#— cause we’re all just ticking time bombs ( visuals )

[sparrowsabre7]

Ok this was in my drafts from ages ago and I forgot to post so it’s here now: 

So with Arkham Knight completed I wanted to discuss the story and some of the things I liked about the plot.

For my money Arkham City is the most entertaining of the series plot-wise. It is wide in scope, incorporating a large group of Batman’s rogues, with a lead villain who has a commanding presence. It is the quintessential Batman plot, full of twists, focusing on his dynamic with the Joker and is a big ‘ol actionfest.

Arkham Knight’s plot on the other hand is quite pedestrian by comparison looking at the villain plot: Scarecrow wants to take down Batman and cause chaos in Gotham and a mysterious new villain appears to help. From this standpoint, Arkham Knight is nothing special. However, as a character study of Batman, it goes much deeper than any of the previous games, and deeper even than any of the films. Most of those dealt with “Why does Bruce Wayne become Batman?” whereas Knight asks the question “What does it mean to BE Batman?”

In this respect “Be the Batman” is more than just a marketing tagline. We really delve into what makes Batman and Bruce Wayne tick and their relationships with the world, their allies, and enemies.

We’re going to delve into big spoiler territory now so be ye warned.

Batman in this game is in an interesting place. Crime is supposedly lower than ever when Scarecrow’s plan starts falling into place, yet he’s hitting criminals harder than ever, working tirelessly in his war on crime. His modifications to the Batmobile make this immediately apparent, adding numerous heavy weapons and armour. One of the unlockable Arkham stories indicates that adding more weaponry has been something Batman has fought for years, according to Lucius, but he had a change of heart some point between City and Knight. We learn soon enough that Batman is on borrowed time. His blood is still infected with Joker’s own and is actually beginning to turn him. This is his last assault on crime, one final push if a cure cannot be found. As a result, he is pushing his allies further away than ever. This alienation was seen in a small way in the epilogue DLC “Harley Quinn’s Revenge”, keeping Robin at arm’s length and mostly avoiding contact with his allies entirely.

This is one of the key themes of the whole game and, personally, if I were to choose one word to sum up Arkham Knight it would be “family”. “Asylum”, “City”, and “Origins” were all solo efforts on Batman’s part, with some input in his ear from Oracle and Alfred, and a brief appearance by Robin. This is the first game to really have the Bat-family on board proper and this really informs a lot of the game and Batman’s motivations.

He pushes them away because he knows he’s dying. He pushes them away because he wants them to get used to the idea of him being gone. Most importantly, he pushes them away because he believes this will keep them safe. This is underlined when Scarecrow’s fear toxin kicks in. Thanks to the hallucinations provided by it, we are shown two of Batman’s greatest failures in his eyes, along with his raison d’etre: the crippling of Barbara Gordon, the torture and murder of Jason Todd, and the death of his parents. The former two are clearly never far from the dark knight’s thoughts and show why he genuinely does fear for his allies safety. This ends up, in the obvious ironic twist, putting them in greater danger. By keeping them at arm’s length and withholding his plans, the Batman is a less effective force. He doesn’t consider that they are safest together, working as a team. His allies come to his rescue a couple of times during the course of the game, Nightwing saving him from Penguin’s thugs, Catwoman saving him from an unwinnable fight against The Riddler, Oracle aiding him during the defence of the GCPD and Robin not saving him per se, but defusing some of the Johnny Charisma’s bombs while Batman is unable to move.

Another key subplot is Batman vs Joker. Even after his death, through his blood and the fear toxin, Joker is resurrected as a hallucination, a dark Jiminy Cricket pestering and needling the caped crusader at every turn. This is the ultimate Joker, no less potent for not being “real”. He represents everything Batman hates and fears, because he is not only The Joker, but the darkest parts of Batman’s mind, all the what ifs, the maybe should’ves, all of this tumbles out of Joker’s mouth, taunting the dark knight with his own insecurities. It shows Batman’s human side a lot more than any previous game, shows he can be afraid, he does have doubts, can fail, can falter. This is something which clearly plays across his mind throughout the game and leads him to the ultimate conclusion of the game which I will touch on in a bit.

The Joker has always been key to the Batman mythos. He was that in Batman #1 so nearly as long as the Batman has been in existence. Having him manifest as a facet of Batman’s subconscious is both a neat narrative trick (and way to skirt the “Joker is dead” thing without cheapening the end of “City”) and a useful dynamic in explaining who Batman is. Much of his existence has been spent battling The Joker and it’s clear that there is a side of Batman in “Knight” that almost misses him in a sense. His presence also plays up the yin-yang of their relationship and eventually culminates quite literally in a battle in Batman’s psyche.

Near the game’s ending Scarecrow unmasks Batman and injects him with a heavy dose of fear toxin. This causes Joker’s personality to be brought to the fore but at the same time empowers Batman’s own power of fear, showing the clown prince of crime his own greatest nightmare: being forgotten. This is ultimately delivered personally by Batman, bursting from the shadows of his own mind and subduing the Joker side, locking him away forever, enforcing this with the time tested phrase “I am vengeance, I am the night, I am Batman.” This is said, as another blogger pointed out, as much to himself as to The Joker. This is a declaration that he is Batman, he is no longer Bruce Wayne. To paraphrase “Batman Begins”, as Bruce Wayne he can fail, be killed, and simply die, which is when we come to the ending.

Upon the final villains being rounded up he initiates the Knightfall protocol and removes his mask. This is a clear symbolic gesture as he is leaving Batman behind on the rooftop with the Batsignal and reverting to Bruce Wayne. He flies back to Wayne Manor and it explodes, destroying the whole building. It’s not made explicit but it’s fairly evident that Bruce has faked his death, very publicly killing Bruce Wayne, now that he has been revealed as the alter ego of Batman. Gordon’s narration states that “this is how the Batman died” but it’s really how Bruce Wayne died.

