#i have way to many notes on this man despite him being practically a footnote in the main story

[mios-axe]

[bomberqueen17]

Liveblogging the Aubreyad: Post Captain Part The Last

I've lost track of how many parts I put this into. I should've pared it down more but I wrote the notes in an insomniac fever dream and like.... writing them made me realize that I hadn't really followed it thoroughly the first time I read it, so perhaps the summary is mostly useful to me after all.

Part 1: honeys and financial ruin part 2: bearsona and Indiaman read the footnote part 3: HMS Shitshow vs. The World now part 4: gibbon-related crimes, sixty thousand bees, spanish treasure

I was going to tell you about the promotions first. Yes, the cutting-out expedition was considered a resounding success, both in the press and by the Admiralty, and so glory is showered down upon the participants, surely in parts equivalent to how deserving those parties are, yes?

no.

Jack gets his promotion-- he is made post-captain at last, which was his dream.

But this means he is now too important to command the Fanciulla, which was what he had been hoping for. So he is instead cast ashore.

The Fanciulla is suitable for a master and commander. So someone is going to be rewarded with a promotion from lieutenant to commander!

Rewards such as this are given by seniority. The senior lieutenant-- yep. Parker. Not Pullings, who actually did the work, who fought like a lion in the boarding party, with his bloody axe to cut the cables. Not Babbington, who was so nobly wounded, staggering around weak from blood loss with his arm bound to his chest still carrying out orders and doing his level best dizzy and sick and brave as fuck.

No. Fucking Parker.

Lord Melville asks Jack, looking very closely at him, if Parker is fit to command. Jack cannot, cannot, cannot tell the truth; he has to do the kind thing. (Not just to be nice, but because Parker does in fact have influential friends, and carrying tales against him would set Jack up to look very distastefully like a scrub himself, even though not doing so means lying directly to the First Lord.) And so, despite having nearly lost the ship to mutiny against Parker's incompetence and tyranny, despite Parker having spent the entire action ineffectually shaking on Polychrest's deck, largely incapable of speech, Parker is rewarded.

Jack diplomatically suggests that the former Polychrests be divided up among other ships, and the Fanciulla manned out of a fresh body of men, which to an attentive ear says all that needs to be said, but Melville is not a seaman and does not catch the significance. Still, it hopefully sets Parker up for more success, and frees those who have suffered under him already from further such treatment. (He later gives Parker a pep talk about not being such a fucking idiot. Parker swears he'll do better. He's so happy. Jack takes slight consolation from this.)

Lord Melville feels so badly about casting Jack on shore after having given him the world's most wretched ship and being repaid with this absolutely beautiful little action, knowing as he does that Jack cannot spend time ashore without risking arrest, that he offers him a temporary command. Jack goes aboard the Lively, a crack frigate, to allow her regular long-term captain to spend time ashore to attend a session of Parliament.

He invites Stephen to come along as his guest. Stephen for some reason cranks up all his weirdo dials and smashes the knob off, coming ashore in a knitted onesie carrying, for some reason, a glass beehive, to Jack's astonished mortification. The people of the Lively have all been together a very long time and are set in their ways, not unkind but not very open to outsiders. They are extremely competent, can perform complex operations of the ship following one single general order, can sail their ship perilously close to land without danger, because everyone aboard knows their duty and knows their ship. Well-bred all, they politely avert their eyes from Stephen's bizarreness, and carry on.

But they haven't practiced much gunnery, so Jack has something to improve upon. He avoids being scolded for wasting too much powder by finding various little onshore French batteries and blasting the shit out of them, which answers the purpose very nicely and motivates the people to like him at least a bit.

There is a bizarre interlude with the preserved head of a gibbon. Jack is required to oversee punishment, and a sailor is charged with stealing the taxidermied head of an ape from another sailor, but insists it is his own taxidermied ape's head. Stephen provides some hint of his worth in this case, as one of the sailors' apes was female and the other male-- Jack shows him the head and asks whether it is a male or female gibbon, and Stephen immediately identifies that it is male by the cheek pouches, thus exonerating the accused of the charge of theft, as the ape's head he claimed to have owned all along was that of a male.

And another hint of Stephen's true worth comes out in this notable conversation occurs at a festive dinner, spawning a joke that is repeated throughout the rest of the series:

“Dogs,' said the chaplain, who was not one to leave his corner of the table silent long. 'That reminds me of a question I had meant to put to you gentlemen. This short watch that is about to come, or rather these two short watches - why are they called dog watches? Where, heu, heu, is the canine connection?' 'Why,' said Stephen, 'it is because they are curtailed, of course.' A total blank. Stephen gave a faint inward sigh; but he was used to this. 'Mr Butler, the bottle stands by you,' said Jack. 'Mr Lydgate, allow me to help you to a little of the undercut.' It was the midshipman who first reacted. He whispered to his neighbour Dashwood, 'He said, cur-tailed: the dogwatch is cur-tailed. Do you twig?' It was the sort of wretched clench perfectly suited to the company. The spreading merriment, the relish, the thunderous mirth, reached the forecastle, causing amazement and conjecture: Jack leaned back in his chair, wiping the tears from his scarlet face, and cried, 'Oh, it is the best thing - the best thing. Bless you, Stephen - a glass of wine with you.'

Jack repeats that one constantly.

But by day he is in lower spirits and confesses to Stephen that he should never have pursued Sophie, he will never be solvent again and has no business trying to marry anyone, he could never offer her any kind of life and will not "pester her" any longer.

Stephen goes ashore, goes to Sophie, tells her she must go down to where Jack is anchored and ask him for a lift to the Downs. (Meanwhile he is informed that Diana has gone into keeping with Canning, as his mistress. Utter scandal.)

Sophie insists she will not do such a thing, could never be so bold. But, she does.

Stephen has to go do more intelligence things, so he leaves them to it. Sophie journeys briefly on the Lively, she and Jack come to an agreement-- not quite an engagement, but an agreement. Her mother strenuously objects and Sophie is left miserable at this conflict between desire and duty, but she remains resolute.

Stephen meanwhile has discovered that Spain is entering the war on France's side, and to do so needs the contents of a treasure convoy enroute from the River Plate to Cadiz. There's time to intercept it. Stephen asks that the Lively be included in this intercepting squadron, and his wish is granted.

(He goes to the opera after relaying this intelligence, and Diana is there, in a royal box, being a decorative mistress, on display, all artificial poise and poses, deliberately charming. Stephen is horrified by this tacky display. She sees him, but he is in a box and keeps the door locked, so when someone comes and knocks he does not answer.)

He goes aboard the Lively, where there is much confusion and uproar about the new orders. And despite his efforts, Jack finds out a little something of his role in Naval Intelligence.

'I have no idea,' said Stephen. 'God damn and blast the Admiralty and all its lords,' cried Jack. 'Utmost dispatch - muck up all one's plans -I do apologize most humbly, Stephen.' He read on. 'Hey, hey, Stephen? I thought you had no idea: I thought you had just chanced to come down with the messenger. But in case of separation of one or more… certain eventualities and all that, I am requested and directed to avail myself of the counsels and advice of S. Maturin, esquire, MD etc., etc., appointed pro hac vice a captain in the Royal Navy his knowledge and discretion.' 'It is possible that you may be required to undertake some negotiations, and that I may be of use in them.' 'Well, I must be discreet myself, I find,' said Jack, sitting down and looking wonderingly at Stephen. 'But you did say…' 'Now listen, Jack, will you? I am somewhat given to lying: my occasions require it from time to time. But I do not choose to have any man alive tell me of it.' 'Oh no, no, no,' cried Jack. 'I should never dream of doing such a thing. Not,' he added, recollecting himself and blushing, 'not when I am in my right mind. Quite apart from my love for you, it is far, far too dangerous. Hush: mum's the word. Tace is the Latin for a candle. I quite understand - am amazed I did not smoke it before: what a deep old file you are. But I twig it now.'

The Admiralty gave Stephen a temporary commission so that he would share in the prize money. Stephen is still hoping to use diplomacy, but without revealing himself as the agent; he has asked for and received a Spanish-speaking negotiator who he has carefully fed lines to, and rehearsed the arguments with.

They encounter the Spanish squadron, and the negotiator goes over to speak with them. Stephen knows the Spanish admiral does not fully support this war, and had hoped that with a large enough show of force, the man would feel he could honorably surrender without a fight. But no. The negotiator is returned, unsuccessful. They fight. The Spaniards fire first.

It is a complicated action, and bloody-- one Spanish ship explodes, which is always horrible-- and at the end, the fastest Spanish ship, bearing the treasure, strikes her colors but then hoists them again and runs.

The Lively is the fastest of the British ships, and so she pursues. The Spanish ship seems to be outrunning them, and Stephen wonders that Jack is not concerned. Jack has dinner laid for four-- himself, Stephen, the captain of the Spanish ship that struck to him during the action and who is even now a prisoner on his ship, and the captain of the fleeing ship ahead of them.

And then he spreads his last remaining sails, having needed a few moments to repair the spars that held them, damaged in the action. But now that they are up and drawing, as he knew they would, the Spanish ship has no hope.

They catch her, and he invites the captain to dinner.

At dinner, they drink a toast to Sophia.

Yes that's the end of the book! Finally omg. Congratulations we did it! The other books are nowhere near this long and hopefully now that I am getting better sleep I will be better able to summarize shorter rather than quite this extreme length. But we'll see.

[beyondspaceandstars]

Happy Engagement

Relationship: Loki x Reader Warnings: contains some dark elements: manipulation Summary: Loki has always thought of you as his and there isn’t anything he won’t do to keep it that way. A/N: I’ve been sitting on this one shot for a while! I had the idea for it months ago and finally wrote it and then it just sat on my computer while I wrote other stuff but I figured since I don’t have anything really new this week it’d be perfect to put out! I hope you enjoy it because I greatly do :)

Masterlist

Loki had always been an interesting force in your life.

You two met when you were just children in school. You two were the official unofficial outsides of your school year — he was a prince, you were a peasant. Despite his royal standing, he’d play with you at recess. For these outlier ways, you two never interacted much with the other kids, life practically forcing you two to one another.

At such a young age, you hadn’t realized how significant this bond would become. As a child, you were just glad someone was talking to you. He shouldn’t have even been looking at you, should’ve maybe been disgusted with your presence alone. You should’ve been some onlooker, amazed by him and his magic but you weren’t — well, except for the magic part. His magic was little when you were kids but it drew quite the amazement from you.

Over time, you two naturally grew with one another. From childhood into your teens and still, now, you two made an unlikely pair of best friends as young adults. All of this though did not come without some bumps along the way.

In your teens, Loki had almost completely shut you out. For some reason, he seemed to be acting embarrassed by you. Your mother had warned you this may happen but you thought he was different, swore he was, unless his sincerity was like the many other tricks he played. Eventually, supposedly after some talking down from his brother, Loki appeared back at your door asking if you wanted to go for a walk.

This disappearing and coming back had become a habit for him over his teenage years and into adulthood. Loki never explicitly told you why but you could tell there was something eating away at him. It had been there a long time and it felt like disassociating himself with you was his solution.

You thought everything was coming to an abrupt end when you fell pregnant. You had been seeing a nobleman who was a regular customer in your parents’ shop. He was absolutely charming and delightful, practically swept you right off your feet within minutes of meeting. Your parents were ecstatic when he asked to court you.

You yourself were stunned but you ran to tell Loki about it. He was speechless. You tried telling him about the man but something in Loki snapped. He got unreasonably upset, spewing hateful comments about the man, practically forcing you out of his chambers in the process. He went radio silent again.

You tried to ignore losing your best friend — again — and focused on your new relationship. He wooed you endlessly with dates to lavish dinners and dawning you in lovely gowns. It was all so much more than you had ever expected in life. He’d tell you you deserved it and whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you two would get so lost in one another.

A bit shamefully, hypnotized by the romantics of it all, you gave yourself to him. Tangled in the sheets with him as your guide, you let the man you felt you would marry have every last bit of you.

And for a while after, it was blissful. Nothing had seemed to change between you two until he announced he had to go away for a bit. Confused, you asked why suddenly now facing the fact you were losing another person in your life. He explained he was needed by his father on a different realm, part of the family "business," as he described it.

Days after his departure, you learned you were pregnant. Around this time, Loki popped back up in your life. You felt relieved having someone to confide in but when you told him of your pregnancy, he was far from the supportive force you thought you’d get. He didn’t yell or get upset per se but he was beyond stunned.  

He left for a bit then but can back in less time than last. This time he brought along baby supplies and congratulated you. It was a complete one-eighty from his prior behavior but you accepted it, gratefully. Loki ended up being your main person throughout the pregnancy as clues of when your boyfriend would return were nonexistent.

"Did he know you were carrying his child when he left?" Loki had asked you one night. You two were sitting in the living room of the makeshift house you had acquired. You didn’t feel very good that this was the home you were bringing a child into when you knew her father could’ve provided her with a better one. But, at the end of the day, it was a roof over both your heads.

You crocheted another knot in the baby blanket. "No, he didn’t. I didn’t even know."

Loki gave a passing hum at that answer. He didn’t ask about your boyfriend very much after that.

Once your baby girl arrived, she became your entire world, your entire focus. Between caring for her and working to provide, you had little time to worry about your boyfriend still being gone. But it wasn’t as lonely as it may have looked because Loki was always by your side. Working around his royal duties, he’d take time to come visit you and your daughter even sometimes staying for dinner or to play with her. You didn’t miss how he was unintentionally becoming the father she was missing. You never said anything, though, always biting your tongue as you waited for her father to return.

Hope began to face on that front after your daughter turned three. Maybe he was just a footnote in your life, a foolish hopeful dream, but at least he had given you the lovely gift of your child. You weren’t giving up, still placing him in the boyfriend spot of your mind, but you couldn’t deny doubt crept in. Maybe a relationship of any capacity just wasn’t in the cards for you.

Or so you thought.

As Loki continued with his royal responsibilities, he was growing older and more powerful. That’s when the rumors of marriage began floating about. Your mother had brought it up to you once asking if you met any of his potential suitors. Your stomach did a somersault. You didn’t even know there were suitors, let alone met any of them. You tried to keep your cool and just told her no.

Who these suitors were and if they really existed, you never found out. You never even had the guts to ask about them especially after Loki pulled you aside one night after a dinner at the palace.

He rarely ever invited you to dinners with his family so to get this spontaneous invitation, you didn’t hesitate to attend. He even allowed you to bring along your daughter. She was playing with some servants’ children when Loki asked you to the garden.

"Feeling like a nighttime stroll?" You asked with a little laugh. Loki just smiled.

"There’s actually something I want to speak to you about."

"Oh," you frowned. "Is everything okay?"

Loki nodded. "Yes, yes, everything is fine." He looked up at the sky, almost lost in thought as you walked. You thought for a split second how lovely he looked. "I’m sure you have heard by now the…talk about my anticipated engagement."

Your heart practically stopped beating at that moment. Your hands instinctively gripped at the skirt of your dress as if you were ready to run away at the drop of a hat. Trying to keep your voice stead, you said, "Yes, I believe my mother mentioned that to me the other day."

He shot you an unreadable side glance. Your hands gripped the fabric tighter. Why were you feeling like this? Was that…jealousy you felt? You didn’t understand where that had come from. This was your best friend. Your prince best friend. He was bound to get married and have a lavish life with his bride. You couldn’t stop that, you couldn’t change it.

"Do you know anything of the women I have been offered?"

Was this another one of his cruel jokes? You wanted to vomit all over the bushes of flowers passing you as you walked. You managed to shake your head in response. "I’m sure they’re all wonderful."

He scoffed. "More like they’re all incredibly boring."

You gasped, "Loki, I’m not sure you should be speaking that way of them."

"It’s doesn’t matter," he shrugged, "because none of them are what I want."

You didn’t know if you actually wanted to know what he was seeking. You looked at him wearily.

You two walked in silence for a moment. Loki was now watching the ground intensely. You couldn’t believe how much his gaze was wandering. It must’ve been for courage because the next words out of his mouth were ones you had never thought you’d ever hear. From anyone.

"I believe you could be what I want," he said. He spoke your name so softly. "I’d like to ask for your hand in marriage."

You stopped walking, your legs suddenly unable to move. Your eyes grew wide as complete shock raced over you. You didn’t know what to do, too scared to speak because you didn’t know what was going to come out. Your first thought was that this was one of his magic tricks. Maybe he wasn’t even here, just a clone of him as he wished to make a fool of you. It wouldn’t be the first time but he had never been so cruel.

"You’re not saying anything," Loki noted. He had stopped a few feet ahead of you, completely taken off guard by your halt.

"I-I don’t understand." The words felt so heavy forcing their way out of your mouth.

"I don’t believe I stuttered, dear."

Your jaw dropped, surprised it hadn’t hit the floor already. He was seriously asking this. Loki, a literal prince, and your best friend, was asking for your hand in marriage. But — But you just didn’t know why. Why would he ask such a thing? Not only were you an unwed mother, he knew very well about your boyfriend. It was almost insulting he’d think you’d give up just because business or whatever it was was taking a while. You didn’t even want to begin to think about what this could all mean for your daughter.

"Loki… I… I don’t know. This seems crazy—,"

"Crazy?" His expression turned dark. You suddenly regretted the word despite it holding true. "What is so crazy about me wanting to take your hand? I thought this could be good. You and your daughter would have everything you’d ever want. You’d be a princess for crying out loud!"

You flinched at his anger. You had never seen him so enraged before. It made your whole body stiffen.

"I see. This… This is very generous of you but my boyfriend…"

Loki chuckled but there wasn’t any humor found within it. "Of course. The nobleman." He rolled his eyes. "Tell me again, dear, how long has it been? Do you really think he’s going to just show back up one day?"

"Of course," you nodded. "He told me—,"

"He’s not coming back."

You began shaking your head, growing more and more upset as the seconds passed. "You don’t know that."

Loki sighed, defeatedly. "I do know that, dear." A heavy pause. "I know that because I’m the one that sent him away."

You were certain in that moment your heart had stopped. Everything had stopped. You could barely tell anymore how you got from point A to point B.

"Wh-What do you mean?"

"What I mean is I’ve had my eye on you for a long time," he explained. He was standing so tall making you feel minuscule. "I always thought you could be just right for me but then that nobleman waltzed into your life. Granted, he wasn’t me. He couldn’t give you what I could but he tried his best." Loki shrugged. "I had no choice, really. He threatened everything. He derailed my plan but it’s alright. I think after tonight it’ll be back on track, correct?"

You held your hands up in defense, practically begging Loki to slow down. Your head was spinning. "You sent away the father of my child?"

Loki sighed, sounding actually regretful. "Truly, that wasn’t ever my intention. I didn’t know he was going to do that."

"And you think since you forced him out of the picture, you can swoop in and ask for my hand in marriage? We never had a courtship! Are you even hearing yourself?"

"I’m a prince, darling." He sounded so casual. "We do not court like the rest of you."

Gosh, you felt like you were going to vomit. Your hands fell to your stomach as you tried to calm yourself. You had never heard Loki separate you two so clearly before. Like he had drawn a line, definitively.

Your words tasted like venom as you forced yourself to speak. "Can I at least think about it?"

"I’m afraid not. They’d like an answer tonight."

Tonight. That was what this dinner had been for. You weren’t invited just out of the kindness of his heart. You had been attending your own engagement party.

"Loki, this… I— This is insane. You’re— You’re insane—,"

"Am I, really?" He pressed, taking a few steps closer. You trembled under a darkened gaze you had never seen before on him. "I’m not sure that’s how you should be speaking to the man trying to offer you a bit of… stability."

"Stability?" You repeated. "You think that’s all that I want?"

"Would this not grant your daughter a better life? The little shop of yours is only getting you two so far, dear."

The shock had worn off as you were now being filled with rage. "Don’t you dare bring my daughter into this anymore," you gritted. "Of course, I want nothing but the best for her but I also deserve someone who will truly love me. You’re — You’re just asking to fulfill some royal commitment and trying to pass it off like this is some big, grand gesture to help me."

Loki looked a bit taken back by your words. Even you were a bit surprised by yourself. You didn’t know where this fight was coming from within you. Probably from the depths of motherhood, if you had to guess. But it felt good in a way.

After a heavy moment, Loki asked, "Was I so wrong to assume this proposal could actually help us both?"

That was the real kicker of it all, you thought. This actually could help you both.

"I want to marry someone who loves me."

Loki seemed to debate around the idea mentally. "I’m certain that within time something could bloom. I’m not a psychopath, darling." He smirked. "But I truly can’t believe you’d give this up all for the minuscule chance at love, the hopeless thing that got you where you are today."

You gasped. "I would’ve had true love if you hadn’t banished him away!"

Loki let out a humorless laugh. "You are so adorable, you know that?" You flinched as he got close enough now to place a hand on your damp cheek. You were practically forced to look in his eyes as he spoke. "That man was nothing but a spoiled brat and I refuse to believe you actually fell for his game."

You felt yourself crumbling down again. Way beneath him. "He… He was really…"

"Don’t you dare try to defend him, do you hear me?" Loki spat. That darkness was washing over but this time it felt like a storm you couldn’t escape. "I will not have my bride speak such niceties about another man."

"Your bride—,"

"While I’ve enjoyed this little midnight confessional, we have some good news to share with everyone, don’t we?"

You didn’t know what to do. What to think anymore. He wasn’t letting up. You were trapped. It was like the prison gate had shut behind you. You were stone-cold now, completely under his control. You were giving up in complete defeat. You could scream until you were blue in the face but you were running in circles. At least your daughter would know a home.

"Yes."

Loki’s face lit up. He removed his hands from you. "Fantastic," he said, heading back towards the palace. You helplessly followed beside him. He wrapped an arm around your waist and said, "Happy engagement, dear."

[stillness-in-green]

MLAWeek Coda: The Lore Post

Sorry this is a few days late!  To the surprise of absolutely no one who has read some of my longer meta posts, I just don’t know how to shut the F up.  (Spoilers: this post is only a few hundred words away from being as long as everything else I wrote for the week put together.)  

Anyway, hit the jump for, in order:

A quick breakdown of the Liberation Army’s general structure.

