#pandora is a lawyer

[bleue-flora]

Michaelmcchill really asking the real questions about Dream and the Prison…

[clip] Sapnap: “He’s fucked up alright? He was my friend but he’s Fucked Up, okay? He wanted to control everyone.” Eryn:”Really?” Micheal: “So you do think he should be in there?” Sapnap: “Yes.” Michael: “For how long?”

[clip] (about Sapnap’s visit to prison) Michael: “But was he like shaking bars fucked up? Or like what?—Was he acting like a fucking monkey in the zoo, like trying to get the fuck out, or what?” Sapnap: “Like no this—look he went from being fucked up in terms of like—like him just being like a bad person to him being fucked up by being like he wouldn’t talk—like oh he—he was like—he got fucked up from being in prison so long. You know what I mean? There’s a difference between the two fucks up.” Michael: “Well if he got fucked up from being in prison then maybe he should be out?” Sapnap: “No, no, no, Micheal, you’ve got it all wrong. He needs to be in prison til he’s not fucked up either way. Once he’s just not fucked up and—” Michael: “Wait a minute, so the prison made him fucked up?” Sapnap: “No, no, no, he was fucked up, alright? And then he got a different kind of fucked up but he’s probably still the other fucked up as well. You get what I’m saying.” Michael: “I mean I get it he was fucked up before he went in but it seems like the prison has fucked him up even more.” Sapnap: “No—no, look he’s gonna get better.” Michael: “If he—if he’s your friend, wouldn’t you want to help him get better?”

[clip] Michael: “But maybe the prison can’t help him!” Sapnap: “Michael, you’re wrong.” Michael: “I’m—I’m just asking.” Sapnap: “Michael, he has to stay in there. If he comes out— Michael: “These aren’t necessarily my opinions I just don’t—I mean if he’s you friend—What if he needs therapy instead of the prison?”

[afanofmanyships]

Part 1 (There is a trial.)

You don't get to be a god without a small piece of you getting reincarnated. Though they kinda wish they knew when that small piece of them is in the reincarnation cycle.

Ghost Lawyer: -Danny Phantom, the defeater of Pariah Dark is called to the council under the pretense that Amity Park is grave and not his hunt that he led us to believe. Johnny 13 is called by the commission to be Phantom's witness as he foretells the Realms that Amity Park is Phantom's Grave instead of Danny Phantom himself.

Meanwhile

Johnny 13: Yeah I know *he scratches his head as he checks over Danny* dick move and I shouldn't have done that but on the bright side. *Jazz hands* No more ghost attacks.

Phantom: *Growls*

Johnny 13: I know this is not an ideal situation. *He gestures to the muzzle, power suppression cuffs, and ankle chains attached to metal balls that keep him on the ground.* But when the court agrees that we- I'm telling the truth, you'll get your full powers.

Phantom eyes widen as he begins to thrash: *He begins banging his cuffs onto the ground and growling, to the point that nearby ghosts have to restrain him, and other nearby ghosts force him into a straight jacket.*

Johnny 13 could only calm Phantom down when they were called to the courtroom.

The courtroom

Ghost Lawyer: The court would like to call Danny Phantom to the stand.

A ghost wheels Phantom to the stand takes the straight jacket off him, and forces him to stand. The ghost leaves. Johnny sits on one of the benches.

Phantom: *Glares at the ancients on the podium*

Pandora: The council has seen the evidence and agreed that Amity Park is Danny Phantom's grave. Therefore-

Johnny 13: *Smiles and clutches his hands in anticipation*

Phantom: *Glares harder*

Ghost Lawyer gets up and bows: I have already made preparations to inform the Realms about this wonderous news-

Pandora: -We, as the Rulers of the Realms, DO. NOT. Recognize Amity Park as the grave of, The Great One; Defeater of Pariah Dark, Danny Phantom.

Ghost Lawyer & Johnny looks towards the counsel in shock: Wha-

Phantom: *Lessens his glare and relaxes a little*

The Ghost Lawyer and Ancients argue back and forth as Phantom stands silently with a relaxed face as if reminiscing about the past.

Phantom: ......

Johnny was not like Phantom, who seemed to accept his fate, or the Ghost Lawyer who could argue back at the ancients. The authorities of the Realms. But as the witness he has to do something.

Johnny stands up: As the witness, I feel like I also have a say in this.

*Johnny 13 has decided to roll for a persuasion check.*

Johnny: It is known that a being who turned into a ghost has the basic abilities of a ghost and their own powers that they had once alive. The council was created to help ghosts find and accept their grave for not only the betterment of the ghost but the Realms itself. Therefore, as a halfa wouldn't it be useful for Phantom to have access to his full potential and for the betterment of the Realms.

*Johnny 13 has rolled a nat 1 on the persuasion check. Persuasion check has failed.*

Pandora: And, for that reason. For the betterment of the Realms, we do not recognize Amity Park as a grave. End. Of. Discussion.

Ghost Lawyer looks down at their clutched hands before shooting their head up to look straight at Pandora: Then you leave me no choice, Lady Pandora.

Pandora: *Squints her eyes in confusion before widening in realization.*

Ghost Lawyer raises their hand to gesture to the seat behind the Ancients: I call upon the vessel of Zeus to the stand.

Phantom snaps out of his relaxed state, eyes filled with panic and rage: *Low growl*

Johnny looks over in confusion: ......

The Ancients turn to the chair in anticipation: ......

???: Kekeke-

The chair turns around and reviled Vladimir Masters with yellow electronic-filled eyes.

Vladimir Masters: Well this just got interesting.

Zeus!Vlad

To Be Continued......

[graydagay]

What Marauders character is an event from my school

Making sexual gestures at a helicopter- barty

Slapping eachothers thighs-sirius and james

Doing sexual dances infront of the pedo teachers to call them out-Marlene

Steals books from the libary and burned them- evan and barty

Booting a kid in the knee because they get the afl ball-remus

Pleasuring eqchother in the back of class- barty and evan

Vaping in the tents on sports day- regulus

Busting a girls eyebrow because she stole his sharpener- evan

Writing an almost lawyer like essay to prove the person's innocence- pandora

Let me know if you want a part 2

[wolfpants]

some fics I have been enjoying recently - wolf's reading list: june favourites 📚

As June draws to a close, I'm thrilled to say that both my reading and writing have picked up significantly after nearly a year of poor focus and general scatterbrained chaos. Hurrah! It's been a joy to ease back into the fandom, especially with so many wonderful fics to explore. Here are some I've devoured over the past month or so!

9 to 5 📆

E, HP, Drarry, 2.5k | @oknowkiss

Draco Malfoy hates Mondays.

“The Ministry will be breached. You’ll be caught in the crossfire.” Potter smiles crookedly. “Wrong place, wrong time. Funnily enough.” Draco swallows. “Hilarious.” “I’m keeping you here. For now.” Potter says. “Alive.”

-

Crush 🌶️

E, HP, Drarry, 8.2k | @citrusses

Harry Potter has a secret admirer. Harry's pretty sure that if this person figures out what an idiot he's capable of making of himself, they'll lose interest. So he turns to Draco Malfoy, reformed nemesis and stylish lawyer, for guidance.

“Malfoy,” Harry says. “Kiss me.” Malfoy winces. “Stop calling me that.” “Oh,” Harry says. “Sorry. Kiss me… Daddy?” “You absolute, clinically hopeless, fucking moron.”

-

Find New Ways 🫧

M, HP, Drarry, 3.6k | @skeptiquewrites

First comes marriage.

"We're married.” Draco trailed fingertips in the water, watching the little eddies in their wake. Harry's fingers curved around his ribcage. “We are.” The feeling in Draco's chest was too weighty for words, but he tried. “You’ll make a good husband.” The question of whether Draco would was outstanding.

-

Know Your Enemy 🗡️

E, HOTD, Daemon/Aemond, 2.4k | memequeen1127

Daemon follows Aemond after he storms out of the feast.

It is quite enjoyable, Aemond showing how unaffected he is by his nephew’s attempts to hurt him. He feels a thrill from emulating his uncle’s easy power. It’s the best outlet for his desire he’s found today. If Aemond can’t fuck him, then at least he can be him.

-

like some small animal that only comes out at night 🚾

E, HP, Drarry, 943 | @maesterchill

Unspeakable Malfoy and Auror Potter hook up in the bathroom at a Ministry charity event.

“Meet me in the gents,” Potter instructs, his whisper barely audible over the bustle around us, but so authoritative and unambiguous that it’s all I can do not break into a run.

-

Twenty-Two Cards 🃏

(Series) E, HP, Drarry, 108k | peu_a_peu

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case. (plus more!)

"Only one bed," Harry observed. "Guess you're on the floor, then," Malfoy said, throwing his cloak on it. "You're not even going to offer to share?" "Fuck off," Malfoy said, and then proceeded to use all the hot water for his shower. Harry resigned himself.

-

your braids like a pattern 🌳

E, HP, Drarry, 31.1k | @hoko-onchi-writes

Harry runs a camp. Malfoy is the new counsellor, and he's driving Harry to the brink of insanity.

“Why do you keep bothering me? Coming back and talking to me? I’ve been nothing but an arsehole to you. And you—you keep coming back.” Harry doesn’t mention that Malfoy is eye-fucking him on a regular basis because he doesn’t need to open that Pandora’s box. Not right now. “Oh, you are an arsehole. But I’m mercilessly fucked up, and I find it so endearing.”

-

That's all folks! I'll try and make this a regular thing at the end of every month. What should I read next? Recs always welcome! 💖

[baronessvonglitter]

Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 6

Rom Com AU divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring private investigator!Tim Rockford)

Word count: 3,761

Summary: You and Dave reconcile, but a heavy confession brings you to realize just how similar you are. And when an unfamiliar name slips off an innocent tongue, a professional is called in to get the truth.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit for smut. Angst. Idiots in love but they're too blind to see it or are really good at ignoring it. Mentions of eating and drinking alcohol. Masturbation (m) while watching porn. Marital strife. Accusations of adultery. A certain broad-shouldered detective comes in to find out what's really going on. Reader has hair long enough to blow in the wind & wears a dress and makeup. No use of y/n. (anything I've forgotten please LMK)

Author's note: (at the end)

Series Masterlist

Your employees are gathered around you as you display your next creation, the dessert of the month at Fiction & Frosting.

"This is the perfect Mille-Feuille," you show them. "Puff pastry, cream, fresh strawberries.."

You tear your glance away from the glossy page in the cookbook and force yourself to gaze upon your own creation: the puff pastry is wilted, the icing is melted, and no amount of fresh fruit decoration can save it.

"So why doesn't mine look like that?" you pose the frustrated question to yourself.

Suggestions are made, recipe changes offered, and you listen to each one, still amazed at how you haven't mastered such a simple dessert. You don't even want to think about the macarons you had to dump out after they burned. ("Shit. They're utter shit," you murmured as you tossed them in the bin.)

With the bakery open everyone moves to their assigned spots and you're free to stay in the kitchen in the back, pondering why you're making so many mistakes. There's no doubt about it, you're not in your right mind. You haven't been okay since the night Dave kissed you.

A sharp twist of wistfulness lodges itself into your heart when you pull out your phone to see he hasn't texted or called. Two weeks of no contact. Then again, you haven't really reached out to him either, afraid of his icy demeanor.

When he'd finally come by to pick up his car, you weren't home. You'd hoped for at least a glimpse of him, but he probably timed it so that he wouldn't have to see you. You can't help feeling pity for yourself for that.

