#some testimony was from judge too much

[artcalledoddities]

The trunks with wires get a LIFE Sink deep to water No fluoride Old roots The drink capped The trunks with wires get a LIFE Before chemical toxic release Lead pipes still sitting present Wire going inbetween We grow around Those in Captured lines Present folks Twist and pull off The trunks with wires get a Life Before chemical toxic release Lead pipes still sitting present Wire going inbetween We grow around Bass not needed Bass not needed From roots in the grounds From roots in the grounds Up above pictured Ohh TUMBLR AEIO’U The frantic Filling dispositions Thee all knowing Pry opening The trunks with wires get a life Before chemical toxic release Lead pipes still sitting present Wire going inbetween We grow around Drinking yet again from the tap Will it be harmful! Or will I have do without? Mostly all countries drink from cap……. Before chemical toxic release Lead pipes still sitting present Wire going inbetween We grow around

[criibibi]

Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

Masterlist: Prev; Next;

Chapter 5 - No Time to Waste

It’s been a week and a half since the last power surge incident and so far everything was quiet. Too quiet for Batman’s liking. It definitely increased his paranoia which in turn causes him to be extra moody. The culprit? Whoever was behind the power surge in the Narrows. They became an anomaly to Gotham. Unwanted, an eyesore in the eyes of Batman.

And the issue is, there hasn’t been any news at all. No sightings, no suspects, nothing. Bruce felt challenged in a way. Something is in Gotham, living in his city and he feels like he’s still so far from discovering who or what it is. For the world's greatest detective is having a hard time solving this case. How frustrating.

With no news of another quantum breach, big or small, nothing. It’s frustrating. What’s even more of a headache about this unsolved case, is another thing that has come to his attention- thanks Jim.

Bruce started hearing more reports of a new ‘vigilante’. But there are no pictures, no camera footage, no evidence, just testimonies, occasional sightings and witnesses. Nothing concrete, nothing solid, just no proof. So frustrating.

And there is a pattern.

What he does know is that they are always quick and efficient, never staying too long, leaving once or before the police arrive, and it’s always low level crooks like muggers or thiefs. Respectful and polite (from those they saved) and they mostly keep to the shadows of the night.

Whoever this new problem is, is trying to stay hidden and Batman doesn’t like that at all. Not. One. Bit. 

Despite the Narrows being Duke’s territory, he is just one person who patrols in the daytime, so some of his sons and daughter help patrol at night. But it seems this newcomer has incredible luck and scurries off everytime they are even close to their location.

But this doesn’t mean Batman will just let it go, oh no. Of course not silly, he’s going to find this new vigilante and see what they are about. He’s going to evaluate them, judge them, and all it takes is one mess up. Just one and he will make sure they are locked up in Arkham.

A bit extreme, possibly. But he will take no chances, not when it comes to the safety of his city. Gotham is his to protect and defend, he’s keeping many eyes out for this intruder. Watch your back.

“Sorry to interrupt your brooding hour B, but I have something I think you want to know. Also you have a message from Commissioner Gordon.” A new voice spoke through his comms.

“On my way.” He replied.

“No, I think it’s best you go with-”

“I am fully capable of handling it myself just fine. I don’t require father’s assistance.” a third voice snapped. “I’m here with Kent, we’re fine Drake.” And the line was turned off.

“Explain.” Batman demanded.

“So you see…”

-

After the failed attempt at contacting Miguel, you spent a couple of all nighters in advancing your beacon. This time, it would require even more energy but now it won’t cause a potential blackout. But it will notify the bats of your location like last time.

You know you have to be extra fucking careful this time. You might have gotten lucky those days ago in not getting caught, but you know your luck is shit anyways and Batman is one paranoid mother fucker. Him and his wards.

You have to be very cautious in where you go and how you will do this. This new connector is a bit more sturdier than the lightweight one you made before, but this time it also won’t require you to be stuck in one place. Actually, your signal will ping in more than one location. It will bounce off the cell towers and throw a fake location. 

This will certainly tip the scales to your favor in avoidance of detection. Now, you won’t have to rely on your (shit) spider luck! 

All you have to do is to connect it to a phone or computer, and connect that to any service in the area and manually set it off- which you can easily hack. There is only one tiny itty bitty problem. Guessed it yet? No? Well it’s simple, the only problem is- YOU DON’T HAVE A PHONE.

You could theoretically use the library computer but with civilians around you is a big major no. You’re also pretty sure the library closes at like 8 or something.

No worries. You have a solution for this baby problem. Is it build one yourself? Pfft- fuck no. You don’t have time to build a phone and even less for a computer, you still have to tweak your god damn watch for fuck sake. So, you’re just going to buy one.

And with what money- I hear you ask. Simple. You’re going to make some. Time to become Spider-woman again.

Only until you have enough for a decent phone- you said. It’ll be easy- you said. Until you were proven wrong.

You spent two days hunting and defeating crooks, webbing the worst ones up, while the not so bad but are making shitty choices were let go (with the promise of hunting them down should they go back to doing bad stuff). Some advice here and there, pickpocketing criminal’s money, you know, the usual shabang.

Can’t forget you’re avoiding all cameras so as to not give yourself away. Though you almost got caught by the police once, haha. You never stick around long enough to get spotted by the bats or the cops.

Until one night, dressed as a normal civilian, you were coming back from a shelter, turning a corner and you were immediately surrounded by a group of thugs wanting to rob you. You literally have nothing, so the only thing they would be robbing is your backpack with extra clothes and your suit. And maybe like two granola bars.

You tried to charm your way out of this situation because first of all, youre fucking tired, two, you don’t have time for baby shit, and three, you’re about to start tweaking. Of course the five men didn’t take your sarcastic remarks lightly and decided that their knives would do the talking.

So you beat them up. All five of them. 60 seconds was all it took. So to recompense wasting a minute of your time, you loot their cash discreetly.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) a well dressed man popped out of nowhere, getting close to you and you warned him you would break his wrist if he touched you- he still came but didn’t touch you. Holding out a black card he presented it to your face.

“You fight well, kid. If you want to make money fast,real money, call me and go here.”

“Um, I’m not a k-”

“You’ll make hundreds.” He cut you off. Rude. ”And if you impress the boss like you did me, you can make more.”

Spider luck?

Oh well that got your attention. Eyes narrowed. “Fast money, how?”

“Did no one ever teach ya about ‘stranger danger’? It’s a fight club, if you will. A tournament if you’re interested.”

Spider luck.

After pondering it for a quick second, here you are, getting a card with a free invite to a ring, probably filled with big, crazy, and most likely wanted criminals, and you get paid to beat them up? Sign me the fuck up. “I’m very interested.” you nod.

The man gave a crooked smile. “Perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow, kid.”

“I’m not-” The man walked away and inside a white limo car. Fuck you.

So you went the next day. Making sure you wore your normal clothes, just sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and your face mask, you called the guy.

Meeting him was uninteresting, conversations were nothing exciting, just asking you your fighting style, can you take on a big guy, and whatnot. 

Upon entering the place (behind a well known bar) you were led to a ring, two fighters going at it. You watched how one was clearly more experienced than the other, while the other guy was battered and bleeding but still fighting. Blood spraying everywhere with every hit until he hit the ground cold.

It certainly is a sight.

It was that very day that you had your very first fight.

Stepping into the ring with no prep, no bandages, no helmet, nothing, this was a raw fight through and through, you were immediately booed and laughed at. Tough crowd.

Of course you were not going against a stereotypical big muscular guy that looks like he could bench press a tank. No, in fact you were against a young military deserter as your first opponent. Scars and all. Across his neck laid an identification tag (also known as dog tag). Christopher Conner.

The man in front of you sneered, laughing at you. “No way they sent me a kid. I will break all your bones. Don’t start crying too soon.” he cooed.

He taunted you and the crowd loved it. You, on the other hand, were pretty bored and unimpressed. 

“I’m not a kid…” you huffed behind your face mask.

What was able to be seen on your face must have told him that because he didn’t like being ignored. 

So he swung, a clear hit to be a knock out. You swerve.

This time he kicked, you parried.

He did not like that. Soon a game ensued. Hit attacking and you either blocking or dodging. You didn’t even need your spider sense, you got this in the bag, honestly this was quite sad. The crowd went from booing you to insulting Christopher.

“What the fuck man?!”

“Hit the kid!”

“My money’s riding on you dickface!”

“Don’t you dare lose motherfucker, or I’ll shoot you!”

It seems their insults were getting to the man. You on the other hand kinda started to feel bad.

“Stand still you fucker!” Christopher growled, throwing punches.

You scoffed, “My aunt throws faster punches than you Chris.” You can almost taste the bloodlust seeping from his pores. “Hey man, it's been three minutes, surely you can end this, right?”

Chris’s jaw clenched in anger. He was about to explode. A voice called out your name.

“Nada! Stop wasting time and finish it kid. Or you won’t get paid.” What? What a scam! You’re trying to entertain yourself too y’know, guess this will be a way to relieve stress.

Facing the military man you didn’t give him a second to process when you blew him a kiss and then a fist made contact with his chin, effectively knocking him out the second his back hit the ring walls. “I’m not a kid.”

The crowd was silent before chaos broke. Half the crowd booed and threatened the fallen man, while the other half started cheering.

With how unsatisfied most people were, you had to fight three more times. Each time, you won, with no scratches on you (you did pretend to get hit at times for realism). Each victory secures you cheers and hype.

By the end of your last fight, it was dark out and you were walked off by the same man that brought you here. “Good job kid. I know you were the right call.”

“I’m not-” A thick envelope was thrown. Catching it, you opened it up to find money, lots of money. “Woah.”

The man in the suit chuckled. “Like it? You can make more the more you win.”

Still entrance by the stack of green you nodded. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Same time.” The man walked off and you stared at the money.

“Booyah baby!”

You bought a phone the next morning.

And so it’s been five days since then. You weren’t in a desperate need for money anymore, so you cut your fights down from five to two a day. You still needed time to continue fixing your beacon. Spider-woman sightings have also significantly decreased the more you noticed the increase in security.

You were not taking any chances.

Walking towards the somewhat empty bar, you greeted the bouncer and headed inside to an ‘employees only’ door to meet the guy in the suit. He did tell you his name, but you call him ‘Suit’ in your head regardless. 

“Hey there Nada,” He hears a sigh from behind the mask. “Listen, kid, you’re one of my best fighters, but I need you to lay low for a while. Here.”

Catching a burner phone you tilt your head for an explanation, pocketing it. “Cops?”

“Worse.” he sighs, slicking his hair back. “Bats.”

Fucking spider luck.

Like a bucket of ice and cold water was dumped on you, blood turning cold. You froze in terror. You should have guessed that a hidden fighting ring would not be kept hidden for long. The criminals that you fought and were downright nasty, you made sure they were caught outside and far away from this location. 

And it was random from a list you composed. Enough to make sure you weren’t a suspect. But fuck now you have to erase your presense here. You’re a nobody, Nada, nothing. Guess it really is time to lay lower than low, like a ghost. “I won’t come back then.” Voice serious and cold.

He laughed, pulling out an envelope from his suit's inner pocket. “S’that so?” Handing it out for you to take, his eyes burn into yours. “Then I’ll just have ta hunt you down, kid.”

Taking the envelope (it felt thicker and heavier than usual) and placing it in your pocket you chuckled, cold, fake, calculating. “Try. I’m good at hiding.” Walking away, hands in pocket, feeling both the envelope and the burner phone, turning your body to avoid bumping into a familiar guy speed walking in. “I’m not a kid…” you mumbled to yourself.

You didn’t bother glancing at the man you dubbed ‘Suit’, real name Jacob Sullivan Jones. It seems it’s time for JSJ to have a run in with the Gotham City Police Department. 

It is truly fortunate that Jacob doesn’t know where you're staying. Although he might not know about the warehouse inside the junkyard, he does know you are not a resident with no permanent home. He had stalked you for a bit after the first meeting (the bouncer was so easy to spot really), believing you’re homeless, alone, and a nobody (someone who nobody would miss or look for). You’re using that (somewhat of a mis)information to your advantage.

Leaving the desolate bar, thoughts consumed by the written list of criminals you drafted and plan to anonymously give it to the GCPD. How you got the other criminals caught was simple, you always used a payphone and gave anonymous tips. That won’t work here. At least not fully. Knowing the corruption, maybe you should hand it to the one of the cops you know isn’t corrupt.

