#it’s a Schrodinger’s cat situation.

[tainebot01]

ACE ATTORNEY INVESTIGATIONS - PROSECUTOR’S PATH / PROSECUTOR’S GAMBIT SPOILERS:

Localizers do you realize you have the potential to do the funniest thing ever with this scene.

[missinglaterals]

The epicness of 'just some guy' fashion

[teatitty]

Atem is simultaneously 16, 3000 and 19. He died when he was 16 but he's been living in the puzzle for 3000 years and the exact amount of time he was conscious in said puzzle is super iffy because he physically saved Sugoroku in the 60's but has no memory of doing so and then he's 19 when he finally passes onto the afterlife because he spent 3 years with Yugi fully conscious and aware of himself, thus letting him age up with everyone else. Ya know.

[after-nine-at-the-oasis]

there's something about the fact that if TK does have Huntington's, we almost definitely wouldn't "live" to see it. this ain't grey's anatomy - it's probably not lasting that long. we would probably see storylines about dealing with it, dealing with Owen having it, talks about mortality and such, but we would most likely not actually see anything happen to TK physically because of it. we would just know. know that sometime after the last time we saw them TK starts to get clumsy, starts to forget things. just like his grandfather, just like his uncle, just like his dad. but we would never see it

[espectres]

As far as this blog's canon goes only like 10% of the muses shou interacts with are actually aware abt his father's true identity and criminal history, and as far as everybody else knows he's just some kid grieving the recent loss of his implied-to-have-been-terrible dad

[llycaons]

swd/pm is funny in theory but pm is such a consummate misogynist in such a rancidly heterosexual way that I truly cannot see it

[yardsards]

i'm ex-baptist and i don't believe in the evangelical ideal of a christian god til i need something to shake my fist at

like all lapsed catholics i don’t actually believe in hell unless it’s for comedic purposes

[fluffypurpleglitterdemon]

Xie Lian, king of Not Saying Anything

[oh-mother-fucket]

i look like this irl btw

[trans-leek-cookie]

i think the best, most effective horror for me is the stuff that's missing a piece. Like, something bad is gonna happen. But there's nothing. No way to know what it is. The moment before the strike- because if it misses, then it missed. If it hits, then it hits. The second before? You don't know. There's no closure. It's just wrong

[couchkitty]

　　　λ,,..,,λ Ψ ,

／i＼/ ・ω・ヽ|／i＼

⌒⌒l::.:... ｏ⌒⌒

`'ー---‐´ l

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 293

Adjective: Ambiguous

Noun: Casket

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Ambiguous: (of language) open to more than one interpretation, or having a double meaning; unclear or inexact because a choice between alternatives has not been made

Casket: a small ornamental box or chest for holding jewels, letters, or other valuable objects; (North American) a coffin

[bayesic-bitch]

Schrodinger: Okay, I think there's an issue with the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics. Here's a thought experiment to demonstrate why its understanding of "observations" is problematic. Suppose we put a cat in a box with a sample of uranium, a geiger counter, and a hammer rigged to smash open a box of poison if the geiger counter detects any radiation. After an hour,there's a 50% chance the cat is alive. But according to the Copenhagen interpretation,

Tumblr: I'm gonna cut you off there. That's horrible, I would never do that to a poor defenseless cat. It's so easy to avoid putting a cat in a box with radiation and hammers and poison. You've deliberately constructed an extremely avoidable situation and then asked people to consider it inevitable. Why aren't we asking ourselves what institutions had to fail for the cat to end up in the box in the first place?

Schrodinger: ...

[shinraelectricpowercom]

The really frustrating thing abt ppl throwing fits at other people for not censoring themselves "appropriately" is that it often does in fact work to prevent people who enjoy darker or more complex topics & characterizations from participating in their parts of fandom. Typically this happens when the rest of the people in that social circle don't say anything about how that's not fucking ok behavior. There's only so many times you can see someone outright say they think violence toward another person would be justified because that person has the "wrong" headcanon about a character, and watch everyone else who might step in and say something simply not do anything, before you start assuming "they'd probably all be ok to just watch and keep interacting with anyone in their social circle if they harassed or threatened me too". Let me tell you, that REALLY cools off one's Fandom Experience™ no matter how "nice" and "welcoming" those people are when they're not standing by and watching harassment happen.

might dip my toe back into some silm servers

[serve-cunt]

28 or 34 for Lando and Oscar? If it compels you 🦭

feeling for each other in the dark!! compelling...

lando/oscar scene under the cut..

“Oscar.” 

Oscar answered quietly, “I’m here.” They hadn’t been told to stay quiet, but it felt strange to talk at a normal volume. 

“This is fucking— stupid.” 

Oscar didn’t answer. He felt the same. But what could they do? 

“Can you, like, say something? So I know you’re still here.” 

Oscar smiled. “Where would I go?” he asked. “Even if we weren’t locked in, I couldn’t find the door. I can’t see anything.” 

There was a moment of silence, and when Lando spoke again there was a hint of panic in his voice. “We’re locked in?” 

Oscar backtracked hastily. “Er, probably not. I just mean—if we weren’t contractually locked in.” 

Another moment of silence, but when Lando spoke again he sounded a little calmer. “Mate, I never signed any contract that said they could Pavlov’s Dog me.”

Oscar frowned, then laughed. “You’re thinking of the cat. Schrodinger’s.”

