#I say this as someone who has a weird homicidal fixation on him but I KNOW I'm not okay

[absolutelybatty]

No more Postal Dude x Reader content, just read this screenshot over and over for a realistic experience.

[nanasparadise]

Hiya! Can i have either (aged up) Narancia or Abbacchio [you choose!] and with prompt [28, 25, 24, 19, and/or16*] Thx so much luv <3 {*if you wanna really impress us all... us them all ;3}

Hiya love! Sorry for the wait, I’m still quite busy with school, but that should be over soon (hopefully). Please enjoy! <3

“Shadow” Yan! Abbacchio x gender-neutral reader

16. I will protect you from everything.

25. You shouldn’t have tested my limits.

28. You have no idea how much I have been holding myself back for you.

Summary: Abbacchio has been following around for a while. After a rather unfortunate incident, he finally gets closer to you.

TW: toxic relationship, homicide, slight gore, stalking, mentions of retching, angst, intoxication, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Word count: 4467

Beta-read by the lovely @dear-yandere

Abbacchio loved watching you from afar. The smile painted across your face gave him purpose, a meaning, in his quite miserable life. Even if it was directed towards your date.

The Italian mobster tried to tell himself he didn’t mind. The intimate chatter as the two of you leaned over the table, the staring into each other’s eyes, his hand brushing over your forearm, his lips dangerously close to yours- Abbacchio suddenly averted his gaze from the window he had been watching you. No, he did care. As much as he wanted to see you happy, he couldn’t help but feel jealousy rising up inside of him, infesting his mind like a parasite. “You have no right to be jealous, Leone,” he reprimanded himself, “they don’t even know your name.” This thought alone put the white-haired man into a state of sulking, making him wish he had a bottle of wine with him to dwell on and drink away the pain.

In the end, Abbacchio could only blame himself. After all, he chose to not approach you, seeing himself unworthy of your presence and affection. Besides, who could truly love him after what he’d done? What he still had been doing? Accepting briberies, being unable to protect his police partner, becoming the very thing he’d sworn he would save the city from, it all took a toll on the young man and his self-esteem. He couldn’t drag you down in his world of crime and bitterness, not wanting to tarnish the very happiness you radiated and he cherished so much.

But seeing you all flustered and bashful because of someone who wasn’t him made Abbacchio reconsider his initial avoidance. The mafioso couldn’t handle the scene unfolding in front of him anymore, resentment boiling inside him. Would it really satisfy him remaining your unknown shadow? On the other hand, could he be so selfish and worm his way into your life, risking your safety and maybe even your happiness? Yes, he loved to observe you from afar, but he would so much more prefer for you to see him, recognise him, touch him. Just like you did with your date. With all these bitter feelings still clinging onto him, Abbacchio turned around to leave this area of the city. But not before stopping by a store to buy a bottle or two of red wine…

Meanwhile, you were blissfully unaware of your shadow’s internal struggle. Instead, you enjoyed the mild evening breeze of Naples hitting gently your face as the sun was slowly setting, giggling like a love-struck teenager with your date while you exited the restaurant. The rendezvous you had spent with the man by your side had passed so fast, his funny stories and dashing charm having made you lose track of the time. The two of you chuckled some more at one of his jokes as you eventually bid farewell. Though before you truly could depart, you took heart and pressed a sweet goodbye kiss onto your date’s mouth. Pleasantly surprised by your action, he leaned into your touch. When you both eventually let go of each other, he offered you a sincere and dazzling smile. “Let’s do this again, alright?”

Despite his better judgment, Abbacchio couldn’t bring himself to walk immediately home after having bought the booze. Instead, he had finished three quarters of the first wine bottle while strolling through Naples. He could feel the slight fuzziness of his intoxication manifesting in his body and mind. Sluggishly, the Italian continued his walk, his steps weighing just as heavy as the thoughts occupying his head. After a while, without noticing, he had stopped in front of your flat. “Are you home by now, Y/N?”, he wondered quietly. He couldn’t see any lights turned on in your apartment (of course he knew where to locate your exact housing after having… observed you for a while), meaning you already slept or you hadn’t returned yet. You couldn’t have possibly gone back to this guy’s place, could you? Bile rose up his oesophagus and his face turned into a dark scowl as Abbacchio dwelled on that thought. His grip around the wine bottle tightened, threatening to break it into pieces. Though before that could happen, the mobster guided the bottle to his lips and let the tart crimson liquid travel down his throat in an attempt to drown his dark musing. How could he let this happen? How could you have already gone this far with that man? Why hadn’t he just reached out to you? If you were to end up with that guy, he wouldn’t be able to look at you again, not without thinking of himself as a failure. Abbacchio harshly squinted his eyes while downing the remaining wine, trying to chase his thoughts away. Maybe, if he was lucky enough, his hangover would be so big the next morning, he would have forgotten about this whole situation.

From a few metres distance, you carefully watched the tall man in front of your apartment complex clinging to his bottle. “Great,” you mumbled exasperatedly, “I definitely needed a drunkard now.” Not only did he seem to be intoxicated, but also potentially dangerous, as you could make out all the muscles under his tight and partially revealing outfit. “Deep breaths, Y/N,” you reminded yourself, attempting to stay calm, “you’re just going to pass him and then rush straight to your flat.” As you tried to make your plan reality, you felt the stare of the stranger glued onto your form. Nervously, you swallowed the gulp of saliva building in your mouth. You nearly reached the front door of the complex as you heard a voice utter your name. No one was around you, except for that man, so it must had been him. But how would he know your name? Deciding that your anxious mind just made that up, you fumbled for your keys. But again, you heard the same voice repeating your name. With a flabbergasted expression, you turned around to meet the stranger’s face. His sharp features were highlighted beautifully under the neon lights of the street you must admit, and his long white hair with a lavender hue almost appeared to glow. Only the bloodshot golden eyes indicated his current pitiful condition.

“Excuse me Sir, do we know each other?”, you eventually asked tentatively. Multiple emotions crossed over his face in a matter of seconds, as if he wasn’t sure he could reply to such a simple question. Little did you know about how hard it actually was for him.

“No,” the stranger managed to spit out an answer, “but we will soon enough.” Incredulous, you tightly knitted your eyebrows together.

“What do you mean?,” you countered, “And how do you- HEY!” Before you managed to say more, the man turned around to leave you on your own. Deciding it was best not following him, you just let him vanish into the darkness of a near alley. “What a creep,” you whispered to yourself, “I just hope he won’t come back.” At last, you entered the complex and made your way to your home, leaving this weird encounter a concern you had to face tomorrow.

Abbacchio couldn’t believe seeing you walk past him as he finally pulled the bottle away from his mouth, previously closed eyes now wide open and fixated on you. Having been so convinced that you were by now in your date’s bed, he didn’t trust his slightly drunk mind to not play tricks on him. But undoubtedly, it was you who tensely rushed to the front door of the building. It pained the gangster to see you stressed out because of his presence, but what else should you think about him? He was just a complete stranger to you and drunk on top of that, a potential threat. A sudden realisation dawned then on Abbacchio. If you weren’t with that guy now, it meant he still had a chance with you, right? He could still become a part of your life and make you forget about that pest’s existence, no? Then, you surely wouldn’t perceive him as a stranger. Maybe as an acquaintance, maybe as a friend, maybe – hopefully – even as a lover. The excitement of a possible future with you made the Italian instinctively whisper out your name, enjoying how it rolled off his tongue. Though he wasn’t the only one who had heard the sound of his voice as you stopped in your tracks for a moment and then proceeded to nervously look for your keys. Offended by your ignorance the man repeated your name, this time louder and with more force. Would you still ignore him? Was he doomed to be your quiet observer, a mere shadow? Not if he could change it. “There’s still a chance.” Finally, you were looking at him, a surprised expression scampering over your face as you truly saw him for the first time. With your lips slightly parted, you stared at his form, interest and wary dancing in your eyes. Did you think he looked attractive? Abbacchio internally smiled at that thought, his heartbeat increasing ever so slightly, hoping it to be true. When you eventually talked to him and asked, if you two knew each other, the Italian felt as if his brain completely stopped working. Of course you knew each other! Well, maybe not you, but he for sure knew you better than anyone else. Though he couldn’t exactly tell you this… “No,” the mobster opted to say instead, “but we will soon enough.” Abbacchio failed to realise that this too sounded creepy... Despite your questions, he promptly made his way into the narrow dark streets of Naples until he disappeared from your view.

And while wandering through these gloomy alleys, Abbacchio noticed the tears gently rolling down his cheeks. Why was he crying? After all, the two of you had finally met. “But under which conditions?”, he lamented. He was so eager to contact you again, to really connect with you. Would you give him that chance? Or would you only remember him as a drunk brute? His tears grew bigger as he continued pondering. “You have no idea how much I have been holding myself back for you, Y/N,” he whispered, voice cracking due to his intense emotions, “I’ve always contended myself with seeing you happy, but I can’t do it anymore. I just want to feel your warmth, want to know that I do deserve you, that I’m not scum…”

Eventually, Abbacchio managed to arrive home, feeling drained out of any energy to continue crying. Instead, he made his way to his bed, not even bothering to change out of his clothes, and closed his eyes until sweet darkness surrounded him, welcoming the young man into a numbing sleep.

•

The next couple days, Abbacchio distanced himself from you. He knew better to pester you after your first encounter, so despite his obsessive need to see you, he left you alone for about two weeks. In the meantime, he made a plan as to how he could approach you again.

You went on with your life. Keeping up with work, entertaining yourself with your hobbies and above all, seeing your date more regularly with whom things worked out more than great. All things considered, you were truly happy, enjoying most moments in your life. The long-haired stranger with the wine bottles had been long forgotten, only an obscure memory in the back of your mind. Call it ignorance or naiveté, but you really wanted to believe he was just some confused drunkard who would leave you alone after having slept off his intoxication.

That was why it hit you double hard when you saw him this Saturday morning in front of your favourite bakery.

Undoubtedly, it was him. He wore the same attire and kept his hair in the same style. Only did he appear to be sober now, his golden eyes radiating in the soft Neapolitan sunlight. No trace of drunkenness was clouding his features this time. “Thank God”, you thought.

Upon noticing your form, Abbacchio slowly approached you. He’d been waiting for half an hour now, hoping you’d get your favourite pastries like you did most weekends, so that he could catch you. An uncharacteristic nervousness spread inside his stomach. He had seen you countless times, but never had he experienced such an intense uneasiness. There you were again, just a couple of steps away from him and yet completely out of his reach, as the wary expression on your face revealed. But the Italian would change your attitude, he was sure of it.

“It seems you remember me from last time”, Abbacchio eventually said, hoping to not come across as shady. He carefully scanned you: the way your eyebrows furrowed together in disbelief, your lips pressed into a thin line, your body slightly leaned away from him. Under different circumstances, he would have deemed your cautious behaviour as adorable, even praised it. But not when it involved him.

“Yes, I remember,” you replied, still wary about the stranger, “and I don’t know if that’s a good thing.” The man was now close to you, too close for your liking. You could see all the details in his face, such as the dark long eyelashes contrasting his light hair and the tint of purple in his irises. Hastily, you moved back a few steps from him.

“I think I owe you an explanation,” the man uttered upon perceiving your reaction, “and an apology as well.”

“I agree”, you answered, trying to not sound too brazen.

Abbacchio sighed deeply, gathering his thoughts. “Quite obviously, I was drunk and landed by your apartment complex by accident.” Well, that wasn’t too much of a lie. “I’ve seen you several times here in this bakery grabbing your pastries, that’s why I know you. During some conversations you had with the baker, I heard your name as well. I’ve never had the courage to approach you. I hope you can forgive my inappropriate behaviour.” The nervousness inside his guts only intensified. Would you believe his explanation? Or would you see right through the lie?

For a couple of moments, you just stood there, eyebrows still knitted together, and pondered on his words. “I don’t remember ever seeing you in the bakery”, you muttered, trying to think of an occasion where you saw the stranger before that incident. Abbacchio slightly gulped at hearing your answer.

“I tend to stick in the shadows,” he replied, wanting to save his cover-up, “I’m not that social, you see.” Oh God, would you really buy that? Did he now ruin his only chance with you?

“Hm,” you hummed absent-mindedly, still mulling over his dubious explanation. Would a guy like him not stick out like a sore thumb in the small bakery? Or had you never properly checked out your surroundings? As strange as his reasoning sounded, it was the only one you had. “To be honest with you, I don’t know if I should completely believe you”, you said. Before he could interject, you continued. “But I’m inclined to give you another chance. Under the conditions that you don’t behave creepily anymore and don’t show up randomly and drunk at my place.”

Abbacchio’s eyes widened at your words. You truly gave him another chance! This was finally his opportunity to be with you, proving his worthiness. “Of course”, he quickly answered, nodding slightly along his words.

“But, I just want to make clear that I’m currently seeing someone, just in case you expected more from me.” Those words coming from you did sour his mood a little and dropped him from his high. Of course you were still dating that guy, why wouldn’t you? But maybe, he could turn the tables, now that you gave him permission, even encouraged him, to enter in your life. So the mafioso swallowed his feelings of bitterness and tried to keep up with the politeness.

“I think I should introduce myself properly to you. My name is Leone Abbacchio and it’s nice to formally meet you.”

“Well, since we’re already here at the bakery, why don’t we have breakfast together?”

•

To your surprise, you became quite close with Abbacchio. The two of you had met numerous times and by now, you felt at ease around him. Under his harsh appearance and demeanour was actually a very caring and understanding man, who was always there for you. Though he kept some secrets from you, he never failed to let you confide in him, a steady presence during rough times. Your friends and date – who was now your partner – didn’t trust the Italian as much as you did. Every time you mentioned him in a conversation, they never ceased to point out his cryptic attitude and your weird encounter. Some of them even suggested he might be part of the mafia, but you always brushed these accusations off with a laugh. Just because he had one bad night the time you met and was a bit gloomy didn’t imply he was a mafioso! Plus, he had told you he used to be a police officer, surely he wouldn’t have turned into a criminal then, right? You couldn’t imagine him hurting, much less killing, someone when he acted so tender around you. Constantly checking up on you through calls when you couldn’t meet, buying your favourite food when you felt down, making sure you felt comfortable.

So the pain you felt when you had found out your loved ones were right about Abbacchio was intolerable.

It was a normal day, like most times. After work, you met with Abbacchio to catch up with him before going on a dinner date with your significant other. The pair consisting of you currently sat on a terrace of a bistro, sipping on a drink. You stared with interest at the people passing the narrow streets of Naples, a mosaic of faces and feelings. From your peripheral vision, you noticed Abbacchio gaze at you, an unusual soft expression marking his stoic face. Despite having repeated multiple times that you were happy with your current relationship, it seemed that the Italian’s promise to not pursue you didn’t always align with his true feelings. Uncomfortable, you cleared your throat before looking back at the man seated in front of you. Immediately, Abbacchio schooled his expression into one of impassivity again.

“So, you have anything planned this evening?”, Abbacchio inquired seemingly nonchalant.

“Actually yes,” you replied, your lips turning into a smile at the thought of seeing your partner, “we’re gonna go out for dinner. I can’t wait to meet him again, you know how his work kept him busy all week.”

“Oh yeah, must be great to hear him talking shit about me again”, your friend barked back, sarcasm dripping from his voice. You rolled your eyes at his snarky comment.

“I’d really appreciate if you two could behave like adults for once and leave this childish distrust behind. And no, he actually intends on telling me ‘big news’ and not bad-mouthing you.”

