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mangoshorthand · 2 years ago

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Could you possibly do Five x Reader where Five and the reader have a fight and the reader storms off. The next time Five sees them, they're in the infirmity, comatose, and no one is sure when, or even IF, the reader will wake up. Five has to sit with his regrets that the last thing he said was something he didn't mean and that he wasn't there to protect them when they needed it. When the Reader wakes up, Five breaks down in happiness, giving the reader all the love he can. Heavy Angst with a bit of fluff cause I like happy endings. Lol. Thank you!

This gave me serious flashbacks to the end of No Hard Feelings. Hope you enjoy this. Nothing like a bit of angst. Here ya go!

Dickhead Sugar Daddy | Five Hargreeves / GN Reader Words: 2.8k, rated T

It was such a stupid fight. He didn’t even believe what he said the moment he said it.

He insisted that you take that money. He wasn’t the type of guy to beg, but he came damn close. He watched you struggling to pay medical debt for an entire year before you let him pay it off for you. Until then, you were too proud to accept his help. He told you again and again that it wasn’t a big deal. It was only in four figures and his father left behind more money than he could ever use, even when divided among all his siblings.

“I’d give it to a friend,” he said, “even if you and I don’t work out, it doesn’t matter. Gotta be honest, I wouldn’t even notice if that amount disappeared from one of my accounts. You owe me nothing, okay?”

He could tell it made you uncomfortable and, truth be told, he didn’t much like the feeling of being a sexagenarian trust fund brat so out of touch with ordinary life that this amount of money wasn’t even a blip on his radar. After you finally accepted his offer, he hoped you could both just forget about it.

So why had he been such a colossal asshole?

The argument was about housework on top and booze underneath. Neither of you wanted to state the obvious fact that Five’s binge-drinking was becoming a problem so, instead, you fought about the consequences.

“God, turn that thing off, will you?” he shouted, irritably over the roar of the vacuum.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Well, I’m sorry, darling,” he said, testily, “I just feel like shit, alright? I don’t need the goddamn vacuum in my ear.”

“Well, sorry Five, but the world doesn’t stop because you’ve got a hangover. My friend’s coming tomorrow and you promised we’d clean up today.”

“Here’s the thing: this is your friend, not mine.”

“But this is our home,” you snapped back, “we both live here and this is half your mess. You’ve been shitty about this all week.”

“Oh, so I can’t be busy?” he replied, smiling sarcastically.

“Oh yeah. So ‘busy’,” you said, doing the air quotes that would have made him punt you through a wall were you absolutely anybody else, “- busy farting around with math and looking for non-existent paradoxes around every corner.”

“It’s theoretical physics, moron. Maybe your tiny brain can’t comprehend what I’m doing, but I can assure you it’s more important than the shitty job you do all day.”

“Oh wow.” you said, laughing disbelievingly, “Well fuck you, dickhead.”

“Yeah?” he said, fire behind his eyes, “well don’t come crying to this dickhead the next time you need a sugar daddy.”

Your mouth dropped open. You stood there, frozen, looking into his face. Later, Five thought it could have gone either way in that moment: if only he’d apologized, perhaps he could still have stopped it.

But he would never know, because he didn’t apologize: he just let his shittiest, most insolent smile spread across his face.

You threw down the vacuum, grabbed your jacket and left without looking back.

At the time, Five considered it a job well done, only glad for the opportunity to rest his banging head. Over the following days, however, he would play your departure over and over in his head, scouring his memory for everything that proved his guilt.

You were agitated; probably too agitated to pay attention: his fault.

You were hurt; perhaps hurt enough to do something impulsive: his fault.

You were enraged; maybe your final thoughts as you stepped off the sidewalk were of how much you hated him. And it was all his fault.

He didn’t even know he was your emergency contact.

By the time the phone rang, he’d hauled himself off his ass and cleaned in preparation for your friend’s visit. He also guiltily made a reservation at your favorite restaurant, hoping to apologise over dinner.

So when he answered the phone, he expected your voice:

“Hi. Can I speak to Mr Hargreeves?”

It wasn’t your voice. It was a stranger.

“There are a few of us,” he replied, “you’re gonna have to be more specific there.”

“Mr Five Hargreeves?”

“Speaking.”

“Right. Hello. Uh- I’m a paramedic. I found this number in a patient’s phone’s I.C.E.”

He could barely register the rest of her explanation. As soon as he heard those four words: ‘hit by a bus’, his entire body went cold. His stalled brain could only repeat it again and again as horror encroached slowly into every fiber of his body.

Hit by a bus. A bus?...Hit by a bus?

He was only brought back to a sense of the here and now by the repeated summons of the voice on the other end of the line.

“Sir?....Sir?”

“Hit by a bus?” he asked, weakly, trying to keep a firm handle on his swimming head.

“Sir, I think you should sit down.”

He took the advice and collapsed into the straight-backed chair beside the phone, eyes fixed straight ahead of himself.

“I’m sitting down. I sat down.”

“Good. Now listen to me: you should try to get here as soon as possible. Give me your address and I’ll call you a cab, okay?”

“I don’t need a-”

“Sir,” the voice said, sternly, “give me your address. You don’t sound like you’re in a fit state to drive.”

Drive? He could as easily drive as he could fly right now. His legs trembled beneath him, his brain sending confusing, bewildered signals. He never folded in stressful situations, yet here he was shaking like a leaf.

“Sir?”

“My brothers,” he blurted, “I’ll get a ride from one of them.”

The paramedic was satisfied with this and gave him the hospital name again very slowly and deliberately. After accepting her good wishes and slamming the phone back in its cradle, he willed his body back into action, stumbling down the stairs and screaming for anyone who might be around.

Lila answered his call, and one look at his shocked, white face told her that this was serious.

As soon as he could have expected, he was entering your hospital room. Lila offered to accompany him, but he dismissed her with muted thanks. This was something he had to face alone.

Your face: bruised purple and cuts newly stitched. Your left leg: in a cast that went all the way up. But the doctors weren’t worried about the broken bones, they were worried by the head injury.

Comatose.

You were comatose because of him.

Standing there in the doorway, he was hit by his own bus. His guts constricted, breath catching in his chest.

“Don’t come crying to this dickhead next time you need a sugar daddy.”

As his own words echoed back to him, he squeezed his eyes closed, shutting out the sight and trying to gather himself. But it was too late. He whooped in a breath and felt the hot sting of suppressed tears behind his eyes.

All he could do was wait, they told him. The brain had a remarkable capacity to repair itself, they said. You might wake up and be just fine...but you also might not wake up at all.

He swiped at his face with his forearm.

Seconds were useless now: you needed seconds as soon as you stepped out into the road. If only he’d followed and apologized like he should have done immediately, he would have been there. He might have stopped it happening before it did, or he could have wound back time and undone it.

But now, hours since you were hit? His puny time-travel powers couldn’t help, not without decades of planning and tinkering and paradox-proofing. Perhaps more years than he had left to live.

If only he hadn’t been such a cunt in the first place. None of it would have happened.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, from behind his own forearm held across his face, “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

He sat at your bedside, teeth gritted against the tears he wouldn’t give himself the luxury of crying. He held your hand tight, as if torrential water might sweep you away were it not for him anchoring you.

He held your hand as if his grip might tether you to life.

And his mind preyed upon itself.

Yet again, his own selfishness had hurt someone he loved. And this time it was the person he loved more than anything. First, he abandoned his siblings for the sake of his own ego and now he’d probably killed you because he was a cruel, spiteful asshole.

“Don’t come crying to this dickhead next time you need a sugar daddy.”

He sat in silence for the rest of the daylight hours, listening to your heart monitor. Every new beep was a relief, the spaces between were looming and fear-filled. The silence held the possibility that the next beep might never come.

When darkness fell and the hospital’s bustle fell to a low ebb, he leaned forward and laid his head beside yours on the pillow.

“Please don’t die.”

And hearing himself say it was all it took for the dam to break. He couldn’t keep the tears in anymore. He cried like he hadn’t cried since those first years in the apocalypse, when he’d still been young enough to sob ‘I wanna go home!’ and ‘I want my mom!’ into the unhearing wasteland.

“Please.” he said, burying his red, tear-streaked face in your hair, “Please don’t leave me. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it. I promise I didn’t.”

He tore in two or three gasping breaths.

“Please, angel. Don’t leave me. I can’t- I can’t-”

But he was crying too hard to speak. He raised his fist to his mouth and bit down on it to contain the wails clawing their way up his throat and threatening to burst bounds.

Cutting white teeth marks into his knuckles, he cried it out until he could control himself; until his voice could stay steady.

“You gotta wake up,” he whispered, “I can’t do this on my own anymore. I need you, okay? I’ll be better. I’ll be whatever you need me to be. Just don’t leave me.”

Another shaky breath.

“-you’re the fucking love of my life. I love you so much and without you I can’t even- I can’t.”

He screwed up his eyes again, trying to keep himself from re-dissolving.

“I can’t imagine getting up without you any more. I can’t imagine going to sleep without you. There wouldn’t be any point, y’know? I may as well just…”

He never finished the sentence. He felt like muscles and tendons in his chest were being pulled apart by strong hands.

Day time. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t washed, hadn’t eaten. He spent most of his time in the chair beside the bed, holding your hand in his, but he occasionally perched beside you on the bed, stroking your hair and talking almost nonstop.

“You’re gonna have to wake up soon, darling.” he said, “They say they’ll have to give you a feeding tube if you’re asleep for much longer. You won’t like that. So how about this: you always hate it when I don’t eat. You loom over me while I’m working and make me eat. So- how do you like this: I’m not gonna eat until you do.”

He made a satisfied noise as if you’d responded.

“Exactly- you don’t want that, do you. So you gotta wake up- it's the only way you can make sure I eat. I've got you there, haven't I?”

He looked down at his own hand over yours.

“And, to sweeten the deal, if you wake up before they have to put the feeding tube in, you get breakfast in bed every day for two months after we get home. And I’ll massage your feet on demand. Shit, I’ll let the world end rather than miss a single minute with you. I’m going to be better. I’ll do better with the booze. I swear, I’m going to be the perfect man. You deserve that. You deserve better. Please. Just wake up.”

What started off as light humor had devolved again into the desperate bargaining of the night.

He looked down at his shoes and felt exhaustion wash over him. He rubbed at his eyes with the palm of one hand and wished he had the faith requisite to pray.

A groan.

His head snapped back up so abruptly that it twinged his neck. His eyes scanned your face for any sign of life and found none. Just as he thought he’d imagined the sound, your hand twitched in his.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

Eyebrows knitted, he sprang to his feet and called your name urgently, leaning towards you and resisting the urge to take you by the shoulders and shake you.

“Come on,” he urged, “say something. Open your eyes. Please, just let me know you’re in there.”

Slowly, and seemingly with as much effort as if your eyelids were weighted with iron, your eyes drifted open. They were vague and bloodshot, but they held his gaze.

“That’s it!” he said.

Tears, of joy this time, fell thick and fast again.

“Oh, thank fuck. I can’t believe it. Oh, fuck.”

Your mouth opened and a rusty voice spoke.

“Hello.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He bent towards you and held you to him as tightly as he could in your delicate state. His heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. Relief and euphoria rushed through his every atom. He kissed your forehead, each cheek and peppered several more across your nose and chin. He was too uncontrolled, too carried away by his own gladness to have finesse. Each kiss made a gentle smack against your skin.

“Who are you?” came your voice.

And it was like the sun going in. He straightened up, cautiously.

“It’s Five, angel,” he said, gently, “You remember me, right?”

“I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

His breath caught in his throat.

You had a brain injury. For some reason he hadn’t prepared himself for the fact that some things might be permanently broken.

But then your face broke into a hazy smile, and a halting creak issued from your chest. If he wasn’t mistaken, that sounded like-

“Ah wait, you’re that dickhead sugar daddy I know, aren’t you?”

You were laughing. You were fucking with him.

Another wave of relief coursed through him. He bent again and kissed you with a pumping heart and tightening lungs. His lips parted yours, desperate, tender and giddy.

“I love you,” he said, between kisses,”I love you, I love you. I c-can’t believe you’re okay!”

And again he was sobbing. He laid his forehead on yours and cried unashamedly into your face. One of your hands drifted slowly upwards and came to rest heavily on his shoulder. He cried that way for a few minutes while you looked up at him dreamily.

Eventually, when his crying began to lessen, you began to giggle slightly madly. He withdrew, looking down at you in a moment of confusion.

And then it hit him: the dosage of medication.

You laughed harder, your hand coming to thump him on the shoulder as something hilarious occurred to you.

“Guess what. Guess what, Five: now I’m gonna have…even more…medical…debt!”

You dissolved into a peal of helpless laughter, which he couldn’t help but join in with despite all his tears.

“Don’t think about that now. Dickhead sugar daddy’s got your back.”

He continued more seriously when his laughter subsided.

“I fucked up bad. I’m so sorry. I was sorry less than ten minutes after you left. I didn’t mean it.”

With the attitude of one who’s won a bet, you pointed at him weakly,

“Now you have to make me breakfast in bed every day for two months.”

“I will,” he grinned, “if you say you forgive me?”

You smiled but didn’t answer, letting out another little burble of laughter.

He decided that now might be a bad time to talk about what happened in too much detail. There would be time for heart-to-hearts when you weren’t dosed up on enough pain meds to knock out a bull elephant.

Instead, he kicked off his shoes and brought his legs up so that he lay on the very edge of the bed while taking up as little space as possible. He laid his head gently on your shoulder and heard you sigh with contentment.

Here it was: his longed-for second chance.

He felt his eyelids growing heavy. All was right with the world now.

“I don’t want the perfect man,” you mumbled.

“Huh?” he said, rousing himself.

“I don’t want the perfect man,” you repeated, “I want you.”

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy five #umbrella academy number five #umbrella academy five x reader #umbrella academy five x you #five hargreaves x you #five hargreaves x reader #number five imagine #five hargreeves imagine #number 5 imagine #number 5 x reader #number five x you #five hargreeves x gn reader

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faithandfairies · 1 month ago

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Positions of Power

So, Interview with the Vampire famously examines the questions

What happens if one decides not to love or choose someone in a position of power who wants to be loved and chosen?

When the person in the position of power can then wield said power to decide the fate of the person that doesn't love or choose them as well as the fate of those that person does love? To hurt, destroy, help or save said person?

And it does this through all of its relationships although it's most obvious through the relationships between Louis and Lestat and Louis and Armand.

And it starts immediately with Louis the pimp. You see, Louis starts out in positions of power in all of his relationships. Or so it seems.

Lestat actually names them all starting with:

1.The stern landlord=the pimp/building and business owner

He is in a position of power as the pimp that governs his girls. We see this starting with ms. Bricktop Williams when she insults the alderman and Louis doesn't actually punish her for it. He also doesn't punish the girl who yells at his brother. He does punish his brother for making him look "weak" on Liberty street, therefore threatening his position of power. One wrong move in how he governs his girls or his brother could lead to him losing this position.

2.The deferential businessman

Louis has made it as a black man. As a successful black businessman he has made himself a place among the white businessmen but his position is precarious. It requires him to defer to them in order to keep that position. And once he stops doing that, once he stops "knowing his place" by having a white same sex life partner in plain view, who is richer than all of the other businessmen combined and then makes power grabs for businesses he shouldn't want ownership of, he eventually loses this precarious position of power he once held.

3. The loyal son

Louis is also in a position of power at home. He's the successful businessman keeping his family's heads above water and bringing them honor by taking care of them as a loyal son should. He controls the money for the family. He takes care of the family financially. He owns their ancestral home because his father left it to him. He even mentions to Daniel I believe that he's not just the eldest son, but the favored son. The caveat to him maintaining this position isn't what his business entails as in having a respectable business, but his loyalty to the family, to his mother. It initially seems like he's allowing for it to look like his mother is in control by having her take credit for financial purchases of his. But later it turns out to be the other way around, his mother was always in control. Because the moment he fails to fulfill his father's dying wish "to properly take care of Paul" and then also follows it up by moving in with Lestat and barely coming home, he loses the position of the loyal son and it is his mother that takes this position from him directly and gives it to Levi. And it no longer matters that the house belongs to him or that he was the one financially providing for his family.

Enter Lestat.

Who is fascinated by this man who has managed to crawl his way up to the top of the food chain in his world in spite of his race and initial financial state making it seemingly impossible.

Lestat is also at the top of the food chain in his world. In his world, he is in THE position of power and there's very little above him. Especially since he's apparently the only vampire in New Orleans at that time.

In relation to Lestat, Louis wields almost no power. Louis' is a black human. And Lestat is a white sadistic, manipulative vampire, a predator, with an endless supply of funds and to Louis largely unknown ancient powers he's been honing for over a century and no qualms about using his toxic traits against Louis. Louis' power lies in the fact that Lestat is in love with him but even that has its limits. The caveat is that Louis has to love him, choose him in turn. And Louis does, initially. When the power imbalance between them isn't known to Louis he chooses Lestat. He loves Lestat. As his friend. As his confidante. As his lover. For a brief moment Louis chooses to live in the fantasy where he and Lestat can choose each other without there being far-reaching repercussions for him within the society he lives in. Where he can be a black, gay human without it having major unwanted consequences for his businesses, his family and his life as a whole. And then he literally wakes up to the realization that he can't go back on that choice. And that he maybe never really had one. Once Lestat lays eyes on him, once Lestat loves him and chooses him it's game over. Lestat's inherently predatory nature means Louis' time is running out because Lestat's self-control is reaching its breaking point. Louis' only choice then becomes whether he wants nine unlimited lives or just one cut very short by Lestat.

When Louis rejects Lestat at his brother's funeral and then condemns him in the church, Lestat shows up believing himself an angered god ready and justified to dole out judgment on humanity. Reacting to Louis' actions by revealing the sinister side to his powers and clearly revealing the power imbalance. He reveals the breadth of his power in all of its terrifying glory and likens it in words to godly power through which fates of life and death can be decided depending on who is deserving of mercy or not. Showing Louis exactly what can become of him and those he loves if he chooses to (further) anger Lestat.

