#this is really fucked up BUT

[zaynes-ocs]

Tempest

Tw for graphic descriptions of execution via electric chair

This is part 3 of milo’s backstory read parts 1 and 2 here:

Part 1

Part 2

He was going to die.

He was just a boy.

He was going to be executed.

All of these realizations had slowly settled in on Milo’s psyche as he had sat huddled in his cell for the few days he was allowed as the world around prepared for his death while he was left to stew in the anxiety of it all. Every set of footsteps echoing down the hallways sending a jolt of terror down his spine, wondering if it was finally his time until his anxiety ran him numb. At some point, he stopped caring, though he couldn’t for the life of him remember when, so when those footsteps finally halted in front of his cell one day, he found it easy to stand.

He didn’t resist as he was guided down the hall, chains jangling like the bells that would toll for his demise as his feet shuffled against the cool cobblestone floor towards his doom. His tears had long dried from the hours if not days upon sobbing he did in his cell, and quite frankly he was over it by now.

Even as the doors moaned open into a dimly lit room, he felt nothing. His dull, lifeless gaze settled upon the only piece of furniture in the entire room as he entered. A single, wooden chair was bolted to the ground, metal restraints that shimmered like the foaming waves of the trecherous waters of a flood were attatched to the arms and legs of the chair while another sheet of metal lay in the seat. Up the oaken backing stuck another line of frigid metal leading up to an odd mechanical circlet hanging by looping wires that spiraled up into a cold and clinical cobweb of copper and iron.

“Take your seat.” Came the guard’s command, to which Milo silently complied, wincing breifly as the metal cuffs of the chair bit and constricted his wrists and ankles, a discomfort that he promised himself would disappear soon, as dead people dont feel.

The chair was uncomfortable in design, forcing Milo’s back staight as the cold metal backing pressed up against his spine while the circlet clenched like the fangs of a predator against his temple as his guard checked over his restraints.

“Sorry to have to do this to you kid… but orders are orders…” The guard sighed as he took a step back, glancing over the young boy’s form with a grimace of discomfort. “If you have any final words to get out… I’ll record them for you if you’d like.”

“Alec is a lying bastard… and I hope he rots in hell.” Milo softly snarled, surprising even himself at the venom that drolled off his tongue, astonished to the new feeling of pure, vengeful rage that held no room for fear to prevent him from speaking, for what place does fear have in a dead man’s body anyways?

The guard’s mouth formed a fine, grim line in silent understanding of those words before he swiftly made gis departure, leaving Milo alone in the room with only the feeling of impending demise and the ever present weight of his mother’s ring boring a hole through his pocket. At least he’d have a chance to apologize for being late to dinner this way, he supposed.

His fists clenched in nervous anticipation as a soft electrical hum filled the air, almost a squealing shrill scream that danced through the wires before it roared into a cacophonous buzzing as untamed blue light shot down the wores, igniting across the metal of the chair before sinking its prickly fangs into Milo’s nervous system, his skin clicking and popping as sparks jumped between him and the metal, forcing his body rigid as the sheer power overrode his body as his execution began.

He couldn’t scream, nor control any of the haphazard spasms and convultions that rocked his body against the chair, his jaw forced tight as lightning danced hotter than fire through his blood, burning and stinging far worse than he could even imagine as his heart was forced to thunder with every spasm, constricting and gasping for every missed beat as it tried to keep up with it all. Milo’s very spine scalded like magma as it was forced against the metal, his skin feeling like it was boiling from the inside as the tingly sensation of needle-like sparks jabbed and stabbed at the very bone, sending shudder after shudder to the rest of his limbs that rattled and bashed against their restraints that only served to burn him further, condensing the circut into only his body and leaving the excess nowhere else to go as it was forced to burn its way back through the body reversably.

