#litany trial

[songofwizardry]

they should invent a roomba that cleans whiteboards

[harmonysanreads]

I'm not sure if requests are still open since it's early in the morning where I'm from and idk how our timezones work, please delete this if it isn't orz. If it isn't too much trouble, a dainsleif fic mayhaps 🙏😔? I miss him so much and he didn't come home this patch, can be a short drabble ^^.

Not sure if it's leaning on your "things in consideration" list, but the prompt can be:

You've been under his radar for years but now that he's tracked you down, an unknown child who mirrors his blue Khaenriahn eyes guards you with his small and very fragile life. Those eyes... They're eerily familiar.

(side note: Dain isn't the type who thinks children automatically have a heart of gold lolol. He's kinda a hater when it comes to children cept for Yaoyao /jjjj, maybe that's some extra spice to add for the reason why reader is so terrified and left as soon as she had the opportunity?)

Reconteur

yandere!dainsleif x reader

cw(s) : yandere, implied female reader (the narrative is not gender specific but the word 'mother' has been used once)

wc : 1.7 k

this was an interesting challenge for me because this is one theme i've not done before, with a character i've also never written for! i'm extremely sorry for the wait as i got distracted by hsr :') and thank you so much for requesting<3

a delightful illustration by the loveliest person <3 (spoiler alert!)

Stories are truly spectacular.

They're capable of preserving bygone memories ; changing, adapting and sometimes, becoming far too distant from reality. Like saplings of the tree which extends its roots throughout Teyvat and, their seeds are welcomed by the flighty wind, soon to be cultivated by the torrents of time. The present will one day become history and that history will be archived for posterity to learn and criticize. One such story inspires much intrigue, dressed in charming rhetoric and is thus cataloged among fairy tales : a bittersweet tale of a Knight and an Angel.

And in classic format it goes — once upon a time, a defiled Knight cried out to the heavens, for he could not win against the temptation of seeing the forbidden pearl. This blatant defiance earned him but a curse of eternal agony and soon, he begged the skies for salvation. The clouds softened and sent him a little Angel, who quelled the fires of his pain bit by bit, until it became an infinitesimal dot in the Knight's soul. Brimming with gratitude, the Knight offered his very being to the Angel's service and of course, they lived happily ever after.

Now suppose, fundamentally speaking, if fairy tales are but stories and the retelling of history follows the same pattern — who are the storytellers?

The victors, of course.

The dull thud of pages colliding shut assuages Dainsleif, for the story which now finds itself beside children's bedside tables serves no other purpose than to instigate dulcet fantasies, losing credence before the trials of history. It brews a litany of feelings in his numbed heart until they intertwine and transform into a yarn of befuddling human emotions ; echoing in his ears that this is what his past has become.

Albeit, this hardly astonishes the Bough Keeper. When a war ends and the winners hoist their flags, they'd obviously be privy to recounting their glories — none of them would ever write that the Knight in the story had never begged the heavens for forgiveness and no such Angel was sent. Instead, he'd seen fit to snatch the Messenger that'd implored him to return to his right mind and one would think that Celestia had taken great offense in this act, but no one batted an eye.

That is because the Messenger, too, was forsaken by their home, a fallen angel with no wings and no divinity left. Whose existence became synonymous to that of a firefly and the Knight, became the darkness that allowed it to glow. When two broken individuals unite, they either complete their flaws or destroy one another and sadly, in his case, it was the latter.

But is it such a sin to wish for a normal life? Dainsleif muses as he passes by giggling groups of unassuming humans, desperate vendors trying to sell their wares and many more individuals who might carve their places in the next epics of Teyvat. Often is it said, you only learn to value things after they leave your grasp and while his memory does erode day by day, he'll forever remember that Angel's — your countenance, how the corners of your lips used to curve before they did no longer, how every word of yours bewitched his decaying mind and built it anew.

He was an ant chasing after the fragrance of sugar, a mindless bug blinded by a speck of light, an apophyte clinging desperately to the bough, a sinner. And sinners do not deserve luxuries called normalcy, love or a home. The aftereffects of the Cataclysm that befell his homeland drove uncountable masses to nihility, some embraced their hatred while others rotted in corners of this world. It is testament to Dainsleif's willpower that he'd not been conquered by insanity yet. Indeed, he's always practiced rationale and patience ; which have also aided him in his prolonged search for you.

He investigated till every rock of this wretched world became his acquaintance and he kept on hanging to the last traces of your existence. But, as every expedition led to a dead end, he was forced to accept a lamentable realization, that he missed you. He missed you so much. He'd vowed to never kneel before those who took everything from him, at this point in his life though, he found himself one breath away from begging that floating island — if only it'd bring you back to his side.

Rain. It'd rained before that catastrophic day and on the eve you trespassed in his life as well. Would you laugh if you saw him in this state? Or, would you coax him up from his knees and shield him from the rain? A hoarse chuckle leaves his lips, how shameless does one need to be to still expect comfort from the being they hurt repeatedly? He'd rather not hear the answer.

“Mister?”

The sky growled at his misery but he could not differentiate it from a mocking sneer. He blinked upon feeling the absence of raindrops falling on his person and raised his head to stare.

It is as though the stars gazed at him back, “Why are you kneeling on the ground on a rainy day, mister?”

Dainsleif stared owlishly, his mind momentarily ceased to comprehend the present. The boy that'd reach his knees at most if Dainsleif had been standing returned his gaze in equal interest. Though the man failed to decipher those familiar eyes, it seemed that the boy had reached a conclusion.

“Oh, you must be in pain! Here, take one of my apples.”

The Bough Keeper jolted at the fruit that was shoved to his hand, in the blur of his confusion he'd not taken note of the bag full of apples clutched by the boy's other hand.

“My mother said that an apple a day would keep the pain away—ah, or was it the doctor? Anyway, please take it and don't look so sad. I should really be returning now…!”

Dainsleif opened his mouth (To protest, to question or to thank? He didn't know.) as the boy dashed away, the pitter-patters of the rain lulled his footsteps and left the man a great deal dumbfounded. He looked at the apple, now glistening with rainwater and recalled the boy's words. On normal occasions, he'd be tempted to immediately evacuate the vicinity after that mildly embarrassing encounter but, the memory of the starry gaze that rendered him speechless implored him to follow the boy's tracks.

At this point, his mind was operating on instinct, tracing the footprints of an unknown child without purpose would be the farthest thing he'd put on his agenda in his current state. The dense forest swallowed his form until it finally gifted him with a clearing, a small source of light peeked past a half open window and enticed him closer.

“...re…were…y…?”

The man only came to his senses after hearing muffled voices, standing before what he assumed was the door to the thatched cottage. For a second, he debated whether to continue this rendezvous but resigning that he'd come too far, he decided to take a peek through the window.

The rain lulled just enough to not be an outright nuisance, succinct yet unforgettable — there you were, separated by but a weak wooden structure and Dainsleif's stupefied mind. You are there. Are you really there? Right before his eyes, emerging out of nowhere after he turned Teyvat upside down just to find some reassurance that you're still alive? Your eyes narrowed in that familiar frown and rubbing a towel through a boy's hair—

Wait, what?

Fine strands of blonde clung to Dainsleif's forehead, a few drops of water dripping down to join the small puddle under his feet. He gaped like a fish at the scene and at the boy who led him to this epiphany, completely forgetting vigilance.

“Did you talk to anyone, son?”

Flowers bloomed in his heart at the sound of that familiar lilt and his breath hitched as he processed the contents you uttered. Son. You called that boy son. In the light of your humble abode, he noticed the boy's golden locks of hair that he'd previously foregone and a conclusion crawled its way to his mind. He has a child. He has a child? Dainsleif knew you have a knack for unpredictability but this level of surprise was not what he was expecting upon your first appearance after all these years. He dwelled on the question of how it was even possible for a while, he recalled the boy's eyes ; those characteristic star-shaped pupils would never lie. Voices reached his ear again and he decided to cast aside these questions for a later time.

“I did, but the man looked so sad all alone in the rain! So, I gave him one of the apples because I didn't know what else to do. I promise I didn't talk too much!”

You paused for a while, a cautious query followed, “What did he look like?”

The boy copied your silence this time, finding great interest in your nails before exclaiming, “Pretty ordinary!”

Dainsleif didn't know why but that gave a sting to his heart, he looked back to you to see the unreadable expression on your face slowly shift to a soft smile. You affectionately ruffled the boy—his boy's hair, the action somehow softened the ache in his soul. Until he remembered that he was ignorant of his own son's name. He was one who preferred to form his opinion of everyone from a neutral point of view and while he's not one to excuse children's behavior just because of their age, seeing his own son speak half-truths at this stage raised many more concerns to be dropped in the pile.

You're not someone who'd preach dishonesty to a child but considering the situation you are currently in and the things this child must've seen, he found himself understanding. The skies rumbled and Dainsleif barely pushed back the urge to kick down the door and take his family to where they belonged. But seeing the smile that he'd yearned for so many years, he hesitated. You'd fought hard to earn this little happiness and acting on his impulses now, however justified they might be, would be dishonoring your efforts. And judging by your reactions, he can already sense that you won't just sit idly by for him to pounce on.

So, he'll be patient for bit longer and when the time is right, it'll seem as though his family returned to his arms out of their own volition.

[littlestuffstohide]

AA Fic Rec

I've sunk on AA so bad. I have such a long list. Almost 100 on my bookmarks. Here is my attempt to organize my bookmark list. I know I created a list before But this is better. I'll start of with my general AA WrightWorth List fic recommendation I've bookmarked since I sunk into this rabbit hole. Buckle your seats because this post is going to be reaaaally loooong. I tried to clean it as much as possible. So if you guys are looking for some AA WrightWorth treasure trove, this is it. I'm sure there are some I've read and missed. I will update my list as much as possible. My summary is literally bare to none and just my spoilers and hints what I love about it so mmmuuuch!

all there is - by sunsmasher. Narumitsu oneshot - A mix of bad Krisnix and goodness Narumitsu.

Summary: Phoenix and Kristoph during the seven year gap, Phoenix and Miles after it.

love most definitely requited - by The_Eclectic_Bookworm

Summary: cute hananaki au that of course involves confession in an unexpected way.

Pressure - by ApprenticeofDoyle

Summary: A different view/ canondivergent AA with the Feys. My ALL-time favorite AA fic of all times. AA with dash fam on Feys/Wright. It also has some great wrightworth pinning. And you will love the flow of wrightworth. There are still a lot of feels on this. It would be a crime not to read this. There is, like 4 parts on this. This one is complete. Read it! Here's the link for Pressurverse series.

if i woke up (next to you) - by ApprenticeofDoyle

Summary: Post Engarde Trial based on Pressureverse post Engarde Trial if that make sense. An canon divergent on pressure fic.

miles edgeworth's terrible, no-good, very bad week - by ApprenticeofDoyle

Summary: AAI but with Phoenix. Everything with Phoenix on AAI. Like I love it for many reasons. The WrightWorth is there but this is juuuuust so good. I'm low-key hoping for part 2 to have Phoenix altho that's least likely to happen. I juuuuust want Phoenix interacting with uncle Ray yknow!

a lie like a litany, cold and reformed - by fictitiousregrets

Summary: Where Miles bluffs about being engaged, gets engaged, gets married, and realizes they're in love and married. One of my favorite rom coms of all times. Really Wrightworth insanity.

Happier Than I Deserve - by KrisseyCrystal (IceCreAMS)

Summary: Pride and Prejudice representing Miles and Phoenix. Need I say more? This is going to be one marathon of wrightworth. Binge yourself on this monster fic. And really worth it to read.

where the heart is - by chameleonwrites

Summary: How Phoenix's home charmed Miles? Spanning from childhood until they move together, Real cute. I love for any Miles POV.

Trust Issues - by chameleonwrites

Summary: Phoenix sees plane tickets. Cue the angst. Wrightworth trying to make you cry.

The Catch-up Game - by theacegrace

Summary: Post AA6 Phoenix character study. Real good fic that's utterly sweet. It had lovely moments to angst moments, great confession to some wright family antics. A sin not to read. Never fails to tear me from the confessions?

Childswap - by theacegrace

Summary: WrightWorth switching children for a day. Real cutiiie fic! This never fails to put smiles on my face.

reading between the lines - by The_Eclectic_Bookworm

Summary: Another tearjerker. It starts tearing you to pieces then sweetening you with the fluff. And the last chapter is worth all the angst! A roller coaster fic. Basically Miles spanning from the horror of Manfred to Phoenix to great Franzy and Miles sibling love and back to Phoenix! Spanning the first 3 games.

Legal Partners - by Miggy

Summary: Oh boy. Another monster fic that's just so worth it. Fluffy and ansty and fluffy. A betting game between Klavier and Miles on who can show their? defense attorney how much they appreciate them as a legal partner. Quoting Phoenix in this fic a pissing contest between the two of them. Has some Kpollo but really more of Wrightworth goodiness. Anyone who hasn't t read this is a crime.

