#larries snark

[policemanofprincesspark]

I'm actually really glad I found your blog. I'm not a hardcore Larrie, I'm kinda neutral to it, not gonna lie but I also don't think it's impossible at all but I get so sick of every Larrie being such a diehard fan who thinks they're above criticism. Thanks for being openly critical of them lol

For sure!

99% of Larry evidence is pure fluff that can be tossed aside and forgotten. I only pay attention to the nuggets that seem highly suspicious. No, I'm not going to get into it because I'm not about to read another Larry Masterpost that has 5,000 different "proofs" in it, but maybe one day I'll do it so that I can curate the evidence.

And yeah, most larries are ot5s who never grew up or are pandemic larries which are mostly, for some reason that I've seen all over Twitter, women in their 50s who think and speak like they have legitimate dementia. I'm tired of the immaturity, the misogyny, and the halo effect the 1D guys have on them.

[tryoongs]

.

[katyawriteswhump]

the freak in the penthouse, epilogue 1/2

E-rated (for sexual content), accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve. On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :) On AO3

Chapter 17: Epilogue (part 1)

One year later

Eddie strode across the lobby of the Beverly Hills Yorkshire.

He slid his blaring Walkman headphones from his ears—savoring the delectable mutterings of high-and-mighty folks’ having their feathers ruffled by his mere presence—and slammed his credit card down on the reception desk. He slammed its hapless occupant with the mega-watt grin that’d studded his life more regularly this year than the last.

His fiendish gurning was set off to perfection by rocker hair that was ‘so last decade,’ an Exodus t-shirt featuring the band performing cannibalism; and jeans with a rip up his left thigh that artfully allowed the cool air to kiss through his underpants to his butt-cheek.

“Room for a little one, Sweetheart?” That brought a raspberry blush to the male receptionist’s cheeks. “Penthouse suite would be a blast.”

“Uh… right. Yes, of course. Let me see what we have available, Sir.” The guy eyeballed the card nervously, although, frankly, Eddie’s nerves were kicking off too. This had seemed like a hilarious jape last night, at least to Eddie, if only to make the forced-conformity piggies around him wriggle and squeal…

…and to get a bad day off to an unsettling start for one particular douchebag who needed bringing down a billion pegs or so.

The receptionist had wandered into the back office, and then… Eddie rubbed his sweaty palms together, and mumbled, “Showtime.”

Head concierge, Larry Kline, emerged from behind the scenes. Eddie detected some decidedly pinched lines at the edges of Kline’s oily smile.

I know why you’re sweating. You’ve been summoned to an ‘extraordinary’ meeting of the board of shareholders who own this hotel.

Unlike me, you don’t have the faintest clue as to why.

“Mister Munson.” Each syllable was a stabbing ice-pick. “I’m afraid the Penthouse Suite is occupied. In fact, we are fully booked.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” sang Eddie. Robin had already checked for him.

Kline pressed two white-knuckled fists to the counter, dropping his voice to a snakey hiss. “You’ve got a damn cheek, coming here, after you assaulted another guest.”

“Those charges were dropped, man,” announced Eddie, loud and theatrical. “I think you’ll find the lying son-of-a-bitch who made those accusations is now in jail. Then again, if this hotel ONLY WELCOMES JAILBIRDS then I’ll be on my merry—"

“Get out!” Kline jabbed a finger toward the revolving door. “Get out before I summon the police!”

“Cops, huh?” Pretty much everybody in the lobby was now gawking at them, and the lyrics of ‘I hate everything about you,’ by Ugly Kid Joe radiated tinnily from Eddie’s headphones. The snark-fest song wasn’t a favorite or the most subtle choice. Kline would never have appreciated the depths of any true thrash metal track. Either way, Klein was enjoying the show a lot less than Eddie. And Eddie was only the warm-up act. “Call ’em if you want, Sweetpea. I’ll wait for my room-key, or for the cops to come and arrest me for…” He drummed his fingers on his lower lip. “What exactly?”

“I should think rifling through your pockets for illegal substances would reap dividends,” seethed Kline. “We had to fumigate that suite after you left.”

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that, dude. I quit my entire spectrum of smokey substances over a year ago.”

Eddie blew Kline a kiss then was pretty sure he detected steam hissing from the concierge’s ears.

The receptionist cleared his throat. “Mr Kline? The, uh, board of shareholders are waiting.”

Eddie didn’t miss a beat. As soon as Kline disappeared, tugging at his neckerchief, Eddie skedaddled to the nearest service corridor, where Robin was waiting for him.

“Is he okay?” asked Eddie.

“Yeah, I think so. He’s all set.”

She hooked her arm through his and tugged him through a small door. At first impression, they seemed to have entered a cramped space, almost totally filled by a table of used coffee-cups and leftover and half-eaten pastries. Then, as the hum of conversation rose in his ears again, he realized they were behind a curtain at the catering section of a huge conference room.

Robin peeped around the curtain. Eddie held back, fists curling so tight his rings and nails gouged his palms.

Steve had gone through a lot in this past year. Too much. He’d stood up in court, faced the most brutal of interrogations. With the help of other abuse victims, who Suzie’s legal team had traced and supported, he’d helped dump a whole bunch of nasty pieces of shit in jail. It’d been impossible to keep his name out of the press completely. On the other hand, the exact nature of the financial handouts to the Harrington heir—following early victories in his ongoing multi-million-dollar lawsuit against his parents’ lawyer, Martin Brenner—had been kept more or less under wraps.

In the final months before Brenner had been arrested on charges of fraud and sex trafficking, he’d purchased shares in the Beverly Hills Yorkshire. It had been why his current jailbird buddy, Dickchester, had switched hotels and had been allowed to treat the staff like dirt. Robin had known that at the time, even though she’d had no clue that these were Steve’s abusers. Now, the vast majority of Brenner’s assets were in the process of being transferred to Steve.

Eddie sucked a swift breath into his leaden lungs and peeped around the curtain.

The room was bigger than his and Steve’s entire apartment—and for LA, theirs wasn’t exactly a broom cupboard. On the other hand, the illusion of space was magnified by the small number of shareholders—six men and two women, all pushing retirement age. A little apart sat Vickie, the hotel’s newly recruited business manager. And, at the far end, a guy barely out of his teens sat at the head of the vast table.

Steve was rocking the power vibes. He’d paired his ray-bans with an Armani suit—Eddie reluctantly conceded his boyfriend made even establishment bling hot—countered by the pair of Nike Airs he’d gotten planted on the table. His hair was so perfectly groomed that Eddie fought an urge to run out and ruffle it.

Yeah, Steve had nailed the act. Apart from, perhaps, the arms he’d gotten wrapped tight and defensively around his middle.

Eddie’s own hand clamped to his stomach. He was so nervous, suddenly, he felt sick. “Should we—”

“Ssssh!” Robin pressed a finger over her lips.

Kline had entered at the far end of the conference room. Silence reared up. “To what do I owe this honor?” he smarmed. “Should I take a seat?”

“No,” said Steve, tipping back on his chair. He nodded to an older lady, sporting the archetypical blue rinse, twinset and pearls, who sat to his left. “Vera? Would you do the honors?”

