#GODDAMMIT MR NOODLE

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 6

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw.

one. two. three. four. five.

Six. 六

Your dark mood lasts for days. You do not shirk your duties, but you definitely brood, hating everything, most of all yourself. A part of you hopes that Donaka decides you’re not worth the trouble after a glimpse of this other side of you. He does not prod you further, seemingly steering clear of you. He had his fun taking you down a peg–what more could he want with you? Surely he has better things to do… The more time goes on, the more certain you are that his proposition was mostly in your head.

Amusingly, it’s little Mrs. Wong who gets you out of your funk, yelling at you in Cantonese and smacking you with a wooden spoon when (maybe?) you didn’t move out of her way fast enough in the kitchen. You are determined that someday she’s going to let you call her Auntie, but apparently you still have some distance to cover. Her temper is like a firecracker, loud but shortlived. She’s adorable and terrifying, and it’s all so ridiculous that you cannot stop laughing as you flee, and the shroud of your depression lifts again like the sun penetrating through the clouds.

The absurdity of life has always saved you in times like this. What do you have to be sad about, anyway? You are healthy, you are housed, and you are fed in this beautiful place. You are having an adventure. So what, if your diabolically handsome employer does not approve of you? You’re just here to clean his floors, for fuck’s sake. 

Maybe Donaka Mark is rich, but that doesn’t mean he has all the answers to the mysteries of life. You find your mental state improves, when it seems like he’s ignoring you. 

Flirting with the cute gardener’s assistant doesn’t hurt your state of mind either. His name is Jun, he has an infectious laugh, and he offers to show you around the city on your next day off. Thinking some down time with someone your age will do you good, you are set to meet him at the bus stop down the hill from Mr. Mark’s house. 

However, he never shows. You try not to take it too hard, but it still bums you out. 

He does not return with the gardener the next week either, and then you start to worry. The kind old man who tends Donaka Mark’s plants just shrugged at your inquiry and said, “He quit.” 

It seems odd, but you brush it off. You suppose you’ll just have to explore the city on your own. You ask for the day off for your birthday, wanting to go do the touristy things, like ride the historic ferry and take the tram up to Victoria Peak. Maybe visit a temple, do some shopping at the Night Market, and definitely indulge in some local eats. Something about living in Hong Kong has you dreaming about noodles. It’s an affliction. You want to try them all. 

On your day there is a little carved wooden box on the table where you usually partake your breakfast in the common area of the servants’ quarters. You’re not sure why your heart falls to your feet with something like dread, but somehow you just know that Mr. Mark has not forgotten about you after all. 

With a forbidden thrill you flip the lid carefully, finding a domed-link silver filigree and enamel bracelet set with dreamy jade cabochons. The little details are exquisite, and you’re instantly enchanted. When you look carefully at the bauble, you realize the stylized blue designs aren’t flowers–they’re bats.

He remembered that conversation you’d had, that very first day. It warms you to your toes, and maybe scares you too. He's good to the staff, but you don't think he usually buys them jewelry.

Goddammit.

You just know, deep down, that you shouldn’t accept it. You even set it back down in the box again, just looking at it with hands on your hips. 

But therein lies the crux of temptation: you want it. It’s pretty and well made, not cheap tourist junk, and…he’d put thought into this gift for you. 

This bait for you, you remind yourself. It’s still hard for you to believe that he’s propositioning you, if for anything, because a man like him could have a supermodel on each arm if he wanted. What the fuck would he want with a girl like you?

Maybe…it’s just an apology?

Not likely, but surely he’s not going to expect you to sleep with him for a silver bracelet??

You have a problem, and possibly, a screw loose. You know this is a flame you should not play with. You are toeing the line, dangerously close to falling in.

What if…you just wear it today, then give it back? It’s not like he’ll know. You doubt you’ll even see him today.

It feels like a guilty secret, as you pick it up again, clasp it on your wrist, and set out for your big day. You like the weight of the heavy silver on your skin–worse yet, you like knowing that Mr. Mark selected this bauble just for you. It feels…like a badge of honor, and you know it’s stupid, to feel proud of yourself for catching the attention of a man like him–but you can’t help it.

You are smart, but sometimes? Your heart is really really stupid.

You do not return to the house until well past after dusk, nearly midnight. You made a day of it, actually able to enjoy the city since Mr. Mark pays so well. You will remember the hand pulled noodles with beef you had for dinner in the Night Market for the rest of your life, they were so delicious. Watching the chef stretch them out from a lump of dough was like a religious experience. 

Having your fortune told in the Night Market was memorable too, but maybe a little unsettling. Squatted on a stool in the older woman’s stall, you paid 100HK dollars for her to look at your right hand and frown. She told you that money would never be a problem for you, but the men in your life would always cause you difficulty. Looking at your relationship with your father and every man after that, you reckon she was probably right. You know you should take it with a grain of salt, but you can’t quite shake the hum of unease in the back of your mind.

On tired feet you walk through the garden, around to the entrance to the servant’s quarters. 

"Did you have a nice day?" asks a voice from the shadows. You start, then realize Mr. Mark is sitting on the carved stone bench, on the path to the servants' wing of the house, tucked back in the manicured trees. 

Fuck.

Immediately you tuck your wrist behind your back.

“Mr. Mark?”

“Come here.”

His voice is deliberately neutral–you can’t quite gauge his mood as you approach, feeling like a teenager caught staying out past her curfew. You have no way of knowing he has been waiting for hours, growing more and more annoyed that you are away from him, not under his watchful gaze, where you belong.

He knows where you were, if not exactly what you did. Unbeknownst to you, there is a tiny tracker inserted in your new bracelet you wear with such foolish avarice. 

“Well?”

“Yes, I had a wonderful day,” you confirm, coming to stand before him, committed now even if you are walking into the lion’s den. You find it odd he’s waiting up for you, but it is a beautiful night to be out in the garden. A cool breeze is coming off the water, lifting your hair.

“Let’s see it then.” He points at your hand so casually held behind you, and you know you are caught out.

Almost guiltily, you extend your arm to show off your new acquisition in situ. 

He props your hand with just the tips of his fingers, his touch maddeningly light on your sensitive palm as he turns your wrist to inspect the bracelet, sending a thrill down your arm. He likes seeing the gift that he selected upon you.

“It suits you,” he finally assesses, though you still can’t tell if he’s displeased. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” you answer, barely above a whisper, feeling as though you are sealing something between you as you admit it. 

“Well, that’s convincing.”

Your heart feels like a sea urchin lodging in your throat. You’re not sure what it is about this man that makes you want to please him–and tell him to fuck off–all in the same breath. 

Then he gets to the fun part–for him. “You shouldn’t have stayed out so late alone,” he scolds you. 

You cant your head and press your lips, holding in the smart remark that burns on your tongue as his coal-black eyes bore into you, settling for, "I didn't mean to worry you…but it is my day off. I think I'm free to do what I want." You just can't stop yourself from adding the last bit, and you wonder from his darkening expression if it will be your undoing.

He imagines in that moment what it would be like to reach out and put you over his knee. Instead, he stands abruptly, startling you into taking a step backwards. 

He likes that. 

It irks him, that you dare defy him, like he doesn’t know what’s best for you. If you insist on acting so tough, he’s tempted to throw you over his shoulder and show you just how little it would take to actually break you. 

"Were you drinking?" he asks darkly, hating the thought of you out in a bar, with other men, enjoying yourself. Laughing, like you were with the young gardener not so long ago. The moment he saw that on his camera feed that he constantly watches of you, Donaka saw red. You should not give your joy to others so freely. You sprinkle it around everywhere you go, and he covets it all for himself.

That boy had to go.

"No," you defend, and you’re telling the truth. "I just...walked around." There was plenty to see in Kowloon district. 

Donaka takes another step closer, his body almost pressing against yours, the heat of it warming you. He watches your reaction as he speaks, his voice low and firm. “You should have let me arrange a driver for you.”

This again. It feels as though he wants to cloister you away from experiencing the world, by shoving you in a car. "Donaka..." you sigh, slipping into using his first name for the first time ever, because you’re tired, and your feet hurt, and he is standing very close, talking to you like he has a say in what you do…

It’s maddening and arousing all at once, rubbing with a velvet touch against some long long cavewoman instinct in your brain, and if you’re not careful this just might be the night he outmaneuvers you. 

Donaka’s eyes narrow at hearing you dare to be so familiar with him, even if deep down he secretly loves it. He takes another step into you, crowding you against the stone wall, caging you in with an arm. He’s blocking your path to a quick exit into the servants’ quarters, you can’t help but notice. Your heart pounds in your ears–but you’re not half as afraid as you should be of this man. 

“Hong Kong is pretty safe, as it goes…” you continue to protest around the sound of your heart drumming in your ears, earning a scoff. 

“You have no idea, the sorts of things that could happen to a girl like you in this city.”

You can’t help but think you’re not sure if you feel safe here at home now. 

“If something happened…I would have called you,” you offer up, appealing to his ego as protector, the role he’s apparently decided to take on for himself without asking you. 