This, the power imbalance, continues on throughout their relationship. Louis' power comes from the fact that Lestat loves him which he uses to manipulate him and get what he wants out of the relationship. Lestat continues to manipulate Louis as well and continues to hold the power imbalance over his head by displaying said power in big and small ways to try to keep Louis in line within the relationship. Early on I think Lestat also realizes he can use sex to manipulate Louis. Offering it to Louis to distract from the power imbalance, presenting himself as more vulnerable to Louis, making him and Lestat closer to equals which is honestly what they both crave but can never truly achieve. Lestat also tries offering sex to others once Louis no longer has the energy and later the willingness to have it with Lestat, hoping to get Louis to bend to his will (and indulge) when it comes to his appetites. Hoping to restore their sex life and intimacy through it. Which is the one manipulation that doesn't really work. Which means eventually their relationship doesn't work since it hinges on them having similar appetites, human, the blood, each other.

In the meantime Louis tries to hold on to his positions of power in the human world even more so since he holds almost no power in his and Lestat's vampire world. Then he loses those positions of power.

Enter Claudia.

An eternal child, initially as innocent as they come, and physically the weakest vampire among the three of them.

And suddenly Louis is no longer the one with the least power in his and Lestat's vampire world. In becoming Claudia's parents, suddenly he and Lestat are equals. But also, as far as race, culture, history and humanity goes, Lestat is outnumbered. Suddenly Louis is in a position of power not only as the parent who has the most knowledge about Claudia's background having been human and a black human from New Orleans at that fairly recently himself, but to Claudia he's also the favored parent. Lestat allows it and everything is right with the world. Except that it's not. And over time that becomes abundantly clear again.

As a parent, Lestat initially softens more but eventually becomes even more the predator. He tries to regain some of the power he's lost by cultivating the vampire, the predator, within Claudia and Claudia is the eager and prodigious student. Except she isn't just a predator or a vampire, she is now a teenager with teenage human tendencies, wants and needs. Except she's not human. Incapable of and eventually not allowed to indulge in those human tendencies for fear of the human world she desperately wants to be a part of discovering and destroying Louis' and Lestat's little vampire world.

This is when Claudia becomes aware of power. That she has it, much more than the average human, but can't control it and as an eternal child realizing that it pales in comparison to that of her fathers and she will never be able to wield it in the same way that they do. The power she possesses is practically useless to her. Where Lestat was able to wield his love and vampiric power to get what he wanted from Louis initially and Louis was able to wield his power of both his own love for Lestat and Lestat's love for him to get what he wanted, she cannot do the same. Her vampire powers continue to fail her, her love for her parents and their love for her isn't enough for them to give her what she wants and needs to feel fulfilled and she has no love of her own and seemingly very likely never will.

She exists to fulfill Lestat's and Louis' wants and needs, as their daughter, to even out the power imbalance between them in order to improve their relationship with each other. She is not allowed to have wants or needs of her own. This is eventually enforced by Lestat any time she chooses to forget it. Although initially when he thinks she's done her part he allows her to leave, until the 7 year drought makes him realize that in order for Louis' and his relationship to somewhat continue to work and Louis to not peace out permanently from vampiric life and life with Lestat Claudia needs to keep inhabiting the role she has been. Also her leaving again and traveling to Europe of all places could also expose them all to Lestat's actual coven leader, Armand. Lestat's power does not extend to Europe and he knows very well what Armand does to those who disobey the great laws. Her chasing after what she wants could mean death for all of them and Lestat knows this.

And for Claudia to get what she wants from life she needs either

a love of her own

a different role that gives her useful power of her own and/or

for one of her parents to love her enough for it to make a difference.

Claudia, ambitious as she is, goes for all of the above.

Commence the power struggle.

Claudia decides that she already has a love of her own in Louis, the parent that even in her 7-year absence, chose the memory of her over a very there and present Lestat. So Claudia returns. Commence the power struggle. It becomes a game to Claudia, one she thinks she's already won even before it starts. She just needs to tweak the companionship a bit. Instead of simply being his daughter, she'll be Louis' Grace, his Lestat. She won't sleep with him of course, but she'll be all that he needs by loving him better than Lestat or Grace ever did, by being more devoted to him than either of them ever were. And luckily for her, with Grace recently out of the picture that position has just opened up. And Claudia is certain of having what Lestat doesn't know he has and certainly hasn't felt he has in a long time. Louis' love. Given that, all Claudia needs to do is convince Louis to leave Lestat.

Only it was never a game. And if it was, Lestat was never just a player, but the gamemaker. Something that Claudia never realized until she did and Louis had forgotten until Lestat made him remember. In doing so though, by exhibiting his power in all its terrifying glory again in order to keep everyone in line he crosses lines he drew up himself in order to keep Louis with him and preserve the authenticity of as well as reduce the power imbalance in the relationship as much as possible.

Lines such as:

No eating black people or if yes, no letting Louis know about this

Physically hurting Louis and his family members is off limits

No limiting Louis in his human hobbies

No forcing Louis to have sex even if sex is desired

Because the one thing Louis can still do is choose to walk away regardless if Lestat then decides to kill him for it. Either way it will mean Louis is lost to him which is the one thing Lestat doesn't want.

Commence the reset.

In Lestat acting out and treating Louis like a rag doll for trying to protect and potentially choose Claudia, the power imbalance between him and Lestat once again becomes glaringly obvious and in such a way that there's no going back to the way things were. There's no sense in pretending. The illusion of Louis having a choice has shattered. The inherent "Choose me and love me or die." that was barely concealed subtext when Louis became a vampire is now undisputed text. And has turned into "Hesitate to choose me and die." seeing as Lestat didn't even wait for Louis to choose this time.

Lestat almost kills Louis and there's really no coming back from it. Lestat then tries to regain the power and Louis initially by trying to create the illusion of completely giving away the power to Louis. But it doesn't work. Acting powerless doesn't actually make him so as evidenced by past events. The only thing that might constitute a reset is Lestat dying at their hands.

For Claudia it's a continuance of her original plan but instead of just leaving Lestat behind she now decides to completely take him off the board.

Once again it's a power struggle. But I think what changes here is that Lestat no longer really wants the power. He makes half-hearted swipes for the power but his heart just isn't in it. He just wants Louis and whatever will make Louis want him again in return. And Lestat's starting to realize all the power in the world is not going to get him Louis back. Technically Louis has all the power but Louis doesn't really want it either. Louis hands the power over to Claudia. And Lestat grudgingly allows it even though it also irritates and low-key terrifies him. He trusts Louis. He does not trust the mini version of his own sadistic self he raised in his image that is Claudia to wield any kind of power over him.

But the one thing he does trust is that he can outsmart Claudia. Until she wins a game. And then Lestat doesn't know what to think. For the first time Claudia holds the power but only because both her parents are allowing it. And not because it has anything to do with her. No. But because they're trying to find their way back to each other and all their power play has done for them so far is destroy them and alienate them from each other.

With the power in Claudia's hands, without their power struggle between them, Louis becomes numb and retreats into himself and Lestat becomes increasingly antsy and paranoid. Claudia realizes that her parents are like a bottle the top is about to pop off and if that happens there will be another power grab from one of her parents, most likely Lestat. So she tells Louis to pretty much go back to the start. To rekindle the love. With Louis' focus on restoring the love he and Lestat initially had between each other at the very beginning and Louis' heart blown open to Lestat and showing and sharing that love in all the ways between them I think for the first time since their initial courtship Louis and Lestat settle into peace.

And Claudia becomes the odd one out. And even with all the power it is at that point in time useless to her. Both her parents are lost to her, too focused on each other, belonging to each other once again, with her once again stuck in the role of the daughter simply bearing witness to their love for each other, with no love or lover of her own. Even though having fulfilled her role in their lives by removing the power play completely between them by advising Louis to simply allow himself to love Lestat without reservations and pushing him to take her advice. And Lestat following Louis' lead. With Lestat having what he actually wants, which is all of Louis, he becomes less of a threat, which is the goal. And with Louis having all of Lestat, Louis I think realizes this is what he always wanted. For Lestat to not be a threat to them sure, but not because he was dead or incapacitated but because he was completely in love with Louis with no room for anything else.

And so when it's time to eliminate the power source, Louis takes back the power from Claudia forcefully and chooses a reset instead. A reboot.

#what can I say #this show has layers #there are so many ways I can look at everything #so I wrote this ages ago #but it wasn't finished #isn't finished #but I got tired and stopped writing #I intended to compare the power imbalance at Rue Royale with that in Paris #including Armand #But I've lost the momentum #so I'm just going to post this like this #Maybe I'll do a part two at some point if something comes to me #louis #lestat #claudia #iwtv #interview with the vampire

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fushiglow · 11 months ago

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If JJK characters were in Non- Curse world, what would their job be if not become Jujutsu Sorcerer (in your opinion)? Why? Please pick your top 5 fav characters...

I love you for asking this, anon ♥ It's an opportunity to wax lyrical about something I've given a great deal of thought! These are my instinctive answers, although I could make arguments for a number of other professions for each of them depending on the life choices they made in this hypothetical non-curse world — but we don't need to get into that! So, here I go (in no particular order):

Yūta is an emergency paediatric surgeon

When he was young, he made the decision to become a trauma surgeon after losing his childhood friend in a car accident. He spent some time in hospital as a child and he knows what a scary place it can be for children, so he always does his best to make his patients smile when he's checking in on their progress.

He's brilliant at what he does — a once in a generation talent — but that doesn't mean he can save everyone. It's heartbreaking work on a good day, but when he's been at work for approaching 30 hours and he feels like he wants out, he looks at the photo of Rika in his locker and finds the strength to go on.

Kenjaku is a performer

If the average Japanese human enjoys at least 80 rotations around the sun, why waste them by playing the same role every time? That's Kenjaku's outlook on life — which is why they chose to go into acting. However, they quickly became bored by other people's narrow view of the world, dissatisfied by the limits of everyone else's imagination.

Nowadays, Kenjaku marches to the beat of their own drum in a one-person show. There are more than ten roles available, all of them played by Kenjaku — who is also the writer, producer, and director. Critics can't decide whether it's madness or sheer brilliance.

Megumi is a vet

He's grumpy with humans, especially if they're irresponsible pet owners. However, he's soft as anything with the animals, and his regular clients trust him implicitly with their beloved furry family members — because it's obvious how much they love him.

Megumi is really good at his job, but he's guilty of taking his work home with him and finds it difficult not to get emotionally attached to the animals he's treating, even after years in the profession. Although he'd never hesitate to make difficult decisions, the unique ethical dilemmas his job presents take a toll on his wellbeing — especially when human cruelty or indifference come into play.

Suguru is a school teacher

Teaching is neither recognised nor appreciated by most people. However, although Suguru had the brains to follow his friends into their highly respected fields, he couldn't imagine anything more rewarding than doing his part to ensure that the next generation have an easier time of things than he did at the same age.

He tries to be the person he needed when he was at school: a pillar of support for struggling children who have no one else on their side. Unfortunately, the school system seems determined to hurt the very children it's supposed to support, and some of the parents go out of their way to undermine any positive developments he makes with their child — not to mention the terrible pay and working conditions!

Satoru is a physicist

But he could have done anything he put his mind to. In fact, that's the only thing Satoru ever really found difficult in life: choosing one path to follow. Sometimes, he wishes he'd become a musician or a historian or an athlete, but in the end, nothing captured his imagination quite like the limitless bounds of the universe.

He's younger than most of his peers in the field, and his revolutionary ideas (alongside his casual disregard for traditional academic hierarchies) get him in trouble more often than not. However, he's a certified genius, and popular with the media, too. He's doing a lot to improve the image of physicists among the general public — which translates to more funding for research. That keeps them out of his hair, most of the time at least!

These are too obvious, but I thought I'd mention them anyway:

Yūji is a firefighter who remembers the names and faces of every single person he couldn't save.

Shōko is a pathologist who devotes herself to improving the diagnosis and treatment of disease, often at the expense of her own health and wellbeing.

Because they're *also* huge nerds, I imagine Sukuna and Yuki as physicists in slightly different fields to Gojō:*

Yuki is a brilliant mind, but she doesn't live up to her potential because she hates the oppressive nature of academia. In fact, she vocally criticises it and goes out of her way to undermine it, to the chagrin of all the old stuffy professors who try to discredit her at every opportunity.

Sukuna, like Gojō, is a genius who's fascinated by what he doesn't know, shaking up the field with his cutting edge (lol) ideas. I like to imagine the pair of them getting into heated arguments at conferences, though they both have enormous (albeit grudging) respect for each other.

*As long as Sukuna is, you know, ~normal~ in this hypothetical non-curse world. Otherwise, he'd be a chef that moonlights as a sadistic serial killer lol.

Thank you for the extremely fun question, I had the time of my life! I hope you enjoy my answers ♥

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empty-blog-for-lurking · 4 months ago

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Oooouuuo you want to share your vld wc au ideas...... You want to tell me all of your epic thoughts............ Uuooo oo mind persuasion noises

Is this what you want? Me making a mockery of your two beloved pieces of media? Me putting my inane crackpot ideas about your au which was lovingly crafted with joy and whimsy? Is that what you want???? Ok then-

It's pretty much the same/similar scenario. Kuron is Shiro's (Swift's) clone and a spoilt cat and a mamma's boy

2)Allura is a vet assigned on Trap-Neuter-Vaccinate-Rehome. She is also like the only one on this cause she's the only vet available in the town and the govt there is stingy with funding. So like the girl's Stressed™

3) She probably knows or atleast is aware of the cat cult. She just Doesn't Care they are fucking up the biodiversity

4)Lance was either an ex-kittypaw who's Trying so hard to pretend he's enjoying his life and loving being a Warrior cat though internally he's crying, sobbing, throwing up because he wants to Go Home!!!! Yes it's been years but he still misses his human family and his soft bed and his squeaky toy and his wet food and🥺🥺🥺🥺

5)Either that Or he is a human turned warrior cat by the Cat gods either because he accidentally pissed them so they cursed him or pleased them too much that the blessed them😔 sad! Anyway his usual inner monologue is going "What the fuck? What the fuck?!? WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT THE F-" entire time

6)Keith is just a cat. Like a completely normal cat. Imagine a cat from our world, that's him. He doesn't know what a warrior code is and he doesn't care. Warrior cats think he's So Cool and Mysterious and Quiet loner when actually he is literally just a head empty cat

7) He's also responsible for like 50% of the bird population's steep decline making him a hot topic among the clans and the top bounty on Allura's hit list

8) Reason why he is normal is because he is raised by wolves

8) Hunk is maybe a fae. Maybe.

9) I think we already talked about this but Lotor is a well intentioned idiot here. He's the one who keeps setting cats free into the wild forest, accidentally removing the traps Allura set to capture the cats, feeding the ducks bread even though it's a bad for them, keeps removing the native flora in his mom's backyard and planting invasive plants, and tries to start fire during dry season almost causing a forestfire etc etc Allura is going to kill him if she comes to know

Yeah this is all I have 😔😔😔😔 sorry 😔😔

#Empty answers #vld wc au #I am so sorry for all of this I really am

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cebwrites · 2 years ago

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Hello! What if in an alternate path, Kaku joined the Straw Hats (Franky still joins)? To me, he seems the most likely to swap to pirate, and he seemed to actually enjoy his job at the docks. How would he handle the crew? What role would he have? Thank you!!!

a/n: dunno if anon would still see this answer at this point, though i finally came around to this idea - maybe it’s the holiday season 🎄

What if Kaku joined the Strawhats

slight zosan/usonami word count: 1.5k

He definitely does seem to be the type to switch sides, I feel like in his mind, given more freedom, Kaku would like to align himself with whatever seems the most interesting even if not entirely conducive to coming out on top - in canon the latter part is more important but something tells me he made his way into CP0 partly on a whim, to see watch what would become of the new era from a higher perch

Say for the sake of argument he gets cast aside entirely by the WG after the events of Enies Lobby (afaik the CP9 agents had a short romp in a cover story about raising funds to get back on their feet so maybe this was during then), he’s desolate and paranoid at every turn because in the back of his mind, even the kindest of civilians could be someone sent to keep an eye on him post-failure

So Kaku turns to the people he has no doubt would never hide anything from him, the only kid forthcoming enough who had the gall to march into a government island and declare war on the whole world - Luffy was the last person who’d be sneaky about his feelings and that’s exactly what Kaku needed right now, good old fashioned honesty

And it’s honesty he gets, when Luffy tells him that he doesn’t like this Usopp imposter (after needing a reminder as to who he was and complaints from Sogeking himself) for hurting Robin and that he should leave - as straightforward an answer as Kaku could get

Due to extenuating circumstances, though, be it the Grand Line’s unpredictable weather, enemies getting in the way, or plain old, “ah well, we can’t just drop him in the sea, that’s a bit too cruel” though certain members would beg to differ, and bonds would slowly be formed over the course of spending time together

Imagine there it takes longer for them to get to Thriller Bark or Sabaody where other plot things happen or something shdfbshtgndf

Considering his fickle (to outsider eyes) nature however, among other more important reasons, it’s difficult for the Strawhats to take as well to him as Luffy’s go with the flow attitude - although it has to be said that a former enemy who did hurt their own in the past eventually becoming nakama isn’t entirely out of the blue, given Vivi and Robin herself

Kaku is aware of this, he’s been aware of people’s mistrust in him since he was a child, always with too-wide eyes for the adults around him and a smile that never quite reached it, so he’s used to being held at arm’s length

It’s the unsurprisingly the youngest of the crew that warm up to Kaku first - Chopper tending to his wounds after Kaku helped the SHs in battle, he quickly becomes endeared with the little reindeer’s antics and complex about compliments, Usopp being very skittish at first but eventually spinning Kaku the long, tall tales he does to everyone else, and Luffy’s unwavering kindness that leaves little else to be said.

That, and Luffy’s endless amusement at his Zoan form, that seem to entertain the other kids on board as well. The next is Sanji, silently showing his care through his cooking while still being very verbally hostile, being one of the first to threaten Kaku during the first week that he was stuck on their ship due to unforeseen circumstances that if he dared to hurt another hair on Robin’s, or anyone else’s for that matter, head then being out of house and home - how he came to them - would be the least of Kaku’s worries; the cook still fed him though, and to Kaku, that was more than could be said about others he often found himself around before the Strawhats. Zoro follows soon after, laying down the fact plain and simple that he didn’t like him but if they were to cohabitate per captain’s orders, things would go much smoother if they learned how to get along sooner rather than later, Kaku doesn’t make the jab that it seems that Zoro and Sanji still don’t get along to this day in the moment, but over time he’d learn that the two of them shared something beyond anything Kaku himself has had, or even allowed himself, to experience. Zoro puts Kaku through the wringer day after day with sparring, only resting when Chopper yells at Zoro for overexerting himself since he’s keeping the newbie on his toes while still picking fights with Sanji and getting injured that way, so Kaku has to find other ways of making himself useful on a ship as lively as the Sunny.

