#legal recalibration

[techminsolutions]

Legal Precision Unveiled: Unraveling the Intricacies of Input Tax Credit Quandaries

Delving deeper into the intricate tapestry of Goods and Services Tax (GST) implications, the saga of Input Tax Credit (ITC) assumes greater complexity, offering a nuanced perspective on the petitioner-assessee’s odyssey. Embedded within the labyrinth of statutory constructs, the petitioner’s invocation of Input Tax Credit (ITC) rights under section 16 of the CGST Act unfolds against the backdrop…

[otakubimbo]

Don't Lose Control

Miguel x F!Reader

Plot w/ porn.

My legally required sex pollen fic as a fanfic writer. @safixiovi requested Miguel so here we are.

You and Miguel are on a mission together and nothing is going right. Your tech is all messed up and now it seems Miguel has gotten sick from something. He felt as if he was losing control of himself.

OB Sticky: I wrote this with one hand in my pants so excuse any grammatical errors and definitely not proofread. Also writing smut make me so embarrassed so if you hate it, don't. <3 Reblogs and Likes welcome, requests are still open.

masterlist

Confusion was written all over your face as you looked at the data on your computer in the universe you and Miguel were in currently. You had been working on tech to detect fluctuations in the multi-verse that could detect where anomalies would appear before they did. It had been doing well for the last few weeks, you were able to detect the appearance of an anomaly in three separate universes. So, the confusion now came with the fact that the monitor was detecting two fluctuations in the universe you were currently in, but nothing was showing up. The two of y’all had separated, you went to check out one of the fluctuations and he went to the other. But nothing, nothing was there in the area that read the fluctuations.

You groan out in the abandoned building that you were in, frustrated at the lack of any appearances.

“It was working so well, what the hell?” You grumble to yourself, typing in code strings into your computer trying to see if you can recalibrate the device that it was connected to get a more accurate reading. As your frustrations grew, your watch started going off for an incoming call. You answer it in hopes that at least on his end there was at least a sighting on his end.

“I’m in a damn field and not a single sight of anything but clouds of pollen.” Miguel’s digital image huffs at you. You groan, rubbing your face in irritation.

“Let’s fucking call it then and find somewhere to stay tonight or whatever.” You say abruptly hanging up on him. He would be able to find you, you knew that, and you didn’t really have the energy to hear his complaints about your tech or whatever he had to say.

Meanwhile, with Miguel.

You really hung up on him, in his face when it was your idea to have the both of you out here testing out your tech. Jess was left in charge while the two of you were gone but still, you had insisted and yet there was nothing here and the two of y’all had been at this investigation all day.  He cursed in Spanish as he coughed from all the pollen he was inhaling. It was everywhere, irritating his throat, eyes, and skin. It wasn’t even that he was frustrated your tech was having what seemed to be issues, it was that you insisted on checking things out separately when he figured the whole reason you wanted him here was to do this mission together, with each other. He had grown accustomed to your presence, to your voice, to your smile. It was all while you were figuring out the mechanics of this new tech of yours. To a certain extent, he was always fond of you, he had found you brilliant, driven, and innovative, one of the few spiders he could tolerate. But things started to change when you came up with the idea for this tech, the glittering in your eyes as you made strides on it. Every new aspect you brought to him, you picked his brain late into the night. The time the two of you spent together increased over the months and he realized that he really enjoyed your company. You brought a certain type of peace to him that he never thought he would get before, he actually started going to sleep more at night because he would make you go to bed which you wouldn’t unless he agreed to also. The two of you had got as close as someone could to Miguel.

Miguel cursed again as he felt his body heating up as he went to the directions you sent him for where the two of you would be spending the night he figured. He assumed he just needed to get whatever was in that field off of him and he would be fine after that. When he found you in the crowded lobby of the hotel, you looked irritated but so damn sexy.

Wait.

Where was his mind going right then? He would have to be blind not to realize that you were attractive. Of course, he acknowledged that about you, almost every spider has mentioned it since the day you joined. But the way you looked right now, drive a man to sin. Your curls were down for once, edges slightly sweated out, your skin held a red tone which made your brown skin glow slightly. It was obvious that you were frustrated with the way your nose crinkled making your nose hoop push up slightly on your face. The way your arms were crossed against your chest pushed your breasts up in a way that had them almost spilling out the top of your tank top, the sight going straight to his dick. His breathing started getting heavy as he gazed at you and then finally caught your eye, having you quickly walk towards him realizing how much of a sway to your hips there is when you walk had him feeling parched.  

“O’Hara, we have a problem” You start as you let out an exasperated breath looking up at him. This is when you notice his appearance, he is red, EXTREMELY RED, looking as if he just took on several baddies right before getting there. 

“Is everything okay?” concern is written all over your face as you gaze up at him, lips slightly parted and all Miguel could think about is what they would look like wrapped around his-----. His thoughts were cut off by you calling his name.

“Yeah, I’m fine, that stupid pollen is just all over me. Irritating” He brushes your concerns off saying a few curses in Spanish.

“Okay, well, they only had one room available because apparently there’s some sort of festival going on and I got the last room that was available at like any hotel.” You say as you shift your bag on your shoulder, which takes Miguel's focus back to your chest. The silver chain around your neck sits right above your cleavage. All he could think about was how high would it bounce if you were to ride his---

Again his thoughts were cut off by your voice.

“Alright, let's just get you to the room so you can get whatever is on you off and I can do some work.” You say as you grab his arm, dragging him to the elevators so you can get to your shared room. You didn’t have any clue what was wrong with Miguel, he never usually seemed so zoned out but you assumed whatever the field he was in was affecting him and his focus. His powers were different than other spiders, so you could figure that it was probably a chemical from their plants that was messing with him. You would have to send it off for some tests to see what it could be.

Once in the room, you tell Miguel to go ahead and use the shower to get himself together after you grab a sample of what was on him to send to Lyla.

“Hey Ly, can you analyze this? It got on Mig and he’s been dazed and out of it ever since we got to the hotel.” You say as you speak to the AI. She gives you a knowing look when you mention a hotel and she hears the sound of a shower in the background. “Don’t start, there’s literally no other rooms anywhere and I don’t want to leave tonight just in case the readings were actually accurate, and two anomalies show up. It wouldn’t be logical to leave just set.”

Lyla knew the way you felt for Miguel, she was there while yall were spending all of that time together. The looks that you took at him when you thought he wasn’t looking, the way you would sigh contently while working in the lab with him, and the way you spoke to him when it was just the two of you. Anyone with eyes could see how attractive that man was but it wasn’t just that which is what made you fall for him. Regardless of the way he could come off, he was kind and caring. He may not show it in the ways that other people did but he had such a big heart and was truly thoughtful of other people. The man would take everything on his shoulders just to make things easier for everyone. You admired him, you adored him, and he made you feel safe and understood and cared for. You really liked him, it didn’t help that he was a walking Adonis. His looks were just the cherry on top for you. Everyone seemed to know your affinity for him, except him. It didn’t help that you were always making excuses for his behavior, Jess would make jokes at your expense all the time about it.

“But the two of you sharing a room it seems?” Lyla giggles coming to sit on your shoulder.

“Cause there wasn’t anything else available” You whisper hiss at her, and she just giggles again “Please just analyze the sample I sent”

“Anything for Miguels other half.” She jokes as she fades away, and you just groan trying to focus back on your readings and tech.

Miguel did not want you that way. You knew that, he would never want you that way. He was a serious man with a hard past that never allowed for the option of romance. The multiverse and stopping anomalies were more than enough to occupy Miguel's mind and heart. You sigh, knowing that your affection will never be returned by him busying yourself with your work while he finishes his shower.

While in the shower, Miguel had already cum two times, and nothing was helping. His mind only filled with you and how you would feel under him, on top of him, how your lips would feel, the noises you would possibly make. It didn’t help that he knew you were just in the next room, he could almost feel you. He needed you badly and he didn’t know why it was so badly. For once, it was as if he lost control of himself. The way he needed to feel you, to hear you, to taste you, to be inside you. Mierda. He came again with just the thought of you in the other room, just the thought of you. It wasn’t enough but it would have to be, he knew you would worry if he took too long in there.

As he exits the bathroom, you notice you hunched over your laptop on the bed, fidgeting with your tech with such a concentration on what you were doing. The image made his dick throb. Fuck. His stuttering as he entered the room, caught your attention from your work. You only glance at him as you continue tinkering.

“Are you feeling any better?” You ask, still typing away.

“Yeah” He lies as he attempts to keep his voice from sounding strained.

“Good. I still sent some samples to Lyla to analyze.” You start before pausing for a second, “Since we don’t know what’s going on I think we should try to both sleep with some comfort tonight just in case we get an alert or something. We have been at this all day, so we need some rest.”

It took Miguel a second for him to realize what you meant by what you said. You meant that the two of you would have to share the bed. Together. Sleep next to each other. Together. Together, in the same bed. Together. He could barely contain himself in the shower, how in the hell was he supposed to contain himself sleeping next to you?

“Can you take a look at this while I take a shower? I can’t find anything that is wrong but I really don’t understand what’s going on.” You say only slightly looking up at him and then back down as you finish typing what you were working on shifting to get up while still trying to work.  

“Yeah sure” He attempts not to look at you as you put your stuff down, trying to finish your coding, distracting yourself from your previous statements, attempting not to think about you and Miguel sharing a bed. You don’t even look at him as you make your way into the bathroom.

The only thing Miguel could think about was you undressing in the bathroom, what you would look like as you caressed your body with a soapy washcloth. Mierda. How was he supposed to sleep next to you tonight?? He felt like he was losing control. You seemed to not be affected by the thought of sharing a bed with him, something about that was making him feel more feral. The image of you sleeping peacefully as he looms over you, starting with pressing his lips to your unexpected jawline, making his way down your body with his mouth. He could imagine your breath hitching as you started to wake up at his actions. Would you whimper as he made his way to your clothed cunt? Would you grip his hair as he teases you by licking you through your panties? Would you beg for him?

Mierda.

He was painfully hard again. What the fuck was he going to do? What the fuck was going on? He needed to calm himself down, he had no clue why he was acting like this. He was mumbling curses in Spanish, not even realizing that you had gotten out of the shower.

“Mig” You call out to him softly; he looks like he is in distress. His head snapped to your voice. Mierda, that damn nickname wasn’t helping him in this situation and neither did the way you looked. It wasn’t like you were wearing anything special or particularly sexy, it was a plain oversized shirt and he could see the peak of shorts underneath. That cute expression of concern that you wore, your gaze gentle on him. You called his name again.

“Are you okay Miguel? Do you think we should go back to headquarters? We can always just send some other spiders out to keep on alert.” You suggest moving towards him. At your movements, it was as if he snapped out of whatever spell was on him.

“No, no it’s fine.” He rebuttals, “The tech is too new to trust with anyone else. I’ll be fine. Let’s just go to bed.”

You nod at him, still worried about him but going to bed was probably the best option for him right now. The two of you get into bed, laying down on opposite sides, and backs towards each other.

Miquel can’t sleep. Every other minute, he's trying to gently ( as gentle as someone his size can be) toss and turn in his discomfort. There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight, especially with the way he could feel your warmth even from the other end of the bed. Unfortunately, his excessive tossing didn’t allow you to sleep either. You were worried about him but you know his stubbornness wouldn’t free him enough to tell you the issue. But at this rate, neither one of you would be able to sleep tonight at this so you conceited and turned over with a sigh to face him. He was lying on his back not realizing that you had woken up, it looked as if he was sweating. Did he have a fever? Was he really sick? You lean up on your elbow, extending your hand out to touch his forehead.

“Miguel you don’t look well.” You speak as your hand reaches out towards him, right before your hand lands he grabs your wrist and looks at you with wild eyes.

“Don’t” He says through gritted teeth.

“Mig, please, what is wrong?” You ask so innocently, while all his thoughts about you aren’t even close to innocent. With you so close now, with that look in your eye, Miguel was losing all of his sanity. Fuck it. Swiftly, with your wrist still in his hand he straddles himself on top of you. Your eyes immediately go wide as you feel your body move, looking up at him, you don’t fight him though.

“I----” He starts, panting above you.

“What Miguel?” You asked breathily, fuck you looked so beautiful beneath him. Your eyes find him and they're red. He looks almost feral.

“ I don’t know how much longer I can control myself” His voice is strained as his grip on your wrist gets a little harder. The way he was looking at you, wasn’t something you expected. The look of unbridled lust in his eyes, you could feel it coming off his body.

Your voice barely above a whisper calls out his name.

“Stop, please. You don’t understand how badly I need to ruin you.” He groans as his head falls to the side of your head, his face burying into your neck breathing in deeply with a growl. Your breath hitches in your throat, unable to think clearly of what is going on in this moment. The stoic and controlled man that you had grown to know just told you he wanted to ruin you and the biggest problem was that you were okay with it. There was a newfound ache between your legs while he was speaking to you and now the ache was growing with the way he was breathing into your neck. Fuck it. You roll your hips into his, feeling his restrained bulge twitch with the impact.

“Then ruin me, Miguel.”

His head shoots up at your words, it was taking all of his self-control at that moment to not rip the clothes you were wearing off. He had to be sure he understood you correctly, he had to be sure you knew how serious he was about ruining you, destroying you, making you his own.

“You don’t know what you’re saying, hermosa.” He strains out, unconsciously pushing his hips into you, you let out a small moan at the sensation and Miguel thought he almost came just from that sound alone.

“I do, I want you. I want you to ruin me, Miguel.” You say, a lustful look in your eyes as he’s still panting above you. He was trying to hold on to his last ounce of self-restraint until you said one word. “Please”

That was all it took before he sank his fangs into your neck. You gasped at the sudden pain until you felt him licking the wound he just created making you moan his name at the sensation. His hands are all over your body as he is kissing and sucking on your neck, moving your legs so that he is in between them to grind himself into you.

“Fuck Miguel” You moan as your hips meet with his, “Kiss me”

He immediately abides by your request, mouth meeting yours in an aggressive lustful kiss. Miguel forces his tongue into your mouth as he presses his body into yours. His claws digging into your plush thighs which had you moaning into his mouth as he explored yours. The both of you breathing heavily as he moves again from your mouth to your jaw to the other side of your neck marking you the same as he did on the other side. After he is pleased with his marks he leans up, gazing down at your chest heaving, your eyes half-lidded as you look up at him. Fuck, he doesn’t even bother lifting your shirt off you as he rips it in the front to expose you to him. The view was better than he imagined, of course, he had seen you in your spidey suit which didn’t leave much to the imagination but this view, actually seeing you bare under him was just too much. He came then and there, not even caring because the next time he came he hoped it would be inside of you, your eyes widened at the guttural moans he made as he came. Without even a moment of shame or embarrassment, his mouth latches onto one of your breaths as he palms the other.

