crime in progress

Age progression is the process of modifying a photograph to give the effect of ageing in appearance. It’s often used to aid the search of missing children. The artist scans the image of the child, and develops it using age-appropriate pictures of bloodline siblings and parents. Another way of adding family traits is using a drawing software. 

These images compare the age progression of missing children with actual photographs of them after they’ve been found. 

3

quick doodles of my mains interacting

(long post, sorry)

In spite of everything I love Harley Quinn but, damn, writers treat her so badly. I swear, the temptation to make her actually stupid must be terrible because it’s so often implied, or explicitly stated, that she slept her way through school. First of all, it does not work like that.  Second, she’s not a therapist or a psychologist, she’s a psychiatrist, she’s a fricking MD and a damn young one too. Managing pre-med and collegiate gymnastics that she relied on to keep her scholarship? Harley is fucked up, but she’s not the dumb blonde she plays. (also stop making her stacked, she’s a gymnast. she is 4’11” of pure muscle and is not top heavy)

If you want a good Harley backstory it’s simple. She’s ADHD but medicated and slightly robotic because of it. I want to take special care not to demonize meds but, rather, people’s disapproval of neurodivergence and a lack of focus on what is best for a patient rather than what is most convenient for others. So, maybe, around ten years old Harley is a hyperactive space cadet who’s brilliant at tests but sloppy at coursework, who would be a gymnastics prodigy if she could actually focus on technique and put in practice time instead of fooling around. Then the meds come and it’s actually really cool because she can do the things she needs to do instead of just wanting to do them, doing something else entirely, and getting in trouble. People are proud of her, she’s proud of herself. But now there are expectations. Family and teachers and coaches overschedule her, find worth only in her success and don’t care about her mental health at all as long as she’s performing and castigate her when she does fail. Fuck if you don’t internalize that. But she doesn’t look unhealthy and she’s doing amazing. She actually has to choose between the Olympic trials and continuing her grad studies. She probably has some issues with self-harm but it either doesn’t look like self-harm or is well covered up. 

When Arkham accepts her, fresh from her residency, it’s not a mistake. The woman is amazing. All they can see is a mountain of achievements rather than the seething ball of nerves, self-loathing, and imposter syndrome boiling just under the surface. That’s when Joker comes in. He’s got the Hannibal Lecter shtick down. Where everyone else sees an intelligent driven young woman he sees a frightened overwhelmed girl who is working her hardest to convince the world she’s anyone other than herself. Sending her into a nervous breakdown would be too easy so he doesn’t even bother. Instead he’s open with her, almost friendly. The other doctors are amazed, Harley is amazed, she’s not done anything particularly revolutionary but, for the first time in forever, it looks like the clown prince of crime is showing progress. He unravels her and it’s a challenge, she flinches back and gets very serious when he comes too close to the real Harley under the professional. Still, soon she’s questioning everything. She doesn’t even really like her co-workers. She hasn’t had a real friend in years. She’s forgotten how to have fun. Did she ever want this to be her life or did she just do it for other people? It starts so slowly that it looks, at first, like she’s getting better at self-care. Maybe something totally silly one weekend, a trampoline park where she can enjoy the way her toned body moves without stressing out over landings, a face painting booth at a street fair, some garishly colored downright tacky decoration that clashes with her sensible apartment. Suddenly she realizes how much she hates knowing the difference between cream and ecru. The beigeness of her life is repulsive. She hates the person she’s pretending to be even more that she hates herself which is really saying something.

After her weekend of freedom she would have called in sick if it wasn’t so suddenly important to see him. The relief she feels at talking to one of Gotham’s most infamous supercriminals is disturbing but it is relief and she’s been swallowing a slow-motion panic attack for hours. She admits, though she shouldn’t, that she took his advice about doing something fun and he teases her, what would straight-laced Doctor Quinzel do for fun? Did she realphabetize her sock drawer or buy a new clipboard? It’s not important to impress him, it’s really not. He’s dangerous, cruel, and he looks so proud when she admits that she bought a lamp shaped like a lawn flamingo. The only mistake, he says, is that she should have stolen it. She hopes the wicked thrill it gives her doesn’t show on her face. It does. She almost even laughs. He likes it when he can make her laugh and she likes it when he likes things.

It’s wrong and unprofessional, the relationship she develops, and she knows it but her whole life she’s been so high strung. Nothing she’s done has been for her, she’s not sure she knows how to really do selfish things anymore, but he knows the selfish things she needs to do. It feels good when she follows his advice even when it’s small things like the rainbow striped socks she wears concealed under her very bland slacks and sensible shoes. She’s so happy, almost giddy, and he loves her happiness, he loves her, he loves the real her that she’s had to beat down and hide for so long, the her that even she isn’t able to love. She is able to love him, though, and since he loves her she’s able to love herself for him, to protect and nurture something so important to him.