Now, do you hack the police and email it? Print it/fax it and send it? Or hand it directly but as spider-woman? Well for starters, the second option is garbage because if the right person doesn’t see it first, it will just get covered up. Hacking into the GCPD and emailing it directly doesn’t sound like a bad idea, the only issue is, if they decided to forward that information to the bats, you’re fucked because then you know they’ll dig in and somehow find out about you.

It seems like going in as Spider-woman is the best bet, but then again, the bats are real close, too close for comfort. Should you take the risk? But if you don’t turn these criminals in, it will stay in your consciousness of letting innocents down. Guess you have to suck it up and do it then.

“This sucks” you mumbled, deep in thought. 

Suddenly you felt your body freeze. Feeling your spider sense go haywire, you looked up and hard swerved to the side, avoiding bumping into a stranger.

It seemed that your sudden change in direction caught the stranger’s attention and the person next to him, both heads snapped towards you.

Hands out of pocket awkwardly waving in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry!” Taking a look at the one you almost bumped into, he is tall, with black hair and vibrant blue eyes.

Taking note of your embarrassment the stranger chuckles, looking into your eyes, “No worries! Nice reflexes though!”

The stranger’s partner scowled in your direction and you could feel his eyes burning you alive. “Watch where you walk, you buffoon.” Venom.

“Don’t be rude, Dame.”

“Don’t call me that. We don’t have time for this tomfoolery.”

Alrighty then, guess it’s time to fuck off. “Yes, thank you- again, so sorry.” You don’t even spare the other guy a glance, quickly scurrying off. Your spider sense hasn’t shut off and you don’t like where this is going. “Good bye.”

“Hey wait a minute!”

“What are you doing Kent? Our priority is there.”

Not turning back, you quickened to a brisk walk away from this nauseating area. This whole goddamn experience is so nauseating. You just wanted to go home. Was that soooooo much to ask? Regardless, you did not want to know what those strangers wanted, and you were taught ‘stranger danger’ and it certainly applied here.

After a certain distance later, your senses dulled into a small buzz as you turned a corner and entered the public library. Taking your usual empty seat, you let out a deep sigh. This was what you were used to since coming into this world. Since being yoinked from another dimension and plopped in this universe, your senses never really shut off. It was like everything in this world was a danger, and it only spiked when reacting to blood lust, danger of a certain radius, and people who are incredibly strong. 

Recalling that one stranger, who looked too innocent enough for it to be bloodlust, just that their presence caught you so off guard. But your senses screamed at you, and it terrified you to an extent. This is why you can never really relax being here, even when you’re alone in the warehouse, you just feel so out of place, and in danger constantly. It was beginning to eat you up honestly.

You miss your innocent youthful days. God you sound old. But you really do miss having a home to go back to. A home where once you step inside, it’s warm, and two people would always greet you like a warm embrace.

Now it’s cold and desolate, barely anything inside, empty and lonely.

But now, you can’t even go there anymore. Even if it was painful to live in the same home that had more members, then reduced to just you, it was still home. 

You can’t even go home.

Remembering the words Jacob Sullivan Jones spoke to you earlier, you fish out the envelope. Taking note of the weight, it was decided to open it and find more than usual.

Picking up a small zip-lock bag, your eyes widened. It was an ID, an ID and a passport. Just what the fuck was Jacob going to do with giving you this? Why did he make this for you? What were his plans? No, you can’t think about that. This is a blessing for sure, and you’ll take it- but, you have to put Jacob in prison. Now.

This is a gift and you know that with criminals, all gifts are never for free. This is a ‘you owe me’ gift. “Fuck, this sucks.” You just want a moment of peace.

Think, you have to think. Now you have an identification, but, you don’t know if you’re in the system, since once again, incase you forgot, you don’t fucking exist here. Whatever Jacob was thinking, you definitely don’t want a part of it. You’re going to put a stop to this now.

Though, recalling the two strangers earlier, you don’t bother with the rude one of the two, more focused on the one with blue eyes. Something about him just stuck out to you. He looked vaguely familiar.

Okay, let’s take this from the top. You felt a strong sense of precaution, thus causing your spider sense to alert you. Your sense only went away when you were a considerable distance away from those two, so you know it’s about the strangers. Bases covered, perfect. What’s next?

 You only really focused on the one who you almost touched, so let’s continue from there. He is tall, a welldefine body, black hair, and vibrant blue eyes. That’s all you remember seeing now for what you heard. His friend/partner/acquaintance/fellow party member said ‘Kent’, this could be his name or surname but the name ‘Kent’ makes your throat clogged. You only know of another Kent and it’s a superhero.

It couldn’t be…right? 

Turning the computer on, you started typing away, fingers trembling, heart thumping loudly, head spinning, and body sweating. Please, please, please, be wrong. You prayed.

The window search lands on a somewhat recent news. Superman and Superboy save hundreds during bridge collapse! By Lois Lane Kent.

In the photo, on the front page was a scene, both Superman and Superboy. The older one was holding a piece of a bridge while the other younger one was using his heat vision. This was Superman’s son. And you came into contact with him.

You were royally fucking screwed.

Fuck- fuck! No, no nono! 

All the anxiety you tried to lock away came like a tsunami. You were reminded of how small you are in this world. How easy it is to find trouble even without looking. You wanted no part in this world but it seems the gods wanted to fuck you over and over again. 

And, as much as you wanted to curse out the Spot for yeeting you far faaaaaaar from your universe, you only blame yourself for latching onto him and getting lost on the way to his next destination.

God this sucks! You wanted to curl up and cry, but you can’t. You’re a big girl and so, you’ll deal with this fuckery later. After all, your best trait was putting your issues to the side and focusing on the bigger picture. This- meeting Superman’s son can wait. After all, you haven’t run into any bats besides Signal- yes you researched him when you had free time (you only knew of him but not really who he was), so for now, your spider luck has been blessing you thus far.

You need to focus on the bigger picture, getting Jacob and the other criminals caught.

Getting to work, you begin to type away your list that you memorized, the location of the bar, the owner of the bar was still a mystery but the one who runs it is Jacob, schedule of the bouncer shifts, and the names and alias of those who you encountered as well as the situation of misguided teens. You type it all, making sure to keep your real and fake identity out, you did put in your alias Nada, as a picked up street kid. Enough for it to be a ‘misguided’ teen situation but not enough to catch someone’s attention unless they were looking for it.

Now that you know you ran into Clark Kent’s son (a deduction), you know you can’t risk encountering him as spider-woman. Knowing that Superman can (somehow) memorize and identify someone based on their heart beat or whatever, so fuck no are you going to parade as spider-woman any time soon.

You swear to god that you will do everything you can to avoid meeting them in both their civilian personas and alter egos.

Calming yourself, you get ready to hack the GCPD, and leave a message.

‘They know. Scatter.’ 

It hits you. The epiphany of why Jacob had an ID and passport made for you. They were moving locations. Abandoning fort, and taking anyone who they wanted. Basically a trafficking ring for those who weren’t onboard, and a new opportunity for those who they saw potential in. 

Shit, you should have stopped this when Jacob found you, but you didn’t know anything then. Now it could be too late. But Jacob did say to lay low, so they’re mostly biding their time. Probably erasing, hiding, and misplacing real and fake evidence.

They need to get exposed now, ‘strike while the iron is hot’ as the saying goes. 

It seems like it’s time to meet the commissioner of the Gotham City Police Department, James “Jim” Gordon, as Spider-woman. How fun… 

Way to contratic your fucking promise so soon. Well, at least it’s a civilian and not a hero/vigilante. “This fucking sucks.”

-

Damian scoffed when Tim wanted to force his father the Batman into his lead. It’s not that he doesn’t want his father, it’s just this is an undercover sort of situation. He got a lead when he went to interrogate a pathetic military criminal. He can handle this mission on his own.

“No, I think it’s best you go with-”

“I am fully capable of handling it myself just fine. I don’t require father’s assistance.” Damian heard Jon chuckle, most likely overhearing this conversation with his super hearing. What a nuisance.  “I’m here with Kent, we’re fine Drake.” And the line was turned off.

“Well that was something. So, what’s the plan that you didn’t want Lizzie to be involved in?”

“Focus, Jon.” Damian explained their stakeout first, before going to don their costumes. Deep in their conversation, Damian caught sight of one of the suspects speed walking past them. He brings this to Jon’s attention. “It's him, the mercenary Christopher Conner.”

“Okay, so this bar is the place. Let me check real quick.” Using his vision, Jon’s eyebrow furrows. “Next door is styled like a wrestling ring, only two exits. From here and from an office. This is the place.”

“Then we’ll change and apprehend the criminal. Watch and hear what he is saying.” Jon followed Damian’s lead when someone jumped out of his way like he was burning them, causing Damian to also turn his head.

“I’m so sorry!” Despite the mask covering their mouth, their voice of this buffoon sounded androgynous, their clothes didn’t help to differentiate a gender either. But what he can see were this stranger’s eyes, and he can’t look away.

It seems neither can Jon as he chuckles and waves off the encounter. “No worries! Nice reflexes though!” Jon makes it very obvious he’s staring hard.

Just what is it about this total insignificant stranger that caught Damian’s undivided attention? From what he can see, they look normal (can’t really tell with that face mask though), but there is just something that has him unable to take his eyes off of them.

Jon has the same issue, and Damian narrowed his eyes in suspicion and scowls. “Watch where you walk, you buffoon.” 

Jon, without breaking eye contact, scolds Damina. “Don’t be rude, Dame.”

Snapping out of this trance, he snaps back,” Don’t call me that.” That’s right, they are on a mission, no distractions allowed. “We don’t have time for this tomfoolery.”

Jon looks at Damian, as he too, regains his focus, eyes staring into each other as if communicating, he nods. They can come back to this after they finish their assignment. 

“Yes, thank you- again, so sorry. Good bye.” The stranger quickly scurried off.

Caught off guard Jon impulsively extended his arm out to grab their shoulder. “Hey wait a minute!” 

Damian acted faster, grabbing Jon’s arm. “What are you doing Kent? Our priority is there.” Pointing towards the bar with his head. This isn’t good, they’re getting sidetracked.

Jon didn’t turn to look at Damian, no he was still staring at the stranger. “I just wanted to ask…” He trailed off as he strained his ears, focusing on their heartbeat, their breathing patterns, anything he could to commit to memory. “For their name.”

Damian, too, side glanced at the retreating figure, dissecting the way they moved, their tensed shoulders, everything until they were out of sight.

Jon wanted to ask their name. Was that weird? Their situation didn’t require him to ask their name. How would he even go about it, ‘Sorry for almost bumping into you, hey can I ask for your name?’ Yea, no.

“Damian, I-” Jon began before getting caught off.

“I know. We’ll deal with that later,” His eyes narrow, glancing at the bar. “Focus.” But he too was entranced. But he was much better at pushing that to the side, but he knows he won’t be able to hold it off for now. The best he can do is rein in Jon’s attention to the assignment.

Moving to a cafe nearby with a good view of the bar’s entrance, they ordered some drinks. This wasn’t Damians idea but he’ll let Jon have his way for cooperating.

Jon nodded, getting back into focus, using his super hearing to overhear the conversation inside the bar.

His stomach tingles at the thought of asking the stranger for their name.

Hand discreetly on his year Damian spoke, “Drake, look into the time of now and send it over to me.”

“Hey- wait-” Tim was caught off guard, “What’s this about? I thought you didn’t ‘require assistance’ for this.” He teased. 

“I don’t.” He shut the comms off. Now, back to work. “What’s going on Jon?”

“This is our guy. He’s getting assigned to deliver a package. This is serious. He’s upset.”

Damian clicked his tongue. “Tt. Follow.”

Jon tunes into the conversation again.

“The police aren’t the issue. It’s the costumes that have been spotted close. We already lost a couple of our men to the cops.”

“And you don’t think that’s suspicious? We have a traitor!”

“You don’t think I don’t know that, Chris? Ever since Sebastian was caught by the fucking commissioner, the others have been getting caught like flies here in Gotham. He’s spilling, so I need to silence him.” 

“The usual?”

“No, not you this time. We’re leaving so I need you to focus on one more thing.”

“Is it about them, the one you want to recruit?”

“Yes, I want them-” a phone rang interrupting the conversation. “It’s the boss. Dismissed, I’ll send ya the rest later.”

“Understood sir. I’ll deliver the packages tonight.” The mercenary walked off, no longer as upset as earlier.