A list of members, broken down by broad generation, including the ones we have gotten explicitly IDed in canon, the ones I based on figures we see in canon, and the ones I completely made up.

The basic tenets of the MLA and some discussion about their views on quirk supremacy. (feat. fandom salt)

An overview of the way the Advent shook up the political landscape in Japan and the Hearts & Minds Party’s place in that landscape.  Pretty much the same material Trumpet’s victory speech from Day 4 covers, but modestly more in-depth, removed from the need to play well to a crowd, and with some added explanation about the structure of the Diet for readers who are less familiar with it than Trumpet’s audience would be.

A timeline (with only moderately arbitrary dates!) covering the birth of the glowing baby up to the first year of the manga.  Mostly concerned with detailing the events the MLA would care about, but with a few other points of reference to contextualize things for the rest of us.

Bonus Fun Facts: discussion of the considerations that went into the timeline, a look at All For One’s actions re: the MLA, and some miscellaneous blurbs on terminology, worldbuilding and characterization.

A smattering of asides in the form of footnotes.

Note that while this material is based in and accurate to canon as much as I could remember at the time that I was doing my notes on my fills for the week, there’s a lot in here that is based entirely on supposition, interpretation and, at times, just plain-old guessing.  

Thanks to @codenamesazanka and @robotlesbianjavert for their assistance in naming, brainstorming, and just generally putting up with me while the Liberation Army was completely devouring my attention.

@red-the-omnic Somewhat belatedly, here’s that list of MLA members you asked for back during the middle of the week.  Sorry to make you wait so long! 

Enjoy!  

———–      ———–      ———–      ———–

ORGANIZATION

Grand Commander: Destro and Destro’s line of descendants.

The First Families: Those who fought at Destro’s side and escaped to continue the fight, and their descendants.  Veritably all high-ranked within the MLA, their tie to the original incarnation of the Army marks them as elites, whether or not their quirks would do so otherwise. The elders of the First Families do a certain amount of collective decision-making when and if the Grand Commander is unable to do so and has left orders otherwise.

Sanctum: “Sanctum” is a special position in the Army.  The name denotes the person who’s tasked with remembering the MLA’s history, practices and lore—the position is considered contiguous, so even when someone is new to the name, they’re still considered “the longest-serving member of the Liberation Army.”.  When they’re getting on in years, they select an appropriate protégé, to whom the name will pass upon their death/capture.  The name must always go to a member of the First Families (though in truth, they’re only on their third one, so it’s more of a pattern so far than a hard rule).

Commanders & Lieutenants: People in charge of major operations, liberated districts, etc. Frequently, though not always, members of the First Families.  Have discretion over their own assignments, but may not have much influence in the Army’s operations on the whole, depending on who they’re connected to otherwise.

Advisors: This title denotes those who are specifically tapped to give advice and aid to the MLA leadership.  Levels of authority vary depending on who they’re advising.  Advisors of lieutenants, if any, are a step above the rank and file, advisors of commanders are about on par with lieutenants, and advisors to the Grand Commander are considered commanders in their own right, regardless of any other rank they may hold.

Rank and File: Pretty much everyone else.

———–      

KNOWN MEMBERS [1]

The original MLA—

Destro: Yotsubashi Chikara.  Established the Meta Liberation Army in his mid-30s in response to the development of what he felt were overly restrictive laws on the usage of meta-abilities. Having observed evidence that meta-abilities grew stronger generationally, he was particularly concerned that no oppressive laws could be enforced by the generation that established them because the next generation would always be more powerful.  Thus, he believed that establishing the use of meta-abilities as a fundamental right was the only way for society to avoid indefinite intergenerational strife.  He was particularly incensed by the government co-opting the message that got his mother murdered to put a pretty, self-congratulatory sheen on laws that did the exact opposite of what she wished for.  Allegedly committed suicide after some months in prison.  The MLA is highly suspicious of this claim—they’re correct to be, but not for the reasons they think.              His quirk, which his entire line would inherit, turns a key emotion into enhanced strength and resilience in the form of a characteristic ink-blot marking.  While it would develop over time, the basic nature of the quirk remained the same. Chikara’s driving emotion was resolve.

Fathom: Destro’s lover, she dedicated a decade of her life after his capture to building up the survivors he’d left behind.  It’s said her son got his drive from Destro, but his anger from Fathom.  Had a large hand in raising her son to be the sort of man he was, particularly in her decision to commit what many considered to be suicide-by-hero when he was in his teens.  A large part of that choice was wrapped up in her never-fully-assuaged grief over Destro’s loss (and, she believed to the end, his murder), but there was also a cold calculation to it—her making a big show of it would lead the police to believe that her attack was the last gasp of the Liberation Army, ending their investigations into MLA activities.  It would also stoke the fires of her son’s rage, honing him into a stronger weapon against their enemies.  Her judgement in both cases proved broadly on-point, though her death did serve to make her son more cautious than she might have hoped.              Meta-Ability: Antennae.  A pair of insectile feelers emerging from her forehead that give her a passel of sensory boosts, particularly in the taste and smell categories, and which also make her able to detect shifts in the air from quite some distance.)

Cascade: A man whose meta-ability lets him turn body parts into loosely controllable masses of water.  Can’t transform fully.  A quick-thinking type able to make hard calls.

Sweeper: A woman with a radio-scanning quirk.  Caught by police in the same fight as Destro.

Sanctum I: The first bearer of the codename.  Had a protective ability of some sort.

Sanctum II’s father: The same quirk as his daughter; see below.  Known for getting some eight people safely out of a police raid by carrying them all out at once despite not actually having superhuman strength of any kind.  (Probably tore several muscles in the process, but adrenaline is a hell of a thing.)

The Second Generation—

Destro’s son: Raised to deeply resent heroes and the government that put them in place, but he was also very cautious of them.  He was profoundly aware that his death would mean the end of the dream that his father had begun and his mother had cultivated, so he was very meticulous in spreading the MLA’s influence underground, rebuilding their numbers before he even began to consider starting to make attacks again.  Destro’s army had been a guerilla force; his son’s would be something much more dangerous.  His driving emotion was anger, and he had two children before being killed by a cerebral aneurysm at 43.  Was able to use his power to make his body larger.

Sanctum II: A woman with an unusual fondness for the traditional Japanese arts, particularly tea ceremony.  Meta-ability: Stride.  Teleport to any location she can directly see by taking a single step forward.   Can take whoever she can carry under her own power. (First Families lineage)

Anchor: An advisor to Destro’s son.  Prominent bull horns.  Meta-ability: Immobilize.  Similar to Lock Rock’s Lockdown quirk, except it only works on his own body.  Very good at wrestling holds (and holding his breath), he tends to fight with backup that can deliver finishing blows to opponents once he has them pinned down.  (First Families lineage)

The Third Generation—

Yotsubashi Kyouyuki: The elder child of Destro’s son.  Deemed an unsuitable Grand Commander for his driving emotion of joy.  Always presented a façade of being cheerful and upbeat, but the ever-present rhetoric that the MLA pushes about the ongoing suppression of quirks and the misery and injustice it leads to left Kyou always struggling with guilt.  In college, it finally got so bad that he resolved to run away, enlisting the help of a friend with a swap-based teleport quirk to get him out of a party undetected. His fate thereafter is a secret that’s been taken to the grave by the MLA members involved in it, but given the typical reactions of illegal underground cults to members wanting to leave, it’s unlikely that he’s living somewhere in happy anonymity.  (Name means Unyielding Happiness, following in his grandfather and nephew's patterns of having characters in their names meaning power/strength.)

Yotsubashi Yukie: The younger child of Destro’s son, and Rikiya’s mother.  With a driving emotion of sorrow, and having been steadily losing family her entire life, Yukie wrestled with depression for most of her life. The presumptive heir to the title of Re-Destro, she spent considerably more time in training than her older brother, but she never much had the temperament for it.  When her father died only a few scant years after Kyouyuki’s disappearance, she expressed her fears that she was incapable of being the leader the Army needed.  This led to her becoming a mother at a relatively young age, continuing the bloodline rather than picking up the banner.  For all her struggles with her grief, Yukie was very determined to at least be there for the son on whom the weight of leadership would fall.  The world of My Hero Academia is a dangerous one, however, particularly before All Might established himself as Japan’s pillar, and Yukie was a casualty of the chaos of a villain attack when Rikiya was ten.  (Name means Glittering Conqueror, ditto the note above about the family pattern for name kanji.)

Rampart: Guardian and general caretaker for Rikiya in his younger years.  Hand-picked for the role by Yukie, who had considered him a close friend since their school days.  Meta-Ability: An earth manipulation power akin to Pixie-Bob’s, though less powerful.  (First Families lineage)

Shinseigi: Trumpet’s uncle, unspecified code name.  Also in politics, though of a more local variety.  Meta-ability: His speaking voice makes listeners suggestible.  (The phonetic pronunciation of his name sounds like “New Justice,” but the kanji are “Sleeping Voice Technique.”)

The Fourth Generation—

Yotsubashi Rikiya: The current Re-Destro (42); CEO and President of Detnerat.  He took up the former title when he was only 6 years old. With the succession of losses that were his uncle, grandfather and mother, the MLA has been fairly careful with him, grooming him with care and rarely leaving him without some form of supervision, be it Rampart when he was young or Trumpet in college.  An extremely dutiful child grown into an urbane man whose good humor disguises a morose—and occasionally volatile—inner character.  Always under a lot of stress (his MRIs are clear so far, though, haha!), but there’s only so much effort dedicated to mitigating that, since stress is his key emotion.  The first in the family line to be able to separate his power from his own body, in the form of his Stress Bomb attack.

Trumpet: Hanabata Koku (44).  One of Rikiya’s advisors and party leader of the Hearts & Minds Party (see below); has known Rikiya since their preteen years.  The Hanabatas were a political family of old, but largely saw those fortunes crash and burn when they started manifesting quirks a few generations into the Advent.  They’ve been clawing their way back into politics ever since and were an early target for the MLA’s project to infiltrate and/or start their own political party.  It was decided very early on that Koku’s quirk and his family connections made him a good choice to groom for leadership of the HMP, so he and Rikiya bonded over their similar positions.  They would go on to attend the same university, during which time they became romantically involved.  In truth, Koku’s university was functionally chosen for him on the basis of which one Rikiya would be attending; the First Families were not about to lose another Yotsubashi to college life.  Koku is more aware of this particular fact than Rikiya.  Still a little wistful about their college days, his opinions regarding Re-Destro’s big starstruck crush on Shigaraki are borderline unprintable.

Sanctum III: Twice’s No. 1 advisor, the dude with the big imperial handlebar moustache and what looks an awful lot like a dress uniform for the Japanese navy.  A few years older than Trumpet.  (First Families lineage)

Curious: Kizuki Chitose (36).  RD advisor and Shoowaysha Publishing Executive Vice President.[2]  From a relatively small liberated district up near Sendai; the MLA connections plus her own profound ambition got her moving very quickly up the MLA chain of command. Daughter of a wlw couple; got her blue skin from her bio mom.  One younger sibling, a sister.  Masterminded the dinners we see the group having in Chapter 218, originally to make sure Rikiya was getting at least one well-apportioned meal a week and a chance to socialize with the closest thing he has to peers, but also because it proved to be an invaluable opportunity to swap information and rumors.

Skeptic: Chikazoku Tomoyasu (31).  RD advisor and Feel Good Inc. board member.  On the bottom end of the generation age-wise, a prodigy in every sense save his broadly terrible people skills.  Recognizes Rikiya’s stress tells because he shares several of them himself, and is also the only person of Rikiya’s generation with the confidence to verbally push him around a bit.  It’s regarded as borderline scandalous by their elders, but Rikiya himself finds it bracing, and anyway, Skeptic’s ability to organize a schedule for maximum efficiency is nothing less than miraculous.  Got Rikiya onto fidget toys.

Toryu:  Toryu is the family name of Galvanize (aka Taser Face aka Kaminari’s Dad).  Mr. Compress’s No. 1, the dude who strolls out onto the lawn after Cementoss rips the hotel a new one and immediately gets his smarm repackaged and returned to sender by Kaminari and Edgeshot.  Great for morale before that, though!  In Rikiya’s age group, his mother’s side of the family (from which he gets the electricity powers) has been in the Army for at least as far back as her school days. (The name comes from the characters for leaping/rising and current/flow.)

Slidin’ Go: Tokoname Tatsuyuki (37).  He’s Slidin’ Go!  Skeptic’s No. 2, possibly because Slidin’ Go strongly resembles the puppets Skeptic is so used to barking orders at and there’s comfort in familiarity.

Aozono: Family name for another of Rikiya’s childhood peers, nothing is known but that green skin runs in the family as far back as her father.  May or may not be related to Curious’s family.

The Fifth Generation—

Geten: Real name unknown.  Family status unknown.  Age unknown, but I’d peg him in the 18-23 area.  Seems to be allowed to attend the weekly dinners without contributing anything but his incredibly terrible table manners.  Can talk an impassioned game about the Liberation Army’s goals (though he pushes the quirk supremacy line a good deal harder than anyone else in the Army is shown to; it’s not even close), but it’s fairly clear that he’s more personally dedicated to Re-Destro than he is the MLA’s cause in and of itself.  I’ll be honest; I have no idea what Geten’s deal is. My tentative headcanon is that he’s an orphan—the English meaning of his name, Apocrypha, refers to sacred writings of uncertain authorship/authenticity—who’s in some kind of Batman-and-Robin guardian-and-ward situation with Re-Destro, but I didn’t wind up writing enough about him to come up with much beyond that.

Nimble: Spinner’s No. 1, the woman with the weird paper-strip-esque hair who doesn’t seem to be in possession of a nose or mouth.  (She absorbs air through her skin like a frog, which is why no one has ever seen her with that sweater covering both of her shoulders.)  Nimble is a friendly sort, though she regards her outgoing good cheer as being a simple matter of social networking.  Ambitious, but sensible about it.                Meta-ability: Sky Write.  Allows her to project letters and pictures into the air around her, giving her a way to communicate she would have otherwise lacked.  She can create words in air she can’t see, but it takes some concentration, and the closer the better.

Scarecrow: Spinner’s No. 2, 21 years old.  Born with amelia (see link in Day Two’s author’s notes) that disfigured his face and severed his arms in the womb.  His quirk-based forelegs—a pair of spider legs emerging from his shoulders—can do a certain amount of basic object manipulation, but it tends to wig people out, so they push him to use his prosthetics like he’s “supposed” to (see Stray Notes section for more on this).  He was viciously angry about it even as a kid, and his parents were frustrated, making them easy pickings for cult indoctrination.  A family friend recommended that they look into Detnerat, where it wasn’t long before Re-Destro himself took an interest in their situation (or at least in making a good impression on them).  Scarecrow joined the Army as quickly as he was allowed to—16.              Meta-ability: Webbing.  The bug legs can project silk like a webspinner (the insect on which he’s based), allowing him to do anything you might broadly understand Spider-Man to be able to do with his webbing, though he certainly lacks Spider-Man’s strength.

Red: Named in passing in the manga, he’s the laid-back dude with the fluffy hair who serves as Skeptic’s No. 1 post-merger.  Probably invaluable in helping Skeptic maintain what bare vestiges of chill he can muster.  (First Families lineage)

The Sixth Generation—

Every child currently under the age of 10 being raised in MLA households with a picture of Destro over the mantle.  It’s not a small number, representing a group that neither the fandom nor the Hero Commission seem to have even realized exist.

———–      

CORE TENETS & THE MATTER OF QUIRK SUPREMACY

Re-Destro is not (contrary to popular fandom belief) in favor of full-throated, might-makes-right, survival of the fittest Quirk Darwinism.[3]  Destro’s will was for people to be able to use their meta-abilities as they saw fit to the extent that that freedom did not interfere with the freedoms of others. He was against the regulation of meta-abilities, but he was not—to the best of our knowledge—against the regulation of crime.  His belief was that one murderer with a fire ability killing people did not justify barring everyone else with fire abilities from using those powers to fire clay, start campfires, engage in fire-themed performance art, use fire to char wood in artistic patterns for money, help park rangers set and direct controlled burns, coordinate explosions for the movie industry, light cigarettes in public, or any other of dozens of possible uses for a fire ability that don’t involve burning people alive.

The MLA do believe that meta-abilities have an impact on one’s personality, but they also believe that that’s okay; that it should be understood and accepted, not feared and repressed—Curious would not have wanted to turn Toga into a tragedy about the consequences of repression if she didn’t think that a spree of bloodletting murders was a tragedy.  Their belief as an organization is that people should be free to use their powers as they see fit in the same way that they would any other natural talent or cultivated skill.  They believe that people will, if free to do so, naturally gravitate to ways of improving their own lot in life via use of their meta-abilities.

Freedom from regulation and freedom from discrimination—these are the core tenets that the vast majority of the rank and file hold to.  A great many of them are laborers, blue collar types who just want to be able to better support themselves and their families.  Many others are those who suffered discrimination because of their quirks and want better for both themselves and their children.  Of course, the further back their connections go, the more likely they are to both be higher-ranked in the cult (with attendant greater resources) and to have grown up soaking in generations’ worth of resentment, groupthink, and radicalism.

Geten, a particularly virulent and single-minded MLA attack dog, has parsed the tenets to mean that people with strong, well-trained meta-abilities will naturally be able to use their powers to do more and raise their status in the MLA’s ideal society, and thus that those who can’t or don’t choose to will not be able to live lives that Geten personally thinks are worth living.  Likewise, Trumpet doesn’t fault Spinner only for his weak ability, but also for his anti-social tendencies.  Of course a politician who’s deeply invested in a narrative of people uniting to throw off their chains and better themselves would be disdainful of someone who locked himself in his bedroom for years and emerged only to violently lash out at society.  (Spinner’s right to call Trumpet a huge hypocrite on this, mind; terrorist cult members have no business lecturing other terrorists about the correct way to violently reform society.)

The MLA does have a problem with quirk supremacy, but it’s not quite the problem fandom thinks they do, and it’s certainly more nuanced than fandom thinks.[4]  Frankly, I could write a whole post dissecting this, but rather than analyzing the canon at length in a post intending to be about my fanon for a series of slice-of-life MLA fics, let me just lay out some issues I think the MLA have.  Note that these opinions may vary member to member, particularly as you work your way up the chain of command.

Many in the MLA believe that people with poor quirks are less capable of asserting their will and becoming whatever they want to be.  They are not, notably, alone in that that sentiment—we hear versions of it not only from villains like Trumpet and All for One, but from the paralleled parents of Midoriya Inko and Shimura Kotarou, the would-be hero Bakugou, and even the iconic hero paragon All Might.  While it’s not universal, My Hero Academia’s Japan is full of people who believe to some extent or another that people with weak or no quirks are inherently less capable of making their mark on the world.  The MLA is just more blatant about it than most.

The MLA are, as a group, not concerned about the fate of the quirkless.  My suspicion is that this is because they think quirklessness as a trait is on its way out—that the touted 20% of the world population that’s quirkless is hugely weighted towards the elderly, those who are from generations when quirklessness was more common.  Think about it: 20% is two out of every ten people.  Statistically speaking, that’s a huge portion!  You only have to look at Deku’s middle school classroom in Chapter 1—thirty kids, exactly one of whom is quirkless—to begin to suspect that there’s something a bit off with the 20% figure.

Further, the MLA follows Destro’s beliefs, and we know from Destro’s manifesto that he believed meta-abilities were growing stronger over time.  So to their mind, not only is quirklessness becoming a thing of the past, but so are weak quirks in general.  While their clear disdain for both is damning—and certainly discredits them as a group suited to decide how society should be structured!—please understand that, “We’re not very concerned with the rights of the quirkless because we think that there won’t be any such thing as quirkless people within a few more generations,” is not the same statement as, “We are A-OK with 20% of the world’s population being second-class citizens for the entire rest of human history,” and it is really not the same statement as, “People with no quirks, or bodies that can’t handle their quirks, need to be proactively removed from the gene pool and we are actively advocating for a systemic, organized culling.”

That said, their disdain, if blown out to society at large, would absolutely lead to discrimination and, undoubtedly, incidents of the same sort of violence that the MLA themselves were forged from.  That they haven’t thought or don’t care about this is one of many things that make them villains.

Further, there is an ugly strain within the MLA that still recognizes quirk marriages.  Because the MLA values freedom, they’re not as ubiquitous as you might think (at least if you think the MLA is a bunch of quirk supremacists with no other goals or values)—“freedom” does nominally include the freedom to marry who you want rather than let your own meta-ability trap you in a life you hate. However, it’s equally true that in a group that believes very strongly in the value of quirks, the power of quirks in the future, and the necessity of fighting a war to bring about that future, there will obviously be members who support the practice.  There are absolutely men and women who have been bullied and guilted by their families into loveless marriages for the sole purpose of producing children with powerful, desirable quirks.  How likely this is in any given location mostly depends on the commander’s opinion on it, though it’s a very rare one indeed who would go so far as discouraging it entirely.

———–      

THE HEARTS & MINDS PARTY

(Considerations on Japan’s political landscape.)

The current monolith of the Diet, the Liberal Democratic Party of Japan, managed to hold onto power for a full century after the Advent, but their grasp grew shakier and shakier over time.  Initial measures to bar meta-humans from voting proved increasingly unpopular as the percentage of the population with meta-abilities grew both larger and older.  People with easily-concealed powers gained office, sometimes being outed, sometimes not, but on the whole, decades of oppression and violence led to an ever-more-popular opinion that the LDP had mishandled the whole mess.  They lost their supermajority in the Diet when their longstanding alliance with the Komeito party splintered, regained it again for a few electoral cycles, lost it again when Komeito itself fractured, and so on, their once implacable numbers shrinking year by year.  Still, they managed to hold onto a coalition majority right up until Saneki Yuuichi was elected to the House of Representatives.

Saneki headed up a small party based almost entirely on the issue of meta-human basic rights.  Like many meta-humans of the period, he believed that the best way for meta-humans to attain those rights was to live like so-called “normal humans,” to show that meta-humans were just like everyone else. His party advanced the ideology that meta-humans should only use their powers to help others or better society, not to advance their own self-interest.  They pushed stringently for metas to be allowed equal recognition under the law as any Japanese citizen, but also supported measures such as requiring licenses for the use of meta-abilities and limiting those licenses to those actively engaged in assisting police.  Deeply tied to respectability politics, Saneki’s party contained virtually all emitters, a scant number of transformers, and no heteromorphs, who the party felt were an impediment to reaching their legislative goals, but whose particular needs could be brought back up at a later, more receptive time.