She stood up: “Mister Kline, a multitude of instances of gross misconduct have been brought to our attention. It is the unanimous decision of the shareholders that you should be dismissed today. With immediate severance of all pay.”

“But… but…” Kline’s hands flapped wildly before clapping together in a prayer: “Ladies, Gentleman. I am sure this is a trifle—a misunderstanding that can be easily cleared up. Shouldn’t I at least know what these accusations of misconduct are? Who is making them against me?”

“All those questions can be answered by our new majority shareholder,” said Vera. “Mr H—”

“Thanks, Vera,” said Steve, cutting her off with a breezy wave. He changed the cross of his ankles on the table. “Kline, you’re a bully and a liar. You’re also one hundred percent guilty of physically assaulting at least one member of staff in this shith… uh, I mean, in this fine institution. I’m happy to testify to that, but I’m sick of court cases. I want this to be over.”

Kline’s eyes stretched wide. Robin grabbed Eddie’s hand, finding it as clammy as his own. Had Kline figured it out yet?

Steve raised his sunglasses to nail Kline with a death-ray glare. “You’re fired, asshole.”

“You?” squeaked Kline.

“Yeah, it’s me. Let’s recap for your jumped-up little pea-brain. Treating me like shit? Treating anybody like shit, just because you can get away with it?” As the former chief concierge opened and shut his mouth like a beached fish, Steve smirked, apparently totally at ease now: “Big mistake. Big. Huge.”

…

Steve let Vera bark the final orders: “Clear your desk, Kline. You have five minutes to get out, before security will kick you into the gutter where you belong.”

Steve’s heart pounded against his ribs.  Adrenaline tore through his veins. He watched Kline scuttle from the room like the cockroach he was, and then unleashed what felt like the longest, most heartfelt sigh of his life. He slid his sneakers down from the table and righted his chair with a loud clack.

The entire board’s attention swerved back onto him. For the briefest moment, he’d felt like there should be triumphant music swelling in the background. Now, there was simply an eerily reverberating silence.

“Mister Chairman?” said Vera, with a grandmotherly smile. “Shall we proceed with the rest of the day’s business?”

Steve recalled the list of agenda items, as long as his arm. He’d not even started to read it. Every ounce of his willpower had been dead set on getting even with Kline. Now, his mind fell disarmingly blank. And his mouth flapped off before he could stop it: “Absolutely. I’ll, um… Can we take a brief raincheck? I need to hand you over to the new majority shareholder and chairwoman of the board, Robin Buckley.”

A small shriek sounded from behind the catering screen. It was Steve’s turn to scuttle, as he sped to join his friends. He didn’t even have time to hug Eddie before Robin got right in his face:

“What the fuckety fuck, Dingus? I told you—I don’t even want to be promoted yet. Doreen deserved to be the new head of housekeeping. I’m not ready to be anything other than a sous chef!”

“That’s why this makes perfect sense.” It had been a spur of the moment decision, born basically of panic. Still, Robin’s wrath aside, he honestly believed it didn’t totally suck: “You’re smart. You could skim those minutes in seconds. Plus, who better to make decisions about the running of the hotel than somebody who actually works here? Somebody who will make sure nobody is ever treated like dirt again. Besides, these meetings are quarterly. Shouldn’t cramp your style, huh?”

“I agree with Alex P Keaton here,” said Eddie, hooking an arm around Steve, who gratefully sagged into him. “You are literally Frodo with the ring, Robin.”

“Oh God, not the nerdy ring book.” Occasionally, Steve missed the times when these two were at each other’s throats, rather than uber-geek best buds. He pinched between his eyes against the start of a tension and caffeine headache. Also, to evade Robin’s beyond death-ray glare.

“Okay, maybe you’re more Eowyn in war-cry mode,” Eddie conceded. “But the metaphor’s not so lousy. Power is best wielded by those who crave it the least.”

Steve peeped up. Robin had plowed eight shaky fingers into her hair, which was an uncharacteristic violation of hygiene standards. “Aaaargh! My stomach is a gordian knot right now, Steve!”

He was starting to feel really bad: “I don’t know what that is, but I’m pretty sure my stomach was in one too when I said what I did. Look, I’m sorry, but… please, Robin? Honestly, I can’t think of anybody more fitted for the job. I can have the shares transferred into your name today.” He took off his ray-bans, hooked them on her nose. “These totally come with the role. Tho’ promise me you’ll take them off when you’re making eyes at the new business manager. I swear she’s making them back at you.”

“Ssssssh,” hissed Robin, though the edges of her lips ruffled toward a smile.

“You’ll do it?”

She harrumphed loudly. Concealed beneath the shades, he was pretty damn sure she rolled her eyes at him.

“Next time, Dingus, a few minutes notice would be polite. Oh, and… there’s gonna be a few changes around here, starting right now.”

She grabbed a croissant, took a hefty bite. She chewed, swallowed, dabbed nutella from the edge of her lips, then swished aside the curtain. Her hands planted on her hips, she confronted the board: “Is it really so dreadful to watch somebody pouring your coffee?”

Steve and Eddie beat a hasty retreat to the corridor. “Okay, why am I starting to worry about absolute power corrupting absolutely?” Eddie moved a step behind Steve to give him a backrub.

“How long till she’s calling them shit-birds? We should start a sweepstake. Oh God, yeah, Eddie… that feels amazing.”

They paused in their progress, while Eddie eased a little more of Steve’s tension from him, and Steve leaned into him. Post adrenaline crash, he was starting to feel pretty tired. It was a few blissful moments before he turned back to face Eddie. Who’d plopped a bellhop hat on his head.

“What the fuck?” said Steve.

“Does it suit me, Babe?” Eddie touched his face and fluttered those long dark lashes.

“No! It looks Halloween costume levels of ridiculous on you.”

“Just because I don’t wear it as well as you did.” Eddie pouted, adorably fake-sad, then: “What do you wanna do now, Stevie?”

Melt into your arms. Stare into your eyes till it gets kinda creepy. Make love for days.

He opted for an equally honest answer, one that was bubbling-cheese-on-cheesy-toast levels of cheesy: “I want to be with you. Forever, pretty much, and… I dunno.” He nibbled his lower lip, unsure about this next part: “I take it you didn’t snag the key to the penthouse?”

“No. Don’t reckon there’s gonna be a problem, though. You wanna go up? I know you miss that plunge bath. I could…” Eddie slung both arms around Steve’s neck and waggled his brows. “Pretty sure I owe you an aquatic blowjob.”

“I guess.” Steve laughed. Nevertheless, behind Eddie’s goofing around, he sensed darker shadows shifting. Eddie had had one recurring nightmare this past year, and it was for sure to do with what he’d witnessed when Steve chained himself to the pillar in the penthouse. Steve still barely remembered having the flashbacks about his abuse at the hands of Godchester and the others. His shrink had helped him begin, slowly, to come to terms with what had happened to him. However, there were some ghosts best left in the past.

He sure as hell didn’t want to raise those ghosts for Eddie. They had become Eddie’s nightmares almost as much as his own, and Eddie had his own demons to battle too. Slowly, painfully, his agoraphobia had gotten better, though he was still on baseline anxiety meds.

