#government sanctioned murder

[night-wyld-system]

Canada Engages In Eugenics

The MAID act is actually making it so that mentally and physically disabled people would be at risk for euthanasia via purposeful eugenics by a governmental body. The fact that I as a multiply disabled person have had to see multiple people defend eugenics under the guise of "it's fear mongering to talk about". I am sick and tired of people who are low support needs deciding because it doesn't affect them people like us with more severe issues deserve to be killed or left for dead.

Track Two MAID is an act that is meant to kill off people not seen as proper workers. This is totalitarian capitalism, and as a socialist there is nothing I hate more than people who support this. It is expanding to people with mental illnesses as well as including non-terminal illnesses. I should not be killed because my legs are shitty, nobody should be killed because their legs our shitty. Nobody should be killed for their mental illness, or deformity, or disability, or developmental disorder, or cognitive impairment. NOBODY SHOULD BE KILLED FOR NOT BEING A GOOD ENOUGH WORKER FOR THE CAPITALIST REGIME.

Here is one opinion piece by a counselor from Canada.

An article on teen vouge

Another opinion piece

And a final article on the subject

Do not talk about an ongoing socio-political issue if you refuse to do your research, holy fuck you people are ghoulish for defending this shit.

The groups pushing this legislation are also trying to kill off disabled children. This isn't about stopping from going through a long painful withering away from a terminal condition or illness- this is eugenics.

CANADIAN DISABLED LIVES ARE IN DANGER

#syscourse #<- this is where we happened to see this #mentally ill #track two MAID #ableism #tw ableism #tw murder #tw euthanasia #physically disabled #government sanctioned murder #eugenics #eugenicism #and yes- if you are one of those fuckers who said it doesn't matter for people with DID shut the actual fuck up #DID is one of the most demonized disorders and if you think they won't try it you're dead wrong #I am not canadian but I fucking care about people outside of the country I live in

[spiltcandycoatedpunkblood]

just so you know how normal the UK is, left wing climate change activists and anti-monarchy protesters are getting jail time and beaten for simply holding up banners and being considered disruptive whilst right wing bullshitters against shit like ULEZ (literally about having areas that are specifically for ultra low emissions so we, y'know, don't constantly have to breathe in fucking car fumes and other pollutants because some fucking people actually bizarrely want to???) and road safety limits EVEN FUCKING RIGHT NEAR SCHOOLS are driving basically massive vehicles through the streets and are not considered a disruptive protest

#this is also after being a year or so into a fucking protest bill where the government can cherry pick which protests to break apart #also naturally police are turning off bodycams because of course they are #and a van was stopped by police because 'they had reason to believe they were going to disrupt the tory party conference' #also laurence fox - known fascist - was yelling in public about protecting children from trans people #and i haven't heard shit about the covid inquiry because bozo the clown stepped down in a tantrum when he wouldn't hand over his phone #despite the fact that probs about 17 parties that he was involved in took part in and around 10 downing street #DURING A FUCKING PANDEMIC IN DECEMBER 2020 #WHEN EVERYONE WAS MADE TO FOLLOW THE RULES OR BE SANCTIONED #there's a giant wall in London with all the Covid victims and with the darkest irony #it's literally opposite the Houses of Parliament #and i highly doubt any of those people in there - especially the higher powers - have even fucking visited it #this is also the same fucking country that attacked a vigil for a woman brutally murdered by a police officer #claiming it was an unlawful gathering #whilst ignoring the christmas parties at downing street and the anti lockdown protestors #vent #rant #uk politics #my heart is fucking dead i don't have the fucking enthusiasm anymore #i wanna go back so damn much #my family and I do not have many friends now as a result

[transingthoseformers]

So, currently I'm working on another character from my colony faction au, and I'm gonna provide a reference picture and how the new design is going

Now, the lore so far on Debug (he/him) is that before the war he worked at a relinquishment clinic, and when the war really started going and shit was getting destroyed, Debug went "nope frag all that I'm immediately leaving". In the notes I mention that he falsified some documents (? Leaves a bunch of opportunities on exactly what) and hitched a ride on a random neutral ship. As you might be able to see, in the initial design he had a visor but in the redesign I'm aiming for a single big optic like Shockwave.

#colony faction au #transformers #now initially the continuity for this au was purposefully vague but now I'm aiming towards a sort of bayverse/mtmte/tfp mix? #though i don't want the Empurata to be canon in this au; i want to play around with unusual frame design that seems less human #being honest i literally only saw the worda relinquishment clinic a few times in reference to mtmte and i have very little clue on meaning #but I'm pretty sure it involves Functionalism and government sanctioned murder #i also really wanted to play off of RGB lighting with his design

[sassy-cass-16]

you know what. i'm gonna say it.

i am not surprised that the british government is sanctioning murderous fear entities. that's what they've been doing for the last several hundred years.

#the magnus protocol #tmagp #tmagp spoilers

[eroguron0nsense]

Garp, Fascism, and Parental Failure

Garp is truly one of the most interesting One Piece characters for me because of the extent to which his dogged, relentless devotion to a fascist system–and the supposed "order" it promises to uphold in the face of anarchy or rebellion–perseveres no matter how many times it fails him and his son and his grandsons. He's fully aware of the deep-seated corruption and atrocity, and feels some kind of moral obligation to bend its rules to protect the innocent (as we can see with his attempts to protect Rouge and Ace), but when faced with widespread femicide and infanticide, genocide, slavery and endless examples of egregious cruelty, he is unable to comprehend the notion that the system is indefensible, or that the only moral choice he can possibly make when faced with that level of atrocity is to leave and resist it. His son recognizing the inherent, inexcusable failures of the World Government and its armed enforcers–literally quitting the force to start a revolution– changes nothing. The order to slaughter pregnant people and infants at Baterilla can't convince him otherwise. The countless instances of bribery, the tolerance of atrocity from state-sanctioned privateers, everything about the history of the Valley of the Gods are all things he's aware of, and takes issue with, but never comes to the conclusion that he cannot affect positive change within a system designed for oppression. The public execution of his grandson–a prime example of the marine's fundamentally irrational, arrogant, vindictive cruelty clearly bound to blow up in all of their faces even before their Pyrrhic victory at the summit war–makes him waver, but even when confronted with this obvious, indefensible injustice against a child he raised and rescued by people seeking to murder him on live TV and desecrate his corpse as a show of power, he cannot bring himself to act against it in any meaningful way no matter how much it hurts him to leave his grandson to die. If he can't veto it, he'll stay Vice Admiral and suffer through Ace being sacrificed on the altar of fascist state control, and functionally leave Luffy for dead in the process while he's at it. He fails every single person he wanted to love–Ace, Luffy, and almost certainly Dragon–and allows himself to be reluctantly complicit in countless crimes against humanity again and again and again because he's so deeply steeped in this notion of preservation of order through state control that he convinces himself that even this disgusting, atrocious, fundamentally flawed and untenable excuse for a government is better than abolition, better than revolution, or just the act of expecting accountability or literally anything better from the systems that issue false promises to protect you. Dadan beating the living shit out of him and calling him a failure as a grandfather, as a self proclaimed defender of the people, is one of the most important scenes in the Postwar Arc because a lesser series might frame Garp as a tragic, helpless figure suffering more than anyone else due to conflict of love and duty, but One Piece refuses to whitewash his actions/inaction or allow the grief and suffering caused by systems he's complicit in to take precedence over its real victims: the D brothers.

There's so much I could say about statism and anarchism and the ways people have internalized the supposed necessity of state violence to the extent they can't oppose that violence even when it ruins them or their loved ones, but that horrible indoctrination and its devastating consequences for both him and his family are what makes Garp so fascinating to watch and so thematically/politically important to One Piece as a whole.

#monkey d garp #monkey d. luffy #monkey d dragon #portgas d ace #one piece #curly dadan #marineford #one piece text posts #portgas d rouge #one piece marines #garp one piece #garp the fist #vice admiral garp #crocodile did more to try and help ace than garp #fucking crocodile

[trashmouth-richie]

the raven told me of you

eddie x female reader

crafted from this prompt list by: @bettyfrommars @somnambulic-thing @allthingsjoeq

summary: eddie is released after six months of being behind bars with a false identity, he was never lonely because you were there with him, until you weren’t. now, coming home to a new life with his old name granted back to him. he navigates flashbacks, and trying to settle back in with wayne in private protective seclusion, alone— or is he?

8.1k

tw: 18+ angst. fluff of a new relationship, light smut— s1, s4 canon events with reader inserted into the timeline, mentions of insanity, death, witness protection, government cover-ups etc. this could be a continuation or stand alone fic of your touch but is not necessary to read.

releasing: thursday 3/7

Owens’ worked his charms. The government covered up the mass hysteria and pinned the murders of Chrissy, Patrick and Fred on an accidental chemical reaction from arsenic, radiation and terpenoids. The results left their bones liquified from the toxic lick of acid and torqued before solidifying once again. 

  The Hawkin’s Post called it ‘a combination of sickly tainted water from the school cafeteria.’ 

  Parents were urged to have their children tested at the local clinic for extra precautions, and thankfully no one else had been affected. 

  On Thursday the Eighteenth of September, at approximately 1300 hours… an hour into quiet personal time, Mr. Edward Munson, was once again, a free man. 

  At first he thought it was possibly a mistake, a horrifying joke fed by his many delusions. But when they called him into the warden’s office, he sat across an oak desk from a tall man with a skin bald head, shining like a lightbulb.  

