#but this is set early in their guilty verdicts and before they had time to properly bond

[good-beanswrites]

A little alternate scene to @kyanako5972 's Amane request. I like the other drabble a bit better regarding how things would actually play out, but I couldn't resist trying something that included Fuuta. He's Amane's closest friend. He's the other person to openly say he'll go after a child and not give them special treatment. He literally looks like the orange cat she saved. I couldn't cover it all but there's just so much going on with them. Warning for references to Amane's cult/abuse mindset.

“Jeez, you scared the crap outta me…” 

Fuuta looked up to find Amane standing over his bed, staring intently as he woke. Amane knew he was doing his best to appear upset with her for the intrusion, but his grimace could be mistaken for pain in his condition. 

She knew she didn’t look much better, an eyepatch tucked under her short hair and bandages circling her body. It had taken all her strength to rise and make her way to his cell. She was used to walking off a bit of pain, but this was a different level altogether. 

She opened her mouth. She had come in here with a mission. She had her speech prepared. She didn’t write it out like her father was known to do, but she did rehearse it a few times quietly to herself, as she’d seen from him. 

Fuuta had listened to her when no one else would; there was a chance her passionate words could convince him to reject that doctor’s evil work and find the light. They could shed these bandages together, becoming pure and following their intended paths. She’d already tried removing her eyepatch several times, but there was always someone there to put it back on. It had been hard to fend off so many overbearing adults, the way her body screamed at her each time she tried. She despised them. She was suffocated by them.

But with Fuuta by her side, she could do it. There was power in numbers. Her mother, Es, Kotoko – all of them thought she was wicked. They weren’t important. They were only human. She could still be a good girl, in the ways that mattered. They could be good together. 

“Kajiyama Fuuta.”

“What?”

But the words caught in her throat. 

His voice was so weak. It was nothing like the way he spoke to her before. His eyes dulled with exhaustion, half-hidden under ginger hair. She couldn’t keep her gaze from the makeshift sling Shidou had put together with one of the bedsheets. It didn’t look much different than her own handiwork. The thought brought with it a surge of pride, which immediately made her tremble with shame. 

He had changed so much. This wasn’t the same person she had found camaraderie in before. If only she could help him. If only she could save him.

No. There was a right way and a wrong way to help him, and she mustn't be led astray. She had come here to help in the right way. Thoughts spun rapidly through her mind. Her trembling worsened. Her chest ached, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the emotions or the broken ribs. She just had to follow through. She had to be good. She had to –

“Stop being creepy,” he wheezed. “Just spit it out.”

“I – I have to go.”

She spun around. She could save Fuuta another day.

“Oi, Amane.”

“I said I have to go.”

“I'm sorry.”

She paused in the doorway to the cell. She glanced back at him, curious.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I’m just... Sorry that happened to you. It was a fucked up thing to do.”

Amane shook her head. She held her chin high. “It was meant to be, and thus, I can bear it. You must, too.”

Fuuta's laugh turned into a cough. “You’re a weird kid. But tougher than I gave you credit for.”

Amane couldn’t meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is a very interesting 2bd. 2ba. historic home for sale in Albany, New York. It may even be haunted. It is the home of author William Kennedy, 95, who is finally letting it go. Kennedy is the Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist & owner of this home where gangster “Legs” Diamond was whacked, and he is certain that the deed was done by a couple of policemen. (Listed for $499K)

Mr. Kennedy has been using it as a pied-à-terre and writing studio for almost 40 years.

In 1975, he published “Legs,” the first in a trio of novels. The property, which is in the Center Square historic district, was a boardinghouse when Mr. Diamond moved in not long before his death, registering under a false name because he had been warned by local police to stay out of town.

Albany, and political boss Daniel P. O’Connell, didn’t want any part of his mayhem — booze-smuggling, truck-hijacking, & shoot-’em-ups in bars.

Notice the odd layout- the kitchen is in the basement. But, back to the story-

According to Mr. Kennedy, the police tipped off some reporters who got to the scene before investigators. They checked out Mr. Diamond’s body and already set the headline: “JACK DIAMOND SLAIN IN DOVE ST. HOUSE; KILLERS’ WEAPON FOUND.”

Francis Ford Coppola was supposed to do a film based on Kennedy’s screenplay called “Legs,” but it never came about. In 1984 Mr. Kennedy & producer Gene Kirkwood went to visit the house and noticed a “For Sale” on it, so they split the $80,000 price and bought it.

Eventually, Mr. Kennedy bought out Mr. Kirkwood’s share and is currently working on a wish-fulfilling novel in which “Legs” does find its way to the screen.

“Right there,” said Mr. Kennedy to the real estate agent, pointing to the spot in the bedroom where Mr. Diamond, after celebrating a not-guilty verdict in a criminal trial, was shot 3 times in the head in the early hours of Dec. 18, 1931.

This 2nd fl. bd. where Mr. Diamond was killed, is where Mr. Kennedy did most of his writing. 

The house has been refreshed and it also has the perc of having a garage.

The house still has wavy glass windows, pocket doors, beamed lower-level ceilings and old-fashioned steam radiators.

I think that Mr. Diamond would’ve approved of this sink and bar. 

The secondary bd. is a very good size.

Modern shower room. 

Interior stairs down to the basement. 

Notice that it’s the only residence with a garage. 

In the closet of the notorious bedroom, a circle of the original rose-patterned wallpaper is preserved, in memory of a man that Albany still hasn’t forgotten. This property has a very cool story. 

https://my.flexmls.com/AmandaBriody/search/shared_links/8HdhD/listings/20230223180907009014000000

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/03/08/realestate/william-kennedy-house-legs-diamond-albany.html

[coochiequeens]

A man who wore prosthetic breasts and was asked to "tone down" his make up is crying victim because his boss called him his by legal name before he started the legal process to change his sex.

By Amy Hamm July 1, 2024

A trans-identified male in the Maine-et-Loire region of France has been awarded €7,000 in compensation after a court determined he was the victim of “gender discrimination” by his former employer.

Syntia Dersoir, 22, had filed a complaint against the McDonald’s franchise where he worked after management referred to him by his legal, male name and asked him to remove the makeup he wore during his shift.

Dersoir began working at a McDonald’s located in Segré-en-Anjou Bleu beginning from September 2022. He was hired under his birth name and was legally registered as a male at the time. In early 2023, he began wearing makeup and prosthetic breasts to work, and, by the spring of 2023, he obtained an alteration of his identification documents.

Dersoir alleged that the discrimination happened over several weeks in 2023 after he began wearing his prosthetic breasts and makeup to work. Management at the McDonald’s branch where Dersoir was employed continued to refer to him by the name he had been hired under, his male name, despite his requests to be called by his feminine preferred name.

The man also alleged that management instructed other staff to also refer to him by his male name.

According to his legal complaint, Dersoir detailed that during one shift, when he was wearing lipstick, a manager asked him to leave or to go to a nearby store and purchase makeup remover. In March of 2023, Dersoir obtained a note from his doctor allowing him to take sick-leave, citing the stress he was suffering from the discrimination he had been subjected to.

Dersoir complained to the French Labour Inspectorate, and was provided a lawyer by the French Democratic Confederation of Labour (CFDT), a conglomorate of national labour unions. He also filed a criminal complaint against the management at the McDonald’s where he had been working.

In response to Dersoir’s allegations, the lawyer representing McDonald’s, Maître Pascal Landais, claimed that management had only ever asked Dersoir to follow the workplace makeup policy that applied to all staff.

“We asked him to tone down his make-up, not to remove it,” she clarified. The McDonald’s policy described that all employees should wear “light and discreet makeup” only for both uniform and hygiene purposes.

French media has run sympathetic stories on Dersoir, profiling him as a victim of discrimination. Some outlets are criticizing the managers at the fast-food chain, which uses the slogan “come as you are” in the country. One outlet suggested that Dersoir’s bosses had “trampled on” the sentiment behind the slogan and are “guilty of moral harassment and discrimination.” 

On June 24, the employment tribunal of Angers ruled in Dersoir’s favor, ordering the franchise to pay him €7,000 in compensation. Dersoir’s lawyer was excited about the verdict, noting that it set a precedent and that other “victims” may now be able to come forward.

“As soon as a large brand is convicted … it necessarily provokes a discussion. This is a first to condemn McDonald’s, which presents itself from the angle of tolerance, for precisely the opposite,” the lawyer said.

Charlotte Duval, the Deputy Secretary General of the Maine-et-Loire Services Union, similarly praised the decision, stating: “This ruling is very positive … it is the recognition of [Dersoir’s] victimization. It may also open the door to other people who are experiencing this kind of situation to talk about it.”

Dersoir is in fact the second trans-identified male in Europe to take legal action against a local McDonald’s for “gender discrimination,” with the other incident occurring in Germany.

One day after Dersoir won his case, a trans-identified male in Berlin appeared at the Berlin Labor Court after filing a case against the Central Station franchise where he had been employed.

Kylie Divon, 27, is seeking compensation for “gender identity discrimination” after being denied access to the changing room reserved for female employees.

[givemeanaccountalready]

It's late, but better late than never, am I right? Here's two snippets of my prediction of what might happen after the third trial. Started writing this before things got too busy. I should be able to finish my posts in progress come Friday... if I'm not too exhausted.

XXX

“Kotoko’s verdict has been delivered. Milgram’s third trial is complete. Now what?”

Jackalope’s ear twitched, indicating that he had heard Es, but their caretaker did not speak. Es raised their brow at that. They had expected something. A smart remark, a crack at the prisoners��� expense, the beginning of a passionate rant, something, anything really, but Jackalope said nothing.

“Did you hear me?” Es clicked their tongue and stepped forward. “I have completed the duties that Milgram has set forth. What is my next step?”

“Execution,” Jackalope deadpanned. Es scoffed at that. Then, they flinched as they realized that there was no telltale twitch of Jackalope’s body as he said that to indicate some kind of levity or passion to his words. Jackalope was completely serious.

“The death penalty,” was harder to say aloud than expected. They became increasingly aware of how dry their mouth was, and how hard their heart was beating against their chest. Perhaps they should have known this was coming. It was only natural. They tried their best to remind themselves that they were Milgram’s warden. “No one received three Guilty verdicts. I assume that Milgram has decided to execute those with two Guilty verdicts and release those with two or more Innocent verdicts?”

“All ten are murderers, as judged by Milgram,” Jackalope said slowly, “and so, all ten will be executed.”

Es reeled backwards as though they had been hit. Their back hit the door to their quarters and they stared at their caretaker. It was taking everything in them to stay upright.

“… what?” they asked.

“All ten will be executed. That is Milgram’s verdict.”

“No!” tore itself loose from somewhere deep within them. Jackalope merely tilted his head and blinked. He said nothing as Es struggled to steady their breathing. They clawed at their cape and shirt collar, tearing clasp of the former loose. The string of keys clattered against the floor, their sound only partially muffled by the cape’s fabric. It did nothing to alleviate the tight feeling in their lungs.

“Breathe Es,” Jackalope told them. Es flinched away from the creature, who merely hopped forward and patted their foot with their paw. “You did an excellent job.”

“No,” Es choked out. “I-I—”

“It’s alright, Es. Close your eyes and take a deep breath. You did wonderfully.”

XXX

“Prisoners of Milgram.” Es kept their hands clasped behind their back, hidden by their cape. The shapeless fabric hid their shaking hands, but Es was certain that the prisoners could see the exhaustion etched in their bones. They must have fallen asleep some time during the early morning hours, but whatever rest they were able to get was not enough. It was almost time. Es let their body carry them through the motions of their morning routine. “The three trials of Milgram are complete, and now… and now, your time at Milgram has come to an end. I have received confirmation that all ten of you will be released to your normal lives.”

The relief was palpable. It was almost enough to settle Es’s stomach. They reminded themselves that this was for the greater good. There was nothing to fear. They had a good idea of what lie ahead of them. It would hurt, but they would manage. If the ten deaths went in numerical order, the last three deaths may very well be the most painful ones, but it wasn’t as if the pain would be a problem for long. From what their research told them, if there wasn’t life after death, it would feel like sleeping. There was no reason to protest it.

“What about you?” Kazui interrupted the joyous mood. Es glanced his way. The man they had come to know was jovial and warm. This man was cold. “Will Milgram just send their warden home?”

“You all will—”

“That’s not what I asked, Es.” Kazui stared them down with an unreadable expression. Es fought the urge to gulp. Perhaps they should have seen this coming. Wasn’t Kazui the only prisoner during the first trial to question Milgram’s organization as a whole? They had hoped that the prisoners would be too distracted from the good news and make incorrect assumptions. Something in Kazui’s stony expression broke, and the man looked miserable as he spelled it out for the others, “Milgram won’t let you go home.”

[hypnolurker]

The New Death Penalty

“We the jury find the defendant, Victoria Sparks, guilty your honour.” The representative of the jury read aloud to a rather unsurprised courtroom.

Victoria glared at them threateningly as the judge began to state her sentence. “Victoria Sparks, this court finds you guilty of the murder of two men, a Mr Jonathan white and a Mr Todd Gains. You have shown no remorse for your crimes and are hereby sentenced to the maximum penalty, the new death sentence.”

