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cherripeach · 4 years ago

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Chapter 8

Little Match Maker

Summary: Your life motto is “I have the power of god and anime on my side, don’t mess with me,” and you stand by that with your life. No human, magician, or random creature could ever stop your firm belief in it.

However, getting transported to this world that seemed to turn your already bad luck worse was not what you wanted to be in your life story, but you made the most of it. Making friends, enemies, and disasters, you were in your prime in this world, and so you decided to help as many people as you could flourish, at least what you believed to be.

Prologue 19-20: *Mario Theme Song* *kid bangs head on desk*

Chapter Summary: Finally, a solid moment of calm.

Warnings: Curse words, jokes about death, jokes about coma

Words: 3.3k

Relationships: developing but future twstxreader

The three of you began your journey back to the mirror. All of you are more damaged and much more of a mess than the cottage.

Grim was satisfied with whatever he ate, so much, in fact that he was situated on your shoulder, rubbing his belly and even burping in your ear.

As tired as you are, you still could not knock Grim off of your shoulder. Petting his head, however, did put more energy back into your energy bar. You could even hear the slightest pur coming from him.

Ace and Deuce both trudged behind you back to the mirror. Ace appeared remarkably more beat up than Deuce, but neither appeared put together.

Once all three of you finally stood before the mirror door, you could breathe a sigh of relief because there was no more spooky forest anymore.

After you got into the school, you allowed Ace and Deuce to lead the group because you had no clue where the Headmaster would be located. You three went up over four flights of stairs and through like ten hallways, and you finally arrived at a set of ginormous, old, brown double doors.

The three of you stopped in front of the door, and Ace held up his hand and knocked.

When nothing was heard or no one came, all three of you walked inside.

Headmaster Crowley was sitting at his desk, slouched over a stack of paper, writing and reading from the paper in front of him. Even when you, Deuce, Ace, and Grim walked in (even though Grim was on your hip), the headmaster did not even look up at you.

It was not until Ace coughed into his hand that the headmaster’s head popped up to stare in awe at your group. He could not even put words together as he was just lost staring at the three of you. His mouth even moved some as if it was trying to find some words to say. If you could see his eyes, you were sure that they would be bulging out of his head by now.

Grim flung his arms up in the air yelling, “Hey, we went into that scary mine and got you the crystal thing. At least, say something!”

The Headmaster flew up out of his seat, “Eh!? You really went to Dwarfs' Mine to find a magic crystal?”

“Eeeh?” The three idiots and you all jumped back.

The headmaster shot a look at all four of you idiots to let him speak and then shook his head, “I really didn't think… You'd not only go but then come back with a crystal in hand. I quietly completed the paperwork for your expulsion.”

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” As nothing was going your way, you may as well mess more up, so you began your lecture, “I have spent all of my afternoon and most of my night babying and taking care of these three imbeciles, so they stop whining about everything. I also had to actually get them to work together to defeat a monster that is against safety standards for a principal to let the students go up against. All without a decent meal, sleep, or a shower. I look like and feel like shit and now have more bruises and scratches on my body than your number of mistakes in the last twenty-four hours.” You quited down some If I could, “And if someone doesn’t try to cooperate and help me, I’ll start sobbing right here.”

The principal was left stunned, but quickly shook it off, “I apologize for your grievances, but what do you mean by ‘monster’. And more importantly what do you mean by ‘work together’?”

‘Did he not hear a word I just said??’ Your mind would not allow you to forget this moment.

Ace popped into the conversation now, “There was a monster there!

It was super gross and crazy strong, it was awful!” He stuck his tongue out in disgust.

The headmaster placed his hands on his desk and leaned forward, “Could you explain it in more detail? And also tell me how you worked together to defeat it?”

Ace, Deuce, and you started on your long, treacherous (As Grim described it) journey and battle to get the magic crystal which was still gripped in your hand.

The handmaster let out a chuckle, “hoh hooh. A mysterious monster living in the coal mine. The four of you worked together to defeat it and bring back a magic crystal?”

Deuce and Ace could beg to differ:

Ace crossed his arms and turned away, “We didn't really work together…”

Deuce could only look at his feet, “It was more like our goals were aligned…”

The Headmaster grabbed the clothes near his heart and slowly out of his mouth came booming sobs and howls.

Grim faced you and inquired, “What's with this guy? Why is an adult bursting into tears!?”

You shook your head, “To be honest, I don’t know nor do I care. I just want to go back home.”

The Headmaster shot back up from his slouched cry to gaze at all four of you, “In all these years that I've been Headmaster… For the day to come that students from Night Raven College go hand-in-hand to face and defeat their enemy!”

Deuce gave a shout of, “What?! I did not hold this guy’s hand!”

And that just would be the only thing that Deuce cared about.

Ace was the same as he scowled at Deuce, “I would never do that, gross! But Headmaster, how old are you!?”

The Headmaster dabbed his eyes on a random tissue he pulled out of thin air, “ I am overwhelmed with emotion. This incident confirms it.” He turned to you and spoke your name, “Without a doubt, you have talent as a beast tamer.”

And with you delusions of no sleep, no water, and almost no food, you heard that completely wrong.

“Headmaster, look I’m not one to judge, but that sounds too kinky to be school appropriate.” You signed and shook your hand that was not holding Grim.

Ace and Deuce made wide eyes at you, but the Headmaster just continued on.

He threw his hands out as if he was worshiping himself, “Students of Night Raven College are budding wizards called here by the Dark Mirror. However, they are of a superior class that makes them prideful and egotistical people that have not even the slightest inkling to work with others. Making many of them selfish and centered.”

Grim’s nose wrinkled, “You're really not saying anything good.”

Crowley (Since I finally realize that he does have a name) pointed a finger at you, “You cannot use magic. But, maybe, precisely because you cannot use magic means that you could give instructions to wizards and get them to cooperate. Perhaps that mediocrity is exactly what this school needs right now.”

Ace repeated Grim’s line with furrowed eyebrows, “He’s not saying anything nice, is he?”

Your smile lifted as you locked eyes with Ace, “It’s not like there is anything nice to say about you.”

Headmaster Crowley ignored your discussion but still had a finger pointed at you, “I have no doubt that your existence is essential to the future of this academy. So says my educator-senses. Trappola, Spade. Along with rescinding your expulsion I shall give you the qualifications to attend Night Raven College as a student!“

You paused from your glare of with Ace, “Wait.. what?” Your eyes widened, but Grim’s grip on your cloak tightened.

The other two boys threw in their own remarks and confusion about the situation.

You had gained eye contact with the man for a solid five seconds just to say, “You have gotta be kiddin’ me?” before he spun around with his hands in the same position to worship himself.

He chuckled and nodded, “Yes. For I am exceedingly gracious. But, there is one condition. You cannot use magic. Becoming a wizard is out of the question. You probably will not be able to complete all your lessons. That is why, Grim. You have proven to me that you possess enough talent to become a wizard. Therefore, I shall allow the two of you to enrol together, as one student.”

Grim skirted out of your arms onto the Headmaster’s desk, “I... I can go to this academy too...? Not as a handyman, but as a student?”

Headmaster Crowley turned back around to emphasize to Grim his next lecture topic, “Yes. Provided that! You don't ever let an incident like yesterday occur again! Do we have an agreement?“

Grim snatched the Headmaster’s hand and lobbed it up and down, “Yes, yes, yes.” All before leaping into your arms with a little speckle of a tear in his eyes, “We-we can.”

You ran your hand through the fur on his head, “Yes, we can.”

He sprung up while still in your hold with his hands held high, “I did it!”

The Headmaster opened a drawer and pulled out a piece of cloth, “Well then, I shall give the symbol of your status as a student of Night Raven College, a magic crystal, to Grim.”

Crowley walked over to the two of you and wrapped the collar around Grim’s neck.

Grim began pulling on it and observing all that he could, “Whoa! A magic crystal!?”

The Headmaster bobs his head, “It is the norm for students to have their magic crystals in the form of a 'magic pen' but, you wouldn't be able to grip it in your paws, right? It's a special custom. Aaah... I pay attention to even the smallest details! Aren't I too gracious?”

Grim rocked back and forth in your arms while waving his hands and hitting your face several times, “I did it!! I'm so cool! I got my own special magic crystal collar~”

The Headmaster shook his head and turned to you, “He isn't listening at all...Do you understand? As you can see, Grim is not accustomed to human society. It's up to you to take the rein and supervise him to prevent from causing any more trouble!”

You breathed in and out, “So now you are going to force onto me more responsibilities? Let’s just make me in charge of the country while we are at it”

Ace grabbed your shoulders and cackled, “Aha! Look at you. School's just started, but you're already a supervisor?”

Deuce verbalized his findings, “I see. There's only the two of you in your dorm… so if you've been entrusted with supervising Grim, that makes you a supervisor.”

Ace’s cackle burst through his lips again, “Pufft... Isn't that unheard of? For there to be a supervisor student who is unable to use magic. Nice. It's cool. A supervisor student who is unable to use magic!”

You squinted your eyes, scrunched up your nose, and frowned your lips, “Because this is exactly what I want to do with my life. Of course, not sleep 24/7 or” You tossed the hand not holding Grim up, “Or how about something even better: a coma.”

Ace let go of you and walked around you to get behind you, only to smack your back, “Good luck, supervisor!”

You glared at Ace and murmured, “I’ll steal all of your favorite snacks. I’d say hurt you, but eating your snacks will hurt you mentally.”

Headmaster Crowley snapped his fingers, “I see, a supervisor. I do have a work request, and having a title makes it very convenient... This is wonderful! Supervisor. I entrust you with this. ...This is nicknamed the ‘ghost camera’.”

This camera or whatever was an old camera thing, but you weren’t listening. Your lack of sleep was catching up to you once your brain realized that the stress of being kicked out was gone. Your eyes began to flutter close every couple of seconds and then snap open once you brain processed what was happening. Problem was that you did not understand anything that came out of anyone’s mouth until Ace elbowed you in the ribs.

You caught the headmaster's end of a speech, “Does my graciousness know no bounds?”

You stumbled over your words, “Uh...yeah. Thanks a lot.”

Crowley sat back down, “It is already late. Let's save the detailed conversation for tomorrow.

Return to your dormitories, everyone.”

Deuce bowed to the man, “Pardon our intrusion.”

All three of you just about sprinted out of that room.

Once in the hallway, a yawn came out of your mouth.

Deuce sighed, “Haaaaaah... Expulsion rescinded... I'm beat.”

Grim was the only one of you four who did not look like they were about to pass out right now with his singing and skipping, “I start as a student of Night Raven College tomorrow! I'm gonna leave you all in the dust and take the top spot!”

Ace snorted, “You talk big for someone who is only half a full student... Anyway, it's fine.”

“We're classmates tomorrow, Supervisor, Grim.” Deuce bowed to you two.

You just bob your head at the two who started a conversation about how they have to see each other every day even if they don’t want to.

Ace rolled his eyes, turned to you, and smiled somewhat, “Alright, see you tomorrow, Supervisor.”

Grim turned to face you, “We better get back to the dorm! Tomorrow, we aren't the handyman! Finally... Finally! Our bright and shiny academy life at Night Raven College begins!”

You could only throw a thumbs up to show you were listening to Grim as you followed him to your dorm.

Once at your dorm, Grim sprinted to bed and passed out before you even made it in the room.

You went into your bathroom to check if you had any running water, and what a sight it was when you realized that you still did not have any running water.

You just had to curse that man out, “Fuck that ignorant man! When I get my hands on him, I’ll strangle the bullshit out of him!”

You huffed out and decided that getting out of this cloak was the best option to at least be more comfortable. Taking off the cloak and placing it on the bathroom counter, all you saw was what a mess you had become: you were breaking out again as acne appeared from stress and lack of care, your eye bags could probably hold weights above what your arms could, your lips were in dire need of chapstick, and your hair was probably able to be a grill with all the grease on it.

You slapped your cheeks and struggled to walk downstairs because there was no way you were going to sleep in these conditions without a shower and without proper air conditioning or food for dinner.

You dumped your poor self on the almost destroyed couch and just tried to close your eyes. You only had your eyes close for a minute when you heard a rustling outside of your dorms.

You sat up and surveyed the area making sure no one was inside as if anything important or worth stealing was inside the house, and after you saw no one inside, you checked the window closest to you. All you could see was a cult like gathering of fire flies and a tall ass figure in view.

And in your haze of delusions you went outside to greet the being.

You stepped out the door and down a couple of stairs to get a clear view of the male, and from what you could assume he was not bad on the eyes. He looked familiar, but your mind was blacking for a minute there; The horns were an odd part, but I mean there were furries here.

The male finally noticed you when you tripped down the last step and almost fell on your face, but you didn’t, so you didn’t embarrass yourself in front of the male who looked like he could kill you which in your eyes is the one thing that makes a man.

The male and you finally locked eyes causing you to awkwardly smile at him while he just put on a confused face that you would see on a dog, and then, your brain connected the dots.

The horned puppy decided to start the conversation, “Child of man, why do you look sick?”

Kinda hurt, not gonna lie, but you have to hide it, “Wow, puppy, and to think I thought you liked me.”

The male’s face fell, “I never meant to offend you. Your appearance is concerning, however, and I do not want you to be facing any trouble here.”

“Nothing you can do, dude.” You shook your head, but you had an idea, “I mean, unless you can either let me borrow your shower or fix my water…” You threw in your sad eyes to make it more appealing.

The male was taken aback, “Your water is not working?”

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p.’

The male gazed at your house, “I hope to be of some use to you with your troubles.”

You snorted at his response and began to walk to the house, “Well, dude, I’ve always wanted a boyfriend…” You raised your eyebrows at him.

The male’s face contorted in confusion, “I do not believe that I could offer any help at finding another for you.”

You shook your head, “You know what, let’s just go fix my water.”

You two finally entered the dorm and headed to the basement where the water tank was.

You pointed at the water tank, “I don’t know what to do. Please work your magic, magic man.”

The horned male pulled out his pen from his pocket and murmured some words only for a bright green light to appear and fly onto the water tank.

After a couple of seconds, you could hear water flowing into and out of the water tank.

You jumped onto the tall male and squeezed his neck to both hold on and show your gratitude, “You are the absolute best person I have ever met. I could just kiss you right now!”

The male stood there in your arms waiting to be let go you guess, but since you have not had a hug in more than a day you were going to take full advantage of this. You squash his neck between your arms and finally, when you heard a cough, you slowly began to let go.

“Really, thanks dude. I don't know what I would do without you.” You smiled up at the male in your appreciation.

The male bowed to you, “It was not a problem, child of man. I do not need your gratitude.”

You slapped his arm, “Oh, shut up! You are amazing and definitely need my thanks.”

The male shook his head, “It is time for me to go back home, child of man. I hope you are blessed with a great night.”

You walked with the male back upstairs and out the door. He waved goodbye and headed to two figures in the distance. One reminded you of sleep beauty as you named him.

You also found this as a great time to embarrass the horned male, “Since you fixed my water, I’ll give you a free pass for whatever you want in the future. And I mean whenever. But thanks so muchhhhhhh!” You yelled at the males with your hands cupped to your mouth.

The taller of the two other boys, the one who you did not know and was not sleeping beauty, was being held back by sleeping beauty for some reason.

You just threw your shoulders up and walked back inside ready to take a shower.

And the shower was the best one you ever had. If only you could get a change of clothes.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x you #twst x reader #ace trappola #deuce spade #twst grim #malleus draconia #twst crowley #twst crossover

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itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

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A weird defence I've seen of RWBY's conflicts has been that it's good writing simply by the virtue that people can disagree on what's the right thing to do in said conflict. Which doesn't work when one decision is being presented as the only valid choice while every other option is either not addressed or demonized. This isn't a story leaving a nuanced set of stances to explore, it's a guy on stage signalling the crowd to boo whenever someone goes against the Protag's decision.

Real quick, I want to talk about RWBY by not talking about RWBY. I’ve seen this argument a lot too and the tl;dr is that just because your audience debates the right action in a conflict — something that is inevitable given how subjective media is — doesn’t mean the story encouraged that reflection in any way. As you say, RWBY pretends that those disagreements don’t exist and that This Is The One (1) Right Answer... which entirely defeats the purpose of a morally nuanced situation in the first place. That lack is bad writing because it demonstrates the author’s inability to provide an accurate picture of the conflict while still ensuring we come out of it liking the parties involved. The conflict was too complex for them to manage alongside equally complex characterization, so they just pretended it was far simpler than it actually was. That’s not something to praise.