The final scene shows Thomas, Martha and young Bruce Wayne stand-ins walking down an alley past a theatre, visually recreating Batman’s origin. There’s a gunman, there are broken pearls, this is the birth of Batman as we remember. This time however, Batman already exists. A shadow appears on the rooftop behind the criminals, towering high before spreading shadowy wings and fiery demon eyes alighting as it swoops towards them and cuts to black. It’s clear this is more than a symbolic statement as the criminals react to this “Knightmare” and are clearly terrified. Ultimately it’s up to interpretation, but I think, either it is The Batman in his purest form, shed of the Bruce Wayne identity, free to be more than human (with the use of Scarecrow’s fear toxin apparently), or it simply a psychological manifestation. After Scarecrow’s gas flooded Gotham’s streets, perhaps the residual effects left a lingering memory of Batman that was burned into their consciousness.

Either way it’s a true and final realisation of Bruce Wayne’s goal for the Batman. To become something eternal, supernatural even, that will watch over an protect

[crackcrocs]

DEATH WILL ONLY BE THE BEGINNING #3

3. Transformation Central

the entities of my personalities would like to come together in one voice that speaks through me, we or I call this collection of words from the mustiest corners of my brain to this note page to voice something that might come close to what I feel underneath the skin I wear. In all my unorganised words- I might even go as far as to call this a poem, titled:

‘TRANSFORMATION CENTRAL’

sub characters in my head would appreciate if this could be visualised & understood through as deep a lens as humanly possible. even I confuse myself so if you can decode or relate to any of this, wonderful. If not, I’m locked in my own mind, swallowed the keys to my soul.

SIMILARITIES & INTERCONNECTEDNESS BETWEEN HUMAN & PLANT CONSCIOUSNESS EXIST! if you look closely at my nose freckles you’ll see the resemblance of the constellations above. if you look at the human veins & the layout of a tree, this is further proof.

{VISUALS THROUGH A SEPIA WINDOW STARING @ THE AUTUMN LEAFS; IMAGINING THE SEEDS UNDERNEATH, THROUGH NUMB ROOT VESSELS THAT PERMEATE THROUGH EVERY MEMBRANE OF MY EXTERNAL TO INTERNAL ENVIRONMENT}

~FEATURING THE VICIOUS CYCLE OF DEPRESSION & PERFECTIONISM.

here goes:

What is this part of my mind ?

If you want; delve inside-

I may look sweet like Alice,

but underneath it all

I deteste looking in the mirror

-cos I see the mad hatter.

my inner child needs a platter-

full of care not distortion & abuse pls.

less fibbin would’ve been a breeze.

now following the dead fish in the stream!

HOW on EARTH do I fit with the cod & the Haddock?

I’m the rainbow fish- beat & battered.

dim my own light cos I’m too afraid to shine.

alone.

thieves tried to steal my shiny scales.

I sat and watched them grow.

In the sea realm they were mean gargantuan selfish whales, with poisonous shark fangs & alligator tails. scorpion hands. (gremlins)

and still they make me feel like the alien-

I cant take it.

Make it make sense ?

I can’t.

controller in my hand-

Off balance stance.  

anxiously I move round like a wobbly jelly.

where’s the button to balance my chi & shut out the ego ?

the teLLIE telling lies to our vision!

change the channel aura terracotta orange- daily dosage of vitamin D & C.

catch me sun gazing by the sea

head buzzin like a bee.

speaking from a dusty box

stuck on top of a forbidden shelf

cos I dunno how else.

I’m tryna delve deep but forgot how to dive

How can i visualise? scenery foggy-

the establishment man with the glue gun got me xD

inner monk burning but at peace

Cos I refuse to believe

If the only way is the American dream

Interconnected; like the frog in science -let’s dissect it!

down to every floating atom spirit neighbouring your door

subcategories & divisions, it’s more!

than the rich and the poor -prism that’s been built

do we all feel like a performance monkey on stilts?

will my data be extracted & used to mould a robots personality some day?

well obviously not.

does the price of our lives all amount down to slave ways?

LABOUR YAY!

but morals & values it seems we’ve forgot.

sO If i don’t speak its cos I’m lost.

or maybe i’m enlightened-

Standing at the edge of the porch;

watching TRYING to understand how the flowers grow.

questioning eVERYTHING man made!

I’ve stepped out of the perfect picture frame

I can see the coal pollute the sky

I need to hop on the train-

but I’m comfortable

Sunset to sunrise statue standing still.

what’s the ingredients to life’s yucky pie?

I’ve exceeded mental lotteries.

Sanity n universal peace would be a trophy.

TIL then I’ll be crafting & shaping a solid pottery reality,

with a few pence, gum, and a bandana of belongings tied to stick.

thinking one day I’ll be laying the bricks

& building a kingdom of bliss.

guess for now I’ll use the intricate delicate materials in my tool box- that’s all I’ve got.

might have a long way- maybe worth a shot.

I observe, cruisin in the sky.

dunno why..

I jus look @ the hills.

Only time & history reveals.

no thanks mr men-

I don’t want your prescription pills.

there’s enough propaganda as it is.

I won’t jump on the merry go round-

til my core trusts & envisions we’ll actually feel safe!

I don’t want to take part in this faux fur, sweet nothings & a jack in a box punching blur, so called future.

oh and genuinely thanks quarantine-for once again, I can hear bird sounds!

guess this is me tryna speak out loud!!!...

it’s not thrilling

system  time killing everything-

mother nature’s oxygen

everything is nauseating

clock ticking, I better start creating.

they should write a book on how to be free when the system set us up to believe that we’re tied to the cut down trees that gives them a currency of greed that they breed.

If blindfolded, I don’t wanna eat what they feed.

Whilst they profit of us -tell us smile and the bandits don’t wanna see us happy.

they’re too busy robbing all our hoods.

In exchange for the silence, they’ve granted us with a 21’st century fashion garment of a slave muzzle! labelled conform.

More delusion to add to the already desensitised norm.

zootonic diseases, welcome covid 19 to your plastic kiddy tea party!- apologies for questioning your motive!

Been handed too many hot plates with a post it note saying HOLD THIS.

we’ll be okay just hush.

