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toadlessgirl · 1 year

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Okay, time to get pretentious and REALLY talk about this shot.

So put on your over-analysis goggles, and let’s talk about the Imperial Cog, Renaissance-era military forts, 18th century prison architecture, the military-industrial complex, the surveillance state, and why this single shot of Mon Mothma standing in a doorway in “Nobody’s Listening!” (the 9th episode of Andor season one) is making me so feral I want to kiss Luke Hull and his entire production design team right on the mouth.

For those of you not in the know - the shape on the screen behind Major Partagaz is the crest of the Galactic Empire - often called the Imperial Cog. It appears throughout Star Wars media on flags, tie fighter helmets, uniforms and as a glowing hologram outside ISB HQ.

In canon it was adapted from the crest of the Galactic Republic.

irl it was created by original trilogy costume designer John Mollo. Mollo has stated that the symbol was inspired by the shape of historical fortifications.

Bastion forts (aka star forts) first appear during the Renaissance with the advent of the cannon. Their shape eliminated blind spots, allowing for a 360 degree field of fire.

An apt metaphor for the Empire. Powerful, imposing and leaving you with nowhere to hide.

The Imperial crest also strongly resembles a gear or cog - hence the common “Imperial Cog” nickname.

Given how inextricably linked military and industry are, it’s also an apt metaphor. Both alluding to the Empire’s massive industrial power, and how it treats all of its citizens with a startling lack of humanity, valuing them only for what they are able to produce for the Empire.

The idea of the cog is repeated in the shape of whatever it is that they’re producing in the prison. They’re literally cogs in the Imperial machine making more cogs for the machine... while inside a larger cog.

This shape, in relation to a prison, also references something else which was almost certainly intentional on the production team’s part.

In the 1791 British philosopher and social theorist Jeremy Bentham proposed a design for a prison he referred to as the “panopticon” - the name derived from the Greek word for “all seeing”.

The basic design for the panopticon was a large circular rotunda of cells with a single watchtower in the center. The plan would allow a single guard to theoretically observe every cell in the prison, but more importantly cause the prisoners to believe they are under surevillance at all times, while never being certain.

Later philosophers (notably Michel Foucault) used the panopticon as a metaphor for social control under totalitarian regimes or surveillance states. The perceived constant surveillance of a panopticon causes prisoners to self-police due to the belief they are always being watched, even if they don’t know for certain that is true. They live in constant fear even if nobody is actually watching them, even if “Nobody’s Listening!”

The idea of the metaphorical panopticon has in more recent years been adapted to many other examples of social control: CCTV, social media and business management...

Like the concept of cubicles in an open floor plan office.

So that all being established - let’s finally talk about Mon Mothma’s apartment.

The cog shape is everywhere. There’s hardly a shot where at least one cog isn’t visible. Every room is connected by cog-shaped doorways.

The shape serves as a backdrop to most scenes, often centered and featured prominently.

(Side Note: The cog also appears as a repeated pattern on room dividers with the interesting added detail of intersecting lines that make them resemble spider webs.

The fact that Mon is often filmed directly through these web-like screens (particularly when conducting rebellion business) leads me to believe that this was a very intentional choice.

Even in the very heart of the Empire the nascent Rebellion is starting to build a web of networks and intelligence.)

I had originally presumed that the repeated appearance of the cog was just Luke Hull and his production team adding some brilliant visual storytelling to their already amazing sets. But the following line from episode ten leads me to believe they intended for these details to have an in-story explanation as well.

When speaking to Tay and Davo Skuldon about the apartment Mon states that “It’s state property. The rules are strict on decor. Our choices for change are limited.”

While it’s unclear whether the “state” in this instance is Mon’s home planet of Chandrila or the Empire itself - that second option makes the decor even more insidious.

If Mon’s apartment is Empire property that means the shape of the doors is intentional in-world, not just for the sake of visual storytelling. It means that this was a conscious decision by the Empire. A reminder to even the richest and most powerful of its citizens that they are always watching - whether you can see them or not.

Which brings us back to our original shot.

My favorite thing about this shot isn’t just that is shows how very alone Mon Mothma is.

It isn’t just that she’s in the heart of the Empire, surrounded and dwarfed - just another cog in their machine.

It isn’t just that’s she trapped in her own metaphorical prison, worrying her self sick about who may be watching, not safe even in her own home.

What makes this shot truly extraordinary to me, is that right in the midst of the Empire you can see a new symbol forming.

Forming with Mon Mothma right at the center.

It’s a bit blocky, still constrained by the the harsh lines of the Empire, but giving how intentional every design decision on this show has been I find it pretty hard to believe it’s there by accident.

A symbol that will one day adorn the helmet of a boy from Tatooine.

One that will come to represent what all rebellions are built on...

#andor #andor spoilers #star wars #HOW IS THIS SHOW SO GOOD?#mon mothma #production design #history #long post #whose extensive knowledge of star wars and the history of the criminal justice system is useless now MOM

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fafnir19 · 2 months

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Sailing the other way

Lauritz' sister's fiance Samuel and him were very different. Samuel, the suave and sophisticated heir to a wealthy family, always seemed to have the world at his fingertips.

Lauritz, on the other hand, was a rebellious and free-spirited punker who didn't quite fit in with the conventional lifestyle his family wanted for him.

Despite their differences, Samuel and Lauritz got along surprisingly well. Their interactions were a peculiar blend of class and nonconformity that created a magnetic dynamic between them. It was on the cusp of Samuel's impending wedding that an unconventional idea began to take shape.

"Ey, Sam, let's do something wild before your wedding, mate," Lauritz proposed with a glint of mischief in his eyes. Samuel raised an eyebrow, unsure of what adventure Lauritz had in mind this time. "What did you have in mind, Lauritz? Last time your 'wild' idea led to us spending a night in a police cell in Amsterdam." Lauritz replied: “Vegas would be cool, but at the end of the day it’s your bachelor party. I'll do whatever you want!" Flashing a boyish grin, Samuel draped an arm around Lauritz's shoulders. "I want to take our boat out and sail across the Baltic Sea. It'll be an epic journey filled with freedom and salt-kissed air. You in?" Lauritz, with his unconventional mohawk and punk attire, looked askance at Samuel. "Sailing? That's a bit, you know, bourgeois for my taste," he quipped, adjusting the studded leather jacket slung over his shoulder. Smirking, Samuel continued, "Nonsense! It's summer, and what better way to enjoy some fresh sea air? Besides, it’ll be an adventure, and it'll please the in-laws to see you refining your tastes." Lauritz's parents, along with Samuel's family, were indeed relieved by the prospect. "Better than if you were hanging out with those punkers," his mother had remarked with a grateful smile. With their bags packed and spirits high, Samuel and Lauritz boarded Samuel's family's mahogany sailboat bound for Helsinki.

The sun's golden gaze kissed the cerulean waves, casting a mesmerizing glow upon the Baltic Sea. "Ah, this is the life, isn't it?" Samuel exclaimed, his gaze sweeping over the glittering expanse of the sea. Lauritz nodded, a wry smile playing on his lips. "It's not as terrible as I imagined. But still, wouldn't you rather be planning your wedding festivities than gallivanting with me?" Samuel chuckled, adjusting his nautical cap. "Oh, come now, my dear Lauritz. We have the rest of our lives for all that. Let's revel in the freedom while we can. Besides, you're not so bad to have around, even for a punker." Lauritz feigned offense, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "You wound me with your words, Samuel," he teased. As the ship cuts through the gentle waves, Samuel took Lauritz under his wing, teaching him the art of sailing. Despite his initial skepticism, Lauritz found himself unexpectedly enjoying the experience, reveling in the salty breeze and the rhythmic lull of the waves against the hull. Their journey led them to the enchanting city of St. Petersburg, where the juxtaposition of baroque architecture and Soviet-era relics offered a feast for the eyes.