Abbacchio perked up his ears at your words? ‘Big news’? What was that bastard planning? “He can shove those news up his ass”, he thought gloomily. The young man had finally gained your full trust, he couldn’t let that guy ruin it. Even though you might not admit to yourself, Abbacchio knew you felt the same affection he harboured for you. He saw it in the way you radiated this warmth he had longed for so long when you two were together. Finally, he knew he had worth and a purpose aside his work at Passione, and it was to be with you. So, why would he let that little boyfriend of yours destroy that with his stupid news? He wasn’t going to propose to you, was he? Not that early in the relationship, right?

“What do you think he plans on telling you?”, the Italian asked you, genuine worry now coating his voice, though you remained oblivious to his concerns. You brooded for a moment over his question.

“Well,” you replied eventually, “I think he’s got a promotion at work and might suggest to me to move in with him soon. But I’m not sure though, that’s only a speculation.”

“And would you do that? Move in with him, I mean,” Abbacchio pressed on, nervousness spreading through his body.

“I think so? I guess it would be nice to live with him”, you answered truthfully. You looked away from your friend’s intense gaze, instead opting to stare at the people surrounding you again.

When you glanced back at Abbacchio, you didn’t expect his face to be adorned with such darkness. He was practically scowling at you, his usually shining golden eyes now oddly sombre. You gasped slightly at his reaction, his trusting atmosphere now completely gone.

But how couldn’t he react like that? Your confession felt like a hard slap in his face, more painful than any attack he had witnessed. You couldn’t move in with that man. He knew it would mean the end of all his plans. Once you’d live with him, you two would see each other less and less (especially since your lovely partner seemed to despise Abbacchio as much as he despised him) and eventually you’d break contact. The mafioso had been your quiet observer before and he couldn’t go back to that role, that was sure. So he needed to craft another plan, one where your significant other wasn’t an obstacle anymore…

“Leone?”, you hesitantly tried to break Abbacchio’s eerie silence. As if awoken from a state of trance, he snapped back into reality. The sight offered in front of him truly broke his heart: your eyes were wide, your lips slightly parted, short breaths escaping them. You were scared and he was the cause of it. Just like during your first encounter. Abruptly, Abbacchio stood up from his chair.

“I’m sorry Y/N,” he murmured softly, “I just need to go now.” Throwing some money on the table and already distancing himself from you, he turned around one more time at your surprised form and managed to say while smiling through gritted teeth: “I hope you’re going to be happy living with him.” Of course he didn’t mean any single word.

•

You were patiently waiting for your boyfriend to pick you up. Meanwhile, Abbacchio’s behaviour from the afternoon still haunted you. Did you do something to anger him? No, you just told him your honest opinion. But still, he had been so enraged, as if you had done him wrong. Maybe he did feel even more towards you than had initially assumed and unintentionally hurt his feelings. But still, that wouldn’t justify him abandoning you like that since you had never lead him on. Sighing, you took a look at your watch again. Your partner still hadn’t arrived, even though he should have been there thirty minutes ago. Deciding that your patience had been sufficiently tested, you gave him a call. After the sixth ringing, he still hadn’t picked up. Slowly, anxiety made itself visible in your body as your phone began trembling in your hand. Your boyfriend was a punctual person, he wouldn’t show up this late without a good reason. And not notifying you? That also seemed very atypical for him. Suddenly, pictures of him being involved in a horrible motorbike accident flashed in front of your eyes, spurring your fear of an ominous evil taking hold of him. That was it. You were going to his place right now.

After twenty minutes, which had been dragged into painful length for you, you had finally arrived at your partner’s flat. Wanting to be polite, you first rang the bell. “Are you there?”, you called anxiously, “It’s me, Y/N!” When no one opened the door or answered you, you hastily fumbled for the spare key he gave you in case of an emergency. Practically yanking the door open, you rapidly entered the apartment. Though the unexpected sight in front of you made you quickly want to run away.

There he was, your boyfriend, laying on the floor, all covered in blood that had dripped from the big cut on the throat. The slightly brown discolouration of the liquid indicated that he had been dead for a while. Your hand found its way to your mouth, trying to repress your retching caused by smell of the decomposition process. Tears pricked in your eyes as you realised your partner was truly dead, murdered even. “Who could do such a horrible thing?”, you mumbled in shock.

As if the killer had heard you, he walked from your significant other’s door to the living room. Familiar long white hair and golden eyes appeared close to your form. Your eyes widened impossibly further as you immediately recognised the murderer. The suppressed sobs finally escaped your mouth, not being able to handle this nightmarish scene.

“I wondered how long it would take you to arrive”, Abbacchio said with his usual nonchalance.

“Why?”, you managed to croak in between your hiccups, “Why would you do that to him? To me?”

“You shouldn’t have tested my limits, Y/N”, he replied as he moved closer to you. You retreated more and more, scared of what he would do to you, until your back hit a wall. Trepidation overtook your senses as he now towered in front of you, your breath coming out shallow and your whole body trembling like a leaf. “I’ve tried to hold back, tried to let you see on your own that you should be with me instead. But the minute you told me you would move in with him if given the chance, I didn’t wanna take a risk anymore.” Suddenly, tears rolled from his eyes as well. With a mixture of disgust and despair, you kept staring at him, too scared to actually react. “You’re all I have left. You’re the only reason worth living for. I couldn’t let him take you away from me, I’m sorry.” A pair of arms encircled your middle, pulling you in an inescapable embrace, as Abbacchio continued crying into your shoulder, a train of endless ‘I’m sorry’s' following along. The hug, which you once had considered as reassuring and comforting, petrified you now, your skin seemingly burning from his touch. “I’m really sorry,” the man repeated for the millionth time, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll build a nice life for us, I’ll protect you from everything, just please don’t leave me.”

You continued standing there while looking at the rotting corpse of your partner. “You’ll protect me from everything, huh?”, you whispered so quietly, you doubted Abbacchio actually heard you under his sobs. “But who will protect me from you?”

[whitetigerdemoness]

People (like, one person) asked for a continuation of Evillustrator messing up Lila due to being fed up with the class shitting on Marinette and well...here. I’m shipping trash so peep the tags first. As an explanation for the end, it is my full belief Hawkmoth does not need a strong negative emotion to akumatize someone, just a strong emotion. Negative emotions are just easier for him to manipulate. 

Master post of all chapters

The day was not going so well for the Evillustrator. He had been moments away from chucking Lila Rossi, bound and gagged, of off the school roof when Ladybug and Chat Noir had arrived (How had they gotten there so fast anyhow?). After a very brief scuffle he had barely managed to get away in one piece. Hawkmoth had been badgering him non-stop about fleeing instead of fighting, but  Evillustrator had played this game before and lost. He had seen dozens of other Akuma try and ultimately fail against the super duo, all recklessly throwing themselves at the pair.

What he needed was a plan, something the red head had never been good at. He created things. He didn’t think about them. He needed someone to direct him. Someone good with seeing things from all their different angles. Not just anyone would do, it would have to be someone who knew how superheroes operated. Someone like...

“Hey Hawkmoth? Do you think you could send me another Akuma? I need my writer.”

....................................................

Marc wasn’t having a very good day. First he had forgotten his lunch this morning. Then during science lab the akuma alarms had gone off and caused him to drop the glass beaker he had been holding on the floor, shattering it. Which caused his own personal bully to harass him more than usual. Which was a lot seeing as Juste had some weird hyper fixation on him as a target to begin with. Then when he thought he could finally escape to the art room at the end of the day (what? of course classes were not canceled. If class was canceled every time there was an akuma, there would be no class) Nathaniel had been absent. Oh, and it was raining and Marc had forgotten his umbrella. 

So here he was, hood pulled up in a futile attempt to keep dry, walking home alone. He had taken the back exit from the school to avoid the police cars out front, taking a statement from a sobbing girl Marc vaguely recognized as the new girl who sat next to Nathaniel that Nath grumbled about sometimes. Something about her being too talkative. Oh well, none of his business. Maybe if he got home fast enough he could sneak into his room before his older brother saw him and started picking on him. What a great day.

Marc was so wrapped up in his dour thoughts he didn’t notice the person standing in front of him until he walked into them. Instead of landing on his butt as he flinched away to apologize, warm arms wrapped around him holding him in place.

Grinning down at him (how? Marc was taller than Nath so why...?) was the  Evillustrator.

Marc’s day really sucked.

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

“So let me get this straight. You want me to voluntarily be akumatized again so I can come up with a plan for how you can defeat Ladybug and Chatnoir?” 

“So we can defeat them!” Evillustrator said, almost pleading, a black butterfly lazily resting on his hat. The akuma had taken Marc to a currently abandoned warehouse, sweeping the shocked teen into his arms and hopping over rooftops like they were hopscotch squares. Evillustrator had used his powers to dry Marc off and create the most comfortable chair Marc had ever sat in. The akuma had also tried to create some hot chocolate, but had discovered his powers of creation did not extend to edible items. Every time he tried he only got wax and plastic props. Despite currently being a kidnapping victim, Marc was pretty content. He couldn’t remember the last time someone went so far to make him comfortable. There was only the small issue of his friend trying to posses him with a demonic butterfly.

“I don’t really want to defeat them. They protect the city from Hawkmoth. Besides, you basically have the most versatile super power ever. Why do you need me?” Even purple and wearing a ridiculous skin tight outfit (which Marc was NOT complaining about but...) Nathaniel, that is, Evillustrator was almost too adorable for Marc to say no too. Despite the stupid hat, those puppy eyes were lethal. 

“How....” Marc sighed, “How did you even get akumatized in the first place?” He really probably should have been more afraid of the akuma, but lavender or not this was Nath. Marc was 90% certain he would never hurt him. 80%, Marc corrected glancing at the butterfly.

“Lila.”  Evillustrator hissed, faced turning a complete 180 from adorable to menacing. Wow, were his teeth that sharp before? Maybe 80% was too generous, Marc thought though he still didn’t feel threatened. He probably needed to work on his self preservation instinct. 

“That conniving vixen,” Evillustrator spat in a way that Marc was sure had he not been in polite company would have been an entirely different adjective “Since day one she has had the entire class wrapped around her little finger with her outrageous lies. She’s slowly been poisoning them against Marinette, the only one brave enough to stand up to her, and everyone BELIEVES her! Even me at first! I can’t believe I was so stupid...but today was the last straw.” Evillustrator had stood from where he had previously been kneeling at Marc’s feet and was now furiously pacing back and forth. Stalking, more like.

“Lila claimed to have created one of Marinette’s deigns herself, saying that MARINETTE was the one lying for attention and everyone just-just BELIEVED it!” The akuma shouted, throwing up his arms. “You know the worst part? Marinette got there just in time to hear how everyone thought she was a liar. Sweet, kind Marinette. I couldn’t take it anymore. I wish I had been brave enough to do something sooner, but now at least I’m strong enough to do something.” The dark look on Evillustrator’s face said that something might be homicide. 

“How do Ladybug and Chatnoir fit into all this?” Marc questioned. He had heard rumors about Marinette that painted her in a bad light, but had quickly dismissed them as nonsense. He had no idea they had gotten so bad...Marc felt a little guilty for not noticing sooner.

“As I was throwing Lila off the roof-”

“As you were WHAT?”

“-Ladybug and Chatnoir saved her.” Evillustrator plowed on, ignoring the outburst. “Come to think of it, they always save Chole too, and XY’s manager that one time. If they’re such good people why are they always saving the bad guys?” Marc stopped Evillustrator’s furious pacing by grabbing his hands. In the back of his mind, Marc thought he must be having some sort of....mental breakdown, or crisis or something. Who just calmly walks up to an akuma and touches them? Him apparently. Why couldn’t he be this bold when Evillustrator was Nathaniel? There had to be something wrong with him that he felt calmer and more confident around his crush’s evil alter ego than his actual crush.

“Evillustrator,” Not Nathaniel. Akuma were notoriously touchy about their names. Having been akumatized himself once Marc sort of understood. He didn’t remember being Reverser, but he recalled feelings. Impressions. The names were important. “Ladybug and Chatnoir save them because they’re the good guys. They wouldn’t be very heroic if they let someone die just because they didn’t like them. Besides, letting people die won’t solve anything anymore than throwing Lila off the school roof would.”

“You’re right.” Evillustrator murmured. “We should throw her off the Eiffel Tower.”

“No.” Marc scolded. “Please surrender to Ladybug. Then we can go home and-”

“No!” Evillustrator snapped, clutching Marc’s hands a little too tight in alarm. “I can’t do that! I have to get their miraculous!” The akuma looked frantic. The butterfly that had been napping on his hat fluttered away as if startled.

“But why? For Hawkmoth? What ever he promised you, it isn’t worth it.” Marc pleaded. 

“It is! You are!” The akuma spoke fervently, leaning closer to Marc’s face than he liked.

“M-me?” The writer stammered, puzzled.

“Yes.” Evillustrator whispered, voice going soft. “If I get him his treasures, he’ll let me keep my treasure.” Marc’s heart was pounding so fast as he processed the confession he couldn’t tell you exactly when his beating heart became a fluttering butterfly.

[vfdbaudelairefile13]

Chapter Thirty-Nine:

The One Where Lemony Makes a Vastly Formidable Decision While Violet Makes A Very Frightening Discovery

 

 

There was an awkward silence in the taxi as both men realized what Lemony had just said out loud. 

“Lemony...you’re not serious?” Larry asked in an uncomfortable tone.

“I get that it’s wrong...but...what choice do I have?” Lemony asked the waiter, his voice cracking.

“Several,” Larry replied. “Besides, you were just complaining that you thought you had too much blood on your hands. Now you want to add some real blood?”

“It’s just Olaf. He doesn't deserve to live,” Lemony said. “Especially not anymore.”

“But he’s not worth the time you’d spend incarcerated.”

Lemony laughed. “I’ve been both dead and on the run for nearly fifteen years. I’m an expert at not getting caught.”

Larry laughed. “Well, you do what you feel you need to do. I won’t stop you and I won’t look at you any differently, friend. I’ll continue to help you in any way to help these kids.”

Lemony sighed. “Thank you. Do you need a ride back into town?”

“Actually, yes I could use one. I’ve been asked to help your brother investigate a recent fire.”

“Jacques is researching the Baudelaire fire?” Lemony asked worriedly.

“No...the more recent fire?”

“There’s been another fire?”

“Yeah...you didn’t hear?” Larry asked. “We’ve lost two more members in the fire. One of their children died in the fire, as well.”

“What? How old?”

“Just thirteen years old. The other two children are being sent to a boarding school that you and I are familiar with.”

“Prufrock?”

“Yep.”

“Fucking lovely,” Lemony commented. “Wait, do you think Poe will take the Baudelaires there next. Since he took those kids…”

“Uhm...Mr. Poe isn’t in charge of their affairs.” Larry interrupted.

“Then who is?”

“The city’s sixth most important financial adviser,” 

“Wait...isn't that…” Lemony asked as Larry nodded. “How did thathappen?”

“I’m unsure. But we’ve been told she hasn’t had any affiliation with VFD since that night. She quit it all together. Now spends her days solely focusing on fashion and her own wealth.” Larry explained.

“Well...that’s good at least. Maybe, unlike Olaf, she’s put everything behind her.” 

“Well, why wouldn’t she? It’s just a sugar bowl.”

Lemony laughed. “It was more than just a sugar bowl to her...but maybe you’re right. She moved on. She’s more mature than Olaf. Not fixating on revenge over some petty little object.”