But to get to the not RWBY part. I’ve mentioned this a couple times before, but one of the scenes that I think manages these sorts of conflicts really well is the funeral fight in The Haunting of Hill House, episodes 6, “Two Storms.” So warning from here on out for spoilers. Sometimes, the best way to see what’s not working well in one show is to look at another show that does (basically) the same thing successfully and compare the two.

Normally I’d include screenshots, but Netflix doesn’t allow that :/ So I’m forced to rely on bullet points.

The basic premise is that the Crain family has assembled in daughter Shirley’s funeral home, the night before they bury their sister, Nell. A lot of secrets are about to come to light.

The scene kicks off when their father, Hugh, relays the call he got from the housekeeper the night of Nell’s death. She had committed suicide in the family’s childhood home.

Though everyone knew how she’d died, son Steven is distraught at hearing the details and reveals that a few weeks prior Nell crashed a book signing of his. This shocks the others given that this was very unusual behavior for Nell.

Shirley likewise reveals that she got a call from Nell who’d been worried about their brother, Luke, but hadn’t spoken to her the night of her death. The implication is that no one did. They’ll never know what was going through her head the night she died.

Hugh reveals that she did call him. “I talked to her.”

Stunned by this news, his children demand to know what was discussed and Hugh is clearly reluctant to continue. However, he eventually says that Nell wasn’t just worried about Luke, but also the “Bent Neck Lady,” a specter from her childhood.

The viewer knows that ghosts are real in this show. The kids don’t. Or rather, they all experienced supernatural occurrences in their childhood, are still experiencing them now, but only some of them are willing to admit they’re real. Steven is the diehard skeptic of the bunch and starts yelling at his father, accusing him of aiding Nell’s delusions and ignoring a family history of mental illness. In particular, he declares that this “makes you culpable [in her death].”

Steven continues to accuse Hugh of “holding back information” about Nell and Hugh shoots back that “If I held back anything it was to protect you kids.” The viewer understands Hugh’s dilemma: the only reason he keeps things to himself is because Steven and the others refuse to believe the truth, with an added dose of this supernatural stuff being very dangerous. Steven asks, “Why do I need protection from the truth?”

Before their fight can go any further, Shirley tells Steven, “You might want to check yourself before you start talking about the truth.” He published an autobiographical book about their childhood trauma and notably capitalized on a supernatural angle he doesn’t believe in. Shirley calls it “blood money.”

As the argument about the ethics of his book rages, Shirley defends herself primarily with how everyone else thinks this is “blood money” too. No one took a cut when Steven offered one, proving how despicable they all think it is.

Meanwhile, sister Theo has been getting heat for being drunk (a coping mechanism for her own supernatural troubles) and Shirley eventually pushes her far enough that she admits she did take Steven’s money and used it to get her degree. “It’s good, fucking money.” Suddenly, Steven has someone in his corner and Shirley’s main defense has crumbled.

Shirley is furious that Theo had this secret income but was still living with her and her husband. Theo reminds her that she offered to pay rent, but Shirley isn’t interested in hearing that. She demands that Theo move out immediately and uses this betrayal as the new way to protect herself. She’s the victim here.

Steven, sensing another secret in the works, cautions Shirley to “get off your high horse before you fall off.”

Shirley maintains her position until her husband blurts that they also took Steven’s money. Shirley hasn’t been running the funeral home well and they would have sunk without it.

Despite being the punching bag for the second half of this fight, Shirley is offered both reassurance and dignity. Her husband emphasizes that the only reason they’re struggling is because Shirley is a good person. She does too much work pro bono. Shirley also delivers the line, “Do you have any idea how much you’ve humiliated me?” calling into question the husband’s choice to admit this now, purely as a way to prove her wrong.

Shirley leaves to get some distance and discovers that someone — something — has put buttons over Nell’s eyes. The shock of this keeps the fight from continuing and, as plot intervenes, gives the characters the space needed to eventually start healing and forgiving one another, notably by sitting with the various truths they all now have to grapple with.

Phew! A long summary, but I’ve put this much detail in to highlight the nuance of the scene. Obviously RWBY would differ in many ways — less cursing, for one — but the core elements of any morally complex scene should be the same. The important takeaways here are that no one in the Crain family are “pure” or “evil” and everyone gets their chance to be both right and wrong. Hugh is right that Steven won’t listen to him and wrong in that he didn’t do enough to help his kids. We get Steven and Hugh’s frustration, their understanding of the world at odds with one another. Steven is wrong to put everything on his father and justified in starting his writing career with their story. We watch the scene move from “Steven is Wrong and everyone agrees” to “Oh shit nm, more and more of the family are revealing that they benefited from his money, complicating how “wrong” he actually is.” Shirley is right to point out that Theo is getting drunk during their sister’s funeral and Theo is right to point out that being drunk doesn’t erase having a good point. Theo is allowed to scream at the group and then immediately be offered help when she falls. Shirley pretends she’s better than all of them and is slowly, horrifyingly proven wrong, but is then still extended compassion and is allowed to point out how horribly they’ve just treated her. The husband is right about the money, wrong about keeping it a secret/revealing it the way he did, right in how he tries to diffuse the other fights, and VERY wrong by getting caught kissing Theo down in the storeroom!

The scene twists and turns in a way that highlights everyone’s points and their flaws, the moments when their perspective should be upheld and questioned. The end result is a scene that has space for the audience to debate everyone’s choices without imposing the single view of This Person Is Obviously Wrong/Right and If You Think Otherwise You’re Not Watching The Show Correctly. The show itself acknowledges the complexity and nuance of these problems. It asks, “Hugh should have tried harder, but what more can he do when his kids literally don’t believe this stuff exists? Was Steven really justified in writing a book about their collective experiences? What does it mean that something his family sees as capitalizing on their trauma also helped them keep businesses and schooling afloat? Was it okay for Shirley’s husband to keep that money a secret, even if it helped them? How might he have told her in a less cruel manner? What about Shirley’s life has led to her intense need to be on that ‘high horse’?”

And of course: “Who is really responsible for Nell’s death?” By this point the viewer already knows that there is no “really” here. This is too complicated a tragedy to lay the blame at any one person’s feet. Everyone in this room has moments of justified accusations and moments of chastisement because they’re well written, well rounded characters who are neither saints nor devils. The length of the scene (done in a single shot!) emphasizes that if you just wait long enough, even the most perfect looking person will eventually have a skeleton pulled from their closet. No one is above mistakes.

RWBY has NONE of that. Zip. Nada. Nothing. RWBY gave us a scenario with many of the same, core themes — secret keeping, secrets unwillingly revealed, blaming others for your mistakes, hurtful actions with helpful consequences, questioning who is responsible for a tragic death — and instead of even attempting to give us some of the above nuance, RWBY said only that Ruby was right, Ozpin was wrong, and demanding that the audience ignore the nuance they could already see in order to accept the canon.

RWBY’s scene asks the audience to play dumb and look at the world as a Black and White place, despite the show simultaneously insisting that “the world isn’t a fairy tale” and is, in fact, filled with shades of gray.

Just not any shades of gray that mess with that dichotomy that now drives the story.

That’s not good writing. It’s oblivious and contradictory writing that makes the audience frustrated. Not satisfied, surprised, contemplative, or curious. Just frustrated.

#rwby #the haunting of hill house #mymetas #Anonymous

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crimsonandcloverwrites · 3 years ago

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bhah ch5 reread time for emotions

idk why eddie half-asleep mumbling about pancakes is so funny to me but like... relatable king

we love the contrasting feelings of Dani and Eddie vs Jamie’s house

lmao poor mikey. let the boy shred on his air guitar in peace

god this is all so domestic I want what they have (owen’s pastries and Jamie in a bandana)

a great, good place huh???? idk why clever canon line inclusion sometimes makes me go a little bit mad but here we are

Dani wanting to leave her mark on this place vs... whatever the fuck is going on in her own home the signs are all there babe

Jamie seeing the problem of Dani not having a desk to work at and immediately wanting to fix it vs Eddie just being Eddie hmmmmm

Carson and Mikey being buddies is actually something that can be so personal

dang Jamie and her quiet temper are so intimidating

problem solver Dani is here we love her. god they’re such a good match

skjfhdfkjfh so much talk about loins ladies get a room already

"Sometimes I just like making other people happy, is all." Dani you are toooo sweet (even if this gets you into trouble sometimes)

oh my godddd Jamie sending Dani flowers I can’t handle this. DANI WANTING TO KEEP IT A SECRET TOO LIKE WANTING TO KEEP THEIR TIME AS JUST FOR THEM I’M GOING INSANE

oh she is having Thoughts about their thighs pressing together and their fingertips grazing. this is so gay. gayer than whatever is gonna happen when they finally bone (I will happily retract this statement if proven wrong 👀👀👀). nothing tops this on the homosexual heirarcy of intimacy

mikey trotting towards school w the lil packed lunch jamie just threw him is so adorable I love the visuals of this fic

I am headcanoning Dani’s Aunt Liz who moved out east to be gay and no one will convince me otherwise (also bring her back Dani needs a cool gay aunt in her life)

Dani being presented with an opportunity to not hang out with Eddie’s familly: I will be there also I can be there 7 hours early also I will bring snacks

Charlotte? Charlotte Wingrave?? Is she on maternity leave to have Miles???

“"Yeah," she lied.” is one of my fave sentences ever idk why I just... the agreement and the deceit of it all (not necessarily specific to this moment tho it is a good one. I just love them in general)

ooft Dani feels so close to breaking here r.e. Eddie and their relationship and I cannot help but wonder if she’s been like this for a while or if the Jamie of it all is really accelerating things

aww Dani’s birthday we love to celebrate she

Dani looking for Jamie I always always imagine as a grounding thing even if she’s not aware of it. Jamie truly is her person and I will be going insane about it ty

Jamie’s wardrobe is truly top tier she is so dreamy

gah the um. heights of everyone on the wall... the familyness of it all. the history. time to look away before I explode

“It’s just the way it’s always been.” ooooohhhh these lines in sort of inconesquential moments that capture the essence of everything!!!!! genius

i fucking hate how hot I find Jamie smoking akjdfhdjfh why can I see it so clearly in my head and why am I like Dani Clayton levels of attracted to her about it

oof Dani truly hates her n Eddie’s house (a house is not a home.glee.mp3 etc). I’m also just realising with a return to the wall heights thing that Jamie was probably thinking back to simpler times and what this house represented as a home to her (both as a welcoming place to be/an ideal kind of home but something she will never really have/be a part of) my heart hurts

What is Dani wishing for as she blows out the candles does she even know what she wants???

Jamie insisting she gets to sit beside Dani is so adorable

the casual domesticity of Dani and Jamie together has me making the stupidest most endeared faces at my screen I love it

the camping trip mention kjfdghdfkj I will never forget Dani gay panicking the whole time I love this lead up

god why am I thinking so hard about the different paths Dani and Jamie went down r.e. their sexualitites rn like Dani being all scared of Jamie mixing w her work life and people realising that there’s something there is just... she’s so fuckign afraid of being herself and then u have Jamie who has lived her life as authentically as she can in that sense and the contrast of it all is so damn interesting (and breaks my heart a bunch)

is this the scarf Dani gave her for christmas does she still have it oh my god

“"And here I thought you were a fan of delayed gratification," Jamie said, chuckling softly.” please tell me this is a surprise tool that will help us later

wait i take it back about the gayest thing ever. I think this blindfolded w Jamie gently guiding her w a hand on her back while she says gentle reassurances like “I got you” is possibly the gayest they’ve ever been. OH she’s guiding her to the desk she refurbished with her own two gay hands this is peak lesbianism. i’m gonna make a heirarcy of needs pyramid based on this fic one day just u wait

ok but this is really soft as hell god I love the thoughtfulness of Jamie. get u a best friend that will fulfill ur every need and feels like home and then kiss her a bunch

“I feel like I'm standing in the middle of the room, screaming, and nobody even looks at me. Nobody can see me." this nell crain ref pls I cant

i think it’s really like... sweet in a way that both of them are sort of dancing around this like there are so many feelings there and they’re just sort of clinging to each other and the familiarity of their bond without pushing it into anything more even incidentally. i think it’s v much a testament to the writing that their relationship and what it is/what it could become isn’t overwhelming to either of them in moments like this. it all just feels very authentic and I love this fic so dang much for it

the library trip ok are we ready 4 the gay meltdown of the century

god them lowkey playfighting on the bus pls this is just like the perfect mix of teacher Dani trying to be professional meets teenage Dani and Jamie cuteness aaah

lmao is Jamie having a small gay meltdown over Hannah Grose that is perfection

fvkdjfgkjfh Hannah and Jamie discussing Dani’s pretty eyes I love this so much please I need more of this and Dani getting flustered about it

god the Jamie and Jackie history I need to know this backstory so bad

plsss Jamie putting Dani’s hand in her jacket pocket to keep it warm could you two be any more digustingly cuuuuute.

jesus fuck the tension of them almost making out in the back rowww. Jamie having a meltdown. Dani falling impossibly harder in love

i can’t believe this moment was it for Dani. lesbianism is stored in the library

oof the parallels between this and the school dance bathroom meltdown Jamie gone vs Jamie HERE in ways she can barely even comprehend. everything is NOT OK

“She couldn’t want this. She couldn’t want Jamie.” Ms Dani your delusions

yeehaw I’m officially halfway through my reread may the next 5 chapters align with the universe and see me through until ch11 is here amen

#bhah #there are a few tangents in this one #but I am v tired and my brain refuses to stay on a single train of thought #anyway that was fun see u next time

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singingforthepromises · 4 years ago

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fruits basket manga lb (ch 115-118)

CH 115

“The feeling... of being left behind.” Oh no.

I actually agree with the maid - Ren IS despicable. She’s horrible. I do think I’m at the point where I dislike her more than Akito, honestly. I at least feel bad for Akito at certain points and it’s growing with each chapter. Ren? She can fuck off, honestly.

“She’s worthless” about Isuzu. Lol shut up bitch

“You’re the one who’s worthless, Ren-san” OH HO SHIGURE WENT THERE

Ren is such a hypocrite. In one breath, she criticizes Akito for holing onto ‘delusions’ when she’s sitting here doing the same shit with Akira.

“She just didn’t want to stop being Akira-san’s ‘number one.’ She’s jealous.” FACTS

Wow she didn’t even hold baby Akito. :/

“The way she is now... whose fault.... is that?” I love that this is being brought up, and I’m gonna talk about it. Akito is a product of her environment, we know this. It’s not surprising that she turned out this way. It’s all she knew. She’s clinging to words that her father told her, to justify her actions and make sense of her existence. Otherwise, in Akito’s eyes, her mom was right about her - and that’s a horrible perspective to have. It’s understandable of course: that is what abused children think. Akito is as much a victim from abuse as any of the others. It’s like this entire series has been a game between Ren and Akito and seeing who the winner will end up being, and damn the collateral picked up along the way.

The way Akito is now.... it’s mostly her own fault, but it’s ALSO Ren’s, Shigure’s, Kureno’s, the maids, the entire Sohma family’s. They all either directly caused this behavior or were content to let it continue. Or they simply chose not to try and get her help or direct her something more positive. I blame Kureno less than I do the others, because he was as much as a victim as everyone else, in his own way. Shigure I do hold responsible because even though he’s under the curse too, he knew Akito best, knew her entire situation, and is still comfortable talking to and fraternizing with Ren.

At the end of the day though, Akito’s decisions are her own, and until she owns up to it and changes her ways, she’s the same as her mother. I feel much more for her now as opposed to when I first started the manga and anime, but she’s still got a ways to go for me. We’ll see by the end where I stand on her.

One thing I know for sure: Ren is an irredeemable piece of shit.

Okay, let me address this scene with Akira and Akito. I totally get where he’s coming from, being a loving father to his daughter that is treated like crap by her own mother. She deserves this warmth and care from her parents, even if from just one. But I feel like this approach, the way he explained her destiny to her, was part of the problem. One parent was overly loving and wanted to give the child everything and told her how important she was and the other was cruel and cold. Akira needed to let Akito know the meaning of the word “no.” Not to be harsh, or cruel to her, but to let her know that the Zodiacs are people too, and they can’t be sentenced to a life of imprisonment with her just because she is their God. That if she treats them right, they’ll be close and bonded, but allowed to live lives of their own. It doesn’t mean that she’s been abandoned, or that no one wants to be with her. Healthy relationships can exist from a distance, and that was not expressed by anyone in Akito’s life. It certainly explains her terror when thinking they’re all going to leave her, or she’s told that they’re going to.