  He used Eddie’s full name—not the persona he was given— and gave him ten minutes to collect his belongings. It was then he came to realize that maybe he wasn’t crazy after all. 

  Six long months in the clink with his brain spinning hallucinations beyond his control he wasn’t sure if he’d come out of it without a government issued lobotomy— and in the blink of an eye, it came to an abrupt end.

  Prison was cold, unwelcoming in shades of gray coating the ceilings, walls, floors, any service imaginable. As if there was one color sanctioned to the American Prison system and gray was the less costly option. 

  Concrete was probably more pliable than his bed was. The food was impeccable— if you were a raven on a mealworm diet.  It was just shy of hell, and it made the inhabitants calloused to a helping hand or squirreling away from making friends. 

  Seven months prior, Eddie was in his prime. For the first time in his life he was happy with where he was at, school was almost over and he had a true chance of walking the stage of graduation. 

  And you, he had you. 

  Beautiful, charismatic, sweet you. 

  It was almost like he conjured you up himself with a hard roll against a plyboard table of a twenty sided dice. Mesmerizing eyes that seemed to shimmer in any light, a smile that could soften Medusa’s rocky stare. You were perfect. 

  The first time his eyes laid on you was across the cafeteria. Everyone moved with the mundane routine, but you were shining like a spotlight had been placed on you overhead. 

  Your soft skin beckoned him like a moth to a flame. Smooth as silk, and he started to wonder what would your flesh feel like in his hands…would you cower away from their roughness? 

  His mind raced, and his heart pumped firmly whenever you walked past him, you smelled like ripe fruit, warming by the sun, and Eddie began to understand why Eve was tempted so easily. 

  And so began the daily task of seeking you out. He was able to spot you like Waldo amongst the boring gray faces of every other girl. 

  You shone like a gem, a sapphire filled with the darkest of depths, and like an enthusiast to your craft, he wanted to know the breadth of your soul. 

  His gem. 

  It was by total chance that he stumbled upon you after months of stray glances. He was walking backwards, yelling to Gareth about being on time for Hellfire that night, when he bumped into something that yelped in surprise. 

  It was you. 

  Sprawled and landing hard on your butt. Papers scattered from the collision of your face mashing into a denim patchwork vest. 

  He stumbled over your feet, falling beside you in a mess of curls and cigarettes, the one between his lips still intact. Your eyes met his for the first time, and that’s all it took for him to fall head over feet, in this case Reeboks, Eddie was a goner. 

  Your smile spread a warmth in his chest that he had never felt before. And your laugh? Made his knees physically weak. 

  He still didn’t know how he managed to swing it, but he charmed you into agreeing to a ride home. Conversation came easy with you. You were sweet yet comical, a bit of a smart ass. He was grinning like an idiot.

  Chatting about books, then music, he bantered back and forth, teasing on your choice of horror, astounded in your tastes— but nevermore, he was enthused, enamored. 

  Witty and shit giving, you had him wrapped around your finger before the van pulled in front of your place. A permanent dimple pecked into his cheek that wouldn’t subside no matter how hard he tried. 

  A ten digit number exchanged on lined paper was the start of the end. A corny fist pump and a pep talk on his jaunt back to the trailer park. 

  Eddie was living on cloud nine. 

  He called you that night, foregoing any dumb advice he had seen in movies or heard at school at waiting a certain amount of days or hours, he went on pure instinct alone, and almost threw up all over himself after punching the last number. 

  You answered with your name after saying a proper greeting and he stumbled over his own tongue before choking out that it was him. 

  “Sorry who?” you had teased, Eddie’s heart fell into his stomach with relief when you giggled on the other end, “are you calling to sell me some boy scout popcorn, because cheddar is my favorite… but for you I might just buy a tin of caramel.” 

  A heart laugh erupted from his trailer, loud and barking. “Boy Scouts weren’t really my thing, princess.” 

  “Ah,” you reasoned, “knots too hard?” 

  He laughed again, that damn dimple achingly prominent as he smiled through the receiver, and you swore you could hear his cheeks squeak, “something like that.” 

  An hour had passed and Eddie found himself in the snares of coiled phone cords as he wore a pattern from his bedroom to the kitchen, fiddling with things left on the counter. Even going so far as to start a load of laundry and empty the sink. 

  You too were in the trenches, living solely on the scraps of information of Eddie’s life that he tossed to you like a pigeon in a park.  

  He was smart, filled with colossal amounts of knowledge on anything from cars, to reading sheet music. He had an ear for rhythm, cocky enough to have you hum a tune so he could pick up on it, and add to it. Eddie was a closeted genius under the untamed curls. 

  “Shit— I’m talking too much, huh? " he asked after a long winded speech about a campaign he was planning for the freshman in Hellfire. “I get carried away sometimes,” he admitted with a chuckle, a ripple of embarrassment heating over his body in a wave. 

  “Not at all,” you eagerly replied, “tell me more about Kas!” 

  “Well princess, I could show you, if you wanted?” He prayed you’d say yes, to whom or what he was praying to— hewasn’t sure, just crossed fingers and pinched his eyes shut in hopes that you wouldn’t think he was some loser yanking his dick to figurines and elf lore.

  But you didn’t, you had said yes faster than he finished asking. And from there— it was history. 

  He went to bed with a spinning head and a heart wrapped in lace, sugar coated with your sweet voice in his ear, the same lopsided grin he had worn since tripping over you at school. 

  —

  Stepping out into the first breath of freedom, the sun felt heavy on his skin. It itched his arm hairs, the heat touching his neck for the first time in years since he grew out his hair. The brightness stung his eyes. 

  He had become accustomed to the hollowing sag of fluorescent lights paling his skin to almost translucency, a true dracula in the pits of a four walled hell.

  A croaked caw is loud overhead, singular— followed by a fluttering of wings, and the bend of a tree limb.

  The clothes he wore didn’t feel like him, the ripped cotton Hellfire shirt wasn’t clean coming in and wasn’t clean coming out, Shredded where the demobats feasted on him like a hotdog at a ball field. 

  His jeans stunk of decay and murky water from the gate. Caked with mud, dried several times in the days of being on the run, the jeans chafed his skin raw, gnawing on his leg hairs until they popped free, giving up the fight. 

  A manila envelope held his rings, clashing together in a melodic tone. He slotted them one by one on the correct fingers, yet they felt loose, heavy and familiar all at once. 

  He was ready to pitch the envelope into a trash bin when he felt something else in the bottom, having to rip it apart to get to whatever was inside. When the ground was littered next to his waterlogged Reeboks, and his palm held the small silver item, his eyes brimmed with tears. 

  —3

The nightly phone calls soon turned to walks around the trailer park, Eddie listening intently as you strolled around the driveway, kicking up little clouds of dirt or catching the occasional rock with the toe of your sneaker. 

  He matched your steps, learning about your passions after graduation, how you favored sweets over salty treats, and the embarrassing truth of how after your friend Barb went missing, you didn’t have any friends at school. 

  “Well, now you have me,” he chirped earnestly, dark eyes squinting in the setting sun as he knocked his elbow with yours, a smirk on his lips, “I’ll take care of ya.” 

  It was as simple as that, and the easiness of it made your nose tingle with a burn as you fought back tears at his kindness. 

  Weeks of walking with you after school round and round Forest Hills— the scenery started to change. 

  The emerald grass faded into sharp tawny weeds. Foliage turned the color of autumn and the air began to crisp and chill.

  It was then, on a windy Tuesday afternoon, that Eddie invited you into his home, he made sure to kick dirty laundry under his bed, hide the Playboys in the closet behind an old pair of shoes and empty the heaping ashtrays the night beforehand. 

  A jewel in a shit shack— you equally looked out of place and fit in with the cluttered belongings of his uncles at the same time. 

  “My castle.” he announced, bending low and holding the door open like a gentleman. 

  He showed you around the small square footage, taking less than fifteen seconds to point everything out. 

  “And that?” 

  “That’s.. my room.” 

  It was silly then, how nervous he was to let you into his space, even though during your walks you acquired everything there was to know about him. 

—

  Snow was on the ground when your after school routine of going to Eddie’s was as second nature to you as breathing. 

  You were sitting on his unmade bed atop the rumpled comforter and soft sheets, socked toes dangling from the side of the mattress. A textbook balanced in your lap, pencil between your teeth. Your eyebrows pinched in a studied strain as you tried to solve a calculus formula. 

  His voice had startled you, not sure when he had gotten up or how long he was standing at his desk, looking almost sick. 

  “Got something.. for you.. something dumb that I saw.” 

  He tried his damndest to be cavalier. But Eddie was everything but. 

  Ten dollars in quarters, more hours than he had spent in a pizza joint ever, and a hoard of tiny plastic containers from a machine holding costume jewelry, he had finally gotten what caught his eye. 

  A silver ring adorning a bat with an indigo colored stone in the center. It didn’t come close to the actual beauty you possessed but the blue stone reminded him of the way you moved through the crowd that day, like a rare gem. 

  Tired eyes focused on him, a nervous little twitch in his body didn’t go unnoticed as he fumbled with something behind his back, a wanton smile smirked on his lips. 

  You smile, adjusting the book from your lap and rubbing the pressure from your eyes, “a gift? Ed, you didn’t have to do that.” 

  “Didn’t have too,” he charmed, moving closer into your space, his jeans tickling the tips of your toes, “but… I wanted to.” 