The circlet atop his head bit and hissed as a bolt of energy danced across his face like a thunderclap, searing its way over one of his eyes with a terrible flash that nearly blinded him as his eyes watered with tears that wished to express themself, his lip tearing and cracking as the lightning tore him apart from the inside. His heart hammered faster and faster until he was certain it had stopped completely before it seized once again, his organs twisting and churning just like his limbs with no way for him to control their movements before the electricity finally ceased, and his heart lulled to a final stop.

Mere seconds had felt like an eternity as Milo’s head slouched forward, his snowy hair straying from the path of gravity with wn electric hum to it as his mind slowly began to fuzz and fade, his last few surviving moments of air to his brain dissappearing with every sefond as his vision grew darker and darker, conciousness fading with it as he was faintly aware of the sensation of his restraints finally loosening before a sudden, violent spark leapt between his fingertips and danced its way back through his body, and his heart began to beat again.

Gasping out, Milo lunged forward with a vicegrip, holding on for desperate life as his systems reinstated themselves and his vision returned, only to find his hand wound tightly around the neck of one of the guards and his pocket filled with a warm, energetic buzz that drew him like a moth to a flame. Wordlessly, he dug his other hand in, finding a small sapphire ring hidden amongst the cloth that hummed with purpose and gave off a faint glow almost that mesmerized the newly awakened elf as the cogs in his mind slowly began to turn, remembering once more who he was, where he was and what exactly had just transpired before a roar of rage shot through his body, a surge of energy flowing through his arm like a tidal wave before it slammed into the helpless guard with a violent electric flurry, brilliant blue sparks shooting out and swarming his arm like ribbons.

The guard lay bloodied and motionless on the floor of the chamber, earning nothing but a glower from the elf a gave him nothing more than a glance before turning his attention back to the ring in his pocket which slipped flawlessly onto his finger, calling to him like destiny as he shed what remained of the shy, quiet boy from the village and donned a new outlook on life and an all consuming rage the likes he had never felt before. His very mind itself had changed as he stormed his way out of the prison like a hurricane, wind and thunder smiting any who blocked his path as he had only one destination lingering in his mind.

They wanted a monster to blame so badly?

They’d get their monster.

Part 4 - FINAL PART!

[puppppppppy]

filipina miku!! my mom helped me with her outfit ^_^

[inkskinned]

it's extremely critical that you see the photo of the perp walk for luigi mangione as being propaganda. i've seen so many people wave it off and instead fawn over his looks. and trust me, i know it ended up being kind of pathetic and weird - but please don't brush it off as a "modelling opportunity" for him. it's a fucking terrifying message the police are sending.

i want to make a few comparisons here, in case you're not from the US or familiar with why the perp walk thing is something to pay attention to. just to set the groundwork for why this is a purposeful, unusual, and cruel act by the nyc police - for why this is not a common occurrence and for why that matters.

the prosecution alleges the show of force is due to the charge of "terrorism." for comparison, in june 2015, tsarnaev was found guilty for the boston marathon bombing, which killed 3 people and injured hundreds. his actions are considered to be an act of domestic terrorism. i have spent the last hour looking through google for pictures of similar to mangione's perp walk - and so far, i have found zero. i also just do not personally remember a moment like that, despite living in boston at the time.

they allege that luigi is a stone-cold killer who carried out a longterm plan, making him particularly dangerous. again for comparison: in nyc, recently cory martin was found guilty of the killing of brandy odom. the murder was planned and premeditated to steal insurance money. and yet no staged perp walk. why didn't her life matter enough for a "show of force"?

but mangione gets paraded by a veritable army of police officers as if he is a rabid animal. for a single citizen who allegedly killed one other single citizen, the "largest perp walk ever" occurs.

so what is the "strong message" that the mayor and the police were trying to send here? the mayor speaks as if mangione is already convicted of terrorism. there is a very thin number of people who feel threatened by the CEO's death. none of us felt like mangione needs to be under massive armed guard.

the message is that you shouldn't resist. they are trying to "make an example" of him - that if you behave badly and kill a single rich person, you'll be treated as if you killed hundreds of people. you will be treated worse than a man who was found guilty of terrorism. you will be considered guilty without trial. the message is that the rich are a protected class, and you cannot touch them without massive punishment. they are trying to prevent a revolution by showing dominance and force against you.

the message is that the police are a puppet of the wealthy and that the law is not equally applied across class disparity. it is "some are more equal than others." it is "one life is more precious than another."

the show of force wasn't for luigi. it was for us. it was a warning. they are trying to remind us who is really in control.

