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autisticandroids · 3 years

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Okay so this was a while back but im preety sure you had mentioned an au of yours where dean is a serial killer and cas successfully stalks him but i don't think you talked about it more than that and i just really want to hear a bit more bc that idea sounds so tastefully fucked up

okay so. weeks later i finally end up answering this ask. it inspired this post btw. anyway spn is a show that's like. all about justifications, as i said in the post inspired by this ask. it's about having no choice and doing what you have to do. and like there is the phantasy embedded in it, a phantasy that is both indulged and punished. but most importantly it's justified. the monsters are super strong to show how brave our heroes are for fighting them, the main characters let out great wails of grief every time their lady loves are violently ripped from them (even though now they are free to do whatever they want), the narrative twists to show our heroes as correct whatever they do. the fantasy (of being allowed to enact violence, of being free from feminine "control," of being right) comes first. the material construction of the universe of supernatural comes afterward. whatever the fantasy is, the universe of supernatural will provide material conditions to justify its acting-out.

and what this means is that our protagonists, dean in particular, are constantly doing just horrific things, which in any other circumstance would be unconscionable. but the universe of supernatural provides justification for these acts. the point of my serial killer au which i think about so so so much is to ask the question: what if these justifications melted out from under their feet? what if dean was left holding nothing but a lie and the weight of everything he's done?

therefore, the premise of my au is such (under the cut because this baby is long):

john and mary winchester, in the mid seventies, joined a doomsday cult known as the men of letters. the men of letters were rather unusual for a doomsday cult, in that they believed that the apocalypse could be prevented by human behavior. this started as correct living, correct worship, yadda yadda, the kind of behavior and thought control that cults are known for, but with the justification of: if you don't do this, the world will end. eventually, this escalated to human sacrifice. the men of letters managed to untraceably kill two homeless people in the late seventies. but they eventually fell apart. however, a month after john and mary left the men of letters (mostly john's choice, mary still believed), mary died in a house fire. john took it as a sign from god that actually, the men of letters were right, and the world would end unless john himself did something about it. so he took some of the (intensely numerological) theology of the men of letters. and he worked out his own formula. and he applied it to the yellow pages. and started ritualistically killed people to prevent the apocalypse, with his two sons in the back of the car.

now, obviously, this is some kind of grief induced temporary madness on john's part, shaped by the mental abuse he suffered in the men of letters. but the thing is, once you've killed a couple of people to prevent the apocalypse. well. there's this thing called the sunk costs fallacy. john wasn't gonna question his own beliefs after that.

and he raised his boys to believe it, too, or at least he raised dean to. they didn't tell sam what they did until he was twelve, and sam didn't buy it, tried to call the cops on them several times but in the end, they always prevented him. eventually sam ran off to stanford, where he now lives under a cloud of guilt that he's too loyal to his family to rat them out.

john died a few years back of a heart attack, but dean is convinced it's because he messed up a ritual two weeks before it happened, so it pushed him further into this belief system.

dean's killings (and john's before him) are ritualistic and distinctive, obviously the same killer each time. but they happen anywhere in the united states, seemingly at random, there are inconsistent amounts of time between each one (sometimes as short as days, sometimes as long as years), and there is no particular victim profile. obviously, since our killers are following an arcane mathematical formula to make their choices for them, but the police don't know that.

castiel novak is an unemployed shut-in with a small inheritance which he's living off of, a cryptography degree, and an obsession with all things morbid. he spends most of his time on the reddit true crime forums, playing amateur sleuth. by complete chance, he happens to recognize one of the symbols frequently used in corpse displays by the so-called sioux falls satanic slaughterer (so named because the first time three of his victims were in the same part of the country, it so happened that they were all in sioux falls, south dakota. this was in the late eighties.) as being mostly only used by a little known cult group called the men of letters, which dissolved in the mid eighties.

he only notices this because, as a teen, he had a special interest in cults and fringe religious groups. the men of letters weren't a particularly notable or well known phenomenon; they were small, and a lot like every other cult that formed during the seventies cult boom. (no outsider ever heard about the human sacrifice; there were rumors, of course, but they were garbled, sensationalized, and mixed up with satanic panic fodder.)

(the men of letters' two sacrifices were nothing particularly romantic or fantastical. they first lured panhandler josie sands back to their compound with promises of food and a warm bed when she admitted she couldn't get a bed at a shelter, and was thinking of getting caught shoplifting just so she could be under a roof in the county jail. the men of letters' leader, a man who took on the name alistair, forced his inner circle to dress in the ceremonial black robes he had given them when he initiated them into his nearest and dearest, and which his wife had sewn out of old bed sheets and dyed black with home made oak gall dye. these robes still left black smudges on the wearer's skin occasionally if they sweated too much. josie was laid, bound, on the altar, a slapdash thing constructed over the course of two days from scrap plywood and a couple of milk crates. a rich red tablecloth purchased at macy's for $3.99 hid its ugliness and gave it grandeur. alistair attempted to kill the struggling miss sands by bringing a sharpened kitchen knife down on her bosom and piercing her heart, but, having never killed a human or even slaughtered an animal before, was unaware of the problem presented by the human ribcage. after rather ineffectually poking at the area beneath sands' bosom with his knife while she shrieked in pain and terror for about ninety seconds, alistair tried a different tack, and slit her throat, which worked just fine, and she bled out quite nicely. the second and final victim of the men of letters was a local vagrant named larry ganem, an older gentleman who walked with a limp. he was lured back to the compound in approximately the same manner as sands, but instead of being bound, he was fed stew laced with sleeping pills. even if alistair hadn't slit his throat, he wouldn't have woken up. it's actually arguable whether he was still alive at time of sacrifice; mary winchester (eight months into her first pregnancy), who, as a member of the inner circle, was in attendance, actually tried to take ganem's pulse as he lay on the altar (now covered by a different tablecloth; the red one had turned stiff with sands' blood and been subsequently burned) and found nothing, so it is entirely possibly only sands' death can be directly laid at alistair's feet, and ganem's is the fault of mrs. ellen harvelle, who prepared the laced stew. regardless, these two deaths are lessons in the nature of human evil: it is very rarely skilled, suave, or smooth. it's often slapdash, half-hearted, and just plain incompetent. but that makes it no less grisly. alistair may have begun to drink his own kool-aid, as it were, and escalated this far out of genuine belief that the apocalypse was coming and it was up to him to stop it, but it is far more likely that he sensed the imminent collapse of his little empire, and wanted to bind his subjects to him through the horrors of shared guilt, considering two lives a small price to pay for the continued loyalty of his inner circle. and the tactic worked: the men of letters didn't start to collapse in earnest until almost four years later. perhaps if alistair had continued the killings, the men of letters could have lasted for far longer, maybe even up until the present day. but it seems that alistair, a psychiatrist by training and unused to violence, simply didn't have the stomach for it. unlike, say, john winchester, who before his time with the men of letters had done a two year tour in vietnam, during which he had killed three living, thinking human beings with the american government's go-ahead.)

anyway. castiel is the first person, ever, to make the connection between the men of letters and the sioux falls satanic slaughterer. and once that connection is made, castiel begins to research the men of letters far more in-depth. and he notices something: the theology of the men of letters was intensely numerological, filled with patterns, significant numbers, and even spiritual equations.

castiel thinks of the seemingly random selection of the slaughterer's victims, and has an epiphany.

he cracks all his fingers, and gets coding.

six months. it takes castiel six months to discover an equation that could fit the slaughterer's pattern. it's complex, but also clearly based on several of the men of letters' holy numbers, and accounts for every single one of the killings. it also suggests that there should have been two or three more deaths scattered across the years, but more than likely those did happen, it's just that they weren't reported as part of the slaughterer's portfolio.

but much more importantly, castiel's model can also make predictions. there will be two killings, fifteen days apart, in a city seven hours' drive away, six weeks from now.

so castiel waits. and he books a hotel room. and two months later, he's waiting outside 217 oak street when a shadowy figure climbs up a tree and lets itself into the upstairs window.

dean winchester is feeling particularly all alone in the world when he breaks into maisey banks' home (217 oak street). his father has been dead for half a decade, and he hasn't spoken to his baby brother for twice that. it's not like this whole grizzly saving the world business makes him a lot of friends. so once he's done killing maisey (which is easy, she was ninety three and dying of cancer anyway. she doesn't even wake up when he slits her throat) and arranging her corpse in the appropriate manner, with prayers and sigils, he turns around. and sees a man standing behind him.

smiling slightly.

as he watches dean gut this old woman.

dean freezes.

the man takes a step forward.

"you're very attractive for a serial killer who's been operating since the eighties."

dean is silent.

"family business, is it?"

silence continues.

"i'm not here to report you to police. i'm just here to see if my algorithm worked right."

and dean finally breaks his silence: "what the hell is wrong with you?"

what's fun here is that dean knows (or rather "knows") that he isn't a serial killer. so he finds what cas is doing, this amoral serial killer stormchasing, morally repugnant. because cas has no way of knowing he isn't a regular serial killer.

there's also the fact that that cas proceeds to flirt with him. aggressively. and follows him back to his motel.

but the thing is that dean is all alone in the world. and as cas continues trailing him around, he starts getting, well, flattered. and feeling a little bit less alone.

it doesn't take very long before they fall into bed. even if cas is an amoral stalker with a fetish for what dean considers a distasteful yet necessary vocation.

so. they fall into bed. they fall in love. they make a little life together, in dean's big sexy car. dean tries to explain to cas that he's saving the world. that these people's lives are a necessary price to pay. and cas seems to listen.

of course, castiel doesn't believe a word of it. but he's found that he likes dean. really likes him. and he realizes that the collapse of dean's belief system would destroy him.

so he sets about becoming as complicit in it as possible.

even to the extent where, when dean is hit by a car and ends up into the hospital a day before one killing is meant to take place, castiel agrees to take on the job. (he doesn't actually kill anyone, obviously. but he does use his extensive skill with computers to create three fake newspaper articles which make it look like he has.)

but five years later, something goes wrong. really, really wrong. dean miscalculates the formula. and by the time he checks his work, the actual date of the next kill, as demanded by the formula, has passed. in fact, so have three others. and the world didn't end.

dean collapses. he hyperventilates. all those people. all those people. for no reason. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people.

cas seems totally unfazed. dean stares at him in shock. but cas just takes dean in his arms, and whispers in his ear: "oh, dean, i never believed in the equation. i love you no matter what you've done."

and dean buries his face in cas' chest.

#spn #asks #anonymous #abuse tw #violence tw

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piratewithvigor · 3 years

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My first thought in regard to every band that gets played on my radio station

ACDC: Every dad’s favourite band

Adams, Bryan: Every mom’s favourite singer until Michael Buble came along

Aerosmith: haha they thought Vince Neil was a lady

Alice Cooper: he’s a Game Of Thrones fanboy and I have proof

Alice In Chains: my sister doesn’t like them because she decided AC were Alice Cooper’s initials ONLY

Allman Brothers Band: good music for dropping acid to

Allman, Gregg: That’s too many Gs for one name

Animals: House Of The Rising Sun, or who even cares

Argent: Sometimes Hold Your Head Up is really catchy

Asia: Tuesdays

Autograph: one of the members went on to be a pharmacist

Bachman-Turner Overdrive: There are just so many pop culture jokes about Taking Care Of Business that whatever I say won’t be as funny

Bad Company: with their song; Bad Company, off their album; Bad Company

Benatar, Pat: Always getting her confused with Patti Smith

Black Crowes: I like them for Lickin, but it doesn’t seem to exist outside of one shoddy video on youtube and my old CD

Blackfoot: this band name feels kind of racy

Black Sabbath: Dio was not better or worse than Ozzy; just different

Blondie: I like Call Me, but Blondie confuses me stylistically

Blue Oyster Cult: MORE COWBELL

Bon Jovi: Hello, childhood trauma, I missed you

Boston: ONE GUY. ONE GUY DID IT ALL AND NO ONE KNOWS

Bowie, David: Don’t let your children watch The Man Who Fell To Earth, or David Bowie’s will end up being the third penis they see in life

Browne, Jackson: Another musician ruined by Supernatural

Buffalo Springfield: Jack Nicholson was at the riot they sing about

Burdon, Eric: no ideas, brain empty

Bush: ditto

Candlebox: ditto once more. Who are these people?

Cars: This band feels so gay and so straight at the same time, I can only assume they’re the poster children of bisexual panic

Cheap Trick: I played Dream Police on Guitar Hero so fucking much because it was the only song anyone who played with me could keep up with

Chicago: Chicago 30 exists, but they do not have 30 albums. Fucking riddle me that

Clapton, Eric: 6 discs in one Greatest Hits is too many. That’s called “re releasing your discography”

Cochrane, Tom: For some reason, everyone thinks Rascal Flats did it better

Cocker, Joe: Belushi did it right

Collective Soul: who?

Collins, Phil: If his biggest hits were done by MCR, they would be emo anthems, but because he’s 5′6″ and from the 80s, they’re not

Cream: *Vietnam flashbacks on the hippie side*

CCR: *Vietnam flashbacks on the war side*

CSNY: David Crosby; meh

Deep Purple: THEY’RE SO MUCH MORE THAN SMOKE ON THE WATER

Def Leppard: the only music for when you’re a heartbroken bitch but also a sexy one

Derek And The Dominos: Clapton and ‘Layla’ broke up

Derringer, Rick: Tom Petty if he was from the midwest

Dio: You thought it was an anime reference, but it was me, Dio

Dire Straits: You can tell how bigoted a radio station is based on how much of Money For Nothing they censor

Doobie Brothers: I have yet to smoke weed, but I listen to the Doobies, and I think that’s pretty close

Dylan, Bob: I take back everything I said about him in my youth

Eagles: Hotel California isn’t their best song, but the memes that come from it are second to none

Edgar Winter Group: @the--blackdahlia

Electric Light Orchestra: Actually an orchestra and sound a fuckton like George Harrison

ELO: I really hesitate to ask what happens with the 7 virgins and a mule

Essex, David: no prominent memories of him

Fabulous Thunderbirds: cannot spell

Faces: Who on earth thought that was a good album name?

Faith No More: I got nothing

Fixx: One Thing Leads To Another is a damn bop

Fleetwood Mac: I ain’t straight, but I’m simply not enough of a witch to enjoy them to full potential

Fogerty, John: He got sued cause he sounded like himself

Foghat: Slow Ride slowly becoming less coherent feels like a drug trip

Foo Fighters: He was just excited to buy a grill

Ford, Lita: deserved better

Foreigner: dramatically overplayed

Frampton, Peter: a masterful user of the talk box

Free: dramatically underplayed

Gabriel, Peter: leaving Genesis changed him a lot

Genesis: if someone likes Genesis, clarify the era, because yes, it does matter

Georgia Satellites: sing like you have a cactus in your ass

Golden Earring: Twilight Zone slaps, but it doesn’t slap as hard as this station thinks it does

Grand Funk Railroad: Funk

Grateful Dead: I like their aesthetic more than their music

Great White: there are so many fucking shark jokes

Greenbaum, Norman: makes me think of Subway for some reason

Green Day: the first of the emo revolution

Greg Kihn Band: RocKihnRoll is literally the most clever album name I’ve ever seen

Guns N Roses: They have more than three good songs, but radio stations never recognize that

Hagar, Sammy: I’m still trying to figure out where he lived to take 16 hours to get to LA driving 55 and how fucking fast was he driving beforehand?

Harrison, George: He went from religious to rock, and if he had continued rocking, he would have gotten too cool

Head East: I respect people who use breakfast foods as album names

Heart: Magic Man and Barracuda are played at least once every goddamn day. They’re not even the best songs!

Hendrix, Jimi: I have both a cousin and a sibling named after Hendrix references

Henley, Don: Dirty Laundry gives me too much inspiration

Hollies: Somehow sound like they’re both from the 60s and the 80s at the same time

Idol, Billy: he’s doing well for himself

INXS: Terminator vibes

Iris, Donnie: knockoff Roy Orbison

James Gang: too many funks

Jane’s Addiction: if TMNT had a grunge band representative

Jefferson Airplane: *assorted cheers*

Jefferson Starship: *assorted boos*

Jethro Tull: The only band to make you feel not cool enough to play the flute

Jett, Joan: icon

J. Geils Band: I requested them on the radio once and it got played

Joel, Billy: he really did just air everybody’s business like that

John Cafferty And The Beaver Brown Band: literally wtf is that name

John, Elton: yarn Elton sits in my basement, unstaring. Please someone take him from me

Joplin, Janis: Queen

Journey: Stop overplaying Don’t Stop Believing. It takes away from the rest of the repetoire

Judas Priest: literally started the gay leather aesthetic

Kansas: another fucking band Supernatural stole

Kenny Wayne Shepherd: the man confuses me to the point where he isn’t in the right place alphabetically

Kiss: Mick Mars and I will simply have to disagree on the subject

Kravitz, Lenny: runaway vibes

Led Zeppelin: Fucking fight me if you don’t think they’re the most talented band (maybe not the most talented individually, but collectively, no one comes close)

Lennon, John: My least favourite Beatle for reasons

Live: I got nothin

Living Colour: slap a decent amount

Loverboy: do you not get TURNT the fuck up to the big Loverboy hits? Who hurt you??

Lynyrd Skynyrd: Sweet Home Alabama is a Neil Young diss track

Marshall Tucker Band: no opinion

Manfred Mann’s Earth Band: VERY STRONG OPINIONS THAT THEY AREN’T GOOD

McCartney, Paul/Wings: Power couple

Meatloaf: I have nothing but respect for a man who willingly named himself Meatloaf

Mellencamp, John: voted cutest lesbian of 1987

Metallica: I liked their appearance on Jimmy Fallon

Midnight Oil: I get them confused for Talking Heads a lot

Modern English: who?

Molly Hatchet: Hollies vibes, but also Georgia Satellites vibes

Money, Eddie: DAN AVIDAN, IF YOU SEE THIS, COVER TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT

Motley Crue: Stan Mick Mars and John Corabi. They’re the only ones who deserve it

Mott The Hoople: no one loves them except for David Bowie

Mountain: props for naming an album ‘Climbing’

Nazareth: I want to make a John Mulaney joke here, but I can never come up with one

Nicks, Stevie: witch queen

Night Ranger: I get them confused with Urge Overkill

Nirvana: Kurt Cobain was the ally grunge needed

Nova, Aldo: he’s Canadian, at least

Nugent, Ted: *serves a ghost as jerky*

Offspring: nothing here

Osbourne, Ozzy: this bitch crazy

Outfield: Your Love is kind of a sketchy song, but it slaps hard

Palmer, Robert: low quality Eddie Money

Pearl Jam: *grunts in Eddie Vedder*

Petty, Tom: I have so many feelings about Tom Petty and they are all good

Pink Floyd: which one is Pink?

