#now they committed a VERY disturbing murder and it was very clear they were disturbed kids but EXECUTING CHILDREN??

[timeisacephalopod]

The perils of loving true crime content but hating when it veers into either Tough On Crime right wing reactionary content or Weird Gratuitous Descriptions of Crimes territory. I find the first far more than the second and it drives me nuts that anyone could think prison will solve violence when prison in itself is a wildly violent place that obviously doesn't work. If it did the US would be Squeaky Clean Crimeless and that ain't true.

Seriously though I love true crime content but these days have such a hard time finding stuff that gives the facts of the story plainly without deciding to advocate for ridiculous prison sentences and a bunch of other copaganda adjacent shit is surprisingly difficult and frankly says a lot about the way we discuss, conceptualize, and react to crime. Especially when a lot of crime is literally just criminalizing addiction, a mental health problem, so fully defending and uncritically advocating for the prison and policing system especially when true crime stories are more often than not stories of police incompetence is just baffling. And no just because true crime tends to mean violent crime that does not mean prison will solve the problem any more than it would solve an addicts addiction and frankly I don't even want an ideological slant I just want the damn facts without right wing shit being evangelized to me. Wonder how many people even notice this shit, because its so ingrained in true crime content that it feels like the only ones who notice are insufferable blue hair pronoun using leftists like myself.

[aronarchy]

Why we don’t like it when children hit us back

To all the children who have ever been told to “respect” someone that hated them.

March 21, 2023

Even those of us that are disturbed by the thought of how widespread corporal punishment still is in all ranks of society are uncomfortable at the idea of a child defending themself using violence against their oppressors and abusers. A child who hits back proves that the adults “were right all along,” that their violence was justified. Even as they would cheer an adult victim for defending themself fiercely.

Even those “child rights advocates” imagine the right child victim as one who takes it without ever stopping to love “its” owners. Tear-stained and afraid, the child is too innocent to be hit in a guilt-free manner. No one likes to imagine the Brat as Victim—the child who does, according to adultist logic, deserve being hit, because they follow their desires, because they walk the world with their head high, because they talk back, because they are loud, because they are unapologetically here, and resistant to being cast in the role of guest of a world that is just not made for them.

If we are against corporal punishment, the brat is our gotcha, the proof that it is actually not that much of an injustice. The brat unsettles us, so much that the “bad seed” is a stock character in horror, a genre that is much permeated by the adult gaze (defined as “the way children are viewed, represented and portrayed by adults; and finally society’s conception of children and the way this is perpetuated within institutions, and inherent in all interactions with children”), where the adult fear for the subversion of the structures that keep children under control is very much represented.

It might be very well true that the Brat has something unnatural and sinister about them in this world, as they are at constant war with everything that has ever been created, since everything that has been created has been built with the purpose of subjugating them. This is why it feels unnatural to watch a child hitting back instead of cowering. We feel like it’s not right. We feel like history is staring back at us, and all the horror we felt at any rebel and wayward child who has ever lived, we are feeling right now for that reject of the construct of “childhood innocence.” The child who hits back is at such clash with our construction of childhood because we defined violence in all of its forms as the province of the adult, especially the adult in authority.

The adult has an explicit sanction by the state to do violence to the child, while the child has both a social and legal prohibition to even think of defending themself with their fists. Legislation such as “parent-child tort immunity” makes this clear. The adult’s designed place is as the one who hits, and has a right and even an encouragement to do so, the one who acts, as the person. The child’s designed place is as the one who gets hit, and has an obligation to accept that, as the one who suffers acts, as the object. When a child forcibly breaks out of their place, they are reversing the supposed “natural order” in a radical way.

This is why, for the youth liberationist, there should be nothing more beautiful to witness that the child who snaps. We have an unique horror for parricide, and a terrible indifference at the 450 children murdered every year by their parents in just the USA, without even mentioning all the indirect suicides caused by parental abuse. As a Psychology Today article about so-called “parricide” puts it:

Unlike adults who kill their parents, teenagers become parricide offenders when conditions in the home are intolerable but their alternatives are limited. Unlike adults, kids cannot simply leave. The law has made it a crime for young people to run away. Juveniles who commit parricide usually do consider running away, but many do not know any place where they can seek refuge. Those who do run are generally picked up and returned home, or go back on their own: Surviving on the streets is hardly a realistic alternative for youths with meager financial resources, limited education, and few skills.

By far, the severely abused child is the most frequently encountered type of offender. According to Paul Mones, a Los Angeles attorney who specializes in defending adolescent parricide offenders, more than 90 percent have been abused by their parents. In-depth portraits of such youths have frequently shown that they killed because they could no longer tolerate conditions at home. These children were psychologically abused by one or both parents and often suffered physical, sexual, and verbal abuse as well—and witnessed it given to others in the household. They did not typically have histories of severe mental illness or of serious and extensive delinquent behavior. They were not criminally sophisticated. For them, the killings represented an act of desperation—the only way out of a family situation they could no longer endure.

- Heide, Why Kids Kill Parents, 1992.

Despite these being the most frequent conditions of “parricide,” it still brings unique disgust to think about it for most people. The sympathy extended to murdering parents is never extended even to the most desperate child, who chose to kill to not be killed. They chose to stop enduring silently, and that was their greatest crime; that is the crime of the child who hits back. Hell, children aren’t even supposed to talk back. They are not supposed to be anything but grateful for the miserable pieces of space that adults carve out in a world hostile to children for them to live following adult rules. It isn’t rare for children to notice the adult monopoly on violence and force when they interact with figures like teachers, and the way they use words like “respect.” In fact, this social dynamic has been noticed quite often:

Sometimes people use “respect” to mean “treating someone like a person” and sometimes they use “respect” to mean “treating someone like an authority” and sometimes people who are used to being treated like an authority say “if you won’t respect me I won’t respect you” and they mean “if you won’t treat me like an authority I won’t treat you like a person” and they think they’re being fair but they aren’t, and it’s not okay.

(https://soycrates.tumblr.com/post/115633137923/stimmyabby-sometimes-people-use-respect-to-mean)

But it has received almost no condemnation in the public eye. No voices have raised to contrast the adult monopoly on violence towards child bodies and child minds. No voices have raised to praise the child who hits back. Because they do deserve praise. Because the child who sets their foot down and says this belongs to me, even when it’s something like their own body that they are claiming, is committing one of the most serious crimes against adult society, who wants them dispossessed.

Sources:

“The Adult Gaze: a tool of control and oppression,” https://livingwithoutschool.com/2021/07/29/the-adult-gaze-a-tool-of-control-and-oppression

“Filicide,” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Filicide

[goodnightmemes]

GLASS ONION: A KNIVES OUT MYSTERY (2022) SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ You can’t keep making excuses for every one of [name]’s insane whims. ❜

❛ Genius always looks like insanity at first, though, right? ❜

❛ Hey, please stop fire-spinning inside. ❜

❛ I say it like I see it, no filter. If people can’t handle it, that’s their problem. ❜

❛ You’ve got to stay off the Twitter. ❜

❛ Are you mocking me? ❜

❛ This can’t Shazam. It’s a lamp. ❜

❛ Where’s my speargun? I gotta pack. ❜

❛ He told me you haven’t left the bath for a week. ❜

❛ My mind is a fueled-up racing car, and I got nowhere to drive it. ❜

❛ I need danger, a hunt, a challenge. ❜

❛ There’s someone here for you! With a box! ❜

❛ Hello, stranger danger. ❜

❛ Excuse me, I love your accent. I had to try it. ❜

❛ You must be very special. ❜

❛ When you throw a murder mystery party, you do it right, buddy. ❜

❛ I’m not here. ❜

❛ He’s just staying here. He’s going through things. ❜

❛ This rich-people shit is weird. ❜

❛ This is stretching my stride-taking abilities. ❜

❛ Okay, let’s stop talking and actually start hanging out and having fun. ❜

❛ Why is it on the roof? ❜

❛ I wanted to ask, what are you doing here? ❜

❛ Is this part of the game? ❜

❛ I’ve learned through bitter experience that an anonymous invitation is not to be trifled with. ❜

❛ You really try. I like that. You really make an effort. ❜

❛ You never know when shit’s gonna go down. ❜

❛ I’m uncomfortable. I’m gonna go for a swim. ❜

❛ It’s true. I say it like I see it. ❜

❛ If you want to shake things up, you start with something small. ❜

❛ That’s the place where you have to look within yourself and ask, “Am I the kind of person who will keep going?” ❜

❛ That was some real red-pill stuff. ❜

❛ Every single one of you is holding on for dear life to [name]’s golden titties. ❜

❛ Wow. That was so real. ❜

❛ I’m a truth-teller. Some people can’t handle it. ❜

❛ It’s a dangerous thing to mistake speaking without thought for speaking the truth. Don’t you think? ❜

❛ Are you calling me dangerous? ❜

❛ A few cocktails before I’m murdered. ❜

❛ Halle Berry! That has a kick. ❜

❛ This simple thing that you thought you were looking at, it suddenly takes on layers and depth so complex, it gives you vertigo. ❜

❛ Every time we’ve gotten to the point where I’m going to strangle you, you pull something like this, and it’s magic. ❜

❛ I wanna be responsible for something that gets mentioned in the same breath as the Mona Lisa. ❜

❛ This is reckless. And you’re gonna get somebody killed. ❜

❛ It’s been a memorable weekend already, to be sure, but now the real fun starts. ❜

❛ Tonight, in this very room, a murder will be committed. ❜

❛ Well, to be clear, I mean, I didn’t know what a “blood diamond” was so… ❜

❛ What am I supposed to do now? Play Yahtzee all weekend? ❜

❛ I like the Glass Onion as a metaphor. An object that seems densely layered, but in reality the center is in plain sight. ❜

❛ It’s like putting a loaded gun on the table and turning off the lights! ❜

❛ Well, I’m out of here. Tomorrow morning. Gone. ❜

❛ You’re murdering my vibe. ❜

❛ So you come here, in your Gucci flats, telling us that we owe you? ❜

❛ What do you want? A check? You want performative pity? ❜

❛ I want the truth! ❜

❛ But me, I’m tired of pretending like you’re the victim in this game. ❜

❛ That changes things, right? ❜

❛ Have we ever not pulled through? Pulled it off? ❜

❛ We won’t know the cause of death without an autopsy. ❜

❛ Listen, I must insist that nobody touch the body or disturb anything around it. ❜

Are you treating this as a crime scene then? ❜

❛ I’ll pay you one billion dollars to tell me which one of them tried to kill me. ❜

❛ Oh, fiddlesticks. ❜

❛ Is that a speargun? ❜

❛ Oh, hell’s bells! Just, everybody, just stay here! ❜

❛ I can peel back the layers, I can take it to a point, but what lies at the center, only one person can tell us who killed [name]. ❜

❛ You’re not in the bath again, are you? ❜

❛ Heavens, the dog ate the caviar again. ❜

❛ It’s a stupid idea, right? ❜

❛ Listen, I want to be clear, huh? I am not Batman. ❜

❛ Any feelings of reverence or respect that you had for me when you crossed my threshold, buttress those feelings now. ❜

❛ Yeah, I’m trying real hard to buttress, but this sounds nuts. ❜

❛ Is this safe? ❜

❛ I shouldn’t be here. This is nuts. But I’m here. So let’s do this. ❜

❛ The reality-distortion field ends here. I can’t let you do this. ❜

❛ Look me in the eye! You know it’s a lie! ❜

❛ You must be really great at Clue, huh? ❜

❛ I’m very bad at dumb things. My Achilles’ heel. ❜

❛ This is your last chance to back out. ❜

❛ I think it’s really shitty what they all did to you. ❜

❛ I sold my soul for this. ❜

❛ I thought you said you didn’t drink? ❜

❛ That’s hard kombucha. That’s Jared Leto’s hard kombucha. ❜

❛ We’re running out of time! ❜

❛ Please. Think of the danger here. You gotta step back and let me handle this. ❜

❛ I never email anything that I wouldn’t want to see on the front page of The Times. ❜

❛ I think maybe you should take up drinking. You’re just killing it. ❜

❛ Something is just teasing the edge of my brain. ❜

❛ Oh, if I ever meet Jared Leto, I’m gonna whoop his kombucha-brewing ass. ❜

❛ My therapist says this is a toxic relationship. ❜

❛ We will do what we always do. Deny, half-apologize, and then go silent awhile. ❜

❛ Please tell me you did not think sweatshops are where they make sweatpants. ❜

❛ I will do whatever I have to do to save myself, and he is my only lifeline. ❜

❛ This never happens in Clue. ❜

❛ He’s a son of a bitch. Leave his ass. ❜

❛ I don’t feel sorry for him. He deserved what he got, and you are better off without him. ❜

❛ Please don’t kill me! Oh my God, please don’t kill me! ❜

❛ I’m not trying to kill you, you crazy bitch! ❜

❛ Shitballs! ❜

❛ It hides not behind complexity, but behind mind-numbing obvious clarity. ❜

❛ A veritable minefield of malapropisms and factual errors. ❜

❛ Oh, please. Just tell us who tried to kill me. ❜

❛ Nobody tried to kill you, you vainglorious buffoon. ❜

❛ What is reality?! ❜

❛ Does he keep a vial of poison in his tooth or something? Is that a rich person thing? ❜

❛ Oh, it’s so dumb, it’s brilliant. ❜

❛ No! It’s just dumb! ❜

❛ You dim-witted, brainless jackass! ❜

❛ Your one murder, with any panache at all, and you stole the whole idea from me. ❜

❛ Wow! We got some big accusations flying around here. ❜

❛ You need evidence, and you’ve got nothing. ❜

❛ Anywhere you go, it’s going to be your word against mine. How do you think that’s gonna go? ❜

❛ There’s nothing I can do. Except maybe offer you some courage. ❜

❛ I hope your little bitch tantrum gave you closure ’cause it accomplished nothing! ❜

❛ You’re ruined. ❜

❛ Did you get the son of a bitch? ❜

[coochiequeens]

Earlier this week I said that the tide is turning for the TQ+. This is an example of why that is happening.

By Genevieve Gluck April 10, 2024

A trans-identified male spared a prison sentence after threatening to bludgeon a man with a claw hammer has again avoided jail after threatening to kill women’s rights campaigners. Layla Le Fey, 44, was handed a combined 20-week suspended sentence for violent threats he sent to Helen Joyce and Kellie Jay Keen, two well-known women critical of gender identity ideology, in which he fantasized about butchering and dismembering them.

Last year, Le Fey sent the violent messages via a now-suspended account on X (formerly Twitter) from March through June. Using the handle @laylalefey1, Le Fey stated he was “interested in setting fire” to Keen’s home while she was inside.

Le Fey had also communicated his desire to “kick the s**t out of” her, rip her eyes out, and break her spine in a bizarre bid to “prove [her] point” that “some trans people are extremely violent.” That same day, Le Fey stated that he would enjoy either seeing Keen brutally killed by a “misogynist psychopath” or acting out the murder himself.

Also targeted by Le Fey was author Helen Joyce, a vocal critic of gender identity ideology and Director of Advocacy for the women’s rights charity Sex Matters.

“God how I would love to just rip your eyes out, chop your hands off, and carve your face up really badly,” Le Fey said to Joyce on March 20. His macabre comment was made in response to Joyce’s 2022 post announcing the publication of her book, Trans: When Ideology Meets Reality.

Le Fey pleaded guilty in a Brighton court yesterday to four offenses under the communications act, including threats of arson.

While reading a victim impact statement out in court, Joyce said: “I’m used to robust and unpleasant debate online. I never get into back and forths and accept that other people have the right to criticize what I say. But seeing the things they were expressing, describing to me how much he would enjoy cutting me, is something else altogether.”

