#tell me why i just witnessed a debate over which man was hottest and it was pretty much th same basic ass guy 5 times

[vitamin-zeeth]

Me every two weeks: wait hold on am I actually a lesbian better check

Me, the second I venture out into a part of the internet that doesn't exclusively simp over men who are married with children: OH FUCK OK YEAGH IM DEFINITELY GAY GET ME OUT OF HERE

[storiesforallfandoms]

he’ll never see this ~ noen eubanks

word count: 1994

request?: yes!

“Hi can you do one imagine of Noen Eubanks, like, the reader is a tik toker or influencer something like that and they have a crush on each other,and they Fans are Shipping them.

Thanksss💖🖤💖🖤💖”

description: in which she admits her feelings for a fellow creator during a stream thinking he’ll never see it

pairing: noen eubanks x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

The sound of a new donation message coming in pulled you away from your game for a split second. The automated voice read the message out to you: “are there any influencers that you are totally crushing on right now?”

You chuckle to yourself as you turn back to your game. “You guys really wanna start something, huh? You realize this will be trending within an hour if I say anything.”

You glanced over at your chat to see they were begging you to tell them who your influencer crush was. You had mentioned a few times that there was a fellow influencer that you had a crush on, but you refused to admit who it was (for obvious reasons). Your viewers, however, were determined to find out who this mystery man you liked was.

“We promise we’ll keep it a secret,” you read, managing to catch one message before it disappeared into the void of never ending messages. “I don’t believe you guys at all.”

You laughed as you watched the chat blow up again. You finally paused your game and made your face cam bigger for the audience. “Okay, you know what? Fuck it, there’s no way he’ll ever see this and I’m not big enough of a content creator to have articles written about me. My influencer crush is Noen Eubanks. If you don’t know who he is, look him up on TikTok and you’ll totally understand why I have such a crush on him.”

Your chat went absolutely wild at this. You went back to playing your game, smiling to yourself as you did so. It felt nice to get that off of your chest, and you knew you were about to get a kick out of your fan’s reactions to this.

Like you said, you had no fear of Noen actually finding out what you said. You had a bit of a following, but it was nothing too big. Just enough that you could be classified as “Internet famous”, but not enough that admitting you had a crush on someone else who had a much bigger following than you would be a big deal.

Or so you thought.

After your stream, you decided to go right to bed. You were feeling tired and had to get up early to edit the video you were planning on uploading. You weren’t awake to witness the internet absolutely explode over your comment, but lucky for you it was still happening when you woke up the next morning.

When you checked your phone for the first time that day, you noticed that your notifications had blown up over night. You figured it was just your fans teasing you over your crush on Noen, which it partly was, but you noticed that it was also YouTube news Twitter accounts and internet tabloid accounts tagging you in their articles about your crush on Noen.

“Oh no,” you said, your eyes widening as you read through article after article, tweet after tweet.

Before you knew it, you had spent nearly two hours sat on the floor, reading through everything that mentioned both you and Noen. All the articles were the same: an brief introduction to you and your small Twitch/YouTube following, talking about you admitting to having a crush on Noen the night before, and asking whether the reading audience believed that you and Noen would make a good couple or not.

The reactions from fans were as entertaining as you figured - with many of your fans trying to come up with ship names for you and Noen and tagging him in clips from your stream - but then there were the less than entertaining reactions. Many people, whether they were Noen’s fans or just people who wanted to hate on you you weren’t sure, were saying you had mentioned Noen’s name just for clout, or that your “crush” was nothing more than an infatuation over his looks.

It wasn’t until your phone rang that you were finally pulled out of your trance and back to the real world. Your friend’s name lit up on your screen, and it took you a moment to collect yourself before you answered.

“(Y/N), have you been online yet today?” she asked.

You sighed and nodded, then remembered she couldn’t actually see you. “Yeah, I’ve been scrolling for the past two hours on Twitter.”

“You haven’t checked your Twitch page, or YouTube account yet?”

Your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “No? Should I?”

“You definitely should.”

You put her on speaker and switched to your Twitch app. You were shocked to see that you had skyrocketed in subs overnight, same with your YouTube page. You had gained a solid ten thousand subscribers on both platforms, and it was still rising by the second.

“So this situation has gained me more subscribers, who cares? That’s not why I talked about Noen on stream,” you said.

“Oh no, honey. It isn’t just the situation that has given you new subscribers. Go check Noen’s Twitter.”

You knew what she was implying, but you had to see it for your own eyes. You immediately opened the Twitter app again and typed in Noen’s name. You were brought to his Twitter page, where his most recent tweet was a link to the clip from your stream along with a caption that read, “When your internet crush calls you *their* internet crush”.

You covered your mouth in shock. You were sure you were about to start screaming, but you were so speechless that you couldn’t force any sounds from your mouth.

“I’m assuming by the silence that you’ve seen it,” your friend said after a prolonged moment of silence.

“D-Did he just c-call me his...?” you trailed off, unable to finish your sentence.

“He did,” your friend confirmed. “And both of your fans are going wild. They’ve already come up with a ship name for you, which isn’t the most clever name but I admire their spirit.”