However, he sees right through you, rolling those beautiful dark eyes. “You should have let me take you out,” he suggests in a low tone that curls your toes in your sandals. He says it like it had been some option on your menu that you’d rejected. Never in a million years would it have even occurred to you to ask. 

You find yourself doing your best impression of a fish out of water, like the ones you’d seen stacked like cord wood in the market. His other hand lifts to touch your chin lightly, closing your mouth. “Would you have liked that?” 

You honestly don't know the answer to that. 

This man fascinates you and repulses you. He's handsome and commanding and oh so forbidding. He scares you, but he draws you like a moth to a flame. Having these little flirtatious interactions around the house are one thing. Going out with him would be...something else entirely. The thought of what it could mean to socialize with a man like him, where you are so far from being equals, makes you uneasy. It's much safer to just...write about what might have been in your journal, later. 

"I'm not sure that would be appropriate," you finally answer breathily.

His smile for you is nothing less than the wolf baring its teeth. “Why not?”

"You're my boss..." you try to defend. You scare the shit out of me is the real answer you don't dare say aloud.

Donaka can’t help the dark laugh that falls from his lips at your answer, the way you flounder as you grasp for a defense, utterly drowning. A part of him wants to claim you right here and now, for being such a sweet, soft, naive little thing in his claws. 

He leans down closer to you, his head dipping down to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Is that the best excuse you’ve got?”

For a moment, you think your soul might evacuate from your body. 

"Pretty sure it's a good one," you barely manage to reply above a whisper.

“You still don’t understand what I’m offering you, do you?” he asks, his voice deceptively gentle, a dagger clothed in velvet.

You love it how he makes you out to be the obtuse one, when he is the one who has spoken so cryptically.

“I��might,” you answer. You’re not a complete innocent, or a total philistine.

What would a VIP experience on the arm of Donaka Mark be like? Although he can be charming when he wants to be, it makes you feel more anxious than intrigued. You imagine a dinner at some high-end restaurant you could never afford. Somewhere people go to be seen, more than to eat, though the food would undoubtedly be amazing. Somewhere you would feel incredibly out of place. Then what? A ride in one of his ugly but wicked fast sports cars? A night of hedonism at some exclusive club for millionaires only? And what would he expect as payment for all this? You can’t even say you wouldn’t be willing to give it. You want this man with a voracity that is–frankly–terrifying to you. 

You’ve never felt anything like it. 

What you wouldn’t like is the inevitable aftermath of later: he's offering you the opportunity to give yourself up–then get thrown away, with the enjoyment of some perks in between. You could repeat your mother’s history all over again, a thing you always swore up, down, and sideways you would never do.

Donaka watches all these thoughts play across your face, without a word aloud to accompany them. You just stare, unable to speak, and he narrows his eyes at you.

“Say one sentence of the novel you just wrote in your head out loud,” he challenges.

You open your mouth to try, but nothing comes out. All you can do is look up at him with what you are sure is a pathetic expression on your face, paralyzed. He is so close, and your eyes fixate for a long, damning moment on his mouth. In the end you have to close your eyes against that laser-like stare, shaking your head.

“You know something I find interesting about you,” he goes on. You open your eyes, though your tongue is still tied. “I think if I made you choose between an Hermès purse or that cheap bauble on your wrist this morning, you still would have chosen the bracelet, wouldn't you?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, maybe not to your advantage. Then you feel a little relieved, glad it didn’t cost a fortune.

“Comparatively cheap,” he clarifies, as though he doesn't want you to feel too at ease. How did he know? 

You narrow your eyes, lifting your wrist towards him. “Maybe…you should take it back.”

You think you might die of a heart attack, when he folds your smaller hand in his, and kisses your knuckles lightly. “It’s too late for that.”

You’re not sure what that means, but as he strokes your thumb lightly with his, you start to tremble.

“Sir…” 

He pins you with his stare, looming over you, but makes no move, waiting. 

“It’s getting late…and I have to work tomorrow.”

He lifts an eyebrow, smirking down at you. “And whose fault is that?”

“Mine…though it’s starting to be yours.”

He snorts. “Then ask me for the day off again,” he dares you. When you answer him with yet more paralyzed silence he gets frustrated, tilting your face up with his huge hand engulfing your jaw. For a man who works in tech…his fingers are calloused, and strong, and your legs just might go out from underneath you.  “Ask me. Say it out loud, y/n. Tell me what’s going on, behind those big eyes.”

You, however, just shake your head against his masterful grip. “You don’t want to know.” 

“I like secrets, y/n. I want to know everything.” You suppose that is his bread and butter, with his security business and all his cameras…you don’t know why it never occurred to you before now, that it could be a personal obsession, as much as professional. 

You’re tempted. God, are you tempted, with this beast of a man looming over you, touching you, looking through you with those piercing dark eyes. Like he wants to eat you as much as he wants to fuck you… 

Somehow you know if you dare go down that path…there will be no turning back. 

You choose the coward’s road.

“Please…I think…it would be best…to call it a night.”

He weighs you with a heavy gaze for so long that you start to doubt he will let you go–in the darkest dungeon of your heart, you know that a part of you doesn’t want him to. It would be convenient, if he would make the choice for you. Let you taste the forbidden fruit with none of the blame…

You are losing your goddamned mind over this man. You need to stop.  

You never really know why in the end he releases you, pushing back from the wall to give you space. You side-step towards the door of the servant’s quarters, afraid for the predatory look he’s paying you, that he might change his mind.

 "Good night, Mr. Mark," you say quietly, before disappearing into the little building where you sleep. A rush of frustration flares inside him as you scamper away–again. He narrowly resists the urge to kick down your door and show you who you belong to.

“Good night,” he answers back through gritted teeth, only the crickets left to hear him. He’ll have your secrets, one way or another. He can genuinely say he tried–a first, in so long he can’t remember when. For what happens next…you will only have yourself to blame.

[earlgraytay]

So I know what you're thinking. Why is TGAA 2-2 worse than Turnabout Big Top? How can this be possible?

Well, the answer is simple: there's problems with this case that a good editor would have caught right away. The problems with Big Top are ... intentional. Turnabout Big Top is a simple but compelling mystery wrapped up in an overcomplicated and uncomfortable dressing.

.... TGAA 2-2/Memoirs!Kokoro has great dressing. Olive Green is one of my favourite Ace Attorney characters; Shamspeare is wonderfully punchable, it's always great to see Natsume and the Garridebs again, and Lady Quinby is one of my new favourite minor characters; I hope she comes back.

But the mystery is deeply flawed. If you've been reading my liveblog (which you don't have to to understand my point here) you'll know what I'm getting at already- I've been yelling since the first Kokoro case that the solution to What's Up With Natsume is carbon monoxide poisoning. Natsume is forgetful, jittery, and paranoid, and immediately seems to snap out of it after a few months back in Japan. Even on the witness stand, he seems a lot better! He wrote a whole book!

.... the SECOND that the gas pipes were mentioned, I knew that the solution was simple. The victim was poisoned with carbon monoxide, so no strychnine was necessary, so Natsume didn't do it. (Especially since he woke back up!) It's elegant and straightforward.

They then proceed to lampshade this fact throughout the entire case- the meterman and Lady Quinby! The whole subplot about Shamspeare stealing gas! Two people on the jury mention that gas is poisonous repeatedly! Van Zieks makes fun of us by saying we must have breathed some bad air!

-- AND THE GAME, MADDENINGLY, INSISTS THE POISON IS STRYCHNINE. There's no option to bring up that it might be the gas until the very bitter end, and so you feel like you're yelling at a character on a beloved children's TV show. "MR. NOODLE. YOUR HANDS, MR. NOODLE. THAT'S YOUR NOSE, MR. NOODLE. GODDAMMIT, MR. NOODLE."

...and then when they finally let you bring up the gas, when they finally look like they're letting you be Clever and finally FIGURE OUT THE MYSTERY...

there's poison. on the gas pipe.

there's. poison. on the pipe. that's already. full. of poison. that the murderer. was already breathing into. for pre-established convenience reasons.

GODDAMMIT, MR. NOODLE.

Like, Turnabout Big Top is loathesome, but you can follow the chain of cause and effect there, and it doesn't make you feel like Phoenix is stupid. Nobody wants to be here (including the characters!), but nobody is stupid about the events that are happening. In Memoirs of a Clouded Kokoro, it feels like Runo took a hit off the gas pipe and forgot how to lawyer. (And when Phoenix forgot how to lawyer he at least had textual amnesia.)

And the really maddening thing is that these are all problems that could have been fixed if an editor had looked at this and gone "Takumi-san, why do we need three different poisons in this case?" I have no real knowledge of how the dev on TGAA went other than what the devs have chosen to make public. But I know what writing for games is like, and I know Shu Takumi gets ... silly with his substance use when it's time to crunch. This case feels like it was either written under the influence and never edited- or drafted to just be about carbon monoxide poisoning, someone on the production team decided it needed to be more complicated, and the rewrite was never edited.

Because it would be so easy to fix this. You could even keep most of the elements in the canon case(s) -- it's not even like you need to add more assets or anything.

So here's how I'd fix it.

