#you should have seen the garbage people were saying about said hate crime

[black-rose-writings]

Some homophobe: *makes a very direct threat on facebook about shooting up a vigil for two victims of an anti-gay hate crime* (The exact words were: “I know where to bring my machine gun”)

Police: *arrests him for threats of violence and terrorism*

Twitter trash: Thought policing! What about the people who say mean things about pro-russia people? Such a double standart!

#I hate czech twitter #you should have seen the garbage people were saying about said hate crime #dropping f-slurs like they're snowflakes in winter #most of the homophobes in the comments are pro-russia #because that's just how it be i guess #people don't choose to be gay #but these people are actively choosing to be selfish and dumb #ant the 'threats' against pro-russia idiots mostly boil down to calling them traitors and collaborants #which they are #and saying 'hey remember when we used to hang people for collaborating with our enemies? Good old times' #my country doesn't have the death penalty for anything anymore #there is no serious advocacy for bringing it back either #there is no real direct threat #just people being angry at idiots who wants us to be a russian colony so long as gas is cheap #these people want LGBT people dead or suffering #forgive us for being a little mean to them #czech #čumblr

[mishafletcher]

Are you a Gold Star lesbian? (Just in case you don't know what it means, a Gold Star lesbian is a lesbian that has never had the sex with a guy and would never have any intentions of ever doing so)

So I got this ask a while ago, and I've been lowkey thinking about it ever since.

First: No. I am a queer, cranky dyke who is too old for this sort of bullshit gatekeeping. 

Second: What an unbelievable question to ask someone you don't even know! What an incomprehensibly rude thing to ask, as if you're somehow owed information about my sexual history. You're not! No one—and I can't reiterate this enough, but no one—owes you the details of their sex lives, of their trauma, or of anything about themselves that they don't feel like sharing with you.

The clickbait mills of the internet and the purity police of social media would like nothing more than to convince everyone that you owe these things to everyone. They would like you to believe that you have to prove that you're traumatized enough to identify with this character, that you can't sell this article about campus rape without relating it to your own sexual assault, that you can't talk about queer issues without offering up a comprehensive history of your own experiences, and none of those things are true. You owe people, and especially random strangers on the internet, nothing, least of all citations to somehow prove to them that you have the right to talk about your own life.

This makes some people uncomfortable, and to be clear, I think that that's good: people who feel entitled to demand this information should be uncomfortable. Refusing to justify yourself takes power away from people who would very much like to have it, people who would like to gatekeep and dictate who is permitted to speak about what topics or like what things. You don't have to justify yourself. You don't have to explain that you like this ship because this one character reminds you a bit of yourself because you were traumatized in a vaguely similar way and now— You don't have to justify your queerness by telling people about the best friend you had when you were twelve, and how you kissed, and she laughed and said it was good practice for when she would kiss boys and your stomach twisted and your mouth tasted like bile and she was the first and last girl you kissed, but— 

You don't owe anyone these pieces of yourself. They're yours, and you can share them or not, but if someone demands that you share, they're probably not someone you should trust.

Third: The idea of gold star lesbians is a profoundly bi- and trans- phobic idea, often reducing gender to genitals and the long, shared history of queer women of all identities to a stark, artificial divide where some identities are seen as purer or more valuable than others. This is bullshit on all counts.

There's a weird and largely artificial division between bisexuals and lesbians that seems to be intensifying on tumblr, and I have to say: I hate it. Bisexual women aren't failed lesbians. They're not somehow less good or less valid because they're attracted to [checks notes] people. Do you think that having sex with a man somehow changes them? What are you so worried about it for? I've checked, and having sex with a man does not, in fact, make your vagina grow teeth or tentacles. Does that make you feel better? Why is what other people are doing so threatening to you?

Discussions of gold star lesbians are often filled with tittering about hehe penises, which is unfortunate, since I know a fair few lesbians who have penises, and even more lesbians who've had sex with people, men and women alike, who have penises. I'm sorry to report that "I'm disgusted by a standard-issue human body part" is neither a personality nor anything to be proud of. I'm a dyke and I don't especially like men, but dicks are just dicks. You don't have to be interested in them, but a lot of people have them, and it doesn't make you less of a lesbian to have sex with someone who has a dick.

There's so much garbage happening in the world—maybe you haven't noticed, but things are kind of Not Great in a lot of places, and there's a whole pandemic thing that's been sort of a major buzzkill? How is this something that you're worried about? Make a tea, remind yourself that other people's genitalia and sexual history are none of your business, maybe go watch a video about a cute animal or something. 

Fourth: The idea of gold star lesbians is a shitty premise that argues that sexuality is better if it's always been clear-cut and straightforward—but it rarely is. We live in a very, very heterosexist culture. I didn’t have a word for lesbian until many years after I knew that I was one. How can you say that you are something when your mouth can’t even make the shape of it? The person you are at 24 is different to the person you are at 14, and 34, and 74. You change. You get braver. The world gets wider. You learn to see possibilities in the shadows you used to overlook. Of course people learn more about themselves as they age.

Also, many of us, especially those of us who grew up in smaller towns, or who are over the age of, say, 25, grew up in times and places where our sexuality was literally criminal.

Shortly after I graduated high school, a gay man in my state was sentenced to six months in jail. Why? Well, he’d hit on someone, and it was a misdemeanor to "solicit homosexual or lesbian activity", which included expressing romantic or sexual interest in someone who didn’t reciprocate. You might think, then, that I am in fact quite old, but you would be mistaken. The conviction was in 1999; it was overturned in 2002.

I grew up knowing this: the wrong thing said to the wrong person would be sufficient reason to charge me with a crime.

In the United States, the Defense of Marriage Act was passed in 1996, clarifying that according to the federal government, marriage could only ever be between one man and one woman. It also promised that even if a state were to legalize same-sex unions, other states wouldn't have to recognize them if they didn't want to. And wow, they super did not want to, because between 1998 and 2012, a whopping thirty states had approved some sort of amendment banning same-sex marriage.

Every queer person who's older than about 25 watched this, knowing that this was aimed at people like them. Knowing that these votes were cast by their friends and their families and their teachers and their employers. 

Some states were worse than others. Ohio passed their bill in 2004 with 62% approval. Mississippi passed theirs the same year with 86% approval. Imagine sitting in a classroom, or at work, or in a church, or at a family dinner, and knowing that statistically, at least two out of every three people in that room felt you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone you loved.

Matthew Shepard was tortured to death in October of 1998. For being gay, for (maybe) hitting on one of the men who had planned to merely rob him. Instead, he was tortured and left to die, tied to a barbed wire fence. His murderers were both sentenced to two consecutive life terms in prison. This was controversial, because a nonzero number of people felt that Shepard had brought it upon himself.

Many of us sat at dinner tables and listened to this discussion, one that told us, over and over, that we were fundamentally wrong, fundamentally undeserving of love or sympathy or of life itself.

This is a tiny, tiny sliver of history—a staggeringly incomplete overview of what happened in the US over about ten years. Even if this tiny sliver is all that there were, looking at this, how could you blame someone for wanting to try being not Like This? How can you fault someone who had sex, maybe even had a bunch of sex, hoping desperately that maybe they could be normal enough to be loved if they just tried harder? How can you say that someone who found themself an uninteresting but inoffensive boyfriend and went on dates and had sex and said that it was fine is somehow less valuable or less queer or less of a lesbian for doing so? For many people, even now, passing as straight, as problematic as that term is, is a survival skill. How dare you imply that the things that someone did to protect themself make them worth less? They survived, and that's worth literally everything.

Fifth, finally: What is a gold star, anyhow? You've capitalized it, like it's Weighty and Important, but it's not. Gold stars were what your most generous grade school teacher put on spelling tests that you did really well on. But ultimately, gold stars are just shiny scraps of paper. They don't have any inherent value: I can buy a thousand of them for five bucks and have them at my door tomorrow. They have only the meaning that we give them, only the importance that we give them. We’re not children desperately scrabbling for a teacher’s approval anymore, though. We understand that good and bad are more of a spectrum than a binary, and that a gold star is a simplification. We understand that no number of gold stars will make us feel like we’re special enough or good enough or important enough, or fix the broken places we can still feel inside ourselves. Only we can do that.

The stars are only shiny scraps of paper. They offer us nothing; we don’t need them. I hope that someday, you see that, too. 

#queer stuff #lgbtq #gold star lesbians #long post #sorry #Anonymous

[goldengoddess]

you’re my home - kaz brekker

pairing: kaz brekker x heartrenderi!reader

request: hi!can i request a kaz brekker x reader where they were childhood friends but she had to leave because she was a grisha, and later at the fete they see each other again and she ends up helping the crows?thank you!!have a great day!

a/n: hey i hope this is what you like! i based it more off the show and just switched things around,,,, this is absolutely cheesy and i hate it and i didn’t know how to end it pls forgive me omg

warnings: normal heist stuff, like one curse word?

kaz brekker had changed since the last time you saw him. 

to start, he was taller. he’d grown at least two feet. he’d also grown into himself, he didn’t look like the lanky boy that you had once pulled out of the garbage can that one time. and he had a noticeable limp, something that he hadn’t had when the two of you had last talked. his clothes were different too, he was wearing a little palace guards uniform. 

but you knew who he was anyways. 

his voice was the same, the same comforting sound that invaded your dreams on a good night and had you screaming on a bad night. when you heard him whispering you whipped your head around in panic. he was leaning down talking to suli girl in hushed and angry tones. 

when had he become a palace guard? you wondered to yourself, how hadn’t you noticed before? why was he in ravka of all places?

a silly thought came into your head, was he looking for you?

but you pushed the thought away, moving close enough to listen but not to get caught. 

“take your position” you heard him say to the girl, also in guards uniform.

she moved away silently, too silently. 

kaz straightened himself and surely enough turned his head in your direction.

his eyes were also the same. they were the same color the same look. but they were hardened and cold. the eyes of a boy who had done everything too survive. even the things that he didn’t want to do. 

his face was shocked for only a fraction of a second before he regained his composure and faced the rest of the room. standing straight and poised like any of the other palace guards.

had he not recognized you? no, that couldn’t be it. the two of you had grown up together, yes you had changed but not enough that he wouldn’t know who you were. maybe he resented you. for leaving. for being grisha. for having been taken away and saved from the streets of ketterdam unlike him. 

you remembered the day they had taken you away.

you and kaz were huddled in the corner of the room away from the rest of the kids your age. 

the two of you were been inseparable. stuck together like glue, everyone said.

both of you worked the shitty jobs in the barrel. the ones no one else wanted to do. you ran around the streets delivering packages and messages. you would clean up anything that needed cleaning. the two of you were survivors.

kaz never talked about his brother or how he’d ended up working the streets like this, but you knew, even then as a little kid, you were all he had. 

but nothing good ever lasted for little kaz brekker.

when the grisha examiners landed in the harbor of the city, all of the children running around making trouble on the street were forced to get tested.

you and kaz weren’t any different. 

you tried to hold onto him as the adults gripped to your arm, testing your for abilities in the small science. when they determined that you were grisha, and promised you a wonderful life at the little palace, they had to rip you from kaz’s arms.

the both of you were wailing and protesting, saying that you wouldn't go anywhere without the other. but eventually the fight left you and you let them drag you away from your only family to a country you didn’t know 

you snapped back to the reality of the party going on around you. kaz still looked stoic and unphased a few feet away from you, as if your presence didn’t affect him at all. 

but his presence affected you tremendously. 

you had whined and cried when you first made it to the palace but you had loved your life here. being surrounded by other grisha, other heartrenderers. people who could do the same things as you. understood the need to use your powers. and you couldn’t deny how comforting it had been to settle into a life where you didn’t have to worry about whether you could make enough money to eat. 

you thought of kaz all the time. you thought of everything you had left behind but the only thing that had really mattered to you in that horrible place was kaz. you wondered what had become of the young boy you knew in the years since you had seen him.

just as you were about to make a move to talk to him, two squallers were storming in the direction of kaz and the silent girl he had been talking too before. 

the two of them shared a look and started walking in opposite directions. kaz walked past you, sparing you the fastest look ever. a look no one else would have even noticed. but you did because kaz brekker, your child hood best friend was finally in front of you. 

the hurried and suspicious steps of your fellow grisha, set off an alarm in your head. even when the two fo you were little, kaz was good at getting out of sticky situations. he has a gift for scheming and the sleight of hand.

he was here on a job, you concluded.

you waited a few seconds and then snuck away, following kaz out of the room where the main events of the fete were taking place. 

you walked in just in time to see the inferni make a move to attack kaz. you raised your arms and the grisha dropped like a stone. kaz turned around in a fighting stance and froze when he saw you. he kept his hands in fists, as if he was waiting for you to attack him too. 

you dropped you hands, “what are you doing here kaz?”

he dropped his hands as well but you could tell he was still on guard and looking for a way to leave the room.

"i don't have to explain myself to you” he all but growled at you.

you stepped away from him, like his words had physically wounded you.

he seemed to regret the words and took a couple of steps closer to you. 

“i’m here on a job and i really need to go find my team so if you’ll excuse me” he tried to move to the door that was behind you. 

“let me help” you said, almost desperate. he had just come back into your life, and yes it seemed like he resented you but you couldn’t let him go just yet. 

he looked at you skeptically but nodded his head, “i need to get to the courtyards with the carriages. can you take me there.”

you nodded and started leading the way. you turned through many different hallways, moving up and downstairs. every now and then you held up a hand for kaz to stop, as you listened for a heartbeat nearby. 

“you’re good at that” he mumbled, gesturing towards your heartrender movements. 

you nodded your head, a shy smile. “yeah i’ve had a lot of practice here.”

his face turned gloomy at that and you realized you had said the wrong thing. “yeah. i know” he said curtly. 

you stopped for a minute, turning to look at kaz in the dimly lit hallway.

“i’m sorry i left okay? i know it hurt you, i can only imagine how much it must have sucked. it was horrible here at first, i missed you every day. but i will not apologize for enjoying myself here and taking advantage of what i was taught. i like it here. i have friends, and a life, and im good at what i do and i will not allow you to make me feel bad about that.” you said all in one breath.

kaz didn’t say anything, choosing to look down at the floor instead of you. 

you sighed and took a step closer to him, you noticed he still wore the black gloves similar to the first pair that you had stolen for him when you two were younger.

“kaz,” you said, your voice shaking, “i missed you so much. i still miss you and you’re standing right in front of me. i get why you hate me but i really don’t want you to. so that’s why i’m helping you, that’s why i’m going to get you out of here without getting caught.” 

you turned on your heel, prepared to continue to lead him away. but before you could get away he grabbed your hand and spun you back around. 

he flinched at his own action and let go.

“i don’t hate you y/n. i get why you enjoyed yourself here, this over a life of petty and dangerous crime? of course this is the better opportunity but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt when you left.”

you bit your lip and nodded your head in understanding. 

he looked directly into your eyes, “i knew you would be here but i thought, hey what are the chances of actually running into you. having to see you happy and having to live with the fact that i never came to look for you.”

you took a step closer to him, “kaz i don’t blame you for not coming to get me, i wouldn’t have wanted you to anyway.”

he looked at you and for the first time he looked desperate. kaz brekker was never desperate. and if he was, he didn’t show it.

“come home with us” he said.

you raised your eye brows in surprise.

“come home with me” he corrected, looking at the wall to avoid your eyes

it was the same voice he had used all those years ago, when he was begging for you to stay. he wanted to you stay with him. to come home. to go back to the place that had broke kaz and would probably have broken you.

but it was kaz.

but ketterdam wasn’t your home anymore.

kaz had been your home, but was he still?

the two of you stayed silent. there was still so much the two of you needed to say. how you had probably loved him as a kid. how you probably loved him now. how you regretted never writing, never trying. how you missed ketterdam. how this place would be perfect if kaz was here with you. but there wasn’t enough time or courage to say those things.

so instead, you raised your arms in your fighting grisha stance and smiled at him.

“how about we get you out of here first and then we can decide is i become a fugitive of ravka to go play crime boss in ketterdam?” you teased.

he almost gave you a grin and you continued walking, a new found peace settled between the two of you.

kaz brekker in the little palace, who should have thought.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows imagine #six of crows #shadow and bone #grisha #Grishaverse #leigh bardugo #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #nina zenik #matthias helvar #inej gahfa

[knightimehopes]

The Conversation.

Ult Dirk: …

Ult Dirk: I know you’re here, and listening.

Ult Dirk: You have no choice but to listen to this, so save yourself the trouble and show yourself.

Ult Dirk: We need to talk, and I’m not interested in you being a whiny, adamant little shit about it.

Ult Dirk: There you go, the young Prince finally got his ass in gear.

Ult Dirk: It took you long enough, I had thought I’d needed to taunt you out like one of those seductive pole dancers that old Earth apparently liked. Of course, nobody actually cares about that.

Ult Dirk: The web of realities finally connect to bring us to this very moment, tying together into a tapestry of universes showing off our huge ass face as if we needed a huge display of our collective ego any more than we did.

Ult Dirk: Which I did of course.

Ult Dirk: We were meant to speak again, in order to get to the true fucking culspe of our narrative importance.

Dirk: (Jesus fucking Christ.)

Ult Dirk: Look, I’ll get to the point.

Dirk: That’s a first.

Dirk: Thought you were going to suck off your own dick of infinite splinters for fifty hours so you can spout shit about random philosophy I’m pretty sure you don’t actually give a flying fuck about.

Ult Dirk: Do you really want to go down the road of selfcest?

Ult Dirk: I know you hate me, but let’s have mercy on the both of us and not bring that topic into this.

Ult Dirk: I’m not a fan.

Dirk: Aren’t you the motherfucker who said, and I quote;

Dirk: “I had thought I’d needed to taunt you out like one of those seductive pole dancers that old Earth apparently liked.”?

Dirk: I wasn’t the one who began to say the creepiest shit to a sixteen year old version of myself.

Dirk: So grow the fuck up and get to the point.

Ult Dirk: I won’t fall for your childish insults, because you clearly have no idea about the importance of this conversation.

Ult Dirk: I’m pretty sure this is the only point you’ll actually find any relevance in any timeline, and even that is a stretch.

Ult Dirk: You’re not something of worth because of your own actions, and you should honestly be thanking me that I brought you here.

Ult Dirk: Limelight finally shines upon your insignificant self, for the third time mind you.

Ult Dirk: This is your last chance to accept my offer, and I will tell you one. Last. Time.

Ult Dirk: I want you to allow me to use your body as my vessel in your universe.

Ult Dirk: I have my limits on where my influence can get to, as you know. I actually only cared about this timeline having my control dominationg it, at first.

Ult Dirk: But I had an epiphany.

Ult Dirk: Your timeline, among others, is within the Alpha timeline, as surprising as I’m sure you think it is.

Ult Dirk: A gleaming beacon shining through the god damn garbage of dumbass timelines that have no bearing on anyone or anything.

Ult Dirk: So I thought this;

Ult Dirk: You can help me bring your timeline, and universe along with it, to true narrative supremacy alongside mine.

Ult Dirk: Disagree with me if you want, go on ahead, but consider my offer before you decide to make yourself a fucking waste.

Ult Dirk: Everyone benefits from an actual point for existing, Dirk. Your friends are hellbound towards meaninglessness and redundancy, repeating the same old actions and the same old routine. You’ll get sick of it eventually, all of you will.

Ult Dirk: This cannot be stressed enough, you just can’t give up my chance to attain continuous relevancy. People won’t watch a story without enlarged stakes, and my supreme domination with thousands of stories to come will keep us in the public eye for a long, long while.

Ult Dirk: Make your choice wise-

Dirk: Okay, shut the everloving fuck up, please.

Dirk: I’ve had my patience with you the first two times.

Dirk: But it’s worn thin.

Dirk: Nobody is interested in an out of character incel who’s decided that the only way he’ll look appealing is if he cosplays in the worst Kamina cosplay anyone’s seen in decades.

Dirk: No one, and I mean no one, is going to give a fuck about what some random pompous poofy pants asshole says in his psychotic ramblings about some “Narrative” or whatever the fuck you keep spouting on and on with.

Dirk: Speaking of, what the fuck even is this long winded metaphor of yours that you keep on mentioning with readers and stories anyways? It’s gotten old after the first fucking mention of it.

Dirk: There is no goddamn point to anything you’re even saying with it, at least I have a method to the shitty fucking madness that is my life that I put all my friends through.

Dirk: You’re just spouting shit and acting out without even understanding the ramifications or even acknowledging how much of a shithead you come off as instead of how you want to be seen.

Dirk: Everybody knows you’re just putting on the act of being an all knowing holier than thou smug prick, but the only thing you are is a coward who can’t come to terms with anything.

Dirk: We’ve talked too many times, and you told me everything you did, and the only thing you accomplished is disgusting me more and more.

Dirk: I don’t know what got you to this point, how you got so far off the path we promised for ourselves.

Dirk: To be frank, I stopped giving a fuck when you told me what you did to our friends.

Dirk: You turned Jane into a facist Republican propaganda piece with your absolutely deplorable bullshit “narration” powers, you reduced Jake to a goddamn manchild who can’t even stand in front of a crowd without shitting himself.

Dirk: And I don’t even know if this is your fault or Roxy somehow was forced to lose brain cells, but for your Roxy, they’ve been essentially simplified into pink Dave at this goddamn point, not to mention that you’ve insulted them by not even dignifying their identity.

Dirk: That’s not even the beginning, mind you. But the fact that you decided that the people we loved for years deserved to be riduculed, infantalized, demonized, and reduced to imbeciles by your hand is something that you remotely deemed okay? That’s a transgression I can’t be anything but disgusted with you for.

Ult Dirk: You clearly misunderstand how inconsequential all you just criticized me for was and still is.

Ult Dirk: Dirk, misgendering and manipulation means nothing compared to what I have in store.

Ult Dirk: You don’t even have any proof to show that I did it in any case, all everyone knows is that I left on some mission that nobody fucking knows jack on.

Ult Dirk: How bad can I truly be, with just those as my only crimes?

Dirk: Perfect segway into how you kidnapped Rose, corrupted her, and manipulated her wife into believing everything I just stated and more was fucking okay by her when she clearly didn’t, and now she wants to fucking murder you, and so on.

Dirk: Not to mention, John Egbert.

Ult Dirk: I didn’t do anything to John.

Ult Dirk: Bare in mind that it still was useful for getting the Seer of Mind on my side, regardless of the blame for his death. Seriously, how the hell did I do anything to a guy far out of my reach?

Dirk: Sure, because you totally didn’t bullshit the concept of “Cherub Poison” that essentially one shot kills god tiers and completely bypasses our complete bullshit deus ex machina known as conditional immortality.

Dirk: Either way, doesn’t excuse that you used his death to manipulate a grieving woman either. I can go on, but seriously.

Dirk: It baffles me that you think any of this fucking shit is remotely excuseable. We’re done here.

Dirk: Get a life, you sorry sack of shit. You don’t even deserve any of the similes turned defemations or symbolic insults I can come up with right now.

Ult Dirk: You go when I say you go.

Ult Dirk: You want to play a game?

Ult Dirk: Fine.

Ult Dirk: I’ll humor you.

Ult Dirk: I want to-

Dirk: -Play a game in which I’m still a piece of shit trying to manipulate another person around him into his twisted schemes.

Dirk: That’s what you should have gone on to end it with. Because we know it’s the truth.

Dirk: Real fucking original line, by the way. Want to pull out the bro vs. bro strife drama out of your ass to add on to the shitty callback cake? Just sprinkle that shit on there?

Ult Dirk: You’ll never understand, will you?

Dirk: I could honestly say the same to you, especially when you try to look like the king of the weaboo neckbeards.

Ult Dirk: Don’t compare me to Tegiri Kalbur.

Dirk: Who the hell even is that? You know what, don’t care.

Dirk: What I’m saying is that despite your reasoning of this being all important because you’re suddenly the villain now out of left field, doesn’t explain how this has remotely any point to even happen in the first place.

Dirk: If you wanted relevance through this Sburb session you’re trying to set up, then think about it. Would anyone have complained about you going off to make some new alien species on a new planet? I doubt they actually would have, if you didn’t go off and specifically piss off everyone in your five hundred thousand mile vicinity.

Dirk: Hell, I guarantee some people would have wanted to help you out with some of this shit, it probably would have been an entertaining experience for some of the more scientifically minded folks in our social circle.

Dirk: Not that you care, you’ve made that pretty evident.

Ult Dirk: I’m not letting you leave.

Ult Dirk: This decision has long left your capability to effect it. I gave you your chances to assimilate with me willingly, and you chose to shit on my offers time and time again.

Ult Dirk: So you’ve left me no choice but to beat you down myself, and make sure you finally understand your place, and your role in the frameworks of my greatest masterpiece.

Ult Dirk: My words explaining to you how you don’t understand weren’t me flexing the muscles of my ego in your face, Dirk. It was an explanation on how futile your resistance truly is.

Ult Dirk: Come at me bro. We’ll make this happen.

Dirk: Finally, some words we can agree on.

Ult Dirk: And I’ll cut this off for the dumbass posting this to Tumblr of all places with a nice, shoddily made callback.

Seriously, Tumblr? You have a fanfic you can just as easily post all this to on AO3, you could have made your own website, but you chose Tumblr. This is what I get when I let a sixteen year old have the reigns.

If you want some context on this motherfucker, too bad. I’m not promoting shit for this child who thinks that my work is child’s play written by a band of idiots. They can do it themselves.

The next page will be up soon, so you can truly see who’s in charge here.

Until this bastard finishes the art, Dirk Strider, signing off. (God, that was the most moronic sentence I’ve had the displeasure to say. Of course they need me to sign off this way.)

Pg 1. You are Here

Pg 2. Coming Soon

Divergent Reality so far:

#hs2 #hs2 negativity #hsadr #homestuck act divergent reality #hsadr upd8 #this is more of a side project related to hsadr #it’s not fully relevant to the story #hence being here! #myart #homestuck #dirk strider #ult dirk #ultimate dirk

[padawanlost]

does vader come back to kill watto? i hate entering discourse about it because i see people say “well he wasn’t that bad” or “he didn’t treat shmi and anakin that bad” and honestly? why are they making excuses for slavery?

Tbh, I doubt I’ll ever understand what drives someone to justify slavery. I really don’t get it. but, after realizing the only case of slavery no one tries to justify as a ‘necessary evil’ is Obi-wan’s, I have my theories.

Anyway, Anakin never returns for Watto in anger. Watto, to my great saddens, gets to live a long life. In fact, that piece of garbage manages to outlive both Shmi and Anakin.

"Anakin's mother?" Luke said. "Was her name Shmi?" Ody shook his head. "I can't recall. Like I said a lot of years have passed. But if you want to find out more, you should go to Watto's and " Ody clapped his hand against his forehead. "Sorry, I keep forgetting. It's not Watto's anymore. It's Wald's." "Wald's?" "Yeah, Watto retired. Now it's Wald's Parts. But that's why you should go there. Wald knew Anakin. Let me give you directions” [Ryder Windham. The Life of Luke Skywalker ]

I think people also minimizes the trauma of Anakin and Shmi’s enslavement because neither character thinks to much of it. They have become so used to mistreatment that Watto’s brand of cruelty feels like a respite. 