Lemony laughed as he started up the taxi. He and Larry continued their conversation all the way back to the city. Lemony couldn’t help but wonder what was in store for the Baudelaires and what was in store for him. Was he really willing to kill Olaf to end this miserable cycle that he has found himself in? Lemony continued on in conversation but his mind was currently wandering aimlessly. He was feeling distraught, he couldn’t fathom how the idiotic mistakes that he made in his early twenties could fuck up everything this badly. 

The world was filling up with smoke and fire, and it was all his fault. Beatrice and her husband, Bertrand burned to death in their home that they once happily raised their children. Jacques and Kit have not seen their younger brother in nearly two decades and who knows if they’ve stayed close after losing Lemony. Gustav was murdered by a poison dart and drowned in a swamp. Monty had his passion used against him in a cruel murder. Josephine had her fears used against her in a gruesome murder. Two children had lost their parents and have been stalked and pursued by a homicidal psycho who was bent on revenge against Lemony and their own parents. And now, another VFD family has lost their home and their lives. A thirteen-year-old died because of him.  Finally, Violet, his own daughter, had been robbed of a true childhood. She was robbed of having a mother. She was robbed of having siblings. She was robbed of having any family unit other than her father. And it was all. His. fault. 

It didn’t matter what Jacquelyn or Larry said. Lemony knew that this was all his fault. He blindly followed VFD’s orders and the dominoes fell. They’ve been falling for nearly fifteen years now and Lemony desperately wondered just how this story was going to end. Unfortunately, I know how this story ends and it is not a pleasant ending for anyone involved. Even if some people find peace or a ‘happy ending’, they will still have their trauma, their nightmares, their worry that just around the corner more unfortunate events will be there. But in the case of Lemony Snicket, I am sad to say that the conclusion to his story is much, much worse. You can hardly imagine, so I implore you to run and never look back because the further you go into this story, the further down the rabbit hole you go and sooner or later, you’ll be trapped with no way out and you will be forced to endure the Baudelaires’ and Snickets’ tragic stories. My associate and I have already tormented ourselves learning each gruesome detail. Finding useful documents and finding scraps of photographs that help detail and piece together each and everything that has happened in these cases. If you think this is bad or that the story cannot get any worse...I hate to inform you but you are entirely wrong. This story can and will get much, much worse. The secrets of VFD will begin to unravel all around the children but that doesn’t mean their story will get any better. You might think that three children should lead pleasant lives...but that’s not how the story goes.  

He sighed, trying to do his best to keep up the conversation with Larry as he drove them back to the city. He was fighting tears, he was fighting exhaustion. It was weird, Lemony didn’t feel physically exhausted, although he knew that he was, the nightmares made sure of that. Ruining any chance of sleep that Lemony could get. But he did feel both emotionally and mentally exhausted. It was hard keeping up the lies that he told his daughter, it was even harder keeping her a secret to anyone involved in VFD. It was hard to remember what he named his disguise this time and it was nerve-wracking hoping that he wouldn’t be recognized by Olaf. 

If Lemony lived in a simpler world, he would be a man who was never indicted into a secret organization, never convinced to do that heinous action that changed everything. Even if Beatrice and Bertrand had died when their children were young, Lemony would be able to just adopt the Baudelaires and protect them. Then Violet would have siblings. Violet would have a normal life as well. 

Was kidnapping the Baudelaires really out of the question? He asked himself as Larry rambled on and on, not noticing that Lemony was barely paying any attention. Honestly, Lemony wasn’t sure how he was even driving, he was barely focusing on the desolate roads either. Kidnapping the Baudelaires did sound like the best option, he didn’t have to necessarily indict them into VFD, he could take them and Violet and simply disappear. But would the kids go for that? Would Olaf still find them?

Lemony was unsure exactly how Olaf was getting the location of the Baudelaire orphans. Lemony got his information from Jacquelyn, who works under the incompetent Mr. Poe. But how did Olaf get this information...and before Lemony? That part hasn’t made much sense to Lemony since day one. He knew he couldn’t put a stop to Olaf learning the children’s location if he didn’t know where he was getting it. So if Lemony kidnapped Klaus and Sunny...Olaf would find him, discovering Violet. Which he refused to let happen. The vivid nightmares were a constant reminder of what Olaf would do if he knew of Violet’s mere existence. So kidnapping them was entirely out of the question. At the end of the day no matter how much he cared about the Baudelaires, Violet was his main priority. 

Lemony shook his head slightly. Killing Olaf might be the only option. Wouldn’t be the first time that Lemony murdered someone. At this point, Lemony didn’t care what his reasons were. He didn’t care if there were seemingly other options. The only way to end a nightmare is by making sure it no longer exists, and how do you make sure that a human being no longer exists? You kill them. 

Lemony hated that his mind was going to this dark place. But deep down, he knew killing Olaf would be the best option. He will never stop. He will continue trying to hurt the Baudelaires until his last dying breath. So why not make his last dying breath come sooner? 

“Lemony?” Larry asked bringing Lemony back to reality.

“Huh? What?”

“You’re crying,” 

Lemony quickly wiped tears from his face. “Sorry, I was listening...what were you saying?”

“Who’s Violet?” Larry asked.

Lemony’s eyes went wide as he pushed his foot on the brake. The taxi halted to a harsh stop, causing both men to sway in their seats. He turned to Larry. “Who’s Violet?” he asked.

“That’s what I’m asking you,”

“I-I don’t know a Violet…you must have misheard me.”

“No. I’m sure I heard you correctly. You said ‘I’ll never let him hurt Violet’,”

Lemony shook head fiercely. “I don’t recall saying that.”

“That’s probably because you were disassociating,”

“You can’t disassociate while driving,”

“You’d be surprised,” Larry replied. “So who’s Violet?”

Lemony frowned, sighing deeply. “Look, I don’t know what you heard or what you think I said. I’m exhausted. I am on the edge of losing the last bit of sanity that I have left. So can we please just drop it and never say the name ‘Violet’ again.”

Larry frowned but nodded his head. “Understood. You are under incredible stress. Do you want me to drive? Maybe you can nap.”

Lemony weighed the pros and cons of Larry’s suggestion. On one hand, he could get sleep, something that he so desperately needed. But on the other hand, he could have another nightmare or another lucid dream where he will say too much. His eyes threatened to close. He simply nodded as he unbuckled his seatbelt and switched seats with Larry.

The rest of the car, he looked remorsefully out the window as Larry did his best to maintain a friendly, enjoyable conversation with Lemony. Eventually, Lemony stopped replying and began snoring. Larry looked worriedly over at his sleeping pal, he knew this was taking a toll on Lemony but he wasn’t exactly sure why. What was Lemony’s connection to the Baudelaire children? He understood that they were Beatrice’s children and he fully understood Lemony’s connection and feelings toward Beatrice but it seemed to Larry that there was something in this connection that was missing. Something that Lemony was hiding. But he let it go. He allowed Lemony to sleep the rest of the way to the city.

_____________________________________________________________________

Violet paced around impatiently. She wondered where her father was. Usually, she allowed her father the freedom to come and go as he pleased. Knowing that his job called for it but after Jacquelyn had explained to her that he has enemies, she wanted him home as much as possible. She was sickeningly worried about him. She made herself a cup of coffee, glancing at the door every few seconds waiting anxiously for her father to burst through the door. 

It took her a few hours before deciding to use her time productively into finding her mother. She glanced around the apartment for possible hiding spots that her father might put something that he didn’t want to see all the time, in fear that it would break his heart each time he looked at it. She had two different spots for such an item. The first place was the same place that she had stored her failed grandfather toaster, which was under her bed. So she didn’t have to look at it anymore. She ran to her father’s room and threw herself on the floor and frowned when she saw that there was nothing under his bed except pairs of shoes. She sighed but looked towards her second guess, which of course was the closet.

Most people have skeletons in their closet, of course, Lemony Snicket didn’t have actual skeletons in his closet, but he did have metaphorical skeletons in his closet just like a vast majority of people and to Violet’s frustration, he had his skeletons locked away in a briefcase that was locked with a combination. The phrase ‘skeletons in one’s closet’ simply means they have pieces of their past that they would prefer not leave lying around. Because they are painful or incriminating or would create unnecessary clutter. Whether it was because it was beneficial to his personal health if it were hidden away or that he didn’t want anyone else knowing of his dirty little secrets. In the case of Lemony Snicket, both reasons applied. He didn’t want to be constantly reminded about the heart-break that this skeleton delivered to him and he also was trying to hide this depressing truth from his daughter. 

She pulled out the briefcase glancing at it at every angle. She could tell that a mere lockpick wasn’t going to do. She was going to have to crack the combination. She stared at the briefcase with pure determination written across her face. She knew that combinations are usually three numbers. She looked at the lock on the briefcase. When she flipped the briefcase over, she saw a similar insignia. This shocked her to where she dropped the briefcase on the floor and pulled out the spyglass from her pocket, studying the front of it. How have I never noticed this before? She pondered as she stared at both the briefcase and the spyglass. What else had VFD’s signature? 

Her eyes got wide as she grabbed her locket and looked it over. Searching desperately for the familiar insignia. She smiled when she realized that her locket was not branded in any way to the cult that both of her parents had found themselves in. But she did wonder how her father was able to hide this briefcase from her, especially considering the many times that the two of them have moved. She sighed as she took a quick glance towards the front door. Still nothing. She was both relieved and worried, but there was nothing she could do. The only thing she can do is just sit around and wait for him to get home. She debated whether or not to call Jacquelyn and ask her for any updates pertaining to her father. But she didn’t know if Jacquelyn would even give her any updates seeing that her father was being super secretive about this whole thing. 

She glared at the lock on the briefcase, surprised to see that it was not a simple lock. She played with the three dials realizing that this might be a bit harder than she thought. Seeing that, unlike usual briefcase combinations lock each dial would have the digits zero to nine on each, but the one her father possessed was obviously custom-made either for him or for his cult as a whole because each dial had double digits. She turned the dials to see how far numerically it would go and each dial stopped at the number twenty-six. Violet eyed curiously at the dials, if Violet wasn’t an intelligent young woman, she would have only simply recognized that twenty-six was a very odd, but yet very specific number to stop at. But Violet was a very intelligent young woman and although she was right to think that twenty-six was an odd number to stop at, she understood why VFD would give their members briefcases that stopped at that specific numbers.

Going back to her research about how VFD uses codes, she knew that sometimes when coding you can substitute letters for numbers and vice versa. She smiled as she twisted the dials of the briefcase. The first being twenty-two, the second being the sixth letter in the alphabet and finally the fourth. She tried to open up the briefcase but when she tried to pull it open, it made a sharp noise indicating that it was still locked. She sighed. Well, I guess VFD isn’t as narcissistic as I had hoped. She turned all three dials until they were each on random numbers. Can briefcases permanently lock you out if you try too many combinations? She was sure that it couldn’t, but this wasn’t a normal briefcase that she was dealing with. This was some custom-made cryptic briefcase most likely manufactured by a cult in hopes of keeping their dark and terrifying secrets. 

Maybe VFD isn’t as full of themselves as I thought...but maybe my Dad is. She thought to herself as she turned the first dial to twelve for the letter ‘L’, she counted on her fingers to figure out what number the letter ‘P’ would represent on the numerical alphabet, she started from ‘L’ and counted four fingers making the ‘P’ the sixteenth letter in the alphabet and then she twisted the last dial to nineteen for the letter ‘S’. Once again, the briefcase made a harsh noise when she tried to open it. She glared at the briefcase. Okay, so Dad isn’t as predictable as I hoped. 

She then looked down at her locket. Violet, you fucking idiot.  She thought to herself laughing a bit as she began to put the numerical equivalent for her mother’s initials. She had to remember what her middle name was. Her father had told her a few times but it wasn’t information she thought she’d desperately need. She knew that it was the same as her middle initial, ‘M’. She believed her name was Beatrice Morena Baudelaire. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she did know that the way she remembered the first letter of her birth mother’s middle name was simply because she and Beatrice shared that. Another thing that Violet realized that both she and her mother’s middle name’s started with the letter that had her father’s favorite number as it’s numerical equivalent, which was thirteen. Her father had always told her that sometimes even the unluckiest of things can have a silver lining somewhere you just have to look for it. And for that reason, he had always declared that thirteen was his favorite number. To many, it was considered unlucky and cursed but to Lemony it was a number with a bad reputation. As she stole a glance towards the door noting that no one was coming in, she quickly twisted the dials to the second number of the alphabet, the thirteenth, and the second. Again, the briefcase indicated to her that she was entirely wrong with the combination. 

She was getting super frustrated. She was so close to grabbing a kitchen knife and cutting the leather of the briefcase just so she can read the secrets that she hoped it contained. She took a deep breath, slowly calming herself down. She knew if she cut through the leather, she would have to explain to her father what she did. She wouldn’t be able to obtain another briefcase like this one. Well, maybe she could. She wasn’t sure if Jacquelyn had a spare but maybe she could gift Violet a spare but the only problem with that she wouldn’t know what combination her father used so she’d still get caught. 

Besides Violet wanted to be the one to catch her father in his web of lies, not have him catch her in her own web of deceit. She wanted him to learn of her discoveries on her terms, not his. So she knew she couldn’t vandalize the briefcase, no matter how much she wanted to. She didn’t know how often her father revisited the skeletons in his closet and she wasn’t taking any chances. 

She stared intensely at the briefcase trying to think of any other three number combinations her father would potentially use. She’s tried V.F.D. She tried his own initials, L.P.S. She even tried her mother’s initials, B.M.B. In a flash of realization, her frustrated expression turned into one of disbelief. She facepalmed and rolled her eyes at her own silly self. She gave a small laugh as the most obvious combination came to mind. She quickly turned the first dial to the twenty-second letter of the alphabet. Violet. She turned the second dial to the thirteenth letter. Malina. She turned the last dial to the nineteenth letter of the alphabet. Snicket. Immediately, the briefcase popped open. She smiled. Sometimes the most obvious answer is right in your face. She told herself realizing that her father was predictable, just to the level of predictability that you severely doubt. She didn’t think her dad was that predictable but here she was after putting the numerical equivalent of her initials on the dials of the briefcase’s lock with the briefcase completely opened and more of her father’s secrets in front of her eager eyes. 

Violet looked down at the contents of the briefcase and stared at the one thing she wanted to find but she doubted she would. Violet was fortunately correct in her assumption that within this briefcase, her father had locked away the two hundred page book written by the woman he loved, her birth mother, that explained at great length and in specific detail the reason she could not marry him. Violet understood her father’s desire to hide something like this, if it were out in the open, he would find himself reading it over and over again as if his darling Beatrice was bringing him bad news every day and every night of his life. 

She frowned as she pulled out the pages and she gently swiped her fingers across the top of the book. Her mother’s handwriting was so beautiful. The way she wrote ‘My Darling Dearest’ in the header amazed Violet. She glanced at the letter noticing that the first page was torn stained and there was no doubt in her mind that the rest of the pages were tear-stained as well. Violet smiled as she grazed the red ribbon that her mother used to tie her letter together with her fingers. She smiled. She got her ribbon obsession from her mother. She glanced down at the purple ribbon that she had tied to her wrist. 