So 99.9999% of TGAA 1-4 /Adventure!Kokoro is fine. The Garridebs, Olive Green's near-death experience, the introduction of Natsume and the building- all just fine! It's fun! It's a lil silly! It's a good breather in between the fucking McGilded cases and the chain of logic works. The events in the chain are silly, yes, but the chain itself is logical. It leaves open a couple of very important hooks- the window tax! the "neighbours" fighting! Why Olive Green was there in the first place! - but it works as a standalone case and it ends satisfactorily enough. Our main concern at the end of the case is that Olive and Natsume are gonna be okay, and we get that resolution!

Untilllllll... we flash back to Memoirs, and after another ~!brilliant!~ deduction by Sholmes, we've put Natsume back in jail. The opening to Memoirs - basically everything until we get into court - is fine! If you cut down on the foreshadowing of the gas- leave one or two mentions maybe, but don't go nearly as hard on it- it works to set everything up.

Day one of the case focuses on proving that the tea couldn't have been poisoned (and therefore that Shamspeare is stealing his gas), and most of the elements of that still work too- there just needs to be a little more textual focus on the fact that step one of any court case is proving the prosecution's opening argument wrong. before we are allowed to prove that something else occurred, we have to prove that things couldn't have gone down the way Van Zieks says they did.

it's once we've done that that everything starts to fall apart in the canon case-- the canon case tries to set up poison on the gas pipes, but we can do better. First rule of mystery writing is don't hang a gun on the wall you don't shoot, right? We've hung so many miles of gas pipe in these walls, it's a crime not to use them.

In the investigation interlude between days 1 and 2, we should get two pieces of information before we go back to the Garridebs:

Natsume explains that he's almost died of carbon monoxide poisoning once, when the pilot light on his stove died. He thinks that this is the curse, of course, but it's obvious that something's wrong with the building.

Olive Green is getting discharged from the hospital, and plans to go home and end her life. We stop her from doing so, but she's too rattled to tell us why.

We then go back to the Garridebs, and pointedly ask Mr. Garrideb about the maintenance and upkeep of the gas; is it really in such good condition that he can use it to spy on people? He's said the pipes are leaky. He bitches, at length, about how he's had to replace most of the piping after a tenant died. We get the story of Duncan Ross (and get it repeated if we investigate Shamspeare's place and show Olive the photograph).

We investigate Shamspeare's place, get the stuff he stashed under the floor, discover that he's been getting really familiar with the wall under the gas pipe (and I would have them make a joke about the Romeo and Juliet showdown being, uh, lewd), and discover the letter Olive sent him. We also get the Selden case file from Gregson.

Day two in court is where things really start to change. In canon, it's a mess of proving that there's poison on the gas pipe- but there's poison in the gas pipes already. It's dumb. You've been listening to me yell about this for several thousand words now. So instead:

Day two is about proving that someone else could have entered the flat. Day three is about proving that something else could have entered the flat.

Day two, we get the results from Scotland Yard that there was no poison in the tea. When we examined Shamspeare's apartment, we found the letter from Olive Green; she's our next lead, and besides, the gang is a little worried about her all things considered. Unfortunately, the only way to check up on her is to accuse her of attempted murder. This is an Ace Attorney case, and we're obligated to be in court today. If we can't go to her, we'll bring her to us. Ryunosuke is pretty sure she didn't try to kill anyone- look at her! She's so wet! - but he is pretty sure she was in the apartment when she shouldn't have been, and if she could have gotten in there, who's to say someone else couldn't have?

So, in an attempt to find the real killer, he accuses Olive. In the cross-examination, it becomes clear that:m

Olive initially thought that her boyfriend was cheating on her with someone in the building- obviously not the elderly maid, she clearly had a thing for the landlord!, but that only left Shamspeare.

(wow, he's bisexual! I didn't know that gif goes here.)

Olive was furious with Shamspeare- especially since her boyfriend was found dead shortly after he moved in. She was convinced that Shamspeare killed him in a crime of passion, and wanted revenge.

Her plan was to use strychnine to poison some food in the apartment. Unfortunately, as we've established previously, there's no food in the apartment.

Furthermore, on her way in, she gets caught by Mrs. Garrideb-- who assumes she's there to see Mr. Garrideb, and who gets Incredibly Jealous. Olive gets turned away, but no matter- she waits til the shouting starts, and sneaks back in. It's easy enough to get into the crappy apartment with the broken locks, and easier still to find Shamspeare's not so secret hiding place.

She goes in and finds nothing to poison, and decides that, while she's here, she's going to try to find some evidence that this man killed her fiance. Or, at the very least, if she can't murder him, she can steal something he values.

She finds nothing linking Shamspeare to Duncan. Instead, she finds information linking Shamspeare to Selden, and she recognizes the name from the papers. She steals the evidence, and decides that Scotland Yard should prbably have this- even if it implicates her in a crime.

(I would probably make Selden a much more notorious criminal for this to work- maybe some serial murders on top of the burglaries, maybe stole something belonging to the Crown.)

On her way out, she turns to go down Briar Road... and is promptly hit on the back by the knife falling from the window above, and rushed to the hospital. No one searches her pockets beyond looking for her name, and she's out of commission for several days.

This is also where she puts together for us that she's had an absolutely rotten several months, she's so depressed that she decided to kill herself, but she has enough of a spine and a conscience to want to see justice for Duncan - one way or another! - before she met her end.

We prove all of this... but that doesn't answer the question of who poisoned Shamspeare. There's a very annoying moment where Van Zieks convinces the jury that Olive is perjuring herself and poisoned something anyway, even though we've proven there wasn't anything to poison- but we talk them around. Thoughtcrimes are not crimes, and while Olive's (probably) going to get tried for theft (haha spoilers), it's clear by the end of the day that this lead is going nowhere.

So if the poison wasn't in the tea and the poison wasn't brought in by someone else, it had to already have been in the apartment. Day three is dedicated to figuring out where it could have come from and what the killer's motive was. And there's one really obvious source...

It's the gas. Instead of bringing back Bruce fucking Fairplay, I'd make the foreman of the jury a doctor. Not a hack surgeon- a Broad Street doctor, comfortably middle-aged and rich and not prone to nonsense. He's well aware of what gas poisoning looks like, and by day three of watching us cross-examine Shamspeare and Natsume, he can't help but step in. Both of these men are clearly suffering from chronic carbon monoxide poisoning.

Van Zieks- to his deep and profound displeasure- can't disagree, and has a frustrated rant about wasting the court's time on an accident. That, of course, he blames us for. Ryunosuke goes, "Ah, but it was no accident", and we call Mr. Garrideb as a witness.

This is fairly short, but Mr. Garrideb just replaced the pipes. (He has reciepts! He bitches about it at length! But not too much length because we have a lot to get through today and Quinby Altamonte threatens him with her umbrella. She's not a maid so he's not interested.)

Speaking of Quinby Altamonte, she contributes information about the process of installing certified Altamonte pipes and meters, and specifically, about how you can blow into a pipe (and turn off all gas flames in the rest of the house) to check the gas flow.

The piece that looks most important right now is that we have Mr. Garrideb's record of payment and the Altamont records of certification- the pipes are less than three months old and have no leaks. .

The workman on the jury corroborates this, as he's worked on the house- and he points out that you have to be exceptionally careful in tenements like this, because the tenants use their gas stoves for heat. You have to leave it on all night, so you don't freeze to death in the cold London winter, and you wouldn't want to risk poisoning someone by blowing out the pilot light on their stove.

We now have all the pieces. Or, almost all. We can prove now that the killer could have blown into the pipes to turn off all the flame in the building. This wouldn't affect the Garridebs upstairs, as they use a fireplace for heat and go to bed early, turning off all their lights... but Natsume stays up all night reading, and has complained that the pilot light on his stove has turned itself off before.

If Shamspeare wanted to kill Natsume, he could have blown out the lights- and gotten a mouthful of gas if he wasn't careful doing it. After all, he isn't a trained technician- he's an out of work actor.

"My learned Japanese friend- SURELY you aren't suggesting that this - ugh- upstanding young actor is the murderer and not the victim."

Yes, Mr. Van Zieks. That's exactly what we're suggesting.

The prosecution pitches a hissy fit, drinks heavily, and insists that we need a motive. We've got most of it, but we need one final piece- it's contained in the evidence against Olive Green, which we had to coax dear Gregsy into giving us before we got to court today.

The law of conservation of characters suggests that if you bring up a master criminal who "died" three months ago, and bring up an out of work actor who appeared from the void ... three months ago... they're the same fucking person. I thought that this was where the case was going, and I thought the writers were so clever for setting this up- obviously the prancing git with exaggerated mannerisms was hiding his true identity! But they made him his cellmate and that's ... workable, I guess, but not as fun.

If I was writing this, Shamspeare is Selden, putting an antic disposition on to cover his tracks while he tries to get his treasure back. He thought it would be easy- move back into his old apartment, no one wants to live there anyway, and it wouldn't be suspicious to have someone come out of nowhere and leave much the same way in a few months. No one lives in the Garridebs' building for long. But noooo, someone had to move into his apartment and someone had no intention of leaving until he was happily married in a few years.