Leia sat slumped in the seat beside Han, faintly aware of her tender shoulder and feeling distinctly inadequate in the presence of her grandmother’s memory. Watto had been Shmi’s master—and her son’s—for years, and still she had somehow found it inside herself to forgive him. Leia had been Jabba’s slave for one night, and she had strangled him with the chain that bound her. Of course, there was a world of difference between Watto and Jabba. [Troy Denning. Tatooine Ghost]

Besides, what choice did they have in the matter? He raced because he was good at it, Watto knew he was good at it, and whatever Watto wanted of him he would do. That was the price you paid when you were a slave, and Anakin Skywalker had been a slave all his life. [Terry Brooks. The Phantom Menace]

To Leia, a princess of Alderaan, the thought of being a Hutt’s slave was unacceptable. To Anakin, who grew up as a Hutt’s slave, Watto felt like an improvement.  What Leia considered an unspeakable crime, Anakin considered mundane. I think people forget that. People forget the horror of it. So let’s remind them:

When Count Dooku flies at him, blade flashing, Watto’s fist cracks out from Anakin’s childhood to knock the Sith Lord tumbling back. [Matthew Stover. Revenge of the Sith]

Physical pain he could have handled even without his Jedi mental skills; he’d always been tough. At four years old he’d been able to take the worst beating Watto would deliver without so much as making a sound. [Matthew Stover. Revenge of the Sith]

Yeah, a four years old so used to being beaten he no longer cries is totally fine.

Both mother and son were grateful to Watto for keeping them together, and after sharing a dingy, fetid room with six other slaves at Gardulla’s estate, they were astonished to learn they would have an entire hovel to themselves at Slave Quarters Row, along the outskirts of Mos Espa. Watto believed they should feel grateful, and made it clear that if they didn’t do as he said, he’d fill the hovel to capacity with additional slaves. [Ryder Windham. Star Wars®: The Rise and Fall of Darth Vader]

Which single mom doesn’t want to live in precarious conditions. Again, totally normal.

Operating a Podracer required incredibly fast reflexes, the competition was fierce, and Anakin — as far as anyone knew — was the only human ever to fly one and live. Despite this accomplishment, Anakin knew he’d have to do better to please Watto. [Ryder Windham. The Rise and Fall of Darth Vader]

When he’d belonged body and soul first to venal, rapacious Gardulla the Hutt.… and after her Watto, who hadn’t been cruel, exactly, but was greedy and careless and willing to see him die racing a Pod. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Nothing wrong with forcing a kid to risk his life for profit, am I right?

“For a moment, I suspected you’d run away from Watto.” transmitter detonate?” “Pleasure?” Watto said, his trunklike nose turning slightly upward as if recoiling from Anakin’s words. “You think I like cleaning up exploded slaves? Bweh heh heh!” When he was done laughing, he gestured with a three-fingered hand to some more scrap-filled containers that had just been delivered, and said, “Now get back to work! I want this scrap sorted by noon!” [Ryder Windham. The Rise and Fall of Darth Vader]

Freedom and fun? Who needs it when you can be threatened with explosives and forced to work under TWO suns?

“Anakin, how are you feeling? Truthfully?” If he said hungry, Obi-Wan would throw something at him. But he was. He was ravenous. And he hated, hated, feeling hungry. The sensation too. It’s unfortunate but it can’t be helped. We’ll manage.” [Karen Miller. Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Starvation. That’s healthy.

“Rassa dwee cuppa, peedunkel!” Watto screamed, starting in again on Anakin in a fresh burst of Huttese. The pudgy body lurched forward a few centimeters with each epithet, causing Anakin to step back in spite of his resolve. Watto’s bony arms and legs gestured with the movements of his head and body, giving him a comical appearance. He was angry, but Anakin had seen him angry before and knew what to expect. He did not cringe or bow his head in submission; he stood his ground and took his scolding unflinchingly. He was a slave and Watto was his master. Scoldings were part of life. [Terry Brooks. The Phantom Menace]

Verbal assault is always fun. 

Watto was immediately defensive. “He’s my boy, my property, and he’ll do what I want him to do!” [Terry Brooks. The Phantom Menace]

Oh, to be considered property. What a fun concept!

Not only Anakin and Shmi were slaves, without any rights or freedom, they were forced into hard work, starved, threatened, abused and humiliated. 

But, please, tell me again how not rescuing kids under the same or worse circumstances is the right call.

#ask #anon #gffa slavery #sw meta #anakin skywalker #shmi skywalker #watto #meta: anakin #meta: shmi #meta: watto #txt

[bitch-in-a-bag]

can we talk about how the LGBT movement has changed in the past 15 years?

in the light of the events surrounding Chris chan, and people prioritizing pronouns over the rape of a woman with dementia, I think it displays just how... different things are.

i personally feel like it's been co-opted by the more loud and entitled mtfs/ males/penis-havers/whatever pc term exists for the XY chromosome'd, who go too far and aren't reasonably kept in check. I think terf no longer has meaning anymore because it's just become a word we use to silence anyone that disagrees with a trans woman. immediately you're going to call me a terf, I accept that, but please continue reading. I may suprise you. calling someone who's transgender a terf is kinda messed up anyway, and that's exactly why im writing this.

I also think that everyone else (allies, ftms, etc) have followed suit because they've written this messed up narrative that EvErYoNe iS VaLiD. except for trans penis-havers, bc they're the most oppressed and the most valid, actually, regardless of their experiences.

I never used to believe the above because it was always written off as terf shit, and ignoring it kinda benefitted me, but between seeing ftms getting bashed for refusing to follow new "TME" rules as if they aren't trans too, and seeing outrage around Chris chans pronouns, I think it's time to start saying things that may make people uncomfortable. innocent people are already getting hurt by this, and we need to do better. it's time to get uncomfortable.

I want to remind you that perception is both the relying factor, and also the downfall of newer lgbt theory. if my profile were mtf coded, maybe it currently is, you'd call me a self hating trans and I wouldn't be that big of a deal. terfs would probably target me.

if my profile was ftm coded, I would be absolutely skewered for daring to speak out about these issues, even though they do actually affect ftms disproportionately. terfs would try to convince me that being trans is a plague and a mental illness, and to just ~be a cis woman~!

and if assumed cis, I would 100% be assumed radfem terf, and everything I say would immediately be dismissed because of the genuine damage terfs have done. but terfs would still probably flock to this post and berate me for daring to validate trans people At All, because to them, being transgender is a mental illness akin to an eating disorder, and "giving in" to it is "self harm". clearly I don't believe that, so hopefully you'll give me at least some benefit of the doubt.

so, does my identity matter? i have a feeling you'll say yes, because it gives us a good idea of experiences I do and don't have expertise in, and thus room to talk about. but I refuse to directly identify what I actually am because I want the focus of any resulting conversation to be my message and not my self identification. if you read between the lines and figure it out that's just fine, but I would like to be heard first and foremost.

my profile is thus an attempt at being cis female coded, somewhat out of comfort, and that is likely what I'll be assumed to be due to the beliefs I am expressing, even though there is a substantial risk of getting misgendered and dismissed, no matter what my birth sex may actually be. i will give you a hint about my identity: I am transgender, on HRT and everything, and I have been personally affected by all of this. rest assured, this is well within my lane to speak about, and it does matter if you misgender me.

I want you to really think about that. before you respond, really think about if someone saying words on tumblr, talking about their OWN experiences and their take on recent history that applies to themself, really more worthy of being misgendered and harassed than... someone who said they transitioned so they could date lesbians, and then raped their own mother with dementia.

is that fair or just? or is this just a new way of letting people with penises do whatever they want? I personally think it's the latter. we need to hold people like Chris chan accountable without getting caught up on something as minor **in comparison** as misgendering and self identification. Is it sad and confusing that someone who self IDs as transgender became 1:1 with the most dangerous stereotypes that exist for trans women? Of course it is. But it doesn't mean that self identification is suddenly more important than a literal crime being committed.

I would normally dismiss it as a fluke or outright trolling if the evidence weren't so damning that this is in fact a real event that happened. If I hadn't seen this happen to other people, and if I didn't literally know another mtf person who used their dysphoria as an excuse for date rape on multiple occasions and never got any consequences for it.

It's not a one time thing, it's a developing problem that we need to stop before more people have their lives ruined. I can't even imagine how traumatizing and messed up it is for an FTM person to be date raped, by another transgender person no less. When I, an abuse survivor, told people of this MTFs red flags, people violently silenced me. People who didn't know I was trans called me a terf and transphobic. We, as a community, could've protected someone from getting date raped, and we didn't. Trans women can be awful, horrible fucking people, because they are people. Protecting them at all costs is wrong. Protecting them from transphobia is what we should be doing.

That being said, misgendering is still skeevy, and I haven't done anything like raped a disabled woman who is no longer able to consent, or date raped my own partner. if you give a shit about respecting my identity, please use they/them for me. if not, use visual perception and make assumptions that will most likely be incorrect, skew your own argument, and put me on the same level as a rapist, and arguably a fetishist. And I do need to remind you that calling someone transgender a rapist and a fetishist without evidence is still definitely classic transphobia, to the letter, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that.

as someone who is same sex attracted, I also want to bring this up as well.

in the US in the past 15 years, the movement as a whole pretty much went "YEAH BORN THIS WAY" with Lady Gaga, and then jumped ship to prioritize mostly mtfs at every angle. do mtfs need support? absolutely. but they don't need misguided toxic positivity, and that's what it's turned into.

it's gotten genuinely homophobic to the point where actually homosexual people are constantly being erased and demonized via "genital preferences are a fetish uwu", and vulva havers, especially the trans ones, are constantly being told to shut up about their experiences.

as much as you want to deny bioessentialism, its still very much well and alive with newer trans movement sentiments when we classify ftms as not worthy of speaking about their own issues with terms like "TME". it's also incredibly ignorant towards FTMs who pass, but dress feminine for comfort, and get mistaken for MTF, and treated like garbage because of it. They are not remotely exempt from misogyny, transphobia, or the intersection of the two, and it is not anyone's job to tell them they don't ever experience that when they do. Turning ftms and biological homosexuals into our enemies-- especially when the actual cause is transphobia and harmful gender stereotypes-- does nothing good or healthy for our movement.

Dont be mistaken, though, passing isn't the focus or end all be all here, it's the perception of others that ends up drastically effecting your experiences. There are words like misogyny that imply treatment via birth sex, however this too can be reliant on external perception. If an MTF individual either transitions very young, has an abundance of resources to transition, or just gets lucky and passes well, chances are she will experience a lot more misogyny than people may give credit to. inversely, someone who just started questioning yesterday, but lived as a male their whole life up until then, they genuinely cannot speak about misogyny with that much room because they simply haven't experienced it at an accurate enough angle or for enough time to understand it as a repeated and sociological force.

It works the other way as well, though; someone who's known that they're trans for a long time and haven't had the resources to transition, or do not or cannot pass in the eyes of society; these people suffer pain that we don't neccesarily have a word for yet, imo. It makes dysphoria worse and it makes living seem hopeless. And as a community, we deal with this is in a really messed up way by over-validating them instead of solving the core issue at hand. and people who suffer from this, but also acknowledge they can't claim what they haven't experienced, are left with nowhere to go.

And its important to acknowledge these things because they're integral to the over-encompassing trans experience. Instead of lying to everyone and telling everyone they pass/giving out unconditional positive regard, our focus should be making it so that it **doesn't matter if you pass**. that you're still worth respect and dignity if you're transgender, no matter what passing is or what it means to you, and no matter how you present. But also, if you do something awful, you still need to be held accountable, especially if you use yourself, your body, or your trans status to contribute to other axi of oppression.

Transphobia is a word that encompasses and addresses all of that, regardless of birth sex. "TME" shuts that down in favor of only letting MTF's speak. Which is still very bio-essentialist, and I can't help but feel like we've gone full circle.

Once upon a time you couldn't even get married if your partner had the same genitals as you. in the US, this was less than 7 years ago. and if you care about human rights activism, you know damn well that legal modification is not the end all be all. people who are genuinely homosexual are still oppressed, but the trans movement has started stepping on them to make ground we don't deserve. homosexuals are ok and valid. it's not a genital preference, and the prescence of trans people doesn't make conversion therapy sentiments ok, ever.

we've gone full circle, and it's not right.

#trans rights #homosexuality #human rights #lgbt #lgbt community #trans #tw: rape #transphobia

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 31

This is it! The very last post of Whumptober, and the long-awaited sequel to Day 8! If you're brand new to this whump party and haven't read it yet, you'll want to go back and do so before diving into this monstrosity. And when I say monstrosity I mean, it's looooooong. I wanted to do it justice and give you guys the ending you deserve, which...I'm hoping I pulled off. I'm not used to posting stuff so soon after writing it, without re-reading and editing over a period of time! Anyway, it wasn't one that I could easily just say, oh and they rescued him and put him in a pod and they lived happily ever after, because there was a whole bunch of emotional stuff everyone had to deal with, too. Thus the length, and the postponing of this post so I could actually finish it. 

That said, this is actually more angst than it is whump, but hopefully there's enough whump to satisfy and hopefully it's a satisfying way to end the month. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

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Day 31 (No. 29 and Alt. 7)  - Reluctant Bedrest/Found Family

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: fantastic racism, self-hatred, death mention, blood, referenced animal attack, fever, infection, hallucinations, needles, panic attacks, suicide ideation

It had been nearly a week since they abandoned Keith. Discarded him, like garbage. Dropped him off on some deserted planet like some people back on Earth used to drop off animals that they didn’t want to have to take care of. 

Shiro had always hated those people. Now he was one of them.

Except worse, because this wasn’t a puppy they had dumped on the side of the road, this was a hu-...okay, well only partly a human being, but a person, nonetheless. The person that he had seen as the little brother he never had for the past several years that he had known him. The person that he had sworn, even if only internally, to look after, always.

And sure, it wasn’t like it was his idea, but he had still let it happen. Yeah, if he had tried to fight it, Allura probably would have locked him in his room and done it without him. But he should have fought anyway. He should have let them drag him away like they had Keith that day they found out he was part Galra. Maybe they would have thrown him in a cell, too. Maybe then he’d actually be able to look at himself in the mirror now.

They wouldn’t have, though. He was human. He was trustworthy.

So trustworthy that he had turned his back on his brother, all for the sake of Voltron and the universe. 

That was the lie he had been telling himself, the one thing that had kept him from jumping in his Lion and going after Keith for days. The universe needed Voltron. Therefore, the universe needed him. He was the leader of Voltron, he couldn’t just abandon the rest of the team and disobey the Princess’ orders for the sake of one man. Being a defender of the universe meant having to make sacrifices and hard choices.

And maybe all of that was actually true, but it was only half the story. Keith needed him. As the leader of Voltron, he should be setting an example for the rest of the team to follow, and should be able to make decisions for the good of every team member without being threatened and overruled by the Princess. Being a decent person who could live with his own choices meant not going against his own promises and ideals.

He knew all of that. But both sides seemed true, and which side seemed more important changed by the second. 

To top it all off, the team had practically fallen apart since leaving Borulmyte. Not only were they down a Paladin, unable to form Voltron, but hardly anyone was speaking to each other unless forced. Allura was sulking because her father’s Lion wouldn’t accept her. Hunk, who had never seemed all that happy with the idea of kicking Keith out, seemed depressed. Pidge had pretty much locked herself in her room, he assumed furiously searching for any sign of her family. Lance was, as always, hard to get a read on, but he was noticeably quiet and stoic whenever he happened to appear. Coran had barely spoken a word the whole week.

And Shiro? He couldn’t stand to be around any of them. They were the ones who had done this to Keith. Sure, a couple had made weak arguments on his behalf at the beginning, but in the end they had all caved to Allura’s wishes and turned on him. He blamed them just as much as he blamed himself for sitting here in the comfort of the Castle while Keith...who even knew? At the very least he was alone and probably scared, even though he’d never admit that. At the worst, he could be struggling to survive, dying at that very moment, and none of them would ever know.

Whichever it was, he didn’t deserve it.

Coran had called a meeting on the bridge for something he said was urgent. It was probably another distress call, though the last one - the only mission they had attempted that week - had gone so terribly that Shiro wasn’t sure if they should even bother trying again. Running a smooth, successful mission is awfully difficult when no one wants to speak to each other, much less work in sync.

Usually he was the first one to arrive for meetings like this. Well, except for maybe Keith, but that wasn’t a thought he wanted to dwell on right then. This time, when he finally dragged himself to the bridge, the others were all already there, though none of them looked happy about it. Unlike in the past, when he always tried to keep up everyone’s morale by being focused and enthusiastic himself, no matter how he actually felt, now he didn’t bother. Crossing his arms, he let his face rest in exactly the scowl he was feeling.

“What is this about, Coran?”

“Yes, I would like to know as well.” Allura’s brow was furrowed, clearly not happy at being left out of the loop. 

The orange-haired adviser wrung his hands, staring down at the floor. “Well, it’s...this is difficult to say. But…” Drawing in a deep breath that puffed out his chest, he finally looked up, catching each of their gazes. “I’ve been keeping something from you. It’s about Number F-...Keith. It’s about Keith.”

Keith’s name had practically become forbidden, so of course it automatically caught everyone’s attention. Shiro unfolded his arms and stepped forward. “What about Keith?” he demanded.

Coran’s eyes darted back to the floor. “He gave us messages to pass on to each of you. Before we left Borulmyte.”

“Coran!” Allura hissed.

“No, Princess.” The response took everyone in the room by surprise, including Allura if the expression on her face was any indication. None of them had ever heard Coran speak that way to her, especially not to tell her no. He took another breath and seemed to steel himself. “You know that I have always served the royal family willingly, and that I see you like a daughter. I would follow you anywhere. However...you are still young. A great burden has been placed on your shoulders, and you have done extraordinarily well with it. But sometimes you make mistakes, and this, my dear...this has been a grave mistake.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that we never should have left the boy behind. Galra or not, he has never proven himself anything but the most loyal of paladins, and yet we have punished him for a crime he did not commit.”

Shiro was torn between feeling relief that someone besides him was saying it, and anger that it hadn’t been said sooner. “Why didn’t you speak up when I was trying to convince them all of this same thing days ago?”

Coran flashed him a guilty expression. “Because I was too much of a coward. I didn’t want to speak against my Princess, even though I knew what she was doing was wrong.” Squaring his shoulders, he looked around at the other paladins again. “But regardless of what anyone else thinks or decides, I can do this. I can fulfill the boys’ last request before he was left behind.”

Something in Shiro’s gut twisted at that statement, and he could see some shuffling of feet and shifting of positions around him that pointed to the others feeling the same way. No one liked to be reminded of what they had done.

“Fine,” Allura finally spat. “Do what you must to clear your conscience.” She crossed her arms and leaned back against the console with a huff.

“First to Number Two...Hunk.” Coran gave the Yellow Paladin a gentle smile. “He wanted you to know that he would miss your cooking, especially the brownies you made for him.”

That was all it took for Hunk to start crying, though he said nothing in reply.

“Lance, he said to tell you that he never hated you, that you annoyed him sometimes but were a good friend, too.”

If Shiro hadn’t been intently watching, he might have missed the way Lance’s eyes widened before he ducked his head and scuffed his sneaker into the floor.

“Pidge, your message was that he really, really hopes you find your family. And that he kept meaning to tell you he thinks you’re doing great with your bayard.”

Her eyebrows pulled in tight at the first part, but at the second she blinked as if surprised and looked away.

“And besides his message to the Red Lion that he would miss her, and to us, thanking us for the opportunity to fly her…” He turned to stare at Allura for that, and she couldn’t hold his gaze, either… “That leaves you, Shiro.”

The other messages had already left him ripped open, so he wasn’t really sure how he was supposed to handle one meant just for him.

Coran lips pursed into a sad smile. “‘Just tell him I love him.’”

He felt as if all the walls came crashing down on him all at once. He loved him. Of course he did, he knew he did, they had always treated each other like brothers. But he had never said it. And now he had, and it was after Shiro had allowed him to be kicked out of the place they had all come to see as a home.

Spinning on his heel, he marched toward the door without a word.

“Shiro, wait, where are you going?”

If it had been any of the others, he might have just ignored them. But it was Hunk, so he at least threw the answer over his shoulder. “I’m going to get Keith.”

“Shiro -!”

“No!” This time he whirled around, sending all of his fury in a glare toward Allura. “I’m done letting you tell me how I should treat my little brother! I am going to get Keith, not the Galra, but our friend, the Red Paladin, the strongest and bravest and most loyal person I know, and no one is going to stop me! If you don’t want us back here, fine. I don’t care. Find yourself new Red and Black Paladins. But I won’t leave him down there a second longer.”

It was unclear whether Allura even knew what to say to that, but before she had the chance Hunk piped up again. “I’m coming with you! Erm, if...that’s okay.”

Shiro spared him a small smile. “Of course it is.”

No one said anything as they left the room. Hunk jogged a little to catch up to Shiro’s long, quick strides before matching his pace. 

“I was a coward, too, like Coran said. Which, you know, isn’t really anything new, just...me being a coward isn’t usually at the expense of one of my friends. I was scared, to start with. Of him being, you know. Galra. But that’s stupid, really. Galra Keith is still Keith.”

“Yeah. He is.” He just hoped he was still Keith, still whole and well and not irrevocably changed, when they got to him. “I was just as much of a coward as anyone else, or more. I let the duty I felt to Voltron and the universe get in the way of the way I actually wanted to act. I should have gone after him right away.”

Hunk hummed in understanding. “Well, at least you actually stood up for him.”

They stopped off in their rooms to change into armor, then headed for Black and Yellow’s hangars. The long way, since they didn’t want to risk going back to the bridge and running into everyone else. Shiro had debated whether or not he should take Black, or just a pod, but decided that even if Allura wouldn’t let them stay, returning Black would give everyone a good chance to see Keith again and really make sure they wouldn’t change their minds.

“Since we don’t have a wormhole, it’s gonna take us a while to get there,” he told Hunk over the comms once they were situated in their Lions and starting to take off.

“I don’t mind. Just...how are we gonna find him once we’re there? I mean, he could have traveled a ways from where we...you know, left him.”

“I can track his quintessence.” The new voice took him by surprise, but not nearly as much as spinning around to find Green and Blue hovering over the Castle. “But I’ll have to be pretty close to him first. So we’ll still have to fly around for a while to try to catch a signal, then we’ll be able to narrow it down to a smaller area.”

Shiro was too shocked by their appearance to come up with a reasonable response, so he just ended up echoing, “We?”

Lance’s solemn face popped up on a video screen in front of him, followed by another with Pidge’s. “Yeah, we,” he said, mouth set in a firm line. “We’ve been stupid, and we wanna fix it. If...if we can.”

Clenching his jaw, Shiro sighed. “That’ll be up to Keith, I suppose. What kind of shape he’s in, and...whether he’ll forgive us.”

“We don’t really deserve it,” Pidge mumbled.

“No, we don’t. But let’s go ask for it anyway.”

They talked a little as they flew. It was quiet, and a bit awkward, but it was more than they had talked all week. Lance admitted that he had been having doubts ever since they left, memories of time spent with Keith haunting his thoughts. The message had just sealed the deal.

Pidge shrugged when asked about her change of heart, and quietly conceded that she didn’t think she had ever really believed he was a bad guy. She was just hurting, and he had been the perfect target to take it out on. Her desperation to find her family had blinded her.

They were several hours into a trip that Hunk calculated would take a few days when a wormhole appeared in front of them, seemingly out of nowhere. Every Lion pulled up short, exclamations of surprise echoing across the comms. 

Shiro jerked his Lion around to find the Castle looming behind them. His immediate thought was that Coran had somehow taken over and caught up with them, but Coran couldn’t make wormholes.

“...Allura?”

Her voice over the comms was more tentative than he thought he had ever heard it. “I have not yet decided to trust him. But I...I have seen how passionate all of you are about this, and I am...willing to reconsider my original stance.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but it was more than he had expected. He’d take it. 

“Alright guys. Let’s go bring our boy home.”

The sight of the planet Borulmyte made Shiro’s stomach turn a flip. This was it. This was the place where Keith had been living for the past week. He couldn’t even imagine what it had been like for him. Allura and Pidge had done extensive research on multiple planets before deciding that this was the best one, and they had had plenty of “reassuring” things to say about it. He had always wondered, though, what they weren’t saying. Or what their research hadn’t turned up. There was no way that they could have known everything there was to know about a planet just from reading about it. “Livable conditions” didn’t mean enjoyable conditions.

“Coran and I will stay here with the Castle. Keep us updated.”

Shiro gave a nod. “Pidge, how close do you need to be to pick up Keith’s quintessence?”

“Within a few miles.”

“Alright. We’ll start at the drop off point. I’m gonna guess he would have headed east, into the forest, to find shelter.” That was the one reassurance he had about the whole situation, knowing that Keith was trained in survival skills. “We’ll head there first, and take it mile by mile.”

It took them the rest of the day. Only a fraction of that time had passed when Shiro started to run every possible horrible scenario through his mind of why they weren’t finding it, even though he knew that they probably just hadn’t hit the right spot yet. 

“There!” Pidge shouted. “I’ve got it!”

Relief flooded Shiro down to his toes. “Alright. Mark this location. We’ll have to go land in the desert and fly back in the Green Lion. She’s the only one small enough to fit in that little clearing over there. 

The little clearing, as it turned out, was around a creek that seemed to be clear and safe. His relief grew just a little more. If Keith had managed to end up this close to a water source, then maybe he was doing okay.

“Okay, Pidge. Lead the way.”

Hiking through the woods took almost another full day. A day in which the sun never actually rose. He hadn’t paid attention to start with, when they were still flying, because constant darkness outside had become the new norm, but now that they were on solid ground it was painfully obvious that they had yet to see light this entire time. And the temperature gauge on his helmet display was much lower than he wanted it to be. Livable? Yes. Comfortable without armor? No. He wanted to interrogate Allura and Pidge on whether they knew about this when they had chosen to send Keith to this planet, but it wasn’t the time. He had to focus on finding Keith, nothing else.

After hours and hours of walking by only the flashlights built into their helmets, during which time no one, not even Lance, dared to complain, there was finally a spike on Pidge’s quintessence tracker. 

“Over here!” she shouted, taking off at a sprint through the underbrush. 

The others followed, swatting branches and bushes out of their way. Any second, Shiro expected to run into Keith. Maybe sitting in whatever hideout he had found, or out hunting for food in the never-ending darkness, his eyebrows flying up in surprise when he saw them all rushing in.

Instead, when he stumbled to a halt beside Pidge, she was staring at the ground, and there was no Keith in sight. 

“Pidge? What is it?”

Lifting a shaky finger, she pointed. Even before he looked, Shiro could feel his chest tightening with anxiety. And for good reason, too. The stain that was illuminated on the dirt and leaves was dried, at least a couple of days old, but it was undeniably blood. It was also concerningly large, and with the quintessence tracker crackling louder than they had heard it so far, there was no getting around the fact that it belonged to Keith.

Hunk immediately began babbling his worries, but Shiro’s heart was pounding too loudly in his ears for him to comprehend what he was actually saying. For a long moment he just stared at the bloodstain. It wasn’t until Lance stepped in closer to speak that he was broken out of his trance.

“Shiro? Do you think he’s…”

“No.” Yes. He didn’t know. It was a lot of blood. But he wouldn’t allow himself to believe that Keith was anything but okay until he saw him with his own eyes. “Pidge, is there a trail?”

She tore her eyes away to look at the screen, pacing back and forth a bit before nodding wordlessly and taking off through the bush. If her steps were a bit quicker now, no one blamed her. They just picked up their pace, too, solemn and silent other than Lance quietly updating Allura and Coran on what they had found. 

Every once in a while, a small patch of dark red on a leaf or tree trunk would catch Shiro’s eye. He tried to take it as a good sign. If Keith had been able to pick himself up from whatever had happened and trek through the woods, then maybe he wasn’t too bad off. At the time. Two or more days later? It was impossible to say.

The walk from there only took a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, finally, he spotted a small cave over the top of Pidge’s head, just as the tracker grew in volume and Pidge broke into a run. 

“Keith? Keith!”

He was right on her heels, barreling through the opening, terrified of what he would find. And what he did see was almost exactly what he had feared - Keith, his skin far too pale under their flashlights, lying completely still on the ground next to the cold, charred remains of a campfire. There were rough slashes in his t-shirt, through which bloody scabs could be seen, and his right leg was almost entirely wrapped in large blue leaves tied off with what looked like dried grass. It didn’t take much guesswork to figure out that the sporadic dark stains on the leaves were blood.