As they wandered through the labyrinthine streets, the allure of the city enticed Lauritz to explore the more unconventional facets. "I've been thinking," Lauritz began, his voice laced with determination. "I want an eyelet in my ear, like the punks back home. It's about time I made my mark, don't you think?" he declared, pointing to a trendy piercing found amongst the punk subculture.

Samuel's face turned a shade of pale as he frantically tried to dissuade him, envisioning the cocktail of disapproving glares from his in-laws. "Lauritz, you can't just waltz back to the family estate with a hole in your ear. What would my in-laws think? Besides, piercings can lead to infections. How about something more inconspicuous? Like a nipple piercing?" Lauritz let out a laugh, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Oh, Samuel, always thinking about appearances. But where's the fun in that? I want something that screams independence! Something bold." Their banter was interrupted by a raspy cackle that seemed to echo through the narrow alley they were passing. They turned to see an old woman, draped in shawls and adorned with clinking trinkets. Her eyes glittered with an unsettling intensity as she fixed her gaze on the two friends. "You just have to hold him tight, then we'll circumcise him and I'll make a silver ring out of his foreskin," the old woman mused, her eyes glinting with whimsical certainty. "All you have to do is put this ring on your penis and Lauritz will visually adapt to your taste as long as you wear the ring." Samuel gasped, his mind reeling from the outlandish suggestion. But to his surprise, Lauritz entertained the idea, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "We'll do that, Samuel," Lauritz proclaimed, casting a challenging grin. "After all, you wanted me to do something inconspicuous. What's more inconspicuous than a circumcision?" Despite Samuel's vehement protests, Lauritz remained resolute, and before long, the old woman performed the peculiar ritual, and to their astonishment, the excised foreskin transformed into a shimmering silver ring, which she bestowed upon Lauritz.

Back on the sailboat, Lauritz couldn't contain his mischievous glee as he gazed at the ring. "Now, it's your turn, Samuel. Put the ring over your... You-know-what," he demanded with a sly smirk. Reluctantly, Samuel acquiesced, only to find that, to his bewilderment, nothing seemed to happen.

As the mahogany sailboat gently cut through the azure waves, Samuel and Lauritz lounged on the deck, basking in the warm embrace of the sun. The sea stretched out around them, a shimmering expanse as far as the eye could see, carrying them toward the next port of their Baltic odyssey, the enchanting city of Tallinn. Lauritz sprawled out on the deck, his eyes half-lidded and gazing at the sprawling cityscape of Tallinn ahead, the gentle sea breeze ruffling his hair. Lauritz raised a hand to his shock of green mohawk, only to find something unexpected. Instead of the vibrant strands he had known for years, his fingertips grazed a neat, blonde faded cut with shaved sides.

He let out a surprised chuckle, turning to Samuel with an air of amusement. "Samuel, can you believe it? The old woman's prediction must have come true!" Lauritz proclaimed, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "This silver ring has really worked its magic. Look at this hair!" Samuel's eyes widened, examining Lauritz's transformed hairstyle with disbelief. "But I saw your green hair this morning. You must have cut it just to fool me," Samuel elucidated, struggling to reconcile the inexplicable transformation before his eyes.

Their banter was interrupted by the sight of Tallinn's spires unfolding on the horizon, a tapestry of architectural marvels rising from the coastline. The allure of the city's winding streets beckoned them, and they eagerly embraced the promise of new adventures. In the heart of Tallinn, the cobblestone streets echoed with the lilt of their footsteps as they wandered through the centuries-old alleys adorned with vibrant blooms. They eventually settled into a quaint street café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the gentle breeze. Lauritz, donning a sailing jacket, leaned back against his chair, relishing the warmth of the sun's embrace. With a casual air, he began unbuttoning his jacket, revealing the absence of his usual body hair, a curious discovery that piqued Samuel's interest.

"Lauritz, your... your hair! It's gone," Samuel exclaimed, his eyes widening in incredulity. Lauritz chuckled, his voice laced with a roguish charm. "The magic strikes again, my friend. Behold the power of belief and a touch of enchantment." Samuel watched in awe as the revelation unfolded before him, unable to completely dismiss the inexplicable occurrences that seemed to dance around Lauritz like a whimsical symphony. "You must've shaved this morning to jest with me," Samuel suggested, his tone tinged with skepticism. "This can't be real." "Ah, always the skeptic," Lauritz teased. "But I assure you, this is the handiwork of the ring. It's brought a dash of transformation to my life, hasn't it?"

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting hues of amethyst across the sky, they sailed toward Stockholm. The promise of new adventures and unexpected marvels beckoned them as they set sail toward the Swedish capital. The following morning, Lauritz awoke to the gentle lull of the ship, the rays of the rising sun casting a golden glow upon the skyline.

As he prepared for the day's exploration, his reflection in the mirror above the sink evoked a bout of bewilderment. His eccentric punk ensemble had been replaced by an impeccably tailored ensemble—an unbuttoned shirt and sleek olive-colored pants that exuded an air of refinement and sophistication.

"What in the world?" Lauritz muttered, his eyes widening in sheer disbelief. "Samuel, you won't believe this!" Samuel emerged from the cabin, his eyes immediately falling upon Lauritz's stupefying transformation.

"Samuel, it's happened again! This silver ring is truly astounding," Lauritz exclaimed, his spirit alight with unadulterated glee. "Look at these clothes! I didn't expect the magic to work on my outfit too!" Samuel's incredulity was palpable as he regarded the sight before him. "Lauritz, you must have changed into this outfit while I wasn't looking," Samuel reasoned, his tone laced with skepticism. "It's impossible for a ring to cause all this. Whatsoever, I still think it’s good that you dressed more refined today. After all, we want to have breakfast today at the Grand Hotel, where the Nobel Peace Prizes are usually awarded.”

The mahogany sailboat bobbed gently as it sliced through Stockholm's sun-kissed archipelago en route to Visby on Gotland. Samuel manned the helm, while Lauritz was standing at the bow, his gaze trailing horizon. Suddenly Lauritz went through another unexpected transformation. Lauritz's black jeans and baggy T-shirt shifted seamlessly into a wide-open shirt and tight red shorts, his physique now exuding an athleticism that caught Samuel off guard.

Samuel's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening in disbelief as he beheld the improbable evolution unfurling before him. "Lauritz, what... what in the world is happening? This—this isn't right," Samuel stammered, his voice trembling with an amalgamation of astonishment and concern. "I... I need to put a stop to this. I need to get rid of that ring." Lauritz, amusement dancing in his gaze, placed a supportive hand on Samuel's shoulder. "Come on, Samuel, don't be so quick to stifle the mystery. Embrace the uncertainty," he encouraged, a playful glint in his eyes. "Let's see what more this whimsical journey has in store for us."

As the sailboat glided toward the shores of Gotland, the island exuded an alluring mystique, its ancient ruins and labyrinthine streets promising an adventure both whimsical and enigmatic. Their footsteps echoed through the quaint streets of Visby, framed by structures that stood as timeless testaments to ancient grandeur. The island cast its spell upon them, ensnaring their senses with the echoes of bygone eras and the whimsy of forgotten legends. As they ambled through the cobbled pathways, Lauritz noticed a peculiar shift in the way the islanders regarded him. Warm smiles and nods of acknowledgment replaced the guarded glances that typically followed his punk façade.

