#how should I know! as we just established I am the WORST with words!

[judicent]

What the ever-loving fuck am I ever saying to anyone?

Because whatever the hell it is, I sure as shit don't mean it.

[always-just-red]

A multi-headcanon request please. How the boys react when they discover their s/o has been hiding a wound from them because she had it under control and didn't want to give them something else to worry about

Hi! Thanks so much for the request and all the support! Have written a little fic for each of the guys, starring... - Xavier, Deepspace Hunter extraordinaire ✨ - Linkon's worst best baking partner, Zayne 🍪 - Drama queen Rafayel 👑 - King of self-care, Sylus 💅

Putting On A Brave Face

L&DS Boys x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, a certain hunter likes to say things are fine when they definitely aren't...

Genre: A lil bit of angst, mostly fluff + comfort!

Warnings/Additional tags: female reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, some injury details/blood mentioned, teeeeency bit of suggestion (I'm looking at YOU, Sylus...)

| Word count: 4k (1k each!) | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

This is bad. Not ‘end of everything as we know it’ bad, but definitely ‘an obscene amount of paperwork’ bad.

You clutch one of your pistols to your chest— deep breath— and you listen carefully, your head leant back against the rock you’re using as cover. Your mind latches on to every sound: each growl, each rumble of earth that marks the movements of the Wanderers that have trapped you here.

You’ve fought worse odds, but then again, you don’t usually have to do it with a broken leg.

Or maybe just sprained? You shift a little, trying to move, and the pain that sears through you settles the debate in an instant. Your teeth sink into the back of your hand to keep you from crying out.

You hope Xavier’s ok. You sent him your co-ordinates minutes ago, and the lack of response has worry gnawing away at the deepest parts of you. You check your hunter’s watch.

Still nothing.

Another deep breath, and you readjust your position as much as you can. Balancing on your good leg, you manage to peer over the top of the rock to get a visual of your surroundings.

There’s four, no— five Wanderers. Stupid no-hunt zone; you’re never not outnumbered.

You can see your second pistol, abandoned in the middle of the clearing where you’d dropped it. There’s flickers of movement, too: further in the woods. More Wanderers. Shit.

You duck behind the rock you’re starting to think might be your new home. Then your watch flickers, broadcasting a map of the area, and there’s the co-ordinates of another hunter, closing in fast.

Something flashes in the clearing, lighting the dark of the forest like a stutter of lightning. Then again. Then again. There’s a blood-curdling roar, and it ends— abrupt— with another flash.

Everything goes silent, save for a familiar voice calling your name.

“Xavier!” you call back.

You peek over the rock to see your partner jogging towards you, dead Wanderers littered behind him. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soft as always, but his sword is still dripping blood.

“I’m ok.” You clamber up, using the rock as a seat when the small effort almost breaks you. “You?”

Xavier draws close— his gloved hands on your face, cupping your cheeks. His thumb grazes over a shallow scrape on your brow. “Yeah,” he answers.

“Did you find that weird Wanderer?”

He shakes his head: no. Steps back to check his watch. “It’s probably moved on to a different zone by now.”

“Then we should look for it,” you say, standing up. All of your weight is on one leg.

“Ah,” Xavier ponders, rubbing his neck, “really? I thought we should maybe head back.”

“No need.” And what’s the plan here, exactly? You can’t walk. You definitely can’t fight. Maybe you can wait here while he— no. He’s never going to leave you. “I told you I’m ok.”

“But you’re not.”

“I am,” you assert. You’re determined to convince him and your own, useless body. It’s just a sprain. It is just a sprain. You take a step forwards and stumble, your bad leg crumpling beneath you.

Xavier catches you, strong and solid, and he's holding you like you’re something delicate. He sets you down on the rock again. The pain is making your vision swim.

“You’re hurt,” he reasons gently, even though the truth of it is a knife that’s twisting in your heart. He seems to sense your reluctance: “There’s no shame in admitting that. It happens. Let’s go back.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m slowing you down, Xavier!” you gush. Your heart is split open and it has to bleed somewhere. “You have no idea what it’s like… being your partner.”

He’s looking at you with so much guilt and gods, you wish that somewhere was anywhere but his hands. “What do you mean?” he asks on a shaky breath.  

“I love working with you.” Soften the blow. “I love being with you, but you don’t need me. You’re this incredible hunter. This figure of legend, of everyone’s stories. You can do so much on your own and I just don’t know how to keep up. I mean, look at me— I can’t.”

You feel sick. Empty. “You shouldn’t have to hang back for me,” you finish limply. “You’re you, Xavier. You can fight like a hundred Wanderers and still come out unscathed.”

The blue of Xavier’s eyes has grown understandably more turbulent, though it settles a little. He seems to relax. “Yeah… about that,” he mumbles hesitantly.

He turns around and your mouth drops. A savage cut drapes like a crimson sash down his back, splitting the white of his uniform. It’s not deep enough to be fatal, but it’s not good, either.

“Wha— Xavier!” you exclaim, trying to surge forwards, but your pain keeps you rooted. “You said you were ok!”

“So did you,” he frowns, bewildered. “Can we get out of—”

“Yeah, yeah.” You let him take your arm and help you to your feet.

He leads you through the clearing and into the forest, supporting your weight as you hop along beside him. There’s a murmur about how he should carry you, but you’re quick to reassure him he’s doing enough. You’re both hurting; you both just need to survive the short walk out of the no-hunt zone, where a med team can take over.

“You don’t slow me down, you know,” Xavier says quietly, after a minute of silence. “You’re the reason I can keep going.”

You squeeze his arm affectionately, mustering a smile even though you’re nauseous with pain and the idea that he’s been dwelling on your speech this whole time. “Well,” you chuckle through gritted teeth, “you’re gonna have to learn how to get by without me.”

“Huh?” He gives you a curious look.

You glance down at your leg. “Zayne’s gonna kill me...”

Zayne ❄

“I’m a doctor.”

You stop what you’re doing to fix Zayne with a questioning stare. “Ok…?”

“I’ve published dozens of research papers. Pioneered new surgical techniques. My work on Evol-based regenerative properties still has lasting implications for my field, and I’ve the accolades to show for it. The Starcatcher Award. The Linde Award, too— I was the youngest ever recipient.”

None of this is news to you, and you can’t help chuckling at this change in your usually-humble physician. You humour him: “The youngest ever recipient, huh?” There’s a crack as you split an egg on the side of the bowl in front of you. “That’s very impressive.”

“Is it?”

Zayne stands from his seat at your kitchen table: you hear the chair draw back. You feel his presence arrive behind you as you continue to stir your soon-to-be cookie dough. “Yeah,” you lilt with a smile.

“Really?” he pushes again, and his arms wrap around you as he bends to speak into your ear. “Because someone seems to think I can’t even recognise a—” he nips at it— “sprained ankle.”

His breath is warm on your neck and you let out a giggle. “Keep speaking to me like that and these cookies are never making it into the oven. Or your stomach.”

The man relents. He releases you, not returning to his seat but opting to lean against the kitchen counter instead. You glance up at him; he stares back, waiting for an actual answer.

“My ankle is fine, Zayne.”

There’s a sigh as he crosses his arms.

“It is,” you insist, even though you did sprain your ankle at work today, it does hurt like hell, and you do just want to sit down. You reach for the flour you’d measured out previously, tipping it into the larger bowl. “If it wasn’t, would I really be here— making you cookies?”

“Yes,” he says plainly.

“You’re delusional.”

“Ok.”  

Well, that was a little too easy. Don’t overthink it, and definitely don’t read into the fact that he’s standing there oh-so-smugly, like he knows something you don’t. You finish stirring the flour into the mixture, then add the last of the ingredients. Just a pinch of salt, and then…

Where did you put the chocolate chips? You glance about yourself but they’re nowhere in sight. “Hey, Zayne? Have you seen the—”

“This cupboard,” he indicates with an upwards nod of his head. His eyes are relentless. “Top shelf.”

Ah. That’s ok. You’ve totally got this. You move beneath the cupboard, opening it and gazing up into the contents. You can see the pack of chocolate chips. You can get up there somehow, right?

“Would you like me to—” Zayne starts, but you cut him off:

“Nope.” You put your hands on your hips. “Please— if I can climb the back of an alive, awake, and very angry deluge wyrmlord to put a sword through its skull, I think I can make it onto the kitchen counter in one piece. Lemme just…”

Your knee lifts. You make it about a centimetre from the floor before Zayne’s hands are on your waist, grounding you. “Stop,” he instructs, and it's not a tone that allows for any rebuttal. Satisfied by your silence, he brings the chocolate chips down to you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly as they’re placed on the counter.

“You’re welcome."

Sheepishly, you spill a generous amount of chocolate chips into the cookie mixture. Your throat hurts in the way that keeps you from saying anything more. You already feel like an idiot, and your eyes are watering, threatening to make you look like even more of one.

Zayne’s hand appears in front of you, hovering over the bowl. You laugh in understanding: giving the half-empty bag another shake so chocolate chips fall into his palm.

“You… don’t have to explain yourself,” he says as he lifts them to his mouth. His next words are muffled: “But you can tell me anything, my love. I never want you to feel as though you can’t.”

You chuckle again; you can’t help yourself. Look at him: your oh-so-serious doctor shovelling chocolate into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still on his palm.

“I know I can tell you anything,” you smile, the ache in your throat receding, however much the rest of you hurts. “I did sprain my ankle. It’s not that I wanted to hide it from you, it’s just—” you stop stirring the mixture— “it’s just that your whole life is taking care of people at the hospital. You should get a break from it. You should get to be Zayne, here… at home. Just Zayne, not Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne’s hazel eyes have taken on a hue of regret. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, buying himself a few seconds as he contemplates. “Are you a doctor?” he asks after a moment.

“No?”

“And yet, here you are, taking care of me.” He reaches for the abandoned packet of chocolate chips. “Tell me, does it feel like work to you?”

“Yeah,” you tease, drawing the packet away from his stretching fingers in explanation; you’re both grinning.

“Well, it never feels like work to me. Just Zayne likes taking care of you. And right now? He wants to bundle you up on the sofa and finish these cookies for you.”

You purse your lips: that’s some dubious wording. “Zayne, hell will freeze over before I leave you and this cookie dough unsupervised.”

He shushes you, pulling on the cord of your apron until the bow at your back comes loose. Before you can protest, he’s wearing the apron himself.

“Zayne, I’m not kidding. I know what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get rid of me, and then you’ll—”

“Shh,” he coos again, whisking you carefully off your feet, because it’s time for a taste of your own medicine. “You’re delusional.”

Rafayel 🔥

“Mmhmm. Mmhmm.”

“Raf, who are you—”

He holds out a finger to shush you. “Mmhmm.”

You cross your arms impatiently. Who is he even talking to, anyway? His lilac eyes are locked on you as he continues humming away, apparently very invested in whatever the person on the phone is saying; you’ve never seen him go this long without talking.

He narrows his eyes at you. You narrow your eyes right back.

All around you, guests of the exhibition are milling about, all dressed to the nines and minding their business, however much they want the attention of the man in front of you. A few of them linger as they pass him, like they want to say something, like they’re going to say something…

But they don’t.

It’s a wonder that Rafayel stands out in the crowd as much as he does. You’d seamlessly located him, back from your third trip to the bathroom to check on the bandages you’ve managed to conceal beneath this dress. He’s still holding your purse for you, his phone in his other hand, except—

That’s your phone. That’s your phone! “Rafayel!”

He shushes you again. “I understand,” he says solemnly, notably not to you, “thanks for letting me know.” The call is ended. He takes a deep, collected breath, then looks at you. “I knew it!”

“Knew what? Who was that?”

“Zayne.”

“You called Zayne?”

“Like I had a choice!” Rafayel retaliates. It is true; he’s spent the entire evening trying to get you to admit something was wrong, and you had no intention of giving him that pleasure. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital! What kind of idiot breaks out of the hospital?”

The lack of irony in the question almost breaks you. “Umm… you?! Like every other week?!”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

“Rafayel, I swear, I’m gonna— ah!” you gasp in pain. You’d stepped forwards too quickly— maybe to strangle him, but that’s neither here nor there— and the wound on your side is clearly on his side. It stings like hell: punishing you, and you know the pain is self-inflicted.

Rafayel frowns in concern, maybe even guilt, and that’s why you didn’t tell him. “C’mon, we should go,” he insists gravely.

“It’s fine, Raf. It doesn’t even—”

“Stop lying! You said you wouldn’t hide stuff like this from me. You promised, remember?”

You’re losing track of all the promises you’ve made to the Lemurian, but you do remember that one. Guilt has its teeth in you, too. “I know,” you grumble, “I’m sorry, ok? I just knew—”

“What?”

“That you’d act like this! You’ve been working on this exhibition for months, Raf. Tonight is supposed to be about you. Not me— you. And I want it to stay that way. Everyone’s here to celebrate you and your work, and that’s how it should be. That’s what I want. To support you. To be here for you.”