When the choice comes between her old self, the tedious endless labor of making the world proud, and Him, the spectacular man that brought color into her life, it’s not even a question. She kills Doctor Harleen Quinzel, she throws away the version of her that let herself burn just for medals and hollow accolades. She embraces Harley Quinn and it’s so much a part of her nature she can’t even see that she’s still living her life for someone else’s approval, except this time that person is a murderous clown. She hasn’t let her hair down, she’s just put it in pigtails instead of a bun.

So yeah, you might have noticed that I’m just absolutely done with putting up with anti-semitic shit on either side of the political spectrum. 

Your attempts to kick Jewish women out of activist spaces for not fitting your purity test are not progressive, they are antisemitic. 

Your attempts to discount the waves of hate crimes targeting Jews are not progressive, they are anti-semitic. 

Your attempts to blame Jews, the second-heaviest Clinton-voting demographic, for Trump are not progressive, they are anti-semitic. 

We know the Nazis hate us. They can’t hide. I’m done letting the fake-progressive Jew-haters hide either. 

Reliability of Age Progression

In most cases, missing children either die or are killed during the first 24 hours after their disappearance. However, there are a small handful of cases where years, if not decades, pass before they are ever found. To get an idea of what the missing person may look like, Age Progression is used to develop an accurate image. 

Above is Jaycee Lee Dugard, who was kidnapped when she was 11 years old. She was held captive and repeatedly raped for 18 years. After such a long time, the case went cold and detectives assumed she was dead. The Age Progression photo here is fairly accurate, and it’s the principal reason why someone recognised Dugard after she and her captor were seen acting suspiciously in public.

  • [Jack Morrison after the Switzerland incident but before Soldier 76, contemplating the state of the world]
  • Jack: Come on, God…..answer me….for years I’m asking why, why are the innocent dead and the guilty alive? Where is justice? Where is punishment?
  • [Morrison sees a crime in progress and contemplates]
  • Soldier 76: Or have you already answered, have you already said to the world, “Here is justice, Here is punishment”, here, in me...
  • submitted by iamthecog

Sidepeck- Assistant Pokémon

Type- Normal/Flying

Ability- Justified/Big Pecks/Guts (Hidden)

Sidepeck are obsessed with justice and heroism. They leap into action at the slightest hint of danger. Unfortunately, they are rather bad at discerning actual danger, so their exploits usually consist of “rescuing” Caterpie from high branches. And then eating them. They are tenacious and powerful, though, so if given proper direction they can be a force to be reckoned with.

Justork- Vigilante Pokémon

Type- Normal/Flying

Ability- Justified/Big Pecks/Guts (Hidden)

Evolves from Sidepeck at level 20.

Upon evolution, Justork move away from their forest or wetland homes and begin to live in urban areas, living by themselves and nesting at the tops of skyscrapers. If they spot a crime in progress, they will swoop down from above to attack the criminal with their powerful legs and beak. Sadly, many Justork may target the same criminal, and because they are determined to work alone, they will often end up battling each other while the criminal escapes.

Superheron- Bravery Pokémon

Type- Fighting/Flying

Ability- Justified/Big Pecks/Guts (Hidden)

Evolves from Justork at level 35.

Superheron patrol a massive area, soaring many miles each day to keep a constant watch for evildoers. Their keen hearing allows them to pick up on sounds of distress from far away and swoop down from above to rescue the victim. Unlike Justork, if two Superheron cross paths, they will team up rather than squabbling, all but ensuring that criminals will pay for their misdeeds.

anonymous asked:

Instead of angst what if yuuri gets called for a crime in progress and he shows up by himself and it's viktor and viktor's like "heh... Surprise! Heh heh..." Then Yuuri just says "yeah I'm dumping you" and viktor's like "NOO- wait you're not gonna arrest me? Why?" and yuuri's like "coz you're an idiot and I'm tired but if I see you again yer so getting arrested" and so Viktor pouts and stays away from yuuri but keeps sending him flowers and jewellery and sappy poems and yuuri's like 😑❤

Lolololol XDDD
seems like a very Victor thing to do, sending lots of gifts to appease his huffy lover X3
WOULD BE QUITE LENIENT OF YURI TO LET HIM GO LIKE THAT O3O
But lololol, exasperated Yuri is one of my fave Yuri’s <3

anonymous asked:

“fight me, you attractive stranger.” spideypool?

(was there ever a more spideypool prompt?)

Peter wasn’t really having a great patrol tonight. So far, a bank robber had nearly gotten away from him, a carjacker had almost run him over, and a mugger had managed to kick him really, really hard in a place he really did not want to be kicked.

And to top it all off, he was currently swinging around Brooklyn trying to locate what had been reported on the police scanner as a ‘Spider-man look-alike’. Because that’s exactly what he wanted; more wannabes getting hurt trying to be heroes.