Steve shook his head. “Nah, I don’t wanna go there again. I thought I did, earlier. I mean, it is where we fell in love, but… It’s not who we are any more. I guess it never was. Anyhow, next summer we’ll have that pool ready at our place up in Oregon.” They’d bought a house on the same block as Wayne’s. “Aaaand we’ll have the jacuzzi hot tub, so…”

“Not waiting till next Summer to blow you, my Princess.”  Eddie flung open the door into the busy lobby. He bowed low, like a knight of old, for Steve to pass through. “Let’s go home.”

...

The end on AO3 The end on tumblr

If you have stuck with me this far, thank you so very much <3

perma-tag for the best inspiration friend ever: @wheneverfeasible

Thank you for reading. Likes, reblogs and comments much appreciated and will feed the bunnies🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :)

On AO3 All my ST stuff on AO3

[shinyhappydigistar]

If it helps, I also had something in mind as I had traded an Espurr to Larry in exchange for a Dudunsparce. I wrote a whole thing and I have no idea if I can turn it into a full publishable story yet. 😵‍💫

(fwiw Saguaro trades you a Hattrem, I’m trying to decide what I’ll give him…I can’t give him an Alcremie as he already has one when you battle him, a Strawberry Sweet Ruby Cream one!)

@prince-kallisto @crystal-clovers @windynebula I am outraged and appalled that Larry and Saguaro don't interact with each other when you invite them both as coaches. We need to fix this.

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

AI Bracket — Round 1

Propaganda

Larry (Friends at the Table: COUNTER/Weight):

When you roleplay so hard the security system you’re hacking into believes it’s you and then it takes you over but you come to an agreement and protect one another to the point when the security system dies protecting you from embodied capitalism.

Sec (The Vesta Clinic):

Space station medical clinic secretary AI. Great at his job, full of snark and sass, communicates in boops, beeps, and long strings of text. Private about his own life but frequently willing to voice his opinion. An expert at pranks. He's even trans.

Art of Sec by @boombox-fuckboy.

[weedle-testaburger]

before i forget them, i feel like documenting The Dumbest Things In Joker 2 (imho)

the arkham guards whistle when the saints go marching in during the first couple of scenes, so why do the inmates adopt it as an anthem rather than any of the songs arthur and lee were singing?

speaking of lee, a) why do they insist on calling her that instead of harley or harleen and b) it was dumb af that they made her an inmate at arkham instead of a psychotherapist there

i can't believe suicide squad (2016) genuinely gets more right about the joker and harley's relationship than this did. i mean ffs arthur says he can't live without harley, the joker sees her as disposable

the musical numbers are a basically random mix of actually happening and in arthur's head and they're the exact same level of absurd

harvey dent's case for the prosecution is that arthur is sane and should be executed. he has an entire lifetime of psychiatric disturbances and your argument hinges on trying to prove he doesn't have did specifically, there's plenty of other mental health conditions that could make him unable to understand his actions

also arthur is interred in arkham asylum FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE, it's in the name harvey!

arthur does a tv interview with this prominent journalist where he snaps at arthur and arthur launches into a musical number. if he was just throwing larry king snark at arthur it'd be a bit far-fetched but as is it's just absurd

the jury are insanely ott. they literally cheer arthur when he fires his lawyer in the middle of the case (which is, you know, also absurd) and they never address why the fuck the judge didn't call a mistrial, they just say he reluctantly went with it

once he returns to court as joker, he basically pulls the chewbacca defence about a decade early. as i joked to my friend after the movie, 'if the personality don't fit, you must acquit'

you know that infamous interview where zack snyder said 'if i directed a batman movie i'd have him get raped in prison'? they literally did that. how did the last 15 years of everyone dunking on snyder for being an idiotic edgelord in that interview not get through to you people

this forms a big part of the catalyst for arthur deciding to abandon the joker persona and admit his guilt. which kinda implies the arkham guards helped bring him to justice by doing it? i may generally hate when media incorporates rape but at least writers usually know to depict it as a bad thing

while the verdict is read out, arthur's laughing tic starts up and someone from the jury jumps up and tackles him. WHAT FUCKING JURY WOULD EVER BE ALLOWED TO DO THAT EVER

after the car bomb they have a shot of harvey dent showing one side of his face got scarred because of course they had to indicate he'll be two-face even though we know they're never doing a sequel to this trash

arthur literally survives the courthouse being bombed by his supporters and somehow isn't sent straight to the electric chair after he gets recaptured despite being found guilty on all charges

instead, they send him back to arkham and have one of the other inmates he's been friends with stab him (with a reprise of the 'get what you fucking deserve' thing) and kill him like that

i think the implication is arthur fleck is basically like jerome and jeremiah valeska from gotham where he's meant to be an inspiration to the eventual Real Joker. and in that case where the fuck does that leave harley?

[zot3-flopped]

Not a surprise. I've flagged up @policemanofprincesspark before. She's running a hate blog for ALL the 1d guys, not just Harry, but still claims to be a Larrie 🤣🤣🤣 //

What's the handle of her other blogs? Omg this is so pitiful 😭

She only has the Policeman blog that I know of but that's where she bitches about Harry and Trashlinson.

Her tags are Harry snark, Louis snark, Zayn snark etc.

[cringemesstickles]

Purposeful Loser

(TickleTober Day 3: Cuddles)

Summary: Adam starts a tickle fight so that he can lose on purpose (based off headcanon briefly discussed with @tickly-muffin >_<)

Pairings: Chainshipping

Word Count: 750

A/N: this is my first time writing for Saw and I’m low key scared to post this but I’m gonna do it anyways ok bye I’m gonna go hide

———————————————————

“you smell like a hospital.” Adam teased from where he was tucked away in Lawrence’s arms, making the doctor roll his eyes with exaggerated exasperation.

“Well, Adam, I am a doctor.” He said with a smile.

The atmosphere was warm and comforting and yet, Adam couldn’t help the nagging at the back of his mind; the one that yearned for a specific type of playful attention.

But how could he ask for it? That’s completely out of the question. Luckily, Adam had a plan.

Adam started poking and prodding at Lawrence’s sides, the doctor flinching and grabbing the younger’s wrists, keeping them firmly contained.

“Hehey! What do you think you’re doing?” He looked at the brunette, eyebrow raised with skepticism.

Adam’s eyes sparkled with mischief; he had the feeling his plan was working.

“What’s wrong, Doctor? Ticklish?” He snarked with a smirk, watching his lovers face and trying to figure out what he was thinking.

Lawrence wasn’t a moron. They had been together long enough for him to know a thing or two about Adam, and this was one of his typical ploys for tickles.

Lawrence gave a knowing smile but decided to play along.

He laid Adam on his back and held him in his lap, pinning his hands above his head so quickly that Adam yelped with surprise.

The doctor gave a smug grin, pleased with the blush that tinted the younger’s cheeks.

“Not so snarky now, are you?” He raised his free hand and began to wiggle his fingers threateningly over Adam’s stomach, watching his eyes widen in anticipation as he kicked his legs and squirmed helplessly, failing to suppress anticipatory giggles.

