#it's like you people are afraid to call your politicians out on shit they do and just go around screaming AT LEAS WE AREN'T PUPPETS OF USA
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Every time I read a review of "Global South" country politics it's always "We are defying the US by doing this and this. And "This and this" is being friends with authoritarian regimes and not giving a fuck about victims of genocide. But hey! International leftist solidarity against the victims of American imperialism :) If you're a victim of any other imperialism then fuck you. We are building stronger relationships with "Usa's rivals" (regimes that are the reason you are suffering rn)
#the way I see Lula commenting on war in my country as if usa has the most important role in it#I want to beat this man until he dies ngl#I have more respect to evil people that are being openly evil than a useful idiots who are ready to tolerate evil for THE PEACE#or yoi went to visit China? Go visit Assad too asshole#it's like you people are afraid to call your politicians out on shit they do and just go around screaming AT LEAS WE AREN'T PUPPETS OF USA#it's embarrassing to watch and turns me away from these countries much more than USA ever could#because it's not someone describing you. It's you actually being garbage#reminds me on how africans bring up slavery in discussing russian invasion like...#YOU THINK UKRAINIANS ENSLAVED YOU? ARE YOU FOR FUCKING REAL? OR ARE YOU AN IDIOT?#vent
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Random Star Wars Headcannons I have because I have sw brain rot and no other outlet
Grogu has a whole room in Boba’s palace (well it’s his and Din’s room, but all Din has in there is an armor stand and a mat on the floor with a neck pillow). The rest of the room is filled with toys, many of which are frog themed.
Boba gave Grogu a modified light-saber when he found out Skywalker blackmailed the green bean out of jedi training. It’s one of the ones Boba got off a Jedi bounty, but the kid does not need to know that.
Some of the Tusken raider villages that is sort of extended family with the one that took in Boba found out he was daimyo and gifted him some mastiffs and he absolutely uses them for sand dog-sledding. Grogu likes to ride them like banthas and will even race Boba.
Din teaches Boba Tusken and Boba teaches Din how to use a gaffi stick
Peli gives Boba and Din her eternal loyalty because knowing them has gotten her loads of business from the locals. She absolutely brags about it and you KNOW she exaggerates their friendship— “Who, the daimyo? He’s basically my brother. Family gatherings are wild!”
Darth Vader had a grand total of three coworkers names memorized in his time as Commander of the Imperial Navy— Tarkin, Thawn, and the Emperor. Why would he need to know anyone else’s when he kills so many on the daily? He just reads their mind if he needs to say something to them or just calls them by their status like “Admiral” or “Lieutenant” and whatnot. He ain’t got no time. And if he DOES call anyone by the wrong name, you better believe no one is gonna correct him.
Han Solo equally loves and hates what being married to a politician has done to his fame/career. On the one hand, people are even more afraid of getting on his bad side than before. On the other hand, he can’t do much more than shoplift without getting dragged back home by the ear from Leia.
Cara uses her rare Friend Immunity to share gossip between the Fett and Organa households.
Fennec likes to read and she can clear like three books in a day, easy.
Grogu has diplomatic immunity for being the daimyo’s nephew and the Manda’lor’s son and being pretty much one of the one surviving members of the original Jedi Order.
There are so many stories about Din throughout the galaxy and he has ZERO idea. People will just know him and he’ll just be like “Huh. We’re you a bounty I took down? Yeah that’s probably it.”
Grogu has an art phase that consists of him burning pictures of flowers and frogs and things into the castle walls with his little lightsaber.
Boba collects exotic space animals like a rich guy collects sports cars. The dude has a whole ass petting zoo living in his palace by month two of being daimyo.
Din is a morning person but will absolutely sleep till 2 in the afternoon if you let him.
Ben Solo says Auntie Ahsoka>Uncle Luke any day.
Boba decides that the rancor’s name is Chewie just to spite Han.
Luke and Leia are seldom invited to Naboo Royalty family cookouts because whenever they show up shit happens.
After Luke expelled little green bean, Din either tracks down a force-sensitive mandalorian to teach Grogu or just fucking wings it himself by researching Jedi for like an hour or two then info-dumping to Grogu. “Ok bud you gotta sit still for a while like you did on that weird jedi rock and uhh put your mind in the plants and dirt and stuff and be one with it or something.” “Bah!” “Yes, then we can get second dinner.” Din probably found some old Jedi texts before Luke could get his hands on them. DIY jedi school.
Din and Grogu lightsaber training together!!! Grogu is a lot better at it, needless to say.
#sw#sw headcanons#boba fett#grogu#din djarin#han solo#luke skywalker#leia organa#fennec shand#cara dune#tusken raiders#darth Vader
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Look. 20 year olds aren't alien monsters you aren't obligated to listen to because you're 30 now and are mad that giant houses aren't free.
I realize TikTok trends are horrifying. But a lot of young people are horrified by them, too. TikTok is its own odd-ball thing. It isn't indicative of an entire generation.
"YEAH BUT I AM 40 WITH KIDS AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO TALK TO THEM!"
That's on you, for choosing to avoid their world. That's on you, for thinking you have a good excuse. That's on you, for not being a better parent than your parents.
I turned 41 this year. I post on TUMBLR, for godsake. And I'm getting hundreds of notes a week from <20 year olds, who relate to a thing I've posted.
I don't hang out with these people. I only go on TikTok to point and laugh. I don't have high school aged children. And yet I still post things they comprehend and relate to. And I'm just saying shit I want to say, usually when I'm too half-awake to censor myself.
Any generational divide is caused by the older people, who grew into angry, craggy things that eat money, and don't care about anything but drinking and routine bad sex. The young people are still fresh-faced and energetic and funny, because the hope hasn't been sucked out of them yet. Because they haven't chosen to let the world do that to them, in exchange for lies from the TV.
Because it's a CHOICE. Life is hell and politicians make it worse, and lord knows I get cynical and surly, especially when money problems come a-calling. But the key is, when they do, you collect yourself and choose not to let the bastards get you down. And that's what young people are doing that you don't understand, even if they are using weird new words to describe it.
They aren't too young and woke. You're too old and afraid.
Grow up, and knock it off. Be more like them. Because you're only as old as you act.
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the shadow side
there's this common misconception about gossiping and i think a lot of people confuse venting with gossip. whenever my friends decide to share something personal about someone or something that made us frustrated in some way, they label it as "talking shit," which i don't think is true. i think opening up to friends about something or someone frustrating isn't toxic in any way, as long as it's with people you trust and are close to. it's one thing to talk about someone negatively because you're in pain or frustrated with their behavior with close friends because you need someone to talk to. it's another thing to go around telling people you barely know or trust why you dislike someone because you're feeling pissed or petty. that's how the word gets spread around and ends up harming people. gossip is inherently petty and harmful, and most of the time it's not true, or it's misinformation of some kind.
i use this blog to vent about things that frustrate me sometimes and sometimes i channel my frustration into art, and i don't think there's any harm in that, as long as you're not throwing out names and calling people out in your art (except a corrupt politician or dictator of some kind, then go right ahead). it's okay to let out the negativity sometimes. just because venting involves saying some things that aren't pretty, doesn't mean you're a bad person. if someone hurt you, you're allowed to talk about it in a private safe space.
however, i'm mostly talking about venting about injustice here. i'm not talking about finding petty reasons to dislike someone or talking about their personal life. if you don't like someone because of the way they dress or you personally find their personality irritating, then that's something you have to look at closer within yourself. i'm not saying this to act like i'm "holier than thou." we all have petty grievances and jealousy issues because we're human and we can't be happy and positive all the time. we have bad days and that's okay, but i think it's best to keep those issues to yourself to work on. don't bottle it up, or judge yourself. there have been plenty of times where i didn't like someone because i was jealous of them and i wanted to believe that they weren't as great as they appeared because their light illuminated my darkness, my insecurities, and i believed they were above me. i put them above me. not them. i thought they had something that i didn't, but it's not like i didn't have that quality that i was jealous of, it was that i didn't believe that i had that quality within me. like any other emotion, jealousy is a signal, and one of the loudest signals of insecurity. certain things trigger us for a reason and do not judge yourself for it. allow yourself to feel it and just observe that emotion and ask yourself, "why is this triggering me? what can i learn from this?" negative emotions fester because we judge ourselves for having them.
i always had such a big issue with anger. i was raised catholic and believed that anger was a sin. (which isn't true. even Jesus got angry and he didn't suppress it! he lashed out at the temple of God and he's still considered a man without sin) even when i drifted away from religion, i still had that subconscious association. i used to suppress my anger because i always judged myself for being angry which accumulated into resentment. i always felt like i wasn't heard because i wasn't listening to the part of me that was angry and honoring her. i was neglecting a part of myself, which was my shadow self, and therefore i felt neglected by other people when i was angry. it's okay to have a shadow side, it's just the part of you that's afraid, it's your neglected inner child. love that shadow and tell them it's going to be okay. that's why negative emotions like jealousy and anger can be so loud sometimes. they just want to be heard. so listen, and your shadow will calm down because you're not pushing them away anymore.
the truth is, no one is above anyone. we're all the same and we're all equal regardless of class, race, gender, background, and i'm not saying that those things don't matter or affect us in society, but spiritually, we're all the same.
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sizzling hot take but when people complain about politicians changing what they believe and vote for based on pressure from their constituents that's...actually what's supposed to happen in a representative democracy?
imo, to make the most democratic argument, your representative should be an amorphous blob that calculates what the voters want and try to get it. if they are voting their OWN conscience and opinions that's great if their constituents agree with them, but if they don't, it's incredibly frustrating (I lived in Texas, I've wasted many a phone call yelling at Ted Cruz's voicemail knowing full well it was pointless).
honestly the right understands this very well. it doesnt matter if the amorphous blob du jour is a pedophile, rapist, cheater, corrupt son of a bitch. nothing will make them not vote for him because he has an R next to his name, and he'll vote for all the things the right wants, like hurting people of color, women, queer people, trans people, gutting public schools, banning books, destroying the environment for fun and profit, etc.
i don't think a candidate's principles shouldn't matter, per se, but i do think we underestimate how much power voters have when they show up. i truly believe even vile vomit sack ted cruz could read the room if there was 100% voter turnout from ages 18-35 and he would have to change his positions or fear getting kicked the fuck out. if there was 100% voter turnout from ages 18-35 you'd better believe some candidates would start promising things like universal basic income and prison abolition.
idk im feeling afraid that our democracy is going to disappear before many of you have really taken advantage of it. dont take it for granted. its AMAZING that congresspeople are afraid of getting voted out and start backpedaling on shit. that is DEMOCRACY'S POWER. it's just that only garbage people are exercising it right now.
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I had two separate thoughts about good and evil while suffering from insomnia last night, and an additional one this morning. CW: Passing mention of the Catholic Church's problem with abusing children.
(1) It has been said that evil is easily defined as a lack of empathy. I'd amend this: it is a lack of compassion. Empathy is visceral. Acting with compassion is a choice. People who call themselves "empaths" are so frequently unable to de-center themselves that they wind up strengthening whatever systems of oppression they have access to participation in. Self-described empaths are so overwhelmed by feeling that they sometimes fail to listen, learn, and improve their treatment of the marginalized. Compassionate people help. Compassionate people do. It is in the doing and the helping --or at least in the refraining from being cruel or supporting cruelty-- where the ethical value lies. Compassion is a choice. Empathy is not. Fear of discomfort is the enemy of compassion.
(2) There was a scientist who said -- and I really need to track down the article -- that the problem of climate change is not really a scientific one. It is a spiritual problem. We already know what we need to do --what corporations need to do-- in order to solve the problem. But there is a cancer in our social discourse. We believe there is a line, demarcated by power (influence, money, whatever), above which we cannot punch. There is a line, and if people who exist above that line want to destroy the world, we have to let them. The attitude seems to be that if Jesus Christ wants to destroy the world, it's a part of his divine plan we can't question. As if we should not fight God Himself to protect the human species.
The problem is, once there's a line, it just keeps getting lower. What about a priest? It's ok, little child, I work for God, now pull down your pants.
What about a God-King? What about Trump? What about people who shit on golden toilets and have their own private armies? What about a parent of a gay or trans kid who's just doing what the Bible said? Having that line, at all, above which evil can be good, or good can be evil, is a corrosive influence to the moral fabric of humanity.
Good is when you help. Bad is when you allow fear to overrule compassion. And it's pretty straightforward that if there's a person, no matter how powerful, who hurts large numbers of people for their own pleasure, or to extend their own power, it is a moral responsibility for humans of conscience to band together to take them out. If God tells you to kill a member of an oppressed minority, or a helpless person, or a person you have a responsibility to nurture and protect? Turn the sword on God.
