jeff Sessions, Jeff Flake, Bob Corker (White House as "an adult day care center"), and Mark Sanford, of "the Appalachian Trail." He can do the same to any other individual Republicon, because as a group, they are all too backstabbing, dishonorable, greedy, and cowardly to unite against him.

Certainty we have seen trump's behavior with respect to Fox Gnus, the Clintons, and Obama.

This is the relationship this country cannot allow itself to fall into with trump. But how possibly to prevent it?

For that, we look to another category of trump's relationships.

4) The Survivors. Of those not in the Strongman category, there are few people who have survived relationships with Donald trump and who can get trump to do favors for them -- to do what they want.

It is dangerous idiocy to call them trump's "friends," by way of explaining their leverage and longevity. The key is leverage.

Rudy Giuliani :

- A "very, very good relationship" with trump.

- "I've seen things written like he's going to throw me under the bus. When they say that, I say he isn't, but I have insurance."

- "I do have very, very good insurance."

Giuliani's insurance is knowledge; some knowledge about trump gives him leverage. The leverage has to represent knowledge that trump fears exposure of or consequences for. Giuliani doesn't fear being otherwise loose-lipped, or even crazy, and his relationship with trump is currently letting him pull in $20,000 a day for "legal work."

Roger Stone :

"[trump] knows I was under enormous pressure to turn on him. It would have eased my situation considerably. But I didn't."

This leverage allowed Stone to openly demand clemency from trump regardless of any amount of political capital it could potentially cost.

The succession of wives, too, possess whatever personal knowledge, likely far more powerful than negotiated pre-nups and settlements, which ensure the notorious litigious deadbeat abides willingly by contractual terms.

As a nation, we need to survive trump. We have observed what works. But as a nation, we must address the issue of trump just a bit differently. Unlike Giuliani, Stone, or even Putin’s special holds over trump, we must:

1) Investigate trump extensively. Entirely. Turn him inside-out. And then,

2) Make the findings public. This is where a nation, a government of, by, and for the people in a country ruled by law and not kingdoms or cults, differs from defensive black-mailers or manipulative foreign spies.

This part, making public everything that doesn't actually threaten our national security to reveal, is necessary to harden both our resolve and our democracy, and to peel off whatever of trump's support that we can, and to deter the next trumpian assaults, whether by trump or the people who will try to follow the path trump has scorched into the fabric of our nation.

Public reveals are also a safety measure. There is vast potential for corruption otherwise. But then,

3) Keep every single trump-related criminal prosecution -- legitimate, of course, because we are not trump -- on the table. That is the leverage.

That's how to survive trump. There must be no more talk of how investigating a former *resident will turn us into a "banana republic." In a so-called banana republic, powerful government officials pressure others, either to carry out vendettas, or favors of protection by "looking the other way". Government is bent toward personal exploitations. Been there. Done that these past four years under trump and Republicons.

They have actually installed what can be termed "a deep state," notably for the first time, and sane Americans must know its extant. Fcuk their cries of victimization and oppression of the Right. The only difference is, when we investigate, there are actual violations, crimes, and scandals, with evidentiary proofs; when conservatives investigate, it's fundamentally bullsh*t-and-paranoia based.

A "banana republic" is exactly what we are attempting to rescue our nation from. With all the recognition that the Right has systematically unmoored from truth, and the terrible dangers that threaten as a result, from a stupid civil war born of propaganda, to climate devastation, as much truth as we can discover is what we need.

Knowledge is power. With trump out of the White House, we can get it. We must have it.