#criminal that we don’t have a professional recording of this show

[deprivedmusicaljunkie]

🙂 (BARKBARKBARKVAKRVAKRBARKBARK)

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Mango (The Surprise, Part 13)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: explicit language, innuendo, implied sex, periods, mostly just fluff, reader taking care of Emily because our girl deserves it Word count: 1.9k

Summary: Emily comes back from a hard week in the field and you treat her in all the ways you can possibly think of. Because she's baby girl and she deserves to be taken care of.

Week 23: The Mango

In both your personal and professional life, you were a wildly independent person. Self-sufficient, dedicated, proud of the work you did and how hard you’d worked to get where you were. You were nobody’s doormat, nobody’s housekeeper, nobody’s mom.

If anyone else you knew, especially men, asked you to cook for them or do their laundry or take care of them in any way, you would have been personally affronted. You would have said, “You’re a fucking grown-up, do it yourself. I’m not your mom.” And you’d mean it.

So it embarrassed you a bit that, with Emily, you acted like a full-blown ‘50s-style housewife and you loved it. Not all the time, of course. But enough of the time that you couldn’t just brush it off. Dinner on the table when she got home? Your pleasure. Packing her lunch? A joy. Doing the laundry and making sure she always had a second go-bag packed and ready in case there was a quick turnaround on cases? You lived for that shit, especially when you hid little notes in the pockets that said things like:

I love you (so does little mango)!

We miss you! <3!

So proud of you for saving lives and kicking criminal ass! P.S. It’s hot. ;)

The bottom line? You were down bad for Emily. You had been from the moment she’d asked you out and all the years since. But after you’d gotten pregnant, your roles had switched a bit. Emily had always taken care of you well, but in the last few months she'd taken over significantly more of the household tasks since you were often tired and achy. You ordered takeout more often than you cooked (Emily had tried, but after her third time setting off the fire alarm you’d said, “You know what, babe, why don’t we just order out?”).

You missed taking care of Emily. God knows, she wouldn’t let anybody else do it. So when she’d called you from the jet to let you know she was on her way home after a grueling week in the field–made even more grueling by the fact that she was on her period–you set out to treat Emily right. To treat her in all the ways you used to treat her before you got pregnant, in all the ways that Emily deserved to be treated and so rarely let herself be.

You had groceries delivered to make her favorite meal, and when the little Find My dot that was Emily showed up at Quantico and started making its way back to DC, you ran her a bath–water scalding so it’d be nice and hot when she came in, fragrant with lavender Epsom salts. You lit candles, turned the bathroom lights low, even put her favorite hoodie and sweatpants and a fluffy towel in the dryer so they’d be toasty and warm when she got out of the bath.

You started on dinner, playing Emily’s favorite Salah Ragab record on the turntable. The food processor growled as it worked overtime to blend a homemade hummus, complete with your secret ingredient: a splash of aquafaba. You chopped parsley and mint for fattoush, made a marinade for the chicken flavored with all the spices Emily loved so much from her childhood years in Oman and Egypt, sumac and cardamom and coriander and all the others that you ordered online from a specialty Middle Eastern spice seller.

Your oven shawarma wasn’t as good as shawarma from a spit in Cairo, but it was about as close as you could get at home, and Emily loved it. And you made a damn good fattoush and hummus. You sliced cucumbers and tomatoes, whipped together a quick yogurt sauce.

You’d just put the chicken and veggies in the oven and were starting on the cream cheese filling for the stuffed dates when you heard the door open and shut.

“In the kitchen!” you called, hands sticky from slicing the dates.

Emily looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, her blazer rumpled from a long day of travel. But her face lit up when she saw you.

“Do I smell… shawarma?!” she asked, wrapping her arms around your waist and kissing your neck, her hands resting protectively over your baby bump.

“Mmhm.” You grinned, feeling Emily’s body melt into yours, the tension in her muscles already dissipating.

“What’s the occasion?” She turned you around, so she could lean her arms on your shoulders, running her fingers through your hair.

You shrugged. “Can’t a girl just want to treat her wife?”

“She sure can.” Emily smiled and leaned in to press her lips softly to yours. You held your hands out at your sides so you wouldn’t be tempted to press them into Emily’s clothes or skin.

Emily pulled away, watching you lovingly as you sliced and mixed and stirred.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked, lowering herself into a chair and wincing slightly.

“In the kitchen!?” You scoffed. “Absolutely not. There’s a bath ready for you, so go relax for a bit.”

Her eyes brightened. “Aw, honey. That’s so sweet of you.” She grabbed your hips again, once again turning you away from the counter so she could press you against it in a hungry kiss.

You giggled and swatted at her with a dish towel. “Go before the water gets cold!”

“Care to join?” she asked suggestively, pulling lightly at the waistband of your shorts.

You smirked, gently grasping her fingers and moving them away. “I have to finish dessert.”

Emily walked toward the bathroom like a scolded puppy, looking back with big eyes. “I can think of something else I’d rather have for dessert,” she commented, eyebrows raised.

You waved her off, blushing furiously. “Get out of here, you dork! Go take your bath!”

“I thought we were treating me tonight!” Emily called from the bathroom.

“That’s an after-dinner treat, honey,” you yelled back. “I’ve got shit to do first.”

“Fine! But I’m gonna hold you to that!”

You shook your head, grinning, as you spooned cream cheese filling into the halved dates, pressing them into a mixture of crushed pistachios and rose petals. God, you loved your wife.

When the dates were plated, the bulgur in the fattoush soaked through, the pita warmed, and the chicken covered in foil and resting on the counter, you washed your hands and went to find Emily, grabbing her comfy clothes and towel from the dryer.

You heart surged when you found her still in the tub, eyes closed, face relaxed. This is what your girl deserved. You leaned down to kiss her on the forehead.

“You alright, honey?” you asked, trying to squat down next to the tub, but ending up on your knees thanks to the baby.

She hummed in affirmation, keeping her eyes closed. “Thank you so much for this, baby,” she mumbled quietly.

“Anytime, love.” You watched her for a few more minutes, then set the stack of warm clothes on the bathroom counter. “There’s a warm towel and some PJs here for you,” you said, struggling to get to your feet.

“You good?” Emily chuckled, watching you out of the corner of her eye.

“Yes.” When you finally managed to make it to your feet, you had beads of sweat on your forehead. It wasn’t even that your belly was that heavy yet, it was that it threw off your center of gravity and made moving from one position to another awkward. “Get dried off when you're ready,” you told her. “I’ll get dinner on the table.”

You were proud of the spread when you stood and surveyed it. Shawarma chicken straight from the oven, spiced and heavenly-smelling. Warm pita bread and a swirl of smooth, creamy hummus with just a bit of paprika and olive oil on top. A lovely, vibrant fattoush, sliced cucumbers, juicy tomatoes. A little plate of stuffed dates, popping with green and pink from the pistachios and rose petals.

Emily walked in, hair wet around her shoulders, blotching her sweatshirt. You pulled her chair out for her but, before she sat down, she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in for a hug. She smelled like lavender and fresh laundry, and you breathed her in, holding her close.

You could tell by the way she lingered there, by the way she breathed easier with her body pressed against yours, that Emily would need a lot of touch tonight. Not just in a sexual way, though Emily’s sex drive was always through the roof on her period. You could tell that tonight, Emily would let you hold her, that she’d curl herself around you tightly, possessively, as if to cover the most that she possibly could of your surface area.

In other words, she needed comfort. And she didn't get it from anyone else, not really. It had taken her a long time to even ask for it from you, to seek it out. So when she did, you were always more than happy to oblige. More than happy to hold clingy, sweet, needy Emily for as long as she needed.

She whined a bit when you pulled away, and you kissed her cheek, playing with her fingers.

“You’ve got to eat something, love. Then I promise I will not let you go for the rest of the night.”

She sat obediently, squeezing your hand, and piled her plate with all the things you’d made, eyes rolling back in her head when she swiped a finger through the hummus and put it in her mouth.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she gushed. “I swear your hummus tastes just like my friend Zainab’s mom’s from when I lived in Oman.”

“It’s the specialty spices,” you shrugged, taking a bite of pita with shawarma and veggies.

“No, I think it’s the special person making it,” Emily cheesed, beaming at you.

You smiled and rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, you’re getting it tonight.”

“I certainly hope so.”

When your plates were cleared and the leftovers tucked safely into the fridge, you led Emily to the bedroom, pulling back the covers for her, tucking her in.

“You know these are just gonna get untucked, right?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Shh,” you scolded. “Let me take care of you.”

You crawled into bed next to Emily, drawing her body into yours, holding her gently as you pressed your lips to hers. She melted into the kiss, already breathless.

You brushed her hair out of her face, placing your hand gently on her lower stomach. “How are your cramps?” you asked. “You want any medicine or anything?”

“The only medicine I need is you,” she said, guiding your hand lower.

You chuckled. “Alright, Romeo. Calm down.” You lowered your face to her neck, planting kisses all across her shoulder and collarbone. “I told you I’d take care of you, and I will.”

Emily held your face gently in her hands, looking deep into your eyes. “Why are you so good to me?” she whispered.

You pecked her on the lips. “Because I love you. And you deserve good things.”

And with that, you started your long, slow journey across the topography of Emily’s body, ready and willing to give her every good thing you possibly could.

[rreskk]

The interrogation room.

Summary: You were a cop working rounds when a familiar criminal walked in with cuffs around his wrists. Your duty was to interview him... And boy, did it go well. 

Pairings:  Fem!reader / Trevor Philips

Word count: 2144

TW: -Smut

When you thought your day couldn’t get any worse, Trevor shows up at the door; handcuffs tight, bruised eye, and a sick smirk. You were told to interview a certain criminal in the interrogation room and obviously you’d expect at least a drug dealer or sex offender… But no, you had to interview your very own boyfriend instead.

You know it’s weird, your relationship with him. Being a cop has made no immediate affects on Trevor’s lifestyle. You couldn’t blame him. A healthy relationship does not involve changing and forcing something new, and you want a healthy relationship! Maybe Trevor is a bit too pyscho than you’d expect but he’s also caring, loyal and very funny. You try and ignore his criminality. You tried to keep it a secret amongst your co-workers and boss because, well, it wouldn’t look good on your record to say you are dating one of their most hated criminals. Am I right?

“Trevor Philips… Arrested for assault and usage of illegal substances, methamphetamine to be exact.” The officer announced as he pushed Trevor into the room. The way he let his shoulder slide with a smug grin. His eyes darted to your face and the grin widened.

“Questionings for… Confession or vital information?” You tried to stay professional. Trevor’s gaze made you very uncomfortable, not in a bad way… More arousal.

“Both.”

The door closed and you were left alone with your boyfriend in a room that is soundproof and protected. Making sure there was no more movements outside, you rotated your head and glared at him.

“What have you done now?” Crying with disappointment, Trevor remained unbothered.

He simply shrugged, “Those nosy bastards crept up on me sniffing some. I plead my right for privacy and they threatened to shoot me.”

“They were sneaking around your trailer? Without a warrant?”

“God, no… No. They snuck up on me in the streets.”

You blinked slowly, “In public?”

“Yeah,” Trevor dumbfoundedly said, “Guns out and everything. They were up my ass before I pulled the meth out.”

“Trevor, you were in public smoking meth? What do you expect!”

He held out his hands in defence. His eyes narrowed as he stared into your ones.

“Woah, honey, someone is having a bad day. What’s up? Those pigs treatin’ you wrong? I swear to God, I’ll murder them al-“

“No, Trevor, of course not. I just didn’t want to see you here… What if you have to go to court?” Your smile was downwards, a pouting gesture for him to pity.

“I believe in you,” He gazed to the mirror that he knew was a window… People were watching you both talk and he looked back at you. “Make up a lie about me.”

You cursed to yourself. The people watching could easily read his lips. You could scream at him right now but you held yourself together and shook your head.

“I’m not a lawyer, Trevor.”

“So… You’ll just let him get knocked up in prison, then?”

“Of course not. I don’t have the power to cover for you.” You whispered.

Trevor smirked, “You don’t have to whisper. They can’t hear us.”

“Yeah, but they can read lips.”

“So what?”

“They might know about us.”

He leaned forward, “They don’t know about us yet?” Trevor scoffed in disbelief, “What the fuck? One of your big bad cop friends always see me kiss you. Are they blind or something? Do they need mental help?”

“He promised not to tell anyone…” You sighed.

“Promised? Did you have to suck his dick for that.” The emphasis of his words spat out.

“Just… Stop!” Heaving out a hiss, you held a fist to the table, “I don’t suck anyone’s dick for nothing. I paid him nothing. He knows we are together but if anyone else does, then I’ll be questioned and possibly fired.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned into the metal table. His lips parted until they closed again. He doesn’t have the words to describe his emotions.