Plant, Robert: solo career is a crapshoot, but his voice is unparalleled

Poison: I want them to write a song called ‘Alice Cooper’

Pretenders: I want to say good things, but I have nothing to say

Queen: A doctor of astrophysics, a screaming girl, a disco queen and a diva walk into a bar. It’s Queen; they’re there to play a gig

Queensryche: neutral opinion

Quiet Riot: they got big because of a song they hated. I love that

Rafferty, Gerry: the second-sexiest sax opening in all of music

Rainbow: Ritchie Blackmore created something very magnificent

Ram Jam: one good song and they didn’t even write it

Ratt: I’m sure they have more than Round And Round, but I don’t know it

RHCP: funky, but if you have paid money to hear them, you’re going to The Bad Place (I don’t make the rules)

Red Rider: basically Golden Earring

Reed, Lou: Walk On The Wild Side would be such a cool song if it wasn’t so dull

REM: American Tragically Hip

REO Speedwagon: Props for having a dad joke as an album title

Rolling Stones: Never in my life could I imagine the drummer being named anything but Charlie

Rush: How to make being uncool the coolest fucking shit

Santana: The world needs more Santana

Scandal: There’s something really funny about The Warrior being my brother’s “song” with his girlfriend

Scorpions: Was Wind Of Change written by the CIA? Only the spotify podcast I got an ad for once could say

Seger, Bob: A different variety of Eric Clapton (frankly a better variety, but that’s just me)

Simple Minds: we ALL forgot about you

Skid Row: Sebastian Bach is prettier than all of us

Soundgarden: music that makes you feel like you dunked your head underwater

Springsteen, Bruce: my arch-nemesis. Maybe someday, he’ll find out about it

Squeeze: according to my friends, the stupidest band name ever, but they’re theatre kids, so you know

Squier, Billy: If he can make it through 1984 alive, you can make it through whatever bad day you’re having

Stealers Wheel: Yet another band who I always mistake for George Harrison

Steely Dan: my house’s nickname for the Robber in Settlers Of Catan

Steppenwolf: Either makes me think of Jay & Silent Bob, Jack Nicholson, or that time I had to cut 6lbs of onions

Steve Miller Band: when you’re in the right mood, they slap hard

Stewart, Rod: my soundtrack to summer 2015

Stills, Stephen: Love The One You’re With Is Catchy, but the lyrics are questionable

Stone Temple Pilots: the only band to write a song about goo you smear on yourself

Stray Cats: an obscene amount of merch is available for them

Styx: Supernatural would have ruined them for me too if I hadn’t been into them previously.

Supertramp: I hunted for Breakfast In America for two years and it was worth every hunt

Sweet: I will never understand my two-month obsession with Ballroom Blitz when I was 15, but it was legit all I listened to

Talking Heads: you may find yourself in a pizza hut. And you may find yourself in a taco bell. And you may find yourself at the combination pizza hut and taco bell. And you may ask yourself; ‘how did I get here?’

Temple Of The Dog: I keep confusing them for Nazareth

Ten Years After: somehow still relevant

Tesla: not the car or the dude

The Beatles: Evokes a lot of opinions from people. Mine is that I love them

The Clash: I showed my sister the ‘Lock The Taskbar’ vine ONCE and it still kills her

The Doors: evokes teenage terror from deep within my soul

The Guess Who: Canada’s answer to confusing question-themed band names

The Kinks: kinky

The Police: wrote the theme of 2020 and everyone somehow forgot it was about a teacher resisting becoming a pedophile

The Ramones: playing all of their songs in a row wouldn’t take more than 2 hours

The Romantics: you don’t think you know them, but if you’ve seen Shrek 2, you have

The Who: If someone can explain Tommy to me, I’d be glad to hear it

The Zombies: I think they happened because of the 60s

Thin Lizzy: Could the boys maybe leave town?

Thorogood, George: blues, but make it modern

Toto: the most memed song behind All Star

Townshend, Pete: just makes me think of the end of Mr. Deeds

T-Rex: Mark Bolan is an icon

Triumph: The no-name brand of Rush

Tubes: like the yogurt

Twisted Sister: they did a christmas album and my mom does NOT hate it

U2: U2 Movers; we move in mysterious ways

Van Halen: RIP Eddie

Van Morrison: honestly, who’s named Van?

Vaughn, Stevie Ray: Steamy Ray Vaughn

Walsh, Joe: The Smoker You Drink The Player You Get

War: Foghat, but even groovier

Whitesnake: the most successful band to be named after a penis

Wright, Gary: the 90s thanks him for writing the song every movie used for the “guy sees cute girl and it’s love at first sight” scene

Yes: To Be Continued

Young, Neil: The best part of CSNY

Zevon, Warren: the album cover of Excitable Boy makes me deeply uncomfortable for reasons I don’t understand

ZZ Top: has been the same three guys since 1969. Lineup unchanged.

3 Doors Down: They feel a little modern to be on a classic rock station, but whatever

38 Special: Why 38?

#I made this instead of doing homework #Classic Rock #Meme

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i-am-a-passenger · 3 years

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Grace getting off the train hc list:

image description: a spin on the “you’ve been in a coma for x amount of time” meme featuring Grace. Grace’s head is poorly edited onto the face on the patient and the nurse is touching her shoulder saying “you’ve been on the train for ten years” Grace replies “can’t wait to go outside where there’s no pandemic”. end description.

this one ended up incredibly long...

- Grace’s number was built up over the course of 8 years where Simon was retraumatising her and she was making herself worse for other ppl’s approval out of a misguided idea of what she was supposed to do, that sort of trauma and straying from the recovery the train intended for her will take a long time to recover from, so Grace gets off the train 2 maybe 3 years after Book 3 finishes.

- also I like to think that she and her kid friends moved out of the mall car to somewhere else and set up a new camp there, and that some of them waited after getting their exits for Grace to get hers so they could leave together. And so Grace wouldn’t be alone on the train since that’s a huge source of anguish for her and I like the idea of some of the older kids in their teens looking after Grace and making sure she isn’t forced into a perfect leader role again and is able to take time to herself to look after her mental health and pursue hobbies and such so when she gets off the train she’s in a much better headspace and able to have healthier mutually caring relationships with people.

- Grace’s parents never stopped looking for her okay they love her :’[ but losing your only child for several years took a huge toll on their relationship and gave them lots of time to reflect on their not perfect behaviour and realise they were hurting Grace and why they treated her that way.

(taking huge inspiration from @blackfemmecharacterdependency ‘s no train au for Grace’s family here...) Grace’s mother realised she was living vicariously through her daughter and that her investment in Grace’s dancing and fame wasn’t healthy. So with Grace gone for such a long time and her unable to do that she turned inward and realised that about herself, and set to making her own life better and happier for herself so she wouldn’t need to project all these standards and unfulfilled dreams onto her daughter.

I like to think that Grace’s mum used to be like, a singer or an actress or something and was convinced to give that up by her husband to raise their daughter, and with Grace gone she returns to her career and reconnects with her old friends and colleagues. Also it’s important to me that as part of this she stops straightening her hair and goes natural, and while she still dresses fancy she does so more for herself than keeping up professional appearances. So when Grace comes back she’s ready to be accepting of her fashion choices and self expression rather than control her.

As for Grace’s dad, he seems like the type who’s overly invested in what things should be like to the point where he ignores or tries to change how things actually are, even if doing so hurts people. Like, when he got told Grace had shoplifted his response was “Grace would never steal” and he argues with the police officer, which really hurts Grace because rather than talking to her and thinking about how she feels and she would steal, he jumps into protecting his idealised image of Grace, and as we see with Grace’s mum scolding her for dressing up these parents really projected their ideals onto their daughter and traumatised her.

So for him it would be about letting go of controlling others and realising why he had to make Grace into someone else and mould her into what he wanted. I think after a few years her parents hire therapists for themselves and he does a lot of digging into his past to become a better person.

So when Grace comes back she goes home to a household that’s not perfect, but it’s trying to heal.

- Grace and her parents have a kind of rocky relationship for the first few months that she’s back. Grace has a hard time opening up about everything that happened on the train for obvious reasons, I mean... a magical train is hard enough, but corunning a cult on a magical train and almost getting killed by your best friend and a bunch of indoctrinated children? the Hazel thing? hard to get all that out, especially to parents who haven’t exactly been sympathetic towards her.

Also Grace’s dad kinda took a few steps back in his growth and tried to get Grace to start dancing again and just pushed for things to return to normal and for Grace to fit back into the plan he had for her life, partly because of not worked through stuff and partly because of guilt that she’d missed out on so much of her life (her entire teen years were spent on the train) and he did ultimately want her to be happy but went about it in the wrong way, so for these months Grace’s mum was like a mediator trying to figure out what Grace actually wanted and needed and protect her from being pushed back into the limelight when she wasn’t ready.

- Grace’s parents got Grace a therapist and together they started figuring out what Grace actually wanted. I think Grace tried to get back into dancing professionally and while she was incredibly good because all those years she never stopped practicing, not having a professional teacher for 10 years meant she’d have to train again for a long time before she could catch up with her peers and the competition.

Also the experience of competing against other people and winning stuff and being put on a pedestal for it is part of what made her act in the harmful ways she did during Book 3. So I personally am opposed to Grace returning to the life style that hurt her. This is something Grace realises through her therapy and she deals with a lot of feelings around being unable to dance professionally when that’s what her life was leading to, but she decides to explore other options like going to school and working and goes on a self discovery journey for a few years.

- She co stars with her mum in some shows and movies after she got her an acting gig, or she sings with her, and she tries out other stuff too like working in a book shop ( 😏😏😏😏) and like idk... being the person who wears the chuck ee cheese fursuit at a chuck ee cheese restaurant just to see what it’s like and has a lot of fun. Eventually she decides that working with kids is what she wants to do, partly because she was really good at helping her kid friends get their numbers down and found it rewarding to help them, and she feels guilt that she couldn’t help Hazel in the same way, so if she can she wants to stop any other kids from feeling the same way and make a difference in people’s lives. Also as someone with a note great childhood she empathises a lot with kids that are suffering, so she applies for a course and starts doing placements.

I imagine her dad was a bit disappointed in this decision but did his best to hide it for Grace’s sake.

Other stuff that makes me :] :

- When Grace tried dancing out again after years she met Shayna again and was nervous about it because they didn’t exactly get on well as kids but Shayna apologised to her for being mean n they become friends...

Shayna also ended up on the train because I said so, she was on there because she had insecurities that made her lash out at other people to feel better and she got train snatched after facing consequences for this from people she was mean to. She was on there for a few months - around the same time period Jesse was on the train for. And she got on just as the Apex was being formed, so she and her denizen companion would come across cars that had been raided by the Apex every now and then and wonder what was going on. They also ran into Amelia once or twice and were like ????? but thought nothing serious of it.

So Shayna becomes the main person Grace confides in about her train experience and they end up becoming really good friends. Like... Grace missed huge amounts of music and films and other stuff while she was gone and is really alienated from pop culture and general conversation because she has no idea what people are talking about most of the time so Shayna and her have sleepovers and marathon all the important movies Grace missed and like... listen to music Shayna thinks she might like together.

Sometimes Shayna pranks her by making her think that something no one cares about is a really big deal like... she tells her sausage party is considered a cult classic or something. Or she lies to her about memes so Grace embarrasses herself. But it’s not malicious or like, stuff that would really embarrass her or seriously hurt her feelings. they just mess around together is what I’m getting at.

- Also Grace figures out her triggers with her therapist so stuff like the name simon and the word apex need to be avoided, and Shayna respects that and keeps it in mind when she finds stuff for them to watch together. Like they avoid the reptile section when they go to zoos and stuff too.

- Grace keeps in touch with most of the kids that used to be in the apex, and they meet up every now and again and have a big get together barbecue on the anniversary of Grace getting off the train. And if any of them came from families with financial troubles Grace and her family try to support them. Basically the kids stay a part of Grace’s life and her support circle even after the train.

- I do like to think that Grace and Lake would meet again and that Grace would have a chance to make amends. I don’t think Lake or Jesse would want Grace in their lives bc of what she did to them, but they accept her apology and wish her the best of luck in rebuilding her life.

#infinity train #infinity train book 3 #infinity train grace #grace monroe #grace infinity train #grace theory #fan theory #grace monroe headcannon #in my heart all of this and more is cannon #very invested in grace and shayna being friends #I think it's a neat inversion of grace and simon #like one is childhood enemies to friends the other is childhood friends to... not exactly enemies but nothing good #like they weren't enemies bc simon was the one attacking her while she tried to help him at the cost of her own safety and potentially life

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renaerys · 4 years

Text

PPG One-Shot: Back At You (Butch/Buttercup)

A T-rated Greens one shot I did for our resident gothic heroine @avesthetea over on AO3! 💚

A heartfelt shoutout to the Instagram clown cult. Y’all know who you are and how much you inspire me to chronicle Brick’s eternal suffering in new and creative ways. It’s what we do.

Summary: When Buttercup's birthday planning falls apart at the last minute, the last person she would ever expect offers his help (or horror, depending on your perspective).

xxx

Buttercup’s phone buzzed on the nightstand by her head, and she jerked awake. Swallowing the bitter sleep taste, she wiped her mouth and fumbled for the phone. Head still buried in the pillow, she answered: “What time is it?”

“Time to get your ass to the precinct,” said Ty, her partner at the Citiesville Police Department. “Chief Foolery’s all hands meeting starts in twenty minutes. Tell me you’re not still asleep.”

Buttercup sprang up on her elbows and checked the time on her phone. Shit, she was going to be late. “Shit, I’m going to be late!”

“Girl, that’s what I’m tellin’ you—”

“Gotta go, bye!” Buttercup hung up the phone and would have launched out of bed if not for the arm that slipped around her waist and pulled her back down.

“Five more minutes,” Butch grumbled.

Buttercup lost her balance and ended up with her bare back flush against his equally bare chest. His breath was hot on the back of her neck where he pushed his nose among her loose black hair. “Butch, I have to go,” she said in a warning tone.

He chuckled, and it sent a thrill of heat down her spine and under the covers, where he pushed a knee between her thighs. “Why go when you could come?” The arm he’d looped around her waist traveled low beneath the sheets.

Buttercup groaned at his crass joke and caught his wrist before he could carry out the threat. “Because if I’m not at CPD headquarters in twenty minutes, Foolery’s going to pop a hemorrhoid—”

Butch flipped them over with his Super speed, and her back hit the mattress beneath him. He loomed over her, those green eyes acid-bright in the early morning sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. Her traitorous gaze raked up his chest, over the shadow of stubble on his jaw, and settled on those fast darkening eyes as he admired her in turn. But the moment he bent down to kiss her, she slipped out from under him in a flash of green and darted across the room. In a matter of seconds, she’d pulled out a spare change of clothes from the lone dresser drawer he’d cleared out for her use.

“Leaving me hangin’? For real?” Butch complained as he flopped back down among the sheets with a yawn.

“You’ll live. But I won’t if I’m late for this fuckery.” She dressed quickly in dark jeans and a button-up blouse before heading to the connecting bathroom Butch shared with his daughter, Brisa.

“Missin’ out!” Butch called from the bedroom.

Yeah, Buttercup thought as she combed through the tangles in her hair with her fingers and ran the water to brush her teeth. A knock on the door interrupted her morning ablutions, and Brisa entered through her bedroom door.

“G’morning,” she said. Her brown hair was a frizzy mess, and she clutched a stuffed purple Pretty Puff Pony under one arm.

Despite her haste to get out of there and jet to work, Buttercup spared the little girl a soft smile. “Morning, kid. You’re up early.”

Brisa grinned wide. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Buttercup’s smile fell immediately. “Did Butch sneak you that second chocolate bar after dinner last night? Goddamnit—Butch!”

“What, change your mind?” he called. “I knew you couldn’t leave before climbing my morning wood.”

Brisa made a face like she was going to ask, and Buttercup slammed Butch’s bedroom door shut. “Never mind. Let me guess, you were too excited to sleep because today’s your birthday, right?”

Brisa blinked up at her and smiled, her questions forgotten. “Yeah! Oh my gosh, we’re gonna have so much fun!”

Buttercup chuckled and ruffled her messy hair. “For sure. But first, I have to go to work.”

“You’ll be back for my party, right?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Pinky promise?” Brisa held out her little finger.

Buttercup hooked her pinky around Brisa’s. “I promise. Now go get dressed and brush your teeth. I’ll check on your dad.”

“Okay!”

Buttercup breezed through the bedroom, chucked Butch his sweat pants with a cautionary “Hide your dick,” and flew out of her paramour’s two-bedroom apartment in downtown Townsville just as Brisa came bursting in excited to start the day.

xxx

The morning was a complete waste of time, and a bitter part of Buttercup lamented not skipping out in favor of staying in bed with Butch.

“Well, at least nobody died today,” Ty said as he and munched on his doner kebab lunch to go. “Yet.”

Buttercup sucked down half of a water bottle after scarfing down her own lunch. They had stopped at the food truck parked a couple blocks from the precinct, opting for a quick fix as they watched oblivious pedestrians lost to their Air Pods. “Welcome back to active duty, Mr. Brightside.”

Ty chuckled, low and deep. After a few months of healing and rigorous physical therapy, his legs were completely healed and he’d finally been cleared for work that didn’t involve pushing papers at his desk. Once more standing tall with the sun shining off his bald head, Buttercup could not have been happier to have her partner back to his old self by her side.

“You bring it outta me.” Ty winked.

“You ready to head out?” she asked, tossing her wrapper in a corner trashcan. Traffic was shit as usual midday on a Saturday, but they had time before Brisa’s party was slated to start.

“Sure. Lemme just text Melanie.”

Buttercup figured she better catch up with Butch while she waited for Ty and make sure he was on the ball.

[Buttercup: Did you pick up the cake?]

After a few seconds, he replied.

[Butch: Omw with B. You still on clown duty?]

Buttercup groaned at the reminder.

[Buttercup: Can I just say he died and couldn’t make it?]

[Butch: Sure, if you want to crush B’s hopes and dreams 💔😈]

“Kill me.”

“What’s wrong now?” Ty asked.

Buttercup pocketed her phone and led the way to the precinct parking lot where Ty’s car was parked. “Just grappling with some casual childhood trauma coming back to bite me in the ass.”

Ty side-eyed her. “Which one?”

“Ha ha.”

They made it to his red hatchback, and Buttercup slipped into the passenger seat.

“This about Brisa’s birthday party?” Ty asked.

Buttercup groaned again and tugged at her loose hair. “Of all the things, a clown? I thought they were universally considered nightmare fodder for kids these days.”

“Speakin’ of which, I think I remember a psychotic clown attacking Townsville back in the day.”

“You remember correctly.” Buttercup glowered out the window as Ty eased them into traffic toward the Golden Bay Bridge. “But it was the one thing she said she just had to have because some other dumb kid in her class got one for her party.”

“Ah. Six years old and already the social food chain’s tuggin’ on her.”

“Whatever. I never cared about that shit when I was a kid.”

Ty smiled to himself. “Uh-huh.”

Buttercup resigned herself to her unfortunate fate and dialed the company she’d previously contracted to rent a clown for the afternoon. After about five minutes on the phone, she hung up.

“What was that all about?” Ty asked. “Problem?”

Buttercup stared straight ahead as the Golden Bay Bridge’s suspender cables passed her by. “The clown died.”

Ty laughed.

“Ty.” Buttercup looked directly at him. “The guy got hit by a bus on his way to work today and he died.”

Ty shut up. “Oh, uh… Shit.”

A pause.

“I mean, is there another clown, or…?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Buttercup snapped. All she could think of was how Brisa was going to be so upset that the one goddamned thing she had asked for wasn’t going to happen because there was no time to book a new party clown on such short notice on a Saturday.

When Ty shifted in his seat, the leather squeaked loudly in the fuming silence he wisely chose not to break, until he did. “So, should I—”

“Just drive. I’ll think of something…” Buttercup said as she pulled out her phone and tried not to completely lose her shit as she dialed the one person who always seemed to know what to do in a crisis.

“Hey, Blossom,” Buttercup said gravely after her sister picked up. “I think I need some help.”

xxx

When Buttercup and Ty parked in front of her childhood home, guests had already begun arriving. Bubbles was outside greeting people and directing them to the backyard for the festivities. When she spotted Buttercup and Ty, she waved. “Hey, there you are!”

