#virtual Court hearing

[starboyshoyo]

Courting, Pining, or Flirting? 

Characters: All NRC students x reader (seperately)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland 

Genre: fluff

Do the NRC boys court you, pine for you, or flirt with you? 

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle Rosehearts will do his best in courting you. Raised to be strict and formal, he has virtually no idea of what love is, or how to express it. The best he got was the fairytales of princesses and knights in his childhood. So he’ll follow their lead to the best of his ability. Riddle will give you his blazer jacket, and take your arm in his when navigating crowded hallways- he’ll even bow to you when saying goodnight, placing a tender kiss on your hand. Riddle might need a bit of a confidence boost before he performs a moonlight soliloquy under your balcony, though. 

Ace Trappola, unsurprisingly, enjoys flirting with you. What can he say, he’s a fun-loving guy! That extends to all parts of his life, including you. When the two of you are watching movies on his laptop in Ramshackle Dorm, he’ll tug the blanket away, forcing you to cuddle up to him for warmth. One day in class, a crumpled paper ball will hit you on the shoulder, reading: DO YOU LIKE ME? YES/NO ;) It’s childish, but somehow endearing.

Deuce Spade, ever the gentleman, will try (keyword: try) his best in courting you. His mom didn’t raise a brat! Listening to her advice, he’ll buy you flowers, ask you out on the weekends, and drape his jacket over your shoulders when you get cold. It’s a lot less smooth than it sounds, though. He’ll be a blushing, stuttering mess the entire time and accidentally spill his plans to you before he can execute them. Then he’ll apologize and spill even more of his plans- and alas, the cycle continues. 

Trey Clover is surprisingly good at flirting! Trey is confident in his ability to charm people. Even the most uptight of Prefects tend to relax a little around him. Of course, the delicious handmade pastries he often brings along with him are just a bonus. They’re an easy way to strike up a conversation with you, getting you to spill more and more about yourself to him. He’s comfortable to talk to, isn’t he? Oh, is that baked good your favorite? Expect a box of them to show up on your desk within the next week, along with a coy little note: Sweets for the sweet. 

Cater Diamond, on the surface, is definitely into flirting. He chases anything and everything within a fifty-meter radius of himself, and giving his posts on Magicam so much as a comment will result in a Hey cutie ;) popping up in your DM notifications at 1 AM. But with a person that Cater truly loves, face to face, he won’t do anything more than stay by your side as a supportive friend, pining from afar. He’s afraid of messing this up. Do you even see him that way? Please say you do. 

SAVANACLAW

Leona Kingscholar does all three, in the order of pining, courting, and flirting. Hear me out: Leona pines, but not in a hopeless way. Instead, he just figures that he doesn’t have the time or emotional investment for a relationship. But once the feelings began to grow, Leona gets desperate. He doesn’t want opportunities to slip through his fingers without doing anything. So he’ll begin subtly hanging out with you more, until it reaches the courting stage. At that point, he becomes visibly softer and less harsh around you. He’ll only really be comfortable flirting and being playful with you once you’re in an established relationship, not before. 

Ruggie Bucchi is into casual flirting- Well, he’s into it until he realizes he’s fallen so hard that he can’t climb back out. It’s all fun and games to him at first. Oh, you want to pet his ears? Maybe trading that cookie of yours from the lunch buffet would be suitable collateral. You think he looks good in the PE uniform? There’s more where that came from. Want him to accompany you on a late-night errand? Of course! He loves spending time with you- Wait, when did that happen? 

Jack Howl follows his sharp instincts on everything, and every sign is pointing at him courting you like a true gentleman. He knows he’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s got no problem cleaning his act up for you. Putting on a suit and tie and using a bit of gel in his hair and around his ears is a small price to pay for your affection. He’s not particularly shy about showing you he has feelings for you, but outright telling you might take a bit more time and effort.

OCTAVINELLE

Azul Ashengrotto is painfully, unequivocally deep in pining for you. There’s just no way around it is there? Oh, what he wouldn’t give to crawl into his tako pot and hide when you’re around. You’re on his mind every second of every day, and he lays in bed every night wondering if you see him the same way. Is he handsome to you? Is he smart? He wants to hold you so bad but he won’t do it until you tell him yes, I like you too, first.

Jade Leech, ever the calm, collected one, excels at smooth flirting. He just knows you like him as much as he likes you, and he’s not afraid to point it out. It’s not like you’re subtle about it either- with the way you sit in a corner booth of Mostro Lounge for hours, just to be able to talk with him after-hours over leftover pastries and tea. You wouldn’t mind if he did this with you more often, would you? 

Floyd Leech has his unique way of flirting, just like everything else in his life. You’re just so exciting, Shrimpy! Won’t you tell him a little more about your day? Even just the little things, like how many pages of notes you took in History of Magic class or an answer to a test question or two- he’s kidding, he’s kidding! All jokes aside, Floyd truly does enjoy your company and the ways you spice up his life. 

SCARABIA

Kalim Al-Asim does none of the three, surprisingly. He’s so bright it might not even occur to you that he’s interested until you’re already three layers deep. He’s always been a friendly person, so when he begins inviting you to hang out all the time, you wouldn’t give it a second thought. It’s only when you notice him trying to do things for you rather than just with you do you realize his feelings might run a little deeper than just friendship. He tries to be chivalrous, but it usually just comes off as him playing at being your prince charming. The closest you could get to describing what Kalim does is playful, friendly courting- albeit a very unconventional form of it. 

Jamil Viper is used to never getting what he wants. Somewhere along the line he stopped trying. So when you step into his life, shining but not blinding like Kalim, he hesitates. Is he ready to take such a risk? All he knows for sure is that he wants you in his life… someday. So quietly, in between classes and in the hallways, he’ll be pining for you from afar- hoping you’ll make the first move, so that he won’t have to worry about Kalim whisking you away.

POMEFIORE

Vil Schoenheit thinks he has never met someone so beautiful before. You might even be half as beautiful as he is! It’s a huge compliment coming from someone like him. You’re also half as smart, almost as strong, and maybe he’d consider taking you out for lunch- but don’t get it twisted! He’s doing this out of the goodness of his heart. (He likes you. He really likes you. Please date him.) It’s not very good flirting, but he’s trying his best.

Rook Hunt is flamboyant and genuine in everything he does, which includes flirting with you, his longtime crush. You have the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen! Would you mind if he admired it for a while? He’ll brag about you to everyone around him, much to the irritation of Vil, who finds it offensive that his biggest supporter has ‘betrayed’ him for another. Rook doesn’t care, though. If you so pleased, he’d be more than happy to walk you to your next class. Anything to bask in your unmatched beauty just a few seconds longer. 

Epel Felmier is good at flirting, and he’s confident about it too! A rough and tumble farm boy like him needs a cute thing on his arm to show off, doesn’t he? Don’t laugh at him- he’s trying to impress you. He’ll do anything he can to prove to you that he’s a strong, capable person and your perfect match. Let him carry your books, and serve you in the cafeteria buffet line. When you share a snack together, he’ll lean just a bit too close, letting his cheek brush against yours before pulling away. Come on, look him in the eyes! Or are you too shy~

IGNIHYDE

Idia Shroud has never met you in real life. You’ve never seen his face, but he’s seen yours through the camera of his tablet at housewarden meetings. Maybe it’s the pent up stress speaking, but wow, you’re way out of his league. Best to make casual conversation and repress his pining over a game of online chess, lest he screw it all up in real life. 

DIASOMNIA

Malleus Draconia is a lonely soul who knows little more than a life of isolation. When you walk into his life, unafraid of the twisted black crown that sits on his head or the ominous aura that seems to surround him, he has to wonder if after all these years he’s finally found his soulmate. Immediately, he wants to make plans to see you every day, to listen to you ramble about anything and everything beyond the briar walls around his castle. Stay a while and talk with him, won’t you? Malleus is the true definition of patience and indulgence when he’s courting you. 

Lilia Vanrouge isn’t one for mere high school relationships. He’s a father and a general! He’s got a teenager to raise and armies to lead, on top the infamously heavy homework load from NRC classes. You’d have to be really important to him to find a place in his ancient heart. Sure, he’ll have his fun with flirting and all, but no one can really expect a thousand-year old fae to fall in love… right?

Sebek Zigvolt is shocked, no pun intended. There’s no way a fae like himself has fallen for a mere human! No, he won’t accept it. Sebek will turn in somersaults and bend over backwards to make any excuse on why he is not in love with you, he’s just a bit agitated today! Ironically, he makes things harder for himself with this mindset, condemning himself to pining for you from afar. 

Silver, like his name, wants to be your knight in shining armor- he’s just not quite sure how to go about it yet. He supposes he’ll ask for your parents’ permission to begin courting you, first. That’s the tradition in the Valley of Thorns after all. But when Lilia points out that it’s a bit old-fashioned, he’ll simply agree and go along with whatever terrible plans the rest of Diasomnia comes up with next. Be prepared to be barraged with an awful yet endearing mix of pick-up lines, cheesy love letters, and classic romance songs that this quartet comes up with in their free time. The best thing? Silver himself won’t even be awake for half of it. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[cy-cyborg]

The Untrustworthy Fake: Disability Tropes

[ID: A screenshot of Willy Wonka from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory as he limps towards a crowd using a cane. In the picture, he has a brown top hat in his hand, and he's wearing a suit with a purple jacket, multicoloured bow tie and cream coloured pants. Beside him is text that reads: "Disability Tropes, The untrustworthy Fake" /End ID]

Tell me if this sounds familiar: A new character is introduced into a story with some kind of disability - usually visible but not always. Maybe they're a seemingly harmless person in a wheelchair, maybe they're a one-legged beggar on the street, or maybe they're an elderly person with a cane and a slow, heavy limp. But at some point, it's revealed it's all a ruse! The old man with a cane "falls" forward and does a flawless summersault before energetically springing back up to his feet, the wheelchair user gets to their feet as soon as they think the other character's backs are turned, the one legged beggar's crutch is knocked out of his hand, only to have his other leg pop out of his loose-fitting tunic to catch him.

All of these are real examples. Maya and The Three introduces one of it's main protagonists, Ricco, by having him pretend to be missing a leg in order to con people (something that works on the protagonist, at least at first), Buffy The Vampire Slayer had the character Spike, pretend to be in a wheelchair, until the other characters leave and he gets up, revealing it's all a ruse and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory introduces Wonka by having him slowly limp out into the courtyard of the factory, only for his cane to get stuck, causing him to "fall" and jump back up, revealing that he's actually perfectly fine. Virtually every single major crime show in the past few decades has used this trope too, from CSI to The Mentalist, Castle, Law and Order and Monk all having at least one episode featuring it in some way. Even the kids media I grew up with isn't free from it; The Suite Life of Zack & Cody sees Zach faking being dyslexic after meeting someone who actually has the condition in the episode Smarter and Smarter and the SpongeBob SquarePants episode Krabs vs Plankton has Plankton fake needing a wheelchair (among other injuries) after falling in the Krusty Krab as a ploy to sue Mr Krabs and trick the court into giving him the Kraby Patty Formula.

No matter the genre or target audience though, one thing is consistent: this trope is used as a way to show someone is dishonest and not to be trusted. When the trope is used later in the story, it's often meant to be a big reveal, to shock the audience and make them mad that they've been duped, to show the characters and us what this person (usually a villain) is willing to stoop to. Revealing the ruse early on though is very often used to establish how sleazy or even how dangerous a character is and to tell the audience that they shouldn't trust them from the get go. Gene Wilde (The actor who first played Willy Wonka) even said in several interviews that this was his intent for Wonka's character. He even went so far as to tell the director of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory that he wouldn't do the film without that scene because of how strongly he felt this trope was needed to lay the foundations for Wonka's questionable intentions and motivations. His exact words are: "...but I wouldn't have done the film if they didn't let me come out walking as a cripple and then getting my cane stuck into a cobble stone, doing a forward somersault and then bouncing up... the director said, well what do you want to do that for? and I said because from that point on, no one will know whether I'm telling the truth or lying."

There's... a lot of problems with this trope, but that quote encapsulates one of the biggest ones. whether intentionally or not, this trope ends up framing a lot of actual disabled people as deceitful, dishonest liars. Now I can already hear you all typing, What?! Cy that's ridiculous! No one is saying real disabled people are untrustworthy or lying about their disabilities, just people who are faking!

but the thing is, the things often used in this trope as "evidence" of someone faking a disability are things real disabled people do. A person standing up from their wheelchair or having scuff-marks on their shoes, like in the episode Miss Red  from The Mentalist isn't a sign they're faking, a lot of wheelchair users can stand and even walk! They're called ambulatory wheelchair users, and they might use a wheelchair because they can't walk far, they might not feel safe walking on all terrains, they might have unstable joints that makes standing for too long risky, they might have a heart condition like POTS that has a bigger impact when they stand up or any number of other reasons. Also even non-ambulatory wheelchair users will still have scuff marks from things like transferring and bumping into things (rather hilariously, even TV Tropes calls this episode out as being "BS" in it's listing for this trope, which it refers to as Obfuscating Disability). A blind beggar flinching or getting scared when you pull a gun on them isn't a sign they're faking their blindness like it is in Red Dead Redemption 2. Plenty of blind people can still see a little bit, it might only be a general sense of light and darkness, it might be exceptionally blurry or just the fuzzy outlines of shapes, or they might only be able to see something directly in front of them, all of which might still be enough to cue the person into what's happening in a situation like that. Even if it's not, the sound of you pulling your gun out or other people nearby freaking out and making noise probably would tip them off. A person needing a cane or similar mobility aid sometimes, but being able to go without briefly or do even "big movements" like Wonka's rolling somersault, doesn't mean they don't need it at all. Just like with wheelchairs, there's a lot of disabilities that require canes and similar aids some days, and not others. Some disabilities even allow people those big, often straining movements on occasion, or allow them to move without the aid for short periods of time, but not for long. Some people's disability's might even require a mobility aid like a cane as a backup, just in case something goes wrong, but that still means you need to carry it around with you, and unless it can fold down, it's easier to just use it.

Disability is a spectrum, and a lot of disabilities vary in severity and what is required of the people who have them day to day. This trope, however, helps to perpetuate the idea that someone who does any of these things (and many others) is faking, which can actively make the lives of disabled people harder and can even put them in very real danger, physically, mentally and even financially.

Just ask any ambulatory wheelchair user about how many times they've been yelled at for using accommodations they need, like disabled toilets or parking spaces. How many times they've been accused of faking and even filmed without their consent because they stood up in public, even if it was to do something like get their wheelchair unstuck or as simple as them standing to briefly reach something on a high shelf. I've caught multiple people filming me before, so have my friends and family, and it's honestly scary not knowing where those images have ended up. This doesn't just impact the person either, a friend of mine was filmed while standing up to get his daughter (who was about 4 at the time) out of the car. He was lucky to have stumbled across the video a few days later on facebook and contacted the group admins where it was posted to get it taken down, but had he not stumbled across it by chance, pictures with his home address and his car's number plate, his child's face and his face all visible would have just been floating around, all because a woman saw him stand briefly to pick up his daughter.

Many people don't stop at just saying a nasty comment or taking a photo though, a lot of people, when they suspect people are faking, will get violent. I have many friends who have been pushed, slapped in the face, spat on or had their mobility devices kicked out from under them. I've even been in a few situations myself where, had I not had people with me, I think the situation would have turned violent.

There's even been cases where those photos and videos I've mentioned before have been used against real disabled people and they've been reported to their country's welfare system as committing disability fraud. While cases like this are usually resolved *relatively* quickly, in many parts of the world, their payment will be halted while the investigation is in process, meaning they may be without any income at all because of someone else's ignorance. If you're already struggling to make ends meet (which, if you're only living off one of those payments, you probably will be), a few weeks without pay can mean the difference between having a home and being on the streets.