Saneki’s politics gained him many supporters, but also drove many into the arms of the Meta Liberation Army, who vocally loathed him and everything he stood for.  The confluence of public dissatisfaction with the spike in violence represented by the MLA, Saneki’s coalition gathering popular support among both metas and non-metas, and the rise of named, organized hate groups trying to roll back what few advances had been gained in meta-human rights finally spelled the end of the LDP’s majority.

The LDP falling apart prompted a scramble for power that would stretch on for nearly half a century. Old alliances whose only common ground had been opposing the LDP found themselves free to seek groups with more compatible goals.  Young single- or dual-issue parties leapt at the chance to address their issues with more fervor.  New parties sprung up across the country.  Not only meta-humans, but minority groups of all kinds saw new avenues to press for substantive positive changes that had been dead in the water under the LDP.  Voting numbers surged as they had not for decades.

The old, conservative elements of the Diet were not gone, of course—they remained a substantial powerhouse!—but no longer could they muster the undefeatable veto-proof numbers that they had once enjoyed.

Like everyone else, the remnants of the MLA saw opportunity in the new, ever-shifting status quo.  With the place of metas secured for the time being, there was no longer a need for metas to form coalitions in the Diet merely to get their basic needs addressed.  A single-issue party from its inception thirty years prior, Saneki Yuuichi’s party was fragmenting, unable to decide on a single direction now that their uniting issue had been resolved to their satisfaction.  In recognition of meta-humans reaching population parity, the MLA launched a project to begin seeding the ideals of Liberation at the highest levels yet—the Hearts & Minds Party.

Beginning as a local party in a prefecture in which the MLA had gained significant underground support, the HMP campaigned on a platform championing individual freedoms and a wide range of improvements to Japan’s battered and overworked social safety nets.  They made an effort to showcase diverse representation in their leadership and gave impassioned speeches promising to reach across party aisles in searching for nuanced solutions to the various difficulties facing the country.

It’s impossible to say exactly how large the Hearts & Minds Party is compared to the Meta Liberation Army, which is claimed by Re-Destro to have 116,000 action-ready warriors (the “warriors lying in wait, ready to rise to action” description presumably indicating that his count does not include uninducted children).

On the one hand, one can presume that everyone who’s a member of the MLA is voting for the HMP on every ticket they can, but not every member of the MLA—who induct combat-ready warriors as young as 16—is old enough to vote, and many probably live in districts or prefectures where the HMP has yet to establish a campaign-ready foothold. On the other hand, while the HMP certainly serves to funnel people towards the MLA, it doesn’t require membership—indeed, it’s far better for their goals for them not to do so.  Therefore, it’s also probable that the Hearts & Minds Party has many supporters who are not (yet) counted among the Liberation Army’s number.  Thus, for the purposes of ballparking estimates, I opted to simply suppose that the two areas lacking overlap (MLA members who can’t vote for the HMP and HMP supporters who aren’t members of the MLA) are relatively equal.

That established, we’re working with a party that has 116K voters/supporters/members.  The closest thing to that number that I could find numbers for is the Japanese Communist Party (JCP), which counted 300K members as of 2017.  Using their total membership compared to their representation in the Diet (as well as a willingness to viciously bastardize anything resembling reliable political math), I plugged in my estimate for the HMP’s membership and wound up with the Hearts & Minds Party holding four seats in the House of Representatives, five seats in the House of Councillors, and sixty-odd assembly members in various prefectural positions.

For some context to those numbers, the House of Representatives (more powerful, but more vulnerable to sudden electoral shifts) has 465 members, 233 of which are required for a majority, and 310 of which are required to override vetoes imposed by the House of Counsillors. The House of Counsillors (less powerful, but serving longer terms and unable to be dissolved for general elections like the House of Representatives can be) has 245 members, with 123 required for a majority.

As you can see, the HMP holding a handful of seats isn’t going to tilt the My Hero Academia world on its axis.  Still, it’s more seats than any number of real-life Japanese political parties hold, and right up until the one-two punch of Shigaraki taking over the MLA and Hawks outing Trumpet’s allegiances to the Hero Commission, the Hearts & Minds Party was well on-track to continue growing its power and influence.

———–      

TIMELINE

(For ease of calculation, most dates are rounded to the nearest five years.)

1980: A glowing baby is born in Qing Qing City, China, heralding the Advent of the Age of the Extraordinary.  For almost two decades, meta-abilities remain rare and poorly understood—incidents are widespread and show huge variance, so most people write them off as anomalies or hoaxes.  As the years go on, however, meta-abilities become more widespread, moving out of the realm of the odd headline that many people think is an elaborate hoax into an alarmed spotlight as it gradually becomes apparent that this is a thing that all humanity is undergoing.  Most major technological development pivots to trying to understand, undo, document or control this new phenomenon.

2030: The child who will become All for One is born.  By this time, society is breaking down into chaos. Across the globe, measures from outlawing all meta-ability use to internment are seen.  Eugenics laws are discussed or put in place.  Communities attempt to run out metas and, in response, groups of metas attempt to form their own communities.  Infanticide rates are rising alarmingly.

2060: Yotsubashi Chikara and Ujiko (original name unknown) are born.  Japan is in complete disarray, awash in mob violence, with organized groups of both metas and non-metas attacking victims indiscriminately.  Developing an ability can get you disowned.  Divisions among the meta minority are developing a noticeable strain of respectability politics rhetoric.

2065: AFO forces an ability on his younger brother, unintentionally creating One for All.  Chikara’s mother is murdered by an anti-meta mob for attempting to speak out in defense of the normalcy of her child’s ability.

2085-2090: Saneki Yuuichi becomes the first meta-human to attain a seat in the Diet. Despite nearly a century of violence, meta-humans are becoming a larger and larger percentage of the population, and the people of Japan are tired.  The prevailing sense is that it’s time to make peace; however, the peace that is being forged involves laws sharply restricting the use of meta-abilities for those who haven’t been formally licensed.  These restrictions see markedly mixed reactions from metas.  Chikara rallies the most vehement dissenters to create the Meta Liberation Army, calling himself Destro.              Disagreement over how to handle the MLA finally finishing the job of rattling the Diet free of the death-grip of the LDP.  Many years of fractious elections will follow as new coalitions form to try and seize majority power.

2095: Japan signs an international accord acknowledging the fundamental rights of meta-humans.  This gesture begins to splinter both internal support and public sympathy for the MLA.

2097: Destro is captured by police and their newly designated Quirk Unit.  Other surviving members of the MLA are hunted down or go into hiding.

2100: The term “Hero” is formally adopted, having been casually in use for some time.  A Hero is one who is licensed to use their power to fight quirk-based crime in accordance with local and federal laws, assisting the police when requested.  The Hero Commission is established as an agency with oversight in the licensing and regulation of Heros.              Destro dies in prison.  Though the matter is questioned, no proof of foul play is ever brought forward, and the death is ruled a suicide.

2110: Ujiko presents his paper on the Paranormal [5] Singularity Theory.  The paper suggests that the power of quirks is continuing to grow with each generation and will, in time, become more powerful than the human body can control.  His evidence is inconclusive, however, and his citation of some of Destro’s observations on the phenomenon becomes a particular sticking point.  In a country that is finally beginning to get its feet back under it, no one wants to see another widespread panic.  Ujiko is stripped of his position; having been living on campus at the time, he’s left functionally homeless and is approached by All for One not long after.

2120: The population of those with quirks and those without reaches parity in Japan. Seeing an opportunity, the MLA launches the Hearts & Minds Party as a local political party, intending to grow it over time.

(2125: Yagi Toshinori is born.)

2138: Yotsubashi Rikiya is born.

(2148: Debut of All Might.)

(2165: Shimura family tragedy.)

(2174: All Might “defeats” AFO.)

2175: Hanabata Koku is elected to the House of Representatives.  He’s not the youngest party leader in the Diet, but he’s close.

2180: The events of Deku’s freshman year at UA lead the MLA to turn their attention to the League of Villains.

———–      

STRAY FACTS

Why 1980/2180?—

It’s an even number for ease of calculation, triangulated between a few considerations.

Firstly, tasers are mentioned in the One for All dream, so the events of the dream (which themselves are happening far enough into the Advent that society’s had time to slide into all-out chaos) must post-date the invention of the taser, which was in 1993.

Secondly, Spider-Man’s silhouette is seen amongst the group of characters who represent the “fantasy” that became reality.  If we assume that those media properties existed in-universe (since the narration is delivered by Midoriya) and were assumed to be fantastical at the time, they must predate the Advent—Spider-Man is the newest of them and his first appearance was in 1962, his material being translated into Japanese by the 1970s.

Lastly, technological and societal development crashed to a halt with the Advent.  The world of My Hero Academia generally reflects a modern-ish Japan, so I wanted modern technology—and modern social reforms—to still feel modern to the characters.  Thus, the point at which society stopped developing needed to predate the Digital Revolution, which really began to hit its stride in the mid-80s.  Hence, 1980.

The opening period is, admittedly, fairly generous on my part, and does assume a certain amount of modern advances were probably underway, but then were lost, sidelined or rolled back as the chaos spread.  You could probably trim off twenty years by stepping up how quickly quirks begin to appear and spread, but the very beginning is the best window to do so.  I’d still peg the Advent at 1980 based on the calculations above (again, it has to fall somewhere between the mid-70s and 1993) but, for example, maybe All for One is from that first generation, and society only takes 30 years to reach the lowest point of its collapse instead of 80.

As to the 2180, the older characters introduce several requirements for the post-Advent timeline.  Ujiko was 50 at the time that society was beginning to stabilize, while AFO dates to its days of utmost chaos.  AFO also needs to be running on at least one anti-aging quirk prior to meeting Ujiko; if the only one he were running on was Ujiko’s own, then based on his appearance and the mechanics of Ujiko’s quirk, I’d peg AFO at merely 85, and he needs to be not only over 100, but far enough over 100 that he’s described that way rather than as “a century-old evil” or something to that effect.

Meanwhile, All Might can’t really be any younger than 50, and seven generations of OFA bearer predated him, even if they did all die relatively young.  Destro’s mother was killed in those early chaotic days, while Re-Destro (himself no spring chicken) is told as a child that the MLA has been in hiding for generations.  “Generations” implies at least two; I further suppose that Rikiya needs to be at least the original Chikara’s great-grandson for him to describe himself simply as Destro’s descendant, rather than use a more specific relationship term.  All of this points to a fairly lengthy stretch of time, much more than is glossed over by Midoriya’s series-opening narration.

AFO and the MLA—

I mention in the very first story of this series that the MLA’s contacts all go “mysteriously missing” after the capture of Destro.  While the police certainly did their own measure of work in tracking down the Liberation Army’s members and allies, there was another figure with a significant hand in the MLA’s downfall.

All for One, then in his early sixties, had watched the rise of the MLA in some interest.  On a personal level, he admired Yotsubashi’s charisma and resolve, and, of course, he wholly supported the free use of quirks (well, his own free use of quirks, anyway)!  On the other hand, All for One also sought to restore order to society, albeit order as he himself envisioned it.  While he was confident that there was no one who could stand up to him no matter whose ideals won out, Saneki Yuuichi’s way promised a more stable society, and bribable and/or blackmailable bureaucrats seemed easier to manipulate than ideal-driven zealots ready to give their lives for the cause.  Thus, AFO decided to help the police a bit behind the scenes, offering a few tip-offs and hints to guide their efforts to end the threat of the Liberation Army.

Of course, as long as Destro was alive, the cause of Liberation still had its focal point. And AFO was still a bit curious to meet this man, who’d inspired so very many loyal followers.  It was an easy thing to arrange.  An interesting man, and an interesting quirk.

Destro did commit suicide in prison.  A man who had always embraced his meta-ability for motivation, and whose ability transformed that motivation into power in turn, AFO stripped him of in the same moment. Isolation from other contact, separation from his lover, his friends and allies, and his cause, a gap in his psyche like no pain he’d ever experienced--all of these piled up on one another into a fatal despair.  After AFO’s visit, there was no need for anyone to arrange a convenient death for Destro.

(And if in later years, the monstrous Noumu, who are driven entirely by pre-programmed, single-minded resolve, are flint-skinned from head-to-toe, well—who would ever even think to connect those dots?)

The Mother of Quirks—

An interesting thing I observed from Re-Destro’s confrontation with Clone!Shigaraki is that, based on their exchange, it doesn’t seem to be common knowledge that the Mother of Quirks is the mother of the Meta Liberation Army’s leader?  Re-Destro’s apology for assuming Shigaraki wouldn’t recognize the story suggests that it’s a matter of fairly basic historical education, but he then goes on to explain her connection to Destro at some length—if that connection were taught at the same time her story was, surely he’d see no need to do this? Clone-a-raki’s response backs this up—unlike the general existence of the Mother of Quirks, which was such basic knowledge that he was insulted that Re-Destro thought he wouldn’t know about it, her connection to Destro was unknown to him.

Re-Destro describes the connection as “an inconvenient truth.”  This, in turn, suggests that the connection has been actively obscured.  The MLA’s place in history is taught; the originator of the term “quirk” is taught, but the two are not connected to each other. Kids in school aren’t taught that the very child whose mother was murdered for her words hated what his country was using those words, that message, to do.  It’s naked appropriation that continues to this day, and it’s no wonder that the MLA is furious about it.

The Quirk Unit—

An early term for the group that would, in relatively short order after their formation, officially be dubbed Heroes.  Composed of both meta-humans already on the police force and vigilantes willing to remit themselves to legal oversight, they fought quirk-based crime in many forms, from the common mugger to the terrorists of the MLA, and even former allies in vigilantism.  Well-regarded by history thanks to their efforts in reining in crime and disorder, but quite a controversial group in their early years.

MLA Age of Induction—

Being raised in the MLA means being raised with the goal of eventually being assigned a codename and tasked with supporting the Great Cause in whatever fashion your superiors think you best suited.  The minimum age for this is 16, though 18, being the age at which students graduate from high school, is more common.  At no point is there really a safe way to leave once you’re involved; they are, after all, a secret army.  There’s no aging out of the MLA—it’s a lifetime tour—but disability, injury or general decrepitude can get you assigned to work that generally won’t expect you to see open combat.  The Army is composed of a great many lifetime-of-service families, after all, which means they need teachers and caretakers; another option is dedicated work for the Hearts & Minds Party, who always have room for community organizers.

Liberated Districts—

Settlements that are at least 85% MLA-inducted.  At their largest, they’re small towns; rural villages are far more common.  Without exception, they’re isolated or out of the way.  Tend to have unusually good access to city services compared to similarly-sized settlements.  Deika was one of the largest districts the Army had, chosen for the Revival Celebration due to its combination of a sizable population and a particularly closed-off location.  The MLA knew they’d need many warriors to fight the League of Villains, but they also needed a site that was not merely remote, but that had controllable points of access.

It can take well over a decade to hit the 85% saturation mark in even small villages; Deika and the MLA’s handful of other full-fledged towns are the work of generations.  They begin by moving people into an area and setting up gatherings on some useful pretext or another, enthusiastically welcoming newcomers and very, very gradually indoctrinating people further into the ideology.  Financial support, an accepting environment for difficult quirks or those with patchy legal histories, the odd homeless shelter or food kitchen, a robust presence in the foster care network—the MLA is very, very good at making themselves a warm, sincere, reliable presence in peoples’ lives, a group that encourages everyone under their banner to be their best selves. They think everyone deserves that kind of support!

They are also willing to shed quite a lot of blood to make sure that everyone can get it.

On the Intersection of Disability and Quirk Suppression—

There are a few factors contributing to why Scarecrow can’t use his quirk to do things others would.  First, his quirk is the kind of off-putting that gets Gang Orca ranked third-most villainous-looking hero and leads Shoji to wear a mask because his face disturbs people.  So Scarecrow’s quirk is already the kind of visible that makes people look at him askance.  Compounding this, his prosthetics are obvious, visible to any old person, and people have a very ugly tendency towards bootstrap, “you can do it if you try” mentalities around people with disabilities.  These two factors mean that people who are disturbed by his creepy articulate bug legs would much prefer that he use his significantly less-creepy prosthetics, to the degree that they’re willing to suggest that he’s being lazy if he doesn’t.  They cite the quirk-use laws as a deflection tactic, but Scarecrow—whose pattern recognition functions just fine, thanks—is keenly aware of the underlying mindset.

Nimble is in much the same boat—she literally can’t talk without falling back on a visual representation of some kind (sign-language, a text-to-speech reader, etc), and why on earth shouldn’t she be able to use the fastest and most convenient one without people getting up her ass about it?

None of this is the kind of thing that would likely get either of them arrested (though Scarecrow’s creepy enough that the odds are higher for him, “villain quirk” bias being what it is), but the laws-as-written, nonetheless, are discriminatory, and that makes people justly angry.  Angry people are easier to radicalize, and the Liberation Army has been working that angle since their very inception.

Re-Destro and Trumpet’s College Days—

RD’s an Engineering major with a focus in Manufacturing; Trumpet’s in PoliSci.  They’re two grades apart, with Koku being the older.  Those two years of greater experience shift the power balance between them significantly when Rikiya arrives for his freshman year, facing a new place, a new workload, an entirely new rhythm to his life.  For the first time, Koku is not merely a friend in similar circumstances who is still—as they’re both reminded near-constantly—subordinate to Rikiya’s every word.  Rather, he’s a senpai, someone with specific experience in every aspect of this new stage of life—and someone who’s had two years to become more eloquent, more well-studied, more confident, more mature.

Removed from the immediate supervision of the First Families for the first time in his life, Rikiya allows himself to lean on Koku in ways he never would have back home. Koku, for his part, has had his responsibilities here impressed on him by the First Families at some length, and has spent his entire life being groomed to devote himself to his Grand Commander.  Having said Grand Commander looking to him with such glowing esteem in his eyes—well, there’s no denying that it’s pretty enticing.  The two of them enter a romantic relationship that will endure for several years until Rikiya gets his head back around the idea that Koku’s ability to say no to him is fundamentally compromised.

The Bindi Connection—

I had no reason to develop them any, and thus I don’t have names to assign, but it seems that Twice’s No. 3, the smiling old woman with the gingham dress and the rough-and-ready attitude to combat, and Geten’s No. 2, the short-haired woman whose face is being devoured by her out-of-control sweater neck, are related.  Note the bindi on both of them, as well as the similar hair color, particularly in the page introducing all the advisors.  Mutual connection to Dabi’s No. 3, the guy who got into a fight with a hole punch and lost, is uncertain but possible based on the confronting-the-heroes page spread in which Hole Punch dude’s hand lays familiarly on Grandma Bindi’s back while Big Sis Bindi turns partly towards him as if to whisper some sarcastic observation about how lame Cementoss’s ponytail is.

———–      

FOOTNOTES

1: Regarding codenames, the first generation of the MLA tended to have names that reflected their meta-ability in some way.  From the second generation on, at the behest of Destro’s son, the codenames have become less literal, and thus less revealing.

2: Viz renders the job tile “Executive Director,” but having checked the raw, the Japanese term, senmu, is associated with a fairly specific level of executive authority, and it’s lower than I would peg “Executive Director,” which to my ear sounds synonymous or slightly below Chief Executive Officer.  Executive Vice President is wikipedia’s translation; Google returns Senior Managing Director.  In any case, she’s near the top, but not at the top.

3: At least, he wasn’t prior to meeting Shigaraki.  Now he’s pretty much in favor of a very organized and coherent belief structure that can be summarized as, “Watch Shigaraki tear down the world ‘cause he’s beautiful and I love him,” and honestly, mood.

4: I’ll just come out and say it: fandom blew Geten’s words way out of proportion because a bunch of people got mad that he was being mean to Everyone’s Favorite Serial Killer Dabi.

5: An archaic term by this period.  Even “meta-human” saw more use in academic parlance, while the term “quirk” had become much more widespread among the general population since its official adoption during the period of legislation twenty years prior.

[byuneebuns]

Calluna

Minhyuk x Reader Supernatural AU

Tags: Fluff, Oneshot, Witch AU, Supernatural AU

Author’s Note: I wrote this in July of 2018, right before I saw Monsta X in SF, and it has been sitting in my drafts since then. I just re-worked it a little and I think it’s finally ready to let it see the light of day. I hope someone out there enjoys it. ♡ 

A large plume of dense magenta smoke was billowing from your cauldron, smelling strongly of pine needles. You fanned at it eagerly, trying to ignore the dread creeping into the pit of your stomach as you recoiled from the pungent odor.

‘Pine needles? Isn’t it supposed to smell like flowers....?’ You thought to yourself as you glanced at the open spellbook by your side for confirmation.

The jewel-tone clouds finally started to dissipate and you chewed on your lower lip as you peered nervously into the depths of your cauldron, silently praying your hard work hadn’t been been for naught.

In the bottom of the large metal bowl was a substance reminiscent of tar in both consistency and color, bubbling ominously.

“No, no. This isn’t right at all.” You muttered darkly to yourself, your fingernails digging grooves into your palms from how tightly your fists were clenched with frustration. 

This was your third attempt at a particularly complex potion to mimic feelings of love and you were at your wit’s end trying to figure out what exactly you were doing wrong. 

This wasn’t a love potion in the sense that it made someone else fall in love with you: It was a potion that made you feel all of the warmth, the fullness, the contentedness of loving and being loved in return. It was happiness in a bottle, so to speak, and much like the feeling was difficult to describe so was it to replicate.

You squinted at the narrow, cramped cursive text that covered the pages of your spellbook, wishing for the thousandth time that your late Aunt hadn’t been so hasty when recording her creations. Her handwriting was illegible at best, and most of her homegrown spell instructions were riddled with scribbles and footnotes that contradicted each other.