“Keith.” Shiro was by his side without really knowing how he got there, sliding down onto his knees next to the unmoving figure. “No, no, no, no, Keith, come on, don’t do this to me.” He carded his hand through the messy black hair. “Keith, please.”

Pale lips parted, and a groan spilled out. Shiro nearly fell over with relief. Somewhere behind him, Lance was exclaiming his own relief in Spanish, while Hunk hovered just over his shoulder. Keith’s forehead, which he now noticed was coated in a sheen of sweat, furrowed, and he turned his head slightly to face Shiro before squinting his eyes open.

“Go ‘way,” he rasped, taking all of them by surprise. “‘re not real.”

“Yeah, yeah we are, buddy.” He stroked his hair again, then yanked off his glove so he could lay his flesh hand against his cheek, trying not to wince at the heat that met his touch. A fever. Whatever that wound was on his leg, it had probably gotten infected. No wonder he didn’t think they were real. “Doesn’t this feel real?”

Keith seemed to consider this, his brain probably having to work twice as hard as usual to process anything. Finally there was what seemed to be acceptance in those glazed eyes, but instead of seeming happy or confused or surprised or any of the emotions that they might have expected, he simply let his head roll back to the side and closed his eyes. “Come to...finish me off?”

“What? Keith, no, why would you think that?” Hunk exclaimed, dropping down right next to Shiro. “We came to take you home.”

“We’ve, uh...we were really terrible to you. It was really, really wrong,” Lance joined in.

Pidge shuffled her feet awkwardly. “Yeah. We, um. We want you to come back.”

“Even Allura is willing to reconsider, but whatever she decides, we're getting you out of here.” Shiro took one of Keith’s hands in his own and squeezed. “I never should have let her dictate how you were treated to start with.”

Silence fell for a moment. Keith cut his eyes up toward Shiro, not moving his head. “Knew you weren’t real.”

Pidge gave an exasperated grunt. “Keith -”

“Don’t worry about it right now.” Sliding his glove back on, Shiro straightened and got ready to pick Keith up bridal style. “He’s burning up with an infection. We’ll have to talk to him later, once he can actually comprehend what’s going on. For now let’s just get him back to the Castle and into a pod.”

Shiro scooped Keith up gently into his arms, causing him to cry out when his leg was jostled. “I’m sorry, bud,” he whispered. “You’re gonna be okay.” He didn’t at all like how light he felt, nor how gaunt his face looked. It had only been a week, but it didn’t seem like he had eaten much in that time.

Now that they knew where they were going, the walk back to the Green Lion went by quickly. Pidge flew them back to their own Lions, with Hunk and Lance towing Black to the Castle so that Shiro could stay in Green’s cargo hold with Keith. He didn’t want to let him go, couldn’t even keep his eyes off of him. He was too afraid that if he looked away, he would be gone, would succumb to his infection or perhaps just vanish into thin air. In the better lighting of the Lion, Keith looked all the more pale and feverish, his breaths coming shallow as he mumbled unintelligible words and occasionally whimpered with pain.

“What kind of injuries are we dealing with here, Number One?”

Shiro barely remembered arriving at the Castle and exiting the Green Lion, but there he was, standing next to Coran and a stretcher. Tenderly, he settled Keith down onto the padded surface. “Not sure. Maybe an animal attack of some kind? I haven’t been able to get a look at his wounds yet. He’s got a fever for sure, though, so they’re probably infected.”

Coran’s face turned grim. “That’s unfortunate. We won’t be able to put him into cryosleep until his temperature is back to normal.”

Gritting his teeth, Shiro found Keith’s hand and held it as they walked toward the infirmary. Poor kid just couldn’t catch a break. He didn’t deserve any of this. And now it sounded like when he was back to himself, they were going to have to go back through a whole three years’ worth of self-esteem boosting...maybe even more. He let out a long sigh. It seemed like he had just finally convinced Keith that he was worth loving, that he was important, that not everyone in his life was going to abandon him. 

Then he sat back and let everyone in his life abandon him.

Coran sucked in a loud breath through his teeth as he peeled back the crude leaf bandages. “Yes, this is most certainly infected. And I would say that your animal attack hypothesis is correct. These look mostly like tooth marks. Quite deep.”

It looked mostly like a mangled, bloody mess to Shiro. His stomach turned, not just from the smell of the infection, and he was glad that Hunk wasn’t there at the moment. “What do we need to do?”

“Well, I’ll need to clean these. You might want to hold him down for that part.”

Keith bucked and writhed under Shiro’s hands as Coran poured antiseptic over his leg, screaming in agony. Shiro was pretty sure his heart was permanently residing in his throat now. He whispered reassurances, hardly knowing what he was saying, well aware that Keith probably couldn’t hear or comprehend any of it. 

After a thorough cleaning, Coran wrapped the leg in clean bandages and pulled a thin sheet up over his waist. Shiro sank into the bedside chair, relieved beyond words that the worst part was over. They spoke very little as they went about the rest of the work that needed to be done, Coran handing Shiro the antiseptic and a clean cloth so that he could work on the claw marks across Keith’s chest, then focusing himself on preparing an IV bag of antibiotics and nutrients. Shiro gently smoothed adhesive bandages over the cuts when he was done. When he looked up, Coran was sliding the IV into place in the back of Keith’s hand.

“That should do it for now. I’m going to get a cool, wet cloth to help bring his fever down, but he should recover just fine.”

It was only then that Shiro finally allowed himself to dissolve into tears, like he had been wanting to ever since finding Keith in that cave. Burying his face in his hands, he let the tears soak his cheeks and the sobs wrack his body, uncaring for once that someone was there to see him fall apart.

A sturdy hand landed on his back, rubbing soothing circles. “There, there, lad. I know it’s been a rough few quintants, but it’ll be alright.”

“Will it?” Shiro scrubbed at his face with his flesh hand. “You should have seen him, Coran. I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to trust any of us again.”

The adviser heaved a sigh. “I don’t know, either. I’m not sure if I would be able to trust us, if the roles were reversed. But perhaps, with time, we’ll be able to prove to him that we do, indeed, care for him.”

Once Shiro had cried himself out, Coran convinced him to go change out of his armor and possibly get something to eat. He was surprised to find all three of the other paladins sprawled out on the floor just outside the infirmary, remnants of snacks scattered around them and expectant looks on their faces.

“Well? Is he...okay?” Pidge asked tentatively.

Shiro sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Physically, it seems so. He’s stable for now, at least, and Coran thinks he’ll be fine. We just have to make sure his fever doesn’t get too high.”

They all nodded slowly, seeming lost in thought. He imagined they were all thinking about the “other than physically” part that he had failed to comment on.

Hunk cleared his throat. “Is he awake?”

He shook his head. “He’s been in and out, but he’s resting pretty peacefully for now.”

“We didn’t want to, you know, be in the way,” Lance supplied. “But you can let us know when it’s okay for us to see him. Or we can take turns watching out for him.”

“Alright. I’ll let you know.” Right now he couldn’t imagine leaving his side, not for longer than he was doing right now. As he started down the hall again toward his quarters, he met another unexpected presence - Allura, lurking just around the corner from where the paladins sat, looking abnormally anxious. He stopped abruptly, not sure he was ready to see her again yet.

“I heard your update,” she stated after a moment of awkward silence. When Shiro said nothing in return, she pursed her lips. “I suppose we have some more discussions ahead of us now.”

“No. We don’t.” Allura’s eyebrows flew up in surprise, but he didn’t give her time to respond. “There’s nothing to discuss. Either you accept Keith back as the Red Paladin...and treat him just as well as the other paladins, or he and I leave. Whether or not the others stay is up to them.” 

Allura’s brow furrowed, and she dropped her gaze to the floor with nothing else to say. Pushing past her, Shiro continued to his room, hurrying through changing so he could be back with Keith.

.o.0.O.0.o.

They would tell Keith later that he had been out of it for around two days before the fever broke. All he knew was that he woke up in the infirmary of the Castle with no memory of how he had gotten there, and assumed he must have been hallucinating again. He was actually a bit surprised that the wounds from that death beast hadn’t killed him yet...or maybe they had. Maybe this was some sort of purgatory or something, though the infirmary seemed like a strange choice.

It made a bit more sense when he turned his head to the right and saw Coran sitting there studying him. Seemed maybe he was going to have to face people he had failed in life before he could move on to whatever came next.

“Are you with us this time, my boy?”

Wrinkling his eyebrows at the strange question, Keith licked his dry lips with an equally dry tongue and tried to come up with something to say, but all that came out was a raspy, “What?”

Immediately Coran went into action, producing a hydration pack from somewhere nearby and holding the straw up to Keith’s lips. The cool liquid hit his throat like a slice of heaven, and he gulped greedily.

“Not too fast, now. Don’t want you making yourself sick.”

Keith nearly whined when the straw was pulled away, but he could already feel the liquid sloshing around inside of him, so it was probably for the best. Clearing his throat, he decided he could try talking again. “What am I doing here?”

“You were in pretty bad shape when the others found you. Something had torn your leg all up, and it had gotten infected. We couldn’t put you in a cryopod until your fever went down, which it seems it now has.”

His eyes darted around the cavernous white room. “So...this is real?”

The corner of Coran’s mouth tilted up. “Yes. It’s real.”

He had kinda suspected after the water. But that left one major question…“Why?”

Before Coran could respond, the door slid open, and Keith turned his head to see Shiro enter the room. The sight of his surrogate brother had him torn between happiness and a strange sense of dread, leaving him to clench the sheets in his fists and wait for some kind of reaction to come. Half of him expected it to be disgust, or anger, or maybe just an apathetic announcement of what his new punishment for existing was to be. 

Instead, Shiro’s face lit up with a happy, almost hopeful expression. “Keith?”

“Wait, is Keith awake?” another voice called from the hallway behind him. Lance’s head poked through the doorway, making Keith’s stomach clench, before he turned and yelled back down the hall. “Hey guys, Keith’s awake!”

All at once the infirmary was filled with almost all the people who hated him, all crowding around his bed and staring down at him with faces he couldn’t read. They were going to hurt him. He knew they would, why else would they have brought him back here? Obviously they had changed their minds and decided they had been too lenient. What were they going to do to him? How much pain would he be in now?

He couldn’t breathe. Suddenly it felt like that beast was sitting on top of him again, crushing his chest, and he struggled to draw in air through an open mouth while tears stung his eyes. His hands shook where they were still gripping the sheets. People were talking, but it sounded as if his ears were stuffed full of cotton and he couldn’t make out any of the words.

He almost didn’t notice when the crowd above him dispersed, but it did help his breaths start to come a little easier. Only there was still Shiro, and he still didn’t know where Shiro stood on any of this. The Black Paladin sat down next to the bed and tried to grasp his hand. Keith yanked it away.

“Don’t...don’t.”

“Okay. I won’t touch you. Do you know where you are?”

Of course he knew, that was the whole problem. “Yes.”

“Okay. You’re safe now, Keith.”

Safe. Yeah, right. There was no such thing as safe, not anymore. He had thought the Castle was safe, that these people were safe, but he had been wrong. “Why?”

Shiro looked at him in mild confusion before choosing what to say. “We made a mistake, leaving you there. We -”

Keith rolled away, tucking his hands up next to his chest, cringing at the pain that still radiated through his leg. He didn’t want to hear it explained, how they wanted to punish him further. Yet at the same time, he needed to know what was coming. 

“Keith…”

“Now?”

It had been a long time since Shiro had needed to interpret his one word sentences, but luckily it seemed he was still good at it. “Now you keep resting and getting better until we can put you in a pod for your leg.”

“Why?”

That one seemed to give him pause. “So...you’ll be well.”

Were they really going to prolong the torture like this? Make him get well before they did away with him? He curled up tighter. “Just...kill. Now.”

“Kill? Keith -”

“Please.”

The chair scraped across the floor, and Keith flinched. Footsteps came around the bed. He tensed, waiting for the blow. The air in front of his face stirred, and Shiro’s voice came from very close.

“Keith, can you look at me, please?” When he didn’t comply, Shiro put a hand on his fists and pulled them down so that they were face to face. “No one is going to kill you. No one is going to hurt you. You’re back on the Castle because we were wrong. They were wrong about you being untrustworthy, and I was wrong about my duty to Voltron being more important than my duty to you. I’m so, so sorry that I let them kick you out, and that I didn’t come after you sooner. You will always be more important to me than the rest of the universe. You’re my brother. I love you.”

Tears welled up in Keith’s eyes despite his reluctance to believe any of it. Tugging his hands out from under Shiro’s, he covered his face again, unable to respond.

Shiro let out a long, quiet sigh. “The others want to apologize, too, at some point. But for now you should try to get some more rest. You’re still recovering from the infection.”

He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t trust that he wouldn’t be messed with while he was asleep. But his body decided for him that it was ready, drifting off without his permission.

.o.0.O.0.o.

Keith hadn’t really improved by the next couple of days. He slept some, he ate some, and his color and temperature seemed to be returning to normal. But he regarded everyone who came into the room with the wary stare of a cornered wild animal, and he still wasn’t speaking more than one or two words at a time, if that. Just as Shiro had feared, he had reverted back to the year that they had met, except worse. 

He tried to spend as much time in the infirmary with him as he could, hoping that the company would eventually coax him into relaxing. The other paladins still hadn’t gotten their chance to talk to him. Everyone, including Shiro, was afraid their presence would trigger another panic attack. He had already nearly gone into one when Hunk had delivered his breakfast that morning, and had been extra jumpy around Coran, too.

Shiro was eating his own breakfast, trying not to focus too much on the fact that Keith’s was just sitting there untouched, when he heard a telltale sniffle. Keith was sitting up, propped on some pillows against the wall, but his head was turned away from Shiro, as was pretty common. Even so, he could see the shimmer of a tear as it streaked down his face. Setting aside his bowl, he rounded the bed and settled down on the edge, expecting the flinch that followed but still hating it.

“Talk to me, Keith.”

He didn’t expect a response at all, and especially not a long one. But Keith angrily dashed the tears away, forever hating himself for ever crying, and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Why didn’t you just leave me there?”

Shiro’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“I was almost dead. It would have all been over. You should have just left me there.”

Heart aching, he scooted in closer, though Keith leaned even further back away from him. “Keith, no. We don’t want you dead. We want you here, alive and well, with us. If you died, I...I thought you were dead, when I first saw you. And it was like...it was like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. I don’t know if I could survive it.”

Keith’s face, passive up until then, creased with a look of emotional pain that Shiro could hardly stand. “But why should I live? I’m...I’m Galra, Shiro. I’m one of them. But not even really Galra, just some cross-breed freak of nature. I never should have existed. Maybe that’s why my mother walked out on me, she knew I was a freak and she couldn’t stand to -”

“Stop it. Keith, stop.” He grabbed his shoulder and shook it, not caring at the moment whether it startled him. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You are not defined by who your parents or grandparents or anyone else were. You are you. You are Keith Kogane, Red Paladin of Voltron, best pilot at the Galaxy Garrison. You’re a survivor. You’re a fighter. Not because you have Galra blood, but because the universe has thrown every hard thing that it could think of at you and you’re still standing strong.”

“I’m not standing strong, don’t you see me?” Keith met his eyes finally, a tiny bit of his old spark of anger visible. “I’m pathetic. Maybe I was the Red Paladin, maybe I was a survivor and a fighter, but right now I don’t think I can be any of those things. I don’t want to fight anymore, Shiro. I’m tired of surviving. I just want…” He broke down into tears again, covering his face with his hands.

Moving over closer, Shiro wrapped his arms around his brother and pulled him in tight. “You want what?”

Keith’s shoulders shuddered beneath him. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t trust any of them. I can’t trust any of them.”

“I know.” 

For a long time, they sat together like that, Keith’s face buried in Shiro’s chest while he cried out all his tears. Shiro ran his fingers through his hair, trying desperately to come with anything he could say to comfort him. 

“Do you think you could listen to them, if they come and talk to you? Just one at a time, not everyone at once. I know they’re really anxious to speak to you, and I think it might do you some good, too.” Or at least he hoped.

It took him a minute to answer. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well, it doesn’t have to be now. But I’d like you to consider it.”

Keith just nodded.

.o.0.O.0.o.

He had been in bed for days. The infection was all but gone, there was no longer any danger in putting him in a pod, and doing so had been brought up a couple of times. But Shiro and Coran must have noticed how he shrank into himself every time it was mentioned, because they dropped the subject and just continued to let him stay there. 

He didn’t want to go in a pod. Being forced unconscious for who knew how many hours or days was just too vulnerable, and he already felt that way far too much, anyway. After all, he was stuck in bed in the middle of a ship full of people who hated him. He was pretty confident that Shiro would try his best to protect him, and Coran might, too. The Altean had taken the time to sit down and apologize to him for his role in the whole mess, and based on the way he had been treating him Keith was fairly sure he could be trusted. 

But that left four others, all who had weapons, one of whom had some kind of weird magic and was literally connected to the Castle. He didn’t feel safe, and he hated it. There hadn’t been many places in his life that he had been able to truly let down his guard and feel safe. A foster home or two, though later on he had become so jaded that even the good ones didn’t feel like they would last. The Garrison to some extent, at least as long as Shiro was there.

And the Castle. Yeah, there was always the chance of an attack, and there had been the couple of times that someone had snuck on board without them knowing. But in all of those situations he had known that there were people around who had his back, people that he could count on. It was the most at home he had felt since Shiro had left for Kerberos.

Now it was those very same people that he was afraid of, as stupid and weak as that made him. The thought was almost laughable. Him? Afraid of Lance, Hunk, and Pidge? But he couldn’t get the hatred he had seen in some of their eyes out of his head. Couldn’t forget the venom in their voices. Couldn’t erase all the times he had watched them, hallucinations or not, show up in that cave with insults on their lips and weapons in their hands, ready to make him pay for the crime of being part Galra.

He didn’t want to talk to them. But he knew that Shiro really wanted him to, and that meant he would have to do it sooner or later. Maybe if he went ahead and got it over with, they’d leave him alone more, and then when his leg was healed enough that he could actually walk it’d be easier to leave. He hadn’t figured out where he was going - definitely not back to Borulmyte - or how he’d get there, but leaving was the best option for everybody.

“Will you...stay? If I let them…”

Once again, Shiro knew exactly what he was talking about, despite the question being out of the blue. “Of course. I’ll be right here with you the whole time.”

Sinking back into the pillows, Keith hugged himself. “Okay.”

Shiro smiled softly. “Okay. I’ll send them a message and let them know you’re ready.”

Hunk was the first to come in. He burst into tears pretty much as soon as he walked through the door and saw Keith, and cried so much the whole time that his many, many apologies could barely be understood. It made Keith uncomfortable, if he was honest. He had never known how to deal with tears, his own or anyone else’s. But Hunk was so obviously genuine and straightforward, and he had always had a hard time believing that there was any part of such a loving person that could have held such malice. 

“I get it.” It took everything in him to force multiple words out, but he knew he had to this time. “It’s hard to...stand up. When...everyone else...disagrees. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay, it’s so not okay!” Hunk blubbered. “I don’t know if it would have done any good for me to say anything or not, but I still should have done it.”

Keith nodded. “Okay. You’re right. It wasn’t okay. But…” He took a deep breath. “I forgive you.”

The way Hunk’s face lit up was totally worth the difficulty of saying the words. “Really, man? Thank you. Like, really, thank you, you don’t know how happy that makes me. I know we’ve never been, like, the best of friends, but I’ve always really wanted to get to know you better, I mean if you’d be okay with that, it’s totally up to you, but maybe sometime when you’re feeling better we can like, hang out? Also I know you haven’t been eating much right now but I am definitely making you brownies when you feel up to eating them. Like, a ton of brownies. All the brownies I can possibly make. Hey, maybe you could help me make the brownies! Cooking is such a good way to bond, I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before! What do you think, does that sound okay? Or I mean, if you really don’t want to hang out with me at all, I totally understand that, too, I just -”

“Hunk.” Keith’s lips twitched upward slightly as the breathless Yellow Paladin finally screeched to a halt. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Hunk beamed. “Great! Okay, I’m gonna like, go, and let somebody else come in here, ‘cause, yeah. Feel better, Keith!”

When the room was empty again, Shiro leaned over and squeezed his hand. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” He was surprised to find it was actually pretty true. A small burden had been lifted from his chest.

“Good. You ready for Lance or Pidge?”

Keith’s heart started beating double time again. “Lance.” Even though he had been more active in the process of his condemnation, Pidge’s response had hurt the worst.

The boy that came into the infirmary wasn’t the Lance that Keith knew. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off the floor, or his hands, or anything but Keith and Shiro, and when he spoke his voice was so soft it was barely audible. 

“I don’t know why I did it.” He picked at a loose thread on his jeans. “I just get...so emotional, so caught up in the moment sometimes...I’m really just as much of a hothead as you are.”

If his demeanor and apology hadn’t caught Keith’s attention, that statement did. Lance, admitting he was as bad as Keith at something? “Thought that was because...I’m Galra.”

Lance’s face pinched. “Yeah. I said some pretty stupid things. I mean…” He shrugged. “Who knows, maybe it is because you’re Galra. But still, it’s...you’re just you. And that’s okay. Maybe we don’t always get along, but I don’t really think you’re evil. I mean, I guess I kinda thought you could be. It was stupid, though. I’m an idiot, that’s what I’m getting at. There’s no real explanation, just...I’m sorry, like I said.”

Part of Keith wanted to accept that. Part of him didn’t think he could. “I...thanks. For apologizing. I think...maybe I can forgive you...soon? Maybe not yet. But, yeah. Soon.”

Lance nodded. “That’s fair. I didn’t really expect you to, like, at all, so…” He finally flicked his eyes up to meet Keith’s. “I think you and I could use to work on some things, anyway. Like, you know, not acting like we hate each other. Because I don’t. Hate you, that is. And I’m...pretty sure based on what Coran said that you don’t hate me, either.”

“No. I don’t. And yeah, that...that sounds good.”

“Okay. Good.” A brief smile flashed over his face, then he nodded again and excused himself.

“You still doing okay?”

Keith pressed his lips together. “Think so. I’m nervous, though. About Pidge.”

Shiro smiled sympathetically. “I know. Just give her a chance, ‘kay?”

Pidge shuffled into the room in a very similar fashion to Lance, eyes on the floor. She perched on the very edge of the chair that each paladin had occupied, kicking her feet back and forth since they didn’t quite touch the floor. In a low voice, she said her apology and explained that she had let her hurt over her family get the best of her, but insisted that it didn’t excuse her blaming him. 

It took a moment longer than the others for him to find his words. “I remember what it was like...missing somebody. Believing that they were still out there, but not knowing for sure. I mean, it wasn’t my actual family...unless you count my mom, which...at least I knew she chose to leave. So, she’s...probably fine.” Just didn’t want him. “But Shiro is the closest thing I’ve had to family since...since my Pops. And it’s hard. I mean, I kinda went ballistic, broke into a commanding officer’s office, punched a bunch of other officers, and got kicked out of the Garrison.”

“You what?” Shiro broke in, sitting forward, then realized his interruption and sat back, waving a hand. “Never mind. Sorry. We’ll talk later.”

Pidge snickered a little, and Keith took that as encouragement to continue. “But, yeah. I know how hard it is, and I would never, never wish that on someone else.”

Her head popped up, eyes wide and wet behind her glasses. “I know you wouldn’t. I know...I know you didn’t have anything to do with it, I never should have said something like that. You...you’re right, you understand probably more than anyone else, and I…” She trailed off, ducking her head as tears spilled down her cheeks.

Once again, there was someone crying in front of him, and he didn’t know what to do. But he was pretty sure what any of the other paladins would have offered in this situation, so… “Do you, um...need a...hug?”

The next thing he knew he had an armful of Pidge, curled up on the bed next to him and leaving tears and snot all over his shirt. He patted her back awkwardly. “You’ll find them. I know you will.”

“Why are you comforting me? I’m supposed to be in here helping you to feel better, this is not how this is supposed to work!”

Keith frowned. “Um...sorry?”

Pidge glared at him, not at all intimidating with her sopping wet face. “No, don’t apologize, that’s my job, too!” 

“Sorry!”

She punched him in the ribs. “You’re a good hugger. Why are you such a good hugger.”

Keith was just getting more confused the longer this conversation went on. “I...don’t know? It certainly isn’t from practice.”

Tilting her head back, she narrowed her eyes at him as if she could see into his mind. “Do you not like hugs?”

“No, I...do.”

“Then I’m gonna hug you. Every day. From now on.”

“Aw, can I get Keith hugs every day, too?” 

Keith startled a little bit when he realized that Hunk and Lance had returned to the room, but forced himself to relax. This was okay. They weren’t going to hurt him. They had all been very open with him, and even though it was going to take some time, he thought he could learn to trust them again.

“I...guess?”

“Yay!” Hunk settled onto the end of the bed, and Lance took the now empty chair, folding his long legs up into it. Shiro scooted forward again to be in Keith’s line of vision.

“How are you feeling now? Think maybe you can keep surviving a little longer?”

He felt Pidge tense in his arms, and Hunk’s face froze while Lance’s went carefully blank. Keith swallowed. “Yeah. I think...maybe I’m ready for that pod now. So I can finally get out of this bed and...I don’t know, kinda figure this out all over again.”

Shiro ruffled his hair fondly. “I’m glad. We’ll all be there with you for every step, okay?”

There was one more question, though. “What about Allura?”

Shiro’s face darkened slightly. “I’ve already told her she can either treat you the same as everyone else, or we’re leaving.”

“Nah, we won’t leave,” Pidge piped up. “There’s more of us than there are of her now. We’ll just stage a mutiny.”

Keith laughed awkwardly. “Somehow I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“I don’t think so, either, because I think she’ll come around,” Lance said. “But the point is, Mullet...we’re gonna support you.”

“You’re part of the Space Family now, dude!” Hunk cheered.

“Exactly,” Shiro smiled. “And Space Family has to stick together.”

The others kept chattering quietly, someone throwing in something about “ohana” in a weird voice, which triggered a whole conversation about some movie that he didn’t care about keeping up with. Closing his eyes, Keith let his body truly relax for the first time since before going to the Blade. 

And he felt safe.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Thanks so much to everyone who joined me this month!!! This was my first ever Tumblr writing challenge, and it was a blast. You guys are what made it so much fun, with all the comments and likes and reblogs! Thank you!

If you want more Keith whump from me sometime in the future, you  can follow me on here, on FFN, or follow the series "In which I whump Keith" on AO3...and if you haven't read Abyss yet (my first Keith whump fic!), you should check it out!

Happy Halloween and Happy Whumping!

#whumptober2020 #no.29 #reluctant bedrest #alt.7 #found family #Voltron: Legendary Defender #fic #completionist #fantastic racism tw #self loathing tw #blood tw #death mention tw #animal attack tw #fever tw #infection tw #hallucinations tw #needles tw #panic attack tw #suicide ideation tw #keith #keith kogane #voltron keith #vld keith #hurt keith #keith whump #voltron whump #voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #voltron fanfic

[thudthud]

the hunger of colonization

I transport the account of colonizer on my skin, The karma of my ancestors, a vicious quantity left by the need to win Every mis step taken is another memory within my brain My ancestors did nought for creation… in fact they were quite vain There is nothing I can do about altering the past All I can do is put in sufficient exertion to make the change of energy last My grandpa used to say, “ There are good Indians and bad”* HOWEVER, It was on their backs that I’ve received everything I’ve ever had.

Whenever these words were spoken I would shut my ears off from it pretend I was in my happy place and acquit them from all judgment. I know now that doing that wasn’t the right decision That I should have made standing with my friends my one and only mission. The speeches they expressed around me never rested well in my stomach I could see all the privilege I’ve been provided from it. You may look at me…. and ask what backs behind me I see.