“Wahait, come on, Larry- you know I didn’t mean that doctor joke! Hospitals smell great!” He giggled frantically, watching the wiggling fingers inch closer and closer to his skin, excitement in his eyes.

“Maybe not, but I’m still going to tickle you till you can’t think straight.”

Before Adam could protest again, Lawrence plunged his fingers into the sensitive flesh, scribbling and scratching skillfully.

“EHEHEEK! NOOO, DOHOHONT!!” Adam shrieked, futilely squirming from left to right, only for the tickles to follow.

“Oh please. As if you weren’t begging for this.” Lawrence mockingly scoffed, skittering up to the ribs.

Adam snorted with laughter, happy to receive the attention he wanted, but also embarrassing.

Adam’s cheeks flushed bright red, and noticeably so.

“I-I WAS NOHOHOT! YOU’RE CRAHAHAZY!”

The taller man hummed thoughtfully.

“Mm, no.. I don’t think I am.” He paused his attack.

“You see, what I think…” He pulled his hand back and moved to hover his fingers above Adam’s armpit, observing how his squirming got even more frantic.

“Nonono, dohohont!” Pleaded the brunette, an excited shimmer in his eye that was really pleading the opposite.

“Is that you really love…”

The fingers moved closer to their target.

“Lawrence, please!”

“To be…”

And closer…

“Haha- shut uhuhuhuuuup!!”

“TICKLED!”

With that, the doctors skilled fingers dug into the hollow of Adam’s armpit, eliciting a shrill screech from the smaller man, his laughter loud and boisterous.

“EEEK! LAWREHEHEHENCE!!” He thrashed and kicked, screams of laughter filling the small room. Lawrence was almost worried they’d get a complaint for the noise.

“What’s the matter, Adam? Ticklish?” He mimicked Adam from earlier, taking pride in the absolute glee he was bringing his boyfriend. Adam’s smile could light up any room, even their own dusty apartment.

“SHUT UHUHUHUP!!” He blushed red, turning his head to try and hide in the crook of his arm.

Adam tried to tug at his arms, but it was no use; Lawrence was much stronger than him. And besides, he was already weakened from all the tickles.

His eyes were glittery with the joy of a kid on Christmas morning, letting himself laugh uncontrollably under his boyfriend’s playful yet loving touch.

The doctor paused and watched the younger man catch his breath, cheeks flushed and eyes watery.

“You okay? Have you had enough?”

Adam grinned cheekily, eyes brightening again. “Is that all you got, Larry? I can handle a hell of a lot more than that!”

Lawrence laughed at the typical snark and enthusiasm that came from his lover.

He shook his head fondly and leaned down to press a kiss to Adam’s lips.

“You’re too much, but I love you.”

“I suppose I am pretty lovable.”

Lawrence rolled his eyes.

Where Adam contained all his sass, he had no idea. But what he did know, was that Adam had plenty of tickles in his future.

[statementlou]

Hi, I always like reading your thoughts. What do you thinking was the main point of all this parmageddon/chickengate nonsense? I just don't see how Louis answering that and making a few headlines about "denying" larry will benefit him in some way, at least with part of the fans it doesn't. Or at this point is any publicity is good publicity?

aw thanks babe! Well... first of all I'm not sure what you mean by "at this point" like... this is a very GOOD point, objectively speaking, things really just couldn't be going much better! That said, today's twitter chat was definitely Louis at work doing promo: it was pre planned and announced, hardly just a spontaneous impulse, he came on at the usual time for maximum exposure (around 5 pm UK/ 9 am-noon US time), he hit lots of standard promo talking points, and it was without question happening because he just announced a bunch of major dates, his first solo stadiums (and very possibly they announced those during the tour break so he could do promo for it). He answered questions about music, about how excited he is to visit LATAM and that yes, he wants to go other places, he threw in some of the trademark sassy snark we love so much, he mentioned Freddie and, of course, there was the anti-larrie tweet. He doesn't do that last one every time it's true; but mostly he hit the usual points, and throwing in some kind of "hi I'm straight btw" when promoting something IS absolutely part of the standard playbook, and this is actually much less effort than getting papped with a girl- especially now that Louis seems to have decided he's not doing that anymore. Every time something like this (Louis or Harry actively promoting the idea that they are straight) happens, there's an outcry at how they are alienating people and losing fans and it's bad for their brand so someone must be forcing them to do it, etc- which I find completely bizarre. It's always possible to find specific fans who are alienated or are like fuck this I'm leaving but if you take a step back their fandoms, both of them, are DEFINITELY NOT SHRINKING!! This is empirical completely objective FACT like just LOOK! Saying this hurts them in any way is, in my opinion, not being able to see the forest for the trees. The things they are doing are working extremely well for them- so it doesn't seem strange at all to me that they just keep doing the same things. I don't think anyone is doing it against their will on their behalf, I don't think they are being forced to do it (except by the heteropatriarchy and homophobic society generally), and I don't think it's bad for their brand: and as far as I can see today nothing has changed with that. Larries think exactly what we have thought before this and are carrying on as usual, solos/antis got a little boost, hell maybe Louis got to vent a little even (lbr larries ARE so fucking annoying at him all the time and it must seem SO ludicrous to him that we spend so much time thinking about this and care so much), his tour gets some press, and everything continues on as ever! Like I think calling it parmageddon is hilarious so I'm totally in, but also I mean... a bit dramatic yknow lol, it's just not that big a deal??

[bunnyjoyce-blog]

Not as I Do

[Netflix series universe] Mayor Archibald isn't amused by Petunia getting distracted on a job, but he is not so above it all himself.

When the elevator opened at the top of the fireplace mantle, Archibald Asparagus had a moment of pause, long enough for the doors to start closing, which obliged him to hit the hold button before he could step out onto the green runner.

Archibald's assistant, Petunia Rhubarb, stood close (not too close) to the mantle's edge. The white mantle, which doubled as city hall, overlooked the House's living room, which contained the downtown area of the veggie city. On Archibald's left was a large houseplant and a row of tall skyscrapers, mostly apartment and office buildings. Balanced on the two roofs closest to the fireplace, a mostly yellow plastic house perched. It had tubes looping around it like those on a hamster cage, and three round cupola-like rooms opened onto a rooftop terrace with a lavender barrier.

On this roof, an energetic cucumber named Larry twirled red-and-yellow semaphore flags, and whatever he was signaling had Petunia rocking with giggles, and she nearly dropped her clipboard multiple times.

Probably not the only signals he's sending her, Archibald snarked to himself, noting the eager way Larry watched the pretty rhubarb. The two veggies were close in age, and they had known each other for several years now. Many of their older neighbors speculated they would get married eventually, but neither seemed to have made a move yet.

While Archibald considered Larry a good friend, he also had a sense of decorum and professional duty, and allowing the good-natured cucumber to distract his assistant when she was supposed to be working was out of the question. Assuming a no-nonsense expression, he cleared his throat. The two finally tore their eyes off each other, and Larry cheerfully waved at Archibald with a flag.

"Hi, Archie," Petunia greeted, her face still shining with laughter. "Have a good lunch?"

"Quite."

Petunia did not seem to notice the desert-dry tone of his answer.

"Larry was just telling me knock-knock jokes," she explained. "He's really good at it — show him, Larry!"