Your voice has gone timid. You finish meekly: “Can’t you let me do this for you? Please?”

Rafayel’s eyes are wide and still the prettiest things you’ve ever seen, even in a room full of masterpieces and jewels you could never afford. They shine with uncertainty, but soften as he smiles, full of fondness and affection. “That’s sweet. But also? Really dumb.”

“Raf—”

“The only— and I mean only— reason I’m here tonight is because you are. I don’t care about what anyone thinks about me or my paintings. Just you. And you can see this?” He gestures around the gallery. “Anytime. My life’s your private exhibition, cutie. Exclusive access, 24/7, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He steps closer to you: close enough that he can see the tear that’s made it halfway down your cheek. He wipes it away with a chuckle. “Plus,” he adds, “I know you know I’m amazing. You don’t need these old sourpusses to tell you that, do you?”

You laugh tentatively. “No, I don’t.”

Your injury protests as you use the lapels on Rafayel’s blazer to pull him closer; you have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He’s still grinning as he draws away, a light blush on his cheeks, but the sweetness of the moment vanishes as his gaze drifts lower.

“My eyes are up here, Rafayel.”

“Yeah…” he concedes mindlessly, but then he points: “you know you’re like, bleeding, right?”

You glance downwards to where the red of your dress is turning darker. There’s just a small splotch, but it’s growing. Shit. You must have reopened the wound.

“Thomas?” you hear Rafayel call, and then he’s stuffing a silk handkerchief into your hands— helping you apply pressure. “We have to get out of here,” he explains as a figure joins you.

His agent folds his arms; this is not dissimilar to stunts you and Rafayel have pulled before. “Fake blood, guys? Really?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t leave, Rafayel. I can just see the headlines tomorrow…”

“Dashing artist selflessly flees exhibition to save devoted bodyguard,” Rafayel concurs with a nod.

Thomas groans. “That’s not what they’re going to—”

“Help me out with this, cutie?”

“Yes, sir,” you mock salute.

A moment later, Rafayel has scooped you up into his arms. Your hero; he gives you a conspiratorial wink before glancing about frantically. “Quickly!” he cries out. “Everyone out of the way, please!”

“For the love of—” Thomas starts.

“Oh, gods!” you shout in agony. “It hurts. It hurts!”

Heads turn. Cameras flash.

Tomorrow morning, half of Linkon will be talking about one of their favourite celebrities and his long-envied bodyguard. A news article will pop-up on her doctor’s phone, and he’ll see the pictures and sigh.

Sylus 🩸

“It’s not too late to back down, sweetie,” Sylus sneers.

“Aw, but you got all dressed up for the occasion.”

Your eyes rake over the outline of the man’s abs, courtesy of the tank top he’s wearing, and it does take the sting out of the fact that he’ll be trying to hit you. He holds his wrapped hands before him, ready to defend, ready to attack. He’ll probably attack, right?

“Last chance,” he growls.

“Is it, though?” This is the third ‘last chance’ you’ve been given in the five minutes you’ve been teetering on combat. You beckon him with a curl of your fingers. “Come on, Sylus. This is getting old.”

He scoffs: “How do you think I feel?”

“Like you’re about to get your ass kicked?”

“Alright, enough.” His hands drop and it feels like you’re back at the academy, about to be scolded for not taking something seriously. Sylus turns his back on you. Moves to the edge of the boxing ring so he can retrieve a stool from outside of it and sit down in a huff. He starts peeling the wraps from his knuckles, and— wait, is he mad? Like, actually mad?

“What’s wrong, Sy?”

He laughs as though you’re missing something dreadfully obvious. Maybe irony.

“Sylus?”

“You really are heartless, sweetie. You know that?”

The words steal your breath away, if only for a moment. Yours is a relationship of pulled punches, but he won’t meet your gaze and that one was real, wasn’t it? He wanted it to sting. “Why—”

“I could have hurt you,” he snaps, his dishevelled, snowy hair falling to cover his eyes. His discarded wraps slide from his hands, pooling by his feet like blood. “You were going to let me hurt you.”

He looks at you, finally, but it’s not in the way you want. His gaze is cast low, trailing over your body and making you feel every bruise, every closed cut that wants to reopen and every ache, rooted almost to bone. You’d done your best to hide it, even going so far as to press make-up hastily over your purpled skin.

That Wanderer really did a number on you yesterday.  

“You should have told me,” Sylus says, since you’ve made it onto the same page. “Honestly, kitten. Why would you—”

“Because Luke and Kieran told me, ok?”

Oh, they’re going to kill you. It was supposed to be a secret, and here you are, spilling like a fresh wound because you can’t stand the thought of Sylus being upset with you. You step closer, scrambling to dissect what you’ve done right in front of his eyes— holding it out to him: this is why. This is why. “They said you had a rough week. Some deals of yours had fallen through or something. And I’ve been too busy. I haven’t called, I haven’t even texted, and…”

You need him to understand, but the truth is a mess in your hands and how do you even start to explain it to him?

“You wanted to do something for me,” he finishes for you, and you don’t have to explain a thing.

“Yeah…” you confirm, bittersweet and still sad. “You do so much for me, Sylus. I just wanted to do what you wanted, for a change.”

Maybe it’s a round of boxing. Maybe it’s a dozen illicit dealings where he needs you to play enforcer— it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s happy.

“Come here,” he orders gently.

You close the rest of the rift between you, letting him reach for you and pull you closer. His knees have spread so you can slot against him, and his arms circle around you— trapping you— as he nuzzles into the warmth of your stomach.

“I’m sorry I called you heartless,” he speaks into you, his voice muffled as he gives you a chaste kiss. He then cranes his head upwards, resting his chin against you so he can profess more clearly: “I do worry about you, kitten.”

“I know—” your hands move to his head— “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Mmm,” he hums in accordance, maybe even forgiveness, and his eyes close as your fingers card through the soft of his hair. “I lied too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confesses on a contented sigh. “I didn’t want to spend today… boxing.”

“What do you want to do today, Sy?”

His eyes flicker open and his hands find your hips. “What I really want…” he contemplates, as his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt to rub circles on your skin, “is to take care of you.”

There are lifetimes of need in his gaze.

“Won’t you let me take care of you, sweetie?”

…

“If he finds the terms so disagreeable, then he’s more than welcome to take his business elsewhere. Although—” Sylus’s voice is cold— “he might find his other options less… amenable than when he saw them last. Less communicative, too. You can tell him I said so.”

He ends the phone call. Smiles. “Sorry about that, sweetie.”

“Are the boys ok?”

The smile widens, even though you can’t see it. “They’re fine.”

Phone set aside, Sylus carries on with the important business Kieran’s call had distracted him from. You’re half asleep, your head in his lap as he brushes your hair: rose-scented and soft from the bath he’d drawn for you, hours ago. Every bandage is fresh and clean. Every ache has been dulled with a lazy massage and more chaste kisses, for good measure.

“Perfect day,” you mumble blissfully.

“Perfect day,” Sylus agrees.

[carriesthewind]

Good evening everyone! As I said in an answer to a previous ask, there wasn't a public call-in line to listen to the Show Cause Hearing in Mata v Avianca (the ChatGBT lawyer case) today.

However, while we are waiting for a transcript of the hearing (because there was a court reporter! yay!) and a written decision by the judge, we did get this absolutely anxiety-inducing live tweet of the hearing:

(Caveat: this thread was not an official transcript of the hearing and should not be taken as such. It is possible the actual events and statements made in the hearing differ significantly from this report - i.e., take this with a grain of salt and reserve final judgement for the actual transcript.)

I'll put the full thread with some (light) commentary below the cut.* But the overall impression I am left with is that the judge seems to feel this pair of attorneys are treating their duty of candor toward the tribunal with the same seriousness with which they are treating their duty of competence to their clients. (And in this case, that's a very bad thing.)

*The full thread except for a soon-to-follow part 2 because I ran out of space for images again.

(All of the following screenshots are from the above tweet thread by Inner City Press @ innercitypress on twitter, made on June 8, 2023.)

Normally I would overlook that "you, personally," but in this case, you really get the feeling that the judge is concerned that LoDuca might just start talking about what Schwartz did again.

Establishing LoDuca's base of knowledge - he should know how to look up cases and check if they are real; he should know what a real case looks like.

The March 1 submission was the plaintiff's opposition to the motion to dismiss, where they first cited the fake cases.

How bad this answer is depends, I think, on LoDuca's wording here. Best case scenario, his statement about Schwartz was a specific statement about what inquiry was reasonable for him to do under the circumstances (which - for that first filing - I think is actually a reasonable argument. You don't expect your colleague to just make up cases). Worst case, this reads like him trying to wiggle out of his obligations. I will withhold judgement until I see the official transcript.

Rule 11, by the way, refers to Rule 11 of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure. Rule 11(b) states:

(If you remember the Order to Show Cause, we are dealing with a Rule 11(b)(2) issue here. Rule 11(c) allows the court to impose sanctions for violations of Rule 11(b))

Oh no, bad answer. (If anyone reading this is good at photoshop, I cannot express how badly I want a version of the "this sign can't stop me because I can't read" meme with the sign being the quote from defendant's reply where they say, "The undersigned has not been able to locate this case by caption or citation, nor any case bearing any resemblance to it.")

Oh that is not a good way of characterizing those orders. (Those were the orders, remember, where the Court said, "By April 18, 2022, Peter LoDuca, counsel of record for plaintiff, shall file an affidavit annexing copies of the following cases cited in his submission to this Court: as set forth herein. Failure to comply will result in dismissal of the action pursuant to Rule 41 (b), Fed. R. Civ. P.")

I would simply perish on the spot.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention in my original attempted summary of "Varghese" - the first paragraph states that it is a wrongful death suit by the widow of the passenger. Then the second paragraph states that the passenger was denied boarding on a flight due to overbooking and thus missed his connecting flight and therefore incurred additional expenses. The case was such nonsense that I legitimately forgot about that inconsistency by the time I got to the end.

Your honor I plead "2 stupid 2 sanction."

(I believe the "different fonts" is in reference to the April 25 affidavit, in which the case names - and some of the surrounding text - are in a different font from most of the text in the affidavit. It seems like this is because they may have been copied straight from ChatGPT. See e.g., #3 below. It's hard to tell just based on this twitter thread, though.)

A short and simple answer! You did it!

"I have all the answers I need" is not a good sentence in this context.

Very genuinely: shorter is better here. At least I don't think he hurt himself with that statement.

Judge Castel: How do you conduct legal research?

Schwartz: I research cases.

Judge Castel: Do you read them?

Schwartz: Well, I may have once upon a time, but after hearing you ask that question in this context, I have decided to retire from the practice of law forever and also possibly sink into the ground and die. Also, by answering "yes," here, I just realized that I'm either admitting that I read the cases I submitted and therefore must have known they were fake, or else I just possibly committed perjury. Oh shit oh fuck.

Oh god I'm cringing myself into a pretzel just reading this.

Hey, by the way? You can actually use google (esp. google scholar) to do legal research. (It's not a good tool and you will miss things, but it will do in a pinch.) But. Um. If you know that...why didn't you double check your cases at very least on google when you were told they seemed to be made up?

So, once again, I am going to withhold judgement until I see the actual transcript. That said, if Schwartz did say this, I would like to compare it briefly to a part of the chat transcript he provided to the court. Here is the first question asked about the Montreal Convention in the provided transcript:

"analysis"

Oh god. I can't even provide commentary on this one. I hope this is worse than the actual transcript will prove to be. I'm reading through my fingers like I'm watching a horror movie.

"Misperception" (or "misconception") doesn't work once you have evidence that should cause you to doubt - like not being able to find a case that was supposedly published in the Federal fucking Reporter.

This is overshooting "2 stupid 2 sanction" into "too stupid to function."* You either looked for "Varghese" or you didn't. If you looked for "Varghese," it is not credible that you continued to have a good faith assumption that ChatGPT couldn't lie. If you didn't look up "Varghese," you just lied to the Court under oath.

*Just to be clear: for an ordinary person, this would be a very understandable lack of knowledge issue. A lawyer has no excuse not to know this.

Judge Castel: Mr. Schwartz, I think you have the fucking audacity to try to lie to me to my face in my fucking courtroom.

Honestly at this point I'm surprised he could still talk. I think screaming, "I'm melting, I'm melting!" as he vanished into steam, leaving his crumpled suit behind, would be an appropriate response.

NO.

Oh no, oh honey.

Ok. Two options here (again, assuming he actually fucking said "They said they couldn't find them," in response to the Court asking, "When Avianca said you cited non existent cases?"):

Schwartz is once again trying to purposefully downplay what the defendant's reply brief actually said and dodge responsibility.

Schwartz honestly, truly believes that when the defendant filed a reply containing the line, "The undersigned has not been able to locate this case by caption or citation, nor any case bearing any resemblance to it," they were just asking for assistance with their legal research?!??!

I honestly don't know which is worse.

Oh no....