It Would Feel So Good To Make You Mine - by hi_its_ellis and lowbatteryhealth

Summary: Love is War but WrightWorth style. Literally flirting contest, knowing all the rules without talking and just driving the entire LA crazy while they both wait for the other to confess. My all time favorite WrightWorth rom com insanity. I don't feel bad at all. It will make you laugh so much.

A Fool for You - by bluemoodblue

Summary: Engaged but at the same time did we get married 4 months before the wedding? And it's not Vegas! This is just so romcom and just so good and sweet. I won't say anymore!

The PlayWright - by WingSongHalo

Summary: Miles visits a local theater where he meets a very intriguing actor who seems so much like someone. Really, really good. This is just one of my favorite WrightWorth fics.

Project: Matchmakers - by WingSongHalo

Summary: Literally everyone shipping Wrightworth and a club shipping WrightWorth and trying to get them together. Really adorable. Many cute parts. It has 3 parts found here. You will love the proposal on part 2 and part 3 is cute and lovely due to many reasons.

time goes by so slowly (and time can do so much) - by ohallows

Summary: AU AA magical universe Miles being a caseworker featuring Phoenix! Phoenix director of orphanage of magical pips. Really good!

Out of Order - by canolacrush

Summary: Falling in love backwards Phoenix style. Phoenix is sooo seduced that he runs from his husband who suddenly looks 100x hotter.

Chicago Noël by canolacrush

Summary: Mafia Miles and Baker Phoenix. This is also ooone monster fic. It's adorable and lovely in so Many levels. You will love the switch in roles for Miles and Phoenix. One of my fave fics! Forgot to tag this. I'm sorrry!

Earning it - by thebigeish

Summary: WrightWorth except Miles is his sugardaddy. It just hits me in a cute way.

all the ways to love - by hi_its_ellis

Summary: where Phoenix has his gay awakening and he figured it out late? Some internal homophobia. Really close to my heart.

Written - by Limey

Summary: Where Phoenix finds Edgeworth's fanfic.

The Opposing Counsel's Proposal - by the acegrace

Summary: Where WrightWorth tries to propose to each other with mix results. Really funny and you will love every second of foolishness of these two competitive dorks.

The Defense’s Proposal, Post Facto - by Kantayra

Summary: Where WrightWorth decided to get married during lunch because the paperwork drove them nuts. They pretend to try to be convinced but we all know how eager they both are.

The Perenial Pursuits - byDeiRyuu

Summary: Larry misunderstanding that whenever anything Phoenix related happens, Miles is the speed dial.

justice vs state - by sinkburrito

Summary: Apollo running errands for Phoenix and Miles over an envelope. Apollo at the same time being oblivious. Poor Pollo. Basically WrightWorth involving Apollo for their feud.

Sick of Leaving - by Jodalyn

Summary: WrightWorth sickfic. Miles POV. You would want to read this. It's adorable! Just wants to make you hug their sweetness.

they'll never love you like I can - by Jodalyn

Summary: Chief!Miles College Phoenix. Time Shenanigans. Miles meeting Phoenix. I'm so weark to Chief Miles meeting Baby College Feenie.

despite everything, it's still you - by orphan_account

Summary: AA novelization with analysis on how Phoenix and Miles view each other. There are a few aspects in this fic I could never forget which is just my favorite thing. Read it. You will love it. Spanning from childhood through Post AA6 I think.

Myths We Don’t Believe In - by hi_its_ellis

Summary: Cue Chief Prosecutor invites current BF and his not really exBF in the same room, in the morgue. Miles did this to himself. Sorry for langworth Miles. And Miles lost any braincells he had. Cue Jealous Miles.

Anytime, Anywhere, Again - by hi_its_ellis

Summary: Part two of Mythes We Don't Believe In. This is literally Phoenix roasting Miles on his decision. I love this one.

(confetti) (smile) (heart) - by lvl99arsene

Summary: Just Phoenix FINALLY upgrading his phone. This was just so cute and Phoenix being a menace! Feat Sugar Daddy Miles.

Change in Perspective - by chameleonwrites

Summary: Maya and Franziska having a betting contest on which brother is pinning for the other. Feat. Miles being the biggest victim of this spectacle. All betting fics are sooo fun. This is also one you shouldn't miss. Just feel sorry of Miles as the victim.

Phoenix von Karma - by Otoshigo

Summary: Canon Divergent AU where Phoenix had been declared all dead until He comes back with no memories and as a Prosecutor. One of my all time fave. If you want a german speaking Phoenix, read this! I love this for many reasons. Sadly, expect no Apollo or Trucy on this.

i can bring you to bathe in the river - by oredatte

Summary: on of my fave AUs. My fave trope for WrightWorth. To adopt Trucy, our lovable pair gets (platonically) legally married, moving in together, co-adopting an eight-year-old, and keeping it all a secret.

Of Haircuts, Pocketwatch Chains, Other Uninteresting and Undesireable Things, and Generic Wholecloth Christmas Magic - by ribbontype

Summary: Back to romcom WrightWorth gift-giving competition. One of my favorite fics due to how said men drive each other nuts.

Fixer Upper - by poodlepunk

Summary: Miles getting Phoenix's help to renovate his house. Renovating houses is just my guilty pleasure in fics. Domestic WrightWorth.

Tomorrow - by marttyyriroskis

Summary: From 7 Year gap through Spirit of Justice. There is so much angst here. Also cue the fluff and drama on AA4. You will love the way the writer handled the mess capcom made. I just love this fic due to some special moments. You will not regret reading this monster fic. Prepare all the tissues!

where are you going? (i've been looking everywhere for you) - by whackamacka

Summary: Kimi no Na Wa except WrightWorth style? This is it! Setting is between 3-1 to 3-4. feat BratFeen.

abracadabra! - by ohallows

Summary: Kay and Trucy shenanigans making WrightWorth dads panic. ahahah.

now i don't hate california after all - by ohallows

Summary: Kay and Trucy gossiping and plotting. Kay and Trucy are literally born to be sisters.

parallelogram - by zombiekittiez

Summary: A cute but nicer BratFeen Fic. Canon divergent au featuring Defense Attorney Miles and theater major Phoenix. It's Miles who Dahlia meets instead.

ticking time bomb in their chests - by harmony

Summary: Timetravel fic just so Phoenix finally gets the realization he needs. We all love time travel fics!

The lies we tell ourselves - by Danypooh80

Summary: A retelling of AA except of a surprise OC in this fic. I melt for this fic for all the time. You will love every second of this!

Everything Changes - by Danypooh80

Summary: More of a Edgeworth-Wright family fic? Direct sequel of The lies we tell ourselves. A must read for part 1. Just expounding on the first fic with so much fluff you will melt with the fluff!

Turnabout Ideals - by felicia_angel

Summary: AA but a magical AU? It's full of feels. Way too many Phoenix angst. This is part 1 of 6 Currently. Part 5 is my fave! Read all to understand the universe. Nulls and Voids series - series link!

Set Sail and Cannonballed - by Almod

Summary: WrightWorth navigating the beginnings of their relationship in their very busy life. Something about this fic hits me with how much I love it!

The "B" in Butz stands for "Bondage" - by JajaLala

Summary: Larry wants to learn bondage. Miles runs away, Phoenix appreciates the art. I love this for hilarious reasons.

bear trap - by ghostcatamount

Summary: feat Omega Phoenix. Were it not Phoenix, this would just be creepy about his pre-heat. SInce this is our fave Phoenix, he is just not so subtle and Miles being the oblivious Alpha is such a treat!

by the book - by zombiekittiez

Summary: Drunk Miles barging in at book clubs to confess. Miles being drunk is always a treat.

Rise from the Ashes, again and again - by theinkhiddenwithin

Summary: Romantic fairy tale featuring fated paired Miles and Phoenix. This is it!

Happy Accident - by Jodalyn

Summary: Phoenix had a rough day except Miles bought the wrong paint but Phoenix turns it around by changing his canvas.

we sleep and set fires - by fictitiousregrets

Summary: Dreamsharing WrightWorth. This is one beautiful incption like fic.

a crow's trial - by Charrelous

Summary: role reversal au featuring defense attorney Miles and Prosecutor Phoenix. one of my fave aus. Also my guilty pleasure tropes.

Through Time and Space - by Northernflicker

Summary: time traveler Phoenix and immortal Miles? You will love this, spanning through different eras of history.

Should be Pretty Mundane - by KrisseyCrystal (IceCreAMS)

Summary: Phoenix makes a discovery about himself that he is so embarrassed about. And Miles, of course, figures it out.

One step at a time - by OuterWilde (foreveraugust)

Summary: Post AAJ. Phoenix plans to reinstate himself as a lawyer and confess to Miles. Real cute lovely fic! Phoenix also being oblivious about how good he is as a lawyer.

take it like a man - by tudoo

Summary: Literally Phoenix is dramatic about suit shopping. Spanning 2 decade events. I love how dramatic Phoenix is and how endearing Mia and Miles are here.

co-signed - by tudoo

Summary: WrightWorth goes house hunting until angst ensues. Reaaaally adorable with a splash of angst.

Shear Luck - by TopazEstrella

Summary: Legit Pianist Phoenix and Barber Miles. The post-apocalyptic barbershop AU that no one asked for but we all secretly needed.

it's only love - by Jodalyn

Summary: Miles and Phoenix marriage through the eyes of Gregory Edgeworth. Makes you tear up!

Phoenix is Out of the Loop - by Living_Death

Summary: Miles decides to take up knitting until it drove Phoenix nuts! It's sooo adorable. There's literally a knitting club plus Apollo and Miles.

Change of Heart - by actual_goblin

Summary: Miles had an operation and Franziska and Maya happened.

Eavesdropping - by SapphireWine

Summary: Miles asleep and eavesdropping on Maya and Phoenix post Engarde trial. Quick and short but we just love how comfy Miles is in using Phoenix as a pillow.

Maybe In Time (you'll want to be mine) - by YourAverageBystander

Summary: Time loop shenanigans. aka: Phoenix's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, 2,400 hour day. What something Phoenix picked up on is my fave part of this!

where there is a flame (someone's bound to get burned) - by Samioli

Summary: Love lessons by Phoenix. It's good but these two constipated lawyers are pinning while having these sessions. Cue the angst.

An Anniversary Like Any Other - by Kantayra

Summary: Married WrightWorth just banter through anniversaries til they reach their old age.

Drunk on Kisses - by Zhuletta

Summary: Miles 5 + 1 drunk on kisses and he admits it on the last one. Real cute and adorable!

Turnabout Dishwasher - by zuzsenpai

Summary: Trucy asking Miles to keep an eye on her dad while on a trip around the world. Very dialogue AA style. You will love it! literally 3 fics in 1 fic if that makes sense. Turnabout Exchange Chapters are other pairings basically. There are a lot of pairings in this fic!

Texts & Turnabouts - by YanagiKana

Summary: explored AA love. really lovely shots. While WrightWorth here being my favorite, there are other tons to love here.

the bookstore at the corner of 14th and fen - by kbots

Summary: feat bookstore owner Miles and Single dad Phoenix. Reaaaallly fluffy and adorable on so many levels. Artist Phoenix creeps up. Extra Cute Trucy is here!

New to the Neighborhood - by paxton1976

Summary: Literally Phoenix and Miles being neighbors except the noise drove Miles nuts. Composer/Pianist Phoenix. AA but without the crazy drama? Very domestic life!

Seeing Is Believing - by paxton1976

Summary: Miles gets new glasses and he finds Phoenix 100x beautiful. Miles realizing how he also loves Phoenix and also somewhat obsesses on Phoenix too.

The Wooing of Phoenix Wright - by crayoncompanion

Summary: We've seen lots of fics Phoenix chasing after Miles. This is where the opposite happens. It's literally the title. Expect some angst tho. And some tear jerker moments but worth every tissue. You will love it!

The Art of Seduction: Is for People Less Attractive than Miles Edgeworth - by crayoncompanion

Summary: feat Sexy/hot Miles dropping all the hints for Phoenix to make a move but he sort of waves it off and acts ignorant about it? This is sooo funny on so many levels. It never failed to crack me up.

Love, Lust, and Libraries - by crayoncompanion

Summary: library au. It's soo good feat Miles and Phoenix clashing so muuuuch before they get each other. How can library AUs not be fun?

Angel of the Screens, Demon of the Courtroom - by JustNerdyThings

Summary: AA1 but Phoenix as a famous actor who became a lawyer. All good stuff. Where there is smol range of death for AA1. Pure gold comedy. Famous celebrity Phoenix is a riot having that Feenieness to him with money to spare to drive the world mad. Mia and Miles are the best worsties at law.

Guilty As Charged - by JustNerdyThings

Summary: Our wrightworth is mooning, everyone is trying to matchmake but it's not really needed? Another gold comedy wrightworth fic. Or Just torture Apollo with matchmake shenanigans that's really not needed.