Layla Le Fey in 2013. Source: Facebook

Keen, when presenting her victim impact statement, emphasized that Le Fey is a man who terrorizes women. “A violent man committed a crime,” she said. “The violent threats had far greater impact on my husband and children than me. They are very worried for my safety.”

“Terrorizing women into silence was the intent of this man. I want to make it clear, this crime was committed by a man,” she continued. “This is what happens when women speak up. I didn’t want to elevate this person’s comments, so I did not respond. These tweets disturbed me and I’ve no doubt given the opportunity this person would have carried out these threats… My whereabouts is often known and I have no doubt, given the opportunity, this person would be a threat to my wellbeing.”

Le Fey’s defense attorney, Cathy Walker, referred to him with feminine pronouns while arguing that he had been struggling with his mental health when he made the threats. Walker also claimed that he had had no intention to act on them. Le Fey was sentenced to a consecutive 10 weeks for the threats against Keen, and another 10 concurrent weeks for the messages he sent to Joyce.

Additionally, he is subject to an 18-month restraining order which prohibits him from either contacting or attending events involving either Keen or Joyce, and has been ordered to participate in 25 days’ involvement in a rehabilitation program.

Following the series of violent posts last year, Le Fey was arrested in June by Sussex Police after a massive outcry from concerned supporters of Keen and Joyce.

Le Fey has a history of violence, and, according to the Daily Mail, a lengthy criminal record. He has been convicted for more than 50 prior offenses, including several for wielding weapons in public.

Le Fey had also previously avoided a prison sentence as a direct result of his transgender status. In 2020, Le Fey was convicted of common assault and possession of an offensive weapon after attempting to steal wine from a Budgens in Brighton. During the incident, which took place on November 6th, 2019, Le Fey brandished a claw hammer and used it to threaten the cashier. He was apprehended by police after he swiped another bottle of wine and attempted to flee.

During court proceedings, presiding Judge Stephen Mooney initially called Le Fey’s crime “inexcusable,” and sentenced him to serve a suspended six-month sentence in prison, along with a 30-session rehabilitative therapy order. But within the hour, Judge Mooney overturned his own decision, citing a lack of evidence of Le Fey’s gender reassignment.

Because the court could not establish whether Le Fey had undergone genital surgery, it was argued that a prison term presented an inhumane situation which could not be easily resolved.

Le Fey has gone under several names, including Marcus Smith, Adam Hodgson, and David.

Le Fey, 2023. Source: Facebook.

As Le Fey lacked a legal document known as a Gender Recognition Certificate (GRC), Le Fey’s attorney, Rebecca Upton, remarked: “The only way Le Fey could prove her new gender would be an ‘undignified examination,’ one which court staff were not prepared to do.”

Without a GRC or physical examination, Le Fey, considered a vulnerable minority under the law, would have then been forced to serve his sentence at the Lewes Prison, a correctional facility for men. Judge Mooney refused to do so, and commented that he could not allow Le Fey to serve his sentence in the male estate.

“We live in a society which acknowledges and embraces diversity and allows and encourages people to live the life they want to. Sometimes society does not make the necessary or appropriate adjustments in all ways it can to reflect the adjustments of society as a whole,” Judge Mooney said.

“Having reflected again upon the impact an immediate custodial sentence would have, the difficulties there are and the intractable problems the prison service would face, I have reconsidered whether imprisonment must be immediate,” he added. “In light of this information I have come to the conclusion that in your particular case it allows me to hope for some form of rehabilitation.”

[the-kr8tor]

You know that Castlevania show on Netflix? I'm now imagining Hobie as Dracula and R as Lisa. Hobie HC incoming!!

You'd knocked on the door of his castle, eyeing the dead bodies on display a bit anxiously. A clear sign that the owner of this castle did not want to be disturbed. Shaking your head to clear the nervousness bubbling in your stomach, you steeled your resolve. You were here on a very important mission and nothing would deter you.

Like magic, the heavy doors opened. Yet, no one was there to greet you. Taking a deep breath, you step inside, eyes widening at how extremely large the building was from the inside. A low, impressed whistle leaves your lips as you walk deeper into the castle, only for you to stop in your tracks at the man before you.

Hobie narrows his eyes at you, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"Do you normally just come into a person's home without being invited in?" He says lowly. To his surprise, you just scoff and wave a hand dismissively.

"Apologies, the door was open. But, what about you? Do you normally not introduce yourself to someone you're meeting for the first time? Quite rude of you."

Hobie can't help the impressed scoff that leaves his lips at your words. There's no doubt you already know who he is, what he is. To be so bold and tell him off like that... He likes you already. After introducing yourself to one another, you'd pleaded with him to teach you the ways of healing sickness and disease.

"What do I get out of this, love? Givin' you the tools you need with nothing in return, sounds like a bad deal to me."

"A chance at learning to be human. That and, maybe some company. Don't imagine you have a lot, what with being in this big place by yourself."

Hobie can't help the laugh that leaves him at that. You've surprised him, yet again. Such boldness, talking to a lord of the night like himself in such a manner. It was refreshing. And he was finding you more and more intriguing every minute. Hobie agreed to teach you, tutoring you in science and herbs that would aid you in your goal. In return, you taught him what it meant to be human, the beauty that could be found in humanity. Over time, you two developed feelings for each other, falling deeply in love and a life together.

For all the years he'd lived, for all the horrors he'd committed, Hobie had never imagined that he'd get to experience love. Get to experience how beautiful life could be when he lived it with you. Every night when you two settled into bed, he'd wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close. His touch that was once like iron, able to rip and tear with satisfying ease, held you like you were the purest silk. Hobie would lay his head on your chest, just to hear the sound of your heartbeat in his ears. He'd press one kiss on your shoulder, one kiss on your collarbone, and two right above where your heart would be.

"Thank you for living and choosing me. Thank you for staying with me." Is what he'd whisper against your skin every night. And every night, you'd place your hands in his hair, soothingly scratching at his scalp. And every night, you'd whisper back to him.

"You deserve to be with me. I'm not leaving you. Never, my love."

So, he'd finally returned from his travels to see your clinic burnt to the ground, he'd been confused. Anxious. Worried. Because, how could such a thing happen? And then, an elderly lady had told him you'd been taken by the church, accused of being a witch and sentenced to burn at the stake. That it had been hours since you'd been taken, had been wrongly accused, had been murdered. Hobie was shaking, hands clenched tightly into fists, nails breaking his skin. Because why would anyone hurt you? You, who loved humanity, who strived to help the humans you loved so much. You, who taught him to love and appreciate humans because you believed they were capable of goodness and righteousness.

He'd threatened them in an angry ball of hellfire, told them they had a year to repent for the heinous crime of murdering you, a year to leave the land they had dared wronged you on. And once his threat had been made good, Hobie collapsed, knees falling onto the rubble of your clinic. Red dripped from his eyes as he dug his hands in the soil, tears of blood falling as he clenched the dirt between his fingers. He'd never known a grief like this, never knew a pain so consuming. With choked sobs, he slammed his fist on the ground, over and over and over.

Cries of "You promised you wouldn't leave me", "What am I to do now that you're gone" leave his trembling lips. He snarls, fangs bared and glinting in the moonlight above him.

"Why give me this heart, just to break it?" Hobie screams out, as though you could hear his torment. The vampire Lord looks around him, at the burnt remains of all you worked so hard for. It's then and there that the heart you gave him for the world you loved turns to dust. As far as Hobie's concerned, it burned away with you.

Uh... Idk what came over me just now with the sudden agnst😭🤚 I swear, it's contagious like a disease or something😭🤚

YEESS I LOVE THAT SERIES!!! I'm patiently waiting for the new season!! Awoznkwjxjlwmss!!! Ngl I've thought of this exact au while I was writing for tf! But I didn't go through with it and instead went with fae! Hobie!!!! (Great minds think alike pookie)

I WAS ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT EVEN THO I KNEW THE HEART WRENCHING ANGST WAS COMING

I love it when lovelies leave blurbs in my inbox it's like Christmas!!!

(What if b and r were the alucard in this story 🤭)

[cyberxilophone]

Hope brings all people together, right? Is there such a thing as too much hope? That's what Hajime Hinata wonders when a sudden weight gain epidemic hits the students of Jabberwock Island following Monokuma's disappearance...

(CW: Weight Gain, immobility, general obesity)

CHAPTER 1 DAYTIME - Level 2

“Hajime, what do you think of this?”

While being stuck in a room with Teruteru inside was close to being as bad as being mauled by a Monobeast, Hajime knew that a situation like this could not go unchecked.

It all started this morning. When dawn came anew, Monokuma appeared on the monitors, playing with his margarita as he always did as he gave his daily announcement. By now, the cartoony-looking bear was sick of their refusal to murder.

A stroke of luck was all that it took for their bonds to be unified; after Teruteru only managed to graze Byakuya with the meat skewer, miraculously missing his vital areas, the idea that they could never commit murder was swiftly dashed. Still, from that realization, a new, less idealized hope bloomed.

They were people, humane creatures. That meant that mistakes were inevitable. Instead of forcing the possibility of doubt from their midst, they let it healthy fester without shaming anyone for it. They were connected, and no matter what despair Monokuma tried throwing at them, it all slid past the veil of harmony they constructed.

They barely processed whatever motive he tried to persuade them with. It went from money, to empty threats that they had long gone mastered the art of ignoring. As long as they didn’t engage and waited for escape, no one would die.

However, instead of threatening them with disease or letting loose a wild animal for them to be eaten, this morning, the bear presented a rather… strange motive.

“Alright, you annoying brats! Since you’re intending on holding hands and singing songs to upset me, I’ve decided that I need to step up as headmaster and take some disciplinary action! Check the kitchen, NOW!”

And that’s how they got to where they were now; Hajime and Teruteru, the designated ‘kitchen’ expert, were scooted up in front of the pantry.

“I don’t know. I’ve tried looking at everything, but nothing stands out. The only thing that I can think of is poison, though…”

Teruteru shook his head. “That’s already been accounted for. My dear Mikan and Fuyuhiko already ran some tests in the hospital, and nothing’s come of that. It appears that it’s perfectly safe for consumption.”

“How do you know that?”

Teruteru points at the dining hall. As soon as Hajime peeks his head through the doorway, it all becomes clear; Byakuya, Nekomaru and Akane are all devouring the food left on the table, the ‘DO NOT EAT’ sign discarded and stamped over. In just a few minutes, half of the table’s content had been thoroughly consumed.

“Ah… Well, maybe Monokuma was just bluffing. I think he’s getting desperate at this point.”

Teruteru nods eagerly. “Very astute, Mister Hinata! I think that we should celebrate your leadership with a great feast. Of course-” He gestures with his head towards the trio in the dining hall. “Those three can get their own portions to not disturb anyone.”

Hinata can’t help but smile. “Sure, why not? Let’s call everyone here.”

---

CHAPTER 1 DAYTIME - LEVEL 20

Hajime, always the everyman, had never given his appearance too much thought. Sure, he had never been called particularly handsome, but he had never been called ugly either. There wasn’t anything to complain about, in all honesty.

Of course, he sometimes would give thought to the idea of gaining more mass, but it wasn't something that he was pressed with. With people like Nekomaru and Byakuya beside him, his body didn’t leave enough of an impression to be worthy of gossiping topics.

However, that line of thinking existed only before today.

“Ngh…” Hajime holds the two front ends of his pants together, trying to button them with all his might. For more than ten minutes now, he had been standing in front of the full-body mirror in his cabin, trying to get dressed.

Waking up, a note from Byakuya that arranged for a meeting had been slipped underneath his door was the first thing he saw after getting out of bed.

His shirt went in a little tighter than usual, but the feeling was nothing compared to the dread that passed him when he tried to put on his pants.

As he pushed it up his legs, reaching the threshold above his knee, it began to get stuck. Putting on his pants was enough of a mindless task that when they got stuck trying to wrap around his legs, it was enough for him to be taken aback. The shock jolted him awake, dragging him out fully from the trance of slumber.

I thought that it was just because Mikan kept shrinking them in the wash, but…

By some miracle and a LOT of forceful tugging, enough for the fear of ripping the pants apart to be frighteningly plausible, Hajime had his pants up and about. They hung just around his waist, but that was just a measly step in getting somewhat presentable.

With his unbuttoned pants hugging his frame rather nicely, the small pouch of fat that had grown around his midsection spilled over. The last thing he expected was to sport a muffin top of all things, especially since they’d only been on the island for just two months, yet the mirror’s reflection only told the truth, and the truth was that he was fat.

Ugh, I knew that I shouldn’t have agreed to help out Kazuhichi to tinker all night long! Those damn burgers from the supermarket that he loves are garbage food…

And now, all that was left was to pass the button through the designated hole. It should be easy, it should, but Hajime can only struggle, the two ends in his hand just coming so close to touching.

Yet as he pushes further, the sound of a single thread coming undone is enough to shock him into stopping. He stares in horror at his pants, rapidly scanning for the part that he managed to damage.

There!

The right end that he was holding had started to become undone. If he untucked his shirt and put it over his pants, it could be hidden well enough. Hajime tries to see if he can get away with going out like this, but it becomes clear that without having his pants done, they would be destined to fall on the ground as soon as he tried to walk.

“Dammit…”

He ends up scrambling for a belt that Gundam left on his cabin by accident. Fortunately, it clicks right into place. He would probably need to get clothes from the supermarket (Seriously, how do they have his outfit there?) after the meeting, but as long as he survived without shame, he would be okay.

---

CHAPTER 1 DAYTIME - LEVEL 21

What the hell has been happening with me as of late?

That’s the question Hajime asks himself as he finally gives in to his urges and heads for the kitchen to get seconds.

Teruteru was never shy about putting food on their plates with the seemingly endless supply in the supermarket and the farm, so the feeling of contentment and fullness was always expected… at least during his first few weeks.

The feeling of longing now permeates his being when he finishes a meal, and he can’t escape it.

Usually, the shame of doing the same practice as people like Byakuya and Akane is more than enough to get him to push his hunger back, wait for everyone to go to their cabins, and sneak a snack or two out of the supermarket while no one was looking.

However, such self-control eluded him today. Not even the overwhelming embarrassment of having busted his pants was enough to keep him in his cabin.

It wasn’t like he didn’t try. Alone on his bed, twisting and turning, he tried to think of anything other than food.

What the hell, is it just that Teruteru is that good? I’m not usually like this…

That’s the thought that kept passing through his head. He peeks through the doorway. The cost is clear. Perfect.

I don’t need people calling me names, so I’ll just dip in quickly and then I’ll go change after that-

“Yo, Hajime!”

CRAP! He turns around and sees Akane standing behind him, her usual smile still present.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I forgot my E-Handbook. Probably dropped it while I was eating meat skewers. What are you doing here, though? You usually stay put in your cabin after lunch.”

“A-ah, about that… uh, well-” He fidgets with his hands. He’s usually good at hiding, at blending in, but with the spotlight was suddenly on him, he feels his tongue paralyzed. Nothing coherent comes out. ”-Just, you know. Stuff.”

“Ah… Well, I’m going to get thirds! Teruteru always tries to shoo me away from the kitchen, but I just needed to tell ‘im about Nekomaru sunbathing and he went sprinting!”

“Ah…” He’s not surprised, but he’s certainly disappointed. “W-well, I was just going to go-”

“Nu-uh, you were looking if someone was there! I do the same whenever I wanna get my hands on some grub. No need to be shy about it!”

Hajime had a retort on his tongue ready, but just before he dared to counter back, he noticed something… off about Akane.

He had seldom interacted with her thanks to her overwhelming supply of energy (Too much, in his opinion.) However, now that they were standing in front of each other, it was impossible to miss that she had undergone a transformation similar to his.

Her shirt barely hung onto her frame. Her formerly flat stomach now pushed outwards, forcing the buttons of her shirt to strain for dear life. Gaps that showed her plump stomach went all the way up to the center below her breasts.