“Have you seen Blossom?” Buttercup asked.

Bubbles pushed up the sleeves of her chunky lavender sweater and looked around. “I think she and Princess were setting up the piñata. Is everything okay—”

Buttercup dashed to the backyard in a blaze of green, leaving Ty to make his way inside at a more sedate pace. The backyard was already teeming with people. Brisa was playing tag with her best friend Richie and a few other kids, while Boomer stacked presents on a table by the back door. Mike and Robin led the day drinking charge by pouring out sangria for the adults and juice for the kids. Buttercup nearly crashed through the green tissue streamers criss-crossing the enclosed backyard in her haste to locate her sister, who was in fact stringing up a red monster-shaped piñata with Princess Morbucks. Or rather, Blossom was doing all the work while Princess held two glasses of bloody sangria and provided live commentary.

“Whoever invented piñatas had the right idea is all I’m saying,” Princess said as she sipped her drink. She was annoyingly chic as usual in designer jeans, dark boots, and a purple silk blouse that probably cost more than the pittance Buttercup’s government paycheck brought in every month.

“You think so?” Blossom said, floating near a high branch so she could toss the suspension rope over it.

“Of course. You’re rewarded with candy for smashing the shit out of your mortal enemy. What could be better than that?”

Blossom grinned. “Mortal enemy in effigy.” She patted the red monster’s snout. “But you’re not wrong.”

“Obviously.” Princess handed her back her sangria, and they shared a knowing laugh.

“Blossom,” Buttercup said.

Blossom smoothed the front of her navy skirt as she turned toward Buttercup. “You’re here. Everything all right?”

Buttercup eyed Princess watching them. “I was going to ask you the same thing. Any progress on the clown front?”

“I’m sorry, the what?” Princess asked.

Blossom’s pink eyes softened, and she put a hand on Buttercup’s shoulder. “I took care of it, don’t worry.”

“Wait, really? How? I called five other rental companies, but everything’s booked solid.”

Blossom’s smile turned devious. “Trust me. Brisa’s going to be very pleased.” Buttercup wanted to argue, but her sister squeezed her shoulder in a silent entreaty. “Just enjoy the party. Boomer, Bubbles, and I have everything under control.”

“Speaking of control,” Princess had her phone out when Blossom turned back to her, “where is that prima donna? He’s not answering any of my texts.”

“Brick’s running a little late,” Blossom said as she led Princess away. “Wardrobe malfunction…”

Their voices faded to the background as Buttercup watched them. Two peas in a fucking pod, and she still didn’t really get what Blossom saw in Princess. If Princess hadn’t played such an integral part in things a couple months back, she would never have given the woman a second thought beyond “Hard pass.”

People, however, had a tendency to surprise when it was down to the wire.

“Heads up, Buttercup!”

Buttercup automatically caught the child hurtling through the air like a tossed water balloon before he could crack his head open.

“O-Oh! Hi, Buttercup,” said Richie, meek and curled in on himself like he’d forgotten he was no longer fragile.

Brisa came dashing over. “Nice catch!”

Buttercup peeled Richie off her and dropped him flat on his ass in the grass. “Brisa, don’t yeet your friends. Bubbles will have an aneurism if she catches you.”

Brisa blushed, abashed. “Sorry…”

Buttercup cracked a smile and winked, and Brisa lit up.

“I’m okay!” Richie, Super resilient, hopped onto his feet and shook out his fluffy blond hair. “Um, does this mean I’m ‘it’ now?”

“No, I wanna play with the clown!” Brisa announced.

Buttercup’s face fell. “Uh, about that…”

Brisa blinked up at her. “He’s coming to my party, right?”

The flicker of doubt that passed through Brisa’s big brown eyes cracked Buttercup’s cold stone heart. She struggled for the words to let her down gently, because whatever Blossom had managed to put together so last minute wasn’t going to be the colorful surprise Buttercup had gone out of her way to book and customize a month in advance.

A round of squeals from the other kids across the yard drew her attention, where they had gathered around Mike at the garden door. “Okay, settle down, kiddos! He’s a little shy. Now, where’s the birthday girl at? Hey, Brisa!”

“C’mon, Brisa, let’s go,” Richie said, tugging on her hand.

But she held her ground and didn’t budge. Buttercup wanted to die.

“Brisa, look,” she began.

The door behind Mike slid open, and out stepped what Buttercup could only describe as her personal revenge fantasy gone morbidly wrong. Brick had never looked so sour in his life.

“Oh! Uh, ta-da!” Mike said hastily as he stepped aside for the person formerly known as Brick until his murder by dishonor.

His steps squeaked in his oversized red shoes, and the striped red and yellow overalls he wore over a polkadot shirt ballooned out at his legs. He looked like a tropical bowling pin. He looked fucking absurd.

“It’s Flameo Hotman! Say hello, kids,” Mike said.

Brick shot Mike a scathing glare that may have incinerated him where he stood if the tiny party hat and enormous red clown nose didn’t ruin the effect. “The hell it is.”

Buttercup had no problem averting her eyes from the literal clownery to focus on Brisa, who was still staring and petrified. Oh shit, oh fuck, she was upset and it was Buttercup’s entire fault—

“Uncle Brick?” Brisa blurted out.

Brick’s lurid eyes passed over Buttercup and landed on Brisa. If Buttercup hadn’t been looking right at him, she would never have believed the way they softened just a little. He pursed his lips and lifted his elastic-tied party hat off his short red hair. It snapped back in place when he let go. “Happy birthday, Brisa.”

Brisa immediately dashed out of Richie’s grip in a sprint too fast to be human and body slammed Brick where he stood. With a grunt, he managed to catch her and keep his balance as she hugged him tight around his inflated waist and laughed. “You look so funny!”

Brick coughed. “Yeah, that’s sort of the point…”

The other kids took that as their cue to also mob Brick, and soon he was adrift in a sea of grubby hands and demands for balloon animals and magic tricks. Buttercup could not believe her eyes. She could hardly remember the last time she saw Brick dressed anything other than to the nines, and now…

“Fuck me,” she wheezed, too stunned even to laugh, it was that heinous.

“Pretty good, huh?” Bubbles sidled up to her with a wrapped present for Brisa under her arm.

Buttercup swallowed hard. She didn’t trust her voice as she watched Brick—Brick—snap at Brisa’s friends to line up in an orderly fashion if they wanted their faces painted, and no cutting the line or there would be consequences.

“The costume’s a little janky, but I didn’t have a lot of notice when Blossom told me we needed something colorful for him to wear,” Bubbles went on.

“Why?” Buttercup croaked. She turned to her baby sister, who seemed totally nonchalant existing in a universe where the selfish clown Blossom had chosen to keep for reasons Buttercup could not sympathize with deigned to dress as a literal fucking clown.

Bubbles slipped her hand in Buttercup’s and squeezed affectionately as they watched Brick paint the requested unicorn on Richie’s face as seriously as if it were a goddamned Monet. “I think this is his way of trying,” she said.

Buttercup would never forget that day two months ago when Butch asked her to come over after Brick had broken down and apologized to Boomer and him and all he wanted to do was break something, to feel it shatter in his hands, so why not her, who couldn’t break? That fight had been one of their most brutal, even compared to their rows in high school in the throes of raging hormones exacerbated by Chemical X.

They hadn’t spoken as they rinsed the dirt and sweat from each other after—Buttercup had been worried about setting him off again after he had settled into some sort of quiet serenity with his fingers in her hair, pulling the tangles out under the warm water like an artist honing his craft. Those hands were always working, always looking for something to crush.

“You ever love someone, but you don’t like them?” he’d asked her as she wrung the water from her hair and he stared at his hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror.

Buttercup was pulled from the memory when Blossom came out of the house to snap pictures on her phone of the kids with their painted faces, a bright smile on her face as Brick continued to ignore the entire world and focus on his task with surprisingly minimal complaint. Buttercup supposed that if anyone could dress like an ass-backwards buffoon and maintain some pretense of dignity, it was Brick.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said at length. She squeezed Bubbles’ hand back.

He’s trying something, all right.

xxx

“I want a dog, please!” asked a snot-nosed kid inexplicably dressed in a full dinosaur suit.

Butch watched Brick from the picnic table he’d plopped down on with a cold beer and three entire pizza boxes set aside entirely for Boomer and himself.

Brick frowned so deeply he looked like he was trying to pass a hardened turd. Wordless, he blew up a long red balloon, tied it off at the end, and handed it to the little boy. “Here.”

The kid accepted the unfolded balloon with quizzical look. “Huh? This isn't a dog.”

“Yeah, it is,” Brick said. “It’s a hot dog.”

“But that’s not what I asked—hey!” The kid squealed when Brick squirted him with water from the rubber flower on his overall strap.

“Next,” Brick said in a tone that promised medieval torture.

Cowed, the dinosaur kid slumped away with his shitty balloon, and the next little girl in line made her request.

“It had to be a bet,” Butch said grimly as he watched his brother pawn a “magic wand” on the little girl who asked for a monkey. She trudged off with the unfolded purple balloon and look in her eyes like she’d seen the hidden darkness of this world.

Boomer shrugged and swallowed a bite of pizza. He had his back to Brick, but he spared a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“I mean, he’s gotta know the pictures will live on forever. This is unlimited blackmail.”

That got a little chuckle out of Boomer. Butch ruffled his bangs too roughly to be entirely affectionate, and Boomer swatted him away. “Dude, my hair.”

“Want me to get you a balloon dick?”

Boomer’s gaze flickered to him, and for a moment Butch was transported back twenty years to Mojo’s Observatory. He and Boomer were sometimes left by themselves while Mojo and Brick tinkered in the old man’s lab well into the night with nothing to do and no one to talk to but each other. On nights like that, Butch didn’t really mind it when Boomer crawled into his bunk and fell asleep there. The room always felt a little colder and darker without Brick there.

“I’m fine,” Boomer said.

Butch searched his eyes, blue and expressive and always shining like he might cry or laugh. He had always envied Boomer that ability to project, to offer a connection, even if it was only pain. He’d always been good at that.

“Really,” Boomer added, hardening his gaze like a fucking mind reader. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.” Butch wondered how long it would take for that to be true. “You know, it’s been a couple months—”

“Butch,” Boomer said, cold like he never was.

Butch hopped off the table and put a hand on Boomer’s shoulder. “It’s been a couple months, but it’s not a race. There’s no finish line to cross.”

Boomer chuckled, but it sounded kind of like a wheeze. His hand was cool on Butch’s where he squeezed him. “Thanks, Butch.”

Butch patted his back. As he was leaving, heard Boomer call, “Make mine blue.”

Butch chuckled. “Sure.”

Fucking sap.

At least Butch wasn’t the only one.

He made his way to the terrace, where Brick was set up with balloons and the face painting station. When Brick noticed his brother waiting in line, the balloon he was inflating went up in flames and disintegrated to ashes, leaving him looking as flushed as his stupid clown nose.

“I’m out of balloons, kids. Go dig a hole or something,” he said to the remaining two children.

“Huh? But there’s a whole bag—” one little boy with enormous glasses started to say.

Brick fired his laser eye beams at the bag of balloons and blew it up. “What bag?”

The kids stalked off in a sulk, and Butch sauntered up to the chair Bubbles had brought out from the kitchen table.

“Bitch move,” he said, plopping down. “I promised Boomer I’d bring him a blue cock, made special with love.”

“Uh-huh,” Brick said. He watched Butch with those shifty red eyes like he might lash out and attack him.

Amused and a little nervous, Butch sank into the chair with much bravado and man-spreading. “Paint me like one of your French girls.”

Brick narrowed his eyes, but he picked up the paints and sat down in the opposite chair without a word, until: “What do you want?”

“I dunno, something cool. A rocket ship.”

Silence. Brick leaned in close to apply the paint with a thin brush, meticulous and anal like he was with everything he did. Butch didn’t have to see his face to know he was concentrating way too hard.

“I can feel the vibrations of you clenching your asshole from here,” Butch said. “Relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Fuck off.”

Brick put down the brush. “If you keep talking, this is going to turn out shitty.”

Butch shut up. Brick resumed painting.

After a moment, Butch closed his eyes. There was something soothing about the soft scrape of the brush against his cheek. Behind his eyelids, he saw a much younger version of Brick covered in paint and grinning fiercely, king of the world, until Butch hit him with his paintball gun right in the kisser. Green paint exploded everywhere, and Boomer fell on his ass laughing. Brick angrily wiped the paint from his eyes in a goopy mess and lobbed it back at Butch, who was too far gone to care. Rolling on the grass and covered in paint, he couldn’t remember a happier afternoon spent with his brothers and Mojo. At least, not until Brisa came along.

Butch sucked in a breath as he opened his eyes and dispelled that trance-like memory. Brick didn’t even snap at him when he turned his head to look right at him. His face was pinched: his mouth too thin and his eyes too wide as he waited for another pot shot to the face.

“You look stupid,” Butch said.

“I know,” Brick said.

“Really fucking stupid.”

Brick’s eye twitched. “I know.”

“Thanks.”

Brick swallowed. “It’s her birthday.”

“Yeah, but I’m your brother. So thanks.”

It was not often that Brick was flabbergasted, but the dude looked like someone had just grabbed him by his oversized red nose. Butch burst into a sly smirk and did just that. To his sadistic satisfaction, it squeaked when he squeezed it.

“Honk honk, motherfucker,” Butch said.

It took Brick all of two seconds to ditch his bewilderment and swat Butch’s hand away. “Shit head.”

“Clown.”

To Butch’s immense surprise, Brick let him have the last word. Well, damn. He chuckled and leaned back in the chair so Brick could finish painting his cheek. Two months and he barely saw the guy on purpose, and now this.

“I’m burning every picture Blossom took today,” Brick said at length.

Butch chuckled. “You forgot about the cloud.”

“I’m burning that too.”

“Now you’re just being a whiny bitch.”

“Wipe Bubbles’ phone and I’ll pay you.”

“Eh, maybe just grab a beer sometime.” It came out so naturally that he didn’t even think about it. Brick, too, was taken aback. The more he saw it today, the less Butch liked that surprised look in his older brother’s eyes. It was fucking weird. “Seriously. It’s been a minute.”

Brick didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe. “Yeah, cool.”

“Cool.”

Cool.

“Hold on, almost done,” Brick said, and grabbed Butch’s chin to turn his face.

Butch’s eyes found Brisa running around with a large, green balloon crown on her head and her cheeks painted with rainbows, and his gaze softened. It was almost time for cake.

“Done,” Brick announced.

Before Butch could reply to that, there was a small commotion at the backyard gate with Bubbles, who followed a very short, very hairy monkey inside.

“Grandpa Mojo?” Brisa stopped playing with her friends to greet the old monkey. He had a box with a green bow on top so perfectly wrapped a department store may have done it. His arms were rigid as they held it out and Bubbles hovered just behind him, watchful.

“Good afternoon, Brisa. I have procured you a gift to celebrate, rejoice, and otherwise partake in various forms of merriment on this day of your birth, which is to say, your birthday, thus, the day you were born.”

Nearby, Blossom paused picking up trash with Robin to eye Mojo askance, nonchalant in that low key frightening I-will-blow-your-dick-off way she had. Buttercup was chatting away with Mitch Mitchelson and Clara Clearly, but she too had eyes only for Mojo.

Brisa blushed cutely, suddenly shy. “Thank you.” She accepted the gift and looked between Mojo and Bubbles. “Um, will you stay for cake?”

Mojo’s green skin turned a ghastly shade of pink. It took a Butch a moment to realize he was blushing. He was sure he had never seen Mojo blush before.

Mojo cleared his throat. “I do not eat cake,” he said with finality.

“Oh…” Brisa clutched her new gift to her chest.

“But, I suppose… I could sample a beverage while I am here. A guest ought not turn away hospitality when it is offered.”

Brisa just smiled brightly and reached for Mojo’s crusty old paw. “I have juice. Oh! And you have to stay for the piñata. Have you met Richie? He’s my best friend in the whole world!”

“I do not think—” Mojo lost his words as he was pulled along by his Super granddaughter whether he liked it or not.

“Hey.”

Brick’s hand on Butch’s shoulder exerting Super pressure made him looked down at his hands, which sparked with green power. He clenched his fists and fizzled it out.

“You good?” Brick asked, low and grave.

Butch sniffled. “Yeah, I’m good. Habit.” He paused, then: “I invited him. Boomer said it was fine.”

Brick nodded. “Okay.”

Butch’s stupid heart clenched. “I meant to text you—”

“Blossom told me. It’s fine, drop it.”

He should have dropped it. Two months ago he would have, happily. What the fuck did it matter now when it never had growing up? But that was two months ago. “Don’t fucking do that.”

Brick frosted over and got up. “Do what.”

“Hey.” Butch grabbed him by his ridiculous overalls. “You and me. No girls. Battle and beers, like the old days.”

Brick was a cold hard bastard, but even he had his cracks, and right now he broke like an egg, slack-jawed and lame.

“Tomorrow,” Butch said.

Brick nodded numbly. “Tomorrow.”

Butch smirked and got up to leave, but Brick’s voice stopped him one last time.

“Thanks, Butch.”

“Sure.”

“Tell Boomer it’s a consolation.”

“Huh?”

But he got nothing more out of Brick once Blossom and Princess showed up.

“Oh. My. God. Wait, let’s take a selfie.” Princess managed to get her arm around Brick’s neck, but he snatched her phone before she could take a picture.

“No fucking way, Princess,” he said.

Blossom grabbed his chin and kissed him right there, shameless. It was enough to distract him so Princess could reclaim her phone. “You know, I kind of like you as a clown.”

“I don’t.” Princess managed to snap a picture of Brick and Blossom. “But you’re pulling off the striped overalls, I have to say.”

“Burn that.” Brick advanced, but Blossom pulled him back with a laugh.

“Why so serious, Brick?” she teased.

Princess stuck her tongue out at him.

Butch left them to their childish shit; it was time for cake, and he had a brand new six-year-old to impress.

xxx

Buttercup was having a surprisingly good time. Between pizza with Butch and Boomer, hanging out with her sisters, and the everlasting memories that were clown Brick saved to her iCloud where he would never find them, today was turning out surprisingly well. Butch caught her eye across the yard and gestured inside, so she excused herself from the conversation with Ty and his sister to followed him.

He was in the kitchen when she found him.

“Hey, doll. Cornering me for dirty kitchen sex?” he teased.

Buttercup laughed at the sight of him, two percent bravado and ninety-eight percent imbecile. “Let me grab you a glass of water for that thirst.”

The cake he’d bought sat in a box in the fridge with Brisa’s name scribbled on the lid. Buttercup brought it out and set it on the counter. Then, she hunted for the colorful party platter Bubbles kept for special occasions.

Butch’s arms slipped around her waist from behind, and he pressed his nose to her loose hair. “Mm, you smell like pepperoni.”

“Eat my dick,” Buttercup said.

“I like it.”

“I bet you do, you horny carnivore.”

“Nooo, not the dirty talk,” he whined, pressing a kiss to her neck and pulling her back against him.

Buttercup fought against her growing smile as she opened the cake box and transferred the treat to the platter. “You need rehab.”

“If that’s your kink.”

Buttercup snorted. “Shut up and help me with this.”

They loaded up the chocolate cake on the platter, and Buttercup found the candles in a drawer.

“Got some shit on your nose,” Butch said.

“What?” He dabbed his chocolate frosted finger on the tip of her nose the moment she turned toward him, and she swatted his hand away. “Oh, come on. What are you, five?” She wiped the frosting from her nose and licked her finger clean.