"Lauritz, did you notice that?" Samuel inquired, his tone laced with a tinge of wonder. Lauritz nodded, a spark of amazement gleaming in his gaze. "It seems the residents of Visby have taken a shining to me, haven't they? The magic of the ring... it's a wonder indeed." The day waned into a resplendent evening, the sun casting its golden embrace upon the island as a symphony of stars unfurled across the heavens. Samuel and Lauritz reveled in the evening's enchanting tapestry, their thoughts drifting toward the next leg of their Baltic odyssey

The melding of disbelief and marvel lingered in the air, enveloping them in a veil of intrigue, as they embarked on their final leg of the journey toward Copenhagen. Clad in polished tuxedos, they reveled in opulent indulgence. Since Samuel had studied in Copenhagen, he knew how to gain access to the most exclusive establishments with a practiced ease.

Amidst the effervescent allure of the Danish capital, the two friends embraced the revelry of their adventure indulging in the opulence that enveloped them. Their boisterous laughter and animated conversations resounded through the hallowed halls of the city's elite establishments, the allure of upscale soirées and lavish gatherings capturing their spirits in a whirlwind of decadence. "Ah, Copenhagen has a certain allure, doesn't it?" Samuel remarked, a smirk playing on his lips as they strolled through the city's resplendent evening. Lauritz nodded, the vibrant tapestry of revelry and sophistication intoxicating his senses. "It seems your world has its own brand of enchantment, Samuel. I can't deny its appeal."

Samuel watched with an inexplicable mix of astonishment and fascination as the vivacious Lauritz seamlessly embraced the lavish lifestyle that had once appeared incompatible with his punk ethos.

The morning of their departure from Copenhagen arrived, and the sailboat set sail once more, carrying them toward Helsingborg where Samuel will marry Lauritz’ sister. As the sailboat rocked gently over the calm water, Samuel brought up the topic that had been bothering him. “Lauritz, I think it’s time to take the ring off. After all, your sister expects you to look like a punk – even though I prefer your current, charming look,” Samuel announced with solemn weight in his words. Venturing into the cabin, Samuel endeavored to remove the ring, only to be met with an unforeseen predicament.

His fervent words reverberated with unrestrained urgency, "Lauritz, I can't... It won't... It's... I can't remove it! Lauritz, I can't seem to get it off," he called out in distress, his voice wrought with urgency. "It's stuck, and I don't know what to do." Lauritz sprang into action, his touch eliciting a peculiar sensation in Samuel, who found himself thrown off balance by an unexpected surge of arousal - Samuel sported a boner. Before their bewildered eyes, Lauritz's demeanor underwent a subtle shift, his gaze now infused with an alluring allure that took Samuel by surprise. As the unexpected surge of desire enveloped them, Lauritz dropped his shorts, parting his legs with a provocative air.

"Take this opportunity, Samuel. Let's embrace the unexpected," Lauritz uttered with a newfound confidence, the air thick with unspoken desires that coursed between them. Samuel was drawn by the sight and couldn't resist and took the opportunity to penetrate Lauritz. After they made love Lauritz turned to Samuel, a solemn glimmer in his eyes, and whispered, "Samuel, I... I want to stay like this. I don’t want to become a sleazy punker again." Samuel’s breath caught in his throat, his gaze locked with Lauritz's. "What are you saying, Lauritz?" In an unexpected twist of fate, the ring tightened around Samuel's cock, seamlessly merging with his flesh. As the transformation took hold, a sense of undeniable euphoria washed over him. Gazing at Lauritz, a knowing smile curled Samuel's lips. "Tomorrow, I will marry my dream girl. And as her dowry, I received her brother to have fun with. I couldn't be happier." Lauritz chuckled and teased, "I guess even a trip to Las Vegas couldn't have been wilder. Seems like your gay sailing trip turned us both bi.”

The following day, as Samuel stood at the altar, he exchanged vows with his beloved, the echoes of a union hitherto unforeseen threading through the tender fabric of his heart.

And in Lauritz, he found a cherished confidant—a companion bound by the threads of an unexpected journey that would endure far beyond the veil of tradition. As the evening unfurled in all its opulent splendor, Samuel orchestrated a future endowed with an unforeseen serenity. With unwavering determination, he ensured that Lauritz was granted a place at an elite university and provided the resources necessary to flourish—a life enraptured by boundless opportunity.

In the wake of unforeseen revelations, Lauritz embraced the life of a typical, self-assured scion, reveling in the embrace of newfound passions and embarking on an uncharted journey tinged with the allure of possibility.

#male tf #male transformation #personality change #mystery #straight to bi #sailing tf #magic ring #punk to prep

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sharpened--edges · 4 months

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We live in a country where Americans assimilate corpses in their daily comings and goings. Dead blacks are a part of normal life here. Dying in ship hulls, tossed into the Atlantic, hanging from trees, beaten, shot in churches, gunned down by the police, or warehoused in prisons: Historically, there is no quotidian without the enslaved, chained, or dead black body to gaze upon or to hear about or to position a self against. When blacks become overwhelmed by our culture’s disorder and protest (ultimately to our own detriment, because protest gives the police justification to militarize, as they did in Ferguson), the wrong-headed question that is asked is, What kind of savages are we? Rather than, What kind of country do we live in?

Claudia Rankine, “The Condition of Black Life Is One of Mourning," in Rebellious Mourning: The Collective Work of Grief, edited by Cindy Milstein (AK, 2017), p. 29.

#claudia rankine

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tanadrin · 2 months

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This is the Palestinian resistance. It’s not beautiful. It’s not inspiring. It’s desperate and futile and sad. Generation after generation of children, throwing themselves into the path of one of the most brutal military machines in human history, smashing their skulls against its steel hull, mangling their limbs in its treads, thousands of them, for seventy-five years, destroying themselves as they try to face down an engine that simply rolls on over the dying and the dead. These kids were brave, much braver than I’ll ever be. They rose to defend their honour. It’s noble. But stupid beyond belief. Later, Hedges talks to Lieutenant Ayman Ghanm, a Palestinian police officer who says he’s given up on trying to save these boys’ lives. ‘When we tell the boys not to go to the dunes,’ he says, ‘they taunt us as collaborators.’ I began by saying that this is a war without opposing sides. Israel is not actually trying to defeat the resistance; it has no political objectives, just violence. But the same goes for the resistance: they are not, in fact, doing anything to meaningfully resist. Think about what actually happens in Hedges’ story. The Israeli soldiers call through their loudspeakers for the Palestinians to come, come and be killed—and the Palestinians obediently show up. Their resistance is indistinguishable from following orders. The Israeli state wants a certain level of violence from the Palestinians, it actively courts it, and the resistance factions keep doing exactly as they’re told. They teach Palestinian children that the best thing they could do with their lives is lose them. This is not a very healthy attitude, but when you start up your bullshit about the glorious resistance you are part of that sickness. What would actual resistance look like? Maybe it would start with not handing over your life to the enemy. Not climbing up the dunes. In saying all this, I’m obviously breaking one of the biggest taboos on the left, which is that you must not presume to tell Palestinians how to go about their resistance. I might have spent time in Palestine, but I’m not Palestinian. I’m not subjected to the daily nightmare of occupation. Who am I to start preaching? My only reply is this: if the armed resistance factions were resisting sanely and effectively, this kind of taboo wouldn’t need to exist. If there were a better argument for their actions than don’t criticise the victims, you’d be making that one instead. But there isn’t, so you can’t. It’s not a coincidence that the exact same rhetoric is deployed by Israel and its apologists: yes, we’re committing hideous atrocities, but how dare you notice? Who are you to say anything to us? Whoever’s saying it, the fact remains that there is no military path to a free Palestine. This fact is inconvenient and unfair and doesn’t leave much room for the optimism of the will, but that doesn’t make it any less true, and if you think there’s an exemption from unfair truths that’s awarded to especially just causes then you are wrong. Israel has nuclear weapons: it will not be overthrown with small arms and explosives. I don’t think I have the right to condemn violent resistance altogether—but I can reject violent resistance that’s doomed to fail, that achieves nothing and produces nothing except violence for its own sake. Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad claim to be fighting for an Islamic republic, in which Jews will be free to live peacefully as long as they don’t dispute the sovereignty of Islam. The PFLP claims to be fighting a revolutionary people’s war for a liberated workers’ state. Their critics say that both are actually fighting for an unlimited genocide, the death of every single Jew in Israel. But what difference does it make? This is all make-believe! None of it matters, because none of it is ever actually going to happen! They’re not fighting for anything at all. They’re just fighting.