It’s here that he finds himself helping out with Usopp’s tinkering, listening to the lad talk about grand would-be fantasies, helping him with parts of his inventions, and teasing him about the shy yet longing glances Usopp sends their lovely navigator when it seems like she’s not looking, not quite noticing Franky’s encroachment into the workshop until their resident Cyborg is firmly seated in his usual spot. Franky’s just a blunt as Zoro is, he’s up front about his feelings on the situation regardless of Usopp’s presence - when Sogeking tries to sneak away from a potentially very tense and awkward interaction Franky tells him to sit his tuchus down and get back to work.

Franky is painfully, well, frank, about the anguish Kaku’s previous allegiances have caused this crew and he states that it’ll be an uphill battle to earn everyone’s trust truly, let alone the Funkfreed in the room that Kaku’s only barely managed to avoid interacting with too much during his stay, but also says that he sees how hard Kaku’s trying, and that deserves recognition more than anything else. Nami doesn’t offer any leeway when Kaku finally gathers the courage to face Robin, determined to protect her friend at any cost when their lanky, tweedy new crewmate (but distinctly not nakama) makes his way up to the table under Nami’s mikan trees that the girls often lounged under - before Nami can rip into him too hard, though, Robin puts up a hand and asks for a moment of privacy between the two of them - Nami’s unhappy about it but acquiesces.

Within the few short interactions Kaku’s had with Robin previously on this ship, it’s either been with tempered ire, suspicion, and then jabs said with her calm but characteristically unnerving smile, showing clear (warranted) apprehension to his very presence around her nakama, so he bears his soul - Kaku doesn’t spin a sob story or make grand gestures that would attempt to garner sympathy like his pathetic excuse for a former boss, but plainly and simply states his intentions, his anxieties, his remorse, in a very Zoro-esque way, one would even say.

Kaku knows that more than anyone here, Robin had suffered the most at Enies Lobby, he had been conducive to that suffering, and here he was, begging for a place to exist on the same crew that took her in, the very one that he’d been ordered to take out like nothing a few months ago; the small crew that the World Government severely underestimated and paid dearly for.

He’d say he knows it wouldn’t mean much to her, nor does he have the audacity to ask for her forgiveness, but for what it’s worth Kaku is sorry.

Being under Robin’s scrutinizing gaze burns but Kaku doesn’t waver, he faces her head on even though through even passing second, it feels like this woman wants to explode his head with her mind. Almost like some strange, unspoken game of chicken to test his mettle against her, the direct consequence of his own actions. And Kaku blinks. He tries to excuse himself, to hide away in some dark, cold corner of the ship where he can bottle up all these thoughts again and manage his guilt in silence.

But he’s not allowed to. Of course not.

Robin says, just as he turns to leave, that obviously even if he were to get on his hands and knees to grovel like the worm that he was, eyes unemotive, he would never gain forgiveness, much less hers, that way. Only a fiery grave awaited those who were so spineless. She says that she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to forgive the things he’s done as a person, a former government agent. A dog to cruel masters. Her eyes follow the bob of his Adam’s apple as she takes a long, calculated sip of her tea.

But she wouldn’t be unwilling to start over with whoever Kaku made of himself now, as a potential ally. Not a friend yet, not nearly close to nakama, but it was a start and, smiling, Robin was interested in seeing what he’d become on the journey to get there.

Contradictory to what anyone had to say, Kaku did not cry that day.

#cebwrites #one piece #one piece imagine #one piece headcanons #kaku #op kaku #kaku one piece #straw hat pirates #mugiwara crew #mugiwara kaizoku #luffy #zoro #sanji #usopp #nami #franky one piece #nico robin #zosan #usonami

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eretzyisrael · 1 year ago

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by Daniel Greenfield

Last year, Biden met with Palestinian Authority leader Mahmoud Abbas and boasted that, “I reversed the policies of my predecessor and resumed aid to the Palestinians — more than a half a billion dollars in 2021.”

Batsheva Nigri, a preschool teacher, was riding in a car with her twelve-year-old daughter when Islamic terrorists from the Palestinian Authority’s Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigade cut them off and riddled the car with 22 bullets. Batsheva’s twelve-year-old daughter watched her mother die.

The Palestinian Authority’s terror group hailed the murder of a 42-year-old preschool teacher as a “natural response to the crimes of the occupation” and as revenge for Denis Michael Rohan, a non-Jewish Australian tourist, starting a fire in the Al-Aqsa occupation mosque in 1969.

Those who knew the preschool teacher described her as a woman with a “heart of gold” to whom “all the children were like her children.” Hamas and Islamic Jihad however claimed that her murder glorifies Allah.

Last Monday’s murder comes after an Israeli father and son were shot to death on the Sabbath. They’re among a growing list of terror victims this year ranging in age from a 6-year-old boy purposely run down on a Jerusalem street to an 82-year-old woman who was killed while trying to get her disabled husband to safety when a rocket hit their building.

The twenty-six terror victims are a sharp increase from the only 3 deaths in 2020 when the Trump administration’s cutoff of aid to the terrorists occupying parts of Israel took effect.

The number of terror victims fell every year Trump was in office, from 15 in 2017, to 12 in 2018, 10 in 2019 and then only 3 in 2020.

And the number of terror victims shot up every year Biden was in office from 17 in 2021, to 31 in 2022, and there is every sign that 2023 will top that.

Twice as many Israelis were killed in one month of Biden than in one year of Trump.

It’s only August and already 26 Israelis have been killed by Islamic terrorists. Last year at this time 18 Israelis had been killed by terrorists making for a 40% increase in 2023.

What made all the difference? As Rep. Ilhan Omar once said, “It’s all about the ‘benjamins’”.

In 2018, Congress passed the Taylor Force Act, named after an Iraq War veteran who was stabbed to death by a terrorist in Jerusalem, which cut off most aid to the Palestinian Authority. In 2019, President Trump went even further with a nearly total cutoff of aid to the Palestinian Authority. Biden not only restored aid, he sharply increased the flow of cash to the terrorists.

Biden’s half a billion dollars helped fuel a massive surge in Islamic terrorism. While the money is officially listed as humanitarian aid, injecting money into terror zones funds terrorism.

The Palestinian Authority maintains a ‘pay-to-slay’ program which pays salaries to terrorists based on the lengths of their prison sentences. That means successful killers can earn $3,000 a month in a part of the world where the average salary is around $700 a month. It’s five times more profitable to be a terrorist than a teacher.

That’s the price of Batsheva’s life and that is what the Biden administration has been paying for.

The Biden administration is well aware that the Palestinian Authority funds terrorism. While Biden and Secretary of State Blinken refused to raise the issue with terror leader Mahmoud Abbas, Assistant Secretary of State for Near Eastern Affairs Barbara Leaf claimed, “we are working to bring pay-to-slay to an end.” Instead the United States is funding pay-to-slay.

And worse.

Recent documents reveal that the State Department applied for an OFAC license which exempts it from Global Terrorist Sanctions Regulations in order to provide foreign aid.

A government sanctions exemption document warned that, “we assess there is a high risk Hamas could potentially derive indirect, unintentional benefit from U.S. assistance to Gaza. There is less but still some risk U.S. assistance would benefit other designated groups.”

The Biden administration knows that it’s funding terrorism. It is not only aware of it but it actually applied for an exemption in order to be able to continue funding terrorists… including Hamas.

Batsheva’s murder, like that of the 74 terror victims killed under Biden, was paid for directly and indirectly through foreign aid to terrorists and sanctions relief on Iran’s terror regime. These policies were not undertaken in ignorance, the OFAC documents provide clear evidence that the Biden administration had been warned that it was funding terrorism and that people would die.

That’s why the number of Israelis continues to climb every year that Biden has been in office.

After 7 Israelis, including a 14-year-old boy, were killed in a Sabbath terrorist attack outside a synagogue in January 2023, Secretary of State Blinken met with Mahmoud Abbas and promised another $50 million to UNRWA which acts as the employment agency for Hamas. Earlier that same month, the Biden administration warned Israel to turn over $39 million in tax revenues to terrorists rather than providing that money to help terror victims rebuild their lives.

In August, with 4 Israelis already murdered, the Biden administration demanded that Republicans stop blocking $75 million in “humanitarian aid” to the UN agency. Sen. Jim Risch and Rep. Michael McCaul are determined to block that aid until Secretary of State Blinken certifies that UNRWA “is not affiliated with U.S. designated foreign terrorist organizations”. And yet the Biden administration can’t seem to even manage to clear that lowest of legal bars.

In Batsheva’s kindergarten in Efrat, which the Biden administration considers an “illegal settlement” despite being referenced numerous times in the bible, the children have lost a teacher and a friend.

The murdered preschool teacher had been on the way to “prepare the kindergarten for the start of the year.” A woman who worked with her described how “every time I entered the kindergarten, she welcomed me with a beaming smile that always accompanied her. The children were everything to her, she always hugged them and gave what she could to the children, the staff, the parents.”

Batsheva did not have to die. None of the 26 already killed this year did. The 3 dead in 2020 show what’s possible. The Biden administration is knowingly funding the murder of the innocent.

#batshiva nigri #joe biden #biden administration #aid to palestinians

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danganronpasurvivoraskblog · 9 months ago

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Sakura Ogami VS Jonathan Joestar [Danganronpa Survivor VS JoJo's Bizarre Adventure]

Hifumi: Sakura Ogami! Hopes Peak Academy's Ultimate Martial Artist, and the world's strongest human!

Leona: And Jonathan Joestar! The very first JoJo who ever Joj'ed!

Hifumi: These two large and in-charge fighters, who are bigger than life itself (though not in the same way as me), yet possess a heart of pure gold inside them will cross over hell and high water to save their world and protect their loved ones.

Leona: But if world's collide, which one is gonna come out on top!? He's Hifumi and I'm Leona!

Hifumi: And it's our job to analyze their weapons, talents and skills, to see who will win a DEATH BATTLE!

Hifumi: Not many people seem to realize that it's quite lonely at the top...Something that Mrs Sakura Ogami would be able to tell you from first hand experience.

Leona: Like almost every other character we've tackled so far, Sakura was scouted to join Hope's Peak, a special, government-funded school that aimed to give the young a strong future that could only be obtained through the development of their own talents; as the Ultimate Martial Artist. Yeah baby, we finally have an actual FIGHTER!

Hifumi: What do you mean "finally!?" We literally had the Ultimate Soldier and Ultimate Swordswoman on the show already!

Leona: Oh yeah, fair point. I mean we just have an actual martial arts specialist instead of someone who just wields a bunch of weapons.

Hifumi: Mrs Ogami's story doesn't just start from her time at Hope's Peak though, and the power and strength that the Academy caught notice of runs in her family. While it's rarely ever brought up in conversation, she comes from a fascinating line of ancestors who were among the world's best warriors and trained to go beyond what is normally possible for humans.

Leona: Yes, a family made up of such badass individuals that would make the Tekken Mishima Clan cower in shame and terror! Sakura is also known as one of her clan's strongest members, having trained since she was a baby and defeating her own father, the clan leader, when she was only 8 years old.

Hifumi: Going forward from that victory, Mrs Ogami had one key desire. To become the strongest human in the world! The main reason being to prove wrong all those stupid sexists who said it couldn't be done because she's a woman.

Leona: And just LOOK AT HER for God's sake! If somebody said a woman with that physique was the most powerful woman in the world, then I'd believe you in a second flat! Even if I didn't, the fact that she boasts the phenomenal record of over 400 victories in a row is proof enough that this girl is at the TIPPY TOP of power!

Hifumi: But it wasn't always that way; and with threats such as Izuru Kamukura still present in our world, it technically still isn't. As powerful a combatant and as overwhelming a monster Mrs Ogami can be, there was always one obstacle she was determined to overcome in order to achieve her goal: A certain man named Kenshiro.

Leona: If you've been following the story from the beginning up until now, Kenshiro was a friend of Sakura's from a very young age, as well as her biggest rival and the one man that she could never defeat. And now the two of them are set to be married. Aren't life-long rivalries so romantic!?~

Hifumi: However, it wasn't sunshine and rainbows forever. Mrs Ogami did indeed finally achieve her dream of attaining Kenshiro's title of "World's Strongest Human," but not in the way that she would have preferred. The prestigious fighter came down with a terminal illness, and was expected to pass away very soon. While that ultimately didn't happen thanks to the Future Foundation's medical experts getting to him in time, his days of fighting were long over.

Leona: To make matters worse, it wouldn't be much longer after this news that Sakura would attend Hope's Peak, and as a result, be swept right up into the first broadcasted mutual killing game! Enoshima, YOU SLUT!

Hifumi: Indeed, just like she did with myself and my other classmates, Mrs Ogami had 2 years worth of memories erased from her, meaning she forgot about us being classmates and the memories that we shared with one another.

Leona: Still though, you probably think that such catastrophe would be nothing at the hands of somebody so powerful. As the Ultimate Martial Artist, Sakura doesn't focus on one specific type of combat; rather a mix of multiple different styles depending on the situation, including the likes of Aikido and Karate. And to nobody's surprise, she's proficient in ALL of them, and can switch on the fly, adapting and making use of almost any technique and move you can think of!

Hifumi: This includes a technique called "Shukuchi", a Japanese-language term for various mythical techniques of rapid movement. In summary, she can move so blindingly fast, she looks like she's teleporting! If you've watched anime like Naruto, you'd be familiar.

Leona: You might have noticed this if you've followed this series up until now, but when it comes to evaluating a characters level of power in Danganronpa canon, Sakura is usually the main character that we scale everyone to. And her raw strength, speed and overall power is the exact reason why we do so.

Hifumi: Let's start off by focusing on strength and power, especially considering that's the main thing that defines Mrs Ogami's talents. She's able to grapple other capable fighters, tear apart massive plates of steel, and has fought on par with both Monokuma's Killing Game version, as well as Mukuro Ikusaba in both the IF and Survivor timeline.

Leona: Let's take a quick jump back to the past and remind you guys of a few itty bitty details we covered previously. For starters, Monokuma is already a bear that can rip people apart with his claws effortlessly, and can usually only be taken down or fought using a hacking gun, and his Killing Game versions across the series are FAR more powerful than the sentries shown in Ultra Despair Girls and Survivor.

Hifumi: Additionally, in the same light novel where Mrs Ikusaba and Mrs Ogami went head to head, Mrs Ikusaba battled against 100 of these exact Monokuma's, armed with a makeshift weapon and dodging machine gun fire at the same time.

Leona: And earlier in that novel, she even ADMITS that she might not have been able to safely go toe to toe with Sakura, and had to make a tactical retreat! Additionally, in her swimsuit event in Danganronpa Summer Camp, Sakura throws a punch that is so immense and so powerful, she cuts straight through the ocean!

Hifumi: Unfortunately, we don't know just how far the punch went and never got a visual, so we can't properly scale it. However, it would at least require a minimum force of AT LEAST a Megaton of TNT.

Leona: Lastly , even though it's a really early feat in the Survivor storyline, Sakura DID come out on top as the ultimate victor in a 5-way sparring match between herself, Mukuro Ikusaba, Maki Harukawa, Peko Pekoyama and Akane Owari.

Hifumi: And it's a basic fact that almost every other capable fighter in the Danganronpa series, like Mr Nidai and most of Zetsubou and the Kisaragi's pale in comparison to her. Really, the only person we know of that could realistically beat Mrs Ogami is Izuru Kamukura, who by default is just ridiculously overpowered, as I eluded to earlier.

Leona: So yeah, she's fucking busted. And not just in terms of raw power. For feats like speed and durability, we can scale her to characters like Juzo Sakakura and Genocide Jill.

Hifumi: Genocide Jill, as we've brought up a few times, is capable of dodging lightning and slicing through missiles mid-flight with her scissors. Even if it took a little effort to catch her, Mrs Ogami was even able to subdue her easily in Danganronpa IF. Considering Mrs Jill was able to defeat Big Bang Monokuma with Mrs Komaru Naegi, it's highly likely that Mrs Ogami could achieve the same feat BY HERSELF! Additionally, her matching Killing Game Monokuma blow for blow shows she must be on an equal speed level as him, and Monokuma has already shown by this point he can hit baseballs consecutively fast enough to match a machine gun!

Leona: Not to mention that Sakura's battle against Mukuro makes this EVEN MORE impressive; since Mukuro can just straight up BLITZ Monokuma! And series creator Kodaka stated that she could easily defeat Sakakura, who has easily taken hits from powerful adversaries like Gozu, Seiko and Tengan, and even managed to tank a missile barrage, fired at him by Miaya Gekkogahara! Sakura therefore, must be a higher level of strength, and an equal level of durability.

Hifumi: On top of all that, you might remember in Mukuro Vs Kayano, I mentioned that Ms Ikusaba could run from Japan to Prague in a couple of seconds. Really, this feat originally comes from Mrs Ogami, who was originally stated to be capable of this feat. That would put her rough speed on the level of between Mach 20 and Mach 26!

Leona: And you might think that with all this hulking meat and nasty feats, she would be a "hit first, ask questions later" like yours truly! But...no! While we'd be hard-pressed to call Sakura a "genius" she's incredibly tactical, and she can keep her cool and think things through in almost any combat situation, be it hand-to-hand, class trials, or even a casual game like chess or shogi. She's basically INVINCIBLE, and there's basically no way to take her down!

Hifumi: Unfortunately, that's not entirely true...Mrs Ogami does indeed have some notable weaknesses.

Leona: HOW does someone THIS OP have ANY weaknesses!?

Hifumi: Well, it's primarily because despite her inhuman feats, she's still technically a human. if someone WERE powerful enough to land several strong hits on her, she can easily be knocked out with enough blunt force.

Leona: So she actually got KILLED during the Killing Game!? Who the hell can kill a behemoth like her!

Hifumi: Well...herself...

Leona: Eh?