The courtroom gasped and Victoria gritted her teeth in anger at the judge who continued, ignoring the furious felon’s icy gaze. “As the death penalty was recently outlawed you will be given the new death penalty. In case you’re not aware, this means your brain will be electrically restructured to ensure you cannot be any further danger to society. The date will be set for two weeks from today at 10:30. You will now be escorted back to your cell. Court adjourned.” He concluded with a pair of loud and foreboding bangs of his gavel which were swiftly followed by Victoria hissing and spitting the rudest insults she could think of to signal her displeasure at the verdict.

She struggled and spat at the officers who led her back to the cell, prying and gnawing at her cuffs the whole time. The two officers simply smiled and continued leading her away, knowing what fate had in store for her. They pushed her into the cell and slammed it shut, swiftly locking the door before she could pull at the bars and scream at them.

After a while Victoria calmed down. She sat in her tiny cell and contemplated the outcome of her trial. Of course she had heard about the ‘new death penalty’ and how it was an alternative to the death penalty which had been shown to be 100% effective at preventing hardened criminals from reoffending or harming anyone. She understood there was some kind of electric chair involved and as tough as she acted in front of the officers, the thought did make her shiver with fear. Really though, she wasn’t sure what to expect.

That is, until three days later when she was told she had a visitor. Typically this would mean standing in the visitor’s section of the prison on the other side of some bulletproof glass and talking through a phone receiver, so Victoria was rather startled when she saw several officers walk up to her cell accompanied by what was clearly a woman in her early thirties, stripped completely naked and crawling behind them like a dog with a lead pulling her along.

Victoria didn’t know how to respond at first, then she got a good look at her face. “Fuck! There’s no way! It’s not possible!” She yelled and felt her heart begin to race as her mind struggled to compute what it was seeing.

“I see you recognise the bitch then. This is Jessica Johnson, or as most people know her, the Wisconsin maniac. Or I should say, this was Jessica Johnson. She’s the one who stabbed fifteen people in one day. It took five police officers just to put the cuffs on her when she was first captured. She was imprisoned here a while ago, while you were doing a short stint too on some petty charge. Looks like you’ve both matured a lot!” The two officers chuckled as Victoria gasped and stared in shock from behind the bars.

The woman…no the thing in front of her couldn’t be Jessica! Sure it looked like her but…as Victoria watched it lolling its head mindlessly and drooling, waving its ass around and occasionally stopping to hump one of the officer’s legs or sniff their crotch she was certain it couldn’t be Jessica. Jessica the fucking badass she remembered from when she was first in prison. Jessica who would even have some of the prison guards so nervous they would purposefully avoid her. Jessica who taught her how to defend herself and not get shanked. There was no way it was that fucking Jessica drooling and grunting in front of her now!

“She was on death row for a while before they outlawed the death penalty. So instead she got the new death penalty. She’s pretty lucky I’d say. All she does all day is crawl around in confusion, rubbing herself up against whoever she can. I don’t know how that machine they have works but when it fried her brain it certainly left her horny. The little bitch couldn’t stop nuzzling my cock the whole way here!” The guard continued as Victoria dropped to her knees and sobbed.

“The best part of this new death penalty though is that once they zap your mind away, you’re technically not covered by the normal laws. It’s a weird loophole in our legal system right now since they changed the law, you’re technically dead but you’re also not a corpse so legally it’s like you don’t exist. What I mean is, you basically have no rights. I can do something like this for instance and it’s perfectly fine.” He explained as he reached down to the mindless Jessica’s ass and roughly pushed his fist in deep.

Victoria gasped and Jessica grunted in shock for a few moments but once the officer had his wrist buried in her cheeks she calmed down and continued to drool mindlessly. He jiggled his arm around a bit and Victoria watched in horror as Jessica writhed and moaned. At first she looked like she might be in pain but…no that wasn’t it. What Victoria saw on amidst the blank, thoughtless expression of the woman she had once looked up to was no pain but pleasure. Twisted, brainless, disgusting pleasure. Jessica looked nothing like a hardened criminal, but now had the look of a desperate pig, grunting and grinding away as the officer looked up at Victoria with a sick grin.

“This is your fate. Hope it was worth it.” He taunted her before continuing to abuse the poor brainless bitch before him.

The display kept Victoria awake for the rest of her nights in the cell. The officers had continued to fuck and abuse Jessica for hours in front of her cell. She couldn’t stare her eyes, away as much as she wanted to. All she could do was watch the empty headed fucktoy that was once her mentor in the harsh world of prison grinning and groaning like a stupid animal as she had cocks rammed into her holes and cum sprayed across her face and body.

By the time the day came, Victoria’s attitude has dyed down. Gone was her vicious tongue and the intense struggling. Now she begged and pleaded with the guards as they led her to the chair. “Please don’t do that to me! I don’t want to be like her…like…that…please I’m so sorry I should never have killed those men! Call the judge! Tell him I’m sorry! Tell him I’ll do anything!” Her pleas fell on deaf ears as the guards simply ignored her and slowly led her away. “Please I’ll…ill suck your cock. A-anything just let me go!” She bargained desperately.

“Oh, you will suck my cock. You’ll drool over my cock. If you’re lucky you’ll have enough of that worthless brain left to say 'cock’ as I stuff it up your ass and choke you for how you treated all of us officers while you were in prison. Do you like the sound of that bitch?” He teased and Victoria fell silent.

She couldn’t speak at all as they strapped her into the machine. Everything seemed so cold and unwelcoming. Even the faces of the staff who operated the thing simply looked at her like a piece of toast about to be put in the oven. Like she was just another chore. It was only once she was fully strapped in and she heard something begin whirring nearby that her reality truly struck her. The urge to fight was back in full force and she tugged at the straps urgently, screaming and begging to be released.

Until her head started to tingle. It was only a small tingle at first. She tried to keep struggling and yelling but as it built up she began to lose control of her body. There was a strange pressure building inside her head and the tingling ran along her spine as it continued to grow stronger. This was it. Whatever was happening to her, these would be her last coherent thoughts. She needed to think something good. Something important…yet her head only throbbed and pulsed as the pressure became unbearable. The electricity now running through her entire body she could barely focus her thoughts enough to form a sentence. Soon even a word was too much for her. Her brain was just flooded with current that fried every thought it could find.

She spasmed and groaned as the current continued to run through her mind and the incredible pressure was suddenly released! It felt like her head had popped. Her thoughts and memories all popped along with it and now her brain continued to melt. Somehow the current was now good, so very good. Victoria no longer knew what was going on, where she was or even who she was but as the current zapped her brain she felt pleasure. Her body erupted in heat and she moaned and drooled in response.

They left her in the machine for five whole minutes. Evidence showed that after two minutes the subject’s mental state had been reduced to that of a typical farm animal but the procedure was to leave them in for a full five minutes. This ensured that any harmful tendencies were burned out of them as well as their minds and they became utterly docile and unable to resist.

“Good job guys, looks like she’s done. As usual I’ll be happy to take care of this one too. I’ll give her a good home.” The guard who had led her to the machine said as the brainless animal that used to be Victoria rubbed its crotch and moaned incoherently in front of everyone in the room, as was typical behaviour of such a brainless, horny creature.

[artfuljournal]

“The Trial of the Century in Sports Begins: Premier League vs. Manchester City Over 115 Charges”

After years of anticipation, English football is set to witness its most high-profile legal showdown as the Premier League takes on reigning champions Manchester City in a case fraught with controversy and potential seismic shifts.

Manchester City faces a staggering 115 charges for allegedly breaching financial regulations in a case that could redefine the boundaries of the sport. The proceedings are set to commence on Monday at an undisclosed location, subject to any last-minute legal delays. Dubbed as sport’s "trial of the century," the case is expected to unfold over the next ten weeks, with a verdict anticipated in early 2025.

This trial represents a pivotal moment in a legal saga that has never before been seen in football. The charges come against the backdrop of Manchester City’s unprecedented dominance, having clinched the Premier League title for four consecutive seasons. The case involves allegations of financial misconduct spanning 14 seasons, including accusations of falsifying financial information.

The implications of the trial are profound. Should Manchester City be found guilty of the most severe charges, they could face penalties ranging from a significant points deduction to relegation or even expulsion from the Premier League. Such outcomes would not only tarnish City’s recent achievements but also create uncertainty around the future of the team, its manager, and its players. Additionally, it could lead to compensation claims from other clubs and potentially strain diplomatic relations between the UK and the UAE, given the ownership ties.

On the other hand, if Manchester City is exonerated, it could cast doubt on the effectiveness of the Premier League's regulations designed to ensure financial fairness and competitive balance.

The case comes at a time of increased scrutiny for the Premier League, which has faced various challenges. Last month, Premier League Chief Executive Richard Masters emphasized the urgency of resolving the case, stating, "It is time now" for the matter to be addressed.

The origins of the case trace back to 2018 when leaked documents published by Der Spiegel suggested that Manchester City had engaged in financial manipulation to circumvent UEFA’s financial fair play (FFP) rules. The allegations included inflating sponsorship revenues from state-owned entities and making secret payments to bypass financial regulations.

Despite City’s vehement denials and claims that the leaked documents were obtained illegally, both UEFA and the Premier League initiated investigations. City was previously fined by UEFA and faced a two-year ban from European competitions in early 2020, which was later overturned on appeal.

The Premier League’s investigation, ongoing since 2018, has now culminated in these serious charges. The proceedings will scrutinize whether City’s financial practices were as irregular as alleged and whether they violated the league’s rules.

As the case unfolds, it will not only shape the future of Manchester City but also impact the integrity of financial regulations in football. The trial is poised to be a landmark moment in sports history, with consequences that could reverberate far beyond the football pitch.

[afuneralofathousandcandles]

Chapter Twelve.

We waited twenty minutes before the council actually showed up. And each one appeared to be different forms, but each one a reaper.

"We are here to judge, you on behalf of your life encounter." There was a pause of silence. "We will take all good deeds in your life into consideration. But if you've done poorly? Then we will place our verdict onto you and only you can take account for your troubles caused… Understand?"

I said nothing.

"Very well. Let's begin."

The lights dimmed and the screens hanging above the council lit slowly. Orchestra music started to play in a flash of my life past by. My childhood. Growing up on Darrin street, playing soccer for a year, beat up the school bully, old pictures of me with my toy drum set, my grandma hold me as a kid, all of it. Flashing by in second clips causing the whole thing to speed by. My early teen years, pictures of me and my parents, starting school, my dad leaving, crying to my mom as I came out of the closet. All of it. Then it ended after about three minutes or so. And isn't that how life is, one day your here, then one day it feels like it sped by?

"Now these actions in your life are the good actions that we will judge…" The judge spoke but it all faded to a muffled noise in the background. I looked around and there was the reaper, standing there. We locked eyes for a second and I snapped out of it.

"I said, What do you have to say for these actions??" The second judge said.

I said nothing.

"Fine, then all of the deeds, weather good or bad will be thrown out. Final decision?" The third judge said. "Anyone think we.should spare this young man?" She asked.

No one raised a hand.

"Does anybody think we should sentence this mortal to life in the afterworld, punishment, for his actions…???" The fourth judged interrupted.

And everyone slowly raised their right hand. A single tear ran down my face. But I said nothing.

"Fine you will be sentenced to an eternity in the underworld." The first judged announced.

"But wait--" Someone interrupted.

Everyone gasped at this and we all turned our heads to see the reaper now standing interrupting the trail. "But you didn't, even take the time to come up with a verdict!" He announced angrily after a moment.

"Weather we came to a verdict or if we DID take a break to determine the sentence it would still be the same." The third judge.

"But that's unfair!" He announced right back.

"Do you dare stand against the trail?" The third judge demanded.

"DONT DEFEND ME!" I stood up. "Weather you determined me to be innocent or guilty we all knew you knew my fate already." I looked back at the reaper. "That wouldnt.change anything."

The crowd erupts in chatter. We all sit and the six feet tall guards picked me up, and as I stood I wanted so desperate to look back at the reaper. Why did he try to protect me? He didn't care. Or at least he shouldn't have. They took me away to a dark evil looking cave, it was really a cell, but I guess whatever I called it didn't matter. I had been sentenced to the underworld.

What was going to happen to me?

A//N:

CAN YOU BELIEVE I HAVEN'T TAKEN A BREAK YET OMFG, IM BASICALLY A GOD. LOLOLOL. I'VE BEEN STAYING UP ALL NIGHT AND HAVEN'T WROTE A SINGLE WORD IN WEEKS!! OMFG, BUT DON'T WORRY THE CLIMAX IS COMING SOON..???? WE MAY NEVER KNOW!?!

[karmas-chameleon]

Chapter 8!

It is done

The week passed me by surprisingly quickly. I got von Karma’s computer up and running on Monday, but no sooner had the thing turned on than I was given a suggestion to relocate it. The prosecutor had the idea that I could handle his emails and various other computer-related tasks, giving me some work to do in my official capacity as assistant. I eagerly agreed, and moved everything to my own desk.

My additional duties didn't take too much effort, but I was glad to have something to keep me busy for a small portion of the day. With that, and chatting about little things with von Karma when he wasn't occupied with his own work, Friday came and went before I knew it.

I spent Saturday trying to plan out a date in the park, but didn't have much success. My first idea was bringing a kite to fly, but that required obtaining both a kite and the knowledge of how to fly one. I tried to think about what sort of things von Karma would enjoy - which quickly nixed my next idea of going out to buy picnic supplies. My imagination just wasn't strong enough to picture the prosecutor sitting on a blanket in the grass, eating whatever snacks I could scrounge from my cabinets or the nearest supermarket.

