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purplemys · 2 years ago

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Clay Puppington and Cameron Campbell vs. Endeavor : Why I Like Their Character Writing and Not The Latter's

Clay from Moral Orel and Campbell from Camp Camp are from opposite ends of my Shitty Person Character spectrum.

My spontaneously-made scale for these characters include Disgusting But Interesting - Sympathetic (The Golden Area of my Morally Gray Characters) - Entertaining Scumbag.

Disgusting But Interesting

Clay is about as realistic as abusers come. He wasn't born evil, he isn't some spawn of hell, but he's definitely portrayed as a monster. The thing with Clay is that he's an abuse victim. His childish act of rebellion caused his mother to have a heart attack and since then his father resented him for what happened. His substitute for love is physical abuse. It's how he grew up, it's how his brain coped. And he knows this. He knows he's fucked up, he said so many times throughout the show, he's very aware of what his issues are and how to stop it.

You would think a character like Clay (sympathetic, realistic, self-aware) is a prime candidate for redemption and reconciliation with his family, esp Orel, his kind and forgiving son, yes? No. The ending, while somewhat rushed gave me such a good feeling. Orel didn't have to keep his father in his life to be "a kind and forgiving" person. Orel got to live happily ever after with Christina and break the long cycle of abuse which neither Clay nor Bloberta (the wife) broke once they got out of their abusive households. Orel honored his parents by keeping their photos in the new house, next to photos of his brothers who were equally abused and went on to be good people.

That's the main point with Clay, the conclusion to his and Orel's relationship, because this father-son dynamic is the main plot of the show. Anyway, back to Clayduring the entire show's run. Season 1 put a bit of a comedic spin on the scenes where Clay was threatening to beat Orel while he was drunk, to reflect how Orel saw the situation and the world in general, his mind wasn't registering the awful shit going around him yet, esp about his father. As the show goes on, the abuse dawns on Orel eventually. But we as the audience were always supposed to take the punishments very seriously, to see the alcohol, the belt and the twisted lectures Clay gave and immediately think "Abuse". None of that "Twisted form of care/love". None of that "It's a mistake". None of that "It's just how he is." The show makes it clear that this is abuse and this is a choice and he knows it.

Which is why he was never redeemed.

Entertaining Scumbag

Cameron Campbell doesn't really have a sad backstory like Clay but he gets to have a chance at a redemption arc in Season 3 and 4. I just find him to be entertaining as a side character. His list of crimes mean little in a show that's full of very violent or selfish characters (most of which are kids). The characters talk trash about him too. Only one of them really gives him a chance to change (Yes, the kindest of characters, my favorite, David). They even make it a point in the episode "Keep the Change", Campbell would never be able to change for the better because he's selfish through and through. Was Max (the protagonist) right about his assumption?

Well you see, Campbell in that episode when repeatedly urged by David to do good, he kept slipping back into his selfish and narcissistic ways. Like wanting to only give to charity for adoration and fame. All that. David rightfully calls him out for that. That's another thing, they repeatedly give him shit for the things he say or do, to make up for the lack of legal consequences for his crimes.

(One day I hope the thing with Jasper gets resolved though. It was an accident but the fact that Campbell was being negligent was another thing. That being said, another kid died in Gwen and David's care too. Talk about off-screen negligence.)

Anyway, "After Hours" shows Campbell for the first time without Gwen or David telling him what to do or how to run his own goddamn camp. The first glimpse of him doing nice things without thinking much about them. The plotline with Campbell ends with this cute scene here.

When David saw them and woke them up, he was likely about to compliment Campbell about how good he handled the situation or whatever, but Campbell cut him off and started complaining about the campers and grumbled about getting some sleep. Good, I don't want to hear another sappy speech about Campbell! It was a nice episode overall. :)

So that's the main point about Campbell. How the characters act around him.

Now about his backstory, as a contrast to Clay's. Campbell is selfish. Greedy. Self-absorbed. An asshole. Campbell used to have friends, a girlfriend, and a stable job. He was so good at his job that he was eligible for a Camp Corporation(?) Magazine at some point. Point is, he had it all and his greediness made him lose all of that. And he definitely wasn't getting any of that back.

The fame went to his old friends, Camp Corp. founders the Campwells, since he was always in hiding because tax evasion and other crimes. He can't have his camp back because he went to jail and his new punishment is to surrender his funds and services to David, who he wasn't respecting before being knocked down a few pegs. Lastly, when he and his girlfriend reunited and he asked if they could "pick up where they left off", she rightfully called him out for that being such a shit thing to ask after 17 years apart. They banged in the end of that episode but the rest was up to interpretation until maybe Season 5 (if ever).

So his redemption is funny and definitely not giving him things easy since it's not like he has the things he always wanted: Fame, Money, and Control.

Endeavor and Why I Just Hate Seeing Him On Screen and Why The Decision to Redeem Him is Ridiculous and If He's Simply "Atoning", then everything else surrounding this plot is Confusing

I think a lot of you already know this by now but I'm Filipino and from an abusive household. Our culture is all about community. The majority over the individual.

Abusers get away scot-free unless... you broadcast it to everyone. The radio, the television, to anywhere and everyone who will pay attention. What Dabi did was the only way to give his abuser some semblence of repercussions since his family surely wasn't going to do it. Because here's the thing, E slur wasn't just some random jackass breadwinner. He is an authority figure, with wealth to top it off. He had everything in his disposal to manipulate things in his favor.

Like bro, even then, even when everyone in the neighborhood knows your situation, no one is still going to step in because the decisions ultimately lie within the family. And they (my family) sure aren't going to do something because "This is just how things are" "This is how the matriarch is" "This is how our family deals with it"

I wouldn't be upset with E slur not getting legal repercussions if it's clear that the entire family straight up hate his guts and not even bother to associate with him in any way. None of this forced family dinners, none of this getting the family to talk to him. None of this Rei and Fuyumi giving him a chance. None of this invasion of space and boundaries (like hugging Natsuo or acquiring Shouto's number from Fuyumi, and if she gave it willingly, I find that uncomfortable).

Sometimes, we just live in resentment and no one here is happy because we simply can't. How can you when your entire existence revolves around a dream your parents never got or a life they never lived? Who can forgive when your very life hinges upon how useful and cooperative you are? That your presence only matters when you're not a burden? Because I sure can't.

I can't imagine if they were actual authority figures that will double the pressure on you because they have the media monitoring your entire family~

So how about the opposite? What if the family is indeed willing to give the selfish, extremely abusive, egotistical asshole a chance? (Not Natsuo, never him) Then why not have the media absolutely hound him. Have his coworkers scorn him, yes even Hawks who looked up to him and supported him. Have the entire world look at him and his entire posse with distrust, all of them. And the end of all this? Lose his hero license.

He can't have both.

Hell, he doesn't deserve either.

But if the narrative insists, then I'd rather he be a social outcast, esp by his own family.

Now about how he's treated within the story, you have all these characters pointing out how he's better, less of an asshole, "a changed man". Camp Camp did this for ONE episode. Because this is annoying. The man doing the bare minimum is so laughably sad. Especially all this was before the reveal of the abuse. And after the reveal, nothing. Crickets from the people who know of it. Those who do talk help nothing for this plot, like Hawks for example. 😬

It's important to note that Campbell is to David like E slur was to Keigo. Except Campbell and David did meet 14 years ago when he was 10.

The thing is though, that David grows out of this parasocial relationship with Campbell throughout the seasons. Hawks lately is Endeavor-san this Endeavor that, shut up. Jesus Christ. Like I know admiration. I know obsessive. It's not a cute look when you're 23 and supposed to be self-aware it is painful to watch unfold. Because I think a reveal like your idol (not even a friend) being such a scumbag can't have a Denial/Slow Burn Breakdown Reaction. And if the "It may be true but...I'm sure it's not like that anymore." is the final reaction/acknowledgement then 1) I've heard that before from irl 2) How are you SURE? Some random not-even-close-with-any-of-the-victims outsider? 3) Beyond underwhelming.

😬

Back to E slur, they never should have tried to give this man attention of any kind. He doesn't have a sympathetic background (not that I'd want him to) so he doesn't have anything to relate to. Yes, the """"inferiority complex"""" maybe but not everyone has the wealth and power at their disposal to buy a wife and coerce her to make children-

So he's not relatable, he's heinous, we're supposed to take his crimes seriously, so he's not even entertaining what else? He's doing a good job of atoning for his mistakes? He's a massive invasion of boundaries and that is uncomfortable.

1) Him giving Rei her favorite flowers.

My brother gave me a nice gesture once. Made me cry and everything. Wanna know why? Because this is the same dude who used to beat me with a broom stick! :D

Yes, abusers can do nice things omg shocker, do they deserve to get within 10 feet of you and then leave you presents, maybe even at an attempt at asking for forgiveness? Hell no. God that's spine-chlling. Because it could be genuine, and no one deserves to feel like they owe someone that kindness and forgiveness.

2) Him suddenly hugging Natsuo without regard for how Natsuo would react.

This is after years of neglect and subjecting him to domestic violence. This is him touching him just because, what, he was "scared of losing him"? Your child was just as likely to die from getting neglected or sheer stress and you're only worried now? Laughable and quite pathetic! I personally don't like getting grabbed without my consent, esp if it's someone who's hurt me before. Mother may have never hit me but I know what it feels like to be threatened. She gets mad when I get mad at her for suddenly grabbing me every now and then. I explicitly told her I hate getting physical. I'd hate to think how E slur would have reacted if Natsuo had the reaction time to flinch or shake him off. Again, uncomfortable.

3) Getting Shouto's number then bombarding him with messages.

If your kids don't want to talk to you, maybe stop pestering them? Maybe stop being such a nuisance? Maybe stop inserting yourself in their life whenever you can because you feel entitled to a chance? Or maybe get to know your kid first and that being he doesn't talk much to begin with so knock it off.

Again, if they never should have made him try. And if they insist, not like this.

My Aight Im tired. Goodnight.

#vent #tw abuse #tw domestic abuse #tw vent #tw suicide #just pure rambling #anti endeavor #anti todoroki enji #mha

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agentcable · 8 months ago

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Law & Order Season 21 Ep. 5 "Free Speech"

Bernard and Cosgrove are investigating the murder of a congressional candidate. Meanwhile, Price and Maroun are dealing with an extremist plot aimed at thwarting the candidate's agenda by any means necessary.

If you want to watch the series for yourself, stop reading! This post contains spoilers to the storyline.

During a debate between a conservative and a liberal, the conservative made an offensive claim that Democrats are running a secret pedophile ring. The liberal was offended and walked out. Later, two individuals were discussing the lack of civility and the inability to disagree peacefully when they witnessed someone being hit by a bus. The police were called as it was suspected that the person was pushed in front of the bus. The bus driver cannot describe the assailant because they were wearing a face mask. Cosgrove has obtained the bus camera footage.

The police are questioning the victim's wife, who describes Derek as a good person who was planning to run for Congress to make a difference. While the victim's children come running downstairs, she sends them away and explains that Derek got into an argument with a man who called him a liar and a phony. Derek pushed the man away.

During the interview, the second man claimed that he had an argument with Derek over a business transaction, but he still loved him. A few days before the incident, he met Derek for coffee and pledged a million dollars to his campaign.

The police investigated the security footage, which showed a suspect following them, but his face was not visible. The man is wearing a red baseball cap and a jacket with the NYPD 19 softball team logo.

He claims to have been hired to dig up dirt on Derek, but was unable to find anything. During an interview with the radio show host, he is asked how he can be of assistance, but he refuses to discuss why he hired a private investigator. He makes anti-left-wing jokes and presents himself as an antidote to left-wing elites that ordinary people do not care about.

The computer crimes show deleted emails between Derek and an underage girl.

Derek's wife disputes the claim and denies any involvement. She recognizes one of the girls.

The police interview the girl's father, who was angry about the photos. He confirms that Derek died before he could confront him. He identifies the other girl as a friend of his daughter. The other father realizes that the photos were photoshopped from a photo his wife posted.

During an investigation on a right-wing forum, the police discovered a post celebrating Hoyt's death. The suspect, Manny, was brought in for questioning as there was video footage of him shortly before Hoyt's murder. Manny claimed that Hoyt was the leader of a sex-trafficking group that was causing harm to the country. He stated that he acted out of love for his country. Manny was arrested and bail was set at 2 million due to a GoFundMe page created in his support.

Samantha discovers that someone has been spreading false information about Hoyt planning to abduct and traffic a young girl. The poster claims that someone needs to have the courage to stop the liberal cabal that is destroying the country. Price instructs Bernard and Cosgrove to identify the author of the message.

During a broadcast, the police interrupt and Reed delivers a speech on air, claiming that he is being persecuted for speaking out against liberals. He claims that the "black cop" is trying to threaten him and kicks them out. McCoy is told by Price that Reed is the poster and also communicated directly with the President. There can be no other reason for them to have talked other than a conspiracy as Reed was a richt 5th Avenue man and Lopez was a day laborer.

The DA's office tries to negotiate a deal witz Lopez. Lopez mentions discussing left-wing fascists and describes Reed as a good person. Samantha informs him that Reed was lying. Manny's lawyer advises him to prioritize his own safety over protecting Reed. Manny claims that Reed stated Hoyt was a threat and that action was necessary to neutralize him.

During the arraignment, Reed's attorney argues that Reed has not committed any crime. Protesters are outside demanding Reed's release.

During the opening statement, Nolan accuses Reed of monetizing hatred and outrage and manipulating Manny to kill Hoyt. The defense attorney argues that the case is simple but confusing. Manny, not Reed, killed Hoyt, and this is a criminalization of free speech. He compares it to hating a sports team and saying the coach should die, and someone killing him.

Price receives a notification and has to go to the hospital. It appears that Lopez committed suicide in his cell.

Reed's attorney argues that the case should be dismissed because Manny was the entire case. Price agrees to drop the murder-for-hire charge but wants to proceed with Murder 2 under the theory of depraved indifference to human life. The defense attorney argues that this is all covered under freedom of speech. The judge agrees that Price has a case.

During the court proceedings, evidence was presented to prove that the photos were sent from Reed's computer. However, during cross-examination, the defense attorney argued that there was no conclusive evidence to prove that Reed was the one who made the posts, as someone else could have used his computer.

Samantha believes that more evidence is required to prove that Reed was aware of Manny's intentions to kill Hoyt, based on his online posts. Price acknowledges that they have the available evidence. Samantha considers this to be a significant breakthrough. Price discovers that Manny attended three rallies where Reed was a speaker. They interview another attendee who claims that the discussions were limited to sports and other unrelated topics, and never mentioned Hoyt. Samantha believes that they should hand it over to the defense, while Price argues that they need to find a way to win the case.

During the trial, the defense attorney calls a witness who claims that Reed never mentioned Hoyt. Instead, they discussed their frustration with liberals who do not allow them to express their opinions.

Price cross-examines Reed regarding his weekly rallies. Price requests a subpoena for the phones, surveillance footage, and other related materials. Samantha objects, stating that it is too late as they have already rested.

Reed testifies that he never participated in online discussions and suggests that it may have been an employee who used his computer. During cross-examination, the defendant claimed that he never closed his door and had the password available next to his computer. He also delivered a speech about the importance of freedom of speech and expressed his desire to avoid any violence. The defense attorney objected to the introduction of the video, as it would directly contradict the defendant's statement. Price argued that the video should be allowed. Reed was recorded saying that if some individuals were to kill a liberal, it would make their media company the number one in the world. Reed claimed it was a joke.

He was found guilty and attempted to slap his attorney. He shouted about how the true patriots would win.