This is a good essay in general, but this point draws out something I think is important: the need to believe that, if there is a group of Bad Guys in a conflict, doing Bad Things, there must be an opposing group of Good Guys doing Good Things. But there's no law of the universe that says it must be so; mostly there's just the churn of senseless, sickening violence, to no useful or redemptive end.

#israel #palestine #gaza #the world is not a morality play #and you cannot slaughter your way to utopia

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ukrfeminism · 2 months

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Non-contact sex offences must be punished more harshly because flashers and voyeurs can turn into rapists, the mother of murdered student Libby Squire has said.

Libby, 21, was abducted, raped and murdered while walking home from a club in Hull in 2019.

Her killer, Pawel Relowicz, had committed other sexual crimes in the city's student area, watching young women through windows and breaking into their homes to steal intimate items.

Libby's mother, Lisa, told Sky News' The UK Tonight With Sarah-Jane Mee there was "quite clearly an escalation from the lower sort of crimes, right up until the weekend before he killed her, where he had escalated quite significantly".

Relowicz exposed himself to Libby just weeks before killing her, Mrs Squire believes.

She is now urging women to report non-contact offences, because that is the "only way we can spot them".

"Reporting is a massive part of it," she said. "And actually then taking action - the police taking action."

'Normal men don't do these things'

Mrs Squire added: "You're not making something out of nothing. It's not normal behaviour. Normal men don't do these things.

"It really is a big deal - the term lower-level sex offences diminishes it. They are sex offences. We need to completely change the way we look at these things and our attitudes towards them."

Speaking to MPs, Mrs Squire said sentencing needs to be harsher.

"It's a slap on the wrist for the majority of people if they're caught," she said. "It needs to be taken as the really serious offence it is.

"A short sharp slap is not going to work."

'I don't think he should ever get out of prison'

Mrs Squire told Sky News her daughter's killer, who was given a minimum term of 27 years, should never get out of prison.

"Originally, I wasn't really bothered about the sentence," she said. "That's definitely changed now. I don't think he should ever get out of prison.

"When he comes out, he'll be in his early fifties. He'll have the chance to travel, to maybe marry again, to have children, to have a job.

"He can do all those things that Libby never had the chance to do.

"Everybody knows you don't kill. You don't do that. So if you do that to me, you should then forfeit your life by spending the rest of it in prison."

Mrs Squire also believes that Relowicz may offend again, if and when he is released - after being incarcerated with other sex offenders.

"His life will be all about sex offences and I can't see any reason why he wouldn't come out and re-offend," she said.

#Articles #MVAWG #law

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ellewritesalright · 10 months

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Overboard

Nikolai Lantsov x reader

A/N: Hello! This is a request from @lareinaa007. It's set in Nikolai's Sturmhond years. Hope y'all enjoy!!

Request: Request for Nikolai Lantsov based on KOS? Basically its reader who falls into the water and Nikolai has to dive in to save her. You can adjust the story however you see fit!

Synopsis: When you get knocked off the railing of the Volkvolny, your captain dives in after you.

Warnings: Fighting, blood, gunshots/gunwound, stormy weather on the sea, swimming in dangerous waters, mentions of illness and wounds, and idk what else. Fluff.

Word Count: 1800

..........

Nikolai hadn’t meant for this to happen. It was a simple case of fishing without a license gone wrong. He still maintained the sentiment that he should not need a license if his ship was as far from land as it was. But regardless of his opinion, now a Fjerdan fishing hauler was on the Volkvolny’s tail, chasing the schooner like it was meant to police the waters.

Perhaps it was, his mind mused. He had an annoyed frown as he stood at the helm of his ship. Perhaps it was a ship in the fleet of The Top Secret Fjerdan Fish Police.

Whatever that hauler was, Nikolai was determined not to get caught, and he had the Squallers and Tidemakers at full power as they whipped across the waves as fast as they could.

He glanced at the deck and his sailors. His eyes landed on you, his very best Squaller and occasional focus of his flirtations. You laughed him off every time he’d say something mildly suggesstive or smile coyly at you, but he never failed to notice you staring at him softly across the deck or glancing at him and quickly glancing away during mealtimes.

Right now you kept your arms raised to control the masts as you backed up toward him.

“We should be taking the offensive,” you said, voice raised to travel above the noise all around and grace Nikolai’s ears. “Two Squallers and I can slow the hauler down if we turn their wind against them.”

“That’s brilliant!” He beamed at you.

“I know,” you said, a pleased grin on your face. Saints, he liked your grin.

You followed through with this plan, stepping up to the very back of the Volkvony with two more Squallers. A few looks over his shoulder confirmed that the gap between the Fjerdan ship and the Volkvolny was steadily growing. All because of you, his clever Squaller.

But it was when shots rang out that he got a little worried. He whipped around, seeing the hauler suddenly gaining as the triad of Squallers at the stern ducked down to avoid a quick array of gunfire.

And it was when he noticed you double over that he got a lot worried. He spotted blood coming from a small, bullet-shaped wound in your arm. But despite your pain, you gritted your teeth and stood again as best as you could, raising your arms to work against the hauler.

But nearby Nikolai, a Tidemaker was thrown off balance from dodging the shooting, and the ship suddenly lurched.

Nikolai watched in horror as you tumbled off the stern of the ship, falling down into the sea. Ordinarily, he would have had a buoy lowered and someone would have rowed out to fish you from the water, but this was not an ordinary moment. The water was more than a little choppy today, hell-bent on sinking the Volkvolny, and the temperature of it was no doubt colder than he could fathom due to the northern location. And then there was the trouble of the furious Fjerdan fishing hauler chasing them.

The Fjerdan ship was not quite as quick as the Volkvolny, but it would still follow its path. If you didn’t clear out of the way of the hauler, you would drown under the weight of its hull. And you couldn’t swim at full capability because of the bullet in your arm. He had to help you.

Without a second thought, he stripped off his heavy coat and dove off the back of the Volkvolny.

He hit the waves with a jolt, feeling the icy water permeate his veins. Just as he thought, it was unfathomably cold. He could see you just a few yards away from him, struggling to stay afloat in the high waves around you. He started to swim toward you, kicking as strongly as he could against the furious water.

The waves rose, and he lost sight of you, but he kept pushing. He went harder, kicking his legs forcefully as he sought you in the water. The waves lowered again and he found you once more, just a few paces from him.

He breathed in his relief as he made contact with you, helping you float in the treacherous waves.

"You shouldn't have come for me!" You scolded him, your voice sounding hoarse from the cold.

"I'm not leaving you."

This was all he said as he started swimming the two of you through the dangerously tall waves. You stayed quiet besides a few grunts of pain from the bullet wound in your arm. As best as you could, you helped him kick, then suddenly the two of you felt a boost in the water, a gentle nudging towards the Volkvolny. No doubt one of the Tidemakers was trying to save you and the captain.

The Fjerdan hauler was still hot on your trails, but that was the least of either of your worries right now as you both pushed through the waves. A rope was lowered off the side of the Volkvolny, and Nikolai directed the two of you to it. He secured the rope around you first, then looped it around himself. As the rope raised you out of the water, Nikolai held you close.