Oh man, I haven't gone over it here yet, but I think that "I looked up the judge" is a panicked attempt at bringing up a talking point the Professional Responsibility Lawyers raised in their memorandum of law. (Again, I'm giving this reading of his response with the caveat that it is based only on this thread, not the official transcript, which might read very differently and contain different/more info.) The Professional Responsibility attorneys noted in a footnote that two of the judges listed in the "opinion," including the "author," were actual 11th circuit judges, and the other is an actual 5th circuit judge. My read of this footnote was as an extra little detail tossed in by the Professional Responsibility attorneys to try to dress up their argument that the "opinions" had various "indicia of authenticity."

But here's the problem. If Schwartz is telling the truth - if he was reading carefully and critically enough that he bothered to look up the judge (why would you do that if you didn't think the case might be fake?!) there is no way he could have missed that the case was gibberish. Again, if this is really what he said at the hearing, he either lied in the hearing, or he must have know the "opinions" were bogus when he gave them to LoDuca to file.

"Did it cross your mind" - if the court actually said this, oh my god.

Hey, that's the point that I made in my original post(s)!

This whole thing about the "+h" to "th" with the notary date is from the recent affidavits filed on 6/6/23, you can read them about them if you want, I'll be honest, I don't really care as much about the notary stuff so I'm going to skip it for the moment.

....and I've run out of space for images again. Part II to follow shortly!

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest June warm-up round.

Eddie Munson's Corroded Coffin Celebrity Full Metal Upside Down Memorial Awareness Pro-Am Fun Run 5K Race For Hunger

Prompt: Band on the Run | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Future Fic, Middle Aged Famous Corroded Coffin, Established Relationship Steddie, Steve's Made Eddie Watch Too Much of The Office, Eddie Munson's a Runner, But Not Like This

"How did we get roped into this again? Who do I need to kill?" Goodie asks, lifting his leg into the air by the leg of his shorts, until Jeff catches his heel, resting it on his thigh as he ties Goodie's running shoe for him. 

"It's for charity," Jeff answers, cinching the laces, tying them.

Eddie's lacing up his own shoes, and he definitely shouldn't have bought new ones for this. Rookie mistake. He'd be better off with his vintage Reebok's that he wore into the ground.

He stands up and looks at himself in the mirror. He looks ridiculous. He doesn't know the last time his legs have seen sunshine, and they look like little chicken legs, under his baggy, black shorts.

This was a mistake.

Gareth is stretching, a foot up on the arm of the hotel couch, and Steve is all but laying over his back, pressing against him. 

"Um, do we need to let you two get a room?" Eddie asks.

Steve chuckles, and Eddie loves the sound. 

"You just want me to do this to you instead," Steve snarks.

"Well, yeah. Fucking, duh. Always, forever," Eddie answers.

"No, we don't have time for that," Jeff answers, looking at his watch, "it's twenty-three minutes until we have to be at the starting line."

"This is my worst nightmare," Goodie bemoans, "It's high school PE all over again."

And Eddie grins at him, because he feels exactly the same way. Goodie's hit it right on the goddamn nose. 

"Agreed," Eddie says, "and look, Steve Harrington is even here, bullying us freaks."

"I didn't bully you. You were the bully," Steve banters back, because they've had this disagreement a thousand times. 

"Agree to disagree," Eddie says, playing his part. Then he looks at Steve's back, still plastered to Gareth in a way that Eddie would definitely be jealous about if he were doing it to anybody else. "How much money is this raising, again?" Eddie asks, because that's the only thing that's gonna get him out of this room and onto the street. 

Steve straightens back up, "With what you've matched? Nearly fifty thousand dollars."

"That'll feed a lot of kids," Eddie says.

"It will. Your fans have really come through."

"They just want to see us in shorts," Eddie mutters.

"Well, that's at least ten thousand of it, yes," Steve says, and Eddie's pretty sure he's serious.

"Ugh, I'm gonna die," Eddie whines.

"You won't. It's a 5K, not a marathon. Over and done in under an hour, I promise, even if you walk the whole thing."

"I'm definitely walking the whole thing," Eddie insists. 

"And that's fine," Steve tells him, again. "But I'm not."

"And that's fine," Eddie mocks. 

"At least the route's along the ocean, so your casual stroll will have a view," Steve says, goading him.

He's still not running. He's walking.

Eddie doesn't walk. He's too competitive, and he should have realized that long ago. Goddamn Steve for getting him into this. 

So, when Steve, Jeff, Gareth and Goodie take off, Eddie matches them. So much for not conforming. He's embarrassed for himself right now.

Steve pulls away quickly, getting further and further ahead, and then Jeff and Gareth settle in beside each other, which leaves him and Goodie.

He thinks as soon as Steve totally disappears, Goodie will walk, and then he can walk, too.

Goodie doesn't walk. He's not fast, but he's in shape. They all are. Playing live shows like they do, even now in their forties, is more cardio than they even realize. So, they jog along together, and aren't even last.

"Are you dying?" Eddie asks, glancing over at Goodie.

"No," Goodie answers. 

"Me either," Eddie admits. 

Eddie was pretty sure he was gonna be last, and he's a little disappointed he isn't.

Steve is at the finish line, and doesn't even look like he's broken a sweat. Not a hair out of place, that asshole.

Eddie's drenched, and he feels like he just played a three-hour set in the sun. He and Goodie didn't finish fast, but they finished strong. And Eddie only stopped running to take a few pictures with fans along the route, as happy to get the breather as the fans were to get the picture, he thinks.

The volunteer hands the finisher's medal to Steve, letting him do the honors, and Eddie sees how hard Steve is smiling as he holds it up to put on Eddie. So, Eddie smiles back and leans his head forward to accept it, as cameras click all around. It's embarrassing, but he turns on the stage charm, bows and shows it off. Kisses Steve, lets them take pictures that all the tabloids will run with their own spin. Some good, some bad. 

Then, he poses with the rest of the band with the comically large check made out to the children's charity of their choice. 

It was worth it, he guesses.

"Rub my calves," Eddie demands, putting his legs in Steve's lap back in the hotel room, freshly showered, and already feeling more human again. 

Steve laughs, but he digs his fingers into the meat of Eddie's muscles, and they are a little sore. Goddamn new shoes.

"I'm proud of you, you know," Steve says.

"Yeah, yeah," Eddie answers, brushing him off.

"No, I am. I always am, but extra today. I know this isn't your thing, but you did a lot of good today. You all did."

"Yeah, well…"

"And got some great press," Steve adds, and now he's talking.

"Did I look good?" Eddie asks, preening, flipping his hair.

Steve grins, "So good."

And then Steve moves, lowering Eddie's legs back to the couch, settling on top of Eddie, covering Eddie's body with his own.

He presses his lips to Eddie's, then pulls back and looks in his eyes, "This mean you're gonna start going on my morning runs with me?"

And Eddie feels no remorse, as he laughs right in his husband's face.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: Obviously the title comes from the Michael Scott's Dunder Mifflin... race name from the Fun Run episode of The Office.

[leclsrc]

darling audrey, congratulations on 5000 followers! ur witty personality and words of gold have charmed us all <3 considering your celebration, i would like to request a drabble with charles based on the song margaret by lana del rey. there’s just something about “he met margaret on the rooftop, she was wearing white, and he was like, ‘i might be in trouble’” or “when you know, you know” ughhhhh love is so sickeningly wonderful

good as gold – cl16

This is the story of Charles experiencing a rooftop conversation with a stranger. For Charles, this is the story he will tell of how he met the love of his life for the first time.

auds here... much like lana in this song i am messy with the pen, but missed this blog very much, i love you all & genuinely hope you're well mmmwaaahhhh :)

You’re wearing this dress. This long, white, lace-linen thing, too chilly for a London rooftop, too chilly for a London ground floor, too chilly for London, really. It’s the first thing Charles says to you, as a poor excuse for an opener, but you soothe his supposed troubles away with a laugh and a wave of a hand. It’s alright, I’m used to the cold, your lips form cloudily. Worst case scenario, I spill some wine on the dress.

The wine you mention is in a glass wrapped by your left hand, which brings itself upward to your lips, staining them violet for a second before you lick the residue off. You should know, I’m more a white wine kind of girl. He laughs, and every other word he thought would come easy comes so stuck, wrestled out of him. For once it’s not because he’s nervous, definitely not because he’s unsure. In fact he’s never felt surer of himself, and his self-assurance is almost foolish if it wasn’t so resolute in the fact that he’d one day like to slip a band over your blank slate of a ring finger.

Already he feels like it’s too late, he’s missed out on too much time with you. He should’ve known this laugh years ago, felt your skin when he was much younger, known you in an embarrassing phase while he was in his own. His desires feel childish, juvenile, but they feel so real, so much so that he verbalizes them to Lando in a desperate attempt to stave them off at the end of the night.

But that is later and this is now, now you tell him you’re here for work. You’re a something-something at somewhere, too professional for him to repeat back to himself in the fluid way you’re gifted. He asks what else is keeping you in a city like London and he phrases it like London is a shit city, and you joke: “Aside from the fact that it’s basically a first-world city?” He stutters in response, he stutters. “I’m joking. It’s work.”

Work, you say, not a guy, not a girl, work. No ring on your finger. You, like him, are committed to nothing but work. And because you’re two people in your early twenties, the rooftop conversation gradually ebbs in that direction, a foray into the worlds you’ve traversed by yourselves. He shares, ever a man of little words, stories of ex-girlfriends he’d rather not bring up again. He says the usual. He’s thankful, but it’s over.

You too, you sentiment. A while ago. I knew him for years, but we wanted different things. Just wasn’t right, something like that. Your index finger tugs at the plain gold chain resting on your collarbones and slides back and forth. The lights—strung up on poles on the roof and from establishments below—shine on certain angles, illuminate your hair, the beauty mark on your cheekbone, the stain of burgundy lip gloss on the wine glass in your hand. “Maybe in another universe.”

“Do you believe in that?” He asks. All he knows about possible universes is that Marvel and that Oscar-winning A24 film Lewis made half the grid watch and give roses to. The concept is interesting and likely true, but he feels secure thinking this is his only universe. Which, technically, is true, too.

You say kind of. “But that idea gives us too much allowance for mistakes.”

“I know. I guess I believe in it in a…” He’s afraid he sounds stupid, but your eyes are egging him on, genuinely curious, burning bright with a want for him to keep talking. “In a… I feel like I’ve met you before, kind of way.” Like he knows everything he has to know about you and him and it’s been barely an hour.

“I get that.” You pause. “I get that.” Then, with a pretty smile and meek hand over the linen chest of your dress, you excuse yourself to refill wine and make talk with the party host. He lingers, of course, watches the sway of your dress, waits to see if you will turn and smile a funny little just us smile, but of course you don’t. You’re a stranger after all. He turns away to find Lando, and for a second he feels like there are eyes on him, but he keeps walking and shakes it off.

“Marry?” Lando repeats half an hour later, when they’re both tugging their coats on. “You just met her. She got out of a long-term relationship a while ago. And so did you.”

They’re in the foyer of the townhouse, and Lando is pulling open the door now, under the impression that his words successfully permeated Charles’ delusions. He turns and Charles is stationary on the last step, humming to himself.

“Mate,” bogs Lando, eyes dead serious. “How do you even know—”

“I know.” Charles says simply. He never even had to ask himself. He just did. He just does. “I have to run up and do something… don’t wait up.”

[sunshine-jesse]

Ashley Graves Did Something Wrong

TCOAL plays a lot of fun games with the ways it makes you perceive events. From the title screen itself, to various pieces of official art, it primes you to accept certain narratives surrounding the game. Namely, the one that Ashley is very not good. She is, in fact, very bad! And it's pretty easy to see why- many of her actions fit neatly into the mold of an abuser. She's controlling, she tries to deflect blame, gaslights Andrew into making him take the blame for things she pushed him to do to begin with, and harasses other women to ruin his relationships with them.

It's all so easy, and makes so much sense. Case closed.

Right? Well, no. But actually yes! But actually, it's not that simple.

Y'see, as I said, the game establishes this framing from the get-go. It introduces us to our, uh, heroes and tells us in no uncertain terms that Ashley is bad and Andrew is a non-entity. It sets this framing intentionally so that many players will engage in a little quirk of human psychology called…

Confirmation bias!

I'm sure we all know what that is, right? Well, for those who don't, it's when we start with a bias towards something- or an idea of how things SHOULD be- and view every piece of evidence as confirmation that said bias is correct. The game, very blatantly, does this with Ashley's actions by priming us to see them as part of an abuse dynamic, with her as the primary abuser. And, indeed, it's not too hard to dig into Andrew's behavior and figure out that he, too, is fucked up and awful and come to the conclusion that their relationship was mutually fucked up and abusive. I did that in my last two essays, so I won't cover that ground again here. With this, it's easy to think that they bring out the worst in each other and that any relationship they have would be toxic, fucked up, dark, and every other word or phrase that describes the same idea, whether it makes them happy or not.

… But what if I told you that this, too, was an intentional misdirection?