“Whatever. How long d’you think we’ll be in here?” 

“Dunno.” 

There was a shifting noise, like Lando was moving around. Oscar put out a wary hand to stop them from colliding. Faintly, he could hear the sound of the Las Vegas grandstands—a roar of applause, dulled by the layers of plastic and plywood between it and his own ears. He hoped the roar meant the first pair of drivers had been revealed: Valtteri and Zhou, released from their own black box. 

“Downside to being first in the constructor standings,” Oscar mused. “They’ll open our box last.” 

“Wish you’d driven a little slower, mate.” 

“Likewise.” 

“Likewise,” Lando mimicked. Oscar glared in his general direction. 

For a few moments they were quiet, listening to the crowd. Somebody was on a mic, shouting over the noise, but Oscar couldn't quite make out the words. Then Lando said, timidly: “Can you, er. Can you—like—move a little closer.” 

Oscar hesitated, then took a small step to the side. “You alright?” 

“Yep,” Lando said, but his voice was strained. “You think they gave us enough oxygen?” 

“I don’t think the boxes are airtight.”

“Yeah, well, I just feel like I can’t breathe? A little?”

Oscar turned, and took another small step. He could feel Lando close by, the warmth of him. They were wearing identical team kit, and it really wasn’t enough; the desert night was freezing, and nobody had thought to put a space heater in the boxes. Or maybe that was a fire hazard. 

“Are you claustrophobic?” 

“No,” Lando said. “I just don't trust Las Vegas to pull this fucked up magic trick off without killing somebody in the process.”

“You can breathe,” Oscar said. “If I can breathe, you can breathe.” 

“Maybe you’re taking up all the oxygen, though,” Lando said. Oscar realized how close they were standing: he could feel the puff of air from Lando’s plosives. “Maybe they didn’t calculate right for two people.” 

There was a second roar, a little louder this time. Williams. Alex and Franco were probably waving to the crowd, blinking in the glare of the Las Vegas neon. Oscar didn’t like how much time there had been between the two waves of applause. They weren’t opening the boxes very quickly, then. 

He tried to think of something to say to get Lando’s mind off the oxygen situation. “Is Martin here this weekend?”

“Stop trying to distract me,” Lando snapped.

Oscar, chagrined, went silent. They stood still for a few moments. Oscar wondered if the rabbitty thump he could hear, very very faintly, was Lando’s heartbeat. 

“Yeah,” Lando said, finally. “He's here. And Max and P, too.” 

“Nice,” Oscar said, relieved. “What are you doing after the race?”

“Dunno,” Lando said. He drew a shallow breath. “Club or something. Maybe just leave.”

“Cool.” There was a thump on the box, which rattled it. Lando drew in another breath, this one quick and sharp. Nothing else happened, or rocked the box, but Lando’s breathing was still fast and shallow. 

Oscar made an executive decision: he reached out blindly for where he assumed Lando’s arm would be. 

Lando yelped.

“Sorry! Sorry, it's me. Obviously.”

“I know that,” Lando snapped. “Just wasn't— expecting it.” He didn't pull away. “What is it?”

“Just making sure we don't bump into each other,” Oscar lied. He ran his hand down Lando’s arm, found his wrist. He wrapped a hand around it, finding Lando’s pulse point. 

“What are you doing?” Lando asked. He sounded wary, nervous.

“Sorry, just— stay still, yeah?” Lando’s pulse was fast, and getting faster. “I’m just making sure I know where you are. I don't want to ram my head into yours if I move.”

“Right.” Lando didn't seem terribly convinced. 

“I know what Lewis had for lunch,” Oscar said. 

“What?” Lando asked, after a long moment. 

“He had a big bowl of coleslaw. With beans on the side. I guess it was the vegan option.”

“Oh.. kay?”

“So,” Oscar said, and waited for Lando to think about it. “George is trapped in a box with him. For at least fifteen minutes.”

It took Lando a few seconds. Then he cackled. “Oh, nasty.”

“Right.” 

“God, poor George.”

“Do you think he’ll say anything?”

“George?” Lando scoffed. “He’ll probably apologize. ‘Oh, sorry Lewis, I’m sure that was me…’”

Oscar grinned. He could feel Lando’s pulse slowing under his thumb. “If you're worried about anybody not surviving this, it should be George. He's being fumigated.” 

Lando cackled again, louder. “Do you think the Grand Prix has insurance for accidentally gassing a driver?” 

“They will after tonight.” 

“Ah, George. Well, he had a good run.” 

“RIP,” Oscar said, solemnly. “Died the way he lived.” 

“Usually it was Alex though…”

By then they were both laughing, and Lando’s pulse had steadied. When they quieted, he still hadn’t pulled away. A third cheer went up finally: this one was probably for Yuki and Liam, third from the bottom in the constructor’s standings. Oscar hoped Liam was enjoying these moments while he had the chance. 

After a moment Oscar shivered, the cold seeping in through his flimsy windbreaker. Lando moved a little closer. “Thanks,” he said. 

“For what?” 

“Just—being the calm one, I guess.” 

Oscar smiled. His own pulse had picked up, rather than slowed. Lando’s wrist was warm in his hand. “No problem.”

[brothermouse-skeleton]

Szeth-son-son-Vallano, Truthless of Shinovar: (going to work wearing a cute little all white outfit)

Me:(a Schrodinger's Cat of reading the situation) Yes! Go! Slay, King!