OH SHIT OH MSJFSFJS DID THAT JUST HAPPEN

MOMIJI’S CURSE

IT JUST BROKE

IM SOBBING MY BEAUTIFUL BOY IS FREE

CH 116

Momiji is walking past his mom’s house? I’m upset

Ohh boy here comes Akito

I do feel bad for her... it’s sad, because she’s brought all of this on herself, and to a degree, it’s karma. But at the same time, I can’t help but feel bad.

Momiji realizing that Akito is weak and has no power over him anymore.... wow, we love to see it.

omg are Haru and Yuki realizing it???

Tohru blushing at seeing Kyo!!

Momiji watching her! ;A;

“Well... you know, right?” AHHHHHHH HE SAID IT

Oh, Momiji did go talk to Akito again...

“Akito, I can’t spend the rest of my life at your side.” YES MY BOY

Okay here she goes, slapping him. And she’s rubbing salt in the wound, lashing out because of her own pain... and Momiji is bigger than that, better than that. The fact that he’s admitting that nothing will go back to how it was, that breaking from the curse is just as much a curse as actually being under one... that’s truly sad. I hadn’t thought of the bond as a beautiful thing in a while, but I see the potential it could’ve had TO be. They were united by something that could’ve been beautiful. To an extent, in between all of the horror that came with it, it was.

“I’m going to walk my own path.” I AM SO PROUD OF YOU

“How about you? How long are you going to stay HERE?” I love this question for many reasons, but mostly because it shows that Momiji still cares about Akito and wants her to be happy, too.

I respect that Akito isn’t trying to stop him even further with more violence or more demeaning words. I don’t know if Momiji’s words are having an impact and she’s starting to realize what she’s caused, or if she’s internally about to have a meltdown and do something much worse, but for the moment, I like that she isn’t lashing out at him much more.

CH 117

Oh, we’re paralleling mother relationships with Tohru and Akito, are we? They really are foils of one another.

You’ll get another chance, Tohru!!

Damn Ren is legit awful.

“This thing?! It was just a toy to pass the time!” Oh, okay. Explains the “you’re just a toy for me to play with” from little Akito to Yuki. Was this the moment she snapped in the room and painted it black? Was this the precursor? And she repeated those awful words her mother said to her?

“It meant that I could show off...in front of that woman.” Yep, called it.

Holy shit she’s becoming aware... “I forced them to stay.”

“I had faith that no one could split us apart.” So Tohru being involved was so Akito could show Ren that no one could interfere with her bond to the Zodiac. I hate saying that Ren was right, but... it’s true. And like the sad thing is, in this case, the bond SHOULD be severed, because it’s unhealthy for everyone involved, including Akito. But I relate to Akito here: I wouldn’t want my abuser to be proven ‘right’, either.

Ren is insane

I do appreciate the maids being kind to little Akito. It’s just an unfortunate situation. All of the wrong words in the wrong kind of environment, not knowing how much to support someone without supporting them TOO much to the point of enablement...

CH 118

Is Akito actually gonna kill Ren? I’m not opposed to that honestly.

HIRO

HE’S HOLDING HIS BABY SISTER!!!

DID HIS CURSE BREAK?!

YESSSS

That’s two Zodiacs down! oh my god it’s actually HAPPENING.

“No one ever gave me a different way to live!” I mean, Akito is not wrong. She’s justifying her actions, but at the same time, she has a point. Everyone around her allowed this. Like I said: at the end of the day, she’s responsible for her own actions and she needs to own up to them and not shift the blame to everyone except herself. Hold everyone else just as responsible, yes: but admit your own faults.

SHE JUST STABBED KURENO

JFC

Come on, Akito. You could’ve made a good decision right there, Kureno is willing to help you with the change. But unless you actively want to, nothing will happen.

Is Kureno actually going to die??? omg. This was the quick moment from the trailer with the knife, right? Holy shit.

“So then what? It’s MY fault?” YES. YES, it IS! It’s your mother’s, and Kureno’s, and Shigure’s and the Sohma’s too - but it is YOUR fault with how you continue to treat people.

“Where are they all going to go?” as she thinks of Tohru.

Oh god

oh fuck

Akito, I’m being more sympathetic to you, but if you hurt Tohru again, it’s OVER.

Kyoru!!

“Kyo-kun... there’s something... I need to tell you.” OH MY GOD HERE WE GO HERE SJFJSFJSFJSJFSJFSF

#fruits basket #fruits basket spoilers #fruits basket manga spoilers #fruits basket manga #liveblogging

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kelyon · 4 years ago

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Golden Rings 15: A Sheriff

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Emma steps in

Read on AO3

Emma Swan was having a craptastic day.

After ten years in a row of solo Valentine’s Days, she didn’t expect the holiday to still get to her. And yet it had.

Maybe it was Storybrooke, with cutesy paper hearts in the windows of almost every store on Main Street. Maybe it was her roommate Mary Margaret, who kept believing in True Love no matter how hard she was proven wrong. You’d think a woman sneaking around with a married man wouldn’t be such a romantic. But you’d be wrong.

Maybe it was Henry. Regina had put her foot down on them spending much time together, and it had been a few days since she’d seen him. For all the confusing feelings Emma had about Henry and about the thought of being his mother, she missed the kid. He was good company. He was a believer too, and he wanted her to join him in his delusion, the whole fairy tale thing. True Love’s Kiss and Happy Ever After and Good Triumphing Over Evil. Too bad he looked so much like the person who had put the nail in the coffin of her ever believing in True Love again.

That night was supposed to be girl’s night. Mary Margaret had called it “Galentine’s Day,” which was very Mary Margaret. Emma joined the group at the Rabbit Hole for an evening of forgetting about the men in their lives. Or the absence of men, as the case may be.

The good times had lasted about an hour, until Ashley’s boyfriend Sean showed up at the bar with a ring and a bended knee. Ashley said yes and they left together. After that Ruby drifted over to some rowdy college guys and Mary Margaret announced her desire to go home to the only men who would never let her down--Ben and Jerry.

Later, as she walked around town, Emma had seen David Nolan in the window of Dark Star Pharmacy. He’d had his back to the window, in front of the Valentine’s Day card display. He’d walked away with two pink cards, despite the fact that he only had one wife. She didn’t know whether to feel worse for Mary Margaret or for Kathryn Nolan.

In the end, this was yet another Valentine’s Day alone. Not just single, but without friends or family too. At least this year she had a job and a decent place to crash.

Emma had considered spending a quiet night at the station. It had been months since she’d been elected Sheriff, but she still hadn’t gotten a handle on all of Graham’s old files. There were a lot of them, and none of them were dated so it was almost impossible to get an idea of the timeline of criminal activity over the years.

But then she heard a woman shriek over by Granny’s Diner.

Sometimes Emma missed the days when she could stumble on a situation like this and then decide to turn around and walk the other way. A big part of surviving in all the various tight spots she’d been in was knowing when something was Not Your Business. Best way to get out of trouble was to never get into it in the first place.

But she was Sheriff now. Duly elected by the people of Storybrooke. As a public servant, public safety was Her Business.

“I can’t go with you!”

The woman’s voice shouted again and Emma picked up her pace. The woman sounded drunk and upset. The fact that the man talking to her sounded calm and sober did not ease Emma’s mind.

She turned the corner and saw Gold.

Landlord, loan shark, pawnbroker and power broker, he’d been at the top of Emma’s list of shady characters for a long time. The fact that he’d helped her get elected only made him more suspicious. A man like that didn’t do things without an ulterior motive and she already owed him a favor because of that thing with Ashley and Sean’s baby.

Gold had his hands out to a woman who was bent over and crying. Had he hit her? Was he about to?

Emma had never officially met Mrs. Gold, but she had seen her around town. She was usually dressed like she was now--big hair, high heels, clothes either too short or too tight or both. Graham had a stack of files on Mrs. Gold. People could be close-lipped about their landlord, but everyone had a wild story about his wife.

Nobody ever mentioned how young she was.

It was hard to tell with the heavy makeup and the heavier crying, but Mrs. Gold looked barely out of her teens. And Gold was easily in his fifties. Everyone talked about them like they’d been married for years. How old had she been when they’d gotten married?

Emma’s opinion of Gold went down another notch.

“Is everything alright?”

It was a pretty standard opening question for a cop. Part of Emma was still surprised to be asking it instead of hearing it. She put her hands on her hips to clearly display her badge.

“We’re fine.” Gold held up his hand. Like he could stop her from getting closer.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Emma said calmly as she pushed past him.

Mrs. Gold was bent over double, clutching her stomach. What the hell had he done to her? Squatting on her heels, Emma touched her on the shoulder.

“Mrs. Gold, are you okay?”

Drunk, red, teary eyes slowly tried to focus. Mrs. Gold’s mouth opened, but then she shook her head and started crying again.

“Sheriff, I appreciate your concern. As you can see, my wife has had too much to drink and I’m trying to get her home.”

Emma looked at Mrs. Gold. “Do you want to go home with him?”

This time, instead of shaking her head, Mrs. Gold closed her eyes and sank lower to the ground. Still balanced on her heels, she curled herself into a ball. Emma stood up and looked at Gold.

“That isn’t a yes.”

He rolled his eyes, which did not help his case. “Please, Miss Swan, this is a private matter.”

Emma made a show of scanning Main Street up and down. “Pretty sure it’s happening in public. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“I already did: Mrs. Gold had too much wine at dinner and now she’s throwing a fit. I’m trying to get her back to the house, where she won’t be a public nuisance any longer.” Gold’s consonants were clipped, and he spoke with a biting quickness. He was irritated.

Irritated. While his wife was crying in the street.

She crouched down again. “Have you been drinking, Mrs. Gold?” Obviously she had, but it was important to let the woman speak for herself. Gold had to know she wasn’t just going to take his word on what was going on.

“I had a bottle of wine,” Mrs. Gold’s voice wobbled. She was still crying. “And I didn’t eat dinner.”

“That’ll do it,” Emma nodded. She held out her hand. “You wanna try standing up? I can take you in the diner for some food, coffee.”

She shook her head. “I wanna roll in a ditch and stay there forever.” She broke down in a fresh wave of sobs that toppled her over and landed her butt-first on the sidewalk.

Emma winced and picked Mrs. Gold up. The woman clung to her as they stood, like an old cartoon of a drunk leaning on a lamppost.

“Thank you, Miss Swan,” Gold said smoothly. “Do you want to try to walk her to the parking lot or shall I bring the car around?”

Emma adjusted her grip on Mrs. Gold. She was light and tiny--helpless. “I haven’t determined that she wants to go home with you, Gold.”

He looked shocked, offended. “What difference does that make? The state she’s in, she doesn’t know what she wants.”

Is that the way you like her? Emma was smart enough to not voice her suspicions out loud. But she knew enough about Gold to know that nothing was beneath him. This woman wasn’t safe.

Gently extracting herself, Emma put her hands on Mrs. Gold’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Mrs. Gold, can you talk to me for a sec?”

Mrs. Gold put a hand up to her mouth and nodded.

“Can you give me a word?”

After a moment’s thought, Mrs. Gold closed her eyes and said, “Yeah.”

“Do you know that man standing behind us?”

This question was met with a glare, first at Emma, then at Gold. “Mr. Gold is supposed to be my husband,” she slurred. “He’s supposed to care about me.” She began to push against Emma’s grasp, shouting at Gold. “You’re supposed to love me, you bastard! I put up with so much shit for you!”

“Okay.” Emma cut off the drunken rant before it could build up steam. “Do you want to go home with him right now?”

“No.” Mrs. Gold was swaying on her feet, but she knew her own mind.

“Okay,” Emma nodded. “I won’t let that happen then.”

“Sheriff Swan, this is ridic--”

“She said no.” Emma spun around to face Gold. She didn’t yell at him. She didn’t have to. Sometimes doing the right thing was complicated and messy, but sometimes it was amazingly simple.

She left Gold standing in silence and turned back to Mrs. Gold. “Now, do you have somebody you can stay with tonight? Friends? Family?”

Mutely, Mrs. Gold shook her head.

“Do your parents live around here?”

Her face crumpled like a paper bag and she began to cry again.

“Okay.” Emma gave her a few awkward pats on the back. “It’s okay. We’ve all been there.” She’d certainly been there more times than she could count.

“As you can see,” Gold’s cane tapped on the sidewalk as he stepped closer, “my wife doesn’t have anyone in her life but me.”

And who’s fault is that? Emma wondered. Out loud all she said was, “Not while I’m around.”

“What, precisely, do you intend to do with her?”

“We’re going back to the station.” Emma helped Mrs. Gold get her arms into her coat and began to half-lead, half-carry her down the street. “Is it okay if I help you walk?”

Mrs. Gold nodded and took a few staggering steps on her own. If it weren’t so cold, Emma would have told her to take off the heels.

Gold followed behind them. “Sheriff! You can’t just run off with my wife!”

Emma looked over her shoulder at Gold. “Well, I could arrest her for public drunkenness. And I could arrest you for interfering in police business. I could get out the handcuffs and the tasers and the billy clubs, because you two are clearly a danger to the safety of the town.” Emma took a moment to let her words sink in.

The problem with being the only cop on duty was that she had to be both Good Cop and Bad Cop.

“Or,” she went on. “We could, all three of us, take a nice walk to the station. Maybe the night air will clear our heads. I sincerely hope Mrs. Gold finds a quiet place to throw up because the sooner she gets sober the better.” She started walking again and shouted back to Gold. “You can come with us or you can go to hell, but I’m not gonna drag both of you.”

****

Emma was able to get Mrs. Gold all the way to the station bathrooms before she threw up. Gold trailed behind them the whole way. Was he slow because of his cane or because he didn’t want to come? Either way, he was standing outside the women’s room when they emerged.

When she saw her husband, Mrs. Gold shrank back. But she didn’t start crying again.

“Office is through that door,” Emma pointed behind Gold’s shoulder. “Feel free to have a seat, we’re gonna go get some water.”

She took Mrs. Gold to the water cooler around the corner. The tank was made of glass, likely from the fifties or sixties. The whole station was outdated like that, a time capsule. Maybe that was why Graham had so many paper files. The budget didn’t have room for a computer made after 1983.

Mrs. Gold took quiet sips out of a paper cup. Her face was splotchy from emotion and booze. Mascara had smeared all over her red-rimmed eyes. She was staring into the middle distance, swaying like she was about to tip over.

“Hey, now that you’re inside, you should take off those heels.”

It seemed to take Mrs. Gold a minute to register what Emma had said. Slowly, she nodded and stepped out of her shoes. Now she looked even smaller, even younger, even more vulnerable.

Everyone she’d talked to about Mrs. Gold acted like she was worse than her husband. That she was loud and lewd--shocking in how boldly she flaunted their sex life, whether people wanted to hear about it or not. Emma had gotten the impression that she was some kind of accomplice, an equal partner in a two-person reign of terror.

But that wasn’t what she saw in front of her. True, appearances could be deceiving. But if Emma had to guess which version of Mrs. Gold was an act, she’d put her money on it being the heartless, hypersexed, trophy wife. Not the pathetic lightweight shaking like a leaf the middle of in a police station.

She had to get to the bottom of this.

“How are you holding up?”

Mrs. Gold took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “Been better,” she croaked out after a minute. “Been worse, too.”

“Scale of one to ten where one is the best and ten is the worst?”

“Eight,” she said after thinking about it. “Maybe nine.”

“What’s a ten?” Emma asked, genuinely curious. If getting so drunk she fought with her husband in public and got the attention of the cops and then threw up in front of a total stranger wasn’t the worst night of Mrs. Gold’s life, then what was?

But Mrs. Gold just shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah,” Emma backed off. As much as she wanted to get the full story on this woman, there were more important things to deal with right now. “Let’s get back to my office.”

Gold was standing by one of the desks in the bullpen, reading the paperwork some idiot officer had left out in the open. When they came in, he opened his mouth to speak, but Emma hurried Mrs. Gold into the office and shut the door.

“Do you want me to make him go away?” she said before she sat down.

“How?” Mrs. Gold’s voice was thick. “No one can make Mr. Gold do anything. He can do whatever he wants.”

“Can’t be that hard. I’ll just kick him the knee.”

To her surprise, Mrs. Gold snorted at the joke. “Ankle,” she corrected. “It’s his ankle that gives him trouble.”

“Good to know, next time we get in a fistfight.” She looked Mrs. Gold in the eye. “But seriously. Would you feel more comfortable if he was somewhere else?”

Mrs. Gold shook her head. “I’d only feel more comfortable if I was somewhere else.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach and sank into the chair across from the desk.

Opening a drawer in the desk, Emma pulled out a box of Kleenex. She also grabbed some of the protein bars she stored in the office for lunches. And, out of the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, she got the big stuffed Officer Teddy that they gave to kids when they were in crisis. Mrs. Gold was not a kid, but by God she looked like she needed a teddy bear.

