#Jason hired him after hearing that he could create weapons

[nelkcats]

The Crime Lord does not stop flirting with me!

When Danny ran away from home and ended up in Gotham he wasn't quite sure what to do, adrenaline was coursing through his veins and all he wanted was a place to be safe.

That's when Crime Alley lit up like a Christmas tree and Danny knew it could be his new home, something about Crime Alley was drawing him in. It wasn't long before he decided to get a job to lay low. Of course, the latter was a bust because Red Hood noticed him almost instantly.

Contrary to his expectations, the Crime Lord took an interest in him but said nothing. He simply asked him to repair his motorcycle like a normal customer in his new job. Danny did and well, he couldn't help but repair some damaged systems and add some modifications. He hoped he wasn't stepping out of line, he just couldn't help himself, it was second nature to repair damaged things.

He thought Red Hood would be angry about it but the man seemed delighted (or as delighted as he could look with the mask), he looked at Danny and asked him what else he could do. Nervously, he told him that he was somewhat good with technology and before he knew it he had been hired by a gang (more or less, they were just asking for some custom orders).

So, technically he established as the mechanic and supplier to the Hood gang, and more specifically to the Crime Lord himself. He gave Hood some upgrades and became his supplier of (mostly harmless) weapons and upgrades. This attracted the attention of most of the gangs that were against the Crime Lord and Batman himself.

Jason, noticing how nervous the guy was assured him that he would protect him and no one was going to hurt him as long as he was around, it was obvious he wasn't from Gotham. For some reason, his new employee blushed every time he said those words.

Danny didn't know if Red Hood understood what he was doing (That was totally a flirt for protection spirits!), every day it was getting harder and harder not to respond to him. His ghost side kept screaming that he got a good match!

Which was technically true, considering that Red Hood had promised him protection and let him stay in his haunt (it became obvious that Crime Alley was his haunt after a few days in Gotham but strangely it accepted him)

Jason continued to promise Danny that he would be safe (poor boy always looked nervous) and Danny wondered how many days he could take the blatant flirting.

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober 2020 Day 6

No more | "stop please"

Ao3

Warnings: kidnapping and torture pretty much. Misunderstandings. Angst. Lost of angst.

-o-o-o-o-

One month, seven days, thirteen hours, and forty six minutes. 

Exactly one month, seven days, thirteen hours, and forty six minutes ago, Dick went missing. Dropped off the face of the earth. He was last seen leaving work. Bruce knew he made it home, but his apartment was trashed by the time Bruce went over to check it out himself. Though, he had expected that. There had been a complaint called in from the downstairs neighbor about the ruckus.

However, it was a kind of "trashed" that was so unlike Dick. On one hand, Dick  did  have a messy living space. It had been an issue ever since he had first moved into the manor as a boy. Alfred would always be on his case about picking up his laundry or tidying up the action figures that fell off his bookshelf.. And now that Dick was an adult, Bruce knew by now to give Dick a few hours heads up before heading over so he could attempt to at least make the place  presentable  before company arrived. 

But on the other hand, this kind of “trashed” wasn't what Dick was oh-so fondly known for. Clothes tossed everywhere, hanging out from the skink and off the curtain rods. The left cushion of Dick's love seat had a giant cut in the material, like a giant scar, stuffing oozing out like blood. The TV Bruce bought him for Christmas was on its side, cracked and sporting a bullet hole through the center. 

The worst part was that the little compartment Dick had built into his apartment where he kept his suit was wide open, the contents thereof rummaged through carelessly. The suit and mask were missing, along with various high tech weapons, but the rest were strewn across the carpeted floor carelessly. Whoever had taken Dick; they knew he was Nightwing. Which meant Dick went down fighting as Nightwing. He wasn't holding back, he wasn't pretending to be anyone other than the powerhouse of a vigilante that he was. 

Which also meant that this was an all hands on deck sort of scenario. Dick's identity was compromised, which very well meant that everyone else could be figured out as well.

Besides, no one really minded being called in to help find Dick and the people responsible for his abduction. The compromised identities were just a font used to cover the fact that they all cared and were worried. 

One month, seven days, thirteen hours, and forty seven minutes. 

It shouldn't have taken that long, but it had. These people were professionals. The best of the best of Blüdhaven's underground ring of villains. Each hired for a specific purpose: figure out who Nightwing was, teach him a lesson, then take him out. Bruce, Tim, and Barbara could hardly find any information on the people who took Dick besides that. No cataloged fingerprints. No fines or tickets. No history of crime. Though, that wasn't at all shocking. Normally, the best of the best in the criminal world are people who haven't been caught yet. 

All of that added up as to why it took so long. Dick's initial abductors weren't even Blüdhaven natives. Just hired guns to barge in and grab him, then deliver him to the real people who wanted him out of the picture.

After one month, seven days, thirteen hours, and forty eight minutes, the people who had Dick now were a family of foreign mafia members who had set base in Blüdhaven generations ago. Dick had, apparently, about three months ago taken down a solid chunk of their scandals to make money by exposing the drug trade going on in one of the basements of Blüdhaven's many casinos. This was an act of revenge, and revenge was hardly quick and painless. 

Which could be a good and a  bad thing.

Good because it meant—as Bruce, Cass, and Tim scoped out a decently sized company building (near the casino Dick exposed) exactly one month, seven days, thirteen hours, and forty nine minutes after his abduction—that Dick still could be alive. 

Bad, because it meant—as Bruce pointed where he needed Cass and Tim to enter the building and talked over his comm to give instructions to the rest of the family exactly one month, seven days, thirteen hours, and forty nine minutes after his abduction—that when they do find Dick, he wouldn’t be in good shape. 

There wasn’t any doubt about it. However they find Dick, it would be gruesome. Bloody. Filled with the stench of confinement and the reek of torture. 

The most they could do now was make sure the one month, seven days, thirteen hours, and fifty minutes since Dick's abduction didn’t become much longer. 

Bruce entered through a large vent built into the side of the building while Tim and Cass followed suit silently. Jason and Duke were to enter from the rooftop while Steph and Damian entered through the sewers. There wasn’t any telling where Dick could be—if he was being held in this building in the first place—but the building was large enough for it to warrant a whole lot of searching. It might only stand half a dozen stories high, but it had just as many stories going down into the ground as a series of basements. Tim had a theory that a wall in the lowest basement could potentially lead to another secret floor down below. 

Though, the only way to know for sure was to go in and check themselves. Blüdhaven wasn't as… documented, believe it or not, compared to Gotham. Blüdhaven was founded on scam and lies. Corruption ran so deep that it was everywhere you walked, like every person walking the streets and breathing in the air were glitching codes of ones and zeroes hiding behind innocent, lifelike masks. 

Searching through the building took time; time Bruce wished they didn't have to spend. One month, seven days, thirteen hours, and fifty minutes turned into one month, seven days, fourteen hours, and two minutes rather quickly. Too quickly. They stuck to the shadows of the building and focused on avoiding being spotted just yet—but sneaking took time, and Dick didn't have a whole lot of time left to spare. 

If he was alive at all. 

No  . No he was alive. Bruce knew it. He was somewhere in this building and he was breathing and he was  alive . 

He had to be. 

Bruce didn't know what would happen next if he wasn't. 