“Wait wait, Miguel did you come?” You attempt to get out during his onslaught on your tits.

“Yes, and I’m going to come again, inside you.” He says as he makes his way down your body to your clothed cunt. He had no shame in his words, as he quickly made shreds of your shorts and underwear, he could live out his fantasies of teasing you at another time. He needed to taste you right now. Before you could even respond to his words, or to the fact that he has ripped all your clothes off Miguel's tongue is lapping at your folds. You can’t help but squirm underneath him, as he’s eating you like a man starved. Fuck was he obsessed with the way you tasted; he knew he was going to have to have this all the time now.  He made out with your clit as your hands dug into his scalp gripping his hair. It was all so overwhelming; you couldn’t even grind yourself against his face as his strong hands held your hips down. You were reaching your peak faster than ever before, you were moaning his name like a chant as you got closer and closer to getting over the edge.

The sound of his name being moaned off your lips was driving him even crazier, his hips pushing into the bed as he starts sucking directly on your clit. He moves one of the hands that was holding your hips down to shove two of his thick long fingers into your clenching waiting hole. It was as if he already knew your body because his fingers automatically found the spot that made your vision blurred. Your body responded on its own as you came, and came hard, squirting all over his face. The squirting caught him off guard, as he pulled his face out of your cunt with a surprised expression.  Oh fuck, he needed to see you do that again, and by the way your walls squeezed his fingers as you did, he knew he needed to see you do it again but on his dick. He freezes himself from the restraint of his own clothing as he comes back to hover over you. You looked so damn beautiful, your lips were puffy from his kiss and he could see the bite marks that he left on you, pupils blown and breath coming back down from your orgasm.  He didn’t give you much time to recover as he grabbed your legs throwing them over his shoulder and pounding into you.

You scream his name as he furiously slams his hips into yours. His hands are under your ass, grip tight as he lifts you slightly to go deeper into you, too deep. The tip of his dick ramming into your cervix with every thrust. You had never been one that could just come from penetration, but the way Miguel was pounding into right now seemed was going to change that. He can feel the way your clamp down on his as the tightness returns back to your stomach. Fuck you were going to come again, you were so sensitive, so sensitive for him. Your nails digging cresent shaped marks into his arms as you come again this time on his dick.

“I’m going to come inside you” He tells you through his thrusts and the aggressive manner in which he said it made you clamp down on him even harder. He spills into you, so much that it starts leaking out as he continues to pound into you. You had assumed once he came again he would stop but he doesn’t, you can still feel how hard he is inside of you as he pumps his cum deeper into you. As the final bursts of his come stop, he pulls out swiftly getting off the bed, grabbing your ankles to drag you to the edge. Flipping your body over and pulling up you on your knees, he shoves your face into the bed as he inserts himself into you again. His pace doesn’t slow down as he ruts into you. It felt like he was even deeper than before. One of his hands moves to your shoulder to pull you back as he slams into you, his other hand moves to your clit to rub hard circles on it stimulating you further.

“Fuck Mig--- im--- im cuming” You scream as you cum again hard, doing exactly what he wanted and squirting. He could feel it all over his hand, making him cum again inside of you. You look back at him as you finish feeling him cum in you, thinking that he must be done. The sight you see behind you makes you know that you weren’t even close to finished. Miguel had his hand that was covered in your squirt up to his face inhaling deeply before he stuck his tongue out licking his fingers. He gets even harder inside you; it doesn’t look like there would be any sleep tonight, he really was going to ruin you.

The next morning you wake up, bruised and sore. Your head was on Miguel's chest and he was snoring peacefully under you. With a groan, you get up as you feel a notification on your gizmo, you had almost completely forgotten that you had requested Lyla to analyze the substance. As you look at the results you feel incredibly embarrassed, mortified. The substance that was on Miguel was some sort of aphrodisiac, so that’s why he was acting that way towards you. As you were getting further into your head about last night events Miguel woke up.

“Your thinking woke me up.” He grumbles as he sits up looking over your shoulder to see what you were looking at.  He reads the results of the substance that was on him and now he understands what you were possibly thinking. You thought he only wanted you because of the aphrodisiac, but with the way he marked you he would have thought you would know that he wanted YOU and you ALONE.

“Hey” He says as he touches your shoulder, you jump back from his touch.

“Hey, yeah so it’s fine you know. We can just forget about everything last night, I know you couldn’t control yourself. Its fine” You ramble on trying to not embarrass yourself further, he gentle grabs your chin as you speak a stark contrast from his behavior last night and some of this morning.  He doesn’t say anything but look into your eyes giving you a soft kiss on the lips.

“It wasn’t just that, I only wanted it to be with you. I only thought about you. Alright?” He says in the most gentle way you have ever seen him speak. A small smile forms on your lips from the reassurance.

“Alright.” You say and he gives you another kiss, a little more aggressive this time. How was this man not tired anymore?! You saw the half-life on the substance he should be done. “Miguel, the effects should have worn off by now.”

“They have,” He says against your mouth. “This is YOUR effect” moving your hand to allow you to feel for yourself how you affect him. Before things could go any further, you get a notification from your new tech and your gizmo that there were two anomalies in this dimension, around the areas that you detected yesterday.

“See, I knew it!” You exclaim as you activate your suit almost forgetting what you were just doing with Miguel. His dick twitches under your hard and you remember what’s going on. “Oh right, uhm this first, and then we can go back to headquarters and I can take care of that for you,” You say with a sultry smile which makes his dick twitch again.

You and Miguel catch both of the anomalies in record time, him being extra careful to avoid the pollen this time. The two of you continue where you left off after you get back to headquarters, immediately both taking your leave which received knowing glances from both Lyla and Jess.

[saphronethaleph]

Clickbait

“Okay, there we go,” Birka Mars said, finishing with her keypad and pushing it away. “Piece finished.”

Her boss looked at her.

“What?” Birka asked. “Like I said. Piece. Finished.”

“Is it properly finished, this time?” Hemarr said. “You remember what happened last time we ran a story you hadn’t finished.”

“I’d finished the writing,” Birka defended herself. “I just hadn’t got all the sources quite lined up. And it was true anyway, right?”

Hemarr rubbed his temples.

“Yes, eventually,” he said. “After a five month court case and a visit from the Coruscant Guard. We’ve been over this, Birka – your gossip pieces earn you big bucks but they have to be weighed against the risks.”

“Right, right, I get the point,” Birka muttered. “Okay, okay. So send it over to Legal. What kind of issues could there be, anyway?”

Hemarr opened up the file on his own datapad, and scrolled through it.

“Senator Amidala’s baby bump,” he said. “Well, at least you’re not accusing anyone of… you didn’t, did you?”

“Not at all,” Birka said. “I made sure I only ever insinuated without ever actually asserting.”

“It’ll probably do,” Hemarr muttered, scanning down the page. “Experts say… they did, right?”

“Geetwo said there was a ninety-four percent probability,” Birka replied. “And he is an expert, he’s got the programming for it.”

“That droid needs recalibrating,” Hemarr said. “But his ninety-four is probably good enough for us to be covered… all right, there’s only one thing you missed for us to be sure.”

“I thought I caught everything,” Birka protested.

“Almost,” Hemarr replied. “But you said ‘out of wedlock’. That’s an actionable claim.”

“Oh, come on!” Birka said. “Senator Amidala isn’t married.”

“Then make sure we can prove it,” Hemarr told her. “Look, I know gossip pieces are time sensitive, but but they’re not that time sensitive. Go to Naboo, confirm it, get some interviews with her family and we can roll them in as soundbites if they’re particularly good.”

Birka Mars was still smarting two days later.

“Really,” she muttered, flicking through paper files of all things. “Naboo could do with being a damn sight more… up to date. Let’s see… Amaryllis… Amecorian… Amidala, let’s do an exhaustive check…”

Her grumbles trailed off, as she held the one document with that name on it up to the light.

Then checked again.

“Padme Amidala, daughter of Ruwee and Jobal Naberrie,” she said, frowning. “That checks… Naberrie is her birth name, since Amidala is a regnal name. But…”

Birka put the paper down, slowly and reverently.

“Oh,” she said, and hugged herself. “This is… this is so much better! I have an article to rewrite!”

Some days later, two matched Jedi Starfighters landed on one of the temple landing pads.

Anakin was out first, and he jogged over to Obi-Wan’s starfighter as the cockpit opened.

“So?” he asked. “Willing to accept that you’re actually an all right pilot, yet?”

“Believe it or not, Anakin, I can accept that I’m reasonable at something without at any point deciding that I like it,” Obi-Wan replied, with a sigh. “Which is where I currently sit with regard to flying a spaceship. It’s not something I get on with well.”

He lifted himself out of the seat, and clambered down. “Well… now we need to report in.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Anakin conceded. “What do we know, anyway?”

“We know – for sure – that the Sith were involved with the clones,” Obi-Wan said. “That’s useful and potentially vital information, for the Republic and for the war. But we still have questions.”

He shook his head. “And it may be that sharing this information will simply lead the Senate to dislike the clones, or… we don’t know, that’s the truth of it.”

Then he looked up, as someone came running up – Bant Eerin, a Mon Cal Jedi who was one of his oldest friends.

“Bant!” he said. “It’s nice to see you!”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Obi,” Ban replied, but her attention was mostly on Anakin. “Is it true?”

“...is what true?” Anakin asked. “We fought Dooku, but he got away.”

“You did what?” Bant said, then shook her head. “No – not that, I mean… you know!”

“I’m afraid he doesn’t,” Obi-Wan noted. “And nor do I, I fear. We’ve been out of touch recently.”

“Oh, yeah, the mission you were on,” Bant realized. “Oba Diah, right? I guess it must have been serious – but – are you really married to Senator Amidala?”

Anakin froze. Completely.

Obi-Wan shot a sideways glance at his former Padawan, and decided that his good friend’s brain was probably in the process of trying unsuccessfully to recover from a boot loop.

“...people are asking about that?” Obi-Wan asked. “I assume they must be, if you assumed that we must have heard it.”

“There was this gossip column that published a scoop thirty hours ago,” Bant explained. “Said that they’d analyzed the Senator and found she was pregnant, and that she’d been married to Skywalker a couple of years ago.”

“But – what?” Anakin said, finally breaking out of his paralysis. “I – it was a secret marriage!”

“Yeah, they said it was filed as paperwork of all things,” Bant said, with a laugh. “Guess Naboo really is old fashioned about some things, right?”

“There was paperwork?” Anakin asked. “But… secret. Marriage…? Secret?”

“You know, Anakin, perhaps it would help to meditate on what a marriage actually is?” Obi-Wan suggested. “It’s a legal contract. That’s what separates it from having a girlfriend, after all – in many ways a marriage without a legal contract simply doesn’t exist. So the contract has to be there if someone looks for it.”

He folded his arms. “No, Anakin, I’m very disappointed in you. Because the other thing about a marriage is that it’s meant to involve your closest friends. If you were going to elope you could at least have told me about it – I’ve had the robes to wear as your best man picked out for two years now.”

Anakin turned utterly frazzled eyes on Obi-Wan.

“You knew!?” he asked.

“Anakin, when you came into the arena you were kissing,” Obi-Wan said. “I assumed she was your girlfriend, and that you were going to get married and quit the Order when the war was over. The Code forbids marriage, because it’s a formal statement that you prioritize the other person over the Jedi Order and the Code respects that, but it merely looks down on love.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, shall I?” Bant asked. “Also, uh. Fair warning? Don’t leave the temple, or you’ll get swarmed by reporters.”

[tinytennisskirt]

A Chaotic Reunion: Part One

Pt 1 Summary: You and Art were childhood best friends who grew apart. It's been about five years since you saw him in the flesh, but you run into each other at the club and make plans to catch up. It's good to rekindle, but maybe this time around things are starting to feel different.

Warnings: mentions of drinking

You and Art had been best friends as kids. Every moment from 4-12 was spent playing together. Sometimes girl things, sometimes boy things. Most times shared things, like pirates or thieves or creek monsters. You’d roll around the neighbourhood together every day, swinging from tire swings and buying corner store popsicles and a kiss on the cheek every now and then. At 4 you’d promised to get married. And it was pure and simple and so much fun.

You were at his house every day that he wasn't with you at yours. But after Art left for school, the correspondence was a lot harder. And as you both grew, you grew even further apart. Your best friend and next door neighbourhood was becoming someone new. And you were too, but differently. You had braces for a while that were the wrong colour, you cut your hair badly a few times.

Art came home sometimes for Christmas but all you’d get was a hi on the sidewalk if you managed to catch him. It was just different. And then he stopped coming back altogether around fifteen- and at eighteen you moved across the country for school. So you wouldn’t even get a glimpse on the driveway anyways.

You were content and doing what you love. Then came nineteen, then twenty, then twenty one. You’d settled in your looks, finally feeling a bit normal. You had an apartment with your best friends in a cool area, you had a good job, and you were finally of legal drinking age.

You and your roommates decided one night to get cute and hit the club downtown instead. So you went, cute outfit, cute hair, eye makeup perfect and on point. Talking about work ceased, conversations about possible tattoos and past flings ensued. You and your roommates had a great night drinking and dancing. You all hit the dance floor, pushing touchy men away from each other and enjoying the music, the lights. You and one of your roommates were spinning, dancing around each other and you took a misstep and spun right into someone.

His chest was hard, but his hands were surprisingly soft as his they gently gripped your upper arms to steady you. “I’m so sorry,” you said, backing up and recalibrating. It was loud, the bass of the music thumping through your feet and purple, pink, and blue lights. You brushed your hair out of your face and looked up to a face that you knew. An older version of a face you knew.

You recognized him, just barely. Cheekbones carved out, jawline sharp, nose perfect, blonde hair a mess, eyes still sleepy, but just about as wide as yours. His hands stayed on your upper arms. “Y/N?”

“Art, oh my god!” You laughed. He grinned and immediately it was like you two weren’t without talking for years. He wrapped his arms around you and the chest you bumped into, you were now pressed against. You backed up, staying close. “How are you?!” You asked over the music. He couldn’t hear you, he leaned closer to your mouth to hear. “How are you?” You asked again.