[bloomeng]

core 4 magical girl set finally reunited

[ryuuna]

season 2 S O O N

[ink-the-artist]

Love the contrast between the Americans’ “Apollo” and the Soviets’ “Sputnik.” You got the Americans naming their rocket after a Greek god trying to communicate the grandness and importance of this rocket. And you got the Soviets naming their rocket “fellow traveler.” Like a friend you go on an  adventure with together. This rocket is our little friend lol 

[sanjiafterhours]

Honestly, no one is doing it like Vinsmoke Sanji. He's royalty. He's homeless. He's a convicted criminal. He is a damsel in distress. He's a knight in shining armor. He takes down the Government at 10 am then makes a Bouchée à la reine from scratch at 11. He has the empathy of a buddhist monk in the Himalayas. He will beat up a 90 year old. He has never given a fuck, he cant sleep at night cz of how much he cares. He is a ballerina. He sets his legs on fire. He is a slut. He is a virgin. He is a feminist He is a pervert. He's a fashion icon. He wears Alexander McQueen suits to the beach. He has never known happiness. God has personal beef with him.

[glindyke]

THAT'S COOL THAT'S FINE I'M NORMAL ABOUT THAT

[pseudophan]

sorry i'm still here i'm CRYINGGGG watching dan process what phil is saying when he "reveals" that he won that plushie for dan

[everwalldigan]

You know what would be really funny. If Jason had the most normal/conventional food taste out of his siblings (still very far from regular people’s “normal”), he’s stuck in the manor because of an injury and therefore has to witness the culinary WAR CRIMES his siblings consume for sustenance. Since there’s no Alfred to stop them anymore, they have been running rampant.

Jason: What. The fuck. Is that.

Damian, pouring out a green sludge into two cups: father and I’s breakfast smoothie, or did you hit your head hard enough to forget the concept of a smoothie?

Jason, scooting his chair away clutching his water bottle to his chest: yeah I dont know what nuclear reactive, Gotham harbour concoction you so flagrantly bestow the title of “smoothie” on but keep that shit FAR away from me

Tim: *sits down next to Jason, cracks open a can of energy drink and pours it into a glass, pouring milk on top until it reaches the brim*

Jason, with tears in his eyes looking at Dick for help:

Dick: *shrugs, shoving a fistful of dry cheerios into his mouth*

Jason: *turns his horrified gaze to Cass*

Cass: *grins at him toothily with two heaping plates of a full English breakfast sitting in front of her. He has no idea where she got it from. She is using a set of utensils for each plate.*

Jason: *stands up calmly* maybe I should stop looking for the unstable bomb I lost in the manor the other week *walks out of the kitchen, a few moments later a shrill scream is heard*

[oifaaa]

It's funny how opinions can change over time for instance I used to want Bruce to be a good parent but then I realised how fucking boring that is to read at the end of the day comics are soap operas and I'm here for the drama

[samble-moved]

post itself

false flags

trans/adjacent tags

accessibility features

tumblr live post (thanks for the link, @problemnyatic)

flashing / strobing / lights

unblockable flashing ad

buying ad free

staff @/macmanx guilt trip

list of staff + more issues

[inbabylontheywept]

by tradition, the first day of the camp was spent pranking the group next to us. our prank was ziptying the zippers on their sleeping bags together. we figured one of them would sleep with a knife, because we all slept with knives, because we were dangerous maniacs and half the danger of a dangerous maniac is that they tend to think that they are Actually Normal. so. obviously that didn't pan out, and instead they got stuck in their sleeping bags for like half an hour and because their scoutmaster slept in their car and couldn't hear them yelling, they actually only got out when one of them went full caged animal and chewed through the plastic. which meant they had time to make it to the axe throwing station, but they did miss breakfast.

the scale of our victory was impossible to understate. it was an epic prank. unrivaled. the best in years. we knew they were going to retaliate, and we both feared and craved it. maybe i'm still a maniac, but that feels like a common thing, right? do well adjusted people that are not maniacs crave Judgement?