Of Unravelled Knots - by Ekat

Summary - Very wholesome? Some really angsty in some parts only at the start majority. This fic is stuck to me because Miles narrative is hilarious to me and everyone literally roasting his house and I love how much of a BI Phoenix is on him and the times he decides to be petty.

Miles Bunworth Petitioned Bunshot Extravaganza - Ophelia_Writes

Summary - Everyone petitioning Miles in a bunnysuit. A part of A Brief Rest for the Defense fic. Loosely. Only need to know Miles messed up and Maya and Franziska happened. Somewhat post AA3.

[sitp-recs]

hello! do you know drarry fics where draco goes to prison for part of the fic or is just gettingout of prison? thank you so much1 you are a superstar

Hi anon! I do know a couple of prison fics, listed below. You might also enjoy this list with fics in which Harry takes Draco in. Happy readings!

Litany by thistle_verse (M, 7k)

With the wizarding world on lockdown due to a magic-draining pandemic, Harry is stuck in Grimmauld Place, bored and alone—until the ghost of Draco Malfoy shows up to haunt him.

Death Dreams by @writcraft (E, 9.5k)

Draco likes to keep things casual, or at least he did before Harry Potter barged back into his life.

any day now by @oknowkiss (E, 17k)

Draco supposes he should be grateful. The rehabilitation centres were the Minister’s idea, or that’s what the Prophet said anyway. Their stated objective is simple: to provide a safe space for low-tier Death Eaters and high-tier sympathisers to reconsider the entirety of their life choices.

One Thousand Bars by @lqtraintracks (E, 19k)

And I will hold on hope / And I won't let you choke / On the noose around your neck / And I'll find strength in pain / And I will change my ways / I'll know my name as it's called again

Vortex by @xanthippe74 (T, 20k)

Ten years after that conversation, the idea of perfectly-matched soulmates feels more like a curse than a blessing to Draco. Who would want a soulmate who was a schoolyard bully, a Death Eater, and a convicted felon? Certainly not Harry Potter. And Draco is determined to take this secret to the grave.

Collapse Amongst the Dying Stars by Writcraft (M, 26k)

After the final battle nothing is quite as Harry expected. Death Eaters remain unaccounted for, Malfoy is in prison and there is something rotten in Azkaban. Banned from assisting the Aurors, Harry keeps himself busy with regular visits to Malfoy and works to bring light to the darkness of 12 Grimmauld Place.

Fearful Trill by @vukovich (E, 29k)

Harry should have come out and met someone when he was younger. He should have seen a doctor about the pain in his hip while youth was still on his side. Now, he's made his peace with dying young, but maybe not with dying alone.

At Evening's End by manixzen (E, 31k)

When the dementors are removed from Azkaban, a compromise has to be made for the prison to remain secure and wizard-kind to feel safe. Harry and Ron find themselves assigned to a rotation as guards during their first year as Junior Aurors as a part of the new system. Harry finds his values challenged in the harsh environment, but an unexpected friendship may carry him through this difficult year.

On One's Knees by pir8fancier (E, 34k)

The war is over and to the victors go the spoils.

The World Starts Here by @bafflinghaze (T, 63k)

Three years in Azkaban is more than enough time for Draco to be certain that he doesn’t want to be like his parents. And the moment he gets out, Draco will make his own mark on the world and he’d do it single-handedly if necessary.

The Azkaban Letters by @romaine2424 (E, WIP)

Harry and Draco’s lives are headed in two different directions. One is destined for death or glory, while the other is going to Azkaban. Harry needs answers, and he goes to visit his Slytherin nemesis while being held for trial. The meetings in a barren, white cell changes Harry’s life. He learns the beginnings of his rich family history that had been denied him. And that there's much more to fight for than just ridding the world of Voldemort. HBP compliant.

[truth4ourfreedom]

OPERATION HAMMER: THE END MAY BE NEAR FOR THE PEDOPHILES AND THE CORRUPT LEFT!!!!

WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange is publishing information that we freedom loving Americans must repost and share! Here is one of his latest:

------------------------------------------

Operation Hammer

In a world shadowed by secrecy, where power struggles and hidden agendas shape our reality, the storm is finally upon us. Operation Hammer, an unprecedented global initiative, has brought to light the underbelly of corruption, foreign interference, and crimes against humanity. With 450,000 sealed indictments leading to thousands of JAG tribunals, the stage is set for a seismic shift in the fight for justice and transparency.

The critical executive orders—13818, 13848, and 13959—are the backbone of this monumental operation, targeting human rights violators, foreign election meddling, and Chinese military companies. This is not just a battle; it is a war for the soul of humanity.

The Unfolding of Operation Hammer. Operation Hammer is a codename that has sent shockwaves through the corridors of power worldwide. This initiative, spearheaded by the White Hats military, is a coordinated effort to dismantle deeply entrenched networks of corruption and criminality. The sheer scale of this operation is staggering: 450,000 sealed indictments, thousands of JAG (Judge Advocate General) tribunals, and a litany of trials, sentencings, and, in some cases, executions. This is not merely a legal battle; it is a global reckoning.

The Genesis of Operation Hammer. The genesis of Operation Hammer can be traced back to the alarming rise of crimes against humanity and foreign election interference. As global citizens, we have witnessed the erosion of democratic principles, the manipulation of electoral processes, and the gross violation of human rights. The executive orders 13818, 13848, and 13959 are not just legal instruments; they are the swords of justice designed to cut through the web of deceit and bring the perpetrators to account.

Executive Order 13818: Targeting Human Rights Abusers Executive Order 13818, signed on December 20, 2017, is a powerful weapon in the fight against human rights abuses. This order enables the U.S. government to impose sanctions on individuals and entities involved in serious human rights abuses and corruption. The global reach of this order means that no tyrant or corrupt official is beyond the grasp of justice.

Executive Order 13848: Combating Foreign Election Interference Foreign election interference is a dagger aimed at the heart of democracy. Executive Order 13848, signed on September 12, 2018, addresses this critical threat. This order declares a national emergency to deal with the threat of foreign interference in U.S. elections. It allows for the imposition of sanctions on individuals and entities that have engaged in or assisted foreign interference in elections, ensuring the sanctity of the democratic process.

Executive Order 13959: Restricting Chinese Military Companies The global influence of Chinese military companies has raised alarms about national security and economic stability. Executive Order 13959, signed on November 12, 2020, seeks to address this issue by prohibiting U.S. investments in Chinese companies that support the Chinese military. This order is a decisive step in curbing the expansion of China’s military-industrial complex and protecting American interests.

The Mechanics of Operation Hammer. The execution of Operation Hammer is a meticulous and coordinated effort involving various branches of the military and intelligence agencies. The sealed indictments are a testament to the thorough investigations and the gathering of irrefutable evidence against the accused. These indictments cover a wide range of crimes, including human trafficking, corruption, election fraud, and more.

The JAG tribunals are at the heart of this operation. These military courts are tasked with ensuring that justice is served swiftly and fairly. The trials are conducted with the utmost transparency, providing the world with a front-row seat to the administration of justice. The sentences handed down by these tribunals range from imprisonment to execution, depending on the severity of the crimes committed.

Join and share my channel immediately: https://t.me/JulianAssangeWiki

PLEASE REBLOG AND SHARE!! MAY GOD BLESS OPERATION HAMMER!!

[kjack89]

Dial Drunk

5 times Enjolras bailed Grantaire out of jail, and one time, well...

The door of the holding cell clanked open and as one, the nine men sitting inside glanced up. “Alright,” the booking officer said in a bored tone, glancing down at his clipboard. “Bail’s been posted for arrestees Bahorel, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Feuilly, Joly, Lesgle and Prouvaire. You’re free to leave after you sign out at the front desk.”

There were a few grumbles as the men started to get to their feet, but Enjolras remained resolutely seated, his brow furrowed with a frown. “What about Grantaire?”

The man in question chuckled darkly, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell. “Is that actual concern for me that I hear, Apollo? I could die happy.”

Enjolras ignored him. “Pontmercy was supposed to post bail for all of us,” he said instead, aiming his words at Courfeyrac as if the man was somehow still responsible for the actions of his former roommate some five years after they had stopped living together.

Courfeyrac just shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I mean, we all know Marius is a bit of an idiot, maybe he miscounted.”

Combeferre shook his head. “I’m probably wrong and should defer to the lawyers amongst us but I thought I remembered reading something in one of the articles about reforming pre-trial detention that an individual can only post bail for 8 detainees at a time.”

“And so I must’ve drawn the short straw,” Grantaire sighed. “Story of my fucking life.”

Bossuet clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder. “On the other hand, you could take it as a compliment that Marius thinks you’re the one most likely to survive an extended stay behind bars.”

Bahorel snorted so loudly the bars of the cell almost rattled. “Sorry but literally not a single one of us would survive an extended stay behind bars.”

“Speak for yourself,” Feuilly said. “I know how to whittle.” At the blank looks he received, he huffed a sigh and added, “So I can make a shank. No wonder none of you would survive in jail.”

“This is making our goal of prison abolition seem oddly self-serving,” Joly murmured in an undertone to Jehan, who stifled a laugh.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Not that I’m not sympathetic to Grantaire having to be stuck in here, but I’d just like to remind everyone that since Marius posted bail, we’re technically now here voluntarily.”

“Yeah so GTFO,” Grantaire said with a grimace masquerading as a smile. “Let me rot in peace, etcetera.”

Enjolras looked like he wanted to argue more, but Combeferre muttered something in his ear and he made a face before filing out of the cell. “Serious miscalculation on Marius’s part with this one,” Courfeyrac said brightly as he followed everyone else out. “Because God knows you’re going to complain about this for the rest of all time.”

Grantaire gave him the finger and Courfeyrac winked as the officer closed the cell door behind him.

Sighing again, Grantaire sat upright, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck before settling back against the bench. “You need anything?” the booking officer asked.

Grantaire shook his head. “Nah,” he said dismissively. “Not my first rodeo. Hopefully I won’t be stuck overnight, but I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Oh, yeah?” the officer said with mild interest.

Grantaire nodded. “Central booking at the 16th Precinct is a piece of shit,” he said brightly.

The officer barked a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He gave Grantaire a long look. “Should I ask what you were picked up for previously?”

Considering the answer to that question was a vast litany of misdemeanors (and felonies reduced to misdemeanors) that the boys in blue tended not to appreciate, Grantaire hesitated. Thankfully, he was saved from having to answer at all by the crackle of the officer’s walkie-talkie. “Just a moment,” the officer told him, heading out of the booking area and Grantaire let out a sigh of relief as he slumped on the bench.

“You’re free to go,” the officer said upon returning, and Grantaire looked up, surprised.

“Really?”

The officer nodded, opening the door to the holding cell. “Bail was posted. So I guess you’ll have to save your rap sheet for the next time you’re in here.”

Grantaire snorted a laugh. “I’d say there won’t be a next time, but…” 

He ducked out before the officer could respond to that, making his way to the front desk, stopping in his tracks when he saw Enjolras leaning against the desk, clearly waiting for him. “What’re you doing here?”

Enjolras straightened. “It didn’t feel right leaving you in there,” he said with a shrug that didn’t quite come across as nonchalant as he’d probably intended. “And I happened to have some cash on me, so…”

“Between this and being worried about my welfare, you’re gonna give me the wrong impression,” Grantaire said.

“Guess that depends on what impression you’re getting,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire’s eyes flickered to his and away again, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. Enjolras cleared his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Anyway, we should get to the Musain to debrief.” He glanced at Grantaire. “Unless you’ve got something better to do.”

Grantaire just shook his head, and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. “After you,” he said, his voice low, and together they walked out of the precinct, their arms just brushing against each other as they headed to meet their friends at the Musain.

— — — — —

“Jesus Christ,” Enjolras muttered as the booking officer removed the handcuffs from a sheepish-looking Grantaire. Well, as sheepish as a man sporting the beginnings of a pretty impressive black eye could look, anyway. “Here,” Enjolras said roughly, holding an ice pack out to Grantaire. “I posted your bail as well.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire muttered, taking the ice pack and wincing as he pressed it against his eye.

Enjolras pursed his lips as he gave him a once-over. “Any other injuries I need to worry about?” he asked.

Grantaire just shrugged. “Nothing that won’t heal on its own.”

“Because that’s reassuring,” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his forehead, but when he looked at Grantaire again, there was something almost soft in his expression. “You didn’t need to do that.”

What he could see of Grantaire’s expression tightened, just slightly. “You didn’t hear what that guy called you.”

He said it calmly, evenly, but his hand automatically balled into a fist at the memory. Enjolras reached out automatically to rest his hand on Grantaire’s fist until it relaxed. “It doesn’t matter what he called me,” he said, his voice low. “I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” Grantaire scoffed. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Enjolras just shook his head, running his thumb across Grantaire’s bruised knuckles, a testament to the fact that despite the black eye, he’d emerged from the fight victorious. “I should’ve brought another ice pack,” he murmured.