(3) Evil people thrive on moral ambiguity. If you're not certain that they're evil, you will remain passive and do nothing to stop them. You see them. You see people who are enthusiastically cruel. You see people who are responsible for what is tantamount to chattel slavery, or genocide. But because. Maybe. Possibly. I don't know. There might be. I'm not sure, but maybe I think. Nuances. And. Maybe good and evil don't exist. A large number of people who could act simply do not. Because they think they'll be "just as bad" for killing a single person as that person is for enslaving or murdering thousands.
And watch out for anyone who viciously argues that morality can't be as simple as working for a kinder world, and defeating people, institutions, corporations, politicians, divinities, who want the world to be crueler, harsher, and more oppressive. Those people LIKE THE LINE, because they dream of one day being above it.
You should be afraid of the reasons why.
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the gilda stories
from the 1991 jewelle gomez novel. feel free to change as needed.
they suck up the world. don’t taste it.
you don’t have to do that.
i’m not going to hurt you.
you needn’t be afraid. i’ll take care of you.
the night hides many things.
take off those clothes and wash.
you don’t have to tell me anything.
there is linen in that chest against the wall.
go to sleep. we will rise early.
don’t tell me i’m ungrateful.
i’m grown. i want what i want.
i ain’t nobody’s mama!
dreaming is not something to be ignored.
damn you, [name], you’re a stone in my soup every time!
you’re as hardheaded as lot’s wife.
your skin is smooth like a baby’s.
all we ever remember is their scars.
we were all children at one time.
what’s the ruckus about in there?
i’ll be goddamned if one of them is gonna spoil my birthday.
just go on about your business.
how come you don’t remember how old you are?
come over here and let me get a closer look at you.
you got a life, so don’t toss it in the air.
i won’t have it on such a glorious evening.
my home is here as long as you’ll have me.
people have got to be free to live.
i’m not a child.
will you take something of mine when you go?
perhaps you’d prefer something to take away the chill.
as usual, you have quite a sobering effect on me.
we’re proud of you beyond our greatest dream.
all living things have something we can consider thoughts.
how better for two people to come to know each other than from the outer garments in.
i will meet you outside your door in ten minutes.
none of us chooses our destiny or it wouldn’t be called destiny, would it?
shall i come in and wash your back?
to be alone can be very frightening in a strange place.
everyone here is like two people: be certain to learn both faces. it can be dangerous if you don’t.
you’re more willful than i’d thought.
it’s a long and tedious story.
you’ll find this is more a village than a city, my dear.
everyone knows everything here; at least they think they do.
that must explain my enduring good looks then!
i think the most important thing for you to do in the meantime is live.
i’m not in the habit of opening the packages of others.
the only way to maintain any humanity is to remember the faces of those who’ve died.
that was one of the most beautiful sights i’ve ever seen.
it’s not something i care to dwell on.
i hope we can have many other adventures together.
you’ve no need to take those into your life.
the outfit is perfect, you beautiful thing.
have you any wounds?
i looked for you. come home now.
every lesson has meaning.
i don’t think i’m going to stop smiling for at least a month.
you look a little tired.
what you doing out on the road at this hour?
you ain’t gonna get no arguing outta me on that account.
i’ll go away as i said i must, but i will never truly leave you.
the past does not lie down and decay like a dead animal. it waits for you to find it again and again.
you mind if i turn this shit off?
don’t listen to a thing they got to say. it’s all lies.
politicians read it off a piece of paper like the gospel and don’t even know who wrote it.
yeah, you ain’t no dummy.
i just wanna go home.
that son of a bitch! that motherfucking bastard!
you’re not one to fail, my girl.
remain here and don’t open the door for any reason.
ain’t you never heard of a day of rest?
i was so mad i thought i’d croak the guy.
we’re all family round this table, why don’t you just sit down and talk right here?
what you know about that, boy?
cool as cuke.
didn’t even get her threads dirty, i bet!
you’re about to have the meal of your life.
i make a pretty mean garlic bread.
stay up there. don’t come back up. just stay.
you talk like he’s some kind of spook or something.
i get so p.o.’d i can’t get my feet under me, you know?
you better catch a new groove!
you tell me your problems, i’ll tell you mine.
i still feel stuck, as if i were part of a wheel spinning in place.
stop trying to make the pefect move. trust your instincts more.
you’ve been through quite a bit in the past years.
we are students for all our time if we’re lucky enough to know it.
i can’t imagine life without you somewhere near me.
you don’t understand what it means to be my friend.
i understand being alone better than you can ever imagine.
honey, i got principles: i got to know how you vote before you take off your coat!
you always dress like you’re ready to meet somebody’s parents.
thanks for letting me meet your friends.
they got a real family feel, you know?
catch you later, sisterlove.
we missed you, little brother.
why you rooting around in my garden at this hour?
what an awful phrase -- ‘killing time!’
don’t be a toad.
old memories are so empty when they can’t be shared.
life exists only on the high wire. everything else is just waiting.
how perfectly ordinary!
doing nothing can never be called love.
i’m going to be sick.
it was knowing and not knowing that made me do it.
you must tell me your story. who you’ve been and what life has been like for you.
there will be stories and dancing again.
my mother loved hymns.
i think you’ll enjoy our family.
#askbox meme#roleplay meme#ask meme#rp meme#meme#tumblr rp#rp#sentence meme#sentence starter meme#roleplay sentence meme#rp sentence meme#sentence starters#askbox rp#askbox#ask#inbox rp meme#rp inbox meme#inbox meme
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Bladee - DG Jeans
just a reminder that george floyd was not choked by derrick chauvin and you cant choke someone that way, and police still to this day train officers to control people by kneeling on the back of their neck. the prosecution never even really argued he was suffocated by the knee, but that he suffered heart failure (his actual cause of death) do to the stressful nature of his arrest. the only reason you feel the way you do when you watch that video and i felt the way i did, is because ive seen people arrested that way many many times before i first saw the video so i knew he could breathe despite how it looks, the back and side of the neck are NOT the throat, we make that distinction for an important reason, because the very front of the neck aka the throat contains two major blood supply arteries to the brain as well as the windpipe all located close together where your throat is, basically the part of your neck you wouldnt feel comfortable letting an aquantaince touch, if you just hit a home run and i grabbed the back of yoru neck and gave it a shake, you likely wouldnt care, if i grabbed your THROAT you would either get very mad or aroused. you having never seen that hold performed, believed that the reason he was struggling to breathe had something to do with derreck chauvins actions, you also believed he was doing something unusual during the arrest, he fucking wasnt it was completely by the book, not even a shred of anger until the crowd started forming and taunting him, and he just gave a split second dirty look and thats the photo everyone used. he was calm, cordial, and polite to george the entire arrest, watch it again, in fact he was geunuinely concerned, they called the ambulance TWICE within one minute of arriving on scene, the ambulance got lost and then the crowd was too unruly to let them through. no matter what happened after that point, george floyd was dead. thats what killed him, he had a cocktail of meth and fent in his blood that was several times the deadly limit, and if you dont believe the toxicology report watch the survealance video with him in the store before the cops were called, hes HIGH AS HELL, watch the FULL arrest video hes saying he cant breathe before they even lay hands on him, hes overdosing on drugs and panicking, its sad im not just saying that, i dont care what he did in his life, its sad to see a man overdosing and afraid crying out for his mom, but the police did everything they could to save his life. you might disreguard fucking ALL OF THAT and stick with your immediate emotional response to the video, but what is so upsetting to me, is that the news media and the courts, politicians they ALL in private agree with my version of events, they arent as stupid as you are. they all know that cop acted EXACTLY how he was trained to act in those circumstances and was just trying to save georges life ultimately, but they didnt care, they wanted riots, they weaponized your stupidity against the will of the american people. thats the most dystopian shit i can imagine
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Force Your Way
Taking longer than expected to do things can be a huge letdown, especially if you end up being your own worst critic in this regard. Too long to get to some select point in your life to succeed at this game called life. My last post came from a place or hope with the odds stacked against you. This one has much more hope. I’ve been carving a new path for the year.
While core values haven’t changed a whole lot, learning safe boundaries is becoming a key factor. Mental peace is priority. True progress will never come without it and sometimes, like my last post mentioned, that means losing someone or something close to you. You pray this isn’t the case but what can you do? We can pretend we aren’t selfish but everyone has to look out for themselves out there to some extent. Unless you’re covered for money through parents or financially free on your own terms, you have bill to pay like the next person. How else after all am I going to afford both Final Fantasy XVI and Diablo IV in the same month? In fairness, one of these is already paid for.
In today’s age of the internet, many of us care more about being right than actual facts. Why? Because when the facts roll in, said people may not like it, and then suddenly get quiet, and we can’t have any sort of accountability or admittance of fault now can we? This is something else I’m not having time for. I’ve made snide comments towards something I don’t believe in or think it morally wrong, but I also can’t claim to be a saint either. Many of us are likely supporting one company or another with shit values. Such is life.
While I have a consistent thought that we are never alone, we can definitely feel that way at times. There’s value in friends for both company as well as the handful you can trust. There is no value in words that don’t match actions. Apologies that just come out for them to do the same things over and over again. That, there is no value in. I’m referencing each of these things here and none are truly new. I’ve just changed how I approach it. In many cases, I simply don’t. It isn’t worth it.
I’ve recently found peace in revisiting both Final Fantasy VII: Remake, and Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII Reunion. That and slowly but surely plowing through a gaming backlog in preparation for smaller games coming as well as the big ones listed above mid-year. I’m a gamer at heart and while I may “waste my life away” at times in this, I’ve got plenty going on in between errands wise and have been very pleased with progress in this thus far. I also recently started new work that seems like a fulfilling role and challenge right up there with recent gaming challenges I’ve been taking due to the nature of the games default difficulty or choosing to up the difficulty to a hard mode equivalent. I like being challenged. It keeps me on my toes. Even when doing errands, going to new places, it’s a challenge. Can’t let the game win right? Life isn’t a game? Convince me otherwise. Or ask a politician.
I came from a pretty low place to a much better one over the last couple of months and only recently landed a new work opportunity to really help with this. Something just snapped and it was time to turn the sad stories into a happier one. It was bleeding into my day to day and I didn’t like it. I’m sure the household didn’t like it either. Sometimes we need to start a new chapter or a whole new book. Make ourselves into a brand new character. What if your current character is fine? Sometimes you just need a respec. Balance out your traits and decide what gets more time an energy vs other people, activities, and even thing you buy and eat.
Ultimately, I choose to not Have a Nice Death, unless it is the fun (still in early access) roguelite game. I’m not done here. Far from it. Furthermore, for the first time in a while, I am also looking forward to the future and where this new opportunity leads. Knowing your worth goes a long way too. Don't be afraid to embrace this. I'm reminded of dialogue from my recent revisit to VII Remake.
**after doing a side quest for money for an old man and then Cloud asking for more to do a simple favor for them after**
Aerith: It feels good to help people out, doesn’t it?
Cloud: Eh.
Aerith: You having fun yet?
Cloud: Heaps.
Aerith: Then you can’t be afraid to show it more. Don’t forget, it’s all about service and salesmanship.
Cloud: I’ll leave that to you.
Aerith: All right, but don't think you can rely on me forever, mister.
Cloud: Wasn't planning to.
Aerith: That's good. 'Cause I command a very good salary.
