#actually not sure about constance but i imagine past the sort of

[reanimationstation]

guess who's really late to the fusion trend. THIS GUY. in my defense, i really never planned on making one, but this combo popped into my head and i absolutely had to draw it. rambling copy pasted directly from discord under the cut

Connie Lay (Sammy & Constance fusion) (they/them)

i can only imagine that before they got hired they were working at a theatre? They were originally just helping out backstage, but over time started playing the piano for shows. i imagine they usually stuck to the pit or maybe even playing in the wings, but since their sister got sick someone needed to cover her part in a show that required onstage playing. they do (both because they want the show to go on and because they know they're gonna be promoted to musical director soon so if they didn't it'd look bad). something something, joey (or joey equivalent lol) goes to that show and decides he has to have them for the studio, offering them the position of musical director once he hears about their future promotion. Connie never actually wanted a career in music, it was something they enjoyed immensely, sure, but they were saving up to go to college in order to study chemistry. that dream is on hold as they work for jds

i dont have any of the rest of the theoretical cast decided which is a shame because i need to decide who they get to be a pair (do not separate) with (or even a trio lol)

but right so, working at jds goes as smoothly as you'd expect up until ink starts coming into play. they're still wildly annoyed about all the interruptions, as per usual (honestly this fusion is probably even more short fused than the two separately). except this time the ink catches their interest. their sanctuary is more of a mini laboratory, a place to clear their head from the troubles of work and calm down for a little science. or a nap.

the pipe incident still occurs, except this time Connie's actually a little stoked to be able to record the effects the ink is having on them. they get a little carried away, but in their research figure out the iron oxide solution and manage to keep their inkfection at bay for much much longer through it. of course, they're sort of reliant on it now, since it's still hard to ignore the ink's call.

i think whenever they do Succumb to the ink fully they would still be a weird, not quite a lost one, not quite a toon, hybrid, because of all the iron oxide that's leftover in their system. how sammy's prophet thing comes into play is basically just. you ever meet a scientist so obsessed with their research its almost reverent. the ink probably skews with their mind to the point where they see all of this as a good thing, that this research is worth sacrificing their life, their future, over. they could "worship" the ink itself, or maybe bendy is a figurehead for it to them? still thinking that over. or, they could worship the machine... its a toss up between worshipping the ink itself, bendy, or the machine.

[sophieswundergarten]

(Also very much not to do with me digging through everyone's past fics for the last week /s)

I think the Benedict humans should have more unconventional/interesting communication methods!! Specifically, I was thinking of ASL, because I really love learning it, but then it occurred to me that it would be fun if each duo/trio/group in the family had their own preferred way to talk.

I imagine that all of the kids use morse code (They teach Martina and SQ), while the adults favour sign. Within that, of course Miss Perumal and Reynie speak Tamil, and I feel like Mr. Benedict and Sticky would use Greek or Latin with each other.

Milligan and Kate have some complex system that consists mostly of their farm-code terms and meaningful glances (Moocho can participate in most of it, but his meaningful glances aren't compatible with both of them at the same time, so it takes longer).

I think Sticky and Reynie would be the type of silly people to sit down and teach themselves, like, Quenya (A Tolkien elvish conlang) or something just for kicks. Kate tried to learn with them, but she wasn't having near as much fun so it's something just the two of them do. Mr. Benedict knows Sindarin (Other Tolkien elf conlang), but it doesn't help him much.

Constance and Mr. Benedict have perfected a form of communication that is exclusively reciting snippets of poetry to each other. It's actually kind of impressive. They make it a game, and when one of them uses a poet the other doesn't know, they break off to ask about it. This was initially supposed to be part of Constance's schooling and broaden her artistic horizons, but she's stubborn and kept coming back to it so as not to admit defeat (And it fully delights Mr. Benedict anyway, so he lets it continue until it's just another thing they do)

I'm going to (sort of) pull this from the books and say that the twins speak to each other in Dutch. Rhonda, Number Two, Milligan, and Sticky all know a little or have picked it up over the years just from being around Nicholas, but when he and Nathaniel are in a room together they go too fast for anyone else to follow properly.

For some reason, I feel like Rhonda and Number Two (Besides the obvious Sister Speak that they're beginning to let Constance into) would enjoy speaking German or French? I'm not super sure where that idea came from, but there you go. (Their sister ability to communicate is a lot of sideways glances and exaggerated facial expressions, but it is occasionally supplemented with hand signals)

SQ leaves little written notes everywhere. Sometimes he puts them in spots that he knows only one person will get into (The cabinet with Number Two's mixing bowls, Mr. B's pen drawer, Sticky's encyclopedia shelf), but he also likes to sneak them into jacket pockets and things. His favourite is to try and slip them into Kate's bucket. He likes to use a special color code for each person when he can, so that way if someone gets into the mixing bowls and sees a little yellow slip of paper, they'll know who it is intended for.

Reynie's been asking Milligan to teach him some "spy codes", so they will often communicate short messages with an Alpha-Bravo-Charlie and number strategy, mostly assigning each member of the family a short "callsign" of sorts and then using it to check where someone is with each other.

Constance and Sticky, surprisingly, have worked out a fairly good system with their cheating morse code. They got a lot better at it, and now can do it so subtly and quickly that it's hard for anyone else to catch.

Martina and Kate make up absurdly long nicknames and terms for activities/locations and turn them into acronyms. They are fantastically over-complicated and no one has even tried to puzzle out what they're talking about.

[bi-demon-ium]

hey post finale with number two and rhonda off to the airshows, milligan most likely spending his time with kate (for obvious reasons) and the other kids off to their own places (sticky to boatwright academy, reynie to miss perumal) that leaves mr. benedict and constance pretty much like. i wouldn’t say alone, but like, more in each other’s company than not? (although to be fair, i believe it was pretty much implied milligan lived with the rest of them at the house, so kate and him might just be there, but they’d still likely be spending a lot of time together--although--i’ll get to that in a second) 

i just like. they’re not really at the point they’re at in the books where there’s a proper relationship there. there main interactions have been in episodes one and two, where she doesn’t trust him (fair) and he’s telling them about this whole ideally not deadly mission. her declining the adoption is probably part that--despite the fact i think constance probably trusts him/likes him more than she lets on, he’s still someone she doesn’t actually Know That Well--and part just generally “let’s not paper this” her experience being distant with adults and adults generally not being trustworthy and so on so like. 

them getting to know each other. both like, as father and daughter vibes, and as people, like. learning each other’s favorite breakfast foods, or sense of humor (we’ve already got that a bit lol), and like just. talking about things, books, poetry, etc. bonding. 

like just, the reality of living together and talking daily rather than just this sort of meeting in a dangerous situation thing, like. actually getting to know each other beyond each of them just having a good judge of character

(on an unrelated note, if kate and milligan are just There it is pretty funny that the two who probably got along the least, although they started communicating more at the end there, are the ones living together. reynie and sticky come back and find they’ve formed a terrifying alliance)

[animatedrapture]

"VORFREUDE."

Summary: Sakusa thinks of you as his vorfreude, his intense anticipation from imagining future pleasures. He swears it's not mere delusions.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x F!Reader / slight Komori Motoya x Reader

Word count: 4.5k

Genre & Content Warnings: Slight angst. NSFW. Dark content. Yandere behavior. Porn with Plot. Incel/Bully!Sakusa. Virgin!Reader. Abuse. Non-con. Blackmail. Coercion. Misogyny. Slut-shaming. Slight manipulation and mindbreak. Fingering. Corruption. Defloration. Degradation. Vaginal penetration. Creampie.

Notes: Thank you soooo much to the lovely anon who commissioned this! Took a lot longer than it should've cause academics kept cutting in & joint with my anxiety. But yeah, thank you so much :') Thank you Faiwy for the final beta !! <3

If you're thinking about commissioning me, please refer to this post.

You’re a constant, Sakusa thinks.

For as long as he can remember, you’ve been following him and Komori like a lost puppy—whenever they were, you were sure to be there. He can’t think far back enough to remember when it started, but you were insignia of constancy, that was all Sakusa knew.

He listens intently while you talk to Komori from beside him, voice low and stumbling over your words every so often—he knows you're going out of your way to avoid saying something he could use to pull you apart with, piece by piece like a frail little toy.

"How did the test from yesterday go?" Komori questions you, right as your trio made it to the cafeteria.

Your easy-going smile falters at the mention of it. Sakusa already knows the answer. He shares that class with you, after all. He had the front row seat to see your face flushed with humiliation and how rigid your body grew when the professor told you Sakusa would be tutoring you.

Reminding him that out of everything about you, the way you wore your heart on your sleeve is something that insistently rubbed him the wrong way.

First, because he starts thinking about how easy you make it for people to take advantage of you; it makes his blood boil. Then, he starts thinking about every reaction he could get out of you, like how you'd look from beneath him as he used your body the way you wanted him to.

Because you do, don't you? Why else would you go out of your way to adjust to his habits? To carry around your personal sanitizer and wipes, always making sure the space you were in with them was clean.

Nothing else could explain how you strung along with them like loose thread.

It tugs at the heart beneath his ribcage—but whenever he sees you give all your attention to Komori, the betrayal sinks in, and he's reminded what kind of a woman you are.

A whore.

As you laughed nervously, taking a seat across from them, Sakusa wonders if you're having fun, wonders if for a moment you're riddled with guilt as you flirt with his cousin and him at the same time, in the same breath.

"N-no, it didn't turn out very well," you admit in between stutters, embarrassment creeping back in.

Komori frowns empathetically, "I could help you, you know—"

The sparkle in your eyes is quick to appear. God, you're so cunning. It makes Sakusa consider that maybe you failed the test on purpose, thinking this would happen—but that would be giving you more credit than due. You're just a dumb little girl.

"I'm already tutoring them," Sakusa interrupts, and he's unsure whether to be delighted or angered at the way your face falls sullen.

"O-oh right, but—but I'd love to get your help, Motoya-kun—"

The scoff Sakusa lets out is loud, loud enough to make you wince. "You're dumb enough as it is, you don't need distractions," his words come slicing like knife. You sink in your seat.

Komori laughs awkwardly, giving you a smile—sheepish and apologetic—he's so kind, he's always so kind.

Sometimes you wonder how they're actually cousins; until you're reminded that Sakusa hadn't always been this mean to you. He had always been cautious, but he wasn't ever mean like he was out to get you at every ragged edge.

Somehow, though, the closer you got to him—past his defenses and indifference towards you—the meaner he's gotten.

You were like a moth to a flame, not in the sense that you were attracted to its light, but more so like being punished with burn after burn the closer you got.

But your feelings for Komori begged you at every instance to swallow the humiliation down, at each of Sakusa’s degrading remarks.

You take out your packed bento, wiping at the table with wipes before placing it down, the cousins moving to do the same out of adapted habit, until you notice Komori digging in his bag, eyebrows furrowed like he's confused.

"Motoya-kun? What's wrong?"

He turns to you, scratching at the back of his head, "I think I forgot my sanitizer."

You're quick on your hands, offering him yours without missing a beat and Sakusa's reminded of why he even likes you at all.

You were persistent with being able to stick around them. He thought that was remarkable. That you'd never been freaked out by his habits, you respected his space—something he couldn't say with the people who pushed and disregarded his boundaries. That instead of forcing him to adjust to you, you went out of your way for him to be comfortable with you around.

And he's flattered, really. He doesn't have to wonder if he had a chance with you because surely, he does.

Since he's so nice—nicer than a whore like you deserves, he'll let you know your feelings are reciprocated, then he'll fuck you, because surely, that's what you want… Right?

Then maybe, when you're finally his girlfriend, he can start training you to stop being such a flirty slut, that you belong only to him and that you’re nothing but his property.

But for now, he can settle with the warmth in his chest as he notices all the ways you try to get his attention.

Being with Sakusa is hard, even with Komori around, it was nerve wracking. Conversations with him weren't any easier, if anything, they were more dreadful.

When you ask Sakusa about tutoring you, you do it over lunch just so you avoid having to walk up to him alone. His answer is curt when he tells you to come over tomorrow, and that he’ll pick you up from your place; because you can try all you want to outsmart him, but he’d always catch on.

Because Sakusa was smart, and you were just you.

After lunch, you feel nothing but the dread bubbling in the pit of your stomach—churning and thrashing—because no matter how hard you try to push it down, the fact is that you’re actually scared of him.

Scared of the nitpicking he'll scrutinize you with—the way you sat, the way you looked at him, the way you trembled in his presence alone. You start thinking of what to wear, because even something as little as that can put him off—always commenting about how short your skirt is, how you're showing too much skin, how you're probably doing it on purpose.

But it's nothing you're not used to anymore.

So you tug on your fear, push it into a corner, and you tell yourself that Sakusa is mean, and condescending, and harsh, but he wouldn’t hurt you. You pick yourself up from the corner of your mind, and you repeat in your head like a mantra. Sakusa wouldn’t hurt you.

The ring of the bell breaks you out of your reverie. It reminds you that the day has almost ended, and that it felt like a blink faster than it should’ve been. Still, you pull on your things, gathering them to leave the classroom slowly emptying out.

You make a small sound of surprise when your eyes dart over to the door, where Komori stood, an anxious smile on his lips. He looks like he's been waiting for you, making your heart hammer against your chest like it wants to leap out.

Face-flushed and giddy, you walk towards him.

“Hey, Motoya-kun. What’s up?” You smile, all sweet and bright-eyed. From the pit of Komori’s stomach, something flutters. You only ever look like this when your eyes are on him; he thinks he wants to keep it to himself.

He brings a hand up to his hair, lightly scratching at the back of his head with a nervous smile, and it’s awkward in an adorable sort of way. He’s walking beside you along the corridor, it’s slow and the bit of silence between you is calm.

“Ah, well…” He starts, gaze flickering to the floor and back to you indecisively, “I was wondering if I could ask you to the newly opened café tomorrow. A-after you study with Sakusa-kun, of course,” He stutters a bit, offering you a boyish grin.

It so nearly pulls a squeak out of you, surprised in the most love struck sort of way. Your heart beats out of your chest unlike the way Sakusa makes you feel.

Your heart hammers out of fear of him—but with Komori, it's nothing but pleasant and warm and intoxicating.

Your smile is instantaneous; it comforts Komori as your lips part.

"I'd love to," you answer him softly, though an octave higher.

Sakusa finds you both like this, shyly smiling at each other like lovesick doves. There's nothing pure about you, you shouldn't be smiling that way. Especially not at the face of his cousin.

"Oi," he calls out, even through the face mask, his annoyance seeps into your skin and makes you feel small.

The blood that had rushed to your cheeks dries you pale at the glare he gives you.

"Coach is looking for you, Komori," he follows, yet never taking his eyes off of you.

"Right. I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N!"

Sakusa takes another step closer to you the moment Komori's out of sight. Your grip on your bag tightening, instinctively taking a step backwards.

The action alone makes him practically sneer with you cowering in response.

"Disgusting," he mutters, brimming with venom. "There's nothing I hate more than girls who throw themselves at any guy they see."

Maybe it's the sheer malice in his voice, or the way your eyes catch how his hand moves up—but you flinch, like expecting a hit to come across your cheek.

The pain never comes and when your eyelids flutter open, you're met with hard eyes the color of obsidian yet gleaming with a newfound resolve despite his furrowed eyebrows that suggested hitting you was far from the origin of his intentions.

Without a word, Sakusa walks away from you with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket.

You let your body slump against the wall. His eyes burn in the back of your head, almost like they’re warning you.

Right before you head to bed, your phone chimes once, then twice and it’s bittersweet. One from Komori, telling you he’s excited to see you tomorrow, and one from Sakusa—not beating around the bush, it says nothing but ‘9 AM.’

It’s firm and unyielding. Even as your head hits the pillow, forcing your eyes shut, sleep doesn’t come easy—not even at the thought of seeing Komori on a date.

It’s not the sunlight peeking in between your curtains that wake you, nor the sound of birds chirping outside your window. Instead, it’s the ache in your body acting like a bad omen. Nevertheless, you drag your body out of bed.

Your stomach churns but you get ready for the day.

You think the next hour couldn’t come any quicker, because you’re fidgeting on the balls of your feet and somehow, there’s goosebumps rising against your bare skin.

Your phone blinks back at you with a minute before nine o’clock but you already hear the knock on your door. Your breathing halts even as you move hurriedly to open it—and even when the air hits you as you find Sakusa on your doorstep.

You feel his eyes wander, from the very top of your head, down to your feet, and he mutters, “You look nice today.”

The blush that creeps on your cheeks is only natural. Compliments in any form that came from Sakusa were hard to come by—only because they were compliments in the most genuine, honest of ways.

Sakusa is mean, and if you were more honest with yourself, he’s a bully. But Sakusa, mean or not, is still Komori’s cousin; so you give him a smile, palms going clammy.

“Thank you, Sakusa-kun…” You trail off, hesitating on your next words, “You look nice today, too.”

And he does. The dark color of his clothes complimented his pale skin and dark, curly hair, and despite being covered by the mask, his pristine beauty seems to gleam through. Even seemingly unfazed, his gaze on you softens by a fraction.

As abrupt as it appeared, he’s already turning away, “Hurry up,” he quips, but his voice is softer because you look nice today were words that confessed his truest feelings—the ones that reminded him he’s so in love with you and that you’re the cause of warmth in chest.

Even when you strut around trying to get Komori to like you, Sakusa doesn’t attempt to deny the feelings he harbored, because you look nice today, too should mean something, shouldn’t it?

You know you’re dressed up for your date with Komori, but Sakusa doesn’t know that; so in that moment, he appreciates you. For once, there isn't one insult that lingers in his tongue or even in his head as he walks slowly.

Sakusa is nice today, you note as he keys the lock to his place. He had awkwardly placed his hand on the small of your back on the short walk it took from your place to his, guiding you along the sidewalk.

You've only been to his place once or twice, both times were with Komori, so you weren't familiar with the directions. The walk was silent, and in his silence, you found a reason to relax—just enough to make you think that this might go well.

Despite all awkwardness, Sakusa is forward. Seeing you sat on his couch so comfortably, the skirt of your dress riding up slightly, does nothing to hold back his urge to keep his hands on you.

It's a good thing he doesn't have to keep his hands to himself now, right? Since you like him so much, you'd let him fuck you now… Right?

Sakusa's movements are sly, that's why you don't question how he walks closer towards you, sitting so, so close to you—that's why you choke on the lump in your throat when his hand shoots out to grab you by the wrist, pulls you in, then presses his lips on yours.

The second that passes is only because you couldn't wrap your head around Sakusa—lips pressed against yours and body so close.

But the next second, you're pushing him off roughly enough to stop him and he's looking at you confused.

"Sakusa-kun, I think you misunderstood—I like, I like Motoya-kun, I didn't mean to—this is—" you're trampling over your words, looking at him with panicked eyes.

Sakusa mutes out the sound of your voice, all he can hear is the beating in his chest and the ache of it—the sound of his heart dropping to his stomach. He should’ve known.

All the softness in his eyes are gone. His hand, still wrapped around your wrist, gripping tighter and tighter; your heart skipping obnoxiously against your chest. Something about the way he's looking at you now petrifies you.

His silence feels deadlier than his destructive words, deadlier when you wince at his grip, whimpering, "Sakusa, you're hurting me—please," and still, he doesn't let up.

Not when he's roughly tugging you from the couch, taking your arm with a bruising grip, then he's hauling you somewhere. You thrash, panicked pleas calling out to him and apologies he doesn't deserve but you offer him anyway. All your protests are rewarded when he halts, turning to you without a hint of remorse, pushing you to the floor—his foot comes to your side, kicking you with a force that knocks the breath out of your lungs.

Bile is rising up your throat, coughing and arms shooting to your stomach to protect yourself. Scared feels too small of a word to describe the feeling that looms over you as he takes your arm again, dragging your curled up body.

Sakusa shoves you inside a room, even as you flail around and beg for help, his face remains impassive; whatever force you’re putting in the way you try to break free from his hold is futile. Of course he’s stronger. Of course, but you can’t possibly accept this, can you?

You made Sakusa yearn—disgustingly grapple on his feelings so needlessly, and nothing, he thinks, could be more unforgivable.

So he secures you on the bed, bound and within his claws, for you to take responsibility for the yearning you've planted inside of him.

"S-Sakusa, please," your begging sounds like a whimper. "I-I won't tell anyone! N-not even Motoya-ku—!"

You hear ringing in your ears before feeling the sting across your cheek. From inside your mouth, you can taste metal.

"You won't tell anyone either way," he mutters apathetically, like the idea of you telling anyone isn't a threat, "No one would believe you…"

He pauses, gaze on you hardening for a second, "You don't want Komori finding out you only got close to him because you wanted me, right?"

The sound of disbelief that escapes you is small, even the wide-eyed betrayal that flashes in your eyes does nothing to make him even pity you.

"You–I, I didn't—"

At your stuttering, Sakusa clicks his tongue, "You're such a dumb girl you don't even know what you want."

"That's not true, Sakusa—"

He glares down on you. The bed dips, bracketing your body between his knees, hovering over you, then leaning forward. His hands move slowly as if caressing you before grabbing your hair with a stinging tug.

The fear pooling your eyes only makes him even angrier.

"I hate that face," he grits out, "Always looking at me all scared, then you look at Komori like a shy innocent bitch, it pisses me off."

Pretty as you are, he lands another hit across your cheek—hard enough that you can feel a cut on your cheek trickling down with blood, the side of your ear going deaf. You’re not sure anymore if it was a slap or a punch—all that you know is that it hurts. Your vision is blurred when you open your eyes, but even through them, the insanely expressionless eyes of Sakusa are clear.