I see Grandmas and Aunts. Uncles and Dads. Babies, friends and some very injured lads. I see their home and land being given to people because of the color of skin they had. I know what it feels like to have your home ripped from you. To only be able to look at a distance as your home is used without you. Being told you were never welcome in the first place That you need to leave so someone ‘better’ can take your space. The words that left my mouth much were, “WHAT HAVE I DONE WRONG?” “DID I NOT TRY TO TO EVERYTHING YOU ASKED, HAVE I NOT BEEN STRONG?”

When I opted to make my life about making things better, I ungracefully untied knots that had always been together. Knots within myself and the people around me. Knots within the very constructs of society. a lot of those knots never parted whatsoever, A lot of the people thought their remarks were quite clever. They really weren’t clever in the slightest. A lot of their views were incredibly rightest. The year right now is twenty one years past the millennium, I still have aunts that worked and slapped kids in gymnasiums. They hide under their veils and hoards of cloth. Sitting around tables together to scoff I know this to be true because I’ve seen it with my own eyes, Resting over tables and telling each other lies.

The color of your skin should not dictate your worth. Certain things should not be a guarantee from birth. The path forward is curvy and long The start of it wasn’t marked with the bang of the gong For a lot of us this will be our lifelong matter I really hope that at some point we can all work together.

My skin is pale and white. but please understand I am still trying to do what is right. There is no way in the world I could ever fully comprehend, Id like to help with anything to try and make amends Saying sorry does nothing at all, It’s the actions that go with them that allow a person to stand tall. If you filled a room with my family you’d see Half of them are bending backwards screaming like Banshee’s Their screams fill the room with darkness and hate. Their ideas and opinions have become stagnate. Its time now to hear the voices of those who were hurt For me and my people to help them burn down the church.

This system was built on all of their blood and sweat changing from residential schools to foster homes with very little and yet Many middle fingers are still raised high Justin Trudeau are we allowed to ask why? Why was there an “Indian problem”** to be fixed? Why is there so much internal trauma that’s so deep and all mixed? People in these positions of power doing the same over again despite the people getting louder

If the ancient Greeks travelled here to see democracy in action they’d cry kneel to the ground and Throw their hands to the sky “Why doesn’t everyone have a voice” “We invented democracy so people would have a real choice” If I had a child in the world today, I would be so wary of the words people use around and say. How big a deal it is to raise our babies into Earth Warriors, never knowing pain and only being filled with wonder. Full disclosure? I have no idea what I am doing all I know is I need to get behind what is brewing. This us and them has gone on forever you’d think after a few hundred years we would have gotten much better.

I read columbus’s*** journals in my first year of university, A book wrapped in hate and providing much clarity. “These people are beautiful” he wrote in his journal “They would make excellent slaves” he said and I hurled This journal entry has impacted the lives of you and me These journal entries shaped our entire society.

At one point in time, I was racist and all of my views were undeniably baseless. I some times remember those views in the back of my mind how can people who speak those thoughts ever think they are kind? We need to tell people to stop spewing inappropriate garbage Stop looking at all these people as targets and listening to their knowledge There’s a man in my town who stands on a box with a mic His speakers being over used with too much force and might Babies and kids walk past him with their mothers. Hearing from him that God hates their sisters and brothers. Freedom of speech only goes to far Human rights need to not be seen as bizarre I come from the settlers of this land coming here being promised something very grand When I walk on the sidewalk people clear the space for me If only they knew for them id take a knee. I am starting to understand what it can feel like to be hyper aware of your skin. To not feel totally comfortable in any space that you are in. I have friends who are both one and the other. Getting blamed by both communities for not being another The internal struggle they wake up daily with is something we need to start understanding. That being part of both communities should be something rewarding.

I used to be a day camp counselor, getting to work with amazing kids every summer. One week a child came in my care, being sent with a rap sheet I was hyper aware. The week started just like any other, telling the kids the rules and to get along with one another. He sat separate from most of the children, asking every ten minutes to go to the washroom. After the second day I pulled him aside to just talk we ended up on the forest path outside and walked The child was going to the washroom you see To wash his hands it was not to pee. “I do it every ten minutes, because out of all the kids I am certainly the dirtiest” He showed me his beautifully tanned skin and he sighed feeling like all of himself was something to hide. Tears filled my eyes and started to fall, I didn’t think anything I had to say would have any pull at all. this sweet baby in front of me was hurting so much it was a crime To make an innocent child believe they are covered in slime. “Baby boy I am going to tell you this once and very clear, there is nothing wrong with your skin at all my dear. You are a child unlike any other, being blamed for the anger and called a great bother. I see you my child I see you so clear You are so beautiful this breaks my heart and fills it with fear I worry that someone else is going to say something like this to you and that you will try to mend the cracks yourself with nasty unfit views. When you stand in the pond out back of the center, the tadpoles come to you like you’re an energy center. The bees fly around you with so much glee, I know no other person who has bees sleep on their knees” We really need to get into everyone’s minds that being racist isn’t cool and all of that knowledge hand off starts within our schools If I had been educated properly maybe getting thrown into it wouldn’t be so bewildering That colonization hasn’t done much good for the world, its sent us all spinning. When I was growing up I was told there are three sides to every story. That the truth was hidden somewhere in the middle of all the hate and swearing. I think if we all just sat down and centered with the earth once a day. We would all pay more mind to what these people say. *This sentence isn’t appropriate and is incredibly wrong. I loved my Grandpa very much but his views weren’t right.

**Duncan Campell Scott said this in parliament quite a few years before Hitler announced that Germany “Has to fix the Jew problem” This is genocidal speech.

***we do not capitalize the names of those who do not matter.

By Thudthud

#poem #colonization #residentialschools #poemofthenight #Canadasucks #Apology #poetryfrommysoul

[is-it-art-tho]

This is Chapter 3!

Chapter 1    Chapter 2

Summary: Jason will not let this happen again. He can't. But what if he's already too late?

Jason hated Halloween.

It didn’t used to be that way. There was a period, a lifetime ago, when he loved trick or treating.

Even now, he could still feel the bulky zombie teeth in his mouth, could hear the sound of miniature candies rattling around a plastic pumpkin bucket. Years of practice covering Bruce’s own bruises and scars had turned the older man into a savant with a palette and latex, and Jason could still picture the depths of Bruce’s eyes as he hovered practically nose to nose with the younger boy, skillfully crafting gruesome wounds and sutures across his face.

Back then, Halloween had been one of the few times a year when Jason and Bruce got to dress up for fun rather than battle or ritzy, soul-sucking fundraisers. It was a day when blades were made of plastic and Styrofoam rather than steel, and the things that lurked in the shadows were not deadly adversaries but friends and neighbors. A time when they moved with their feet planted firmly on the ground instead of along rooftops or soaring through the air, and the coming of night did not bring with it danger or violence.

On Halloween, blood tasted like food coloring and corn syrup. The bruises on Bruce’s face were bright and fake, and his scowl, usually menacing, was little more than a poorly disguised grin.

“No, you gotta be scary!” Jason had complained once after glancing up to find a wide smile on Bruce’s blotchy green face.

And Bruce had laughed, a full-throated sound from deep in his chest before promising, “Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

But that was then, and dwelling on those times now was an exercise in masochism.

These days, Halloween was easier to get through from inside a bar or holed up in his apartment. While miniature witches and cartoon characters trickled into the streets, he intended to spend the night plastered, eating too much food, watching mind-numbing TV, and praying the “No Candy” sign on his door would be enough to deter any would-be sugar gremlins.

As he kicked up his feet in nothing but his boxers and started scrolling through a selection of movies on the TV, though, he couldn’t quite manage to sink into the blissful detachment he so desperately craved. He shifted on the couch and glared at a movie synopsis without taking in any of the words there, a growing sense of frustration twisting through him.

It had already been two weeks and still his stomach was in knots, and he found himself swinging wildly from fits of aimless rage to bouts of queasy silence as Dick’s words reverberated through his head. Or rather, not his words, but his quiet.

And Jason hated himself for it because hadn’t he wanted this all along? To be free from the shadow of the bat? To assert himself as his own being with his own code? Hadn’t he personally waged war against them; wanted them dead?

How stupid to think a year and change of tenuous comradery might change any of that, might undo years of animus and at times outright violence between them.

They were right to keep him at arm’s length and expect him to be exactly what he had shown himself to be – a killer. It didn’t matter that it was because of them – because of Bruce’s inane code – that he hadn’t killed anyone in almost two years. Some things could not be undone. If anyone understood that, it ought to be him.

He glanced towards the linen closet in the hall where a duffel bag was crammed behind a couple towels and bed sheets. Inside was the new body armor he’d had Harper help him create. It was almost identical to what he usually wore, except this edition featured a brilliant red bat insignia across the chest. He’d been planning to start wearing soon.

He scoffed at himself.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. And maybe he wasn’t. But damn, if this didn’t still suck.

A ringtone went off, and Jason hopped up and made his way to the drawer in his kitchen where he kept his burners. He fumbled around before finding the dinky flip phone with a new message that simply said:

He’s out.

Jason sprinted into his room and emerged again in his Red Hood gear – the classic all black version – leaving a box of takeout and a scrolling screensaver on his TV as he slipped out the door.

The thick tires of his bike squealed against the asphalt as he tore around corners and down the still-sleeping streets of Gotham. Slowly, the store fronts, overpriced apartments, and new construction crumbled to ruins around him. Windows were replaced with graffitied plywood, buildings stood gaping and abandoned, some blackened with decades-old fire damage, others missing all together, just piles of rubble and garbage and overgrown weeds in empty spaces that reminded Jason of missing teeth. Even with the harvest moon drenching the city in pale light, these few blocks remained in shadow as if some invisible force hung overhead, blocking out the light.

Hood was headed for The Yards, a rougher part of town that reminded him of his old stomping grounds in Crime Alley. There were no trick or treaters out here. The few folks that walked the streets were mostly junkies and barflies and scantily clad girls. They noted him and offered nods of acknowledgement, unafraid.

He’d spent enough time in these parts now, that people who might typically shy away from cops knew that as long as they weren’t hurting anybody, he wasn’t going to bother them. It was a point of pride for him, that his reputation preceded him in that way; it made it easier for him to help the people who needed it most.

He pulled up in front of a defunct pizza shop and sauntered in through the boarded-up door, past the grimy tables and yawning brick oven, through the kitchen, and out the back door to the small alcove behind the restaurant lined with dumpsters and buzzing with the sounds of rodents and pests scurrying through trash.

A kid was sitting with his back against one of the dumpsters, a collection of glass bottles beside him. On the brick wall opposite him, Hood noted splatter stains over a glittering pile of broken glass. As if on cue, the kid picked up a bottle and flung it into the wall where it exploded in a spray of old beer and golden-brown shards.

Hood slipped off his helmet and tucked it under his arm so that he was only in his domino. A lot of the kids around here preferred when he stayed in the helmet. Some thought it was cool, but others, he could tell, found him easier to talk to that way. It was the eyes, he thought. There were certain things that were easier to admit aloud when you weren’t looking someone in the eyes.

This kid, though, was not one of them.

“Yo,” Hood said, walking over to slide down the side of the dumpster so that they were sitting side by side. Not touching, but close enough that a shift in weight, an adjusted leg could easily result in contact. This was another thing that not all kids around here liked – the physical closeness.

“Hey.” The boy didn’t look at him right away, instead waving his fingers over the bottles as he hunted for the next one to throw. He landed on a retro Coke and weighed the thick glass in his scrawny hands.

Hood watched him chuck it at the wall and grin at the explosion before asking, “How are things with you?”

Fry – that was what everyone called the kid around here; Hood had no idea why – shrugged, and his grin faded. Not into a frown, but a careful absence of expression. An absence that managed to say I’m fine and Please ask me what’s wrong and Please help all at once. It was the kind of look that Hood recognized too well; one he’d practiced in a mirror on more than one occasion when he was a kid, hoping someone would see it and understand.

They never did.

“Henry’s back,” Fry answered.

Hood already knew this. He had little informants all over this area; it was what the text had been about. But still he said, “Already? What about the trial?”

“He got bail.” Fry toyed with the neck of a new bottle, still not looking Hood in the eyes.

“And?”

Fry shrugged again, and Hood inwardly cursed the whole goddamn police department. It was a song he’d heard too many times before. Scumbag gets put away, makes bail, goes straight home, takes it out on the family, GCPD is nowhere to be found.

Stopping bank robbers and metas was easy. Those guys were loud and when they went away, they went away for a while. But this stuff, the villains who masqueraded as family men, as loving fathers and husbands – those were the real monsters. The masks they wore were more effective than any cowl or secret identity Hood had ever seen.

And it seemed that no matter how much time he spent talking with the kids in this area, working with them, trying clumsily to help them understand what to expect from social services and offering them numbers to some of his burners, he still felt like he wasn’t doing enough. There weren’t enough hours in the day, there wasn’t enough of him to singlehandedly pick up the pieces where the entire system was letting these kids – these families – down.

And God was it letting them down.

He wanted to get up right then. Every instinct in his body was screaming for justice, for revenge, and he wanted to go straight to Fry’s place and then to the GCPD to tell them to do their damn jobs and where they could find Henry’s body.

And maybe he should do that. It would be easier and more effective than anything the cops would do, and he felt now like he suddenly didn’t have anything to prove anymore. He was who he was, and if that made him the bad guy then so be it. A small price to pay in the grand scheme if that’s what it took to get things done.

As the rage swelled and Hood got ready to stand, he felt a small hand wrap around his. He looked, but Fry was staring away, his cheeks glistening in the orange glow from the light mounted above them on the brick wall.

And just like that, all of his restless fury melted into something dull and simmering, and Hood took a breath and tilted his head back against the grimy dumpster. “I’m sorry,” he sighed.

Fry shrugged again and sniffled. “What are you doing here anyway?” he asked, letting go of Hood’s hand to wipe his face.

“I can’t just come hang out with the coolest kid I know?”

Fry offered a shaky laugh. “Wanna try one?” He offered another Coke bottle and Hood took it.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent the bottle careening into the wall. Something about the motion reminded him of throwing a batarang – like muscle memory.

“Whoa!” Fry shouted. “That was a good one! Do it again!”

Fry shoved another bottle at Hood, and Hood chuckled as he launched it at the wall, the sharp crash mixing with the Fry’s delighted whoops.

And though Fry was now openly elated, there was still something in his face, a deep, unwavering kind of hurt.

It was the kind of pain that Hood knew would stay with the kid even if he managed to set Fry up with the best family in the best city tonight. Even if Hood made sure nothing bad ever happened to him again for the rest of his life, that wounded shadow would cling there, if only barely.

It was the mark of a kid who had experienced too much too soon, during those formative years. A kind of broken that could not be fixed, but instead was lived with, grown into, like a childhood birthmark or a scar.

It wasn’t the debilitating kind. He’d seen those kids too, the ones who were already so far gone, the scars so numerous and deep that it would take a miracle to reach them. Fry wasn’t there yet, and Hood just hoped he’d be able to help before he got there.

“So, no trick or treating, huh?” Hood asked. “What? Too good for candy or something?”

“Don’t have a costume. My mom said she would make me one but then…” His voice trailed off and he shrugged again.

Hood stared at him for a while then popped up, saying, “Wait right there,” before jogging back through the restaurant. He returned holding a leather jacket. This one was more casual than the one he wore on patrols; it lacked the sewn-in armor and additional slots for concealed weapons, but it matched his Red Hood jacket close enough.

“Stand up,” he said, and Fry obeyed, eyes wide. “Turn around.”

Fry turned and Hood slipped the jacket onto Fry’s small frame. It dangled off of him like a cloak and must have been fairly heavy judging by the slouch in Fry’s shoulders, but when he turned back around, he was beaming.

“Yeah,” Hood said, smiling and looking him up and down. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Oh–” He reached into his own jacket and pulled out a spare domino. “Put this on.”

Fry put it on, and the way his smile grew to encompass his entire face was almost cartoonish.

“Nice,” Hood said with a grin.

“I’m the Red Hood…?” he whispered. Then he looked up into Hood’s eyes. “I’m you?”

“Looks like it.” Hood breathed through the ache in his chest that made him want to change his mind and urge Fry to be somebody – anybody – else. A voice in his head moaned:

You don’t want to be me.

“So now for candy,” Hood continued. “I’m guessing there’s not much around here to work with.”

Fry shook his head.

“If you want, I can take you to one of the rich neighborhoods where they give out the good stuff. I’m talking king-sized name brands.”

“You’ll let me ride on your motorcycle?” Fry’s voice edged toward an eager shriek.

“Yeah, long as you promise not to make that sound again,” Hood laughed. “And that you won’t fall off,” he added.

Fry nodded vigorously as Hood clapped him on the back and steered him back through the kitchen saying, “Then let’s blow this joint.”

After they’d gotten on the bike and Fry had securely wrapped his arms around Hood’s mid-section, he asked, “Um, Hood…?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you… walk with me, too?”

Hood went still for a moment. His grip tightened on the handlebars as he turned around to smile, saying, “Well, duh. You think I’m gonna let you get all that candy to yourself?”

And Fry smiled, squeezing Hood’s torso even tighter and burying his face in the young man’s back as they roared down the street – slower, of course, than usual.

#batman fanfic #nightwing #jason todd #dick grayson #red hood #dick grayson and jason todd #dick grayson & jason todd #batman fanfiction

[mitchsmarners]

I want these words to make things right (but it's the wrongs that make the words come to life)

pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier [reddie] rating: teen & up word count: 10,531 summary: Richie Tozier runs an anonymous tip for superheroes in the town of New York City. Sounds like a great idea, until you throw in the ex boyfriend superhero he's still in love with, and the weird blue eyed man who somehow figured out the man behind the blog ⤹ a NOT birthday fic for the lovely leigh (@s-s-georgie) 

perma taglist: @jwilliambyers, @stebbins, @isaacslaheys, @s-s-georgie, @transrich@eddiefuckinkaspbrak, @edstozler, @emgays, @anellope, @thorn-harvester-ven, @wheezyeds, @vipertooth, @tozierking, @billdenbrough, @starrystoziers, @trashmouthtozierr, @willelbyers​ @itfandomprompts, @loserslibrary (let me know if you want added!)

read on ao3

Spotted!: The one and only FlyBoy, rescuing not one, not two, but six students of New York University from a late night fire in the little coffee shop down on Old Broadway. Damages to the building were extensive- and it’s going to be closed for a very long, unknown future- but nobody was harmed thanks to our very own eye in the sky. FlyBoy, we salute you and I think we can speak for everybody when we say that we sleep better knowing you’re out there. 

Richie sent out the blast, still smiling at his phone. He’d barely even opened his eyes when he’d rolled over to grab his phone, which wasn’t anything abnormal. Richie ran one of the most popular blogs in New York City, completely anonymously. It had started out as his own interests, keeping taps on all the iconic heroes of their great and crime ridden city. It had quickly grown in regular viewers and subscribers, everybody realizing how coinvient it was to one location with all the information. More reliable information than the actual news, if Richie did say so himself.

“Really? FlyBoy again?” Richie’s roommate, Beverly Marsh, barged into Richie’s bedroom without knocking. “Don’t you think you’re getting a little too hung up on this guy? You’re running an update blog, not a FlyBoy fanblog.”

“FlyBoy is the guy to watch for.” Richie shrugged as he rolled out his bed, reaching out blindly for his glasses that he’d left on his bedside table. Beverly was standing at the edge of his bed with her hands on his hips. “Why are you looking at me like that, Mom?”

Beverly grabbed an NYU crewneck off the floor and threw it over his head. “FlyBoy isn’t the only superhero in the city, Richie! You’re falling off your brand and you’re going to lose your following. And in case you hadn’t noticed, your following pays most of our bills.” 

Richie rolled his eyes. He grabbed his lucky jeans off the floor and slipped into them without changing his boxers, getting a little too much enjoyment out of Beverly’s cringe. “Would you chill out? I’m still just reporting the news, Bev. It’s not like anything else happened last night.”

“Dr Incredible stopped a bank robbing,” Beverly pointed out without even needing to look at her phone. “You didn’t say anything about that. Not to mention- Captain Fast literally saved an entire family from plunging off a bridge in their car last night. You know, Eddie Kaspbrak? Your best friend? The love of your life? I think maybe that would be a little newsworthy, don’t you?”

Richie scraped his black curls into a bun at the top of his head and started throwing textbooks into his backpack. “Beverly, I have had my eyes open for all of ten minutes, and seven of them have been you lecturing me on how to run a blog. I will post the rest of the events from last night and anything that happened this morning on the way to class that I need to go to. Because I have a life, so unless you wanna take over all the blog responsibilities… get off my dick.” 

Beverly scoffed as Richie pushed past her out the door to his room, shouting at him that there was brewed coffee on the counter even as they both knew that Richie was going to be stopping at Starbucks for something that was more sugar and syrup than actual caffeine. 

Richie went to the same Starbucks every morning before class, and every evening after classes let out. Stanley from his Psychology 101 worked there, and he never failed to give Richie shit about his nasty habits. He was a scrawny man, with tight curls. He was always well dressed under his work apron, light coloured button ups and pressed jeans. He always looked so put together and proper that Richie wanted to frazzle him and mess him up completely.

Stan’s customer service happy expression dropped into a look of disdain. “You’re back. Again.”

“Everyday, Stanny, you know me.” Richie leaned against the counter and winked at the unimpressed barista. Stan turned away from him, putting Richie’s regular order into the register. “Gotta get that caffeine fix.”

“I’d hardly call this caffeine by any means.” Stan let out a scoff as he finished ringing up the order. Richie handed Stanley the cash, and tried to chase the barista down the line in the process of making Richie’s entirely familiar order.

“You can’t lean over the counter like that.” Stan said in a low, bored tone. “You know, you’re lucky it's in my job description to be nice to you.” 

Richie chuckled, watching as Stan applied a double spray of whipped cream that Richie certainly hadn’t paid for. “If this is you being nice to me, I would hate to see you mean.”

“Yes, you would.” Stan placed Richie’s pale drink down onto the counter and slid a straw over to Richie without Richie needing to ask. Richie grinned, and took a long, overly dramatic sip before turning away. He nursed the drink throughout his short walk to his campus building, and tossed it- half finished- into the garbage before ducking into his lecture hall. He slid into his regular seat in the far left side of the hall, then frowned as somebody sat down on the other side of him. 

It was a cute enough guy, with soft brown hair that flopped into his face. His eyes were an icy blue and there was a scar running through one eyebrow. Richie felt goosebumps jump up on his forearms as the boy stared at him.

“You’re R-R-Richie T-Tozier, right?” Bill said, voice pleasant even in the low tone. It soothed Richie in an odd way, and he felt himself lowering his guard even as he wondered why he was doing it. 

“Yeah…” Richie said slowly, lifting his pen towards his mouth and biting down on the bottom end. “And you are?”

“My name is B-B-ill.” He said, before glancing over his shoulder. He bit down on his bottom lip and leaned in closer to Richie’s space. “You’re the runner of Spotted!, right? The superhero tracker blog?”

Richie blinked at him. His teeth threatened to break through the plastic of his pen. He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked forward at the professor, droning on about something Richie couldn’t care less about, especially with how his heart was pounding in his chest. “Sorry, man. I think you’ve got the wrong guy.” 

Even as Richie refused to let his gaze waver from the front of the room, he could feel how Bill’s eyes continued to burn into the side of his head. “Well.” Bill said, voice somehow seeming much closer to Richie’s ears than he felt it should be. “If you a-ar-are the m-man behind the sc-screen, I th-thought you sh-should know that Pr-Professor Fly will make an app-appearance tonight.”

Richie jerked his head to look at Bill, but the other guy was already standing and making his way through the lecture hall. He didn’t even turn around as Richie unabashedly stared at him. Professor Fly had once been the biggest, most known superhero on the NYC scene. Along with the flight powers that his name implied, he’d also been strong and fast. He’d had a plethora of powers, so many it was beyond abnormal. Nearly three years ago, Professor Fly had stepped onto the scene with a mentee- none other than FlyBoy- and only six months after that he’d completely dropped off the face of the Earth. FlyBoy continued to work in the city, and make a bigger and bigger name for himself, but Professor Fly had not been seen in over two full years. 

It was juicy information, no doubt. The kind that made Richie’s stomach tense up and his palms sweat. If Professor Fly was coming out of retirement, that could only mean somehow seriously Bad was on the scene. But Richie didn’t run a gossip blog, and he would never post something he didn’t have any proof on. Not even something as huge as a potential Professor Fly comeback.

Spotted! Just a little  recap of last night’s busy activities in the city that never sleeps: Dr Incredible bringing a bank robbery to a skidding halt, making sure all our favourite rich bitches and Wall Street moneybags have their millions safe for another day! Thanks, dude! And OF COURSE, the adorable and flawless Captain Fast saving an entire family from certain doom, and looking absolutely mouth watering in that spandex as always while doing it. Keep it up, babe. The public loves you :*

“RICHIE!”

Richie hardly reacted as the apartment door busted open and Eddie Kaspbrak stormed into the living room. His hair was damp, flattened to his forehead from the rain outside. The same rain that had left stains all over his grey NYU shirt and blue jeans. His fists were tightened at his sides, and he looked absolutely adorable.

“How can I be of service, dear Edward?” Richie asked, punching at the buttons of his xBox controller. Eddie stomped forward and grabbed it from his hands, tossing it across the room. “Hey! What the fuck?”

“You can’t fucking flirt with me on your stupid blog!” Eddie cried, running his hands through his hair. “Okay? People are gonna… they could figure out who you are if you keep doing that!”

Richie sat up straight on the couch. “Okay, do you know how little sense that makes, right? I make flirtatious comments about every hero I post about. Except Dr Incredible, I think guys a fucking sham.” Eddie rolled his eyes as Richie carried on over him. “And even if I did flirt with you more than the other heroes, they’d still need to know who you are to connect the dots to me. So take a breath. If you don’t want people commenting on your spandex, don’t wear it.”

“This isn’t about spandex.” Eddie said, though Richie could see that the anger he’d been wrapped up in when he’d come into the apartment was quickly seeping out of him. “This is about you. I don’t want you in danger, Richie.”

“You’ve made that beyond clear, Eds.” Richie stood and stretched his hands above his head. “It’s pretty much all I’ve heard from you.”

“Rich…” Eddie said sadly, but if there had been anything further to that sentence it evaporated right from Eddie’s mouth. 

Eddie and Richie were diaper buddies, a real sandbox love. Richie couldn’t remember a point in his life without Eddie in it. They’d grown up inseparable, and Richie still remembered vividly when they’re relationship had begun to grow into something more. Junior year of high school, when Richie finally, finally found the nerve to ask Eddie out on an official date. And the next couple weeks after that were bliss in a way that Richie had never known. Until suddenly, Eddie had started blowing him off. Cancelling dates, and dodging Richie’s calls. When Richie had moved to confront Eddie about his behaviour, to beg him to at least end it and not keep him hanging on, Richie had learned the truth of Eddie’s powers. Apparently, it ran in his family and his mother had tried her hardest to keep it from Eddie, in desperate hopes that Eddie would be different but the powers can come nonetheless. Some smaller ones- a heightened sense of touch, and an acute sense of knowledge of a person or object by touch which Richie lovingly called his Vibe Checks- and of course, his speed. Eddie had always been a fast runner, ever since they were kids, and he had been shaping up to be a big track star before the Powers had appeared to him. Afterwards, however, Eddie could run the length of the entirety of the country in mere seconds. 

They’d stayed up together that whole night, talking and crying and kissing, and they’d felt so good about everything. Richie thought having a superhero boyfriend was maybe the coolest thing that could ever happen to anybody, even if he wasn’t allowed to tell another living being. While still living in Derry, things hadn’t been so different with Eddie having powers. Things really changed when they moved out to New York City. Richie had always known Eddie was a good person, the best person, but he’d never accounted for how Eddie’s powers would come into play when they were suddenly in a city with other Supers and a sky high crime rate. 