#USA #TV Serie #Crime #Drama #2022 #Law and Order

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urbtnews · 1 year ago

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Exploring BRICS Expansion

Exploring BRICS expansion. On June 16, 2009, the 1st BRIC summit was held in Yekaterinburg, Russia, following a series of high-level meetings. The BRICS bloc was formed in response to the changing global economic landscape to encourage cooperation on common challenges to challenge the West's hegemony. South Africa joined the predecessor BRIC to form BRICS in 2010. The acronym BRICS refers to the powerful grouping of the world's leading emerging market economies, which include Brazil, Russia, India, China, and South Africa. Goldman Sachs economist Jim O'Neill coined the term "BRIC" or "the BRICs" in 2001 to describe fast-growing economies that he predicted would collectively dominate the global economy by 2050. Representatives from the BRICS emerging group gathered in Johannesburg for their 15th summit, the first in-person since the COVID-19 pandemic began. DOWNLOAD THE URBT NEWS APP BRICS Expansion The BRICS summit ended on a high note, with the alliance welcoming six new members. These meetings are generally held to improve the economic conditions of the BRICS countries. They also provide their leaders with the opportunity to collaborate on these efforts. When the delegations arrived in Johannesburg, all but one country had an initial list of candidates for membership. BRICS leaders have decided to invite six more countries to join their alliance. Argentina, Egypt, Ethiopia, Iran, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates have been invited to join BRICS. This is according to South African President Cyril Ramaphosa, who hosted a three-day meeting of the emerging markets group this week in Johannesburg. Their accession will take effect on January 1, 2024. "We value the interest of other countries in building a partnership with BRICS," Ramaphosa said. "We have tasked our Foreign Ministers to develop the BRICS partner country model further and a list of prospective partner countries and report by the next Summit." Russian President Vladimir Putin chose not to attend the summit because he faces arrest under a war crimes indictment issued by the International Criminal Court in The Hague for Russia's invasion of Ukraine. He chose to participate virtually instead, sending a video message. The decision to broaden the group reflects a lack of progress in deepening the existing BRICS alliance, which, despite accounting for one-third of global GDP, has diverging interests ranging from China's rise as a global superpower to India's nonalignment to Brazil's status as a farm exporter. Some new members, most notably Saudi Arabia and Iran, have a history of strained relations, with little prospect of coherence beyond strengthening the bloc's representation of the Middle East and Africa. DOWNLOAD THE URBT NEWS APP The US and Germany React PICUTRE: (From left to right) Germany and United States flag waving against the backdrop of a partially cloudy sky. PHOTO: COURTESY OF: Freepik. Exploring BRICS Expansion. Earlier this month, it was reported that more than 40 countries, including Iran, Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Argentina, Algeria, Bolivia, Indonesia, Egypt, Ethiopia, Cuba, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, the Comoros, Gabon, and Kazakhstan, had expressed interest in joining the forum, according to 2023 summit chair South Africa. The United States, Europe, and other Western allies are closely monitoring the BRICS expansion and de-dollarization agenda. The United States, Germany, and the European Union have responded to the recent BRICS expansion and de-dollarization efforts. A Word from the White House Karine Jean-Pierre, the White House Press Secretary, stated that the United States will not prevent other countries from selecting trading partners. She emphasized that the US's focus is on trade with all countries and that the US will not interfere in their internal affairs. "US policy does not ask our partners to choose between the United States and other countries. We have repeatedly emphasized that the US does not want to limit countries' partnerships with other countries. But we want countries to have choices on delivering results to their citizens as well," she said. Germany's Foreign Minister Speaks BRICS expansion does not concern Germany, according to Foreign Minister Annalena Baerbock. BRICS expansion does not worry Berlin. She emphasized that all countries can form alliances based on their national interests. "In times like these, every country in the world is aware of the importance of cooperation and partnership," she said. "Every country must keep asking itself: Which partnership best suits its own values and interests? Which are of most benefit to it in the long run?" Baerbock stated that Germany has communication channels and trade agreements with all BRICS members except Iran. She also noted that the European Union is willing to partner with BRICS members. As a result, the BRICS expansion has had no effect on global markets for the United States and Germany. DOWNLOAD THE URBT NEWS APP BRICS: Exploring The Potential Exploring BRICS Expansion. The potential impact of BRICS includes strengthening economic integration within BRICS, reducing the influence of the US on the global stage, weakening the standing of the US dollar as a global reserve currency, implications for a more multipolar world economy, challenges and opportunities for the United States, impact on the US dollar’s value, BRICS expansion and economic changes, potential effects on global financial affairs, expert opinions and predictions, and potential implications for dollar denominated debt. Strengthening Economic Integration within BRICS A unified BRICS currency would undeniably strengthen economic cooperation among its member countries. The increased ease of trade and cross-border transactions may spur economic growth, fostering stronger ties and partnerships among the BRICS nations. Reducing the Influence of the US on the Global Stage The US dollar wields enormous power in international affairs. Introducing a BRICS currency could erode this dominance, putting the US's ability to use economic strength as a tool for geopolitical influence in jeopardy. Weakening the Standing of the US Dollar as a Global Reserve Currency Suppose BRICS nations choose to hold significant portions of their foreign reserves in their new currency. The US dollar's dominance as a global reserve currency may be challenged in that case. This shift could cause the dollar's value to fall, altering global trade dynamics. Implications for a More Multipolar World Economy The world may be undergoing a shift toward a more multipolar economic structure. Introducing a BRICS currency would diversify reserve currency options, paving the way for a more balanced and equitable global financial system. Challenges and Opportunities for the United States Suppose a BRICS reserve currency becomes a reality. In that case, the US may face diminished global influence challenges. Still, the actual impact will depend on various geopolitical and economic factors. Nonetheless, it may open up new trade and investment opportunities with BRICS nations, fostering mutual growth. Impact on the US Dollar’s Value The BRICS nations' collective decision to manage their vast foreign exchange reserves may have implications for the value of the US dollar. There are several possible outcomes, ranging from no impact to significant dollar depreciation. BRICS Expansion and Economic Changes Its economic and political clout will grow as the BRICS grouping expands to include more countries. Such an expansion could put the US's economic dominance under further strain. Potential Effects and Economic Changes The emergence of the BRICS currency can potentially restructure global financial systems. The implications could range from reshaping trade agreements to influencing the operations of international financial institutions. Expert Opinions and Predictions The academic and financial sectors have differing perspectives on the potential impact of the BRICS currency on the US economy. Experts are scrutinizing every detail of the evolving situation. Potential Implications for Dollar Denominated Debt Countries with significant dollar-denominated debts may see a BRICS currency as a way to alleviate their burdens. However, potential fluctuations in the value of the new currency could introduce risks. BRICS and the United Nations The BRICS have been vocal in their support for the UN architecture, viewing it as a means of mitigating the influence of 'Western' forms of intervention. In essence, they have all become key players in the UN system's operations. Analysts believe that while the BRICS nations' clout is likely to grow, the bloc is more likely to offer piecemeal economic and diplomatic alternatives to the US-led global order than to dramatically replace it. This could lead to more tensions with the West as the grouping's leaders seek to chart their own course in an uncertain world. However, in order to remain effective, the BRICS will need to manage the disparate priorities of its member countries, which will be a difficult challenge for the grouping to overcome. The Waiting Game This new environment gives the world's nations with relatively low economic and industrial development options for responding to rising tensions among major powers and positioning their countries amid excellent power competition. Prospective members are attracted to BRICS because they do not have to commit to an alliance. Experts say that tangible economic benefits may be some time away. Still, the symbolic benefit of joining an alliance separate from, or opposed to, Western interests is significant. DOWNLOAD THE URBT NEWS APP Exploring BRICS Expansion Read the full article

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replicantdeviancy · 4 months ago

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Perhaps it was the late hour or the lack of sleep getting to him, for as unmistakably proper as this rather tall gentleman was, Connor couldn't help the wariness that he held towards him. There was just something disconcerting, beneath the effortless poise & polite warmth, that kept the detective’s hackles up. He showed none of it, his own passive charm on display. The very same practiced demeanor that had served him well in his line of work, as it put others at ease & made the young man appear harmless. However it may have seemed, by no means did Connor lower his guard, even as he released a slow breath which carried with it all of the previous tension built up in his body from his initial startle, & a calm but faint smile tugged at his features. “—So you’re the cousin he’s been in contact with.” The priest had informed him at one point or another that he was communicating with a relative in London, sending him candid photos from their travels as though this lengthy, work related venture were a vacation.

To the detective, it was, though that could be put up to a matter of opinion. When one considered just how much the young man strived to overwork himself on a regular basis, any sort of trip was a vacation, even if he had been spending most of it researching for his lover’s assignments. Connor had learned more about the supernatural in the last few months than he had ever known for the whole of his twenty-six years of life. Which in that instance was what convinced him that he was overthinking things when it came to this sudden introduction to one of James’ relations. Supernatural entities had been on his mind day & night, the priest filling his head with so much paranormal information, warning him against all sorts of otherworldly evils which allegedly existed. The detective figured that he was just being paranoid, yet he continued to remain vigilant, even as he slowly closed that gap between himself & the man whom resembled his lover to a striking degree.

“Please, call me Connor. There’s no need to be formal with me, especially if you’re family.” That offered hand was taken into a firm hold to shake, pleasant expression warmed by the faint widening of his smile. If ever there had been a man who made Connor of all people feel short, it was this one. James was already a couple inches taller than himself, which was especially appreciated when the older man kissed him, but in order to look the doctor in the eye, the detective had to crane his slender neck just a bit. Not a very common experience. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Reid.” A small nod in greetings as Connors hand fell to his side. The other held onto his book, bringing it to tuck against his chest as he took a step back. An illusion of polite distance, though he was still wary. Certainly not the type to be easily caught off guard, even when fatigued.

“Though I’m guessing that James neglected to mention that I’m from Detroit.” The quip held a teasing air to it. A tactful response, as the detective was the type of person to choose his words with care & was mindful of the impression he made towards others. Every interaction calculated towards an advantage, for himself or others. Right now, he wanted to be on his very best behavior so as not to embarrass James in any way. As far as Connor knew, the priest didn’t have much in the way of family, so every relationship mattered. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help the mildly sardonic bemusement stirred by the doctor’s vocalized concerns. He suspected that the dauntless protectiveness that he admired of James was something of a common family trait. He chuckled lightly at the thought.

“I’m not worried about walking alone at night. London is a lot safer than certain districts in my city.” Far less gang activity & drug running, though the detective was aware of the spikes in crimes over the years throughout London. At least it was far more difficult to obtain firearms in the UK, but that didn’t make it perfectly safe. Humanity has a way of surprising even the most seasoned of law enforcement. In that regard, he couldn’t necessarily fault this cordial relation. “But, the concern is appreciated,” he assured, not wanting to come off as ungrateful. Though he was more than capable of taking care of himself, Connor didn’t mind being looked after.

It wasn't an overly regular occurrence to hear from his distant cousin, not that the pair didn't like one another, they just found their lives, or life and unlife, tended to be rather busy and neither one of them had a great deal of time to be calling one another and chatting constantly unless it was absolutely necessary. Upon returning to the British Isles, James had reached out, simply throwing the Ekon a message to say that he was there and that he'd even be spending some time in London where Jonathan had recently returned to as well after last living there back before and a few years after the First World War.

As a vampire, he tended to move from place to place, spending around a decade somewhere and then he'd up and leave before anyone took notice that the passage of time had no effect on the incredibly pale man's appearance. But being back home had warmed his now silent heart, and that was despite how different the city was from the one he'd grown up in. There were hints of the city he'd once known here and there, but he was sure that even the general feel of it had changed. Though was that really much of a surprise after a century? As much as the Londoner had loved his city, it had also brought him a great deal of sorrow when walking the streets that had looked exactly the same, as if reminding him of happier days. Now, it was different, evolved, snippets of memories here and there rather than being engulfed as a whole and spat out.

Or was it just another reminder of how old he was? How the world around him changed and grew while he stood in the shadows like a statue.

With the news that James would be there, and would bring a partner, that insatiable curiosity of the creature bubbled to the surface, maybe something almost paternal about it. He'd come to learn more about the Northerner the longer they'd known one another, secrets never stayed that way for long when Jonathan Reid was around, despite carrying so many of his own. James had known what he was within an instant, while Jonathan had been able to pinpoint the sort of man James was just as easily. The pair found it both amusing and somewhat perplexing.

For the time being, however, he'd decided to give them some room, they hadn't travelled halfway across the world to see him, after all. So, as the good doctor concluded the last of his visits to patient's houses, a familiar face had caught him off guard. He'd seen pictures of James and this -- - Detective Connor Arkeit, the older man sending his cousin a few snaps of their travels every now and then as if letting the nocturnal being feel as though he were part of a family again. It was pleasant, a nice notion to give him an extra boost during the day, or night. Yet when he saw that face, the name falling between his lips, a slight but gentlemanly smile claimed his pale features, only furthered by the quiet amusement of being mistaken for his far younger family member.

The irony being that it was the one with silver creeping into his dark hair who was the younger of the two -- - and by quite a lot.

That was to be expected, the two did share strikingly similar appearances, despite time only touching one of them. "My sincerest apologies, Sir." He began, bowing his head in apology. "Please, allow me to introduce myself." Came a very well-spoken voice, one so smooth as if it were the vocal interpretation of melted milk chocolate with an accent far too posh and antiquated to be the younger Northerner. That, and the Ekon stood at a towering 6'5" with an extremely thin figure beneath a finely tailored three-piece suit and tie and golden watch with its chain hanging outside his waistcoat pocket. Not really the everyday attire that James went for. Or the relatively recent scars that marked his face, one over the bridge of his nose and a long gash along his left cheek. "I'm Dr. Jonathan Reid." He greeted, offering out a pale malnourished hand, hoping that the slight chill in the air would be enough of an excuse for his eternally cold skin. There was a running joke that all doctors seemed to have cold hands so he only further exaggerated and welcomed the claim. "I am a cousin of Fr. James. A... distant one, admittedly, but a cousin, all the same." It was the truth, after all, he just left out the part that he was born in 1886. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear fellow. Though... I must admit that it does concern me that you find yourself wandering the streets of London at this time of night? And alone, no less."

#undeadunalive #˾ ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ & ᴄɪɢᴀʀᴇᴛᴛᴇꜱ ̚ ;; ⁱ ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳ ʷʰʸ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᵃ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ⁱ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵇᵘⁱˡᵈ ᵒʳ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵗᵉ.▐ ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ #{I’m really glad that you like it! I had an idea brewing for a day or so but it finally came together.}#{James just like why are my ears burning?}#{Connor is just being a skeptic but also his intuition is incredibly strong.}#{Johnathan seems like a very posh & kind bloke but Con thinks he’s sussy af.}#{Please excuse any typos. I wrote this at work in between plane assignments.}

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attina-the-responsible · 6 years ago

Photo

♥ 273 likes

starfishgirl: me: you’ve something on your lip? him: what? #akeeper @percygoldthwait

[@panicked-percy]

#bdrpinsta #siren #siren stuff #the LAck of candid #brendon photos is #truly a crime on this earth

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whosscruffylooking · 4 years ago

Text

The Purest Things-Something There

Warnings: Mentions of murder. Canon-typical violence.

Word Count: 2.5k

a/n: i am so beyond sorry that it has taken this long to get another chapter out. this doesn’t follow my post schedule that i had previously given, but hopefully this can be a good place holder till later this week.

The Purest Things Masterlist

May 2008

Bookend: "It took me quite a long time to develop a voice, and now that I have it, I am not going to be silent." -Madeleine Albright

"There's no way I'm doing that," you rebuttal, "Hotch? Tell them it's a ridiculous idea." He stays silent, but his mouth twitches slightly.