He stopped and landed on a shabby apartment building as he neared the area that had been reported. He couldn’t see or hear anything that sounded like a crime in progress, but that didn’t really mean much.

Then, suddenly, a fuckton of gunfire erupted from the building across the street from his. Peter jumped and (despite his obvious courage and fearlessness because he’s Spider-man goddammit) ducked behind the edge of the building’s roof. 

After a solid thirty seconds of the gunfire, it suddenly stopped. No final shots, no stragglers. It just…stopped. Very, very cautiously, Peter peered back over the edge of the building to look down.

And walking out of the building, with a much too happy walk for someone who should be riddled with bullet holes, was someone dressed…as a crappy Spider-man? Peter couldn’t really tell. They had on a red bodysuit, and had more weapons than Peter had ever seen in one place. And he saw Tony during his hyper-security phase.

Slowly, Peter climbed over the ledge and made his way down his building towards the man, who was luckily coming towards him. When he was reasonably close, but not spotted, he shot a web and stuck the man’s hands to the wall. The man promptly shrieked. 

Peter jumped down and landed in front of him. “I’d suggest you stop struggling. It’ll just get stuck in your weapons.”

The man looked at him and gasped. “Is this your sticky white stuff? It’s nice sticky white stuff.”

Peter rolled his eyes. Another one of these guys. “Yeah, sure. Got a good explanation for having enough firearms to arm an entire police force? It’s kind of ironic, since you’re going to prison for this.” Peter said, pulling out his phone to contact the police.

“What?” the man exclaimed, sounding offended, of all things. “I don’t even get to fight for my freedom?”

“No, you don’t. That’s not how it works.”

“Why not? I won’t even use my guns! Or knives!” the man insisted.

Peter narrowed his eyes at him, even if he wouldn’t be able to tell through his mask. “Something tells me you have other weapons than just those.”

“Fine, I won’t use any of those, either. Now can we duel?”

“Nope. I’d rather just watch you get arrested, then I can go home and enjoy knowing that you’re in jail.”

The man narrowed his masked eyes at him, and somehow, Peter could tell. “Well, that’s just rude. Let a man have some pride, dammit! Fight me, you attractive stranger!”

“Not a chance in hell.” Peter said, leaning against the brick a few feet away and crossing his arms.

After that, to Peter’s surprise, the man fell silent. Peter sighed in relief and pulled out his phone again. May as well play Candy Crush.

Then, son of a bitch, the man took off down the street.

Peter nearly jumps out of his skin when he does. He has no idea why his spider-senses just failed him so spectacularly. After a moment of double-checking to make sure he didn’t just have a heart attack, he swears rather loudly and uses a streetlight to catch up to the man, who’s running and trying to get the webbing off of his hands at the same time. He swings hard and uses his momentum to launch himself to land on top of the runaway.

Instead of collapsing like a normal person, the guy stumbles, looks at him once, then just keeps running down the street with Peter on his back like he weighs nothing.

Peter, despite the situation and the fact that this man could be very dangerous, laughs. He laughs harder than he has all day. Because he’s in the middle of Brooklyn, a place he rarely goes, it’s three in the morning, and he just landed on top of a criminal who just decided to give him a piggyback ride.

The man looks back up at him over his shoulder, then starts to slowly laugh with him. He laughs just as hard as Peter, and there’s about three seconds of hilarity before the man trips over a crack in the sidewalk and face-plants, sending Peter flying.

Both of them sit there for a moment, laugh a little bit more, then Peter stands, walks over to him, and webs his feet to the concrete. When he reaches a hand for a knife, he webs that hand to the concrete, too.

“Aw, what? I gave you a piggyback ride!” the man complains, waving his only free hand.

“And it was fun. But you’re still a criminal.” Peter points out, looking down at him.

“You are the worst. We had fun!”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Who are you, anyway? Trying to be a superhero?”

The masked man somehow rolled his eyes. “No. I’m Deadpool. Anti-hero extraordinaire. Merc with a mouth. Or, if you’re special, Wade Wilson.” Deadpool said, holding out his only free hand.

Peter slowly shook it. “I’m Spider-man.”

“I know. Your ass has been in so many dreams of mine.”

Peter scrunched his nose. “Great,” he started, then heard sirens in the distance. About damn time. “Well, I’m gonna get going. Looks like you’ll be all taken care of.”

Deadpool (or Wade, Peter wasn’t sure what to call him) perked up at the sound of the sirens. “Ah, dammit. C’mon, Spidey, cut a guy some slack!”

“You literally shot up a building less than ten minutes ago.” Peter deadpanned, preparing to swing away.

“Spidey! Can I at least see you again?” Wade pleaded, begging with the one hand he had left.

“Sure.” Peter answered, then swung away, leaving him to the police and ignoring the pleas following him.

See you in your dreams, Wade.