With a sigh you take a bite of the awful mille-feuille. It isn't that bad, just not very presentable, probably because you weren't paying attention. You were never this scatterbrained in your work when Javier was being his idiotic self, so why is this married man taking up so much space in your brain?

"Friendly? Is that what you want me to be? Just friendly?"

His words ring in your ears, a taunting tune. What if you'd said no? What if you'd given in to your true feelings and slept with him that night? Would you be swimming in guilty feelings now instead of wondering What If?

Could you just push aside your doubt and reach out to him? Even if it's just to selfishly calm the torment of being away from him?

Girl, you're talking like you're in love with him.

You push the thought away, not ready to peek inside that particular Pandora's Box. Avoidance is easy for you, you've perfected the art of looking the other way when Javier fucked every woman in sight.

You check your phone again, but the only recent text you have is from your sister, who's trying to talk you into doing a pastry course in Paris, part of her school's program that's doing an art course there as well over the summer.

Years ago you would have jumped at the chance, despite what Javier would do to get you to stay. But now you feel you have nothing to keep you here, even if it is only for two months. You've told her maybe for the time being. You still have a few weeks to decide.

Scrolling back to your texts with Dave, you feel a loneliness there that cuts deeper than your split with Javier. Led by your desire to do what's right, what you want more than anything is to renew your friendship with Dave.

Taking a deep breath in and letting it out, you shut your mind off and let your body take over as you mill about the kitchen, gathering bowls and utensils, turning on the oven and pouring ingredients.

Across the street, Dave's in a meeting with a potential client. Another scorned woman, another broken heart. Unlike with you, he feels a detachment from her. He's here for business, and he's damn good at what he does.

The new client, a young woman who's giving him lascivious looks from beneath her false lashes, is giving him obvious signals. She's leaning forward to show off her generous cleavage, and he should earn an Academy Award for pretending that he doesn't feel the slide of her silk stocking-ed foot under the hem of his pants, against his shin. She must sense his disinterest because she takes it up several notches when she places her palm on his upper thigh, practically begging for it.

He refers her to another lawyer, politely passing her off to his lucky cohort before going back to his office to reassess.

If he was younger and still in this same predicament with Carol, he wouldn't have given her blatant come-ons a second thought. But it's not his wife who keeps him from forsaking his marriage vows. It's you.

Sighing, he puts his hands in his pockets and goes to the window, seeing your bakery/bookstore across the way. He imagines you scurrying about, a dusting of flour on your face as you roll a rolling pin across a lump of dough, and straightening the shelves to showcase a new book coming out. He hopes you're not thinking of him, then he kills that hope and tells himself he wants you to think of him the way he's thinking of you.

He pushes down any second guesses about the situation you're both in, and puts on his jacket as he leaves the office, heading straight for your building.

You wrap your green sweater around you as you make your way on the crosswalk connecting your side of the street in his. An olive branch in the form of a cake in a mint green pastry box is in your hands. Your heart races as you wonder if he'll even see you after all that's happened, but those worries drop down and die when you spot him in the crowd walking towards you. There's a twinkle in his eyes as he spots you, and he smiles.

He's on his way to your place, to say hello and see if you're willing to talk to him. He wants to set things right, and the moment he lays eyes on you in that white floral dress and green sweater, your hair held back in matching ribbon, his heart (and his dick, if he's honest) react in a very positive way.

Both of you meet in the middle, the crowd rushing around you on either side, but neither of you take any notice of them. Time stops for a brilliant, beautiful moment.

"I was on my way to you," he says.

"I was bringing this to you," you tell him. "To say sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for. Really, I'm to blame."

"A lawyer accepting blame? Won't you get disbarred for that?" you joke.

He laughs at that, and the sound of it sets your heart alight. "So that's for me?"

"Yeah.. black forest cake. I remember you told me it's your favorite."

Maybe it's the way the breeze gently lifts the ends of your hair, or the luscious curve of your cherry lips, but he will think of this moment, this small act of kindness, for the rest of his days.

The crosswalk is empty and the light's about to change. And the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "I think Carol's cheating on me."

You quickly bring him back to the cafe where you pour him a cup of strong black coffee with a splash of amaretto added from your stash in your office.

He spills his guts to you: Carol's leaving at random times, more often at night to go to "work". He wonders how often a hospital director is needed overnight. He's called, on a whim, just to see if she's really there, but is always given the "she's here but she's unavailable" runaround.

You ask if she gets dressed up for these late night work shifts, if she wears perfume and makeup. (Yes to all.)

Does she shower right after coming home? Has she shown less interest in having sex? (That question really hurts to ask, but you can't help a little selfish joy when he answers that they haven't been intimate in a long time.)

"Maybe she's spending time doing something else," you tell him, your cake untouched on both your plates in front of you. "Maybe she wants time away from you and the kids and is too afraid to say it."

"That sounds like her. She's always put her job first," Dave says glumly.

You hate seeing the dispirited look on his handsome face. "You should talk to her about it. Come on, use some of those lawyering skills you're so famous for," you smirk.

"It's like talking to a brick wall," he quips, leaning forward to enjoy his cake. "I'm actually sorry I even brought it up."

"Don't be. If it's important to you, it's important to me." You pause. "Can I admit to doing something stupid?"

"Are you asking for confidentiality priveleges? Because that only counts if I'm still representing you," he smirks.

"Ha ha," you roll your eyes. "The night you left my place.. I ended up going to Javier's."

"Oh." He puts his fork down, jealousy nibbling away at his rational thought. "Did you..?"

"Yeah," you nod, lips pursed. "I got what I needed, but it wasn't really the same anymore, you know? I didn't feel anything for him."

You lighten the mood by telling him about poor Cindy, the way karma had played the Uno reverse card on her.

A little smile curls the corners of Dave's mouth. "I could write a book on how much I hate that guy."

It's a good feeling to spill to him the secrets of your soul. But what you refrain from telling, the one thing that could turn around and bite you, is that while you were in Javier's bed you were thinking of Dave.

Carol has been gone for a couple hours, the aroma of her perfume still lingering in the air of their en suite bathroom as Dave brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed.

Laying there alone, as he's used to by now, his thoughts drift to you. His heart is full now that you've reconciled, and even though he has a feeling there's always going to be complicated feelings, he takes the risk because you're worth it.

Your smile, the light in your eyes when you laugh, how your fingers always find a way to brush against his or your hand rests on his arm. The way you kissed him back that one night is burned into his brain. The taste of your mouth has become his new favorite flavor, at least until he can taste another part of you-

Stop it.

With a deep sigh he takes his phone from the nightstand and does a quick search. Not his first rodeo, what he's seeking is already colored purple as he's accessed it many times. When the porn site pulls up it offers every scenario anyone could possibly want, but he has something very specific in mind.

He searches by your features, looking for an actress similar to you, trying to avoid the guilt settling in the pit of his stomach. What would you think of him if you knew? But he's already getting search results, salivating over the thumbnails of women who bear a passing resemblance to you in various positions, scantily clad or even just naked.

Selecting one, his heart pounds in a drumlike fashion as he waits for it to load, the site's short theme song filling him with anticipation, his dick already raging hard. Getting lost in the unlikely scenario between the two actors, he strokes himself, pajama pants pulled down over his thighs. He turns the volume down as low as possible, the moans and sighs barely audible. But after awhile he doesn't even need the video. Just the memory of you is enough, and better than any video.

And then, as if she has a sixth sense for when her husband is trying to meet his needs, Carol comes in and he quickly puts his phone away and stops what he's doing.

"Were you watching smut again?" she sighs in exasperation.

Dave flushes with embarrassment, but he's not going to lie about it. "Yeah, I was," he shrugs, pulling his pants up. Carol just shakes her head and goes straight into the shower, another tally mark in Dave's mental stack of evidence against her.

She comes out later, freshly scrubbed, wearing her usual nighgown and applies some cream to her elbows, facing away from her husband. "If you're going to watch anything crazy just put your earbuds in, okay?" With a heavy sigh she gets into bed next to him and lays on her side, her back to him.

He doesn't even give her the satisfaction of answering. As if he could even get hard in this moment. He lays awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, wishing himself anywhere but here.

Carol's voice, unusually soft, finds him in the dark. "I think you're having an affair," she accuses.

His heart jumps in his chest. Is there something she knows? Has he been careless? Has she had him followed and been seen with you? He sits up. "An affair? Are you serious? Why would you think that?"

She sits up too, ready to accuse him further. "We haven't had sex in weeks. You're always too tired."

He has no defense for that, but it's not as if things are entirely his fault. "I've just been busy. And tired," he adds. "Besides, your'e the one always running off to work at strange hours."

She huffs. "Are you really going to use my job as an excuse? You're never in the mood.. do you not find me attractive anymore?"

"Of course I do.. you're still the same gorgeous woman I married."

"Then kiss me. Right now."

He's taken aback by the sudden command, surprised by the directness of it. "What?"

Carol lays back down. "The man I married wouldn't hesitate like that."

A pang of guilt flares in Dave's chest. She's right, but as her accusations have gone no further he rests in the meanwhile safety. "I'm just tired," he mumbles, head falling onto his pillow, his back to her and her back to him.

"So am I," she answers, a cold finality in her tone.

The next evening while Carol's out of town for a conference. When he's called into the office on an emergency case, he asks if you're free to keep an eye on the girls. With nothing else to do, you happily accept, and spend the day baking chocolate chip cookies and watching their favorite movies.

By the time Dave comes home in the late evening, the three of you are watching the classic version of Cinderella. He smiles at the domestic little sight, heart warming at the brief fantasy that this could be what he comes home to every night.

As the girls fall asleep between you, Cinderella meets her handsome prince at the ball. "So This Is Love" plays while the fated lovers dance. Your hand and his find their way across, gently clasping.

And just like Cinderella, it's almost midnight and you have to go. But not before cleaning up, even though Dave insists he's fine to do it on his own.

From her bedroom, Alice calls out for her daddy, and you both go up to see what's the matter.

"I want a glass of water," she mumbles. Dave smiles at her groggy little voice and goes to fetch her a cup. While he's gone you sit on the edge of her bed and she shows you her stuffed animal collection, her favorite one is a purple unicorn named Mr. Fluffy.

"Where's Mommy?" she asks when her dad comes back with a cup of water for her.

He ruffles her hair. "She's just working late tonight, kiddo. She'll be home soon."

"Is she with Uncle Joel?"

Dave's heart drops but he covers his surprise just in time. "What do you mean, baby? Who's Uncle Joel?" Carol's an only child. The girls don't have any uncles on her side.

"He's Mommy's friend who comes to fix the pipes," she says, chugging her water before getting back under the covers.

He forces a smile, sitting between you and her on the bed. "Does Uncle Joel come over a lot?" he asks innocently.

"He comes when you're not here. Mommy tells him you can't fix them, Daddy. Only Joel can."

A thousand thoughts swarm his head but he's used to keeping his cool in unexpected situations. "What happens when he comes over, sweetie?" His voice is still calm and even, belying the fear constricting his gut.

"He talks to Mommy in private. She giggles a lot."

The dots are connecting and not in a good way. A man in my house, the house I bought because Carol liked it so much, shaking the mud off his boots like it's no big deal before doing god-knows-what with my wife.. His blood runs cold as he wears his facade once more. "Okay, sweetie, why don't you get some sleep. I'll make some cinnamon waffles for breakfast tomorrow."

Alice nods excitedly, then looks at you. "Will you eat breakfast with us tomorrow?"

