#my hope is that wednesday either sticks with her initial statement

[rebirthdinosaurs]

i really did like the show, but it definitely missed the mark on the actual dynamic of the addams family, and that was one of the things that really bugged me.

I think my problem with Wednesday, judging from the pilot, is something that also shows in The Addams Family Musical - they are treated as any other family, with the same internal conflicts and dysfunction, except spooky. The suburban family painted goth. Morticia has a freak out because Wednesday is wearing yellow. She feels controlled and judged by her parents. She tells Morticia she doesn’t want to become a housewife like her.

Even if the conflict is resolved by the end, it still misses the point of The Addams Family - not that they’re perfect, but that their subversion of the traditional family is not by virtue of their dark clothes, but by being all accepting and loving, and so way better adjusted than the “normies” around them

[7-wonders]

Hit and Run

Summary: The fallout of an unexpected tryst, and (Y/N)’s first official foray into the criminal underworld.

Word Count: 3055

A/N: Thanks for sticking around as I make empty promises, here’s Memento Mori chapter 4!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

The training gym remains silent as (Y/N) and Duncan feel the weight of what they’ve just done. Duncan has a content grin on his face as he stands, fixing himself until he looks like he hadn’t even been training, let alone fucking the woman who he’s blackmailing. The look of disgust on (Y/N)’s face makes him stifle a laugh as he holds out a hand for her to take. Instead, she just stares at him, slowly making herself look presentable without Duncan’s help.

“The look on your face directly contradicts the beautiful sounds you were making earlier,” Duncan teases.

(Y/N) can feel her face heating up as she stands, pushing Duncan to the side. “What we did was a mistake,” she says seriously.

“Really? Because I quite enjoyed it, and I think you did too.”

“Duncan, that can’t happen again.”

The smile falls off of his face, and he scowls. “And why is that?”

“Because I try not to make a habit of having sex with people that I can’t stand!”

“Aw, you can’t stand me?” Duncan sneers. “Is that why you were so eager for me to fuck your little cunt?”

“You say that like you’re not the one who kissed me first.” 

(Y/N) feels a sense of self-satisfaction when she sees how Duncan’s jaw clenches from her verbal barb. Enough of a silence commences that (Y/N) thinks she’s free to go, turning to leave and finally be free of the specter that is Duncan Shepherd. Duncan decides otherwise, grabbing her upper arm roughly and spinning her back around.

“Tomorrow night, you’re getting indoctrinated into my world. I have an arms sale that I’m overseeing at 10, and you’re going to be there with me.”

“Will I be free of my burden, then?” The second question goes unsaid, but it hangs in the air like a cloud: will I be free of you?

“That’s for me to decide,” Duncan spits, letting go of (Y/N)’s arm before she can shake herself out of his grasp. 

“Fuck you, Duncan.�� (Y/N) grabs her belongings from where they were thrown on the floor before nearly running for the door.

Duncan manages to get one last jab in before the door swings shut behind you, shouting “you already did!”

(Y/N) groans angrily once she’s outside, the cool air doing little to calm her down. The sun’s just beginning to dip below the horizon, and she pulls her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt to keep warm while she walks. Her mind churns with all of the possible ways she could’ve verbally wounded him besides just saying “fuck you.” He’s so infuriating, so confounding, so--she’s yanked out of her thoughts (thankfully, since her thoughts were beginning to drift towards the sexual encounter she had just found herself in) by her phone ringing in her sweatshirt pocket.

Assuming that it’s Duncan calling to threaten her, she doesn’t even glance at the screen before answering with a harsh “what!”

“Whoa, was not expecting that from you.”

Her shoulders relax when she hears the honeyed voice on the other end. “Sorry Madison, I thought you were someone else.”

Madison Montgomery is not the type of person (Y/N) thought she would ever be friends with. A former child actress with enough stories of rehab stints to rival her IMDb filmography, their paths are not two that would normally ever cross. Madison’s “friend,” Zoe (no matter how many times the two insist they’re just friends, (Y/N) sees the longing glances and the soft touches the pair exchange when they believe she’s not looking), was one of (Y/N)’s first friends when she moved to D.C. After becoming close with the political science student following a few school events both were required to be at, befriending Madison came naturally.

“By the sound of your voice when you answered, I’m assuming you’re glad it’s me instead of whoever else you thought it might be.”

“I’m definitely glad to be hearing from you.” It’s not a lie; Madison has been distant lately, and it was starting to make (Y/N) worry that she had done something wrong. “You went off the grid for a bit.”

“I was in negotiations for a new project, and it was taking up most of my freetime.”

“Did you get it?”

“Hopefully. They said that I’ll hear back soon. Anyways, I’m in D.C. for a few days and was wondering if you could find time in your busy schedule to hang out with me and Zoe who, might I add, has already said she could,” Madison says like she isn’t solely in the city to see Zoe.

“Absolutely! Just let me know what dates and times work for you and I’ll work something out.”

“Tomorrow night? We could have a wine night at Zoe’s after she gets done with work at around 8.”

The initial excitement (Y/N) feels at the plans with her friends fades away when she realizes she has other obligations tomorrow night. “Shit, I can’t. Maybe the next day?”

“Do you have a date, (Y/N)?”

She scoffs. “I wish. I have to go to this boring study group for class.”

“Skip it.”

“I can’t, it’s for a class I’m already struggling enough in.” Fuck, she really hates having to lie to people she cares about.

“Boo, why do you have to care about your grades and your future career?” Madison sighs. “Alright, we’ll do something when you don’t have to study.”

“I’m sorry, Mads.”

“Hmm, you should be.” She doesn’t mean it, but it still stings a bit. “I’ll see you on Wednesday, then.”

“See you Wednesday.” Madison hangs up the phone before (Y/N) even finishes speaking; if it were anybody else doing that, she would think they were mad at her, but that’s just typical Madison behavior. 