Jon, processing the information, becomes visibly upset. “They’re recruiting, and based on the conversation, it's the runaway and homeless teens that have been reported by the shelters. This is bigger than just Gotham. I think they’re leaving, moving somewhere else.”

“Let’s follow.” Damian’s attention was caught at the mercenary leaving the bar. “There.”

“The guy he was talking to said he would ‘send the rest later’, I think it will be on his phone.” Jon informed.

Damian absorbed the information. “We’ll follow and catch him red handed.”

“What about ‘the package’?” Jon questioned.

“What about them? I’ll forward the intel to the rest. We focus on this guy. The evidence on his phone is all we need.”

“Dame, I can’t with good conscience leave those vulnerable kids on their own.” Stressed Jon.

“And we’re not. The others will take care of it.” Damian replied. “When we apprehend the mercenary, acquire the intel, we go after this guy while the others detain their accomplices and rescue the runaways. They will all fall tonight, Jon, so focus.”

Jonathan Kent wanted to bite back, but he knows Damian ran this plan at least three times before bringing him along. Damian is just that strategic. And he places his full trust in him, god does this leave him unsatisfied. He knows those kids are trapped somewhere and if taking this mercenary and the manager from the bar out gets them safe faster, then he will do as he is told.

Something just feels out of place, this has been too easy so far. “Alright, he’s heading north.”

Damian nods, slipping away to change into his suit.

As if connected, Damian as well feels like things have been progressing smoothly. And when it comes to crimes committed in Gotham, when things are going good, then something isn’t right.

Ever since the first the GCPD have been arresting some low and decent levels of this new crime syndicate, news of some human trafficking organizations have been slowly getting uncovered as if by overnight. It started around five days ago, low level members were caught, and just two days ago, a higher member was arrested.

Ever since his father the Batman (he tagged along) interrogated him, he spilled like a waterfall. Since they have been cracking down on the case, they know this criminal organization is trying to get on the levels of Black Mask or The Penguin.

The only issue is, this was only exclusive to Gotham, now based on what Jon relay to him, this is just a small base, there are others. He refuses to let this go on any further. Not to his city, or his people. Yet, there is this itch in the back of his head. These captures were by far too easy, and these people aren’t sloppy. No, they had been operating for some time, and yet they were getting caught like moths to a flame due to anonymous tips being called in. Someone out there is deliberately getting these scumbags caught.

And Batman believes it could possibly have a connection to the other pressing issue that’s consuming his thought. There has to be a connection to the quantum disturbance from a little over a week ago. It’s just too coincidental for it not to be. 

Something is happening in Gotham, and he will get to the bottom of this.

-

You know, people say to plan for everything, thus making Batman a force to be reckoned with since he is the master of having contingency plans and backup plans for those backup plans. And yet, here you are, with a plan and life just wants to fuck you over and expects you to just deal with it.

No.

After coming up with spider-woman handing the commissioner Jim Gordon a list of criminals and misguided teens, you just needed to go and change. But here you are, running into a situation if you will. 

You see, after running away from Superman's son, and a printed list folded neatly in your pocket as you head ‘home’, you started to feel the icky sensation of being watched. Years of experience and knowing how not to tip off that you know, you head away from your place of operations and head up north. 

Though despite not giving signs of how utterly fucking tense and anxious you are, you rationalize that it can not be any of the birds because you haven’t done anything suspicious. That, and the fact that your spider sense isn’t screaming at you of danger so for now, that’s calming you down.

On the other hand, you still have no clue who is following you. It was like, thirty minutes since running into the super, and no call from the burner phone. This whole ‘being followed’ is a fucking nuisance, putting a wrench in your plans. 

The only good thing is that, since you are technically surrounded by civilians walking about, they can’t really do anything to you, unless they want to cause panic amongst the innocents. Though, that wouldn’t stop someone from shooting you if they wanted you dead. 

Still, regardless if you are wanted dead (highly unlikely) or alive (for whatever reason) you don’t want to lead innocent civilians into this, so away you go! Informing Jim Gordon can wait (not it can’t), you’ll lose your pursuer and then catch them!

Turning a corner, into alleyways, zig zagging, you hear their footsteps pick up. Persistent.

While running away, you form theories. We crossed out the batsonas, you haven’t done or got caught with anything to be on their radar afterall, it can’t be a random crook because for one, you look poor too, and second, they’re chasing you for a reason. Another idea was maybe it has something to do with Jacob. But that doesn’t make much sense since you just got a burner phone. 

Something just isn’t adding up. 

Your spider sense spiked as you turned down a corner. Despite this, you kept going straight, ready to take on whoever was going to appear in front of you. 

With a very good distance between you and your pursuer you took this chance to discard your mask and sweatshirt (thank god for having a tank top) ontop of a parked motorcycle as you turned another corner, there stood a man near the end of the alleyway, tall and (once again) wellbuilt, with black hair just standing there, phone in hand.

Quickly you jogged towards him (he glanced your way) and grabbed his arm, startling him. “Sorry, please play along!” you whispered and pulled him.

The stranger only had one second to figure out what was happening. In that split second though, he heard a plea for help. The next thing he knew, he had his free hand on the wall above your head while the other one was moved to your waist. Back towards the wall and having his big frame engulf yours, you let his arm go and wrapped them around his neck, pulling him towards your face. 

It's only then that you take in his appearance, handsome from what you can see, and your heart dropped. “I’m being followed,” you muttered, noticing the stranger’s eyes roam your face before settling on your eyes. “I don’t know who they are.”

The man in front of you nodded, kept in place as footsteps hastily turned the corner, running past the both of you. Your body tensed up watching the hooded figure stop at the end of the alleyway. Taking the chance to observe the guy, he pulled out a phone while looking both ways before exiting from your view.

While you were distracted the stranger in front of you pulled back, making your release your hold. He was quiet. “Once again, I’m so sorry! Thank you!” You nervously backed away, in the opposite direction your pursuer went.

He grunted, watching you walk back away. He opened his mouth to speak but the phone in his hand began to ring. He glanced down at the caller before looking back up. 

You were already gone, picking up your sweatshirt and mask, donning them on and running away. Your heart was pounding so loud, it rang in your ear. That was Jason mother fucking Todd. You ran into the Red Hood. What the fuck was he doing in the Narrows?!

Recalling the words Jacob spoke earlier, it echoed through your head. ‘Bats.’ That’s right. The fucking bats are intown, and this was too close for comfort. This sucks balls!

“Focus, focus. Officer Gordon, here I come.” To the junkyard you go.

-

Jason watched the very pretty woman leave him with his thoughts. Getting pulled into caging someone against a back alley wall was not in his cards today, but with Gotham, one always has to expect the unexpected. 

Speaking of the unexpected, he let himself momentarily get distracted recalling the bold stranger from earlier. Something about this woman, rendered him quiet. But at the same time, he took note of just how anxious she was. Tensed body, eyebrows furrowed, worried expression, scared eyes, and over all the way she held onto him while losing her pursuer. He wondered just what kind of trouble found her. It seems crime really doesn’t stop during the daylight.

He committed her face to memory, and will touch upon her situation once he finished his current assignment. 

“You still there?” the voice spoke from his phone.

“Yea, I’m still here. I’m in the Narrows, following the lead.”

“Good, while Damian follows the mercenary, you got the manager. I’m seeing some suspicious moments. Turn on your commlink, Bruce is already moody as he is.”

“When isn’t he like that.” Jason rolled his eyes as he walked back to his bike that he parked further in the alley. Before taking off, he glanced in the direction the stranger went. Her actions and the sound of her voice repeated inside his mind like an echo, burning itself in his memory.

Prev; Next;

I realized everything I wanted for this chapter did not happen. So now it's split into two parts- oops. Side note, this will not be a yandere series, though I do think they get 'possessive' sure, not yandere though. I finally know how I am going to end the Act, the issue is the in between that I struggle with.

Yay, you met Jon and Jason. Next up are Cass, Steph, Dick, and Tim the only ones left.

Web Bound Secret Corner!

Spider-Woman had an eidetic memory.

Spider-Woman does not know about the trafficked kids.

Spider-Woman did not notice Damian.

If Spider-Woman had to choose between saving a life and going home, she'd save the life.

Spider-Woman's is bad at grieving and worse with failure.

[defire]

As an abuse survivor, you are just fetishizing child abuse. Plain and simple. Call it a coping mechanism or a power take-back all you want, but it's just an excuse to write porn about child abuse. I pity people like you, truly, I do. I can only pray that you eventually see a therapist about your internalized pedo behavior.

Cw: RANCID ask ⬆️

I'm so glad you brought this up because I don't like to speak for people like you--I'd rather combat these opinions directly.

Since you're praying, I'll feel free to make biblical allusions. (Tw)

First, the word "fetish". My opinion: I don't find fetishes or porn too helpful for processing trauma--it's more like exposure therapy. At some point you do need to actually grieve and process what happened. I don't judge those who do that (you're not hurting anybody♥️), but that's not what Survivor Fiction is for.

When you're judging whether something is bad or good, you can use the "tree by its fruits" concept. Basically, if a tree produces good fruit, it's a good tree. If it produces bad fruit, it's a diseased/bad tree.

So let's look at what Survivor Fiction does for survivors specifically.

It brings healing. I (a new author!) have already received five testimonies that have said how much my writing helped them move through some of their trauma and see things in a different, calmer way.

Survivor Fiction brings peace. A surprising amount of the community--90.5% in a poll involving 1,543 voters--use whump stories to go to sleep at night. (Many trauma survivors have difficulty sleeping from flashbacks. Fiction along the same lines can offer an appropriate sense of distance from the fear.)

It helps disabled people. It appears that a strong majority of our community is autistic. Part of the diagnosis is emotional dysregulation. We need to be walked through how to do things in great detail. Survivor Fiction often walks the reader through the process of trauma, reaction, ptsd, and recovery.

It spreads awareness. Survivor fiction is often more accurate to real-life abusive situations instead of glossing it over--in other words, LYING--about what goes on. This can bring a 3rd party perspective to a current victim too, giving them the understanding that they are being abused and need to escape if possible.

For a more thorough explanation of why fiction about survivors is good and necessary, see this post.

Okay, so would "bad fruit" look like? Do you see any of the following from our community? ↙️

Doing these things in real life

Being generally hurtful of others

Hurting children in real life

Harming emotions by pushing unwanted content to people who would be triggered by it? (Quite the opposite, we tend to post exhaustive content warnings before the content.)

Something else that's actually wrong and not just a thought crime?

And here's the fruit of your words, which I'm sure we all heard the jist of many times before:

You encourage covering up evil. Trying to hide fiction that more accurately describes pain, abuse, and PTSD means hiding the truth. Stifling the exposure of just how evil it is to abuse someone like this. The righteous walk in the light, but the wicked hide their deeds in the darkness.

Your words are shaming. Shame causes pain to fester and act out in harmful ways, such as repeating abuse cycles, self-harm, and dangerous overreactions. Christian ideology here--shame is what caused Adam and Eve to hide from God.

You are lying. You implied that we harm people in real life without any reason to think so. And also implied that we want to be in the aggressor's position. Generally speaking we identify most with the victim.

Referencing Christianity here, if you're christian--Your words condemn the Bible. The bible is full of stories much darker than most of what is written here. You'll read about rape, and the cannibalism of one's own children in Lamentations, among other things.

You're hurting yourself. You will be judged with the measure you judge others with. This is because if you judge others harshly for their thoughts, you'll instinctively judge yourself just as harshly. You end up hurting yourself and others over something that wasn't even doing any harm in the first place.

Causing confusion. What you said was illogical. If it's fiction where the damage occurs, we should be blaming the fictional aggressor--not the writer reporting it. If it's reality where the damage occurs, we should be blaming real criminals--not the journalist. The truth is that writing about survivors isn't generally harmful.

In short, you're creating a lot of problems and not helping. Did this ask come from a loving place?

This answer I'm giving, does.