So on top of whatever other crimes Selden- I mean Shamspeare- committed, he had to get the other lodger out of the way. And he figured out how to do it without being detected- using the gas pipe to blow out the pilot light on the stove upstairs. He killed Olive's boyfriend, and planned to swap apartments- but he wasn't allowed to, due to the pipe replacement. In the meantime, Natsume signed a lease, and as soon as work was completed, he moved in.

Shamspeare had to get rid of him, and figured the same trick would work twice. No one noticed the first time. The pipe replacement was a kink in the plans, but you can always blame a tired workman, a faulty installation, or a careless foreigner not understanding how a gas stove works. He's been trying for months, now, but he has to leave the apartment sometimes-- and Natsume, not sleeping at night and getting increasingly paranoid, keeps turning off the gas before he goes to bed.

The asshole just doesn't have the decency to die!

So Natsume has been slowly getting poisoned for weeks, but it's not to the point where it's even remotely lethal- it's just enough to make him incredibly twitchy, paranoid, and depressed. Great! Even better when he gets accused of murdering Olive- and gets taken out of the apartment and thrown in jail for several nights. Shamspeare at first assumes that this is his cue- he's on trial for murder at the Old Bailey against the Reaper! He's not coming back!

But Natsume doesn't have the fucking decency to die! He's acquitted thanks to us-- and Shamspeare decides he's had enough. One way or another, Natsume is going to die the night he comes home.

And then Natsume has the gall to try to be friendly.

Without the treasure that's stashed in Natsume's room, Shamspeare has no money. His plan to invite Natsume over for a meal (to poison him) falls through before it can begin because he can't buy food. Then Natsume brings his own tea- and of course would notice if it tasted wrong; he can't even put soap in it. (If I were writing this, "eating soap" would be a proper running gag, and this would be the ultimate payoff.)

Okay, time for plan B. Exhaust Natsume, make him go home and go to bed, and try the gas thing again. One very interesting literary-themed seduction-slash-argument later, this seems like it's succeeding. Until, when Shamspeare (in his own exhaustion) screws up the routine he's been doing for months and accidentally breathes in a mouthful of gas.

But Shamspeare gets an idea. Natsume's already been accused of murder once. The guy looks shifty as hell. (Mostly because of the gas poisoning, but that's neither here nor there.) If he gets acquitted of a murder and then a day later gets accused of another murder, surely the Reaper will get him this time, right? The Reaper's probably already mad that one of his victims has gone free-- he'll relish the chance to put an end to this properly.

(Van Zieks, in the background, is deeply offended at the idea of being used as a murder weapon.)

So Shamspeare fakes his own murder. He just barely manages to stage the crime scene before he passes out, and figures that either he'll wake up in a few hours (this has happened before while he was figuring this method out), or they'll both fucking die, one way or another.

But thanks to us- and Olive Green's little theft- not only does he get exposed as a murderer, his identity as Selden is also uncovered. He's going to go to trial very shortly, for 1) attempted murder of Soseki Natsume, 2) murder of Duncan Ross, 3) So Much Gas Fraud, 4) escaping prison, 5) perjury, because we feel like it.

Soseki Natsume is NOT GUILTY!

(he's also fed up with England, the English judicial system, English racism, and gas heating. He's going back to Japan, perhaps also to the seaside, for his health.)

Gregson tells us that they're granting Olive clemency because she provided evidence to the Crown. She gets to go free. We have one last conversation with her where we give her the letter we found at Garrideb's place- which got entered into the Court Record. It's a love letter from Duncan. We don't ever actually use it in court- but we use it now. She gets her closure that Duncan wasn't cheating on her - and she's satisfied with Von Zieks taking over her quest for revenge.

She's not sure she has the heart to go back to art school- so many of her happy memories with Duncan are there- but she says she wants to do her best. Susato suggests that with her passion for justice, she'd make an excellent judicial assistant. Perhaps even an attorney in her own right? Are women allowed to do that in England? Well, Olive Green has enough guts and heart to do it even if she isn't technically allowed- it's not like she was allowed to burgle Shamspeare's apartment either.

The case ends with another art student becoming a law student thanks to a doomed lost love! Happy endings all around. Tune in in two to five business years for the spinoff game, Olive Green: Ace Attorney. (She defends a lot of people who are technically guilty of a crime, but not THAT crime, or not under THOSE circumstances, or The Fucker Had It Coming, You See.)

So yeah, that's how I'd rework the case. @raymondshields - eat well.

[wenamedthedogkylo]

Richard Armitage is also an unspecified flavor of queer and has a male partner, so I’d add Thranduil and Thorin = mlm open warfare

So nobody was gonna tell me Lee Pace is bi and Luke Evans is gay huh?

That scene in the third Hobbit film where Thranduil and Bard and Gandalf are all hanging out in a tent? I just had to realize it was a tent of men who love men all by myself huh

[iconic-post-bracket]

Blorbo from my shows

Goddammit Mr. Noodle

California girls we're inconsolable

[exit-path]

Tumblr Post Compilation: A Masterpost

First of all, let me tell you what you're about to see.

This is a list of 118 "funny tumblr posts" taken from YouTube compilations in 2016. I tracked down all these posts on tumblr myself in Nov 2021. The post is broken up into two parts, and is available under the cut. Each of the links is named after a snippet from the actual post (effectively the "punchline"), and clicking on it brings up the full post, which you can reblog and interact with.

These posts are nostalgic to me because I watched these YouTube compilations before I came to tumblr. I recommend you scroll through these posts, as they bring up a form of humor that's rarely seen today which, I think, has almost been lost to time. Also, if you want to learn how to do this, there's some insight as to how I did this at the end of the post.

(This masterpost is a revision of this post, necessitated because the hyperlinks don't work anymore.)

1. outrageously angry man returning a lawnmower and it was our dad

2. Italian exchange student said “Look, the compressed horse.”

3. “im eminem!” “and I’m skittles?”

4. I JUST MISTOOK ANOTHER STUDENT FOR A TRASH CAN

5. he ate the reeses cup then stabbed himself with the epipen

6. “GODDAMMIT, MR. NOODLE.”

7. school on lockdown because someone put weed in the vents

8. Can’t cheat with those big ass galaxy phones

9. weirdly self-conscious about wiper blade speed

10. My brother told me not to slam the door and yell “Guess who’s home, motherfuckers”

11. drove by traffic camera 6 times thinking it was funny

12. drill sergeant made kid carry around potted plant to replace the oxygen he wasted

13. A list of things that do not offend people:

14. kid grabbed seagull out of air, all his friends were like “again tyrone?? really??”

15. “LOWERCASE LETTERS ARE FOR THE LOWER CLASS”

16. drunk man proposes to tree, gets rejected

17. “i’m on my way, the traffic is just slow, i’m coming” “mom i called the house phone”

18. a kid’s phone started siri, TEACHER STARTED EXPLAINING IT AGAIN

19. “watch my stuff” what if someone comes and actually tries to steal it

20. our goats think that now whenever they pee they get a treat

21. “it’s for your own good”, mom deleted the internet explorer icon from my desktop

22. a girl called me a lying slut because I was with her bf a lot. we’re siblings

23. I watched an old couple set off their car alarm and drive away… now that i think about it-

24. Rules to learning English: their our know rules

25. a kid got expelled for pretending to be russian for 8 months

26. a girl said she had two moms and a boy started crying, he said it wasn’t fair she had two

27. when a girl changes her clothes in front of you, she hasn’t spotted you in the tree yet

28. my mom is telling me “get a good job” but my heart is telling me “marry rich”

29. my parents split after they made me. i am a volcano. follow for more geological humour

30. I’m saying “excuse me” but I really mean “why the fu-”

31. nun goes “I’m allowed to look at the menu I just can’t order”

32. Hospitals are so weird

33. handed their BLIND SON a menu and he’s like “ah… thank you… I’ll just… read this”

34. on April Fool’s his mom called to say she was in labour, dad laughed and hung up on her

35. “why do I fear bears? because Chester Zoo is 30 miles away and bears can smell fear”

36. dropped her ipad but held tight to her pizza

37. her parents faked a british accent in front of her until she was 7

38. really religious girl who told people off if they swore, gets sworn at

39. he took her to the supermarket to watch the lobsters fighting in the lobster tank

40. so i was the official shia labeouf myspace but i was in fact a 12 yr old canadian kid

41. subway thief told suitcase has “a bunch of laptops” ends up stealing a dead dog

42. “I guess working in fast food just wasn’t my cup of tea”

43. I waited until the professor handed back the papers and angrily asked where mine was

44. so i started trying to kill classmates with my mind

45. my favorite thing is ask 14/15 year old kids on dates if they want a kids menu

46. I blacked out in Disney World, woke up with Mickey Mouse putting a cold towel on me

47. “wanna date me? yes: smile no: backflip” and she did a backflip

48. “do you wanna kiss” “excuse me” he pulled out a bag of hershey’s kisses

49. when beyoncé asked all the single ladies to put their hands up I looked at my bf and

50. 7th grade, his world of warcraft friends threw him a virtual birthday party

51. “she’s the bro and y’all bitches are the hoes”

[pandasized-crevice]

MY FRESH JUST WATCHED KINNPORSCHE EP12 THOUGHTS

porsche back on a motorcycle i LOVE TO SEE IT🥵

chay my baby:(:(🥺😭

CHAY NO WTF 😧

pol my beloved jester😚

hmm kinn didn't take anyone you say.......