Grantaire just half-smiled, twisting his hand so that he could lace his fingers with Enjolras’s. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “It doesn’t really hurt at the moment anyway.”

Enjolras cleared his throat and looked away, but he didn’t try to untangle his fingers from Grantaire’s. “Well,” he said, “we should, uh, get out of here.”

“Before they realize you have about a half dozen outstanding warrants for your arrest?” Grantaire asked with a smirk, his voice quiet enough that only Enjolras could hear.

“You’d be amazed what having a multi-million dollar settlement pending against the city will do to the police’s willingness to bring you in,” Enjolras said with a smirk. “Not that I want to test that, of course.”

“Liar,” Grantaire said, grinning. “But better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

He started toward the door, pausing when Enjolras didn’t immediately follow. “Thank you, by the way,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire glanced back at him.

“Anytime,” he said simply. “Thanks for bailing me out.”

Enjolras gave him a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “Just don’t go making a habit of it,” he warned. “One day I won’t be here to bail you out.”

“Only because you’ll probably be locked up with me,” Grantaire said.

“Well,” Enjolras murmured, not quite able to stop his smile, “you’re not wrong.”

— — — — —

Grantaire rested his elbows against the bars of the holding cell, his arms dangling into what was technically freedom on the other side. The booking officer, some new guy he didn’t recognize, gave him a look but didn’t say anything, which he took as a small victory, and he allowed himself a small smirk.

A smirk that faded as soon as he saw Enjolras, escorted by another officer. “No dice on bail?” Grantaire asked, seeing the look on Enjolras’s face.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, they’re going to go through the whole arraignment rigamarole. I’ve already let Pontmercy know.” He made a face, casting an irritated look at the booking officer who was pretending not to listen to their conversation. “Apparently they take battery of a police officer pretty seriously these days.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Grantaire muttered. Enjolras sighed and Grantaire gave him a look. “Don’t even start,” he warned. “This wasn’t about you not being able to take care of yourself—”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Enjolras interrupted, his voice tight. “I’m well aware that cop would’ve bashed my head in if you hadn’t intervened.” He shook his head and sighed again. “I was going to say thank you.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, managing a tight smile. “You’re welcome.”

Enjolras just shook his head again. “You still shouldn’t have done it,” he continued, “because honestly, I’m not worth all that—”

“You are, though,” Grantaire said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Enjolras scowled and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fine, then why don’t we make a deal?” he said. “I’ll stop defending you when you stop bailing me out.”

“At the rate you’re going, I won’t be able to anyway,” Enjolras said sourly. “Not without putting up some major collateral.”

Grantaire shook his head. “And I’m definitely not worth that,” he said.

Enjolras’s eyes met his. “You are, though.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might argue. Instead, he reached for Enjolras’s hand, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles through the bars of the holding cell. “No touching,” the booking officer barked, and Grantaire rolled his eyes as he reluctantly let go of Enjolras’s hand. 

“Will you be at my arraignment?” he asked.

Enjolras shrugged. “Someone’s got to post whatever bail amount the judge decides,” he said.

Grantaire half-smiled. “In that case, I’ll be the one in the front.” 

“Pretty sure that’ll be the judge,” Enjolras murmured, grinning when Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”

“It’ll be the only thing that gets me through spending the night in here,” Grantaire told him, and it was Enjolras’s turn to roll his eyes, though there was obvious affection in the motion.

“Pretty sure Bahorel was right,” he said. “You definitely wouldn’t survive in jail.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “Only if you were in there with me.”

Enjolras shook his head, reluctantly backing away toward the door. “Still time,” he said, and Grantaire’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you dare do anything stupid while I’m locked up in here.”

Enjolras just smirked. “See you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder as he left, and Grantaire sighed, though there something strangely content in the noise, despite, or maybe because of, the circumstances.

— — — — —

Grantaire didn’t meet Enjolras’s eyes as he rapped his fingers impatiently against the front desk at the precinct, waiting for them to bring him his personal effects. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Enjolras asked, his voice tight. Grantaire looked pointedly at the conspicuous clock on the wall and Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Exactly, it’s 2 in the fucking morning. I have a 7 o’clock meeting, which you knew damn well, so why you had to go pick a bar fight with some guy twice your fucking size—”

“So sorry to be an inconvenience to you,” Grantaire drawled, slurring his words just slightly. “Can’t imagine what it must be like to have made plans that get interfered with by someone else’s priorities.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Are we really doing this here and now?” he asked.

Grantaire just jerked a shrug, not meeting his eyes. “Do you have something better to do?”

Enjolras sighed and scrubbed a tired hand across his face. “I’m sorry that I had to cancel tonight,” he said, with as much patience as he could seemingly muster, considering the circumstances. “But I needed to get this proposal done ahead of the meeting tomorrow, and I don’t really see what the big deal—”

“You never do,” Grantaire interrupted, still not looking at him. “That’s the problem.”

“You knew going into this—”

“Just like you knew going into this that I’m a drunk and a disaster,” Grantaire interrupted, finally looking at Enjolras, his expression hard. “Well, congratulations, Apollo, it looks like we both knew what we were getting into and yet somehow, we’re both still disappointed.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “I’m not,” he said tiredly. “I’m not disappointed, Grantaire, because that would require me to actually expect better from you, and I learned my lesson on that a long time ago.”

Grantaire just grinned, a horrible, twisted grin. “Right back atcha.”

The officer returned with Grantaire’s belongings, and Grantaire grabbed his phone, wallet and keys, returning them to his pockets. Enjolras took a deep breath, but whatever he clearly wanted to say seemed to stick in his throat, and he looked away. “C’mon,” he said instead. “Let’s go home.”

Grantaire nodded once, shoving his hands in his pockets as he slumped after Enjolras, neither man touching the other.

— — — — —

“He’s not technically under arrest,” the cop told Enjolras as he led him back to the holding cell. “But that’s because we couldn’t really mirandize him when he was passed out.”

Enjolras eyed Grantaire, sprawled across the bench in the holding cell, and sighed. “So once he’s coherent, he’ll be charged with, what, drunk and disorderly?”

The officer nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at Enjolras. “Look, it’s not my place, but, uh, maybe look into getting your friend some help?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras murmured, his expression drawn. “Maybe.” He sighed and turned. “Guess I’ll go preemtively pay his bail—”

“Apollo?” Grantaire croaked, and Enjolras sighed again.

“Give us a moment?” he asked the officer, who just shrugged.

Enjolras crossed to the bars of the holding cell, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. “Tell me,” he said, his tone clipped, “were you trying to get hit by a car by passing out in the street, or would have just been a fun little side effect of this spectacular attempt at blowing up your life?”

Grantaire groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position. “Honestly don’t remember if it was deliberate or not,” he muttered, swaying slightly as he blinked unfocusedly at Enjolras.

“There are easier ways of killing yourself,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire managed a small, sharp smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve considered those as well.”

Enjolras’s expression tightened and he looked away. “You used your one phone call for me,” he said.

Grantaire shrugged. “Didn’t know who else to call.”

“Probably anyone besides your ex.” Grantaire flinched and Enjolras sighed before telling him, as firmly as he could manage, “This is the last time. Do you understand?”

Grantaire barked a dry, humorless laugh. “If there’s one thing I can promise, Apollo, it’s that this won’t be the last time.”

“Maybe not for you,” Enjolras said. “But I’m done. So the next time you get picked up for a bar fight or public intoxication or whatever suicidal shit you decide to get yourself into next time, call someone else.”

He didn’t wait for Grantaire to answer, just turning on heel to leave him in the holding cell while he went to go pay his bail.

One last time.

— — — — —

The phone rang, and rang again, and Grantaire’s grip on the phone tightened. “Come on,” he muttered to himself. “Come on, pick up, pick up.”

But the phone just rang until the tinny, robotic voice informed him that no voicemail had been set up for this phone number, and he heaved a sigh as he hung up, a headache blooming in his temples that had absolutely nothing to the better part of a handle of whiskey that he’d worked his way through that evening. 

“Nothing?” the booking officer asked, and Grantaire ground his teeth together at the fake sympathetic tone.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’, and he scrubbed a hand across his face before heading back to the holding cell.

The booking officer trailed after him. “Do you, uh, want to try calling someone else?”

Grantaire just shook his head. “No,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest as the officer opened the door of the cell for him. “I’ll try again later. He’s probably asleep.”

The officer glanced up at the clock that showed it was barely 10pm, and he shook his head as he closed the door after Grantaire. “Your choice,” he said with a shrug.

Grantaire sighed heavily as he slumped down onto the hard metal bench, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for an absent glass or bottle of beer, or else for a hand that used to be his to hold. His throat felt tight and he swallowed hard, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell.

He closed his eyes against the tears that he could feel prick in the corners of his eyes, though he honestly didn’t know if he was crying because Enjolras hadn’t picked up, or because there was a part of him that still thought that maybe, in the morning, he would. One more time.

[australianwomensnews]

Medical research has a major problem: an alarmingly high number of trials are based on fake, fraudulent or misinterpreted data.

Research misconduct sleuths call them “zombie” studies. They look like real research papers but they’re rotten to the core. And when these studies go on to influence clinical guidelines, that is, how patients are treated in hospitals and doctors’ rooms, they can be dangerous.

Professor Ben Mol, head of the Evidence-based Women’s Health Care Research Group at Monash University, is a professional zombie hunter. For years, he has warned that between 20 and 30 per cent of medical trials that inform clinical guidelines aren’t trustworthy.

“I’m surprised by the limited response from people in my field on this issue,” he says. “It’s a topic people don’t want to talk about.”

The peer review process is designed to ensure the validity and quality of findings, but it’s built on the assumption that data is legitimate.

Science relies on an honour system whereby researchers trust that colleagues have actually carried out the trials they describe in papers, and that the resulting data was collected with rigorous attention to detail.

But too often, once findings are queried, researchers can’t defend their conclusions. Figures such as former BMJ editor Richard Smith and Anaesthesia editor John Carlise argue it’s time to assume all papers are flawed or fraudulent until proven otherwise. The trust has run out.

“I think we have been naive for many years on this,” Mol says. “We are the Olympic Games without any doping checks.”

How bad science gets into the clinic

Untrustworthy papers may be the result of scientists misinterpreting their data or deliberately faking or plagiarising their numbers. Many of these “zombie” papers emerge from Egypt, Iran, India and China and usually crop up in lower-quality journals.

The problem gets bad when these poor-quality papers are laundered by systematic reviews or meta-analyses in prestigious journals. These studies aggregate hundreds of papers to produce gold-standard scientific evidence for whether a particular treatment works.

Often papers with dodgy data are excluded from systematic reviews. But many slip through and go on to inform clinical guidelines.

My colleague Liam Mannix has written about an example of this with the hormone progesterone. Official guidelines held that the hormone could reduce the risk of pre-term birth in women with a shortened cervix.

But those guidelines were based on a meta-analysis largely informed by a paper from Egypt that was eventually retracted due to concerns about the underlying data. When this paper was struck from the meta-analysis, the results reversed to suggest progesterone had no preventative effect.

There’s a litany of other examples where discounting dodgy data can fundamentally alter the evidence that shapes clinical guidelines. That’s why, in The Lancet’s clinical journal eClinical Medicine, Mol and his colleagues have reported a new way to weed out bad science before it makes it to the clinic.

Holding back the horde

The new tool is called the Research Integrity in Guidelines and evIDence synthesis (RIGID) framework. It mightn’t sound sexy, but it’s like a barbed-wire fence that can hold back the zombie horde.

The world-first framework lays out a series of steps researchers can take when conducting a meta analysis or writing medical guidelines to exclude dodgy data and untrustworthy findings. It involves two researchers screening articles for red flags.

“You can look at biologically implausible findings like very high success rates of treatments, very big differences between treatments, unfeasible birth weights. You can look at statistical errors,” says Mol.

“You can look at strange features in the data, only using rounded numbers, only using even numbers. There are studies where out of dozens of pairs of numbers, everything is even. That doesn’t happen by chance.”

A panel decides if a paper has a medium to high risk of being untrustworthy. If that’s the case, the RIGID reviewers put their concerns to the paper’s authors. They’re often met with stony silence. If authors cannot address the concerns or provide their raw data, the paper is scrapped from informing guidelines.

The RIGID framework has already been put to use, and the results are shocking.

In 2023, researchers applied RIGID to the International Evidence-based Guidelines for Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS), a long misunderstood and misdiagnosed syndrome that affects more than 1 in 10 women. As a much maligned condition, it was critical the guidelines were based on the best possible evidence.

In that case, RIGID discounted 45 per cent of papers used to inform the health guidelines.

That’s a shockingly high number. Those potentially untrustworthy papers might have completely skewed the guidelines.

Imagine, Mol says, if it emerged that almost half of the maintenance reports of a major airline were faked? No one would be sitting around waiting for a plane to crash. There would be swift action and the leadership of the airline sacked.