When Sunday afternoon came, I ended up heading to the park with a mostly empty backpack holding only sunscreen and two bottles of water. It was close enough for me to walk there, and the brief journey also helped me make sure I was wearing suitable clothes. A skirt and one of my nicer T-shirts seemed perfect for the summer weather. Provided the date didn't extend into the night like my first visit to the park, I'd remain comfortable.

I stopped at the park entrance, and checked my watch. Just over five minutes early. At least with a date so close to my house, it was difficult to get lost.

I was prepared to wait at least five minutes, but just after I checked the time, I saw a familiar car pull up. Out stepped Manfred von Karma, dressed  more appropriately for the heat than last time - in a white button-down shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and tan slacks. A small leather bag slung across his shoulder completed the look, along with his usual cane. I couldn't help but smile at him in his new outfit. Even when he was dressed more casually, he still looked stylish.

“Good afternoon, Miss Martin,” he said, smiling back at me.

“Afternoon, Mr- er, um-” I stumbled over my words, unsure of exactly how to greet a man who was both my boss and date.

“I think you've earned the right to use my first name by now, hmm?”

“R-right, uh. Manfred.” I let out a nervous laugh. It felt different, calling him by that name. I liked it.

“Shall we?” 

He motioned toward the path leading into the park, and we both set off. Already, I sensed the difference between this visit and my last. From the outskirts of the park I could hear the noise of activity, and just a few steps further I saw the cause. In a wide open field, a couple played with their dog, while on the other side of the path a game of soccer was underway. Even the birds seemed to chirp louder, as though they were having fun too. It was a pleasant Sunday, and neither work nor a horrible crime scene was stopping these people from enjoying it.

I supposed that some of them felt more at ease because of the guilty verdict von Karma won in court. I knew it made me feel better. As the trees grew thicker down the path and we neared the center of the park, I was only slightly afraid that I'd see bloodstains on the pavement.

There were none, of course. Not a single trace remained of the macabre scene that once lay under the trees. Only leaves and shadows covered the ground there, the buzz of police activity replaced by wind whistling through the branches and the faint sounds of people at play. 

“Rather more peaceful now, isn't it?” von Karma remarked.

“Yeah. Um, thanks for that, by the way.”

“Of course.” He gave me a warm smile, and looked over to a nearby bench. “Why don't we rest here for a moment?”

I nodded and followed him there, sitting to his left and setting my backpack beside me as he did the same with his bag and cane. I reached over and got a water bottle out, opening it and offering it to von Karma.

“I brought you some water again. Hope you're thirsty, ‘cause that's about all I've got in here. That and sunscreen, if you need any.”

“Thank you.” He accepted the bottle, took a drink, and handed it back to me. “And I appreciate the offer, but I don't believe I'll require any sunscreen.”

“Did you already put some on at home?”

“No, but I don't-”

I didn't let him finish his sentence before reaching back to my bag and exchanging the bottle of water in my hand for a bottle of lotion.

“You should really use some,” I said, offering it over to a bemused von Karma.

“We're in the shade.”

“Well, right now, yes. But it's a sunny day out. We still have to make the walk out of the park, right? That's five minutes in direct sunlight at least, but if we go to the other end of the park and back, that'll be-”

“I highly doubt I'll burn that quickly.”

“It's not about sunburn,” I insisted, still holding out my sunscreen. “You can still get hurt by the sun without seeing it on your skin. And I don't want you getting hurt.”

He took the bottle from me and looked away, grunting something like ‘thank you’, and started applying the lotion. Fortunately, most of his body was covered by his clothes, so he only had his forearms, neck, and face to work on. I sipped my own water then, slightly worried that I'd bothered him and interrupted the flow of a good date. But I wasn't lying when I said I didn't want him to be hurt by the sun. 

After a minute or two, von Karma handed the sunscreen back to me. “Is that sufficient?” he asked.

I looked at him, frowned, and tapped a spot on my cheek mirroring the streak of white I saw on his face. “You've got a little, uh…”

I shook my head as he reached for the wrong cheek. “Other side.” And again, when he almost touched the right spot, but not quite.

“There,” von Karma said, his expression returned to his typical grumpiness after wiping away half of the smudge.

“Um…there's still just a little-” I mumbled, and wanting to avoid another round of ‘hot and cold’, simply reached over and rubbed in the sunscreen myself. “Here you go. Perfect.”

I saw his eyes widen just as I leaned back, and immediately felt flustered. “Uh, s-sorry. Didn't mean to, um-”

“Don't apologize, Miss Martin,” von Karma smiled. “I simply wasn't expecting you to do such a thing. Doesn't seem quite like the shy woman I dined with before.”

“Oh, w-well, I mean-” I stammered, feeling exactly like I did on that night. “It helps that I knew this was coming, I guess. Had time to plan and stuff. Although I didn't really plan a lot. Drinking water under some trees doesn't make much of a date.”

“What makes a date is the company, I believe. Although, if you'd like to have something more material, I can provide.”

He reached over beside him, into the bag he'd brought, and pulled out a small wooden box which he placed on his lap. The top was decorated with a logo of a flower and some text whose language I could only make an educated guess at. I knew the state had a significant Japanese-speaking population, though I didn't have much experience with them - or with any other part of the population, for that matter.

Von Karma lifted the lid, revealing an array of small flowers. At least, I'd thought they were flowers, until I looked closer and noticed the tiniest of differences between what I saw and an actual blossom. But for a nearly imperceptible change in the way light bounced off the petals, they were perfect replicas.

“Wagashi, I believe they're called,” he said. “Beautiful, aren't they? And fresh. I picked them up just before coming here.”

He raised the box toward me, and I carefully plucked one of the flowers from it. I felt soft in my hand, and even more so in my mouth, as I chewed into it with more than a little sadness over destroying something so beautiful. But I enjoyed the taste just as much - a sweet flavor, but only mildly so, that was more refreshing than most powerfully sugary western desserts. I finished it in a few tiny bites, licked my lips, and smiled.

“That was really good. Where'd you get this stuff?” I asked.

“Just a few miles from here. Not far at all, and not terribly expensive either.” He looked down at the wagashi, then back to me, and seemed to reconsider. “There are shops which sell an even cheaper variety, if you're interested. I can't vouch for the artistic quality of those, though.”

“Mmm,” I nodded, with another flower in my mouth.

“It’s quite fortunate to live near such shops, you know. Many of these sweets have a rather short shelf life, so shipping them is troublesome. You need to enjoy them while they last. Quite like real flowers, aren't they?”

“Mmm-hm,” I nodded vigorously, chewing on my third. After swallowing and noticing I was close to halfway through the box, I looked back at von Karma. “Do you want some of these? Sorry, I don't want to eat all your stuff.”

“I would like some. Unfortunately,” he raised a hand still slightly shiny with lotion, “both my hands seem to be covered in sunscreen, and I'd rather not have traces of it in my food.”

“Oh. Um. Oops.” I glanced away, about to suggest wiping his hand on his pants like I would in such a situation, but thankfully thought better of it. “I could pick them up for you, if you want.”

I looked back to see von Karma considering my proposal, staring down at my hands with pursed lips, and eventually nodding. “That could work, I suppose.”

I picked a flower from the box and lifted it halfway to his head. I paused then, unsure of what to do. I had offered to pick up the food for von Karma, but then what? He couldn't just take it from my hand with his own. That would defeat the purpose of me picking it up for him. So I stared down at my hand, my thoughts temporarily ground to a halt.

I then saw von Karma reach for my hand and cup his own around it, pulling it gently toward him, until he could eat from it. He took a bite, his own hand’s steadiness the only thing that kept mine from trembling. And a second, taking the rest of the wagashi and brushing his lips against my fingertips. Then he let go.

“Thank you, Miss Martin.”

“Uh, y-you want another one?” I asked, already reaching into the box.

He smiled. “If you wouldn't mind.”

I raised his second flower up toward him, a bit higher than the first, but not quite to his lips. I wasn't that brave, not yet. And I wanted to feel his hand around mine, guiding me to him.

It was a feeling as sweet as the wagashi itself. Sweeter, even, more like a western dessert. Powerful, overwhelming, and certainly addictive. I savored each second of contact, going back for another and another until I was stopped.

“There's only one left. Are you sure you don't want it?” von Karma asked.

I looked down at the beautiful petals in my hand. It was the last flower remaining of the lot. I did regret one thing - not taking a picture of all of them when I had the chance - but I didn't regret giving this one up. The memory would last longer than any flower, edible or otherwise.

“You can have it,” I said with a smile, and lifted my hand to his lips.

I managed to get it close enough not to require guidance, but he still touched my hand as he took his second bite. I thought it was meant to steady me, as my hands had a slight tremor to them even on a regular day. But he still held on after the wagashi was all gone.

“Generous as ever,” he said softly, adjusting my hand with his. He raised it up slightly and kissed just below my knuckles - gentle and light, only brushing against my skin with his lips. But as he let go, I still felt my heart flutter and my brain shut down.

“I- wha- …huh?” I managed to babble.

“If Friday was your first date, I assume that would be your first kiss?” Manfred smirked as I nodded wordlessly. “I don't intend to fluster you quite so much, you know. But you do make it rather easy. Here, why don't you just relax and wait for your mental faculties to return?”

He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer. For any normal person, in any normal couple, it would've been a comforting gesture - a man holding his partner to calm them. But for me, a person whose face had the power to turn red from a single glance, it was precisely the opposite. If my problem was being overwhelmed by emotion, being pulled into a hug wasn't going to help matters. But Manfred knew that, of course. The old bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

“I've often found it amusing to watch defense attorneys stumble over their words in the courtroom. To see their faces red with anger, as they make fools of themselves before the world. It's nice to see, certainly, but this,” he squeezed my shoulder gently, “is far better. After all, I don't believe those attorneys were enjoying it.”

I leaned into him. Into his body, his warmth, his smoky cologne. I couldn't move away if I tried, though I wasn't sure if I was simply unable, or also unwilling. He was comforting and electrifying, relaxing and anxiety inducing, and even though my mind and heart were racing, I couldn't say he was wrong. I was enjoying every second of it.

I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself. I'd take a deep breath, and try to push away any distracting thoughts. How am I going to tell my parents about this? That could wait. Another deep breath, and another thought forced itself into my mind. My muscles are way too tense. He can tell I'm not used to this.

I pulled away from him. He offered little resistance, and I leaned back against the bench, letting my head hang limp. “Someday, I'm…I'm gonna be able to do that without my head feeling like it'll explode,” I muttered.

“It's alright. A bit of awkwardness is perfectly normal for someone with as little experience as yourself.”

“...Yeah,” I said weakly. Though ‘a bit of awkwardness’ felt like a huge understatement, and ‘perfectly normal’ didn't feel like it applied to me in any situation.

“Rest awhile. We can finish our walk whenever you're ready.”

I heard the sound of the wagashi box closing and being put away. Letting out a sigh, I tried to focus onto my surroundings, grounding myself by looking back to the trees. It was still shady and cool in the little clearing, as the leaves above me danced in the breeze.

I sat up straight and took my water bottle from my backpack, getting a quick sip before tucking it back in my bag and zipping it closed. Slinging it over my shoulders, I stood from the bench and turned back.

“Ready to go,” I said with a renewed, somewhat more confident smile.

I watched Manfred stand with the aid of his cane, wondering if I should offer to help, but not getting the chance to act before he stood beside me. He gestured for me to set off, and we both headed down the path leading to the opposite end of the park.

Back under the sun, I had a clearer view of what I'd missed the last time I visited. The rest of the park was about as big as the first half, although large portions of it were taken up by a little pond and a play area, with ducks to the left of me and children to the right. I realized a potential problem with such an arrangement not long after I left the shade, and saw a kid run out of the playground to chase down what appeared to be a terrified duck. 

“I think I like the other side of the park better,” I said. “Much quieter.”

“Did you say something? I can only hear quacking and screaming.”

“Um, nevermind.”

“Pardon?”

I simply shook my head, and we made our way to the edge of the park as quickly as we could. There wasn't much more to see at the end of the path, just another entrance that looked similar to the one we used, and a little area for parking beyond that. The only thing of any note was an oddly dressed man walking by, seemingly with no regard for either weather or basic fashion sense.

I must've stared a half-second too long, as he turned toward us. I averted my eyes then, but it was too late.

“Manny!” the man in orange shouted, making me feel a bit of relief. Whoever it was, they recognized Manfred, not me. Any conversation that resulted from this was officially not my fault.

I heard a groan beside me. “He’s seen us. Turn around, quickly, we might still escape.”

I doubted the efficacy of that idea, considering the man was already halfway to us when I glanced back up. Despite the slightly wild gray hair, he had considerable speed. I didn't get the chance to even look the other way before he reached us.

“Manny!” he exclaimed again, with a clap of his hands. “Good to see you!”

“Hello, Damon,” Manfred grumbled, slowly turning around to face him.

“This a friend of yours?” I asked.

“No.”

“Of course! Why, Manny and I have worked together for years. Decades, even!” He grinned at Manfred, then turned his rosy glasses toward me. “Now, where are my manners? I haven't even introduced myself. Damon Gant, District Chief of Police of this lovely city of angels,” he extended a gloved hand for me, “at your service.”

“Well, it's nice to meet you.” I took his hand and felt his firm handshake. He didn't let go immediately, which I supposed was some sort of indication that I should introduce myself. I gave my name, then stumbled slightly on my own title. “I'm Ma- er, Mr. von Karma’s assistant.”