(serious answers only please, from people who would never spoon a knife.)

anyway, the next day we got back to our camp, and the neighors had skipped dinner to just come back and fill all our tents with pinecones. which was like, a decent prank, i guess, but it probably took them an hour to fill all the tents up, and it took us like 15 minutes to tip the tents out, and as a return volley to the ziptie prank it was incredibly underwhelming. we felt a little cheated.

so our scouting group held a council, and we agreed, unanimously, that our prank was 100% better and theirs sucked and that there would be no escalating tensions because we were the clear victors. they'd had their chance to retaliate, and they failed, and so the war was over. that was it.

we agreed on this. we swore. but madness is a relative thing, and in our group of maniacs, we still had J. i have many, many J stories. too many. i biked up to school with him from 4th grade to 8th, and i saw him get hit by cars thrice. he'd just swerve into the road sometimes. one time on a rainy day in 4th grade, a car splashed me, and before i could even consider my response J yelled I GOT THIS and then he blitzed off after the car. i didn't see him the rest of the day. i was so anxious i barely slept that night. i saw him the next morning and he told me that he'd chased the car until it got to a gated community and then he'd climbed over the fence and looked in peoples garages until he found the one with the car, and then he'd ripped the hood ornament off and broke their window. then he gave me a hood ornament to a different brand of car from the one that splashed me and i didnt tell him because i didnt want him missing more school. i want you to mentally adjust your mental model of the things a 9 year old is capable of doing to include chasing a car for five miles, hopping a fence, breaking into a garage, and vandalizing a randos car.

and that's just the tip of my J stories iceberg.

the point of all this is just to say that J was so crazy that he made us knife spooners look like accountanting enthusiasts.

so we agreed the war was done, and we shook on it, and then J, in the name of friendship, in the name of honor, in the name of avenging our pinecone filled tents, snuck over to their camp that evening and fornicated with a watermelon that they'd been saving in their cooler.

i want to emphasize, again, that this was not the consensus of the group. that is not a prank. like i know it seems like we dont know what pranks are because of the whole ziptie thing, but even we knew that fucking someones food is not a prank, it is a crime, and a sin, the kind of weapon that had only been ethically used once in history by Horus in his battle against Set and none of us dumb assholes had owl heads.

so.

the next day went pretty well. we threw some more axes again, which is a valuable and important skill for children to learn i guess, and we learned how to tie knots, which is a skill that turned out to be far sexier than i ever expected, and i learned how to light fires with a magnifying glass, which was great. i'm looking back at this, and i am actually just now beginning to realize that the clear and obvious point of scouting is turning child sociopaths into apex predators.

and then the day ended, and we went back to our camps, except for our leaders, who had a sort of Scout Leader Meeting they were going to have for a few hours at least. it was built into the camp, that day was supposed to be our day to chill as a group, and make peach cobbler, and just be buddies.

except, as it turned out, our neighboring group's alternative to making peach cobbler was eating their watermelon. so at some point they opened their watermelon, and woo boy. oh man. you think catholics hated seedless watermelons? you should see how much mormons hate seeded ones.

so we were chilling by the fire, and then we heard screaming from the camp over, but we didn't pay much mind to that because there are many reasonable explanations for a group of 10ish children to scream simulanteoulsy, such as wasps, which are abundant in arizona, and then the screaming got closer, which did not bother us because there were many reasons for a group 10ish children to scream and run towards us, for example, wasps, which are abundant in arizona, and then we noticed they had large sticks on them, which we figured were perhaps being used to drive away the wasps, which are abundant in arizona, and then they arrived and they started beating the shit out of us, abundantly, in arizona.