“Listen… The most I can do is tell them you haven’t confessed anything. I’d love to help you, babe, I’d love to. I just don’t have the power. I’m only a cop. I’m not a lawyer.”

Trevor nodded his head, “Okay, fine. What happens if I go to prison then? Will you come into my cell and jerk me off every now and then. Will this be my life?” He sarcastically stated.

“It’s not my fault you got yourself arrested! Stop putting the blame on me.”

“I didn’t mean to get caught!”

“You were literally smoking METH IN PUBLIC-“ You stopped soon after raising your voice. Trevor was smirking at you.

“I like it when you’re mad.”

“Shut up, please.”

“It’s hot.”

You fell into your hands, “Stop it.”

“What’s wrong with this, huh? You dig handcuffs and roleplaying at home.” Mumbled the criminal with a pout upon his smug face. It was enough to make you roll your eyes to the sky.

“We aren’t at home and this isn’t pretend. You seriously need to get your shit straight.” You held your force upon the table as it wobbled.

His face twitched into a timid smirk, “We should roleplay this in the bedroom next time,” His voice coiled with charm and amusement. It was unbelievable! You couldn’t believe he found it funny. He suddenly leaned forward across the table. “I don’t care if people are watching. You are turning me on so badly.”

His horniness always struct you in the wrong times… And wrong places. You couldn’t resist. His puppy dog eyes draws you in. He always does that! When he knows you’ll disagree with an idea, he’ll trick you into guilt-tripping or just… Promising a good fuck later. Either way, you always fall for it. The pressure was all there, on the table, almost as though he was interviewing you instead. That snarky grin that makes you sexually nervous. He sits like he’s on top of the world, legs limb and shoulders broad. His eyes sucking you in.

“If I’m getting locked up in the clink today… You need to, fuck … Don’t gimme that look!” He stopped when you were avoiding eye contact, mindlessly looking through your blank piece of paper innocently. Trevor frowned knowing you aren’t listening to him. “Hey. Don’t ignore me.”

You looked up, “Sorry, what was that?” You watched him grow defeat.

“You’ll leave me without a good shag?” He croaked dramatically.

“If you think I’ll let you… fuck me when there is a see through mirror right there.”

“So? The thrill of it!” Trevor spoke with his hands, showing his passion through his clenched fists, “Come on, babe! I always dreamed of this to happen!”

“I’m starting to think you got yourself purposely arrested.”

The way he cackled at your suspicions. It was enlightening to watch.

“Oh, please. If I wanted to see you, I’d burn your house down.” Your boyfriend honestly stated.

He wasn’t wrong.

“This intervention is over.” You demanded as you stood from the seat.

Trevor’s face said otherwise. He crossed his eyebrows and went to reach for your arm. He grunted when you moved back. The look of betrayal and anger overcame the once smug smirk. He shook his head, “Don’t you dare leave me to rot in this fuckin’ place.” You turned around.

“Be thankful. I’m trying.”

He was bitter; grinding his teeth. The anger was barely tolerating as he gave you a challenging look. Something in his eyes was yelling at you to “try me.” Something you’ve grown accustomed to… What could you do though? You were at work, a professional environment, you main source of stable income. If he fucks this up for you, then you’d have to rely on his unstable source of income. An immediate no.

“Don’t give me that look. You got yourself into this situation.” You scowled.

Trevor glared unconsciously, “You’re betraying me.” His words spat like venom, “You’re leaving me to rot in this Hell.”

“I’m not betraying you. I’m helping you get the hell out of here, do you understand me?” He was frustratingly getting on your nerves. He loves being an arrogant ass, he loves arguing, he just wants to get under your skin, under your clothes.

He didn’t answer. You left him to fight against his internal wars. Your presence left the room and Trevor slumped into his seat, the confidence and will to argue evaporated within an instant. While you were discussing future decisions with colleagues about Trevor and his criminal offences, you caught glimpses of the window that faced the room he was in. Being tinted and ‘disguised’, he thought he was all alone. Your eyes analysing his true colours, the vulnerability, his nervousness, his lack of control… until you were snapped out of your odd pleasures.

“So… You’re suggesting we let him go?” The on-duty cop asked with a sense of astonishment. The puppy dog eyes you gave him made his shoulders drop. The cop spoke again. “Yeah, yeah… Fine. But if he pulls anymore stunts-“

“I know, I understand.” You reassured him.

“He’s… Well, he’s Trevor Philips. Wouldn’t expect anything more than a hundred drug convictions.” This offended you. He was so much more than that. The surface barely scratched the detail of his heart. “I’m broken.” Trevor would say during long-lasting nights… Typical yet true.

“I’ll let him go.” You said.

The cop hummed ignorantly. He walked off with noticeable complains. You retreated back to the interrogation room. Trevor wasn’t sat down. You crossed your eyebrows.

He was stood up, lazily leaning against the table as his sharp eyes sparked shame into yours. He was still angry. The silver handcuffs were still tight around his wrists. The red marks lining would suggest he had trouble trying to release himself. It wouldn’t be surprising.

“You’re free to go.” You announced despite feeling nervous.

Trevor raised an eyebrow. He shifted and fully sat onto the metal table. His legs were swinging and his hands were pressed against his stomach. His eyes flickered as the mood changed from tensity to intensity.

“Come here.”

The demand was soft and firm. You closed the door behind you and smooched over, shyly standing an arm’s length away from him.

“Too far. Come closer.” His handcuffed hands managed to pull you in. The iconic smirk replaced his frown and now you were stood in between Trevor’s legs. His feet teasingly held you hostage in this position.

“Perfect.”

You couldn’t say no to this affection. You highly doubted people would be watching since the intervention was over. And if they were? You could easily defend your honours with invasion of privacy. You went wide eyed at the thought… Jesus, you’re turning into Trevor Philips…

“Don’t be a scaredy cat… You were up in my skin earlier on, I want you to finish the deal.” He smirked.

“Deal?” You grinned.

He groaned sensationally, “Come on, sugar. Something about you being in charge gets me so worked up. I’m just a bad boy… I want someone to cuddle me. I’m horny. Fuck… Help me.”

The dirty talk grew more dirty as he ran his mouth. His hands covered something obvious and you turned into a blushing mess. Them dirty nails dug into his bulge, trying to hide it but at the same time, begging for you to look. His smirk grew wider.

“Please… Just a small quickie. You can fuck me all over when we get home.” His pleads were strangely attractive.

The jelly affect on your knees made it easier to kneel down in front of him. Trevor inhaled when you weren’t giving a fight, you were now giving him what he wants. The excitement in him bubbled and infused in unstoppable desires. You reached for his flies and zipped it open quickly. Trevor whimpered at your roughness… Your cold hands showed no mercy and the erection was freed from his underwear, crying at the touch of your edgy palms.

“Oh… God.” He whined.

You leaned closer and let your hot breath invade his personal space. Trevor basically gasped. With no sense of freedom with his own hands, the handcuffs could be heard beside your ear as he needily held the back of your head, fiddling with your strands of hair.

“Shit, shit, shiiit!”

His cock cried precum when you traced your tongue around his tip, edging him into working hard for it. Trevor’s hips rocked back and forth after he caught onto your devilish act. You shake your head with a grin before lining up his boner, giving it a harsh slap.

“AH!” He yelped out. You wish to see the look on his face when you did that…

Finding softness in his grunts of pain, your mouth migrated forward and suffocated his tip while your tongue evilly licked up and down to rejoice his pleas. Trevor thrusted into your mouth suddenly and you gagged when his loaded cock rammed itself into your throat. Your eyes teared up due to natural instinct. You thought you’d be used to this roughness but apparently not!

“Fuck, yes.” Trevor praised, staring down at you sucking him.

Slurping as drool violated his length and your chin, you rocked your head up and down to greet his efforts. Your tongue fought against his throbbing tip, being a sadist and painfully licking the skin. He was whining from the table. Luckily this room was soundproof or you’d be caught in the act.

“Fuck, FUCK! I’m almost THERE-“ He struggled.

You enjoyed the naughtiness of this situation. Having his cock buried in your mouth, it was dream come true! Especially when he’s in handcuffs and just about avoided a 5 month sentence. You knew you were in for one surprise when getting home… Trevor’s apologies are always given a 5 star rating from you…

“KEEP GOI- FUUUCCKKKK!” His body lost it’s grip and leaned against the table for stability. His cock unloaded a whole package of semen into your throat, forcing you to swallow and take him all in. You squeezed your eyes shut at the challenge before his dick fell out of your mouth. Your knees gave in and you fell forward, resting your forehead against his thigh due to exhaustion and pleasure. He forced you to look up with a smirk. His eyes shined mischief and mayhem.

“My fuckin’ angel.” He panted, “I’ll give you the time of your life at home. Forgive me?”

You smirked, “I forgive you.”

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Lisa Selin Davis

Published: Jun 26, 2024

Last night, I had drinks with a friend I hadn’t seen in a long time, determined not to talk about The Issue. But a few minutes before I arrived, I found out that The New York Times had decided not to publish a part of a story about the World Professional Association for Transgender Health—an advocacy group that creates “standards of care” for trans medicine, which American medical groups avow to adhere to (they don’t) and claim are evidence-based (they aren’t).

That part of the story would have discussed recently unsealed WPATH documents, subpoenaed by the state of Alabama, as part of a lawsuit, Boe v. Marshall. Alabama parents, medical providers, and a Birmingham pastor named Paul Eknes-Tucker sued the state because of its ban on “gender-affirming care” for minors—and the criminalization of those who practice it.

We got a sneak peak of some WPATH internal communiques a few weeks ago, when the advocacy group Do No Harm shared emails between Johns Hopkins and the federal Health and Human Services’ Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality. AHRQ had been asked to conduct a systematic evidence review on “gender-affirming care,” and knew that WPATH had hired Hopkins researchers to conduct such a review. Maybe they could share?

The emails show that Hopkins did conduct a systematic review, and that—like all the other SRs—it found diddly squat in terms of evidence supporting the efficacy of hormones and surgeries. But WPATH prevented Johns Hopkins from publishing these reviews because they didn’t come to WPATH’s preferred conclusions. WPATH hid this very important information from the entire world, then published standards of care saying an evidence review was impossible. And a government agency knew this!

We are talking about kids and the most invasive possible interventions here. We are talking about venerable academic institutions and government agencies and censorship and secrets.

Turns out, there’s a whole heckuva lot more of these damning emails. The New York Times had access to them but chose not to cover them. A source told me this is because no one from Johns Hopkins would comment on the record. The documents will be available via the LGBT Courage Coalition tomorrow (I will add a link and start a thread when it’s up), but I had a chance to preview them. If you have not yet had what GIDS whistleblower Anna Hutchinson called her “holy fuck!” moment, now’s the time.

An executive summary of the docs tells us:

WPATH leadership went to great lengths to suppress systematic reviews (SR) commissioned from Johns Hopkins because the reviews’ conclusions did not support the WPATH plans to recommend wide access to hormones and surgeries for all those who desired them. The evidence suppression was achieved via a 2-prong strategy. First, WPATH forced JHU to withdraw the manuscripts that were already submitted for publication as they did not meet the desired conclusions. Next, WPATH instituted a new policy whereby WPATH would have to approve all future publications by JHU.

More on the policy:

WPATH developed an approval checklist, which required that the authors must have the “intention to use the Data for the benefit of advancing transgender health in a positive manner,” the content approval must involve SOC8 chapter leads, and the review must include “at least one member of the transgender community in the design, drafting of the article, and the final approval of the article.”

Two levels of WPATH approval were required before JHU could submit a publication: first, the proposal which includes the conclusion had to be approved; and then, the actual manuscript draft, with WPATH retaining the rights to alter content.

Only the reviews passing both levels of approval could be submitted by JHU for publication—and they had to carry a specific disclaimer that “the authors are solely responsible for the content of the manuscript, and the manuscript does not necessarily reflect the view of WPATH in the publication.”

Can you believe the John Hopkins folks agreed to this? This is not science. WPATH is not credible. And this is why we in America are the outliers: we’re not basing guidelines on systematic reviews, or reality. We’re basing them on an activist group’s political agenda, and even the HHS knows there’s no good evidence. In fact, AHRQ was asked to review guidelines for treating gender dysphoric youth back in 2020, because, the request said:

There is a lack of current evidence-based guidance for care of children and adolescents who identify as transgender, particularly regarding the benefits and harms of pubertal suppression, medical affirmation with hormone therapy, and surgical affirmation. While these are some existing guidelines and standards of care,2, 5-6 most are derived from expert opinion or have not been updated recently so a comprehensive evidence review is currently not available.

What did AHRQ decide, after communicating with the Hopkins researchers?

