#Regarding Lonnie Machin

[willthewise7]

In regard to TFS spoilers, I haven’t seen too much information about Joyce, Hopper, Lonnie and Bob. Could you share some info on them? Thank you!! 🙏

Note: For those who don’t want TFS spoilers, don’t read ahead.

So the play actually starts with Bob broadcasting his own radio channel. Followed by Joyce and Lonnie talking, well mostly arguing. Joyce walks off in temper.

Apart from the start, Lonnie isn’t featured that heavily, just in the background. The main part of their story in the show is Joyce, Hopper and Bob (love triangle) exploring the mysterious animal killings in Hawkins. Bob builds them a special machine to detect the mysterious ongoings.

Joyce ultimately is trying to leave Hawkins by making a play for Hawkins High. In doing so, she’s hoping to get accepted for a scholarship and to be able to finally move away. We all know though that this fails when the play goes wrong with Henry, Patty and Brenner. So Joyce stays in Hawkins.

Near the end of the play we have an intimately setup scene of Joyce and Hopper. Joyce is working at Melvalds and Hopper walks in for a drink. He shows off his new uniform and tells her how he’s going to do his police training and therefore will be moving away for a bit. Joyce seems disappointed at him moving away. Joyce also mentions how Lonnie is “an asshole” and that he still hasn’t changed. This sets up the future storylines really. The scene really made you feel the chemistry between Joyce and Hopper.

#tfs spoilers #stranger things the first shadow #stranger things 5 #joyce maldonado #joyce byers #jim hopper #bob newby #byler #<for mutuals interested #jopper

[communistchilchuck]

batman urban legends #22 ‘utility’ review UMMMM MACHIN NATION WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK. literally went so crazy someone unfollowed me on twitter. its a 5 page story thats the most in-character lonnie’s been since tynion’s TEC kind of sort of put him on the right track but i’d argue its better because

THE MONEYSPIDER SPIDER IS ACTUALLY USED APPROPRIATELY. i don’t have a lot of nitpicks because i genuinely enjoyed it, i’d say the one i do have is with regards to this line here

because lonnie’s historically been very much against democratic systems (“democracy is the tyranny of the minority” and all that) and anti-electoral but that’s nothing compared to how he’s been written by people like seeley so i’ll take it. i was also kind of nervous about the hostage he takes but this line here made it dissipate so fast

because it acknowledges that lonnie does care about people and doesn’t just hurt people to prove a point or at least doesn’t want to but will still sometimes get others involved in his plans. again, not 100% perfect, but so much better than what we’ve been getting and i can tell travis actually cares about writing lonnie with a modicum of accuracy.

also this entire exchange is driving me NUTS because it’s development i’ve wanted for lonnie for so long just… stated by him outright. one of his most defining traits was the fact that he DID try to leave everything behind to become a symbol alone, to embody his ideals, so to have him just say “my definition can’t be embodied by any one man. you can call me lonnie for now” is so so big. i wish we got any lead-up to that but oh well. im choosing to place this between red hood vs anarky and i am batman in current continuity because it makes the most sense development wise.

idk. im just happy. im probably overplaying how good this is but i cant help it i was so scared the story would suck ass but yedoye travis delivered and i’d trust him with future post-reboot anarky stories any day.

in conclusion:

#ALSO THE FUCKING SHADOW CLONE JUTSU CALLBACK YEAHHHHH YIPPEEE WAHOOOO!!!!

[alchemicalterror]

Self-implemented Parole

[ Below is a transcript of an RP between @askanarky​ and ol’ Jonny boy, involving Anarky’s breakout and aftermath. WIth special guest @riddlesandqueries​ and @echoandquery​

Trigger warnings: Adolescent Homelessness, swearing. ]

Fuck. Shit. God dammit. Fuck, Lonnie swears to himself, couldn’t stay hidden for two days, could he?

Here he is, leaning against the wall of the dentist’s-office-turned-failed-comedy-club-turned-pirate-radio-station-slash-hideout he’d been spending the day at. Beside him’s a wooden baseball bat, blood-red paint dripping down the business end, three posters, and an overfilled olive drab backpack absolutely covered in patches and safety pins. In his hands, a box of old clothes and records.

Bitterly, Lonnie wonders how much weight he’d lost. Six and a half months was a lot longer- or maybe shorter?- than he’d fully realized.

God, why’s he even humoring the old man? Ten bucks and he could already be gone. He’d find another shitty landlord to blackmail for an equally shitty studio apartment, and life’d go on like he never left.

...But then again, that wasn’t him. And plus, he owes Jon a lot and did kinda call him ‘dad,' and plus, he couldn’t feasibly cut him out entirely unless he left Gotham for good, and why would he do that, he’s got work to continue-

”Fuck.” Lonnie mutters under his breath, shifting his weight to his other leg.

"Fuck." Jon mutters, pulling his coat in tighter. He doesn't know jack shit about hijacked radio towers, and while his car is an unremarkable, beat-up old junker that he's had for years - it runs fine, there's no noises or weird smells, but the body has seen better days - why run into a headache with traffic, gas mileage, potentially being seen at an intersection with a recently escaped convict...?

'Course, nothing could hide how tall he is. And god damn it, it's April, it's supposed to be warm....

Jonathan mutters against the cold in vague irritation, gravitating towards the next set of charity drop-off boxes in vain hopes of actually tracking down the runt. Jesus, he should've asked for directions. At least he's in good shape.

"Me an' my motherfuckin' ide--" Pause. Squint, at someone who fits the stature in a beat up black hoodie, with a box.

"....Kid?"

The good thing about oversized hoodies is that, if you’re drowning in them enough, it can almost conceal how high you jump when something calls an epithet that can apply to you. Immediately, Lonnie crouches to quickly, but gently place his box down and grab his baseball bat in his place, then raises himself up into half of a batter’s stance at the source of the-

Wait. Tall man, absolutely orange hair, in a thrift-store jacket and blue jeans. Of fucking course.

”Jesus Christ,” he half-mouths. He lets his stance relax and his arms hang limply down in an exaggerated 'I-don’t-wanna-be-here' stance. “‘Ay.” Lonnie’s stage voice is remarkable, if a bit higher than his normal growl.

Jonathan grins, a bit, despite himself. Baseball bat? Good lad.

He lifts a hand in a wave, chuckling. "Nice to see you ain't without means, boy." Jon murmurs, nodding at the weapon. "Half kickin' myself I didn't get directions when abouts I could, I been walking around back alleys all afternoon."

"Legs could use a break, and I saw a beaten-down dive up the block some, folks don't glance at your face even when you're ordering in places like that. You wanna coffee or somethin' before we ship out?"

“....” Lonnie turns away for half a second, letting a puff of air escape his clenched teeth. “Hey, you said you didn’t need them.”

Hypocritical, coming from him. He’s at least trying to be a little friendly, through the obvious voice crack and the constantly-correcting tone. “...Fine, I guess? I mean, I’ve got what...” He backs away and unzips the front pocket of the backpack on the ground. A cheap leather wallet spills out (along with six separate embroidered circle-As in various shades of crimson.) He unfolds it and squints between the pockets, “....twelve...? Dollars on me? That’s enough for, like, a sandwich.”

"Come off it kid, I got paid yesterday, you ain't gotta spend what little you got on a sandwich. Save it, s'good to have bus money." And with that Jon turns, and waves Lonnie follow him. Tall as he is, he's long ago adopted a sort of ambling gait to make it easier for other people to keep up with his long stride.

The diner is, as estimated, utterly apathetic to the arrival of both Jonathan and Lonnie, save for the motions of seating them both. No odd looks are given to Lonnie's box of things, nor -- if he brought it along -- his bat. He was half-heartedly offered the opportunity to drop it in the umbrella rack, if he wanted to.

Jon takes a booth with a high back, and turns his attention toward the menu.

Lonnie, in fact, does put his baseball bat in the umbrella rack (only in Gotham,) and swings himself up onto the booth, squishing himself into the corner and placing his box under the table. His backpack’s placed right beside him.

He’s already small- especially compared to Jonathan- but he seems determined to make himself even smaller. Lonnie hunches over the table and scrutinizes the menu with one exposed eye, rapping his free hand on the table. Jonathan receives the occasional upwards glance from him.

Coffee. And a sandwich. Jon picks both, mentally placing his order, and sets the menu down.

"...After we order, I got some things to ask, arright?" He murmurs, keeping his voice low; the staff might not care, but patrons could. Best keep mumbly.

"Dinner's on me whatever you got to say, upfront. Ain't contingent on you givin' me answers you think I'm gonna wanna hear."

(The waitress does drift by, uninterested and unimpressed, to take their orders.)

Watching the waitress approach means Lonnie didn’t have the space to answer Jon in full; Instead, he flashes a thumbs up his way.

BLT, cherry Coke. Lonnie deserved something sweet, he thought. His menu comes down after Jon’s, and he doesn’t fully turn to place his order. He does, however, have the common sense for manners; “I’d like an egg BLT and a cherry Coke, please.”

"And I'd like a tuna sub and a black coffee, please, miss. Thank you kindly."

Their orders are noted down, and she drifts on to her next engagement - and Jon leans on the table, looking Lonnie over. Where to start. "....You got a place to stay?"

“I’ll get one.” Lonnie murmurs, implying that the answer’s actually no. “Old landlord probably won’t let me back in, not like I was actually paying for my old apartment anyway...” He murmurs as he passes the saltshaker between his hands. "...Right." Jonathan says, nodding slowly. "...If you need a place to crash a li'l while while you work him over, y'know - I got a guest room. Ain't got much more than a bed and a couple boxes and a desk, but it's dry an' the door locks." "...And like, if puttin' out on your own for a place don't work, I don't mind if you stay, right?" .... Hm. The saltshaker rests in his left hand.

“...You’re serious? C’mon, your job’s probably already batter-fried as is, if anyone finds out-”

Lonnie doesn’t trail off, per se, more than he just lets his throat close a little. “...Really? You really don’t-“

He’d be an absolute idiot to decline, but there had to be some kind of catch - ? - but Jon’s not that much of a jerkass.... "Kid, much as I'm sure you could find someone whose arm you could twist for a place, it don't sit right with me to just leave you in an alley to do that. I got the room, and - well, Arkham can just deal." Jonathan’s tone is flat.

"What they don't know ain't gonna hurt my career." Lonnie puts a fist to his rapidly-splitting mouth and exhales sharply. “‘Guess that is true,” he answers, then shakes two fingers at Jon. 

“...Shit, thanks, I guess? I didn’t... really expect you to show real concern, holy shit...” "What, you think it was just for appearances?"  Jon chuckles, genial. "Naw, son, I try to actually care 'bout the folks I work with, didn't get into this business on accounta I don't care about people."

"Look, after Dinner I'll help you carry shit, since I left the car at home." “Okay.” Lonnie doesn’t particularly feel like pushing it any more, so he doesn’t. 

“...How’d I not notice this place before?” He asks, mostly to himself. Or maybe he had, and he’d forgotten about it. Was it even worth forgetting?  Ech, everything was so overwhelming. As their food and coffee comes around, Jonathan turns his attention to the rogue chat, securing something, before starting to eat. Tuna melts are truly the mac and cheese of the sandwich world, and hard to get wrong.

[ Dr_J_C ] - Hey, Eddie, you on. [ E?Nygma ] - Yes? [ Dr_J_C ]  - You got a cab company you trust to keep their yaps shut [ E?Nygma ] - My henchwomen. [ Dr_J_C ]  - ...Think they'd be willing to come pick up me and a runaway? Wound up cross town and the kid's got luggage [ E?Nygma ] - Only one way to find out, really.

[ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: Ladies? ] [ DM  E&Q to E?Nygma: [Q] You need something, Ed? ] [ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: Yes, if you have the time tonight. Dr Crane is asking me about securing private transit that doesn't talk too much, if you catch my drift. Since you're both the pair I trust most on the matter, I thought I'd ask if you'd be willing to go fetch him and cart him wherever he needs to go. He's not in a stabbing mood, so it shouldn't be risky. ] [ DM  E&Q to E?Nygma: [Q] Not in a stabbing mood? Color me surprised.. but sure thing, Boss! [E] Dr. Crane requires transit? We aren’t busy, so we’ll be glad to pick him up, when needed. Anything that’s said will stay in the car, don’t you worry. ] [ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: Peachy. Make him buy you dinner, huh? I'll forward the address: you know what to do if he starts giving you trouble, and where to send the bill. Thanks so much. ]

[ E?Nygma ] - Good news, Jonny, they'll do it. Have an address? [ Dr_J_C ]  - Yeah, hangon.... Down town, Eighth and Tuppence. The shitty diner.

[ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: : Eighth and Tuppence, the "shitty diner", as he put it. ]

[ E?Nygma ] - I told them to make you buy them dinner. 

[ Dr_J_C ]  -  Yeah, sure, doesn't have to be from here. We just got our food, so - give it an hour? [ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: He's asked for you to come in an hour, so you have time to get ready. ]

[ E?Nygma ] - Done and done, don't leave them waiting.

Before eating, Lonnie removes the top slice of bread from each sandwich half and salts the (perfectly over-medium) egg on top, then slides the salt to the other side of the table. He almost chokes on his first bite. God, he missed real food. "...Arkham food, huh." Jonathan chuckles, humorlessly. "Shit, every time I've gotten outta there, pizza boxes have looked appetizing."

"Eddie's henches are gonna be givin' us a ride. They ain't snitches, and I fancy our chances in one'a their cars than on foot."

“...Tall punk one n’ a short one?” Lonnie clarifies through a mouthful of BLT. Gulp. “Nice.”

“...Spent his ketchup money on Walgreens eyeliner and a burger. Should probably get online and tell ‘im once I get home, huh.” He pauses, putting down his sandwich for a second. “I told you the ketchup thing, right?”

Jonathan grins, lifting his coffee in a weird sort of salute. "Sure did. Bet you made with Eddie, right? Eyeliner and a bite's a good cause, then. He chomps down half his sandwich before turning his attention properly to coffee.