Oh, you son of a-

"Richards is a classic narcissist. The challenge of facing a tough, fearless, and intelligent woman will give him his high. Narcissists are drawn to goal-oriented women, women who are resilient, adaptable, yet decisive. Show him that you are a good listener, but don't praise him."

"Think of him like a wild animal," Spencer adds, "You don't feed zoo animals because they are unpredictable. Remember, narcissists have an extraordinary sense of self, and when you praise his ego, you enable his unstable and feeble mind. He doesn't hear praise; he hears how much better he is than you. If you don't feed the beast, he won't have the stamina to combat your confidence later."

"Once you disarm him, I'll come in and challenge his confidence," Hotch concludes.

Could you have said that less attractively? That would have been more helpful.

Aaron cheekily smirks as if reading your mind but quickly looks away. You wish you didn't blush so fast-that you had some sense to keep your emotions to yourself. In a second, your cheeks are rosy, and you are convinced that everyone in the room can perceive your feelings as if you wrote them on little notes and passed them around.

You grunt and roll your eyes, "I hate all of you."

Derek snaps his fingers at you, "Lose the jacket."

"All men are pigs," you spit while removing your blazer, leaving you in a fitted tank top and your tight-legged jeans that hug your curves in all of the right places.

Derek wolf whistles at you, and you hurl your jacket at him. Aaron lets his eyes slide up and down your body, his gaze lasting longer than it should. He swears that as you stride into the interrogation room, your hips swing a bit farther side to side than usual. It is the very action that radiates courage, a mind coupled perfectly with itself and the world around it, concentrated and solemn.

Typically, Hotch would divert the task of adulating a narcissist to Prentiss, but he knows if anyone can take command of someone's attention, it's you. How does he know? Because you captivate him far more often than he cares to admit, defying his very being with every interaction. You are a secret weapon that he wants to keep concealed until you can allow your talents to shine genuinely. Aaron knows that now is your moment. ++++ "What is it that I am being accused of? Fraud? Embezzling?" The sharp-dressed businessman questions; his gaze is straying further below your eyes than you care for.

Pig.

You throw a file down on the medal table, and it slides across, stopping right in front of the man, successfully redirecting his stare somewhere other than your chest.

"Try murder."

His eyes widen, "You're joking. Come on, where are the hidden cameras? I'm ready for you to yell candid camera now! I am Milton Richards, for god's sake!"

"I don't know!" You shrug your shoulders. "Why don't you explain this to me, Mr. Richards. I'm just as confused as you are. What reason could a successful, charming, handsome, wealthy business mogul like yourself possibly have to kill someone?"

"Oh please," Richards scoffs, "This isn't an interrogation. You've already pegged me as guilty."

"I don't agree, but you have the right to feel how you feel."

He purses his lips, leaning as far away from you as physically possible while handcuffed to the table.

"Milton, why did you try to escape a moving vehicle when my team apprehended you?"

"Just felt like it, I guess," he shrugs mockingly.

"So, something just randomly compelled you to flee the custody of a federal agent?"

Richards leers at you. You stand up and walk around the table, leaning down next to him, "I get it. I do. You're a suave, wealthy, and ruthless business tyrant. You have to cover your tracks-do what it takes to survive."

He raises his eyebrow, turning to face you, your faces mere inches from each other. I got you now.

"Trust me. I know probably better than anyone what it takes to maintain a position you fought your entire life for. I'm a woman; I had to claw my way into the F.B.I. Do you think it's easy being surrounded by a team filled with uncontrolled testosterone? Womanhood requires balls; I see you keep your balls in your pants, cool, cool. Mine are on my chest, up top. As you've so duly noticed."

His eyes flicker to the aforementioned area, and you restrain yourself from gagging.

"And you know what, Richards? I use them every day of my life. Because in my line of business, sometimes I have to take the backdoor to get things done. Why do I get the sense that you were the same way before you became Mr. Wolf of Wall Street? How else does a kid who grew up in the projects become a multi-millionaire mogul by 27?"

"We both know what the other is capable of. C'mon, let's show each other a bit of respect here. No games, let's be upfront with each other," you appeal. ++++ Aaron watches as you work the room like it is your stage. You play the part perfectly. He admires your ability to absorb things and then responded rather than immediately react to douse firey circumstances rather than add to the flames.

Derek finds himself next to Aaron, smugly observing Aaron's visible fascination with you.

"She's fantastic, Hotch," Derek beams with pride. Hotch holds his breath behind pursed lips in an attempt to barricade himself from the feelings of foolish jealousy he feels creeping up.

I know she is. I think I recognize it a little too well.

Aaron knows that Derek will be scrutinizing his reaction to the commendation and refrains from responding.

Of course, Derek reads this lack of a reaction as a response itself. And he finds it strangely amusing. ++++ "Here's what I think happened," you twirl your finger around the manilla file, "I think you were having some money troubles and your top investors caught onto your little games. When you sat down, you volunteered the crimes fraud and embezzlement as reasons you assumed we brought you into custody. You listed them like they are apparent reasons for us to charge you. Those are two areas you are clearly willing to take the fall for and have cause to oblige by."

Opening the file, a photograph is revealed within of a murder victim. Richards shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stifling a cough.

"Do you know this man?"

"N-no," he claims as his eyes flutter from the photo to his hands.

Surprised by his blatant tell, you glance back at the two-way mirror.

Turning back to the suspect with a newfound spark in your eyes, you press harder, "Strike one. Try again."

"Excuse me?"

"The man in the image is Walter Barone, the C.E.O. of Jameson Whitely Associates...your accounting firm. Your company was going bankrupt, Milton. There was nowhere left for you to turn. So, do you want to try that again? This time, answer my questions directly and honestly."

"Walt had a reserve saved for me worth $5 million. Last week when I approached him about dipping into the fund to keep the company afloat, he withheld it. I wouldn't kill him for it, though."

"Well, see, that's the problem here, Milton. When he was found, that little reserve of yours was nowhere to be found. Naturally, you can assume where my mind goes when I try and put two and two together, right?"

"I told you," he says, clearly provoked by your accusation, "I wouldn't...didn't kill him."

"Wasn't it you, in your book, right? Who said, 'It's surprising what a man will do when properly motivated?' I don't know about you, but losing everything you'd ever worked for and having your one saving grace held from you seems like pretty good motivation."

Silence. "Oh, come on, Milton, now is not the time to act so arrogant!"

He slams his fists on the table; you abstain from being startled in an attempt to show him no fear.

Wild animals can smell fear.

"Arrogant, huh? Why don't you step up and prove me wrong? Prove you're better than me. You despise me for being successful; I despise you for your assumption that you could waltz in here like a tramp and seduce me into giving myself up. What? Too harsh? I'm not sure you and I are even the same species."

Hotch bursts into the room, and you quickly signal for him to stand down. I've got this.

He gives you a prideful wink. I know you do.

Somehow Aaron being in the room gives you that last little push to conclude this grand performance of yours. Slowly, you begin clapping dramatically for his little one-person comedy act. He certainly knows how to play the fool.

"Is that a dare? Challenge accepted. Your entire life, you have suffered from a disease... a fragile ego. You have built these walls of detachment so that you can conveniently solicit status to hide your true, weak self. You lash out because you feel it compensates for your insecurities."

"The truth is, despite being at the top of the corporate chain, every day you lead the life of a loser. You are willing to destroy people psychically, emotionally, and mentally. And you view that as a cause for celebration. You are the embodiment of a loser and abject failure."

Hotch touches the small of your back; you shiver at the sudden warmth that fills your body in reaction to it. He hands you a piece of paper, one that seals Richards' conviction.

"Milton Richards, you are under arrest for the murder of Walter Barone, Hank Simmons, Frankie Lisbon, and Jillian Ryder."

Hotch motions for you to do the honors.

"By all means, lead the way."

Holding yourself proud and tall, you waltz over to Milton and hoist him out of his chair. Inclining your lips to his ear, you tell him contemptuously, "You lose." ++++ "Way to go, superstar! You had us all on the edge of our seats," Derek says, wrapping his muscular arms around you. You breathe in his cologne and savor the sensation of being in his arms.

Since the day you met Morgan, you've felt a draw to him. Not in a romantic way, though you proudly admit he is hands-down one of the most gorgeous men to set foot on earth. He gives you the feeling of safety, warmth, and brotherly love. His hugs rejuvenate you after a long day of work, and you see to it that neither of you leaves the office without receiving your signature embraces.

Aaron observes you and Derek's shared embrace from the shelter of his office. Before he can comprehend his movements, his legs carry him to the terrace overlooking the bullpen.

What do you think you're doing, Hotch? Pull yourself together. They’re friends. Just like you and her are.

Dismissing his inner voice of reason, he calls out to you, "Y/L/N. See me in my office."

You grimace at his tone of voice but abide by his request.

Derek chuckles, "Green is not that man's color."

"What?" You turn to him, confused.

"Goodnight, superstar."

"Night, handsome," you blow him a kiss, trying to brush his comment out of your mind. ++++ "You summoned?"

Aaron's whiskey-colored eyes meet yours. The tempo of your heart quickens like a metronome.

"You did a phenomenal job in there."

"I've learned from the best." You. I've learned from you.

He clears his throat, "Those things you said...a-about the men on this team. Is that how you truly feel?"

Shocked by his willingness to believe such a misleading statement, you gasp and close the distance between the two of you.

You must have some nerve to believe that I would ever view you as anything other than the most upstanding man I've ever met.

"Aaron, what I said in there is further than the truth than I would have liked to have strayed. In fact, it was with you that I finally felt equal as a human being-like someone recognized me for my intellect and self-worth. A woman can't acquire that regardless of how 'equal' this world claims to be."

Aaron finds himself lost in your eyes, absorbing every meaning behind your words.

"It was a freeing feeling having someone I respect so highly show me similar respect."

No. Don't stop talking. Please. Hotch blushes at his inner monologue, incapable of comprehending precisely what kind of influence you hold on him.

"Anyway," you laugh, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in your face, "Sorry for my little tangent."

"No," Hotch interjects firmly, "Never apologize for expressing your feelings. I assured you last year that I'll always be available as a sounding board for you. That offer still stands."

Your gaze softens as you study him, his intentions, his mannerisms. He notices your pupils dilate, and it commences a chain reaction within his veins. To him, it's not the fact that you radiate beauty on the outside. Sure, you are physically fit and put in the effort to maintain your appearance. Naturally, that would be why someone like Derek Morgan would have you on his radar.

But, Aaron has gradually grown accustomed to the kindness that you seem to reserve just for him. He sees the differences between how you act around the team versus when you step inside his office or are alone in the car with him, even the way your confidence elevates when he walks into the interrogation room.

These differences aren't unique to just you, though. Aaron notices the same changes in himself when he is around you. Never did he expect to go home from work and lie in bed thinking about the way your eyes strayed on his for a moment too long, or how as he completed paperwork at his desk, he'd replay in his mind a cheesy joke you told the team. He knows how you like your coffee from observing you in the break room one too many times.

One cream, two sugars.

Your laughter warms his body from the inside out. When you talk about your favorite comic book with Prentiss and Morgan, the twinkle in your eye never fails to bring a smile to his face. He knows that you hate getting out of the car when it rains because your perfectly straightened hair that you spent god knows how long on will undoubtedly curl.

His changes were less evident on the outside. But, he knew that deep down, there is something there that wasn't there before.

Tag List:

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internalsealpanic · 4 years ago

Text

Better Die Than Doubt

Summary: You wince knowing he’s already noticed. You feel the tiniest bit more at ease as he approaches your booth but it didn’t stop your eyes from flickering and searching for something off in the environment. The creeping sense of being watched trails up your spine. You’re sure.

A/n: To no one’s shock, this entire fic was unplanned. I was possessed by the urge to make it (translation: I got the urge to write this and one of my enablers said do it). This story should be treated more or less as a horror story. Nothing is being glorified here except how dorky Jason is. That being said, PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS. This fic contains quite a few triggering things and I really don’t want you to be blindsided. Also thanks to @knightfall05x for helping me write this whole thing. Thanks to @batarella (HOE) for action writing tips.

Warnings: graphic violence, stalking, emotional manipulation, unhealthy coping mechanisms, drugging, nongraphic description of rape, and rape aftermath

masterlist

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes. You could practically feel the oncoming headache the way you could sense someone coming down the hall. This is what happens when you’re running on just 5 hours of restless sleep for the last few days. This headache was also not helped by the fact that this was your fifth coffee in the past 30 minutes. You probably should not be drinking this much caffeine this late but intelligent decisions weren’t exactly your strong suit this week. You rub the sides of your forehead feeling another wave of nausea.

You check the time again and groan. It’s been one-and-a-half hours since your agreed upon time had lapsed and yet one Jason Peter Todd was nowhere to be seen. You curse, nerves edging, and mind fraying. To be perfectly fair to him, he is a busy guy, vigilante, and all. You understood that fairly well- and this was sudden to say the least. You can’t really fault him for being a bit late but the long wait was ratcheting up your anxiety. Again, the coffee didn’t help but considering it was the only thing you could keep down since last night, you didn’t have much choice.

Last night.

Your stomach tumbled. You cup your hand over your mouth feeling your coffee traveling back up your esophagus. You let out a long exasperated breath, letting yourself sink into the booth. You look out the window, eyes flickering wildly searching for Jason. Your hands tighten around your mug. The feeling of being watched made you bristle.

Jason, well, Jason wasn’t hard to spot. The man was 6 feet 4 inches of pure muscle and leather. Having a handsome face and a ‘fuck you’ look in his eyes also helped. In short, the man was hard to ignore. You wave weakly to him as he dismounts his bike, a gesture far too small for your usual bombastic self. Jason’s smarmy smile greets you as he returns the gesture with his gloved hand. The motion is slow and cautious, rickety in a way. You wince knowing he’s already noticed. You feel the tiniest bit more at ease as he approaches your booth but it didn’t stop your eyes from flickering and searching for something off in the environment. The creeping sense of being watched trails up your spine. You’re sure.

“Jesus, y/n, you look like Timbo” Jason chuckles sliding into the booth his green eyes shining with scrutiny. You look at him flatly not having enough energy to properly respond to his jab. He winces seeing your lack of reaction. “Rough night, huh?” He asks flagging down a waitress, who looked quite pleased to get away from her previous table.

You nod weakly, slowly as if the fact that it had been a rough couple of days had just sunk in. “Yeah,” you reply, your voice small and a little threadbare. You drum your fingers against your increasingly cold mug. The waitress sets a couple of warm mugs in front of you. Her soft smile makes you uneasy. You and Jason mutter a thanks as she tells you to wave her over if you need anything else. Her warm brown eyes boring into the stark purple bruise on your face. You shrink and smile sheepishly at her.

“I’m fi-”

“I am going to throw these sugar packets at you if you say you’re fine.”

“Damn, ok, Mr.Kettle,” You laugh. His concern startles a genuine laugh out of you. You’re sincerely surprised how lively the sound that comes out of you is. “You know if you keep sounding like that, Jay, you’re gonna wreck the whole stone-cold badass thing you got going,”

“Y/n..”

You huff running your hand through your disheveled hair, trying in vain, to soothe your mind. What was the best way to put it? You swallowed, gathering your lapsing thoughts. “Sooo uh-” The collar of your shirt suddenly felt tight around your neck. “-I-” You breathe. “-I found around 4 or 5 of Blackmask’s boys and Deathstroke-No, I’m not shitting you- in my- my apartment for- well- the third time in the last two months, can I crash at your place? Just ‘til I find a new place. Oh and also how do I get rid of them?”

He blinks as his brain takes its sweet fucking time digesting what you had just said. He leans back groaning and running his hands over his face. He looks like he’d like to deck you if he wasn’t too busy being concerned for your welfare. You shrink again, feeling bad for springing it on him. The decision to leave out the gory details of your hectic week suddenly felt like the wisest choice but you had no doubt he’ll get it out of you at some point.