[simply-ivanka]

Suddenly Democrats Care About the Border

Biden and Schumer begin to see their political vulnerability.

By John Thune -- Wall Street Journal Opinion/ May 20, 2024

Trailing in the polls and desperate less than six months before Election Day, President Biden and Senate Democrats are trying something new: their best impersonations of Republicans.

The architects of the Biden border crisis—the worst in American history—suddenly want the American people to know they’re on the case. After three-plus years of mismanaging border security, resulting in more than nine million entries through the southern border, Majority Leader Chuck Schumer is telegraphing that he may force Senate floor votes related to the border.

That’s his prerogative as leader, but I don’t expect anyone to buy this political theater. For starters, Mr. Biden has authority to take action at the border and to do so today. It’s the same authority he used to issue a multitude of executive actions relaxing border security, including rescinding the national emergency at the southern border, halting border-wall construction, ending the Remain in Mexico policy, and discouraging Immigration and Customs Enforcement from apprehending illegal immigrants.

The president this month ordered the removal of criminals and potential terrorists. This is a switch from the policy he started shortly after his inauguration, and the new order was made only after hundreds of people on the terrorist watchlist were encountered in between ports of entry on his watch. Vote for me, and I’ll clean up the historic mess I made is hardly an effective campaign pitch, and a few meaningless Senate votes won’t erase my Democratic colleagues’ long records of enabling illegal immigration.

In this Congress alone, Senate Democrats have banded together to protect taxpayer-funded flights for illegal immigrants to different states in the U.S. and keep federal dollars flowing to sanctuary cities. Democrats blocked votes on a litany of common-sense border-security and enforcement measures, including a proposal from Sen. Marsha Blackburn (R., Tenn.) that would have let state and local law enforcement detain criminal illegal aliens until ICE can deport them. They even stopped legislation from Sen. Ted Budd (R., N.C.) that would deem assaulting a law-enforcement officer a deportable offense.

Not one Senate Democrat supported H.R. 2, House Republicans’ signature border bill, after Senate Republicans twice forced it to be considered.

But now Democrats need voters in Montana, Ohio, Nevada and Pennsylvania to believe they’re serious about the border. They aren’t motivated by national security. They’re concerned about their own political vulnerability. They’ve recognized, albeit too late, that the chaos of an open border is a political liability.

If Mr. Schumer devotes floor time to debating border legislation, he should expect some difficult conversations ahead—the same kinds of conversations we would have had in the Senate if every Democrat hadn’t voted to dismiss the impeachment of Homeland Security Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas without a trial.

It’s abundantly clear that the American people want an end to lawlessness at the southern border. They want the president to do his job and defend America’s borders. The bad political bet that Mr. Biden and Mr. Schumer are making is that voters will hire the arsonists to put out the fire.

Mr. Thune, a South Dakota Republican, is Senate minority whip.

[olympeline]

@fireandspiceland’s recent posts made me realise I never knew how much I needed a USUK cardverse/omegaverse combo AU in my life. Well now I do! So have a Situation Involving Them that I just came up with:

The King of each of the four Suit Lands is always an alpha, the Queen an omega, and each kingdom has their own way of choosing their royal pair. In the Land of Spades, the Queen is born with his or her Royal Mark and so taken from their family and raised to rule from a young age. Meanwhile the King gains the Mark once he or she beds the Queen in heat for the first time. This means the Queen is born to rule, but the King can be anyone so long as they’re an alpha. To make sure they get someone worthy, a potential King must face a series of trials. Ending with the most treacherous of all: catching the Spade Queen in the traditional hunting grounds of the Garden of Thorns. Catching the Queen, subduing them, then bringing them back to the castle to be wedded and mated during their next heat. While the Queen can fight to kill, obviously the would-be-Kings can’t. Which puts them at a huge disadvantage right from the start.

The Spade Queen is always a powerful mage so the threat of facing them one-on-one is enough to repel all but the most elite warriors. Nevertheless, there’s usually a new Spade King a year or two after the Queen comes of age. The prize of a kingdom is a big motivator after all. Enough to bring the greatest warriors from all over and make them daring. But - unfortunately for the kingdom - their latest Queen is different. Their latest Queen is one Arthur Kirkland: green-eyed, straw haired, peasant son of a sailor turned Spade Queen-in-Waiting from the moment his midwife spotted the Mark before the cord was even cut. As is traditional, Arthur is a mage. But even for a Spade Queen, he’s not just powerful but stupidly powerful and ruthless with it. He’s also proud, haughty, and absolutely bound and determined that no one, but no one, is going to subdue him. He’s nobody’s broodmare, goddamnit! He’s his own man! Arthur bloody Kirkland is not getting wedded and bedded, not ending up wasting his talents raising litters of babies while some meatheaded brute usurps his place in the kingdom he’s been learning to rule since he was barely more than a babe himself! Arthur has a razor sharp mind and many plans for the Kingdom of Spades. Plans to reform society and make life better for all who live there. Something he can’t do if bound to a Spade King and forced to do his or her bidding. The laws of the land make the King of Spades monarch supreme. The Queen utterly subservient to them and there to birth royal children - Dukes and Duchesses of Spades - who can then be married off to forge alliances with other kingdoms. Excuse Arthur while he seethes at the thought of all of his brilliance being squandered on a life of endless sex followed by birthing royal brats in a nest.

Arthur had his first heat in his early teens and the kingdom officials started the tournaments as soon as he did, confident they’d have a new King of Spades in a year or two at most. Only to grow increasingly horrified as Arthur destroyed every champion brought in to chase him. Most of the time he didn’t even bother to run as a Queen usually would. Instead just calling on his litany of flesh melting, bone shattering spells to finish each encounter in mere minutes. His sixteenth birthday passes, then his eighteenth, nineteenth, on and on. Now the Queen of Spades is close to his twenty-first year and still he’s unmated! Not only that, but his reputation has grown so fearsome that the kingdom officials can barely find any champions willing to face him. The old fossils are close to despair and Arthur is smugger than a smug vendor at a convention of smuggery. He knows if he can make it past his twenty-first birthday then he will legally be an adult and the kingdom’s steward will have no choice but to hand all the powers of monarch supreme over to him. The old King of Spades is long dead and so is the old Queen. Making Arthur the undisputed highest authority in the Kingdom of Spades once he comes of age. Then no one can stop him making himself Queen Regnat, able to rule with no King. Able to change whatever laws he wants. Able to put a stop to these cursed tournaments once and for all and choose his own Spade Prince - not a Spade King, a Spade Prince! Subservient to his Spade Queen! Definitely a Prince - in peace.

He’s so close now, just one more month to go. All the years of training and endless sleepless nights of practicing spellcraft til he keeled over from exhaustion will be worth it. Arthur knows he can do it. He’s powerful now, so, so powerful. Who could ever hope to match the sheer force of his black magic? As far as he knows, there’s only one challenger left who’s been stupid enough not to throw in the towel. A young knight from a minor noble family by the name of Albert or Alfred or some such. Arthur barely listened to the details when Councillor Yao told him he had another challenge coming up. Arthur has practically been through more would-be-Kings than he’s had cups of tea. He’s heard it all before. He’s sure this Alfred or whatever will be no different.

Quite sure.

(This is getting long so end of part 1! Hopefully you guys will be interested in reading more once I type it up. 😘)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Clay Bennett, Chattanooga Times Free Press

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

July 1, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

JUL 02, 2024

Today the United States Supreme Court overthrew the central premise of American democracy: that no one is above the law. 

It decided that the president of the United States, possibly the most powerful person on earth, has “absolute immunity” from criminal prosecution for crimes committed as part of the official acts at the core of presidential powers. The court also said it should be presumed that the president also has immunity for other official acts as well, unless that prosecution would not intrude on the authority of the executive branch.

This is a profound change to our fundamental law—an amendment to the Constitution, as historian David Blight noted. Writing for the majority, Chief Justice John Roberts said that a president needs such immunity to make sure the president is willing to take “bold and unhesitating action” and make unpopular decisions, although no previous president has ever asserted that he is above the law or that he needed such immunity to fulfill his role. Roberts’s decision didn’t focus at all on the interest of the American people in guaranteeing that presidents carry out their duties within the guardrails of the law. 

But this extraordinary power grab does not mean President Joe Biden can do as he wishes. As legal commentator Asha Rangappa pointed out, the court gave itself the power to determine which actions can be prosecuted and which cannot by making itself the final arbiter of what is “official” and what is not. Thus any action a president takes is subject to review by the Supreme Court, and it is reasonable to assume that this particular court would not give a Democrat the same leeway it would give Trump. 

There is no historical or legal precedent for this decision. The Declaration of Independence was a litany of complaints against King George III designed to explain why the colonists were declaring themselves free of kings; the Constitution did not provide immunity for the president, although it did for members of Congress in certain conditions, and it provided for the removal of the president for “high crimes and misdemeanors”—what would those be if a president is immune from prosecution for his official acts? The framers worried about politicians’ overreach and carefully provided for oversight of leaders; the Supreme Court today smashed through that key guardrail. 

Presidential immunity is a brand new doctrine. In February 2021, explaining away his vote to acquit Trump for inciting an insurrection, Senate minority leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY), who had also protected Trump in his first impeachment trial in 2019, said: “Trump is still liable for everything he did while he was in office…. We have a criminal justice system in this country. We have civil litigation, and former presidents are not immune from being held accountable by either one.”

But it was not just McConnell who thought that way. At his confirmation hearing in 2005, now–Chief Justice John Roberts said: “I believe that no one is above the law under our system and that includes the president. The president is fully bound by the law, the Constitution, and statutes.” 

In his 2006 confirmation hearings, Samuel Alito said: “There is nothing that is more important for our republic than the rule of law. No person in this country, no matter how high or powerful, is above the law.” 

And in 2018, Brett Kavanaugh told the Senate: “No one’s above the law in the United States, that’s a foundational principle…. We’re all equal before the law…. The foundation of our Constitution was that…the presidency would not be a monarchy…. [T]he president is not above the law, no one is above the law.”

Now they have changed that foundational principle for a man who, according to White House officials during his term, called for the execution of people who upset him and who has vowed to exact vengeance on those he now thinks have wronged him. Over the past weekend, Trump shared an image on social media saying that former Representative Liz Cheney (R-WY), who sat on the House Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack on the U.S. Capitol, was guilty of treason and calling for “televised military tribunals” to try her. 

Today, observers illustrated what Trump’s newly declared immunity could mean. Political scientist Norm Ornstein pointed out that Trump could “order his handpicked FBI Director to arrest and jail his political opponents. He can order the IRS to put liens on the property of media companies who criticize him and jail reporters and editors.” Legal analyst Joyce White Vance noted that a president with such broad immunity could order the assassination of Supreme Court justices, and retired military leader Mark Hertling wrote that he was “trying to figure out how a commander can refuse an illegal order from someone who is issuing it as an official act.” 

Asha Rangappa wrote: “According to the Court, a President could literally provide the leader of a hostile adversary with intelligence needed to win a conflict in which we are involved, or even attack or invade the U.S., and not be prosecuted for treason, because negotiating with heads of state is an exclusive Art. II function. In case you were wondering.” Trump is currently under indictment for retaining classified documents. “The Court has handed Trump, if he wins this November, carte blanche to be a ‘dictator on day one,’ and the ability to use every lever of official power at his disposal for his personal ends without any recourse,” Rangappa wrote. “This election is now a clear-cut decision between democracy and autocracy. Vote accordingly.”

Trump’s lawyers are already challenging Trump’s conviction in the election interference case in which a jury found him guilty on 34 counts. Over Trump’s name on social media, a post said the decision was “BRILLIANTLY WRITTEN AND WISE, AND CLEARS THE STENCH FROM THE BIDEN TRIALS AND HOAXES, ALL OF THEM, THAT HAVE BEEN USED AS AN UNFAIR ATTACK ON CROOKED JOE BIDEN’S POLITICAL OPPONENT, ME. MANY OF THESE FAKE CASES WILL NOW DISAPPEAR, OR WITHER INTO OBSCURITY. GOD BLESS AMERICA!”

In a concurring opinion, Justice Clarence Thomas, whose wife was deeply involved in the effort to overturn the 2020 presidential election, also took a shot at the appointment of special counsels to investigate such events. Thomas was not the only Justice whose participation in this decision was likely covered by a requirement that he recuse himself: Alito has publicly expressed support for the attempt to keep Trump in office against the will of voters. Trump appointed three of the other justices granting him immunity—Neil Gorsuch, Brett Kavanaugh, and Amy Coney Barrett—to the court.

In a dissent in which Justices Elena Kagan and Ketanji Brown Jackson concurred, Justice Sonia Sotomayor wrote that because of the majority’s decision, "[t]he relationship between the President and the people he serves has shifted irrevocably. In every use of official power, the President is now a king above the law."