  “Should I close my eyes?” 

  He chuckled, “sure sweetheart, hold out your hand,” 

  Your eyes shut tight, eyelashes squishing against your cheeks as you giggled, “why am I nervous?” 

  He stared at the rubber eraser shavings that clung to your bottom lip. The graphite on your fingers, a small hole in your jeans atop your knee, showing a smooth expanse of skin that he itched to touch. You had captivated him since the day you crossed his lazy stare in the lunchroom, and he thought of very little else. 

  He could still hear your squeals when you opened your eyes and saw the delicate ring in your palm. Still feel the way his heart raced when you jumped up and hugged his middle, squeezing him tight against you, the smell of your hair filling his nose with notes of strawberry, or was it peach? 

  He didn't realize he had the ring fisted in a vice grip until he felt blood in his palm, salty tears collecting in the thickness of his mustache, his lip quivering.

  They’re wiped away in haste at the sound of a police cruiser. The familiar scent of thick gasoline exhaust and a camel cigarette follow with the squeak of his driver's door and release of weight on the suspension. 

  A towering frame crowds the sun from Eddie’s brow. A thick mustache sits square on an egg shaped skull, sunken cheeks replace a once plump face. But the drawl and cigarette smoke are welcoming just the same. 

  “Hey kid.” 

  —

  Eddie was nervous. 

  The time you two had been spending together was making him feel giddy. You hadn’t kissed or so much as held hands yet but the air between you both had become filled with dense clouds of lust induced tension— it was hard for him to see straight. 

  He didn’t know if you felt the same, or if you only saw him as a friend, but tonight was the night the boundaries would cross, and he stood armed like a Paladin, ready to conquer his toughest quest yet, you.

  Ice had built up on the broken concrete steps to Eddie’s trailer and your slick bottomed converse hit the glassy surface just right for you to slip backwards, falling into strong leather coated arms. 

  “We gotta stop falling into each other princess,” he chuckled, holding you tight with hands wrapped around your waist, “gettin’ too old for this nonsense.”

  His scent invades you, encompassing you with hints of camels, a stick of big red gum, and starch powdered deodorant. 

  Your laugh bubbles out of your throat like a giggly champagne, “damn, you got me, totally do this on purpose, insurance claims. All the rage nowadays.” 

  He buffers for a bit as you tip forward on your feet and spin to face him, one step higher than he stands. “Only kidding,” you tease, grabbing his chin with icy fingers. 

  His doe eyes stare into yours, lost in the way you made his heart skip and his bones feel like jello, blood ablaze. He’s searching, searching your face for a giveaway— a sign. 

  And it happens like clockwork.

  Your hands rest on either of his cheeks, thumb sweeping softly over the creamy silk of his skin, an audible sigh slides from his throat, followed by a giggle slipping from yours before your voice narrows to a whisper, “lighten up Munson.”

  The salmon tone of his lips have gone more cherry colored in the cold, a little chapped from the frigid temps. Not the usually pinkish orangey hue they drew in warm light when he flustered over History notes and Chemistry study cards.

  The apples of his cheeks were rosy like a cherub on a Valentine’s Day card, glittered with fancy text swirling of “Be Mine?” 

  Coal eyes shone with the bright overhead light from the trailer park. A deer caught in headlights. 

  Eddie was handsome in a way nobody in Hawkins was. A mane of curled brown locks, eyes to match. He was affectionate, easygoing, and you loved him the minute he crashed into you a few months ago. 

  Hands still on your waist he pulled you towards him, “Can’t,” he breathes, almost silently, a huff of air between you now, “not when I’m around you, never around you.” 

  Your fingers tangle together around his shoulders, braided in the hair at the nape of his neck, he shudders at the temperature change on his skin. 

  A quirk in your brow you tilt your head and wet your lips, “why’s that?” 

  He joins you on the crowded step, taller than you, peering into your face, heavy hands still on the waist, “for months, haven’t been able to think straight when you’re here,” his hands rub on your lower back making lazy circles under your coat with his blunt nails. 

  “Hmm..” you tease, twirling a curled lock of of the hair framing his face between your fingers, sultry eyes looking up at him in thick eyelashed innocence, “wonder why that is?” 

  The opening he was looking for, boundary lines down in overgrown grass as if he rolled a crit hit to whatever creature stood in his path was laid out for him. 

  His forehead comes to rest on yours, surprisingly warm in the cold, his nose like frost as it slid beside your own, bumping and sharing one breath. 

  “ ‘cause I’m crazy ‘bout you,” he finally admits, heart loosening, unrestricting, “and I can’t stop thinking what your lips would feel like with mine.”  

  He feels your smile on his mouth, the bated breath you’re holding teasing his tongue, “find out,” is all you can get mutter before his lips press gently to yours. 

  —

  Hawkins was a few hours drive, longer yet after stopping at the nearest diner for a burger and fries. After staring at a menu for more than Hopper’s liking he ordered for himself and Eddie. 

  The coffee came in white ceramic mugs, the waitress setting them down in the designated spots that were already stained with rings of taupe, years of wear. 

  “Wayne’s all set up in a new trailer, living high off the hog or whatever he said during our weekly check-ins.”

  Eddie ate in silence, chewing slowly, eating but not really tasting. What was freedom if you weren’t a part of it? 

  He’d be the first to admit that he talked to you when he was stressed. When he thought he couldn’t shut his eyes without seeing the horrific beings that crawled upside down from our world, he turned to your voice, feeling you wrap around him gave him a sense of hope. 

  “It’s not in Forest Hills, somewhere a little more private, government owned land.” 

  Eddie sipped at the bitter coffee, taking the burn in a big swig, letting it hurt. Nodding along as he watched his reflection in the dark cup. 

  —

  Kissing you was like being able to breathe underwater, like the 1986 New Year’s fireworks over Lover’s Lake. 

  He kissed you at your door before school when he showed up every morning to drive you. He stole more kisses in his van, cursing the 8:15 bell, his hands on your waist pulling you further into him.

  Standing by your locker, he kissed your cheeks as you dug for textbooks. He pressed his lips to your ear in the lunch line, making you squirm. 

  He kissed your shoulder when he sat behind you teaching you to play his guitar. Pressing the delicate pads of your fingers into the strings to play each chord with ease. 

  He’d groan into your neck, while pressing you into the couch, nipping your skin until his lips were raw. 

  “Where have you been my whole life?” 

  Your fingers are entwined in his hair, pulling his weight  further into you, your legs wrap around his waist, “led astray, lost, so lost.” 

  He leans up, dark curtains of hair dangling into your face from your position on the saggy couch in the Munson living room.  

  He smiles a toothy grin, dimples breaching, “good thing I found you then, baby,” he sweeps a rogue eyelash from your cheek, “can’t escape me now.” 

  “wouldn’t want to even if I were dead.”

  —

  “Nope, hasn’t said a word, how do you know he can even talk?” 

  Owen’s sighs on the other end of the receiver, “he’s tough, but he’s been through a lot,  needs time to recover, find out who he is again.” 

  Hopper takes a long drag of a cigarette, “yeah, don’t know about that one doc, he’s mute.” 

  Short trimmed nails scratch at a tuft of curly white hair, stationed somewhere in Nevada, “Alright, just get him home, I’ll call the uncle and let him know.” 

  — 

  Hugs lingered. Kisses deepened. Bodies pressed to one another in a staticky velcro of magnets, unable to peel apart. 

  Things were hot and heavy between you and Eddie. Smoky, tingly, a fog that had your blood pulsing places you didn’t know was even possible. You didn’t want to be apart, aching to explore every inch of him. 

  And he felt the same. 

  Together you set the plans into place. 

  He purchased the condoms, made sure his favorite mix of the slowest metal music he could find was ready to go. He washed his bed sheets and lit a dust covered candle. 

  You had done your own routine, showering and thoroughly scrubbing every surface of your skin, lathering a thick lotion on your body, and planting perfume in the direct places Cosmo described as, ‘irresistible’. 

  It wasn’t his first time. But it was yours. 

  Running his fingers through his bangs once more he took a last meticulous look around his room, crossing the trailer to answer the front door, where you had knocked quietly. 

  You were gorgeous, standing in a pair of light wash jeans and a buttoned red sherpa coat. A bag over your shoulder. 

  “There’s my girl,” he cooed, holding his arms wide and embracing you in his signature bone crushing hug. His lips found yours in a fevered second and he walked you backwards inside, flipping the deadbolt as he kicked the door behind him. 

  The duffle bag travels from your shoulder to his arm and he breaks away from your tempting lips. Holding your shoulder he pulls you into him, looking at you as he leads you to his room. 

  “Got everything you need? Toothbrush?” 

  You smile a little nervously, “check.”

  “Okay, pajamas?” he inquires, “could wear mine if you wanted, you’d look pretty damn cute in my Garfield pants.” 

  “Packed and folded last night,” you say, tickling

 his sides, “you were on the phone with me when I did it.” 

  He stops before crossing the threshold to his room, hands gently pressed to your cheeks, looking into your eyes in a serious manner.

  “Are you sure? Like really sure?” his brows knit into concern, “I want you to be comfortable with this.. with me.” 

  You tug his shirt with a pinched grip, at his waist, staring back into his eyes, the truth on your tongue. 

  “I want you.” 