She decided to tie up her hair before she began to read the letter. She tried her best to be prepared for whatever it was she was about to discover. Her curiosity was taking full control over her as she began to read. She turned page after page, hungry for more answers. The entire time she was admiring not only her mother’s handwriting but her writing skills. She realized right away that her mother was a lot like her father in one aspect when she wanted to be cryptic, she was vague and very confusing. There were parts of the letter where certain details were omitted entirely or things pertaining to VFD were vaguely mentioned. As her mother had explained in the letter, this was due to the fact that she wasn’t sure if the carrier crows who had the task of delivering this letter would be able to find her father. Which that part didn’t make much sense to Violet. Her father was on the run after her birth...wasn’t he? That’s how he ended up with Violet. Everything was alright until after her birth. But that timeline wasn’t making sense in correlation to the one provided by her mother in this letter. From what it sounded like, it sounded like Beatrice was still pregnant with Violet. She even mentions that she is nervous because this is her first pregnancy. Violet didn’t have any siblings, older or younger so she had a feeling this was talking about her mother’s pregnancy with her. Which made Violet think about the telegram. At first, Violet had thought that maybe that was a different pregnancy, but if there was a completely different timeline than maybe she was the baby being discussed in that. It would make sense. Because if her father and mother had any other children, wouldn’t they be with her and her father? A sad thought came to the forefront of Violet’s mind unless she didn’t want me but wanted the other baby. She frowned. She shook her head, trying to convince herself that that wasn’t the case at all. Her mother seemed super excited about her pregnancy, so why wouldn’t she keep Violet? 

All of a sudden a dark thought took hold of her mind. She wondered why her father wouldn’t tell her the correct timeline. Each time he spoke of the tragic events that led to Violet being in his custody, he always mentioned that it happened after Violet was born. That he and her mother parted ways after her birth. But in this letter, her mother is telling a different story. She didn’t know much about Beatrice’s character, so she didn’t know if she could believe everything out of her mouth, but unfortunately, she did know Lemony and she recently learned that her father was a chronic liar. But the question on Violet’s mind was why would he lie about the timeline of events? What was he hiding from her? There was only one reason that Violet could think of for her father lying about something like the timeline of events and she didn’t like the thought at all. She hated this thought. But can you blame her for thinking such a thing? When you don’t have much to go and you have to fit pieces into a puzzle, sometimes you end up with pieces in the incorrect spaces because you jump to conclusions or you force the piece into the spot. Violet wondered if her father kidnapped her after all. She knew that she was biologically related to Lemony, there was no doubt about that. But during separations, there are custody battles and sometimes when one parent does not like the outcome of the custody battle, they do something drastic like take the child and run. Even if the parent is related to the child, the authorities still consider this kidnapping. So could this be one of those cases right now? Her father was on the run and even presumed dead so maybe he couldn’t fight a custody battle or maybe he did but he lost because of his background. So in desperation, he kidnapped Violet taking her far from her mother. Sadly, it was in the realms of possibility. VFD does kidnap children. So they had probably trained both her parents on how to successfully kidnap a child without getting caught. 

Her heart sank. Or did he kidnap me to recruit me into VFD? She shook her head at that nonsense. If he wanted to recruit you, he wouldn’t be hiding all of this from you. She told herself. Unless he realized that recruiting her might reveal his deep dark secret...or he had a change of heart. Jacquelyn did mention that I should be a year into my apprenticeship. Violet shook her head fiercely. You’re driving yourself insane, Vi. Get a grip. He’s your father, he didn’t kidnap you. He has his reasons for being secretive and it’s not that...it can’t be that...can it? Violet was not entirely sure what to think anymore. Everything relating to her father and VFD was dark and cryptic. She couldn’t tell if she was completely on track or so far off that it’s laughable. 

The timeline that played out in the letter was driving her insane. She didn’t know what was true or not, because she didn’t know Beatrice personally. But as she continued to read on, she was slowly starting to dismiss the ugly custody battle theory because, throughout the letter, her mother is sweet and compassionate. If an ugly custody battle had ensued than wouldn’t she be bitter, spiteful, and petty? 

Violet also realized that there were several parts of the letter that seemed to be in codes. Different kinds of codes, it looked like. But these passages were scattered all around the letter. She only thought this because there were a few passages that her mother had underlined ‘ring’ even if it was in a larger word like ‘daring’ or ‘tampering’. She remembered that at the movies, she’d hear a faint ring and her father would lift the spyglass to his face until she heard another faint ring. Could this be the same code just written down? Were there different variations of this code and many others. She rubbed her temples in frustration. How confusing was this fucking cult? Is that how they got people to stay? Confuse the fuck out of them and pique their curiosity with questions that they desperately wanted answers to? That way they’d sink so far into the rabbit hole that they couldn’t escape because their thirst for understanding would just grow throughout the years because they refused to leave without every answer since they didn’t want to admit they wasted all that time, energy and resources on nothing. Maybe there was no way to find all the answers. Maybe some questions had no answer at all. Again, to keep their members around until they figured everything out. Honestly, Violet wouldn’t put it passed them. It was starting to feel just like that. Every single time she answered a question, five new questions formed and this was the case with this letter. 

She had taken a break from reading to glance at the door to make sure her father wasn’t on his way in. No way she was going to let him catch her now. She found the jackpot.  She took the time to go retrieve her commonplace book. In case she needed to write down further questions and answers. 

When she returned to the letter she began reading a passage about her mother spending some time developing a botanical hybrid. She wasn’t entirely sure what that meant but she knew she couldn’t ask her father to define those words. He’d ask too many questions. Questions she couldn’t answer because she wasn’t a skillful liar like him. There was a strange mention of an island, that she and the new man had stayed at. Violet assumed that the way that this was all worded that it was either a part of some code or maybe her mother was being vague about her vacation to keep her location a secret from anyone who intercepted this letter.

She was happy to see that she was able to find the questions that her father had answered in his letter. But she didn’t pay much attention to those because of what her eyes had caught. Her mother was vaguely explaining what happened one night when they both made a decision that changed their lives forever. She assumed that this would be more important than knowing if she was correct with her assumptions of the questions that her mother had asked her father. 

As she read her mother’s vague explanation, her heart dropped. She didn’t know the full implications but it seemed to her that her mother was expressing guilt about a ‘mission’ that VFD had ordered her parents and two other members to do. She sees her mother explaining that ‘ she knows that Jacques had advised them both to stop coming into contact with them because it will be dangerous for both of them…’ she tried to remember who Jacques was. She believed that was the name of her uncle. But she wasn’t sure, she had unfortunately never met any of her family outside of her father. She continued to read on rolling her eyes at her mother’s vagueness when writing. She understood her mother’s possible reasoning behind this, this letter was meant for one set of eyes and those were her father’s. No one should be reading this letter, so her mother can be as cryptic and vague as she wants as long as she made sure that Lemony fully understood her. She sighed. If her mother had sent this in a more normalized way and not carrier crows than maybe she wouldn’t have been super paranoid about it getting into the wrong hands. 

As she read on, she could see that her mother expressed great guilt about her involvement in VFD’s crooked plot and how she knew that Lemony had felt equally guilty if not more since he was the one who convinced the other three that they should go along with it. Violet’s curiosity was intensified, she desperately wanted to know what VFD had her parents do. Her mother described it as heinous and morally ambiguous. She even quoted Lemony saying that he once described it as ‘a wicked deed being done for a noble cause’ and that he had even asked himself ‘what choice do we have?’ Beatrice went into detail how she believed that if they had stayed together, she believed they would’ve worked out but feared that they would be a constant reminder of this mistake they both made. Beatrice also went into detail (although in Violet’s opinion, her mother was beginning to be too vague again), that she didn’t want her father to take the blame at all. She was willing to confess to her part of the crime. 

Violet shuddered at the word ‘crime’. What did they do that was so horrible? She asked. Did they kidnap some children? She wondered, again, going back to the fact that she had recently learned that the cult that her parents had fallen victim to, kidnaps children and forces them to ‘volunteer’. Then her eyes caught on to one single word that sent Violet’s mind and heart spiraling down for different reasons. Her mother had written the word ‘ murder’ . Violet closed her eyes as she allowed this to sink in. 

Now as I’m sure you know, there are two very popular definitions for the word ‘murder’. One definition is used less often than the other for obvious reasons. But I will tell you both anyway. ‘Murder’ a phrase which here means both a group of crows and the act of killing another human being. Obviously, when Beatrice Baudelaire had written the word ‘murder’, she was not talking about a group of crows. She was talking about the act of killing another human being. So as Violet read the vaguely worded sentence that contained that specific word over and over again, her mind went into a frenzy. 

Her father had always been on the run since she was young. Although, if the letter’s timeline was the correct timeline, he was on the run a little before she was born. But either way, he had been on the run for as long as she could remember. He had always explained to her that it was because of false accusations that The Daily Punctilio had written about him. She believed this because anyone with half a brain cell could tell you that The Daily Punctilio was the most unreliable newspaper you’ll ever find. I mean, do you see who is the editor and chief? Elenora Poe, Mr. Poe’s wife. It would make sense that incompetence was attracted to incompetence. But Violet was seeing a written confession from her mother, although it was vaguely worded, it implicated that the so-called lies printed about her father in the newspaper were actually true (well not entirely, he did take all the blame for this and he did have three accomplices). Violet thought she was going to be sick. She didn’t want to believe that her parents were murderers but here it was in her mother’s shaky handwriting. She rubbed her temples and sighed angrily. She wanted to understand more about this...about this particular piece of her parents' history. 

She wanted to see if her father was correct in his assumption that they had done a ‘wicked thing for a noble reason’. She wanted to understand what exactly transpired to cause this chain of events that ended up with her mother retracting her proposal acceptance. She wanted to understand the actual timeline of events because she had two different timelines that were both equally as confusing. She wanted to understand just how far her parents were in VFD’s mindset to see how brainwashed they were. She didn’t want to see either of her parents in such a dark light. She wanted to find a logical explanation for all of this. But unfortunately for her, as she finished reading her mother’s letter, taking notes here and there. Gaining more questions than answers, as per usual. She was left with her curiosity eating away at her brain. She was left with every dark and twisty thought that she had when she was reading the letter. She felt like she was almost ready to question her father. She wanted to wait just a little longer and see what she can find.

She realized that the sun was setting and her father wasn’t home yet but she didn’t want to risk it. She wiped her tears from her eyes as she placed her the letter back into her father’s briefcase. Closing it up and making sure it was locked. She now knew the combination so being able to reaccess it would be simple. 

She decided to wait for her father to arrive home, hoping that he was safe. Even if she found out some scary secret about him and her mother today, it didn’t change how she looked at them. Well, not entirely. She still wanted to meet her birth mother and she knew the man her father was. She knew murder was wrong, but she hoped that they had a good reason. It wouldn’t change what they’d done but it’d be easier for her to simply ignore their faults and continue on the way she always had. 

As she sat quietly watching the door, she did decide one thing. If VFD had ordered her brainwashed parents to murder someone than that was an ‘organization’ she wanted absolutely nothing to do with. Who knows what they’d force her to do and what happens when you refuse? Violet didn’t want to ponder that. Although, if VFD had threatened to kill her parents, she could understand why they chose to carry out those orders. Unfortunately, she may have to ask her father about that because nowhere in her mother’s letter was that even implied or maybe it was but it was in some secret code. But either way, Violet wasn’t going to get the answer to that specific question until she was ready to confront her father and who knows by that time, she may have more revelations to ask about. All Violet knew is that her head was spinning and she was sliding down further and further into the rabbit hole...but what choice did she have?

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Detroit: Become Human (2018) -Exploitative Sci-Fi for Gamers

The Following article contains major spoilers for Detroit: Become Human

Folk can’t quite believe DBH’s player base loves Markus by an 80% plus margin. It’s like Grey’s Anatomy doesn’t exist or something.

On some level, Quantic Dream’s video games following Beyond: Two Souls are going to be a mechanical refinement of their gameplay, and not much else. If the Ellen Page driven game demonstrated anything, it was that the studio’s creative head has an innate inability to learn from his mistakes and he’s got a fetish for particular narrative cues, and all of them revolve around violence, racism and shock value.

Detroit: Become Human shares a lot in common with Max Landis and David Ayer’s 2017 direct-to-Netflix film Bright. Both are allegorical tales that utilize the iconism, present and historical, of the Black community and their key movements as a backdrop for the oppressed fantasy caricatures of their tale. With Bright, Orcs were the Allegorical Black community of the here and now. 

With Become Human, Androids are representative of the Black community at various points in our people’s history. All of it is supported by the locale of Detroit, Michigan, a state with connections to the Underground Railroad (the game hits you with this trivia bit right off), Martin Luther King Jr., and anti-black violence that embroiled much of the United States when my parents were children.

Bright attempted (and failed) to re imagine some weird not-so-post-racial world where Tolkien-inspired aesthetics and archetypes were our history and influenced our present, with little changed about our factual history. Mankind is united in mutual hate of Orcs, and the motto “Black Lives Matter” continues to be a punchline to those unaffected by police brutality in a world where fairies are the equivalent of pests.

Become Human is yet another in the long line of over bright and sterile science fiction games that want to be Blade Runner, but doesn’t have the wherewithal to pull it off. And this is mostly because it’s too busy trying to shout “message!” For lack of a better word, Become Human gags itself with its own allusions despite some particularly interesting mechanics and sequences that exist within the ham-fisted racism narrative.

What is Become Human about?

The primary narrative of Detroit: Become Human is driven by the story of “Markus” (Jesse Williams), a specialized android, that, like most, runs the risk of triggering a dormant "virus” that simulates sentience in androids. He was gifted to old artist by the android creator (a man named Kamski). The beginning of his narrative sees him care for Carl (Lance Hendrickson), the old man in question. 

He gets kicked around by anti-robot protesters, and has to ride the back of the bus with other androids. After telegraphed prompts that tell you his mistreatment at the hands of Carl’s son, Leo, is not far, the virus triggers itself, Markus begins to act of his own accord. The end result, where he may or may or not kill Leo, or simply gets blamed for the death of Carl when he dies of a heart attack, leads to his being shot by the police.

After he’s practically destroyed, he reactivates and he pulls himself out of the mud Shawshank Redemption-style and finds an abandoned ship full of busted androids that were looking for a leader. Markus, not interested in hiding the shadows, more or less appoints himself in that position because he’s the only one with some kind of proactive goal: To end enslavement of androids everywhere.

The secondary narrative focuses on a service android named “Kara” (Valorie Curry), who was busted up by her owner - a man named Todd Williams (IIRC) - during an abusive fit against his daughter, Alice. After she’s repaired, Kara returns to his home and resumes caring for him and Alice and accidentally discovers that Alice is not a human child, but an android (apparently Todd’s wife left him for an accountant and took her daughter with her). She ignores it, and, under duress, gains sentence when she believes Todd is going to kill Alice while high on Red Ice (a hyped up version of Crack).

She runs away with Alice in the hopes of reaching the Underground Android Railroad to escape to Canada where there are no robot laws, and encounters a fairly large (Black) Android named Luther, who decides he’ll do anything to protect them from harm.

The third narrative is that of “Connor” (Bryan Dechart), an android type, designed specifically for police investigations. Connor is sent to work with a grouchy old detective named Hank Anderson (Clancy Brown), who hates androids (because reasons) and doesn’t want to be bothered Connor’s overly stiff behavior and awkward attempts to get to know him. 

Connor and Hank effectively run behind the likes of Markus and Kara, their narratives intersecting every now and again (until the end of the game), trying to figure out why Androids keep going homicidal and killing human beings.

While Markus’ plot drives the surface narrative, not unlike Bioshock Infinite, behind the scenes, the plot of Become Human involves a faceless corporation named CyberLife. From how I understood it, CyberLife, with the sole living monopoly on android creation, is looking to create an artificial conflict between humans and androids by using a virus that simulates sentience in machines that causes them to rebel against their owners.