The EPC Program will not develop a new systematic review because we found protocols for two systematic reviews that addresses portions of the nomination, and an insufficient number of primary studies exist to address the remainder of the nomination.

Basically, they said someone was already doing it, and there wasn’t enough evidence to sort through. But the someone already doing it had already agreed to put science aside and only discuss benefits, not harms.

How could a federal agency abdicate its responsibility? Wouldn’t you know it, the Assistant Secretary for Health for Health and Human Services (HHS) is Dr. Rachel Levine. And as the NYT did report, and as I summarized briefly in The Free Press this morning, Levine pressured WPATH to remove age restrictions from guidelines—not based on science, again, but on advocating for Levine’s own trans community.

It’s officially a scandal now, and it goes all the way to the White House. Holy fuck.

Needless to say, I was not able to ignore The Issue at drinks.

--

[erineverly]

piano, sender teaches receiver how to play the piano.

“You know, this might take a while longer than expected. I’m already falling behind and we’ve barely even started,” the curly-haired teenager protests with a sheepish smile, pale blue eyes glancing up at her ever-patient teacher and best friend — B.ill B.ailey. His strawberry-tinged bangs and emerald hues capturing her attention, inviting her gaze to linger on his handsome features, distracting her from the task at hand. These piano lessons were originally her idea, an excuse for them to spend more time together without raising much suspicion, but the song choice, Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley, is entirely on Bill. He claims it’s easy, the simplest of The King’s songs, but for Erin it’s just another distraction, really, as now she can’t help but wonder if… Well, there can’t be any hidden meaning to it, right? She gently shakes her head, pushing these thoughts away in an attempt to refocus. “You say that we start with a D major chord,” she speaks slowly, as if unsure if she’s repeating the very thing he’s just mentioned correctly, “but I don’t even know what that is. You’ll have to show me.”  

They’re seated in the pool of spring sunshine by the closed window in her mother’s living room. The past few days have been rather gloomy with heavy rainfalls and grim clouds, and so Erin’s thankful that there’s any sunshine at all, and by keeping the window shut and wrapping herself in a thick woolen sweater, she’s managed to create the illusion that it’s warming her. The room’s not particularly spacious, with a good deal of space taken up by the grand piano and a good deal more by a large, leather sofa and two recliners, but at least it’s cozy. Unlike any room at Billy’s house. It’s dominated by earthy color schemes, big, leafy plants and two mushroom-shaped lamps (her mother’s favorite), even the patterned wallpaper only serves to sprinkle a bit of charm to the place. Though, maybe it’s just the effect this boy has on her — everything seems more beautiful and magical when he’s around. “So… a D,” she lets him press her thumb against one of the white keys, her other fingers following, brushing against the instrument and creating a small symphony of not-so-sweet sounds, “F sharp and A?” She furrows her dark brows and lets out a shy giggle, embarrassed by her evident inability to repeat the seemingly simple combination. “Sounds less harsh when you do it.” Her hand slips from underneath his, her fingers finding their way on top of his, the butterflies in her belly dancing. “Do it again,” she asks sweetly, struggling to refrain from looking into these gorgeous eyes of his and losing herself.

Whenever Billy’s larger hand touches her smaller one, gently spreading her ring-clad fingers and guiding them to the right keys, a shiver runs up her spine and her face flushes a deep red. She could have asked her father to teach her. She could have asked her mother to find her a professional music teacher, not a delinquent from round the block, but again… She doesn’t care about learning quite as much as she cares about spending time with the Bailey kid. Standing at the kitchen threshold, watching the two with a mixing bowl and a wooden spoon in hand, Venetia’s figured as much herself — after all, her daughter’s seventeen and so maybe she should be happy that she’s finally developed a serious crush, but God does she wish Erin’s affections were directed toward someone else… That sweet boy who lives just down the street and always wants to hang out with her, whose father’s a high-ranking police officer. Or that dark-haired kid who’s a straight A student and plans on becoming a lawyer one day. Or that boy from California, her best friend’s son who’s a bit strange and surely smokes pot occasionally, but at least doesn’t have a criminal record. She shakes her head, telling herself teenage crushes come and go, and goes back to pouring batter into cupcake tins. “Kids, you better start wrapping things up! The first batch’s almost ready!” 

[thessalian]

Thess vs Strike Action

The entertainment industry really is hoist by its own petard at this point.

Look, for years they’ve been flinging New Hotness after New Hotness after New Hotness at us, expecting us to consume and move on. Thing is, they were flinging New Hotness at us so fast and furious that we didn’t have time to consume everything.

Also ... we’re not like that, for the most part. There’s an awful lot of people who cherish movies and shows, and watch them over and over again, even if it’s just for comforting background noise until the Best Bits happen and you pay attention to those. (Hell, especially then.) Plus given the economy lately, we’ve had to work longer hours, for less money, and a lot more stress, and in those circumstances, some of us need the comfort of the familiar, not something new to fixate on. So we have stuff we’ve lamented not being able to watch, or read, or play.

And now their trying to take horrific advantage of writers and actors (I mean, everyone else too, but writers are getting screwed on residuals and probably facing the same “Everything you do will be fed into the AI and be used to generate content for us forever and we won’t pay you a dime for it” situation as the actors are) has hit the point where the people who actually generate the content are standing up and saying “NO MORE!” Which ... good for them.

Thing is, Hollywood is going to try to flip the script; try to make the writers and actors the bad guys because, “We had sooooooo much lovely content to give you but we can’t unless we take criminal advantage of the people who make it possible so they’re taking all your New Hotness from you!”

And me? Well. I look at my Netflix watch list.

And my Amazon watch list.

And my Steam library.

And frankly my DVD collection.

And I go, “...I ... don’t actually need any new hotness right now; I’m still trying to get through five years of what is now Old Hotness. And honestly, if you wanted me to be invested in New Hotness, you wouldn’t keep cancelling shit before your were forced to pay residuals. So this is on you.”

And then I go back to my book, or game, or whatever I’m doing.

We’re not going to get bored and blame the actors and writers for depriving us. We know shit. We know that “professional actor” is not synonymous with “wealth and fame”. We know how hard writing is, and how little it’s appreciated. We know that CEOs would skin their grandmothers to sell the hide for leather if it made them a profit. Most of all, we know what it is to struggle against people who want to use and abuse us while giving us zero benefits for it. We know that actors have been taken advantage of for decades. Hell, probably centuries, if we’re predating recordings. And writers have been taken advantage of for just as long. So ... we root for the ones we can relate to. That’s not the CEOs.

We are not scabs. And we’ve got enough entertainment forage laid by to get through a strike. CEOs, who live and die by their projected earnings and quoted stock prices, don’t have enough ... well, anything to get by. They’ve been running on thin ice for awhile now. Now they’re being prevented from running and the ice is creaking under their feet.

GOOD.

[bladehyme]

Different factions Same Contract (Boston and Fenrana)

Chapter 1

Five days. That’s how long Fenrana had been stuck with these criminals. Well, criminals may be a bit of a stretch, renegades may be more appropriate, or perhaps they would be considered “dirty”. That references the two cowboys, then there is the rogue automaton, and the citizen in her golden years who was out for blood. The paperwork was going to be unbelievably tiresome and tedious, but not nearly as the company the inspector found themselves with.

This whole circumstance wasn’t exactly a cake walk either. Children experiments? Corruption back at the academies? Escaped convicts? Cults extracting magic from items? This whole damn situation was hair tearing worthy. Fenrana rubbed their temples, less than a week and they had committed more crimes then they ever thought they would have. Including but not limited to: Arson, Assault, Breaking and Entering, Grand Theft Auto, Manslaughter, and the list goes on and on. That’s not including the crimes they have participated in as an accomplice.

“Lets review,” Fenrana said to themselves rubbing their temples as the police chief excused himself to bark orders to his subordinates. They would probably make a perimeter around the ruins of the school. Fenrana pulled out a recording device:

“Day Five. The time is 10:30. As stated in my last entry this reconnaissance mission to the capital of Vorrak’k has been nothing less than, pardon my French, a shit show. Each one of these days have been filled with challenges and struggles that were different from then the last. But today? Today was the biggest bust. We were able to find two children that were unmutated into adulthood. The rest of the victims are still missing. All the assailants we encountered seemed to be… you know what? No! I’m not being formal about this. This week has been bullshit. The children are still missing, we’ve been on a wild goose chase for the entire morning. We were nearly killed in a trap in a ruined school, which was completely my fault, but don’t tell anyone that. We engaged in combat with child soldiers that were forced into adulthood-”

Fenrana paused as one of those children soldiers were escorted by one of the police officers to one of the squad vehicles, to give them medical attention, food, gather personal information, or whatever the fuck people ground troops do. After those two were away from them, Fen continued:

“Literally! We don’t know if we are fighting adults or mutated children! That didn’t stop the ‘professionals’ from putting a shotgun round into one of their legs. Or the sweetheart grandmother assaulting one with a battle cane. Which I can’t even imagine is legal! After the confrontation had reached its climax, the man we’ve been chasing for a long time, we affectionately named, ‘Skully’, escaped by arcane means. Pissing everyone off. When the police arrived at the school shortly, rounding up the victims we found. With the exception of two, the pair that the cowboy Boston Jones, handled with personally. The one who’s liver he assaulted and the other's knee he destroyed via shotgun. The other cowboy, Nash, the android Baldric, and myself were the first to engage with the police. I explained the scenario to the police chief and he started delegating tasks to his subordinates. I don’t know what Jones is doing to those two he is interrogating, but hopefully Rimita, the civilian, will keep him cordial. But seeing his short temper I can’t imagine-” “Umm Inspector Fenrana?” Baldric interrupted Fenrana’s train of thought and the anxiety those thoughts brought. Fenrana turned to the fancily dressed automaton, he continued after gaining their attention, “I checked our vehicles security system, and Danielle is gone.” That was the last thing they wanted to hear. Danielle was their only suspect and the lead to this school in the first place. Their vanishing isn’t good. The cult leader could have snagged them from the car. Fen couldn’t imagine what Skully would do to her if he got ahold of her. “Was it a struggle? Playback to see when she exactly left.” Fenrana ordered, panic in their voice rising.

“Certainly,” Baldric nodded, his blue eyes dimmed, indicating his consciousness looking into the security cams within the car. After a few seconds, Ric’s head tilted with confusion, “Inspector, Danielle left the car on their own fruition.”

“Day Five. Time 11:18. This led to a chase. Nash going on foot, using his tracking skills?” Fenrana continued sometime later, “Ric hooked up to the city security cameras, got some leads but somehow Danielle slipped through our fingers. The security system glitched, and she vanished. We eventually all reconvened outside the building of our witness, only for me to assault a random civilian, Boston, interrogate a random realtor and then Nash started a street campaign for a local Bodega? This is a disaster. We did find clues for Danielle, her clothes at least. She dropped them off somewhere, and that’s where the trail went cold. It seemed so too perfect for Skully, the one criminal who we were hoping to capture, slipped through the police entering the premises. And also Danielle? It’s like-”

“Like the police are in cahoots with tha cult?” Boston said stepping into the alleyway Fenrana had made their perch to take these notes and panic. Boston was a middle aged human, who for all intents and purposes, looked like a gang member. He was covered in tattoos, scars, he smelt like a trashy bar, his vision on life and justice was so unbelievably jaded and crooked. He took out one of his homemade cigarettes, lit it, and took a drag. With how frequently he smoked, Fenrana was amazed he didn’t have any smoking based diseased. He caught fen looking and offered them a hit. Fenrana shook their head, to which Boston shrugged, “Suits yourself.”

“For the past 4 days and 1 morning you have offered me drinks, smoking, and hinted that killing is inevitable why?” Fenrana asked staring at Boston.

“Because this line of work is fucking awful,” Boston confessed, finishing the cigarette on the second drag. He tossed the butt to the ground, put it out with his shoe, saying, “I’m giving information as I see it, and most methods people use to cope with it.” “That’s not very comforting,” Fenrana sighed standing up, dusting their butt off, “Why do you think the police are in, as you said, cahoots with the cult? Wouldn’t that also mean the church is as well?”

“Watch it Inspector,” Boston said, blocking Fenrana’s exit to the street with his arm. The cowboy got very close to Fenranan’s face and snarled, “This is a cult based off this religion, nothing more.” “You can’t be that naïve,” Fenrana sighed hoping that Boston would move his arm, which he did not. So the Investigator continued, “If the police are involved the church has to be.”

“Probably,” Boston grumbled, his unblocking hand clenching. THe inspector prepared for this cowboy to assault them, but then Bostoned looked away from Fenrana before saying, “Congratulations Fen, you’ve discovered that justice is always right.”

“That’s awful,” Fen sighed in relief as Boston let his arm down, letting them know they were free to go. As Boston turned from them they jested recalled something, “What are the other methods?”