He smiled, face inches from yours so you could hear. “I’m good! I’m okay, how are you?”

Your focus shifted- He was much taller, his hair was much longer, and he was… gorgeous, quite frankly. You blinked hard, “I’m doing okay, I’m just here with my roommates what are you doing here?”

“I’m in town for tennis,” he replied. “You live here?”

“I do!” You answered.

“That’s amazing, what have you been up to?” You two were about to catch up in the middle of the dance floor. You wondered who he was here with. He followed your wandering eyes- “We should probably go off to the side-“

You chuckled, “For sure!” And walked a bit ahead of him to the not-much-quieter bar section. His hand grazed your waist once or twice as you both pushed through the crowd. You hated that you noticed it.

You sat yourself at one of the smaller booths. You didn’t need another drink. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

He shook his head, smiling at you without end, “Me neither, I-“ he shook his head. “It’s been years, you look… different.”

“Is it the boobs?” You tease, looking down. You look back up to see his eyes trained down, then immediately snapping back to meet your own. You smile knowingly.

“No, uh-“ he noticed, rubbed his neck sheepishly. “You’re older, your hair is less… light and you look- you look really pretty.”

“So do you,” you replied immediately. It wasn't like you didn't mean it- he was pretty. The image of him as your childhood best friend was no longer forefront. He was pretty- he was quite gorgeous. He smiled a crooked grin, something that was cute on a kid, but now it was just… hot. The way his cheek creased to one side of his smile. You leaned forward, elbows on the table. He looked surprised to hear you say it.

“I-uh-“ he looked down, long eyelashes of his fluttering a bit. The word 'pretty' bounced around your head looking at him. Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was the three drinks you’d had. “Thank you,“ His eyes met yours again. He looked like he was trying not to smile so big. “So what have you been up to?”

He was cute, changing the topic. You were allowed to think so, “I went to school for art history, gallery organization. I have a job in that now- I’m a gallerist. And that takes up a lot of my weekdays, but I have a lot of time to myself in the evenings and I own my gallery, so I don’t even have to go into work if I don’t want, it’s pretty flexible. I work with my roommates, which is also perfect. And we have similar hours so we spend a lot of time together but they’re my best friends.”

“Wow, that’s- amazing. I had no idea you were so successful, that’s crazy.” He looked almost shy for a 21 year old. Like there was anything to be shy about. “Is the gallery local?"

You smiled and nodded, "Not far from here at all."

"I'd love to visit, could I come by? Is that a stretch?”

“Not at all, we’re open until 9pm tomorrow so you can come in at anytime. I’ll be there.” You offered. You were flattered. “I’d love that. What have you been up to?”

“Just tennis, mostly. I'm here with a friend actually, he plays too. It's all just Stanford and tournaments. I wish I had a success story that fulfilling I’m still-“

“Are you kidding?” You interrupted. “Sorry I’m interrupting but I’ve followed your tennis career and you’re amazing. You’re really good.”

You wondered if he looked away because of a flush to his face. You swore you could make one out. “Thank you. I meant more like a settle-down type of success but tennis means travel and it’s a bit hard to settle when you’re constantly moving.”

“Oh, I see. That makes sense. I’m still amazed, though. I watched your most recent match on YouTube, you were going crazy. I’m not surprised you’re getting all these deals and sponsorships, you are amazing at what you do. Not many people can say that.”

“I’m no gallerist,” he grinned that crooked grin again, his face lit pink by the club lights.

You rolled your eyes with a grin, “Okay…”

"I'm just saying..." he teased. "Tennis is great but selling art to pretentious rich people who probably don't understand the real value of an art piece takes a lot more skill."

"Oh, you wouldn't imagine the assholes we deal with sometimes," You chimed. "You're very right, it takes a lot of patience."

He nodded with that gorgeous grin that stayed on his face. "You remember the art my parents used to have?"

"Oh the weird twisty 3D tree art?" You laughed. He chuckled too and rubbed his eyes. "I remember scraping my arm on it running past."

"The worst," He grimaced at the thought. "They were pretentious art-buyers who didn't care what they were purchasing. Nothing matched, they just liked having it. I'm pretty sure they told fake stories about it too."

You grimaced at that point, "I think I remember hearing one of those at your mom's barbeques. Not sure how I remember, but I think I do. It was about the lemon lady in the bathroom and how-"

"It was haunted," He finished your sentence. You both laughed. "She would tell it in front of me like it didn't scare me to go near that painting for the next ten years. I would always go to the upstairs bathroom no matter what." You both kept laughing, it was silly to remember such simple things. Easy. "Naming me Art wasn't enough?"

He was still sweet. "I guess not." And there was a moment of silence, even in the loudness of the club. His eyes stayed trained on yours, you wondered if he was taking in all the changes, discarding the mental image of who you'd used to be the way you had been discarding the mental image of how you used to see him. Tennis videos of him reminded you, but the image never stuck until now. He was here, sitting opposite of you, eyes still locked. God, he was so gorgeous it almost hurt to look at him.

You both noticed the staring and the 'silence' simultaneously, it seemed. He snapped out of it, and so did you.

“It’s good to know you’re doing well.” He said. “Wrong to say I've missed you?"

“You could have called,” you replied, poking the back of his hand as it rested on the table.

“So could you,”

“I didn’t know you missed me.” You said, shrugging. He nodded like it was fair with a small smile pulling at his lips. You fought the same smile. “But I’ve been proud of you from afar.”

He covered his face, peeking through his fingers before speaking, “I wish I could say the same, but from now on, I promise I am.” You grinned. “I'd love to catch up more while I'm here- Could I come by your gallery? Maybe around 10? When do you open?”

“Eleven,” you smiled. “Rich people who buy art are people who sleep in. But ten is perfect. You’re going to think I’m crazy, but yes I keep these on me when I’m at the club.” You reached into your bag and pulled out a business card with the address. He took it no hesitation and put it in his pocket immediately.

Your arm was tapped by one of your girlfriends, Shailene. “Hey, Y/N, Julie had one too many shots and I'm taking her home, are you coming?" She asked.

“Oh no- yes.” You closed your bag and sat up a little straighter. This booth had become your own little corner of the world.

“I’m sorry for interrupting- ooh, he’s cute.” Art could hear her. She was a great deal louder than you were willing to be and a few more drinks in than you.

“I- yeah,” you nodded. You turned to Art, “I’m so sorry, I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow! It was so good seeing you! I can’t believe you’re here.”

“No, you’re good,” he chuckled. “It was good to see you too, really. I’ll see you tomorrow. 10am,” he grinned his crooked grin. You squeezed his hand as you got up and followed your roommate out.

“Who was that?” She asked as you waved a cab.

“An old friend of mine,” you replied. “My old next door neighbour.”

“He’s gorgeous, girl. Looked familiar though... I hope you’re seeing him again, I didn't mean to drag you away."

You chuckled, “I am, I am. And don't worry about it." And as the taxi pulled up and you three piled into the taxi together, you were thinking about him. His grin, how he'd grown into his features, his hair, his eyes, his grin. He had a gorgeous grin. You yourself found yourself smiling at the thought. And you'd see him tomorrow.

(Part Two Here)

[steddio]

Steve is used to pushing through pain. Sure, the adrenaline of a life or death moment is one thing but when that fades and all that’s left is stinging cuts and tender swelling and a full-body bone-deep ache there’s no excuse for letting weakness show. Or letting others see the lingering migraines, achey joints, and night terrors that continue to wound his body and psyche even once everything is “back to normal.” Ingrained in him since an unforgiving childhood, Steve’s grit-your-teeth-and-bear-it philosophy has served him perfectly well and he sees nothing wrong with it, thank you very much.

Until he meets Eddie. Eddie who curses, shouts, screams and cries his pain, broadcasting it to those around him with his typical dramatic flair. Eddie whose eyes betray every feeling and emotion, amplified tenfold by the flailing of too-long limbs and gesturing of ring-bedecked fingers. Eddie who sees right through Steve’s facade to the core of his pain.

It starts with Eddie giving Steve an obvious once-over each time he sees him, checking for visible injury, the lasting echo of shared trauma. Steve knows how to navigate this, having faked his way through countless minor sports injuries in order to stay off the bench and in the game. What Steve doesn’t know how to navigate is what comes after. Unlike Steve’s coaches, who accepted his apparent well-being without question, Eddie has an unnerving tendency to locate the exact source of Steve’s discomfort.

“Harrington, are you limping? Cut the shit and sit down over there, I told you not to overwork your bad knee.”

“Ok big boy, pull over. I’m driving and that’s final. Don’t argue with me, you can’t even see straight. Driving with a migraine is definitely worse than my driving, dude.”

“You look like shit, go home, I’ll help Robin close. Yes, yes, I got it, how hard can it be?”

Eventually, and even worse, Eddie moves beyond snarky well-meaning comments to saying nothing but doing everything. Like shooing the younger kids out of Steve’s house when he’s starting to squint against the bright lights and loud conversation. Or grabbing heavy bags from Steve’s hands before he’s even halfway from the car to the door. Or wordlessly turning up the stereo when Steve needs something, anything to drown out the ringing and echoing screaming in his ears.

At first, being seen hurts more than the actual pain. Stripped raw by the casual tenderness, the sheer humanity zinging at newly exposed nerves. Steve doesn’t know how to handle this breakdown of his primary defense mechanism. He tries to keep shrugging Eddie’s concern away, but Eddie is relentless. Eddie “willing to repeat senior year three times rather than drop out” Munson is entirely undeterred by Steve’s patented nonchalance. Despite it all, he keeps caring. And Steve has no choice but to accept the tidal wave that is Eddie’s concern.

It takes a while, for Steve to recalibrate his self-perception. So used to shoving it aside, he has to learn again how to really feel pain. How to acknowledge it, respond to it. How to attend to his own discomfort the way he attends to Robin’s, or Dustin’s, or Max’s.

The first time he cancels plans with the gang because of a migraine he’s overcome by guilt. He’s five seconds away from calling back to say just kidding he is totally fine and would love to drive everyone to the movies when he hears a knock at the door. Before he can even fully open the door, Eddie barges in.

“Harrington! Where are your towels, I brought you drugs, the legal ones don’t worry, go lay down, what are you doing standing there gawking, here swallow this and put this over your head.”

Before he can fully process what’s happening, Steve is manhandled onto his own couch, a cool damp towel over his eyes and forehead, and Eddie is back out the front door shouting that he’ll check in on Steve after the movie ends.

The second time he cancels plans, his bad knee too achey to make the trek out to Dustin’s radio to celebrate his and Suzie’s anniversary, Steve is still guilty, but almost unsurprised when Eddie turns up at his door, rented movie in hand, shouting at Steve to ice and elevate his damn knee already.

After a while, the guilt goes away, replaced by a bone deep security that’s brand new to Steve, a quiet reassurance that it’s okay to put himself first, it doesn’t make him selfish or bad or pathetic or weak or any of the things his dad used to shout at him before he learned to mask himself. Replaced by an overwhelming fondness for Eddie and his exuberant care, the way he wears his feelings like his tattoos, on his bare skin.

After a while, Steve realizes that not all of Eddie’s once overs are checking for pain, sometimes they’re simply for checking him out. And this, this he knows how to handle.

The tenth time Steve cancels plans, he’s waiting at the door for Eddie to arrive. Eddie is all blurred motion and Bambi-eyed concern, looking for Steve’s source of pain. Steve points to his cheek.

“One too many direct hits and my whole face gets achey when the weather changes.”

Eddie turns, no doubt intending to rummage through Steve’s kitchen until he can find ibuprofen, or ice, or anything. Before he can get far, Steve catches his arm and turns Eddie to face him.

“Maybe you can kiss it better?”

[teopatra]

✨🤭 BIENVENUE 👋🏽👋🏻👋👋🏿

Let me preface by sayin, I went on Google, found some images, saved these images, but I DO not own them and i am NOT citing my source 😆 BC I CAN *karlie red’s voice* teehee yes I did yes I did somebody plz tell ‘em who the EFF I IS 🤪 I’ll give updates if someone takes legal actions 🥳

♍️Pick a fictional Virgo♍️

Since it’s both Virgo season ANND mercury rx im going to be doing a lot of readings themed around this season for research 🧐 purposes 🤓

1. Rue (real life ♍️ Zendaya)

What do you need to work on?

Either you have an unhealthy addiction or attachment to something OR you need to be focusing more on something like your life depends on it due to either procrastination, laziness, self loathing/not believing in yourself ENOUGH OR just not dedicating enough time to something. If you have an unhealthy attachment to something like social media or video games, know that it’s okay to indulge in certain things but you have to have balance and know wen it’s time to take a break.. your screen time could be high but if that’s the case how are you using that time to create content or make that fun thing lucrative for yourself. You can make tiktoks even if you may think it’s stupid bc the views will bring more traffic to your page but only if the intentions are good and you aren’t harming anything or displaying inappropriate behaviors. Also if you play video games you can stream, if you like to read you can do voice memos and turn it into a podcast, reel, YouTube video and you don’t even have to show your face. I’m getting mercurial energy from this pile bc it’s something to do with your voice and hands .. maybe you build, play instrument, make beats, sing, do ASMR whatever ..

Additional Messages: while mercury is in retrograde this is a good time to work on your craft not perfect it just work on it.. beginning stages will not exhibit perfection so if that’s what you expect out of yourself there is where the shadow work needs to be done. You need to make a schedule; it doesn’t have to be time exact focused but you need to have better intentions for your day.. you need to strengthen your upper body especially the arms.. practice breath work and work on healing and or balancing your lower chakras: root chakra, sacral chakra and or solar plexus whatever one resonates with you..

2. Hermoine Granger 📚

What is holding you back?

Your mouth is holding you back because you don’t understand what it means to move in silence. Just because you didn’t tell people about it or show the internet doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Learn how to enjoy the beauty of life on your own. People will begin to see right thru you and not take you serious if you’re always posting every little thing. Know your own worth, other people see it but it doesn’t seem like you’re being authentic to your true self. Maybe you tried doing shadow work and wanted to reinvent yourself; but who are you trying to be like? If you’re not being you then you’re being a carbon copy and that will just lead you down a path of self destruction.