Larry nodded and waved his flags ten times, forming two words

"Who's there?" Petunia asked.

Seven more letters.

"Lettuce, who?" Petunia returned.

Larry's flags sliced through the air around him as though he were a confused windmill.

"Open… the… door… and… lettuce… in… Oh! I get it! I get it!" Petunia broke into a girlish giggle.

"Ha... ha... ha."

Archibald's drawl doused her gaiety. Petunia cleared her throat, adjusting her clipboard. She used her pencil to push back a strand of her red hair.

"Uh, well, thank you, Larry!" she called. "But I gotta get back to work now!"

Larry shot Archibald a guilty smile. He waved the flags three times — probably saying "BYE" — before he used them to give Petunia a salute. A moment later, he disappeared into the green cupola which held his bedroom. Petunia turned to Archibald, resembling a teenage girl who had just gotten caught talking with a boy instead of doing her homework.

"Sorry about that, Archie," she said, clearing her throat. "Guess I got distracted."

Archibald spun smartly and started toward his desk, which was on the other side of the large, wooden mantel clock. Petunia meekly followed.

"'The laborer is worthy of his hire,' Petunia," he said as he took his seat, "but the taxpayers won't appreciate you flirting with your boyfriend on the clock."

Petunia looked embarrassed. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Well, he's not," she mumbled.

I suppose it's just a coincidence he chose an apartment building two doors down from city hall to mount his house? he almost said.

While Larry had moved downtown to be closer to his job at Mr. Lunt's "We Make Everything" company — and had elected to live on the roof because it had the cheapest rent — it seemed awfully convenient for him to choose a spot that gave him an ideal view of Petunia when she was performing her secretarial duties for the mayor. Even more convenient was the fact Larry's bedroom window faced the courtyard, where Petunia's flower shop lay.

Then again, it is Larry, Archibald mused, with a hint of reasonable doubt. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether the cucumber regarded Petunia as a sweetheart or a playmate, though Archibald was quite sure Petunia would not mind the former.

"So," Archibald said, diverting their conversation to work matters, "any calls while I was out?"

Petunia flipped a page on her clipboard. "Ichabeezer put in another request for a law that allows him to list Rooney as a dependent on his tax form."

He scoffed. "Not in this timeline."

"Pa Grape asked for you to cut the ribbon next Saturday for his latest milkshake cart."

"Doable."

"Bacon Bill is trying to understand zoning laws for his chocolate factory and asked for your help."

"I can call him later this afternoon."

"Oh," Petunia added cheerfully, "and Mayor Asparagus called."

Archibald spun in his seat, his eyes widening so much his monocle almost popped off. "Lovey?"

"She asked if you could call back as soon as you returned—"

"Well, why didn't you say so!" he cut her off eagerly, pulling out his work laptop.

Lovey Asparagus was the new mayor of the Orange House Next Door (as the town was called on legal documents). During her campaign, she had promised to improve relations between the Houses within the Neighborhood, and she often contacted Archibald and the mayor of the Other Yellow House with ideas for fundraisers, festivals, and picnics. She had a rare blend of class and humility, friendliness and professionalism, which Archibald greatly admired.

She also had the sweetest blue eyes which Archibald had seen on any side of the Atlantic Ocean (but of course he was too professional to say so).

Archibald booted up his laptop (and peeked at his reflection in the handheld mirror which he kept in his top desk drawer, fixing his bowtie), and in moments he had the video link ready. Meanwhile, Petunia called Mayor Lovey's secretary to inform them of the impending call, and soon the elegant face of a classy asparagus woman filled the laptop screen.

"Archie, darling!" Lovey beamed. Like Archibald, she had emigrated from England, and she had the nicest voice he had ever heard. "Jolly good of you to return my call so quickly!"

"I could never keep you waiting, Madame Mayor," he answered with a debonair smile.

"Smashing!" she returned. "Listen, darling, I had the most splendid idea yesterday. It needs to be approved on our end, naturally, but I simply couldn't wait to tell you."

"I'm all ears, of course."

"Did you know April is Vegetable Blight Awareness Month?"

"I believe I've heard of it. I say, that's just around the corner, isn't it?"

"Rather!" she answered eagerly. "A committee submitted a request to hold a relay race all across Orange House, upstairs and downstairs, just to raise funds, which is jolly nice of them."

"Quite so!" He gave a grave nod. "I had an uncle who caught blight once. Beastly business."

"Exactly. Well, I'm all for approving fundraisers, but then it occurred to me as I drove home that this is something the rest of the Neighborhood could get behind. What if we set up a race course that included all the Houses that wanted to participate?"

Archibald sat up, beaming. "Capital idea!"

"Do you really think so, Archie?"

She sounded pleased, which made Archibald feel pleased to have pleased her so.

"Rather! It's brilliant, Lovey. Terribly clever."

"But, of course, it must be approved by the city council first."

"And it must be approved here as well," he agreed, "but I am most certainly in favor of it."

"Jolly good!" she grinned. "Oh, you're such a great help, aren't you, Archie!"

"Happy to serve my city and my neighbors, Lovey."

They signed off soon after, with Lovey promising to call the next day. Once his screen went black, Archibald leaned back in his revolving chair, feeling quite pleased with life.

Almost at once, Petunia snickered.

Archibald sat bolt upright. He had nearly forgotten she had been nearby the whole time.

"What?" he asked, not fully looking at her.

"Oh, nothing," she said airily, but the smirk-like twitch of her lips made Archibald's face flare.

"It was an official call," he insisted stoutly. "We were discussing governmental business, mayor to mayor. I'm sure she'll be calling Mayor Strawberry in the Other Yellow House next."

"Sure, sure." She scribbled a few notes on her clipboard. "Madame Mayor is a lovely woman, Archie, but" — her teal eyes glittered with good-natured fun — "I don't think the taxpayers would appreciate you flirting with your girlfriend on the clock."

Archibald cleared his throat, adjusting his bow tie. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Mmm-hmm," she hummed back as she strolled toward the new filing cabinet.

Archibald exhaled in defeat. "Point taken."

THE END

———

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this fic, please leave a kudo on AO3.

[thenightling]

Monster Mash (2024) Invisible Man is Larry? :-P

I really love Asylum's new low-budget mockbuster, Monster Mash. It's pretty much House of Frankenstein meets The Avengers. It's cheesy but fun. Anyway, I noticed right away certain similarities between Monster Mash's portrayal of The invisible Man and Larry AKA Negative Man in Doom Patrol.

And I don't mean the bandages and dark glasses. That's a classic trope from the original Invisible Man movie starring Claude Rains (1933).

It's the personality. The version of The Invisible Man in Monster Mash, though corny, and a pale... er... Transparent imitation, he has the same personality as Larry from Doom Patrol. There's the hinted angst and bitterness, the self-isolation and loneliness combined with snark. It's predictable and child-level snark but it IS an Asylum film. Anyway, I just thought I'd point this out. I love this cheesy movie.