It dawns on Sakusa that you wouldn’t date him. Of course you wouldn’t. Sluts like you go for guys like Komori—so he’d just have to take you by force, make you date him by force, make you love him by force.

Besides, you look prettier forced, he observes. Your face tear-stained and bloody makes his cock throb in his pants. With your body weak underneath him, so helpless that it disgusts him and fuels him with desire all at once.

Something about your weakness, the innocence that spills from you contradicting his firm idea that you’re a dirty whore makes him livid. He pictures you painted with bruises and cuts, the image sending a shiver down his spine. Clenched fists pull back, only to land on your sides, on the same places he kicked you.

What makes you feel sick at the stomach more than the abuse he inflicts on you is the way Sakusa’s movements lack hesitation as his hands travel to your bare thighs.

"W-what are you doing?”

It's disgusting. Women like you are disgusting. You lead him on just so you can take advantage of his feelings like this—that even if he knew better, he'd still soften up for you.

It's you who lured him into this, he almost sneers at the thought. You were truly vile, and yet he loves you all the same—wants you all to himself all the same.

"Omi?' You breathe, frightened. The nickname falls affectionately, though, putting all your hope into it, wishing it would tug on his heart enough for him to let you go.

“Let’s talk about this, Omi? Please?” You cry, searching for his eyes—the ones trained on your thighs as he glides his hands against them, your dress bunched up to your hips revealing your baby pink panties. Your sobs only grow louder as he goes further up, going on as if he’s in a trance where he can’t hear you groveling at him to stop.

Strong, calloused hands stop at the band of your panties, fingers hooking, and only then does he look back up at you. Dark eyes drown you as he tugs them down torturously slow, exposing you to him in your most vulnerable state.

The same second you attempt to force your legs shut, comes a biting pain on the inside of your thighs, instantly blooming his handprint at the force. Your mouth opens to wail at the pain, but it’s the same wail that Sakusa swallows as he brings his lips to yours with a kiss so treacherously passionate.

Sakusa pulls away quickly though, eyeing your bare cunt, he brings his fingers to your slit, experimentally rubbing up and down and your response is immediate, somehow. Your slick gathers on his fingers, body squirming from beneath him.

“K-Kiyoomi, it feels weird—stop, please,” yet your hips buck into his fingers as he prods at your tight hole, “Don’t—Not there—N-no one has touched—”

He lifts an eyebrow, “You’re a virgin?” His question sounding more of a comment, because the hesitant nod you give him is almost needless when you hiss at the intrusion of his digit pushing inside of you; your walls clamping down on it, body tensing, he brings a thumb to your clit, circling with enough pressure to make it feel good.

And it’s wrong. So wrong, but it feels good because you’re moaning against your will, whimpering at the curl of his finger and at the additional finger he’s slowly sinking into you.

The stretch is uncomfortable and foreign. Nothing is in Sakusa’s mind but at the thought of you absolutely untouched, absolutely all for him to ruin. Your body instinctively leaning to his, submitting to his ministrations—fingers scissoring and pushing in and out of your pussy, the sound of your slick echoing in your ears as if to taunt you, but your legs are trembling, your gasps are broken and there’s a pressure in your pelvis about to snap.

“You’re so filthy,” he mutters, but he looks at you like you’re the farthest thing from filthy, and his comment is exactly what makes you break, eyes rolling to the back of your skull and cunt creaming around his fingers pathetically.

You feel so dirty, especially at the sound of your slick as he pulls his fingers out and shoves them inside your mouth—the taste of you tainting your tongue. Shaking your head profusely, you beg him with your eyes, “No more—please, I don’t want this.” you weep, muffled.

“Suck,” he commands, but your defiance is clear before you even shake your head, so he pushes his fingers down further, choking you until you gag and find it hard to breathe.

“Suck,” he repeats, and you relent.

Watching you suck messily on his fingers, drool and tears disheveling you, dried blood sticking to your skin, he frees his twitching cock out of its constraints.

Though hazy, your eyes catch it, the thickness of his cock—hard and flushed at the tip—your hands tugging at your restraints feebly making you panic and choke on his fingers, nearly biting down on them.

He’s quick to pull them out, glaring down at you with dark eyes, jaw ticking as his hands curl into fists; knowing what’s to come doesn’t prepare you any more at the excruciating pain of his abuse, even more so at his length pressing against your wet folds—cockhead nudging your puffy clit and making your cunt drool on him.

Both hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, pressing them to your chest. The pain on your face numbs at the sensation of him prodding on your entrance, ripping you apart and increasing the pain—your head throbs as he stretches your cunt with his fat cock, barely giving you time to adjust as he starts to move slowly despite your tense walls barely allowing him.

He curses as he ruts into you, bathing in your cries and moans, violating and invading the entirety of you. The pleasure of feeling you and having you just like this seeps into his bones, turning his languid thrusts more desperate.

“You make desperation look so pretty,” he groans, “You’re making such a mess, you like being forced like this?”

He insults you, but you’re everything he always wanted and more—the taste of your skin as he sucks marks onto your neck as if you were his to own, the clenching and humiliating sound of your cunt squelching as he pounds into you and grunts against your skin. His cock throbs inside you and drags along your velvety walls deliciously; all you can think is that you hate this.

Pressure, pain, the drowning pleasure of Sakusa all over you and inside you don’t allow you to retreat to the back of your head and forget. Not with the burning euphoria building up in your stomach or the moan that slips from your lips as Sakusa brings one of your legs down, bringing his hand to your breasts and thumb swiping around your sensitive nipples.

“O-Omi, please,” you sob, weak and submissive—just how you should be. Your nails dig into your palms, arms aching from your restraints. “I-I’m gonna—I think I—”

“Y-you really are a whore,” he spits, voice strained yet patronizing, still. “Do it, then. Cum on my cock.”

His hand moves in between your thighs, fingers pressing and rubbing circles on your clit as you cry out, tight walls clamping down on him and stuttering his already sloppy thrusts, your arousal running down his length and down to his heavy balls slapping against your ass.

Your moans come out as squeals of his name, your back arching and breath catching in your throat, vision going white as he continues to fuck into you.

His breathing is ragged, moving to bury his face into the crook of your neck in an odd show of affection, your swollen cunt pulsating around his cock as he suddenly stills, his low groan vibrating against your skin as he empties inside you.

You want to cry—but nothing comes out, all you can feel is the bruises on your skin, Sakusa’s cock buried deep inside you and his cum leaking from your abused hole, the stickiness and the sweat.

Maybe Sakusa’s right. Maybe you are disgusting, because as he peels himself from you, thinking it’s all over—Sakusa doesn’t undo the ties keeping you on the bed.

He reaches towards the bedside table, grabbing his phone. The sound of the shutter going off once, twice, over and over with the camera directed at you pulls your soul out of you.

“Omi—?” Your question remains a lump in your throat, but Sakusa is smart. He doesn’t need to hear your question.

“You’re my girlfriend now…” He mutters carelessly, “but I’m sure you don’t want Komori to see how you like to be fucked, right?”

[extremelyblackandwhite]

madam carter baizen president, what about carter with the song traitor by olivia rodrigo?

pairing : carter baizen x reader

warnings : angst, carter is an asshole (sadly), reader is nate’s twin sister

inspired by traitor

you betrayed me and i know that you'll never feel sorry for the way I hurt. you'd talk to her when we were together. loved you at your worst but that didn't matter, it took you two weeks to go off and date her. guess you didn't cheat but you're still a traitor

She stood in the middle of the high end designer shop, thousands of girls from Constance moving up and down, picking and fighting for different dresses for one of the biggest events before graduation - Cotillion. As a carrier of the Archibald family name, the twin sister of Nate Archibald, Y/N’s RSVP was sent in her behalf before she even understood what it actually was. She didn’t mind doing it, she didn’t mind keeping up the traditions that her family was so overprotective yet she couldn’t say she particularly enjoyed them. She had to be truthful to herself and admit that she did not enjoy the idea of being presented to society as merely a stereotype of what her social status expected her to become. Maybe that was the dream for some girls, but it definitely wasn’t hers. Nevertheless, she had convinced herself to go, after all Rory Gilmore had gone and she had had a blast so why shouldn’t Y/N give it a go? Besides, if she even thought about not going, she was sure her mother would come from the wood work with her dramatic reasons as to why going to Cotillion was important, when it reality there was only one reason why it mattered - reputation. 

      - So, which one is yours? - her brother joked, looking away from where Blair was trying on her own dress. Y/N rolled her eyes, raising her hand where a black hanger was with her dress. - White? You’re trying to present yourself as virginal?

       - One of us has to. - she bite back. - Besides, Rory wore white and I wanna wear white. 

       - You shouldn’t model your life after a sitcom, Y/N. It’s not gonna be nearly as fun as they portray it. 

       - I can always trip you while you’re dancing. That’ll be fun, huh? 

       - What’ll be fun will be seeing Carter Baizen escort you when mum and dad don’t even know you’re sneaking around with him. 

       - I’m not sneaking around and I told you I’m going alone. - she wasn’t lying. She’d become acquainted with Carter a few years ago and the two had become close friends, both sharing an ambition of travelling around the world, hiking high mountains and looking at the clearest seas but that’s where it ended. At least to him. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t have at least some sort of romantic interest in him. How could she not? He was a handsome man with the same ideals as her, who’d often flirt but she’d convinced herself it was just who he was. Yet, her hopes were always very high at whatever they had. He didn’t look at anyone else like he looked at her, he didn’t hug anyone else like he hugged her and after he left New York, she was the one who he’d still write to yet it never progressed to anything else. She’d rather have him as whatever they were so she could keep him. Of course, Nate was of a different opinion and believed the two were dating, just without the label. - Not everyone can take a Waldorf to Cotillion.

     - You’re not going alone, Y/N. C’mon, we know so many people, so many guys who’d die to take you to Cotillion.

     - It’s really not a big deal. 

     - You should just ask him. - Nate told her, before being dragged away by one of the tailors to fix his suit. She had to admit, she was rather keen on seeing her brother in a fitted grey suit. 

After deciding there was no point in keeping in that store, hoping to find something else, she stepped outside, dress bag over her shoulder. It was a pretty dress and after all, who does not enjoy to be in a pretty dress and get free food and drink? She continued to walk down the street, mindlessly going through a checklist in her head of things she had to get sorted before Cotillion tonight. As her mind checked out invisible tasks, she spotted Carter just a bit down the street. A smile playfully etched on her cherry stained lips as she walked down to meet him. 

     - Hello stranger. 

     - Oh, hi princess. - his eyes moved from whatever he had been looking at to look at her, yet something was off. - What you got there? Body bag?

     - Cotillion dress. Not as exciting. - his attention was scattered, eyes looking left and right as if he was looking out for something. - Are you ok, Carter?

     - ‘Course I am. - he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, turning her the opposite way. - Excited for Cotillion?

     -  They always have great stuffed mushrooms and I do intend to have at least a whole tray just for myself. 

     - Who’s the poor bastard who’s taking you? Vanderbilt?

     - He’s my cousin, Carter. Besides, I told you I am going by myself. 

     - And your mother allowed that?

     - She doesn’t need to know.

     - Sneaky. - he chuckled, stopping as her flat came into view. 

     - I wouldn’t have to be sneaky if you escorted me, Baizen. - she meant for it to sound as a joke, but as those words escaped her lips, she realised how oddly passive aggressive they sounded. 

     - You know it’s not my thing.

     - I know. - she sighed. - I’m just being silly.

     - I’ll take you for brunch tomorrow. We’ll discuss all the gossip that went on. You know the rules, the one with the best piece of gossip wins and the other one pays.

     - You better bring your wallet, Baizen. - she opened the door of her building, bidding her goodbyes before quickly climbing up the stairs to get ready.

Sure, part of her wished he would escort her and be her date but he despised the idea of Cotillion more than she did and she wouldn’t want him to be uncomfortable the whole night. Besides, if she went alone, she probably would get to change her own introduction speech and make a splash for the family. No publicity is bad publicity, after all. As the sun set down, she was being rushed into the car by her mother, hair set with pearl strings all around which matched the ones that hanged from her earrings. She felt pretty, she had to admit. However, as she stepped into the limo where Blair and Nate was, she couldn’t help but imagine how things would’ve been if Carter had taken her. He would’ve brought her favourite lilies as a corsage, just as when he came back from Florence on her birthday and surprised her with a whole bouquet of white lilies and roses. He’d probably have his tie a bit too loose, as he always did whenever he was inevitably forced to wear one. They would dance the whole night to classical pieces. Yet, all these past tenses were merely ghosts in her brain and as they pulled in front of the building hosting Cotillion, she realised she was alone. He wasn’t here, he didn’t make it a priority to escorting her. But it was okay, she’d never want him to do something which would make him uncomfortable. 

As per usual, they were fashionably late as Blair put it and were rushed to the big staircase. She’d seen it before with her cousins own cotillion ceremonies - two big staircases facing each other, one had all the girls and the other the boys. Normally, she’d be looking at whoever was escorting her but since she was about to be escorted by her own self, she merely looked at her own white shoes, contrasting with the gold gown Serena, who was in front of her, was wearing. As long as she didn’t trip or fall down the stairs, it would be fine. 

     - Escorting Serena van der Woodsen is Carter Baizen. - her eyes looked up as she wondered if her own tired brain was playing jokes on her. But it wasn’t.

They were there. He was here, in the centre, by Serena’s side, escorting her. The sound of the room all went quiet and all she could hear was the buzzing in her ears and her heart drop to her stomach. There were no thoughts in her brain and she didn’t seem to even acknowledge what was happening around her, all she felt was an overwhelming pain and her chest tightening.

    - Next is Y/N Archibald, daughter of Howard and Anne Archibald, escorted by ... - she went down the stairs, standing in the centre by her self as she felt the whole world staring at her. 

    - Me. - she looked to her left to see Chuck Bass run down the stairs to stand by her side. - Sorry, I’m late.

    - Thank you. - she mouthed to Chuck as they went down the stairs. 

    - He’s an ass. - Chuck said as they reached the floor. Immediately, Nate and Blair came over to her side. - I’ll stick around for when we have to dance.

    - Thank you, Chuck.   

    - I thought you said he didn’t like these things. - Nate was mad, everyone with a pair of eyes could see it. 

    - Not now.

    - Yes, now, Y/N. He humiliated you.

    - He didn’t ... he’s just a traitor.    

[blackacre13]

cute little triple dat with loubbie, rose x daphne and tammy w her s/o

“God, this is nice,” Tammy sighed, taking another sip of her wine with a satisfied hum. “Feels so adult without any skateboards or beanies or video games.”

“All three of those things you just described belong to the one and only Constance,” Debbie pointed out.

“I’ll be sure to tattle on her,” Lou winked, placing her hand over Debbie’s and squeezing it gently as she tapped the brunette’s thigh with her own.

“And we finally got to meet the infamous Mark,” Daphne purred, nodding her head towards Tammy’s husband.

“Never imagined I’d get to have dinner with the Daphne Kluger,” he laughed nervously, playing with his fork.

“Well, you’re not, darling,” Tammy laughed. “You’re having dinner with me. Daphne is just a bonus.”

“Hey!” Daphne complained as Rose laughed, massaging her shoulder gently.

“But I agree,” Debbie grinned. “A toast! Here’s to more couple’s nights out away from the loft.”

“Here, here,” Lou agreed, tapping her glass of seltzer against Debbie’s martini as the group slowly joined in on a round of cheers.

“Well, we know how Lou and Deb met,” Rose offered, clearing her throat. “What about you two, Tammy?”

“Oh, you don’t want to hear that,” the woman blushed as she waved off the question.

“Come on, Tam, it’s cute,” Debbie promised. “And if you don’t share, Mark gets to spin his version of it.”

“You’ve got her there,” Mark grinned.

“This is nice,” Lou murmured quietly, playing with Debbie’s fingers as she thought before planting a gentle kiss against Debbie’s cheek.

“Never thought we’d get to do something as normal as this,” Debbie admitted, looking into the blonde’s eyes fondly.

“If you call dinner between five millionaires and a clueless man normal,” Lou winked.

“Know what I’m thinking after this?” Debbie asked, wagging her eyebrows.

“Diner milkshakes?” Lou snorted.

“Diner milkshakes,” Debbie grinned, her face lighting up.

“Care to follow it up with something rated R?” Lou suggested.

“Always, baby,” Debbie winked, trailing a finger up Lou’s thigh slowly for a moment before letting it disappear back into her own lap.

Somewhere in their post-dinner plotting, the conversation had changed from how Tammy and Mark had met and shifted into Daphne offering up her boat for a weekend on the water and something about a private island that Lou and Debbie weren’t quite sure was 100% actually real or some sort of bullshit Daphne was spewing to impress the table, but it was working nonetheless.

“Have you two set a date yet?” Rose asked suddenly, the group’s focus shifting to Debbie and Lou as everyone but a pretending-she-didn’t-notice Lou watched Debbie steal a forkful of steak off the blonde’s plate twice.

“Not quite,” Lou admitted, trying not to make eye contact with Tammy, who was slowly shifting into laser focus, looking back and forth between the couple as her jaw slowly opened.

“No. Nope. Not gonna happen.”

“What?” Rose asked, not following the silent conversation between the trio.

“They’re going to elope,” Tammy rolled her eyes. “And I am not having it. I mean this isn’t just about the two of you.”

“Our wedding isn’t about the two of us?” Lou smirked as Debbie laughed.

“You know what I mean,” Tammy sighed. “These has been a decades long affair!”

“An affair!” Debbie gasped. “Baby, did you know we were having an affair?”

“And decades long,” Lou snickered. “Honey, I didn’t realize how far gone past over the hill we were.”

“I hate you two,” Tammy groaned, leaning into her husband as he kissed the crown of her head, whispering something to her that made her giggle.

“Go ahead and elope,” Daphne shrugged, draining the last of her champagne.

“Daphne!” Rose cried as Tammy nodded along with her.

“We’ll still throw them a party,” Daphne rolled her eyes. “Best of both worlds. They can have their little gay Lou and Deb moment and then we still get our big celebration.”

“You say gay little moment like you’re not also sleeping with a woman,” Lou snorted.

“What happened to our lovely adult date night?” Tammy sighed.

“I mean, it lasted a half an hour,” Debbie giggled, taking a French fry off of Lou’s plate. “That’s pretty good for us.”

[emzalot]

Upside Down

Chapter 2

Author’s Note: I’m sorry this took so long. I originally stopped writing because I needed to take a break and then I just forgot about my stories for a while if that makes sense. Anyhow, this is chapter 2 of Upside Down! I hope you enjoy it there’s so much more to come...

Italics: Caspian’s thoughts

Warnings: None

Tags: @realm-of-kearstenia​ @animallover81​ @rebel-soldat​

~~🖤~~

Caspian stares at the little girl with wide eyes. Lucy. He blinks at her, dumbfounded. “Lucy?... No that can’t be…she’s…” he trails off. They’ve grown up. He stares into the little girl’s eyes. They hold a familiarity he begins to recognize. They’re as blue as the eastern sea, much like her mother’s. They hold the same brightness and warmth Lucy always seemed to radiate. Can it be?

“Annabelle?” a voice calls.

The little girl turns, “Coming!”

Her name is Annabelle.

“It’s time for you to say hi!” Annabelle grabs Caspian’s large hand and pulls him up the platform.

“Annabelle wait” She stops, letting go of his hand.

“Why, you scared?” She asks, a playfulness in her tone.

Caspian squats down again. “No” he states, but he can’t help but smile at her.

“Then let’s go! The train will be here soon!”

“Annabelle!”

Caspian stands up quickly. That voice… A blonde man about Caspian’s height pushes past the family in front of them.

“Annabelle, there you are!” He squats down by Annabelle, gripping her gently. “Don’t you ever run away like that again, do you understand me? Your mother is worried sick!” The man scolds.

Caspian stares at the man, recognizing him immediately. “Peter” Caspian breathes out.

Peter’s head shoots up and the frown on his bearded face quickly disappears at the sight of the Narnian King.

“Look who I found!” Annabelle says, cheerily.

Peter slowly stands, pulling Anabelle close to him. He’s aged. His face is bearded, his eyes held a wisdom and strength that was not there the last time they had met, but one thing that hasn’t changed is the air about him that gave off an entitled authority.

“Go to your mother” Peter says, not breaking eye contact with Caspian.

“But-”

“Obey” Peter interrupts firmly.

Annabelle looks at Caspian one more time before disappearing up the platform.

“What did you do? How- how are you here? In England?” Peter asks, baffled by his fellow king’s presence.

“Hello to you too, Peter” Caspian says, a smile spreading across his face. He hasn’t changed much at all.

Peter sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Right.” He straightens up and extends his arm to Caspian. Caspian smiles, gladly taking it. Peter pulls him into a quick hug, clasping him on the back, warmly greeting his friend. “It’s good to see you,” Peter says before letting him go.

“What happened?” Peter asks.

“I’m not entirely sure. One moment I’m in my chambers and the next I’m…here.” Peter nods.

“Probably an overlap of our worlds…” Peter trails off, eyeing his friend for a moment.

“What?” Caspian asks.

“I thought you’d be older” Peter admits.

“If you’d like I can come back in a few years” Caspian says.

Peter chuckles, remembering that little retort he threw at Caspian when they’d first met.

“Speaking of older-”

“Shut up” Peter interrupts.

Caspian smiles at his friend.

“Come on” Peter says, throwing an arm around Caspian’s shoulders. “It’s time you meet the family.”

Peter guides Caspian up the platform. They spot little Annabelle standing amongst a group of people.

“I’m telling the truth!” she exclaims, stamping her foot.

“Annabelle stop it! Your overactive imagination is getting the better of you!” the pregnant woman says.

She sounds like Susan.

Peter and Caspian approach the group.