“Is that so?” Gant said, still holding my hand hostage in his vicelike grip. His eyes bored into me as he remained silent, and I couldn't meet his stare for long. Eventually, I glanced down at the ground, and eventually, he let me go.

“Well,” he clapped, “here I thought you were taking the day off, Manny.” I looked up to see Manfred glaring at Gant, who looked cheerful as ever. “But if you're at the park with your assistant, you must be working. That's only logical, wouldn't you say?”

Manfred remained silent, and Gant turned to me. I quickly nodded, not wanting a repeat of his previous staredown. 

“Uh, y-yeah, that makes sense,” I said.

“Jolly! Well, it has been nice meeting you. Unfortunately, I do have business of my own to attend to. But Manny, I must say, congratulations,” he turned to him with a wink, “...on the new work outfit. Looks lovely.”

Gant let out a boisterous laugh, turned around, and jogged off nearly as quickly as he'd arrived. It took me a moment to realize exactly what I'd done, and the consequences of what I'd said.

“He…he knows we're…?” I trailed off, looking at a grumpy Manfred.

“Yes.”

“And…I just told him I'm your assistant.”

“Yes. But he would've found out regardless of what you said. He has his ways of getting information about people.”

“Right. Because he's the chief of police. And now the chief of police knows we're…” I groaned at the pavement.

“He's not going to make any trouble for us because of this, if that's what you're concerned about. Damon isn't the type. He'll just hold onto it, and wave it over my head to annoy me, like he does with his little nicknames.”

“He has other nicknames?”

Manfred scoffed. “The man's practically incapable of calling a person by their real name. I can't tell you how many times I've told him to stop calling me ‘Manny’ at work, it's downright disrespectful, really.”

“Well, there goes my idea for a pet name,” I said with a teasing grin.

“Believe me, there's a world of difference between him calling me that and you doing the same.” He met my grin with a smirk. “I think I might enjoy it, coming from you.”

“O-oh. Well.” I swallowed, trying to push down all my anxiety so I could do what I wanted. What my mind and body cried out for me to do.

I took his hand, and drew closer. “Um, M-Manny,” I mumbled, trying valiantly to shorten the distance between us, “I…uh…”

I couldn't manage it, not on my own. But Manfred took his hand from mine and placed it on my shoulder, pulling us together. I wrapped my arms around him. Though a hug wasn't exactly what I was aiming for, I could happily settle for one.

“I was right, you know,” he said softly. “I enjoy your little pet name quite a bit.”

Then he gave me just what I wanted, pressing a kiss to my forehead and holding me close for a moment longer before letting go. He smiled at me, despite my awkwardness, and inexperience, and difficulty with doing even the most simple things that I wanted to do - all those flaws seemed like nothing to him.

“Have I rendered you speechless again, Miss Martin?”

I simply nodded, and followed him back down the path into the park. But we didn't go far before I reached for his hand again, and held onto it as we walked. 

[cynicalone94]

Last Words

Read on AO3 here.

Prologue

Jay hates court.

Hates being forced into this monkey suit, hates being quizzed by sleazy defense attorneys poking holes in anything they can in an attempt to get their client off.

Its even worse on an undercover case.

The look of hurt betrayal that Peter Kirkpatrick keeps giving him from his seat at the defense table stabs into his very core.

He’s not a bad kid, just happens to have rather unfortunate parentage. His dad, Logan Kirkpatrick, runs one of the largest organized crime families in Chicago.

And through Jay befriending the man’s son, he’d managed to get what his unit needed to take him down.

Peter had been offered a deal. In exchange for his testimony against his father he’ll only do ten years if convicted.

Finally, the judge calls for the defendant to rise and asks the jury to relay their verdict.

Jay’s eyes close as the foreman announces that they’ve found Peter guilty.

It’s over.

Finally.

“You!”

His eyes fly open to see Peter turned to face him.

“I trusted you!” he screams, diving over the dividing railing. “You destroyed my family!”

The bailiffs move in, grabbing him before he even gets close to Jay and he watches, frozen, as the kid is drug back through the gate and placed into cuffs.

“You are remanded into custody pending your sentencing hearing.” the judge says, raising his voice to be heard over the almost feral growls. “And I would suggest that you find it in yourself to be more calm when that time comes.”

Peter is drug out of the courtroom, locking eyes with Jay as he passes through the doors.

“You’ll pay for this.” he hisses.

Once the doors are closed, the judge turns to Jay.

“Detective Halstead, perhaps you might consider skipping the sentencing.” he suggests, not unkindly.

Jay nods, turning and leaving the courtroom.

ten years later

Jay walks back to his truck with a cup of coffee in each hand and a bag tucked under his arm with one of the pastries that Hailey likes. It had been a little busier than usual today but its worth it.

So he’ll be twenty minutes early instead of thirty.

Only when he gets to the truck, the windshield has been shattered and he groans, setting the coffees on the hood and reaching for his phone.

Something hard presses into his back and he goes still.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

“What do you want?” he asks, eyes darting around to track passing pedestrians, innocent bystanders who might be injured if this goes sideways.

“I made a promise to you.” his attacker answers. “A long time ago. It’s time for me to keep it.”

The voice is familiar somehow but he can’t quite place it.

His cuffs are lifted from his belt and the gun nudged against his back. He reluctantly puts his hands in place, grimacing as the cuffs are locked around them.

Bystanders seem to be realizing what’s happening here and moving away, a few people on theirs phones with who he really hopes is dispatch.

His weapon is pulled from the holster and he listens to the mag drop, the distinct sound of the slide being worked and the chambered round ejected.

The gun never leaves his back and he wonders if there’s more than one person behind him or if it’s one person who’s familiar with operating a semi-automatic weapon one handed.

He hears the gun drop to the ground and then his phone is being pulled from his pocket.

“Let’s go.”

The gun nudges to the left and he slowly turns that direction before stepping forward.

“Silver Chrysler.”

As he approaches the car the trunk pops open. And then he hears sirens split the air.

“Oh they won’t get here in time. Don’t you worry, Jay. Or can I call you Alan?”

The shock and panic that the name cause him cut off abruptly as something rams hard against the base of his skull and he tumbles gracelessly into the trunk of the car.

The last thing he sees before darkness overtakes him is the smirking face of Peter Kirkpatrick staring down at him.

He wakes up somewhere dark.

There are lights somewhere above him but in his hazy, semi-conscious at best state he can’t tell how far they are.

“He’s awake.”

Ugh.

Had someone really been sitting around, just waiting for him to wake up?

A face is abruptly directly over his and he starts but can’t seem to make his body move.

“Welcome back, Alan.” Peter says. “I didn’t think I’d hit you quite that hard.”

It’s probably more about where he’d been hit than the force behind it but Jay can’t be bothered to try to correct the man.

Peter has aged quite a lot since the last time Jay had seen him. apparently prison hadn’t agreed with him.

“What do you want?” he growls.

“Do you remember what I said when they were taking me away after the verdict?” Peter asks.

Jay remembers.

It had been the first time that someone he’d arrested had threatened him, at least in a way that he’d believed they were serious.

But over time the memory had faded.

He hadn’t even thought of it when he’d received the phone call last month that the man was being released.

Which was stupid.

“I’ve thought long and hard about ways that I could do this.” Peter says and Jay frowns as he watches the man prep a needle.

But he can still barely move and he can’t react, can’t push him away as the needle is jabbed into his stomach.

“You’ve been given a paralytic.” Peter says smugly. “You won’t be able to do anything about any of this.”

Any of what? He’d give his right arm to know what the asshole is planning.

But Peter just walks away, leaving him lying on the floor.

Hailey is the first to crash into the basement, catching sight of her partner and nearly forgetting to check the room for hostiles before holstering her weapon and skidding to her knees next to him.

There’s blood everywhere and his skin is so pale it’s nearly translucent.

God. What did the asshole do to him?

‘He’ll never see it coming.’ he’d said as Adam was cuffing him. ‘It’ll be right there, but he won’t even notice it until it’s already killed him.’

Based on the copious amounts of blood that have exited his body through the stab wound in his lower abdomen she can’t imagine that Jay wouldn’t have noticed this.

“Hailey?” he breathes as she reaches him, startling her.

He hasn’t moved yet and she hadn’t realized he was even conscious.

“Paralytic.” he says, reading her confusion. “Can’t move. ‘n he injected me with something else too. Can’t feel my torso.”

He doesn’t know he’s been stabbed.

“5021 Henry. Need paramedics in the basement as soon as the building is clear.”

She sets aside her radio and makes eye contact.

“Good.” she says, offering him a weak smile. “That means this won’t hurt as much as it should.”

She shoves her hands over the wound and presses down hard, only eliciting a confused look from him.

“He stabbed you.” she says gently. “I think the numbing agent was so you wouldn’t feel it, wouldn’t know it was killing you until it was too late.”

“Like he didn’t know I was killing him until it was too late.” he says, eyes shuttering.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Jay.” she tells him.

“He trusted me, Hailey.” he says. “And I destroyed his family.”

“His dad destroyed his family.” she corrects. “And who knows how many others.”

He doesn’t respond and she sighs.

They can deal with this when he isn’t bleeding out on a cold, stone floor.

His eyelids start to flutter, the blood loss catching up with him even though the lack of shock has held off a lot of the signs that she’s used to seeing.

“Jay.” she says. “Stay awake for me.”

“Thanks… for comin’ for me.” he slurs slowly and she presses down harder despite knowing that it won’t do anything.

“Jay!” she shouts. “No checking out. Don’t you dare.”

His eyes slip closed and she pulls a shaky hand away from his wound to press fingers into the side of his neck.

His pulse is thready; fast and unsteady and she doesn’t like it at all.

She hears paramedics thundering into the room and shouts without looking up.

“He’s lost a lot of blood, just passed out and his pulse is… not good.”

They don’t waste anytime on scene, attaching monitors and then roughly transferring him onto the backboard and backpedaling for the door.

Bandaging, an IV, oxygen and everything else can happen in the ambulance but they need to get him to Med.

Now.

She does her best not to look at the team as they pass them on their way up, not wanting to see the horrified looks on their faces. The sounds of their attempts to offer him encouragement are hard enough.

Even more so when the monitor nestled atop his legs transitions from an unsteady rhythm to a solid whine.

No.

They get outside, setting the backboard on a stretcher and then Sylvie jumps up on top of him, starting compressions.

Emily doesn’t stop, pushing the stretcher toward the ambulance.

Severide approaches them at a run, Hailey hadn’t even known that Squad responded to the call, helping her lift him up into the ambulance and then running around to drive so that both paramedics can climb into the back.

They don’t push Hailey out, despite things being a little cramped, Emily just hands her the AED and tells her to set it up and then starts working on an IV.

Fluids won’t save him but they might buy him a little time.

Hailey opens the package with shaking hands, working around Sylvie to get the pads in the right place.

She’d been trained how to use one of these in the academy but considers herself lucky to not have needed one since.

The three of them work well together, showing in the way that she and Emily weave around each other and Sylvie, getting the AED ready to go and the IV and oxygen in place without having to stop CPR and all in the back of a moving vehicle.

It takes four shocks to get his heart going again and there’s nothing comforting about the resulting rhythm.

The ambulance falls into nervous anticipation.

There isn’t much they can do right now except to hope that Severide drives like a bat out of hell and that it’s enough.

And all Hailey can think is that Jay thanking her for coming for him might have been his last words.

Might be the last thing she ever hears him say.

He flat lines again as they pull up at Med and this time it’s Emily who wastes no time getting into position and beginning compressions as the stretcher is yanked from the back of the ambulance.

They don’t waste time in the ED, Marcel taking over for Sylvie before they rush him directly to surgery, leaving Hailey and the paramedics staring after them in shock.

Will stumbles out of a bay a moment later, looking at the three of them covered in blood and then glancing toward the doors to the OR.

“Wha-” he cuts off abruptly, rushing through the doors to find out what’s going on.

Hailey sinks to the floor.

****AN:// What would y'all do to me if I ended it right here? I guess I'd rather not find out. *****

Will doesn’t look okay when he comes back through those doors almost two hours later.

No.

He can’t … they have to… he has to be…

“He’s alive.”

Will’s words cut through her spiral and she looks up.

“I didn’t think a human could survive on that little blood volume but they managed to get him back. And then once more on the table before they were able to get him stabilized.” he says, looking old and tired. “But the stubborn bastard held on.”

“Can I see him?” she asks weakly.

“I’ll take you up.” he says. “Just don’t expect much. He’s still intubated and they plan to keep him sedated at least for twenty fours to let his body rest, get through a few more transfusions.”

That’s okay.

Hailey doesn’t need to talk to him.

She just needs to hear his heart beating.

To prove to herself that those weren’t his last words after all.

[gothicxcatalystx666]

Chapter Twelve

We waited twenty minutes before the council actually showed up. And each one appeared to be different forms, but each one a reaper.

"We are here to judge, you on behalf of your life encounter." There was a pause of silence. "We will take all good deeds in your life into consideration. But if you've done poorly? Then we will place our verdict onto you and only you can take account for your troubles caused...

Understand?"

I said nothing.

"Very well. Let's begin."

The lights dimmed and the screens hanging above the council lit slowly.