Same Shan message told to every generational seed.

If we don’t TRY overpower-

we’ll never succeed!

it’s getting even more scary.

Artificial intelligence.

Societal negligence..

my canvas isn’t clear-dunno am I schizo ?

finger painting, cos it makes more sense.

struggling to blend.

borderline conspiracist pretending to be fine;

moving the goal post, hovering above the race line.

who made the chalk? who set the lanes?

I wanna know it all, maybe¿ far past insane.

I can fit all I need in the palm of my hand,

Maybe even less! cut a finger off not sure it’ll even add stress.

hi from personality Peter, even sober- always away with the fairies.

Pass the pixie dust, I’m in a rush

Found shelter in the comfort of pan physicists timer, no not the one on your phone!

Ring ring, skeptical! is it my demon or my mommy on the phone?

I’m stuck in the airspace of an infinite glass filled with beach particles trying to form myself standing up still attempting not to slip through the hands of my very own discovery.

time is running out & ill go when I go.

I’m sitting inside the fly trap -

stardust, chakras can you feel the sensation colors like a starburst.

deep emotion is a curse.

still entrapped in the sand dune of nothingness-

flipping a domino monopoly of solidified thoughts as I sway with the wind.

I’m the trapped sandbox in the playground & the slipping sand in my own hands.

Inhale chronic but I wanna enter the quiet realm of white noise

-color of a wife beater vest, calmer than the ease in ignorance of a red neck.

sadomasochistic, messes.

but oblivion, seems like less stress.

Unfortunately I can see, with all eyes

empathetic paralysis, gets me vexed.

Punching truth into the core of your chest!

It’s not funny, neither is the one on the receiving end..

My limbs are numb

& im done playing octopus alchemy.

I want minimalism & life can be simple,

Evil entities have made it hard.

Maybe I’ve got stars above my head like an old cartoon character.

But I can’t make it make sense, are they out to get me. worse all of us? Or have I bottled myself tryna re mesh the broken shards,

I feel glued to the floor cos there’s a pretty price to pay if you want more.

I see life through a different lense, maybe born downside up, Benjamin button I came out the back door-

Outside looking in, digesting confusion.

Is to be a product of environment a sin?

rummage through my messy brain.

personalities sardine packed in this tin

I’m the wizard of my mania

Scaring & attracting the black crows-

they’re my friends.

Sometimes still a cowardly lion

Roaring pain & true riddles at the wrenching wicked witch posse of the west.

will my voice ever be loud enough to shed light wit my words and grate the sweet zest

In to the cake i’m baking?

Probably not.

Got more thoughts than the autumn leaves collected by the garden rake. alone.

gathering & storing the pains of yesterday.

sometimes I stay in line

Other times in my head Im on my hands juggling out of time.

but I really don’t mind if I lose or win.

we all have a pace

I jus don’t want the 1% to win the race.

It’s unfair!

Humanity does anyone care ??

Half lady

half fairy

Good  MOOrning-

from my anagrams.

no I’m not a cow.

twister fidget spinner brain in the flesh-

form of expression this time around lyrics.

feel I’m jus a silly rubix

& still mourning

I don’t like dairy

pass the oat milk.

Are you aware the industry are sabotaging our diets?

we want peace!

the powerful elite-

perceive & deceive

the scene they want us to be.

chuck the narcissistic psychopathic pie back in our face-

every time we almost found & addressed the Programme & Control man in the maze.

evil & extroverted- he said that the anarchists have to be the cause of riots.

working isn’t class. I said let’s switch roles- he said pass.

It’s piss! Who’s got the bomb & the guns?

Who got the land? off wit OUR heads 4 fun!

it’s pure scary.

Pharmaceutics handshake.

with the cooked up suppliers, also crooked wack liars.

I’d rather shot a gallon of bloody blubbery infused slaughter house milk

If it meant we didn’t use cocoons for silk.

why not add a drizzle of bleach to the concoction & maybe that’s a reach.

every time I guzzle fakeness, it taste peak.

I want real fruit, what next-

a seedless peach ???

what’s the difference between a weirdo & a freak?

layers & levels to the shit.

Magnifying tapping the window of society, I’ll be puffing green til I get to the land of Oz.

sponge soaked soaking up emotions

Suffocated by deduction of care in life

feel entrapped in this paradigm

what am I thinking ?

got the verbs & a cuppa tea

It’s mixed with torment & desire to be free.

I’d rather be awake than asleep

When I get too comfy I feel weak

Demons they reap

underneath

rip the seems as I bleed

Concrete

Solid

Emotions

Is all you’re getting

It’s all sad scenes in the imagery I’m setting

people need care we seem to be forgetting

why are we in debt wit

a posse of clowns

pay the price so we can get a frown

here’s some seratonin

quit ya moaning

life is all sound

aw yeh¿  if you’re not an over thinker!

product of environment- Sirius flickers

theyve done a ritual like it’s Wicca

now here’s your gold sticker..

for managing to co operate.

In this world fuelled off of evil n hate

waking ups a bloody disgrace

I am not amazed.

Man I love my fam n my friends

Just hate this part of my brain that feels the need to play pretend

sometimes I feel insane

but I’m calm

need to escape so I don’t do harm

Gold lioness in the sky by the sea

with puff the magic dragon

fire out my mouth, fuel helps me breathe

I will shine bright

Promise imma be alright

even tho I’m not sure why

I function like this

I wanna be myself

It’s just hard to find the comfortability

To feel happy and pretty

Lay me down on a bed of roses

Ring around sing about overdose emotions

Sorry dunno how to communicate

Heads in a constant debate

Should I go or should I stay

My head clashes

Burnin the next ciggy as my thoughts become ashes.

[aceofwhump]

poison/venom + remy?

I’M SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG I HAVE NO EXCUSES!!!!