Hifumi: The truth is that from the very beginning of the First Killing Game, Junko Enoshima blackmailed Mrs Ogami into feeding her information from behind closed doors, threatening to destroy her family's dojo should she fail to comply. Later on, Monokuma went on to expose Sakura's treachery, which caused shifts of trust and judgement among the group, basically leaving the next murder to be right around the corner. Tensions were so high that when Mrs Ogami tried to settle the situation, she got smashed over the top of her head TWICE with glass bottles from Mr Hagakure and Ms Jill.

Leona: Ow! What the hell, man!? So they basically both just killed her even though she just wanted to talk!?

Hifumi: No actually. Even though she was left bleeding from the head, Mrs Ogami SURVIVED both blows! But unfortunately, she was really only left with one option, at least that's how she felt. Knowing there probably wasn't anything left for her, but also wanting to protect the companionship she had with the likes of Ms Asahina and the other students...Mrs Ogami sacrificed her life, downing some poison and succumbing to it's effects.

Leona: Damn...That's...impressive. She really sacrificed herself for all that?

Hifumi: Fortunately, even though Monokuma tried to throw a spanner in the works, her plan worked, and became the catalyst for the survivors to rise to the cause and cause Junko Enoshima's downfall. Even in her untimely death, Mrs Ogami emerged the victor over the twisted tyrant, and came back to life later for another round!

Leona: Sakura is everything one wants to be. Powerful, yet charming; someone who will protect you and wreck shit if you ever get hurt. You might come across a variety of strong people across many timelines, but the fact remains that the Ultimate Martial Artist will always have a high place on that list...

Hifumi: Can I just say before we close out I'm really glad we're doing this now instead of a later chapter because...I really didn't want to take a certain feat into account...

Leona: You know that was your idea, right?

Hifumi: I know but...still...

Hifumi: It's time hop into our hot-tub time machine and take a journey back to the 1880's, in good old fashioned Victorian England. Where capitalism divided the nation in half between the filthy rich and the miserably poor.

Leona: If you had money, you were living the high life. If you didn't, you were down low in the dirt. That is...unless your dumbass dad adopted another son who happened to be the BIGGEST DICKHEAD in ANIME!

Hifumi: Enter...Jonathan Joestar!

Leona: So, before we get properly into this biz, I kinda wanna just bring something up. Unlike our previous combatants, like Kayano, RHM and Phoenix, Jonathan Joestar is actually a returning combatant from the ORIGINAL Death Battle, who fought Tanjiro Kamado in Season 9. So considering DB have already done most of the calculations on our behalf, expect us to...paraphrase a lot of our points.

Hifumi: Yes, well, The affluent businessman George Joestar I and his wife Mary gave birth to Jonathan Joestar, better known by his alias JoJo. Even at a young age, he was an honest, kind, and upbeat young man, enjoying a happy life with his girlfriend Erina and pet dog Danny. That is until he met his adopted older brother Dio Brando, who tormented, beat, and severely traumatized the young Jonathan, whose life became filled with tragedy.

Leona: Dio dedicated his life to emotionally breaking Jonathan, attempting to turn him into a docile puppet in order to take the Joestar fortune for himself. However, Dio stealing Jonathan's first kiss with Erina was the final straw, and something deep within Jonathan's heart awoke; the raging passionate fire of a gentleman...Which he then proceeded to take advantage of in HANDING DIO HIS SHIT!

Hifumi: Gentlemen don't typically hand people their shit. If anything, it's the exact opposite of that. Unfortunately, even though Jonathan asserted himself as anything BUT Dio's punching bag, this standstill wouldn't last. Dio exacted his revenge a few years later when he transformed into a vampire and murdered George Joestar! Jonathan would require more than just his morally upright fists to win the day, as Dio was now determined to rule the entire world.

Leona: He needed power...He needed to train...He needed justice...! And all of that came in the form of a weird Italian Man who punches frogs for a living!

Hifumi: This man was Will Anthonio Zeppeli, a practitioner of the ancient martial art of Hamon, which was created especially to combat vampires like Dio. Users of the Hamon art can send a hot, electric ripple out of their bodies and overwhelm their opponents with it through their breaths. Kind of like channeling the power of sunlight, which as we know, vampires can't handle very well.

Leona: Please don't call it the Ripple, the dub changes are always so cringe...

Hifumi: I'm just saying it like it is! It IS a ripple! That's what Hamon means!

Leona: A user of Hamon energy can disintegrate vampires with a single blow and greatly improve their physical prowess. Zeppeli taught Jonathan everything he knew so that he could fight and defeat Dio. For example, the Zoom Punch, where Jonathan stretches his arm and punches an opponent from afar as if his limbs were made of rubber.

Hifumi: It's actually not as simple as stretching your arm like Mr Fantastic or Monkey D. Luffy. Pulling this off requires Jonathan to dislocate his shoulder and use Hamon to ease the pain before snapping it back into place. In reality though, this is just the effect of breathing giving people superpowers taken very literally.

Leona: What do you mean "literally?"

Hifumi: Hm...I could tell you...But it might actually be worth bringing in a little bit of scientific help for this one...

Hifumi pulls on a curtain cord, and the sound of crying out in fear rapidly grows louder and closer until Uchui Porosen comes crashing onto the set.

Uchui: OW! Ugh...Jeez! You know, when you told me to wait up there, I wasn't expecting you would slapstick comedy me into the scene!

Hifumi: My apologies Mr Porosen. It was actually Mr Kurafto's idea.

Uchui: Of course it was...

Leona: 'Sup Kamu-dude! Was kinda wondering when we could finally get you on this one.

Uchui: Well, I was called in for backup in case you needed math advice, but you've been handling things pretty well so far. Still, I guess I can help tell you about how breathing works...That's fine too.

Hifumi: The floor is yours, my good sir.

Uchui: So, Dutch explorer Wim Hof managed to survive for nearly two hours while almost completely submerged in ice water, as the original Death Battle revealed in their program. In a similar conceptual maneuver to the Zoom Punch, Hof used forced exhalation to lower his oxygen levels, which boosted his body's ability to regulate temperature and releases euphoric chemicals that dulled the pain of the freezing cold. Also, in real life martial arts, breathing is an essential technique that practitioners - including a fighter like Sakura - must remember to use constantly. By massaging the organs beneath the diaphragm, deeper breaths help to relax your body and reduce its energy needs while also increasing your available energy. It keeps you stronger and lasting longer.

Leona: hehehehe...

Uchui: I'm going to smack you...!

Leona: Oh come on, you left yourself open for that one!

Uchui: At first glance, the fact that we ALL simply do this without giving it much thought may not seem remarkable, but by carefully controlling our oxygen intake, humans can improve their focus, speed up their fight-or-flight responses, and even change the rate at which their blood flows through their bodies. In the case of Hamon, it is very similar to the Chinese concept of Qi, which literally translates as "breath," "vapor," or "air." Not to mention the practice of it, known as "qigong."

Hifumi: Qigong is a system of breathing, meditation, and coordinated body posture and movement used for martial arts training, spirituality, and overall health. Qigong is traditionally seen by Asian cultures, most notably the Chinese people, as a way to cultivate and balance their life energy.

Uchui: Qi believers describe it as a vital force that needs to flow freely in order to be healthy. Qi is not to be confused with the scientific concept of energy; rather, it is a pseudoscientific, unverified idea, which is kind of my specialty, as we all know. It is sometimes believed that Gods, particularly anthropomorphic Gods, possess qi and are a reflection of the human microcosm, with qi able to concentrate in specific body parts.

Leona: Those are...a lot of big words.

Uchui: Oh...my bad...I got carried away again.

Hifumi: Do not worry about it Mr Porosen! Feel free to keep going,

Uchui: Right...well, while it's not FACT that channeling qi makes this possible, it's commonly believed that you can channel your own qi to accomplish amazing feats like walking on water, magnetizing plants, or controlling your opponent's muscles in a fight. It can even pass through metal and other solid surfaces.

Leona: Which are PROVEN to all be possible with Hamon!

Uchui: Yes, but it's evident that no matter how much qi a person possesses, they are unable to simply light their fists on fire and slam their opponents senseless with a barrage of blows.

Leona: SUNLIGHT YELLOOOW OVERDURIIIIVEEE!

Hifumi: Well, that's it for the science lesson. Thanks for joining us Mr Porosen! Your insight was greatly appreciated.

Uchui: No problem. Feel free to call me any time that DOESN'T involve me falling through a trapdoor.

Uchui salutes then exeunts.

Hifumi: So, armed with these incredible powers and now more than capable to throw hands, Jonathan, Zeppeli and their cohort Robert E. O. Speedwagon marched into Dio's territory and fought a horde of ruthless zombies!

Leona: Not just zombies! They also battled Bruford and Tarkus, two of Dio's most dangerous allies, the latter of whom had the strength to slice through a cliff with a single swing and rip entire boulders out of the earth. He could even split Zeppeli in half and snap JoJo's neck with relative ease. Poor Zeppeli...The fate of the mentor in anime is a cruel state of existence...

Hifumi: If only he had been a tad more perverted...

Leona: Yeah, right?

Hifumi: Zeppeli's final act before passing away was giving Jonathan his Hamon energy, which not only helped him heal his own broken neck but also united their energies. Because of this, Jonathan gained the strength to use just his hands to chop through Tarkus' enormous arm!

Leona: Oh yeah...I kinda just remembered that Jonathan has a sword...He didn't even need to use it here...Now, as any long-running JoJo fan would know, Dio has always had an influence even leading several years into the future up to Jolyne's era, but Jonathan, the first of the JoJo bloodline, was also the one who ultimately defeated him. And while yes, Dio is significantly more powerful in Stardust Crusaders, Phantom Blood Dio could still achieve feats of strength and speed above humanly possible. And considering Joseph Joestar, the only other JoJo capable of Hamon-wielding, is able to easily dodge beams of light, it stands to reason Jonathan could do the same thing.

Hifumi: And as Leona just casually mentioned, Jonathan is also armed with a medieval European knightly sword, aptly called "Pluck."

Leona: The sword belonged to Bruford at first, but after Jonathan's Hamon gave him back his human soul, he gave it to Jonathan and renamed it. Jonathan then used the sword to sever Dio like a chunk of salami!

Hifumi: Jonathan's greatest strength was always his intelligence and unwavering determination, more so than his strength, speed, sword, or even Hamon. Dio was defeated once more by the same unwavering desire for justice that had brought him down all those years ago, but this time around, the victory was short-lived and bittersweet.

Leona: Jonathan is basically the definition of a big man with a big heart. Dio abused, mentally tortured him, killed his dad, and yet despite all that, he never say Dio as anything less than his brother, though Dio didn't share the sentiment.

Hifumi: On the eve of his marriage with Erina, Dio came back to kill Jonathan and take his body, and Jonathan gave his life to save his wife and unborn child. He did not, however, die in vain. His lineage would endure for eons, producing a succession of remarkable, peculiar and...dare I say...BIZARRE heroes who would foil Dio's schemes and preserve the cosmos for all eternity.

Leona: And thus the name JoJo would be passed down through the ages...Figuratively...and LITERALLY!

Hifumi: Alright, the combatants are set! We've run the data through all possibilities!

Leona: IT'S TIME FOR A DEEAAATH BAAATTLLLLLLEEE!

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Sakura Ogami sits atop the peak of a mountain, arms and legs crossed, eyes closed, and quietly meditating, undisturbed by even the sounds of the birds and wind around her. She only opens her eyes when she senses a presence scaling the mountain behind her.

Jonathan: I wasn't quite expecting this...

Sakura: Expecting what, exactly?

Jonathan unsheathes Pluck from his back.

Jonathan: I was told that if I came here, I would encounter the strongest fighter in the world...And yet I stand here, only to find you...A young woman...

Sakura stands up and only halfway turns to look at him.

Sakura: You were not expecting that the world's strongest would be a woman?

Jonathan: In all honesty, no...Though I know better than to misjudge people by appearances...Hitting you would be another thing entirely.

Sakura: Those sound like fighting words...

Jonathan: It is a rather long story...I was instructed to come here and defeat the world's strongest...Passing this trial comes in exchange of-

Sakura: You need not explain it to me...I will gladly battle any adversary that steps up to the plate...

Jonathan: If that is the case...

He points his sword at her.

Jonathan: Have at you...!

Sakura turns around, a powerful aura surrounding her, and the ends of her mouth slightly curving up. She begins to crack her knuckles and assumes her fighting stance.

Sakura: With pleasure...!

Sakura lunges in for the first attack, and Jonathan tries to counter by swinging his sword at her. The edge of the blade collides with Sakura's fist, but doesn't cut her.

Jonathan: Hah! Indeed, this is just the level of power I was expecting!

Sakura: This is a battle. Not a casual conversation. Talking is far from a key tactic...

Jonathan: No...Of course not...But deception can be a key tactic...!

Sakura: Hm...!?

Jonathan starts to charge his Hamon energy into his blade and superheats it, scalding Sakura's fist and leaving a burn mark. Sakura retracts her fist, which Jonathan uses as an opening to punch her in the ribs. The punch is fierce and Sakura flies off the other side of the mountain, with Jonathan chasing her. Sakura looks at her fist, half with dismay, half with excitement.

Sakura: Hmhm...This one will be a worthy opponent...!

As Jonathan brandishes his blade and falls down towards Sakura, she slams into the rock beneath her, immediately springing back up and lunging towards Jonathan with a lightning-quick jump kick.

Jonathan: Ah-!

Jonathan thinks he can counter the kick with his blade and indeed reacts fast enough, but the power of Sakura's kick is so powerful, the blow sends the sword hurtling into the sky and getting lodged into the cliff face, leaving JoJo to fight with his bare hands.

Jonathan: Incredible!

Sakura: Same to you!

Sakura and Jonathan pause for but a second to exchange pleasantries as they land on their feet, then launch into a full-on attack, delivering punch after punch and blocking each other's blows with their fists.

With their sights set on one another, the two combatants retreat along the uneven terrain. Hamon energy starts to radiate from Jonathan's body. Sakura's body starts to radiate a fighting spirit at the same time. Both fighters gradually start to comprehend the sheer strength of their opponent.

Jonathan: *This is really the trial that I was sent to overcome...Her power is unbelievable; even I am not sure I can see this through...!*

Sakura: *I will most assuredly battle, even if my bones should crack...But this one...He has more than enough power to crack them...!*

Despite the intrusive thoughts, neither of them back down. The first to move is Jonathan, who charges forward at breakneck speed, punching Sakura in the face before she can react, and then sending her flying with a spinning fist!

Jonathan: ZOOM PUNCH!

Jonathan attempts to finish his combo by launching his fist forward and striking Sakura via an elongated arm.

Sakura: TCHAGH!

Jonathan: Nani!?

Sakura: HOOOOOAAGH!

Sakura dodges Jonathan's attack by front-flipping out of the way, landing behind him before striking back with a punch that sends a sonic boom crashing into the Hamon warrior. Jonathan chooses to block the attack with his arms and Hamon abilities since he is unable to avoid it in time.

Sakura: DON'T DISAPPOINT ME!

Jonathan: SCARLET OVERDRIVE!

Jonathan creates a ripple of flame and sets his fists on fire, lunging at Sakura. In kind, Sakura thrusts her fists forward at such power and speed, they also combust. The Ultimate Martial Artist and OG JoJo engage in yet another fistfight, the power and heat of their fists setting the surrounding area aflame.

Sakura: Hah!

Jonathan: Gah!

Sakura practically teleports behind Jonathan due to her rapid pace. JoJo can barely keep up with her barrage of kicks and punches as she leans herself into him.

In the instant that he has to catch his breath, Jonathan rushes backward to get some distance between himself and his opponent.

Sakura: HUURAAGGH!

However, no sooner does Jonathan do this, Sakura plants her hands into the ground and tosses up a gigantic slab of earth, tossing it straight towards him!

Jonathan: Tch...! OVERDRIVE!

Sakura: Hah!

Jonathan: Grgh!?

Jonathan uses his Hamon to channel his energy through the crumbling debris, tearing it in half as a result. But as soon as the earth opens, Sakura jumps through it at Jonathan, who has become sufficiently distracted to land a lethal blow. Sakura deals a strong kick to his cheek, but Jonathan barely avoids the more painful brunt of the blow by grabbing Sakura's leg and tossing her back.

Jonathan: *breathing noises...*

Sakura: What...!? UGH! AGH! GUGH!?

Sakura is caught unpleasantly off-guard as Jonathan takes a deep breath, and the back of her head collides with something heavy. She is just barely able to look up and see she smacked into a piece of the rubble from her previous attack, which is now somehow suspended in mid-air! Not only that, but she then falls back to the ground and keeps running into all the other pieces of debris on her way down!

Sakura: Hurgh...! Guh!?

Bleeding from the head, Sakura is still able to land on her feet, the ground beneath her becoming indented. Unfortunately, Jonathan by now is already upon her!

Jonathan: SUNLIGHT...! YELLOW...! OVERDRIIIIIIIIIVVEE!!!!

Sakura is now helpless as Jonathan unleashes a devastating Sunlight Yellow Overdrive barrage on her before sending her flying into the mountain and leaving a huge crater underneath her corpse! After a brief pose, he jumps up and lands on her, slamming his fist and dealing the finishing blow!

*KRRAAAAAAAAKOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMM!*

...

Jonathan: A-Ah...Ah....!

Jonathan's eyes dilate in horror. Despite thinking he's finished his opponent off, he stares down to see that in spite of his power, as well as his advantageous position, Sakura catches his fist before it makes contact...!

Sakura: Alright...My turn...!

Jonathan experiences HELL! Though he tries to react in the split second he has, Sakura throws a haymaker so hefty, it breaks his arm! Jonathan tries to use Hamon to heal his injury, but Sakura attacks her now-vulnerable opponent with a vicious rush, who can now do nothing against her barrage of brutality!

Sakura: IT'S OOVVEEEEEEEERRR!

Jonathan: GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAAAAGGH!

Sakura winds up one more powerful, flaming fist, and throws one final blow that runs straight through Jonathan Joestar, finishing him off and crushing his lungs! Jonathan collapses backwards after Sakura's blood-stained fist slides out of him, falls on his back, leaning down on the rubble...Despite his fate, he opens his eyes one final time and looks up at Sakura, who clenches her fist.

Jonathan: ...You really were...the strongest...

Sakura: We will meet again in the next life...And we will have this "conversation" again...

Though the original JoJo failed his challenge, and though the Ultimate Martial Artist is burdened with his blood on her hands, neither of the two warriors can help but feel relieved and satisfied with the outcome. Jonathan and Sakura smile at each other confidently and respectfully, as the former slips into the afterlife...