“For coping?” Boston asked turning his head to Fen, who nodded, Boston smirked taking a cigarette out while lighting it said, “The other best method is copious amounts of fucking.”

“Excuse me?”

“Raw, sloppy fucking,” Boston replied now looking to Fen, “You ever-”

“I went to college,” Fen said defensively, blushing hard. When Boston raised a skeptical eyebrow, the Inspector crossed their arms and stated, “I’ll have you know that in Uroran we are known for our academic skills, and the parties are the highest quality and full of pleasure.”

“Prove it.” Boston smirked

“Pardon?”

“Prove it,” Boston mocked getting to Fenranas eye level, “If you’re skilled in pleasure giving, I will follow every order you give for the rest of this investigation. With extra installments depending on what is ordered of me.”

“What makes you think I swing that way?” Fen inquired, glaring at the cowboy. This is neither the place nor time for such activities.

“You’ve been peeking at Nash for a while now,” Boston explained, pointing to the street where Nash was most likely standing. Seeing Fenrana blushing face, knowing he was correct, the cowboy continued, “I’ve dabbled in that green candy, it’s very nice.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’d rather fuck you.”

“Ummm what?” Fen said, their ears and cheeks turning bright red. When they saw Boston was serious, they gulped and asked timidly, “Here?”

“Do you think you can explain to Rimita that you need the room to yourself?” Boston inquired, taking off his overcoat. That was a fair point. Rimita was a stubborn old lady and loved gossip, the less she knew the better. But an alleyway? Fenrana scrunched their nose in disgust at the circumstances. But having Boston, the makeshift leader, following their orders would be very beneficial. Seeing the contemplation on Fenrana’s face Boston shrugged, “If you can’t back up your claims I understand-” “Drop your trousers,” Fen ordered, their expression filled with determination. As the cowboy began to do as he was told, Fen grabbed a mostly clean looking flattened cardboard box to kneel on. As they adjusted themselves they explained, “I’m a lot of things, Cowboy, a student, an inspector to be, but first and foremost I’m a person of my word.”

“I look forward to seeing these skills,” Boston smiling, opening up the button, at the top of his pants, but not the zipper. He gestured to it, “Care to assist me?”

“Really?” Fenrana sighed, not enjoying the play hard to get routine, but now curious, unzipped Boston’s zipper. Surprising neither of them, Boston doesn’t seem to be wearing underwear, what was surprising however was Boston popping out of his pants, nearly poking Fen in the eye. They backed up instinctually, before clearing their throat and going back to Boston’s outstretched friend. As Fenrana examined it, they mocked, “I figured it would be bigger.”

“Bold words,” Boston smirked, “I can’t wait to shove them down your throat.”

“You will do no such thing,” Fen ordered making eye contact with Boston. The inspector spat into both their hands and began to get Boston wet. Fen soon realized they may be in trouble after 3 movements, their hand was dry already. To speed up the process Fenrana spat on the cowboy. They glared at Boston and said, “Not a word.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Boston smirked, taking out a cigarette. He was getting harder and warmer in the inspector's hand. They were good, but at this rate, someone would check on them, “Why not pick up the pace a bit?”

“You can’t rush art,” Fenrana growled through clenched teeth. Boston was right though, either Fen wasn’t as skilled as they thought, or Boston had that much stamina. After a few more movements of the bards hands they sighed and said before taking Bostons nob, “Fuck it we are going to have to.”

“That didn’t take to-” Boston began, but then Fen took much more than Boston was expecting. The cowboy cleared his throat and smiled, scratching the inspector's scalp, “Damn Fen, that’s not half bad.”

The bard didn’t respond but continued to enjoy the holy rod of this paladin. Boston didn’t even have to persuade, after the compliment, Fen’s face was red and their throat was eager. Hell, the Inspector was inspecting every inch of the paladin, you’d think they wanted Boston to crit down their throat. “Cool it inspector,” Boston said, grabbing the back of Fens head, snapping their neck back, make running down Fens cheeks as they probably forgot to breathe a couple of times. Boston got down to their level and liked some of the drool on their face and smiled, “If you kept that up I wouldn’t have lasted nearly long enough.” “Nearly long enough?” Fen asked, in a bit of a daze from the change in circumstances and stimulations. Their breathing sporadic, and shaky, if they had been drooling the only one to know would have been Boston; and he seemed preoccupied.

“You’ve skill with your tongue has made me want to see what your insides feel like,” Boston explained, helping them up. His hand never left the back of Fenrana’s hair. Boston removed their pants by the belt. Looking down at them as he smirked, “I knew you were hiding a cute ass.”

“You-” Fen began to stammer before feeling something pierce into them. The inspector let out a gasp, but couldn’t move their head, as Boston locks of Fenranas hair in his firm grasp. Boston didn’t move his hips for a moment, as if he was trying to give Fenrana a chance to regain composure. They finally whispered, “You think my buttocks is cute?”

“Hell yeah it’s cute,” Boston growled into their ear. The cowboy began to use his action to cause extreme pleasure to the bard. He pulled Fen’s head towards his ear, as he got in deeper than before, “And it’s fucking tight.”

“Boston,” Fen gasped, blushing from the compliment and the divine smiting happening to their back door. The paladin wasn’t holding back, and the bard even felt themselves bouncing back to get more of him. After a bit, Fen finally being able to think straight, as straight as the circumstance allowed anyway, “B-boston you shouldn’t say things like that-” “Oh really?” Boston paused his movement, inspecting Fenrana’s mannerisms a devilish smile appeared on his face. He turned Fen’s face to face him sideways, “It tracks that you love being praised.”

“No it-” Fenrana began to deny before Boston began his movements again.

“Confess your sins you tight ass,” Boston ordered, in an authoritative tone Fenrana had never heard before, “And maybe I’ll cum.”

“I-” Fen began, as Boston reached around and began to make them weak in the knees. If Fenrana wasn’t bracing themselves against the wall, they had no choice at this point. The double stimulation was going to break the inspectors mind. They shouted through near tears of pleasure, “I love being praised, praise me Boston and let me cum please! It feels so fucking good!”

“That’s a good little slut,” Boston cooed, increasing his movements in his hips and his hand between Fen’s hips. They moaned so much that Boston was positively sure that the rest of the squad could hear. The paladin could feel himself at the brink, so he went harder, his free hand wrapping around Fen’s neck, pressing his entire weight into Fen. He moaned, “Cum for me Inspector, and I’ll make you my good little pastry.”

“F-fu-fuck,” Fenrana moaned, releasing everything they had. It was a matter of seconds that Boston did the same. Boston, as soon as he was done, pulled himself out of Fen, took out a cigarette and then offered one to Fen again. Fen smiled, declining saying, “Y-you know those will eventually kill you right?”

“Trust me pastry,” Boston said, smacking their ass, “If I die from cancer, the gods are playing a cruel joke on me.”

“Don’t- don’t call me pastry,” Fen blushed, attempting to stand straight up. After struggling they commented, “Fucking hell I won’t be able to sit for a week.” “Your welcome boss,” Boston teased, lighting the cancer stick. As he pulled up his pants he said walking to the hallway, “I gotta pick some things up from the Bodega, take your time.” “Yeah I don’t think I’m moving anywhere,” Fenrana confessed, sliding onto all fours, their legs twitching their ass still up in the air. Fen reached for their recording device. After a few failed attempts they finally got a hold of it, they began to log, “Day 5. Time… I can’t be bothered, not noon I hope. After some tactical strategy, I now have the Cowboy Boston Jones, compliant, which will be very advantageous for this ongoing investigation. But due to the negotiations, to keep this new status quo, more negotiating must be had. So many more negotiations, like holy shit, daily if I can persuade him.” 

Thanks for coming by and reading! If you'd like to watch the source material: Check them out live on twitch.tv/adventures_and_initiative on Wednesdays at 21:30 Pacific East Cost. or check out their Youtube Playlist: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLqrIedq0bXtHdna_n1ys7NDHKE1VXe-UJ

[dankusner]

An ex-Kansas police chief who led a raid on a newspaper is charged with obstruction of justice

TOPEKA, Kan. (AP) — A former Kansas police chief who led a raid last year on a weekly newspaper has been charged with felony obstruction of justice and is accused of persuading a potential witness to withhold information from authorities when they later investigated his conduct.

The single charge against former Marion Police Chief Gideon Cody alleges that he knowingly or intentionally influenced the witness to withhold information on the day of the raid of the Marion County Record and the home of its publisher or sometime within the following six days.

The charge was filed Monday in state district court in Marion County and is not more specific about Cody’s alleged conduct.

The raid sparked a national debate about press freedom focused on Marion, a town of about 1,900 people set among rolling prairie hills about 150 miles (241 kilometers) southwest of Kansas City, Missouri.

Also, newspaper Publisher Eric Meyer’s mother, who co-owned the newspaper and lived with him, died the next day of a heart attack, and he blames the stress of the raid.

Meyer said last week that authorities appear to be making Cody the “fall guy” for the raid when numerous officials were involved.

He said Tuesday that he suspects the criminal case ultimately will be resolved through a plea bargain so that Cody will not have a trial that would more fully disclose details about the raid.

“We’re just being basic journalists here,” he said. “We want the whole story. We don’t want part of it.”

A report from two special prosecutors last week referenced text messages between Cody and a local business owner after the raid.

The business owner has said that Cody asked her to delete text messages between them, fearing people could get the wrong idea about their relationship, which she said was professional and platonic.

The Associated Press left a message seeking comment at a possible cellphone number for Cody, and it was not immediately returned Tuesday.

Attorneys representing Cody in a federal lawsuit over the raid are not representing him in the criminal case and did not immediately know who was representing him.

Cody justified the Aug. 11, 2023, raid by saying he had evidence that Meyer, the newspaper and one of its reporters, Phyllis Zorn, had committed identity theft or other computer crimes in verifying the authenticity of a copy of the business owner’s state driving record provided to the newspaper by an acquaintance.

The business owner was seeking Marion City Council approval for a liquor license and the record showed that she potentially had driven without a valid license for years.

However, she later had her license reinstated.

The prosecutors’ report concluded that no crime was committed by Meyer, Zorn, or the newspaper and that Cody reached an erroneous conclusion about their conduct because of a poor investigation.

Zorn used the information she had to legally search an online state database using her own name.

The prosecutors also said police search warrants signed by a judge contained inaccurate information because of the “inadequate investigation” and were not legally justified.

But the prosecutors said they couldn’t show that Cody had intentionally misled the judge.

The obstruction of justice charge against Cody was filed by one of the special prosecutors, Barry Wilkerson, the top prosecutor in Riley County in northeastern Kansas.

The other special prosecutor is Marc Bennett, the district attorney in Sedgwick County, the home to the state’s largest city of Wichita.

A conviction for a first-time offender can be punished by up to nine months in prison, though under the state’s sentencing guidelines, the typical penalty is 18 months or less of probation.

The Record’s publishing company and current and former staffers have filed four federal lawsuits against Cody and other former and current local officials.

The publishing company’s lawsuit includes a wrongful death claim and suggests total damages exceed $10 million.

The city’s current annual budget is about $9.5 million.

The publishing company also filed an open records lawsuit last month in state district court, seeking to force the city to turn over texts between police and other local officials.

Police body-camera footage of the 2023 raid on the publisher’s home shows the publisher’s 98-year-old mother, Joan Meyer, visibly upset and telling officers, “Get out of my house!”

The prosecutors said they could not charge Cody or other officers involved in the raid over her death because there was no evidence they believed the raid posed a risk to her life.

The prosecutors also said there was no “gross deviation” from how officers served other search warrants in the past.

However, Eric Meyer said seven officers came to the house for the search.

“A couple of weeks earlier, they conducted a raid on the home of a suspected child rapist who was known to have guns in his house, and they only sent two cops for that,” he said.

[planetofsnarfs]

An award-winning Oklahoma principal has been forced to resign after he performs as a drag queen on the weekends. 

Ryan Walters, the right-wing superintendent of the Oklahoma State Department of Education, began calling for Shane Murnan’s termination after hate influencer Chaya Raichik posted about his drag gig on her social media account Libs of TikTok in September.

Murnan has been an educator for over two decades but started a new job as John Glenn Elementary School principal in 2023. Raichik reportedly learned of his side job as a drag queen from an anonymous newsletter that also called attention to decades-old criminal charges against Murnan that were dropped. As soon as she posted about Murnan, the school began receiving bomb threats – a common occurrence for institutions highlighted on the Libs of TikTok account.

After his drag queen persona was thrust to the forefront – though he never kept it a secret – the school banned Murnan from working in the building during the day, deeming his presence a safety risk, according to a report from NBC News. Western Heights Superintendent Brayden Savage at first stood by Murnan but ultimately told him to resign or face termination due to the added security costs the school was incurring.