“It must be nice to be a genius.” You sighed to yourself, closing the textbook and staring wistfully at the ceiling. A small wreath, only about three inches in diameter, of smooth wood and white heather swayed from a long string attached to the low ceiling beams of your small cabin, almost playfully teasing you. It was her last parting gift to you before she left you alone in the world. It had been a year since she passed away but the heather had never yet wilted, something you were certain she’d accomplished with her powerful magic. You’d never gotten to ask the meaning behind the wreath but you could sense that it was important in some way you’d yet to comprehend.

Your parents had died from illness when you were too young to know them, leaving you alone with your mother’s much, much older sister. She’d raised you as her own and although you knew she was no spring chicken you were still extremely unprepared when she told you that the end was coming. She went peacefully in her sleep but it never felt like she’d truly left you, so you managed to avoid feeling too lonely.

“Auntie, couldn’t you have bought a typewriter? I can’t read this, and what I can read doesn’t make sense. Now I have to go out again.” You whined at the charm, receiving only taunting silence in reply.

You groaned again, pulling on your boots and cloak and trudging out of the cabin with a final sigh.

Your feet carried you towards the tree line of the forest you called home. Your cabin sat in a wide field that was dotted with wildflowers and surrounded by trees that seemed tall enough to touch the clouds in the bright blue sky above them. Your Auntie had always told you that a witch belonged in nature, but that it should be revered and respected. Nothing more than was needed should be taken, partly because wastefulness is considered evil, but mostly for fear of angering the protective spirits of the wood. They never showed themselves to others but you could feel their presence all around you, watching your every move from somewhere just out of sight, as soon as you stepped in their territory.

Your caretaker had been much more well-acquainted with the wood than you were. You had spent plenty of time playing there as a child, but she often ventured into them alone when you were young, leaving for hours at a time without explanation. You suspected that she was practicing advanced magic in private that she didn’t want you trying to copy. You never dared to follow her, knowing that she would catch you immediately and not wanting to suffer the consequences of your curiosity, but you’d always hoped that someday she would deem you worthy to accompany her. She’d kept so many secrets from you until her last breath, which you routinely tried not to let eat a hole in your heart. She had her reasons and they were her’s alone.

Your feet slowly made their way along the soft, mossy earth, your arms swinging freely at your sides, a small smile playing on your full lips. You felt so blessed to get to live somewhere so breathtakingly beautiful. The trees were so thick that only small, green-tinged rays of the sun were freckling the forest floor. You were so relaxed in the silent woods that you failed to notice the pair of eyes following you closely as you journeyed on.

You finally reached your destination, a tiny clearing in the woods with herbs and berries of differing varieties as far as the eye could see. You’d been fortunate enough to locate the little sanctuary not long after your Aunt passed and it had since become a beloved destination for you to find peace in solitude, ingredients for meals, and supplies for spells. It was, needless to say, an important place for you both in terms of your survival but also your spirit.

You knelt down, carefully picking stalks of herbs and collecting berries in your basket. You left a small cloth bundle, tied tight with a ribbon, on the ground nearby. This was almost certainly a garden being cultivated with the magic of forest spirits, so it was only polite to leave an offering as payment.

“I don’t like cucumbers.” A disparaging voice suddenly called over your shoulder.

You spun around and stumbled backwards in shock, tripping over an exposed root and crawling backwards on your hands, ignoring the stinging pain in your ankle.

A tall, thin man towered over you, watching you with thinly veiled amusement. He took a step towards you and you gasped, scrambling backwards into a bush as you desperately tried to put more distance between the two of you.

The stranger bent down on one knee and plucked your offering from the ground, untying the ribbon with nimble fingers, and pulled a sour face at the contents.

“It always has cucumber, why can’t they just be normal?” He grumbled, pinching the tiny sandwich between his forefinger and his thumb, a pout blooming spectacularly on his mouth and marring his elegant features.

Now that his attention was directed elsewhere you were able to get a proper look at him. He looked to be about your age, maybe a few years older, had a thin frame with broad shoulders and otherwise even proportions and was deceptively muscular. He had delicate cat-like features with high cheekbones, his face promising mischief. Straight brows hovered over almond-shaped eyes with glittering black irises, and a small, straight nose with thin lips and a sharp jaw. His hair was the color of fresh snow, messy and sticking up oddly in places, and upon closer inspection seemed to have some small leaves and twigs tangled in it.

In fact, the closer you looked at him the more wild he appeared. There were smears of dirt on his arms and face and his shirt was torn in strange places, like he’d fist fought with a thorn bush and lost badly. His pants were worn and had large grass stains at the knees. He looked like he hadn’t seen a proper bed or bath in ages.

Despite his forlorn appearance, he was truly stunning.

He turned to you with a scowl.

“Don’t you know how to make anything else?”

Your initial shock having subsided, you felt yourself practically swelling with indignation.

“I can, thank you very much. And those aren’t for you anyways, they’re an offering for the forest spirits.” You huffed, crawling forward gingerly on scuffed hands and knees to snatch the container from his ungrateful hands.

He looked at you incredulously before tipping his head back and laughing, earning another look of apprehension from you.

“Well the forest rejects your offering. Come back with something tastier.” He said, taking your basket from your unsuspecting grip.

“H-hey!”

Your mouth fell open in disbelief as you watched the man replacing everything you’d carefully collected in its original place.

A lunatic. 

There was no other explanation. He was a lunatic.

“Excuse me, but what gives you the right to decide my offering isn’t good enough?” You spat, trying and failing to get past him to retrieve your belongings.

“No one needs to give me the right to decide what I will and won’t accept.” He replied haughtily, tossing your now-empty basket in your lap.

You glowered at each other for a few terse moments before you burst into hollow laughter.

“What is so funny?” The man’s arms were folded across his chest now, his pout returning in full force.

You stopped laughing when you saw how serious your companion was.

“Are you really trying to tell me that you’re some kind of forest spirit?” You said, your voice deadpan to emphasize your disbelief.

“I prefer nymph since I have a physical form, and my name is Minhyuk.” He said matter-of-factly, watching you with tense, wary eyes.

You blinked once, twice, three times before speaking.

“You’re really...a nymph?” You asked, feeling every bit as stupid as you doubtlessly sounded.

Minhyuk rolled his eyes.

“No, I’m an elk.”

Your cheeks colored with humorless embarrassment. You’d always imagined forest nymphs to be more...fairly-like? Small and playful, happy creatures, perhaps with little translucent wings. Not like this...sassy man that was eating the berries you’d planned on taking with you, his expression surly. 

“So...you really won’t let me take anything unless I bring you something else?” You asked, your disbelief evident in your tone.

“Oh, you’re still here? I hadn’t noticed. A blueberry pie sounds nice. The old lady used to bring them every so often, so I’m sure that you have a recipe somewhere.” He said in between mouthfuls, ignoring your visible annoyance.

“Until then I guess you’ll have to find somewhere else to forage seeing as this is my house you’re in.”

“Wait, what about an old lady?” You asked, brow furrowing with confusion.

“Don’t you have a pie to bake?” Minhyuk stood, clearly signaling that your conversation was over.

“I’m not making you a pie, you brat!”

“Then I guess you won’t be making much else, either.”

The sight of his parting smirk would haunt you for days to come.

***

“Stupid nymph.” You hissed before you stuck your thumb in your mouth to nurse the bead of your cherry-red blood that was forming on the fingertip. You glared at the bush you’d been foraging through, unsure if your irritation was from your finger being pricked or from your lack of success. 

You’d been desperately trying to find high quality ingredients elsewhere for nearly a week but suddenly it was as if they were scarce, or worse, ceased to exist. The tiny garden, however, remained a treasure trove of wildlife, mocking you and your inability to access it without being accosted by an overly large child. You had no trouble finding an abundance of blueberries wherever you looked, though.

You had every reason to suspect that this was Minhyuk’s doing. Of course you couldn’t really confirm it was anything more than bad luck but you could have sworn that you heard him snickering each time you found nothing and grew more frustrated.

“I’m losing my mind.” You sighed, tugging your hair at the root.

“You’ll go bald if that’s how you cope with stress.” A smug voice from over your shoulder commented.

“You-” You spun around, tripping over your feet in your haste. You tottered forward, swinging your arms to try and break your fall. Minhyuk’s surprised face was the last thing you saw before you fell into something solid, something that was very obviously not dirt.

Minhyuk’s firm hands gripped your shoulders and pushed you back into a standing position an arm’s length away, his dirty cheeks flushed a dusty rose.

“Ugh, its you. Why am I always falling when you’re around?” You grumbled, your former ire returning after the shock of his sudden appearance faded.

“I can’t help it if you’re falling for me.” He replied with a self-assured smirk and a shrug. 

“Would literally rather dive naked into a pit of poison ivy.”

“That can be arranged. Why are you wasting time here anyway? Shouldn’t you be baking?”

“I already told you, I’m not making anything for a brat like you.” You snapped, crossing your arms with finality.

“Guess you’ll have to give up whatever experiment you’re working on then. You won’t harvest anything here without my blessing.”

So he was behind this after all. True to his word, you hadn’t been able to forage anything at all since your last meeting.

You fumed, turning over your options in your head. As much as you couldn’t stand Minhyuk it surely would be less effort to bake for him than it would be to try and find a new place to gather, wouldn’t it? Every fiber of your being was revolting against you as you considered this, screaming that it was the principle of the matter and you shouldn’t submit to such an arbitrary demand, but logic slowly won out.

“Fine. But you’re helping me.”

***

“I do hope that you’re better at magic than you are at baking.”

“I would be done already if you just let me use my magic to begin with!” You practically shouted. Your appearance mirrored your companion’s, your faces and clothing speckled with flour. Your hands were stained blue and your failed attempt at crafting a blueberry pie by hand sat ominously on the windowsill where it was cooling.

“It tastes funny if you don’t make it by hand. Nymphs can’t tell lies, you know, so trust me on this. It isn’t the same.” Minhyuk grumbled, his nose wrinkling with the depth of his pout.

“How many people  are honestly bringing you pies for you to claim to know the difference?” You whined, but you were met with silence instead of the snarky reply you’d come to expect. You couldn’t help recalling having a similar argument with your Aunt in your youth. She, too, had always insisted that food tasted better when made with powers of the heart rather than with magic.

You turned your back on the oven and found Minhyuk eyeing your ceiling with a somber expression on his face.

“Um...are you okay?”

His snapped towards at an alarming rate, his features carefully rearranging into their default expression of haughtiness. 

“I’m fine. Just wondering if you’re polite enough to make sure that thing isn’t poisonous before you try to feed it to me.”

You stuck your tongue out in response but your eyes wandered to where his had been fixed moments before, and you felt a curious sensation in the pit of your stomach when they found the white heather wreath swaying peacefully exactly where Minhyuk had been staring so intently.

“You were looking at that.” Your finger pointed at the wreath, your voice questioning even though you’d made a statement.

Minhyuk watched at you, momentarily stricken silent, his eyes searching yours for something unknown.

“So what if I was?” He challenged, narrowing his eyes.

“Do you know something about it? Its a token my Aunt left me.” You asked tentatively, watching Minhyuk’s face closely.

“So what if I do?” He countered with a stony voice, his shoulders squared.

“Can you please tell me more about it?” You could feel your hands starting to shake with emotion.  

“Do you know what white heather symbolizes?” He asked slowly, after some consideration.

You shook your head in reply.

“Protection and the granting of wishes. One of her final living acts was to make that for you. It takes an incredible amount of power to craft an undying flower for someone not innately attuned to nature. She was very talented. She loved you very much.” He explained, his voice soft, his eyes seeking out the wreath again rather than you.

“How do you know that?” You breathed, your voice quietly shaking from the tears you were trying to swallow.

“I helped her make it. Did you never wonder what she spent so much time doing alone in the woods? I met your Aunt when I was still small. I still remember the day that she brought you home. She was so enamored with you. She tried many times to get me to leave the forest and meet you, but I refused.” 

You watched a small, sad smile curl Minhyuk’s lips upwards ever so slightly, bringing a pang to your heart as you quietly waited for him to continue.

“She still made time to visit me even though she was busy with you. It was hard at first and I was jealous, it gets lonely in the forest, but I managed. She would come and talk to me for hours, show me spells of her own design, bring me all kinds of food, ask me how the plants were doing, and I would show her some magic of my own. Nymphs are not very different from witches, you know. We both use magic, just of a different variety. We commune directly with the spirit of nature and create, where as you create based on things that we’ve already made. Yeah, your aunt didn’t much care for that observation either.” Minhyuk laughed loudly at your disgruntled expression, but his eyes were soft and kind as he reminisced on his past, making him even more beautiful to behold. His laughter slowly died out, giving way for the sadness to creep back into his eyes as he looked to the ceiling again.

“When she knew that she was dying...she came to me and asked how to create life. I refused at first, afraid that it was too ambitious for her frail form, afraid it would harm her, afraid of what she wanted to accomplish...but she was relentless. She came every single day and begged. When I finally asked her why, her answer was simple: for you. She wanted to show you that she was always with you. So I showed her, and of course she was eventually successful. She asked me to watch over you but...I still couldn’t bring myself to meet you. So instead I made that garden and I’ve been maintaining it ever since.”

Minhyuk ended his story with a deep sigh, sounding as if a great weight had been lifted from him, and finally returned his gaze to you. Your breath caught when he took a step forward and extended a hand towards you, using the tips of his fingers to brush away the tears that had been streaming down your cheeks unbeknownst to you.

“Why did you wait until now to reveal yourself to me? You’ve really been watching me all this time?” You whispered, your voice cracking.

“I had no choice when you started only leaving offerings with cucumber in them. I can’t eat cucumbers, they’re too disgusting. And because...because she always wanted me to be your friend. You such were an ugly, loud, mud-covered brat when you were young but you’re...different now. So I thought I should grant her wish after all.” A deep crimson blush, made even more vibrant in contrast to his snowy hair, blossomed across his cheeks. It must have been contagious, because you could feel heat rising on your face as well.

“W-what do you mean I was an ugly brat?! I was a normal child.” You blurted out with indignation.

“No, you were gross, just like that poor excuse for a pie.” He answered, his sassy attitude returning despite the lingering pink tinge of his cheeks.

You took the insult in stride, choosing to ignore it rather than start another battle of wits that you were sure to lose.

“You said that you were lonely. Where are the other nymphs?”

“They’re all spirits now. When a nymph comes of age they can choose to keep their corporeal form or they can become spirits. Most choose to become spirits because, I mean, you’re becoming one with nature and what more could you want than that? We aren’t born very often so it makes for a lonely childhood, which is another compelling argument for choosing a spirit form- you’re never technically alone again. I chose to stay in this body.” He finished matter-of-factly.

“Why?”

“I loved the old lady. I didn’t want to leave her. She asked me to watch over you for her and I wouldn’t want to leave you either. Even if you were a snot-nosed brat.”

“Well, you know they say that the ugliest ducklings are destined to become the most beautiful swans, so I’ll thank you for thinking so highly of me.” You teased, tapping Minhyuk’s nose with your finger playfully.

To your general astonishment his saturated blush from before returned.

“I never called you beautiful.” He stammered, looking away from you.

“But, do you think I’m beautiful? Nymphs can’t lie, right?” You asked, smirking as you peered at him, trying to get a better look at his face.

“No, nymphs can’t lie. And yes, I do think you’re very, very beautiful.” He whispered, still refusing to meet your eyes.

It was your turn for your face to glow like a sunset. You’d asked, expecting a snarky answer, not fully believing what he’d said previously about nymphs being bound to their honesty. Your lips formed a small, wordless “oh” as you stared at him, awestruck.

“You’re still a terrible baker though, so don’t let it go to your head.”

***

You pulled the oven door open with apprehension, bracing yourself for another failure, and gasped loudly when instead your eyes fell on what appeared to be a flawless blueberry pie.

You bounced on the balls of your heels excitedly before carefully extracting the dessert from the oven and placing it on the windowsill to cool where you could admire it safely from afar.

“Ahh, I can’t wait to show Minhyuk!” You squealed, clapping your hands together.

“Can’t wait to show me what?” 

You whirled around, more shocked than you perhaps should have been to find Minhyuk leaning against your doorframe.

In the weeks that had passed since he shared his stories about your Aunt with you he had been a near constant presence in your home, always making stupid excuses for why he’s there like “I’m just making sure you aren’t hiding any cucumber in my pie”. You had offered to let him stay over since you felt a little bad for him sleeping in the outdoors alone, but he always shyly declined.

“Come, look!” You were already dragging him by the hand to the window to show him your handiwork.

“Wow, that doesn’t look half bad.” He whistled, eyeing it with great interest, eyes sparkling. He took a step towards it, arm outstretched, earning a whack on the shoulder from you.

“It isn’t ready yet! It still has to cool or you’ll burn yourself.” You chastised, moving protectively in front of your masterpiece, hands on your hips.

“Okay, fine, fine.” Minhyuk said, massaging his shoulder with one hand and stifling a yawn with the other.

“Sleepy?” 

He nodded, swallowing another yawn behind his large palm.

“Its getting harder to sleep outside at night these days. Getting cold. I heard that long ago, when humans were less prevalent on Earth, it was more common for nymphs to choose to keep their physical forms. I always wonder what they did to keep warm.”

“Why don’t you take a nap while the pie cools? After you eat maybe we can think of some solutions for that.”

Minhyuk nodded, too exhausted to argue. He refused to be led to the bed though, insisting instead to sit next to you on the couch and sleep sitting up.

His resistance didn’t last. Before long he slumped to his side, his head tumbling into your lap. You caught your gasp in your hand, stifling it and carefully setting down the spellbook you’d been perusing while he napped so your movements wouldn’t disturb him while he slumbered.

You watched him sleep, oddly comfortable despite the slight awkwardness of his face pressed into your bare thighs. Without thinking your hand found his hair, smoothing it gently, relishing in how impossibly silken it was, your fingers gliding through the soft strands like they were water.

Minhyuk’s eyes shot open and you went to pull your hand away, embarrassed, but he caught it in his, holding you firmly in place as he adjusted himself so he was facing you. He stared up at you, blinking the sleep from his eyes, not speaking or removing his head from your legs.

“I-I think the pie should be ready by now,” You supplied after several long moments of silence, hoping to diffuse the tension in the air. “Why don’t we go get some?”

Minhyuk didn’t move immediately and something in his expression was making you feel like you were frozen in place, like he was seeing right through you and counting each of your racing heart beats in slow motion.

He finally lifted himself from your lap and quietly made his way to the kitchen and sat at the dinner table, waiting expectantly. You retrieved the pie, regretting that you hadn’t tried it yourself first as you cut a generous piece for him and slid it on a plate. You were silently praying to anyone that would listen that it would taste as good as it looked.

To your surprise Minhyuk didn’t hesitate to pile his fork with the pastry and bring it to his waiting mouth. You had expected him to make some catty remark about you trying the first bite, or taking a tiny bite “just in case”.

‘He must really be exhausted if he’s being so docile.’ You thought to yourself as you watched him chew with bated breath.

When he swallowed you swallowed with him out of nerves. The seconds of silence seemed like they stretched into hours as you waited for his reaction, but it never came. Instead he simply loaded up his fork again and took another bite, closing his eyes while he chewed. He continued like this until his plate was as clean as when you’d taken it out of the cabinet.

“Well? How was it?” You finally inquired, unable to contain yourself any longer, your nervousness making your voice come out in a higher pitch than normal.

Minhyuk stood, the sound of the chair scraping the floor making you jump, and moved towards you as if in a daze.

When his lips met yours, they tasted strongly of blueberry and sugar. You were too surprised to move at first but the ice around you slowly melted as he held you and your arms slowly circled his waist as your lips molded to his, your eyes fluttering closed.

His hands crept down your waist, gripping your hips firmly as he deepened the kiss. You felt your legs starting to wobble while he explored your mouth, the sweet taste of sugar and fruit on his tongue overwhelming your senses. His hold on you was all that was keeping you upright and you were starting to wonder if this was going to be the way you died, in the arms of a beautiful man without a breath of air left in your lungs, when he pulled away at last, chest heaving while you both struggled to catch your breath.

Minhyuk leaned forward, kissing your forehead softly in stark contrast to the heated one he’d pressed to your lips moments ago.

“It was wonderful.” He whispered, his lips moving against your forehead as they formed his words. He took a step back, his eyes overflowing with affection, and moved past you and out of the room. You followed him as he stumbled into your room, his exhaustion evidently taking over as he collapsed into your bed face first.

The deep breaths he was taking were confirmation enough that he had fallen asleep. You smiled tenderly as you looked down at his sleeping form fondly. Warmth bubbled up from the very tips of your toes, spreading throughout your body in a wave, making you feel impossibly at peace. You sighed through your nose, contented. Seeing him sleeping in your bed just felt so...right.

You padded back to the kitchen as slowly and silently as you could muster so as not to disturb your slumbering guest. You moved to cover the remaining pie and put it in the refrigerator for later, but stilled as something odd caught your attention from the corner of your eye.

Your cauldron, which you’d abandoned with your last failed experiment still stuck like cement to the bottom of it, was bubbling merrily. You rushed over, panic-stricken, and gasped when your nose was assaulted with the scent of fresh florals. The failed potion from before had sprung to life, it’s contents now a color that reminded you of Minhyuk’s hair, a comparison that made your cheeks flush involuntarily.

Then, as if you were struck by lighting, you were rooted to where you stood with the gears in your mind turning faster than you could comprehend. You glanced back at the sleeping nymph, realization finally dawning on you. A soft gasp slipped through your lips and the rosy color on your face deepened to a blazing scarlet.

You tentatively dipped a ladle into the concoction, sniffing its contents gingerly before taking a hesitant sip. Your eyes squeezed shut, a smile winding its way through your lips. You’d finally done it. You laughed to yourself at the irony of the situation, your eyes settling on the heather wreath swaying delicately in the breeze from the open window.

You’d been trying to all this time to create something that you were lacking when the ingredient you needed was what you were missing all along.

[buzzdixonwriter]

Ellison’s Law

Even for the early 1960s, Burke’s Law was a silly gimmick show.

The gimmick?  Millionaire Amos Burke, despite inheriting fabulous wealth, always wanted to be a detective so he joined the LAPD and worked his way up to captain of the homicide bureau.

Basically Batman without the trauma or costume.

And like Batman of a few years later, an exercise in camp.