Hifumi & Leona: YEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!

Leona: THAT WAS FUCKING AWESOME! And that's ANOTHER win for the home team! LESSGOO!

Hifumi: I'm as excited as you, but while we're riding this high, I think we've got a bit of explaining to do.

Leona: Oh, yeah, for sure! 'Cause I know at home, a lot of people were probably rooting for Johnny-boy, especially since he had so many powers and abilities up his ass that Sakura shouldn't have been able to counter. But the truth is...this match REALLY wasn't that clear cut!

Hifumi: Let the record say that this wasn't a completely one-sided victory. In several scenarios, with minor changes like the setting, prep time, knowledge about each other's innate abilities, etcetera, there are multiple scenarios in which Jonathan COULD have taken an easy win. However, the fact is that Mrs Sakura Ogami at no holds barred was just far too much of a challenge for the OG Joestar.

Leona: JoJo really did have a lot going for him. Sakura might have been able to reach hypersonic levels of speed, far more than human logic would allow someone to reach, but Jonathan is more than able to keep pace with her. When Sakura fought Mukuro, she moved so quickly to Mukuro's blind spot that it appeared as though she had teleported to most of the people around her, and we've already established just how stupidly fast Mukuro's max speed is.

Hifumi: In contrast, Jonathan being able to fight on par with Dio and being fast enough to react to his lightning-fast attacks such as the Space Ripper Stingy Eyes; as well as the fact that he easily defeated Tarkus who blitzed Zeppeli, proves that Jonathan is just as fast, if not FASTER!

Leona: Additionally, Hamon was a VERY versatile weapon, given how much Jonathan could affect with it, most notably the area around him, as well as Sakura herself. Even without it, Jonathan still had the better arsenal. He's by no means a master swordsman, but it's a pretty assured victory if you're going to bring a sword to a fistfight. Most of the time at least...

Hifumi: And Jonathan had the intellect and thinking speed to use this to his advantage! While we made it clear earlier that Mrs Ogami is by no means dumb, and is incredibly strategic in her own right, Jonathan Joestar is a JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE CHARACTER! A character from a SERIES of stories about people fighting and using wacky abilities in the most outwards way possible! And Jonathan is the one who STARTED this trend, even if his grandson Joseph is shown to be more tactical with it.

Leona: So why does Sakura ultimately take the cake here? Well, it's actually quite simple...

Hifumi: Indeed. Speed and intelligence aside, and with or without Hamon, Jonathan's stats are near ECLIPSED by Mrs Ogami's pure power!

Leona: For example, Jonathan is capable of setting his fists alight with energy or fire, and can use his breathing techniques to manipulate the air around him. Sakura on the other hand is capable of nearly the exact same feats, like how she can punch hard enough that her fists combust, or sending a shockwave from her punches that parts the ocean, and she doesn't even HAVE breathing superpowers!

Hifumi: On the one hand, Jonathan post-Deep Pass Overdrive effortlessly overpowered and killed Tarkus despite being previously outmatched, and is demonstrably equal with Dio; damaging him with a punch, bisecting him even after meeting resistance and ultimately defeating him. On the other hand, with just one or two exceptions, Sakura Ogami is "the strongest person in the world" and the best fighter in the Danganronpa series. As such, she should be superior to fighters like Juzo Sakakura, Genocide Jack, and Mukuro Ikusaba, the latter of whom found it difficult to engage in a casual fight with her.

Leona: Again, if you go back to Mukuro Vs Kayano, we went over some of the things that Mukuro was capable of. But in case you don't feel like doing that, as a quick reminder, she's been fighting on battlefields since her childhood days and never received a single scratch to show for it, and she battled 100 Killing Game Monokuma's, which as we said, Sakura was on par with, armed with nothing but an improvised weapon, all while dodging a rapid-fire machine gun turret. And she was AFRAID to fight Sakura!

Hifumi: Not "afraid" exactly, but similarly wary of her. When Ms Ikusaba accomplishes the 100 Monokuma feat in Danganronpa IF, she understands that there isn't a way for her to defeat Mrs. Ogami in a fair match and decides to concentrate on dodging in order to survive against her. She was unable to match her in this particular scenario and instead needed to use her weapons against her or go into her Battle Trance Mode in order to pull of a victory.

Leona: Aside from speed, there's a matter of durability. Again, Hamon realistically could be used to potentially give Jonathan an instant-kill victory. Other Hamon users have been shown to use their powers to directly shut off their opponent's brain or heart, something that's happened to many ordinary humans in JoJo's universe with a single zap. Unfortunately, Sakura Ogami ISN'T a normal human, and even if Sakura is clearly unable to match Jonathan's massively FTL top speeds, she is still able to change her combat style mid-fight, strategize on the fly, and react so quickly that it looks as though she is teleporting. According to our calculations, this places her on par with Jonathan's own reactionary feats.

Hifumi: Mrs Ogami was by no means immune to Hamon. Far from it actually. But the feats of strength that she's been proven to be able to survive completely outmatch Jonathan's. Jonathan Joestar's biggest defense feats are him tanking hits from Jack the Ripper and Tarkus. And while being without Hamon and reduced to nothing but a corpse, his body could survive being caught within a massive explosion, which allowed Dio to take it over.

Leona: But yet again, Mukuro's wariness of Sakura puts her on a similar level of durability, if not MUCH higher than that. The fact that the Ultimate Soldier would have rather taken her down by sniping her from a distance implies that going hand to hand with no weapons would prove fruitless. And as another reminder, we established in Mukuro's episode that her most powerful blow is 6 TIMES more powerful than the atom bomb! Also, being able to fight a much stronger version of Monokuma, the sentry version of which is more than capable of ripping apart a person effortlessly with its claws and teeth, is a similarly impressive feat. And in both Trigger Happy Havoc and IF, Sakura easily deflected Monokuma's attacks.

Hifumi: Mrs Ogami's feat of parting the ocean with a punch is proof enough that if both fighters were to throw their strongest blows at one another, Jonathan would DEFINITELY succumb while she COULD survive. And that factor alone is symbolic of this matchup.

Leona: Sakura's biggest weakness other than her own limitations as a human is that she's shown that despite her raw strength, she will bend over backwards to protect the things and people she cares about. If she's blackmailed, or their safety is threatened, then she will fall in line. But let's be honest, even if Jonathan somehow knew this, he was NEVER going to take advantage of it! The idea of Jonathan-freaking-Joestar taking hostages is, frankly, RIDICULOUS!

Hifumi: Jonathan Joestar is rightfully one of the pillars of shonen society, with his powerful breathing techniques and gentlemanly fists, but Mrs Sakura Ogami's unmatched power, insurmountable strength and iron-tight resolve saw her over the sunny horizon.

Leona: I think we can say for sure that she left us all "breathless~"

THE WINNER IS SAKURA OGAMI!

Next time:

The greatest heroes are often defined by their worst enemy. A title that these two crazy little girls are willing to take the mantle of, even if it drives them to the brink of madness...Only destruction and death will be left in their wake when these two come to town...!

#danganronpa survivor #danganronpa #sakura ogami #death battle #warriors of other worlds arc #Youtube

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mariacallous · 1 year ago

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This article is from 2019

It’s dangerous for leaders to outlive their countries. Whether they move on or become obsessed with returning to power, they cannot escape their role as symbols of a vanished world—a condition fraught with both nostalgia and danger.

Nobody knows that burden like Mikhail Gorbachev, the final leader of the Soviet Union. Since his involuntary retirement, Gorbachev has raised money for worthy causes, attempted to make a comeback in Russian politics, and, notoriously, made an advertisement for Pizza Hut.

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The ad would have become a footnote were it not for its long second life online, where it’s rediscovered every few years. There’s an undeniable voyeuristic frisson of seeing a man who once commanded a superpower hawking pizza.

Each time it repeats, it leaves behind a new flood of clickbait—Time listing it among the “Top 10 Embarrassing Celebrity Commercials” in 2010, Mental Floss using Gorbachev’s birthday as a hook to link to it in 2012, Thrillist naming it the sixth-most bizarre celebrity endorsement of all time. Most of the facts dredged up in these deluges are recycled from a 1997 New York Times article.

More serious authors treat the commercial as a free-floating signifier to prove whatever thesis they are peddling, as when Jacobin cites it as another data point showing that Gorbachev was a sellout or David Foster Wallace uses it to prove the vacuity of popular culture.

But the conventional stories don’t really hold up. Gorbachev isn’t actually the star of the commercial. He doesn’t even speak. He’s a bystander to the commercial’s central drama, a fight over Gorbachev’s legacy between a fiery, pro-reform young man and a dour, anti-Gorbachev middle-aged man—possibly father and son. The two exchange charges and defenses of Gorbachev’s record—“Because of him, we have economic confusion!” “Because of him, we have opportunity!” “Complete chaos!” “Hope!”—before an older woman settles the argument: “Because of him, we have many things … like Pizza Hut!”

In a lot of ways, it’s a beautiful short film and a very weird advertisement: Who would have thought that a bunch of Muscovites bickering about the end of communism would be a natural pitch for pizza?

For the people who created the ad—the executives, the agents, the creatives—it was a professional landmark. But for Gorbachev himself, the story of the ad is a tragedy: one man’s attempt to find—and to fund—a place in a country that wanted nothing more to do with him.

For the world, the death of the Soviet Union was a geopolitical earthquake. For Gorbachev, it was a forced retirement at the hands of his rival—and successor as Russian leader—Boris Yeltsin. According to the biographer William Taubman in Gorbachev: His Life and Times, Gorbachev reciprocated Yeltsin’s hatred, telling one journalist: “When they hang me, make sure that they don’t hang Yeltsin from the same birch tree.”

Initially, Yeltsin and Gorbachev avoided direct conflict. But within months of the Russian Federation’s establishment, Gorbachev began criticizing Yeltsin publicly. In retaliation, the Russian president ordered an audit into whether Gorbachev’s foundation was illegally using Communist Party funds. Then the Kremlin systematically removed the foundation’s sources of support, ginned up protests to harass the foundation, and finally cut its office space to a few thousand square feet.

Yeltsin’s final victory would come in the 1996 election. That year, Gorbachev challenged Yeltsin by launching his own bid for the presidency—scraping just 0.5 percent of the first-round vote. After that victory, Yeltsin left the foundation alone. Yet the years of presidential harassment had taken its toll on Gorbachev’s finances. In 1991, the heads of the former Soviet republics had voted to give Gorbachev a pension of 4,000 rubles per month—but it was not indexed to inflation. By 1994, according to Meduza, his pension was worth less than $2 a month.

Gorbachev had suffered the same fate as many Soviet retirees, who had looked forward to generous pensions only to find themselves forced to hustle and scrape to get by as the Russian economy collapsed around them—shrinking by 30 percent between 1991 and 1998. The foundation, too, was tottering, with even Gorbachev’s significant lecture fees unable to sustain both his family and the foundation and its staff, let alone any projects he might want to pursue to leave a legacy. Even generous donations from Ted Turner only went so far.

Gorbachev was determined to stay in Russia and fight for reform, not to take up a life of well-compensated exile abroad. To do that, he would need money to fund his center, his staff, and his activities—urgently. As Gorbachev later told France 24 when asked about the ad, “I needed to finish the building. The workers started to leave—I needed to pay them.”

To keep his vision going—and to stay relevant in a world moving beyond him—he would need a lot of money. More, even, than he could make by giving lectures. More than anyone in Russia could, or wanted to, give him.

As the Soviet Union shrank, Pizza Hut expanded.

The American firm had broken into the Soviet Union just before it died, thanks in part to Gorbachev’s policies of openness. That’s one reason why the commercial could exist in the first place: It was filmed on location in a Moscow Pizza Hut near Red Square, which had opened in 1990 as part of a Soviet-era deal with the chain’s then-parent company, PepsiCo. That arrangement, which had been hailed as the “deal of the century,” flopped when the Soviet Union collapsed, killing both the Russian economy and the restaurant’s supply chain. (Overnight, Lithuanian mozzarella became an expensive import from a foreign country.)

That connection helped provide the hook that Pizza Hut’s advertising creatives needed. For the advertising firm BBDO, Pizza Hut was a big client in a challenging category. Conveniently for BBDO, that translated into big-budget commercials. Pizza Hut ordered dozens of ads a year from BBDO, with a mixture of ordinary TV spots touting weekly specials and major campaigns featuring spokespeople like Dennis Rodman and Donald Trump.

Keeping such a big client happy was a priority for the firm. By 1997, Pizza Hut’s international arm was looking for new spokespeople. As a global brand, then-Pizza Hut advertising executive Scott Helbing recalled in an interview, the company “needed an idea that truly traveled across continents” for “a truly global campaign that would play in any country in the world.”

Former BBDO art director Ted Shaine, who helped create the ad with Tom Darbyshire, a young copywriter at the time, recalled that BBDO “heard that [Gorbachev] was willing to do something.” Others suggest that somebody at BBDO came up with the idea and sought Gorbachev out.

However it happened, the core idea of the ad remained stable throughout the monthslong process of negotiating and filming it. It would not focus on Gorbachev but on an ordinary Russian family eating at Pizza Hut. It would be shot on location, featuring as many visuals that screamed “Russia” as possible.

The concept obviously exploited the shock value of having a former world leader appear. But the ad played on the fact that Gorbachev was far more popular outside Russia than inside it. As late as October 1991, a Wall Street Journal/NBC News poll showed that 54 percent of Americans wanted to see Gorbachev as the head of the Soviet Union, compared with only 18 percent for Yeltsin. And warm feelings toward Gorbachev persisted in the West long after the Soviet Union dissolved. “In contrast to his unpopular standing at home,” the political scientist Andrew Cooper writes in Diplomatic Afterlives, “Gorbachev retained superstar standing abroad as a visionary statesman.” At home, Gorbachev was a pariah. Abroad, he was an elder statesman and celebrity, far more beloved than the buffoonish Yeltsin.

Actually brokering the deal took months. Katie O’Neill Bistrian, now chief marketing officer of the collaborative workspace firm Work Well Win, took on the role of representing Gorbachev. Then in her mid-20s and a firebrand executive at the sports and talent management company IMG who routinely brokered deals for stars like Derek Jeter, she viewed the Gorbachev deal as something that she could execute.

There was a hitch: IMG didn’t actually represent Gorbachev. Nobody did. O’Neill Bistrian’s first challenge, then, was to work through contacts, particularly IMG head Mark McCormack, to connect to people in Gorbachev’s circle to broker the deal.

The negotiations took months. Partly, this represented a negotiating tactic: The longer the negotiations drew out, the higher Gorbachev’s talent fee would be. But it also represented real hesitation on Gorbachev’s part.

Taubman argues that Gorbachev’s loss of station and purpose hit his wife, Raisa Gorbachev, hard, not least because it meant that the betrayals of 1991 were compounded by public criticism and even charges of treason. Raisa likely feared that the Pizza Hut ad could only further harm his reputation. On the other hand, only international sources could provide the funds that Gorbachev needed. (The exact amount that Gorbachev would receive for the commercial is secret, but it may have been one of the largest talent fees in history—an amount that would be easily in the seven figures today, adjusted for inflation.)

While Gorbachev’s circle prolonged the negotiations, O’Neill Bistrian told BBDO that another figure was available: Muhammad Ali. IMG had just begun to represent the once-polarizing figure, who, by the 1990s, had transformed into a beloved national icon. Pizza Hut and BBDO leapt at the chance. (Concluding both the Gorbachev and Ali deals would get O’Neill Bistrian her own endorsement deal, for Samsung monitors—the only trace of O’Neill Bistrian’s involvement in the deal until now.)

Gorbachev finally assented—with conditions. First, he would have final approval over the script. That was acceptable. Second, he would not eat pizza on film. That disappointed Pizza Hut. “We always wanted the hero of the ad to eat the pizza,” Helbing said.

Gorbachev held firm. “‘As the ex-leader, I just would not,’” Helbing recalled Gorbachev saying.

O’Neill Bistrian suggested a compromise: A family member would appear in the spot instead. Gorbachev’s granddaughter Anastasia Virganskaya ended up eating the slice. Pizza Hut accepted.

At last, filming could begin. Helbing, Shaine, Darbyshire, O’Neill Bistrian, the director Peter Smillie, and several others flew to Moscow in November 1997. Preproduction (casting, costuming, and location scouting) took several days before principal photography, which took place over two days—one for the exterior shots and one for the interior scenes.

BBDO Chairman Philip Dusenberry insisted that the agency’s advertisements be cinematic in their quality. The Gorbachev production lived up to that standard. Informed estimates put the commercial’s budget in the low millions of dollars. Darbyshire, who wrote the script in English, went through three translators to get the right level of idiomatic Russian. To capture the beautiful establishing shots of Red Square and its domed churches, the crew hefted the film cameras high atop the Kremlin itself. And somehow the production managed to get the whole square shut down for the entire shoot.

(Incidentally, Red Square seems to have been chosen more for cinematic needs than for veracity. The commercial shows a Pizza Hut storefront on Red Square itself, but that’s fake—the Russian signage behind several Pizza Hut logos establishes that the door Gorbachev and Virganskaya are filmed entering is actually a jewelry store.)

The team encountered challenges. “The weather was horrible,” Shaine recalled: low light, bitterly cold, and not even enough snow to make Red Square look as Americans felt it should—until a couple of inches fell on the day of the shoot itself. Worse, it wasn’t clear that the commercial would even happen. After months of reluctance to agree to the shoot, Gorbachev arrived late, the first of a few occasions when the BBDO team thought the agreement might collapse. (When the former leader arrived at Red Square, Shaine greeted Gorbachev by saying, “Well, this is a big production we’re involved in.” “I know,” Gorbachev replied through his interpreter. “I’ve been to many big productions in this place.”)

Filming the interior scenes took the better part of a day in a different location, inside a real Moscow Pizza Hut. (Even though the bulk of the commercial is just a conversation around a table, multiple sources stressed that filming such a scene—with its complicated sightlines—is enormously challenging.) Coincidentally, it also happened to be Thanksgiving Day in the United States. Since the commercial was being shot at a working Pizza Hut, the cast and crew—including Gorbachev—ate pizza, which was “one of the most interesting Thanksgiving dinners I’ve ever had,” said Shaine, who was seated with Gorbachev.