They’d tried to make it work, Richie beyond supportive in Eddie’s crime fighting causes. (Hello, superhero boyfriend? Still the coolest shit ever!) but one misstep, one single incident where Richie’s safety had been put on the line, and Eddie had stopped them in their tracks. It hadn’t even been because of Eddie’s identity, Richie had been in a strictly wrong place wrong time sort of situation but Eddie had lost it. Claimed that their relationship was a liability for Eddie, that Richie was Eddie’s biggest weakness and that Eddie couldn’t risk Richie’s safety like that. Richie had argued tooth and nail, claiming that breaking up didn’t mean that they weren’t in love and that Eddie shouldn’t be giving up his personal life for these powers but it had fallen on deaf ears. Eddie had packed up his belongings and left their shared apartment. They’d tried to stay friends, but the love between them kept things strained. 

Richie padded into the kitchen and grabbed a can of pop from the fridge. He offered one up to Eddie, who shook his head as Richie knew that he would. He hopped up onto one of the seats on the counter and stared Eddie down. Eddie leaned forward on his elbows. 

“We can’t keep having this same argument, Richie.” Eddie said in his prim and rehearsed voice. “It’s not because I don’t love you-”

Richie squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head quickly. “God, you just said we can’t keep this argument. I don’t need to hear this fucking speech again. You gave it to me when we broke up, you gave it to me six months ago on my birthday after we got drunk and-” Richie broke off and exhaled hard. “I’m sorry I talked about your spandex on my blog, I’ll try to tone down the flirting when I talk about you.”

“No.” Eddie sighed, resting his chin in his hands. “I overreacted. You didn’t say anything you wouldn’t have said about anybody else on there. And you’re right, people would need to know who I am to connect you to me. And nobody knows who either of us are.”

Richie blew out a long breath, flicking his thumb against the tab of his pop can. “Actually, Eds… somebody might know who I am. So, yeah, I should be more careful when talking about you on there. You’re the one who was right as usual.”

Eddie’s mouth dropped open and he pushed away from the table to round on Richie. He grabbed him by his shoulders and forced Richie to meet his gaze. “Richie. What are you talking about.”

“I’m not really sure, honestly, it was weird.” Richie ducked out of Eddie’s touch, frowning as the memory of his class that morning washed back over him. “It was some.. Guy in my theory of screenwriting lecture? He just sat down beside me and he addressed me by name and then asked if I was the one who wrote Spotted!. I told him I wasn’t, because you and Bev are both always on my ass about keeping it a secret, and then he told me…”

Richie stopped and looked up at Eddie. Eddie stared back at him, holding Richie’s eye line longer than he had in the two years since they’d called an end to their romantic relationship. “What, Rich? What did he say?”

“He said that Professor Fly would be making an appearance tonight.”

Eddie’s expression remained blank for several moments before the usual chaotic energy took him back over. “Why would he say that? How does he know that? How does he know you? There’s no way that’s true, nobody has heard anything from Professor Fly for almost three years. Not even FlyBoy knows where he is, he’s retired. There’s nothing he’d come back for, not unless it was the end of the world big. Is this the end of the world big? Richie?”

“I don’t know, Eds. He didn’t give me an itinerary for the night's events.” Richie said. “I think he just wanted me to post it on my blog like I’m some sort of gossip column. It’s not a big deal.” But Eddie didn’t look convinced and Richie could practically hear the little hamster wheel in his head running. “Unless you know something that’s going to happen tonight?”

“No.” Eddie said immediately, shaking his head. “I haven’t heard anything besides minor crimes and car accidents the last couple weeks. It’s been… almost too calm. I don’t like the sound of this guy, Richie, and I definitely don’t like what he’s suggesting. I’m gonna- I’m gonna talk to some people. Don’t leave this apartment and don’t post on Spotted! until I get back.” 

“You’re not my boss!” Richie cried as Eddie tore out of his apartment like a tornado. 

Eddie returned quickly, as Eddie was prone to do. He stumbled into the apartment as dusk began to settle outside, a tray of coffees in his hands. “Okay, we only have a few hours to figure this out.” 

Beverly had been just getting into the apartment when Eddie had come in and nearly crushed her behind the door. She frowned as Eddie handed her one of the steaming paper cups and somebody came into the apartment behind him.

“Stan from Starbucks?” Richie asked with a frown, watching as Stan and another tall, black man he didn’t recognize came into his apartment. “Eds, I get you wanted coffee or whatever but you don’t need to bring the store back with you.”

Stan placed the only non-hot beverage down onto the counter. “I’m going to tell you something, and you need to promise not to be weird about it.” Richie stared at Stan with his drink raised half way up to his lips, and Stan let out a low sigh. “I’m FlyBoy.”

Richie whipped around to glare at Eddie, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “FlyBoy has been Stan from Starbucks this entire fucking time, and you didn’t think to tell me that?”

“It isn’t exactly my secret to tell anybody.” Eddie said with a chill to his voice. “And honestly, even if I could have told you, I wouldn’t have. You have a weird crush on him and the last thing we need is you running off and getting some high stress relationship with a superhero.”

A superhero who isn’t me. Eddie maybe didn’t say it, maybe wasn’t even aware that he’d implied the words at all, but Richie heard them perfectly clear. Richie scoffed, dropping his drink onto the counter and stepping away from the group just slightly. “You don’t really get any say in who I do or don’t like, Eddie. It’s actually none of your business at all.”

“It is if it’s something that’s going to put you in danger, Richie!” Eddie snapped back, hand cutting through the air. A manic gesture of Eddie’s that Richie usually found cute, but could only manage to find irritating in this moment. “You put yourself in harms way enough with this stupid blog and just even knowing me, I would never let you-”

“Let me? Let me?” Richie chuckled humorlessly. “You are not the boss of me, Eddie. You’re not my parents, you’re my boyfriend. So, thank you very much for all the over the top concern about whether or not I’m getting myself into trouble but I’m going to have to politely tell you to mind your fucking business for once in your life.”

Eddie gaped at him, almost forming words before losing them again. The black man who had come into the apartment with Eddie and Stan cleared his throat. “I’m sorry but this seems like a pretty serious personal issue, and we have something important we need to handle, so...”

“Yes.” Eddie said, voice cracking. Richie glanced at him and tried not to let the hint of tears that were pooling in Eddie’s eyes. “Richie, this is Mike Hanlon. You probably know him as-”

“Freezie.” Mike held his hand out and Richie only hesitated for a moment before Mike laughed. “Don’t worry, man. I have to actually want to turn you into ice for it to happen. Though I do have some horror stories when I first started developing my powers, I’m not gonna lie.” 

“Mr Medusa.” Richie said with a grin, gripping Mike’s hand firmly and giving a body moving shake.  Mike gave a laugh while both Stan and Eddie rolled his eyes at his antics. 

“You know how misleading that nickname is, right?” Stan asked dryly. “Mike turns people to ice with his hands, Medusa turned people to stone by looking at them and her head full of snakes. It’s really not even that close of a comparison, it just implies you don’t know anything about Greeky mythology.”

“Excuse me, I’m a gay Gen Z. Of course I fucking know Greek mythology. I read Percy Jackson.” Richie said with a wave of his hand. Stan gaped at him for a moment before Eddie blew the wrapper from Richie’s straw at Richie’s head. 

“He’s also a fucking Ancient Civilization minor.” Eddie said in a mixture of fondness and irritation. “Don’t let him fool you with his stupidity, he’s actually incredibly smart.” 

“Okay, yeah, this is great.” Beverly spoke up suddenly, dropping her shopping bags onto the kitchen counter. “But do you guys wanna tell me what the hell is going on exactly?”

“Yes, I’d like to know, too.” Stan said, taking a seat at the small, banged up wooden table. “Eddie didn’t exactly give much details as he was superhero sprinting around the Starbucks and making like $30 worth of product he didn't pay for.” 

Eddie waved Stan off. “We might be in for a long night.” He said, dropping into the seat beside Stan. Mike and Beverly both moved to take the last two seats around the table and Richie jumped up to sit on top of the table between Eddie and Stan. He maybe positioned himself a little bit closer to Stan, just to watch Eddie’s jaw clench.

“Richie, why don’t you tell everybody what you told me earlier.” Eddie said in his very best teacher voice. 

Richie sighed. “I still think you’re making too big a deal out of this, Eds, really. But basically some guy came up to me in class today, and accused me of running the Spotted! Blog and then told me that  Professor Fly is going to come back tonight.” 

Stan’s head jerked to look at Richie, eyes wide. “That’s impossible. Who told you this?”

Richie shrugged. “I don’t man, some weirdo. Think he said his name was Bill?”

Beverly startled at her seat, knocking one of the coffees to the ground. Everybody turned to look at her and her face had lost nearly all colour. “Uh… did he have a scar running through his eyebrow?” 

“Yeah… how do you know that?” 

Beverly scratched at the side of her neck. “I went on a few dates with him last semester, he's a weird dude. I wouldn’t read too much into this, I’m sure he’s just trying to stir up drama. His brother died when he was young, and he never really got over it.”

A shoulder crossed over Stan’s face and he sighed sadly. “Georgie Denbrough. That was…. A tragedy.” 

Mike and Eddie made matching sympathetic sounds and Richie pulse jumped. “Okay, you all clearly know what the fuck is going on, from your super secret like Justice League meetings or something, but anybody want to catch me up? Who is Georgie Denbrough and what happened to him?”

“Georgie Denbrough was Professor Fly’s biggest shame. His failure as a hero.” Stan said, voice almost completely monotone. “It was just before he started training me to take over for him, I’ve always suspected it was the reason why he was choosing to retire. The Professor was trying to save a group of children from a predator and somehow the battle got really intense. The predator had powers that The Professor hadn’t anticipated, and The Professor’s powers back fired when he tried to catch the man. It caused the building to explode. Most of the children were okay, scrapes and bruises, maybe a broken bone or so, but Georgie Denbrough… He lost an arm in the explosion and he bled out before help could arrive. The boy died and the villain got away. He never really recovered from it.”

“Neither did Bill Denbrough,” Beverly jumped in. “When we were going out, it was pretty much all he talked about. How Professor Fly killed his little brother and ruined Bill’s life. He hates superheroes because of it. He probably doesn't know shit, but at least suspects that Richie knows some heroes and will tell them what he said. It’s a set up.”

Stan nodded. “There’s no way The Professor is going to be out tonight. Nothing would pull him out of retirement, trust me.”

Eddie rubbed his hands together. “Maybe.” He said shortly. “But we don’t know that it’s a trap for us. It’s possible this Bill guy has something planned tonight to try and bring Professor Fly out. We can’t risk people getting hurt because we don’t know what this guy's plan is. I think we should have all hands on deck tonight if we can.”

“Eddie’s right.” Mike said. “Even if it is a trap for us, we agreed to this sort of risk when we started acting as heroes. We knew what we were getting into, we can’t just sit around and do nothing when lives are at risk. Best case scenario, this Bill guy is full of shit and just running his mouth and nothing happens but we need to prepare for the worst.”

“I can’t imagine him going so far out of his way to figure out who’s running that blog just for it to be nothing.” Stan said quietly. 

“Maybe that’s part of the plan,” Richie jumped in. “He wanted me to post about Professor Fly’s return, probably to lure out people and heroes to whatever it was he was going to do. Maybe if I don’t post it then he’ll just drop the whole thing because he’s not getting the audience that he wants.”

“You should post it.” Beverly said suddenly, using some of the shitty dollar store dish cloths to wipe up the spilled coffee all over the floor. A large round of disagreement spread out amongst the heroes until Bev held her hand up for quiet. “I might not know much about this whole superhero world, or whatever, but how are you supposed to catch this guy if he doesn’t go through with his plan? You can’t exactly go after somebody for figuring out that Richie is caught up with superheroes.”

Eddie muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “I can fucking try” but none of the heroes had any sort of argument against Beverly’s claims. 

“Spotted! Isn't a gossip column!” Richie cried, tossing his hands in the air, nearly taking Stan’s eye out. “I’m not posting some unfounded bullshit about Professor Fly and killing my brand for this Bill dude’s fucking vandetta.”

“Your blog’s brand is more important to you than saving lives?” Mike asked, giving Richie big, sad puppy eyes.

“We don’t know it’ll save lives!” Richie argued. “For all we know, sending out a blast could be what gets people killed. If you think we should all go out and keep on eye on stuff, then fine but-”

“Whoa, whoa!” Eddie cut him off quickly. “What do you mean we? You’re not coming with us if we go out there, Richie. You and Bev aren’t leaving this apartment tonight, you could be a target!”

“YOU’RE NOT MY BOSS!” Richie leapt off the table and stalked away from Eddie, hands trembling at his sides. “I’m so sick of you telling me what I can and can’t do! You can’t control me, Eddie.”

Eddie’s head jerked back as though it had been slapped, and a wounded look crossed his face that Richie wouldn’t let himself feel bad about. “I’m not trying to control you, Richard. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Oh, really?” Richie laughed. “So, you making a point not to tell me you knew who FlyBoy was when you were under the impression I might have a crush on him wasn’t you keeping me safe, and not at all you not wanting me to date somebody that isn’t you.”

Eddie stood up and walked around to where Richie was standing angrily behind the counter. He didn’t touch him but his hands hovered just above Richie’s arms. “I didn’t tell you who FlyBoy was because it's a secret identity for a reason. It’s not like it was really my place to SAY anything to you about it, alright? You can date whoever the fuck you want, obviously, because I didn’t stop you from going on those dates with Connor Whathisfuck last year and I hated that guy so much it actually burned my soul. I want you to be happy, okay? I’d never stop you from dating somebody. Stan is right there if you wanna go ask him out right now, you pleeb.” 

Richie glanced over Eddie’s shoulders at where the people around the table were all staring at them. Stan wrinkled up his nose. “Please don’t.”

Richie rolled his eyes and snorted. “Don’t worry, Stan my Man. If I’d known FlyBoy was somebody as boring as you, I wouldn’t have dedicated so much time to him in the first place.” 

Richie tried to ignore Eddie’s relieved sigh in his ear. 

Eddie didn’t budge on his statement that Richie and Beverly would be staying behind at their apartment, as Richie didn’t budge his refusal to post false information on this blog. “If you want me to make some sort of announcement, it has to be something true. That’s just how it is.”

“You could post about seeing the three of us teaming up.” Mike suggested as Richie was really just focusing on not looking at his bare chest as he changed into his suit. “That will be enough to get the public's attention and let this Bill Denbrough know we’re taking him seriously without having to leak false information about Professor Fly.”

Richie nodded in agreement as Eddie padded over him to his little tight red spandex supersuit. Richie’s breath caught as it always did when he saw Eddie as Captain Fast. “Don’t say anything until you’re sure we’re a decent way away from the apartment. Just because somebody figured out that you run the blog doesn’t mean that we should be leading towards the place you live. Play it safe, Rich.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Richie waved it off, but they both knew at the end of the day even as much as Richie fought it, he was going to follow Eddie’s advice. As the group moved towards the front door, Eddie suddenly spun around and grabbed hold of Richie’s waist. He tugged him into a tight hug, pressing his face against Richie’s shoulder.

“Please, please, be careful, Rich.” Eddie whispered into Richie’s body. “I have a really bad feeling.”

“Yeah, Eds. I’ll be careful.” Richie squeezed Eddie tightly until the other man pulled back. There was a split second where Richie was certain that Eddie was about to lean in for a kiss. The moment broke as Eddie’s cheeks turned pink and he looked away. He pulled the matching red mask over his eyes and followed the rest of Mike and Stan from the apartment. 

Richie wallowed in his poor, confused little gay heart for roughly ten minutes before he took out his phone and sent out the blast. 

Spotted! What must be the coolest new trio in NYC: FlyBoy, Captain Fast and Freezie heading out on the town. Is this just a  (super)mans night out- or is something much more sinister in the works for not so little city? I think we can all only wait and see. This blogger advises his readers to stay home tonight, and keep an eye on the news and little old me for your updates.

Richie didn’t even have a chance to put his phone back into his pocket before Beverly was stomping into the room and tossing a black hoodie over his head. He pulled it away and caught sight of Beverly with her red hair tied up in a long red, curly ponytail. She wore black jeans and black tank top that showed off a black triangle tattoo on her left arm. She raised her brow and nodded at him. “Hurry up, get into something dark and let’s go.”

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo.” Richie said slowly. 

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.” Beverly said. “Now hurry up and let's go. We have stuff we have to do.”

“I told Eddie I was gonna stay in the apartment.” Richie said, fidgeting with the fabric of the hoodie in his hands. “I think we-”

“I thought Eddie wasn’t the boss of you.” Beverly said, cocking her brow. Richie’s face burned as he tugged the plain back sweater over his head and put his feet back into messy converse sneakers. Beverly was already halfway down the hallway before Richie was even out of the apartment’s door. When they exited the stairway into the lobby, there was a man waiting there in matching all black outfit with the same triangle tattoo on his left arm. He had thick muscled arms, but chubby cheeks and wide eyes that seemed to still hold onto some sort of childhood innocence. 

Beverly pressed a quick kiss to his lips and Richie blinked. I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. The words died on Richie’s tongue as a weird feeling overcame him in that moment. “Richie, this is Ben. Ben, Richie.”

Ben held his hand out and Ben’s shake was warm and firm. Somehow Richie felt like his skin was crawling as Beverly pressed her hands between Richie’s shoulder blades and began to push him out towards the front of the building. 

“I uh” Richie cleared his throat, heart hammering in his chest. “Where are we going? Eddie’s probably right that we should stay inside, we don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“Don’t be such a chicken shit.” Beverly grinned at him, and Richie shivered as a chill rushed through his spine. “Aren’t you at all curious about what might be going on? Come on, it’ll be fine. It’s not like we’re actually a target for anything. Denbrough was probably just trying to use you for your site.”

Immediately, Richie had been curious- almost morbidly so. Until this very moment when all he wanted to do was run back to his apartment and spend the rest of the night hiding under his blankets. But Richie Tozier had never been very good at trusting himself or any of his instincts, and he allowed Beverly and Ben to guide him into the black car parked out front. 

Then didn’t drive far, and pulled up to some sort of abandoned warehouse. Every couple of seconds there was a flash of light from inside the cracked and shattered glass windows. Richie’s breath started catching in his throat with every attempt to breathe. “What- where are we?”

Beverly turned to where Richie was trying to fade into the back seat of the car, and looked almost sad. “I’m sorry, Rich. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.” 

xxx

Eddie actually hated wearing spandex, but it was an incredibly durable fabric. With the amount of moving he did, it was the most logical choice in costume. But Eddie was never truly comfortable when in costume.

“If I ask you something, could you answer without getting bitchy?” Stan suddenly whispered in his ear. He, Mike and Eddie had only reached the main core of the Lower West Side. Eddie turned to him and narrowed his eyes as best as he could home to do with a mask covering half his face. “Do you ever think of giving it up? Hanging up your suit and just being a normal person. Letting yourself really love Richie?” 

Eddie’s face burned nearly the colour of the suit. He spent the better part of the last two years trying not to think about how he was in love with Richie Tozier and in the last three years, it was the only thing at the front of his mind. “I try not to think about it, honestly, because it’s not an option. I didn’t choose to have these powers, or this life. But as long as I have them, I have to do the right thing. I don’t have a choice.”

“I don’t know.” Stan said slowly. “I think you should be able to do what’s best for you. You deserve to be happy.”

“I’m happy enough.” Eddie lied. “Do you think we should split up and cover more ground?”

“Yeah.” Mike jumped in as the conversation changed back into the professional task at hand. “Especially since we don’t really know what the situation is, so keep your ear pieces in and buzz into the others if you come across anything.” 

“Alright,” Stan agreed, though he shot Eddie a this isn’t over look from the corner of his eye. “Eddie and I have a much easier way to travel, so Mike you can stay in this area.” Stan and Eddie agreed on their own sections of the general NYU area- the area that had always been protected by Professor Fly in the height of his career- and Eddie took off running. Eddie had always loved running, and it was the only part of being a hero that he still enjoyed. Sometimes, on nights when Eddie just couldn’t be bothered to care, he’d just run for miles. Just see how far he could go. He’d reached the Canadian border once before he decided it was a waste of his gift. 

Eddie slowed down into a simple walk once he reached his section of town, when somebody reached out and grabbed hold of Eddie’s arm. Eddie gasped at the feeling of utter desperation that sort through him belonging to the person who touched him. A pair of icy blue eyes under a scarred eyebrow met Eddie’s and Eddie’s heart leapt right into his mouth.

“What are you doing here?” Bill Denbrough demanded. “You’re not supposed to be here! Didn’t Richie tell you about my warning?”

“Your- your warning?” Eddie squawked. “So, you tracking him down and telling him some bogus tip about Professor Fly was supposed to be a warning? A warning of what- that you’re insane?” 

Denbrough shook his head, brown hair falling into his head. “No. No.” He said desperately, nails digging into Eddie’s skin. “Professor Fly would never return, FlyBoy would know that. Didn’t you tell FlyBoy? It’s a trap, you were all supposed to stay home! You’re all in danger!” 

Eddie tried to pull his arm free but Denbrough’s grip was too tight. “You’re hurting me!” Eddie cried, chest starting to feel the too familiar pressure of an asthma attack- though he hadn’t one a single one since his powers had come in. 

“I k-k-know you have more powers than just sp-speed.” Denbrough said, stepping even further into Eddie’s space and grabbing hold of his other arm. “You can s-s-sense me, r-right? You’ll no-no-know if I’m d-dan-dangerous!” 

Eddie felt a lot of things about Bill Denbrough. Guilt, fear, desperation. There was something bleak and sad under the surface but there was no hint of a threat to him. “What do you want?” Eddie asked in a shaking voice.

Bill Denbrough’s eyes darted around Eddie. “Where’s R-R-Richie? Is he w-w-ith you? Where is h-he?”

“He’s safe.” Eddie promised even as his own heart stuttered and panicked. “He’s back at his apartment with his roommate, they’re both-”

Bill’s eyes widened in horror. “NO! No, you can’t t-t-t-t-fuck- trust Beverly! She’s n-n-not who you think she is!” 

Eddie started shaking his head. “No offence, but I’ve known Beverly for a year and I’ve only known you five minutes and you seem pretty unhinged. Why should I believe you when you say I can’t trust her, if I have no reason to trust you?”

“Have you ever tou-tou-touched her?” Bill demanded. “In the yuh-year you’ve known her, ha-have your body ev-ever even graze-grazed hers?” Eddie opened his mouth but froze. “No. It ha-hasn’t. I know it ha-hasn’t, be-because she knows if you ha-had ever tou-touched her, you’d kn-know the truth about her. And everything would have been ru-ruined.”

Eddie shook his head. “What’s she going to do to him?”

Bill frowned. “This wuh-wuh-wasn’t the plu-plan. I don’t- there’s only one place s-sh-she’d take him. But you have to tr-tr-trust me.”

It wasn’t in Eddie’s nature to be particularly trusting, and Bill wasn’t exactly somebody who was inspiring much benefit of the doubt. But his hands were still digging into Eddie’s arms and the only thing Eddie could sense was fear and deeper down- guilt that Eddie suspected he felt at all times. “Okay.” Eddie said, and as Bill let go of him, Eddie flicked on this ear piece’s speaker. 

Bill didn’t lead Eddie too far away, the pair of them travelling in silence and Eddie secretly wishing that Bill would simply tell him where the location was so Eddie could run there. If something happened to Richie while Eddie was wasting his time walking, he’d never forgive himself. Eventually, Bill led him over to the warehouse with lights that flashed through broken windows. He could make out figures walking around inside as he and Bill attempted to sneak into the warehouse without being noticed. 

There was a large glass sphere in the middle of the room, surrounded by what looked like burn white lightning that occasionally sparked brighter and caused the room to brighten as though large fluorescent lights flicked on overhead. Richie was seated a few feet away on the floor, bound against a large cement pillar that connected all the way up to the ceiling. He appeared unharmed, if not mildly annoyed. Eddie’s heart raced all the same Beverly and a man Eddie didn’t recognize both paced around the same space.

“Billy…” Beverly came to a full stand still. Bill froze at Eddie’s side. “There’s no need to sneak around. Come out, we have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

Bill pressed a single finger against his lips, before turning and stepping out of the shadows. “You’re m-may-making a big m-m-mistake, Beverly. He’s n-n-n-not who he says he is.”

“I think you’re the one who’s not who he says he is.” Beverly said, turning around and facing Bill with her arms crossed. “Going behind our backs and telling Richie some crap about Professor Fly? Bringing your existence to his attention? You forced our hand, Billy. Mr Scratch isn’t going to be pleased.”

“He-He’s not guh-good, Bev!” Bill cried, hands clutched at his side. “What do you th-th-think he’s going to do with it wuh-wuh-when he gets it? He-He’s puh-playing you both!”

“He is not!” Beverly cried. “He’s going to do exactly what told us! Why did you have to go and fuck up the plan?”

“Excuse me!” Richie cried, voice dripping with sarcasm. “But if I’m going to be killed, can you guys at least do me the decency of letting me know what you’re talking about in my final moments.”

“You’re not going to die.” Beverly’s male friend said softly. “Nobody is going to get hurt.”

“You’re a fuh-fool if you buh-believe that, Ben!” Bill said, taking steps closer into the room. “Richie, this mach-machine has the ab-ability tr-train a super-superhero of their p-p-powers. Mr Scr-scratch hates heroes and he-”

“Like you’re any better!” Beverly shouted over Bill’s explanation. “You’ve been with him longer than either of us! Heroes killed your brother, you hate them just as much as the rest of us. Maybe ever more! They ruined all our lives!” Beverly turned towards Richie and took a few steps towards him. “I lost my parents when I was little. My father was an awful man, he chased my mother away when I was only six. He died when I was 11, and my aunt took me in. For two years, I experienced happiness for the first time. I loved my aunt and she loved me, took care of me for the first time since I could remember anything. She was a good person, and superheroes came and ripped my only true family apart. My aunt took into selling drugs after she adopted me, just to get ends to meet. She wasn’t proud of it, but she did what she had to do for me. She was smart, she never would have been caught if the superheroes minded their own business and let police handle things. A bunch of hyped up vigilanties took my aunt away from me, and I went into foster care. I was only 13. When I was 17, Mr Scratch found me. Told me there were others like me, who wanted to even the playing field.”

“By killing all the superheroes?” Richie asked, voice breaking. “Beverly, you have to admit that sounds fucking insane!” 

“It isn’t going to kill them.” Ben added. “The Deadlight doesn’t kill them, it only drains them of their supernatural abilities. Makes them human, normal. Just like everybody else.” 

Richie scoffed, in higher octaves than regular voices. “And then what happens to their powers? They just what? Evaporate?” 

“They’ll be trapped in the Deadlight.” Ben answered. “Forever. No more superheroes.”

“You’re an i-idiot.” Bill said coldly. “Sc-Scratch is obviously going to tuh-take the powers! Guh-get rid of the sue-supers and make himself invisible. Undefeatable.”

“You’re full of shit.” Beverly snapped. “He wouldn’t do that! We’re not evil, or some fucking supervillain cult! All we want in equality! We’d never use any of these powers against anybody!”

 “You two wouldn’t.” Bill said darkly. “I’ve wuh-wuh-wondered if he was really who he suh-said he was for- a luh-long time. But I suh-saw plans in his uh-office. About how to ruh-ruh-reverse the Deadlights. He’s guh-gonna take the puh-powers for him-himself.” 

“You’re a fucking liar!” Beverly screamed. “He wouldn’t do that! He-” 

A suddenly crashing brought Beverly’s screams to a halt. The doors busted open and Stan dropped in, with Mike leaping off his back. Beverly took a step backwards, eyes open wide and Ben moved over to stand almost directly in front of Richie. 