The show was rigidly formulaic, but for practical reasons.  It relied heavily on stunt casting celebrities as suspects or witnesses and as such it had to be flexible enough to handle rewrites and re-castings in the middle of production.

The typical episode began with someone found murdered or shown getting killed in some unusual manner, cut to Amos Burke flirting with a lady only to be called away by his police duties.  Cue the opening title as Burke and his driver hurry out of his relatively modest Beverly Hills mansion to his Rolls-Royce (actually producer Aaron Spelling’s car which he rented back to the production) as a sultry female voice incants:  “It’s Burke’s Law” then after the first commercial break Burke arrives at the scene of the crime and finds clues pointing him to four or five suspects.

Said suspects are the celebrity guest stars, recruited either to give them some manic scenery chewing time or -- more rarely -- an intense dramatic scene.

After three more commercial breaks, Burke intones one of his “laws” (“Burke’s law:  Never ask a question where you don’t already know the answer.”), pulls a rabbit out of his hat / solution out of his butt, and fingers that episode’s duly appointed murderer.

The problem with the series as a whole is that it could never quite decide on what tone it wanted to take and stick with it consistently.  The British series The Avengers found the perfect balance of tongue-in-cheek / derring-do but Burke’s Law bounced all over the spectrum, frequently in the same episode.

So why bring up this mediocre TV show at all?

Two words:  Harlan Ellison

. . .

I’ve posted many times before on Harlan’s career and the impact of his writing and friendship on me.

He was in the mid 1960s at his zenith as a TV writer, and while his writing career as a whole encompasses so much more than that, his brief run as one of the meteors streaking across the Hollywood sky only lasted 4 years.

Oh, he kept writing for TV after that, but the old zing was gone.  He supplied stories for other series, created and fought hard to keep The Starlost on track but eventually had to walk away from that heartbreak, adapted several of his own short stories to a Twilight Zone revival, as well as numerous development deals that went nowhere (including two great ideas for The Name Of The Game, another Gene Barry series, that would have fit perfectly into that show’s oeuvre).

If you find his second book of TV criticism, The Other Glass Teat, check out his first draft for “The Whimper Of Whipped Dogs” episode of The Young Lawyers (not to be confused with his short story of the same title).

It’s one of the most powerful / gut wrenching things you’ll ever read…

…but by the time the studio and the network got through with it, the final product was virtually unrecognizable…and unwatchable.

Such was Harlan’s fate after 1967 in Clown Town (as he referred to it).

But from 1963 to 1967, he was golden.

. . . 

Harlan’s rocky personal history went through many highs and lows before coming to Hollywood in 1962.

Harlan’s first breakthrough as a writer was with his series of stories and essays on juvenile crime in New York in the early and mid-1950s..

Drafted in 1957. following his discharge, he settled in Chicago with his second wife and her son, editing Rogue magazine, a  Playboy imitator.

Feeling his personal life becoming untenable, he called in favors from a friend, drove out to California with his soon-to-be ex-wife and stepson (aware the marriage was over, she also wanted to relocate away from Chicago), made his first sale to TV (his short story “No Fourth Commandment” to the TV show Route 66), then briefly found a sweet spot with Burke’s Law, writing four teleplays for their first season.

Burke’s Law is a good crucible for examination because of its silly, gimmicky nature and rigid format requirements.

These scripts represent a pivotal point in Harlan’s writing career, but more importantly, they mark the only sustained run he enjoyed on a non-anthology show, and as such make a good benchmark in comparing his growth as a writer and how his unique perspective played out in in relation to the constraints of episodic television.

While a couple of Harlan’s better science fiction / fantasy stories were written before 1963, the meteoric rise of his career in those genres began with his classic short story “’Repent, Harlequin!’ Said The Ticktockman” in 1965, followed by a host of other groundbreaking short stories and novellas, and his original anthologies Dangerous Visions and Again, Dangerous Visions in which he recruited other science fiction and fantasy writers -- many of them already well established pros -- to follow the path he blazed in the genre.

His experience on Burke’s Law occurs squarely between what he once was to what he was becoming, and as such is worthy of attention.

SPOILER: There are no great hidden gems here.

There’s a lot of amusing writing, and a few flashes of the emotional intensity Harlan could provide, but by and large this is journeyman level stuff:  Better than most, but not the best.

. . .

”Who Killed Alex Debbs?” was his first script for the series, and he pitched it to producer Aaron Spelling at a cattle call after a screening of the show’s pilot episode.  

Harlan jump started the pitch process by improvising an idea off the cuff at the end of the screening, and Spelling took him to his office to hear how Harlan planned to resolve it, then hired him on the spot.

It’s unclear if Harlan was actually a staff writer on the series or simply hung out at the studio a lot, but he used his skills as a quick study to start working his way up the food chain.

His first script fulfills all the requirements of a Burke’s Law episode and shows off two of Harlan’s main strengths:  An ability to hone in on intense emotion and a keen eye for the culture around him (in this case, very specifically Hollywood of the early 1960s).

On the downside, logic gaps render this story more implausible than most -- and as noted, Burke’s Law as a series wasn’t famous for its plausibility.

A flaw of almost all Burke’s Law episodes is that the victim is typically found dead under mysterious / bizarre circumstances, and the impression we get of them is constructed entirely through the words of suspects and witnesses.

It’s not an unworkable approach, but not the best suited for episodic television.

In this instance. victim Alex Drebbs is a Hugh Hefner-like men’s magazine publisher and monarch of a mini-empire of key clubs ala the Playboy Clubs of the era.  Harlan captures that milieu well but here’s where the logic gaps hit hard:  There’s no way a Hefner-like figure would be alone long enough for someone to kill him without being noticed, there’s no way his disappearance wouldn’t be immediately noticed by employees needing his attention, and it sure as hell wouldn’t have happened in a deserted club on the afternoon of its big opening.

On the plus side, there are some great character scenes including Arlene Dahl as a bitter ex-investor in Debbs empire now reduced to licking saving stamps to keep her decay mansion in repair, Burgess Meredith as a men’s magazine cartoonist who is nothing but a  bundle of neurotic twitches and tics, and finally Sammy Davis Jr as Cordwainer Bird, the humor editor for Debbs’ magazine.

This was at the Robin Williams stage of Davis career, when all you had to do was point a camera in his direction and let him go.  Harlan supplied the corny gags but Davis launched them over the top with his antics, and while he brings the proceedings to a complete disruptive halt, his brief scene is the most entertaining in the entire series.  (Harlan later used Cordwainer Bird as his WGA pseudonym when he wanted to indicate displeasure at what had been done to his scripts.)

By his own account, Harlan had less luck with Diana Dors -- “the British Marilyn Monroe” -- and treated her condescendingly during the shoot.  (By comparison, William Goldman in his memoir Adventures In The Screen Trade shows a much more sanguine / roll-with-the-punches attitude, and that might explain part of the reason his screenwriting trajectory was far different than Harlan’s.)

All in all, an uneven example of both the series and Harlan’s abilities.

. . . 

”Who Killed Purity Mather?” was Harlan’s second script for the series and one of the few that played with the rigid format of the series insofar as the victim is seen alive for a few moments before being killed in a rather sadistic and spectacular manner (splashed with acid then trapped in a burning house, and the high angle shot used to show her demise must have been incredibly risky -- and thus costly -- to film).

It also drops a very subtle clue that I’ll reveal in the footnote.*

This is Harlan going so far over the top he emerges on the other side.  Plotwise it features more logic gaps than his first script, but the whole thing is so silly it’s pointless to complain about it.

Purity Mather is a professional witch (!) who speeds up the investigation into her own demise by mailing Amos Burke a recording saying she’ll be killed along with a list of five possible suspects (that she doesn’t mention them by name in the recording reflects the show’s desire for standalone scenes, enabling them to recast and rewrite plotlines more easily; the scene where Burke reads the names to his team was doubtlessly shot after the guest cast was locked in).

Burke & co. start shaking down suspects, including Telly Savalas as Fakir George O'Shea, a Muslim holy man / cosmetics chemist (!!); Charlie Ruggles as I. A. Bugg, an eccentric elderly millionaire who likes to chase -- but not catch -- prostitutes around his apartment while dressed in lederhosen(!!!); Wally Cox as Count Carlo Szipesti, vampire for hire (!!!!); and Gloria Swanson as Venus Hekate Walsh a fright wig bedecked self-proclaimed goddess of free love (!!!!!).

The episode might as well have had a laugh track.  It’s amusing with several daft touches only Harlan could provide, but the daftness comes from his take on Hollywood culture of the time.

I’d go so far as to say elements of Cox and Swanson’s characters were based on real life people living in and around Hollywood at the time, in particular some science fiction fans Harlan had come in contact with.

It’s a romp but a disappointing one.  The logic gaps are too big in this one (case in point, if you’re the captain of the homicide bureau and you come home to see a masked figure climbing out of your second story window in broad daylight, you don’t simply shrug and let them run off) and the ending is one of those annoying ah-yes-now-that-you-caught-me-I-will-admit-everything-even-stuff-you-don’t-know cappers that Joe Ruby and Ken Spears would have rejected for Scooby Doo.

In short, a script whose parts are better than the whole.

. . .

”Who Killed Andy Zygmunt?" is another slight story that pays off with an insight into Hollywood pop culture of the era.  The victim is “a pop artist” (no, he’s not; he an assemblage sculptor) impaled on his own artwork.

He’s also revealed to be an extortionist who acquires embarrassing evidence that he affixes to his assemblages then blackmails his victims into buying the art to keep their secrets safe.

Once again Burke is conveniently handed a list of suspects, in this case the people who bought the last five pieces of art from the exhibit.

This is one of the few times the series had more than one suspect in the same scene as there’s a big gathering in Burke’s office midway through the story (it also includes Michael Fox, a semi-regular on the series playing the coroner, so it represents a pretty sizeable filming day for the show).  The suspects include Macdonald Carey as Burl Mason, the star of a popular TV detective show (Harlan gives his scenes what we would now call a meta-fiction touch by playing off Barry’s fictional TV detective dealing with a fictional fictional TV detective); Jack Weston as Silly McCree, a kid’s show host who destroys his career with an on air anti-child rant; Ann Blyth as Deirdre DeMara, a rival “pop artist” who creates her art by spraying women with paint and having them roll around on giant canvases (a gimmick later used in the bizarre 1966 Ann-Margaret comedy The Swinger); Aldo Ray as Mister Harold, former pro-wrestler turned poodle groomer; and Tab Hunter in a surprisingly well done scene as a sky diving playboy.

Hunter’s scene in particular shows Harlan getting his hyperbole under control, much more laconic and evocative than other characters he wrote for the series.  As mentioned above, Burke’s Law occurs just on the cusp of Harlan’s huge success in print; he’s beginning to harness the lessons learned to maximum effect.  (He would have some setbacks, too, in his screenwriting career, and to be honest part of that can be attributed to his failure to consistently apply the lessons learned, part of it can be attributed to his reputation preceding him, and part of it can be attributed to just bad luck.)

The motives this time are fairly edgy for a 1963 TV series, and combined with the slices of Los Angeles life Harlan provides give a fair example of the cultural zeitgeist of the era.

. . . 

”Who Killed ½ Of Glory Lee?” can be explained as Benjamin Glory, half owner of Glory Lee Fashions, with Gisele MacKenzie as the other half, Keekee Lee.

After breaking the budget with his spectacular demise of Purity Mather, Harlan staged this murder as an inexpensive off camera elevator plunge.

This time the plot is a wee bit more plausible, with control of a profitable business being the apparent motive for the murder.

But Harlan loaded up this episode with a more powerful emotional punch than most of his others, and while the dénouement may feel a bit farfetched, it certainly rings true emotionally.

He certainly gave Nina Foch and Anne Helm plenty to work with regarding their characters’ complicated mother / daughter relationship, yet at the same time found room for a playful scene in which Buster Keaton pantomimes his answers to Burke’s questions.

Yet at the same time one senses an impatience behind the keyboard.  The opening scene has a squad of female elevator operators (yes, once upon a time there needed to be somebody in the elevator to push the buttons for you) discussing pop culture references of a generation before -- Harlan’s generation.

And while the key emotional conflicts are played out well, several of the other scenes feel rather perfunctory…yet at the same time this is probably the most cohesive whole of any Burke’s Law script, whether written by Harlan or not.

It’s as if after a brief but profitable run on a network series, Harlan realized he’d absorbed as much of the practical end of the business as he could and his next moves should be into broader, edgier territory.

   © Buzz Dixon

   * SPOILER: Purity Mather is the murderer; she connives a career nudist (!!!!!!) to participate in a magic ceremony then disfigures and kills her, leaving evidence that she hopes will convince the police the body is hers.  The subtle clue Harlan drops is the victim, wearing a long black negligee, complaining about how she doesn’t like the feel of the clothes.  A nice touch, but undercut by Purity then going to the nudist camp her victim operates and waiting in the buff by the front gate for the police to show up and question the career nudist -- whom Purity has mentioned as a suspect in her faked murder.  While it works insofar as Purity doesn’t try to pass herself off to anyone else at the camp as the career nudist, it doesn’t scan that she would know when the police would come to investigate or if they could be easily convinced at the gate and not come in to question other patrons.

[prongsmydeer]

Ayesha Liveblogs Tiger King 

“I think it would be fair to say that Carole is the Mother Teresa of cats” now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear

“I’d never been a person who had friends” statements like this always perplex me because surely there had to be ONE other person in however long you quantify childhood that you identified with. Like not one whole ass person? You’re not the only person who loves cats Carole

The juxtaposition between Carole Baskin’s “Animal Print for Animal Rights” and Joe Exotic’s “Tiger King underwear is our bestseller” is poetic cinema

Okay this isn’t a reflection of my opinions on this man but I Saw a Tiger is a good country ballad there I said it 

“When I first met Joe, I was like a month out of high school” well that’s not good

[Joe Exotic voice] Some people have tigers to cope

Doc Antle has only been on screen for 30 seconds and already he has made himself memorable by directing the film crew

Is Bhagavan Antle Indian in some way or did he just have a really intense Eat Pray Love journey with his guru

Also is he really a doctor orrrrrrrrr

“I am out there in the forefront so known of being this guy that is in love with big cats and has them love him back” please don’t tell me this guy does anything weird to his animals

“People only care about saving what affects them” 

“You can’t put a price on holding a baby tiger” but you did and apparently it’s $625 

The fact that multiple tigers have had albinism is probably a sign of major inbreeding practices at these zoos

You know, even if I ate meat*, there is no way I would be able to handle any kind of early prep stage of it bc seeing these cow carcasses is A Lot

*If u r reading this I don’t care if u eat meat leave me alone

“Animals just wasn’t enough, okay? So then I started adding magic” well that took an unexpected turn

I don’t know if it’s for real fair to criticize every person who has brought a big cat out in a public venue/talk show because I know at least like Dave Sal/moni is always going “THESE ANIMALS MAKE TERRIBLE PETS” 

As a sidenote from what I understand this Saff person keeps being deadnamed/misgendered throughout this documentary and I do not appreciate it 

“I grew up a professional cowboy in a family of professional cowboys” every sentence on this show is a journey

WHO is letting their ONE-YEAR-OLD lay on top of a tiger cub I know you’re at a zoo but BRUH

“It’s going to be a small Waco” to say this ON THE NEWS

This 2 minute stretch of episode is all the PSA anyone ever needs to never own a gun

Well I think we can all agree that PETA is a fucking mess

God this is like battle of the people who are terrible at doing anything good for animals

“What do you carry that gun for?” “People” AHHHHHHHHHHH?!?!!!!?!?

“I sleep with an AK-47 under my mattress, loaded, ready to roll” WILL SOMEONE HELP THE U.S. OF A

I was warned about this show and yet I was still not prepared for the level of UNHINGED it would be 

How in the FUCK does a place like this not have an on-site medic

“Why don’t you come back on another day” he said, after telling the public an employee had his arm taken off 

“I am never gonna financially recover from this” SURE JOE THIS IS ABOUT YOU

To go back to work a WEEK after getting your arm amputated... BRUH

“Any law that you think’s unfair or unjustice, it is your obligation, it is your responsibility to stand up against that bullshit law” well Thomas Jefferson was a slaveowner so clearly the injustice thing was relative for him

Traditionally don’t drug addictions fuel people choosing extreme paths with their life rather than the other way around? 

JKHGKJHGKJH this whole exchange:

Interviewer: What kind of doctor is he?

Maria: Mystical science.

Interviewer: Mystical science?

Maria, nodding: Yeah.

“How many wives does Doc Antle have?” I didn’t expect this but somehow it tracks

I’m gonna bet none of these people with subcontinental names have a single bit of South Asian heritage like okay “Moksha” and “Rajnee” did Bhagavan name you

On a more serious note: It’s really fucked up that these men keep meeting literal teenagers, making them their employees, and then also get into relationships with them. I cannot emphasize this strongly enough THIS IS NOT GOOD OR HEALTHY

It’s pretty weird that Doc Antle keeps emphasizing so frequently that one of his partners is Italian 

“I’m gonna go be a yoga animal trainer” ah, white people bullshit

“Goodbye. Don’t fall in love with your boss.” Good advice, Dad

I was not expecting all this subcontinental imagery to get under my skin this badly but what’s your problem dude can’t u be normal for like a second 

“You’re this garbage person, but if you listen to me, I’ll make you great” again this tracks but gross

Again, on a more serious note: if a partner ever talks to you this way please call a domestic abuse hotline 

Not that India is at all in a good place right now but I personally ban Doc Antle from ever entering India. Banned. Forever. I will not be accepting constructive criticism at this time

“I didn’t really know any better” is a really good way of summarizing what all of these younger partners have been through

Wow Carole is really explaining this abuse issue succinctly 

Antle’s indignation at being implied to be a cult leader despite the fact he is most definitely a cult leader

Joe’s story in his documentary is constantly “is this going to be a humanizing moment PSYCH it’s still terrible”

HOW IS THIS LEGAL PAY YOUR WORKERS A LIVING WAGE

Why is this husband-killing thing JUST A FOOTNOTE AT THE END OF THIS EPISODE OH MY GOD

We have deviated so far from the tiger thing oh my god

Why is the only man in this documentary who is faithful to his spouse the man that smuggled drugs inside of snakes

Every time I learn a new thing about a person in this documentary I have to reorient myself

This whole episode has been about this murder and I’m concerned that its title, “The Secret,” hasn’t even been revealed yet

GOD I take back what I said about I Saw Tiger, the concept of this song/music video for Here Kitty Kitty is so disturbing that this man deserves no credit whatsoever as a musician 

CAROLE WHY ARE YOU GIGGLING ABOUT THE MEAT GRINDER IT’S NOT FUNNY

Well I don’t have much to say about this episode other than yikes

I guess if you’re really out to spite someone stealing their brand and posting exactly the opposite of everything they stand for is an effective if weird and petty way to do it

Do you think the whole throne footage moment was a “Frankenstein realizing what he has wrought” kind of thing for Kirkham

This is really like watching a sports game of two teams you can’t stand except the sport is murder and other miscellaneous crime

If we’re all being real with ourselves the documentary filmmakers themselves MUST have had some issues going on to be able to walk into this situation and not do anything about it

This series really seems to present a compelling case for why every major figure in this documentary has potentially committed at least one terrible crime

Ah there’s the judgment from the woman in Florida I guess it’s two crimes with one stone

God these poor animals they do not deserve anything happening to them

While obviously people are enticed by the prospect of someone they’re into having an animal JUST GET AN ALREADY DOMESTICATED ANIMAL LIKE DOMESTICATED CATS AND DOGS EXIST OH MY GOD DO NOT USE EXOTIC PETS AS DATE BAIT

 It has been so long since we heard about Travis ngl I already forgot about him 

Why is every single person in this show SO OFF THE WALLS I mean I know why but also WHY

This documentary is also a treatise in the flaws of the U.S. prison system and how it sets up people up to fail or re-offend upon release

Take a shot every time a middle-aged man in this show mentions that he casually bought himself a big cat as a teen

“Joe was the entertainment director.... by title” I don’t think this was meant to be a burn but what a burn

I am almost certain I WATCHED that Last Week Tonight episode during that election and if u told me that 4-5 years later I would be rewatching that clip in a documentary about this man’s journey to being convicted for murder then I cannot say I wouldn’t be surprised but I would probably believe it 

Also I have to wonder what John Oliver thinks about being part of this 

[“Beyonce?” voice] Shaun Majumder?

Sidenote: Until this exact moment I thought of Shaun Majumder as Ben Mulroney even though Brian Mulroney is white as hell I guess I have faceblindness but only for Canadian talkshow personalities

I have been aware of this before now but the fact you can buy a GUN at a Walmart what in the FUCK is U.S.A. doing

Man does this campaign manager really want to take ownership of anything Joe Exotic has ever done

Ngl I was wondering why someone who had at one point clearly had a lot of money seemed to have such poor dental care access but meth certainly does explain it

I mean people can be attracted to both men and women (hello) but since Joe was fuelling their drug addictions since they were teenagers attraction is at best a null factor and at worst an added layer of terrible to this whole mess

It’s hard to even respond to this in a meaningful way because this is so fucked up. Don’t own guns.

“That was a big fucking mistake,” he said, right after someone explained that he was driving large groups of people in an enclosed space in a busy city with wild animals that could maim or kill them

Padlock penls piercing really does not seem like a first date bombshell

“We went to dinner and he never went home” well if that doesn’t set you with a sense of foreboding

TWO MONTHS AFTER WHAT IN THE HELL OH MY GOD also I hope Dillon is okay

“It wasn’t about the animals anymore” you THINK

“It was sort of funny when they started but it’s gotten really dark” how meta

Of all the reasons Joe could’ve abandoned his zoo, I really didn’t think embezzlement would be what pushed him

“He won’t tell anyone where he’s at, not even me,” said Dial, with no acknowledgement of the fact that Joe is also theoretically still married and would maybe tell his husband???