In b-roll shot during the production, Helbing interviewed Gorbachev on camera. Gorbachev justified his decision to do the commercial on two grounds. First, the former leader argued, “pizza is for everyone.” It was nicely communal: “It’s not only consumption. It’s also socializing.”

But the more important reason, Gorbachev confessed, was that he needed the money.

The Gorbachev commercial wasn’t just a piece of advertising ephemera. It was also a multimillion-dollar short film—and the creators were as concerned with artistic standards as selling pizza. Besides the expense and effort of the shoot and the postproduction (an original score recorded live!), the dialogue is entirely in Russian with English subtitles—even though Americans hate subtitles.

The aim of these choices was to show Pizza Hut as a global brand with, as Helbing calls it, a “gravitas” that Little Caesars or Domino’s couldn’t match. To do that, Darbyshire and Shaine tried to capture a story that would reflect Russian reality—not just American stereotypes.

Yuval Weber, the Bren chair of Russian military and political strategy at Marine Corps University’s Krulak Center, uses the commercial as a primary document in his classes in Russian history to illustrate the stresses of the transition from communism. Weber argues that Darbyshire and Shaine succeeded maybe even better than they knew at depicting Russian life at that moment. “You have the fundamental note of hope from the American side, that basically pizza or Western culture can solve the really intractable problems of Russian politics,” Weber said. “You have the Russians depicting a legitimate family—a stylized family dispute on something important. The actors themselves are portraying very real stereotypes about contemporary Moscow.”

“The disagreement about the big issues totally would have been plausible describing the Moscow intelligentsia that those actors are portraying in the commercial itself,” Weber said. “My guess, based on the clothes that the actors chose or that the costume designers chose, is that grandmother is clearly a philologist, some sort of drama teacher, literature teacher, foreign-language teacher. Dad? He’s an engineer of some type. The son is a businessman. And they represent the ’50s generation, the ’70s generation, and the ’90s generation. That would have been beyond an American audience, but … I’ve always thought the actors brought [those choices].”

You can also read the ad as a metatextual comment on itself. As Helbing observed: “If you see the spot and hear what they’re kind of saying about what he’s brought, that was truly what those actors were discussing. We would never have been sitting in that Pizza Hut with Gorbachev eating a pizza if it hadn’t been for what he had done.”

With filming concluded, the Americans flew back to the States. The footage went to Clayton Hemmert, an editor and co-founder of the firm Crew Cuts, who had the task of assembling a narrative from the raw footage. “When you get down to it,” Hemmert said, “you have hundreds of thousands, millions, of frames of film that could be juxtaposed in any order and put any sound behind it, so your options are tremendous.” His smooth cutting of music and dialogue gave the ad its chaotic, argumentative energy.

Hemmert played a key role in shaping the ending. “If you listen to that sound ‘Hail to Gorbachev,’ it sounds like the entire nation of Russia is chanting ‘Hail to Gorbachev,’” Hemmert said. The commercial closes with the cheers resounding throughout Red Square and then all of Moscow in progressively wider shots with celebratory music underneath. “It has this impression, you might say the illusion, that the entire nation feels this is a wonderful thing that happened.”

Of course, it is an illusion—in this case, taking the actor’s dialogue, adding reverb, and layering the chants over each other. But it’s also one that suited both the marketing needs of Pizza Hut and the myth-making needs of Gorbachev. Pizza Hut gets to be not only the avatar of global capitalism but also the restaurant that brings people together. In the commercial’s fiction, at least, Gorbachev gets the hero’s reception that Raisa always thought he deserved.

Yet the commercial itself is more open-ended than it might appear on first viewing. “At the very end, when everyone is saying ‘Za Gorbacheva,’ it resounds throughout Moscow and all the landmarks. But the last shot was an old lady, a babushka, dressed in black who basically looks into a great distance. And in a sense, it’s played for laughs. But that’s also her looking off into the future, which is still unclear,” Weber said.

The future turned out to be much dimmer than the ad anticipated. A little less than a year after the ad was filmed, in August 1998, the Russian financial system collapsed. The economic recovery that had begun to take hold was wiped out. As the Moscow Times wrote, “The whole Russian economy fell to pieces at a stroke.”

Weber reflected on what that might have meant for the fictional family in the commercial. “They would have been the ones crushed. The son, he’s exactly the sort of guy who would have been overleveraged. Dad isn’t in great shape. Grandmother hangs on but in worse shape because grandson probably can’t support her as much,” he said. Whatever optimism made the pro-Gorbachev slant of the ad even dimly plausible as a representative sampling of Muscovite opinion vanished. News reports suggest that the Pizza Hut location in which the commercial was filmed itself closed during the crash.

And that means that this fictional family, like most Russians, probably spent the early 2000s supporting the increasingly hard-line Vladimir Putin, seeing him as “the only person who can take them back to stability and potential for growth,” Weber said. Out with pizza, in with the vertical of power.

Everyone with whom I spoke about making the commercial remembers it fondly. They got to meet a world leader; they succeeded in drawing attention to the brand; and the commercial received a unexpected second life online, keeping their work alive in a profession where most product is disposable.

For Gorbachev, however, the ad’s legacy seems less bright—mostly because he never found the path he’d meant for it to fund. The commercial funded his foundation and loyal retainers for a while. Yet a year later, he told the Guardian that he had lost his own savings in the 1998 crash.

Raisa died of cancer in 1999. And despite Gorbachev’s ambitions that his post-presidency could push his country toward greater openness, Russia has slipped ever further along a much less free path than he once envisioned.

This year, Putin commemorated two decades in power. A tightening of laws on foreign support for nonprofits inside Russia squeezed the Gorbachev Foundation; many of his family members have reportedly moved to Germany. In a book released last month, Gorbachev even weakly offered praise for his successor on the grounds that Putin “inherited chaos” and that his moves could be justified if “the aim of authority is to create conditions for developing a strong modern democracy.”

For Russians, the debate about his legacy that the ad foregrounded has been conclusively resolved. In a 2018 poll by the respected Levada Center (another byproduct of Gorbachev’s reforms), 66 percent of Russians responded that they regretted the collapse of the Soviet Union. So, of course, does Gorbachev. His ambition was to perfect the country, not to end it.

Yet Russians seem to blame him for the catastrophe. A 2017 Levada poll found that only 1 percent of Russians expressed admiration for Gorbachev, 30 percent professed to dislike him, and 13 percent said their overall attitude was one of disgust or hatred. (Yeltsin, who died in 2007, received almost identical ratings.) As a leader, Russians rank Gorbachev well below Joseph Stalin.

No Russian crowd, in other words, is going to chant “Hail to Gorbachev!” anytime soon.

#Youtube

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 5 months ago

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DON'T YOU QUIT!

TCINLA

JUL 13, 2024

If the Cretin News Network Baby-Kissing Competition two weeks ago was the bottom of the campaign to date, President Biden conclusively demonstrated with his speech last night in Detroit that the Baby-Kissing Competition was a one-off “bad night.” This speech was the top, the definition of a “barn burner.”

The speech was give at a rally at a high school gymnasium in Detroit. Biden walked on stage to audience chants of “Don’t you quit!”

In the speech, President Biden pitched his plan for the first 100 days of a second term with a Democratic Congress:

Restore Roe v. Wade.

Eliminate medical debt by having the government buy up such debt and cancel it.

Raise the minimum wage.

Protect workers’ right to organize.

Ban assault weapons.

Continue to “keep leading the world” on clean energy and addressing climate change.

Sign into law the John Lewis Voting Rights Act, which would end voter suppression, and the Freedom to Vote Act, which would protect voter rights and election systems, as well as end partisan gerrymandering.

Biden reminded the audience that he was the first president to walk a picket line, because “when labor does well, everybody does well.”

“When Trump comes here to tell you how great he is for the auto industry, remember this: when Trump was president we lost 86,000 jobs in unions. I created 275,000 auto jobs in America. In fact, what’s been true in the auto industry is true all over America: since I became president, we created nearly 16 million new jobs nationwide, 390,000 of those jobs right here in Michigan. We’ve created 800,000 manufacturing jobs nationwide, including 24,000 in Michigan.”

Forcefully contrasting his own record with Trump, who he called “a loser,” Biden said, “Donald Trump is the only president in American history, other than Herbert Hoover, who lost more jobs than he had when he came in. That’s why I call him Donald ‘Herbert Hoover’ Trump.”

Biden also brought up Project 2025, the policy plan written by the Heritage Foundation on how to install a right wing dictatorship in the first 180 days Trump is in office.

Pointing out the calls in the document to criminalize the shipment of abortion medication, deny contraceptive coverage, make cuts to Medicare, and eliminate the Department of Education, he went on to say, “Project 2025 is the biggest attack on our system of government and our personal freedom that has ever been proposed to this country. We’ve never seen anything like this. It’s not a joke. It’s time for us to stop treating politics like entertainment and reality TV. Another four years of Donald Trump is deadly serious. Deadly serious.”

He ended with a joke about his age, saying “I know I look 40”, telling the crowd that “with age comes wisdom. I know how to tell the truth, I know right from wrong, and I know I have demonstrated how to do this job.”

MSNBC’s Chris Hayes called the speech “the best performance Biden’s given since the State of the Union”.

What was the response of the “Democratic elites” to the speech?

The New York Times reported that so long as Biden remains the nominee, major donors will put on hold “roughly $90 million in pledged donations”.

Let’s remember that among the Masters of the Universe, aka the “Major Donors” of the Democratic Party are the financial geniuses who keep funding the artistic antics written by, directed by, and starring George Clooney (“The Monuments Men” anyone? How about “Leatherheads”?), master of all those “Nespresso” ads.

Despite the Press Corpse, there was good news for Biden yesterday: polls show him improving since the Atlanta Baby Kissing Competition, and that there was no great loss in support after that - other than among the collection of clucks in Washington who remind us that Mark Twain’s 1873 observation: “Consider a congressman, then consider an idiot. Bah! I repeat myself!” is still true.

The NPR/PBS/Marist poll released Friday shows Biden leads Trump 50%-48% in a head-to-head matchup.

Jim Clyburn of South Carolina, the dean of the Congressional Black caucus, told NBC that Biden “sometimes mangles words and phrases but all of that is almost natural for people who grew up stuttering. He has one of the best minds that I have ever been around … and so I would hope that we would focus on the substance of this man … and how he has run this country.

Asked by the reporter “Is this the same Joe Biden that we saw four years ago?”, Clyburn said: “No! I’m not the same Jim Clyburn that I was four years ago and in ten days I’ll be 84. But I’m a bit wiser than I was before … It’s biblical. When I became a man I put away childish things. Joe Biden has put away childish things because he has become a man. His opponent is still a child.”

Charlie Pierce said of Biden’s press conference on Thursday: “I was wavering. I admit it. But I’m not anymore. That was a president onstage on Thursday. But I’ve watched the dynamic of the past two weeks play out time and again. It chased Bill Clinton for eight years and it chased Al Gore for eight months. Clinton survived, barely, and Gore lost an election to trivia and some really horseshit reporting from the campaign press, which, in combination with the Florida Hijack, gave us the previous Republican Worst President Ever.”

According to The Clinton Rules, which the D.C. Press Corpse has followed ever since the Lewinsky “scandal,” once The Story is birthed, no matter which set of ratfuckers or bad reporters are its midwives, The Story must be kept alive. There will always be another document, another “issue,” another set of questions leading to Clouds and Shadows over the politician in question.

What continues to piss me off is that this time there are dozens of Democratic political geniuses (looking at you, Axelrod and Plouffe) and Masters of the Universe who continue to push their bullshit regardless of what President Biden does, none of whom seem to have any idea what they want beyond forcing the incumbent president off the ticket.

And this morning the 538.com forecast has Biden winning 51 to Trump’s 48.

President Biden's full speech in Detroit

#TCinLA #Don't Quit #Biden #media #the press #Biden in Detroit

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robo-bozo7125 · 1 year ago

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VOTE FOR STEPH IN @lemon-demon-oc-tournament !!!!!

I don't have any art for him yet, BUT I shall make you fall in love with him via the power of words!

Steph is based off the song "My Trains", and wouldn't you know it, this kid loves trains more than life itself! And that's only a little bit of an exaggeration. Who knows what the mystical allure of the train is - perhaps it's the horns blaring an angel's choir in your ears, perhaps its the way they speed across their tracks like a cheetah sprinting through a safari, perhaps he's simply drawn to the feats of engineering like a moth drawn to a flame. He lives and breathes trains - you should see the collection he has in his basement! He's constantly doodling them, thinking about them, reading about them, daydreaming about them...

Speaking of daydreams, Steph is an avid daydreamer. More often than not, reality can be...upsetting. Things in life tend not to go well for him. His parents rarely show an interest in him unless it's to get on him for things he does wrong. They support him in the material department - after all, they do fund his miniature railroads - but in the emotional department, they haven't a clue. Steph feels as though he can't come out as transgender to his parents, fearing they just wouldn't understand. In fact, he fears most people don't understand him. He can't fathom why people think his obsession with trains is weird - why even other train enjoyers find his passion over the top. That confusion morphs into anger very easily...and so he finds himself alone in school and among his peers. He daydreams to cope with this. In his head he can be in a world where anything is possible; where you're weird for NOT liking trains, where he can be his own conductor, where his parents love him and his hobbies, where he can get the haircut he wants and wear a binder whenever he feels like, where people won't bully him for his weight or his braces or his temper or his trains.

He spends most of his time in his parents' basement. That's where all his trains are and where he's set up shop for the most part. There's nothing more relaxing to fall asleep to than the soothing sounds of a mini train running around the tracks littering his room...did I mention he has a train bed? His parents find it childish, but found out the hard way that he would not sleep in anything else. He also has a whistle that sounds like a train horn, as well as a conductor's hat that he never ever takes off. Not if it can be helped, at least. Posters litter the wall showcasing various models of trains and railroads and newspaper articles about trains and railroads. He criticizes whenever media gets something wrong about a train, or whenever people get facts about them wrong, and will be instantly sure to throw various fun facts at you regardless of if you showed any interest or not.

Because of his temper issues and the fact that he knows how to get around without his parents knowing, Steph has a pretty bad rep. It was by pure luck that he didn't get severe repercussions from the beat down he gave to the asshat that insulted his trains. He tends to sneak out, to not go home after school, to stick around the wrong sort of crowd... or just make bad decisions in general. He knows his parents don't care, as evident by the several times they remarked that they hadn't even known he'd been gone when he'd returned. So he just...does what he wants. One time he even went train hopping with one of his only friends, who he had a brotherly bond with until he was found dead in his own workshop. Steph hasn't had many friends since that, and yet he still finds himself regularly visiting the arcade they frequented.

Anyways, that's Steph!!! Vote for him!!! And good luck to everyone else participating!!!

#shea's shenanigans #steph tag #my trains #lemon demon #polls #lemon demon oc

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heartbrake-hotel · 2 years ago

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Lordy honey yall makin me wanna write my own damn prompt. I got some more little tidbits for ya:

Elvis was turned during his first appearance at the International. But who turned him? I'm thinking there's some sort of deal going on between one the old vampires who invested in the building, maybe even the International's owner and Colonel Parker. They want Elvis to play there for as long as possible, and he isn't getting any younger--so they make it so he can't get any older, either.

At first Elvis is in a state of confusion, because fledglings (at least in my thoughts) are in a sort of fog when first turned. It helps them to adapt to feeding; cue Colonel Parker shoving cigarette girls into Elvis's suite, which he drains dry, much to his own horror when the initial feeding frenzy lifts.

And Colonel Parker isn't exactly picky with what he feeds Elvis: whoever is easy to get up into the suite, and high young girls are the easiest. Elvis tries, when he can afford it, to not feed--he doesn't know that if he drinks regularly then the frenzy won't come, but nobody has told him much of anything. His Sire isn't there, there wasn't any sort of ritual to his Turning as there normally is. No, this was just business.

aLRIGHT WOOHOO SMITTY MY LOVE LOOK AT US !!! im finally getting to this lmaoooo oOOPS 🙈 AND i have some mf THOUGHTS,,

(the orig hc post is here btw) ((idk if yall could tell but it Wrecked my Shit))

also it's been Sooooo long since we discussed this that u now have some Other relevant supernatural!au lore to pull from . so,, i hope u don't mind if i conflate the two universes a lil but ur worldbuilding in you ain't nothin' but a overtook my conscious mind weeks ago and has yet to relent 💝 oh nooooo.. whatever shall i dooooo.. 😏

far too many words under the cut. i, uh.. i may have lost control a lil 🤭🦇 ft. a frankly excessive use of pet names and an e who has been babygirlified maybe more than is appropriate within the confines of the plot (shocking, i'm sure).

right ok so !! vegas as a hub for at least some of the supernatural bc of its transient nature, high tourist volume, and seedy reputation. obvious check

for the most part, unaffiliated vamps stay out of vegas. like you said- it's too hard to monitor their blood concentrations when everyone and their dog is doing truckloads of party drugs well into the night.! but there are, of course, some Old Ones, who saw (or perhaps even built??) the city as their own personal playground btw this blends so seamlessly into the irl high-level mob ties its crazy lmao. marina's bringing up elvis is literally never not on my mind 🙏

if you're rich enough, or powerful enough (or have friends who are enough so), you don't have to fend for yourself the same way, so it's less of an issue. sucking out some rando party girl off the street is faaar beneath the pay grade of the handful of guys at the top, who have their meals carefully cultivated and hand-procured thru what is almost certainly a human trafficking ring

kirk kerkorian [or meyer kohn - u can pick ur universe, here] and the entire board of the international is of course among this group, exerting their power and influence (and perhaps Compulsion) to keep the flow of money running smoothly from the casinos below directly into their cash-lined pockets.

colonel tom parker [a demon again? or perhaps nobody in particular - either way he ends up hellspawn lmao whether literally or figuratively] is acutely aware of this when he first signs elvis on for the hotel's opening season - how could he not be? and of course everything goes perfectly smoothly for those first six weeks in 1969. **ik im twisting ur original idea just a tad but bear w me

but the longer the engagement goes, the more trouble colonel has reining elvis in. he had agreed heartily to those first fifty-eight appearances - purely to fund his upcoming world tour, you understand ("the snowman strikes again!"). but no matter how much colonel wheedles, he's not budging; elvis simply will not sign on for the next year.! he's finally holding his ground... and that's his undoing

coming off the back of his comeback special and last movie, e finally feels like he's got his mojo workin' - the king is back on top! after a looong decade stuffed fit to bursting with his botched movie career, he never thought he'd wrest any semblance of creative control away from the powers that be. but the last year or so has really made him see the value of his own opinion, AND the dangers of continued complacency. so with the backing of his family and extended entourage, he's heading halfway across the world just as soon as he gets off that stage for the last time.