Character: Remy (my oc)

Tropes: poison/venom

for my @badthingshappenbingo card. See original post here)

When Remy woke up that morning he didn’t imagine his day would turn into a battle in an abandoned warehouse with a group of organized thugs who had been causing trouble for a local neighborhood. They’d normally kept to pretty tame tactics but the team had learned that they had recently upgraded their terror and had built a bomb capable of destroying the whole city. So here they were, dodging projectiles and trying to get close enough to a bomb in order to deactivate it before it killed everyone.

Remy ducked as another crossbow bolt shot past him, narrowly missing his head, and embedding in the wall behind him. “What sort of mercenary group uses crossbows!?” Remy shouted.

“Would you prefer it if they used guns?” Loch shouted back from behind the pillar he was currently hiding behind.

“Okay, yeah, good point. Crossbows are fine.”

Loch leaned a bit away from his hiding spot to try and catch sight of the bomb but another bolt had him quickly ducking back behind it. “We need to get to the bomb. Does anyone have a visual on the shooters?”

Arya’s called out first. “I’ve got a visual on one of them but I can’t get to him. Second floor, behind the big slab of concrete, about 50 feet behind you Remy,”

“There’s another two to your right Loch. Through the double doors,” Wyatt said.

“And I see one on your left Wyatt. Next to the boxes,” Remy said.

“Alright I can get to the one on the second floor. Wyatt take the one to your left. Remy can you take the two to my right?”

Remy nodded. Of course he could. It’d be easy. Fun even.

“Good. That will free up Arya to get the bomb and turn it off. Everyone good to go?” A chorus of yes’s responded. “Alright. On three. One. Two. Three!”

On Loch’s count Remy took off. Speed was his best asset in this situation. If he could get to them quickly enough, they wouldn’t be able to fire a shot before he took them out. Unfortunately, the two shooters saw him come barrelling towards them and began to frantically fire straight at him. He dodged one crossbow bolt but felt the sting from the second shooter’s arrow slice through his side. He ignored the burn and crashed through the double doors, taking out one of the guys with a quick punch to the jaw.

Remy blocked an attack from the second shooter who stupidly tried to use his crossbow as a blunt object. Remy used his own momentum to loosen the crossbow from his hands and turned around in one swift movement to knock him over the head with it. Both guys were one the ground in seconds. And he didn’t even have to use his fire. Amateurs.

Running back out to check on his friends he found Wyatt had taken care of his guy and was heading up to where Arya was desperately trying to get the bomb to stop ticking down.

Remy looked around for Loch and found him struggling with the bad guy he had been assigned. Remy quickly ran up and blasted him away with some fire. The guy went flying across the room, hit the wall hard and stayed down.

Loch rounded on him with a scowl on his face. “I had him!”

“You’re welcome.”

Loch rolled his eyes and headed towards Arya and Wyatt. “Arya, how’s it going!?”

“Almost there! Just a few more...and...done! That should do it!”

The timer stopped and everyone relaxed. Remy stretched his arms above his head but winced as pain cut through him. Wyatt noticed the wince. His fell on Remy’s now bloody hip and he blanched. “Shit! Remy you’re bleeding!”

“Huh? Oh. It’s nothing. Just a scratch. I’m fine. Let’s get the hell out of here yeah?”

“Let me see” Loch reached out to forcibly lift Remy’s shirt up in order to take a look at the skin underneath but Remy dodged his hands and pressed an arm against the wound so no one could look.

“It’s fine. Really. Can we go now?” Remy didn’t wait for an answer and just turned around and started heading down the stairs unaware of the worried glances his friends exchanged with each other before they followed Remy out of the warehouse.

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

Remy began feeling poorly a few hours later.

The ache in his side seemed to keep growing, he alternated between shivering and sweating, and he’s been getting dizzier with each passing moment. He managed to completely avoid the post mission check up as per usual although he was going to get an earful out of Loch for that later. He really did hate medics. And hospitals. Instead he snuck away as soon as the returned to his room and patched himself up before heading to the briefing. The wound wasn’t bad so he thought he’d be fine without medical attention.

He was wrong.

The briefing is when he really began to feel poorly. Every moment that ticked by he grew worse. Every shift made the ache in his side scream and he kept surreptitiously wiping sweat off his brow hoping the others didn’t notice; that they didn’t see how badly he felt. He was sure it would get better and if the others noticed they’d insist he go to the hospital and well, that wasn’t going to happen.

Loch wrapped up the briefing. Remy only noticed it was over because everyone started standing up. He had busy trying not to throw up all over the table as nausea rolled over him. Arya and Wyatt were out of the room before Remy worked up enough energy to pull himself out of the chair. Loch lingered behind, glancing back Remy, his eyebrows scrunched together making that face he always made when he worried about him.

“You alright Remy?” he asked.

Remy straightened up taller and tried to look normal, “Yeah I’m fine. Just tired.”

“I really wish you would get that cut looked at by a professional.”

“It’s just a scratch. It’s not necessary.”

Before Loch could argue against him or worse, physically take him down to medical, Remy waved goodbye and left to return to his room.

Once he was safely hidden away in his room, his legs suddenly turned into jelly and he fell against the wall, sliding to the floor in a heap. Wincing against the pain and wheezing slightly he pulled his shirt up and peeled away his bandage covering the scratch.

It looked much much worse than it had a few hours ago. The cut was red and raw and it seemed like it had grown in size. No longer “just a scratch” this was now much deeper and more akin to a large knife slice rather than the small crossbow bolt cut. On top of that there were now black zigzagging lines coming out from the cut and cutting across his torso.

This wasn't just an infection. This was poison. The crossbow bolt had to been tipped in poison.

He felt sick, nausea hitting him hard and fast. He slapped a hand over his mouth and lunged towards the bathroom. He made it just in time to collapse in front of the toilet before he vomited violently into the bowl.

His stomach clenched as it expelled everything Remy had eaten in the last day and continued to do until Remy was throwing up bile and then just dry heaves.

When his stomach finally settled his body sagged in relief. He rested his head against the toilet seat, utterly exhausted and focused on breathing normally again. He was shaky, covered in sweet, and pain pulsed through his body to the rhythm of his heartbeat. His muscles ached due to the stress of so much throwing up.