So. Let us, for a moment, completely remove the framing that their relationship is toxic. Let us remove the framing that their relationship is abnormal or aberrant. Let's even remove the framing that either one of them is responsible for the harm of the other. I'm not arguing that any of this is not the case. Please, for the love of god, do not think that I am, if only so you can take the rest of what I have to say seriously. What I'm doing is trying to examine the two of them free of as many preconceptions as I can, using nothing but textual evidence and inference to figure out why Andrew and Ashley treat each other the way they do.

I will later examine why they MIStreat each other too, but first comes the reasons they treat each other well.

I'm going to start with Andrew, because, despite being the more complex of the two, it's actually pretty easy to figure out why he treats Ashley the way he does based on what he says. Let's go all the way back to the earliest known incident between the two in the story, where the two of them were at their most, uh, "pure," for lack of a better word: The cupcake scene.

Leyley was supposedly a problem child. She was neglected by her parents, disliked by her friends, and had nobody else but Andrew to rely on. She got nothing- absolutely nothing- from anyone else. And so, Andrew decided to celebrate her birthday, by buying her the cupcakes she wanted, by giving her what she lacked from others. By providing for her, and taking care of her. All he wanted was to make her happy, more than anything else. And, as Nina learned the hard way, at the expense of everyone else.

He doesn't lack empathy, per se. Andy just loves Leyley more than he loves anyone else by such a wide margin that his desire to provide for her overrides his fear of consequences… until those consequences threaten to separate the two of them.

That is a very Gender Roles thing to do. More on that later.

So. Ashley. Everyone's favorite disaster. Why does she treat Andrew the way she does? What does she provide for him? Well, isn't it obvious? She, too, wants to provide for him. Remember, she wanted the lemon cupcake because she thought it's what HE wanted. She also does most of the chores around the house. She prepares food, cleans the house, and does their laundry. She also provides for his non-sexual physical needs by offering him comfort whenever he needs it. It makes her feel useful. Wanted. Needed.

Ah, another very Gender Roles thing to do. See where I'm going with this?

The two neatly fit into a standard husband/wife relationship in a lot of ways. It's THE platonic ideal of such a relationship, actually! They make each other happy and provide WHAT THEY THINK the other really wants. It's really cute and perfect! As long as you ignore all the bad.

ignore all the bad …ignore all the bad… But we obviously shouldn't ignore all the bad. That would be ridiculous.

What I want to do is, instead, examine where the bad comes from, and why it's there. With the abuser/abused dynamic in mind, it's pretty easy to come to the conclusion that a mutual desire for control and power over the other is the sole determining factor. It's arguably the Central Theme of the game, and maybe a big part of what Nemlei is trying to convey. But, like, why should it end there? Why should that be where the analysis ends? There's a reason for everything.

They don't want to control each other for its own sake. They don't want to control each other solely to cover their own insecurities.

So why?

Ashley, first. She's obviously an insecure little monster, having never received the validation that she needs to really come into her own as a person. She keeps seeking it. Keeps trying to provide for Andrew. Keeps trying to make herself useful. Now, let's look at her calls towards Julia:

"DO YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME!? Just because you can fuck him and I can't?"

Ah, wait, hold on a minute.

"You think that's love?! Are you fucking delusional?? Cumdumpsters like you are just that."

Where does that wording come from?

"He will never love you. Not like he loves me. I am the only one. I am everything."

She doesn't need validation just for the sake of her insecurities. She needs it because she needs Andrew to be happy, and in her mind, she's the only one who can provide it. She knows him better than anyone else. She can see how happy she seems to make him, and that nobody else can do what she does. She knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she makes Andrew more comfortable than anyone. She knows how important physical affection is to him. She can feel it. She doesn't lack empathy towards his plight or feelings; she has more of it than anyone, actually!

But Andrew, crucially, never seems to provide her any validation for this, even though she knows better. That's why she's so insecure.

"But wait," you might say, "didn't he, literally, fucking kill for her?"

Yes. But he always tries to place the blame on Ashley or use her as a scapegoat, when he was the one who pulled the trigger. He never accepts even the smallest amount of responsibility. And if a man can't even take responsibility for the violence he inflicts on others, what does that say about him? What does it say about how much he actually cares? oh. more gender roles. huh.

In Ashley's mind, that validation isn't validation because he didn't do it to prove he cared about her. He did it to shut her up. And… he never says anything to the contrary. He refuses to. All his validation is depressingly, overbearingly conditional.

His words always come with a caveat. They're always said in spite of something. They lack warmth. They lack kindness. They lack affection. She is never, ever given a key to lock the door to her insecurities…

…even though Andrew obviously has that key. He just refuses to give it to her.

But why?

Society! :D

There is something so fundamentally, obviously wrong with the way Andrew feels towards Ashley. She is a tar soul. A pariah. So horrid that her parents don't want her, so obviously bad that even demons don't want her. And yet Andrew, in spite of everything, still wants her. He wants to take care of her, when society tells him not to bother. He wants to protect her from other men, and even from herself. It manifests as jealousy because…

He, too, thinks the only one qualified to provide for Ashley is himself, because he was the only one who ever had. Violence comes so naturally to him that he takes it for granted. He kills for her, threatens to physically assault her when he thinks she's putting herself in danger.

It's so second nature to him that he thinks it should obviously be enough. But it isn't. His violence is so second nature as to be passive. It's non-committal. And what Ashley wants is committment.

But because of how society views Ashley, and how the world would view a romantic relationship between them, he can't truly commit to her. He can't give her the validation she really needs, because everything and everyone has told him that it's wrong. That she's wrong. And all his parents ever taught him is to be afraid of how others will react to that wrongness.

hey look, a man fearing the commitment a woman wants from him! more gender stereotypes!! I wonder what this game is trying to say!!!

Maybe I'm crazy or something. Maybe I'm just looking into it too deep. But I don't really care. I don't care if this is the intended reading, and neither should you. The fact of the matter is that most of the things that define them as toxic are not their fault. Most of the reasons they mistreat each other come from without, rather than within. The only reason they can't love each other is because the world tells them not to. Because it expects them to fill certain roles, to be certain people.

But Ashley can only ever be herself.

Maybe someone who's an actual expert on this subject matter could weigh in and give a true feminist reading. But me? I'm just here to point out patterns. I'm just here to point out facts. And one of those facts is that, to the world around her, Ashley did something wrong: She was born.

The Steam reviews of this game are fucking funny, but a lot of them say one thing that couldn't be further from the truth:

"I can fix her!"

No, you can't. She's only 'broken' in the context of her environment.

But in the words of another analyst:

It's madness to expect tar to behave like water.

So cut them some slack! They might finally succeed in a world that wanted nothing more than for them to fail. It's not our right to take that away from them.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for lying to my friends and causing someone to end their life?

🫐☎️🧼 

So I can find this later

Trigger warning for suicide. 

In this situation I'm aware I fucked up badly multiple times, but I want to know for sure whether I was in the wrong. I went through the FAQ to check that this submission is okay and sorry if there's something disqualifying it I didn catch!

I (minor) was active in an online group where I made some online friends. The group was for preteens, teens, and very young adults (13-21.) I befriended one person, Blueberry (fake name, because emoji) and we became close over a few months. At one point they admitted they had a crush on me I didn't feel the same, but we agreed to stay friends and it didn't affect the friendship.

One thing about this group is that it was aimed at mental health. Me and this person had similar problems with depression and suicidal thoughts (both actively suicidal) and often talked when one of us was in a dark place. When Blueberry turned 18 things took a turn for the worst. Multiple times a week they had panic attacks (they were in the process of getting diagnosed with OCD and bad intrusive thoughts) or crisis and attempted several times. I got overwhelmed. Instead of establishing a boundary like I should have, I started ghosting them for a few hours if it got too bad. It got to the point I'd log on once or twice a day to check in, but instead of ever chatting, the conversation always ended in their next plan to kill themselves. This one was my fault, as we'd had casual convos about this stuff in the main group. I and others did what we could to help, like providing support and helplines. Blueberry did contact many and it saved them lots. 

By this point Blueberry had done lots of other risky stuff. They lashed out and blocked a lot of mutual friends, made a fake account to pretend to be a young teen at one point (but deleted it when I asked), and other things. I didn't want to lose them as a friend so I covered for Blueberry when it was exposed. I should point out Blueberry was never mean to me they were really nice. They liked to learn about my interests and complimented me and others lots and I tried to do the same (learn about what they liked, tell them I was happy to hear from them, etx)

Obviously people of the group felt betrayed when they found out Blueberry was catfishing them as this younger teen. In Blueberry's own words, I was "the only one they could trust." Blueberry admitted again that they wanted to be more than friends, but since they were now 18 and I was still a few years younger than them I asked to just be friends because the age gap was uncomfy. They were okay with it. The next day, Blueberry said goodbye to me and deleted their account. I was really upset by this and we talked one last time where I wished them well and said how much I'd miss them but didn't think something was seriously wrong because Blueberry and me had discussed them leaving the group before because it was hurting their mental health. 

Later a friend of both Blueberry and me reached out about their behavior the days before they left and some conversations I hadn't seen. All of us are pretty sure they didn't just delete their account—they killed themself. The goodbye message proved this. I was upset and angry that they were dead, said sorry to the group for lying to them about Blueberry catfishing, and left the group.

I think I may be the asshole here because I was really selfish here in not wanting to address Blueberry's really creepy catfishing (pretending to be a young teen, which knowing that they had romantic feelings for me could have led to them befriending people lots younger than them which is bad) because I didn't want to lose the friendship, and also because if I hadn't ghosted Blueberry using mental health as an excuse I don't think they would have killed themselves. If I am the asshole here, what could I do better next time if I have a similar problem again? 

[pearlywritings]

It all started with the heels

synopsis: Sampo Koski can equally be the greatest help and the worst nightmare while helping you get dressed.

prompt: 19

requested by: a lovely anon

pairing: Sampo Koski x fem!reader

tw: suggestive, established relationship, kind of switch!Sampo

word count: 1.2k+ words in total

a/n: check my Token of appreciation writing event!

“Can’t believe the Supreme Guardian is finally hosting a grand gathering. How many years has passed since the last party of any kind, twenty?”

“Come on, Sampo, I am sure some happened not so long ago,” you lightly chide him, looking at your reflection in the vanity mirror. For a moment his indigo hair is in your sight behind the shoulder, but you chose to ignore him, more concentrated on an earring fitting. “Besides, you weren’t on this planet twenty years ago, were you?” “Huhu, you never know, my dear! Even if I weren’t, I have the information,” the tone of his voice deepens just as it always does when he’s either smug or just very proud of his own deeds. Well, he does know his ways of getting anything he has his eyes on. Just like those invitations to the ball in the Overworld you are currently getting ready for.

“Can you promise not to cause too much havoc?” You hear him hum, half-interested and half-unconvinced. “Sampo Koski, I am serious. I am well aware that you’ve planned all of this to get your hands onto something, but either don’t drag me into it or change your plans right now and stay by my side.”

Checking the necklace and making sure that the lock is on the back of your neck, you finally turn to the man fully and rise from the stool. In all honesty you won’t be too disappointed if he decides to carry on with his initial plans and you’ll be left to yourself for the rest of the evening. Sure it would be much more entertaining if his nevershutting mouth was always near your ear either showering you with compliments or dishing anyone present in that low, borderline seductive voice of his, but just going out and showing off the amazing attire he managed to snatch for you doesn’t sound too bad at all. Maybe you’ll even strike a conversation with Lady Bronya and make acquaintance with her - to rub the fact into the conman’s face later, of course.

“Woah, I must admit, that looking like that you have all the chances to chain me to your side, beautiful,” an appreciative whistle is deserved - a glimmery one-shoulder with a long slitted skirt hugs your body magnificently, as if tailored specifically for you. And it seems to you that Sampo’s eyes savor every bared inch of your body. “Mmm, putting you on a leash sounds quite fitting. Look at you, salivating at the sight of me. You truly have no shame, Koski.”

“How can I have any when such a gorgeous woman stands just five feet away,” just saying that he shortens it to two. Today his fringe is even more frolicking, perfume is more enticing, the hip windows are gone, regrettably, but in exchange you get a nice chest window with the first two buttons of his shirt undone. He looks hella good in red and black. Maybe you should try and get him to wear lipstick to match…

“So, no disguise, hm?” “We have invitations and we will be there to enjoy our time. Why would I want to hide? I’ll let Gepard Landau burn a hole in me for as long as he wants to, it’s not like he has any motive to kick me out.”

“I bet he has. The first one is out of spite.”

“No, no, this man is too proper to do something out of spite,” Sampo reaches to the box on the chair at the side of the vanity table and fishes for a pair of heels, perfect for your dress.

“So, a good boy then? Maybe you should introduce us,” you charmingly smile, sparking a scandalized expression on your partner’s face.

“Don’t wound me like that, my dear! I am your good boy.”

“Sure you are, Koski. So prove it and get on your knees to help me.”