  —

  Gravel spits up from the rubber tires as Hopper’s cruiser pulls off onto the secluded road. Eddie’s head hits the window hard with a thud, waking him from a dream. 

  “Home sweet home, kid.” Hop grunts, cranking the vehicle to a stop after traveling down a long twisting driveway thick with bordering trees and miles of woods on either side. A safe haven for a man deemed dead. 

  He could make out the taillights of his van, nestled in the tall grass beneath a willow tree, obscured from view. Wayne’s trusty Ford under the carport. 

  The overcast sky splayed a gray color against the new Munson home, and sitting on steps that weren’t broken, was Wayne. 

  The passenger door releases with a groan, and he inhales the fresh scent of dirt and summer grass. Finally, he feels like he can breathe. 

  Wayne’s familiar thin lipped grin is spread wide on his face, smoke lingering from a cigarette in an ashtray. His wet eyes gleam at the boy he once thought was dead, as he stands to greet his nephew.

  “Hardly recognized ya with that short hair, Ed, and that beard?” he says rubbing a weathered hand through his own scruff, “givin’ me a run for my money son.” 

  He hadn’t seen his uncle since that friday morning in March. Unbeknownst to them both, in 15 short hours a cheerleader would die gruesomely in their living room, sprouting a world of chaos and demons, destruction, uncertainty and more carnage. 

  Hop had explained to Eddie that Wayne was compensated generously for his grief by the United States Government. He was told the ins and outs of what had happened and where Eddie was, and perched on land in a new house, he was told to wait. 

  —

  Spring had sprung, the hard winter that seemed like it would never end was finally seeing its demise. March brought promises of new growth in the soil, and warmer days ahead. 

  It was a typical Friday, besides a morning pep rally for the laundry basket team after winning an important game the night before. 

  A pep rally you never attended.

  Your back was pressed against the bathroom stall, skirt rucked up with the help of Eddie’s hand. 

  “We’re… gonna… get caught.” You rasped out between kisses.

  His other hand was interlaced with yours high above your head, “probably,” he teased, tongue licking into your mouth, “it’s worth it though? Yeah?” 

  His hand travels further to the cotton waist of your panties, dragging them further and further down your thigh, his lips assaulting your neck, vibrating with your delicate moans. 

  “For you?” you question, hooking an arm around his shoulder, as your panties hit the ground, “always.” 

  He smiles into your lips as he pushes into your warm center, taking the breath from your lungs as you adjust to him, ass cheeks cold on the metal siding of the stall. 

  Your legs are wrapped into the crease where his elbow meets, his cock dragging in and out languidly, mouths hung open and tasting each other's ecstasy as your eyes drink one another up. 

  “Swear I’ve never, ever had someone like you, baby,” he gasped, bangs frizzing from being wet from a morning shower then covered in sweat. 

  Hips pistoning into you, he can feel your walls clench and tighten, your breath choked before you release, saying his name as if it’s the only word you can make out. 

  He cums hard. biting his lip and burying his face into your neck, “I love you, fuck I love you.”

  It was the first time he had said it. He had known it for months, but today in the girls bathroom skipping a pep rally he could give a shit about, he figured it was the perfect place to say how he felt. 

  He’s still inside you when you say it back, spend leaking from you and onto the tiled floor. Your own eyes wet with the happiest of tears because no one has ever said that to you, not like this. 

  But this gorgeous man, in all his reputational flaws that didn’t mean shit, loved you. And you had never felt more emotion flooding through you all at once. 

  “I love you too, Eddie.” 

  —

  Hopper didn’t stay for supper, patting his barely there belly and saying the missus was expecting him home tonight. He tipped a felt hat goodbye to Wayne and to Eddie, telling them to call if they needed anything.

  He still hadn’t spoken, only nodded and waved curtly as the red tail lights danced down the tangled web of a driveway. 

  “Gonna make pork chops if you’re interested,” Wayne chirped, holding the door open for him as they climbed the same number of steps, “learned how to cook, can y’ believe that?” 

  He smiled softly, carrying his envelope of release papers and setting them on the table. 

  Everything from the old trailer was ruined. His guitar, all the band equipment he had stored in his room, the mattress that held more memories with you in them that he’d never get back— all gone, burned to a rancid fiery crisp when the fourth chime rang and Hawkins spread open like a festering wound. 

  The only thing he had of yours was the small bat ring with a sapphire stone. 

  Ten dollars in quarters at a shitty pizza place. He should have given you something real.

  —

  “.. yeah yeah and I was full of shit then,” Eddie grinned as Jeff and Gareth teased him about his graduation timeline. “This is my year, I can feel it.. ‘86 baby!”

  He was always a flare for dramatics, dungeon master or not he amped it up for the freshman, acting like DnD was life or death, as if the cult of Vecna couldn’t be missed. 

  To be fair, he spent months on this campaign, late nights plotting and scrawling into a binder as you sat behind him, playing with his hair. 

  French braids then pippy styled pigtails, a cute bun on the top of his head with little hairs sweeping against his forehead and at the nape of his neck, perfect curls. 

  “Ten bucks says Wheeler cries when Vecna makes his return.”

  “You think?” 

  “Definitely.”

  Shoving Dustin and Mike with specific instructions to find a replacement player for Lucas, he sits down to his measly little lunch, leaning over to your space and whispering so only you can hear. 

  “After Hellfire tonight you wanna come over? Wayne bought a frozen pizza and I heard that Family Video finally got some good horror flicks in.” 

  Stealing a pretzel from his fingers you nod your head yes, “ I’ll get the movie, meet you at the trailer?” 

  The rest of the day dragged on. One boring class after another, students excited for the upcoming game, teachers unable to keep the roar of amped up Jocks under control, but alas the last bell finally rang. Releasing Hawkins High for Spring Break of ‘86. 

  Some kids went on vacation, others hunkered down with their friends. And some never made it back to school when classes resumed. 

  Walking down to his designated selling spot at the forgotten picnic table in the woods, he could have never imagined the trouble he’d be in just seven hours later. 

  —

  Pork Chops seared in a pan with some butter and a chopped onion, Wayne had the news playing on the small tv in the kitchen, listening for the weather report. 

  The trailer was identical to the one lost to the rotting flesh of the Upside Down. Newer, and a damn sight cleaner, but the layout was exactly the same, except for an added bedroom with an attached bath on the opposite wall of the living room.

  The filthy hat collection was replaced by odd cowboy decor and small wolf figurines. Eddie paced around the living room, touching the knick knacks that someone else had picked out not even questioning whether or not Wayne enjoyed this kind of stuff. 

  He had shown Eddie to his room, a navy blue carpet stretched across the floor, a queen sized bed against the back wall. New new new. Everything was foreign to him. 

  He would miss the heavy creak of a dresser drawer that didn’t shut properly, his closet door that fell off its track years before. Hell, he’d even miss the itch of the green wool blanket he kept on his bed in the winter months. 

  “Got your own bathroom too,” Wayne said cheerfully hovering in the doorway, hand rubbing the knob as he stared at the floor, “figured you’d wanna shower ‘fore supper, so I laid a towel out.” 

  Eddie turned his head nodding while he poked at the too soft blanket folded on his bed.

  “It’s good to have you home, Eddie.” Wayne said, finally looking into his nephew’s eyes, “didn’t feel the same without you.” 

  Wayne wasn’t a coddler, he didn’t want Eddie to feel like he couldn’t be trusted, so he turned to leave, “shower’s got real good water pressure.” He takes  a glance back at Eddie, and looks around the room before pulling the door shut behind him.

  “Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, turning away at the last second, avoiding the piercing color of Wayne’s eyes before they could break him down. 

  —

  Ten o’ clock on the dot your car crunched onto the dusty driveway of Forest Hills. Eddie’s van wasn’t parked out front yet, but thankfully the Munson trailer was never kept locked. 

  The trailer smelled of old smoke and musk from two hard working men. Even if the laundry was never caught up, and greasy wrappers from a quick bite of a burger littered the counter— Eddie’s home was comforting to you. 

  You didn’t have to fumble around for the light switches anymore, walking in the dark you knew where the table could connect with your hip if you weren’t careful. 

  Ten steps from the kitchen, down the hall was his bedroom door, five steps back led to the bathroom. He had cleared a drawer for you to keep your clothes in, socks, extra pajamas, some of his favorite pairs of your underwear lived in the top drawer on the right. 

  The mirror on his dresser held a collection of pictures of the two of you from the photo booth at Starcourt Mall, movie ticket stubs, and the mint condition guitar he kept sacred. 

  A yawn escapes your tired mouth the warmth of a shower calls to you.  

  Grabbing a towel from the cabinet, the water sputters under the shower head as it always did, and familiar music floods your ears from the thin walls outside. 

—

  His reflection is gaunt, different than the last time he looked at himself, the night he struck the mirror in disgust. 

  He’s too happy to rid himself of the swamp smelling clothes that itched and scraped his skin. The lick of a flame would do them justice, good riddance to the worst time of his life.

  The shower is bigger, the head double the size of the one he grew used to. The spray of scalding water hits his head like magma. Burning his flesh, washing away months of isolation, stale air, and stiff clothing. 

  The water released muscles in his back that had grown crimped from the thin cot he curled himself on. His fingers ran through the shorter length of hair on his head, just above his eyebrows realizing it now was long enough to drip water into his eyes. 

  He didn’t check the labels before rubbing whatever soap or shampoo it was into his skin, but the slide of it onto his pale and gummy mauled scars felt like butter on toast. 