ARM MY HUSBAND😍

code red?

PORSCHE COME ON MAN KINN ISNT CHEATING

DUDE WHAT HIS BUTTON IS A MICROPHONE?????!!!(arm ik thats your doing HE'S SO FUCKING COOL)

i love that arm is porsches accomplice in this

help about porsche?....WAIT WHAT 😀

mr spikes!!

pete my love☺️

don't expose vegas like this pete....

DENIED ACCESS

porsche:(:(

YALL MY HEART HURTING RN

and this godforsaken sad song playing in the fucking background STOP

pottery time with korn

AYO KORN JUST SPILLING THE CAR CRASH BEANS LIKE THAT?!

oh girl if its not one thing ITS ANOTHER WHEN WILL PORSCHE BE AT PEACE

pretty moon shoot🌕💜

NO MR SPIKES:( BRO IVE GROWN ATTACHED

lets escape pete come on babe

goddammit pete won't leave not when vegas looks like a sad miserable thing

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 😫MR SPIKES😭😭😭

pretty lights in the captivity room🫶

A Y OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

if i had a nickle for eveytime a guy with a name starting with P surprise kisses a theerapanyakul🧐🤨, id have two nickles

anyway- AAAAAHHHHH WE GOING VEGASPETERS🚨😶🏃

omg the grip on the chains...

OMG BARE CHEEK GRABBING?SMOOCHING BITING😧

oh my god dude WHAT ELSE CAN I SAY

AND THE FEET ARE CHAINED?!?!

where are bible and builds awards?THEY ARE NEEDED ASAP🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🫅🫅

omg petes smile? BYE YALL

O H?! KINN AND CHAY INTERACTION TIME

royal farmhouse bread hey girl🥴

the couple is being sweet,it's chays time to flee🏃

yall better not do another bread kiss....

B R O KINN PLEASE

wait so they're living at porsches instead?

kinn is so sappy i love him

gotta give royal farmhouse her solo shot

TAY!!!!!!🥰🥰

yes tay & porsche friendship it's what we deserve

these fools bro💀

noodle product placement yuh

tay my love:( FUCK TIME BRO ALL MY HOMIES HATE TIME

its freaking jom and tem FUCKING BET ITS GONNA GET WEIRD

dammit its korn

THE DRIVER AYO👁

DANG WE CAN'T KILL HIM

MY PORSCHE DESERVES EVERYTHING IM CRYING TOO SHIT

TRAILER SCENE TRAILER SCENE BE MY BODYGUARD

the l i n e yall

BYE i'm sobbing don't look for me

kinn🕴🏻 🤨im waiting for you to say i love you to porsche 👁👁

kim looking mighty fine...😵‍💫..MIGHTY FINE

hair product placement nice

AH SHIT CHAYS GOING GOOD BOY GONE BAD

chay's friend super cute🫣

oh when porsche finds out he'll be p i s s e d

WEEWOO WEEWOO A PREDATOR WITH THE DRUGS🚨🚨

OH HEY KIM..……..well after that mark me down as scared AND horny

i'm with kinnewww bugs

you're both pretty lets get that straight

the worst bug of them all😠

SHIT MORE FUCKING QUESTIONS NO REST FOR PORSCHE

[sailorzeo]

Every time I'm at a hotel, I remember "Goddammit, Mr. Noodle!"

[victorie552onepiecespeedrun]

Reading One Piece pt 168: Nami Takes Kalifa To Town

Chapters 410-412

Thoughts:

- Oh look, they had a cover in Shounen Jump that week

- Lucci and Luffy are still going at it. Lucci has fun but Luffy isn’t playing anymore

- Marines are running away

- And… yep, they left Frankies and Galley-ga behind. Our guys are worried

- Yeah, Straw Hats, CP9 and practically everyone want to finish things quickly and get the hell away from Enies Lobby

- (lol what if Buster Call demolishes a totally abandoned island. I mean, that’s the most desired situation please but still, they called Buster Call for literary nothing :D)

- THIS IS NOT A TIME TO THINK OF PUNS ZORO (I’m joking. There’s always a time for puns)

- DECK LUCCI LUFFY (narration jumps from place to place every two panels, I’m not even trying to keep it coherent anymore)

- Damn, Lucci’s good at this

- At least he lost the hat (where’s the parrot????)

- Kalifa got Nami. Now I know this is a battle and everything goes but I still kinda wanna fill a complain about sexual harassment you know? Like damn, Kalifa isn’t playing here, if she was a man I would shoot her on sight. Still might. Just wait till I get over my double standards, sexy lady

- Nami’s a shiny noodle too!

- And now when Kalifa’s feeling safe, Nami attacks with her iconic mirages! You go, Nami!

- OH FUCK ELDRITCH CHOPPER IS HERE

- Goodbye Kalifa?

- (lol)

- Fpos/cs: “The new Spider’s Café that we started with everyone” aww, they’re all stayed together! Please tell me there are Coffee Shop!AU fanfics with them. In One Piece FANFIC IS CANON! Bless you, Oda

- Yes, Nami, this is Chopper

- Yeah, Chopper lost it

- Ok, he went somewhere else

- Lol, Kalifa talks to Nami and Nami totally ignores her

- The water takes away the effects of the “Golden Hour” (aka Noodle Maker Attack)!

- :D

- Nami made it rain

- You got played, Kalifa :D

- Goddammit, stop flirting, what is it with everyone and flirting during a battle

- Noice :D

- YEAH SHE HIT KALIFA WITH LIGHTING!

- Fpos/cs: So. Crocodile and Mr.1 got new cellmates: Mr.2 and Mr3 :D. Question, will we learn the real names of these people? I won’t remember them for sure but calling them by numbers feels kinda rude now when the BW is gone. I mean, I call Crocodile Crocodile now, not Mr.0.

(I know why Mr.2 got Mr.3 clothes but did have Mr.3 get Mr.2’s too?)

- Haha, Kalifa’s mad :D

- “You are in control of the weather… so what!?” wow, that… that is dumb

- So Kalifa is sheep-themed. Wonder why. And why the animal themes at all, was Oda using some myths and legends as inspiration or did he just feel like it

- Oho, thunder again!

- YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

- Kalifa’s defeated :D

- Oh look, Chopper found Zoro and Usopp

- “isn’t he the one… who looks like he’s about to die?” wait what

- Chopper, don’t you dare to be in danger

- Kaku and Yakuza Guy are surprised but ready to take on new opponent

- But wait! Zoro finally attacks! :D

- Franky got here

- He wants to put Chopper into the ocean. Be my guest, Franky

- There they go

- Hm? What is this?

- GUYS GUYS GUYS

- THEY GOT THE RIGHT KEY

- ZORO IS FREEEEEEEE

- “Don’t laugh but regret… Because you’re never encounter another chance that good to befall me, “World Government”!” YES YES YES

OBLITERATE THEM ZORO!!!!

rOP 167  rOP 169

[bleeding-divinity]

Anyway there's an image of a lady sucking dick with spaghetti noodles draped on it and on a plate beneath and the way nem sent it to me and said "you and frank." Goddammit i can never escape the Mr sinatra!! Nvs2 meme huh

The knight: I would let you wrap fruit roll ups around my dick actually

[earlgraytay]

I'm getting really frustrated with TGAA2-2, because if the solution to this case isn't carbon monoxide poisoning I'll eat my hat.

they've signposted that that's the solution for TWO GAMES NOW, and if that's NOT what's going on it's going to feel stupid. but if that IS what's going on, drawing it out for a full case will feel just as stupid.

I'm watching Ryunosuke ignore every piece of evidence that it's carbon monoxide poisoning and I'm all "GODDAMMIT, MR. NOODLE".

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Baby You Were My Picket Fence [Chapter 3: Light My Fire]

You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.  

Song inspiration: Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

Taglist: @blushingwueen @queen-turtle-boiii @everybodyplaythegame @onceuponadetectivedemigod @luvborhap @sincereleygmg @stormtrprinstilettos @loveandbeloved29 @ohtheseboysilove @jennyggggrrr @vanitysfairr @bramblesforbreakfast @radiob-l-a-hblah @xox-talia-xox @killer-queen-xo 

You open the front door and there he is: black button-up shirt, navy jeans, chic but not overdressed. His hair is neatly gelled back from his forehead. In his arms are a lug wrench, a car jack, and a brand new tire wrapped in an oversized, floppy red bow like a Christmas present.

“I think normal guys bring flowers,” you comment.

“I figured...since you’re automotively illiterate and all...you probably hadn’t gotten around to replacing the spare yet.” He shoots a glance at your Elantra, then announces victoriously: “I was right!”

“Mr. Hardy...Ben...I really can’t allow you to perform any more free labor.”

“Five minutes,” he calls over his shoulder as he trots to your car. He has trouble with one of the lug nuts, so it takes him six and a half.