No sooner had she finished than he grabbed her chin and kissed her deeply. In the quiet of the kitchen with no one around to see them, Buttercup gave into feeling and curled her fingers in his flannel shirt. When he smiled against her like the swooning buffoon he’d always been at heart, she laughed and pulled him closer.

His hands found their way over the curve of her ass, as they always did, and pulled her against him with a squeeze. “Fuck, I want you.”

“You always want me.”

“Have you seen your ass? You’d want you too.” He gave her another squeeze, and she had to bite her lip to stifle a moan.

Buttercup slipped her fingers through his hair, full and soft on top and shorn short behind the ears. For a moment, they simply stared at each other as Buttercup marveled at how much she wanted this, wanted him. She had never wanted anyone as much as she wanted him, so badly she could feel it threatening to tear her in two.

“You have all this power,” he murmured, soft like it was a precious secret he clung to.

Buttercup could have laughed at how much he underestimated his own power of her. “Back at you.”

“No.” He touched his forehead to hers and breathed like they finally had time. “Not like you. Not like this.” His hand moved to her waist as if to lead her in a dance. “You have me, Buttercup.”

Buttercup’s eyes burned with a foreign heat, unwelcome. Butch used to scare her when he spoke to her like this; now, she could only bite her lip and wait for the threat of tears to pass. “Back at you,” she said again, shaky and so fucking grateful.

They stayed that way a moment, in the kitchen of her childhood home with the warm smell of chocolate and the low din of the party outside, and for the first time that day, Buttercup felt the tension ease from her shoulders.

“By the way,” Butch said, his eyes still closed and his forehead still pressed against her, “I’m fucking the shit out of you when we get back to my place.”

Buttercup smirked. “Great example you’re setting for your daughter.”

“I got her new headphones with noise canceling.”

“She’s going to notice if we break the tub again.”

“There’s a hose. She can bathe with that.”

“Just pressure wash her like a truck.”

“Fast, efficient, and it’ll save on the water bill.”

“You don’t even pay for water, the landlord does.”

“Hey, I’m a good Samaritan lookin’ out for my neighbors.”

“Screw the neighbors.” Buttercup ran her fingers over his lips, down his chin to his chest, where his heart thundered under her touch. “I want you to fuck the shit out of me.”

Butch laughed hoarsely. “Maybe I should ask Boomer to take Brisa tonight.”

They parted, and Buttercup was about to tell him to grab the cake while she hunted for a knife when she finally noticed his cheek. “Did Brick do that?”

“The rocket ship? Yeah, good excuse to talk to him.”

“A rocket ship, huh?” Buttercup smiled so brightly her cheeks began to hurt. “That was nice of him.”

Butch gave her a weird look. “Whatever, we’re hanging out tomorrow. After today, I figure he can use it.”

Buttercup’s throat wrenched as she tried her best not to burst out laughing. “Don’t quote me, but he sort of saved my ass today. The other clown died.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, he literally died.”

“Wow, party almost ruined.”

“I mean, also a man is dead.”

“Oh, shit, yeah you’re right. Sorry. I guess don’t tell Brisa.”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ. Grab that cake and don’t drop it.”

xxx

Brisa grinned to the point of bursting as everyone sang Happy Birthday to her and she blew out her candles. Cake went by in a breeze as the kids screamed about presents next. Like some hot, pink angel, Blossom took charge of the activities with Robin’s and Buttercup’s assistance and made sure the kids were thoroughly entertained so that Butch could eat his cake and watch his little girl enjoy her special day.

Now, seated on the picnic table again with Boomer and Bubbles, he dug into the slice Bubbles said she couldn’t finish.

“Hey, Butch,” Boomer said, chill.

“Yeah?” Butch asked.

“Why’s there a huge dick on your face?”

“Huh?”

On Butch’s other side, Bubbles poked his painted cheek. “It’s a very proportionate dick. Good dimensions.”

Boomer wheezed into his beer. Butch choked on his cake. At the next table over, Brick, that soggy ballsack, stood chatting with Princess Morbucks and Mike Believe still in his full clown regalia sipping sangria through a bendy straw. The moment he felt Butch’s eyes on him, he grinned maliciously around his straw.

“Motherfucker—” Butch tried to get up, but Bubbles grabbed his wrist.

“Language, Butch. There are children around,” she sang, cheerful as a fucking bell.

Butch pointed at Brick. “You—you clown!”

“Hey, that’s Flameo Hotman to you,” said Mike, with all the confidence of someone who didn’t know he was about to be drop-kicked in the face.

Princess squinted at Butch. “Is that a cock on your face?”

“It sure is,” Boomer said, mid-heart attack.

“Daddy, come hit the piñata with me!” Brisa came bounding over with a stick and a blindfold.

“Great timing, Brisa!” Bubbles shoved Butch way too hard toward his overeager daughter, and he had no choice but to accept the stick and blindfold.

“Uh, right,” he stammered, trying to reign it in. It was her birthday; Brick and his dick pic clownery could wait.

A hand on Butch’s shoulder squeezed too hard to be entirely friendly, and he turned to get a face full of said clown.

“Honk honk, motherfucker,” Brick said under his breath.

Butch raised his hand to decapitate his brother right there, but Brisa yanked him with her Super strength, and he had no choice but to let it lie.

The sight of Buttercup nearby watching him take his place at the piñata should have mollified him, but she had let him walk out of that kitchen dick pic’d, a betrayal of the highest order…and a quality prank, if he was honest.

He’d let his guard down around her.

It was his own mistake, underestimating her.

The heat of a challenge in her eyes as she watched him lift the blindfold to his eyes set fire to his blood. After all was said and done today and Butch left Brisa with Brick because fuck his fancy Saturday plans, Butch would take Buttercup’s advice and screw the neighbors. Tonight they were putting on a show.

With a self-satisfied grin, Butch lowered the blindfold, readied the stick, and imagined the red piñata was Brick in his ridiculous clown nose.

xxx

Hm, seeding the future Buttercup and Brick friendship I’ve been waiting so long to dive into for this universe? It’s more likely than you think. 👀

Thank you so much for reading! Long live the clown cult (Blossom ghostwrote this). 🤡

#Powerpuff Girls #ppg fic #Butchercup #PPG Butch #PPG Buttercup #PPG Greens #Butch #Buttercup #Greens #PPG BTM #PPG Clown Cult #Brick suffers so we can go on living

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badgirlsinterviews · 4 years

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The Depth of Humanity | Camila Sosa Villada | TEDxCordoba

Description

This talk was given at a local TEDx event, produced independently of the TED Conferences. Camila Sosa Villada began her career as an actress in 2009, when she was garnered international acclaim for the autobiographical drama Carnes Tolendas, the stage portrayal of a travesti. In this work, she fused acting, the poetry of Federico García Lorca, and her identity as a travesti. In this talk, she speaks of her journey as a young sex worker, and the incredible human beings which accompanied her along the way.

Transcription

You there- you’ve been with a sex worker before, right? I see a few familiar faces out there, but they aren't alone and I feel bad outing them like this. Anyway, you must have been through a red light district before. In your car, on your bike, you must have crossed paths with a couple of travesti sex workers, working on the street corner, or does this concept seem completely unfamiliar to you? Completely unfamiliar?

My father used to say that if you want to be happy you have to be a good person. He said that to be a good person, you must have a family and go to work. When I began to cross-dress when I was a teenager, my father put a curse on me, and told me that one day he'd get a knock on the door and that they'd tell him the news: that I'd been found dead, left in the gutter, because the only job I could hope for as a travesti was having sex with men for money. I'm paraphrasing because they won't let me swear, but he put it a bit more directly that that. He said I would die alone.And so, before the awards, before I became a cult actress, before I travelled around the world and discovered amazing places, before the prestige, and the affection people gave me, I ended up working as a prostitute, like my old man said I would.

I didn't end up left for dead in the gutter after all. The first time I did sex work, I was coming out of my university faculty where I was studying Social Communication. When I came to Córdoba to study I arrived with the personality traits of an Aquarius - highly emotional, very rebellious. I wanted to show my father that he was wrong about what he said. But I failed. Because every time I tried to find a so-called 'decent' job, like working at McDonald's or in a call centre, when they checked my I.D. and then took a look at me they became immediately brain dead, and refused to give me the job. So then one night, when I was leaving the university district a car stopped next to me, and the driver asked me how much I wanted.That was the first time I had to take a path towards my destiny and make a decision, and I got in his car.

I started going around Barrio Alberdi at around 3 or 4 A.M. knowing that, at that time, my neighbours wouldn't be around to see me. I knew people drove around there, that drunk men would be leaving the bars. But working alone meant that I was exposed to many dangers. If it wasn't the police, it was the crazy people leaving the clubs, if it wasn't them, it was the group of beggars passing by. A travesti sex worker who worked in Dean Fuentes and Corro told me to go to a red light district and there I'd be adopted by other travestis. She said that, since I was a girl, they'd treat me like their daughter.

So I began to go around the red light districts that I knew about back then, which were la Cañada and Rioja, el Mercado de Abastos, and Sarmiento Park. Since I had always had an affinity for the trees which grow all on their own, without the help of others, Sarmiento Park was the option I was left with. Nowadays, people go out running there, they walk their dogs, they go cycling, they go there to make out,to eat sandwiches, but back then, the park was dark and it was used in order to get from one side of the city to the other, and it was where people looked to pay for pleasure.

The first time I went there, I sat down on a bench close to a group of girls and travesti sex workers who were out working in front of the statue of Dante. I was listening to José Luis Perales on my headphones I saw how they immediately recognised me and they sent over a girl to figure out what I was doing there sat in the park. The truth is, I was very scared: the only thing I knew about red light districts was what was being shown on TV at the time. There was also that whole mess going on in Palermo where the neighbours wanted to get rid of the sex workers, so the images they put on TV were always awful. I basically felt a resounding terror, a huge amount of fear.

She approached me - as the first girl in the group approached me, I realized that she was pregnant. Her stomach was huge. She had straight, black hair, that came down to her waist. Her hair was full of grass and so were her clothes, because she met with her clients there, inside of the park.I told her, "Hold on a second!" She asked me for a lighter, and asked me what I was doing there. She left, and told the other girls that I was Camila, that I was 18 and that I was trying to work there, the same as them. When I left that night, I was worried that they might to do something to me, that they'd get mad if a girl like me stole one of their clients.

I went back the next day, and they all came up to me and introduced themselves. There was Gabriela, the pregnant girl; the other Gabriela, another travesti who was working there. She was enormous, almost 6 ft tall, and she spoke like Libertad Lamarque. She had such a womanly voice, like Libertad Lamarque. There was also Angie Desiré, one of the most beautifu travestis that I've ever met - and, by the way, there are some beautiful travestis in Córdoba! There was her cousin, Pilar, who actually identified as male but just dressed as a woman when he went to work in Sarmiento Park.

And there was Cleopatra, who was like the pharaoh of that land, of that horrific inferno in front of the statue of Dante. She was a 6 and a half foot tall travesti. Her hands were huge, and she made such amazing roasts in her house in Alta Gracia. I mean, my father knows how to make good roasts because he’s spent his whole life making them, but this girl made the most delicious roasts I've ever eaten, and that I probably ever will. With her, I learned how much my body was worth and the price I should put on it.I learned how to defend myself, and to look twice at someone before judging them. I learned how to construct a weapon to fend off a client if things got ugly. It was made of a bar of soap and a razor blade, wrapped together in a hairband. You'd take it out like this and use it like a knife, but you could keep it in your purse or in your sleeves, or anywhere else. I never used it, but there were many times which I could have.

The only time us girls separated from each other was when we were with a client, or when the cops showed up. They're still as ineffective as ever, so just imagine what they were like in 2000 or 2001. We were no saints, so we obviously wouldn't just shut up and take it if the police provoked us when we got caught. We'd come home with broken septums, black eyes, misshapen breasts, so when we'd see the police arriving, we'd start shouting "The police! The police!" And we'd run off like a bunch of cockroaches scuttling away from a light, all of us, sprinting off through the park in our heels, because of how terrified we were of the police.

I never figured out in which exact moment those girls became my true friends. I don't know exactly when they knew my birthday, nor when they knew if my heart was broken or whole, if I needed money for rent, if I needed money to eat, if I was tired, if I was in class. All my other friends, my uni friends, my friends from high school, my parents - none of them knew that, when class was over, I'd go to Sarmiento Park to work. Those girls did.

In that park, amongst the men who hired us, there were those who were old, young, skinny, fat, poor, rich happy, bitter, married, single, tops, bottoms. We didn't pay attention to the skin colour or the origins of those who sought our affection. And here I am at TEDx, trying, somehow, to put out an encouraging or inspirational message, although I don't believe in self-improvement - far from it. I accepted to do this talk firstly, because I needed to ask for forgiveness, for never trying to find those girls again.

I never saw them again. And I wanted to tell you all about how Gabriela, the pregnant girl, would cycle to the park every night. She locked her bike up against a tree and did her job there, right next to it. And I thought about this shitty system, the reason for which two unborn children in a girl's belly are forced to attend such a spectacle. I want to ask if any of you have ever thought that there could be anything more concretely poetic than that girl working in Sarmiento Park, getting there and going back home by bike.

Perhaps I wouldn't be here at TEDx today, wouldn't have become the actress, or all of that, because I would have ended up in the gutter, left to die, like my old man said, if Cleopatra hadn't seen those two guys that hired me that one night. They came out of a club in Nueva Córdoba, and picked me up in their car, and when they realised I was travesti they began punching the crap out of me. From inside the car, while I was being beaten I saw Cleopatra coming, in her skinny, high-wasted jeans, a denim jacket which was cut off here, so you could see everything, the underside of her breasts a high ponytail, black hair, and her huge hands. She opened the car door, pulled out the two guys, and beat the crap out of them.

It was the first time in my life that anyone ever defended me. It was her - not my parents, my friends, my siblings, or anyone else, but her, who saved me from death that night. Maybe I wouldn't be here if I hadn't followed my intuition and hadn't arrived at that park by chance, guided only by my affinity for the trees that grow without the help of others. Thank you.

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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The Batman Trailer Breakdown and Analysis

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The Batman trailer is finally here, accompanied by Nirvana’s “Something in the Way.” The two-minutes-and-a-half of footage presents a nightmarish new take on Gotham and the Dark Knight, an impressive feat considering only 25% of the movie has been shot so far, according to what director Matt Reeves said during the DC FanDome digital event.

Matt Reeves’ Batman reboot explores the early days of the Caped Crusader’s career, about two years into it, and focuses on a younger Bruce Wayne who is haunted by his past as well as a new villain who’s leaving victims all of the city for him to find.

We see in the trailer as Batman is hunted by a serial killer who is leaving him letters at every crime scene, teasing that the movie will feel more like a detective story than the usual action take. The trailer also gives us our first look at several villains, including Penguin, Catwoman, and a gang that seems to call back to a group first introduced in an animated series.

While the trailer makes quite a few things clear about this new Batman movie universe, there are a few lingering questions left in the promo’s wake. So we’re going breaking down the trailer to see what’s really going on in The Batman. And if there’s anything you spot in the trailer that we missed, let us know in the comments!

Before we get started, take a look at the trailer again:

Okay, let’s get started:

The trailer kicks off the character reveals right away, giving us our first look at The Batman‘s version of the Riddler — at least I’m pretty sure this is him. The riddle-obsessed villain isn’t really known for wearing a full facemask with glasses over it, but as you’ll see throughout the trailer, this movie seems to play like an extended fever dream full of grotesque baddies set against an almost overbearingly dark Gotham City.

This is the perfect version for this new take on the Riddler, who seems more like a serial killer here than the grinning megalomaniac we know from the comics, video games, and Batman Forever. In fact, Paul Dano’s Riddler looks about as far the opposite of Jim Carrey as you can get.

The trailer definitely sets up the Riddler as the main villain of the piece, a killer obsessed with getting to the Batman by leaving behind corpses and messages for the Dark Knight at his crime scenes. Above, we see one such victim, his face wrapped in tape with the words “No more lies” written over it.

Uncovering a lie seems to be a major aspect of the movie, as its a message the Riddler repeats to the Batman several times in the trailer. It suggests the Riddler knows something about the Caped Crusader that no one else does. Does the villain know that Bruce Wayne is the masked vigilante? Or does this lie run much deeper than that?

The fact that the Joker movie also dealt with the idea of the Wayne family’s hidden past — in that case, that Thomas Wayne may have had an illegitimate son — and that this movie could have at least one potential connection to last year’s Taxi Driver-inspired character piece makes me think the Riddler knows a secret about Bruce’s past. The Riddler, who seems to be speaking to Batman throughout the video, tells the Dark Knight at the end of the trailer that “he’s a part of this,” meaning whatever the villain is doing was designed to punish Bruce for something.

Reeves has said that his take on Batman is more of a detective story than an action movie, and this trailer definitely delivers on his promise. We see Jeffrey Wright’s Jim Gordon investigating the crime scene the Riddler leaves behind at the start of the trailer, while a forensics team takes photographs and gathers evidence.

One piece evidence is a green envelope left behind for Batman. Inside is a card with a riddle that I can’t quite make out, but it’s undoubtedly meant to lead the World’s Greatest Detective to the next clue in the Riddler’s twisted game. We also see that the Riddler has also picked up a few things from the Zodiac Killer’s book of riddles, as he leaves behind a code for the Bat to crack.

A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it shot of a framed newspaper at the crime scene gives fans of The Dark Knight and The Long Halloween a nice easter egg to mull over. We already knew John Turturro was set to play crime boss Carmine Falcone in the movie but now we know that his comrade in crime/rival Salvatore Maroni also exists in this universe and has been busted for transporting drugs at some point before the start of the movie. Was Maroni one of Batman’s early targets? Maybe we’ll find out.

Here’s an excellent look at what the top half of the new Batsuit looks like. It’s pretty much a suit of armor, although the cowl and cape seem to be made out of leather. And as we already knew, this Batsuit has a collar, which is a pretty neat addition to the usual suits designed for the movies.

This scene also confirms that by year two of Batman’s career, he’s already on good terms with Gordon and the GCPD, although something tells me that relationship ain’t gonna last very long…

I have no idea who this is, but I’m going to guess it’s The Batman‘s version of Commissioner Loeb, the corrupt head of police that preceded Gordon. Since the movie is getting a GCPD-centric spinoff on HBO about the corruption inside the police force, I’m going to assume this version of Loeb will be a bit closer to the power-hungry chief introduced in Frank Miller and David Mazzucchelli’s Batman: Year One.

We also get a look at the new Batcave, which is about as minimalist as the Dark Knight’s secret lair can get. In fact, it looks more like a garage than a secret underground science lab/high-tech surveillance station. It even looks like this version of Bruce spends more time working on his Batmobile than on his computer piecing mysteries together. Can you even call that a Batcomputer? It looks like a workbench with a dual-monitor PC setup. Does this dude even get wi-fi inside his underground mechanic shop?

Bruce is at someone’s funeral for someone I don’t recognize when a car comes crashing through the church. Inside seems to be a man with a bomb and a letter for Batman strapped to his chest. Does the Riddler know Batman is attendance already or does he think this latest scheme will lure him there?

Either way, we also get our best look at Pattinson as Bruce. It’s interesting to see a version of Bruce who doesn’t sport slicked back billionaire hair. Instead, Pattinson wears more of an emo slick — very fitting for the mood of this trailer.

We get our first look at Zoe Kravitz as Selina Kyle doing what she does best: stealing. Reeves said during DC FanDome that this version of Selina hasn’t quite morphed into Catwoman at the start of the film and is instead still being shaped into the master thief we know and love.