Not to mention that when there's so many stories about people faking a disability in the media, especially when the character is doing it to get some kind of "advantage", such as getting accommodations or some kind of disability benefit, it perpetuates the idea that people are rorting the systems put in place to help disabled people. If this idea becomes prevalent enough, the people in charge start making it harder for the people who need them to access those systems, which more often than not results in disabled people not even being able to access the very systems that are supposed to be helping them. A very, very common example of this is in education where accommodations for things like learning disabilities require you to jump through a ridiculous number of hoops, especially at higher levels, only to have some teachers and professors refuse to adhere to the adaptations anyway because they're convinced the student (and usually disabled students as a whole) is faking.

Yes, the "untrustworthy faker" is a fictional trope, and yes, it does occasionally happen in real life, but not as often as media (including things like news outlets) would have you believe. However, when the media we consume is priming people to look for signs that a disabled person is faking, it has a real impact on real disabled people's lives. "Fake-claiming" is a massive problem for people in pretty much all parts of the disabled community, and it ranges from being just annoying (e.g. such as people spamming and fake-claiming blind people online with "if you were really blind, how do you see the screen" comments) to the more serious cases I mentioned above. It's for this reason a lot of folks in the disabled community ask that people leave this trope out of their works.

[megumimania]

satoru gojo was in hell.

well it wasn’t hell exactly but it was akin to it.

from the bright white strobe lights and the loud hubbub around him, while also experiencing being elbowed in the ribs by a bunch of impatient shoppers who like him, were trying to beat the friday rush—it was hellish indeed.

he fought the urge to text you for help, not wanting to envision the smug look on your face when he admitted to you that he was one of the many shoppers who were buying gifts last minute.

he could already hear the ‘i told you so’ leave your lips. it was you and satoru’s first proper anniversary together and he wanted to make it as special as possible for you both.

little did he know in the midst of all the chaos, that you were watching him from the food court with a drink in hand.

you only came to do some window shopping but after seeing your boyfriend’s infamous white hair that was virtually impossible to miss, you decided to stay a little longer seeing what trouble he was going to get himself into.

satoru was getting antsy, he saw the flower lego set that you had been talking about non stop for the past few weeks and he was in no mood to wait.

especially when he left meimei to babysit the kids which was a terrible mistake as her rate increased hourly, burning an already large hole in satoru’s bottomless wallet.

he grabbed the lego set without hesitation, only to be met with retaliation from a fellow shopper.

you watched on as your boyfriend and the random shopper fought for the lego set, pulling and pushing until satoru let his strength slip —pushing the shopper into the back of another shopper’s cart.

that lone act caused a commotion and satoru in the midst of the chaos made a beeline for the cash register, slamming his card down on the card reader the four beeps indicating the transaction went through.

in a myriad of minutes he manage to escape the hellscape that was the mall and arrive home with minutes to spare, his hair slightly disheveled and cheeks rosy from the cold.

you jerked back in shock as he stood in front of you. the kids were still at mei mei’s so you didn’t worry about the small yelp that escaped your lips that made his heart warm a little.

“didn’t mean to scare you, baby.”

he’d smile into the crook of your neck as you wrapped your arms around him. you smelt like home and he never wanted to let go, preferring to bask in the scent of you forever.

however he wasn’t sure how much pressure the lego flower could withstand until all of his handiwork came crumbling down.

“for you, my love.” he presented the flowers to you watching your eyes widen at the gift.

“this is wow…i can’t believe you fought someone for this.” you said with a wry smile, fighting the urge to burst into laughter at his face that was flushed red with embarrassment.

but before he could refute the claims, you shut him up with a kiss that was filled with the love and gratitude you had for him. you pulled away, your hearts syncing together being the only things that filled the silent room.

"happy anniversary 'toru." you said softly, your gaze full of love boring into his.

his heart lurched at this, love wasn't something satoru was good at but when you looked at him like that all his self doubt and worries melted away.

and just for that; for teaching him how to love again, satoru would endure hell on earth or at the mall or even worse just for you.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Let's Talk About That

Love of my life, would you lie? (8)

Psychiatrist!Avenger!fem!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: The team discusses what to do about Thanos

Word Count: 3.1K

Warning: Mostly angst, but some fluff too!

A/N: Writing through Infinity War has been a hell of a journey and I still have more to do!

"Hello secretary." Steve said to the hologram of secretary Ross as we entered the compound. You held Natasha’s hand with Wanda and Vision behind you.

"You have some nerve coming here." Secretary Ross spoke.

"Looks like you could use some of that right about now." Natasha stated bluntly.

"The world's on fire and you think all's forgiven?" Ross asks Steve.

"I'm not looking for forgiveness and I'm way past asking for permission. Earth just lost her best defender so we're here to fight and if you want to stand in our way then we can fight you too." Steve stated to Ross who turned his attention to Rhodey.

"Aresst them." Ross said.

"Will do." Rhodey pushed the holograms effectively ending the virtual call.

"That sounded like a court marshal." Rhodey stated flatly before smiling. "It's good to see you Cap." Holding out his hand which Cap shook. Then Natasha let go of your hand giving Rhodey a hug.

"Well you guys all look like crap." Rhodey jokes and you let out a chuckle.

"You should have seen the other guys. I got there and they ran with their tails between their legs." You told him a big smile on your face.

"Went all power stone on then didn't you?" You nodded, earning a hair ruffle from Rhodey.

"Of course they were hurting people I care about." You looked back at Wanda and Vision with a smile. "No one gets away with hurting the people I care about."

"I think you guys look great." You hear as you turn your head to the familiar voice of Bruce. Natasha doesn't move, but you do, running up to hug him.

"Missed you big guy. Both of you." You say as he picks you up.

"Missed you little lady."

"Hi Bruce." Natasha speaks and you let go looking back at her. The faintest smile in the corners of her lips.

"Nat." He does a nod of his head.

You run back over to Tasha. "Go." You whisper through your teeth. She shakes her head ever so slightly. "If I did it you can do it. Go." You move behind her and push her. Making her stumble forward, Bruce catching her as you move back next to Wanda and sigh. "Young love...or old...I'm not quite sure anymore with those two." You state to the now red head, last you had seen her Wanda still had brunette hair.

As you glanced back at Natasha and Bruce, a sense of hope flickered within you, a reminder that even amidst chaos and uncertainty, love and connection could endure, serving as a beacon of light in the darkness.

When Vision is taken by Bruce to be examined and Nat talks with Steve, Rhodey, and Sam, Wanda pulls you away into the compound. You trail behind her, relishing in the way her hand feels in yours. You had missed how it felt; almost forgot how it felt actually.

You don't realize it until she opens the door that she's taken you to your office. She looked back at you and gave a small smile as she sat on the couch like she always used to. You walk to your desk, seeing everything as you had left it. Your notebook for Wanda sitting there. You smile, picking it up along with the red pen you always used for her notes, testing the pen to make sure it still works.

You move back over sitting across from her, clicking your pen as you look at her over your glasses.

"Are you happier with her?" Wanda asks, making your throat dry up instantly. It felt hard to swallow, hard to breath.

"Don't make me answer that." You manage to say.

"Why? 'Cause it's true?"

"You know it's not. I love Natasha. Truly I do, but I'm not happier with her. The only thing that makes me happier is knowing she's made me a better person for you if you can ever give me a second chance and if not. I'll settle for her." You tell her flat out, putting your feelings out there. "My heart has always been yours."

"Does she know that?"

"Of course she does. She's not stupid." You respond with a slight bite to your words as you write in your note book.

Feeling a need to lay bare the depth of your feelings, you flipped through the pages of the notebook, searching for a particular entry. As you found the right page, you turned the notebook toward Wanda, revealing a love note you had penned after she returned from Lagos, a moment etched in my memory where she broke down, finding solace in your arms.

The emotions spilled across the page, a raw expression of love, hurt, and comfort. You saw the reflection of those sentiments in Wanda's eyes as tears glistened, capturing the spectrum of her feelings in a poignant dance of colors. The room held a heavy silence, interrupted only by the quiet sobs that reverberated between the two of you, bridging the gap between past and present.

"You took my hurt away...?" Wanda's voice was soft, laced with disbelief and a hint of wonder. You nodded solemnly, feeling the weight of your actions settle heavily on your shoulders.

"I know I said I'd never do it without your permission, but I had to take some of it. I could see it overtaking you. It was bitter and tasted like bile," You explained, a shiver coursing through you at the memory. "You know I don't like eating emotions, especially negative ones."

Wanda nodded in understanding before rising from her seat, crossing the space between you until your knees touched. Her touch was gentle as she cupped your cheek, coaxing you to meet her gaze. You hesitated, but her commanding tone compelled you to look into her deep green eyes, the same eyes you had always found solace in.

"Hey. Look at me," she urged softly, her voice carrying a mixture of warmth and familiarity. You met her gaze, feeling a sense of calm wash over you as your eyes locked.

"I missed the fuck out of you. I was upset with you about that jealous outburst, but you were just a kid still, and I forgot that along the way because you're you and so smart and mature," she confessed, her words washing over you like a soothing balm. You leaned into her touch, finally allowing yourself to relax in her presence.

"I'm sorry for what happened to us two years ago, Y/N," Wanda apologized, her voice laced with genuine remorse. You smiled softly and pressed a kiss to her hand in response.

"I'm sorry too, Wanda. If it hadn't been for those stupid accords..."

"We don't know what could have or would have happened, Y/N, and we shouldn't dwell on that. All we can do is move forward and see where that takes us," she reassured you, her words resonating deeply within you.

You nodded in agreement, pulling her into a tight hug, reveling in the familiar warmth of her embrace. As you buried your face in her neck, you breathed in her intoxicating scent of vanilla, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. Opening your eyes, you saw the telltale red aura surrounding her, a manifestation of love and passion that stirred something deep within you. With a smile, you allowed yourself to fully embrace the moment, knowing that your journey forward held endless possibilities.

"Vision and I have a connection through the mind stone, and I do love him just like how I know you love Nat. What you and I had, I will always hold close, but I can't just leave Vision," Wanda's words cut through you like a knife, each syllable piercing deeper into your heart.

You struggled to find a response, your mind reeling with a mix of emotions—heartache, disappointment, and a lingering sense of resignation. Before you could gather your thoughts to form a coherent reply, Tasha's voice interrupted the heavy silence, drawing your attention to the doorway where she stood.

"Figured I'd find you two here. Time for a meeting on what we're going to be doing," Tasha announced, her presence offering a temporary respite from the weight of the conversation.

You stood up at Tasha's words, leaving Wanda behind in the office. Tasha pulled you close, her kiss on your cheek a fleeting reassurance amidst the turmoil brewing inside you. Her whispered question echoed in your ear, and you offered only a small shrug in response as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

"We'll talk later, okay?" You assured Tasha, and she simply nodded in understanding as Wanda joined you, her presence feeling like a heavy weight on your shoulders. You didn't pay much attention to her, but you noticed Tasha's subtle glance back at Wanda, a silent warning simmering beneath the surface of her gaze. If looks could kill, Wanda would be dead from whatever Tasha had conveyed in that single glance.

"So we gotta assume they're coming back, right?" Bruce asks, his tone laced with concern as he scans the room for answers.

"And they can clearly find us," Wanda reminds the group, her voice tinged with a sense of urgency.

"We need all hands on deck. Where's Clint?" Bruce inquires, his gaze sweeping the room for any sign of the absent Avenger.

"After the whole Accords situation, he and Scott took a deal. It was too tough on their families. They're on house arrest," Nat explains to Bruce, filling him in on the latest developments.

"Who's Scott?" Bruce's confusion is palpable as he seeks clarification.

"Ant-Man," Cap offers, providing the missing link.

"There's an Ant-Man and a Spider-Man?" Bruce's incredulity is evident as he processes the information.

"Look, Thanos has the biggest army in the universe... and he is not gonna stop until he gets..." Bruce's voice trails off, his gaze shifting between Vision and you, hesitating to voice his next words. "Till he gets those stones," he finally concludes, pointing at the two of you.

You feel a surge of anxiety grip you as Bruce's words sink in. Tasha, sensing your unease, moves closer to Bruce, her protective instincts kicking in.

"Well then, we have to protect them," Tasha declares firmly, her eyes darting between Bruce and you, a silent vow of defense.

"No, we have to destroy them," Vision interjects, his tone resolute and unwavering.

You can't help but chuckle at Vision's suggestion, though the humor quickly fades as the gravity of his words settles over you.

"Ha! No. Hell fucking no. I don't plan on dying, or did you forget I said that? I will die without the stone," You retort, your defiance clear to everyone in the room, especially Vision.

"I've given this a great deal of thought, Y/N. I do not say it lightly, but if he does get his hands on these stones... especially yours, he'll be unstoppable," Vision insists, meeting your gaze with a solemn intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

You struggle to catch my breath, the weight of Vision's words bearing down on you like a suffocating blanket. Your hand instinctively reaches for your chest, as if seeking reassurance from the stone that rests within you.

"I've thought about the nature of my stone, along with yours and some of the last words you said while we were allies. Knowing what your stone is capable of. We must destroy them and I think if they were exposed to a sufficiently powerful energy source," Vision explains, his voice tinged with determination as he approaches Wanda.

You rise from your spot, brushing off Tasha's attempt to stop you, and step closer, feeling Wanda's eyes flicker to you before returning to Vision, who gently places his hands on her arms. "Something very similar to their own signature perhaps," he continues, his touch reminiscent of the way you used to hold her, though his hands are much larger than your own. "Its molecular integrity could fail."

"Yeah, and both of you with it," Wanda responds, her gaze shifting between Vision and you. "We aren't having this discussion. It's too high a price to lose both of you," she declares firmly, trying to contain her frustration.

Vision's hands move to Wanda's cheeks, holding her gently, but she steps away from him, her resolve evident. You move closer to her, feeling the tension in the air thickening.

"Y/N, don't," You hear the tremor in her voice, the raw emotion threatening to spill over.

You bite the inside of my cheek, grappling with the gravity of the situation. "Wanda," You address her firmly, reaching out to grasp her shoulder. "If you refuse... I will take Vision's stone out of his head because I know I can, and I will personally crush it, and then my own if that is our last resort," You declare, your tone unyielding. "And I will do it in front of you," You add, squeezing her shoulder for emphasis. "I don't say this lightly because I'd rather not die. I personally think that between the three of us we can take him down, but if you won't do it, I will," You assert, speaking with a deadly seriousness before returning to your spot, your heart heavy with the weight of your words.

"I won't entertain the idea of trading lives," Cap asserts firmly.

"Seventy years ago, you laid down your life to save how many millions of people?" Vision responds, his voice carrying a weight of history. You tune out their exchange, feeling a sense of unease settling over you. You lean forward, pulling Tasha back to you, seeking comfort in her presence. Wrapping your arms around her waist, you settle her between your legs, resting your chin on her shoulder as you gaze at Wanda. Regret and guilt weigh heavy on your heart, and you grip Tasha tighter until she makes a small noise of discomfort. Quickly, you release your hold, whispering an apology.

"Sorry..." You murmur softly, your voice barely audible.

Tasha responds with a gentle pat on your arm, understanding in her touch. "It's okay, Y/N," she whispers back.

As Bruce delves into an explanation about Vision's complex composition, your brows furrow in confusion. "What?" You whisper, turning to Bruce. "How did I not know there's parts of me in him?" You ask, bewildered by the revelation.

"Tony put everything of you that Jarvis collected over the years of your sessions," Bruce explains matter-of-factly.

"Good to know my sessions were private," You mutter sarcastically against Tasha's shoulder.

"You're saying Vision isn't just the stone?" Wanda interjects, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

"I'm saying that if we take out the stone, there is still a whole lot of Vision left. Perhaps the best parts," Bruce elaborates, prompting a moment of contemplative silence.

"What about me?" You inquire, releasing Tasha and standing up once more, your emotions bubbling to the surface. "You told me years ago that this stone is attached. It's wrapped around my lungs and my heart. If we take it out of me..." Your voice cracks, tears spilling down your cheeks. "I will die," You confess, your vulnerability laid bare for all to see.