colonel can't have that, not with the remainder of his hefty personal debt hanging in the balance. and with all the dough the hotel is raking in during the first dregs of their opening season, nobody up top wants their prize little cash cow flying away to london or japan or the rock of eternity or wherever he's fixin' to go - not if they have anything to say about it !

and so a plan is devised, swiftly, mercilessly, and without any pesky sense of remorse. after all, what do they have to feel bad about? they're just taking care of business

just after elvis' last performance, he's heading to his packed-up suite to shower and change for what he thinks will be the last time.. the boys are downstairs getting the last of the stuff in the cars and then they'll all head to the airport. he's got just a couple minutes to spare, and he assures them he'll be fine alone. just gonna run on up and change real quick, y'all don't needta worry about me none. [*evil colonel voice* wanna bet?]

he steps into his unusually empty suite, but before he can even shuck the towel from around his neck, his throat is being wrenched to the side in a vice grip as an unseen assailant steps from their hiding spot behind the door. he yelps, tries to throw them off, goes for the gun in his boot, but their grip is like steel, solid and unyielding, and before he can move much of anywhere there's a sharp prick in his neck and a sudden heaviness in his muscles he can't quite shake.

he assumes it's a syringe - he's not wholly unfamiliar with a needle, after all, and why would he suspect anything else? he guesses he's been drugged on account of... well, on account of bein' elvis presley. goddamn sonsabitches don't need any more reason than that. 'course, the sensation is a little different than he's used to - the gauge is unfamiliar, and he could swear he feels two distinct track marks - but by then his head is spinning too much to be certain of anything.

the last thing he feels is a rushing sense of complacency as his legs give out. his vision is swimming too much too see his attacker's face, but they let him go down, hard, and he crumples to an undignified heap on the floor helplessly as they turn to... leave? huh. not what he expected, but he supposes beggars can't be choosers

his sluggishly disjointed musings are broken only by the shadowy figure melting back into the shadows... his increasingly-addled mind knows he should be glad at their sudden departure, but all he can concentrate on is the inexplicable swing out of the vague sense of euphoria that had been the "drugs" kicking in, and a sudden accompanying feeling that he didn't like one bit. he could only describe it as a crawling fear, an absence, a kind of ripping deep in his soul... a pervasive sense of distance, of wrongness so festering he feared it was about to tear him apart from the inside out. he's suddenly certain he's not meant to be alone right now.

he gasps in the worst pain he's ever felt, and at the same moment, he's aware of a rush of footsteps in the hallway outside - he barely manages a wobbly gesture to the door and a slurred request to rip his goddamn tongue out b'the roots to the panicked faces of his boys crowding around his supine form before his vision finally goes dark.

when he wakes up, he's in an all-too-familiar bed. before running for the doctor and his daddy, a frazzled jerry sitting vigil at his side hurriedly explains that without him conscious enough to fill them in, all they knew is he wasn't fit to travel, so they'd unpacked his suite again while waiting for him to return to the land of the living. he's grateful, but assures him that as soon as he's feeling better they'll be heading out again.

he asks jerry to turn down the thermostat and flip off the light on his way out. the heavily-drawn drapes had already ensured it'd been near-pitch dark and freezing, just how he liked it, but he murmured it felt like he was burnin' up from the inside out, and his eyes were too sensitive for even the ambient glow of his bedside lamp. jerry does so and also fetches him a pair of big ol' sunglasses, without a word.

the doctors (who'd been summoned to the hotel; despite protests from the mafia, colonel had suggested that moving elvis to a hospital could be even more dangerous, what with this criminal still on the loose, and vernon had reluctantly agreed) hadn't been able to tell what he'd been dosed with - it'd metabolized too quickly to detect, apparently. all they can tell him after the last four days of monitoring his comatose form is that his vitals have been almost astonishingly strong. the only symptom he's had has been a high fever, but it breaks as soon as he's awake again- and actually, his body temp has overcorrected and is a little low now, is he feeling chilly?

they joke that whatever he'd been given seems to have actually helped him, and he's inclined to agree... despite the fact that they hadn't administered anything to him except an IV drip, in case it had any adverse interactions with whatever he'd been on, his chronic pain has mysteriously vanished. and since he's been awake and in recovery, he's only seemed to get more handsome and charming, no sign at all of being out of it and on fluids for so long. you sure wouldn't have known his recent predicament by looking at him !

he's got a host of baffling new symptoms as well, but nothing that seems dangerous or that points to any kind of diagnosis. he's growing increasingly thirsty, but the buckets of water he's drinking aren't quenching him. he seems to have lost his sense of taste (this one hits him the worst) - at first, the smell of food made him nauseous. now he can keep it down, but it feels like ash in his mouth. his light sensitivity lingers, though for the most part it's limited to natural light, and he takes to wearing the sunglasses often. he seems to have developed a sudden allergy to some of his jewelry - his silver rings and pendants now cause a burning rash. he has them remade in gold and doesn't give it a second thought.

he tells and retells his story to the cops, but they're left scratching their heads; it's widely assumed the panicked arrival of the mafia scared off the creep before they could pull off the rest of their plan. kill him, kidnap him for ransom... seemed like they'd never know for sure, but either way everyone agrees he narrowly escaped a much worse fate. colonel doesn't think it wise for him to be on the road, what with this continued threat hanging over his head, but jerry argues it doesn't seem any better to stay in vegas with this freak at large. and elvis points out that if the bastard follows him overseas, they have bigger fish to fry.

the boys seem confused that the attack doesn't appear to have played into his usual paranoia in any way; he doesn't know quite how to explain it, he tells them, but he feels stronger, somehow. more settled. like if it ever came to it again, he could handle himself. it might just be relieved cockiness, but what didn't kill him made it so he's at least not afraid again. he's been reflecting deeply on psalm 23, apparently.

and so the suite is once again packed up, despite colonel's protestations- this time with elvis under constant supervision, much to his good-natured amusement. it goes without incident, and they make it all the way to the runway before elvis is suddenly doubled over in pain in the back of the limo, sweating and shaking like a leaf.

he's groaning that it hurts, hurts s'bad, but can't say anything more than that, and within seconds the whole caravan has whipped around and is careening back to the relative safety of the hotel. by the time he's being ferried hurriedly up to his room, he's improving steadily, and by the time he's settled in bed and the doctors once more fetched, he's weak and badly shaken but seems no worse for wear.

the doctors can't explain this apparent relapse any more than the first, but tentatively give him a clean bill of health, and two days later they try it all again. this time he makes it within a couple miles of the airport, and it takes him four days to recover. the last time they try, he only makes it four blocks away from the Strip and is bedridden for a week. nobody has any sort of explanation, and the tour is put on hold indefinitely while they're seemingly stranded.

the colonel is the one who offers a possible solution. he'd been hovering around elvis' room the whole time (like a bad smell, sonny mutters when he's out of earshot), fluttering around with assurances that the hotel would gladly host them as long as they needed, maybe even sign them on for another season if elvis so wished...

when elvis finally roars that he just wants OUT of this place, goddammit in response to vernon's suggestion that he stop working himself up with leaving, colonel finally pounces.

he must put his foot down, he says. his boy is clearly in no condition to travel- no, no, not physically, he hastily amends, when elvis opens his mouth to remind him what the doctors said, but clearly mentally. something about the attack has left him emotionally unstable, it appears, and the idea of leaving, even though he's so sure he wants to, is clearly triggering some kind of psychosomatic attack. why doesn't he make up his mind to stay- not forever, just until his head is screwed on right. he can keep playing the international, and they can find him some head-shrinkers to fix him right up, eh? elvis doesn't see any choice but to glumly agree.

of course, unbeknownst to elvis, the real issue is that his Maker won't allow him to leave vegas city limits. he's been kept totally in the dark as to his situation and is thus totally suggestible, so when the vampire who Turned him (continually employed by the Ancients for just this kind of dirty work) uses their mental connection to Compel him to stay within a certain radius, elvis doesn't even know he's feeling it, much less that it's possible to fight it. his Bat simply obeys without question, to the confusion of his body and conscious mind.

if his Turning had been accompanied by proper ritual, if his Maker had explained any of his new life to him, if he'd received any guidance at all, he'd know he could override this instinct, break the Bond they shared (especially as ill-cultivated as it is), and be on his way. as it is, he's like a dog with a newly-installed invisible fence. a dog who's also growing steadily weaker since his Turning because of his lack of sustenance, mind you.

the colonel knows all this. he also knows that any doctors or psychiatrists that see elvis from this point on will be in the know, be provided by the hotel, and be payed handsomely to tell elvis exactly what the colonel wants him to hear. he send word to the Council that they've got him at last. they rejoice at the prospect of chaining elvis to their stage for an eternity, elvis begrudgingly signs the contract for another engagement, and this is where the real trouble starts...

it's been three weeks since he was inadvertently Turned, and elvis is feeling the affects of not having Fed, though he doesn't realize it. he's weak, he's thirsty, he's snappish, and can somebody turn off those godDAMNED lights !!! the mafia assume it's due to his mental slump and are at a loss except to wait it out, but the colonel thinks he has something to cheer him up. he winks and tells red that elvis will have a few, ehem.. lady visitors tonight, and surely they shouldn't be disturbed. the boys get the hint.

colonel sends up the ditziest cigarette girl he can find downstairs, a perky little blonde, so doped-up out of her mind she's wobbling in her heels. she gasped and flushed darkly when he told her that mr. presley was in need of her services; he hadn't even needed to slip her any cash to incentivize her troubles. he chomped on his cigar and grinned darkly as he watched her giggle her way to the elevator.

elvis, for his part, almost makes it. he'd answered the rhythmic little knock in his robe, loosely tied, and didn't miss the way the sweet young thing at his door gaped at the sight of all that chest on display. before he can even say anything, she's slipped under his arm and further into the room, and he raises an eyebrow and grins as he eases the door shut. he peruses her wares (the CIGARETTES !! im talking about the cigarettes..) more for show than anything else, and hands her a $20 in exchange for a pack he doesn't plan on smoking, telling her to keep the change.

she bends over far more than necessary while stacking boxes back in her tray, and flutters her lashes when she asks him if there's... anything else she can get him. flattered as he is, he tells her, he isn't sure he needs anything just now, but thank you kindly anyways, honey. truthfully, he's not sure he's feeling up for it, but she pouts so prettily as she swings her hips sadly over to the door, and turns back to ask if he's really really sure... the colonel had sent her up with express instructions to give him anything he wanted, she explains, sultry little whine in her voice, and he finds his resolve crumbling.

surely a little kissing wouldn't hurt, he reasons, might even make him feel a lil better, and her eyes light up in glee when he beckons her back over. but the minute she's in his arms, easing her way up to his lips as her eyes flutter shut, he isn't sure what comes over him. they're so close her heartbeat rushes in his ears, and without a thought he's effortlessly snapped her neck (with strength he didn't know he had) and is lapping frantically from her torn throat (pierced with the aid of sharp fangs he's never felt before). she never even saw it coming.

he moans as he sags to the ground, clutching her limp form and still slurping desperately as, for the first time since his attack, his thirst is quenched. he dimly realizes he's done something unforgivable, but his head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, everything around him distant and foggy. the sense of panic he knows he should be feeling is a far-off twinge, all but muted by the combined cocktail of ecstasy running through him: fresh blood, dope, and a brain fog he can't quite attribute to either.

when she's dry he's sated, the sense of woozy relief hits him so strong that he barely manages to stagger to his feet and stumble over to the couch, chin and hands still covered in blood, before he's passing out for ten hours of the emptiest sleep he's ever had. when he wakes up, all traces of what happened are gone, and with a mind that finally feels clearer than it has for weeks, he almost manages to convince himself it was an incredibly fucked-up dream, so potent that the sweet metallic tang is still blooming on his tongue...

...until of course, the next time it happens. it goes much the same way: the colonel has no trouble locating a girl who'll never be missed- this is vegas, after all- and sends her, high as a kite of her own volition, up to the penthouse to keep company with a disgruntled and starving elvis. he drains her dry before he can even blink, but stays awake this time to spend the next few hours totally blissed out in an uncomfortably drugged haze. the more he comes down, the more he hates not only what he's done but also the way it makes him feel.

thus starts a vicious cycle: elvis, terrified of feeding, swears off blood, until he's half-starved but fighting himself at every turn. the colonel intervenes, sending throngs of low-risk girls up to the suite, where e simply can't help himself anymore, and enters a violent blood-crazed frenzy. he spends the hours after staggering around half-lucid, waiting for the effects to fade so he can convince himself he'll never do it again.

the stronger he maintains his tenuous mental fortitude- the longer he goes between feeds- the more girls he needs in a night to fill him up, and the higher he gets afterwards. he doesn't ask where colonel finds them or what he does with the bodies. he thinks dully that he doesn't much want to know.. it's hard enough on his conscience already.

of course, yet another thing nobody's bothered to explain to poor frightened fledgling elvis is that every time he refuses to feed when he should, every time he feels the welling signs of that dark hunger within himself and shoves them down in distress, every time his instincts are forced to take over and quite literally make him feed, that it exacerbates the mental fog he's feeling.

vampiric lore (which of course he doesn't know) attributes it to a sort of easing-in countermeasure; it's only newly-turned vampires, not fully in touch with their desires, that attempt to starve themselves so, clearly suffering from a mental block regarding the morality of preying upon their former species. to smooth their transition into acceptance of their new form, every time they're forced to feed rather than do it willingly, a potent release of hormones and neurotransmitters floods their system, both to combat any lingering guilt and to make them crave the mental release of feeding just as much as the physical.

if he were to feed normally, if he were to provide his body with the nourishment it needed on a regular basis, his instincts wouldn't have to override his mind this way. he wouldn't be forced to feed so violently or so much, he'd be able to control himself such that he could select his own victims preferentially and even bring himself to stop before killing them, and he wouldn't feel so overwhelmed afterwards.

elvis thinks of his... condition as an affliction, a temptation he lacks the strength to overcome, but really, it's his body's desperate attempt to stay alive when his mind insists on thwarting his ongoing survival at every turn. the bloodlust isn't a punishment but a protective measure, and one he could prevent if he'd take consistent care of his new needs.

and on top of all that, the particular way his intake is chemically tainted only adds to this anguish, because now he's unknowingly also developing a dependency on the drugs- the painful withdrawal symptoms of which serve to strongarm him into feeding even more frequently.

things are only exacerbated by his performance engagement starting back up; of course, it's even easier to find girls- hordes of them batter the doors to the showroom after every show, desperate for just another glimpse of him- but it also means he's got a responsibility to be right there on that stage twice a night, able-minded or no, and he takes that very seriously.

he's got people to support, after all, so he gets very used to functioning while highly intoxicated, whether that means performing, schmoozing the high rollers in the casino at the behest of his hotel benefactors, or smiling through a never-ending stream of reporters and photographers during every interview and press conference.

this is where the reader steps in !!!

you're one of less than a handful of vamps, just two or three, really, who manage to stick around vegas (and consume healthy blood) without the influence of the Old Ones, a feat you manage by staying off the Strip almost entirely. you stick to the suburbs, both as a way to ensure you're not tripping out after every meal, and to (hopefully) stay out of sight and out of mind of the powerful Ancients who don't want anyone infringing on their territory. this is very fright night remake vibes btw if anyone remembers that

but there's very little to do in the dusty, sprawling desert neighborhoods that isn't centered around maintaining the tourism industry downtown, especially for an immortal with nothing but time (and the occasional meal) to kill. you're nowhere near as experienced as those you seek to avoid, but you've been around the block quite a few times yourself, and sometimes the neon glow of the city lights overrides the quiet boredom of your safely-maintained little perimeter.

tonight is one such night: elvis presley had been headlining the international hotel for what felt like ages, or maybe just a blink - it was hard to judge that pesky human time, when their lifespans were so much shorter than yours. either way, he'd been this era's answer to jesus for a few decades now, and you had to admit you were curious to see him in person at last.

you decide on the midnight show- maybe if you're lucky, you can scrounge up a snack on the way home. you don't bother with a ticket- though you have more than enough human money stored up over the years, you're sure it's no use for what promises to be a sold-out show. the bouncers aren't any deterrent, either- you simply Compel them into checking the list for your name another time, and they let you in without a murmur. the showroom is packed so full, you notice as you survey the area, that nobody could ever notice one more.

you slip into a vacant seat at the end of one of the long tables that line the stage, with a group of screaming fans who don't seem to notice that they don't know you. you can't tell if their distraction is borne more from excitement or alcohol, but either way, you're grateful for the cover. you order a bloody mary as your own personal joke and bide your time until the show starts, perusing the booths that line the floor behind you. you recognize a few familiar Old Ones, by face if not name- no surprise, considering who runs the casino just outside.

eventually, the lights fade and the orchestra bursts into an opening riff. you clap with the rest when elvis struts out on stage, looking resplendent in a white jumpsuit, grinning wide and boyishly and practically glowing under the stage lights. his rings flash as he waves to the audience, courteous and attentive even as he starts singing. when the song's over he introduces himself and some of the VIPs, including the owner of the hotel (now there's a vamp who's been getting himself a lot of press lately), and the heavyset man next to him, apparently elvis' own manager. the man gives a simpering smile and wave to the crowd as the spotlights illuminate the booth, and you wrinkle your nose as you turn back to the main stage. you haven't placed it yet, but something seems off about that one.

elvis puts on a good show, you'll give him that, but the longer you watch, the more puzzled you become. he's slurring just a bit when he jokes with the band in between numbers, and more clumsy than you'd expect for someone so flexible; you'd say it was just another hollywood star using and abusing drugs if he didn't look so... panicked every time. he's twitchy, too, keeps getting down toward the edge of the stage like he's about to move out into the crowd and start planting kisses on his clamoring fans, like you've heard he does, but he keeps jerking himself back at the last second. they seem to think he's teasing, screaming louder every time, and he plays it off with a slow grin, but it's almost like... like he's afraid he won't be able to control himself, like...

ah. there it is

you zero in on just the barest flash of fang in his smile, and immediately suss out what's going on. elvis presley, a fledgling vamp in what is indisputably the worst city in the world for fledgling vamps... strange things are happening every day, aren't they?

that leaves you with more questions than answers, however... questions like where's his Master? why isn't he feeding properly? who's keeping him half-starved and strung-out? and most importantly, does he even know what's going on?

you narrow your eyes contemplatively as you watch him fool with the microphone before prompting the band to start the next song. all it takes is seeing his hands tremble around the cord to make you nod decisively and shoot back the rest of your drink. you suppose you can stick around a little longer than originally planned... after all, it seemed like elvis might need a little help fixing this, whether he knew it or not.

you lingered just a little after the show ended, waiting until the throngs of frantic women had pushed their way back to the lobby before heading after them yourself. you glanced around surreptitiously, locating the nearest elevator bay... and near it, a familiar older man with a cane whispering furtively to a clearly-tipsy young woman, one you recognized from your table during the show. she had caught a silk scarf fluttering down in front of her from the man himself and hadn't stopped screaming until the lights came back on. bingo

you ran one hand through your hair haphazardly, tousling it slightly as you stumbled your way over to them. "oh, there you are! i was looking for you," you chirped. she gasps and waves excitedly in the earnest way only drunk girls do, but your mouth is open again before she can speak and do something incriminating, like ask your name. "who's y'r friend? s'he coming upstairs with us?" you giggle, leering at... what had his name been again? ah yes, colonel parker. you silently gave a sigh of thanks for your heightened senses- you might not have recognized him just from your brief glimpse during the show otherwise.

the colonel glanced you over dismissively, clearly writing you off as another inebriated fan - his mistake, but exactly what you wanted him to think all the same. he gave you a leering grin and tapped his cane as he said "ah, i was just asking your friend here to do a simple personal favor for me..." you hummed disinterestedly until he continued "...on behalf of mister presley, of course." you gasped exaggeratedly and willed your cheeks to flush- lucky you had fed recently.

he seems to buy it, from the way his eyebrow ticks upwards when he sees your reaction "perhaps you would like to... accompany her to his suite, no?" he teases. you nod raptly, artificial stars in your eyes, and he snorts as he pushes the call elevator button for you with the top of his cane. "top floor. you two enjoy yourselves," he chuckles. the two of you giggle as he saunters away, towards the casino entrance.

as soon as the doors slide shut behind you, you straighten up and tidy your hair in the chromatic reflection until you're once again presentable. you brush off your outfit, fiddling until you're satisfied, then take a deep breath. snapping once to get your lightly confused companion's attention, your turn her shoulders towards you so she's making woozy and bewildered eye contact with you.