Shaken by what she's revealed so far you do your best to give an answer. "Uh, we'll see, honey. Maybe." Your smile is strained but she doesn't seem to notice.

Leaving the bedroom door open just a crack he walks down the hall, running his hand over his face.

"Kids," you force some light-heartedness into your words. "They have such big imaginations, you know?"

He doesn't answer you, his back turned to you as he hides his face in his hands.

"Are you okay, Dave?" you place a tentative touch on his shoulder.

Finally he turns to you, face reddened with an anger he never thought he'd have to feel. "My youngest daughter just told me that my wife has been having another man over to the house behind my back. Alice is a bright girl but she wouldn't invent a story like that."

"Hold on," you tell him gently, your hands on his biceps, willing him to loosen up, even just physically. "You don't know anything for certain. Just hearsay. Right, Mr. Big Shot Attorney?"

Your attempt at humor only gets you a bitter laugh from him.

"Is it possible Carol's just friends.. with a plumber?" you speculate. But of course you don't believe it either.

Dave narrows his eyes at you for a moment before realizing nothing about this is your fault and you're just trying to help. The moment that you step into his arms they immediately close around you. He marvels at how you fit together so perfectly.

"You should talk to her when she comes home," you suggest, not moving an inch from his embrace. The last thing you want to do is give him marriage advice when it's a real possibility that his wife could be unfaithful.

"Somehow I doubt she'll be amenable to an honest discourse on her fidelity," he grumbles, not wanting to think about her, shutting the bad feelings away while you're in his arms.

You inhale the scent of him, the warm spice of his lingering aftershave. The spark between you only intensifies. You're tempted to press your lips to his strong, soft neck, you can already imagine his pulse point racing beneath your lips.

When he pulls away it snaps you out of your fantasy, and you are acutely aware of the heat blooming between your legs, the slick pooling in your panties.

"How about a private investigator?" you ask.

He shakes his head as if he's already thought of it. "The only ones I know are in a professional regard. I don't want it bandied about that I've had to resort to surveilling my own wife."

"In that case it's your lucky day. I know a guy."

After emailing the pertinent information to your contact, he's at Dave's address within half an hour.

Clad in a classic tan trenchoat, white button down with hastily done striped tie and black trousers, Tim Rockford looks every bit what Dave had expected. The former detective sizes up his prospective client from behind thick black eyeglass frames before turning to you with a soft smile. Tim often does background checks for your employees, and you trust him with an even more personal task like this.

"Are you David York?" the man asks, a to-go cup of coffee that's going cold very fast is in one hand and his briefcase in the other.

"Yeah, I am," Dave answers. "Come on in."

The three of you settle in the living room. "Now, tell me about why you want me to surveil your spouse," he says, getting down to brass tacks.

Seated next to you, Dave explains his situation, the late nights that Carol's had to go in, the mention of "Uncle Joel" by his daughter. He leaves out the part about him spending much of his time with you possibly contributing to the lack of affection in his marriage, and you keep quiet as well.

Soon Tim has all the information he needs to move forward. He has Carol's work address, and will do some digging on the Joel fellow. "It'll take a couple weeks to get some basic information, given they're still meeting each other. I advise you not to start any arguments or accuse her of anything in the meantime or it'll risk ruining the investigation. If she catches wind that you're onto her, she may change her plans or even call it off with him altogether. For the time being, just play dumb."

Dave nods, even though he doesn't like it.

"There is a fee, of course," Tim adds. He writes the number on a scrap of paper and Dave, sighing, accepts.

"He was on the force for over a dozen years," you tell him. "It'll be money well spent. Even if there's nothing going on."

"Whatever is going on, I'll debrief you at our next meeting once I've collected the proper evidence," Tim says.

It's a plan set in motion, and Dave isn't really sure what he wants the outcome to be. If Carol's fucking around, he gets his heart broken. If she's not, it's even worse. Because now he knows he'd leave her for you.

A/n: So yeah, two more Pedro boys in the mix.. yes it is that Joel 👀One of y'all needs to come get your man because he's filling holes that aren't his 🫢And Tim! I've been waiting to bring him to the story ❤️

dividers by @strangergraphics and @saradika-graphics 👑

taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@darkheartgatita @speaktothehandpeasants @rav3n-pascal22

@vickie5446 @mrs-pedro-pascal @zascal @sunnytuliptime

@mysticsuitcasealmondwombat @joelmillerisapunk @almostfoxglove

@itwasntimethatdidit40 @604to647 @milla-frenchy

@everybodylovedcontractors @misstokyo7love @ppascalq

[b0tster]

"Never touching anything Nintendo related" is it because of the Nintendo lawyers? Also, apologies if I'm opening a Pandora's box

yeag

[saturnsburningout]

Evan and Barty cellmates AU. They somehow end up in the same cell and hate each other at first. Like they argue 24/7, get into literal violent fights for nothing like two territorial guard dogs, but the second they are separated they make a riot until they are forced back together again. Barty who talks to much and Evan who gives people nasty glares.

One day they start talking about their crimes and why they were in. Evan’s like “I got caught dealing drugs” and Barty’s like “I killed my dad.” Evan’s like “??? WTF??” While Barty’s just smiling. They somehow involve their lawyers, Evan’s is Regulus, a big friend of his twin sister and admittedly his own, and Dorcas is Barty’s, they are best friends since childhood and have done absolutely everything together.

Evan gets out before Barty, for obvious reasons, but is constantly going back to prison to visit Barty because life outside is too boring.

Once Barty gets out they get married at this old abandoned church with Pandora, Dorcas and Regulus as witnesses and tattoo each others names on their chests.

That’s it really.

[1americanconservative]

Peter Goodgame

ptrsoSedno9708ff6u g9a50gge la 6it2a1Mtsya312i7YfA3er:14dig0  · 

For three years, Volodymyr Zelensky has been America’s darling, a khaki clad symbol of defiance, pleading for billions in aid and NATO’s embrace amid Ukraine’s self inflicted war.

To many well-meaning Americans, he’s a hero battling overwhelming odds. But behind the curated image lies a far uglier truth, a stooge comedian turned president, propped up by a criminal oligarch, surrounded by cronies, and presiding over a regime of corruption, repression, and broken promises.

This is the real Zelensky, an actor playing a role he’s woefully unfit for, that was proven yesterday in the oval office.

As Ukraine spirals deeper into chaos and its brutally harvested conscript army collapses in retreat, it's important that decent Americans understand who and what this man really represents.

Let's start with Kvartal 95, The Oligarch’s Launchpad, Zelensky’s story starts not in politics but comedy. Born in 1978 in Kryvyi Rih, he co-founded Studio Kvartal 95 in the 1990s with a group of friends that had hit it big by the 2000s, ironically their big breaks were made in Russia, performing in Russian and focusing on Russian and Ukrainian political and cultural life. The key to all this success? Ihor Kolomoisky, a billionaire ukrainian oligarch with a laundry list of crimes, including fraud, money laundering, and brutal violence. Kolomoisky then owned 1+1, the TV network that handed Zelenskys Kvartal 95 a national platform starting in 2012. He didn’t just offer airtime. He bankrolled Zelensky with cash, security, and legal and criminal muscle. This wasn’t mentorship. It was a transaction. Kolomoisky, later sanctioned by the U.S. for “significant corruption,” saw Zelensky as a pawn in his game. By 2019, when Zelensky ran for president, Kolomoisky’s DNA was all over the campaign providing vehicles, lawyers, bodyguards, and a media blitz. Zelensky was never an outsider; he was a "made man"

This is where it gets almost unbelievably bizzare. In 2015, Zelensky starred in "Servant of the People," a hit satire aired on Kolomoisky’s 1+1 channel, where he played a teacher turned president railing against corruption.

Ukrainians, tired of the endemic corruption in the post Soviet state, lapped it up. Then, in 2018, his Kvartal 95 crew decided to turn fiction into reality, registering a political party called, you guessed it, "Servant of the People." It had absolutely no manifesto, no policies, and no plan of action, just a TV title and Zelensky’s face.

Running in 2019, Zelensky promised to end corruption and the Donbas civil war, which had erupted after the CIA backed Maidan Coup, winning in a landslide thanks to Kolomoisky’s media machine. An actor who played a president on TV was now remarkably in the real job.

Zelensky didn’t waste any time handing power to his showbiz pals. Ivan Bakanov, a Kvartal 95 co-founder, became head of the SBU security service with no experience. Serhiy Shefir, another comedy crony, took a top aide role, no experience. And then there’s Andriy Yermak, a film producer turned Zelensky’s right-hand man, now head of the Presidential Office, dubbed Ukraine’s “shadow president.” Yermak, physically and intellectualy towering over Zelensky, controls policy and access, a fixer running the show while the president flounders. These weren’t appointments based on merit. They were loyalty hires, a Kvartal 95 clique utterly unfit for a grossly dysfunctional war-torn nation.

Zelensky’s laughable anti-corruption pledge met reality in 2021 with the Pandora Papers. The leak revealed he and his inner circle,including Bakanov, were funnelling cash to Kolomoisky with Zelensky stashing millions offshore.

Zelensky swore to end corruption and the Donbas war. Instead, he’s delivered more of both, a million lie Dead, the free Media crushed, billions stolen, languages and religion banned. This criminal is no hero. No Churchill. And no friend of America. He should be treated accordingly.

Thanks for reading.

https://x.com/BowesChay/status/1895887898106323076...

[incorrect-maraudersaandco-quotes]

Pandora: You know what? Underneath it all, you're actually quite nice. Regulus: Repeat that disgusting slander again and you'll be hearing from my lawyers.

[a-great-tragedy]

Accused murderer Barty, and his lawyer, Evan Rosier.

Regulus is the prosecutor, Dorcas is the judge, and Pandora is a forensic psychologist.

James, Remus, Peter, Mary, Marlene, and Lily are all part of the jury.

And Sirius is already in jail.

[wretcheddoll]

Tiktok really is as much of a cesspool of weird Marius antis misinterpreting everything he does in the least charitable way possible as twitter is... Next up, more people insisting that the relationships he had with the boys he apprenticed had to be creepy cause he's suuch a creepy pedo creep...

Why do they want him to have a harem of young boys so bad?? 😭

So I responded…

Again they want him to have a harem soooo bad… Also grooming just means having any kind of relationship with minors I guess...

He was a master teaching and apprenticing school aged boys?? Can the man not have a career!? 😭 Also implying I must be a weirdo who needs to “heal” okay… Like I wasn’t even talking about Armand or Pandora. But I will defend him on that front as well lmao

I didn't even know how to respond to this... What do you mean exclusively young beautiful boys?? 😭 They were just boys!! THEY WANT HIM TO HAVE A HAREM OF BOYS SOOOO FUCKING BADLY LIKE?? Also, if he had somehow apprenticed girls (not rlly a thing at the time but whatever) these people would doubly be calling him creepy for no reason, like my man really can't win with these people.

Armand "thinks" he was in love with him lmao. Wait no!! Don't actually take what Armand has said in his own damn book as his emotional truth, just project your own feelings onto him of what you think he SHOULD feel about his relationship with Marius, that's how to interpret media right?!😃

Marius should really hire me as his defense lawyer, I would make daddy soooo proud😋😋

Anyway, idk why I like arguing with Marius antis, I'm just a chronically online little guy with too much time on my hands, in the trenches for daddy and idk I just like to argue about blorbos, I mean no ill will to anyone here.