When enough chaos is created, CyberLife would keep up the facade of an issue and supplant their man-made rebellion against humans using android (Connor) with no real “free will” of its own. It’s about as sci-fi as you can get and probably should’ve been the focus of the narrative from the jump.

Characters in Become Human;

I can’t wait to see white-face Android cosplay at this year’s conventions :D

Out the three playable characters that the player can control, the androids Kara and Connor have narratives that are focused more on the “personal” than the Frankenstein politics of the game that Markus represents. Performance wise, of the three characters, Valorie Curry and Jesse Williams give an ideal “robotic” performance that feels natural to their characters respective roles. 

Of the characters within Markus’ narrative, Josh and Simon are probably easiest to become endeared to. They have opposing opinions on how to handle their rebellion, but they’re not rivals. They have the strongest rapport with Markus, but the game barely gives either any screentime so they’re effectively minor characters that get wasted for some arbitrary “Josh and Simon will remember that” nonsense.

She’s like that guy from Two Souls who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer

Carl is an obnoxious “nice old man” type that’s supposed to represent the best of humanity, but given the context of the world, he’s willfully ignorant to the climate that game itself ignores, and his interactions with Markus are uncomfortable to watch. The narrative pushes the android North (Minka Kelly) at the forefront of the Markus’ narrative (at the expense of his relationships with Josh and Simon), and she is the least interesting character out of the bunch that gets face time with Markus. She simply exists to say “Hey, Markus, choose violence” and instantly be promoted to lover. Simon and Joshua are right there, my mans.

Markus himself is a frustrating character for me, because (aside from my scruples with his actor) he is so representative of a white writer’s ideal Black character. It’s hard to even root for the character beyond the general principal. His arc stokes a kind of anger in me like nothing else. And the other part of me simply cannot wrap her head around Jesse Williams (a former public school teacher, with more than a little knowledge on racism) just signing off on this nonsense that effectively makes the character what he is. But, this wouldn’t be the first time a Black actor made questionable career choices.

With Kara, what keeps her narrative engaging are her interactions with Luther, Alice, and her denial that Alice isn’t a machine, but a human girl. But, Kara’s disadvantage is that she is a female character created by David Cage, so he spells out to the audience what he thinks she is: A motherbot to a childbot, that’s her entire role.

Why can’t we be friends?

Her desire, her want to save Alice from Todd isn’t Kara being concerned about someone who’d be under her care, someone who has to rely on her for help given her age. Instead it’s treated like the path to motherhood as opposed to a friendship. It’s like watching a version of Ripley and Newt’s relationship in Aliens where the reason for Ripley and Newt eventually regarding themselves as mother and daughter (their shared loss) doesn’t exist. Even the guy who assaults Kara and (potentially) wipes her memory assigns motherhood to her concern for Alice and it’s like, “well, that’s a bit fucking presumptuous of you, mate”.It’s really gross.

And in that sense, Alice isn’t a character; she’s a narrative tool to further exemplify Cage’s odd fixation this particular aspect of femininity. The performance of the actors sells the relationship quite well, about as well as Ellen Page sells the suicidal agony of her character Jodie Holmes in Two Souls, but the sudden promotion to “mother and child” is unearned and artificial.

The attention to detail that goes into Connor’s narrative, the choice of whether or not the player will allow the virus to trigger sentience, or go full on Robocop and fulfill the desire of CyberLife to the letter, is not the kind of detail you see in Kara and Markus’ tale. His narrative is primarily driven by the pseudo-paternal relationship he ends up forming with Clancy Brown’s Hank Anderson, who mourns the death of his son (insert “Jason!” joke here), but for reasons completely unrelated to his hatred of androids (he admits that much in the climax). 

Every time the game puts Hank in danger, you’re given the choice of perusing the mission or risking a 40-80% chance of survival doesn’t mean the game will fuck you over and kill the Kurgan. I’m gonna assume everyone dove over their coffee tables to save Mr. Krabs and hung the mission.

Clancy has really round eyes, and I’m just noticing that for the 1st time

The he arc is as engaging as it is because of Clancy Brown’s performance. Dechart tries, he’s got a great rapport with Brown (unquestionably), but his limits are obvious. He often sounds like he’s putting on an act, something you shouldn’t be thinking of during an actor’s performance, and that can be distracting (I’m sure the direction doesn’t help either). I wouldn’t be surprised if that some point Quantic Dream was debating over whether or not this would be a game focused solely on Kara or Connor. Markus feels like something that was jammed into the game at the last minute to satisfy Cage’s celebrity itch and ideas of being progressive. That’s something I’ve always thought since they debuted the character back in E3 2017 (IIRC).

Out of all the human characters in the game, Clancy Brown’s Hank Anderson is the only one that feels like a person and not a plot device. Sure, he’s wrapped in all the trappings of a generic loner cop who hates partners (insert Buddy Cop Reference Here), but Clancy Brown manages to make an otherwise dull character work. On the flip-side, the generic asshole cop is such a walking stereotype there’s nothing genuine about his interactions with anyone.

He’s just there to reinforce the fantasy prejudices of the game and harp on and on about “them robots are gonna take our jobs”. Like, he didn’t need to exist because he does not contribute to the plot. The all too comical way he says “Fuck” (like he’s sneezing or some shit) – in a poor attempt to emulate the frustrations we often see in procedural dramas or action films when a standoff occurs – only further highlights how much of a caricature he is. This nigga can’t “bad cop” to save his life.

There aren’t a lot of characters to write home about in Become Human, or if there is I keep forgetting all about them and I can’t be arsed to recall them. Most of them are inconsequential and disappear after a single level appearance. If I’m being honest, I don’t hate the characters in Become Human (not most of them), so much as I loathe what some represent.

The Mechanics of Become Human;

Next Level Detective Vision(TM)

Become Human’s strength lies in being what I think is a fairly solid attempt at broadening the multiple choice system Adventure Games are otherwise derided for by individuals with a limited idea on what constitutes as a video game. It’s clear that Quantic Dream has taken cues from the likes of Dontnod Entertainment and Supermassive Games’ Life Is Strange and Until Dawn. Both are studios (with writers) managed to create a pair of fairly compelling adventure games, with wildly different takes on the multiple-choice system that’ll probably be remembered better in the positive than most, Quantic Dream included.

There are a number of outcomes that can happen within the game, depending on your actions. Some things change completely, other times it feels like a lot of its surface detail meant to wow you the first time. There’s usually only one conclusion to a level. For instance, even if Connor investigates the ruined house that Alice and Kara are hiding in, the end state is always going to be Kara and Alice escaping, no question about it. Markus always ends up getting shot and torn apart. Whether or not you decide to attack Leo doesn’t change his end state.

From my understanding there are multiple endings a player can get based on what the game decides are “morally wrong” decisions. Connor killing Androids for example, may always lead him down to a path of deactivation if you choose to fulfill your mission to the letter. Some, if not most of the central player characters and their cast can die. Hell, Markus can apparently just peace out of being the leader of the farcical android rebellion and North will take over in his place (that cracks me up). And one the more extreme options is to nuke Detroit to run the humans out of town. Whether or not it’ll make sense is another matter entirely.

Depending on the length of the levels, there are a number of things you can investigate and locate with the help of detective vision. Most of it really doesn’t inform the world in any meaningful way, a lot of it is collectibles for the sake of collectibles that never carry any consequence into the game (and the one item that does, is hidden and used as a moralizing plot twist that reeks of Cage brownnosing). The rest actually effects what you can say to characters.

The more details you find and learn about, the longer your multiple choice dialog lists becomes for certain characters. The problem, like with most multiple choice prompts, is that single words defining the response often lead to “oh, wait, shit, I didn’t mean that!” Because Cage clearly had different ideas about what “determined” and “uncertain” meant.

Jesse Williams??? In my junkyard???

If you’ve played a Quantic Dream game, then you know the deal mechanically. Motion Controls and Quick Time Events that more or less act like a fast forward button on a cinematic. Things you’d otherwise be able to do with basic button inputs, or a push of the analog stick, without any sort’ve guide, are rigged to Quick Time Events and motion controls. Want Marcus to stand up? Well you gotta wiggle that control and press and hold down numerous buttons before the cinematic decides to allow him to stand up. 

It’s basically Telltale mechanics, which isn’t bad per say, but I like being able to stand up without playing Twister. The most freedom you get as a player is being allowed to walk around – to some degree – at your leisure (unless you’re being time attacked) and just take in the environment and click on stuff. In some instances, if you take too long, the game jumps to the next cinematic and that’s that.

Respectively, Connor and Markus are the only two out of the three androids that can create or recreate scenarios of through the study of their environment or certain objects. Markus can deduce whether or not he can make certain jumps or defenses against attacks. Connor can more or less do the same, but his mechanic is structured around picking up objects in crime scene and recreating a simulation of how events may have happened. 

Kara lets her Otaku flag fly

Compare all of that to Kara, who can just change the color of her hair from blonde, black, brown and white. Her whole character seems built around her pixie hair cut and to that degree, the banality of her attractiveness (and remembering the creepy as fuck tech demo this game spawned from reinforces that). Yet, Connor and Markus can be both “attractive” and “functional”.

Philip Sheppard, Nima Fakhrara, and John Paesano compose what I think might be the best score from a Quantic Dream game I’ve heard after Beyond: Two Souls (which had Lorne Balfe and Hans Zimmer as its composers). It clearly apes the Vangelis aesthetic in a lot of places (namely Connor’s segments), but each character has a unique theme that either gets integrated into myriad of moods the music can adopt, or plays straight in a lot of sequences. It works pretty well as background noise, separate from the game.

All this scene needed was a saxophone

Another strong element in Become Human, outside of its narrative tree design, is the game’s environmental design. Become Human takes what are apparent cues from Dontnod Entertainment’s Remember Me, which imagined a futuristic Neo-Paris with a far more grounded approach than something like the direct-to-Netflix film Mute or even Blade Runner 2049, which is all lights, holograms, smog, and high-rise buildings. Become Human is chuck-full of nighttime shots, and rainy environments. There are still remnants of the old Detroit, but its slowly being dominated by the future that shouldn’t be able to sustain itself with a 40% unemployment rate, but go off Quantic Dream.

If you’re the type who’s easily wooed by high definition graphics (which isn’t something to write home about anymore. It’s done capped itself), especially with all the hub-bub going around about 4K RESOLUTION AND 4K SCREENS, then Become Human won’t have to do much to impress, just hit you with a lens flare.

With regard to cinematography and choreography, when Become Human is good, it’s good. Two of the strongest sequences in the game are the dead end story thread where Connor and Hank go checking into a bird infested apartment occupied by a runaway android, and the entire attack on the Jericho. Connor’s pursuit sequence is, for the most part, is pretty well directed, and it’s what I look forward play in a game like this. But, its also where the QTEs hindrance comes into play far more often. It’s not the kind of scene that needed anything except the prompts telling which way was safer and which way was quicker.

The Jericho siege is a fast paced implementation of the character perspective switch (that began slowly in earlier parts of the level) that works to keep varying levels of stress pressed upon the player. You’re encouraged to hide as Kara (she ain’t shit in a fight) and the game tries its damnedest to kill Luther (<_<), Markus has to save everyone he can (top priorities: Josh and Simon) and suddenly gains the ability to Keanu Reeves just about everyone in his path; Connor, from I can recollect, is more background support for Markus and gets shot if you try to save North (<_<). It’s cinematic when it counts and interactive where it matters.

Those are the two stand out sequences. The rest of the action in the game is more reflective of the awkward “which Connor is the real Connor?” fight scene which is just clumsily shot and broken to hell with QTEs (to say nothing of how botched the “tell me something only the REAL Connor would know” scene was).

Questionable Worldbuilding

Kamski, David Cage’s self insert.

There’s a certain level of suspension of disbelief required when it comes to science fiction. Unless you’re an author like Michael Crichton (who lived and died by the amount of [academic] research he put into his stories, or borrowed from his own experiences) science fiction – moreso than fantasy –, especially dystopic science fiction, is always gonna be amalgamation of fact and some nonsense an author threw at the wall.

But the mark of a good writer is usually the one who has you thinking about the ideas presented in the narrative, not what you as an audience member would’ve done to fix the narrative’s persisting problems. In this case, Michael Crichton is the former. David Cage is the latter.

The world in Become Human doesn’t feel lived in. There’s no real explanation as to how the world in the game got to where it is, and its obsession with “World War 3″ is a lazy dab into politics. There are places and circumstances that fit each situation in the narrative, but on a whole, it doesn’t feel like a place that could actually exist like Middle Earth, or even the Earth of Harry Potter, which blends the “wizarding world” and the “muggle world” together quite well without creating a grievous dissonance in the narrative. It’s a collection of sets characters are strolling through.

Cage lifts strife and topical issues from the past and present to build his world, but utterly fails to understand the context and environmental circumstances that informs what are issues steeped in anti-blackness and white supremacy. He’s not unlike Zack Snyder, who is so preoccupied with how “cool” a scene in his movie looks, there’s never anything of substance in the final product. The depth of his understanding of racism, mass deportation, and antisemitism is that it’s “bad” and not much else.

For instance, there’s little explanation as to why Canada has no Robot Laws (not one I found), or why ‘sentient’ Androids would even assume why they’d be safe there and not sent right back to the United States. Another head scratcher is a law only recently required androids wear signifies that they were machines, when uncanny valley still seems to be a hugely noticeable problem (at least when the plot requires it).

There’s the usual Cage mumbo-jumbo of a messiah figure come to rescue his characters from strife (RA-9, the androids call ‘em), but given that the game constantly implies that “Deviancy” was not a widespread or common thing until recently, the attempt at creating a “folk hero” character for the Androids make little sense given the story fails to properly set up its protagonists conflict. Its ever only brought up in a explanation manner and dropped shortly thereafter. it’s untrimmed fat for the investigative bits of Connor’s gameplay passed off in a move to make the world seem more lived in than it is.

You can’t afford a job, you can definitely afford to oppress a android

The big talking point that many believe punches holes in the narrative is how the implementation of Androids have impacted humans socially and financially. Become Human presents itself as a pseudo-futuristic world (set in Detroit, Michigan) of 2038 (twenty years from now) where Androids cost the equivalent of what some folk I know think an Apple or Google Android cellphone might twenty years from now (it’s like $8k or something?). Even if you’re hard up for cash or living hand-to-mouth with a drug habit, you can afford an android somehow.

Androids are allowed to participate in sports despite the general danger to human life that poses, but no one really comments on that (you only know about it because of a collectible) in the game. Not a single person of color took issue with the fact that a rich white man created androids that looked like people in their community, and effectively built them for nothing except labor, sex bot fun times, and absolute servitude.

Androids have also become so prevalent as the labor or work force, that 40% or more of the American population (I guess??? It’s unclear) is out of work. And In which case, old man Carl, sitting financially secure up in his mansion with an android, is the personification of a rich man out of touch, but having the gall to look down on the protesting poor (which is not how the narrative frames in the least).

Reasonably, this should mean the economy is in a bad way on some level. Yet, the states is somehow stable enough to maintain pristine streets, glossy stores and a thriving economy, despite most people being too broke, poor, or out of work to actually support it.

Capitalism has gouged a hole so badly into United States, it shouldn’t be able support itself the way the game presents, and this is based on just how utterly messed up the general landscape of unemployment in the Great Depression was at a mere 25% (15 million unemployed) as most people keep bringing up. And that was following a market crash that’s often used as barometer against the 2008 market crash. Our current unemployment rate is apparently  3.8% and the US has more problems than it can manage.