Remy groaned loudly and pushed himself away from the toilet. He settled himself against the wall and closed his eyes.

Help. I need help. Should call Loch.

Remy reached for his phone in his pocket with shaky hands but he came up empty. His phone wasn’t in his pocket.

Swearing softly under his breath he remembered that he’d left his phone on his bed when they received the call to head out. WIth great effort he forced himself back up on unsteady legs. Dizziness and pain hit him hard enough that he had to close his eyes and put a hand against the wall to prevent himself from falling back down to the ground in a heap.

The moment passed and he managed to shuffle to his bed and grab the phone.He hit Loch’s name and put it on speaker. The phone rang three times before Loch’s voice came through.

“Hey Remy. What’s up?”

“Loch..” he said hoarsely. The wound on his side was radiating pain and only growing stronger with every second.

“Are you okay?”

“Something’s ...wrong. Don’t feel good.” Suddenly the room tilted around him and he felt himself crashing to the floor.

“Remy? Remy!”

Loch’s voice desperately shouting his name was the last thing he heard before blackness claimed him

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

Pain.

That was the first thing his body registered when he woke up. It crashed over him like a tidal wave and he bit his lip to prevent himself from crying out. He couldn’t make a noise. They’d know he was awake if he made noise. Don’t let them know how much it hurts. Don’t give them the satisfaction. That was the first thing he learned here in the cage.

“-something we can do!”

“-working on an antidote.”

“-my? Remy it’s gonna be okay. Just hang in there. Stay with us.”

Remy felt himself falling back into the darkness and the voices faded away.

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

He faded in out.

“-dangerous! I’m not risking anyone else getting hurt!”

“-our friend too. We’re-”

Unsure of how much time passed by him.

“-be okay. Hang in there.”

“-back soon.”

All there was, was pain. Blinding, burning pain. He struggled to escape it but something pinned him down which only made him struggle more. They were hurting him. They were hurting him!

“-op! Remy stop moving! You’re gonna-------worse!------lp! Someone!”

Awareness floated in and out.

“-got it!”

“Thank god!”

“How is he?”

“He’s been better. You got here just in time.”

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

Remy’s skin was as pale as the sheets he lay on, his cheeks flushed with fever, and his hair was plastered to his skin with sweat. He writhed on the bed, desperately trying to find a position that quelled the heat and pain coursing through his veins. His breaths came out rough and every now and then a moan found its way out of him. He gripped the sheets tightly in his hands, his back arching slightly off the bed as a wave of fresh, harsh pain shot through him.

“It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. Just hang on. The doctor is here with the antidote. You just gotta hang on,” Wyatt whispered to him. The same sentiment over and over. Remy wasn’t sure who he was trying make feel better at this point, Remy or himself.

Remy moaned and writhed on the bed. Wyatt pried his fingers from his vice-like grip of the sheets and held his hand in his own. “Squeeze my hand, Rem. I can take it.” Remy complied as another wave of pain cut through him.

“Ungh, please,” he begged. “Please make it stop. It hurts. It hurts so much.”

“I know, I know. Just breathe. It’s okay.”

Remy felt a needle slip into skin.

A few minutes later, the pain began to fade and Remy’s body finally, blissfully relaxed into the sheets. He heard Loch whispering to him as the world faded around him and exhaustion took him into oblivion.

“It’s all okay now Remy. This will get rid of the poison. You can rest now. We got you. We got you.”

[orbemnews]

America’s Mothers Are in Crisis “People are having a hard time making ends meet, that’s making parents stressed out, and that’s causing kids to be stressed out,” Dr. Fisher said. This buildup can lead to toxic stress, “And we know from all the science, that level of stress has a lasting impact on brain development, learning and physical health.” Almost 70 percent of mothers say that worry and stress from the pandemic have damaged their health. The statistics on stress levels are shocking, but they are sterile; they don’t begin to expose the frayed lives of American mothers and their children during this pandemic. A young mother who self-identified as American Indian/Alaska Native summed up her situation in response to Dr. Fisher’s survey: “We are requesting government help for food. Relationship between partner and I are tense. I am personally struggling more now with depression and anxiety. My toddler has become more anxious as well and shown aggressive behavior. She seems overwhelmed most of the time.” Times editor-at-large Jessica Bennett spent months communicating with three women, who kept detailed diaries of their days, for a look at just how much American mothers are doing every waking second. “With everything going on, I just don’t have time to take care of my mental health right now. I have to keep it together for everyone else,” said Dekeda Brown, 41, one of the three mothers featured in Ms. Bennett’s piece. “I feel like a ticking time bomb that is constantly being pushed to the breaking point, but then I am able to defuse myself. Goodness, this is taxing.” We wanted to give mothers across the country the opportunity to scream it out like the moms in New Jersey, so we set up a phone line. Hundreds responded with shouts, cries, guttural yells, and lots and lots of expletives. “I don’t know how to feel sane again. I’m just stuck in this position for God knows how much longer,” said Elise Kelner, 30, a mother of two kids under 4, when she called in from Gilbert, Ariz. We hope this series serves as a primal scream for America’s mothers, a visual representation of their struggles. We’re showing all the messy, heartbreaking moments of everyday fear and chaos, and the rays of joy that can sometimes shine through. If nothing else, we want moms to know that someone is listening. Source link Orbem News #Americas #crisis #mothers

[bondedbrotherhood-blog]

Trainwreck - Part 3

written by @InADiamondEye , @AmauroticKing and @TenaciousDoctor 

Vishous:

The words tasted bitter on my tongue as I stood in Wrath’s office, relaying the events of the med wing in crystal clear, high def detail. It’s a new thing; Described Video and Utter Clusterfucks for the Visually Impaired.

Even as the King stroked George’s silky head, the dog huffed, stopping short of a miserable whine. He knew his master was furious. /I/ knew his master was furious. Hell, at this point, I’d probably escalate it to full blown raging fury. Though he was keeping it in well. That was the other plus side to George. Wrath couldn’t go nato on his office anymore for fear of frightening the pooch. Best damn dog there ever was.