Bruce places his hands on your shoulders, offering reassurance as you struggle to maintain composure. "I've thought about it a lot over the years, and I was thinking maybe, similar to Tony, we could do an open-heart surgery. Open you up and basically cut away the tendrils that the stone has put around your heart and lungs. Take the stone out and put an arc reactor in its place to keep you going," he suggests, his words hanging heavy in the air.

"D-do you think we can do that?" Tasha's voice quivers with fear and concern.

"Not me. Not here," Bruce replies solemnly, withdrawing his hands as you retreat back to Tasha's embrace.

"Well, you better find someone and somewhere fast," Rhodes interjects, breaking the somber atmosphere with a practical reminder.

"I know somewhere," Cap offers, his voice cutting through the tension with a sense of urgency.

As you holed yourself away in the small room of the Quinjet, facing the wall to hide your tears, the weight of your emotions overwhelmed you. Sobs wracked your body, your throat burning with the effort to contain your grief. In moments like these, you longed for the ability to numb your own emotions, to escape the pain that threatened to consume you.

A knock at the door startled you, and you called out for whoever it was to go away. Despite your plea, the door opened, and you tensed, expecting Tasha's presence. Yet, as the cot beside you shifted, you realized it was someone else. you didn't dare look, even when I felt soft lips press against the back of your shoulder, and tears dampened your shirt.

"I can't lose you," came the whispered confession, confirming your suspicion that it was Wanda behind you.

"Why not? You have Vision," you replied, your voice strained and cracked from crying.

"I do, but I don't want to lose you. You're too important. I meant what I said," Wanda insisted, her arm tightening around you as she pulled you closer.

"It's too high a price," she added, sending a shiver down your spine. You reached out, placing your hand over hers, and then turned to face her, allowing her to pull you into her embrace.

"Come here," You whispered, giving in to the flood of emotions as you cried in her arms. "Wands, I don't want to die... I know we're Avengers, but I'm terrified of death," You confessed, your tears flowing freely as she rubbed your back in a comforting gesture, mirroring the care you had shown her countless times before.

"I won't let that happen. I promise," Wanda whispered soothingly. "Just rest for now. We'll be in Wakanda soon enough, and I don't want you thinking about it anymore."

Looking up at her, you found the courage to ask something you had never asked before, a desperate plea born out of fear and desperation. "Can you take it away? Can you make me forget it?"

Wanda cupped your cheek, her touch gentle yet determined as she searched through your thoughts, sensing the depth of your distress. With a nod, she moved her fingers to your temples, her crimson tendrils reaching out as you closed your eyes, surrendering to her power.

"Shhhh, don't worry anymore, Detka... rest now," were the last words you heard, and you swore you felt her lips brush against yours before sleep claimed you, offering temporary respite from the weight of your fears.

[paradox-n-bedrock]

I actually find Donna and Shaun's marriage kind of fascinating and think there's a solid middle ground to be found between the "dead relationship, full of resentment and apathy" and "ideal couple, super in love" camps. I try to give hints of that in the stuff I've been working on (expect gratuitous use of that Shaun Temple is Tired tag), but I really want to explore it a little more deeply.

There are potential consequences from Donna suddenly being a package deal with her best friend and canonical love of her life but neither immediate divorce nor a seamless transition into an alternative relationship structure feel very likely (though there's no shame in using either or dealing with it off-page if it doesn't suit the fic). I just crave some more complex, nuanced takes on them adapting to the changes in or the dissolution of the marriage.

Plus, people are sleeping on the sheer drama of: you fell in love with an amazing but troubled woman and fifteen years later she unlocks memories that fundamentally changed her as a person, including the relationship with someone she wanted to stay with forever. Oh, and the two of them are inseparable again, so you've got a brand new member of the household.

I know we appreciate Shaun's ability to just roll with stuff, but it's a major change regardless of whether you prefer platonic or romantic DoctorDonna. Like Donna being herself in all her glory is gonna make or break that marriage, no matter where their existing relationship is at. And both options have the potential to be interesting. Do they not fit together anymore, no matter how happy for her Shaun might be, or, despite some growing pains, is it as good for their relationship as it is for Donna personally? Does having the memory issue and the financial stress solved allow frustrations in the relationship to heal? Or do they find they're not as securely bound together as they thought? I do think romcom jealousy is boring but suddenly watching someone else irrefutably bring out the happiest, best version of your spouse might bring up some complicated emotions.

As an aside, the parallels between Shaun and Lee also make me a little crazy. She picked another handsome, easy going, virtually silent man who seems to defer to her the vast majority of the time. Their kid has her last name. She sits at the head of the table like a queen holding court. I love it, anything else wouldn't feel right, but I just can't stop hearing, "What does that say about me?" "Everything."

[bullet-prooflove]

TheStudy! Series Part Five: A Punch In The Face - Dean Archer x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @helsinkibaby @hufflepuffgirl @mimi-8793

The Study:

Part One: Courting Disaster - Dean realises Jack is courting you.

Part Two: Distance - Dean tries to discuss the distance between the two of you.

Part Three: Deserving - Jack tries to show you, you deserve better.

Part Four: Navy Shirt - You and Dean don't have secrets.

Dean doesn’t want to admit that anger is part of the reason he broke 2.0, that he was thinking about the Jack Dayton’s mouth on yours when he’d lashed out at the billionaire’s pet project during the surgery he was undertaking.  

Jack’s lucky he didn’t smash the whole damn machine to pieces.

He doesn’t hear a thing Jack says when he reams him out in the corridor afterwards, he just feels this rage, this furious wildfire building up inside of him.

It’s when he says your name that Dean snaps. The way he acts like he knows what’s best for you, that Dean’s the problem, not him.

“She deserves better than some luddite that can’t get with the program.” Jack snarls as he jabs his finger in Dean’s face. “Do you even think of your wife at all when you do shit like this or is she just another extension of your ego?”

He punches the other man straight in his mouth because all he’s been thinking about is you. How you’re going to cope with his illness. How he’s going to be leaving you alone far too soon.

The expression on Jack’s face when he touches his bloody lip.

It’s worth the aching fist and everything that comes after.

He’s fired immediately but Dean, he doesn’t care because his life is already slipping away. He’s staring down the barrel of an excruciating gun. He knows the likelihood of getting another kidney and it’s virtually zero. His case it’s complicated, even if he does get a match there are other factors involved. His only hope is Sean and he will never ask that of his son.

When you hear about what happened you try to call Jack but he refuses to answer. He doesn’t respond to your voice mails or texts so you show up in his office and you sit behind his desk, because you want him to know that he doesn’t hold all the power in this conversation, that you have power too.

“He got you good.” You say when he steps through the door and Jack stops dead at the sight of you, perched behind his desk, his silver Parker pen clasped between your fingers.

“Look, I don’t have time…” He says closing the door behind him.

“Make time.” You say raising to your feet and placing your palms flat upon the surface of the desk. “Because you are going to hear what I have to say.”

He checks his watch before he sighs and gestures to the two leather couches in front of an expensive glass coffee table. You know what he’s doing, he’s trying to reset the balance of power, offer you neutral ground. You take it because the first step in a negotiation is to always make the other person feel comfortable.

“I’m not giving him his job back.” He says as he sits down, his arm coming to rest on the back of the sofa before he touches his busted lip with his fingertips. “He’s lucky I’m not pressing charges.”

“I think we both know you deserved it.” You remind him and the look he gives you…

Hardball it is.

 “You know I was warned about you before I undertook this study.” You say as you settle back into the seat and cross your legs, one over the other.

“Warned?” He repeats, his eyebrows furrowing into a deep frown.

“Jack Dayton is not a man who is used to hearing the word no.” You quote George, one of the other board members. “That is your reputation, the one you’ve build for yourself.”

“So you think that I’m vindictive?” He questions you, his fierce gaze meeting yours. “You think I’m firing him to punish you?”

The eye contact, it’s meant to cow you but it doesn’t. His body language, his attitude, this tactics. They’re all ways of manipulating people into doing his bidding. Jack’s used to people submitting to him, he expects it of you. The thing is you’re fighting for something important and you won’t leave here without because if Dean loses this job, he loses his insurance and without that, it’s not a matter of years or months, it’s weeks.

“Let me lay out the optics for you.” You begin because Jack he specialises in PR and he’s about to get a very clear picture of where this goes if he doesn’t do what you’re asking. “You kissed me last night and when I turned you down and told you I’m taking a step back from the study, you fired my husband, one of the best doctors you have working underneath you.”

“Your husband punched me in the fucking face.” He reminds you, gesturing to his split lip.

“Because you tried to steal his wife.” You tell him before leaning forward and clasping your hands together. “I don’t want to take this to the board but I will if you make me.”

He understands the implication, the reputation he’s built, yours, Dean’s. He knows exactly what it looks like, what he looks like. This will be a mess if he continues to push you, you aren’t afraid to fuck up his life. You think he sees that in you.

“Give my husband his job back.” You say firmly. “And I stop being a problem.”

Jack looks away, the line of his jaw clenching before he clears his throat and smooths down his tie.

“Fine.” He says finally, refusing to look at you. “You can tell Doctor Archer he’s cleared to come back to work.”

You don’t thank him because this, this shouldn’t have happened in the first place. You should never have been in this position and neither should Dean. It’s when you reach the door that he finally speaks, his head tilting towards you as your hand comes to rest on the door handle.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that you’re off the study.” He says and you rise your eyes to the ceiling because Jack, he just has to have the parting shot.

“I wouldn’t try this shit with Anita when she takes over.” You warn him as you pull open the door and step over the threshold. “Jimmy Lanik’s more likely to kill you in your sleep than punch you in the face.”

Love Dean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more. 

Cw for chapter- 18+ words and themes overall, cussing, graphic deptiction of killing, mention of death, mention of sandors death, Family reunion, joss and Podrick being little gay cutie pies, y/n being a gay ally (HAPPY PRIDE MONTH)

// A/N: just wanted to apologize for the broken links at the beginning of the book since i changed my username they haven’t been working but i assure you I’ll get to fixing them. I will also end up making a goggle docs with the entire book for downloading when this series ends//

Previous chapter here

CHAPTER 23

A blood curdling scream can be heard from sandors plot in the forest as he chops up bits of wood. The scream comes from the same pathway he just headed through. 

“Shit.” he huffs before running  as fast as he can back to the village. The sight is gruesome, as the premade homes are engulfed in flames and some even already burnt out. The bodies amongst the mud, horse slaughtered and food supply turned over. But the sight that holds Sandor in his clutches is brother Ray, hanging from the structure that was supposed to be the church once finished. His skin purplish gray his black dark red his eyes bulging. 

Sandor grumbles looking around at everyone dead on the ground before he sees the horse hoof markings that lead into the side path of the forest. With an anger filled rage he picks up the ax he’d dropped and speeds after the men that did this. The only thought was to get back at them and do much worse than what they did. 

It's not long before Sandor comes up to them, easily hacking one down. The man's head rolling in the leaves and mud going to the next cutting his chest open as he swings the ax. He ducks and takes the third swinging the ax up as it slices into the man's crotch pushing up before Sandor pulls it out and back. The man falls to his knees begging for mercy. 

“Where the fuck is the other one? The one with the yellow cloak?” Sandor asks, holding the ax to his neck. 

“FUCK YOU!” the man yells. Sandor angrily grunts before taking the man's head off.

—-----

You watch as Sansa plays with your son. She holds him in her lap and makes babbling noises with silly expressions. It's been six months since everything and you and your others have become virtually one with a cold. Being able to stay out longer, your fingertips and ear no longer freezing on impact. 

This winter will be long and hard and with all the preparations for fighting the night king and asking the dragon queen for her help it is too much for some to handle. Sana has unfortunately left most of the work to you so she can spend time with you son although joss takes him away from her to bring him back to his rightful mother she will always whine a bit before understanding. 

The sound of metal clinking horse hooves pounding and people chatting is a lively sound you could only hear outside the gates of king's landing, as people work on sorting supplies and gathering for the possible fight to occur. 

“How much food does winterfell have?” you ask the head supplier. 

“Enough for a year your grace, with the wool, and steel there should be enough possibly over than that.. A-at least for those who are in the castle now” he says 

“Hmm. you're telling me there isn't enough food, especially not when the armies from the dragon queen will be brought back to winterfell.” you say as you begin your walk down the steps to your son who begins to fuss in Sansa’s arms. 

“N-no my lady.” he answers “Most likely not.” he ends 

“I’ll have my share of militia head out in a cart to bring back more supplies as we cannot have the other guests starve now can we.” you say he shakes his head. 

“Come here. I've got you” you say picking up your son from her arms holding him close to you fixing his furs so he's warm against you. He snuggles into your chest holding onto you before popping his thumb in his mouth. 

“The little prince is growing fast, your grace.” lord baelish says as he approaches. 

“Thank you.” You reluctantly want nothing more to do with him as you find him to be a weasel that could manipulate those for his pleasure. 

“M-my lady!” joss comes running up to you and sansa taking a few puffs of breath before standing straight and speaking. 

“Y-your sister has arrived..lady arya..st-stark.” he huffs which makes you giggle a bit at how out of breath he is.

“Where..” Sansa says standing up. 

“I dont i want to come and get you but when I turned around she was gone and said s-somthing about your mother and father and v-visiting them.” he sighs nodding. 

“Come with me.” sansa sansa says taking your hand leading you to the entrance of the castle. Joss follows. She leads you to the entrance of the catacombs where all the Stark family are buried. You've visited as Sansa has an honorary burriel for Sandor down there despite not being a member of the family. 

He basically pulls you anxious to see her sister. But she soon lets up as she sees Arya standing there looking up at Sandors statue. Sansa looks at her for a few seconds before ayra takes notice and smiles a bit. 

“Do i have to call you lady stark now? I never really wanted to.” she says. Sansa smiles and hurries to her sister giving her a much deserved hug. The hug is broken by your son's babbling. 

“Your grace.” ayra says giving you a small bow. 

“No need for formality.” you say walking twords them both joss following behind you. 

She gives you a hug as well. Even though you've spent the least amount of time together she still feels ecstatic you have you around. 

“Whos this?” she asks about the child in your arms. 

“This is Joss Dortain Clegane.” you say turning him slightly to face her. She holds her hand out and extends a finger he grips it and begins to bring it to his mouth. 

“oh..no no.” you both laugh as she pulls her hand away. 

“The little prince.” she smiles. You nod. 

“His last name, clegane. Like Sandor or Gregor clegane?” she asks. You take a breath before nodding. Your eyes divert to the statue they all stand under. 

“His father, sandor. Brienne told me what she did, fought him for you, she pushed him.” you say looking up at the stone carving still. 

“If it's any consolation, he fought hard, like...extremely hard. I've never had someone fight that hard for my protection, ransom or not.” she says. You look at her and nod.

“Thank you. For keeping him company. I know he's not the best to hang about with but-” you begin. 

“He was fun. He talked about you. Last he mentioned you was of your pregnancy, he hated traveling in the opposite direction made him ancy, angry, he would always mutter thing about volantis. I asked him if he loved you, and he said yes with no hesitation, then I teased him that he was technically a prince." Arya laughs, making you laugh as well. 

“I remember on our wedding night I said the same thing to him; he didn't like it.” you say

“He didn't like it when I mentioned it...from my time with him. He adored you; he killed a man for speaking ill of your likeness. He really did love you.” she says a twinge in your heart forces a lump to hit your throat that your force back down. You nod in compliance for fear if you speak you'll start crying. 

“You must be hungry, I'll have the cook prepare you a proper meal.” Sansa breaks the sadness before you all gather and exit the crypts. 

—-----

Podrick and Brienne spar. They play swords clinging against each other as he's gotten…somewhat better at his sword play. He lunges forward at Brienne allowing her to kick his ankle tripping him into the mudded ground and walks around him smacking his butt with the side of the sword. 