"...Good-ish news, the Asylum is pretty sure I didn't help you break out." "So they prob'ly ain't gonna assume I came got you, neither."

“Thank god,” Lonnie comments. “Like, not just ‘cuz your job’s still safe, that’s great, but god, I didn’t spend three weeks figuring out like, 80 million people’s schedules for a friend in a high place to get the stick, it’s my damn credit.” He pauses for a sip of soda. “...Is that the right metaphor? Doesn’t matter. ‘S.... nice y’aint in that deep shit.”

Another pause. “Jesus Christ, I just said ‘y’ain’t’ in complete earnest, what the fuck are you doing to me?” Lonnie laughs, leaning his head back and pulling down one eyelid. Jonathan barks a cheerful laugh, and even that is ignored by the utter apathy that is a back-street diner in Gotham. He shakes his head until it trickles down to a snicker and, grinning, drains the rest of his coffee before his attention returns to the perfectly adequate tuna melt.

"Naww, they had me doin' damage control, after talkin' to me a bit and nosing some at my notes. Shit, I didn't know a damn thing about your plans, and it showed, son, so oughta be fine."

"New's being shitty about it anyways, though, m'sorry about that." “I~’m aware,” Lonnie chimes rather sardonically, waiting to swallow this time. “Eh, GCN’s a bunch of corporatist bullcrap anyway. They don’t think I’m a real dude, I know they aren’t a real news station, cancels out.” It really doesn’t cancel out, but the shrug indicates either he’s actually fine or he doesn’t particularly want to talk about it.

Jonathan slowly nods, and makes a mental tick to get a tee-shirt made inviting people to physically fight him if they want to call Lonnie a girl. That's a dadly thing to do, right?

"...So,” Jon starts, slowly, “Y'all called me dad."

Groan. “Uh, I’m sorry?” Lonnie shrugs to accompany the nonapology— not like it was worth applogizing for. “Slip of the tongue, like callin’ a teacher ‘mom,’ y’know?”

He sucks the rest of his Coke down and sets the tall plastic glass back on the table. Jon laughs, sitting back himself and uncrossing his arms. "Dunno where all I said I was upset about it, son." His grin is lazy and easy, and he just shrugs.

"Y'all see me as a father figure?" ... Does he? ... “I mean— you’re what, two and a half times my age n I’ve seen more of you  in the, what, three-ish months since you took my case than anyone else, not to mention you’re like...” Lonnie cycles through various expressions as he speaks, apparently directing his explanation at his fingernails. (Note the lack of a solid answer.) 

He doesn’t mention what Jon’s like. Soon, he throws his forehead into one hand, rubbing his temples.

“I mean—- no, but also not no?” "...So, solid maybe." Jon suggests, wiping crumbs off his hands with a chuckle. "Right, well that ain't somethin' you gotta come up with an answer to today, son. Right now, priority's makin' sure you don't get picked up by the cops two days after a breakout."

"And,” he adds, “Not leavin' you to find a half-comfortable Alley to try an' make a sleeping spot from."

“Mmh,” Lonnie affirms through his last bite of BLT (emphasis on the L.) “In my defense, I spent like... the first third’a my sophomore year doin’ that, I’ve got practice.” He jokes, sending finger-guns Jon’s way. “But yeah, let’s leave that for later, ‘kay?”

"Sounds good." Jonathan pulls out his wallet, leafing through it and leaving the bill in cash, with a generous tip. No, the bill hasn't actually arrived yet, but he's pretty good at math. Something about being a Chemist, maybe. 

"Ed's girls oughta be here in a nother couple minutes, so - you wanna hit the washroom or anything 'fore we head outside?"

#Jonathan Crane #Regarding Lonnie Machin #Askanarky #RP Log #Long Post #Plot #with Digital Cameos by: #Edward Nygma #Nina 'Echo' Damfino #Diedre 'Query' Vance

[boysupe]

never using carrd again btw bc if it can’t pick up my clear disclaimers and clearly FICTIONAL content, i don’t want to use it. seriously even tumblr, who bans everything, had no issues with anything regarding lonnie machin. i am incensed. 

#( THE WRITER ) - OOC

[heartslogos]

mafia!verse: hunting season [10]

Damian’s doesn't like Lonnie Machin. At best the man is a vigilante. At his worst he’s an idealist with an impossible dream that disregards the very basis of human nature. Damian does not have any fondness towards the man, but Drake holds him in high enough regards that they do business together often and Machin can occasionally be seen carrying out Drake’s business for him. Supposedly Machin and Father came to cross roads before, Machin getting in Father’s way many times and vice versa. Damian isn’t sure what Machin sees in Drake that he doesn’t see in Father because whatever grudges Machin has against the rest of the family he seems to have put aside to work with Drake.

Regardless of all of this context, Damian can respect a few things about the man. He has a goal and he’s actively working towards it and he has not yet strayed from the path he has designated as his own. That takes conviction, self-awareness, and a type of dogged endurance that Damian would be a fool not to recognize as anything short of herculean. Damian can respect that he managed to not get himself killed when throwing himself against every single crime organization in Gotham and possibly the rest of the state. Damian can also, reluctantly, admit that the man has a rather upstanding moral character.

But Damian doesn’t have to like him.

At this very moment? Damian is pretty sure he hates Lonnie Machin.

In hindsight it should have been obvious something was wrong. But Damian was willing to dismiss it as Drake having the sort of day where his physical injuries were being unacceptable and intolerable in any way and as much as Damian enjoys annoying Drake, staying while Drake was unwell in such a manner would be type of aggravation Damian would want no part and parcel of. Damian saw Drake’s carefully tailored expression of neutrality and assumed pain. Because that’s what all of them assume — have assumed — since the incident. Drake is in chronic pain and some days are worse than others, just like how father’s back still sometimes acts up. It’s a fact of their lives.

Leave it to Drake to take advantage of that natural assumption and use it for his own purposes as a cover story.

Machin would never drive Damian anywhere except maybe off a dock with rocks tied to his ankles, but for Drake? For Drake, he would. Damian, again, had assumed that Machin was extracting himself from the situation. That Machin, also, did not want to be around Drake to exacerbate his already nebulous condition. Damian worried, then, because it had to be very bad if Drake didn’t want anyone around. Damian had considered calling their sister, or Brown, to check in on him later.

Neither of the women have a particularly nurturing hand, but neither of them are people Drake can refuse. And it’s impossible to lie to Cassandra, at least, not for very long.

Machin, generally, does not lie. According to Machin it’s beneath him and unnecessary. He can achieve his goals in the open without lies, and there are other ways to get what he wants. But that doesn’t mean the man doesn’t lie. And there’s more than one type of lie that can exist.

Damian counts Machin not saying anything about his brother driving headfirst into his own assassination attempt while Machin drives Damian in the opposite direction of said assassination attempt to be a type of lie.

Even if the man did own up to it later.

It had taken Damian too long to realize something was wrong. It had taken him precious time that could have been used trying to drag his brother out of this mess. He wasted even more time arguing with Machin trying to get him to turn the damned car around.

It was Machin’s silence that did it. It’s like Machin wanted Damian to catch him out. Considering Machin and his general — everything Damian thinks that might have been the case. Because Machin’s credo doesn’t allow for him to see women and children hurt. But at the same time, walking away from a friend who is about to face certain death definitely hits something on that list.

(“He wants to keep you safe.” Machin’s voice was bitter, angry, resigned.

“I’m the son of the most powerful crime family in this hemisphere,” Damian snapped, “There is no such thing as safe. Either you turn this car around or I’m going to jump out of this car and run. Which do you think is safer?”)

Damian got there in time to see the police and ambulance arrive — Damian got there in time to see people running into cars and driving off, tires squealing. Damian got there in time to see his brother slumped against the side of his car. Damian got there in time to run to his brother, pull him into the arms, smell the gasoline, and drag Drake out of the way right before the car exploded.

Damian got there in time to catch a glimpse of faces, looking smug and pleased and so completely unaware of what sort of hell they have unleashed upon themselves and the rest of their families. Damian got there in time to see them and mentally swear the wrath of a demon and all of the hells it controls upon their lives.

It doesn’t matter if he and Drake don’t get along. It doesn’t matter if they argue more than they do anything else. It doesn’t matter how often they disagree or how often they get in each other’s way.

At the end of the day, Drake is family and that’s been drilled into Damian’s head daily for almost a decade now.

For this?

He will personally make sure Gotham runs red.

I am sorry, Father, Damian thinks, but I am what I am. And I am heir to two most ignoble houses, and I am all their wrath and their pride. I am, at my basest nature, a tyrant’s hunger.

#heartsfic #c: the children's champion

[bamboozledjasontodd]

Earth 187 Outlaws

The team forms shortly after Rose Wilson reunites as many of her Teen Titans friends for a mission to save Eddie Bloomberg from Hell and ultimately, his deal with Neron. While most of her old teammates, don’t join the new team, there are a couple who do as time goes on. 

The Founders:

Jason Todd/Red Hood: Long story short, he left Gotham to be on his own after a falling out with his family and several other heroes only to be tracked down by Rose Wilson, save Eddie and accidentally start a new team. Despite the fact that this is a new start for him, Jason is as angst ridden as ever as he is still figuring out all of the side effects of The Lazarus Pit and some other things about himself that his death put on the back burner. Oh, yeah, he also acquired a sword forged in actual hellfire from a demon’s body. So, that’s fun. 

Rose Wilson/Ravager: Since her days as a Teen Titan, Rose has become an even more skilled fighter thanks to a combination of training and mastery of her precognitive abilities. Rose is usually the one that keeps the team on task, and also reminds everyone to take a break when one can be afforded. It should be noted that she is currently going through a lot personally with regards to her own feelings and some family drama. 

Eddie Bloomberg/Red Devil: Still the charming, sarcastic goofball and film snob he was during his teenage years. He has a lot of hurts ranging from the death of his Aunt Marla to the horrors he witnessed in Hell, and has begun to seek out a therapist who is qualified to deal with hero bullshit. He is currently working to improve his fighting abilities and how to use a sword. As expected, he often references The Princess Bride when he is practicing with a sword. 

Artemis of Bana-Mighdall/Requiem: An Amazonian warrior, weilder of Mistress and The Bow of Ra, former Queen of Hell, and all around badass. Artemis first encountered Jason while he was running from his problems by traveling the world. The two struck up a friendship and had a couple of brief adventures together before he decided to head elsewhere. Jason wrote to her from time to time and even requested her help on the rescue mission for Eddie. The latter would lead her to join the team, although, not as a full time member due to other commitments. 

The Recruits:

Zachary “Zach” Zatara/Zatara: As a result of the fact he is (still) learning how to be a team player, Zachary is prone to butting heads with his teammates and isn’t above dramatically leaving the room when he is irritated. The good news is he has a heart of gold and so far, has been able to apologize by correcting his behavior. Zach is the resident magic expert on the team. Jason insists he is the only magic user on the team but Zach is pretty positive hat is not the case. This is a bit of contentious point and whenever a disagreement happens about it, Eddie finds himself a snack that is inevitably shared with both Rose and Laney.

Holly Granger/Hawk: Another skilled fighter and all around badass. She met Jason while he was in London and recruited him to help her take down an illegal fighting ring she had been a part of. They part ways until she ends up in the US with a lead that says the same people had set up another ring but this time on American soil. From that point on, she was a member of The Outlaws. She is a bit on the aggressive side and filled with anger but she is working on it. (credit to Kai aka @ Redfreakinarrow on Twitter for the idea of adding her to the team and the part about Jason helping her take down the fighting ring she was in. Link to their blog post that details their idea here).

Courtney Mason/Anima: She hasn’t had the easiest life and is still processing a lot of it. She is recruited to the team by Holly as a result of their mutual ties to various heroes. She is incredibly powerful and knowledgeable, especially about music. She and Zach are often in unofficial competitions to see who can blare their music louder. Usually, there is no winner as someone inevitably asks them both to turn it down. She is known to dye her hair frequently and even initially tried to help Jason with the white streak. Needless to say, since it doesn’t hold color for more than a day at a time Courtney now gives Jason her left over dye to do with as he pleases. Oh, she is also a member of the glowing green eye club. Although, her eyes are a neon color.  (credit to @ MMaystorm on Twitter for the idea of adding Courtney and for her particular shade of glowing green eyes being neon in nature.)

Lonnie Machin/Anarky & Moneyspider: Every team needs a hacker and The Outlaws are no exception to that. Lonnie joined the team after a series of events that involved him hacking into The Outlaws computer system to attain information about his own nemesis, subsequently getting caught and having someone Jason dangle him out a window. In present times, Lonnie serves as the resident philospher, hacker, and anarchist. He has memorized the monologue from V for Vendetta and has tried to come up with his own. There is cell phone video footage of the latter that Rose took and promptly distributed to the team. 

Julian “Laney” Luther Kent/???:* Having been recently freed from Lex Luthor and Cadmus by The Outlaws, Laney is the newest member of the team. At Cadmus he was the product of a project called Match. He was even called this. He isn’t keen on this name, and is currently seeking out an identity that feels unique to him. He can be a bit rough around the edges and at times, the world overwhelms him. He is the king of turning himself into a blanket burrito. He’s not on the best terms with the Kent Family but he is always welcome regardless of the circumstances. Is not pleased with the fact that he and Jason could potentially be in-laws via their brothers. Rose sympathizes as her older brother had once dated Dick. (*Note: He is a composite character of Jon Lane Kent, Match from the Young Justice cartoon, and a mix of my own creation.)

Faye Gunn II/Clarissa Todd/???: The adopted granddaughter of Ma Gunn and biological younger (half) sister of Jason Todd. She was illegally adopted by Ma Gunn’s son in order for her birth parents to pay off some debts. Jason was under the impression that his sister did not survive being born. Fast forward some years, and Faye Gunn II is being primed to take over her family’s criminal empire. However, she plans on using her knowledge of its operations in order to  destroy it from the inside out. As she begins to do so, she ends up on the radar of The Outlaws. To make a long story short, The Outlaws help her take down the criminal empire of the Gunn Family, she learns about her biological family, and joins the team. She enjoys undercover work, art, coffee, and wearing oversized sweaters. Note: This character is an OC that is derived from the fact that Catherine Todd was shown to be pregnant in a panel once. She is Faye Gunn II in name only. Also important to note, Ma Gunn is not related to Jason Todd at all in my fanfic au.) 