“So you had to pry Murhder off of Jane to get him to stop?”

The clarifying question hit all my own rage buttons fresh, and I clenched my jaw for a second before answering.

“He was throwing her around like a fucking rag doll. I think she both couldn’t ghost, and if she could didn’t want to for fear of leaving the human behind. Murhder would’ve ripped him to pieces. Which, coincidentally, is what I’d really love to do to Murh,” I add with a growl.

Yes, Jane wasn’t my female any longer. I had Cop, and Haley, and my own problems to deal with, but Jane was still /important/ to me, and seeing that demented fucking bastard throw her around like a baseball made me see shades of red I hadn’t previously known existed.

Wrath: [The pieces of phone that littered my desk were going to give Fritz a hard-on. Ending the call with Rhage in such a manner reminded me I needed to keep it cool. A whine and yelp, thumping and scrambling at my feet, and a hard bump into my thigh told a tale of it’s own: I’d scared the shit out of George with my outburst from said call. Thank fuck not in the literal sense, but it could have gone that way. Nice way to end an otherwise dull and boring evening. What was the saying? Careful what you wish for?]

Easy George, I’m sorry my man. Come’ere buddy, we’re good, you and me, we’re good. [More whining, a wet tongue lapping at my reaching hand and wiggling. Lots of wiggling.] Nothing doing that needs to worry you, my man it’s all good.

[Calming George down was enough to keep me from going nuclear on anything in my way. And it gave me something to do until Vishous arrived to fill in the missing deets. And what’dya know, the male was on top of things. The scent of Turkish tobacco mixed with the pungent scent of anger announced the male’s presence before he stepped foot over the threshold. I didn't have to say a thing and V wasted no time with niceties, nor did he mince words. The male was dangerously precise in his delivered version, which matched the shorter one Rhage had delivered first. As if it would be anything but.

Filling in the blanks added fuel to the fire. I’m blind, not stupid. I could hear it in V’s voice that he still cared about Jane in spite of the circus going on in the Pit between the trio there. Scribe, what a clusterfuck! Jane and Manny. Jane and Murhder. I figured there was something going on between the ghost doc and Murh, but didn’t pry when no one wanted to come out with it. Not in my biz to get nosy in other’s love lives. Unless one of them happens to be tossing my medical staff around like ping-fucking-pong balls. Fuck. If the human doc survived all the rag-doll tossing with his marbles in tact. I'd be impressed.]

For now, Rhage is playing babysitter. That motherfucker Murhder so much as breathes too deep or blinks too fast, I’ll have him staked out in the Tomb with a steel shank running up his ass and an apple in his mouth facing the morning sunrise. Close off the tunnel that he’s in. No one goes near him, no one talks to him but me when I'm damn good and fucking ready.

[The blonde at my side whined again and lifted a paw to my thigh. I dropped a hand to ruffle gently behind George’s ear, lowering my voice just a little and taking the edge off, my molars grinding. I couldn’t let V near Murhder right now. Even if it was to trade places with Rhage. All V would have to do is take his glove off… ]

That includes Phury and you, Vishous. [I zeroed in on the male's aura, pointing a hard look at him in spite of my wraparounds covering my eyes.]

I need you to monitor Manello and make sure he’s not lost any marbles in the scuffle. And keep treating Jane until she’s fully recovered. [Yeah, it was a shit job, but I wasn’t going to set a lit flame next to a powder keg. The fact that V was just as medically trained as either of the docs was enough justification for now. I would look into Z keeping the Primale away from Murh, a male that has beaten a female. In MY fucking house! Motherfucking fuck, this was going to be such fun.]

Speaking of. Is Jane up for an interview? [V’s growled curses were enough of a “yes”.] Bring her up. I need to find out what the fuck is going on.

Jane:   *A stab of pain burst down my side as I reached out to open the glass door on the top shelve.  The fridge was still fully stocked, but I checked it anyway.  Manny was sleeping in the next room, and I wasn’t about to leave him until I was sure he woke up feeling fine.  That left me with a whole lot of time, and nothing to do with it.  

Doing an inventory check kept me from cursing and losing my mind.  This was all my fault.  This situation with Murh… It was my doing…  I knew he was on the verge of losing it, and even though I approved his rotation shift just to get him to let off some steam, I still didn’t do enough to keep him from going over the edge.

I knew he was a ticking time bomb, and instead of getting down to the cause of the problem, I allowed myself to be seduced by him every time I met with him.  I should have stopped the affair when his bonding scent made an appearance.  I should have known better.  

My head whipped around as a pair of hard knuckles thumbed at the door twice and the door cracked open.  V walked in and from the look on his face, he was still pissed off.  Who could blame him.  I should never have allowed this to happen.  I’ve always been the smart, professional one around here.  That was when I was thinking with my head and not my body.

Closing the glass door, I turned and faced V*  Did you talk to Wrath?  What did he say?

Vishous:  

Rather than answer straight away, I took the time to roll myself a smoke. Yeah, I wasn’t about to light it in here, but the action itself helped bring back a little more control. Just the sight of Jane, her battered face, set all my fury ablaze again. And now, in the harsh light of day, I realised some of that anger was also directed at her.

“Of course I spoke to Wrath. He got a full report. He’s not fuckin’ impressed, true?”

Running my tongue along the paper, I lifted my eyes to Jane’s. I wasn’t able to hide all the rage there, and considering our history, I didn’t try very hard.

“The fuck is going on with you, Jane? You’re a ghost doc for a secret species but you thought you needed /more/ fuckin’ drama in your life? Murhder,” I spat his name, “could’ve killed the human once he was done usin’ you like a baseball. They’re pitted against one another tryin’ to compete for you and I got news for you, the human is gonna come off second best physically every time. /Every/. /Time/.”

My voice was laced with disapproval. First off for the fact the situation was messed up, and second for the fact I was having to give this fuckin speech at all.

“And Wrath wants to see you. Now, if you’re able,” I add, letting out a huff and turning for the door. “N’ no, I don’t really need a reply or some justification. Not after having to pry that motherfucker off you and choke him out. Get upstairs and see the King.”