Orchestra music started to play in a flash of my life past by. My childhood. Growing up on Darrin street, playing soccer for a year, beat up the school bully, old pictures of me with my toy drum set, my grandma hold me as a kid, all of it. Flashing by in second clips causing the whole thing to speed by.

My early teen years, pictures of me and my parents, starting school, my dad leaving, crying to my mom as I came out of the closet. All of it.

Then it ended after about three minutes or so.

And isn't that how life is, one day your here, then one day it feels like it sped by?

"Now these actions in your life are the good actions that we will judge..." The judge spoke but it all faded to a muffled noise in the background. I looked around and there was the reaper, standing there. We locked eyes for a second and I snapped out of it.

"I said, What do you have to say for these actions??" The second judge said.

I said nothing.

"Fine, then all of the deeds, weather good or bad will be thrown out. Final decision?" The third judge said. "Anyone think we.should spare this young man?" She asked.

No one raised a hand.

"Does anybody think we should sentence this mortal to life in the afterworld, punishment, for his actions...???" The fourth judged interrupted.

And everyone slowly raised their right hand. A single tear ran down my face. But I said nothing.

"Fine you will be sentenced to an eternity in the underworld." The first judged announced.

"But wait--" Someone interrupted.

Everyone gasped at this and we all turned our heads to see the reaper now standing interrupting the trail. "But you didn't, even take the time to come up with a verdict!" He announced angrily after a moment.

"Weather we came to a verdict or if we DID take a break to determine the sentence it would still be the same." The third judge.

"But that's unfair!" He announced right back.

"Do you dare stand against the trail?" The third judge demanded.

"DONT DEFEND ME!" I stood up.

"Weather you determined me to be innocent or guilty we all knew you knew my fate already." I looked back at the reaper. "That wouldnt.change anything." 

The crowd erupts in chatter.

We all sit and the six feet tall guards picked me up, and as I stood I wanted so desperate to look back at the reaper. Why did he try to protect me? He didn't care. Or at least he shouldn't have.

They took me away to a dark evil looking cave, it was really a cell, but I guess whatever I called it didn't matter. I had been sentenced to the underworld. 

What was going to happen to me?

A//N:

CAN YOU BELIEVE I HAVEN'T TAKEN A BREAK YET OMFG, IM BASICALLY A GOD. LOLOLOL.

I'VE BEEN STAYING UP ALL NIGHT AND HAVEN'T WROTE A SINGLE WORD IN WEEKS!!

OMFG, BUT DON'T WORRY THE CLIMAX IS COMING SOON..????

WE MAY NEVER KNOW!?!

[frogs-in3-hills]

playing aai2 and well that was one of the best case twos in the series actually. i am going to talk about it now :DDDD

SO there’s a lot to unpack here….. first of all i kind of wanna ramble about how cool this mystery was in general, i ended up suspecting the true culprit fairly early on based on vibes alone but the case still had me second guessing about a billion times, and the reveal that the body was used as simon keyes’ pulley counter weight……. holy fuck dude…… and in true aai fashion the two returning characters, frank sawhit and regina berry, were executed surprisingly well and they both introduced a greater depth to the case so that was neat or whatever. overall the stakes felt high the whole time, there was a very satisfying feed of overarching plot stuff, and the mystery was really fun to solve. and of course edgeworth getting uno reverse carded with the updated autopsy report is fucking hilarious EVERYBODY SAY THANK YOU JUSTINE COURTNEY

anyways i am SUPER excited to see where the themes are going here and how it will play into edgeworth’s character arc. i thought aai had a very cool departure from the og trilogy in how it handles the concept of corruption and systemic chance, and aai2 is already playing super heavily into that. LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK. EVERYBODY SAY THANK YOU JUSTINE COURTNEY. she had two lines that i found really interesting — i didn’t screenshot them but i went and grabbed them from the transcript:

"I see... You have performed a thorough investigation. Which is why I am even further perplexed. Why do you not use your efforts for justice? (Edgeworth: My actions are not just? Who made that decision?) You cannot understand that? Even now? Providing support to a defense attorney, despite being a prosecutor... It is quite unnatural. This goes against the rules."

“The truth is not as vital as you seem to believe it to be. Not to the world... ...And not to the law. (…) (Edgeworth: A prosecutor is not someone who demands a guilty verdict. That is what I believe.) Those are merely your values. The law is not the plaything of any one person. If you will not submit to that... You will do well to prepare for the consequences.”

so obviously these quotes are very telling about courtney’s values, mainly that she believes order = justice and that justice is upheld through devotion. so when she sees edgeworth instead upholding justice through his passion, she mistakes him for being childish and, more importantly, uncontrollable. uncontrollable as in he’s definitely going to dig shit up that the higher ups want kept quiet, and omg we’re finally starting to address that the court system itself is kind of a fucking problem directly through the text — the closest we’ve gotten (chronologically) before now was RFtA. she’s literally just if the establishment was also a pretty lady. i love her btw if that wasn’t clear

so she’s our rival prosecutor because it sets up this conflict where courtney’s logic isn’t necessarily bad, it just needs to be challenged. it was the same in aai with best girl shi-long lang, where he had a grudge against prosecutors, but he and edgeworth ended up learning to work together and stuff (they also definitely kissed) because he wasn’t wrong, just emblematic of a problem within the “finding the truth” process or whatever. so we’re definitely going to see the fight for change continued here. it picks up from edgeworth’s speech in aai: (“There is no limit to the law. Any limit that exists was set there by man. When a person goes beyond that limit, then the law, too, crosses into new territory!”), and it LOOKS LIKE it’s going to lead directly into the more complex themes about systemic reform shown in apollo justice.

and this thing with edgeworth considering a possible future as a defense attorney???? CHEFS KISS. in bridge to turnabout he got to defend so that he could see what his life might have been like if his father hadn’t died, but it was purely a hypothetical so that he could have closure. now he’s actually being handed the opportunity to become a defense attorney and being forced to directly grapple with what it means to be a prosecutor and it’s SO GOOD because it’s gripping and relevant to his storyline, but it also feels like a step up from his previous “what does it mean to be a prosecutor” journey in the og trilogy, which was more fueled by trauma and confusion. its like the difference between your first six months in therapy and your third year in therapy. it’s so fucking good yall i am bouncing in my seat

one thing that’s still bothering me though is?? how was the assassin guy able to play correspondence chess in the mail?? is he not literally blind??? ik he was supposed to have an egregiously high standard of living in his cell but am i supposed believe that both him and knightly had a braille typewrighter or an embossing machine in prison?????

also the pacing was a little terrible but like, if you’re playing investigations you just need to be okay with that i think. whatever.

anyways ummmmmm that’s it lol. if you read this thanks for taking the time i guess!!! don’t spoil me please!

[gunsli-01]

The logic thrown around in the Milgram fandom is so funny when it comes to voting. This is only the first of the second round of trials. Yet, it's turned into the perfect prelude for the reactionary, tit for tat decision making we'll probably see throughout. The logic being used to break the 50/50 is actually ridiculous. Voting Haruka guilty for any reason that holds even a bit of concern over his safety or others is just setting yourself up to be disappointed.

Even if you just want him to change his fucking behavior neither of the verdicts presented would cause that to happen. Which is still hilarious given most milgram fans will be notorious Fuuta haters and then go we can scorn/shame the prisoners into behaving better. Make it make sense.

To put it bluntly this is quite simply the easiest way to have him be lost. Which would suck cause we wouldn't get his final song but we'd literally be losing nothing narratively since we know exactly what he did and why at this point. Voting him guilty under the weird fucking idea that he'll be restrained enough to not hurt himself if Mu isn't voted innocent is provably a stupid idea.

He'd still have enough freedom under the first level of restraint to injure himself/others. Super funny that this is even a talking point considering we've seen the level of restraint he'd receive implemented on three prisoners already. All of which could still get around fine, with their hands totally free. The only thing that has limited two of the guilty prisoners ability to get around is wounds inflicted on them by Kotoko.

This isn't even speculation it's a fact we've seen them at the beginning of this trial. Fuuta, Amane, and Mahiru we're not restrained to the point of not being able to hurt themselves or others. Even with the first level of restraint being enacted upon Amane she still threatens to take care of Shidou if he keeps providing medical attention. So, it is actively pointless to vote him guilty with this in mind and the people that use this as a reason are either deluding themselves, acting out of ignorance, or willfully being dishonest.

Basing not wanting a 50/50 on an assumption of what it entails. Basing anything off an assumption is a waste of time. Especially when we could just as easily see what the fuck it entails by getting it as early as possible. Then move forward more informed than before. All the logic being used to support a guilty verdict for Haruka quite literally falls apart when looked at with any scrutiny.

Just watch Mu's trial is gonna come up then a lot of people are gonna magically remember the first level of restraint isn't actually all that restraining. Suddenly they're gonna be like we gotta vote her innocent because Haruka remember guys. Oh no, but I really thought the restraint would be more than that swearsies.

I at least had some respect for the guilty verdict logic when I'd wrongfully assumed most voting him guilty said fuck that guys wellbeing I want that different information Es was alluding to. I'd even accept the whole he's gotten far too cocky approach but as it stands now all the reasoning for it I've seen has just been stupid.

[renegadewangs]

Van Zieks - the Examination, Part 1

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I'm outlining stems from my own views and experiences. I am a 30-something European woman, and therefore may not view the matter from certain angles. That said, I'm always open to more input from others. If you believe that I've missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. If we can make this a team effort, I would love that.

The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. I am of the firm belief that characters are no more than a tool created to serve a narrative purpose, therefore the question I'm posing is whether or not Barok van Zieks serves this purpose. That's all I'm doing here.

I'm using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what's said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent.

It doesn't matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. He's not real anyway, so he can't suffer from it. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people. If you know you're morally in the right, there should be no need for insults to begin with. Let's keep this conversation civil and constructive! As the first post in a series, let’s first start by examining the expectations we would have for a character like this. The purpose he was meant to serve.

1: Expectations

As I said in a different Barok-related essay, the main prosecutor of any Ace Attorney game has been, and always will be, an antagonistic force. Not a villain, not even necessarily someone who exhibits immoral traits. (Hi Klavier!) Just someone who impedes the protag’s goal of getting a not-guilty verdict. In order to have an effective antagonist, they need to mirror the protag's weaknesses back at them. Ace Attorney does this quite well, as the prosecutors represent the obstacle/turmoil that the defense needs to overcome. Often times, the prosecutor is also tied to a pivotal moment in the attorney's past, making sure the strife is quite personal.

Considering the game's plot and settings, it would've been difficult for Barok to be tied to Ryunosuke's past. (He is tied to Asogi's past, funnily enough, but that's a matter I also addressed in that other Barok essay.) So instead, Barok represents Ryunosuke's struggle in more of a figurehead capacity. I've seen people dub him the 'CEO of Racism', and I'm not gonna lie, in a way that's correct. Barok was designed to be the mouthpiece of the harmful sentiments Japanese exchange students would have encountered in the 1900s. By extension, since Ryunosuke is an exchange student unfamiliar with the British courts (or even courts in general), the prosecutor would target the fact that Ryunosuke 'does not understand how things are done here'. Which he does- a lot. This makes it all the more satisfying when Ryunosuke proves him wrong by outsmarting him and using Britain's own laws (such as the closing argument) against him. So yes, you may hate Barok for uttering racist sentiments and dismissing Ryunosuke's abilities, but the ultimate goal here is that Barok's defeat is made sweeter as a result. The narrative end-game is Ryunosuke's triumph and validation in the courtroom.

Was there a different personal struggle Barok could have represented? Yes, but also no. Sure, his vendetta could have been strictly with the Asogi family and Ryunosuke could have admitted to carrying Asogi's resolve, not knowing what it meant. Though that would’ve implied very early that Asogi had a history of sorts in Britain and would’ve destroyed some of the surprise we experience in game 2. Alternatively, there was also the 'parallel' antagonist angle. The sort of villain who says the line “we're not so different, you and I.” The antagonist who shows what happens when someone with the same skills or motivations follows the wrong path, which emphasizes the right path for the protagonist. However, I can't see that working in the plot of this game.

A purposeful decision was made by the writers to have prejudice be a central theme of the plot. This is the matter that hits the hardest in an emotional sense. Therefore, having Barok be the centerpiece of this prejudice ensures he leaves the biggest narrative impact.

---

However, another long-running aspect of the AA prosecutor is the redemption arc, so let's turn our attention to that!

I'm not going to put too much effort into explaining this, I just want to talk about the requirements of a redemption arc. We all know these types of arcs, a lot of Ace Attorney prosecutors have them. We see them in fiction all over. Noteworthy examples of redemption arcs done well include Zuko from The Last Airbender, Michael from The Good Place... For argument's sake, let's toss Edgeworth in there too. I'm not saying Edgeworth's arc is done well, but at the very least it is accepted by most as something that served its intended purpose. I've never seen anyone question Edgeworth's transformation.

See, what we have here is a bit of a misnomer when it comes to what people expect to get out of these types of arcs. Redemption in itself is only 'deliverance from sin' or 'being saved from evil'. It's the thought that a horrible person can still see the error of their ways before it's 'too late'. However, when it comes to absorbing media, often a character gaining knowledge that they were in the wrong isn't enough to satisfy the audience. Would Edgeworth have had a satisfying redemption arc if he'd acknowledged his arrogance and dirty tactics, only to retire as a prosecutor? No way. We needed him to return in the following games to give us an update on his status. Standing in court as a defense attorney, at the risk of damaging his reputation, was the moment we knew he'd grown for the better.