[midnight-mourning]

Hiii! I saw your post and just couldn’t resist sending in a request XD

The part where Y/N tells Moon he could have been a good lawyer kinda stuck with me. I'd love to see a conversation between Y/N and Moon/Sun about what they would have liked to do if they weren't tied to Fazbear Entertainment. I feel like there's so much potential there!

Or also! It would be really cool to see Moon and Y/N building something together :)

Thanks so much for considering my request, and I hope you have fun with it if it sparks any ideas!

Another Path.

Requested By: @phantasmaghostic

Word Count: 499

Summary: Were things not like they were, you wonder what the Attendants may have done instead of their current line of work. So you ask.

Note: Kind of combined both ideas because i thought it would be interesting, also this was super fun! I love writing scenes like this :) Can be taken as canon or non-canon to CS

============================================

"Patent law?" You ask, "Surely you jest."

You'd been stuck working on map-bots for a few hours, and had invited Moon to join you. Mainly in the hopes of deterring him from doing ‘upgrades’ on himself. Though honestly you think you may just end up making the problem worse.

To pass the time you’d been chatting back and forth on a variety of topics, and landed on this one soon enough.

"Not this time," Moon chuckles. 

You shake your head. 

"I take it you're not a fan?"

You fake a gag, "Patent law is so gross. Just hours upon hours of reading. Pays good, yeah. Pays great, even. But god," You shiver, "So boring."

You realize yourself, "But that's just me! Sorry, that was harsh, I understand the appeal don't get me wrong. But um, why that of all things?"

Moon clips a couple of wires before removing them from the map bot’s chest, "Despite my, inclinations, to machinery and the likes, I find myself ever more curious about the ideas behind it," He reaches for a handful of new wires, beginning to install them, "The concepts, I feel, allow insight to how people think."

"Huh, guess that’s true."

He nods, "The additional aspect of assisting others in the protection of their craft also appeals to me."

"Wow," You say.

"Hm?"

You solder the replacement wires into place, "You just completely changed my perspective on patent law. Not enough to want to do it myself, but damn. That’s really sweet, Moon."

"It’s simply my honest thoughts, Pandora," He chuckles, handing you the back panel to the bot, "Were I given such an opportunity I may find myself to be more inclined to your way of thinking on the matter."

"Maybe, but still," You put the panel in place, then use your Faz wrench to reboot the machine.

It’s a few repairs later that you broach the subject again.

"What would Sun do?" You ask.

There’s a rift of binary before Moon answers, "Kindergarten teacher."

"Really? Huh."

The naptime attendant seems to know what you’re thinking, "He has a tendency to not think beyond his own limitations."

"What do you think he would do then?" You wrinkle your nose as you discard another paper towel covered in burnt hot sauce.

"Why would you ask me?"

You scoff, smirk on your lips, "Because you know him better than I do. Better than I ever want to, as well."

"Only to a point," Moon’s faceplate twists to the side, eyes crinkling into crescents.

You wait for your answer. It doesn’t take long.

"University librarian," He drawls, "Or a Classics professor."

You chuckle, "Aren’t you the one with the passion for myths?"

"Where do you think it originated from?" Moon counters, plucking Hot Sauce’s new amplifier from your fingers.

You stew on that for a few minutes, that response not being what you expected in the slightest.

Then, you ask your last burning question.

"And his thoughts on you?"

Moon chuckles, "Mechanical engineer."

============================================

And that's all, folks! Had a lot of fun with these requests, hope everyone enjoyed them as well. Again, if you'd like to see more of this kind of thing, you can vote here for such. Thanks for reading!!

[lupiinist]

i'm watching a show called achtsam morden (murder mindfully, if i'm not wrong?) and it has SUCH a rosekiller vibe

like, let me pull it out here for ya'll:

evan rosier is a lawyer who works in a small company and mostly defends some weird people who work for the mafia. he spends most of his time working, but he also has to look after his little niece, luna, ever since she lost her father.

but his work/life balance is terrible, so he starts doing the mindfulness thing. he improves really fast, spends more time with his sister and niece, stands up to his dad, all in all, his life gets better!

until the mafia boss he works for starts to get tailed by the police, and evan is supposed to help him out of town, so he stuffs the guy inside of his trunk and just... leaves him there.

but here's where things get interesting. without the boss, evan, who speaks for him, starts to secretly get the entire operation for himself. and does that with the help of the boss' former handyman, barty. barty's father is a politician, and has no idea his son is literal mafia, so barty has access to all things they could possibly need.

when they need to get rid of a body, they get rid of it. if they need to commit crimes against the state, they do it together. they become absolutely inseparable (bonus if pandora helps them with some stuff, too)

feel it like... romcom meets dexter type of vibe. evan and barty flirting as they have a guy locked up, in the middle of blackmailing the hell out of him. evan and barty on a romantic date (they're burrying a body). evan and barty- i think you catch the drift.

[palepinklilies]

the injury of finally knowing you

Note: Initially posted on ao3 but with a different title (this is my draft title btw); Trying my hand at posting my pieces here! I hope u guys read my stuff nd like em ^__^

Summary: Marriage is a vow… for better or for worse, for richer or poor, in sickness and in health… What’s to happen when vows are… wiped… erased… Or The one where Gojo Satoru fails to remember his darling wife at the right time.

wc: 10.2k

Chapter 1: Of lines and intersections (ch.2)

The last memory you have of him as he is, is a sore topic. Frankly, you blamed —is still blaming — yourself for the accident that befallen the sole person you love the most. Your husband, Satoru Gojo got into a terrible car crash that put him into a coma for half a year now, barely showing signs of regaining consciousness. 

The night prior might be considered as your worse fight in the eight years that you’ve been together with Satoru. He always used to say that fights shouldn’t be slept in through the night, but not all things we want go as planned; because that night, you both had said words that couldn’t be taken back. Specifically, Satoru opened Pandora’s box and used it against you.

The cause of the fight wasn’t anything too destructive. Yet, it created a deep-seated wound between your relationship. It’s as simple as the talk of kids. 

It’s not a sensitive topic in yours and Satoru’s marriage because you’ve already had a long conversation around wanting and having children of your own. For a while, both of you were on the same page: ‘no kids until we’ve established what we want to happen with our careers.’

Somehow, somewhere along the line, he wanted it differently. For quite some time, he’s been hinting making a family with you. It could be as simple as pulling you by the baby section in a department store, or showing you funny — adorable and cute — baby videos from the internet. At first it was endearing and warm to see him think about children so lovingly, especially with the prospect of one being half him and half you. But unlike him, you’ve yet to reach the dream younger you had always reached for. 

Maybe it’s his leverage of having been brought up as a trust fund baby — someone with a golden spoon. While you had to work your way — with grit and passion, just to reach where you are now. 

He’s Satoru Gojo, a genius business scion turned mogul. He’s already well respected, recognized and established for his prowess in handling many corporations and conglomerates under his family’s control. 

Well you on the other hand… You’re still in law school. Against his insistence, you refused to use his money to attend law school after your pre-law undergrad. Which is why you had to apply for work to be able to afford it. One of the reasons for this is your pride. As foolish as it was, pride was your drive, not only because you didn’t want to succeed behind the shadow of his surname and money but also because you wanted to prove to his family that you’re worthy of being his wife. 

Okay, but who is Satoru Gojo if not persuasive? Eventually he convinced you to accept his offer, albeit with your condition that the fees will be split in half and that it’s the only thing he will finance in your pursuit of a career as a lawyer. So when he threw those god-forsaken words of insult, it hit all your insecurities and broke you.

“I don’t understand why we can’t! I try to give you everything I can and yet this simple thing, you refuse to give to me!” His voice booms across the living room. Hearing those words only made you more heated. 

“It’s not as simple Satoru! We… agreed. We agreed that we will establish our careers before we try for kids. Why are you turning back on that now?!” The pitch of your voice is starting to match his’ and the conversation was just escalating and getting more heated. The air feels heavy and your brain has triggered fight or fight and right now, fight seems to be the default choice. 

“You wouldn’t understand me because you’re already at the peak of yours! — because your career is only moving up and forward. But what about me? What about my dreams?” Exasperated, you just sit down the couch, your head in your hands. Tears are also brimming your eyes and your chest feels tight and heavy. 

Striking the iron while it’s hot, he resigns, “You know what, maybe my mom was right. I shouldn’t have married a selfish, poor girl like you.” 

As if time stops for you; your voice gets stuck in your throat and the tears threatening to spill, had spilled. You didn’t know what or how to respond to that. Is that what he really thought of you? 

For a few seconds, silence had finally taken over. The air felt suffocating. Leaving is the only thought you have above everything that’s been speedrunning your mind.

You wordlessly get up and brushed past him, only then does he see you tear-streaked face and your bloodshot eyes. 

Feeling braised, he immediately realized the gravity of what he said. He quickly catches up with you as you scramble to pack a small overnight bag. 

Everything feels heavy — feels tight, and all you can focus on is getting essentials: 2 pairs of undies and whatever clothing within your reach and your essential cosmetic products. Satoru watches you in chaos. 

Before you enter the bathroom for your toothbrush, he wraps his arms around your torso, as if to restrain you. His head hung low atop your shoulder and you feel his ragged breathing. “Don’t leave. Please. I didn’t mean any of it. You can slap me, punch me or kick me but don’t leave, please.” A sob chokes him as he says the last word. 

You’re also sobbing at this point, snot faced and all, barely able to say a word without hiccuping in between. It’s starting to physically hurt being skin to skin with him right now, so you break free from him. “Th-that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I… I just need time for myself.” You say as you step inside the bathroom. He just stands there silently crying, like you. 

Before you cross the threshold to your shared penthouse he speaks, “I love you. Be safe.” More tears escape your eyes. He sounded so soft and defeated, and you know it’s nothing but sincere. Without looking back, you wordlessly shut the door until you hear the ping of the lock. 

You stood in front of the door for what seems like a lifetime, crying and contemplating if you should actually leave knowing that once you do, something in your marriage will shift. Against all odds, you swallow the block in your throat and start walking away from your home, from your love, from your husband. 

You ended up in a decent inn away from the heart of the city. Checking-in in a hotel was an initial thought, but with what happened hours prior, you couldn’t bear to spend more than you have to. It’s not pride — well maybe it is, however no one has the right to scorn you for choosing not to touch any amount in the shared bank accounts Satoru arranged after marriage. 

Regardless, the salary you get as a part-time para-legal in a small law firm was enough to guarantee you the luxury of being away from anyone at the moment. You’re guaranteed the luxury of solitude, quiet and contemplation. 

The life’s mundanity became an afterthought…ergo commitments left at work and in law school. You’d cross the bridge when you get there: you’d face the consequences of going AWOL once you’re mentally and emotionally fit to be back.

Three days passed and you still haven’t gone back to his penthouse. You also shut off your phone, disconnecting from everyone and anyone who can contact you. At one point during day 2, you felt homesick. You almost went back, keyword being almost.

The quiet and solitude gave you the opportunity to rest, sleep and tune everything out. You wouldn’t know how to face your husband anyway. Everything still hurts to the point that it feels numb. But then a thought crossed your mind: home. It was a fleeting thought, a snap decision if you will, but that same hour you packed up and waited for check-out time. You were going home. 

An hour after check-out and you’re on a train back to your shared penthouse, which at this moment, is a gamble. Satoru’s spontaneous yet predictable (for you, that is). There’s a 50-50 chance that he’s home waiting for you while there’s also a chance that he’s at the office. There’s no moment for you to ponder on it, you just act.