I stomped out, grinding my molars and lighting up the second I was far enough away from the PT suite.

Relationships… fucking clusterfucks.  

[gossipnetwork-blog]

'Crime Book': What We Learned from Giant History of True Crime

New Post has been published on http://gossip.network/crime-book-what-we-learned-from-giant-history-of-true-crime/

'Crime Book': What We Learned from Giant History of True Crime

These are flush times for true-crime fans. Not only did the genre take the Academy Award for Best Documentary last year (O.J.: Made in America), but a slew of podcasts and streaming platforms have consistently been turning more obscure crime stories into masterfully rendered narratives. If you’ve been binging on this bounty like so many have, then you’ll find The Crime Book: Big Ideas Simply Explained, an encyclopedic treatment of the topic, makes for excellent companion reading. A compelling compilation of human trickery and awfulness, it covers crimes from arson, art forgery and kidnapping to bank robbery, drug trafficking and, of course, murder, with many of the entries accompanied by helpful illustrations. (Didn’t you always want a visual aid to help you understand exactly how the Great Train Robbery went down or how the chain of command in the Mafia is organized?)

“It was sort of a daunting task at first. There are so many crimes, known and unknown,” says Cathy Scott, an investigative journalist and bestselling true-crime author who came up with the list of 100 stories detailed in the book and wrote it along with co-authors Shanna Hogan, Michael Kerrigan, Lee Mellor and Rebecca Morris. “We tried to include the famous ones, and then some lesser-known. They needed to be from across the world and across the years and across a variety of crimes.”

One thing the book makes clear is that an enormously broad spectrum of human behavior fits under the title of crime. There’s Harry Domela, a veteran set adrift in post-World War I Germany who supported himself by posing as various members of high society and surviving on the attendant wining and dining. But then there’s the story of James Bulger, a two-year-old who was tortured and killed by two 10-year-old boys in England in 1993. The fuzzy security-camera image of Bulger being led out of the mall where he was abducted, his trusting hand clasped in his tormentor’s, will haunt you for days. “That’s the thing about writing about children, those stories are dark,” says Scott. “I think it’s important to include something like that, because it’s reality.”

‘The Crime Book’ covers all sorts of events, from the silly to the sinister.

Many of the stories are accompanied by sidebars about issues such as law-enforcement techniques, criminal psychology and the public’s perception of the villains who have taken up so much ink in the news. “The cool thing that we did was look at the psychology and motives,” says Scott, “what makes these criminals tick.” But equally interesting, she says, is the psychology of a public that hungrily consumes crime stories, and even sometimes celebrates the criminals. With Bonnie and Clyde and Jesse James’ gang, for instance, “They killed people. They robbed banks. But the public would actually feed them and help them and egg them on instead of wanting to turn them in,” Scott says.

Of course, the vast majority of us remain spectators, perhaps so engrossed in these stories because we maintain that safe distance. “People in their regular lives don’t have any excitement,” Scott says. “They get all wrapped up in it, like watching a movie.” But these stories are also about real life, about what our fellow humans are capable of and what our ethical boundaries are.

“It’s our own species. It’s so horrifying because it is our own,” says Scott. “Part of it horrifies us, but at the same time we’re fascinated by it and can’t take our eyes away. As a child I loved reading the newspaper and following stories. I couldn’t wait to get the next day’s paper to see what had happened – the full story, I think that’s what [people] crave.”

The stories in the book range from the first known homicide, that of a Neanderthal in Spain 430,000 years ago, to the Volkswagen emissions fraud scandal in 2015. Many of the crimes are quite famous – there are familiar names like Jack the Ripper, Charles Manson and Bernie Madoff – but there are other stories that haven’t had the same exposure. Here, five things we learned from The Crime Book.

There is but one unsolved skyjacking case, and it’s a doozy Plane hijackings were once surprisingly frequent – there were 160 in American air space between 1961 and 1973. (That averages to about one every month.) “And [they were] not heavily covered at the time, not taken that seriously,” Scott says. But one did manage to grab a lot of attention. It was perpetrated by a mysterious figure known as D.B. Cooper, whose uncanny 1971 caper set off a spate of 15 copycat skyjackings. Unlike the politically motivated plane hijackings we’re more familiar with, Cooper’s crime was about material gain.

October 27, 1976 – In this undated file photo, a helicopter takes off from search headquarters to scour the area where hijacker Dan Cooper might have parachuted into in Woodland, Wash. AP

On November 24th, 1971, a man who purchased a plane ticket under the name “Dale Cooper” (which was misreported as D.B. Cooper in the press; the name stuck) boarded a flight in Portland, Oregon, headed for Seattle. Once in the air, he handed a note to attendant Florence Schaffner, informing her that he had a bomb in his suitcase. He demanded that there be $200,000 awaiting him at Seattle-Tacoma Airport, along with four parachutes and a truck to refuel the plane. Officials met his demands, and Cooper released all of the passengers save one flight attendant and the pilots, who he ordered to fly south toward Mexico. About 45 minutes into the journey, he put on a parachute, lowered the rear stairs and leapt out into a dark and rainy night, never to be heard from again.

The FBI led a massive manhunt but came up empty-handed, and the bureau only just officially ended its active investigation in July 2016. Lest you think Cooper ended up as a splat on the ground, $5,800 of his money was found eight years later, buried near the Columbia River, suggesting he had operable legs after he jumped from the plane. It remains the world’s only unsolved skyjacking case. But Cooper did leave this behind: Shortly afterward, airlines finally started screening passengers and their luggage. “It caused police to step up at the federal level when it comes to airplanes,” says Scott. “We’ve gone though steps, and each crime, the worse it gets, it causes an effect with screening. His did, as 9/11 did.”

