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theggning · 2 years

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Oh god look she’s talking about Godot again- YEAH I AM, because nobody talks about Godot’s actual strategy and mechanics as a prosecutor!

Because in canon he only does 4 cases (4 of which he loses and one of which... ahem) Godot has the reputation of being a “bad” prosecutor or inept at his job. But I call bullshit! Players are just used to 2 games where every prosecutor is either Manfred Von Karma or a disciple of his (Payne who??). Godot’s prosecution style is totally unique, and very distinct in ways that make him an absolutely perfect “final boss” prosecutor for the original trilogy.

- Chiefly, and unlike the VK prosecutor club, Godot does not care about winning. Sure, he doesn’t want to lose, but it has nothing to do with his “record.” Though he states his desire to defeat Phoenix, he later specifies he’s actually “testing” him and his worthiness to the legal legacy he’s inherited. And for all the flack Godot gets for his winless record, Phoenix really lucked out in all of these cases. Godot actually would have won State vs. DeLite 1, State vs. DeLite 2, and State vs. Byrde had one witness in each not made a stupid mistake at the finish line.

- To that point, and often unacknowledged, there is a specific moment in each case where Godot stops arguing his case and either gives leeway to or actually assists the defense. (EX: He helps verbally reason out Phoenix’s arguments, agrees to Mia’s request to cross-examine Atmey, personally subpoenas and “tames” Furio Tigre, etc.) This usually comes once it’s been proven beyond a doubt that Phoenix’s client is innocent. Godot remains an unrelenting asshole to Phoenix personally and eggs him on about how competently he can prove his point, but he’s clearly not looking to send innocents to jail to stick it to him.

(Hmm. Who else cares about a client’s guilt or innocence and the truth ahead of “winning...”)

- He infamously has never prosecuted a case before 3-2, but multiple characters remark that he’s obviously not an amateur in the courtroom. Gumshoe in particular notes that Godot has skill and confidence to back up his arrogance (via a series of Top Gun jokes) and he’s not just a rookie floundering around behind the bench.

- Also unlike the VK prosecutor club, Godot mostly plays fair. He doesn’t prep or coach witnesses, doesn’t instruct them to lie. He never does anything as cheap as the infamous “updated autopsy report,” or Franziska’s blatantly illegal detention room photo stunt from 2-2. Obviously there’s a few below-the-belt moments (and he clearly enjoys when he can catch Phoenix flatfooted) but those are mostly the result of this goofball legal system being massively stacked for the prosecution anyway.

- The one questionable quirk of his is the fact he tends to take evidence from the crime scene. In 3-2, he kept DeMasque’s brooch to himself without telling the police he’d found it. Gumshoe and the Judge are both appalled at this but Godot thinks nothing of it, remarking that it’s a “rule” of his that “the safest place for evidence is in my pocket.”

(Hmm, which other legal professional we know tends to pocket evidence from the crime scene without telling the police? And what job does he have?)

- Godot’s style with his witnesses is completely different than the other prosecutors. Rather than coaching them or telling them what and what not to say, he tends to let them speak their minds on the stand. For all his cryptic douchebaggery he does have a way with people, keeping his cool with hostile witnesses (Tigre) and building friendly rapport with others (Ron and Kudo especially come to mind here.)

(Hmmm, which other legal professional is used to building a strong rapport and trusting a witness to give testimony...?)

- He’s a world class bullshitter. Like even putting aside the unparseable metaphors and non sequiturs, when his back’s against the wall he throws out some absolutely wild arguments, blatantly ridiculous notions, whatever he can think of, trying to make it stick until the evidence decisively rips it down. The whole mirror testimony in 3-3 is a prime example of this... just blatantly stupid, but he allows it because it forces Phoenix to prove something.

(Hmmm... which other legal professional do we know is a constant bullshitter, desperately throwing outrageous theories to see what sticks...?)

Notice a pattern at all?

This incredibly funny post by @franbamm and @palant1r is 100% accurate and is one of the best takes I’ve ever seen. Why does Godot’s prosecution feel so strange, so off? Because he prosecutes like a defense attorney. Not just any defense attorney either, but a certain defense attorney, the protege of his own protege, the man he crawled back from hell to do battle with. He’s the best possible “final boss” prosecutor for Phoenix because he’s his foil, both characterization and courtroom-wise.

In order to truly prove himself, Phoenix will have to proverbially beat himself: an inwardly honorable but near-incoherent bullshitting weirdo, constantly flying by the seat of his pants.

#ace attorney #ace attorney meta #godot #phoenix wright #godot's style is weird but it all clicks when you realize why it's weird #I LEARNED IT FROM YOU TRITE #or i guess it's indirectly the other way around huh #that post is great though #the two astronauts with a rock thing is just quintessential 100% pure godot #i fucking love this guy

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defectivevillain · 6 months

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professional courtesy

pairing: Miles Edgeworth/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

*reader is racially ambiguous, pronouns are unspecified, and physical descriptors aren't used*

summary:

Miles Edgeworth always has the most recent evidence and an updated autopsy report when he prosecutes a case. His secret? You: a talented LAPD detective with no honest concept of “time off work.”

word count: 3.5k | ao3 version

warnings: mentions of sleep deprivation, fatigue

This snippet is focused on Miles Edgeworth/Reader and the dynamic can be perceived as romantic or platonic. The reader is a detective employed at the LAPD. The reader is also racially ambiguous and gender is unspecified.

Since this fic is, well, fiction, some parts may be unrealistic. Keep that in mind before you read. (For example, this takes place in a rather unrealistic universe in which Miles Edgeworth isn’t in love with Phoenix Wright. lol.)

You’ve been working in the Criminal Affairs Department at the Los Angeles Police Department for a few years now. You started out as a wide-eyed rookie, but within a few weeks, you quickly learned that detective work isn’t the perfect, harmless job you thought it was. You still love your position, of course, but you’ve investigated rather gruesome cases in your time at the LAPD. Now, you find yourself accustomed to the scent of formaldehyde and the sight of blood splattered across skin.

Through your position at the LAPD as an investigator, you’ve met your fair share of interesting characters—namely, defense attorneys and prosecutors. Unfortunately, interaction with legal professionals comes hand-in-hand with your investigations. You can’t remember the last time you had the pleasure of performing an independent investigation. You’re almost always hindered by a prosecutor breathing down your neck or a defense attorney frantically pressing you for evidence you don’t have. The constant presence of overbearing lawyers is just something you’ve grown used to.

They aren’t all so bad, you think to yourself. Miles Edgeworth, Klavier Gavin, Simon Blackquill, and Nahyuta Sadmadhi are all rather unique individuals, but they care about justice and aren’t falling prey to the dark age of the law. You enjoy working with all of them, even when Klavier can’t shut up about his latest concert or Simon’s hawk constantly uses your head as a perch. Truthfully, Miles Edgeworth is the most tolerable of the group—but you’d never admit that aloud.

You’re in your office one night, reviewing some paperwork and thinking about the recent case you were assigned, when you hear a knock on the door. You give the person permission to enter and the door falls open, revealing Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth himself. He’s wearing his typical prosecutor garb—his burgundy-maroon suit and cravat. Glasses are perched on his nose and he pushes them up a little. “Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth,” you remark, blinking at him. “Good to see you.”

“And you.” The prosecutor responds, his arms crossed over his chest as his gaze flits about your office. You suddenly feel strangely self-conscious, despite the knowledge that your office is very sparsely decorated. There’s an award mounted on the wall from last year and a small photo of you and your friends on your desk, but that’s about the extent of your decorations.

“Are you here for the updated autopsy report?” You ask, deciding to cut to the chase. From what you know of the prosecutor, he doesn’t quite enjoy small talk. Indeed, Edgeworth looks relieved at the thought of being spared from casual conversation; he then nods at your question. You sigh and open your desk drawer, procuring the newest autopsy report. You hold it out to him and he takes it with a murmured thanks. The prosecutor’s eyes are locked on the paper as he takes in the new information. You watch him for a few seconds, before taking the opportunity to rub your eyes roughly. You’re rather tired, you have to admit. You should’ve gone home hours ago.