“You can come inside,” you tell him once he’s finished. “I won’t be long, I just have to water my plants.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. It’s dark and rather undomesticated, yet endearing. “I feel like there must be better stalling tactics than that. If you’ve got cold feet, I can handle rejection.” But what he can’t do is disguise the way his shoulders slump, the way he bites the corner of his lower lip apprehensively.

“No, really, it’s totally stupid, but I’m really trying not to kill this batch and if I don’t water them now I’m going to be stressing about it until I get home, and I don’t want to be thinking about houseplants all night, I want to be thinking about...” You wave your hand towards Ben inarticulately. “You know. You.”

He smiles, showing his teeth, his eyes lit up like embers, flickering and radiant and warm. “Take your time, Martha Stewart.” 

“My parents give me so much hell for this,” you call back to him as you flutter around the living room, standing on your tiptoes and reaching around furniture to water your peace lilies and spider plants and devil’s ivy and one wilting ponytail palm. “They’re farmers. They’re professional life-givers. I’m lucky if I can keep the cactuses alive.”

You hear Ben rambling around the kitchen. “I hope your nurturing skills are at least marginally better with first graders.”

You laugh, nodding even though he can’t see you. “I’m alright with those. I’m just more of a rock person than a plant person. Gems and minerals and volcanic glass...fossils and bones and teeth...that’s where the magic is for me.”

“I can see that. Dinosaurs are well-represented in your extensive fridge magnet collection.” There are clicks and scrapes as he rearranges them: prehistoric animals and tiny planets, peace signs and alphabet letters and cross-sections of agate. “These are so cool!” he exclaims.  

You bustle back into the kitchen, place your watering can in the sink, and wipe your hands with a dishtowel patterned with cartoon brontosauruses. “Ready?” Your eyes flick to the refrigerator. He’s organized your magnets into a giant smiley face. It’s ridiculous, it’s juvenile; but you feel this liberatingly simple joy flooding through you like early autumn air. And the way Ben’s grinning at you—a little mischievous, a little proud—reminds you so much of Eli that your breath catches in your throat. You have no idea who Eli’s mother was, but her genetics were omnipotent; it’s almost impossible to find any of Ben in him at all. But every once in a while there’s an unconscious gesture, an off-kilter smile, and suddenly you can see the common threads that wove them into being like spiders’ webs.

“Ready,” Ben agrees.

You smooth your dress as you slip into the passenger’s seat of his Lexus, placing your purse between your feet, checking your hair and makeup in the sun visor mirror. Ben glances over at you as he shifts the car into reverse and roars out of your driveway. Your hands aren’t shaking, your heartbeat is hushed, there’s no hot rushing blood in your cheeks or ears; this shocks you. It’s eerie how inexplicably at ease you are.

“Find something good,” he says, pointing to the radio.

You seize the dial. “Uh oh. My first test?”

He smiles, his eyes on the road now. “Choose something lame and I abandon you at the nearest sketchy-looking gas station.”

You flip through stations until you find Somebody To Love. “I work hard, every day of my life, I work ‘til I ache in my bones...” “Okay, how I’d do?”

Ben steals a suspicious peek over at you. “Are you fucking with me?”

“What?” you ask, bewildered. “No, why?”

He shakes his head. “Never mind. You definitely pass. You’re a Queen person?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely, I adore Queen. Most classic rock, actually.”

“So have you, uh...” He touches his chin thoughtfully, what you’re quickly realizing is a little nervous tic. It’s cute as hell. Goddammit, daddy demon, stop being so fucking perfect. “Did you ever see Bohemian Rhapsody?” But something gives you the impression he already knows you haven’t.

“Not yet,” you confess.

“Not interested?”

“It’s not that, I just...” You hesitate, trying to put it into words. “I know it did well and all. But I guess I’m skeptical of anyone trying to play Freddie Mercury. He was a legend, he was one of a kind. So are the rest of them. Those are massive shoes to fill. It seems like setting the actors up to pale in comparison.”

“I’ve heard it was pretty good,” Ben presses, almost teases.

“Yeah, maybe...”

“And Rami won the Oscar. So his portrayal must have been satisfactory.”

“Okay, oh my god, I’ll see it, are you happy now? Were you on the marketing team or what?”

You’re only half-serious, but Ben chuckles evasively. “So you like old rocks and old music,” he pivots. “But not old not-boyfriends. Except Jeff Goldblum.”

“This is news to me. I sincerely thought you were sixty.”

He laughs, a full gutsy laugh this time, a laugh that says he’s caught-off guard and thrilled about it. “That’s okay. I’m into old stuff too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Old music, classic rock, just like you. But old books too.”

“Gatsby?”

His eyebrows leap up; you’re watching his face as streetlamps illuminate the car in reiterating flashes like a spinning pulsar. God, he’s beautiful. “How’d you guess that?”

“Eli’s middle name is Fitzgerald. That’s not a common one.”

“Ah,” Ben says, and his full lips turn up at the edges into a smile, proudly, fondly.

“I really like it.” That’s the truth; Eli’s a handful and that’s a titanic understatement—though he has been better the last few days, the only blip on the upward trend being his attempt to convince Brayden to eat a live cricket by paying him in Oreos—but his name is classic and elegant and a few literary references here and there never hurt anyone.

“Yeah, that was me,” Ben reveals. “His mother insisted on choosing his first name, I think she heard Eli somewhere and just liked the sound of it. But she let me pick the middle name. And The Great Gatsby was always my favorite book...and The Beautiful and the Damned, and This Side of Paradise?! Freaking incredible. In my humble opinion F. Scott Fitzgerald is a certifiable genius. So...Eli Fitzgerald.” There’s a color in his voice you can’t quite read: the golden yellow of reminiscence, the murky blue of loss, the grey nothingness of depression, the bloody maroon of deep pain or resentment. Who was she, Ben? How did she hurt you? And could I ever fill those hollow places you’re carrying around like pocket change?

He asks how Eli is doing in class, and you tell him; you ask about his favorite classic rock bands, and he answers: Boston and AC/DC and The Stones and Queen. His Lexus cruises by your go-to dinner spots—the affordable chains like Noodles and Co. and Panera and Chipotle—then past the mid-level raw vegan and farm-to-table joints, and finally into the neighborhood reserved for fine dining establishments with three-figure price tags and reservations booked up months in advance.

“Uh...” you begin. “I don’t think we’re going to get a spot at a place down here.”

“Think again.” He parallel parks with absurd ease in front of an Italian-Japanese fusion restaurant called Nejire. There’s a line of people in suits and evening gowns waiting at the door. You feel like a minnow in a shark tank.

“Ben...”

He comes around to your side of the car, opens the door, and holds out his hand. “You trust me?”

Do I? You take his hand in yours like a life raft. “Don’t let me down, Mr. Hardy.”

Unpredictably, fantastically, he brings your knuckles to his lips. “You got it.”

He spirits you inside, past the line of waiting customers, past the hostess and waitresses; they glimpse up and nod at Ben as he draws you through the main dining room and back to a VIP table in a dimly-lit, quiet corner of the restaurant. Oh, you realize with awe and trepidation. He’s an important guy.

You take your seat and open a menu as waitresses array full glasses of water and wine across the table. There’s nothing under fifty dollars. You flip to the salad page, searching desperately.

“What are you doing?” Ben asks gently.

“Um, nothing, just browsing...”

“You’re not paying for any of this,” he says point-blankly.  

“That’s not very feminist of you,” you quip, but on the inside you’re sinking. This is too much, this is way too much. I can’t let him do this for me.

“I’ll explain later. Trust me, we’re good. Order something expensive or I’ll do it for you.”

“I’m a teacher, Ben. My idea of luxury is Olive Garden.”

He grins at you boldly, almost roguishly. “Oh we are going to have so much fun together, Miss Y/L/N.”

Orders are placed, wine is sipped, appetizers are ferried to the table. As you nibble on ahi tuna tartare and caprese sushi, you find yourself lost in how Ben motions wildly with his hands as he tells stories, how his large emerald-or-jade-or-malachite eyes gleam when he’s animated, how his voice is so rich and deep and yet mild, how it suddenly feels like you’ve known him your entire life. Oh no. Oh no, I like this guy a LOT.

Ben abruptly stops eating and cracks his knuckles. “So there’s something I need to tell you. Since we’re...” Air quotes. “Not dating.”

Oh fuck. He’s married or something. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“It’s about my job.”

Whew. “Ah yes, your elusive profession. You can tell me the truth if you’re a dogwalker or a circus clown or something. It’s always nice to out-earn someone. Actually, dogwalkers in L.A. probably make more than me...”

“I’m an actor.”

“Oh,” you reply cautiously. “Like, for tv shows or independent films?”

“No,” he says, amused. “For major films.”

I knew he was too fucking gorgeous to be a normal person. What am I doing here? “Like what?”

“Well, recently, Bohemian Rhapsody.”

You choke on the white wine you’re drinking and cough and gasp into your cloth napkin.

“You okay?” Ben asks. “Don’t die. You can’t die yet. You haven’t tried their tempura crème brûlée.”

“You...” You cough once more. “You were in the movie that made $900 million dollars...?”

He grins toothily. “So you were keeping up with it!”