You’ve never seen a man so readily drop onto the floor and reach for a woman’s ankle. He carefully moves the hem of your dress away and leads your feet into the delicate shoe, wrapping the little belt snuggly, but not too tight, fastening the clasp. All the while he is huffing and complaining about you treating the poor Sampo so unfairly, but in the moment you could care less for his words, eyes fixed on those big and strong fingers, handling something so thin and delicate with expertise. Even more diverting they are because you know the many things they are capable of - from the tricks to aid his field of work to the unholy actions people usually don’t speak out loud.

Fuck, if you keep thinking like that you’ll have to ditch the gathering altogether.

“I am wondering,” the honeyed voice snaps you out of your starting to turn dirty thoughts, and you move your gaze to the smirking face, “what could be so distracting that you couldn’t hear my voice anymore? And I asked you a question…”

You have half a mind not to tell him the truth just to tease him, but, judging by the imps dancing in his emerald eyes, he’s already aware.

So all you can is close your eyes and sigh.

“Your hands, what else,” you put the already clad foot down and, balancing on it, slip your other one into the second shoe. “So, what was the question?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing of much importance. Just asking for permission to kiss that pretty thigh.”

“Huh?” Opening your eyes, you stare down at him. The realization hits you - because of the slit your leg is on full display for the man at your feet. And he wants to kiss your thigh? Oh well, he was a good boy for you, after all, you suppose you can allow it.

“Sure, I don’t mind. But finish with the shoe first.”

“All done already.”

You expected for his lips to simply touch beneath where the slit starts, but suddenly one hand of his is on your ass cheek to steady you, the other grabbing your leg under the knee and lifting it. Releasing a surprised gasp, you have to clasp a hand on your mouth to prevent a little moan from escaping when his mouth latches onto the inside of your thigh, sucking a mark onto the skin.

“S-sampo, what the hell-!”

“Mmm, not only you’ve granted me such pleasure, but it seems you’ve worn my favorite pair too,” he tugs the skirt aside even more, admiring the lacy panties, licking his lips. “Maybe you’ll also let me get a taste?” “You horny bastard!” You fume, pushing his head away, getting even angrier when he laughs. At least he lets go of your leg and allows you to take a step back.

“Aaand you’ve just convinced me to ditch my plans and stay by your side the whole night,” he slowly stands up, dusting his pants and giving you a blinding grin. “Won’t stop thinking of that hickie I’ve just given you. Oh, I am gonna have such a great time, whispering in your ear all the things I’m going to do to you after the ball… With my hands, of course, since you find yourself fascinated with them so much.”

You groan. He’s truly decided to test your limits tonight. Sure, you probably started first with your little fantasies back there, but you weren't the one who put some of them into action...

Well, then - two can play that game, and you are going to give that man a raging boner before he manages to get you two a room.

[into-deepspace]

Hello! Hope you're having a great day!

May I request for Rafayel's reaction when MC comes out as non-binary? It's something that's never left my head since I started playing lnds. I can't help but worry if it'd change things for him even though I know it won't (insecurity did a number on me🥹). What if MC wanted to present themes as masc/femme? How would he react?

Sorry if this is too long and complicated and I understand if you don't want to write for this but if you do write it it'd mean the world to me. Thank you for reading this ask🌸🌸

aaa of course!!! dw it wasn't long or complicated at all! i had a lot of fun writing this, and i rlly hope i did rafayel justice here <33 i feel like it ended awkwardly but ah what can u do. anywayyyy:

as you are

rafayel/mc • nonbinary mc • 1.6k • ao3 link requests open, reblogs appreciated! mild hurt/comfort || coming out || tooth-rotting fluff || established relationship

MC stares at themselves in the mirror fixing their hair nervously. In twenty minutes, they’re meeting Rafayel at a cafe, one of their favourites. They’d made the plans several days ago, and have been nervously thinking through every possibility ever since. After all, coming out, no matter who it’s to, is nerve wracking.

“I need to talk to you,” they’d sent him, late in the evening when both of them really should have been asleep. Despite the late hour, typing bubbles immediately popped up from Rafayel’s end. He sends a sticker of a distressed yellow bird, then a message.

Rafayel, 11:48 PM are u breaking up with me :(

A bit frantic, MC typed back a quick response. Of course Rafayel, ever dramatic, would assume the worst.

MC, 11:48 PM No omg?

Rafayel, 11:48 PM DUN SCARE ME LIKE THAT THEN???? Those are FIGHTING WORDS. fighting words i tell u!!

MC sighed, but couldn't help but laugh a bit. It was never a dull moment with him around, one of the things they have always loved about him. They explained that no, they're not breaking up with him, but they did have something a little more serious they needed to talk with him about.

Rafayel, 12:03 AM okayyyy spill the beans cutie wait no serious I Am Prepared To Listen To Your Words. Please Begin.

MC, 12:04 AM Actually, i wanted to talk in person Can we meet @ our usual cafe on saturday

They waited nervously for Rafayel's response, picking at a stray thread in their blanket. But as usual, they had nothing to worry about

Rafayel, 12:05 AM ofc ofc ill buy u a tea and a cake and we can talk <3

They couldn't help but smile at their phone. He was always so sweet, so ready to adjust and accommodate. They just hope he’ll be the same way about this new revelation.

Now, MC has been going by their chosen name for a long while, so long that most people don’t even know the name they were given at birth. They’ve always presented a little more [femme/masc] than their peers, and Rafayel didn’t seem to mind any of that. If anything, he encouraged it, saying that the way they expressed themselves was art in it of itself. But would this, their coming out, be a piece of the puzzle that he wasn’t okay with?

MC sighs, smoothing their clothes one last time and telling themselves that they really do need to get going. Sitting here and stewing in their anxieties isn’t going to make anything better. They grab their bike helmet and make their way down to the street, setting off.

An uneventful drive later, they arrive at the cafe and park, fixing their hair in their phone camera after they take their helmet off. It seems Rafayel hasn’t arrived yet, which means they can go in and order for themselves. Usually, they’re fine with Rafayel paying for their treats, but what if he’s upset this time? What if he realizes he’s spent money on someone he can’t accept.

Just as they’re pulling their card from their wallet to pay for their drink and pastry, an arm wraps around their waist and lips press against their cheek, startling them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rafayel says, tone light and joking as he slips their wallet from their hands, tucking it back into their pocket. Ignoring their protests, he turns to the person at the register. “Add a vanilla iced coffee to that please, with… hm, six sugars.” MC can only watch as his drink is added to the total and he slots his card into the reader, looking pleased with himself.

Rafayel takes their hand and walks them over to a table by the window, pulling out their chair for them with a dramatic flourish. Normally, MC would laugh at his antics, but they’re too nervous right now to manage anything more than a tight smile. Rafayel, of course, notices right away.

“What’s wrong, cutie?” he asks, taking their hands as he kneels in front of their chair. MC takes a shaky breath, trying to school their expression into something at least neutral.

“I’m okay,” they say. “I promise.” For a moment, Rafayel tilts his head and searches their face. Then, with a sigh, he stands, pressing a kiss to their knuckles as he does.

“Okay,” he smiles. “We’ll talk once you’ve got something tasty to keep you company, okay?” This prompts a smile, a little more real this time, from MC.

“Okay,” they whisper.

Ever the gentleman, Rafayel goes to retrieve their order, tasting his own drink before adding two more pumps of sugary syrup to it and sprinkling cinnamon across the top. He comes back to their table, setting MC’s portion in front of them. They taste their own drink and nod in satisfaction, cutting a piece of their pastry to place into their mouth.

“Do you want some?” they ask, offering a forkful to Rafayel. With an easy smile, he waves away their question.

“Nah,” he says. “This here is sweet enough.” He shakes his drink, the ice in it rattling as specks of cinnamon swirl around. MC nods, taking the bite for themselves.

They let themselves savor the moment for a bit before speaking. After all, they don’t know if this is something they’ll ever have again. They make their way about halfway through the pastry before they take another long sip of their drink and fold their hands in their lap.

“I have something I need to tell you,” they say, before they can lose their resolve. “...Please don’t be upset with me.” Rafayel smiles, reaching across the table with his palm up, gesturing for their hand. MC obliges, tangling their fingers together, and Rafayel squeezes reassuringly.

“I won’t be,” he promises. “You can tell me anything. I swear.”

MC takes a deep breath. They appreciate that he’s putting his usual jokes and quips aside, sensing the nervous gravity of the moment, but it almost makes them even more anxious. Biting their lip, MC decides it’s better to rip the metaphorical band-aid off in one go.

“I’m nonbinary,” they say simply. “And I’m sorry I’ve been keeping this from you.”

Rafayel blinks for a moment, silent. MC feels their eyes sting.

“What?”

“Uh.” Out of all the scenarios they’d mentally prepared for, this wasn’t one of them. “You know,” they begin, “like, I’m not a guy, but I’m also not a girl. It’s-”

“No, I know what nonbinary means, silly,” Rafayel grins. “Why would you ever think I’d be upset at you over this?” MC feels the sting in their eyes become welling moisture, and Rafayel scrambles to drag his chair around to their side of the table and pull them into a tight embrace.

“I thought you were gonna tell me that you were moving away, or that you lost your job or something!” he says, rocking them back and forth, gently, slowly. With a shaky breath, MC tucks their face into Rafayel’s shoulder, smiling to themselves. But he’s not done, continuing as he pulls them tighter.

“And if you come to me tomorrow and say you feel some other way, or that you want to change your name or buy new clothes or change your hair, that’s okay! MC, I love you no matter what. I promise, something like this is never ever going to come between me and you.” They’re full on sobbing now, the relief that comes with acceptance and the lovely promises spilling from Rafayel’s lips making all sorts of emotions surge in their chest.

Rafayel pulls back, cupping their face with one hand and wiping their tears away with the other. He smiles, a radiant and loving thing, and MC can’t help but give a breathy, relieved laugh as he leans in to place light little kisses along their cheeks.

“I don’t know why I was so nervous,” MC admits. “You never did anything to make me worried about this.” Rafayel shrugs.

“It’s a big thing to tell someone,” he says. “I’m proud of you. I know this took a lot.”

“It really did,” MC acknowledges. Rafayel ruffles their hair affectionately before scooting his chair back over to his side, keeping one of MC’s hands in his own.

“Okay, okay,” he says, buzzing with energy now that the serious moment is waning. “Finish your pastry and then we can go shopping.” MC blinks, surprised.

“We weren’t planning on going-”

“Uh-uh!” Rafayel cuts in, waving a hand in their face and startling a laugh from them. “Shhhh, we’re going shopping. You wanna go buy pretty things with me soooo bad. You would never think of saying no to this lovely face of mine.”

“Oh, my god,” MC laughs, nearly dropping their fork. “You’re so dramatic.” In response, Rafayel gives a pleased smile and makes a motion as if flicking hair behind his shoulder. MC shakes their head good naturedly, taking another bite of their pastry.

They do, in fact, end up out in the shops, and Rayafel buys them a jacket they’ve been eyeing for a long while. The two of them swing their intertwined hands between them as they walk, enjoying each others’ presence. It’s late in the evening by the time they decide to part ways, and even then, Rafayel convinces MC to sleep over at his house.

A couple hours later, laying in bed, MC watches Rafayel’s sleeping face with a soft smile. They never thought they’d be lucky enough for a relationship like this.

[rpmemes-galore]

Sabrina Carpenter : emails i can’t send fwd album ... sentence starters

"Don't say sorry, now."

"Oh, you're so vicious."

"It was all so innocent."

"I can't read your mind."

"You miss me? No duh."

"You want me? I'm done."

"And if I do, then I blame you."

"Why you gotta be so vicious?"

"So why do you look so happy?"

"I like the way you like to laugh."

"Bet you wanna touch me, now."

"I've quietly carried your burden."

"Everyone thinks you're an angel."

"You're lucky I'm a private person."

"I get nice guys and villainize them."

"Oh, so you can reply, just to not me."

"And thanks to you, I can't love right."

"Were you lyin' to me and the family?"

"I still make excuses for you constantly."

"I'll drive you home, you drive me crazy."

"One year, ten thousand bad moments."

"Say it's hard, but you make it look easy."

"There’s no hiding from the thought of us."

"When I saw you cry, I didn't handle it well."

"You wanna discuss? Ugh, you disgust me."

"Oh, so you do have a type and it's not me."

"Yeah, I say I'm done, but I'm still confused."

"Your signals are mixed, you act like a bitch."

"And I tried to look for the best in the worst."

"Your corner in my mind is well-established."

"I wish we stayed just like we were up there."

"Didn't think about it when you let me down."

"But like, fuck me, that caused a commotion."

"I can't help myself when you get close to me."

"Tell me who I am, guess I don't have a choice."

"And God, I love you, but you're such a dipshit."

"I'm not catastrophizing, everything's derailing."

"It's times like these, wish I had a time machine."

"You're not my friend and, baby, you never were."

"Give me a second to forget I evеr really meant it."