“Look who Annabelle found wandering around the station” Peter announces, grasping the family’s attention.

Caspian’s eyes land on the pregnant woman sitting on the bench who’s head snaps in their direction along with everyone else’s. It is Susan.

“It can’t be” the woman next to Susan stands.

It’s Lucy. Her hair is longer than he last remembered, and she looks to be a little older than himself. Lucy is older than me. His eyes then land on the man off to the side who couldn’t be anyone other than Edmund. Jaw slack, pointing at Caspian, in utter shock. He looks almost exactly the same as he did on their last journey.

“You’ve got to be joking” Edmund says.

“It’s been so long!” Lucy says, rushing over to Caspian and pulling him into a hug.

Caspian wraps his arms around the youngest Pevensie tightly. “So it seems” he says.

“It’s good to see you” Lucy says as she pulls away.

Caspian smiles at her warmly. Caspian then reaches over pulling Edmund in for a hug as well.

“I never thought we’d see you again” Edmund admitted.

“Neither did I” Caspian says, patting Edmund’s back.

When Edmund lets go of his old friend, Susan was standing behind him. He moves out of the way so she can greet Caspian as well. She smiles at the young King.

“Susan” Caspian says, his eyes traveling down to her swollen belly.

“Hello Caspian” she says, surpressing a laugh at his shocked expression.

“You’re…” He trails off.

“Yes, I am” Susan says, unable to contain her laugh.

After they all greeted Caspian, each Pevensie introduced him to their families. Peter’s wife, Savannah, a gorgeous red head with warm brown eyes. His two daughters, Lily and Moira. Lily is eight years old and the spitting image of Peter with her blonde hair and her father’s blue eyes. Moira is six years old and has red hair like her mother and is very shy. Edmund’s wife, Constance, a sweet brunette with green eyes and a lovely Irish accent. And his son, Benjamin, who is four and could be Edmunds twin, but with green eyes like his mother. Susan’s husband, Robert Moore, a strong tall man with dark hair and pale blue eyes with a soft smile to balance it out. She also has a son, William, who is five years old and looks much like his mother. Lucy’s husband Michael Pierce, who is not present at the moment and Annabelle, who Caspian has already met.

“So, Caspian is an actual real…person?” Constance asks.

“He’s right there” Lily says, pointing at him.

“Lily!” Savannah scolds.

Caspian smiles, passing a wink to the little girl.

Lily turns to Annabelle and they giggle.

Caspian grins, watching them for a moment.

“I thought those stories of Narnia were just…stories” Robert chimes in.

“Did you think we were lying to you?” Edmund asks, folding his arms over his chest.

“Ugh, here they go” Lily says, shaking her head to Annabelle who rolls her eyes in turn.

“No- well…” Savannah trails off. “This is a little hard to grasp, I apologize” she adds.

The other spouses nod in agreement with Savannah.

Peter presses a kiss to his wife’s forehead, whispering something to her.

Savannah visibly relaxes at his words.

“What’s hard to grasp?” Annabelle asks.

“They weren’t lying, and you have walking proof right there” Lily adds.

Moira gasps, “You can’t call him ‘walking proof’ he’s a king!” She says, worried that what her sister had said might’ve been offensive.

“But he is!” Lily defends.

“He’s a king?” William asks.

“Yes, don’t you remember?” Annabelle asks.

“Not really” he says.

Moira and Lily giggle.

“We can discuss this further on the train” Peter says, closing the subject.

“He’s coming with us?” Annabelle asks.

“Well yes, we can’t very well leave him here” Lucy says, running a hand over her daughter’s hair.

“Yay!” she exclaims excitedly.

“What?” Caspian says.

“You’re coming with us!” Annabelle says, walking back over to him.

“And where are we going?” he asks her, glancing over at Peter and then Lucy.

“Our annual beach trip we take. It’s sort of like a family reunion.” Edmund clarifies.

“I see” Caspian says.

“Will you come?” Annabelle asks. She wraps her arms around his waist and looks up at him with the most pleading look in her eyes. “Pleeasse!” she begs, squeezing his hips.

Caspian stares into the little girl’s eyes. They’re so bright and affectionate and the pleading look she’s giving him now could crumble any resolve he would ever try to muster. She purses her lips saying ‘please’ in the sweetest way, again. Caspian glances over at Lucy who’s smiling as she watches the interaction. 

Caspian lifts his head, his heart hammering inside his chest. He’s dreamed of this moment, being reunited with the Pevensie’s for two whole years. But the Pevensie’s he loves dearly have changed so much. They’re all grown up. More than he has. They have lives of their own, spouses, and even children. It’s all so different and he’s missed everything. 

Caspian sighs, look around the train station. He’s here for a reason. He just knows it. He never thought he’d be given the opportunity to join them in their world. It’s always been the four of them to find their way to Narnia. Now it’s his turn. 

Caspian swallows the lump forming in his throat and summons the courage to look down at little Annabelle. He takes in her pleading expression and softly smiles. “I will come.”

[stellarfoam]

“I love you.”

“I’ve seen you a lot.”

an abruptly-ended 3k WIP of beau/yasha/jester polyamory negotiations written around episode 70. below the cut for length.

“You know,” Jester began in that hesitant way of hers, fidgeting with her pen then her dress then her hands, “Mama often saw more than two people at once.”

Beau stared, unblinking, her arms crossed to signal confusion and that she wasn’t liking the feeling. There was a beat of silence before she replied with, “Yeah, of course she did.”

Jester sighed, looking frustrated and momentarily upset before finally looking up at Beau. “No, I mean, they both knew -- it was agreed --” She broke off, angry. Angry at not being able to explain, angry at Beau for not understanding, angry at herself for not being able to describe her feelings and hiding, always hiding --

“Hey, Jester, it’s okay,” Beau broke in with a hand on her shoulder. Jester had curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her knees, and she felt her shoulders sink from near her ears to where shoulders usually were. Beau looked confused still, now with the addition of concern. Jester tried not to let herself feel warm with such evidence of caring, she really did, but she failed (like usual).

Jester stared at the ground glumly, thinking. Beau sat next to her, leaning back on one hand and staring at the fire. It was warm here, from the flames and from Beau’s presence. Beau politely pretended not to feel the transfer of blue eyes from analyzing the dirt to memorizing the way a shadowed jawbone curved.

“I haven’t had to share a whole lot,” Jester tried again, and let her fingers dance and wriggle along the patterns of her dress. Her eyes fell to the squares there and the way the fire created valleys over the wrinkles and creases. Her dresses at home never had to be wrinkled for more than a day. And hadn’t Beau looked like something or someone from another life, dressed in a red that looked better against dark brown skin than it ever had against blue? The thought inspires her enough to add her true point: “I could learn to share though. For you.”

Beau frowned, her face blinking and twitching as Jester watched her silently cycle through her various reply options. “I don’t - I think - you share fine already, Jes. You don’t have to learn to share for me.” A pause. “Especially not for me.”

Jester nodded in a way that meant she very much disagreed. Her back straightened and she faced Beau with a sigh. “I think I do though,” she argued. She tried for light tones, or something firm, but all she sounded was resigned and sad. That wouldn’t do at all.

“No, you don’t,” Beau replied, and her voice was firm. “You don’t have to do anything for me Jester, especially not something you do” - and here she waved her arms around - “already.”

Jester’s mouth turned up at the corners at the sight, but she wasn’t swayed. “You deserve the world, Beau,” she said. She watched the fondness of her words, the absolute truth weighed in them, sink into Beau. It seemed to make her sink. It also seemed to make her float.

“Yeah well,” Beau sighed. “You do too.” And her little half-smile cut Jester’s heart clean open and sealed it up again with something warm and clear.

“Thanks, Beau,” she said, and then giggled, ducking her head. It was hard to stay sad and resigned with Beau here next to her. If Beau was with her, Jester thought she could handle anything and everything - or at least, knew she had someone to tell her that she didn’t have to handle everything.

They sat together in their warm silence until Jester’s smile faded back to what it had been. She wasn’t the only one who found her world more manageable with Beau.

There was Caleb, of course, and Fjord - their friendships with each other were important to all involved. But it wasn’t friendship she meant, and with the looks from one beautiful Yasha Nydorin, Jester could no longer pretend that Yasha and her meant friendship with Beau.

Yasha. Beautiful, tall, strong Yasha. She was quiet, steady like the constancy of the ocean, ephemeral as the foam Jester would watch fizzle on the sand and disappear. Violent like its storms, soft like waves against an arm stretched out from a boat, seeking something. Jester couldn’t help but feel drawn to Yasha, try and figure her out; she was a mystery, a wonder, and a friend. (She was also lost.)

But that didn’t matter. Not right now. What mattered was the looks Yasha and Beau would send each other when they thought no one was looking, or when they couldn’t bring themselves to care. What mattered was Beau’s physical attraction being joined slowly, surely, by platonic and then romantic interest. What mattered was the same happening in Yasha’s slow, glacial, slightly reluctant way.

Jester thought the both of them knew.

Jester also thought they would never do anything about it.

See, the thing was, Jester was in the way. She was friends with them, maybe sort of slightly in love with Beau, and trying for the second time in her life to not fall in love with someone else. Jester didn’t think that Beau should have to choose, and Jester was far too selfish to give up so easily. So: the plan.

Tell Beau that she had two hands and should use them (haha).

Tell Yasha that Beau was interested and that she should join them.

And then reconcile the fact Jester was going to be sharing two of nine of her favorite people with each other. (Okay six of them already shared each other, but this was different.)

Step one was watching Beau for a good time to talk, and then sitting by the fire, and then next up was Yasha. Jester didn’t know why such a good plan turned so difficult when actually faced with words and cues.

“Beau,” Jester tried a third time. “You know Yasha likes you, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Beau replied, gruffly interpreting the statement as platonic. “I like her too.” There’s a moment where Jester opens her mouth and Beau beats her to the punch with a question of her own. “You like her too, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course I do!” Jester answered, knowing she was far too flustered in her response, especially compared to Beau’s crossed armed stoicness.

“Good. That’s good.” Beau nodded to herself sharply and stared at the fire. Maybe she was looking for answers. Jester had tried that a time or two herself.

“I think she likes you, Beau,” Jester pressed, and couldn’t help a giggle and a teasing smile.

“Yeah, well,” Beau replied, fighting a smile and failing. “I like - I mean, who could blame her?” She flexed her arms, her tongue sticking out past a teasing smile of her own. “I’m the whole package.”

Jester giggled, then laughed, then felt her expression fade into something softer. “You are, Beau,” she replied gently. Her eyes met Beau’s, but only for a moment, before Beau looked away.

“You keep doing that, Jester,” Beau said. Jester couldn’t tell whether Beau was still joking or if she was frustrated about something.

“Keep doing what?” Jester asked, her head tilting to one side. Her hair fell in front of her eyes, and she blew out a breath in annoyance to try and get them to move.

“Just…,” Beau motioned to Jester with a hand. Jester stared blankly. Beau sighed. “What do you want from me, Jester?”

Jester frowned, hurt. “What do you mean?”

“I mean -- Jester, are you in love with me?”

Jester’s heart stopped, and her lungs followed suit. Her eyes refused to blink, her muscles clenched, and she tried to decide if she needed to run or burrow down into her blankets and refuse to come out. She managed a shaky breath, squeaked out a sound, but couldn’t otherwise say anything but, “What?”

Beau’s lips thinned and she looked angry. About what, about who, Jester didn’t have the brainpower to guess right then. She looked back at the fire with a harsh motion and ran a hand through her undercut. It needed trimming, Jester thought. “Never mind,” Beau asked. “Stupid question - I shouldn’t have asked - I’m --”

“Yeah, Beau. I think I am.”

Another time freeze, another pair of lungs stopped. Beau’s neck cracked as she looked back at Jester again. Jester, who found herself breathing more freely now, and who was filled with the calm of certainty and the reassurance of a choice finally made.

Now it’s Beau who could only choke out a question, who could hardly seem to breathe, and Jester smiled. “I’m in love with you,” she repeated, her smile only growing larger and warmer and brighter. She laughed. “I’m in love with you, Beau.”

Beau stared and tried to stammer a reply. “I’m - I love - you too -”

“It’s okay, Beau,” Jester said softly, reaching out a hand to tap one of Beau’s gently. “You don’t have to say it back.”

“But I want to,” Beau croaked.

“It’s okay,” Jester said. “You have time.” She grinned. “Besides, I have other news too.”

Beau at this point looked like she could be blown over by a stiff wind. “What’s that,” she managed to ask.

Jester leaned in, still smiling. “I think Yasha is falling in love with you, too,” she whispered.

Beau almost fell over, caught herself, and then sat with her hands in her lap. Then she covered her face with them, groaned, and refused to do anything more for long enough that Jester got worried. “Beau?” she asked, peering under the hands covering Beau’s face for any sign of the thought processing going on under there.

Beau groaned.

Jester frowned. This wasn’t how she had planned things on going - not by any stretch of the imagination.

“Do you… not like Yasha?” Jester ventured. She could have sworn the blooming romance went both ways, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe she had read too much into it. Maybe she wasn’t as good at this as she thought -

“It’s not that,” Beau finally mumbled past her hands.

“So what is it?” Jester asked, her head tilting again and her bangs falling in her eyes again.

Beau hesitated, then blurted it out with a loud explosion of sound and arm movement. “Two of you?” she yells.

Jester flinched back, then stared. “Four if you count Reani and Keg,” she finally replied. The reminder left a bitter taste in her mouth, and Jester wished she hadn’t brought it up.

Beau buried in head in her hands and groaned again. “I can’t do this,” she mumbled.

Jester felt her heart plummet to the soles of her feet, which is a challenge since she was sitting. “Oh,” she murmured past numb lips. “Okay.”

Beau’s head again went snapping up. “Not like that!” she rushed to reassure her. “I just - two - three of - me? You all - me?”

Jester felt her brow furrow. “Yes?” she confirmed, confused as to why this was a sticking point.

Beau’s hands and arms moved wildly again. “But - I’m just - me. Just Beau.”

Jester shrugged. “Just Beau is enough.”

The answer seemed to stun Beau, again, and Jester was beginning to worry about getting through this conversation all in one night. “Look, Beau --”

Beau held up a hand. “Hang on. I have to think.” Jester nodded, and let there be silence for a few minutes. Night had truly taken hold now, painting the sky black and dark purple, and she stared up at the unfamiliar constellations. She thought Caleb might know what they were. She didn’t feel the need to ask.

“So,” Beau began, “you love - you’re in love with - you think you’re in love with me.”

Jester nodded.

“And you think Yasha is also in love with me.”

“I think she’s currently falling in love with you,” Jester corrected.

“Right. Yasha is falling in love with me.”

Jester nodded. “You got it!” she replied cheerfully.

“And you’re not jealous of this because…?”

“Oh I am!” Jester again corrected, still cheerful.

Beau stared, then analyzed, then stared some more. “Okay I’m still confused,” she said.

“Yasha likes you, you like her, I like you, and you like - me?” Jester bit her lip, still feeling uncertain about it despite Beau’s earlier reassurance.

“Yeah, I - I like you, Jester,” Beau said. “I just - this seems more like a tragedy than something to be happy about.”

Jester sighed and leaned back on her hands. “I don’t know,” she mused, looking up at the sky. “I think it could be something really cool.”

Beau was quiet for a moment, and Jester didn’t look at her. “...How are you saying we should do this?” Beau asked quietly as if she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to be heard. As if she wasn’t sure she should even be asking.

“I mean, knowing us, it’s probably gonna be really complicated and messy and weird at first,” Jester pointed out. “But I think it could also be really cool! And I think we should try it.”

“And what should we try, Jester?” Beau’s soft fondness, her surfacing curiosity, her unmasked worry, makes Jester look over. She found herself held captive by Beau’s expression and eyes, and couldn’t bring forth enough want to set herself free.

“You and me and Yasha,” she replied softly. “Together. Holding hands, talking, sharing. Kissing, if we want.” Jester giggled and couldn’t stop the flush on her cheeks. She also didn’t think about how her brain brought up what Yasha’s lips might feel like under hers.

Beau looked at Jester for a long time, though it could have been seconds. She was looking for something, Jester figured, and held still so Beau could find whatever it was she needed to find. “You think we could do this?” she asked finally.

Jester nodded. “I think we could.”

Beau looked at the space between the two of them and nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, and then added with more strength, “okay.”

“Okay?” Jester asked, a grin taking over her face.

“Okay,” Beau echoed and began to grin as well. Then she stopped and began to frown instead. “Have you talked to Yasha about this?”

Jester winced slightly and sighed. “No,” she replied glumly. “I wanted to talk to you first. Seeing as you’re in the middle, and all.” She nudged Beau lightly with her elbow, and could only grin seeing a large blush take over Beau’s face.

“We should uh, we should go do that,” Beau stammered. She looked around frantically for Yasha - Jester thought it was funny she was trying to escape. Like that would happen now that Jester finally had her, and now that there would be two of them to hold her down and make sure she was okay.

“She’s out in the woods,” Nott piped up from nearby. Her large yellow eyes stared into Jester’s as she yelped in surprise.

“Have you - have you been here the whole time?” Beau asked. She didn’t seem concerned or surprised which Jester figured was fair considering it was Nott.

“Long enough,” Nott replied cryptically, taking a swig from her flask. Jester looked at the flask disapprovingly, and Nott caught her glance and scowled. “I’ll need this drink if the two of you go wandering off for shenanigans!” Nott moved her glare to Beau. “It’s your job to keep an eye on them. You know what happened the last time they went off together.”

“This is different!” Jester protested. She felt like she had to defend her honor, and also felt like the dark was suddenly far too imposing and the world too big. Beau only nodded, looking fond, and grabbed Jester’s hand.

“I’ll keep track of her,” Beau promised, glancing at Jester with a small grin.

“Gross!” Nott exclaimed. “Don’t have sex in the woods, the leaves and dirt get everywhere.”

Fjord paused from where he had been collecting more firewood for the night and frowned. “Who’s having sex in the woods? And how would you know, Nott?”

“No one’s having sex in the woods!” Nott yelled. “And you don’t know me, Fjord. You don’t know what me and my husband got up to…”

Fjord, smart folk that he was, decided not to inquire further and only nodded as he made his way back to the fire. Caduceus looked up at him with a slow smile and pulled out incense, leaving Nott and Caleb on the next watch.

“You and Caleb got this?” Jester asked, just to be sure, already standing and moving towards the woods.

“Of course we do,” Nott said, waving her concerns off with a flapping hand. “And Yasha went that way.”

“Right.” Jester course-corrected and set off. “C’mon Beau! Let’s go find Yasha!”

Beau sighed in fond exasperation, following a step behind. “Are we trying to be quiet about this?”

Jester hummed, her steps slowing as she considered. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Should we be?”

Beau shrugged. “If we sneak up on her, we might scare her and someone might get hurt. But we don’t know the stuff that’s in these woods.”

“Let’s go quietly, and then when we see her make sure we’re out of range,” Jester decided, taking more care to watch where she stepped. The two of them made quick, quiet work of the walk and soon found Yasha staring up a tree.

“What’s up there?” Beau asked, moving towards the tree without thinking. Yasha spun around and had her sword half-drawn before she realized who it was.

“You scared me,” she said softly, resheathing her sword and looking back up the branches.

Beau stood next to her for a minute and Jester stood back slightly, just watching them. When it became clear Yasha wasn’t going to answer her question, Beau asked again what Yasha was looking at.

“There’s an owl up there,” Yasha explained softly. “I thought maybe it was Professor Thaddeus.”

Beau’s lips quirked and she nudged Yasha with her elbow gently. “I don’t think it is,” she admitted, “bastard would’ve flown away as fast as he could if he saw me here.” She took a breath and then added, “Thank you for - for looking, though.”

Yasha looked down at Beau, and a small smile transformed her face from something impassive and scary to something soft and beautiful. “Of course,” she replied gently. Jester saw Beau’s cheeks flush and Beau looked away, a hand rubbing at the back of her neck.

“I’m here too!” Jester added cheerfully, hoping to stop the usual awkwardness of the two of them before it became unsalvageable.

[general-du-vallon]

I find it really bizarre how there are multiple story-lines in the BBC Musketeres about slavery where the slavers are treated sympathetically. By which I don't mean that all slavers should be inhuman, because people who were part of the slave-trade were human and were like us (I'm white), we have to see ourselves in them, I think it's really important that we see ourselves in them and see ourselves as part of that history. So having Bonnaire who is charming, likeable, interesting, entertaining character who I like and then am horrified at myself for liking, that's great, that does something interesting with the narrative of 'slave traders are all evil and souless' and reminds us that, no, slavers are us, we can still easily perpetuate those sorts of systems.

(racism and slave-trade content warnings, as you'd imagine)

This is long, so basically it'll be - Bonnaire and the season one episode, Pierre Pepin and the season two episode, and then a little bit on Bonnaire's return in season three.

I haven't rewatched for this random splurge of thoughts, but I think the Bonnaire episode in season one is an okay arc. I could probably say something about how I think it's not necessarily bad, but definitely worth interogating the ways the writers give the majority of the story and character beats about slavery to the mixed-race Porthos character. But really what I think needs interogating is two things.

First, the way the episode tries to balance this heavy subject with Athos's history, which is more important to the series-long arc. It ends up (accidentally?) drawing uncomfortable parallels.

There isn't really a good way to compare or contrast a white man's guilt and grief over his (white) wife who was executed (by him). There's never a graceful way to push aside generational trauma from the ongoing slave-trade, or a black man's grief over discovering a man he looked up to is a slaver. Especially not when you're trying to juggle staging that grief and trauma with the white characters' trauma and grief, and most especially when it's the white stuff that turns out to be the main narrative drive of the series and the rest just gets put aside not to be brought up again. It's just bad. There's a lot more to say and think about, but that's a starting point.