#jason todd #rose wilson #eddie bloomberg #artemis of bana mighdall #artemis grace #zachary zatara #holly granger #courtney mason #lonnie machin #laney kent #faye gunn ii #oc: clarissa todd #earth 187 #my fanfic universe #the outlaws #this is longer than i intended so i put the recruits under the read more

[metaphysicae]

a list of (as far as i know) unresolved arcs regarding one lonnie machin:

what’s the fate of his birth parents?

is the joker truly his biological father? will he make good on his threat against anarky?

does he ever recover from the coma he was placed in? if so, how?

what does he do with the newly-reactivated unternet? why did he reactivate the unternet?

what happens to ulysses? does he keep the mantle of anarky?

does his assistance of moneyspider ever become known to the majority of the batfam?

#anarky #lonnie machin

[waltwest]

The Freelancer

The following is the first thirteen pages of a short story I am writing titled “The Freelancer”. I hope you enjoy. I apologize for the unappealing formatting, this site does not have the most comprehensive text editor.

                                          I.

             Studying the Keurig machine, I wondered how many complacent people it took to ware the word “brew” off the button, leaving behind nothing more than a “b” and an “e”, which looked curiously like an “s”. I imagined this instant coffee machine as the alter in which lost souls came to pay tribute to each morning before assuming their monotonously drudging tasks; lips drawn, eyes downcast. These people were never happy, not even content. It certainly wasn’t a wish of theirs to be here. Men who dreamt of becoming accomplished composers became pencil pushers. Women who yearned to be animators had landed at secretary. The office is where you come to lay your ambition to rest. Maybe it is a lack of assertiveness in demeanor which lands one here, maybe it is the fate of mere circumstance.

           But I, Maxwell Goodman, knew what my job meant; I knew I worked among the dead. Luckily, there was a spark of life that incessantly flickered within me. With my ten ounce mug full before me, I reluctantly took my communion once again.

           Safely back within the confines of my particle board cubicle, the manila folders and stacks of paper demanding this or that seemed to never be satisfied.

           God, who knew lightbulbs could generate so much paperwork, I thought to myself.

           I sat in silence and regarded the congregation of slain trees covering my desk. My collar was sticking to my neck… Trying to strangle me, for God’s sake. My mouth was dry and coated with the thick taste of cheap coffee. My desktop stared into my eyes expectantly, patiently waiting for me to pound away on the keyboard like a good boy… Like I was supposed to. The bulbs may be bright, but they can’t sell themselves!  That’s what my boss Lonny loved to say. Lonny… God, how can someone be balding so terribly at thirty years old? Is it just bad genetics, or too much cortisol?

           I felt a hand clap on my shoulder. “Max-o! Lovely morning, isn’t it? Hey, in case you weren’t aware, Sweet Charade is having a bogo on donuts until the end of the week…”

           Speak of the devil.

           I swiveled my squeaky and unbalanced office chair to face my boss. “Gee, thanks for filling me in, Lonny. You know how much I love that maple-iced.” I responded, attempting to sound enthusiastic. Lonny was a nice guy, he really was. It’s really difficult to be rude to a guy like Lonny, with his premature baldness and all. You kind of had to feel sorry for him in a way, it was impossible to predict whether or not he was just one snide comment away from completely breaking down. He’s kind of unstable, emotionally. Also, his wife died last year. She fell off a cliff. No really, she did. Her and Lonny took a vacation to the Grand Canyon last August. Kept complaining about how bright the sun was and how she “couldn’t see a damn thing.” Next thing you know, she was trying to take a picture of a bird flying above and somehow managed to fall right off the edge of a cliff. Worst part is, she was eight months pregnant with their son, they were going to name him Clint... So yeah, all in all it’s pretty tough being rude to Lonny.

           “I know they’re your favorite, it’s why I told you. Oh, hey-“Lonny pulled his other hand from behind his back, revealing a bloated manila envelope”-think you could handle this for me? Just a little bit of inventory mumbo-jumbo. Nothing too serious!” He was really trying to exude a devastating level of charm, though the effort was ineffective.

           One side of the envelope was sagging down in the air under its own mind-numbing weight. I never thought an envelope could actually look depressed, it almost made me giggle. Grudgingly, I acquiesced and accepted the package with the lift of the eyebrows and a nod. I didn’t want to be mean, but I also didn’t want him to think I was thrilled about all the extra nonsense. Hell, he might’ve even pulled another folder out of his waistband or something if he got the idea I was happy about it. “Here, how about closing this deal for a thousand LED’s to the grocery store down the street as well…” No, I had enough paper, truly.

           Lonny gave me another hearty clap on the shoulder, his bulbous belly jiggling a bit from the force. Again, I had to prevent myself from giggling… I find myself doing that more frequently than I would care to admit. I get the urge to laugh at the worst times, always. “Thanks, Max. I know I can always count on you.” He confided with a smile of endearment. It was difficult to tell whether that was a positive thing or if this was going to come back and bite me in the ass. Probably the latter.

           Ole’ Lonny then gave a sly wink and swaggered off with the air of one who just successfully pawned off his work to an underling, because he could. What a bastard, I thought. He was an alright guy though, I suppose.

           After a formalized second trip to the alter, I submerged myself in the humming of the fluorescents above me and the ocean of paper before me. Seven more hours…

           At precisely 4:59pm, I slapped all of the folders shut and jabbed the power button on my computer with vehemence. My eyes burned like hell, my head was pounding from all of the caffeine, and my hands were all clammy. Very uncomfortable. God, I couldn’t help but to feel that it wasn’t worth it at the end of each day. I was constantly attacked by the bigger picture. What purpose was I serving? What kind of impact was I having on the world? I dwelled upon these questions often, but couldn’t stand beginning to think about the answers.

           After I ended my quick demoralizing contemplation, the sodden procession of rejects began to file out of the glass door. And with the exchanging of “goodbyes” and “see you tomorrows,” my co-workers fell into their hybrid sedans and putted on down the road. Usually I am pulling into my apartment complex before anyone has even started their cars, but I felt like watching today. Sometimes I like to detach myself from situations and just observe.

          Like this one time, I was sitting on one of those couches that are situated in the walkway at the mall. You know, those areas where they have four couches are situated in a square all cozy and whatnot, just in case the going gets too rough. Anyway, I was sitting on one of those couches, just watching. I peered into a shoe store and beheld a child throwing a royal fit, really overdoing it. He was around tromping everywhere, steam spilling out of his ears and all. He was screeching about a pair of shoes he wanted but couldn’t have. They were these real hip joints, green canvas with blue laces. They were disgustingly ugly, if you want to know the truth. Knowing how these retail stores are, I bet they were like a billion bucks. “I want the shoes! I want the shoes!” He was yelling.

          “I can’t get you those… I can’t. I’m sorry, you know I would...”  His father replied weakly, trying his damnedest to not contribute to the mayhem. He looked sad as hell, embarrassed even. I couldn’t tell whether he was embarrassed because he couldn’t afford the shoes, or because his son was being such an ass about it; I suppose it could’ve been a mixture of both.

          “Mommy would get them for me! Call Mommy! I want Mommy!” The kid was belligerent. Stompin’ his snow boots all around the store, trying to leave imprints in the god damn carpet. It was winter by the way, Christmas time.

          “Oh, you know I can’t do that… I’m sorry, I can’t afford the shoes son. Daddy can’t afford them right now.” He was really trying to be quiet and take control of his bratty offspring. Gosh, he looked so ashamed. I cannot stand ungrateful kids. The father ended up buying his son a cheaper pair of sneakers, to the stomping child’s dismay. I say he shouldn’t have bought him any shoes at all, the way he was acting.

          There was something disturbing and insightful about that encounter, though. If I had just been walking by and heard the kid hollering I would have thought he was acting like a bastard, and that would’ve been it. And he was acting like a bastard, don’t get me wrong. But it is intriguing how the layers of the family dynamic unravels, the more you just watch and listen. The divorced parents, the mother always outdoing the father in order to gain their son’s favor… I was able to see a man who didn’t really know what he was doing with his life, or how he’d even gotten there in the first place… He wasn’t in control, maybe he never was. Maybe he never will be. So yeah, I enjoy sitting back and observing sometimes, beats the hell out of boring conversation.

          Anyway, it was time for me to leave work. I grabbed my pointless little leather satchel and walked out the door. Outside, the air felt nice and fresh… I love the revitalizing effects of fresh air. It was especially neat that evening because there was also one of those breezes that whips really good every so often. It made me hungry. So, I decided I would grab some Chinese food on the way to my apartment. It’s on the way, and I have a huge thing for oriental food… especially lo mein noodles.

                                         II.

             Pint of greasy noodles clutched in hand, I stepped into the elevator of my building and pressed the button for the thirteenth floor, the top floor. I have a fear of heights, so initially I was not too keen on the idea of living so high up. But the thing was, I was pretty down on my luck, I suppose you could even say I was vulnerable. I needed a place quickly and this building was convenient for me… As I said, once I realized the only space for rent was on the top floor, I became a little nervous. But, the woman whom I talked to about the whole thing convinced me that rent was actually cheaper on the top floor. So, despite my uneasiness with heights of any kind, I took the place thinking I was scoring some sort of exclusive insider deal. But, after a few months of residing there and conversing with my neighbors, I learned I was paying around $96 more a month than most people in the whole god damn building. Even the other tenants on my floor were paying less than me. Something about my apartment being a “colonial” this that and the other. I don’t know. I swear to God I’m too gullible sometimes. I still had a year left on my lease.

           Up, up, up the elevator went. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, ding! Thirteen. The doors opened and I made my way down the hall. I will admit, the building itself was not too impressive. The ceilings had a few leaks, the walls were painted an awful yellow. Sometimes the air conditioner shut off randomly. But all in all, it could have been a lot worse. Everything could always be worse, don’t ever forget that.

           Of course, my special “colonial” apartment was way at the end of the hallway, number 327. As I approached my rickety door, my eyes locked onto a lone piece of mail sticking out of the little metal mailbox. A quick pulse of endorphins spread throughout my brain. I love getting mail. I pulled the envelope out. It was from the Print Box publishing company! Panic, fear, and excitement rose within my chest all at once.

           I guess I forgot to tell you. I have longed to be an author for as long as I can remember. It is my dream, I guess you could say. Unfortunately, I haven’t had any luck getting published, or even acknowledged for that matter. I have written many different stories and have sent them to every publishing house imaginable. I’ve even sent short clips to shitty magazines hoping to get a bite, to no avail. The only responses I have gotten have been rejections. Most often they don’t even take the time to respond… Trust me, it’s not like I wanted to sell lightbulbs as a career, you should realize that by now.

           And while I had never received positive criticism or encouragement in the past, it was impossible to not feel hopeful when I got a letter back from a publisher. I believed that one day my luck would shift. It had to… Right?

           I hurried and shoved the key into the door, then shot straight to the couch to read what Print Box had to say. My noodles sat on the coffee table, untouched and getting slightly cold.

           I ended up sitting frozen for a couple of minutes, staring at the front of the envelope… As if the address lines were going to tell me that it was going to be okay, this time was different. Really, I was savoring the moment. I had a certain amount of measured confidence when it came to this letter. In my opinion, the story I sent to Print Box was amazing, one of my best yet. It was a story about an inter-galactic space traveler who ends up meeting God and finding out He’s not how everyone thinks He is. I promise it’s not as crumby as it sounds. It was good. You would just have to read it.

           Life seemed to be still around me; a foreboding, ominous stillness. Blood was rushing to my ears. My hands shaking ever so slightly, I ran my finger underneath the seal, and took out the prophecy within. Please, let this be it. Please.

           It read as follows:

           “Dear Mr. Goodman,

           We received your manuscript for ‘Creator’s Paradox’. After review, we are terribly sorry to inform you that we have decided not to publish your work. It is simply not a fit for us.

Best Wishes,

Print Box Publications”

           A cold knife sank deep into my chest. What? That’s it? The letter trembled in my hands. The excitement and hope fled my body entirely, and had been replaced by sorrow and confusion, even anger. How could this be? I should have known. I shouldn’t have expected anything more. Why would this time be any different? It was then that I thought maybe I should just give up. I am no good at this, I absolutely suck. That must be it… They say to chase your dreams, but what if you are just terrible? I had never felt such dread. Maybe I was meant to sell lightbulbs for a living…

           Unceremoniously I ripped the bad news in half and let it fall onto the table. Sinking back into the frayed cloth couch, I would have been completely okay with just disappearing in that moment, I felt deflated.

           After a shameful amount of sulking, I forced down the then limp noodles, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and slid out onto the balcony.

           The night was warm, but not unreasonably so. It was that time of year when you keep a jacket in the backseat of your car, because you can never be certain which way the thermometer will flow. But even though the night was cozy, I had a rain cloud hovering over my head. I was already beginning to accept my future. The cardboard cutout life I was going to surrender to. 401k’s, strategies to improve my credit score… That sort of thing.

           I sipped my beer and looked out upon the terrain before me, in the most reflective of moods. I had to admit, the view was pleasurable from up here. I lived in the boot heel of Indiana, by the way. An area of the world where it is commonplace for urban and rural landscapes to collide, battling for a prominent grip over the territory. Upon my perch, I could see and feel the city below me: the streetlamps, stoplights, cars honking at nothing in particular, the smell of gas and concrete which invaded the nostrils. But when I looked beyond the ring of cityscape, seemingly endless fields and  small hillocks rolled into the horizon, with a strip of highway interceding here and there. The occasional semi would be finding its way through the night, like a worm over soil. It was comforting in a way, made you feel like you could always just escape if you wanted to or needed to.