[policemanofprincesspark]

Adding to the biphobia discussion, there’s a lot of misogyny in the larrie fandom too. Some are so defensive about the guys being gay that they treat even the most banal interactions with women, such as liking a social media post a woman made, as personal attacks against the fandom. Every tiny interaction must be a pr stunt that was negotiated behind the scenes, and it’s always the evil gold-digging woman who instigated it because they’re all talentless hacks who want to syphon attention off the poor sweet innocent baby boys (who are 30). Gay men would never interact with women on their own accord /s. And even the ones that could have been stunts are blown out of proportion. Remember that one woman Louis was photographed at the beach with one time a year or so ago? I saw larries stalking her socials for months after, where she never mentioned him but was “obviously still pretending to be with him” because she posted pictures of going to english-style pubs every once in a while. Why would a woman ever go to a popular type of hang-out venue unless she was actively trying to associate with a famous person who also likes them /s? And those are women who aren’t related to them. I saw Harry’s sister getting hate for her new book for *checks notes* asking experts and professionals for their perspectives on the sensitive issues she talks about. This is apparently something only an “out-of-touch elitist” with nothing of her own to say would do, as if they wouldn’t call her an idiot who didn’t know what she was talking about if she didn’t do that. Everything is justified under the assumption that these women are straight therefor homophobic enablers of the closet therefor death threats are praxis in the name of defending gay rights actually. It’s not. It’s just extremist stan entitlement culture and functionally no different from the straight fans get up in arms because of their fantasies of dating the guys. It won’t save Harry or Louis, it isn’t helping with anything, it’s just making the fandom live up to it’s toxic reputation and making the world a worse place overall.

.

[tiggymalvern]

Burn Notice extras stuff

I’ve been doing my third full watch of Burn Notice on the DVDs with all the extras*

Most of the deleted scenes were cut early during editing, and it shows. The audio’s terrible, the look of it isn’t polished. It’s also pretty obvious why they were cut. A lot of them just weren’t necessary, reiterating something already said elsewhere. Some of them were funny, but didn’t add anything to the story or the characters, and were cut for time.

And then we get to Army Of One, and the deleted scenes are broadcast quality. Look at what we lost! Backstory on Sam and Dixon that expands on a line earlier in the episode. Sam telling Fiona that Michael’s lucky to have her. It obviously killed somebody (presumably Matt Nix) to have to cut that material; they held on to it as long as they possibly could, until the brutal 42 minute network show run time couldn’t be avoided any more.

I love that Sam and Fiona scene. They communicate almost entirely in snark (and I am 100% there for the snark, obviously), which makes those rare moments when they’re actually genuine with each other incredibly sweet. Mostly, we get that side of them through Michael, because they’ll both tell things to Michael about each other that they would never directly say to each other. The development of their relationship over the years is one of the great things about the writing for this series.

One funny thing that comes out of the commentaries is that the cast and crew all interact that way too. Everyone who’s in the room spends 45 minutes taking the piss out of one another. You get serious analysis about the acting choices and writing/directing of the people who aren’t there.

Other interesting stuff coming out of the commentaries – Matt Nix talking in the commentary for Larry’s first episode about Larry as the anti-Sam, the two of them as opposing forces in the battle for Michael’s soul. That’s something that didn’t come out in the show until later. At the time they were doing that commentary, Larry’s second episode had already been written, so they knew something of where they were going with the character, but I’m left wondering how early that thought was in there? Did they realise how great a character Larry was going to be and that they were going to have to keep him when they were first writing him? Or only after they filmed and Tim Matheson did such an amazing job with him?

*Yes, I bought the DVDs even though it’s all on Hulu.

1. Physical media, it’s mine.

2. Residuals – I want the people who made the Crazy Brain-Eating Thing to have my money!

3. Extras, yay! I do wish there were more commentaries, but I also understand the schedule those kind of shows are made on, and yeah, there’s not much time for cast and crew to sit around and do those.

[reservoirreputation]

Dimples Extras: Part Three

My (likely) final part to BTS stuff for my ResDogs fic Dimples.

Part one was about the original outline. Part two the order of events.

Part three is the cut portion of chapter five: The Trial. From beginning, leading up to the very moment it cuts to the fic proper.

So-

Why cut it?

The chapter felt a little light, initially. Encountered this before, with Dimples, and added the first two chapter/POVs to bulk things out. Thought I could do the same here. Very much got carried away.

The cons: Much of the arguments/dialogue only really work if this were a manslaughter trial, not armed robbery. So, while I feel it's adequate enough, it's not really what the story needs.

The pros: I loved the change to Keats' POV at the beginning. Larry's sass, Pink's vulnerability. The character witnesses? Callbacks to previous events in canon/fanfic? I was really proud of my efforts. Alas, it didn't fit, so it got cut. Gets to live on here, though.

Before the outtake proper, if you're looking for legal true crime drama written by someone who actually knows what they're doing, I highly recommend 'And the Sea Will Tell' by Vincent Bugliosi and Bruce Henderson. Literally the brain rot that took hold and made me think 'I can write that!' No, no I cannot. Very well done and does a great job in humanizing all involved, most importantly the victims. Bugliosi is truly one of the GOATs.

CHAPTER FIVE: The Trial

Their second meeting in as many weeks, and Keats gets down to business, “I imagine the two of you will be pleading not guilty?”

“I mean, it’s the only way this’ll work, right?” Pink asks.

“Mostly because if we plead guilty, that implies we’ve cut a deal.” Larry says.

“Which means we’ll get cut.”

“Okay, that aside, I have a task for you two.” Keats takes a long drag, holds, exhales, “I need you to make me a list, ready by my next visit. I want, need, the both of you to come up with at least ten names apiece.”

Larry’s already gearing up to argue, to which Keats raises a hand, “Not to snitch on, but people you know. People who can vouch for you.”

“Character witnesses?” Pink guesses.

“Exactly.”

“Thought we were paying you to do that for us?” Larry snarks.

“Oh, you want me to be a mind-reader? I’m supposed to just know who you’ve interacted with, who likes you, who doesn’t?” he stubs out his cigarette. He tears two sheets of paper from his notepad, and passes them two pieces of jail-approved crayon, “Parents?”

“Dead.” Larry says. Pink echoes the sentiment.

“Siblings?”

“Dead.” Larry quickly, blandly replies.

“Only child.” Pink starts to sink further into his seat.

“Aunts, uncles, cousins?”

Larry stares at him, as if the answer’s obvious.

“They don’t want nothing to do with me.” Pink grumbles.

“Former employers?”

Larry’s expression remains stony, “I’ve never worked a real job in my life.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Real, legit, respectable. A nine-to-five? Never did those.”

Pink says, “I worked at a movie theatre when I was seventeen. All my coworkers were the same age, just about. A real ‘inmates running the asylum’ kind of thing.”

Keats sighs. It was going to be a long day.

The third meeting, and both of Keats’ clients only manage to gather five names each. He frowns, but it’s better than nothing. 

“Will any of these people have something bad to say?” he asks, reading down the first list.

“I mean, maybe.” Pink shrugs.

“When the prosecution does cross-exams, that could come up.” Keats bites back a laugh, “Unless all the good things these picks have to say are really pitiful, doing the prosecution’s job for them.”

“Careful there, Keats, you sound a little too choked up about that.” Larry stares at him.