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quotes almat
Thought that I slapped the beauty on the pope, in fact, the fat woman on the belly 2. I have a joke humor from the word creepy 3. At the beginning, the penis rises when a woman enters, and with age, sadly nods. 4. I ride a limousine every day, only there is not enough space on this bus. 5. A lot of people are dumb after a lobotomy. 6. Alcoholism is sleepwalking 7. Depression is when even a prostitute refuses you 8. They thought that I had sex every day, but I just watch porn 9. Bones are like chips. 10. You need a ticket to meet a girl. 11. Gemini is like a double-barreled shotgun. 12. Beep beep beep is mats beep beep beep mats with sound and the sound of cardiac arrest. 13. Deputies and friends feed them like pigeons, they fly more and more when the bread runs out, they scatter. 14. Black Friday why is it, the seller just likes to watch the fights they place their bets on. 15. Five years in a rocking chair the effect of big muscles lasts five minutes for five years. 16. I've been doing a press for two years, a second cube appeared. 17. You don't have a girlfriend, you don't have a BDSM mistress 18. Even your penis will be sued 19. Marriage is like trick or treat. 20. Inflation is when you can look at girls, but you can’t touch 21. Inflation is endurance bodybuilding 22. Inflation is number phobia 23. Inflation is useless as long as people are smacking smack 24. I don't talk to other guys call each other handsome I'm afraid 25. What politicians say is fantasy 26. Some guys are offended that they cannot get married, they are offended that they are not allowed into the scam 27. Marriage is like a mine, so you sat down, but you can’t get up, there will be an alimony explosion 28. Who flew into marriage is another big question. People have been living together for 35 years and in a friend they realize that you do not match the color of the tile and passion passes. As inflation rises, more holy virgins will go to heaven Two women at the table is a quarrel, so they write in the dream book (okay, I made it up) A lot of women in the apartment will break your bladder because they even get sad there If you are in a quarrel, you say yes to a girl, tell me nasty things If you have a rich wife, you are like a Chihuahua in your purse. You meet a girl and you have fears in your head whether she has a knife shocker pepper spray herpis loan madness penis spender harem can be a witch or all at once Single people have a harem that's sex toys in the closet Fractured arm from aggressive masturbation get out get out loneliness Laziness is a hangover is a drunken feeling At first, parents love, but if you continue to live with them, they wish you death. Women's gossip is political technology against men A man who has a cool sex doll will save a lot of money and nerves People who are out of wedlock are much younger Two wifes? Why the second drill in the head The pocket between the legs of the girls is so wide, you can show tours there How much do I earn even in New York, homeless people get more than me When I told my girlfriend how much I earn on a date, she earned herself a hernia from laughter, a few cubes on her stomach and an orgasm, then she was given a sniff of ammonia so that she would come to her senses Life is an empty pool and everyone shits all and sundry and when it fills up fate is such a jump, you take a cap of goggles for swimming an inflatable toy and swim in the memories of your life, people continue to shit, and then fate drinks two liters of laxative and pours a fountain of shit, and everyone thinks that you are to blame You have an inner core - this is the middle finger inside you directed at the holy society Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
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[Originally posted April 27, 2022]
Biden has signaled that he may be open to considering the idea of canceling some student loan debt, and Republicans on twitter are freaking out like he just declared himself Chairman and is coming to kill all the capitalists.
They're bending over backwards to say that canceling student loan debt is a bad thing. They say that only idiots and liberals have debts, that it's entirely their fault and the debt is deserved, that they shouldn't have to foot the bill for other people going to college, but they fundamentally misunderstand how anything works. Conservative kids go to school too, you know. Republicans aren't all high school drop outs. They have debts, and stand to gain from this just as much as anyone else. The media is saying that canceling debts would give another break to rich people, but rich people don't have student loan debts because they can afford to pay out of pocket. Everyone I know who has debt is dirt poor, so the idea that debt relief is a scam to bail out irresponsible rich kids is bullshit.
And speaking of bailouts, people seem to forget that you don't get to pick and choose what your tax dollars pay for; you don't want to pay for someone else's student loan debts, but you already have to pay for every corporate bailout and subsidy. Every time some trillion dollar company gets a tax break, you foot the bill. Trickle down economics has been funneling money from the bottom to the top for forty years; reverse Robin Hood, the rich steal from the poor. Your tax dollars pad executive pockets, and you're mad that poor people might start to suffer less? I'm sorry if you're a libertarian who thinks all tax is theft, but that's how society works! You pay taxes, you get benefits; the more you pay in taxes, the less you pay to private businesses.
Well, in most countries.
In the United States you pay higher taxes and get nothing in return; no healthcare, no public utilities, no transit, nada. We're so used to going without that as soon as anyone proposes sensible reforms, all the right-wingers shit their pants in fear and calls it communism. Other countries have nice things, so why can't we? If we pay a little bit more in taxes, we pay a LOT LESS in education and healthcare. It's an algebra problem; < or >, which side is bigger? If everyone pools their resources, people can take what they need when they need it, so nobody has to go broke; if you're unwilling to help your community, your statesmen, your countrymen, then you don't deserve the benefits either.
There's an anti-intelectual talking point that college is exclusively for liberal elites, or that it's a leftist snowflake factory that turns hard working red blooded Americans into woke gender-neutral pansies; if that's the case, then why do any Republican politicians go to college? If college is brainwashing, then why are so many senators Ivy League graduates? If going to college changes you and makes you believe something you don't believe, then how did any of them make it out of there even more conservative than before? If you say that they were strong willed and able to reject the brainwashing, then you're admitting that brainwashing doesn't work; and if you counter by saying that it does work but only on weak minded fools and that Republicans are just better at ignoring it, then you're calling yourself a weak minded fool because you're afraid you'd succumb to it! Why do you hold your leaders to a higher standard than yourself? Why do you keep making exceptions for them? "This is a bad thing, unless they do it, then it's okay!" Why do you think they're better than you?
Education isn't a taboo.
Intelligence is not a vice.
Ignorance is not a virtue.
College should be accessible to everyone who wants to attend, and it shouldn't be seen as an indoctrination machine because it very clearly isn't. Student loan debt cancelation isn't some unearned reward for leftists. It isn't bribery ahead of the midterms. It isn't a punishment for uneducated people to pick up the slack. It is the leveling of a playing field that has been lopsided for too long. If good jobs require degrees, then everybody should be able to get a degree without 5 or 6 figures of debt weighing them down. That's a bullshit catch-22; you need to pay a ton of money for the chance to earn more money. Debt cancelation eliminates that hurdle. If you think that you should only go to college if you can afford it outright, then you're saying that only rich elites deserve good jobs; which is it? Do you hate rich elites, or do you want them in charge of everything? Pick a lane, and stay in it!
TLDR: student loan relief benefits everyone at the bottom, regardless of ideology. They would rather have us fight a culture war against one another than unite to fight a class war against them.
#student loans#student loan debt#student debt#debt#loans#loan debt#debt cancellation#debt forgiveness#debt relief#student loan debt relief#joe biden#biden#college#university#long post#trickle down economics#trickle down#class war#culture war#rant
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innocence - 32
PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader
WARNINGS: drunkness, nightmares.
NEXT CHAPTER
- Sharon?
There she stood, in all her elegant and precise posture dignified of someone who had been trained to be a spy. Y/N had spoken to Sharon before yet it had been brief so all she knew about her was what she had learned from the media and what Bucky had told her. Yet, Bucky wasn’t one to share much about his life as a Winter Soldier or an Avenger. Despite all this mystery surrounding the woman standing in the kitchen, she trusted her. She was Bucky’s friend and Steve’s girlfriend, a decorated scholar and agent. If she wanted to hurt her the chance was very, very low. Besides, she doubted Bucky would’ve just gone around giving people his address. He doesn’t even tell anyone but the barista his coffee order, not that it is too hard to guess.
- Bucky asked me to look after you while he’s gone. - she said before Y/N could even question her. - He said you’d feel more comfortable with a woman watching over you.
- He really left, uh? - Y/N knew he had left, after all his dog tags were hanging from her closed fist, but her more optimistic self, the more happy look which wanted to believe he was gonna be told this was mistake and he could return to the normal life he had paid by with blood, sweat and tears.
- Do you wanna go for breakfast? There’s a nice spot just a few blocks away from here. - she tried to distract her, kind smile forming. - I always thought you and me should get to know each other. You know, Steve and Bucky are like brothers so we’ll see each other a lot.
- Yeah, I hum ... I just need to get dressed. - Y/N wanted to be her happy, cheery self and she knew Sharon was only trying to make her feel better but all she could think about was Bucky and if he was safe.
She knew she was no super soldier, no super spy, not a witch or an agent but she just wanted to help him. She was already helpless in her own life, merely following along as others guided her, too afraid to step too much out of line in fear of losing what she had worked for. After all, many people wanted what she had, many people wanted a contract with a household agency thus she had to be compliant. She had to step on the breaks before she even turned the key. However, if there was something she had agency on it was her relationships and she wanted to help him. God, she wished to never see that look, the look he gave her that morning after that call. It was pure sorrow mixed with anger and she wondered how long he’d felt that way. She wondered if anyone had tried to help him rather than weaponise him. It was not her choice to decide what Bucky wanted to do with his life, it was not her right to demand him explain her demons to her but it was her choice and her pleasure to be by his side and right now she wanted to be by his side. Even if her mother had raised her not to rely on a man. It wasn’t relying on him, it wasn’t being only completed when a man was around, it wasn’t her feeling incomplete whenever he was around. No. It was none of that. It was merely wanting to hold the hand of someone who had for the longest time not had anyone to hold his hand. It was loving someone so much, she’d be okay with holding his burden with him even if he didn’t want to. It was merely loving someone, darkness and light, and she loved him.
Her hands gripped the sink of the bathroom, eyes gazing onto the mirror in front of her and as such her own face. She watched every line, every corner, contour and shadow of her face, the dog tags softly dangling around from her neck, the only part of him she had near her. Y/N splashed cold water against her face, trying to let her own optimism flow into what was now a negative outcome. She stepped outside of the bedroom, a soft smile drawn on her features.
- Should we go? - Sharon suggested, grabbing her coat which was laying over the couch. - It will make you feel better, Y/N.
- Yeah, I’m just ...
- He’s one of the best operatives in the field. - Sharon interrupted her. - He will be fine, I promise you.
- You can’t promise me that. - she said as she took her own jacket from the hooks on the wall.
- I’ve seen him fight before, Y/N. I’ve been where you are, it’s shit but ... you gotta trust someone who’s strong enough to carelessly break a brick, will be fine.
Sharon meant well, she knew she did and she was glad she was there but Y/N felt nothing but completely numb to what was happening around her. It seems as he had left with her heart and now she was longing his and hers didn’t get broken in the middle of HYDRA’s crossfire. She didn’t know much about HYDRA or even the Winter Soldier, her parents had shielded her and her siblings from the bad of the world and while she had seen Washington in the TV and remembered when Captain America had been regarded as a traitor, she had never been explained much about HYDRA and all that was out in the internet was glossed over with a paint coat of big, bad monster. Funny how big, bad monsters don’t look like monsters at all. She’d not even been in the country when the first modern Winter Soldier attacks had occurred and she was younger, much more naive. What she could remember was circled with rumours of politicians then blaming every single event on the soldier, turning him into a folklore-like creature but he was not folklore, he really existed. Conscious or not conscious, he existed. She didn’t know how Bucky felt about it, he’d never tell her but what she knew was that he drew a line between who he had been and who he was now, and he hated to cross that line.
The harsh sound of the coffee steamer from the coffee machine took her from her own head. The coffee shop itself was mostly empty, highly due to it being later in the morning and all she wanted to do was return to her bedroom and stay there until she had to go for her photoshoot. However, the waitress was already taking their orders which meant she had to at least stay here until the two of them had eaten whatever Sharon had prepared.
- How do you do it? - Y/N blurted out, clearly losing any control over her mind to mouth filter. - The missions ... I mean, Steve must be going on them all the time.
- Well, whenever I don’t go ... it’s hell. - she smiled tightly. - One thing is going on a mission yourself, the other one is someone who you love going. And for what? Crocked politicians?
- I get a feeling you’re not a big fan of the government.
- You’d be right. So, what’s the schedule for today? Bucky didn’t really explain what your job entails.
- There’s a photoshoot today at 3, then it’s free days until Monday where I have to go on set to film the last scenes.
- Photoshoot? Sounds fun.
- The Virgin Bride for Vogue.
- Oh ... - she agent scrunched up her face. - Not so fun.
- They’re doing an issue on the types of brides. You know ... because type casting not only occurs in Hollywood, it occurs in life too. You got your bridezellas, your over 30 brides, your rebel brides and the virgin bride. Being the virgin bride does fit with the image they want for me.
- I never really understood type casting, if I’m being honest. You know, the rat, brit, brat pack. Never really made sense.
- It’s a marketing strategy. It is easier to market someone as a type rather than a complex person.
She liked photoshoots, she mostly got to dress up and get photographed almost like a big makeover like in those 90s movies she still curled up against her comforter to see. This particular one did make her upset, to be in a white wedding dress, surrounded by soft white fabric was particularly cruel. She knew her wedding was not going to be what she dreamed of a kid and unless she wanted to get her agency or the government in the business, the two of them would’ve had to get married in the civil hall. However, it did not matter to her where she got married, it mattered that the person she wasn’t engaged to was not here. It was almost like being dressed as a left at the altar bride ... like a widow.