What we require for the arc to come to a good conclusion is atonement. The character in question must not only apologize for their actions, but repent in a more active manner to show that they've changed their ways. Following that, the atonement must be acknowledged by others. So for example, Zuko joins the ATLA gang to help them in any way that he can until even the most skeptical of the group, Katara, acknowledges his transformation into a better person. Now add to this the notion that the character's atonement must be virtuous and sincere. The Good Place is a fascinating look into the debate of 'is it ever too late for a person to change?' and the moral complications of changing in the first place. If you're only doing good things because you want to be saved from damnation, are you being a good person or are you being selfish? There's such a thing as corrupt motivation; only doing good because it is expected. For example, does sponsoring a library make Magnus McGilded a good person? It does not, since he's only doing it to boost his own reputation and have people believe he's selfless.

As a final note, I want to ask: Does a redemption arc require a backstory to justify the character's immoral ways? Personally, I don't think that it does. It's good to have, since it allows an audience to empathize with the character and give them more of a reason to root for them. It turns the redemption arc into a tale about overcoming past trauma. However, it can backfire when done badly and lead to frustration. (I'm looking at you, live action Disney movies!) Some characters are evil just for the sake of being evil and even then, they can turn over a new leaf because they realize it is just so much more rewarding to be good. Just look at Michael from The Good Place.

What's more effective than a backstory, in my opinion, is smaller details to humanize a character. Humanization can also lead to empathy, perhaps even relatability, and helps us believe that they're capable of change. We need to be told that a character has their own fears, their own flaws, their own odd little habits which deviate from the norm... Again, I'll point to Michael from The Good Place for this. Another humanization tactic, which we see employed often in Ace Attorney, is to display a prosecutor's likes and hobbies outside the courtroom. Edgeworth's fanboying over the Steel Samurai, Blackquill's love for birds, Nahyuta's willingness to stand in line for hours to get his hands on a delicious burger... I've feel ya, Nahyuta. This tactic is more readily employed in Ace Attorney because it's difficult to place a prosecutor in a position of weakness before the final showdown. You can show them tending to hobbies during Investigation segments, but you can't show them waking up from a nightmare or wondering whether their father loves them. Well, not until case 5 of that game, anyway. By then, it's too late to serve as the sole humanization factor. Did Van Zieks need to be redeemed at all? The way I see it, the only correct answer is yes. What do we want to see in our world? Do we want people who hold racist prejudice to acknowledge their faults and become better, or do we want them to die clinging to their shitty moral compass? Do we want a world where everyone learns to get along, or do we want a world where people continue to be in the wrong and act like assholes until they inevitably get punished by law for something or another? Van Zieks needed to be redeemed in order to teach that valuable lesson that it’s never too late to be a good person and that it pays to be a good person.

So to summarize, what we needed from Barok van Zieks was the following:

1) Present an antagonistic (possibly immoral) force who personifies Ryunosuke's biggest personal obstacle/weakness, in this case racial prejudice. 2) Humanizing traits begin to show. OPTIONAL: A backstory to justify any immorality he has. 3) Over time, Barok has his realization and sees the error of his ways. 4) Barok atones for his immorality, not simply through apology but by taking decisive steps. 5) The cast around him acknowledges his efforts and forgives him.

This leaves us with the question: Does the game deliver on these points? Well, let's boot it up and find out! Stay tuned for The Adventure of the Runaway Room! (as a warning, it’s gonna be LONG)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Actus Reus

Warnings: nonconsensual sexual acts (oral, spanking, intercourse)

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find yourself at odds with Andy Barber both in and out of court.

Note: I just decided to write this one shot because I could and because @lokislastlove​ is harassing me all the time!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You stood as the judge went through the motions, the verdict closer and closer. Judge Hannon's voice carried through the courtroom and you longed for those words; 'Not guilty'. 

As your victory was confirmed, you glanced across the room at the Assistant District Attorney. You smiled as his eyes met yours and his jaw ticked. More and more often you found yourself on the docket with Andy Barber and to your delight, the last three times had been successful. At least, on your end.

You shook the defendant’s hand and congratulated him on his avoided jail time. Your own celebration would have to wait.

You packed up and neared the aisle. Andy sat behind the desk, his briefcase open and his papers still stacked before him. You rested your bag on the corner and stopped.

"Head up. There's always next time." You chimed.

He looked over. His lips remained a straight line and his eyes burned fiercely at you. Usually he took it on the chin with grace and you were startled at the sheer anger in his expression. He sighed and turned to shuffle his papers into a single pile.

"Yeah," He stood, "Next time."

You smiled and nodded. You left him to stew in his ire and shrugged as you neared the door. You'd seen it before. Egos always seemed to find their way into the courtroom. Well, his wasn't your concern, you had your own to deal with. This high wouldn't last forever, but while it did, you were sure as hell going to enjoy it.

💼

Aaron finished his drink and checked his watch. The wife was waiting, so he claimed. That was always his excuse to cut out early and the rest were quick to follow suit; early morning, kids, cat needed to be fed. You bid Carlos goodbye next and then Geena. Your posse was rather lame outside the courtroom, not that they were much fun there either.

You shrugged and made your way to the bar for a second round. You stood at the corner trying to catch the attention of the bartender. The subtle movement of another at the opposite end caught your eye. You recognized the beard made darker by the shadows and you recognized your adversary despite his attempt to hide behind his hand.

You smiled and played his game. You pretended not to notice him as the bartender finally came your way. A double with lime. You waited and watched until the stout tumbler was placed before you. You paid and left the change as a tip. You walked a few stools down, closer to Andy as he stared into his rye. You climbed up and set your glass down loudly.

You stared at the Coors sign and crossed one leg over the other as you sipped. You smiled above the lip of the glass and sighed. His stool creaked and he cleared his throat.

"Come to gloat?" He asked.

"Nah, just wanted to see if you'd find your spine." You taunted. "I take it that's not a happy drink."

He glared at you and drained the last gulp. He motioned to the bartender and ordered a refill.

"And once she's done, give her another on me." His voice was low, monotone. He barely looked at you.

"You don't have to--"

"You won. You earned it," He huffed. "And I was always told it wasn't good to drink alone."

"You talking about you or me?" You countered. 

He shrugged and accepted his second drink.

"Whatever makes you feel better," He grumbled.

"Look, Mr. Assistant District Attorney, I don't think you need to be so worked up over me." You snickered. "A public defender is hardly an enviable position."

"You do well enough, don't you?" He took a swig and licked the excess from his lips.

"Look, I think I'm good on the refill. A kind gesture but..." You stood and took your drink. "I don't think alcohol is a great mixer for us."

"What's wrong? Not so mouthy without an audience."

"Right, Andy," You backed up slowly. "I'll see you at the courthouse. Hopefully not soon."

You left him to mope and returned to your table, alone but not disheartened. The gin was just starting to kick in and lent a soft glow to the dark barroom.

💼

Another drink and you were ready to go. Admittedly it was one too many but tomorrow was your day off and despite his resent, Andy had insisted on sending it over. He left just as it was delivered to your table. You raised it in thanks as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

You left the empty glass on the table and slung your jacket over your arm as you hugged your bag to your side. It was barely midnight, the bar would be open for a few hours more. You stumbled out into the dim street and the door clattered behind you noisily. 

You swayed as you stopped on the curb and looked up and down the road. A cab would be your best bet.

You chuckled dopily as you squinted at a set of headlights down the street. The alcohol was starting to really nip at you. You raised your hand to flag down the taxi but were suddenly pulled off balance. Your scream was capped by a hand over your mouth as you kicked out and dropped your blazer and bag onto the sidewalk. You flailed as you were dragged back into the mouth of the alley just beside the bar.

"Shhhh," The hot breath smelled like whiskey as you were shoved against the wall. 

You looked up at the looming shadow, the silhouette of broad shoulders and a face shrouded in darkness. Your vision was hazy and your felt a draining warm flow through you as the gin sank deeper into your stomach.

"You make a noise," The coarse growl chilled you, "I'll make sure you never say another word again."

You gulped and slapped the stranger's chest. He was strong, big, immovable. You whimpered into his palm and he pressed it harder to your lips.

"Do you understand?" He snarled.

You nodded and your hand slipped from his chest. 

You leaned against the wall, trying to flatten yourself as his hand slid from over your mouth. 

"Please..." You wisped.

"Don't, " He warned as he grabbed the front of your blouse, his leg against yours as he pinned you there.

He tore your shirt open and pushed it aside. He squeezed your tits gruffly, your bra thin beneath his touch. He was quick to snake his hands down around your ass and knead with a beastly growl.

His hands descended further and he yanked on your skirt until it was above your thighs. He ripped your panties down just as quickly and your legs wobbled beneath you. You threatened to crumple entirely and he pushed your shoulders back against the wall.

He was terse, silently demanding as he led your body to his whims. He pulled your leg up and hooked it around his hip. You heard a buckle and a zipper, the noise cut through your panic and you were washed over with numb acceptance.

You blinked a long blink and when you opened your eyes, he was inside you. He jerked your body violently as he impaled you. His hand kept a hold of your knee as he writhed against you with muted grunts. His other hand moved in the shadows along the edge of your vision. You closed your eyes again and scratched your fingernails along the wall as your ankles buckled underneath your weight, the thin heels of your shoes threatening to snap.

You felt a painful fullness, an incessant pounding in your core, as this stranger ravished you. Your eyelids bloomed yellow for an instant and you opened them to another blinding flash, and another, several until the light turned constant. Until you were nothing but a rag doll crushed between the grimy brick and inhuman warmth.

The bar door opened with a shrill grind and closed again. Several times as you were trapped only feet away. Drunken footfalls echoed away and you just let them.

You gave a whine and the hand flew from your leg to your mouth. Another hush as your leg dangled around the stranger and he kept on rutting into you. Every thrust was harder, meaner, his sinister growls barely restrained as the light kept your clueless.

Then it all stopped. His hips slowed and he pulled out of you. Heat spurted down your thigh and the light moved lower before it died entirely. Your skirt was tugged down over the mess and you were left to collapse into a heap. 

The buckle again, and the zipper. The soft soles on the ground and the drop of your bag beside you and the flutter of your jacket over your chest. You stayed there, weak, frightened, and the shadow walked away into the darkness.

You buttoned up your shirt, crooked and untucked as you pushed yourself to your feet. You pulled on your blazer and gripped your bag tightly, unsteadily finding your way back to the street. There was a drunk pissing on the other side of the road and you limped down towards the corner. Another taxi appeared and you raised your hand, almost tripping over your own feet.

All you had to do was get home. Get home, get safe, and you could figure it out tomorrow.

💼

The next day, you woke with barely any recollection of how you got home. You remembered your last drink and the door closing behind you but everything else was a garbled, retina burning blur.

You didn't do much more than hold together your splitting head. It really hadn't been that great a victory and you accepted this as the humbling you deserved. That and the ache throughout your body, the filth you felt upon waking on your couch. The feeling as if you had forgotten something very important. But all that remained was that blur. That painful blur that made you want to wretch.

It faded with each day that followed. As you got back to your usual toil, your little excess dissolved into the void of routine. You worked long hours, interview witnesses, consulted defendants, and pored over case files. 

That night almost entirely slipped your mind but for the odd dreams that waited for you in the night. The bright light, the rutting breaths, the warmth in your core, broken by the sobering mornings and washed away with the hours between.

What was it? Two, three weeks. Maybe a whole month. You didn't dwell on that night until your old foe sat just across the aisle.

You stood patiently, quietly, as the judge read over your new evidence. It would be the crux of your next case but you couldn't betray that to Andy as his hand stretched across the plaintiff's table and he watched Judge Hannon closely.

"Your honour, we were not given sufficient notice--" Barber began.

"This trial has yet to commence. The defendant is giving notice now and as I see..." Hannon paused and flipped to the first page, "You signed off on the review."

"That is not what we saw," Andy lied.

"If there has been any tampering, it was not on our accord." You argued. "As is customary, once the plaintiff has reviewed the evidence it is then sent directly to the court to be held for official consideration."

"Mr. Barber, if you can give a valid legal argument why this evidence should not be permitted, I'm waiting." Hannon closed the folder and stared at the prosecutor.

Andy's nostrils flared and he lowered his head in deference. He had no argument. As you watched him, heard his gristly breath as he sighed, you felt an odd coil in your stomach.

"Very well. I haven't the time to argue this further. You have your approval," Hannon tapped the folder. "Dismissed."

You smiled, just a little. The tugging at the back of your mind kept you from your usual delight. You packed up your briefcase and headed for the aisle. Andy met you there and watched you with a stern scowl. He nodded you ahead of him and you skirted past without a second thought.

He followed you down the aisle as the next parties on the docket shuffled into place. You swept through the door and it was swiftly caught behind you. The hall was quite and sterile, especially compared to the courtroom.

"You won't win. Not this time." Andy sneered and you stopped to look back at him. "You can't base your whole case on a parking slip."

"We'll see." You said and turned back.

You took two steps before his hand was on your arm. He spun you back to him and you gaped at him in shock. You wrenched free of his grasp and stumbled back.

"What do you think you're doing?" You hissed. "Andy, it's just a case. You win some, you lose some."

"Yeah, well, I'm real tired of losing..." He reached in his pocket and slid his phone out. "Especially to you."

"I'm just doing my job and your numbers aren't my problem," You scoffed. "Get your shit together."