The most… striking aspect of it all was how tight her skirt was, all thanks to the widening of her hips.

D-don’t look at that. He chastised himself. Don’t be a pervert!

“So! Wanna get some grub?” She cocks her head.

Hajime doesn’t know if she’s either nice enough to not comment about his similar weight gain or if she remained in beautiful ignorance. Whatever the reason, he’s just glad that the air didn’t grow even more uncomfortable.

I want to be alone, but I can’t just tell her to go away… And she already knows that I’m here for the food. If I just wait, Teruteru could end up coming back and prevent me from getting more.

“Alright, let’s go.” He says, not with too much enthusiasm.

Not having a judging pair of eyes over him as he serves himself a portion felt somewhat refreshing; he felt free to take three baked potatoes instead of two, just a few more spoonfuls of rice, filling the glass with more fruit juice than what Teruteru allows.

It was… freeing.

“Pssh, are you seriously going to be satisfied with just that?” Akane points to Hajime’s plate, gesturing at it wildly. “Come on, loosen up a little! Like I said, I ain't the judging type.”

“I-Isn’t this enough?”

Akane smashes her hand against her fist. “Hell no! That’s just what you get when people are looking!”

As guidance, she grabs her plate and shows it off with pride. The entire thing seems like just a few rash movements would send everything toppling down, not to mention that she put pretty much everything available on it.

Any normal person knows that this is overboard. Akane, for all her grievances in life, could not feasibly justify this as anything other than gluttony. It’s clear as day, and yet… Hajime stares at the plate, and it’s like it calls to him.

What… is this feeling? No way in hell I’m agreeing with Akane, right? She’s… she’s crazy, but… why does her food look so good? No, this doesn’t make any sense! Get a hold of yourself, dammit!

“Uh… hello? Earth to Hajime?”

“G-guh!” He recoils back, almost causing the potatoes on his plate to slip back. “Sorry, I’m just-”

“Come on! Let’s get to eating already!”

Akane sets down the two plates on the table with a basket of bread for good measure. Almost immediately, she starts digging in, filling her mouth with as much food as possible. The risk of choking barely passes her mind. The sheer joy she was getting from eating in such a way was all that occupied her mind.

You know, maybe… Just hearing her out wouldn’t hurt, right? If we’re going to be stuck in this island, we might as well get along…

---

CHAPTER 1 DAYTIME - LEVEL 60

“Ngh…” Each step that he shakes makes it feels like the entire ground shakes as much as his flab. He has to walk slowly so he can continue to keep his gut sucked in, lest he accidentally lets out a breath and let the button of his XXL pants go flying forward. “W-where are we going, G-Gundam?”

How… did this even happen?

Agreeing to partake in Akane’s gorging had turned him into an obese facsimile of himself. The days when he was a lean, slender young man were nothing more than memories now.

It wasn’t like Hajime wanted his life to turn out this way, but the more he indulged, the harder it became to resist the allure. Midnight snacks (Although a more fitting name would be midnight feasts if the number of dishes that pile up after he’s done is anything to go by) became so frequent that they were now daily occurrences.

He wasn’t just fat, but obese. In fact, pretty much everyone on the island was. Not one person, even incredibly fitness-focused people like Nekomaru and Akane failed, managed to endure the allure of gluttony.

Monokuma was nowhere to be seen for more than two months now. It wasn’t like they missed it, but without the danger of the killing game, it was just one more reason to do nothing but laze around, completely entrenched in sloth.

Four hundred pounds… I’m as fat as how Byakuya was when he firsts arrived on this island…

Of course, by now the Ultimate Affluent Prodigy had risen above a threshold where keeping a tab on his exact weight was an exercise in futility. All they know is that he had reached such a size where leaving his bed was an impossible task, his own limbs buried under a giant pile of flab that not even Nekomaru could carry.

He now rested inside the hospital, where Mikan, also well on her way to obesity, did her best to provide him with medical assistance.

“Hajime Hinata!” Gundam called out, breaking Hajime out of his daydreaming. “Did you forget our task? We must find Champ-P at once, the other three Devas’ distress grows stronger with each second that we meaninglessly idle!”

“I know, I know…” The Ultimate Breeder had forced him to walk around the island in search of one of his hamsters; the orange fat one that now resembled his owner in more ways than one. It was the most exercise that either of them has had in months.

To say that having to constantly stop, looking for the nearest monomono machine in the hopes that it would spit out a cold drink, and begging for the equally obese Gundam to slow down would be embarrassing was a total understatement. Every day Hinata bore a great deal of shame that was as heavy as his gut, only slightly relieved by the fact that everyone was as equally obese as him.

“We’ve searched the three islands and he’s nowhere to be found. Don’t you think that he could’ve wandered back to your cabin?”

“Impossible!” Gundam declared, pulling out one of the many pink transmitters that Kazuichi built before he too was almost on the verge of being bedbound. “I have a magical device set up in front of my abode. If my beloved Champ-P had walked back towards his kingdom, I would’ve known!”

Considering that even the mere act of walking had been morphed into a herculean task thanks to their uncontrollable eating, anything to soften their grievances was welcomed.

“I guess, but why Grape house-”

“SILENCE!” Gundam screamed, strutting up to Hinata and jamming his finger into his fat chest. “I will not allow for you to doubt my divine foresight…”

Hajime cringed when he felt Gundam’s pale gut bump against his own. Almost immediately, the sweat from his gut absorbed all the one from the man in front of him. His shirt, which had already failed to cover any part of his swelling gut that went past his belly button, gt soaked.

“H-hey, dude! Get away!” Hajime cried. “You’re getting all your sweat over me-”

“Ha! Afraid of a small amount of sweat? Pathetic! With such a foolish warrior beside me, it is no wonder that we haven’t found my Dear Dark Deva of destruction…” Gundam crossed his arms. “You are not only soft on the outside, Hajime Hinata, but on the inside as we-”

But before Gundam could fall on another one of his many senseless rants, something around his stomach began to shift. A sudden lump appeared from inside his jacket, slowly traveling downwards.

“W-what is that?!” Hajime shakily pointed at the lump, wondering if it was some kind of tumor that Monokuma had somehow inserted in him, but as soon as it traveled outside of the jacket and landed on the ground, it was clear what it was, or more importantly, who it was. “Wait, is that-”

“Chump-P!” Gundam squealed, picking his hamster up and holding him in his hands. The poor creature was completely matted in liquid, his fur spiky and outwards. “Did you suddenly appear from the dark dimension? Or perhaps you were just making a stealth mission inside my ample body armor?”

“Body armor?” Hinata squinted at Gundam. As soon as he moved, causing his roll-like love handles to jiggle, everything became so much clear. “Oh, oh my god…” Of course, how did he not think to look?

The damn hamster was inside his rolls. Of course.

---

CHAPTER 1 DAYTIME - LEVEL 9̵̡̮̅̆̎̽͊1̷̧̱̗͌̓2̷̻͖̈́͠4̶̟̘̈́͒̇̓9̷̡̞̌̿̉̿̍2̷̰̜̫̪̉̋̒3̶̱́̋͠5̳̟͍͈͖̀͘2̶̞͌̉͛̅2̵̯͙̲̟̎͝͝3̴͉̰̹̒́̑̅̎

Hajime breathes in deeply. Each and every second of his lungs taking in and letting out oxygen feels like his chest is being crushed by hundreds of pounds of fat, but that is all he can do. Doing anything other than breathing and mindlessly staring at a blank wall all day long was a luxury that no one on this island had.

After months and months of nothing but gluttony and sloth, their bad habits finally caught up to them. One by one, their mobility began to dwindle until they joined Byakuya in the hospital, kept alive by medical supplies after their own organs could no longer support their fat-ridden bodies.

Mikan remained the sole student that could get out of bed, and even then, she needed the assistance of a mobility scooter to even get up. She tried her hardest to sometimes get up and walk to get a smidge of exercise to not end up like her fellow classmates.

“Ngh…”

The sound of the heartbeat monitor is as monotone as the sound of a clock ticking down second by second. The passage of time became impossible to hold on to. All he and his classmates turned out to be were morbidly obese, pathetic symbols of despair.

Just like every day, he began to count the things in the room.

-̵̲͎̈́͌͘ͅ-̷̮̥͐-̴̖̫̖͒̑́͐ͅ

CHAPTER 6 UNKNOWN - LEVEL 1

“Makoto…” Kyoko calls out, opening one of the pod lids inside the Future Foundation laboratory. She knew how all of the supposed ‘survivors’ looked, and what she saw inside certainly didn’t resemble the information she had. “Come here, you need to see this.”

The ultimate hope looks over the pod that had the tag ‘Izuru Kamakura’ on it. He knows what this reserve student was supposed to look like, and even pushing aside the sudden hair growth, the physique was… different. Softer.

“How in the world-”

All of the students had grown into barely recognizable piles of flab. They barely resembled people, their clothes were completely torn off from the swelling mass, letting their naked, obese bodies in full view.

“Do you think-”

“No, Makoto. We can’t do anything now.” Byakuya explained. “Their bodies would go into shock if we tried disconnecting them from the Neo World Program to give them a liposuction.”

“I-”

“Come on.” The true Ultimate Affluent Prodigy demanded. “The sooner we get out of here, the better. Munakata is inconsolable, to say the least…”

[thinktosee]

Open letter to U.S. President Biden – Gaza and beyond

Dear Mr. President,

“What is the matter with this American? It is clear enough. He suffers from what is called in psychology a split personality. He is two distinct Americans. One of him is a benevolent, liberty-loving, just man. The other one of him is a creature who may or may not be benevolent but who is undemocratic in his race attitudes, and who, on this subject, throws justice and human equality to the winds as any Fascist.” (1)

Pearl S. Buck (1892-1973), American Nobel and Pulitzer Prize recipient. 

The on-going carnage in Gaza is the most disturbing political event of our time. The fact it is occurring at all speaks clearly and unambiguously about the absence of moral global leadership, be it among the permanent members of the UNSC, or within Washington, D.C. As Don Corleone, in The Godfather, asked aloud from his fellow-criminal competitors following the murder of his son, Sonny : How did things ever get so far? (2), this same question is staring at us today in full view of the enormous loss of lives from the on-going war in Gaza. 

Long ago, the folks who lived in Palestine did get along as a community. The Arabs (Muslim, Druze and Christian) and Jews had lived side by side and oftentimes too, inter-married over the centuries. It was only in recent history, more precisely in the 20th century, that the conviviality and also, blood-ties among the community members came to be undermined and then blatantly destroyed. These could be attributed to the rapid and massive influx of Jewish refugees and settlers from Europe to Mandatory Palestine. They were understandably escaping from the onslaught of German Chancellor, Hitler’s genocidal policies and actions before and during World War 2. New Jewish settlements in the Mandate tragically came at a very steep price for all, but more especially for the native Arabs. Forcible displacement of the Arab population to make way for these new settlements became the norm. On some of these occasions, massacres were committed by both sides, culminating in the regional war which arose from Israel’s declaration of independence on May 14, 1948. (3) The question then as it is now is : Who armed the belligerents? We need not look further than to the permanent members of the UNSC – Britain, China, France, Soviet Union(Russia) and United States – collectively the allied victors of World War 2. (4,5,6) 

The two-state solution to the Palestine-Israel conflict, was given concrete impetus through U.N. Res 181 of 1947 (7). While discussions toward its implementation were protracted and obviously very challenging initially, Israel’s declaration of independence and the ensuing regional war however, had made Res 181 seem an impossibility in practice. Nevertheless, it remains the most visible and viable among a short list of choices, none of which is good. This list also includes a unitary state consisting of Palestinians and Israelis. No matter how fundamentally bad the options appear to be, global attention and action must continue unabated nevertheless, to help resolve the conflict and to end the suffering of the Palestinians and Israelis. To be seen to act in good faith is far better than not at all. The latter presently and regrettably, appears to be the case in Gaza. 

The Gandhian admonition of the consequences arising from the application of the biblical (Exodus) prescription for eye for an eye should not ever be ignored. Certainly, we do not seek and neither should we promote a literal interpretation of the passage from the holy book as is the form and substance currently in attendance in Gaza. The Blind no doubt, cannot see the carnage which is wrought by their illegal, immoral and deplorable actions. But those with sight can and are moved enough to speak and act as our conscience dictates, always within the realm of a peaceful and lasting settlement to this tragic and century-long conflict. 

Hatred does not define the Peoples of Israel and Palestine. There are a few among their respective political leadership and also within the permanent or inner body of the UNSC however, who, for want of a better explanation, are not receptive to a higher calling, in spite of the principles which embody the UN (Refer to UDHR).

Dear Mr. President, I appeal to you to help put an end to the massacres and other inhumane acts of state that are going on in Gaza. You, most of all understand the emotional turmoil and suffering from losing a loved one. Your beloved first wife Neilia, baby daughter Naomi and adult son Beau were prematurely taken from you. I cannot quite fathom how you coped with the tragedies. On this aspect, I greatly admire your strength and perseverance to go on with your life and to love, and thereon, to re-commit to family and the nation. Very surely, healing is that which is needed most now in the world.

Sir, America obviously possesses the soft power necessary to end the war in Gaza. That too should be instrumental to resolving once and for all, this incomprehensible internecine conflict between two ancient and related peoples in the region – the Arabs and Jews, who incidentally, will be observing Ramadan, Good Friday and Purim this month. The significance of these religious observances should not be lost on us. 

I close this letter to you by repeating something which I had said before elsewhere (in bold), about government :

The most dangerous invention of the human race is government. And the most beneficial invention is also government. Question is how to assiduously contain the first while happily promoting the second? Perhaps this is the split personality that Pearl Buck spoke about in her referenced essay. 

Thank you and God Bless. 

Respectfully, 

Harmohan Singh

Singapore

Mar 11, 2024

Sources/References

1. Buck, Pearl S. Freedom for All : Tinder for Tomorrow, p10. Post War World Council, Mar 1942

www.pearlsbuck.org  

2. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2D_zITtVJGA       

3. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2023/nov/09/why-israel-palestine-conflict-history

4. https://www.jpost.com/international/the-czech-arms-that-saved-israel-650710

5. https://theconversation.com/where-do-israel-and-hamas-get-their-weapons-220762

 6. https://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/731602293674442752/war-and-the-elephants-in-the-room

 7. https://www.un.org/unispal/data-collection/general-assembly/

[goetzjpvis]

2/5/24 "Perfect Blue" JPT3702

My initial expectation of this movie was an introspection into idol culture. I mean yes, it did have that. Mental illness in Japan, parasocial relationships, idol culture, and women being seen as commodities in the entertainment industry were all heavily interconnected themes. The movie did an in depth dive, with multiple scenes, symbolism, and even uncanny disturbing shots meant to exploit the main character, showing how she falls farther into depravity as the people around her make her do worse and worse things. However, the most interesting part of this movie to me were two things:

1) Who I thought the actual antagonist was, and

2) The unnecessary sexualization of the main character, even in scenes where sexuality didn't add to the plot or themes in any way.

Lots of online analyses claim that it was Mima and her disassociative identity disorder that was brought on by the trauma from her REAL rape, in which she believed that she was a movie character who had only experienced it by proxy via a scene, thereby removing her trauma. However, if that was the case, the murder of two of her associates would be called into question. That part of the movie did it for me! I believed that that was the case at first, however the torment of her own manager is who I believe the true killer was. The manager killed the men who had "shamed" Mima by putting her in compromising situations via photographs and films, and then acted as if Mima did commit the murder because she treated her own body as Mima's. She killed both men, placed her murder items in Mima's room, and then attacked the girl who 'once played Mima' dressed as Mima herself. Kind of a convoluted plot, right? Well, I bet living in it really messed with Mima's head! Haha.