When you finally reached the deck, Nikolai took a moment to look you over for any more injuries besides the bullet wound in your arm. Both of you were shivering from your harrowingly cold swim, but Nikolai needed to make sure you were safe. His eyes were concerned as he checked on you. He had a small, almost pouty frown on his lips as he brushed his hand along your forehead and looked into your eyes.

It was only when Tolya came to you and began heartrending to staunch your bleeding that Nikolai left your side. You watched him cross the deck, picking up his teal coat where he discarded it. He slung it over his shoulders and continued giving orders to his crew as they fought back the Fjerdan hauler.

Tolya ushered you below deck but you grabbed his arm, catching his attention. "Make sure someone looks over him too. Please." You told him. "I know he's just as freezing as I am, he could catch his death."

Tolya nodded, and then you went below deck to the infirmary corner.

……….

Hours later, when the Volkvolny was miles and miles away from that hauler, and the crew was putting the ship back to right, Nikolai went below deck. He found you in your usual cot, wrappings around your arm as you laid back for a rest. When you noticed him he gave you a polite nod.

"All fixed up?" He spoke almost timidly.

"For the most part. I've got a fair bit of salt water in my lungs, though," you joked half-heartedly.

He cracked a smile.

You sat up a bit more, wincing as you put pressure on your arm. Nikolai was quick to rush to your side, helping you lean up, but you swatted at him a bit. He stepped back again.

"You shouldn't have done that today," you said quietly.

"Fishing without a license is a stupid rule, and I will not let the Fjerdans push me around–"

"That's not what I'm talking about," you interjected, giving him a look.

Nikolai took a beat, then he sat down on the edge of your cot. "I wasn't going to leave you."

"You put the crew in danger, you put yourself in danger, Sturmhond. You can't go rescuing every person who goes overboard--I mean, what if that hauler had caught up to us? What if it killed us?" You sighed, looking away from him. "Then the ship would be without a captain, and there would be many more casualties on the crew than just a Squaller."

"Don't say that," he whispered, shaking his head.

"What else should I say? You were reckless."

"I'm always reckless."

"Well, today you were worse than usual."

"And yet it worked out, didn't it?" He tilted his head at you. "No lives lost today."

You looked down at your lap, your hands fidgeting together. "Still… the crew needs you."

Nikolai reached for your hands, and you felt an uncontrollable current spread through you from his touch. It warmed you, despite how cold his hands were. His thumb traced along the back of your hand as he looked into your eyes.

"And I need you," he said softly.

Your mouth parted just slightly at his words. The certainty of his voice killed you a bit, but you would be willing to die a thousand times just to hear him say that again and again. I need you. I need you. I need you.

You gripped his hand in return, watching as he slowly smiled at you. You laced your fingers with his, drawing him closer to you.

"Your hands are cold," you said. "I told Tolya to keep an eye out for you. I don't want you catching pneumonia."

"I'm just fine, darling," he smiled, leaning in closer to you. "Better than fine, actually. There's a lovely Squaller holding my hands as we sit in a bed together, things could only go up from here."

He gave you a wink and you scoffed, playfully nudging him back from you. "I'm serious. Did someone check on you?"

"Yes. I'm in good health, I assure you."

You brushed back his damp hair, sighing lightly. "Good."

He leaned into your touch. You were starting to think your favourite sight was his stare as it softened on you; the adoration in his eyes had your heart skipping a beat. He traced his thumb on your hand again.

"I wasn't lying before, or being over dramatic as you sometimes accuse me of," he said quietly, smiling at you. A faint blush crept up his neck. "I need you… Truly and completely."

You held back from grinning too wildly as you met his hopeful eyes. "I need you too."

"Of course you do." He started to smirk. "Who else would have fished your ass out of the sea?"

You rolled your eyes, grinning at full tilt now. "You're ridiculous."

"But you need me."

"And you need me."

"Yes, it's a dreadful situation we've both found ourselves in. If only there was some way to settle this," he said, a flirtatious shimmer in his eyes as he leaned in closer to you.

You met him halfway, kissing him softly. Any residual cold you'd felt from your time in the sea today melted away with his touch.

..........

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Masterlist

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov fic #nikolai lantsov oneshots #grishaverse fanfic

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scotianostra · 3 months

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On February 5th 1941 the S S Politician, with a cargo of whisky, ran aground of the North Shore of the Island of Eriskay.

The SS Politician was an 8000-tonne cargo ship which left Liverpool on the 3rd February 1941 laden with amongst other things 260,000 bottles of whisky, bound for Kingston in Jamaica and New Orleans. The whisky was for the American market and therefore no duty had been paid. She sailed up past the Isle of Man towards the Hebrides where the winds increased to gale force.

On the morning of 5th February a young man was combing a beach in South Uist when he saw the ship in trouble and beginning to list. After a valiant struggle by the Captain, Beaconsfield Worthington, to keep his ship on course, the SS Politician eventually ran aground in the storm onto sandbanks off the Isle of Eriskay where she began to flood. Unfortunately as the ship had veered off course an incorrect location was given to the lifeboat crew on Barra. Local islanders were roused and they set forth in a sailing boat to offer assistance to the crew. The lifeboat finally reached the ship and all the crew were rescued.

When the locals learned from the crew exactly what the ship was carrying, a series of illegal salvage operations took place at night, before the customs and excise officials arrived. The islands supplies of whisky had dried up due to war-time rationing, so the islanders periodically helped themselves to some of the 260,000 bottles of whisky before winter weather broke up the ship. Boats came from as far away as Lewis as news of the whisky travelled across the Outer Hebrides. No islander regarded it as stealing, as for them the rules of salvage meant that once the bounty was in the sea, it was theirs to rescue.

This of course was not the view of the local customs officer, Charles McColl, who was incensed at the blatant thievery that was going on. Not a penny had been paid in duty for this whisky so Mr McColl whipped up a furore and made an official complaint to the police. Villages were raided and crofts were turned upside down. Bottles were hidden, secreted, or sometimes drunk in order to hide the evidence.

On 26 April at Lochmaddy Sheriff Court a group of men from Barra pleaded guilty to theft and were fined between three and five pounds. Mr McColl was furious at the leniency of the men’s sentences, but the police, being mainly locals themselves, were tired of the bothering the locals who had not, in their minds, done such a bad thing. However, Mr McColl continued his crusade against these illegal salvagers and some of the men were sentenced to up to six weeks in prison in Inverness and Peterhead.

Back at sea, the official salvage attempts were not going too well, and it was eventually decided to let the Politician remain where she was. Mr McColl, who had already estimated that the islanders had stolen 24,000 bottles of whisky, ensured that there would be no more temptation. He applied for, and was granted, permission to explode her hull and as one islander, Angus John Campbell, commented: “Dynamiting whisky. You wouldn’t think there’d be men in the world so crazy as that!”

In 1987 Donald MacPhee, a local South Uist man, found eight bottles of whisky in the wreck. He sold them at auction for £4,000.

The wreck of the SS Politician still lies off the coast of Eriskay, although it is below the water line as winter gales have destroyed the deck and cabins. In 1988 the island got its own ‘legitimate’ pub, named ‘Am Politician’.

The story was used by Compton Mackenzie for his book Whisky Galore, and later for the Ealing Studio comedy by the same name.A remake was released in 2016 starring James Cosmo and Gregor Fisher amongst others, I didn't expect it to be any good, but was pleasantly surprised.

#scotland #scottish #history #outer hebrides #ship wreck #whisky

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justbeingnamaste · 27 days

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Six of the eight gun-toting, drug-dealing migrant squatters busted last week in the Bronx were cut loose without bail — as frustrated neighbors said Tuesday that the unruly, noise crew brought nothing but trouble to the block.