She unpinned the veil from her hair, taking off all the heavy jewellery that had been used to adorn her hair and put it on top of the desk where all the makeup was still open. The dress was pretty but it was big, it was too big, it almost swallowed her, it made her feel small but it reminded of him. She wondered where he was, what he was doing, how he was feeling, if he was safe.
- That was boring. - Sharon said as she stepped inside the dressing room, holding two coffee cups. - I know that look. What’s wrong?
- I hate this dress. - Y/N sat down in the chair. - It’s too big.
- You look like a wedding cake.
- Right. - Y/N moved the fabric up playfully. - I don’t think I can even move correctly.
- You should be thinking about your own soon. - Y/N gave Sharon a confused look. - Steve told me. Don’t tell Bucky, he’ll get upset and then Steve will be upset, big mess.
- Well, it’s good to be able to speak to someone about it. - she smiled. Only Bucky and her parents knew, so she did not have many people to tell she was engaged to or to even speak about it.
- So, how do you envision your wedding dress?
- Oh, I don’t ... I don’t really think about it. It’s most likely gonna be in city hall so it’s not worth it.
- What? That’s bullshit. Everyone wears a dress.
- I can’t really go anywhere ... the paps would go crazy and that’s the last thing I need.
- Still, everyone wears a dress even if they go to city hall.
Y/N merely shrugged. Her head was not in the right space and for the first time she was looking forward to go to set. It didn’t matter if being on set was dehumanising sometimes, it mattered that her head would’ve been somewhere else. She knew that as a perfectionist, her mind would be on finishing those scenes and not on Bucky. As she got home, she couldn’t help but get lost inside her mind again as Sharon put some old sitcom on the TV. She was surrounded by him, by memories of him, things that reminded her of him. Looking to her left there were framed photos of him, his jacket was still hanging from the door, the broken shards of porcelain were still on the sink. There were pieces of him everywhere and half of her felt ridiculous it was affecting her so much as it was but she loved him. She loved him.
- Right, get your jacket. - Sharon got up from the couch.
- Why? Where are we going?
- You will see.
Y/N followed Sharon through the half lit Brooklyn night down to the back of several shops. The lights flickered, illuminating the bins filled with black plastic bags which laid in the back fronts of several shops. She watched as Sharon made her way towards a particular store back, taking a key from under a seemingly unseeingly rock which opened the heavy pad lock keeping the door shut. Sharon motioned her head towards the door and Y/N followed her into the dark shop. The agent closed the door behind them before she turned the lights. The bright white lights illuminated the shop floors and she noticed she was surrounded by hundreds of glass see through closets with various white dresses. Was she in a bridal shop?
- You need to take your mind out of him. - Sharon sat against one of the pale pastel pink couches laid around the store.
- Is this legal?
- You’re engaged to Bucky Barnes, how come you care about legality so much?
- I don’t want to get arrested, Sharon.
- It’s one of my friends bridal store. You said you couldn’t do it without paps walking around and photographing you, so ... here you go.
- I ... I don’t ... What if he doesn’t come back? - Y/N’s lip trembled as she crossed her arms and looked to the side.
- Y/N, he will come back. It is one man against a soldier with the strength of five. Trust me, if not for anything else, he’ll come back to you. Now, dress, what dress do you want?
- I don’t know.
- Come on. Pick one and try it on. We are not going home until you try a dress on.
- Fine.
Y/N stared at the dresses, grabbing the first one she could find in her own size and dragging it onto the dressing room. It definitely was not her type of dress, at least not the type of dress she had envisioned getting married in. It was pure white, sleeveless with a cut which went down to her sternum, skin tight, hugging her body in a flattering way but it just wasn’t her dress. It wasn’t the dress she wanted to get married in, but right now it wasn’t the time to think about what dress to wear when Bucky was out. She shouldn’t be playing dress up.
She waddled back to where Sharon was sat before she stopped in front of her, hands on her hips. Somehow, she had found some prosecco and plastic flutes and had her feet on top of the pale pink couch.
- Are you happy now? - Y/N sighed, mostly out off nuissance.
- Don’t give me that tone. - Sharon sipped from her own flute, handing Y/N the other one. - Come on, what do you think?
- It’s ... uhm ... fine. - her hands gestured around the fabric.
- What? That’s the first one you try. Why aren’t you crying? It isn’t the one if you’re not crying. That’s what they do in the movies.
- I can cry.
- No, spin. - Sharon waved her finger around and Y/N spun around slowly. - It ain’t it.
- But Bucky ...
- From now on every time you say the words James, Bucky, Buchanan, or Barnes, you’re drinking.
- But I don’t know if Bucky ...
- Drink. - Sharon interrupted her. Y/N scrunched her face not really believing her but she looked dead serious. She took a sip of her prosecco, placing the flute on the table near her. - Come on, what does your wedding dress look like.
- I don’t know ... I don’t want something skin tight, I want some floofy fabric.
- Yeah, go on.
- And I don’t want it to be too long, I want my shoes to show ... like Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face.
- Let’s find it.
Both she and Sharon went through tons and tons of dresses, through so much lace she was sure to dream about it for the next week until they found something that resembled what she wanted. Y/N ended up rather dizzy on the prosecco, not used to drinking too much, running around barefoot with the dress that was her dress in a rather subdued white which showed her legs from the ankle down, a voluminous little shirt which cinched at her waist. A rather short veil fell from her head, pinned to the crown of her head with a fake baby pink rose prong clip. The two ended up laying on the pink couch, heads leaning against the rather comfortable pillows as they nursed the rest of the bottle of prosecco.
- Okay but I have a question ... - Y/N said, bringing her flute down. - Is it weird dating the same guy who kissed your great aunt?
- Listen, Steve is a kissing whore. - she tried to say it with a straight face but ended up breaking into laughter. - It’s true. He’ll kiss anyone, unstoppable. The blonde girl from the army, my great aunt, Natasha. If it hadn’t been for me, Steve would be Captain Kisscam instead of Captain America.
- Captain Kisscam. What superpowers would he have?
- Making people kiss each other? No that sounds terrible. I don’t know ... to be honest what even is Steve’s superpower?
- Ultimate ... - Y/N broke down laughing before she could continue. She put her hand in front of her chest, taking a deep breathe as she tried not to laugh at the joke in her head. - Ultimate frisbee.
- You know? Sex on top of the shield? Terrible, so uncomfortable.
- Sharon!
- What? I was curious, it is a weirdly unbreakable shield, isn’t it? Besides, that’s not even the craziest thing we’ve done.
- What’s the craziest thing you’ve done?
- We did it at the Smithsonian.
- SHARON! There’s children there. It’s ... a hall of science, and ... memorabilia ... and ... I don’t know, I’ve never been to the Smithsonian.
- Oh, c’mon. What’s the craziest place where you and Bucky have done it?
- You said Bucky, drink. - Y/N pointed her flute at Sharon.
- So did you. Drink. - the two girls drank what was left over in the glasses, throwing them to the side. - Come on. Tell me.
- I don’t know ... What are we counting as doing it?
- 3rd base.
- I do not understand bases.
- Handjobs don’t count.
- Oh ... then ... the parking lot of the set in his car.
- And the car didn’t break?
- Come on, it’s not that old of a car.
- It’s ancient, Y/N. - Sharon chuckled, passively looking at her watch to check on the time. - We should get going before the shop opens.
She went back into the dressing room to take off her wedding dress. It wasn’t until then she realised she was still wearing his dog tags, the cold metal against her warm skin, a side effect of the alcohol coursing through her veins. She was reminded of him again on that moment, wondered how he was doing, how he was feeling. She hoped and begged he was okay in her mind, and the memory of him haunted her mind even as she laid down in bed to go to sleep. There was a direct line from wedding gowns and dog tags to her fiance and wherever he was. Her blood distracted by the unhinging of the alcohol coursing along it, was filled with hate. Not for him but for his situation, for how helpless she was to helping him.
She turned around in her bed, forcefully shutting her eyes as a way to ensure she went to sleep instead of dwelling on those thoughts. However, she simply didn’t have a choice to leave. As her consciousness dissolved into unconscious she woke up in the same bedroom but the environment was blurry, very highly saturated yet the colours were candy bright. However, the environment wasn’t inviting at all and soon broken through the candy bright atmosphere she could hear screaming. She tried to untangle herself from her sheets, running through the bedroom yet her movements were slow and her running was more like a slow motion run. She pushed open the door, coming face to face with the same candy coloured blurred bright world but in front of her was him but not him as she knew him. Not at least as she had known him. His hair was much longer, slightly past his jaw which was covered by a mask, a muffle. His clothing was restricting, the top almost resembling a straightjacket, as if he was dangerous. He was so close but so far away, on his knees with someone whose face was blurrier than the atmosphere itself.
- Don’t worry. - the blurred person’s voice was as distorted as the vision, mechanical even as he rose a gun up to the head of a Bucky Barnes she had never met. - We will help you.
- NO! - she lunged forward as the gunshot echoed through her ears and like a rubber band she was pushed back to reality. She rose her torso from her bed in pure agony, eyes wide open and red, hand holding the sheet against her chest which rose up and down in fast paces.
Looking around, nothing was candy coloured and everything was clear. The room was dark in muddled shades barely lit by the moon light peaking from the small rips in the curtains Bucky had first gotten when he first moved in. Everything was as it was, his sleeping shorts were still hanging from the chair next to the dresser, the dead flowers were still in the vase he had once put them when they were fresh. Everything was as it was, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was lurking. The feeling that both of them had just crossed the bridge past the point of no return.
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My thoughts on Episode 7--Promises Broken
Placed behind a cut for those of you that would rather escape my babbling, lol. You’re welcome.
The episode opens with Maggie, Elijah, Father Gabe, and Negan.
Right away I can’t help feeling disappointed because the emotional core of last episode (Kelly and Connie’s reunion and the aftermath) seems like it’s being ignored and punted further down the road so we can waste another hour getting piece meal progress on the Reaper front, but I’m going to try to push my misgivings away and enjoy this episode for what it is, so.
“Daryl just told us to go home.”
And save your hides and keep the rest of the community safe? I can’t argue that Negan might have an actual point here, lol. But Maggie sure can.
Not gonna lie. When Negan came back with “I think he was being subtle. He said they were armed with lookouts” I had to LOL.
“We will never be even.” I mean. Maggie been frustrating me with her stubbornness in this suicide mission, true. But she right. They will never, ever be even.
“Ya’ll know Blackbeard, too?” I admit it. I laughed. A little.
Okay. I don’t know if this bodes well for this episode or not, but the cold opening in this episode? Was the most underwhelming cold open of this season.
At least the opening credits still give me that old familiar rush of the heyday of TWD.
Fake Stephanie and Eugene are on Walker clean up duty. Hmm. I think I’m going to refer to Fake Stephanie as Fifi until she gets a real name for brevity’s sake.
Fifi handles herself surprisingly well with the Walkers. Is she one of Mercer’s stormtroopers working undercover maybe?
Somehow I doubt it’s true that our friends can trust “Lance” but whatever, lol.
I hate to admit it but I’m already kind of bored with this episode. We’re barely over 6 minutes in.
I didn’t recognize Princess without her fluffy pink coat!
Zeke is definitely struggling.
I do like that these two have been paired up. They have taken to each other quickly and already have a good rapport. There’s something endearing about their scenes together.
“Never been afraid of hard work. Kinda anti-friends who die from stubbornness.” Have I mentioned lately how much I love Princess? Because I really, really do.
So it’s been days. Has it been days that Maggie and Negan and Co. have been outrunning the Reapers? I’m talking since they left the safe house. Does that mean that it’s also been days since Kelly and Connie’s reunion? This timeline is so slow and yet they keep telling us it’s been days and making me think we’ve been missing time. Like I can’t even.
You know Carol’s “Pookie is in danger” senses have to be big-time tingling by now if it’s been DAYS.
Also? Alden almost certainly has to be dead.
But I digress. They obviously don’t want us getting hung up on the apparent time warp between ASZ, Meridian, and the Commonwealth. It’s like the Bermuda Triangle of the ZA.
“A person with your pedigree...”
Okay then. Commonwealth is full of uppity assholes. Good to know.
Yumiko looks classy! I say that in my best Princess voice, lol.
Well. At least they’ve given Daryl Dog back. Has Dog come to his senses though? That is the question.
Daryl sharing a smoke with the enemy to gain some intel. Or maybe just the keys to food storage.
So. Another redshirt (Elijah’s sister’s friend) we don’t know bites the dust. Meh. Including that tidbit in the trailer was purposefully misleading, lol. Not that I want people to die, but still.