Savage reportedly told school staff, “I’m not caving to Ryan Walters, but I have to ultimately keep the students and the staff of this school safe. The hate has not stopped. To bring Shane back to the building is a risk to safety for all. I cannot be totally sure that one of those crazies will not show up to, quote-unquote, cleanse the building, which is something I’ve seen over and over again.” 

In the meantime, Murnan’s life has been turned upside down. 

“I’m a very professional person — I’ve worked really hard,” Murnan told NBC. “I’ve gone to school. I got my bachelor’s, my master’s, my doctorate — I have been devoted to education, trying to make it a better thing. But they’ve destroyed me, and I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing now. This has been a nightmare.”

He added, “There’s never been an issue, because I’ve never put it out there to make it an issue. I did my side job on the weekends, and then I went to work and worked my tail off to make the school a better place. They never conflicted with each other. Then someone took it and ran with it and tried to make it into a spectacle that it’s not.”

Walters posted a video on X to celebrate Murnan’s resignation, calling it “a great day for Oklahoma schools.” He claimed parents across the country were “outraged” and said he would continue to investigate the school to figure out how Murnan was hired in the first place and hold those who selected him accountable. 

“It will not be tolerated here in Oklahoma to have drag queens in the classroom,” he said.

When the school hired Murnan, administrators posted a statement acknowledging awareness of old criminal charges against him, emphasizing that he “has an outstanding reputation” and “comes highly recommended.” Murnan was reportedly charged with possession of child sex abuse materials in 2001, charges that were later dropped due to lack of evidence, according to NonDoc. Murnan’s record was expunged.

“It was a witch hunt,” he said. “Back in that time, being gay was not acceptable. I mean, that was (nearly) 25 years ago. And being gay wasn’t acceptable.”

Walters has used the situation to call for a statewide ban on hiring any educators who work as drag queens outside of school. 

“The issue that we’ve seen in one district in particular, and that is the use of drag queens as administrators and being hired by a district,” he told the state Board of Education in December, according to NPR. “We are proposing a rule that would update the teacher code of conduct to include sexual activity in public targeted towards kids to be inappropriate for those that work with our youngest students. I’ve heard from parents all over the state who are very concerned with the left, pushing sexuality on our kids, pushing transgender ideology.”

Walters has become known for his extremist agenda for Oklahoma schools. He wants to ban LGBTQ+ books but teach the Bible in public school history classes and has previously pushed the transphobic lie about schools providing litterboxes to students who identify as cats. He also referred to teachers’ unions as “terrorist organizations” and illegally tried to make rules banning LGBTQ+ books and transgender bathroom access in schools. He has appeared at events hosted by Moms for Liberty, a right-wing anti-LGBTQ+ “parent’s rights” group that has been called an extremist organization by the Southern Poverty Law Center.

In September, he announced an “ongoing partnership” with right-wing propaganda group PragerU, allowing the conservative nonprofit’s controversial videos to be shown in state classrooms.

When running for his current office, Walters said he wanted his state’s teachers to “undergo patriotic education offered by a conservative Christian college” because “our students are not taught history but instead are taught indoctrination, instead taught this country is an evil place full of bigoted racists,” KOCO-TV reported.

And in January, Walters appointed Raichik to serve on the Oklahoma State Department of Education’s Library Media Advisory Committee. The committee decides what state public school students are allowed to read; Raichik doesn’t live in the state and has no experience working in education.

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #616

Top Ten Moments in Die Hard, as Represented by a Line of Dialogue

Yippee-ki-yay, merry Christmas. Tis the season to be jolly, to eat a lot of stollen, to sing some below-par songs, and above all else to watch Christmas movies. And the best Christmas movie is, of course, Die Hard.

Let me set the record straight: there is virtually nothing in film discourse more boring than the question “is Die Hard a Christmas movie?”. As far as I’m concerned, it’s incontrovertible; it’s set at Christmas, it features a ton of Christmas songs on the soundtrack, Christmas is both a plot device (the building is empty for the holidays apart from one Christmas party) and a character motivation (the estranged family getting back together for the season), the juxtaposition of tension and violence with the festivities is the source of both pathos and humour, and the main female character is called Holly. Now, there are plenty of films set at Christmas that I don’t think really are “Christmas films”; Die Hard is not one of them. I think the only reason people don’t want to think of it as a Christmas film is because it’s an action movie. But here’s the thing; it’s not just the best Christmas movie, it’s also the best action movie! It’s a double-threat! It’s really funny too so maybe it’s a triple threat.

Anyway, that’s all very boring; I wish we could all just accept that some people, for whatever reason, don’t think it’s a “proper” Christmas film, some people do, and leave it at that. I promise I won’t quibble if you cite, I dunno, Holiday Inn (not set at Christmas!) or When Harry Met Sally (New Year!) or Planes, Trains, and Automobiles (Thanksgiving!), or even most Shane Black movies (Christmas is the backdrop but not really a functional part of the plot or theme in most cases!) as long as you let me have my Die Hard. I’ll meet you halfway and say that I don’t really think Die Hard 2 is very good as a Christmas movie! That’s an action film that takes place at Christmas, and whilst the snow is very important to the film, the fact it’s actually Christmas is less so. But! I repeat: this is boring! Let’s move onto the fun part!

Because Die Hard is my favourite film set at Christmas – and also my favourite action film full-stop – I want to celebrate it at this, the time for miracles. And what better way to do that than to highlight, in my own special way, my favourite moments from the film? And because the script by Jeb Stuart and Steven E. de Souza is so packed with terrific dialogue, why not choose moments represented by that dialogue? And so that’s what I have done.

Do please enjoy, then come out to coast and have a few laughs.

Merry Christmas. Ho-ho-ho.

“You ask for miracles, I give you the FBI”: one of Die Hard’s greatest strengths is the effectiveness of its criminals. Their plan is really quite good, and they function together as an incredibly well-oiled team. There are multiple scenes of them working together, obviously highly trained – but at the same time, they bicker, they drop things, they sweat. They’re a team of professionals working very hard. But the strength of the plan, of Hans’ cleverness, is outlined in this scene, when the whole fake-terrorist thing reveals itself.

“Take this under advisement, jerk-weed”: similarly, there are a lot of things to love about McClane – we’ll get to more later – but he’s also a great planner. He plots and schemes against Hans and his team, counting their numbers, learning their names, following their plans. And here, he takes very direct action o cut down their numbers and try to save lives, dropping a makeshift bomb down an elevator shaft. It’s clever and goes boom.

“Hans, bubbe, I’m your white knight”: moving aside from the two stars of the show (Willis and Rickman), we have this tremendous scene were uber-douche Ellis tries to talk down McClane. It’s full of great dialogue and interesting mannerisms from Hart Bochner (love the way he drinks Coke). But again, Wilis and Rickman are superb, because the real conversation, the real battle of wits, is between these two, both of whom know what’s going on over poor Ellis’ head.

“Clay. Bill Clay”: back to the two stars, this is an incredible scene of shifting tensions. Which of them has the upper hand? Is Hans tricking John? Is he at his mercy? It’s almost like the scene in the coffee shop in Heat. And, once again, the dialogue is excellent.

“Now I have a machine gun. Ho-ho-ho”: one of the film’s most famous and iconic moments, McLane declaring both his existence and his intent, and making a big statement. It’s bold and – for us – kinda funny, but it’s got smarts and sense to it, as he uses the chaos it creates to learn more about who he’s up against.

“I could talk about industrialisation and men’s fashion all day”: probably the first time we really get to knuckle down with Hans Gruber, in a scene that really shows off Rickman’s skill in the role. His urbanity, his quiet sense of unassuming threat, his sense of humour as he interrogates Takagi, is incredible. Full of tension and tragedy.

“Tell her I’m sorry”: as well as “ho-ho-ho”, one of the film’s undying images is McLane pulling a huge chunk of glass from his foot. But this scene is also a tender pause in the action as a battered John begins to doubt he’ll make it through the night, achieving a realisation over his relationship. Al, meanwhile, recounts his own tragic history of mistakenly shooting a child (a plot point that I don’t think you’d choose to include nowadays). The mortality on display was a stark contrast to the prevalent He-Man style of action hero in the eighties and helped humanise John.

“Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs”: another aspect that humanised John was his humour. Yes he’s a smartass loudmouth who has a pop at everyone, but he’s also constantly talking to himself and making little quips and asides. This moment – crawling through a vent! – is a classic as he suddenly stops and makes the wry, iconic gag.

“Make fists with your toes”: I love the opening of this film, McLane jetting in and immediately out of his element. The cheery businessman he meets, with his jaunty story of combatting jetlag, is a nice window into another world but also establishes the vulnerability of John being barefoot for the whole film. Plus it’s kind of a funny gag.

“Yippee ki-yay…”: ah, here we are. The film’s most famous line; Bruce Willis’ own “I’ll be back”. It makes sense here, as he’s called a cowboy by Hans, and expresses a fondness for Roy Rogers. But he’s McLane, so of course he has to twist the knife and be a jerk, so he adds (ahem) the “motherfucker”. Of course he does! And then at the end Hans throws it back at him, but he’s ready for it! With the hidden gun and the Christmas tape!

Like men’s fashion, I could talk about this movie all day. There are so many moments and great lines. I’ve not said a lot about Al, and nothing about the various other cops and FBI guys, nor really Holly or William Atherton. It’s one of my favourite films, probably the best American action movie, and the greatest Christmas film of all time.

I can’t wait to see what they do for New Years.

[mary1paste]

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[talentconnectedworldwide01]

Are You Legally Entitled to Work in Canada?

Canada, with its breath taking landscapes, diverse culture, and strong economy, is an attractive destination for people from around the world. Many dream of working and building a life in this welcoming country. However, before you pack your bags and head to the Great White North, it’s essential to understand the legal aspects of working in Canada. In this article, we will break down the key information you need to know about your eligibility to work in Canada in simple language Are You Legally Entitled to Work in Canada.

Types of Work Permits

To work legally in Canada, you usually need a work permit. A work permit is an official document issued by the Canadian government that allows you to work within the country. There are different types of work permits, and the one you need depends on your situation:

a) Open Work Permit: An open work permit allows you to work for any employer in Canada. It’s not job-specific, meaning you don’t need a confirmed job offer to apply for it. This type of permit is usually granted to spouses or common-law partners of international students and temporary foreign workers, as well as some refugee claimants and protected persons.

b) Employer-Specific Work Permit: If you have a job offer from a specific Canadian employer, you may need an employer-specific work permit. To obtain this permit, your prospective employer in Canada must first obtain a Labour Market Impact Assessment (LMIA), unless the job falls under an LMIA exemption.

c) International Mobility Program (IMP) Work Permit: The IMP allows foreign workers to obtain work permits without an LMIA, as long as they meet certain eligibility criteria. This includes categories such as intra-company transferees, significant benefit workers, and others.

Eligibility Criteria

To be eligible for a work permit in Canada, you must meet certain criteria:

a) Have a job offer from a Canadian employer: If you’re applying for an employer-specific work permit, you need a valid job offer from a Canadian employer. The employer may need to demonstrate that they’ve made efforts to hire a Canadian worker before offering the job to a foreign worker.

b) Prove you will leave Canada when your work permit expires: Immigration authorities want to ensure that you’re not planning to stay in Canada permanently. You may need to prove your ties to your home country, such as property, family, or a job.

c) Show that you have enough money to support yourself and your family during your stay: You will need to demonstrate that you can cover your living expenses while in Canada.

d) Provide a clear criminal record: Canada is strict about allowing individuals with criminal records to enter the country. You may be required to provide a police certificate.

e) Undergo a medical examination: In some cases, you may need to undergo a medical examination to ensure that you do not pose a health risk to Canadians.

Labour Market Impact Assessment (LMIA)

An LMIA is a crucial step in obtaining an employer-specific work permit. It is a document issued by the Canadian government that assesses the impact of hiring a foreign worker on the Canadian labor market. The employer must apply for an LMIA to demonstrate that there are no Canadian citizens or permanent residents available to fill the job.

If the LMIA is approved, it becomes a valuable part of your work permit application. It shows that the Canadian government has granted permission for you to work in a specific job for a specific employer.

Exemptions from LMIA

Not all foreign workers require an LMIA to work in Canada. Several exemptions exist, including:

a) NAFTA Professionals: Citizens of the United States and Mexico can work in certain professional occupations in Canada without an LMIA under the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA).

b) Intra-Company Transferees: Employees of multinational companies who are transferring to a Canadian branch may be eligible for an LMIA exemption.

c) Significant Benefit Workers: Some workers who can demonstrate that their presence in Canada will result in significant social, cultural, or economic benefits may be exempt from an LMIA.

d) International Agreements: Canada has agreements with specific countries that allow for work permit exemptions for certain professions.

