#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!

[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.

[ryuuna]

season 2 S O O N

[bloomeng]

core 4 magical girl set finally reunited

[traaumaa]

*has several debilitating disorders* idk maybe i'm just lazy

[teaboot]

Yeah no I didn’t “always know I was trans” but I WAS incredibly defensive of a girl’s ability and personal desire to do absolutely anything a boy could do, repeatedly throwing down against parents and teachers who insisted that girls and boys were just naturally predisposed to distinct binary interests and abilities, often telling them that short hair and masculine interests didn’t make me less of a girl because physical traits and hobbies don’t retroactively determine your gender or sexual identity. Yeah I’m actually still onboard with that belief by the way, not sure how some of yall lost the plot

[valtsv]

honestly i never really understand the impulse to make doppelgangers/doubles/mirrors of people different to their counterparts, even subtly, at least in terms of appearance (personality is another beast entirely). for me, the horror of the doppelganger isn't that it's a monstrous, twisted thing with malevolent intent wearing a creepy imitation of you or your loved ones' faces, but that it makes you question what could possibly be deficient in you that makes you something less than "good enough" and coming up empty - because whatever it is, it's beyond your capacity to even conceive of. you are the architect of your own annihilation. your greatest obstacle has always been yourself. this other version of you, or someone whose existence affirms yours, is fundamentally no different - they're just not you, and therein lies the answer. your jealousy and self-loathing will ruin you without the imposter having to ever do a thing.

[glindyke]

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

[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 

[dovewingkinnie]

i liked when dr harley sawyer was messing with u like a mouse type of guy to put u in a maze and watch u collect seeds

[ladysatoru]

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.

[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.

[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

[squidthusiast]

2-3 hr speedpaint from yesterday, cause I was going insane from pearlina withdrawal

[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*

[crystallized-cheese]

so like imagine Undertale characters but they're all crafts supplies Part Triple (Sans and Papyrus) (Undyne and Alphys) (Frisk and Flowey) (Napstablook and Mettaton)