Anyways, onto the unnecessary sexualization. Yes, in a way, the 'nude' camera scenes were important to show how the old Mima was being erased, and the girl who once played her felt scarred, violated, and uncomfortable by the incident. It was also important that the author called her scene a 'rape' scene because it went as far as showing how sexual assault is a disgusting vile, event, and how it can change and mentally scar somebody. But let me ask, was framing her female body sexually in that scene necessary? It is clear the movie has the artistic abilities to 'uglify' people, as we can see with Mima's manager and stalker.

Mamoru (Whose name is kind of a portmanteau of 'remember', to protect') Uchida's face is ugly, stretched eyes and mangled teeth, to Rumi's far apart eyes is a way of showing the disturbance of people's minds played out on their face. But why was Mima's body displayed so sexually during her TWO rape scenes? No. It was completely unnecessary to have her draped so 'beautifully' in those compromising positions. (That being said, there should have been a way to show her nude in an "ugly" way, or not even show her naked body at all! It's completely unnecessary! And before somebody criticizes me for saying Mima should be 'ugly', I meant that the display of her naked body should be ugly, and not her herself. If I meant that then yes that would be ugly-phobic in a way I guess?) And in the beginning of the movie, when Mima is laying on her bed tired, we get yet another panty shot. This just goes to show that unnecessary sexualization of women happens CONSTANTLY in Japanese media, going as far as to DO IT EVEN WHEN the movie is also criticizing that very idea. It kind of imposes on itself!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0pnwE_Oy5WI So now, i'll say it:

"I did not care for Perfect Blue."

"What?!"

"Did not care for Perfect Blue."

"Ug- How can you even say that?"

"Didn't like it."

"Tori- It's so good it's like the perfect movie!"

"This is what everyone always says-"

"Satoshi Kon, Sadayuki Murai-"

"Listen l-"

"JUNKO IWAO?!"

"I know I- Fine- fine voice actress! Didn't like the movie."

"Why not"

"Did not- couldn't get into it"

"Explain yourself, what didn't you like."

"It insists upon itself, classmate"

"What?"

"It insists upon itself-"

"What does that even mean?"

"I-"

"CAUSE IT HAS A VALID POINT TO MAKE ITS INSISTING"

"It takes forever getting in- and then you see 6 and a half panty shots- and you know I can't even get through, I can't even finish the movie, I've never even seen the ending."

"YOUVE NEVER SEEN THE ENDING?!"

"How can you say you don't like it if you've never even given it a chance?"

"I agree with Classmate2 it's not really fair"

"I have tried on 3 separate occasions to get through it and I, I get to the scene where- where she gets raped for the SECOND TIME"

"yeah that was a great scene I loved that scene"

[scotianostra]

On May 25th 1909 Oscar Slater was found guilty of murdering Marion Gilchrist in Glasgow.

Another long post, previously I have only written smaller accounts of this case, I think it deserves something with more detail, so have lifted this from an article in The National.

The case of  Oscar Slater is one of the most infamous miscarriages of justice in Scottish history. He served almost 19 years in prison for a crime he did not commit. 

Here are the known facts about the Oscar Slater case. He was born Oscar Leschziner in Upper Silesia in Germany on January 8th, 1872. He moved to London in 1893, ostensibly to avoid being called up for military service, and began life as a gambler and bookmaker. He was twice acquitted of charges of violence.

He moved to Edinburgh in 1899 using the name Smiz and then to Glasgow in 1901 where he professed to be a dentist and a jewellery dealer, though the evidence is that he was a pimp and someone who dealt in stolen goods. He certainly took part in gambling at clubs in the city.

On December 21st, 1908, 83-year-old spinster Marion Gilchrist was savagely beaten to death in her own home in West Princes Street in Glasgow. A neighbour, Arthur Adams, disturbed the intruder who fled, and though Gilchrist had a fortune in jewellery in her wardrobe, the only item missing was a brooch.

The brutal murder shocked Glasgow, and the city’s police force came under great pressure from the press and public to find the murderer.

Within days, suspicion fell upon Slater. He had “fled” to America five days after the murder and had previously pawned a brooch which no-one could prove belonged to Gilchrist. Not that such details mattered to Glasgow police, who communicated to their counterparts in New York that a murder suspect was arriving – he was arrested before he even set foot on American soil.

Slater’s extradition was applied for and that was when the case took the first of many sensational turns. For Slater went before a court in New York state and demanded to be sent home.

Crime reporter William Roughead later gave this account of the proceedings: “Mr Miller, for the defence, said the defendant’s counsel felt that the British government  had not established under the Treaty the case of identity which was necessary; that the defendant was innocent, and his counsel believed him innocent: but rather than have any misapprehension about his connection with Glasgow, the defendant had determined to go back and face any charge that might be made against him.

“He only asked that the evidence of the witnesses, who testified to his character in New York, should be admitted in the Scottish Court. The Commissioner said that a transcript of the proceedings would be certified as correct for production in Scotland.

Those full transcripts were never seen at Slater’s trial, during which the Crown carried out many tactics that would now be illegal – the Lord Advocate, Alexander Ure, later the Lord President Baron Strathclyde, shamefully rejected whole swathes of evidence that might have cleared Slater. He concealed the American transcripts, invented “facts” and went along with the police conspiracy to frame Slater that included a ludicrous identification parade featuring the medium-height and stocky Slater among a line-up of nine veritable giants – off duty Glasgow policemen.

Under police pressure, two witnesses, Gilchrist’s maid Helen Lambie and 14-year-old neighbour Mary Barrowman, perjured themselves by saying they had identified Slater at the scene – they had earlier told the detectives they could not completely identify the person they saw. One also said he was clean shaven.

Samuel Reid, Slater’s friend, testified that he had dined with Slater on the previous night.

Roughead reported: “On the night in question Slater’s moustache was growing, and was very noticeable, his hair being very black. No-one could have mistaken him for a clean-shaven man.” And the moustache was still there when Slater left for the US.

The experts could not agree on the murder weapon, supposedly found in Slater’s cases with a bloodstained waterproof. Gilchrist having been struck 40 to 50 times – one of her eyes was forced inside her head – the assailant would have been covered in blood from head to toe.

Roughead recounted: “The condition of the hammer and waterproof was of vital importance to the Crown case, for these were the only links between Slater and the murder. Apart from them, nothing incriminating was found in his possession.”

Not any of the clothing he was supposed to have been wearing was found, and the expert scientists disagreed as to whether the bloodstains were blood or other matter, and the hammer was said to have been too light to have killed her. The brooch Slater pawned? It belonged to his girlfriend and looked nothing like Gilchrist’s brooch.

Roughead again: “No proof was offered that he had any knowledge of the existence of Miss Gilchrist or of her jewels; none of the deceased’s property was traced to him, and nothing proved to be his was found in her house. With the exception of the disputable stains on the waterproof, no article of clothing belonging to him was bloodstained.”

Despite  several witnesses providing him with an alibi, and proof that he had announced his trip to America long before the murder and was not “fleeing”, the “eyewitness” evidence was enough to convict Slater and he was sentenced to death, the execution set to take place before the end of May, 1909. It is said that Slater even heard the gallows beginning to be erected.

The public had been following the trial daily in the press and could see a stitch-up. More than 20,000 people signed a petition and Slater’s death sentence was commuted to life imprisonment in Peterhead jail.

Roughead was convinced that Slater had been set up and wrote his account of the biased trial and the evidence that had not been presented. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle became interested, and in 1912 published The Case Of Oscar Slater, effectively demolishing the Crown case in best Sherlock Holmes style.

The Secretary of State for Scotland, Thomas MacKinnon Wood, ordered a private inquiry, but it found no evidence of any conspiracy, despite a Glasgow detective, John Thomson Trench, providing evidence of just such a frame-up.

This is what he wrote: “Instead of finding anything or any one to corroborate Barrowman that she was at or near the close when the murderer left the close, everything goes to prove that her story of having seen the man was a cock-and-bull story of a young girl who was somewhat late in getting home and who wished to take the edge off by a little sensationalism.

“Slater on arriving in Glasgow (from New York) had with him nine packages: a number of these were trunks, and had not been opened. They were sealed by the American police.

“I was present when the packages were opened. Every package and trunk was carefully and systematically packed. A very considerable amount of time must have been spent in the packing. The linen and fine underwear were folded with camphor interposing between the layers. In no sense did the trunks reveal a hurried departure.

“From a trunk I lifted the hammer upon which the Crown built their theory of the commission of the crime. Alongside of the hammer were other tools which go to make up the card bought by Slater. The hammer weighed one-half pound. I saw nothing on the shaft to indicate to me that it had been either scraped or cleaned.

“For what it may be worth I look upon the hammer as a most unlikely instrument to have caused the injuries. Like Dr Adams, who was not used as a witness although the first medical man on the scene, I lean to the view that Miss Gilchrist was done to death by a chair.”

Trench paid for his truth with his career. He was even prosecuted on trumped-up charges and died a broken man in 1919. He has subsequently been proven correct on almost everything he wrote, yet his family have never had an apology and his name has not been restored to the Glasgow Police roll.

Conan Doyle was infuriated. He wrote: “How the verdict could be that there was no fresh cause for reversing the conviction is incomprehensible. The whole case will, in my opinion, remain immortal in the classics of crime as the supreme example of official incompetence and obstinacy.”

In 1927, Glasgow journalist William Park wrote The Truth About Oscar Slater, hinting that the real killer was Gilchrist’s nephew, Wingate Birell, a known criminal, though suspicion has long been cast on another relative, Francis Charteris, whose family were friendly with Lord Advocate Ure.

The book included more statements about the police coaching witnesses. Helen Lambie and Mary Barrowman retracted much of what they had testified and behind the scenes, the then Leader of the Opposition Ramsay MacDonald and Conan Doyle together brought the case back to the then Scottish Secretary Sir John Gilmour.

It was then that Scots law was altered – the recently created Scottish Court of Criminal Appeal, a long overdue institution, was allowed to hear cases from before 1926 for the first time, and they duly heard the case of Oscar Slater. In July 1928, he was freed, though not declared innocent, on a technicality – the judge had misdirected the jury about Slater’s character.

Oscar Slater received £6000 in compensation for nearly 19 years in jail. He was interned as an enemy alien at the start of World War II and died in Ayrshire in 1948, aged 78, never having been properly pardoned.

The identity of the real murderer is still disputed.

https://www.thenational.scot/news/15585823.the-oscar-slater-frame-up-how-a-murder-trial-changed-scots-law/

[thefanficmonster]

One Can Never Escape Destiny

Shan-Yu x Empress!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Murder scene (non-graphic)

Genre: Angst, Romance (one-sided)

Summary: After fulfilling his plan of taking over China Shan-Yu and his army have made it to the palace of Empress Y/L/N Y/N. However, one obstacle the warrior still fails to overcome is swaying the Empress herself, getting in her good graces. Unable to kill her, he is left to do all he can to have her spare him as much as a civil word.

Requested by Anon. Hi lovely! Thank you so much for such and amazing and so different request from what I’m used to. This is my first time writing for a Disney character, a villain even, so I hope to have fulfilled your expectations even with it being so late in posting. Please enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

She refuses to eat or see the light of day. She’s been hidden away in a single room of the palace ever since China fell. She attempted to fight and gave her all when her eyes met his poisonous ones and her sword’s blade collided with his. The fight was a difficult one, he had to admit. She would’ve won had she not had a heart of gold. Putting her right-hand man’s under the sharp dagger in his merciless hand left her no choice. She loved that man, he could see it in her eyes. And he wasn’t going to kill the pathetic excuse for a member of the Empress’ council, but seeing that look of devotion and adoration in her gaze when her eyes met with his drove him in a fit of absolute rage. He couldn’t restrain himself and let the blade slide across the man’s neck only after the Empress had surrendered.

“NOOO!“ She had shrieked in terror and sorrow, all her pain audible in her cry that echoed all throughout the palace, piercing the monstrous warrior’s ears. He couldn’t bare to see her so distraught, over another man on top of all, so her ordered his men to take her to one of the chambers and leave her to collect herself. She still had fight left in her though. She escaped from his men’s grasps and overpowered them both until a third one knocked her out cold with the handle of his dagger. A choice of action that landed him the second dead body to be thrown out of the palace that night.

He specifically instructed the man taking Y/N to her chamber to be gentle and caring with her and to leave the door unlocked, maybe even open a crack. He didn’t want her to feel trapped in her own home. 

He sat by one of the windows all through the late dark hours of the night and even met the sunrise at dawn. He contemplated so many things, scolded himself even. He had become the ruler of China and yet he had never felt so low and defeated. He even let his mind wander to the option of killing the Empress for his own peace of mind but he knew he wouldn’t be able to the second he realized he wasn’t even able to picture himself doing it. The very though sickened him to his stomach and he was disgusted with himself to have ever allowed himself to think such a thought.

The main thing troubling him was the fact that he didn’t know where such admiration came from. He had never admired nor respected a woman before but he felt the need to bow before her instead of the other way around. He wanted to be her loyal servant, tending to her every need at the bat of her eyelashes. He could barely believe himself either way - killing her or adoring her, they were both thoughts bordering into insanity, he couldn’t tell which was worse. Of course he could, he just wanted to lie to himself. He knew he could never lay a hand on her.

Shan-Yu had fallen under the spell of the very Empress he was supposed to end in order to fulfill his evil plans.

He should want her dead while he’s prepared to kill whoever dares even wish her harm. Funny how destiny works. Or perhaps this is karma punishing him for his evil ways by putting one bump in the road right in front of him - one so easy to get rid of in theory, but he could never commit to it.

It has been four full days since that fateful night and he hasn’t heard nor seen her. He’s not willing to disturb her peace and earn himself an injury from the infuriated Empress but the hours of overthinking, contemplating and self-battling are weighing heavy on him. His men are beginning to notice, although they’d never say anything - they may be cruel, dumb fools but they respect their lives enough to not put them at a risk like that. Not even a risk, more like certain death. They all obeyed his orders of bringing the Empress food three times a day every day and they all witnessed the defeat and worry that washed over their leader’s face whenever they brought back the dishes untouched hours after they had delivered them. 

So, after a lot of self-convincing and doubting, Shan-Yu has bitten the bullet - he is walking the halls to the Empress Y/L/N Y/N’s chamber. He makes it to her door sooner than he’d like, his confidence is not fully built. His composure could easily be shaken. His words are scrambled and even if he could form coherent sentences, he knows they die in his throat.

‘Pull yourself together, you pathetic mutt‘ He scolds himself for the hundredth time in the past hour. Easier said than done, though. She’s a woman of incredible strength, power and character. She was respected by every individual in China, not a single soul looked down upon her. They had already hated him, but now that he has allegedly put their dear Empress in misery, he’d be dead along with his army if they weren’t so strongly feared.

Shan-Yu brings himself to knock on the chamber doors, his voice a faint echo through the massive hallway when he calls out, “Empress, may I enter?”

No answer, as he expected. He is half expecting to not even be there, to have escaped. He knows her better than that though.

Cautiously pushing the door open, he’s met with a dark room only lit by the moonlight seeping in through a small rectangular window directly opposite the door. He sees her silhouette in the windowsill. She’s sitting facing away from him, looking out of the window at the rooftops underneath the clear, starry night sky. She doesn’t bother to turn her head to acknowledge his presence, also as expected.

A small detail he notices sends shivers down his spine - there are metal bars on her window. Why?

“I was a rebellious child. I knew my destiny before even understanding what it meant. All I knew was that I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to be Empress. I wanted to be one of those brave souls who were prepared to leave to a front knowing they might not return.“ Her voice rings through the cold, dark space, bouncing off the walls in a haunting manner, enchanting him. “My father knew I would be more than capable of running away so I was frequently spending plenty of time here, locked up. As I am now.“

She is still facing away from him but he still shakes his head as though she could see him. “You are not locked here, Empress Y/N. The door is always open. This palace is still yours.”

