#contractual obligations and agreements

[iotavenews]

[vinyls-and-valentines]

Something possessed me when I made this character do a backflip and it looks good, but realistically they would so break their neck if they ever attempted it </3

[attorneysmedia]

Indemnity Bond

Indemnity Bonds: Navigating Legal Protection in Business Transactions In the intricate world of contractual and financial law, the concept of an “Indemnity Bond” plays a pivotal role in safeguarding the interests of individuals and entities involved in various transactions. This legal instrument, essentially a promise by one party to compensate another for any loss or damage, has become a…

[groovywonderlanddeer]

Understanding Hold Harmless Agreements and Their Importance

Imagine you are hosting an occasion, whether it's a marriage, a conference, or a simple get-collectively. You've installed countless hours of planning, coordination, and effort to make sure the whole lot goes easily. But have you ever concept about the capacity risks and liabilities that might get up? This is where harmless agreements come into play. In this article, we'll delve into the world of preserving harmless agreements, exploring importance of indemnity in business contracts what they are, why they are counted, and how they can defend your hobbies.

What Are Hold Harmless Agreements?

Hold harmless agreements, also referred to as indemnity agreements or release of legal responsibility agreements, are legally binding contracts between two events – regularly referred to as the "Indemnitor" and the "indemnitee." These agreements define the responsibilities and liabilities every party assumes in case of any unexpected incidents, accidents, or damages at some stage in an event or activity.

Types of Hold Harmless Agreements:

There are two main types of hold harmless agreements:

Broad Form: In this agreement, one birthday party is of the same opinion to hold the other birthday party completely harmless, even in cases of the alternative birthday party's negligence. It's a comprehensive level of protection however is often deemed debatable because of the huge scope of insurance.

Limited Form: This settlement holds one birthday party harmless simplest for certain specified dangers or liabilities. It's extra-centered and is usually used to allocate obligations for unique situations.

The Importance of Hold Harmless Agreements

Risk Mitigation: Hold harmless agreements play an important position in hazard management. Whether you're an enterprise proprietor, event organizer, or property owner, you're exposed to ability dangers. These agreements assist you in allocating dangers and liabilities, ensuring that each celebration bears the obligation they are pleasantly geared up to address.

Clarity and Expectations: Clear communication is the muse of any successful courting. Hold harmless agreements lay out the expectancies and responsibilities of each birthday party. This clarity facilitates the prevention of misunderstandings and disputes in the future.

Legal Protection: In the unlucky event of a lawsuit, a properly drafted harmless settlement can offer a strong felony defense. It can reveal that both parties willingly commonplace their respective obligations and agreed no longer to preserve each different responsibility.

Contractual Flexibility: Hold harmless agreements are versatile and may be tailored to suit the precise wishes of the events concerned. This flexibility allows for an honest distribution of danger, contemplating the nature of the hobby, ability dangers, and the connection among the parties.

Drafting an Effective Hold Harmless Agreement

When drafting a maintained harmless settlement, numerous key elements should be taken into consideration:

Clear Language: The agreement ought to be written in plain and understandable language, averting complicated felony jargon.

Scope of Coverage: Clearly outline the scope of coverage, outlining the dangers and liabilities that the settlement addresses.

Indemnification: Specify the quantity to which one party consents to indemnify the opposite – whether it's for all liabilities or only specific ones.

Insurance Requirements: Determine whether one or each event is required to carry insurance and what type of coverage is vital.

Governing Law: State which jurisdiction's legal guidelines will govern the settlement in case of a dispute.

In Conclusion

Hold harmless agreements are an effective instrument that helps mitigate dangers, guard interests, and ensure clarity among events concerned in numerous sports. By sincerely outlining duties and liabilities, these agreements contribute to smoother operations and more potent prison defenses.

Remember, before moving into a hold harmless settlement, it is important to consult criminal specialists who can ensure the agreement is legitimate, enforceable, and tailor-made to your specific situation. So, whether you're organizing an event or conducting a probably unstable enterprise, information hold-harmless agreements may be a pivotal step toward safeguarding your pastimes. As the saying goes, "Expect the best but prepare for the worst."

As the legal panorama evolves, the need for well-crafted agreements becomes even more crucial. These agreements are not pretty much paperwork; they're about setting the level for accountability and successful interactions.

[lawofficeofryansshipp]

West Palm Beach Business Lawyers | Commercial Litigation Lawyers

West Palm Beach Business Lawyers What is a Business Contract? Contracts between two businesses usually have very different rules than contracts involving a business and a consumer (i.e., seller and buyer) or two individuals. Generally, courts assume that businesses will better understand the law of contracts and apply fewer limitations and protections over how these businesses choose to draft a…

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

The Woodland Park Zoo is my home zoo, and the possibility of a strike has been brewing for a while. The staff at the zoo have been working without a union contract for over 200 days because the zoo is unwilling to pay them a living wage.

Zookeepers around the country are consistently underpaid, and Seattle is an incredibly expensive place to live. The zoo is losing animal care staff rapidly - I've been told they'd lost five keepers and a vet tech to another nearby AZA zoo this year alone - because they can't afford to live here. And I've been told that because there's no contract, the zoo is on a hiring freeze, which means they're perpetually understaffed.

Photo credit: Yulia Issa

There was an informational picket outside of a big event last month, which got a ton of community support. Then the only content the zoo put out for National Zookeepers Week was a single post about how much gratitude the staff are owed, which... hmmmm, came off a little tone-deaf in the current moment.

Now it looks like staff might end up striking to make their point, after almost a year of negotiations.

"Workers at Woodland Park Zoo, who are members of the Joint Crafts Council (JCC) Coalition of Unions, have been making plans to protect the animals if they go on strike. If the group of 200 workers is unable to reach an agreement with their employer over a new contract, they say they will run a skeleton crew that would provide necessary care to the animals but require the Zoo to close its doors to the general public. “We are making contingency plans to ensure the continued well-being of the animals if we are forced to strike,” said Janel Kempf, a learning coordinator who has been with the Zoo for 25 years and is a Shop Steward with Teamsters 117. “A strike is an absolute last resort and one that none of us takes lightly, but the Zoo keeps pushing us in that direction. If the Zoo doesn’t change course soon, we will have no other choice than to withhold our labor.” Negotiations between the Coalition of Unions and the Zoo have been ongoing for the last ten months with workers growing increasingly frustrated at what they say is the Zoo’s failure to value and retain an experienced workforce. “We are hemorrhaging critical animal care experience which directly affects the standard of care we can provide for our animals,” said Allison Cloud, an animal keeper and member of Teamsters 117. “The Zoo is forcing us to choose between our livelihoods and our animals, a heartbreaking decision no zookeeper ever wants to make.” Workers say low wages, the skyrocketing cost of healthcare, low morale, and high turnover have put the Zoo’s AZA accreditation at risk. Loss of accreditation could cripple the Zoo’s resources and lead to the transfer of animals to other accredited facilities. "Woodland Park Zoo cannot maintain AZA accreditation without us,” said Joe Gallenbach, an Exhibit Technician with IATSE Local 15. “The loss of AZA accreditation would demonstrate catastrophic mismanagement on the part of the Woodland Park Zoological Society.” The Coalition of Unions and the Zoo have one more bargaining session on the calendar: Friday, August 9. If the Zoo does not make an acceptable proposal next Friday, workers say they will take their case for fair wages and benefits to the public through direct, concerted action."

Now, when you bring the risk of AZA accreditation loss into the conversation, things get interesting. I've written before about how some zoos are legally or contractually obligated to maintain AZA accreditation and couldn't choose to leave. Woodland Park Zoo is one of those facilities: the agreement with the city that allows the Woodland Park Zoological Society requires them to be AZA accredited. If they lose it, they default on the agreement.

So, would there actually be a chance the facility could lose accreditation if the staff struck? I couldn't find any recent information about staff at other AZA zoos striking and how it related to their accreditation cycle, but I did find this, in an AZA press release about how the Aquarium of the Bay lost accreditation a few months ago.

"Silver Spring, Md. (May 24, 2024) –  The Association of Zoos and Aquariums (AZA) Accreditation Commission unanimously voted to rescind the accreditation of the Aquarium of the Bay.  The independent Commission notified the institution on May 13, 2024, following its conclusion that the aquarium was not meeting accreditation standards in a number of key areas, including financial stability, staffing capabilities, and employee morale and turnover. Aquarium of the Bay has until June 13 to appeal the Commission’s decision."

So it looks like staffing issues and employee morale can definitely be things taken into consideration. Let's look at the AZA standards for more info. I found a couple standards that appear to be relevant:

7.3 "There must be an adequate number of trained paid and unpaid staff to care for the animals and to manage the institution’s diverse programs." Justification: "Although there is no set formula for prescribing the size of the staff (paid and unpaid), some of the criteria that may be used to define what is considered “adequate” include the number and type of species within the institution, the general condition of the animals and exhibits, and past staffing practices."

7.4 "Compensation for paid staff should be competitive with other similar positions in the local/regional/national market, as appropriate." Justification: "Institutions must be able to recruit and retain qualified paid staff. Competitive compensation is a key component in recruitment and retention of paid staff. Some positions can be successfully recruited for locally, while others are competitive on a more regional or national basis (e.g., animal care specialists)."

Both of those look like they could quite reasonably be an issue for WPZ at this point. They're losing paid staff due to low wages and operating understaffed due to the hiring freeze. Staff obviously aren't getting appropriate compensation if they're looking for jobs at nearby facilities that pay better.

Now, would the zoo actually lose accreditation if a strike came to pass? Honestly, I doubt it, because WPZ is too big a feather in AZA's cap for them to penalize them that harshly. Columbus - an equally prominent institution - got kicked because of a major public animal use scandal, but it was pretty clearly political because of how quickly they were re-accredited. I'd expect AZA might give WPZ a slap on the wrist, some stern public comment, maybe some minor penalties, but I'd be very surprised if they were willing to kick WPZ to the curb over something "just" as minor as a staffing problem.

Regardless, zoo staff deserve to be paid a living wage. I'll be really sad if the zoo is closed to a strike once the snow leopard cubs get old enough to debut - but I'd still rather the staff be paid a living wage than be able to see the fluffballs immediately. I want the people working at the zoos I visit to not be living in poverty. Zoo staff pub in an incredible amount of effort to care for animal collections and to facilitate the guest experience, and they should be able to do that without multiple roommates or three jobs. I know that the practical reality is that not all facilities can afford to pay their staff as highly as is ideal, but I'd expect a big zoo with reliable city funding to be able to do better. Supporting the zookeepers (and other zoo staff) is supporting the zoo.

I'll be keeping an eye on this going forward, both from a personal perspective (I'm a member, and I have a vested interest in what the organization I give money to does) and a professional interest in industry politics (what does AZA choose to do). I'll update if there's anything interesting on either end.

[lostfracturess]

remedies and reasons | ch. 04

pairing — professor geto x law student reader

summary — this wasn’t supposed to happen. not that miserable internship at the law firm you hated, not him becoming your doctor, and definitely not that drunken night at the bar. but he helped, and god, you needed a friend. and he did too. except it's never just friendship with him, is it? it could be perfect—messy, complicated, but perfect. if only his heart wasn’t already taken.

word count — 11.8 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, age difference (10 years), doctor-patient relationship, angst, smoking, alcohol use, mature themes, and depictions of illness. reader discretion is advised.

previously — as suguru struggles with his conflicting feelings, you have your own battles to face. between the hectic internship and these stupid feelings for your doctor, you could really use a break. good thing there's that party this weekend—though knowing your luck, something's bound to go wrong.

author's note — i know it's been a while (sorry !!) but this one is a little bit spicy to make up for it and maybe we even meet other people we know from certain stories. thank you all for being so patient with me and for all the sweet messages checking in. you guys are the best !! hope you enjoy and as always, your comments and reactions mean everything to me <3

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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"In consideration thereof, the Parties hereby agree that upon completion of the Merger..."