           I found and traced one semi making his way across the fields. He was at such a distance, I could only distinguish him by the studded lights that adorned his truck. He looked so lonely, plodding along out there, all by himself. I wondered, was he happy? Did he choose his life for himself? Or did he just throw in the towel, like I was having thoughts of doing… I suppose I would never find out. Not like I could pluck him off the road and ask him. Or her. I shouldn’t just assume they are a man. I wonder how much truck drivers make? I heard they bring in quite a bit of dough, actually… I pictured myself taking the reigns of my own eighteen-wheeler; soaking in the sights, getting into a bit of trouble at the various truck stops. It didn’t feel right, though. For a moment I felt my skin squirm.

           The fight of two alley cats below suddenly tore me out of my trance. I noticed I was rubbing my fingers together really hard, and all of a sudden the stench of garbage filled the air. It was all discomforting. I realized that this was the moment that was going to lay the foundation for the rest of my time on Earth. Will I push onward, and become who I want to be? Or do I choose the easy, less turbulent path, and adjust. We all stumble upon this fork in the road at some point throughout our lives. Although, unfortunately, most are blind to the path tucked behind the brush, the path we were each destined to take. We only see the wider, more trodden path of conformity.

           As I stood at the helm of my splitting path, I knew within my heart which route I was going to take. There was no question… I was going to part the foliage and venture into the canopied forest.

                                         III.

             The time was getting close to ten, but I had struck a vein of determination and inspiration. I was not going to simply shrug it off and go to sleep.

           Back and forth I paced around the cramped living room. Couch. Coffee table. Television, resting upon an empty entertainment center. Plastic lamp situated in the corner. Generic cream carpeting. Bland, unextraordinary.

           I paced and paced, contemplatively gripping my chin.

           I knew I had to write something. But what should I write a story about? Gosh, I began to get nervous. In the early twentieth century, here was this Italian novelist named Cesare Pavese. There is a quote of his wherein he states, “the only joy in the world is to begin.” The only feeling I get when I begin something is anxiety and confusion… I can see where he is coming from though, I suppose. There is bound to be intrigue when diving into something new. And anxiety. Shit, where the hell did those Valium go?

           My pacing shifted its course to the bathroom. On the way I passed the boring ass photos that were framed in the four-foot-wide hallway, standing guard. A vase of flowers sitting on a patio table. A tire swing. It felt like the first time I had ever seen these pictures. So generic… So dumb. God, they made me want to puke. Why didn’t I take them down whenever I moved in? My blood pressure was rising. Fucking stock photos.

           I crashed into the bathroom and swung the mirror open. The ole’ medicine cabinet, baby. Where everyone goes when in need of a little chemical therapy. We’re all guilty…

           Sifting through prescriptions old and new, some in my name, others not, I eventually found what I was searching for. Also, upon studying the array of medications in front of me, I realized I may have a slight drug problem. Oh well, it’s not as bad as it once was.

           I recall one incident in particular from the past. I must have taken twelve Xanax bars, maybe more. I went to the park (I love the park) and was feeding some pigeons; leftover Doritos I had found in my car, they were at least four months past the expiration date. Anyway, after just tossing chips around all over the sidewalk for about half an hour, I took a particularly special interest in one of the pigeons. He was a bit smaller than the rest, and one of his eyes was circled in black. Incredibly unique, at least in comparison the others. He was really taking control of the situation too, despite his size. Really getting in there, hardly sharing any of the precious chips. Greedy bastard… I think that’s why I liked him so well.

           Anyway, I decided that I needed him. You know, with his attitude, maybe he could protect my pad or something. I don’t know, I was pretty high. So, after wrestling with him for a bit (if you can picture that), it became clear I could not just pick the rowdy fucker up. Had a lot of fight in him. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had pulled out a cigar from beneath his wing and started puffin’ at me, head all cockeyed and whatnot. “C’maaaaaaaaaan, that all ya got?” I had to regroup, construct a more inventive method of capture.

           Bingo. Easy. He may have been all brawn, but he still had an observable weakness… Doritos.

           With an inward smirk, I strategically (and sloppily) began making a trail of chip crumbs that led to the opened passenger-side door of my car. Worked like a charm, perhaps too well. The whole damn flock began tottering and flapping over to my car. At this point I realized my coveted plan may have had a detrimental absence of foresight,  I thought I was surely doomed. But as always, there was a solution. When the horde got within a few feet of my vehicle, I started kickin’ and screamin’ at all of them. They all flew away quick as can be, except for my new friend of course, the bravest of them all. Victory. I finally managed to coerce the prize fighter into my car with one last huge Dorito, and off to the races we went.

           He shit all over my seats, my dashboard, everything. God, it was terrible. Stunk like hell, too.  To make a long story short, we were never meant to be friends. He continued to mercilessly defecate all over the apartment, pecked the hell out of my ankles, he was extremely aggressive… Not house trained in the slightest.

           Needless to say, I was positively sick of this bastard by this point… I decided the best course of action would be turning him into profit. I took him down to the gas station and tried to peddle him off to the cashier for three dollars… He declined. But to be fair, I believe if he wasn’t at work and whatnot, trying to look good for his boss, he would have gone for it. He truly looked like he wanted that pigeon something fierce… Got all wide-eyed, sweat gathering at the brow. Either he wanted that pigeon, or he was deathly afraid of it. It was almost weird, his intensity.

           Yeah, I used to be kind of awful about it. That happened right after high school. I wasn’t too productive back then, sometimes I wish I could go back and change those years.

           Anyway, I quickly swallowed forty-five milligrams of Valium in the bathroom, on account of my soaring blood pressure and all. The stock photos didn’t help. Plus, I really needed to buckle down and figure out what I was going to write and how I was going to blow the socks off of the publishers and leave their feet steaming. This had to be the big one.

                                         IV.

             I set up shop in the kitchen, the only place in my apartment that has a table and chair. I had my tools for creation all laid out. A trio of freshly sharpened pencils, a pad of paper, and one of those noise machines that produces rainforest sounds and whatnot. Yes, I like those, and yes, I still believe in pencil & paper. Staring at a computer screen for extended periods of time isn’t quite healthy for you. It’s terrible on the eyes, you know. Additionally, there is something therapeutic about manually writing out each letter of a word, your hand carefully forming every one of those curves… The act feels intimate, and poking at a keyboard just isn’t the same. But I digress.

           Let’s see… Romance novels are too cheesy, you almost always know how they are going to end. I had already recently tried my hand at space exploration. Though space is endless, making the potential for stories based in space limitless as well. Still, I wasn’t really in the mood at that moment. Ugh, brainstorming is too much work, truly. This is why I like it best when the ideas come to me naturally.

           Just as I was delving deeper into thought, or trying to, my phone rang from the counter behind me. It gave me a shock, partly because it was getting so late and partly because hardly anyone ever called me.

           Casually I looked to see who my caller was. “Silas,” the screen read. Of course. Silas is an old pal from school that I kept in touch with for some reason. He’s a morally decent guy I suppose, has a good heart. He just never quite grew up.

           “Hello?”

           “Maximillian! What’s up?” He was totally stoned. In the background I could hear the bubbling of a bong along with feminine laughter. I heard something else too, faintly… Was that… Street Fighter?

           “Hey, Silas. It’s almost one in the morning, what’s going on?” I tried my darndest not to sound rude, sometimes I have a problem with that.

           “Oh, nothin’ much man…” More laughter, it caused me to wonder what the hell was so funny. “Hey, Max, do you have any molly? Need some molly… Ecstasy.”

           Initially I figured he was stoned, but he was progressively sounding more drunk than anything. Probably both. “Silas, I haven’t done molly in over three years. What the hell are you thinkin’, do I got any molly? No, I do not… Are you fuckin’ drunk?” This guy blew my mind sometimes.

           Awkward silence. More bubbling. And yes, that was certainly Street Fighter. “Damn dude, my bad… For some reason I thought you might.” More silence. Generally, it’s difficult for this man to process more than a couple of sentences at a time… Got a hell of a heart though. “Well, okay. Hey, do you know anybody who does?” He sounded wistful, maybe even a bit desperate. All the sudden I had the feeling I was not the first person he called about this. It made me sad in a way.

           I sat crisscross on the tile. Why there instead of the chair? I don’t know, it’s what I felt like doing then, okay? I liked the fresh perspective. “No, ‘fraid not. Haven’t touched the stuff in a long time.” Pause. “What the hell ya been up to anyway, Silas?” I was genuinely interested. I began picking at the tile with my fingernail.

           “Uhhh, nothing really. I-…” He really had to think about what he had been up to. “Went to a Cannibal Corpse concert last week. Yeah, concert and stuff.” He sounded like he was about to fall asleep, or become a corpse himself. God, look at all that dust beneath the fridge…

           Just then, I got a wonderful idea. “Gee, that sounds like loads of fun. Hey, Silas. If you were going to write a story, what would it be about? You know, if you were just going to write a story or something… About anything.” I was curious. I wanted to squeeze his mushy brain and see what came out. Plus, the Valium had me feeling a bit conversative.

           The line was quiet for awhile. I could’ve sworn he had fallen asleep, phone pinned between his shoulder and cheek, slobber dripping from his chin. “-A story? Story… Probably about a barbarian or something. Barbarian who has a club and nails chicks in his cave. Like Conan, I guess.” Silence… “Hey, Conan nailed chicks in caves, right?” He was asking someone next to him.

           Boom, inspiration flooded the inside of my head, almost making me dizzy. How didn’t I think of this before?

Obviously, his idea was stupid. But the barbarian aspect intrigued me. How fun would that be? A barbarian who finds himself in a world of magic. Brings it back to Earth for the betterment of humanity. I don’t know, something silly like that. Something people will read, something that will keep them entertained.

           Silas focused his attention back to me. I had almost forgotten I was on the phone with him. “Max, buddy. Hey, Max. Do you have any molly, by chance?”

           I didn’t have the time for this anymore. I needed to get to work. “Sorry, gotta go. Goodbye, Silas.” I hung up the phone. Krosmere… That’s what his name will be.

           I bounced up from the floor and positioned myself back at the table.

           I took a deep breath, turned on the trusty rainfall machine, and poised my pencil. It was time to craft the legacy of Krosmere, rogue barbarian. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been so excited to start something. I was now beginning to feel the meaning of Cesare Pavese’s words.

                                        V.

             A ray of early morning sun dove into the kitchen from the window above the sink, casting the table before me in an orange-red glow. There I was, hunched over my papers, clad only in an old white tee-shirt and a pair of pinstripe boxers. Every hallow in my body had filled with salty perspiration.

           Truly, I had not realized how late it was getting. Or, rather, how early… I risked a glance at the clock on the oven. “5:41am” it read in its obnoxious neon green radiance. Somewhere down the hallway I could hear the maddening wail of my alarm clock trying to be a voice of reason or something, I suppose. How did I not hear that until now? BAH, BAH, BAH, BAH, BAH. God, I just wanted to throw the damn thing against the wall. I have done that quite a few times already. Like after Cinco De Mayo last year. Threw that motherfucker so good it flew out of my room and smacked the wall in the hallway. Or after the Colts lost the Super Bowl. Hell, it wasn’t even morning time, and I’m not into sports! I just went into my room and punted the sumbitch right into the ceiling. I can be childish sometimes. There was also that one time when my ex-girlfriend threw the alarm clock at me… Does that even count? I don’t know. My alarm clock is actually quite beaten up, I should probably buy a new one.

           “5:47am”. As I sat there a couple more moments, I felt intruded upon. As if the sun was invading my privacy, putting me on a stage for all the world to laugh at. Don’t you hate that?

           I strutted to my bedroom, sticky boxers and all, and silenced the howling beast. On my way out, after tripping over an extension cord gone awry, I stood face-to-face with the blasphemous stock photos. Those motherfuckers were taunting me, I know they were. The flowers! The fucking tire swing! Are you kidding me? Rage flared within me. I seriously could not begin to tell you why or how I allowed these abominations to remain for so long. They really made me want to puke.

           Instinctively I tore the frames from the wall and stomped back to the kitchen with them tucked under my arm. I could’ve sworn to God they were burning me with their wickedness, their phoniness.

           I found myself in front of the window, the same window the damn sun broke in through. I disengaged the lock and threw it open. A blast of chill air sucked inward, air you could tell was leftover from the night. It had a nice smell. It was then that I realized how muggy it had been in the kitchen. Like two (or more) people were in here having sex all night or something. If only.

           I peered outside into the shifting sky. You know, there isn’t a lot to brag about in Indiana, but the sunrises are absolutely beautiful. Picturesque, you could say. Deep reds that bleed over the entire Earth, splashes of orange, streaks of lavender. They are serene.

           I felt a searing on my side. Pulling the photos out from my arm, I flung them out into the open air without so much as a last glance. I suppose I could have thrown them in the trash, but then they would still be inside the apartment. They had to be eradicated, and immediately. With pleasure I envisioned gravity pulling them down, down, down, all thirteen floors, where they would meet their well-deserved demise on the sidewalk below. Gosh, I hope they don’t hit anything… An afterthought.

           It took only a grain of sand in the hourglass of our universe for the photos to collide with the pavement, marked by a satisfying crash. Later some would testify that a dog’s yelp followed just after the commotion, but I heard no such thing.

           Smug and triumphant with a menace destroyed, I turned on my heel, only to be blasted with more joy as my gaze fell upon my papers on the table. Oh, my work! My lovely work!

           The lack of sleep, the now sweat stained boxers… It had all been worth it. I had spent all night crafting the structure for what I know, without a doubt, will be my best story ever. The big one.

           I had finished the outline, was already on the second chapter of the story. Hell, I even sketched out a picture of ole’ Krosmere. A muscle-bound barbarian. Thick, long brown hair (like mine). I made him only have one nipple, though. You know, to add character and all that. Really, I am a terrible artist. I couldn’t draw my way out of a two-dimensional square if I had to.