[opencommunion]

a voteblue told me the other day that if I don't vote, my government "won't know I exist" and therefore won't know my grievances. I had to laugh because my governments at the state, federal, and local level have longstanding documented policies of surveilling my ethnic group! the government knows very well that I exist — from the moment I was born they identified me as their enemy, an "anchor baby" and "sleeper cell," a demographic threat and a national security threat. before I was old enough to form any opinion about my government they had already labeled me an enemy of the state. they know all about Arab grievances and have 0 interest in listening to us because they do not see us civilian constituents who they serve, they see us as hostile foreign others.

you have to get this through your head if you want to understand how Arabs in the so-called US move politically. we move with the understanding that this country is by default antagonistic and hostile towards us on the basis of our race, and to whatever extent we engage in electoral politics, we do so knowing that our government is fundamentally not on our side and getting our perspectives heard (much less empathized with) requires a lot of extra work beyond casting a vote. policies of surveilling Arabs are consistent across red and blue states and admins, and at every level of government (which is why I roll my eyes when I'm told to vote down-ballot — all the candidates at the local level hate me too!)

to give you a glimpse of how our relationship with our government actually works, here are some excerpts from a 2022 congressional testimony by Maya Berry (executive director of the Arab American Institute):

"The federal government has justified counterterrorism and other law enforcement practices in the name of national security for what is a seemingly endless 'war on terror.' In the process, the government has viewed specific communities, including Arab Americans and American Muslims, as a threat to national security and in so doing, has securitized their relationship. ... While not an attempt at a comprehensive list, the following are select examples of government and law-enforcement policies that have targeted Arab Americans (and in some cases, American Muslims and South Asian Americans) or viewed them through a securitized lens. .... In each of these cases, government or law-enforcement policies can be seen as facilitating discrimination rather than functioning as policies of a state actor obligated to safeguard and defend the rights of its citizens. In the wake of the killing of Israeli athletes in a terrorist attack at the 1972 Munich Olympics, the Nixon Administration created the surveillance program known as Operation Boulder. The program sought to silence Arab and Arab American voices within the United States through investigation, surveillance, and harassment. It 'specifically targeted Arabs with U.S. citizenship, resident aliens of Arab descent, non-Arab Americans sympathetic to Arab causes, as well as the relatives, neighbors, friends, and employers of Arab individuals.' Operation Boulder officially ended in 1975 after it was deemed 'not worth it' by law enforcement, though its demise would be announced in a major media outlet as 'A Plan to Screen Terrorists Ends.' In 1987, seven Palestinian men and a Kenyan woman were arrested in Los Angeles for distributing a magazine of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, an organization then considered an advocate for world communism. For the students, known as the 'L.A. 8,' this was a deportable offense under the McCarthy-era McCarran-Walter Act. In 1989, a federal judge declared the charges unconstitutional and, in 1990, Congress repealed the Act. However, two members of the L.A. 8 faced the continued threat of deportation for decades until the government finally ended their effort to deport them in 2007. ... The case of the L.A. 8 is well known among Arab Americans. First, it targeted pro-Palestinian activists and raised the question of whether Arab immigrants or Arab Americans who advocated for Palestinian human rights were indeed protected by the same constitutional rights to free speech and association. Further, in proceedings of the case, it was discovered that the DOJ had a plan for a detention camp called, 'Alien Terrorists and Undesirables: A Contingency Plan.' ... In 2004, it was learned through a Freedom of Information Act request that the Census Bureau had shared demographic data about Arab Americans with the Department of Homeland Security on at least two occasions, in 2002 and 2003. Without a Middle East and North Africa (MENA) category on the Census, it is well documented that Arab Americans are an undercounted community. Yet, DHS was provided with data showing cities with more than 1,000 Arab Americans and zip code-level data broken down by country of origin.

In 2011, the Associated Press published an investigative report on New York Police Department (NYPD) counterterrorism and surveillance programs that directly targeted Arab American Muslim businesses, mosques, and communities in New York and New Jersey in the immediate aftermath of 9/11. The revelations of the breadth and depth of the NYPD’s surveillance program were shocking, with use of widespread 'ethnic mapping,' and reporting on innocent people going about their daily routines. The NYPD’s spying program and others like it are not only unconstitutional, but are also ineffective and significantly harmful to the communities they infiltrate. Not a single lead on terrorist operations resulted from NYPD’s spying activities. In 2011, the Obama Administration released the 'Strategic Implementation Plan for Empowering Local Partners to Prevent Violent Extremism in the United States.' The plan was introduced as a domestic counterterrorism strategy and became the foundation for the federal government’s Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) programs. In 2016, DHS began the Interagency CVE Task Force, which essentially approached community outreach to American Muslim communities as part of counterterrorism programming. Beyond the serious issue of the lack of an evidence-based foundation for CVE, these programs sought to deputize local community members and organizations to surveil their own communities on behalf of the U.S. government.

In 2011, a series of reports by an investigative journalist exposed biased FBI counterterrorism training material. Characterizing American Muslims and Arab Americans as prone to violence, some of the material’s 'highlights' include statements that 'mainstream American Muslims are likely to be terrorist sympathizers,' comparisons between Islam and the Death Star from Star Wars, and assertions that the 'Arab mind' is 'swayed more by ideas than facts,' and that unlike the 'Western Mind' being 'even keel,' in the Arab world, ‘Outbursts and Loss of Control [is] Expected.'

... In 2021, the Biden Administration established the Center for Prevention Programs and Partnerships (CP3). While appearing to be an extension of the Obama Administration’s Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) programs, Biden Administration officials have distanced themselves from previous CVE efforts saying they have taken a new approach. However, like its predecessors, CP3 seems to rest on flawed concepts about 'radicalization' that perpetuate stereotypes of communities and undermine public trust in government."

the US government pays very close attention to us, and it's only to our detriment. invisibility is not the issue here, white supremacy is, and you can't vote white supremacy out of a nation built on it

[copperbadge]

I am now home, fed, rested, and festooned in cats. 

I had a lot of opinions about the case I was jury on, but I don’t know how much of it I’ll write up; I kept a kind of disjointed journal, but it’s not super coherent. Turns out if I don’t document my thoughts in real time I get bored of my own mind very quickly. 

We were jury for a complicated medical civil case; we heard testimony from six doctors and two nurses and saw so much imaging. I’m sure the plaintiff suing the medical center had bigger concerns, and it’s not like you get detail with the internal imaging we had to examine, but it must have been rough on him that in the course of learning about his injuries, which were on his lower body, we also had to look at multiple images of his dick. It certainly startled me when I realized what we were seeing for the first time.  

Most of the trial I was kind of okay with just keeping things to myself, writing and thinking about it privately, but I was dying inside that I couldn’t talk to you guys until now about the asshole juror I mentioned earlier. I had intended to use writing about him as a safety valve -- a sort of “Hey I can’t talk about the trial but wait till you hear what That Guy did today” -- but uh. 

So I didn’t actually bully anyone off a jury, but for the rest of my life I am definitely going to claim I did. 

The second day of trial, the bailiff grabbed me before trial and said the judge wanted to talk to me; I thought I was in trouble but it turns out that he wanted to know about my interactions with the other juror. Apparently the bailiff had seen me step in when he was pestering a fellow (female) juror the previous day. Later he got super aggressive with the bailiff herself, and I guess she saw me watching and gauging whether to step in then, too. (I didn’t end up getting involved because she handled him just fine and also she has a gun.) 

The judge questioned me about what I’d seen and done and why I’d done it, and then informed me he was removing the juror from the case based on what I’d told him about the man’s behavior. I’m given to understand there may be a charge of contempt of court and a fine, but I’m not clear on the details and it appears I won’t have to get involved further.

But yeah, that’s why you didn’t hear any more about him. Realistically he was removed for harassment, but I like to think a small part of it is that I fucked with him so visibly and thoroughly that they knew “this jury box isn’t big enough for the both of us.” 

Anyway, I’m glad it’s over. I would have liked to have spoken to the plaintiff and his wife after the verdict and expressed my sympathy for what they’d gone through, but I think perhaps understandably they didn’t want to linger. Besides, we found in his favor; he seemed pleased with the outcome and his wife was happy-crying as we left, so I expect the message was understood. 

My job is not exactly mindless, but it also doesn’t usually involve paying hardcore attention to complex medical testimony for six hours a day. I am exhausted. Fortunately this weekend is relatively laid back -- my only commitment is to a Pride beach party tomorrow, and I’ve used some of my jury pay to purchase one of those pop-up shade tents, so the plan is to sit in the shade with snacks and beverages and be the Beach Dad. 

[mariacallous]

Trump Bemoans the Injustice of No Consequences

This morning, I headed to chilly lower Manhattan to witness the criminal sentencing of Donald Trump. As I walked alone in the post-dawn quiet through Foley Square, where the borough’s courthouses are clustered, I read the inscription above the entrance to the New York State Supreme Court building: “The true administration of justice is the firmest pillar of good government.” It’s a line lifted from one of George Washington’s letters. Just up the block, in a courtroom on the fifteenth floor of the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse, this sentiment was about to be put through an extreme, absurd, test.

What’s a fitting punishment for a President who breaks the law? America has never been quite sure. Last spring, when Trump sat through a weeks-long trial in Judge Juan Merchan’s courtroom, it almost seemed like the rules would, finally, apply to him. Yes, he was the presumptive Republican Presidential nominee, and, yes, the trial was held under oppressively tight security restrictions, and, yes, Merchan gave Trump leeway to viciously bash the court, the prosecutors, the witnesses, and the jury in ways not typically tolerated from criminal defendants. But inside the courtroom the proceedings proceeded. Testimony was heard, evidence was introduced, a verdict was reached: guilty on all thirty-four counts of falsifying business records in the first degree, as part of a scheme to suppress damaging evidence from becoming public during his first Presidential campaign. That was the unanimous decision of twelve of Trump’s peers on May 30th.

Much has happened since. The sentencing in the hush-money case, which Merchan postponed several times during the election season, was like a bit of unfinished business from a time when the true administration of justice was the firmest pillar of good government. It had always been thought unlikely that this case would end with jail time, or some other serious consequence, for Trump. The November results insured it. Merchan was put in a bind: How to resolve the case that had resulted in a guilty verdict without impinging on Trump’s ability to be President? A potential solution presented itself in the idea of an “unconditional discharge,” wherein Trump’s conviction would stand, but the matter would be left there.

The hearing began at 9:30 A.M. Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg and his team of prosecutors were in the courtroom. Trump, with Merchan’s permission, appeared virtually, via Microsoft Teams. (Among other things, the Trump sentencing may be remembered as the apex of the W.F.H. era in this country.) He was sitting next to his lawyer, Todd Blanche, whom he has nominated to serve as Deputy Attorney General in his second term. Trump’s face appeared on screens mounted on the courtroom walls.

Joshua Steinglass, an Assistant District Attorney, spoke first. He excoriated Trump, accusing him of breeding “disdain” for the rule of law, and of putting those involved in the trial in “harm’s way.” “This defendant has caused enduring damage to public perception of the criminal-justice system,” Steinglass said. Still, he acknowledged, the defendant was about to become the President. As such, the District Attorney was seeking a sentence of unconditional discharge.

Blanche went next. “I very, very much disagree with much of what the government just said about this case,” he said. He reiterated arguments Trump’s defense team had made before, about the timing and the motivations underlying the case. He suggested that the votes of tens of millions of citizens should outweigh the verdict of twelve jurors. It was a “sad” day for Trump, Blanche said, and for the country. Nevertheless, he, too, requested that Merchan issue an unconditional discharge.

Then it was Trump’s turn. While Blanche was speaking, Trump was mostly frowning, and looking off camera. Occasionally, he leaned and his face went partially out of view, like a doddering grandfather during a family Zoom. During the trial, he had not testified in his own defense, and in the courtroom he’d stayed mostly silent, save for the occasional outburst of muttering or sighing, for which Merchan repeatedly admonished him. Now he had the floor. “This has been a very terrible experience,” he said. “The fact is, I’m totally innocent. I did nothing wrong.” He referred obliquely to Michael Cohen, his former lawyer who became one of the prosecution’s star witnesses in the trial. “He was allowed to talk as if he were George Washington,” Trump said. “But he’s not George Washington.”

Merchan, sitting on the bench, looked impassively on through all of this. When it finally came time to render judgment, he began by thanking the court clerks, officers, and staff. Then he acknowledged his bind. Because Trump was about to become President, he explained, the “only lawful sentence that permits entry of a judgment of conviction” was an unconditional discharge. “Sir, I wish you godspeed as you assume a second term in office,” Merchan said. Then, the unpleasant task finished, he quickly left the courtroom. The live-stream screens went blank, and the prosecutors filed out. The first criminal trial of a former and future President was over.

[heathersdesk]

Queer People are Holy Too

It is impossible to hate and shame queer people into loving God.

You will never earn the love of Jesus Christ by judging other people for what they do.