Finally, one month, seven days, fourteen hours, and three minutes from Dick's kidnapping, Jason's voice whispered over the comms that he overheard a couple of grunts talking about Nightwing, and that he was in the secret level beneath the building like what Tim suspected existed. Bruce didn't say it out loud, but he was sure that Jason and Duke didn't overhear anything. They probably cornered a couple of mafia members in a dark, isolated janitor's closet and scared them until they spilled the information they wanted and probably soiled their pants during the process. Regardless, Bruce luckily took Tim's gut feelings into higher standing than most things. He, Tim, and Cass were already racing down into the basement levels. 

Steph and Damian said over the comms that they might take awhile to get there; as it turned out, these people were smart enough to set up motion detectors in the sewers connecting to the building. 

Eventually, they made it to the very bottom of the building where nothing was very interesting to see besides long, mostly empty hallways filled with various machines and generators keeping power to the activities above. There was the distant, muffled sound of loud electronic music, but that was to be expected because the floor above was a "secret" strip club. 

The three men playing cards on a dinky plastic table next to a bare chunk of wall was proof enough of Tim's theory of a secret room. Men with guns and a walkie sitting between them on top of the table  for all to hear easily, don’t normally sit in shadowed spaces of basements. They were guarding something. 

Bruce stepped  back, waving at Cassandra and Tim and pointing out their targets, but he didn't get far into his silent instructions before Cassandra lifted a hand to cut him off, her jaw set in a firm line beneath her dark mask. 

And Bruce understood. She had really stepped up to the plate when Dick was kidnapped one month, seven days, fourteen hours, and ten minutes ago. She had taken it upon herself to be happy and positive and comforting while everyone else could see that all she really wanted to do was throw something against the wall just to watch it shatter. Cassandra didn't like to express her frustrations in violence, but sometimes, Bruce knew she needed a group of bad guys to demolish. 

Silent as a whisper of death, Cass crept forward with her dangerous fists clenched. 

The fight didn't last long at all. Cass's abilities to fight were and always would be beyond comparison. Even compared to Bruce. He watched her take out each man with a quick series of punches aimed precisely where she wanted to hit and not a single hairsbreadth off. They didn't even get the chance to yell or call for help on that walkie of theirs. One moment they were playing what looked to be some sort of improvised version of go-fish with a classic 52 pack of playing cards created out of boredom, and the next they were taken out of commission by what could possibly be their newest worst nightmare. Cass brushed her hands together in front of her, silently saying that she had taken out the trash, and that it was Tim's turn.

Tim, for his part, didn't need to be told verbally of what he was expected to do. He just immediately ran past her, giving her a brief good natured pat on her shoulder as he did, and started to feel along the wall. 

It was always entrancing to watch Tim figure out complicated technology. The boy was a genius. He knew the in's and out's of 1s and 0s better than most everybody. Bruce was sure, no… he was  confident  that it was only a matter of time before Tim's abilities surpassed his own. 

If Tim hadn't already surpassed him. 

However, tackling a complicated problem alone could take time. Time they couldn't waste. Bruce stepped forward and looked at the hidden hand scanner Tim had discovered under a discreetly placed section of drywall. Tim looked up to him, a question in his eyes, and Bruce thought it over. 

They could try using the handprints of the men Cass took down and risk their biological data not being in the system and setting off an alarm, or they could spend more time taking the scanner apart and searching for the right wires to trick.

Risky or long. Quick or safe. 

Bruce gave a nod, letting his shoulders fall ever so slightly as he lowered himself to his knees and pulled out a set of tools from his utilities belt. Tim nodded back, his eyebrows falling down to umbrella over his masked eyes in concentration. 

It took time. The panel was good. Better than many that Bruce had run into during his years of Batman. Unhackable, most would say. 

Those people haven't met Tim though, and neither had the now picked and flashing green handprint scanner. 

There was a mechanical whirr of practically silent pistons and locks becoming undone. Bruce and Tim stepped back to watch the section of wall lower into the floor, showing a set of stairs that went down directly in front of them for several steps, then turned 180° to continue going down out of sight. 

The walkie behind them crackled to life; a voice asking what that noise was. 

The voice sounded recognizably American, which made it clear they weren't actually dealing with the actual mafia. Just a group of crime-doers that probably descended from the original gangsters in Las Vegas, only difference was that their ancestors didn't make it big and decided Blüdhaven was much easier to do crime in. 

" I told you I didn't want any interruptions  !" The man yelled through the walke speakers. "  I'm not done with him yet -"

Bruce felt his heart clench at the sounds that followed that followed. A Spark of electricity. A  scream . 

Bruce disregarded the walkie...  forced himself to. One month, seven days, fourteen hours, and thirteen minutes since Dick's kidnapping, and Bruce was sprinting down the stairs, his feet barely touching the ground as he went. His movement's as silent as a owl's feathers, his cape flowing behind him like he controlled the shadows himself. 

Running down the staircase barely took any time at all. Within seconds, he found himself looking down one long hallway built like a bunker. Dick had to be in one of these rooms. He just  had  to be. 

Heart in his throat, Bruce, Tim, and Cass spread out into the floor, opening door after door, looking for Dick. Behind most of the doors were crates and boxes and bags and  piles  of drugs, and as Bruce found himself slowly approaching the end of the secret basement he couldn't help but feel intense worry that he had gotten something wrong. That Dick wasn't here. 

But he  heard  Dick scream over that walkie. Dick was alive. Dick  was here. 

He just had to find the correct room. 

And it was just his luck that the last door he opened was the correct one. 

One month, seven days, fourteen hours, and seventeen minutes. 

That was how long it took Bruce to get here, in this doorway, standing with widening eyes behind his cowl's lenses, watching as a man leaned over a table, his hands wrapped around something struggling and writhing in binds. Lining the walls were groups of people, all holding guns and looking comically shocked as Batman barged into the room. Across the room, sitting in a chair to have the best view of the present torture session, was a big rat of man smoking a cigar.

And Bruce saw Dick. He saw Dick's bare chest, his hands tugging on the binds keeping him pinned, his ankles twisting as a natural instinct while fighting to breathe. He saw the man holding Dick's neck between his squeezing fingers. He saw the dried blood splattered over Dick's body. He saw the missing fingernails. He saw the cuts and burns and the broken nose. He saw the pale skin. The weight loss. Every single rib countable if you smeared away the blood.

Red.

He saw red. 

He charged in, his teeth grinding so hard that Leslie would be furious to keep himself from screaming, and punched the man choking…  torturing  Dick across the jaw. The man went flying, roughly hitting the ground as Dick gurgled out a desperate gasp. The rat of a man stood up from his chair, eyes wide and jugular waggling under his butted chin. Immediately, guns were aimed at Batman, thugs all here to protect his boss while he watched what must be his daily torture session. The fat, pathetic excuse of a mafia boss—who Bruce would call a scumbag if that didn't insult all scumbags across the universe—scrambled backwards, lips flapping in a short, flipped sentence that Bruce had heard many, many times to where he almost had to hold back an eye roll. 

But he was too  furious  to roll his eyes now. Not even as the gangster screamed "GET HIM!"

In fact, he hardly even heard those two words yelled at him with a thick sausage of a finger pointed his way. All he could hear were the strangled  sobs  of Dick behind him as he ran forward, swinging his cape to catch the first bullet, throwing his fist to hit the gangster right across his cheek. From then on, it was chaos. Bullets everywhere, shouts and cries harmonizing with the sparks. The singular light above ended up being blown out by a stray bullet around the same time Bruce heard Cass and Tim finally enter. 