The trailer shows us a brief snippet of Selina taking on Batman, suggesting that the characters will be at odds with each other in the movie. But could this be the start of a love-hate relationship like what we’ve seen in past takes on this duo? This should be interesting.

We also get to see Colin Farrell’s absolutely incredible transformation into the scarred Oswald Cobblepot, who, according to Reeves, is still working his way up the crime ladder in this movie. He’s not yet the powerful crime lord known as the Penguin, but it sure seems like he causes plenty of havoc for the Bat nonetheless.

Here’s why I mentioned that Joker connection earlier. The gang of face-painted goons that challenge Batman in the trailer sure look inspired by the Clown Prince of Crime. My initial reaction was that The Batman was doing the Jokerz, the Joker-worshiping gang introduced in the Batman Beyond animated series, but what if these guys were actually inspired by Arthur Fleck’s actions in the ’70s-set movie?

We know that by the end of Joker, Arthur has a cult following rallying around him, despite the fact that he’s admitted to murdering quite a few people by that point. His followers, who don their own clown makeup and masks, see Arthur as a freedom fighter, someone fighting for justice in a corrupt city where the rich have it all and the poor have nothing. It wouldn’t be surprising to see that Arthur has become a symbol all these years later, inspiring the next generation to go out into the streets and cause their own chaos.

I know WB has said that both The Batman and Joker exist in their own universes, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the studio was suddenly anxious to tie these two movies together after the massive success of the latter. If Pattinson ever does take on the Joker, you can bet your Batarangs that WB will try its very hardest to make it the Joaquin Phoenix version of the villain.

Anyway, we eventually watch as Batman beats the ever-living shit out of one of these clowns. It’s a bit…much.

While Batman and the GCPD seem to be on good terms at the start of the trailer, things have certainly taken a turn later. We first see Bats getting into a scuffle inside an interrogation room surrounded by cops and then later escaping a building while police officers shoot at him. That second shot actually seems to recreate the famous panels from Year One where the Dark Knight escapes an abandoned building surrounded by the GCPD with the help of a swarm of bats, a scene that also inspired an action sequence in Christopher Nolan’s Batman Begins.

Why are Batman and the GCPD suddenly at odds? It’s possible this is part of the Riddler’s plan to destroy the Bat. Has the villain framed the Dark Knight for something? Or has Batman gone too far in his search for justice?

The new Batmobile is front and center towards the tail end of the trailer. It’s a very cool and surprisingly realistic take on the Batmobile unlike what we’ve seen in past movies. This muscle car definitely looks like something Bruce would have worked on himself inside the Batcave.

Finally, we get a look Batman sans mask. There’s no elegant bachelor under the cowl in The Batman but a beaten down, soot-covered man who looks more troubled than any other Bruce before him. Pattinson’s Bruce almost looks more inspired by The Crow than Ben Affleck, Christian Bale, or Michael Keaton before him. It definitely looks like he’s taking the character in a new direction.

We’ll find out for sure when The Batman hits theaters on Oct. 1, 2021.

The post The Batman Trailer Breakdown and Analysis appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/34lFNgZ

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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jaredharrisfest · 5 years

Text

Law & Order: SVU

TITLE: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit

EPISODE: 906 - “Svengali”

ROLE: Robert Morten

SUMMARY: A grisly murder scene at the bottom of an elevator shaft leads SVU detectives to a group of individuals who are under the spell of a charismatic, imprisoned serial killer.

YEAR: 2007

We start with a dead body (as you do on these shows).

Please enjoy the snappy Law & Order dialogue:

DETECTIVE OLIVIA BENSON: Looks like she was dressed for her dream date.

RANDOM FORENSICS TECH: Yeah, it ended when the perp strangled her repeatedly with her own pantyhose.

And it gets worse (doesn’t it always?). The killer cut off her breasts and walked out with them. Ew.

Tina, our victim, was headed not to her dream date but to mine: a really cool-looking underground party in an abandoned subway tunnel under the Waldorf Astoria Hotel where everyone dresses up in their vintage-looking finest and watches a screening of Double Indemnity. Count me in!

The whole thing is organized/run by this guy, Edgar Rabinowicz (but he’d prefer to be called Agent Mayhem), part of the hipsteriffic Silk and Cyanide Corp (”We’re secret agents of adventure”).

But of course he didn’t kill Tina. He only left her alone and hammered at a bar after their last “mission” - a shit thing to do, yes, but not murder.

Bartender Cecilia is shocked at news of Tina’s murder and claims she left at last call with some asshole guy but refuses to describe said douchebag as she “doesn’t want to get involved.”

After being convinced to sit down with a police sketch artist (which leads to a plethora of useless tips), Cecilia calls Detective Benson to tell her that the asshole is back while she’s closing by herself. Maybe the asshole is her manager because WHO LEAVES A WOMAN ALONE TO CLOSE ANYTHING? HELLO! MURDER CITY!

Which is pretty much exactly what happens as the detectives find no Cecilia and the Venus de Milo recreated in blood on the bar floor.

DUN DUN!

The bloody Venus was also inspired by artworks of currently incarcerated serial killer Robert Morten.

(Is it wrong that I think he looks very handsome in his mug shot? It is, isn’t it?)

The detectives conclude it must be a copycat, and if he’s following Morten to the letter, Cecilia’s got twelve hours left to live before he kills her.

Our creepy boy! Hooray!

The detectives are turning his cell inside out to look for clues to the name of his new partner. Detective Stabler, as Bad Cop, tears one of Morten’s artworks in half to “motivate” him.

"Am I bovvered? Am I bovvered though? Look at my face. Is it bovvered?”

“Arks me If I'm bovvered! Look, face, bovvered? I ain't bovvered!"

But then Benson, as Good Cop, tempts him with tasty victim headshots.

“They’re sublime,” he says in his creepy-yet-alluring-because-it’s-Jared-Harris Hannibal Lecter voice.

“What I could do with those.”

“But obviously-”

*faux bashful head tilt*

“-I’m innocent.”

Benson ain’t buying it.

Morten doesn’t like it when they start to go after his mail...and especially his fan letters.

(The disdain! I love it.)

The non-Stabler and non-Benson detectives (aka Ice-T and That Other Guy) go out to talk to the writers of said fan letters and learn that there’s a Free Robert Morten committee working on an appeal. Benson and Stabler bring in the vice president, ex-con Jasper Grice.

JASPER: He took care of me.

STABLER: Three years as his cellie? You were his bitch.

Well, you would know, Stabler. Or should I say...

...Chris Keller from HBO’s Oz?

(Oz was my first fandom and Beecher/Keller was my first ship. I was in sixth grade. Other kids were freaking out about a stupid kiss on Dawson’s Creek; I was telling them how I saw a man get gutted like a fish in the showers.

I...was not popular.)

Jasper advises the detectives that the copycat is killing based on covers of an AU comic book series about Morten’s crimes in which he doesn't get caught and continues killing.

Tina was issue #9, Cecilia is supposed to be issue #10.

The detectives go to the apartment writer/artist and learn that the issue #10 murder takes place in Morten’s childhood bedroom. They rush to the dilapidated old house and kick down the bedroom door.

Et voilà! A barely alive Cecilia.

Cecilia wakes up in the hospital and discovers that unlike Tina she’s still got boobs but they've been mutilated and she’ll need plastic surgery. She blames talking to Benson in the first place for everything and asks her to leave.

Back at the precinct, Detective Ice-T (I don’t care what his character’s name is, he’s Detective Ice-T) tries to give Benson a pizza...that she didn’t order.

DUN DUN!

“Hotbox” indeed, foreshadowing pizza box! Because it turns out the pizza...

..IS A BOMB!

While the precinct is evacuated to the street, the random forensics tech from earlier approaches the detectives with a report.

A similar knife was used on both Tina and Cecilia, but Cecilia’s mutilating boob cuts taper away from the midline and differ in angle and depth.

Translation: they’re self-inflicted!

DUN DUN!

The detectives obtain a search warrant for Cecilia’s apartment.

It seems she was an intern for his lawyers and had been writing to him for years beforehand. She wasn’t on the detectives’ radar because legal visits and correspondence aren’t on inmate logs.

Cecilia reveals that at seventeen she learned that her father hadn’t died in a car crash but had been imprisoned for bank robbery. She wrote to Morten asking for information about dear old dad, and Morten replied.

“Your daddy said you had eyes like summer and hair as soft as lamb’s wool. You were the best thing he ever did in his life. I’d love to see if you look like him. Please send me a picture.”

JK, of course. Morten never even met her dad.

But he’s not one to pass up a free picture of a pretty lady!

PS In this scene, Mr. Harris is shifting between his Hannibal Lecter voice (when talking to Stabler) and his writing-to-Cecilia-to-gain-her-pity-and-trust voice (when reading the letters), and it sent a chill up my spine the first time I heard it. Kudos, sir.

PPS THIS TRANSITION. I’m in love.

Also, Jared Harris? How did you get your eyes so dead? Kudos AGAIN, good sir!

(Murdery) teeth gap!

Back to the plot: Morten convinced Cecilia that she was the only one who could help him with his appeals. He told her to get that internship with his lawyers so they could have visits without being monitored.

MORTEN: We had complete privacy. Complete privilege.

STABLER: Sounds cozy.

MORTEN: Oh, it was. She was a virgin. I plucked her.

And I know I’m a broken record here, but look: I love Jared Harris. He’s a very attractive gentleman, even when playing a serial killer. But when he said that? I was repulsed and horrified to my core.

Cecilia is convinced that Morten loves her and that they’re soulmates. Morten says the only way to prove that they are is for Cecilia to kill somebody. Tina was an “artistic offering” from Cecilia to Morten, and he knows where the trophies (i.e. Tina’s breasts) are.

(GUYS HE DID A LITTLE EYEBROW RAISE AFTER THE WORD “BREASTS” I’M DEAD) (probably because his character killed me)

The breasts are found where Morten said they would be, and the Assistant District Attorney declares they’ve got enough to charge Cecilia with murder.

Morten would like a peek at the evidence for helping.

Benson violently disagrees.

And gets blown a creepy little kiss for her troubles.

All the good detectives are heading home after a long day. Benson tries to just open the door and put her groceries away, but she’s attacked by the AU comic book guy.

Can I tell you how much I appreciate that Benson beats the shit out of him with a big heavy book? That’d be my first weapon at hand too.

The detectives are done. It’s time for the trial!

Cecilia takes the stand, testifies about her suicide attempt, and shows the jury her self-inflicted boob scars. She’s got them eating out of her hand, so the prosecution calls in some special help.

The A.D.A. subpoenas him as a rebuttal witness.

MORTEN: That’s a new one. What do I get in return?

A.D.A.: Nothing.

MORTEN: And if I refuse?

A.D.A.: We’ll hold you in contempt of court.

MORTEN: I’m already serving eight life sentences. Contempt of court’s hardly going to make it worse.

Morten realizes that they need him bad and is able to bargain for a deal - the possibility of parole and a transfer to the federal prison system. The A.D.A. angrily agrees.

Bonus creepy screencap! THE EYES OMG

The next day Morten swaggers into court and is greeted by his adoring cult fans. The judge warns them he’ll clear the courtroom if there’s any more outbursts.

Morten eats it up with a spoon.

And it looks like our murderous boy has something up his sleeve judging by this unseen-by-the-A.D.A. wink he gives Cecilia! Let’s watch.

Of course he’s going to absolutely tell the whole truth! Would this face lie?

Yes, repeatedly, as he denies everything he told the A.D.A. in their chat the previous night.

For example: did he tell Cecilia to kill?

“I’ve told many to express themselves. No one had the emotional fortitude to do it until Cecilia.”

The A.D.A. is sick of this bullshit and decides to hatch a cunning plan.

A.D.A: You think of yourself as an artist?

MORTEN: I think my work speaks for itself.

The A.D.A. shows Morten a photo of the crime scene and asks Morten to “compare this artist’s work with [his] own.”

Remember, Morten hasn’t been able to see any of those sweet, sweet crime scene photos he’s been craving, so he is INTO IT.

Cecilia waits for her grade.

But wait: something’s off.

MORTEN: At first blush, you might think this is unique. But it - it lacks understanding. Depth.

Yeah, doesn’t look like you’re going to get that A in murder, girlie.

"With the human canvas you have the opportunity to do true action painting.”

“Where’s the energy? Where’s the spatter? This is lifeless dreck! A cheap knockoff of my work.”

"Whoever did this is a talentless hack.”

Cecilia loses her shit at the criticism and storms the witness box declaring that she did this for Morten and that she loves him.

Morten is feeding off of the drama.

(Bonus sceencap in case you ever wondered what a vampire!Jared Harris coming for your neck might look like. I know some of y’all are probably into that.)

He cuts Cecilia down even further by declaring that she’s nothing like him and could never understand him.

Cecilia continues to proclaim her love as she’s dragged away.

Morten is pleased.

But don’t get cocky, kid.

Even though Cecilia got off (insanity), the A.D. A. is still sticking to her end of the deal. Morten’s getting that transfer to a federal prison he wanted.

A supermax prison.

A.D.A.: 23-hour lockdown, no visitors, no mail, no phone calls. No human contact for the rest of your life.

Morten whines that she can’t do that to him and they made a deal, etc. but too bad so sad.

He’s shoved into the van and whisked away.

VERDICT: A performance so adroit and layered it took me several days to get through this hourlong episode. The things this man can do with his face, I’m telling you! Three out of five Croziers.

#law & order svu #law & order: special victims unit #2007 #three croziers #tv series guest star

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mountphoenixrp · 5 years

Photo

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

Doyle Quillian, who is known by no other name; a 25 year old son of Brigit. He is a pathologist at Asclepius General and a medical specialist for the MPPD.

FC NAME/GROUP: kim doyoung / nct, nct-127 CHARACTER NAME: doyle quillian AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 1st February, 1994 (25 years old) PLACE OF BIRTH: Dublin, Ireland OCCUPATION: pathologist at Asclepius General (full time), forensics (medical specialist for the police – on call for murders only), freelance comic book artist, poet and painter, sometimes teaches self-defence classes DEFINING FEATURES: He was often described as having piercing eyes and an infesting smile. He does look serious most of the times, mainly because he is concentrated, but also because his vision is quite bad (he does wear glasses, but not always). He has a birthmark on his hipbone in the shape of a flower because of his mother, and he has the phrase ‘qui tacet consentit’ (lat. silence gives consent) tattooed very small in his handwriting on the inside of his left middle finger.

PERSONALITY: Doyle is simply fascinating. From the way he talks to people, to the way he makes them feel. Even if they are just his little experiment, he offers them something they all crave for deep inside: attention. He is a master of words, and his honest and sharp tongue hits right where it should, when it should. However, he is quite distant, and does not let people know him. He is the type of person who would answer to ‘how are you’ with ‘but how are you’. The less people know about him, the better, because he is very private. Still, somehow, you cannot dislike him, even if he hurts you. He has the alluring charm of a cult leader, and strategy of a psychopath. He distrusts everyone, so it is natural for him to get suspicious and research people. His philosophy tells him that only dead men do not lie.

HISTORY: The Celtic goddess Brigit praises herself in being for the most part driven by her good nature. But it is in the nature of mankind – no exclusion to gods here – to get a little feisty, maybe a little adventurous once in a while. Still, she did not betray her oath to her father – never to bear children, for she was to help other women bear children. The oath never said anything about creating her own children. So she tried, for years and years. She made her first one out of metal, but he did not survive long enough to tell his tale. She tried again, made him out of twigs, but he could not speak so he chose to die. For centuries she tried to forge a child, for she could create none.

It takes two to give life.

He was a wealthy Korean man, who insisted that he was not vile. Perhaps his sweet smile, and kind face betrayed the women who adored him so. He had something for naivety, and those eighteen year olds were perfect for his experiments. Money buys immunity. So when they found the girls, one by one, mutilated, and unrecognisable, they did not think to blame him. They captured another, one that was not innocent, but no murderer. He escaped, and never looked back. Still, there was no denying that he was absolutely beautiful. And handsome people surely deserve to be forgiven for their sins, right?

Brigit forgave him. Whether it was because of the suffocating feeling of love or because of need is unknown. He liked her, very much so. He wanted to make her his, so infatuated he was. He fantasied about bathing in her sweet, virgin blood. But his carnal desire was not fulfilled. Brigit collected his seed, and transformed him. Now, legends can be wrong, or misguiding. The most reliable source talks about a plant, whose scent is so disgusting, it attracts maggots and flies. Yes, it does smell like rotten flesh. And he was transformed into one of those flowers, but what do we know anyways?

With her human seed, and her incredible talent, Brigit managed to forge a child, her first son. He was frail, and she feared he would die in her arms like the others. But he was a fighter. He survived, and they lived together for years. The story could end here, but stories rarely have a happy ending. The boy grew up as handsome as his father, and as talented as his mother. At the age of three, he composed a three verse poem about the frogs on their porch. At the age of five, he inked the tree in their garden on a scroll. At the age of eight, he broke a wooden plaque with his bare hands, and won a strength contest at school. And at the age of ten, he showed an incredible interest and talent in healing, tending small animals and later larger ones. It would have all been wonderful, if Brigit would have not gifted him with one more thing. The seed of a murderer.

His urges were easy to control at first. He never wanted to hurt animals, so tending to their wounds and helping them die has not raised any unwanted needs. And do not get him wrong, he really did try to control himself. But the lure of blood – you cannot understand, not unless you feel it. It started when he was fifteen, and was entering puberty – hormones moving all over. Most teens are motivated to do wrong things because of something so normal it is almost boring. He was unfortunate enough to witness a car crash. Most people would shy away from such experiences, some never really recovering, some would remember them forever and fear cars as a result. But he was not most people. He watched, fascinated as the blood dripped. It flowed and reached his feet, soaking his sneakers. It felt like a force was speaking to him, calling him. He fell on his knees, in the blood. His pants got soaked, his eyes closed, he felt it. A shudder of pleasure, no, it was much more. It was like he has been blind until now, like he has not had water in weeks. And suddenly he could see, and his thirst was no longer there. The authorities thought he fainted out of shock, and he was forced to go to therapy until they assured his mother there was nothing wrong.

Brigit knew better. She feared her secret would be uncovered, and her benevolent father will punish her for creating a monster. But she could not kill him. She just could not. So with her powers of healing, she tried to heal him. She left, made herself gone. Soon, the boy forgot her. Whether he wanted to or not, it is unknown. The only thing he remembers is a head of orange hair leaving, walking towards the sunset. He painted the exact image a thousand times, yet he never found his answer. He was sent to an orphanage, where he grew up until he turned eighteen. He worked very hard to get into college, and chose to study medicine. Well aware that he is special, he used his powers to help the less fortunate.

The story is not over yet.

Doyle, the name he chose for himself, is a part time night crawler – or in modern terms, killer. The chances of getting caught are so low, he is confident he will keep his hobby for years, and years. To drop all gruesome details, just imagine a trail of bodies everywhere he goes, and unsolved cases, or solved cases – under his assistance. Despite his thirst for blood, he kept his moral self in check. He killed out of necessity, so he targeted bad people. Or those he considered to be immoral. Paedophiles, thieves, abusers, rapists, and the like. He hunted them, and tortured them. There is no reason to cut the life of sinners short.

Eventually, he followed a group of friends to Mount Phoenix. Knowing they are special like he is, and with the promise of a better Neverland, he joined them on their one week journey to this mysterious place. And when he got there, he decided that he will never leave. The chaos never ends on Phoenix, and he is there to entertain it.