Ducking back into the throng of people walking to and from their destinations, (Y/N) feels a pit of dread in her stomach as the knowledge of tomorrow begins to set in. Not only will she be seeing the man who she fucked and then proceeded to get into a fight with, but she’ll also be observing an extremely illegal arms deal taking place between mafia groups. She can only hope that she’ll make it out of tomorrow’s events unscathed, both physically and emotionally.

//

Duncan picks (Y/N) up outside of her apartment at precisely 9:00 p.m., citing a need to be early to the deal in some underhanded way to assert his family’s dominance. (Y/N) tries not to ogle at the car she’s currently riding, but that’s a task she’s failed at since the moment she saw the sleek black exterior parked on the side of the street. Duncan, of course, notices how desperately she tries to look unaffected by riding in a car that costs triple her college education.

“You look like you’re scared merely breathing will ruin the car,” Duncan teases, the first words either of them have said all night. 

“I kind of am. This is the nicest car that I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Well, thank you. It’s an--”

“Aston Martin One-77, I know.” (Y/N) ducks her head in embarrassment when Duncan looks at her with wide eyes, assuming she shouldn’t have interrupted him. “I’m sorry, I know that was rude, but I’ve always really liked cars and while I don’t know a lot about fixing them or their engines or such, I love seeing a car and being able to name the make and model.”

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just wasn’t aware that you liked cars.” He shoots her a sly glance, subtly revving the car to watch how her eyes light up. “If I had known, I would have picked you up in one of my cars a whole lot sooner.”

“Wait, you have more like this?”

“Of course. You’re not the only one who has an interest in cars.”

She’s thoroughly impressed now, a fact Duncan would know even if he wasn’t able to read people’s emotions like they’re the summary on the dust-jacket of a book. He had been worried that she was either going to blow up about what had happened yesterday or completely ignore him, so this was a welcome surprise. As long as she doesn’t feel like talking about the events of the previous day, Duncan certainly won’t bring it up.

The location of this covert sale is, much like every other mafia-based experience, disguised behind a plain exterior. This time, it’s a small grocery store just over the Potomac that serves as the facade for illicit activities. Duncan parks the car in a side street so as not to arouse suspicion, turning the silent engine off before handing (Y/N) a gun.

“Don’t you have bodyguards to keep you from dying?”

“Yes, but...things can tend to go sideways during these types of events. It’s already a liability bringing you along, and since you know how to handle yourself around a gun now, it does no harm to be over prepared.”

(Y/N) eyes it warily, taking the weapon and checking the safety before tucking it in the waistband of her jeans. Duncan waits for (Y/N) to get out of the car before leading her up the stairs and through a loading dock. Even if she wasn’t too scared to go to the cops and she tried to put the Shepherds in jail, she wouldn’t be able to lead them to the location of the deal in this maze of a basement.

There’s already a small crowd in the room that they end up in, and (Y/N) holds back a shudder when she sees Langdon lurking in the corner. It’s obvious that a 10:00 meeting means 9:30 for syndicated crime, and Duncan’s a fan of being fashionably late.

“Mr. Shepherd,” the assumed leader, a tall raven-haired man with a Scottish accent, greets. “Have a seat.”

“I think I’ll remain standing, thank you, Mr. McCown.”

The man just barely scowls before turning his eyes on (Y/N). “Who’s the girl? You said no backup.”

“She’s hardly backup,” Duncan chuckles, a statement that (Y/N) takes minor offense to. “We agreed on one man each. I have Langdon, and you have Collum. (Y/N), here, is simply collateral damage.”

“Hmph.” McCown doesn’t look too pleased, but relents. “Are we gonna do business, then, or not?”

Duncan motions for Langdon with his left hand, who carries two large duffel bags to the table. Unzipping them, he reveals a variety of automatic weapons. McCown leans over the table to study the weapons, doing a mental count before reaching for the bags.

“Not so fast.” Langdon snatches the guns away from McCown upon Duncan’s word. “The money?”

Pulling open his suit jacket, the opposing crime boss sets stacks of hundred dollar bills on the table. Duncan appraises each stack quickly, thumbing through the paper with a learned precision. Each man watches the other as they grab their respective earnings, neither willing to be the loser in this staring contest. 

“You know, I couldn’t help but to notice you were a thousand short of the agreed-upon total,” Duncan says coolly.

“It’s all there, I just saw you count it!”

“The tax? (Y/N)’s eyes flit between the men, Duncan’s jaw tightening in annoyance. “This is not your first time doing business with us, Frasier, surely you must know that there is a fee to bring your men into our territory.”

McCown smiles thinly, reluctantly pulling another wad of cash from his pocket. Duncan smugly takes it, and it’s when he’s counting the cash that everything goes awry.

(Y/N) doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The Scottish leader is zipping up the weapons bags and D.C.’s most notorious is tucking the money into his own jacket. She’s not sure what Langdon detects: a tic on someone’s face, the flinch of a hand, or even just the way a person breathes. Within a second, he’s got a handgun drawn and pointed at McCown’s right hand man, firing before the other man can even release the safety on his own gun.

Duncan ducks, pulling (Y/N) down under him as gunfire is exchanged. Her heart hammers in her chest, ears ringing from the harsh sounds above her as the shots start to taper off. She doesn’t even have time to process what just happened before Langdon’s yelling at them to go, Duncan hauling her up and throwing a duffel bag at her before dragging her out of the room. The clouds of gun smoke make it impossible to see who, or what, is damaged, and her eyes and lungs sting from the acrid scent as she runs up the stairs with Duncan.

Flinging herself into the car, she doesn’t even have time to put a seatbelt on before Duncan’s peeling out of the alley with the tires squealing. Instead of being frightened, Duncan actually looks excited as he checks behind his shoulder to make sure he’s not being followed. (Y/N), on the other hand, sits next to him in utter bewilderment.