Somebody once had the balls to con Capone Don’t con a con man – or a Chicago gangland overlord, for that matter. Good advice, that went unheeded by Victor Lustig, though he did end up walking away safely from the gamble. Lustig had reason to be cocky; he had already perpetrated some epic cons in France before coming into Capone’s orbit in the late 1920s. He successfully duped targets into buying a fake money-printing machine – for as much as $30,000 – by showing them real $100 bills that he claimed to have made himself. And, most famously, he “sold” the Eiffel Tower for scrap metal. Posing as a government official, he reached out to businessmen with the opportunity to make bids on demolishing the iconic landmark and found a pawn in Andre Poisson, who not only forked over money for the scrap metal but also paid a $70,000 bribe to Lustig upfront to ensure he would get the contract. (Afterward, Poisson was too humiliated to report the fraud, which Lustig was counting on).

Victor Lustig, picture here in 1937, was a con man whose marks included big-time names like Al Capone. Bettman/Getty

But it’s doubtful Al Capone would have been so docile. To tangle with him was a challenge, though that must have been part of the allure. “I cannot understand honest men,” Lustig once said. “They lead desperate lives of boredom.” But in dealing with Scarface, Lustig wisely limited himself to a tidy and modest con: He persuaded Capone to invest $50,000 in a stock deal with the promise that he would double his money. Then Lustig sat on the cash for two months before returning it, saying that the deal had fallen through. Capone then did exactly what Lustig expected him to do: Admiring Lustig’s integrity for returning the loot, Capone gave him a reward – $5,000. A small take compared to some of Lustig’s other scams, it may nonetheless have been one of his more gratifying. As The Crime Book points out, “Con artists simply gain great satisfaction from pulling off their scams, regardless of the amount of money they make.”

The name Yakuza originates from a card game The Japanese mafia, the Yakuza, is thought to date back to the seventeenth century, emerging from milieus at the bottom of Japanese society, namely the bodyguards who would hire themselves out to market traders and the gamblers who ran illegal casinos. Crime networks often originate within marginalized cultures, The Crime Book explains, attracting people “unable to obtain society’s goals through socially accepted means because of class hatred and poverty.” Approximately 30 percent of the Yakuza’s current membership is made up of Japanese-born Koreans, a group familiar with discrimination.

In the card game oichokabu, played at those illegal casinos, the goal was to get three cards that add up to 19; the worst possible hand was yakuza, an 8 (ya), 9 (ku) and 3 (za). The term came to be a moniker for useless members of society, and then for the gamblers themselves, and later, of course, for the notorious organized crime network, which is estimated to be 100,000 strong. “Something is lacking for these people, and they can’t make it in regular society,” says Scott, who has written extensively about street gangs, including in her 2014 book The Killing of Tupac Shakur. “So they’re searching for something and they find it, and become career criminals insulated within organized crime…. It’s violent and it’s as heartless as you can get, yet they set that aside. It’s pretty amazing that they trade their scruples just to feel included, and I think that’s what happens a lot of the time.”

Countess Elizabeth Bathory Slovak killed as many as 650 women between 1585 and 1609. REX

One of history’s most prolific serial killers was a woman Not that this is an area women are looking for parity in, but the story of Elizabeth Bathory tells us that ladies are capable of being as sadistic and violent as men – though the courts haven’t always believed it. ���Historically, many middle- and upper-class women have been spared conviction for murder due to false assumptions about femininity and violence,” the book notes.

Known as the “female Dracula,” Bathory, a Hungarian countess, tortured and killed hundreds of young women – possibly as many as 650 – between the years 1585 and 1609. “My gosh, she was busy,” says Scott. With the help of some of her servants, Bathory would lure poor young women to her castle with the promise of work, and even aristocratic girls through an etiquette school she started. Her victims were burned and beaten and drained of their blood. It wasn’t until one escaped that word of the evil doings reached the ear of King Mathias II and an investigation was ordered. Ultimately, four of Bathory’s co-conspirators were beheaded for their crimes – a fate she avoided because of her noble status, but she was imprisoned and died in solitary confinement four years later.

Corporate execs served jail time for the worst industrial accident in history – but not until 26 years later On December 2nd, 1984, a deadly gas plume wafting from the local United Carbide Corporation pesticide plant settled on the city of Bhopal, in the central Indian state of Madhya Pradesh. Considered by many to be the worst industrial accident in history, it took the lives of anywhere from 3,800 to 16,000 people, with thousands of others suffering debilitating injuries. (The Indian government put its fatality estimate at 15,000.) 

Why is this in The Crime Book? The leak was found to be the result of a faulty valve, which investigators believed was the work of a saboteur, though no such perpetrator was ever named. The real crime turned out to be corporate negligence. The UCC plant, 49.1 percent of which was owned by the Indian government, was built on land that was zoned for light industrial and commercial use, not for the production of a potentially hazardous pesticide like Sevin – but it was used for just that. And in order to save money, the plant had begun handling the raw materials itself – an even riskier process, which it was not set up for. To top it off, UCC, which was a U.S. company, had let the equipment and procedures lag way behind American safety standards. 

Just days after the accident, Warren Anderson, the UCC CEO at the time, appeared in front of Congress, telling them that the company was committed to safety and to assure the public that this kind of disaster “cannot happen again.” Yet civil and criminal litigation have gone on for decades in the aftermath of the tragedy, and legal battles over victim compensation are ongoing. The fatality count is complicated by the difficulty of concluding whether deaths subsequent to the accident were caused by illness due to gas exposure. The UCC’s initial compensation fund was just $120,000, but in 1989 the company paid $470 million in damages in an out-of-court settlement. 

But by 2001, the company and the Indian government went further, as the long-term health consequences to the area became apparent: They paid for a hospital and a fund to support the health insurance of 100,000 people (it’s estimated half a million were exposed to the gas cloud the day of the accident). Finally, in 2010, seven Indian UCC executives were convicted of causing death by negligence, each sentenced to two years in prison and a $2,000 fine. No Americans were ever convicted in the case. Anderson, the CEO, was charged with manslaughter in 1991, but the U.S. government would not extradite him. “It was preventable. That’s what was so noteworthy about that case,” says Scott. “The pitifulness of it; that it could have been prevented and wasn’t. Mostly out of greed. Because of money.”

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