“That you are right about.“ Y/N’s head turns finally and his heart drops.

She is pale, eyebags weighing heavy under her tired eyes. Her hair is covering her face but her pale complexion is more than visible even from behind her locks. She looks like she has been crying, not that she’s a woman who cries often. A tear of hers has the same value as a bar of gold.

She continues. “Chu Bao, the man you killed in front of my very eyes, was the only man I’ve ever loved and the only person who saw me as more than my title. I’m not just an Empress! Everyone forgets that!“

He feels hurt by her remark, “Y/N, I know. I know better than anyone. I have overtaken all of China and yet you are my greatest prize...”

She cuts him off, her shaky hands pushing her hair to the side so she can look directly at him, her crystal eyes meeting his menacing yellow ones with such intensity he feels it almost like a physical presence. “I am no prize, you monster! I’m a person who destiny played wrong! I given a role I have never been happy with. But I had to play it to maintain the honor of my family and of China as a whole. It taught me a valuable lesson: No matter the tries, one can never escape destiny. So...” she trails off, her eyes losing their feisty glow as she turns back to the window, “I embraced it and became one with my land, this palace, my title. And I will stay one with them till my death. Now, leave! And don’t bring me food anymore. Don’t check on me. I want it all to end the way it started - in this palace, in this chamber. I want to go out with the last bit of dignity I have. If nothing, I will die without ever bowing to you. I may have surrendered, but consider this me prolonging the fight.” He hears her scoff, a humorless chuckle, “The moment I die will be the moment I win.”

Shan-Yu has never been a man to live to face defeat. He always defeats the defeat, stands up taller than ever whenever he’s been brought down. Now is different, however. His defeat is inevitable. It hasn’t even happened yet, but he knows the battle’s lost. His hands are tied. He would never disobey a wish of Y/N’s nor could he live with her slowly dying. He cannot keep her alive against her will, and he can’t end it all quickly for her either.

She has already won, but she’s not aware.

Empress Y/L/N Y/N has defeated the monstrous, villainous conqueror Shan-Yu twice in her life: once when she had him fall in love with her and again when she chose to put an end to her life, leaving him powerless.

All he can do now is accept his defeat and allow for Y/N to become nothing but a battle scar on his heart.

[116t98]

The Murder of King S'turnn: Whodunnit?

You know what intrigues me so much about this new season (aside from it being marketed in segments/arcs)? The fact that there's a genuine mystery playing out in the narrative that isn't connected to the Apokolips vs. Earth war that everything's been building up to for four seasons now.

(Well... at least that's how it appears so far, but I'll get back to this)

We've only seen three episodes so far, and while they gave us a lot of information, they haven't quite given us enough to draw super-clear conclusions about the ongoing murder mystery yet.

Regardless, I still want to try to figure it out because why not?

Let's start with the general information that we've been given:

we're told the king was progressive

the king was killed around the time when M'gann, Conner, Gar, and J'onn left Earth

no one knows who the killer is, or what their motives were, implying that the killer has mental blocks/filters on their mind to prevent anyone from figuring them out

his death worsened the divide between the G'arrunn and A'ashenn

we're told the queen rolled back most of the king's progressive reforms, but we're not told (or shown) why she did so

Now, with all that being said, let's go over the possible suspects.

R’ess E’dda

So, from these three episodes, we know that R'ess E'dda is rather aggressive, racist towards A'ashenn, against the late king's progressive societal reforms, and he doesn't want any further connections between Earth and Mars to be established (to "preserve Martian culture").

Based on all that we've seen of him, he appears to be murder suspect number one; after all, with the progressive king dead (and the zeta tube gone), there's a higher chance for all his progressive reforms to be undone and the established caste system to remain untouched.

However, I don't think he's the killer. Simply put, he’s too obvious a suspect; I know that in a lot of murder mysteries, the killer is usually one of the first suspects we meet in the narrative, but it's most likely that he's just a red herring. The zeta bombing obviously didn’t disturb him, and the timing of his protest did conveniently coincide with the bombing, but I think it’s just that: a coincidence. Frankly, it'd be far too easy, and boring, if he was the killer.

M'comm M'orzz

The other obvious suspect would be M'comm, especially since we've actually seen this guy in action before. M'comm is angry and aggressive (which makes sense, knowing what he's had to live through in Martian society, and even in his own home), sadistic (he was more than ok with killing meta teens, exacerbating tensions between the New Gods and the New Genesis bugs, and planning to commit genocide), and he looks down on virtually all other races and species. Additionally, he's keeping a part of his mind locked away; there's a chance he knows something about the king's death and he's not sharing it with anyone.

All of this would make it seem like he'd be the most likely person to kill the king (and if he were against the king's reforms, he probably would've killed him), but like R'ess, I think he's also just a red herring. If we take his and Ma'att's words at face value, the king was progressive and tried to slowly mitigate the caste system and give A'ashen more rights/freedoms, which is exactly what M'comm wants; why would he kill the man who was working to give him everything he's been fighting for? M'comm has nothing to gain from the king's death.

Em'ree J'onzz

We don't know too much about Em'ree, aside from the fact that she's the chief scientist on the zeta tube project, she changed her name (the reason why still isn't very clear), her relationship with M'gann is tense, she was married twice before, she was supposedly considered as a "popular girl" growing up, and she's not racist towards A'ashenn or other species like most other G'arrunn.

The chance that Em'ree is the killer is very slim since she seemingly has next to nothing to gain from the king's death; she's not the type of person to be against his reforms, and she has no other apparent agenda that would be satisfied by killing the king. Granted, we have no idea what's going on in her head (yet), but based off of what we've learned about her so far, it's highly unlikely that she's the culprit.

Priestess S’yraa

We know even less about S'yraa than Em'ree, but I'm actually not as sure about her innocence as I am about the latter (but only slightly). We know that she was originally G'arrunn, she used to be betrothed to/involved with Prince J'emm, and that she believes in being the change she wants to see in the world.

My instincts are telling me she's innocent, and that's most likely the case, but I think there's still a small chance she's involved with, or at least knows something about, the king's death. (again, I'll bring this up later)

Queen J'alia

The first thing we hear about the queen is that she rolled back a lot of her late husband's progressive reforms, which would imply that she's conservative/racist towards A'ashenn (and possibly other species). However, when we finally meet her, she says and does things that go against that initial impression; she's the one who orders Em'ree to work on the construction of the zeta tube, she expresses her concern for the Earthlings' well being after the zeta bombing, she dissuaded the protestors from trying to stop the zeta tube test, she seemingly believes in establishing a peaceful relationship with Earth, she didn’t label M’comm as a terrorist like R’ess did (“He was an A’ashenn activist and agitator”), she knows that not all humans are bad/that the true danger is Apokolips (and those who conspire with the enemy), and she’s ok with the Earthlings solving her husband’s murder. If she really is open-minded like she’s shown to be, then why did she roll back those positive reforms? Either she's not what she appears to be, or her husband wasn't as progressive as everyone believed.

There is a possibility that she is guilty of killing her husband, either to seize the throne for herself or because she disagreed with his acceptance of J'emm's relationship with S’yraa, but then why would she bother putting up a caring, open-minded front (aside from fooling her son)? She could've just implemented her own conservative legislation without caring about how the A'ashenn perceived her. Her behavior and actions don't really align with what we've been told about her, or her presumed motives.

Prince J'emm

And now we can finally talk about the Prince.

Considering that I've pretty much eliminated everyone else as a suspect (save for the queen), it shouldn't surprise you that I think J'emm is the primary suspect.

From what we've seen of him in these last two episodes, he seems pretty nice; he's seemingly progressive, he's cordial with M'gann's family, he offers to help with the pre-wedding ritual, he saved Gar, he recruits the Earthling into solving his father's murder, he offered his advice, and he was involved with S'yraa, a seemingly progressive woman herself.

He comes off as someone you should trust... and that's precisely why some people are suspicious of him; either he really is a nice person who's just hiding a dark secret, or he's putting up a front to throw off suspicion. Either way, he just seems too genuine, y'know?

Also, he involves himself in the murder investigation by recruiting outsiders to solve the case, and he even directly provides Conner and Gar (not M'gann) with the info/evidence they need. Doesn't this seem exactly like what B'arzz did to M'gann in season two? There's a chance he edited the memories to exclude any evidence that points to him. Plus, the fact that M'gann wasn't present might lend to this possibility; as far as we know, she's one of the strongest telepaths in existence, so she surely would've noticed something was up with the initial info transfer.

On top of all of this, there are two moments that stood out to me:

After the zeta bombing, he asked the queen if there’s evidence against M’comm as the culprit; yeah, he could’ve just been inquiring if M’comm really was responsible (to know if they’d be imprisoning the right bomber), but he also could’ve been pinning suspicion onto a known terrorist who was present at the scene

Before he left the scene, he paused to side eye the queen when she said “I hope the Earthlings are not reacting negatively to this turn of events (the bombings)”. Why animate this moment if it’s meaningless? Why didn’t he just leave? This might not prove he's guilty, but it does mean something; I can feel it

If J'emm is the killer, there's a good chance that the death was an accident (or at least not premeditated); maybe the king wasn’t as ok with his relationship with S’yrra as we'd expect, and J'emm accidentally killed him in a fit of anger or during a heated fight. If this is the case, then S’yrra is either completely ignorant to J'emm's actions, or she knows what happened and is hiding the truth to protect him (this could also work inversely; what if S'yrra accidentally killed the king, which led to her becoming a priestess, and J'emm is trying to cover up her involvement to protect her? It's a long shot, admittedly, but still...)

Now, there is one more suspect left to talk about, but there's not much I can say about them.

We don't know who this is, but it's implied that this is the guy the Legionnaires have probably been after for the past year (Saturn Girl was the waitress who refilled either M'gann or Conner's coffee in last season's finale). We can assume that this person (or someone associated with them) has been following M'gann, Conner, and Gar around, caused the cave-in at the sacred river, sabotaged the zeta tube, blew up the Earth/Mars comm-sat, and apparently knows about the Legionnaires.

Their motives are really unclear; are they trying to kill someone (they've had many opportunities to kill the protags so far, so I don’t think this is the case)? Are they planning on ruining the wedding? Are they related to the Apokolips v. Earth conflict? Or are they a threat from the future?

There's a chance they had a hand in the king's death, but to what extent? Did they orchestrate it? Help the killer cover it up? What was their motivation for killing him? We just don't know enough about this mystery threat, or their goals, to know for sure. For all we know, they might not be involved in the king's murder at all!

And that's all I got! I'm pretty sure none of this is news to most of you, since you guys were probably thinking about all of this already. But, if you haven't (or hell, even if you have), what do you think? Who do you think murdered the king? Do you think we've even met all the suspects yet?? (probably, yeah)

[animepopheart]

Wonder Egg Priority, Episode 11: “The Temptation of Death”?

Wonder Egg Priority is a beautiful, uncomfortable, moving and confusing series that starts out engaging all the things we don’t talk about—self-harm, abuse, rape, bullying, gender dysmorphia, and homosexuality, to name a few. Our silence and blindness to these issues have a weight and pressure to them, and WEP shows how this reinforces the isolation and hopelessness of the young women of the “eggs” who turn to suicide for relief. The first ten episodes have been exhilarating and exhausting alike.

And then there is Episode 11. This past week, the series took a bit of a turn, leaning hard into the sci-fi-philosophical, with appearances from Greek gods, a murderous artificial intelligence, and really, really disturbing insect girls, one of whom, despite being a brutal killer, is apparently a vegetarian. Has the show gone off the rails? Has it lost its way in departing from the familiar procedural approach of engaging a differing social or mental health issue with each episode?

Such a critique is perfectly legit, but before you write off the penultimate episode of WEP, just hear me out on why the abstract, meta turn in episode 11 may just be the most valuable thing this series has to offer so far.

Before we begin though, a little recap of what we learned this week. In episode 10, we hear the eggheads, Acca and Ura-Acca, discuss the need for warriors of Eros to battle Thanatos. This is our first hint that things are about to get lore-full and maybe a bit weird. Eros and Thanatos are of course gods in the ancient Greek pantheon, Eros being the god of love, and Thanatos, of non-violent death. Within the first minute or so of episode 11, it’s clear that the eggheads’ hope is now focused on Ai becoming the long-awaited warrior. At this point though, rather than continuing with Ai’s story, the episode shifts into flashback mode and we are finally introduced to the villain, an artificial intelligence created by the eggheads back when they were still human. Their lives gradually come to revolve around her: She is the fulfillment of their obsession to create life, and she is good.

Frill is associated with hydrangeas, which symbolise heartlessness and pride in Japanese flower language. But is it her heartlessness and pride, or that of her makers?

(Atelier Emily has done an outstanding series of posts on the flowers in WEP. Check it out!)

Only, it turns out she doesn’t play so nice when others join the happy family. After killing Acca’s wife, and putting the life of the unborn baby at risk, the AI—who named herself Frill—is unrepentant, all traces of her seeming humanity now revealed to be illusory, a mere affectation. Acca locks her away in a hole in the cellar. Years pass. The baby, Himari, grows up and is a ray of sunshine. But after effectively confessing to her ‘uncle’ (why does anime always do this?), she commits suicide. Ura-Acca discovers that Frill is still very much alive and active from her hole in the cellar, having powered up all the discarded monitors and laid down reams of electrical cables—to what end, we do not yet know. Though Ura-Acca surmises that she has somehow influenced Himari to take her own life. How else would the girl have known about Ura-Acca’s admiration for her mother? Where else would she have learned to make what will forever be to me now that uncannily sinister popping sound?

Here’s where it gets weirder. Unlike the suicides of subsequent egg girls, there is no indication that Himari, Frill’s apparent first victim, struggled with any mental health or other issues that would motivate her to take her own life. Indeed, her ‘uncle’ did not even reject her confession. (Again anime, why you do this thing?) Instead, the eggheads explain Himari’s suicide as being on account of the “temptation of death.” What now?

This is implying that death is somehow attractive, not just to someone facing overwhelming brokenness, trauma or pain, like the egg girls we’ve met so far, but to someone on the verge of stepping from a (relatively) happy childhood into young adulthood, with the promise of potential love to look forward to; someone who has not known suffering, but rather only smiles and cake. (To be fair, it is always possible that she experienced trauma in the womb, or was more deeply affected by her father’s sadness than Ura-Acca’s memories belie.)

That’s my question too, Ai.

The notion of death as somehow attractive or even beautiful is rather alien to Western culture. Certainly, there will always be some who romanticize death, à la star-crossed lovers (Shakespeare, I’m looking at you). But in general, Western culture views death as something ugly and frightening, something to avoid until it is staring you directly in the face, and even then, closing your eyes in denial is a perfectly reasonable response. Death is one of those things we don’t talk about. In my experience, Anglo-American culture is not very good at even mourning death. We lack the grieving rituals and observances of other cultures, and instead seek to confine death to the sealed, sanitized spaces of hospitals, care homes, and funeral parlors. We keep it shrouded tightly in silence. How could there ever be anything like the “temptation of death”? How could we ever consider death to be something desirable? Are the eggheads or CloverWorks simply aestheticising suicide and death here to make it sound deep and philosophical?

No, I don’t think that’s it. Instead, Acca and Ura-Acca are doing what all good researchers do—and indeed what all Christians, as believers in an unseen spiritual reality, are also called to do: They are looking more deeply into phenomena that seem, on the surface, to already be explained. The two idol fans were consumed with their obsession, so when their idol killed herself, they followed suit. The young woman whose identity was wrapped up in her own appearance ended her life to preserve her beauty. The abused gymnast saw no way out, no hope in ever living free from torment. Some explanations may be more sympathetic than others, but they all possess their own internal logic. Contemporary society is full of a vast array of pressures and stresses and each one, taken to breaking point, can result in death. Case closed. This might very well be our conclusion from the first ten episodes.