Arriving, the only soul you’re able to meet are the trusted cleaners who comes and goes on schedule. You honestly forgot about their schedule, which is on a Friday. They meet you with curt greetings and smiles, which you return. You just hope that none of them have been talked by your husband into tipping your arrival at the unit.

Packing a small hand-carry luggage was quicker than you expected it to be. You take in a deep breath and think of ways how you can leave (without suspicion). Which is a difficult feat considering that one: leaving directly and walking out without a word would rouse so much suspicion. The word of the mouth isn’t so reliable and you wouldn’t want to leave and these people would make the false assumptions and tell on you; two: Satoru had probably gave the cleaners an order to inform him of your arrival and when you’d leave the penthouse. 

Of both options, one thing is for certain, Gojo Satoru will follow you and will scour the whole of Japan just to find you. 

You decide on a quick shower before leaving, which only took less than 15 minutes. You’re trying to minimize the time when Gojo could potentially come home if someone had snitched of your presence in the penthouse. Surprisingly, your exit went smoothly, even in the building’s concierge. 

On the far side of the city, in the heart of the central business district, Gojo Satoru gets notified of your arrival in your apartment building. Quickly he tells his assistant to cancel today’s remaining meetings as he rushed towards the elevators. You came home. You came back. Satoru knows that this might be the last time he’ll see you. He knows he’s hurt you deeply. He knows the gravity of his words when he used the biggest insecurity you have in this marriage, hell, since the start of your relationship even.

On the monitor pad of his Jaguar, he had dialed your number 5 times in a row, only to be sent to voicemail. In all honesty, he’s praying to every god up there that you’re napping or doing other things that keeps you preoccupied enough to neglect your cellphone. 

And right now as he’s currently speeding beyond the city’s limits, he’s left you yet another voicemail: “[name], hey, I’m still on my way back. I’m sorry for everything I said. I know I shouldn’t say it through voicemail but I want you to know that I am. I’m really sorry and I can’t ever justify the things I said. Wait for me at home, please. I love y-”

He wasn’t able to finish the last words when he felt a large collision against the left side of his vehicle. At that moment, time stood still for Satoru Gojo. One moment he was speeding forward with one goal in mind and in a split second he’s receiving a blunt force that made the car skid across the lightly trafficked road. 

Nothing in his field of vision registered in his brain, it was all a blurry haze. Soon after the car skids to a halt, the last thing he sees is your contact name on the monitor pad before losing consciousness.

On the flip side, you’re seeing blurry hazes of Tokyo fading into greens as you’re seated on a train ride back to Sendai, your home — first home. Exhaustion is clearly seeping out from your skin albeit the lack of physical activity and work. Your mind is so muddled and fogged and it’s not helping that your brain is rejecting any other emotion aside from hurt. 

Clarity and peace of mind is what you’re expecting from this short trip back home. In the back of your mind, a part of you is excited to return to your parents’ house, where you grew up and learned how to love and be loved. 

After the train ride, the first thing you do is visit the cemetery. It’s been a year since you last visited and paid your respects. You brushed off a few dried leaves from the grave, and poured water over. “Hi mama, dad. Sorry it took me so long to see you again.” You couldn’t modulate your voice louder than a whisper with the tears that had started to streak down your cheeks. And there at your parents’ grave did you pour all the tears that you thought you had cried. 

All the feelings of hurt, anger, pain, betrayal and most of all guilt came crashing down on you as sob your eyes out. It was only then that you felt you were safe to be vulnerable. Even without their physical presence, your mother and father had always been a source of comfort. 

You kept whispering ‘sorry’s and you don’t even comprehend to whom and for what are you asking for forgiveness and reconciliation. Everything still feels heavy and all you want yo do is curl up and cry yourself dry. “Daddy I-i m-miss y-you… So m-much.” How you wished for your dad to be there. To be there and give you a tight hug and kisses on top of your head. 

Catching your breath, you tried to calm down so you can vent to the empty air. Sniffling you start speaking softly, “Uh… I-i had a terrible argument with Toru daddy.” Verbalizing it only made you tear up again and a lump rise to your throat. Maybe this was what you needed: to be able to freely speak your mind without any external opinion that wouldn’t even help console your feelings.

“And it’s because I… it’s because I don’t want a baby yet…” your eyes shut tight and tears fell with it. “But I do want to be a mom so much… so so much especially if he’s going to be the dad… but I want to be a lawyer to the same extent.”

What stage of grief are you in right now? They say that going through the five stages of grief is non-linear. You could be in the first one: anger, then after a few hours you could have skipped to the third: bargaining. Some would even switch from one stage back to the other. Perhaps you’re in a limbo stage of feeling everything all at once? Is that even possible? 

After crying in silence for what felt like an eternity, you stand up and dust your palms from the jeans you’re wearing. “M’sorry for not getting you guys flowers and forgetting to light some incense… I’ll see you at home…” You give a light touch to your parents’ names engraved on the stone.

The last time you’ve been to the house where you grew up in was the day of your father’s funeral. Entering the threshold once again after many years gave you a feeling of nostalgia. 

You take in the dusty surrounding. All furnitures have been covered by drawsheets and the living room carpet had been rolled off to the side. Everything was almost the way that it was as you’ve last seen it. 

“Mom, dad I’m home.” Only silence greets you, it leaves a bitter taste on your tongue that no one is there to greet you a “welcome home.” But still, you feel better being here. In a sense you know that your dad’s presence is here with you and that’s enough.

You decided to sleep in your parents’ room for the night so you left the luggage by the door and looked for cleaning supplies to tidy and clean the room up. In retrospect, you should’ve brought spare bed sheets and pillowcases, but you decided to simply run them in a nearby laundromat. 

In the living room, you decided to look through photo albums for entertainment.

You’ve lived your life with your dad being the only parent you’ve ever known. Your mom died with the complications of giving birth to you with a weak heart. And your dad tried his best to immortalize your mom through pictures that they took during the whole pregnancy. Here you find the photo album you made of the first year you started college, the same year you met Satoru. 

Coincidentally, snapshots of your relationship weren’t really put here on purpose — well for the first half of it at least. 

Before you left for university your dad gave you one of his film cameras and told you to make and keep memories of college because it’s one to give the most notable memories of your lifetime. You think he was exaggerating then, but it made sense as you grew older.

Flipping the page, you see the first picture you took with Satoru and his group of friends. It was your first year as a university student, taking up literature, and he was in his second year. The only reason your paths had crossed that year was because you wanted to meet new people and make friends… so you attended a party without fully knowing how city kids define parties.

Initially, you attended the freshmen mixer within university grounds and it was fun! You met a sophomore guy who was one of the student council organizers for the networking event. His name was Suguru Geto. He had an aura that was enough for you to trust him… just a little bit though. Throughout the mixer event, you barely interacted with people your age. In your mind, you know it’s because of the fact that you were from the country side… who knows who or what city kids want as a friend right? 

Admittedly, you did enjoy the mixer even if you were just seated at the corner. This went unnoticed to the senior members of the student council, hence, Geto approached you with a light taps on your shoulder. He simply gives a curt smile upon your surprised expression. “Hey, you doin’ good here? I’ve noticed you haven’t been going around talking to people.”

Embarrassing. You then reason out that no one wants to approach you or if you initiate, they usually cut conversations after finding out that you’re new in the metropolitan. “It’s fine though, I’m actually enjoying even if it doesn’t look like it. I just wish I can meet one potential friend.”

Now, Geto isn’t one to take pity in people. He’s got a quite awful attitude underneath his cool and calm demeanor. But somehow, he thinks you need a springboard. It’s out of his character to take strays in, but he does. 

“Every year, after the freshman mixer, my friends and I throw a welcome party for students returning for the semester and for those new as well. If you’re interested, you can come. Just approach me after so I can write the address down.” He quickly bids you goodbye after that. You couldn’t even say a curt ‘thanks’ for his offer. Contemplating if you should go to that party is what plagues your mind as you decided to walk around in case you stumble upon someone who would appreciate talking to you.

So you did approach Geto for the address once the mixer finished… and you ended up in a… house… packed with young adults chugging alcohol, smoking and grinding against each other. You have half a mind to turn back and just enjoy the rest of the night in your small apartment, but you also wanted to experience the liberties of being a college student, namely the drinking and getting wasted privileges.

The loud bass reverberates against the floorboards and the walls of the entryway as you enter. Here you realize that you’re underdressed for the occasion. While other ladies wore micro-mini skirts, tube tops, little black dresses, and what nots, you were still wearing a university-dress code-appropriate outfit from the mixer earlier. You didn’t bother changing your cream skirt that goes just half an inch above your knees, a simple black halter top and a knitted cardigan over it. 

Though you feel awkward and misplaced, you figure that you could find where they get drinks. You suspect that they’re in the kitchen, so off you go. Surprisingly, Geto is there too with a number of people laughing and bickering with each other once you stood by the kitchen entryway. He immediately took notice of you. 

“Hey! Freshie girl you actually came! For one second I thought you wouldn’t.” All eyes went on you the moment he acknowledged your presence. It was agitating to be under their gazes, scrutinizing you, and perhaps the raven-haired boy took notice.

He motions for you to come closer to the kitchen island, “C’mon, what type of drink do you prefer? We have beers, cocktail punches… or are you a hard liquor type of girl?” His eyebrows raise, waiting for your response. “I’ll take the beer, please.” He takes a green bottle from one of the red ice boxes and pops the cap open for you. “Here you go, one bottle.” 

You’ve only drank occasionally. Like during family festivities or birthdays, and those were limited to sips of cheap champagne and traditional sake. “I’ve told you my name but I haven’t caught yours, how do you want us to call you?” he asks before you took a swig of the bottle. You apologize and tell him your name, “Hey guys! This freshie girl right here is  [name]! Be nice to her.” A series of ‘hey’s and curt waves were thrown your way and you slightly bowed your head slightly as encouragement of their greetings. “Well, this is a big party! I hope you meet the potential friends you were expecting from this afternoon.” After that you were left alone as one of the ladies in the group notified everyone of a ‘beer pong’ at the back area of the house, and they left.

The condensation of the beer bottle had transferred to your palm so you looked for paper towels and after that you went ahead back to the crowd and started walking around like a lost puppy. You expected something like this and it felt surreal to experience your first college party. Could be better but not bad for a first time right? 

Surprisingly, the beer was palatable at least, but you start to think that maybe the offer of the cocktail punch could’ve been better. You passed by Geto’s group in hopes of being free from the cramped living room and he sends a small wave and a curt smile your way. You can’t help but silently herald him for being so polite, when his friends (in your assumption) are snobbish. 

Beside Geto Suguru was his best friend, Gojo Satoru, and the raven-haired’s greetings to you didn’t come unnoticed to him. Suguru wasn’t the type to be that friendly, so naturally, it piqued his interest. 

“Who’s that? Didn’t know you were into prude freshmen now?” He scoffs. The raven-haired tossed the ping pong ball, landing inside the far right cup, “I’m not. The girl looks like a lost puppy, felt bad for her that’s all.” Satoru just hums and takes his turn to toss the ball, he misses, and Geto knows it’s on purpose so he just scoffs. “Well, I’ll take a walk around then.”

In a less dense corner of the backyard, you tried angling the film camera so that you’d be in frame. You find that taking pictures of yourself like this is more difficult than if you’d use your phone. But maybe that’s the point of it all. You can hear your father say at the back of your mind. 

“Phone cameras are becoming obsolete now huh?” You look to your side to see who’s come to intrude your bubble and what stands before you must be the prettiest person you’ve seen in your lifetime. Recovering from your surprise, you put the camera down. “Umm, I don’t think so?” He chuckles, “I’m messing with you. I’m Gojo Satoru by the way.” He offers you a hand and you shook it, also telling him your name. 