You are wholly dependent on his grace, yes? No matter what you do, you will still be an unprofitable servant? So why are you so hellbent on taking that grace from others?

What exactly do you get from condemning queer people for the motes you think you see in their eyes, when the beams are still in your eyes?

Why are you so determined to show how much love you have for God by tormenting queer people, instead of sharing the testimony of what sins you've been saved from?

If you're so convinced that making a spectacle of sin serves God in any way, why are the sins never your own?

It costs you nothing not to invalidate queer people's entire existence by saying they're wrong about who they are. No one is making you do that. So why are you doing it?

Especially since, and I cannot stress this enough, I'm old enough to know that at least some of you are actually queer and so deep in the closet you're finding last year's Christmas presents. You just don't realize it yet. And those of you who have and are doing violence to yourselves and others to convince yourselves that you can change this about yourselves—all of this presupposes that there is something wrong with you. There's nothing wrong with you. You can't pray the gay away. You can't make yourself cisgender, heterosexual, or anything else that you just aren't. Better folks than you have tried. Kinder folks than you have had their Creator tell them that he made no mistake on them in this.

You are not different. Your self-loathing doesn't make you special. And the loathing you hold for others for what you don't like about yourself does not make you holy.

Let me tell you how this story ends, based on experience:

Once you finally figure that out because you've nearly destroyed yourself and your mental health, you're going to end up needing the help of, and asking forgiveness from, the very people you're belittling right now.

So let's skip past all that and get to the part where the God you worship underlines "love thy neighbor as thyself" for you and says to you, in that familiar voice, "What I the Lord have spoken, I have spoken, and I excuse not myself."

Now quit elevating the incomprehensible bigotry and indoctrination of Christian influencers from Instagram and go read a book.

[bittermarching]

(I've said this before but,) It's annoying to me how so many people feel compelled to spread disinformation and present every situation as completely black and white, regardless of the facts, to manipulate other people into agreeing with them. This happens all the fucking time, especially online.

A recent example: M. Williams, the man who was recently executed in Missouri (not putting his full name bc I don't want a bunch of illiterate keyboard "prison abolitionists" telling me to kms). Lemme first preface this by saying I Do Not think he should've been executed. Just to be clear.

There are a million zillion posts on this site claiming that there was "overwhelming forensic evidence definitively proving his innocence" and that the "only evidence" linking him to the crime was the testimony of two cellmates who were rewarded for their testimonies. Both of these things are false.

What linked him to the crime was a) the victim's stolen items were found in his possession (obviously he could have just been a fence, but the items found were a ruler and a calculator, which have no value so why would a fence have that?); b) the testimony of his girlfriend who said that he confessed and had scratches on his neck and blood on his shirt and the victim's laptop in his car; c) the victim's stolen laptop was recovered from a man who said Williams sold it to him; d) the alleged jailhouse confession his former cellmate claimed he made. Neither Williams' girlfriend or the man who bought the laptop received any reward for testifying, as far as I could find. The gf was awaiting trial on an unrelated crime, but it doesn't seem like she got a plea deal or anything for testifying. The cellmate did receive a reward, so that imo makes his testimony somewhat less persuasive. There was also the fact that he had a history of armed robbery.

However! And this is why his death sentence should have been overturned (regardless of whether you support the existence of the death penalty at all), there were several serious issues with how the crime was investigated, the trial, and post-trial handling of the case.

First, regarding the forensic evidence, the DNA of an initially-unidentified man was found on the knife. It turns out, that DNA belonged to one of the prosecutors who contaminated the evidence by repeatedly handling it without gloves. (This is where people seem confused, claiming that the DNA belongs to the real culprit, but that is false). The fact that the evidence was mishandled alone should have been enough imo to overturn his sentence bc the jury did not have this info when they convicted him.

Second, the prosecuting attorney handling voir dire (jury selection) had a Very Clear racial bias, as he eliminated all but one Black juror, and the reason he gave for eliminating one of them was that he "looked too much like" Williams. Which, I mean. Come on, that's just insanely clear anti-Black racism.

Third, the bizarre, intentional mishandling of this case post-trial. First, the former governor stays the execution and forms a panel of judges to review the case. But then, the new governor suddenly dissolves the panel before they finish their investigation and just decides to lift the stay on the execution. A lawsuit was pending to have another trial into Williams' innocence, given all the new evidence about the mishandling of the trial, but the state supreme court found that they didn't have the authority to withdraw the execution order. Williams accepted a plea deal devised by prosecutors that would have his conviction commuted to life without parole. The state sup. ct. blocked the plea deal. The governor denied his plea for clemency. Basically, the people in positions of final authority seemed absolutely determined to go through with this execution no matter what.

I might've missed some details here, I read a bunch of articles and tried to piece things together, but the length of this post was already getting away from me.

But the point is, I hate how ppl feel the need to oversimplify complex issues and events in order to convince others of the point they're trying to make. It is true that there were actual, material pieces of evidence linking Williams to the crime and that he did have a history of armed robbery. But it's equally true that the investigation and trial were biased and mishandled and that the governor and state supreme court seemed hellbent on having this man executed. Honestly, I don't think he was innocent -- it's undeniable that he was at least involved in the crime in some fashion. HOWEVER, if there is any doubt at all about a person's guilt, the death penalty should be off the table. And there was absolutely doubt. The evidence did not conclusively 100% show that no one else could have committed the murder and the investigation, trial, and post-trial were all very messy to say the least. And that should be enough to make people outraged at his execution! You should be able to accurately present the facts and let people decide whether they agree with you. And yet every post I've seen on this case falsely claims that there was definitive evidence proving that he was completely innocent, portraying him as just some random man the state decided to target despite having no connection to the case.

Even when I agree with the point being made, the disinformation people spread to manipulate others into agreeing with them really pisses me off. It's like we're all mini-politicians nowadays willing to say anything to accomplish our own agendas and I can't trust anything without verifying it with 15 separate independent sources. (I mean I've always done that bc I'm a full time skeptic, but still). This case is just one example, but it's constant and it drives me insane.

And, for the record, I'm not some death penalty fanatic who just loves throwing people in prison for no reason. I have done volunteer work for the Innocence Project, including their death penalty divison which aims to get inmates off of death row. Which is more than most of y'all can say, so.

[thebottomfromhell]

I am completely sorry for leaving you all hanging again, this apology is probable very cheap at this point, it's been rough lately. Right now I feel as if my mental health was in shambles. You see, I sometimes do work for my mother, who is a judge, and write of some testimonies on court and the last one really got to me. It was a SA case between cousins, one a young adult (the accused) the other a teen (the victim) in which almost everyone took the side of the accused, creating the story the girl (the victim) was lying, that it was "consented" but she fear the consecuences from her mother, who everyone in that family knew was abusive but nobody ever did everything. I have been hoing through statement after statement, writting people defending the guy and I'm done, I'm exhausted, both mentally and emotionally. Never a case has gotten me this much.

I really don't want to turn this into a ramble, it wouldn't be appropriate of me to take this things out here. But I want to give you some tipa if you are ever in court or need to take something, specially SA, to court. Idk, I feel this is the minimun I should be doing.

Check the actual age of consent where you live. There is an age where is you are touched or anything sexual is done it you, is automatically considered rape, but that age is never "under 18". In most places from 13 years old to older you WILL need proof that it was forced/violent to prove it was not consented. That being said, be aware that an adult going for a minor, while not ilegal, IS creepy, IS bad and actions should be always taken.

The first thing you do if you are hurt and want to take it to court is go to get medical attention, the first. Same thing if something happens to someone you know, if you don't know what to do, go get medical attention. In some countries there are medical centers linked with the local investigation/cop organization, those WILL be cheaper. Always tell the one attenting you what happened, sometimes they will lead you to a doctor/psycologist/investigator dedicated to court.

You WILL have to give several testimonies most of the time, one to the police/investigators if included, one to the lawyers, and one to the court/jury. Sometimes the jury and lawyer will use your previous testimonies to clarify things or spot contradictions. Everyone in court have these documents at hand, so don't you even think of changing the story and ALWAYS specify if you are adding a detail you disn't say before and say why you didn't add it.

Your testimony and statements must always be as detailed as possible, never assume, while they do, that the jury knows what happened. You are the one telling. In case of SA you must say the name of the specific body parts that were touched, with what and how. It's all for it to be coherent with the results of the medical evaluation.

In most cases you will have to wait years for evidence and people to be recolegted to have some to go to court. It's valid if you don't remember everything, but take note on places, time and date, and if possible, faces and/or names (nicknames count too).

"I don't know" and "I don't remember" are VALID answers in court, always say this lines instead of lying.

Never refer that you don't remember other testimonies you gave, it gives the impression you don't remember your "lines". Just say "I don't remember what happened exactly, what I remember is..."

Sometimes layers will ask the same thing several times, phrased differently, in order to get a different answer. Don't be ashame to repeat the answer and call them off by saying "I already answered (say the answer again)" in case the lawyer in your side is bad and doesn't object the question for repetitive.

In case of vaginal rape, AFAB people have all different types of hymen, it doesn't always break, but there are still other rypes of vaginal scarring. Infections are also common in case of SA. Penetration of almost any type leaves scaring, other forms of touch that are not punches or hit does not.

Try, if you have the means, to have a psicologist with experience in court (in spanish profesionals linked to court are called peritos) and colaborate. Even if you don't have the symptoms of a "good victim" "default victim", you WILL have simptoms, that their testimony explaining thems helps a lot to make the jury believe you.

In some places if you are a family member of the accused you will be obligated to attend to court but you will have the right of not giving testimony if you fear your word can be used agaisnt that person. The accused also tends to have the right of not giving testimony, and if they do give testimony they are not obligated by law to say the truth unlike witnnesses (because, let's be real. Who is going to admit it?)

You can be charged for lying in court, conviction will change depending where you live. However, if nobody (the lawyers, the judges and the jury) decide to let it slide in order to not make a whole new case based in that you lied, you might get away with it, specially if you lied in a detail. (Really, I have seen so many people get away with it.)

Anyone who fears being accused of rape over being raped doesn't know shit and it's a massive red flag. In court you have to prove both that there was "sex" and that it was "forced" as two separate things. Most of the time you can't prove it without scars that match a medical history and proves of violence used against the victim. Most of SA cases never get to court anyway, then proving it is even harder.

Always anwser the question of the lawyer first and then explain. First, because your testimony is being registered so that makes it easy to mark, and second, if you start with the explanation you might loose the focus and not only never answer the question, but it looks af if you are making an excuse.

Most white cisgender straight people, specially man, don't really know what SA is. Most of them will think that doing it while the other person is drunk, to give an ultimatum, to insist until the other will allow in order to be left alone, to scare them into doing it, anything if there wasn't penetration, or even things like groping and catcalling don't count as SA. They do. So most of these people will defend the idea that it wasn't SA because they genuinely don't understand that what they did was SA. Always be explicit and precise with what happened.

Related to the other point, most people, again cis staight men mostly, think that it has to be violent, that one must be forced to submit, and there must be punches for it to be rape. That is not the case, but always be prepared to have to fight off this idea.

Defense lawyers, in my personal experience, tend to be assholes more than any other lawyer. Some will even treat the case as if winning a competition over making justice.

Cases CAN be reopen if a LAWYER asks for it, but most of the time it doesn't work because witnneses refuse to go a second time, specially the victims as it opens wpunds and forces them to live the trauma again, specially with minors.

It can vary in different countries, but most of the time is actually harder to condemn than not. To condemn the judges have to specify what evidence makes the story of ehat happened believable, build up a story/theory of that happened linked to everything exposed and the sentence must be approved by the jury. On the other hand, a "there wan't enough evidence" is enough to absolve. (That is why to reopen the case might lead to setting the accused free in a easier way, since there aren't as many testimonies nor as many evidence as the last time)

Some lawyer of defense, this links from the two previous point, will be assholes for that, to make the work harder for everyone. Witnesses, other lawyers, judges and jury alike, so the evidence and testimonies can't be collected properly.

I will see if later I have anything more to say, but this is all I can recolect for now. Reminder that laws might change depending where you live, always check them and try to be aware of your rights.