Emma set everything on the chair beside Mrs. Gold. She didn’t take anything but a tissue.

“Do you mind talking about what happened tonight?”

“I should get a lawyer,” Mrs. Gold whispered. Then she cracked a miserable smile. “But Mr. Gold is my lawyer!” She pressed the Kleenex to her eyes and sobbed.

“Hey,” Emma tried her best soft voice. “It’s okay, Mrs.-- Hang on, what’s your first name?”

Mrs. Gold looked up, suddenly suspicious. “Am I under arrest?”

“No,” Emma said quickly. “It’s just weird to say ‘Mrs. Gold’ all the time, like you’re my third-grade math teacher.”

“Well, get used to it, Miss Swan.” She sniffed and straightened up. “I work damn hard to be Mrs. Gold, and I’m not going to be called anything else.”

Walking behind Graham’s desk--her desk--Emma leaned back in the rolling chair. “Is it always work? Being married to him, I mean.”

“Didn’t used to be,” she said quietly. “It was always a challenge, but it used to be fun, you know?”

“Not really,” Emma admitted. “I’m not big on commitment.”

“He used to be wonderful.” There was a misty light in her eyes now. “Especially when I was good, when he was happy with me. He could be so inventive and dedicated.” She sighed. “Mr. Gold could do things to me I didn’t even know I wanted.”

“But only when you were good?”

The rumor mill had plenty of stories of Mrs. Gold proudly walking around town with bruises and burns. Apparently no Valentine’s Day was complete without her stocking up on rope and duct tape. Was that for when she was good or when she was bad?

Mrs. Gold shrugged and looked away. “I don’t expect you to understand how Mr. Gold and I are together.”

“I understand BDSM,” Emma said evenly.

Mrs. Gold looked at her, with a blank confusion that didn’t come just from being drunk. She didn’t say anything, so Emma went on.

“That’s what it is, right? Sado-masochism? Dominance and submission? Bondage?”

A blink. “What?”

Emma put her feet up on the desk, trying to look cooler than she felt. It was weird to talk about this stuff in an otherwise normal environment while she was on the clock. But apparently the Golds got a thrill out of shocking vanilla people. So she’d better not act shocked.

“Not everybody’s from Storybrooke, Mrs. Gold.”

She slumped forward. “I didn’t realize there was a name for it. Do a lot of other people do this stuff?”

Emma’s attempt not to be shocked didn’t last long. She sat up in the chair, took her feet off the desk. “You didn’t know? Wait, are you two not a part of a community?”

“What do you mean?”

Yeah, that made sense. Gold was one of those doms. Self-titled, self-taught, probably got kicked out of any reasonable BDSM group he tried to get into. Predatory. His current wife was young, maybe curious about kink, and he’d been oh-so-happy to be the only teacher she had. He’d trained her to trust him, to rely on him completely, so he could abuse her any sick way he wanted to. He probably told her it was all okay because they were kinky. That living in fear was what the lifestyle was all about.

Son of a bitch.

Mrs. Gold looked over her shoulder through the windows that looked out at the bullpen. Gold was still standing there, leaning on his cane. Waiting.

Emma clenched her jaw. “There’s… a lot… I want to talk to you about, Mrs. Gold. But right now the most important thing is making sure you’re safe.”

She shook her head. “I’m safe.”

“Earlier you said you didn’t want to go home with him.”

“I was drunk,” she shrugged. “I was upset. I made Mr. Gold angry and I was afraid to face the consequences.”

“Are you afraid of him a lot?”

“No-o.” Mrs. Gold looked down at the tissue in her hands. “Not a lot.”

Emma pressed in. “When was the last time you were afraid of your husband?”

Defiance flashed in her eyes, but then disappeared. Mrs. Gold hung her head. “Last night,” she whispered. “I did something really bad and I thought he was going to hurt me. Like, really hurt me, you know?”

“More than just a spanking, huh?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “But he didn’t! That has to count for something, right?”

Emma closed her eyes so Mrs. Gold couldn’t see her rolling them. “Maybe something, but not much.” She took a deep breath. “I’m gonna ask you a question, and I want you to think for a second before you answer it: Do you think your husband respects you?”

“No, of course not.” Apparently she didn’t need to think about it. “I’m just a stupid whore, Sheriff. Why would Mr. Gold respect a trashy slut like me?”

“Because you’re a person!” Emma shouted and Mrs. Gold winced. From the other side of the glass, Gold looked up.

She balled her fists, trying to keep her anger from getting the better of her. Emma liked action. If there was a problem, she wanted to do something about it. If the thing to do involved punching a violent predator, then that was even better.

But she couldn’t do that now. Cursing Gold out about the meaning of the words “safe, sane and consensual” would make Emma feel better, but it wouldn’t help Mrs. Gold. Right now, the most important thing was giving this girl the mental tools to protect herself. Or at least let her know that she was in danger.

“Mrs. Gold,” Emma said after a minute. “It’s important to me that you understand some things. I don’t know what your husband may have told you, but I want you to trust that I’m telling you the truth. Can you do that? Can you trust me?”

Mrs. Gold swallowed. “What are you going to tell me?”

“Just that… you and your husband are not the only people in the world who like doing stuff that other people might think of as unconventional. There are a lot of people who like, say, mixing pain and sex. Or pretending to be roles that they aren’t.” She hesitated before she admitted something personal: “I was with a guy who told me he never felt safer than when he tied himself up with rope.”

It had meant a lot to Emma, the first time he’d asked her to tie his hands behind his back. He’d told her he trusted her, and she had trusted him--right until it had all fallen apart.

“Are you serious?” Mrs. Gold’s brow was furrowed. “There are other people like us?”

“Yep,” Emma nodded. “More than most people think. In fact, there are enough people like this that they can get together and talk about it. They talk about this stuff so much that there are rules that a lot of these people agree on.”

“What kind of rules?”

For a second, Emma didn’t know where to start. As much as she was talking, her real experiences with kinksters was very limited. Even in the best circumstances, she wasn’t one for clubs or social groups. Nothing with the promise of a community or lasting relationships--that wasn’t her style. One-on-one was better. Emma liked semi-anonymous one night stands. No strings, just rope.

But that wasn’t what most people wanted, and it definitely wasn’t what Mrs. Gold needed.

“Consent is a pretty big rule for most communities. Making sure that a person isn’t put in a situation they didn’t agree to. So communication is important too. The person being done to has to say what they want and the person doing the thing has to say what they’re planning on doing--and they both have to agree. Am I making sense so far?”

“So it’s like a deal?”

“Yep,” Emma said, glad that something was clicking with Mrs. Gold. “Negotiation is a big part of it.”

“I already made my deal with Mr. Gold.”

“Well, it’s not something you only talk about once.” She lowered her voice. “Does your husband talk to you before you do a scene?”

“A ‘scene’?”

No surprise that Mrs. Gold didn’t know even basic vocabulary.

“Yeah, before sex or play or punishment--whatever it is you do when he has power over you.”

“Mr. Gold always has power over me. He can fuck me whenever he wants to. That’s the deal.”

Emma frowned. “Does he get to hurt you whenever he wants to?”

“He can,” Mrs. Gold admitted with perfect calm. “He can do anything to me, or make me do anything. And that’s consensual. I agreed to it when I married him.”

“Does it ever stop? Do you ever have, like, a time out? A rest period? Or are you guys always… in that zone?”

Mrs. Gold looked away. There hadn’t been a trace of embarrassment during the rest of the conversation, but now she looked ashamed.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s… It’s been a while since we’ve actually done anything.”

Interesting. “And whose decision was that?”

“Oh, Mr Gold’s. I’ve offered tons of times, but he hasn’t touched me in months.”

“So he decides when you don’t have sex as well as when you do?”

“I guess.”

“Was that a part of your deal?”

She shifted in her seat. “I never thought it was a possibility that he wouldn’t want to do things to me.”

“But you really like it? You think he’s a good partner?”

Mrs. Gold’s blue eyes looked up at Emma. Every fiber of her being radiated sincerity. “The best.”

“Wanna tell me how you feel about not having sex for months?”

She looked away. “I hate it.”

“Have you told him that?”

“No!” she almost laughed. “I was starting to tonight, but it didn’t work out for me.”

Emma didn’t laugh. She rested her arms on the desk and leaned in to look Mrs. Gold in the eye. “Listen, I’m not a marriage counselor. I’m not an expert in kink. I’m a sheriff. There is clearly a lot broken with your relationship, but I’m not going to be able to solve any of it. No one will be able to fix you guys unless you’re both willing to admit that there’s a problem and work towards a solution.”

Mrs. Gold looked down. “We never had problems before.”

“No, you did. But it sounds like Gold was really good at making you think they weren’t problems. Point is, there’s only so much I can do from a law-enforcement standpoint. I can arrest your husband--but only if you’re willing to press charges and make a statement about any past mistreatment.”

“Wait, who said anything about arresting Mr. Gold?”

“I’m just trying to think of a way to keep you safe. It’s my opinion that the easiest way to do that right now is to keep you separated from your husband. Now, you said you don’t have anyone you can stay with. If you want, I can pay for you to get a room at Granny’s.”

“I don’t need your fucking charity!” Mrs. Gold spat out the last word.

“Okay,” Emma went on. “My other option is to keep you here in the station overnight. You admitted to being drunk, I can give you a safe place to dry out.”

“But you also want to make up some charge to put Mr. Gold in jail?” Her voice rose as she spoke. “That’s ridiculous! If those are the choices, then yes, by all fucking means, arrest me instead of him!”

This was wrong. Emma knew that it was wrong. Putting Mrs. Gold in the holding cell would be a completely a bass-ackward perversion of justice.

But she was damned if she could think of a single other way to fix this.

If Mrs. Gold insisted on blaming herself, if she wasn’t going to press charges against her husband, if she didn’t even see that she was being abused--then nothing Emma did or said would change her mind. If Emma forced the issue, then she would be telling Mrs. Gold what to do instead of letting her actually make a choice. And if Mrs. Gold was ever going to be able to break out of her situation, it had to be her choice.

“Do you wanna put me in handcuffs? It wouldn’t be the first time!”

The transformation was so fast Emma almost didn’t recognize that it was the same person speaking. So this was the version of Mrs. Gold that everyone had a story about. The version of Mrs. Gold that was in Graham’s file. Sparkling voice, chipper smile. She was even posed with her legs splayed open like a pin-up model.

Emma sighed.

“It doesn’t have to be this way. Remember that. You don’t have to throw yourself under the bus for him. And you don’t have to do things you don’t want to do.”

“It’s really cute that you think that, Sheriff!” Mrs Gold stood up and stepped back into her shoes. She dropped the crumpled Kleenex on the floor and kicked it out of the way with her shiny black heels.

She didn’t stagger or wobble as she opened the door to the office, but she did stop in her tracks when she saw Gold. Emma was close enough that she could hear her swallow.

Taking a strange kind of mercy on the girl, Emma pushed in front of her to talk to Gold herself.

“I’m keeping Mrs. Gold in the holding cell overnight, just until her blood alcohol level goes down a bit.”

“That’s not going to happen, Sheriff.”

He didn’t move any closer, he didn’t try to reach for Mrs. Gold. He stood very still, with both hands on his cane in front of him. Emma narrowed her eyes.

“Are you going to try to stop me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said smoothly. “But I couldn’t help overhearing the end of your conversation. Mrs. Gold offered to have herself put under arrest. Allow me to make a counter-offer.”

“She doesn’t want to go home with you.”

“I know,” he said. “So my offer is that I stay in the station tonight.” He looked over his shoulder at the jail cell behind him. “Assuming, of course, that you make sure Mrs. Gold gets back safely to the house.”

This was ridiculous. Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you confessing to a crime, Gold?”

“Quite the opposite.” Bastard had the audacity to grin. “I’m hoping this act will prove my innocence.”

Emma clenched her jaw. He was full of shit, but how could she prove it? Gold was giving her exactly what she wanted. There had to be a catch.

“Is this your favor?” she asked. “Are you calling in what I owe you for Ashley’s baby?”

He gave a little shake of the head. “What this is, Miss Swan, is the right thing to do.”

“Why?” Mrs. Gold’s voice pierced through the quiet station. When Emma turned around, she saw she was crying again. “Why would you do this for me?”

Gold’s expression softened. To Emma’s surprise, she actually believed that he was capable of feeling sorry. Either he was very good, or there was more to him than she’d thought.

“Like I said, Mrs. Gold, it’s the right thing to do.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. He set them on the nearest desk. “You didn’t bring your purse to dinner. You’ll need a key to get back in the house.”

Mrs. Gold just stood there, confused and stunned. Emma stepped forward to take the keys and give them to Mrs. Gold.

“I’ll drop you off,” she told her. “It looks like the car key is on here, but you’re still in no state to drive.”

Nodding slowly, Mrs. Gold looked at the keys in her hand. Then she looked up at her husband. “I’ll give these back to you tomorrow.”

“That’s fine,” he agreed. He shifted his gaze to Emma and smirked. “Assuming I’ll be a free man tomorrow?”

Emma rolled her eyes and began to usher Gold backwards to the cell. “Since I’m not actually booking you for anything, sure.” Once he was inside, she shut the door. “I swear, if this whole thing has been some kind of kinky game--”

“It’s not, Sheriff,” Gold said calmly. “The wellbeing of my wife is the most serious matter in the world.”

“Uh-huh.” Emma locked him in. “You’re gonna have to work harder on that.”

#golden rings #rumbelle fic #rumbelle fanfiction #rumbelle

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ged-the-winged · 3 years ago

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OKAY THEY BLADERUNNER AU GO

spoilers for dgs2 of course

Quick clarification: I never saw BR2049; motifs from that film is taken from the wiki. I'm mainly going on with BR 1989 and the original novel

So let me talk about replicant Holmes!!! Because, feelings and human character cultivated from memories and Holmes's penchant of forgetting??? THIS is some good food

He doesn't have artificial memories, he always forgets on a whim of his own, so he is one of a kind that is created as a Nexus 8 model but can pass the baseline test for Nexsus 9. This lack of memories and feelings, this absence of human nature is what the society expects from replicants, and this-as well as his extraordinary genius-is what kept him alive during the mass termination of Nexus 8 models.

This all happened because Stronghart is trying to pass a law to eradicate all Nexus 8 replicants. Currently, Nexus 8s are retired only when they are proved to be guilty-Stronghart is using the public anti-replicant opinion to rise in power and change the tide in this favor.

In this world, blade runners(Van Zieks and Gregson here) work in replicant related cases in two ways; first is as an investigator to track after the guilty and see if they are human or a replicant, and the latter is as the judge and executor to those in fault. Insert Professor case and the Reaper here etc etc

Now as for Holmes and Mikotoba

They meet as a private detective and a replicant design specialist. Mikotoba is the first to look through Holmes's difference.

Have you forgotten? I never have imagined that a being as outstanding as you would so easily forget.

I am a replicant. Having the same rights as humans until proven wrong doesn't mean that I have to be like them.

Every moment slips past Holmes. His tremendous intellect allows him to make up for his forget, and even lets him take the higher ground of being free from habit and social convention, solving crimes and problems of the half abandoned city for years.

Alone had he chased criminals, leftover from blade runners and the like, those who are proven to be human and doesn't get enough attention from scant government authority, for such a long time that he was surprised when he deduced that this man next to him has been here for months. In his own reasoning, this stranger would have no need to be with someone that doesn't even remember his existence for so long. So Holmes asks.

Why don't you forget me?

I had a doubt;what kind of man would you become when you remember.

Mikotoba lost his family here too. Holmes's time flowing past him may have reminded him of the time with his lost one. Or maybe it is but a simple curiosity. Or an empathy, as he unconsciously realize that he too is loving the world so much that he can't stand to hold it dear and live his own life.

The reason doesn't matter. What matters is that Mikotoba told Holmes. And now Holmes can't forget that one moment.

I want to see replicant Holmes that gains humanity by remembering through Mikotoba

and for Mikotoba to learn Holmes's joy even while living in a drift

For Mikotoba to not raise an animal(electric or real) because yes, he is just visiting a while but truly because he doesn't need to confirm his humanity and the fact that he is alive through his love towards animals and empathy

But listen, the obsession towards animals that the society drives toward is not the essence itself, but a social struggle to prove that essence;that I am a human existing, surviving in this wretched world that contributes and dominates this rare persistence; forcing a sense of belonging by this huge misconception,

BUT

THEY

don't need this device to know that they are alive, they change because of each other, they now know by themselves that they can influence other people, THEY, because of each other, exist as an individual!!!!!!!