"hi honey. having a good night? good. this is how the rest of it is gonna go, ok? now you listen to me-"

when the doors opened again at the thirtieth floor, the girl (tracy. she had told you absently her name was tracy) waved distractedly over her shoulder as she walked straight out of the elevator bay and into the nearby stairwell, head filled with what she believed to be an immutable truth about the elevator being out of service. she'd walk back to her room (on the off chance there was anyone downstairs monitoring the floor indicator dial), wake up perfectly safe in the morning, and think nothing of it.

meanwhile, you let yourself into elvis' suite with the key tracy had handed over, a parting gift from the colonel. you left the lights off, made yourself comfortable on the couch facing the door, and waited.

you didn't have to wait long- just minutes later, there was noise outside, multiple male voices speaking over each other as they all piled out of the elevator and headed for the door, elvis' the loudest. "yeah, yeah, i said i'd meet you down there, didn't i? doin' my damn head in... i'll tell ya what, y'all g'head and i'll call down there when i'm done. yes i swear, now git!" laughter and good-natured ribbing faded as the elevator doors presumably closed behind the crowd once again, punctuated with a sigh and the click of the door lock disengaging another time.

elvis didn't seem to notice you as he walked in, leaving the light off as well as he patted his face dry with the damp towel looped around his neck. he leaned against the wall with one hand to brace himself as he toed off his boots, then whipped his dark shades off onto a side table and gripped the bridge of his nose with another deep sigh.

"are you in any pain, mr. presley?" he yelped in undignified surprise and whipped around with a touch of vampiric speed, dropping the towel in his fright to discover the source of your voice. despite the pitch blackness of the room, his eyes locked onto yours immediately through the dark, without needing to scan the empty space around you- another sign of his transition. no mortal could see as perfectly well in this scenario as the two of you could.

"wh- who-" he stuttered some, regaining his bearings, as you cocked your head in evaluation. "i'm sorry to startle you, mr. presley," you say evenly, but pleasantly. "you can drop that shit straightaway, honey, that's my daddy. can jus' call me elvis." he murmurs absentmindedly, as if it hadn't been what he really intended to say but came out by habit. "and now that you know me, may i ask who you are? and better yet what the hell you're doing in my room?" he doesn't sound angry, per se, more resigned than anything, and you smile wryly in response as you introduce yourself. "real pretty, honey, but i'd like an answer to my other question, too." he raises his eyebrow, and you wonder if he's even aware of how much charismatic mental energy he's leaking right now. it was even more apparent to you now why humans throw themselves at him left and right.

"sorry, m- i mean, elvis. the colonel sent me up. i saw your show- you were fantastic, but i had a couple questions." "he did, did he? just wonderful," he almost growls, squeezing his eyes shut. "and some questions, you said? you a reporter?" his voice sounds hard-edged for the first time tonight, but he seems to relax again when you answer with a simple no. "just concerned, i guess." he hums tiredly at your response, vague though it is. "concerned about what, 'bout the show? i'll do my best to answer your questions, honey, but i really don't think there's all too much to be concerned about-"

"elvis, when was the last time you fed?" you can hear his breath catch from clear across the room. "i-i had lunch after rehearsals, but i ain't had dinner yet, if that's what you're askin'... pretty forward way to ask me on a date, but i-" you put a hand up to cut him off. "i think you know perfectly well that's not what i'm asking, elvis. when was the last time you fed properly? on blood?" "...ha! been watching a little too many dark shadows reruns, honey?" his words trip over themselves getting out, and eventually he gives up to just blink at you, speechless, owl-eyed, and afraid despite his frankly pathetic attempt at a cover. he looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar only this time the metaphorical cookie jar is a number of very literal human corpses lol

you bite back a sigh- perhaps you pushed too hard there. poor thing is wringing his hands like he thinks you're gonna put him in cuffs any minute. "maybe we should start over- i'm here to help, ok? i wanna make sure you're alright, cuz i think you might have a lot of questions nobody's explained to you yet. c'mere and sit next to me, baby, and we'll just talk" you pat the seat next to you, flipping his casual pet naming back on him effortlessly. to be fair, he is a baby to you- only, what, a couple months old? that's nothing compared to your few hundred years.

he eyes the spot next to you but shakes his head, still looking like a lost puppy. "n-no, i- m'fine over here," he manages. you furrow your brow; he's gonna need to start trusting you if he wants your help, and this is a bad way to begin. "i promise, i'm not gonna hurt you, elvis-" that sure does it. "i'm not worried about that!" he exclaims. "m'worried about me hurting you!"

you breathe out a surprised little oh, suddenly understanding. "is that what you're so worried about, sweetie? i'm not afraid of you." you try to placate him. "y-you should be afraid of me, honey. i am."

and that's the crux of the matter, isn't it? it breaks your heart a little to know that this is what he's been grappling with alone. it's not meant to be like this- with time and acceptance, he was meant to gain eternal companionship (your semi-loner status nonwithstanding). and whoever heard of a scared vampire?

but you put that aside to focus on elvis- and quickly realize there's one more... little thing you might've left out.

"you don't need to be anymore, ok? i'm gonna help you learn to control it." you beckon him over again, and this time he makes it halfway across the floor before you realize you're not sure if you're Compelling him or not. he'll need to learn what it feels like eventually, in order to both use it and combat it, but now's probably not the time. you break eye contact, just in case, and he falters slightly, but keeps coming, putting you at ease.

as he gets close enough to hear your heartbeat, though, his eyes suddenly turn frantic, and he backpedals, once again in the grip of that familiar terror. "you- you have to get out of here, i can't-" you shush him, not unkindly. "oh, sweetheart. that one's my bad, ok? i guess i haven't been very good at this so far," you grin apologetically. "but you couldn't hurt me, even if you tried"

you use your superspeed to whoosh over to his side and back, the only sign you'd moved at all the slight sway of your hair in the breeze it creates- and the golden ankh pendant now swinging from your upturned palm. elvis gapes, hands reaching up to feel the now-empty space around his neck where the necklace rested just moments ago. "how...?" listen i really can't be assed abt the fact he wasn't wearing necklaces this early ok. it was a cool move

"forgot to tell you - i'm souped up, too." you wink at him, flashing your pupils the deep red they turn when you're Feeding. "and also i think a little stronger than you, given what i saw on stage tonight." this is soo cliche im sorry but Spooky Eyes HAWT. i don't feel bad about it actually

the immediate sense of overwhelming relief on his face almost aches to see, and he's crossed the remaining stretch of floor to practically collapse in your arms sobbing before you can blink. it's... very surprising, you'll admit, but not unwelcome, either, and you're sure the uncertainty lingers in your voice as you gentle him softly, petting his hair and rubbing his back and trying not to overthink the fact that you've known elvis presley for all of ten minutes and now... this is happening. whatever this is.

"woah- woah, hey, what's happening? what's the matter, baby?" he's shaking like a leaf as you hold him, trying to work out in what universe this makes sense. "i-i-i ain't-" he manages through tears. "i haven't been able to touch any-anyone this whole time without b-being so goddamned afraid i'd hurt 'em... and i just- i..."

your worst fears for him, first materialized as you watched him onstage and puzzled about the identity of his Master, are confirmed. "baby... have you been alone this whole time?" you whisper. he just nods from his resting place, face buried in your shoulder. IS this a weird level of intimacy for 2 virtual strangers? totally yup. DO i still think its arguably valid considering how desperately lonely i have decided to make this bitch? uh huh :3

you suck in a breath through your teeth, suddenly filled with the fiery emotion you've been tamping down all night- rage. rage at whoever organized this hit, at whoever must be profiting off it while elvis suffers and innocent girls die, at the colonel who's been shepherding bodies in here endlessly and apparently without deigning to give elvis any proper help or training- yeah, don't think you forgot about him.

but before you can do anything about that, you have to do something with the king of rock 'n roll, who's finally quieting down in your lap. you shove the anger back down, the same way you do your bloodlust- the same way you'll teach elvis.

he sits back up, furiously wiping his tear-stained face. "sorry, honey- i don't know what came over me." he barks a laugh but his eyes tell you it's for show. you tut at him, standing up to fetch him a tissue and maybe a bottle of water, if you can find it- you're sure there must have been one waiting for him after the show. his eyes widen again, but before he has time for concern you cup his cheek to brush the last of his tears away with the pad of your thumb, accompanied by a gently chiding look that says i'm not going anywhere

he has enough time to look sheepish before you putter back over to him with your spoils, talking a mile a minute to distract him. "tch, enough of that! that's part of the change- everything you felt before is doubly strong now. it can be hard to separate your emotions sometimes, especially when you're not used to it. you'll feel everything differently now, and twice as hard."

he takes a moment to mull that over as he mops his face and chugs the water bottle, then nods as he meets your eyes again. "i didn't know that, but it sounds- it feels right. what else can ya tell me?" you chuckle darkly, stretching out on the couch. "oh, just bunches, baby. get comfortable, cuz i know you've got questions- and i've got your answers."

over the course of the night, you explain everything to elvis- how he was Turned, the changes his body's going through, all the symptoms and abilities he'll experience now, why he's feeling the way he is, his options for feeding, how his habits need to change if he intends to keep going like this... it's a laborious process, given how little he knows and how much he thinks he does- he's already got a lot of misconceptions to retrain.

"hey, maybe you're the one who's been watching too many dark shadows reruns lately!" you mean it as a joke, but he flushes. "well, s'not like there's a, a handbook or anythin'! i've been tryin' to study up!" you burst out laughing, and he laughs with you.

at one point he orders up dinner for the two of you, which provides the perfect opportunity for you to offer him a creature comfort- "food? yeah, you can eat food. it won't sustain you, but you're free to eat for pleasure." at his pained look, you give him a knowing smirk. "i bet it tastes nasty right now, doesn't it?" he nods glumly, eyeing your super-rare hamburger, and you chuckle, eyeing him as you take an exaggerated bite. he groans in annoyance, and you laugh as you lick your fingers clean. "don't worry- that'll pass. it's your instincts' way of telling you that you're malnourished- kind of a deterrent from stuff that won't actually keep you alive. you'll be back to your peanut butter and banana in no time, promise." he cheers, and orders up a bottle of champagne, just for that.

"that's another thing- we metabolize differently. your system can tell the difference between the liquid calories it needs and the solid calories you're feeding it just for fun. you won't derive any energy from human food, so you can't gain weight. no reason to store fat," you shrug. "but it also means-" you clink your champagne glass with his in a mock toast, "-you can't get drunk." he sputters, "well, why'd you even let me order the bubbly then?? this shit's expensive, so they tell me!" "i like the way it sparkles! it tickles my nose!"

the hours come and go, but the two of you barely notice, so wrapped up in your conversation. that's another thing you explain- how he'll need much less rest now, if he keeps himself healthy, but that until he's being nourished properly he'll be fatigued and need to sleep pretty much like before. he admits that he was practically nocturnal beforehand, anyway- he hadn't even noticed this one change among so many more pressing.

his drapes were heavy-duty, but you could see just the barest sliver of skyline out the window as the sun began to rise. "it's almost dawn," you whisper, conscious of the fact that the vampire before you is very young, and has had a very long night. a very long month, to be perfectly honest. he hums from where his head is resting on your thigh- you'd encouraged him to lie down an hour ago when he kept breaking off his sentences to yawn hugely. actually, you'd encouraged him to get some rest and you'd talk more later, but he'd refused to go to bed, assuring you he wasn't tired 't all, just sore from the show- he got muscle aches, you know, and he needed to stretch out. you hadn't been convinced then, and you were even less so now, keeping a fond eye on him (fond?? when had that happened) as he drowsed in your lap.

his end of the conversation had started lagging about the same time you started running your hand through his hair, until he was practically purring in contentment. you huffed in amusement. "more like a kitty cat than a bat, i think." he cocked an eyebrow and grinned salaciously, though he didn't open his eyes. "oh honey, i'll show you a cat... a pussycat, to be precis-" "HEY!" you swatted him teasingly and he snickered, settling down again. "keep it clean, presley." "yes, Master." you paused in your ministrations at that, just long enough for his brow to furrow. "you don't have to call me that." "yeah... but can i? i mean, would'ya mind if i-?" his voice was quiet, but sincere. "...ok. but only if you want to." he can hear the smile in your voice without looking, and it makes him smile, too.

"you do have a real one out there, y'know." "i know. but they ain't ever helped me none- all they've done for me is turn my life upside down and leave again. but you... hell, honey, i've only known you one night, and already things are starting to feel right side up again." you sit with that for just long enough to feel pleased before you reach down to tweak his nose. he giggles, and your bid to give the both of you a break from being so fucking earnest goes off without a hitch. the tension stays broken, but the tranquil mood remains.

"guess you're stuck with me again- i can't make it all the way home in that," you venture eventually, nodding at the lone streak of sun making its way past the blackout curtains to pool on the floor behind the piano. luckily far out of the way, or he might've had a particularly unpleasant awakening of his own, had he stumbled through the patch accidentally. he shifts minutely, well on his way to sleep by now. "mm, sounds jus' awful," he drawls, answer delayed only slightly by the fact that he's snoozing, his voice is so quiet that without your enhanced senses you'd have to strain to hear it. "can't imagine quite how i'll make it through if you've gotta stick around s'more." "even dead to the world, you maintain your sense of humor, huh, baby? and those lady-killer tendencies, i see" "yeah, well, i have killed quite a few lad-" "elvis!" you laugh, scandalized, as he huffs a laugh as well as he leverages himself up to sitting.

he rubs his eyes as he tries to get his bearings. "s'pose that's my way of asking real tactful... what happens next?" "well, first we've gotta detox you." "what, from the blood? i thought you said-" "nope, not from the blood. from the drugs in the blood." "from the w-" he gapes, looking shocked and hurt, and also a little appalled at himself. "i really am sorry to break it to you, sweetheart- there's a lot going on with you right now, and only some of it is due to... this," you reach up a hand to thumb at one of his fangs, which had slipped out as soon as you started talking about blood. "the rest of it is a combination of the vegas lights and whoever up top orchestrated the whole thing." he nods slowly, expression inscrutable. "we'll take it slow, i promise. ok?" "yeah," he nods more steadily now. "yeah, i trust you."

"well, then, mr. presley- are you ready?" he nods his head as if on instinct, then has the decency to look confused. "ready for what?" you smile, fangs out. "to start getting you fixed up... so we can take down those bastards responsible for this." he just stares at you a moment before a slow grin starts to take over his face, eyes darkening to match the quite literally bloodthirsty expression in yours.

"let's get to it."

#blurb #ask #goddamn will they EVER let each other finish a sentence.???#sorry dialogue is Not my forte 🙈 im a prose kinda girlie hardcore #also yahhhh i just kind of . totally abandoned the ending to cater to my h/c fantasies. sorry not sorry 😎#halfway thru the second block of bullets i realized the hc format was completely pointless and i had basically written a full fic #on the other hand im nothing if not a stubborn bitch so.. not changing the formatting now.!#if u think about this too hard u start to see a lot of plot holes #or at least further questions about the specificities of vamp lore in this au #to that i would recommend u pls ignore them 🥰#GODDD i started writing this directly in the ask. like a fucking FOOL #knowing FULL WELL how this stupid post editor not only eats ask drafts for breakfast and spits out their bones #but ALSO that the even STUPIDER copy/paste restrictions would hit #since theres a character block limit separate from the character POST limit 🙄#so ive had this tab open for almost a week and have just been walking on eggshells around my laptop praying to not lose it dfghj #MASSIVE SIGH OF RELIEF TO POST IT TBH #also smitty ive got a sidenote for u as well but its gonna go on main lmao. one sec #oh god............ just realized i did the ff.net thing with the in-text ANs 😳😳#pOST CANCELLED; EVERYBODY GO HOME

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