“But the one? He’s mine.” Let’s take bets. Was it Carver Elijah has a beef with because it just seems like it was. Could also be that his name is the only one I know, lol.
Where is Maggie sending our hobbled Father G?
“I kept my mask for practical and sentimental reasons.” Negan? You almost had me. He really can’t help his inherent asshole-ishness can he?
But seriously. Yuck at what they about to do because I assume Alpha and Co. at least cured the nasty skins.
I wish I could say I give a damn that they’re attempting to give Leah some more likeable layers but it’s a cheap cheat so naw.
There’s that damn river that symbolizes the great divide between Daryl and his love and his family. At least it’s pretty.
I’m with Daryl. Is Pope just looking to cleanse the earth of those he doesn’t feel belong or what? Wheedle the truth out of her, Daryl.
“You never needed anyone to make you strong.”
Think our guy has ever said this to his real girl?
It’s kinda funny that the Whisperer flunkie is now the herding Whisperer tutor.
Is that the Reaper’s version of a priest? Sorry. I swear. I’ve been trying to pay attention during their scenes. But my mind wanders because it feels like Woodbury and the Sanctuary all over again. The Whisperers at least were elevated by Samantha Morton, Ryan Hurst, Thora Birch, and yes, Jeffrey Dean Morgan. Like I love Norman Reedus and the character he’s crafted in Daryl but he’s not enough to have me enthralled with Leah and these dudes. I don’t care if they were all Calendar pinups before the ZA.
Truly. A+ casting with Yumiko’s brother.
Yeah. Something’s definitely fishy about Tomi’s reluctance to go back to his old life in the Commonwealth, but the desire for a slower, less stressful existence is definitely relatable so I’m not going to hold that part against him at all.
What did Maggie say after Elijah asked if Negan had changed? Because I replayed it a handful of times and still don’t know.
This Lancy Hornsby dude reeks of slimy politician.
Too much one on one Daryl and Leah in this episode. Without any kind of chemistry at least these two drag each other and their parts of the episode down. Leah’s character is a fail for me and it has nothing to do with shipping reasons. She’s just not believable or authentic to her role as a mercenary.
“If I could do it all over again, I’d have killed every single one of you.” Damn. Well. He’s being true to himself, I guess. Unapologetically Negan.
Again. I can’t say Negan’s wrong exactly but shit does he deliver some uncomfortable truths.
Princess’s childlike delight over treats is <3.
Look at Eugene running toward danger! OG Eugene would never. Abe would be so proud.
Eugene and Fifi actually work pretty good together but it all feels so staged. I feel sorry for our guy.
“This guy was being, well, an asshole.” LMAO @ Josh’s delivery. The asshole definitely deserved that punch and his date deserved to be eaten.
Real Stephanie is so pretty.
Aww. She’s concerned about Eugene.
Oh shit. Eugene punched Pamela Milton’s little entitled prick of a son. This feels like the ASZ Monroes all over again. Sorry. I can’t remember their names.
Poor Eugene. Have I said that already?
Is this Lance Hornsby guy the lesser of two evils or...”
All the chances you’ve gotten, hmm? Seems to me they’ve been set up for some failure too, though.
Maggie and Negan leading a herd where? Meridian?
That poor woman. Just wanting her family safe and spared of seeing her meet her maker.
f
So Leah’s not completely cold. Okay. Doesn’t mean she’s able to be saved though.
At this point, Kang is just yanking Daryl’s chain and ours in the process.
Even hidden behind that skin mask, Elijah made me tear up when he saw his sister.
No previews? What a copout.
Not Kang correlating Maggie and Negan to child and coach, lol.
The narrative they keep pushing about the villains having families and FEELINGS doesn’t change much for me, Angela. Gracie was the only innocent in that outpost Team Family attacked. I’m not saying they should have done it but stop trying to make the bad guys sympathetic. It isn’t earned.
Interesting how she mentions Gabe is trying so very hard to hold onto faith.
If Leah’s the frog boiling in that pot? They better be serving frog legs to the starving community she’s hunting. Just saying.
Overall impression of this episode?
It was boring. No seriously.
I wish I could say I liked it better but it was just meh. I can’t even muster up any words because I just feel blah about it and that’s not a good feeling to have going into the first final (mid? half? tri? I don’t know what to call it) episode of the season.
Withholding the previews further adds to the doldrums because what is there to actually be excited about here after that episode? At least try to pique our interest, Angela.
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VI: The Dotted Line
(Batgirl/Red Hood)
Description: Jason extends an offer. Part one, two, three, four, and five.
Note: someone said Batgirl and Jason mission, and i am but a humble servant of the people. also, i almost named this chapter ���Carolyn Crawford”. Hope you like❤️
TW: Decription of sex work (barely), very light gore
Being back at Batman’s side was a peculiar thing these days. Soothing and suffocating all at once; like returning home after a long, liberating trip. It felt easy, and safe. I was reminded of the first time he brought me up to a towering building top. I clung to Nightwing like a life preserver.
Once I found my footing, the building tops were the only place I felt safe. The taller the skyscraper, the higher and farther from the grim city that raised me. I wondered what would happen when I outgrew the skyscrapers, too.
November was settling like an icy blanket over Gotham. My breath wreathed around me as my chest heaved from scaling the office building I was settled on, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gray dawn as 2am turned to 3am. I could see Robin’s breath too, as he crouched like a gargoyle on the balls of his feet. Even when I pushed his arm lightly, he glared, but didn’t move. The kid had incredible balance.
“I was beginning to enjoy your absence.” He muttered.
I smiled at him. “Are you kidding? Patrol is boring without me.”
“Patrol is boring without brainless plebeians to subdue. I can make due without you.”
“So you’re saying you don’t consider me a brainless plebeian?” I replied.
His lip twitched. He liked this game. It was the birthplace of many of his preferred insults.
“Closer to a bumbling fawn.”
“I like that one.”
Damian’s disinterest in all things regarding my thoughts and feelings was a good distraction. I’d been using him for the past week since my latest brush with Red Hood. Well, Jason. It was still hard to wrap my mind around.
I knew him. He knew me. I shouldn’t have been worried; he knew nothing about me. Nothing other than who I was, anyway. I wanted to ignore whatever residual feeling was left from fighting him on the docks, and I really wanted to say I hadn’t thought about the last thing he said to me. But in truth, I’d thought of little else. The large gaps of time between our meetings left time for that.
We were looking for him tonight. More specifically, Batman and Nightwing were. Robin and I were sent to the quiet apartment rows of Crest Hill, watching over nothing in particular. Sent to keep us away from the fray. Even Robin knew it. When Batman said we’d be patrolling here, he looked like he could rip the head off a puppy.
“Movement in Coventry.”
“On it. Thanks, Oracle.”
One of the better quirks of Damian Wayne was that in the case he was spurned by his favored allies (Bruce, Dick), he quickly formed new alliances (me, Tim). Bumbling fawn comment aside, I could tell I was in his good graces tonight by utter happenstance and Batman’s shortcomings. I was nothing if not opportunistic.
“We can get to Coventry before they can.” I said quickly, keeping the nervous excitement in my voice to a minimum. He eyed me cautiously.
“Batman may be trying not to take risks, but we can handle a couple of goons. Besides,” I added. “Red Hood will probably be gone by then. He always is.” I was overselling it; Robin was already standing, eyes roving over the city scape in search of the best route to Coventry. I stood with him, then let the free-fall adrenaline send exciting jolts through my stomach as we grappled toward our destination.
I could see him, in my mind. His face on the docks, bathed with the flame of his lighter. Hear his voice, full of purpose and noble fury as he promised revenge. I understood his cause, but didn’t understand him, and that was the mystery that poisoned my mind and stole my ability to sleep. Not Red Hood. Jason Todd.
*
Robin and I perched over a factory compound on the water’s edge, Sprang River’s lower fork rushing by at the end of the factory court. A handful of men moved like ants in the flooding white lights that lit the exterior. The wind distorted the sounds of their voices. Robin must have had the same thought because he moved soundlessly to a lower roof panel, advancing on the building. I followed. One man began shouting.
“I’m going to the Northern pylon.” Robin whispered. Divide and conquer. I wasn’t going to argue. I kept my eyes on his silhouetted form to ensure he didn’t encounter any resistance on his way, then worked by way around the court, hoping I could get a good idea of the place before he reached his vantage point. The sky was lightening, and we were losing time.
Just as I was about to check the lot on the opposite side of the factory, a metal door swung open, scraping against the metal parapet. Red Hood walked out, accompanied by a man in a factory jumpsuit. I couldn’t make out their conversation.
I crept along the high factory railing as they meandered across the court, deep in conversation. I kept it up for around six minutes before his companion departed, heading for the lot.
“Robin,” I whispered into my comms. “There’s a man heading toward the parking lot. Trail him.”
“I see him.”
With Robin in the Southern parking lot a safe distance away, I watched Red Hood slowly pull away from the lights and people, heading toward the darker exhaust plants East of the court. It became a struggle to keep and eye on him and my footing at the same time, but I did it. He stopped at a motorcycle parked behind an electric turbine about a klick from the factory. The sky was a pale gray now, ever-lightening with the dawn, and the shadows were burning away with it. I lowered by self behind an electrical box attached to one of the turbines.
“We’re en route- wait, Robin-“ The comms rang in my ear.
“I gave you a direct order.” Batman growled.
“It was a stupid order.” Robin clipped.
“Where’s Batgirl?”
Red was about to replace his red helm with a motorcycle helmet, but paused. He seemed to stall for a moment, before calling out.
“Come here, little bird.”
I was more annoyed than anything. I was ready to be a step ahead of him for once. But then, I couldn’t resent him for giving me what I wanted. I stood, and took in his empty hands before approaching. He’d leaned against the metal turbine, arms crossed as he regarded me with an unreadable expression.
“They’re here, you know.” I warned.
“Call ‘em, then. I won’t move. I know I’m good, but I’d be outnumbered. Bad odds.”
I scowled. “I’m not gonna do that.” I said it because he already knew it. We both did. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.
“You thought about what I said.”
“Of course I did.”
He glanced around, then pulled himself up straight and moved toward me. I took a few steps back, prompting him to flash me his empty hands, raised in surrender.
“Relax, darlin’.” He said. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I don’t want you to be. I want you to understand.”
“How? How do I understand?” I’d been trying for a month. He pulled a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket, holding it out and letting me take it, keeping a safe, considerate distance. Inside, was a number.
“Come with me. One job. Nice and easy.” He said.
“I’m not killing anyone.” I said sternly, voice dropping.
“I’m not askin’ you to.”
“And I’m not standing by and letting you kill anyone.”
“You drive a hard bargain. Fine. We’ll do it clean.” I didn’t even know if I believed him. But I was tired of trying to understand him from a safe, considerate distance.
“We’re almost at location. Four minutes.” Nightwing’s voice almost made me jump. I lifted my eyes.
“You need to go.”
He was already turning on his heel.
*
It was two days before I texted him. I got a glorious three hours of sleep over the course of them, and I kept running down either respective fork in my road before turning around and running back. In the end, I subsided to the fact that I was raised by two business-women, and Jason’s offer was at worst an opportunity. If it all went to shit, and he tried to kill me, I’d at least have some information to present to Bruce, notwithstanding the lifetime of punishment that would get me.
Our rendezvous point was in Lower Gotham Proper. By the time I got there, it was midnight, and a rolling mist had blown in from the harbor, mixing with the smog that hugged the streets and making it nearly unsafe to drive. I silently hoped Batman and Robin were okay.
As I worked my way down a narrow street, the moisture in the air was choking; causing the fabric of my pants and jacket to cling to my skin. I’d almost prefer rain to the way the mist stood still, forcing me to muddle through it. It was dark. The lights and signs on surrounding buildings didn’t seem to be able to preserve through the fog.
I saw a figure pressed against a building that looked tall enough to be Jason. As I approached, we regarded each other’s forms apprehensively. When he tilted his head, I knew it was him. I drew close.
“Jesus.” I mumbled. “Could you have picked a spookier place?”
“Don’t tell me you scare easy.” He said through a cigarette. His helmet was in his hand, but it could’ve easily been mistaken for a motorcycle helmet. The whole get-up was kind of biker-esque. I didn’t answer. Just glanced around.
“Come on.” He said. “It’s not far.”
As we began walking, it struck me how much more relieved I felt to hear his footsteps alongside my own. I was capable; willing and able to fight just about anyone Gotham could conjure up. But still, walking with him was comforting. Like I had someone to watch my back.