Additional Messages: I see you’re experiencing some type of food allergy maybe gluten or dairy and hormonal imbalances. You will benefit from journaling, sound baths, and meditation music. Gemini energy somewhere in your chart maybe your moon; if it’s difficult for you to quiet the mind rn maybe bc of issues within the family relating to health or finances then you have to unwind the mind. It’ll take time, (bars) maybe you want to write music is so then do it.. work on the crown chakra, heart chakra, sacral and solar plexus chakras, you really need to recalibrate cuz you’re out of wack and your body or tummy is stressed

3. Bella Swan 🦢

How can you hold yourself accountable?

You use other people’s problems as a way to distract yourself because you want to feel needed by other people. You refuse to do things for yourself or by yourself bc maybe you realize that wen you’re by yourself you’re really sad or lonely.. figure out the root of this sadness and loneliness and heal your trauma. Tell yourself that what happened to you is NOT YOUR FAULT. People will still love you even if you aren’t available for them at the moment, if they’re meant to be in your life they’ll understand. But you don’t want to accept the fact that the people you hold dear to you are probably not meant to be in your life at this time.

Additional Messages: are you using your financial status and material meals to define your happiness? Who would you be without those things? Who are you? Do you even know? You’ve been going thru the motions for so long, that you’ve put your true desires in life aside bc you feel guilty . Heavy guilt issues, check your sun sign and your Saturn and the houses they’re in.. Heal your root chakra and if you’re going thru a Saturn return you better understand what that means for you now since the start of it until the end or else you’ll have to wait another 27 years to really dive into what you love…

4. Frodo Baggins 🧝🏽‍♀️

Where you need to communicate better…

If you have a speech impediment or your first language is diff than those around you causing language barriers do NOT be afraid to express yourself. If anyone makes fun of you for the way you speak they’re a loser and work on your confidence so this doesn’t bring you down. You know what you’re trying to say so maybe work on how to express yourself better with words. You may deal with self doubt, insecurity, trauma, and you may shut down when you feel like others don’t understand you. It’s mercury retrograde and I see for the next 3 weeks people just may not listen , that doesn’t mean talk louder, that doesn’t mean argue, become a better listener and this will help you with your communication. I feel Aquarian energy like you’re different and the ones who know you understand when you speak but you have to have balance and be able to speak in all aspects don’t be afraid or shy it’s okay.

Additional Messages: check your 11th house, and aspects to your Aquarius house, work on your throat chakra and your root chakra. If you’re in school for psychology or you’re an astrologer then you already have the answers you seek you just don’t trust yourself so work on the heart chakra as well.. idk why you don’t trust yourself you’re actually very intelligent but you have some type of disability maybe, confidence and time will strengthen this

5. Jorah Mormont 🗡️

What isn’t working for you anymore?

other people opinions aren’t working for you; you keep allowing people to put their 2 cents in when you need to trust your gut. You have a very keen eye and people feel important wen you ask their input. It’s okay to ask advice from others time to time but ask the universe, the divine, your spirit team, and or your higher self to enlighten you. There may some evil eye around you in regards to your work, others see that your hard work will lead you to success but people feel left out and want to siphon all your energy. Insecure and low vibrational people aren’t working for you. Your challenge rn is to know wen is a good time to just put your phone on DND and do you whether it’s rest or meditation. Strong Leo energy, check your sun sign your 5th house and anything aspecting your Leo house.

Additional Messages: you may need more sunlight or you may need to use more sunblock so you don’t get radiation poisoning. Or some of you could be outside n the sun too much which is draining you in some way. Vitamins could benefit you or orange foods like oranges and carrots. Maybe try drinking smoothies, cut out carbonated drinks and snacks high in sodium, it’s causing brain fog and memory loss. Fatigue is happening to you bc you’re probably over worked and don’t drink enough water or the right type of water.

6. Neo 👽

How to be more productive?

Be more imaginative , be more delusional, exercise your neptunian or piscerian energy by making your dream or fantasy world reality. You need to strengthen your psychic abilities maybe by asking the universe or higher power to give you a sign.. work on your telepathy by imaging a certain object you want the universe to use to communicate with you to affirm. Stop doubting your intuition just because it may scare you. If you believe that we live in a simulation and nothing is real then why are you allowing this reality to bring you down. Pretend you’re in a video game or movie and you’re the main character or final boss. You may need to move your body more bc your blood isn’t circulating enough or properly esp if your body parts have been falling asleep lately

Additional Messages: it would benefit you to detox, drink more water and take on a healthier diet or lifestyle because something is clouding your judgement and intuition. Check your chart for what planets are in your 12th house or aspecting your Pisces placements. You’re in a self deprecating mode rn and you have to snap out of it. Eat less meat especially if you’re a water sign bc you’re taking on the energies of those unalive animals your eating you feel their pain.. also stop eating GMO food for 60 days…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3:03 on the clock

[the-bar-sinister]

Return to Form (3328 words) by thesavagesabretooth Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Flirting, Getting Together, Unresolved Emotional Tension, POV Diego Armando, Drama & Romance

Summary: After the end of his stint in jail, Diego finds himself invited back to the prosecutorial office officially this time. While he's moving in, Phoenix Wright comes by with a welcoming gift, but he seems to have more on his mind.

-

January 5, 2028– 12:30 pm

When Diego had reached out to the prosecutor's office about setting up a possible meeting with the chief prosecutor, he'd been surprised to find himself transferred right to Edgeworth's personal phone. More surprised still when the man had agreed quickly, and asked if he'd prefer to meet for lunch, or privately in the office. Diego had told him lunch and now, several days later, there he was.

He adjusted his tie with a sharp huff of breath before he entered the restaurant, smoothing out his suit vest for a moment before he reached up to recalibrate the small dials at the edges of his mask. The strangely tinted world swam into his vision and refocused to a comfortable baseline.

With his best roguish smile, he pushed the door open and headed inside. 

It was a familiar restaurant, though one he obviously hadn't been to in quite some time. The old French cuisine place a few blocks from the prosecutorial offices was favored by a significant number of the legal community. One of the first times he'd been there was when Grossberg had introduced him to the new hire at the office– Mia Fey. His stint as a prosecutor, on the other hand, had been short enough that he'd never been there as a member of the office.

Today the maitre d' told him that he was expected, and led him to the small table where Miles Edgeworth was waiting, a bottle of wine already on the table.

He stood up when Diego approached, and offered him a handshake.

"Mr. Armando."

Diego thrust his hand out to take Miles’, shaking it with a rough chuckle. “Mr. Edgeworth. Good to see you. Gotta say…this place brings back memories.” 

Miles chuckled a little nervously.

"Ah, not bad ones I hope. Popular spot for the last few decades, I know. But I do like the food." He briefly put his other hand on Diego's as the handshake ended before he released him. "I was happy to get your call the other day."

Diego tilted his head in lieu of a wink. 

“Good ones, Miles. Real good ones. I remember having the best damn pasta of my life with some impressive company” he eased himself into the chair and turned his unblinking mask…the heavy goddamn weight on his face…towards him. “You were, huh?”

Diego smirked, adding with a note of teasing “I’m glad. Didn’t know I made that much of an impression on ya. “ 

Miles laughed, embarrassed again, as he sat down and poured a couple of glasses of wine. Red wine or white– Diego had no idea.

"Well, you certainly made an impression on the department," he said, "And some close friends of mine, M–Diego."

There was a hesitation there– probably another 'Mr. Armando'. But Diego had called him 'Miles' and it seemed the chief prosecutor was going to match him.

It worked for him. Diego was never much for formality– and if he was asking a favor from the man he was damn well going to call him by his name.

He leaned on his arm with a nod as he took the glass gratefully. “What can I say. I leave an impression. It’s the mask, ain’t it?” 

"It is striking, admittedly," Miles acknowledged as he passed a glass of wine his way. "But I think you'd make an almost equal impression without it. You ended up almost a legend in the prosecutorial department."

Diego took it and raised it to his lips with a low chuckle. 

“A legend, eh? Think Jakey gonna write a cowboy ballad about me?”

It was surreal. The whole time felt almost like a bad dream with the jumbled memories in the wake of his coma. He’d shown up, somehow gotten a job in the prosecutorial office…and lost every damn case he ever took in his quest for revenge against Phoenix Tri–Wright that ended in a bloody murder to save Maya Fey…or his own pride, if you asked the voices in his head at night..

And somehow that made him a legend. 

Red. It was a red wine. The bitterness gave it away. Like a rich coffee.

"Marshall? He very well may," Miles chuckled along with him. "He's back with the precinct, actually."

“He is, eh?” Diego couldn’t help but grin as he took another sip of the wine. A complex bitterness always seemed to compliment him nicely. “Good…he was a good man. In the clink we got to know one another pretty well, so I say with damned certainty you couldn’t have a better man on the force than him.” 

"He's a dedicated man. To truth and justice," Miles nodded. "We could do with more people like him in the law."

“You ain’t gonna hear any disagreement from me, Miles.” He glanced thoughtfully at the menu with a shake of his head “...the justice system’s been a goddamned mess long before you an’ me. If we can start turnin’ that around…” 

"You're sure you're not a mind reader, Diego?" Miles asked, cocking his head. "The very same thing's been on my mind since they put me in charge of the department."

Diego sipped his bitter wine with an enigmatic smirk. 

“The mask lets me see into people’s souls.” It was a joke, of course…but at the same time his time in the clink and his brush with death at the hands of the worst fucking manipulator he’d ever met– it gave him a pretty good ability to read people. “Seems you an’ me have the same goal, huh?”

"You'd consider it a goal of yours?" Miles asked curiously. He leaned forward with interest. Clearly, Diego had caught his attention. "I've been wondering what you planned to do with yourself now that you're a free man."

Diego tapped his finger on the edge of his glass.

“A man’s gotta make up for his mistakes, and I’ve made a fair few already.” His vision flickered as his mask glitched, a common occurrence with the clunky and experimental tech, before it resolved back on Miles Edgeworth’s face. “I prosecuted outta misplaced vengeance before, and it hurt someone I care about. I ain’t cut out to be a defense attorney anymore, either…so I thought maybe I’d go back to the Prosecution and do it right this time.”

He smirked over his wine glass “make it better, fix the issues that hurt folks like Lana Skye and you.”

"What a fortunate coincidence," Miles said with a little smile. He raised his glass to him. "I was cthinking of asking you to come back to the prosecutorial department for the same reason."

Diego raised his glass with a low chuckle. “...that works well for me, friend. Can’t think of nothin’ else I’d rather be doing than standing in court.” 

"Then consider this a welcome back to the department, Diego. Officially this time." Miles clinked his glass against his. "We'll work out the details. But I'm pleased to have you on my team, especially since it sounds like you're just as invested in reforming the system as I am."

Diego nodded , tipping his wine back with a quiet chuckle “I picked up some enthusiasm for it talkin’ to an old rival turned…”

He trailed off. Lana Skye was more than just a friend at this point. The two of them made a connection…born first of their mutual grief, and then of genuine interest and attraction.

“Well. You know how it goes.” He tilted his head in lieu of a wink again. “I’d like to see things get better– and I like to think it’d make Mia proud, wherever she’s watchin’ from.” 

January 20, 2028– 10:10 am

Two weeks after his lunch with Miles Edgeworth, and Diego was having the surreal experience of moving into his own office in the prosecutorial building. It was a nice office, on the floor directly below the one belonging to the chief prosecutor.

He whistled as he worked, moving boxes of his old law books in one at a time from the hall and taking account of the space. He was told that prosecutors had pretty free reign to decorate it, and he already had a few ideas to liven it up a little.

A coffee bar would have to be a must, of course— though it was a damn shame he’d have to buy all new beans.

Back when he was ‘Godot’, he hardly had a presence at the office. It was better that way, with less of a chance people would question his past. He came and went without an office of his own, more a ghost than a man.

But now he was one of the living again, it seemed. He had to leave a mark showing it. As he set down a box by the desk, he thought about setting up a nice set of photos for the Fey’s…for Mia. 

As he was considering it, he was pulled from his reverie by a sharp knock at the side of the door.

"Uh. Mind if I come in?" A voice asked from the doorway. It was a familiar one.

It was Phoenix Wright.

Diego stood, dusting his vest off before looking over his shoulder with a wide, tooth-baring smile “If it ain’t Phoenix Trite. What brings you all the way to the prosecutor’s office?”

It was with good humor– the man had earned his respect with the blood, sweat, and tears that pervaded the Hazakura Temple case.

He just couldn’t resist a little dig…hell, it was almost a fondness. 

Wright peeked into the room with a goofy, embarrassed smile on his narrow featured face, hair swept back as usual. He had something– a box, under one arm.

"Edgeworth told me you were starting this week, so I uh. Came by to congratulate you," he said. He hesitantly offered the box toward Diego. There was clearly more he wanted to say– but he stopped there.

Diego sauntered over and scooped the box into his hand with a lazy grin. 

“Shoulda known the guy’d tell you before I could.” HIs mask flickered as he looked down at the box, wondering if it was one of his– or some kinda gift from Phoenix Wright, a man he once cursed the very name of. Once. “Been a while, huh? Damn long while, even. Thanks.” 

"A long while, yeah," Phoenix agreed, rubbing his chin. "Some tough years. Yours probably tougher than mine. "

Wright watched him with obvious nervous hesitation as he checked out the box. It was large, and white– probably– it wasn't wrapped, but there was an envelope stuck in the edge of it. It was probably a gift.

He chuckled roughly, and flashed the man a wolfish grin.

“Eh, three square meals a day and a bed ain’t bad. I pulled through. Heard a bit about your lil’ adventures from Maya and Pearl.” He pointed a finger at him before he untucked the envelope and opened it to give it a read. “Been keeping tabs on you, Trite. Come on in, I’d make ya a cup of joe, but I ain’t exactly moved in yet.” 

"We could go out for a cup if you wanted. But I know you're pretty particular about your java."

He stooped with his hands behind his back as Diego read the card. It was a simple 'congratulations' card on the front, with an illustration of balloons. Inside he'd written a short message. 'Hope to see you in court! Funny thing to say I know, but welcome back.'.

His smile softened a bit as he read it, and he found himself chuckling a little as he tucked it into his vest pocket. 

“I can be a little picky. You’d have to make sure you didn’t pick the wrong place.” He let the door closed and trailed in after Phoenix with a grin. “Looking forward to going toe to toe with me again, huh? Me too. I thought about it a few times while I was in the clink.” 

"I'm still pretty freshly back to the practice myself," Phoenix admitted, finally heading all the way into the office with him. "I haven't had a chance to go up against anyone quite as aggressive as you were yet. For a while I was wondering what it would be like to play you at poker."