“Don't lunge.'' She sighs, turning around as Podrick bets up and grabs the sword he drops before raging at her and begging again. But as per the round he makes a wrong move and she rides him backwards. Granted she did it on purpose. 

“Don't go where your enemy leads you.” she says walking around him chuckling at his failure. 

He gets up once again wiping the mud from his cheek about to go to attack once more but is stopped by familiar words. 

“Don't fight someone like her in the first place, it’ll get you nowhere.” joss speaks his hands behind his back as he walks up the two dueling. 

“Joss.” Brienne. 

“My lady.” he replies, bowing a bit before holding out his hand for the sword. 

“Be my guest.” she chuckles. Handing it to him before nodding to podrick and walking off the inside to get a drink. 

“You have to keep your knees bent, your eyes at half looks, and your free arm tucked for fear you might get cut off if you are not careful.” joss says podrick scoffs and rolls his eyes before taking his stance brienne taught him. 

“When did you learn so much about the sword?” podrick asks. 

“Unlike you who knows of fine things, I was a king's guard squire fighting in the description.” 

Joss huffs in a laugh at the way he stands. But nonetheless begin the fight. Easily joss maneuvered the sword around as podrick is slightly confused as he follows the sword with his eyes. This leads to joss bopping him on the backside like brienne. 

“Eyes at half look doesn't mean follow the entire sword, you have to watch your opponents moves as well, predict them.” joss replies. Podrick nods before they both begin again, sparing this time it lasts a bit longer than a few seconds. But ultimately a hit on the ass is what seals the deal. 

“That was good. Could be better,” joss says, running his fingers through his own hair pushing it back and out of his face. To their surprise they last much longer now join for a minute or two and podrick even takes down his first opponent leaving him to straddle joss with the sword held to his neck. Joss chuckles, smiling at podrick both proud and enthralled. 

Joss pushes Podrick off of him and switches positions holding his dagger to his other neck before leaning close to him. 

“Don't let your guard down..no matter who you're fighting.” joss speaks. Podrick chuckles back before the space between them closes, their lips connecting. It consumes the moment for a brief time only for joss’s name to be put to air as you call him. 

He pulls off his partner and stands up looking toward the sound to see you at the side. A smirk on your face. 

“The others need your help in unloading the carts. You can speak to your boyfriend later tonight.” you say looking down to podrick who quickly gets up and bows to you. 

“Yes, your grace.” joss says, sheathing his dagger before handing the sword back to podrick their fingers brushing against each other before the other man hurries off the the carts you turn to podrick, 

“This is for you. John has requested your presence at castle black he needs you to meet him by the shore of the wall.” you say handing him a raven scroll. 

John was supposed to be back only a few weeks after the last scroll he sent about getting Daenerys' approval. But under certain circumstances he had to stay and collect the resources before returning which has taken longer than expected. Podrick nods. You turn to follow joss to oversee the cart supplies but you stop and turn back to podrick. 

“Please, come back alive, you're good to joss, he needs you.” you smile at him before turning around and going to the carts. 

Next Chapter here

TAGLIST. If you’d like to be added to the tag list please leave a comment down below.

Taglist @stephyshadows@germansarechill@urfavbiscuit@daphneyblue@takemeaemond@holb32@allison-119@pxstelink@imsolonelyimissyou@myshitaccount@broadsdrinkwhisky@@evie-beanie@eulysa23-2@greeknymph18@rudiruds@ex160-blog1@im-an-assho1e@chompwoman@heartb8k2@lovely--lover ex160-blog1 @midnightprocrastinator @haus-of-a-thousand-fandoms @friendlyspacemartian @weebgirl100 @raoudixs @@killerrbunnii 

[project-sekai-facts]

What trained cards feature multiple people?

Not counting cards where the same person features on it multiple times (Toya Nocturne & Concerto, Minori As I Was Back Then, Tsukasa Pandemonium) and also not counting Shizuku's Pandemonium card with the random ghost kid sorry.

As of Lead to shine more:

Virtual Singer - 12 (as collages due to image limit sorry)

Leo/need - 8

MORE MORE JUMP! - 3

Vivid BAD SQUAD - 10

WonderlandsxShowtime - 6

25-ji, Nightcord de, - 3 (also collage bc image limit sorry)

text list below the cut

Virtual Singer

Miku The Big Debut 4* (Rin cameo)

Rin Heated Argument 4* (Len cameo)

MEIKO A Quality Blend 3* (Miku cameo)

Miku Wonder ☆ Christmas! 4* (Tsukasa cameo)

MEIKO Tell Me About Your Christmas ♪ 4* (Tsukasa cameo)

MEIKO Third Senpai 4* (Honami cameo)

Miku An Evolving Tone 4* (Ichika cameo)

Miku Even What You Don't Want To Hear 4* (Rin cameo)

Rin/Riliane The Arrogant Princess 4* (Len/Allen cameo)

Len/Allen The Twin Servant 4* (Rin/Riliane cameo)

MEIKO/Banica Conchita The Evil Food Eater 4* (Rin/Arte & Len/Pollo cameos)

KAITO/Gallerian Marlon The Greedy Judge 4* (Miku/Master of the Court cameo)

Leo/need

Ichika Words Before Dawn 4* (Saki, Honami & Shiho cameos)

Shiho The Answer I Found 4* (Ichika, Saki & Honami cameos)

Honami Unseen Feelings 4* (Ichika, Saki & Shiho cameos)

Saki Chatting By The Window 4* (Ichika, Honami & Shiho cameos)

Ichika My Feelings, Your Heart 3* (Saki, Honami & Shiho cameos)

Honami Swimming Lessons in the Sea 4* (Saki cameo)

Ichika A Secret Oath in the Heart 4* (Saki, Honami & Shiho cameos)

Saki Alone In This Room 4* (Ichika cameo)

MORE MORE JUMP!

Airi Always Looking Ahead 4* (Minori cameo)

Haruka You Deserve It 4* (Minori, Airi & Shizuku cameos)

Haruka A Street-style Idol?! 4* (Minori cameo)

Vivid BAD SQUAD

Kohane A Quick Breather 3* (An cameo)

An Top-Notch Server 3* (Kohane cameo)

Akito A Night of Defeat 4* (Kohane, An, Toya cameos)

An Because We're Teammates 4*(Kohane cameo)

Toya Faith In Believing 4* (Akito cameo)

Kohane A Secret Between Us 4* (An cameo)

An Peak Excitement! 3* (Kohane cameo)

Toya From Now On and Always 4* (Akito cameo)

An Overflowing Feelings 4* (Nagi cameo)

An Time for a Decisive Battle 4* (Kohane cameo)

WonderlandsxShowtime

Emu Time for a Strategy Meeting! 3* (Nene cameo)

Nene A Gift From Above 4* (Tsukasa cameo)

Rui Sound Sleep 3* (Tsukasa & Nene cameos)

Rui Endless Imagination & Challenges 4* (Tsukasa, Emu & Nene cameos (specifically the little versions from the card story))

Nene The Little Squirrels' Invitation 4* (Tsukasa, Emu & Nene cameos)

Nene All of My Sadness 4* (Emu cameo)

25-ji, Nightcord de.

Mafuyu Memories of Warm Affection 4* (Mrs Asahina cameo)

Mafuyu Under the First Snow 4* (Kanade cameo)

Kanade The Usual Ramen 3* (Mafuyu cameo)

[keouil]

how the blue jay loves the sparrow

"kageyama used to be our shortest," iwaizumi notes, proudly, with an air of confidence no one under six foot should ever have. suga decides then and there he wants to kill him.  2k. oikawa/iwaizumi/kageyama. also on ao3.

what will survive of us is love.

The first practice match with Seijoh doesn’t go as planned.

Not only does Hinata projectile vomit four different ways on the bus and sours Tsukishima���s already sour mood into nearly murderous, no one listens to Daichi’s militant scoldings or even bat an eyelash at Suga’s thinly veiled threats. A strong case could be made for both their captainship styles losing its potency; because when you have a Hinata challenging virtually everyone he sees into a jumping contest and a Daichi who yells at him to get off the damn ceiling nearly every day, intimidation tactics are only going to get you so far.

It’s not even any of those things that completely wrecks the already atrocious bus ride over to Aoba Johsai.

It is, of all people, Kageyama.

Kageyama who, frozen in his spot by the school’s gym entrance, Daichi runs into that Suga runs into that Tanaka runs into that Asahi trips and falls over into and so on and on.

“What the hell?” Noya grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck that Yamaguchi unfortunately elbowed when he tried to cushion his landing because going near Tsukki in his still homicidal state wasn’t an option. “What just happened?”

Tanaka is trying to shake Hinata out of it, eyes swimming in a loop at having violently bounced off Asahi’s back and straight into the ground. “Stay with us, Hinata!” 

Ennoshita is quick to follow with a handheld fan he kept for emergencies, directing it straight to Hinata’s face. “At least win us Nationals first!”

Daichi manages to get his bearings first. He already has his mouth open to school Kageyama five hundred different ways into obedience, rolling up the sleeves of his jacket, the beginnings of an you idiot, don’t just stand there when you know your senpais are—

“Wait,” Suga is quicker to apprehend him, placing a hand on his forearm. “Wait, Daichi. I don’t think Kageyama even heard us coming.”

“What?” Daichi frowns, stomping over to peer up at his face more closely.

It’s then they see all the color drained out of Kageyama’s face. His usually sunkissed complexion just bled dry of all pallor, the lines of his face set in a tense expression; the corners of his lips trembling just so. He even looks smaller, somehow, a little more muted.

“Kageyama?” Suga tries, a gentle hand coming up on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Kageyama can’t hear them. There’s no sign of any comprehension in his eyes; blue grey that usually twinkled with so much activity and excitement, his gaze endlessly tracing all the dimensions of a court and its players. An incomparable imitation to now: eyes that just looked out of focus, pale, and; most importantly, nervous.

What the hell?

Suga traces his line of vision and meets eyes with someone wearing a mint green and white jersey, the colorway he knows belongs exclusively to Aoba Johsai. He strains his eyes to note the jersey number, #4, and tries to recall who it belongs to in Takeda’s information packet. 

Unlike Kageyama, #4 at least isn’t wearing an expression that resembles someone being summoned to their execution. 

On the contrary, Suga notes with some confusion, Seijoh #4 almost looked… curious. And maybe even a little expectant. Some of the players surrounding him looked unsure at this weird exchange between their first year and someone who was obviously around Suga’s age and could only be their senpai, if the worried glances they all kept shooting each other were anything to go by. 

Daichi coughs to break the tension. 

“You must be Aoba Johsai’s captain,” he steps forward, hands poised for a handshake. “I’m Sawamura Daichi, captain of Karasuno’s volleyball team.”

#4 stepped forward as soon as he did, but stopped short when he heard him speak. “Ah,” he rights himself, reluctantly shaking his hand. His grip wasn’t as firm as Daichi expected, almost hesitant. “No, no. Our captain is running late today. I’m the vice captain, Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“I see,” Daichi’s eyebrows shoot up just a fraction before regaining his composure. “Then, let’s have a good game.”

“Let’s have a good game,” parrots Iwaizumi back in return, voice molding itself more confidently. “Daichi-san.”

As soon as Daichi steps back, he hears Suga hissing in Kageyama’s ear to get it together for christ sake and no ones going to bite you. More murmurs of agreement are volleyed within the team, the loudest of them being Hinata, who is annoyed at Kageyama’s uncharacteristic jitterness and wants to make it known to every single person in the gymnasium. I didn’t know kings got cold feet!

At the mention of the reclaimed nickname, some people in the Aoba Johsai team avert their eyes away. Iwaizumi, however, doesn’t budge. 

“So it really is you,” Iwaizumi says, voice levelled and controlled. “Kageyama.”

Kageyama, Suga notes, responds to the voice in a way he was only starting to see for himself. The square in his shoulders when one of them or the second years told him off or ordered him to do something, and the almost instinctive way he listens and does and services without complaint. 

This, Suga thinks, is maybe where he got it.

“Iwaizumi-san,” Kageyama bows his head respectfully. “Let’s have a good game.”

“We were wondering which school you’d end up in,” Iwaizumi muses, tone gentler now that they’ve gotten the formalities out of the way. It’s easier to hear the familiarity in it now, too. “But I have to admit the crows weren’t even in my top five.”

“What’s wrong with Karasuno?” pipes Tanaka from behind, maybe a little too quickly and harshly, that Ennoshita has to wring his ear back. 

Iwaizumi is quick to clear any misunderstanding. “Sorry,” he says, hands coming up in a pacifying gesture. “I didn’t mean it like that. Only that I know by the time Kageyama graduated, he had offers from other prefectures. Our coach even said so himself. I guess we’re just surprised, is all.”

Calm, level-headed, isn’t easily baited by overemotional underclassmen. Definitely the vice captain, Suga surmises with a hint of respect.

“Who is this we?" Hinata this time, voice laced with so much distrust and body poised like someone ready for battle. Daichi sends a sharp look his way to pipe it down. 

This time someone from Iwaizumi’s back, who had for all this time been cowering behind him despite being significantly taller than most of his team, is the one who speaks out; albeit hesitantly. “Y-you didn’t tell them?”

Kageyama at least looks partly sheepish, glancing down to look at his feet. “Maa.”

Iwaizumi somehow finds all this amusing. “Kindaichi hasn’t stopped asking about you since he joined the team and noticed you weren’t here,” he says, gesturing to the kid behind him. “Kunimi too.”

The Kunimi and Kageyama share a look. There’s a little history in it, a language somehow only a few people in the room were capable of understanding. 

What exactly, Suga thinks, has got all of them this tense?

“We all used to be in a team together,” Iwaizumi explains to the rest of the room, a hint of pride slithering its way in his declaration. “And your Kageyama over there is our captain’s precious kouhai.”

The doors to the gym swing open then.

-

Seijoh obliterates them.

No, really. Literally.

Hinata is so underequipped to handle any of Oikawa’s serves that he even intentionally softens them sometimes, to give the kid a fighting chance to at least make contact with it. But it all ends up with Hinata being bludgeoned off to the floor as soon as he tries diving for any of his serves. Tsukishima is no better, all the height in the world and nothing to show for with those twig arms. Daichi and Noya are at least able to put up a front, but most of their first years—aka half the starting team—still have a long way to go. 

“Jesus Christ,” Iwaizumi hisses under his breath, swiping a towel over his forehead. “Is this going to be another Kageyama and friends show?”

Oikawa is trying to get his breathing level before responding, glancing at the other side of the court in time to see Suga force-feeding Kageyama a bottle of water all the while murmuring words of affirmation. Don’t mind, don’t mind! he says gleefully, and to Oikawa’s horror, actually means it.

Before he can get a reply in, the referee whistles for the post-game greetings.

-

Oikawa, unlike Iwaizumi, has a more confident gait about him. His handshake is firm and absolute, no room for hesitation and almost like a calling for you to level yourself with him and not the other way around.

“Good game, captain,” Oikawa says, smiling in that skittish way, that Daichi somehow finds both genuine and unnerving. 

“Thank you,” Daichi replies. “You too.”

Beside him he can hear Suga and one of Seijoh’s third years—Mattsun, was it?—going into a semi-passionate reiteration of one of their earlier plays, both seniors coming from a place of genuine curiosity for the game and looking for ways to improve. That block was good, Suga-san, Mattsun says. But what about if you.. To which Suga replied, I see. I see.That makes sense!

Iwaizumi and Kageyama, on the other hand, are in the middle of a conversation that’s nowhere near as casual as it should be. Kageyama has his head bowed in turn, on the other side of the net, listening keenly on all the pointers Iwaizumi was rattling off about how he could do better in this and that and pointing out all the plays he did flawlessly. Listen here, Kageyama, he starts. How many times have I told you to use your height to your advantage in court?