“Detective.” You flinch, opening your eyes to find Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth staring at you with a blank expression. You’re briefly hit with an intense wave of embarrassment at the thought of zoning out in front of the Chief Prosecutor himself. “The commissioner didn’t send you home,” the prosecutor remarks. You think his statement is meant to be a question, despite the fact that his tone doesn’t fluctuate from his typical flat affect.

“Well, he did,” you grimace, remembering his demands for you to return home immediately. He’d be furious with you right now. In fact, the commissioner pulled you aside a few weeks ago to inquire about your “workaholic tendencies.” You meant to take him seriously and even assured him that you’d start to leave work on time instead of staying late. But here you are—sitting in your office late at night with your findings from your after-hours investigation.

“Yet, you’re still here.” Edgeworth remarks with an intent gaze. Somehow, his frown only seems to deepen.

“Yes, well, I… felt like something was missing,” you decide to admit. The prosecutor is trustworthy. Besides, you’re sure he has much better things to do than report you to the commissioner. The notion then reminds you of Dick Gumshoe—particularly, a conversation you had with him the other day about his much-to-be-desired diet of instant noodles. You shake your head in a half-hearted attempt to clear your thoughts. “Here, look at these.” You pull papers from the file on your desk and extend them to him. Edgeworth’s gaze follows your gesture and his eyebrows furrow.

“The suspect’s fingerprints on the corpse,” Edgeworth remarks blankly. “Yes.” His eyebrows furrow. The prosecutor is evidently wondering why you’re pointing that out, considering the evidence is extremely self-explanatory. You take a deep breath.

“Look at the edge here,” you suggest, pointing to the very edge of the photo in question. It’s just barely visible and you watch as Edgeworth squints at the photograph for a long moment. For a second, it looks as if he’s not seeing it. You’re close to pointing the area out again when his eyes widen in realization.

“Powder,” Edgeworth realizes aloud. He crosses his arms over his chest and falls back into his unusually straight posture. His fingers tap against the crook of his arm rhythmically, in what you guess to be a restless gesture. “The prints were transplanted.”

“I believe so.” You nod.

The prosecutor frowns and looks askance. He seems to deliberate for a moment before turning his attention back to you. “Can you do something for me?”

“Sure…?” You respond, thrown off by the ambiguity of the statement. The prosecutor explains the task he’d like you to perform and you begin to understand. Acting on his orders shouldn’t take too long, hopefully. However, you are in a time crunch—what with the trial being scheduled for tomorrow morning. Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth leaves you with a murmured word of gratitude and a quick farewell. You stare at your closed office door for a moment, wondering if you dreamt up that interaction. The handwritten note sitting on your desk—created mere moments ago by Edgeworth—is proof that the prosecutor’s request was all too real. You don’t waste any time after that, immediately walking out of the police department and getting into your car. The Chief Prosecutor’s request isn’t too difficult—you simply need to revisit the crime scene and make sure everything is in order. Then you’ll return home, eat something, take a quick shower, and go to sleep. Everything will be fine. You won’t overwork yourself. You certainly won’t stay at the crime scene late into the night, until the point when you bear witness to the sun rising in the morning sky.

These promises fade into obscurity the moment you reach the crime scene. Your investigative mind turns on and all you can think about are fingerprints, footprints, and murder weapons. You meticulously review each piece of evidence for forensic data, in addition to reviewing the entire scene in your head several times. Your efforts are far from a waste of time, as you manage to tie up some loose ends and even determine that the murder weapon carries multiple sets of prints. Your knees are aching as you bend down towards the ground and survey anything of consequence. Time is entirely inconsequential. All you know is that the flashlight you had needed when you arrived is no longer useful, as hints of the sunrise begin to illuminate the area in a hazy dawn glow.

When your morning alarm goes off as you’re standing at the edge of the crime scene, you’re able to recognize that you may have gotten carried away. Just maybe. You sigh and trudge back to the car, before driving to the courthouse. When you arrive, you’re able to take a quick nap in the car and eat a protein bar you find in the console. Unfortunately, your nap is more than quick—it doesn’t last more than three minutes before you hear a knock on your window. It’s your least favorite defense attorney, Duff Endyu.

“Well, hello, Detective!” Duff remarks as you roll down your window, his cheery smile immediately ruining any of the rest you acquired from your brief rest. “Catching up on some Z’s, are we?” His grin seems to have a mocking edge.

“Yes,” you sigh, unwilling to entertain his attempts at provocation. “Are the doors open?” You look over to the courthouse entrance.

“I believe they are, sport,” he responds, patting a hand on the area where the unopened window rests and pacing towards the building. You take a deep breath and pinch the bride of your nose. It takes you a few moments to cross the parking lot and make it to the doors. Once you do, you find that the waiting room is blissfully empty. You sigh in relief and take a seat on the armchair, crossing a leg at the knee and pinching the bridge of your nose. You want nothing more than to fall asleep, but you know that would be rather unprofessional. Besides, you have a job to do.

You spend your time reviewing the information you gathered throughout your investigation, before preparing your statements and testimony as the detective on the case. You’re typically the first person called to the stand, so that you can explain the case to the judge and shed light on the evidence.

“Detective.” You flinch and look up, only to find Miles Edgeworth staring down at you. You resist the strange urge to get up from your seat and instead greet him. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you respond, pretending that you don’t need to blink the traces of exhaustion from your eyes.

“Did you have a chance to do what I asked?”

“Yes, I did,” You’re about to explain when the bailiff interrupts and asks you to go into the courtroom. You send an apologetic smile to the prosecutor, before slipping into the empty courtroom. The judge is the only person in the room, and he seems to be frowning at something on the surface of his bench. When he notices your entrance, he motions for you to come closer.

You’re familiar with this judge and have worked with him several times before. The thought reassures you, as you know you won’t have to sugarcoat your words or pretend to be someone you’re not on the stand. The two of you have formed a surface-level understanding of one another, which makes your job that much easier.

The judge asks you a few questions about your investigation and you answer them to the best of your ability. Eventually, he seems satisfied, because he nods and dismisses you. You never get the chance to speak with Edgeworth and brief him on your findings before the trial, but you know he’ll learn more once you take the stand.

The judge begins the trial with the standard procedure, questioning both the defense and the prosecution before Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth makes his case for the conviction of the defendant. Not for the first time, you find yourself impressed by how succinct and persuasive the man’s argument is. Endme, the attorney for the defendant, seems a bit intimidated. You think you would be too, if you were going up against the chief prosecutor himself.

The judge then calls you to the stand. You explain the crime and describe the crime scene in detail, before Endme, the defense attorney, cross examines you. His cross-examination isn’t super thorough, and you suspect it’s because your claims are all backed up with at least one piece—if not multiple pieces—of evidence. Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth seems to have quite the easy time with dismantling the defense’s argument. However, since you never got the chance to brief him before the trial, you’re forced to step in and correct an assumption when you hear it.

“Actually,” you break in, wincing at how everyone’s gazes lock onto you. You take a deep breath. You can do this. “Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth is right, but… an investigation earlier today revealed that the murder weapon actually contained the prints of the witness, in addition to the defendant.”

Edgeworth’s eyebrows steadily climb up his forehead. You want to feel guilty, but you know you didn’t leave him out of the loop on purpose. In fact, you were about to relay your findings to him when you were swiftly interrupted. Instead, you allow yourself a brief moment of pride. You caused that disbelieving expression on the chief prosecutor’s face. You found that evidence…!

The trial, understandably, is suitably affected by that revelation. You’re soon dismissed from the stand, as Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth calls the witness to the stand. You get the feeling he’s going to absolutely grill them—to see if they play a more active role in this case.

Truthfully, you want to leave the courthouse and go to sleep, but you know you should stay to see how the trial plays out. Thankfully, Edgeworth uses the forensic evidence you found to bolster his argument and, after only about an hour, the courtroom doors swing open and the chief prosecutor appears. His eyes narrow in on you immediately and there’s a frown on his face. You feel any good karma you may have accrued earlier completely dissipate.