Funny to think that Phoenix Wright had been out of the law game almost as long as Diego had.

A lot had gone down when he was sent away– wasn’t long afterwards that he got word that the infamous Phoenix Wright had been disbarred for forgery, and later…

That it was all a grand set up, and he was back in the saddle and riding towards a new era of his career. 

“Guess we’ll both be a little rusty, eh? Works for me. Puts us on an even playin’ field.” He paced around until he leaned against his desk. “Poker, huh? I warn ya, I’m a tough customer…– then again, I heard you were Mr. Undefeated from a little birdy in the clink.” 

"Undefeated so far," Phoenix said. He glanced at the box, seemingly eager for Diego to open it. "Who knows what the future holds, right?"

Diego opened it up with a sly smile. 

“Who knows..I’m kinda tempted to put that luck of yours to the test ya know…see your face when I break that streak of yours.”

He pulled the flaps out of the way, and looked inside. 

There were four large ceramic coffee mugs of obvious quality inside, and all of them were stuffed with foil wrapped candies.

"I wouldn't mind a friendly game," Phoenix said with a grin. He slipped his hands in his pockets. "I don't know coffee as well as I know poker, but I figured I owed you a few mugs. And the lady at the shop said those chocolates will go well with black coffee."

Diego lifted one of the mugs out and held it by the handle in his curled fingers, looking it over with a grin.

“Well I’ll be damned. Now I’m a lil’ sad I don’t got the coffee bar installed already. I’d give these a whirl.” He looked Phoenix over through the flickering lenses of his mask. “You’re makin’ an old bastard feel real welcome, Wright. Not just trying to butter me up, are ya?”

More playful teasing, ribbing, competition– it was what he knew, after all. But he had to admit he was touched. It was a nice gesture, and he wasn’t lying when he said he felt welcome. He hadn’t been sure how Wright would have taken seeing him again.

A tumultuous interaction just before they each were torn from the world of law for over 7 years, and a background of heartbreak and pain…he wouldn’t have been surprised if Wright hated his guts. But it was clear he didn’t by some weird miracle. 

He laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck as Diego had seen him do in court, back in the day. 

"Aw, I'm not a nice enough guy to bother trying to butter you up, right?" He smiled bashfully. "I'm… genuinely glad you're back, Diego. I learned a lot in the last– Justitia damn– the last decade. I hope you won't find me as entirely bad company as you did back in the day."

Diego laid out the mugs on his desk , turning them so they were at the right angle to catch the view from the doorway, before he set the box aside and grinned.

“Been a hell of a decade…I learned a lot too, locked away. I’d go as far as sayin’ that Godot died in court that day.” He held his hand out towards him with an amused chuckle and grinned widely. “I’m willin’ to give you a shot, Wright. Now that you ain’t pissin’ me off by breathing, of course.” 

Phoenix took his hand sheepishly, and grinned back. "I can't promise it'll never happen again. A lot of people I'm real fond of tell me I'm pretty infuriating to be around."

Diego shook his hand, his strong fingers closed around Phoenix’s hand for a moment as he chuckled. 

“Yeah , well…All I can say to that is no wonder Mia liked ya.” He chuckled again, staring Wright down with his visor. “And maybe I like a pain in the ass every now and again.”

Phoenix looked as bashful as before, and didn't seem to be in a hurry to take back his hand. "I'll try to make sure it's at least fun this time, then."

“I’m lookin’ forward to it, Trite. Don’t disappoint me.” Diego stared at him with an amused grin. “Hey. I gotta get some stuff from the apartment. How about you give me a hand if ya got the time and help me carry a box or two. I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”

The abashed grin got even larger. "I don't have anything urgent to do for the rest of the day. I'd be happy to help. Especially if there's coffee in it. I never got to try yours– except by the uh, express route."

“You didn’t seem to enjoy taking it through the top of the head, it’s true.” Diego chuckled as he grabbed two of the mugs off the table. “Let’s give these fellas a whirl then. Maybe I’ll even break out my ol’ set of cards while we drink, eh?” 

"Sounds great! Uh, I have a tactless question though," he said, following him out the door. "Can you uh, can you see half the cards? Cause as I recall that might be a problem."

Diego whacked Phoenix on the arm “I got custom cards, Trite. They make those, ya know.” 

"Ow!" Phoenix laughed– and seemed to walk even closer to Diego after that. "I mean I actually knew that, I didn't know if you had a pack. I was going to offer."

“Well ain’t you sweet.” Diego chuckled with a sharp grin. “nah…I picked up a pack with Pearl when I first got out. Though I ain’t gonna say no to a second deck.” 

"I'll grab one for my own office, in case you ever wanna come by."

Diego glanced at the man walking by his side as the two of them headed out into the hall of the prosecutor’s office. 

“You know…I’ve been wonderin’ what you’ve been doing with the place. Might just.” 

"Its kind of a mess honestly," Phoenix said with a grin. "You might throw a couple of punches over it." Phoenix glanced at him with what seemed to be rather nervous amusement.

Diego’s smile grew a little wider as he slapped his hand on the elevator button. 

“You gonna fight back if I do?” he asked with a low rumble to his tone. 

"Might," Phoenix chuckled, glancing off and rubbing the back of his neck. "I've been known to be a bit of a roughhouser. But I can take a punch if you'd prefer I just rolled over."

Wright was flirting with him. He had to be.

His eyebrows raised…invisible to Wright given the mask, thankfully…and he lightly pushed him into the elevator when it opened. 

“I like it better when there’s a little tussle involved, Trite. Don’t roll over on my account.”

The man was attractive, for certain– there wasn’t JUST blind vengeance leading him to antagonize the man that tumultuous year, after all.

Funny to see the guy flirting back after all these years. 

Wright shouldered him back and grinned a little wider. "Good to know you don't want me to go easy on you, old man."

Maybe this was going to be an interesting afternoon.

Diego looped an arm around him with a wolfish grin “I’m more spry than I look, Trite. Let’s get a little coffee in ya and see where the night goes.” 

[ghostofskywalker]

You Would Have Thought This Heist Would Have Been Slightly More Thought Out, Given The Circumstances

The Bad Batch & Reader (Platonic)

Words: 2,161

Summary: Hunter has to sit out on an assignment because of an injury, and it becomes remarkably clear to everyone else that the position of "voice of reason" is not something that can be replaced, especially not when you're there.

Requested By: anonymous

@clonexreaderbingo square: "let me do the talking"

Note: i hope this fulfills your request for "shenanigans, tomfoolery, japes, [and] mischief" anon!!

Clone Troopers Masterlist

You should have known things would go wrong the second Wrecker accidentally stepped on the ceramic tooka that sat outside the house you had to try and break into. The shattering of the delicate material cut through the silence of the night, and the entire team stopped in their tracks, wondering if this was going to be the thing that ruined the entire operation.

But it seemed that the man you were tasked to steal from was slumbering on, so you were safe for now.

Actually, you should have known something was up when Cid’s intel was incorrect. This assignment was all because of her, as you were being tasked to steal an artifact from a rival of hers here on Ord Mantell. Rel Fastom was a brute and a cheat, so you had no qualms about doing something that was less than legal (even though Ord Mantell was not a perfect upstanding society).

There was just two issues.

One was that along with being a brute and a cheat, this man was incredibly paranoid. Whatever you were being tasked to steal must be incredibly valuable, because when Tech managed to crack the code on his casino, the artifact was not where Cid said Fastom would be displaying it.

“Are we sure it’s not somewhere here and we’re just missing something?” Echo asked as the team began to search the building.

“I’m sure,” Crosshair had said, annoyed. He was still getting used to the way that things were were now, and you didn’t think he trusted Cid as much as the rest of you (and you didn’t even trust her that much). “What the hell is thing thing anyway?”

“Apparently, it is a jeweled scepter,” Tech said. “The central stone is said to have been formed from kyber, though it doesn’t have the same properties as what powers a Jedi’s lightsaber.”

You raised your eyebrows. “A jeweled scepter? What is this guy, a character in a bad holofilm? And why does Cid want it anyway?”

“Apparently she was supposed to buy it, but Fastom beat her out at the last second by doubling his offer.”

“That’s great, but we need to focus on the real issue here,” Wrecker said. “The fact that it’s not where we were told it would be.”

And of course, the other issue was that you did not have a full team for this heist. Hunter had been shot been injured on a team mission about a week ago, and was in no way healthy enough to be here. It was both a blessing and a curse that he was currently sleeping soundly and not taking part in a clandestine heist with the rest of you. The good part was that he was actually healing and wouldn’t prolong his injuries by going with you, but on the other hand, the team was now severely lacking in impulse control. You were just thankful that Omega had agreed to stay back and hadn’t come along, because you knew that if something went wrong, Hunter would be much angrier with you if Omega was accidentally put in harm’s way.

“I have an idea of where we might find what we’re looking for, but it won’t be easy,” Tech said as he recalibrated the lock on the nightclub that you had just broken into and the five of you stepped back into the night air. “If this man is as paranoid as I believe he is, then it’s likely the scepter we’re looking for can be found in his personal residence.”

“So what do we do?” Echo asked. “Breaking into someone’s house wasn’t in the job description, and it’s much more dangerous if we get caught.”

Crosshair shrugged. “It’s the middle of the night, I say we at least try to get it,” he drawled. “And then we can force Cid to double the pay.”

The sniper’s suggestion got Echo to pause. It seemed that the rest of the team was at least willing to give this crazy idea a shot, but Echo was the one most likely to have some reservations. Although their debt had been wiped out by Omega’s surprising skills, they still needed all the money they could get. The goal was to eventually be able to settle down somewhere and not have to live out the rest of your lives as muscle for hire, and those extra credits would go a long way in helping make that dream a little more attainable. “Fine,” he said. “But if we get caught, let me do the talking.”

***

Even though the house was now one ceramic tooka down, at least Tech was able to work his magic on the lock, and you didn’t have to resort to breaking down the door. Now you were faced with a new problem: finding the thing you came for (and of course, stealing it without being caught).

Both of those things would be easier if there was actually a plan in place, but this had been a decision made on a whim and a half-hearted hope, none of you actually knew what to when you made it here. It was now that you were starting to regret not having Hunter here, because things would be way easier if he suddenly started handing out orders and always listening for the sounds of a stirring casino owner. Tech signaled that you should all split up, and a group nod meant that everyone understood.

The first place you looked was the kitchen, which was (predictably) well stocked with wine and other liquors. You were staring at a particularly expensive bottle and wondering if you could fit it in your bag without the fear of it leaking all over the place when Crosshair walked in. “You had the same idea I see,” he said quietly. “I can’t find this thing anywhere.”

You shrugged. “I figure that either Tech or Echo will find it. Wanna raid this guy’s chiller in the meantime?”

Crosshair nodded, and he kept watch while you rooted through the high-quality food that was sitting unguarded in the chiller. Some of this stuff you’d only heard about in stories because of its rarity, and yet here it was, in copious amounts and ripe for the taking. You took a few round fruits out of a package and tossed one to Crosshair, both of you taking a bite at the same time.

“Where can we get these?” you wondered aloud, absolutely enamored with the sweet and slightly tart sphere you were holding.

“I don’t think we would be able to afford these,” was Crosshair’s response. You nodded, knowing that this man probably had access to things you could only ever dream of. Even before the end of the war and the collapse of the Republic, luxuries like this were never something you had access to. “Is there anything else in there?” Crosshair asked as you put away the container of fruit.

You had were just about to suggest that the two of you indulge in pieces of the rather large cake that was currently residing in the chiller, but the sound of your comm device crackling to life cut you off. “Where are you?” Echo asked, his voice slightly crackly through the channel.

“Crosshair and I are in the kitchen,” you said. “You guys should come check it out, this guy has great taste in food.”

“I thought you were supposed to be looking for the artifact!”

“What? it seemed like the rest of you had things under control.”

Echo sighed, and you could almost feel the waves of disappointment coming from him, despite the fact that you weren’t even in the same room. “We found the artifact,” he said, not responding to your statement (but proving its validity all the same).

“Great, so we can get out of here?” Crosshair asked, walking over to speak into your comm device.

“Not exactly.”

“So what’s the holdup?”

“You’ll see, come on.”

Echo directed you to the stairs, where he, Tech, and Wrecker had gathered about halfway up. Crosshair broke the silence first. “What’s the big deal?”

Tech pointed at the door, and you pushed it slightly open to see Rel Fastom’s sleeping form, clutching what looked suspiciously like what you were supposed to be here for. “Oh,” you said, as you and Crosshair turned around to face the rest of the team. “That’s certainly a wrinkle in the plan.”

Wrecker nodded. “How are we going to get it?” he asked.

Now, here’s where you probably should have stepped back and returned home. No one would fault you for knowing your limits, and a new plan could be devised if Cid still wanted to move forward.

But of course that’s not what happened, because you had an idea.

In your head it was an idea that was just crazy enough it might work, but in reality “might” was probably a generous estimation there. Either way, you didn’t even take the time to explain, telling the rest of the team that they needed to have the ship ready to take off. The idea was that once you got the signal, you would gently remove the scepter from Falstom’s arms and just hope he didn’t wake up until after the Marauder had returned to hyperspace. But you didn’t tell them the whole plan, specifically so no one tried to talk you out of it.

Like most of the half-baked plans you came up with when traveling with the Bad Batch, this one seemed like it was going to work for the first minute it was taking place. The rest of the team headed out to the ship, and once you heard the sound of the engine powering up through the comms you creeped into the bedroom, trying not to think about how much you didn’t want to be there.

If you were being honest, the scepter was an ugly thing, and in no way worth this kind of trouble. But you, like the rest of the Bad Batch, had no money of your own and were faced with nothing but consistent struggle in the cruel reality that had taken shape in the days since the fall of the Republic, so you had no choice if you wanted the money.

And of course, the galaxy was never going to be kind enough to let you get away with this unscathed. Fastom did not take long to start throwing punches when he woke up and realized what was going on. You were thankful that the room was dark and it was highly unlikely that your identity would be at risk, but this was still not how you wanted to spend your time right now.

He might have been taller, but you had a small advantage in your sheer desire to get the kriff out of this situation. It wasn’t much though, because even after you threw the man against the wall, he hadn’t yet yielded the artifact (or been knocked unconscious).

Or, at least not until a stun bolt flew through the air behind you and sent your opponent careening to the ground.