You’d think the world would actually look like something out of Days of Future Past or Judge Dredd, or maybe even mimic what was documented during the actual Depression (a little less extreme than the above). But, no, not really. Folk aren’t rioting in the streets, being suppressed by the police, aren’t demanding something be done a corporation that put them in a bind, or trying to overthrow the government for fucking them over the financial hole with machines. (Or at the very least leading the rich to the guillotines.)

No, most (even people who aren’t financially well off) still live relatively comfortable lives, maybe a few of them are homeless because of the android situation, but for the most part nothing seems to have really changed. And thinking about that just rather leads you down a rabbit hole of, “okay, well, how different is the economy from our reality that this can happen and the world is functioning as it were the 21st Century present?”

The future ain’t no promised land...

The game also wants to make a big to do about there being a white female president (more brownnosing from Cage), but the most you ever learn about this character is in a collectible and she simply exists to appear at the end of the game’s “good” or “bad” endings then disappears. And for the most part, considering he’s not exactly preoccupied with how politics plays into capitalism, what is so progressive about a white female president who isn’t all that bothered by the fact androids have put most of the people who probably voted for her out of work, and doesn’t lift a finger until androids start going homicidal? She not getting reelected.

The “humans are racist against androids” spiel falls further apart you realize that Cage wants to draw a parallel to a couple people with signs and the homeless, to the literal white supremacists of [middle] America that voted Donald Trump into office on the promise that he would deport and exile immigrants that “took American jobs” from the hard working racists of the United States. He wants people to believe that, when he’s created a circumstance where people would be rightfully pissed that they’ve been replaced by machines (who aren’t immigrants, let alone prisoners in Nazi Germany) and have no financial means. But, emotions, y’all, machines are people too.

Mankind in Become Human is united by their mutual racism against robots. So much so, that the habit of referring to machines with gendered pronouns or pet names is a thing of the past. Male or female coded androids are just “it”, not “they”, “she” or “he”. Racism is apparently a thing of the past. Sure, Rose (Harriet Tubman reborn) makes a reference to historical racism, and Markus bleats, “human have been killing each other over skin color and god for eons” (as though this is supposed to distance the android narrative from the allegory Cage wrapped his game around), but for all intents and purposes, you never see this this exemplified in the game that isn’t an [un]conscious display of Cage’s racism.

Like most allegorical worlds, Cage’s world is so preoccupied with creating this victim paradigm with robots, that it appears post racial to the point where the only problem that exists is basically “goddamn, I really hate those robots taking our jobs”.

For Tracy, Blue Hair Tracy is the Warmest Android

Hell, Homophobia’s not even a problem, because two female robots with the same face can basically declare their love and the only thing unusual about it is “Robots in love? I can’t comprehend that!” So, the one thing that needs to be Kumbya’ed into the past is anti-android sentiment and thanks to the multiple choice system in the game, you can either eradicate android resistance, or create a world they might sorta kinda be free (or at least the lead characters can).

For all the bluster about humans not seeing robots as individuals, they protest against and treat the androids like they’re individuals, as opposed to protesting against them as symptom created by a company that exacerbates their problem.

Appropriating Specific Pains For Entertainment

A Black Cop faces Androids mimicking Hands up, Don’t Shoot

The internet was a big part of why so many Black voices have been heard in the wake of what has always been a commonplace thing – the violent and needless deaths of people within the Black community, man, woman, child and infant. The period between reports on the exoneration of the police officer who murdered six year old Aiyana Stanley-Jones in 2010, and the murder of Trayvon Martin in 2012 seems long enough that, if you simply weren’t paying attention, you’d never consider it an epidemic like we do now.

But the deaths of Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice in 2014 and Sandra Bland and Freddie Gray in 2015 all seemed to bring an end to that. The less than graceful handling of the issues by the white media made it impossible to ignore how the damaging effects of the frequency of Black death were, created Post Traumatic Stress in the Black Community.

David Cage, in perhaps one the more naked displays of ignorance, decides it’s a good idea to use the imagery of the Black Power fist to represent oppressed machines wearing human faces. He decides the plight of the androids, who protest in the same fashion Black Americans did in Ferguson, Missouri, New York City, and Baltimore City, their hands up and marching through the streets, is a comparable to demanding the end of state sanctioned police brutality. He decides, the comparison of machines who suddenly gain sentience for little to no reason other than their creators manufacturing a fake rebellion for shits and giggles, to Black lives demanding that people stop killing them, are comparable situations.

She can’t quite believe the tagline she comes with

Throwing them in the back of the bus, slapping them with iconism that draws allusion to the Jewish Holocaust (which gets worse with a bad ending and references of Androids herded into camps for destruction), parking them in place like bikes, and putting them on display in stores (like slaves being auctioned off) is sensationalism mean to pull at the heartstrings – and it’ll definitely get you feeling some kind of way, that’s for sure.

I think the one thing that truly made me ill was reading subtitled off-screen dialog near the end of the game say, “Androids were being hanged all along Woodward Avenue.” It repeated in my head like an ugly mantra and I kept having to pause so as not to throw fit. The levels of irresponsibility that you have to cradle yourself in to think it’s remotely okay to invoke mass lynching imagery...

Dehumanization of enslaved Africans, whom white people regard as sub-human is not remotely comparable to androids meant to stage a manufactured rebellion by a faceless corporation headed by a deviant Black woman playing Hal-9000.

It’s a bad look and doubly insulting to just co-op the history of the Underground Railroad, which is another anvil on the audience’s head just in case the last couple weren’t quite enough for you to get the message.

And the way Markus and eventually every robot “frees” itself from “slavery” merely makes them look robots under the control of a hive-mind. They fall in line without question. They’re not acting as individuals, who’d have wildly different reactions and desires to any given situation. They literally act like the robots in I, Robot under the control of overlord A.I. that decided humans couldn’t be trusted not to kill themselves.

Anti-Blackness, Sexism, and David Cage

Yeah, I got nothing...

David Cage and his long romantic affair with anti-Blackness and sexism is one that is otherwise well documented, but largely ignored by the gaming community who still think addressing racism perpetuates racism and saying “SJW” indentures them with any remote credibility. To say nothing of the white liberals who’ve showered the game with praise because they’re convinced this is a profound take on the oppression narrative..

It’s unquestionable that David Cage is fixated on inserting violence done marginalized groups in his stories. He is incapable of handling the issue with maturity. And the news that his company reflects those same toxic ideas has spread long and loud enough that trying to pretend either is not a problem in this day and age in the name of “not ruining fandom’s fun” is stiflingly ignorant.

Sex workers/sex bots (all androids now) are brutally murdered and raped for not much else beyond the furthered narrative of characters like Markus and Connor. North only admits to being sexually assaulted so Cage can set up her as a lover for Markus, regardless of the player’s potential disinterest in romancing or interacting with the character. North doesn’t exist for much else besides being a prop for Markus and Cage exemplifying M/F relationships are compulsory in his universe.

Lesbians are used merely as a barometer for Connor’s morality, and are so ham-fistedly stuffed into the game (with awkward zoom-ins on their clasped hands, not once, but twice), that you can hear Cage patting himself on the back for even daring to think about two women in love on such a shallow level. They have no character or personality beyond that.

Child abuse and the abuse featured in the game feels jammed into a narrative that also wants you to sympathize with Alice’s father (Todd) because he immediately apologizes for being shitty. It’s also another excuse for David Cage to write a male character calling a female character a “bitch”, which is a reoccurring theme in all his games. Kara is constantly threatened harm by men and put situations where she barely escapes danger (or doesn’t) in ways that Markus and Connor aren’t. This is all meant to endear the audience to her relationship with Alice and her tenacity.

Kara and Alice ain’t even safe from the noble hobo androids

If you decide to go toe-to-toe with Todd to save Alice as Kara, Kara doesn’t get to throw Todd through a wall or even get the better of him with super android strength. She gets strangled, punched, and tossed about as though she weren’t an android but a normal human being. It’s like realizing that Jodie Holmes (Beyond Two Souls) isn’t Carrie, but is completely dependent on a ghost to protect her from sexual assault or danger in general. It’s the anti-thesis of the scene in Ex Machina where Ava (an android with a lightweight frame design) gets the advantage over Nathan. Kara and Alice barely escape with their lives.

It just comes off like cheap exploitation for the sake of making your female character suffer and it’s such a cartoon-ish portrayal of assault and child abuse. The scene wherein Kara is tied up and potentially stripped of her memory is mirrors the scene wherein the reporter in Heavy Rain is tied up and attacked by a serial killer who wants who to saw her in half and assault her.

Things get progressively worse when you start to consider how Black characters outside of Jesse Williams are utilized. The majority of Black characters represented in the game are supporting or minor characters. They run the gambit of David Cage’s greatest hits: “Scary Black Man”, the “Black Gentle Giant”, and the “Black Sidekick” who aids and furthers the narrative of his white or acceptably Black friends. Become Human also expands to respectability politics, colorism, and violence taken to new heights.

Stop_racism.png? I don’t think that’s in my programming, Carl...

Like I mentioned before, Jesse William’s Markus drives the entire narrative of Become Human. Outside of the inciting incident (the rogue android threatening to kill the child that looks a lot like Alice), nothing officially progresses until Markus becomes sentient. He is the hero of the story. As the only android taking proactive steps to rebel against the farcical android racism and slavery, the narrative dictates which decisions Markus makes are inherently “positive” and “negative”. It’s within Markus’ narrative that David Cage demonstrates that he’s just like every other white person when they observe Black communities dealing with police brutality and dehumanization.

While Become Human uses Minka Kelly’s North to badger Markus to rebel against humans with violence, even when you reject her ideas, the narrative doesn’t approach her point of view with anything other condemnation. Retaliation is never treated like it’s just as valid as pacifism (to say nothing of how they actually portray that retaliation as just mindless violence, which misunderstands the context how a city ends up catching fire).

If you agree with her and decide to avenge fallen androids, and protect the ones that are alive from immediate danger using retaliation tactics (or violence), the narrative condemns you for doing so. Markus’ punishment for not “turning the cheek” is typically death at the hands of Connor, a white character whose narrative seems to have more end-state possibilities than probably even Kara. Become Human prioritizes “peaceful protests”, but in a manner that feels lined with disingenuous intent. Quite literally not acting against your aggressors in any way is the right (and only) way to do things.

We’ve reached maximum levels of representation in media, fam

To compound the utter rot of the allegory, Jesse Williams’ Markus removes his skin (in his words “one planet, two races” lmao) and regardless of the tone you choose (”peaceful” or “determined” for example), the player is prompted with a number dialog options that include “end slavery”, “equal rights”, and a whole bunch of other things are an explicit tie in to Black History. And, unfortunately for Markus, these kinds of prompts, which includes protesting Androids singing to win the favor of humanity, continue to pop up in his dialog tree like pesky blackheads.

The constant reminders that “violence is not the answer” invokes non-Black voices saying “if you weren’t violent, you wouldn’t have been attacked by the police”. The narrative’s attitude is verbatim the kind of inanity I see posited online by spectators with no grasp on situations where Black Americans experienced violence. It even comes up in discussions about Black rebellions during the enslavement era. That’s Become Human’s narrative in a nutshell.

Jesse Williams’ position as the figurehead character in the narrative juxtaposed darker skinned characters, which all play support roles, is a continuation of the media’s reinforcement of the kind of Black character or person that is acceptable for mainstream media. He’s Black enough that he can represent Cage’s borked narrative, but “ambiguously brown” enough that he won’t raise heckles.

Weird how this game don’t let you romance folk you WANT to be around...

Most of the Black characters in the game are androids, most of them have dark skin, and most them amount to background dressing. They’re about on the same level as Kadeem Hardison’s character in Beyond: Two Souls. They act and sound like everyday people, but they’re still representatives of Cage’s awful narrative. For instance, there’s a linebacker of a Black android named Luther and he is the embodiment of the kind of Black man David Cage is clearly terrified of.

Originally, he was an introduction to Cage’s game during E3 2016-2017 even as some Negro spiritual singer. In the game, he’s nothing much other than a supporting character in Kara’s narrative that can die or be blocked from the continuation of the narrative pretty easily (unlike Hank, who is rather glued to your behind up until a certain point).

Instead of being some cartoonish violent thug (see: Heavy Rain), his whole directive in the narrative is to protect Kara and Alice, and not much else. He has no arc of his own and is practically itching to die for them. Characters shrink away from him in fear whenever they see him because of his size, and the entire level wherein Alice and Kara are threatened by the mad creator, uses Luther like a sentinel with the intent to harm the white characters.

Cage’s visual use of the “[Gentle] Black Giant” as a means of highlighting Kara and Alice’s literal white fragility is as bad embodies literally everything I hate about how white people regard and treat Black masculinity in their media.

I appreciate these character models. Rescue them from Cage’s asset files

There are three Black women in the game with speaking lines. Two androids, one human woman. All of them are helpers for white characters or Markus, regardless of their moral alignment. The overarching villain of the game is unquestionably is Black android named Amanda (at least I think she’s an android). She’s a facsimile of the teacher who taught Kamski, creator of the androids, what he knows. She more or less plays the “guide” to Connor (in the sense that her advice is identified in the wrong) and pretends that she wants to see an end to the rebelling androids before CyberLife loses any more credibility with the public (who are scratching their heads over machines declaring “I am alive”).

The human is a Harriet Tubman analog (Rose), who embodies the downtrodden Black mother raising the difficult Black son (Adam) whose father is absent (he died). Adam doesn’t want any part of saving androids, Rose seems to think she’s beholden to help them. From a visual stand point, Rose is probably the best looking fat character model I’ve ever seen in a game. Within the narrative, she exists for little else than to fortify the “Android Slavery = Black American Enslavement” allegory hill that Cage wants to die on. She tries to help Kara, Alice, and Luther to get across the border to Canada not once, but twice.

The last is a damaged android named Lucy. She exists solely so she can tell Markus “your choices have consequences” in a scene makes her look physic when she holds his hand. It was just like the ostentatious declaration from the menu-screen girl (Chloe), “Remember, this isn’t just a story. This is our future”.  And even you know androids share information through physical contact, it’s clear that Cage modeled her as the wise mystical Black woman because reasons. And the role repeats itself when she confronts Connor about being “lost” and then dies in Markus arms saying “save our people Markus”.

This scene was hard to watch, honestly...

Whenever Cage wants to demonstrate the “inhumane treatment” of androids, by in large Black androids are the biggest examples. Luther has his memory wiped by the mad creator who Frankenstiens androids together and is effectively a mindless slave until he sees Alice. One android (pictured above) is tortured (cigarette burns put out on his arm and the like) to the point of a going rogue and ends up murdering his owner. 

To add insult to injury, the player (as Connor) is given no choice but to increase the Black android’s stress level to get him to confess (like how policemen pressure Black prisoners into acting against their self-preservation). This later drives the android to shoot himself (and maybe Connor if you tell him to stop trying to commit suicide) in the head. When Connor attempts to grill three identical Black androids for information about Markus’ whereabouts, he goes full cop on them and tortures them. He ends up getting his guts ripped out immediately afterward (but if you succeed in fixing him, he gets to shoot the android dead with extreme prejudice.)