"You don't feel remorse, you don't feel the effects."

"He's good for my heart, but he's bad for business."

"After the aftermath, I know you'll be coming back."

"Tell me I was more than just a decent opportunity."

"Don't think I'll find forgiveness as fast as mom did."

"You're good at impersonating someone who cares."

"Don't make me cuss you out, why'd you let me down?"

"Without you here, I don't know what to do with myself."

"I feel so much lighter, like a feather, with you off my mind."

"Or maybe I believed in all your lies, 'cause I believed in you."

"If I fall in love with all my problems, will they leave me, too?"

"'Cause you don't think you hurt me if you wish me the best."

"I'm too late to be your first love, but I'll always be your favorite."

"I think he's onto me every time I say I'm over that son of a bitch."

"I wonder how many things you think about before you get to me."

"If I could convince him, if he doesn't see it, then maybe it doesn't exist."

"But now you're takin' up my nights. Never been so glad to be so tired."

"How am I supposed to close the door when I still need the closure?"

"Well, this was really nice. Maybe we should do this on purpose sometime."

"You say that you need to be alone, but night and day, want me at your beck and call."

"And everyone thinks you're an angel... But shit, I would probably use different wording."

[rekino2114]

Hmm...I know.

Reader defending Teruko from the dogpile of murder accusations in chapter 1?

Reader defending teruko tawaki

A/n:ooooohh this idea was so good, I had so much fun writing this, and I always love an excuse to rewatch drdt

Spoilers for drdt chapter 1

The first trial had started,no matter how much you didn't want it to happen deep down, you knew that it was inevitable, but you didn't expect it to be like this.

Xander had died,stabbed, in the computer room, a shame, you really liked him and his attitude towards the killing game but the worst thing was that teruko,your girlfriend was found in the room with him also stabbed but thankfully she was alive.

After she woke up she told you everything about how Xander actually tried to kill her but that she didn't kill him, you believed her of course, even if you didn't know why someone like him would do that, unfortunately your classmates didn't have the same trust in her you had.

"H-hang on you've got it all wrong!, how am I Xander's killer?"

"Seriously?, you were at the scene of the crime with the murder weapon in your hand how much more obvious can you get?"

"Not to mention you admitted moments ago to meeting up with Xander in the computer lab where his body was found, you were the last person with him"

"That doesn't make me the killer, Xander was the one who asked me to meet him in the computer lab"

"Do you have any evidence to back up that claim?any witnesses to Xander saying that?"

"I.....i don't.....but still,you have to believe me! Xander is the one who brought the knife and attacked me with it. That knife was taken from the kitchen so he could have accessed it at any time"

"That means little if anyone could have taken the kitchen knife, then it just as easily could have been you who took it"

"Ignoring the fact that you have no proof to back up any of your statements so far.even if Xander was the one to strike first couldn't the two of you have gotten into a fight that killed him?"

You desperately wanted to say something in defense of your girlfriend, but min,Arturo, and Veronika all made great points and you weren't there so you couldn't have known what happened,of course you believed her but you needed evidence to prove her innocence, evidence that could have only come from more discussion,so you silently continued to listen as it went on.

"S-seriously, everyone, you've got it all wrong, I'm not the killer!"

"Can you explain why you had the murder weapon when your bodies were discovered?"

"I.....I'm not too sure. Maybe the killer is trying to frame me,I'm not too sure at this point in time but...please everyone believe me"

At this point, you knew you had to step in at least to support her

"I believe you teruko"

Eden also agreed with you, and teruko seemed to calm down for a moment

"Y/n.."

"Yeah, well, I don't, and I'm sure the only reason you do is cause you love her oh so much"

You wanted to punch arei for her comment but resisted...mainly because your podiums were too far away, so you sticked to words

"I think you need to learn that your opinion isn't the truth just because you yell it louder"

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY YOU-"

Before arei could continue hu stepped in

"Let's return to the original topic which was establishing a sequence of events,that should clear up any confusion"

the class recapped what they knew about the events, and you could feel they were leaning even more towards teruko being the culprit as they talked

"Then Arturo and i discovered the body at 8 p.m. we all know what happened after that"

"That story doesn't explain all the evidence at the crime scene! What about the strange DVD or the water on the ground?"

"Does that even matter? Maybe someone was watching some videos and there was a water leak, big whoop! Stop grasping at straws"

Yet another stupid comment from arei made you lose your patience

"She's not grasping at straws, she's bringing up unexplained evidence! Do you even know how an investigation works?"

"If you continue talking to me like that I swear you'll be the next victim"

"Please go ahead, it'll be fun watching your execution from the afterlife"

While you were arguing more accusations went against teruko and she started to panic

"H-hang on! wait a second you're making a huge mistake.....I DIDN'T KILL XANDER!"

She raised her voice, and you looked at her with concern. Unfortunately, the others seemed even more convinced

"Let's vote already and put this trial behind us"

"Seconded. This case is too obvious all the evidence points to her"

"W-wait-"

Your pleading was ignored as monotv finally spoke

"Hm? Voting time already? Wow, that was fast"

"Stop... please for a moment, you're all....wrong.....I didn't.....I didn't kill xander"

Teruko was spiraling, she seemed on the verge of despair you had to help her even without evidence

"Everyone we need to hear her out, we can't vote for her so blindly just because all the clues seem to point in her direction!"

They all ignored you

"I'm sorry, teruko I know you're upset for having been caught, but we have to do this if we don't vote for who the blackend is we'll die"

"......"

"Wait no please we still need to discuss we haven't solved the case completely"

"But we have enough evidence to determine she's the culprit, and she can't defend herself i apologize to you too I recognize this must be hard for you but you have to see that teruko is guilty"

Hu was right you knew she wasn't guilty she couldn't be , but neither you nor her had any evidence to prove it

"......"

You couldn't bear to see teruko in this state she looked so defenseless and despairing the fact they were willing to vote for her when she was clearly innocent made you angry

"Are you seriously going to kill her without even listening to her side of the story?" she got stabbed too. She's another victim here goddammit"

"Y/n please calm down and realize that there's no other way that this makes sense"

"No there is another way! The truth! But, you're all so focused on her that you can't even think about other possibilities!"

"If you're so trusting in her then you surely have some evidence to clear her of suspicion no? Or is it just your emotions speaking?"

"I-i admit I have no concrete evidence, but that's exactly why we have to continue this trial"

"Do you expect us to continue with this trial forever? Just accept that your girlfriend's a murderer and move on!"

As j spoke to you, your mind was getting closer to the pit of despair teruko was already in, you loved her, she could never kill someone, why couldn't anyone else see that?

".........no...I refuse.... teruko isn't the murderer.....I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THAT!"

"Just great now we have two people in denial, hey monotv can you speed this up and let us vote before we all die?"

This was it, you were all going to die teruko wasn't the murderer so all of you except the real killer would die, you didn't even have the strength to say goodbye to her.

...........

...........

..........

"Thank you y/n"

"Ter...uko?"

"Thank you for defending me and making me realize.......what a bunch of fucking morons the others are"

"What?"

"Go ahead and vote for me if you want to end your life that badly, go ahead"

"T-teruko? What's wrong?"

"Have you completely lost it"

"I think the stress of the situation has finally gotten to her"

"Ahahahaha"

The laugh that came out of teruko was maniacal and insane but you really couldn't blame her you would have done the same

"Xander pretended to be my friend just to betray me and try to end my life, you all are the same, without thinking about it, without any concern for my life, you want to call me Xander's killer"

"Wait a second-"

"And what about y/n! They made totally logical arguments, and you just ignored and belittled them just because I'm their girlfriend?, as if the only reason they trust me is because we love each other"

"......."

You were speechless, not only she was defending you but she was also calling out the other's bullshit

"Now I realize I was a fool for thinking we could all work together, the only person i can trust is y/n, they defended me with everything they had while you all were against them, that is true trust and I intend to repay that"

"Teruko....."

"I'm sorry for making you go through that I should have done this a long time ago, but don't worry now......I'll have to prove my innocence with evidence! I'll show you all why I'm not the killer"

As the trial continued, the teruko you saw was someone new, a more confident, even ruthless person, but you knew you could trust her just as she knew she could trust you, even if everyone else was against you two, you would still have each other to love and to trust.

[inawearyworld]

free if you truly wish to be: chapter ii

that fateful first day at the galeries gourmet, and a little bit after, told from the vantage point of the fickelgruber balcony.

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~1.9k

fair warning, i am a MASSIVE shakespeare nerd. but, if the 70s movie is anything to go by, so is wonka. so it's fine.

florence, however, as we've established, is Very Much Not Fine.

enjoy!!

(part one) (fic masterlist) (part three)

The outside air was refreshing, almost as refreshing as the young woman’s realization that not a single eye was on her.

That honor and worry went to the newcomer that was becoming ever curiouser to behold.

“Now, who wants to try one?”

The crowd around him clamored for a chance at his flying chocolates, and Florence’s spirit nearly lifted into their twittering flush, only to fall again when-

“I will.”

The buzz of the crowd fell silent at Slugworth’s words, and Florence frowned as the Chocolate Cartel stepped forward with intent to embarrass the young dreamer beyond repair. The boy, though, looked between the three as if this were suddenly the most exciting day of his life. He greeted them, utterly starstruck, but was caught off guard when Slugworth crushed him in a handshake, and Florence winced. She’d seen near-countless hopefuls come to the Galeries filled with entrepreneurial spirit and be driven away by the trio within minutes, but this one seemed…different somehow.

It’s as if he has nothing without this dream, and somehow that gives him more to lose.

She blinked, wondering how such a specific thought could come to her when she’d only just learned this man existed. But her view from the balcony allowed her to study his face, which she did with fascination and a slight speck of shame.

The Cartel each tried one of the chocolates the newcomer had brought, and now they were the ones she watched closely.

Yes, something was different this time.

Because Florence Fickelgruber knew her husband, and despite his attempt to hide his reactions at this moment, the chocolatier had a very expressive face.

He liked that chocolate. He loved it. Even more surprising, so did the others.

They listed off the ingredients they tasted, trying to keep the wonder from their voices, and the younger man responded to each with a fascinatingly short anecdote telling where he’d gotten it.

How could he be so well-traveled, yet so naive? How could-

She realized then that she was smiling, blushing even, feeling as light as if she’d had one of those weightless chocolates herself. It was silly, she knew, to hope for real change simply because of one charming new arrival, but that hope bubbled up regardless as she watched the Cartel exchange eye contact which was far more frazzled than the cool assurance she’d seen earlier.

Slugworth then began his typical long preface to his judgment, the telltale sign that he was about to demolish the young man’s hopes, and Florence from her balcony was the only one who knew.

Should I say something?

Before she could, the “absolute, one hundred percent, worst” came crashing down.

Not hearing the end, the boy-Wonka, as he was apparently called-whooped into another call to the crowd, his smile wide and infectious as-

Then it hit him.

“Wait, the worst?”

“We three are the fiercest of rivals, but we agree on one thing,” Slugworth declared, and Florence rolled her eyes-she’d always been frustrated at never being told much about the inner workings of the Chocolate Cartel, knowing just enough to be sure it was corrupt but not enough to bring the truth to light and be believed, but she was certain that the three were anything but rivals-“A good chocolate should be simple. Plain. Uncomplicated.”

“Whereas this,” her husband said, dripping in condescension and pronouncing each W with a drawl of air, “with all its bells and whistles, well, it’s just…”

“Weird,” Prodnose finished, and the younger man’s gaze fell.

Guilt by association had become a familiar friend of Florence’s over the past two years, but it pricked at her even more intensely now.

“That’s a shame,” Wonka said, so quietly that she had to lean over the balcony to catch it. “If you thought the chocolate was weird…”

Florence leaned forward further, eyes widening as the young man looked up at the Cartel from under the brim of his top hat, his expression having taken on an almost darker confidence.

“You’re going to hate what happens next.”

And with that, Mr. Slugworth was floating.

The crowd gasped, and Florence gasped right along with them, especially when the other two soon joined him. Felix’s face twisted almost comically when he rose to the point of seeing his wife on his balcony, and he tried with little success to swim through the air towards her. They reached for each other again and again, futile attempt after knowingly futile attempt, accompanied by the crowd’s delight, Wonka’s shouts of a satisfied salesman, and the frantic bickering of the Cartel.

“Have a nice flight, darling!” she couldn’t help calling out as Felix continued to rise helplessly past his office and toward the high ceiling of the Galeries. With no one watching her anymore, Florence was free to fall into pealing laughter.

Well, one person was watching.

Wiping a tear of mirth from her eye, she realized she’d caught the glance of Mr. Wonka, who looked up at her with a glint of recognition and a more genuine smile than she’d ever seen in her life.

Huh.

He tipped his hat to her, then turned back to his crowd of customers, who each dropped one single sovereign in his jar before relishing the candy. What’s more, his eyes spent much more time on the people’s happy faces than on the jar to make sure they were paying. This man was in this business for the love of it.