Bruce worked like an angel of death. 

No, not of death. 

His blows as if lightning struck the air around him, his will like howls of wind summoned from hell itself. He was the conjuror of destruction, of danger, of catastrophe. He was worse than death. 

He was the crumbling tower, sent to reign down upon those who had thought they could climb too high. 

He blinked, and he found everything silent besides the hands grasping on his shoulder, trying to tug him away from the beaten and broken face of the gangster. Bruce hadn't even realized that time had passed. That the battle was over besides him punching this monster over and over and over in the face. Disgusted—with the man, with himself—he shoved him away and watched so heartlessly it almost frightened him as the unconscious rat splattered onto the grimy floor in a mess of sweaty and bruised limbs. 

He turned towards Cass, her sympathy and understanding lining every inch of her frame, even with the black kevlar covering her features. He turned past her, remembering the whole reason he was here in the first place even though he had never really forgotten. He quickly rushed towards the table Dick was still restrained down onto. 

His eyes were closed, his chest heaving, trickles of water escaping the corners of his eyes and trailing down the sides of his head in more than a month's worth of dust, grime, and blood. His fists were clenched, toes curled, muscles that showed too detailed under the lack of body fat straining weakly against the leather belts keeping him immobile.

Bruce reached forward without thinking and placed his hands on the belt keeping Dick's left arm pinned down above his head. 

Before finding Dick, Bruce had expected a great, many things. A body on one end, a simply trapped and relatively unharmed bored young man on the other. Batman was known amongst the superhero community for always having a plan A through Z for every possible scenario and outcome.

Yet, for some reason, he hadn't ever expected Dick to flinch under Bruce's touch during rescue. 

It was like he was suddenly touching fire the moment Dick cried out, the moment Bruce's fingers just barely brushed the inside of his wrist. He yanked his hands away and stared with wide eyes as Dick broke into more sobs. 

"Stop," Dick hiccuped through his cries; his voice rough like a thousand shards of glass, "stop,  please . No more- I can't-"

The young man dissolved into bubbly suds made out of tears, babbling and begging and beginning to openly weep as he begged for the pain to end. 

"I can't- stop- I- puh-please! Please, no more- n-no more- I  can't- "

The realization crashed into Bruce like a rocket. Dick… didn't realize rescue had come. All he had known for the past month and-  and  was pain and torture and blood. Did he have any hope of rescue left after all this time? Or did he lose it weeks ago, when help had still not come? How long did it take for his quips to fall flat? For his screams to no longer remain silenced? How long did he force himself to stay strong before he must have come to the false realization that no one was coming, and that he would die here?

How long ago had Bruce failed Dick? 

Because Dick not only didn't realize he was  safe  now, but he thought Bruce would hurt him somehow by simply touching the inside of his wrist. 

Dick thought he was going to be tortured. Again. And again. And again. No hope of help. So much pain and suffering in his soul that it ending here and now wasn't even a thought at the back of his mind, hidden behind tearfully closed eyes. 

Bruce took off his cowl, ignoring the way Tim began to whisper urgently towards Cass and into the comm unit. 

"Dick," Bruce tried, forcing his voice to remain calm and soothing, locking all the worry and gravel into a keyed box at the back of his throat. He approached slowly now, but Dick continued to cry anyways. " Chum , I'm here."

A broken gasp. Bruce couldn't take it. 

He reached forward again and gently curled his fingers into Dick's blood matted and sweaty hair, stroking softly like he had always done whenever one of his children ended up in a hospital bed. Dick cried out like he'd been stabbed the moment Bruce touched him, but Bruce didn't back away this time. 

"It's okay, Dick," he soothed, rubbing Dick's scalp through his thick locks like how Dick had always loved because... because Bruce didn't  know  what to do now. "It's me, it's Bruce."

Dick continued sobbing, no recognition. Nothing. Just pain and sorrow and fear. 

"Chum, open your eyes-"

Heaving breaths rattling a chest splattered in red. 

Bruce didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to  do-

But luckily, Tim came up then, giving a smart idea like he always did. 

"We should sedate him," Tim said, his voice barely above a sacred whisper. "Get him at least home and comfortable."

"He's hurting," Cass added, "and scared. Sleep will be good."

Bruce looked down at Dick who was still struggling and crying and babbling and begging words that needn't be spoken now. Not ever again. He took a deep breath then retreated from Dick's hair and reached into his utility belt for a small vial of sedative that he kept on him for a variety of reasons. It didn't take long to take out and fill a clean syringe then  tap the sides to get the bubbles out. It was almost methodical to do so.  This : he knew how to do. He could be given a drug and a needle and someone to stick it in and he could do it without missing a beat. 

But his heart still skipped one when he looked back up to Dick. 

Knowing that it would be evermore unpleasant the longer he allowed this to go on, he shut off the fatherly part of his brain that just wanted to gather Dick up and smother him in forehead kisses. He reached forward and ignored Dick's rekindled cries as he tilted Dick's head to the side to get a better aim at his neck. 

Dick's begging and sobbing increased in pitch and desperateness the moment Bruce stuck the needle into his neck, but thankfully the sedative worked quickly, and soon Dick was little more than a still bag of bones, limp against the table, eyelids flickering in what was perhaps an immediate nightmare.

"What the hell?" A new voice called.

"Oh shit," another agreed. 

It seemed that Jason and Duke had arrived. 

Bruce didn't welcome them though. Dick was… none of his kids were more important than the other, but Dick's situation called for more attention. He quickly got the straps off from Dick's wrists, sparing a thankful glance towards Duke as the young man ran forward to undo the ones on Dick's ankles. The moment Dick was finally free of his binds, Bruce carefully began to cradle Dick towards his body, holding him like a parent would their young child. Head tucked under Bruce's chin, back supported by one of Bruce's arms, legs curled around the other. Bruce held him as tightly and as closely as he dared, listening to nothing but the sound of him breathing as he turned to the others, noting how both Steph and Damian had finally arrived as well, covered in questionable stains and both looking openly upset and shocked. 

Bruce could count the amount of times on one hand that Damian had looked that small, young, and lost. Trust Dick to always be the apple of that boy's eye, trust Dick to be the one to get Damian to look that way. Like a scared, thirteen year old child. 

"Let's go home," Bruce said, and they all agreed one by one. It most certainly would be a pain to get back out of the building without being detected, but Bruce could sense a new fire inside each and every one of them. 

The quickest way out was through the front doors. The people inside this building hurt one of their own. They were all itching for a fight now, more than ever. 

Who was Bruce to stand in their way? This building could crumble to the ground for all he cared. 

As long as he got Dick and the rest of the family home, safe and sound and on the road to recovery, nothing else mattered. 

Not a single, god damned thing.

-o-o-o-o-

Woah? You made it to the end? A reblog would be nice... Haha jk... Unless 👀

[durrzerker]

Taskmaster: The Line. Chapter 5: Secrets

The old Masters of Evil headquarters was still intact. It had not burned down, been bombed, or been swarmed by supervillains. There weren't even rats in the walls.

That was the totality of the good news.

Everything else, in summary, had completely gone to shit.