“What the fuck was that?” (Y/N) exclaims, tossing the bag down at her feet when she realizes she’s still holding assault weapons.

“That was an attempted underhanded deal.” He clarifies upon her bemused shrug. “Frasier McCown and his gang thought that they would shoot me before taking the weapons and their money.”

“They were trying to kill you?”

“Probably not. They were most likely just trying to make sure I would go down before worrying about the repercussions later.”

“Langdon killed them, then?”

“I don’t know for sure, but he’s absolutely deadly with a gun. You’ve seen how skillfully he kills people.”

(Y/N) nods, remembering how the shot that killed the blue-haired Malakai seemed to come from nowhere. Looking out the window, the freeway passes by in a blur as Duncan drives towards downtown D.C. He’s trying to lose them, she realizes, on the off-chance that they are being followed.

Swinging into an empty parking lot off of 14th Street, the car lurches forward as Duncan abruptly parks. His hand gently brushes (Y/N)’s cheek, and she nearly bites his finger off until she feels the sting of a fresh cut on her face.

“You’re hurt,” Duncan notes with a frown.

“Oh, I probably just got scraped when we went to the ground. It’s fine, I think I’ll live.”

Duncan scoffs, rolling his eyes as he examines her to make sure there are no other wounds. Besides the battle wound on her cheek, she seems okay.

“What--” (Y/N) starts, clearing her throat, “are you hurt?”

“No,” he answers quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“(Y/N), you don’t need to worry about me. I’ve been in these situations before, and I have no doubt that I’ll be in situations like that again. This was your first time being caught in a firefight, and you’re shaking, so I just want to make sure you’re not in shock.”

“I’m not…” (Y/N)’s about to argue until she looks down and sees that her hands are shaking. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Duncan mocks. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good.” She starts to lightly giggle before breaking out into full-on laughter, making Duncan worry that she actually is going into shock. “No, seriously! I’m fine, I just--that was kind of cool.”

Duncan looks at her incredulously. “You thought that was cool?”

“Yes! It felt like I was in a James Bond movie.”

Despite his attempts to be serious, Duncan finds himself smiling at her exuberant laughter. “Well, I’m glad you thought that was fun. Hopefully we won’t be doing that again anytime soon.”

Later, (Y/N) will swear it’s the adrenaline rush that makes her act so foolishly. But with the silence in the car, and the way that Duncan’s smiling at her, it feels like she’ll spontaneously combust if she doesn’t kiss him immediately. Before she can remind herself why this is a bad idea, she leans in and presses her lips to his.

Duncan, thankfully, doesn’t immediately push her off and question her sanity. His lips are just as soft as they were yesterday, one hand going to grip the back of her neck while the other brushes against her cheek. (Y/N)’s hands find purchase in his now-messy hair, fingers threading through the strands as Duncan licks at her bottom lip. This time there’s no resistance from (Y/N), her mouth opening to allow Duncan’s tongue entrance while they grab onto each other like they’ll be torn away otherwise.

Relishing in the breathy moans (Y/N)’s beginning to let out, Duncan reluctantly pulls himself away from her lips in order to trail kisses down her neck. Laving his tongue against her thrumming pulse, Duncan grins when (Y/N) whines as he blows air over the wet patch, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He begins to suck a bruise just below the spot he just marked, nipping just enough to make (Y/N) yelp before surging back up to her lips.

(Y/N)’s head is spinning, the mix of adrenaline and lust making her almost dizzy. When Duncan finally releases her from his grasp after minutes? hours? an undetermined amount of time, she lets out a whine that sounds almost pathetic. Duncan wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, lips swollen from the extended amounts of pressure as he suddenly and inexplicably starts to drive. (Y/N)’s about to question why he stopped when, like a flash of lightning, the situation hits her with striking clarity. Kissing Duncan Shepherd in an abandoned parking lot like a couple of horny teenagers directly goes against everything she told him after their “training” yesterday.

From the driver’s seat, Duncan smirks when she faces the window with her arms crossed over her chest, obviously realizing her little slip-up. “Another mistake?” He can’t help himself from taunting her, especially not when she looks so upset with herself.

(Y/N) sneers. “Shut up.” Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Duncan how she subtly clenches her thighs together in search of relief, giving him a self-righteous sense of satisfaction.

//

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[particularnervous]

Thankful

Hello! I hope you enjoy this! Happy reading xo

Summary: Shawn meets your parents for the first time during Thanksgiving and it couldn’t go any better.

--

Shawn notices the change in you once the highway changes from barren to lively. The scenery changes from empty, cold fields to dense, colourful forest. He practically feels the excitement radiating off of you, can see the bright shine of your eyes as you take in the different colours. Everything is familiar to you and Shawn feels content watching as your eyes close peacefully and you lay back against the passenger seat.

“You’re nervous.” You state, moving your hand to rest over his on the steering wheel. He has certain tells for his mood, specifically when he’s driving. If he’s happy, relaxed, he only keeps one hand on the steering wheel, tapping a few fingers along to the beat, his other hand resting on either the gear shift or your thigh, depending on who’s sitting beside him. When he’s stressed, having a bad day, or his anxiety is getting the better of him, both his hands are on the steering wheel in the 9&3 position that he was taught in driving school. His knuckles are white and he’s glancing anxiously around him, eyes on all the mirrors.

That’s how he’s sat now, back too straight and rigid, hands so white, you’re sure he’s losing blood flow. He uncurls his fingers at your words though, looking at you for a second before quickly diverting his eyes back to the road.

Shawn is taken aback for a second at your statement. He always forgets how well you know him. You aren’t wrong, though, the peacefulness that Shawn had recognized in you directly opposing the tense anxiety that he’s feeling.