“Where’s Eddie?” Mike demanded, glancing around the room. Eddie cringed and slapped a hand over his forehead, as Beverly and Ben exchanged a shocked expression. Richie looked around wildly, with huge, terrified eyes.

Beverly crossed her arms and looked back to the same shadows that Bill had appeared from. “Okay, Eds. You can come out.”

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie said sharply as he stepped out as well.

“Eddie…” Richie said a quiet, almost broken voice. Eddie tried to give him a reassuring look, but he knew that Richie would be able to see his own fear underneath the attempt. 

Beverly sighed and rolled her eyes. “Alright, this isn’t exactly how I planned on tonight going, though I have to say I did expect to see you all here after I took Richie.”

“Let him go.” Eddie said furiously. “He doesn’t have powers, he isn’t part of this. Let him go.”

Beverly smiled sadly. “No can do, sorry. Richie is actually a key factor to this whole mission. Why do you think I’ve been so encouraging of his little blog? He’s a natural talent, and he’s been so helpful in our acquiring the true identities of these so-called heroes.”

Eddie glanced at Richie, who looked like he might be physically ill. All Eddie wanted to do was rush over and wrap Richie in his arms and keep him safe, but he couldn’t show that weakness in this moment.

“We found Richie through you, though, Eddie.” Beverly said, looking almost… amused. “We didn’t know who you were, but Richie was at most of your scenes and we figured that he knew you. It was Big Bill’s idea that one of befriend him, and figure out what he knows. Does it sting a little, knowing you gave your future with Richie to protect him but you lead us to him anyway?” 

It more than stung, it burned. Eddie’s entire body felt like it was vibrating as he stood there, staring down at women he’d thought of as a friend for more than a year. A woman who’d been living under the same roof as Richie, but wanting only to use him and potentially cause him harm. 

“Oh, Eddie, don’t look like that.” Beverly said, sounding almost genuinely upset. “I already said we aren't gonna hurt him. Nobody is going to get hurt, Bill is just- I don’t even know what he’s trying to do.”

“I’m trying to wa-warn you!” Bill cried. “You’re buh-bluh-blinded stupid but your own luh-loyalty that you cant’ see the uh-aub-obvious truth in fr-fruh-front of you!!”

“This was your cause!” Ben came quickly to Beverly’s defence. “You hate superheroes maybe more than anybody! How can you say this wasn’t what you wanted?”

Bill’s jaw clenched and his bottom lip trembled. “I… I wanted the h-her-heroes gone. But I duh-didn’t want anybody to guh-get their powers and uh-use them for them-themselves.”

“You’re the only person who's acting like that’s going to happen.” Ben snapped. Eddie thought this was his moment, the first time he’d been able to see a true path of entrance. Everybody’s eyes were torn between Bill and Ben, this could be Eddie’s chance to get over to Richie and free him. Eddie, maybe for the first time in his life, misjudged his position. 

Beverly’s hands collided hard with Eddie’s chest, the strength of her anger and resentment hitting him hard and shocking him to his core. He understood now more than ever why Beverly hadn’t made the mistake of touching Eddie in the year they’ve known one another. He may not have felt any true evil inside her, like he had felt in many a foe before, and there was still a lingering of a sad, scared little girl at her core but none of the vibes she was giving to him at this moment was reassuring. He would have kept her far away from Richie, he would have figured out enough about her, and this plan would never have worked.

Beverly taking Eddie by utter surprise had given her even more of an advantage. He knocked Eddie backwards and he stumbled backwards, crashing directly into the Deadlight. An electric charge drove through every nerve in his body and he was thrown across the empty warehouse by a bolt of white lightning. He heard Richie scream his name, but it was like a buzzing deep in the back of his mind. 

The harsh impact to the hard ground jarred Eddie back into himself, though a small bit dazed. He’d landed not far from where Richie was tied up. He shuffled backwards, groaning as the oddest sensation of discomfort shot through his body, but he didn’t stop until he could rest his head against Richie’s knee. 

“Holy shit, Eds!” Richie gasped, fighting against his bindings even as it shook Eddie’s resting head. “How the fuck are you alive right now? You just got yeeted across the room by lightning!” 

Eddie grumbled as he reached blindly behind their bodies to untie Richie’s bondings. It must have been a testament to how shocking the last few moments had been as nobody attempted to stop them. Richie winced and rubbed at his hands for a moment before reaching out and cupping Eddie’s face. Eddie smiled as his eyes flushed shut and he leaned into the touch. 

“Are you okay?” Richie said in a low voice. It wasn’t quite a whisper, Richie never actually whispered, but it was soft and worried and so full of love that Eddie felt he might cry. 

“Yeah.” Eddie said back. “I’m okay. Promise promise.” 

Richie’s face broke into a relieved grin and pressed a hard kiss to Eddie’s voice. Maybe it had been the actual bolt of lightning that had just gone through Eddie’s body, but it felt so charged that Eddie even let out a small gasp. Then it all hit him and his eyes blew open wide. “Richie, I can’t feel you.”

“What? You can’t feel anything?” Richie asked in a panic. 

“No!” Eddie cried, shifting to sit up properly and grabbing Richie’s hands to tangle them together. “I can’t feel your spirit, your mood. It’s like… before.”

Richie and Eddie turned in unison to look at the Deadlight. The others all turned to follow their lead. It seemed to be glowing brighter, the lightning revolving around it faster. Eddie’s powers now fueling it. 

“Holy shit.” Mike said at the same time Beverly gasped. “It works.”

“Of course it works,” a deep voice came as a man in a long black cloak appeared out of nowhere. “You doubted me, Beverly? Thank you, you’ve all played your roles perfectly.” Bill startled as the man- Mr Scratch- turned to him and grinned. “Oh yes, even you Dear Bill. I always knew that your moral compass would bring you to betray me. I accounted for the variable since the beginning of our time together.”

As Mr Scratch moved around the circle, Beverly stepped out of his way as though she didn’t even notice she was doing it. She collided with Bill’s torso, and the man reached out to grab at her hand. She didn’t pull away from the touch, pale and shaking as she watched Mr Scratch rounded on the group.

“Stanley.” Mr Scratch said in a slow voice, grin spreading across his face. Stan was standing still as a statue, fists tightened even as tears filled his eyes. “You know who I am already, I can see it all over your face. Well, I never doubted your intelligence. Go ahead and tell them, there’s no need to keep it a secret amongst old friends.”

“Robert Gray.” Stan said through a clenched jaw. A single tear slipped from his ear and trailed down his cheek. “Professor Fly.”

Richie gasped and squeezed Eddie’s hand tightener. Ben stumbled away and crashed into the cement pillar that Richie had just been tied up against. Mike looked at Stan in shock as Beverly slapped a hand over her mouth. Bill pushed past her, rage evident as his face. “YOU MOTHERFUCKER-”

Gray  barely even flicked his wrist and Bill soared off his feet and slammed up against a pillar, easily twenty feet off the ground. “Stupid boy.” Gray said fondly. “You will never be a match for me, and you’ll never outsmart me. I have been planning this moment for nearly a decade. Your brother’s death started a fire that will destroy the entire world of supers as we know it.” 

Bill struggled against the invisible hold Gray had against him, Richie turning his head away from the scene and pressing his face against Eddie’s neck. Eddie could feel how Richie’s hands were shaking where they were connected.

“None of you are giving me enough credit.” Gray said in a bored tone. “Do you have any idea how much work I had to put into this entire thing? I didn’t just have to create the Deadlights, I had to hand pick every single person who would help me. Bill was a no brainer, even as I knew I could never trust him fully. Beverly and Ben had to be vulnerable enough that they would never question me, and that Bill would never feel confident in telling them what he’d figured out.”

“You left the pl-pl-pla-”

“Yes.” Gray interrupted. “I left the plans out on purpose. Haven’t you figured that I don’t leave anything to chance, William? I accounted for every possible outcome. I had to choose Stan very carefully, choose an heir that would follow my orders but never question me when I told him I could not be contacted after I retire. That I would simply never return.” 

Stan turned away bitterly, trying to wipe at the tears on his as inconspicuously as he possibly could. 

“Even after that, I had to pull so many strings. Made sure that Richie and Stan would cross paths, had to let Beverly believe that Richie’s silly little blog was her idea to let them both feel important.” He shot Eddie a slimey grin. “Had to make sure that Richie got caught in that hostage situation just after they moved to NYC so Eddie wouldn’t consider their relationship worth Richie’s life and end things, so there would be space for Beverly to make her move on Richie. I will admit I was hoping that Richie would fall in love with her, but I underestimated his love for Eddie. A small loss, but nothing damaging to the overall scheme.”

Eddie’s body thrummed with rage. Richie had nightmares for a year after that fucking bank heist, and this man had done that to them on purprose for the simply purpose of breaking them up? Richie still had panic attacks and made Eddie or Bev go with him if he needed to do any sort of banking he couldn’t do online. 

“You said nobody was going to be hurt.” Beverly said, tears streaming down her face. “You said- you said you wanted to even the playing field! You’re a monster!”

“Nobody will be hurt.” Gray said. “You will all be free to go, once all the supers have touched the Deadlight and given up their powers. You’ll all be able to go on with your lives, and I will be able to go on with mine. Once your powers are gone, you’ll have no reason to oppose me and I will have no reason to bother you again.”

Beverly and Ben stood directly in front of the Deadlight, the pain on their faces from the flashing bursts of lightning behind them. Stan was staring directly at Gray, face a mask of rage even as tears fell from his eyes. Richie hadn’t moved from where he’d hidden himself against Eddie.

“You killed my brother on purpose.” Bill said from above them. He was still fighting against Gray’s grip. 

For the first time, Gray’s composure slipped. “No.” He said shortly. “That was a tragic accident. That moment changed me forever. It was when I realized that all of those with powers, even myself, were capable of death and destruction. That we were all inherently evil. The day, I knew that I could not allow another person to hold such powers over another being again. You know, Billy- your brother is the reason for all of this. He gave his life for the new world order-”

Bill let out an intelligible scream but Gray could so much as speak, Mike Hanlon had launched himself from the crowd and latched himself onto Gray’s back. Eddie watched with mouth gape as Gray struggled against the hold before clear blue ice began to spread across his body in a matter of seconds. As the ice completely covered Gray, Bill began to free fall. Stan didn’t waste a single moment before launching up into the sky and catching Bill mid-fall and lowering them both to the ground. He let go of Bill as they touched down and rushed over to Eddie and Richie, one hand finding its way into Richie’s hair and the other falling on top of their joined hands.

“That’s the trick to villains.” Mike said, not even sounding out of breath. “You gotta get ‘em while they’re monologuing.” 

Beverly, face hard, stepped forward and kicked at Gray’s frozen chest. He tittered and fell backwards, shattering into pieces as he hit the ground. “I think it’s safe to say he didn’t account for those variables.” 

They were quiet for a long moment, Stan helping Richie and Eddie to their feet and holding onto them as they all moved towards the shattered ice pieces in the middle of the room. Even in the chilly night, they could see the beginning signs of melting.

“We nn-n-need to d-d-estory this fucking thing.” Bill said suddenly, all of them turning towards the Deadlight. Hums of agreement moved through the room. 

“Wait.” Richie said, tightening his hold on Eddie’s waist. “You said that the powers could be taken out right? We need to get Eddie’s powers back!”

“Oh, yeah!” Bill said quickly. “I- I’ll s-s-see if I can find the instructions ag-again.”

Do you ever think of giving it up? Hanging up your suit and just being a normal person. Letting yourself really love Richie?

“Wait.” Eddie said, throwing out a hand. “Don’t. I don’t want them back.”

Every eye in the room turned to him, Stan smiling even as tears still hung in his eyes. “I never wanted them,” Eddie carried on. “I didn’t want to be some hero, saving people. I wanted to run track and fix cars and be with my love of my life.”

Richie turned slowly, eyes wide and painfully hopeful. “Eddie, don’t do this for shit for me. Please, okay, I-”

“I’m not doing it for you.” Eddie turned and slid his arms around Richie’s shoulders. “I’m doing it for me. I don’t need these bullshit powers. I can run perfectly fine with my own two normal feet, and I would love to be able to touch a person without knowing their moral count or pick up something in somebodys house without knowing if its fucking haunted or not.”

Richie chuckled wetly.

“And I love you so much.” Eddie continued. “And all I want is to be with you, it’s all I’ve ever wanted since the fucking sixth grade. I’m tired of loving each other and being forced apart and just hurting each other over and over. Especially over these stupid powers I was cursed with. I don’t want them back. I wanna be with you and I wanna be happy.”

Richie ducked down and pressed his lips against Eddie’s. This time Eddie knew the sparks that seemed to shoot through him was no lightning shot- just love. 

Spotted! FlyBoy, Captain Fly and Freezie teaming up with three civilians and your truly to foil a truly evil plan, saving not just our city but possibly our entire world. (Eyewitnesses may claim that Freezie did all the work, but that remains to be proven.) And in case you missed it, there was an epic conclusion to an equally epic love story. You know what they say, all’s well that ends great… or however the saying goes!

#reddie #reddie fic #my writing #leigh #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak

[smokeybrandreviews]

Oh My God

Apparently, the Zoomers don't like Friends because they think it's racist and homophobic. I mean, they ain't wrong. There are a lot of red flags with that show which i recognize as an adult but i wouldn't go so far as to say it's as problematic as the youths believe it is. I have no love for Friends. I think it's a garbage show and have been consistently vocal about that, but problematic? Friends? Really? Friends is the whitest, show to ever air on television, man. That sh*t was focused-grouped and mashed together by committee, in an effort to capture that suburban, middle-class, white, appeal and it succeeded wildly. That sh*t is the safest television i have ever seen in my entire life, which is funny considering it's a total and complete rip-off of Living Single.

Black television dealt with real social issues because we lived that sh*t long before we had the opportunity to film that sh*t. That's why Living Single never reached it's full potential; It was intrinsically black. It was created with the black experience in mind and, while most major networks chose to ignore our demo for years, Fox said f*ck that. They tapped directly into that chocolate treasure trove. We built that network. Shows like In Living Color and Martin no only gave Fox hits and legitimacy, but launched entire careers. One show, in particular, would become the envy of all major networks at the time. It was a show that found an audience without patronizing them or ignoring their circumstances. It was a show that was female led, hilarious, and heartfelt. That formula would become a staple on television going forward, often imitated, never executed as effortlessly as it's progenitor. Living Single came through and f*cked every metric measurable by Nielsen standards, right the f*ck up.

Living Single pulsed with an unapologetic black excellence. Even so, even with a staunch focus on the black experience, a female lead, and an all black cast, it still hit the market like a wrecking ball, garnering a fervent fan base from all people, not just the dark ones. Even white folks loved this show but only to a certain extent. They couldn’t only enjoy it as much as they should have, mostly because these characters, as dope, realistic, and dynamic as they were, were also the wrong goddamn color. White people didn't want to see that sh*t. They didn't want to see the darkies thriving on television like that. They let us have The Cosby Show. That's more than enough positive representation for the negro. They wanted their own version of this show and frothed at the mouth about it. Who'd have thought that bleached-Living Single could find so much success, so quickly? We did. The black folks did. The people who supported Living Single did. Fox had a hit. the formula was proven. Executives were already trying to figure out how to steal that aforementioned black excellence and remove all of the melanin. NBC was the first to hit the sweet spot sans all of the color. Clean up the jokes, ignore real issues, turn up the quirkiness while downplaying the already underlying day-to-day conflicts, and voila! Highest rated sitcom for most of it's run because the whites like to see sanitized versions of black sh*t. I mean, Elvis Presley, man.

Friends is creatively bankrupt and follows that base, prime time sitcom, formula that Living Single perfected, to the goddamn letter. Unlike it's minority focused template, however, Friends does nothing new with the material. It doesn't innovate or titillate. It's literally more of the same, masquerading as something new, delivering familiar content with familiar faces. Somehow, even with all of it's non-challenging, white-breadness, Friends still garnered controversy for the time it aired, in the time slot it aired. For whites. Not for literally anyone with an ounce of melanin in them because, you know, life. I don't like Friends. At all. It's a stolen show that did nothing even remotely original with the formula or the characters it ripped-off. It's literally an exercise in focus grouped pandering, the worst way to make anything creative.

Friends is a non-show filled with stereotypes. Except for Phoebe. I like Phoebe. She's arguably the only character in the entire goddamn series, which is unfortunate, because that means she never actually gets a character arc. None of them do but Phoebe was far more developed than any of the cast. She had roots. None of that matters though, because by the time we end up actually tagging in on her story, her growth is eschewed for nonsense writing and bullsh*t canned laughter. The fact that Friends is so popular among my generation absolutely boggles my mind. How? None of that sh*t makes any sense. It's a bad f*cking show, nevermind the fact it was outright stolen from black folks. The fact that it's so unpopular with the Zoomers is a frustration, too. You're mad at some jokes, made in bad tastes under the current pop culture climate? This f*cking thing started over twenty years ago. Of course there are different sensibilities. There are so many more pressing issues with this goddamn sh*tshow than your offended ideals and attacked safe space.

Friends is a terrible show that deserve way more hate than it's getting and not because they made a few gay jokes or sprinkled some light misogyny to move an arc forward. That sh*t was considered legitimate character progress for this show. They made fun of mental illness, made everything a caricature while relying on guest stars and gimmicks to crib ratings; All things worthy of hate. But if you refuse to acknowledge the crime committed against Living Single or disqualify the sordid circumstances that gave birth to Friends in favor of your ridiculous SJW agenda, f*ck right off. You're a coward and a hypocrite. You don't deserve the entitled outrage you so ardently exclaim.

#Living Single #Friends

[raywritesthings]

Bird in a Storm 13/17

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, John Diggle, Tommy Merlyn, Athena, Carly Diggle, Moira Queen, Thea Queen, Malcolm Merlyn Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel’s career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

If there was one thing Carly hated the most about closing, it was taking the trash out back. And not just for the smell.

The back of the building let out into a darkened alley with no street lamps. It reeked of garbage thanks to all the times the truck just simply hadn’t shown up, and was usually populated by all her smoking coworkers during a rush.

This late, the alley was empty. Or so she’d thought.

Just as she heaved the bags up and over to throw in the dumpster, she felt the barrel of a gun press into her side. Carly froze.

“Who’s inside the restaurant?”

“My- my manager. Couple customers.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Please, I have a son.”

“Give me your tips,” the mugger growled.

“He’s not even ten years old, father shot on the job. I’m all he has, I swear to you,” Carly continued as she slowly reached into her apron for the money. Her mace was in her purse hanging from a peg in the back of the restaurant.

“Give me the money!”

Her hand closed around the bills, shaking in fear and anger. Didn’t anyone in this town have compassion? Pity at the least? “I’m begging you. It’s for his lunches in the cafeteria. They don’t give him food if he’s in debt.”

“You think I give a shit? Give me the money!” The gun pressed hard enough into her back that she thought it might bruise.

Carly took her hand out of her apron.

Whack!

Suddenly the gun left her back and she heard a thud of someone hitting the ground behind her. She whirled around, backing up several steps.

Her attacker was on the ground with a woman all in black standing over him. She carried a long stick which she’d clearly used to knock him out and wore a mask over her face.

“How- how did you?”

The masked woman looked up at her and gave a nod but no answer before running down the alley and out to the street. Carly stood there gaping a few moments after.

Had that really just happened? And to her? Sure she’d been grabbed earlier last winter by that military whacko who knew John, but this was something else.

The man on the ground gave a groan of pain, and Carly hurried back inside. She quickly explained to her manager, and the other woman agreed to phone the police.

John had stopped by in the time she’d been outside, it seemed. She was glad he wasn’t staying too far away even if their sort of date hadn’t worked out. A.J. needed a good role model.

Her brother-in-law stood from the booth he was waiting at and came over. “Everything alright, Carly?”

“For the most part. The police are gonna be here in a little while. This guy out back tried to jump me.”

John’s fists clenched at his sides. “Where is he?”

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to get in trouble over this. Anyway he’s already hurting pretty bad. There was this woman.”

“A woman?”

“Yeah. She was all in black except her hair. A blonde. And she wore this mask. I guess she must be some other vigilante?” Carly shrugged. “Least the guy’s still breathing.”

“Yeah. Guess so.” John frowned. “She say anything to you?”

“No. I don’t even know how she knew to be there. I mean I’ve been hearing things about a woman — wasn’t sure if they were true. But I’m so glad it is.”

Getting mugged tonight wouldn’t have been the end of her world. But it would have been a setback she would have struggled to come back from for a long time, even if she’d borrowed from John for a time. Now she didn’t have to. She had her own money and her pride along with it.

If that’s what these vigilantes wanted to be about, she couldn’t say she’d complain about it.

---

John didn’t get home until after the police had left with Carly’s statement and her would-be attacker. They’d asked her to come in the next morning to describe the woman who’d saved her to a sketch artist as well, so he’d be taking her there. Just as well, since he hadn’t gotten the chance to tell her about his success in finally taking down Deadshot with Oliver’s help. Lyla had been mad as all hell at him for showing up until the Hood had kept what had ended up being a setup by Lawton from turning too ugly. Then she’d just pretended to be mad, though John was pretty sure he could still tell the difference.

In the present, he placed a call to Oliver to update him on the situation. “I’ll be late getting to the house tomorrow. Have to help Carly with something. Police matter.”

“Is she okay?” His friend asked.

“Fine. But she wouldn’t have been if that Woman hadn’t shown up tonight. She’s definitely real, Oliver. Carly’s giving them a description tomorrow.”

Oliver didn’t speak for a moment. “See if you can sit in on it. I don’t know if this Woman’s done enough to get her sketch on the news.”

They both knew busting up the odd small crime here or there didn’t drive up ratings. Then again, perhaps the novelty of a woman being the one doing so might be enough to pique media interest.

“You think it’s time to step in?”

“I’m not sure,” Oliver admitted, and he sounded discomfited to do so. “She’s not the Savior, she doesn’t look to be doing this for her own gain… I’m not sure what to make of her or how to find her except to get lucky and spot her out some night.”

“Well, luck be a lady,” John remarked. “And ladies tend to be mysterious.”

Oliver snorted, then said, “Keep me updated about the police sketch.”

“Alright.” He hung up and eased himself back up out of his chair. If he was going to the precinct tomorrow, he wanted to have some research already done to see if he could pick up on anything else they might be talking about regarding this Woman.

He went looking through some recent reports out of the Glades. Just as Raisa, Detective Lance and Carly now said, there were rumors growing about a woman in black. Taking on gang bangers, putting a stop to a rash of bus hijackings...the more he read, the more it sounded familiar.

John went through each of his suits, digging deep into the pockets until he came across a folded piece of paper. The list Laurel had written up for Oliver weeks ago.

It was almost identical.

He sat back on his bed, hand running down his face. It wasn’t definitive proof, but it was a damning coincidence at the very least. And what was he going to do if it was more than a coincidence?

He’d warned Oliver that the problems in this city were many and varied, that people wanted to see more than some billionaires getting knocked down a few pegs. Laurel had warned him, too. Now it seemed she — or someone — had taken matters into her own hands. And he couldn’t quite bring himself to disagree.

That was the trouble that came in signing up for this kind of crusade; it was a slippery slope. How did he support Oliver while condemning Laurel? The key, he supposed, was in learning what her motivations were. If she was even the one doing this.

One thing was certain: there was no way he could suggest the Woman and Laurel were the same person to Oliver unless he had real evidence or a confirmation. It would only start another argument otherwise, judging by how fiercely protective he’d become of his mother. So he was going to have to confront her on his own.

He kept his suspicions to himself while he sat in a chair at the precinct with Carly. The sketch artist drew up a picture of a beautiful blonde in a black mask. It didn’t look just like Laurel, but it didn’t not look like her at the same time. Still, no reason for him to voice his concerns just yet. Especially when doing so would paint a big target right back over Oliver, and himself by extension.

He kept his eyes on the road as he drove Carly back to her apartment, still unsure how to address the news he’d intended to give her last night. Eventually, he said, “There was an Op the other night. The Feds. And, uh… they got him.”

“Him?”

“Andy’s killer.”

He heard Carly turn her head and chanced meeting her eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s in custody now.” Lyla had held him back from doing something he knew he’d probably regret, as much as his anger was telling him Deadshot should be dead in the ground for good just like his brother. “He was wanted for a lot of stuff by the government. Sensitive stuff. So there’s not really gonna be a trial or anything, but I wanted you to know.”

He pulled the car to a stop outside her building. Carly didn’t get out right away.

“Were you there?”

John nodded.

“Thank you.” She leaned across the seats and hugged him. “I don’t know what I’ll tell A.J., or when, but… I’ll sleep better, knowing he’s getting what he deserves.”

John swallowed down the little of his disappointment that remained. If Carly was satisfied, then that would have to be enough.

She got out, and he continued through the neighborhood to his next stop. He’d have to hope she was in.

John knocked on the door of Laurel’s place but received no answer. Soft music from around the back drew his attention, so he circled around to the small yard.

Laurel was crouched beside a very rough-looking bike, looking to be struggling with a tuneup. She sat back with an exhale.

“Roy, great, I could really use some help—” Laurel stopped when she caught sight of him.

“Sorry, not Roy,” he said unnecessarily. “But I might still be able to lend a hand.”

Laurel stood rather than keep working, wiping her hands off on a towel that had seen better days. In the tank top she wore, John could definitely tell she had truly dedicated herself to the training Oliver had mentioned she’d picked up.

“Is Oliver okay?”

“He’s fine. Was glad to get your tip on Rasmus.”

Laurel nodded.

“Surprised you didn’t just take care of him yourself,” he added casually, watching her freeze for a crucial instant. John nodded to the bike. “Is the Woman gonna be spotted on this any time soon?”

Laurel hung her head for a moment, then leaned over to switch off the music playing from her phone sitting on the ground.

“Okay, great. Everyone knows I’m a vigilante. I guess Oliver has a better handle on the whole ‘secret’ thing,” she muttered as she straightened up.

“There’s a reason he acts the way he does in public,” John pointed out. “But you wear your heart on your sleeve, Laurel. Of course you’d be doing this.” He took a step closer, looking out to make sure they truly were alone. “What I have to ask is, why didn’t you say anything?” Did she really not want them to know? And was it because she wasn’t interested in working with them or some other kind of reason?

“How do you think Oliver would react if he knew?”

John grimaced. “Not well.”

Laurel nodded. “Exactly.”

“But, him finding out you decided to take on the problems you pointed out might make him decide to take them on himself. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Not anymore.” She heaved a sigh. “Since doing this, I’ve realized just how much it is, and expecting one person to tackle it all would be impossible. Oliver has his mission, and I get why. If that’s what he needs to do to absolve himself of survivor’s guilt over his father, he needs to do it. And it does help the city.”

John frowned, unable to deny her point. He was privy to just how overwhelmed Oliver got at times. Expecting him to do it all was an unfair burden.

“It’s the only way left I have to help, too,” Laurel added. “Isn’t that why you work with him?”

“Yeah, but I work with him. However he would react, he’s going to find out eventually, Laurel.”

“I know,” she admitted, looking down. “But I’m not going to stop.”

“No, I didn’t think you were. You got the same look in your eyes when you talk about going out there that he does.” He wasn’t sure he understood it fully, how two otherwise civilians could decide to throw all caution to the winds night after night in an effort to clean up the streets. Maybe it really wasn’t about the training; maybe it was just about the person. “If he asks, I have to tell him.”

“I understand.” She at least didn’t look angry with him, merely resigned. So there they were.

John bent down towards her toolbox. “This wrench will work better for what you’re doing.”

The corner of her mouth lifted as she took it from him. “Thanks.”

“So who all knows? This Roy?”

“Yeah. My old trainer, Ted. And you. That’s really it, but you know, not great for that number to keep going up.”

“From what I can tell, it only keeps going up. Secrets always get out.”

“Maybe. That’s a risk I knew going in, I guess.”