“Never in the history of our Republic has a President had reason to believe that he would be immune from criminal prosecution if he used the trappings of his office to violate the criminal law. Moving forward, however, all former Presidents will be cloaked in such immunity. If the occupant of that office misuses official power for personal gain, the criminal law that the rest of us must abide will not provide a backstop. With fear for our democracy,” she wrote, “I dissent.” 

Today’s decision destroyed the principle on which this nation was founded, that all people in the United States of America should be equal before the law.

The name of the case is “Donald J. Trump v. United States.” 

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[deluxewhump]

Pride of Princes

4. Forget Your Perfect Offering

Prev Masterlist

CW: medieval fantasy, torture mention, threat of execution, kissing, lightly implied sexual content, bed sharing, arguably dubious consent

As his physical state improved, the prince took him out of castle Blackmuir. Not far, but outside the keep, which he’d never seen since he arrived at night. Aedric showed him some of his favorite horses, who Roan fed cubes of sugar from his hand. He took him to the glass garden, a timber frame structure with walls and a roof of clear glass Aedric had commissioned for his second peaceweaver, Miline, so she could have southerly fruits year-round. Inside was an orange grove, and when Roan admitted he’d never tried one fresh, only dried, Aedric insisted he pull one from a branch and try it right there.

Despite the court undoubtedly knowing all about Roan Barrowfen’s refusal to convert, no one outside the keep gave him a second glance. Some would look at the prince, in his black and silver doublet and his kidleather boots, but that was because he was the prince. The late summer air was soft, and still warm. He thought of the raspberry bushes that grew on the southern walls of his own keep, and how they would be fit for picking now, the fruits ripe and swollen with sunlight.

As they sat on a bench in the grove, Aedric asked him questions about the reaches, about his father’s house. He wanted to know who shared his father’s stalwart loyalty to the Tercet, and who might be more inclined to the old ways. Roan was less than forthcoming, at first. If it was such a crime now, why would he implicate his own countrymen? Prince Aedric sensed the mood had grown uneasy, a little too close to an interrogation. He eased his questions. “I promise I don’t ask for any odious purpose,” he said.

Roan nodded curtly at the clarification. “Thank you.”

Prince Aedric was nothing if not clear. And Roan was starting to think he might be honest, too.

Every night, Roan found himself warm and dry in the prince’s suite, waiting for him to return. He assumed there was a litany of things that kept the prince busy during the day, though he never spoke of what. Only later would he understand what kept him out so late, returning only when it was long past dark and the candles were lit.

To avoid the scrutiny of those inside the keep, Roan took his meals at the table beneath the window in the prince’s rooms. He was afraid of wandering the keep by himself, even though the king himself had granted Prince Aedric full custody of him until his trial. The thought of recognizing a soldier, guard, or even worse, the pale-eyed cleric Alfonsus sent ice through his veins.

Sometimes it was a servant from the kitchens who brought his meals to him, sometimes a girl called Juliana, who Aedric said was Miline’s handmaid. He’d not yet met Esther, Miline, or Aedric’s young daughter, Esti. He supposed he was a prisoner on borrowed time, and it would be easier for them to ignore his presence. Perhaps Juliana was sent by Miline, just to bring back any details or gossip she could about him.

He’d begun sharing Aedric’s bed, but not intimately. He slept on the far right, and Aedric on the left, several feet between them that may as well have been a chasm, and never with the curtains drawn. Aedric insisted he sleep on the bed after he’d spent the first night on a stiff wooden couch. I won’t touch you, the prince had promised, and Roan had balked at the mere mention of intimacy between them, even if it was the lack thereof being mentioned.

But as one week turned to two, and his trial neared again, he began to wonder if Aedric might be sincere in his wish to help him. Roan still could find no ulterior motive behind his actions, unless it was some intricate court plot that was out of his reach. Aedric spoke more poorly of the Tercet clerics as the days went on, and his reasons for distrusting them were sound, even before Roan had entered the equation. This widening gap in power he’d spoken of was troubling him more than ever, and Roan wondered if maybe the stars had aligned to make him a catalyst for the prince acting in his own political best interest. If so, he’d like to curse them.

From across the vast bed, he asked, “did you intend for us to sleep together?”

“When?” came the prince’s reply.

“Before I upset the King, and everyone else. Was that your intention?”

The prince rolled in bed to face him. It was strange still, seeing him in just a loose-fitting, plain tunic. “Yes. But I thought you wanted to come. That has its own implications.”

“And did I meet your expectations?”

The prince grinned. “And exceeded them. I had no idea you’d commit treason immediately upon your arrival and then refuse to apologize.”

Roan huffed softly. He’d learned to take the prince’s jests for what they were—blunt but unserious teasing.

“You wanted a male peaceweaver, though? That was not something pushed on you for someone else’ convenience?”

“I think that would be a difficult thing to convince someone of, if they were not at all inclined,” said the prince. “I was very interested in you, specifically. They sent a portrait with that letter.”

Roan raised his eyebrows. He’d wondered these things for weeks, and it had been such a simple thing to ask, after all.

“What about you?” Asked the prince. “Do you have highly specific inclinations?”

“No. I think I might even have agreed to it, if I’d been asked. If I was not forced to convert, that is. That’s the problem. It’s not you.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you still want me in that way?”

Prince Aedric searched his eyes, a slightly crease appearing between his brows. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I might offer.”

The crease disappeared, replaced by a surprised exhale of laughter. “It would be well received, if you truly meant it.”

“How else would I mean it?”

“Mmm.” The prince rolled onto his back and turned his head to look at him. “You might offer it because you think I expect it, or that I will work harder to help you if you offer yourself to me in the meantime.”

“Would you?”

“No. I’m already doing everything I can think of. And some things others have thought of.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t want to tell you. Not because I want you in the dark, but because what you don’t know can’t hurt us.”

Roan’s relative ease curdled into a familiar, weighted dread. “You think they’ll hurt me again? And I’ll tell them things?”

“Not necessarily. And certainly not if I have a say in it. But… do you agree it might be best if I didn’t tell you the details?”

“Yes,” Roan said grudgingly. He was right.

“Did I sour something between us, just now?” asked the prince.

“No.” In fact, he might want it more than before. To bring back that feeling of ease, or the possibility of feeling some comfort or pleasure in this borrowed time of his. He would be shocked if Prince Aedric was rough or inconsiderate in matters of intimacy, especially considering Roan’s wounds from torture. Still, he would proceed cautiously. “How would it be, between us? If I offered?”

“However you wanted.”

Roan tamped down the nerves that wanted so much to rise. His wounds and bruises still pained him, but they were not so immediate and debilitating as they had been a fortnight ago. He could imagine enjoying Aedric’s touch, after spending time observing him, learning his disposition, his humor.

As if reading his mind, Aedric asked, “are you healed enough? Your injuries.”

He meant physically, of course. Though the other part was Roan’s larger concern. He worried his resolve would slip and he would not be able to bear a touch. The word injuries sounded wrong, too. It sounded accidental, and his were anything but.

“Can we try something… noncommittal?”

“Can I come over to you?”

Roan agreed, and the prince pushed himself closer so he was nearly touching him. “I think you’re very beautiful,” he said, and raised his right hand to touch the side of Roan’s face.

The movement was slow. He was prepared for it, and he did not flinch away. Other than the healer, everyone here had only touched him to hurt him as deliberately and strategically as they could. The prince’s hand was warm. It cupped his cheek, thumb stroking slowly near his mouth. “What would you like?” He asked.

Roan swallowed. “Is a kiss appropriate to ask?”

The prince smiled broadly. “Of course. Are you asking for one?”

Roan nodded into the prince’s hand, and was rewarded with a soft, affectionate kiss to his lips. The prince pulled back, still stroking his thumb on his face. “More?”

“Yes,” he said, and was given another, and another.

[jadeseadragon]

#Repost @jewishvoiceforpeace

"We charge genocide! Support South Africa’s case charging Israel with genocide against Palestinians at the World Court—and urge the Biden administration to stop undermining the international community’s attempts to hold the Israeli government accountable for its mass atrocities. Sign the petition: https://jvp.org/wecharge

The Israeli government, and the racist ideology that underpins the state, is on trial. Palestinians have long recognized the genocidal intent behind both the words and actions of the Israeli government. Now, South Africa is charging Israel with committing genocide in Gaza, and bringing the case to the International Court of Justice.

South Africa’s case can stop this genocide. It requests the ICJ to issue provisional measures ordering Israel to cease its military activities in Gaza, stop killing and harming Palestinians, stop its forced displacement of them, and stop depriving them of adequate food and shelter.

The ICJ is the enforcer of international law between countries. Both the U.S. and Israel, as well as 150 other states, have signed the Genocide Convention, legally binding the states to prosecution and sanctions if they violate it.

The Genocide Convention is the statute that defines, under international law, what constitutes the crime of genocide. In horrifying detail, South Africa’s 84-page document describes a litany of Israeli actions as “genocidal in character, as they are committed with the requisite specific intent… to destroy Palestinians in Gaza as a part of the broader Palestinian national, racial, and ethnic group.” Swipe for evidence.

These avenues are opportunities for our movement. They are in line with the demands of BDS: to boycott, sanction, and divest from the Israeli government while it continues to violate international law in its oppression of Palestinians.

Palestinians and those fighting alongside them for their freedom have always known this is genocide. Now, as we watch the Israeli state stand trial, our movement has the opportunity to leverage global attention to the Israeli government’s crimes, demand an immediate stop to Israel’s military assaults and adherence to the sanctions that may come as a result."

[afreakingdork]

Crush Too Much - Part 16

RotTMNT Donatello x GN!Reader

Warnings: Longing, Angst, Fluff, Embarrassment, Overbearing Siblings, Aged-up Turtles

Synopsis:  So you met a customer three times at work and that made a pretty big impression on you? That’s nothing to necessarily get worked up over, but when you’re all prepared to ask for his number the next time you see him and his brother gets involved instead, you might be in for something more than you bargained for.

FIRST 💜 PREVIOUS

He had to resist temptation. Sighing, the thick damp air seemed to curl around and mimic his own breath. Peering out from underneath a straw sunhat, Donatello peered up at the humming grow lights. Studying their directionality, he frowned. The topmost leaves of a plant had reached a little too high and were started to scorch. Turning, he headed towards his tool rack to get a ladder. The fringes of his performance review inched their way into his conscious thought. He mentally crumpled a page littered with red marks and dumped it into a wastebasket. His greenhouse was supposed to be a safe haven. It was a zen sanctuary where he communed with living creatures that made the most sense. They were on their little pursuits for water, food, and chemicals to survive. They enjoyed music. They were great listeners and never judged. They were also fascinating test subjects that rarely complained. He adored the camaraderie.

Which is precisely why he shouldn’t still be ruminating over his theatrics at the club from a week ago. Sure, he had run away yet again, but there was higher purpose this time. It wasn’t as if love was completely outside the realm of diagnosable probabilities; it had been clearly established as a possible perpetrator for heart break. He knew as much. It was the timing of the whole thing that had sent him reeling. How could anyone understand how absolutely mortifying it was? The weight of his incompetence? Realizing he was in love was one thing. Realizing he was in love after having gone through a year of flirting, a date, a meltdown, a veritable breakup, and a reconnection all unbeknownst to himself was a humiliation he could hardly bare. So he had locked himself in a dingy bathroom. He had waited until the choppy waters of nausea abated and had left with several texted excuses. He hadn’t even taken the time to make the story congruent.

Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d allow himself to be so sloppy. Without a doubt, there were thousands of mistakes that had come via his hand due to lack of forethought, but unexpected results were just a byproduct of the scientific experience. He had to test. Tests had a litany of outcomes. That process of trial and error was pure exhilaration. His emotional outpouring, however, was far from it. He valued his intelligence to a degree that was often ridiculed by those close to him. He knew it wasn’t meant to be cruel; they each had their eccentricities. Any family worth their salt found a way to navigate their differences and coexist. It just so happened that with his family, that harmony was also tested on the battlefield where it was a matter of life or death. At first, he had to be smart because that was he brought to the team. As their mystic powers grew, he’d grappled with the shift. His intelligence was what made him worthy to walk beside his brothers and their strengths. He had long come to terms with the fault in that thinking, but it didn’t mean the fringes of the long ingrained coping mechanism evaporated overnight.

He considered the current level of his emotional intelligence to be caustic. He had always been different and that had just been a simple known fact of the world. In Mikey’s words, he was better for it. There were things that brought his brothers to tears while he cast a bored, dry eye, but it could easily be written off to checks and balances. If their emotional labor clouded their vision then Donatello could swoop in and pick up the slack. The thing was, when his brothers were upset, they didn’t leave a figurative body count in their wake. Leave it to him to break another’s heart, his own, and almost physically crush someone else just because his feelings got a little out of hand. Heaving yet another sigh, the ladder creaked under Donatello’s weight. He adjusted the height of the bulb and let his fingers run over the yellow bleaching on the plant’s leaf. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about this.