PANTHEON: Celtic CHILD OF: Brigit POWERS: Doyle is incredibly talented, and is lucky enough to succeed at everything he touches. He is an asset to solving murders, because he can read the dead better than anyone. He is an incredible fighter, martial arts run in his blood but he is not practicing. However, if there were a fight, he could easily face almost any enemy. He is an artist, in every sense of the word. Sometimes dreaming of a better reality, perhaps. He writes poetry in his free time, and blessed by his mother, his source of inspiration seems to never run short. STRENGTHS: talented in medicine, arts, and martial arts WEAKNESSES: has an uncontrollable thirst for blood and violence; he is mentally unstable and antisocial (despite not showing it) – he tends to isolate himself; his luck depends on circumstances, he is not a supernaturally lucky person and things can go wrong and he could be discovered; his emotions do not always work right, most of the times he cannot feel anything (sociopath tendencies); he could lose control of himself if he murders the wrong person – cannot mentally handle guilt

#kpop rp #krp #nct #kim dongyoung #nct doyoung #mp; welcome

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skysquid200 · 5 years

Note

Convin biker AU, I hear?? 👀👀👀

Okay so.

I may have had a sudden burst of inspiration and wrote 3k worth of a Convin biker AU. I’ll for the most part just throw down my sad attempt at understanding biker culture and basically keep everything the same. This also means that you’ll have to deal with how messy I make my outlines and notes for fics (as well as the random tense changing). So, enjoy I guess! Also this is also heavily inspired by the song, Low Beam by Her’s. (which, by the way, is such a Connor song and I could probably make a separate post on that)

Connor and Richard “Nines” Stern live two different lives. Nines left and ran away when they were in their teens. But came back reluctantly. He was always pushing boundaries while Connor colored in the lines. But they still loved each other. Nines gets into space engineering of all things and Connor gets into English and aims to be a professor. Amanda also works as a professor at a nearby collage.

One day while in their late 20’s he leaves suddenly and without warning. He leaves a letter telling Connor that he’s sorry but he’ll see him again one day and that the sciences weren’t for him.

Its years later in their mid 30’s when Nines visits again looking like a street racer. He says he’s sorry and gets briefly caught up. Connor is working as a clerk despite his degree (and he’s disappointed that he only saw Amanda at his graduation). Nines says he’s between jobs working as a mechanic and leaves it at that. He confesses that he got into some trouble and he regrets not visiting sooner. He has to leave, but Connor tries to sus out what kind of trouble he’s in and suggests Amanda’s help. Nines looks hurt and disappointed. He promises that he’ll come back when he’s safe again. It occurs to Connor that he’s in so much danger he’s visiting now in case he’ll never see him again.

So he leaves and it eats Connor up inside that he’s not safe, older brother instinct kicking in. A few days after he leaves he convinces himself to go after him, damn laws and his work. He misses and loves his brother more than anything.

Connor tries to retrace his steps and uses clues to find him. Instead of leading him to an inkling of an idea to take to the police he gets caught in a biker gangs supposed territory.

Hank catches him and is about to warn him to stop looking where he doesn’t belong but he freezes and recognizes him. In the dark it’s hard to tell so he calls out “Nines?”

Connor is thrown and forgetting that this man could snap him in half he asks hurriedly where Nines is. They talk and Hank figures out that his brother is looking for him. Connor introduces himself obligating Hank to do the same. “Uh look maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this but we can’t find him either. You probably know more than we do.”/“We?”

Hank suddenly gets a call from Gavin asking where the hell he is and that Tina may have a lead. Hank glances at Connor and he shivers. Hank says he may have one too.

Hank offers him his helmet and tells him that if he want to find Nines, he might have to break a few… rules. Cementing himself into finding him Connor takes the helmet. Before he gets on he muses that Hank doesn’t have one. He laughs and tells him to hop on. Tentatively he places his hands on his sides but as the bike ride gets more extreme, telling Connor of his skill he panics and holds on tighter. [Sidebar: Wear a helmet when riding a bike!!!!!! Don’t do this!!!!!]

They meet up, catching Tina and Gavin off guard in an old bike shop. It’s unclear if the bike shop is used in the daylight. Either way once Gavin sees that this guy ain’t Nines he’s openly hostile, criticizing his look and appearance. After Hank buts in he demands that Connor tells them everything he knows about Nines’ whereabouts. Going so far to shove him against a wall. Connor tries not to let it get to him, but he’s clearly terrified. Tina just watches all this go down. Gavin punches him in the eye and before Connor gives in Hank pulls him off and starts yelling at him. Along the lines of he’s are only chance besides the lead you got, no he won’t tell us anything now that you got him scared. Gavin argues that he’s just getting in their way. Hank spares a glance over to Connor who crumpled onto the ground like wet paper. Sighing, Hank agrees.

At hearing this Connor looks up. There’s a part of him that’s revolted. Whatever cult or gang his brother got himself into here, it’s not enough to scare him off. Even if he feels like running. Connor speaks up and says that he’s not going anywhere without finding his brother first. Gavin rolls his eyes and walks away a bit. Hank looks tired, like Connor took up all his patience. “Listen kid.”/”I’m not a kid.”/“You should just go back to where ever suburb you spawned from. Once we get Nines back we’ll give him shit for it and he’ll visit you. And everything can go back to normal.”/“Get him back, what the hell you mean by that?” G: “Way to go Hank now you’ve fucked us all over.”

At last Tina finally buts in. “Y’know Nines is usually the diplomat here, but I guess that job falls on me now huh.” Tina then goes on to explain their ‘evidence’ which is the suggestion that a rival gang grabbed him. She then says that Nines told her he had to go see someone. G:”We knew that.” T:”You idiot he was going to see Connor. That means he’s the last one to see Nines before he rode off and or got kidnapped.”

To investigate to see whether or not the rival gang took Nines or not they gotta go consult a source of theirs. But since Connor won’t leave Hank sticks with him at the shop while Tina and Gavin leave. Hank keeps vague as possible about the shop, he simply gives him an ice pack for his eye and tries to apologize on Gavin’s behalf. Connor interrupts him saying that if Gavin was sorry he would apologize for himself. Hank agrees and retracts his statement. Connor then thinks about how this all happened in about an hour. It was the middle of the night really he should go find a place to sleep. He observes the garage they’re in. Hank kept avoiding questions about where they were near where they were standing Connor spots an unused bike. As Hank kept talking he walked over to the bike. Hank caught on and walked over. He explained that was Nines’ bike and asked Connor if he had any idea what his brother did. He shook his head. “He told me he was taking odd jobs working as a mechanic.”/“Well he wasn’t really lying to you.” At last Hank confesses that this is his chop shop and Nines and the others work here. Hank realizes and explains that Connor at first seemed like the type to turn them in to the cops on the off chance they would do something illegal but now that he’s fully committed they’ll have to work together. “There’s rooms upstairs I got a couch you can sleep on until Gavin and Tina get back.” Connor finds a cat. Later they get back and they only get vague info.

[Alright this is the section I moved from a story format to a more bulleted format just to get my ideas down. Disclaimer, i’m sorry I made Markus a villain. I tried my best not to make him too bad of a person, but whoops.]

Thought the Red Blood Boys took him after Tina found a threat in their style [I took the rival biker gang name from the song.]

Talk to their in on the RBB and he was vague and high. But said that Nines did make a lot of enemies. This causes Gavin to think about Connor and see if he knows anything about enemies of Nines.

Connor won’t saying anything but is willing to let up about his enemies. Doesn’t talk about Amanda.

Connor believes there are two different people who would be considered Nines’ enemies. Hank and Tina will try one and Connor and Gavin will try the more likely suspect. Hank the leader forces Con and Gavin to work together against Gavin’s will because he needs to learn how to get along.

Hank and Tina turn up nothing but the name Amanda (no idea that’s the mother). They decide to look into it after Gavin and Connor return from their mission.

The other person turns out to have had their life ruined by Nines. It’s Daniel. He confuses Connor for Nines. They get into a shootout. Connor is able to talk Daniel down. But he runs off shortly after. Gavin calls it a draw and jokingly praises Connor for his negotiator skills.

Gavin finds a pamphlet from some cult, ”could be worth looking into.” It’s called Jericho.

They go find some food and they kinda get along. He reveals what Nines told him. It’s nothing but a goodbye message and nothing more. At least they got different leads. Soon they get back, Connor’s dead tired and promises to share info he knows with the rest of the group once he wakes back up. The other’s reconvene.

In the morning Gavin decides not to say anything about Amanda. They just go out again looking for clues about Jericho. Tina and Hank run into Josh while looking into the Professor Amanda thing. They find out that Josh has relations in Jericho so Amanda is dropped.

Josh is threatened and reluctantly tells him a location. Which Tina relays back to Gavin. The place is a set up and North ambushes Con and Gavin when they check it out. They’re able to make it out and Gavin shows that he cares about Connor. They drive back and Gavin stops for a smoke. Connor reveals who Amanda is. Bar scene and Connor gets hit on, Gavin acts a bit jealous.

While Connor sleeps he and Tina go look into Amanda. They find a stuck up professor who threatens to call the police. Gavin makes the connection of Nines’ stuck up personality and Connor’s proprietary-ness. They leave with nothing.

Meanwhile Nines is stuck in the basement of some dude’s mansion. He’s treated well and has breakfast with a fellow named Markus. He knows him. He fixed a car for him, but later when it was needed for repairs again he was given an offer to get it scrapped so he did. And then blanked Markus. Nines won’t say anything but Markus keeps monologuing how he’ll get his father’s car back hell or high water. At last he speaks saying if he wants it back he better have someone leave a ransom note for his crew. Markus agrees and muses that the fun was over once your crew threatened his friends.

Their leads die off and Jericho is unfound. Luckily a few days after the Amanda thing they get a note. It tells them to return the car or their friend will die in 14 days, no address is given. Connor is shaken up. Tina tries to find receipts. Hank goes to see if they scrapped it from sources. Gavin is told to do the same if Tina can’t find the proper receipts. Gavin encourages Connor.

Tina calls them to say that it’s a good thing Nines was so prissy about record keeping. Except for the scrap jobs which were often illegal. There’s a note for a vintage red car and a successful exchange. Then there’s another one but no return receipt, just the order which implies the car got dropped off so it had to go somewhere. Tina confirms that the handwriting is the same.

She goes and tells Hank. Gavin banks on him scrapping it so he says to Connor that he knows just the place to get a car like that.

They meet up with Hank at this street racing gig. Sure enough after a bit of asking around they find the car that’s about to be won in a race. Simon is there and the race it’s about to begin. They watch it go down and the pure skill this Simon fellow is showing is startling. He wins and per race rules anyone can challenge him. All four muss about who will go. Gavin wants to, but Connor interjects. Silent Gavin lets him. Connor wants to say if he fucks up Gavin can just race him, but once he steps up to his still warm bike Simon does announce that if he can’t be beat twice then it’s a guarantee Simon wins.

They race. Simon gets the initial lead, but slowly Connor gains ground and makes clever use of shortcuts. At the end it seems like Simon will win but Connor thinks about Nines nearly dying and getting Gavin’s one of now three friends back is very important. He’ll win for both of them. To prove them all wrong. With another trick/shortcut he wins. [Cliche maybe, but it’s fun to read in write in a fic.] They give him his congrats and luckily no one challenges him to a race so the owner of the car give a 1 2 3 and sold. Simon’s pissed and rides off frustrated. Gavin pulls them aside and watches him ride off. He muses that he may have to memorize his face incase he comes back to kill them. Sincerely gives him a good job. Connor realizes that a real Gavin smile is one of the best things he’s ever seen. And that he may have a crush on this rat of a man. Connor also basks in the warmth of Gavin trusting him. Tina interrupts their pow-wow asking how are they gonna get the car back to the shop.

Tina looks further into the dude with the fancy car online while Hank, Connor, and Gavin talk. Hank wonders how they’re gonna get the small details down, only Nines would know. Gavin muses that the rich fuck probably doesn’t know how many miles are on the thing since these types of cars to old people are more cosmetic than anything. Tina finds out that the car belonged to a Carl Manfred and once he died it either went to one of his sons. His adopted son, Markus or Leo. No other info is given so they gotta go find out who was favored. They turn in for the night.

Hank and Tina are the main mechanics and they gotta keep the shop alive somehow so Hank tells Gavin to look into Leo (Gavin also hates ’not doing anything’). Luckily they get a picture to go off of. They hit up the main spots for info, pretty quickly they discover Leo is a drug dealer now. They interrogate him (Gavin was making fun of the little cop dynamic they had going on) and easily find out that Markus got all the shit including the mansion. Leo gladly gives the address and tells them to make sure to send Markus a message from Leo, they ignore him.

As they stop for a now routine smoke break and drink at bar Gavin admits how much he hates rich folk. Connor can tell he’s speaking from experience. Gavin shares that he has a rich brother who left him and his mom once he got rich. Together they learned how to build with machines. Connor shares a story about the time Nines ran away from home.

—Why didn’t Markus add any address? He doesn’t care about the life, only the car. So he’d rather make them sweat over how to get the car to him because that’s more entertaining over simply leading them there. — [I had to explain it somehow.]

They ride in, Tina in the car. They arrive to the gated lot and pull up to see Markus, and son of a bitch, Simon, North, and Josh are here too. Nines is not there. Hank does negotiations asking where Nines is and he’ll hand over the car soon as he’s released. Markus doesn’t respond he’s just staring at Connor. He smiles and turns back to an increasingly agitated Hank. ”If you want Nines to return back to his brother go to the location written on the orange post-it note in the glove box.” silence. Markus hums. ”I knew that idiot scrapped it. I’m an agreeable man. My people have let Nines go, he’s out of our hands. It’s not our fault you don’t know where he is now. I have made my part of the deal, time to do yours.” Gavin interjects and yells at him for breaking the deal. Markus pulls out a gun and leaves it at his side, North follows and Simon the same. Josh goes back into the house. Hank, Tina, and Gavin pull out their guns, Connor still doesn’t have one. Connor knows they’re out matched, North he knows from experience can kill all of them easy. Remembering how Gavin praised his negotiator skills he steps ahead.

All three protest, but Gavin, even as Connor speaks keeps trying to get him out of there. Connor reasons with Markus on how they were able to find this place without an address, they can find Nines just as easily. The reality is that Markus is in trouble here. Connor also knows that losing one of his friends would be the worst possible solution to this, just give them some sort of address and we’ll leave the car. Markus puts away his gun. Hank and Tina lower their’s and scowl Gavin into doing the same. Markus gives them an address and tells them to get the hell out and never seem them again. Tina hops on Hank’s bike and they ride off to the destination.

It’s an old abandoned warehouse. There is one active street lamp. Gavin and Connor find Nines in a weird cage like room. Nines’ eyes widen once he sees Connor. Once he’s engaged he asks if he’s hallucinating before hugging the crap out of Connor. He asks with a ragged voice “how did you…?” But he turns to Gavin before he waits for an answer and hugs him. G:”Your cat misses you.” N: ”Thank you for taking care of him.” They get outside and they all hug it out and cry a little and joke. Nines recognizes that Connor has his bike and then pulls him aside.

He asks how he got into this mess. Connor tells him it’s a long story and he’ll tell him more once Nines is able to speak properly. Nines agrees and tells him that he should go home. He hugs him. Nines lets on and jokes about how the two behave around each other. Before leaving he walks over to Gavin.

N: ”Take him home. Treat him well.” He winks and Gavin blushes blushes. Gavin weakly kicks at his shins and tells him that he shouldn’t be driving. Nines says he’s getting soft and he’ll stop by a gas station and freshen up. Gavin throws a few colorful swears at him. Connor walks up and tells him to not mind his brother. “Oh don’t worry I’ve been dealing with his smartass for years now.”

Connor rides behind him. But unlike before with Hank he wasn’t scared, instead he leans into Gavin’s back and is tall enough to put his head on top of Gavin’s. [Once again, ride with a helmet!!!!] Connor loops his arms around Gavin’s stomach. (Little does he know Gavin is using all his concentration on trying not to crash his fucking bike.) Gavin walks him to his door and it’s clear that Gavin is stalling a little bit. Gavin asks what he’s gonna do now. Connor admits that he doesn’t really know what to do career wise. But he does know what to do about his love life. Without much hesitation he kisses Gavin against his door. He responds greedily. Before things get too out of hand Connor breaks it off and laments that he’s so so tired. Gavin smirks and teases him about the fact he wasn’t a night owl at all. “Yeah? When did you sleep?”/“In shifts dumbass.” Connor ends the conversation by wishing him goodnight. Connor gets ready to sleep in his own bed. He makes it clear to himself to make some changes starting tomorrow. Namely visiting his brother, distancing himself from Amanda and go on a proper date with Gavin. He’d like to see the rough and dirty biker wearing a suit in a restaurant. End with sweet anecdote.

That’s all I got. It’s sorta, in a way, dedicated to @barbaesparza.

youtube

And here’s the song which helped inspire this monster. I also named this AU ‘Low Beam’ because of it.

#dbh #detroit become human #convin #gavcon #connor rk800 #gavin reed #Connor dbh #Biker AU #skyspeaks #yes I got carried away #ignore the mistakes and plot holes please #anon #askbox #dbh headcanons

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astro-b-o-y-d · 7 years

Text

Descension

After his previous attempt to wipe out the campers, the shattering of his religious beliefs, and a painful recovery in the hospital, Daniel is sentenced to house arrest at Camp Campbell. Or, as he slowly begins to believe, Hell itself.

But maybe within the depths of Hell, Daniel can find a friend. A friend with a fishbowl helmet and a unique look on the stars above. (Also I absolutely took inspiration from this lovely fanart, at least in the setting)

[Read on Ao3]

It was so quiet.

Being a cultist (how he loathed using that particular word to describe himself, but if the shoe fits), he was used to long periods of quiet during his travels. The only time he really interacted with people was while he helped them reach ascension (the word that once felt so sweet on his tongue now left a bitter, hollow taste in its wake), and they always fell silent after the process was eventually completed.

Well, almost always.

Daniel's frown lowered as he let his gaze shift to the empty bed just a few feet away from his, its owner still at the Mess Hall as he finished up his remaining counseling assignments for the day. Or perhaps David was simply avoiding him altogether. Daniel wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest if the latter had been the case.

While David had welcomed him back with a wide smile and open arms, he had made it very clear (in a surprisingly forceful way that Daniel hadn't expected him to be capable of) that if he so much as thought about harming a single hair on any of the campers' heads during his time at the camp, there would be dire consequences. A threat that Gwen had also backed up with a show of her fists and a statement that she had 'already dealt with one cultist's bullshit this week (thank God he hadn't been sentenced to stay here while demon-ditzy Jen was still teaching her own practices or else he would have never lived his mistakes down) and she was not about to deal with more.'

Of course David's wide smile and open arms had returned after such threats (Gwen, not so much), but Daniel had a feeling that David was not as willing to associate with him as he had been during his first visit. Or perhaps David really was so obsessed with his job that he was willing to lose a few hours of sleep if it meant keeping on top of things.

Not that he cared one way or another about David's feelings towards him. David was a pathetic, annoying, foolish excuse of a man, one who had clearly mastered the art of repressing his self-esteem issues with a smile and a positive attitude. And while it would be fun to poke and prod at David about said issues, Daniel knew that David might have the upper hand when it came to which of the two of them was currently more pathetic.

Daniel made a face as his left leg brushed against the ankle bracelet on his right while he rolled onto his back. House arrest at the last camp he had nearly purified. If Xemug were real, Daniel had a feeling that not even He would condemn someone to such a cruel fate.