“A bit, yeah,” he admits, forcing his hand to slide off the steering wheel and settle heavily into your grasp. He closes his eyes for a second, the empty morning road in front of him easing his alertness, and revels in the warmth of your body as you play with his fingers, pressing your conjoined hands into your thigh. You know he likes a firm touch when he’s anxious, know that it brings him back to reality and makes him feel safe. “Just want them to like me.” You smile lightly, leaning over to kiss Shawn’s shoulder. He had taken off his jacket about two hours ago, the heat blasting in the car to contrast the bitter coldness outside. Fall had quickly settled in around them and was swiftly giving way to winter temperatures.

“They’re going to love you, already do.” You reassure him, and it’s true. Your parents were more excited to meet Shawn than they were to see you after a couple months away. When you were in school it had been easier to take a weekend off here or there to go home, not to mention the entire summer, but in your first year of fulltime work, seeing your parents had become difficult, and it had been some time since you had been home. All this considered, though, and they were still talking about meeting Shawn more than they were talking about seeing you.

They were especially excited when Shawn said he would drive the two of you to your hometown, your parents not having to pick you up from the train station an hour away. This was just as much for his benefit as it was for theirs, him not wanting to take the train for the fear of his anxiety (with the ‘meet the parents’ nerves mixed with the groups of people) getting the better of his trip.

You had been telling your parents about Shawn before you had even had your first date with him. You had called them squealing to tell them that you had met the Shawn Mendes while out with your friends for drinks after work one night, and had Facetimed them to show them your outfit before your first date. They were the first people you called the first time he kissed you, and your mom had been the person you turned to to discuss how to know if you’re ready for your first time. You were close with your parents, people would probably argue that you were unnaturally close with them. Because of this, though, their opinion of Shawn really mattered, and he knew that. He also knew that you had been squealing to them about him for months, but he was still worried about making a good impression.

“Can we listen to that podcast?” He asked, and you smiled, thinking about a few weeks ago when you had first introduced him to the gossip podcast you listen to weekly. He had poked fun at you, mocking the girls coming through the speakers, but had quickly become accustomed to listening to the hour-long dialogue every Wednesday as the two of you curled into bed, sharing pizza. You were kind of annoyed that you had lost your entertainment for your morning commute to the office, but the quiet giggle that Shawn lets out when the girls on the podcast say something particularly funny makes up for it. You had agreed to save the podcast from that week until your drive that weekend, and you were thankful for that now.

--

A bit over an hour later, Shawn’s pulling his jeep into the driveway of your childhood home behind your moms’ car. He’s humming to himself quietly, the tune of an old John Mayer song, and you lean into him once you’re both out of the car, arms circling his waist. You’re standing behind the car so your parents (who are not-subtly standing in the front window) can’t see when you reach up and kiss his neck softly, nuzzling your face into the crook.

“Hey, Rockstar, this isn’t half as scary as a stadium, and you’ve done that how many times?” He presses his face into your hair and mumbles something about this being more important and you role your eyes because it’s so obviously not, but you wouldn’t argue with him. Instead, you pull away and open the back to grab your bags, Shawn quickly grabbing them out of your hands, ever the gentleman.

He follows you into your house, the door unlocked as always, and is instantly hit by the smell of pie. He knows, from the way you explained Thanksgiving in your house to him, that your mom makes an apple pie and a pumpkin pie, and instantly feels comforted by the smell. It’s homey, and it’s like a scene out of a movie when your mom comes rushing down the front hallway to hug him. She completely bypasses you and runs straight towards Shawn, embracing him in a tight, warm hug. Shawn laughs as he hugs her back, half at himself for being so nervous before, and half because she is squealing and welcoming him to her home. She pulls away and stands back, holding her arms at either of his sides, to get a good look at him.

“Well, y/n you didn’t tell me how handsome he was!” Her mom gasps out, and you shriek because you most definitely told your mom in excruciating detail how attractive Shawn was.

“Careful, y/n, you might have some competition.” He jokes, and you roll your eyes and scoff even though your heart is bursting at the interaction between two of your favourite people.

“Shawn, are you coming into my house and stealing my wife?” Your dad is in front of you now and you’re grinning and jumping on him, breathing in the familiar scent. If Shawn and your mom were two of your favourites, your dad was without a doubt your favourite person in the world. You always told Shawn that while you loved him, your dad would always be the number one guy in your life. Shawn was nothing but respectful of that, which is why he smiled nervously at your dad then, sticking out his hand and saying, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. y/l/n.” Your dad is having none of that though, unsurprisingly, and he bats off Shawn’s hand and pulls him into a hug instead.

“No need for formality’s, Shawn. It’s great to meet you.”

--

In the wake of tradition, you spend the entire day watching Jaws. There’s a marathon on every year, and without fail your family always curls up on the couch to watch. Usually, your mom and dad are on the couch and you’re stretched out on the loveseat, but this year you’re curled up in Shawn’s arms, pressed against him while he plays with your hair.

When you had first told Shawn about your family’s odd tradition, he had laughed at the idea of such a gruesome film on such a family oriented, cozy holiday. Now, though, he was completely invested, laughing along with you when your dad made the same joke he made every year. “What would you get if you watched these movies backwards?” He says, and you and your mom groan as Shawn grins and waits for the punch line. “A story about a shark who throws up so many people, they need to open a beach!” Shawn is cackling beside you and even though you’d usually roll your eyes and ignore your dad, you’re laughing too because of the pure joy your boyfriend is radiating.

“Shawn, you laugh at my jokes so you’re officially welcome in our home anytime!” Your dad reaches across the sofa to pat Shawn on the shoulder and you swear you can hear Shawn yelling “success!” in his head, but you grin and bring your entwined hands up, kissing Shawn’s knuckles.