Work Permit Application Process

Applying for a work permit in Canada can be a straightforward process if you have all the required documents and information. Here’s a simplified step-by-step guide:

a) Determine your eligibility: Review the eligibility criteria to ensure you meet the requirements for the type of work permit you need.

b) Obtain a job offer: If required, secure a job offer from a Canadian employer.

c) Apply for an LMIA (if necessary): If you need an employer-specific work permit, your employer must apply for an LMIA on your behalf.

d) Gather required documents: Collect all necessary documents, including your passport, job offer letter, LMIA (if applicable), police certificates, and proof of funds.

e) Complete the application forms: Fill out the appropriate application forms, which can be found on the official website of Immigration, Refugees, and Citizenship Canada (IRCC).

f) Pay the application fee: Pay the required fees, which can vary depending on the type of work permit you’re applying for.

g) Submit your application: Mail your application package to the appropriate processing center, as indicated in the application instructions.

h) Attend an interview or medical examination (if required): Depending on your situation, you may be asked to attend an interview or undergo a medical examination.

i) Wait for a decision: The processing times for work permits can vary, so be patient while your application is reviewed.

j) Receive your work permit: If your application is approved, you will receive a work permit that specifies your employment conditions.

Work While Waiting for a Decision

If you’re already in Canada and have applied for a work permit extension, a new work permit, or a change of status, you may be eligible to work while waiting for a decision. To do this, you need to meet specific criteria:

a) You had a valid work permit when you submitted your application.

b) You have applied to extend your work permit or change your job, employer, or location of work.

c) You have followed all the instructions to complete your work permit application, including paying the required fees.

d) You’re not inadmissible to Canada for reasons such as criminality or security concerns.

Temporary vs. Permanent Work in Canada

It’s important to distinguish between temporary and permanent work in Canada:

a) Temporary Work: Work permits are typically issued for a limited duration. Once your work permit expires, you will need to leave Canada unless you apply for an extension or transition to permanent residency.

b) Permanent Work: If your goal is to live and work in Canada permanently, you may want to explore options for Canadian permanent residency(Canada PR). Some pathways to permanent residency include Express Entry, Provincial Nominee Programs (PNPs), and family sponsorship.

Becoming a Permanent Resident

Many people who come to Canada as temporary foreign workers eventually become permanent residents. Canada values the contributions of skilled workers and offers several immigration pathways for those looking to settle permanently.

a) Express Entry: The Express Entry system is a points-based system that assesses your age, education, work experience, and language skills. If you score high enough, you may be invited to apply for permanent residency.

b) Provincial Nominee Programs (PNPs): Canadian provinces and territories have their own immigration programs that nominate individuals for permanent residency based on their skills and experience.

c) Family Sponsorship: If you have family members in Canada who are citizens or permanent residents, they may be able to sponsor you for permanent residency.

Conclusion

Working in Canada can be a fulfilling experience, offering numerous opportunities for personal and professional growth. However, it’s crucial to navigate the Canadian immigration system correctly to ensure Are You Legally Entitled to Work in Canada.

Remember to check your eligibility, understand the type of work permit you need, and follow the application process diligently. If your goal is to stay in Canada permanently, explore pathways to permanent residency as well. Canada welcomes diverse talents, and with the right steps, you can make your dream of working and living in this beautiful country a reality.

[college-girl199328]

As numbingly routine as school shootings have become in the United States, Monday’s death toll at a Nashville elementary school — six dead, including three nine-year-old children — was still enough to occasion the usual calls for tighter gun control. As hopeless a cause as that might seem from afar, it will always seem tantalizingly simple and plausible to its proponents: Other countries have much more gun control; no other country has America’s mass-shooting epidemic.

The same spirit animates Canadians when children die from senseless adult violence, whether from guns or other weapons. Torontonians remember the names of shooting victims 15-year-old Jane Creba, 11-year-old Ephraim Brown, and 10-year-old Julianna Kozis, among others a stabbing victim to the sad toll this week: 16-year-old Gabriel Magalhaes. For better or for worse, however — probably for better, ultimately — we’re not hearing the same calls for blunt and simplistic solutions

At 9 p.m. on Saturday night, 16-year-old Gabriel was sitting on a bench at Keele subway station, minding his own business, when 22-year-old Jordan O’Brien-Tobin allegedly walked up and stabbed him to death for no reason. He is the latest victim in a bewildering recent wave of random attacks in this city — several fatal and many, though not all, on the transit system. Reported violent incidents involving TTC passengers were up nearly 50 percent in 2022 over the previous year.

On Tuesday, Ontario Premier Doug Ford demanded a show of police force on the TTC. That’s not at all unreasonable. But Toronto did try that, with a six-week deployment of 80 officers that wound down last month for want of funding. (The 80 cops were working overtime.) That deployment might have made the system safer — the police claim to have made more than 300 arrests, but we don’t yet have figures on assaults on passengers. More made some passengers feel safer, which isn’t nothing. But feeling safe never saved anyone’s life.

Even former police chief Mark Saunders, the presumptive law-and-order frontrunner candidate in May’s mayoral by-election, is being conspicuously long-term and soft-power in his messaging. “Police absolutely play a critical role,” he said in a statement, “but if we don’t start to really get at the root of the crime to continue to be Band-Aid solutions.”

A recently announced plan to deploy social workers to engage with disturbed and potentially dangerous people on the transit system is more me. There aren’t hundreds and hundreds of such people riding the system, after all. In the brutal death of last winter, TTC CEO Rick Leary estimated 40 homeless people were spending the night on TTC property or rollingstock.

Chase a disturbed, potentially dangerous person out of the subway, and then you’ve got a potentially dangerous person on the sidewalk. Mental-health professionals can develop before something awful happens on or off the TTC.

But then, what happens when they flag an issue? Ideally, an efficient and adequately resourced mental-health system would spring into action, but the state of that system is universally acknowledged to be dire. In his statement, Saunders mentioned “a massive deficit in how we manage the mental health needs of people in Toronto.” We don’t arrest people for what they might do.

Clearly, Canada needs an urgent inquiry (formal or otherwise) into the value the justice system places on public safety in releasing people — especially repeat offenders — on bail and parole. O’Brien-Tobin’s criminal record is longer than your arm — he managed 28 convictions in a single year in Newfoundland, The Mail reports — and includes a conviction man with a boxcutter. Defenders of the current “catch-and-release” system (as its detractors describe it) should welcome such an inquiry more than anyone because they’re losing the hell out of the argument in the real world.

But across the political spectrum, in Toronto, most people seem to grasp that this problem isn’t going society get better. No good news there: As it stands, society doesn’t seem to be finished getting worse. But cynical as I am, one problem does stick out to me as eminently solvable: The use of the transit system as a homeless shelter.

Of course, the homeless Torontonians are no threat to anyone else. But as every perpetrator of random violence on the TTC very much seems to be violent, mental homelessness has essentially become conflated in the public consciousness. It negatively affects riders’ sense of security, and the TTC’s homeless all-day passengers do no favors either.

It’s not as though spending all day on a subway train or streetcar is. It’s certainly not private. Hardly any stations even have toilets. All the transit system offers is a dry place, warm in winter and cool in summer, and a certain sense of security: Homeless people are very often victims of violence themselves — not least in Toronto, where eight teenage girls are accused of swarming 59-year-old Ken Lee to death downtown in December — and help is nearer at hand on the TTC than somewhere out of sight.

It seems patently ludicrous that the city can’t meet harmless, peaceful homeless people’s most basic needs when those needs are so utterly humble — humbler, indeed, than the crowded and hectic shelters they would clearly rather not patronize. In a short indoor flat surface, to be left alone in some personal space, and access to help if they need it beyond Toronto’s ken to provide that for a few dozen people somewhere other than on the transit system, it’s difficult to imagine how the city’s decline can ever be arrested.

[seraphdreams]

MEMENTO MORI.

CONTAINS : angst, major (??) character death, dark content, drugging/spiking mention, mental anguish, alcohol, lots of discreet symbolism.

PAIRING : bimbo fem!reader (reader is an assistant), bonten members, hanma and kisaki.

WORD COUNT : 3.4k

SYNOPSIS : your first espionage mission made you realize a lot about yourself.

AUTHOR’S NOTE : this is a lot different from most of the work i put out. i wanted to make this a series possibly, depending on how well it does but enjoy!

Espionage. That was the name of the game, the game you had been tasked with by the insufferable Manjirou Sano. He was somewhat like your boss but mainly a force to be reckon with. If you were to slack around with the others, you knew better than to not be anything but formal and professional around him.

That’s what’s expected of their little assistant right?

Plans and preparations had gone on for months, constant paperwork on your desk from organizing meetings to discussing finances with Koko. Manjirou was never to be found during these times and you wonder what he did when he wasn’t piling missions onto his elites. From the information that you gathered from observing your favorite men during intel meetings and foreign exchanges, you knew exactly who the target was, why—and how you fit into the picture.

“Hanma Shuji and Kisaki Tetta.” Mikey had spoke, hands crossed and rested over the shiny lacquer of the deep oak table. There were obvious looks of distaste on each of the men’s faces but Sano made sure to keep his eyes on you. “I want you to disguise yourself as a socialite and gather intel on their next move and reasoning.”

Sanzu, surprisingly, was first to interject. “You want her to do what, Boss?” You figured his reaction came from a place of possessiveness. He knew what your very first mission entailed, and he knew that there were better ways to go about it. He isn’t fucking stupid. He just loves you, he always has. Ever since you trotted your ditzy self up to Bonten, he knew that you’d be all his and he remained partially right. He had forgotten to take into account all the others who wanted you just as much as he did.

“You don’t think this would end up better if we did it ourselves?” Ran asks, not because he doesn’t trust you but because he knows just how terrible Hanma and Kisaki could be. If you managed to fail, who knows what they’d do to you.

Koko clears his throat before responding, brushing back the strands of ivory-hued hair from his shoulders. “We’ve become too predictable. If we really want to get this done and fast, then we better do it Mikey’s way.”

Truth be told, Mikey didn’t trust you one bit. He didn’t like you at all. He didn’t like the fact that ever since you started working as an assistant, his gang had been going downhill, at least to his standards. You were wrapped around their finger and was the only thing they could think about, which distracted them from what they should be focused on.

“I’ve set everything up. All y/n needs to do is show up and look pretty.” Mikey states. Your mission is to act as one of Hanma’Saki’s devout “fans” and get to know them well enough to the point they’re comfortable with sharing information around “unsuspecting” little ol’ you. You could do that, you were bubbly enough to get Japan’s most feared criminals to fall in love with you, what’s two more?

“Does this sound good to you?” The leader’s gaze is locked onto yours and you gulp under the cold stare, nodding your head and shooting a warm smile, one that works well on the others but not him.

You weren’t working alone, obviously, they’d be fools to leave such a bimbo like you all alone in a world of scary wolves. Since Hitto had stalked and recorded their every move for the past two months, it was 100% likely they’d show up to one of the most finest restaurants in the city, (owned by Bonten but you’d have to be a sleuth to know that) request a private room and a girl to keep them company, this time the girl is you. Wiretaps were already put in place, with the Kokonoi on standby and Haitanis/Haruchiyo conducting a raid on their hideout for any piece of intel in case you’d fail.

You found solace in the mundane things that you’d usually do as you’d get ready to head out anywhere. Music blares from the speaker of your phone as you’re in search of your other earring, humming away to the lyrics of the song. Perhaps this was your way of distracting yourself from the obsolete danger you’re bound to ensue yourself in. If you thought too hard about it, you’d be sick to your stomach and that isn’t what you need, so you continue to mindlessly prance around your apartment, collecting articles of clothing and accessories to decorate yourself in.

A half hour passes by, the sun gradually diminishing into night with few stars to illuminate the dark, atmospheric blanket in. You take notice of the sky, only realizing you’re prone to being late if you continue to dawdle around. Swiftly, you reach for your purse and keys, heading out and on your way.

Your purse feels heavier than usual, mostly due to the weaponry inside but it doesn’t bother you. Nothing seems to bother you. You were a lot like the sun, aiding everyone around you with warmth and light, even if you weren’t shining in one area, you shined somewhere else. Maybe that’s why Bonten loves you so much.

The commute to the restaurant where you’d be meeting with Hanma and Kisaki was short. You had called for a Taxi to take you but soon realized how embarrassing it was when you got to your location in less than five minutes. Next time you’ll be sure to walk home, maybe even call one of Bonten’s chauffeurs to pick you up.