The NYPD collared the squatters — who set up shop across the street from PS 56 inside a multi-family house on Hull Avenue in the borough’s Norwood section — after one of them pointed a 9 mm CZ pistol at someone on the property last Wednesday night, police officials said.

“I see all the gangsters and wannabe gangsters running around here,” one neighbor told The Post.

#Illegals #New York #Coming to a city near YOU !#GUNS #Fentanyl #Gangs #Open Border #FJB

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 2 years

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"Stole for Wedding." Ottawa Citizen. August 10, 1912. Page 13. --- Jas. Brascoupe, the Maniwaki Indian who was arrested over a month ago on a charge of stealing $325, just on the eve of his marriage with a dusky belle from the reserve, will have to postpone the nuptial ceremonies. In the Hull police court Magistrate Goyette found him guilty of the theft charge and sent him to penitentiary for two years. Before being sentenced, Brascoupe after pleading not guilty and giving evidence in the witness box on his own behalf, during the trial, broke down and admitted his guilt, adding as an excuse that he stole the money to enable him to get married. Magistrate Goyette told a Brascoupe that on his own admission he had been guilty of perjury and that his marriage was no excuse for stealing.

#maniwaki #gatineau #hull #perjury #theft #dowry #police court #kitigan zibi anishinabeg #kitigan zibi #first nations #indigenous people #sentenced to the penitentiary #st vincent de paul penitentiary #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada

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newbie-whovian · 2 years

Note

May I request ten x reader where ten meets someone (reader) who he thought he lost in the time war but they were just displaced in time. When they Rematerialize the TARDIS recognizes them and instead of taking the doctor to where he wanted to go it takes him to readers location and when ten sees her it’s like angst fluff? Because ten thought he would never see her again and that he was the last of the Time lords but she’s right there!! Sorry I’ve had this in my mind for a while lol

(Thank you for the request!! Ten is so great, I hope I've written him well)

Lost and Found - The Tenth Doctor x Reader

The Daleks were coming; the city's defenses had finally fallen, and the Doctor was nowhere to be found.

You ran through the ravaged streets of your home, hearing distant gravelly screeches of 'exterminate!' growing steadily closer. You shouted, "Doctor! Where in the hell are you?" as you turned corner after corner, and after what felt like an eternity, you had gotten yourself hopelessly lost in the maze of rubble.

An explosion rang out somewhere in the chaos behind you, and a burning TARDIS came crashing into the ruins of some unrecognizable building. You nearly disregarded it to continue your search, but a weak sound came from the wreckage, and your curiosity overcame you.

You could feel it trying to travel, its effort hanging like static in the air, and as you laid your hand on the hull, it took you with it.

The city around you began to dematerialize as the dying TARDIS flung you away into nothing. You tried to call for the Doctor but you disappeared before the words left your mouth.

The Doctor, in a younger body but older by a great many years, meandered his way around the console, waiting for inspiration to strike.

He stared down at the grating below his trainers as he swung one foot in front of the other, muttering aloud, "Been a while since I've been to Barcelona. Weather's dreadful though, too much sand." He ran a hand through his hair, causing it all to stand up on end in the funny way he liked. "Could visit Queen Elizabeth," he mused, thinking before screwing up his face and saying, "Naaah, I'll remember."

The TARDIS hummed at him vindictively and he protested, "Of course I will! And besides, time machine? It doesn't matter." He paced some more before stepping over to the console, muttering, "Fine, you win," flipping a number of switches and dials and sending them hurtling through the void.

You took in a huge gasp of air as your feet finally touched solid ground. The wind whipped across your face as you looked around to see nothing but open plains of white sand and a pink and orange sky.

You couldn't think of a single thing to do to try and get yourself back to Gallifrey, if there even was a Gallifrey once all of this nonsense was over. All you could see was sand, in all directions, and it was a small mercy that the sun was veiled by thick orange clouds.

You sighed and picked a direction, trudging through the soft sand towards nothing.

The TARDIS shuddered to a stop and the Doctor leapt up from his chair, clapping his hands together and saying, "Right!"

He strode towards his door and tugged on the lapels of his jacket, tugging open the door and rehearsing under his breath, "Hellooo Elizabeth! How've you been-"

He stepped out and the smile slid off of his face. "Hold on. No no no no, not sand!"

He looked around quickly and glared back at the TARDIS, saying, "This isn't England."

Suddenly, a familiar voice sounded behind him, and he froze.

"Hello? Who are you?"

His heart rose to his throat as he recognized the voice as yours, and he turned around slowly. He saw you standing in the sand, looking exactly the same as the day he'd lost you. But you wouldn't recognize him, he'd changed faces twice since then; he could only hope you would believe him.

"It's me… it's the Doctor, but… how?"

You recognized his 'police box' and narrowed your eyes at him, saying slowly, "I'm not sure… a dying TARDIS, I think…" Although your friend looked much different, you could still recognize the sadness behind his eyes; it had always broken your heart, how such a wonderful, imaginative person had to carry the weight of the universe so often. Tears welled in your eyes and you stepped forward, examining him and saying, "You've regenerated since then. Oh Rassilon, how long has it been? Too long, I imagine."

He moved to close the distance between you, his eyes glistening as he pulled you in for a hug. You returned the hug with a smile, blinking back tears.

"Two regenerations… I thought I was the only one left- I thought everyone else was gone-" he uttered, holding onto you like his life depended on it. You buried your face in his shoulder and he quickly picked you up, spinning around in the sand as you both laughed.

"I'm not the only one! Oh lord, you're a miracle!" he cheered, stumbling slightly before setting you down and cupping your face in his hands. "I have so much to tell you!"

He looked around with his nose wrinkled, sneering, "But not around all this blasted sand, cmon-!"

He grabbed your hand and led you into his TARDIS. "I was just on my way to meet Queen Elizabeth the First!"

You frowned and asked, "Who?"

"Oh, she's an Earth queen, and apparently, my wife," he said with a shrug, flipping various switches that you were sure didn't do anything but control the temperature of the pool.

You stood by him behind the console, saying, "Your wife, hm? Been a bit busy since I disappeared, eh?"

He shrugged again and wrapped an arm around your waist before saying, "Thought she was a Zygon, long story."

You shook your head with a wide smile. "You never change."

He returned your smile and gave you a kiss on the cheek, saying, "Now, Queen Elizabeth, or Barcelona?"

"I suppose we could do a little bit of both."

His smile widened and he pulled one of the levers, letting out a yell of "Allons-y!"

#doctor who #doctor who fic #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x you #tenth doctor #10th doctor

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sablegear0 · 1 year

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Pondering over Other M again and I had a thought about Adam’s choice to restrict Samus’s gear. He’s likely never seen any of it in action first-hand.

If the very start of Zero Mission is an indication of what she was equipped with during her time with the Galactic Federation Police, barring any additional supplies from the GF of course, her loadout is pretty bare-bones. She may not even have had the Morph Ball during her term with the GFP. (I personally like to think she did if only for the comedy factor, but I digress.) Basic plating, no extra movement technology, no missiles, a beam weapon with infinite ammunition but severely limited range. Besides the infinite ammo and presumably more durable plating, she’s not much better off than a standard solider. Adam might be loosely familiar with what Chozo tech is capable of, given the Chozo’s involvement in founding the Federation, but he’s never seen for himself what a fully-equipped powersuit can do.

The only information he would have to go on would be mission reports and item schematics from Samus herself, and hearsay from any field troops who happen to see her in action... (More under the cut)

For the former, presumably Samus includes some mention of what she finds in mission reports, and she likely has to submit some basic empirical data about her weapon systems for, like, licensing reasons. (Eg. “This missile launcher has a maximum capacity of 255 homing micro-missiles. Each round is capable of producing a [#]-ton explosion.”) She would probably have to provide data about her weapon systems to the GF so she can actually legally carry them on Federation vessels and habitats, or to apply for exemptions to do so.