It was a ragged party that crossed the threshold of Baron Zemo's former home. Laura and Black Ant were leading the pack by now, as they were the only ones who weren't limping or nearly collapsing with exhaustion. Black Ant had caught up with the group shortly after shrinking down to escape the chaos that he had spawned during the Bagalia Freedom Festival, and it was a good thing, too; Akeja had silently collapsed a quarter mile from the gargantuan mansion, and the other children weren't faring much better. Carrying Akeja and Mara across his shoulders like a pair of sandbags, Eric had been uncharacteristically silent as they stopped in the dank foyer of the abandoned building. "Amazing no one's taken this place over yet," he finally said.

"They've been trying." Taskmaster was favoring his wounded rib a bit more now; without time to rest and with the increasingly desperate pace that they had set to finish out their journey, he was in a good deal of pain himself. "I hadn't decided what to do with the place, so I've been letting ol' Tessie clear them out to keep her weapons in good shape. An idling warbot is..." He trailed off; he couldn't even finish the joke. The spot where Laura had stabbed him was throbbing in the way only an adamantium blade could, the same way it had when she'd gored his hand a year back. It was like every nerve had been cut in half with molecular precision. Pulling off his dirty cloak and setting it into a pile against the wall, he collapsed against it. "Role call..."

Laura, whose healing factor at least allowed her to remain in peak shape, set Malakai down on a huge old Corinthian leather couch. "Everyone's here. I've been keeping track. You don't look so good, Taskmaster."

"No shit? Maybe it's because you fucking stabbed me." He wasn't mad about it. Really.

"I'm not going to feel guilty about that," Laura replied, her ears visibly burning. "You had done nothing to warrant the benefit of the doubt, and you left Black Ant behind to ambush me."

"I left him behind to ambush the person -stalking- us," Tony countered. "How was I supposed to know it was you? How long had you even been following us, anyways? Didn't you see us -helping- the fucking kids?" Tony closed his eyes behind his mask, even as he argued. To Laura, it still looked like the ghoulish visage was staring her down.

"...Truth be told, yes. But from where I was, it just looked like you were fighting over them -- and you did crash their vehicle."

Tony could tell that she didn't like when she had to try and get a bead on how he was feeling. The man's airtight costume blocked his scent from her, and he could alter his body language whenever he liked; it was one of his most useful skills, the kind that wasn't as obvious to people as other applications of his photographic reflexes.

"Well, whatever," Tony replied with a grunt. "The Hub's agent ain't here and I need to sleep, alright? Wake me up when they arrive -- I think we could all use a little rest."

"I don't think we should..." Laura pursed her lips and stopped when she heard the crinkling of a wrapper behind her. Eric had finally found use for his remaining honey buns he'd swiped earlier. He was passing them out to the assorted Scions, who had piled together on the couch in the living room. While Akeja had gone right to sleep, the others' hunger had won out - they voraciously assaulted the treats with the kind of shamelessness only starvation could inspire. "...Yeah, alright. Only for awhile though, Masters." She turned around and headed towards the kitchen with that, likely to look for more food for the children.

Tony watched her go, but before she'd even made it out of the living room, the mercenary had passed out. He dreamed of the Scion children.

--

He was in the middle of some kind of nightmare in which all six of the children were surrounding him, throwing accusations that he couldn't understand in their unique language. He wasn't quite sure exactly when he woke up, because when he did, the children were arguing loudly in that same tongue.

"Hey, hey!" Eric called out. "Come on, people are trying to sleep here -- namely my very ill-tempered partner."

"Fuck you, Man of Ants!" Shouted the sixth child that Tony had never heard speak yet, and now it was evident why; a girl with red hair and a deeply thick brogue, she was barely understandable even when trying her best. "Y'think ginna scrap o'fud makeus even?! Not a'er what you did, nay, him neither!"

What him and Eric did...? Taskmaster didn't move from where he was, kept his breathing slow. His perfect control of his body's actions came in handy here -- especially when Laura joined the conversation, returning to the living room to figure out what the big screaming match was about. "What's going on? What -did- you two do, O'Grady...?"

"It's none of your business, Wolverine." Eric's voice was surprisingly serious, more harsh than almost any time that Tony had heard it before. "If these brats really want to tell you, I can't stop them; but I'm not turning on him like that."

There was a pause. Tony opened his eyes, opting to keep his mask's optics dimmed in the process; all part of how he could easily pretend that he wasn't paying attention, even to Wolverine's highly enhanced senses. Laura was pacing, glancing to the gathered children and then stopping before Eric. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this one way or the other, but I'm curious; why -do- you do this, O'Grady?"

"What do you mean?" He snapped back defensively.

"Why do you follow Taskmaster? I've seen your relationship. You call yourself his partner, but he treats you more like a sidekick. You were an Avenger once; you were a hero, even if you had your problems. Why follow a jerk like Masters?"

Clearly trying to deflect, Black Ant turned away from her. "Keep your voice down, huh? You're gonna wake him up."

"He's completely passed out. I'd be able to hear it if he was up."

Realizing he wasn't going to get out of this, Black Ant hesitated, then explained, "Look...you don't know him like I do. I -don't- follow Taskmaster."

"But--"

"--Stop. You want to know? Then let me talk." Eric stepped forward, accusingly prodding her in the chest. "I don't follow Taskmaster, I follow -Tony-. Even when he trained me back with the Initiative, I could tell something was different about him compared to other supervillains. He -got- what it was like, you know? To want to do one thing, but to feel drawn to another. Then, when I was with the Secret Avengers, I found out about everything...his memory problems. His -wife-."

"He's got a WIFE?" Laura nearly shouted, then covered her mouth. Taskmaster's breath nearly hitched, giving him away. It took all of his self-control to maintain the illusion that he was asleep, doubly so when Eric turned to look his way.

"Yeah, he does; and he doesn't even know it. It's The Hub. You know, the lady who's supposed to be sending our fucking -help-? The way his powers work, every time he copies someone new, like he did to get your stupid foot claws, he loses everything else. As far as most people are concerned, Taskmaster's all that's left; the mercenary, the guy who will kidnap anyone or fight anyone for hire; but when you work with him like I do, you -see- him every day...it becomes obvious that ain't the case."

"Bullshit," Maya snapped, sounding wounded.

"...It's true," Eric insisted. "Look, don't get me wrong! Tony -- not Taskmaster -- isn't a saint. I'm not saying he's some kind of heroic good guy underneath it all. But you don't realize how -easy- he goes on you fucking people," the mercenary accused, glaring at Laura as he started to anxiously pace in a circle. "Did you know that? He'd rather let himself get stabbed through the hand than actually risk really hurting you, because even though -he- doesn't understand it...this is self-flagellation. He's punishing himself every time he takes a job, and his fucking wife LETS him! He doesn't know any better! He's in...factory settings, as he calls it!"

Falling silent for a moment, Laura pressed her hand to her mouth in thought. When she finally responded, her tone was somber and disbelieving in equal measure. She wasn't buying this at all. "So, what. You're saying he wasn't -trying- when he attacked my sisters and I? He shot them in the head!"

"No, I'm saying that he was trying -- to commit suicide by superhero. Look...I've seen him when pressed, okay? He does -not- go down easy, and there's a reason that he's actually feared so much in Bagalia. He doesn't half-ass it here; you piss him off, you're dead. You do something he finds distasteful, you're dead. If you were watching us, you saw how we shut down that Jason Waterfalls jerkoff. He'd never fight like that against you, against Spider-Man, against any of you 'hero' types." Slumping down onto the couch, planting his palms against either side of his helmet, Eric took it off. A mess of unruly red hair, a to-the-atom perfect replica of the appearance of his original body. Tony knew that he'd often questioned if he was the 'real' Eric, or some kind of facsimile created in his image. Tony had always argued the former, maybe against his better senses. He just wasn't sure that he himself liked the alternative. Was that selfish? He considered it before focusing his attention on his partner's continued speaking.