He offers to snap a picture of you, which you don’t accept because you feel shy. You discover that this man doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer when he lightly grabs your wrist and takes the camera from your grasp. He starts pointing the camera at you, and you stand there in confusion, “well c’mon, strike a pose?”

And you do strike an awkward pose. Maybe this weird but beautiful guy can be your first friend? Or maybe he’s just looking for someone to hook-up with? That’s a common thing at parties… right?

Soon enough after Satoru had broken the ice between you and him, you find yourself back with Geto and his group, where you discover that he and Satoru are best friends. You may be naïve and new to these things but you weren’t stupid. The people in their circle definitely didn’t want you there. As you spent each passing minute in their presence, you piece that together as most of them choose to ignore you apart from the two men who took you under their wing. 

It feels overwhelming having to do too much socializing for one day so you try to bid them goodbyes. Since no one acknowledged, you start to walk away, but someone grabs a hold of your arm. 

“Leaving so soon? You haven’t even used the whole film roll.” He takes it upon himself to open your small shoulder bag and took the camera and raised it up, “Hey guys! say ‘cheese’!” He says as he wraps his arm around your shoulders and you look up the camera with a contorted smile with flushed cheeks. “Well then, see you around campus.”

Expectations always differ from reality because it wasn’t part of yours to keep stumbling across the silver-haired man. You could be in the classics section of the library and he’d coincidentally be there too, or by the university quad where you’d often write your essays and prose, and other unsuspecting places where you’d least expect him to be. At one point you suspected it was intentional but he just brushed it off that you were simply being so observant. 

For the many months that you’ve spent time with him, you enjoyed his presence and completely, laughed at his jokes — saw him as Satoru and not Gojo Satoru, the scion of a multi-billion business empire. 

But you knew to keep things platonic. At the back of your mind, you were certain that he’d never see you more than a friend he met in university. You were almost certain that the moment he gets his degree, you’d never cross paths and all will be part of your college memories. But really, not all expectations become the reality. 

A huge chunk of the student body knew that Gojo was a notorious playboy. This is a false accusation and merely an assumption. Yes, he did like to sleep around but not as much as they say. If anything, Geto’s more of the playboy between them, who’s engaging in different set-ups with different girls almost every week! And he wasn’t able to shield you from the potential bad (false) things you’d hear around. But you weren’t just a notch in his belt. 

He was able to show you a side of him only people he’s extremely close to can see and experience. You caught his interest in that party and never left his mind since. It feels foolish to orchestrate every single time you think you come across him in campus “coincidentally,” but he succeeded.

He used his charms — more like pulled off some strings, to get your schedule and he had everything memorized just so he can get a chance to meet you. Suguru had even called him a stalker for it and maybe he almost became one until you simply expected him to be where you are. Eventually, he got you — even if it took so much work and convincing for you to believe the sincerity of his feelings. 

You’ve always considered him as a friend. A friend who you have feelings for, more like. Your subconscious would always tell you that if he did make a move on you, he’d leave you hanging and bruised. It was a simple push and pull: Satoru would make moves that seem to blur the lines of friendship and you would try your best to keep it platonic and not read into it. You’d always think he’d break your heart eventually, be it as a friend or be it as a lover.

So when you woke up in his bed naked after a long night of drinking and partying, you knew for sure that was the end so you left without a goodbye. Not a single bit of what memories you can recall from the night before were laced with regret. 

When he rested his forehead against yours and kissed you with his soft lips, you didn’t pull away. You wanted to, but you didn’t. When he started touching — caressing you under your dress, you didn’t want him to stop. When he whispered sweet nothings as he plowed through your sopping gummy walls, you didn’t ask him to stop. How could you, when at that very moment it felt as if you’re the only people on this earth.

The boundaries you tried to keep for the past months of your friendship had been crossed the moment you let him kiss and undress you. It was a night of passion you couldn’t forget and regret. With a heavy heart, you walked away and left half your heart with him but with pride and dignity intact. You can’t ever be just one of his conquests if you’re the first to leave.

When Satoru woke up to an empty bed that morning, he was confused. It agitated him to see you nowhere in his suite and it didn’t help that you blocked him from everywhere he could reach you. 

For the following days after that he’d leave class five minutes early so that he can catch you as you leave yours; Or, he’d try to catch you in the places on campus that you’d frequent during your vacant hours but to no avail, no one could ever catch a person who’s avoiding you like the plague. But still he was relentless.

Everyday he’d try to find you in the vast campus of the university. He tried to think how you would so he can anticipate where you’d probably go — was a hit or miss situation. But he was able to catch you in a back staircase made to be an emergency exit in the same building as most of your classes. 

The thought was like an epiphany for him; he was staring at the narrow line of floor to ceiling windows by the back of the buildings when it occurred to him that you initially stayed there in your first days of university. 

Even if he’s the captain of the basketball team, he was quick to leave practice saying some shitty excuse of an emergency, to which his best-friend just rolled his eyes at. He knew exactly why. But he didn’t pry nor try to tell on him. And so Gojo Satoru ran across the campus and skipped steps until he reached the 4th floor landing of the staircase. 

You were mindlessly listening to a posted lecture on your student portal. You’ve been having sleepless nights trying to finish all the writing and literary analyses that was required of you. Eyes drooping and almost falling asleep, you were startled by another person’s presence within the landing. 

It was the single person on campus who you’ve been trying to avoid for the past weeks. It’s the only person who’s taking up a huge space in your mind when you aren’t distracted by your courseworks or classes.

Catching his breath, “y’know- this is a clear breach of building safety codes-” pants “you’re an illegal obstruction to this exit [name].” He stands before you all sweaty and still in his jersey and you couldn’t speak, dumbfounded as you figure out how he managed figure out your hiding place. You were almost successful in avoiding him completely but he just had to chase and look for you. 

“W-what are you doing here??” He drops his duffel bag at the base of the next flight of stairs and sits beside you. “Why have you been avoiding me? You even had me blocked everywhere!” Always the straightforward one, he’d always speak his mind.

This was a confrontation you have been dreading to face — the reason why you had to change where you’d frequent these past weeks. Coming to terms with sleeping with a friend is one thing but having to unpack sleeping with a friend, letting him be your first when you know you have feelings for him is a whole other different conundrum. 

You quickly closed your laptop and fumbled with placing your notebook inside your bag. But before you could even take a leave, he grabbed your laptop and hugged it against his side — one that was away from you. “Give it back Gojo-san.” You can see him frown and pout at what you said. 

So it’s just Gojo now? Not Satoru? How cold. How cruel. You’re such a heartless woman. How could you have it in you to immediately leave seeing him? Did you hate him that much? Why were you being so indifferent when you used to smile and speak with him warmly? 

“No, not when I know you’d leave once I do. Not when you haven’t answered my question.” 

You bit your bottom lip, why is he making this so difficult? You still try to reach for your laptop so you can leave but he just keeps it out of your reach, until you just give up.

“Why does it matter? Can’t I simply be busy with my own life?” You say as calm as you could while avoiding his gaze. 

“Of course you can. I just want to understand why. Didn’t… did… anything from that night mean anything to you?”

And there it is. You hoped to avoid this, truly. But since it fell on your lap out of nowhere, might as well face it right? “Did it mean anything to you?” The way you returned the question took him aback. Your voice was suddenly laced with indifference and he couldn’t place where that should go. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t have initiated that if I didn’t want it to happen.” He tried to hold your hand but you refused his advances. “How can I trust your words Gojo?” 

He’s reeling. He knows where this is going. At this moment he admits that he approached things out of order. He wasn’t able to shield you from the rumors surrounding him and his “dating” history. He shouldn’t have given in to his emotions and took advantage of your drunken vulnerability. “Is that what you think of me? Is that how you see me?” are the only things that come out his mouth. You can’t help but feel guilty when he said that.

It’s true. You believed that there’s some truth to what people say about him and, that, along with your naïveté is enough to make you an easy target for him. You let out a deep sigh. 

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s forget things happened alright? We’re still friends anyway.” Lies. You knew damn well you can’t stay friends with him anymore. 

“No. I don’t want us to be friends anymore.” And there it is. A man of his caliber that has an equally large ego wouldn’t take it lightly — the way you left that morning without him having to put a word in. 

But it takes you by surprise when he goes down a step and squats in front of you so you’d meet eye to eye. “I want you to tell me how you really feel. I want you to tell me why you think I saw you just as a body count.”

“You’re so frustrating Goj-” “Satoru. Call me by my name.” That shut you up. Everything is confusing and frustrating and all you want to do is leave his overbearing presence and cry your frustrations out of his sight.

“Why are you doing this? I’ve already slept with you! Isn’t it like rule number 1 to forget and move on to the next!” He could feel your exasperation the moment you finally looked at him with teary eyes and he only gently stares right back at you with his blue ones. 

“If this is just an ego trip because I left without a word then you can just tell people whatever you want that’s in your favor.” By now tears have started to fall and yet your eye contact remains. He gently thumbs the tears away, “Fuck. You’re killing me sweets. It’s not like that… I’m sorry… don’t cry.” 

It’s weird. It’s unusual. It’s confusing. It’s making your heart beat rapidly and makes your chest feel like it’s going to burst. And the next words that come out his mouth was just the catalyst for your emotions. 

“Listen, to me you’re not just a body count. I wouldn’t go out my way to memorize your schedule down to the last second. If you were just someone I wanted to fuck, I’d have done that at the party.” 

His thumbs caresses the apples of your cheeks and a warm smile grazes his lips, “I did all that because I like you. I took interest in you, for you… I’m sorry for doing things out of order. You have to tell me now if everything I did matters so I know when to back-off.”

The proximity of your faces and the way he holds you like you’re fragile glass makes your heart beat faster than it is. You take off all your inhibitions, all the weight holding you down and connect both your foreheads. It’s a risk but you’ll take it. “I… I like you so much Gojo Satoru.” It doesn’t take him much effort to mesh your lips together in a soft, chaste kiss. 

After a few seconds he breaks away and you completely feel his lips turning into a smirk against yours, “So, the status between us now is girlfriend and boyfriend huh?” 

The memory is fond, as if it happened yesterday and not years ago. From there your relationship wasn’t always sunshines and rainbows but you made it work. You both held on to each other. Love is also sacrifice as much as it’s to be received. You realize that you’d go through all of that again as long as you get to stay with the only man you’ll ever love intensely.

With a newfound sense of rationality, you realize that whatever happens, you’d come back to Satoru. You need to talk things with him in a more peaceful and stable environment. You realize that the only way to fix this is to hit the train the first thing tomorrow morning and go home to your husband.

Tokyo mornings will always be hectic as the crowd bustles to arrive at their offices, schools or whatever they had to do that day. Even if you took the earliest shinkansen that you could catch, the Tokyo crowd will always be there. 

As you ping the elevators down to the lobby, your palms started to sweat and your heart, hammering against your rib cage. But upon entering your shared penthouse, it’s unnervingly quiet and still. “I’m home.” — no answer. 

Leaving the luggage by the door, you immediately patter into your home gym. Considering it’s as early as 9 AM, your husband is probably preoccupied with his workout. With an expectant smile on your face, you walk inside to see no one, not a single trace of movement. Not a single trace of Satoru. 

If you were nervous on the elevator ride up, you’re feeling something similar yet different in your gut. Rushing back to your bags, you rummaged for your phone. Cursing out loud that you left it off for days, you quickly turn it on.