We even eased into a bit of conversation. Small things- things we agreed upon. Rich society, and Gotham’s war on the poor. Politicians we wouldn’t mind going missing. If you had showed me his picture next his crime scenes, I wouldn’t have pinned him.
Jason wasn’t unpleasant; it was just that his disposition was highly aloof and somewhat irritable. He had rich bronze skin, and full lips that I was sure made for a charming smile when he decided to do so (not a grin, a smile). The composition of his face was very sharp and neatly symmetrical, but still held some gaunt exhaustion, revealed by the constant tense of his jaw. His attentive dark eyes were almost always narrowed in some fashion of distaste. He never once looked at peace.
It seemed to me that he was disinterested in most anything having to do with my life, other than that he wanted me with him. His entire being was an oxymoron; a juxtaposition of unexpectedly soft and startlingly sharp and there wasn’t a way to tell which it would be.
Finally, we approached a small, industrial building with a neon sign of red, blue, and green.
The Lion’s Den
Burlesque and Drag
I raised my eyebrows. A bit on the nose if you asked me. If the name didn’t give it away, the posters and marquees adorning the brick exterior did.
“We need to talk to someone here before we go.” Jason said, pulling on his helmet, and unzipping his brown leather jacket to showcase the bat.
“Lead on.” I said, pulling up my own mask.
The music was so loud, I could barely hear myself think. The led lights lining the ceiling were cycling warm colors; red, pink, orange, yellow, the glow burning through the smokescreen that was nearly as thick as the mist outside.
Women were dancing, in lace or topless, spinning on poles and otherwise moving gracefully to the heartbeat of the place. But that wasn’t the main event- a stage lit with marquee lights, the centerpiece of which was a table, where three women sat. Their outfits were something out of Marie Antoinette’s personal wardrobe. And that’s where Red Hood was headed.
We walked up onto the stage, and while it all sort of mingled with the dim neon in the rest of the building, I still felt oddly seen. I placed myself behind Red Hood, inserted between him and one of the women. They appeared to be playing cards.
“Well, well.” Said one of the queens, with blonde hair curled and blown out like something out of the 70’s. Her exaggerated, colorful makeup was a work of art- Picasso, perhaps. “Gonna stick around for the show this time, sugar?”
Red sat down, leaning so that his arm rested along the back of the chair, lights glinting off his helm. His relaxed composure made me nervous- but perhaps it was the lack of information.
“Not this time, Trixy.” He answered.
“Pity,” Said the broad redhead beside me, her voice a low, soothing timber. “You neva’ do.”
“Don’t be rude, Sasha.” The third woman scolded, throwing down an Ace of Spades, to the visible dismay of the others. “He’s a busy man.”
“Who’s your friend?” Trixy asked.
I glanced at Red Hood before answering. “Just a little bird.”
“How delightful. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty, shall we?” Trixy said. “Did Dominique get the message to ya?”
“Refresh my memory.” Red Hood said- for my sake, I’m sure.
“Bout a week ago, a bunch of girls from the Row went missin’. Ain’t unusual,” Trixy said darkly, “Most don’t got no family or nothin’. Just us lookin’ out for ‘em. When we run outta beds here, that’s when they go missin’. But it’s different this time. Buncha girls all at once- including one ‘a the queens.”
“Tiffany Spice.” Sasha said, a solemn look on her face. “She was just comin’ into herself. Lord, I’d be devastated if somethin’ happened.”
“Some a’ the row girls been talkin’ about this real shifty fella- Baron Haus. New guy. Used to pimp out girls from the Narrows.”
“And the girls disappeared when he showed up.” I said quietly.
“Bingo.”
“How many?” Red asked.
“About eight, Tiffany included.”
“And you know where he was working from?” I inquired.
“Sha’ do. China Town. Club there called the Moonlight.”
Red Hood nodded. “Anything else me and my little bird should know?”
Trixy thought for a moment. “Baron’s got some friends in GCPD. Had some uncles in the force, or somethin’ of that nature. He’ll be missed. More dead.” She spit the term bitterly.
“They always are.” He responded, getting up from his chair.
“And Hoodie, sugar!” She called after us. “You’re a doll for this.” He didn’t reply. As we worked our way back toward the front, he spoke quietly.
“I thought it’d be better if you met ‘em yourself. Always makes it more personal.”
Batman never did that.
“Do you always make it personal?” I asked.
“It’s not fun if it isn’t.”
The freezing moisture in the air bit fiercely as we pushed open the metal screen door.
“Right.” I said. “So, the Moonlight. How are we getting there?”
“How do you think?” He said, stopping short of a rusted yellow fire escape on the side of the building. He surveyed it, then looked at me.
“Race ya.”
With surprising speed and grace, he scaled the fire escape, no sound in his wake.
“Oh, it’s on.” I fired, rushing to the bars and climbing like they were monkey bars. He disappeared over the edge of the roof, and as I made my way up, I saw him several years away, already conquering another building. I raced toward him, leaping over exhaust pipes until we were high above the fog. The city below looked like an illuminated ocean, twinkling lights just below a pillowy white surface.
I felt like a child again, overwhelmed, nearly brought to giddiness with excitement. Was this how Bruce felt, scaling rooftops with Catwoman? The small, but sure thrill of consorting with the bad guy- knowing that they were consorting with you in return?
I wasn’t a sidekick. There was no line to fall into. No predecessors, no successors, no beginning and no end. I moved like Batgirl across the shingles and concrete and metal scaffolding, but I was weightless without the Bat legacy on my chest. There was something deeply, shamefully freeing about that.
*
We were greeted differently in the Moonlight; a stark contrast to the warm welcome by the queens in the Lion’s Den. It was set up more like a smoky, refined gentlemen’s club. We drew attention from every walk of life inhabiting the bar- men in suits, women in silk, and slimy looking characters that grated offensively against the debonair theme.
Most leered for a moment, then cast their eyes away, like they’d seen something they shouldn’t have. Maybe you could consider Red Hood one of those such things.
“Mr. Hood!” There came a voice, cutting above the orchestral music- Nessun Dorma, if my musical sensibilities were still honed from my piano lesson days. “Welcome, welcome. I can only hope,” The man gave gritting smile, wound tight with visible anxiety. “That you’re here on peaceful business tonight.” He cast his nervous, monolid eyes to me. He was handsome, no older than thirty and wore a tight black vest. I didn’t let my body language give anything away; frankly, I was as in the dark as he was.
“Oh, you know me, Baron Jun,” Red Hood drawled, slowing to a halt at the bar, and leaning on it. “I don’t decide whether things stay peaceful or not. That depends on you.” I stayed standing, near his back, studying the security. Two lumbering men at the entrance, one behind Baron Jun. I wouldn’t put it past curvaceous bartender in red to have a gun, too.
“Lookin’ for Baron Haus. I heard a little rumor he works outta this quaint establishment now.”
When I’d considered the Red Hood’s contacts before, I pictured something like Batman’s relationship with Commissioner Gordon- figuring he had to have some corrupt cops or lowlife sleuths packing him with all his vast information. I never would have guessed it would be three drag queens playing cards.
A conflict passed over Baron Jun’s face, seconds long. “You… heard correctly. Word does seem to travel fast.”
“I need to pay him a visit. Remind him about some of my rules.” He admonished. It was a dripping warning, like the salivating jaws of an animal, teeth bared and pointed.
Baron Jun swallowed. “I see. Well, he um- he’s not actually here, at the moment. Maybe I can tell him you dropped b-“
“You know, Jun,” Red continued, ignoring him. “I got this really funny feeling you know what rules I’m talkin’ about.”
The look on his face was something to behold. I’d seen fear, briefly, on the faces of criminals before I subdued them and went on my way. But this was different. Fear induced by nothing but a conversation. Call it hive-mind, a power trip perhaps, but I felt this pesky sense of camaraderie that prompted me to take a few steps forward, shoulder to shoulder with Red Hood. Who was this vile little shitstain who made his living off men getting laid to play games with us? I thought about eight women, scared and abused. It was Baron Jun’s fault. Baron Haus’ fault. Everyone in this stupid bar, decorated to the taste of the men who abused them.
Baron Jun’s eyes dashed back and forth. Deny or ask forgiveness? I could see him running down those cross roads.
“He… he’s been running some shit I didn’t know about until last night. I swear I didn’t fuckin’ know.” He broke at last.
“Where are they?” I piped up.
“Who the fuck are-“ He was cut off with a bang and a scream as Red shot his knee. I was startled by the noise, but no one seemed to notice. It rang in my ear.
Give a girl a warning next time.
“Be. Fucking. Polite.” Red snapped, now advancing on the Baron. Only one of the three security guards decided it was worth the risk and stepped forward. Electric with the building energy of the whole night, I bolted forward and swung my fist into his throat. He made a choked noise and stumbled to the ground.
“Answer the question, Jun.” Red continued, this time in a taunting, sing-song tone.
“Oh, fuck,” Jun whimpered, cradling his knee. “Jesus- you- you shot me.”
“Always were a sharp one. I got a couple more bullets, and you’ve got another knee. So why don’t you sing before I get really impatient.”
“Christ.. they- they’re in the back. R-room fourteen.” His breath was labored with pain. I didn’t feel bad. Trusting that Red would handle the front and keep his promise of not killing anyone, I went to the back hallway, counting the doorways before reaching room 14. I made short work of the lock.
Some scuffling noises could be heard from the front room- but no further gunfire. I opened the door to reveal a velvet lounge, with red settees and satin curtains, along with fearful eyes looking back at me. I counted eight heads, including Tiffany Spice, who’d since abandoned his wig and gaudy attire. His make-up was streaked with long-dried tears.
“Tiffany Spice?” I asked, subservient to standard protocol despite my evening of rebellion.
“What’s going on out there?”
“Trixy sent us. You’re safe now.”
“Are the Barons gone?”
“They’re being dealt with.” I answered.
After finding them, the rest fell into place quickly. Red had indulged in some property destruction, and Baron Jun now reckoned with what appeared to be a shattered hand and some extra facial bruising.
I nodded briskly to Red and he, in turn, nodded to the bartender, who ushered the girls around.
Before departure, he knelt down in front of the Baron.
“You’re alive,” He said lowly. “Cause I’m doin’ someone a favor. If someone breaks the rules again,” He reached over and patted Jun’s pained face. “You be a good boy and come right to me. Okay?” Jun didn’t respond, nor take his bloodshot eyes off of his mangled hand, but Red straightened anyway and ushered me to the door.
Outside, we withdrew safely and quietly to a rooftop.
“Why did we leave them?” I asked.
“Trixy’s not my only contact. The bartender’s mine. She’ll get ‘em where they need to be.”
A beat.
“You knew Baron Haus wasn’t gonna be there.” I said quietly.
“Yeah.”
“That’s the only reason you promised me you wouldn’t kill anyone.”
Hesitation. “Yeah, it is.”
“Are you gonna track him down?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “Seriously.” I tried again. He sighed, then looked at me. I was seeing his eyes clearly for maybe the first time all night. It was sobering, and he held my gaze.
“Yes. Yes, I’m going to kill him.” He said firmly. I looked away.
“He’s got a track record.” He explained. “Does shit like this, gets caught, and then uses his friends in blue to get a lighter sentence. Three months, maybe. Then, he’s back. I’m not the first one to catch him. But I promise you, I’ll be the fuckin’ last.” His vitriol was oil on concrete, and I decided it was better not to light any matches. The rest of the walk was quiet, neither of us making the catalytic initiative to part ways, coming down from the adrenaline the way we’d built it; in each other’s uncertain company.
*
We settled on top of St. Luke’s Hospital, towering defiantly amidst the smaller, crowded inner city neighborhoods below. It was 4am, but I wasn’t tired. Quite the opposite; I was awash with energy, by grace of the night’s feat and the biting cold. Jason had pulled his helmet off, and was leaning against the steel exhaust pipe, myself nestled at his side.
“I have another place I need to go. Three days- Mafia business in Little Italy.” He said.
“And you want me to come?” I asked. He tipped his head.
“What can I say, doll? You’re good at this.”
I looked over the city, brow furrowing.
“Unless,” He added in a low voice, wry and challenging. “You think it’s wrong. I am the bad guy, aren’t I?”
I didn’t look at him, because I knew he was wearing a darkly arrogant expression, and I didn’t want to see it. No, there was nothing wrong about what we did tonight. Even if there was; I’d do it all again for the relief on Tiffany’s tear-streaked face.
“I’ll go.” I said. “But you have to tell me something. Honestly.” I said firmly, bringing my eyes to meet his. He cocked an eyebrow.
“Ask away.”