You could barley hear what your friend was saying. You were still staring at the tweet in disbelief. Your mind could barley comprehend anything else besides the fact that your online crush thought the same as you. You were trying to tell yourself not to get too worked up, as it was most likely that nothing was going to come from this besides some gossip for a week or more, but your heart was still racing with excitement.

You gasped as a notification popped up on the top of your screen: “@/eubanks_noen is requesting to message you”.

“He’s trying to DM me,” you whisper, so silently that you could barley hear yourself.”

“What?”

“He’s trying to DM me! On Twitter!”

“What are you doing talking to me?! Go answer his DM!”

You were too focused to laugh as you hung up the phone and went into your DMs. The familiar profile picture that you saw almost every day on your timeline was the first thing you saw in your message requests. Your whole body was shaking so much that you could barley see the screen as you pressed to open it.

“hi :)”

It was a very simple message, but it was enough to make your heart race even more.

You were debating on messaging back, wondering if maybe this was a fake account or something. But you knew there was only one way to find out for sure, so you took a deep breath and responded.

“hi! :)”

His response came near seconds later: “so...we’re the internet’s hottest power couple, huh?”

You chuckled to yourself. “i guess we are. sorry if i ruined your mentions last night. i didn’t think it would blow up the way it has. i’m not all that famous online.”

“are you kidding me? you’re like one of the best twitch streamers. i’ve watched every single one of your streams, including last night’s”

You felt your face heating up, but a slight groan of embarrassment came from your lips. You were thinking of all the embarrassing things you had said and done on stream, and now wished you could just melt into the floor or erase the entire internet.

“oh that’s embarrassing. i’d say i’m not that awkward and dumb in real life, but i’m actually more so”

“i wouldn’t say you’re awkward or dumb at all. i think you’re adorable”

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed to no one in particular. If your face got any hotter, it would be on fire.

“you really know how to talk to a girl”

“i really don’t, but i’m glad you’re enjoying my attempts to flirt”

“so you’re flirting? never would’ve known”

“i know, it’s hard to tell. i’m trying to be subtle”

You continued to message Noen for a while. It felt so natural, as if you weren’t talking to someone you had been crushing on for about a year now. You were extremely glad you weren’t coming off as awkward as you normally felt.

Finally, after having been sat on the floor for a good three hours, your back began to ache and your stomach was growling so loudly in attempts to get your attention. You realized then that you had put getting breakfast on hold in order to fall deep into the hole of internet gossip that had surrounded you overnight.

“love talking to you and all, but i’m gonna have to go for a little bit. i’ve been sat on the floor basically since i woke up and i haven’t eaten yet today so my stomach is very upset with me”

“why are you on the floor? 😂”

“when i’m stressed i tend to sit down no matter where i am, and i was very stressed to see my name plastered all over social media this morning”

“why were you stressed over that?”

“it’s not something i’m exactly used to. like i said, i’m not overly famous online. i just have a small following. i’m not someone who has an article written about every little thing she says. also like i said, i didn’t expect you to see me admit that i have a crush on you last night, so i was so worried about what your reaction was going to be”

“i guess i can understand that. i haven’t had a lot written about me. i’m not a big tiktoker like some of my friends are, but i guess that’s a blessing”

You started to type another message, but paused when you saw the three dots from Noen indicating that he was typing something else.

“for what it’s worth, i’ve had a internet crush on you since you first started streaming”

Your jaw dropped at this. You had started streaming months before you even knew about Noen, which meant he had known about you before you knew about him. Just when you thought this day couldn’t get any better.

“wow! that’s quite a while. you must be one of my first subscribers then”

“i’m up there i think. i’ll wear that badge with pride”

The three dots again. You waited anxiously to see what he was about to say.

“i liked getting to talk to you today, though. maybe we could talk offline sometime, like through text or phone call. maybe meet in person eventually”

Your smile was so wide that it hurt your cheeks. “yeah, i’d really like that”

You exchanged phone numbers and added his to your contacts. You finally pulled yourself off the floor and started making a super late breakfast while also starting to edit your next video since you had also gotten such a late start on that.

You were putting your food on a plate when your phone chimed, indicating a new text message.

“btw, it’s nice to finally get to meet you internet crush :)”

“it’s nice to get to meet you, too, internet crush”

You sat at the table, your heart feeling warm. And to think, it all came true thanks to one nosy donation.

Not sure how much I like this imagine, but I hope you enjoyed anyways!

[toyboy-molloy]

reddie + accidental fake dating part two | part one |

“Wait...” Eddie pulled away from Richie’s mouth, breathing heavily like he was about to have an asthma attack. Thankfully, he was being held upright by both Richie and the pool water they were both resting in. He lowered his head to Richie’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath, “I just- I need...a moment.”

“Thank you,” he didn’t need to look up to see the smug smile on Richie’s face. Eddie just about had the energy to laugh.

“I’m- it’s a lot...you know...the injury...”

“Don’t ruin it,” Richie said playfully, running a wet hand up and down Eddie’s back soothingly. The shorter man chuckled softly, winding his hands around Richie’s waist to keep himself grounded. Richie was glad it was a hot day, at least he could say that was the reason for his flushed face.