He lays the papers flat on the metal table, looking first from grumpy-and-sarcastic to grumpy-and-sad, “You do know that you’ll be found guilty? No matter what?”

“I mean, in essence, sure.” Pink nods, arms crossed, “All for show.”

“The jury, unless it’s a particularly dense pool, will find the two of you guilty of armed robbery. The person in that courtroom, the only one that matters, that we need to try and impress, is the judge. Because,” he continues just as both his clients were about to speak, “the judge liking you, sympathizing, being amused or convinced by you will be the difference between ten years and thirty.”

“Do you-” Pink starts, stops, begins again, “Do you expect us to take the stand?”

“Fuck no. That’d be a disaster. That’s why I need character witnesses.”

Silently, Larry motions for his paper to be passed back over. Keats complies, and the other scribbles down a couple more names. Gives it back.

“Thank you.” that’s the first bit of civil cooperation during the whole meeting. He looks to Pink, who for a second appears guilty, like he can’t return the gesture. That’s gone a moment later, replaced with a look of indifference. Keats decides to make things a little lighter, “I expect you to get ten years, at best.” he says to the younger man, “Him?” he gestures to Larry, “Will be lucky if he gets twenty.”

The smirk on Pink’s face is rewarding, and Keats suddenly realizes just why it was so easy for a cop to go to bat for these two idiots.

Finally, trial day arrives. Dressed in cheap suits eerily similar to their heist garb, Larry and Pink are shuffled into the courtroom. Larry spots Freddy, sitting several rows back directly behind the defense’s side. He hates having to look away. They are seated, only to stand as the judge enters. The honorable Patricia Mendez takes her seat. ‘So, this is who we have to impress?’

The District Attorney starts things off, stating just what the county wants done with the two of them, “Our goal here, today, ladies and gentlemen, is to begin the process of proving that the defendants sitting here before you robbed a jewelry store, setting off a chain of events that lead to the biggest tragedy of all.” he gets to that line, lets the implication hang there, and then steps back, “We hope that, by the end of this trial, you will do the right thing, and find these two guilty of armed robbery with intent to endanger and harm.”

Keats gets in front of the courtroom, and says “I will not argue that my clients were part of this robbery.” With that sentence alone, the room erupts with the buzz of conversation, “However, to say that they willfully endangered people? Intended for harm to be done?” Keats shakes his head, as if the very idea were ridiculous, “By the end of this trial, you will see that my clients wanted nothing more than diamonds, and a clean getaway. And how colleagues of theirs, that they didn’t even personally know, turned it into a bloodbath, and how the defendants shouldn’t have to pay for the actions of the dead.”

“What the fuck?” Larry hisses, the sounds of an equally outraged crowd drowning him out.

“Maybe he’s trying to make us relatable?” Pink shrugs, “I mean, I know this is all for show, but I didn’t think he’d throw it like this.”

The order of events is presented by the prosecution. Security footage, though grainy as shit, can only clearly show Blonde- Vega- doing the killing. There’s also plenty of footage of the whole crew, Larry and Pink included, waving guns about. The prosecution plants the idea that everyone knew what kind of loose cannon Vega was. Even now, it makes Larry’s blood boil. That shit was never supposed to go down like that. Vega ruined everything.

Mr. Keats gets up there and plays the reasonable doubt card. You don’t know for certain the others’ guns are loaded. You certainly can’t tell from the footage if the safety’s on or off. Everyone shared weapons, at least six different fingerprints pulled from each. Everyone else was a criminal, but a professional. Vega was unhinged. Ultimately, the goal is to make the jury separate the crew’s intentions from what Vega did spontaneously.

Evidence is next wheeled out. Dozens of guns, recovered mostly from the dead bodies of Pink and White’s crew, are put on display to ask the nonverbal question; if there was never an intention to pull the trigger, why pack so much firepower? On its own separate table is the elusive bag of diamonds. Pink looks at it oddly. “They’ve been dippin’ into our stash.” he whispers.

“What?”

“There’s less diamonds than before.”

Larry isn’t surprised to know the cops are crooked, but is a little interested, “How can you tell?”

“I’m the only one who held them, remember?” He’s talking like it’s a family heirloom that got wrongly wrapped-up in the case, and solely belongs to Pink.

There’s a piece of paper that sits next to the bag of diamonds. The prosecution points to this, explaining it to be a receipt from the diner they ate at, just minutes before doing the heist. The DA reads off every item of food ordered, trying to paint a visceral picture in the minds of the jury, that, even after a big meal, people like this can more than stomach work like that. It’d almost be comical, if decades behind bars weren’t on the line.

The DA picks up a bloodied straight razor with a gloved hand, and starts to explain what Vega used it for, which causes Keats to object, “This piece of evidence had nothing to do with the robbery, or even the jewelry store.”

The prosecutor counters, “It’s establishing the character of the people the defendants worked with.”

The judge allows discussion of the razor, a brief mention of rookie cop Marvin Nash, but clarifies to the jury to disregard it as part of the main charge. Character building only, the judge warns, and that there will be a line that can’t be crossed.

The evidence portion concludes, with a surprising lack of forensic evidence, or lab technicians on the stand, and the first day of the trial comes to an end.

 The next day is dedicated to character witnesses, a chance for both sides to humanize/demonize the defendants at length.

First is the waitress from the diner, the day of the robbery. Miss Marlena Lopez takes the stand, as the judge smiles warmly at her. 

“What’s that about?” Pink whispers to Keats. 

“Eh, judge has got a soft spot for waitresses. It’s how she paid her way through law school.” 

Larry looks over in time to see Pink mouth the words ‘fuck me’ before catching himself.

Early twenties, college student, waitress since she was sixteen. Says she saw all these men in suits and thought they must be white collar types, getting ready for a big meeting. Agreed to wait their table, hoping for a big tip from well-off customers. They ate, drank, and talked loudly and crudely for the better part of an hour. By the end, the bill was sizable, and the tip pitiful. Aside from that, they weren’t standouts from their usual customers, and otherwise behaved themselves.

Keats gets up there to see if Ms. Lopez had anything particular to add about his clients, “Just that they thought they were being more slick than they were. The skinny one there tried to justify not tipping me.”

“Oh. Ah-”

“And the old guy went on about how much of an asshole that one was being. Real feminist type. I liked him.” she blushes, looks over to the judge, “Sorry, ma’am.”

“You’re fine.” she gives a warm smile, and just for a moment glances over at Pink.

 The retired chief of police from Milwaukee, Wisconsin takes the stand, describing the various offenses on Larry Dimmick’s local rap sheet. Stealing things from an early age, picking fights in school, then at various jobs, then against other criminals. How this wasn’t the first time he’s been charged with armed robbery. Keats, on cross-exam, got out of the retired chief the fact that a lot of charges against Dimmick, of a more serious nature, didn’t stick because of a technicality, and shouldn’t be compared to what he’s currently on trial for.

 Pink, with the shorter career, and a knack for fleeing the scene, didn’t have as serious of a witness against him. Who did choose to testify against him, however, was the principal of his old high school, then just a VP. She describes Pink as a youth; a loner, no friends, only ran track and took part in no other extracurricular activities. Was severely bullied for the first half of his freshman year, and then, after winter break, returned to school to not return the favor by fighting, but by offering his bullies access to the test keys for end of year exams. Only to give them fake ones, causing them all to fail, which no one found out about until the next school year. 