Secondly, Paul Munier. Paul fucking Munier. Guys! He's part of the slave-trade too! framing him as an honest merchant is fucked up. He's not the good guy. We can't go 'okay so Bonnaire is bad, but the things he has got through the slave trade, those belong to Paul Munier, who bought them, and is honest and good'. The slave-trade was a triangle - you go to Africa and you kidnap and enslave hundreds of human beings, you take them on ships to America and plantations, you force them to produce sugar-cane and rum (rum is what Bonnaire is drinking on that wagon, when he's telling Porthos dreamy stories). Sugar and rum, those are like, bywords for 'slave-trade'. And then you sell those comoddities and you buy whatever the fuck you want to sell to fuckers like Paul Munier and bring it back to France, and then you go to Africa again. Paul Munier is part of the slave trade. He might not buy and sell human beings, but he supports and props up Bonnaire, and he benefits from the slave-trade.

He might be a good guy, I dunno. I odn't think it's a black and white issue of he's a merchant therefore he's the bad guy. But I think it's worth interogating and thinking about who gets to be innocent in this story.

I know Bonnaire comes back in series three but I'm ignoring that for this second. The other narrative around slavery I think about is actually the one in season two, where the king and d'Artagnan are kidnapped by slavers. Sigh. What are we going to do about this one, huh? there is a lot. I'm gonna put aside the whole 'white slaves' thing because I don't know what to do with that. It took me a few times watching this show to realise 'oh, right, yeah, Milady is a slaver'. Between series one and series two, she made money by selling humans. I know she's moraly ambiguous but I think that gets brushed aside and reframed very quickly. I don't think any of these characters are really framed as slavers. I forget their names, I think Stephen something? The brother who gets gutted by Rochefort in the palace. Yeah, he's a slaver too.

Other than the writers quickly forgetting that these characters are committing attrocities (it's not THE slave trade, so it is different, which I guess might be where the white slavers thing comes in, which is still, no, I still don't know what to do with that). I think the main issue with this narrative arc is what you'd expect the issue to be - the black character. Pierre Pepin.

Where do we begin with that? That was just a lot of bullshit. Pierrre Pepin is a black man in shackles,which is always a questionable choice when you're thinking what to put on TV to be honest. Especially when you then go about killing the him, and wow do you ever want to have second thoughts about having him die for the white royal. That's just not good. I don't like that he's against the king's systematic opession based on class and race, then he does a little turnaround when he meets the king. I guess the 'becomes a royalist when he sees that the white dude is nice' is necessary for the 'willing to die for his king' thing. I'm gonna go with a big nope for all of this.

There's a slave-narrative in each of the three seasons; there's Bonnaire, then there's Pierre Pepin's story, and then Bonnaire returns. He might not be a slaver anymore in season three, but the episode deals with Porthos's reaction to him, so it becomes that - the damage he did is not erased by him being quirky and funny. Again, the very real generational trauma that the slave-trade still inflicts is pushed aside for another character's past and current grief. I know Santiago Cabrera is Chilean and is brown, I'm not saying he should be pushes aside either. Just noting that in each episode Porthos's grief is set up in competition to another character's grief, and it's interesting I think that it's one of the other's backstories in each case. I don't have a conclusion about that, I'm just observing I guess. Anyway, each season has these slave-narratives, I think it'd be interesting to pull these out more and think about the ways the slave-trade is referenced and written about in the series, and why it's done in these ways.

I said it was bizzare how these narratives treat the characters who are perpetuating and benefiting from the slave trade, as well as the characters who are explicitly slavers. I also think it's definitley a choice to shove in multiple storylines about white people, in these narratives. Again, I know the Santiago Cabrera isn't white, but whatever Aramis's friend in that episode is called, is.There is the scene in that episode where Constance (a white woman) has a go at Porthos for the way he stitches Bonnaire, and Bonnaire is largely treated sympathetically in that episode. The characters on the periphery of the slave-trade are barely acknowledged as such, and characters like Milady and Stephen Mautrim (name is off the top of my head I'm not sure) are pretty much absolved of that, and I think we mostly just forget that part of Milady's story. And Pierre Pepin. God, I still don't really know where to start with his story.

I think it's worth thinking about these narratives and interogating this, because the slave-trade was a real historical event and a real trauma that still has impact today. The way we write about and consume stories about it is important. It's also important to remember that Porthos's mother was written as a freed woman because Alexandre Dumas's grandmother was a freed woman. It's a very real and very close history that's being used for these narratives, and it's heavy, you know? You've got to give it space to be heavy. It's a heavy part of this fandom, too, because it's not just something that's in the show, it's something that's in our fandom spaces. The racism and white-supremacy that makes these narratives what they are is part of our fandom.

so... those are my random thoughts on that .

[roskimag]

I Pinned You From Across the Zoom

By Tori Frank

When you have them pinned, that’s how you know it’s real. The anonymous owners of @usc.missedconnections on Instagram discussed zoom romance and the seductive mystery of having an admirer behind the screen.

Imagine Gossip Girl, but make it all horny college students deprived of casual touch. That is the drama of @usc.missedconnections. If you don’t avidly stalk their account, you either have an unheard of self-confidence that doesn’t require any external validation, you deleted your Instagram in a fit of quarantine frenzy, or you haven’t heard of them yet, and you’re very curious about the previously stated analogy.

See the bio of the @usc.missedconnections page: “Have a message for the person whose zoom you always pin or saw from 6 ft away? Anonymously send your missed connection below!” Below sits the google form where all the virtual action happens: the flirts, the cat calls, the compliments, and the subtle roasts. It really is a good time, somewhat making up for the lack of classroom banter that would normally occur.

I sat down with the students who began the account, and we chatted about the new sensation that is dominating everyone’s feed.

Tori: My roommates and I have been following your page pretty actively, as I think a lot of people have been recently.

@usc.missedconnections just surpassed 3000 followers in the few months since their origin on September 30th, 2020

T: It’s definitely very entertaining, especially with Zoom making everything a little bit more boring and separated. It’s been really fun to follow @usc.missedconnections and see what’s the tea! To begin, how did you come up with the idea of creating this account?

Connector 1: I was between USC and another school out on the East coast. Some good friends that I went out and visited there showed me the [Instagram] page at that school, and I was like, “Hey that's a cool idea, that looks like a lot of fun.’ I texted _(Connector 2)_. I was like, “Hey here’s some dumb idea, we’ll get 50 people, we’ll get 2 responses a day. It will be kind of fun to just post them,” and we just grew from there.

T: So how many posts do you guys get a day now?

Connector 2: It’s actually ticked up a lot in what, the past like 2 weeks-ish? For a long time we had a solid 100 just in the bank, and then we slowly [opened them], but it's been 200 plus starting just recently, which is weird. We started posting more frequently to catch up.

Connector 1: Yeah I presume we get about 30-ish on average a day.

Are you intrigued yet? About 30 lucky students across the online campus are being called out for some reason another, be it their sexy voice, their mustache, their wall decorations, or the way they eat their oranges. And on the flip side, about 30 people a day are shooting their anonymous shot through the account. With anonymity of course comes a certain audacity to get real freaky over the submission form. I wondered how freaky it could get.

T: Do you post all of the ones that come, or is there some sort of filtering process?

Connector 1: We’ve had a couple instances where people have been mentioned or certain organizations that have been mentioned have requested for us to take the post down, so we’ve always just respected that if we’re ever asked to take the post down for whatever reason.

Connector 2: I periodically will go through, and I’ll be like, “This one’s weird, I don't think we need to post that,” and then I'll delete it.

_(connector 1)_ idk if you know that I do that, but um…

Connector 1: Oh probably. I mean, I’ve deleted one before.

Connector 2: Yeah, when I’m doing them sometimes I’ll be like ‘this is a little weird how can we phrase this in a way that's not exactly… yeah.

T: Yeah, what’s like the line? Because I think a lot of the time some of the things can be kind of… creepy… I mean the whole thing is like…

Connector 1: (cuts in, chuckling) Kinda creepy 

T: (agreeing) Kinda creepy, right!

There have been submissions such as:

“To ____, Did you know if you rearrange the letters of Coronavirus you get “carnivorous”? Which makes sense because I want to spend the next 14 days of quarantine eating you”

and

“____ in BUAD 497, my only motivation for coming to class is being able to pin your video and look at your beautiful face for two hours”

Connector 1: It’s interesting, um, when we first started it, we talked, and the thing we were worried most about was like cyber bullying, and I personally haven't seen many posts. You get the offhand sarcastic comments, um, which are pretty funny sometimes, but I don’t know if we... we don't really have a set filter. If we feel like something’s over the bar, then we’ll kinda edit it out. Of course a lot of the time too if we’re iffy on something we’ll text the other person and be like ‘hey what do you think of this’ so, it's no distinct line, but our goal is never to make anyone uncomfortable.

T: Yeah, I think generally it's been pretty positive, a lot of affirming things. Even sometimes not romantic, like just positive comments which is pretty cool, and it's good to see that that's been going on. 

Aw so sweet, fellow Trojans getting along so well. But this is a juicy topic. Playing the role as the reporter, I had to get the inside scoop.

T: Do you ever get messages about yourself?

Connector 1: I’ve had 2

Connecter 2: Yeah he’s had 2, I haven’t had any and I’m mad about it. I want one

Connector 1: I gave you one

Connector 2: You gave me one but I knew it was from you so it didn’t mean anything.

T: So you’re not only the owners of the account. You’re sort of participating in the game as well.

Connector 1: Oh, it’s always a blast when like you’re reading through and you know the person who it's getting written about and you’re just waiting. Yeah, that’s like my favorite part of it, and also the guessing games sometimes are a lot of fun too.

Connector 2: For a long time people were scared to tag people that it was about in the comments, but now there’s no hesitation. People will just tag everyone, which I think is really fun.

Its also fun that we don’t give the full last name because then its kinda funny when you get a really generic “Sam B” or “Lucy J” and 6 different Lucy’s get tagged and half the time we know who it really is because we saw the last name and then edited it out.

T: Why don’t you include the full name?

Connector 2: I think it’s more fun. (shyly shrugs) It’s about keeping the mystery, you know? Who could it possibly be about? 

Connector 1: We do get a lot of requests though because of that, where people are like, “Hey, is this me? Can you tell me who sent this in?” and we're like “I don't know.”

Connector 2: Yeah people DM us every day asking for things, and also sometimes people don't understand that we have a forum in our bio and they send it in thru DM, their missed connections, which sort of ruins the anonymity and its sort of embarrassing for them bc we have to be like, “please submit it in our bio,” and they have to be like “oh god now they know”

T: It’s almost like a masquerade. 

Again, I am imagining Jenny Humphrey wearing her golden mask at the Constance Billard School for Girls Masquerade Ball, prancing around Nate Archibald without him having the faintest idea of who he will be kissing. Maybe this is a little different, but the spirit is there!

T: Looking through your posts of course, a lot of them are, “Oh, I have your screen pinned, I watch you all the time in class” Do you guys do that? Do you think that that's like, Zoom behavior now, or is that still cringe?

Connector 2: Idk if I’d pin for a whole class, but I’ve been known to take a look, and based on all the things we’ve gotten sent it I guess people do. If you’re in a lecture thats boring, fair enough. I can't fault you for that. It’s so weird right now, so who knows?

Connector 1: I think it's really fun also, like, people get really creative too. A lot of them are really general but we just posted one today that had a Kanye reference. We get poetry sometimes. I love the poets. It’s a lot of fun for us and I think other people get to read the more fun posts then, like “hey I saw you”, when saying “hey I saw you” does make it, I guess, easier to match, but it’s less exciting for everybody else

T: To match... going off of that, have you heard of any success stores?

Connector 2: I have not but I desperately want to know. I think if people get married we legally have to officiate the wedding. We’ll go public to officiate the wedding. We’ll break anonymity for that.

T: Do a little daft punk moment

Connector 1: Yeah exactly. The [ones] behind the mask.

T: Do you think you want to continue it next year or post COVID in general?

Connector 1: Yeah, I mean I want to.

They talked about potential future: color schemes, contemplating a purple theme or the classic USC colors. I can tell that the account is only growing from here. It’s not like there is any shortage of desperate college students!

T: That’s exciting. I’m excited to see where the account goes!

Connector 1: Us too

T: I’m also looking forward to hopefully getting a post about myself. I have not yet. I know you guys are hiding it

Connector 1: Oh yeah, well with the 200 post back log I’m sure it’ll come out soon...

[sophieswundergarten]

Second go on trying to explain what I think would happen if Curtain moved into the Benedict home, featuring:

(tags from @mvshortcut)

Curtain is finally getting used to how friendly everyone is, and calming down enough that he doesn't automatically start insulting people whenever they make eye-contact, only for Martina to show up. She probably had been planning some sort of "revenge" for months, even though she knew she'd never see Curtain again. Imagine her surprise when Kate mentions to her during a phone call that Curtain is actually living with them now.

(I like to think that after the van-stealing incident, Martina's tether-ball team begins to understand that her sharp, pushy attitude is more of a facade that's rooted in insecurity (and a lot of passion), and that trying to knock her down a peg will not help as much as they had initially thought, so they start to support her more. They give her more opportunities to show off her skill, and she in turn beings working with them more, and they also all chip in to get her a small motorbike so that she can blow off steam from her impulses in a way that won't get a valued member of their team arrested.)

At any rate, she informs her team that an emergency has come up (this happens every couple of months and she never fails to be back in time for practice, so they let her go) and speeds off to the Benedicts' house. Luckily, the team had been playing a tournament in the next city over from Stonetown, so it doesn't take her too long to get there. After screeching to a halt in the driveway, she climbs the fence (having been warned about the maze by Kate). She does the aforementioned kicking open of the (back)door, quite startling Rhonda and Constance, who had been sitting in the kitchen.

"What do you want?" Constance asks testily. Martina storms into the kitchen, looks around, and proceeds to storm out again, screaming "CURTAIN! I know you're here. Wetherall told me, and I'm not leaving until you fix my transcripts! I need to get into a good college so that I can keep playing tether-ball and nothing stands in my way when it comes to tether-ball."

She's halfway up the stairs and has alerted the entire household to her presence by the time Kate comes skidding down to meet her. "Martina! You're here. Why are you here?"

Martina: "You said Dr. Curtain was here. I need to see him. My paperwork is a mess, and I can't get into any of the schools I applied to."

Kate: "And you think that he can fix this how?"

Martina: "He's the one who was in charge of the school, so he's the one in charge of all the paperwork. He's the one responsible and he's going to fix this for me, so move—"

She tries to push past Kate, but all of the other kids have shown up now and are blocking her in. Mr. Benedict appears on the landing, looking curiously down on the knot of children attempting to contain the furious teenager.

Mr. Benedict: "Hello, children. Martina. May I ask why you have entered my home in such a violent manner? Is there something that we can help you with?"

Rhonda, who is standing at the bottom of the stairs: "I believe she said she wanted to talk to Curtain, something about transcripts?"

Mr. Benedict, looking back at Martina: "Is this true?"

Martina: "Yes! I spent years at his stupid school where I was supposedly a top student, but now none of the schools I applied to are accepting my credits! He had better have something to give me for all my time and effort."

Mr. Benedict: "Ah. Yes. Well, I'm not sure how—"

Curtain, brushing past Mr. Benedict: "Martina. I regret to inform you that I will not be able to help you with your transcripts, as that would require forging legal documents, and, as I am now... reformed, I am unable to do that."

Mr. Benedict from behind Curtain, slightly surprised: "Oh, is that all she needs? We can definitely do that. I thought she needed your signature, and since you're no longer recognised as a legitimate educator—"

Curtain, whipping around to look at his brother: "What? You are encouraging this child to lie to the federal government?"

Mr. Benedict, waving at Rhonda: "Yes, yes, of course. She is obviously competent and deserves to be able to attain higher education if she chooses. Rhonda, the documents?"

Rhonda, in another room, collecting papers: "Already on it. Number Two is finding the embossing equipment."

Curtain, fully losing it as the group bursts into action around him: "What?? What??? Is this something you have done in the past? Is this a common thing here? It's fully illegal, in case anyone was wondering."

Number Two, walking by with a pile of equipment: "Of course, how do you think we got the children into your school in the first place? Your standards were ridiculously high, I'm surprised you got anyone enrolled outside of the kidnappings."

Curtain whirls around, searching for Mr. Benedict in this mess of seemingly well-practiced movement. He eventually finds him, sitting at the kitchen table asking Martina questions about her academic accomplishments while Rhonda and Number Two are teaching the rest of the kids about how to forge signatures (Kate is already a natural at it).

Curtain: "What is going on? You have been lecturing me for weeks on the ins and outs of being a "normal, legal citizen", and yet you all regularly falsify educational transcripts? What kind of a double standard is this?"

Mr. Benedict: "Well, Nathaniel, this girl was one of your top students, yes? And she obviously has the knowledge and capabilities to continue her education if she so chooses. It's not her fault that you set up a school with disingenuous credit transferring. If anything, it's your fault that she is in this predicament. Now, what would you call Messenger duty? Could it be classified as an extracurricular?"

[mrsreinhart]

Lili Reinhart Has Arrived

The 22-year-old 'Riverdale' actor stars alongside Jennifer Lopez and Lizzo in the season's biggest flick, 'Hustlers,' out September 13

Lili Reinhart first landed on our radar playing the role of Betty Cooper on the hit CW series, Riverdale. But this year she’s making her big break. And I mean BIG. Starring alongside Jennifer Lopez, Constance Wu, Keke Palmer, Cardi B and Queen Lizzo herself in Hustlers—out this month—Reinhart has officially made it into Hollywood’s upper echelon. That’s no small feat for a 22-year-old from Ohio. But, given the unique pressures faced by young women in Hollywood—the darkest extent of which we are only now hearing about thanks to #TimesUp—it’s especially impressive for Reinhart, who has been refreshingly open about living with anxiety and depression.

The actor, who was in Toronto for the worldwide premiere of Hustlers at TIFF, shared a message to her fans following her red carpet turn:

“Tonight was overwhelming in the best way I could’ve ever imagined,” she said in her Instagram Story. “If you were to tell 16-year-old me, who was horribly depressed and near-suicidal, that at 22 years old I would be in a female-driven movie premiering at TIFF, I would never have believed it. I will never forget the feeling of tonight. Knowing that I am doing exactly what I was meant to be in this beautiful life. I’m so honored to be part of Hustlers. And so blessed to be living the life that I am.”

I had a chance to sit down with Reinhart while she was on Candian soil, and found out more about how she deals with anxiety on set, what it was like to step into a bold new role portraying a stripper, and what she’s taking away from this career-changing experience.

What was the most challenging part about playing Annabelle, a stripper?

Just the act of having to dance in a skimpy dress in front of a guy that I didn’t know was out of my comfort zone. And obviously, to have a camera on me watching that as well, it was just kind of a weird experience. But you kind of have to think of it as a performance and remind yourself that you’re not actually giving them any part of yourself, you’re just kind of putting on a show. And that’s what I was telling myself: I’m just acting. I’m putting on a show, this is a performance, I’m not actually giving any of myself away to these people watching me.

And Lorene [Scafaria, the director] did everything to make the environment comfortable and everyone was so respectful.

Was it easier to get comfortable with the role because of the mostly-female cast and crew?

I was definitely anxious going into it. As someone with social anxiety and as an introvert, walking into a setting with all these powerful women was frightening, but it was just my anxiety getting the best of me, because honestly all the women were wonderful.

When I was on set one day, I was looking through my script, highlighting my parts, and there were certain emotional scenes that I was worried about. I was like, “Oh, God, I have to cry in front of J-Lo?” Which kind of made me nervous.

Emotional scenes are easier for me in the Riverdale environment because I’m comfortable with the people I’m working with and surrounded by. But in brand new environment for Hustlers, I didn’t really know what it was going to be like and if people were going to respect [the process] and make the space to get emotional. But it was actually great, and Lorene gave me all the time I needed to get into that space.

Did you have to do any specific kind of physical training for the role?

I actually half joked to Lorene: “Oh, yeah, I’m gonna need to go to the gym pretty hard,” and she was like, “Nope, I want you just as you are, you’re perfect. I don’t want you to stress about your body in this, we’ll make sure you’re incredibly comfortable, whatever you end up wearing.” And that was really refreshing to hear. Because I can imagine that there’s been a lot of people in a lot of situations where they haven’t been met with such a loving answer. It was really nice to walk into that feeling like you could look literally however you looked and it was good enough.

But I took two [pole dance] classes just for fun. I did a class with Keke [Palmer], and then I went back for an individual one just because of sheer curiosity and it being a great way of working out, honestly. It’s so difficult and requires a lot of abs. It’s honestly so beautiful, I would watch someone fully clothed on a pole dancing all day long because it’s so hypnotizing. It’s truly and art form, but an art form that allows you to take your clothes off, I guess. I think of it as a dance and truly a skill.

How did having a woman director influence the mood on set?

She would always come talk to me and ask if I was comfortable. She was very reassuring, very kind. Everyone just touched base with each other to make sure we’re all good. Luckily, my part didn’t require nudity or anything super uncomfortable, so I was fine. But I’m sure other actresses felt a little bit more [vulnerable]. But Lorene was really wonderful at making sure we were all comfortable just by touching base and checking in on us.

Do you think having this story told through a female lens makes a difference in how it will be received?

I’m 100% sure that if it was made by a man, the women would all look exactly the same. Or have at least exactly the same bodies. So I don’t think this movie would have worked if it were made by man. It’s a realistic [portrayal of] the way that women look today. It’s not all Victoria’s Secret models. You have every race working at the strip club. You have Trace Lysette, who’s a transgender woman. And you have Lizzo, who’s a body-positive woman. I just think from a female perspective, you have much more of a real portrayal of women and real life.