You started the sentence for the sixth time, highlighter poised over the page. But the words refused to make sense, like they were written in some strange legal cipher your brain had forgotten how to decode.

"In consideration thereof, the Parties hereby..."

Your mind drifted once more. Dark eyes. Gentle hands. The warmth of his palm against your back at the gallery. Damn it. Focus.

"In consideration..."

How his fingers felt inside of y—

"IN CONSIDERATION—"

The highlighter slipped, leaving a bright yellow streak across your index finger instead of the page. Perfect. You stared at your now neon fingertip and let out a long breath.

At least it matched the other evidence of your scattered mental state today — the coffee stain on your sleeve, the backwards sticky note on your computer monitor, the fact that you'd put your access card in the vending machine instead of your wallet this morning.

You dragged your attention back to the merger agreement, determined to actually comprehend at least one full sentence. Something about contractual obligations and breach of fiduciary duty. The words might as well have been written in ancient Greek for all you were absorbing them.

Instead, your thoughts wandered to the way he'd looked that night — slightly rumpled dress shirt, hair windswept from rushing straight from surgery, that tiny spot of blood on his sleeve he'd tried so desperately to hide. 

As if that somehow mattered more than the fact he'd just spent hours saving someone's life before coming to see you.

The way he'd actually listened when you rambled about brushstrokes and composition, those pretty eyes fixed on you like you were sharing the secrets of the universe instead of just babbling about art. How someone who spent his days peering into people's brains could seem so genuinely interested in something as far removed from his world as contemporary art.

And the way he'd looked at you when you talked about your paintings. Your stomach did that stupid little flutter again at the memory, the same sensation you'd felt under his gaze that night.

No. Stop it. Case files. Merger acquisitions. Important legal stuff that actually mattered.

"In consideration thereof..." you tried one more time, but it was hopeless.

You slammed the case file shut, earning a few startled glances from nearby cubicles. A few papers fluttered to the floor, but you couldn't even bring yourself to care. This was ridiculous. You were supposed to be a professional, not some lovesick teenager mooning over your doctor.

Maybe it was just curiosity. It had to be curiosity. Nothing else made sense. You weren't lovesick. Definitely not. That would be ridiculous and completely inappropriate. He is your doctor. There are boundaries. Professional lines. You know this.

But your treacherous mind kept circling back to that moment when the phone call came. How quickly his expression had changed, walls sliding into place. You shouldn't have wondered about what — or who — had put that look on his face. It wasn't your business.

And yet you couldn't help but think it was her. 

Dr. Gojo's girlfriend, the one Suguru had feelings for. You remembered how he'd sounded in the hospital that day, talking about two people made for each other, the pain in his voice when he'd admitted to watching his best friend fall in love.

Something tightened in your chest at the thought, a strange heaviness you didn't quite understand. It wasn't your place to feel—whatever this was. You barely knew him, had no right to care about his complicated feelings for someone else.

Besides, it was actually kind of tragic when you thought about it — harboring feelings for your best friend's girlfriend. Like something out of a drama. You should have felt sympathy, maybe even pity. Not this odd feeling that made you want to look away whenever he got that faraway look in his eyes.

You dropped your head into your hands with a groan. What was wrong with you? Since when did you start caring about the personal life of a man who you barely knew? 

"Working hard or hardly working?"

Chad's voice cut through your thoughts like nails on a chalkboard. Great. Because this day wasn't complicated enough already.

You looked up to find him perched on the edge of Higurama's desk in his usual way — like he was posing for some imaginary corporate photoshoot. With his stupid suit, all perfectly tailored lines and subtle pinstripes that screamed 'i'm rich'.

"Don't you have your own work to do?" You didn't bother hiding your annoyance.

"Actually, I just finished reviewing the Yamamoto case files." He picked up one of your carefully arranged documents, examining it with that insufferable air of superiority. "You know, the ones you were supposed to handle? Higurama seemed pretty impressed with my analysis."

You snatched the paper from his hands. "Those were my notes."

"Were they?" He tilted his head, his perfectly styled hair not moving an inch. You'd never seen it move, not even in the wind. "Must have gotten mixed up in the filing system. Easy mistake to make."

You clenched your jaw, fighting the urge to throw your coffee mug in his self-satisfied face. Your entire weekend's work, and he'd just—what? Slapped his name on it and presented it as his own?

"What do you want, Chad?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Yeah, whatever. What do you want?" you repeated, turning back to your work, hoping he'd take the hint.

Instead, he leaned closer, his cologne disgustingly close to your nose. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about the Nakamura case. The international trade dispute?"

You stiffened. That was another case you'd spent countless hours on, poring over documents until your eyes burned. Of course he was after that one too. "What about it?"

"Well," he drawled, picking up your pen and twirling it between his fingers, "I'm having trouble with some of the documentation requirements. Thought maybe you could walk me through it?"

"You work here too," you pointed out, snatching your pen back before he could add it to his collection of stolen things. "These are basic procedures. Maybe check the manual?"

He laughed, that practiced, hollow sound that probably took years of private school to perfect. "Come on, help a friend out. We're all on the same team here, right?"

"Friends? Is that what we are?"

"Well, colleagues then." He shifted closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot with the Yamamoto thing, but I'm trying here. Besides, it's good to have friends in high places. Never know when you might need a favor."

The implied threat wasn't subtle. Neither was the reminder of his position ��� daddy's little prince, untouchable in his tailored suit and borrowed authority.

"I'm busy," you said flatly, gathering your papers into a hasty pile. "Try Google."

"Google?" Chad's perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up like this was the most outrageous suggestion he'd ever heard. "Come on, don't be like that. I just need—"

Then the door opened and Higurama walked in, his usual stack of files tucked under his arm. His eyes flickered between you and Chad, taking in the scene — you half-standing, clearly trying to escape, Chad still perched on his desk like he owned the place.

"Ah, Mr. Kusakabe," Higurama said dryly. "I wasn't aware my office had become the new break room."

Chad slid off the desk, his corporate smile switching on like a well-oiled machine. "Mr. Higurama, I was just discussing the Nakamura case with—"

"I'm sure you were." Higurama set his files down with a pointed thud that made Chad flinch. "Don't you have that meeting with your father in ten minutes?"

You had to bite back a smile at how quickly Chad's perfectly composed expression crumbled. "Of course, you're right. I should get going." He straightened his already straight tie and headed for the door, but not before throwing you one last look that promised this wasn't over. Like a spoiled child who'd had his favorite toy taken away.

After he left, Higurama settled into his chair with a weary sigh that seemed to age him ten years. "Giving you trouble again?"

"It's fine," you said, straightening the papers Chad had disturbed. "Same as always."

"You know," Higurama began, studying you over his reading glasses with that paternal concern that always made you feel grateful and guilty at the same time, "you can tell me if he's making things difficult. His father may be a partner, but that doesn't give him the right to—"

"Really, it's okay." You managed what you hoped was a convincing smile. "I can handle Chad—I mean, Kusakabe."

Higurama's lips twitched slightly at your slip, the closest thing to a smile you'd seen from him all week. "I'm sure you can. Still." He pulled his reading glasses off and polished them with his handkerchief. "My door is always open. Well, except when it's closed. Or when I'm in court. Or meeting with clients. Or—"

"I get it," you laughed, feeling some of the tension ease from your shoulders. Sometimes it was easy to forget that underneath all his gruffness, Higurama actually cared. "Thank you."

He nodded, then let out a heavy sigh and sank lower in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight.

"What's wrong?" you asked, settling into the chair opposite his desk. You'd seen that look before — it usually preceded either a massive case breakthrough or an equally massive headache.

"These idiots are giving me grey hair," Higurama muttered, shuffling through a stack of papers.

You bit back the urge to point out that his hair was already pretty grey — had been since you'd started your internship. Some truths were better left unsaid, especially when your mentor looked like he was one case file away from a breakdown.

"Dr. Gojo and Dr. Geto?" The names slipped out before you could stop them, and you immediately wished you could take them back when Higurama looked up.

"Funny how you immediately knew who I was referring to." His lips twitched slightly. "Though I suppose they have quite the reputation around here."

"Well, they are our biggest clients from the hospital, right?" You fought back a blush, suddenly very interested in organizing the papers on the desk. "Are they in trouble?"

"Let's just say medical ethics and hospital politics don't always play nice together." He set down his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. "And certain people seem determined to make my job as difficult as possible."

You fiddled with the corner of a document, fighting the urge to ask more direct questions. Like whether Suguru was okay. Whether this had anything to do with that phone call at the gallery, or the tension you'd sensed between him and Dr. Gojo lately.

"Is it serious?" you asked anyway.

Higurama gave you a long look over his desk. "Well, let's just say I'd rather defend a yakuza boss than deal with hospital board politics. At least with yakuza, you know where you stand." He paused, then added, "But that's not something you need to worry about."

You hesitated, then asked the question that had been nagging at you for weeks. "Why do you even handle their cases? I mean, not to sound rude, but medical law isn't even your specialty."

Higurama was quiet for a moment, his fingers drumming absently on his desk. Then he leaned back, a distant look crossing his face. "Did I ever tell you about my brain aneurysm?"

"Your what?"

"Eight years ago. Was sitting right here, actually, working on some antitrust lawsuit." He tapped the spot on his desk where Chad had been perched earlier. "Started getting the worst headache of my life. Next thing I know, I'm in the ER, and this arrogant young neurosurgeon is telling me he's going to crack open my skull."

Your eyes widened. "Dr. Gojo?"

"Mmhm." A wry smile tugged at his lips. "Every other surgeon took one look at my scans and basically started writing my obituary. But this kid?" He scoffed, but there was something almost fond in the sound. "Struts in like he owns the place, probably fresh out of whatever dumpster he got his medical license from, and said he's going to save my life. Had Geto with him too, back when they were both still residents and marginally less of a pain in my ass."

You tried not to smile at the image. "And he saved your life?"

"Unfortunately." Higurama's expression was sour. "Would've been easier if he'd just let me die. Instead, I'm stuck here, playing babysitter to two overgrown children." 

He tapped his pen against the files on his desk, the sound sharp in the quiet office. "And somehow they just wouldn't go away. Keep showing up with their problems and their drama and their 'just one more favor.'" He mimicked Gojo's voice with startling accuracy. "And now I'm stuck cleaning up after two idiots who think hospital rules are more like friendly suggestions."

He glared at the pen in his hand. Then, almost grudgingly, he added, "But I suppose they've grown on me." His eyes snapped up to yours. "Don't you dare tell them I said that."

You couldn't help but smile at his grumbling. There was something oddly wholesome about it — this grouchy corporate lawyer secretly looking out for two chaotic surgeons.

"Stop grinning like that," Higurama snapped, but without real heat. Then his expression shifted, turning serious. "But listen, keep your distance from them outside of work. They're nothing but trouble in private."

Your smile froze, heart skipping a beat. Did he know about the bar? The art gallery? The way Suguru's finger's had felt inside of you? "Of course," you managed, voice carefully neutral despite the sudden tightness in your throat. "Why would I—"

"Good." He cut you off, already reaching for another file as if he hadn't just made your world tilt sideways. "Now, about the Matsuda case, I need you to look into their import documentation from 2018 to 2020. Something's not adding up with their customs declarations."

"Right, the trade dispute." God, you needed to get it together. "I actually noticed some discrepancies in their shipping lists—"

But even as you dove into the familiar world of legal documents and corporate regulations, you couldn't quite shake the pointed look in Higurama's eyes. Nothing but trouble in private, he'd said. 