"I've seen him pin his boot to Captain America's face. He had him dead to rights. But when the time came, he didn't finish the job, even though he could have. And if you corner him about it, he'll claim it's because he doesn't want the 'heat', or he'll make excuses, but when it really comes down to it..." Eric looked up at Laura; Taskmaster was too far away to see his expression, but his tone gave away everything that he needed to know. "...That's Tony in there, under The Taskmaster. People don't see Tony, he hides it so well. They see that stupid fucking costume, that ridiculous cape...and a grim echo of the guy I know who taught me; who's ignored every rule he sets for himself for my sake."

"Why, though?" Laura asked, sounding skeptical. "It's easy for you to make these claims, but have you ever considered that he's lying to you? That he's just pathetic and lonely, and keeps you around so he has control over someone?"

"Shut the hell up," Eric snapped back at her, nearly rising. "I'm not the only one who knows this. He'll pretend he's forgotten, but Cap does, too; can you believe Taskmaster still admires him? Hell, have you ever even SEEN him copy a supervillain's moves? I've seen him throw like Bullseye, like...once. But day in, day out? It's Rogers. Daredevil. Black Knight. Hawkeye. -You-. And you wanna tell me he's faking it, when he tries to be like you on a level even he doesn't realize?"

Laura looked ready to bite back, to respond to Eric's accusatory tone, but after a moment she simply stopped walking around and regarded the children. While they still looked annoyed, still seemed ready to argue with Eric, they'd all shifted to listening intently. For some reason that Tony couldn't fathom, they were invested in this. What did Black Ant know? What wasn't he telling him?

"He wants to be the best, and I don't just mean at fighting. Every time, before he forgets, he becomes a little more like you, a little less like Taskmaster," Eric murmured, barely loud enough for Taskmaster to hear. "And then he goes back to it, gets his next job; but I'm not stupid. I've been watching people who were better than me my whole life. When he -really- has a reason to fight, you can almost see Tony in there, like a reflection in a lake. And then he has to copy someone new, or gets pushed further than his mind can take, and --" He mimicked a popping sound with his finger in his mouth. "...The next pebble drops, and it's gone."

The room fell silent for a little while, interrupted only by the sounds of the Scions grabbing the food that Laura had brought them on a tray and starting to dig into it. Looking conflicted, Wolverine finally threw her hands up. "So, what? You're saying that I should trust him? That he's 'not so bad'?"

"No," Eric replied coolly, putting his helmet back on. "I'm saying that I'm keeping my cards to my chest for a reason, and that I'm not telling you about what happened with these kids for the same reason I'm not telling -him-. Like I said, if they want to share? I can't stop them; but you won't understand why things went down like they did. What I will tell you is this: You need Taskmaster to save these children. Even they know it; it's the only reason they haven't ratted us out already. And if he finds out what he did...he's gonna run. He'll snap, he'll disappear, and then we're all fucked."

"He can barely move. He's hardly going to carry this team." Laura's tone wasn't proud, just factual.

"I'm not talking about fighting," Eric replied vaguely. "Just...don't trust me, okay? I don't give a shit. I don't even like you, Logan had better hair. Talk to the kids if you want, but I'm done explaining myself." He started past her, only for the smaller woman to plant a palm on his chest.

"This isn't finished, O'Grady," Laura warned. "Not by a long shot."

"I know," he responded, "...And I'm sorry, I spoke out of turn. Your hair is -amazing-." Taskmaster couldn't see them anymore, but he heard the distinct sound of Eric attempting to lean in and smell her -- and Laura punching him in the stomach.

After that, the group scattered. The Hub's agent -- the agent of his wife, Tony forced himself to try and internalize without much success -- was still not here, and everyone was occupying the time they were forced to wait differently. Eric was playing on his phone, Laura checked on the Scions and then went to explore the enormous mansion, and the Scions huddled together, finally well-fed and trying to catch up on their immense lack of sleep.

For his part, Taskmaster had a lot to think about now. Waiting another half hour or so before 'waking up', he finally rose and staggered out of the living room, heading for the armory. When he'd been working as Zemo's prison warden, he had stashed some equipment here, including of the medical variety. He could patch himself up a little better, get fighting fit again.

He'd barely opened the door of the safehouse and stepped inside when he heard footsteps approaching; small and quick. Grabbing a kit full of strange syringes, his personal supply of advanced first aid from his on-staff scientist Albino, Taskmaster turned in time to see one of the Scions approaching. It was the last he didn't recognize, all fire-colored hair and intense features that he quickly recognized as a strange mixture of Chinese and Scottish.

Tears in her eyes, she stepped forward, fearlessly grabbing for the first weapon she could find - a Desert Eagle, already loaded for haste's sake in case of emergency, barrel pointing straight at Taskmaster's forehead. When she finally spoke, it was through tears. "D'ye really not remember what ya did to us?" She asked him accusingly.

He didn't know how to answer.

[stunudo]

There was a hostage situation. I negotiated with Bale. He agreed to give himself up. He came out of the warehouse peacefully. I gave the okay to send 6 of my agents in and they never came out. It was a mistake. It was my mistake, I was, um, I was outfoxed by Mr. Bale. By you. I sincerely regret having made the decision to send those agents in that day. And I sincerely regret and apologize to the families of all those who died that day

Jason Gideon

Breaking Point

One of the Six: A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

A/N: Thank you for reading Bets’ stories. It means a lot that anyone would take the time on something so out of focus as the show is now. I wanted to create something completely different. As there are so many amazing people writing fan fiction it was a difficult task. I hope I didn’t disappoint. xoxo Stu

3 days remain

“What can you tell me about bombers?” Jason began.

“Males, usually youthful offenders.” I answered.

“Loners, lots of times they are negligent and become their own victims.” Morgan answered, thank you Mr. ATF.

“About 50% of bombings are acts of vandalism, possibly politically motivated.” Bird chirped in with the statistics.

“Socially non-confrontational, bombs are weapons of choice for cowards.” Hotch added.

“If that is the case, do not say it to his face. This guy is delivering death on people’s doorsteps, he needs to see the destruction.” Jason was rubbing his hands together, pacing.

“Morgan, take Reid and go over the bomb fragments. Bets, you and Gideon can talk to the victim’s family, see if we can pinpoint a motive or.... a stressor.” Hotch got quiet. I nodded understanding.

I drove the dark SUV as Gideon reviewed crime scene photos.

“Sucks to be back under these circumstances.” Why was I making small talk?

“The team here seemed to have liked you, why did you leave for the BAU, Bethany?”

I sighed, not expecting a personal question. “Boston was filler, it was me bulking up my resume for another crack at the BAU.” I hated to admit so much, to Jason of all people.

“I’m sorry we didn’t hire you the first time.”

“Don’t be, no one can ever truly replace Rossi, I get that now.”

“Why was it so important to you to get on the team? You don’t have the same curiosity as Reid, or the same dedication to justice as Hotch and Morgan.”

“I didn’t like losing.” I shrugged. “Devereaux’s don’t give up.”

Jason nodded, peering across the rims of his reading glasses.

“So, does Haley know you told me? Can I call her and congratulate her yet?” I teased as Hotch and I were going over some notes.