Daichi feels Oikawa observing them closely too.

“Iwa-chan always had a soft spot for that kid,” he hears him say quietly, almost to himself. “I guess it’s hard not to be when you have someone like Tobio as your kouhai.”

Daichi is just about to ask what he meant when the Aoba Johsai coach calls for all the third years—Karasuno’s included—to huddle as he gave them his personal notes for the practice match. 

The coach is lenient on Karasuno’s plays, and even anticipative of their first years, sensing some of their potential; but as his speech trudges on, Daichi notes in welcome surprise, that he was assessing Kageyama the same way he was assessing Seijoh’s players. Not with clinical interest like he did with Hinata or Tsukishima, but with a vested, personal stake at his development; so like he was on his own players. 

After he leaves them alone with a promise from Oikawa to have his team perform suicide runs for their missed plays this time, Suga is the first to break the silence. 

“Is is just me or did your coach sound angry Kageyama didn’t enroll here?” Suga glances unsurely at the senior crowd.

“Not just you,” Makki waves him off casually. “He regularly gets mad at Kindaichi for scaring Kageyama off from enrolling.”

“Kindaichi did no such thing,” Iwaizumi retorts at the same time Suga says, “Kageyama never even considered Aoba Johsai.”

Oikawa is quick to defuse and butts in before things escalate. “My my,” he muses, looking between the two. “I guess all of us have very spirited first years this time around, huh?”

Suga is still apprehensive, glancing unsurely at Iwaizumi who, for the first time, is showing signs of subtle hostility. It makes sense even Seijoh got territorial over first years—

“Kageyama used to be our shortest," Iwaizumi notes suddenly, proudly, with an air of confidence no one under six foot should ever have. 

Suga decides then and there he wants to kill him. 

“Are you saying our setter is short?" he quips back, taking a step into his space. “He’s still a first year. He’s still a growing boy. And really, how tall are you to even—”

Oikawa, feeling Iwaizumi flare up at the slightest slight to his height, is even quicker this time to get in between them. “Iwa-chan didn’t mean it like that,” he placates, smiling. “Just that Tobio was really tiny when we met him. Really. Like a round volleyball.”

Suga huffs, unconvinced. 

“A-and well, he’s one of your tallest now, isn’t he?” Oikawa continues, a dip in his voice when he says “now”; like it was the first time he tasted the words and confronted the reality. That their “now” didn’t include Tobio. He wavered a little, then. “Kunimi-chan and Kindaichi-chan were taller than him then. They’re still taller now, but, I guess—”

“You didn’t expect Kageyama to grow as tall as he is?” Daichi finishes for him, feeling the air in the room settle into something less confrontational. Something more nostalgic.

Oikawa pauses. So does Iwaizumi. 

History then, Suga notes. Obviously unresolved.

“The last time I saw Kageyama was after our graduation, when he was running around after us to teach him one last serve toss before we leave,” Iwaizumi says mildly, his gaze softening. “He couldn’t have been as tall as I am then.”

Suga deflates at that. There’s fondness in the tone of voice Iwaizumi takes on when he speaks of Kageyama, a little like his own, but restrained, somehow; like he felt he didn’t have the right to be as fond as he was. Suga wonders why that is.

“Sounds just like Kageyama,” is what he says instead, meeting eyes with Iwaizumi. A flash of recognition weaves its way in, the familiarity expanding itself, making room for Suga in Kageyama’s life in the “now”.

“Just—” Iwaizumi continues, still unsure. It’s a stark contrast to how he attacks the court, with a booming confidence in his steps and all the violence of an ace spiker. He looks a little unsteady on his feet now, like he’s stepping on someone’s toes. “Just be patient with him. He’s—he can be—well. He listens to his seniors well, but just don't give up on him right away if he doesn’t.”

Suga is stunned.

The way Kageyama talked about his middle school days—so riddled in isolation and anger—had maybe influenced Suga’s and the rest of Karasuno’s early prejudice towards Seijoh and met them with their own brand of ire that allowed for a child all of thirteen to have felt as alone as he did. But then he also wouldn’t put it past Kageyama to completely misread situations as often as he did. Even Suga had to remind himself not to take the things he said so personally.

Suga’s just about to reply, let Seijoh know that for whatever reason Kageyama who didn’t even consider enrolling in their school is now in good hands, when someone beats him to it.

“Tobio is a special kid,” Oikawa says somberly, not a single hint of that sarcasm or easy-going charisma in place. His face was the most serious they’ve seen of him today, his voice the most loaded with something close to a warning. “I didn’t teach him a single thing in middle school and yet he can still play like that. Watch out for him, inside and outside the court. He—ah—needs a lot of attention.”

-

Just as they’re about to leave the gym, the rest of Karasuno having long filed out, Oikawa calls after them suddenly.

“Sorry?” Suga strains his ears to hear.

Oikawa seems to be going through a hundred internal battles before shaking himself out of it, face morphing into determination, as he says in a clearer voice that echoes off the gym walls: “Milk yoghurt.”

What, Suga thinks at the same time Daichi blurts exactly, “What.”

“Milk yoghurt,” Oikawa repeats himself with more conviction and no hesitation. “Tobio always feels better after losing a match if you give him milk yoghurt.”

Behind him they can see Iwaizumi, the ghost of a smile on his face.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Sacklers woulda gotten away with it if it wasn't for those darned meddling feds

The saga of the Sacklers, a multigenerational billionaire crime family of mass-murdering dope-peddlers, is an enraging parable about how the wealthy, the courts, and sadistic high-powered lawyers collude to destroy the lives of millions, profit handsomely, and evade justice.

But there's an unexpected twist to this tale. After the Sacklers procured a sham bankruptcy that denied their victims the right to sue while leaving their fortune largely intact, the Supreme Court – yes, this Supreme Court – saw through the scam and froze the process, pending a full hearing:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/10/us/supreme-court-purdue-pharma-opioid-settlement.html

The Sacklers basically invented modern, legal dope peddling. Arthur Sackler, the family's original crime-boss, revived the practice of direct-to-consumer drug marketing, dormant since the death of the medicine show, to peddle Valium. An aggressive and shrewd lobbyist, Arthur built the family fortune and, more importantly, its connections:

https://www.timesofisrael.com/how-the-sackler-family-built-a-pharma-dynasty-and-fueled-an-american-calamity/

A generation later, the family's business company created Oxycontin, and procured misleading and false research about the drug's safety kickstarting the opioid epidemic, whose American body-count is closing in on a million dead. Armed with inflated claims about opioid safety, the Sacklers' pharma reps bribed, cajoled and tricked doctors into writing millions of prescriptions for oxy.

This scam had a natural best-before date. As ODs flooded America's ERs and bodies piled up in America's morgues, it became increasingly clear that something was rotten. The Sacklers pursued a multipronged campaign to keep the truth from coming to light, and to keep the billions flowing.

On the one hand, they hired McKinsey to find novel ways to encourage doctors to keep writing prescriptions and to convince pharmacists to turn a blind eye to abuse. McKinsey had all kinds of great ideas here, including paying pharma distributors cash bonuses for every overdose death in their territory:

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/02/03/business/mckinsey-opioids-settlement.html

When the issue of these deaths came up in public, the Sacklers blamed "criminal addicts" for their own misery, stigmatizing both people who desperately needed pain relief and the people who'd been deliberately hooked on the Sacklers' products. The legacy of this smear campaign is still with us, both in the contempt for people struggling with addiction and in the cruel barriers placed between people in unbearable agony and medical relief.

But mostly, the Sacklers kept their names out of it. They laundered their reputations by donating a homeopathic fraction of their vast drug fortune to art galleries and museums in a bid to make their names synonymous with good deeds.

The Sacklers didn't invent this trick. Think of the way that history's great monsters – Carnegie, Mellon, Rockefeller, Ford – are remembered today for the foundations and charities that bear their names, not for the untold misery they inflicted on their workers, their crimes against their customers, and the corruption of governments.

But the Sacklers made those Gilded Age barons seem like amateurs. They invented a modern elite philanthropy playbook that Anand Giridharadas documents in his must-read Winners Take All, about the charity-industrial complex that washes away an ocean of blood with a trickle of money:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/11/10/winners-take-all-modern-philanthropy-means-that-giving-some-away-is-more-important-than-how-you-got-it/

As part of this PR exercise, the individual Sacklers kept their names and images out of the public eye. For years, there were virtually no news-service photos of individual Sacklers. When journalists dared to criticize the family, they used vicious attack-lawyers to intimidate them into retractions and silence (I was threatened by the Sacklers' lawyers).

They also worked their media mogul pals, like Mike Bloomberg, who added their names to the "Friends of Mike" list that Bloomberg reporters were required to consult before writing negative coverage:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/29/friends-of-mike-enemies-of-the-people/#sacklerbergs

But Stein's Law says that "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop." As lawsuits mounted, the Sacklers found themselves increasingly synonymous with death, not charitable works. But like any canny criminal, the Sacklers had a getaway plan.

First, they extracted vast sums from Purdue and shifted it into offshore financial secrecy havens:

https://www.reuters.com/article/us-purduepharma-bankruptcy/sacklers-reaped-up-to-13-billion-from-oxycontin-maker-u-s-states-say-idUSKBN1WJ19V

Even as this money was disappearing into legal black holes, the Sacklers demanded – and received – extraordinary protection from the courts, who aggressively sealed testimony and materials presented through discovery:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/usa-courts-secrecy-judges/

When this gambit finally failed, the Sacklers insisted that were down to their last $4 billion, and, with trillions in claims pending against them, they declared bankruptcy.

When a normal person declares bankruptcy, they are required to divest themselves of nearly everything of value they possess, and then still find themselves hounded by cruel arm-breakers who deluge them with threatening calls and letters:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/19/zombie-debt/#damnation

But for the richest people in America, bankruptcy is merely a way to cleanse one's balance sheet of liabilities for any atrocity you may have committed on the way, without giving up your fortune.

The Sacklers are a case-study in how a corrupt bankruptcy can be conducted.

Purdue Pharma presents a maddening case-study in the corrupt benefits of bankruptcy. When it was announced in March, many were outraged to learn that the Sacklers were going to walk away with billions, while their victims got stiffed.

First, they converted their victims' right to compensation into "property" that the Sacklers themselves owned. This transferred jurisdiction over these claims from the regular court system to the bankruptcy court. A bankruptcy judge – not a jury – would decide how much each of these claims was worth, and then what how much of that worth these victims (now recast as creditors) would be entitled to through the bankruptcy.

Thus tens of thousands of claims were nonconsensually settled without a trial, by an administrative judge with no criminal jurisdiction, not a federal judge who'd undergone Senate confirmation:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/03/31/vaccine-for-the-global-south/#claims-extinguished

These "coercive restructuring techniques" are not available to everyday people who are drowning in student debt or credit-card bills – these are the exclusive purview of the wealthiest Americans, who enjoy a completely different bankruptcy system that is rigged in their favor.

Three judges – David Jones and Marvin Isgur of Houston and Bob Drain of New York – hear 96% of the country's large corporate bankruptcies:

https://www.creditslips.org/creditslips/2021/05/judge-shopping-in-bankruptcy.html

These judges are unbelievably horny for corporations, embracing a legal theory "that casts the invention of the limited liability corporation alongside that of the steam engine as a paradigmatic development in the pursuit of prosperity":

https://prospect.org/justice/how-do-you-solve-a-problem-like-the-sacklers-purdue-pharma-bankruptcy/

Now there are more than three bankruptcy judges in America, so how do the nation's biggest companies get their cases heard by these three enthusiastic Renfields for corporate vampirism?

They cheat.

For example: when GM was facing bankruptcy, it argued that it was a New York company on the basis that it owned a single Chevy dealership in Harlem, and got in front of Judge Drain.

The Sacklers were – characteristically – even more brazen. They really wanted to get their case in front of Judge Drain, the nation's most enthusiastic supporter of "third party releases," through which bankrupt billionaires can wipe the slate clean, securing dismissals of all claims by the people they wronged.

Drain is also uniquely hostile to independent examiners, "an independent third-party appointed by the court to investigate 'fraud, dishonesty, incompetence, misconduct, mismanagement, or irregularity…by current or former management of the debtor."

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3851339

If you're the Sacklers, hoping to keep two thirds of your billions and extinguish all claims by your victims, there is no better helpmeet than Judge Robert Drain of the Southern District of New York.

So, 192 days before filing for bankruptcy, the Sacklers opened an office in White Plains, New York (a company may claim jurisdiction in a specific court once they've operated a business there for 180 days).

Then they filed a bankruptcy in which they altered the metadata on their casefile, inserting the code for a Westchester county hearing into the machine-readable, human-invisible parts of the documents they uploaded to the federal Case Management/Electronic Case Files (CM/ECF) system (they also captioned the case with "RDD, for "Robert D Drain").

They chose their judge, and the judge obliged. UCLA Law's Lynn LoPucki is one of the leading scholars of these bankruptcy "megacases," and has written extensively on why these three judges are so deferential to corporate criminals seeking to flense themselves of culpability. She sees judges like Drain motivated by "personal aggrandizement and celebrity and ability to indirectly channel to the local bankruptcy bar. The judge is the star and the ringmaster of a megacase – very appealing to certain personalities."

Thus, these judges are "willing and eager to cater to debtors to attract business…[an] assurance to debtors that…these judges will not transfer out cases with improper venue or rule against the debtor…"

https://www.fulcrum.org/concern/monographs/02870w66d

This kind of judge-shopping goes beyond the Sacklers; the cases that Drain and co preside over make a mockery of the idea of America as a land of equal justice. "Prepack" and "drive-through" bankruptcies are reliable get-out-of-jail-free cards for capitalism's worst monsters: private equity firms.

Whether PE murdered your grandmother by buying her care-home and putting each worker in charge of 30 seniors:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/portopiccolo-nursing-homes-maryland/2020/12/21/a1ffb2a6-292b-11eb-9b14-ad872157ebc9_story.html

or poisoned your kids by filling your neighborhood with carcinogens:

https://www.webmd.com/special-reports/ethylene-oxide/20190719/residents-unaware-of-cancer-causing-toxin-in-air

limited liability wipes the slate clean.

30% of America's bankruptcies are private equity companies using the bankruptcy system to wipe away claims for their misdeeds, while keeping a fortune, thanks to the shield of limited liability.

Take Millennium Health, JamesS lattery's fake drug-testing company, which promised to help nursing homes figure out whether seniors were abusing (or selling) their meds by testing their piss for angel dust and other drugs. Slattery defrauded Medicare and Medicaid for millions, borrowed $1.8 billion (Slattery got $1.3 billion of that). He eventually walked away from this fraud after paying a mere $256m to settle all claims, and kept a fortune in assets, including the 40 vintage planes his private company ("Pissed Away LLC" – I am not making this up) owned:

https://prospect.org/justice/how-do-you-solve-a-problem-like-the-sacklers-purdue-pharma-bankruptcy/

For the wealthy, bankruptcy is the sport of kings, a way to skip out on consequences. For the poor, bankruptcy is an anchor – or a noose. This is by design: judges who preside over elite bankruptcies speak of their protagonists as heroic "risk takers" and tiptoe around any consequences, lest these titans be chained to a mortal's fate, costing us all the benefits of their entrepreneurial genius.

PE companies helped the Sacklers design their own bankruptcy strategy, and it was a standout, even by the standards of Bob Drain and his kangaroo bankruptcy court. But now, the Supreme Court has pumped the brakes on the whole enterprise.

The judges ruled that the exceptions the Sacklers took advantage of were intended for bankrupts in "financial distress" – not billionaires with vast fortunes hidden overseas. In so doing, the court threatens all manner of corrupt arrangements, from "the Boy Scouts, wildfires and allegations of sexual abuse in the church diocese — where third parties get a benefit from a bankruptcy they themselves aren’t going through.”