“Detective,” Edgeworth says with a sigh. This can’t be good, you think to yourself. “I appreciate your efforts, and the fact that you did what I asked you to do.” He pauses. But…? “However, I do not recall telling you to avoid sleep entirely.” His eyes meet yours and you realize he must’ve noticed your fatigue earlier or the dark circles that currently reside under your own eyes.

“I know,” you acquiesce. The prosecutor nods knowingly, and you suddenly feel the need to defend yourself. “Still. I had a gut feeling there was something missing—and I was right.” Edgeworth sighs loudly. You raise your eyebrows at him knowingly, inviting him to argue with you. Fortunately for you, there’s not much of an outlet for him to argue—since your choice to continue investigating procured decisive evidence for the trial. The prosecutor evidently comes to that realization, because he crosses his arms over his chest and levels you with a furious gaze that spells you silent.

“Come on, Detective,” he remarks. “Unless you’d like the budget cut that Detective Gumshoe is so fond of.” You sigh deeply and follow after the prosecutor. This is the first time he’s threatened to reduce your salary. You certainly hope it will be the last—you’d rather not rewrite your budget for the coming month.

You follow after Edgeworth, who has yet to offer an explanation for why you’re supposed to follow him. The prosecutor paces out of the courtroom and walks through the lines of cars in the parking lot until he reaches a red sports car. Your eyebrows climb up your forehead as you see him unlock it.

“This is your car?” You hear yourself ask.

“You seem surprised,” Edgeworth notes with a tinge of amusement. He opens the door for you, allowing you to enter, before closing it behind you. The prosecutor then walks around the car and gets into the driver’s seat. Edgeworth looks at you expectantly, evidently waiting for elaboration.

“Sorry, you just didn’t seem the type,” you say. You quickly regret uttering the statement aloud after seeing the prosecutor raise an eyebrow; thankfully, he lets the comment slide. Instead, you get into the car and awkwardly stare down at your hands. You feel intensely out of place in this car, sitting next to the Chief Prosecutor himself. Edgeworth doesn’t seem to notice your internal panic, instead beginning to pull out of the courthouse parking lot and drive down the street. “Where are we going?” You eventually find the courage to ask.

“My office,” Edgeworth responds. You feel your heart stall in your chest. He isn’t going to fire you, is he? You’re not sure if he has that power… but you wouldn’t be surprised if he did possess that kind of administrative authority. Your fear must show on your face, because the prosecutor huffs in amusement before turning to look at you for a brief moment. “Lighten up, Detective.” Contrary to your expectations, you aren’t given any more explanation than that. Instead, you’re left to sit silently as Edgeworth

He’s taking you to his office. Oh no. You’re really going to get fired, aren’t you? Your heart races in your chest and you feel your hands twitching at your sides. Edgeworth leads the way to the Prosecutor’s Building, walking through the underground garage before reaching the door and opening it for you. You’ve been to the building before, but you’ve never been to the underground garage—which leaves you feeling a little turned around. You suspect there’s an elevator that will lead to Edgeworth’s office. However, the chief prosecutor walks past it and instead ascends the staircase next to it. You shrug and follow after him. One flight of stairs won’t be too bad.

One flight of stairs passes in the blink of an eye. However, Edgeworth doesn’t exit as you expect—instead he continues climbing up the stairs. Are you going to be taking the stairs all the way up to his office? From what you remember, quite a few of the offices are on the higher floors. You decide to keep quiet and follow his lead.

If only you had known that Edgeworth’s office number was on the twelfth floor . By the time you climb up the last set of stairs and reach the twelfth floor, you want to collapse on the ground and never get up. Edgeworth, on the other hand, isn’t even winded. You manage to catch your breath on the short walk from the staircase to his office, but you know your legs will be sore tomorrow.

You’ve never been in the Chief Prosecutor’s office before. It has more life than you thought it might, with a burgundy couch off to the left side, an ornate wooden desk in the center of the room, and rows of files lining the walls on the right. There’s a small figurine of the Steel Samurai and an award that you recognize to be the Prosecutor Trophy. The space looks like a good mix of professionalism and nonchalance that you think you’d like to emulate in your own office.

Despite your expectations, Edgeworth still doesn't give you an explanation for why you’re here. Instead, he settles into the chair at his desk and opens his computer. He’s quiet as he types on his computer. After a few moments of standing awkwardly, you decide to move and sit on the couch.

You don’t know how long you wait there, anticipating a remark from the chief prosecutor. Unfortunately, now that you’re left here with nothing to do, you feel your energy slipping away. Your exhaustion is beginning to catch up to you. You didn’t get much sleep ( read: any sleep) last night, thanks to your impromptu investigation. Despite your fatigue threatening to knock you out, you know can’t fall asleep in front of the Chief Prosecutor. You have to stay awake.

Surely, there’s something you could be doing right now. Your eyes are stinging from exhaustion and your blinks feel twice as long as normal. You rub your eyes roughly and pay a glance at Edgeworth, who is scrawling something down on a piece of paper.. Just what are you supposed to be doing here? The prosecutor hasn’t spoken since you left the car. Edgeworth isn’t shy about assigning you work to do, so why is he suddenly so silent?

Despite all these recognitions, and the intimate knowledge that it will not look good if you fall asleep, your exhaustion wins out. One moment, you’re staring blankly ahead at the wall of files; the next, your eyes are slipping shut and you’re falling asleep.

Your sleep is remarkably undisturbed, despite being in the company of another person. You occasionally hear the scrawling sound of writing or the pattering sounds of typing, but otherwise, the office is blissfully silent. Your head rests on your hand and you exhale slowly, feeling the day’s stressors slowly slip away.

You don’t intend to sleep for long. But, when you wake up, you find that it’s dark outside. There’s an added warmth that you didn’t have before. Upon further investigation, you find that there’s a familiar burgundy jacket draped over you. Is this… Edgeworth’s jacket? Your eyes widen as the characteristic burgundy color.

Your phone pings, drawing you out of your thoughts. You reach towards it and power it on, only to find that it’s nearly 6 p.m. The trial ended hours ago! You look around for Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth, but he’s nowhere in sight. All you see is the familiar wall of files, the chessboard in the corner of the room, and a mug of tea with a note next to it.

Wait. A mug of tea with a note? You frown and look down at the coffee table, finding a mug of warm tea with steam rising out of it and a handwritten note. The note reads:

Visiting the department. Expect a more strictly enforced schedule in the future. -M. PS: Stay as long as you need.

You smile to yourself.

“Duff Endyu” → “defend you.” lol.

hehehehehehheeeee… I just want to fall asleep in Edgeworth's office and for Edgeworth to look down at me and be filled with an inexplicable burst of fondness. is that really too much to ask?>??

Did “a more strictly enforced schedule” make sense? I was trying to find a characteristic way for Miles to say that your overtime would be prevented (aka that you’ll have to “clock out” and actually leave, instead of staying for hours after).

I just realized Miles’s initials are M.E.. Lollll.

anyway, thanks for reading! <333

TAGLIST: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall

#miles edgeworth #Miles Edgeworth x reader #edgeworth x reader #gn reader #male reader #transmasc reader #Miles Edgeworth x male reader #gay as hell #edgeworth x gn reader #ace attorney #ace attorney x reader #ace attorney fanfic

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welcome-to-jay · 2 months

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How many Ace Attorney cases would be solved immediately if they used the Divination Seance?

For those who don’t know, the Divination Seance is a mechanic introduced in the 6th main Ace Attorney game: Spirit of Justice. The way it works is that a spirit medium communes with the soul of the dead, and makes their final memories visible in the Pool of Souls. All of their senses are displayed, from what they saw to what they heard to what they smelled before they died. In game, the Divination Seance is usually used to Phoenix’s disadvantage (obviously), but what I wanted to know is what would happen if the Divination Seance was used in cases that took place not in the Kingdom of Khura’in. If the court could see what the victim saw seconds before their death, how much would that fuck over the real killer? Let’s go through the death of (almost) every single victim and find out: would this case be solved if they used the Divination Seance? This will be updated with each game every day, unless I forget.