While that’s reliable, empirical data, it’s still kind of difficult to work with. How big of an explosion is that really? What would that do to an un/armoured person? To a small vehicle? To the hull of a ship? And that’s just a simple weapon system like a missile launcher. What about crazy stuff like the Wave and Plasma beams, that can pierce some solid structures or organic matter? What about high-powered movement tech like the Speed Booster? How do you even begin to quantify something like the Screw Attack?

(As an aside, it’s interesting that Adam uses the game’s item names for upgrades. This is probably a bit of a game conceit, so the Player actually knows what he’s talking about. In “reality” the Federation probably have more technical/descriptive terms for Samus’s equipment. For example, the name “Speed Booster” doesn’t actually tell us all that much about what it does. But something like “Supersonic Somatic Accelerator” is a bit more descriptive. Her upgrades are probably given technical names in official files, and the item names we as the Player know are Samus’s personal terms for them.)

For the latter, there’s no way that’s a wholly reliable source. Imagine hearing from one of the Demolition Troopers Samus has to escort during Corruption. “She fought off a dozen Pirate troopers and killed a Berserker with a single shot and dodged a train and shot down half a dozen more aerotroopers and-” As the Player we know it’s the truth, we were there doing it. But as a shrewd, experienced soldier? It sounds like a tall tale. Or worse, it sounds like par for the course, and the story probably only gets grander as it gets passed from person to person! By the time of the events of Other M, Samus is a legendary figure, and there are probably countless stories -both overblown and totally accurate- of the crazy feats she’s managed to accomplish and the insane weaponry she can bring to bear to do it.

Adam has only (rather unhelpful) empirical numbers and (equally unhelpful) urban legends to go on by the time Samus shows up on the Bottle Ship. He really has no personal measure of what her current, thoroughly upgraded equipment can do. He only has the rawest data and the most elaborate legends, and he has to make a measured, careful decision about what sort of threat she might present to what believes to be a civilian rescue mission*. Since she refused to leave when told, he was well within his rights to restrict her gear; for the safety of his squad, for the safety of any potential civilians present, and for the integrity of the unstable environment. (He was within his rights to detain her too, but that doesn’t make for an exciting video game or a very fine hello when reuniting with an old friend.)

The missile tutorial at the very beginning of the game is a perfect example of this. Normal breaching charges weren’t having any effect on a blast door that Samus casually blows open with a single missile round. She has that sort of destructive power available without even expending effort. The only sane thing to do would be to make her presence conditional on restricting her weaponry unless explicitly authorized. And this is a major failing of the translation, I acknowledge. If this point was made clear, the authorization gimmick would make much more sense to the Player, but that’s not really the point I’m trying to make here.

The point I’m trying to make is from an in-world, character-driven perspective. Adam simply cannot assess the threat that Samus might pose with the information he has, so he opts to proceed with extreme caution. And this choice makes his exchange with her at the doors to Sector Zero even more poignant.

He’s been watching through Samus’s eyes for the duration of the mission. He finally has a chance to see first-hand what she can do, what her gear and her abilities can accomplish. By meting out her weapons and movement tech, Adam calibrates his understanding of her capabilities - and recognizes the severity of the situation because all these things became necessary over the course of the mission. And when he reaches the point he can’t continue, he’s seen enough to know he can safely make the choice he does. Because he has the data now, he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Samus can handle this solo. All the raw numbers have context and all the absurd legends are true. And while I deeply dislike the phrasing used in the English version, calling her a “Galactic Saviour”, it is genuinely a moment where Adam acknowledges his own limits are far behind those of his old friend. He knows he is safely expendable, because he’s seen and learned everything he needed to know to make that choice. (I suspect even if he didn’t have the insurance of a digital backup, Adam would have been willing to take the same actions. His trust in Samus by that point was absolute.)

[*It wouldn’t be a blog about Adam and OM if I didn’t discuss my favourite headcanon/au, that Adam was aware of the nature of the facility and became the “Deleter” in an attempt to keep it secret. I’ve discussed this before but obviously there’s another element of caution in Adam’s decision in this context. He can’t let Samus go tearing through the Bottle Ship unrestricted if he’s here to recover its materials and/or continue to keep its true nature secret. He also can’t let her run around at full power if he’s considering the possibility of having to terminate or otherwise deal with her himself. Because she was too stubborn to leave, and too inquisitive not to learn the truth, he has to measure out what he can give her without letting her become a genuine threat to his covert mission, or himself.

Eventually, seeing the enormity of the odds against him and observing Samus’s righteous wrath and determination first-hand through her video feed, helps sway his change of heart by the end. As much as he was desperate to conceal his massive mistake, he’s confident he can trust Samus to get the job done and end the present threats on the Bottle Ship, even at the cost of his own life and reputation.]

#sable talks about games #sable has a take #metroid #metroid series #metroid other m #Samus aran #adam malkovich

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 2 months

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The horrific Fool Me Once-style nanny-cam footage that exposed an abusive wife: Secret camera footage shows battered husband threatened with a knife, beaten and cowering in a foetal position during wife's 20-year reign of terror

By: Stewart Carr and Kevin Donald

Published: Mar 15, 2024

Sheree Spencer, 45, terrorised husband Richard at their East Yorks home

C5 documentary 'My Wife, My Abuser: The Secret Footage' airs Monday

Chilling never-before-seen footage from a nanny cam has revealed the moment a battered husband cowered on the floor while his wife hurled abuse at him and brandished a knife in their home during her 20-year reign of terror.

Damning videos of Sheree Spencer's attacks on husband Richard at their seven-bedroom home in Bubwith, East Yorkshire, were captured on cameras the couple had installed to monitor their children.

And explosive clips from police interviews show Sheree casually lying about her husband being the abuser, only for her face to turn ashen when confronted with the footage.

On one occasion she defecated on the floor and forced him to clean it up, and on another she beat him with a wine bottle so hard it permanently disfigured his ear.

Sheree, 45, was jailed for four years at Hull Crown Court in March 2023 by Judge Kate Rayfield, who told her: 'This is the worst case of controlling and coercive behaviour I have seen.'

Now, Mr Spencer is sharing his story in vivid detail in Channel 5 documentary My Wife, My Abuser: The Secret Footage, which airs on Monday.

And today, MailOnline can reveal Sheree went to desperate lengths through the courts in a bid to stop the documentary being broadcast.

[ Damning clips of Sheree Spencer's attacks on husband Richard at their seven-bedroom home in Bubwith, East Yorkshire, were captured on cameras the couple installed to monitor their children ]

[ The hidden nanny cam gave a vital way out for battered husband Mr Spencer after he endured years of physical and verbal abuse from his wife, that sometimes left him 'broken' in a foetal position ]

[ Sheree's reign of domestic terror finally ended in June 2021 when the police were called to their family home by a concerned welfare worker ]

[ Footage showed furious wine-fuelled tirades, in which Sheree would call her husband 'fat boy,' 'a pussy' and 'dumb dumb' and inflict bruises and scratches ]

The footage, obtained from the nanny-cam, gives a chilling real-life echo of Harlan Coben's Netflix adaptation Fool Me Once, starring Michelle Keegan. In it, Keegan plays a woman who installs the small camera to keep watch over her young daughter, only to recognise an eerie figure from her past creeping into her home.

Mr Spencer felt his harrowing experiences should be seen to raise awareness of the type of abuse men can suffer in their daily lives at the hands of violent partners but Sheree tried to block it.

He told Mailonline: 'Sheree tried to stop the documentary being broadcast in the crown court but failed, then she applied for a prohibited steps order through the family court, which luckily was rejected and thrown out at the first hearing.