Descending the ladder, his thoughts mimicked the move. What right did he have to love you after what he put you through? After coming to terms with his own heartbreak, it was difficult to think back to the fire escape without a thick coating of disdain. He’d tried to open the door for you to admit your confession was a mistake; as if it was a string of words that had come out in erroneous order. Even now it made him wince. It begged the question why you let him near you at all at this point. He’d swooped in and dressed you like a toddler that couldn’t help mismatching patterns. He faltered getting the ladder back on to its hook. He’d acted out in petty jealousy on a night that was meant to showcase Mikey. Turning away from the tool rack, he smashed his toe into a workbench. He’d manhandled you on the dance floor to the point where you’d had to remind him that his actions weren’t strange. Hissing, he doubled over. This was a modicum on the retribution he deserved, not the elated highs of love.

Straightening, he limped the short distance to properly stand in front of the desk. Reviewing his daily checklist, he moved to grab various containers and soils. Even if your tolerance to his selfish actions was opening the door to friendship, that’s all it was. Setting aside whether he deserved to have feelings for you, he certainly had missed the window to act on them. The lingering sting in his foot brought about a metaphor of stomping out of the embers for passion. He had done that swiftly and violently without a second thought. It was a fire safety etiquette that Todd would probably praise, but then again  the capybara rarely spoke in negatives. Following out the formula he’d concocted in his lab, Donatello mixed the soils with gloved hands.

In yet another reason why he wasn’t supposed to keep ruminating on this subject, he’d also made a plan for himself. Just as he was preparing his plants for their autumnal rotation, he had plotted the framework of his own shift. If friendship was what was on the table then he was going to take it posthaste. He would blow any of your other friendships out of the water. Smiling wickedly, he used a dropper to extrude a calculated amount of his own micronutrient cocktail to the dirt. They’d sing the praises of his sociability for years to come. Replacing the dispenser back into its vial, he drooped slightly. His ego might be taking a hold again. He’d have to mind that.

Giving the soil a thorough stir, he ungloved a hand to acquire a pH strip. Testing the mix, he craned an elbow to the table and watched an old clock round its second’s hand. Regardless, he was going to prove that your decision to let him back into your life was not in vain. It afforded him a chance to make up for his past transgressions while also allowing him to keep you in his life. He frowned as the strip turned several shades too blue. Returning to his ingredients, he corrected for the alkaline mix. Maybe it was the accursed affection, but the thought of losing you again was a future he didn’t care to look towards. He was going to salvage and make the best of what he had now. Testing another strip, he nodded to himself. That would be enough. Satisfied with the new color, he heaved the soil up and over to a prepared planter bed. He had to hurry anyway, he’d done what any sensible person in his position would do: he invited you over.

With years of learned practice, he lost himself to the planting process. By the time he had seeded the fresh soil and adjusted the new string of grow lights, his phone was calling out to him. Struggling against the bits of loam that clung to his leather gloves, he managed to free a hand and swipe the message. It was perfect timing as you’d just arrived topside. He grinned and shot off a map directing you to his location. Resisting the urge to nervously tidy, he instead removed his other glove and started watering the seedlings. Friends act casual. Friends don’t need everything to be spick and span. This was normal. He jolted as too much water began to displace the newly laid soil. Applying his gloves once more, he nodded. He could do this.

Having exchanged the light dappling of dirt on his person for outright mud, he tried not to panic as he heard your approaching steps.

“Woah…” Your murmur came from the far entrance. There was the slightest shift in pressure as you opened the door. “Donnie? What…?”

He stood and stared down at his swampy gloves with mild perturbance. “Over here.” Frowning, he used the index finger and thumb of one had to start to pick the other glove off. The process caused a squelching noise that made him want to gag.

“Is this…?” You sounded about 4 rows away. “… did you seriously construct a greenhouse in a sewer?”

“There was the matter of location.” He responded, thankful the conversation could get his mind off the dampness that was started to leak through its barrier. “If you look up, you’ll see there’s a grate supplying natural light which I then constructed an amplifier for.”

“But there’s still electric lights?” You wondered, your voice growing closer.

“The natural light supplies the warmth, but not enough for the kind of growth I was trying to achieve.” Though it almost turned inside out from the operation, he successfully extracted one glove.

“Is that a pumpkin!?” You shouted.

He rolled his eyes. You had already gone off course. “You think I would have learned my lesson about growing superb squash underground, but who am I to step in the way of excellence?”

“How have you kept this hobby a secret?” You drew out the question, no doubt lost in your surroundings.

Even though he’d carefully constructed every inch of this space, he would often find himself in a similar manner so he couldn’t blame you. Finally ridding himself of both muddy gloves, he set them on the edge of the newly finished planter. “You never asked.”

“Because you so strike everyone as a flower guy.” You sarcasm leaked in from only one row away. He turned and glimpsed your form through twisting stalks.

“My true passion is botany.” He announced proudly as you emerged from behind the greenery. He expected curious excitement, but what he got was an ever wrinkling lip.

“Y-you…” You turned your head and tried to abate the laughter. “You look so cute in your little gardening apron and hat.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” He turned away and brought the empty soil container back to the work bench. “You have a map and can show yourself out!”

“No, no!” You chuckled, jogging over to him. “Come on, I don’t even know what you invited me over for.”

He was glad for the hat’s brim because it meant you couldn’t see the amused smile on his lips. He had been purposefully cryptic in his summons. “We’ll have to see about your resolve. I mean if you’re already making fun of my attire, then how will you fare with your own?” He slid around you without a passing glance.

“Wait, I wasn’t making fun-” You followed him, but halted when he spun around holding another, equally large hat. “We’re underground!?” You laughed at the absurdity while still taking the accessory.

“When you asked if I built a greenhouse in a sewer, I don’t think you realized to what extent.” He smirked as you donned the hat and he passed you an apron.

For a moment you turned a creased brow to the fabric and then a soft horror built up in your gaze. “You made everything in here…” You swept that fear up to his face. “Should I be wearing sunscreen?”

“You’ll be fine… probably. If I had enhanced the UV-B too much it would become lethal as most things are in excess.” He hummed in response as your wrangled with the collar of the apron. The strap hooked around your hat and trapped you inside. With you struggling under the guise of a mock scarecrow, he had to bite back budding laughter. He reached out to help and froze just as his hands were about to graze you. Hesitating, he wondered if this was something friends do.

“Uh… Donnie, are you still there?” You murmured and stopped trying to wiggle free for a moment.

“Uh yes.” Shaking his head of the internal argument, he opted for trying to keep his touches focused on fabric only.

You were free in a matter of seconds and seemed more mentally disheveled than physically. “Let’s agree to never speak of this.”

“I only speak of blackmail when it becomes pertinent.” He gave a sly grin that you in turn glowered at. 

After having correctly donned your protection, you gave him an expectant look. “So, I’m gonna venture to say I’m here to help you?”

Though he was sure it wasn’t the same way, he now understood why you had laughed upon laying eyes on him. The hat and apron were quite a pair. He turned away from you. Friends thinking friends were this cute couldn’t possibly be a thing. “Yes, this way!” He cleared his voice by raising it.

“Mhm?” Your tone was dry.

He supposed someone could only be kept in the dark for so long. “I have a crops of chrysanthemums, lilies, and a particular breed of daisy that…” He turned a row sharply and slowed as a  sea of flowers came into view. “…exceeded their growth expectations.”

Having a been a few steps behind, you rounded him and froze by his side when you caught a glimpse of the overflowing beds. “Donnie, what the heck?!”

“So you splice a few genes!” Shuffling slightly away from your proximity, he threw his hands up. “They're finicky. You activate this and it happens to be attached to that and sometimes they release poisonous spores and other times this happens!”

You turned to him slowly with an even gaze.

He wilted under it momentarily before bouncing back. “No one died, there was only minor rashes, and this place is fortified up to code. There is no chance of gene escape!” When you didn’t stop giving him that look he gave a narrowed one of his own. “Do you dare question my scientific authority?”

“I wouldn’t know how…” You turned back to the seemingly increasing number of flowers. “If I, somehow, set all that aside. Why on earth would you want me to help?”

He opened his mouth for what should have been an easy response but snapped it shut instantly. Under duress, his eyes shot wide. Using this as an excuse to prove his friendship skills certainly wasn’t something he could admit and he hadn’t had the wherewithal amongst all the emotional planning to come with a better excuse. He turned his head toward you incrementally and found you you seemingly doing mental math on how best to tackle all the flora. He couldn’t be sure, but he had an inkling that friends might be trusted with more information than siblings. Squinting, an odd realization came to him: almost all the friends he’d ever made had ended up becoming family to him. Snapping his gaze forward, Donatello frowned. How had he spent that whole year knowing you without ever having had to question himself? It seemed like an impossibility at this time. Without much else to go off of, he offered all he had come up with.

“I don’t trust the dum-dums to...” He blinked and bit his lip as joy flooded him. You had inadvertently given him a great out. “… follow protocol. They would surely release these unstable pollinates with one wrong move.” His legs moved in tandem with his mouth as he approached a bed of lilies. “I needed someone who I could trust to follow my instructions to a T.” He’d say he’d passed the audition, but the content he’d chosen to present was still a concern. Clenching his jaw, he waited for a response.  

Slowly, he heard the sound of your footsteps as you approached. “If you think I can do, I’ll do my best.”

He blinked and turned a surprised eye to you. That wasn’t quite the reaction he’d anticipated, but at least it wasn’t a negative one. “Alright, so we just gather them all up and burn them!”

“Burn them?” You parroted, dismay on your face.

He had to clench his fist to keep a hand from reaching out to comfort you. “Well, of course. There’s an errant gene. We need to eradicate it.”

“Right…” You seemed even more dejected.

His heart clenched and he had to grip the edge of the planter to keep himself stable.

“They’re just so pretty and you grew them!” You swept that forlorn gaze up to him. “Even if they are ‘defective’ in some way, it’s just another tick on your insane list of inventions. It’s incredible.”

As soon as the words hit him, heat began to spread in his cheeks. He frowned in a desperate attempt to keep it at bay. “Let me just grab the shears!” With an excuse managed, he robotically moved away. Since when did stroking his ego elicit such a response? He usually ate up compliments with no problem. It had to be the hat he decided. It was accentuating your face is a pleasing manner that seemed totally ridiculous. After procuring two clippers, he returned to find you pouring over a particularly large Nippon Daisy. The urge to wrap you up a huge bouquet of them was absurd.

“Where do we burn them?” You asked, leaning back and brushing back the brim of your hat.

He had to shove his gaze into the petals to keep from babbling incoherently. “There’s a small incinerator on the other side of the greenhouse.”  

“Small doesn’t seem like a good thing.” You chuckled and approached.

He flinched before realizing you were coming over for your shears. “It might seem like it, but they’ll catch fire pretty quick. It won’t take long.” A faster job meant you'd be leaving sooner, another miscalculation.

“Gotcha…” You accepted the clippers and turned to the task at hand. “So… I just cut them?”

“Allow me to demonstrate.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped up to the daisies. He could feel your gaze bore into him. Grabbing a flower by the stalk, he tried to steady his hand before bringing the clippers up. “Just cut it at a growing point, at this case the leaves.” He then snipped the flower and took it over to a plastic bin he’d already set aside earlier. “You can get a few at a time, but don’t jostle them too much. We’re trying to minimize pollinates.”

“Alright.” You mimicked his steps and showed him your first trimmed flower.

Outwardly he nodded approvingly. Inwardly he was collapsed in a puddle of his own design.

“Why not just pick the whole plant?” You tilted your head as you collected a handful of daisies.

“I’m curious about the seed growth.” Donatello turned to dump his first batch into the bin. “Usually not every single solitary seed is viable, but in this case they were. I’m going to see if this extends to regrowth in an off-season.”  

“So even though it was a failure, you'll use it to your advantage?”

“Not really an advantage. It might be good for crop stability with more testing.” He paused to think. “I believe it’s the same thought process as cognitive reframing.”

You both went on to discuss psychology, his other botany experiments, and how your job had been going. The busy work kept Donatello’s distractions to a minimum, but they were never quite gone. You’d say something off the cuff and he’d feel his heart race. Your laugh coaxed his ears and when you’d catch his eye he thought he might have to step away due to his body’s fluctuating temperature. He kept the planter box between the two of you as an impenetrable fortress. If it weren’t for that, he thought, he might give in to one of his delinquent desires to touch you. You finished the daisies and moved on to the lilies. The conversation stayed light and continued to flow as you told a story from a bar one night and he shared another of a mutant he’d met teaching tai chi. Back and forth you made each other laugh until you’d cleared another section. Moving on to the chrysanthemums, your replies grew short. Donatello’s nerves immediately seized. He reviewed the conversation to see if he had let something slip. Finding no anomalies, he panicked and, in a feat he found impressive, he was able to curb his own verbal outpouring. Silence sunk in and he wondered if he should turn on the ambient music that usually floated dreamily in the greenhouse.

“Hey, Donnie?” You mumbled, your voice low.