(Thanks to my buddy Keepay for helping me out with this! He did all of the AAI 1 and 2 cases because my memory on those is pretty fuzzy.)

Things to Remember:

Divination Seance is derived from the victim’s memories, meaning if they don’t recognize a person’s voice, they won’t be able to identify it.

Divination Seance only works if the victim’s true name (and less importantly, what they look like) is known.

The victim has to actually be dead for a Seance to be possible.

Ace Attorney 1

Cindy Stone - YES

Frank had already broken into Cindy's home when she walked in, so there’s no way she wouldn’t have seen him before he bludgeoned her. A Divination Seance would clearly show this.

Mia Fey - NO

At first, this looks like the exact same situation as the Cindy Stone case. Mia and Redd White were face-to-face before she died, so he would’ve clearly shown up in the Divination Seance, right?

But then there’s that damn updated autopsy report.

Edgeworth stated that Mia lived for a few minutes after she was hit, and Divination Seances only show the last few seconds of the victim’s life. This means that the Divination Seance wouldn’t have shown the actual bludgeoning, or Redd White. As suspect as that updated autopsy report is, Edgeworth himself said that he never forged evidence, so we have to take him at his word here.

Jack Hammer - YES

Dee and Jack were face-to-face when she pushed him. I don’t think we ever learn the details of their struggle, so maybe it would still be unclear whether or not it was self defense on Vasquez’s part.

Robert Hammond - YES

Again again, Yanni and Hammond saw each other before Yanni shot Hammond in the heart. We don’t get a lot of details about what happened in the shack, but we have no reason to assume this wasn’t the case. I promise these are gonna get more interesting.

Gregory Edgeworth - MAYBE

So in this case, the Divination Seance would show that the defendants (Miles Edgeworth and Yanni Yogi in this case) are innocent, but wouldn’t show who the culprit is, so I’m gonna say at the very least, it’s partially solved. The Seance would reveal that Gregory didn’t die when Miles threw the gun, and that all three of them passed out before the second gunshot was fired. However, we know from Von Karma’s testimony that Gregory was unconscious when he was shot, so he wouldn’t have seen his killer’s face.

But! Miles said that he heard Von Karma scream right after he threw the gun, obviously that means that Gregory heard it too. The question is, would he have recognized it as Von Karma’s voice, and would it have shown up as Von Karma’s voice in the Pool of Souls? To answer that, I point you towards Inga’s Divination Seance. Here he recognizes the voice he’s talking to over the phone as one of his subordinates (after a refining from Rayfa) but even after it’s proven that Datz was the one laughing over the phone, the sound still shows up in the pool as just “Laughter.”

This is why it’s important to remember that the Divination Seance is derived from the victim’s memories. Inga recognized his subordinate's voice (but probably not his name, lol) but he didn’t know what Datz’s voice sounds like, at least not well enough to recognize it. In the same vein, Gregory would absolutely recognize Von Karma’s voice because they just spend the whole day in court together, as well as them meeting during the investigation.

Now what this really all boils down to is if Gregory would recognize Von Karma screaming in particular. Miles didn’t recognize the voice even though he also knew Von Karma, but he was also a stressed and delirious kid when he heard the scream. Gregory’s memories are probably more reliable, and he’s probably heard Von Karma shouting either during the Inherited Turnabout investigation or the trial afterward. But, as much as I wanna say this is a yes, we can’t know for sure.

Bruce Goodman - YES

After that long-winded explanation, we’re back to another easy one. Bruce and Damon were alone in the evidence room when Damon did the deed, so he would clearly show up in the vision, or at the very least, his voice would be heard.

Neil Marshall - NO

This is another Gregory situation, but unfortunately much more unclear. Neil was unconscious when he died so he wouldn’t have seen Gant but at least it would be clear that neither Ema or Darke killed him. Neil had already knocked out Darke when Ema pushed him, and it would’ve been clear that Neil didn’t die from Ema’s shove, but much later. Of course, since Neil was blacked out, the argument could be made that Darke woke up first, and simply stabbed Neil while Neil was unconscious. Even with the Divination Seance, there’s no way to prove that Gant did the deed.

#ace attorney #ace attorney spoilers #ace attorney spirit of justice #aa6 #cindy stone #mia fey #jack hammer #robert hammond #gregory edgeworth #bruce goodman #neil marshall

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lyxthen · 4 months

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I know it goes against Rise from the Ashes canon but I like to think that Miles Edgeworth really did fake all that evidence and he just got away with it for years until it was no longer convinient for the higher-ups. The moment Edgeworth actually tries to implement such thing as "morals" the system punishes him for it.

Because let's be real, that infamous "updated autopsy report?" He absolutely bribed the forensics team to get it done. He pulled that thing out of his ass I'm not naïve.

Personally I think this is a much more interesting reading than "he never presented forged evidence knowingly" because it really goes to show how hard it is to thrive in a corrupt system without using dirty tricks.

This to me doesn't make him any less sympathetic. On the contrary: it is a reflection of how little agency he truly had over himself. He knew that what he did was fucked up and he did it anyways because he thought that was the only way things could be.

El que no transa no avanza, as the saying goes. He who does not cheat does not succeed.

The moment you stop cheating, the moment you stop playing by those busted unwritten rules, the entire world turns on you.

This is what ultimately happens to Edgeworth. Just as he's trying to be a good person, to see things from a new point of view, to reform himself and be better... he gets a punch to the gut.

The whole thing is rotten. Rotten to its core.

I could probably elaborate a lot further, but this is where I'm leaving it for now. Just know that I'm absolutely revisiting this train of thought in the future because it is one of my favourite parts of the first Ace Attorney game and I can't stop thinking about it.

Or maybe I'm just from latam idk.

#ace attorney #miles edgeworth #aa meta

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torchstelechos · 3 months

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Love that Miles Edgeworth's entire internal monologue during the first few chapters of Ace Attorney must be screeching of, "WHAT??? THEY DID WHAT, WHY DO YOU KNOW THIS, WHY DIDNT THEY TELL ME SHIT?? WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING????" but in a sophisticated way. It's like when Frankenstein has a mental breakdown in the book but about the legal system; he got one in on Wright and it was the updated autopsy report and then never again. This man is in shamble rn

#No spoilers for me pls Im only on steel samurai at the moment

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theaceofdragons · 11 months

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Have a weird little Royai modern fantasy AU excerpt

(I'm feeling really bad about myself as a writer and I want to share something I actually like. If you like it too, please let me know because I could seriously use the dopamine boost)

Thank you to @goneadrift and @dairogo for useful comments!

Good morning, this is Oakenwald University Radio and I'm Kain Fuery. As most of you already know, a body was found last night on the edge of campus, between April and Cadwallis Streets. We have an update from the Resembool County Police, who suspect the death wasn't accidental. They'll be releasing the victim's name once the family has been notified, and there was no comment on whether this could be related to the library break-in. We'll keep you updated as we learn more, and students and faculty are encouraged to keep an eye on your phones and email and listen to this station for updates, and to travel in groups and follow instructions from campus security. If you have any information that might be useful to the investigation, please call ###-###-####. Evening classes will be online for at least the next week, so check your email for details. We'll have an interview with Julie Adler from campus security at one this afternoon, and we'll be discussing how you can stay safe on campus and in town.

Resembool County Courier, May 5th, 20XX

Body Found on Oakenwald Campus Identified

Police have identified the man found dead on the Oakenwald campus on Sunday.

63-year-old Berthold Hawkeye's identity was released this afternoon after police were unable to locate his next of kin. Police also confirmed that Dr. Hawkeye's death was not a result of natural causes, and that they had reason to believe it was also not a "random event." Detectives are continuing to investigate, and say there is currently no suspect information. Anyone with pertinent information, or who saw or heard anything suspicious Sunday night, should call ###-###-####.

Correction (1:32PM): An earlier version of this article referred to Dr. Hawkeye as Mr. Hawkeye.

ROY MUSTANG, 2:08 PM

Do you remember when I told you about Riza?

MAES HUGHES, 2:08 PM

I don't think so

Wait is that the girl who went missing

ROY MUSTANG, 2:08 PM

Yeah.