If He were real...

Daniel sighed heavily, his gaze locked on the ceiling. Being legally dead for an entire minute after ingesting far too much rat poison than any human should consume (which...in retrospect isn't really all that much to begin with) had been more than enough time to give him a glimpse into what waited for him after his time on Earth finally came to an end. And while he could not remember exactly what it was that he experienced during that one minute of death, he remembered enough to know that he'd been wrong about a lot of things regarding his beliefs and religious practices.

Xemug? The Galactic Confederacy? The Ancient Ones?

False hopes. Fallacies.

Lies.

The shock had definitely taken its toll on him. Nearly everything he had dedicated his life to, all his beliefs... Snuffed out like a candle's flame against a gust of truth as he finally came to in that clean, white hospital bed (oh, what cruel irony) surrounded by doctors and police, already weak enough from the after effects of the poison.

And while his body seemed to recover fine, his emotional state only grew worse with each passing day.

He...had nothing. No religion to fall back on, no life purpose...

Only cold, hard facts that not even his feelings could beat.

He had nothing. He was nothing.

Needless to say, his recovery was far from relaxing. And it only grew worse when he'd been informed of his sentence following the visit; house arrest at the last camp he had tried to 'purge'. To say that he had been...displeased with this sentence had been the understatement of the century.

Most people in his situation would have probably felt some sort of guilt by the time he had been forced into a police car and driven back along that old forest road towards the camp. They would have felt sorry for the lives they had taken in their desire to appease their gods, or felt the need to apologize to the still-living people they had wronged. Maybe the desire to try and form new relationships with them, in the hopes they could receive a second chance.

He felt no such things.

He had no remorse for killing the children at his previous camps, nor for the unfortunately still-alive brats that had greeted his return to Camp Campbell with angry scowls and a certain rude hand gesture ("Welcome to Hell, Cult Man." had been the included quip from Max). Perhaps he had some regrets over the fact that he had done it in the name of a God that didn't exist (even he had a hard time trusting his feelings over facts now), but the deaths themselves did little to affect his feelings. If anything, his desire to watch children die in the slowest and most painful manners possible had only grown stronger during his stay at Camp Campbell.

The campers had clearly not forgiven him for his previous attempts to sacrifice them, and took every opportunity to remind him of that fact. So many times he had found himself face down in the dirt as Nikki hogtied his arms and legs together with a victorious warrior cry, and he was positive he would have some permanent bruises from the number of pine cones that Max had gleefully slingshot-ed at his head.

No, his desire to kill every last one of the little bastards had not faded in the slightest.

So many opportunities to let an 'accident' happen, so many chances to turn a blind eye while Ered tried to skateboard off the roof of the mess hall or while Harrison got a little too carried away with his fire spells. But such opportunities were always foiled by a panicking David or scolding Gwen, or the knowledge that he would be the prime suspect if anything bad actually happened to one of the campers. Hell, David had given him an earful when he happened to accidentally (the rare time it had actually been an accident) glance from the back of Max's head towards the container of plastic (yet still very effective in causing injury if one knew how to use them properly) knives on the mess hall counter.

And as much as he hated being confined to the campgrounds, he was in no hurry to be dragged off to prison either. The camp was awful, but he was sure he had the slightest bit more freedom here than behind the bars of a cell. Not to mention he'd take the ugly-but-still-loosely-fitting counselor's outfit over an uncomfortable, restricting, orange jumpsuit any day.

So all he could do was lie there, eyes still on the ceiling and the cabin still so agonizingly quiet, with only his thoughts to focus on. Angry, bitter thoughts without anything to fall back on for comfort. His gods were false, his dignity had long since been shattered, and a list of repercussions too long to measure kept him from storming over to the tent area and choking the life out of the first child he could get his hands on.

...Maybe Max had been onto something with that rude little quip of his upon Daniel's return.

Maybe...this was Hell.

Maybe Daniel hadn't actually been revived after the Kool-Aid incident. Maybe, while a lot of his previous beliefs had been false, the one thing he could believe was that Hell was real, and it existed in the form of a rundown summer camp. Fire and brimstone were replaced with the hot, summer sun that bore down on the campers as they went about their days. The demons that inhabited the area were the campers themselves and his ankle bracelet was the ball and chain that kept him trapped there for a summer that seemed to drag on for an eternity. Perhaps it would drag on for eternity.

He sighed and sat upright. Well, if he truly was in Hell, then sleep was not going to come easily.

He slid his legs out from beneath the blanket and let his feet touch the hardwood floor. After fumbling around for the pair of boots that David had lent him (curse these ridiculous counselor clothes), he made his way for the cabin door and stepped out into the warm, summer evening.

It was a little less quiet outside the cabin, with the gentle ambiance of the surrounding woods noticeable enough to momentarily distract him from his thoughts. Only momentarily.

He began to walk, with little care as to where he was going. He'd memorized the outline of the campgrounds by now, and had no plans (at least, none that he could get away with successfully) to go beyond them. He walked past the Mess Hall (and made a face as he spotted David inside, too busy with an indistinguishable project to notice him) and towards the shoreline that lay at the edge of the lake. Well, if he could give this hellhole anything, it was that the lake looked...somewhat nice at night. Probably filthy and full of some kind of toxic chemicals, but at least the moonlight on the surface of the water was a relaxing sight.

He looked towards the end of the dock, and was surprised to see a small figure seated on the very edge. A small figure with a domed fishbowl over their head, which was tilted up towards the sky in wonder.

Of course it was Space Kid. The naive, little boy who had probably taken the least amount of convincing to purify. His head was so far up in the clouds that Daniel wouldn't have been surprised to see it floating among the stars he loved so much.

Daniel stepped onto the dock and began to approach him, the temptation to just push him into the water growing stronger with every step. It certainly wouldn't kill him (possibly, but Daniel couldn't stop himself from picturing the little fishbowl helmet filling up with water quick enough to drown its owner), and he was positive he'd never hear the end of it from David. But that couldn't stop him from just...considering it a little bit-

"Hi, Daniel!"

He froze as Space Kid turned to face him. Well, so much for that hypothetical plan now that he'd actually been seen. "Hello...Space Kid."

"Did you come to watch the stars, too?" Space Kid asked, his little smile widening. "I heard there was going to be a meteor shower tonight!"

A meteor shower and David didn't think to use that as an opportunity to teach the campers some kind of absurd lesson about space? Either Space Kid was being his usual naive self, or Daniel now had something to pester David about later.

"I don't know exactly when it's supposed to start," Space Kid said, looking to the sky again. "So I'm just looking at all the constellations now. You can see more of them out here then in the city!"

...Usual naive self seemed the more likely option. Daniel shook his head and took a seat beside him on the edge of the dock. Perhaps that naivety would be more effective at drowning out his cumbersome and annoying thoughts than the sounds of the forest. "You really don't mind me joining you?"

"Of course not!" Space Kid said, swinging his little legs. "Space is always more fun with a buddy!"

A buddy? "You...aren't terrified of being out here alone with me?"

Space Kid tilted his head. "Why would I be?"

"...You're kidding, right?"

"Ooh, look, there's Mars!" Space Kid's gaze was already back on the sky, and his little finger pointed up at a small mass among the stars. "I wasn't sure if I'd see it tonight! It likes to hide sometimes. But it can't hide forever!"

Was he...avoiding answering the question? Or was he really that easily distracted by space? "You look at the stars a lot, don't you?"

"Whenever I can!" Space Kid said. "But like I said, in the city, there's not as many stars to see..."

Daniel wasn't sure if he should respond to that, or if Space Kid simply liked hearing himself speak. So he kept his mouth shut and looked towards the night sky. Much like the lake beneath the dock, it was quite the sight for sore eyes. Having spent a lot of his time travelling from camp to camp, he was no stranger to the vast and starry night sky of the wilderness, but it had been quite some time since he actually went out of his way to stop and stare at it.

It was...somewhat nice, if he had to be honest. A moment of peace during his time in Hell.

"Hey, look! There's Perseus! There's a really cool story behind him!"

Space Kid's voice broke the silence as he pointed towards one particular constellation. "Is there now?" Daniel asked.

"Uh-huh!" Space Kid says, as the tip of his finger drifted to another nearby constellation. "See over there? That's Andromeda! The two of them loved each other a whole lot, but Andromeda's mom was going to sacrifice her to a sea monster! But Perseus was like 'no way!' and saved her! And now they can be together forever!"

Okay, now Daniel had no idea if any of that was true, but he didn't know enough about the stars themselves to disprove the boy's theories. "That's an...interesting story."

"And over there's Cygnus!" Space Kid continued. "It's a swan! I'll bet it really doesn't like Leo, huh? You know, because... it's a lion? Like a cat? Cat and bird?"

Daniel raises an eyebrow. That joke...actually made more sense than he would have expected from Space Kid. And even if he didn't know how creditable the boy's knowledge regarding the constellations was, it was clear that he had still put a lot of time into learning about them. "You...know an awful lot about space, huh?"

That was a dumb question. Of course he knew a lot about space. He was called Space Kid for a reason-

"I love space!" Space Kid said excitedly. "There's so much to learn about it! You could spend your entire life studying it and still not know everything about it! Like, did you know that it rains diamonds on Neptune?"

"...Is that true?"

"It might be!" Space Kid clapped his hands together. "Isn't that cool?!"

"Might be?" Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow. "But what if it’s not? Won't you be disappointed?"

Space Kid shrugged. "I mean, it's still a cool idea. Even if it's not real."

Even...if...

He was that excited over something that may or may not be true? He wasn't worried about the possibility of learning that it might not actually be true, leaving him with nothing but disappointment?

He...wasn't worried about facts destroying the things he held dear?

"Ooh, look, there they are!"

Once again, Space Kid pointed to the sky in an excited manner and Daniel looked towards the sky as well. Sure enough, a sudden flurry of meteors began to dash across the stars, shining brightly for a moment before they fizzled out just as quickly as they appeared.

He could hear Space Kid let out a small noise of awe every few seconds as the meteor shower continued. "Daniel?"

"Yes?"

"Is all that stuff you said about space true?" Space Kid asked, his eyes wide. "You know, about negative energy?"

...He...actually remembered that? "I'm not so sure anymore, unfortunately," he said truthfully. "A lot of the things I used to believe in were...recently proven to be false. To say the least."

"Oh," Space Kid said, and stared up at the sky again. "I really like space. Even if there really is a lot of negative energy up there. I mean, it's really big, isn't it? Maybe because it's so big, there's a bunch of good energy to help balance out all the bad?"

Daniel's expression melted into a look of surprise. "That...is an oddly insightful comment for an eight-year-old to make."

"Thanks!" Space Kid said cheerfully. "My mom says I'm really smart for my age! Not a lot of people believe me when I say it, but that's okay! They'll be the ones laughing when I'm the first person on Saturn! Well, maybe not laughing, because it'll be so cool! Maybe they'll be cheering instead. I hope they'll be cheering!"

Daniel continued to stare at him, his surprise melting into shock. He was so passionate about topics that he may or may not have been completely educated on, so eager to learn more about said topics, so naive but...in a way that also seemed very wise, especially for a child his age. And he seemed to possess no fear for someone who had previously tried to poison him, even going so far as to hold a pleasant conversation with said person.

Daniel suddenly remembered that he hadn't gotten a proper explanation for that.

"So, may I ask you a question now?" Daniel asked.

"Uh-huh," Space Kid said, not taking his eyes off the sky.

"...Why aren't you afraid of me?" Daniel asked. "I mean, surely you know what I tried to do the last time I was here, right? How I...well, you know, tried to kill everyone?"

"Yeah."

Oh, he... did know? "Okay, so...then why aren't you afraid of me?"

Once again, Space Kid tore his gaze from the meteors. "There's probably aliens out there who would try and kill people, and I'm not afraid of them," he said. "I'd just hope they'd at least let me see their spaceship before they killed me. That'd be a cool way to die!"

"But I'm not an alien," Daniel pointed out. "I'm a human being. Who tried to hurt you."

Space Kid shrugged. "Meteors can hurt the outside of a spaceship and I still like them."

"But that's..."

Daniel abruptly closed his mouth when words failed him. That...was really the reason that the boy wasn't afraid of him? Just because...something else he happened to like also might have the desire to kill or hurt? His reasoning was so flawed, so naive...

So...

Daniel racked his brain for a moment as he tried to think of the proper word to describe the little boy beside him, his eyes as bright as the stars above their heads. The little boy with so much love for them, despite not understanding everything about them. The little boy with little, if any at all, anger in his heart and unexplainable forgiveness towards those who had wronged him, even if they didn't necessarily deserve it.

The little boy whose feelings only grew stronger when he was presented with facts.

Once upon a time, Daniel had believed that feelings could beat facts, only to be brutally and painfully informed that facts were cruel. Facts were unforgiving, facts destroyed your beliefs and forced you to accept the fact that you had nothing. That you were nothing.

Feelings could lift you up, while facts only dragged you downwards.

But Space Kid...

He seemed to have found a balance between facts and feelings. He found a sense of happiness in learning about the things he loved, and found even more happiness in seeking more to learn. Even if the things he had learned turned out to contradict what he had previously known, even if the things were scary or threatening, he was still happy to have learned anything at all.

Admirable.

It was...admirable.

Eventually the meteor shower came to an end and the sky grew calm again. Another happy noise from Space Kid. "That was so cool! I was kinda hoping one of them would fall towards us, though. I wanted to take it home as a souvenir!"

"Well...maybe next time."

He had no idea why he said that. He had no idea why he said anything. But Space Kid's eyes seemed to widen at the comment. "You really think so?"

"...I guess?"

Space Kid beamed. "Maybe two of them will fall towards us next time! One for me, one for you!"

"Unfortunately, I highly doubt that there will be another meteor shower before the end of the summer," Daniel said. "Not to mention I had no idea where the authorities plan on sending me once the camp closes. Perhaps they'll change their minds about placing me behind bars."

"I could mail you one of the space rocks, then!" Space Kid said. "I mean, if I find them, that is. Or maybe, if I find only one, we could mail it back and forth to each other! Like we're sharing it!"

"You...would really want to share something like that with me?" Daniel asked.

"Yeah!" Space Kid said. "So we can remember tonight!"

He felt his mouth curl into a smile. "...Well, then I guess we'll just have to keep our fingers crossed, huh?"

"What are you two doing out here?"

Daniel turned to see David at the end of the dock, a flashlight in hand. "It's nearly midnight. Space Kid, you should be sleeping! You know that a healthy sleep schedule is very important."

Daniel felt his smile disappear at the sight of the meddlesome counselor. "Now, now, David. He simply wanted to watch the meteor shower that was happening tonight," he said with a smirk. "The one I'm sure you didn't hear about, considering you had no specific activities planned around it."

David's own smile twitched a bit. "As a matter of fact, I did know about it. However, as a proper camp counselor, I realized that maintaining a healthy sleeping schedule is far more important than-"

"A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?" Daniel asked, his smile returning at the realization that he might have struck a nerve. "Such a shame. I'm sure the other campers would have loved to see it. But now they can't. A chance to teach them a valuable lesson about space, lost forever."

And now David's smile was gone. "It's bedtime. For both of you."

"Oh, no need to sulk, David," Daniel said, and rose to his feet. "But I do think it's time to call it a night on the star gazing, Space Kid."

"Aww, okay," Space Kid said, and followed suit. "At least we got to see the meteor shower, right, Daniel?"

Daniel nodded. "It was...informative."

Space Kid smiled up at him. "Can we look at the stars again sometime?"

"I don't see why not," Daniel said. "But for now, you need to get to bed-"

His words died in his throat and a sudden chill ran up his spine as he felt a tiny, gloved hand slip into his. He looked down to see Space Kid beaming up at him, his smile the widest it had been all evening. He made no attempts to hide his 'deer in the headlights' look of absolute shock as he glanced back at David for assistance.

Of course the idiot was now smiling fondly at the sight. Of course. "Aww, Space Kid! Do you want Daniel to walk you back to your tent?"

Space Kid nodded. "I have something I want to give him!"

Even in the darkness, Daniel could see David's grin grow wider and wider as Space Kid lead him off the dock and towards the tent area. But for once, he found it...surprisingly easy to ignore the desire to knock every single one of David's teeth out of his head as he felt Space Kid pull him along, while that chilling sensation spread to the rest of his body.

Space Kid finally let go of his hand once they reached the tent and began around inside his bag as quietly as he could, so as not to wake the other two children in the tent. Finally, he let out a quiet noise of success and pulled out a small, book-shaped object. After quickly flipping through the pages for a moment, he peeled something out and held it up for Daniel to see.

"A...sticker?"

It was one of those silly fuzzy stickers, in the shape of a falling star. Space Kid was holding it with the very tips of his thumb and forefinger, likely so the sticky side would not be ruined. "Here! For you!"

"What-"

Before he could question where on Earth he was expected to put it, Space Kid leaned down and pressed it to the flat side of his ankle bracelet. "Is this okay? Since none of the meteors fell towards us, you can have this instead."

It was ridiculous, juvenile, childish. Everything Daniel usually despised about children. Everything that he once considered imperfections, things that made them worthy of nothing but being sacrificed to the Ancient Ones.

And yet...

"It's...sweet."

"You really like it?" Space Kid said, his eyes as wide as his smile. "I have more if you want-"

"No, that's alright," Daniel said quickly. "Besides, David did say it was time for you to sleep."

With a nod, Space Kid removed the little fishbowl helmet and climbed onto his assigned cot, asleep before his head could hit the pillow. Daniel remained still for a moment before he knelt down beside the bed, his gaze still locked on the sleeping boy as that chilling sensation from before returned in full force.

No, it...it wasn't chilling.

It was warm. Strange. Like nothing he'd felt before, especially not towards any children. The only thing he had ever felt towards children was the desire to snap their little necks. He even seemed to recall feeling that desire towards Space Kid at one point.

But now...now he wasn't so sure about that.

He knew still didn't like children. At all. But maybe... he didn't have to in order to like this one particular child.

This sweet little boy without any judgement or anger in his heart. A sweet little boy with dreams as vast as space itself, dreams he was probably visiting at that very moment.

Sweet... That was another good word to describe Space Kid. He was sweet.

Sweet, admirable...

Pure.

Daniel smiled at the thought. Perhaps Space Kid had been onto something about the amount of positive energy in space.

"Mmmm, what's going on?"

Daniel turned his attention to one of the other cots as Preston sat upright with a wide yawn. He let his gaze drift lazily towards where Daniel was kneeling, silent for a moment while he attempted to process the sight in his sleep-induced state. Suddenly, his eyes widened in horror and he nearly fell off the bed as he attempted to scoot as far away from Daniel as he could get. "Oh, God, have you finally snapped and decided that your sick desires to kill us all outweigh the desire not to be put in prison?!"

Daniel rolled his eyes and stood up again. "Not tonight, I'm afraid. Lucky for you, I was only here to tuck in Space Kid. So you can relax, go back to sleep and not have dreams of me slowly and painfully smothering you in your sleep. Good night!~"

He'd probably pay for that comment in the morning, along with his snark at the dock. But for now, it was the least of his worries as he exited the tent (he couldn't help but let out a laugh as he heard Preston wail in the tent behind him) and began to head back to the counselor's cabin, the ankle bracelet with the little fuzzy sticker on the side once again brushing his leg.

A reminder of their night of stargazing while also a reminder that he was trapped in Hell.

A warm, fuzzy feeling against a cold, hard fact.

Yeah, he liked the sound of that.