The case was brought by the DoJ's US Trustee Program, which lost in the Second Circuit when it tried to halt the Purdue bankruptcy and argued that the Sacklers themselves had to declare bankruptcy to discharge the claims against them.

Now the Supremes have hit pause on the bankruptcy the Second Circuit approved, and will hear the case themselves. It's only one step on a long road, but it's an unprecedented one. Some of the country's filthiest fortunes are riding on the outcome.

Going to Defcon this weekend? I’m giving a keynote, “An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet’s Enshittification and Throw it Into Reverse,” tomorrow (Aug 12) at 12:30pm, followed by a book signing at the No Starch Press booth at 2:30pm!

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=50826

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation,” a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It’s a DRM-free book, which means Audible won’t carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

Image: Edwardx (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Serpentine_Sackler_Gallery,_June_2016_05.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[itsyagurlchip]

٠ ˚ ※ ๋࣭  ᯓ⚝ ⋆ .˚✰Video Game Lover 💜٠ ˚ ※ ๋࣭  ᯓ⚝ ⋆ .˚✰

✰⋆⁺warnings: cussing(!) slight existential crisis(!)

✰⋆⁺Sorry this took so long to come out- I had a hard time figuring out what kind of game I wanted this to be. I also changed the pov to 2nd person bc 1st person is starting to make me a bit uncomfy- Much trial and error. Enjoy this chapter!!

✰⋆⁺ Chapter 1: Welcome to the Underground! Sike-

(Prologue) | (chapter 2)

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(-!)

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PROGRAM LOADED, START? (?)

YES NO (ok then)

{ enjoy your experience dear player :] } (WAIT! )

You couldn't tell where you were, and you could swear you could hear dying by omfg playing somewhere in the back of your head. Or was that all around you? All thoughts were interrupted by that trashy music.

Speaking of, your head really hurts.

And so you took a moment to gather yourself before you looked around your environment. and oh dear

Everything was either bright or pastel (you're pretty sure you wouldn't be able to see once you got out of here) and the build of the place reminded you of something from mario's 3D world.

Your Utah Aunt's baby shower could never.

You were in the forest, and in the near distance, you could see blocky-like hills. The grass underneath you was a sea green, and then you saw your feet underneath your knees.

you were pixelated... Which you found odd, the environment around you was round and 3D, but whatever.

You were in a royal attire, which made you question your lack of shoes.

Reaching for your hair you felt a metal through your tufts. A crown? You took it from its place and inspected it. huh, it was increased with a heart shaped gem. Underneath it, it was encrested with the words 'Our Majesty' Which made you do a double take.

where you a royal? Alright then. About time! You deserved this for a long time damn it!

Placing your status jewelry back on your head, you turned back to the world around you...how were you gonna get back? If this was really a video game, how many lives did you have? Were you...ever going to leave?...

What would happen if you ran out of lives?

A lot of it was cutesy in a way, something that you would've decided to play with your cousin- but knowing that your life could potentially be on the line...

Well now isn't the time to start that pissy crying now! If you're in a game, the only way to progress is to keep moving forward. In this world, time would wait you for, making your leave unnecessarily prolonged. You had to keep on moving.

You were currently in front of a rushing river, speeding as one would do when you're in a court case involving your kids. It didn't look safe to cross, so you didn't.

You looked around once more, seeing a long tree trunk conveniently placed between two branches. It also looked more like a plank now that you looked at it.

Either this game was trash, someone granted you a gift, or this was a coincidence. Either which way, you weren't gonna slow this journey. Rolling up your ridiculously puffy sleeves, you stretched and began to prepare yourself before you gripped onto the plank.

Oddly enough (what wasn't odd about this place?), the item wasn't heavy at all, but it held against the currents of the water.

You thanked the stars as you walked across your makeshift bridge to find out it was very much stable.

You marched deeper into the other side of the woods, hearing a ping above your head. You looked up to see a...?

A white check mark? Welp, you did something right in life, even if it was virtual.

You press onto it, the sign stretching out into a screen. Like a small laptop. It lowered down in front of your torso, with the screen black, and the words in purple pixelated text. There was 3 pages, each labeled stats, traits, and inventory.

Stats

Lives: 1

Death Count: 0

Health: 30/30

Attack 2/20

Traits

Perserverance: 5/20

Kindness: 0/20

Charizzma: 0/20

Intelligence: 5/20

Shadow Phase: 20/20

Inventory (1/5)

Extremely sharp knife

That sucks, you could only hold 5 things! And you weren't even gonna acknowledge the traits. And you were wrong...The wingdings didn't read 'One shit', the game is called 'One Shot'.

Which means anything with more atk damage would easily kill you, even if it took some time.

Underneath the stats read a note. It would be crazy if this was written by some gnome.

Welcome my Liege, this is Nigel the Gnome, your previous caretaker, and now lost friend! If you are reading this, I am dead.

'Well damn'

I warn you: Someone of non-royal status is going to dethrone you! Maybe even going as far to assassinate you. I am unsure. All I know is, you have to be careful on this journey. Ever since you left for the expedition, this forceful tyrant has only started his progression.

'i just got here bro-'

He's taken control of the capital, placing a bounty on your name.

'you just had to think something didn't you'

I yearn for this to be another life, but this isn't the case. Your Majesty, there is something about you no one has ever known of. Your legal guardians have entrusted me with this royal government secret, and now is the time to bestow the same upon to you.

You, my dear child, have the power to manipulate and phase into shadows. Apologies for not explaining this sooner, but here is some information you may want to get familiar with:

You can change the shape of shadows, you can travel through them as well as see through them, and you are able to make shadows, as well as your own, physical enough to defend and offend someone.

Bad news is, the only drawbacks you get is your body phasing in and out of the shadow realm, and tiredness. The best part is that only happens when you make the shadows physical.

I am running out of paper, so I have one last thing to say.

You only have one shot.

With the love, determination, and care I can give to you,

-Nigel Gnomaly

the world zoomed in around you, giving you tunnel vision. 'oh dear stars-' The world around you turned black.

GAME LOADING

LEVEL ONE FINISHED

{ Keep on going, the journey hasn't even begun :] }

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(๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و tags: @kittykittyanon @radicallxser @oleander-nin @towomatos @thealphagirl @ziipzeepzop-eez @amorvincitomnia-14 @spongejuice @valen-yamyam16. if you would like to be added, check my blog.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Mike Luckovich, Atlanta Journal Constitution

+

Quote by Elizabeth Spurlock Lambert : Jake Tapper just lied about Democratic governors getting together to discuss getting rid of Biden. When called out on his lie by many of those governors who were named and were pissed that he lied about a meeting that they said didn’t even happen, he deleted some of his tweets, but he didn’t retract or apologize and they are now just feathers spreading in the wind.

Politico lied about Biden family members privately trashing Biden’s campaign advisers. That never happened, and Politico doesn’t have any sources who would even know if it did. And it gets worse- a Biden aide even refuted the story before it ran, and they ran it anyway.

The NYT (who never endorsed Biden, including not in 2020 either) is so bitter about him never giving them an interview that they openly call for him to step down as they get caught being on Trump’s payroll.

NBC lied that Nancy Pelosi called for Biden to step down and when she got pissed and corrected the lie, Jen Psaki, Biden’s own former press secretary, kept repeating it anyway.

Politico also lied that Governor Whitmer said that Biden would lose Michigan. She never said that. They never corrected.

Bloomberg lied (by twisting facts) about Dems doing a virtual roll call about Biden being the nominee. That’s a lie.

Carl Bernstein lied to CNN that Biden was having memory loss at a restaurant in June 2023. The restaurant he named has been closed since 2019. He also wasn’t even there. He cited “unnamed sources” who he says told him. It was reported uncritically and without a fact check by CNN even though it’s not even possible that it’s true.

David Folkenflik of NPR deliberately omitted half of Jim Clyburn’s quote. Bad faith Biden-hater Andrea Mitchell asked Clyburn if he would support VP Harris *if Biden dropped out*. Clyburn answered that direct question in the affirmative, but then spent a long time taking exception to the whole premise of the question and said he doesn’t think Biden should drop out. Folkenflik omitted the part where Clyburn took exception, and only reported that Clyburn would support Harris if Biden drops out. I would count the omission as enough of a distortion of Clyburn’s answer that it was a lie.

This attached data compiled by media matters shows that the political media was pushing these “Biden is old and has dementia” stories even *before* the debate where his stutter got triggered because they let Trump spew a lie tornado all over the the stage at him. They need their bias confirmation now. Which is what they’re doing.

The biggest problem our democracy faces in the 2024 election is voter suppression.

We never hear about that problem. Why?

Because a close second problem is that two institutions which are crucial to protecting our democracy- the press and the courts- only work if they practice disciplined ethics. Neither institution has any accountability in 2024 for not being ethical. Who enforces ethics on the Supreme Court? Who enforces ethics on cable news and political news media? All we can do is not fall for it.

The next time you hear a story where “sources” have told CNN or MSNBC or Politico or NBC or NPR or anybody anything about “insiders say”, just don’t even believe it. “Some people are saying”. That’s what they are getting away with. I’ve been amazed at how many people I’ve seen it work on!

[cloveroctobers]

THE STRANGERS: SINNERS ON COURT

A/N: the point? I’m highly disappointed with the new release of the strangers and the summer is the perfect time for the horrors and THAT was just not it for me. I’ve also been strongly debating if I even want to dip into writing for challengers since it’s very layered but also MESSY and who wants to flop if you drop something but you don’t know unless you try right? So here’s me serving something since chapter 1 gave us…not much? I’m blaming the writers and not the actors ofc so they need to hire me for chapter 2 ASAP. So this is for my horror and challengers lovers I guess! I might have to do a trilogy myself depending how this turns out.

In short: Challengers meet The Strangers.

WARNINGS: mostly oc x art pairing with a hint of Tashi x oc! Language, slow burn/slow start? Slight graphic violence + animal brutality?—Not overly described but hinted + a LENGTHY read!

SYNOPSIS: Andromeda, “Andra,” Cove has always been the secret double to Tashi’s game even when Andra claims that is far from true. Although their friendship has been on and off since Andra transferred out of Stanford…everything always comes back to the court. Andra seeks out Art’s company to attend her grandfather’s birthday party back in her hometown in Virginia Beach not expecting Tashi and Patrick to show up as well considering the confirmed secrets the three have recently spilled. After the events at Andra’s grandfather’s birthday party, the four decide to take a trip up to Andra’s cottage to get reacquainted but soon find three more guests at the door who release nothing but terror that surely ruins the weekend.

.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *

“I just remember the knife plunging into him and the amount of blood that spluttered from his mouth as they flung his body to the floor…” Andra hears the intake of her breath before she continued, “his eyes still locked on me as if—as if he was imagining during his last moments what our life as a married couple could be like and I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t stop them from hurting the man I wanted forever with. They took that from me and I still feel that knife, shoving its way through my body every time I think of him. My forever husband.”

The host of the podcast speaks now, “Not long after Maya honored us with this virtual interview, she was found brutally murdered in her shared home with her late fiancé, Ryan. The case of the road-trip lovers still remains unsolved till this day.”

A nudge to Andra’s bare upper arm makes her flinch, bringing her back to reality as she glances to her right to see her good friend, Art Donaldson staring at her, freshly awakened from his nap. Andra allowed him to be her passenger princess since he had to take two flights to get here, which she was thankful for.

After he received more frustrating than devastating news: that Lily was biologically Patrick’s, Art fled to London to take a much needed break from his two opponents. Art held Lily so tight and even thought of taking her with him but had no energy to fight Tashi who made little noise at his departure. She knew he would be back. Andra received a text from Tashi before Art ended up calling her and it was so laughable that Tashi acted like she had everything so figured out.

[~From: Tashi Duncan.

I fucked up and it’s finally caught up…you’ll probably be hearing from Art soon. I know you’ll do me a solid and watch over him for me, won’t you Meda?

Purposely leaving Tashi on read, Andra didn’t engage in a conversation because not even three minutes later, Art was in fact calling her phone—which led to a two hour call.

“What the hell are you listening to?” Art stretched his arms back around the headrest, a frown in between his brows.

Andra glances at him while rolling her stiff neck around in the driver’s seat, “A true crime podcast…about this couple that ends up having to stay in an airbnb and they basically get slaughtered by three sociopaths in creepy masks.”

Art squints, “and you feel that’s appropriate for us who are currently on the road alone surrounded by nothing but trees in this hillbilly state?”

“Hey! You wanted to see the cottage. I was—

Art interrupts his old friend, “Don’t say perfectly fine staying with your mom and step-dad because you and I both know you can’t stand those bastards.”

Which was not untrue…

Andra’s mother was big on living up to “the Cove,” name and felt that her daughter was the biggest disappointment (compared to her older brother Ahmed) although she kept a tight smile on her cheeks when speaking about Andra to family members. Andra’s mother’s side of the family came from a lineage of historians and archaeologists and Andra’s grandfather was also a well known tennis player in Ethiopia. Half of Andra’s mother’s siblings were also in the athletic field, her mother was once a gymnast and even made it to the Olympics multiple times until she suffered a severe neck injury on her third attendance ultimately ending her career—you can just guess how well she bonded with Tashi more than she ever did with her own daughter—later becoming a athletic sponsorship director.

Andra laughs with a nod of her head, “yeah, you’re right.”

Art hums already being aware, reaching for Andra’s phone pausing the podcast to search for a playlist for this late night morning drive. “This is a mood killer…no pun intended so I’m switching this but rest in peace to Maya and Ryan.”

You’re resting your head back against the headrest, eyes focused on the road, “You’re lucky I’m getting tired and don’t want to argue with you since there are rules such as: Driver always gets to pick the soundtrack.”

“So you were listening to this to scare the shit out of you and keep you awake?” Art states with a curious glance at the braided haired woman, “pull over and let me drive the rest of the way then.”

Andra twists her lips around, ready to debate on that since she loved her “little,” coupe and actually loved being the designated driver. When she transferred out of Stanford, she may or may not have gotten into illegally racing a few cars for extra cash, after her mother put a hold on her card until she declared a new major that was satisfactory enough to her. If anybody needed a ride and fast then Andra was your girl…just try to keep that on the low, although it was public record.

A yawn ripped through her lips before she can even stop it. She didn’t even want to dare a glimpse at Art who now sat up with a fold of his arms. He was being such a dad and Andra found this funny, laughing to herself while Art patiently waited for her to say something.

“You’re too cute, Art.” Andra tells him, lolling her head to peek over at the now dark haired blond, “looking like a scolding parent as if I didn’t get enough of that at the beach.”

Art sighs at that.

For as long as Art’s known Andra, she’s always been this humorous vibrant personality but it only ever shined when she stood on her own. It dimmed a bit whenever Tashi took over and Andra made herself small enough so her own mother wouldn’t find something to pick at but that never did her any good. Andra only came out here to celebrate her grandfather, since she was never sure how many more years the old man had left in him and he was much softer on her than the way he treated her mother, which was a cycle for what Andra endured. Her step-father refused to see it, comfortable in his rose colored lenses while she also often had a bickering relationship with her brother, Ahmed who claimed she played the victim game whenever their mother said something that basically teared her down.

It was a tale as old as time.

Andra thought inviting Art out here was to mainly help him wrap his head around what he was going to do and it would be good to see each other face to face after all this time but turns out it was him being by her side that made things a little easier.

“What do you need?” Art decided to ask, keeping his eyes trained only on her.

Andra chewed down on her bottom lip as she whispered, “…for you to drive.”

Art dipped his head at this, waiting for Andra to pull over to the side. They unbuckled their seatbelts and Art was out into the night while Andra climbed over to the passenger side with her fallen over zip up hoodie. Shutting the door behind him, Art adjusted the seat with a small teasing smile at the bronze skinned woman who scoffed at him in return.

Before he switched gears he says, “for what it’s worth…I think you’re brilliant at whatever you do and the only thing that matters is what you’re comfortable with when you look in the mirror. Be proud of that.”