“I’ll skip the obvious ‘why did you wait three times before moving’ question because I feel like I’m probably going to get an aneurysm from your answer,” Your reasoning wasn’t quite that stupid. You were mucking about Sionis’s operation. The fucker decided to branch out his little enterprise into your city and like hell, you were gonna leave well enough alone. After you had set fire to one of his warehouses, you thought that would explain the False Facers. But Deathstroke? Deathstroke was a mystery. You’ve also been mucking about his business but you two have always been civil if not friendly. Frenemies of sorts, you guessed. You’ve been encountering him a lot in the last few days. You had figured that Blackmask had hired him but considering he threw two men out of your apartment window last night, you’re not entirely sure. You make an affronted noise that Jason elects to ignore.

“What did they do?”

“Aside from necessitating a visit to IKEA? Nothing.”

“Did they take anything? Leave a message?”

“Nope, nothing-” You furrow your brow trying to recall. You shake your head. “-They just made sure I knew they broke in.” You add, shrugging your shoulder. You wince at the movement. Your shoulder still aches from being hit with a bat. Jason’s shoulders shift, moving as if to reach out to you but stops himself. Instead, he continues with his line of questioning. “Sweetheart, there’s gotta be something missing.”

You frown, biting your cheek. Jason rests his chin on his hand, green eyes watching you and urging you to think back. It was either the weight of his gaze or the lack of sleep that was making it hard to recall. You close your eyes and catalog your belongings, analyzing the mental picture you have like a crime scene like how he taught you months ago, breaking it down into the smallest pieces of information and bringing it back into a bigger picture. Still, nothing. Nothing of note was missing. You shake your head and shrug your uninjured shoulder. Jason glares at the immobile one. You shake your head silently telling him it wasn’t from last night which just made him clench his jaw.

“Evidence?”

You shake your head. He frowns baffled.

“Tech?”

You shake your head again.

“Anything personal?” He asks jokingly.

“I-” A cold horror washes over you trailed by embarrassment. Your vibrator had been missing and so were a couple of your lingerie sets. You feel your stomach drop to the floor. “Oh god, Jay- I- Please, let me stay with you.”

“And have them steal my stuff?” He chuckles.

“Please, Jay, like you have anything worth stealing.” Jason frowns at you scrutinizing your face. You level him a glare but it was more in an effort to fight down a blush than anything venomous. Jason’s jaw unclenches and his face breaks into a shit-eating grin. “What color was it?”

“Wha-”

“Bzzzzzzzt ”

If you weren’t blushing before, you are now. Heat climbs up your spine. Your mouth felt dry.

“Well, what color was it, sweetheart?” Jason drawls, his voice dropping an octave. You shiver but bristle just as quickly. You bite your cheek and glare at him. “HA. HA. HA. Funny, Todd.”

“Was it Red Hood Red?” Jason teases, winking and raising his cup of coffee to his lips.

“Nightwing blue” You deadpan. Jason coughed into his drink. You preen with satisfaction.

“Does it make stupid puns while you go at it? ”

“Yup,” You say, the ‘p’ popping. “That’s part of the appeal.” You joke smiling into your mug. Jason snorts. “How is that supposed to be sexy?”

You shrug, a sharper less tired smile cutting across your features. “Dunno man. Nightwing is pretty sexy if you ask me.” You wink.

Jason makes a fake gagging noise. Well, it seems fake with how theatrical the gesture is but with bats? You never could tell. You roll your eyes and giggle. Jason’s shoulders loosen at your bubble of laughter, his face slipping into one of his sheepish smiles. “In all seriousness, y/n, you can stay at my place.”

You smile at him, your usual fluorescent smile.

Click

A man from across the street watches you intently through the lens of a camera.

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

Slade throws the photos across Roman’s desk, each glossy piece of paper containing a candid photo of you looking increasingly frayed and anxious.

Roman marvels at how your usually larger than life figure shrank into your puffy coat, how small and malleable and inexperienced you looked. He notes the panicked look in your eyes in every one of the photos and savors it. He couldn't wait to see it for himself.

In one photo, you're looking over your shoulder as you enter your office building.

In one, you’re tracing circles on a child’s hand with your thumb, beaming brightly as you told some wild tale to distract the child.

In another, you're slumped in your desk chair as you think over a case looking absolutely exasperated but determined.

In yet another one, you're locking lips with a man, his hand trailing up your shirt. Roman made sure to give the man some swimming lessons a few weeks prior.

In the photo in Roman’s hand, you're at the emergency room looking like you haven't slept in 2 days. Your face was bruised and your clothes were torn in several places where Slade had managed to land a blow. Your delicate skin marred with cuts and trickling blood. Absolutely gorgeous.

He examines it closely. The photo was taken just a few hours ago. You look like you're going to cry but your shoulders and jaw are squared more frustrated than scared. There's a fire in your eyes that threatens to level the city. A thrill rides up his spine at the prospect of extinguishing it.

“This is why you wanted to throw my men out the window?”

Slade hums. He shrugs and the edge of his lips curl into a smile. “It was the only way to convince the kid that we’re both after her-” His eye drifts to your face. Appraising but impassive. “The kid’s scared out of her mind and exhausted at this point.”

Slade had a point. Roman had to give him that. It wouldn’t be obvious to the casual observer but it would be plain as day to anyone like Roman who had been studying you for a while. You weren’t quite as meticulous with your appearance as Roman thought you should be (He would work on that later) but the dishevelment in your appearance was obvious. The slight dip in your shoulders in place of the prim posture that you usually employed was a blatant indication of your weariness. And the falter in your smile, the flickering in your eyes, and the number of times you let yourself bite your cheek showed the cracks in your fearless image.

Who knew weeks upon weeks of chaos could weather Minos City’s own budding hero?

In the photo next to Roman’s hand, your laughing face is stark and lively against the drab atmosphere of the diner, bubbling laughter carving life into your exhausted features making you look more like the shining paragon your city has come to rely on. The man sitting in front of you is laughing too. The sharp edges of his grin softened by the fondness in his eyes. It was hard not to recognize him even with such a foreign expression plastered onto his face. Roman crushes the photo in his hand.

“BUT NOW SHE’S WITH THAT SCUMBAG RED HOOD”

“And she’s now with the Red Hood. In his secluded safe house. Weakened and far from help. Most likely thinking that she’s safe under his protection and blissfully unaware of the tracker I put in her arm.”

“I see… It seems like you are worth the pay.”

Slade made no effort in hiding his smug grin.

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

“Jay, I really am sorry about this.” You mumble for what seemed like the fifth time in the past half hour.

“I sincerely hope you’re apologizing for the fact that you neglected to tell me you had bruised ribs before getting on my bike and not the fact that you’re staying with me because two crazy assholes decided your place needed remodeling.” Jason exasperates, pinching the bridge of his nose. You feel kind of annoyed by the gesture but he did have a point especially with your city’s less than smooth roads. You were also pretty banged up. As it turns out, facing off against a bunch of goons plus a master assassin is not good for your health. You swore viciously under your breath. Now, you weren’t expecting Deathstroke to go easy on you despite your rapport but the guy really didn’t have to throw you around like a rag doll. Even with your power to adjust the odds, it was a miracle that you escaped intact.

“Well, Mr.Pot, you ride your bike all the time even with broken ribs.” You bite back. Jason rolls his eyes unaffected by the distilled venom in your voice.

“Well, one of us is a stone-cold badass- ”

“And the other is a sasquatch with a stick up his ass.” You sneer snatching the beer bottle from Jason. Your tone was far too fond and playful to have any actual bite. Jason chuckles at you and ruffles your hair before snatching it back and handing you a bottle of water.

You huff taking the bottle from him and following him to the couch. He sits down on the couch patting the seat beside him. You plopped on to the couch, placing your sock feet on his lap. He grabs your ankles and throws your feet back at you. You just as quickly throw them back on and this time you do it with an absolutely delighted smirk on your face. “Rude,” He mumbles but doesn’t attempt to extricate you again.

“So Deathstroke, huh?” Jason starts, side-eyeing you over his beer. You adjust yourself to sit up a little straighter.

“You mean the asshat who broke my favorite lamp last night?”

“Who the hell has a favorite lamp?”

“Me! And get to your point.”

“Have you two- yanno?” Jason jokes, his eyebrows wiggling and hands gesturing vaguely. Your eyes grow wide and heat creeps up your neck and face. You scowl at Jason throwing a pillow at his face for good measure. He catches it with ease much to your frustration giving you his trademark triumphant grin. You kick at him with no real force.

“NO! What kind of soap opera shit is that?” You giggle into your drink. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before. The guy was skilled and pretty witty. You also had eyes and the man was handsome but something always felt strange about taking it further. You were civil but you kept your distance.

You pout at Jason again causing him to chuckle. “What? I’m just saying it’ll air out some tension~” He suggests winking.

“Oh my actual god, I hate you. I sincerely, truly hate you.” You laugh, kicking at his thigh. Jason makes an obviously fake hurt noise which draws out even more giggles out of you. Some tension in Jason’s shoulders releasing upon hearing the bubbly sounds.

“You speaking from experience, Jay?”

Jason shakes his head and coughs. “Catwoman-” Cough. “Talia Al Ghul-” Cough. “Sorry, sweetheart, seems like I have a really bad cough this week.”

And that is how you spend the rest of the night questioning Bruce’s love life.

“Food is in the fridge,” Jason says pointing to the said fridge which was sorely lacking magnets, sounding like a somewhat tired single parent.

“Do I look like I can keep anything down?”

Jason snatches the water bottle you had abandoned on the side table next to the recliner. “With that big mouth of yours? Sure.” Jason teases lightly booping you on the nose with your water bottle. “Get some rest.”

“Yes, mother” You sighed, burying yourself into the thick comforter he’d given you, crumpled water bottle in hand. He ruffles your hair.

“You know you’re safe here, right? ” The question startles you. You shift uncomfortably, pulling the comforter tightly around your shoulders. You shrug at him, not entirely certain how to answer. You know Jason’s safe house is, well, safe but you also thought your apartment was too. Your stomach twisted.

Jason squeezed your shoulder probably sensing the spiral of your thoughts. He smiles down at you, probably. It was hard to tell with the helmet.

“If you want, I can-”

“No, Jay, I’ll be fine here. You can go on patrol. I’ll be fine. Promise.”

The thing with Jason was that even when he was so big and bulky and hella intimidating, his empathy towards others had a bad habit of always shining through despite the layers of armor and sarcasm. You squeeze his hand, pressing little circles into his palm, and smile up at him. It was forced but it was the best you could do. Jason ruffles your hair again before letting go and making his way to the window.

“Get some sleep.”

“Aye aye cap’n” You yawn settling into a slump on the couch. Jason can’t help but smile fondly at you. You wave him a sleepy goodby before he sets off.

You passed out on the couch, an old habit you never grew out of. You always slept on the couch when you felt uneasy. It may have been some sort of way to separate stress from your bedroom. It sure as shit wasn’t for safety reasons. Your equipment was dispersed throughout your apartment but your weapons were usually stowed away in your room.

You feel a hand running gently through your hair, smoothing away all your apprehension.

“Jay” You grouse, your hand halfheartedly swatting at the hand stroking your hair. You bury yourself further into the warmth of the comforter feeling the need to shrink away from the touch. You feel a soft prick on your neck.

Your eyes fly open.

Shit.

The hand tangles in your hair. It throws you to the wall. The air is knocked out of your lungs. Your ribs scream. You scrabble to your feet. Your limbs fail you. They flail uselessly. Your breaths pick up. Your chest feels like it's caving.

"JAY" You shriek. “HELP.” A large hand grasps your throat. A rush of adrenaline kicks in. You thrash. You kick. Your hit lands. Another grasps your ankles. You scream. You swear viciously. Another grabs at your wrists. Something rough winds around your wrists and ankles.

The world tilts into an odd angle. Your head feels heavy so do your arms and your legs and everything.

"Jaaay" You slur, the air in your lungs becoming sluggish like everything else. "Jay" you sob again, knowing he wouldn't come. Not when he was so far away.

"Shut up you ….. bitch" You feel a swift kick to your stomach. It barely registers above the haze.

"Hey man-"

"What? The …. man said we …… rough her up."

"We can?"

"Yeah, ……, said so"

Your eyes blink, stupid, and uncomprehending. Distantly, you hear yourself grunting and whimpering. You can feel their blows but your body is too far away, too inaccessible. It was strange to physically feel yourself drift away.

Roman traces the sun shaped scar radiating on your shoulder with a leather-clad hand. The one shot he’d managed to land on you the first time you’d stormed one of his warehouses. You were all cocksure and quick wit and boisterous laughter. You really had the devil’s own luck but it seems to have run out. Not that Roman’s got any complaints. Not when he’s got you laying at his feet, tied up and vulnerable.

He crouches down, hand on his chin. His eyes roam appreciatively over your sleeping form, appraising you like a premium cut of meat. You look pretty against the black silk sheets he’d chosen. He sighs content with his prize. He traces the tip of his knife over your cheek, a dark purple bruise maring your features stark against the stainless surface of the blade. Slade really was quite careless when handling you. Not that Roman has any plans on being any gentler.

He lets his blade drift down, trailing down your neck down to the flimsy protection of your oversized shirt. Your steady breaths falter. You keep your eyes shut trying to gather more information but it’s hard not to focus off the tip of the blade cold against your warm skin even as the blade cuts through the thin fabric of your shirt. A large hand grasps your face roughly.

“I know you're awake, baby-” You blanch still not opening your eyes. The grip on your jaw tightens. You grin like a madman. “It's rude to keep daddy waiting.”

“Sorry, Sionis, I was really hoping not to have to wake up you’re ugly mug.” You sneer, voice thick and raspy with sleep but still full with your trademark confidence. Roman looks more amused than irritated. Your body and mind are still at the cusp of sleep. You wriggle and almost cry out with joy when you feel them move. You mind the hand on your jaw and its tight grip.

“Baby, I won’t tell you a-” You spit in his face, cracking an eye open to see his reaction. A bloody grin spreads across your face like wildfire when you see the annoyance on his face.

“You’re going to regret that” He growls, wiping his face with a torn piece of your shirt.

“Oh please-” Something cracks across your jaw.

“The next time it’ll be the other end,” It takes a moment for your mind to catch on. You stare at the hilt of the blade for a moment before letting loose another smarmy grin. His violent reaction spurs you on. Yeah, you can definitely see why Jason thinks you’re going to age him twenty years. “Oh please, You like my face too much for that.”

“You really wanna test that?”

“Nope,” You say, spitting into his eye and landing a punch square in his face. You cackle like a madwoman when he goes down. You don’t bother hiding the delighted chirps that escape your chest.

Being petty, you give him a swift kick to the face before dashing towards the door. You launch yourself, feeling like you can fly. The copper taste in your tongue almost feels sweet.

Your hand grasps the door when a hand tangles itself in your hair.

Roman throws you back onto the mattress, the springs digging into your back. You scratch and claw and thrash against the large hand wrapped around your throat. You snarl as Roman leans closer, his body pinning yours against the mattress, his weight immobilizing your fatigued limbs. A sweet-smelling cloth covers your mouth and nose, you gasp in surprise, inhaling the scent. Your mind is already sluggish by the time it catches on.

Your vision dims.

You feel hollowed out.

Your limbs fall away, arms drooping and pliant against the silk-covered mattress. The cloth feels too much against your skin. Vaguely, you feel horror prickling up your spine or maybe it was just the springs again.

Roman pulls away. You think you breathe a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of him lifted. He straddles your body, grinning down at you. Your mouth falls open to say something. You want to say that you curse him out or that you threaten him. The sound you make is small. Your tongue feels too heavy. No, something is pressing it down, you think.

