— If the meds were switched, then when I got them mixed up, I… I accidentally switched them back, so… I gave Harlan…
— The correct doses, yes. But not accidentally.
KNIVES OUT (2019) dir. Rian Johnson
I love this moment, not just because of the twist, but also because Marta has been dying the whole movie with not only fear and grief, but guilt at having caused the death of her patient, her friend.
For Benoit to take the time to reassure that this was not her fault, in way that is so kind and so clear, was lovely.
“You are a good nurse.” You can tell when he says that the he truly understands what is paining her the most. Just beautiful.
I love how they left out the part about them giving out the lesbian couple’s personal information to send them death threats, running them out of their home, and encouraging other fundies to petition to have their children taken away. **examines fingernails**
Also the fact that they raised half million dollars from other raging homophobes to fund this bigotry. I hope the dickholes lose the shirts off their backs and have to live out of a van. But that’s too much to hope for.
I just wanna add that the lesbian couple were getting married because their mutual friend had just died of cancer and they were adopting her two daughters… and that the death threats were so bad that they had to quit their jobs and move. it’s never just about a cake. it’s about the precedent you set when you allow ppl to discriminate. it’s about all the disgusting bigots that crawl out of the woodwork when they feel like they have the right to hate.
the-modern-typewriter
stinkywhore asked:
hello! i love ur writing so so so much! i was wondering if i could request a snippet where the villain discovers the hero's self harm scars? if not, that's ok too🥰❤️ have a lovely day :))
“Oh, darling.” The villain’s voice was much too soft.
The hero felt a sharp flicker of panic - they could have dealt with the villain mocking them - but they weren’t entirely sure they could stomach that tone. Not when they were so bare, so vulnerable, so utterly exposed.
The hero couldn’t even protest nor offer up any excuse or convincing lie; not with the gag in their mouth. This wasn’t supposed to go like this after all.
It started when the villain had spied the marks on the hero’s arms - tearing the sleeve of their suit so that they could inject some nefarious substance or other. The bit had been so the hero didn’t, apparently, bite through their own tongue.
The syringe had however been abandoned on the side the second the villain saw the hero’s skin. Despite the hero’s muffled protest, the villain had promptly cut open the other sleeve and, then, made short work of everything else.
The villain’s gaze roamed over them, taking it all in and the hero wanted to scream. The thought of anyone finding out had always been bad enough…but to have the villain of all people…and like this…
They jerked uselessly against the restraints, the flicker beginning to swell into full blown panic.
The villain ghosted their fingers across the marks, with that same terrible gentleness. The hero flinched, even if it didn’t hurt - maybe because it didn’t. They didn’t know. The hero’s muscles tightened taut with stress, with the urge to bolt and the complete inability to.
If they could run the villain would never even have seen this far.
The villain’s gaze moved up, catching the hero’s wide-eyed stare.
“I know what scars I’ve left on you, hero.” The word, ‘hero’, didn’t carry the mockery it normally did. “I know what kind of scars people get doing what we do. This…” their grip tightened, and their nails dug in. “This is not that.”
The hero’s fingers curled into fists, breath hitching. They did their utmost to keep their expression composed. Their mind raced; trying to figure out what the villain would do. Well, what could they do? They didn’t know what the villain even intended with this, now. What would they possibly care what the hero did in their free time? Yet, clearly, they cared. Otherwise they wouldn’t have set the syringe down they would have continued business as normal.
The villain reached up after a moment, taking the bit out and setting that aside too.
The hero wrenched their gaze away, working out their jaw. They could have spoken now but they said nothing. Anger churned with the panic. The villain had no right to expect an explanation from them, if that was what they were waiting for?
“Control, punishment or something else?”
The even question snapped the hero’s stare back, in surprise. The villain’s voice had gone even again, instead of that horrible ‘handle with care’ softness.
“What?” it came out raspy.
The villain tapped one of the scars. “Do you do it to feel in control of something, to punish yourself, or something else?”
“What’s it to you? You’ve literally got me tied to a chair.”
“Your enemies hurting you is very different to doing it to yourself. You cannot control your enemies, but nor would you expect them to be kind.”
“I swear if you of all people are going to start a lecture about being kind to myself.” The hero’s eyes burned, hot and embarrassed. They really hoped they didn’t start crying.
“If you answer my question I’ll stop pestering you about it.”
The hero looked down, considering their options, really not wanting to talk about it with them. Still. “It makes my head shut up. Happy?”
“Happy is an interesting word choice given the topic of conversation, but I accept your answer, yes.”
“So you’re going back to whatever is in your nightmare syringe?”
“It’s a serum to limit your powers.”
“Oh.”
“I did tell you.”
“Your monologues are very wordy and scientific. I get bored.”
The villain snorted. Still, they stayed crouching in front of the hero, studying them quietly.
“…you’re not going back to stabbing me with the nightmare syringe?”
“Do you want me to stab you with the nightmare syringe?”
“No. Obviously not.”
The villain did not look entirely convinced.
The hero gritted their teeth. “This is bothering you,” they said. “Knowing this about me. I’m not - I’m not suicidal, or anything. You can still get around to killing me yourself or - or whatever.” They faltered as the villain continued to stare at them. “What?”
“You make it a little too easy to forget you’re human, sometimes, hero.” The villain rose up to their feet. “Stay put.”
“Stay - you have me tied to a chair. Where are you going?!”
“I need to think,” the villain said. “And possibly punch something. And then, if you’re willing, I have some ideas on what might help.”
“You - what - hey!”
The hero sat there, bewildered, at the sound of the next room being thoroughly destroyed.
Nothing was quite the same after that.