  Registering the faint scent of a stixky sweet fruit he couldn’t determine if it was strawberry or peach, but the concoction had him clutching his chest, unable to breathe. 

  It smelled like you.

  You. His best friend.

You. His first girlfriend.

You. The only person he has ever loved— so intensely, it killed him. 

  You you you. 

  His gem. All sapphire blues with depths beyond comparison to anyone else who simply peaked on the surface. 

  Gone.

  “Ready whenever you are!” Wayne knocked on the door, “pork chop ain’t no good cold.”

  He wipes the tears from his eyes. Regulates his breathing with labored intakes. And finally admits the thing he couldn’t for the past six months. 

  “She’s gone.” 

  —

  “Sorry for the mess, maid took the week off.” 

  “You live here alone?”

  Murmured voices are muffled under the rush of water from the shower, “Eddie?..that you?”

  Shuffled steps get closer and the bathroom door swings open, Eddie’s eyes are wide, wild with excitement as they roam over your form. 

  He licks his lips, stalking towards you in a lazy manner with dark hooded eyes, “prettiest girl in the whole world in my bathroom?” His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him, a breathtaking move leaving you giggly as his hand caresses your cheek, “hope you’re naked under these clothes.” 

  He presses his lips to yours in a chaste kiss, dipping you low and swinging you back up, he tastes like Mountain Dew and lingering hints of nicotine, spread with a wicked grin. 

  “I missed you, handsome,” you say, pressing your lips to his again, “so how was it? Did Mike cry when Vecna came back?” 

  Eddie barks out a laugh, rubbing his hands together, “think I might’ve seen a single tear fall, but they defeated him— crit hit by Sinclair’s sister.”

  “Really? That’s.. impressive!” 

  “It was… shit, I’ve never been more proud of those little assholes.” His smile fades and you know he’ll miss being DM for them next year. 

  “Eddie?” A small voice asks from the living room.

  Your brow quirks in question and he looks at you voice whispering low, “Chrissy Cunningham wants to buy ketamine.”

  “What?!” you whisper back face struck in shock, “seriously?!” 

  Eddie nods, eyes wide in almost disbelief himself, “wanted a half ounce at first, but then said she needed something stronger.” 

  Your face pulls concern, honestly astonished that someone who seemed so prim and proper would want something like that. Eddie didn’t sell k normally you’ve been with him on multiple occasions and the only thing that was consistent with your peers of Hawkins High was weed. 

  “Do you even have it?” 

  “Dunno” he shrugs, lips in a frown, “told her I did because it’s an easy thirty bucks, but I could just crush up some tic-tacs… she wouldn’t know the difference.” 

  “Eddie? Did you find it?” Chrissy calls out in a nervous pitch. 

  “I can talk to her while you find something?” 

  “That’d be great,” he kissed you once more, lips buzzing, “two minutes!” He practically skips to his bedroom and shoots you a wink. Leaving you in a flight of butterflies lining your stomach. Helplessly in love. 

  —

  Inhaling the hot cooked meal that didn’t taste like warmed up roadkill, Eddie sat in silence in a clean pair of clothes that weren’t his, listening to Wayne talk about what he’d been up to since they had last seen each other. 

  He burned with questions, needing, wanting, aching to know but the only thing he could blurt out came choked and almost suffocating on the use of his vocal cords. 

  “I need to see her.”

  Wayne simply slurped his iced tea, setting the glass down heavy on the oak table, ice shifting. “Figured you would… want me to drive ya?” 

  Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head, “I need to go alone.” 

  With instructions from Wayne on the less traveled roads back to town, Eddie’s van sputtered to life in a cloud of backfiring smoke. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the passenger seat, he knew what would be there, and what wouldn’t. 

  Nothing was the same. Not anymore. 

  —

  The boat floor was cramped, quite literally packed like sardines in a can, you were somehow lulled to sleep by the sway of Lover’s Lake waters and the even breathing of Eddie’s chest. 

  Your head tucked beneath his chin, he wrapped his arms around you as tight as he could without crushing your bones. 

  Rick’s offered little comfort for an empty stomach outside of a moldy fruit bowl, an expired beer and a singular can of spaghetti o’s. But you were both safe for now. And that’s what mattered. 

  The kids, Steve Harrington— of all people— and Robin promised food and any information they could find without seeming suspicious. He was gracious for their companionship, needing something to keep him busy while trying to hide his own slip to insanity from you. 

  Your tears were endless, soft and steady one minute and the next you were wrecked, in a choked fit clinging to him for dear life. 

  Eddie’s mind played on replay of your trembling screams when Chrissy’s bones snapped like twigs and her eyes vacuumed out of her skull. Vecna, a made up character that he had been obsessing over for the past couple months for DnD was real. 

  Killing teenagers for what? World domination? Eddie and yourself were the ones on the run, knowing all too well how a dead cheerleader in his trailer would look to any cop with half a brain. 

  He’d run forever if it meant not losing you and killing Vecna for good. Everything he had ever known, books of fantasy and creatures that he drew for campaigns, it was all real, and these kids have been fighting it for years now. 

  The sound of tires crunching on the driveway had his ears perked like a guard dog, followed by three slamming doors. Instructions were given, and he could only imagine that whoever it was was in Rick’s house and it was only a matter of time before they noticed the boat house just like Mayfield had. 

  The walkie talkie Dustin left was clutched in his hand, you were both fucked, and needed help— now.

—

  The Roane Hill Cemetery was eerily foggy, dew coated the hot blades of grass from the sweltered heat. Wayne drew a map on what section you were in. Apparently the number of people lost in the “earthquake” were in the upper digits now, and they were running out of land to bury the deceased.

  Those not recovered were given markers slotted into the ground with accompanied by silk ribbons to symbolize hope. They were nestled up under a thick tree line, complete with a wrought iron fence. 

  He bubbled out a laugh when he crossed by his own empty grave. The headstone was covered in graffiti of wishes to burn in hell. Typical. His death date marked as  ‘March 27 1986’. But that wasn’t true. 

  Lots of people passed that day when hell itself opened a crimson quaking flood. but not him. Although he wished he had. 

  Pushing forward, he knew had to be close now. The air was thick in the foggy whiteness— blinding him. A high pitched croak screeched from the sky, and he stumbled backward, landing on his ass with a wet thud, a spattering of grass grown wild in tender dirt. 

  His chest cavity sunk in, gasping for breath but coming up empty. Each threatened choke chipped away at him as his fists tore at the soft ground. 

  His girl. His gem. Laid to rest.

  —

  The Winnebago rocked on uneven suspension as Steve winded down the Indiana highway back to Hawkins. It was eerily quiet. Even Robin was silent, planning her mission in her head? You couldn’t be sure. 

  Tightening the bandana around Eddie’s curls you ask him if it feels okay. 

  “Yeah, course.” 

  Days of running. Hours of growling stomachs, unable to keep down food— you prayed this plan of Nancy’s would work, that Max would be able to lure Vecna with her vulnerable mind, that Eddie could distract the bats long enough to have the others attack his paralysis ridden body—it had to work— right? 

  Eddie sits and pulls you onto his lap, adjusting the spear made by the same eleven year old girl who defeated his campaign a few nights before. Erica, you learned, was a warrior. 

  “Nervous?” you asked throwing an arm around his neck and whispering into his ear. 

  He shrugged nonchalantly, “little worried.” 

  You believed in the plan, in the younger kids, in Steve Nancy and Robin who had been fighting stuff like this from a different dimension for years. They were trustworthy and intelligent. 

  “It’s gonna work babe,” you encouraged, stroking his cheek, “we’ll clear your name, graduate, and then leave this hell hole, together.” 

  He looks at you with strained eyes, wetter than usual, “you and me?” 

  Staring back at him you press your lips to his in a gentle kiss, “forever.” 

  —

  He laid there until the sky turned to ink. Speaking to you in his head, knowing in his deepest of hearts that you could hear him. Telling you how he had missed you, how your beautiful smile played like a film in his brain. How he loved you. and hours have told you sooner, more, every day.

  He told you how he wished he was gone too. Would you like that? It could be so easy to do.

  Tracing his fingers over the formal font of your engraved name. He smirked at the silly spelling of your middle name. 

  It was comforting. 

  Eddie hadn’t felt this sense of calm since the day you hadn’t come back to him in the mirror, and he thought whatever magic spell was broken until you reached for him one last time, promising to never leave. 

  But you did, and he was alone. 

  Standing upright, he let out a sleepy yawn, “can I come by tomorrow?” he asked, “would you be okay with that?” He smiled, and bent at the knee to press his lips into the stone above your name. 

  “Oh,” he remembered, fishing your ring from the breast pocket of his borrowed flannel shirt, “look what I found.”

  He held it to your stone, “this belongs to you, baby, I want you to have it.” 

  Placing the small ring on the smooth base of your tombstone, he gets back up, knees clicking like he’s years older than he actually was. 

  “See you tomorrow, my sweet gem.” 

  —

  The night air shifted on his drive home, blowing a chilling breeze from the north that whipped his hair around his ears. The van struggled on the drive home with each gust that blew against the metal frame. 

  “Think we’re in for a storm tonight.” Wayne said when Eddie breached the front steps, straightening his arm, “ol elbow’s actin’ up.” 

  “Kinda cold for September, right?” 

  “All of a sudden it dropped about thirty degrees, somethin’s a brewin’.” 