so we ran into the woods.

now, at this point, we had no idea what was up. we knew that the camp next to us was out for blood, which was crazy, because we'd actually locked them in fartproof bags for 30 minutes and they'd barely done anything back, and were trying to figure out what could possibly have happened that could drive them to Terrible Violence when we realized that J was cackling like a witch that had learned how to order children off of ebay.

so we politely asked J what the hell he had done, and he politely explained that had "done" their watermelon, and we politely beat him with large sticks because life is nothing but endless cycles of violence.

we were still being chased by the other camp btw. so it was them, chasing us, chasing J, and then they got tired and went back to their camp, and we chased J a little longer because we were mad we'd all been walloped with sticks, and J did not care because he was a supernatural entity whose only weaknesses were Needles and Fire, and then we got tired and went back and J kept running, and we just kind of figured he would come back eventually.

he did not.

we went back to our tents, and we waited, and J did not come back. we stayed up all night, peering into the forest, worrying. our leader came back, and we did our best to hide our battlewounds, and he either genuinely did not notice or simply accepted this as part of Boyhood. then he went to bed, and we waited, and waited, and waited. And Waited. and did not sleep.

eventually, we convened again, and we agreed that if J was not back by after breakfast, we would have to tell the scoutleader about what exactly had transpired. and we really did not want to do that, because it would have meant that everyone would have gotten in a very large amount of trouble.

morning came around, and J still was not back. we went to breakfast, and we ate very, very slowly. we were afraid the other camp was going to continue their war with us, but they actually looked fairly frightened. one of them actually came to us and asked for a truce, and we agreed because we truly felt bad for them. like, yes, they did beat us with sticks, but J fucked their watermelon. we werent complicit in the watermelonfuckening but they didnt know that, and it was definitely the kind of crime that left one outside the bounds of the social contract.

and then when we could eat no more bits, when breakfast was almost done, right when i was getting pushed to go and tell the scoutleader that we needed to find J, he arrived. he was sleep deprived, and noticeably scraped and bloody, and tied to his belt was a blood squirrel tail.

and i asked him, J, where did you get that? and he said, don't worry man, it was already dead, which did not answer by question and gave me several more.

the camp ended that day, and the other groups avoided us like the plague, and it was not until some weeks later that we were able to piece together what happened.

J, in his sojourn through the forest, managed to find (or, possibly, make) a dead squirrel. he then cut off the tail to keep on his belt, because he was a weird little freak like that. he also took the dead squirrel, and he skinned it, then he tied it to a little crucifix made of wood, and he left it in the other scouting group's camp. which is why they were so scared of us.

it was such an unhinged thing to do it actually sobered us up for a while. scouting became a scary thing for us. we'd found something dark and primal there, in the place where no adult could see, and our appreciation of J as a wild ride kind of changed into seeing him as something truly dangerous. we had a sense wherever he went, something terrible would follow, and the only way to escape it was to not be there when it arrived. and so piece by piece, the scout group dissolved. it wasnt until he moved out of that ward that the rest of us started daring to go back to scouts.

and for the final epilogue of the tale:

i have a little brother who was friends with a younger cousin of J's, and the two would go to parties together in highschool. and sometimes J, who was in his early 20's at that point, would show up at the parties, and it was unsettling in such a way that it just became a known risk at parties with the cousin. and at one party, they were playing truth or dare, and J wasn't even in the room, but someone asked him the Truth of how he always knew how to find the cousin, and J said the cousin's mom had mentioned she was worried about him and the parties so he'd put a tracker in his car. and when he saw that the cousin was out of the house on weekends, he'd made a visit by, just to make sure he was safe.

then he left. and every single person at that party went over that poor kid's car. they searched the wheel-wells, checked underneath it, the works, until they found the tracker. then because they were clever, they didnt break it, or throw it away, or anything that would've given away what they'd done. they just gave the tracker to the cousin, who put it in his glovebox. and on schooldays, he'd take it with him, so J could see him in the parking lot. and on weekends, he could leave it in the garage, so he could go to parties with out Hell coming with him. because everyone that met J - every single person - knew that the only way to be safe from him was to be far, far away.