“Do we really...need to practice this? I mean, it’s your parents...they won’t wanna see that.”

Practising. A dumb idea, really, but Richie was nothing if not a fucking idiot. Then again, Eddie had agreed for some reason and before he knew they were making out. It was fantastic. It felt right, it felt real. Only it wasn’t. He glanced down at Eddie, noticing his breathing was calming down again.

“We can stop, I guess.”

“I just mean...we need to be used to each other,” Eddie lifted his head, running his wet hands up and down Richie’s arms. Being held by Richie was fast becoming one of his favourite things, “like...casual intimacy. Holding hands, pet names, cuddling, shit like that. And Eddie Spaghetti doesn’t count,” he added quickly as Richie opened his mouth.

“Fine,” Richie gently disentangled himself from Eddie, leaning against the side of the pool, “race you to the other side for a massage?”

“I can’t move that fast!” Eddie spluttered, looking between Richie and the other side of the pool; it suddenly looked much further away than before. He turned back to Richie, frowning, “and I won’t be able to apply any pressure on top of you,” unable to resist, Richie smirked and Eddie rolled his eyes, folding his arms childishly, “shut up.”

"Alright, alright,” Richie held up both hands in surrender, still smiling, “I’ll walk you to the other side and give you a massage.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

"You can make it up to me somehow.”

Sighing, Eddie agreed and, without warning, Richie carefully scooped him up bridal style in his arms and began walking the two of them around the pool. Eddie shook his head fondly, not even bothering to call Richie an idiot.

-

“Eddie,” Maggie wrapped her arms around him, managing to pour all of her motherly love into the hug despite the fact she was trying her best to avoid his wound. She pulled away a moment later, taking his face in her hands, “you’re looking much better. I knew all this sun would be good for you.”

“I feel better,” Eddie said honestly, beaming as Maggie let him go, moving aside so he could shake hands with Went. They looked almost alike, both of them leaning on walking sticks, “it’s good to see you again.”

Richie, who had been busy carrying his parents suitcases into the spare bedroom, reappeared, slinging an arm around Eddie, “so I guess you’re dying to hear about the whole boyfriend thing so you can put him off.”

“Rich, Eddie’s known you since you were stuffing socks in your underwear,” Went said pointedly, patting his son’s shoulder as he passed him on his way to the house, “if that didn’t make him leave, nothing will.”

“I knew that’s what you were doing,” Eddie looked as though he’d won the lottery, smiling as a prominent blush spread across Richie’s face. He elbowed him playfully, “are they still there now, huh?”

"If you’re lucky, you’ll find out.”

Eddie bowed his head to hide his blush as Richie led them towards the house; he was sure Richie was joking but the thought alone was enough to get him hot under the collar. Maggie and Went had already made themselves comfortable by the time they’d returned to the lounge. Whilst Richie fixed his parents’ drinks, Eddie was left alone with them. He smiled awkwardly, settling into Richie’s chair. The two of them were smiling at him in return, so warmly Eddie really felt like a part of their family.

“You know, we starting to give up on our Rich,” Went began, taking one of Maggie’s hands in his. He accepted the beer from his son when he returned, nodding at Eddie, “you’ve got a keeper here, son.”

“Dad, I am literally the luckiest guy in the world,” Richie set his mom’s coffee on the table in front of her, winking sweetly at Eddie as he did. The other man stared at him, trying to figure him out; either Richie was a good actor and needed to get into TV immediately or he genuinely felt that way. It was most likely the first thing and Eddie was getting his hopes up for nothing. But he didn’t object to Richie kissing his hand gently, perching on the arm of his chair, “not only is Eddie, like, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, he’s been here for the best and worst times. I’ve never been this happy.”

Maggie chuckled, shaking her head, “who knew you were such a romantic.”

“You give me too much credit, babe,” Eddie tried the pet name, deciding he didn’t completely hate it. Judging by the look that briefly crossed Richie’s face, he didn’t either. He squeezed his arm, “I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.”

“Oh, jeez,” Went grimaced playfully, swigging his beer dramatically, “I swear, I’m gonna sleep in the backyard if you’re gonna be yucking it up the whole weekend.”

"I thought that’s why you’re here,” Richie folded his arms, raising an eyebrow at his nosy parents, “to bear witness to the greatest love story ever told.”

“Yes, yes, you can tell me all about it as we get dinner ready,” Maggie practically shooed him into the kitchen, turning to her husband as she followed after her son, “your dad wants to talk to Eddie about his damned car, anyway.”

Went’s eyes lit up almost immediately, “oh, yeah. Richie tells me you’re good with cars.”

“Um, I guess.”

-

As family dinners went, this one went rather pleasantly, considering the guests were being lied to about the state of their son’s relationship. A relationship Richie was beginning to wonder why it was fake. He and Eddie clearly cared about each other. He’d spent literal hours talking about dumb cars with his dad whilst Richie had gushed endlessly about Eddie to his mom. She’d just laughed at him, calling him silly.