Yeah. With every flutter of your heart when you thought of Suguru, you were starting to figure that out.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

The apartment of your parents sat squeezed into a worn building at Tokyo's edges, where the city's gleam began to fade. But as soon as you stepped inside, your mom's baking enveloped you in familiar warmth, making even the tiny space feel like home.

At the kitchen table that doubled as his desk, your dad hunched over a stack of bills, squinting through reading glasses he stubbornly refused to admit needing. The table wobbled on its uneven leg, your mom's latest fix—a stack of paper towels—proving no more effective than her dozen previous attempts.

"What's all this nonsense?" you heard your dad say.

"Here, let me look at those," you said, dropping your work bag and settling into the chair beside him. The wood creaked in that old familiar way, bringing back memories of homework sessions at this very spot — your dad's calloused fingers pointing out math problems while your mom hummed by the stove.

Your dad slid the forms your way. "Tell me what all this government gibberish means."

"Just pension forms, Dad. Nothing major." You'd barely started explaining when your mom appeared, wielding a plate of cake that effectively derailed any serious discussion.

"Are you eating good?" she asked, setting down a slice big enough for three. "You're not working too hard, are you?"

"I eat plenty, Mom. Don't worry."

She brushed your cheek. "Convenience store food don't count. These fancy law firms are working you to death."

"It's just a busy period," you assured her, failing to suppress a yawn.

"With you, it's always a busy period." Your dad set aside his papers, fixing you with that penetrating look that still made you feel twelve years old. "You're young. You should be out living life, not buried in work like us."

Even at 26, your parents still fussed over you like you were a child. Some things never change, you suppose.

"Actually, I'm heading to a party tonight with friends."

Your mom's face lit up like you'd announced world peace. "A party! Oh, that's wonderful!" Her expression quickly shifted to concern. "But the lights there won't be too flashy, will they? You know how they can trigger—"

"Mom," you cut in gently, all too familiar with that worried look from years of school trips and sleepovers. "The medication Dr. Gojo prescribed works really well. I'm fine now."

"Just take care of yourself," your dad said softly.

"The medication's been great," you assured them. "Really. No seizures in months. Plus Megumi will be there, he knows exactly what to do if anything happens."

Your mom's face still held that familiar uncertainty, years of midnight hospital runs and frightened vigils etched in her expression. You crossed to her, wrapping her in a quick hug. "I'll be careful, I promise. No strobe lights, no excessive drinking, no late nights."

"Alright, alright," she conceded, but couldn't resist adding, "You know, there might be some nice young men there—"

"Mom!"

"What? I'm only asking! Mrs. Kenji from the convenience store was just telling me her son's studying medicine—"

"Please stop." You stuffed a generous forkful of cake into your mouth, the same recipe she'd used for every birthday since you could remember.

"Leave her be," your dad chuckled, then paused. "Though a doctor wouldn't be such a bad match."

You nearly choked on your cake. "Doctors are the absolute worst," you blurted, words tumbling out before you can think twice. "They're completely married to their work, walking around like they're god's gift to medicine with their fancy degrees and perfect hair—"

Your parents exchanged looks as you continued your unexpected rant.

"—acting all mysterious and professional one minute, then totally unprofessional the next. Sure, they show up late because of emergencies, which okay, fine, lives are at stake, but still—"

Your mom set down her coffee cup slowly. "Sweetie—"

"—and don't even get me started on their god complexes. Strutting around in those white coats like they own the place, being all tall and handsome and brooding—"

"Handsome and brooding?" your dad cut in, eyebrows rising toward his hairline.

Heat flooded your cheeks. "I meant hypothetically. You know, doctors in general. Not anyone specific."

"Right." Your dad set his papers aside completely, barely suppressing a grin. "Well then, how about a nice accountant instead?"

"Oh, an accountant would be perfect," your mom jumped in, eyes twinkling. "Nice stable hours. No emergencies. Definitely no god complexes."

"And absolutely no perfect hair," your dad added.

You buried your face in the stack of pension forms. "I hate you both."

"No you don't," your mom sang, already cutting another generous slice of cake. "But somebody certainly has strong feelings about doctors. In a very theoretical way, of course."

"Can we please just focus on the pension paperwork?"

"Oh, speaking of work," your mom settled into her chair with that expression that meant you weren't getting away easily, "how's the law firm treating you? Is Mr. Higurama still taking good care of you?"

A familiar heaviness settled in your chest — the same one that appeared whenever they asked about the firm. You pulled on your well-practiced smile. "It's going well. Busy, but I'm learning lots."

Your dad's face lit up with pride, and something twisted inside you. How could you tell them that each morning, you walked into that gleaming tower feeling like an imposter? That your days were spent drowning in work you couldn't bring yourself to care about, surrounded by people like Chad who seemed born for this world in a way you'd never be?

"Our daughter at Nishimura and Asahi," your mom repeated, the same way she'd probably told everyone at the market, the same way she'd mentioned it to Mrs. Tanaka at the convenience store countless times. Their daughter, the lawyer. Their golden ticket to a better life.

You thought about the half-finished paintings hidden under your bed in the dormitory, the art supplies you only dared touch in the dead of night. The way your heart had raced at the gallery with Suguru, feeling truly alive for the first time in months. 

How strange that you could feel both so seen and so invisible at the same time.

"Yeah." You took another bite of cake, which now tasted like sawdust in your mouth. "It's... great. Really great."

They'd sacrificed everything. Dad's double shifts, Mom's weekend cleaning jobs, their dreams abandoned so you could chase what they thought was yours. 

How could you tell them their vision of success was slowly suffocating you? That those gleaming office towers felt more like prison walls with each passing day? That this path you'd convinced yourself to follow was turning into a nightmare? That you'd been wrong?

"Should we look at those pension forms now?" you asked, desperate to escape before the guilt could completely overwhelm you.

Sometimes love could be its own kind of cage, you realized. Your parents' dedication, their unwavering support. It was both a blessing and a burden. They'd given up so much to give you a better life, never realizing they might be pushing you toward a life that wasn't better at all, just different. More prestigious. More stable. More suffocating.

The most painful part was knowing they'd done everything right. They'd loved you, supported you, sacrificed for you — all the things good parents were supposed to do. There was no one to blame, no villain in this story. Just well-meaning parents who wanted the best for their child, never realizing that their dreams for you might not align with your own. 

It was a special kind of heartbreak, being unable to disappoint people who had never disappointed you.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

"If you poke my eye out, I swear—" You squirmed in the backseat, trying to escape as Nobara wielded the mascara wand right in front of your nose.

"Stop squirming then!" She grabbed your chin, fingers surprisingly gentle despite her commanding tone.

"Kind of hard when you're coming at me with that thing!"

From the driver's seat, Megumi let out a long sigh. "Could we maybe not cause an accident? I'd rather not explain that to the police."

"Oh please," Nobara scoffed, never taking her eyes off her work. "I know what I'm doing."

"Since when?" you challenged.

"Since forever. Now shut up and close your eyes."

You complied, though not without a dramatic eye roll first. The car hit a pothole, making Nobara curse as the mascara wand nearly went up your nose.

"Megumi!" She smacked the back of his seat. "A little warning next time?"

"Sure thing," he deadpanned. "Would you like me to narrate every bump in the road? Maybe add some mood music while I'm at it?"

In the passenger seat, Yuji twisted around to watch, grinning like this was the best entertainment he'd seen all week. "Can I try too?"

"Less commentary, more navigation," Megumi cut in. "Where exactly is this place?"

"Right, um..." Yuji squinted at his phone. "Take the next right. Should be the big house at the end—can't miss it."

"I still can't believe we're going to a med student party," you muttered, trying to keep still as Nobara started on your other eye. "Seriously, they'll probably spend all night talking about cadavers."

"Which is exactly why—" Nobara leaned back to examine her work, "—we need to make sure you look absolutely killer."

"I don't need to look killer," you protested. "I'm not trying to impress anyone."

Nobara lowered the mascara wand, fixing you with a long look. "Right. And I'm just going for the thrilling discussions about gross anatomy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I think you know." She reached into her makeup bag, emerging with a tube of lip gloss. "Especially since a certain someone might be there."

Your stomach did an unwelcome flip. "Who told you that?"

"Aha!" Nobara's eyes lit up like she'd just won the lottery. "So there is someone! I knew it. Spill. Now."

"There's nothing to spill," you said, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. "And I definitely don't need lip gloss."

"Too late!" She was already uncapping the tube. "Open up!"

"Nobara, I swear to god—"

The car swerved suddenly, sending Nobara's carefully aimed lip gloss streaking across your cheek.

"Megumi!" she screeched.

"My bad," he said, his tone suggesting it was anything but accidental. "Must've been a pothole."

"And this," Yuji announced from the front seat, "is why I never let you drive anymore," earning himself a death glare from Megumi.

You tried to wipe at your cheek, but the sticky gloss refusing to budge. "Great." 

"Don't move!" Nobara was already armed with a makeup wipe. "I can fix this!"

"No more fixing! I look fine!"

"We haven't even started on your eyeshadow!"

You looked desperately at Megumi in the rearview mirror. "Help me."

"Sorry," he said, barely suppressing a smile. "I'm just the chauffeur."

"Traitor."

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

The first thing that hit you was the noise.

Music throbbed through massive speakers, the bass so heavy you could feel it in your bones, while voices rose and fell in uneven waves, trying and failing to outmatch the music that echoed off the marble floors and high ceilings.

The second thing was the sheer excess of it all.

"Holy shit," Yuji said, voicing what you were all thinking.

The house—if you could even call it that—was more like something out of a movie. A crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting prismatic light across the sea of bodies below. The furniture had been pushed aside to create some sort of dance floor, where people were already dancing like the party had been going for hours.

"Is that a—?" Nobara pointed, mouth agape, at what appeared to be a massive human heart, currently serving as an elaborate vodka luge for a group of laughing students.

"There's two," Megumi corrected, nodding toward another one shaped like some kind of organ. "But I'm not quite sure what's that supposed to look like."

You stood frozen in the entrance, your senses on overload. Strobe lights sliced through the darkness in rapid pulses, bouncing off mirrored walls and making your head spin. The air was thick with fog machine haze and enough designer perfume to stock a department store.

"Hey." Megumi's hand found your elbow. When you turned, his expression was pure concerned-best-friend. "You good? With the..." He gestured vaguely, but you knew what he meant.

You took a deep breath, mentally checking in with yourself as the bass thundered through your chest. "Yeah, think so. Just... don't abandon me for any hot med students?"

He smiled, shifting slightly to block some of the strobing lights. "Please. As if anyone here is interesting enough to make me ditch you."

Suddenly, a burst of cheers drew your attention to what looked like a Vegas-style bartending show. Some guy in a vest was juggling bottles and literally setting drinks on fire, because apparently regular cocktails weren't fancy enough for this crowd.

"Oh. My. God." Nobara's squeal could probably shatter glass. "Is that a chocolate fountain? That's it, forget becoming a pharmacist—I'm marrying whoever owns this place."

"That would be me."

The voice came from behind, smooth as expensive whiskey. You turned to face a tall, striking man. Designer clothes, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up, artfully tousled dark hair, and the kind of smile that's definitely practiced in mirrors.

"Naoya Zenin," he introduced himself, managing to sound both bored and smugly pleased at the same time. "Welcome to my humble abode."

Humble. Right. Through an archway, you could see the party spilled out to a pool area that belonged in a luxury home magazine, complete with more people than your entire apartment building.

"Don't think I've seen you around campus."

Before you could fumble for an explanation, Nobara glided forward like she was born for this moment. "Oh, we're med students too," she lied smoothly, her smile pure sugar. "Exchange program. From Kyoto University."