Above you, Roman is a towering colossus. You’re vaguely aware of the shifting of his hips. He removes his gloved hand from your mouth and caresses the side of your face with mock gentleness. His movements are sluggish and syrupy. You make another noise when you realize to some degree of horror that isn’t. Your mind felt heavy and useless.

He snaps his fingers. The sound is dull like it's contending with water. A muffled set of steps approaches you. A man, you realize. You don't think you’ve noticed him before. His dark shape is messy and incomprehensible. A red dot flashes stark against his form. The mechanical sounds of a shutter drift in and out of your mind. You turn your head back to Roman at the sound of shifting fabric.

Above you, Roman, already without his suit jacket, loosens his tie, eyes staring hungrily at you. The pit of your stomach feels painfully cold. You blink at him stupidly. He chuckles, grasping your chin to make sure you’re looking at him. You protest against his touch.

“Don’t worry, baby, you’ll be the star of our little show like the filthy attention whore you really are. ” He laughs. It rumbles like thunder in your ears.

The world falls away.

Click

One

Two

One

You feel a prick on your neck.

Hot breaths fan against your face.

Your body is too warm.

You don’t want to know why.

Twenty-five, you continue counting.

You feel fabric shift against you.

Something sharp digs itself into your flesh.

One

Two

Three

Three?

Something’s crushing your windpipe.

Your body is aching. You’re not entirely sure whether it’s from use or disuse and by who.

“Good girl”

Thirty

Twelve

There’s something scraping against your flesh.

Is it a knife?

Hot pants fan against your skin.

Teeth

Four

Fifty-six

“Boss, I-.... going a …. bit too far?”

Smack!

“Do …. You…. to think?”

Two sixty-eight

A hand strikes you. You think your jaw is broken. It hurts but then again everything hurts. All you can do is take it and whimper.

Tears sting against your face.

“That’s right. Just like that. Like that, you little whore.”

Your body is warm again.

You still don’t want to know.

Two

Two?

You’ve counted two before.

You blink.

The haze of your mind lifts.

The coldness of the room seeps in your bones. You’re bare. You take stock of yourself, running your hands over your skin. Everything is still there.

Everything and a few other things. You let disgust and shame roll over you. A sob tears its way out of your chest. Your breath picks up. You feel your mind slipping. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, calling your mind back and steadying yourself.

You take stock again. This time moving your limbs and jangling your joints. They were weak but workable. You’re surprised to find yourself unbound aside from the collar around your neck. You suppose Roman’s confident in his drugs. How long have you been here? You press lightly against your neck, feeling the higher than normal pulsing of your artery. You shift yourself waking your legs up.

You stiffen, gooseflesh spreading over your skin as light filters into the room through the door. Your eyes snap shut, stinging from the sudden intrusion of light. The pulse beneath your fingers jackrabbits. You think you’ll keel over.

“Shhhhhh”

All the strength in your veins floods out, leaving a feeling of cold horror in its place. You scream or you try. Your body feels impossibly rigid. Roman stalks towards you, his footfalls slow and deliberate and too loud. Your heart jumps up to your throat with each step. You inch yourself away from him, drawing yourself up to make yourself feel bigger. He coos at how adorable you are, trying to look defiant. The mattress dips under his weight. Your mind begins to slip away from you again. The world falls away from you. You anchor it, digging your nails into your palms. He cups your face, thumb caressing your bottom lip. You glower at him and bite out something witty. He laughs amusement lighting up his features, the sound grates against your ears.

“Not gonna fight back?” He taunts, pressing his thumb down on your bottom lip. Your body recoils but then goes slack as he runs his hand up and down your side. Shame blankets you but the fear etched into you keeps you still.

Roman loosens his tie.

Your mind falls out of your reach.

“Such a good little slut.” He murmurs against your lips.

You wanted to say.

Instead, your mind starts counting again even as you hear the rustle of fabric.

BANG

A gunshot rings through the thick atmosphere of the room.

Roman curses.

His men stampede.

Another round of shots fire.

Something- No, no. Someone tears Roman off of you.

“Deathstroke?” You croak, your voice sounding foreign and absurdly brittle.

“Do you know anyone else walking around looking like this, kid?”

“Ravager” You snark, lips twitching into a smile. He rolls his eyes underneath his mask. The familiarity of the exchange breathes life into your body. Roman’s hand grips your wrist with bruising intensity. Your breath catches.

No. No. No.

The word loops in your head like a constant rat-tat.

Slade’s foot makes contact with Roman’s head, the force of it unnecessary but satisfactory. The sounds of bone-cracking fill the air. The man falls uselessly to the grimey floor. He shoots him with a couple of rounds for good measure, each shot instilling a pang of finality in the back of your mind.

You scrabble towards Slade, wide-eyed and shallow breathed. You cling to Slade as he bundles your body in silken sheets. He hoists you easily into his arms. You bury your face into the junction between his neck and shoulder, closing your eyes, the image of Roman’s bloody body on the floor pressed into your mind. You sob in relief. Your hands clasping onto Slade, white-knuckled and shaking.

"I've got you, sweetheart," He rumbles, running his hand through your hair soothingly. The tight knots in your body, loosen. You whimper a quiet thank you. “I’ve got you.”

You lift your head only to see Roman twitch.

Your breathing falters.

Fear pricks your spine.

Your mind falls away from you again.

Distantly, you feel Slade’s grip on you tightens.

Distantly, you hear him murmur something.

Everything is too far away.

Your eyes blink sluggishly. The world becomes dimmer with each blink.

A warm spray of water drizzles down over your aching skin. Your open wounds sting but the warm water pooling around you soothes the aches of your bruised flesh. Your eyes focus on the soft off-white of the tile on the wall opposite you. You don’t let yourself about the thin, rusty red film swirling in the water. The air in the room is thick with steam and the scent of lavender.

The absence of grime on your skin makes you feel lighter and gauzy and immaterial. You felt naked and obscene like you had been taken apart and now someone was examining pieces of you. You almost miss it.

“Lean back” Slade grumbles as he lathers your hair with some lavender concoction the hotel provided. Your body follows automatically, eagerly, obediently. You tell yourself you’re just tired. You tell yourself nothing’s wrong with your response. You tell yourself you’re ok. You wince. The warm water around you shifts. You hear it splash against the tile. You flinch at how loud it sounds. You take a deep breath and lean into his touch. He’s handling you delicately as though you would fall apart any second. You might.

Blinking away tears, you watch his face, aware that by leaning back, you’d be giving him a good view of the hickies, bite marks, and knife wounds Roman ‘gifted’ you. There’s a slight twitch in the corners of his lips. He must be disgusted with you too. You want to sink into the hot water and let it burn you anew, but you don’t trust yourself not to drown.

You close your eyes as another spray of warm water pours over you. You melt into it hoping it’s enough to wash the last few days- weeks?- away.

Your hands grasp his face, pulling him towards you. His hands brace against the tub, keeping him from falling in with you. Your arms loop around his neck, your hot breath fanning against his lips. You press your lips against him, searching and wanting. For what exactly? Comfort? Safety? Stimulation? His lips press lightly against yours, not quite a kiss. Slade actually looks taken aback.

The rest of the world floods back in. You peel away, your eyes wide with terror. “Shit- I’m- Fuck! Fuck! Shit, Slade, I- I’m sorry. I- Shit! I didn’t-” Your breathing ratchets up, becoming shallower as the pulsating in your ears grow louder. There’s a tightness growing in your chest that makes you think your ribcage is about to implode. You cover your face with your hands not caring how it didn’t help your shallowing breaths. You can’t look at him. You just can’t. You know you’re disgusting.

Your body wants to come apart, dissolve, and if it can, evaporate. You can’t breathe. You curl into yourself, into the water. A hand grabs at your wrist. You flinch. The hand carefully pries your hand away, forcing you to uncurl. Slade’s other hand cups your face gently, guiding you to look him in the eye. The lack of disgust in his face rattles you.

His thumb brushes against your lips making your stomach twist and your spine curl. He dips his head closer to yours. You kiss him eagerly. He lets out a pleased hum and smiles against your lips. Something cold licks at the bottom of your stomach but it’s overtaken by the need for connection, to fill in what had been hollowed out.

You press closer to him than strictly necessary as you watch the news, chewing on your cheek. He pulls you close, shifting you on to his lap. You don’t protest, eyes glued to the TV.

“Businessman, Roman Sionis, was found with several gunshot wounds to the stomach in one of his warehouses here in Minos City. He is now in stable condition. Authorities say...”

Your jaw falls slack in mute horror. Your stomach tumbles to the floor. You’re hyperventilating. Your teeth are digging into your cheek, you taste copper. Your mind spirals back into the room, back to the dirty mattress, back to Roman.

Strong arms wrap around you, stilling your trembling body against a broad chest. Your body relaxes a fraction. You curl into him, the buzz of nervous energy settling into a quieter panic.

“You’re safe with me, you know that don’t you, sweetheart?” Slade says tracing circles into your palm. You lean your head into his shoulder. You nod easing against him. “I’ll never let that monster anywhere near you.” He promises, pressing a kiss into your hair. A little sob wrenches free of your imploding chest.

Slade keeps his face buried in your hair even as you fall into a lull. It was the only way to hide the triumphant grin spreading across his face.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take good care of you.”

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

A/n: Thanks for reading. There’s a follow up to this because I can’t cope with bad endings. I had to promise myself a good second part to make the ending horrifying.

The writing process for this fic was basically:

Me: I have this horrifying idea!

My brain: Yes but what if we put a little dork Jason in it.

Me: I guess that wouldn’t hurt.

Me: Ok I have written nearly 2k of dorky Jason where’s the other parts?

Brain: Uh what other parts?

Me: *sighs and spends the next few days spamming @knightfall05x*

taglist:

@batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes, @americasmarauders , @l-horizon11, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell

#yandere dc #yandere blackmask #yandere roman sionis #yandere deathstroke #yandere slade wilson #Black Mask #Deathstroke #slade wilson x reader #Roman Sionis #roman sionis x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #Jason Todd #red hood x reader

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kingsonne-zedecks · 1 year ago

Note

I couldn’t possibly disagree more. Not voting and protest voting is massive choice made to soothe ones own conscience rather than enact any change. It's virtue signaling. It says, "look at me, I'm a good person, I didn't vote for Biden because he supported Israel."

What then? What if Biden loses. What if Trump gets reelected and doubles or triples military funding to Israel? When those extra bombs get dropped on Palestine do you get to pat yourself on the back?

When anti-gay and anti-trans laws continue to sweep the nation do you say "My conscience is clear"?

When funding to Ukraine gets slashed and Russia begins to advance do you wring your hands and wish that there was more you could do? Do you just share the photos and videos of victims on social media to signal boost them and pretend there was nothing you could have done to contribute to preventing this?

When medicaid and foodstamps get cut and the poor start to die from lack of food or lack of insulin do you just say "oh well"?

When women's rights continue to erode do you pat them on the head and say it was all worth it?

When religious hate crimes rise along with Christofacism do you put your hand to your mouth and say "oh no, who could have foreseen this coming" do you tell the families of murdered Muslims that it could have been worse if you had voted for Biden because then you would have felt bad?

When voter suppression increases as planned by the fascists do you celebrate the idea that the hard decision to vote for the lesser of two evils has been taken away from people now that they simply can't vote?

Do you look at all the suffering and then glance at you I voted sticker and muse about your superiority. That if only everyone had been as compassionate and enlightened as you and voted for a third party candidate with no chance of winning, then this could have all been prevented. At that point don't they kind of deserve to suffer because they voted for Biden while you split the vote?

The cold fact is that as government in America currently stands, protest voting 3rd party is harmful. It. The major source of funding for most third party candidates in the US is the party most ideologically opposed to them. Because it is a known fact that third parties split the vote.

Are you incapable of seeing a vote for Biden as anything other than complete approval for every choice he's made? Are you just scared that other people will view your vote as such and think that you also support genocide?

"The only candidates on the field are cool with refugee camps getting bombed and one of them wants marginalized people in America to not have rights" is actually a pretty good reason to vote.

You could plug your ears and close your eyes and protest vote, or you could join whatever campaign there is in your state to enact ranked choice voting or another form of non first past the post voting. You could decry that its just not fair that we have a shitty two party system and refuse to participate, or you could work to change the system that sometimes reduces your voting choice to the lesser of two evils. One way is certainly easier than the other, and it comes with a nice high horse too.

How do you feel about the Gaza war all but ensuring Trump's reelection by destroying Biden politically?

It might; it's certainly hurt his standing with a number of different groups like Arab-Americans. Whether it will translate into a broader erosion of support I can't tell, and there are so many things that are up in the air still about this election (which is over a year away!) that it's kind of a fool's game to try to predict the outcome now.

I'm not sure that Biden's support for the Israeli bombing campaign/ground invasion is "destroying" him politically at all. That would imply he's paying a real cost among the majority of his supporters, but the Democratic party is quite right-wing on the Israel-Palestine issue at the moment. I think Biden is pursuing the policies that he thinks have broad support among his political faction, and unfortunately I think he may be correct in that assessment.

It goes without saying that if Trump or a similar politician was president now, or was president during a similar crisis in the future, he'd probably be even more enthusiastic about endorsing whatever the Israeli government wanted to do. That troubles me, of course. It would be nice if there were options for the American president other than "endorsing mass murder with a sigh of regret" and "endorsing mass murder with cheering and clapping of hands."

I have a lot of worries. I worry that for all the outrage, nothing will fundamentally change--that Israeli politics will (with Netanyahu in charge or someone else) continue to drift to the right, that Oslo will be the high-water mark for hope for a peaceful resolution in my lifetime. More parochially, I worry about the German government cynically exploiting this situation to justify a stronger anti-immigration and anti-refugee policy, hoping to outflank the AfD on this issue; and I worry that Biden will lose in 2024 and the lesson the Democratic party will take from it isn't "we need to be less like a bunch of cynical neoliberal death cultists" and instead "it was clearly our labor policy that was the problem, let's lurch rightward again." I worry that the lessons we took from World War II have faded already, or were always too narrow in scope--that we are sensitive to fascism only if it marches under literal swastikas, that we care about refugees and genocide only if they can be mythologized as the perfect victim, going meekly to their fate (preferably years after the fact, when it is too late to actually do anything about it).

I think there are a lot of good people in the world doing good things, who want to fight for what's right. But this is a really bleak situation, and none of them are in charge. We could use a leader with real courage who can vigorously articulate an expansive moral vision, something beyond massacre-for-massacre retribution with no end in sight.

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bcbdrums · 4 years ago

Text

Purification

All right. @cocoa-at-night was mad at me, and I know others will be... So this is in fact a second sequel to "Torment.” I already had this idea in my head as a possible sequel so... Who says I can’t write two! Therefore, readers, you get two options now. Decide which way you prefer the story to end.

To be very clear, this is a different sequel than “Immolation” and follows a different path to a different ending. It begins the same however. Please enjoy “Purification.”

FFn AO3

---------

Purification

Shego ran the dampened washcloth over the smooth, polished surface of the bar and stared at the grains of wood beneath. She nearly had them memorized, for how many times she'd run the cloth over them to wipe away the condensation left by the rims of drinking glasses. She always tried to find vague shapes in their patterns; faces and objects and sometimes familiar ocean waves. She didn't have anything else to do with her days, after all.

The small wall-mounted television in the corner continued to play news from the local channel, and after three years she could finally understand the Spanish of the broadcast. She'd picked up the local slang faster by necessity, since she couldn't use her powers to protect herself from the type of crowd the bar attracted. It was ironic, for its nearness to the Caribbean, but the slums of El Salvador had been the perfect place to hide. She easily translated the broadcast into the more comfortable English:

"...And here is Dr. Drakken only days ago, unveiling his latest innovation at the world's largest scientific conference in Berlin..." the voice from the TV cut through the minimal noise at the late hour in the bar.