Lucy, the android that helps Markus, was tortured and disfigured: Her head torn open, wires hanging out, and false skin unstable. Markus himself is actively punished by the narrative for being anything other than “peaceful” and “non-violent”, to say nothing of the physical violence that’s visited upon him from the jump (being kicked around and being shot, then torn apart).

David Cage’s exhibitionism with his Black characters works well enough that it gets a rise out of you, but it’s the same old exploitation of Black pain for entertainment purposes. It more or less demonstrates why white authors writing allegorical tales of fantasic racism, usually end up perpetuating it. Markus is David Cage’s cipher for tackling a story about racism, acting out racism, all without actually dealing with racism in a legitimate manner. (I’m of the opinion that, if you’re white, you don’t have the ability to anyway.)

I can’t imagine what this game would’ve been like without the mess, lmao

Markus bears the burden of pretty much everything that’s wrong with this damn game with regard to how it uses allegory to build its fantasy oppression. As the catalyst, he’s not only the respectable Black character (fair-skinned, “non-violent”, “well spoken”), he’s also represents the whole of the slavery allegory through his relationship with Carl. Carl’s character so obviously represents “the good slave master” (masquerading as the “father figure”) that not only educates Markus on self-realization, but demonstrates to Markus that “not all humans” (read: white people) “are bad”.

I’d argue that if you exercised the racism allegory and Markus from the game, you might actually have, not a good game, but a game about two white androids on two ends of Cage’s undercooked attempt to wax poetic about sentient robots. But, the other Black characters like Luther, Josh, and Lucy exist, and also shoulder the burden of the writer’s ignorance, so there would be no point.

Bad Allegory is Bad Allegory;

It’s a pretty looking game, with some nice moments. Not much else...

Anti-Black racism is not something (most) non-Black audiences can reasonably identify as negative for the community it happens to. When it occurs, spectators view it through the media as something that was brought on by the victim – and otherwise rightfully earned. Speaking of your experiences with anti-Blackness makes them feel doubly comfortable to say “well, I’ve never seen that happen” and insinuate that you’re lying about your traumas or microaggressions experienced.

Through the lens of speculative fiction (chiefly science fiction), the utilization of anti-Blackness as a foundation for any imaginary oppression conjured by the author, once completely removed from the Black experience, becomes a digestible and even sympathetic narrative. A commodification if you will.

There’s no talk of “both sides are wrong” and “well, they brought it on themselves”. Fictionalized marginalization often creates a white creator’s ideal victim, one their hearts can bleed for and live vicariously through, because the victims aren’t just Black, they’re also white.

Allegorical racism often ends up creating equations that consciously or unconsciously say that Black people are violent or dangerous in some way, and the fear of Black people is justified. It perpetuates the myth of the Black superhuman. The biggest example of this? Stan Lee and Jack Kirby’s X-Men unthinkingly equates discrimination of superhumans with incredibly deadly powers to the discrimination of Black people. That narrative allows a certain justification to hating mutants because some have abilities that can outright kill people who enter their breathing space, something Black folks, who are discriminated against without quarter or reason, can’t do.

Quantic Dream’s Detroit: Become Human shares all the same problems of every other speculative fiction narrative that uses allegorical racism as a backdrop. While something like Netflix‘s Bright lambasted by common sense, the gaming landscape has yet to develop strong enough set of tools that prevents games like this and Bioshock Infinite from being hailed as “daring masterpieces” for failing to properly handle the subject of race-by-another-name.

To further illustrate the brokenness of his tone deaf narrative, David Cage wants to be able to say “his game isn’t about racism” (or sexism) at the same time he admits to saying the current racial tensions in America definitely influenced him during the development of Become Human. You can’t have it both ways, nigga, pick a lane.

Detroit: Become Human is the neighbor of Bioshock Infinite. But where the latter is naked about its prejudices, Become Human takes the Crash approach (and we know how most people reacted to Crash before the honeymoon period ended). Racism is rarely handled in video games. So, the bar is so low, that merely daring to use the imagery of violence toward Black bodies, but not in any way that doesn’t make a caricature of the history, stirs something in the unaffected. I expect, like Infinite, half of a decade will need to pass before the feedback-loop from dualshock ends and think critical essays start popping up (I won’t hold my breath tho). There are people calling a duck a duck, but they’re largely ignored.

I could literally recommend anything else that handles the issue of sentient machines better than Become Human without the hamfisted racism allegory. The Terminator 2, Ghost in the Shell, The Big O, Outlaw Star, Alex Garland’s Ex-Machina, or even Alex Proyas’ loose adaptation of Isaac Asimov’s I, Robot.

If you wanted to see how androids and the advancement of technology play into the role of capitalism damaging the quality of life, Dontnod Entertainment’s Remember Me handles the subject better than Quantic Dream does by miles. Frictional Game’s survival-horror game Soma deals with the cloning of a human mind and how that mind handles being “just a copy” inserted into a machine or a machine like body.

Jesse Williams living the dream as Markus Luther King Android Jr.

Become Human’s story of “oppressed androids” doesn’t work from the offset. There’s little demonstration of androids demanding their freedom and equal rights up until Markus decides, “um, yeah, we should do that, guys” and androids go homicidal on their owners around the same  time. Everything is second hand accounts. There are no human antagonists that inform this fantasy racism that aren’t the equivalent of cartoonish high school bullies shoving people in lockers, or just poor representation of the counterargument from the get go. Android rebellion is practically framed like everyday appliances on the glitch to the disbelief of their owners, who end up traumatized or murdered.

Cage compounds that issue even further by writing that a virus (stemming from a copy error) gives them sentience, but that simply makes them look like machines that are malfunctioning because they need a better anti-virus program. I keep seeing people use this comparison, but an android passing on a virus that “wakes” them up, is not remotely comparable to a Black mind being stuck in the Sunken Place until someone (or they) pulls them out as depicted in Jordan Peele’s Get Out.

When talking to actual people, it’s obvious that they don't like being discriminated against. That’s not remotely the same case with Androids infected with a dormant malicious error and deciding they’re not free. It implies the enslaved were fine with slavery until they just wake up one day thought otherwise.

Also, you don’t get to frame your characters as victims when they’re literally spouting rhetoric like, “Androids are superior to humans in every way, yet we’re slaves?”

I wanted to like Detroit: Become Human like I wanted to like Beyond: Two Souls. There’s a lot to like about the concept (minus the allegory) that the game is built on, if not purely for how the primary cast interacts with their own group (sometimes).

But, for lack of a better word, the game is insensitive with its comfortable comparison of non-human characters to people of color (chiefly Black people) and marginalized identities, who still suffer from everything the game fails to tackle respectfully. Half of science fiction is built on the bones of wrong-headed allegory and misrepresentation of social issues, so its celebration isn’t surprising, just frustrating.

Detroit: Become Human is a constant reminder that David Cage thrives off the pain of the marginalized and can’t be arsed to do any introspection about that. It feels like I just got thrust back into 2013 all over again.

Allegorical racism needs to die.

[stargleeksil-blog]

Criminal Minds S07E02 “Proof” review

Episode 02 – Proof

So I am so fucking excited about this season.

I just hope my lovely, cutie Morgan can find it in his ginormous heart to forgive Prentiss, because my heart will literally break if I have to see another scene featuring that offended face of his.

So ....

Let’s see what happens.

So that guy is a homicidal Pinocchio? Gross.

“So you finished the course?”

“And completed my case rotation.”

“Hotch says he’s never seen a rookie profiler analyze and write up cases as well as you.”

Wait, so JJ is officially a profiler now? AWESOME!

“He said that?”

You bet, babe.

“Yeah. Well, after all the cases you presented over the years, I’m not surprised.”

“Hey, where have you been? I wanted to do brunch this weekend.”

“I had to deal with some stuff with my mom. Have you seen Garcia?”

Poodle, I’m about to whoop your cute little butt, what the fuck?

“Uh, she’s with Rossi.”

“He hates me.”

“He was just busy.”

Oh Emily, you cutie BFF, you’re the best.

“Let it go.”

I love her.

“Okay, you can be honest. I can take it.”

“Okay. I prefer my pasta al dente, and the pancetta was a little weird.”

“Oh. That’s ‘cause it’s tofu.”

“Tofu? I give you my recipe and you do an improve?”

I’m with Rossi all the way. I love my veggie goddess, but I love my meat more ... sorry.

“No, no, I followed it down to the micron, aside from the pig.”

“Look, master of all things Italian, I am having a Fellini festival at my house this weekend and I must serve the beautiful food of his country.”

“Maybe you should show a Disney film and stick with burgers.”

WHAT?! Oh my sarcastic Italian stallion.

“You know, Rossi, you could always give Penelope a cooking lesson.”

“Oh, my gosh, that would be amazing.”

Oh my god, Rossi’s ‘thanks for throwing me under the bus, bub’ face makes me smile.

“That would be like – that would be like the Iron Chef meets the BAU. And we could do ait at your house.”

“I don’t have a house, I have a mansion.”

Of course you do XD

“All right, let’s get started.”

Oh my god, JJ handing over the remote to Penelope is the cutest!

“Oh. All right, mes amis. You are jetting to Durant, Oklahoma, because in the last three days, two women have been found dead after being sexually tortured and then blinded with a sulfuric acid solution.”

Yikes.

“Abby Elcott is our first victim. 19-year-old art student. She was headed to campus for an advanced drawing class. She’d been missing for two days. Same goes for our second victim, Beth Westerly, 17. She had just finished her coffee shop shift and was on her way to a bar method class.”

Whew, that’s brutal.

“Both low-risk victims.”

“And physically similar. How close are the two abduction sites?”

“Five miles apart at bus stops. Abby’s cell was found near one, Beth’s scarf near the other.”

“Where are the dump sites?”

“One in an alley, the other in a field.

“So he stapled their eyes open, then he blinded them. It’s about power and control.”

GROSS! Pinocchio, stop it!

“Maybe he didn’t want them to watch while he hurt them.”

“Or it could be about shame. Perhaps the unsub is disfigured himself.”

“Blinding the victims leaves them helpless, lost, totally dependent.”

“It may be a manifestation of how he sees himself in this world.”

“It is a form of enucleation, just without the scalpel. His face is the last they see before darkness.”

“The rest of us, ,wheels up in 30 minutes.”

Mark Twain: “If it is a miracle, any sort of evidence will answer. But if it is fact, proof is necessary.”

“Victimology is very similar. Blond-haired, blue-eyed teenage girls. We believe they were each abducted near public transportation stops.”

“When was this photo taken?”

“Beth was caught on a bank surveillance camera three hours before she disappeared.”

Whoop. Seriously, those bank surveillance cameras are creeping me out.

“That’s a recent photo of Abby.”

“So she wasn’t found in the same clothes she was abducted in.”

“Maybe he changed them because hers were burned by the sulfuric acid.”

“It’s possible. Sulfuric acid can turn human flesh into soap.”

“Garcia, any recent similar cases in the surrounding area?”

“Actually, yes. Two months ago a prostitute and a runaway were both found raped and killed and they had stab wounds to their eyes.”

“So maybe he practiced on high-risk victims first. And then advanced to chemical enucleation.”

“Isn’t that a rare paraphilia?”

“Well, the chemical part is. It would exacerbate the pain.”

“Like Ed Kemper, he’s probably practicing on surrogates before going after the real object of his rage.”

“Dave, you and I will talk to the parents. Morgan and Prentiss, go to the disposal sites. JJ, you and Reid go to the abduction sites.”

Awkward.

“It’s amazing on one witnessed her abduction.”

“Emily was buried six feet under and wound up in Paris, so I guess anything’s possible, right?”

“So that is what this is about.”

Yup.

“Maybe our unsub’s a little bit like Bundy. He feigns injury in order to get her to help him.”

“Look, Spence, if you want to talk about this …”

“Maybe he tried other tactics, like ‘Wow, you’re really pretty’. ‘You should be a model. I can take your photo’.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Either one would disarm her.”

“Charm is quite the killer.”

“So are tears.”

Whoa, what the fuck, Spence?

“You smell the urine?”

“I thought that was air freshener.”

XD

“It’s a homeless corridor.”

“This guy’s either homeless or appears to be. He most likely has a car, to get them from the abduction site to here.”

“Just because you’re homeless doesn’t mean you’re careless.”

“It could explain why he chose high-risk victims at first. They were all around him.”

“I know this is difficult, but I need you to look at the clothes that Abby was wearing when we found her.”

“Do you recognize them?”

“Do you find anything odd about Beth’s clothing?”

“You sure?”

“You’re sure?”

What are they trying to make sure of?

“In addition to the blinding, taking their clothes further robs them of their identity.”

“He’s either keeping their garments as souvenirs or re-dressing the victims as a forensic countermeasure.”

“Dressing them in these outfits could be part of the fantasy.”

“Churches, thrift stores. We need to rule everything out.”

“Reid and JJ went to the local thrift shop and found Abby’s clothes.”

“So he sold them.”

Yup.

“Or traded them for the eighties clothing.”

“The sales clerk said the clothes in the crime scene photos were of that time period, and he confirmed that they were purchased from his store.”

“So if he’s getting rid of his souvenirs …”

“What’s he using to remember his victims?”

“And why is he fixated on this era?”

“What do you got?”

“The brutality the victims experienced was immense. Multiple stab wounds to the neck and chest, plus wounds to the genital.”

“Frustration and overkill.”

“The same chemical damage on the skin is also around her nostrils.”

“And that would destroy their sense of smell, yes?”

Yup.

“He burned her tongue with the chemical this time.”

“So he removed her ability to taste.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Maybe she offended him.”

“I wonder what that’s like.”

WHOA.

Poodle, you are pissing me off here.

“Her lips are extremely chapped.”

“She was probably forced to repeatedly participate in some sort of kissing fantasy. And when things go awry, he takes the offending sense away.”

“He tortured her in these clothes, which means the eighties are essential to his delusion.”

“Maybe that’s when his rejection occurred and he held on to the clothes all these years.”

“But why start now?”

“Something probably triggered it, and instead of dealing with it, he’s acting out.”

“We believe the unsub or unknown subject that we’re looking for is a white male in his 40s. This is someone who’s reacting to rejection by a woman when he was teenager in the 1980s.”

“The unsub’s fixation on this woman is now all-consuming. It’s caused him to develop obsessive love disorder.”

“He most likely has tunnel vision and believes that she holds the key to his happiness.”

“And it’s only a matter of time before his rage and anger causes the unsub to go after her directly.”

“Spence. Look, we gotta talk about this.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I get it, okay? You’re disappointed with the way we handled Emily.”

“Listen, I have a lot going on, all right?”

“You know what I think this is?”

“What?”

Ooh, pissy poodle.

“You’re mad that Hotch and I controlled our micro-expressions at the hospital and you wouldn’t be able to detect our deception.”

Seriously?!

“You think it’s about my profiling skills?”

“Jennifer, listen, the only reason you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you.”

“I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

Shit.

“I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t? Or you wouldn’t?”

Um ...

“No, I couldn’t.”

“What if I started taking Dilaudid again? Would you have let me?”

“You didn’t.”

“Yeah, but I thought about it.”

“Spence.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s too late, all right?”

Whoa.

“Reid.”

Yikes. This is going to be hard.

“It would have had to have been a woman very close to the unsub to make him react this way.”

“Then why go after surrogates?”

“I don’t think we’re dealing with a typical homeless person.”

“He’s good with chemicals, owns a car.”

“I think the only mistake in our profile was assuming there was something wrong with his physical composition, reducing him to some sort of stereotype.”

“You think it’s only his mental state?”

“I think this guy might be smart enough to use his disability to his advantage so he comes across as harmless.”