She could have ran down and kissed him right then.

…Aaaaaaaand that was not something she was going to think about right now.

Because apparently this day is so unusual that she’s now thinking in third person.

Get a hold of yourself, Wren.

She watched as customer after customer was lifted into the air, as her husband-your husband, till death do you part-and his Cartel floundered on the ceiling, as Wonka beamed at a little girl he saw near the Galerie’s entrance, as-

As the police came through that very entrance.

She should have known.

She’d tried many times to gain information from her husband by casually bringing up related subjects, because she had a feeling his group had something to do with the local police department being far less just than advertised. But Felix was perfectly tight-lipped, always flipping her words around themselves until he’d turned the conversation as if she hadn’t asked a thing at all.

…How did I ever think…

Never mind.

So they’d initially planned to humiliate the boy and then place him under the law’s eye, even if he hadn’t proved a threat, which he most certainly had.

She sighed, watching as the officers pulled people down from the air. It took them quite a while to figure out a way to retrieve the Chocolate Cartel from the ceiling, but retrieve them they did. Upon reuniting with solid ground, Felix cast his wife a wide-eyed, exasperated look, which she returned with an equally dazed shrug. He rolled his shoulders back, adjusted the cuffs of his suit, and turned smartly on his heel to follow his colleagues out of the Galeries, presumably on their way to regroup.

Shortly after they’d reached the outdoors, the Cartel learned that being temporarily grounded wouldn’t stop the bugs that still resided in them from flying, and they involuntarily took off once again, shouts and curses echoing.

Oh, God.

Well, he said it only lasted twenty minutes.

…They’ll be fine.

Florence grinned and looked down toward Mr. Wonka, hoping despite herself for another glance, but he was in conversation with the one officer that she still trusted. Affable seemed to take pity on the boy, reaching into his pocket and handing him a sovereign of his own.

He wouldn’t have done that if he knew I was watching.

That idea that anyone would think she was against that act of kindness was a twisting thorn in her heart, and she internally vowed to make it as clear as possible that her morals were nowhere near lined up to her husband’s.

As clear as possible to everyone except said husband.

And anyone else that would put my family in danger of losing anything, if he finds out I’m not truly aligned with the brand that’s currently allowing them to survive.

He’d give her jewels, and she’d wear them for a while until he forgot about them, at which point she’d mail them home-under a secret name, her old name, her real name-to be bartered for food and board. What with Felix’s decidedly obvious aversion to anything resembling charity, it was the only thing she could think to do.

“So full of artless jealousy is guilt, it spills itself in fearing to be spilt.”

Huh.

The police and customers had all left by now, and the young man was left standing there, staring at the mark of compassion that had been pressed into his hand by the officer.

The feel of the Galeries had become quiet after the chaos of all that had happened only moments before.

Florence had suddenly found herself nervous.

“Mr. Wonka.”

He startled at the sound, apparently having believed she’d left, but then smiled, pocketing the sovereign as he looked up.

“You’re the actress, the musician! You’re Mrs. Fickelgruber!”

“I am,” she said, lighting up a bit upon being noticed first for her art and only second for her marriage.

“So,” Wonka said with an ever-so-slightly deflated flourish of the hand, “what do you think? Of…all of this?”

“I,” she began, then paused, then cautiously smiled, “do not share my husband’s opinion.”

“Good.”

His eyes were hazel, like hers, and they sparked with an energy so striking that it seemed to travel all the way up to her slightly lofted position.

“Don’t tell him I said this,” she said, looking around to ensure their secrecy and feeling quite like a teenager, “but you’ve really got something. No crowd I’ve seen has ever taken to a newcomer quite like they have to you, so don’t worry about the others’ scare tactics. There hasn’t been anyone here lately with a passion, talent, earnestness like yours-”

I’m rambling I’m rambling STOP RAMBLING you are MARRIED you are a RESPECTABLE WOMAN you are being TOO SINCERE you NEED TO STOP TALKING.

“Just…don’t give up.”

“Thank you,” Wonka said, after a moment, and just as sincerely.

Everything about him is sincere.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he continued. “Giving up, I mean.”

“Good,” she echoed, and he smiled. “I have a feeling the world would be far worse for it if you did.”

He shook his head as he looked at her, seeming rather unsure of what to think beyond a strangely certain trust.

Well, that makes two of us.

“Really, thank you,” he said. "That means a lot, especially…well, especially coming from you.”

She glanced down for a moment at the swirling wrought-iron balcony beneath her hands, and laughed a little at the sudden realization of their position.

“Tis but thy name that is my enemy.”

He blinked, stunned by the reference, and continued it.

“I take thee at thy word.”

A nearly disbelieving smile broke across her face, then his, and the clock then rang out before she could say anything truly stupid.

“Well. Good day, Mr. Wonka.”

He nodded, considered her for a moment, then slung his cane over his shoulder.

“Call me Willy,” he said with another tip of his hat, then turned to leave. “Glad to have met you, Mrs. Fickelgruber.”

A beat, and then, without thinking, before she lost her courage-

“Call me Wren.”

The clock’s final chime of half past ten echoed and faded, and the young chocolatier smiled once more.

“Good day, Wren.”

[growling]

for the ask game (with either raincode or danganronpa) :

👛 your favorite rare pair?

💕a ship you’d defend with your life?

♠️ favorite protagonist?

(from this ask game)

👛 your favorite rare pair?

I don't think much about danganronpa shipping anymore (my brain is now just permanently rotating enoshima, kamukura, komaeda, ouma and kiibo there like rotisserie chickens instead, i am TOO BUSY!!!), so rain code it is: yumayomi/kokohell/the japanese side calls it yumayomi ig and the english side does not call it anything because no one except me and like 2 other people care. yuma & yomi are just so objectively hilarious as a duo and the possibilities of putting them in Situations are fucking endless nobody does it like they do it. every day another yuma and yomi au idea establishes itself in my mind i am running out of storage room i have so many other things i should care about that aren't wacky rain code yaois but guess what i cannot they won't let me

(also fubuyomi honorable mention. I have to mention fubuyomi they also drive me but I have zero words to describe it. oh and worshipper x priest despite me keeping silent about it for a solid few months i did not forget religious serial killer toxic sludge yaoi anyway have you listened to we will commit wolf murder by of montreal for no reason in particular)

💕a ship you’d defend with your life?

zero hesistation ougoku danganronpa like what is you people's PROBLEM??? "it's abusive" jesse what the fuck are you talking about. Ouma did not "manipulate" him Gokuhara knew exactly what he was doing. Ouma explicitly told him his plans for the Insect Meet and Greet in the FTE's right before the event, and Gokuhara got mad at him because he lied about liking bugs, (which Ouma had to do because you've all seen how Gokuhara reacts to people that don't. you've seen it) NOT because he suddenly realized he was being manipulated or something. So many people dismiss the sheer amount of agency Gokuhara actually had in chapter 4, in favour of painting the situation as just "poor stupid baby gonta got tricked into murder by the big bad ouma :((((" while. he is not STUPID (HE IS LITERALLY A SCIENTIST??) he was not COERCED into his crimes, he was a WILLING ACCOMPLICE!!!!!! I FEEL LIKE I'M LOSING MY GODDAMN MIND!!!!! He did it in a misguided attempt at mercy killing his classmates after finding out the world got fucked and everything sucks now. There are multiple pieces of dialogue that highly imply Ouma did in fact also want to mercy kill the class - which also makes sense as it would end the killing game (you know his. main. true. goal.) This would mean that he only started his plan to become the “mastermind” after Gonta told him to not die with him <- this one's quoted from my favourite dr theory blog jacksmusesdrv3 hello hava good day I couldn't find another way to word this myself. "Ouma faked being sad Gokuhara's about to be/got executed in front of him" his reaction literally parallels Kuzuryuu's to Pekoyama's death buddy. buddy. Ouma's entire thing is that he lies about lying about lying about lying WHY are you taking his word at face value why are you believing whAT THE LIAR IS TELLING YOU?????? WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING. PUT ME OUT OF MY FUCKING MISERY I CANNOT TAKE THIS. People treat Gokuhara like he's stupid (which is "funny" (he said through clenched teeth) since isn't that the entire thing everybody ingame severely underestimates him and then. i can't) while he and Ouma are two of some of the smartest people in the game. And! Gokuhara is perfectly capable of lying and having ulterior motives we've all saw him do that right :)))) multiple times right :)))))) Gokuhara even SAYS Ouma didn't trick him BECAUSE HE DIDN'T. HE DID NOT. These two have the some of the most genuine dynamics in dr, and the best in ndrv3, and you dare disrespect them like this. shame on you. SHAME. People always assume the worst in Ouma, and the best in Gokuhara. This is my personal hell. I am not okay.

♠️ favorite protagonist?

Easily Yuma, beating literally all of dr's protags (though dr1 Naegi has second place. I love you Naegi Makoto). Where do I even start? I think I'm too tired after the above rant to articulate myself anymore and I think if I wasn't that essay would take an entire week to finish lmao.

Thanks for the ask anon :3 !!!

[possibly-in-wonderland]

Boromir and his chaotic hobbit wife

(and some incorrect quotes ft her in general, maybe one day she'll have a name...but for now we refer to her as hobbitess)

~~~~

Boromir: *wakes up to find flowers woven in his hair*

~~~~

Boromir: .. .----. -- / … --- .-. .-. -.-- (translation: I'M SORRY) Hobbitess: What's that? Boromir: Remorse code. Hobbitess: I'm even angrier now.

~~~~

Boromir: Fight me! Hobbitess, standing behind him and holding a knife: *mouths* Do not.

~~~~

Boromir: Everyone has a toxic trait. Except Hobbitess, they’re perfect. Hobbitess: Wrong! My toxic trait is how badly I want to domesticate a warg.

~~~~

Boromir: You have Crayons? Hobbitess: Yes, I have— Boromir: You're— how old are you? Hobbitess: YES I AM AN ADULT AND I HAVE CRAYONS, I HAVE A BOX OF EMERGENCY CRAYONS IN THE CABINET UNDER THE SINK BECAUSE EVERYBODY NEEDS CRAYONS SOMETIMES, OKAY? EVERYBODY NEEDS CRAYONS.

~~~~

Hobbitess: Hey, what’s the name of the guy who lives down the hall? Boromir: His cats' names are Walter and Rose. Hobbitess: That's not what I asked. Boromir: That is all the information I have.

~~~~

Boromir: Okay, I’m going to get the wedding cake. Hobbitess: Perfect, while you do that I’ll check on the ring bear. Boromir: ... Boromir: You mean ring bearER, right? Hobbitess: ... Boromir: Look me in the eyes and tell me you are not going to bring a dangerous wild animal to our wedding.

~~~~

Hobbitess: Oh, fiddlesticks! That really ruffles my feathers! Boromir: Please, just say fuck.

~~~~

Hobbitess: You know what? Let’s give it a go. What’s the worst that could happen? Boromir: Humiliation, embarrassment, fire, explosions, collisions, tears, nudity and death.

~~~~

Hobbitess: Here’s a fun Christmas idea. We hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever else is under it. Boromir: Hobbitess no. Gimli: Mistlefoe. Boromir: Please stop encouraging her.

~~~~

Aragorn: We need a distraction. Boromir: Is anyone here good at jumping up and down and making weird noises? Hobbitess, whispering: My time has come

~~~~

Hobbitess, Pippin, and Merry are sitting on a bench Gandalf: Why do you guys look so sad? Hobbitess: Sit down with us so we can tell you. *Gandalf sits down* Pippin: The bench is freshly painted.

~~~~

Gandalf: I currently have 7 empty notebooks and I have no clue what to put in them. Suggestions? Pippin: Put spaghetti in it. Gandalf: I'm currently taking suggestions from literally anyone but you. Merry: Put spaghetti in it. Gandalf: I'm currently taking suggestions from anyone but you two. Hobbitess: Put spaghetti in it. Gandalf: I'm no longer taking suggestions.

~~~~

Hobbitess: *Screams* Pippin: *Screams louder to establish dominance* Aragorn: Should we do something? Merry: No, I want to see who wins.

~~~~

Hobbitess: Sometimes I drink milk straight out of the container. Pippin: The cow??? Hobbitess: What? Merry: Pippin, W H Y?

~~~~

Hobbitess: Would you stab your best friend in the leg for 10 million gold? Pippin: You stab me, and then when my leg gets better, we buy a big-ass house. Merry: You can stab me too, then we'll have 20 million. Pippin: Good thinking.

~~~~

Hobbitess: So uhhh... my question is: my friend keeps on going into the pantry and grabbing handfuls of fettuccine... uncooked... Sam: I would hope they're not grabbing handfuls of cooked fettuccine! Frodo: In your pantry! Hobbitess: Yeah... and eating them raw, and they keep calling them 'chips'. ... How do I make them stop? Sam: Is your friend here? Hobbitess, motioning to Pippin: Yeah. Sam, to Pippin: You're a monster! Words MEAN things! >:( Merry: Does anybody remember- I haven't been to Olive Garden in many moons- but they DO have a like- fettuccine bottle that you can just- grab em out of and chew- Merry: HOLD ON. WAS THIS A PRANK YOU GUYS PULLED ON ME WHEN WE WENT TO OLIVE GARDEN AS KIDS?! Merry: NO, STOP. EVERYBODY SHUT UP. DO THEY GIVE YOU RAW FETTUCCINE TO CHEW ON IN THE LOBBY OF THE OLIVE GARDEN Everyone else: No. Merry, to Sam and Frodo: YOU FUCKIN BASTARDS Sam: YAAAAAAAAY! Frodo: THE PRESTIGE!