“Why me? Why don’t you hate me like you hate them?” Them. My family. Our family. Hate seemed a harsh word, but only after I supplied it, was I reminded of its truth. Jason studied me for a few agonizing moments, allowing only the sound of wind and distant, crying sirens.
“Carolyn Crawford.” He finally said.
“What?”
Carolyn Crawford.
I’d forgotten all about her. My life was sort of divided by this giant, barbed wire fence between before adoption and after adoption. Evidently, my brain decided that anything before adoption would be better of folded up, sealed with wax, and filed away. Traumatic memory suppression, the shrink Bruce sent me to called it- even though the only traumatic thing was the night my parents died, not everything that came before.
Nonetheless, Carolyn Crawford was somebody I hadn’t given any particular thought to in a long time. She was a woman of forty (at the time I was thirteen), and she had that snooty, Diamond District disposition that you only find in women who marry into wealth, but aren’t born with it. She was beautiful; pale skin, thin, with an air of 1950’s suave, accentuated by the auburn bob of artificial curls she always wore. Her husband was an investor in Wayne Enterprises, and she was sleeping with Bruce.
I had no reason to know, or care about this. But Jason did. When he found out, he was uncharacteristically devastated. I could imagine, in retrospect, that when you’re a boy of fifteen and you find out the man who adopted you- a man who was a holyfigure in your eyes, the good guy- was sleeping with a married woman ten years his senior, you may experience a bit of devastation. He had something, some virtuous perception of Bruce, ripped away from him, and he was given a concept that his father, too, had vices. His one vice; women.
Jason was angry. He wanted the world’s perception of Bruce to crumble alongside his own, and so he took all the valor in his teenage body and enacted his own justice.
An anonymous email was sent to just about every company partner or investor, including Carolyn’s husband, and my parents, disclosing a picture of Bruce in some secluded room at a gala, with his arm around Carolyn’s waist, leaning intimately into her ear. She had a wry smile on her face. Above the photo was a single tag line.
“Carolyn Crawford is fucking Bruce Wayne.”
My parents gossiped about the email, of course, when they thought I wasn’t leaning against the office door. But that was all I ever knew about it. Apparently Carolyn’s husband didn’t divorce her, but he did cut her off financially, which may as well have been the same loss.
That was all I heard of it, up until a charity event on a particularly cold January night. The January before Jason’s death. I was waltzing around as per usual, a cup of punch in my hand. Waiting for the clock to tick its way to eleven o’clock- when I knew my mothers would want to depart so they could get up for work the next morning. The music was lovely; fluttering strings.
“You!” It was a harsh sound, like a shrieking banshee, or the whining note of a violin when all the bow hairs are frayed.
Carolyn Crawford was marching right toward Jason, fury on her beautiful face. I didn’t catch the beginning of the conversation as I tried to make my way through the bodies, of which a few were also alarmed by the sound.
“...you’re the only one who could’ve done it, you little- don’t lie to me!”
Jason was defiant there, with his arms crossed and his lip slightly raised, but I could tell by the nervous look in his eye that she was pointing her bony finger at the right suspect. I’m certain it was Bruce who figured it out.
“What the hell are you talking about, lady?” He said.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know you sent that email. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“You’re outta your mind.”
“You’re going to regret this, I promise. I’m going to make sure that this follows you-“
“He didn’t send the email!” I said, pushing past a man who was eagerly watching, like it was the best thing he’d seen all night. I’m not even sure what possessed me to offer up the statement- maybe the way she was throwing her venom in his face and jabbing her finger at his chest.
“I did it.” I said. I didn’t look at Jason, but from the corner of my eye, I could see his mouth fall open. Carolyn Crawford turned on me.
“What?”
“I sent the email.” I said. We’d drawn more observers now, a small, hushed crowd of people too polite to intervene, but too curious to look away.
“Who the hell are you? And why would you do that?” Up close, I could see that she looked like she hadn’t slept. Other little things too; a pearl out place, stray hairs. She’d probably been through hell since Jason sent that email.
I leveled my gaze on her. “You really need to ask? What kind of wife-“
Slap.
Her open palm swung across my cheek so hard that I nearly stumbled into a donation table. There was a pressure in my ear, and then a stinging sensation. I put my hand to my cheek, and when I looked back up at her, she was eyeing the shocked crowd. Then, she turned, and walked briskly toward the exit, heels clicking on the marble.
Everyone stood there, looking at me. I flushed, shrinking under the weight of their eyes, feeling like an animal in a zoo. My mothers were nowhere to be found, and neither was Bruce.
In a swift movement, Jason grabbed my hand, shooting angry glares like daggers toward anyone who was looking, and ushered me into a secluded corner.
“Why did you do that? What the hell is wrong with you?” He whispered frantically, obviously battling whether he should touch my face or not. He decided not.
I gave him an insulted look. “I was helping you, jackass!”
“Well, you didn’t help!” He said, before adding, more exasperatedly. “You just got hurt.”
I shrugged, taking my hand off my cheek, probably to show him some modicum of strength, or defiance. “It’s not that bad.”
It was that bad. It was the first time I had ever been hit, by anybody. I actually wanted to cry. But I was dedicated to my tough girl role, so I didn’t.
“I’m sorry.” He said, surprising me with the fearful apologeticism in his voice. “I’m really sorry- you shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve said something. I just fuckin’ stood there like-“
“Hey! It’s okay. I did it because I wanted to. Besides, it really doesn’t matter who did what. She’s just mad she ruined her own marriage.”
He shook his head and slunk down beside me on the cold marble. The AC was offensively imposing for the middle of January, and I hugged my knees to my chest as we watched the guests disperse, dragging back the events of the night to gossip about later, like foxes carry prized rabbits.
*
“Carolyn Crawford?” I repeated. “That’s what this is about?”
Jason gave me a wiry look, a lopsided smile, then threw his head back and laughed, contagiously so. I let out a disbelieving chuckle.
“I mean,” He added, “Not all of it. A little.” There was residual laughter in his tone, and it made me want to lean into him.
“A ‘little’. Okay. Should I be getting in touch with Carolyn Crawford and thanking her for rekindling this little partnership?”
“Yeah.” He said. “Send her an email.”
I laughed again. “Seriously, Jason, what the fuck are you talking about?”
His grin lingered, and his eyes fell over the city. I could see the gears turning as he considered his response. Then he just shrugged.
“You covered for me.”
“Yeah.”
“And...” He leaned back, not taking his eyes from the sprawling lights. “Somethin’ tells me you still are.”
I looked at him for a while, trying to wait him out and make him elaborate. But he didn’t. I resigned with a sigh.
“Yeah, well.” I mumbled. “Carolyn Crawford was a giant bitch.” His lips fought a losing battle against another smile.
“Personally, I’m still a little impressed she had the gall to slap you.”
“Haha. Hey- did you actually take that picture?”
He shook his head, hesitating before adding. “Dick did.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious.” He chuckled.
“So I took the fall for both of you.”
“Yeah, you did, Princess.”
He had this familiar, juvenile grin stuck to his face. And for the first time in a long, long time, he was Jason Todd.
#batfam#batman daughter#batsister#batsis#batgirl reader#batgirl#jason todd imagine#jason todd x reader#jason todd x y/n#jason todd#red hood imagine#red hood x y/n#red hood x reader#red hood#batsis x tim drake#dick grayson#tim drake#damian wayne#damian al ghul#bruce wayne#batman#batsis x batfamily#batsis x dick grayson#barbara gordon#nightwing#red robin#batfamily imagine
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Summer, Sunscreen & Secrets - BenArmie ☀️
for @pangolinpirate, who wanted a High School AU with a pool party, some sunscreen application and some hidden feelings! I hope you enjoy! 💛
- - - - - - - -
This pool party is everything that Kylo hates. Hot weather, lots of people and loud, shit music. He’s lucky that Poe has a large garden with lots of trees; there’s enough shade for Kylo to hide in. He stands on the upper decking of the Dameron’s glorious patio, looking down to where dozens of seniors splash about in the pool and show off with dives and cannonballs, throwing the inflatables at one another. Kylo hides underneath the shade of a parasol, admittedly warm in all of his black clothing but he’s almost enjoying being able to judge the others from behind the frames of his black sunglasses.
Hux is worth all of this.
The nerdy red-head has been the centre of Kylo’s world since middle school, since the transfer from England dropped into Kylo’s History class in the middle of the winter semester and blew the teacher away with his knowledge of...everything. An outcast too, Hux had latched onto Kylo without really meaning to, following him around like he was the coolest kid in school as opposed to the least popular.
5 years later and on the eve of Hux travelling back to England to go to university, this ridiculous party is the only way for Kylo to hang out his crush before he never sees him again.
“Kylo!”
Kylo’s heart leaps in his chest. He whirls around, making his long hair flick back over his shoulder, and finds an image before him that’s like something out of a shower fantasy.
Hux is standing before him in nothing but a pair of green swimming shorts and a pink pair of sunglasses pushed back in his mess of ginger hair. His skin is so pale that Kylo wonders how he hasn’t burst into flames yet—though the same could be said for Kylo. That’s why he’s in the shade.
But Hux. His body is just as beautiful as Kylo imagined it would be. Underneath the shirts and slacks, Hux has been hiding a thin frame and narrow shoulders, perky nipples and an elegantly soft collarbone that Kylo can’t stop staring at.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” Hux says, joining Kylo in the shade, leaning against the wooden pillar of the fancy decking. “This isn’t really your scene.”
“My...uh. My Mom is friends with Poe’s mom,” Kylo says, trying to keep his gaze on Hux’s eyes and not on his bare chest.
“Ah. And that means you’ve got to come to every pool party that Poe throws for all the seniors?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, I’m glad that I’ve found you,” Hux says, smiling so widely that his nose scrunches up. It melts Kylo’s heart. “Will you help me with my sunscreen? Being ginger means that the sun hates me. I’d kill it if I could.”
Kylo feels all the heat in his body begin to pool in his cheeks, hoping that the darkness of the overhanging parasol is enough to hide his blush. He pushes his sunglasses up into his hair, taking some of it out of his eyes and swallows hard.
“Uhhh...”
“You’re the only one I trust not to draw a cock on my back,” Hux whispers, pushing the bottle of sun cream into Kylo’s hand. If he feels the shake of them, he doesn’t comment.
“Okay,” Kylo says. He can do this.
Hux turns around. Kylo just about manages to stifle his gasp; a plethora of little freckles for themselves over Hux’s thin shoulders, cascading like stardust from one side to the other, thinning out into nothing but perfectly soft skin across his prominent shoulder blades. How can a person’s back be a turn on? Kylo doesn’t know but he’s so in love with every inch of Hux’s body that saying goodbye to him seems more impossible now than it ever has before.
“Kylo?”
“Fuck,” Kylo sighs, blinking away his emotions. “Sorry.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“You know, I can get someone else to do this if you don’t want to,” Hux says. “Maybe Poe or Finn...?”
“No! No, I’ll do it, it’s fine.” Without another moment’s hesitation, Kylo squeezes a generous helping of sunscreen onto his palm before dotting it onto Hux’s back using one finger, a little afraid to use more.
His skin is just as soft as it looks. Feeling brave, Kylo begins rubbing it the cream in with more fingers, wanting to get the most out of this before he loses Hux forever. His strokes are as gentle as he can be, feeling like touching Hux too hard would break him; he’s precious, deserving of soft touches and kind kisses.
Kisses? Oh, to kiss this skin forever would be like heaven, Kylo thinks, wondering if this heartbreaking feeling of having a crush on his best friend will fuel his poetry.
“Your hands are so soft,” Hux says, sighing with a long rise and fall of his shoulders.
“Thanks?”
“It feels nice. Maybe you should quit your band and become a masseuse. The first goth masseuse in the world.”
‘Anything for you,’ Kylo thinks.
“Oh, and my chest too?” Hux spins around, startling Kylo. “I’m shit at putting it on myself. I think I might need glasses. You’re better at doing it. You don’t mind, do you?”
“N-no,” Kylo bites his lip, catching his piercing in between his teeth. “I’ll do your chest.”
“You’re the best, Kylo.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. What am I going to do without you?”
Kylo scoffs, “I don’t think you’ll need sunscreen in England.”
But instead of laughing, Hux smiles sadly, glancing down at the ground. “Good point.”
Another few squirts of the cream onto his hand and Kylo is rubbing it into Hux’s skin again, touching his collarbone and feeling the ridge of the bone beneath his fingers. The bounce of his nipples as Kylo’s rubs is hypnotic and beautiful, draining some of the blood from Kylo’s red cheeks to his crotch.