In this world where silence runs down walls and everything is dying, where everything is deteriorating such that nothing new can be made, where everything suffocates in accumulating kipple,

They live,

Love and understanding didn't need artificial delusions like mood organs ans such

i am screaming

#the great ace attorney spoilers #the great ace attorney #dai gyakuten saiban #dgs spoilers #spoilers #dgs sherlock holmes #blade runner au #THEY #do I have enough spoiler tags?#ok #homumiko #I have more ideas for the professor case and such as well as ideas for those three kids but #this is a homumiko post so!#mikotoba yuujin #and yes this is about that art in my sketch dump somewhere

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your-toxic-trait · 4 years ago

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I just want to be loved;

I wake up with no one to be happy that I’m awake

I go to sleep without a goodnight or be safe

Not a single I’m happy you woke up to see an other day

Or you went to sleep alive an other night

Sometimes I don’t even know how I survive

The toxins in my brain start to intertwine

And cause delusions of grandeur every single time

I’m not afraid to die

Im afraid to never live and it doesn’t matter how much work or effort I put in I still end up alone

I just want to be loved

That unconditional love from a very special person

I thought I had it once, but was proven wrong so now here I am…. Searching

I don’t even need someone to fix me

Just be here while I fix myself

I just want to be loved so I can feel something else

I’ve noticed I need something to give me purpose

Without a purpose I feel worthless

I’m lower than the gum stuck under your shoe

With out love I’m useless and don’t know what to do

A hug, a kiss, the touch of a hand would spark something new

I just want somebody and I don’t even know how to ask you

I’m so naïve and gullible I’d probably believe you

That’s how I always get my heart broken

I’m chocking inside of a room with four walls, sleepless every single night hoping a call, or a text may come through

But it never does so I toss and turn until I find some kind of peace to achieve sleep.

I just want to be loved

Is that really to much?

#depressing post #sad poem #original poem #my poem #short poem #sad boi hours #sad aesthetic #sad thoughts

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darkblueboxs · 4 years ago

Text

Where the Night Takes Us

Mafia & Hitman AU, Inspired by butcher!Andrew discussions on Twitter

Sequel to Blood Beneath your Fingernails (But can be read as a stand-alone)

Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 for content warnings)

Nathaniel Wesninski – or Neil Josten, according to the forged papers Andrew procured for him - was more trouble than he was worth.

This was the mantra Andrew repeated to himself as he stalked across his study to where Neil waited for him, slouched on his couch with a false nonchalance that said, I’m sitting like this by choice, and not because I’ve lost too much blood to keep myself upright. He flinched as Andrew approached, but stilled when Andrew seized his chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning Neil’s face from side to side to inspect the damage. It was as though Andrew’s touch melted something stiff and glacial in Neil’s core, and he visibly softened, reassured by Andrew’s protective grip.

Neil showed none of the fear or anger one might expect from someone Andrew had recently pulled, unconscious, from a car full of bullets and corpses.

The kidnapping had been clumsily planned and clumsily executed; it had been child’s play to track the gleaming black Lexus as it roared north out of the city, likely headed to a convenient dumping ground in the wilderness. Wrecking such a nice car had prompted more regret from Andrew than any murder ever had.

The car was quiet in the ditch it had rolled to a stop in, although a bloody handprint glowed on the rear window. Having confirmed that Neil was alive and largely in one piece, Andrew neatly disposed of two of the three kidnappers with a knife drawn swiftly across their throats. The blood spilled hot and heavy over his fingers as he worked, but the faint twitches and jerks the assailants gave as they bled out on the leather upholstery ultimately left him unsatisfied. Andrew wasn’t used to feeling much of anything in the wake of a kill, but the adrenaline of the chase mixed with the dark fury that came from the knowledge that they had laid hands on something of his simmered uncomfortably beneath his skin like an itch in need of scratching.

Leaving the third kidnapper alive was more… challenging than Andrew had expected. The sight of blood oozing from the criss-crossing slits carved into Neil’s skin drew something primal to the surface of Andrew’s mind, something that threated to spill over him and wash away the neat suits and refined tastes and cool, calm efficiency of his methods. Andrew didn’t want the man dead; he wanted him destroyed. It was a dangerous path from which there was no return, but the strain of hauling himself back from it left his hands shaking as he carried Neil back to the Maserati. The blood would be removed from the seats easily enough, although Andrew would remember the shape and distribution of the bloodstains with pin-point precision until the day he died.

And, back in the safety of Andrew’s study, Andrew had Neil’s blood on his hands for the second time that night. He removed his hand from Neil’s chin before the congealed stains could stick them together, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together. The familiar heat of Neil’s blood seeped into his callouses as he contemplated the damage. “Care to explain why the Moriyamas are after you?”

Neil smiled. His face split itself open all over again. “I suppose they don’t like the look of me.”

“Understandable,” Andrew agreed, “But wrong. You should know better than to lie to me by now, Abram.” The sound of his given name was enough to dent Neil’s smile. It was his father’s smile, and for that reason Andrew detested above all else the heat it bit through his gut.

“How did you find me?” Neil said, as though he honestly believed Andrew would be so easily distracted. Andrew indulged only because letting Neil believe he had the upper hand occasionally was entertaining, and dissuaded him from seeking out a real victory. Andrew leaned in, knee dipping into the sofa cushions as he slipped a hand under the lapel of Neil’s jacket. Neil held his gaze as Andrew’s fingers worked their way across his chest. He could feel warmth radiating through the thin fabric of Neil’s shirt, but refused to let it distract him from his mission. He found the miniscule disk sewn into the lining of Neil’s suit jacket and yanked it free without regard for the seams and stitching he tore along the way.

He held the tracker up for Neil’s inspection. It could be mistaken for a button if one didn’t know what they were looking for. “If you were better at keeping your phone on you, this wouldn’t be necessary.”

“And here I was, thinking you bought me this suit because you wanted to treat me.” Neil crossed his legs, and barely twitched at whatever pain the movement must have caused him. “Or because you thought I’d look good in it.”

“Making you fit to be seen in public with me was a welcome side-effect.” Andrew dropped the tracker into Neil’s lap. “Keep your phone with you.”

“Why bother? The tracker has proven itself.”

“The tracker can’t text me back,” Andrew snarled. “Now, circling back to this.” He punctuated the sentence with a jab to one of the thin slits running the length of Neil’s cheekbone, “Shall I get my answers from you, or from the man chained up downstairs?”

Neil’s eyebrows twitched, as close to surprise as his face would admit. “You took one of them alive.”

“I had a feeling my other captive would be reticent with information.”

Neil snapped forwards with an agility that the night’s events should have denied him, crowding into Andrew’s space. “I’m not your captive.”

“True.” Andrew didn’t blink as Neil’s face eclipsed his field of vision. His eyes were as electric a blue as the day they met, raising the hairs on Andrew’s arms with the efficiency of a static shock. “You could walk out of those doors right now and never look back. Your father’s men would tear you to shreds, and I would be free to enjoy my whiskey in peace.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Why not? We both know you won’t.”

Neil was the first to blink. “The Moriyamas think I should have gone to them after my father’s death. Apparently, I’m quite a valuable asset.”

Andrew hummed. “Does that make me the lesser of two evils?”

Neil snorted. “You think highly of yourself. I’ve lived with evil. You go through the motions to keep up appearances, but you have no real interest in the business of evil. You don’t live the life you live because you enjoy it. You don’t enjoy anything but expensive suits and fast cars.”

Two out of three wasn’t bad, but Andrew wouldn’t admit it. Neil’s assumptions had opened a far more interesting line of enquiry. “And why do you do the things you do, Neil? You’re hardly an angel yourself.” Andrew slipped two fingers under the hem of Neil’s sleeve to check that the knives he had lent him were still securely sheathed in his armbands. His fingers flickered across warm metal and came away damp. This time, Andrew doubted that it was Neil’s blood. “You should really clean them before you put them away.”

“I was in a hurry,” Neil muttered.

“No more evading. You have hit your limit for evasiveness for tonight.” Andrew slipped a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his hands. He offered it to Neil, who scrubbed it half-heartedly across his jaw. “Do you kill because you have to? To keep up appearances? Or because, like your father before you, you enjoy watching a man bleed out on the end of your blade?”

Neil flinched. Silence hung heavy in the air as he handed Andrew his handkerchief back. Andrew rolled his eyes, held Neil’s head in place as he wiped away the streaks of dried blood Neil had missed. Neil tracked the movement of his hands as though trying to connect the careful movements to the man before him. He tilted his head to the side to grant Andrew access to the vulnerable underside of his jaw, and Andrew felt the muscles of Neil’s throat flex as he swallowed.

“I don’t know,” Neil answered quietly. “I don’t want to be like him, but I feel… I feel something of my father in me. His temper.” He swallowed again. “The henchman said that once he was finished with me, he would come back here and do worse things to you unless I stopped fighting back. I wanted to… I don’t know what I wanted to do, but I wanted to do it.” Neil’s eyes flicked to Andrew, heavy and unreadable. “I’m not losing you.”

Four simple words, but Neil didn’t know, couldn’t know, the effect they had. Andrew clenched his jaw, schooling his expression into something along the lines of his usual blankness before Neil could read too much into it. Andrew protected Neil, as was their arrangement. The last thing he needed was his fool of a runaway getting delusions of heroism.

“Would you like to find out?” Andrew’s question ploughed a furrow into Neil’s brow, so he elaborated. “Would you like to find out what you wanted to do to him?”

Neil’s eyes fixed on Andrew’s mouth as though Andrew had offered him eternal life, or perhaps eternal damnation. “Yes.”

Andrew lead and Neil followed as they made their way down to what Andrew privately called his workshop. It was a small building with insulated walls, separate from the main house, easily mistaken for a garage, and it was labelled as such on planning permission forms. Andrew didn’t often have cause to bring his work home with him, preferring to dispatch with his enemies as neatly and quickly as possible, but sometimes circumstances demanded a little more time with the kind of tools that weren’t easily transported to and from a potential crime scene. This was where Andrew brought victims in possession of information that they would not easily part with. Until today, Neil had never stepped foot within the workshop.

He was not the man Andrew had first believed him to be, that much was certain. Nor the second, third, or even forth. Looking at Neil was like staring into a maze of mirrors, impossible to discern which images were reflections and distortions and which was the real person concealed within the labyrinth. Their first meeting had been a headlong sprint into reflective glass, leaving Andrew bruised, disorientated, but itching for a fight. At first, Neil had been the suave inheritor of his father’s fortunes, a mini-butcher in the making. Then he had been the scarred victim of his father’s violent tendencies, trapped and desperate for escape. Then he had drawn his knife and pressed it to Andrew’s throat with all the ease of breathing, and the reflection shimmered and distorted itself all over again. Andrew had taken Neil on in the vain hope that he would reach the end of Neil’s maze or lose interest, yet neither event had yet occurred. No, the more Andrew learned, the more interesting Neil was, and while he remained as dangerous as the day they met, it was now for entirely different reasons.

Tonight, Andrew suspected, they would crack through another layer of glass.

He keyed his twenty-digit code into the keypad – Neil rolled his eyes – and flicked the lights on before tugging the door shut behind them, checking for the usual clunks of numerous locking mechanisms sliding back into place.

Most men in Andrew’s line of work would have guards, lackeys, minions – whatever one wanted to call them. Andrew personally found that the issue with hired muscle was simply that – it was hired. What could sway a guard to work for Andrew could just as easily sway them to work for anyone else. If Andrew was to be double-crossed, he would rather it was by his own blood, however expanded his definition of his blood might be. The workshop, despite and apart from his captive, was thus unoccupied.

The man was where Andrew had left him, which was to be expected, considering the numerous restraints holding him there. Andrew hadn’t genuinely expected him to know anything of interest, but there was a slim chance that Neil would have no earthly idea why the Moriyamas were after him, at which point a surviving kidnapper would be of help in filling in the gaps. Unluckily for the man, whose name Andrew would never learn, he had outlived his worth.

Neil showed little interest in their prisoner. He touched one of the carving knives hanging on the wall, flinching as it clanged against the neighbouring blades.

“Show me his face,” Neil said quietly. Andrew obliged, tugging the gag and blindfold down around the man’s neck in turn. He screwed up his eyes against the sudden light, sweat beading on his forehead despite the room’s chill.

“I have information,” he panted. “Valuable information.”

“Don’t care.” Andrew ran a hand across his cuffs, checking they were sturdy and untampered with. “Neil?”

“Yeah,” Neil said, and Andrew stepped back when he saw the axe swinging at his side.

As much disdain Andrew held for the others in his chosen profession, the irrefutable fact was that Andrew had a type. Neil, armed to the teeth as though he could be any more of a hazard than he already was, sharp smile and sharp weapons and sharp tongue, was Andrew’s type. Andrew wasn’t sure what he wanted Neil to do to him, and whether the axe should be involved, but he knew he wanted something.

Neil Josten was, undeniably, more trouble than he was worth.

“Hey,” Neil crouched before the captive. “Remember me?”

The man was stupid enough to nod.

“I never liked axes.” Neil tossed it from hand to hand like a running baton. “My father’s thing, really. You know, he threatened to hobble me with one of these? Nearly slit my ankles once, too. Figured I’d be less trouble if I couldn’t run.” Neil levelled the sharp end at the man’s head. “I can’t say I understood the weapon’s appeal. Blunt, imprecise, unwieldy. But that was the point, wasn’t it?”

The man’s head twitched in aborted movements, as though unable to decide whether he should be nodding his head or shaking it.

Neil pressed the edge to the same place his own face had been sliced open. A trickle of red wobbled down the man’s cheek before dripping onto his shirt. The stain blossomed on the white fabric like a miniature gunshot wound. The man quaked.

Neil abruptly raised the axe, inspected the thin sheen of red on the blade, and tossed it aside. He straightened to meet Andrew’s gaze.

“That’s what I wanted to do.”

“All out of your system?”

Neil smiled thinly. “It seems I am not my father after all.”

Andrew smoothed a thumb across the cut healing on Neil’s cheek. “I’m going to kill him, now.”

An unsteady breath shook itself from Neil’s lungs as he nodded. He had a particular way of looking at Andrew when he was working, gaze intent and pupils dilated, as though Andrew’s actions were poetry written for him alone. Andrew’s principles of detachment were never closer to shredded than when Neil looked at him like that.

Driving them home, Neil on the backseat and the kidnapper in the trunk, Andrew had played out this moment in his mind. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened to chase the endless trembling from his fingers, which twitched with impatience in aborted movements towards the knives secreted in the folds of his suit. The anticipation sliced through his veins with the efficiency of molten iron, hot and furious and growing stronger with every glance Andrew caught of Neil’s form in the rear-view mirror. He had curled in on himself in his unconscious state, hair ruffled and sticking up in every direction at once, dark eyelashes standing out against his copper skin. His features were smoothed out in sleep, his brow freed of its usual pinched worry, and were it not for the blood streaking down his cheeks Andrew would have said he looked far younger for it.

Before that night, Andrew had not believed he had a truly vengeful bone in his body. He did not cause pain for the sake of pain; he caused it as a warning, a deterrent, a statement, an affirmation of his place in the world and the consequences that would meet anyone who wished to remove him from it. Andrew had left his statement for the Moriyamas in a Lexus filled with dead men, but he wanted more. He wanted to hack and tear and slice until there was nothing left. He wanted to remove every finger that had dared touch Neil one after the other and work his way inwards until there was nothing left of the surviving kidnapper that wouldn’t fit in a matchbox.

That Neil made Andrew want to do these things – that Neil made Andrew want at all – brought with it a kind of fear that Andrew had long believed was dead and gone, buried under years of betrayal and pain and loss. Wanting was as strange an ache as he remembered it being, more so when the object and instigator of that want was standing before him, looking at him as though Andrew could hack a thousand men to pieces before his eyes without prompting so much as a flinch.

Andrew wanted the man ruined, but he wanted Neil more. He promised Neil his protection, and he could not protect Neil if he became the kind of man both of them would rather forget. The kind of man who revelled in losing control.

Andrew killed the man. He died quickly, quietly, unremarkably. It wasn’t what he deserved – it never was, with his kind – but he owed Neil that much.

After, Andrew washed the blood from his hands, stilling as Neil chased a stray fleck from his clavicle with the pad of his index finger. Neil used the point of contact to turn Andrew to face him, allowing him access to refasten the top buttons of Andrew’s shirt. In the chaos of losing Neil and finding him again, Andrew couldn’t rightly say when they had come undone. Neil’s knuckles brushed Andrew’s neck as he did so, and Andrew repressed a shiver, remembering the day Neil pressed a knife to the same spot.