Moments later and your phone is flooded with many missed calls, messages and voicemails from Satoru. 

Lover ♡ 78 missed calls

Lover ♡: baby, I’m off to work. I love you. Call me when you see this. (Tuesday 7:12 AM)

Lover ♡: ugh this meeting is such a bore. I’m so packed with board meetings this week sweets. Hope to see you at home. Miss you. Love u <3 (Wednesday 9:43 AM)

What you weren’t prepared for was 5 missed calls from his father’s secretary with messages requesting you to call back urgently, and Suguru Geto leaving 13 missed calls and a message that made your hands tremble and the phone to fall onto the marble floors.

Geto Suguru: [name], i don’t know where you are but please call me as soon as you see this. Satoru’s been rushed to the hospital. (Friday 12:34 PM)

Your knees follow as well, hitting the hard floors as you silently weep alone. You were in shock. How? What? Why? were the only things running your mind. “It’s not… true?” you try to make yourself believe as you run up to the second floor of the suite, to your bedroom. Your cheeky husband’s just running a prank on you and even got Suguru and his dad’s assistant on board. 

“Toru? Baby?” You say as you see the bed still pristinely made, just as the cleaners would’ve left it last Friday. “Satoru, this is a very bad joke. Come out, I’m not mad I promise.” Tears keep streaming down your cheeks as you make yourself believe in denial. Sooner, you’d call his best friend to ask where he is.

Suguru didn’t need to ring the doorbell for you to open the door for him. He’d already asked you to text him the passcode. It was kinda foresight on his part that you’d be a crying, confused mess so he took the initiative. 

And just as expected, he arrives to see you hiccuping and sobbing alone on the living room floor. He approaches you slowly, “Hey, [name]. I’m here.” 

In his head, he thinks that this situation is royally fucked up. You’re an absolute mess and he’s also a mess. Everyone’s a fucking mess with Satoru lying almost lifeless in a hospital bed and with you who’s yet to find out the state your husband is in.

Quickly wiping you tears and composing yourself, you try your best to greet Suguru, albeit in between sobs. “O-oh, G-geto-san! I-uh didn’t notice you e-enter.” Seeing your state, he decides that you’d need a primer for the events that happened in your absence.

“Have you eaten? I can whip up a quick breakfast for you.” He says as he places his hands on your shoulders and ushers you towards the breakfast counter. 

“I’m fine… I-I’m n-not really h-hungry,” you try to steady your breath and words. The man before you is unrelenting though, he’s already rummaging through the fridge and has had water boiling in the kettle.

“Y’know, I’m usually never this enthusiastic about breakfast but I’m starving!” He turns around with eggs and a few tomatoes in his hands, “would you be a peach and make us warm tea? I already started the kettle.” His warm grin and presence grounds you for a moment and wordlessly follow his request. The raven-haired man huffs a breath of relief seeing you open some of the drawers for tea bags and sweeteners. 

A few moments later, as he tosses the eggs around the pan, you speak again. “Geto-san… Satoru… is he– um, he’s just working on weekends again isn’t he?” Your voice starts to shake as you steep both teas.

Perhaps there’s really no way he can tell his friend, his best friend’s wife, that her husband’s currently comatose for rushing home to catch her. The finishes off the eggs with a dash of salt and turned off the range.

“There’s no soft way I can break this to you [name]…” Only then did you have the courage to look into his eyes. “Satoru’s currently in a coma. He got into a terrible car accident.”

He’s gauging your reaction. He’s purposely omitted the fact that his best friend ran multiple red lights and sped beyond limits because he caught word of you coming home. It would break you, and blame your self as the reason he’s in a vegetative state. “No… N-no you’re kidding… this is just some silly prank he got you in.” You chuckle without a trace of humor. 

The man in front of you wordlessly plates the eggs and stale bread. “C’mon, eat up. I’ll take you to him.”

Suguru was patient enough to help you clean up yourself as he helped you to the bathroom and even got you a fresh set of clothes on the bed. But the gravity of the truth only weighs on you as you sit in the passenger seat and the familiar city streets and the hospital comes into view.

While the elevator lifts you up, your palms start to sweat; as if mirroring the events this morning but with more melancholy than ever. The sterile scent of the hospital is making your stomach sick and all you want to do is throw up.

You never liked being inside the hospital. It serves as a reminder of sadness, grief and death. And right now as Suguru leads you toward the VIP ward, your hands start to tremble and your pace starts to slow down.

Before the raven-haired man opens the door, you quickly grab his wrist, “Geto-san, I-I can’t. I’ll come back when he’s better.” You turn to leave and he is quick to grab your arms to stop you. 

“Hey, I know this is harder for you, more than anyone else, I’m the only one who understands that. But please, for Satoru,” he says with a squeeze to your arms. With tears brimming, you nod, and he let’s one hand go to slide the door open. 

When Suguru thought that this was a royally fucked up situation, he never meant it to snowball into this royally fucked up situation.

The moment after he slid the door open and you entered the room, he’s met by Satoru’s mother. And upon seeing your presence behind him, the woman immediately reached for you to slap you square in the face “You have some gall to show up here!! You witch!! How dare you! How dare you come see my son when you’re the reason he’s here.” 

It all happened so fast that Suguru couldn’t stop the older woman from her rage and protect you from her misplaced anger. But still, he comes between you and Mrs. Gojo, “Auntie, please… not in front of Satoru… not like this… please.”

By that, the older woman’s cold, hatred-filled gaze had befallen Geto. “And you! I’m disappointed! You’re his best friend, how could you bring the very woman that’s the cause of my son’s suffering!”

“I apologize for not informing you beforehand, but she’s his wife. I’m certain that Satoru would want his wife to be here if he were awake.” 

Trying to make yourself smaller, you just stood there shaking and silently crying, not registering how the confrontation is going down. What did she mean that it’s all your fault? You were the cause of all this? What did you do.

You tried to peek a glance out of Suguru’s broad shoulders, only managing to see the foot end of Satoru’s bed and hearing the beeping of various monitors. 

Satoru’s in a coma. Your husband, your lover, is in a partial deathbed because of… you. Bile and guilt rises up, so you did what any coward would’ve done: you ran out.

Hearing the door slide open, Geto quickly turns to look at you only to see you take off. He immediately calls your name and runs off to follow you, his pace increasing as he tries to catch you, and he does.

Before you were able to enter the elevator, a hand grabs your arm which you try to shrug off. “Geto-s-san let go.” The man doesn’t, he wraps you in his arms instead; and there you cry even harder.

Geto feels… sad for you. He couldn’t ever imagine the pain you’re in at this moment as you keep saying ‘I’m sorry’s over and over again, in between your sobs. The best he could do was offer you a hug and pats on your back as you cried hard.

Suguru was kind enough to lead you to the hospital’s roof top garden to take a seat. He just let you cry all your tears, only offering pats on your back and a shoulder to cry on. Sooner the sobs and hiccups die down. Geto stood to get something to drink from the vending machine. 

It seems mundane to sit in silence with the cold lemon beverage in your hand. Except, nothing about this is normal. This is a hospital, your husband is here, unconscious and barely living, and it’s supposedly all your fault. 

By now, no more tears are left to be cried, you’re just staring blankly as if a void has materialized in front of you. “Geto-san, what did she mean by that?”

The man swallows dryly, thinking of ways to ease the information to you. “Hmm… you mean Satoru’s mom?” He tries to play the nonchalant one but your lack of any reaction nor reply tells him that he should just lay everything out in the open.

“Investigations during the day of the crash points to you and him having a conflict… The police said that the circumstantial evidences lead them to believe that he was driving beyond city speed limits distracted.” There’s no reaction from you so he continues.

“The footage on the black box of his car showed that he was talking to someone in haste… That he was trying to call someone repeatedly… It all pointed to you when the call registry log they had retrieved showed 28 missed calls to your number.”

Your nails start to fidget along the rim of the unopened can. So it’s like that. Have you not shut off your phone then you wouldn’t be here in this shithole. Have you just stopped being selfish and texted him of your plans and whereabouts then none of these things would have happened. 

A hand on your shoulder is enough to snap you out from your thought. Turning to Geto, you give him a sad smile, “I’m sorry… I know I’ve been saying that for the past hour… but she’s right…”

The canned drink is taken from you and Geto opens it. “You don’t have to believe that. None of this is your fault. Hell, you weren’t even the one driving that goddamn truck. It was all… just… bad timing.” Geto tries consoling you. It’s true. It’s called an accident for a reason. No one wanted it to happen in the first place. He gets up and you just look at the hand he’s offering. 

“So come, let’s go see Satoru,” he says with a gentle smile. The way you looked down at the drink and sipped on it is so melancholic. Shaking your head, “His mom is probably still there… I should just head home… and come another day…”

The older man just clicks his tongue. “Y’know that shouldn’t stop you from seeing him? You’re literally his wife. Plus, I have a feeling she left the hospital already. When have my hunches ever been wrong?” You resign with a sigh, stood up, and threw away the half empty can. 

Actually, as Geto got you a drink, he already texted Satoru’s father of what had happened. He hoped that it would be enough to take wife off the hospital premises so that you could see your husband.

To yours and Geto’s dismay, Mrs. Gojo didn’t leave just yet. However, she wasn’t alone. Her husband is also in the room when they got there. Seemingly, this quelled the older woman’s anger that she held for you. “Auntie, sir” Geto says and you join him as he offers them a bow. 

You don’t look any of them in the eye. Well, it’s rather difficult and you do have shame. After all, this was mostly your doing that their son is in that state. What shocked you is Seishiro Gojo approaching you; who gave you a brief hug.

“Welcome home [name]. It’s a relief to see you back.” The older man’s voice is stern yet there’s softness underneath. He is the first to welcome you back ever since you stormed out of your home earlier this week, and gosh did it feel so comforting. 

Among all the members of the Gojo clan, apart from Satoru, he treated you the nicest. You’d even say that he welcomed you as a daughter and not just an outsider to the family, even though that only happened after Satoru fought neck and neck with his whole family the day he proposed to you. 

You didn’t know what to say to him so you expressed your gratitude and kept your head low once again. This earned a snide remark from his wife, “Tsk, there’s no point in this farce Shiro.”

“Enough of that nonsense, she is family as much as anyone else in the Gojo family, and we are not doing this in front of Satoru.” It ends at that. Though you know for a fact that Mrs. Gojo will never let it go, ever. Because that’s just the type of woman she is.

After all the not-so-pleasant pleasantries, you finally got to see Satoru as a whole. It pains you to see him hooked to multiple tubes that’s probably there to help him stay alive. He looks paler than he usually is. There’s multiple minor cuts on his cheek, his brows and his chin. His forehead covered by gauze, which you’re assuming he’s suffered a fatal blow to his head. 

The sight made you tear up again. Slowly, you walk towards his bed and with shaky hands, you reach for him. His hand feels warm and you think that’s a good sign. “Hi Satoru, I’m home,” you whisper and a single tear streaks down your cheek.

It takes you a long moment to absorb the feeling of being near him again. At the end of the day, he’s your person as much as you’re his’. 

“I’m home… so…” Your eyelids shut close as you try to anchor yourself in this reality. “Wake up baby… please…” you whisper desperately, clutching his free hand. 

Geto suggested that you stay here for the night as Satoru’s watcher, to which Mr. Gojo had agreed with. His mom was adamant and quick to leave a snide remark but couldn’t really go against the final word of her husband. 