  Wayne had his truck keys wrapped around a finger, “I gotta go check on Miss Pam, her husband died in the uhh.. anyway, she’s not doing well and you remember how those damn lights always went out? I’ll be back after while.”

  Eddie grew a smile, “should I wait up?” 

  Wayne stopped in his tracks, talking around a smirk hiding a laugh, “don’t get smart with me.” 

  They both share a glance and laugh softly, and Eddie still has a smile even after the rumble of Wayne’s pickup gets carried away in the wind. 

  He locked up, pulling the vinyl shades and unhooking the curtains, pitching the trailer into darkness right as the rain pelted the window panes. 

  Wayne must have made his bed when he was in the cemetery. A small radio was perched on a nightstand and after slipping into starched pajama pants, from the fancy dresser, Eddie fiddled with the knob until the faint guitar sounds filled the room. 

  Thunder grumbled in the distance, but what he heard next was repetitive, growing louder. Shit, maybe Wayne didn’t have a house key. 

  “Ya know,” he says, walking to through the kitchen to the front door, “you tel me not to wait up but then you bang on the door because you don’t have keys? C’mon!” 

  The door swings open with a final gust of wind. Mud sloshed on his feet, Rain splattered his face. But that was not a concern. 

  A beautiful face, covered in Earth. Eyes he hadn’t seen outside of a mirror in months. You wore the same thing he last saw you in, same tattered wear that his Hellfire shirt had, but it somehow looked soft. 

  “I promised you forever.” 

#eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #ziggy writes #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst

[prans-micellar-water]

The way that Olrox’s heritage and romance completely recontextualized his character. We first meet him when he kills Julia, and that’s bad no matter how you look at it, right? Wrong. Julia is a white European who came to the Americas and killed Olrox’s Mohican lover. Olrox retaliated, which is bad, yes, but how else was he going to get justice? No government would ever try a vampire hunter for the murder of a vampire, and no government would prosecute a white woman for harming a Native American. People like her were committing a state-sanctioned genocide. Even the suggestion of legal justice is ridiculous on its face. Julia’s death was wrong in the sense that violence doesn’t solve violence, in the sense that revenge begets revenge, but that’s it IMO. Olrox didn’t go any further—he didn’t torture her, he didn’t kill her son, AFAIK he didn’t kill anyone else that day. The only time we see him kill another human is in France when he kills a European noblewoman, the exact kind of person who profited most from the violence inflicted on him and his people. What I’m saying is that I’m dead serious when I say Olrox did nothing wrong

#Castlevania: Nocturne #Olrox #castlevania spoilers #nocturne spoilers #from Olrox’s perspective I’m sure that killing Julia was very similar to Annette killing the slavemaster vampire #like obviously there’s a difference in magnitude of violence (i.e. AFAIK Julia didn’t literally enslave anyone) #but that doesn’t change the fact that a victim of colonization getting revenge on their oppressor is totally understandable actually

[thecruellestmonth]

Does the mass-murdering criminal Jason "Red Hood" Todd canonically support the death penalty?

No, I can't find evidence that Red Hood supports the death penalty.

There is a difference between murder (illegal) and state-sanctioned killing (legal). Red Hood commits unlawful homicide. The death penalty is lawful homicide. Jason is a murderer. The death penalty is not legally considered murder. Commissioner Jim Gordon is a decorated military veteran, not a murderer.

Committing violence ≠ wanting the government to have the right to commit that violence. Batman and his allies brutalize criminals; they don't necessarily support the state brutalizing criminals. Red Hood kills some criminals; Red Hood doesn't necessarily support the state killing criminals. Catwoman doesn't necessarily support the state committing burglary. Et cetera.

The death penalty is administered by the criminal legal system. Jason does not like the criminal legal system (see some of his run-ins with the police). He grew up as an impoverished child who didn't believe in the system, he was raised by Batman to believe that vigilantes can make a difference that the system can't, and he became an adult criminal who still doesn't believe in the system. He's not interested in using the criminal legal system. He isn't interested in giving more powers and privileges to an abusive system that has wronged him and the people he cares about.

When Jason started up his villain business, the death penalty was legal in Gotham City. (See Detective Comics #644, The Joker: Devil's Advocate, Batgirl 2000 #19, Punchline #1.) The death penalty was also in place during his Robin run. Jason didn't argue in favor of the state having the right to kill prisoners, and the death penalty never addressed his complaints about the status quo.

Jason has rescued people from wrongful* imprisonment and the death penalty. Again, based on his own firsthand experiences, he has many reasons to believe that the system is broken. *Some of us would argue that locking any people in prisons tends to be wrongful and inhumane by default, but we could choose to accept the standard premises of crime fiction as without endorsing it as moral instruction.

Jason Todd is a criminal: a mass murderer, a terrorist, a villain. He does evil. He doesn't represent or support the legal system. He probably has the least political capital out of all the Batfamily-associated characters. He doesn't promote the death penalty. He commits murder—illegally, as a criminal, state-unapproved.

Some recent comics related to the topic:

Gotham Nights (2020) #11 "One Minute After Midnight", written by Marc Guggenheim

Red Hood and Nightwing team up to investigate the case of a man wrongly convicted of murder and sentenced to be executed. Both of them disapprove of how the broken criminal legal system botched this case.

Joker: The Man Who Stopped Laughing #8 (2023), written by Matthew Rosenberg

"You familiar with Hannah Arendt's concept of Schreibtischtäter? Desk murderers? It's people who use the state to kill for them, so they don't have to get their hands dirty."

#Jason Todd #Jason Todd meta #Batfam meta #Batfamily meta #Batfam #Batfamily #Robin II #Batkids #Batman Gotham Nights #DC Robin #Red Hood #Joker The Man Who Stopped Laughing #Matt Rosenberg #canon vs fanon #fanon vs canon #panels #RHATO 2011 opens with Red Hood saving somebody from being unjustly executed. Don't read it. It is bad. Just trust me. #Jason Todd is legally dead and not registered to vote. #I could make a much longer post about Jason's general contempt for authorities but let's limit it today. #thecruellestmonth #I know the 1992-2010 comics purists are going to come after me for using recent comics. #I could make a much longer post about Post-Crisis Jason Todd's attitudes about the police and the state. #But that longer post still wouldn't have much to say about the death penalty-- #--because--AGAIN--there is NO evidence that Jason supports the death penalty! But there is plenty of indirect evidence that he doesn't. #Do the words ''system''‚ ''state''‚ ''criminal''‚ and ''legal'' look like real words anymore? #ID in alt text #described #image described #ID in alt #image description

[strangelittlestories]

“What entertainment do you bring before me today?” Squawked Augustine, the king of the birds. “Have the mockingbird players returned from their tour of the provinces? Or maybe that prattling parrot will reprise its human impressions?”

“Alas, milord.” Replied the king’s seneschal, a somewhat fussy flamingo. “You had the parrot killed for excessive repetitions and hesitations.”

“So I did!” The king spread his majestic tail feathers proudly, reliving the happy fuzz of murder. “Well, they knew the rules. Or, at least, *I* knew the rules and they probably should have inferred them.”

“One can never argue with your execution of the law.” Said the long-suffering seneschal, keenly aware that the wrong answer could result in his suffering moving from *long* to *short*. “Or with the law of your executions, for that matter…”

“Speaking of executions,” Said the king, whose mind was never truly far from state-sanctioned violence, “Do we have any on the docket for today?”

“Your majesty, I’m afraid the dungeons are quite empty.”

“What, no traitors left?”

“No, sire.”

“No criminals of any kind? No thieves or fraudsters or comedians who are overly reliant on props?”

“All thoroughly and legally murked, milord.”

“Well, I suppose send in my jester, then. I’m so dreadfully bored.”

At this command, the jester fluttered into the room, wearing a jaunty cap made out of a McDonald’s wrapper with a small lost key jangling from it in place of a bell.

The king and seneschal looked at the jester - the air was heavy with the potential for further royal atrocities. The seneschal crossed his talons.

“Coo.” Said the pigeon jester, hilariously.

A pause. A silence.

“Coo.” Said the pigeon jester again, making unblinking eye contact with the king.

The silence stretched on further. (Surely it could not keep on stretching or it would pull something…)

“Coo.” Said the pigeon jester, tragically.

And at this, the king finally burst into laughter. Uproarious, over-the-top, gut-busting laughter.

Which was just the distraction the seneschal needed. The elaborate flamingo costume was abandoned; the false wooden legs clattered to the floor and the fake neck - a painted length of hose pipe - flopped grotesquely back and forth.

From the costume burst forth a small army of truly tiny owls, which set about tying up the king while he was still prostrate from the laughter.

“What is the meaning of this?” Wailed the king.

“Coup.” Said the pigeon jester, accurately.

“Your reign of terror is at an end, vile tyrant!” Chirped an Elf Owl, puffing up its chest. “Revolution is here and your foul murderous regime will fall. In its place will rise a majestic and fair government! Vive la republic of feathers!”

“This is a conspiracy!” Cried the king.

“No,” Said the Elf Owl. “A conspiracy is ravens.”

“Owls are…” It donned a tiny pair of sunglasses. “...a Parliament.”