"I should say the same," His lips curved just a little and he turned his phone to you. "How many people want this decrying their morality to the world?"

You stared at the image and grimaced. It was you, your blouse was undone, one side of your bra had slipped down below your chest and your eyes were bleary and senseless. Your skirt was bunched at your waist and below... That night. What had happened that night?

"What the fuck!?" You snarled. "Andy, how did--" 

"Shhh," He hushed you and pinpricks spread over your skin. Your blood curdled as you felt like throwing up. "You don't wanna do this here."

You glanced over at the scales of justice on the short plinth then back to him.

"You think I'll throw the case because you got a few photos of me?"

"I think you’ll do... whatever I want you to." He smirked. "You'll start by having a little chat with me. In my office."

"I have to get back--"

"You will lie and say there was a delay in court," He said staunchly. "Or... I can CC you on the email I send to Hannon."

You swallowed and lowered your eyes. You shook your head and took a breath. You threw your hand up weakly.

"Okay," You said quietly.

He neared you and you winced. He sidestepped you and his shoes clicked down the polished floor. They stopped at the very end.

"Well..." He said.

You turned stiffly and marched towards him, your fingers tight around the handle of your briefcase. He carried on and you followed just a step behind. He led you past the desks of his fellow attorneys and to the corner office where his name was etched on a brass plaque.

He closed the door behind you with a quite clasp. You stood just inside and he brushed past you and crossed to his desk. He dropped his briefcase and leaned against the corner as he flicked his thumb across his phone. He watched the screen intently and tapped it twice. 

You saw the moving shapes, indecipherable from your vantage and you set down your briefcase by the door. You neared and looked down at the video of yourself. You had no doubt it was him doing those things to you but nothing in the video could confirm that. If it wasn't him holding the phone, you'd have no idea at all.

"Andy!" You reached out and grabbed at the phone. "What is wrong with you?"

"You seemed to enjoy yourself." He stood straight and held the phone above him, beyond your reach. "Didn't you?"

"I-I--" You spluttered. "I don't remember. Andy, don't you realise that what you did--" 

"You think you'd win that case, hmm?" He chuckled. "Really? You were drunk, you can't remember what happened let alone who it was."

"Give me the phone, Andy," You growled and were almost flush to him as you tried to reach it. "How dare--"

"You really think anyone will believe it's me?" He caught your wrist and held it above you. "Maybe, but they know for sure that it's you being a little slut in this."

"What did you--"

He wrenched your arm down and twisted. You cried out as he spun you around and turned you toward the desk. He easily slipped his phone away and grabbed the back of your neck. You dug your heel in and he squeezed.

"Shhh," He hissed in your ear. "We don't want anyone to hear. To know what a slut you are."

"Stop, get off--"

He let go of your wrist and clapped his hand over your mouth. He pushed on your neck and forced you forward until you were against the desk. He bent with you below him until your cheek was on the wood. He wiggled his hips and you felt his arousal against your ass.

"If you want to keep your reputation, likely your job, you will be good for me," He stood slowly, his hand still on your neck as he held you down. "You get your wins and I get mine."

"You can't do this," You pleaded.

"I already have," He gloated, his other hand crept down your back.

His reached over your ass and bunched your skirt in his fingers. You squirmed and his grip sent a pang down your spine. You groaned and he forced your skirt up over your ass. He tutted and played with the lacy edge of your panties.

"Is this what you wear to court?" He asked. "Naughty girl."

"Andy..." You uttered.

"You be quiet," He ordered as he grasped the top of your panties. "Or these go in your mouth."

He tore them down past your ass and you gasp. He leaned his weight on your neck and rubbed your ass. You closed your mouth and shakily curled your fingers over the edge of the desk.

"Good," He tickled along your skin and pulled his hand away.

There was a lull, a tense pause as you waited for whatever he had planned. The sharp slap that followed stung your ass and shattered the silence. You choked on your cry and he did it again. His large hand sent ripples through you as he spanked you, each time a low purr rumbled from him. Your toes slipped along the floor as your legs turned to jelly.

He only stopped as a soft chiming sounded. He released your neck and slowly dragged his hand down your back as his other rubbed a circle over your ass.

"Stay," He said.

You covered your face with your hand but didn't move from the desk. 

"Barber," He said and indiscernible chatter rose from the speaker of his phone. "Oh, yeah, yeah. No, I'm not busy. No problem."

There was a moment before he let out a long breath. He pinched your ass and stepped away from you.

"Canavan's on her way." He grabbed your bag and returned to you. He pulled you up by your arm. "Better hide."

"I should go--"

"No time," He said as he urged you around the desk. "Go on."

He threw your bag under the desk and pointed beside as he shoved you down. 

"She said she was already on her way."

"Andy," You fixed your panties and skirt. "I'll just go--"

"How's this?" He tilted his phone toward you. "Another to add to the collection."

A photo of your ass above your lacy panties greeted you. You blinked and recoiled.

"Why are you doing this?"

"We'll have lots of time later to discuss," He pushed on your shoulder and put his phone in his jacket pocket. "Now, go on."

You dropped to your knees reluctantly. He sat and waved you under the desk. You back underneath it, careful not to knock your head. He wheeled his chair close and blocked you in. His knees were on either side of your head as he rubbed his thighs.

"You'll have to keep quiet," His fingers fluttered up to his fly and he shifted as he undid it. "Keep yourself busy."

"Are you ser--"

"Shhh," He caught your chin as his other hand pulled his cock free of his pants. "Remember, quiet."

He got as close as he could and drew you to him. He stroked himself and pressed his tip to your lips. A knock sounded at the door and you froze.

"Open your fucking mouth," It felt as if he would crush your jaw and you obeyed with a whine. He shushed you as he slid into your mouth. "Don't you fucking stop." He growled under his breath before raising his voice to an eerily chipper tone. "Come in."

His cock was at the back of your throat as you stilled. You heard the door open but not close. The heels crossed and the other chair creaked as someone sat.

"I heard about the new evidence," The district attorney said. "Bit of a rough patch, eh?"

"Can't all be home runs," He said and tapped your leg with his toe. "It's nothing. I'll find a way around it."

"Look, Barber," Canavan said. "I know you will. You're a good attorney but we all need breaks. I can see it, you're stressed. It's okay to take a vacation."

"You know, it has been..." You  began to move your head as he poked you again with his shoe. "Tough but I think whatever it was, I'm past it. It was just... you know Laurie and Jacob. She was doing a lot of overtime and the kid likes to run off at all hours but I think we finally figured it out."

His legs held you snugly as he tensed at the feel of your mouth gliding up and down his length. You thought of the images on his phone, of the chaos they could inspire, of how hard you'd worked to get where you were. This man wanted to exchange all that for his own ego. You pressed your tongue to his shaft and he cleared his throat gruffly.

"A couple days, if you need them, more if you wanna take the family away," Canavan offered. "Look, a little while without you is better than you being here but not really being here. You get it?"

"Oh, I... do," He shuddered as you kept your pace steady. 

You did your best not to make a noise as your spit dripped down his length. You could tell he was struggling just as much not to give you away.

"How about I think about it and get back to you tomorrow? I'll have to talk to Laurie." He said evenly.

"I can wait until tomorrow," The chair groaned and her heels clicked on the wooden floor. "Maybe dust off that Jack you hide in your second drawer. I'll keep pretending I don't know about it."

"I might just," Andy chuckled. "Thanks, Lynn."

"I mean it," Her footsteps neared the threshold, "Think about it."

The door closed and Andy let out a long breath. His hand went to the back of your head and he pushed himself down your throat with a moan. 

"Fuck," He swore as he gripped your head between his hands. "You little fucking bitch. I thought you didn't want anyone to know you were so..." He hissed as he bobbed your head. "Bad. Fuck!"

You grabbed his thighs as he guided you up and down. You tried not to choke on him as he hammered the back of your throat. His right hand slipped around the back of your head and his other latched onto your shoulder. 

He swore again as he leaned back in his chair and lifted his pelvis. He long legs stretched out around you as he spasmed. He held your head down as he grunted and emptied himself into your mouth. 

His hips bucked only a few more times before he stilled. His hand fell from you and he hung his arms over the sides of his chair. He sighed and you nearly gagged as you pulled him out of your mouth.

You were trapped halfway under the desk and you felt around behind you with one arm as you cupped your other hand before your mouth. You had a pack of kleenex in your bag, somewhere.

"Ah," Andy clutched your hand and pulled you with him as he rolled back. His cock softened slowly over his pants. "Swallow or you can keep going until you get it right."

You frowned and your lips trembled in disgust. His cum had already thickened on your tongue and your eyes rolled back as you made yourself swallow. He let you go and you wiped your lips with the back of your hand.

"You know how it is," He winked as he leaned back and bent his arms behind his head casually. "You win some, you lose some."

[whileiamdying]

Making of ‘A Hero’: Writer-Director Asghar Farhadi’s Latest Drama Has Been in His Mind for Decades

The auteur had been pondering the themes behind Iran’s Oscar submission for best international feature since his ’90s college days, but finding the right actor to tell the story of one man’s rise and fall proved to be the filmmaker’s biggest challenge.

BY ALEX RITMAN

According to Amir Jadidi, the star of Asghar Farhadi’s drama A Hero, there’s an expression in Farsi that roughly translates as, “The wealthier, the needier.”

This was one of the actor’s initial thoughts when the director first pitched the film’s title character, Rahim, a man seemingly forever dangling over the precipice of disaster, yet with a serene demeanor and expression that masks the chaos he’s straddling.

“Sometimes people who don’t have anything still have this impression of satisfaction or acceptance in their gaze, because that’s their attitude to life,” says Jadidi, adding that he immediately identified Rahim as a figure commonplace in Iran. “There’s this tendency in our culture of accepting life as it is, despite its difficulty and bitterness.”

Farhadi’s lawyer, Kaveh Rad, wrote on Instagram Tuesday that the case investigator has denied Masihzadeh’s complaint demanding a share of the film’s revenues in the case of a guilty verdict. Rad wrote that the first judge’s ruling should be “considered part of the trial process” and not the final word on the matter.

The seeds for A Hero had begun germinating in Farhadi’s head many years earlier, long before he rose to international prominence with his breakout feature, 2009’s About Elly, and later with his two Academy Award winners for best foreign-language film, 2011’s A Separation and The Salesman, from 2016 (the award was renamed best international film in 2020). While at university in Tehran in the early ’90s, he had seen a performance of the Bertolt Brecht play Life of Galileo, in which he was particularly affected by “two lines” concerning the definition of a hero.

“After I saw that play, my mind was going around that idea,” says the 49-year-old filmmaker, who from then on would gather stories in the press about ordinary individuals who had briefly made it into the news because of their acts of altruism. “But the aspect of the story that most interested me was of a character who ascends and descends in a very short space of time.”

Farhadi says he had always planned to return to Iran after his Spain-set 2018 feature, Everybody Knows — starring Javier Bardem and Penélope Cruz — continuing a cycle that, since A Separation, has seen him alternate between his home country and Europe with each project.

“I start writing a story when I feel that the story doesn’t let me think about anything else,” says Farhadi, pictured on location for A Hero. AMIRHOSSEIN SHOJAEI/AMAZON STUDIOS

According to producer Alexandre Mallet-Guy, who has collaborated with the director since About Elly (which he distributed in France, later coming on board as producer for Farhadi’s 2013 French drama The Past), there’s good reason for this moving back and forth. Simply put, each time Farhadi makes a film in Iran, he is simultaneously accused by one section of society of presenting a negative image of the country and, by another, of being too pro-regime. “It’s very difficult for him,” says Mallet-Guy. “Usually after he makes a film in Iran, he’ll try to make a film outside the country, just so the situation can calm down.”

So after filming Everybody Knows in Spain and presenting the film in competition in Cannes in 2018, Farhadi headed back to his home in Tehran, gathered up his thoughts and old news clippings and began writing notes, which he says by then was like dealing with a “pebble in your shoe that you’re trying to get rid of.” After several months, working mostly in the early morning until noon (he says he’s “not an afternoon writer”) and spending most of this time pacing up and down a specific path in his home (something he says “connects me to my subconscious”), the characters and their backstories began taking shape, together with elements of the storyline that he would pin to his wall.

Central to A Hero is Rahim, a man who, during his two-day release from debtors’ prison, becomes entangled in an increasingly convoluted plan to pay back his creditor, one involving a lost bag of a gold coins and an apparent act of honesty and kindness aimed at restoring his honor (and, ultimately, his finances). At first Rahim’s actions put him on a pedestal, but this soon begins to topple as questions are asked about his claims and his detractors post videos on Facebook to discredit him and hinder any chance of rehabilitation. Farhadi set the story in Shiraz, a historic city in Iran’s southwest, partially chosen to distance himself from the “tumult” of Tehran.

The majority of actors were nonprofessional, a casting decision Farhadi says he’s used on all his films to help give the “feeling of a documentary.”AMIRHOSSEIN SHOJAEI/AMAZON STUDIOS

On receiving the script, Mallet-Guy saw a crucial difference from Farhadi’s previous Iranian drama, The Salesman, which the producer thought was perhaps too focused on issues that were “very local.” Mallet-Guy was confident that A Hero, with its “universal and timeless” themes — which touch on cancel culture, social media and the matter of reputation — would resonate with Western audiences.