Kylo has never felt anything like this before. So many emotions, too many thoughts, and he’s run out of time to set them free. Hasn’t he?
“You’re blushing, Kylo,” Hux says softly, all trace of mischief gone from his expression.
Kylo gulps, “So are you.”
“I’m a ginger in the sun. What do you expect?”
“I’m a goth in the sun.”
“Touché.” Hux looks down to where Kylo’s hand is rubbing the same spot in a little circle as though he’s just in a trance. “Uh. I think that’ll do, Kylo.”
“Oh,” Kylo blinks, pulling his hand away. “Okay.”
“Thank you.”
“Anytime,” Kylo forces a happy smile. “Always.”
“I’ll see you around?”
“Sure.”
Hux takes his bottle of sunscreen and slides his sunglasses back down onto his nose, walking away across the decking to make his way towards the pool. Kylo can’t watch. It can’t end before anything has had the chance to begin.
“Hux, wait,” Kylo reaches out, taking Hux’s hand and pulling him back into the shade, their heartbeats drowning out the sound of the awful synth pop music. “I have to tell you something.”
Hux takes his sunglasses off, his green eyes looking as through they’re brimming with tears.
“Yes?”
“I...” The words are stuck on the butterflies that feel like they’re clogging up his throat. Kylo chokes, wanting his confession to be perfect but instead he’s stuttering like a fool in front of the one person who actually likes him for him. “I love...y—“
“What?” Hux gasps. “You love me?”
“Y-yeah,” Kylo shrinks back against into the corner and wishes the shadows would eat him up. “I’m sorry, Hux. But you’re leaving tomorrow and I’ll never see you again so I had to tell you. You’re my best friend. I’m sorry.”
But Hux takes Kylo by surprise. He takes both of Kylo’s hands and closes the gap between them, until they’re practically chest-to-chest.
“I’ve dreamt about hearing you tell me that,” Hux says, his voice filled with excitement, his eyes sparkling. “Because I love you too, Kylo Ren. Ben Solo. Whatever you want to call yourself. I adore you and I think I always have. Since that first day—“
“Yeah,” Kylo agrees. “That first day in History class. I knew. I knew you were important.”
“Kylo.”
The kiss is everything Kylo has fantasies about; uncoordinated, sweaty and much too short for his liking. He wants to stay locked to Hux’s perfect lips forever now, stay here where he’s the happiest that he’s ever felt.
“I won’t go to England,” Hux shakes his head as he pulls away from the kiss. “My father will have to defer my place at university for a year at least. I can’t leave you.”
“You won’t have to,” Kylo cups Hux’s cheeks, getting sun cream on them but neither of them care. “I’ll come with you.”
“Kylo. I wouldn’t expect you to leave your family behind—“
“I don’t care about them. I don’t want to work in my Dad’s scrapyard. I don’t want to be a snooty politician like Mom. I want to be with you, Hux. I’ll pack up tonight and come with you. Wherever you go, if you’ll have me.”
“Yes,” Hux gasps, stifling his tears. “Yes, Kylo! Always!”
He throws his arms around Kylo’s neck and hugs him tightly, the two of them sharing an incredible moment whilst the rest of the party goes on without them. No one notices them in the corner, embracing in the shade as though they’ve been apart for centuries and finally finding each other. Kylo can’t believe it.
“Oops,” Hux mutters, smirking and chuckling in Kylo’s ear. “I’ve got sunscreen on your favourite Joy Division shirt.”
“Is that your way of getting me to take my shirt off too?”
“Was it that obvious?”
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Sanders Sides AU-gust Day 18: Bodyguard
When Logan signed up to be the bodyguard of a wealthy (and questionable) man’s son, he thought it would be an easy job. Just sit in the background and make sure the kid doesn’t get killed. He didn’t expect the kid to be his age. Or flirty. Or dating his ex.
Logan POV, eventual Analogince with parental Moxiety
Day 17 | Masterlist | Day 19
Logan sighed as he twirled the ballpoint pen between his fingers. He was sitting in the middle of a cafe, filling out a crossword puzzle. He took a sip of his chamomile tea and bit back a grimace. It was exceedingly bitter; the coffee shop he normally went to served much better drinks. But he wasn’t here because of the drinks. He briefly looked up from his crossword to quietly observe the real reason he was here. On the other side of the cafe, scrolling through his phone while he sipped on an iced coffee, sat Virgil Tempest Sanders, son of Patton Sanders and heir of Sanders Financing.
Logan thought back to everything leading up to this moment. Before this, Logan was commonly hired to take out corrupt politicians and gang leaders. So when he got a call from Patton Sanders to be a bodyguard, he was shocked to say the least. Patton Sanders was seen as the epitome of goodwill; he frequently donated to charity, has never spoken ill will towards anyone, and always had a smile on his face. So it was extremely odd for him to contact an assassin who was frequently hired by much more sinister individuals. But apparently Logan’s skills impressed Mr. Sanders enough to provide Logan a more permanent (and well-paying) job.
The job was simple: shadow his son any time he was out of the house. Virgil was kept on an extremely short leash after he was ‘kidnapped’ 5 years ago. He was only gone for a few months, but it was enough to essentially put him on house arrest. Virgil was only allowed to be out of the house between 10 AM and 5 PM. Mr. Sanders paid Logan to watch Virgil during these hours. When Logan had first learned about the job, he’d nearly scoffed in disbelief. He didn’t want to be babysitting a child! But after hearing about what wages he’d earn, Logan quickly changed his tune.
It was also shocking to learn that Logan actually wasn’t babysitting a child. Virgil was 23 years old; shockingly close to Logan’s own age. The age surprised him for several reasons. First of all, why was Virgil kept on such a short leash at 23 years old? Sure, he was kidnapped for a few months (which Logan doubted was an actual kidnapping. It was more likely that Virgil ran away) but that still didn’t warrant such restrictions for an adult. Second of all, Virgil still looked like a teenager. He had an extremely youthful face, with large brown eyes hidden beneath an oversized purple hoodie. He was actually quite attractive, almost as attractive as-
Logan figuratively shook the thought away, attempting to focus on the crossword puzzle. There were a few words that he was stuck on, but he was most likely going to stay here for a while. One of the perks to this job was that Virgil only tended to go to four places: this cafe, the local library, a small music store on the other side of town, and the local park. Still, Logan had been following this pattern with Virgil for the past two months. A small part of Logan, the part that smiled slightly when he managed to shoot someone directly between the eyes, wished that something would happen to spice things up-
“Amir.”
Logan looked up and was surprised to see Virgil leaning over his shoulder, staring at the crossword puzzle. “What?”
Virgil smirked. “‘First name that can mean ‘prince.’’” He took the ballpoint pen from Logan’s hand, which he had been lightly nibbling on. Logan bit back a gasp as Virgil deliberately ran the pen against Logan’s bottom lip before using it to write ‘AMIR’ on the crossword.
Logan examined the paper and was surprised to see that it was the correct answer. He blushed as he turned back to Virgil, who had a smug look in his eyes. “Th-Thank you, Mr…?”
Virgil smiled, settling down in the seat across from Logan. “Call me Tempest. And you are?”
Logan smiled at the use of Virgil’s last name. He felt like he should at least reciprocate. “Adstrum.”
Virgil smirked. “Glory. Immortality.” He gives Logan a once-over before practically purring. “Divinity.”
Logan blushed at the implications. “I’m sure my parents meant ‘star’ when they named me.”
Virgil laughed before his expression darkened. “So, how much is he paying you?”
Logan put on a faux-innocent expression, but on the inside it felt like his blood had turned to ice. Mr. Sanders specifically said that Virgil couldn’t know about Logan unless absolutely necessary. Logan thought he’d been subtle and inconspicuous. “Who is paying me, exactly?”
Virgil sighed. “My father. Look, you almost fooled me at first. If I wasn’t always watching my back, you would’ve fooled me. But nobody ever visits this cafe because their coffee’s shit.” He gestured to Logan’s tea. “And I’m guessing the tea is too judging by how much you face screws up when you drink it. You could’ve been just a regular customer, but I’ve seen you at the library and the park, and I don’t doubt that you were at the record store too. And the people around here get really gossipy, so I knew that you were only here on the days that I showed up.” He leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his face. “So I’ll ask again: how much is he paying you?”
Logan looked him in the eye before sighing. “Too much to say no.” He carefully folded up his crossword puzzle. “Though I’m quite uncertain as to why this job exists in the first place. You obviously have no intention on running away again-”
“Running away?” Logan looked up to see Virgil confused and slightly angry. But Logan had dealt with enough people to see the acting for what it really was. “I was kidnapped and held against my will!”
Logan scoffed. “Kidnapped?” He straightened his tie as he spoke. “You disappeared in the middle of the night from a building whose security rivals the White House. There was no sign of struggle, nor was there a ransom note. Either your kidnapper was an extremely intelligent individual who wanted more than just money from Mr. Sanders, or you left on your own free will. And judging by my observations and personal experience, I’m inclined to believe the latter.”
Virgil stared for another moment before laughing. “Well, would you look at that! You’ve got a brain to match your bark. And I assume you bite, too. Because there’s no way you’re some random civilian. So, what’s your real job?”
Logan coughed. “I must admit, I’m not used to having my job description be, ‘keep client alive. ’”
Virgil blinked, and Logan suddenly felt like he’d said something wrong. “You stressed the word alive. ” Now it was Logan’s turn to blink. “You wouldn’t need to stress it unless there was something specific about keeping them alive.” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Are you an assassin?!”
Logan blushed. “Essentially. But now I am your bodyguard.”
Virgil vibrated in his seat. “How many people have you killed? Do you usually kill good people or bad people? Or does it only depend on the money? I wouldn’t blame you for that. The economy sucks.”
Logan chuckled. “I mainly target corrupt politicians and gang leaders. I turn down any jobs that involve families or children.”
Virgil mouthed the words ‘corrupt politicians and gang leaders’ before gasping. “Do you know Logan Croft?”
Logan blinked. “How do you know that name?”
Virgil gasped again, stars in his eyes. “Are you Logan Croft?” Logan decided to nod his head. Virgil already knew about his job, and his father was paying Logan. It wouldn’t hurt to give out his name, just this once. “Oh my gosh, you’re the guy who killed Jacob Smith four years ago! How did you do it? They say he was impenetrable behind his gang and-” Suddenly his phone ringed. “One moment, please.” He pressed the phone up to his ear, and Logan could hear his boss’ muffled voice on the other end, though he couldn’t understand what he was saying. “Hey, Dad. Yeah, I’m at a cafe. Yeah, I can come home for lunch. See you then. Bye.” He turned back to Logan with a grimace. “Sorry, I’ve gotta go. Maybe we can have a full conversation next time?”
Logan nodded. “I ask that you don’t tell Mr. Sanders about our conversation, or that you know about having a bodyguard. I’m afraid he might fire me if you do.” Or expose me to the world.
Virgil nodded. “Of course!” He stood there awkwardly for a moment. “Well, you know where I am… see ya, bye!” And with that, Virgil walked out of the cafe. Logan waited a few minutes before following. It was just to make sure that Virgil got home safe. It was part of his job, after all. It wasn’t because he found Virgil interesting and funny and cute-
Logan frowned, shaking away the thought. He would not get attached to Virgil. It would only serve as a cruel reminder of Roman. Roman and Logan had met in middle school and dated for several years. But Roman had fallen in love with another man a few years ago. And while Logan is polyamorous, it was dangerous enough to be attached to one civilian. So, they broke up on friendly terms. Logan had never felt so… empty, after leaving Roman. It had felt like Roman had taken Logan’s ability to be happy. Logan hadn’t fully smiled or laughed since their breakup…
Except for today, when he’d talked to Virgil. Virgil reminded Logan of Roman. He was charismatic, sarcastic, and funny. And with every butterfly that formed in Logan’s belly, a new knife stabbed him through the heart. Being with Virgil would only remind Logan of what he could no longer have with Roman. So, Logan would keep his distance (even if he could no longer do so literally).
---------------------------------------------------
When Virgil got home that day, he had a brief lunch with his father before retreating to his room for the day. Once he got there, he immediately pulled his phone out of his pocket and started texting his boyfriend.
V- (3:05 PM) Hey, your ex’s name was Logan Adsrum Croft, wasn’t it?
R- (3:06 PM) Yeah, why?
V- (3:06 PM) Guess who my hot new bodyguard is ;)
#sanders sides#AU_gust_2020#bodyguard au#analogince#logan sanders#patton sanders#roman sanders#virgil sanders
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