A soft smile came to Shego's face. And then suddenly her vision was filled with the large form of a dark-skinned man wearing a t-shirt that had seen too many years, and with a face that hadn't seen a razor in weeks.

"Venga, chica. Bailar conmigo."

Shego stepped back from the strong scent of alcohol and scowled at the man, a regular at the establishment, but one who never quite took the hint. Especially not when he had had too many.

"Raquel?" came the accented voice of Esteban, her boss and the owner of the place, from across the room where he was wiping down tables and stacking chairs for closing.

She leaned around the offensive man to merely smirk at her boss knowingly in return. He grimaced slightly, no doubt wondering how much of a mess there would be to clean after she was finished with the brute.

Truthfully, she didn't always reject the men who asked her to dance. Whenever she'd had a few shots it was easier to say yes, and she enjoyed closing her eyes and moving to the rhythm of the music, and imagining herself in a different place. But it would always end the moment any of them tried to lay a hand on her...

She couldn't cross that line. There was only one set of hands she ever wanted to touch her, and they never would. Allowing herself to indulge once and pretend with anyone else would open the gate to far worse sins than her most definitely out of control drinking, and she didn't want to deal with the ramifications of heading down that path.

She still wasn't sure when she'd fallen in love with Drakken. She'd certainly been in love with him before she left, but she'd only realized the fact while in her self-imposed exile, when all she could think about was him.

Numerous magazines and newspapers were delivered to the tiny room she rented above the bar, but not of the variety she'd used to get. Now it was all science periodicals, and world news... And her wall was adorned with newspaper cutouts with his familiar, confident grin. The only reason she watched the news at all was for word of him.

She was pathetic.

Her 'clean break' as she'd hoped to make it seemed to have worked for him. He was finding the success she knew he would as soon as she was out of the picture, no longer holding him back. She knew that would have been the result had she stayed, making him question his sudden yearning for 'good.' Less for good, she knew of course, and more for the recognition and honor his genius rightly deserved. She wouldn't have said that years ago, but with the new understanding she had of her feelings...

She couldn't have stayed. He would have denied himself for her. And she refused to let herself think it was because his feelings were deeper too. No, that wasn't possible. It had been made abundantly clear to her over their four years as partners in crime that he simply didn't think of her that way. She was little more than an asset and a comfort; a listening ear for his endless dronings and rantings, easily replaced.

So she had left a note on her pillow one day after painfully listening to him describe the amazing job offers he had received, and simply vanished. She knew he would come looking for her, as he always did because 'he needed her,' so she had made herself impossible to find. She'd not hardly used her powers in three years, and she'd managed to convinced the locals in the high-poverty, high-crime rate slums she'd hidden in that her skin color was due to something between genetics and illness.

'Shego' was gone.

Now she was Raquel, the barmaid who drank too much, wouldn't let anyone get close, and who had a strange obsession with science magazines. Esteban and others had tried to get her to talk about herself, or her apparent science interest for awhile, but they'd finally taken the hint that she was out there in the middle of nowhere, at one of the only respectable establishments in those slums, to make sure know one ever knew her story.

Shego waited until Esteban wasn't looking, and then she lifted her hand above the leering man's head as his greasy fingers reached across the bar for her, and she let him have just enough of a pressure blast from her glow to knock him out. When the man's large, dead-weight hit the floor, her boss turned with a start.

"Ai ai ai, Raquel! Someday I will see how you accomplish that."

Shego merely smirked as her eyes shifted back to the television. It was a simple, lonely life... One that she might leave someday to pursue other interests. 'Shego' as the world had known her could probably never return, after her world-saving ventures with Drakken. She wouldn't want to put his career at risk in any way. But living from day to day and drink to drink, with only her periodicals and the TV to briefly soothe the ache in her heart wasn't plausible. She needed to move on.

The reason she hadn't was for the lack of one thing in every photo, article, and broadcast about the blue former villain who had saved the world: he was always alone. Even the candids taken by paparazzi that she would find in the trash magazines she had specially delivered only ever showed him having breakfast alone at a sidewalk cafe, or seated alone in an audience as he waited to accept an award.

Why hadn't he met someone and settled down already?

That was the last piece... That was what was missing. When Drakken finally had a woman on his arm, and his happiness was complete...then she could risk moving out into the world and being seen again. If he had someone else, he most definitely wouldn't need her. And she wouldn't have to face up to the fact of possibly seeing him again, with the feelings she'd been harboring for too many years that simply refused to die.

"...It has been confirmed to have been a suicide attempt now, as a note was leaked to the press by a source who wishes to remain anonymous from within Japanese Intelligence..."

Shego's attention snapped to the television, where now a years-old photograph of Drakken at the UN, wearing his medal, was displayed in the corner of the screen as the Spanish news anchor continued to read the copy.

"The note was addressed to fellow-hero Kim Possible, and the text reads: 'I can't figure out what I did wrong. I can't live without her anymore. I'm sorry.' The note was not signed, but handwriting analysis easily showed it to be in the script of Dr. Drakken."

Shego felt the world spinning around her as her vision seemed to spin in the opposite direction. Her head swam and ached all at once, and she could see bright spots dancing in front of her eyes even as her view darkened. She stumbled forward to lean against the bar as she struggled to listen to the television.

"And the world remains in shock, one week from the date the acclaimed scientist attempted to take his life by jumping from the roof of the Osaka World Trade Center. We will keep you updated with more details as the story continues to unfold. This is Paola Ramos, reporting."

Suicide attempt? Drakken, of all people? It didn’t make sense... He had everything...everything he had ever dreamed of, and more. She had made sure of it by removing herself from his life so he would have nothing holding him back. How could he have attempted suicide?

"Raquel! ¿Qué pasa?"

She peered upward and let Esteban take her hand and help her straighten up from where she had all but slumped over the bar.

"Phone..." she managed to get out, her throat strangely tight. “I need...I need to know...”

“You need to make a phone call?” he asked.

Shego nodded. As Esteban fumbled in his pockets for his cell phone, Shego thought about what had been reported as the contents of the suicide note.

"I can't live without her anymore," it had read.

He couldn't... He didn't... He wouldn't...mean me?

Shego felt like she might throw up, and as Esteban offered her the phone, she moved past him and all but fell onto one of the bar stools, suddenly feeling like her feet would fail her. She began dialing a long-memorized number, then realized as the phone rang that she didn't know if the number would be the same after so long, but that thought was broken by Esteban stepping into her vision.

"Are you calling 911? What is wrong?" he asked, his dark eyes wide and worried as he studied her. But then, the phone connected.

"Hello?" the familiar voice said through the line.

Shego suddenly realized she had only ever called the girl 'Princess' or 'Pumpkin' or 'Kimmie,' and wasn't sure how to address the now young woman and for a brief time, ally.

"Kim..." she finally settled on, the name leaving her throat hoarsely.

"Yes? Who is...?" A familiar gasp sounded through the phone. "Shego?"

"Drakken..." was her one-word answer as suddenly tears began filling her eyes. "Drakken's note."

"Where have you been!? Where are you? We looked for you for over a year!"

"Did that note... Was it real? What I saw on TV, did he really...try to kill himself?” she asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand before digging her fingers tightly into her side as her hands started to shake. When had she started crying?

“Yes... He did.”

Shego’s throat tightened. “Have you...seen him, or talked to him?”

“Yeah, right after it happened, but...he doesn’t want to see anyone. He’s angry and embarrassed that it didn’t work. Shego—”

“Did he, I mean...how is he? Is he okay? How did he survive?”

“His vines. Their own sense of self-preservation must have kicked in, and they grabbed onto the building partway down. He’s in the hospital.”

Shego realized tears were streaming down her cheeks, and her hands were shaking so much it was hard to hold the phone. She closed it hard as she let her hands fall to the bar, and then she leaned forward again.

“Raquel! Mi lucecita, what is wrong?”

Shego took a breath and gathered her strength to push away, even as her vision swam. She left the phone on the bar, knowing exactly what would happen, and then reached across the smooth wooden surface for a bottle of tequila. She ignored Esteban's words as she numbly made her way to her room, climbing the stairs and pushing through the door to stumble against the bed, the bottle of alcohol falling from her grasp. She spun around, and after shoving the door closed she fell back to sit on her narrow, uncomfortable mattress as she fumbled with the lid of the tequila bottle.

She looked around at her walls, with their newspaper clippings and magazine cutouts of photos and articles about Drakken's successes. Tears fell from her eyes anew as she brought the bottle to her lips and soon felt her throat burn nearly as badly as her eyes. And the words of Drakken's note played through her mind repeatedly, her every thought and excuse for the past three years dissolving into torment.

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

The next morning a pulsing, booming sound caused her to wake, and as she sat up hurriedly with hands alight, the vision of red, purple, yellow, and black that swam before her eyes brought back to mind what she had drunk the bottle of tequila to forget. She let her glow die as she fell back on the bed and hid her face from the light with a pillow.

“Shego!” the astonished voice of Kim Possible resonated against her skull. She regretted the hangover, but she couldn’t have handled her thoughts the night before. Tequila had been the only choice.

“Are you all right? You don’t look so good,” the side-kick’s voice followed just as loud with concern.

“You’ve lost so much weight!” Kim continued.

“Yeah, what about it?” Shego said into the pillow, even her own voice painful to her ears.

“Is this where you’ve been all these years?”

“What have you been doing?”

Shego grit her teeth and ignored the questions of her former enemies-turned-allies after Drakken saved the world, finally moving the pillow to narrow her eyes at them.

“Will you take me to see Drakken, or not?” she asked bluntly.

The brows of both young adults rose, and they looked at each other.

“That’s the only reason I let you find me. Cell phone trace, right?” Shego said, grimacing against the throbbing in her head as she rolled over and got her feet on the floor.

“Yeah... It only took Wade—”

“Will you take me to see Drakken?”

“Yeah... I guess, sure. We can do that.”

“Good. Wait downstairs, I need to shower,” she said.

The two young heroes didn’t move, and Shego realized they were studying her walls with the photos and newspaper clippings of Drakken. But she was under too much stress already to worry about what two college kids thought of her. As she painfully stood, her eyes lighted upon a figure hovering in the doorway. Esteban was hanging back in the shadows, watching the interplay nervously.

Kim and Ron were still staring at the walls, and Shego first beckoned her employer into the room before frowning and sighing dramatically at the other two. They both looked at her.

“Haven’t you already read a lot of this stuff? Hurry up, I want to get to Japan before tomorrow.”

The pair gave her another once-over before glancing at each other and finally slipping through the door, giving an even more confused look at the curly-haired Latino who had been welcomed in. They closed the door behind the darker-skinned man as he looked curiously at the adorned walls which Shego had called home for three years. Finally, he sighed.

“You are going to him, then? This man, from the news report.”

Shego nodded, grateful for her boss’s softer tone.

“Yes,” she said.

“He is the reason you came here?”

She nodded again, sitting on the bed as her head pounded.

“...Why did you run from him?”

Shego’s brows knit together, but after all that Esteban had done for her over the years, she supposed it wouldn’t matter to give away a little more. Especially since she would never be seeing him again.

“I thought I was doing what was best for him,” she said with a shrug.

“But surely, if you were in love...? Was there some problem?”

Shego looked up, her brow twisting further in confusion.

“What... You think...he was in love with me too?” Her head was reeling again. That couldn’t have been what his note was about...could it? He had never showed any sign of having those types of feelings for her...

‘You never showed any of your feelings to him.’

She grimaced at that thought. And she wondered with a sickening feeling...had it really been necessary? All she’d done for three years was wallow in her own misery and loneliness and think of nothing but him. What if she had just...taken the risk?

“If the note on the news was real, then it would seem so,” Esteban had replied as she’d been thinking. She looked up again.

“Then I... I... I have to go.”

She stood again to get some fresh clothes and then paused, looking back at the suddenly long face of her boss.

“I hope you can find him. He will recover under your smile.”

Impulsively, Shego closed the distance between them and threw her arms around her boss’s neck. She felt his large palms hesitantly rest on her back.

“Thank you, Esteban...”

“Goodbye, Raquel.”

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

Shego raked her fingers through the ends of her hair for what must have been the tenth time just walking down the hall. As she found the correct door number she pushed her hair back over her shoulder, and then tugged down the simple green blouse and black jacket she wore. Possible had been right before... The garments weren’t fitting her as they should, but that was a concern for another day. She took a shallow breath and with a trembling hand, pushed the door inward.

The hospital room was dim and silent but for the beeping of monitors. On the bed, a familiar blue face lay atop a pillow, bandaged, like much of the rest of his body that could be seen. One forearm and foot were in casts, and his other arm was bandaged with the slightest of bloodstains showing through, like the one on the side of his face. She held her breath as she stepped in silently, as if walking into a dream. But he heard her.

The corners of his lips turned down before his eyes opened to slits, but then widened slightly upon seeing her. She hesitated only a moment before continuing her slow approach. She could see now the one side of his face was swollen, and his lower lip was split and bruised. She tried not to picture him falling from the top of a skyscraper, smashing against its sides on the way down only to be inexplicably rescued by his own mutation. Instead she fixated on his eyes that were bleary, shocked, and disbelieving.

“Shego?” he croaked out.

She fought the tears that tried to come to her eyes. “Yes. I... I’m here,” she managed, her throat tight.

He seemed to be studying her as she sat down on the edge of his bed, afraid her legs wouldn’t hold her and also needing to be nearer. The thought that he could have...that he very nearly died, and she didn’t even know...

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Her lips parted as she stared at his expression that was quickly becoming anxious, despite the haze in his eyes she was sure was in part due to the heavy painkillers that were doubtless coming through his IV line.

“What...?” she breathed.

“Whatever...I did...to make you leave...” Drakken said quietly, each word coming out labored through his dry throat. “I’m sorry. Please...forgive me.”

Shego didn’t bother trying to stop her tears anymore. She took a slow breath to try to calm the ache in her chest as she tore her eyes from his, instead looking at his hand lying on the bed, his knuckles bruised and scraped. She hesitated, but then gently held his hand in both of hers. His skin was clammy and cold, and she noted for the first time the too-slow beeping of the heart monitor.

“You...you didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, looking back at him. His confused and now fearful expression was a blur through her tears. “I did.”

“...What?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she repeated with more strength, recalling the words of his note. “I did. It was just me. I...I’m so sorry, Dr. D.”

Her voice rose on the last as her throat tightened, and she closed her eyes tightly as hot tears slid down her cheeks. She tried to keep her cries quiet, and some time later her attention was drawn back by his hand shifting in hers. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. He looked a bit more focused, and a familiar, analytical expression had joined the caution and confusion on his face.

“I don’t understand,” he finally said. His fingers curled around hers and held on firmly.

Her heart thudded against her ribs, and she let her gaze fall to her lap. She had already broken her promise to herself, to never see him again... But clearly, that had been a mistake from the beginning. If she was honest...then at least she would know, there was nothing else she could have done. And yet, the most important words she could say to him still died on her lips.

“I didn’t want to hold you back,” she said, staring down at their joined hands. She was careful not to hold too tight for his bruised knuckles. A long moment of silence passed before he spoke again.

“What...? But... Shego...”

“I didn’t want to be part of...this world,” she said, lifting one hand briefly to gesture weakly at the opulence of the hospital room. Not exactly what she meant, but she hoped the point would get across. “But I know you, Dr. D.... You...you wouldn’t have taken any of the jobs, without me. I just...wanted you to be happy. And I didn’t want any of this...”

There was another silence, broken only by her sniffling as she gradually brought her tears under control. She heard Drakken take a long breath in through his nose and then release it just as slowly.