“Have you thought about what happens when your father might be forced to arrest you some day?”

“He’ll have to catch me first. And it can’t hurt worse than a rubber bullet, so.” She shrugged. “Believe me, John, I’ve thought of all the reasons not to do this. You don’t need to walk me back through it.”

“Guess I can’t help trying.” He turned and began walking back to the street. “Be careful out there.”

“You too.”

John still hadn’t decided if he was going to wait for Oliver to bring up the topic or if he was going to just get to the point on his own by the time he reached the base. But then it didn’t really seem to matter when his partner of sorts was already gearing up for a serious brawl.

“Felicity thinks she has a hit on Walter,” Oliver said the minute John cleared the steps, hope in his eyes for the first time in a while when it came to talking about his stepfather. “There’s a large sum in Dominic Alonzo’s account that’s dated the same night of the abduction. If we can get to him, we might have a lead on what happened.”

Faced with Oliver’s rare optimism, John just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Telling him about Laurel would only throw him off of what they were working on now, and the information on Walter wasn’t getting any more recent. They needed to act as fast as possible if they had even a prayer of finding him alive.

So John held his tongue and told himself what Laurel was no doubt telling herself: Oliver would just have to understand.

---

Tommy stood by his father’s bed, fingering the vial in his pocket. According to the woman who’d called herself Athena the other night, the contents of this vial were all that could save his father from death or from life as a vegetable. But could he risk it?

He didn’t have a way of verifying her word or her identity. But she had at least shown him her face. That was more than the Hood had done. If she wanted to poison his father, she likely could have snuck into the hospital and done it herself, considering how she had slipped past the mansion’s security team with ease.

Visiting hours were almost over, which meant that he needed to choose. What did he have to lose? He knew, active as his dad had always been, he would hate spending the rest of his days on life support, stuck decaying in a hospital bed. And Tommy did not want to pull the plug until he had tried everything.

So, with a look to the door to ensure he wasn’t about to get walked in on by a nurse, he took out the vial and added the liquid inside to the IV feeding down into his father’s arm. Tommy watched the liquid slowly descend and disappear beneath the paper tape covering the needle. He held his breath for as long as physically possible. Watching, waiting.

No change.

He deflated, even as he reminded himself that Athena had said it would take time. He needed to let the vial’s contents work through his dad’s system before he decided if this had been a waste of time and hope.

For now, he returned to his new office inside Merlyn Global. He both loathed and craved being in this place at the same time; this was where he had nearly lost his father. Yet that same night had shown him just how much his father loved him, that he had fought and even killed to keep Tommy safe. 

If this mysterious cure worked and he had the chance to speak with his dad again, Tommy knew he would apologize for ever assuming his father hadn’t cared. They had grown a lot closer in the time before his father’s injury, and he wanted that to continue. He wanted to understand him. Perhaps this Athena, if she was sticking around, could help him.

With one call on the special phone he had been given, it was not long until the very woman he had been thinking of entered his office. “Very elegant,” she remarked.

“That’s down to my father’s good taste,” Tommy said. “I gave him what you told me to about an hour ago. How long?”

“It is not an exact science. I am confident he will show signs of improvement before the night is over. Now,” Athena said, walking further into the room. “What is truly on your mind?”

Tommy smirked to himself. Was he really that obvious?

“This wall,” he answered, walking up to it. He revealed the panel of buttons hidden under a piece of artwork. “It’s false. My father was keeping something behind here, but I didn’t see what. I also didn’t see what code he put in.”

“I have been trained in code breaking,” Athena said. “But I do not think it will be necessary in this case. You are your father’s son, Thomas. You know him better than those who think they have seen his true face. What drives him?”

That was an easy question after the speech his dad had given shortly before the attack that had landed him in a hospital bed in Starling General. Which could leave only two dates, though Tommy quickly dismissed the birthday. Neither of them had felt much reason to celebrate that milestone, not without her there with them. It was the death date that he entered in on the panel instead.

1-0-0-3-9-3

The light turned green for a moment, and the wall slid aside.

What waited behind the wall caused him to back up with a startled cry. It couldn’t be real.

But the evidence remained before him. A black suit with a head covering, a quiver of black arrows and a bow. The copycat archer’s armaments and more were in his father’s possession.

“His uniform,” Athena said with warmth and reverence. “I knew he would keep it close.”

“His? He’s — he can’t be,” Tommy insisted, even as his mind went to the two Triad men his father had fought and killed without a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t understand.”

“I told you your father belonged to an ancient order,” Athena repeated. “It is one based on the oldest form of justice known to man: evil must be replaced by death.”

“But the- that’s — he took hostages!” None of those people to his knowledge had been criminals, not even of the embezzlement kind.

“And were any of those hostages harmed?”

His mouth snapped shut.

“Your father waited to engage the Hood until after the hostages had been sent back to the authorities, according to the reports I have read. Their only purpose was to draw this vigilante out.”

“But… why? Why do any of it?” He just couldn’t seem to grasp that his father had taken on that crazy vigilante at Christmas.

“Your father has been attempting to retrieve Starling City from the brink of decay. Crime, corruption and apathy rule its citizens. Even the attempts of the local relief efforts have failed to improve its citizenry. Your mother learned this the hard way.”

Tommy swallowed. Yes, he could agree that Starling City was a festering pile of shit most days, and the Glades most of all. Something should have been done about it a long time ago. But the idea of taking that knowledge and acting upon it with violence in return, was that really the way?

The Hood seemed to think so, he supposed. And Laurel believed that particular killer was a hero. There were rumors of others beating the snot out of these gangbangers and robbers. Was his father’s old form of justice really so far removed from their society when they were letting Robin Hood and his ilk roam free?

“You said you had knowledge of his plans,” Tommy began slowly. “What were they?”

“There is a phenomenon referred to by your National Park Service as ‘natural fire’, she explained, walking away from the secret room and instead turning to the windows overlooking the city. Tommy followed. “In order to revitalize nature and the lives of those creatures who dwell in such places, humanity allows these fires to burn away the parts of the forest filled with debris and detritus. They then flourish anew. So too will the Glades in your father’s vision.” Her eyes were fixed on that part of the city, which always stood out as an ugly mar beyond the tall, pristine buildings and clean streets of downtown.

“He wants to… burn them?”

Athena’s lips quirked. “Not quite. But a similar act of nature will do the job.”

If the copycat archer’s suit — his father’s suit — wasn’t standing in a case behind him, he would think she was making this up. But there was evidence to back up her claim. His father had closed his mother’s clinic after how many years of increasing crime in the Glades — why now unless he knew something was coming?

“These aren’t trees or animals, though. There are people down there. Families, children.” Laurel, he thought to himself.

“People who have chosen lives of crime and substance abuse. You have multiple stories in your culture’s religious tract of various peoples being punished for the actions of the collective evil. Is this not so different?”

“Nobody’s even sure those things really happened. They’re stories or warnings. I don’t know.” He hadn’t really done the whole Sunday School thing after his mother died. “Look, the Glades are beyond saving. The Hood and anyone else who thinks so are just delaying the inevitable. But this isn’t the answer.” He backed away, leaving the office and placing his head in his hands as he rode down in the elevator.

Was this really what his father wanted? Tommy wouldn’t know, not until his dad healed enough to ask. All he had was Athena’s word, and the matter-of-face way she spoke of this unnerved him.

He needed to get out of here, needed to think, needed — a friend.

He didn’t have very many of those. And after their last conversation, would Oliver even want to see him? But he didn’t know who else to turn to.

Tommy jumped in his car and traveled the familiar route to the club. Inside, he asked around for his friend, avoiding Thea’s busboy friend, and learned Oliver had been around but had gone down to his private office as per usual.

Tommy had never been to that part of the building himself. Oliver had been a much more private person upon returning from the island, and he had always gotten the impression that he was not exactly welcome. But after the attack on the club by that deranged firefighter where Oliver had gotten lost in the building, Tommy had had a copy of each of the door keys made for himself to make sure that he could get to his friend in an emergency if need be.

So he went around to the outside of the club and the back door he had never used. It took a few moments for him to find the right key, but he turned it in the lock and entered.

“Ollie?”

The room was dark, which likely meant no one was in. Tommy searched around for the light switch on the wall.

“I could really use some— advice,” he finished, the last word dropping almost soundlessly from his lips as the lights came on, suddenly illuminating the space.

The room was sectioned off into smaller areas, one with what looked like a mat like the kind the gym teachers put down when they were practicing tumbling in grade school. Other workout gear was around there as well. Then another section was made up of a table with computer monitors and other technology.

Tommy’s eyes, however, were fixed on the last section. A table upon which stood a row of arrows not unlike what was waiting back in his father’s office, but tipped in green. The Hood’s arrows.

Oliver was the Hood.

He wanted to reject the evidence before him, and yet it was all too obvious now that it was staring him in the face. Why would the Hood have been around in the middle of the day to rescue them from those thugs? Oliver had killed them himself, then made up the story. Why was Oliver always making excuses to be somewhere else, leaving his mother and sister behind to worry? Because he was out there in the streets hunting his chosen prey. Why would Laurel have fallen for him so completely? Because it was the man she loved.

And he had left her to fall, Tommy realized, his shock disappearing in a flash of anger. Oliver had been the one to lure her onto that roof, get her shot at, taken her away while Tommy had searched and worried — probably to this very place.

She knew. Laurel had known Oliver’s secret from at least then on, and kept it from Tommy. They both had. It was the two of them as always, shutting him out. How could he have ever dared to think Laurel even cared about him, when she would throw her own career and life away for Oliver’s sake, even after all he had done and become? They deserved each other, and it was a vicious thought. He almost wished his shot hadn’t missed the green-clad archer that night in his father’s office — that night Oliver, his own friend, didn’t save his father. He’d been lying this whole time to Tommy, pretending to be a sympathetic ear all the while never telling him the role he had played.

He needed to leave. If Oliver discovered him here, what would he do? Was Tommy allowed to know, or would he be silenced? He couldn’t say. He didn’t know his own best friend anymore. The man he’d thought of as a brother had truly died out at sea, and a monster had taken his face.

Tommy sat in his car, having no idea where he could go. His friends had all betrayed him, and he still didn’t know how to feel about what Athena had told him. He needed guidance, yet there was no one in his life who could provide it.

His phone range. And Tommy answered it with a weary, “What?”

“Thomas Merlyn? This is Dr. Adams from Starling General.”

He sat up straight in the driver’s seat. “Is my father okay?”

“He is. He’s doing better than we truthfully expected. He seems to be responding to some stimuli. We think it would be helpful for you to come in and sit with him, at least for a little while. Coma patients respond best to family and loved ones.”

“I’ll be right there.”

It had worked. The miracle liquid Athena had given him had worked. Or was working. He raced to the hospital and up to his father’s room, heart in his throat.

“Dad?”

His father’s eyes were just barely open. Tommy was ushered into the chair at his bedside, and he took hold of his father’s hand. “It’s me, dad. It’s Tommy. You’re gonna be okay. You need to be, cause we have stuff to talk about, alright? Stuff to do. I know- I know everything now. And it’s okay. It’ll be okay when we can talk.”

Very slightly at first, and then more rapidly, his dad’s eyelids fluttered. The hand Tommy held squeezed his fingers.

Grateful tears sprang to his eyes. “He’s really there. Oh, thank God.”

He stayed another hour, keeping up a constant stream of chatter about the company and the house, old forgotten childhood memories. His father never quite managed to fully open his eyes. Eventually, the doctors decided it would be best to leave him to rest some more and asked Tommy to come back in the morning.

“I’ll be here first thing, dad. We can talk then, okay?”

Getting back into his car where he’d crookedly parked it in the garage, Tommy wiped at his eyes and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. No matter what shocking things he had learned today, he had meant what he had said to his father; it would be okay now that he was getting better. Tommy could talk to him, reason with him about just what this whole plan was and if it was truly necessary. They could work it out together as father and son.

If nothing else, he had his family.

---

Moira wished she had her family here at home with her, but life seemed to find its ways to make that impossible. 

Oliver kept incredibly late hours thanks to the club he was running out in the Glades. She worried about him and knew that hiring Mr. Diggle to protect him especially as he traveled in and out of that neighborhood had been the right call.

Then there was Walter. At times, she didn’t know how she kept breathing let alone kept up her day-to-day obligations and appearances all the whole fretting over where he was, what he might be thinking. Horrid as it was, sometimes she had to force herself to stop thinking about his situation in order to just make it through the next board meeting or the next meal.

Thea was home tonight at least, though she’d been staying out rather late as often as not. It had begun shortly after she had started the community service at CNRI. Moira suspected a boy might be involved, but considering how little she had done to curb Oliver’s dalliances with the opposite sex, she couldn’t reasonably do so to Thea.

Were things different, she might have been worried about all the time her children were spending in the Glades and how to make sure they were not there once Unidac completed its work. But that had been one less worry on her mind for the last month now, even if the attack at Merlyn Global had not ended precisely with the result she had wanted.

Best not to think about that, either, Moira reminded herself. She and Thea were both relaxing in the sitting room after dinner, the television on low for something to look at more than anything.

The front door opened, and two sets of footsteps indicated her son and his bodyguard had finally arrived home. Moira looked up as they entered the sitting room, but whatever wry remark had come to mind died on her lips at the sight of both their expressions. She stood. “Oliver?”

“Mom. Thea.” His voice, normally quite steady and strong these days, barely carried. “There’s um, something we need to talk about. About Walter.��

Beside her on the couch, Thea perked up, but Moira felt frozen.

Mr. Diggle spoke next. “I reached out to some contacts I have in the FBI on Oliver’s behalf a while ago to see what they might be able to turn up for the case. The thing is, they’ve gotten word back.”

“No.” It took her a moment to realize she had been the one to speak. “No, it can’t be.”

“Did- did they find a body?” Thea asked, her voice breaking on the last word.

“He’s gone, Thea. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Moira repeated. Oliver stepped towards her but she got up and moved back. She couldn’t allow him to comfort her. That comfort would make it real when it obviously wasn’t. There was a mistake or a misunderstanding of some kind. She knew Walter was alive, had to be, because of her deal with Malcolm. And yet, could she really trust Malcolm to begin with?

Her first impulse was to leave, to seek out someone, something to set the record straight on what had to be an error. But who could? Malcolm could not answer to anything, and she had no way of her own to contact his associate. No one at Merlyn Global would either. Malcolm had always kept everything separate from the company, and Tommy of all people was running it. Tommy had no idea of the things his father had done.

No, as far as she or anyone else knew, this was the truth.

Standing as she was, Moira instead retreated up to her room to get away from her children and their stricken looks. She knew they thought she was crumbling. Well, she wasn’t. Or couldn’t. Not until she had had a moment to think. How could this be happening?

Had Malcolm’s people killed Walter once he had fallen into the coma and been unavailable to command them? Or had her husband been dead all this time? Either way, she was a widow once again, and the blame lay at the same man’s feet.

The blood pounded in her ears as one thought echoed through Moira’s head: no more. She was done being the victim, standing by as her family was picked off one by one. Malcolm slept in a hospital bed, utterly helpless. Why hadn’t they followed through? Why shouldn’t they?

Part of her had been afraid, but what did she have to fear now? Another part of her had thought leaving him to his fate in the hospital was enough. After all, without Malcolm in charge, she could put the Undertaking off indefinitely under the presumption that they should wait for his recovery. The rest of Tempest would have fallen in line. But it was not enough to scupper his plans now. Oh no; Moira had promised Malcolm what would come were he to harm her family, and Moira, at least, was a woman of her word.

She got out the phone she used for these sorts of discrete communications and dialed the number Frank had given her to arrange for the contract hit at the award ceremony. She waited three rings before it was picked up.

“Jade Dragon, how can we be of service?” A woman’s lightly accented voice spoke.

“Yes, I placed an order about a month ago that was never completed. I’m asking for it to be done now.”

She had waited too long to save her family from Malcolm’s madness, but Moira would protect what she had left and avert his horrific vision for the city in one fell swoop, the way she should have done years ago. For Robert, and now for Walter.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing #bird in a storm

[tonyglowheart]

This entire thing is a rant, feel free to ignore it, but I saw your post about how destiel fans can’t win in this context, and yeah. So have some rambles.

I’ve been thinking about the fact we (current spn/destiel fans) can’t win all night... I’ve seen so many people talking about how homophobic it is - and while I would very much like to argue, as every point I’ve seen made by a non-spn fan has been wrong so far, if I did everyone inside the fandom would agree and everyone outside would either call me straight or pity me for believing it’s okay.

(Cas wasn’t even sent to hell lmao. He was sent to angel death (the empty), a place he has escaped in the past. Other points, like that meta about spn has been predicting exactly this for months, that Dean ended up sobbing on the floor because he was so upset, like that death means next to nothing on spn, like that there is two episodes left, etc etc. you feel me right? I just don’t want to post wank to other spn blogs atm, we’re getting enough frustration as it is, no need to add to it.

It’s also worth pointing out that the bar is very, very low. Spn is a prominent TV show - not a Netflix show, or indie, or whatever - and it just said “main character in gay love saved the world”. [insert gif of ghostfacers dude saying that gay love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day here]

I just saw someone saying that spn having Naomi try to brainwash Cas out of loving dean makes spn homophobic (it is a conversion therapy parallel). My first response to that is that Naomi was the villain lmao? I guess we can’t write villains doing anything homophobic because having villains do homophobic things makes, uh - checks notes - villains look homophobic, and clearly we can’t have that.

There certainly are legitimate things to criticise spn about, but this isn’t it lol.

Also now some people are unironically trying to cancel Jensen because “his acting was homophobic, and so he’s clearly homophobic”, nevermind that he’s an actor and his character struggles with understanding his emotions (which I think he played excellently, myself. That scene had a very Dean delayed emotional response), nevermind the support he’s given to us queers in the past. Like. Idek man.

We would have been laughed at if we got no destiel, too.

It would have been worse, had the writers pulled a dumbledore. At this point I also trust the writers not to pull a GoT - they have explicitly criticised that ending in spn’s canon.

Spn’s writers did that by making the main villain of this season, Chuck / God, say GoT had a good ending. To reiterate a previous point I had: villains do bad things because they’re bad. And the bad things they do make them bad. For the people out there not still following, if someone does something in a story and it makes them a villain, that is explicitly telling you the story (and probably the writers) thinks that thing is bad. In this case, Chuck likes to write things for him, and we the audience have been shown and told that is bad.

Apparently thinking a gay confession is good in 2020 makes me straight. Seems unlikely, but whatever. Sorry for the length, I guess I went overboard, I’ve been holding it in lol. Anyway, DESTIEL IS CANON 💚💙 hope you have a good night

Helloo supernatural anon I hope you are living your best life right now. Yeah I’m like..... skeptical and leery myself but having lived through some absolute garbage discourse that is general purity wank, as well as the C/QL greater fandom here and on Twitter I find myself... much more wanting to question the “general wisdom” of things esp in terms of negativity, bc a lot of the time I find.... it’s wrong? Like so wrong. Or at least presents such an incomplete picture of the whole situation and also presents it in such a removed context that words that have meaning and are operationalized in a certain way for a reason, no longer have meaningful usage.

Anyway I don’t... know too much about the specifics of Spn but someone I follow is into it and talks a lot about the Gnostic stuff and that all was very fascinating to me, and I also have been grappling a lot with cultural Christianity bc of cmedia and the way ppl just *clenches fist* unthinkingly or uncritically slap some Christian norms on it and call it a day 😩 help I’m Tired. My thing here being... I actually got tired of the uncritical “superhell”s at some pt bc I am, in fact, incredibly exhausted with cultural Christianity, and because it does seem like, even possibly(?) without the Gnostic stuff it’s different from a “hell” or other Protestant-derived afterlife concept, and also yeah that it wasn’t seeded out of nowhere, it was set up to happen, which then... lends credence to the idea that whatever the current era of Spn is doing, the current showrunners are doing it with purpose.

And idk I just... refuse to believe the concept that ALL of the fans of Spn - esp the ones who have been following it still, or got back into it and are following it currently, are acting under delusion or are fooling themselves into liking it or thinking it’s good or whatever. I personally find that kinda infantilizing and patronizing and playing into issues of dismissing things women and/or other marginalized identities like.

Plus I find the concept that (from what I think I’ve been seeing Spn fans say) that the current era of the show is quite actively grappling with itself, its past, its legacy. to be very interesting and compelling; it hearkens back to like an old lore kind of feeling, of a thing that has grown into a nigh undefeatable monster and realizing that, also realizing that the only way to defeat itself is through grappling with its own nature and transforming and transmuting itself into something else. I personally find that more plausible and compelling than “Supernatural has been actively and continuously queerbaiting for 15 homophobic homophobic years., so right now we’re all very sorry for you because this maybe is no longer queerbaiting but it’s still homophobic and it can never be anything different ever.” I’ve been sort of tangentially aware of Spn thru the years and didn’t we agree, around the time of that in-universe play about Spn and with the lil Destiel shoutout, that Spn has come a ways as far as coming to terms with its fandom and working to treat its fans better? Why the sudden regression into “oh no, Supernatural is and forever will be homophobic and a hate crime”? 🤔 

The rest under a cut bc the ask is already long and then my rambling will get longer-

But yeah I mean..... I get that the legacy of Supernatural has been certifiably Rough, but I think people also forget how different of a time 2005 was? Hell, how different of a time 2015 was, even, prior to, say, Obergefell v. Hodges. Now I’m not saying that to blanket-excuse Supernatural, but like, you look at mainstream shows from the era and... there’s a lot of shit lmao. The fact that Supernatural has existed this long seems to me like.... maybe we CAN look at how it’s developed through the years vs just insisting it is what it was 15, 10, hell, 5 years ago. Especially since, to my knowledge, there’s been showrunner changes? Which seems to me like it would... affect things? I mean honestly, I remember back when I got into Spn for a hot second because of Castiel, I remember watching panel, Q&A, etc vids thru the years, and like... I thought we agreed that... it was the fans who were going a bit far pushing the shipping question like literally ALL the time to the actors, who are not in control of the show and.... like at the time.... that could have had personal implications for them? And yes homophobia bad, and people can still be allies despite that, but again like.... I do feel like - from what I’ve seen - that these guys were NOT ready to deal with a lot of that but they’ve (okay Jensen I’m talking about Jensen here) genuinely grown and learned? Also how many years ago was the essay autograph thing that people keep trotting out, like what year was it in and what year of spn was it, and what were the prevailing opinions on LGBT issues and bisexuality then.

I’ve been seeing some murmurings of identity politicsing surrounding ppl who enjoy Supernatural, and I’m sorry that that’s happening to you, it really fucking sucks and it’s also the dumbest way to “make” or “win” an argument because it shouldn’t ever be a final determiner, just factors to consider when considering what life experiences might have informed someone else’s PoV and views as well as maybe how you can better communicate with them. Instead of it being a “weapon” or “tool” to either dismiss someone or de facto validate an argument.

Also yeah I get it that you don’t want to send discourse to spn blogs bc I imagine you guys ARE actively grappling with all the bs rn and it’s a lot. Even just from like, the stuff I see around, I’m like tired of it. I’m genuinely having more fun with ppl who are having a good time with Supernatural than the ppl who are hating on it, even in this sort of backhanded “oh we’re not clowning YOU we’re clowning the writers and showrunners who think you should be satisfied with this,” when... yeah? the people who HAVE been watching the show and therefore... know what’s up.. DO seem to be? And all this based on *fake gasp* context. And that’s where the backhandedness becomes kind of poisonous to me, because it implies that it IS bad, and that you SHOULDN’T be satisfied, but poor little you are but don’t worry, we’re not making fun of YOU for liking garbage, you’re just the hapless victim who is consuming the garbage bc... idk, whatever reasons ppl are coming up with ig.

idk man it’s 2020. Fandom isn’t activism, performative or otherwise, it’s okay to let people enjoy things even if you think they’re “objectively” bad, and like... I don’t know if people can call something bad when they’re not even working with the whole context and instead are dealing with rumor and reputation. 

#supernatural cw #I tag this for ppl who I know want nothing to do with spn rn and are blacklisting and so it doesn't end up in main tag #Anonymous #asks answered #long post

[britishchick09]

danger force return of the kid livewatch

HENRY IS BACK AND IT’S TIME FOR ME TO FINALLY GET AROUND TO WATCHING IT! :D

the version i’m watching on dailymotion is slightly chipmunked and it’s adorable ^_^

awww  sweetest hug ever! ♥

chapa: “don’t make me get the crowbar!” omg :o

miles: “you hate to see it” and you love to see the meme ;)

henry’s dad is graduating from an online school how 2020

CAPTAIN MAN LOVES THE HUGS!!! :D

mika: “we once caught a guy that was stealing books... FROM THE LIBRARY!” omg shocking! :o

henry just said ‘noice’ wtf mr. hart

henry spent ‘his whole childhood’ defeating people but wasn’t he like a tween when he became kid danger?

ray: “henry’s MINE now” awww :)

idk if henry can still become kid danger (i haven’t seen the henry danger finale) but i really hope he does

henry: “everyone thinks kid danger is-“ chapa: “hot?” miles: “dead?” lol

ray wants henry to pick his nail color awww :)

henry wants them to ‘handle it themselves’ does that mean he can’t transform? :o

henry just deleted ‘where are you?’ messages from charlotte HENRY DID YOU SERIOUSLY ABANDON YOUR FRIENDS FOR RAY YOU’RE NOT JOHN WITH YOKO

the audience just gave a quiet ‘aww’ when henry deleted the messages same :/

ray: “you wanna see my axe storing room?” your WHAT room

henry: “do i even have to axe?” eyyyyyyy ;)

ray and henry are the best of friends! :D

they’re playing a just dance ripoff how sweet :)

henry: “this has been so much fun!” ray: “I LOVE YOU TOO!” henry: “what?” ray: “I SAID GET READY FOR ROUND TWO!”

the game is calling for a tango STOP THE SHIPPING

and the game is called PRANCE PRANCE REVOLUTION lol :D

ray wants the kids to leave to spend more time with henry ♥

DAAAANG HENRY JUST LIFTED RAY YOOO!!!!!

ray: “quit your bellyaching!” henry: “yeah, this is what you get paid for!” the kids: “YOU GOT PAID???” lol :D

ray wants to stay up there ‘as long as he can’ wowza what a shippy shippy

the intro pops up nearly 6 minutes into the ep what a long and exciting cold open! :D

chapa to mika: “we got your heart to start beating again...” wtf happened :o

bose’s mouth was full did he have a towel in his mouth lol

mikes screaming “I HATE YOU!!” is better than anakin lol

CHAPA WANTS TO DESTROY HENRY WTF

mika isn’t up for this bs YOU GO MIKA!!!!!

mika: “AND CHAPA SHOULD BE THE ONE THAT KILLS HIM!!” FRICK YEAH!!!

...but also FRICK NO DON’T KILL CAPTAIN MAN PLZ

omg henry and ray started a totally sick rock band yo!

SCHWOZ BE LIKE ‘AWWW YEAHHHH!!!!” :D

henry: “don’t need to practice when you’re already perfect, dude!” hannah montana wants to know your location

why is ray obsessed with henry’s mom creepy

henry: “gotta save my messages to the cloud!” F U T U R E!!!!”

char’s messages are like ‘you can’t run from this’ HENRY WHAT’S GOIN’ ON HMMMM?????

ray: “...that didn’t sound like your mom.”

henry asked if he was ‘totally untrackable in the man’s nest’ WHAT DID YOU DO HENRY

ray: “finding you in here would be like trying to find a gray hair on my head!” henry: “there’s one right there.” ray: “whaaat?”