Only the case isn’t closed. Because there is a question that has pervaded every episode until now, but has remained unspoken: How is it that death could even become an option for the egg girls? Why does reaching a breaking point trigger suicide? What made death seem like a savior to these girls? This is the question that episode 11 tackles, in its own admittedly obscure way. The eggheads are focused on the underlying, deeper reality that unites all the eggs’ stories, as disparate as they are—the common thread, which is the idea that death is a release, a rescue, a beautiful ending, and as a result, it is tempting.

“But we wondered if there could be another push that drove them to suicide,” explains Ura-Acca.

This is a really important question for us to be asking. Because it’s not just these traumatized, vulnerable girls who fall for the seduction of death. We do, too.

Just ponder for a moment: Have you ever anticipated how wonderful it will be when, in heaven, you no longer struggle with that particular temptation? When your temper is no longer so short, when you’re not afraid of being hurt anymore? Or maybe you think about how one day, on those gold-paved streets, you won’t have to worry anymore. All your hard work coping and just keeping it together will finally pay off and you’ll cross that finish line and heave a sigh of relief, knowing that you made it in the end. Have you ever contemplated these kinds of things? I know I have.

But here’s the thing: When I expect my liberation to come only after I die and not right here, right now, then it is not Jesus who is my savior, but death. I am waiting for death to free me from temptation and sin and fear and brokenness, and usher me into eternal life. I make Thanatos my god.

The temptation of death is not limited to the drastic act of suicide, but also permeates all the accusations and fears that inspire us to put off living the fullness of life in Christ here and now. It’s the temptation to believe that it is death that will ultimately solve the more difficult and painful problems in life.

Acca and Ura-Acca seek to create a love that suits their ideals, just to relieve their stress.

The source of this “temptation of death” in Wonder Egg Priority is Frill, the AI. That is, a man-made, artificial version of love—with ai meaning “love” in Japanese. According to Ura-Acca, they made her “just for fun,” as a way of dealing with the stress of their enclosed lives. They designed her to suit their preferences, to make it easier to love her and forget that she was artificial. In this sense, Frill is the fruit of their self-centeredness, her every characteristic designed to satisfy their own ideals of how a daughter and woman should be. And this artificial love born of selfishness brings death into their midst and beyond, spreading it through the horrendous deformities of girlhood that she in turn creates, in imitation of her fathers. (Only perhaps her creations are less deceptive than theirs, wearing their monstrosity plainly on the outside…)

Frill’s creations. We’ve met Dash (right) and Dot (center), but who is that on the left? And is her name Morse??

To counter her destructive influence, Acca and Ura-Acca need true love, a genuine love. They need Ai, a messy, at times very weak human being, but one who nevertheless is willing to fight to live up to her name and maybe, just maybe, become a warrior of Eros.

There is also a deep, underlying force at work in our world, one that connects all despair and the actions born of it. A wide range of social issues, traumas and mental health challenges can and do trigger suicide, but they do not explain it fully. The deeper reality is the existence of an enemy who seeks to manipulate us into believing our true savior can only be death, whether it is right away by our own hand, or more subtly, decades from now by natural causes. But this is a lie, and it is one that we can combat. Just as I’m sure we’ll see in the final episode that Ai is equipped to wage the coming battle in WEP, so too are we armed, here and now, with the power to overwhelm the enemy’s “temptation of death”—we possess already the words of life, given to us by our true savior.

Jesus began his ministry with a public announcement that he had come to heal heart wounds, comfort those in pain, fill broken lives with beauty, and wrap those in despair with reasons to praise like a warm protective blanket, so that they might celebrate with joy once again. He came to bring freedom to prisoners and captives alike, giving a fresh new life to those locked up because of deeds done wrong, and those punished and injured at the hands of others. He came to take the outcasts, the weak, the traumatized and broken and transform them into mighty oaks, clean and strong; into people with the vision and skill and compassion and fortitude to rebuild a broken world (Isaiah 61:1-4, Luke 4:18),

He came to rewrite and restore our experience of life here on earth, and through us, to redeem our communities, cities, nations, and the world. God does not withhold the fullness of life from us until we finally make it to him in heaven. No, instead he moved heaven and earth to get right up close so that he could pour his own life out into us, even going so far as to breathe his very spirit into our hearts and bodies and minds. We don’t need to wait for death’s rescue—our hero has already come. But we do need to remind each other and ourselves of this truth pretty often, and let it work down deep into all the cracks and bruises in our souls until it strengthens all our weak spots.

In Deuteronomy 30:19, God tells the Israelites that he has given them the authority to choose between life and death. But he also tips the balances in their favor, urging them to choose life. In Jesus, he comes to tip the balances even further, making it possible for us to step into eternal life here and now, immediately and forever. So let’s do it. Each day, through each struggle we face. Let’s choose life and not death.

Warrior of love? And is Ai’s himawari (sunflower) related to Himari somehow?

Join me (in spirit) for the final episode on Tuesday to see Ai’s love triumph! (At least, I really really hope that’s what happens!)

[lady-charinette]

Marichat May Day 4 + 11 + 12: Café + Take a Break + Cuddles 

Marinette cleared the next table, always a spring in her step, a smile on her face and an airy, “Welcome!” on her lips.

Business was booming in the café, but the morning rush was slowly beginning to dissipate, leaving Marinette with some time to take a quick breath. She picked up an empty tray on her way to the breakroom, her coffee waiting since morning.

Her colleague had other ideas as he apologetically reminded her, “Marinette, there’s still one customer waiting to be served.”

That couldn’t be.

Marinette was sure all the customers were seated outside due to the nice weather, there was nobody in the café itself, she double checked while wiping down the tables.

Who could’ve sneaked in so quickly when she turned her back-

“Good morning, princess!” 

Of course.

Hands clutched onto the tray for dear life, Marinette forced on a practiced smile.

The twirl she did to turn around made her pink skirt flutter and Chat Noir couldn’t have fought down the smile even if he wanted to.

“You know, if you wanted to get into the latest fashion, you could’ve asked moi.” Chat Noir rested a hand over his heart, eyeing the adorable fake cat ears on her head, “I feel very flattered Marinette, we almost moewtch! Your outfit is much cuter than meown though.”

This time, he did try to bite back the shit eating grin from consuming his face, because while her smile oozed sweetness, her eyes spelled death.

“Chat Noir! How…nice of you to visit! Don’t you have any superhero stuff to do?” 

The self-satisfied smile was blinding, “Nope! Today, I’m taking a break from being a superhero.” 

Marinette supposed it was alright, Hawkmoth had been quiet, she had been busy working at the café, she could allow Chat Noir some reprieve. 

Taking her notepad in hand, she asked “What can I get you?” the slight twitch in her left eye didn’t go unnoticed by her observant companion, who only seemed to smile wider.

Before Chat Noir could place his order, a loud cough from behind them made Marinette turn her head, seeing her colleague lift his curled fists in the air and mouth the words Marinette was supposed to use.

This would be her downfall.

The end of her short-lived career.

Her dignity forever tarnished in the eyes of the feline she wouldn’t be caught dead doing this in front of.

It seemed like the universe had a funny way of playing tricks on her.

Taking a deep breath, Marinette set the tray and notebook down on another table. Positioning her hands into the signature pose, Marinette curled her lips into the smile she practiced in front of the mirror.

Then, she bounced once, twice, “Welcome to our meowtiful café, nya! Offurring the catfeine boost to start your day, nyaa!” another bounce, “We hope you enjoy our Capurrccino, Catspresso, Latte Meowcchiato and our Meocha in different flavors, meow!” wiggling her hands as if she had paws for emphasis.

Finished with her humiliating introduction, as per protocol of the café’s ridiculous policy, Marinette quickly took back her tray and notebook and held it clutched to her chest like a shield, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.

Thankfully Chat Noir didn’t know about her being Ladybug, she would never hear the end of-

“Pfft-“

As expected, the superhero was bent over, hands clasped over his mouth, body trembling violently with the effort to hold in his laughter.

“Awesome job, Marinette!” she could hear her colleague’s praises coming from the breakroom, a room she wished she could lock herself into right now.

Marinette had never wanted to commit murder quite as intensely as she did while watching Chat Noir lose it over her little display, wheezing and laughing.

She hoped he coughed out a lung or two.

Chat Noir could barely piece a sentence together, he chortled, “That- that was-it was just purrfect!” still snickering, holding his stomach, Chat Noir finally managed to meet her eyes.

They promised certain doom, “…Your order, cat?” she spat, flipping her notepad on a clean page and holding her pen at the ready.

Chat Noir finally managed to sit upright, breathing deeply, body still wrecked with chuckles. Marinette wished Chat Noir had actual whiskers so she could pull on them, since his tail wasn’t accessible. “Hmm…let’s see…what could I pawssibly want more? Seeing my princess like this is more than enough to make my day!” the smile he gave her seemed genuine, but Marinette was too embarrassed to think too deeply about it.

“You order or you leave.”

“Latte Meowcchiato, please.”

“What flavor?”

“…Blueberry.”

Biting back a scalding retort, Marinette turned on her heel to place his order.

Chat Noir was trying to be respectful, but he couldn’t quite stop himself from looking over at Marinette. The way the cat ears framed her face adorably, the fake tail swishing gently back and forth, the maid outfit she wore, were those heels with paw prints?

The superhero nearly jumped out of his skin when a sudden weight landed on his lap, to his astonishment it was a cat.

He started petting the animal, who immediately started purring up a storm and getting comfortable on his lap. Why he was surprised to find a cat in a cat café was beyond him, but the way all the felines started inching closer towards him did surprise him.

By the time Marinette was carrying the blueberry flavored latte macchiato over to Chat Noir, she nearly dropped the beverage in shock.

All of their cats were situated around or on Chat Noir, two precariously balanced on his lap, one on his shoulder, another behind his head, the rest were curled at his sides.

Marinette didn’t know how to tell Chat Noir that it was bad for business to steal all their cats, she didn’t quite have the heart to do so. He looked strangely peaceful surrounded by the smaller felines, as if he were right at home.

But when he lifted his head to look at her, and their gazes met, it felt like she could feel at home there too.

Shaking her head, Marinette set the hot beverage on the table, “Here’s your blueberry flavored latte macchiato, kitty.”

“Thank you, Marinette.” The use of his nickname made him smile and Chat Noir patted the only vacant spot next to him that wasn’t occupied by cats.

Marinette glanced at the clock, morning rush was over, the customers were taken care of, afternoon rush was hours away.

Marinette had time.

Finding herself squeezed in-between Chat Noir and cats wasn’t as mortifying as Marinette thought it would be. It felt…nice.

Cozy.

At some point, it seemed like the cats were conspiring against her, sitting on her lap and piling up against her side, forcing her further into Chat Noir’s.

Marinette failed to see his red glowing cheeks when he picked up his coffee for a sip, “I’m impressed, this is so good!”

Marinette couldn’t fight back a smirk, “Don’t you mean impurressed?”

They burst out into giggles, miraculously not disturbing the sleeping cats. “You seem to be a magnet for them, huh?” Marinette mused out loud.

The words that left his lips felt almost foreign, but held the familiar bravado of Chat Noir, “I don’t mind, as long as I’m a magnet for you too.”

Chat Noir seemed just as stunned as she was at his words, but found her own confidence resurging to match his, “I’m glad we’re opposites, kitty.”

Chat Noir rose an eyebrow, unsure how to react to her statement.

Until Marinette leaned into his side, snuggling up just like the cats around them, muttering a soft, “Otherwise we wouldn’t attract each-other.”

Never did he want to hug or kiss anyone as badly as he did in that moment, but for the sake of not disturbing the cats, Chat Noir settled for an affectionate head snuggle into Marinette’s hair. Her sigh of contentment seemed to be the trigger to make all the muscles in his body relax, slumping against her peacefully.

Thanks for reading! :3 

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Evil Unmasked Part 4 AU (aka Vader visits Padmé’s tomb)

Darth Vader was, in a word, exhausted.

Truth be told, whatever slim patience he had had for the machinations of Palpatine’s propaganda machine and the role it had carved out for him was all but gone. He could no longer recall how many interviews he had been forced to play along with, how many holo captures he had had taken of his visage for Imperial distribution. He had figured Palpatine would use his compliance as a tool to promote the Empire as the righteous governmental installment, and himself as the rightful Emperor. Still, it was becoming both grating, and infuriating. Vader was relieved that the media circus had, for now, been foiled and was beginning to die down. He had lost count of how many times he had been pinned down to denounce the Jedi order and explain why he had turned against them, as well as why he had changed his name.

Eight months post the fall of the Republic, and the calamity of the aftermath had begun to settle into the new normalcy. Vader was no longer hounded by hoards of reporters, no longer approached solely to speak out for promotional purposes. This was his first break from the obligations of either hunting down and eliminating stray Jedi, or speaking out on Palpatine’s behalf to praise his leadership. As soon as the opportunity arose, he asked for (demanded) his first day off. Palpatine had given him a quizzical, mildly displeased look but allowed it with a disinterested hand wave. The location he’d chosen for his travel had been decided long in advance, constantly pushed to the back of his mind but never truly forgotten. Vader hadn’t been anywhere near the sector for years; the planet’s sunny skies, vast green fields of grass and tranquil environment seemingly welcoming him with open arms. The nature and its beautiful trappings knew nothing of his past, nothing of the dark deeds he had committed - nor of the fact that he had stolen one of its most favourite daughters away.

Naboo was a beautiful place, with its lush scenery and its vast crystal clear lakes. Even with the sombre intentions behind Vader’s visit in mind, he found it a refreshing and peaceful break from the insanity life had become. The serene, bedazzled home world of Emperor Palpatine was nothing short of a paradise. But it was also the home world of Vader’s beloved, lost Padmé.

That Palpatine could be the native son of such a stunning planet was irony in its highest form. Padmé was much more suited for the inviting greenery, and the richly bedazzled background most citizens of Naboo had enjoyed. The gungans, shut out from society and equality before the Separatist attack, seemed so far removed from the background Padmé and Palpatine were of. Padmé had been born a Naberrie - that in itself a prestige; elected Queen at fourteen, and then continuing to become the senator and ambassador of her birth planet. The planet’s inhabitants had adored her. They adored her valor, her beauty, and her compassion. Her childhood made such a stark contrast to Vader’s own. Padmé had been raised in harmony; with her own autonomy, with responsibilities, yes - but with the power to make lasting changes. With her inherited money and her stunning appearance, her heritage and her wit - Padmé had had all the trappings sufficient of making a just, good woman.

Vader had come from nothing, with no legacy, no father, and no autonomy. He had lived impoverished as a child slave barely scraping by, fearing either death by starvation or illness, or by extermination. Watto, as his master and owner, had threatened him into submission by reminding him of the chip in his neck; reminding him of that fact that would he revolt - both he and his mother were doomed. Padmé never had to fear for her parents’, or her sister’s lives. Not even when she was with child, was the terror of her dying in childbirth that occupied Vader’s mind every hour of every day, of any concern to her. She did not fear death, but then she had never been faced death as Vader had. Perhaps, if she too had been raised on a desert planet, no more than an item to be exploited, with only her mother as a guide and confidant would she have understood his plight. Maybe if she, too, had lost her parents and failed in her valiant effort to save them, would she have understood his fear of watching her fade away. In the end, as yet another cruel twist of fate; Vader himself had brought about her demise. In the end, all he had was himself - and perhaps, that was for the better.