Tensing around a stalk, he tried to reassure himself of his earlier assessment.

“Our texts go: nothing, the flyer for the fashion show, a thumbs up, and then you asking me to come help you with something.”

“That is correct.” Keeping his head low, his eyes darted around as he tried to guess where you were going. “You also sent your confirmation of attendance and when you arrived. Oh, and I sent you that map.”

“Y-yeah…” You went silent again and the sound of the shears seemed especially visceral.

He couldn’t stand it. The sound was starting to make his skin crawl. “Were you making sure of something…?”

“Sorry... Just working up the nerve." You paused. "That sounds silly when I actually say it out loud.” You gave a nervous laugh.

“The nerve?” He mouthed.

“If we’re gonna go back to hanging out, we should…” You hesitated and turned away, prepared dump your batch of chrysanthemums into the bin. “… finally label this? Get rid of those pesky unknowns and expectations.”

He came within millimeters of cutting right through his glove. Rubbing the leather, his ears were swimming amongst his racing heartbeat. “I haven’t properly apologized yet.” His worries manifested in a dozen questions. Out of his depth, he stuck to the truth. 

“Oh.” The sound popped out of you.

Chancing a glance, he found your back still turned to him as you hovered over the discarded plants.

“Honestly, I’d rather you didn’t… At least, not right now. Even if you meant it, it would seem like I was fishing for it.”

He wished he could see your face. “I hear your concern, but I brought it up. It’s something that’s been on my mind, but it can wait if that’s what you want.”

You shook your head. “Yeah, later. For now, what are we?”

His clippers hit the edge of the bed with a little too much force. He watched you jump at the sound. His body moved then. Leaving his flowers behind, he crossed the space. He hadn’t even realized he moved until he was right behind you. “Y/N?”

“Well?”

Now that he was aware of his limbs again, he couldn’t manage to move. “It should be for you to decide. I’ve… done enough.”

“It takes both parties. Don't tell me to do what I want. You should have say.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He frowned and reached out to your shoulder, stopping a hair's breadth away. “I reached out to you. I want to spend time with you. Whatever way you think that’s alright is what I want.”

His heart was so loud it was almost making him dizzy. He knew there were implications to the way he worded it. He’d left the door too open. He couldn’t help himself.

“Can we be friends?”

He urge to wrap his arms around you said no, but his lips said something else. “Yes. We can.”

“Ok.” There was a finality to your voice. “Ok.” The repetition sounded more reassured. “Then I guess we’re friends.”

“We’re friends.” He added to the echo.

You turned then. Donatello’s body seized as he realized you hadn’t yet put down your bundle of chrysanthemums. Instead, you brought them up to your chest and gave him a bright smile. He could feel it. He could feel the mental shutter going off. The image would be cataloged in a special album. You looked ethereal, surrounded by dozens of flowers, a shining beacon in a house of his making. He wished you’d smile at him unabashed like this for the rest of his life. He never wanted you to leave. That was not friendship.

“Right! Now that that’s cleared up. Shall we get back to work?” You gave a passing glance at his still out stretched hand and moved around it to finally discard the bundle of flowers.

“Yes, we need to eradicate the rest.” He stepped aside so you could return to the table. He had far more difficulty weeding to do in his heart. Within his mind’s eye, all he could see was you amongst the chrysanthemums.

He returned to the table and you picked up conversation like you no longer had a care in the world. He pushed to be a competent partner, but part of him refused to focus. It was devastating. Soon the beds were clear of petals and together you brought the bins to the incinerator. He took the lead on preparing and lighting it. Once the fires were stoked, he began to toss in the bundles. It was a brief reprieve where there was little you could do to participate. He vaguely noticed when you had left his side to peruse the greenhouse. Though dampened, he was still glad it was interesting enough to drag you away. Once the flowers were dispatched, he dusted his gloved hands of soot. Adjusting the incinerator to a smolder, he turned to look for you. Instead of calling out, he crept stealthily. Rounding the squash, he found you at the specialty raised planter boxes rowed against one of the greenhouse’s walls. Relaxing his posture, he dropped to a stroll so his presence wouldn’t surprise you. With you occupying his mind, he tried to recall what he had planted in that space.

“What is this?” You murmured, unable to pull your eyes away.

He rounded you and as the flower appeared from over your shoulder, he felt his stomach flip.

Why had you picked that one amongst all others to admire? 

“Tulipa gesneriana crossed with Myosotis sylvatica.”

That was enough to drag your attention away from the flower and to him.

“A red tulip and a forget-me-not. It shouldn’t be scientifically possible; they have a different number of chromosomes, but when faced with an absolute I am sometimes pressed to prove it wrong.”

“It’s like ‘incredible’ isn’t enough of a word to describe it, but I can’t think of anything else...” You turned back to the red and blue flower in awe.

You obviously weren’t aware of the language of flowers and for that he was thankful. For him, on the other hand, it meant that he was plagued with the knowledge.

“I don’t know how long it will survive. The fact that it blossomed is a minor miracle. I haven’t been able to recreate the experiment, however, so I won’t be able to publish my work.”   

Red Tulip: I declare my love.

“So this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience?” You breathed.

Forget-me-not: I promise to always remember you.

“You could say that.” He was no longer looking at the flower.

Chrysanthemum: Friendship in spite of change.

“Wow…” You smiled to yourself and then turned to him. He watched the light dance in your eyes. “And I didn’t even have to pay admission to see it!”

Could he be anymore in love?

If he was going to make this friendship work then he desperately needed help.

NEXT

[zisurru]

ok mixed feelings on it but i'd say not bad. my thots:

things i disliked:

tonally the burning of the theater feels very silly between the sprightly jazz and the dialogue with santiago. this seems like a weird place for humor & i would have preferred more gravity

i agree w people saying some of the character motivations don't make sense. i don't buy lestat just letting armand and louis float off together, no complaints. i REALLY don't buy louis leaving daniel alone with armand

also agree w complaints about it feeling rushed - it was ok for me up until loumand's fight and then i was like "yeah this needed to be two episodes"

the louis & lestat reunion doesn't quite work for me. i'm still wondering how lestat ended up at the trial if he presumably didn't want to be there. it also feels to me like this scene is framing their relationship as much more equitable than it really was? why the focus on how louis may have harmed the man who beat him almost to death? when i watched season 1 i felt like the dv might not mesh with what they want to do with the two of them in future seasons and i'm still feeling that

given that daniel’s turning was most likely not consensual, it’s starting to feel like rape is being added to pretty much every major story beat in the adaptation. it’s honestly feeling gratuitous to me at this point without more thematic space being given to the topic of sexual violence itself?

things i liked:

louis's decision to stay with armand and the way that it's tangled up with his desire to hurt lestat + the acknowledgement that no, armand can never make it up to him, and yes, he is going to spend the rest of his life trying. the grief and guilt baked into their relationship along with the love

oh my goodness jacob and assad are both fantastic in their last scene together! i liked the writing here too. i really liked armand chasing after louis with a rehearsed-sounding litany of excuses - showing that he's still the kind of selfish that would lead him to do this shit to begin with

one thing i really didn't want to see was a hierarchy of monstrosity where either armand or lestat were presented as the real "big bad" contrasted against the other so i'm glad they didn't do it. and i think louis's character development works better this way - he realizes that both these men have wronged him in unforgivable ways and that his identity has been heavily tied up in others. he winds up alone, but free. "i'm companion enough for myself now" good for him!!!!!

i love the idea of an old man vampire who’s not like an evil emperor or some kind of cryptkeeper. an old man vamp who just gets to be a badass like the others? i gotta hand it to them that is really cool

[lunar-years]

Do you think Roy was the first partner Keeley ever had to ask to give her more space? Like. I know there was a lot going on there, because Roy was giving her a frankly unsustainable amount of his time if they were ever going to have friends and lives outside of each other. But I also think of how quickly she jumped to "are you leaving?" at the end of the episode and her stated abandonment issues and the fact that she could tell everyone else around them but still couldn't tell Roy--probably, again, because she was that terrified he'd leave her immediately for daring to request it.

I just think there's something super interesting in there about Keeley, and her inability to ask for something basic like space in a relationship, and the way that perhaps sheds some additional light on all her previous relationships, too. Like, we're meant to believe I think that Roy was her first truly serious adult relationship (and I do think Jamie fell into the gray space between casual and committed tbh, but that's another discussion), and everyone she dated before was just a litany young fit footballers who made for a good shag and had a lot of disposable income. But then, it also feels deliberate to have someone like Shandy come in as sort of the "stereotype" ~what Keeley could have been~ character and have her state she's already gotten married and divorced from a rich footballer. (plus, I'm pretty sure someone told me once a lot of irl young players get married very young).

So it just makes me think about Keeley deliberately picking relationships where 1) space was sort of built-in, because at the very least these footballers were going off to training and hanging with their mates and taking trips to away matches. 2) but she always has someone to keep her company when she wants it, because Keeley is definitely a serial monogamist who struggles I think very much with being single 3) she has enough security to think they won't leave her, because she knows she makes good arm candy and good fun and can play the part of a wag like no other. 4) she can break it off before it gets to the point of hasty marriage proposals (I think in the scene in jamie's kitchen it's sort of implied she's historically done most of the breaking up)

I know this has been super rambly with no clear point, lol, but I guess what I'm trying to say is I think the "you've got to leave before you get left" mentality is actually one she and Roy share. And I think she really might hate herself for needing space from Roy, because with him it's the first time she feels like she's sort of gotten over her inability to have a serious relationship and not want to run from it. her going around telling everyone but Roy she wants him to leave her alone sometimes, is, maybe unconsciously, a sort of "trial run" to see how people react and to determine if she's asking too much here like she thinks she is, and if he's going to up and leave her if she tells him this. obviously that's no excuse for what was really quite poor/immature behavior, but it helps it make more sense to me.

[birgittesilverbae]

endure thou therefore hardship

cw: mention of domestic abuse

i. who hath chosen him

You can't remember a time when you could stand tall, before you had been buckled beneath the weight of a load too large for your young shoulders. Your mere presence to blame for a family unit shattering, for the departure of a woman who looks upon you and feels nothing. Your own actions to blame for the bruises that long blanket your ribs and your back and every inch of your skin that can be covered by clothing. Your disinterest to blame for the whispers that spread behind you in the halls of a Department of Defense school you've never quite felt at home in. You're to blame, you're to blame, you're to blame. 

The litany of blame only lightens when you step into the church on base, tucked into the back of the installation. You while away your evenings there alongside the chaplain, growing tall enough that your feet no longer dangle above the floor when you settle into one of the folding chairs that stand in for pews. Alan, the latest in a long line of chaplains, is always slow to hide his grin when you carry the chairs in ungainly stacks and rest them in neat ranks against the back of the hall. He sits with you as you struggle gamely through biology and calculus, chemistry and history. There's a keenness to his eyes, an interest in his gaze, that makes you feel accepted here, in this quiet space where you can shelter from the whirlwind of rage that haunts your home.

His quiet, steady voice – so much at odds with the barks of every teacher who seemingly aspires to become a drill sergeant – directs you to prayer, to supplication, to stain your lips with the crimson of His blood, and you find peace in those moments in which you can finally hear yourself think. You are so used to living with eyes downturned that it doesn't feel a burden to lower your head in prayer. It feels a relief to know that you are not alone, even in your isolation.

Your backpack is light, containing only a binder with an essay you've left almost to the last minute, when you duck your head into Alan's office to give your greetings. He is not alone, and confusion spikes up and down your spine when he gestures towards you and introduces you to a full-on nun. Wimple and all. You've grown too used to Alan in his fatigues or his dress uniform, can't remember the last time you'd seen him in his robes of office – the Easter services, maybe – and thus the contrast between the pair of them is all the more stark. Alan with the top buttons of his fatigues undone in concession to the heat while this black-robed crow perches opposite him without even a bead of sweat on her face.

The confusion only grows, as confusion so often does for you, with the continuance of conversation. An offer of something that's never quite stated outright, the way your fingers trace the margin of a bruise but never press at its centre. An opportunity to take a combat-oriented role in… something. An affiliation to the Church, the proper noun always evident in the stating of it. 

You've drifted from Mainline Protestant to Evangelical to Catholic with the rotation of chaplains through the base, none of them striking any particular chord with you beyond the one strummed by the offering of religion as refuge. Face to face with a steely-eyed nun of the Catholic capital-c Church, you feel a sudden surge of belief that this is where you are meant to be. That all your burdens have brought you to this moment, to this offering of escape from the only path you'd felt left open to you. 

(You've never had the grades for university, and you've heard often enough that art is not a viable option. But you have a body, and what better use for it than to lay it on the line for a country you've experienced only in brief snapshots of time, a week long vacation here, a funeral there. If that's all you're good for, then it will be no trial for you to pile more dirt upon the root of that disinterest in boys you've already so easily buried.)

You have a body, and you are being offered another use for it.

You grab hold with both hands and hang on tight.