A watery smile goes his way and Andra lightly reaches over to shove his shoulder, “you’re disgustingly sweet and I’m glad you’re in my life.”

“I love you, you know that?” Art sends a lopsided grin back.

Andra breathes, “I love you too.”

And that keeps Art warm in the sixty-five degree summer night. He runs his fingers over the door and cracks the window open, allowing the air to brush against the side of his new do, loving to hear the sound of that. It felt good to hear sentiments being reciprocated verbally and Andra never had a problem letting it be known. The pair connected in that kind of way, the whole words of affirmation was huge in the way they wanted to be loved and can always count on each other to be so reassuring.

“Now how many more hours do we have to go?”

Andra who’s balled up on her side, peeks at her glowing phone that was plugged into her car informs, “just a hour and nine minutes.”

Art puffed out some air as he switched gears, then checked over his shoulder before pulling back onto the road, “It’ll be sunrise by then so…hopefully a gas station will grant us with it’s presence and we can fill up, grab some shitty coffee or energy drinks and be on our way to your fancy cottage.”

Andra rolled her eyes, “it’s nothing compared to your California barbie dream house.”

“Please,” Art snorted, “it’s far from that and just a place to lay our heads and raise Lily in…” He clears his throat, “it’s just a house.”

Andra knew Art was still coming to terms with it all. He already went off about it and what he thought marriage should be despite spending years in one. Art claimed he wanted a divorce but the next thing Andra knew, Tashi and Patrick were showing up without her invite. Art didn’t invite them necessarily but he did let it slip to Patrick where he was over texts and that he didn’t know when he was coming back. Art needed some time and he always felt like there was never enough in this world.

The next few moments consisted of Andra dozing off, her phone buzzing with notifications as Art got off the next exit after driving nine miles and headed to the gas station. Art grabbed his own phone, tempted to wake Andra but she looked so at peace with some much needed sleep. He quietly exits the car and makes his way to the dingy gas station, greeting the grunting old man with the Santa Claus beard at the counter before searching their inventory. Art decides against the coffee that has a few dead flies floating at the top and circled back to the fridges.

Once he finds the little that he wanted, he slides the objects onto the counter at the man with the unkept beard. A small smile graces Art’s lips in a attempt to be friendly but the man doesn’t budge.

“That’ll be it, thanks.” Art urges as he holds open his wallet, also hoping to get the strange man to get a move on so he can get out of here quickly.

The man grunts, reaching forward from his spot on the stool to bring the few items closer to his view before he slowly starts punching them into the register. Art’s patient as the man takes his time and before he can start looking around his gruff tone comes out, “that’s a pretty one you got out there, don’t ya?”

Art blinks, easily picking up at what the man is hinting at and chooses to ignore him, “I’ll need some gas too. $25 on pump three.”

The man hums to himself, reaching over some more to punch his dirt stained fingers into the buttons although his eyes keep darting out the window. This time Art follows the old man’s stare but only to check on Andra to see that she is still in fact asleep on the passenger side.

“Y’all not from around these parts are ya? Headin’ north might not be the best choice ‘round this time of year.” The man tells Art who feels his brows coming together in a frown.

He wasn’t concerned about how the man can figure out if he was from here or not. It was the same as visiting any place and Art’s been to many considering his status. It was what the man, Walter (according to his also grimy looking name tag) said afterwards.

“It’s a week before the holiday, I think we’ll be okay but thanks for caring.” Art keeps his calm, small smile still on his lips as he pulls out two twenty bills, noticing the: CASH ONLY sign, “keep the change and you have a nice upcoming morning.”

Art doesn’t bother engaging in more conversation, shoving his wallet back into his jogger pocket, and scoops the items into his arms; not asking for a bag either. Art half expected the man to latch onto his wrist and deliver another unsettling line. This time Walter just goes back to being silent and Art’s not sure which one was worse, as he steps away and exits the store.

The pinging of his own phone, doesn’t stop Art in his tracks as he continues back to the coupe. Opening the door, he dumps everything into the driver’s seat for now before moving quickly to the nozzle. The minutes feel long as Art darts his gaze from the changing numbers on the pump, to Walter’s stare from the store, and back to Andra whose body gently rises and falls with each breath.

With a click, Art brings his attention to the nozzle to place in its original space, then moves the drinks into the holders and tossing the few snacks onto the floor by Andra’s sneakers on the floor. He searches the glove box for some sanitizer, but no amount of alcohol can erase the internal feeling of something going wrong.

Art laughs to himself as Walter holds up a hand in their departure, feeling that he was just being paranoid since his nerves were already out of whack way before he got to this state. Art shrugs it off once the gas station is no longer in sight and feels his phone ping some more.

“Not now, Patrick.” Art bites with a scratch to the back of his head.

He doesn’t have to look at his phone to know that it’s Patrick. He’s been the main one sending texts at all sorts of times since Art left the country. Art was already irked before but now that he brought Tashi to impose on his time with Andra was just another thing to tick off the list. Andra was great at distancing herself from the two and was always vocal on her distaste for Patrick but this was still a process for Art.

You can only be on the court by yourself for so long according to Art Donaldson.

Andra Cove strongly felt different.

“Hey,” Andra’s raspy voice is followed with a grasp to Art’s shoulder, catching him off guard which makes her widen her half lidded eyes at his flinching, “…everything good?”

Art scoffs, “what? Oh yeah! I just thought southern people would have the best manners.”

Andra clenches the tiredness from her eyes, trying to comprehend what the blond was saying to her, “…what happened?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Art says, “take a look in the holder, I got your favorite.”

Peeking at him with one eye, Andra glances down at the yellow bottle and reaches for it with a smile that splits over her lips. “Pina colada Fanta? I can’t believe you remember that.”

“How can I forget? You talked about it all the damn time back at Stanford and would throw a fit every time the campus never had it.” Art briefly looks at the woman from the driver’s side.

Andra laughs as she squeezes it to her chest before placing it back in the holder, “appreciate you, bub.”

“Sure,” art replies, “try not to chug it all down for breakfast later and then complain about a tummy ache afterwards.”

“Are you this bossy with Lily?” Andra questions while getting ready to roll her body to face away from Art again.

She freezes a bit, wondering if it’s a sore subject to even mention the child’s name but Art just shakes his head with a snort, “I’m actually the fun parent, believe it or not.”

“Oh I do.” Andra’s turned back to the window again, reaching a hand back to squeeze Art’s thigh in comfort.

He watches Andra’s hand: her gel nails a combination of a summer orange sunset and magenta. Her pretty fingers are inked with delicate designs and Art finds that her touch radiates a warmth that he’s not used to. A touch that is gentle but firm enough that lets him know that perhaps this gloom season doesn’t have to last forever.

There’s some instrumentals playing throughout the car now but Art doesn’t seem to mind it. Andra’s hand is now back to her own lap as she catches up on another round of a nap and Art is left to his own thoughts and this horrible energy drink that tastes like battery acid.

“Jesus,” Art mutters to himself as he feels himself gag balling a fist up to his mouth, in hopes of settling his stomach on his own.

He glares down at the drink momentarily before his eyes connect with something in the road, which makes him tap on the brakes. They squeal some, which makes Andra pop up in bewilderment, hood to her hoodie sliding right off.

“Damn,” Art comments as Andra grips onto the dash, leaning forward to get a good look at what’s in the road.

Andra sighs, “it’s a deer.”

“Yeah but…it doesn’t just look like roadkill.”

The way its head is bent back is unnatural along with the amount of blood that stains the gravel. There’s traces of glass the decorate the ground which indicates it could have been hit, which was not uncommon. It was the way that both sets of eyes locked on the deer with squints in their eyes that they noticed multiple wounds on its backside that appeared blunt and not accidental.

Andra exhales, her side eye going to the sides of the car before her hands went to check that the doors were locked, “nope. Art, if you don’t float this shit, then I will.”

The glance Art shoots Andra’s way, confirms that twisting feeling he felt back at the gas station. He crosses his hands over the steering wheel, turning the car to go around the deer and picks up the speed just as the navigation system speaks telling the two which direction to continue in.

That was enough to keep Andra awake for the rest of the drive.

6:46AM

The old friends are pulling up to the Olive green and white cottage. Equally they both rest their heads against the seats, just measuring the amount of energy it was going to take to collect their things and bring them into the home.

“It’s nice.” Art compliments while Andra who rolls her head to meet his tired stare with her blank one, “what? I’m not bullshitting you, honest.”

“Uh huh,” Andra answers as she grabs her Fanta staring at it a bit with a smile, “c’mon Ken, let’s get inside before the bugs start chomping.”

Art teases with his own nickname, “can we check our surroundings first, Belle? I’m getting some red flags?”

It was the way he actually had a rose by one of his own personalized nicknames for Andra in his phone—the only one with a emoji by her name truly—that reminded Art of how much he missed their friendship.

“Is this more about the Santa Claus cashier or the stabbed up deer?” Andra asks with her hand on the door.

Art scratches at his brow as Andra’s phone dings, “uh…both?” He muttered while she deeply inhales, eyes going to the phone she was about to leave behind in the holder. Pulling it free, she unlocks the phone and reads the message with a scowl.

Holding the mic on the bottom right of the device, she speaks into it, “thanks for letting me know last minute, dumbass. Send.”

Shoving the phone into her hoodie pocket, she meets Art’s eyes, “Ahmed gladly let me know that the front porch light is still broken from the last time he snuck up here to use my place for who knows what.”

“I’ll take a look at it, just set a reminder.”

Andra nods, quickly doing so before pushing the door open followed by Art. He breathes in the fresh air which smells of pine and salt from near by water. It’s quiet besides the light chirping from some birds and there’s not many cars near by at Andra’s neighbor to their left.

“The Triplett’s come here in the winter months, they’re Minnesota natives if you can believe it.” Andra informs as she swings the strap of her duffle bag against her shoulder and moves the seat back into place.

Art nods, “so what you’re saying is…we’re actually alone?”

Andra shrugs, “that’s kinda what the cottage life is all about, babe. Don’t worry though, that’ll be ruined once your two favs decides to grant us with their presence.”

Art watches as Andra slams the door, leaving Art behind as she crosses the pathway towards the front porch. He’s scrambling a bit now, grabbing his own bag and locking the car. He jogs up the steps just as Andra is unlocking the door. “Did I mention that I’m sorry about that?”

Andra fans her hand as Art steps into the home, being met with the grand view of the water out back. She’s locking the door behind him and then responds, “you sure did but nothings changed.”

She hoist the bag on her shoulder as she breezes by that, “alright little house tour since it’s still early and we could both use some more sleep. Dining table is here, kitchen in the corner, sitting area to a pretty great view is up ahead with the best deck in this sleepy town right beyond those doors, bathroom is right by the last set of sliding doors leading out to the deck, and your room is right around that wall. Around from there is the actual living room and my room is upstairs. Please keep your shoes by the door.”

Art breathes out a laugh, “if I didn’t know that you were once a careless tennis athlete who chose cross country instead—out of all things—then went on to sports journalism later turned kinesiologist, I’d say real estate might be your true calling.”

Andra rolls her eyes with a laugh, “thanks for the whole run down of my résumé, you’re a great guest so far.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” He winks as he moves to start unlacing his sneakers while Andra shakes her head, moving towards the couch with her back to the sliding doors.

She jokes, “I’m not on your salary so I don’t have a personalized chef or anything—

“Shut up, Andie.” Art playfully aims his shoe at the braided woman who grins at him with a wink, “I don’t need that special treatment shit, especially when it’s going to be over by next year anyway. I already know I’m gonna be taken care of by you.”

Since Art got his friendship with Patrick back, he seems to believe that he’ll be retiring soon and he wasn’t anywhere near forty just yet.

She shrugs her shoulders, “…all depends on how good of a guest you are.”

“I think I’m the best you’re gonna get…compared to your brother anyway.”

“Don’t even get me started on his bobble head!” Andra yells before continuing, “Now I have to check the house to make sure he didn’t ruin anything and try to hide it but at least he was honest about the light. The bare minimum! Please let me know if anything seems off in your room?”

Art laughs a little, knowing just how much Andra went at it with the older guy. Art never had any issues with Ahmed, he had an award winning smile and was definitely a charmer. The only thing Art didn’t get was why he didn’t have his sister’s back when it came to their mother? Probably because he got all the credit of being the “good” kid and didn’t want to ruin that but that was selfish. Art didn’t know what it meant to be a sibling but he figured it should be some sort of union, even if you had to Duke it out from time to time.

Blood was supposed to be thicker than water is what they say.

Art was an only child so he’s always been on his own but he felt like his late nana was the closest thing he’s had as true family.

Art zones back in on Andra stepping back into his view, “…what I was meaning to say before my mind goes all over the place is the kitchen should be pretty stacked although we’re only going to be here for a day or two. I had someone make sure of it so we don’t have to make any special trips but if you want to later—

“Andie,” art calls out to her making her blink and realize that she’s talking a lot, something she does when she’s stressing or needing some rest, “we’re good, get out of here.”

Her hands are on her hips now, “Are you trying to bully me, Donaldson?”

“No?” Art blinks.

“That’s what I thought. See you in a few hours and holler if you need anything.” She starts to walk off but Art follows her.

“…you do have weapons here right?”

She glances at him over her shoulder, “duh, who the hell do you think I am? Oblivious?”

“…what’s your middle name again?”

“Good night, art!” She waved her fingers in the air while Art is smirking.

“It’s morning!”

“Then tweet, tweet, bitch!” She calls back over the wall before she disappears and heads up the stairs.

Art can’t help but to let the bubbled laughter fly past his lips, heading to the right where the bedroom is waiting behind the sliding barn doors. Dumping his bags on a near by chair, he plops down on the side of the bed, resting his hands on his knees as he soaks in the stillness.

Flinging his body sideways to lay down, after staring out at the view for some time, he pulls out his phone to see a few texts from no other than Patrick.

The most recent says that Art’ll be seeing him and Tashi by the early or mid-afternoon at the latest, depending on when Tashi was ready to go. All Art did was like the message, placing his phone back on his belly before he closed his eyes.

Art is awakened by the stench of food and the goosebumps that decorate his skin. Rubbing at the new texture on his skin, he pushes himself up into a sitting position and peeks through his slumber eyes to get a sense for what time it is.

11:52AM

He gets to his feet, rubbing at his eyes and leaves his phone behind face down on the bed. Leaning in the doorway he looks both ways before stepping out onto the dark wood floor and heads back towards the front of the cottage. He spots Andra immediately facing his direction in the kitchen, leftovers of a sandwich in her hand while she’s sipping at some sort of smoothie.

“Morning sunshine, how did you sleep?”

Art leans against the counter from the opposite side and grins, “like a baby.”

“See the magic of this place yet?”

“I still need some convincing…maybe the last bite of that sandwich will help?”

“Oh you mean this one? That’s full of grease and has the potential to clog arteries? Aren’t you an athlete?”

Art gives a straight face, “doesn’t mean I can’t have cheat days and when did you become my trainer exactly?”

Andra pops her lips at the taste, leaning forward to mockingly toss the rest of the sandwich into her mouth.

Art leans away from the counter, “alright, okay. Your hospitality actually sucks and I rate this establishment zero stars.”

“You can’t chop me.”

“I just did.” Art states matter of factly as he starts making his way into the kitchen.

Andra scrunches up her nose, “always such a little baby! There’s one waiting for you in the toaster oven and I’ll be reporting this to the blogs.”

Art argues, “And you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

“Classic answer,” Andra circles around Art now in her flowy white skirt to plop on the couch dramatically with a hand tossed against her forehead, “I thought you said you loved me, Arthur?”

“Oh c’mon, not the whole government name drop, Andromeda!” Art drags out her name around stuffing his face while Andra laughs laid out on the couch.