The tomb of senator Padmé Amidala was a vast monument in and of itself, but at the same time surprisingly sparse on decor. Padmé had never been a woman of simplicity when it came to appearance or presentation, but her final resting place was almost humble. Solid stone encased her now, protecting her withering bones from the harsh light of day. Now, as night reigned supreme and the stars peppering the skies provided the only light; Vader thought it a bleak and gloomy sight. He would have envisioned something more grandiose. The style was simple; cream coloured alabaster pillars supported a raised, arched roof. Vader traversed down a winding path or marble stairs, resolute in his resolve despite the unwanted guilt that was constantly nagging at the back of his mind and wearing him down. It made his skin crawl, and he stopped when he came face to face with the single ornament guarding his wife’s grave. Beneath the arched ceiling, a monument had been erected in her honour. Large, lifelike and meticulously detailed; it too was cut from sandstone and alabaster. It was a magnificent statue, portraying Padmé as she had appeared in life during her years as Queen and regent of Naboo. Its face seemed to peer down at Vader, as if to condemn him for trespassing. As if to demean him for daring to disturb her eternal peace.

Ignoring the judgmental stare he could not shake, Vader hurriedly brushed past the statue. With one wave of his hand, he let the Force gently guide the heavy stone door blocking the entrance to the mausoleum portion of the monument aside. Inky darkness pooled inside the small crypt, the starlight barely spilling past the threshold. A cold breeze seemed to emerge from within, both as a plea asking him to leave; and a lull, begging him to enter. Vader shut his eyes for a moment, allowing bith the crisp chill of the night and the stuffy air from within the tomb to wash over him. The breeze ran through his hair, and for a second, he recalled the gentle touch of his wife’s slender fingers combing through the unruly curls. He remembered her soft skin, her plush lips. Opening his eyes, he knew what he must do. He held no fear of the dead, and he was convinced that Padmé’s ghost would not be enraged by his visit.

But neither would she be pleased. Vader imagined she may weep if she could see him now.

Not surprisingly, Vader had found himself unable to attend Padmé's funeral wake. He had watched the holo screen broadcast of the procession in real time, as it was distributed to the public grieving an icon lost. The ceremony itself had been lavish; Queen Apailana dressed in the regal mourning attire. Emperor Palpatine had made it more than clear that there was no way for Vader to be present without drawing unwanted attention by his pre-Empire affiliation with Padmé as - what the public thought to be - a very close friend. Indeed, his absence may have been even odder but in hindsight Vader couldn’t have changed his lot had he tried to. And he had tried, to no avail. At the same time, it hadn’t stung as much to give into his master's wishes - knowing it was his fault Padmé would breathe no more. He had killed her. Part of him thought then, as did he now, that he hadn’t deserved showing his face in such a sacred rite. She was so far above him, and he was so far beneath her.

She was an Angel, and he was her murderer.

Entering the crypt with trepidation and reverence, Vader paused in the doorway. He had to duck to fit through the narrow entrance; the additional height of his new cybernetic legs was still cumbersome, and he hadn’t quite gotten used to the equally freshly fashioned prosthetic arms either with their larger hands and longer forearms. It was just a matter of time, really, but Vader felt it to be an unwelcome hindrance. He had been promised unlimited power by his master, instead he had been maimed and left for dead by Kenobi - and he alone bore the blame for Padmé’s demise. Padmé, whose remains were just within his reach. Padmé, whose spirit must surely despise him now. As he traversed with a solemn unease farther into the cavern; Vader became aware of two things.

First was the stone coffin holding his beloved’s lifeless body. Its lid was adorned by yet another skilfully crafted sculpture; this time a likeness of Padmé’s visage as she had been presented during her funeral wake. Her hair had been loose and wavy as she was paraded through the streets, decorated only with tiny, brittle flowers. Clad in a flowing blue gown, hands clasped over her swollen belly; face so lifelike she had seemed to be merely asleep. As Vader had made himself watch the painful holoscreening - witnessing his beloved one last time from afar - he had entertained the notion that if he’d only been present, he could have kissed her cold lips and she would have woken up. So many fairytales spoke of true love’s kiss, and of it raising a seemingly dead lover from their eternal slumber. Vader’s last kiss shared with his wife had proved to be the kiss of death. This blatant mimicry of Padmé’s visage - a far cry of her beauty - had been expected.

What Vader had not expected was the glass showcase propped by the coffin's side. Upon an indigo satin pillow rested Padmé’s japor snippet. Slightly faded with wear and tear, wooden and as intricately hand carved as the day he had given it to her. It had been granted its own separate display, and Vader scoffed at the notion that any of Padmé’s many handmaidens or realtives would have understood but a sliver of its importance to her - and, subsequently, to him. Still, it had been singled out as a token, and it had been clear even to those not in the know that the simple jewelry had been cherished by its owner.

Swallowing hard, Vader slowly approached the small cased necklace. Even in the dull darkness, his iridescent golden eyes helped him focus on the tiny trinket. A mixture of shame and bitterness welled up inside as his gaze took in every painstakingly crafted detail, and for just a moment - his serious expression softened. Gone were the harsh lines, gone was the composed and well rehearsed authority he had adapted since his shift. For that brief moment, Vader’s chest felt tight and a strangled, choked breath escaped his parted lips.

Anger was quick to overthrow the suffocating sadness. Pursing his lips, Vader forced himself to turn away. Instead, his eyes fell again upon Padmé’s stone grave. He didn’t deserve to be here, he didn’t deserve this attempt at paying her respect with meaningless, silent apologies. He had put her in that coffin, he had snuffed out her light. As if moving of their own volition, he found his legs were carrying him closer to the cold marble against his will. One gloved hand reached out to hesitantly touch the surface, but all Vader's cybernetic fingertips could detect was hard edges. Nothing concrete, no nuance. Vader was bereft of something as simple as the smooth, cool kiss of masterly crafted sandstone. The soft curves and gentle lines came off as no more intricate than the billions of grains that made up the sands of Tatooine.

Clenching his jaw shut, Vader's hand curled into a tight fist. It shook as he squeezed it shut; Padmé’s desperate, pleading hazel eyes flashing before his inner vision. She’d been so frail, so distraught, so horrified. She had never betrayed him, he had betrayed her. This was all his fault.

Padmé was dead because of him. Only him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Vader wished for nothing but to be offered the chance to retrace his step and right his wrongs. He wished to relive the moment in which he had lashed out, if only to forgive her and believe her words. If only to take her in his arms, to heed her warnings and run far away. Just him, her, and their child. Together. The child that had perished alongside his mother, never allowed to get to know her tender soul.

An unyielding, intense burn spread like a wildfire up the bridge of Vader's nose, and bled into his cheeks. A stinging prickle settled behind his eyes, and despite his stubborn attempt at remaining calm and detached, dismissing his pain - scalding tears welled up to pool at the corners of his eyes. In one fell swoop, they disregarded his wishes and rolled in heavy globs down his pale cheeks. Vader allowed his anger and his despair to mingle with his guilt. In an act of rare surrender, he let his walls crumble to dust and acknowledged that he had made a terrible mistake. He had allowed Palpatine to twist his mind, to entice him with empty promises. But it was he who had believed those lies; he had been the one to choke his own wife in blind rage.

Covering his face with his free hand, Vader did his best to restrain his grief in a feeble attempt at maintaining dignity. Biting back sobs, he wept silently - shedding the final pieces of his past with each tear. A burden that was his alone to carry, but its weight slightly lighter to bear despite the dull ache it left behind.

When he eventually vacated the tomb; daylight had begun to spill over the fields and hills, its orange glow warming the dew lining every straw of grass and creating a thin veil of mist. The air was sweet, its scent a jumble of flowers. No trace of his secret visit did Vader leave behind, but something inside of him had changed irreparably. Something had been left behind, laid to rest alongside the lost Queen.

If he could destroy the one thing he had loved more than life itself, what mattered any other life on his conscience. If his Angel was dead, Vader was already cursed. Whoever stood in his way was but a stepping stone on his way towarda greatness.

Every citizen in the Galaxy was but an animal - and he would slaughter them as animals, if need be.

*****

I wanted to write something sad, and I figured since this iteration of Vader is quite different to the canon one - this would be yet another way for him to shed his past, and to become even more of a propaganda and political tool. Also, I felt like writing something sad and angsty and I seldom write about Padmé, so consider this a little treat for those of you who - much like I - enjoy sadness and pain.

Ao3 link below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029582/chapters/79632736

[akatsuki-shin]

Review: 默读 Mò Dú (Silent Reading)

Notes:

(Very) long post ahead

Contains spoiler

This is my personal review and does not represent the entire audience, you are free to agree or not agree with what I’ve written here

Feel free to reply/send me a message if there are things you want to discuss

Using the Donghua poster because it fits the overall story more than the Audio Drama cover. :'))

Summary:

Yan City is a bright, bustling metropolis filled with all sorts of wonders, all sorts of people. From the richest occupying the city's most prestigious residential areas to the poorest huddling together in rundown slums, from the most fortunate blessed with a life of comfort to the wretched deemed to struggle until their last breath, from the virtuous walking in the path of light to the wicked lurking under the cover of darkness.

There is as much good as there is evil, and days gone by, people coming and going along with the passage of time.

Since their first meeting during a certain case seven years ago, Captain of the City Bureau's Crime Investigation Unit Luo Wenzhou thought he would never see eye to eye with Fei Du, son of a well-known conglomerate who inherited his father's position and wealth after the latter fell into comatose due to a near-fatal accident three years ago.

Words as sharp as knives dyed their bitter exchanges, even their personality was like the heaven and earth; the bold, blunt, and straightforward Luo Wenzhou - and the astute, secretive Fei Du, with his beautiful peach blossom eyes and a smile that is not quite a smile seducing countless people, his very presence seems as if it was covered under layers and layers of deceit.

Every single time they meet, they would always part on bad terms. Yet Luo Wenzhou would never have thought that a seemingly ordinary murder case of an ordinary deliveryman would lead him into the mystery of multiple long forgotten unsolved cases, turning over the Yan City and the City Bureau itself upside down, making him question his faith to those he respected and trust - and along with it, opening a door to the truth of Fei Du's past never once known to others.

STORY: 9/10

At first glance, the overall plot of Silent Reading seems neither extravagant nor exceptional. It's just one of those police drama where the main leads had to wrestle in a battle of wits with the villains looming around them, struggling to outsmart each other and eventually, bringing justice to those who deserve it.

But that is exactly what is so good about it. Silent reading could take all of those cliche and packed them into one nerve-wrecking, enticing journey from start to finish, complete with both intense and amusing interactions, and just the right amount of romance that does not disturb the flow of the main story.

And it actually does have its own uniqueness.

In most police dramas I've ever seen, the enemy is usually either a corrupt high-ranking official committing some hideous criminal acts by abusing their authority, or an individual/group with some very extreme values or obsession. Silent Reading, however, have both of those two most general types of villains in the story and what's more? It pits them against each other, pulling around and forcing the main leads to wreck their brains, slowly unravel the tangled mess until the truth finally comes to light.

The action and suspense, the atmosphere, the analysis, everything was almost impeccable to the point of perfection.

I have to especially give my kudos to how the author (Priest) structured the mystery in such a way, connecting one dots to the other from beginning to end. During the first few cases, I thought the resolution of the case didn't feel very solid, as if there are still some details that have yet to be properly elaborated. Yet halfway through, I realize that there is actually a bigger plot that encompass everything, tying all loose ends together.

And here, I would also like to highlight my two most favorite scene.

The first one is in Chapter 114-115 when Luo Wenzhou finally peeled of Fei Du's defense and for the first time exposed his true feelings, making Fei Du faced and spoke what he truly felt for Luo Wenzhou - that he really, actually did care for him. Their entire interactions and development up to this scene fits so well with these two main characters. There was no nonsense, no sappy crying and needless drama. Luo Wenzhou was as blunt as he was desperate and Fei Du, for once, admitted to the truth straight out with his own mouth.

The second one is in Chapter 157. In this case, one of Fei Du's most trusted men and an extremely important witness (that would later become their ally) were being chased and surrounded by thugs hired by their enemy. At this point of the story, the City Bureau was already in turmoil. Luo Wenzhou was suspended, nobody knows who they could or could not trust. Yet still, his subordinates all set out swiftly under his command and followed him to save the two witnesses, appearing at the most critical time.

It was actually a typical scene that exist in many police action drama, but given the development of the story, the well-built character relationship and interactions, I think it is Luo Wenzhou's coolest scene in the entire story and it makes me admire him a lot as the main lead and a leader figure.

One thing that does not quite sit well with me is Fan Siyuan's obsessiveness towards the late Gu Zhao. His motive for the crime was clear and I understand that he was using Gu Zhao's case as an example of injustice. But his extreme emotions whenever Gu Zhao was mentioned seems strange, even baseless. It makes me think whether he considers Gu Zhao as his own family or he was maybe madly in love with Gu Zhao, whereas in the entire story, unless I'm missing something, I have only ever known that Gu Zhao was Fan Siyuan's student - nothing more, nothing less.

CHARACTERS: 9/10

Silent Reading has a balanced, yet still very much appealing casts, from the major characters to the minor ones. Even the suspects and witnesses each had their own distinguishing features that didn't make them look like they were just there as canon fodders.

The composition of Luo Wenzhou's team itself is ideal; they've got the dependable leader, the smart advisor, the best friend and trustworthy right-hand man, the genius nerd, and the dependable aide.

I especially like Tao Ran (and I think most readers would agree with me). While he looks like the typical good guy type, he really, truly is a very good person. It's hard not to find him lovable. His relationship with Chang Ning was as cliche as it could get, but hey, as long as he's happy. Dude deserve it after everything he's done.

As for the two main leads, they are probably one of the most interesting couple I've found in the past few years.

Individually, Luo Wenzhou is the type of character I always like. He is confident to the point of having a narcissistic streak, but all of those are based on real talents and experiences. He speaks bluntly, but he cares for others through his action. He does not sugarcoat things and speaks the truth for what it is. Everything about him simply screams "reliable" as a leader (and a significant other to a certain someone). He deserves all of the respect and loyalty his subordinates gave to him.

Fei Du at first looks like a complex character whose real self is hidden beneath countless coats of pretense, but at the core, he is just a pitiful young man who does not know how to value himself, does not know how to love and be loved due to the abuse he suffered during childhood in the hands of his sadistic father. Despite his composure, his intelligence, his capability, he is almost like a lost little child, wandering in the darkness, going wherever the flow would take him until Luo Wenzhou pulled him out of that abyss. It is nothing less than commendable that he could restrain himself from succumbing into his father's manipulation, even if he has to correct himself through such extreme means for a long time.

And I'm glad that now he has someone who gives him the love he has long since been bereft of.

With Luo Wenzhou, Fei Du finally has a color in his life, someone to make happy memories with, and someone who genuinely love him for who he is. Likewise, with Fei Du, not only Luo Wenzhou got someone he could genuinely care for, he also finally has a place where he could relax, taking off the strong front he'd been putting before others all day long.

It was just so fulfilling to see two characters growing from "cat and dog" into inseparable lovers. They weren't sickeningly sweet, but just two people who are content with each other and would be each other's strength. I was especially happy when I saw how Fei Du changed his phone's ring tone into the one Luo Wenzhou in the extra chapter.

Now that I've finished reading this story, these two straight up went to the top of my all-time most favorite pairing list. But of course, this is just a personal opinion. Luo Wenzhou and Fei Du simply hits all of my favorite tropes, that's why. 😂

If I really have to point out one mini flaw, I suppose it's that the main villains aren't as appealing as the rest of the casts. They were practically overshadowed, even by some minor characters that only appeared for a short while.

TECHNICAL ASPECTS: 9/10

Just some very minor complaints:

1). When the story first introduced Fei Du in the beginning, it felt kind of abrupt. The narration had only been addressing him with his physical appearance, but suddenly they changed it into "Fei Du" with barely any proper start.