As you get more attention for your work, do you find it more difficult to deal with public scrutiny of things like your personal life?

People are going to find out what they’re going to find out about me, and that’s fine. I feel like I’ve sort of offered myself up to that, just being in a public sphere. And being in a profession that puts you inherently in the spotlight, there’s only so much you can do about that. I’m still finding out what my boundaries are as far as talking about myself and what I want the world to know. And I think if I went back a couple of years, I would maybe be a little bit more private about certain things that maybe I’ve talked about in the past. But it’s sort of a learn as you go.

I guess I’ve come to realize that people are always going to have something to say. And I don’t mind sharing certain things about my life. But I like to keep my relationships private and protect my family. That’s what’s most important.

Has it been difficult to open up about your mental health under that microscope?

You know, I’ve never had a problem talking about my mental health, like, truly, it’s never been a problem for me. But talking about my family and relationships, has been weird because it’s affecting other people. You can talk to me about me and whatever has to do with me, but when it comes my family, and the boyfriend, and the best friends…I just want to protect the people that I love.

How do you balance that public/private divide on social media?

Social media is a great way to fool people into thinking that you’re someone that you’re not. You can create a whole different persona, and be so completely different. And I’ve seen the people present themselves a certain way and when you meet them in person, and you’re like, “Wow, you are nothing like the way you seem.” I want to present myself in the way that when people meet me, they’ll go: “You’re exactly how I thought you would be based off of your social media.”

[medea10]

My Review of Little Witch Academia

Atsuko Kagari (nicknamed Akko) has always had a fascination with witches. Or should I say one particular witch! When she was a child, she saw a magic performance done by a famous witch named Shiny Chariot. After that, Akko decided then and there that she was going to become a witch just like Shiny Chariot. So when she became a teenager, she got the opportunity to enroll at Luna Nova Magical Academy. While this school has primarily been a place for witch’s only to hone on their skills, due to financial issues they opened the school up to non-magic users. And Akko has no magic in her whatsoever!

We follow the antics of Akko as she tries to survive in a witch academy. During her time she’s managed to snag a wand that was once owned by Shiny Chariot (which she plans to return to), meet friends like Lotte and Sucy, start a rival with the school star Diana Cavendish, get one-on-one training from Professor Ursula (who has her own kind of past), and learn everything there is to know about becoming a great witch. But Akko is going to have a tough time because like I said, she has no magic in her whatsoever! BETWEEN THE SUB AND THE DUB: As I mentioned at the beginning, this series is under the thumb of Netflix (in every country). I haven’t had the opportunity to check out the subtitled version. As for the dub…boy, Erica Mendez is getting the choice roles in Netflix exclusive animes. I can’t complain, the lady does fine work. Plus Netflix gives me a chance to hear other new voice actors and seiyuus. Some were big misses with me, but others (like Sucy’s voice) won me over. Here’s what you might recognize these folks from. JAPANESE CAST: *Akko is played by Megumi Han (known for Yamato on Ore Monogatari, Momiji on Fruits Basket 2019, Kagari on Steins;Gate 0, Rio on YGO Zexal, and Chie on Tokyo Ghoul) *Sucy is played by Michiyo Murase *Lotte is played by Fumiko Orikase (known for Dianthe on Pokemon XY, Kyubei on Gintama, Riza on FMA: Brotherhood, Seras Victoria on Hellsing, Shirley on Code Geass, Rukia on Bleach, and Aki on Inazuma Elven) ENGLISH CAST: *Akko is played by Erica Mendez (known for Ryuko on Kill la Kill, Haruka/Uranus on Sailor Moon redub, Emma on The Promised Neverland, Nico on Love Live, Yuuki on SAO II, Retsuko on Aggretsuko, and Tsubaki on Your Lie in April) *Sucy is played by Rachelle Heger *Lotte is played by Stephanie Sheh (known for Mikuru on Haruhi Suzumiya, Kuro on Blue Exorcist, Nui on Kill la Kill, Hinata on Naruto, Orihime on Bleach, Illiya on Fate/stay night, Yui on K-ON, and Usagi/Sailor Moon on Sailor Moon) FAVORITE CHARACTER: I know in stories like these I always root for the underdog and they end up my favorite character…buuuuuuut…

I like Sucy! Yeah, I like the little mischevious, mushroom-loving witch. And yes, I love the episode where Akko goes inside Sucy's subconscious and we see all the Sucy's inside Sucy.

DISLIKED CHARACTER: I knew I couldn’t really hate Diana! I think most of the hatred I shared at her direction for the majority of the season was because of those two cronies that hung around her. Those two were catty bitches and I just hate those kinds of characters. But nothing could compare to Diana’s bitch aunt.

God, fuck this woman! She literally tries to usurp Diana from taking over as head of the Cavendish family line. Just so she can give it to one of her bitch daughters! She’s seriously giving me Lady Tremaine vibes, it’s not even funny. You know it’s bad that I was rooting for them to die when they got into trouble. But Diana wasn’t going to let her bitch aunt and bitch cousins die so I should stop hoping for severe payback. SHIPPING: Hmm…the shipping category is going to be fun! I think it’s only because of that one episode that involves a bee sting and the person is smitten with the next person they see. And boy did Akko get her fill when not only Andrew falls for her, but Diana as well!

Actually, I have thoughts of Andrew really taking a shine to Akko. I honestly thought there would only be two interactions at the most between him and Akko during the show. But surprisingly, there were more. I’m not really a fan of this ship, but I still find it cute. Hell, even Lotte found a boy that was interested in her at one point. She turns him down, but he still holds out hope. Also a cute moment! Hmm…at the moment I’m an open multishipper for this series. If Akko ends up with Diana, cool man! If she ends up with Andrew, whatever, I can dig it! If Akko ends up with Amanda, more power to you (and I can totally see that because Amanda is giving me total lesbo-vibes). What do you expect, this is like an all-girls school!

You know what, I’m now leaning towards Akko x Amanda more than all the others. Don’t fight me on this, I just know I like it! ENDING: Up until the halfway point, a lot of the episodes are about Akko trying to make it as a witch. Did she surpass everyone’s doubts? While Akko was able to improve her magic a bit (I give it 5%), it’s not at the level as many of her classmates. I mean by episode 20, Akko still cannot fly a broom! That should tell you something. But what’s the one thing that seems to be missing from this series?

An antagonist? Yeah, in comes Professor Croix! And to many of the students, she feels like she’s able to bring witchcraft into today’s era with her technology driven methods. And Akko certainly has taken a shine to her. However, Professor Ursula can smell this woman’s bullshit a mile away. Ursula was once the classmate of Croix. But back then Ursula was known as… Oh come on, it was so bloody obvious the moment Ursula met Akko.

Ursula is really Shiny Chariot! Meanwhile, Akko ends up trying to speak these seven secret words that’ll unlock the wand she obtained in the first episode. You know, the wand that belonged to Shiny Chariot?! And Akko has managed to obtain six out of the seven secret words. She could be the one to get the seventh word, which was something Chariot was unable to do as a student. But this positivity ends with a looming war (over a soccer match) on the rise. In actuality, there’s a force around the town as well as certain moments at the school that have caused chaos. Yes, it’s Professor Croix exploiting people’s anger for her own research. Not only that, but she used Akko for her own selfish ambitions and as a result ended up injuring Shiny Chariot to a point of altering her magic (possibly permanently). That’s one thing. Then we get quite a big bombshell!

AKKO’S MAGIC: Ever wonder why Akko has like zero magic ability?! When she saw Shiny Chariot’s performance as a child, her dreams and potential magic were taken by Chariot in order to make her performances more magical (due to audience members becoming disinterested in Chariot’s magic). Akko’s magic was taken away from her before she could even realize a thing. Damn! And you can just imagine Akko’s heartache finding out that her professor was really Chariot and that Chariot did that to not just Akko, but other children! After Chariot found out what her magic shows were doing, she immediately fell off the map.

BACK TO THE CONCLUSION: One of Croix’s inventions went rogue and is officially threatening the world. And it’s up to Akko, Sucy, Lotte, Diana, Amanda, Constance, and Jasminka to catch up to this rogue missile invention. Now that Akko was able to obtain the seventh word, there’s a good chance they can take out Croix’s out of control missile. Croix thankfully realized the errors of her way and understood the pain she’s caused to her students and her former classmate. Croix and Chariot decide to give their all to help the girls as well. While five of the seven girls were able to give a big boost, it was Akko and Diana who took out the looming threat. That’s right, witches saved the world! Yeah, during the series a lot of people were kinda mean to or looked down upon Luna Nova and the witch race in general. Especially, those dickheads at Andrew’s prep school! With this act, I’m sure Luna Nova and the witches will finally get the respect they deserve. In the aftermath, yes Luna Nova is now receiving more respect from those that have been quite cruel to them throughout the series run. Croix is going away to do some research. One of her biggest plans was to restore Ursula/Chariot’s magic that was lost due to her own recklessness with Akko. The students go back to their lessons and…

Akko (after 25 episodes) was able to float a few inches off the ground using her broom. She flew…sort of. I’ll let it count as a victory! THE TWO SPECIALS: A few years prior to the television series run, Little Witch Academia had two movies air. Now this is a different telling of the story. In the first special (which is 25 minutes), it has Akko come upon Chariot’s rod during a class assignment (instead of coming upon it in a forest like the first episode).

And here’s a real kicker, while Akko is still the class screw-up and has the least amount of magic, here she actually has SOME magic. In the second special (which is 55 minutes), Akko ends up in trouble (like normal) and ends up having to do a punishment assignment. She has to help orchestrate a ritual which ends up turning into a parade. So Akko, Sucy, Lotte, Amanda, Constance, and Jasminka all end up working together to do this. But Akko wants to turn this into something for people to remember and always cherish. Like her experiences with the Shiny Chariot performances she saw as a child! But there’s always blow-back because at Luna Nova, Shiny Chariot is seen as a disgrace to traditional witches. And of course there was bound to be some disagreements when working with a big group. And despite a few hiccups, everyone was able to come together to put on a convincing parade for the crowd. Little Witch Academia was quite the enjoyable little story. Yes, it’s a root for the underdog kind of story and even though the television series seems to give Akko the short-end of the stick on the magic matter, it’s full-filling to see her accomplish quite a bit. Even if it took her until the final seconds to learn how to fly! I know it’s been about 2-3 years since the ending of the TV series and am wondering if this is it for the franchise. I know there are novels and games out for this, so maybe one day.

But I do give a recommendation for those into witches, magic, and all that good stuff! It's full of fun characters, there's no harm in that. Currently, Netflix is the only outlet for this series (in just about every country). But Netflix does carry both the sub and dub (and several other languages). Now then, what’s my next Amazon/Netflix exclusive anime? Nope. You’re watching this.

Rising of the Shield Hero? But isn’t that Crunchyroll or FUNimation? Don’t care. You’re watching this now. But I have a big list of other animes to wat… Tough shit. You’re watching this. You have no choice but to watch a modern Isekai!

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 24: welcome to Themis. 

Watch me go this whole arc without mentioning the “dark age of the law” but still trying to impress upon us the corruption inherent in the school and the legal system anyway.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

-----

“Phoenix Wright speaking.”

“Hello, Mr Wright? This is Constance Courte, one of the professors—”

“—at Themis? I remember hearing your name. What’s up? Is something going on with the school festival?”

“No, everything remains as scheduled - including your lecture that you’ll be giving tomorrow. I was calling to ask if, perhaps, you would be able to arrive a bit earlier tomorrow - say, around one o’clock? I’d like to discuss in advance what you’re planning for your lecture and seminar. I imagine that Professor Means likely told you that the stage is yours and you are free to say what you like, but he and I disagree on - well. We have rather different teaching styles, shall we say.”

“Yeah, he pretty much said it was up to me, but I’d be happy to have a chat with you about what you’d like the fledgling defense attorneys to learn to make it easier on your future judges. The mock trial starts at two, right? I can definitely be there early - oh, I invited my two junior partners along, too. Hope that won’t be a problem.”

“Not at all. I look forward to meeting them too. And there is something else I would like to ask of you, though. It’s in regards to Prosecutor Gavin.”

“I’d heard he’s the prosecutor who was invited to speak, same as me.”

“Yes. At my suggestion - he was one of my students. I teach several classes open to students of any course. I believe it’s better to have a fully rounded view of the courtroom and understand all those positions, and I hope you might agree. Klavier was one of my favorite students, though I’m not sure I should admit that I do have favorites.”

“I’m not sure I’m following what you mean to ask. If you’re worried I take some sort of issue with him, on basis of what happened eight years ago, I’ll be the first to assure you that I don’t blame him for what happened.”

“I’m certainly glad to hear it. Now, I said that I suggested that Klavier be invited, and he agreed to come to Themis again, yes, when the academy’s administration sent him a formal email asking him if he would come speak. As for myself, I have reached out to him a number of times over the past year, most recently floating this idea, and every time, I am met with silence. Considering everything that has happened, I’ll admit that I am concerned about him.”

“...Honestly, so am I, but I am, without a doubt, the worst person to ask. I know for a fact that he will be doing his damndest to avoid me.”

“We may be in that boat together, and I fear that tomorrow he will continue to do so. This brings me to you, Mr Wright, and what I would ask of you. I have heard quite a bit about you, I’ll admit, some rumors much less court-related and much odder than others. One of the things they say is that you are quite good at seeing things that other people can’t.”

“...!”

“However that may be, I would be deeply grateful if you would, if necessary, help me corner Klavier tomorrow, because I suspect you may have also noticed that he is very, very good at avoiding people if he does not want to be found.”

-

“Well, this just feels like my first day of university all over again.” Phoenix shields his eyes against the sun and stares up at the building that looms in front of them. It’s a huge campus for a high school, but it’s also a fancy lawyer high school with alumni that probably donate boatloads of money from their lucrative careers, so it’s not all that surprising. “Lost as hell.”

“There’s probably at least three lecture halls in every one of these buildings,” Apollo gripes, staring out across the quad at the other nearby academic buildings. “Which one is the lecture hall where we’re supposed to meet the professor?”

“She said the main lecture hall,” Phoenix says. “I am making the assumption that this building in the center of campus is the main building, and thus, houses the main lecture hall.” But who the hell can actually know, really? Athena’s probably lost as hell too, since they’d waited as long as they could by the main gates to campus waiting for her, and still she didn’t turn up. 

With still an hour until the mock trial, students aren’t swarming all over the campus yet, though maybe it would be better if they were. The mock trial is also taking place in the main lecture hall, but because it’s only students and faculty attending the mock trial, there are no signs pointing the way, because everyone who is regularly at the school would know where the damn main lecture hall is. And there’s no crowd to follow, yet, and so, their current predicament.

Behind them, someone clears their throat. “By chance, you would not happen to be Mr Wright?”

It’s the hair, isn’t it? Or the blue suit. Hilariously, “hair and bright primary color suit” is also how Phoenix would describe both Apollo and Athena to anyone looking for them. The office accidentally has a theme. “That would be me, yes,” Phoenix says, turning around to come not quite face-to-face with a very tall man, with a carefully arranged gray beard and hair, and, over his vest and dress shirt, a white robe that in any other situation would scream frat party bedsheet toga. Trucy went to the Themis website last night to show him pictures of the professors so that he knew who he was looking for. “And you are Aristotle Means?”

“I am indeed.” He offers a hand and Phoenix shakes it. “It’s wonderful to finally get the chance to meet and speak with you in person.” He was the one who sent the invitation email to Phoenix. And a formal invitation letter and a pamphlet about the school and one about the mock trial and Phoenix meant to read those and has no idea what they disappeared to. 

“Thanks for the invite,” Phoenix says. “And - oh, this is Apollo Justice.” The introductions are swiftly made - “The other lawyer at our agency should be coming, too, though I’m not sure where she’s gotten off to” - their situation and desperate need of directions explained, and Professor Means offers to escort them up to the main lecture hall, which is on the third floor of this building, meaning that Phoenix and Apollo almost had it. “Thank you. I appreciate it - and for the invitation to come here to speak. I wasn’t expecting that - I’m sure there are other defense attorneys around, and alumni at that, who are…” Phoenix searches for any words at all that won’t drag himself too fiercely through the mud. Apollo is suddenly seemingly very interested on all the posters on the walls advertising school announcements and campus clubs. 

“Nonsense!” Means says brightly. “Truly, I could think of no defense attorney I would rather have to our illustrious school, and I am glad that situation has been sorted out that you may return to the courtroom. I have had my students study your cases for years, you know.”

“R-really?” Kind of flattering, kind of alarming that he had his students study up on the tactics of a disbarred lawyer. Unless they were “what not to do” kinds of lessons, in which case that’s not flattering, and also why would he invite Phoenix here, then. 

“Indeed. Your defense of Will Powers is one that I find particularly exemplary. That even while you were backed into a corner, you still managed to shift the blame well enough to buy yourself and your client further time, and another day to investigate. I have my students practice how to make effective accusations of a case’s initial witnesses, and to sound convincing even if they themselves do not believe their gambit.” Phoenix’s stomach flips over itself. Apollo really isn’t looking at him now. Means, oblivious to the tension between the two, that Phoenix hoped was going away but now is back in pained full, continues, “It is unfortunate, in truth, but is our client’s acquittal not our utmost priority? Is it not ultimately justified, what we do in pursuit of that?”

“That’s a bit of a slippery slope, don’t you think, Professor?” Apollo asks. He finally looks Phoenix in the eye, but he’s glaring at him instead, and that just makes Phoenix feel even worse. He’s supposed to give a lecture to these students; what’s he supposed to say when all they know him for is his most desperate and shadiest moments? Hell, what’s he supposed to say to Apollo once Means leaves?

“Unfortunately, if it is, then it is the prosecution who have given us our push down it.” Apollo’s frown deepens. “Consider how many of them value only victory and have their own underhanded tricks that, if we did not act, would convict our clients not on strength of evidence but simply on the prosecution’s say-so, that they demand this of the judge. We are letting our clients down if we do anything but fight their fire with our own.”

Phoenix expected him to protest further, but Apollo is strangely quiet. Maybe he’s thinking about Blackquill threatening Mayor Tenma to try and get a guilty plea, or maybe even that time that Klavier didn’t tell even his detective that the defendant could see and the witness was blind. He doesn’t mount a defense of the supposed minority of prosecutors who aren’t underhanded on behalf of his friend, at any rate. Means changes the subject and Phoenix carries on a conversation with him without his brain in it, and when they come up on the lecture hall, Phoenix has no idea what the hell they were talking about. He just wonders what Courte thought about inviting him here, considering it was her favorite student who got him disbarred. She hadn’t given any hint of animosity during their weird conversation last night. 

“If I see Professor Courte around, I will let her know that you’re here,” Means says as he leaves. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t show up for a while. She labors under the unfortunate curse of being habitually late.”

The size of the lecture hall reminds him of his own university days, but not the quality of the room itself, which is unfathomably better. Hell, it’s at least as nice as the courthouse, stark white marble-looking walls and shiny white desk surfaces, with a screen at every station. Students wouldn’t even have to remember to bring their laptops for lectures. The cynic in him wonders just how much this all cost, and whether they could have gotten even more nice screens and supplies if they hadn’t tried to make this hall look like a temple or museum. Wealthy alumni, he thinks again. 

“So when he said ‘curse’ there,” Apollo ventures slowly, the first thing he’s said since he asked Means that question, and Phoenix is just glad that this all hasn’t put them off speaking terms yet. “Do you think that was just a turn of phrase or - I mean, that just sounds really petty, for a curse.” He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself of such, rather than actually believing it.

“Petty’s what they are,” Phoenix says. “Besides, I know a guy who has a fae blessing that he can memorize any words that are written down on a page, so long as he eats the paper it was written down on. A curse that’s just chronic lateness? Might not be that far off.”

“Eats the paper?” Apollo repeats.

Phoenix sinks into one of the seats in the back row. Apollo has no idea how lucky he is that the fae in his past saw it fitting just to give him plain, unvarnished Truth. (Magnifi gave the same to Thalassa and Trucy, presumably because in the human world he thought he would need them, but what was the motivation for Apollo’s fae? Just a gift?) “Eats the paper.”

Time crawls by, with Phoenix checking the clock every few minutes, neither Courte nor Athena showing up. “I did tell Athena we’re meeting at one, right?” he asks, and Apollo, staring bored down at his phone (“Your daughter is texting in class” he said a few minutes ago) nods. “Right, because I told both of you at the same time, and you’re here.” The back of the chair is low enough that he tilts his head the whole way back to stare up at the ceiling when he tries to lean back. 

1:30 comes and goes. Apollo encourages Trucy’s bad habits of texting in class. Phoenix sinks down into the chair and props his knees up against the edge of the tables. The hall slowly starts to fill up with students and their colorful uniforms, based on what profession they aspire toward; and then with an overhead announcement telling all students and faculty to please make their way to the lecture hall, the room begins to flood. Apollo springs up out of his chair and waves to someone. “Hey, Athena!” he shouts, ignoring all of the eyes that turn toward him for his loud yell and the fact that he’s someone not dressed like a student. Athena’s probably run into a dozen people who mistake her for a classmate and asked why she isn’t wearing her uniform. 

“Apollo! Mr Wright! I am—” She doubles over, hands on her knees, to catch her breath. “So so sorry that I’m late!”

“You’re lucky that the person we’re supposed to be meeting is running even later,” Apollo says. “So you’re not the last one here.”