“Do you think I thought to tell you? That was all her.” Hotch chuckled.

The blonde strolled in, “Hotch, the media wants a statement. Should I arrange a press conference or do you need more time?”

“We have all we need for the profile, JJ. I will touch base with you once Morgan hears back from Garcia.” She turned back, head buried in her phone.

“Well, at least you’re not stuck in front of the cameras anymore.” I muttered under my breath.

“C’mon Bets, I think I still have my charms.” Hotch joked.

“You can’t compete with that, that face could convince nuns to murder puppies.”

“Bethany, you’re up.” Gideon called as soon as the unsub had agreed to come out peacefully.

Adrian Bale came out with a stupid look on his smug face. His hands were in the air with a detonator in one hand. Morgan and Jason headed over to ensure he was cleared and secured.

“Bets, you sure you don’t want Morgan to go in first?” Hotch was cautious. I shook my head.

“If Morgan wanted dibs, he should have let me in with SWAT on the last case. Don’t worry he can help after we secure the building.” I was ready for action and giving Morgan grief. I gathered behind a couple of local agents I knew from my days at the Boston field office, and a couple tacticals from the bomb squad.

“Ready, boys?” They nodded and we headed in.

We entered in formation, securing entrances and framing perimeters. Finding the hostage handcuffed to a platform in the center of the warehouse. She was in hysterics, I tried to calm her down. I locked eyes on her and the last thing I heard was the click of the ignition.

My name is Bethany Devereaux. I was one of the six agents killed by Adrian Bale and this was my story.

Epilogue:

 Jason stared at the menacing eyes of Adrian Bale as he watched his destruction from the backseat of a squad car. The bastard was getting off on it, on all of it. Bethany had led the squad of agents inside, determined and stubborn as always. The hostage would never make it home.

The explosion had damaged everyone’s hearing, but Jason didn’t care. The ground was shifting below his feet as he stumbled past the barricade of vehicles. The lights of ambulances and back up shone before he could hear their wails. Jason Gideon had miscalculated, he hadn’t finished the profile. Bale wasn’t just a bomber, he was a sadist. And he had won.

The flight back to Quantico was silent. Reid was guarding Bets’ things like they were an unaccompanied minor. Her brother Manny met the team at headquarters for the official briefing. Jason stormed out of the conference room when Hotch handed over her stash of hard candy and the vintage photograph of their Grandfather from off her desk.

Jason’s mind was crumbling within him, he had hurt another somebody who loved him. This was exceedingly different from the years missing his son grow and forcing his wife to divorce him. He had gotten Bethany killed. Not just her, more. The Boston field office had to call in for reinforcements after the hit to their numbers. He walked to the fridge for a drink, he needed something to sate the desperation. There in the back, still attached to the plastic rings was a single can of V8.

Jason Gideon grabbed the can and marched out of the break room, through the bullpen and into the elevator in maniacally calm silence. He left, because it was safest. For everyone.

Spencer sat in the back of the funeral, she had full military honors. Hotch held Haley as she cried into his collar. Chief Strauss arrived late trying to corral her three tiny children, matching blonde heads distracting their mother from her guilt and doubt. Mrs. Devereaux, the mother, barely moving as the father shook with grief. This family had given so much to their country and now they held another flag to remind them. Spencer’s mind filled with the words she had spoken to him...

“Well aren’t you the most peculiar thing.”

“Cases with Hansen were the worst, the absolute worst. I would have rather spent the entire case with the unsubs themselves than that misogynistic alcoholic.”

“After graduating from Annapolis I spent my time on a ship or two. Before a friend of my Daddy suggested I apply for something closer to home.”

“Well, at least I never had to learn how to make lobster bisque.”

“We didn’t exactly confide in each other, but we had each other’s backs.” 

“It was a Tuesday morning. I woke up. I ran. I got ready. I went to work. Just a day.”

“I kind of have a thing for lighthouses.”

“I was born and bred in Virginia. So many of my family worked for the government or were military that I never considered doing anything else.”

“That’s why, right there. I’m too competitive and you’re too smart.”

The animosity that came from Bethany was easily profiled jealousy, Spencer didn’t hold that against her. He just wanted Gideon back. Somebody had to lead the way. Without the older man, Hotch was doing too many jobs, once again. The young doctor kept his head down and his hands in his pockets. Morgan kept his head up, the tears falling silently. Saying goodbye was never easy.

@dontshootmespence @cherry-loves-fanfic @imagicana @teatimewithtiya @criminalwriting

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: 2019 Training Camp Opens

Hockey is back! This offseason was a little bit slimmer on the back end than last year, phrasing intended; so the gap of time created by Hockey-less August felt much more oppressive. Earlier this week in the blog on the Prospect Tournament I waxed on poetically about how it’s harder to get excited for the Sabres this season. We’re probably looking at a less that 50% chance this team qualifies for the playoffs this season. Between the completion of the Prospect tournament and the arrival of Training Camp, my Sabres heart has come thundering back to life this week. That’s a huge relief considering the aforementioned difficulty seeing this club make the playoffs this season given its current roster construction. More good news: Training Camp narratives are not in short supply! Last year we celebrated competition at Training Camp as a long-awaited sign the team was turning a corner. Perhaps it was still the residual haze of the Jeff Skinner trade washing over us, but something was new about this club going into last year. This year still features a lot of competition for roster spots, Thank God, but this time around it requires a little bit more creative thinking to see how different players raise up the club overall. Last year both of Jeff Skinner and Conor Sheary were upgrades on the left wing no matter how you cut it. In the same way Rasmus Dahlin was a huge upgrade, even as a rookie, on defense. As the players filed into the building for their physicals yesterday and engaged in media day it may be helpful for us to look at Training Camp competition positionally this Preseason. While the new pieces and therefore the tighter competition for fewer roster spots came in the forward corps last year, this go around the change is much more obvious on defense… hopefully.

The big X factor I see in this year’s Training Camp is the guy behind the bench. Ralph Krueger returns to NHL coaching with the Buffalo Sabres six years after an Edmonton Oilers organization in even more chaos than the current version let him go. For someone looking at Krueger’s history for hints at how he’ll coach and deploy players it’s like he’s a super-electable politician: he’s more or less what you want him to be. In other words, he’s something of an empty glass you put your values in. The buzzwords that orbited around him in the early summer when he was hired were communication and flexibility. We were teased about that flexibility a couple days ago when he said this Training Camp will see the players pick what positions they’re fighting for a spot in. More on that later. After firing a Head Coach who was only consistently inconsistent with his roster deployment, General Manager Jason Botterill opted for someone in Krueger who maybe more of a chameleon. The last three coaches of the Sabres, two of which who are still being paid to not coach the team, were problematic in large part because they were too rigid in their systems and didn’t allow the skill players to be skilled in game situations. Phil Housley was moderately better than Dan Blysma on that front but all shit stinks, right? Ralph Krueger is going to let his butterflies fly and rigid is certainly not a word to describe him in anyway. Beyond that however it’s hard to say what exactly his style and decision-making will look like come Opening Night. He’s the biggest wildcard this preseason and maybe also once the games mean something in the regular season.