           I still had about three hours until I needed to start selling lightbulbs, which was fine with me. You can do a lot in three hours, if you really try. I figured I could make some breakfast, get cleaned up, maybe even go for a walk. Working through the day without a wink of sleep was not something I really looked forward to, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. Adderall. I’m fairly sure I had someone’s script in my cabinet still. You know, for emergencies and the like.

           With a newfound pep in my step, I threw the pan onto the rusted stove and began cracking some eggs, whistling along with the birds perched among the rooftops outside.

#writing #fiction

[takerfoxx]

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, Season 4, Episode 13, First Impressions!

“Don’t…do it.”

Well, haha, okay, things are fucked!

Right, right, okay. So, lots to cover, but the long and skinny of it, nearly everyone we know kinda lost big time.

Glimmer lost. Her plan to reactivate the Heart of Etheria backfired as predicted. The truth of the weapon horrified her, and now she is the “honored guest” AKA captive of none other than Horde Prime himself, with her hated enemy Catra to thank for her continued existence.

Hordak lost. All of his attempts to conquer Etheria in order to impress Big Brother were ultimately for naught, because as it turns out, Horde Prime don’t give two shits about any of that! All Hordak managed to do was just give himself individuality, which Horde Prime finds gross and casually obliterates, re-assimilating Hordak into the collective. I mean, it turns out that Hordak was a name he gave himself! He wasn’t supposed to be a powerful and worthy servant of Horde Prime, he was just supposed to be another cog in the machine! Hell, at one point he even didn’t want to go back, specifically when he was with Entrapta! Oh, my heart.

Adora lost. Yes, she managed to overcome Light Hope’s control and stop the superweapon, thereby saving both Etheria and the galaxy at large, she also had to destroy the sword in order to do so and annihilate Light Hope, cutting off her connection to She-Ra and rendering herself powerless. Yeah, I know she’s still She-Ra and will figure out how to use her power without the sword, but consider how much of a blow that must have been. The sword was must have felt like the thing that made her special, and Light Hope really was her mentor. And now it’s all gone, and she’s (from her viewpoint) just Adora now, with her friends still in danger and Horde Prime now in control.

Also, can I just take a second to point out how awesome that bit about Light Hope’s internal struggle was, with her snapping back and forth between Mara’s Light Hope and the current one? That whole “Don’t…do it” thing with her tone changing was genius, and actually got me misty-eyed.

Catra...sort’ve lost, but also didn’t. On the one hand, her complete and utter breakdown was finally completed. Hordak learned of her deception and straight -up tried to kill her, thereby rendering all of her plans that she desperately put so much of her hopes of validation into completely moot. And sure, she did manage to defeat Hordak in single combat (and oh man, that fight was incredible!) because that’s what she does, but in the end, she was left with nothing! No Horde, no allies, no conquest, and all of her friends were gone, either by having left her for her enemies and/or having been driven away. And then who should show up to further drive in the knife than the person with the most talent at breaking people down?

Double Trouble’s scene with Catra was magnificent, pure cinematic gold. They used all of their vast knowledge of everyone that Catra felt betrayed by or had driven away to hit her again and again, laying bare all the lies she had been telling herself and showing her for the terrible person she had become. And yeah, I had seen that picture of them as Adora pressing Catra’s hand to their cheek and thought that it was a legitimate reunion, but the truth was just so much worse.

However, it’s telling that the person they saved for last wasn’t Adora, wasn’t Hordak, wasn’t Shadow Weaver, or Entrapta. It was Scorpia, the one person who accepted Catra unconditionally, didn’t leave her due to a conflict of ideals, wasn’t trying to use and manipulate her, or had been backstabbed by her in a moment of panic. Scorpia left because she could no longer be around Catra, because Catra was abusing her like she had been abused by others. It was the final proof that Catra had become everything she hated.

And she just takes it.

She doesn’t protest, doesn’t deny, doesn’t attack DT even though she probably could have. She just cowers and lets it happen. Because it’s exactly what she needed to hear.

DT gets away and technically is one of the few characters to end this season by getting ahead, but while I’m sure they certainly enjoyed their performance of breaking Catra down, I can’t help but feel that it was in part benevolent. As if in, DT genuinely was fond of their little kitten and laid out some harsh truths for her own good. Doesn’t mean they didn’t enjoy every second of it though, being the neutral agent of chaos that they are.

God, that scene was so good.

However, having the full weight of that realization come crashing down on her turned out to be good for Catra, painful as it must have been. Because it snaps her out of her breakdown and gets her back on her game, and thanks to a bit of quick thinking and a silver tongue she manages to save Glimmer, Etheria, and (I assume, time will tell) get into a position of power with Horde Prime.

And you know what? I’m calling it now; this is the start of her redemption arc. I honestly think that her reasons for saving Glimmer were benevolent, and she’s going to try to help her former nemesis. Also, I’ve mentioned how Glimmer and Catra are foils for one another before, but any ever notice that Catra has one black sleeve on her right arm and Glimmer has one white sleeve on her left. ENEMY BONDING AHOY!

In regards to Horde Prime, I love that everyone was predicting him to be like this big, hulking monstrosity, like Hordak on steroids or something. Instead, while he is bigger, it’s not by much, and his design is actually more androgynous, with a very muted color scheme, all whites and pale greens. And yet…it really works for me. It kinda drives in his fixation with order and perfection. And I love how he’s unfailingly polite and gracious while committing atrocities, only to snap at the sight of Hordak’s “imperfection.” I wouldn’t say he’s terrifying like a giant berserker would be, but he is incredibly intimidating. I am very much on board with seeing more of him.

But then, it could also be his uncanny resemblance to another favorite villain of mine...

Look, I’m just saying, the similarities are there.

Scorpia getting juiced up on the Black Garnet was fucking incredible. I love how giddy she was with her new powers, but also remaining true to herself, even apologizing when she hit Catra’s henchmen too hard. And even with the things the way they are, she still asked Glimmer not to hurt Catra, and her first instinct when everything went to shit was to seek out Frosta and Perfuma to help them, even though she barely knew them (that’s my girl!). Oh, I hope the Runestones are still working so Scorpia can keep her powers, and I love that she’s a full-fledged princess now. Though I do wonder: what happened with that Fire Princess that supposedly got corrupted? Is that graphic novel canon? If so, what happened to her Runestone, and why wasn’t it included during the power up?

And one final note: good on Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio for finally deciding that they’ve had enough and splitting.

Y’know, I really do love this show. It just makes me happy. I love these characters, I love their personalities, I love their relationships with one another, I love their world, I just really love this show. And while I do not want it to continue past its planned end-point, I am going to miss it when it’s gone.

End. Scene.

#she ra and the princesses of power #she ra #spop #adora #bow #glimmer #catra #entrapta #scorpia #hordak #horde prime #reaction

[blackistory]

History

Club Harlem was founded in 1935 by Leroy "Pop" Williams on the site of a dance hall called Fitzgerald's Auditorium.[a] Williams was a medical student at University of Pennsylvania when he managed to acquire enough money to buy Fitzgerald's; he left college after becoming the owner of the nightclub.[2] Williams gave the new nightclub the name of the Manhattan neighborhood because "a lot of black people live there".[3][4] The district, known as "Kentucky Avenue and the Curb", had become the home for African Americans in the racially segregated city since the end of World War I.[5] The new nightspot joined other popular black entertainment venues in the district such as Grace's Little Belmont, the Wintergarten, and the Paradise Club.[5] Along with Harlem's Cotton Club, it was a place for the moneyed set to enjoy an evening of African-American entertainment.[6] When the club opened in 1935, there were slot machines along with a basketball court on the top floor of the building.[7] In the 1940s the club became known as Clifton's Club Harlem.[8]

Club Harlem in 1940

In July 1940, Club Harlem, Little Belmont, the Paradise Club, and the Wonder Bar were targeted in a midnight raid by police officers, accompanied by the newly elected mayor, Tom Taggart, seeking proof of illegal gambling activities.[b] The police confiscated "three truckloads of gambling paraphernalia" and arrested 32 club owners and employees, then shut down the four clubs.[10] The next day the clubs were open for business as usual.[11][12][c]

In 1947, showman Larry Steele introduced an all-black revue called Smart Affairs to Club Harlem. The elaborate show, featuring 40 to 50 acts including comedians, singers, showgirls, chorus lines, and dance numbers, was headquartered at the club through 1970, and also toured throughout the United States and abroad between the 1940s and 1960s, including venues in San Juan, Puerto Rico, Adelaide, Australia, and Toronto, Canada.[14][15] The budget for the "Smart Affairs" shows ran as high as US$35,000 per week. The shows were on a par with Broadway productions.[16] Smart Affairs productions grossed between $400,000 and $500,000 annually by the early 1960s.[14] Steele also founded the Sepia Revue and Beige Beauties chorus lines at the club.[14] Entertainer Lola Falana was discovered by Sammy Davis, Jr. while working in Club Harlem's chorus line.[17]

In 1951 Williams and his brother, Clifton Williams, brought in other partners, including Ben Alten of the Paradise Club.[4][d] By 1954, Williams and Alten owned the Club Harlem and the Paradise Club, operating both under joint ownership.[18][e] The club employed 200 people in 1964. Its busiest time was during the tourist season from mid June to Labor Day.[19] Alten described the club's most profitable time as being between 1959 and 1977. On the weekends, between 20 and 25 buses from areas in the Northeastern United States arrived, bringing guests who wanted to see the club's shows.[2]

By 1968, Williams began having difficulty booking some African-American entertainers into the venue. He wrote an open letter to baseball star Jackie Robinson, who had a regular column in the Pittsburgh Courier newspaper. The entertainers in question did not want to work at venues catering to African Americans.[20] After the death of Pop Williams in 1976, Alten's new business partner was businessman Calvin Brock.[2] Alten and Brock refurbished the club, but business was never as good as it was in the past.[2]

Description

Club Harlem was outfitted with two lounges and a main showroom seating over 900.[4] A cocktail lounge had room for 400 guests with continuous entertainment available. The club was equipped with seven bars;[2][16] the front bar alone accommodated nearly 100 people.[21] Guitarist Pat Martino recalled in his biography: "In the front room at Club Harlem you had two stages for two different groups. Willis Jackson would do forty minutes, and then Chris Columbo's band would do forty minutes. They'd split sets all night long. And in the large back room you had singers like Sammy Davis with an orchestra. That was an incredible place".[22] Weekends at Club Harlem started on Friday night with the two bands alternating sets; the music kept going until Monday morning.[2]

Shows

For more than 50 years, the Harlem was the place in Atlantic City to see the best shows, hear the best musicians and have the best time.

The Philadelphia Inquirer, July 28, 1987[3]

The club scheduled matinees, nighttime shows, late-night shows, and a 6 a.m. "breakfast show" during the summer tourist season.[3][23][24] The music played from 10 p.m. Saturday night to 6 a.m. Monday morning.[3] "Celebrities, politicians, and tourists" often arrived in the early morning hours after the clubs on the white side of town had closed, and white performers such as Frank Sinatra, Milton Berle, and Lenny Bruce would go up on stage.[3][25][26]

Top-name black musicians also dropped by "to jam and develop their skills".[24] Musician Kelly Swaggerty, who was with Tadd Dameron's band at the time, remembered a jam session with Clifford Brown, Art Farmer and Joe Gordon that began at the Paradise Club and was continued at Club Harlem as the musicians wanted to continue playing.[27][f] Long time Atlantic City disc jockey Pinky Kravitz recalled that by 3 a.m., there were up to 1,000 people in line, waiting for the breakfast show to begin. In addition to the show itself, any celebrities sitting in the audience were called up to the stage and would perform.[17][29]

Drummer Chris Columbo, who conducted the club's orchestra for 34 years,[24][30] remembered that the early morning shows were the most vibrant because the other clubs in town were closed and many of those who were appearing at them were now at Club Harlem jamming with the club's musicians.[3][25] Johnny Lynch was in charge of the house band of 14 musicians, which was integrated. The band was well regarded among musicians. It was said that if you were in the Club Harlem band for the summer, you were a fine musician. Young men who wanted to become professionals often quit their regular jobs in summer to play with the Lynch band.[2]

The leading black entertainers of the day appeared at Club Harlem, including comedians Dick Gregory, George Kirby, Moms Mabley, and Slappy White; singers Cab Calloway, Billy Daniels, Billy Eckstine, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Lena Horne, Sarah Vaughan, Dinah Washington, and Ethel Waters; and jazz musicians Louis Armstrong, Count Basie, Nat King Cole, Wild Bill Davis, and Duke Ellington.[24][31] Daniels first performed his signature song "That Old Black Magic" at Club Harlem in 1942.[3] Guitarist Pat Martino has stated that as a younger man he would play at Smalls Paradise in New York City for six months and then perform in the summer at the Club Harlem.[32] Racism, however, prohibited many of these performers from appearing at clubs on the south side of town, where white families lived. However, in the 1950s Frank Sinatra came from the 500 Club to Club Harlem to perform with Sammy Davis, Jr., and sang with Davis, a member of the Rat Pack, back at the 500 Club.[31] Lonnie Smith recorded a live album, Move Your Hand, at Club Harlem in 1969.[33] Even in its waning years in the 1970s, Club Harlem continued to attract contemporary black stars such as Harry Belafonte, Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, Redd Foxx, Marvin Gaye, Leslie Uggams, and Dionne Warwick.[34]

[lareinemarie]

Media’s Lack of Compassion Regarding Serial Murders of Black Women

Media's Lack of Coverage and General Society's Lack of Compassion Regarding Serial Murders of Black Women

"This thing is serious business, until we know women are safe in this community, we will be out here every year," - Activist Kathy Wray of the Imperial Women Coalition

"We all know, if these young women had been white, the whole town would have been shut down, until it was solved."- Commenter Mike at Abagond regarding the Henry Louis Wallace serial killings of 11 young Black women in Charlotte

"The police don’t care because these are black women… . It’s not like Lonnie killed no high-powered white folks.  We don’t mean nothing to them.  We’re black. What the @@@@. Just another @@@@@ dead.  The @@@@ should not have been out there on drugs.”