The dead man they found was her father.

MAES HUGHES, 2:09 PM

Didn't see that coming

Did you look for her this year

ROY MUSTANG, 2:11 PM

I did my annual social media sweep

The police couldn't find her either.

MAES HUGHES, 2:12 PM

I'm sorry, Roy

Do you want to talk?

ROY MUSTANG, 2:15 PM

I have to finish this paper.

MAES HUGHES, 2:15PM

Call me any time.

Resemblool County Medical Examiner's Office - Autopsy Report

AUTOPSY REPORT PERFORMED BY: Sarah Rockbell, MD

…cause of death appears to be a single stab wound at the midline, the force of the blow fractured the sternum. Further examination revealed roots embedded into the subject’s heart, which has been sent for DNA testing to confirm it is that of the decedent. Further assessment is on hold pending preliminary results…

CAUSE OF DEATH: Terminal damage to organs

Death Notices

Berthold Hawkeye, 63, passed away May 4th in Fieldstone, where he had previously spent five years as an assistant professor of physics at Oakenwald University. He is remembered by colleagues as a unique and brilliant man. Dr. Hawkeye is preceded in death by his wife, Nicola, with whom he has one daughter, Riza.

A memorial will be held Wednesday, March 7, at Oakenwald University’s Paracelsus Garden.

UNKNOWN NUMBER, 7:21 PM

This is Riza Hawkeye. I'm at the bus depot off E-23 and I need help. I wouldn't be bothering you if it wasn't an emergency. Can you help me?

ROY MUSTANG, 7:21 PM

This isn't funny and you have extremely bad timing

UNKNOWN NUMBER, 7:23 PM

When you were thirteen you wanted to ask a boy out and I told you the line you had planned sounded more like a marriage proposal. You got annoyed at me because you would never marry someone who couldn't even [INSERT SCIENCE THING] and gave me a serious talk about how important a commitment marriage is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER, 7:28 PM

I'm almost out of data on this prepaid. Will you help me?

ROY MUSTANG, 7:28 PM

I'm on my way

#fic snippet #my fic #royai #fullmetal alchemist #fanfiction #urban fantasy AU

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curvascirea · 5 months

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Hamas rapes on 7th October

By Jeffrey Gettleman, Anat Schwartz and Adam Sella

Photographs by Avishag Shaar-Yashuv

Jeffrey Gettleman, Anat Schwartz and Adam Sella reported from across Israel and interviewed more than 150 people.

Dec. 28, 2023 Updated 1:23 p.m. ET

At first, she was known simply as “the woman in the black dress.”

In a grainy video, you can see her, lying on her back, dress torn, legs spread, vagina exposed. Her face is burned beyond recognition and her right hand covers her eyes.

The video was shot in the early hours of Oct. 8 by a woman searching for a missing friend at the site of the rave in southern Israel where, the day before, Hamas terrorists massacred hundreds of young Israelis.

The video went viral, with thousands of people responding, desperate to know if the woman in the black dress was their missing friend, sister or daughter.

One family knew exactly who she was — Gal Abdush, mother of two from a working-class town in central Israel, who disappeared from the rave that night with her husband.

As the terrorists closed in on her, trapped on a highway in a line of cars of people trying to flee the party, she sent one final WhatsApp message to her family: “You don’t understand.”

Based largely on the video evidence — which was verified by The New York Times — Israeli police officials said they believed that Ms. Abdush was raped, and she has become a symbol of the horrors visited upon Israeli women and girls during the Oct. 7 attacks.

Israeli officials say that everywhere Hamas terrorists struck — the rave, the military bases along the Gaza border and the kibbutzim — they brutalized women.

A two-month investigation by The Times uncovered painful new details, establishing that the attacks against women were not isolated events but part of a broader pattern of gender-based violence on Oct. 7.

Relying on video footage, photographs, GPS data from mobile phones and interviews with more than 150 people, including witnesses, medical personnel, soldiers and rape counselors, The Times identified at least seven locations where Israeli women and girls appear to have been sexually assaulted or mutilated.

Four witnesses described in graphic detail seeing women raped and killed at two different places along Route 232, the same highway where Ms. Abdush’s half-naked body was found sprawled on the road at a third location.

And The Times interviewed several soldiers and volunteer medics who together described finding more than 30 bodies of women and girls in and around the rave site and in two kibbutzim in a similar state as Ms. Abdush’s — legs spread, clothes torn off, signs of abuse in their genital areas.

Many of the accounts are difficult to bear, and the visual evidence is disturbing to see.

The Times viewed photographs of one woman’s corpse that emergency responders discovered in the rubble of a besieged kibbutz with dozens of nails driven into her thighs and groin.

The Times also viewed a video, provided by the Israeli military, showing two dead Israeli soldiers at a base near Gaza who appeared to have been shot directly in their vaginas.

Hamas has denied Israel’s accusations of sexual violence. Israeli activists have been outraged that the United Nations Secretary General, António Guterres, and the agency U.N. Women did not acknowledge the many accusations until weeks after the attacks.

Investigators with Israel’s top national police unit, Lahav 433, have been steadily gathering evidence but they have not put a number on how many women were raped, saying that most are dead — and buried — and that they will never know. No survivors have spoken publicly.

The Israeli police have acknowledged that, during the shock and confusion of Oct. 7, the deadliest day in Israeli history, they were not focused on collecting semen samples from women’s bodies, requesting autopsies or closely examining crime scenes. At that moment, the authorities said, they were intent on repelling Hamas and identifying the dead.

A combination of chaos, enormous grief and Jewish religious duties meant that many bodies were buried as quickly as possible. Most were never examined, and in some cases, like at the rave scene, where more than 360 people were slaughtered in a few hours, the bodies were hauled away by the truckload.

That has left the Israeli authorities at a loss to fully explain to families what happened to their loved ones in their final moments. Ms. Abdush’s relatives, for instance, never received a death certificate. They are still searching for answers.

In cases of widespread sexual violence during a war, it is not unusual to have limited forensic evidence, experts said.

“Armed conflict is so chaotic,” said Adil Haque, a Rutgers law professor and war crimes expert. “People are more focused on their safety than on building a criminal case down the road.”

Very often, he said, sex crime cases will be prosecuted years later on the basis of testimony from victims and witnesses.

“The eyewitness might not even know the name of the victim,” he added. “But if they can testify as, ‘I saw a woman being raped by this armed group,’ that can be enough.”

‘Screams without words’

Sapir, a 24-year-old accountant, has become one of the Israeli police’s key witnesses. She does not want to be fully identified, saying she would be hounded for the rest of her life if her last name were revealed.

She attended the rave with several friends and provided investigators with graphic testimony. She also spoke to The Times. In a two-hour interview outside a cafe in southern Israel, she recounted seeing groups of heavily armed gunmen rape and kill at least five women.

She said that at 8 a.m. on Oct. 7, she was hiding under the low branches of a bushy tamarisk tree, just off Route 232, about four miles southwest of the party. She had been shot in the back. She felt faint. She covered herself in dry grass and lay as still as she could.

About 15 meters from her hiding place, she said, she saw motorcycles, cars and trucks pulling up. She said that she saw “about 100 men,” most of them dressed in military fatigues and combat boots, a few in dark sweatsuits, getting in and out of the vehicles. She said the men congregated along the road and passed between them assault rifles, grenades, small missiles — and badly wounded women.

“It was like an assembly point,” she said.

The first victim she said she saw was a young woman with copper-color hair, blood running down her back, pants pushed down to her knees. One man pulled her by the hair and made her bend over. Another penetrated her, Sapir said, and every time she flinched, he plunged a knife into her back.

She said she then watched another woman “shredded into pieces.” While one terrorist raped her, she said, another pulled out a box cutter and sliced off her breast.

“One continues to rape her, and the other throws her breast to someone else, and they play with it, throw it, and it falls on the road,” Sapir said.

She said the men sliced her face and then the woman fell out of view. Around the same time, she said, she saw three other women raped and terrorists carrying the severed heads of three more women.