Throughout the dinner, Richie had found himself gazing over at Eddie, watching him. He’d caught him once or twice and, each time, he’d smiled warmly. He helped Richie wash up, assisted Maggie with dessert and shared a beer with Went. Richie soon realised he was head over heels in love with him. And so were his parents. More than once they’d commented how cute they were together.

The four of them settled down to watch a movie after dinner which involved Eddie more or less in Richie’s lap, resting his head casually on Richie’s shoulder. He seemed perfectly content whilst Richie was freaking out on the inside. He wondered if it was too much to stroke Eddie’s hair; he soon thought, fuck it, if Eddie said anything, he’d blame it on his parents being there. But he didn’t say a word. In fact, Eddie seemed to enjoy the feeling of Richie’s fingers combing through his hair, if the soft sighs he was letting out were anything to go by.

But all of that was nothing compared to bed time.

Richie had completely forgotten about the bedroom situation, or rather hadn’t considered it. His parents had his room. That meant he had to share with Eddie, like they expected. He seemed much calmer about the situation than he was. They bade Maggie and Went goodnight and headed to ‘their’ room. Richie paced the room nervously as Eddie used the en suite bathroom, brushing his teeth and changing into his pyjamas. Should he get some blankets and sleep on the floor? Or offer to sleep on the couch? What the fuck was he doing?

Just as Richie debated running out of the room for the safety of his recliner chair, Eddie emerged from the bathroom wearing his blue silk pyjamas. They were comfortable and didn’t agitate his wound like some harsher fabrics. He looked so adorable Richie couldn’t help but stare at him. He must have been staring for a long time because Eddie was eyeing him curiously.

“Um, do you need to-”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he blurted out, already heading for the door. He tripped over his own feet in his haste, stumbling over his words in his panic, “it’s not- I get it, I know you need space- Mom and Dad won’t-”

“Richie,” Eddie giggled, holding out his hand in invitation, “it’s okay. Really. I really want you to stay.”

Richie still hesitated, eyeing the empty spot next to Eddie. There was plenty of room but he would never forgive himself if he hurt Eddie, even accidentally. He was quite the octopus when he slept.

“I know we didn’t talk about sharing the bed-”

“Richie, shut up and get in bed.”

Well, that did it. Eddie always knew how to shut him up and stop him overthinking everything. He shuffled over to the other side of the bed and slowly peeled back the covers, sliding into the bed. Eddie switched off the lamp and Richie stayed as still as could, as far away from Eddie as he could manage. After a moment, he heard Eddie sigh.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh, I’m trying to sleep,” he answered innocently. He was in the most uncomfortable position ever but he lived in hope. Eddie was having none of it. He carefully rolled over to face him, an eyebrow raised.

“You know what I love about you, Rich?” He finally looked at Eddie, at his big kind eyes and his lovely smile. He’d do anything for him. Eddie reached out to pat Richie’s arm, “you’ve never treated me like I’m fragile. Not when we were kids and certainly not when we reunited in Derry. Don’t start now, yeah.”

Eventually, Richie sighed and removed his glasses. He shuffled further into the bed and underneath the covers. Satisfied, Eddie turned away from him and waited hopefully. Finally, he felt Richie slide up next to him, his arms carefully winding around him protectively. That’s more like it, he thought.

“Alright, asshole, you win,” Eddie chuckled and was about ready to go to sleep when Richie spoke again, his breath fanning across Eddie’s neck, “I liked being your boyfriend today.”

"We’re still pretending this is fake, are we?”

“You’d deprive me of asking you out properly?” Richie teased, kissing the back of Eddie’s neck tenderly, “I knew you were a bitch but, damn, that’s cruel.”

“I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

Richie grinned, promising to hold Eddie to his word. The two fell asleep together, arms entwined and peaceful smiles on their faces.

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

12 Angry Men: The Story

At first, the story of 12 Angry Men seems straightforward, to-the-point, and pretty darn boring.

A jury consisting of twelve men (most of them middle class, middle age, and white) are locked into a jury room on a stiflingly hot day to determine the fate of a boy (lower class, young, and Puerto Rican) who allegedly stabbed his father to death with a switchblade knife.  Once locked into the room, eleven out of twelve decide instantly that the boy is guilty, but one, Juror #8, (Henry Fonda) isn’t so certain.  The film then follows Juror #8’s attempts to go through the information presented in court in order to figure out what really happened.

Like I said, it could be considered boring, if that’s all you consider.   But as it turns out, just like the case in the film there’s a bit more to it than what appears on the surface.  Let’s take a look.

12 Angry Men opens with one of two sequences that do not take place within the jury room.  A camera pans over the outside of the Manhattan’s Court of General Sessions, meandering through corridors and staircases, before making its way to our destination: room 228.  There, a tired sounding judge orders the beginning of the jury deliberation process after a six-day-long trial, “a long and complex case of murder in the first degree”.  He sends our jury off with these final, sobering words:

“If there’s a reasonable doubt in your minds as to the guilt of the accused, a reasonable doubt, then you must bring me a verdict of not guilty. If however, there is no reasonable doubt, then you must in good conscience find the accused guilty. However you decide, your verdict must be unanimous. In the event that you find the accused guilty, the bench will not entertain a recommendation for mercy. The death sentence is mandatory in this case. You are faced with a grave responsibility. Thank you, gentlemen.”