You barely contained your surprise, but then Nobara's heel found your toes.

"Kyoto?" Naoya's eyebrow arched. "Really? What's your focus?"

"Neurology," Nobara replied without missing a beat, then she gestured toward Megumi. "He's in cardiology. Absolute genius with hearts. Top of our class."

Megumi's face remained admirably blank, though you could practically see his soul leaving his body.

"And you?" Naoya's attention moved to Yuji, who froze like someone had hit his pause button.

"Sports medicine!" Nobara swooped in, slinging an arm around Yuji's shoulders. "You wouldn't believe what he did for our university volleyball team last semester. Practically gave them all new knees."

"Yeah, uh," Yuji managed, looking slightly green. "Knees are... really something."

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from losing it as Nobara continued to spin her elaborate tale. She was in full swing now, crafting backstories with enough detail to make you almost believe them yourself.

"—which is exactly why Tokyo was the perfect choice," she concluded with a theatrical wave of her hand. "The selection process was brutal, but once they saw our research proposals—"

"Research?" Naoya interrupted, looking more intrigued now. "What kind?"

"Oh!" Nobara's eyes lit up with what you knew only meant trouble. She glanced around frantically before her gaze landed on the slowly melting ice heart. "We're actually studying crystallization patterns in organic tissue preservation."

You nearly choked on air.

"Is that so? And what have you found?"

"Well," Nobara continued, smooth as butter, "the molecular structure of ice formation in cellular matrices shows fascinating parallels to..." She jabbed an elbow into your ribs.

"Crystalline lattice networks!" you squeaked, mentally thanking every god that you'd actually opened one of Megumi's chemistry books that one time.

"Precisely." Nobara beamed like you'd just discovered penicillin. "The implications for long-term tissue storage are absolutely groundbreaking."

Naoya's eyes narrowed slightly. "And you're all involved in this research?"

"Interdisciplinary approach," Megumi cut in, his poker face giving away nothing. "We each bring our own perspective to the project."

"How intriguing," Naoya drawled, and you couldn't tell if he was actually buying it or just playing along. "We'll have to discuss it further over drinks. I have some excellent imported vodka over here."

"Perfect!" Nobara practically sang, already dragging a shocked Yuji towards the bar before Naoya could start asking about actual medical terms.

The moment Naoya turned away, you released a breath that felt like you'd been holding it since freshman year. "Crystallization patterns?" You glanced at Nobara. "Seriously?"

"I panicked, okay?" she whispered back, still maintaining her beauty-queen smile. "The ice sculpture was right there! What was I supposed to say?"

"Maybe something that won't get us exposed as frauds when he starts asking about actual medical stuff?"

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

It was remarkable how quickly your ridiculous pretense took on a life of its own. Your virgin mojito had long since grown warm, forgotten in the excitement of your increasingly elaborate charade. You'd tried to back out earlier, but Nobara wouldn't hear of it. 

Now, surprisingly, you were having too much fun to care.

Nobara charmed her way through the room like always, her tales of revolutionary research getting more outlandish by the minute. Yet somehow, these future doctors were eating it up. Her theatrical gestures and infectious confidence made even the most absurd claims sound plausible.

You found yourself caught up in the performance, adding details to your fictional research with surprising ease. Every half-remembered phrase from Megumi's textbooks, every medical drama you'd ever watched, became fodder for your improvised deception. 

"Exactly!" Nobara said, turning over to you. "Show them that diagram you were working on."

Without missing a beat, you grabbed a cocktail napkin and began sketching what you hoped looked like scientific diagrams but were actually just random shapes you remembered from Megumi's chemistry textbooks. The small crowd leaned in.

"This is brilliant," someone said, peering at your doodles. "The way you've mapped the molecular bonds—"

"Groundbreaking," another agreed, though you were pretty sure your drawing made no sense.

Even Megumi, usually allergic to fun, had embraced the absurdity. His natural stoicism translated perfectly into the role of a serious researcher. In fact, he seemed genuinely in his element. For once, he could talk about molecular structures and reaction mechanisms without your eyes glazing over. 

Yuji, meanwhile, had found his stride discussing sports injuries with a group of actual athletes. His enthusiasm for sports made up for any medical knowledge he lacked, and he'd managed to deflect every technical question with "Yeah, but you should see what this does to your knees!"

It was strangely freeing, this slipping into another life. 

You hadn't actually needed to pretend to be med students — there were plenty of other students at the party too, from engineering to literature. But somehow, making up this stupid story was surprisingly enjoyable.

For once, you weren't thinking about law school, your parents' expectations, or your complicated feelings about certain doctors. Instead, you were just... playing, creating a fantasy world where you could be anyone you wanted to be.

And maybe that was the real breakthrough of all.

Later that night, you and Nobara made your way to the bar to get new drinks, still laughing about your successful deception. Naoya was already there, lounging against the bar with the kind of casual elegance that suggested he'd never had an awkward moment in his life. 

His eyes lit up when he spotted you, that boyish smile spreading across his face. He straightened up, abandoning whatever conversation he'd been having with his friends.

"Ah, our brilliant researchers," he drawled, gesturing to the bartender. "Let me make you something special."

The way he said it made you wonder if he'd seen through your act, but his smile remained playful, almost conspiratorial. He leaned over the bar himself, selecting a few bottles. His movements were smooth, casual, like everything else about him.

"Oh, she doesn't drink," Nobara said, pulling you closer as she watched him mix the drinks. "Medical condition."

"Come on, one won't hurt," Naoya insisted, his smile never wavering. "This is a celebration." He slid two glasses towards you both, the liquid an impossible shade of blue that seemed to glow. "My own creation. Like your groundbreaking research, it's one of a kind."

Nobara reached for the drink, but you hesitated, knowing it was a bad idea to drink with your medication. But then you reached for it anyway. It seemed rude not to. 

Naoya raised his own glass for a toast, but before either of you could react, a group of boisterous athletes in varsity jackets crashed into your circle

"Yo, Naoya! Stop flirting and get your ass over here!"

Naoya's casual composure cracked slightly as his friends practically manhandled him away and dragged him backwards. "Ladies, excuse me. Duty calls. Save that drink for me?"

Once he was gone, Nobara nudged you with her elbow. "Well, he was subtle."

"Please don't start."

"What? I'm just saying, the guy couldn't take his eyes off you."

You rolled your eyes. "He's literally your type. Rich, handsome, probably going to inherit a hospital or three. Why don't you go for it?"

"Because he wasn't looking at me?" Nobara raised an eyebrow. "Besides, since when do you turn down good-looking guys?"

"Since they started looking like they've never heard the word 'no' in their lives. I mean, look at this place. These people probably vacation in countries I can't even spell."

"Right, because that's totally the reason." Nobara's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Nothing to do with a certain someone who you won't talk about?"

You groaned, dropping your head onto the bar. "Can we go back to pretending to be brilliant researchers? That was way more fun than this conversation."

"Don't be like that!" Nobara suddenly perked up, grabbing your arm. "Come on, let's go dance. Fresh air will do you good, and maybe clear whatever, or whoever, is on your mind."

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

You followed Nobara into the backyard, still carrying your untouched drink more for show than anything else. The night had transformed the perfect garden into something between a music festival and a medical conference gone wild. 

Fairy lights twinkled in the trees, casting everything in a dreamy glow, while the pool glowed an artificial blue that matched your drink. In the water, people splashed around, their pretense of sophistication long abandoned as music pulsed through the air.

Near an absurdly big fire pit, you spotted Megumi and Yuji sitting with a couple of female med students. Even from a distance, you could tell that Yuji was trying to impress them in his own unique way of doing—whatever it was he was doing there—while Megumi watched with his usual quiet amusement.

Then, the music shifted to something with a heavy beat, and before you could protest, Nobara grabbed your hands, pulling you both into a dance circle. Even Megumi got dragged in, though his version of dancing mostly involved standing there while the rest of you moved around him. His deadpan expression only made everything funnier.

You found yourself laughing, really laughing, as Yuji attempted to coordinate a group choreography that absolutely no one could follow. Nobara twirled you around, both of you giggling as you nearly crashed into Megumi, who caught you with an eye roll that couldn't quite hide his smile.

For a moment, everything else faded away. None of it mattered — not law school, not your internship, not any of it. You were just four friends being young and stupid together, pretending to be something you weren't and having more fun than you'd had in months.

Across the yard, you kept catching glimpses of Naoya, who remained stationed at the beer pong table, surrounded by his athletic friends. His smile would flash in your direction whenever your eyes met, and something about the attention felt... nice. Not him specifically. Maybe you just liked being seen. By someone. Anyone.

That's when someone burst through the backyard doors, nearly colliding with you. His shout cut through the music and chatter, "Professors incoming!"

The words rippled through the crowd like lightning. The party dissolved into instant chaos as someone killed the music, leaving only the telltale sound of glass bottles being hastily collected while future medical professionals scattered like startled teenagers.

Before you could process what was happening, someone crashed into you — literally crashed, sending your blue drink all over your shirt. The woman looked right through you, her eyes fixed on something behind your shoulders, face pale like she'd seen a ghost.

"I'm so so sorry," she managed.

"It's okay—" you started, but she was already moving past you, drawn to the front entrance like a magnet.

"What a bitch," Nobara said, eyeing your ruined shirt.

"At least I don't have to pretend to drink it anymore." You dabbed uselessly at your shirt, though you were oddly unfazed. After all, this wasn't the first time something like this had happened.

But Nobara wasn't listening anymore — her attention had shifted to the front entrance where a group of older, admittedly attractive men had just walked in. Your stomach dropped when you spotted him. No, them. Both of them. 

Dr. Gojo and Dr. Geto, walking in like they owned the place. Which, you realized with growing horror, they kind of did — these were probably their students. And here you were, playing pretend medical researcher while your actual doctors just crashed the party.

But any panic about your blown cover vanished when you saw what happened next. The woman who'd run into you had frozen in place as Dr. Gojo spotted her. The look that passed between them was so intense, so heavy, that you felt like you were intruding just by witnessing it.

"What is that about?" Nobara whispered, gripping your arm as you both watched the scene unfold.

"I don't know." You couldn't tear your eyes away. Gojo had caught up to the woman now, and even from across the room, you could feel the tension between them as they exchanged what looked like a few terse words. Then, just as abruptly as it started, he strode off deeper into the house, leaving her standing there alone.

"Okay, that was weird," Nobara said, still clutching your arm.

You just nodded, feeling strangely unsettled. There was clearly a story there — several stories, probably — but you weren't sure you wanted to know any of them. Something about the whole interaction felt too private, like you'd stumbled onto a scene you weren't meant to witness.

Then Suguru moved towards the woman, the crowd parting before him. When he reached her, his hand came up to her face with a gentleness that felt like a knife between your ribs, thumb brushing against her cheek.

The pieces clicked together then with nauseating clarity. This was her. Dr. Gojo's girlfriend—student—or whatever she was. She was probably also the woman from the phone call at the art exhibition, the one whose voice had made Suguru drop everything.

Watching them, seeing how his fingers lingered on her skin, made something twist uncomfortably in your stomach. 

It was ridiculous. You had no right to feel this way. He wasn't yours to want, wasn't yours to miss. Hell, he was barely more than your doctor, even if the memory of his hands on you in that bar bathroom still burned.

Then, as if pulled by the weight of your stare, his eyes met yours across the room. For one endless moment, the party dissolved into white noise. His hand dropped from the woman's face, and something unreadable flickered across his features before he tore his gaze away.

The moment shattered like glass, leaving you standing there with your stained shirt and a mess of feelings you didn't want to examine too closely. Nobara was saying something beside you, but her words seemed to come from very far away.