Unlike in past seasons this year we find ourselves with a rare logjam on the blueline. There are too many good defenseman on the Sabres depth chart! That was such a weird sentence to write! While at least three of Brandon Montour, Marco Scandella, Zach Bogosian and Lawrence Pilut will start the season in the Press Box nursing injuries, only two of those guys will the average Sabres fan be dying to see get back on the ice. Rasmus Ristolainen and Marco Scandella are two players you want off this club pretty soon for very different reasons. Ristolainen is likely traded for just not being up to par in the advanced stats categories the modern game requires of its defenseman. It was hilarious but encouraging to hear Risto acknowledge his defensive game needs some work yesterday. If he is on this roster Opening Night let’s hope we see the effort pay off. Marco Scandella on the other hand is, to put it creatively, a crater full of trash. Those two players, on the right and left sides of defense respectively, are jamming up the pipes for a handful of really awesome pieces fighting for roster spots. Colin Miller was acquired via trade with the hope he could be a good shutdown-defenseman on the second or first pairing depending on how optimistic you are. He probably makes the roster below the pairing he deserves. On the younger side Brandon Montour and Henri Jokiharju are poised for breakout seasons if they’re given the right opportunities. You could argue Montour could single-handedly be the difference maker on whether this club is close to that playoff line or not come April. Then again Jake McCabe and Zach Bogosian still have jobs if they’re not beaten for them this preseason. If Housley were still coach I’d tell you the chances of the kids getting their shot at changing this team, even in preseason action, are slim. Again, Krueger is a huge wildcard here and there’s a lot to be learned in the preseason games coming up next week. Two more dark-horses worth mentioning in any conversation about Buffalo’s defense are Lawrence Pilut and Will Borgen. Pilut was a true rising star in the chances he got last season and it will be very interesting to see what he can do after returning from injury. Will Borgen on the other hand has been developing for what feels like an eternity. The season he finally looks ready to make the jump to the NHL and that’s the season there is this giant logjam. Don’t be surprised to see him really gunning for a look as Training Camp goes on though.

The offense should be an easier discussion. It’s not because Jason Botterill’s weird move of the offseason was bringing back several guys who are or should be on their way out the door. I am totally okay with not buying anyone out, there are few guys that makes sense with and even the ones who it does can be banished in less salary-cap damaging ways. However if we’re going to bring back a fourth line of Zemgus Girgensons, Johan Larsson and Kyle Okposo you minus well just build a wall that says “Stay in Rochester” on it. Guys like Arttu Routsalainen, CJ Smith, Rasmus Asplund and even Victor Olofsson may be staring at the wall wondering if they have any position to gun for. And I’ll be very honest up front: I have no clue what the plan is with Tage Thompson. I’m more patient than the average joe with a guy like that but it’s just too crowded in the forward group. We probably just need to suck it up and ride out Okposo’s albatross of a Tim Murray contract, but those other two guys on the likely fourth line would’ve been very sensible departures given how long they’ve been given second chances. They each brought something to last season’s team but I’m not sure I don’t want their spots taken by the young guns anymore. I suppose there is still time for those young guns to take their spots. It is a new coach after all. As mentioned earlier Krueger wants to have each of these guys fight for the spot of their choosing. Is Zemgus Girgensons better than all of Thompson, Andrew Oglevie and Matej Pekar? Strong maybe I guess? What about Johan Larsson: is he better than all of CJ Smith, Arttu Routsalainen, Rasmus Asplund and Dylan Cozens? Two of those guys are likely sent to their junior teams once camp ends but Smith was an AHL All-Star last year. Competition in the bottom six, at least the fourth line, should be very interesting.

The biggest questions in the forward corps is who will be the second line center and who will be the first line right wing? Both questions have obvious answers that are not necessarily the only options. A top line of Jeff Skinner, Jack Eichel and Sam Reinhart is very on brand for this club but if you use Reinhart at second line right wing you give Casey Mittelstadt some help shoring up that second line center role. Sheary could play on his off-side if it meant tapping in Eichel apples. If Victor Olofsson does indeed arrive as this top six player we’re all expecting, and you put him at 2LW you got a promising second line and a very interesting potential third line of Jimmy Vesey, Evan Rodrigues and Marcus Johansson. Yeah, I opt for the more experienced 28-year-old Johansson to play his off-side because I think he can do it fine on the third line and our good friend E-Rod may be fantastic at center if we give that an extended look. Now you may look at that summation of the top three lines as a pretty upbeat projection outside of the bitching about the fourth line. Where’s the difficulty in this discussion of the offense? Click, Click! In rolls every Sabres fan’s lineup projection grenade Vladimir Sobotka! NHL.com says he’s from the Czech Republic but anyone who watched last season’s Sabres knows he hails from the Kremlin. Wherever Putin hides the illegal chemical weapons, that’s where Sobotka is from because he stinks on ice! He’s not off the roster yet and that alone throws a wrench in the most fun version of the Sabres we could get out of Training Camp. Thompson and Sobotka are the guys that make the most fun version of the forward lines look unlikely but hey… Thompson could surprise me? I know, I wrote that full of doubt. Joking aside, he could be a late bloomer even though he didn’t exactly shine after getting sent down to the Amerks last season. Hmm, we really do have a lot to figure out during Training Camp, don’t we?

So what did I miss… Risto came to Training Camp after he definitely asked for a trade but why would he say that on media day? Eichel wants to score more goals, of course sweet boy. Marcus Johansson thinks Ralph Krueger is *pause for comedic effect* not your average Coach. Kyle Olsen was a Prospect Camp invite who earned an invitation to Sabres Training Camp. He’s probably the darkest of dark horses to make the roster. Uh… I think that’s it for now. When we wrap up Training Camp we’re going to tie all these loose threads together and preview the regular season. Between now and then however we have six preseason games to see how some of the questions get answered. Note: Six is fewer games than last year’s seven thankfully. If you weren’t reading the blog last year those games will be a taste of what the regular season is like here. Game action is much more fun and has a lot more opportunity for humor. Even though they’re meaningless in the standings I hope you’ll read, like and comment for the fun of it. It’s a sprint to regular season hockey from here!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. So it looks like Mitch Marner is going to pull a Will Nylander and miss Training Camp. The drama is better this time around for us Leafs Haters because for some reason Marner is personally offended by an $11 Million contract offer because it’s not as big as Auston Matthews’. Better more he’s much more likely to get traded than Nylander. I’m giddy for that Toronto Meltdown!

[caredogstips]

Trump on trial: Kaine calls on Pence to defend running mate in conversation

Vice-presidential candidates spar on Putin, Syria and patrolling as Democrat launches assault on Trump safaruss most unconscionable statements

Donald Trump was put on trial in his absence during the vice-presidential conversation as his running copulate Mike Pence was accused of trying to defend the indefensible.

But Democrat Tim Kaine, hugging his persona as Hillary Clintons attack dog, ended so aggressively that numerous psychoanalysts felt he lost the debate on style to the soothe, written and assessed Republican Indiana governor.

In a focus radical conducted by strategist Frank Luntz for CBS News in the shaking district of Ohio, 22 people used to say Pence won and only four pronounced Virginia senator Kaine persisted. When Luntz ranged a same radical during last weeks presidential dispute, Clinton hit Trump 16 -6.

Pence committed a polished action that could have given some is expected to be Republicans, and much wishful thinking about a non-Trump pinnacle of the ticket, but he was frequently thrust on to the back paw by a merciless catalogue of the nominees words and deeds.

Six days tonight, I have said to Governor Pence I cant suppose how you are able to represent your flowing mates place on one issue after the next, Kaine replied. In all six actions, hes refused to defend his running copulate. And yet he is asking everybody to vote for somebody that he cannot defend.