It is now that the audience, for the first and only time, gets a look at the defendant: a wide-eyed, terrified looking Puerto Rican boy from the slums, who helplessly watches the jury march off to decide his fate.

The jury (and camera) moves to the jury room, where we will spend almost the entire rest of the film.  It is the hottest day of the year, and the men are clearly already agitated, removing jackets, lighting cigarettes, and complaining.  The door behind them is locked, and the twelve men talk amongst themselves for a few moments.  Notably, Juror #3 remarks that this is an open-and-shut case, Juror #7 is anxious to leave to get to a baseball game he has tickets for, and Juror #10 has this to say:

“It’s pretty tough to figure, isn’t it? A kid kills his father. Bing! Just like that…It’s the element…I’m telling ya, they let those kids run wild up there. Well, maybe it serves ‘em right.”

Meanwhile, Juror #8 stands at the window, saying nothing.

Juror #1 calls for a preliminary vote, and the men take their seats (arranged by number) around the table.  Juror #1 calls for those who vote not guilty, and, some (Jurors #1, 3, 4, 7, and 12) quickly raise their hands, while Jurors #2, 5, 6, 11 and 9 do so more slowly.  One lone man raises his hand for not-guilty: Juror #8.  

Interestingly, Juror #8 is not fully convinced that the boy on trial is innocent, unlike many instances of the Rogue Juror used afterwards.  What he is convinced of is that this is a serious case, with a serious charge, with a grim penalty.  He calls for a discussion, going over the evidence.  Juror #3 disagrees:

“The kid’s a dangerous killer, you could see it…He stabbed his own father, four inches into the chest. They proved it a dozen different ways in court, would you like me to list them for ya?”

Juror #8 is not dissuaded, and calmly replies:

“It’s not easy to raise my hand and send a boy off to die without talking about it first…We’re talking about somebody’s life here. We can’t decide in five minutes. Supposin’ we’re wrong.”

Juror #7 is unmoved, claiming his opinion won’t change, no matter how long they talk.  Despite the resistance, Juror #8 moves on with his discussion, pointing out the defendant’s upbringing and background.

“Look, this kid’s been kicked around all of his life. You know, born in a slum. Mother dead since he was nine. He lived for a year and a half in an orphanage when his father was serving a jail term for forgery. That’s not a very happy beginning. He’s a wild, angry kid, and that’s all he’s ever been. And you know why, because he’s been hit on the head by somebody once a day, every day. He’s had a pretty miserable eighteen years. I just think we owe him a few words, that’s all.”

Juror #10 argues:

“I don’t mind telling you this, mister. We don’t owe him a thing. He got a fair trial, didn’t he? What do you think that trial cost? He’s lucky he got it. You know what I mean? Now look, we’re all grown-ups in here. We heard the facts, didn’t we? You’re not gonna tell me that we’re supposed to believe this kid, knowing what he is. Listen, I’ve lived among them all my life. You can’t believe a word they say. You know that. I mean, they’re born liars.”

Another voice enters the scene, Juror #9, with a biting reply:

“Only an ignorant man can believe that…Do you think you were born with a monopoly on the truth?”

Within only a few moments, already we’ve established quite a lot.  The belligerence of Jurors #3 and #10, as well as their bias, Juror #8’s thoughtful, honest nature, and Juror #9’s reasonableness and willingness to stand up for people.  Add to that Juror #7’s impatience to leave, and you’ve already got a bit of character to go on to understand what’s going on.  As the film progresses, the case unfolds, and we learn more about it, as well as learning more about the characters within, making the plot, although it never leaves the jury room, feel like it is moving.

Juror #12 suggests that they go around the table, giving each juror a chance to explain his standpoint in an effort to convince #8 of the defendant’s guilt.  One by one, the jurors bring up their evidence, and to each, Juror #8 has questions that render the arguments a little more doubtful than they would seem to be on the surface.

Juror #2 doesn’t really have any evidence to bring, meekly stating that he thought he was guilty, it seemed obvious.  No one can prove that he didn’t do it, after all.  Juror #3, however, has more to say on the subject, citing an eyewitness testimony of an old man who lived in the apartment below where the killing took place.  According to the witness, he heard a fight, and the voice of the boy crying out: “I’m gonna kill you!” and the sound of a body hitting the floor.  The old man ran to the door in time to see the boy run down the stairs.  Furthermore, the boy’s alibi (being at the movies) seems flimsy, as he was not able to remember the names of the films he saw, or any of the actors in them.  On top of that, there is another eyewitness testimony: a woman in the building across from them saw it happen through the passing cars of an el-train that ran between the buildings.  These, Juror #3 declares, are facts.

Other jurors give their reasons, or lack thereof:  Juror 5 doesn’t comment, Juror #6 thinks the motive is evidence, and Juror #7 brings up the boy’s violent history, including knife-fighting.

This sparks something for Juror #3, who cites his history with his own son, explaining that kids these days don’t have any respect.  He tells a story about how, when his son was nine years old, he ran away from a fight, humiliating Juror #3.  He resolved to ‘make a man’ out of his son, and according to him, he did.  When his son was 15, he punched Juror #3 in the jaw.  It has been three years since the two have seen each other.