Soon the older couple left. Geto stayed for a while to answer some of your questions and got you take out before going back to the penthouse to get you an exchange of clothes.

As you sat on a stool beside your husband’s sleeping form, you couldn’t help but remember the last time you saw him. He asked, no… he pleaded for you to stay. That’s what probably hurts you the most; he practically begged you to release your anger and pain by hurt him physically so you don’t need to leave. You’d never do it, but now you regret leaving. Fuck. Sleeping in the guest bedroom would’ve given you the solitude you sought that night!

“Satoru… I’m sorry. I’m so… so… sorry I left.” The tears didn’t come as you tried to hold it in. You don’t deserve to cry, not with your husband’s current status. 

Geto returns with a gym bag full of your clothes. He’s met by your hunched sleeping form, hand still clutching Satoru’s. He leaves a note on the bedside table and drapes a thin blanket on your shoulders. He hopes that you can ride the wave and see it through. You’re strong, he’s sure.

Days passed. Weeks passed. 

Unable to commit to a full time at the law firm, you turned in your resignation letter and hoped they can understand the situation you are in. Law school semester continued and you try to juggle it along with looking after Satoru.

It’s been a month since the accident and you’re barely functioning outside the hospital. Partly, the reason for resigning was because you wanted to lessen the time you spent away from Satoru. He can wake up at any moment and you need to be there when he does.

Anyone who knows of your situation would tell you that it’s difficult to balance classes and taking care of your sick husband. It is. But you’d endure this for another year if it means that there is always a chance for him to wake up.

Besides, you plan on finishing this last semester so you can focus more on him. It’s almost mid-sem so it’s just a few more weeks before it’s over. 

Everyday you talk to Satoru about your day. Sometimes you narrate a case that was assigned as a reading material and tell him the process on how you dissect it clause by clause, paragraph by paragraph. It’s futile though. He’s unresponsive. But people always say they can hear us speak to them. It’s never too wrong to try.

Geto drops by weekly to check on both of you. He had suggested you write down your day on a notebook so that when he wakes up, he’d still get filled in on the things he’d missed. His mother often comes as well. You know because flowers are constantly changed and replenished. Albeit, you don’t see her as often. You think she comes in the day when you’re in class.

Some nights are just harder than the others, you’d often wake up by your phone’s alarm, nose dived into your books and laptop after you passed out from studying all night or breaking down as you try to get your readings done.

Day to day life since you came back has been on auto-pilot mode. It’s a cycle of rinse and repeat. You wake up, check on Satoru, attend class, go back, check on Satoru again, study… it just circles back. So it is not a surprise that you passed out on the way to one of the lecture hall your class was held in. 

White popcorn ceilings were the first to register in your line of vision as you opened your eyes. You assume that you’re in the university’s infirmary. You lay there for a few more minutes before the cream curtains are slightly drawn.

“Oh you’re awake! I’m Nurse Minato, you’ve been brought here after you passed out in the hallway… do you remember that?” You simply nod.

She does some physical tests on you to see if you’re still coherent and asks you some questions on your lifestyle, which you all answered truthfully and concisely… except for your monthly cycle.

“Alright, how about your cycle? Notice anything unusual?” She asks, eyes planted on the clipboard and scribbling down things. You remain silent, forehead scrunched down. Things were too hectic for you that you never really noticed if you had it the past 2 and a half months. 

“Um… I’ve been too stressed out lately so I haven’t really noticed. Do you have my bag? I have a tracking app.” The nurse pulls out a caddy from under your bed and hands you your bookbag. 

Opening the app quickly, you see that your cycle prediction show that your period’s been delayed for around 73 days. Now it’s not always accurate, but 73 days is extreme.

“Uh… it says here that I’ve been delayed for 73 days.” With that she stops scribbling and slowly looks up to meet your eyes. She says nothing and gets up to grab something from the cabinet fixtures within the room. 

“Are you sexually active?”

Then it dawns on you. It is highly possible. The last time you had sex with your husband was when he returned from an overseas business trip to France. That was 2 weeks prior to your heated argument. 

“Not at the moment… but I…had last contact with my husband a few months back.” She simply hums and hands you a pregnancy test. “Restroom is at the back. Come back when you’re done okay?”

You stare at the box as if it’s done you wrong. The possibility of pregnancy is actually high considering that night, Satoru asked you to hit it raw until you agreed. You laugh humorlessly. What great timing! The one time you have sex without the condom and he’s able to plant one in you?

Setting a timer, you follow the box instructions and collect your pee sample. Each passing second was agitating and had you shifting your weight from one foot to another, arms hugging your torso. What then if it reads two pink lines? 

The timer blares and echoes in the confined space of the restroom. The irony of it all is that the baby you and Satoru had argued awfully about will be here in a few months. Fuck.

[thebibutterflyao3]

"Elm Tree"

@pandalilymicrofics - 1000 words

part ten - part eleven - part twelve

Pandora had almost forgotten the plans she’d made with Dorcas two weeks ago, until she received her “I’m running late” text. She hurriedly called Mrs. Weasley to ask if Luna could stay the night with Ginny, her first and best friend at the new school. Thankfully, she agreed.

As usual, Luna refused to be rushed through dinner, so Pandora scarfed her own and set to packing an overnight bag. They were making great time until her daughter announced that Pandora needed “going out hair.” Despite her attempts to dissuade her, Luna wasn’t having it. At a quarter to five, she’d only just convinced her daughter that there weren’t enough leaves left on the old Elm Tree in their backyard to weave in. Which was why she arrived twenty minutes late, and was unsurprised to find Dorcas chatting up a curvy redhead at the bar.

“Hello, love.” Dorcas greeted her with air kisses instead of a hug, a sure sign she was miffed. “You look nice.”

Pandora smiled apologetically, then touched one of the tiny butterfly claw clips Luna had put in. “My personal stylist insisted I needed a proper ‘going out’ look. Do you like it?”

“Obviously.”

Dorcas led the way through the pub to a quiet table in the back, which Pandora was grateful for. This was one of the busier pubs in the area and tended to be packed by 8pm, which was why she’d suggested an earlier meet-up to begin with. She felt incredibly guilty for forgetting about their girls’ night, especially since it had been her idea. With Dorcas’s late night trial prep and endless client meetings, it was nearly impossible to get together.

“So, Dora, how is work?” Dorcas asked, glancing over Pandora’s shoulder.

“Fine? What are you looking at?” 

Dorcas sighed and rested her chin on her hand. “I was hoping to introduce you and Lily. She’s the redhead I was talking to just now. I think you two would hit it off, so I invited her to join us, but I think she’s decided against it.”

“Tell me about her,” Pandora said. She hadn’t paid much attention to the woman, much too flustered over her late arrival. 

“Interior Designer, divorcee, and a novice with women, but she has a stunning rack and is a very enthusiastic snog.” Dorcas sounded particularly sour about that last bit.

Pandora folded her arms on the table and leaned closer. “All of that is first-hand knowledge, I presume?”

Dorcas nodded, just once. “I think I came on too strong last time. She was into it, until she wasn’t. Bold though, which is rare for a novice, and I was so close to getting my hands on her!”

“Why introduce her to me then?”

“Honestly? She’s absurdly funny. Lily had me cackling for hours with her stories about designing for lawyers, she knows my type too well,” Dorcas said, rearranging her braids around her face. “She didn’t mention names, but I think I can guess a few of them.”

Pandora risked a glance over her shoulder, inhaling sharply when her gaze landed on a vision of a woman. She was now facing the crowd with her upper arms splayed along the edge of the bar behind her, like a half-tipsy queen holding court. Her long, pale neck was on full display as she spoke with the bartender over her shoulder.

The Goddess has certainly smiled on her. I could suffocate in her breasts… possibly her thighs as well, but I’d die happy. 

When the woman turned back, Pandora did too, overheated and overwhelmed in the very best way. Her thoughts were filthy. Sinking my teeth into her wouldn’t be enough, I’d have to inject my soul into her veins. Imagine divorcing a woman like that? I’d commit myself.

“What was her name again?” Pandora checked.

“Lily Evans,” Dorcas said, sharing a knowing grin. “She tastes even better than she looks.”

Pandora groaned and dropped her face into her arms. “Torture, this is torture.”

“Why? I know you didn’t leave your baby girl home alone, so why not have a little fun?” 

“No, Luna’s at a friend’s house tonight, but—” Pandora was quickly cut-off by a waitress stopping by to take their orders. “Gimlet, please.”

Dorcas tapped her fingernails on the table as she stared over Pandora’s shoulder. “Scotch and soda for me, then can you send a cosmo to the redhead at the bar? My tab. Oh, and give her this.” Dorcas flipped over a cocktail napkin the waitress had set in front of her. She wrote a quick note and handed it over.

The waitress glanced at it, then snorted a startled laugh. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”

“Worst thing she can do is say ‘no’ right?” Dorcas said, flashing a toothy smile.

“If you say so.”

Pandora raised an eyebrow and considered Dorcas for a moment. She looked entirely too smug. “What did you write on that note?”

“If I’ve read her right, you’ll see,” Dorcas said. She tipped her head toward the bar and poked her tongue in her cheek. 

Pandora didn’t want to chance another peek, but she was dying to know what Dorcas had written in that note. Hoping the woman – Lily – would give a hint away, she looked to the right and watched from her periphery. The redhead had a drink in her hand already when the waitress brought her a second one. A momentary flicker of confusion turned stunned as she read the note. 

There was a beat of unnatural stillness, as if her mind was turning over the words. Then, she was on her feet with her coat tossed over one arm and briefcase on the opposite shoulder. In a rather entertaining display of determination, she downed a half-full pink cocktail before picking up the new one and striding toward their table. Splayed openly on her face, that was the look of a woman who really shouldn’t be tangled with. 

“Dorcas,” Pandora hissed, “what the hell did you do?”

[simplepotatofarmer]

ok so youve postedd about rivals gettingg mariedd before and now i need to know mmore marriage headcanons

whos at tthe wedding, whos officiating, married life, etc <- deranged

- @pandoras-hound

i'm still really fond of the idea that they do it for the bit and to annoy the heck out of quackity and sam and when people ask why they don't get divorced now that they're out of the prison 'cause surely it's not necessary now, they're just like 'ah lawyers are expensive and the only one we know is a jerk'.

but like. let's take it seriously.

personally, i don't think there would be a wedding but if there was, it'd solely be to set people up.

someone overhears phil or niki making a joke about the two of them and how they might as well get married and techno is like 'oh yeah we're workin' on it. steve is gonna be the flower girl' and now tommy is spreading the rumor there's going to be a wedding between the two most feared people on the server.

so techno and dream are like *shrug* might as well! and they send out invitations to the wedding at church prime and everyone shows up to object or cause drama or whatever but it's literally just skeppy in a wedding dress eating snacks and pointing everyone to a sign that says 'you got trolled losers'.

meanwhile, dream and techno are chilling with phil, ranboo, niki, and punz. maybe bad is the one who officiates them. whatever it is, it's small and quiet and full of laughter. steve is, in fact, the flower girl. niki baked a cake and michael underscore beloved put two little toy figures on top since there weren't any candles for some weird reason.

at some point, phil and techno have a moment to themselves. phil hugs his friend and says, 'i'm glad you're happy mate' and techno says, 'yeah. i am. pretty weird, huh?' and phil laughs and says 'can't lie, i wasn't sure at first but i'm glad. i really am.' and techno says he's glad too and excuse me, phil, i gotta go rescue my husband from the awkward social situation he's in.

anyway. that's how i think it'd go.