“It was hard to miss that tidbit. It was all over the news. BoRhap won the Golden Globe.” Your head is spinning. “You’re an actor,” you repeat.

“I played Roger Taylor.” The brilliant, obscenely good-looking drummer, the man who wrote Radio Ga Ga and These Are The Days Of Our Lives and A Kind Of Magic.

“Oh my god, Ben!”

“I mean, I’ve been in other things too—”

“Ben!”

“Look, relax, we’re cool. I’m not telling you this to freak you out, I’m just explaining that you don’t have to worry about dropping a few hundred bucks at dinner. You have a right to know who I am if we’re going to be...involved. And there’s something else.” He wrings his hands. “I have to be...discrete about my personal life. Try to stay under the radar.” But now that effortless comfort is strained somehow, weighted, ominous; Ben averts his eyes. There’s a presence in the room like a storm cloud, trapped pulsing lightening igniting the opacity from within.

“Sure,” you say, thinking that a life in the spotlight can’t always be easy. “Lowkey. I got it.”

“Awesome.” He’s relieved.

“I have to keep it on the down-low too. I’m a pretty important person myself. A bunch of six-year-olds would lose their minds if they knew about my extracurricular activities. They would color such scandalous pictures in art class. Premarital dinner dates, maybe even handholding. Yikes.”

That makes Ben chuckle; the shadow is nearly lifted. “Keep drinking, Miss Y/L/N. I’m loving this.”

And it should feel weird or frightening or wrong that he’s using the word love this soon, this casually; but it doesn’t at all. It feels anything but wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your feet are on your kitchen floor, your palms empty. Ben’s fidgeting around, his hands in and out of his jean pockets; it seems like he’s trying to say goodbye, but maybe he’s not.

“So...” he ventures.

You wonder if he’ll touch you, if he’ll kiss you. You try to catch his eyes, but they’re everywhere except meeting yours. “Hold that thought.”

You dash down the hall to your bathroom to smooth your hair, touch up your makeup, swish some Listerine. On the way back to the kitchen, you stop in the living room to check on your plants. If it’s possible, they look a little perkier than they did when you left a few hours ago. You run your fingertips over the broad leaves of your peace lilies, smiling faintly to yourself. “Maybe we’re going to make it after all,” you whisper.

You hear the distinct clicking sound of iPhone texting. “Oh shit,” Ben mutters from the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I gotta go, Y/N, okay? I gotta run. But I’ll call you. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay, just a sec...” But by the time you rush into the kitchen to say goodbye, Ben is gone, the screen door swinging forlornly. Puzzled, you lock the door behind him as headlights flare to life in the driveway and swiftly retreat into the night. Then you turn around.

Your fridge magnets are rearranged again, this time in the shape of a heart.

[critcrockett]

There's an infestation of mobile game ads where the person playing isn't quite up to the strenuous task of matching three tiles or saving some sap from lava... But all I can think when I watch these is 'GODDAMMIT MR. NOODLE'

[thehomierobbstark]

Request : headcanon of Erik being jealous

[A/N: Another headcanon-fic hybrid for the homies. I took this one and kind of did my own take on it. It’s got a lil a this n a lil of that 😉. I hope you like it anon! Thanks for asking :)] 

You would think that with all the confidence, accomplishments, and swagger Erik Stevens had, there would be no need for him to ever be worried about anyone else, especially when it came to the rock solid relationship the both of you’d built over the years

He was an incredibly educated, resourceful, and intelligent strong black man.

Unfortunately, it did nothing to keep him from always being just a little bit jealous.

“Hey, E? I’m gonna drop my stuff and go run to the store real quick. Text me if you need anything, ok?” you yell down the hallway, letting your work bags fall softly by the couch before slinging your purse around your shoulder and heading out the door.

“Get me some gatorade please! The clear kind!” he hollers back, head poking out from the bedroom. The front door closes right as he says it, and he chuckles to himself. ‘Always moving a mile a minute,’ he thinks, smiling as he thinks of you.  He makes his way out into the living room to grab his phone, texting you the information you missed and to remind you to slow down.

On his way back, he passes your stuff on the floor, scooping up the bags to put your things in your home office. As he grabs your computer bag, something falls out of the front pocket, a small red envelope addressed to a ‘Miss Y/M/N’ with hearts drawn around your name in the shape of another heart.

Erik picks it up, eyeing it while he turns it around in his hand for more details. He didn’t want to open it because he trusted you too much to be looking through your stuff, but he was curious who it could be from since it wasn’t February or anywhere near your birthday. And nobody ever called you by your middle name except for him (well, sometimes).

When he gets to your office, he places the rest of your stuff on your desk, plopping down in your chair, still fingering the card and twirling it between his hands.

It was already open, the seal broken, so he figured it couldn’t hurt to just take a quick look at it. It was just a card, after all. Probably a thank you from one of your work wives or something for all your hard work.

Pulling out the card, he opens it, the neat words written in near perfect cursive, almost looking like one of those instruction guides on how to write script. 

It read: 

‘The last three weeks have been the best I’ve ever had. I can’t wait to show you what else I can do this Friday.’

Love,

Bakari

The thing about Erik Stevens was, once he started to become suspicious, he became very dramatic about it, very fast.

And it never took much to get him suspecting.

“What the… yo who the fuck is this Bakari nigga?!” he gets heated within a millisecond, flipping the card over obsessively to try and find a number or something to let him know who this secret admirer was. 

There wasn’t even an address on the envelope, which meant that this fool either gave it to her when she was in class, or walked his bold ass up to his house, HIS HOUSE, and dropped it in the mailbox.

Erik couldn’t wait till you got home so you could explain to him what the hell he was looking at. He couldn’t believe some random no good nigga was tryna put the moves on his girl. Not his baby girl.

While Erik was back at home having a stage 5 meltdown, you were currently in the pasta isle trying to find the right udon noodles for the Anime and Manga marathon you and Erik had planned for this weekend.

You were super excited to show him your all time favorite Manga, Pearl Pink, which was the first manga you’d ever read.

You get a text on your phone, the device buzzing away in your back pocket as you reach down to grab your chosen noodles.

Thinking its more grocery demands from your black hole stomached boyfriend, you ignore it, waiting until you’re done shopping in this section to head over to the frozen isle he no doubt wants you to go to.

Erik: Y/N. Call. Me.

Erik: We can talk about this baby! Just tell me who Bakari is

Erik: I know you see these text messages girl, you better answer me goddammit

Erik: I’m sorry babygirl, I ain’t mean to curse at you like that. I just wanna talk baby please call me back.

Erik: Aight, coo then. 

All within a span of three minutes

He’d reneged on his earlier plan to wait until you got home, his anxiousness pushing him to reach out to you immediately.

He just wanted to hear your voice, hear something in it that told him that you were still his.

You’d just finished dumping a couple bags of your favorite Shrimp Chips into your basket, unsuspecting of the turmoil unraveling at home when your phone buzzes again, this time longer than before. 

You pull it out and look down to see that Erik’s calling you. Apparently he was getting very anxious about his food.

You put the phone to your ear, answering sweetly. “Hey baby, what you need?”

“You at that nigga house, ain’t you?” His voice was gruff and short, a stark contrast compared to the way you just answered the phone. “I knew I should of gone with you!”

Your face scrunches up into confusion. “Whose house? Erik what are you talking about?”

“Don’t try and front babygirl I seen the card!! How could you do me like that baby? After all we been through?!” You can hear his voice start to rise to an almost hysteric pitch, and you wonder if he’s been drinking since you last saw him 30 minutes ago.

“What card, Erik? Baby, slow down, you’re freakin me out. Look, I’mma be home in a second baby can you just hold on-”

“Just tell me who Bakari is Y/N! I just wanna know who that bitch ass nigga is!”

You pause, stopping in your tracks from rushing to push your cart to the nearest checkout line. You throw your head back and cackle, laughing so loud you scare the white elderly couple standing to your left. You wave your hand at them, trying to weakly apologize as tears threaten the corners of your eyes while you attempt to catch your breath. You dropped the phone in the cart when you bursted into hysterics, and all you can hear are the small faraway sounds of Erik trying to get your attention again.