#writing #microfiction #short story #flash fiction #puns #feghoot #MORE BIRD PUNS NO MORE THAN THAT

[rosalinesurvived]

Fukuzawa's so fucking funny to me i cant even. He's insane. Raised up in a state sanctioned military school. Raised to master several martial arts styles and taught to master a sword since he was a kid. Didn’t go to war because he hated the army hierarchy. Stopped being a government’s catspaw because he realised liked killing people too much and Thats A Bit Fucked Up. Mind you, not that he was killing people, that he liked it. He can get so angry that people stop their cars on the road mid-movement on the road in horror at his rage. He's a freak magnet. He meets Ranpo and thinks of 50 different ways of killing him. His act of helping a 14 year old with no job, no home and no parents is to offer him assistance as a bodyguard. Free for once. He's insane. He then builds up an entire agency of gifted people and gets into several wars to assist this kid. He killed the Minister of Justice’s father. This is never addressed beyond the guy framing the Agency for mass murder (including his own). He likes cats. His main shipping partners are the maybe-pedophile main villan of the thing they're directly enemies with and also his also-main enemy ex-bff military dude with a time travelling stabby stick who kills his not-grandkids. His childhood friend of thirteen years started to hate him because Fukuzawa refused to fight a full on fucking military war with him. After refusing to fight a war he decided to skip a step and just become an assassin. He thinks you should’nt critisice other people’s food choices. He steals all of his other ex-husband’s kids in their divorce battles. He wears a haori, yukata, tabi and zori plus is a trained swordsman in modern day japan. His afformentioned ex-bff wants to make him into the leader of the world because he thinks Fukuzawa’s an uncorruptable person. Fukuzawa liked murdering people.

#UPDATE UPDATE #im gonna extend this thing as much as i feasibly can #bungou stray dogs fukuzawa #bsd fukuzawa #fukuzawa yukichi #yukichi fukuzawa #bungou stray dogs #bsd #spoilers #edogawa ranpo #bsd ranpo #mind you this is the fandom that puts so much angst on dazai/chuuya’s years in the nafia ive heard NOTHING on fuku being an indoctrinated #assassin from a baby to thirty-something #i need more people to acknowledge that he’s Fucked Up Autism and apply that more

[yanderecrazysie]

yandere bakugo! purge au? it’s time for the purge and its the perfect time to get his darling

I’ve been watching the Purge show with my little sister and we occasionally just text each other “The Giving is near, the Invisible awaits”. I love the purge movies so much, except the Forever Purge, I just didn’t like that one.

Title: 12 Hours

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, Bakugou’s scary lol

Summary: 12 hours when every crime is legal but with a twist- if you kidnap someone, they’re yours forever.

“You’re sure everything is locked down?” You asked, biting your lip nervously.

Your boyfriend smiled at you, “State of the art system. There’s nothing to worry about.”

You gave him a smile, but you followed it up with a sigh. You had a lot to worry about. You had gotten a note in the mail, two days before the purge, that read:

Dear (Y/n),

This is a notice that a Level 5 person(s) has been given permission to hold you indefinitely if you are captured during purge hours. We recommend staying inside and taking precautions to protect yourself.

Blessed be our New Founding Fathers,

NFFA Personnel.

Someone had requested permission to kidnap you forever, as long as they captured you on purge night. Who it was, you couldn’t even imagine.

Your house’s defense system was practically a joke. You didn’t have the money to get fancy equipment like everyone else had. That’s why your boyfriend, John, had offered to let you stay with him during purge night.

The thought had crossed your mind that John could be the crazy kidnapper, but you knew that he could have you any time he wanted to, so there wasn’t any point in kidnapping you.

John had an amazing security system. Not as good as, say, the NFFA members had, but still very good. You felt mostly safe to stay with him, but there was still an ounce of fear that wouldn’t go away.

You had looked up what “Level 5” meant and had discovered there were five levels of dangerous people classified for the purge. Level 1 was the lowest and, well, Level 5 was the most dangerous.

You had an extremely dangerous person after you. Who knew what they would do to you after kidnapping you? Maybe they would torture you all year long.

Your boyfriend turned on the TV and, a few moments later, the announcement played.

“This is not a test, this is your Emergency Broadcast System announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government. Weapons of class four and lower have been authorized for use during the purge. All other weapons are restricted. 

“Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime (including murder) will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and Emergency Medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m. when the purge concludes. 

“Blessed be our new founding fathers and America... A nation reborn. May God be with you all.”

Even through the metal shutters, you could hear the sirens start. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“We’re in for a quiet evening, don’t worry,” John said, putting a comforting arm around your shoulder, “Should we get the wine out?”

“Yes, please,” you said shakily.

Your boyfriend walked over to the cabinets and pulled out a bottle of wine and a couple cups. He poured a generous amount of liquid into both cups and handed you one. You drank all of it in one go.

John laughed and refilled your cup, “It’s only 12 hours. That’s it.”

“12 hours is a long time,” you muttered, “A lot can happen in half a day.”

Ten hours passed uneventfully, the two of you watching the only channel that wasn’t showing highlights of the purge from cameras set up around the country or talking about the history of purging.

On the eleventh hour, someone knocked on the door. You froze in your seat, breath hitching in your throat from horror. Your boyfriend stood up, “It’s okay, no one can get in. I’ll check the front door camera.”

He checked the camera and smiled, “See, they moved o-”

The power went out. 

A beeping sound filled the house and then the scraping of metal as the shutters began to rise. The security system had been disabled and was reversing itself.

Even in the dim light, you could see that your boyfriend had gone pale, messing with the system frantically to try to reset it. 

Finally, he turned to you and said, “Get in the closet. I’ve got a gun and I’ll deal with anyone that comes inside.”

You were crying at that point, but you managed to nod. You ran to the closet and hurriedly closed it behind you. You pulled some clothes down from the rack and tried to use them to cover yourself. There was no lock, so you were absolutely toast if anyone looked inside.

You could hear the door open loudly, as though someone had kicked it open. Your ears strained, listening for any hint that your boyfriend would be okay.

A gunshot rang through the house and you hoped it was from your boyfriend’s gun and not the intruder’s. A loud, husky laugh followed the sound, “Nice try, extra.”

You covered your mouth as the sound of an automatic gun’s famous ratatata followed. You knew John only had a pistol. No doubt your boyfriend had just died. 

“Y/n”, I know you’re in here,” the voice said loudly, almost playfully, “Might as well come out now, so I don’t waste time trying to find you.”

You had less than an hour left. If you could just stall him until the 12 hours were up, maybe you’d make it out alive. 

Your breath hitched again as he came into the bedroom and you closed your eyes.

“Not under the bed. What about the closet?” You could hear the smirk in the intruder’s voice.

The closet door flew open and the clothes were pulled off of you. You looked up helplessly at the wild-haired blonde with blood red eyes as he crouched in front of you. He took your wrist in a crushing grip, grinning at you with victory, and hauled you up off the floor.

“C’mon, we only have one hour to get you home. Had to deal with a lot of shit tonight. But I’m sure your boy toy’s car will help us out, won’t it, baby?” 

You hadn’t made it the whole 12 hours. 

Your life was in his hands.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere one shot #one shot #yandere my hero academia #my hero academia #yandere bakugou #bakugou katsuki

[bonyassfish]

I do think that you should mostly still listen to BDS as far as companies to boycott go, because companies like Re/Max and AXA directly profit from the occupation. The movement in general also has widespread support among Palestinians which should not be ignored. Boycotts, divestment, and sanctions are effective non-violent methods of ending colonial violence.

However, I find what BDS in general defines as “normalization” to be flighty at best and harmful at worst. BDS actively dismissing joint Israeli-Palestinian peace activist groups like OneVoice and Standing Together serves what purpose exactly?

The arguments I’ve seen against these groups range from “they support a two state solution” to “they don’t acknowledge the reality of the power imbalance between Israel and Palestine”. The first argument is true at times, but a lot of people are looking at solutions based on a more practical view rather than what is ideal or even fair. Personally, I’m in support of a single binational secular state with equality for all citizens and proportional representation in government, but that’s just me. I understand why so many people see the two state solution as more viable, though.

As for the second accusation, I don’t think it’s true. I do think that these groups are willing to acknowledge the violence done by Hamas, for example, and the losses suffered by Israelis, which maybe is what makes people annoyed. But it’s not a zero sum game. It’s a fact that innocent civilians have been kidnapped and murdered by Hamas. It’s also a fact that the IDF is an occupying colonial force with extensive and sophisticated weaponry and a large budget, while Hamas is a comparatively small militia.

The other argument I see is that these groups are too naive, that they don’t see reality. But I think it’s the opposite; I don’t think anyone who’s actually lived through this violence can be seen as naive. I think it’s a genuine recognition that this cannot last forever, that neither Jews nor Palestinians will leave, and therefore the only thing to do is to figure out a way to coexist peacefully.

It would be one thing if BDS said “we are ideologically opposed to these groups and choose not to actively support them”. But they and their supporters have made them out to be like covert liberal Zionists who are trying to trick activists. It’s absurd, these groups are pretty transparent and open about their goals and ideology.

I’m not saying you have to support Standing Together, or even agree with them. But to dismiss them completely is foolish and, in my opinion, counterproductive.

#standing together #bds

[tikkunolamresistance]

On Houthi and Yemen, and Antisemitism in revolutionary spaces...

We've been observing the response to our statement showing support for Yemen's aid in Palestinian resistance- specifically where we said "Glory to Yemen", as there's certainly a lot more to it than that.

Houthi and Yemen are not mutually exclusive: the country of Yemen and its people, civilians, have been bombed and murdered by the western nations for decades- in which the last FOUR United States Presidents have sanctioned and bombed Yemen.