When Means returns, he informs them that he still has not yet seen Professor Courte this morning, and then Athena immediately launches in to badgering him for information about the school. He seems to appreciate her enthusiasm, and she for her part seems enthralled by the whole concept of Themis. And why wouldn’t she be? She doesn’t know enough to know the rot that crept under the foundation and, for all Phoenix knows, still lingers there. 

“Excuse me, Professor Means?” A small but firm voice interrupts the conversation, and Phoenix’s wandering mind. What subject had the conversation gotten to, anyway? “Forgive my interruption, but with the mock trial starting soon, and you giving the opening speech, it would be best if you went up to the balcony now to wait for when we start.”

“Ah, of course, Ms Woods,” Means says. “As organized as ever, aren’t we? I shall leave you to keep this trial running smoothly, but do introduce yourself to our guests, wouldn’t you?”

The young woman wears the black dress that marks the students of the judges’ course, and she has pinned a sunflower up in her ashy brown hair. “Of course,” she says to means, and then she turns to Phoenix. “My name is Juniper Woods. I’m a third year in the judge course and the Student Council President. Professor Means must have given you the introduction to our prestigious academy, but if there’s anything you wish to know—”

“J-Junie?” Athena gasps. “Junie, is that you?”

“Huh?” The young woman blinks in confusion, and then her dark eyes go wide and she too gasps, a hand flying up to slap over her open mouth. “Th - Athena? I barely recognized you! I didn’t know you were back from Europe.”

“I know, I know, that’s my fault, I’ve been so bad about staying in touch with people since I got back and started working and everything - I kept meaning to write!” Athena’s grin gets progressively more nervous and her babbling picks up speed. Widget can’t decide whether to settle on green, yellow, or blue. She clasps her hands together tightly. “I didn’t realize you’d for-sure decided to study law! And such a prestigious school, too!” She casts an admiring glance around the hall. 

“So,” Phoenix asks when Juniper doesn’t respond and instead continues to stare ahead, not at Athena but somewhere between Apollo and Phoenix, in blank shock, “old friends?”

Athena nods, her hair swinging about wildly with her enthusiasm. “We knew each other when we were kids! We were best friends, right, Junie?”

Juniper has nowhere near Athena’s energy, or apparent glee. Maybe it’s still her surprise, or maybe it’s some sort of embarrassment, or maybe it’s - whatever, but all the same, a pang of sympathy shoots through Phoenix’s heart. A long-lost childhood best friend who’s much more reluctant to pick up the relationship again. Poor Athena. Juniper isn’t even looking at her, and has turned her eyes toward the floor now. “Yes. We lived close by each other, and used to play in the forest together.”

Maybe she just likes plants, and nature, with the sunflower in her hair, running around in the forest as a child. Not everyone grew up right in the city. It’s possible for that to be an innocuous statement. Some people actually just have yards and trees in them, Phoenix, he tells himself, failing to convince himself. Because on the other hand, she’s an old friend of Athena’s, and she’s studying law and there’s that old joke about that, and Phoenix can say it all he wants, my kingdom for one normal kid, for one other person besides Ema in our ever-expanding social circles to be relatively normal, relatively unaffected by fae bullshit—

And Juniper’s not looking at anyone, and Athena and Apollo are looking at Juniper, so Phoenix can cast a quick glance over her.

He closes his eyes to reset himself to regular vision, and to ask himself if there’s such a thing as fate or destiny that drives them all together like this, or whether Edgeworth is wrong every time that he says most people in the greater Los Angeles area are maybe a little more superstitious than most but otherwise unremarkable and unmagicial. Because he claims that, and then Phoenix meets someone else, just by chance, and no, no, they’re at least somewhat fae-adjacant too. To hell with it all.

Also, her name is Juniper Woods, which, come on. That’s a very fae-trying-to-figure-out-how-to-name-someone-like-humans-name-humans name.

“I’m afraid that we only have the one seat reserved for Mr Wright in the mock trial, and otherwise, you should wait in the lobby down on the first floor,” Juniper is saying. She seems much more comfortable and self-assured when they’ve switched back to talking about the organizational details of the day. “It is a part of our curriculum, after all, and we need the space for all of our students.”

“Oh,” Apollo says. “Darn. I wanted to see what the mock trial was all about.”

“I’ll trade you,” Phoenix says. “You can take my seat, and I’ll go wait for Professor Courte still, with Athena.”

“But I want to watch the mock trial too!” Athena protests.

“Sorry kiddo, but Apollo got first dibs, and he’s got seniority on you, too.”

Athena groans. She doesn’t try to engage Juniper in conversation again, either, when she escorts the two of them downstairs. Juniper leaves them in the lobby there, as stark white and like a Greek temple as the rest of this building has been, but there are a few nice couches and some wide windows that let in enough natural light. Phoenix sinks down into a couch, even though it reminds him a bit of the courthouse lobby couches and he has an official long-standing rule against those. Athena would hopefully stop someone who tried to beat his head in with a fire extinguisher. 

But he needs to take the time to figure out what he could possibly say in a lecture, that won’t make him sound morally bankrupt or like an idiot who only wins by lucky bluffs. And maybe he is, but he doesn’t need to encourage the legal system to fill up with more people like that, especially not if Means is already doing so. He closes his eyes. What are the most important things that Mia taught him? What has he noticed Apollo and Athena have trouble with - what parts of defending has he watched them learn on the fly, because it can only be learned in a courtroom? He could talk about body language; he’s not Apollo or Trucy or Thalassa, but he’s pretty good at that.

Or, hell, what are the biggest mistakes he’s made over his career? What could someone have said to prevent those? Don’t trust evidence given to you by strange girls in top hats, except if Apollo had heeded that then Phoenix wouldn’t be here. Always check what’s written on the back of your evidence. Someone who seems too weird to be human might still be human but you should always watch the way you phrase your statements anyway. He’s going to sound like a paranoid morally bankrupt bluffing idiot. And again, maybe he is, but that’s not something he wants to encourage. Is it paranoia if it’s justified fear? Is the terror that he’s instilled Apollo with something that will help or hurt him in the long run? Or the short run.

Something loudly shatters. Athena yelps. “What did you break?” Phoenix asks, opening his eyes, expecting to find Athena frantically attempting to hide the pieces of some broken Themis decor that costs more than anything in the Agency because appearances might be important but Phoenix hasn’t ever been secure enough in the amount of clients he has to spend a thousand dollars on an easily-breakable light stand, Mia. 

“It wasn’t me!” Athena protests. She stands in the middle of the lobby, staring all around, and there’s nothing broken in Phoenix’s line of sight, so with a yawn he swings his feet down from the couch. “I think it came from outside.”

“Guess we should go take a look,” Phoenix says. “Everyone else on campus is supposed to be in that lecture hall right now.” Maybe it’s Professor Courte, wherever she got off to.

Outside, Athena swivels her head around like an owl, trying to judge where that sound earlier came from. “Maybe over there?” she suggests, pointing across a stretch of green to, further along the side of the main building, a stage set up with a line of spotlights and giant speakers along the scaffolding. As they approach, Phoenix sees that the stage is set up like a courtroom, with two benches on either side, a judge’s podium looming high in the back, and a witness stand in the center. Just like apparently everything else at Themis, they are all designed to look like they’re made from white marble, and trimmed with gold. The whole school balances precariously on the line between classy and pretentious. “Do you think they’re having some sort of concert here?” Athena asks.

With Prosecutor Gavin around, it wouldn’t surprise him. There’s something lying on the stage behind the witness stand, something green. “Athena, what’s that there?”

They hurry closer to the stage and up the stairs on the side, close enough that Phoenix can see the woman lying on the stage, in a green track suit, her hair fanned out across the ground, a dark bloodstain spreading out across her white shirt from the arrow jammed in her side. Athena screams. Phoenix has been here too many times before. “Athena,” he says, turning to her, watching her face pale and go slack, “call the police.”

She nods silently, fumbling the phone from her pocket and dropping it to the stage; her hands are shaking when she picks it back up, and she casts one last glance at Courte before she turns her back on the scene. Phoenix kneels, finding no pulse in Courte’s neck. Her skin is cold. Already dead - already gone. Athena’s voice shakes, but all considered, she does a good job at relaying the necessary information and sticking only to that. “I’ll run and go tell everyone in the lecture hall, too,” she says, tucking her phone back into her pocket. 

“Wait.” Athena stops with one foot raised. “Don’t. They’ll find out as soon as the police get here. We might as well do some investigating now, before anyone else gets here.” Who knows what sway someone at this school might have with the police, whether that someone is the murderer or just wants the incident buried for the sake of the academy’s good name. If they know what the crime scene looks like now, they’ll know if it was tampered with later. 

“Are we allowed to do that?” Athena asks. Her eyes turn back down to the body and then she looks away, pressing her lips tight together and swallowing hard.

“We’ll make sure to leave everything just like we found it,” Phoenix says, picking up the little notebook lying next to Courte’s body and paging through it. A planner, with a sword emblem on the front cover and every page. Under today’s date, she lists mock trial preparation in the morning, the meeting with Phoenix at 1:00, and the start of the mock trial an hour later. No hint as to who she may have interacted with in any of that span of time. Her limbs have begun to stiffen, so it definitely wasn’t recent. “But considering—”

Considering the rot inside this institution. Does Athena need to know that? Is it going to help her solve the case if she does?

“Considering?”

There’s no reason to dump all the rumors and past troubles of Themis on her now. It might not even be relevant, and Phoenix can keep his eyes out, with that in mind. Athena is still standing at a distance, her hands to her mouth, her eyes big and fearful. “C’mon,” he says. “Deep breaths, and take a look at this and tell me what you see.” She, unfortunately, has to get used to this if this is the career she wants to stick with; there’s nothing like dropping right into the deep end for acclimating to it, and Apollo saw a man die within his first month of working at the Agency, so Athena’s got a lot of catching up to do.

-

The murder is just like the mock trial. The body’s location, the lack of blood suggesting that it was moved, the murder weapon - just like the mock trial. Apollo’s head is buzzing, or maybe that’s Athena in his ear, seemingly more indignant about the school newspaper she found than the actual murder. “—and Junie would never lead guys on like that! ‘Battle for the she-devil’s black heart’! This is slander!”

“It sounds like tabloid trash,” Apollo says. Campus newspaper standards sound like they’ve really fallen since he was in school. 

“Ugh, I know,” Athena says. “That’s what Mr Wright said.” Compared to the explosive reaction when the police arrived and put a halt to the mock trial, campus is eerily quiet now, as the police have begun to send away most of the student they believe could not have been involved. Apollo wonders how they could have alibis for the time the body was moved - there was some sort of check-in or attendance taken of students at the mock trial, given that it is part of their curriculum, after all. 

Apollo stuck around while Phoenix and Athena were questioned, and now Phoenix has gone off elsewhere and set them loose. Athena wanted to go find Juniper. Apollo really hopes she’s not going to bother her more about this damn school newspaper. “But it was talking about the two competitors in the mock trial being rivals for her affection. You saw the mock trial, Apollo. What were they like? Were they any good at being lawyers? Were they better than me?”

“Now you’re starting to sound like you think they’re rivals,” Apollo says, pushing open the door of the stairwell to let them out on the third floor, back to the lecture hall; if Juniper is anywhere, it’s probably here. “Your rivals,” he amends, because Athena doesn’t look like she gets it. “For Juniper’s attention.”

“Well, isn’t everyone at least a little in love with their best friend?” Athena asks.

Apollo snorts. “My best friend is insufferable,” he says. Which doesn’t necessarily refute Athena’s point, given that someone else in Apollo’s life who is also insufferable is Prosecutor Gavin, and that - that’s a road Apollo’s not going to go down. Not that they’re actually friends. But the half of that. The insufferable part—

“So?” Athena prompts. “So what’s your point? So whenever I meet him don’t say things like that, because then he’d be more insufferable?”

“Sure,” Apollo says. Might as well go with that answer. He pushes open the lecture hall doors and looks out over the large hall. Almost empty now, he spots Juniper sitting in the bottom row, and two other students, one in the red uniform and one in blue - they might even be the same two guys from the mock trial - standing by one of the benches, talking among themselves.

“Because being insufferable doesn’t rule out—” Juniper glances up at the door opening, and then she stands, smoothing down her skirt, and Athena hurries down the stairs to meet her, abandoning the current thought. “Junie! Are you all right? I was worried that—”

“I’m all right,” Juniper says, a little stiffly, and Apollo can’t decide which of the two girls he feels worse for. Athena, whose eagerness to reunite with an old friend keeps being rebuffed, or Juniper, whose body language screams uncomfortable with her every action. “I have to be. I’m Student Council President, and representative of the school, after all. I need to keep myself together, and act properly, for the sake of the school and my classmates.”

Athena nods, more in a way like she’s acknowledging what Juniper is saying rather than agreeing with it. Her fingers flutter toward Widget. “Um, I hate to ask this of you, especially right now, but could you tell us anything about Professor Courte?”

Juniper sounds like she greatly admired the professor - her professor, considering that she’s one of the judge course students. She coughs a few times as she’s talking; Apollo figures she’s just got a cold from working too hard - this might be a high school, but Apollo remembers college, and this seems more like college - but Athena appears incredibly alarmed, and she keeps restlessly shifting her posture, unsure of what to do. Maybe Juniper wasn’t in great health when they were younger? Whether it’s either of them steering the conversation, or just the way it happens to go, Juniper moves on to telling them about the mock trial. She wrote the script that outlines the initial scenario and the evidence involved, and she and Courte were the only two involved in putting it together.

As she explains, her two fellow students finally finish whatever conversation they were having and approach to join her. Hugh is a smarmy and rude budding defense attorney who has high opinions of only himself and Juniper; Robin is a very excitable prosecutorial student whose voice cracks when he yells too loudly and he carries a lump of clay around in his pocket to fiddle with and smush back up whenever its shape becomes unsatisfactory. Athena cheerily introduces herself, and then as soon as the two boys are looking at Juniper, she turns, aghast, to Apollo, undiluted panic written across her features. Horrified by her best friend’s apparent taste in guys? (Apollo can sympathize. The best taste Clay has ever had is his low-key celebrity crush on Klavier, and Apollo’s not gonna get into that.)

They do seem to genuinely like Juniper, though, or at least they can’t stop talking her up - once they’re done arguing about which of the two of them was closer to winning the mock trial, vowing to beat the holy hell out of each other, and then assuring Athena that they won’t actually be beating the holy hell out of each other, because they’re all best friends and have certifiable proof of that. (Athena gets a strange expression on her face when they say that. Maybe she hears something in their voices, or maybe it’s just hitting her that her long-lost old friend has new friends in her life, people who have their own in-jokes and secrets shared with her. It would be like Nahyuta meeting Clay, and that thought makes Apollo feel very strange, too.)

But besides their appreciation for her mock trial script, and her acting as the defendant in said mock trial, she is - or was supposed to, before this happened - singing in a concert for the school festival. “It was supposed to be later today,” Juniper says, ducking her head. “I’m only singing because most everyone else was too embarrassed to try out…”

“But still!” Athena has joined what’s now a triangle of people gushing over Juniper. “The stage outside, right? My Junie singing in front of a crowd - that’s incredible! You’ll be amazing!”

“Ah - th-thanks.” The poor girl is definitely uncomfortable with all of the attention now. “I made my own costume for the performance,” she adds. “I was still working on it this morning.” She takes her phone from her pocket and Athena eagerly leans in to see. Apollo rests an elbow on her head to push her out of the way enough that he can see without crowding Juniper’s personal space. “I based it on the outfit of a singer I really love—”

“Lamiroir?” Apollo didn’t mean to interrupt so loudly, but he recognizes that ruffled white dress and the beautiful blue cloak; he would remember it even if the brooch on her costume hadn’t come into contention as a piece of evidence.

Juniper almost whacks her head on Athena’s when she raises it. “You know Lamiroir?” she asks, and Apollo almost laughs, because he knows she wouldn’t think to mean it like that, but he does know Lamiroir, as in, met her, multiple conversations with her, cross-examined her.

“She’s an amazing singer, isn’t she?” Apollo says, and Juniper nods in eager agreement. He can’t actually listen to much of her music all at once, though. Something about it makes him homesick for somewhere, and he’s not really sure where - it isn’t Khura’in, exactly - but it always leaves him melancholy at best. And while Lamiroir’s songs are beautiful, none of them are what he would call upbeat, and that doesn’t help either.

“She’s incredible,” Juniper says, her words turning into a sigh of admiration. “I was so excited to hear that she was coming here for a tour last year, even if she wasn’t the main act, and then I couldn’t make it—”

“You didn’t really miss much,” Apollo says. “Since she only sang one song, and then there was the murder.”

“Huh?” Athena asks. Hugh and Robin don’t exactly appear to be in-the-know either.

“Were you at the concert?” Juniper asks. “Wait,” she adds, before he can answer, and she finally seems to have a little more energy than she did before, and to be relaxing her formality, even just a little. “Your name - you’re Apollo Justice. Didn’t you defend Machi Tobaye?”

“Er - yeah.” What’s this weird feeling - being acknowledged? Being recognized? Weird. “That was me.”

“Now you’re really gonna have to catch me up on what that case was about.” Athena interrupts with some force, sounding more than anything like a petulant child. Though she also has to be feeling bitterly left out, finding Apollo suddenly pulled into this group of people who have some connection to her old friend that she doesn’t. “Whenever we have time to talk about old cases. Whenever this case is dealt with.”

Maybe that was a bad thing to say. Maybe that cursed them, cursed the investigation to be suddenly kickstarted in the worst way. Maybe that’s a ridiculous thought, and it’s just unfortunate, unlucky timing, that at that moment, Detective Fulbright enters, trailed by a few officers. “Hello, my lawyer friends! Long time, no see, though I’m afraid we’ve no time now to catch up - Juniper Woods, you’re under arrest for the murder of Constance Courte!”

Athena shrieks louder than Robin, and both of them are louder than Juniper, who blanches and then goes a little sickly green, her hands over her mouth as another bout of frantic coughing escapes her lips. It’s not Juniper who Fulbright has to argue the reason for arrest with - it’s Athena, Athena demanding the evidence, the motive, why why why, and when Fulbright tells her everything he can he adds that Prosecutor Blackquill won’t let him say any more, Apollo’s stomach drops through the floor. “Blackquill?” Athena repeats indignantly. “Prosecutor Blackquill is the one—”

“Indeed!” Does Fulbright have any idea how terrifying the man actually is? Or is his casual attitude only feigned. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do, and we must be going. Come along now, miss.” Two officers flank Juniper, escorting her up the stairs to the doors, one of them holding the mock trial evidence that she still had in her pocket. 

“Hold it!” Athena cries. “Hold it, hold it!” Fulbright stops, and so do the other officers, but Juniper doesn’t look back at Athena. “It’s not her! I won’t believe that! Junie! I’m going to defend you! I promise I’ll get you freed!”

At that, Juniper turns her head. She still looks green and pale, and tears flow freely down her cheeks, but a smile crosses her face, the first one that Apollo has seen her give. “Th-thank you, Thena.”

“Have you ever actually defended a case before?” Fulbright pushes his sunglasses back up his nose, from where they had slid down as he gave Athena a disbelieving look. “As more than the assistant, I mean. You’re pretty new to this, aren’t you?”

“I’ll help,” Apollo interrupts. Can’t let Athena start to second-guess herself now, especially not with her friend the defendant, and likely in desperate need of reassurance, at that. “I’ll be right here with you, Athena, for the whole case.”

“You don’t need to worry about a thing, Junie!” Athena calls after her, and between coughs, in her tiny voice, she thanks them again, and then she, and the other officers and Fulbright, are gone, and the door closes on the silent hall. 

The first person to make a sound is Hugh, with a derisive snort. “Please. Like rank amateurs are going to be able to handle this case. I’ll get this solved and have it under control for Juniper’s sake.” He turns, hands still in his pockets, and stalks toward the doors behind one of the mock trial benches.

“You don’t even have a badge!” Athena shouts after him. “And I do, you smug little—”

Whatever her particular choice of insult would be, she is drowned out by Robin, also yelling after Hugh, and then running after him. “Totally rude, man! And I’m in this too, don’t you forget it! I’m gonna save Juniper!”

Athena places her hands over her ears and leaves them there a moment, until both of them are also gone, and silence returned to the hall. Just the two of them now, in over their heads with another case and client. “The mock trial,” Athena says finally. “You said that it was all kind of like the real murder?”

“It was almost exactly like what we know of the real murder,” Apollo says. “The body probably having been moved to the crime scene, the arrow as the weapon, the - the stage wasn’t set up yet in their mock crime scene photo, but—” Is he missing a detail? He’s still pretty sure he’s missing something. Rope, was there a rope? No, he’s just assuming because of the bruising on the victim’s wrists in the real crime scene. “I’m going to start scrambling the two in a minute. I wish you’d seen the mock trial, too, or we had a script, so then we’d be sure we’ve got all the details right.” Fulbright mentioned the script, so it’s probably part of police evidence now, and way out of their hands. And by the time they’ll be able to talk to Juniper again, she’ll have gone through questioning by Prosecutor Blackquill and who knows what state that traumatic event will leave her memories in. “It’s not like I took notes on the mock trial or anything.”

Who could have thought it would be this direly important?

Now that everyone else is gone, Athena’s bold, decisive confidence is falling apart, and her shoulders slump, almost like she’s deflating. “We’ll write down what we know for sure and then come back to this later,” Apollo says. This is Athena’s case, and she’s going to need to take charge, but he’ll give her a few moments longer to come to grips with their situation. “Then we’ll need to—”

“Or, Herr Forehead, we could just take a look at the script now, ja?”