“Why you laughin like that? Oh you forreal cheating on a nigga, huh? I can’t believe you got me out here looking stupid like this! I’m bout to run up on this mf…”

~~~

The Next Day

“Will you stop pacing please? You look like you’re ready to fight somebody.”

“I am ready to fight somebody Y/N. Yo you need to stop playing and just tell me where this nigga at so we can talk. I just wanna see wassup real quick.”

You start giggling again, chest bouncing as you try to stifle it with your hand over your mouth. You couldn’t wait to see the look on Erik’s face once he found out who it was.

The classroom empties out, the new students filtering in, ranging in all ages as they move about to find their seats in the college classroom.

Erik scans every guy who enters, sizing him up, trying to see if its him.

“Is it that nigga?” he leans over and whispers to Y/N, nodding to the dark chocolate brother with long dreads hanging down his back. “Really Y/N? You was gon trade me in for a hotep?” he looks at you bewildered, and you almost spit your coffee out your mouth. Oh, the irony.

“Look, Erik, you not bout to embarrass me here so you better shut the hell up and relax.” you whisper harshly, and he grumbles in submission, leaning back in his chair as his eyes still scan the students.

The bell sounds and you clear your throat, standing up from your chair and smoothing out your dress.

“Alright class, today we have a very special guest from the Wakandan International Outreach Center, Mr. Erik Stevens!”  Erik lifts from his chair, plastering on a warm smile as he waves around the room, greeting everybody before sitting again.

You continue. “He’ll be here to give us some information at the end of class on some of the amazing programs they have to offer over at WIOC.  In the mean time, he’s gonna be up here, helping us with our final projects!” you clap your hands together, and the class erupts into cheers, excitement over the days events filling up the room.

You step out in front of your desk to walk around the room, holding your chin as you think out loud.

“Hmmm… who wants to be the first one to come show Mr. Stevens what we’ve been working on? Anyone?” you ask, and a bunch of enthusiastic hands shoot up, waving around vigorously. 

“Hmmm… how about you, Bakari?” Erik’s head snaps towards the class, eyes looking around vigorously for the culprit. 

He scoots back from his chair, nearly running to the front of the class before colliding with you, hugging you tightly. 

You return the hug, looking back to see Erik’s face looking completely dumbfounded, and you snicker, taking a mental picture of it. You look down at the 3rd grader, smiling brightly.  “You ready to get started kiddo?”

“Yeah, Miss Y/M/N!”

You spend the next 15 minutes with Bakari and Erik at the whiteboard, practicing calligraphy samples for the class to see.

Erik is horribly bad at it, and Bakari sees to it to teach him how to do it, much to the amusement of both you and the students.

After a few more teaching lessons and a quick recap, you give the class 45 minutes to work on their final projects, the buzz of parents helping their children and exchanging information for play dates, giving the room a low hum.

You walk back to join Erik at your desk, finally taking a seat.

“So, Bakari is -”

“My 8 year old calligraphy student, yes.” you finish for him, cheeky smile peeking through as you rest your head in your hand and look at him.

“Your weekly Calligraphy classes,” Erik chuckles to himself, remembering now. “I completely forgot about them,” He blows out a sigh, running his hand down his face. Of all the possible scenarios he’d imagined, this one was the absolute furthest from his mind.

“I figured,” You snorted. “It’s only a four week program now that the college cut the funding. They’re saying they can only afford the curriculum for the grad and undergrad students now going forward.” You share, a little saddened at the news. You’d grown to really enjoy the extra curricular classes you got to teach outside of your regular art classes, and you were really heartbroken because you’d really grown to love the students too.

Erik takes your hand down by your lap, rubbing a thumb over the back of it. 

“Hey, the Outreach Center’s got more than enough funding to help keep the classes going, and plus we’ve been trying to get more involved in higher education programs anyway to better support our high school participants. This could be a great start for us.” he tells you, squeezing at your hand for assurance.

You look over to him, completely and utterly content with everything the man before you was. You don’t think you could ever love another person as much as you do Erik.

You smile, nodding your head to accept his offer. “I’m still tryna see this fight that you promised me, tho. What did you call him again? A bitch ass nigga?” You tease him, and he leans his head back and closes his eyes, quietly groaning.

“You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?” he mutters, still embarrassed.

“Never.” You say, and you both laugh together. You link your pinky with his under the desk, both of you holding on to each other as you look out over the class.

[schnee-dust-co]

OK I rewatched volume 2 episodes 4 and 5

- Ruby saying “we’re in a time of peace!” and Penny like “...that’s not what Mr. Ironwood said...?” like SHIT DAMN THIS IS VOLUME 7 STUFF

- Junior has a full DJ and strobe light thing going on in his COMPLETELY EMPTY club, someone please support this man’s small business

- Neptune, looking at Yang: “What a woman”... wr… wrong tree?

- My favourite background character, Brunette Nora, is a white fang member now! Good for her for sticking with a political cause I guess

- HELL yeah team attacks, volume 7 Gods please I am begging

- I really miss all the old rooster teeth references! A simple wok noodle house and people like grapes soda and RTAA Gus on the garbage can and stuff!

- THERE SHE IS. THE MOST BRILLIANT LIGHT. THE COOL AUTUMN RAIN. A ROSE AMONGST THE DESERT SANDS. I’M GONNA SOB PYRRHA IS SO GOOD

- ok I’ve done Pyrrha cosplay before and I can guarantee this changing room scene took up 90% of the class time

- I also really want to hear what the conversation leading up to this match was like. Glynda: “Hm, Team CRDL, I think you will be fighting Pyrrha.” Cardin: ”Oh, like, Pyrrha’s team?” Glynda: “No... Pyrrha. Just Pyrrha. Pyrrha should be enough.”

- MERCURY SIT THE FUCK BACK DOWN. This is seriously exactly what they always warn you about, ladies, when a dude is being WEIRD you need to FUCK POLITENESS and say NO. Pyrrha was TOO POLITE and she agreed to this MURDER MATCH. Girl you HAVE to listen to more true crime podcasts.

- ALSO, he does the thing she HATES THE MOST by giving up on the fight just because of her reputation, and not giving her a chance to prove herself for who she is. Like I get that volume 6 things get morally grey or whatever but in this moment FUCK MERCURY FOR REAL.

- I mean it sucks that Blake is exhausted and her marks are slipping and stuff, but it’s late March rn, so, Hard Same.

- The roof scene. KILLED ME. You can NOT tell me that Pyrrha Nikos would not have spent a few fantastic years as a huntress before settling down with her husband Jaune and becoming the BEST TEACHER BEACON ACADEMY HAS EVER SEEN, like GODDAMMIT. She is kind, and patient, and sees the good in everyone, and overall just teaches so super well and knows everything AUGH I’m dead.

- Cinder, sinister voice: “We’ve got a fun weekend ahead of us” *picks up sewing needle* “Everyone choose a favourite inspirational quote, I found this real cool youtube tutorial for needlepoint”

[exit-path]

You've heard of vine compilations, now get ready for...

tumblr compilations

(part 1/2)

outrageously angry man returning a lawnmower and it was our dad

Italian exchange student said “Look, the compressed horse.”

“im eminem!” “and I’m skittles?”

I JUST MISTOOK ANOTHER STUDENT FOR A TRASH CAN

he ate the reeses cup then stabbed himself with the epipen

“GODDAMMIT, MR. NOODLE.”

school on lockdown because someone put weed in the vents

Can’t cheat with those big ass galaxy phones

weirdly self-conscious about wiper blade speed

My brother told me not to slam the door and yell “Guess who’s home, motherfuckers”

drove by traffic camera 6 times thinking it was funny

drill sergeant made kid carry around potted plant to replace the oxygen he wasted

A list of things that do not offend people:

kid grabbed seagull out of air, all his friends were like “again tyrone?? really??”

“LOWERCASE LETTERS ARE FOR THE LOWER CLASS”

drunk man proposes to tree, gets rejected

“i’m on my way, the traffic is just slow, i’m coming” “mom i called the house phone”

a kid’s phone started siri, TEACHER STARTED EXPLAINING IT AGAIN

“watch my stuff” what if someone comes and actually tries to steal it

our goats think that now whenever they pee they get a treat

“it’s for your own good”, mom deleted the internet explorer icon from my desktop

a girl called me a lying slut because I was with her bf a lot. we’re siblings

I watched an old couple set off their car alarm and drive away… now that i think about it-

Rules to learning English: their our know rules

a kid got expelled for pretending to be russian for 8 months

a girl said she had two moms and a boy started crying, he said it wasn’t fair she had two

when a girl changes her clothes in front of you, she hasn’t spotted you in the tree yet

my mom is telling me “get a good job” but my heart is telling me “marry rich”

my parents split after they made me. i am a volcano. follow for more geological humour

I’m saying “excuse me” but I really mean “why the fu-”

nun goes “I’m allowed to look at the menu I just can’t order”

Hospitals are so weird

handed their BLIND SON a menu and he’s like “ah… thank you… I’ll just… read this”

on April Fool’s his mom called to say she was in labour, dad laughed and hung up on her

“why do I fear bears? because Chester Zoo is 30 miles away and bears can smell fear”

dropped her ipad but held tight to her pizza

her parents faked a british accent in front of her until she was 7

really religious girl who told people off if they swore, gets sworn at

he took her to the supermarket to watch the lobsters fighting in the lobster tank

so i was the official shia labeouf myspace but i was in fact a 12 yr old canadian kid

subway thief told suitcase has “a bunch of laptops” ends up stealing a dead dog

“I guess working in fast food just wasn’t my cup of tea”

I waited until the professor handed back the papers and angrily asked where mine was

so i started trying to kill classmates with my mind

my favorite thing is ask 14/15 year old kids on dates if they want a kids menu

I blacked out in Disney World, woke up with Mickey Mouse putting a cold towel on me

“wanna date me? yes: smile no: backflip” and she did a backflip

“do you wanna kiss” “excuse me” he pulled out a bag of hershey’s kisses

when beyoncé asked all the single ladies to put their hands up I looked at my bf and

7th grade, his world of warcraft friends threw him a virtual birthday party

“she’s the bro and y’all bitches are the hoes”