Oh Dillon spotted??? Yikes get out dude

Take a shot every time a white person who really doesn’t understand where the word “karma” comes from starts talking about karma as if it is the Law of Revenge

The fact this man brings a film crew out with him while he’s on the run evading a federal investigation..... incomprehensible

“Joe just wanted to put it in somebody’s name and continue to be the tiger queen, I mean king,” really REALLY of all the reasons to object to Joe you’re going to choose homophobia wow

Is this about an attempt to have someone murdered or does something happen to Baskin it is very unclear

This documentary has an interesting format of switching focus from crime to crime to crime 

“I’ve never been as proud of being married to anyone as I am being married to you” It’s weird to compliment your husband by comparing him to all your other husbands

How is the lesson for Jeff Lowe in this “let’s build another zoo” surely at that point it’s better to just cut your losses

[Garretson voice]: You should pay me for being a bro, dude

“I’m a libertarian, so technically, fuck the Feds,” I’ve never heard an intonation that better suits a conservative millennial 

I mean I don’t think it was advisable but honestly why are people surprised Joe took the stand isn’t delusions of grandeur kind of his thing

Sometimes it’s just that they’ve added in other moments to break up the awful immoral crimes with just run of the mill douchebaggery like the nanny/gym thing huh

I guess the silver lining in this is that potentially these big cat zoos will shut down but like where do these animals who have been raised in captivity go??? I don’t trust anyone in this documentary to not exploit them in some way ugh 

“Not a single animal benefited from this war,” correct, Saff

“I was wrapped up in having a zoo,” not really an excuse but ok

[emeryegen]

E3 + Ems the Intern [December 7, 2017]

COMPLETE

Summary: Eberhard arrives in the library to talk to Emery while Emery is working with Emory, who is working as an intern for him. Emery and Eberhard discuss the reunion sex that they had, before having a more deep discussion about their past with one another, and Emery ultimately admits that he does, in fact, still love Eberhard, and they officially kick off their E3 Reunion Tour.

Emery sits at the table he set out for him and Emory at the library, the coffee that he got the both of them that morning still sitting on the table as he references a book that he had Emory pull earlier, typing out some notes as his eyes flicker over to the other man. "Tell me, did you find anything on Indigent Defense Systems in your search last night, hm?" He casually notes before turning his attention back to his research, curious if Emory had done the assignment that he had texted him the night prior.

Emory sits opposite of Emery taking an appreciative drink from his black coffee, enjoying the quality of it, the simple question causing a strike of annoyance to swirl within him, although, he smiles brightly in return. "I did yes, I pulled all the information that I found on the topic and categorized and marked it for added efficiency and ease." He hums, handing Emory the notes he hand printed out and marked accordingly in direct reference to the overarching project at hand. "I also sent you the original document, just in case, that was more suited to your taste." He adds, his eyes scanning over the room briefly, his brow arching as he takes sight of the man coming towards him, a stroke of amusement moving through him as he comes closer, wondering just what was in store.

Eberhard arrives to library, having taken a chance on this being where to find Emery after seeing the tweets

from earlier of Emory and the man in question, having made a quick stop on the way there to Boba Guys. He strides over to the two men, noting the many books open, a smile graces his lips as he greets the two men warmly, "Emory. Ewe. Looks like you're hard at work, perhaps, it's time for a well-timed tea break, hm?" He suggests handing the premium iced bubble tea out to both Emory and Emery - noting the strike of confusion quickly flash through Emory's eyes as he takes inspection of the beverage - leaving behind only his own Horchata, he takes his eyes from Emory, his gaze intense .on Emery, "Wouldn't wish to burn out. Take a ten?"

Emery nods his head appreciatively at Emory, work, admittedly impressed, but it still being just the beginning of what he needed Emory to do. "Check the accuracy of footnotes 1-30 and ensure I'm properly capturing the author's intent for my citations?" He asks, a tiny twitch of a smile crossing his lips at how Emory categorized his research, before he noticed Eberhard there. "Come now, E, don't call this poor boy a sheep, he's quite a trailblazer, honestly, look," he deadpans, before he hands Eberhard Emory's excellent research, before he pats the seat next to him. "Research stops for no man, E. I'll work and talk." He then takes the tea from Eberhard, thanking him before taking a deeply appreciative sip.

"Absolutely, consider it done." Emory confirms confidently, prior to Eberhard's arrival, taking hold of the drink, a quick strike of confusion moving through him as he subtly inspects the odd drink, but quickly repurposes that into an appreciatively bright grin, "Ah, thank you. How kind of you Eberhard." He gives, subtly noting the body language between the two men with interest despite taking care to make it appear he was focusing on the task at hand, his gaze temporarily flitting to the men upon hearing mention of his research, humming appreciatively in response, turning his attention back to the footnotes intently reading them, not letting his amusement and play on his face as he hears Emery offer to work as well as have the conversation Eberhard so intently seemed to want, an inaudible chuckle silently going through him as he notes the tactical practicality and assurance his plan would go accordingly. He takes a drink of the mysterious beverage, a flash of surprise flowing through his blue eyes as he tastes all the flavors at once, not expecting the coffee, or the round unknown orbs.

"Of course, no problem." He responds warmly to Emory, his attention turned briefly to the notes Emery presented to him, letting out a nod, "Ah, so he is." He gives, his jaw clenching as he hears his offer to speak with Emory present and how he rather do that then speak to him privately, he gives him a shrug in response, moving to sit beside him. "Fine." He casually replies, despite a hint of edge present in the word. "I wish to talk further about your adverse reaction to me after we had sex, last week. I also do not appreciate the way you're acting as if it didn't happen, and would greatly appreciate your candid honesty regarding your feelings and thoughts on this, instead of being a coward and trying to circumvent anything that may have resurfaced because of such an orgasmic reunion." He plainly and unabashedly says, taking a deep drink of his horchata, appreciating the flavors, his gaze focused on Emery. "Thoughts?"

Emory continues to read over Emery's work, intently listening and drinking more of the coffee tea oddity. He moves to testingly chew on the ball, curious on the flavor, instead of swallowing it whole this time, just as he hears Eberhard's brazen and candid words, the burst of flavor floods his mouth, causing him to choke a bit unexpectedly, coughing a bit, taking another drink to try and clear his throat. He holds his hand up, "Apologies."

Emery nods affirmatively at Emory's confident confirmation, returning to his research until Eberhard arrives. Emery raises his eyebrow slightly at the unabashed way that Eberhard begins speaking, his eyes briefly drifting over to Emory as he hears the unexpected choking, before they drift back to Eberhard as he takes a sip of his bubble tea, savoring the flavors momentarily. "Oh, my mistake, I suppose I should have ordered a cake in celebration? Coconut is still your favorite, E?" He muses casually, pulling up the Lady M website and showing Eberhard the option. "And here I thought sex was just sex. My mistake. Though it was rather incredible and I commend you for that. Kudos, E," he states, as he continues typing his research, giving Eberhard a pat on the shoulder with his free hand.

Eberhard's gaze quickly flits over to Emory at the sound of the choking, a stroke of concern darkening his features, "Are you all right?" He questions, until he sees the hand and sees Emory settle down, moving back to Emery, his eyes narrowing as he sees the Lady M website, hearing his words, "Ah, absolutely it is. Perhaps, you should see if you can have it custom designed with a perfectly apt 'asshole' adorned on it?" He muses, taking a drink from his horchata, hearing the kudos, and feeling the dismissive pat. "Hm, pleased as punch, you were able to enjoy yourself. You know it's almost ironic how much more expressive you are in ecstasy, than here, ewe. Incredibly intriguing." He notes, humming as he takes in the man, "So, that's all it was to you then? Simply self satisfying, completely clinical sex between strangers?" He asks, intently watching him.

"Hm, anything for you, E. I'll see if they can do that," Emery muses, before he slides his phone to Emory from across the table. "Give them a call for me, would you? We can have it delivered and all enjoy it together, mm?" He casually states, taking another sip of his bubble tea, waiting for Emory to go leave to take the call before meeting Eberhard's eyes. "Maybe what's even more interesting is the fact that you are here, dear?" He muses, punctuating the last word added for the purpose of rhyming with a light click of his tongue. "I don't believe you ever told me the true intent behind your own actions, E. Let's begin there. Was it just sex or something more, boar?"

Emory hears the request as he finishes making a note on the work, another strike of annoyance rolling through him as he takes the phone, "Certainly, excuse me." He politely says, making his way from the table to accomplish the task, intending on ordering his own cake, not liking the taste of coconut and certainly not adhering to the other asinine request they had made for such a cake, moving so he was obscured from view but also had one from his own line of sight, intently reading the social cues and body language of the two men as he hears the line ring.

Eberhard raises his brow as he hears Emery have Emory leave, watching as he does before turning back to Emery, "Ah, you don't require your captive audience for this particular answer? Astonishing. How absolutely altruistic of you, ewe." He retorts, taking a deep drink as he hears the the rhyme, holding the man's gaze, not moving to answer him, as he takes his time, to truly savor the flavors. "So you can place the responsibility on me to be transparent, once again, while you continue to play games?" He muses, giving a laugh, taking another drink, "Beautiful." He adds, "I don't believe it could ever be 'just sex', especially with you, Emery. My intentions were exactly what I said they were, that night, I missed you. It was incredible sex, nothing surprising, surely. I felt something strong, are you saying you didn't? That you honestly didn't feel that connection that is still there between us?" He asks, searching the man's face, "If you didn't, then you didn't. Don't bullshit me, if you're scared, say that. If you don't wish to reopen this chapter or make a new one, then...say that. We've been through too much for you to lie to me. Just...say it." He furrows his brow a bit, his gaze softening significantly as he looks away from Emery, his lip twitching, his hand finding Emery's, before he turns his attention fully back onto Emery.

"Figured the kid could use a break after nearly choking to death," Emery states casually, taking another sip of his tea before he listens to what Eberhard has to say, savoring the flavors as he steels himself with a casual expression of nonchalance, even as feelings threaten to rise within them once again, before he catches the softening of Eberhard's expression as he looks away, a strike of something rising within him as he bites down hard on his lower lip momentarily before letting out a deep sigh, placing his own hand on top of Eberhard's. "That's exactly the problem, E," he says flatly, looking directly into Eberhard's eyes, his expression momentarily softening. "I still love you, you dumbass. Always will, I'm sure. Du bist die Liebe meines Lebens, mein Eber." He sighs once again, letting his eyes flutter shut before letting a chuckle in spite of himself in the situation. "Goddamn, would have been better to have said that in English to have it rhyme," he muses, shaking his head a bit again before bringing his eyes back to meet Eberhard's. "It fucking hurt, you know? Us growing apart, us ending things, not seeing you for all those damn years...I thought it was always going to be you and me, E, so forgive me if I hesitated at not wanting to reopen all of that when it might all fall through my fingers again." He takes another deep sip of his tea, savoring the flavors before looking down for a moment, before returning his gaze to Eberhard's, beginning to hum lightly the part of the Primal Scream song corresponding to the lyrics, "bond so strong between us, bridge between our souls," before he pauses. "Does that answer your question about the connection that I still feel between us, E, hm, or must I get that on the cake, too? Maybe I can grab Emory before it's ordered and get 'Ich wünschte, wir h��tten uns nie getrennt, Ich vermisse dich mehr als alles andere,' written on it, hm?" He muses, attempting to keep his tone casual but the German taking on a slight sharpness to it in spite of his intentions, before he takes another long sip of his tea and flits his eyes back to his work as he waits to hear Eberhard's response.

A warmness moves through Eberhard as he doesn't feel Emery pull away this time, instead feeling the weight of his hand moving over-top on his own, the sensation bringing a smile to his lips, as he meets Emery's gaze again, noting the softness present. A shiver shooting through him as he hears him confess he still loved him, moving his free hand to softly hold his face, letting out a chuckle at his assessment, "I'll say. Perhaps, a bit too quick with that prior title, hm?" He teases, his warm smile growing, prior to it falling as he recalls the painful memories and feelings associated between them, moving his hand to caress Emery's features, "You weren't the only person it hurt, ewe." He reminds, his blue-green eyes becoming wet, as he slowly blinks, a few tears falling from his brilliant eyes, "I didn't want to hold you back, and...I-I didn't, you've accomplished so much, I am so proud of you, Ewe. Truly, it's phenomenal work. Aber dich nicht in meinem Leben zu haben? Es brach mir das Herz. Ich habe dich jeden Tag vermisst." He admits, wiping his eyes, another shiver coursing through him as he hears the hum, his soft gaze swirling with love and affection, he pulls Emery into him, kissing him deeply and passionately. His moist eyes lighting up in amusement as he hears mention of the cake, a chuckle rolling from his lips, "Only if you preface it with: 'I'm sorry for being such an asshole.'" He counters, raising his brow, "Then, perhaps, I'll get one to go along with it that says 'Ich liebe dich sowieso, du unerträglicher Arsch. Nennen Sie es sogar?" He muses, a playful grin pulling at his lips, as he moves from his seat onto Emery's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck, his gaze matching Emery's, "Ich liebe dich, Ewe." He reaffirms again, grazing his thumb along his lips, "Bleibe in meinem Leben." He requests softly, pulling him in for another kiss.

Emery feels Eberhard's free hand move to his face after he confesses that he still loves him, and a twitch of a smile forms on his lips at Eberhard's teasing. "Perhaps," he muses, before he bites his lip again at the painful memories, feeling a strike of guilt course through him as he sees the tears fall from Eberhard's eyes. "You too, you know, E. You know that, right? How proud of you I am? Ich vermisste dich auch jeden Tag, und als wir die Dinge beendeten, tötete es mich, ehrlich gesagt." Emery admits in turn, looking down for a second before looking back up at Eberhard, before he lets out his hum, and he feels Eberhard pull him in for a deep and passionate kiss, the sensation causing a strong strike of dormant love and affection to course through him, but instead of trying to suppress it, he lets himself feel it in its entirety, and finally revel in their reuinion and the love they had for each other, before he hears the chuckle and Eberhard's words, causing a small chuckle of his own to escape from his lips. "Hm, depends on how much more the 'I'm sorry for being such an' is going to cost me, since I only budgeted for 'asshole' initially," he counters back, before he lets a genuine smile cross his lips as he hears the other cake's message. "Fair's fair. I'd say we're even there," he states, before feeling Eberhard take a seat in his lap. "Ich liebe dich, Wildschwein," he says in return, looking deep into Eberhard's eyes before pulling him into a gentle kiss to reaffirm his words, a subtle deep affection coursing through his eyes. "Nur wenn du in meinem bleibst," he says softly in return, leaning in to the other kiss, before he pulls back, his eyes softening as he traces Eberhard's cheek gently with his thumb. "Will you try things again with me? The second coming of E3?" He requests softly, leaning his head in so that it touches Eberhard's, closing his eyes as he continues his gentle motions before whispering, "Ich liebe dich," once again.

Eberhard gives a sputtered laugh hearing the counter about the price, "Really? Here you would think you have a slush fund for such a reoccurring thing, no? Disappointing, dude. " He retorts, drawing out the last word, his face breaking into a delighted smile as he moves into Emery's lap, as he hears the soft words returned to him, moving into the gentle kiss, the sensation warming him, the soft tracing igniting the sensation further. He closes his eyes as he feels the gentle press along his forehead, letting out a hum, a smile crossing his face as he hears the request, a small chuckle escaping at the phrasing of it, his soft whisper causing another shiver to strike through him, he leans his head to place a soft kiss on his lips, and a few peppered along his neck, "You wanna bring the band back together, hm?" He croons, placing a kiss along his skin, "I'm open to negotiations. You think you can bend your rule from earlier and discuss the details with me, back at your place, perhaps?" He breathes along his ear.

"Oh, no," Emery says, shaking his head with a small chuckle. "My whole budget outside of the free bit of change I have to put 'asshole' on the cake is going to pay this kid here," he says, gesturing to where Emory was taking the phone call. "You want him to starve so you can have your apology cake? Shame, E, shame," he chides, shaking his head a bit, even as a smile twitches on the corner of his lips. He then makes his gentle request to Eberhard, feeling the soft kisses and listening to his words, before nodding his head a bit. "E3, the reunion tour. Sure to sell out in arenas everywhere, no?" He purrs in return, placing kisses along Eberhard's neck. "I think it's quite possible, care to come back and see? I should be able to wrap up my research ASAP," he whispers along Eberhard's ear, before doing a quick nip along it, letting Eberhard get off of his lap so that he could fish out his wallet, pulling out five one hundred dollar bills and walking over to hand them to Emory. "Turns out today is a holiday, so you get off early, plus a holiday bonus for your troubles. And you can have the cake, too. Glücklich ... was auch immer dieser Urlaub ist, ja? Keep up the excellent work, Emory," he states, before turning to go back to the table and pack up his stuff, before wrapping his arm around Eberhard's waist and pulling him in close, bringing him in to place a few kisses along his neck, whispering one more, "Ich liebe dich, Wildschwein" as he grabs his bag and makes his way out of the library with Eberhard.

- COMPLETE -

[hellofastestnewsfan]

On March 15, 2019, legions of Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s admirers celebrated her 86th birthday by dropping to the ground and grinding out the Super Diva’s signature push-ups on the steps of courthouses around the country.

This unusual tribute to a Supreme Court justice was one of the many ways a new generation has shown the love to the five-foot tall legal giant who made the lives they live possible. But by Sept. 18, her iron will and gritty determination was no longer enough to propel her to court. Ginsburg died on Friday at the age of 87 of complications from metastatic pancreatic cancer, according to a statement released by the Supreme Court, per the Associated Press.

In the early ’70s—when Gloria Steinem was working underground as a Playboy Bunny to expose sexism, and Betty Friedan was writing a feminist manifesto about “the problem with no name”—Ginsburg named the problem, briefed it, and argued it before the Supreme Court of the United States.

She was 37 then, on the receiving end of so much of the discrimination she would work to end, and she was just undertaking her first job as a litigator—as co-director of the Women’s Rights Project of the American Civil Liberties Union. In her “very precise” way, as Justice Harry Blackmun put it, she studied title, chapter, clause, and footnote of the legal canon that kept women down and overturned those that discriminated on the basis of sex in five landmark cases that extended the 14th Amendment’s equal rights clause to women. In that long, hard slog, she employed some novel devices, using “gender” (so as not to distract male jurists with the word “sex”) and representing harmed male plaintiffs when she could find one (to show that discrimination hurts everyone). And she never raised her voice.

When she was done, a widower could get the same Social Security benefits as a woman and a woman could claim the same military housing allowance as a man. A woman could cut a man’s hair, buy a drink at the same age, administer an estate, and serve on a jury.

By the time she left the ACLU, and before she donned her first black robe, Ginsburg had brought about a small revolution in how women were treated, wiping close to 200 laws that discriminated off the books. Over the next decades, first as a judge on the U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia, appointed by President Jimmy Carter in 1980, and then as the second woman on the Supreme Court, appointed by President Bill Clinton in 1993, she would become to women what Thurgood Marshall was to African Americans. She employed the same clause in the 14th Amendment he used to free former slaves to extend protection to the mentally ill who wanted to live outside institutions, gays who wanted to marry, immigrants who lived in fear, and, of course, females: those who wanted to be cadets at the Virginia Military Institute, have access to abortion, and, when pregnant, not be fired if they couldn’t perform duties their condition made, temporarily, impossible.

Her fans’ courthouse celebration was also a plea for the bionic Ginsburg to carry on, at least until the 2020 election. There was high anxiety when she fell asleep at the State of the Union in 2015 (a case of enjoying a fine California wine brought by Justice Anthony Kennedy to the justices pre-speech dinner) and even more when she missed the court’s 2019 opening session in January, her first such absence in 26 years. She hadn’t fully recovered from surgery to remove three cancerous nodules from her lungs. But she took her seat as the senior justice next to Chief Justice John Roberts in mid-February, picking up her full caseload. That following summer, she went through radiation to treat a cancerous tumor on her pancreas, her fourth brush with cancer. In July 2020, she announced that cancer had returned yet again. Despite receiving chemotherapy for lesions on her liver, the 87-year-old reasserted that she was still “fully able” to continue serving on the Supreme Court.

Collection of the Supreme Court of the United StatesAugust 2, 1935 Childhood photograph of Ruth Bader taken when she was two years old.

Baton-twirling bookworm

Joan Ruth Bader was born in 1933 in Brooklyn and came of age during the Holocaust, “a first-generation American on my father’s side, barely second-generation on my mother’s … What has become of me could happen only in America,” she said at her confirmation hearing.

True enough, but what would become of her was a long time coming. In an enthralling biography, Jane Sherron De Hart describes schoolgirl Ruth, who twirled a baton but was such a bookworm she tripped and broke her nose reading while walking. Her mother, who convinced her she could do anything, died just before Ruth, the class valedictorian, graduated and headed off to Cornell. There she met the tall, handsome Martin Ginsburg, and married him the minute she graduated Phi Beta Kappa—the first person, she said, who “loved me for my brain.” She’d been accepted to Harvard Law, where Marty was already enrolled. She calls “meeting Marty by far the most fortunate thing that ever happened to me.”

What happened next is proof of her maxim that “a woman can have it all, just not all at once.” Marty was called up to active duty, so instead of studying torts in Cambridge, Ginsburg found herself working as a claims examiner at the Social Security Administration in Fort Sill, Oklahoma—that is, until she was demoted with a pay cut for working while pregnant.

Collection of the Supreme Court of the United StatesSummer 1958 Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Martin Ginsburg play with their three-year old daughter, Jane, in her bedroom at Martin’s parents’ home in Rockville Centre, N.Y

Life threw another wrench into the works when both were back at Harvard with a baby girl, and Marty was stricken with a rare testicular cancer. Ruth went to class for both of them, typing up his notes and papers as well as her own, getting along on even less sleep than your usual new mother, all while being scolded for taking up a man’s seat by Dean Erwin Grisold. When her husband graduated and was offered a prestigious job at a white shoe law firm in New York, she gave up her last year at Harvard to finish at Columbia.

Once again, she felt the sting of the discrimination. Despite being the first student ever to serve on both the Harvard and Columbia Law Reviews and graduating at the top of her class, she couldn’t get a job at a premier law firm or one of the Supreme Court clerkships that went so easily to male classmates who ranked below her. According to DeHart, Judge Felix Frankfurter fretted a woman clerk might wear pants to chambers. Without bitterness, she calls anger a useless emotion; she noted that in the ’50s, “to be a woman, a Jew and a mother to boot—that combination was a bit too much.”