Pamela Brooks, in “Tales of the Grim Sleeper”

This year will be the 10th anniversary of the Imperial House Murders(Anthony Sowell), the 25th anniversary of Henry Louis Wallace(Taco Bell Strangler), and the 40th anniversary of the  Boston Murders.

This will be a year-long series on how mainstream media and society disregards the serial murders of Black women in America.  Eleven years ago, I wrote a blog post, Crimes Against Black Women:  Four Cases regarding the neglect of media and police coverage regarding murders of Black women by people of all races and ethnicities as well as the insensitivity of the general public.  I going to discuss the Anthony Sowell murders, along with the Grim Reaper, and of course, Henry Louis Wallace(a.k.a. Bad Henry).  There has been other serial murderers of Black women in the past and current centuries.  Such as Gary Heidnik who murdered several Black women in the Philadelphia area.  Benjamin Atkins in Detroit in 1991-1992 murders of 11 women.  East Cleveland killer Michael Madison.  Larry Bright killed eight Black women in the Peoria area back during 2004-2005.  The Gary Indiana killer back in 2012.  The still unsolved serial murder case in Rocky Mount, N.C. in 2009.  But my focus will be on the four cases at hand.  The  police  should have warned that a murderer in the community and to make sure community has an input in solving murders and to bring the perpetrators to justice.  How the media should have had more sensitivity to those who are marginalized.

There will be at least four parts to this subject.  Because this is repeatedly ignored by the general public, society and media. Professor Cheryl L Neely of Oakland(MI) Community College discussed this lack of attention and police indifference in her debut book, You're Dead, So What.  She discussed at length how media, law enforcement, and the general public indifference to Black female victims of homicide.  She give examples and comparison between the murder of Imette St. Guillen and Stepha Clark.  How the media and the police treatment of such women are base upon socioeconomic class and race.  

We all know that mainstream media often saturate missing and murdered women with stories about beautiful, middle class White and Latina female victims such as Chandra Levy, Mollie Tibbitts, Nixzmary Brown, Laci Peterson, Kate Steinle, etc. There's a label for the aforementioned victims, coined as  the "Missing Beautiful White Woman Syndrome."  They're also considered victims deserving of sympathy, compassion, and empathy. Sure, the pedestalization of White American women help solidify the idea of young, beautiful White women as worthy of remembrance. They, along with lighter-skinned non black women of Color are the standard of beauty in America today.   We Americans still refer to celebrity White women as American Sweethearts who captured the hearts of Americans and others worldwide.  They're considered as sweet, easy on the eyes, and personable.  Also, non black women and girls get the assumption of innocence regardless of circumstances.

In contrast, society have very little compassion for Black women victims of crime, let alone serial killers.  As a matter of fact, Black female victims are labeled in American society and media as being

"loose", "fast", "crackheads", "runaways", drug users, "sluts","whores", "thots", mentally unstable, "baby-making machines", and "welfare queens". Likewise, the mainstream American media and the general public tendency to label Black females as "street women", "Chickenheads","prostitutes",  "ghetto","junkies", "ratchet" and so on.  For a very long time, Black women academics long contended that the controlling images of Black women(Jezebel, Mammy, Sapphire, Welfare Queen, Crackheads, etc.) are employed to stigmatize an already marginalized group of women. The jezebel stereotype especially. That stereotype justified abuse of Black women by White and Black men since slavery.  Such abuse rarely invoke outrage from the public.  That needs to change.

Speaking of the Madonna/whore ideology. From historic times, society in general always label women as either good, chaste women, wives, mothers, nuns or they're loose women, prostitutes, and mistresses/courtesans.  Renaissance artists reflected societal views of women through the Madonna paintings by famous artists Lippi, Botticelli, Raphael, etc., or nude paintings such as the Venus of Urbino by Titian.  

In American society, the Madonna/whore ideology is strong, tinged with class and race components.  White and other non black women, especially East Asian women are considered the "sacred Madonna" while Black, Native American, and certain Latinas, especially the Caribbean Latinas are labeled as "bad women" deserving of their fate.  This view is far more widespread as the lack of coverage, the disparaging remarks in and out of cyberspace, and general indifference on the part of law enforcement to solve murders of Black women in America and Indigenous women in Canada.  

The Madonna/whore mythology were used in how the public reacted to murders of Black women, the Heidnik, the Larry Bright, Gary Ridgeway, the Sowell case and the Henry Louis Wallace cases in particular.

For example, the Cleveland convenience store owner showed sympathy to Anthony Sowell, whom he said in the Unseen interview that "he took out the garbage".  That's a blatantly hateful remark.  He saw the victims, living and dead, of Anthony Sowell as being "worthless" and "undeserving" to him. He labelled the victims as worthless drug addicted and prostitutes(which most weren't)

Again using the Madonna/whore ideology in connection to the slow reaction on the part of Charlotte police in connection with the Henry Louis Wallace serial murder case, a concerned young woman  named Angala Grooms in East Charlotte stated that the police did not care because they viewed the pretty young Black female murder victims of Henry Louis Wallace:  

"I feel like they wrote us all off as some fast little black girls who didn't really matter."

The Madonna/whore ideology strategy was used by the defense during the Henry Louis Wallace trial as well.  

In the December 2014 issue of Vanity Fair article covering the Grim Sleeper and how law enforcement turned a blind eye to the serial murder of Black women, Franklin’s son Christopher describes meeting L.A.P.D. officers who asked if they could shake his hand, aware that he was the son of the Grim Sleeper. Broomfield was dumbstruck by the revelation. “Christopher told me his father had a lot of fans in law enforcement. Some police officers actually admired Lonnie for ‘cleaning up the streets.’ That seemed, to me, too incredible—that a serial killer could be a person who was respected within certain sections of law enforcement

Unfortunately, those attitudes are widespread in society, seeing poor, Native American, Latina, and Black women as being of lesser value than other American women.  

There's a deeply troubling disparity in reporting the disappearance and homicides of female victims reflects racial inequality and institutionalized racism in the social structure.

Oftentimes when reporting, there's a considerable bias when it comes to Black American female murder victims.  The reporters always want probe into the backgrounds of such women, their sexual histories, criminal records, the neighborhoods where they reside, their work/education backgrounds, history of drug/alcohol addictions, and whom their associations were as if they had done something wrong to cause their demise.  

They were rarely described in the media as being attractive, beautiful, smart, intelligent, serious, wonderful wives, good mothers, or pretty.  Those descriptions are reserved for middle/upper class and/or famous non black victims.

With precious few exceptions, there are very few media outlets cover Black female homicide/serial murder victims with sympathy and compassion.  

The Cleveland victims of Anthony Sowell  received coverage and even some compassion from local newspaper journalists. Writer Steve Miller wrote a compassionate book focusing on the victims and their lives in the book, Nobody's Women:  The Crimes and Victims of Anthony Sowell. They didn't focus too much on the victims' drug/alcohol addictions, criminal records, poor family lives, etc.  Instead, they discuss about their lives before circumstances took them away.  Even the Grim Sleeper victims are rehabilitated by author Christine Pilasek in her book, The Grim Sleeper:  Lost Women of South L.A.  Of course, the beautiful victims of Henry Louis Wallace.  Although they didn't get much coverage outside of Charlotte, they were written sympathetically as well.  

Ten years ago, I wrote a blog post about violence against Black women.  I wrote this in an attempt to get America and the world to acknowledge the violence done to Black women in America.

So many people, lurkers, scholars, crime experts came to this website for knowledge and information.  However, I will discuss the various serial murders of Black women in full detail and to bring more awareness to the public.  Here's the link to my old blog post:

https://httpjournalsaolcomjenjer6steph.blogspot.com/2007/08/crimes-against-black-women-four-cases.html

This will be at least ten segments regarding media and societal disregard for Black women and girls who are victims of serial murder.  They're not in the media and the general society don't care in the least about them unless they're passing judgment regarding Black serial murder victims like the owner of a Cleveland convenience store featured in the 2016 documentary, Unseen.

Black women and girls were devalued both in life and death.  

That attitude needs to change.

In the year-long series, I will be discussing at length the Anthony Sowell murders and his victims, living and dead.  How the city of Cleveland neglected impoverished Pleasant Hill neighborhood, the failings of the police, the residents, and business owners in detecting the murders and the smell of death along with it, the fallout of the Sowell case, and of course, the survivors of  Sowell.  Their voices matter as well.

In the second series, I'll do a lengthy series on the victims of Henry Louis Wallace.  Third, the Grim Sleeper, and finally the 1979 Boston murders and how feminists and Black groups organized to bring awareness of the murders of Black women in Boston.

Here is the outline of the upcoming segments regarding serial killers of Black women:

I   Anthony Sowell:   The Imperial House Murders

     A.  The Victims and Survivors of Anthony Sowell

                   Deceased Victims

         1.  Tonia Carmichael

         2.  Tishana Culver

         3.  Leshonda Long

         4.  Crystal Dozier

         5.  Michelle Mason

         6.  Kim Y. Smith

         7.  Amelda Hunter

         8.  Nancy Cobbs

         9.  Diane Turner

       10.  Janice Webb

       11.  Telacia Fortson

         Survivors

                 1.  Latundra Billups

         2.  Vanessa Gay

         3.  Shawn Morris

         4.  Gladys Wade

         5.  Vernice Crutcher

         6.  Melvette Sockwell

   B.   Media Coverage and Trial

          1.  Trial

          2.  Witness testimonies

          3.  Testimonies from Survivors

          4.  Sentencing Phase

   C.   Legacies

         1.  Documentaries

              a.  Unseen

              b.  Vice's Right Red Hand:  The Cleveland Strangler

              c.   Investigation Discovery Killer Instinct

         2.  Books

              a.  Nobody's Women by Steve Miller

              b.  House of Horrors by Robert Sberna

         3.  Memorials

              a.  Proposed 11 Angels Memorial

         4.  The Victims' families' continued pain  

              a.  Lawsuit and subsequent settlement with the City of Cleveland

              b.  Lack of counseling for the victims' families

              c.   Survivors of Sowell and their perspectives

               5.  Activism

              a.  Kathy Wray of the Imperial Women

         6.  Podcasts

II  Henry Louis Wallace:  The Taco Bell Strangler, a.k.a Bad Henry

         A. The Victims and their lives

          1.  Tashonda Bethea

          2.  Sharon Lavette Nance

          3.  Caroline Love

          4.  Shawna Denise Hawk

          5.  Audrey Ann Spain

          6.  Valencia Michele Jumper

          7.  Michelle Denise Stinson

          8.  Vanessa Little Mack

          9.  Brandi June Henderson

        10.  Betty Jean Baucom

        11.  Debra Ann Slaughter

     B.  Media Coverage and Trial

           1.  Venue change and jury selection

           2.  Trial and Sentencing

     C.  Legacies and Memorials

           1.  Mothers of Murdered Offspring

                a.  Dee Sumpter-  Shawna Hawk's mother

                b.  Objectives of the organization

           2.  Documentaries and Movies

                a.  Investigation Discovery Bad Henry

                b.  Southern Fried Homicide:  Too Many Women

                       3.  Academic Case Studies

           4.  The Victims' families' legacies

                a.  Tribute To The Victims of Henry Louis Wallace

           5.  Memorials

                           6.  Podcasts

                       7.  Sheriff Gary McFadden

III  The Grim Sleeper Murders/South Side Murders in Los Angeles

                A.  Why so Long?

          B.   Police and Public Apathy

          C.   Victims

          D.   Arrest and fallout of the LAPD

                 a.  Labeling of victims:  NHI(no human involved)

                 b.  Troubling support of the serial murderer by the LAPD

          E.   Trial and Sentencing

          F.    Media and Academic Studies

                 1.  Book:  The Grim Sleeper: The Lost Women of South Central                          L.A.

                 2.  Only Good Victims Need Apply:  Tales of the Grim Sleeper

                    G.   Activism

                 1. Margaret Prescod

IV   The Boston Murders

                 A.  The media coverage of victims

                 1.  Criticism

                  B.  Feminists and Black community criticism of the handling of the                    murders

                 1.  Six Black Women:  Why Did They Die?

                      a.  Combahee River Collective

                           1.  Barbara Smith

[lfthinkerwrites]

Meanwhile, Back at Gotham Academy

...So, I haven’t been linking the last few chapters of this to my tumblr. Whoops.

Let’s get caught up a bit.

Previous chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7

Meanwhile, Back at Gotham Academy...

"Attention, students. This is Principal Hugo Strange. Classes are now over for the day. Those students serving detention will remain on campus until 2:30 and those attending club meetings may remain until 3:00 pm. All students must be off campus by 3:30 pm or face severe consequences. That is all."

Harley took her seat at the head table in the chemistry lab and clapped her hands. "Alright! Everybody's here! Did you all bring the stuff?"

Kristen nodded in the last seat on the left. "I've got the graham crackers."

To Harley's left, Pamela put a box of chocolate bars down on the table. "I brought free-trade chocolate."

Next to Kristen, Selina put a wine bag down. "I brought the wine."

"And I've got the marshmallows and toothpicks!" Harley cheered. "Girl's Day is on!" She lightly jostled Penelope, who was sitting to her right. "And ta think, you wanted to stay in your office and work! Aren't ya glad ya came here instead?"

"We'll see," Penelope said, still looking a bit unsure. "How exactly are we going to make smores?"

"Oh, that's easy," Harley said. She reached to a bunsen burner that was set up in the middle of the table and turned it on. "Ta-da! Instant indoor campfire!" She stuck a marshmallow onto a toothpick and held it over the blue flame. "Come on, Penny! Grab a marshmallow!"

"Maybe later," Penelope said, her eyes wide at the open flame.

Pamela scoffed. "One would think with how many 'conferences' you've been to that you'd be used to these sort of shenanigans."

"Well, we've never had an open flame at the 'conferences'," Penelope muttered. "Not yet at least. Anyway," she said in a clearer tone. "What are our plans today?"