“I can help clean up,” Neil murmured, casting a sideways glance to the mess behind them. Andrew rolled his eyes as he tugged Neil’s lapel back into place. It was the same suit he had been taken in, and it showed, scuffed and rumpled and sporting several loose threads and dried bloodstains. Andrew would have a new one hanging in Neil’s wardrobe before sunrise, although Neil certainly wouldn’t appreciate it.

Andrew flicked a wayward tuft of Neil’s curls from his forehead with a roll of his eyes. “Worry about cleaning yourself up. You’re a mess.”

Neil shot him a flat look, but left to do as he was told. It wasn’t long before Andrew followed him back to the main house, checking his clothes as he went for stray flecks of red, knowing he would find none. The night air was cool after the stuffy, stale workshop, which was now choked with the thick odours of cleaning chemicals. The light in Neil’s room was still on, and Andrew squinted up at the tell-tale twitch of curtains that told him his return had been awaited.

Andrew took his time, holding a cigarette between his lips until the smoke drowned out the lingering smell of disinfectant. He knew from the tingle on the back of his neck that he was still being watched, but knowing it was Neil did something warm and pleasant to Andrew’s stomach, something that nipped. Andrew was particular about the kinds of attention he did and didn’t welcome and found that Neil’s faceless vigil was one which he, in fact, did. He pursed his lips around the cigarette, rolling his shoulders as he looked back up to the house, keeping his stance loose and relaxed as though he were returning from an evening stroll instead of a crime scene.

He waited Neil out, listening to the quiet chirp and rustle of the garden around him. Finally, the orange glow from Neil’s window flicked to black, and Andrew went inside.

His post-kill routine began, as it always did, with the longest, hottest bath he could stand. He threw handfuls of bath salts and goop into the claw-footed tub without much regard for the conflicting scents. He felt little need to wash off the grime, as it were, of a murder scene, but did so as a courtesy to anyone he might encounter in the immediate future less acclimatised to the scent of dry blood. When his skin was bright pink and scrubbed soft by the salts, he hauled himself from the tub, shaking water everywhere as he slipped into a grey silk bathrobe and returned to his room.

He found Neil waiting for him on his bed. This was not part of Andrew’s routine, as much as he might have fantasised otherwise. Face freshly scrubbed and his suit jacket abandoned somewhere between then and now, Neil was halfway towards looking human again. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, and Andrew made a conscious effort not to let his eyes catch on the exposed stretch of Neil’s collarbone. Andrew did not like people sitting on his bed, or being in his bedroom, or behaving unexpectedly. Neil was doing all three, yet somehow it didn’t bother him.

“That is expensive Japanese linen. Do not get blood on it,” Andrew said. Neil’s wounds were cleaned and sealed, but it was wise to err on the side of caution where the runaway was concerned. Andrew wouldn’t be surprised if Neil had found someone to infuriate to the point of homicide between his room and Andrew’s. He was gifted that way.

Neil picked at the sheets. “They’re not even soft.”

“Can I help you, Neil?”

“It smells like hibiscus in here. And lemon. And lavender?”

“We have talked about your evasiveness quota for the night.”

Neil sighed. “I just don’t understand why I’m here.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Fate, destiny, a horse, who cares?”

“I mean, why you brought me here. Why you protect me. It would have been so much easier to kill me. It’s what you do¸ and you’re good at it. What makes me special?”

“This couldn’t wait until morning?”

One of Neil’s eyebrows slid upwards. “Now you’re being evasive.”

Andrew exhaled heavily. “You said I don’t enjoy anything but expensive suits and fast cars. You were wrong.”

Neil wrinkled his nose. “Clearly, you enjoy over-perfumed baths too.”

“Concentrate, Neil.”

“It’s hard to think when you smell like you’ve just robbed a florist.” Neil was too busy complaining to notice Andrew’s approach. Andrew kneeled in front of him, hands braced in the bedding on either side. Neil blinked.

“You’re interesting,” Andrew said simply.

“Interesting? Are you serious?”

Andrew shrugged. “It’s not often that I’m…interested.”

“Interested,” Neil repeated, and suddenly his eyes grew wide. “Oh.”

Andrew snapped his fingers in front of Neil’s face to regain his attention. “Now. If you want, you can walk out that door right now and go back to whatever plans you had for your evening. Your place under my protection will be unaffected.”

Neil did not, against Andrew’s expectations, look to the door. “Or?”

“Or you stay here, and I blow you.” Andrew had never been one for flowery propositions.

“Oh,” said Neil again. His eyes flicked across Andrew as though he were the mirror-maze reflection instead of Neil, and another layer of reflective glass had just been torn down. “You like me.”

Andrew fixed Neil with the most disdainful glare he could manage.

“Is it because…” Neil gestured vaguely over himself. “Because I’m the son of the butcher?”

“No,” Andrew replied. “It’s because you’re not.”

A new kind of understanding dawned in Neil’s features. He leaned in until their faces were inches apart. Andrew could smell Neil’s crisp aftershave, not one of the expensive brands Andrew preferred but compelling all the same.

“Kiss me,” Neil whispered, and Andrew was happy to oblige. He buried his hands in the sheets either side of Neil’s legs and kissed him until his lips were numb and they were both breathless. Neil gasped, and Andrew drew back, scowling when he noticed a thin scar cutting across Neil’s upper lip had re-opened.

“I don’t need medical attention,” Andrew mocked. “I’m fine.”

“I am,” Neil insisted. His tongue darted out to lick across his upper lip, and Andrew had to tear his gaze away. “It’s a scratch. It doesn’t hurt.”

“You said that about a stab wound last month.”

“You can’t tell when I’m lying yet?” Neil asked innocently.

“Stop talking.”

“Make me.”

Andrew was careful, the coppery taste of Neil’s lips setting long-abandoned parts of his mind alight, but Neil chased Andrew’s mouth with such fervour that Andrew soon gave in to the rough slide of their lips against each other. Neil, always so careful where it really mattered, dug his hands into the sheets so hard that Andrew wondered how he hadn’t torn right through them, leaving Andrew to dictate the points of contact between them.

Andrew nudged Neil onto his back as he climbed onto the bed, pausing to check for Neil’s consent before slipping a hand under the hem of his shirt. Neil gasped into his mouth, but as Andrew’s palm dragged across his ribcage Neil tensed, a bitten-off sound jerking from his chest. It wasn’t a good kind of sound.

“Neil,” Andrew said carefully. “You said your only injuries were on your face.”

“They were. I’m fine.”

Andrew retaliated with a light press to the side of Neil’s ribcage. Neil’s breath hitched, his face twisting. “Looks like it.”

“Fine. Fine, I think I broke a rib. It’ll heal.”

“Anything else I should know about?”

“No. Yes. No.” Neil winced. “It might be two ribs.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this because…?”

“You were upset.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes. A dangerous swirl of emotions churned in his stomach. “Was I?”

“Yes,” Neil replied. He said it with such ease, like he didn’t know what his words did to Andrew, staring up at him, open and exposed and caring, and for a moment Andrew couldn’t stand it.

I hate you¸ he wanted to say, but instead, “It is not your job to protect me. It is mine to protect you. Don’t lie to me again.”

“Can’t it be both?” Neil’s eyes traced the length of Andrew’s body, fingers twitching but still fisted into the sheets. “I’m not made of glass, Andrew. I’m the son of the butcher. I know how to fight. Let me fight for you.”

Andrew bit back a curse. He cupped Neil’s cheek in his hand, thumb running across the chapped skin of his bottom lip. “One condition,” he said at last. “No more lies.”

“Done,” Neil agreed, so easily, too easily, and yet Andrew couldn’t help but believe him.

He guided Neil’s hands to his hair before kissing him again, rough and hungry, and waited until he had succeeded in pulling a desperate moan from Neil’s chest before pulling back.

“Now, we are going to the ER, and you are going to get an X-ray, and I am not going to hear a peep of complaint about it.” Andrew ducked to press a kiss to Neil’s pulse-point.

“And afterwards?”

“And afterwards,” Andrew said thoughtfully, lips moving against Neil’s skin. “I suppose we’ll see where the night takes us.”

Neil smiled. It was not his father’s smile, not anymore. Neil had claimed it as his own.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought.

#aftg #andreil #all for the game #the foxhole court #tfc #my fic #butcher!andrew #blood tw #injury tw #the family business #death tw

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hwu-adventures-blog · 4 years ago

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All that Matters

Fic description: Alicia Hardy and Ethan Ramsey’s relationship is complicated, it always has been, and after Alicia spends a night helping Ethan cook chicken, things start to be looking up for them getting together. However when death comes knocking at Alicia’s door, and they realise they might have just missed their chance...

Pairing: Ethan x MC (Alicia Hardy)

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @utterlyinevitable

Warnings: mentioned Alcoholism, mentioned not trusting doctors, mentioned father issues.

A/N: sorry if this is short and terrible I’m not feeling very well so I thought I’d do a shorter chapter this time round and I’ll make it up in chapter 4 also sorry if I get some American dialect and pronunciations wrong at any point during this series as I’m British and therefore have no idea what some American dialect is like (but I’ll try my best) 😊

First chapter

Previous Chapter

Next chapter

_______________________________________________

Chapter 3- Lifeline (part 1)

Hours passed, The evening rays started to been through the protected room, and all Alicia could do was wait, her friends were out helping find out what was wrong with her, Danny and Raf.

...What was killing them.

She was sat on the floor, watching Raf quietly from there, she hadn’t quite mustered up the courage to go to his side yet, scared that if she got closer, she’d break him even more, somehow make him worse. Worse like Danny.

Danny, he was in special care, one of her first friends at Edenbrook and he was dying and it was her fault. If she hadn’t gone charging in-

Sienna.

The thought of Sienna was what stopped her from prematurely guilt tripping herself. Sienna would be devistated if both of them kicked the bucket and Alicia wasn’t about to let that happen. If she had to die for Danny to live, then do be it, if it could give her best friend who had sat there trying to comfort her to no end. The second dolphin in this sea of sharks, who deserved happiness more than herself, and if she had to die to do that then- then she was going to do that.

Doesn’t matter what Ethan said, that she couldn’t think about giving up even if it was almost impossible not to. Well she wasn’t going to give up per-say not yet, she was going to try and make a bargain with the universe to let Danny live. No matter what it will cost. Even if she had to sacrifice her life in his place to do it, for Sienna’s happiness she’d risk everything, her job, her potential relationship with Ethan, even never seeing her family ever again.

Oh no.

How did it take this long for her family to come to mind? Oh they wouldn’t be happy if they learned that she hadn’t thought about them until hours into her quarantine with a fatality unknown affliction.

Did they know what was happening? Did they know that she was in here? We’re they trying everything to get to her? To be there?

Someone must have told them, Ethan and Naveen wouldn’t let that slip through the cracks, and even if they did an attempted assassination attempt on a senator and potential election candidate wouldn’t stay quiet for long and the press were probably already knocking on their door, so chances are, they would know already.

She never got to tell Ethan about her family, after all why would she? Up until recently he was definitely nothing more than her boss and she hadn’t had the chance to tell him. But she’d mentioned him to her family, being her boss and medical idol but now she wondered what he’d say if he’d had made the call to her parents and told them that she was in a life threatening situation. What would they say to that?

They’d be worried, that’s for sure. Or at least she was certain most of her family would be with the exception of her dad, who would certainly be chuffed that he was proven right at last.

Hospitals weren’t safe.

Yeah, Alicia had told a bit of a lie when she bumped into Ethan’s mother a few weeks back. Her mom was supportive, and proud, Hell, she wore her pride around on her sleeve but her dad, well, he was less so.

Simon Hardy was not the best dad in the world... dad, disgraced army vet turned store owner, conspiracy nut, unfortunately a severe alcoholic. Which of course, she knew the alcoholism wasn’t his fault, it’s a terrible addiction that’s hard to break and a very serious issue. But his conspiracy filled mind made his alcohol fuelled delusions feel real and when he found out Alicia was serious about being a doctor, about “fraternising with the enemy”- well, her dad had made the decision to hate her long ago, and she didn’t want to remember those details, not now.

They’d probably get to the hospital too late anyway.

Not that her dad would have cared, he’d probably used her death as an excuse to go on a rant about how big Pharma was out to get them and that the Govenment worked with the doctors At Edenbrook to kill his precious little girl.

for the record, dad, she thought to herself, I’m in the safest place possible, even if I’m potentially dying.

Because she had good, kind, people who were going to help her, Raf and Danny make it through this and she trusted them to save the three of them. Hell, Ethan would probably go and fight death in a fist fight to keep her safe. He wasn’t one to back down easily, not in the face of death anyway, not after last year.

And Alicia believed in him.

Because-

because he was her lifeline.

#mc #pixelberry #open heart #choices: open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #mc x ethan #open heart spoilers #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart book 2 #playchoices #choices you play

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mirceakitsune · 4 years ago

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RIP PornHub: #SorryNotSorry

As I'm not into human porn and evolution in this timeline cursed us with just humans reaching sapience, I never used websites like PornHub except rarely to watch some animations. Yesterday's incident was big enough for the news to reach all our ears however. It follows a trend that's been going on for years now and is definitely no surprise to me; If anything I'm surprised the owners and users of that website weren't rounded up and arrested or shot for "immorality" years ago... thank goodness it took them this long to go after them, and that in this case it was banks doing it rather than the "rule of law". For anyone who didn't hear of what took place: PayPal and Mastercard kicked PornHub off their services after NY Times wrote an article claiming they hosted videos of sex trafficking. In response PH deleted some 90% of its users and uploads, pretty much nuking itself out of existence in desperation to appease those payment services; It's said only users with a special verification are still up, others had their uploads deleted most likely forever. The owners probably hope those banks will welcome them back if they do this, which I'm going to bet right now is never going to happen. Obviously I'd go on and on about how not just big companies but also banking services are unofficially becoming the world's parallel government, deciding what people can and cannot think or watch; As much as vanilla government scares me the most, considering those monstrosities can pass actual laws which all people must follow else they may get fined or arrested, there's definitely an issue with powerful entities being able to dictate how the world works as if mini-governments of their own accord... with the media being able to shoo groups against one another however it sees fit. Sure: The principle of free market may not be violated and all, but at this point it's a practical problem worth considering. Especially since people are unwilling or unable to create proper alternatives to those powerful services which can gain as much traction... like how cryptocurrencies don't have a fraction the adoption PayPal does, or decentralized platforms like Mastodon aren't even a decimal the size of ones like Twitter. Now onto everyone's favorite aspect: "Muh moarality"! I will say this: If PornHub users really were posting abuse materials of sex trafficking victims as claimed, I fully agree there was a real reason behind taking action, albeit handled horribly as everything in this world is. Of course I know better than to believe such a thing nowadays: I have little to no doubt this is just another case of moral panic based on nice-sounding assumptions. More specifically this happened because some users uploading videos of themselves were *GASP* not over the precise age of 18! And we all know that if you're under this exact number you aren't a real person with your own thoughts and feelings and wishes and rights, anything you feel that we don't agree with is mental illness and an act of being abused, and you need to be "protected" against yourself by force if necessary. After all we can't have the underageigger getting the idea they have equal rights to be happy like everyone else and not growing up to be a model hard-working servant of society... um, I mean, we can't have them being esoterically abused by an invisible monster in the closet, yeah that's definitely why we police people's lives for them. By the way PornHub, speaking of the devil; Do you remember three years ago when you were working with the British government to implement age verification across the internet, during the Theresa May era delusion of making people use websites with their identity cards and porn passes bought from newspaper stores? I remember you were more than happy giving them a hand (pun intended) in making this dystopian nightmare come to life. There is such a thing known as justice and karma: Enjoy what they have to offer! I do wonder when said karma comes knocking at the door of services like Furaffinity as well. With this in mind I'm going to adopt a change in stance toward what happened: Instead of being outraged at how every aspect of life is being controlled by the most powerful groups in society, I'm going to be happy! Really: I'm so glad the mainstream is finally starting to see what it's like... living in a world where it's evil to enjoy anything and where everyone must be persecuted for not following the proper social etiquette, powered by a panic you and the media appeasing you fueled until it brought the world in this state. I'll work on protecting my furry art sites how I can, but when it comes to mainstream society please: Go on and ban all the porn, make the planet as strict as back in grandpa Hitler's day if possible! I see no problem with this: It's safe, right? That 0.00001% risk of someone getting hurt no longer exists, no one has to go through their feelings being hurt or assumptions proven wrong, and who needs those pesky things that make people happy anyway! What's that? You say you only like controlling others but don't enjoy it when the same thing happens to your privileged ass? As JC Denton would say: "What a shame". Now get back to school or work before we start whipping you for sloth too, foul nave! All in all, the only thing I'm sad about is that upon banning itself from existence PornHub didn't add the following message to its front page: "Please come back in a few years once it's legal for you to be here". I swear that would have been brilliant: It would be a reference the slimy boomers get as well as an epic way to apply salt to the wound! Time to buy more popcorn from the store :)

#pornhub

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pass-the-bechdel · 4 years ago

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Marvel Cinematic Universe: Avengers: Infinity War (2018)

Does it pass the Bechdel Test?