[nesiacha]

My big projects importants from January (too much work at the moment and I'm recovering from my illness and I have some things in my life right now that are not going well):

At least I finish my project on Babeuf before as you can see here: https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/768437156389715968/in-honor-of-gracchus-babeufs-recent-anniversary?source=share

Start finishing some historical fictions I’m writing: in particular, the one about Marie-Angélique Lequesne, widow Ronsin, and Marie-Anne Babeuf, titled Broken Bonds, Intertwined Fates (although other characters will also appear), and the story of the Pache and Audouin families. I’m planning a return of Gaspard Monge and, especially, Lazare Carnot, to try to balance the "factions". I’m not yet sure about Prieur’s role if he would come back or no ( Prieur de la Côte d'Or). I don’t know if Carnot and Monge will appear in the story dedicated to the Audouins, the Pache family, or in  Broken Bonds, Intertwined Fates, since we will revisit the Audouin couple (Xavier Audouin, for instance, was a known neo-Jacobin).

Write a detailed post on Jaffa and Napoleon, focusing on testimonies while trying to avoid falling into the black legend of Bonaparte. This will be a post about historical reasoning, not the value judgments I usually make in less serious posts (even though the massacre rightly shocked many people, including me). Supporters of Bonaparte’s "golden legend" argue that it was a necessary massacre—yes, I assure you, it is shocking to heard that-. Those who adhere to the "black legend" claim that it shows Bonaparte "judging" clemency toward the enemy by the face of enemy , and that Bonaparte was a sadist who delighted in the suffering of others. This is equally false, and as an anti-Napoleonic myself, I can tell you that this belief is incorrect.

Write a post on the history of the left-wing politics regarding colonialism from 1789 to 1962 (primarily focused on Algeria, though we will also discuss Haiti, Guadeloupe, and New Caledonia).

Finally, write a post in defense for Billaud-Varenne as a game like a lawyer would do .

Get Annie Jourdan's book on the Directory period (Annie Jourdan, La Révolution Française: Une histoire à penser).

Write other posts about some others Hébertists (my favorite faction, the second is the babouvist, the third the overseas revolutionaries and the fourth are the "enragés") that I had to neglect.There is so much to say about them ^^

Get the book L'épopée de Delgrès: La Guadeloupe sous la Révolution (1789-1802)

[thezombieprostitute]

Sparks Fly - Part 6

Summary: After working as an engineer for Wilford & Gilliam Trust for several years you find evidence of seedy dealings and burned books. After turning in the evidence you find yourself in danger and seek help. You're taken into the protection of a mob family where you run into your high school best friend, Mace.

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: Courtroom stress. Implied violence and murder. Please let me know if I missed any.

Part 5 -- Epilogue

Series Masterlist

During the recess Mace left the courtroom to get some sustenance. He needed something since his nerves had already eaten through his breakfast. He wasn’t allowed to check in on you. No contact with you or the people looking out for you to make sure there was no connection that might be used against your testimony. And it was killing him. 

He hit up the nearest vending machine. Not exactly the best option but he didn’t want to stray too far. He kept his eyes moving to his periphery as he watched the candy bar drop. Franco the Younger arriving at the courtroom? Franco the Elder was likely nearby. He knows the security guys are going to be on the alert as well. Maybe they’d already found him and took care of him. Maybe the brothers had both hightailed it. Maybe they were hiding, waiting for an opportunity. There were just too many ‘maybes’ and he needed to calm the hell down. 

He turns and tears into the candy bar, hoping the sugar doesn’t make things worse. He looks around and sees Nick coming out of a door labeled ‘Authorized Personnel Only’. Mace makes sure to not look directly at him or draw attention to him in any way but he felt reassured that Nick had done something about at least one of the Francos. 

As stressed as he was, he couldn’t imagine how draining this was for you. Having to deal with the barrage of questions, all of the attention focused on you. But damn you were doing an amazing job. He hadn’t had the education and experience you had but he was still able to follow along with your testimony really easily. He hoped that translated to being understandable to the judge and jury. 

He hurried back into the courtroom, not wanting to be late for your return. He checked his phone and saw a note from Teach saying she thinks she’s found a job for you but has to discuss the details to make sure it’s a fit. Mace smiles, hope alighting in his chest. He just got you back, finally got to confess his feelings, and there’s a chance he won’t lose you again!

As the trial resumed he hoped you’d be able to see his smile and know that something good was happening.

You wolf down the proffered food and drink. You haven’t had this kind of intense questioning since your Doctorate defense. And that was with people who spoke at your level on these topics! You didn’t have to pull double duty and think of, not just the answer, but how to put the answer in a more generally accessible wording. You’re extra grateful for Scott’s help on that front. 

As he’s going through his phone you can see some worry lines form on his brow. You want to ask, but at the same time you’re scared to. If something bad has or will happen, you don’t know that you want to put your tired brain to work trying to process that on top of everything else. It’s scary enough having to give your testimony. Having everyone looking at you. Knowing your every word is being scrutinized. 

Scott snaps his fingers in front of your face, startling you out of your panic spiral. “You okay there,” he asks. “Do you need anything?”

“Sorry,” you shake your head. “Just…just started spiraling.”

“For what it’s worth you’re doing an amazing job. I’m nowhere near smart enough for all the technical stuff and even I can follow what you’re saying.”

You smile appreciatively, “how much longer do we have?”

“We’ve got another 20 minutes if you want to stretch your legs or something.”

“More like pacing around the room,” you softly chuckle. They were keeping you in a small, windowless room. The only thing you liked about it was the private bathroom making sure you wouldn’t have to leave Scott’s protection for the public ones. 

“Yeah, I know,” he nods. “I’m a pretty active guy so this kind of thing is stifling to me, too. But it is necessary.”

“For my protection,” you concede. “Are there any chocolate chip cookies? I could use some comfort sweets.”

“Of course,” he pulls his phone out again. “I’ll have someone bring a few right now.”

“Thank you,” you say. It’s not as much comfort as being able to be with Mace would provide, but it’s something.

Mace spends the rest of the recess answering questions from his employees and renewing his thanks for them covering for him during the “family emergency”. He’d been so invested in the time spent with you he’d pretty much forgotten about work. That was unheard of since he started working for The Family. Mace chuckled at that thought. He’d been on Curtis to make schedules more consistent so everyone could have planned downtime and then he never actually used his time off. He’d just spend it on-call for the apartments he managed. From what you’d told him your life was pretty similar. Just with a big corporation instead of apartments and mafia intel gathering. Maybe this was a chance for the both of you. 

As he’s getting lost in the thought of waking up to you every morning he’s startled out of his daydreaming by the sounds of the trial getting back on. He makes sure to keep a smile on his face. It’s easy to do when he sees you and thinks about getting to spend his time off cuddled up with you. Thinking about getting to hear your laugh every day. Getting to feel your touch. Just getting to be with you without the fear of something or someone taking it away. 

You begin answering questions again and Mace spots Nick in his periphery. He’s not sure if that’s a good or bad sign. Is there another hitman here in the crowd? Is Nick just making sure there isn’t someone else? He can’t think about that now. He’s gotta focus on you, reassuring you with a smile if and when you need it. When Nick walks out he does find he can relax a bit more.

When your testimony is over Mace makes a beeline for his truck. On his way out he recognizes Hal in a repairman getup, flirting his way past the front desk. Nick must’ve taken out the younger Franco. Mace feels like he should be helping but he’s been ordered to take care of you first and foremost. You’re his mission.

In the safety of the apartment you let yourself collapse onto the couch. You are beyond exhausted. Mace sits next to you and pulls you in, snuggling you, gently kissing the top of your head, repeatedly telling you what an amazing job you did. You let yourself enjoy the sound of his voice, the feel of his arms holding you tight, the gentleness of his kisses. No concerns, no stress, for just a moment. 

“Have you heard anything from Teach,” you ask.

“She texted me earlier today saying she might have something.”

“Did she tell you what?”

“No, she still needs to meet with you and make sure it’s a good fit.”

“The sooner we can meet with her the better. As nice and safe as this apartment is, I know I can’t stay here forever.”

“I’ll ask her when she can stop by,” he kisses the top of your head again. His stomach growls loudly and he blushes, “in the meantime, maybe I should cook up some dinner.” You giggle and let him get to the kitchen. 

That night you ask him to sleep in your bed. No sex, you just need to be held. He’s happy to acquiesce.

You’re the first to wake up and the sight of Mace in bed with you makes you feel instantly safe. Remembering that you’re supposed to meet with Teach this morning you check the time. 

“Oh, shit,” you exclaim. “AC, wake up! AC, Mace! We slept in!” You start pushing on him and he grumbles awake. 

When the words register his eyes snap open, “what time is it?”

“We’ve got about 20 minutes before she’s supposed to be here,” you jump out of bed and go to change. 

“Shit,” Mace hisses and follows suit. 

You’re both scrambling to change out of your pajamas while also trying to sneak looks at each other. Mace’s build is so much more muscular than you were expecting. The strong arms were one thing but seeing how thick and firm his entire body seems to have become has you stifling a groan. 

Mace grabs his phone and sees the text from Teach that she and Curtis are almost there and they’re bringing breakfast. He lets out a sigh, thankful that he at least doesn’t have to worry about food. He’s catching glimpses of you getting dressed and has to keep himself in check. If he didn’t have to worry about timing he’d have already smacked your gorgeous ass and pinned you to the bed. 

The two of you manage to get dressed and brush your teeth just as Mace receives the text that Teach and Curtis are here, confirmed by the knock at the door. 

When everyone is settled in and eating, Teach tells you what she’s found. “It’s not a high paying job and it’s definitely not high profile like you’re used to, but the free clinics the Family sponsors, need someone to maintain their medical equipment. You’d be reporting directly to Dr. Chris Beck, the Family’s primary physician and the man in charge of keeping the clinics running smoothly. I’m pretty sure you’ll be asked to help with other daily operations, nothing that would violate HIPAA nor anything that would require an actual medical degree, nursing or otherwise.”

You nod as you eat. She’s not wrong that it would be quite the pay cut but she promises that, not only would you, unofficially, be on the Family’s payroll, but that there would be a lot of benefits. You also appreciated that you’d still be allowed, if not encouraged, to continue pursuing your engineering interests. Patents could be negotiated as they came up but those, and any papers you wrote, would all have your name on them. 

While you’re going over those details, Curtis and Mace are talking about their work. Mace has to get back to managing and intel gathering within a few days. Especially since it turns out Franco the Elder is on a bit of a rampage. The Wilford & Gilliam company is looking at major fines and payments to families hurt by their products so they’re tightening the grip on their resources. The elder Franco is going out and causing fear in their territory, reminding their people who is in charge. It’s a prime situation for a coup and the Family needs to keep all of their eyes and ears at work with this. 

By the time Teach and Curtis head out you’ve signed all of the required paperwork to start your new job. Hell, your new life. Looking over your things you realize, “I’m definitely not going to be able to keep my apartment. I wonder if there’s a studio near one of the clinics.”

“You could always move in with me,” Mace offers. “It’s only a one-bedroom but I can sleep on the couch.”

“Why would you sleep on the couch if it’s your apartment?”

“Because I’m a gentleman like that,” he retorts with a smile.

“Or, we could share the bed,” you tease. “Like last night. But maybe with a little less clothing. Or are you too much of a gentleman for that?”

In a blink Mace has you pinned with your back against the wall, his mouth on yours, his hands roaming and squeezing. You can’t help but moan into his mouth as you wrap your arms around his neck, urging him not to stop. 

He chuckles at your whine when he pulls away to catch his breath, “don’t worry, DC. I’ll make sure the sparks fly with every kiss.”

Part 5 -- Epilogue

Series Masterlist

Tagging:

@alicedopey

@chibijusstuff

@icefrozendeadlyqueen

@jamneuromain

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@rebekahdawkins

@texmexdarling

Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

[dailyanarchistposts]

I wrote this many years ago about my codefendant Avalon (state name: William Rodgers). He took his life today in 2005 as an act of defiance and in response to our indictments. Like most people, Avalon was complicated but a good person and kind soul.

There is not much to note that is new other than the rage I felt at listening to my rat codefendant mention his name on the Burn Wild podcast and tell a tale of how the Vail action happened (contradicted by all other accounts). RIP Avalon

dm 12.21.22

December 21st, 2007

This is a eulogy, two years too late, for my friend William Rodgers — known to friends, family and the movement as Avalon. Avalon took his life on December 21, 2005. This was just two weeks after our arrests in the Operation Backfire case and, by no coincidence, the Winter Solstice. In his absence, much has been made of his role in our Earth Liberation Front (ELF) group. Not surprisingly, the prosecutors in the case have painted him as a leader who recruited young, impressionable activists to do his bidding. This is not only false, but also insulting to the younger people in the case, who did get involved on their own. Snitches in the case have used his inability to respond to dramatically maximize his role in certain actions in an attempt to lesson the consequences of their own actions. One person went so far as submitting to the judge video evidence and testimony that has not been made public because it was deemed too personal for public consumption. Others on the margins have chosen to focus on Avalon’s flaws by spreading rumors or even by talking to the private investigators hired by the snitches.