You couldn't look away as Suguru turned back to the woman, his posture now stiff and controlled. She kept glancing between him and Gojo with wounded eyes, and Suguru looked at her with such longing, and somehow that felt like a punch in the gut to witness.

"Hey," Nobara's voice cut through your spiral, her eyes falling to the stain on your shirt. "Want to try washing it out?"

You nodded.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

Nobara steered you away from the scene, her grip on your arm somewhere between protective and worried. You let her guide you through the crowd, grateful for the excuse to escape. Behind you, you could still feel the weight of everything you'd witnessed pressing against your spine.

The bathroom was one of those stupidly luxurious ones rich people have in their houses. All marble counters and fancy hand towels. The lights were almost too bright, making you squint at your reflection in the stupidly large mirror.

"Okay, take it off," Nobara commanded, already wetting paper towels. "We'll see if we can save this thing."

You pulled your shirt over your head with shaky fingers, trying not to think about the last time you'd taken off clothing in a bathroom. Trying harder not to think about whose hands had helped you then. 

"So," Nobara said, her tone deliberately casual as she worked on your shirt at the sink. "Want to talk about whatever that was back there?"

"What what was?"

She shot you a look that could have stripped paint. "Oh, I don't know, maybe the way you were looking at that guy from before like he'd personally betrayed you by touching another woman?"

"I wasn't—" you started, then stopped, because what could you say? That you weren't jealous? That seeing him with her hadn't felt like swallowing broken glass? "It's complicated."

"When isn't it?" Nobara said, scrubbing at the stain. "But seriously, what's going on?"

You sit up on the counter, wrapping your arms around yourself in your camisole, the marble cold against your skin. "Nothing's going on. He's my doctor, sort of. We went to an art exhibition. That's all."

Nobara's hands stilled on your shirt. "You went on a date with your doctor?"

"It wasn't a date," you protested weakly. "It was... I don't know what it was."

"Girl," she said, turning to face you fully. "Normal doctors don't take their patients to art shows. Or look at them the way he just looked at you out there."

"How did he look at me?"

"Like someone who's realizing he's in way over his head." She wrung out your shirt, frowning at the stubborn stain. "Which, by the way, seems to be a mutual problem."

You groaned, letting your head thunk against the wall behind you. "This is such a mess. I don't even know why I'm here. I hate parties. I hate med students. I hate—" You cut yourself off, because finishing that sentence with 'seeing him look at her like that' felt too honest.

"Could be worse," Nobara said, attacking your shirt with the fancy hand dryer mounted on the wall. "You could be the one out there in whatever that drama is." She paused, eyeing you. "Though maybe you already are."

"Can we just focus on the shirt?"

Between the two of you, you managed to get the shirt mostly dry, though the stain had settled into a weird bluish shadow. Better than nothing, you supposed.

"I need to fix my face," Nobara announced, pulling out what looked like an entire Sephora store from her tiny purse. "Want me to do yours too?"

"God, no." You shrugged your shirt back on. "I think I'll head downstairs, get some air or something. Meet you there?"

"Don't do anything stupid without me!" she called after you, already leaning close to the mirror.

You slipped out of the bathroom, heading downstairs the music growing louder with each step. The party had somehow gotten even more chaotic, if that was possible. You weaved through the crowd, trying to find Megumi or Yuji.

And then it happened.

You turned a corner and collided face-first into what felt like a brick wall. A brick wall that smelled like sandalwood cologne and cigarette smoke. Strong hands steadied you before you could stumble backward. 

You knew those hands. Knew exactly how they felt against your skin, knew the calluses on those fingers, knew—

"Careful," Suguru's voice rumbled above you, too close and not close enough.

You looked up, immediately wishing you hadn't. But before you could even process the proximity, he tilted your chin up with his fingers — the same hands that had anothers woman's face in them just minutes ago — studying your eyes with sudden clinical intensity. 

"You shouldn't be here," he said. "The lights, the noise—"

"What happened to 'hello'?" you interrupted, somewhere between amused and exasperated.

He blinked, his doctor act faltering. Something shifted in his expression, softening around the edges as his hand dropped from your chin but stayed resting lightly against your neck. "Hello," he said, the word carrying a warmth that made your chest tight.

"Hi," you managed, your voice embarrassingly breathy. He still had one hand on your arm. His thumb brushed against your bicep in what might have been an accident but felt like fire through your shirt.

"Are you leaving?"

"No, I just needed some air." You swallowed hard, too aware of how warm his fingers are against your skin. You should step back. Should put some distance between you and the intoxicating heat of him. Should definitely stop staring at his mouth.

"I didn't know you'd be here," you said, which was both true and completely beside the point.

"Neither did I." His eyes dropped to your shirt, narrowing slightly. "What happened?"

"Oh, just someone's drink. A friend of mine helped me clean it." You gestured vaguely upward, toward the bathroom. "Story of my life, really. Can't go anywhere without wearing half of it home."

"First sports bars, now this." A hint of the warmth you remembered crept into his voice. "At this rate, you'll need to start bringing spare clothes everywhere—"

"I haven't forgotten about your shirt!" you said quickly. "I have it washed at home, I just... with everything going on, I kept forgetting to bring it to your office."

"Keep it." His voice dropped lower. "It looked better on you anyway."

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the compliment, and you found yourself stumbling over your words. "I... that's not... I mean—" You stopped, painfully aware of how flustered you sounded.

His words stirred up memories you'd been trying to ignore. Skin against skin, the taste of beer on his lips, the way his fingers had felt inside you. From the way his jaw clenched, like he was physically biting back words, you knew he was remembering too.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked then. "With your medication—"

"No," you cut him off. "I'm being good, Dr. Geto. Just water and my endless talent for attracting stains."

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Good," he said, softer now. "That's... good." But he didn't let go, and you found yourself swaying slightly closer, drawn in by his warmth, by the lingering scent of cigarettes and that cologne that had haunted you since that bathroom.

You stayed suspended like that, neither of you speaking. Not about the woman from before. Not about that night at the bar. Not about how his thumbs were still tracing absent patterns on your skin like he couldn't quite help himself.

His breath ghosted across your face. This close, you could make out every detail — the faint shadow of stubble along his jawline, the tiny flecks of gold in his dark eyes. It would be so easy to just lean in, to close that last bit of distance and—

A burst of laughter from somewhere else shattered the moment. His hands dropped from your arms, leaving cold spots where his warmth had been. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that seemed more nervous than purposeful.

"I should check on—" he started.

"Yeah, of course," you said quickly, wrapping your arms around yourself to fight the urge to reach for him. "Go. I'm just going to..." you gestured vaguely toward nothing in particular.

"Be careful getting home," he said after a pause.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. You watched him disappear into the crowd, and only then did you let out the breath you'd been holding, sagging against the wall.

"So I was thinking—" Nobara's voice floated down the stairs, and you immediately lunged for her, catching her wrist before she could finish whatever mortifying observation was about to leave her mouth.

"Don't," you said, already trying to drag her toward the nearest exit. "Not a word. Not one single word."

"But I just saw—"

"Nope." You tightened your grip on her wrist. "We're not doing this. We're going to find Megumi and get out of here before—"

"Guys!" Yuji's voice cut through the crowd, and suddenly he was there. "Holy shit, you have to come to the backyard right now."

"Yuji, I swear to god if this is about another keg stand—" Nobara started.

"No, no, this is way better," he insisted, already herding you both toward the back door. "Just trust me." Yuji was already pushing through the crowd, leaving you and Nobara no choice but to follow. You stumbled after him, trying to ignore how your skin still tingled from Suguru's touch.

Meanwhile, the backyard had transformed into some kind of arena. As you pushed through the throng of drunk students, you saw why.

She was there — the woman who'd collided with you earlier, the one Suguru had touched with such tenderness. But she was different now, her earlier vulnerability replaced by something sharp as she lined up a shot at the beer pong table. And beside her, of all people, stood Megumi, looking simultaneously out of place and utterly captivated.

Across the table, Gojo made a show of rolling up his sleeves and crossing his arms over his chest. Next to him stood Naoya, practically radiating the kind of entitled confidence that came with old money and too much validation, you thought.

You squeezed through the crowd to get closer to Megumi, catching her mid-sentence as she spoke to him.

"—and honestly, the way you approached the protein degradation problem?" She gestured with her free hand while perfectly arcing a shot across the table. "Brilliant. Though I had questions about the temperature controls in the third trial—"

The ball landed with a soft 'plop' in Gojo's cup. She hadn't even looked.

"Wait," Megumi cut in, actually leaning forward. "You read my paper? The one about molecular preservation in organic compounds?"

"Read it? I've referenced it in my assignment." She lined up another shot. "Your approach could change how we handle long-term storage of biological materials. Though I did wonder about the crystallization patterns in the control group—"

You watched as Megumi's face did something you'd rarely seen. Because Megumi? Megumi was gone. Hook, line, and sinker. All it had taken was one beautiful woman who could discuss molecular restructuring while landing perfect beer pong shots.

You nudged him with your elbow. "Wrong place, wrong time?" you whispered, but he barely registered your existence.

His turn came, and oh god, it was painful to watch. The ball went wide, not even close to the cups. You had to suppress a laugh because you'd never seen Megumi look so unbothered by failing at something.

The woman spun back to him, completely ignoring Gojo's turn. "So what got you thinking about temperature-dependent structural integrity in the first place?" She aimed for another shot. "Because I have some ideas about stabilization methods that might—" Another perfect arc, another splash. "—actually complement what you're working on."

You watched your best friend — your brilliant, antisocial best friend who'd once spent forty minutes explaining why drinking games were "a fundamental degradation of human intelligence" — now hanging on every word from this woman. 

And he was smiling. Megumi, the guy who'd rather solve complex equations than make small talk was actually smiling at her talking about molecular bonds between beer pong shots.

"You didn't get dragged into this at all, did you?" you said to him.

"Shut up," he muttered, but his ears were pink and his eyes never left her as she lined up another shot.

"Oh god," Nobara whispered beside you. "I think Megumi's in love."

Then you let your eyes wander, and through the crowd you saw him. Suguru stood between the two teams, hands in his pockets, looking like every ethical violation happening before him was physically paining him. His jaw was set, shoulders tense, desperately trying very hard to pretend none of this was happening.

You had to bite your lip to hold back a smile at how adorably stressed he looked, like a substitute teacher whose class had spiraled completely out of control, and somehow, as if sensing your amusement, his eyes found yours across the sea of people.

Your chest did that stupid flutter thing again, the one you really needed to stop happening every time he looked at you like that.

He shook his head slightly, a silent 'can you believe this?' that made the chaos around you fade for just a moment — the shouting crowd, Megumi's awkward academic flirting — all of it dimmed compared to the way Suguru was looking at you.

But then Megumi actually landed a shot, and the crowd erupted. When you looked back, Suguru had turned away, deep in conversation with another professor next to him. You tried to ignore those weird feelings in your stomach, especially when the woman he was clearly in love with stood just feet away. What right did you have to feel this way? To want his attention when she was right there? It was selfish. It really was.

You turned back to the game just as Megumi launched into another scientific discussion. "—if we adjust the temperature coefficient during the initial—" A ping pong ball sailed between them, deliberately catching Megumi's shoulder.

Gojo stood there, all fake innocence. "Are we really doing molecular whatever at a party? Really?"

Across the crowd, you watched Suguru pinch the bridge of his nose, looking like he was questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment. But then Naoya brought out the tequila and challenged them to drink more, and the playful atmosphere curdled into something else entirely. Something heavier.

More shots appeared. The laughter got louder, sharper, meaner.

Nobara pressed closer to your side. "This is about to go sideways."