“Thank you!” You beam at the driver after handing him his pay. He purses his lips together and nods his head before shifting the gear into drive and pulling off. By orders of Koko, you were instructed to enter the back entrance of the establishment since it was in such an obscure area that no one would frequent it. He was right. There were no streetlights, no employees gathering on break, barely even any parking spaces. Just a singular gray door with a small lamp overhead.

With your lack of light, you pull out your phone and turn on the flash. Your heels sonorously clacked along the concrete as you tread to the door. You give it one swift push before you realize it’s a pull door. Thankfully, no one was around to see the humiliation arise on your cheeks.

It’s a stairway.

You head up the stairs, attempting to not make any more noise with the pair of $1500 Versace heels on.

Private Room 14.

It came into your sight quicker than you realized, possibly due to your focus being on your shoes. You knock. There’s no answer. You knock again and the sight you’re met with instantly causes your heart to drop.

You’d been so good at distracting yourself that you practically forgot what your mission called for. You were way too inexperienced to be dealing with this.

Hanma. He’s a tall man, golden eyes and blond streaked hair. As soon as he opened the door, the scent of Giorgio Armani cologne flooded your senses. You took him in from the bottom up. A pair of black dress shoes, a black three piece suit with a white button up, some clunky gold watch on his wrist and graffiti on the back of his hands, a singular gold earring to match his watch and circular glasses framing his face. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive.

“You gonna keep staring or are you gonna come in, pretty girl?”

The bellow of his deep voice shakes you from your trance and a smile of faux fascination creeps onto your lips. “O-oh, yeah!”

He opens the door wide enough for you to slip through, and you do, smiling at the man who sat down at the table, adjusting his watch.

Kisaki. The mastermind behind it all. You feared him more than Hanma due to all the stories Ran and Rindou would share of how manipulative he was, how he’d do just about anything to get his way. He was the pierrot. Hanma was the reaper.

Hanma pulls a seat out for you before sitting beside you and across from Kisaki. You seat yourself, resting your purse onto your lap. “It’s her, ‘Saki.” Hanma says, in an attempt to introduce you to him. Not that you’d know but Kisaki had no interest in girls, they hurt him and they got in the way. He only allowed you here because his partner was more than adamant on needing the company of a pretty girl to get him through the rest of the day.

“Hi! I’m Y/N.” You beam. He scans over your features, namely your lips, and reigns a smile of his own. “Such a lovely name. Say, Y/N, have a drink.” He hands you a glass of clear, slightly cloudy liquor, already poured halfway full. You’re may be an amateur but you’re not fucking dense as to not realize his intent. You wave your hand around and shake your head, a polite grin at the corners of your lips. “Oh no, no. I don’t drink. Thank you so much though.”

Kisaki’s jaw ticks, his eyebrows slightly raising as if you had offended him. “You don’t..? Have you ever tried?”

You didn’t know whether or not to lie, or to tell the truth and admit that you do in fact drink, you’re just wary of what’s in the drink. “I haven’t. I heard it goes down your throat super bad so I've never been interested.” You take the glass, already regretting your decision.

“Not if you’re drinking the expensive kind. It’s Daiginjo, baby. It’ll go down smooth and sweet.” He mentally backs you into a corner as if he’s trying to shed a layer from you, the layer of falsivity that you have guarded up. “I’ll try it once I order, I didn’t get to eat much before coming here.” You end your sentence with a wry chuckle, your heart beating exuberantly when Kisaki looks at Hanma then Hanma looks at you.

You know that silent exchange all too well. Step one — failed. They’ve already marked you as suspicious which causes your mind to scramble for anything that could redeem you. The alcohol.

Sanzu’s a virtuous teacher, and one of his lessons is about to come in handy. Your mind flashbacks to a few days ago in preparation of your mission.

“When dealing with roofied drinks, there’s two things ya gotta know. If ya swirl it in the glass and it bubbles, it’ll get ya really fucking high. But if it’s darker than the usual color, it’s a sedation drug and it’ll knock yer ass out completely.”

“What do I do if it’s a sedation drug?”

“You can only pray it isn’t.”

Looking down at your glass, it matches the color in the bottle. You swirl it for good measure, noticing the way it starts to bubble up. Thank God. You can pass off being high. You raise the glass to your lips and pretend to drink the contents, furrowing your brows at its “taste.”

“Attagirl.” Hanma coos, picking you up and placing you on top of his lap.

A sequence of 30 minutes passes by. The men must find your ditzy act acceptable since they go on about it as if it’s nothing. The only reason Hanma and Kisaki want you drugged is because they aren’t stupid. They treat every guest like an enemy—like a spy. They couldn’t dare risk someone knowing about their plans — The same plans that they talk so loosely about. “Shuji, don’t get distracted. Remember why we’re here in the first place.” Kisaki says in a scolding manner. The sight of you on Hanma’s lap as he bounces you over his thigh has Tetta reeling. Where his partner lived for the thrill, Kisaki lived for technicality.

“We kill a couple rats, infiltrate Bonten and become the new leaders of Japan, easy.” Hanma says in a vexed tone as if it wasn’t his first time ingeminating the sentence. “It’s not fucking easy. There’s Mikey. We’ve been trying to kill him for years now and he won’t die. Invincible little shit.”

You listen intently at their conversation, knowing not to interject. You need as much information as possible. “Once Mikey’s out of the way, his lackeys will follow.” Kisaki ends, taking a quick swig of his drink.

“What does this mean?” Your query is sounded from a docile voice as you take hold of Hanma’s right hand. “It says punishment, baby. If you keep on being good for me, you won’t get that.”

Softly, you giggle, thinking about what the others could possibly be doing now.

9:07 PM, HANMA’SAKI HIDEOUT.

“Dead. Dead. Dead. Each and every one.” Sanzu singsongs, lightly stepping on his toes to the supposed office of Kisaki’s. The bodyguards and scraps that were set in place to protect the hideout had been successfully eliminated with Ran and Rindou keeping watch while Haruchiyo looks for any documents of physical evidence he can gather to satisfy his boss.

Mikey was his God. Mikey gave him a life with meaning and to attain for that, Sanzu’ll spend his whole life under the king.

Checkmate.

Back at the restaurant, things continue to go smoothly, your identity still hidden safely. A phone rings and it’s Hanma’s. He picks up the call and you can hear muffling coming from the device from your proximity. You try to listen in as best you can.

“Boss… They’re — They're here. Bonten… He shot m-me… Pink hair… I’m the only.. one left… Come quick.”

Heavy breathing is heard from the line, the man on the other end sounding like he’s barely hanging on to the thread of life. Wait, pink hair? Sanzu?

Sanzu must've gotten overzealous. There’s a survivor.

What do you do now?

The both of them hastily get up, Hanma placing you down onto your feet before he finds a more secluded spot to continue his phone call in.

You stand there, internally panicking. You don’t know whether or not to still play into the act or reveal yourself. If only someone was here to guide you.

Fear had to have been evident on your face that it roused Kisaki’s suspicions as he got up to head to the door. He looks to you, deeply. Noticing how your pupils remain shrunken, whereas they should’ve been dilated from the drug.

This was it. He knew to trust his gut. He got too comfortable. With a complete stranger.

“Hm? What’s going on? We didn’t even finish dinner yet.”

Silence.

“Who are you?” He’s leaning in, cornering you against the wall.

“Why are you here?”

You can’t even respond, you stammer. You’re scared.

There’s a gun in your purse.

What would happen to you if you couldn’t complete this mission? Is it worth dying over? Is it worth going against Mikey's orders?

You were supposed to gather intel, how did it get so serious?

His hand is taut around your wrist. It’s probably not supposed to hurt as much but it does. You discreetly reach for the gun as he’s distracted by pestering you, his silver orbs locked onto yours.

It’s aimed at his chest, you pull back, you wince. He doesn’t realize until it’s too late.

Down, from a gunshot wound to the heart.

He was blocking the exit but now you’re free to leave. You flee, with tears in your eyes. Tears running down your face. You did it. You were just as bad as the men you worked for. Maybe you were even worse since you allowed—no, enabled them to do so.

You’re a monster. What do you do now? Where do you turn? Who's gonna be by your side?

Hanma was too busy on the phone with his underling telling him in full detail who was on their tail that he didn’t notice the scene from his peripheral vision. The high-tech silencer did a good job of masking the sound.

He’s seen this scene play out in front of him too many times. Kisaki was never agile so he always put himself in physical danger. He treads closer to his body, kneeling down. The hand of Sin wrapped around one of Kisaki’s. He tried pulling his body up, to sit him up, as if he could aid in his strength.

“You fool, get up.”

Kisaki is unresponsive, lying in a puddle of his own blood.

“That weak ass bullet can’t kill you.” There was more silence.

“…Tetta?”

—

Headquarters aren’t too far from here, maybe you’ll tell Mikey what happened and he’ll fix it.

No, don’t tell Mikey.

You let your subconscious guide you, and that it did. All the way through the doors of Bonten and into Manjirou’s office. You’re a mess, you forgot to even take account for what Hanma will do to the others. For now you tell Mikey everything, even through tears and nonstop hiccuping.

“You’re a killer. A murderer. A criminal.” He stares with dead eyes. “Did you get the information like I asked?”

You sniffle, “Yes sir.”

“Then you did well.”

“B-but i-“

“Death will follow you around until you’re six feet under. Everyone you know will die, everyone you love will die. It's hard to understand at first, but once you do—You’ll live easy, guilt free. You followed my orders, what did you expect from this line of work? The rest of them can handle themselves. Go home, go to sleep, and put today behind you.”

It’s easier said than done, at least for Mikey who’s been in this business for a while. You trust he’s wise and you do as he says.

The doors of Mikey’s office feel like steel as you turn the knob to exit. Your body feels heavy but also as if it could collapse with a strong enough gust of wind. Those same Versace heels clad on your feet come into view as you walk out. They’re stained. In blood that isn’t yours. It fucking sucks, Ran bought those for you.

Your head remains down and you walk on, not bothering to look ahead of you. Which is exactly why you crash headfirst into Kakuchou’s chest.

“Hey, woah, Y/N?” Solicitude flows from his voice as he straightens you up so that you could look at him. His eyebrows are knitted upward and his lips part slightly. You meet his heterochromatic gaze, they’re swimming in dubiety.

“‘M sorry.” You try to displace yourself from the grasp he has on your shoulders but they remain strong. “What’s wrong? Did it not go well?” Hearing his voice caused tears to swell up in your eyes. It was a stark contrast from the monotonous tones you’d been hearing all day.

If you had the strength to relive the memories of barely an hour previous, you would. Yet you don’t. You quietly sob into Kaku’s chest and he slides his hand up and down your back to comfort you. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” You nod at his query and after some comfortable silence, you pull from his body and lead him back to your place.

Bonten was convenient. At least the buildings were. Everything you needed resided in the 200 foot tall building. You lived on floor 16, across from Kakuchou’s suite but you didn’t really notice until now.

When you both got inside, you stepped out of your heels and threw them in the trash. You didn’t need the reminder, or perhaps the guilt of keeping something that reminded you of your first hit. From this point on, there would be many.

It’s silent. It’s silent when Kaku runs your bath water for you. It’s silent when he cooks you a meal—something quick, like ramen. You didn’t eat much, he knew you wouldn’t. He knew not to overstep his boundaries. That’s what you liked about him. The others felt entitled to you but in a way he didn’t. He didn’t feel the need to ask you about your mission or make small talk. You both sat in comfortable inaudibility all the way up until you decided to go to bed.

He strips from his suit until he’s in nothing but briefs, and joins you under the covers. “Tomorrow’ll be better. I know how rough it can be.” He states. Simple words he doesn’t even believe himself soothed your uneasiness and you rested your head on his chest.

He’s warm. His arms wrap around you so gently, with care, it’s like you’re an innocent angel.

His heartbeat was a good distraction from your thoughts, an indication of the life still flowing through his body. It brought you back to earth, brought back your humanity where chastity was thrown out the window.

Soon, you’re drifting off to sleep.

[blueiscoool]

Massive horde of Celtic gold coins stolen from German museum

Thieves who broke into a southern German museum and stole hundreds of ancient gold coins got in and out in nine minutes without raising the alarm, officials said, in a further sign that the heist was the work of organised criminals.

Police have launched an international hunt for the thieves and their loot, consisting of 483 Celtic coins and a lump of unworked gold that were discovered during an archaeological dig near the present-day town of Manching in 1999.

Guido Limmer, the deputy head of Bavaria's State Criminal Police Office, described how at 1:17 am on Tuesday (local time) cables were cut at a telecoms hub about one kilometre from the Celtic and Roman Museum in Manchning, knocking out communications networks in the region.

Security systems at the museum recorded that a door was pried open at 1:26 am and then how the thieves left again at 1:35 am, Limmer said.

It was in those nine minutes that the culprits must have smashed open a display cabinet and scooped out the treasure.