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[saltymarshmall0w]

Danny is "in denial" about the Waynes being vigilantes

Danny is really grateful for the Waynes taking him in and all but it’s just… it’s really obvious they’re vigilantes. Do they WANT him to find out? Why?? To join their battalion?

Hell nah. He’s already got enough going on trying to keep in check the many shades in the city.

Danny simply pretends to be oblivious about the Waynes being vigilantes. That's a future Danny problem.

It turns into Kyle levels of denial, where he ends up pretending he thinks the vigilantes are actors hired by the city to cover up all the ghosts haunting Gotham.

And obviously, the city bases them on the infamously growing Wayne family. It's so sweet of the Waynes to volunteer to dress up as their character for public appearances.

Meanwhile, Bruce has banned outright telling Danny even though it's been nearly a year of him living with them. So what if Danny glows sometimes and has full conversations with invisible people in dark alleyways, everyone has their quirks! so, the Batkids have resolved to just "accidentally" leave their mask on after patrol or make tactical plans loudly about taking down Penguin's latest scheme with Danny a room over.

-

“Is Dick coming to the Gala?” Danny asked as his head swiveled between his phone and the mirror as he attempted to tie his own tie. How did his mom always make it look so easy?

“No, he is going out as Batman tonight, since Father is unable to.” Damian responded. He may as well be blasé about their identities, seeing as Fenton was obviously both completely aware of their identities and completely in denial.

“Oh, man. Does that mean one of the “rouges” are going to attack the gala?” Danny asked, “It’s probably going to be that Two-face guy, huh? He hasn’t made an appearance in a while and his character arc with “Brucie” hasn’t made any progress in a while.”

“Nonsense, there is no predicting the mindset of a criminal like Two-face.” Damian ignored Danny’s disbelieving scoff as he maneuvered his newest brother to face him so he could take over the task for him, else they would be standing there all night. “Besides, Drake is in charge of security for the gala and will do an adequate job securing the venue. If you are afraid remain by my side where I can protect you.”

Damian tightened the tie around Danny's neck and stepped back to let Fenton pull his own collar down.

"That's very sweet of you, Dami." Danny reached up a hand and mussed up Damian's newly-gelled hair, garnering a growl and a shove from the boy. "But you should do normal kid things during the gala, like accidentally saying rude things to old ladies, or complaining about how bored you are, and don't forget to prank all the evil billionaires."

...

The “I told you so.” Danny brazenly mouthed to Damian later in the evening from where Two-face held a gun to his head was as infuriating as it was distressing.

—

(Kyle Weston is the fanon brother of Wes Weston (also a fanon character) who’s whole thing is that he believes in conspiracy theories like Wes, but doesn’t believe in ghosts at all to Wes’s frustration.)

[mohntilyet]

caterina's datamined character description calling her korean-italian and early lucanis designs having him look east asian . i'll just do everything myself i guess

assorted thoughts: caterina is fully 'korean' or whatever the thedas equivalent would be in this design, and clawed her way to the top of the crow food chain after years of work. their armor is something caterina forcibly incorporated to distinguish house dellamorte from the other crows, and a symbol of their status because they get it custom made or imported. of course race-equivalents do not really exist in thedas or this world but i also will never forget how gaider just implied (east) asian people don't exist in thedas because it just so happens that there are no asians on the continent of thedas (guy who forgot about boats) . explode and die. there's not the same kind of discrimination as exists irl ofc (and the dellamortes are actually treated fine, much better than a mage or elf) but a level of xenophobia against foreigners from a different continent. illario looks the least like her, and passes for being fully antivan, which changes how he is recieved by the other crows.

and sorry if the korean is bad please actually let me know if it's horribly translated i relied on google translate . if you are one of ten asian dragon age fans feel free to talk to me at any given moment.