"You're looking at our plans," Selina said, pouring wine into plastic cups and passing them around the table. "Wine, smores-"

"And gossip!" Harley said. "It'll be just like a slumber party!"

Penelope and Pamela exchanged a look, then took a long sip of wine. Heavy footsteps alerted the women to the presence of another person in the room. Principal Strange had appeared in the room and was giving each and every one of them a disapproving look. "Ladies, and I do use that term lightly."

Harley gave him a cheeky wave. "Hiya, Hugie."

Strange's left eye twitched. "You know I detest nicknames, Ms. Quinzel."

Harley frowned. "Hey! That's Dr. Quinzel! I didn't go through med school just to be called 'Ms.' Quinzel!"

Strange sucked in a breath between his teeth. Escaping punishment from Superintendent al Ghul had emboldened the faculty to the point they were no longer intimidated by Strange. More was the pity. "Excuse me, 'Dr.' Quinzel." He turned his gaze to Kristen. "I am leaving for my meeting with the school board. I trust that everything will be taken care of in my absence, Ms. Kringle?"

"Yes, Principal Strange," Kristen answered while opening her box of graham crackers. "I can more than handle the administrative duties. I'm also in communication with Vice Principal Gordon regarding the trip."

"Excellent," Strange nodded. Then he turned his cold gaze to the three Sirens. "Coach Bolton is handling the students in detention. Under no circumstances are you to interfere unless at his request. In return, he will leave you to your own devices. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, Strange," Pamela said with a mocking salute. "Run along now. I'm sure the school board is waiting."

Strange's face colored, then he recovered. "Ladies. Enjoy your 'girl's day." He stomped out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Harley blew a raspberry.

"Well," Selina said. "Now that he's gone, what's on the agenda first, girls?"

A buzzing sound from Penelope's phone answered that question. Pamela rolled her eyes. "Edward?"

"Yes," Penelope answered, reading the text. "Oh my. It seems that Neil ate a rancid spanakopita and vomited on Karlo, which then caused their second fistfight of the day. Mockridge has given them fast passes so they can go on rides for the rest of the day."

Selina poured herself some more wine, then lifted her plastic cup up. "A moment of silence for the poor boys on the field trip today."

"Hear hear!" Harley agreed, raising her glass. Kristen, Pamela, and finally Penelope followed suit. She watched as the other four women lowered their glasses to take sips, then dissolved into laughter. She bit her lip.

"Selina?" she asked. "The three of you didn't cheat to stay at the school together, did you?"

Selina put a hand to her chest in mock affront. "Us? Cheat! Why we never!" Then she smirked and gestured to Kristen. "The keeper of the straws on the other hand."

Kristen laughed. "Mea culpa."

Penelope shook her head and took another sip of wine. She made a note to herself not to tell Edward about this. As insufferable as he could be when he was proven wrong about something, he was even worse when he was proven right. She looked back up from her cup to see that the other four women were looking at her, Selina, Harley, and Kristen with curiosity, Pamela with something that looked almost like pity. "What?" she asked.

"Speakin' of Eddie," Harley leaned forward. "You're up first for gossip, Penny! You and Eddie are gettin' pretty serious now, aren't ya? Do ya think you'll get married?"

Penelope felt her face flush and she took a larger gulp of wine. She almost wished she'd gone along on the trip.

Coach Bolton walked up and down the length of the detention room, looking over the three boys in his custody. Lonnie Machin, Jason Todd, and Roy Harper. Troublemakers, all of them. Spoiled little rich boys who thought the world owed them something. He'd bring them in line if it was the last thing he ever did. Finally, he walked back to the front of the room and behind his desk. "Do you three know what you need more than anything?"

Jason leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head and regarded Bolton with cold contempt. "To get out of this school?"

Bolton banged on the desk with a closed fist. "DISCIPLINE!" he yelled. None of the boys so much as flinched. "You three," Bolton continued. "You think that just because you have rich daddies, that you can do whatever you want, whenever you want."

"I'm not rich," Lonnie interrupted. "I got in this school on a scholarship. Don't lump me in with these two class traitors-"

"Get bent, Lonnie," Jason shouted. "I was born in the Narrows. I didn't choose to get adopted by a billionaire-"

Bolton banged his fist on the desk again. "SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU!" Both boys fell silent, though they continued to glare at each other. Roy sat in a desk next to Jason with his feet propped up on the seat in front of him and a bored look on his face. "You three think you're such bigshots. Well, you're not! You're just a couple of little boys, acting like men." Bolton punched his hands together. "Well, you won't be little boys after I get through with you. When you leave my detention, you'll leave as real MEN!"

"That sounds dirty to me," Roy sassed. He looked at Jason. "Does that sound dirty to you, Jay?"

Jason snorted. "Sure does, Roy. I think we need an adult!"

"I am an adult!" Bolton shouted. "I know exactly what you two are doing," he glowered. "You won't break me! I'm not that spineless Vice-Principal Gordon!"

"Dork Squad broke you first, Coach," Jason said. "Speaking of which Roy, you smell something?"

Roy smiled, then wrinkled his nose. "I sure do Jay! Smells like a broken Port-o-Potty!"

Bolton's face flushed. "Keep yucking it up, you little brats," he seethed. "I can do this all day."

Jason and Roy exchanged a knowing smirk with each other. "'I can do this all day?' That's what Mr. Nashton said to Doc Young the other day in the teacher's lounge, isn't it Jay?" Roy asked his friend.

"That's what I heard," Jason said. "And they did it, all day. Now that's a real man, Roy."

Bolton gnashed his teeth. "Nashton's a sweater vest wearin' wimp! He's not a real man!

Jason smirked. "He's the sweater vest wearin' wimp who got the woman you wanted. If he's not a 'real man', what does that make you?"

Bolton's face went white, then he walked to the door of the classroom and stepped out, slamming the door shut behind him. As soon as he was gone, Jason and Roy laughed.

"Too easy," Jason laughed. "Did you see his face? It was like we kicked his grandma!"

"That was a low blow," Lonnie muttered. "But I'll admit, it is nice to see that sad sack of toxic masculinity be taken down a peg."

Jason smiled. "Lonnie, you might be alright. Look, Roy and I are gonna bust out of detention after we break Coach. You in?"

Lonnie rubbed his chin. "I'm in."

Before Jason could say anything else, Coach Bolton stormed back in, murder in his eyes. "Alright, you little shits," he said through grinding teeth. "You want to play hardball? We can play hardball." He placed a stack of paper and a pencil in front of each boy. "Write 'I am a failure' 500 times!"

Jason picked up his pencil. "Got it, Coach. We'll write, 'Coach is a failure' 500 times each."

"No!" Bolton shouted. You'll write 'I am a failure'!"

"Yeah, we'll write 'Coach Bolton is a Failure,' just like you asked, Coach," Roy said.

Bolton let out a frustrated scream. The three boys simply looked at each other and smirked. It wouldn't be long before they'd have Coach crying on the floor and be on their way to freedom.

#high school teacher au #it's back...

[alchemicalterror]

You’ve been acting pretty buddybuddy with Anarky lately. Any reason why?

I like kids, used to want to be a father. Plus, I see him at Arkham from time to time, which is - speaking from experience - exactly when you’d wanna know at least someone in this godforsaken place has your back.

Besides, he’s clever, and clever oughta be cultivated.

                         Dr. J. C.

#Jonathan Crane #Scarecrow #DC Askblog #Answers #Regarding Lonnie Machin #Askanarky #Hey nonnie nonnie #Hey Nonnie Nonnie

[metropolis-is-for-the-weak]

The Bolton Inquiry #1 [Transcribed by Becky Albright and Lonnie Machin]

Harvey: Is it on?

Salem: Mmhm, relax Harv, not like Bolton can explain why the list of thirteen testimonies cramped down to five.

Harvey: I'm gonna stuff that son of a bitch-

Jonathan: Into a trash compactor?

Harvey: A woodchipper is more effective.

Jonathan: What is this? The movie Fargo?

[Joker snorts]

[Gavel bangs on the council table]

Leland: We've called this inquiry to address allegations I have been hearing for the past few months.

Salem: You've had these allegations.

Jonathan: Joan doesn't want to be accused of bias. You know her job relies on it.

Joker: I never thought I'd miss Aaron Cash.

[the room goes silent as Roman enters]

Leland: We appreciate your appearance Mr. Sionis but we'd appreciate punctuality.

Roman: I was caught up at work, my apologies.

Joker: What's Masky doing here?

Jonathan: Janus Industries has a pharmaceuticals branch, they supply Arkham with most of its medications.

Harvey: Both of you need to shut the fuck up.

[Leland clears her throat]

Leland: Certain allegations have been brought to my attention regarding our new Chief of Security, Mr. Lyle Bolton. Mr. Bolton, patients and staff alike are claiming you disregard policy, and this inquiry itself was called by Commissioner Gordon.

Bolton: Then by all means, let them talk.

Joker: I've got a broken hand that calls bullshit on that statement!

Salem: Mr. Napier will you please sit down?

Joker: Yes Miss Jackson I'd love to.

Leland: I'd like to call up Dr. Harleen Quinzel to testify.

[Harley stands and approaches the center of the room]

Leland: According to records you've been pointing out serious breaches of policy.

Harley: I might've noticed some things.

Salem: Dr. Quinzel, please be truthful.

Bolton: Miss Jackson, I don't think you can make claims of a patient's honesty.

Salem: But I can tell when a patient is uncomfortable, unlike you.

Harvey: Don't provoke him Salem.

[Salem scoffs]

Harley: Sometimes he's a little too rough with the collared patients. I'm not sure if he forgets or if he just ignores the policy but he's been using the collar to shock Mr. Mavis.

Leland: Mr. Bolton, is this true?

Bolton: I don't believe we need to coddle a single metahuman above the rest of them?

Leland: Mr. Mavis suffers from epilepsy, by our policy, the inhibitor collar on him cannot be used to administer shocks.

Bolton: He can survive a small shock.

Leland: Dr. Crane, could you please inform the bar of the effects of electric shocks on a patient with epilepsy?

Jonathan: It tends to trigger petit mal seizures, but repeated shocks can cause the instance of all seizures to spike.

Leland: By policy, we also only administer shocks for high levels of belligerence in those patients.

Harley: He does it when any of us misbehave.

Leland: Even non-collared patients?

Harley: Yes sir.

Bolton: Oh for the love of-

Jonathan: Smell that? It's fucking justice.

Harvey: No it's Roman smoking a cigarette inside a courtroom like an asshole.

Leland: Thank you Dr. Quinzel. I'd like to call up Mr. Harvey Dent next. Mr. Dent's therapist is our present intern, Miss Salem Jackson. Miss Jackson is primarily here to help Mr. Dent's condition from acting up.

Salem: Thank you ma'am.

Bolton: Are we sure this young lady can be trusted with a man significantly taller than her.

Jonathan: She talks back to you all the time.

Joker: He did break my hand to keep me from talking.

[Bolton stands and starts towards Joker, Jonathan stands in his way]

Bolton: Move Crane.

Jonathan: No.

Bolton: Zsasz isn't here to save you this time.

Jonathan: He should've never had to in the first place. You just get a kick out of treating us like trash.

[Bolton punches Jonathan and grabs Salem's phone]

Bolton: You little-

[End transcript]

#transcript #bolton

[therandombanjo]

Songs From 2018 (one per artist)

Another mixed bag of stuff i either enjoyed a lot, thought was excellent or interesting (regardless of taste… sort of), emerging artists to maybe look out for, and generally music that for whatever reason connected with me in some way, including the odd earworm i just couldn’t shake. Hope you enjoy some of this too and find something new to be taken by. There’s a spotify playlist (below) for easier listening but for the music that wasn’t on there, i’ve posted links next to them so do check them out! Spotify:

(As ever…. as i don’t tumblr or blog or anything (besides this list), this won’t be seen by many (if any?) people so if you like it or think it’s of any worth in any way, please do share this along)

In Alphabetical order:

The 1975 - Love It If We Made It

700 Bliss - Ring The Alarm         (Moor Mother & DJ Haram collab)  

Advance Base - Your Dog      (Owen Ashworth is a longtime favourite and always love what he puts out. Such a gifted lyricist and such an empathetic deliverer, just always cutting deep, just always sounding uniquely him. The records & artists he’s putting out on his Orindal footprint are really impressive too - Julie Byrne, Gia Margaret, Dear Nora - so do keep an eye out on those releases)

Aidan Moffat & RM Hubbert - Quantum Theory Love Song

Alasdair Roberts w/ Amble Skuse & David McGuiness - a. The Fair Flower of Northumberland b. Johnny O’the Brine (One of my favourite records this year, a quietly inventive old folk beaut from one of my favourite singers on earth. Included two as a. exemplifies his singing that i love so much and b. better highlights the inventiveness of the record)

Alison Cotton - All Is Quiet At The Ancient Theatre

Amen Dunes - Miki Dora

Anderson .Paak - 6 Summers

Angelique Kidjo - Once In A Lifetime        (From her complete re-imagining of the Talking Heads classic Remain In Light record, with all her Benin spirit infused)

Anna & Elizabeth - Mother In The Graveyard

Anna Calvi - As A Man

Aphex Twin - T69 Collapse

Aqueduct Ensemble - Cut Grass I

Arctic Monkeys - Four Out Of Five        

Armand Hammer - Alternate Side Parking       (Elucid & Billy Woods)

Arp - Reading a Wave

audiobooks - Call of Duty Free

Barry Walker - Late Heavy Bombardment

Beach House - Dive

Ben Vince - What I Can See     ft. Micachu

Big Red Machine - Forest Green          (Justin Vernon (Bon Iver) & Aaron Dessner (The National) project. I’m likely never not gonna be into Justin’s work, he’s always stretching himself with virtually no regard to expectation and always finding interesting and new spaces)

Birds Of Passage - Another Thousand Eyes

Black Midi - bmbmbm      (Heard about them non-stop all year, about being this incredible live band, and all teenagers, so been intrigued for quite some time. Virtually no online presence, remaining somewhat mysterious, and only a couple of pieces to go by, but curious to see what’s coming from them) https://soundcloud.com/speedywunderground/sw024-black-midi-bmbmbm

Blocks & Escher - One Touch     

Blood Orange - Saint

Bodega - Name Escape

Bonny Doon - I Am Here (I Am Alive)       

Bruce - Elo

Capitol K - Fennel Dance

Cat Power - Stay

Channel Tres - Controller

Chris Carter - Cernubicua

Christina Vantzou - Some Limited and Waning Memory

Christine & the Queens - 5 Dollars

Colter Wall - Wild Dogs

Cool Maritime - Mossage

Cornelia Murr - Man On My Mind

Courtney Marie Andrews - May Your Kindness Remain

Damien Jurado - The Last Great Washington State

Daniel Avery - Slow Fade

Daughters - Long Road, No Turns

David Thomas Broughton - Drifting Snow       (An old, unreleased recording lying around, brought out as a seasonal single, and i think it’s beautiful. My favourite live performer, and i would encourage anyone who sees this to check him out both on record and if he's ever in a town near you.) https://davidthomasbroughton.bandcamp.com/track/drifting-snow-seasonal-single

The Dead Tongues - Pale November Dew

Dear Nora - Simulation Feels       (12 years away, and back after renewed interest in their re-issued Mountain Rock LP last year courtesy of Owen Ashworth’s (Advance Base) Orindal Records)

Deux Trois - Roy

DJ Koze - Muddy Funster     ft. Kurt Wagner       (It’s probably fair that “Pick Up” is the best song on the record, but I’m a sucker for Kurt so liked this one a lot too)

Dolphin Midwives - Mirror

Doug Paisley - Drinking With a Friend

Drinks - Real Outside

Durand Jones & The Indications - Don’t You Know

Earl Sweatshirt - Nowhere2go

Earth Eater - Inclined

Emily Fairlight - Body Below      

Empress Of - When I’m With Him

Eric Chenaux - Wild Moon      (Most likely my favourite record from this year, if not any it feels right now. I’m fully begulied by it. Fair play to you if you recognize the sounds you hear as a guitar!)