Next, from the club Joe and company frequented, is the bartender. A younger guy named Justin Andrews. A newer hire, worked at the club for about six months before the Cabots showed up for their latest scheme. Andrews had spotted the crew right away, marking them as trouble, and told his employer. His boss then said not to worry about it, they’re good customers. Justin goes on record saying he never liked the look of any of them, what with talking in hushed tones, staring down strangers that got too close to their table. Larry leans over to Keats, and tells him that is all bullshit, you couldn’t whisper to anybody in a joint like that. They had drinks and a good time, bothered no one. Keats listens and uses just this during cross exam, making Mr. Andrews more than a little flustered.

Another bartender is called, this time from the place only White and Orange visited. A man closer to Larry’s age named Mike Sloan, he testifies to the defendant and another man coming in and minding their own business, when another patron, completely blasted, starts to try and pick a fight. Explains the situation leading up to it, his date for the night getting pissed and throwing her drink at him, and the man proceeding to make everyone else very uncomfortable. How Larry tried to verbally calm things down, and that his companion engaged the drunk patron in a fight. That by the time the two left, the instigator on the ground, a pocket knife was found laying next to him, and that it in fact belonged to said drunkard. Keats uses this to show that his client (at least one) was not prone to violence, even in the face of having a weapon drawn on him. That Larry even tried de-escalation. Pink looks over at Larry, a little surprised, himself.

It being late in the day, the judge declares that the court reconvene tomorrow, where witness testimony proper will begin.

Day three starts off with a bang; a survivor of the jewelry store, an employee who hid in the manager’s office.

Sheryll Pryor is middle-aged, shy, timid. She recalls hearing a man declare that everyone needed to get down on the ground, that a robbery was taking place. She locked and barricaded the office door, and could see nothing. Just heard sirens, then shooting. “Is that exactly as it happened?” Keats asks, and she confirms it once more. 

Testimony of a survivor, one that refused to appear in court, is read aloud by the DA. That one of the deceased, Vic Vega, began shooting at the employees, the customers. Keats crosses this, asking if the witness mentioned anything about hearing sirens. The prosecution says no. 

Keats calls Pryor back to the stand, to ask how long she worked at the store. Five years is her reply. In that time, had she ever experienced hearing something clearly in the manager’s office, only for people in the main store to be unawares? Yes, frequently, is her answer.

In the way of law enforcement, few are called to testify. Before the first day of trial, Keats explained to his clients why this would be the case; the LAPD knows there’s something off about their own accounts, and doesn’t want to draw too much attention to it, such as the lack of concern over the disappearance of Officer Nash, or the slow response time to the warehouse as soon as Joe Cabot entered the building. Things of this nature would be embarrassing, should it come up. Only the most necessary or experienced would be allowed to testify, for the sake of minimizing the damage.

One such person is a Detective Thompson, lead on the case. He describes arriving on the scene, apprehending one of the defendants who carried the bag of stolen diamonds. Next, of entering the warehouse, and seeing all of the bodies strewn about. Of the other defendant holding an undercover agent hostage, threatening to shoot. How, despite warnings, he still pulled the trigger.

For the first time in several moments, Larry remembers to breathe. It feels like hours, but Thompson finally leaves the stand. As he passes, the detective gives Larry and Pink, but mostly Larry, the tiniest of smirks. Larry feels cold sweat break out along his back.

[mercurial-madhouse]

You know it’s a Mercury fic when...

Louis curses every other word

a little (or a lot) of magic is involved

wit and snark ooze from every scene because they can’t help it

there’s enough pining to replant the rainforest

Niall always ends up being the best character

The boys can’t get their shit together

Wild settings ensue: dystopian/post-apo/or *gasp* supernatural canon

Blood and injury and wild action scenes pepper the plot

Happy endings occur (AKA: The boys get their shit together)

Serious angst and slow-burn the whole way

Unexpected spit-taking hysterical moments

Enough literal and metaphoric fire to burn the forest of pining down

Mystery hides inside an enigma bathing inside a Rubik’s cube

This was super hard to do. Thanks for the shoutout to do it, @zannithinks ! Have any of you lovelies not done this yet, @lululawrence or @larry-hiatus or @allwaswell16 or @beelou @kingsofeverything or @ladyaj-13 or @louandhazaf or @londonfoginacup or @louloubabys1992 or @sadaveniren? (You’ve probably all done it actually, but still. Thought that counts, right?)

[maestro-of-clockwork]

an in-between.

They couldn't at all sleep that night. They didn't even know if it was night, but they knew it felt like forever since that man had left them with little but their own company.

Sketchbook let out a long yawn before she spoke up for the first time in hours:

"Larry...how...long do you think it's been...?"

"Hell," Larry responded, "it's hard to tell. Probably anywhere from a few hours to ten."

"Surprisingly, this fucker doesn't have a clock around here," Larry snarked, giving the room another once-over for good measure.

"I normally hate those things, but I wish there was one just so I could break it the moment he lets us out of here."

Sketchbook surprised herself with how bitter the words left her mouth...it quickly gave way to guilt.

"Right?" Her companion laughingly agreed, before he noticed the regret on her face. Thinking her reaction was still about their situation, tried to encourage her, "Hey...things'll be okay. We're tough, Sketchbook. We can get by, can't we...?"

She nodded, but he could tell she was doubtful still. In all honesty, he was, too...but Larry knew how strong he and Sketchbook were, even if they weren't confident in themselves.

"Everything just hurts, Larry. Even after all these years, I'm still...soft. He calls me that from time to time, and I think he's right."

"Hey, don't believe a word he says. Being soft isn't a bad thing - he's only making you think that because he's a manipulative asshole," he reassured her.

"Then, how is it good? All it's ever done is let him hurt me."

Her expression fell into resentfulness, something so unlike her...it angered Larry even more.

"It means you're human." He elaborated, "You feel with your whole self, and that's one of the best things about you.

"People like you and Shrig can do so much good in this godforsaken world. People like you make this life livable with your kindness...and I can vouch for ya," he told her, showing his genuine thankfulness in his smile, "you guys have definitely helped me hang in there."

"You're stronger than you know, Sketch. It takes a lot of guts, going through the shit we've gone through and coming out the other side as caring as you two are."

Hearing her best friend's words made Sketchbook feel as though so much weight was just lifted from her body...and it made her come to a realization, something that was always true but she just couldn't see. It was something that Antonio had hidden from her.

"So, it isn't my fault that bad people like him can hurt me."

Just by saying those words aloud, she could feel a part of herself that Antonio had torn away in his torments return to her...remembering she really had that autonomy made her feel stronger, even if just a little.

"And it never was," Larry affirmed. "It never was your fault."

Sketchbook finally looked up at Larry, eyes tired and weary, but holding a spark of the determination that let her survive this far.

"We're going to beat him at his game, Larry. We're going to save Colin and we're going to survive this, no matter what Antonio has us do."

"Hell yeah, Sketch," encouraged Larry, happy to see her courage shining through. "We're gonna play his game, and we're gonna kick ass at it."