Apollo nearly smacks him in the face. It’s not Apollo’s fault, really, because Klavier could have given him warning, and how was Apollo - how were Apollo’s reflexes - supposed to guess that he was right behind him? It’s Klavier’s fault for putting himself right in arm’s range of a startled defense attorney and deliberately startling him. He’s got no reason to look so offended that Apollo nearly hit him. 

“Prosecutor Gavin! What are you doing here? And how did you—”

He remembers that Klavier attended Themis when he was younger, yes, and he’d wondered if along with Phoenix, there had been a prosecutor invited to lecture, just for equity - but that doesn’t explain why he’s here in the lecture hall, and in his hand, a professionally-bound booklet that, on the front, reads submission by Juniper Woods. “Is that the script? How did you get that?”

Klavier winks. “I just so happened to borrow it for you, Herr Forehead. And not even a word of thanks?” 

“So you aren’t supposed to have it. Just to clarify.” Apollo glances around the hall, knowing he won’t be surprised if he spots a certain faery dog in the vicinity. If Vongole picked up something and ran off with it, would the ordinary person just see a floating object, or does what the invisible-to-most hound picks up turn invisible with her, too? 

“Ah, I’m sure we’ll get it back before it’s noticed to be missing,” he says. Definitely stolen, but maybe he took it himself, ghosting in and out of wherever the police have their evidence piled up.

“So is anyone going to introduce me, or are you just gonna leave me hanging?” Poor Athena, left out of the loop again. “I guess you know this guy, Apollo?”

“Why hello there, Fräulein. I don’t believe we’ve met before.” And there goes Klavier turning on all the rock-star charm, a brilliant smile and his accent falling on thick. “I believe I would remember your face.” Apollo rolls his eyes. Typical Gavin. Athena doesn’t seem entirely taken with him, yet, but she’s definitely relaxing from her earlier frantic nervousness. “My name is Klavier Gavin. I’m a prosecutor, though I was rather more famous for my band, the Gavinners. Regrettably the band went, ah, kaput, last year, but I was the lead localist. Perhaps you heard of us.”

“Gavineers,” Athena repeats. “No, sorry, don’t know it.” She pauses for a moment, considering something that Apollo expects to be smarter than what she actually says. “Can I have your autograph anyway?”

Klavier laughs. 

“No, Athena, don’t encourage him. His ego’s already the size of Jupiter.”

“Ach, jealously hardly becomes you, Herr Forehead. And you’ve no reason to be - you’re the one always being trailed by the lovely Fräuleins, ja?”

“She’s the new lawyer at the Agency,” Apollo says irritably. It really is so much easier to like Klavier with no one else around, no one he’s putting on a show for, putting up this facade. It feels - almost dishonest, and like Apollo’s talking to someone entirely different than the man he knows, or thinks he knows. And it doesn’t surprise him that he’s currently dealing with this version of Klavier, especially because they’ve already failed this month to deal with the elephant on the calendar. It’s been a year since they watched Kristoph break down into the changeling shadow of himself, and a year since Klaver told Apollo everything there was to know about him and his brother - and Apollo texted him about it, earlier in October, and Klavier refused to engage. Threw up a stone wall and Apollo has no idea why he’s so much less willing to talk than he was in April. Now they’re face to face and Klavier’s just playing the vapid Eurorock flirt, and Apollo can’t even wring his goddamn neck because he has a case to deal with instead.

“I’m Athena Cykes! Nice to meet you!” She extends a hand and Klavier slaps the mock trial script into her palm instead. He does give her a little bow of his head, saving her from looking too off-put, and she turns her attention to the script. “So this is Junie’s script?” she says. “The one the actual crime is like.”

“I figure we could give it a little mockup of our own,” Klavier says, sweeping a few loose strands of hair behind his ear. “With myself as the prosecution, of course, Herr Forehead as the defense, and you, Fräulein, to fill in as both judge and defendant.”

“So like a mock mock trial,” Athena says. “All right! I’m ready to go!” She flips open the script and starts paging through it. “Let’s see, what do we have for evidence…?”

“And you, Herr Forehead? Ready to rock?”

“No,” Apollo says. “Why can’t we just, you know, look at the mock trial script and just read it?”

“Ach, but where is the flair? The drama? To the bench with you!” He plants his hand in Apollo’s back and shoves him off toward one of the mock trial benches. Athena has already taken her place at the witness stand, her nose in the script book.

“You are insufferable,” Apollo mutters, and he regrets saying it - or that specific choice of word, or using that word earlier because that’s more how he tends to describe Klavier, not Clay - because Klavier doesn’t seem to hear him, and Athena’s head snaps up and she shoots him a look, and then tosses another pointed one in Klavier’s direction. Apollo shrugs. Athena’s not the one that reads body language. If he doesn’t say anything she can’t hear anything. She flips to the next page of the script and pulls a few photographs out from where they were wedged.

“Achtung, baby! Let’s rock!”

-

The murder is really, really just like the mock trial. The body was moved from the location of the murder (the art room in the mock trial, currently unknown in the real case) down to the quad (just the stretch of ground in the mock trial, on the stage set up in the real case), where it was found with an arrow in its side. The athletics storehouse lies around the side of the main building, near the art room window, and contains heavily padded high jump mats and ball carts, which would allow the body to be tossed out the window without showing signs of trauma and easily moved. The real murder weapon wasn’t decided in the mock trial - it wasn’t the arrow, Robin argued, and the mock autopsy report agreed - but Klavier suggests it’s an awl from the art room. The mock trial script has several photos packaged with it, including the awl, the one Juniper had in her pocket.

“I hope that was just paint on it,” Athena says, pressing her lips together. “It’s scary how similar this is.”

“It can’t be a coincidence,” Apollo says. He believes in coincidence, but not to this extent. “I guess we should investigate the art room.”

“I’ve got to sneak that script back, so I might as well check up on whether the police have gotten to that.” Klavier leans onto the bench, propping up his head on one hand. “What’s your next move, Fräulein and Forehead?”

“Wait, wait, hold up!” Athena yelps. “I need to finish scanning the script! I want to have a copy of the whole thing!” She has laid it out flat on the stand, and Widget is lit up, recording everything in front of it and projecting a screen to the side, where she is checking her photos of each page to be sure they are readable. “And then we’ll - we’ll - Apollo, what should we do next?”

“Start by interviewing everyone who might be related to the case,” he says. “Hugh, Robin, definitely - Mr Wright might be able to tell us if Professor Means has anything to say - and we’ll ask around to see if there are any other witnesses.”

Athena nods vigorously, and as she continues her work with the script she bounces on her feet with nervous energy that once again collects within her, the tension in her shoulders and the deeper furrow of her brow, anxious to get moving again. It might be a miracle if she finishes her task with the script without bolting off and chasing the need to feel like they’re making tangible progress. Klavier at the other bench has gone silent, and now that Apollo thinks to look, takes a wide glance around the hall, he spots Vongole stalking about the edges of the room, the way she did in the courtroom a year ago, circling silently and ceaselessly. Could Athena see her? Apollo doesn’t know what the pattern is for who can and can’t, and he isn’t sure he wants to.

Instead of a lot of things he could say, he goes over to the other bench and says, “You’re in an awfully helpful mood today.”

“Am I not supposed to be? Shall I keep all of my information to myself, though I am not the prosecutor, and this not my case?” He straightens up. “We have the same goal, ja? To find the truth of who killed the professor.” 

Is that the goal of a defense attorney? The truth, or to save their client? Is that the goal of a prosecutor? The truth, or to get justice for those wronged? Should all of those be the same thing? “Did you know Professor Courte?” Apollo asks. Athena closes the script book but doesn’t move. Her intent stare, and her head tilting this way and that like an owl, tells him she’s not just waiting for the answer, but waiting to analyze it.

There is a moment after the question when Klavier slips, when even his powers of glamour don’t hold up, and actual, real, emotion finds its way across his face. He looks exhausted, he looks distraught, and Apollo has barely a moment to take it in, to process that pain, before it is gone, smoothed over and replaced by Klavier’s neutral expression. And more than neutral - more like he’s ratcheted the glamour up a few more notches, bright and gold and hard to tear his eyes off of Klavier’s face, but impossible to get even a glimpse of the actual person and feelings behind it. “Ja, I knew her. She taught the judges’ course, but she made some of her classes available to all students, and I was fortunate enough to be able to take some with her before I went to study abroad.”

Athena’s eyes narrow into a suspicious squint. So what she’s hearing is definitely more than yeah, took a couple classes from her a decade ago. Apollo guessed as much. He remembers Klavier talking about Themis, about a professor he had there, one who if not knew what he was and what the fae had done to him, had guessed by knowing enough about the fae to notice his horrible high-sodium dietary habits. Apollo opens his mouth to mention that. 

Whether Klavier notices that, or notices Athena’s expression, or was just steeling himself for a second and always intended to keep talking, he adds, “She was a brilliant woman. Always concerned with truth and fairness and the proper means to an end, and determined to dig out corruption wherever it could be found. I’ve rarely known a more honest person, or a better one. I had not seen her for quite a while and had expected to speak with her again as I came back here. And now…”

Athena’s face falls. She raises a hand to brush aside her bangs and surreptitiously wipe her eyes. “So,” Klavier continues tersely. “I have as much reason as you to want to be sure that we find her real killer, ja?”

What to say to that? I’m sorry is hollow as it ever is, and the best Apollo can do - the only thing he can ever do - is to investigate, find the truth, expose the murderer. He and Athena should get moving again, but he doesn’t quite want to just leave Klavier alone now either. Not with the grief that keeps flickering across his face, a different kind of grief than before: Kristoph and Dayran were murderers. Professor Courte was murdered. 

“Were you going to be giving a lecture like Mr Wright was, too?” Athena asks, offering the script book back to him. 

Klavier takes it and idly thumbs through the pages, stopping on a photograph stuck between two middle pages, of Professor Courte lying in the dirt holding an arrow to her side, posing as the mock trial corpse. “Ja, and a concert as well. You saw the stage outside? That was to be for a bit of a reunion performance of the Gavinners, just this once, one last time.”

“Really?” Apollo asks. “I didn’t expect you’d just—”

He and Klavier never spoke about the band, the break-up, and Apollo had just assumed what it was about. No replacing Daryan, and then, after Kristoph, Klavier reevaluating everything, re-prioritizing, figuring out who was Klavier Gavin, and what was he, prosecutor or rock star? Or something like a crisis of faith. Of identity, though honestly, given what he knows, he thinks Klavier can’t really afford to get hung up on identity crises because that’s his whole life.

“Ja, well, the school asked, and suggested having a student representative up to sing one song, and at that point I could hardly refuse someone the grand opportunity to get up on stage there with me, could I?”

He winks, leaving Apollo more the fool to have expected something meaningful from him. “Oh! That was going to be Junie, right?” Athena asks. “Had you met her before? She’s a real sweetheart! She would never kill anyone!”

“We exchanged a few emails discussing song selection and other such things, but I am hardly the man to determine whether she did what she is accused of.” Klavier waves a hand, feigning a casual dismissal of Athena’s statement, when his own response is, knowing his history, anything but casual. Athena’s face darkens, but she perks up a moment later as he continues, “As I am neither prosecution today, nor ever the defense, I will refrain from judgment, and simply do my best to help you find the truth. That is an acceptable agreement to us, ja?”

“Ja! Danke! Whatever help you can give us would be fantastic!” Athena says brightly. “Thank you so much!”

Klavier grins back at her. First meeting of the Themis German Language Social Club, call to order. One day they’re going to need someone who knows Khura’inese and then they’ll all be sorry. (Ha. As if.)  “Best we all get back to investigating, but I won’t say goodbye, as I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again. Bis Später! Herr Forehead, Fraulein.”

Vongole follows him up the stairs out of the lecture hall, close at his heels, confirming for certain that Athena can’t see the fae dog. “Au revoir!” Athena calls after him, and even still down on the floor, Apollo hears Klavier’s laugh. 

“Huh, German sounds different than I remember,” Apollo says.

“Always the critic,” Athena says. “Prosecutor Gavin seems like a pretty good guy. Really friendly. It’s kind of nice, to be reminded that’s possible - I mean, I know, like Mr Wright and Prosecutor Edgeworth, and Prosecutor Debeste was very friendly too, but—”

“And then we’re against Prosecutor Blackquill for this case.”

Athena sighs. “And then,” she echoes, wearily, crossing her arms, “there’s Prosecutor Blackquill.”

-

“I’m afraid, by orders of Prosecutor Blackquill, that no one not affiliated with the police’s official investigation is allowed in here right now!”

Fulbright’s broad shoulders block off almost all of the doorway of the main building’s third-floor art room. Behind him, Phoenix gets a glimpse of some colorful mobiles hanging from the ceiling, several officers bustling about between easels, and, very likely not affiliated with the police’s official investigation, Prosecutor Gavin. Frozen with wide eyes, he stares at Phoenix, and then as an officer passes by barely an inch from him, he hops to the side, landing on one foot and bouncing to the other, deftly maneuvering himself between people who have no idea he is in their midst. “So Blackquill is the prosecutor on this case?” Phoenix asks, and it takes all of his years of practice to keep a straight face with Klavier, over Fulbright’s shoulder, making a slashing motion across his throat. Definitely not supposed to be there.

“I am here, am I not?” Fulbright asks. “Prosecutor Blackquill and I are a team! Which is to say yes, he will be prosecuting!”

Does Blackquill consider them equally a team? Somehow Phoenix doubts it. Though, all considered, the detective seems to like Blackquill well enough, which makes him someone Phoenix should try and talk to. He’s only going to learn so much about Blackquill from facing him in court, or talking to Edgeworth. What of the detective who has to be his eyes, ears, and hands on the crime scene?

(Although, as far as eyes are concerned, Phoenix tries to peer at the window to see if, by chance, there might be a hawk sitting on the outside sill.)

“I thought the crime scene was down at the stage,” Phoenix lies. The lack of blood beneath Courte’s body refutes that suggestion. “What are so many officers doing up here?”

“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to say,” Fulbright says. That’s a pretty good hint that they think this is a place of interest, and that they’re looking at it as, possibly, the real scene of the murder. “If you would, Mr Lawyer, please leave us to our work.”

“All right,” Phoenix says, catching Klavier’s eye. Kid still looks like he thinks the eye contact is a preamble to being hit by a train. “I’ll just be heading out that way.” He tosses his head back down the hall and with that, does as he is asked and leaves, and immediately after turning the corner he parks himself there and leans up against the wall. Just out of sight, but the stairs and elevators both lie beyond him, so anyone leaving or going to the art room passes right by him. And he waits there with his magatama burning a hole in his pocket, metaphorically; if it ever does anything, it gets cold, like ice against his skin that will never melt with his body heat. 

The minutes tick past, and then, finally, the hellhound rounds the corner first, tall, tall as Phoenix has ever seen her, but still wispy, barely corporeal, head held low yet almost eye-to-eye with Phoenix, her empty red ones and his blue. Klavier follows a moment later, all gleaming shining gold like the sun shines only on him, like different light illuminates him than the overhead fluorescence of the academy hallway. Funny, how Thalassa looks like dusk, a rich blue and starlit night, while it’s the daylight that glows out from under Klavier’s skin. The same, and not at all; two sides of the sky, and the magic in the very air of the Twilight Realm soaked through them to make them so.

But Klavier’s eyes still gleam that haunted blue that says every way he turns his head, he expects to see fae, or just fears that he will. Balanced on a knife’s edge between paranoid and justifiably so. “What’s the word in there?” Phoenix asks.

When he stops looking with the Sight, everything about Klavier goes dark, dull, desaturated, gray and tired. Lines under his eyes like he hasn’t slept well in weeks, and the color sapped from his face by that same exhaustion, he’s two different people when the magatama cuts through the bright glamour that a changed child effortlessly breathes. A star, and the black hole it left when it burnt out.

“They think it’s the location that the murder actually took place,” Klavier answers. “Luminol reactions detected traces of blood on the floor that was wiped away. The suspect’s script also had the art room as the most likely scene of the crime, so they are only further convinced of her guilt.”

“Planning out a murder in advance so well that it gets chosen as a mock trial case.” Phoenix shakes his head. “Hell of an argument the prosecution is making. But that’s good to have confirmed for sure. Any talk about a motive?”

“None that I heard.”

“Not that they’ll necessarily need a motive, with this other evidence looking like it does,” Phoenix muses, “but Prosecutor Blackquill will probably figure out something anyway. I wonder what Ms Woods’ grades look like. She’s probably a smart kid” - her script was the one chosen, and she’s Student Council president too - “but that’s the first place I’d look if I was trying to figure—”

“How can you do this?” Klavier asks. 

“What?”

“Just stand here and - and talk to me like nothing happened! I ruined your life!”

“Is that what you think happened?” A year ago, the only time they’ve seen each other since that unfortunate, life-changing trial, even with Vera, Trucy, and Apollo around as a buffer, Klavier still ran from him. Phoenix knows that this is exactly what Klavier thinks. Guilt wouldn’t have him running and hiding otherwise. “I don’t think the truth of that matter is as clear-cut as that.”

“Don’t—”

“If I held a grudge against everyone who inadvertently, or with good intent, helped a bad actor’s ploy to ruin my life, I wouldn’t have any damn friends left,” Phoenix interrupts. Maybe that’s an exaggeration. He would still have Larry and Maya - but Edgeworth? Pearls? Iris? Vera? Trucy? For Redd White, Morgan, Dahlia, Kristoph, their hands on the strings, knowing how to play a perfect prosecutor or a family member against their latest target. 

(And Kristoph and Dahlia may be too alike, poison and betrayal and petty pride and a devil’s horns, but Iris knew exactly what her sister was. Iris consciously chose to help her manipulate and lie because she wanted to stop her from killing anyone else but didn’t want to see her caught for her crimes. She was a well-intentioned accomplice who knew exactly what she was doing to help her sister. Klavier had no idea. Phoenix would be a damn hypocrite to forgive one and not the other.)

“Don’t - don’t patronize me, just because I’m not one of your little band who can see lies.”

Phoenix swallows, forcing down a strange and foreign anger that bubbles up from his stomach. Is it because he’s hearing someone else’s voice when Klavier speaks, someone they’re both conspicuously avoiding mention of. “Dammit, Gavin, I’m not. Look at me” - he motions to his chest, to the cursed necklace mark imprinted around the base of his neck, that he knows Klavier can See with his marked eyes - “and tell me that your brother was the first person to hate me enough to not care who becomes collateral and who gets used!” He drops his hands to his sides and they smack against his legs. “I’ve been here before, and I’m not lying to you, and I don’t hate you or blame you.”

“You don’t hate me,” Klavier repeats, his voice dead and dry and wholly accentless. Does he do that on purpose? Or is it an accident that it slips, that he sounds just like - like him. “You don’t hate me, of course you don’t, I’m to believe that, yes? Then do you always carry that magatama with you?” He tilts his head; his eyes don’t waver from that grayer shade of blue. “Or that’s just something you happened to grab knowing that I would be around.” He leans forward a few inches so that he’s closer to looking Phoenix in the eye. “Couldn’t let me get past you. Couldn’t bear the thought of something slipping out of your control.”

“Are you sure you’re still talking to me with that last bit?” Phoenix asks. Or does he just want to bait Phoenix into reacting to the comparison - does he want to make Phoenix hate him for these things he’s saying? Does he want Phoenix to hate him, to hate him for his part in what happened as much as he hates himself for it. “Yes, I did bring my magatama along because of you, but I was going to lend it to someone.”

He’s got no way of knowing how Klavier is going to react - especially since they don’t know who killed Courte, who to blame, who to hate and hold responsible, but Phoenix, Phoenix is right here, and Klavier already lashing out at him as the specter of his guilt and everything that went wrong - but he knows he needs to say it. “Professor Courte gave me a call last night. We were supposed to meet earlier about the lecture, but she also admitted to me that there’s a particular someone who she was worried was avoiding her, for whatever reasons he might think he has, and she asked if I had any way to help her be sure that he wouldn’t be able to slip away without her getting a chance to chat with him.”

The last of the light bleeds from Klavier’s face; something dies behind his eyes. “She’s worried about you,” Phoenix says, realizing as the words emerge into the air that there is a problem with the statement, and Klavier blanches, hearing it too. “She - she was. I’m sorry.”

Klavier’s nod of acknowledgement is a shallow motion, and his face pinches together like he fears moving too fast will make him sick. And then he bolts for the stairwell, flinging the door open and disappearing inside. 

“Klavier—!”

The door slams with a force that shakes the hall. But the hound remains there in front of Phoenix, looking at him, as though she’s waiting for something. Seeking some kind of help or reassurance Phoenix doesn’t know how to offer.

-

Over behind the main building, beneath one of the art room windows, they find Robin Newman high-strung and lamenting - loudly, furiously - the fact that as a prosecutor there’s nothing he can do to save Juniper. The police investigation at the stage is ongoing - they tell Apollo and Athena to go away because students aren’t allowed to be snooping around, and Athena gets fired up and Apollo has to urge her away before they have a Nine-Tails Vale redux but with more witnesses. Stomping away and telling Apollo that they’ve just got to come at this from another angle, literally, to hide and eavesdrop, Athena stumbles into a conspicuous cardboard box that pops up to reveal itself to contain a student - Myriam Scuttlebutt, one of Juniper’s classmates in the judge course, by what of the uniform they can see not hidden beneath the box. It has arm holes in the front so that Myriam can have a fuller range of motion. It’d be impressive dedication to snooping if she wasn’t the one who wrote the trashy campus tabloid and its slander about Juniper, and if she hadn’t just tried lying to Apollo about being Juniper’s friend to get information on the case. As it is, she’s annoying.

She’s the prosecution’s witness for tomorrow. Blackquill has bagged a girl in a box who hisses like a snake, and when the sunlight hits one of the punched-out handholds in the box, the place that presumably Myriam sees through, her eyes catch the light and glow like a deer in a car’s headlights.