Sapir provided photographs of her hiding place and her wounds, and police officials have stood by her testimony and released a video of her, with her face blurred, recounting some of what she saw.

Yura Karol, a 22-year-old security consultant, said he was hiding in the same spot, and he can be seen in one of Sapir’s photos. He and Sapir were part of a group of friends who had met up at the party. In an interview, Mr. Karol said he barely lifted his head to look at the road but he also described seeing a woman raped and killed.

Since that day, Sapir said, she has struggled with a painful rash that spread across her torso, and she can barely sleep, waking up at night, heart pounding, covered in sweat.

“That day, I became an animal,” she said. “I was emotionally detached, sharp, just the adrenaline of survival. I looked at all this as if I was photographing them with my eyes, not forgetting any detail. I told myself: I should remember everything.”

That same morning, along Route 232 but in a different location about a mile southwest of the party area, Raz Cohen — a young Israeli who had also attended the rave and had worked recently in the Democratic Republic of Congo training Congolese soldiers — said that he was hiding in a dried-up streambed. It provided some cover from the assailants combing the area and shooting anyone they found, he said in an hour-and-a-half interview in a Tel Aviv restaurant.

Maybe 40 yards in front of him, he recalled, a white van pulled up and its doors flew open.

He said he then saw five men, wearing civilian clothes, all carrying knives and one carrying a hammer, dragging a woman across the ground. She was young, naked and screaming.

“They all gather around her,” Mr. Cohen said. “She’s standing up. They start raping her. I saw the men standing in a half circle around her. One penetrates her. She screams. I still remember her voice, screams without words.”

“Then one of them raises a knife,” he said, “and they just slaughtered her.”

Shoam Gueta, one of Mr. Cohen’s friends and a fashion designer, said the two were hiding together in the streambed. He said he saw at least four men step out of the van and attack the woman, who ended up “between their legs.” He said that they were “talking, giggling and shouting,” and that one of them stabbed her with a knife repeatedly, “literally butchering her.”

Hours later, the first wave of volunteer emergency medical technicians arrived at the rave site. In interviews, four of them said that they discovered bodies of dead women with their legs spread and underwear missing — some with their hands tied by rope and zipties — in the party area, along the road, in the parking area and in the open fields around the rave site.

Jamal Waraki, a volunteer medic with the nonprofit ZAKA emergency response team, said he could not get out of his head a young woman in a rawhide vest found between the main stage and the bar.

“Her hands were tied behind her back,” he said. “She was bent over, half naked, her underwear rolled down below her knees.”

Yinon Rivlin, a member of the rave’s production team who lost two brothers in the attacks, said that after hiding from the killers, he emerged from a ditch and made his way to the parking area, east of the party, along Route 232, looking for survivors.

Near the highway, he said, he found the body of a young woman, on her stomach, no pants or underwear, legs spread apart. He said her vagina area appeared to have been sliced open, “as if someone tore her apart.”

Similar discoveries were made in two kibbutzim, Be’eri and Kfar Aza. Eight volunteer medics and two Israeli soldiers told The Times that in at least six different houses, they had come across a total of at least 24 bodies of women and girls naked or half naked, some mutilated, others tied up, and often alone.

A paramedic in an Israeli commando unit said that he had found the bodies of two teenage girls in a room in Be’eri.

One was lying on her side, he said, boxer shorts ripped, bruises by her groin. The other was sprawled on the floor face down, he said, pajama pants pulled to her knees, bottom exposed, semen smeared on her back.

Because his job was to look for survivors, he said, he kept moving and did not document the scene. Neighbors of the two girls killed — who were sisters, 13 and 16 — said their bodies had been found alone, separated from the rest of their family.

The Israeli military allowed the paramedic to speak with reporters on the condition that he not be identified because he serves in an elite unit.

Many of the dead were brought to the Shura military base, in central Israel, for identification. Here, too, witnesses said they saw signs of sexual violence.

Shari Mendes, an architect called up as a reserve soldier to help prepare the bodies of female soldiers for burial, said she had seen four with signs of sexual violence, including some with “a lot of blood in their pelvic areas.”

A dentist, Captain Maayan, who worked at the same identification center, said that she had seen at least 10 bodies of female soldiers from Gaza observation posts with signs of sexual violence.

Captain Maayan asked to be identified only by her rank and surname because of the sensitivity of the subject. She said she had seen several bodies with cuts in their vaginas and underwear soaked in blood and one whose fingernails had been pulled out.

The investigation

The Israeli authorities have no shortage of video evidence from the Oct. 7 attacks. They have gathered hours of footage from Hamas body cameras, dashcams, security cameras and mobile phones showing Hamas terrorists killing civilians and many images of mutilated bodies.

But Moshe Fintzy, a deputy superintendent and senior spokesman of Israel’s national police, said, “We have zero autopsies, zero,” making an O with his right hand.

In the aftermath of the attack, police officials said, forensic examiners were dispatched to the Shura military base to help identify the hundreds of bodies — Israeli officials say around 1,200 people were killed that day.

The examiners worked quickly to give the agonized families of the missing a sense of closure and to determine, by a process of elimination, who was dead and who was being held hostage in Gaza.

According to Jewish tradition, funerals are held promptly. The result was that many bodies with signs of sexual abuse were put to rest without medical examinations, meaning that potential evidence now lies buried in the ground. International forensic experts said that it would be possible to recover some evidence from the corpses, but that it would be difficult.

Mr. Fintzy said Israeli security forces were still finding imagery that shows women were brutalized. Sitting at his desk at an imposing police building in Jerusalem, he swiped open his phone, tapped and produced the video of the two soldiers shot in the vagina, which he said was recorded by Hamas gunmen and recently recovered by Israeli soldiers.

A colleague sitting next to him, Mirit Ben Mayor, a police chief superintendent, said she believed that the brutality against women was a combination of two ferocious forces, “the hatred for Jews and the hatred for women.”

Some emergency medical workers now wish they had documented more of what they saw. In interviews, they said they had moved bodies, cut off zip ties and cleaned up scenes of carnage. Trying to be respectful to the dead, they inadvertently destroyed evidence.

Many volunteers working for ZAKA, the emergency response team, are religious Jews and operate under strict rules that command deep respect for the dead.

“I did not take pictures because we are not allowed to take pictures,” said Yossi Landau, a ZAKA volunteer. “In retrospect, I regret it.”

There are at least three women and one man who were sexually assaulted and survived, according to Gil Horev, a spokesman for Israel’s Ministry of Welfare and Social Affairs. “None of them has been willing to come physically for treatment,” he said. Two therapists said they were working with a woman who was gang raped at the rave and was in no condition to talk to investigators or reporters.

The trauma from sexual assault can be so heavy that sometimes survivors do not speak about it for years, several rape counselors said.

“Many people are looking for the golden evidence, of a woman who will testify about what happened to her. But don’t look for that, don’t put this pressure on this woman,” said Orit Sulitzeanu, executive director of the Association of Rape Crisis Centers in Israel. “The corpses tell the story.”

The woman in the black dress

One of the last images of Ms. Abdush alive — captured by a security camera mounted on her front door — shows her leaving home with her husband, Nagi, at 2:30 a.m. on Oct. 7 for the rave.

He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. She was dressed in a short black dress, a black shawl tied around her waist and combat boots. As she struts out, she takes a swig from a glass (her brother-in-law remembers it was Red Bull and vodka) and laughs.

You’ve got to live life like it’s your last moments. That was her motto, her sisters said.

At daybreak, hundreds of terrorists closed in on the party from several directions, blocking the highways leading out. The couple jumped into their Audi, dashing off a string of messages as they moved.

“We’re on the border,” Ms. Abdush wrote to her family. “We’re leaving.”

“Explosions.”

Her husband made his own calls to his family, leaving a final audio message for his brother, Nissim, at 7:44 a.m. “Take care of the kids,” he said. “I love you.”

Gunshots rang out, and the message stopped.

That night, Eden Wessely, a car mechanic, drove to the rave site with three friends and found Ms. Abdush sprawled half naked on the road next to her burned car, about nine miles north of the site. She did not see the body of Mr. Abdush.