2). The international conference in Yan City (Chapter 2) was supposed to be a background information of the general setting of the first case, yet it was not properly mentioned at the start - rather, one sort paragraph about said conference was simply being slipped in the middle just for the sake to be there.

3). The switching of scenes between characters in the 3rd person POV are sometimes too quick with no signs of incoming transitions beforehand like taking shortcuts.

And by that, I mean that other than those three issues above, everything else was nothing less than perfect.

OVERALL SCORE: 9/10

A realistic story with perfectly balanced action, mystery, suspense, and romance - with a dash of comedy sprinkled at the right time and place.

Reading the novel from start to finish was nothing less than enjoyable. Whenever there needed to be a flashback or explanation, it didn't feel like info dump being thrown in all of a sudden.

I would like to point out a bit about the Zhou Conglomerate Case in Book 3.

Personally speaking, I think this is the most realistic case out of the others, and by that, I don't mean the crazy rich family drama.

The other cases in the books are something that to me feels "faraway"; murders, child trafficking, psychopath, organized criminal gangs. Yet in Book 3, due to the nature of the case, it was posted publicly for all to see, and damn if it didn't bring out the most annoying thing I actually hate in real life.

Clout-chasing media, meddlesome netizens commenting without thinking on the Internet, spreading personal information of the involved individuals without consent, handing down judgment based on rumors and personal opinions even if they have nothing to do with it (and know nothing about it), crashing the website due to mere curiosity, further hindering the police working on the case from doing their job.

They weren't thinking about those actually involved in the case, especially the victim. They don't care, or maybe don't even think that their meddlesome acts could cost a human's life because they see everything as mere passing entertainment. And if something were to happen because of their meddling, the most they would say is, of course, as quoted from Chapter 72:

"I didn't do it on purpose"

"I wasn't doing it to you"

"I didn't expect this to be the outcome"

"From a certain point of view, I'm a victim, too"

Even if I was just reading a fiction, at that moment I truly wished I could shut down the Internet for a bit. 😂

Anyway, amazing story. I might re-read everything from the start again when I have some free time.

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

Those Linked by Destiny (1)

Summary: Bucky, Sam, and Natasha are on a mission to once again defeat Hydra who this time had opened a time portal that unleashed monsters and beasts that were extinct for centuries for good reason. On the way, they try to recruit the only remaining person who had any knowledge on how to defeat these creatures. Her kind also almost extinct. A Witcher.

Fandoms: Avengers, The Witcher

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Witcher!OFC (Female)

Warnings: Angst (coz this is me), Dry Dark Humour, Violence, Gore, Lots of Blood, Burning Sarcasm, Lots of Cussing

A/N: Hello, beautiful creatures! I’m back with a new hurricane of a crossover. This continues on from my completed series There’s More Than One Way To Start An Apocalypse (AvengersxSupernatural) but this can be read by itself. I made this an OFC instead of an xReader since I needed to be specific with how the Witcher character looked. I hope you enjoy and I welcome all kinds of feedback.

No permission is granted to repost my work. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

Masterlist

1: Returning a Favor

The sun was preparing to set when Sam, Bucky, and Natasha reached the small sleepy town. Their clothes were starting to scratch and bite at their skin from the sweat and grime of trying to make it to their destination on foot. They had been taking back roads and keeping to thick forests to keep hidden from Hydra and the monsters they had unleashed. It hasn't always gone smoothly for them.

The Avengers and Team Free Will had split up to tackle three major missions; hunting down every remaining grace powered monster created by the Archangel Michael, re-establishing the Avengers initiative and operations, and this new unfamiliar threat. They had discovered that Hydra was back and had opened a portal that unleashed creatures that were wholly unknown to even the Hunters.

The trio was tasked with gathering as much intel as they could and searching for a friend of Natasha and the Nephilim who they said was the only person who could help them. It had taken them eight months to track down someone who was practically a ghost.

They were all on edge and nearly losing hope, but finally they got a lead on an exact location. It took nearly two weeks to reach the town after a particularly nasty encounter with a cluster of monsters. They were outnumbered and had no knowledge about the enemy to even properly fight. They barely made it out alive.

Sam sat on the forest floor with his back to the trunk of a tree clutching his open abdomen. He was bleeding on the grass and the first aid they had been continuously applying on him was the only thing keeping him alive at this point. They needed to get him patched up properly. Bucky switched his legs to lean more on his left as he crouched behind thick shrubbery beside Natasha. Judging by the sharp pain from his other leg, he was sure it was broken. The female assassin wasn't any better off having taken multiple large slashing wounds to her back.

Bucky suggested that they go back to Avengers headquarters. It was Natasha though that insisted this is where they needed to go. They needed to lie low, heal, regroup, and find backup, but they were running out of time. The more time Hydra was left alone, the worse it was going to get. Bucky was skeptical, especially with Sam clinging on to his life, but he knew that Natasha was in fact right.

In front of them was a medium sized log cabin tucked away in the forest with a garden and a small greenhouse out back. Bucky's enhanced senses could pick up common vegetables and herbs like tomatoes, carrots, and basil, but he also caught whiffs of plants that smelled like exotic flowers of some sort. The house was still fairly close to town with only a 45-minute drive but it was miles away to the next house.

The serene silence of the isolated area was disrupted by peels of laughter from a group of children that were running around the garden. Their hands and clothes were stained with either paint or dirt. Some more gleeful that they had both. Bucky frowned. 

Were they supposed to seek shelter in a daycare?

The children would surely be scarred for life if they saw the Falcon bleeding out nevermind who his two companions were. His worry for his friend’s wellbeing clouded the Sergeant’s capability to grasp why this was where they needed to be.

The slow crunch of tires on the dirt road followed by two soft beeps disrupted Bucky's tired brooding. A mini bus parked beside a weathered brown truck in the driveway. A woman came out the back door clutching a child, that was practically a baby with how small it was, securely to her chest. Bucky couldn't see her face, only her slender figure and the wavy hair that fell down her back in a mess of random pastel colors that seemed to be popular with the youth these days. Her short yellow sun dress flowed with each movement she made.

Bucky's doubts at Natasha's plan grew. How could this hipster possibly help them? The low groan of pain from behind reminded him that they had no choice at this point. They were here now and Sam needed urgent medical attention. He would just have to trust Natasha a bit more.

He watched as she instructed the children to put away their art materials and wash up. He watched as she hugged or petted each beaming child as they boarded the mini bus. He watched as she carefully strapped in the baby in his designated seat while exchanging conversation with the middle aged driver who smiled warmly at her. He still couldn't see her face, but he could hear her laugh at something the driver said. After a final wave the bus full of energetic children started to pull out of the driveway.

Bucky's doubts continued to gnaw at him, but now for a different reason. This woman seemed so kind and carefree. Must they really disturb her peaceful life for their chaos? He turned then to voice his worries to Natasha, but before he could get a word out he felt an unbelievably strong force hit his chest and propel him backwards. He was forcefully pinned to a tree with the air knocked clear out of his lungs.

His first instinct was to fight back, but opening his eyes after the attack he froze when he met with the most peculiar yet mesmerizing pair. Round almond shaped and framed with thick heavy lashes were eyes the color of bright molten gold with irises in dark slits like that of a cat's. He would swear they were contacts if he didn't notice how they stretched and dilated as they retained their murderous gaze on him. Her hair fell like a cloud around her face softening her sharp bone structure and the snarl on her gloss covered lips.

So enthralled was Bucky at her unique features, that it took him an embarrassingly long time to register the double bladed axe she held easily with one hand outstretched flush against the skin of his throat. One small flick of her wrist and Bucky would be bleeding to his death in minutes.

"Why have you brought him here, Natasha?" she said, her voice even and low. Bucky noticed a European accent but he couldn't quite place which particular area.

"You know me?" Bucky met her unfaltering glare with his own.

"Everyone knows you, Winter Soldier," she sneered. "Everyone knows all of you."

Bucky scowled at the name. He didn't appreciate the tone she had when she said it. There was an obvious disdain and anger in her tone that he wasn't sure was warranted.

"Easy, Prima. We need your help," Natasha tried to coax her but she did not advance in case she gets provoked.

"And if I refuse?"

"Well then I'm cashing in that favor."

There was a long tense silence before his throat was reluctantly freed. He rubbed the shallow angry line it had left. The woman with cat-like eyes sighed as she swung the large weapon to hook over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. She rolled her eyes before she turned and gestured for you all to follow.

Bucky noted how Natasha's shoulders sagged in relief. She was worried that her contact might decline. They each took one of Sam's sides and practically hauled his barely conscious form to the cabin. They followed the woman into her home, the receding skyline bouncing light and shadow on her figure. It wasn't even ten minutes ago that Bucky was hesitant to disrupt this woman's very normal life, but normal people don't just carry battle axes let alone have the skill to wield it.

"Natasha," he whispered. "What exactly is she?"

Natasha had told them a little about Witchers in between dashing from town to town, but it amused Prima that Bucky was still thoroughly surprised when they actually met her. Clearly she didn't go into the specifics.

He could hear the smirk in her tone despite still having her back to them. She had heard his hushed question despite walking far ahead of them and decided to answer.

"Perhaps we can discuss my nature when your friend is no longer seeping Water Hag poison from his wounds."

"So that's what that thing was. How do you know it's Water Hag poison?" Natasha grunted under Sam's weight.

"I can smell it and that's the only reason I'm granting you this favor."

Prima rushed inside her home ahead of her guests, going quickly to the kitchen to pull out a large tarpaulin from under the sink. She was definitely going to help them but that didn't mean she was going to damn well leave an Avenger to bleed all over her precious furniture.

She opened the chest that doubled as a coffee table and pulled out thick worn blankets. She was already laying these out on the floor by the fireplace by the time the rest of them came through the front door.

Bucky surveyed the room as he entered. It was a force of habit to commit every detail to memory when entering a new environment. Normally it could mean life or death, but in this instance it was pure curiosity with a healthy mix of suspicion. 

From the outside, the cabin had looked a decent size but from the inside it looked much bigger. He thought that perhaps it was too much space for someone he presumed was living alone.

The house was a mixture of modern and rustic decorated in wood, metal, and splashes of vibrant color here and there. A gray short hair cat perked up in attention from its bedding as they entered. The main floor was open with no walls dividing areas and a set of stairs led to a spacious loft that again had no partitions. Large windows lined the walls providing an almost 360 degree view to the outside. It was almost like being in a glass box, but he knew for a fact that those windows were heavily tinted outside providing the utmost privacy. The state of the home told Bucky a lot about its owner.

"Lay him down here," Prima said pointing to the makeshift cot. "It's best he is by the fire. We need to keep him warm."

Natasha and Bucky gently laid down their friend as instructed. Sam groaned as the material pressed on his injuries and Natasha made quick work of cutting him out of his ruined tactical gear with her knife. His body relaxed the slightest bit after being freed but this also meant that his wounds opened again to spill more of his blood on the tarpaulin.

"It's worse than I thought," Prima murmured. "Take this and apply pressure to the worst of it. I must prepare a few things."

Natasha nodded as she took the towels from her. She rushed through the back door and from its opening, Bucky could see that she went straight into her greenhouse. She was back within minutes carrying a small woven tray filled with plants he couldn't even begin to identify. The cat followed closely on her heels, the small bell on its neck ringing softly.

She headed straight for the other end of the room to what he initially thought was a library and craft area. Looking at it closely now he could see not only books but a wide array of jars, bottles, and small boxes. She grabbed two containers from the shelves and dropped its contents into a wooden bowl. She began mashing and mixing them together quickly before pouring the strange yellowish liquid into glass vials. She grabbed a few more bottles from the shelves before making her way to kneel by Sam's head.

"Help me sit him up. He needs to drink this."

"I'm not sure about this, Nat," came Bucky's worried tone as he eyed their host with narrowed eyes.

"Bucky!" Nat warned. They didn't have time for this.

"What the hell is even in that?"

"Sergeant Barnes, would you like me to educate you on the finer points of alchemy before or after we save your dying friend?" Prima argued, her jaw clenching. "Clock is ticking, Sergeant. The choice may well be taken from you soon."

Bucky's teeth gritted together as his whole body tensed with the decision. His brow was in knots, but ultimately he knew there was only one decision to make. He cursed under his breath but moved to heave Sam into a sitting position.

Prima uncorked one of the bottles and tipped it over Sam's lips carefully making sure that he took every drop. His face scrunched at the taste but his eyes remained closed, too exhausted to open them. His breathing started to speed up until they were shallow huffs and his temperature steadily rose.

"What the hell's happening to him?" Bucky fumed but Prima held out her hand to halt him as she carefully watched Sam's reactions with her strange cat eyes that were now narrowed into slits.

The air in the room was thick with tension and the only sounds were that of Sam's heavy breathing that was rapidly growing more laborious. When it seemed like he was at the height of his torment, Prima acted fast and shoved a second vial of clear liquid to his lips. He almost choked on the liquid but by some grace of the gods he managed to swallow it all.

After the last drop had gone down his throat, his eyes shot wide open before fluttering close as he dropped unconscious against the pillows. Bucky panicked when he couldn't hear his heartbeat and was about to lash out at Prima again when suddenly a faint thump that was fighting to get steadier met his ears in a manner that was uniquely stubborn like Sam.

Prima took a hand to feel his sweaty face and was relieved to find that his temperature was dropping closer to normal. They were past the worst of it now and she was grateful he took well to the potions. It was a gamble. Humans were not meant to take in Witcher brews. She could have just as easily killed him.

"He should be fine by morning. We must allow the potions do the work for now. I'll keep watch in case he needs another dose."

She grabbed one of the other bottles in her stash and tossed one to Natasha who easily caught it. The assassin raised a quizzical brow at her.

"Take only a small sip, Natasha. Pour the rest of it in the bath upstairs and take a long soak. It should help close up your wounds. You are welcome to rummage through my drawers for clean clothes."

"What happens if she takes more?" Bucky asked.

"Well all her injuries and even scars from her childhood will cease to exist. Every broken bone and illness will be cured," she shrugged as she relaxed against a wall stretching out her legs in front of her. She closed her eyes to allow the tension of the last hour to ease off her body as she absentmindedly stroked the cat that had now curled up contentedly beside her.

"That doesn't sound so bad," Natasha mused before carefully taking only the small sip she recommended.

"And then you die," the Witcher chuckled allowing a sharper than usual canine to peak out from her smile.

Bucky was not amused despite Natasha chuckling at the comment before making her way up the stairs. He was understandably wary of anything chemical to be put inside his body after what Hydra had done to him. Their host seemed to somehow sense this so made no move to offer him any concoction for his injuries.

"Bathroom's through the door behind you should you fancy a shower, Sergeant. There should be clothes in the cupboards too but they might be a tad tight. I'll go into town in the morning to purchase more appropriate wear for you and your friend. First aid kit is under the sink."

Bucky gave a small nod as he silently walked to the door she gestured to. As he meticulously washed the dirt and fatigue from his body, he found his thoughts straying to their unusual host. He had realized that her accent was classic old European, with the kind of vocabulary that prim and proper upper-class citizens used. What did not make sense though was how a European socialite would have the practiced ease of wielding a battle axe. Her cat eyes alone tipped him off that she was not merely human. The more he thought about it, the more everything he knew so far contradicted with each other. He was no closer to figuring her out when he stepped out of the bathroom adjusting the shirt and jeans that clung to him.

He saw the Witcher sound asleep on the floor, her head lolled to the side and her mouth softly parted. There were a million questions he wanted to ask her, but he couldn't bring himself to disrupt her peaceful sleep. He instead made his way to crash on the sofa. Sleep came to him as soon as his head met the arm rest. He drifted off with the Witcher's eerie eyes the last on his mind and a nagging feeling that there was something about her that was strangely familiar to him.

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