'The broadcast has been delayed due to the legal challenges for about six months, but now it is finally going to be shown.

'I'm hopeful that the film will be well received and will make a difference.'

The hidden nanny cam gave a vital way out for battered husband Mr Spencer after he endured years of physical and verbal abuse from his wife, that left him 'broken' on the floor in a foetal position.

Mr Spencer had met his wife in a nightclub in 2000, and the pair married on a Thai beach in 2009.

After they welcomed the eldest of their three daughters in 2015, Mr Spencer installed the nanny cam so they could keep watch over her.

Instead, footage showed furious wine-fuelled tirades, in which Sheree would call her husband 'fat boy,' 'a p**sy' and 'dumb dumb' and inflict bruises and scratches that he would need to cover with make-up before going outside.

Mr Spencer told The Sun: 'We had two [cameras] — one in the playroom and one in the bedroom. They were there for reassurance, to keep an eye out because it's a big house.

'It was on something like a 28-day roll, where if something new came in it would delete the old footage.'

When police finally became involved, Mr Spencer handed over 43 images of his bruised face, taken on different dates following savage assaults he had suffered.

[ Equally explosive clips from police interviews show Sheree casually lying about her husband being the abuser, only for her face to turn ashen when confronted with the clips ]

[ Mr Spencer, now happily settled with a new partner, decided to take part in the Channel 5 documentary to help other abused men speak out ]

[ Mr Spencer handed police 36 photographs he took of himself, showing cuts and bruises to his face and body ]

[ Sheree Spencer, 45, was jailed for four years for making her husband Richard's life a living hell with daily beatings and verbal attacks that left him cowering on the floor in the foetal position ]

[ Richard Spencer, pictured, secretly recorded video and audio of his wife's attacks on him for years. When police became involved he handed over 43 images of his bruised face and body ]

A police officer tells the documentary: 'This has been going on for such a long time, that this is who he is. Withdrawn and broken.'

Mr Spencer says: 'I just wanted the abuse to stop. I was in a situation and there was no way out.'

Hull Crown Court heard that mother-of-three Sheree had carried out most of the attacks on her husband in the family home.

Sheree worked at the highest levels for HM Prison and Probation Service and bragged to friends that she had the ear of former Prime Minister Boris Johnson.

She was a project manager in the department's directorate of strategy and performance.

A former friend said: 'She would brag about being only two down from the Prime Minister in her field and had meetings with Boris Johnson, who she spoke of as though he were a friend.

'She was bragging about her high flying career while subjecting her poor husband, a lovely man, to daily abuse, degradation and humiliation.'

It was described as 'a great irony' that Spencer had done so much work aimed at investigating the effect of custodial sentences on the family.

Within months of becoming a couple in 2000, Richard Spencer endured her violent rages, which happened whether she was drunk or sober.

The worst of the assaults on him happened in April 2021 when his wife attacked him with the empty wine bottle.

Mr Spencer, who stands at 5ft 10in, told the court that although he was bigger and physically stronger than his petite wife, he did not fight back when she began to attack him.

He said he became almost immune to the physical abuse she meted out, even though she would cause him immense pain by sinking her teeth into him.

But he said the mental scars left by 16 years of her hate-filled attacks were what would leave the most lasting effect.

Sheree's reign of domestic terror finally ended in June 2021 when the police were called to their family home by a concerned welfare worker.

Her arrest that day on suspicion of assaulting her husband opened a door into the hell he had kept private for his entire married life.

Mr Spencer said: 'In trying to block the footage being shown, she continued trying to exert control even from jail, but fortunately justice prevailed.

'It’s astonishing to me that she’s living a relatively easy life in prison, having been moved to an open jail after six months of her sentence.

'The judge in her case described it as the worst case or coercive control she had ever seen, so why she was considered for open prison so early is beyond me.

'She is due for release next February but she is able to go out for family and friend meetings and has been working in a cafe.

'It doesn’t seem a just sentence for someone who committed such serious offences.'

Since his ex-wife's imprisonment, Mr Spencer has joined a campaign called ManKind Initiative, which supports male victims of domestic abuse.

He has also found love again and told media he is happily settled with his new partner.

Speaking to media after Sheree was jailed last year, he said: 'I have become resigned to the fact that I will never fully recover from her abuse and that it will have a permanent damaging impact on mine and my family's life.

'Sheree's abuse towards me evolved and escalated over time, she used repeated acts of physical assault, threats, verbal abuse, and humiliation to punish and exercise control over me.

'The abuse was hidden from the outside world, including friends and family. Sheree manipulated me into believing that I was a responsible and willing participant in the abuse. She remorselessly proclaimed that I deserved to be punished, and that it was a justifiable consequence of me disappointing her in some way.

'Little by little, I lost my independence and willpower and just accepted that was how my life was going to be. I complied with Sheree's demands, and she controlled most aspects of my everyday life, including things like what activities I could participate in and when, which room I could sleep in, and even which toilet I could use.

'Gradually I became isolated from family and friends and was left deep in debt causing me to feel trapped.'

'After a while, I learnt to cover my face with my hands and curl up into a foetal position to try and avoid sustaining any visible facial injuries, so that I could still take the children to school and nursery.'

Abstract

Objectives. We sought to examine the prevalence of reciprocal (i.e., perpetrated by both partners) and nonreciprocal intimate partner violence and to determine whether reciprocity is related to violence frequency and injury.

Methods. We analyzed data on young US adults aged 18 to 28 years from the 2001 National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent Health, which contained information about partner violence and injury reported by 11 370 respondents on 18761 heterosexual relationships.

Results. Almost 24% of all relationships had some violence, and half (49.7%) of those were reciprocally violent. In nonreciprocally violent relationships, women were the perpetrators in more than 70% of the cases. Reciprocity was associated with more frequent violence among women (adjusted odds ratio [AOR]=2.3; 95% confidence interval [CI]=1.9, 2.8), but not men (AOR=1.26; 95% CI=0.9, 1.7). Regarding injury, men were more likely to inflict injury than were women (AOR=1.3; 95% CI=1.1, 1.5), and reciprocal intimate partner violence was associated with greater injury than was nonreciprocal intimate partner violence regardless of the gender of the perpetrator (AOR=4.4; 95% CI=3.6, 5.5).

Conclusions. The context of the violence (reciprocal vs nonreciprocal) is a strong predictor of reported injury. Prevention approaches that address the escalation of partner violence may be needed to address reciprocal violence.

Abstract

This annotated bibliography describes 343 scholarly investigations (270 empirical studies and 73 reviews) demonstrating that women are as physically aggressive as men (or more) in their relationships with their spouses or opposite-sex partners. The aggregate sample size in the reviewed studies exceeds 440,850 people.

Abstract and Figures

The first part of this article summarizes results from more than 200 studies that have found gender symmetry in perpetration and in risk factors and motives for physical violence in martial and dating relationships. It also summarizes research that has found that most partner violence is mutual and that self-defense explains only a small percentage of partner violence by either men or women. The second part of the article documents seven methods that have been used to deny, conceal, and distort the evidence on gender symmetry. The third part of the article suggests explanations for the denial of an overwhelming body of evidence by reputable scholars. The concluding section argues that ignoring the overwhelming evidence of gender symmetry has crippled prevention and treatment programs. It suggests ways in which prevention and treatment efforts might be improved by changing ideologically based programs to programs based on the evidence from the past 30 years of research

#Richard Spencer #My Wife My Abuser #Sheree Spencer #domestic violence #intimate partner violence #coercive control #male victims of domestic abuse #male victims of domestic violence #abusive women #female abusers #violent women #male victims #domestic abuse #religion is a mental illness

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