The woman matched them drink for drink, but while others started swaying, her aim stayed deadly precise. It was almost unnerving — you wondered how any of them were still standing, let alone hitting targets.

Then it happened. When she sank another perfect shot into Gojo's cup and he drained it like water, something shifted in the air. She put one leg up on the edge of a beer crate, hiking up her skirt. The crowd went completely silent as she sprinkled cinnamon on her thigh, just above where her stockings ended.

The air felt suddenly thick, charged with something uncomfortable. Gojo stalked around the table toward her, and you wanted to look away but couldn't. It felt wrong to watch, invasive, like walking in on something raw and private that was never meant for an audience.

When Gojo dropped to his knees before her, you finally managed to tear your eyes away — only to catch Suguru's expression. God, you wished you hadn't. The raw hurt that flashed across his face felt like a punch to your gut. He turned away, disappearing into the dark garden beyond the fairy lights.

The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles, but all you could hear was static. Your skin felt too tight, your chest too hollow. The party pressed in from all sides, suffocating, while that image of Suguru's face played on loop in your head.

Next to you, Megumi had become intensely fascinated with his shoelaces, while Nobara looked like she'd witnessed a car crash in slow motion. Something had shifted, tilted off its axis. What had started as fun had twisted into something else entirely. 

You needed air, space, anything to escape the sudden wrongness of it all. You murmured something about needing air to your friends and slipped away from the crowd, following the path Suguru had taken into the garden.

You found him in a shadowed corner, far from the main paths. His cigarette glowed like a firefly in the dark, smoke trailing upward as he exhaled toward the sky.

He must have heard you approach, but he didn't move. You stepped closer, careful to make your presence known, giving him every chance to tell you to leave. When he stayed silent, you settled beside him.

"You okay?" The words came out barely louder than a breath.

"I'm fine." His voice was rough, like the smoke had scraped it raw.

"Okay." You tipped your head back, studying the stars. They were clearer here, away from the party's glow. "Well, I'm just going to stand here and count stars for a bit."

"You don't have to do that."

"Do what?" You kept your eyes fixed upward, letting him have his privacy. "I'm just stargazing. You happened to find the best spot."

Silence fell. More smoke spiraled skyward. You stayed quiet, true to your word, as if watching stars was all you'd come out here to do. As if you hadn't followed him because seeing him hurt made something in your chest ache.

Just two people, looking up at the same sky, sharing the same quiet corner of a chaotic night. If he needed to pretend that's all it was, you could give him that.

"You know," you said, gazing up at the hazy Tokyo sky. "Van Gogh painted 'Starry Night' from an asylum window. Could only see Venus from his room, had to imagine the rest. Afterwards he wrote those frantic letters to his brother complaining that he made Venus way too big in the painting, he could never quite let go of that."

Suguru looked over at you. "Is that so?"

"Mhmm. Also, did you know that he used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would make him happy from the inside out?"

You caught the slight twitch of his lips in the darkness. "You're making that up."

"I swear I'm not! He also tried to drink turpentine once. His doctor had to physically stop him." You were fully animated now, warming to the subject. "Though considering this is the same guy who gave his severed ear to a prostitute as a Christmas gift, the paint-eating thing seems almost reasonable."

"Please tell me that's a joke."

"Oh no, for real! But there are even weirder stories about artists. Like there's this issue about whether Vermeer used some kind of prehistoric camera. Like talent wasn't enough of an explanation for his paintings." You rolled your eyes. "My personal favorite theory is that Vermeer was actually a fraud and his daughter did all the paintings. Oh, and don't get me started about the conspiracy that Salvador Dalí's mustache was actually fake."

"Now I know you're making this up."

"I swear I'm not! Art history is wild!"

Finally, a real laugh escaped him — just a quiet thing, but real, the sound startling in the quiet garden. You watched his shoulders finally relax, the tension leaving his face.

"Ah, there it is," you said quietly.

"There's what?"

"That smile. Been wondering if you'd lost it completely."

He shook his head, but the smile lingered. "You're something else, you know that?"

Your eyes drifted to the cigarette dangling from his fingers. "Those things will kill you, you know," you said. "I hear there's this really demanding profession called 'doctor' that keeps warning people about that."

"Is that so?" he mused. "Must have missed that particular lecture."

You studied him for a moment before saying, "Want to talk about it?"

He blew out a stream of smoke, watching it disappear into the darkness. "It's nothing."

"Right. Because all the cool doctors hang out alone in gardens, smoking and looking sad."

That got you another smile, smaller this time. "Careful, Attorney. Your sarcasm is showing."

"Better than your deflection."

Silence fell between you again. Music from the party drifted through the garden, muffled and dreamlike. You waited, letting him choose whether to fill the quiet or let it be.

Finally, he spoke, his voice rough. "It's just—" He crushed out his cigarette beneath his shoe, watching the ember die. "Watching them hurt each other, then somehow find their way back together. Over and over. Like they can't help themselves." His fingers twitched toward his pocket, probably for another cigarette, but he stopped himself.

He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it messier than before. "And I can't... I can't fix it. Any of it. I'm just standing there, watching it all fall apart."

You shifted closer until your shoulder brushed his, offering what comfort you could. "Maybe it's not yours to fix."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That's the problem, isn't it? I've spent so long trying to fix things for him, for them both. And now—"

"Now you're caught between them," you said softly, "still trying to fix things while being left out."

"Something like that." He turned to look at you then, really look at you. "When did you get so wise about all this?"

You shrugged. "Oh, you know, all those stupid law books."

He huffed out a sound that might have been almost a laugh, then grew serious again. "They deserve better than this," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Both of them."

"So do you."

The words hung between you, weightier than intended. When he turned to look at you again, something in his expression made your heart stutter. The fairy lights caught in his eyes, turning them to liquid gold at the edges.

"Here," he murmured, voice dropping to that deep tone that seemed to vibrate through your chest. "You've got..." His hand moved toward your face, hovering for a heartbeat before his thumb brushed your cheek with impossible gentleness. "Eyelash."

You forgot how to breathe. "Gone?"

"Almost." He leaned closer, thumb tracing another whispered path across your cheekbone. "There."

But neither of you moved away. His gaze dropped to where his thumb had just been, lingering there as a shiver ran through you — from the night air or his proximity, you couldn't tell. Goosebumps raised along your arms, and his eyes caught it.

His fingers drifted down your arm, barely touching, following the trail of raised skin. That ghost of contact only made you shiver harder. You heard his sharp intake of breath, felt it in the charged space between you, and inhaled that faint cigarette smoke that still lingered on his lips.

"You taste like smoke," you whispered, immediately wanting to take the words back. Smell, not taste — as if you already knew.

"Sorry," he murmured, but instead of pulling away, he swayed closer, like you were both being pulled together by gravity itself. His free hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing along your jaw in a way that made you dizzy.

"Don't be."

The moment hung suspended, everything beyond your small circle of garden fading to watercolor blurs. There was just his hands on your skin, the barely-there space between you, and then — his lips found yours.

He kissed you achingly gentle at first, as if afraid you might shatter. He tasted like smoke and wine and something underneath that was purely him. For a heartbeat, the world condensed to just this — the soft press of his mouth, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, the night wrapping around you like silk.

But even as you melted into him, you could feel it — the shadow of her lingering between you, all his unspoken love for her. It was there in the slight trembling of his hands, the bitter edge beneath the sweetness of his kiss, the way he touched you like he was trying to convince himself of something.

Then his fingers slid into your hair, and rational thought scattered. This wasn't like that desperate night at the bar. This was slower, deeper, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every sigh, every shiver, learning exactly how you wanted to be kissed.

You knew you should stop this. He was carrying a torch that burned too bright to ignore, loving someone who wasn't you. But his hands felt so right against your skin, his mouth moving against yours with a tenderness that made thinking impossible.

Instead of pulling away, you drew him closer, fingers curling into his jacket. He made a sound low in his throat, surprise or surrender, you weren't sure. Didn't want to know.

The kiss deepened, turned hungry. Your back hit something solid, a wall maybe, you didn't care enough to check. His hands cradled your face now, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he kissed you like he was trying to forget something, or someone.

Then suddenly he was gone, backing away so quickly you nearly stumbled. His breathing came ragged, matching your own. In the dim light, you could see the conflict written across his face.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have—"

You knew this was wrong. Everything about it screamed mistake — he was older, more experienced and he was your doctor, technically, and let's not forget he's clearly in love with someone else. Tomorrow, in the harsh light of day, you'd probably both regret this.

But right now? Right now you wanted to be selfish. Wanted to pretend, just for tonight, that his hands on your skin meant something more than escape. That when he looked at you with those dark eyes, he was seeing you and not her shadow.

And was it really that wrong to be selfish, just this once? To take something you wanted without overthinking every consequence? Everyone else seemed to do whatever they pleased, why shouldn't you?

You closed the distance between you, hands finding his jacket collar once more. "Don't think," you whispered, pulling him down to meet you. "Just... don't think."

For once in your life, you decided to take something you wanted, consequences be damned. Tomorrow could take care of itself.

He resisted for half a heartbeat, then surrendered with a groan that made your knees weak. This time when he kissed you, there was nothing gentle about it. He walked you backward until stone met your back again, one hand bracing against the wall beside your head.

Your fingers wound into his hair as he pressed closer, until you could feel every line of him against you. The solid weight of him made the world spin. When he lifted you, it felt natural to wrap your legs around his waist, letting him pin you more firmly against the wall.

His hand slid under your thigh, grip steady and sure. Every point of contact between you felt electric, dangerous, wrong — and yet too good to stop.

But god, the way he touched you made it impossible to think straight. Every rational argument dissolved under the heat of his hands, the pressure of his body against yours. You were playing with fire and you knew it. But maybe you wanted to burn.

When you broke apart for air, his eyes were dark enough to drown in. For a moment, you both stayed frozen like that, breathing hard, balanced on the knife's edge of something stupid.

"We shouldn't," he said, but his fingers only tightened their grip.

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "Maybe we should find somewhere more private," you breathed, feeling the shudder that ran through him. "Like a bedroom."

His grip on your thigh tightened. He pressed his forehead to the wall beside your head, harsh breaths hot against your neck. The hand by your head curled into a fist against the stone.

"My place isn't far," he said roughly. When he met your eyes again, there was something vulnerable in his gaze. "But are you sure about this?"

Instead of answering, you traced slow kisses along his jaw, feeling the scratch of stubble against your lips. The sound that escaped him was almost pained.

"I meant here."

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note — thank you all for your continued patience and support with this slow update story :')) i've added a "previously" section at the beginning to help you keep track of the narrative, maybe? idk, i'd love to hear if you find this helpful.

sooo this chapter dove deeper into the growing complications between our characters as their lives start to tangle together. i had so much fun writing the crossover between the remedies and reasons and symptoms and causes storylines, even though handling two timelines of the same events nearly broke my brain.

also thank u to that one anon who reminded me that r&r reader still has suguru's shirt (would have totally forgotten about it).

& quick note about the alcohol consumption in this story: while it's serve the narrative of the story, please remember that alcohol is toxic to the body and brain, with no "safe" amount. please be mindful of your health and wellbeing.

and lastly, thank you so so much for reading. all your messages, comments, and reblogs mean the world to me, like really, seeing your theories and those long analysis messages absolutely makes my day !! i read every single one even if i don't always get to reply. thank you for supporting this story and being patient with my updates <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here !

tags — @sugurora @manhattanstrawberry @rosso-seta @shoruio @paolarox01

@depressedemosantaclaus @myahfig4 @starlightanyaaa @theelegantpotato  @panteramarron

@saurondriell @starmapz

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[solxamber]

Octivinelle prompt 8, fluff with a lil comedy?