“You just want someone around who finds you funny, honey.” Your mom says dryly and you giggle as your dad fakes hurt.

“It’s not my fault my own family can’t appreciate my humour.” He grumbles, and your mom laughs and kisses him lightly.

Shawn is completely enamoured by your family. His gaze flicks from your parents to you, his heart absolutely glowing. He’s surrounded by couples in love all the time, his parents being a standard he holds himself to, but to see that you were formed out of such pure, intense love makes him feel so good and so happy. He can see it in you that you want what your parents have and he feels like a giddy preteen writing your initials in his notebook because he wants all of that, everything his parents and your parents have, with you.

“Love you.” Shawn mutters into your hair, which sounds suspiciously like spend the rest of your life with me when it comes out of his mouth. You crane your neck, smiling up at him and mouthing, “love you too” which feels suspiciously like I want this with you one day and you’re both flushed and giddy and so, so in love.

--

Supper is fantastic, in the way that you knew it would be and Shawn was prepared for. Your mom is a fantastic cook and your dad’s turkey is out of this world (his words, not yours) and by the time Shawn is on his second plate he feels like he might pass out, but it’s so worth it.

Everyone helps clean up, much against your moms promise that she can handle it by herself, and you’re back on the couch with a glass of wine in your hand, Scream on the TV. You hated horror movies more than you could ever explain, but when your parents (self-proclaimed horror junkies) found out that this was Shawn’s favourite movie, they had tuned out your complaints and pleas and flipped it on. It’s almost finished (finally) when your mom asks if anyone wants pie, and Shawn is prepared.

“I’ll have a piece of both, if you don’t mind.” He says with a smile, knowing that’s exactly what your mom wants to hear. Every year her pumpkin goes before the apple, and even though she knows the pumpkin is better (though, the apple is still fantastic) she always feels just a little sad that the apple is left out.

Your mom is beaming, so happy to bring him a plate of both, and you get up to grab your own plate with two pieces on it. Shawn says all the right things, groans just the way he should when he takes his first bites, and puts his plate in the dishwasher when he’s done.

“That was fantastic.” He says to your mom, hand briefly on her shoulder. “The crust on the pumpkin was really good.” Your heart lurches because you hadn’t even told him to say that, but your mom is kissing his cheek and smiling at me and she “can’t even believe he’s real” because the pie crust is her grandmas secret recipe, and she tries every year to perfect it.

You can’t even believe he’s real either, honestly, because there he is with your family cat on his chest, curled up on the couch so that there’s room for you, and talking to your dad about his favourite 80’s rock band. The air is swirling with the scent of the fall candle your mom had burning and your stomach is full, and your heart is bursting with so much love because you’ve never, ever been this thankful.

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

The Murderess from the Grunewald (10): The Bloody Facts, or What happened to Frank Randall?

Just two short notes for my readers: Due to a bereavement in our family I wasn't able to finish this chapter earlier. I hope that I will be able to post the next chapters more frequently. Warning: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of physical mutilation as it would be discussed in a homicide case before a criminal court. If that triggers something in you or makes you feel unwell, please do not read it, just skip this chapter for your own sake. For those who read on their mobile, just scroll down. More Jamie & Claire, Adso & Bismarck fluff awaits you in chapter 11 (hopefully Wednesday).

(”Tür” by dawes28)

Previously

Six months ago, two hours after the First Attorney's Visit to Prison, at Claire’s home.

         The pictures were bloody. Disgusting bloody. Gruesome. Disturbing. Repulsive. Horrible. But they didn’t affect him. In the ten years he now worked as a specialist lawyer in criminal law, he had handled about forty murder cases. And he had heeded the advice of his father: "If evil frightens you, it will win and claim countless other victims. Malice does not sleep and it does not know holidays. You have to learn to face the evil with steadfastness. The wounded need an open, compassionate heart. But the wicked, they must be faced with a 'tough face'." Brian Fraser had looked straight into his eyes and had put his hands on his shoulders. Then he had quoted words from the book of the prophet Ezekiel: "But know: I will make your face hard as theirs, and your forehead as hard as theirs: like a diamond, harder than a pebble, I will make your forehead. Do not be afraid of them and do not be intimidated by their looks!" [1]

         In the beginning, it had not been easy for him and still, he could very well understand those whose stomach rebelled at the sight of such pictures. But he had worked on himself, as told by his father, and at some point, he had gotten used to it.

         The first three pictures of the Lichtbildmappe (photo folder) showed - only partly recognizable - footprints. Apparently, a person had walked over a rainy path and then entered the house without cleaning his or her shoes. A note below the pictures informed him that the prints were of the soles of Frank Randall's shoes. As it could be seen from the pictures, the footprints were coming from the front door and led down the hall to the staircase that led to the upper part of the house. In addition to the footprints, one could see drops of blood in some places along the way. The pictures L04 and L05, which were probably taken very close to the staircase, showed bloody prints of a hand on a pastel green background. "Imprint of the left hand (presumably of the victim Frank Randall) on the wall of room 1," the forensic detective had written underneath. 