You turned around, shocked to see Crosshair standing in the doorway. “Your plan wasn’t very good,” he said. “Get the thing and let’s get out of here.” Grabbing the scepter off the ground, you followed Crosshair out to the ship, and soon you were basking in the relative safety of hyperspace. Bypassing a lecture from Echo, you hid away in your bunk, pretending to tend to an injury you didn’t have.

You had no regrets in your decision. If the situation came down to it, you would put yourself in harms way every single time if it meant that you would be helping the rest of the crew. Because even though you’ve sometimes helped to save them from harm, they saved you in a more meaningful way by simply allowing you to travel with them (and becoming the closest thing you had to a family), and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Cid didn’t question your ambiguous story about why the assignment took you longer than expected, but it seemed that Hunter did. When your employer left to put the new prize on display in her office, and Tech, Wrecker, and Echo left to get some rest, he stared at you and Crosshair with a questioning expression. “You just had to stop and refuel, huh? There wasn’t any trouble with the assignment?”

“Of course not!” you jumped in, knowing that Crosshair wasn’t going to contradict your statement. “Did you really not trust us to do something so simple?”

The sergeant’s expression shifted, and it was clear that he didn’t seem to believe you, but he didn’t push the topic. Next time you did an assignment like this, you decided, it would probably be better if the whole team was present.

Even if you knew Hunter would never let you raid someone’s chiller in the middle of a stealth operation. 

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[mariacallous]

On a Supreme Court where the conservative supermajority increasingly leans on history as a guide, a dispute may be simmering over how many modern cases can be resolved by looking to the nation’s past.

Though Justice Clarence Thomas’ decision in a major trademark case last week was unanimous, it prompted a sharp debate led by Justice Amy Coney Barrett over the use of history to decide the case.

Barrett, the newest conservative on the court, accused Thomas, the most senior associate justice, of a “laser-like focus on the history” that “misses the forest for the trees.”

The back-and-forth could signal a recalibration by some members of the court of how and when to apply originalism, the dominant legal doctrine among the court’s conservatives that demands the Constitution be interpreted based on its original meaning.

Even a slight change could have enormous consequences for the court’s blockbuster cases, including a pending case that is likely to focus heavily on history to decide whether Americans who are the subject of domestic violence restraining orders can be barred from owning guns.

“Barrett’s critique of originalism definitely signals what seems to be a growing rift among the originalists on the court about the proper way to use history,” said Tom Wolf, a constitutional law expert with the liberal-leaning Brennan Center for Justice at New York University’s law school.

“There definitely is the potential formation here of an alternative or several alternative approaches to history that ultimately draw a majority,” Wolf said.

A lewd trademark gets historic treatment

When the Supreme Court last week rejected a lawyer’s bid to trademark the phrase “Trump Too Small,” all nine justices agreed on the outcome, but strong disagreements arose over the majority’s decision to invoke the nation’s “history and tradition” to rebuff the trademark.

Barrett, who endorsed the court’s conclusion that a provision of federal trademark law barring the registration of an individual’s name without that person’s consent is constitutional, wrote separately to express her displeasure with the reasoning of Thomas’ decision to rely on “history and tradition.”

That route, Barrett argued in a 15-page concurrence, “is wrong twice over.” The court’s three liberals signed on to parts of Barrett’s opinion.

Though Barrett acknowledged in her opinion that “tradition has a legitimate role to play in constitutional adjudication,” the Trump nominee said that “the court’s laser-like focus on the history of this single restriction misses the forest for the trees” and sought to poke holes in the history and tradition-first route taken by Thomas and the other conservative justices who agreed with his legal rationale.

The late Justice Antonin Scalia, a leading proponent of originalism on the Supreme Court, once described his approach to interpreting the Constitution as a “piece of cake.” But the debate playing out this term may be a recognition from some on the court that history is often messy and nuanced in a way that doesn’t always yield easy answers.

“What we could be seeing is a more nuanced approach to using that history,” said Elizabeth Wydra, president of the progressive Constitutional Accountability Center.

“It’s much more complicated than that – history is much more contested than that,” Wydra said. “And so to have this debate between two conservative justices, I think, brings a lot of light to the discussion.”

Several court watchers said it is far too early to read too much into the debate between Thomas and Barrett.

“It’s clear that Barrett thinks tradition is sometimes relevant – and that she may have some difference with Thomas about when and exactly how much,” said Ilya Somin, a law professor at George Mason University. “But there’s not really a clear theory here.”

The ‘limits’ of history

The court’s approach to history will be closely scrutinized in its blockbuster Second Amendment decision expected in the coming days. In US v. Rahimi, the justices must decide the fate of a federal law that bars people who are the subject of domestic violence retraining orders from owning guns.

While a majority of the justices indicated during arguments in November that they will uphold the law, the real challenge for the conservatives will be how to square that decision with a two-year-old precedent that held gun prohibitions must have historical ties to survive under the Second Amendment. In New York State Rifle & Pistol Association, Inc. v. Bruen, Thomas wrote that modern gun laws must be “consistent with this nation’s historical tradition.”

But there were no gun laws on the books at the nation’s founding that dealt explicitly with domestic violence. And so to uphold the federal law, the court will have to likely have to at least explain how that standard applies to modern laws.

When Thomas issued his majority decision in Bruen two years ago, Barrett joined Thomas’ opinion in full. But she also penned a brief concurrence to highlight the “limits on the permissible use of history” in deciding cases. Among them, she said, was identifying the historical date needed to assess whether a restriction was constitutional.

In the months and years following the court’s decision in Bruen, the “history and tradition” framework has led judges across the US to strike down various gun restrictions while also perplexing some jurists who have noted the obstacles that accompany the new rule.

Justice Sonia Sotomayor, too, noted those issues in a concurrence she issued last week in the trademark case.

“The majority attempts to reassure litigants and the lower courts that a ‘history-focused approac[h]’ here is sensible and workable, by citing … Bruen,” she wrote. “To say that such reassurance is not comforting would be an understatement. One need only read a handful of lower court decisions applying Bruen to appreciate the confusion this Court has caused.”

The court’s other two liberals signed on to Sotomayor’s concurrence. Barrett did not.

History saves banking watchdog

Last month, another split emerged in a case involving the funding for the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, a federal banking watchdog created in response to the 2008 financial meltdown. The payday lending industry sued the agency, claiming that the way Congress set up its funding violated the Constitution’s appropriation clause.

Writing for a 7-2 majority, Thomas dived deeply into pre-colonial English history and found that parliament – even as it tightened its grip on the government’s purse – did not “micromanage every aspect of the king’s finances.”

The legislature, in other words, gave the king some latitude and that discretion for the executive continued in the early days of the United States. Based on that history, the court upheld the modern agency’s funding.

But in a striking concurrence that captured support from both liberal and conservative justices, Justice Elena Kagan asserted that the court’s historic analysis need not end with the late-18th century. Instead, Kagan wrote, the court could look at more modern times – a “continuing tradition” to decide the constitutionality of a government policy.

Barrett and Justice Brett Kavanaugh, both members of the court’s conservative wing, joined that analysis, along with Sotomayor – suggesting that there may be different ways of thinking about history and tradition even among the conservatives who have ushered in that approach to deciding cases.

“I see this basically as an evolving dialogue amongst all the justices on the court and some of it is certainly being informed by the aftermath of some really ill-informed and deeply damaging opinions from earlier terms,” said Wolf, pointing to Bruen and the court’s decision two years ago overturning Roe v. Wade.

“Certain justices clearly understood the substantive problems with those rulings and also the methods problems with relying on history as dispositive in those cases at the time the court was doing it,” he added.

Thomas looks to English courts in trademark fight

In the trademark dispute, Vidal v. Elster, Thomas’ legal reasoning for upholding the section of the Lanham Act at issue broke new ground: It was, Sotomayor wrote, the first time the court had taken the history and tradition approach to decide a free speech controversy.

Training his sights on the nation’s “long history” of maintaining restrictions on trademarking names, Thomas invoked a series of cases dating as far back as the 19th Century and from courts outside the US.

“We see no evidence that the common law afforded protection to a person seeking a trademark of another living person’s name. To the contrary, English courts recognized that selling a product under another person’s name could be actionable fraud,” he wrote. “This recognition carried over to our country.”

Thomas’ rationale was joined by Kavanaugh, Chief Justice John Roberts, and Justices Samuel Alito and Neil Gorsuch.

But Barrett, Kagan, Sotomayor and Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson parted ways with those five justices.

Barrett’s concurrence said the dispute could have been dealt with based on the court’s past precedent with trademark law and stressed that just leaning on the nation’s trademark history wasn’t good enough.

“In my view, the historical record does not alone suffice to demonstrate the clause’s constitutionality,” she wrote.

She went on to argue that even though the five-justice majority said it wasn’t creating a new test in its opinion, “a rule rendering tradition dispositive is itself a judge-made test.”

[istoppedlurkingforthis]

There are many days I am horrified by what comes out of uk politicians mouths.

But then something like this appears on my YouTube recommended viewing (what sins have I done to get the Daily Mail recommended to me?) and I have to recalibrate again. Because apparently the bar is so low in 'stupid things politicians seem to genuinely believe' it has to include "some places will Legally Kill you for being gay and that isn't enough to be a refugee" as being one of those stupid things.

Like I'm not an expert on asylum, I know very little. But. I'm going on common sense (foolish) and what I've read over the years in news coverage. And the UN act that Braverman has badmouthed covers people seeking freedom from persecution or risk to life as far as I'm aware. So the fact she's quoted as saying:

"But we will not be able to sustain an asylum system if in effect, simply being gay, or a woman, and fearful of discrimination in your country of origin is sufficient to qualify for protection."

Is. Insane.

Wtf.

How do you care so little about people? How?

Look, I don't like people. I feel were all needlessly complicated and I don't understand us. But. People should be allowed to be safe. People should be allowed to escape to somewhere else to be safe (arguments can be had as to how safe the UK wants to be/is considering The Fucking Stupid Bullshit The Government Keeps Saying And Doing). People should have access to food. People should have access to safe shelter.

People shouldn't be stuck on boats against their wills.

Like, its not hard. I don't like people. But that doesn't stop me caring about them or wanting them to be safe, fed, sheltered and as happy as is possible given the circumstances.

Fuck this government for thinking they can say this.

And, I guess fuck us for letting them get comfortable enough that they can.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

In honor of the very annoying spam/scam call I just got, here's a random thought I had as a result of being interrupted in the middle of running errands when it's 115°F outside.

Tech would be the best/worst person you could possibly call by accident or try to scam, respectively.

On the subject of wrong-number calls

Dependent on what he's in the middle of, I can see Tech stopping, kindly explaining they have the wrong comm frequency, and then doing one of the following:

Being helpful- "I'm afraid this is not the number for the parts store. But... Might I recommend their competitor? Oftentimes there are more selections in their capacitors than the store that shows up highest in results from the Holonet. ... Yes you are quite welcome."

Being very helpful- "... You're doing an academic project on Aiwhas? How much would you like to know? I have researched them quite extensively, I would be happy to assist!"

He's not gonna have the heart to tell someone he's not their grandson. He'll chat with them briefly before saying he has to go and then he'll promptly find a way to get in contact with who this "Ms. Helios on Tattooine" meant to call and let them know that their grandmother could use a visit.

Shut up, it was the polite thing to do.

On the subject of scam calls

Oh boy, this one he could have fun with. You're going to waste his valuable time? (And he's in a mood now that you've thrown off his groove? He was in the middle of a helmet repair and recalibration!)

He might hang up on them.

He might give it to Crosshair to deal with once he's sure he is not about to curse out some poor kid below legal galactic age.

Tech might call them out on their banthashit if he's in a Mood™. "I've been tracking your location as we speak. You are calling from the lower levels of Courasaunt, which is nowhere near Florrum. Nor am I anywhere near Florrum. In fact , I'm-"

Hunter's shouting from the front of the Maurader to just hang up and go back to sleep!

[frogblast-the-ventcore]

Examples of Va'ruun Matriarchy weaponry -

The two blades - one physical, one energy based - are not necessarily needed for close combat, thanks to Va'ruun physiology providing them with quite lethal natural weapons.

However, they are used anyway, because to the Va'ruun, the use of one's claws and tail and teeth in combat is seen as uncouth. The energy blade uses gravitic and magnetic fields to hold in place a blade of energy similar to that produced by particle beam weaponry, shaped to allow for cutting and slicing attacks. The physical blade has been sharpened to near mono-molecular levels, allowing it to cut through virtually all known armor, including starship hulls (rumors that AC Navy boarding teams carry such a blade as an emergency boarding access tool are groundless for a variety of reasons, but persist nonetheless).

The two ranged weapons are both particle beam weapons of extremely advanced make, direct holdovers from their creators. Extremely lightweight and nearly always fitted with advanced scopes and/or remote neuro-ocular interfaces, the weapons possess only a few downsides - namely a short, but notable recalibration cycle after each shot that lowers their rate of fire compared to more conventional weaponry, and a near black-box level of manufacturing opacity that renders their production, and their upkeep, economically unviable outside the Va'ruun Matriarchy.

Originally, these ranged weapons could be configured to fire from "annihilator packs", which used a still poorly-studied phenomenon to inflict a debilitating, wasting effect over a small area of impact. This effect can somehow propagate into organic matter, turning it to carbonized dust in a slow and painful manner, earning the weapons their infamous nicknames of "Gorgon" and "Basilisk".

The Va'ruun Matriarchy has, in conjunction with most governments in settled space, banned the use of "annihilator packs". All data related to the effect and construction of such power packs is sealed in the Centauri Accords Archive in a deep-crust bunker under the Astral Confederation capital city, along with any other technology deemed unacceptable for use in warfare. Most extant examples have been altered to prevent annihilator packs from being used.

However, despite this near-total ban, annihilator packs still occasionally can be found on the grey and black markets, and sometimes see use among particularly unscrupulous agents of the Hunter's Guild.

The rare legal packs are in the direct possession of the Va'ruun Matriarchy's Royal Guard, or else consigned to the collection of specific individuals/collective entities registered with the Confederation. Each of these individuals has applied for, and been granted, a permit for their use in historical education, and is allowed one annihilator pack. All are implanted with tracking devices and tamper sensors, to detect any attempt to steal or disassemble them. When the registered owner dies, the packs are confiscated, as they are considered property of the Astral Confederation, until such time as another individual applies for a permit.

[republicsecurity]

Are you Ready?

With the positive stimuli reverberating through their consciousness, the recruits marched in disciplined unison towards the classroom.