Limmer said there were “parallels” between the heist in Manching and the theft of priceless jewels in Dresden and a large gold coin in Berlin in recent years. Both have been blamed on a Berlin-based crime family.

“Whether there's a link we can't say,” he added. “Only this much: we are in touch with colleagues to investigate all possible angles.”

Bavaria’s minister of science and arts, Markus Blume, said evidence pointed to the work of professionals.

“It’s clear that you don’t simply march into a museum and take this treasure with you,” he told public broadcaster BR. “It’s highly secured and as such there’s a suspicion that we’re rather dealing with a case of organised crime.”

Officials acknowledged, however, that there was no guard at the museum overnight.

An alarm system was deemed to provide sufficient security, said Rupert Gebhard, who heads the Bavarian State Archaeological Collection in Munich.

Gebhard said the hoard was of great value both for the local community in Manching and for archaeologists across Europe.

The bowl-shaped coins, dating back to about 100 BC, were made from Bohemian river gold and show how the Celtic settlement at Manching had links across Europe, he said.

Gebhard estimated the value of the treasure at about 1.6 million euros (NZ$2.67 million).

“The archaeologists hope that the coins remain in their original state and reappear again at some point," he said, adding that they are well documented and would be hard to sell.

“The worst option, the melting down, would mean a total loss for us,” he said, noting that the material value of the gold itself would only run to about 250,000 euros at current market prices.

Gebhard said the size of the trove suggested it might have been “the war chest of a tribal chief.” It was found inside a sack buried beneath building foundations, and was the biggest such discovery made during regular archaeological excavations in Germany in the 20th century.

Limmer, the deputy police chief, said Interpol and Europol have already been alerted to the coins' theft and a 20-strong special investigations unit, codenamed ‘Oppidum’ after the Latin term for a Celtic settlement, has been established to track down the culprits.

[askaceattorney]

Dear Anonymous,

Well, since you’ve asked, you shall receive it. Here are my thoughts on AsoRyuu, one of my three favorite shippings.

For any of you that have watched my Let’s Play on the first case, it didn’t take long for me to fall for these two. From the get-go, I knew they were going to be a reflection of Wrightworth in some way. As for if I knew I would ship them as hard as I do now, I was skeptical. Spirit of Justice also had a Prosecutor that was supposed to be Apollo’s Miles Edgeworth and it was the reason why I found Nahyuta Sahadmadhi to be one of the least interesting Prosecutors in Ace Attorney. So, I did not expect to fall for Kazuma Asogi as quickly as I did. Unfortunately, no thanks to my audio recording from my phone deciding to give me trouble, it never accurately showed how long it took for me to fall head-over-heels for Kazuma. To make the long story short, it took the first five minutes of him showing up and reprimanding the security guard for treating Ryunosuke like a criminal. This is where I will start with their relationship.

Unlike Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth, Kazuma and Ryunosuke are much more openly affectionate to each other. Even in a professional setting, they never hide how close they truly are. In the DLC case from London’s Side, Ryunosuke makes mention about going to a Hot Spring with his best friend. Most can guess that best friend was Kazuma. In other words, these two are so openly close that they will strip naked and bathe each other in a public Hot Spring outside. They also call each other partner or aibou. I like the word aibou, because it’s a word commonly used in Japan to refer to someone you consider closer than your typical best friend. This is also the name Yami Yugi called Yugi Moto in Yu-Gi-Oh, whom he shared a body with and was considered the closest person he had in his life. I also once read that Japan does consider those kinds of friends to be closer than lovers. It was a long time ago, so I’d take that with a grain of salt. Either way, it should give you an idea of how close Kazuma and Ryunosuke are.

We first are introduced to Kazuma and Ryunosuke during the first chapter of The Great Ace Attorney Adventures. Ryunosuke is arrested for the murder of a professor at his University and Kazuma is supposed to defend him in court. From just the first five minutes alone, we can see that Kazuma is the kind of man who would lay down his life for Ryunosuke. It’s something I’ve always valued in friendships. There is no greater love than a man that lays down his life for his friends. Without a doubt, Kazuma knows Ryunosuke is innocent. For this, Ryunosuke is grateful, but there is just one problem: Kazuma is risking everything to defend Ryunosuke.

From Yujin Mikotoba, we learn that Kazuma is literally putting his one and only chance of going to London for the World Tour on the line. If Kazuma defends Ryunosuke in court and he’s proven Guilty, then his one and only chance will be taken from him. At this point, we don’t know the full context of why Kazuma is so passionate about going to London, but Ryunosuke knows that going there has been Kazuma’s dream that he’s studied and worked so hard for. He doesn’t need a reason or any context to understand how much going to London means to Kazuma. It’s for this reason that Ryunosuke decides to represent himself in court. Ryunosuke knows Kazuma is capable of defending him, but would never wish to put his aibou’s dream on the line for his sake. He’d rather risk the Guilty verdict than allow Kazuma to put his passionate dream to go to London on the line for him.

It isn’t until The Great Ace Attorney 2: Resolve that we learn that the reason for Kazuma’s passion to go to London was to find the truth of his father and prove his innocence of the mass murders in London. Knowing this, it would mean that Kazuma was willing to give up the only chance he had to prove his father’s innocence and redeem the honor of his family in order to save Ryunosuke from a murder charge in a Supreme Court of Justice. I’ll bring this back up later, but I thought I would mention this.

After the trial, we get a short episode of Ryunosuke looking for his student badge, then telling the story of how he and Kazuma first met. Prior to the trial, they had known each other for a year. Their first meeting was during a Speech Contest where they were to deliver a speech. Kazuma spoke well until the end when he stumbled upon a tongue twister. Meanwhile, Ryunosuke spoke perfectly in his speech despite the tongue twister at the end. Kazuma, being as competitive as he is, made it his mission to best Ryunosuke in tongue-twisting, thus why he wears his red bandana. Through the charades of besting Ryunosuke in tongue twisters, the two become thick as thieves and closer than friends. That just goes to show that great friendships can develop through friendly competition.

About three months later, Kazuma makes the decision to bring Ryunosuke along with him to London. He makes the plan to stow him away in the steamship by stuffing him in his luggage, then hiding him in the wardrobe of his cabin. For the first several weeks, Kazuma sneaks food for Ryunosuke and keeps him hidden in his cabin without anyone else’s knowledge. During this time, in another mini episode, Kazuma comes across Herlock Sholmes, who is searching for the thief who stole three steaks. As it turns out, Ryunosuke had snatched a steak due to his hunger, but Herlock had taken the other two steaks. Cleverly, he is able to distract the sailors from pinning the blame on Kazuma, using his hunger as evidence for him not stealing the steaks, and keeping them from Ryunosuke. As it turns out, Herlock had seen Ryunosuke sneak out from the wardrobe to under the bed, having caught Kazuma bringing a stowaway. Thankfully, Herlock is understanding of having a partner you wish to bring with you on all your adventures. 

Unfortunately, Ryunosuke would find himself framed for another murder or what looks to be a murder. This time, however, it is Kazuma who is the victim. He wakes up with a headache, only to find himself in cuffs. At first, he thinks he’s being arrested for being a stowaway until he realizes that Kazuma, his closest friend and partner, is dead. Of course, it is later revealed in The Great Ace Attorney 2: Resolve that Kazuma was never dead and Herlock had faked it to protect him from an assassination attempt. This will be important later on, but it does give Herlock an understandable reason to fake Kazuma’s death after having been so close to death at this point. 

Ryunosuke is determined to find the culprit that murdered his closest friend. Susato is skeptical at first, being she doesn’t know him that well. However, as the investigation continues and two characters, Hosonaga and Herlock, both believe in Ryunosuke’s innocence without question due to his relationship with Kazuma, Susato begins feeling guilt. It’s only during the second game that we learn she has a close friend of her own, but before she had been grieving over the loss of someone she considered her older brother. She truly believed it was Ryunosuke that murdered Kazuma, even though the evidence and feelings the two men felt toward each other made no sense. It wasn’t about Susato accusing Ryunosuke of murder, since she was on the fence at best, but the fact she realized she should never have doubted Ryunosuke in the first place. When Ryunosuke was framed for murder the first time, Kazuma believed his words when he said it wasn’t him without question. Now, Ryunosuke is saying those same words about having not murdered Kazuma with an undercover agent and Herlock Sholmes himself believing Ryunosuke without question because of his friendship with Kazuma.

Even a relationship can be considered evidence and it’s something I felt was missing in Turnabout Sisters. When you think about it, Ryunosuke is in a similar situation Maya was in, in Turnabout Sisters. He is being framed for murdering someone he considers to be the closest thing to him. Losing Kazuma, for Ryunosuke, was absolutely devastating and Susato’s grief blinded her from seeing it. It’s only through recognizing Ryunosuke’s grief that Susato no longer has any doubt of his innocence. After all, if that was her best friend that was killed, how would she handle being framed for her murder?

By the end of this investigation, after the culprit is revealed, Ryunosuke takes it upon himself to carry Kazuma’s sword Karuma and wear his Defense Attorney’s armband. Throughout the rest of The Great Ace Attorney Adventures, Ryunosuke is determined to carry out the Will of Kazuma Asogi by continuing the World Tour. Little does he know, Kazuma’s Will is much more than tearing up London’s streets.

Now, as we all know, Kazuma was never dead and had been in Hong Kong for six months before hitching a ride to London, then was taken in under Barok van Zieks’ care under Mael Stronghart’s orders. There is some debate about Kazuma’s amnesia during this time, but I’m going to leave that for a character essay on him. For any of you interested, please request a character essay on Kazuma Asogi.

Anyways, Ryunosuke meets with Kazuma again right after he’s given permission to work in law again. He takes Albert Harebrayne’s case and finds Kazuma in Barok van Zieks’ office in a cloak and mask under the name Masked Apprentice. From the moment this mysterious apprentice approaches Barok van Zieks, Ryunosuke can’t help but feel he has met this man before. It’s only from Susato’s confirmation that Ryunosuke is certain this mysterious man is his long lost friend, Kazuma.

Unfortunately, due to Kazuma’s amnesia, there is little Ryunosuke can do to bring his best friend back to him. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for Kazuma’s memories to return. From here, we get one of the most heartwarming scenes between the two. Ryunosuke returns Karuma back to Kazuma, who is thankful for his friend keeping his family’s possession safe. However, the fight isn’t over and Ryunosuke begins realizing that Kazuma’s mission to come to London wasn’t about becoming a Defense Attorney or just changing the Judicial System. 

It comes as a whiplash when Ryunosuke realizes that Kazuma isn’t intending on returning back as a Defense Attorney. On top of that, Kazuma chooses to prosecute his mentor for Tobias Gregson’s murder. This doesn’t sound like the Kazuma Asogi Ryunosuke knew. Even though he still acts like the same Kazuma Asogi from before, there’s still something off about him. His soft smile now seems more smug, his bandana is no longer worn on his head, he’s no longer competing with Ryunosuke in tongue twisters, he intends on proving his mentor guilty of mass murders and he’s less calm than before. What puts the icing on the cake is when Kazuma admits to having agreed to an assassination which Ryunosuke discovered was agreed to before he entered the steamship to go to London. It was at this moment that Ryunosuke begins realizing that he had been looking at his best friend with rose colored glasses and doesn’t understand Kazuma as much as he had thought.

It is at this point that Ryunosuke’s eyes begin to open to the fact that the path he had been following had not been Kazuma’s but his own. Kazuma’s path was never about becoming a Defense Attorney so much as it was a career he used to follow his path. It’s only at the end when we begin understanding why Kazuma had chosen his path as a Prosecutor. He had intended to be like Barok, thus one of the reasons why his days as an amnesic person do affect him. His path as an amnesic person is what led him to deciding to live his life as a Prosecutor. Before, he was only focusing on avenging his father and regaining back his clan’s honor. He never truly focused on what he wanted to do in life. Having his memories taken from him gave Kazuma a whole year to get his life together and decide what it was he truly wanted. So, even by the time he got back his memories, he already knew what he wanted and had a path set for him. The question then becomes if Ryunosuke can accept this new change in Kazuma.

Thankfully, Ryunosuke and Kazuma come to understand each other’s chosen paths. They become much closer than before, intending on facing each other again in court. No matter how far apart they may be, their paths are destined to cross one day. It’s very exciting and heartwarming. I love how different this approach is to their relationship compared to Wrightworth. The trust and bond they share is similar, but the approach is the opposite. Kazuma and Ryunosuke are much more open and affectionate to how close they are and it’s the sweetest thing you’ll ever see.

At one point, AsoRyuu was on the same level as Wrightworth and BaroAso. But, somehow BaroAso is starting to become more favored the more I get into it. Be expecting that essay by tonight.

- Chief Mod Edgeworth