(”Sandwich” by mp1746)

         Jamie reached for one of the sandwiches that he had brought with him and took a bite. Then he put the rest back on the plate and reached for the Pepsi bottle. After taking a sip, he flipped the pages. L06 and L07 showed rivulets of blood that flowed from the first pedestal down the stairs to the first step. More blood was also on the handrail above the three steps that led up to said pedestal (L08 and L09). He turned the pages again. L10 showed a complete picture of Frank Randall's fully clothed corpse. The man lay with his upper body on the landing, his lower body lay on the steps that led from there to the next floor. L11 showed Frank's head lying in a massive pool of blood. His hair, whose color was no longer recognizable, seemed to be one bloody mass. There were also numerous small and some large bloodstains on his face. Jamie immediately noticed the Frank Randall’s facial expression. While his legs and arms were in unnatural positions, the dead's face was calm, almost serene. Jamie grabbed his sandwich again. He bit off and then rinsed down the bite with another sip of Pepsi. L12 and L13 were probably taken from the steps above the pedestal. One could see the body of the dead man and the walls, which surrounded the pedestal. The picture gave Jamie an impression of how much blood Frank Randall had lost. Apart from the pool of blood that had formed around his head and the blood that had flowed down the first few steps in some rivulets, one could see countless smaller and larger blood spots on both walls. Pictures of the left wall followed (L14 and L15). There, too, blood was visible, but not in the form of drops of blood, but rather as blurred stripes. It seemed that Frank Randall had tried to wipe off his bloody hands. The last two pictures of this part of the photo folder (L16 and L17) showed where the traces of blood led to. They ended about halfway up the stairs. 

         Jamie put a pencil between the pages of the folder. With a second pen, he recorded thoughts and questions into a black DIN A-4 notebook. Then he leaned back, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. His brain had been working while looking at each picture. All the time, he had wondered what statements could be made regarding the crime due to the traces of blood. But now he wondered if the traces of blood matched the course of action described in the indictment. He doubted it. But doubt alone was not enough. He had to find facts. Facts with which he could convincingly disprove the prosecution's charges. He picked up the pen again and wrote down some things that seemed questionable to him. Then he took the last bite of the sandwich. 

         While he was still chewing, he heard the creaking of the kitchen door and shortly afterward Adso appeared. The cat strolled slowly but purposefully onto the sofa Jamie was sitting on. Once there, he stroked purring around Jamie's legs a few times before jumping to the seat to the left of him. Jamie looked skeptical at the cat, and, as he had expected it, Adso's interest was not actually his six-foot, red-haired can opener. His focus was apparently on his second sandwich. Jamie grabbed the cat, set it on the ground, and held it there for a moment.

         “You had a whole can of chicken royale, old boy. You don’t get my roast beef sandwich as dessert! Either you are content to stay here with me or I'll take you back to the kitchen. Your decision!"

         The cat made some grumbled sounds and Jamie let him go. Adso now jumped on the seat to the right of Jamie, lay down there and began with a copious cat wash.

(”Katze” by 3dman_eu)

         "Good. I don’t mind if you want to lie there. But my roast beef sandwich is taboo."

         When the cat showed no further reaction, Jamie took the second sandwich and bit into it. After another sip of Pepsi, he opened the file again. His eyes fell on the writing on the cardboard cover in front of him: "Photographs of the Forensic Section of the corps of Randall, Frank Wolverton." The headline was followed by Frank's date of birth and date of death, the names and titles of the forensic scientists, the names of the assistants and the number of the Forensic Section (S 289/2019). Underneath he found the place, date, and duration of the Forensic Section. Jamie knew what awaited him and so he turned the pages without further delay.

         The first picture (S01) showed the entire, now undressed corpse of Frank Randall from the front, laying on a steel table. There were several hematomas on his arms and chest. From these hematomas, pictures S02 to S07 showed close-up shots. Underneath the pictures, the exact measurements of every hematoma were written. S08 showed the whole corpse from the back. On Frank's back were two significant hematomas, of which there were also close-ups with exact size information (S09 and S10). Jamie bit off his roast beef sandwich and took another sip of Pepsi. Then he turned the page. The first four pictures on the new page showed close-ups (right, left, front and back) of Frank's head and his blood-soaked hair (S11 - S14), followed by shots of the head from the same perspectives. But this time, however, the head was shorn and cleaned. As Jamie had already mentioned in his conversation with Claire, there were seven lacerations on Frank's shaven skull that had damaged and even severed the scalp. These lacerations had an unusual shape. It seemed as someone had carved the runic letter "algiz" on the right and left sides of the skull. In the middle, there was another single laceration. It was a straight line, which was placed slightly higher than the other lacerations.

         Jamie again put a pencil between the pages. Then he closed the file. Where did these wounds come from? Who had done that to Frank Randall and most important of all – with what kind of tool or weapon? The prosecution assumed that the tool had to be a blow poke. Frank's cousin Alex had given him and Claire such a device for their fireplace a few years ago as a Christmas present. It was a tube made of metal and about one meter long, through which one could blow air into a fire. At one end of the tube was a sharp hook, with which one could also move logs inside the fireplace. Alex Randall, Frank's cousin, could not remember exactly in which year he had brought this device. But he still knew exactly where he had purchased it. One evening, while surfing the internet, he discovered a page called ‘Hot Stuff’. As he admitted in his interrogation at the police in England, the search for chimney tools had not led him to this page ... But having overcome his initial disappointment, he took the time to study the dealer's offerings. He remembered that Frank had mentioned that he missed a blow poke for the operation of the house fireplace, but hadn’t found such a device in Germany yet. “Germans,” Frank had said, “know only Schürhaken (poking sticks).”  So Alex made his decision immediately when among all the offers of ‘Hot Stuff’ he found a brass-colored blow poke that would match Frank's fireplace tools. Although he found the price of 45,00 Euro for the blow poke and 5,00 Euro for shipping and packing a bit exaggerated, he ordered the device that night. Christmas was only once a year, and after all, Frank and Claire were the only relatives to whom he gave something for Christmas. Alex Randall had told the police on record that he had paid for it by Paypal in advance and that he received his order about five days later by mail. He had also told the English police officers that Frank was ‘very pleased’ when he received the gift.

         As understandable as the presumption of the prosecutor was (that the blow poke Alex Randall gave to Frank an Claire was used to kill Frank) so problematic was this assumption, however. To this day, the said blow poke had not surfaced. The chances were 50:50. The prosecutor couldn't prove that the blow poke was the tool by which the crime was committed, nor could Jamie in return prove that it wasn't the murder weapon.