I first met Avalon in the months leading up to the World Trade Organization (WTO) protests in Seattle in late 1999 and developed a friendship with him instantly. His sly grin, easygoing and warm personality and humility impressed me, and I was happy to see that this quiet, older enviro was up to more than attending the EF! gatherings at which I first saw him. His rationality and quick thinking prevented disaster for our affinity group during the Seattle protests (I’m proud to say we took part in the Black Bloc). I distinctly remember getting ready to leave Seattle, and hearing his suggestion to “keep in touch.” Well, we did keep in touch. Much has been said of what we did in the years after that, but that will be told elsewhere.

Like so many of us, Avalon suffered from depression and despair, fueled by the realization of what our species is doing the planet. Living underground, juggling details of planned actions and double lives, and eschewing many of the things that our movement allies had access to is stressful. I know because I did it, and yet Avalon’s experience in that underground life dwarfed mine. I can’t help but think that this isolation and despair were major factors in his suicide. We moved on, and yet the cruel hand of the past — in the form of old friends and a Joint Terrorism Task Force — pulled us all back into our secret histories. Maybe for Avalon, it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. We will never know for sure. I remember seeing his name in a list of arrestees in a New York Times article while sitting in a New York City jail. It gave me some hope — I thought we could all fight these charges together, as a group of people who had lifelong solidarity with each other, as people who honored the oaths we made to each other. Sometimes, I lie there at night asking the questions I try to avoid: Could Avalon have stemmed the tide of informing? Would he have been the person who, having known some of the snitches for much longer than I, could really reach them — beyond their fears and to their core? I’ll never know these answers, but I do know this: Avalon would rather die and make a jailbreak than cooperate in any way with this immoral and unjust process.

The prosecution, knowing only hierarchy and bureaucracy, cannot conceive of a group without a leader, a pecking order and strict rules. Without Bill around to protest and because he was older than all of us, they found their puppet master. Suddenly the so-called “book club” was his invention and was deemed a “training school for arson.” Meyerhoff and Gerlach, grand quislings that they are, had the audacity to say with a straight face that Avalon pretty much did the Vail arson all by himself. Just reading about the ski resort’s geography, the large amount of fuel that was used and Bill’s slight stature made me laugh bitterly to myself about these lies. On some level, it’s the way the game is played for snitches. The government tells them what it wants to hear, and the cooperating witnesses jump through hoops like the well-trained pets that they are. To be clear, everyone involved with these actions and the “book club” are people like you and me. We have skills — some of us excel at one thing, others of us at another. However, there was no formalized hierarchy as suggested by the prosecution, and William Rodgers was no kingpin or leader of the ELF.

Avalon, like all of us, had his flaws and made mistakes, both personally and politically, in the way he lived his life and how he resisted environmental destruction. Our group attempted to deal with one of these areas — an accusation of sexual misconduct — and I’m sorry to say that we failed, due to not being equipped with the right ideas and strategies. It is all too easy to assuage our guilt about our own shortcomings by attacking others. I think it’s a better idea to focus on what we are doing in this world, rather than criticizing people who are not here to defend themselves. I thought of this often in court when I looked at my family, seeing the pained looks on their faces as they listened to attacks on me. Bill’s family and partner have had to endure a lot of grief in the last two years.

So when I think of Avalon, I don’t believe the hype spewed by aggressive and narrow prosecutors. No, I think of a soft-spoken, caring person who would give you the shirt off his back or carry a snake off the road; an avid, even obsessive recycler; someone who supported indigenous struggles and really got the connection between Earth-based cultures and ecological action. I knew Avalon was involved in the struggle against the Mount Graham telescope, but only after his death did I find out that he and his infoshop, The Catalyst, supported the campaign to protect the San Francisco Peaks (see Earth First! Journal May-June 2005).

When snitch Jacob Ferguson recorded a conversation with me through a wiretap in 2005, I asked him how Avalon was. He lied to me (big shock!) and told me that Avalon was happy and lived in an intentional community in Canada. I remember being really happy for him and hoping to run into him again one day, but for different reasons than why we last saw each other.

Avalon has been gone two years now, and yet it still isn’t real to me. Since I haven’t seen him for years, I can’t really take it all in without getting upset. Yes, one of our own betrayed us, and that action caused the death of my friend. How do I reconcile the truth? I don’t have a good answer except to say that we need to talk about these things and confront death in our movement. We need to grieve for our friends. Most of all, we cannot forget. This is my contribution to never forgetting William Rodgers: radical environmentalist, ELF activist, cave lover and sweet, kind man. I miss you, buddy.

–As printed in the Earth First! Journal, November-December 2007 issue.

[mim526]

How Do You Solve the Problem of Harry

From Daily Mail:

‘Our country is judged globally by the state of our Press and our Government — both of which I believe are at rock bottom. Democracy fails when your Press fails to scrutinise and hold the Government accountable, and instead choose to get into bed with them so that they can ensure the status quo.’ ~~ Testimony given in court June 7, 2023 by Harry Mountbatten-Windsor, 5th in line to British throne

Now he's done it. Harold has truly set the fox among the chickens.

Excerpts from one of the best summaries I've read of the situation with Harry and what needs to be done to address it:

"...what he wrote about [the Government] being at ‘rock bottom’ amounts to an unprecedented attack by a senior member of the Royal Family (Harry is fifth in line to the throne). No such royal broadside against elected politicians has ever before been delivered during the history of our constitutional monarchy. It is deplorable — and dangerous.

"...Yet here is the highly privileged Harry, who wrongly accuses the Press as a whole of not holding the ‘rock bottom’ Government to account, doing his utmost to curb newspapers — so that they won’t be free to hold rich and powerful people like him to account. It’s mind-boggling. "This spoilt and entitled man can say whatever he likes, however self-serving. I don’t even mind too much his ignorant attacks on the Press since the Fourth Estate can look after itself, and has survived more formidable foes than Harry

"What I do object to is his assault on the Government — not because I like this crew very much or esteem their competence, but because they are our elected representatives, and shouldn’t be publicly excoriated by an unelected, and foolish, senior member of the Royal Family. "Our constitutional arrangements are a delicate organism, the product of past divisions and compromise. We tolerate — some of us may revere — an unelected head of state, and a Royal Family with all the trimmings, on the firm understanding that they stand apart from politics. "It has worked well enough for the past 200 years because, with a few exceptions, we have had monarchs who have understood the limits of their powers, and respected the right of elected politicians to govern, albeit with the benefit of royal advice. "Of course, no one better understood the importance of safeguarding this precious relationship between Crown and Parliament than our late Queen, Elizabeth II. How Harry’s coarse political invective would have grieved her. "He’s like an unguided missile, sighting enemies here and there, emitting a good deal of smoke and making lots of noise, before finally crashing to earth with an inevitable explosion — and then mysteriously taking off again, seeking some new target. "In short, he’s potentially lethal. If he describes the Government today as ‘rock bottom’, next month or next year he will unearth another disobliging adjective in defiance of our constitutional traditions....  "Or he may direct his rage once more against the royal institution that nurtured him and endowed him with such significance as he will ever have in this world. His father the King hasn’t been immune to his criticisms in the past, and won’t be in the future. "Harry is a divisive figure. He sets people against each other on issues ranging from the Press to the Royal Family to racism and now, his latest bugbear, the Tory Government. "We can work on the assumption this tumultuous character isn’t suddenly going to learn how to behave. That’s never going to happen, with him 6,000 miles away in California, and Meghan by his side. Their future income depends on fomenting controversy. "Harry is the King’s number one problem. And it is not, as Charles should know and his mother certainly realised, primarily a family problem, though it’s partly that. Harry is chiefly dangerous because he is a constitutional liability. "The King loves his errant younger son, despite the lack of respect he has shown to him. I’m sure he hopes Harry will one day return to the fold. But think of the damage he could do before that happens. And of course he might never return. "If the two of them were still close, and spoke to each other, a way might still be found of persuading Harry to stop stirring. But he is alienated from his father, and the rift inevitably widens with every inept public intervention. "There’s only one way. It may be hard for the King as a father, but it should be easy for him as a monarch and head of state. Prince Harry must be told that if he wishes to remain a member of the Royal Family, he will have to behave as members of the Royal Family are expected to. "If he can’t accept this ultimatum — and I don’t imagine he could — Prince Harry must become a private citizen, in which role his facile declamations will soon be barely noticed, and cause no more damage to the country he once served."

What this journalist did not say is

Even if he agrees with Harry about the government -- King Charles needs to initiate action as monarch/head of state to a) give Harry the ultimatum to behave as a royal then b) work with Parliament to divest Harry of his royal status if he refuses to comply.

The Prime Minister as head of the government needs to view Harry's comments re: the government given in court as the constitutional crisis they are and accordingly, advise the King to take this action

What could/should happen to Charles as monarch if he does not deal with the legitimate and serious constitutional crisis a senior member of the monarchy has created.

Interesting discussion of monarch/prime minister roles: What role should the monarch have in a constitutional crisis? | The Constitution Unit Blog (constitution-unit.com)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We are way past W&C vs. C&C fandoms now. This journalist is absolutely correct that Harry is Charles' number one problem for which there is but one solution. We can debate whether Charles was a good father; he certainly was and is a loving one.

Being a good monarch is more than charitable works and long hours on the job. I would argue that more consequences for bad behavior as a child could have addressed the uber entitlement/arrogance underlying Harry's foolhardy, but dangerous activities as an adult. There weren't consequences, however, so here we are. Harry's responsible for Harry now, period, full stop.

I hope Charles can be persuaded to firm his resolve and do what he won't want to but needs to do to preserve the monarchy. It cannot survive if Harry is allowed to continue pitting it against the government. That is not an exaggeration: Harry made very clear he was acting as an HRH and senior member of the royal family when suing the British press and speaking against the British government. Word to the wise, Harry will not stop with the British government....

#Harry #MirrorGroupTestimony #ConstitutionalCrisis #It'sCrunchTime

[gatheringbones]

[“Beyond the glamorous magazine covers of celebrity activists, beyond the surface-level empowerment rhetoric deployed by influencers and millionaire actors, survivor justice movements haven’t actually progressed that far in the mainstream, contrary to narratives that it’s progressed “too far.” It’s been well over a decade now since a Nebraska judge in 2008 prohibited a rape victim from even using the word “rape” during her testimony—she was one of several women told during their 2000s trials to use the more palatable term “sexual assault” instead, ostensibly to help their case.

Not much has changed nearly two decades later. On the 2021 HBO miniseries Catch and Kill, an exploration of the rigorous journalism that led to Weinstein’s undoing, New Yorker deputy editor Deirdre Foley-Mendelssohn recalled at one point, “Weinstein’s team was pushing very, very hard for us to not use the term rape, to use assault—and it seemed that was the direction things were going.” Tammy Kim, a New Yorker fact checker, added, “There were a couple colleagues who were skeptical or thought readers would be skeptical if we characterized certain acts as rape.” “Would using the term be sensationalist?” journalist Ronan Farrow then asked Kim and New Yorker head of research Fergus McIntosh, who were responsible for fact-checking the Weinstein report. McIntosh responded, “Being cautious about something isn’t an excuse for not telling the truth about it. Being cautious means being really sure about what happened.”

As Catch and Kill and the US Department of Justice explain, sexual assault is legally defined as “an attempt or apparent attempt to inflict bodily injury upon another by using unlawful force, accompanied by the apparent ability to injure that person if not prevented.” Rape is legally defined as an “act of unlawful sexual intercourse accompanied through force or threat of force by one party and implying lack of consent and resistance by the other party.” The extensive conversations that guided the New Yorker’s editorial choice to specify that several women alleged Weinstein had raped them are a focal point of that particular Catch and Kill episode. But even beyond the docuseries, the policing of victims and survivors’ language and characterizations of their lived experiences persists all around us.