Houthi, more officially known as Ansar Allah ('supporters of G-d'), are a militant organisation that emerged in the 90s but rose to prominence in 2014 when the group rebelled against Yemen's government. The rebellion caused the official governing body to step down, in hand causing a demobilizing humanitarian crisis.

You can read more about Houthi here:

And more on why they are attacking ships entering the Red Sea here:

It's true, Houthi are Antisemitic and we do NOT support Houthi. Their slogan is quite literally "curse the Jews"; Houthi are not our revolutionary comrades for there is no revolution in hatred and division. Their direct action on Israeli ships subsequently disrupting trade is undeniably important to disrupting the flow of capital and aiding the Palestinian resistance movement- but Houthi deserve no special recognition. Yemen has seen expulsion of Jewish people from the land for centuries, and the Antisemitism that Houthi carries forth is the same hatred that displaced Jewish people within Yemen's history.

Web archive from the Yemen Times about the treatment of Jews in Yemen and Houthi's views.

Within revolutionary spaces you must approach everything with a critical lens, and it goes without saying, especially now more than ever. Whilst we can recognize Houthi's direct action in hindering trade, and the promise there, aids the Palestinian cause by putting pressure on the Capitalist hegemony- we must equally affirm that antisemitism is unacceptable. To punish every Jewish person for Zionist crimes is unacceptable and a hinderance itself in revolutionary spaces. We cannot and will not allow Houthi's Antisemitic ideology to be regurgitated.

Leftists, Communists- recognising Antisemitism within Leftist spaces does not automatically corelate to giving grace to Israel- you must recognise that Judaism, Zionism and Israel are not mutually exclusive. The use, and bastardization of, Jewish symbology by Zionism and it's propaganda machine has long since blurred those lines, and thus it's integral to remain critical and vigilant. Even when Zionists proudly conflate the two to endorse the State of Israel's brutality- you should not deem the acts in and of itself Jewish. There is absolutely nothing Jewish about apartheid, colonialism and hatred.

Antisemitism is an age-old hatred, with the oppressive colonial state of Israel depending on it for survival. When we uproot Antisemitism, when we uproot oppression, division, hatred- we uproot the State of Israel and the Capitalist hegemony itself.

Antisemitism has no place in revolutionary spaces, and as is the case for any other form of discrimination and hatred- it cannot be ran from, only faced head-on. The solution to uprooting Antisemitism from global social infrastructure is not to enforce a new hatred, it is not to oppress another- for the cycle will only continue. We believe that society must educate one another to thus educate our future generations; we must ensure we remove division and hatred from social order, and that includes all forms of hatred.

Division itself must be dissolved to truly revolutionize social order.

#yemen #palestine #tikkun olam statement #free palestine #antisemitism #jumblr #antizionism #critical thought #critique #essay #media literacy #geopolitics

[txttletale]

ultimately my perspective on venezuelan politics can be summarized with two tenets:

#1: unlimited solidarity with the maduro government, against western imperialism and the murderous sanctions regime and all their wannabe-comprador puppets in the mainstream opposition

#2: unlimited solidarity with the indigenous peoples of venezuela, with striking workers who have seen paycuts, with the PCV and the movimiento tupamaro, and all other genuinely progressive forces that have been betrayed and suppressed, against the maduro government

#tattletxt

[luminalunii97]

Some tankie bs detection

I saw this post on my dash. The user is blocked now. But just to educate people so that they won't fall for idiotic claims online, here are a couple of facts:

1. The Islamic Republic is not anti imperialist, they're anti USA. The regime is very much in love with Russian imperialism. At this point, Iran is an unofficial russian colony. And by the support of their imperialist father figure they have their small version of imperialism in middle east. Ask Iraq and Lebanon.

2. There's no "safety" when it comes to economy in Iran. The "national sovereignty" is called "those fvckin thieves in power" here. Iran's regime is one of the most corrupt regimes by international index. Rent, nepotism, embezzlement and money laundering are serious issues in Iran. Done only and only by the governors and people in power. Social class is not only a thing, there's a raging gap between rich people and those in poverty. And the gap is getting bigger and bigger by month. If you have connections in government or you are in the government, you'll get richer and richer. Other wise, soon enough you'll be in poverty too. Many families, including mine, who used to be considered middle class, have incomes lower than the poverty threshold now.

About 15% of Iran's economic failure including inflation is on the sanctions. The rest is on the corruption within the regime.

Iran's banking system is also a corrupted organ. The so called Islamic banking is anything but Islamic. The loan interest rate is one of the highest worldwide, 23%, so that often you have to pay back more than twice the money you've received. It's called Riba in Islam and it's Haram. According to the regime themselves, the banking system in European countries, even in the USA, is more Islamic than us. The fact that some of the biggest embezzlement in Iran has been done by bank managers should give you a picture of how they're drinking our blood.

None of this is on USA imperialism. It's all the Islamic Republic.

3. The Islamic Republic doesn't support Palestinians. The regime is extremely racist and anti Arab. I dare you talk about this with an actual Arab. IR don't give two shites about Palestinians lives. The regime is antisemitic. That's what they are. Palestine is just an excuse to attack Israel. In the past 20+ years of my life, living in Iran and dealing with these posers, not once we've been educated about Palestine and Palestinians lives. Everything I know, I've learned from online resources and documentaries make by Palestinians. The regime doesn't talk about Palestinians when they pose as supporters. I'm pretty sure they don't know or care to know anything noteworthy about Palestine, considering my knowledge of the human rights violations there is always more than basiji people of my country, and I don't even know that much. All the regime talks about is how Israel should be eliminated. IR supports a terrorist organization called Hamas, not Palestinians.

4. Let's forget about everything I said so far. I wonder if tankies like the op has any ounce of humanity in them! The regime has been oppressing women, violating every type of human rights and murdering lgbtq people and other-thinkers for the last 40 years. The spectacular environmental disaster in Iran is the direct result of regime's policies and neglect. This is a case of human rights violation since it's ruining people's lives, especially ethnic minorities, like Arab farmers in south.

No religious minority is safe in Iran, be it atheist, Baha'i, Jew, christian, or Sunni Muslim. They commit crime against children, through labor and through war. IRGC have little regards for human lives in general but it descent into no regards at all for ethnic minorities.

They have MASS EXECUTED 30,000 leftists (members of Marxist Communist parties and their supporters) within the first decade of their autocratic rule. It's unbelievably funny to me when foreign leftists support a regime that has executed many of their fellow thinkers and still arrest and torture any left activist in Iran.

To say the reason the 1979 revolution happened was to get rid of western influence and to establish a democratic free independent government is true. But the Islamic Republic is not that result. Don't be fooled.

#iran #iranian #iran revolution #iran protests #human rights #politics #lgbtq+ #feminism #middle east #irgcterrorists #support iranian women #human rights violation #crimes against children #crimes against women #ethnic minorities #racism #russian imperialism #tw misogyny #tw racism #tw homophobia #environmental issues #background information

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

So I think part of the reason--aside from the usual hatred of the Jewish people--that leftists in particular absolutely lose their minds over Israel is because Israel is a real world example that utterly destroys their worldview that the stronger party in a conflict is always the oppressor, and the weaker is always oppressed.

Israel is one of, if not the, strongest nations in the middle east. They have a stable government, a strong military, modern technology, and they even have nukes. They once fought off the combined forces of three different Arab countries. Their military is so good that they're cleaning house in Gaza right now while most of their army is on the border with Lebanon just in case they decide to try and invade. By almost every measurable metric, Israel is an absolute beast.

And yet they're not the ones oppressing their neighboring countries.

They're almost completely surrounded by countries who have either publicly stated that they want to wipe Israel off the map, or they house and fund terrorist groups who do. Hamas constantly fires rockets, unprovoked, at Israeli civilian centers and buildings from Gaza--a "nation" that only exists because Israel freed it, evacuated all the Jews, and allowed it to govern itself, mind. Iran is in the process of acquiring its own nuclear weapons and when that happens you better believe they're all going to be aimed directly at Israel. On the world stage, oppressive, genocidal kings and dictators are patted on the back and welcomed as friends while Israel is constantly sanctioned and demeaned and told not to defend itself.

And then you have October 7th.

Hundreds of "oppressed" terrorists struck back at their "oppressors" by launching a surprise raid where they murdered, raped, and kidnapped Jewish civilians, some of them children, then scurried back across the border because they knew they could never fight the IDF head on. More than just being evil, these were the tactics of cowards who know they can't stand against their stronger enemy. And what was Israel's response?

They declared war, then waged that war by sending their own citizens into danger instead of carpet bombing Gaza into slag. Which they could have done. They had a ready excuse, if they wanted it. Even without using nukes, which would have been bad for them too with the fallout so close, they could have utterly wiped Gaza off the face of the Earth. If they were oppressors, if they were the genocidal monsters the Mohammadans and their enablers in the west claim they are, they most likely would have done exactly that, hostages or no.

The fact that they didn't, that the truly oppressive actions are coming from the "weaker" party, exposes the leftist lie on power dynamics. Strength doesn't automatically mean oppression. Weakness doesn't automatically assign virtue. Instead, it's actions that determine morality.

And the left can't stand that. Because it means all the vile shit they do in the name of fighting "oppression" is no longer justified.

And that's not at all a conversation they're ready, or able, to have.