Librado Romero—The New York Times/Redux 1972 Ruth Bader Ginsburg in New York, when she was named a professor at Columbia Law School.

Battling discrimination

She didn’t get outwardly angry and only, after many years, got even. She took a lower court clerkship, researched civil procedure (and equality of the sexes in practice) in Sweden and wrote a book on the subject—in Swedish! She returned home to teach at the Newark campus of Rutgers Law, where she co-founded the Women’s Rights Law Reporter. Despite being a progressive school, discrimination struck again. She learned she didn’t earn the same as a male colleague because, the dean explained, “he has a wife and two children to support. You have a husband with a good paying job in New York.” No wonder then, when she found herself surprisingly (given her husband’s medical history) but happily pregnant again, she took no chances and hid it.

After the birth of her son, James, she became a tenured professor at Columbia, co-authored the first case book on discrimination law, a work in progress as she changed much of it while litigating for the ACLU, until in 1980 she joined the Court of Appeals.

Then, in 1993, President Bill Clinton was elected and he wanted a Cabinet, and by extension a Supreme Court, that looked like America. Ginsburg was on the list, but so were a dozen others and she wasn’t at the top.

Even Clinton’s deliberations weren’t without a peculiar form of discrimination as he worried, “the women are against her.” He was right. To the feminists of the ’90s—who might be ignored by the White House if it weren’t for Ginsburg’s decades of opening doors—she was yesterday. The judge methodically chipping away at bias, without burning a bra or tossing a high heel, looked plodding and uninspiring; her friendship with her colleague on the district court, Scalia, looked suspect.

Enter Marty. “I wasn’t very good at promotion, but Marty was,” she told the late Gwen Ifill, a PBS anchor. “He was tireless”—and beloved among lawyers, professors, and politicians. Women came around, reminded that she was a pioneer in their fight to overcome the patriarchy and a steadfast supporter of abortion rights, despite acknowledging in an interview that the country might be politically better off if the states had continued to legalize abortion rather than have Roe v. Wade as a singular target of its foes. Ginsburg was confirmed 96 to 3.

Collection of the Supreme Court of the United States August 10, 1993 Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg is sworn in as an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court. From left to right stand President Bill Clinton, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Martin Ginsburg, and Chief Justice William Rehnquist.

David Hume Kennerly—Getty Images March 2001 The only two female Justices of the U.S. Supreme Court, Sandra Day O’Connor and Ruth Bader Ginsburg, pose for a portrait in Statuary Hall, surrounded by statues of men at the U.S. Capitol Building in Washington, D.C. The two Justices were preparing to address a meeting of the Congressional Women’s Caucus.

The Great Dissenter

She didn’t disappoint. In one case after another, she asked the right questions (and usually the first one), cobbled together majorities and wrote elegantly reasoned opinions: striking down stricter requirements for abortion clinics designed to make the procedure extinct (Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt), and approving gay marriage (Obergefell v. Hodges), making the point during oral argument that if you can’t refuse a 70-year-old couple marriage because they can’t procreate, how could you use that excuse to deprive a gay one.

But it was her minority — not her majority — opinions that made her beloved to a new generation of women. As the court tilted right in 2006 after the retirement of Sandra Day O’Connor, Ginsburg started to read, not just file, her dissents to explain to the majority why they were wrong in hopes that “if the court has a blind spot today, its eyes will be open tomorrow.”

Here was a shy, understated incrementalist suddenly becoming the Great Dissenter. In Shelby County v. Holder, she said that relieving errant states of the close scrutiny of the Voting Rights Act was like “throwing away your umbrella in a rainstorm because you are not getting wet.” In Hobby Lobby, she was aghast that the court would deny costly contraception coverage to working women “because of someone else’s religious beliefs.” In the Ledbetter v. Goodyear Tire & Rubber equal pay case, she asked how her brethren could penalize the plaintiff, who only got evidence of the disparity from an anonymous note, for missing a 180-day filing deadline given that salaries are kept secret. One person whose eyes were opened was Barack Obama. His first piece of legislation in 2009 was the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act.

Karsten Moran—ReduxA woman attending the New York City Women’s March wears a t-shirt ​featuring Supreme Court Justic​e Ruth Bader Ginsburg on Jan. 20, 2018.

Becoming the Notorious RBG

Ginsburg’s womansplaining caught the attention of New York University law student Shana Knizhnik, who uploaded Ginsburg’s dissents to Tumblr. Overnight, a younger generation of women, and their mothers and grandmothers, were reminded of what Ginsburg had done for them. Knizhnik joined with reporter Irin Carmon to write Notorious RBG: The Life and Times of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. The justice was soon a recurring character on Saturday Night Live, with a hyperkinetic Kate McKinnon issuing blistering “Ginsburns.” The justice’s 2016 memoir, My Own Words, was a New York Times bestseller. There were more books — adult, children’s and coloring. In 2018, Hollywood released a major motion picture, On the Basis of Sex, and the documentary RBG, which won an Emmy. Store shelves groan with merch: mugs (you Bader believe it), onesies (The Ruth will set you free), tote bags, bobblehead dolls, and action figures, one of the latest from her cameo in Lego Movie 2, produced by none other than Trump Administration Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin.

All this late-arriving fame rested uneasily on the shoulders of Ginsburg, who accepted it with dignity and took some pleasure at grandchildren’s shock that “so many people want to take my picture.” She kept a large supply of Notorious RBG T-shirts as a party favor for visitors.

At the heart of Hollywood’s treatment of Ginsburg wasn’t only the case Marty and his wife worked on together—an appeal of an IRS ruling—but a marriage of extraordinary compatibility and mutual support. After he recovered from cancer and had become a sought-after lawyer, he eagerly took on his share of domestic duties, which included feeding the children since, according to former Solicitor General Ted Olson, “Ruth wanted nothing whatsoever to do with the kitchen.” Marty was the fun parent (Ginsburg joked at her confirmation hearing that the children kept a log called “Mommy Laughed”) and a big-hearted host who happily roasted “Bambi,” Ruth’s name for whatever Scalia, her opera buddy, bagged on his last hunting trip. The pair were the subject of an actual comic opera, Scalia/Ginsburg, in which one scene depicts the over-emoting Scalia, locked in a dark room for excessive dissenting, and Ginsburg descending through a glass ceiling to rescue him.

A fellow justice said that neither Ginsburg would be who they were without the other. Marty once joked about being second banana: “As a general rule, my wife does not give me any advice about cooking and I do not give her any advice about the law. This seems to work quite well on both sides.” De Hart reprints the letter Marty put in a drawer in the bedside table as he was dying from a recurrence of his cancer. He was the “most fortunate” part of her life.

Marty lived to see his wife recognized beyond what the two imagined when they agreed to marry and be lawyers together, but died just before a slight she suffered for following him to New York was righted. In 2011, she was awarded an honorary degree from Harvard Law that Dean Griswold had denied her for taking her last credits at Columbia.

The longer she lived, the wider her reach and the deeper the appreciation for her years on the bench. At the opening concert of the National Symphony Orchestra in Sept. 2019, Kennedy Center chair David Rubinstein introduced the dignitaries in the audience. When he got to the justice, women rose to applaud her. Then, the men quickly joined in until everyone in the hall was standing, looking up at the balcony, cheering and whistling, as if they’d come to tell her that they knew what she had done for them, not to hear Shostakovich’s Piano Concerto #2.

This wasn’t an audience of liberals, but a cross-section of the capital touched by a once-young lawyer who saw unfairness and quietly tried to end it during her 60 years of public service.

Throughout the decades, Ginsburg quietly persisted—through discrimination she would seek to end, through the death of Marty, through more illness and debilitating treatments than any one person should have to endure—without complaint, holding on and out, until sheer will was no longer enough.

from TIME https://ift.tt/2RHBzbQ

[cutsliceddiced]

New top story from Time: Ruth Bader Ginsburg Has Died. She Leaves Behind a Vital Legacy for Women — and Men

On March 15, 2019, legions of Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s admirers celebrated her 86th birthday by dropping to the ground and grinding out the Super Diva’s signature push-ups on the steps of courthouses around the country.

This unusual tribute to a Supreme Court justice was one of the many ways a new generation has shown the love to the five-foot tall legal giant who made the lives they live possible. But by Sept. 18, her iron will and gritty determination was no longer enough to propel her to court. Ginsburg died on Friday at the age of 87 of complications from metastatic pancreatic cancer, according to a statement released by the Supreme Court, per the Associated Press.

In the early ’70s—when Gloria Steinem was working underground as a Playboy Bunny to expose sexism, and Betty Friedan was writing a feminist manifesto about “the problem with no name”—Ginsburg named the problem, briefed it, and argued it before the Supreme Court of the United States.

She was 37 then, on the receiving end of so much of the discrimination she would work to end, and she was just undertaking her first job as a litigator—as co-director of the Women’s Rights Project of the American Civil Liberties Union. In her “very precise” way, as Justice Harry Blackmun put it, she studied title, chapter, clause, and footnote of the legal canon that kept women down and overturned those that discriminated on the basis of sex in five landmark cases that extended the 14th Amendment’s equal rights clause to women. In that long, hard slog, she employed some novel devices, using “gender” (so as not to distract male jurists with the word “sex”) and representing harmed male plaintiffs when she could find one (to show that discrimination hurts everyone). And she never raised her voice.

When she was done, a widower could get the same Social Security benefits as a woman and a woman could claim the same military housing allowance as a man. A woman could cut a man’s hair, buy a drink at the same age, administer an estate, and serve on a jury.

By the time she left the ACLU, and before she donned her first black robe, Ginsburg had brought about a small revolution in how women were treated, wiping close to 200 laws that discriminated off the books. Over the next decades, first as a judge on the U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia, appointed by President Jimmy Carter in 1980, and then as the second woman on the Supreme Court, appointed by President Bill Clinton in 1993, she would become to women what Thurgood Marshall was to African Americans. She employed the same clause in the 14th Amendment he used to free former slaves to extend protection to the mentally ill who wanted to live outside institutions, gays who wanted to marry, immigrants who lived in fear, and, of course, females: those who wanted to be cadets at the Virginia Military Institute, have access to abortion, and, when pregnant, not be fired if they couldn’t perform duties their condition made, temporarily, impossible.

Her fans’ courthouse celebration was also a plea for the bionic Ginsburg to carry on, at least until the 2020 election. There was high anxiety when she fell asleep at the State of the Union in 2015 (a case of enjoying a fine California wine brought by Justice Anthony Kennedy to the justices pre-speech dinner) and even more when she missed the court’s 2019 opening session in January, her first such absence in 26 years. She hadn’t fully recovered from surgery to remove three cancerous nodules from her lungs. But she took her seat as the senior justice next to Chief Justice John Roberts in mid-February, picking up her full caseload. That following summer, she went through radiation to treat a cancerous tumor on her pancreas, her fourth brush with cancer. In July 2020, she announced that cancer had returned yet again. Despite receiving chemotherapy for lesions on her liver, the 87-year-old reasserted that she was still “fully able” to continue serving on the Supreme Court.

Collection of the Supreme Court of the United StatesAugust 2, 1935 Childhood photograph of Ruth Bader taken when she was two years old.

Baton-twirling bookworm

Joan Ruth Bader was born in 1933 in Brooklyn and came of age during the Holocaust, “a first-generation American on my father’s side, barely second-generation on my mother’s … What has become of me could happen only in America,” she said at her confirmation hearing.

True enough, but what would become of her was a long time coming. In an enthralling biography, Jane Sherron De Hart describes schoolgirl Ruth, who twirled a baton but was such a bookworm she tripped and broke her nose reading while walking. Her mother, who convinced her she could do anything, died just before Ruth, the class valedictorian, graduated and headed off to Cornell. There she met the tall, handsome Martin Ginsburg, and married him the minute she graduated Phi Beta Kappa—the first person, she said, who “loved me for my brain.” She’d been accepted to Harvard Law, where Marty was already enrolled. She calls “meeting Marty by far the most fortunate thing that ever happened to me.”

What happened next is proof of her maxim that “a woman can have it all, just not all at once.” Marty was called up to active duty, so instead of studying torts in Cambridge, Ginsburg found herself working as a claims examiner at the Social Security Administration in Fort Sill, Oklahoma—that is, until she was demoted with a pay cut for working while pregnant.

Collection of the Supreme Court of the United StatesSummer 1958 Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Martin Ginsburg play with their three-year old daughter, Jane, in her bedroom at Martin’s parents’ home in Rockville Centre, N.Y

Life threw another wrench into the works when both were back at Harvard with a baby girl, and Marty was stricken with a rare testicular cancer. Ruth went to class for both of them, typing up his notes and papers as well as her own, getting along on even less sleep than your usual new mother, all while being scolded for taking up a man’s seat by Dean Erwin Grisold. When her husband graduated and was offered a prestigious job at a white shoe law firm in New York, she gave up her last year at Harvard to finish at Columbia.

Once again, she felt the sting of the discrimination. Despite being the first student ever to serve on both the Harvard and Columbia Law Reviews and graduating at the top of her class, she couldn’t get a job at a premier law firm or one of the Supreme Court clerkships that went so easily to male classmates who ranked below her. According to DeHart, Judge Felix Frankfurter fretted a woman clerk might wear pants to chambers. Without bitterness, she calls anger a useless emotion; she noted that in the ’50s, “to be a woman, a Jew and a mother to boot—that combination was a bit too much.”

Librado Romero—The New York Times/Redux 1972 Ruth Bader Ginsburg in New York, when she was named a professor at Columbia Law School.

Battling discrimination

She didn’t get outwardly angry and only, after many years, got even. She took a lower court clerkship, researched civil procedure (and equality of the sexes in practice) in Sweden and wrote a book on the subject—in Swedish! She returned home to teach at the Newark campus of Rutgers Law, where she co-founded the Women’s Rights Law Reporter. Despite being a progressive school, discrimination struck again. She learned she didn’t earn the same as a male colleague because, the dean explained, “he has a wife and two children to support. You have a husband with a good paying job in New York.” No wonder then, when she found herself surprisingly (given her husband’s medical history) but happily pregnant again, she took no chances and hid it.

After the birth of her son, James, she became a tenured professor at Columbia, co-authored the first case book on discrimination law, a work in progress as she changed much of it while litigating for the ACLU, until in 1980 she joined the Court of Appeals.

Then, in 1993, President Bill Clinton was elected and he wanted a Cabinet, and by extension a Supreme Court, that looked like America. Ginsburg was on the list, but so were a dozen others and she wasn’t at the top.

Even Clinton’s deliberations weren’t without a peculiar form of discrimination as he worried, “the women are against her.” He was right. To the feminists of the ’90s—who might be ignored by the White House if it weren’t for Ginsburg’s decades of opening doors—she was yesterday. The judge methodically chipping away at bias, without burning a bra or tossing a high heel, looked plodding and uninspiring; her friendship with her colleague on the district court, Scalia, looked suspect.

Enter Marty. “I wasn’t very good at promotion, but Marty was,” she told the late Gwen Ifill, a PBS anchor. “He was tireless”—and beloved among lawyers, professors, and politicians. Women came around, reminded that she was a pioneer in their fight to overcome the patriarchy and a steadfast supporter of abortion rights, despite acknowledging in an interview that the country might be politically better off if the states had continued to legalize abortion rather than have Roe v. Wade as a singular target of its foes. Ginsburg was confirmed 96 to 3.

Collection of the Supreme Court of the United States August 10, 1993 Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg is sworn in as an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court. From left to right stand President Bill Clinton, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Martin Ginsburg, and Chief Justice William Rehnquist.

David Hume Kennerly—Getty Images March 2001 The only two female Justices of the U.S. Supreme Court, Sandra Day O’Connor and Ruth Bader Ginsburg, pose for a portrait in Statuary Hall, surrounded by statues of men at the U.S. Capitol Building in Washington, D.C. The two Justices were preparing to address a meeting of the Congressional Women’s Caucus.

The Great Dissenter

She didn’t disappoint. In one case after another, she asked the right questions (and usually the first one), cobbled together majorities and wrote elegantly reasoned opinions: striking down stricter requirements for abortion clinics designed to make the procedure extinct (Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt), and approving gay marriage (Obergefell v. Hodges), making the point during oral argument that if you can’t refuse a 70-year-old couple marriage because they can’t procreate, how could you use that excuse to deprive a gay one.

But it was her minority — not her majority — opinions that made her beloved to a new generation of women. As the court tilted right in 2006 after the retirement of Sandra Day O’Connor, Ginsburg started to read, not just file, her dissents to explain to the majority why they were wrong in hopes that “if the court has a blind spot today, its eyes will be open tomorrow.”

Here was a shy, understated incrementalist suddenly becoming the Great Dissenter. In Shelby County v. Holder, she said that relieving errant states of the close scrutiny of the Voting Rights Act was like “throwing away your umbrella in a rainstorm because you are not getting wet.” In Hobby Lobby, she was aghast that the court would deny costly contraception coverage to working women “because of someone else’s religious beliefs.” In the Ledbetter v. Goodyear Tire & Rubber equal pay case, she asked how her brethren could penalize the plaintiff, who only got evidence of the disparity from an anonymous note, for missing a 180-day filing deadline given that salaries are kept secret. One person whose eyes were opened was Barack Obama. His first piece of legislation in 2009 was the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act.

Karsten Moran—ReduxA woman attending the New York City Women’s March wears a t-shirt ​featuring Supreme Court Justic​e Ruth Bader Ginsburg on Jan. 20, 2018.

Becoming the Notorious RBG

Ginsburg’s womansplaining caught the attention of New York University law student Shana Knizhnik, who uploaded Ginsburg’s dissents to Tumblr. Overnight, a younger generation of women, and their mothers and grandmothers, were reminded of what Ginsburg had done for them. Knizhnik joined with reporter Irin Carmon to write Notorious RBG: The Life and Times of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. The justice was soon a recurring character on Saturday Night Live, with a hyperkinetic Kate McKinnon issuing blistering “Ginsburns.” The justice’s 2016 memoir, My Own Words, was a New York Times bestseller. There were more books — adult, children’s and coloring. In 2018, Hollywood released a major motion picture, On the Basis of Sex, and the documentary RBG, which won an Emmy. Store shelves groan with merch: mugs (you Bader believe it), onesies (The Ruth will set you free), tote bags, bobblehead dolls, and action figures, one of the latest from her cameo in Lego Movie 2, produced by none other than Trump Administration Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin.

All this late-arriving fame rested uneasily on the shoulders of Ginsburg, who accepted it with dignity and took some pleasure at grandchildren’s shock that “so many people want to take my picture.” She kept a large supply of Notorious RBG T-shirts as a party favor for visitors.

At the heart of Hollywood’s treatment of Ginsburg wasn’t only the case Marty and his wife worked on together—an appeal of an IRS ruling—but a marriage of extraordinary compatibility and mutual support. After he recovered from cancer and had become a sought-after lawyer, he eagerly took on his share of domestic duties, which included feeding the children since, according to former Solicitor General Ted Olson, “Ruth wanted nothing whatsoever to do with the kitchen.” Marty was the fun parent (Ginsburg joked at her confirmation hearing that the children kept a log called “Mommy Laughed”) and a big-hearted host who happily roasted “Bambi,” Ruth’s name for whatever Scalia, her opera buddy, bagged on his last hunting trip. The pair were the subject of an actual comic opera, Scalia/Ginsburg, in which one scene depicts the over-emoting Scalia, locked in a dark room for excessive dissenting, and Ginsburg descending through a glass ceiling to rescue him.

A fellow justice said that neither Ginsburg would be who they were without the other. Marty once joked about being second banana: “As a general rule, my wife does not give me any advice about cooking and I do not give her any advice about the law. This seems to work quite well on both sides.” De Hart reprints the letter Marty put in a drawer in the bedside table as he was dying from a recurrence of his cancer. He was the “most fortunate” part of her life.

Marty lived to see his wife recognized beyond what the two imagined when they agreed to marry and be lawyers together, but died just before a slight she suffered for following him to New York was righted. In 2011, she was awarded an honorary degree from Harvard Law that Dean Griswold had denied her for taking her last credits at Columbia.

The longer she lived, the wider her reach and the deeper the appreciation for her years on the bench. At the opening concert of the National Symphony Orchestra in Sept. 2019, Kennedy Center chair David Rubinstein introduced the dignitaries in the audience. When he got to the justice, women rose to applaud her. Then, the men quickly joined in until everyone in the hall was standing, looking up at the balcony, cheering and whistling, as if they’d come to tell her that they knew what she had done for them, not to hear Shostakovich’s Piano Concerto #2.

This wasn’t an audience of liberals, but a cross-section of the capital touched by a once-young lawyer who saw unfairness and quietly tried to end it during her 60 years of public service.

Throughout the decades, Ginsburg quietly persisted—through discrimination she would seek to end, through the death of Marty, through more illness and debilitating treatments than any one person should have to endure—without complaint, holding on and out, until sheer will was no longer enough.

via https://cutslicedanddiced.wordpress.com/2018/01/24/how-to-prevent-food-from-going-to-waste

[lazybarbarians]

For the Emperor, by Sandy Mitchell

Kalinara: So, we had a bit of an unintentional hiatus as real life hit both of us pretty hard. But now we’re back. It was my turn to pick the book this time, so I thought I’d try something a bit different. I chose “For the Emperor”, the first of the Ciaphas Cain novels in the Warhammer 40K series

.

Okay, so, disclaimer. I don’t play Warhammer, any version. I only have the vaguest idea of how it works, or who the major players are, or what the hell is even going on. All of my knowledge of the setting comes from the tie-in novels. And I have to admit, as someone used to trudging through Forgotten Realms (I honestly suspect the popularity of the Drizzt books, despite the irritating nature of the main character, comes from the fact that they’re one of a handful of series that are reasonably coherent), the Warhammer 40K novels that I’ve bothered to read are actually, legitimately enjoyable.

Ragnell: I don’t play Warhammer either, but I appreciate being able to google what the aliens look like.

K::One of the most interesting aspects of these books, to me, is seeing how the writers tackle the innate ridiculousness of the setting. I mean, don’t get me started on the thousands of people sacrificed a day to keep the undead Emperor alive so that chaos doesn’t consume all of humanity thing. The setting uses the word “grimdark” unironically. Enough said.