When it came to casting, Farhadi originally planned to use only nonprofessional actors, all part of his desire to maintain as much of an “atmosphere of documentary and realism” in the film as possible. He managed this with the vast majority of the onscreen talent for A Hero, but when it came to Rahim, he realized it just wasn’t possible. He needed someone with the experience to carry such a role with a delicately nuanced performance.

“He’s a simple character, but is in a very complicated situation,” Farhadi says. “He had a very thin, narrow line to walk, and if it wasn’t done correctly, it could make the character come across like an idiot and someone that people don’t like.”

Although he had seen Jadidi’s screen performances, Farhadi hadn’t worked with the actor before. He had been quietly making a name for himself in Iranian cinema since his first feature, the 2013 crime thriller Africa, but it was his turn as a bitter husband who takes revenge on his soon-to-be-former wife in 2018’s Cold Sweat — which won him the award for best actor in a leading role at Iran’s Fajr Film Awards — that caught the director’s eye.

Sahar Goldust plays Rahim’s secret fiancee,  Farkhondeh. AMIRHOSSEIN SHOJAEI/AMAZON STUDIOS

But it wasn’t an entirely straightforward casting decision. Jadidi had just bulked up for a James Bond-like film role, adding to an already athletic physique (in addition to acting, he’s a semiprofessional tennis player). A Hero‘s Rahim, an almost forlorn, pathetic-looking character, is anything but a muscular action hero.

“After we had the interview, [Farhadi] said, ‘OK, I’m choosing you. But you have none of the features I’m looking for — we have to change your body, we have to change your way of walking, you have to be comfortable to transform … and you especially have to lose weight,’ ” recalls Jadidi. For the actor, this posed a problem. With little or no fat on his athletic frame, slimming down wasn’t going to be easy, requiring a “very complicated” combination of dieting and exercise beyond his usual fitness regime in order to shed muscle mass. But he committed to doing this, and when he next went to see Farhadi, about a month later, he had lost about 11 pounds.

“And [Farhadi] told me, ‘That’s good, but you have to go on, keep struggling and keep losing more weight,’ ” says Jadidi.

It was around this time in early 2020 that COVID-19 made a dramatic stage entrance. The growing crisis — of which Iran was one of the initial major epicenters — saw the planned start of the shoot postponed by several months.

In A Hero, a bag containing gold coins found by Goldust’s Farkhondeh is key to a plan to buy Jadidi’s Rahim out of debtors’ prison. AMIRHOSSEIN SHOJAEI/AMAZON STUDIOS

Jadidi says he wasn’t initially aware of this delay, which would have given him a lot more time to slim down. So he kept going, losing around 22 pounds in two months, a weight level that he then had to maintain until the production could get going.

The pandemic actually gave Farhadi considerably more time than he would usually have had at his disposal in preproduction, time he used to painstakingly workshop the roles with his actors. Key to this was Rahim. Many months were spent rehearsing with Jadidi to create a likeable character whose passivity evokes sympathy despite the questionable decisions he makes (and those that are made for him).

Together, the two devised Rahim’s hand movements and gait, plus a way in which he would lean forward, almost like a stoop, with Farhadi suggesting that Jadidi “imagine that one of your ears doesn’t work very well.” The most important aspect of this development was his haunting almost-smile, one that the director says makes “tragic moments even more tragic.”

It was during these extended rehearsal sessions — 10 months instead of the three or four that Farhadi usually has — that the team was joined by Ali Ghazi, A Hero‘s cinematographer. Ghazi — who had previously worked with the director on About Elly as assistant director of photography — had asked to be present for rehearsals in order to witness the characters being developed.

“What is really precious for me is that when you start observing the anatomy of a character — the way they act, their movements, the speed in which they sit down or get up, for example — you start understanding the identity of the character and can really tune the pulse of the camera with the pulse of the character,” he says.'

When Rahim gives the gold coins back to their owner, he is turned into a social media star by his prison governor (played by Mohammad Aghebati).AMIRHOSSEIN SHOJAEI/AMAZON STUDIOS

Ghazi’s cameras finally started rolling in late August 2020. By this point, while the initial chaos at the start of the pandemic may have subsided, COVID-19 was a major concern thanks to a new wave of infections, with a vaccine still many months away. The production had to employ a strict set of protocols, with a doctor present on set, the number of crew drastically reduced to only those absolutely necessary (especially for interior scenes), and an increased number of monitors that ensured there were never more than two people huddled around screens at once.

The film’s 15-week shoot may seem inordinately long for a relatively lo-fi drama like A Hero, but, according to the filmmakers, that’s simply how Farhadi works. Guy-Mallet points to the fact that the director spends a generous amount of time focusing on the acting with his cast, and that he likes to “do 15 takes” of each shot.

Ghazi notes the incredible level of thought that Farhadi puts into the smallest of details, such as the contents of a character’s front shirt pocket, even if it’s barely noticeable onscreen. “Details really matter for him and are worth spending time on,” Ghazi says, adding that it’s this trait that makes Farhadi “very original and different” compared with other directors the cinematographer has worked with.

Veteran Iranian actress Fereshteh Sadre Orafaiy plays the head of a charity association that comes to Rahim’s aid. AMIRHOSSEIN SHOJAEI/AMAZON STUDIOS

A Hero wrapped in mid-December 2020, with postproduction shifting to France (where Farhadi says a lot of energy was spent digitally removing the face masks worn during production, as part of the COVID-19 precautions, by extras in the background of shots). Guy-Mallet admits that he wasn’t sure whether the movie would be ready for the 2021 Cannes Film Festival; beginning with The Past, Farhadi has premiered all his films in competition at the festival. But when the event was postponed until July because of the pandemic, it gave the filmmaker enough time to finish the editing process.

For Jadidi, his first experience working with one of the most celebrated auteurs in global cinema went beyond what he was expecting. “I didn’t just gain a lot artistically,” says the actor. “I learned a lot on a human level. What matters most for me is humanity, and I really was taught human lessons in terms of morality and in terms of attitude.”

Farhadi cast his daughter Sarina Farhadi in a key role in A Hero. She previously starred in his drama A Separation, for which she won the Silver Bear for best actress in Berlin. AMIRHOSSEIN SHOJAEI/AMAZON STUDIOS

Jadidi (right) has said that working with Farhadi was an “honor” and a “fabulous learning process.” AMIRHOSSEIN SHOJAEI/AMAZON STUDIOS

[sparkkeyper]

May Prompt Fill - Bait

Fill for the Ace Omens Discord May prompts.

Summary: Set late 1700s/early 1800s. Crowley is scheduled to hang for someone else's crime, but when Aziraphale shows up the demon doesn't want a rescue.

Warnings: hanging, strangulation, fake death

Word count: 1,457

------

"So you're going by Johnathan Smith now?"

Crowley whirled to see the angel standing just outside the bars of his cell, looking far from impressed. "What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same." Aziraphale looked him up and down. "Rumours do fly, you know. I had to hear about this from the baker three towns over. Murder didn't sound like your usual style of work at all. How long have you been in here?"

Crowley pulled a face. "Two weeks, and let me tell you the food is terrible."

"Two weeks?!" Aziraphale glanced down the prison hallway to be sure his notice-me-not miracle was still in effect. "You could have sent me a message in that time! I don't know what's stopping you from breaking yourself out, but you're lucky the gossip reached me in time."

He raised his hand to snap but Crowley grabbed his fingers through the bars. "Stop that! I'm supposed to be here. But you don't need to be, so you can turn around and..." He made a shooing motion but Aziraphale did not shoo.

"You're scheduled for execution in an hour!"

"Yes! It's part of my plan!"

"Your plan involves getting hanged?"

"Yes!" Crowley groaned and leaned against the cell wall, hands stuffed in his pockets as Aziraphale just stood looking flabbergasted. "It's not really hanging, per se, you know we don't need to breathe. Look, there was a reason I didn't call you. I didn't want you to have to see this."

"What kind of stupid-"

"I'm behind on my quota, all right? My last several assignments have all crashed and burned. Is it my fault that humans have free will and can choose whether or not to give in to temptation no matter how good I am at it? Is it my fault the last couple targets turned out to be disgustingly virtuous? No, but Dagon doesn't want to hear about it. I need to bag this job, angel. Please don't interfere."

Aziraphale stewed for a moment, but he knew the necessity of filled quotas. "Fine," he grumbled. "Who's your assignment?"

"The judge. Hell's had their eye on him for a while now. Really, really wants him. His nephew strangled the girl and he knows it, but he'll do anything to avoid the scandal. That's what I'm counting on here. The town wants a satisfying conclusion to the murder and the judge doesn't want the messiness of being related to a convicted felon. He's been looking for a scapegoat."

Aziraphale looked him over. "And that's you, is it?"

"Few more reliable ways to end up in Hell than to knowingly execute an innocent man. I fit the description. I have no alibi. The evidence against me is easy to manufacture. That's why I'm Johnathan Smith here - I needed a moniker that can die."

Aziraphale glowered. "I want you to know I don't approve of this at all."

"Don't expect you to, that's why I didn't invite you to my hanging." Crowley rolled his eyes. "Anyway it's not like I'm planning on actually discorporating. I get sentenced, I drop, I pretend to asphyxiate, I slip out the back afterwards when nobody's looking. As far as the judge's conscience is concerned, he just ordered the death of an innocent human to protect his own reputation. We all go on our merry way."

"Yes, that's the word for it, I'm sure," Aziraphale responded dryly. "Very well, I won't interfere. But I expect you to walk out of this town with me when this is all over."

"You don't have to stay for the festivities."

"Well I'm going to, and that's final."

"Fine." Crowley sounded exasperated. "Doubt it'll be pretty. But if you insist on sticking around, do me a favour and don't let them try to bury me in the churchyard. Now get out of here, they're going to come for me any minute now."

Reluctantly, Aziraphale did.

-----

Less than an hour later saw several dozen people gathered in the courthouse square. An angel stood unobtrusively among the crowd. Sadness and wrath tugged at his senses. Many of them had known the murdered girl, he gathered, and were eager to see her killer punished. They would not tolerate a lenient sentencing, fearful that their own daughters could be future victims. He tried not to bear too much ill will towards them - to the best of their knowledge the court had convicted the right person - but it was hard when Crowley was the one being led up onto the gallows in shackles.

The demon looked uncharacteristically subdued as the executioner steered him to his place over the trap door. He shrunk in on himself, small and frightened. It was all an act, Aziraphale knew, to give the judge the rope to hang himself metaphorically speaking, but that didn't make it any easier to watch.

The noose was placed around his neck and the judge addressed him from a raised platform. "Johnathan Smith. You have been accused and found guilty of the crime of murder. It is the verdict of this court that you be sentenced to hang by the neck until dead on this, the eighth of June. Do you have any final words before you are sent to meet your Lord?"

Crowley made a show of frantically pulling against his bonds. "I haven't killed anybody! I swear I haven't! You've got to believe me, please! Please don't do this!"

The crowd buzzed angrily, drowning out the words of empty ceremony that came next. The executioner secured the noose properly. "I haven't killed anybody! You know I didn't!" Crowley began to shout his denials over the din and the courtyard filled with a cacophony of pleas and condemnation and cries for blood. Then the judge gave a signal and the trap door fell out from under him.

Aziraphale was certain Crowley already had a miracle in place to keep his corporation's neck from breaking, but he layered on another just in case. The demon was slim enough that a failure to break was believable. As he wasn't human, it wasn't necessary for him to breathe oxygen or cycle blood through veins. Even so, it was gruesome to watch him pretend to suffocate. His face went as red as his hair, then purple the more he thrashed. His eyes shut tight behind the dark glasses to hide the yellow, and any noises he might have made were lost to the jeering of the crowd. It was all Aziraphale could do not to turn away from the awful sight.

Crowley, fortunately, was not interested in drawing out the scene for longer than necessary. He struggled for less than a minute before he appeared to lose consciousness. His movements slowed to bare twitching, then finally to nothing. The executioner let the body hang there for several minutes more before checking for a pulse or breath.

It occurred to Aziraphale that Crowley could have led some other innocent human into the path of the judge instead. He tucked that knowledge away and, with the fun over and the crowd dispersing, made his way over to the cluster of town officials.

-----

It was nearly half an hour later that he pulled the blanket from over Crowley's head. "You can get up now. We're far enough from the town limits."

Crowley gave a great inhale and coughed to start his lungs again. He sat up in the back of the small wagon, brushing straw from his hair as it trundled down the path. "About bloody time. Almost thought they were gonna leave me hanging there as a cheerful summer decoration."

"They thought about it," Aziraphale admitted as Crowley climbed up to join him on the driver's bench. To his relief, a series of miracles was quickly repairing the demon's skin colour and neck bruises. "Fortunately I told them I knew a medical student who needed fresh cadavers for dissection. It turns out you're worth four whole shillings."

"Lucky me." With a snap, Crowley's clothes were immaculate again. "Ugh, glad that's over. Remind me to stay out of this area for a couple decades."

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment. "Do you pull that trick often? Playing the scapegoat?"

"Nah." Crowley settled back into the bench. "Not the first time, though. It's not a fun trick. I don't recommend adding it to your temptation repertoire."

"And I don't recommend you keeping it in yours."

"Well this ought to keep Hastur and Dagon off my back for a bit. Do I owe you for the..." He gestured vaguely to encompass the two of them and the direction of the receding town. "For the ride?"

"Oh absolutely. There's a very expensive inn we're headed to. You owe me four shillings."