Other jurors add their reasons, including the boy’s background in the slums.  This line of reasoning upsets Juror #5, who, he explains, was also raised in the slums.  Okay, fine, so his background isn’t enough, his upbringing flimsy evidence at best….what about the knife?

The knife (wiped of fingerprints) found in the body of the father was a very unique switchblade.  The boy bought a knife matching its description on the night of the murder, and claimed it fell through a hole in his pocket on the way to the movies.  A knife that unique surely must be evidence-

Juror #8 pulls out a knife of his own, an exact match to the one found in the body, and sticks it in the table for all to see (which is not legal in a real legal scenario, but this is a movie).  Someone, he explains, could have bought an identical knife, and killed the father with it while the boy was at the movies.  

“It’s possible,” he says.

“But not very probable!” Juror #4 counters.

Seeing that this is going nowhere fast, Juror #8 says this:

“I’m gonna call for another vote. I want you eleven men to vote by secret written ballot. I’ll abstain. If there are eleven votes for guilty, I won’t stand alone. We’ll take in a guilty verdict to the judge right now. But if anyone votes not guilty, we stay here and talk it out.”

They count up the eleven votes.  Ten guilty, one not-guilty.  Juror #9 has switched sides.

Looking again at the eyewitness accounts, Juror #8 theorizes that, with the train passing by the exact time of the murder, it would be impossible to hear voices and a body hitting the floor upstairs.  Furthermore, he determines that it would be equally impossible for an old man with a limp to make it to the door to see the boy go down the stairs in the amount of time that he said it did.  (Again, not legal in a jury, but it’s a movie.)  Juror #9 speculates that it is possible that the old man did not lie, rather convinced himself that he saw it in excitement about having 15 Minutes of Fame in his old age.

Juror #5, swayed, switches his vote to not-guilty.  The debate goes on.

Juror #11 is now starting to think, asking questions of his own: If the boy killed his father, why return home three hours later?

To get the knife, the explanation goes.

If the defendant had a clear enough head to wipe his fingerprints from the knife and go back to get it, how was he in such a panic that he left it in the body in the first place?

Juror #11 switches his vote.  It’s now 8 to 4, and still hot as all get out, and they’re all still in a claustrophobic room with a broken fan.  Juror #3, aggravated from the beginning, flips out.

“Assumed? Brother, I’ve seen all kinds of dishonesty in my day, but this little display takes the cake. You all come in here with your hearts bleeding all over the floor about slum kids and injustice. You listen to some fairy tales. Suddenly, you start getting through to some of these old ladies. Well, you’re not getting through to me. I’ve had enough.  What’s the matter with you guys? You all know he’s guilty. He’s got to burn. You’re letting him slip through our fingers.”

Interesting statement from a supposedly unbiased jury member.  This doesn’t go uncommented on, as Juror #8 snaps back:

“Slip through our fingers?  Are you his executioner?”

“I’m one of ‘em.”

“Perhaps you’d like to pull the switch.”

“For this kid?  You bet I would.”

After another brief exchange, Juror #3 lunges at Juror #8, screaming: “I’ll kill you!” an eerie echo of the supposed words of the boy.  This further cements Juror #8’s point: we say stuff like “I’ll kill you” all the time, without meaning, or thinking about it.

Jurors #2 and #6 switch sides.  It’s 6-6, all tied up.

Outside, it starts raining.  The broken fan starts working.  The discussion turns to the boy’s alibi.

Juror #4 points out that the boy could not remember the names of the films he saw, or anyone in them.  Juror #8 counters by turning the question around and asking him to recall details of a trip to the movies a few days prior.  When Juror #4 cannot give a full, definitive answer, Juror #8 also addresses the fact that when the boy was first asked what the names of the films were, he was in his apartment, cornered by the police, with his father’s body still in the apartment.  In other words, the kid was possibly too stressed and frazzled to remember.

Juror #2 brings up the stab wound itself, saying that it was a downward stab wound, and asked how that would be possible, as the father was over six feet tall, and the boy was only 5’7.  Juror #3 stands up, taking the knife and, in a tense display, demonstrates on Juror #8 how this could be done, by gripping the knife overhand.  

Juror #5 steps up with an argument.  He, as he mentioned earlier, was raised in the slums, and he’s seen knife-fights before.  Nobody who knew what they were doing would hold a switchblade overhand.  It can’t open that way.  The boy had been in knife fights before, and it’s unlikely that he would have made such a rookie mistake.

Another voted is called.  It’s 9-3, Not Guilty.