Yes, once.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Nine (25.71% of cast).

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Twenty-six.

Positive Content Rating:

Three.

General Film Quality:

For a movie which is pretty much wall-to-wall fight scenes...I love it. I always start out going ‘maybe I overrate this movie, maybe it’s not as good as I remember’, but by the end, I’m right back in there.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) UNDER THE CUT:

Passing the Bechdel:

Wanda apologises to Natasha for lying. It’s a close call.

Female characters:

Pepper Potts.

F.R.I.D.A.Y

Gamora.

Mantis.

Wanda Maximoff.

Natasha Romanoff.

Okoye.

Nebula.

Shuri.

Male characters:

Ebony Maw.

Thanos.

Thor.

Loki.

Heimdall.

Bruce Banner.

Stephen Strange.

Wong.

Tony Stark.

Peter Parker.

Ned.

Peter Quill.

Rocket.

Drax.

Groot.

Vision.

Steve Rogers.

Sam Wilson.

The Collector.

Thaddeus Ross.

James Rhodes.

T’Challa.

Bucky Barnes.

Eitri.

Red Skull.

M’Baku.

OTHER NOTES:

Heimdall had proven himself too much of an MVP in previous films to be allowed to live in this one. Bastards.

Heimdall and Loki, both dead before the opening titles. That’s how you know this movie means business, it’s not faking at high stakes.

I also am from space and have come here to steal a necklace from a wizard.

“Mr Stark, it smells like a new car in here!”

“All words are made up.”

Not gonna lie, when I saw this at the cinema and I realised that Captain America had arrived? My heart LEAPT. It was intense.

Depressed Thor is a great touch - after all previous films with Thor had him so bland, and then Ragnarok made him funny but essentially glossed over any of the difficult emotions it was dredging up, I’m glad to finally get something real and meaty from the character. If characters go through all manner of Hell and don’t show any signs of labouring under that weight, you’re doing character development wrong.

Nice callback with Red Skull.

The sacrifice of Gamora on Vormir is a really well-balanced piece; it was asking a lot, to make the emotion of it land despite how little of Thanos we’ve seen before, and without genuine emotion at it’s core it’s just the killing off of a female character for shock value. I feel like they got the pitch just right (most thanks to the music).

As much as I enjoy Thor and Rocket’s bantering, the side-quest for Stormbreaker feels like an unnecessary and over-the-top distraction in an already stuffed-full film. Easily the weakest part of the plot.

The fact that Quill fucks everything up with defeating Thanos on Titan because he can’t keep himself under control for two seconds certainly does not endear him to me in the slightest. Like ok, you’re upset, but if you can’t stop yourself from getting violent that’s on you, that makes you a dangerous person with serious issues, that’s not normal and it’s not ok. Also, literally half of all life in the universe was at stake. So there’s that.

Listen, I’m very susceptible to heroism (and that’s why superhero movies work for me), so every time someone comes to someone else’s rescue, I have feelings.

I had convinced myself that somehow, Thanos wouldn’t succeed with his whole plan in this movie, that he would get all the stones but that he would like, go to a special place or something before enacting his plan, so that the good guys would have a chance to regroup and race to stop him before it was too late, all that jazz. So (even though Thanos had already snapped at that point), when Bucky Barnes disintegrated before our very eyes, I was SHOCKED. That got me like a smack in the face.

Considering I’ve never really been a fan of Tom Holland’s Spider-man, it’s a credit to his work that Peter’s death scene is so effective. That’s acting.

So, what makes this movie work despite being so heavy with bombastic action? The short answer is: it’s because the good guys lose. I’ve made no secret of being a fan of the ‘hour darkest before the dawn’ in storytelling, so this is playing to the sweet spot for me there, but it’s not as simple as just making everything miserable and hopeless. In this case, specifically, the lead-up to that ultimate failure is key; it’s gotta still feel like a superhero extravaganza, even as it takes an increasingly dark turn. The action works because it’s part of what we signed up for (the best camouflage for subversions of the traditional model), and it works because it’s all carrying the story forward - the Infinity War is comprised of multiple battles, and because of the way the pieces of the narrative are separated, the characters don’t know how any of the other battles are turning out; everyone is just trying to fight what’s in front of them and defend the stone in their midst, they don’t have the option to sit around doom-and-glooming and restrategising as news of each defeat comes in. Rather than dragging us wholesale from Point A to B to C in ever-escalating stakes and complications, the writers have had the good sense to spread things out and let things fall apart for our heroes (and the universe) in multiple smaller pieces until they reach a cumulative critical mass. Consequently, instead of feeling as though we’re sitting there watching things go from bad to worse, the audience forms this false sense of security in the action; it’s a superhero movie, after all. We expect them to work it all out in the end, to build toward a moment of apparent hopelessness (a darkest hour before the dawn), and then to rally triumphantly for the big win. As such, we perceive small victories (i.e. the defeat of Thanos’ various ‘children’, the creation of Stormbreaker, the way things draw out in the battle on Titan) as if they are more significant, as if they are signs leading us to that big win; without those small, expected victories, the ultimate failure would not hit as hard, because after two and a half hours of watching the good guys get wrecked without a chance, what surprise would there be in the snap?

Of course, plenty of viewers knew about the snap already or expected an ultimate failure of some sort based on the fact that we pretty much all knew that this was the first half of our grand Avengers finale (my mother, who is not a superhero movie fan, did not know what she was getting into and was...very shocked), so it’s important that the film still works to engage us on a character level so that the good guys losing in the end can hit like a ton of bricks even if you knew it was coming (and even though you no doubt expected to get the big win eventually, once Endgame came out). After all the fighting and the bantering, all the usual stuff we expect to see our heroes go through in the course of an average adventure, having them then watch their beloved friends/allies/whatever literally disintegrate before their eyes in a quiet, drawn out scene of devastation is a magnificent piece of cinema, communicating the shock not only of the event itself, but of the complete disruption to the superhero status quo. It’s not just that good guys don’t lose like this, it’s that they don’t lose with a whimper instead of a a bang. It’s not only that the cost of failure has never been this high; it’s also that they have never been forced to watch it play out with such inevitability; they have never before been rendered so powerless. If the entire film had the tone of the last ten minutes, it wouldn’t work so well, it’d just be a drudge and the audience would be desensitised by the end. By the same token, if the rest of the film had not planted the seeds of the finale so thoroughly in all its smaller losses and smokescreen victories, the ending would not be so horrifically fitting.

Neither, of course, would the ending be so affecting, if we were not as attached to the characters as we are. We have many, many films worth of history with most of them, or at least one solid encounter in which to become attached, and even in a movie chock-full of more characters than any other before, everyone gets a chance to show their personality and remind us why we care if they live or die. I’m not going to argue for this being an incredible character piece (nor is it pretending to be one), but it plays its very large hand very well, putting emphasis where it needs to be without overloading or unbalancing the story. As I noted above, I was particularly impressed with the way Thanos was handled, considering our exposure to him previously was very minimal and it was left up the this film to build his ethos as well as his relationships with his ‘children’ almost from scratch, creating complexity and simplicity without falling into the trap of trying to make the villain sympathetic; Thanos isn’t necessarily relatable (nor does he need to be), but he is understandable in that we’ve all probably encountered at least one person who holds the same limited worldview and is somehow convinced that they could ‘fix’ everything, given the power. Thanos isn’t actually aiming for universal domination in the traditional sense, and it makes him more disturbing and more realistic as a villain, because his evil is not nebulous or purely self-serving; he is a true believer, and his delusions have an all-too-familiar ring about them, so as we watch him lumber and pontificate around the story, we get a clearly-drawn image of someone possessed of such basic and humble flaws that he is - again, without being treated as sympathetic - quite significantly humanised, despite all of the non-human elements that make up both his character, and his situation. Even as it planet-hops and draws upon cosmic magic, the narrative is grounded by a centrepiece of plain, ungodly fallibility.

Now, I recognise that in all of this praise for the way this film was executed, there isn't really anything to be said for it regarding the purpose of this blog; on the female representation front, it's not really doing anything (the fact that it juuust manages to pass the Bechdel and juuust over a quarter of its cast is female does not win it brownie points; its better than not having either of those things, but that's not a genuine achievement). The two female characters who were more prominently positioned in this movie are Gamora and Wanda; Gamora largely in context of her relationship with Thanos, and Wanda as Vision’s significant other and the means of his destruction. Notably, both women’s arcs are accessories to the arcs of male characters, which is not what we’re aiming for in good representation, though it does not exclude the possibility of quality content; Gamora’s role may have a lot to do with Thanos (not least, after he kills her), but it is still distinctly her own story, rich with emotion and coming to a surprising and depressing end which I felt struck the right chords to be compelling rather than an enraging disposal of one of the few female characters around (more on this after Endgame). Wanda’s presence leaves less of an impression, in terms of screen time, plot complication, and audience engagement, but all things considered I don’t think that was a terrible choice; Wanda and Vision’s relationship had been a somewhat sparse subplot in previous films and the chemistry was not strong, so I don’t think it would have been to the film’s benefit to try and expand on that relationship further than they did. As it was, there was enough there to sell the emotion, and nothing extraneous, and as much as I enjoy this movie, I wish I could say better things for its female representation than that. It is stuffed-full, and definitely not perfect, and space could have been made to pump up some of the other female characters’ roles more (the Earthbound characters get the least attention in the movie, and since basically all my faves are there it is a testament to how well this movie works for me that I enjoy it so much anyway, but a little more attention there would not have gone astray, especially since that’s where most of the female cast is). That said...I still really enjoy it, man. As far as popcorn action goes, this is top shelf.

#Marvel Cinematic Universe #Avengers: Infinity War #female representation #Bechdel Test #MCU

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yaboylevi · 5 years ago

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Hi vivi, there's smth I didn't understand, about when Levi was ignorant about Erwin's true motivator then when he knew it. In the beginning he used to talk about freedom stuffs but after Shiganshina battle he almost didn't? Was those freedom stuffs related to his fake vision of Erwin?

Hey there!

Honestly, I'm not the best person you should ask this to. I'm pretty sure I've proven myself to be someone who does not understand Levi very well. Or maybe, what I understood of him was either wrong all along, or it is simply something I don't like anymore, and that I find pitiful (especially if this is all there is to it), after putting together all the pieces of his character arc until now and in light of more recent highlights of his character when paired up with his past.

For the sake of giving you my opinion, since you asked, I think Levi has lost himself, and that's why he doesn't bring up freedom at all. This is just my rough interpretation of a part of his psychology that I've never quite seen analyzed so I could just be wrong ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ tl;dr at the end.

I think he lost confidence in himself all the way back when Erwin made him think that Isabel&Farlan's death, his family, was his fault,

"A heavy sense of regret cut away at his heart, more sharply than the blades he held in his hands. Levi thought. That's right—what Erwin said was right. The one who's wrong was me. I lost a fight that I could've won; I'd even gotten my allies killed. The responsibility for all that falls on the one who'd made that decision…me." x

and so Levi made his life all about following Erwin and his superior, bigger goal, without knowing what it was, with the belief that it was something selfless and that he couldn't understand it simply because he himself wasn't worthy, was inferior. Just like Kenny thought he was inferior to Uri until the very end (but at least Levi had the much-awaited epiphany that no, it wasn't the case. Though I'm not sure if he absorbed the lesson or not - I think he didn't). Anyway in his mind, that goal he couldn't see could make all the sacrifices worth it, it made you a better person, one that had no regrets. And this, in particular, is Levi's biggest struggle - you'll always have regrets, but you can accept them if for the right cause. The moment this cause is no more because it was sort of a fraud, how do you deal with those regrets and sacrifices, how do you make them worth something again? -> simple, pick someone you hate, pin all the fault on them and kill them. This is what he's grappling with, currently.

He's been stuck there for 4 years because he was used to not having "mental autonomy". Erwin's idealized goals became his, simply because Levi considered himself inferior, without a worthy or right goal, only able to mess things up and causing others' deaths, so he should naturally follow someone superior. He gave up thinking for himself when he decided to follow Erwin, because Levi had lost faith in his qualities as a human - he got his friends killed, right? It was his fault, right? He can still think for himself and he has his own opinions, but when it comes to the future, or to making big decisions, he is unsure and scared and lacks confidence and so he leaves it up to Erwin, to following Erwin's orders. This is what I mean when I said he isn't used to "mental autonomy". Because he gave it up for the longest time. Why do I think so? Let's go back to ACWNR, the origin of our current Levi...in a moment of full despair and insecurity about his own decisions and decision-making skills, in my mind, it's like Levi gave up on himself and decided to put those skills and his strength at the service of Erwin's goal:

""All right… It looks like you have something that I lack. Until I know what that 'something' is, I'll go with you.""

What I get from this, and from what we have in the actual manga, it seems like Levi had thought Erwin's goal was a pure and superior one. He idealized Erwin and never really understood him. For years. He could accept all those deaths - of the soldiers they sacrificed together, and of Isabel&Farlan - only because he believed in this goal he didn't really understand and that he thought was a selfless one. He even sacrificed his own feelings. He disliked how Erwin used his soldiers as bait, but accepted every order because he believed in him and the goal he believed they shared.

In the end, he found out Erwin's goal had selfish motivations. He was shaken up and confused and disgusted initially. This is proof that Levi really believed in saving humanity, in freeing it. But then, since he was Erwin's friend, he decided to accept that the real Erwin and his idealized version of him weren't the same. And he chose to keep avoiding making choices and to keep believing in Erwin, for some reasons that I tend to identify into two categories: 1. Erwin was his friend, you tend to forgive and accept things in your friends that you wouldn't accept otherwise, even if you disagree (and Levi disagreed plenty); and 2. Levi's delusion had to go on or he would feel the weight of all the sacrifices he made and he would get crushed - he wasn't ready to decide for himself, so he chose to still follow Erwin. In the end, he was forced to in RtS by circumstances when Erwin failed to make the call for Levi like he used to, failed to give him orders. When Levi tells him to die with the recruits, you can see on his face that this is the first time in a very long time that he actually takes full responsibility for those lives. Before that, I feel like he halved their weight because they were all Erwin's decisions, not his, he was merely following orders for a greater cause.

So, yeah, I think Levi had given up making important decisions (outside of the immediate ones in moments of dangers/on the battlefield), and then he was forced to make 2 very important ones in RtS all of a sudden. After giving up his "freedom" to Erwin's orders and decisions and goals, he was thrown back into reality full force. Making choices is hard and painful. He already knew (that's the whole point of him avoiding having to make them), he is aware of it on a personal level and he directly acknowledges this when dealing with Eren and imparting his lessons to others. But it's actually quite ironic because he always followed Erwin's orders to a T (even when he felt strongly against them), successfully avoiding choosing. In my opinion, his blind belief in Erwin was exactly the result of Levi never properly dealing with his own guilt re: Isa&Far. Because of it, he ended up thinking he's unfit to make choices. So he left the task to someone he deemed more capable and superior (and this is how the whole "Ackerbond" thing was described, basically, but you need to add to it Levi's self-deprecation and feelings of inferiority caused by his guilt, which make the whole thing even more codependent imo). The two decisions in RtS ("Give up on your dream and lead the recruits to hell" and the serum choice) meant he was responsible of the death of almost all the SC and also of their Commander. With how the situation is now in the manga, he may feel even more guilty. Because of those 2 choices, and of his failure at killing Zeke in Shiganshina, they're in this situation: Hange can't lead them, Zeke played them like a fiddle, the SC has never been this corrupted and divided. (For the record, I don't think Levi should be considered fully responsible for this bc it would just take away agency to all the other characters involved, but he sure did nothing to help the situation, that we know of.)

Hence why he's so hellbent on repaying those lost lives and on destroying Zeke, even if killing Zeke wouldn't mean victory for their current situation. Even if those deaths have already been proven to have been useful, not in vain. He's obsessing about this, not seeing past it, not seeing the freedom he was striving for before, because of his inner demons (his guilt and his insecurity about his own ability to make choices). That's why he's always there in the background doing nothing, barely expressing his opinions about the circumstances they're in. That's why his only two modes are conflicted and violent, because he's lost, and he has regressed in the sense that he thinks he can solve anything with violence like he used to. I'm glad the story has proven him wrong. Hitting Eren has amounted to exactly nothing. Being viciously sadistic with Zeke only blew up in his face (ah! sorry...).