Human eyes don’t reflect light like that. 

Surprise isn’t even an emotion that Apollo feels in these situations anymore, just resignation. Maybe Blackquill will say something tomorrow that drops a hint. Maybe Phoenix will sit in the gallery and be able to tell them. Maybe Apollo is too tired to care anymore.

Phoenix they find again in the main campus building, with Professor Means, who, on finding out that Athena took up Juniper’s defense, tells her that he will do everything in his power to help the case and that if they aren’t finding the evidence they need for the correct verdict, to come see him at once. Phoenix’s face darkens as the professor speaks, and Apollo is glad to know that he isn’t alone in thinking that all sounds mildly shady. 

By the time they’ve made this full loop of the campus, they find that Hugh has also circled back to the lecture hall, where he tells them that he actually saw Courte’s body when he was wandering around before the mock trial started, but he didn’t want to say anything because the mock trial would be called off and he knew he had to win because he was going to confess to Juniper when he won. Athena looks aghast, and she doesn’t say why but Apollo thinks he has an idea: that, of all people who could be in love with her friend, it has to be this black hole of egocentrism that took it to the point of ignoring a corpse.

If these are the kind of people that go to a law high school, Apollo will gladly take the college debt instead. (Not that Themis isn’t probably expensive as hell, but. The point remains.)

The autumn sun sinks down through the orange sky as they navigate rush-hour traffic to the detention center. Athena’s leg starts bouncing in the waiting room, enough to disturb Apollo’s chair next to her, and she continues to vibrate as they head in to see Juniper. “I think you can afford to take it down a notch,” Apollo tells her, and she nods even while she continues to drum her heel against the ground. So much for being a bastion of calm to support their client. He just hopes that Juniper won’t really notice Athena’s frantic nervous energy. 

Juniper is already on the other side of the glass when they enter, but she sits with her body positioned away from them, her arms folded and her hands tucked away, and her long hair hanging down past her face. “Heya, Juniper?” Apollo ventures, Athena gone silent but still twitching her leg, and all of that movement in the corner of his eye doesn’t help him as he tries to understand Juniper’s body language. She’s afraid, upset, understandable, but is some of that - is she nervous because they’re here now? Is some of her fear directed at them? “How are you doing? We’ve talked to everyone that we could but there are a couple things we wanted to ask you.”

Juniper turns her head. Apollo’s stomach drops; Athena gasps, and Widget lets out a staticky, surprised warble. No word to this emotion - “surprise” doesn’t quite cut it, even with Widget’s yellow background. “I wanted to tell you, Thena. I just...” Juniper coughs into her hand. Her skin has taken up the yellow-green color of a plant that hasn’t seen enough sunlight, and when she pushes back some of the hair that frames her face, she tucks it behind a pointed ear. 

When Athena said that Vera reminded her of an old friend of hers, she didn’t mean Juniper, did she?

“I didn’t know how,” Juniper concludes at last, when the silence stretches on without interruption from either Athena or Apollo. “Or if you could still think of me as—” Another coughing fit interrupts her. 

“Of course you’re still my friend!” Athena says furiously. Widget lights up red, bright enough that it illuminates the bottom half of her face. “And of course we will still defend you!” She clenches her fists and turns her impassioned glare on Apollo. Does she expect that he’s going to be the weak link? That after Tenma Taro, no, this is what’s too weird? They’ve been working together for a whole six months. She should know him better than that. 

“Of course we’ll still defend you,” Apollo repeats, before Athena can kick him or something, like she looks like she might. “You don’t need to worry about that. You’re not the first changeling I’ve defended, anyway.”

“Huh?” Athena cocks her head to the side. They didn’t tell her about Vera - Vera didn’t mention it, and so Apollo and Trucy never did. “Wait, really?”

“I’m not” - Juniper coughs - “a changeling.” She raises her head and finally looks them in the eyes. Her own aren’t the plain red of all the fae’s true forms that Apollo has ever seen, though if he actually thinks about it, that number is only three, Kristoph, Vera, and Iris. The whites of her eyes are still white, and still have dark visible pupils in their centers - it is just the irises that have changed to that bright, distinctive faery red. And thinking back, he definitely remembers noticing that Vera’s ears were large, distinct and almost batlike, while Juniper’s aren’t much larger than a human’s ears, and if they had the points but without her sickly green skin, Apollo isn’t sure that too many people would notice. Her hands, nervously clasped together, lack claws. “I’m half human.”

“Really?” Athena has finally stopped bouncing. Was she worried about some discord she heard in Juniper’s voice, that has now cleared now that she’d admitted this. “How is that - how does that happen?”

“Athena,” Apollo says, “nobody here wants to explain to you how babies are made.”

Juniper covers her face with her hands.

“I know how that works, Apollo!” she yells, her face reddening like Widget’s face reddens into anger. “I’m not asking that! I mean, I didn’t know that was - I guess there’s no reason why it wouldn’t be possible - so you’ve always been like this? Looked like this? I definitely don’t remember that when we were kids.”

Juniper doesn’t lower her hands but pulls them apart so that she’s peering through at Apollo and Athena with one eye. Pink has begun to show through the yellow-green of her cheeks. “I didn’t know when I was younger,” she says. “My grandmother - you remember I live with her, right, Thena? - never said anything until she thought I was old enough to understand, and to be strong enough to consciously hide it.” She bites her lip. “It’s easier if you don’t know, and just believe the whole way that you’re human.”

“Grandmother on which side of the family?” Apollo asks. He’d be lying to say he wasn’t personally curious, but who can honestly say before it happens what kind of information becomes relevant in a trial. They might need to know.

“She - she isn’t human.” Apollo wonders if that’s odd that even someone who shares blood with the fae seems reluctant to name them as they are. “And she warned me that this might happen if I get too stressed or emotional and now—” Another longer coughing fit overwhelms her.

“Do your friends know?” Athena asks. “Robin and Hugh?” Something like distaste hangs evident in her voice on their names. Earlier she told Apollo that all three of them sounded anxious when they spoke about the strength of their bonds, like maybe they really are on the verge of a triangular friendship breakdown, be it over the supposed love triangle or something else. Some other secrets, and she’s worried about Juniper in the middle of it.

“N-no.” Juniper seems especially nervous again, tense across her shoulders and she’s moved one hand to clutch her other wrist tightly enough that her knuckles don’t quite turn white, but a very pale shade of yellow. Close enough to white on green skin. Is she worried what they think of her for not telling them? For not telling even her closest two friends? “I wanted to, really. But I just - I never - I—”

“You couldn’t figure out how,” Apollo says, remembering Klavier talking about that same problem, Klavier telling him that he never even told Daryan, never knew the way to. “I understand completely.”

Athena raises her eyebrows at that - now she’s probably wondering what secret Apollo is hiding, and good luck to her if she ever tries to guess, but Apollo isn’t even thinking of his own situation right now - but Juniper visibly relaxes, slumping in her seat. “And I wanted to tell you too, Thena, as soon as I got to see you again, but you’d been away for so long that I couldn’t even start to guess how you would react. Or if you’ve been away for so long that you wouldn’t even believe me and would just think that I was crazy.” She looks down at her hands. “I think I started, um, showing” - she touches a hand to her face - “during the interrogation, and that prosecutor, Prosecutor Blackquill—” Her head snaps up and her red eyes widen. “Prosecutor Blackquill, Thena, he—”

“He’s a real jerk, I know,” Athena interrupts, “but we’ve beaten him three times before and I’m not gonna let him convict you! I promise, Junie, you don’t have to worry about that.”

She nods. By the expression on her face, that wasn’t all she was going to say, but after a few more seconds of silently looking at Athena, she continues, “He must have seen me this way that you’re seeing me but he didn’t even say anything. And I’m afraid that he’s waiting for some perfect time to reveal it, because—” She stops talking and they wait while she coughs. “Because—” Again, she coughs so badly that she can’t continue through it.

“Are you all right?” Apollo asks.

“Sasha has a heart condition,” Athena says abruptly, and the confusion might have successfully paused Juniper’s fit. “And so did Azura, and they were both selkies. And they said that it’s like, a thing, for people who are magic like that, trying to grow up in the human world.”

Juniper nods. “There’s so much metal and iron everywhere. And here especially. I feel like I can’t breathe in here.” Her shoulders shake as she inhales.

“Being partially human doesn’t help you with that?” Apollo glances down at the ring on his hand and is glad that she didn’t offer to shake hands with anyone when they first met.

“My grandmother said that it’s a genetic grab bag,” Juniper replies. “I guess I’m just not very lucky. But I’m worried that the prosecution will” - she coughs - “that I don’t know how he could know but—” She coughs again, but keeps talking through it, her voice growing more and more high-pitched and strained like she’s running out of air and choking. “But Professor Courte was the only person at Themis who knew this about me.”

She doubles over, wheezing. 

She’s afraid that Blackquill is going to turn that into a motive. Apollo gives it some thought and decides there’s no point to reassuring Juniper that even if her glamour hadn’t cracked up, Blackquill would still probably know. That’s not reassurance.

“I…” Athena’s voice emerges faintly and her eyes dart toward Apollo, as though he isn’t equally clueless to how to respond to this revelation. Finally, she repeats, firmly, “We’ll get you found innocent, Junie, I promise.”

Get as much other information from Juniper as she knows about the mock trial and the real case, and then go into the trial tomorrow with their heads held high. That’s all they can do. They have to hope that it’s enough. They’ll have to make it be enough.

[sobokip257]

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In the course of the most recent year, I've invested a lot of energy endeavoring to gain proficiency with the art of best wedding photography. In spite of the fact that, I actually have a long way to go, I can ideally talk as a matter of fact (positive and negative the same) of how to jump on the correct way as a wedding picture taker.

1) Increase an Intrigue

In case you're perusing this article, there's an entirely decent possibility that you have just arrived at this stage. Maybe you're keen on wedding photography due to the procuring potential, or possibly you simply love weddings and need to record them.

In any case, wedding photography is a creature like no other and truly requires some various methodologies. One wedding picture taker I worked with disclosed to me his preferred thing about wedding photography is that it consolidated so a wide range of sorts of photography: full scale (think rings), engineering (excellent places of worship), and even a touch of sports - envision catching a quick moving couple.

Discover wedding picture takers whose work motivates you. There are many skilled wedding picture takers, and motivation is rarely far away. Investing energy realizing what you like and how to introduce a scene is basic in building up a style. Wedding photography is an exceptional field, and it's not hard to immediately get excited in its realm.

2) Begin Helping

Have individuals shot weddings before helping an expert? Sure. Would I suggest it? Not in the slightest degree. On the off chance that you can bounce into shooting weddings all alone, you are unquestionably more gifted than I am. For me, I wasn't even happy with endeavoring it.

The main thing I did was to begin systems administration and discovering picture takers in my general vicinity. My first thought was to send messages to neighborhood wedding picture takers requesting to help or second shoot. The vast majority of these went unreturned.

Second shooting permits you to become familiar with the intricate details of weddings without the entirety of the weight.

Notwithstanding, with enough constancy I started to get standard work structure neighborhood pro's. Getting on as a subsequent shooter was one of my preferred encounters - I got the opportunity to go with various picture takers and to shoot some stunning weddings. The picture takers I got the chance to shoot with had many years of experience and truly comprehended their art. Considering their work and their techniques was the best thing I could possibly do to realize what it took to shoot weddings.

Being a decent collaborator or second shooter will keep work coming your direction. Recollect that when you're functioning as a second, your main responsibility is to supplement crafted by the essential picture taker. Avoid their shots, and shoot from integral (not indistinguishable) edges. One great methodology is to utilize focal points of an alternate central length; if the essential is shooting a fax, adopt a wide calculated strategy to the circumstance. Getting two takes on a circumstance is incredible for the essential since it will permit them to convey more pictures to the customer.

In particular, you do the things that they request that you do, without posing a great deal of inquiries. Attempt to remain one stride in front of them and think about their needs. I've functioned as both a second and an essential picture taker on weddings, and when I'm the essential, I have such a great amount of going on that an associate who deals with little assignments is such a gift.

When beginning, you aren't destined to be paid or redressed. You probably won't have the option to utilize the pictures in your portfolio; it relies upon the conditions of the agreement you're working under. Ensure that you get these things recorded as a hard copy and comprehend what the essential picture taker's desires for you are. Nonetheless, in spite of the way that you won't get by second going for the initial barely any months, the information that you gain is a tremendous interest in your ability.

3) Build up a Business

More so than maybe some other kind of photography, learning the matter of wedding photography is basic to your prosperity. The business has a huge measure of turnover, and a ton of this is because of newness to the stuff to maintain a business.

In the event that you don't care for gets, this isn't the correct business for you. Agreements set desires for an occupation and secure the two players. Exploration the agreements that picture takers use. There are models that are promptly accessible with some looking. Consider holding an attorney to guarantee that your agreement is hermetically sealed. Numerous picture takers additionally convey risk protection, just as protection that shields gear from being taken or harmed at work.

Decide the correct plan of action for you. Will you sell prints? Circles with computerized documents? Collections? These require exploration and imagined that stretch out a long ways past the extent of this article.

At long last, deciding how to advertise your business might be the best test that you face. There are no mysteries, only a great deal of work that must be placed into building a brand that individuals perceive and know. Find powerful approaches to publicize. Consider the way that there are both free (verbal) and paid promoting choices. I am a major adherent that the best promoting is fulfilled customers.

4) Exploration and Pick the Correct Apparatus

Numerous picture takers wrongly reduce the nature of work to high dollar camera bodies and costly focal points. You have presumably heard at this point that rigging isn't everything with regards to being a decent picture taker.

In any case, the opposite side of the coin is that better apparatus is an immense favorable position in a photography. Wedding photography is no exemption. A portion of the circumstances you will wind up in may put a ton of strain on passage level apparatus. Houses of worship can extend between sufficiently bright and counterfeit caverns. It's circumstances such as those that you will require the correct rigging to catch the wedding appropriately.

For me, there are two basic pieces of my wedding pack: a camera body with great high ISO execution, and quick primes. My go-to focal points are primes between f/1.4 and f/2. These permit me to shoot weddings in my style and guarantee that I can catch enough light.

A body with extraordinary high ISO execution can spare you when you're in the most obscure of settings. A glimmer is additionally significant, albeit numerous temples don't take into consideration utilization of blaze during a function. Regardless of whether it is permitted, you may find that your customers and their visitors would want to not seeing a glimmer spring up at regular intervals.

Camera gear with great high ISO execution and quick primes make low light shots conceivable.

Try not to disregard the significance of getting some more, quick focal points. During the function, you may find that you are further away than you had foreseen. Contingent on the customer's solicitations and church arrangements, you might be positioned in an overhang or in a side of the congregation. I have as of late got the Standard 135L, which is a 135mm f/2 focal point that will be extraordinary for these occasions. My own conviction is that picture takers shouldn't be an interruption during the function, so I'm frequently in covertness mode during this time.

Ensure you get enough memory cards to cover the day. Everybody's needs will vary, yet with a 21 megapixel camera, I keep a few dozen gigabytes worth of memory. The exact opposite thing that you need to happen is to fill your cards during the function and have nothing left for the gathering.

Additionally, don't set out shoot a wedding without reinforcement gear. This implies reinforcement memory cards, batteries, and most powerfully, a reinforcement camera body. This can get costly, yet recollect Murphy's Law: what can turn out badly, will turn out badly. What will you tell your customers if your camera quits working? Pick a reinforcement camera that you can change to reasonably consistently from your essential body if need be. The best methodology is to utilize two of a similar camera, yet this isn't monetarily doable for some individuals.

5) Make a Check Rundown: Planning is Everything

I think individuals tend to consider weddings one bound together kind of occasion. In all actuality across different strict and social fringes, weddings are profoundly various encounters. Moreover, the couple has endless choices that no two weddings are ever the equivalent. Accordingly, your encounters will fluctuate fiercely from end of the week to end of the week.

I imagine that the most disregarded ability is realizing how to interface with your customers and set them straight. Abilities like these are learned distinctly with training and time 

In the event that there was one thing that helped me improve my outcomes drastically during the primary year, it was to truly plunk down with my couples and figure out their wedding. Thusly, you can set the desires for the afternoon, map out the progression of occasions, and ensure that their needs are met. Keep in mind, you are in the matter of giving client support. Upbeat customers mean more business.

6) Improve your Altering Abilities

In the year 2011, the advanced work process is a significant piece of practically every picture taker's business. Wedding photography has a few requests that are explicit to click here.

[gershwinn]

Lili Reinhart Has Arrived

Lili Reinhart first landed on our radar playing the role of Betty Cooper on the hit CW series, Riverdale. But this year she’s making her big break. And I mean BIG. Starring alongside Jennifer Lopez, Constance Wu, Keke Palmer, Cardi B and Queen Lizzo herself in Hustlers—out this month—Reinhart has officially made it into Hollywood’s upper echelon. That’s no small feat for a 22-year-old from Ohio. But, given the unique pressures faced by young women in Hollywood—the darkest extent of which we are only now hearing about thanks to #TimesUp—it’s especially impressive for Reinhart, who has been refreshingly open about living with anxiety and depression. 

What was the most challenging part about playing Annabelle, a stripper? Just the act of having to dance in a skimpy dress in front of a guy that I didn’t know was out of my comfort zone. And obviously, to have a camera on me watching that as well, it was just kind of a weird experience. But you kind of have to think of it as a performance and remind yourself that you’re not actually giving them any part of yourself, you’re just kind of putting on a show. And that’s what I was telling myself: I’m just acting. I’m putting on a show, this is a performance, I’m not actually giving any of myself away to these people watching me. And Lorene [Scafaria, the director] did everything to make the environment comfortable and everyone was so respectful.

Was it easier to get comfortable with the role because of the mostly-female cast and crew? I was definitely anxious going into it. As someone with social anxiety and as an introvert, walking into a setting with all these powerful women was frightening, but it was just my anxiety getting the best of me, because honestly all the women were wonderful. When I was on set one day, I was looking through my script, highlighting my parts, and there were certain emotional scenes that I was worried about. I was like, “Oh, God, I have to cry in front of J-Lo?” Which kind of made me nervous. Emotional scenes are easier for me in the Riverdale environment because I’m comfortable with the people I’m working with and surrounded by. But in brand new environment for Hustlers, I didn’t really know what it was going to be like and if people were going to respect [the process] and make the space to get emotional. But it was actually great, and Lorene gave me all the time I needed to get into that space.

Did you have to do any specific kind of physical training for the role? I actually half joked to Lorene: “Oh, yeah, I’m gonna need to go to the gym pretty hard,” and she was like, “Nope, I want you just as you are, you’re perfect. I don’t want you to stress about your body in this, we’ll make sure you’re incredibly comfortable, whatever you end up wearing.” And that was really refreshing to hear. Because I can imagine that there’s been a lot of people in a lot of situations where they haven’t been met with such a loving answer. It was really nice to walk into that feeling like you could look literally however you looked and it was good enough. But I took two [pole dance] classes just for fun. I did a class with Keke [Palmer], and then I went back for an individual one just because of sheer curiosity and it being a great way of working out, honestly. It’s so difficult and requires a lot of abs. It’s honestly so beautiful, I would watch someone fully clothed on a pole dancing all day long because it’s so hypnotizing. It’s truly and art form, but an art form that allows you to take your clothes off, I guess. I think of it as a dance and truly a skill.

How did having a woman director influence the mood on set? She would always come talk to me and ask if I was comfortable. She was very reassuring, very kind. Everyone just touched base with each other to make sure we’re all good. Luckily, my part didn’t require nudity or anything super uncomfortable, so I was fine. But I’m sure other actresses felt a little bit more [vulnerable]. But Lorene was really wonderful at making sure we were all comfortable just by touching base and checking in on us.

Do you think having this story told through a female lens makes a difference in how it will be received? I’m 100% sure that if it was made by a man, the women would all look exactly the same. Or have at least exactly the same bodies. So I don’t think this movie would have worked if it were made by man. It’s a realistic [portrayal of] the way that women look today. It’s not all Victoria’s Secret models. You have every race working at the strip club. You have Trace Lysette, who’s a transgender woman. And you have Lizzo, who’s a body-positive woman. I just think from a female perspective, you have much more of a real portrayal of women and real life. 

As you get more attention for your work, do you find it more difficult to deal with public scrutiny of things like your personal life? People are going to find out what they’re going to find out about me, and that’s fine. I feel like I’ve sort of offered myself up to that, just being in a public sphere. And being in a profession that puts you inherently in the spotlight, there’s only so much you can do about that. I’m still finding out what my boundaries are as far as talking about myself and what I want the world to know. And I think if I went back a couple of years, I would maybe be a little bit more private about certain things that maybe I’ve talked about in the past. But it’s sort of a learn as you go. I guess I’ve come to realize that people are always going to have something to say. And I don’t mind sharing certain things about my life. But I like to keep my relationships private and protect my family. That’s what’s most important. Has it been difficult to open up about your mental health under that microscope? You know, I’ve never had a problem talking about my mental health, like, truly, it’s never been a problem for me. But talking about my family and relationships, has been weird because it’s affecting other people. You can talk to me about me and whatever has to do with me, but when it comes my family, and the boyfriend, and the best friends…I just want to protect the people that I love. How do you balance that public/private divide on social media? Social media is a great way to fool people into thinking that you’re someone that you’re not. You can create a whole different persona, and be so completely different. And I’ve seen the people present themselves a certain way and when you meet them in person, and you’re like, “Wow, you are nothing like the way you seem.” I want to present myself in the way that when people meet me, they’ll go: “You’re exactly how I thought you would be based off of your social media.”

Source: Flare