She saw other burned cars and other bodies, and shot videos of several — hoping that they would help people to identify missing relatives. When she posted the video of the woman in the black dress on her Instagram story, she was deluged with messages.

“Hi, based on your description of the woman in the black dress, did she have blonde hair?” one message read.

“Eden, the woman you described with the black dress, do you remember the color of her eyes?” another said.

Some members of the Abdush family saw that video and another version of it filmed by one of Ms. Wessely’s friends. They immediately suspected that the body was Ms. Abdush, and based on the way her body was found, they feared that she might have been raped.

But they kept alive a flicker of hope that somehow, it wasn’t true.

The videos caught the eye of Israeli officials as well — very quickly after Oct. 7 they began gathering evidence of atrocities. They included footage of Ms. Abdush’s body in a presentation made to foreign governments and media organizations, using Ms. Abdush as a representation of violence committed against women that day.

A week after her body was found, three government social workers appeared at the gate of the family’s home in Kiryat Ekron, a small town in central Israel. They broke the news that Ms. Abdush, 34, had been found dead.

But the only document the family received was a one-page form letter from Israel’s president, Isaac Herzog, expressing his condolences and sending a hug. The body of Mr. Abdush, 35, was identified two days after his wife’s. It was badly burned and investigators determined who he was based on a DNA sample and his wedding ring.

The couple had been together since they were teenagers. To the family, it seems only yesterday that Mr. Abdush was heading off to work to fix water heaters, a bag of tools slung over his shoulder, and Ms. Abdush was cooking up mashed potatoes and schnitzel for their two sons, Eliav, 10, and Refael, 7.

The boys are now orphans. They were sleeping over at an aunt’s the night their parents were killed. Ms. Abdush’s mother and father have applied for permanent custody, and everyone is chipping in to help.

Night after night, Ms. Abdush’s mother, Eti Bracha, lies in bed with the boys until they drift off. A few weeks ago, she said she tried to quietly leave their bedroom when the younger boy stopped her.

“Grandma,” he said, “I want to ask you a question.”

“Honey,” she said, “you can ask anything.”

“Grandma, how did mom die?”

#hamas #7 october #israel #read this you fucking hamas apologists

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ddelline · 3 months

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friday fic f*ckery (wip wednesday 2 days late)

blurb | she returns! with updates! later than promised! new cv/sm snippet, after ..... six months :,) well, work kicked my ass, ch236 certainly didn't do any of us any favors, and then I f*cked off to latam for a month of vacation. but I'm back!!! rested, tan (for ca the 2nd time in my life) and freshly (re)inspired. so we can have some cv/sm ch2 snippet, as a treat ;a;

premise | we're entering culling game territory. that's all imma say for now. well ok, not much happens here, I mostly just wanted to show signs of life lol

Satoru is falling.

He’s falling, rapidly dropping from at least half a kilometer skywards. Cursing the inherent capricious fickleness of Prison Realm—Prison Realm, Buddha, Hell incarnate, whom- slash whatever has stuck him in this never ending loop—he rights himself midair, fumbling his graceless way through multi-seals of Red and Blue until he’s maneuvered himself from horizontal to upright. He cushions a dense amount of amplification/reversal beneath the soles of his feet, puffs an audible breath, and looks down.

Beneath his feet stretches a silver-black, opaque barrier. By cursory glance he estimates its radius to at least a handful miles. The skies above are overcast, though bright; the light spearing through the banks of cloud bounces off the barrier, giving its matte gray hull a sheen which flickers and wobbles in stretches of paces and tracts.

The barrier is an obvious giveaway: this is a Culling Game colony. Satoru’s well enough familiar; remembers a stretch of eight sleepless hours in which he’d devoured dossier after dossier of news clippings, incident reports, stat compendiums and autopsies, two weeks into the Culling Games, and a scant forty eight hours post-unsealing. He remembers boring naked eyes into a painstakingly noted, three-dimensional map-cum-graph of the Culling Game territory; affected regions: Tohoku, Kanto, Chūbu, Kansai, Chugoku and Kyushu; confirmed colonies: Aomori, Iwate, Miyagi, Saitama, Chiba, Tokyo, Tokyo, Kanagawa, Yamamashi, Aichi, Shiga, Kyoto, Hyogo, Osaka, Hiroshima and Kagoshima.

Satoru has taken in the broad sweeps of Tokyo’s metropolis from far above one too many times to mistake wherever he is for anywhere closeby. What he chances: a large city along the coast; given his current proximity to an Eastbound shoreline, as well as a considerable expanse of forested areas and roiling, yellow fields eating into the scenery, he’s going to assume he’s either a few hundred kilometers North or South of Tokyo. Maybe Miyagi. Or Chūbu.

The barrier is too dense and too cleverly constructed to allow Satoru to peek through and glean more than the most base information: cityscape and skyline are barely visible, the shapes and contours which oscillate beneath the ripples of the sky-in-the-barrier appear like a mirage out of focus. There is vague movement far below, tiny prickles of dots which move every which way. Every few intervalled seconds reveal noiseless, sepia-tinted flashes. Explosions.

Well. There’s only one way in which he can proceed, unless he’d planned on hightailing it out of there. Which he hadn’t. Satoru, at this point past the point of expecting the worst—and somehow, cyclically, living (dying, really) through it—makes his way downwards warily.

He doesn’t know what to expect, in truth; twenty nine years, an indeterminate number of days, weeks or years inside Prison Realm, plus an unknown bout of days cycling through iterations of timelines which may or may not have actually occurred—he’s been exposed to shoddy veils cracking around the density of his own cursed energy; written tests covering the cursed fundamentals of purification barriers; barrier techniques specifically tailored to keep him excluded from what’s outside, safely contained within.

He doesn’t know what to expect here.

Satoru touches down on the barrier.

“Yo! I’m Kogane!”

If he weren’t blasé about the most outlandish of jujutsu techniques being shoved in his face by now, Satoru wonders if he wouldn’t have reared back into guard. He squints at the cursed spirit which has materialised in his face out of thin air. He’s read himself to the basics of this, but it’s his first time seeing it.

He’s about to reply ad hoc when it continues, voice tinny and clearly electronically scrambled. “The death matches known as the Culling Game are underway inside of this barrier!! Once you step in, you’re a player too!!”

“I—”

“Knowing that, will you go inside anyway!?”

“That’s morbid,” huffs Satoru.

The cursed spirit, Kogane—its structural composition isn’t all curse, atom constellations mashed down somewhere halfway between cursed spirit and inanimate object—undulates and flicks its tail. It doesn’t go on, seemingly content to wait for his reply. It’ll have to be in the affirmative or negative, Satoru guesses. A game interface, then. Curse based, but all in all a tool.

“Sure, I’ll tap in.” What’s adding some more death, decay and public property destruction to his already considerable tally?

Kogane’s tail whips twice, ceasing when it’s a perfunctory line, its arrow-like tip pointing straight into the glassy dome beneath. Beware, ye who enter—but here’s a map, lest you get lost en route to the deathmatch arenas. “Tch, sick bastards,” he mutters.

When it next speaks, its delivery is robotic, flat: “Gojō Satoru has joined the Culling Game. Would you like to review the rules?”

Satoru has already reviewed the rules. Most cold, factual data obtained and recorded on the Culling Game had been cursory at best—and guess work and estimates at worst—Ijichi plus Nitta times two had managed to patchwork sorcerer’s statements, CCTV and aerial scans, and classified government reports into a general debrief: the (probable) how’s, when’s and why’s of the game.

“I’m good,” he says.

Kogane tuts. Mechanical and rote though it may be, it sounds chiding. Then it disappears, flickering twice, its shape disrupted by something static-adjacent until it bleeds out of sight and mind.

“Huh.” Satoru waits on the spot for a few seconds—parses out a few seconds, in case there’s more incoming.

Nothing else happens. He rights himself, and sinks a foot through the barrier.