“Thank you for visiting me...”

Shego turned abruptly, her tears stilling with a silent gasp. Drakken’s eyes were on their joined hands, and he looked sad.

“You look...” he began, glancing up at her briefly before his gaze fell again. “Hm. Where will— That is...”

He trailed off, glancing away toward the curtained window in the room with a slight grimace. Shego tried to follow his train of thought.

“I don’t...have to leave right away,” she ventured carefully. He looked back at her, his expression guarded. “We could...catch up for a while? If...if you...”

She broke off as tears threatened her eyes anew. Who was she kidding? His note had been clear...

‘I can’t live without her anymore.’

“If you...don’t mind having me around, I could stay...longer.” She set her hand back atop his, minding the scrapes on his knuckles. The pressure of his fingers against her palm hadn’t diminished.

Drakken’s swollen lips parted, his dark eyes seeming to glitter even brighter for the mottled bruising on his face. And then, a shadow came over his features.

“No, that’s...that’s all right. You can go back to...your life.”

Shego held her breath. She thought about telling him she knew about the note, but...what if that only made things worse? Then he would be embarrassed, and he had already...apparently given up on living. What would that new revelation do to him?

His words were also unknowingly meaningless, she realized, as because for the past three years she...had had no life. Only worrying and pining over him, waiting for the day he married so she would know he didn’t need her anymore, and then and only then could she come out of hiding. But she had left El Salvador behind fully when she had come to Japan. The bar was already out of her mind. All she wanted, and what she really needed, was...

She took a breath. “Drakken...”

When she met his eyes they were sad. She looked down again.

“I...I also left because...because I’m in love with you. But I knew...you didn’t feel the same. I knew you could find someone to replace me and...really fulfill you, and it seemed like...the best way I could give you everything you wanted...was to be out of the picture.”

She sniffled, bringing one hand up to wipe her eyes and nose before straightening up from the tense hunch she’d found herself in and then leaning back on her hand, the other still firmly gripping his. She didn’t want to hear his confirmation, but she needed to. Knowing that her feelings weren’t reciprocated would mean it was all worth it. Even though it didn’t explain his years of solitude...or the note. She didn’t want it to be about her. She couldn’t be the reason that he’d nearly—

“Everything I wanted? Shego...”

She cast a cautious eye on him, and he looked a mixture of confused, hurt, but somehow resolved. His hand suddenly left hers, and her throat constricted with the sudden loss. And then she was gasping in worry as Drakken started trying to push himself up.

“All I’ve ever wanted—” He stopped short with a hiss of pain, shaking as he paused halfway up.

“Dr. D....”

“...Is you.”

Her breath caught, and they stared at each other eye to eye. Drakken’s expression was steady but fearful, and her own she knew reflected utter shock. She was so startled she hadn’t even realized she’d spoken a response until he answered her.

“The note was about me...”

Drakken let out a soft, almost exasperated puff of air and lightly shook his head.

“What did I do to...make you think I didn’t love you?”

Shego blinked rapidly as tears filled her eyes.

“Oh, Dr. D.!”

Her arms were flung around him as her lips gently pressed against his, minding the cut and swelling. His least injured arm raised to wrap around her, but without the support his frame shook and he began to fall. Shego guided him down, never breaking the intimate contact. Her tears fell on his face as she cried through the kiss, but his hand pressing into her back strengthened her. She let her fingers move through his hair, ever so softly touching the swollen parts of his scalp as their lips barely moved. She was careful to keep her full weight off of him, but the warmth of their chests together was like a salve, beginning to mend the wounds in her heart.

When they finally parted and she opened her eyes, she found his just as wet.

“Shego...” he whispered hoarsely, and she heard a catch in his throat. “Don’t leave me.”

She held him tighter. “Don’t let me go.”

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

One month later, Shego was grinning happily as she pressed her face further into Drakken’s neck where they sat together on the sofa in his new apartment. She sighed contently as she snuggled closer into his left side, her arms around his neck and her legs folded and halfway over his lap.

“Shego...” Drakken whispered, “this isn’t exactly...it’s not...”

“Mmmh, let everyone see how much I love you...” she murmured, turning to face the camera placed in front of them, the magazine photographer looking at them quizzically as she offered something between a smile and smirk. The interviewer stood close by, equally ill at ease, but Shego didn’t care.

She positioned her hand on Drakken’s shoulder so the diamond of her engagement ring sparkled in the light. Her heart warmed when his healed left hand reached up to hold hers, and she laced the fingers of her right hand through his, setting her left on top again to show off the ring. She tilted her chin up toward him and was rewarded with his radiant smile.

“I love you...” she said softly, “and I want to spend the rest of my life telling you.”

“I love you, Shego,” he breathed.

Their lips met in a gentle, ardent kiss. Beyond them, after a long minute, the camera flashed.

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joshscorcher · 4 years ago

Note

Are you aware of Trump calling fallen veterans losers?

Are you aware of those claims being from anonymous sources and therefore not credible? Look at every article claiming that. No names, all anonymous. I can say this and have the exact same credibility:

I have a friend in the WH and we talk over Discord. They said that Trump is planning to sign an executive order to deliver a puppy to everyone.

See how silly that is? That’s pretty much what the media is believing right now. It’s really pathetic that the media shared this RUMOR like it was fact. Remember the incident where Jim Acosta said “The Dog is not at the WH” at the medal of honor photo when it was clearly a meme by The Daily Wire? And y’all just eat it up because y’all lack critical thinking skills and blindly trust the media.

How about this video where we have Joe Biden literally calling the troops “stupid bastards.” The democrats REALLY love to accuse their political opponents of what they themselves are doing.

https://youtu.be/sQzQhq4YSeM?t=102

Obvious Response: “Biden was clearly joking! You’re taking that out of context!”

Oh? Like y’all constantly do with Trump, or anyone remotely to the right of Bernie Sanders? Doesn’t feel good when the shoe is on the other foot now, does it? Maybe this is a good time to think about what we do, say, and share regarding the candidates.

Straight talk: I don’t like Donald Trump. If you don’t like that I’m defending Donald Trump, stop MAKING me defend him. If he’s really as bad as y’all say he is, then you wouldn’t need to make up lies, take his words out of context, fake hate crimes, and prop up baseless rumors now would you? If you want people to follow your movement, stop being stupid. I don’t like Trump and I didn’t vote for him, but after the fact, I’m glad he’s president because he’s exposed so many for the insane crazies that they are.

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hp-bodiceripper · 1 year ago

Text

ANONYMOUS MASTERLIST

Thank you all! All you magnificent creators, wonderful prompters, thoughtful commenters, generous kudos givers and rebloggers, everyone who’s been supportive and enthusiastic about this fest. Join us in celebrating our romantic, swoon worthy and steamy creations.

Reveals will happen in a week! You have until the 20th to catch up and take part in our Guessing Game.

Under the cut you find all our 2023 entries: 8 stories, 6 artworks and 2 podfics.

🖋 Fic

collarbones like a bow, skin an arrow to the heart

(Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley, E, 4k) Gin’s adjusting the lighting for their next shoot when in walks the new model Luna was so enthusiastic about, and that’s when they know they’re in deep shit.

Cool About It

(Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, M, 16k) Harry is so excited for his first date with Draco. But what follows isn't so much a date as it is an all-night odyssey including a malevolent lift, a Gringotts heist, a Sleeping Curse, a trip to the kebab shop, a lack of dancing, a Muggle drug, a rooftop pool party, a black eye and, eventually, a sunrise over a Quidditch stadium.

Love Me Meow

(Arabella Fig/Minerva McGonagall, E, 2.5k) After the students leave for the summer, Headmaster McGonagall and the new Muggle Studies professor have a chance and sensuous encounter at the beach.

Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage

(Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, E, 21k) Lord Draco Malfoy may be a young man spending time in Dumbledore’s summer court, but that does not mean he needs to succumb to its licentious frivolity. He carries the burden of his lineage, the shadow of rumours, and the dignity of his betrothal to a good match. He is certainly not fool enough to be distracted by the dark curls and ready grin of the court’s stableboy, who seems to have taken up with every courtier who looks his way.

The Real Thing

(Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, M, 5k) Harry only means to cheer Draco up after a terrible breakup. He doesn't mean to fall in love.

this is how we become timeless

(Narcissa Malfoy/Lily Evans, T, 10k) Narcissa is in eternal servitude to the Dark Lord, bound by the tears of a burned-down phoenix. Lily belongs to the Order, bound by the tears of the same creature. They’re the only two people in the world in the position of time turners, tasked with teetering the outcome of the ongoing war into their respective side’s favor. They are light years away, yet they’ve never been closer.

Wild Horses (couldn't drag me away)

(Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, E, 36k) Koi no Yokan (Japanese) - The feeling of excitement you get when you first meet someone and know that you will eventually fall in love with them. A more realistic version of ‘love at first sight’, it roughly translates to ‘premonition of love’. A story of magic, horses, magical horses, and two men who fight all odds to find their way to each other.

Yesterday

(Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, T, 10k) Harry doesn’t intentionally kidnap Draco Malfoy. Really it’s debatable if you can even call it kidnapping but the git surely seems to think so.

🎨 Art

Harry And Draco Wearing Kilts

(Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, G, digital art) Our favourite wizards, dressed in traditional Scottish attire.

I Bloom Pink For You

(Narcissa Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, M, craft) Pansy has been starved for love her whole life. All she needs is someone who will give her the approval she craves. An origami comic inspired by Schmem_14's fic.

Joy Exposed

(Fleur Delacour/Ginny Weasley, G, Digital art) Ginny and Fleur give an interview for Daily Prophet’s new Weekend Magazine and spend hours doing an accompanying photoshoot. When it comes to approving the selection of photos for print, they unanimously choose the candid one taken on their break, rather than all the styled and posed images.

Monday Murder Club

(Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Lavender Brown/Padma Patil, T, Digital art) The members of a crime-solving club find love and friendship amidst the blood.

The Professor's Passion

(Narcissa Black Malfoy/Hermione Granger, G, Digital art) Hermione is a professor and Gryffindor head of house. She loves her job... until Narcissa Malfoy is hired on the school's faculty, and is now head of Slytherin. God, that woman is insufferable. Hermione despises her so much she can hardly think about anything else. (She must hate her... that's why she always feels so hot and bothered when she's around, right? And does she have to be so damn beautiful?)

You Pierce My Soul

(Harry/Draco, M, digital art) Harry's eyes were on him almost as soon as Draco entered the ballroom. It was as if he'd been watching the door, and now Harry's eyes were wide and his mouth open.

🎵 Podfic

Masks Off

(Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Teen, 3h 15 min) Draco had followed his parents to this Caribbean island as a matter of course, even though no one had told him what they were doing here or why his father’s ships were frequently attacked by masked pirates. And, honestly, Draco’d had no intention of actually finding out either.

wasps and honey by swoons

(Hermione Granger/Narcissa Malfoy, M, 1 - 1,5 hours) After ten years on parole in the Muggle world, newly widowed Narcissa Black is finally allowed to do magic again — as long as she can complete all the spells on the Ministry course list. Her Ministry of Magic representative? Hermione Granger.

Come play our Guessing Game!

#drarry #cissamione #narlily #ginsy #pancissa #fleur/ginny #pavender #minerva x arabella #hp femslash #hp rare pair #hpbodiceripper2023 #hpbodiceripper #masterlist #mod post

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anhed-nia · 4 years ago

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BLOGTOBER 10/7/2020

I missed THE GOLDEN GLOVE at Fantastic Fest last year. It was one of my only regrets of the whole experience, but it was basically mandatory since the available screenings were opposite the much-hyped PARASITE. As annoying as that sounds, it was actually a major compliment, since what could possibly serve as a consolation prize for the most hotly anticipated movie of the year? Needless to say, I heard great things, but I could never have imagined what it was actually like. I'm still wrapping my mind around it.

Between 1970 and 1975, an exceptionally depraved serial killer named Fritz Honka murdered at least four prostitutes in Hamburg's red light district. Today, we tend to think of the archetypal serial killer in terms of ironic contradictions: The public is attracted by Ted Bundy's dashing looks and suave manner, and John Wayne Gayce's dual careers as politician and party clown. Lacking anything so remarkable, we associate psychopathy with Norman Bates' boy-next-door charm, and repeat "It's always the quiet ones" with a smirk whenever a new Jeffrey Dahmer or Dennis Nilsen is exposed to the public. The popular conception of a bloodthirsty maniac is not the fairytale monster of yore, but a wolf in sheep's clothing, whose hygienic appearance and lifestyle belie his twisted desires. In our post-everything world, the ironic surprise has become the rule. In this light, THE GOLDEN GLOVE represents a refreshing return to naked truth.

To say that writer-director Fatih Akin's version of the Fritz Honka story is shocking, repulsive, and utterly degenerated would be a gross understatement. We first meet the killer frantically trying to dispose of a corpse in his filthy flat, wallpapered with porno pinups, strewn with broken toys, and virtually projecting smell lines off of the screen. One's sense of embodiment is oppressive, even claustrophobic, as the petite Honka tries and fails to collapse the full dead weight of a human corpse into a garbage bag, before giving up and dismembering it, with nearly equal difficulty. The scene is appalling, utterly debased, and yet nothing is as shocking as the killer's visage. When he finally turns to look into the camera, it's hard to believe he's even human: the rolling glass eye, the smashed and inflated nose, the tombstone teeth and cratered skin, are almost too extreme to bear. Actually, suffering from a touch of facial blindness, I had to stare intently at Honka's face for nearly half the movie before I could fully convince myself that I was, in fact, looking at an elaborate prosthetic operation used to transform 23 year old boy band candidate Jonas Dassler into the disfigured 35 year old serial murderer.

Though West Germany remained on a steady economic upturn beginning in the 1950s and throughout the 1970s, you wouldn't know it from THE GOLDEN GLOVE. If Honka's outsides match his insides, they are further matched by his stomping grounds in the Reeperbahn, a dirty, violent, booze-soaked repository for the dregs of humanity. Though its denizens may come from different walks of life, one thing is certain: Whoever winds up there, belongs there. Honka was the child of a communist and grew up in a concentration camp, yet he swills vodka side by side with an ex-SS officer, among other societal rejects, in a crumbling dive called The Golden Glove. The scene is an excellent source of hopeless prostitutes at the end of their career, who are Honka's prime victims, as he is too frightful-looking to ensnare an attractive young girl. These pitiful women all display a peculiarly hypnotic willingness to go along with Honka, no matter how sadistic he becomes; this seems to have less to do with money, which rarely comes up, and more to do with their shared awareness that for them, and for Honka too, it's been all over, for a long time.

Not to reduce someone’s performance to their physical appearance, but ???

To call Dassler's portrayal of Honka "sympathetic" would be a bridge too far, but it is undeniably compelling. He supports the startling impact of his facial prostheses with a performance of rare intensity, a full-body transformation into a person in so much pain that a normal life will never become an option. His physical vocabulary reminded me of the stage version of The Elephant Man, in which the lead actor wears no makeup, but conveys John Merrick's deformities using his body alone. Although there is an abundance of makeup in THE GOLDEN GLOVE, Dassler's silhouette and agonized movements would be recognizable from a mile away. In spite of his near-constant screaming rage, the actor manages to craft a rich and convincing persona. During a chapter in which Honka experiments with sobriety, we find a stunning image of him hunched in the corner of his ordinarily chaotic flat, now deathly still, his eyes gazing at nothing as cigarette smoke seeps from his pores, having no idea what to do with himself when he isn't in a rolling alcoholic rampage. The moment is brief but haunting in its contrast to the rest of the film, having everything to do with Dassler's quietly vibrating anxiety.