Juror #10, enraged, stands up and begins to rant:

“You’re not gonna tell me you believe that phony story about losing the knife, and that business about being at the movies. Look, you know how these people lie. It’s born in them…They don’t know what the truth is. And let me tell ya, they don’t need any real big reason to kill someone either. No, sir. They get drunk. Ah, they’re real big drinkers, all of 'em. You know that. And bang, someone’s lying in the gutter. Well, nobody’s blamin’ 'em for it, that’s the way they are, by nature, you know what I mean? Violent!…Human life don’t mean as much to them as it does to us. Look, they’re lushing it up and fighting all the time, and if somebody gets killed, so somebody gets killed - they don’t care. Oh sure, there are some good things about 'em, too. Look, I’m the first one to say that. I’ve known a couple who are okay, but that’s the exception, you know what I mean? Most of them, it’s like they have no feelings. They can do anything. What’s going on here? I’m tryin’ to tell ya. You’re making a big mistake, you people. This kid is a liar. I know it. I know all about them. Listen to me, they’re no good. There’s not a one of 'em who’s any good….This kid on trial here…well, don’t you know about them? There’s a danger here. These people are dangerous. They’re wild. Listen. Listen to me.”

One by one, the other jurors turn their backs on him and his racially prejudiced tirade, until, subdued, he goes to sit by himself in a corner with nothing else to say.

Juror #8 makes another impassioned speech:

“I don’t really know what the truth is. I don’t suppose anybody will ever really know. Nine of us now seem to feel that the defendant is innocent, but we’re just gambling on probabilities. We may be wrong. We may be trying to let a guilty man go free, I don’t know. Nobody really can, but we have a reasonable doubt and that’s something that’s very valuable in our system. No jury can declare a man guilty unless it’s sure. We nine can’t understand how you three are still so sure.”

Juror #4 brings up the woman’s testimony from across the street.  He is quickly shot down by Juror #9’s sharp eyes: the woman had marks on her nose from glasses, suggesting that she wore them often.  People who wear glasses do not sleep with them on (as someone who wears glasses, I can confirm).  She was in bed at the time of the killing, happening to look out her window at around midnight to see the murder through the passing cars of an el-train, about six seconds of time total, in the dark, not wearing her glasses.

Juror #4 changes his vote, as does Juror #10.  It’s 11-1, Not Guilty.  This time, Juror #3 is the lone holdout.  He goes on a tirade as well, ranting about having all of the facts, all of the evidence on his side, and as he pulls out his wallet to prove it, a picture falls out: one of his and his son.

In a burst of realization that his anger is not directed towards the defendant, but rather his own son, Juror #4 breaks down, and the final vote is called: unanimous, Not Guilty.

Juror #1 knocks on the door and tells the guard that they’re ready to give their verdict.  The men file out, Juror #8 staying behind a moment to hand #3 his jacket.

Once outside the courthouse, Juror #9 and Juror #8 exchange names and smiles.  Juror #9, McCardle, says ‘so long’, and heads off.  Juror #8, Davis, walks down the courthouse steps, and disappears out of shot.

The end.

For being just over an hour and a half with only three settings, the film seems like there is a lot more to it than one would think.  We don’t even learn most of the juror’s names, and yet they seem like fully developed characters, and we feel the satisfaction of justice well served.

Or do we?

One of the most interesting things about this movie is that neither the jury, nor the audience, ever finds out if the boy is guilty, or not.  Only that there is reasonable doubt.  By the same token, there is plenty of evidence to convict him.  Even Juror #8 admits that he does not know if the boy is innocent, or guilty, and it’s left to the audience, as it was left to the jury, to make up our own minds about it.

Sobering, isn’t it?

As for me?  I don’t know.  Maybe he’s guilty.  Maybe he isn’t.  That doesn’t change the thrust of the movie.

The idea of the movie, the point of it, is that we have this system for a reason, and by showing us an assortment of the type of people who can end up on a jury, we are called to think about, and respect, our duty to our legal system.  We don’t want to be Juror #7, switching sides based on how fast he thinks they can get out so he can get to his ball game, or Juror #10, who allowed his hatred to cloud his reason, or Juror #3, who didn’t realize that he was trying to punish his own son based on his anger, instead of the actual defendant based on reason.  We want to take this seriously, like #9 and 11.  We want to know, want to believe, that in the end, there is a truth, and justice will prevail.

We want to be the Hero, Juror #8, on his Hero’s Journey for the truth.

Another thing we don’t know is what happens to each juror after the movie is over.  The film takes place over the span of one day.  We have no way of knowing if this affects anyone, if Juror #7 learns to be more cognizant of things around him, if Juror #10 turns from his racist views, or if Juror #3 reconciles with his son.  We just don’t know.  The film is full of ambiguity, and in that, it feels bitterly real, even if it isn’t realistic.

In that respect, the film makes quite an impact.  It stays with you.  It makes you think.

And the audience is the better for it.

Thanks so much for reading!  If you enjoyed it, please stay tuned to join us for the remainder of our study of 12 Angry Men. Don’t forget that my ask box is always open.  Thank you guys so much for reading, and I’ll see you all in the next article!

[id-never-letyoudown]

Aw man aw fck

Omega!Charlotte would have it so rough tho? Imagine being mated and married to someone who won't even touch you, but you can sniff out the scent of another omega on him. Several, different omegas. Because Sam's a ho. And at first she tries to rationalize it. "Sam's an officer, he deals with a lotta people all the time! Some of them are bound to be omegas!"