The Fine Print || Azul Ashengrotto

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "This is non-negotiable" ; Genre: Fluff (with a little comedy)

You stood with your arms crossed, glaring at Azul across his desk. His desk, as usual, was piled high with papers—mostly contracts and ledgers—but today, front and center, sat a very specific document.

A "romantic contract," as he had so smugly called it.

“You can’t be serious,” you said, squinting at him as he adjusted his glasses and looked far too pleased with himself.

“I assure you, I’m entirely serious,” Azul replied, his voice calm and professional, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “It’s just a formal agreement outlining our relationship expectations. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You picked up the contract and skimmed through it again. “Clause 3b: ‘All kisses must be administered with the utmost sincerity and a minimum duration of five seconds.’ Azul, what the hell is this?”

His smirk widened. “I simply believe in ensuring that all displays of affection are meaningful and impactful. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You groaned, tossing the paper back onto his desk. “And what’s with Clause 7? ‘Daily reminders of affection are mandatory’? Azul, you already know I like you, right?”

“I know,” he said, his cheeks faintly flushed. “But hearing it doesn’t hurt. Besides, this—” he tapped the contract with a flourish—“is non-negotiable.”

“Oh, it’s non-negotiable?” You stepped closer, raising an eyebrow. “And what happens if I refuse to sign your little love contract, hmm? Do I get slapped with a fine? Thrown into the Lounge’s kitchen as punishment?”

Azul blinked, clearly not having thought that far ahead. He coughed into his hand, straightening his tie to regain his composure. “Of course not. This is simply... a formality.”

“Uh-huh.” You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the desk so you were eye to eye with him. “Be honest, Azul. You just want an excuse to keep me around all the time, don’t you?”

Azul’s face turned a lovely shade of crimson. “T-that’s irrelevant!”

You laughed, reaching out to ruffle his perfectly styled hair just to fluster him more. “You’re such a dork, you know that?”

He swatted your hand away, complaining about professionalism, but his flustered expression betrayed him.

“All right, fine,” you said with a grin. “I’ll sign your ridiculous contract, but on one condition.”

Azul raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “And what might that be?”

“No more sneaky clauses about ‘mandatory five-second kisses.’ If you want affection, just ask like a normal person. Deal?”

Azul hesitated for a moment, then sighed dramatically, as if agreeing to this was a great burden. “Fine. But you’re still required to stay by my side indefinitely. That, too, is non-negotiable.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrayed your amusement. “Deal, you big softie.”

As you signed the contract with a flourish, Azul couldn’t stop the small, satisfied smile that spread across his face. And when he leaned over to press a quick kiss to your cheek—without any contractual obligation—you realized you didn’t mind being stuck with him one bit.

Masterlist

[aspens-dragons]

personally i wouldnt take that

for some reason i keep forgetting you’re not at bba since almost everybody else i see on my dash is. this doesn’t really matter and idk if you’d care at all but like. fun fact ig

fascinating.

[54625]

With the upcoming Fit lore later today, I figured it may be useful to transcribe his earlier lore drops for those of you who may not have been there, or want a refresher. These were attempts to contact the contractor to relay information, and happened before the dreams.

-First attempt-

(Text appears on screen.

CONNECTING...

BYPASSING FEDERATION FIREWALL

ATTEMPT FAILED

ERROR)

Fit- Hello, it's me.

Fit- Sorry I've been taking my sweet time.

Fit- I've been busy...

Fit- We need to pivot from our original plan.

Fit- I've adopted a son, and I've been caring for him.

Fit- I've grown attached to him, so he's been my priority.

Fit- Being a single dad is a challenge at times.

Fit- But it's much easier than the nomadic lifestyle.

Fit- Life here is very different from the wasteland.

Fit- But I haven't forgotten our agreement.

Fit- I will fullfil my contractual obligations.

Fit- They're still falling for the whole "vacation" thing.

Fit- I ask that you be patient though, as we have a problem.

Fit- Something called "The Federation" controls this entire island.

Fit- They've been keeping us here.

Fit- As long as they are in the way, I can't access what you are looking for.

Fit- And the anti-cheat on the island is strong.

Fit- I haven't been able to use my abilities.

Fit- The Federation must be eliminated for this to succeed.

Fit- I've gained everyone's trust and made friends...

Fit- I've been helping their fight against the Federation in order to advance our plan.

Fit- Still... It hurts me to see everyone suffering...

Fit- Some have lost things they cared about...

Fit- But this struggle is an unfortunate necessity...

Fit- The conflict is increasing the value of what you seek...

Fit- I know you're paying me...

Fit- But have you considered......

...the true cost?

Fit- regardless of my personal feelings, I'll slowly move the plan forward.

Fit- I hope you find what you're looking for.*

Fit- It's getting late...*

MESSAGE FAILED TO SEND

Disconnecting....

*(it is worth noting that these are messages Fit had previously sent in the Minecraft global chat in that odd font.)

-Second attempt-

(Text appears on screen.

CONNECTING...

BYPASSING FEDERATION FIREWALL)

Fit- Checking in.

Fit- I am messaging you again to keep you updated on my progress.

Fit- The Federation still has full control of the island.

Fit- They've been putting on some strange election....

Fit- I'm assuming to keep everyone occupied.

Fit- However, it seems they've let a vulnerability slip.

Fit- Player data and statistics are being tracked.

Fit- The Federation must have this data stored somewhere on the island.

Fit- If I had to guess, it's likely the computer system of the Federation offices.

Fit- If I tried to break in and access the data, they would likely capture me...

Fit- It would not end well.

Fit- However, whoever wins this election will likely have open access.

Fit- Perhaps they could be persuaded... Or tricked into giving us access.

Fit- I will fullfil the contract.

Fit- And yet... I'm starting to wonder....

Fit- What are you actually trying to achieve?

Fit- Even if I can access the data, what good would it do?

Fit- I'm skeptical, but I hope to hear from you soon........

(This island...... Is worse than I thought....)

(Text appears on screen.

Windows XP

Task failed successfully.

[OK] )

(A cinematic showing various scenes from QSMP and 2B2T play. All the images from the former are in full colour, while all the images from the latter are in black and white. A video of a capybara eating grass plays. It is in black and white.)

If I left anything particularly important out, let me know!

[beetle-blogging]

I'm still not done with this theory. I thought about it again in context of the transcripts of the Small Print in the Marriage Agreement bc something about it niggled at me, and I connected some dots. This is gonna be long and partly a rehash of some of my previous posts, sorry.

TL;DR: Betelgeuse might be, or might have been in the past, trying to gain immortality through marrying and then murdering Lydia the same way Delores tried to do to him, except in BJBJ, he was trying to contractually obligate Lydia into the steps of the ritual through the small print of the marriage agreement. One of which, apparently, includes Falling In Love. He's only trying half-heartedly, though. Cause he likes her.

There was literally no reason for Delores to have been in the second Beetlejuice movie except to give Betelgeuse an excuse to narrate his backstory and exposit to the audience about the immortality ritual that Delores tried to pull on him.

Betelgeuse is clearly both intimately familiar with the ritual bc he was a victim of it, as well has theoretical knowledge of it, or else he couldn't have narrated the flashback like that. He, while alive, wouldn't have known about the cult or the requirements and purpose of the ritual, or even that there was one. He had to have looked that up later.

The ritual definitely requires marrying and then murdering your spouse and stealing/binding their soul, and likely also requires the love of the victim (at the time of the wedding? Wedding night? Murder? Cause while Betel doesn't seem to like Delores anymore, he did look smitten in the flashback and called himself "bewitched". Love is at least useful to get them to marry you) - and possibly also for the victim, because Delores was still acting like she had some possessive, fucked-up love for Betelgeuse. That part is actually very weird. Why the hell would she STILL act like she's into him when she murdered him, or at least tried to? I know fanon has it that he's a fantastic lay, but it's been 600 years. While I'm at it, I doubt the consummation was just for fun or done as a last kindness for the condemned, so there's another likely necessary step of the ritual.

And while that backstory and bit of lore was imo very interesting and sad, it didn't actually add anything, did it? We didn't need those particulars, fun as they were to watch, they weren't relevant to this movie. "Betelgeuse's ex wife is pissed and hunting him" would have given us the same movie minus the lore. Or just write her out. We didn't need her stalking the halls, or killing Bob - which was just added to give her more to do - or even showing up at the church, either. She was completely unnecessary after that flashback. Or even at all, if nothing further is ever going to be made of that ritual or cult (and would we want another soul sucker in BJBJBJ?). Ok, she was scary in a hot way, but that's it. Even without her, Astrid could have opened the door to the Sandworm in order to get rid of Betelgeuse in the church, who'd then have rerouted it to only Rory, followed by "We had a deal" etc just fine. The number 1 complaint people have about this movie is that Delores was just there for no reason. Betelgeuse/Delores does follow the theme of Love Betrayed same as Astrid/Jeremy and Lydia/Rory, and that's neat, but that wouldn't have required a background story involving a cult and a ritual that can get one out of the dead thing, for good gain you Immortality, through marriage and murder.

Then there's this:

Delores: Your soul belongs to me, my love, for eternity.

Betelgeuse: You don't want to spend eternity with me.

That sounded like they'd be bound together forever, not like she was going to eat his soul. At least, it sounds like that's Betelgeuse's understanding of what Delores is after. He'd still have been by her side. He just didn't wanna be after she killed him. Ok, so that bit is also there for a reason. Everything else, between flashback and church scene, is filler. Poor Bob.

Now we come to this transcript of the small print of the Marriage Agreement (only the highlighting is mine, transcript by jadeluz-official (who deactivated, and I don't know their current username or I'd link directly), which tbh, I'm not sure if we can count the text as canon bc it's basically imperceptible to the majority of the audience, but if the transcript is accurate then the contract is plain fascinating:

Do you see what I'm getting at? Cause the Immortality Ritual Theory occured to me weeks before I ever saw that transscript, I first mentioned it on my blog here and send herefortheships an ask related to the idea before that... but the part where Love might be an requirement for the ritual just hadn't occured to me then. Then I reread that small print which would compel Lydia to love Betel, my mind flashed back to Betelgeuse saying Delores had bewitched him, and I was like, uhhhh.

In context of my theory, Betelgeuse trying very hard to to woo Lydia (firm, very visible canon) and also having a contract ready that would obligate* her to love him for eternity and to fulfill all his needs (which is technically in the movie, but barely legible), is very sus. We've got love, marriage, sex (needs), and two people bound together for eternity all covered. The only stuff that's missing is the blood-drinking and the animal sacrifice. Which, 1) might have just been for the satanic aestetics, and 2) would still have been very easy to get Lydia to do if that contract had made her fall in love with Betel.

*again, the canonicity of that small print is questionable, but it does recontextualise Betel's wooing A Lot. Or like, make his motivations for it more ambiguous. Why write the Agreement like that? Why write it at all? (Was that in the script? I very badly want to read the script but I can't find it)

None of the above imo invalidates the headcanons/observations I and other people have made about how Betelgeuse did not try all that hard to either enforce that marriage agreement - which HE never even signed.

(he didn't even have Lydia sign it below when it says it will become effective once it's signed below, and yes I am being pedantic about a prop that people likely weren't meant to read anyway, but someone did bother to write it and it is meant to be a contract written by a demon/evil spirit who makes a lot of deals, so the signature being in the wrong place is really funny to me)

An agreement which should not have been voided by the Code 699 violation anyway bc it's an engagement, not a marriage. Nor did he physically/magically force Lydia into marriage in the church despite having ample time, plus there's his suspicious failure to fight back against banishment and instead inflating like a balloon and becoming helpless at the first "Betelgeuse".