Performances are roundly excellent here, not that least of which are from Honka's victims. The cast of middle-aged actresses looking their most disastrous is hugely responsible for the film's impact. These are the kinds of performances people call "brave", which is a euphemism for making audiences uncomfortable with an uncompromising presentation of one's own self, unvarnished by any masturbatory solicitation. Among these women is Margarete Tiesel, herself no stranger to difficult cinema: She was the star of 2012's PARADISE: LOVE, a harrowing drama about a woman who copes with her midlife crisis by pursuing sex tourism in Kenya. Her brilliant, instinctive performance as one of Honka's only survivors--though she nearly meets a fate worse than death--makes her the leading lady of a movie that was never meant to have one.

So, what does all this unpleasantness add up to, you might be asking? It's hard to say. THE GOLDEN GLOVE is a film of enormous power, but it can be difficult to explain what the point of it is, in a world where most people feel that the purpose of art is to produce some form of pleasure. This is the challenge faced by difficult movies throughout history, like THE GOLDEN GLOVE's obvious ancestors, HENRY: PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER, MANIAC and THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE. Describing unremitting cruelty with relentless realism is not considered a worthy endeavor by many, even if there is real artistry in your execution; some people will even mistake you for advocating and enjoying violence and despair, as we live in a world where huge amount of movie and TV production is devoted to aspirational subjects. (The fact that people won't turn away from the Marvel Cinematic Universe movies, no matter how monotonous and condescending they become, should tell you something) How do you justify to such people, that you want to make or see work that portrays ugliness and evil with as much commitment as other movies seek to portray love, beauty, and family values? Why isn't it enough to say that these things exist, and their existence alone makes them worth contemplation?

A rare, perhaps exclusive “beautiful image” in THE GOLDEN GLOVE, from Fritz Honka’s absurd fantasies.

You may detect that I have attempted to have this frustrating conversation with many people, strangers, enemies, and friends I love and respect. I find that for some, it is simply too hard to divorce themselves from the pleasure principle. I don't say this to demean them; some hold the philosophy that art be reserved for beauty, and others have a more literary feeling that it's ok to show characters in grim circumstances, as long as the ultimate goal is to uplift the human spirit. Even I draw the line somewhere; I appreciate the punk rebellion of Troma movies as a cultural force, but I do not enjoy watching them, because I dislike what I perceive as contempt for the audience and the aestheticization of laziness--making something shitty more or less on purpose. A step or three up from that, you land in Todd Solondz territory, where you find materially gorgeous movies whose explicit statement is that our collective reverence for a quality called "humanity" is based on nothing. I like some of those movies, and sometimes I even like them when I don't like them, because I'm entranced by Solondz's technical proficiency...and maybe, deep down, I'm not completely convinced about "humanity", either. However, I don't fight very hard in arguments about him; I understand the objections. Still, I've been surprised by peers who I think of as bright and tasteful, who absolutely hated movies I thought were unassailable, like OLDBOY and WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN. In both cases, the ultimate objection was that they accuse humans of being pretentious and self-deceptive, aspiring to heroism or bemoaning their victimhood while wallowing in their own cowardice and perversity. Ok, I get it...but, not really. Why isn't it ever wholly acceptable to discuss, honestly, what we do not like about ourselves?

The beguiling thing about THE GOLDEN GLOVE is that, although it is instantly horrifying, is it also an impeccable production. The director can't help showing you crime scene photos during the ending credits, and I can't really blame him, when his crew worked so hard to bring us a vision of Fritz Honka's world that approaches virtual reality. But it isn't just slavishly realistic; it is vivid, immersive, an experience of total sensory overload. Not a square inch of this movie has been left to chance, and the product of all this graceful control is totally spellbinding. I started to think to myself that, when you've achieved this level of artifice, what really differentiates a movie like THE GOLDEN GLOVE from something like THE RED SHOES? I mean, aside from their obvious narrative differences. Both films plunge the viewer into a world that is complete beyond imagination, crafted with a rigor and sincerity that is rarely paralleled. And, I will dare to say, both films penetrate to the depths of the human soul. What Fatih Akin finds there is not the same as what Powell and Pressburger found, of course, but I don't think that makes it any less real. Akin's film is adapted from a novel by Heinz Strunk, and apparently, some critics have accused Akin of leaving behind the depth and nuance of the book, to focus instead on all that is gruesome about it. This may be true, on some level; I wouldn't know. For now, I can only insist that on watching THE GOLDEN GLOVE, for all its grotesquerie, I still got the message.

#blogtober #2020 #the golden glove #fatih akın #heinz stronk #jonas dassler #margarete tiesel #difficult cinema #horror #slasher #serial killer #period piece #adaptation #historical #biopic #fritz honka #i may have been watching a lot of powell and pressburger movies recently #sorry...

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Episode 36 Review: The Séance

{ YouTube: 1 | 2 | 3 }

{ Synopses/Recaps: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

Welcome back to my Garden of Evil and thank you for patiently waiting for me to return to reviewing Strange Paradise. It’s been a wild and chaotic past few weeks and I’ve just gotten around to returning to the course of events on Maljardin. And Great Serpent, this time we have one hell of a wild episode!

Because I already miss the bad puns in the earlier episodes.

Of all the episodes of this show, this one is my #1 favorite. It embodies everything I love about Maljardin-era SP: it stars Colin Fox as both Jean Paul and Jacques, features some delightful Jacques scenes, and is genuinely suspenseful and scary. There are also unintentional laughs as usual, but somehow none of them detract from the frightening moments. If I had to introduce SP to someone who had never seen it before (say, my mom, who only knows a little about it), I would use this episode, not the pilot which (IMO) is less scary and far more ridiculous. The magic of Ian Martin’s SP is on full display here. Although he doesn’t leave the show immediately after this episode, it feels like a last hurrah, and a spectacular one at that. You know you want to read about this episode, so what are you waiting for?

We open with Vangie napping on the couch shortly after the events of the previous episode. Over her, Jean Paul and Alison are arguing about whether to go through with the séance to contact Erica. Alison begs him not to because of the risk of death, but Jean Paul insists on pushing through with it anyway because, as Raxl recaps, “The Conjure Woman didn’t see her death, only [Jacques’].” Jean Paul interprets this as meaning that he himself might die, but it’s not clear if he truly believes this or if he’s trying to cover up his frequent possession by the handsome devil.

Vangie recovers and announces that she plans on going through with it, no matter what happens. Still angry from last episode, Matt protests and Jean Paul gives him this nasty smirk that reeks of passive aggression:

Either that, or Colin is trying hard not to laugh. I can’t tell.

“This is not your concern, Reverend,” Jean Paul spits, and Vangie agrees with him. Although she knows that she will one day die on the Island of Evil, she feels that the séance is her duty as the Conjure Woman.

Matt once again reveals his status as the Fool (or, rather, le Mat) when he remarks that Jean Paul and Jacques are indistinguishable “except by [their] manner of dress.” Evidently, he hasn’t considered the possibility that THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES can possess Jean Paul and thus wear the exact same clothes as him. In fact, Padre, he’s worn that same extremely flattering blue suit before when talking to you, and you don’t even know it.

Jean Paul orders Vangie to begin the séance and we get a lovely overhead shot of the glass-top table. I’ve already posted high-quality photos of the table, but I love it so much that the laws of obsessive fandom require me to post it again:

Oh, how I love that table and those chairs. Actually, I love the whole Maljardin set.

Jean Paul volunteers to help Vangie, Raxl, and Quito set up, which seems to surprise them because otherwise he spends no time cleaning up after himself and all his time brooding, throwing glasses at priceless artifacts, and--of course--getting possessed. Elizabeth and Holly see them setting up, and the former heads down the stairs to watch.

Elizabeth is wearing this fabulous ensemble with a checkered dress and a red scarf pinned with a brooch in the shape of a dahlia. It most likely came from her actress Paisley Maxwell’s own wardrobe, as she mostly wore her own clothes on the show and even provided some costumes for the other actresses. (LINK CONTAINS SPOILERS THROUGH THE END OF MALJARDIN)

A shot with a better view of her brooch.

Vangie tells Jean Paul that the room needs to be dark, and that the only light in the room during the ceremony should be candlelight. Cue Jean Paul glancing up to the chandelier precariously suspended directly over the glass-top table:

If this isn’t painfully obvious foreshadowing, then I don't know what is.

The chandelier even sways ever so slightly as he stares at it!

Holly asks if she, her mother, Dan, and Tim can attend, and Vangie tells them no! According to her, they are all “disruptive influences” who will derail the séance, which will likely be too frightening for her anyway. Jean Paul tells Elizabeth to go, too, which she takes as a personal attack because Jacques has tricked her into believing that he’s in love with her.

LMAO

They are almost ready to begin the ceremony, but first, we need more blatant foreshadowing! We need Jean Paul to glance up at the swaying chandelier again, apparently without thinking of the slight chance that it might fall and cause an accident:

Seriously, Jean Paul? You have an IQ of 187. You should know better.

This is some heavy-handed foreshadowing, even for a show that constantly reminds us that Jacques Eloi des Mondes is THE DEVIL and cuts to close-ups of him every other time THE DEVIL is mentioned. I think you can guess what will happen about halfway through this episode. I normally try to avoid spoilers and to warn about any that I include or link to, but let’s face it. You know that chandelier is going to come crashing down at some point in the episode, because of all the emphasis that the script and the cinematography have already put on it. It’s a foregone conclusion. And I’m sorry, but Jean Paul with his alleged super-genius IQ has no excuse. Move the table! Have Quito tighten the chain! Replace the chandelier with a single candle or small candelabrum on the table! Do something to lower the chances of the accident that we all know is coming!

Vangie begins the séance to contact Erica.

After commercial break (hence the lack of the Drive-In Classics logo), the séance begins. We have Jean Paul, Vangie, Raxl, and Quito, plus Alison and Matt and an empty chair for Erica’s spirit. It’s a marvelous scene with just the right amount of eerie atmosphere, which Vangie’s hypnotic voice only enhances. They bridge the divide between the worlds of the living and the dead and all seems like it will succeed, but then

The third one is my favorite.

Jean Paul contorts his face again as he tries to resist Jacques’ possession of him, but ultimately his efforts are in vain:

Jacques’ beringed hand attacking Jean Paul. This also means that the chain created when the séance participants joined hands has been broken.

Matt asks Jean Paul what’s wrong and Jacques answers. “Everything is under control now,” he whispers with evil relish.

“No! Not now! NOT NOW!” Vangie screams, and then comes the inevitable:

Well, there goes one of Jean Paul’s astrological sign tables. Good thing he has another in storage.

I’m not going to lie: the first time I watched this scene, I shouted “No!” when the chandelier fell, even though I could see it coming. Somehow, despite the foregone conclusion and Jean Paul’s ridiculous headache faces, the scene creates enough suspense and horror to be effective. Plus, if you’re like me, you care about Vangie and don’t want to see anyone hurt her, even if that someone is 6′4″ with amazing cheekbones, a devilishly sexy smile, and the most beautiful hands on any man living or dead.

The power also goes out at the same time, and the handsome devil denies all responsibility for it despite his history of screwing with the electricity:

Classic Jacques sarcasm.

Conveniently, the lights come back on a moment later. They come just in time for Alison and Matt to tend to Vangie, whom the chandelier has knocked unconscious:

You can tell her injury is serious even before her close-up, because the Reverend is in shirtsleeves.

A close-up, showing the blood on Vangie’s forehead.

Jacques tells Holly that there was nothing seriously wrong with the electricity, and Dan flips out on him, insisting that “one day you’re going to blow us all up.” (Does he suspect that Jean Paul is somehow playing with the lights?) Jacques insists that even he can’t afford to buy a nuclear weapon. The fact that he knows what a nuclear weapon is serves as yet more evidence that he’s really the Devil and not a ghost from the 17th century (although, if he were a ghost, perhaps he would have overheard Jean Paul talking about nuclear weapons before).

I think that this is one of maybe two times that I ever envied Holly.

Vangie stands up, but doesn’t say a word to any of the characters, just stares blankly ahead of her. She doesn’t even react when Alison slaps her. Jacques cruelly snaps his fingers in front of her, which Alison demands he not do because it might cause her to be “destroyed, locked into a world of darkness, less living than dead.” She adds that “[she] can’t help but thinking that what happened to her is so like [Quito],” and turns to face the zombie who is watching the now cataleptic Conjure Woman, horrified:

It makes you wonder what sort of traumatic memories from Quito’s human life the sight of Jacques turning Vangie into a zombie evoked. Also, we never learn who turned Quito into a zombie in the show canon, but this scene shows that Jacques knows how and is therefore a possible candidate.

This is yet another point where the plot of the aired episodes differs from the original story as indicated in the Lost Episode summaries. In the original Episode 36, Vangie would have revealed Jacques’ possession of Jean Paul to all the participants at the séance, thus confirming for Raxl that Jean Paul is two different men. I suspect that Matt would refuse to believe it because of his lack of belief in devils and Dan because it sounds irrational and like a cover-up for Jean Paul’s alleged crimes, but Raxl, Vangie, and possibly Alison would have the evidence they needed.

Anyway, Jacques and most of the others leave Quito to clean up the mess while they have some drinks in the dining room. Mostly, it’s Jacques trying to pressure everyone into drinking while trying to gaslight them into believing that there was a storm outside even though there wasn’t. They’re not buying it, least of all Dan, who now has yet another reason to be suspicious of him.

I should also add that Part 3 of the YouTube version of this episode (which contains this scene) is out of sync, meaning that most of the subtitles are combined with the wrong shots and the wrong characters. Sadly, we don’t get anything on the level of “NO NO NO YES YES YES,” but the out-of-sync audio does make Dan’s accusation almost look like Jacques is confessing to making the chandelier fall:

YES YES YES

He offers brandy to both Matt and Holly, but Matt tells him not to give it to either of them, so Jacques brings the glasses he just filled over to Elizabeth instead. He starts talking about how no one was hurt, meaning that she has to remind him that Vangie was injured. Still, “she wasn’t really seriously injured,” so I guess for him it doesn’t count. He sends her away and starts to drink, which I guess lets Jean Paul recover his body because he de-possesses him, finally letting Jean Paul see the mess he left behind.

I already posted a lot of headache faces in this entry, so here I’m just going to include my favorite from this scene.

For a moment, Jean Paul looks like he’s going to cry, but his sadness turns to shock when Quito shows him the writing box. The wooden box which previously only held sand, now bears a message written in grains of rice in the shape of the symbol of the Great Serpent. Quito appears terrified by the message, but sadly he can’t translate it for Jean Paul. Raxl, too, freaks out when she sees it and says it’s “from the Conjure Man, but he needs the Conjure Woman to translate it and she’s still in a trance!”

Apparently, the Conjure Man communicates in grains of rice.

Although she can’t translate the whole message, she can tell Jean Paul, “It tells of more accidents. Spirits are very angry...with you!”

This final scene, like the scene with the crashing chandelier, is genuinely chilling, resulting in one of the scariest episodes of the Maljardin arc. This is one of SP’s finest episodes and certainly one of Ian Martin’s finest from his nine-week period as headwriter. I’m not certain what led the producers to decide to have Vangie enter a trance instead of revealing Jacques’ possession to the other characters, but most likely it was to increase the suspense and the terror. Also, I’m starting to wonder if perhaps Quito isn’t actually undead, but instead is an immortal like Raxl (and Vangie?), but stuck in a magically-induced trance. Perhaps when he recoiled in fear over Vangie’s transformation, it was because Jacques (or perhaps the Conjure Man) did the same exact thing to him three centuries ago.

Coming up next: Jacques continues to meddle in affairs on Maljardin while Raxl struggles to interpret the writing box. (But before then--hopefully--the next part of my review of Shadow Over Seventh Heaven.)

{<- Previous: Episode 35 || Next: Episode 37 ->}

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