The recruits, guided by their HUDs, marched in unison toward the classroom, the rhythmic clatter of their armored boots echoing through the sterile corridors. The HUDs deliberately introduced disorientation, recalibrating the recruits' sense of direction and spatial awareness. As they navigated the labyrinthine facility, the digital overlays on their visors flickered with dynamic arrows, constantly changing the perceived layout.

The recruits found themselves relying entirely on the visual cues provided by the HUD, each step a calculated response to the shifting information. The facility's architecture became an abstract puzzle, the familiar transformed into an enigmatic landscape. The instructors, observing from a distance, monitored the recruits' adaptability to the controlled disorientation, a subtle test of their reliance on the technology that bound them.

The recruits, their armored boots echoing in the clinical corridors, found themselves trapped in a seemingly endless loop of sterile hallways. The HUD, their guiding light, played tricks on their perception, leading them in circles, past familiar points that should have long been left behind.

The architectural monotony of the facility became a psychological challenge, a test of patience and adaptability. A five-minute walk stretched into an elongated 30-minute march, disorienting and perplexing the recruits. The instructors, hidden behind the scenes, observed the recruits' responses through the suit telemetry and AI reports.

The recruits entered the classroom, their armored boots echoing in unison as they marched to their assigned armrest chairs. Each chair, a sophisticated piece of technology, featured docking ports designed to seamlessly connect with the waste management system of the suits. The chairs, resembling a fusion of ergonomic design and utilitarian efficiency, were the recruits' designated stations for both comfort and maintenance.

As the recruits settled into their chairs, there was a symphony of clicks and hisses as the docking clamps engaged, securing the suits in place. The connection initiated a dual process – the waste management system efficiently extracted bodily waste from the recruits, ensuring hygiene and convenience, while simultaneously replenishing the suits with necessary resources.

The recruits, confined to their armrest chairs, received the subtle yet unmistakable message in their HUD. A glyph, an enigmatic symbol on their visors, indicated that their motor control had been disabled. They found themselves in a state of temporary immobility, unable to stand or move their bodies.

The instructors entered the room, their armored presence casting an imposing shadow over the recruits. The recruits, though physically restricted, could still move their heads and arms within the confines of their chairs. It was a deliberate imposition, a strategic choice made by the instructors to emphasize control and dependency.

Instructor KO10T addressed the recruits with a measured tone, "Today marks a pivotal moment in your training, as we delve into the intricacies of employing lethal force. This matter was broached prior to your Basic Medical Training, and it warrants reiteration now. By the tenets of the prevailing legal framework, you possess the prerogative to raise objections to this facet of your instruction. The law, in its unwavering language, affords you the right to dissent."

The recruits, their heads slightly turned within their armored restraints, absorbed the words. Instructor 6DG05, stationed nearby, scrutinized the telemetry data, monitoring the recruits' physiological responses to the legal discourse.

KO10T continued, the atmosphere in the room tense and charged with the weight of the impending instruction.

KO10T: "By law, you retain the right to voice your objection to this particular aspect of your training. However, understand that this objection may impact the both your individual development and your standing within the paramedic corps."

Instructor KO10T continued, acknowledging the unique status of the recruits as conscripts, "Let it be known that, as conscripts, you are safeguarded by the provision that precludes compelling individuals to act against the dictates of their conscience. The machinery of the law respects this fundamental tenet. If any among you harbors objections based on conscientious grounds, now is the moment to articulate them."

Instructor KO10T's voice resonated through the helmets, a blend of authority and a peculiar sort of empathy.

"We'll initiate a playback now, a stark reminder of the gravity of the path you tread. This is no casual matter. Once the video concludes, each of you will have a designated interval to reflect on your choice. This decision, my dear recruits, is the compass that will guide your actions in the field. It is not to be taken lightly."

The HUD flickered, and the recruits were immersed in a grim visual narrative, an unsettling portrayal of the use of deadly force in the line of duty. As the scenes unfolded, each recruit grappled with the weight of their imminent decision, aware that the path ahead demanded a conscious commitment to actions that could not be undone.

6DG05 monitored the recruits' physiological responses, assessing the impact of the video on their emotional and mental states. The telemetry data displayed a spectrum of reactions — heightened heart rates, increased perspiration, and various neural responses.

"KO10T," 6DG05 called out, "I'm observing diverse reactions. Some are displaying expected stress responses, while others seem more composed. It's intriguing to witness the distinct ways in which their minds grapple with the ethical complexities."

H2U8M's visor dimmed to black, cutting off the visual stimuli, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the voice of Instructor KO10T echoing in his helmet.

"In this designated interval, you are urged to reflect on your choice," KO10T's voice resonated through the confined space of the helmet, creating an intimate connection between the instructor's words and H2U8M's consciousness.

As the silence enveloped him, H2U8M's mind raced through the moral labyrinth that the video had presented. The weight of the decision pressed against the walls of his consciousness. In the solitude within the suit, he grappled with the ethical considerations of employing deadly force.

The distant hum of machinery and the rhythmic sound of his own breath became the backdrop for his contemplation. The stark reality of his role as a tactical paramedic unfolded in his mind — the responsibility to protect, the obligation to save lives, and the potential necessity to wield force.

The minutes passed, each tick of the clock echoing in the stillness of his thoughts. The neural conditioning, the sensory isolation, and the weight of the decision all converged within the confines of the suit.

Finally, as the designated interval drew to a close, KO10T's voice returned, breaking the silence that had enveloped H2U8M's consciousness. The visor slowly illuminated, revealing the training room once again.

"In front of you is a menu," KO10T's voice accompanied the digital interface. "This is your opportunity to express your consent or objection. Navigate through the options and make your choice."

The menu presented a series of questions and statements, seeking H2U8M's affirmation or dissent. The cursor responded to his mental commands as he moved through the selections. Each click of the cursor felt like a weighted decision, an acknowledgment of the path he was willing to tread in his role as a tactical paramedic.

KO10T's voice guided the process, a constant reminder that this was more than a mere formality. It was a pivotal moment, an assertion of his personal stance in the face of the moral challenges inherent in their line of work.

With each selection, H2U8M felt a sense of agency, a reaffirmation of his autonomy within the confines of the suit. The act of navigating the menu was more than a technical procedure; it was a declaration of his willingness to engage with the complexities of his duty.

As he confirmed his choices, the menu dissolved, and the HUD returned to its standard display.

The HUD blinked into emptiness, leaving H2U8M in a momentary void. The digital canvas that had been filled with choices and reflections now reverted to a stark blankness. In the absence of prompts, he was left alone with his thoughts, the residue of his decisions lingering in the virtual silence.

Meanwhile, 6DG05 diligently monitored the recruits' responses, the streams of data converging into a comprehensive analysis. As the feedback reached him, he relayed the information to KO10T, the exchange a seamless coordination between instructor and overseer. The report confirmed what they had anticipated – no fundamental rejections, no dissent that would impede the progression of the training.

"KO10T," 6DG05's voice echoed through the communication channels. "All recruits have navigated the menu without fundamental objections. We can proceed with the next phase of training."

The confirmation was met with a measured nod from KO10T. The recruits, their HUDs now darkened, awaited the next set of instructions.

he HUD burst into life once more, a canvas of digital information painting the next phase of their training. Lessons unfurled across the recruits' visors, delving into the intricacies of the standard rifle used within the paramedic corps. The virtual display detailed the specifications, components, and maintenance protocols of the small arms that would become an extension of their tactical paramedic identity.

In the dimly lit classroom, the recruits were ensconced in the glow of their HUDs, absorbing the wealth of information transmitted directly into their field of vision. The instructor's voice, modulated by the AI to convey a perfect blend of authority and guidance, accompanied the visual feast of knowledge. Each nugget of information etched itself into their minds, forming a mental arsenal to complement the physicality of the suits they wore.

The lesson on small arms unfolded like a meticulously crafted narrative, where the line between weapon and tool blurred in the context of their duties.

[megidonitram]

Everyone's Running From Something (ch.3)

A Baldur's Gate 3 University Professor AU

Rating: M

Quick Summary: Astarion and Gale are two University English professors precariously mentoring a troubled 19-year-old and falling in love.

💖Main Pairing : BloodWeave,(Astarion/Gale) 💕Side Pairings: Shadowheart/Nocturne, Karlach/Dammon, Wyll/The Dark Urge, Tav/Tav 💔Past Pairings: Gale/Mystra, Astarion/Sebastian, Astarion/Tav

<=Previous Chapter | Master List | Ao3 | Next Chapter =>

**Please see Master List Entry for Full Content Warnings**

⏰Chapter Warning⏰ None

Astarion took a lap around the building to cool off before returning to his office- The last thing he needed was Gale asking him how he was doing after that little shit-show. Korrilla had also given him something of a runaround after he left Raphael’s office. She accidentally printed his requested forms on legal-size paper (because she forgot that she didn’t restock the printer before break) and then wasn’t sure if being in the wrong formatting would invalidate the paperwork, so Astarion had to wait for her to go get a fresh package of printer paper from the supply closet in the basement, which made him feel like a dick because she had to climb four flights of stairs to do that.

The problem with Korrilla was that Astarion never knew if she was in on Raphael’s torment or if she was just making a series of human mistakes because he made her nervous- though neither answer made the interaction any less annoying.

When Astarion got back to his office, Gale was still there. He was flipping through a heavily marked-up handbook on technical writing for business communications, staring at the pages as if he were either heavily engrossed by the reading -unlikely- or trying to light the damn thing on fire. It only made sense once he stepped into the room and saw Xenia posted up in the corner on her phone.

“Ah, Miss Bellona. Exactly who I was hoping to run into.” Astarion said, snapping the tension in the room like a loose thread. Gale nearly jumped out of his skin. “You look terrible.”

Xenia looked up at him with narrowed eyes, chewing one of her nails on her good hand. “I’ve had a rough few months.” She replied in that flat, desperately-trying-not-to-care tone that made her so fun to tease.

“I’ve heard. What do you need help with?” He slapped down his stack of paperwork on his desk and sat at his computer. Astarion saw Gale watching him wide-eyed, and he wondered how much Gale had pried while he was gone.

“I wanted to get the assignment sheets for my missing work from Survey of Gothic Literature,” Xenia said. Gale casually turned in his chair and pretended to rearrange the books on his shelf, giving them the courtesy of at least pretending to check-out of their conversation. “I thought I should get started on finishing that before the rest of my classes start…”

“Of course, you dropped off around Project… 4, was it? I think I kept a folder with your missing assignments somewhere.” With a few keystrokes, Astarion’s computer lurched back to life, fan buzzing as the machine recalibrated after being shut off for a month straight.

“I think the last thing I turned in was the 2nd character study…” Xenia replied. “…or maybe I just finished it- do you recall reading a paper from me about Miss Jessel?”

“I don’t, but I’ve read nearly a thousand bad-to-mediocre composition papers since then, so it’s likely I just forgot.” Astarion clicked through the expired Canvas shell to skim the grade book and determine which assignments he needed to pull.

“Oh, so my writing's mediocre?”

“I’m sorry, your 1200-word sophomore-level essay demonstrated a pure mastery of your craft. How foolish of me to forget when the beauty of your words brought me to tears.”  Astarion scoffed. He found the file folder he was looking for and printed it off. “Gale, I know you’re terribly busy, but could you grab those papers from the 2nd floor breakroom?”

“Absolutely!” Gale was on his feet and heading for before the request had fully left Astarion’s mouth. He gave Xenia a friendly smile. “Back in a flash!”

“Take your time.” The comment came out a lot more passive-aggressive than Astarion meant it. He watched Gale leave the room and listened for the stairwell door to open and close. Astarion turned back to Xenia. “What did you say to him?”

Xenia shrugged. “He asked about my dad, and I told him that I stabbed him to death.”

“Did you happen to… elaborate on that?”

“No, he didn’t ask.”

Astarion sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know, if you want people to stop treating you like a freak, you’ll have to stop acting like one.”

Xenia crossed her good arm in front of herself and pouted. “It’s not like someone wouldn’t have told him anyways.”

“Probably, but even a complete stranger would make you seem at least a little saner,” Astarion replied.

Xenia went quiet for a moment, her lips twisting into a disgruntled snarl. Her eyes drifted to the water-stained ceiling tiles. Astarion sort of understood her twisted logic. There were a lot of people on campus who treated her like a ticking time bomb, regardless of whether they knew her exact circumstances or not. If people would be convinced that she was a monster regardless, perhaps it was better if she was the one doing the convincing- at least then she was in control. It hurts less to meet someone's rotten expectations than to try your hardest and fail to prove them wrong.

“I suppose you want to know what happened last semester?” she muttered.

“Tell me or don’t.” Astarion shrugged. “I could not care less.”

Xenia rolled her eyes. “You’re such a dick.”

“What I am is a mandatory reporter, so think carefully about what you want to tell me- unless you like filling out copious amounts of paperwork,” Astarion said. “Do you need the reading materials? I could just lend you my anthology since you’re the only one left in the class.”

“I’ve still got my book from last year…” Xenia replied, mind still very clearly elsewhere. “…Do you have siblings?”

Astarion paused. “Yes. 6 of them. Why?”

“How do you refer to them… like in your mind? Do you call them your siblings?”

“I don’t think of the much anymore, honestly. But I suppose when I do, I think of them as their first names.” Astarion sighed. “Is there something you actually wanted to talk to me about?”

“I’m having trouble figuring out how to think of my sister,” Xenia admitted. “I guess she was never really my sister, and she was never really to blame, but…”

“You’re allowed to be angry at her,” Astarion replied. “I think you should be, frankly.”

Xenia mulled over his words for a moment, and Astarion could see her run her tongue along the inside of her cheek, absent-mindedly tracing the contours of her scar. She opened her mouth to say something, but the door in the stairwell creaked open, and she clamed up, wary of being overheard.

***

Gale felt horribly selfish for wanting to bolt out of the office as badly as he did. He wanted Xenia to feel comfortable and safe around him -the poor thing seemed like she’d been through enough- but he’d locked up. It wasn’t difficult for Gale to surmise that she probably didn’t commit patricide for the fun of it- those kinds of actions are usually born out of extreme desperation. However, whenever he thought about trying to relate to her or lift the mood, the impulse was killed by some strange insistence that he was being too personal, too forthcoming, too intimate.