#work: fic #wip wednesday #current wip #fic: cv/sm #goyuu #we back baby!!!!#jjk

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starryrock · 1 year

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Semi-Spoilers for Chapter 4 VTSOM + PW:AA&Rise From The Ashes

Vincent Edgeworth being a clear allusion to Miles Edgeworth means they will have many clear similarities. They are both lawyers, rich, have similar bangs, and so on. But the one thing that interests me is where they differ.

I’ve had many, many thoughts after watching Let’s Plays of Chapter 4 but what I want to focus on is a part that stuck out to me after I finished watching. It’s the part where Vincent openly admits to having used forged evidence, bribery, and other means to win his cases.

This part truly solidified as a core, thematic difference between these two characters with their relationships of their occupations.

Throughout the Ace Attorney games, we get to see Miles Edgeworth’s character development and his ideals. One of the first things we hear about him is that he’s the “Demon Prosecutor,” unafraid to use whatever means necessary to win a case, including using forged evidence. But throughout the game, and specifically in Rise From The Ashes, we see how untrue that first impression is. While Miles is still willing to be a complete pain in the ass in the courtroom, he never stoops to anything blatantly illegal (within the AA Justice System, that is [Updated Autopsy Report]). Miles refuses to even consider using dirty tactics to win a case. In RFTA, when it’s revealed he was tricked into presenting falsified evidence in the courtroom to get a mass murderer guilty, he just about breaks down. Miles Edgeworth values the truth above all else. He’s been seen to willingly give up his hold on a case just because he’s been shown someone else is the true culprit.

Vincent Edgeworth, on the other hand… is very similar to AA1 Miles. Heavily determined to be the best at what he does, “I’ve never lost a single case I’ve taken on.” Vincent did everything he could to ensure success, he didn’t care about the “truth.” His goal was to ensure the success of his dream company, to be accepted. The regrets don’t seem to stem from the corruption of his actions but from ever joining Myers to begin with. Personally, I have a difficult time deciphering whether he feels guilty about what he’s done: He did it for them, he did it for them, or it was because of them he did it? Vincent seems to cynical of the law due to his own actions but how that ties into what he feels now, I’m not quite sure. What’s certain is that due to his own hand in legal corruption and the torture he went through, he doesn’t place much faith into the legal system to truly bring down justice (or in his case: revenge). Vincent is someone who is willing to stoop to his enemies’ lows to get what he wants.

This is a very long winded way to if Miles Edgeworth and Vincent Edgeworth were to ever meet and have an honest, genuine conversation about the law, Miles would most definitely come out disliking Vincent.

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harmonie-writes · 2 years

Text

The Hunt pt. 2

Werewolf! Wonwoo x hunter! Reader

Summary: After going in different directions to work on different cases, you receive an alarming call. Driving to a small town that has wild nightlife and strange occurrences you begin your search for your missing hunting partner. This case you are about to take on will rival the others you’ve completed in the past. What could possibly happen as you search for your brother in arms?

AN: I love supernatural so a bunch of my ideas for this specific series are from that show!

Warnings: false identity, potential violence, language, depictions of gore, cause of death, alcohol. Story is purely for fictitious purposes and doesn't not portray actual people.

Word count: ~1k

—-------

Previously on The Hunt:

"Somethings just weird Seungcheol," Chan spoke in the phone receiver as he removed his fingers from the blinds as he noticed you get into your car. You came into town dressed in flannels and now you're leaving in a suit.

"Just keep your distance and keep us updated Chan," Seungcheol muttered, as he paced in the living room of the pack house before adding, "and don't get spotted."

—-------

Parking your car in the hospital parking lot you take a deep breath and glance at yourself one last time. You always hated lying, but unfortunately the world is a lot scarier than people are led to believe so a small white lie won't hurt, right?

Walking up to the front desk you spot a lady dressed in scrubs clicking away on the computer. "Hi there, I'm here to go over the body that was recently found with," your eyes catch a photo and name plate behind her, "with Dr. Evans."

"I wasn't aware that Dr. Evans had any appointments today," she responded, as she looked for any appointments on the computer.

"The business with Dr. Evans is," you pause to fish out your badge before showing her, "private."

Slowly she nodded her head before paging the doctor. "Right he will be here shortly, Miss?"

"Keira, Keira Knightley."

"Right, Miss Knightley."

—-------

A set of double doors open to reveal a stoutly man, roughly in his late 40s. "I'm looking for Miss Knightley?"

Standing from your chair you greet the man with a smile and handshake before he leads you to an elevator.

"So, how did this become FBI jurisdiction?"

Tugging on the end of your blazer sleeve you answer, "there have been a rising amount of cases recently in this area, and it's just to help resolve the case before things escalate any further. Trying to avoid any unnecessary attention by the media by stepping in and taking over." You hope he buys your answer.

The man just grumbles under his breath before unlocking a door to the morgue. "Still don't know how these bear attacks are FBI jurisdiction."

"Neither do I. Just trying to do my job," you answer as you follow him to one of the slide tables. Opening the door, Dr. Evans pulls out a table with a covered body on it. Dr. Evans walks over to a small counter and grabs a couple pairs of latex gloves and a folder. Handing you a pair of gloves he proceeds to uncover the poor soul laying on the cold table.

"I'll admit, this is the strangest bear attack I've ever seen. Normally when a bear eats something there isn't much left over other than the bones. This lad is still quite intact, other than the lack of face which would have made him unidentifiable if it weren't for a concerned family member."

Looking over the report in your hand you skim over all the information quickly before eyeing the victim in front of you. From the chin up to the hair line there was nothing, just a gnarly hole, as if each part was chewed or clawed out. This isn't a bear attack, Adam must've found a nest. "Where did they say the body was found?"

"He was found just off a camp trail outside of town, passed route 46. Lots of families go there during the summer since it's pretty nice. As of last year though, several people have gone missing only to either never be found or to end up like this man right here."

Nodding you place the autopsy into the doctor's awaiting hand.

"Thank you for sparing your time with me Dr. Evans," you say while bowing your head slightly. With that you are escorted back to the elevator.

"I'm sure you can see yourself out."

—-------

Sitting in your car you rest your forehead on the steering before letting out a shaky exhale, "Of course it had to be a fucking vampire nest. You just had to find a nest didn't you Adam?" A tired chuckle leaves your lips before you lean back in your seat. Looking over your shoulder you put your car in gear before tearing out of the hospital parking lot back to the motel.

—-------

"Her car finally pulled up," Chan muttered, glancing out the window.

"Who showed up?" Wonwoo asked, after setting down the box he brought in from storage.

"Just some strange person from out of town. They give me some weird vibes. Already let Cheol know them last night," Chan explains as he flips the page of the magazine in front of him.

Dusting his hands off, Wonwoo glances in the direction Chan pointed at, but only managed to see the door closing behind the person in question.

"Anything else you know?"

Huffing, Chan pushed his magazine away from him, "Jun mentioned that they were at the bar last night for dinner. Said something about camping with a friend. Honestly, if you just want to hear about it, ask the person that actually talked to them."

Rolling his eyes, Wonwoo thumped the boy on the back of the head before heading over to Jun's bar.

—-------

Walking into the bar Wonwoo’s eyes scanned the bar before checking the back, the only person showing up being Mingyu.

"I thought Jun was coming in today?"

"Nah," Mingyu shook his head, "he only came in to drop off some stuff we ordered. He's out with Vernon and Soonyoung doing a patrol. You know, trying to deal with that issue."

Nodding slowly, Wonwoo eased his way into the stool. The pack house had been in the property for over a decade and this has been the first time any of them had to deal with something supernatural, besides other werewolves that is. It's put a bit of strain on the pack, trying to maintain normalcy, but also trying to keep their surrounding woods clear of any threat that might come to them.

—-------

Pacing the small expanse of your room, you let out a frustrated groan. It's been almost a week since you got the call, considering you had to drive from Wyoming and do some investigating to figure out what mess Adam had gotten himself into. Gripping the hairs at the back of your head you grumble, "Fuck. It's been long enough for him to have been drained. Worse is if they decide to do a transfusion."

Coming to terms you decide that tonight is the last night you'll be staying in the motel. You have a camping trip to take starting tomorrow morning.

—-------

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