...Perhaps his stay in Hell wouldn't be so bad after all. And at least he'd have something to think about while deliberately ignoring the lecture that David was sure to give him about threatening campers.

He let out another laugh at the thought. David miserable? Now that would definitely give him a warm, fuzzy feeling.

#Camp Camp #Daniel's Descension AU #Finally a thing that isn't SAD #Only an odd friendship between a former cultist and a good good space boy #And also a proper writing thing for the AU

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victorluvsalice · 7 years

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AU Thursday: The Dirk Gently AU That's NOT The Holistic Coffee Shop

Yes, there is not one, but TWO Dirk Gently-inspired AUs kicking around in this head of mine! The first is, obviously, the Holistic Coffee Shop. The second is probably the AU everyone was expecting me to make when I first started dipping my toes in this fandom.

Namely, the "Victor and Alice as Ken and Bart" AU.

Now, this isn't an exact match for the Ken and Bart situation in the show -- it can't be, thanks to the simple fact that I still haven't seen a full episode of said show. (One day!) But also:

-->The characters of Alice and Victor have some pretty significant differences from Ken and Bart (Victor being a hacker hired to do cult IT in particular doesn't really make sense even if I do have sciencey versions of him)

-->I'm actually not imagining this as a "full" DGHDA AU -- it's basically solely the idea of Alice and Victor being in a similar situation to Bart and Ken, without Alice being dead-set on killing someone (who actually doesn't need/deserve to be killed)

So yeah, a bit more complicated than first thought! But here's my take on the mess so far:

-->Victor is a kidnap victim in this case, taken to coax a ransom out of his extremely rich parents. I'm still working out just who his kidnappers are, but perhaps it doesn't matter in the end, as their main purpose in this AU is to get killed by --

-->Alice, who lived through a modernized version of AMA and A:MR, and, after shoving Bumby in front of the train and somehow getting away with it, came to the conclusion that killing people who need to be killed is her purpose in life. Wonderland helps her in this endeavor, giving her direction on who needs to be ended. She rolls up to the kidnappers' hideout, kills them all, frees Victor, then -- on the advice of the Cheshire Cat -- takes him with her. Victor is initially convinced that she wants the ransom too -- but then she reveals she has no idea who he is, and then he's just confused. Alice explains her mission, tells him that he's along for the ride at least for now, and that they'll go in the general direction of his house and see what happens. Victor, realizing his life is in this woman's hands, agrees.

-->Cue murderous road trip! :D Here are the Bart & Ken moments that I know should happen:

Alice and Victor are captured by a biker gang (I believe because Alice killed one of them?) and are set to be executed, except Alice gets herself free and slaughters the lot of them thanks to one bad shot; Victor, astonished, calls her a "murder angel," which amuses her

The car breaks down, and the kindly guy who fixes it is actually planning on killing them and taking the card for parts; Alice demonstrates how Wonderland protects her by literally dodging a bullet, then showing that the gun just won't fire when pressed against her temple

Alice goes out to kill a guy in the middle of the street, feeling like she's falling behind after a hotel stay; Victor attempts to stop her by pointing out the dozens of witnesses, but Alice proves how good she is by yelling a few insults at her target, causing him to cross the street dangerously and get hit by a car

That moment in the car where The Backstreet Boys' "As Long As You Love Me" comes on the radio, and Victor absently starts singing along; Alice admits she doesn't know the song, and Victor amuses her by proving he knows all the words; ends up in a singalong

-->Victor spends his time alternately wondering what the heck he signed on for and growing closer to Alice (starting out with "look you need to eat regular meals again and have some sort of sleep schedule" and moving onto "you're actually kinda sweet under all the sarcasm and murder" and eventually "holy crap I think I'm in love with you").

-->And then they run across a guy which Alice has a weird feeling about -- he's supposed to die, but she's not sure if she's supposed to kill him. Figuring that if he has to die, she might as well be the one to do it, she goes ahead with the assassination --

And gets hurt. A stunned Victor rushes to her aid, and end up stabbing the guy -- one Barkis Bittern -- to death himself when he tries to attack them again. Alice takes this in stride ("Ah, YOU were supposed to kill him"), while Victor is horrified by what happened. His conscience is soothed slightly when it turns out Bittern had two women captive (they show up shortly after the murder, having just managed to free themselves -- to his surprise, they're his across-the-street neighbor Victoria Everglot and her girlfriend Emily Cartwell), but he refuses to believe that becoming Alice's murder-buddy is his fate and demands to be taken home. Alice, not particularly wanting anyone to have to share in her life, acquiesces, and the four of them head to Burtonsville, Alice dropping them all off and heading out to new adventures. Victor arrives home, expecting to happily settle back into the routine...

-->Except he doesn't feel like he belongs anymore. Something in him shifted during his time with Alice, and now it's like the universe is out of joint. He endures it for about a week and a half, trying to convince himself it’s a temporary thing and it’ll wear off soon --

-->Right up until he sees a news report about a mystery girl who was injured killing someone and is now in hospital under police guard. Victor realizes it's Alice, and then realizes that he could have made sure she wasn't captured if he'd been there. Missing her, and wondering if his real fate is to just to be the one who makes sure Alice stays free and alive to fulfill her purpose, he asks the universe for a sign to confirm that he's supposed to be with her.

"As Long As You Love Me" promptly comes on the radio.

-->Welp, that's a sign if he ever heard one! Victor promptly packs a bag of essentials, uses a fake date with Victoria to let someone know what's happening (his mother was pressuring him to ask her out ever since they came back together; he figured, since he was running away immediately after, might as well go out on a high note), then steals a car (which conveniently had the keys in the ignition) and heads off to the hospital.

-->Once there, Victor's not surprised to find Alice already halfway through escaping -- he knocks out a guard threatening her, they have a happy reunion (Alice has felt out of joint ever since he left too), and the two of them flee the scene with little trouble (even stopping along the way to kill a doctor who's been stealing organs).

-->And the murderous road trip resumes, via a stolen hearse (which I am deliberately making the classic Ghostbusters model because why not)! With Victor and Alice probably becoming an official couple along the way.

So yeah, that's the outline. Again, I'd want to actually watch the show in full before doing much more with it, but I think it's a decent start. Nothing wrong with another serial killer AU, right? :p

...And it occurs to me, given the song's importance, I should probably call the AU "As Long As You Love Me."

#dirk gently's holistic detective agency #sort of #as long as you love me au #all the mentioned incidents are the ones I've seen clips for on YouTube #I particularly liked the 'you know the words?' scene #Alice isn't as naive as Bart by a long shot #but you do miss a lot being in an asylum most of your life #I do have the opportunity to watch the episodes this month but #well it requires my cable information to get at em #and I'm moving soon so that's going to change shortly #hoping I can block out some time in July though #I might do snippets of the more original stuff #like Alice saving Victor from his original kidnapping #we'll see #again should really watch the darn show first #queued

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brettaresco · 7 years

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The Many and the One

Adolf Hitler

Charles Manson

Bernie Madoff

Dylan Klebold

Adam Lanza

Dylann Roof

What’s the difference between these two lists?

Let’s start with the similarities. First, inescapably, both contain only white men. Second, all of those white men have done horrible, most would say evil, things. The degrees of evil vary, and it must be said that one of the above never directly physically harmed anyone. Third, all of the names are instantly recognizable to most Americans.

Now for the differences. Well, the one major difference. Though the scope may differ, those on the first list are each associated with a specific type of cruelty. Those on the second list are all notorious for the same thing.

What am I getting at?

Call me crazy, but I think the second list should have only one name.

Think about it:

Adolf Hitler: Genocide (and general evil)

Charles Manson: Murderous cults

Bernie Madoff: Massive financial fraud

When discussing these men’s crimes, their names carry a singular weight. They have come to embody the atrocities they committed, to the point where the mere mention of their names inspires anger in the present and caution for the future. We have an important, understandable shorthand for talking about what each man symbolizes. For each, we have one major point of reference- one that guides our actions away from their horrific acts.

When we talk about gun violence in America, we have many.

It doesn’t have to be this way. Whenever a tragedy like the recent shooting in Las Vegas happens in America (seemingly every other month or so), some bring up Australia. It’s become cliché. Why? Well, because, unlike here in America, Australia’s list has one name: Martin Bryant. His semiautomatic rifle attack in 1996 was the deadliest mass shooting in Australian history. After a swift and decisive government response, Australia’s number of gun deaths per 100,000 people began steadily dropping- as of 2015 it stands at .93, down from 2.84 in 1996.

Now, never having been to Australia, I have no idea how people talk about Martin Bryant (though I know a little of how they talk about US mass shootings). I’m not sure if Bryant is indeed, so to speak, the Hitler of their gun violence. But considering the impact of his heinous crime and the lasting effect of Australia’s response to it (which involved the creation of an arms registry, stricter licensing, and a massive gun buyback program), I have a hard time believing he’s not. And even if he isn’t, wouldn’t we in America love to have only one major reference point for senseless death at the hands of guns? One that would allow all others to slowly fade into the fog of history? As this article points out re: Bryant’s spree, “There had been previous mass shootings in Australia, but none in recent times of this magnitude.” To put things in context, Bryant’s attack (known as the Port Aurthur massacre) killed 35 and wounded 23. The attack that just occurred in Las Vegas killed 50 people and wounded over 500.

And yet… does anybody think Stephen Paddock will become “the one”?

Let’s face it: America has a gun problem. At this point, anybody who doesn’t think so is willfully ignorant. Now, are there legitimate arguments to be made for how best to deal with that problem? Absolutely. But I think we’ve seen, time and time again, that doing nothing is not the answer. Which is exactly what I would say to anybody who claims that I, like millions of others searching for anything that we as a populace can do to make sure something like this doesn’t happen yet again, am “politicizing the issue.” Unfortunately, it’s political. And it has been for some time. We can simultaneously grieve for those brutally murdered and make sure more don’t suffer the same fate. In fact, it’s what we are obliged to do.

I wouldn’t claim to know why exactly it’s been so hard for Americans to do anything about guns despite our long (and relatively recent) history of mass shootings. But keeping with the numbers theme of this column, I’m willing to venture a guess:

America has a context problem.

There are certain things that Americans, and all humans, find easy to understand. We like connections; if we can assign blame or causality (or even correlation) to events, we’re much more comfortable both with a particular issue and how to deal with it. It’s why the Iraq war made so much sense to so many. Who took down the Twin Towers? Terrorists. Where were the terrorists from? The Middle East. Was Saddam Hussein a bad guy? Sure. And boom: one of the longest and least necessary wars in American history.

With gun violence, as we’ve seen time and time again, even correlation is hard to find. Well, aside from the obvious. That’s because, though we’ve had gun attacks in the name of, for instance, radical Islamic terrorism (San Bernadino, Fort Hood), most of the mass shootings in this country have been unconnected (the famous “lone wolf” phenomenon). And often, there are no signs that the gunman was a danger beforehand.

Such is the case with this most recent attack.

In the aftermath of the shooting, Las Vegas Police Sherriff Joseph Lombardo was quoted as saying “We had no knowledge of this individual. I don't know how it could have been prevented.” Was Paddock some sort of religious or political zealot? "We have no idea what his belief system was," Lombardo said. When interviewed yesterday, the shooter’s own brother echoed both sentiments. “The fact that he had those kind of weapons is just – where the hell did he get automatic weapons?” Eric Paddock said. “He has no military background or anything like that. He’s just a guy who lived in a house in Mesquite, drove down and gambled in Las Vegas.”

Just a guy. Who lived in a house in Mesquite. And legally owned 42 guns.

And therein lies the problem. Anytime something as powerful as the automatic (or semiautomatic functioning as an automatic) weapon Paddock reportedly used in his senseless attack is available to any human being, there is an element of chance. We are surrounded by randomness in our society- randomness that explains how difficult it is to prevent even detectable, related terrorist attacks. We are also more connected than ever, with more stimuli than ever. Any single one of those stimuli may at any point cause someone to fly off the handle. That loss of control is nothing new. But what’s the variable that makes it deadly? Guns. Lots and lots of powerful guns.

The other part of America’s context problem more directly involves numbers. I'm constantly amazed at our inability (or unwillingness) to understand scope with regards to the "debate" about gun violence (I actually think a lot of us are unable to understand scope with regard to any disaster, natural or manmade, because many of us have not had to deal with death on a regular basis. There are people living in horrible circumstances in America, but few like the Rohingya). Regardless, when we talk about shootings (especially those of us who defend our current gun laws), we too often invoke the famous axiom of someone who belongs on this column’s first list, Josef Stalin: "One death is a tragedy. One million is a statistic." In an America with stricter gun laws (and tighter monitoring of the number and type of guns in circulation), an attack such as last night's still could've happened. But I ask you, in all seriousness: How many people would have died? 10? 20? Surely fewer than 58. And none if the attack had been prevented altogether, which at the very least would have been easier if there were fewer guns in circulation (I challenge anyone to argue that point).

We see lone wolf and terrorist attacks all the time- two women were killed in France just days ago. But that was carried out with a knife. And even in attacks in countries with strict gun laws in which guns were procured illegally, the casualties are fewer. We have to ask ourselves: why is that? Is it possibly - possibly - because there aren't 23 guns involved? And, maybe - just maybe - they're less likely to be automatic or semiautomatic? And then, after asking ourselves these questions, we must return to Stalin’s heartless astuteness- it would take 29 of the recent Paris attacks to approximate the Vegas attack (minus the hundreds of injuries). And yet... we treat each as one incident. Those who believe in unfettered (or less stringent) gun laws (usually on the right) will point (and have pointed) to the Paris attack and similar ones prior as a way to deflect from the one in Vegas. And this false equivalency completely ruins our ability to put things in context.

I for one believe that, while favorite bogeymen ISIS and radical Islamic terrorism represent a threat to our world (East and West, Christian and Muslim (and Jewish, and Buddhist, and nonreligious...)), the far greater threat is fear. Though we cannot know this shooter's motive (and he was likely mentally ill- though I would argue anyone who shoots someone out of anything but self-defense is mentally ill), I'd like to see one person argue that the general populace is happier or less fearful than it was five years (or even five weeks) ago. And though fear itself may not be a fatal problem, and can easily be conquered, it can cause people to do strange things. Strange, random, sometimes drastic things. As we've seen throughout human history, these things will happen- it's just a matter of where and when. But also, most crucially, it is a matter of how.

In our lifetimes, we've seen mass murderers use planes and we've seen them use cars. Yet we as a society have determined that whatever threat is posed by the improper use of these technologies is far outweighed by their benefits. And even then, the registration and operation of both are tightly controlled. Like everything else in life, preventing death on any scale is an issue of pros and cons. So what, exactly, is the calculus on assault rifles? On semiautomatic weapons? Even on handguns? Do we ever actually bother to make the list, or do we just keep kicking the can down the road?

To me, all of this seems obvious. And I'm far from the only person saying it. So why then is nothing getting done? Still? The incident in Las Vegas is now the deadliest mass shooting in American history. Whether or not we treat it as such, this is our Port Aurthur massacre. To be fair, as the above article says, dealing with gun control in America is a lot more difficult than in Australia. But it’s not impossible. What does it say about us that we can’t at least ban assault weapons (like we once did)? While we’re at it, why not ban any and all automatic and semiautomatic weapons (and attachments like “attachable cranks” that allow other weapons to function as such)? Prostitution is illegal (in almost all states). Marijuana is illegal (in almost all states). And yet semiautomatic (and some automatic) weapons are widely legal and available? What is this country?

Seriously, what has become of America? We're the country of entrepreneurship, of drive. We are a nation of immigrants founded on taking risks. And yet somehow, not just with gun control but with healthcare, tax reform, etc., we've become hesitant to take risks. Why? Because of “congressional gridlock”? Try something. It’s not like we don’t have a margin for error. We’re the richest country in the world with the strongest military. What’s the worst that can happen? We might save one million lives; we might only save one. But guess what? That one life may be yours. Talk about a context problem- how, even after the horrible, unprovoked attack on a senator earlier this year, can every single member of Congress not wake up every day thinking “that could have been me”? And once we’ve done something, anything, even the smallest thing to decrease the number of guns (and thus the chance of random, unforeseen shootings) in this country, what will we have we lost in return? I’ll wait.

There is, of course, another problem of a similar nature facing our country. It too involves a long list of names but, more respectfully, of the victims. Trayvon Martin. Alton Sterling. Philando Castile. Michael Brown. Sandra Bland. There are countless more on that list that have necessarily and appropriately been forced into our consciousness. That list should also contain only one name. As with guns, we need to take action so that there are no more unnecessary deaths at the hands of law enforcement. But, whether we like it or not, those deaths are less directly attributable to a widespread problem. That’s not to say there aren’t issues that we can tackle, though- as this is a column about guns, I’ll save my righteous indignation on that point for another day, and let John Oliver handle it in the meantime.

The bottom line is, as Americans, we need to start having the hard conversations. We need to start holding our representatives’ feet to the fire. More than that, we need to start holding our fellow citizens accountable. Let’s talk. We bemoan intolerance on both sides but it seems too often that the conversation ends there. Engage. That means not backing down and thinking, as I often have, "Well, this conversation isn't gonna go anywhere, so it's best to drop it." I’m as guilty as anyone- there are people in my life who believe in that mass shootings can be prevented by one responsible citizen with a gun. Often, I don’t engage with them about the issue. I think it’s a lost cause. But when people are dying, there’s no such thing as a lost cause.

Let me repeat: People are dying. More people were killed two nights ago than in any other shooting in American history. Not by some shadow actor, not by some government conspiracy, but by some average Joe with guns.

Just like Dylan Klebold.

Or Adam Lanza,

Dylann Roof,

Omar Mateen,

Seung-hui Cho,

or James Holmes.

There are many names on that list. And by the time this problem is solved - or, at the very least, mitigated - there may be many more.

Here’s hoping that someday, there will only be one.

PS- In fairness to one of the worst people in history, I found out in writing this that Stalin may not have actually said his iconic quote about death. Regardless, the sentiment became famous for a reason.

PPS- I alternated between saying the shooter had 42 and 23 guns- he reportedly owned 42, but had 23 in his hotel room at the time of the shooting. And he bought some of them from a Mesquite, NV shop called “Guns and Guitars.” You can’t make this stuff up.

PPPS- Speaking of Guns and Guitars, there’s a much longer column to be written on the real cause of inaction on guns: $$$. As of 2015, the US firearms industry was worth $49.3 billion. And considering the outsize influence of money in our political system, any idiot can see that it’s gonna take some real work to effect lasting change…

And the Trump White House (surprise, surprise) doesn’t seem eager to get the ball rolling, given this CNN report from the first post-shooting press briefing: "But Sanders eschewed questions about support for stricter gun laws, saying the White House has been focused on ‘bringing our country together,’ not ‘the policy part.’"

PPPPS- I’ve thrown around the terms “automatic,” “semiautomatic,” “assault weapons,” etc. and I’m sure I’ve butchered some of the finer points. But… that’s not the point. As I said before, why do we need even semiautomatic weapons in circulation? And I’m not the only one who doesn’t see much of a difference. It appears that Paddock used at least one device that made his semiautomatic weapons function as automatic weapons. Even if he didn’t have a, quote, “machine gun,” he essentially had a machine gun. Which I, like the shooter’s brother, think is insane. "Do I believe that he should have been able to get a machine gun?" Eric asked NBC News. "Let me loose on whoever sold him the machine gun. He should not have a machine gun."

Whatever the hell guns Paddock used, he killed 58 and wounded over 500 people. Excuse me, for not giving a shit about classifications.

#gun control #las vegas

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