         Jamie got up and started pacing the room. Maybe the chances weren’t 50:50. Maybe he could at least turn the absence of the murder weapon into a 70:30? If he could only sow enough doubt about the prosecution's thesis on the blow poke into the minds and hearts of the judges, and especially the two lay judges, maybe he could convince them that Claire was not the culprit.          He remembered the sensational case of Marianne Wagner. After the woman (who had been charged with the murder of her two underage sons) was sentenced to life in prison, which meant a minimum of 15 years, a new lawyer convinced the higher regional court, so that a revision procedure was carried out. When the case was heard before another regional court, Wagner’s new lawyer was able to create so many doubts in the minds of the Schöffen (lay judges), that they voted in favor of his client and she was set free immediately. Marianne Wagner was re-sentenced to life in a third proceeding, which had come about due to a revision of the prosecutor. But she'd been out of prison for almost two years between the trials. Maybe he was able to buy Claire (and himself!) some time? A time he could use to find new facts and arguments for an acquittal. 

(”Agenda 12 mesi MOLESKINE nera Design in Italy“ * By Pava [CC BY-SA 3.0 it (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/it/deed.en)], from Wikimedia Commons)

         Jamie stopped and hurried back to the table. When he sat down again, he took the notebook, opened a new page and wrote down the word: "Piles to hammer in.” Underneath he wrote: "1. Doubts about the ‘murder weapon’; 2. Marianne Wagner Case; 3. Doubts about the bloodstains". He closed the book, reached for the remainder of his second sandwich, and devoured it with one bite. After one last sip of Pepsi, he got up and picked up his things. He wanted nothing more than to drive home, take a hot shower and then go to bed early. He needed his sleep. Already during his studies at the university, he had found that he had the most significant successes with Thomas Edison's method of problem-solving: Relaxing and giving your mind free rein was the best way to get closer to solving a case.

         He took the plate and carried it to the kitchen. Then he filled Adso's empty bowls once more with dry food and water. When the cat, who had followed him into the kitchen, stroked around his legs, he stroked him reassuringly. Then he quickly disappeared from the kitchen, took his briefcase and closed the front door behind him, before a greedy Adso, who had turned to the food in his bowl, could even notice.

Thank you for reading. If you have any questions, just send me a message or write it down in the comments. Next time, read: Secret Whitsun holidays on Rügen (4): Sharing joy and sorrow (2)

Notes:

[1]  Ezekiel 3: 8-9; (translated from the German translation by Hermann Menge by myself)

[thisdaynews]

Donald Trump Has Been Acquitted. But Our Government Has Never Seemed More Broken.

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/donald-trump-has-been-acquitted-but-our-government-has-never-seemed-more-broken/

Donald Trump Has Been Acquitted. But Our Government Has Never Seemed More Broken.

A deeply divided Senate acquitted President Donald Trump at the end of his impeachment trial on Wednesday, with 52 Senators concluding the House’s allegations that he abused the power of his office did not necessitate his removal of office, and 53 reaching that conclusion on the charge that he obstructed Congress.

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The Senate’s verdict renders Trump the third President in U.S. history to face impeachment charges in the House and be acquitted by the Senate. The final result came after nearly two weeks of a Senate trial encompassing dozens of hours of oral arguments and more than one hundred written questions from the Senators, and more than four months after the impeachment inquiry first began in the House.

Trump’s acquittal was nearly entirely along party lines. Every Democrat voted to convict Trump and all but one Republican voted to acquit him. Only Sen. Mitt Romney, a Republican from Utah, broke with his party and voted to remove the President from office by convicting him on abuse of power.

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By the conclusion of the trial, there was only one thing on which weary lawmakers from both parties could agree: this impeachment has heralded a dangerous new hyper-partisan era that could damage the workings of government for a generation. Republicans said an impeachment process that was initiated and played out almost entirely along party lines was a disturbing use of a grave constitutional duty as a political weapon in an election year. Democrats said that Republican lawmakers had shirked their constitutional duties in their politically expedient support for Trump, even after multiple government officials testified that the President abused the authority of his office.

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Inside and outside the Senate chamber, lawmakers said all three branches of government had been weakened by the partisanship on display since House Speaker Nancy Pelosi first announced the inquiry last September. Depending on their position, they warned that the presidency had been hampered by an impeachment that amounted to a political disagreement, that Congress had abdicated its responsibility for fairness, and that even the judiciary had become tainted by the bitter politics that had seized the impeachment process.

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Senators from both parties sat grim-faced and serious during the proceedings, without any strong visible reaction from either side when Trump was officially declared not guilty by Chief Justice John Roberts. Senators Joe Manchin of West Virginia and Kyrsten Sinema of Arizona, two moderate Democrats who at one point were considered contenders to break with their party and voted to acquit Trump, shared a moment together before the vote. Sinema approached Manchin in his seat and put a hand on his shoulder; they talked briefly, and Manchin stood up to hug her. Minutes later, they both voted guilty on abuse of power, officially making Romney the only senator of either party to break ranks.

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“We have changed. The members of Congress have changed,” Rep. Adam Schiff, the House Democrats’ lead impeachment manager, lamented during his closing arguments. Members of Congress, he said, are “now far more accepting of the most serious misconduct of a president as long as it is a president of one’s own party. And that is a trend most dangerous for our country.”

Schiff’s final speech was one last attempt to try and persuade moderate Republicans to break with their party. It was a call that only Romney heeded, which technically made this the first bipartisan conviction vote of a president. But Romney knew it would be a futile gesture. “I acknowledge that my verdict will not remove the President from office,” he said in an emotional speech on the Senate floor before the vote. “But irrespective of these things, with my vote I will tell my children, and their children, that I did my duty to the best of my ability believing that my country expected it of me.”