~~~~ Hobbitess: Why isn’t the statue smirking at me? Gandalf: It isn’t smirking at anyone, they’re all just imagining it. Hobbitess: Four of us saw it, Gandalf. How do you explain that? Gandalf: *points at Merry & Pippin* Sleep deprivation. *points at Sam* Paranoia. *points at Frodo* Delusional personality disorder.

~~~~

*The squad right before Hobbitess' & Boromir's wedding* Pippin: Well I have to go, I have a wedding to attend. Merry: Wait... Oh! I have a wedding to attend too! Sam: Oh, I have a wedding to attend as well Frodo: I THINK WE ALL HAVE WEDDINGS TO ATTEND Aragorn, panicked: I THINK I HAVE A WEDDING TO OFFICIATE

~~~~

Frodo, walking into his house: Hello, people who do not live here. Pippin: Hey. Merry: Hi. Sam: Hello. Hobbitess: Hey! Frodo: I gave you the key to my place for emergencies only! Hobbitess: We were out of seed cakes.

~~~~

Frodo: If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous. Pippin: What if it bites me and it dies!? Merry: Then you’re poisonous. Jesus Christ, Pippin, learn to listen. Sam: What if it bites itself and I die? Hobbitess: That’s voodoo. Boromir: What if it bites me and someone else dies? Sam: That’s correlation, not causation. Pippin: What if we bite each other, and neither of us die? Hobbitess: That’s kinky. Frodo: Oh my God.

~~~~

Hobbitess: Time for plan G. Pippin: Don’t you mean plan B? Hobbitess: No, we tried plan B a long time ago. I had to skip over plan C due to technical difficulties. Merry: What about plan D? Hobbitess: Plan D was that desperate disguise attempt half an hour ago. Sam: What about plan E? Hobbitess: I’m hoping not to use it. Pippin dies in plan E. Gandalf: I like plan E.

~~~~

Boromir: HELP! I TOLD HOBBITESS I’D COOK DINNER TONIGHT BUT I CAN’T COOK! Aragorn, pouring milk directly into the cereal bag: And you thought I could help?

~~~~

Hobbitess: Boromir and I don’t use pet names. Aragorn: I see. Hey, what do bees make? Hobbitess: Honey? Boromir: Yes, dear? Hobbitess: Aragorn: Don't ever lie to my face again.

~~~~

Hobbitess: What time is it? Pippin: I don’t know; pass me that saxophone and we’ll find out Pippin: *Plays sax loudly and extremely out of tune* Gandalf: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXOPHONE AT TWO IN THE MORNING Pippin: It’s 2 am

~~~~

Boromir: I really like this whole ‘good guy, bad guy’ thing you guys have going on. Hobbitess: It’s not an act, it’s just that I’m mean and Pippin isn’t

~~~~

Hobbitess: Dandelions symbolize everything I want to be in life Merry: Fluffy and dead with a gust of wind? Hobbitess: Unapologetic. Hard to kill. Feral, filled with sunlight, bright, beautiful in a way that the conventional and controlling hate but cannot ever fully destroy. Stubborn. Happy. Bastardous. Friends with bees. Highly disapproving of lawns. Full of wishes that will be carried far after I die. Pippin: edible

~~~~

Hobbitess: I've already sent good vibes your way… they’re coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop them. Boromir: This is the most threatening way I’ve ever been cheered up.

~~~~

Hobbitess, pointing: May I sit there? Boromir: That's my lap Hobbitess: That doesn't answer my question, Boromir.

~~~~

Boromir: Three words. Say them and I'm yours. Hobbitess: Three words. Boromir:

~~~~

Boromir: Welcome, fellow idiots Hobbitess: Hello, Boromir Boromir: No, no, not you, you're not an idiot Hobbitess: You underestimate me

[lovelytayforce]

Shifu's not so complicated relationship with fraud

Why do we as a society not talk about how comfortable Shifu is with committing fraud?

Now, first, let’s talk about fraud itself, this is what it means: wrongful or criminal deception intended to result in financial or personal gain. Or a person or thing intended to deceive others, typically by unjustifiably claiming or being credited with accomplishments or qualities. Now before we start, I want you all to know I am not condemning Shifu for his crimes, if anything I love the fact Shifu is so unapologetically happy with himself and who he is to just wake up a day after “the worst day of his life”, his words not mine, and choose violence and fraud above all things against his Master’s wishes because he didn’t get his way. Girl boss, Gate keep, and Gaslit amirite? Like what an icon!? I love this and think we should talk about it more cause it’s canon Shifu loves him some fraud and if he doesn’t get his way he will ruin everyone’s day for it. Again, we have to start from the beginning, because again, THIS IS IMPORTANT. “Oogway is choosing the dragon warrior.”, simple enough but the thing is Oogway never says it’s going to be one of the five anywhere in the film. Just “It’s time.” So, it could be anyone, he could point to the west and say “The Dragon warrior is not here but to the west.” and no one could say he lied about anything because it was Shifu hyping the whole town up with posters at the ready for HIS WIN. Not his student, his own. This is all about him. This is all about Shifu. This is Shifu’s show. And I have to highlight this short exchange between Oogway and Shifu before the tournament because it's so telling in their arcs. I know people love the joke, Oogway just dipped on Shifu to deal with his own bs, and tbh I would too cause that’s your family drama, not mine. But he warns Shifu, he feared he would not live to see this day and even implies “Whomever I choose.” again not a single confirmation he would choose one of his students, would bring him peace. And Shifu is left to ponder those words as this elaborate celebration he’d created for this “historic day they’ve been waiting 1,000 years for!” is also for him. Imagine that for a second. You are also a part of this historic day and its results.  But Shifu, our beloved idiot does not intake that in immediately, no. He’s ready to show off his five totally awesome lotto tickets, I mean the furious five. That and he’s so focused on his own grandeur, he’s out here sounding like a wrestling narrator, selling the strength and technique of his students rather than who they are outside of that skill. Which shows even he does not understand who the Dragon warrior is meant to be. Again, Oogway only says “I sense the Dragon warrior among us.” That doesn’t mean his students, just anywhere in the area. HE WAS WARNED. And then the Dragon warrior is chosen and Shifu’s immediate response is to try to stop everything even though it’s moving as it should just not in the way he wanted what’s the first thing this man does when his students, specifically Tigress apologizes for failing him?

That’s right baby, FRAUD. Didn’t even hesitate or think about it for longer than 10 seconds. Just straight up creating a toxic situation for fraud and bullying while his Master is alive and well in this world. But as we’ve established Shifu is an angry gatekeeping girl boss. And it only gets worse from here. Shifu not only threatens to kill Po but oh no. Cause that wouldn’t be enough for this Girlboss, okay? No, he’s got to demean and make fun of Po for his body and insinuate how the Dragon warrior is chosen and given the scroll when again, OOGWAY HAS NEVER SAID ANY OF THESE THINGS. And when he realizes Po is aware of the history of the Wuxi finger hold + how it affects the holder, etc, etc and even states “Oogway may have picked you and when I’m through with you. You are going to wish he hadn’t! Are we clear?” which means he’s VERY VERY VERY aware of what he is doing. Shifu willingly committed fraud. And even laughs about his decision, he is so happy with his ingenious idea to underplay what his Master, who sees him as a friend and a loyal student at his side and even supports his efforts for the tournament that wasn’t needed. It was just a flashy appetizer before the main meal. But nonetheless doesn’t tell him to stop because his hard work deserves to be shown off but also Shifu, a 60+ year old man is not only beefing with a 20 year old but also stepping all over Oogway’s decision because he is super upset he’s not the center of attention. He even throws away every shred of honor and dignity within Kung fu to make sure Po feels as unwelcome and inadequate as possible, we’ve all seen the “Level zero” scene but did y’all notice how even the furious five goes to help Po when he falls into the training Hall and Shifu straight up STOPS THEM WITH HIS HAND, and then smiles as Po screams in pain. This man enjoys fraud and revels in it with joy, it brightens his damn day more than the sun itself!!

Shifu willingly breeds and approves of his students also bullying Po because he didn’t get his “I trained the Dragon Warrior” trophy with his five lotto tickets-I mean The furious five… Which translates to the next few scenes that define their latter interactions with Po because students tend to mimic their masters. In good ways or bad ways… Especially to his daughter, Tigress who especially perpetuates Shifu’s ire toward Po even though her goal as clearly shown in the flashback was never the scroll but Shifu’s love as a father. Which the scroll would have never given her cause Shifu’s a selfish twat.  Shifu even laughs RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIS DAUGHTER, about the fact his beautiful fraud and bullying got Po to quit and he’s so smitten with himself about it as they walk to the training hall and even says “All we can do is resume our training and trust that in time, the true dragon warrior will be revealed.” He’s just outright ignoring the fact, Oogway will never change his mind about who he chose. This is peak delusion ladies and gentlemen. So, if you ever wonder why Tai Lung so easily brought up fraud in their fight scene together, just know from this moment before they opened that door to the training hall. Shifu was all about that fraud to fix his problems. Until he got into one last argument about peach trees and seeds, and Oogway died, showing he wasted his time being a controlling asshole on the final days of his friend's life. And then remembered: “Oh wait bro fraud is actually wrong, oh god what have I done!?” And then he got physically beaten up by the consequences of his actions via Tai Lung and the mere sweet scent of fraud again, which he says no to. And that’s Shifu’s not so complicated relationship with Fraud. We need more fics where people have Po and the five bringing up the fact he was cool with fraud once upon a time. It’d be funny.

[starswallowingsea]

okay i just finished sleep tight by jh markert and christ alive what the fuck was that. i gave it 1.75/5 on storygraph and 2 stars on goodreads bc like. girl.

so the first thing is like. the most minor thing i'm going to complain about but it definitely needed one last line by line edit. how did they fuck up the daughter's name at the end and call her julie instead of julia when julie hadn't been an established nickname for her. there were a bunch of other lines that just felt like they were repeating what we already knew or didn't need to be there like we didnt need a line saying "that tess already knew because noah had told them in the car" <- not exact idc enough to go back and look but we know. we were THERE you do not have to remind us that they know this information okay.

now onto the rest of the book. so the concept is that after serial killer posing as a priest to lure victims in is executed by the state, a cult that formed around him decides they're going to get revenge on the people who locked him up and ultimately revealed that they're going to revive him with the help of the real mastermind. which i thought the serial killer priest would have been cooler than it was but whatevs thats on me. howeverrrrrrrr one of the early chapters was from the pov of a gravedigger/grave security guy and he talks about the group he just joined but explicitly called it a cult which was so. the word cult is very loaded and high control groups do not like to use it for themselves because of that and they'll use something else like group or religion for their cult even if people on the outside are calling it a cult. have you ever met an mlm girly like come on.

the mystery itself was laid out decently enough with the eyes and not so subtle hints that were dropped but the worst part of this was the fucking weird ass attempt at portraying DID. I am going to give markert the benefit of the doubt that he was trying his best and anyone reading this review who has DID is free to comment on this but i am not under the impression that most people know when a new alter fronts and that voices don't really change especially around strangers. also other than oskar and ruth, all of noah's alters were real people and 5 of them were people who he watched die and he just took on their personalities in his head and they don't age because the people they were based on stopped aging (ie died). they talked about it like he just absorbed their souls into his headspace??? and yes they could tell when someone switched to front because of his voice and like. the fact that two of them wear glasses and will put them on to front. i might be wrong and again correct me if i am but this does not seem like how it works when systems meet strangers for the first time especially ones that get violent and upset when they cant get the alter they want to front to front.

sticking with the theme of weird insensitivities about trauma, why was fuckhead justin so insistent that tess needed to forceably relive her trauma (which was revealed at the end of the book and ngl kinda anticlimactic) to try and fill in gaps in her memory from when she was 13 because it made him upset? like dude she probably shouldn't be doing that if she doesn't want to its buried for a reason leave her alone!! and the fact that their relationship went back to business as usual after everything was so!!!!! i think they should have gotten divorced anyway there is no way this is going to work out long term sorry.

and finally i get that american police just shoot indiscriminately but killing benjamin in front of 11 young children seemed kinda unnecessary. especially when they were crowded around him and could easily have been caught in the crossfire but magically weren't and the bullets only hit ben. sorry but at least one of those kids should have had some sort of gun related injury from that if not more if you were going to kill ben.