Those can't all be out-of-story oversights. Maybe the handbook was meant to say "voids marriage contracts", but even so, the contract makes the code-violation it's own loophole. There's so much wriggle room to get out of the marriage. It's like the scriptwriters made a list of ways Lydia could escape the marriage this time, and then used all of them.

I don't think Betelgeuse really wants to screw over Lydia the same way Delores did him. At least, not anymore. But the pieces are set up in a way to suggest that the thought has occured to him, and that he might keep the ritual in his proverbial backpocket in case "have her fall in love with me and agree to stay with me forever voluntarily" fails.

Or maybe, he believes that the immortality ritual is still his actual plan A - cause this theory does imo fit quite nicely (as a retcon) even into the first movie where he said he wanted out of the creepy dead thing for good, cause he's arrogant enough to believe he could get Lydia to "help" him with that if only she let him out for a bit so he could make her like him (tbf, Toonverse proves him kinda right; he can be lots of fun) - and is now deeply, genuinely confused why he keeps self-sabotaging and giving Lydia outs, cause he himself is not aware just how deeply he's fallen for her after 30 years of watching her and trying and failing to get her attention. Too deeply in love to just give her a love potion (Beetlejuice Goes Hawaiian had them, and hey, if Truth Serums exist...), take her to a church, take her to bed under the influence, and then kill her. And too much in love to make her love him through a contractual obligation that she'd be bound to after the wedding.

Betelgeuse pointed Astrid to that loophole in the Handbook by drawing her attention to the book in the church and implying she'd find info about his and Lydia's deal in it. Mention of the deal is not in there, only the loophole to it is. And he knew she saw that page already because he clearly followed her to Jeremy ("She decided to trade lives with the boy"). This self-sabotage could have (further?) backfired on him because the other page she'd flipped to at Jeremy's was the one about Sandworms.

He's a deeply, deeply conflicted man.

[newtonsheffield]

Hey UK paralegal here 👋🏼

Our laws are probably different but it would definitely be worth a check if you have anything similar.

In the UK we have something called constructive dismissal which is basically when your employer has treated you so poorly you have no choice but to leave without notice. It sounds to me like you have grounds for this already so definitely look into whether you have a similar process.

Also if they don’t pay you for your agreed notice that’s an obvious breach of contract (unless there is a written agreement where you’ve agreed to forfeit the pay and leave early)

Either way review your contract and remind them of their contractual obligations e.g to pay you for the agreed notice period

I would also suggest approaching a solicitor yourself. In the UK employment lawyers usually do 30 minute free consultations so it’s worth knowing whether you can get compensation for what you’ve been put through.

Hope this unsolicited advice helps 🩷

Blessings and riches for your advice. Funnily enough, a “typo” was found in the email sent to the staff. Even though the day and date were fully typed out as “Saturday the 15th February” instead of “Thursday, the 27th of February.”

An easy mistake to make I’m sure.

Anyway, I emailed my boss and asked for an exit interview with our third party HR firm. After I found out my coworkers have been engaging in speculation about whether or not I’m having a “nervous breakdown”. Which is now being scheduled.

I shall be preparing.

In times like this I think of a coworker I had maybe two years ago now for six weeks. She was a disaster. Never showed up to work, started drama. And on her last day when they fired her at the end of the day (which i knew was going to happen) she stormed past me and said

“This place is a joke.”

My friend and I now refer to her as the Prophet Donna. The most unlikely people are the most powerful 😂😂

[sgiandubh]

Hi! Hope you had a nice Sunday so far. Fitness Anon here.

Everyone is horrified and disgusted by the latest pap walk and the woman who was chosen for it. Probably the reason for this is that actually it is very clear what kind of profession this woman has. She is an escort girl.

Let's put it this way: the other initial girls (e.g. MM, MC, AM) in the past were also hired, paid and used for a special kind of service. They all had to sign a contract and were obliged to fulfil their contractual obligations. And in return they all were paid or received other benefits.The only difference was that they were labelled as an actress or a model. But in the discussions here they were called beards. And the purpose of their use was exactly the same as this time. 

Apart from that, one could also ask how to characterise the type of agreement made with T? He is paid to pretend to provide services for C. Is it not the same as pretending to be S’s girlfriend? And everyone here more or less agrees that T is being a paid help, too.

Are people here so engrossed right now because this time it is quite obvious what was previously carried out in a rather hidden manner?

Dear (returning) Fitness Anon,

There have been others. Some with names, others - without a name or a bio, fleeting specters across a blurry screen. But spare one or two mysteries (Nobu gal, tattoo gal, etc), all of them had at least a honorable pretext on their business cards. Wannabe is not disgust-inducing, but a prostitute, weeeell....

This time, the unfortunate connection with the seedy demi-monde was obvious from the start, then substantiated. Add to this the hand holding - not a pretty picture. At all. Call me an idiot, but I think that gave many people pause, across the dash. Especially when the whole rest of the pic looked so artificially and hastily cobbled up.

By contrast, C is sheltered by her grotesque marriage fic. Irrespective of paperwork.

[cerebralisis]

Wait, does this message from 🫚 anon refer to the 10 years that have passed since 1989 came out?

Years 1-2, See what they drew = Oct 2014 - Oct 2016, "We were laughing drawing aces", 1989 era

Years 3-4, Keep searching for more = Oct 2016 - Oct 2018, searching for more aces but coming up empty handed, dark Reputation era

Years 5-6, Lay it on thick = Oct 2018 - Oct 2020, heavy flagging during the Lover era and Miss Americana

Years 7-8, Isn't fall great? = Oct 2020 - Oct 2022, release of her two most fall-themed albums, Evermore and Red (TV)

Years 9-10, The final act ends = Oct 2022 - Oct 2024, release of Midnights and The Eras tour, which brings us to the present.

It would make so much sense if Taylor has been under a contract or NDA for the past 10 years. She has been hinting for a while that 1989 was the problem era. Having her evil twin in the Antihero music video wear the 1989 colors and literally point at herself saying “I’m the problem, it’s me.”

Leaving her normal signature off of the infamous 1989 (TV) prologue, which is essentially saying “This isn’t me, I’m not signing off on this.”

Releasing the Bejeweled music video in Oct 2022, almost exactly 8 years after 1989 was released, and using it to tell us that exile ends in 2 more years: Oct 2024 🎃

This is just a theory, but maybe in the move from country to pop, she negotiated an agreement that would offer her a lot of money and the chance to become an even bigger star than she already was, but in exchange, she had to give up control of her public image. She’s written that she put her career first and “took the money” around this time. In doing so, she might have had to sign something that silenced her for the next 10 years.

Her career popped off with 1989, and she was feeling so Gatsby - but then she fell in love with someone who (again) didn’t fit the public image they chose for her, and it sounds like she’s been fighting her decision ever since. You understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars.

To make it worse, after (allegedly) making the difficult decision to sign her life over, she was nearly canceled right after that 🐍 and left with nothing except a relationship that she would have still been contractually obligated to hide.

We can see that she tried to roll with it for Reputation and stayed in the dark, but she ultimately decided to leave Sony and negotiate better terms for herself under Universal so that she could find a way to step into the daylight. And we all know how that sparkling summer went down.

As the decade would play us for fools… but the decade is over now and she’s clean.

[tumblhurgoyf]

Can you explain for my friend why wotc actions after the leak are bad?

This is gonna be a bit lengthy but first I want to establish a timeline. Note the only real info we have is from the Youtuber in question, so it's not unreasonable that some of this is wrong, either intentionally or just because this guy likewise doesn't know all of what happened.

A Youtuber with about 5000 subscribers, oldschoolmtg, ordered booster boxes of March of the Machine.

2. The person he ordered them from mistakenly gave him boxes of March of the Machine: Aftermath.

3. oldschoolmtg cracked the Aftermath packs and posted videos of that online. It does sound like he was aware of difference between MOM and MOM Aftermath before he posted the videos. He said he doesn't believe the person who sold them was aware as that person isn't really into Magic (I personally know a store like this--the owner is really into Warhammer but does Magic stuff too because it pays bills).

4. Wizards says they tried to contact him but couldn't reach him. As far as I know we have no context for how they tried to contact him, how many attempts they made, or how long they waited before hiring the Pinkertons to shake him down.

5. I believe Sunday April 25 in the morning the Pinkertons showed up at this guy's house to recover "stolen" product. They threatened jail time and the Youtuber refers to them as "law men" in his video so I'm not sure if he misunderstands their role or if they misrepresented themselves.

6. After getting the cards, the Pinkerton agents provided a phone number to a person at Wizards for oldschoolmtg to call. He said this person was apologetic and cordial and said they don't believe anything was stolen but they needed the product so they could figure out how this happened to prevent it in the future. oldschoolmtg also says they said they'd send him some product to compensate for the cards the Pinkertons just took from him.

7. oldschoolmtg removed the Youtube videos of him opening the Aftermath packs. They also asked him to ask everyone else to take those vids down, claiming some sort of copyright infringement.

That's all the info I'm aware of, mostly just straight from the person who experienced this.

So why is this wrong?

First, MOM Aftermath is an embargoed product. Which means Wizards ships it out to retailers (be they big box store or LGS or online space or whatever) under a contract that they won't sell it before a certain date and time. oldschoolmtg believes the person he purchased from simply mixed up the two sets because of the similar names. He says he purchased the product and according to his recollection of the phone call, the rep at Wizards likewise didn't think he had stolen it.

That's important because the embargo agreement is between retailers and Wizards. oldschoolmtg had no contractual obligation with regard to the embargoed product. It leads me to believe the Pinkertons were involved because they'd willingly insinuate the product was stolen and oldschoolmtg had committed a crime when in actuality there was no grounds to take any legal action against the man. There was no grounds to get a warrant to search for the product. He had committed no crime. He bought Magic cards from a guy who sells Magic cards. The only actual recourse Wizards would have had if the cards weren't stolen was to pursue the guy who sold them for breaking the embargo.

The only theft that actually occurred was when the Pinkertons raided this guy's home to take cards he purchased.

That's my take given what info we know. The Youtube videos aren't actually relevant in a meaningful way--that's just how Wizards found out.

But it's actually even worse. It would have been shitty to seek out a warrant or just sic lawyers on him. Of course I don't think they had grounds for it, so instead they went extrajudicial instead. That is they took a course of action that didn't involve courts.

For those who don't know, the Pinkertons started in 1850 and operated largely as violent strikebreakers. They're still helping break strikes today. They've been hired by Amazon and Starbucks within the last three years to spy on unionization efforts. Their history is bloody and murderous. No exaggeration. Their response to workers striking and unionizing in the past has been to beat them and shoot them.

I think you can put two and two together here. What does it say for a billion dollar multinational company to send these violent thugs to the private home of a small a guy operating a small Youtube channel?

It's a threat to this guy and anybody else; if you leak our cards we will find where you live and we will come after you. Specific use of the Pinkertons is part of this intentional message. There are other security firms without the history and notoriety. And while any such action would be just as disturbing, I doubt using almost any other agency would have had quite the effect as hiring Pinkertons.

tl;dr Based on what we know it's unlikely this guy did anything actually wrong or unlawful and Wizards sent agents from a firm with a violent and notorious history to his home in an act of intimidation

[paranormaljones]

im probably poking the bear but whatever, but i just wanna say that i'm kind of glad that i stopped participating in the Lockwood & Co. fandom very much at the time that i did. seeing folks attack the people who are feeling burnt out from the campaign to save the show is so discouraging. y'all do realize that's a real thing, right? fandom is meant to be a community of people brought together by one thing: their shared love of art. it is NOT a contractual agreement or an obligation to do a single thing.

y'all need to chill. just because people are experiencing burn out does not mean that they love the series any less than you do and your behavior is actively pushing people further away from wanting anything to do with you and your campaign.