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But Republicans in both the House and Senate constructed their arguments on the opposite point. They argued not that senators should cross party lines to make a bipartisan judgment, but that Republicans should stick together in order to not endorse the House’s partisan vote to impeach the President based on charges that he had abused the power of his office by withholding aid to a foreign ally for his own political benefit, and then obstructed Congress’s efforts to investigate his conduct.

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Trump’s lawyers argued that the prospect of lowering the threshold for impeachable conduct to something that is not a statutory crime and isn’t broadly agreed upon by both parties would mean that future presidents in a similarly divided government could be impeached over mere policy disputes. “If that becomes the new norm, future presidents, Democrats and Republicans, will be paralyzed the moment they are elected,” Trump lawyer Jay Sekulow warned on Jan. 29. “The bar for impeachment cannot be set this low.”

That ultimately appeared to be the stronger argument for some senators who had been on the fence. Alaska Sen. Lisa Murkowski, who joined Senate Democrats in opposing Justice Brett Kavanaugh’s Supreme Court confirmation in 2018 and who had been pinpointed as a possible Republican dissenter in the impeachment process, voted for conviction for precisely this reason. The President’s behavior, she said in a floor speech announcing her decision this week, was “shameful and wrong,” but the House’s process was not an apt remedy for it. “The House rushed through what should have been one of the most serious, consequential undertakings of the legislative branch simply to meet an artificial, self-imposed deadline,” she said. “The House failed in its responsibilities.”

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Like Murkowski, retiring Tennessee Sen. Lamar Alexander also argued that the risk of endorsing a partisan process in today’s polarized political climate by removing Trump from office outweighed the dangers that Trump’s actions posed. “The framers believed that there should never, ever be a partisan impeachment,” Alexander said in a statement on Jan. 30. “If this shallow, hurried and wholly partisan impeachment were to succeed, it would rip the country apart, pouring gasoline on the fire of cultural divisions that already exist. It would create the weapon of perpetual impeachment to be used against future presidents whenever the House of Representatives is of a different political party.”

And Florida Sen. Marco Rubio, in announcing his decision to acquit, said he was more concerned about the impact of the impeachment proceeding’s partisanship on the country’s future than in leaving Trump in office, even if he had sought foreign interference in the 2020 election, as Democrats claim. “Just because actions meet a standard of impeachment does not mean it is in the best interest of the country to remove a President from office,” Rubio wrote in his statement. “Can anyone doubt that at least half of the country would view his removal as illegitimate — as nothing short of a coup d’état? It is difficult to conceive of any scheme Putin could undertake that would undermine confidence in our democracy more than removal would.”

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Democrats were just as concerned about where the government’s stark political divisions were taking the nation. They felt it prohibited their Republican colleagues in both chambers from even considering their case against the President. Up until last September, Pelosi had publicly resisted growing calls from the Democrats’ progressive voter base and liberal lawmakers to start impeachment proceedings as the White House resisted Congressional oversight, insisting that such a divisive effort must have bipartisan backing. “Unless there’s something so compelling and overwhelming and bipartisan, I don’t think we should go down that path because it divides the country,” she told the Washington Post last February.

Democrats knew the bar for amassing enough Republican support for a conviction might be, as Schiff put it in his closing arguments, “prohibitively high.” But they said that it was their constitutional duty to try to stop a Commander in Chief that presented a danger to the nation. And they still held out hope that some Republicans would support their efforts to do so, particularly after more than a dozen non-partisan bureaucrats and political appointees testified under oath that Trump’s efforts to run a shadow foreign policy in Ukraine undermined national security interests, strengthened Russia and set a dangerous diplomatic precedent. “We could not afford to stand on the sidelines in that instance,” Democratic caucus chair Hakeem Jeffries and an impeachment manager, said on Wednesday.

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But it was not until the end of the Senate trial that a handful of Senate Republicans would even publicly say that Trump’s behavior was improper. For Democrats, who viewed Trump wielding the power of his office to solicit foreign interference in the next election as the greatest danger to the republic, the partisanship represented in the Republicans’ united front, which they argued was out of fear of the President or their own job security due to his enduring popularity, was just as concerning as the prospect of removal.

“As long as the president’s party is willing to stand behind him, there will be no accountability for any wrongdoing. None,” Sen. Elizabeth Warren, a Democrat from Massachusetts, told TIME. “That can’t be right. It just scissors the impeachment clause out of the Constitution.”

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More moderate Democrats were equally perturbed. “Very early on I implored my colleagues in both houses of Congress to stay out of their partisan corners. Many did, but so many did not. The country deserves better,” Alabama Sen. Doug Jones, one of the most vulnerable Democrats up for reelection, said in a statement on his decision to convict the President.

By Wednesday, as the exonerated President shifted his energy back to his re-election campaign, it seemed the most indelible outcome of the third presidential impeachment trial in U.S. history might be the further deepening of political divisions in government and across the country. On Tuesday, Gallup released a new poll showing that during impeachment, Trump reached his highest ever job approval rating, at 49%. While Trump’s approval among Republicans hit 94%, it was just 7% among Democrats—the largest discrepancy ever measured, according to Gallup.

Going forward, lawmakers will need to find a way to continue to do their jobs in this disillusioned and divided workplace. “So many in this chamber share my sadness for the present state of our institutions,” said Murkowski. “It’s my hope that we’ve finally found bottom here.”

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That sentiment, at least, crosses party lines.

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Republican congressmen, many of whom were not allowed to partake in the closed door hearings, speak to the press on the secrecy of the impeachment inquiry outside the sensitive compartmented information facility (SCIF) at the Capitol in Washington, D.C., on Oct. 23, 2019.

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A custodial staff member walks into the sensitive compartmented information facility (SCIF), where Democrats conducted closed-door depositions during the House impeachment inquiry, in the basement of the Capitol in Washington, D.C.