In the introduction of Chanel Miller’s memoir Know My Name, in which Miller recounts her story of surviving sexual assault perpetrated by Stanford rapist Brock Turner, she writes: “The FBI defines rape as any kind of penetration. But in California, rape is narrowly defined as the act of sexual intercourse. For a long time I refrained from calling [Turner] a rapist, afraid of being corrected. Legal definitions are important. So is mine. He filled a cavity in my body with his hands. I believe he is not absolved of the title simply because he ran out of time.”

When we hyperfixate on correcting the language survivors use that feels most honest and true to their lived experience with trauma, what we may be striving for is accuracy and a patriarchal conception of objectivity—but really, we’re just reinforcing the ways that patriarchy protects abusers by casting doubt on victims and their credibility.

Whenever survivors speak up, they’re frequently forced to hear some condescending argument about how false accusations happen—and they do—but without the crucial context that all credible research shows this is highly rare, and there is nothing to gain and everything to lose from coming forward about experiencing sexual assault. When we focus on a very narrow set of experiences over a far more common one—that one in five women is a victim of completed or attempted rape—this is a direct manifestation of violent, sexist power dynamics. The maintenance of these power dynamics relies on the implicit and explicit characterization of women and victims as untrustworthy. They are either purposeful liars or, at best, irrational, overly emotional, and likely to exaggerate—for example, by erroneously calling their experience a rape.”]

kylie cheung, from survivor injustice: state-sanctioned abuse, domestic violence, and the fight for bodily autonomy, 2023

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"It did not take John Beverly Robinson long to conclude that, in the aftermath of the Rebellion, oligarchic authority now rested on a fragile and increasingly unstable foundation. He bemoaned the fact that the scruples and first principles of his beloved gentrified order seemed to have vanished in the conduct of public affairs. The old values and loyalties, indeed the British connection to Empire and its stabilities of governance, seemed to count for less and less among what remained of the Compact layer of patriarchal rulers. If Robinson would indeed oppose the drift of the times, he often privately despaired about the seeming inevitability of the displacement of a way of life, a style of paternal rule that demanded what could no longer be secured, acquiescence and unquestioning loyalty. In the face of Lord Durham’s report, which he judged “highly injurious” to “the state of public feeling in Upper Canada,” he worried about the fate of “men of judgment and right feeling.” The theatrical politicization of life in Upper Canada, culminating in the drama of reform and reaction in the 1830s, helped write finis to the undisputed right to rule of Robinson and those for whom he harboured a regard that, in its convictions and honour, could not be reproduced cavalierly. A way of political being, constituted in a particular kind of economy and lived in the vise-grip of patriarchal expanse and limitation, ended forever with the 1830s. The John Beverley Robinsons of Upper Canada knew it.

Allan Napier MacNab, staunch Tory defender of King & Country in 1837, provides an ironic comment on this passing of the ancien régime, one in which loyalty and honour figured forcefully, at the very moment that its time had both been successfully defended and historically defeated. Awarded with a Knighthood in recognition of his gallant defence of Her Majesty’s colonial interests, MacNab appeared, in the aftermath of 1837–38, to have reached the paternal pinnacle of influence and reverence. When his militia men paid him homage, presenting MacNab with a sword valued at 100 guineas, the old commander responded politely with patriarchal gratitude: “While living I shall cherish this Gift, among the richest prizes of my life – and dying, shall bequeath it, as the most venerated heir loom which a father could transmit to his Children.” But behind the public façade of familial grace lay the private recognition of the new realities, put to popular doggerel by Charley Corncobb, “poet laureate of reform”:

Toryism’s sun is set Tis down, tis gone forever Some say that it will start up yet, But will it? Nonsense, never.

As MacNab was feted by the Upper Canadian Assembly, he scrawled on the back of its printed testimonial the terse comment, “Not worth a fart.”

The ways in which that harsh judgment were lived by those who saw patriarchal authority undermined to the point of inevitable defeat have not really registered with historians, but the wounds were deep, and they cut across lines of class in ways that complicated the politics of alternative in Upper Canada in the 1830s. There is perhaps no more dramatic an indication of this than Robert Baldwin. Moderate and judicious in his politics, he recoiled from much of the popular theatre of antagonism to authority, just as he rebelled against the aribitrariness of oligarchy and compact rule. His was, ironically, one of the voices that would be heard loudest in the emergence of modern political institutions and the procedures of civil society, Baldwin’s name linked unmistakably with Responsible Government and the respectable reform of political life that flowed out of the defeat of the Rebellion, channeled in reasoned constitutionalist direction. Yet Baldwin, too, lived within the bounds of a disintegrating patriarchy, albeit of an extreme, personalized sort. By 1851 he had come to question where all the agitation of the 1830s had led. He complained bitterly of the “reckless disregard of first principles” that he judged to be running rampant in the seismic political shifts of his time. He was apprehensive about “widespread social disorganization with all of its fearful consequences.” “If the sober mind of the country is not prepared to protect our institutions,” he reflected, there was little hope for the future. As he made his exit from the political stage, a Reformer from the district of Sharon, represented in the legislature by Baldwin, wrote to the chastened Radical, William Lyon Mackenzie, offering a prescription for success in the changed political times of the 1850s: “The watchword is to be no lawyers, more farmers and machinists.” It would not quite work out that way – barristers would remain commonplace in politics – but that the matter could be articulated in such a counterposed language of class spoke tellingly about the accelerating pace of socioeconomic change.

Baldwin stood astride the class divisions of the epoch, and their uncertain outcome troubled him greatly. One critical institution – patriarchy – was obviously centrally placed in Baldwin’s appreciation. It cut deeply into the political and social relations of Upper Canada, and while it affected women, the young, and those incarcerated in the dependencies of class most adversely, it registered elsewhere as well. Baldwin was predeceased by his wife, who was also his cousin, and throughout the last years of his life he carried a written memorandum in his waistcoat pocket. It stated that should he be carried away suddenly, he was not to be buried before an incision was made into the cavity of his abdomen. It was Robert “Responsible Government” Baldwin’s last wish that he should go to his grave, his God, and eternity bearing the same surgical wound as his wife, the scar of a Caesarian section.

The power of patriarchy left its mark, then, on the bodies of those who lived within its defining authority, in the terror of loyalist repression as well as in the theatrics of dissent. It scarred the politics of popular radicalism, which never quite shed its indebtedness to the politics of a civil authority rooted in understandings of familial duty. In the hybrid, transplanted world of Upper Canadian politics in the 1830s this meant that the aspirations of those who so often staged a counter-theatre of insurrection and rebellion were destined in the short run to be thwarted. But in the longer unfolding of Canadian political culture, the blows against patriarchy and paternalism, first struck on the ambiguous anvil of class, did indeed sound the death knell of the ancien régime. Popular radicalism made history in the 1830s, if not in ways that it either entirely understood or proved able to articulate with political precision."

- Bryan Palmer, "Popular Radicalism and the Theatrics of Rebellion: The Hybrid Discourse of Dissent in Upper Canada in the 1830s," in Nancy Christie, Transatlantic subjects: ideas, institutions, and social experience in post-revolutionary British North America. Kingston: McGill-Queen's University Press, 2008. p. 427-429

[akiology]

In the Dead of the Night || Part 3

You are married to two of the most infamous information brokers in Tokyo.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Word Count: 1.1k Pairing: Akira Kurusu x Reader x Goro Akechi Note: THIS IS AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE!! this chapter focuses more on akechi's history! also i am still not sure how long this is gonna be so you might see me gradually add parts to the links haha

The thought of never being born delights Akechi. And it's not just because of his self loathing, although it plays a part, but he genuinely thinks that his mother's life would be so much better if he was never born. His mother was definitely not the best, but she tried. That is what Akechi experienced and believed.

He didn't know much about his mother's life before she had him, but he knows her life would have been so much better. When she chose the active decision to keep him, is when her misery started. Many people shunned and judged his mother for having a child out of wedlock. She had lesser job opportunities, and thus she resorted to being a nightclub worker.

He was not dumb, he knew the kind of work his mother does. When his mother brings someone home she would give him some spare change and send him to the bathhouse. But regardless, he wishes to grow up fast so that he can work instead and get his mother out of that hellhole.

Until... that day.

"Mama! I am home!"

"Mama?"

".... Mama? What happened to you?"

Perhaps if he wasn't born, then maybe her mother would have had a stable job, and married to a man who will actually take care of her. Maybe if he wasn't born, then maybe she would not have to work herself to the bone, to the point where she could not recognize the person in the mirror. Maybe if he wasn't born, then maybe... she would actually be happy.

But he was born, and there's nothing he could do to change that. But what he can do is become stronger, powerful, to the point of untouchable, so that he and all the people he loves will no longer be resorted to the kind of pain he felt as a kid. And to make Masayoshi Shido, his asshole of a father, pay. The thought of him groveling pathetically while on his knees and at his complete mercy... Akechi smiles at thought.

/./

"You know... you seem a little too young," A man clad in an expensive suit looks over Akechi's resume. He is incredibly smart yes, but he is just a college student.

"I am more than qualified for the job regardless of my age," Akechi confidently answers, and flashed the guy a big smile.

The man seemed to mull it over. While Akechi is young, all they needed was a scapegoat. Currently, news of illegal activities has been circling around their company. The higher-ups needed someone to eventually take the blame, a fall guy, but they put it under the guise of looking for a new secretary.

"Alright, kid."

Little did they know, Akechi knew. And underestimating him was what caused their downfall.

/./

"Boss?" Akechi one day approached his office, with a folder filled with business documents in hand.

"Yes, Akechi-san? I am very busy, so I am going to need for you to make this quick," he was dismissive.

Akechi sighs, "I got a call earlier this morning. I am apparently under investigation?"

"Ah yes. Be sure to be on your best behavior." He looked away from Akechi and focused on the documents he had on the table.

"That's it? That's all you have to say?" Akechi was surprised.

"Hm? What else do you expect me to say?"

Akechi's expression greatly darkened. "Don't play dumb with me, old man. I could just turn you in to the police right now."

"Ha! Don't get cocky, kid. Nobody will believe you."

"That's true, whatever will I do?" Akechi laughed, but it was dry. "I have detailed documents and evidences of the illegal shit you do around here. I also have a few anonymous people that are willing to turn in their testimonies."

"Oh? And you think that's enough? I have more power and influence over you. Just throw some money their way and they will shut up."

"Have you no shame?"

"That is nothing. It is a dog-eat-dog world. The weak are weeded out. I am merely cutting down costs, and allocating more funds for the betterment of the company."

"They were going directly to your pockets."

"Well, I am the head of the company so I think it is well-deserved!" He laughed boisterously.

Akechi brought out his phone, clearly showing their conversation was recorded. "With just the press of a button, I could send this to the police right now."

"You! You wouldn't."

"I won't if you give me what I want."

"And what is that?"

"A bar."

/./

The old man stayed true to his word, and Akechi found himself being the owner of a bar in Kichijoji. After he established himself and his bar gaining enough profit to sustain himself, he decided to take care of the only link he has that could destroy him.

"Are you Goro Akechi?"

"Yes I am," Akechi was seated in front of a certain Sae Nijima. She was a prosecutor who was chasing down his previous boss, but did not have enough evidence to warrant an arrest, much less an investigation.

"I was told that you could help me with one of my cases."

"Jin Fukuhara, my previous boss. I have detailed evidences of his corruption, and how he silenced any employees that go against him. He also has ties to some shady dealings with the yakuza," Akechi handed a portfolio filled with the information, and raised a pouch. "Inside this is a USB device with his confession, and the testimonies of his workers."

"You... this... This could be good for my career!" Sae gawked at the papers in her hand, but then narrowed her eyes at Akechi. "What do you want in exchange for this?"

"Just keep my name out of this, and remove any connections my bar, Jazz Jin, has with him. I will rebrand."

"That..."

"This is good you know? My bar is known to attract customers who may have valuable information that could help you in future cases..."

And so Jazz Jin became The Jazz Bar. Jin Fukuhara was sentenced to prison time. Sae Nijima found herself with an unlikely consultant who did not want to be named in her operations. That's fine, she gets all the credits for her cases so it's a win-win.

/./

"Where are we going, Akira?" Akechi grumbled, feeling perturbed especially since they left you behind.

"We have a client, they want to meet at somewhere near Shibuya." Akira was just as displeased, but they it is not like they can easily turn their backs on their jobs. It would have been even more dangerous if they did.

"What about the bar?"

"I've asked Ryuji and Yusuke to take care of it."

Akechi sighed, resigning himself to the job. "Who's our client?"

"Someone named Kaneshiro."