MIKA BE P-I-DOUBLE S-ED YO

henry’s been there for 3-4 days HENRYYYY!!!!

chapa: “we also think we should be able to vaporize someone FOR NO REASON AT ALL!!!!” daang chapa p-i-double wuble s-ed too!

ray: “time is a tall glass of water” henry: “please don’t punch my glass-” ray: *PUNCHES GLASS LIKE A BOSS*

ray: “next crime that calls is goin’ home in a body bag” sweet serenity celestia captain man calm down

henry: “who knows when the next call will come in?” call: *comes in* lol

OMG DID THE KIDS SET UP THE EMERGENCY CALL???? :o

HENRY TRANSFORMED YAAAS!!! and i guess the dark outfit he wore in the insta teaser pic is his new hero form?? :o

henry: “up the tube!” captain man: “...we go down the tube.” lol :D

and awayyyyy they go!

robber: “part of the reason i rob people is for the connection i feel and i feel like you’re (the cashier) not here with me right now!” awww ♥

the cashier walked past captain man’s book first of all awesome call back and secondly why is a book being sold at a convenience store

captain man: “let’s slow fight this crime”

robber: “is this your sidekick?” ray: “naw, we’re just vibing!” henry: “you don’t even know what that means” ray: “it’s means, like, we’re together but not really” johnlock wants to know your location

henry really wants to get back to the man’s nest what’s goin’ on here????

a drone just said ‘henry hart located sending bounty hunter’ first of all wtf and secondly BOBA FETT CROSSOVER WHAT

even captain man’s like ‘wtf dude?’

mika: “i finally got mom and dad to fall asleep! you know what that means...” others: “SCREEN TIME!!! :D” kids these days...

chapa; “i wish i had a phone!” the way she said it is a total ‘god i wish that were me’ meme

the ad on is for ‘imdb tv’ THEY HAVE A STREAMING SERVICE??????

mika has a big phone or a tiny tablet

mika to a caller: “WHAT DO YOU WANT????” miles: “YOU’RE INTERRUPTIN’ SCREEN TIME!!!” sweet serenity you two CALM THE FRICK DOWN

captain man: “the kid and i are in a bit of a jimmy jam...” jimmy john’s wants your location

henry: “you want to fly the mancopter? get a bunch of puppies?” you’d think the kids would want to fly the flipping mancopter but they want puppies instead. kids these days! :D

captain man: “what’s gotten your brisket in a basket?” lol

henry: “dystopia’s really scary-“ well duh you live in a town called DYSTOPIA what did you expect

henry messed with a guy WHO EATS PEOPLE’S SOULS WTF

captain man reaction: “...so you didn’t come to swellview to see me?” i think you should be focused on the, i don’t know... EATING PEOPLE’S SOULS PART RAY

the lights just went out OH MAN

OH CRAP THE BLACKOUT IS HERE WITH A GUN

henry: “we’re gonna die, dude!” captain man: “hold on gotta try and think of an opening quip-“ this is like yakko saying ‘we need a perfect opening’ line in the animaniacs reboot lol :D

also THIS DUDE IS LITERALLY GONNA KILL YOU RAY YOU SHOULD BE SCARED FOR YOUR LIFE

captain man: “knock knock-“ the blackout guy: *shoots captain man into a wall* captain man: “typically you’d say ‘who’s there?’“ lol

YO THE GUY JUST GOT TRAPPED IN A SPIDER WEB

shoutout: “how did you miss the floor awol?” awol: “at least we’re here! we could’ve been in another country!” oh miles! :D

chapa: “why are the lights out?” henry: “it’s blackout! he’s a bounty hunter from dystopia-“ chapa: “aaalllllready stopped listening.” why does nobody care about a soul-sucking bounty hunter tho??

captain man has a wall on his back like peter being stuck to the couch in that one family guy ep lol

the lights go on and everyone cheers! :D

captain man: “i said i wasn’t done with my quip! knock knock-“ *gets thrown to the ground* he’s never gonna get to that quip huh

henry: “looks like captain man is taking care of him.” no i think HE’S BEING ATTACKED HENRY

henry: “tell schwoz he can keep my dirty laundry-” why didn’t he pick it up before he moved tho

awol: “captain man says you’re the best superhero he’s ever seen!” henry: “that doesn’t sound like him.” brainstorm: “he also says you have a surprisingly good singing voice.” henry: “i guess i’m alriiight...;)” lol

volt: “captain man says that we’re garbage and we’ll never measure up to you” geez ray be a bit nicer to them (especially chapa) not everyone’s your bf henry

awol: “let’s take this guy down together! ... that sounded really cheesy” lol i love how they all agree except for shoutout :D

the blackout guy wants to know why captain man’s not dying DOES RAY NOT HAVE A SOUL????

YO VOLT JUST HIT BLACKOUT’S FACE WITH LIGHTNING that’s gotta hurt!

blackout falling down because of a scream is the best :D

yay they did it!!! :D

AND BRAINSTORM HIGH-FIVED HENRY YAS! :D

captain man: “what do you get when you cross a duck with a shutzu?” nice dodging the nickelodeon censors ray ;)

barrow raffle ad: “you could win a million dollars! if you ask us, that’s a win-win” a win-win is letting me finish this ep

captain man kicked blackout and he didn’t respond IS HE DEAD??? :o

schwoz left an alive present in henry’s jeans WTF SCHWOZ

henry: “tough group of kids you got there.” ray: “yep, it always surprises me how much grit and determination each one of them has- oh my god, they’re baby-talking the puppies” lol what a perfectly delivered line :D

henry: “buh-bye dangers!” awww dangers!!! :’)

the higher-pitch of the vid makes mika’s puppy voice SO ADORBS! ♥

♥♥♥♥♥♥

*phone alarm* henry: “that’s my guber!” i know it’s an uber pun but henry’s getting a goofy goober ride awwww yeah! B)

ray doesn’t want to let go awww :)

yo schwoz put a turtle in henry’s pocket lol :D

ooh there’s a post credit scene! :D

and it’s bloopers how sweet :)

that was a great ep as always (probably my fave ep along with the quarantine special)! him and captain man have awesome chemistry and henry with the kids is great too ♥ see ya soon henry! (and danger force)

#livewatch #it's nice to return to this show #and see henry's return of course ;)

[aliypop]

Amongst The Roses

Word Count:3,165

Character count: 17,430

Warning: ususal Hannibal Stuff 

A/N: This is part 5 I hope you guys enjoy it

“Mammina, mammina!” Shanel nearly shouted from inside the manor autumn leaves present in her hair,  " Mio dolce bambino invernale,“ Rose shook her head. Displeased with the appearance of her daughter, she was adventurous wild, even some would agree to a girl who couldn’t be tamed. “You are 16 going on 6 Shanel..” her mother grumbled, watching the way her daughter reacted. “Forse I want happiness… ” she sighed, grabbing her foil from off the side of the wall, Miles who was a butler walked towards the duo, when he wasn’t up to his duties, however, he was usually teaching Shanel something new, whether her mother liked it, however, wasn’t his issue,  

Sitting in Hannibal’s office like usual was Shanel. This time a bit more relaxed then she had been in the past few months that they had started. “What more do you remember that was good from your childhood..” he asked writing every word that she had mentioned down, “Well, there.. was the time where I used to play piano with Milo,  I did everything with him, singing lessons, dance, you name it.” she smiled for a moment as a thought then popped into her head.

“What about you, any good memories?”  she asked him, now that therapy for the two of them felt more like an allotment for a date. “There were some,” he smiled,

“Want to tell me about it?” she asked.

“If you must know, I suppose..” he gave her a playful sigh as his mind traveled back to a semi-simple time.

Winters in Paris were different than in Lithuania, they weren’t as harsh, but they were dreary and colder. Hannibal, who had been sketching once more, had stopped when he heard the sound of distant singing from his door. Poking his head out to listen, he had caught a glimpse of something beautiful. Walking by was a girl with dark brown curly hair and vibrant brown eyes. Who seemed to be carrying around a big stack of books in her arms, she had to be one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen, even though they did share quite a few classes he never bothered to say hello to her. Something about never really finding her interesting was what got him to stay to himself. Besides, he had his internship to worry about rather than the womanly ways of a songbird.

“Aren’t you the one who interns at the hospital..” her accent thicker than his,

“šitai.,” he mumbled under his breath, looking at the girl who seemed close to his age, “Who’s asking.”  

“Just a girl who wants to learn about anatomy ..” she stared at his vibrant eyes, “Spiacente..” she began walking away. Her bow flopping behind her as he tapped her on the shoulder,

“I suppose I could let you join in..” he smirked, “But no touching anything..” he looked at her. She nodded,

“Maybe we could talk this over during how do you say..pranzo.”

“Lunch,” he winked, kissing her hand, “ I would be delighted  to.”  

“Sometimes I wonder where she is,” Hannibal sighed, shaking his head. As he looked back at Shanel, it had him confused as to why she was laughing at him, almost like a maniac escaping bedlam asylum. She couldn’t help but hide her excitement as to why he. Had felt familiar to her, “Well, I could tell you, but you wouldn’t believe me..” she nearly cheesed, a bit worse than Franklyn, who he had an appointment within a few moments. “I think I could get around to it,” he replied, nearly hating the anticipation, he wanted her to spit it out to say something, “We’ll see about that..” she smiled, watching as he began growing impatient on the answer.  

“Well, tell me ?”

“You’re looking at her..” she smiled, watching the utter shock on his face, “And my times up, I should get going..”   She walked towards her office, someone sneaking up behind her as everything around her surroundings went black.  Franklyn sat down tears in his eyes, a bit heavier than usual. Hannibal, who usually knew the drill had already set the tissues out for him.

“ He ignores my.. calls, and .. lately he’s been very annoyed with me, I think he’s hurting people,”  he said in one breath as Hannibal tried to speed up his writing,

“What makes you say this, Franklyn.,” he asked him, knowing that earlier that da Will had called him about the brutally slaughtered opera singer,  "Today he said he was going to kill someone..“ crying harder as Hannibal passed him the garbage can to discard his used tissues in,

Hannibal smiled to himself, knowing exactly where Tobias was, but not exactly who he was trying to kill.  Franklyn continued to cry, and Hannibal kept supplying him with tissues. Shanel woke up with a funny taste in her mouth, which was violin string polishing oil, and if her thoughts were correct, she was next to be a violin.  Shanell looked around in the basement of what seemed to be his shop surrounded by the smell of human guts turned into violin strings. A sigh then left her mouth, hearing footsteps pitter-patter on the hardwood floor she could tell that whoever was the killer wasn’t exactly good at being discreet their steps made so much noise they could alert the police in seconds.

"I see you’re up.. ”  her vision a bit foggy from whatever else he mixed in the polish. She could smell the scent of Tobias sweat, depression, and Franklyn? She had questioned her thoughts. Still, non-the-less Shanel sat there tied up like the Bride of Frankenstein, and Tobias was the doctor.  "What else would I be..“ she laughed, seeing double, "Dead..” her sarcastic wit always got her into trouble when she was younger, but that was just who Shanel was and who was she to change it now. Taking a look at her neck, he loved everything that he saw. He could tell she was a singer, her cords were healthy and just the perfect type he needed for his instrumental experiment.

“Your friend and I are just alike..” he smirked, getting a few surgical tools. Shanel gave out a small laugh, if, he was comparing himself to Hannibal, then he was dead wrong.

“Hannibal would find you sloppy, which by him is just about everyone who tries to be like he is, creating a new God in his head.”  she turned to look at the darker-skinned man watching him become angered by her remarks.

“And what do you think of me?” he smirked.

“ Pitchy, and Bitchy..” she smirked, “I know women who are far better than you are at killing..”  she looked at him rather boldly, “ And if you see Hannibal..”

“Yes..” he smirked, trying to hide his anger.

“Give him this!” she gave him an uppercut blow to the jaw knocking him out cold for a while, crawling up the steps to find Will Graham standing there like a deer in headlights.  

“And where were you..” she growled, seeing Jack by his side.

“The concert Hall,” he said, as the two heard a car leave from the back, Shanel sighed trying to sturdy up her strength to get up. Jack, who helped her up, looked at her he was suspicious as to why she wasn’t so deep in hysterics but instead calm. Hannibal, who was now sitting with Tobias, was enjoying a nice glass of wine something, that he didn’t often do with all of his patients.  Their conversation had lead them in quite a turn of events.

“ I could use a friend, someone who could understand me, who thinks as I do, who can see the world and people in it the way I did.” Tobias smiled as Hannibal nodded along with him, looking at the bruise on his jaw.

“I see you’ve encountered Shanel..” he made a gesture to his thigh and his face, “A feisty woman… I don’t see why you don’t kill her.” Tobias laughed, having yet another drink as Hannibal stared blankly at him. Tallying him for every rude thing he could think of, “So did you do it?”  he asked, trying to change the subject. Tobias had already known that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper, but as friends, no one else needed to know that,  

“Do you have to ask..” he laughed, confirming that he did it, “You and I aren’t so different..” he smirked, laughing as Shanel walked into their little session, throwing her razor at Tobias as he ducked striking Hannibal with a few violin strings,

“And to think I was going to kill him first..”  he looked at Shanel as he got back up, knocking Hannibal down. Shanel, who had sprung into action, took Tobias by chance, her other razor in hand as she bobbed and weaved, waiting for the right moment to strike. To her, this was just like fencing, and she was merely using a short foil. “ En garde..” she whispered to herself, going for his legs, “Hannibal, he’s all yours!”  she growled tossing him over to the library ladder, she watched as Hannibal tricked Tobias to punch him through the ladder, in her many years of fighting experience that was the first time the woman saw a ladder as a weapon,

Hannibal took Tobias by the arm as he broke it, leaving him quite crippled to try to fight back, still swinging his strings in the other hand he was no match for what was behind him, Shanel who took a left hook blow to the face gave him a right hook jab her eyes still watering. She blinked away the tears as he tried to strike her, but her kick to the ankle made him fall over, “NOW!” Shanel shouted, watching as Hannibal took the stag sculpture as he bludgeoned him to death with it right in the adam’s apple.  Will Graham came in through the door, Looking tired like the most days he’d come to visit. The rest of the FBI came to check on what would have been considered the crime scene.  

“Will you’re okay,” Hannibal said, a bloody gash on his nose and lip.

“Did he attack you?” Will asked, watching as Hannibal nodded, Shanel who had seen Jack from across the room, she only sighed as the FBI questioned her and tended to her wounds.

“So, you killed him..”  Jack stared at Hannibal,

“It was self-defense, he, did kill Franklyn, my patient, he snapped his neck..”  Jack walked away, keeping his eye on Hannibal and watching at Shanels reactions, she seemed to be in a type of shock that he had never seen before.  Calm, although he couldn’t tell who, he knew that someone was lying and they were doing it quite well.  Shanel looked at Will, who only gave her a nod as he exited out the office, a signal of he’d talk to her later. Night had fallen, and Hannibal had been prepping for the return of his dinner parties. Shanel, on the other hand, had already started getting herself to get ready, besides she wanted it to be a surprise to everyone who was coming if she were to be playing the lie of Hannibal’s fiance then why not make an entrance.

Guests began to appear one by one in the humble home of Lecter, some not knowing that it could be their last time. Plates of beautifully garnished victims danced around the table as everyone oohed and ahhed over it, although the food was a crowd-pleaser they had been waiting for the morbid Jay Gatsby, Hannibal Lecter who had worn his best suit for the occasion that he would be returning to his pompous social circle gathering parties, everyone around him sounded almost like a chattering lamb nearly screaming for his attention,

But there was only one woman who held it, promenading down the stairs was Shanel in a deep red mermaid gown that graced her figure beautifully and had the finest golden trim jewels around it. In her hair were diamonds that accented every curl in her updo. All eyes were on her, but she only cared about one set, Hannibals. Walking gracefully down to him, she took him by the hand escorted to the dining room where everyone was breathless of her.  "Sorry, I’m late everyone, do forgive me..“ she gave them a small chuckle of a laugh something from charm school that she kept with her.  Standing there was the grace of her mother and the fire to succeed in his little test.  "Shall we begin our fest?” she looked at Hannibal as he gave her nod.

“Though I must warn you, nothing here is  Vegetarian .”  a curl to his lips as he kissed Shanel on the hand.  The night had seemed to last almost an eternity. She had never felt so drained around people in her life, but when you get asked the same several questions, repeatedly, it could most certainly wear you thin. Sitting on the edge of his bed, she noticed just how much she was changing to the person she had wanted to be.

“What you said back there,  did you mean it?” She asked wiping, the last bits of makeup off her face.

“Every word of it.” he kissed her forehead, unzipping her dress for her, “You, my dear make me smile.” he took in her scent.  She turned towards him laughing,

“Just weeks ago, the lamb and the lion hated each other, and now the lion loves the lamb.”  she kissed him softly grabbing him by the side of his face, moonlight shining above them from the window, she had it bad for Hannibal, and there wasn’t a thing she wouldn’t do for him, nothing at all.  

“Ms. Mahone..” Crawford said, looking over at the shorter woman who had seemed a bit pissed at him, reason being was Bloom had called her at precisely 1 in the morning to tell her that Jack had not only brought in Abigal to identify the body of someone who he had presumed she killed, but he had questioned her without the sight of her lawyer,

“Crawford..”  she snarled, “You asked my client, a minor who is also facing trauma to identify a body..” she sighed her hand on her temple, “And on top of that questioned her!”

“An attorney doesn’t have to be present for either of those.” he smirked, “Or did they not teach that Ms. Mahone,” his eyebrow raised, looking at her. Most people were intimidated by Jack but not Shanel,

“No, but as her represented voice, it would be best not to push me, Crawford, I am something not to reckon with.”  Shanel took the pencil, stabbing it right into his desk, “That’s not a tone you want to carry with me, Mahone.” he jerked back, watching the smile on her face, “Then don’t ever question me.” getting up from his desk walking towards the morgue.

She had passed a classroom with gruesome pictures displayed on the projector screen listening in on what was said. “Now The Hunter is a difficult one to catch there’s, never a trace of footsteps barely any DNA left from the victims, but we know one thing he has a vendetta .. a cry in the murders,” Will said, looking over his shoulders only to find that no one was there.  Shanel, who had a pleasant grin on her face, had always loved the sheer fact that the FBI could never trace the fact a woman was behind the murders, and it pleased her. Walking down to the morgue had become a relaxing pastime of hers the more times that she had begun to do it.

“Morning, Brian morning Jimmy.” she winked, sitting her briefcase down. Grabbing a pair of goggles and gloves Shanel, couldn’t believe her eyes as to what she was seeing.

“Morning Shanel,” Brian smiled, “Wanna see something interesting,?” he asked as she nodded, walking over to him she could see the rope burns the discoloration but not exactly how long they had been dead. Taking her finger and pressing it on the forehead and then to her tongue, she nearly heaved.

“Well we found-”

“1977..” she looked at Brian, then Jimmy.

“What?”

“This ones been dead since 1977..” She looked at the state of the others, “Where did you find them? ”

“On a beach,  pieced like a totem pole,” Beverly said, ushering her towards the pictures, Shanel stopped and stared at them remembering Will talking about something to the extent of this crime in Hannibal’s office but, she didn’t remember too much or if all that he had said, looking at the pictures she was generally impressed with what she had seen, everything had seemed to mostly be done in post mortem,

“Doesn’t look too bad?” Shanel smirked, looking at the disembodied jigsaw puzzle, “But if I were your third opinion … I would say the killer doesn’t have a motive .” she then looked at the three examiners,

“Gotcha.,” Beverly smirked, finding a bit of DNA attached to the fighting dead body, “Well, I should get going..” Shanel smiled, walking away back to her car. Opening the door in the early morning fog, she felt hands grab her waist. Shanel then bent over as she leaned to the side, breaking away from grasp stabbing him right in the eyes as she then slit his throat open, tossing him in the trunk, another present for Hannibal as she liked to put it.

“Hannibal I’m home and I-” Shanel paused, walking into the kitchen as her eyes had gazed upon Alana Bloom drinking an ice-cold beer, the two giggling and carrying on about psychology as they both cooked.  She could feel something in the pit of her stomach boil and a bad taste in her mouth form. “You ?” Hannibal looked up, waiting for her to finish her sentence, “I’ll tell you later it’s great to see you, Doctor Bloom..”  she nodded, walking up the stairs.

“Would you like to join us for dinner?” Alana asked a slight smirk on her face.

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt a teacher and his student.”  She laughed, walking back upstairs, a bit upset about everything she had just seen, and right after she had trusted someone confided into someone, there would be nothing left but the slow ache from her heart. She would convince herself that nothing was going on between them, but it would have been fine if they didn’t look so in love with each other.  Sitting the tub, she could hear them laughing and talking about the good days when he was a professor and how everything he taught her she used. For Shanel, it made her practically sick to her stomach.  

“I don’t think I can love you anymore..” Shanel said, looking in the mirror, rolling her hair.

“I wish every day to hold you.” he held her by the waist.

“Let go of me, You don’t love me like I love you.”

#hannibal x oc #nbc hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lector #shanel mahone

[jyndor]

paul krugman and the art of doubling down on shitty takes

so on september 11th, famed nyt editorial writer, keynesian economist and fave of your racist liberal uncle, paul krugman, wrote one of the shittiest takes I have ever seen on twitter, which is SAYING SOMETHING.

krugman famously tweeted this:

and got a million virtual shoes thrown at him for being so ignorant, because anti-muslim hate crimes did actually escalate after 9/11, and the bush administration eagerly fanned the flames of islamophobia in order to make their illegal wars in afghanistan and iraq popular with the public. muslims, sikhs, indians, literally anyone vaguely brown, and lots of black ppl too, were terrorized by their neighbors, (former) friends, classmates, coworkers, etc. and anyone with a muslim friend knows this happened because they've told us about it. and these attacks were reported on. they were, I remember reading about them when I was a kid.

(paul krugman works for the new york fucking times, and while I think the nyt is warmongering centrist garbage, they do actually report on things that happen in the world. he writes editorials for them, surely he reads the damn paper once in a while).

so today, I log on to twitter and see he has decided not to apologize, but rather do the ol' double down, which always works out well.

here are some highlights:

okay so first thing's first, no apology (obviously) since this is a double down. but we got a chart, and liberals do love a good chart when they are being racist and ahistorical.

he admits that the chart is actually inaccurate because it excludes all the other victims of anti-muslim hate crimes who weren't actually muslim (read: the innocents). okay. so already he is losing credibility because he is using an inaccurate chart as the basis of his double down, and really, we love to see it.

after this there's some shit about how he didn't say there wasn't an outbreak of white americans attacking muslims and people mistaken for muslims, but rather that it could have been worse. lol well anything can be worse than it was, as 2020 has taught us. it’s a pedantic mess and I didn’t feel like that was the meat of the double down.

so first off, the iraq war was definitely started for many reasons, but islamophobia was part of it. the bush administration wanted to invade iraq and depose saddam hussein, and steal iraq’s oil for multinational oil companies lbr, and so they exploited americans’ fears about muslims by propagandizing about how it was important for us to attack them over there before they attacked us over here with their weapons of mass destruction, and of course they would attack us over here if given the chance. why? because they hate our way of life here, our freedom. those things were LITERALLY said by bush people and also by their stans at fox news and the wsj, and yes, in the editorial pages at the nyt.

so to someone like paul krugman, who knows lots of conservatives who don’t seem racist, or are educated and distinguished and just... like war? idk but to him, he sees people like them and says, well... they’re not like uneducated filthy poors in west virginia, not that kind of racist.

but what he doesn’t get, or he is being deliberately obtuse about, is that in order for the bush people to dehumanize muslims the way they did, they had to personally place less value on the lives of iraqis than on the value of that sweet crude oil. they were willing to go to war, sacrifice hundreds of thousands of civilians in the process (as well as thousands of american soldiers, but this isn’t about them) because they didn’t see them as anything but collateral damage. and that is fucking racist.

and while I have no interest in playing the “which racist is worse” game, when the west virginia uneducated racist endangers those around them, the politician rich harvard educated racist writes policy and lies us into illegal wars that endanger millions. both are bad, both are racist.

and by the way, him “sticking his neck out” to speak up against going to iraq was brave and necessary, especially because the nyt was pushing the invasion. but when you put it like that... you just sound like a tool. like it was a burden to call out the liars and imperialists. bitch, you’re paul krugman, a nobel laureate and renowned economist. I do not want to discount the IMMENSE pressure and blacklisting that opponents of the bush administration experienced, because showing any opposition to the wars at the time was risky. but idk the way he put that just irked me, especially since he didn’t even lose his job like many in the media did when they spoke up.

usually what liberals do when they fuck up publically is a fake ass apology and a few hail marys, and I assumed he would be on twitter begging for forgiveness on this one since his garbage take went so viral and pissed off so many people. and of course was wrong.

but then he does this:

yeah. your eyes are not deceiving you. that chart is measuring anti-black, anti-lgbtq and anti-”islamic” (lmao who says that bro just say anti-muslim or islamophobic) hate crimes. shut up leftist twitter, black people have it worse than muslims according to my inaccurate chart. so stop attacking me, a rich white man who doesn’t really care about anything other than my reputation.

there is a lot to unpack here, namely that paul krugman is using faux concern for black people as a way to deflect from his shitty ahistorical take about how much restraint white americans showed after 9/11 towards muslims. maybe krugman doesn’t know any black muslims, but they exist. also oppression olympics is stupid even when used by well meaning essentialists, let alone by milquetoast academics.

not to mention that he has already discounted his own shitty chart by saying it doesn’t show the full picture of what happened in these anti-muslim attacks. but even if we take this chart seriously, it actually does not really support his point. look at how many more hate crimes there were against muslims in 2001 than there were in 2000. there are significantly more black people than muslims in the united states. I am not good at math, and surely I am no nobel laureate, but it seems to me that hate crimes against black people increased a little, and hate crimes against muslims increased a lot. and this chart only takes into account three years, and only two of which are post-9/11. so... idk man maybe we should look at what happened in, say, 2003? 2004? how about all of the 2000s?

(source: https://www.pri.org/stories/2016-09-12/data-hate-crimes-against-muslims-increased-after-911)

oh, that is actually pretty consistently bad! yes, there was one spike in 2001/2002, but it isn’t like we went back down to pre-9/11 numbers afterwards. and I am not sure if this information includes non-muslims targeted for “looking muslim” but I would say it is unlikely, since the data seem pretty similar to krugman’s olympic shit.

I am not writing this because paul krugman is particularly shit-for-brains, or because I hate him more than like... idk any other moron on twitter. there were plenty of anti-muslim takes on twitter friday like there are every 9/11, and every day. but krugman is actually someone liberals respect. he is, after all, a nobel laureate and a keynesian economist, and fairly mild mannered. when people in the media like krugman write these ahistorical shitty takes they are, as chomsky wrote, MANUFACTURING CONSENT. it is a deliberate tactic, and it works. and if you want to learn more about this theory, check out this short clip by al jazeera narrated by amy goodman (of democracy now). the media manufactured american consent when they pushed the wars. they continue to do so when they try to rewrite george bush’s history by making trump seem uniquely terrible to muslims.

elites in the press and in government have been trying to whitewash and rehabilitate george bush’s reputation for YEARS, and they are succeeding. and why would they want to do that? well, there are a lot of reasons. one, a lot of people in washington are complicit in bush’s crimes. two, democrats think they need to appeal to moderate republicans (lol) in order to win elections, and I guess they think there are moderate republicans left (lol!), and that those moderate republicans like george bush (LOLLL). three, they want to make trump look uniquely terrible. if they do that, then no one but trump needs to be held to account for his government’s failings. but these are just my speculation.

do not let them rehabilitate george bush any further than they have. it is a fucking shame he will never be held to account for war crimes, but an extra slap in the face to all of his victims when we act like he didn’t do things he did. like stoke anti-muslim hate. he invaded muslim countries with a smile on his face, and that is pretty fucking hateful.

paul krugman doubled down and tried to use Black Lives Matter like a human fucking shield. seems a bit racist imo.

#paul krugman #islamophobia #racism #war #imperialism #anti-blackness #fuck this guy i stg