Erin Rae - Bad Mind      

Erland Cooper - Solan Goose

Ezra Furman - Suck The Blood From My Wound

Fatoumata Diawara - Kanou Dan Yen

Field Report - Every Time

Flasher - Who’s Got Time?

Frog Eyes - Pay For Hire

Fucked Up - a. Normal People or b. Came Down Wrong   ft. Jennifer Castle & J Mascis

Gabe Gurnsey - Ultra Clear Sound

Georgia Anne Muldrow - Blam

Gia Margaret - Groceries     (Wonderful debut on Orindal)

Glenn Jones - The Giant Who Ate Himself

Grouper - Driving

Hailu Mergia - Tizita

Haley Heynderickx - Oom Sha La La

Hatchie - Sure

Helena Hauff - Hyper-Intelligent Genetically Enriched Cyborg

Hen Ogledd - Etheldreda       (The great Richard Dawson’s experimental group, connecting the ancient/medieval with the present in a way that definitely rewards with more listens)

Hermit & The Recluse - Sirens       (New project from the rapper Ka, who continues to fascinate, with producer Animoss. This time the concept record combining his personal street stories with Greek mythology, with Orpheus vs The Sirens)

Hilary Woods - Kith

Homeboy Sandman & Edan - #NeverUseTheInternetAgain       (Nice to hear Edan once again after so long, and especially with a favourite of mine in Homeboy Sandman)

Ian William Craig - Discovered In Flat

Idles - Danny Nedelko         (Probably my favourite song of the year, and one of the most beautiful, impassioned & dearly needed statements of love & community we need right now. The video moved me to damned tears, it’s so beautiful)

The Innocence Mission - Green Bus

Institute of Landscape Architecture - Melting Landscapes       (field recordings documenting Alpine glaciers and their changing landscape) https://landscapearchitecture.bandcamp.com/releases

James Blake - If The Car Beside You Moves Ahead

Janelle Monáe - Make Me Feel

Jean Grae & Quelle Chris - Gold Purple Orange

Jeff Tweedy - I Know What It’s Like

Jennifer Castle - Tomorrow’s Mourning

Jenny Hval - Sleep

Jeremy Dutcher - Mehcinut

Jerry David DiCicca - Watermelon

Jessica Pratt - This Time Around         (Massive fan of Jessica and this is without doubt one of my absolute favourite songs this year)

JFDR - My Work (String Version/Live)

John Prine - Summer’s End

Jon Hopkins - Emerald Rush

Joseph Shabason - Forest Run       (From his 2nd record, Anne, a touching record on his mother’s Parkinson’s Disease featuring interviews with her over his ambient, sax-effected work)

JPEGMAFIA - 1539 N. Calvert

Julia Holter - I Shall Love 2

Julia Jacklin - Head Alone

Kacey Musgraves - Slow Burn       (I was late to this record, but i may have listened to it more than any other come December-time.)

Kadhja Bonet - Delphine

Kamasi Washington - Fists of Fury

Kathryn Joseph - From When I Wake The Want Is

Kelsey Lu - Shades Of Blue

Khruangbin - Maria También

Kim Petras - Heart To Break       (There’s actually a chance this is my favourite song of the year)

Kurt Vile - Bassackwards

Lambchop - The December-ish You

Landless - The Trees They Grow Tall

Laura Cannell & André Bosman - Golden Lanes At Dusk

Laurence Pike - Life Hacks

Leikeli47 - Girl Blunt

Let’s Eat Grandma - Falling Into Me

Lisa O’Neil - Factory Girl [trad]        

Lizzo - Boys

Lonnie Holley - I Woke Up In A Fucked-Up America

Louis Cole - Real Life     ft. Brad Mehldau      

Low - Quorum

Lucinda Chua - Whatever It Takes      (experimental cellist & composer who, as well as making expansive, looped soundscapes, also writes and sings in an equally spellbinding fashion)

Lucy Dacus - Night Shift

LUMP - May I Be The Light        (Laura Marling & Tuung’s Mike Lindsay collab)

Maarja Nuut & Ruum - Kuud Kuulama

Maggie Rogers - Fallingwater

Makaya McCraven - Butterss’s

Malibu Ken - Acid King           (Aesop Rock & Tobacco collab)

Marie Davidson - Work It         

Marisa Anderson - Cloud Corner

Mary Lattimore - It Feels Like Floating

Maxine Funke - a. Boy On The Bow or b. One Step a. https://maxinefunke1.bandcamp.com/track/boy-on-the-bow b. https://maxinefunke1.bandcamp.com/track/one-step

Mich Cota - Kijà/Care                (Two-spirit Canadian Algonquin artist who, after seeing her supporting Baby Dee at Cafe Oto very recently, had me excited for the bangers to come!)

Michael Nau - Funny Wind

Milo - Stet

Miss Red - Dagga

Mitski - Nobody

Moses Sumney - Rank and File

Moulay Ahmed El Hassani - Yak Ennas Mlklil Darou Labas 

Mount Eerie - Tintin In Tibet      

Mountain Man - Rang Tang Ring Toon      (8 years since their last record, and so good to hear their harmonies once again. Ever as beautiful and transportive, but this time more wiser. It’s a really lovely record and such a needed balm)

Nap Eyes - Every Time The Feeling

Nathan Bowles - Now If You Remember          (Didn’t know this was a cover, originally by Julie Tippetts, but it lodged itself in my head pretty good. Aquarium Drunkard rightly suggested an album or two back that, if Banjo Futurism is a thing then Nathan Bowles would likely be leading the pack. The remainder of this record definitely reflects that)

Nathan Salsburg - Impossible Air

The Necks - Body https://thenecksau.bandcamp.com/album/body

Neko Case - Hell-On

Nils Frahm - My Friend The Forest

Noname - Ace       ft. Saba & Smino

Nostrum Grocers - ‘98 gewehr         (Milo & Elucid collab)

Oliver Coates - A Church

The Orielles - Bobbi’s Second World

The Other Years - Red-Tailed Hawk

Ought - Desire

Our Native Daughters - Mama’s Cryin’ Long      (New group project with Rhiannon Giddens, of Carolina Chocolate Drops, inspired by New World slave narratives and reclaiming/restoring black women’s stories)

Panda Bear - Dolphin

Parquet Courts - Wide Awake

Penelope Trappes - Burn On

Peter Broderick - Words Of Love       (An unreleased Arthur Russell song Peter got to record after befriending friends and family of the great man. Part of a free album Peter released of Arthur Russell covers at Christmas featuring one other unreleased song. Do check it, it’s lovely)

Phosphorescent - Christmas Down Under        (I could pick many from this record, but the sci-fi-like presence in the vocals gives it a strangeness and position i really loved)

Preoccupations - Espionage

Pusha T - Come Back Baby

Richard Swift - Broken Finger Blues        (Such a dear and sad loss. I actually included this song a few years ago when Aquarium Drunkard featured it, so feel like i should select a different one from this most-recent record.... but dammit if it doesn’t highlight the very best of Swift’s talents).

Richmond Fontaine - Horses In Las Vegas https://richmondfontaine.bandcamp.com/track/horses-in-las-vegas

Robby Hecht & Caroline Spence - Over You

Rocheman - Parades I & II        (Caught/discovered Rocheman supporting Jenny Hval earlier this year in a church, and was really into it so I’m looking forward to seeing where it goes from here)

Rosali - I Wanna Know

Rosalía - Pienso en Tu Mirá

Rosanne Cash - She Remembers Everything

Roy Montgomery - Outsider Love Ballad No. 1   ft. Katie Von Schleicher

Saba - Life

Sam Gendel & Sam Wilkes - BOA

Sam Lee & Peter Wiegold - Rambling Boys

Sandro Perri - In Another Life 

Sarah Davachi - Third Hour

Sarah Louise - Bowman’s Root

The Scorpios - Mashena

The Sea & Cake - Any Day

Seabuckthorn - Disentangled

Seán Mac Erlaine - Cotter’s Dream

Serpentwithfeet - Bless Ur Heart

Shad - Magic    ft. Lido Pimienta

Shannon & The Clams - The Boy

Shit & Shine - You Were Very High

Sidi Touré - Djirbi Mardjie

Sidney Gish - I Eat Salads Now

Snail Mail - Heat Wave

SOB x RBE - Paid In Full

Soccer Mommy - Your Dog

Sons of Kemet - My Queen Is Harriet Tubman

Sophie Hunger - I Opened A Bar

Sophie Hutchings - Repose

Sorry GIrls - Waking Up

Sourakata Koita - Ha-Madi     (I don’t usually include too many - if any - reissues, but i love kora music and this record, “en Hollande” (’84), was a great discovery this year)

Stella Donnelly - Boys Will Be Boys      (I was sure i had this in last year’s list when it was a single, but appears not so including it now with the album release).

Steven A. Clark - Feel This Way

Suuns - Make it Real

Swamp Dogg - Answer Me, My Love

Szun Waves - Constellation

Terje Isungset - Blue Horizon     ft. Maria Skranes   (all the music is played by intruments made of ice)

Theo Alexander - Matter of Balance

Tierra Whack - Black Nails or Hungry Hippo      (A record of 15 one-minute tracks, full of ideas and all kinds of fun. Check out the “Whack World” short film for the record) 

Tim Hecker - Keyed Out

Tinashe - Throw A Fit     (Came across this song randomly via a Youtube video of dancer Jojo Gomez, and the attitude of it all just kind of thrilled me)

Tirzah - Gladly

Toby Hay - Bears Dance

Tom Demac & Real Lies - White Flowers

Tomberlin - Seventeen

Tracey Thorn - Queen

Tracyanne & Danny - It Can’t Be Love Unless It Hurts    (I think, actually, that Jacqueline off the record would edge my choice here, but i needed a little more Tracyanne (Camera Obscura) in here to highlight the two of them)

Tropical Fuck Storm - You Let My Tyres Down     (Aussie band made up of various Aussie bands, most recognizably Gareth Liddiard of The Drones, with an excellent debut record “A Laughing Death In Meatspace” that along with their name fits the music on this record. It’s acerbic, feral, sardonic, and plain great)

Ty Segall - Every 1′s A Winner        (Just an absolute killer Hot Chocolate cover, of all things!)

Ursula K. Le Guin & Todd Barton - Heron Dance

Valee - Womp Womp     ft. Jeremih

Valotihkuu - Walking Through Dew Drops On The Lawn

Vera Sola - Small Minds

Vince Staples - FUN!

Virginia Wing - The Second Shift

Witch Project - Manifest

Womans Hour - Don’t Speak       (So great to hear them finally return)

Wooden Shjips - Red Line

Y La Bamba - Mujeres

Yo La Tengo - a. You Are Here and b. Ashes

Yoshinori Hayashi - Overflow

Zilla With Her Eyes Shut - Whatever It Is

#2018 #music #2018music #songs #year-end #yearend #endofyear #end of year #2018songs #bestsongs #diverse #eclectic #inclusive #list #songsof2018 #bestmusic #best

[alchemicalterror]

Okey dokey: Ideal vacation assuming it’s all expenses paid, you can bring your fave person with you, and you can choose the time, place, and length of your trip.

That narrows it down! Don’t wanna snub the girls in favor of one another, so they’re out, but if all expenses are paid....

If ‘all expenses’ includes things like nabbing a body a fake id and some half-hearted attempts at gambling, I’m nabbing this kid I know and we’re hitting Vegas, there’s enough shows down there to keep a couple fellas entertained by the spectacle of it all for a week and change; hear they opened up some pretty aquarium even, and got sword fights going on in the streets, it’d be fun.

Else... Hell, I dunno. Eddie, how d’you feel about a free jaunt to go look at Da Vinci’s workshop and all that old world science in Italy or something?

#Jonathan Crane #Scarecrow #Batman Scarecrow #DC Askblog #Answers #Regarding: #Lonnie Machin #Edward Nygma #Link is for your OOC benefit #Not actually Jon's doing. #Hey Nonnie Nonnie