“Then when he’s alone and the victim rejects him, he goes off.”

“What if he doesn’t live on the street?”

“What if he’s in a halfway house?”

“Garcia, I need a list of halfway houses and mental health centers in the unsub’s comfort zone.”

“Okay. Five are being sent to your phones.”

“Which of those were around in the eighties, Garcia?”

“There are two in your area.”

“Morgan and Prentiss, take the first. David and I will take the second.”

“What about us?”

“Stay here and check ViCAP for similar MOs and signatures.”

“Reid.”

“If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me.”

“I can’t. I didn’t come to your house crying for ten weeks.”

Oh, my honey baby.

So she has a list. Damn.

“All right, we’ll need a list of those names.”

“Hey, Morgan.”

“What do I do about Reid?”

“Emily, there’s a lot about you being back that’s unresolved.”

“Are you pissed at me, too?”

He better not be.

“Come on, now. How can I be?”

“You’re here.”

“Thank you.”

“Because I know what you went through. Grief counseling. You carried my coffin.”

“Yeah, I sure did.”

“What was in that thing, anyway?”

“I don’t know.”

I WANT TO KNOW!

“Thank you very much.”

“Look, just give Reid some time. He’ll be fine.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, Hotch, it’s me, Morgan. Listen, nineteen people entered this house in the eighties who were let out in the last five years.”

“We got eleven from the one we visited.”

Damn.

“Send your names to Garcia. Have her cross-check them against jobs that use sulfuric acid.”

“All right. We’ll start reaching out to the extended families.”

“How’s Reid?”

“He’s angry and frustrated.”

“I’m surprised everybody isn’t.”

“Some of us had an inkling.”

Rossi, you little Italian cupcake.

“What? I’m good at what I do.”

“So, are you gonna get psychological counseling for the team or handle it yourself?”

“No, I think that if we all just got together, maybe a cooking lesson and at the home of one of our founders …”

“Oh, no, not you, too.”

“It could boost morale?”

“Is that an order?”

“No, it’s just a … it’s a very tempered suggestion.”

“Tempered suggestion.”

LOL.

“So we interviewed the nineteen people released from the group home. None of them fit the profile.”

“Dave’s still trying to locate the families.”

“Where are her parents now?”

“They’re at the house. We’re bringing her friends in for questioning.”

“You head over there. We’ll start the interviews here.”

“So kids spill out of the motel towards the cars.”

“If Tammy walked this way, how could she disappear without anyone seeing her?”

“Someone would have heard her scream.”

“That’s if she screamed.”

“Unlike the last three abduction sites, this one is nowhere near public transportation. Maybe she knew the unsub.”

“Or thought she did.”

“What if … what if Tammy was the target all along?”

“That would explain the change in MO.”

“So whoever did this knew she was coming here.”

Calling gorgeous goddess.

“Hi, hi, hi.”

“Hey, baby girl, I need you to work that magic for me.”

“Anything, my sweetest.”

“I just opened up Tammy Bradstone’s computer. I want you to check her emails, web searches, and anyone she may have Skyped.”

“Okay, typing at the speed of thought.”

“Thanks, mama.”

“We’re gonna try, little man.”

This man is seriously the most amazing thing to ever grace my screen.

“Listen, uh, did your sister dye her hair recently?”

“Are you sure that Tammy hasn’t been behaving differently lately/”

“Your daughter seems to cherish hanging out in groups, so there’s no way she would run off with someone unless she knew them.”

“What about her computer?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, and Hotch cleared the boyfriend.��

“Do you know anyone who is transient or mentally ill?”

“What’s his name?”

“On the halfway house list, all I got was a Ben Bradstone.”

“Where does he live?”

“His frontal lobe damage is one of the indicators of serial killers.”

“Has Cy ever acted inappropriately toward Tammy?”

“Okay, so he sleeps here sometimes, and his head is on this side.”

“That puts the TV out of his sight.”

“Well, it just gives him a full view of the kitchen.”

“Does Tammy cook for him?”

“Ma’am, what’s your relationship with Cy?”

“He makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t he?”

“Did you have blonde hair in high school?”

“Sir, your daughter just dyed her hair blonde.”

“You allowed her to wear your dress.”

“I’m just thinking it may have triggered something for Cy.”

“What happened with you and Cy that made him so angry?”

“And what happened next?”

“How did he behave after that?”

“How he talked, how he smelled?”

“Does Cy know about your recent marital problems?”

“And then he probably started making advances towards you, which you had to reject.”

“Okay, so as long as Tammy doesn’t do anything to antagonize him, we may have a chance.”

Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.

“How do you know he’s here?”

“So then you head to the front door.”

“When you open it, what do you smell?”

“Are you sure that’s all you smell?”

“What does he do next?”

“Where’s it from?”

“Is there a name on the cup?”

“Okay. He probably stops there every time he comes here.”

“What days would those be?”

“Which means he’d be coming today.”

“I need you to leave a message for him there.”

“Any luck?”

“He hasn’t been to either of the mechanics’ shops in the past two months.”

“But the one on Fourth said a bunch of car batteries had gone missing.”

“Wait …”

Gorgeous goddess calling.

“Yeah?”

“Morgan, it’s from a payphone near a coffee shop.”

“It’s him.”

Boom.

“Okay, go ahead. Just like we talked about.”

“You and Prentiss stay with them. Morgan and I will get the front.”

“Cy Bradstone! FBI!”

“Let me see your hands!”

“On your knees, now!”

“Get up.”

“Stop moving. Stop it!”

“We need to know where Tammy is, Cy. We’ve looked in your car. There’s no sign of her.”

“We know this isn’t about Tammy. This is about your love for Lyla.”

“You and Lyla had a pretty good secret all these years. How’d she get you to shut up about it?”

“Is that where you, uh, did it, Cy?”

“Is that the same place you took Tammy?”

“We know you saw her in that dress, it made you think of Lyla.”

“Tammy’s not the one you want to hurt, Cy. Lyla’s the one who should be punished.”

“She’s the one who made you feel like a freak.”

“A reject, a weirdo.”

“Tell us where Tammy is, Cy, and we can be done.”

“Finished?”

“Now, where’s Tammy, Cy?”

“Cy, just tell me where she is.”

“What did she say, Cy?”

“Where do you have her?”

“She’s got a pulse.”

“I need a medic in here!”

“Oh, jeez.”

Scott Adams: “Nothing inspires forgiveness quite like revenge.”

“So, the surgeon said he believes he can restore feeling to Tammy’s hands.”

“Good. We got there in time.”

“I heard Mr. Bradstone wants to watch the tape.”

“People have an innate curiosity to see things in order to confirm them.”

“Oh, that explains why I’m going to Rossi’s tomorrow night.”

“I want to see if he really can cook.”

“You coming?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I can make it.”

“Look, Reid, I know you’re made at us because we didn’t tell you what really happened, and I understand that.”

“But I promise you, we had no choice.”

“You mourned the loss of a friend.”

“I mourned the loss of six.”

“This whole thing gave me an ulcer. Please don’t give me another.”

“Are you gonna go to Rossi’s tomorrow?”

“We’ll see.”

Oh, Prentiss.

“Cooking is the most sensual art form. And these are my paints.”

“So your hands must be brushes.”

“Don’t interrupt.”

I love this show so fucking much!

“In a pot of boiling water we cook our spaghetti until it’s al dente, firm to the touch.”

“Here you go.”

“Everybody pass it around.”

“See/Feel the texture.”

“There we go. Okay.”

“Now …”

“In a large pan, we fry up our pancetta.”

So fucking cute!

“Keeping a sharp eye that the edges are crisp.”

“Be careful not to burn the onions.”

“Bravo, Aaron!”

XD

“We sauté until translucence.”

Ding dong.

“Uh … I got it.”

“Grazie mille.”

So cute.

“Now, we mix in the eggs … the parmesan … the spaghetti … and parsley.”

“You see, it’s all about timing and rhythm.”

Busted.

I’m with Penelope here XD

“And if you don’t feel yourself doing it properly, please, order a pizza.”

“Sorry, I’m late.”

“Yeah. And this is why I cook alone.”

He’s so freaking cute!

“So, uh, when do we get to drink the wine?”

“Almost there.”

“Okay. We start at the beginning.”

“You eat what you cook, I’ll supervise, but we’re gonna do this all together, just like a family.”

“Okay now?”

“Now.”

“Salud!”

“Salud!”

“I’m reaching!”

She’s so cute!

Oh my freaking goodness! This episode was perfect on every possible level!!!!!!

It had the usual grossness of the case and the un sub, slight humor even though I wanted to bash Cy’s head in the wall. It had the internal drama surrounding Prentiss’s return, which will only serve to further the season’s plot and I’m so excited about it. It had humor with the whole Rossi trying to keep the team at bay and not let him in, which will never work so long as Penelope is part of the team. And it had emotional value with Reid, and of course my gorgeous Morgan being cute towards kid and finally forgiving Prentiss. And then the whole wrapping it up with the perfect dinner at Rossi’s, I just love the writers and producers of this show.

As ever, so freaking grateful that you guys take the time to like my stupid brain vomits. THANK YOU!

And, as ever, here is a series of Reid/Morgan-licious photos.

[scully-loves-ruthie]

Beloved

Part 1

   “Scully?  What are you doing?”

   It’s 2:30 in the morning and you’re wide awake.  Sitting on the couch, lap top open files strewn across the coffee table.  You were hoping you wouldn’t wake him, his sleeping patterns have always been so erratic he needs to take advantage of the rest while he can.

   “I’m just working on something.”  He sits down next to you, pulling you against his bare chest before dropping a kiss on the top of your head.  You lean into him, enjoying the way that just one of his arms has the ability to over take you so well.  Sinking into the smoothness of his skin you almost don’t notice as he begins to thumb at the files.

   “Why Agent Scully these wouldn’t happen to be FBI files would they?”  You place a kiss on the side of his neck.

   “They might be.”

   “That’s interesting seeing as these files are from Violent Crimes... and we’re suppose to be on vacation.”

   “Mulder when have we ever taken an actual vacation?  And yes... these files may be from Violent Crimes.  A friend sent them to me, thought I might find them interesting.”

   “Scully have we stumbled into some sort of Freaky Friday scenario here?  Because if we have, it could have some seriously erotic connotations.”  He wags his eyebrows at you, making that puppy dog face you know and love so well.  He leans in to kiss you, stopping just shy of your lips.

   “Seriously Scully, what’s going on?”

   The feeling of him pressed against you, his nose tickling your cheek, his breath hot against your own, almost has you telling him it’s nothing.  Almost.

   “You remember our old friend Layla Harris?”  He moves away from you a few inches, intrigued.

   “Yeah.”

   “Well she’s still at the bureau and when she found out we were back on The X-Files she sent me these.  Thought they might interest us.”

   “Really?”

   “Really.  I think she’s right Mulder, I think there’s something here.”

   “By all means.”  He gestures for you to sell him on the idea, not even trying to hide an amused smirk.

   “Up until recently there had been a string of unsolved homicides across Montana, 19 to be exact.  Same M.O. always a male victim, always bludgeoned to death with an ax.  The killer always leaving behind one witness unharmed, usually the victims wife or girlfriend.  The witness would always be found tied to a chair a few feet from the mangled body of their loved one.”

   “And the witnesses could never make an ID?”

   “No.  The killer always wore a mask.”

   “I’m failing to see The X-File here Scully.”

   “I’m getting there.  All 19 witnesses told police the only thing the killer ever said was, ‘It’s time.  Take me.  It’s time.’ “

   “Cryptic yes, but still not an X-File.”

   “Patience Mulder.  At every crime scene only one set of unknown fingerprints were found, always on or near the body, nowhere else.  The witnesses said that during the actual murder the killer had on gloves, only removing them once the victim was bleeding out.  And now, this is where it gets interesting.  The fingerprints found at every crime scene match those of a Jonathan Reems.”

   “Well there’s your killer.”  You shoot him a sly smile, thoroughly enjoying the triumph of your impending revelation.

   “You’d think so, except for the fact that Jonathan Reems died in 1949.”  Mulder places his hands over his mouth feigning surprise.  You smack him in the ribcage with the file unable to hide the amusement on your face.

   “It gets better.”

   “Oh does it?”  You can’t help yourself, you wind your hand around his neck and place a slow deep kiss on his lips.  You pull away, brushing an unseen hair from his brow.  “Reems’ mother was murdered in 1908, bludgeoned to death with an ax.  The police suspected Reems’ father but could never pin it on him.  Reems’ himself was at home at the time of the murder, but claims he was asleep and saw nothing.  Reems supposedly died in 1949 at the right bold age of 54 from a heart attack.  His mother’s murder remains unsolved.”

   “Clearly what you’re describing Scully, is someone who has fixated on one defining act of violence.  Feeling slighted by the injustice of the original killer going free, while simultaneously looking to punish anyone he feels resembles Reems’ father.”

   “So how would you explain the fingerprints Mulder?”

   “I’m willing to bet if you dug up Reems’ grave his hands would be missing.”

   “Close.  Back in 1974 when they first discovered Reems’ fingerprints at a crime scene they exhumed his coffin.”

   “And?”

   “And it was empty, no body, nothing.”

   “You don’t say?”

   “It gets better.  The man the police currently have in custody, a Mr. Daniel Carter, his photograph is identical to Jonathan Reems’ army photograph.  Not only that, their fingerprints are an exact match.  What’s even more strange is Mr. Carter keeps insisting that he is in fact Reems, and the local authorities are hard pressed to prove him wrong.”   Mulder leans back into the couch offering up a less than enthusiastic round of applause.

   “Well Scully, looks like you’ve found yourself an X-File.”

   “Really?”  You shoot him a skeptical glance.

   “Really.  There’s definitely something here.  I’d say we’re dealing with a classic case of immortality.”

   “Immortality?”

   “A phenomenon defined simply as the ability to live forever, or eternal life.  It would appear you’ve stumbled across a man in possession of what is most sought after, and at the same time believed to be impossible: freedom from death.  Life without consequence, the fountain of youth, basically the only thing keeping the entire beauty industry afloat.  But come on Scully, we both know what I think.  What’s your take on this?”

   “Well Mulder I think you’re right.  I agree with you.”  You can’t help but revel in the look of unadulterated shock on his face.  In all your years together you’ve never been so bold as to outright agree with him.

   “I’m sorry what?!  You agree with me?”

   “We’ve seen cases similar to this before, Eugene Tooms, Leonard Betts, Arthur Fellig, that weird lizard monster of yours.”

   “Hey I saw him turn back into a lizard...man...thing.”  You wrap your arms around his neck, slowly climbing into his lap.

   “All I’m saying is I’m open to the possibility.  We’ve seen too much over the years for me to simply dismiss the most obvious explanation just because it can’t be explained by conventional science.”   He runs his hands up the sides of your thighs, slowing his movements as his fingertips start to pull your shirt up inch by inch.  Pulling you in closer against him, his breath hitching as your breasts graze his chest.  He runs his lips over the length of your neck, just barley making contact with your skin.

   “I don’t think I’ve ever been more in love with you than I am right now.”  Your fingernails tick up his ribcage as you slide your lips across his stubble cheek to whisper in his ear.

   “I’ve already booked us on a flight in the morning.”  He flips you over, your back pressed into the couch, his hips settling between your thighs.  His full weight hovering above you, 25 years together and he can still reduce you to a quivering teenager, all hunger and animal instincts.  His fingers are between your legs and in an instant all thoughts of telling him the real reason behind this trip disappear.