R: This setting is like the world/universal version of Ash from the Evil Dead sequels. And now I think I’ll picture Ciaphas Cain as 90s Bruce Campbell forever.

K: And I can see why the setting works great for the game, but it’s got to be a challenge for any writer to dreg up human stories out of that mess. And it’s interesting to see how different writers handle that.

Dan Abnett’s Gaunt’s Ghosts series seems to downplay the most ridiculous aspects of the setting to focus on trench warfare in space. Sandy Mitchell, on the other hand, seems to be embracing the over-the-top aspects of the setting and matching them with an equally over-the-top protagonist: Ciaphas Cain.

According to history, Ciaphas Cain is a legendary hero, a paragon of heroic virtue whose courage and honor are unparalleled. However according to his secret memoirs (as compiled and annotated by Inquisitor Amberley Vail), Cain has a different point of view of the events. Ciaphas Cain, according to Ciaphas Cain, isn’t a hero at all, but a selfish coward who obtained his heroic reputation through a mixture of luck, good timing, and a really good facade.

The plot of the novel is pretty straightforward: it represents an extract from Cain’s memoirs about his first mission with the 597th Valhallan Regiment. But it’s the characters, not the plot, that make the story interesting.

The Valhallan 597th has an interesting backstory in its own right. It’s made up of what had been two separate companies that were devastated during a recent battle. One of the companies was an all-male front-line regiment, the other an all-female rear echelon group. This required a bit of an adjustment period, especially since the new senior officer was one of the latter.

One thing I liked about the conflict was that while sexism was a part of it, it wasn’t simply a matter of “ew, girls” so much as the fact that these were two very different companies with very different ways of doing things. And there really wasn’t any doubt that the women were as capable as the men in actual combat.

It was however a nice set up to ensure that we had about as many prominent female characters as male characters in the story.

R: Yeah, I appreciated that too. This is an extremely macho space fantasy, and it would have been easy to have one female character for the love interest for the whole thing but this writer went out of his way to give us a mix. That was really cool.

K: We also get to witness the first meeting of Cain and his annotator in person, which is a rather nice touch. Inquisitor Vail is a fun character in her own right, and she and Cain have a lot of chemistry. One thing that I stands out for me, on reread, is how much is said and not said about the relationship between the two characters. Neither of them ever use the word “love”, but Cain himself states that she made “half a lifetime of running, shooting, and bowel-clenching terror” worth it. From Cain, that’s saying something. Vail is less effusive, but in a footnote notes that she and Cain felt “more at ease in one another’s company” than either were used to. In a way, it’s possible to read the entire Cain series as a declaration of Vail’s feelings for Cain: she’s presenting us not with the legend, but with the man that she knew. Warts and all.

R: She seems to prefer him to the legend. I like that they have a kind of stock action hero-love interest thing on paper, where she’s a spy who surprises him and she relies on his combat prowess, but there is something really fresh about it. She never gets taken out specifically to prop him up, for example. They have their own strengths and weaknesses, and some social abilities in common. And they bond over the fact that she can see through him. In fact, this consummate liar seems pretty attracted to the fact that she perceives the true him and likes him.

K: It’s probably fair to note that his initial knee-jerk fear of being discovered is not as neurotic as it might seem. His personality foibles might well be an executable offense in this universe.

The fun of this particular series is in the unreliable narrator aspect. We actually get layers of unreliable narrator here. Since the stories are presented as parts of Cain’s memoirs, we’re getting Cain’s in character version of events, decades after the fact. Assuming, of course, that Cain is telling us the truth. And assuming, of course, that Cain’s recollections aren’t clouded with self-doubt, hindsight, or foggy memory.

Vail is another layer of unreliable narrator. She claims to be impartial, supplementing Cain’s account with outside sources when needed, and adding her own footnotes to provide contextual explanations (a good way to deal with the minutia of the Warhammer universe for those of us without the patience or attention span to read through the source books), but every so often her footnotes end up with a little more personal color than necessary.

We know that Cain’s heroic deeds happened. It’s documented clearly and reinforced. But the “how” and “why” is an interesting question. Is Cain the selfish coward that he thinks he is? Is he a hero suffering from imposter syndrome who doesn’t give himself enough credit? Or is he just a normal man dealing with a batshit insane society that has no comprehension or recognition of human weakness?

R: I have to say, whatever it is results in Cain having an extremely practical and grounded focus. The setting is so overblown, so masculine, so honestly scary in how the Imperium is set up and works and how brainwashed all these conscripts are that it’s helpful to have a guy like Cain as your narrator.

K: Other notable characters include Jurgen, Cain’s aide, and probably the person that Cain values most in the entire universe (though he wouldn’t/couldn’t admit it. But his reaction when he thought Jurgen might be dead was pretty telling), and Sulla, one of members of the 597th who annoys Cain the most.

I think I like Sulla because she’s a character who absolutely did not have to be female. Her major traits: a gung ho attitude that annoys the hell out of Cain, a tendency to purple prose, and a steller career in her own right, do not require Sulla to be female. She’s a comedic foil, not a romantic option, and is never discussed in terms of physical attractiveness. In most stories, she’d be a male character. And she could have been a male character here, as the Valhallan Regiment is co-ed. But instead, the future retired General Jenit Sulla is female. And I like that a lot.

R: Sulla’s great. I’m more a fan of Kasteen though, who did pretty much have to be female to balance out the co-ed thing, but has that practical side I like. Sulla’s more gung-ho “For the Emperor!” Kasteen and Broklaw are more down to earth like Cain, focusing on the immediate goal and how to obtain it without getting the regiment killed.

K: It’s probably worth talking about Cain’s role for a moment. He’s a Commissar, which, for people who aren’t familiar with the setting, operates something like an advisor, morale officer, and secret police. As near as I can tell, with my own limited exposure to the setting, their job primarily consists of shooting people for cowardice and heresy.

They’re generally not popular, for fairly understandable reasons. (It’s a warning sign as to how bad the situation was that Kasteen was actually glad to see him.) And represent one of the more mundane horrors of the setting, when you stop and think about it.

But that’s where Cain’s pragmatism and self-centeredness serves him well. Cain knows that Commissars are generally unpopular, and that the worst often meet with friendly fire accidents as often as they’re killed by the enemy, and he has no intention of allowing that to happen to him. Besides, he has a vested interest in keeping as many of his troops alive as possible so they can stand between him and the enemy.

R: Which is another great bit, a book where the intelligent survival choice is to actually build relationships with others and keep them alive. It stands out again, against the culture Cain’s immersed in.

K: Ultimately, what appeals to me the most about this book, and this series beyond it, is that it takes a premise that ought to be cynical: the legendary hero is nowhere near the paragon of virtue that he’s reputed to be, and makes it strangely optimistic. Even if we take Cain completely at his word that he’s the selfish, cowardly phony that he labels himself as, the end result is that he has had a legitimately positive influence on a lot of people. He’s saved worlds and he’s saved lives. And when you look at it like that, it’s hard to say that he doesn’t deserve to be called a “hero” after all, even if he’d never meant to be.

In the end, instead of a story in which a hero is exposed as a scoundrel, we have a story about how a scoundrel accidentally becomes a hero.

[legalroll]

A Commentary on Plea Bargaining: The Double-Edged Sword of the Canadian Criminal Justice System

“It is an accepted and entirely desirable practice for Crown and defence counsel to agree to a joint submission in exchange for a plea of guilty. Agreements of this nature are commonplace and vitally important to the well‑being of our criminal justice system, as well as the justice system at large.”[1]

In the ruling of R v Anthony excerpted above, the Supreme Court of Canada acknowledged the integral nature of the plea bargain to the Canadian criminal justice system.[2] Unlike traditional court processes with a transparent set of rules and regulations overseen by a justice and the leering eye of the public, plea bargaining often takes place behind the scenes in back offices where the accused pleas guilty to an offence of which they are charged.[3] Although plea bargains are commonly employed for positive reasons such as lowering the number of cases that go to trial, helping victims feel vindicated when the accused is found guilty (whereas in trial they might not have been), and giving the accused lesser or reduced sentences in exchange for an admission of guilt,[4] there is also a darker and more elusive side of plea bargaining that is less explored.

When you plug ‘plea bargaining issues’ into Google, you’ll probably find articles referring to them as ‘con-troversies’ or ‘deals with the devil’. Whilst the inherent issues with plea bargaining have been recognized by various institutions including the Canadian Sentencing Commission who stated in a 1987 report that plea bargaining is a process in need of greater visibility and public accountability,[5] very little has since been done to improve the state of plea bargaining in Canada. To me, the best description of plea bargaining is that it’s a double edged sword; both a benefit and a detriment to victims and the accused alike. Although the benefits have already been accounted for, the darker side of plea bargaining is concerning because plea bargains occasionally result in gross miscarriages of justice or wrongful convictions.

One such gross miscarriage of justice occurred in the Alberta case of R v Nixon.[6] To describe the case briefly, the accused, an inebriated motorhome driver, drove through an intersection where she struck another vehicle, killed the couple inside said vehicle and injured their young son.[7] Shockingly enough, the accused was able to plea guilty to the charge of careless driving and was handed a mere fine of $1,800 with no prison sentence; essentially the Crown chose to proceed summarily for a clearly indictable offence.[8] Had this case gone to trial, I strongly feel that Nixon would’ve at least been convicted on account under s 253(1) operation of a vehicle while impaired,[9] and/or s 249(3) dangerous driving causing bodily harm,[10] both which carry significant prison terms. To me, Nixon’s sentence not only strikes me as unjust, but just plain wrong. I cannot help but put myself into the shoes of the victim’s family and friends, and contemplate how they must have felt when the inebriated driver who killed three of their loved ones quite literally got away with murder. Although the Supreme Court of Canada later repudiated Nixon's plea agreement,[11]Nixon is a perfect illustration of the devastating reality that plea bargains aren’t as rosy nor as just as we are led to believe.

In other cases, plea bargains have resulted in the wrongful conviction of innocents. Although there’s no single reason why an innocent person pleads guilty, there are a multitude of influencing factors ranging from fear of a lengthier sentence if the case goes to trial to ignorance of the criminal justice system. One famous Canadian case is that of R v Brant. In the case, Richard Brant pled guilty to the charge of aggravated assault in the death of his nine-week old infant Dustin- who was later found to have died from complications from an upper respiratory tract infection.[12] By accepting the plea bargain of aggravated assault, Brant was sentenced to six months in prison.[13] When asked why he accepted the plea deal despite being innocent, he stated that he believed he had to in order to evade more serious charges such as manslaughter.[14] Ultimately, what is clear from the Brant case is that plea bargains can occasionally be a counter-productive way to achieve justice.

In the United States, the alarming miscarriage of justice resulting from plea bargaining is also apparent. Highlighting the fate of several innocents who accepted plea deals, the PBS documentary The Plea spotlights the devastating effects of plea bargaining on innocents.[15] Of all the cases shown in the documentary, none is as compelling as that of Charlie Gampero, a self-proclaimed “innocent”.[16] Accused of the murder of a 33 year old man, Gampero was frightened into taking a plea agreement by the intimidating scare tactics used by the judge presiding over his case.[17] In the interview, Gampero says that the judge threatened him with life in prison if he did not accept the plea; something which effectively pigeonholed him into taking the deal.[18] Regardless, this example is a far cry from what is occurring here in Canada. In Canada, judges aren’t involved in the negotiations of plea bargains; instead, they are negotiated between Crown and defence counsel and the trial judge still has the option to accept or decline the plea bargain.[19]

Despite its benefits, the obvious issues with plea bargaining are quite worrisome, something which makes me believe that there needs to be more clarity and consistency in the way plea bargains are negotiated. Fortunately, Manitoba’s Victims’ Bill of Rights has allowed for some clarity to be added to the process of plea bargains for victims and families of victims. Under s 12(i) of the Bill of Rights, victims are afforded the right to obtain information on the process of any plea negotiations in their case and the resolution of the charge.[20] Nonetheless, in a 2017 study, it was found that despite proper care taken by judges and lawyers in guiding Aboriginal accused through the criminal justice system, some who have experienced the criminal justice system first hand feel that “With all the cuts to legal services, clients are more and more directed to enter a guilty plea rather than go to trial, even if the lawyer and client don’t have the disclosure in its entirety.”[21]

Fortunately, the recently enacted Bill C-75 may help with some injustices caused by plea bargaining. While the bill purports to ensure that the facts of the case align with the charges laid so cases like R v Nixon aren’t the norm, I agree with Métis lawyer Amanda Carling’s opinion in the Globe and Mail that Bill C-75 isn’t enough to help prevent certain injustices associated with guilty pleas (i.e. innocents pleading guilty).[22] Although it’s unclear what shape plea bargains will take in the future, what is clear is that there needs to be changes to the plea bargaining process as it currently stands so that it is accountable to both victims of crime and those accused.

Footnotes

[1] R v Anthony-Cook, 2016 SCC 43, at para 25.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Curt T. Griffiths, Canadian Criminal Justice A Primer (Toronto: Nelson Education, 2015) at 183-185.

[4] Ibid at 185.

[5] Canadian Sentencing Commission, Sentencing Reform: A Canadian Approach (Ontario: Minister of Supply and Services Canada, 1987) at 414.

[6] R v Nixon, 2008 ABPC 20.

[7] Ibid at para 2.

[8] Ibid at para 4.

[9] Criminal Code, RSC 1985, c C-46, s 253(1).

[10] Ibid, s 249(3).

[11] R v Nixon, 2011 SCC 34.

[12] R v Brant, 2011 ONCA 362, at paras 1-2.

[13] Sarah Harland-Logan, “Richard Brant”, online: Innocence Canada <innocencecanada.com/exonerations/richard-brant/> [perma.cc/XX8R-798M].

[14] Ibid.

[15] O Bikel (director), “The Plea” (17 Jun 2004), online: PBS <pbs.org/video/frontline-the-plea/> [perma.cc/7L65-VJVZ].

[16] Ibid.

[17] Ibid.

[18] Ibid.

[19] Supra note 3 at 184.

[20] The Victims’ Bill of Rights, SM 2017, c 26, CCSM c V55, s 12(i).

[21] Statistics Canada, Guilty pleas among Indigenous people in Canada, by Angela Bressan and Kyle Coady, Catalogue No J4-62/2018E-PDF (Ottawa: Statistics Canada, 2017) at 11.

Amanda Carling, “Pleading guilty when innocent: A truth for too many Indigenous people”, The Globe and Mail (23 May 2018), online: <theglobeandmail.com> [perma.cc/XEU8-YCXG].[22]

A Commentary on Plea Bargaining: The Double-Edged Sword of the Canadian Criminal Justice System published first on https://medium.com/@SanAntonioAttorney

[legalseat]

A Commentary on Plea Bargaining: The Double-Edged Sword of the Canadian Criminal Justice Syste

“It is an accepted and entirely desirable practice for Crown and defence counsel to agree to a joint submission in exchange for a plea of guilty. Agreements of this nature are commonplace and vitally important to the well‑being of our criminal justice system, as well as the justice system at large.”[1]

In the ruling of R v Anthony excerpted above, the Supreme Court of Canada acknowledged the integral nature of the plea bargain to the Canadian criminal justice system.[2] Unlike traditional court processes with a transparent set of rules and regulations overseen by a justice and the leering eye of the public, plea bargaining often takes place behind the scenes in back offices where the accused pleas guilty to an offence of which they are charged.[3] Although plea bargains are commonly employed for positive reasons such as lowering the number of cases that go to trial, helping victims feel vindicated when the accused is found guilty (whereas in trial they might not have been), and giving the accused lesser or reduced sentences in exchange for an admission of guilt,[4] there is also a darker and more elusive side of plea bargaining that is less explored.

When you plug ‘plea bargaining issues’ into Google, you’ll probably find articles referring to them as ‘con-troversies’ or ‘deals with the devil’. Whilst the inherent issues with plea bargaining have been recognized by various institutions including the Canadian Sentencing Commission who stated in a 1987 report that plea bargaining is a process in need of greater visibility and public accountability,[5] very little has since been done to improve the state of plea bargaining in Canada. To me, the best description of plea bargaining is that it’s a double edged sword; both a benefit and a detriment to victims and the accused alike. Although the benefits have already been accounted for, the darker side of plea bargaining is concerning because plea bargains occasionally result in gross miscarriages of justice or wrongful convictions.

One such gross miscarriage of justice occurred in the Alberta case of R v Nixon.[6] To describe the case briefly, the accused, an inebriated motorhome driver, drove through an intersection where she struck another vehicle, killed the couple inside said vehicle and injured their young son.[7] Shockingly enough, the accused was able to plea guilty to the charge of careless driving and was handed a mere fine of $1,800 with no prison sentence; essentially the Crown chose to proceed summarily for a clearly indictable offence.[8] Had this case gone to trial, I strongly feel that Nixon would’ve at least been convicted on account under s 253(1) operation of a vehicle while impaired,[9] and/or s 249(3) dangerous driving causing bodily harm,[10] both which carry significant prison terms. To me, Nixon’s sentence not only strikes me as unjust, but just plain wrong. I cannot help but put myself into the shoes of the victim’s family and friends, and contemplate how they must have felt when the inebriated driver who killed three of their loved ones quite literally got away with murder. Although the Supreme Court of Canada later repudiated Nixon's plea agreement,[11]Nixon is a perfect illustration of the devastating reality that plea bargains aren’t as rosy nor as just as we are led to believe.

In other cases, plea bargains have resulted in the wrongful conviction of innocents. Although there’s no single reason why an innocent person pleads guilty, there are a multitude of influencing factors ranging from fear of a lengthier sentence if the case goes to trial to ignorance of the criminal justice system. One famous Canadian case is that of R v Brant. In the case, Richard Brant pled guilty to the charge of aggravated assault in the death of his nine-week old infant Dustin- who was later found to have died from complications from an upper respiratory tract infection.[12] By accepting the plea bargain of aggravated assault, Brant was sentenced to six months in prison.[13] When asked why he accepted the plea deal despite being innocent, he stated that he believed he had to in order to evade more serious charges such as manslaughter.[14] Ultimately, what is clear from the Brant case is that plea bargains can occasionally be a counter-productive way to achieve justice.

In the United States, the alarming miscarriage of justice resulting from plea bargaining is also apparent. Highlighting the fate of several innocents who accepted plea deals, the PBS documentary The Plea spotlights the devastating effects of plea bargaining on innocents.[15] Of all the cases shown in the documentary, none is as compelling as that of Charlie Gampero, a self-proclaimed “innocent”.[16] Accused of the murder of a 33 year old man, Gampero was frightened into taking a plea agreement by the intimidating scare tactics used by the judge presiding over his case.[17] In the interview, Gampero says that the judge threatened him with life in prison if he did not accept the plea; something which effectively pigeonholed him into taking the deal.[18] Regardless, this example is a far cry from what is occurring here in Canada. In Canada, judges aren’t involved in the negotiations of plea bargains; instead, they are negotiated between Crown and defence counsel and the trial judge still has the option to accept or decline the plea bargain.[19]

Despite its benefits, the obvious issues with plea bargaining are quite worrisome, something which makes me believe that there needs to be more clarity and consistency in the way plea bargains are negotiated. Fortunately, Manitoba’s Victims’ Bill of Rights has allowed for some clarity to be added to the process of plea bargains for victims and families of victims. Under s 12(i) of the Bill of Rights, victims are afforded the right to obtain information on the process of any plea negotiations in their case and the resolution of the charge.[20] Nonetheless, in a 2017 study, it was found that despite proper care taken by judges and lawyers in guiding Aboriginal accused through the criminal justice system, some who have experienced the criminal justice system first hand feel that “With all the cuts to legal services, clients are more and more directed to enter a guilty plea rather than go to trial, even if the lawyer and client don’t have the disclosure in its entirety.”[21]

Fortunately, the recently enacted Bill C-75 may help with some injustices caused by plea bargaining. While the bill purports to ensure that the facts of the case align with the charges laid so cases like R v Nixon aren’t the norm, I agree with Métis lawyer Amanda Carling’s opinion in the Globe and Mail that Bill C-75 isn’t enough to help prevent certain injustices associated with guilty pleas (i.e. innocents pleading guilty).[22] Although it’s unclear what shape plea bargains will take in the future, what is clear is that there needs to be changes to the plea bargaining process as it currently stands so that it is accountable to both victims of crime and those accused.

Footnotes

[1] R v Anthony-Cook, 2016 SCC 43, at para 25.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Curt T. Griffiths, Canadian Criminal Justice A Primer (Toronto: Nelson Education, 2015) at 183-185.

[4] Ibid at 185.

[5] Canadian Sentencing Commission, Sentencing Reform: A Canadian Approach (Ontario: Minister of Supply and Services Canada, 1987) at 414.

[6] R v Nixon, 2008 ABPC 20.

[7] Ibid at para 2.

[8] Ibid at para 4.

[9] Criminal Code, RSC 1985, c C-46, s 253(1).

[10] Ibid, s 249(3).

[11] R v Nixon, 2011 SCC 34.

[12] R v Brant, 2011 ONCA 362, at paras 1-2.

[13] Sarah Harland-Logan, “Richard Brant”, online: Innocence Canada <innocencecanada.com/exonerations/richard-brant/> [perma.cc/XX8R-798M].

[14] Ibid.

[15] O Bikel (director), “The Plea” (17 Jun 2004), online: PBS <pbs.org/video/frontline-the-plea/> [perma.cc/7L65-VJVZ].

[16] Ibid.

[17] Ibid.

[18] Ibid.

[19] Supra note 3 at 184.

[20] The Victims’ Bill of Rights, SM 2017, c 26, CCSM c V55, s 12(i).

[21] Statistics Canada, Guilty pleas among Indigenous people in Canada, by Angela Bressan and Kyle Coady, Catalogue No J4-62/2018E-PDF (Ottawa: Statistics Canada, 2017) at 11.

Amanda Carling, “Pleading guilty when innocent: A truth for too many Indigenous people”, The Globe and Mail (23 May 2018), online: <theglobeandmail.com> [perma.cc/XEU8-YCXG].[22]

A Commentary on Plea Bargaining: The Double-Edged Sword of the Canadian Criminal Justice Syste published first on https://divorcelawyermumbai.tumblr.com/