Pence stood steady under barrage during the only vice-presidential dialogue of awareness-raising campaigns but when Kaine brought up Trumps campaign launch claim that the Mexican government is purposely mailing rapists into the United States, he awkwardly replied: You flogged out that Mexican event again. Kaine necessitated: Can you protect it?

Kaine assaulted the Trump record on issues ranging from tax, weapons and Senator John McCains war service to his description of women as slobs and pigs, his suggestion that women who have abortions should be punished and his questioning of Barack Obamas birthplace.

Referring to Trumps past kudo for authoritarians, Kaine suggested: Hes got a personal Mount Rushmore: Vladimir Putin, Kim Jong-un, Muammar Gaddafi and Saddam Hussein.

Mostly Pence flatly denied that Trump had built contentious statements and, instead of defending the candidate, resorted to the programme of gaslighting, by frequently objection known facts to influence the truth.

He claimed Trumps past observes were small potatoes compared with Clintons infamous mention when she described half of Trump advocates as a basket full of deplorables.

Pence ducked, dodged or disavowed words that Trump has put on the record. The Clinton campaign accused of him telling downright lies in some instances. David Gergen, a former presidential adviser, said here on CNN: Pence will not fare well with happening checkers, but his position and polish played well with voters. For better or worse, mode countings a lot in these debates.

The debate in Farmville, Virginia, with presidential candidates sitting at a counter rather than standing at lecterns, was not expected to have a major impact on the presidential hasten, though Trump himself could not resist affording a live note via Twitter. He claimed: Mike Pence triumphed big-hearted. We should all be very proud of Mike!

Pence started strongly and examined directly into the camera in such a way that Kaine did not. After a bewilder political year that has shaken the Republican party, Pence, a 12 -year congressman and Indiana governor came over as a somewhat genuine articulation of conservatism who may be consoling and energizing for defendant fellow members who find Trump distasteful.

He attacked Clintons record as secretary of state, indicating: We realize entire portions of the world, especially the wider Countries of the middle east, literally inventing out of control. He quoth the crisis in Syria and a newly emboldened Russia following a failed Clinton reset.

Referring to Clintons use of a private email server at her dwelling, Pence, referencing the facts of the case that he and Kaine both have sons who are US navals, mentioned: If your son or my son handled classified information the way Hillary Clinton did, theyd be court martialed.

Seeking to play the role of Clinton attack dog, Kaine ended several times, perhaps a little too zealously. He gave some patently practised directions, telling Penny: You are Donald Trumps apprentice, and questioning: Do you crave a youre hired president in Hillary Clinton or do you want a youre burnt president in Donald Trump?

Pence, who remained written in style and spokesperson, a distinguish to the thin-skinned Trump, responded: You use that a whole lot. And I think your operating teammate use a lot of pre-done lines.

Debating the economy, the Republican added with security: Senator, you can roll out amounts and the sunny side, but I got to tell you, people in Scranton know different; people in Fort Wayne, Indiana, know different. I necessitate, this economy is struggling.

Kaine, however, gradually ascertained his statu and tallied degrees when he attacked Trump. He had batch of information working in cooperation with. He impounded the opportunity to rebroadcast, before an audience of millions, many of Trumps most offensive and notorious statements about Mexicans, Muslims and women.

There is a fundamental respect topic here, the Democrat read. And I just want to talk about the style defined from the top. Donald Trump during this campaign has announced Mexicans rapists and offenders, hes called females slob, pigs, puppies, outraging. I dont like saying that in front of my wife and mother.

He attacked an Indiana-born federal judge and said he was unqualified to hear a federal lawsuit because his mothers were Mexican. He extended after John McCain, a POW, and said he wasnt a hero because hed been captivated. He did African Americans are living in hell. And he inflicted this outrageous and bigoted lie that President Obama is not a US citizen.

He contributed: I cannot believe that Governor Pence will defend the insult-driven expedition that Donald Trump has run.

On almost every occasion, Pence offered little by way of justification. When confronted with Trumps mentions that girls should be punished for having abortions, a statement the former world Tv sun afterwards attempted to walk back, Pence simply offered: Look, hes not a polished legislator like you and Hillary Clinton.

Why dont you trust wives? Kaine retorted.

When the discussion turned to criminal justice reform, both candidates were in agreement on at the least one thing: the government must do more to support the police.

But Kaine and Pence differed dramatically on how to resolve heightened strains between law enforcement and communities of hue after a series of high-profile police killings of unarmed black men.

Kaine warned of the dangers of Trumps desire for a return to contentious stop-and-frisk tactics while Pence categorically denied there are still racial bias in policing tactics. Senator, please, Pence pronounced, turning to Kaine: Enough of this seeking every opportunity to demean law enforcement broadly by making the accusation of implicit bias each time tragedy occurs.

Pence dramatically cracked from his running teammate on several foreign policy issues, criticizing Putin as a small and bullying leader and carrying a willingness for the United States been involved in military action against the Assad regime. The United States of America should be prepared to use military force to impress military targets of the Assad regime to prevent them from this humanitarian crisis that is taking place in Aleppo, Pence said on stage.

In contrast, Trump said in May: I would have stayed out of Syria and wouldnt have pushed so much better against Assad because I thought that was a whole happening. Although the Republican nominee suggested Assad was bad in a 2015 interview with the Guardian,he has long become clear that the United States should not intervene in Syria and that the United States should cooperate with Russia, a close regiman ally, in the region to combat Islamic militants.

Jason Miller, elderly communications consultant to Trump, insisted last night: Mr Trump has been very clear where he stands where it comes to Syria and while I revalue your efforts to go and try to create a subdivide between the two, we have a very unified ticket.

Miller added that Governor Pence and Mr Trump will be right in line on Syria and said that there was no sunlight between the two on the issue.

David Bossie, Trumps deputy campaign manager, held after the dialogue that he didnt “ve learned that” specific thread when asked to comment on Pences commentaries about Putin. He also said he wasnt sure if Trump agreed with his running copulate on Syria. I am going to have to talk to Mr Trump about that, Bossie told the Guardian. Following the dispute, moderated by Elaine Quijano of CBS News in Longwood Universitys basketball arena, Clinton campaign aides told reporters that Pence had arrived with a gameplan to present a more reasonable posture and to avoid defending Trump at all costs.

Mike Pence could have given the performance of his life tonight and it wouldnt have made a dimes worth a difference in terms of reassuring the public that Donald Trump is temperamentally fit to be president, Brian Fallon, a spokesman for the Clinton campaign, said in the twisting room.

Clintons campaign manager, Robby Mook, pronounced Pence virtually threw Donald Trump under the bus on several policy issues, including US-Russia relations and the Syrian civil war.

Thats disturbing, Mook mentioned. These two people have to work as a division. That clearly was not on display here tonight.

John Brabender, an adviser to the Pence campaign, mentioned: I envisaged from the opening buzzer, Pence seemed strong and likable and articulated the questions extremely well and won the conversation going away.

He added: More importantly he did maybe best available position between the two debates of somebody demo both a imagination for Trump and laying out the subject against Hillary Clinton. I thought he did a better occupation than Donald Trump did.

Read more: www.theguardian.com

The post Trump on trial: Kaine calls on Pence to defend running mate in conversation appeared first on caredogstips.com.

from WordPress http://ift.tt/2sFmcW6 via IFTTT