But then he doesn't even try to hide it. When she does catch him coming home, he reeks of sex. Charlotte doesn't say a word. Everyone knows what's going on and she's the last to accept it. But she still thinks there's hope for them. Counseling.

"Oh! Hi Sam, I.... Late? What do you mean you're gonna.... Well how late?... But hon it's... It's Cuddle Night. And this one's really special, remember?.... No, it's not our anni-don't you know when our anniversary is? It's my heat week, Sam. Cuddle Night falls on heat week.... What'd'you mean you didn't know-Sammy I've been telling you since last Cuddle Night! Which we also skipped.... Okay... Okay. I'll just take a suppressant.... And Sam? Be safe, okay? I l-" *click* :3

And Ted, hooooo. When she first met him she thought he was another alpha sleeze trying to get their next knot. And yeah she was kinda right. And she grew to love the attention, because she wasn't getting it anywhere else.

It's hard, so hard, for Ted. To have to smell Sam on Charlotte. Have to restrain himself from marking her himself whenever she comes to him. Knowing Sam's off sticking his dick in another omega when he already has the "hottest lil thing in town". He doesn't get it. If he were Sam he'd be worshipping her, not making her feel like shit.

Charlotte doesn't like taking suppressants. They were Sam's idea. Tells Sam something like "I went to the doctor, he says I gotta stop taking them. Says it's dangerous. That's alright. I'll just get one of those fancy toys. I'll be fine." And Sam doesn't really care. Sam stopped listening to her a long time ago.

"I'll just visit my other omega friends when the time comes." So she's not alone. In actuality she's heading over to Ted's to get absolutely railed and manhandled and praised like she!! Deserves!!

And Charlotte gives, okay? She wants Ted to get his fill when she's with him. "Is there anything I can do for you?" "... Nah, you're too soft for that." "Soft? For what? Ted, dammit just tell me." "Alright, but I warned you: choke me." ".... but that'll hurt you." "See? Soft. Char, I wanna be hurt-" and that's all Charlotte needs to hear before she has her hands wrapped around his neck. She and Sam used to get into some hijinks in the day. Not anymore, but it's nice to know she picked up something useful.

And that's when they start experimenting. When Charlotte starts to open up more. Ted was already making her confident, now even more so. She feels powerful for once.

She prolly smells like how sweet tea tastes, and also cinnamon. Just a side note.

Sam finds a box of condoms and grows suspicious, but Charlotte tells him she got those for her toy. "You know I don't like makin' a mess."

When she nests the first time after she and Ted start... screwing around, she's surprised to find herself actively searching for things that remind her of Ted. And if that's the case, she can't nest at home, Sam would definitely be suspicious then. So she asks: Paul. The cute lil omega from work, who's also deaf(and you can pry that hc from my cold dead hands, I love it too much)

Paul already knows about Ted. He'd have to be blind as well not to see that. He tells her she can nest here just this once, but next time she's going to Ted's. And wouldn't you know it, Ted shows up. And Charlotte is! All over that. And Paul, poor Paul, tells them to keep it to the guest room, and that he's going to Beanies.

Ted thinks it's cute Charlotte wants to have his scent on her nest. But then they start talking. And it gets to "I'm not even your mate and you prefer me over that douchebag. Charlotte. You should leave him already. He's not treating you right." And that devolves into an argument and angry sex. And Ted's debating marking her right there. But he can't screw things over for her like that.

And things are dying down, they're making up. Ted's kissing her neck. And then Charlotte starts to panic. "Ted-Ted! Ted we didn't use a condom-" and she's trying to pull off his knot which-ouch, so Ted has to hold her still. "Uh-yeah, think we forgot about that in the heat of things." And he's also panicking.

The town's so small that Charlotte's worried word might get out that Charlotte's buying morning after pills. So Paul goes with her. She's there for moral support, that's the story. Paul is mortified, but he doesn't want Charlotte panicking so much.

Tbh Paul probably gets drunk at a Halloween party the whole town's at and spills the beans. Likely after Sam tries to put the moves on him, just fckin, walks up to the mic and, "Attention? Attention. Can everybody hear me? Cuz I can't hear yoooou." And he snorts and giggles like that's the funniest shit. "Sam... buddy, pal. That cop right there. Him. Yeah. He's a manwhore fucking every omega in sight, 'cept his own wife!" And the town goes silent, they already knew. But no one had confronted Sam about it. The balls on this omega. "But that's okay! Cuz she's found herself a new alpha. And she's finally happy! Yaaaay Charlotte! I love you-I'm not done! Hey!" Bill's dragging him and his drunk ass off stage, "This is why I'm the designated driver."

I'm p sure a fight breaks out. It doesn't escalate too far, not with the whole town there to witness it.

Sam and Charlotte's end is bittersweet. They talk things over, once the party's died down and everyone's just about left. And agree to a divorce. They do hope for the best for each other. "If Ted ever starts annoying you, you just give me a call and I'll lock him up for the weekend." "And if you need advice on how to take care of babies, you call me. I know that's probably the reason why you weren't home so much. I could smell the hormones." "... Well, I didn't know!" "... Oops. You got some calls to make. Better do that omega right, mister. I'll kick your ass."

Idk man I just want them to have a bittersweet end