I'm not saying he needs to repress his feelings. But everyone has condemned Connie's violent and irrational behavior (caused by pain and confusion) recently, but nobody can acknowledge the problems in Levi's behavior, though it is just very similar to Connie's. The difference is Levi is an adult and should technically act more like it. But I guess his development has been stalled since he met Erwin, because as I said, he gave it all up just to avoid dealing with his own feelings and responsibilities, something that would've made him "grow up" emotionally. So I really really hope he'll finally have this growth he needs to undergo, next time we see him. Just like I hope there is a positive resolution to Connie's internal conflict.

tl;dr: I think Levi really did care for humanity's freedom, he wasn't just parroting Erwin's public speeches. That's why he was disappointed in Erwin, because he implicitly did come to care about their freedom, as he explicitly said to Eren. However, he lacks confidence in his long-term decision-making skills, so he's focusing on the past, rather than the future. The only time he chose something that impacted the future was in RtS, and that "future" he's living in right now seems hopeless, probably also because of his choices (or so he may believe unconsciously). So I think he's been obsessing about the past and his past choices in particular, though this just stumped his growth, made him regress and actually made it impossible for him to create a vision for the future for himself - hence why he never brings up ANYTHING about the future of the island in a positive way like he did before...he doesn't have the confidence to believe in anything regarding their future atm; meanwhile, in the past he gained that confidence through following someone else's leadership. Some find it pure or romantic, I find it looks like codependency. If he managed to kill Zeke, he wouldn't have had anything else going on for him and this is...not a good look for a character, simply from a narrative pov. That's why I knew he would've never been able to kill Zeke and there was zero tension in their most recent fight for me.

In general, though, Levi has directly brought up freedom only once, to Eren. He has always fought more for individuals and to repay their sacrifices (almost as a self-inflicted punishment/strife to atonement for what happened to his friends). But I agree that we all were under the impression that he had the goal of freeing humanity inside the walls. This is also why I say I may have been wrong all along about him, and I have never truly understood him.

Why do you think he doesn't bring up Freedom anymore?

#shingeki asks #Anonymous

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wisconsinprelawland-blog · 4 years ago

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The Law Of False Confessions

By Mersadie Murray, University of Wisconsin-Platteville Class of 2020

June 15, 2020

Most people would assume that if someone confesses to a crime, they are guilty without a doubt. Well, according to Innocence Project (2017), about 1 in 4 people who were ultimately exonerated by DNA evidence had confessed to the crime or made some kind of statement that led to their incrimination. It is hard to imagine why someone would ever take responsibility and risk their freedom or life for a crime they didn’t commit. However, false confessions, unfortunately, are an all too common problem in the criminal justice system today. These confessions can be voluntary but are more often brought on through police interrogations. Martin Luther King Jr's statement, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere,” exemplifies the need to understand the types and causes of false confessions, so that it is possible to prevent this type of injustice (Innocence Project, 2017).

There are three types of false confessions: voluntary, compliant, and internalized. Voluntary confessions happen when someone admits to a crime that they didn’t commit without prompting from police. Often times, voluntary confessions are attempts at gaining fame. For example, when the famous actress, Elizabeth Short, was murdered, 50 people confessed to the crime (Kassin, 2008). Another reason someone might voluntary confess is if they are trying to protect the person who really committed the crime. Further reasons for voluntary confession include delusions, seeking protection in prison, or just seeking attention (Kassin, 2008).

One example of a voluntary false confession is that of college graduate, Mr. Johnson. In this case, Mr. Johnson confessed to the victim’s brother that he committed the crime of rape and murder. The brother notified the police. This murder took place in a small town and was heavily covered by the media. In addition, Mr. Johnson had a history of mental disorders, including a delusional disorder; there were multiple instances in his life where he believed things about himself and his life that weren’t true (Kavanaugh, 2016). One instance of his delusional behavior had occurred while he was in college-- Mr. Johnson turned himself in for the rape of a classmate, yet, the classmate claimed she had never been raped, and had never even interacted with Mr. Johnson outside of class. Even with all this evidence of prior delusion and no other evidence, besides the confession, tying him to the crime, Mr. Johnson was still charged with the murder. After multiple psychiatric tests, along with the fact that he only gave information about the crime that was already available to the public in the media, the charges were dismissed. However, this was after Mr. Johnson spent four years in prison awaiting his trial (Kavanaugh, 2016).

The next two types of confession, compliant and internalized, are the result of police interrogations. To understand why interrogations could cause an innocent person to confess, one must first understand the way that many police agencies conduct investigations (Kassin, 2008). The first step of a police investigation is isolation-- an attempt to cause anxiety and invoke a need to escape the situation. Suspects are taken into a tiny interrogation room away from everyone they know for hours on end (Kassin, 2008).

The next step is confrontation-- to make the suspect feel guilty and accuse them of committing the crime (Kassin, 2008). The investigator contradicts the slightest statements, presents false or actual evidence, and interrupts every denial the suspect makes. The presentation of false evidence is especially detrimental. For example, if an investigator tells a suspect that they have DNA evidence, and that is why they are being questioned, the suspect might think there’s no way out. On the other hand, the suspect might admit because they know there is no way the DNA could be theirs and it will prove them innocent later. The worst part is, it is completely legal for investigators to lie as much as they want during an interrogation (Keene et al., 2012).

The final step is minimalization. In this step, the police officers make excuses for why a suspect might commit the crime and insinuate that it could have been the moral thing to do. Sometimes, the officers even tell the suspect that they will receive a lesser punishment if they confess. They assure the suspect that if they are cooperative and confess, their outcome in court will be better. To add, these interrogations are very long, often lasting all day with minimal breaks (Kassin, 2008). Keene et al. (2012) confirms that long interrogations without food, drink, and sleep create a “perfect storm of glucose depleting stress, fatigue, and sleep deprivation” (p. 5); this leads to even more stress and poor decisions. These steps work together to pressure the suspect into making their confession. However, these techniques have proven to be too effective in some cases, invoking innocent people to confess to crimes they did not commit. Investigators wear suspects down, which reduces resilience and makes people more likely to confess just to avoid the situation and go home (Keene et al., 2012).

The most common type of false confession is compliant. However, the name “compliant” is very misleading, as these confessions are coerced through police interrogation techniques that were described above. A compliant false confession is when a suspect, due to police interrogation, confesses to a crime that they know they didn’t commit in an effort to escape the stressful interrogation or gain the “promised” lenience if they are convicted (Kassin, 2008). One of the most known cases of a compliant false confession is The Central Park Five. In this case, five juvenile boys were charged with the rape and murder of a female jogger. They all confessed and four of the confessions were videotaped. They were tried and convicted of the crimes in 1989, based only on the confessions, and no corroborating evidence. It wasn’t until 2002, when the real murderer confessed to the crime; the rape kit confirmed this confession. The boys were released after spending a big portion of their young lives in prison (Keene et al., 2012).

This case brings up the fact that, while all people are susceptible to false confessions under intense situational factors during interrogations, certain groups of people are even more susceptible. These groups include juveniles, mentally ill, African Americans, Hispanics, and developmentally disabled people. Young people tend to be naïve and impulsive, while mentally ill people can be over anxious and break down easily in stressful situations. Developmentally disabled people tend to get confused easily and be overly trusting of authority, and African Americans and Hispanics assume that investigators think they are guilty, so they are more anxious and hopeless (Keene et al., 2012)

The final type is the internalized false confession. This occurs when the interrogator convinces the suspect that they committed the crime. This confession is most common in juveniles and the mentally handicapped, as well as people who are grieving or over-tired (Keene et al., 2012). The best way to understand this type of confession is to think about instances when people believe they have memories of when they were very young. Most likely, these are not their own memories, but are memories that were formed from other people retelling the story and by looking at old pictures. By presenting false evidence and telling suspects untrue accounts of what occurred, they are contaminating the suspects memory of what happened and convincing them that it is very possible they committed the crime (Keene et al., 2012). In one interrogation, investigators convinced a 14 –year-old boy that he had stabbed his sister; they falsely told him that they had evidence and convinced him that he had a split personality and “bad Michael” had committed the crime. Michael stated, “I’m not sure how I did it. All I know is I did it (Kassin, 2008, p. 249).” Charges were later dropped when his sister’s blood was found on a neighborhood drifter. Some researchers, and viewers of Michael’s interrogation video, even described the interrogation as “child abuse” (Kassin, 2008). These torturous interrogation techniques are not the way to serve justice.

Unfortunately, cases like Michael’s and the Central Park Five are not the only of their kind. False confessions are way more common in our justice system than anyone would like, and their implications on the suspect’s conviction can be devastating. Researchers refer to these implications following false confessions as a “cascade of errors” (Keene et al., 2012, p. 9). Jurors and judges assume confessions, even if retracted or proven coerced, are considered when deciding whether to convict. To add, one study that reviewed actual court cases found that about 80 percent of false confessions lead to a wrongful conviction. Another study concluded that false confessors are four times more likely to receive a prison sentence than those who truly confessed. In addition, witnesses have been known to change their accounts if they find out the suspect confessed. For example, in one case where the suspect was eventually exonerated due to DNA evidence, his alibi witnesses withdrew when the police notified them of the confession (Keene et al., 2012). It is easy to see that false confessions influence the entire case from beginning to end and are difficult for witnesses, jurors, police, and judges to ignore, whether they have been proven false or not.

With the prevalence of false confessions, as well as the serious implications, it is important to address the problem and look at ways to prevent these confessions from happening. One way to address the prevalence of false confessions is the length of interrogation. Studies show that false confessions are usually interrogated for longer time periods. In addition, true confessors are only interrogated for longer than four hours 7 percent of the time, compared to 12 percent of false confessors (Keene et al., 2012). This suggests that having a time limit of around four hours for confessions could possibly reduce the chance of a false confession due to the suspect being worn down or stressed. In addition, changing the interrogation techniques in order to reduce the stress on suspects that have no other corroborating evidence would also be a step in the right direction. An idea to prevent wrongful conviction after a false confession is already received, is to only allow the confession to be used if there is corroborating evidence. As some researchers put it, “so that a confession is considered last and not first on the road to prosecution and ultimate conviction” (Keene et al., 2012, p.10). Lastly, like all problems, raising awareness about the issue and occurrences of false confessions could help jurors and the public be aware that they do happen, and that fact should be considered when assessing a case and deciding a verdict. These are just a few of the many ways to cut down on false confessions and mediate their impact on the ultimate verdict.

In conclusion, false confessions are deterring society’s ability to serve justice. Innocent people are being sent to prison, lives are being ruined, and people still assume that only the guilty would confess. Police interrogations, as the main prompt for false confessions, need to be reexamined, and solutions need to continue to be researched and put into action. A country known for freedom should not also be known for coercing confessions through torturous interrogation techniques proven to do just that.

________________________________________________________________

Innocence Project. (2017). Help us put an end to wrongful convictions! Retrieved from https://www.innocenceproject.org/

Kassin, S. M. (2008). False Confessions: Causes, Consequences, and Implications for Reform. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 17(4), 249–253. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-8721.2008.00584.x

Kavanaugh, A. E. (2016). A College Graduate Confesses to a Murder He Did Not Commit: A Case of a Voluntary False Confession. Journal of Forensic Psychology Practice, 16(2), 94–105. https://doi.org/10.1080/15228932.2016.1139371

Keene, D. L., Handrich, R., Kassin, S., Katz, W., Franklin, K., & Barksdale, L. (2012). “Only the Guilty Would Confess to Crimes”: Understanding the Mystery of False Confessions. Jury Expert, 24(6), 4–21. Retrieved from https://search-ebscohost-com.ezproxy.uwplatt.edu/login.aspx?direct=true&AuthType=ip,uid&db=a9h&AN=83804369&site=ehost-live&scope=site

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allyouhavetodo · 5 years ago

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Let’s Watch The Twilight Zone: Episode Twenty-One

Mirror Image

Ah, the “one about a woman” we were promised last week!

This episode starts off on a dark and stormy night at a bus depot in upstate New York. A young woman is waiting on a bench inside. The bus is late. Over thirty minutes late. She goes up to the man at the counter to ask when the bus will arrive and he gives her a very unhelpful answer about the rain and the bridges and “it will get here when it gets here, lady.” He also takes the opportunity to berate her about her obsessively asking about the time. “I don’t know any more information than the last time you asked! Every 10 minutes you’re up here asking!” But this is the first time she’s asked, she insists.

At this point, she also notices a suitcase behind the counter that is identical to her own. Pay attention to the suitcase. We’ll be talking a lot about the suitcase.

She goes to sit back down and Rod Serling chimes in to introduce us to Millicent Barnes, a 25 year old career woman known as being a “girl with a good head on her shoulders,” practical, not prone to flights of fancy. But, of course, since she’s in the twilight zone, she’s about to be subjected to “a chain of nightmares” that in precisely one minute will start to make her wonder if she’s going mad.

As the voice over ends we get a small piano sting and close up of her suitcase beside her on the ground.

She goes up the to counter man again to ask about the bag behind the counter. “It looks just like mine, down the to broken handle.” His answer is predictable: That is your bag, you ninny! (He doesn’t literally say this--but his tone definitely implies it.) You checked it earlier. Now please stop bothering me. Millicent insists that she didn’t check her bag, that her bag is right back there by the bench. But when she looks behind her, her bag is gone!

Millicent goes back to sit down. And, just when I’m starting to think there aren’t actually going to be any mirrors in this episode, she decides to go to the bathroom to freshen up. She runs into the cleaning lady in there who asks her if she’s okay, because wasn’t she just in here a minute ago...? No! Millicent starts to leave but turns around to look at herself in the mirror again with the bathroom door standing open and sees both her own reflection and the reflection of a woman who looks just like her sitting back on the bench inside the terminal. She slams the door back behind her and hides for a moment. When she gets the courage to open the door again, the woman is gone but her suitcase is back beside the bench where it belongs.

She sits down again and we start to hear her thoughts out loud. Wondering whether she’s sick or something. Maybe she has a fever, because she’s definitely having delusions. But she doesn’t feel hot or sick. What’s wrong with me?

Just then, a very wet man, who introduces himself as Paul Grinstead, comes and sits right by her. They get to talking after he explains that his taxi ran into a tree and so he had to walk the rest of the way here. Millicent confides that she is moving to Buffalo to start a new job. But also that she thinks she’s been seeing things. She proceeds to tell him everything that just happened in the episode so far.

Paul, to his credit, helps her try to think through it rationally. Maybe there’s someone here who looks a lot like you and that’s what keeps confusing people? But that wouldn’t explain the bag, would it? Hmmmm. No.

Anyway, they wait together until the bus finally arrives. As Millicent is about the board the bus, she sees something that makes her gasp and run back inside the depot. Paul goes after her and as the camera pans over to follow them we see “Millicent” sitting on the bus already, smirking to herself.

Meanwhile, the real Millicent has full on fainted on the bench back inside and the bus can’t wait for her anymore. Paul decides to stay with her, even though the next bus won’t be here until the morning.

As soon as the bus is gone, Millicent rouses herself and starts ranting about something she read once. About how there are parallel worlds and that we each have a counterpart in the parallel world and sometimes our counterparts come into our world and when that happens they try to take over our lives. The only way they fit into this world is in our places so they have to take over our lives so they can live.

At this point, literally everyone thinks she gone round the twist. The cleaning lady mentions it. The counter man mentions it. Paul offers to call a friend to pick them up and take them somewhere to stay for for the night but it’s all just a cover so that he can call the authorities and get her to go with them quietly. Since he doesn’t manage to trick her he just decides to straight up call the cops. (Not cool, Paul!) And they come and take her away.

Now stranded alone in the bus depot, we see Paul very purposefully put his briefcase down at the end of the bench. (Not another bag!) He then goes to get a drink at the water fountain and when he lifts his head back up, the bag is gone and he glimpses a man just running out the depot door.

Paul gives chase (and here we’re on extremely solid Twilight Zone footing--a white man running and yelling--actually two of them), while his doppleganger runs and grins ahead of him.

Goofy!

Rod Serling cuts in here to remind us that the mind will make up all kinds of obscure explanations for what it doesn’t understand. So parallel universe or insanity, it’s all the same in The Twilight Zone.

---

Not a huge fan of this one. Not a lot happening. And it plays a little too much on the hysterical woman trope. Even though The Twilight Zone is almost always about people running around not knowing what’s going on, this one involved a man calling the cops on a woman and then being instantly proven wrong (not that there’s anything he can do about it now.) Humph.

#let's watch the twilight zone #tv #recap #mirror image

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