He envied the ease with which Astarion had struck up a rapport with her- it seemed that despite his posturing, Astarion did, in fact, have a few soft spots. Gale told himself that it was because Astarion had leagues more experience in these departments than he did, but still, he worried. This was the first time he’d been on a college campus purely as a professional, and it felt a lot more daunting than he’d ever imagined.

It took Gale a hot minute of wandering around on the wrong floor to figure out Astarion meant “second floor” in the standard British English sense of the phrase, and the break room was actually located on the third floor. He collected the small stack of orphaned papers from the tray next to the copier and returned to Astarion’s -his- office.

Xenia was still there, Idle chatting about the books she’d read while in involuntary hold. “Do you teach V.C. Andrews? She’d gothic lit, isn’t she?”

“I’m not much of an Americanist,” Astarion replied. “If I’m forced to teach Southern Gothic authors, I tend to gravitate towards Falkner.”

“Not Poe?”

Astarion gave her a derisive look, but Gale handed the stack of papers before he could respond. He flipped through to ensure everything was in order and handed them over to Xenia. “You’ve got two more plot summaries, a thematic analysis, and a comparative essay for the final. Work on them at your leisure.”  

Xenia took the papers and tossed them in the tattered messenger bag she’d brought without a second glance. “Thanks!” She said. “Is there anything else I need?”

Astarion put a hand on the paperwork he’d brought in with him, thumbing over the corner before he shot a scrutinizing look over at Gale. “Yes… but we’ll talk about it later.” He said.

“Alight, see you around then.” Xenia shrugged and slung her bag over her good shoulder but didn’t quite get it, and the strap slid down her arm, catching hard in the crook of her elbow. She let out a frustrated groan.

“Here, allow me.” Gale stepped forward and looped the strap comfortably over her shoulder.

Xenia cocked her head and gave Gale a thoughtful look, her dark eyes piercing right through him. “Thank you…” she muttered before she turned and hurried out of the office.

“She seems…” Gale trailed off. He wasn’t sure what Xenia seemed like; he’d never met a murderer before- at least not to his knowledge.

“Shorter than you’d thought she’d be?” Astarion asked flippantly, reclining in his chair. That was fair; Gale had a hard time imagining how someone as little and frail as Xenia could overpower a full-grown man, boxcutter or no.

“Did she really-”

“Self-defense,” Astarion answered several questions ahead. “I don’t suggest asking her anything else about it. She didn’t have a particularly pleasant home life.”

“I’d imagine not,” Gale replied, sitting back down at his desk. He tried his credentials again- still nothing. “-do you know how long it should take for me to be put in the university’s system?”

“Surely you should be in by now…” Astarion replied. He moved to look over Gale’s shoulder. He was so close Gale could feel his breath tickling the back of his neck- he had to suppress a shiver.

Astarion said something, pointing at the computer screen. He had such striking eyes, such a warm brown that they were almost red.

Gale completely missed what. “Sorry?”

“Try logging in without the server address,” Astarion repeated a slight edge in his voice. “Everything after the ‘at’ symbol.”

“Right.” Gale deleted the back half of his username and tried again. The computer loaded and loaded and loaded.

“That’s typically a good sign. Computers on campus take forever to log you on the first time.” Astarion said. He picked up the picture of Yenna and examined it dispassionately. “Cute kid, is she yours?”

“Ah, no… that’s my niece.” Gale felt suddenly and incredibly self-conscious. “I’ve always wanted my own, but it wasn’t in the cards, I’m afraid.”

The admission shocked him slightly, but he supposed it was true. Mystra had never wanted kids, and Gale wanted to keep her pleased, so he went along with that. But Gale had always loved kids. He’d been so excited when Yenna was born that he could hardly put her down. Still, when people asked him and Mystra if they were planning on having kids, he’d just nod dutifully while she explained that he was too focused on his career to think about kids.

“Shame,” Astarion said, setting the picture frame back down.

Gale’s computer screen went black, and then an empty Windows desktop appeared. Success!

“Just in time to log out for the all-hands meeting!” Astarion exclaimed looking at his watch.

“Naturally…” Gale sighed.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Leor Sapir and Joseph Figliolia

Published: Jun 11, 2024

In its recent Title IX guidance, the U.S. Department of Education’s Office for Civil Rights redefines the 1972 law to ban discrimination on the basis of “gender identity” in federally funded education programs. In doing so, it showed willful disregard for scientific research on pediatric gender transition and for the findings of the Cass Review, a 388-page report and the most comprehensive to date on youth gender medicine.

OCR also ignored legal precedent. It said that its Title IX rule was a response to Bostock v. Clayton County, a 2020 Supreme Court decision that involved employment discrimination under Title VII of the Civil Rights Act. OCR thus acted without regard for the vast differences between employment (which involves adults) and education (which involves primarily children). And it disregarded entirely the Bostock Court’s explicit statement that it was “proceed[ing] on the assumption that ‘sex’ . . . refer[s] only to biological distinctions between male and female” and consequently that its ruling does “not purport to address bathrooms, locker rooms, or anything else of the kind.”

The Republican response has been swift. Several red states have publicly condemned the update, and more than 20 have filed lawsuits. Much of the criticism has rightly focused on how creating “gender identity” rules will undermine women’s safety and opportunities by eliminating single-sex spaces and forcing the integration of male athletes into female sports.

The new rule effectively forces schools to facilitate so-called social transitions—recognizing trans-identifying students by their chosen “gender”—regardless of students’ age, familial circumstances, or medical and mental-health background. Schools won’t need to get parental consent; in fact, the rule effectively compels them to secure students’ consent before disclosing information about their social transition to their parents. It does so by recognizing students’ right to privacy from not just their school, but their own parents.

These new changes bring the Department of Education into conflict with the findings and recommendations of the recently published Cass Review. Immediately following the Review’s publication, Kamran Abbasi, editor-in-chief of the British Medical Journal, acknowledged that the evidence base for gender medicine—“from social transition to hormone treatment”—is “threadbare.” He called the report “an opportunity to pause, recalibrate, and place evidence informed care at the heart of gender medicine.”

The Biden administration has declined that opportunity. Its new Title IX rules implicitly reject the report’s findings and further illustrate Democrats’ indifference to the rising chorus of international skepticism about pediatric gender medicine and early social transition.

Advocates of social transition make two arguments for the practice. First, they insist that social transition improves mental health in “trans kids” and that failing to “affirm” a child’s “gender identity” can be psychologically damaging. Second, and somewhat in tension with the first claim, proponents argue that using students’ preferred names and pronouns, and granting them access to their preferred sex-specific facilities and activities, is no big deal. It’s not a psychological intervention at all, they claim, but merely a show of “respect” and “inclusion.”

Like physical medicine, psychological interventions can be beneficial or harmful. Iatrogenesis—treatment-induced illness—exists in physical and mental-health care alike. For this reason, any intervention requires careful diagnosis, weighing of costs and benefits, consideration of alternatives, and informed consent, which, in the case of minors, comes from those legally responsible for their wellbeing.

In her report, Cass writes that social transition “in an NHS setting” is “an active intervention because it may have significant effects on the child or young person in terms of their psychological functioning and longer-term outcomes.” Cass and her team recommend that, for children, mental-health professionals advise parents “on the risks and benefits of social transition as a planned intervention, referencing best available evidence.” (Keep in mind that Cass’s recommendation assumes mental-health professionals will not automatically “affirm” a child’s feelings about gender.)

While Cass claims that social transition “is within the agency of an adolescent to do for themselves,” this needs to be clarified. A student may request new pronouns, wear clothing typical of the opposite sex, or want to use the other sex’s bathrooms, but a trans-identifying child has not socially transitioned unless adults in positions of authority treat the child as though he were what he claims to be. For very young children who don’t understand what pronouns are or how gender-related behaviors like dress and haircuts relate to one’s status as boy or girl, the “request” for social transition is inferred by adults from the child’s behavioral cues. In other words, by definition, social transition is something done to kids—not something they do to themselves.

If, as established, social transition is an active psychological intervention, the next question is: Does it help? The Biden DOE, which in 2021 encouraged schools to “use the name a student goes by, which may be different from their legal name, and pronouns that reflect a student’s gender identity,” thinks so. The department’s position mirrors that of the World Professional Association for Transgender Health, which, in its Standards of Care for the Health of Transgender and Gender Diverse People, Version 8, says, “Research indicates social transition and congruent gender expression have a significant beneficial effect on the mental health of [trans-identifying] people.”

This isn’t true, according to the Cass report. Cass and her team commissioned seven systematic reviews of evidence and medical guideline quality from experts at the University of York, one of which dealt specifically with the question of social transition. The findings of that review, Cass writes, support “none of the WPATH [SOC] 8 statements in favour of social transition in childhood.”

Cass also notes that “social transition in childhood may change the trajectory of gender identity development for children with early gender incongruence.” In other words, if all adults in positions of authority in a boy’s life consistently treat him as if he is a girl, he will be more likely to believe that he really is a girl. While data on the relationship between social transition and gender-identity outcomes is limited, the possibility that social transition solidifies a cross-sex identity is supported by desistance literature. A 2018 paper by University of Toronto psychologist Kenneth J. Zucker suggests that 67 percent of children who meet the diagnostic threshold of gender dysphoria outgrow those feelings by adulthood, typically during puberty. Of those below the diagnostic threshold, 93 percent desisted.

Crucially, the kids in those studies had not been socially transitioned in the way gender transition advocates now recommend. Compare these high rates of desistence to those from a 2022 study of a group of socially transitioned children, which found that 97.5 percent had not come to terms with their sex at the end of a five-year follow-up period. Though this study did not follow the kids all the way through adolescence, it suggests that social transition can lock in a child’s cross-gender beliefs and feelings that otherwise are likely to remit. Most of the children in this study were receiving medical interventions, including puberty blockers, by its end.

Cass and her team thus recommend caution. They instruct parents to socially transition a young child, if at all, only after consulting a clinician, and they counsel clinicians to prefer partial social transition (e.g., letting the child wear cross-sex clothes while maintaining his name and pronouns) to full social transition. For adolescents, they argue that “exploration” of identity “is a normal process” and “rigid binary gender stereotypes can be unhelpful.” (Of course, trans identities often rely on such stereotypes.)

While gender ideology critics may find it disappointing that Cass allows for social transition in some cases, it’s important to remember that her approach is pragmatic. She acknowledges the reality that parents, teachers, and clinicians only have so much control over a teen’s life. Whatever parents do, they should never make it harder for their kids to “return” to their sex (i.e., desist) after having declared themselves trans. The important thing is “keeping options open.”

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Cass emphasizes that there is no way of knowing which gender non-conforming or trans-identified kids, if any, will experience a lifetime of suffering if they are denied social or medical interventions. By contrast, getting it wrong means severe and potentially permanent iatrogenic harm. Clinicians have no diagnostic tool that can distinguish a child or adolescent who is destined to endure a lifetime of agony from one going through a phase. Normal distress over puberty, inability to accept oneself as gay, ongoing mental health challenges, and (in young children) simple confusion can all manifest symptoms consistent with the current definition of “gender dysphoria.” For this reason, Cass has warned of “diagnostic overshadowing.”

But even if a diagnostic test for “true trans” existed, there is no good evidence that the long-term benefits of early intervention outweigh the risks. And even if they did, it is doubtful that a young teen could understand the tradeoffs and give informed consent.

It is a mark of arrogance that the Office of Civil Rights took none of these facts—many well-known prior to the publication of Cass’s final report—into account when formulating its new Title IX rules. The agency couches its rules in absolutist “rights talk” and imposes highly inflexible requirements on schools.

The new regulations will force schools to accommodate a student who requests social transition, regardless of the student’s age, level of cognitive and emotional maturity, family circumstances, or mental-health challenges, and with or without a mental-health professional’s diagnosis or input from parents. Notably, the rules favorably cite two policy documents—an advisory from the California DOE and an administrative regulation from Nevada’s Washoe County School District—that endorse blanket social transition policies at school without requiring parental notification.

As one of us (Sapir) has pointed out in the past, legal rules like the new Title IX regulation generate considerable legal uncertainty for school districts. In their desire to avoid expensive and embarrassing civil rights lawsuits and OCR investigations, and on the advice of their risk-averse lawyers, school officials and boards find it in their interest to defer to the very advocacy organizations that, either on their own or through allies in their network, can initiate legal proceedings against the school. A self-interested administrator will thus adopt, say, GLSEN’s model policy on transgender accommodation, in the expectation that doing so will send a signal of compliance to the powerful ACLU. Unlike the Biden administration, neither GLSEN nor the ACLU are accountable to voters. Both can adopt radical policies far afield from what even an ideologically driven Department of Education can hope to achieve. This is essentially a racket underwritten by the federal government.

Following OCR’s logic to its conclusion, a school with a parental-notification policy could be guilty of “hostile environment harassment,” as defined in the new Title IX regulations. After all, some would argue, such a policy could be “subjectively and objectively offensive and . . . so severe or pervasive that it limits or denies a person’s ability to participate in or benefit from the recipient’s education program or activity.” Indeed, though the regulatory update goes into effect in August, the Office for Civil Rights has already cited this rationale to launch an investigation against a school district for its parental-notification policy.

The Biden administration, in its Title IX guidance and elsewhere, has stretched the term “abuse” beyond its obvious connotation to include failing to “affirm” a child’s gender identity. Proponents of the administration’s position claim that trans-identified students are at high risk of rejection and could face abuse at home if they are “outed” to their families, but we’ve noted serious problems with this argument. In effect, so has England’s National Health Service, which recommended last September that fit parents should always be involved in the decision-making process regarding social transition in school.

Indeed, mental-health outcomes for gender-distressed youth are better when they have supportive relationships with their family. “Outcomes for children and adolescents are best,” Cass writes, “if they are in a supportive relationship with their family. For this reason parents should be actively involved in decision making unless there are strong grounds to believe that this may put the child or young person at risk.” Secret social-transition policies—which Parents Defending Education estimates are in effect in 18,878 schools in the United States, affecting close to 11 million students—establish an adversarial dynamic between parents and children.

The Cass Review contrasts an “evidence-based” approach to managing gender-related confusion and distress with a “social justice model,” in which considerations of evidence are secondary to political goals. The Biden administration’s Title IX rules, which subordinate the interests of vulnerable children to those of powerful interest groups in the Democratic coalition, clearly belong in the second category. 

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When they can't define a thing or even agree that it exists, it's unethical to insert language protecting it. Otherwise, it's just a covert blasphemy law, and no better than inserting Title IX protections for "god."

[skinmite]

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