He preferred “Art,” over his full name any day and that’s what everyone’s known him as before he even made it big. That of course didn’t apply to his own parents who felt it was foolish to call their son by a nickname rather than what they gave to him at birth. They were less hard asses than Patrick’s parents but when it came to titles that’s where he and Andromeda related.

“I’ve been added to the group chat thanks to your side piece.” Andromeda waves her phone in the air.

Art takes her leftover smoothie and plops down beside her, sipping at and ignoring her raised brows, “what side piece?”

“Mickey mouse.” Andromeda tells as she shows the dark blond her phone, “Patrick says him and Tashi are now on the road so we should see them around 2 at the latest.”

Art slowly finishes chewing, elbows on his knees as he’s in thought, nodding at this information. He can’t exactly say he’s thrilled to have them here—as bad as it sounds considering 1/2 of the pair consists of his wife but he’ll keep that to himself.

Andra sits up then, shuffling to sit thigh to thigh with Art as she nudged his shoulder, “Take a minute and get ready, I’ll be outside enjoying the sun until I give you the rest of the tour.”

He questions with a lopsided grin, “there’s more?”

“Always.” She flashes her teeth at him, leaving Art to peer down at her lips briefly before she turns her head to look at the waterfront for a bit, leaving Art to analyze the profile of Andra’s face. The little chocolate chip mole by her hairline of her straight backs is something he always found cute no matter which way she wore her hair. Just like her finding the spec of honey brown on the side of his dark blue hues in his right eye.

She gets up, using his shoulder for leverage before she breezes by him smelling like caramel, peonies, and pink pepper—a mixture of many scents that matched her body chemistry quite well. Art lets out a long sigh, leaning back against the couch after she slides the door closed but that doesn’t stop him from watching her walk across the deck to sit pretty on the wicker egg chair.

Some time later Art makes his way out to the deck, freshly changed and dressed for the remainder of the day. He meets Andra out on the deck, leaning over it just as she’s getting off the phone.

“I don’t care when you bring it, Ahmed. All I know is that it better be back here by the time I come out here again. Yeah, yeah. Bye!” Andra ends the call while there’s amusement on Art’s face while he takes a spot right next to her.

He glances at her before looking back at the view, “are you out here tearing your big brother a new one?”

“Nooo, what gave you that idea?” She’s sarcastic although her smile is as sweet as can be.

She spins to rest her elbows on the banister, eyeing Art’s appearance. He meets her stare, raising his brows in question as she says, “The facial hair is a good look on you. What’s next? Growing your hair back out?”

Art snorts, “nah, I think that’s over for me. Too much maintenance.”

Andra hums as she waves him along, “let’s see the dock…wait did you put your sunscreen or bug spray on?”

“Uh no?”

“Not on my watch, Donaldson.” She charges right by him to the egg chair, coming back with a dropper, “hold out your wrists.”

“What is it?” He asks but complies as the oil is dropped right on his skin.

“Now pat it against your neck and ankles then finish with your wrists.” She instructs, “the mosquitoes are devils by the water and hate lemongrass.”

Art shakes his head with a smile, “whatever you say, mom.”

“That’s okay, clown me all you want but you’ll be thanking me by the time we’re inside for the night, free from bites.” She pats his waist on her way by to put the dropper back.

Together the friends make their way down the set of stairs to the lower level. They walk across the grass where Andra points to their left, showing where the shed is full of equipment for water activities.

“Paddle boarding?” Art quizzes as he caressed his facial hair, “I can’t picture it.”

“What? I can’t have other hobbies?” Andra asked, hands on her hips while staring at the man underneath her eyelashes.

Art shrugged, “course you can. I just remember a certain lake party where you were lounging by the lake instead of being in it.”

Andra shields her eyes from the sun as she turns up her glossed lips at the memory, “I’m surprised you remember that when you had your tongue down Divinia Alonto’s throat.”

“Did I?” Art inquires, “I was honestly so worried about my new friend not having a good time.”

“And keeping Patrick from getting his ass beat by one of those guys that’s probably a linebacker now.” Andra chuckles as she leads the way up the small hill towards the dock.

The air is warm just as the light breeze while the two travel some more together. It was funny thinking about it all, how Andra became acquainted with the pair, first watching them at the US open since she was visiting Ahmed who recently moved out to Queens, New York. She would later end up at Tashi’s match a week later, sitting on the bleachers not far from Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson. She ended up introducing herself to the two prior and congratulated them on their win just for Patrick to invite her to a lake party they were attending that night.

Andra said she would think about it just as her pink LG chocolate phone was ringing. It was Tashi. Art even took it further to round off a number Andra can reach them at, leaving her to just stare at them in amusement.

“Aren’t you gonna type that in? Or do you need me to do it for you?” Patrick attempts to flirt but Andra just peers at him from underneath her oval purple and black glasses.

Andra laughs, “I’ve got it but if I need someone to lift a finger for me, I know just who to call. Later.”

“Later.” The boys echo as they watch her walk away.

“She wants me, dude.” Patrick leans back into Art’s shoulder as they both watch her hips sway, doing a signature spin while answering the phone.

“Yeah right, in your dreams!

“Hey,” Art speaks, his eyes were off to the right, “you never mentioned a court.”

Andra deeply exhaled as they both face it now, “that’s because I try to forget it every time I’m out here. After I purchased this property, my mom made it her mission to have one put out here as some sort of gift to me? Honestly it feels like torture porn to me but I shut my mouth and never use it.”

Art turned his eyes into slits, “if you don’t use it then somebody definitely does. What do you get up to out there in Alaska?”

It still shocked Art to hear that Andra settled out in Alaska these past few years. Of course she still traveled all over working with the most popular athletes, this he knew because he seemed to get the runaround whenever he mentioned her but Tashi deemed it as Andra still holding a grudge with her cutting Andra off after she transferred.

Art believed it was possible but eventually they reconnected instead.

“Lots of things,” Andra answers, “but you’d have to come out there and see.”

Art hums, “that another invitation?”

“As if you need anymore.” Andra looks at him and he holds her stare.

“…I think,” he starts as he leans towards her a bit, “I’d like to see if you still got it.”

Andra scoffs, “I don’t need to prove a damn thing.”

A smile twitches onto his lips, “sure you don’t but we’ve got nothing but time?”

“And we can enjoy that time by the dock underneath the sun. I know you like to get a little tan for the summer.” Andra argues with a cross of her arms.

Art rolls his eyes, “if you’re a chicken shit just say that.”

“If you wanna see me in a skort just say that.” Andra fired back, standing on her toes a bit to match his height.

Art presses his tongue into his cheek, looking off to think about it, “fine, you caught me! I’d love to.”

And the way he’s speaking to her makes Andra bite her bottom lip and Art knows he’s got her. He’s smirking as he tries to reach for her folded arms in attempt to hug her but she playfully slaps his hands away and points at him in warning.

They’ve worked up a good enough sweat on the indigo blue court. Art’s serving with the ball at the neck of the racket before he sends the ball over. Andra has no issue matching Art’s rhythm, he’s found his spark again but Andra knows he’s been tired of professional tennis. It just took him much longer than it did Andra. She knew right from the beginning that it wasn’t her sport although she was phenomenal at it.

It was a shame really because it seemed effortless. So causal she swung but it was always fast, her brows remained turned inward while the rest of her face remained calm despite the usual routine of pulling her bottom lip underneath her teeth. Art is so lost in the swing of things, picking up on Andra’s own tics that he tries to go for the ball at the last minute. Andra pulled another one of her moves, almost like a ballet twirl spinning just as she smacks the ball back to Art.

Stretching his arm just too far, Art hisses as he feels his shoulder sting almost like static radiating down his arm followed by a burning sensation. Andra sharply inhaled, eyes widening as she tosses the racket to the side. Moving around the net she’s down on her knees as Art lays on his back panting.

“Hey,” she speaks touching his shoulder which he lightly grips, “Let me.”

Carefully he moves his fingertips out the way, choosing to stare up at the sky for a while as Andra feels around. Art groans as she touches just at the crease of his armpit, surrounding by his old wounds.

“It’s a muscle spasm,” Andra informs as she digs her fingers along his skin, “breathe through it, Art.”

He pinches at the bridge of his nose, doing as instructed and croaks out, “my shoulder stood no chance, I should have known, you still got it and do that famous spin of yours.”

“Whatever,” Andra dismisses, “now look at you, all messed up, old man.”

Art huffs, “well I wouldn’t pick anybody else to look after me.”

Andra shakes her head with a small smile as she raises Art’s shoulder while still pushing back at the stubborn spasm. When Andra shakes his shoulder out to help relax it, she goes to raise it again but he’s sitting up now with a wince. With one hand he slips against the small of Andra’s back, making her inhale as she looks over at him.

“Am I hurting you?” She softly inquired, quickly checking in but Art shakes his head.

He’s pushing her to his lap and whispers into the summer air, “Never that.”

Before his lips are placed right on her’s.

Their noses are smashed together as their lips work together. Andra makes the move to grip Art’s jaw, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. He rubs at her back and squeezes her hips, matching her speed as if time is all they had.

Abruptly she pulls back, holding her lips while Art peers at her in alert. His eyes are even darker now but the spec of gold in that one eye is bright.

It’s such a pretty sight with his lips pink and panting.

“Art…what was that?” She questions behind her hands.

His hands don’t leave her frame as he breathes, “that was something I wanted to do since I hugged you for the first time in years at your grandpop’s party.”

She tilts her head at this news and moves to sit beside him against the hot court, “You’re married, Art.”

“I don’t think Tashi knows that.” Art mutters while Andra sighs.

“So this is about revenge?”

Art shakes his head, “no. It’s about finding what’s missing and you’re it.”

They both lock eyes and Andra doesn’t realize she’s leaning in until Art is kissing her again, pushing her back onto the court which burns her bare back in more ways than one. She hisses and Art pulls away and sits her up immediately as he cups her face, “…can we go inside?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Their grins are wide as they scramble to their feet like two old friends secretly up to no good. The excitement was real, doing something that most would frown upon but the pair were not the only two that moved to their own drums.

Andra’s helping Art remove his shirt, he playfully whines more than needed as she pulls it over his aching shoulder but reveals he’s just messing with her and it’s not anything he can’t handle. His hands find comfort right on her ass, pulling her lips right back to his as he lays back against the couch. It’s when he starts bucking his hips against her’s after she slips her tongue into his mouth that Art knows he’s in trouble.

“I’ve missed you, Andie.” He tells her as she presses kisses down his neck.

She pulls back, “how much?”

He managed to flip the two over, sliding his hand up her leg brushing her white skirt all the way up as he presses his front against the only cloth that’s left covering her. “That much.”

“Then I think we need to fix that, don’t you?” She quizzes, holding his face in her hands again.

His lips are pressed to her’s and she nips at his bottom one and just as he’s reaching to shove down his own pants, there’s knocks at the door.

Both of their gazes turn to the door and Art sits up.

“Special delivery!” A familiar voice screams behind the door.

Art clenched his eyes shut while Andra sits up on her elbows to pull her skirt back down.

“Sorry,” Art kisses her cheek while Andra just secured the satin pearl colored tie around her braids before handing him his shirt back.

Art can already see Andra closing up and he hates to see it. She waits for him to fix his shirt again, this time with the tag in the right place, and wipes the gloss from his lips before making her way to the front door.

Yanking the door open to stop the pounding at it, she spots a grinning Patrick with shades on leaning against the door. “Mickey! You don’t have to kick my door in to announce your arrival, we can hear you from up the street.”

“You sure? Didn’t want to startle your quality time, sweetheart.” Patrick clicks his teeth with a wink as he leans forward to smack a kiss to her cheek before squeezing his way by.

Andra yanks Patrick by his backpack and scowls at the back of his neck, “Take your shoes off in my house, asswipe.”

“Yeah, whatever you want. Got it.”

Andra steps onto the porch now, spotting Tashi with her phone pressed to her ear pacing back and forth. Patrick snickers as he makes his way over to Art, arms held out ready for an embrace but Art just gives him a side eye before choosing to move into the kitchen.

Tashi lifts her head just to meet Andra’s eyes on the porch. They watch each other, Tashi half expecting Andra to send her a Princess wave like old times but she doesn’t. Once Tashi starts crossing the lawn towards the steps is when Andra turns her body to lean her back against the front door. She sees Tashi’s mountain of bags resting on the porch and raises her brow at them.

“Hey,” Tashi greets shortly as her heels click against the porch.

Andra dips her head, “Hi, Tash. Have a nice ride up here?”

“I never would have picked this hick town for you even if it’s part time, what were you thinking?” Tash asked as she begins moving her bags into Andra’s home herself.

Once Art comes over, he silently grabs the last bag to bring in before putting space between him, Tashi and Patrick.

“I was thinking, my money, my choice.” Andra replies as she closes the door.

Patrick lets out a low whistle, arm stretched along the back of the couch, “easy with the claws ladies.”

Tashi glares, “Shut the fuck up, will you?”

“Don’t start.” Andra warns the dark haired man who just shrugs, peeking over at Art with his tongue out in silent laughter who’s shaking his head at him.

Tashi surveys the cottage, heading to the waterfront view while looking left and right. “So what’s the sleeping arrangements?”

“Art’s on this level, I’m upstairs, Pat and you can have the couches.”

Patrick bounces on the one he’s sitting on now, “cool.”

“Right,” Tashi snorts, “So the room with the barn doors? Got it.”

Andra sends a look to Art who just moves the tension from his jaw. Tashi picks up on this and says, “what have you two been up to?”

“Yeah! It’s a nice set up you got here, Andra! I’m sure there’s plenty and nothing to do.” Patrick’s fishing but they’re not taking the bait.

Art decides to change the subject, “have you two eaten?”

“We stopped at that one place for breakfast before we left but I’m always down to decide what’s for dinner.” Patrick admits while Tashi rolls her eyes.

The now blonde haired woman brushes by Andra, “I’m going to bring my things into the room while you guys figure out how to entertain yourselves.”

Andra follows after Tashi as she’s going back and forth, bringing her things and arranging them and Art’s things. Andra sits on the edge of the bed waiting for Tashi who raises a brow at her. Art lets out a long exhale as he listens to the door slide closed and Patrick gets to his feet to place his backpack on the floor. Stretching his arms above his head, he moves towards the wall where the front door is to mess with the record player.

“Just make yourself at home, why don’t you?” Art mutters to Patrick as he flicks through some records and picks a random one to place down.

Patrick shrugs, “what am I supposed to do? Just sit around and wait for you to talk to me?”

“You’re lucky that Andra even opened the door.”

“What is this? You finding a new team member to replace me? Don’t forget that I’m always your number one.” Patrick leaves the needle off as he burns his stare into Art who’s resting his hands on the counter.

“Are you fucken serious right now? No way are you saying that to me when you did what did behind my back, again.”

Patrick rests his hand on his chest, “you’re acting as if I knew, which I didn’t, and what we’ve been over already! I would never try to take Lily away in the first place, I’m fine being uncle Patrick and I’ll still love her regardless.”

“Well shit, thanks for your permission!”

In the room, Tashi has now taken a space on the bed, arms crossed while Andra stands in front of her. “…Do you really think being here smothering him is the best choice?”

“Smothering?” Tashi scoffs, “Art fucked off for two weeks and he folded right into your arms. Whether you like it or not, I’m his wife and he’ll always need me.”

“Tashi…you had him believing that lily was his—

“She is!” Tashi exclaimed, “you honestly think Patrick would be a good father and god forbid a husband? They’re not children, they’re men and should start acting like it. Those white boys wouldn’t be shit without me and you know it, which is why you walked away.”

Andra frowned, “I don’t have anything to do with your relationships with Pat and Art so I don’t appreciate you trying to wrap me into your bullshit. I’ve been out the mix, sis. You’re already in my house, which takes a lot of balls from the both of you after you did Art dirty.”

“Art, art, art, art, art! Jesus! Did you fuck him already? Was it even better now than back when you were nineteen?”

One thing about Tashi, she knew how to be so disrespectful. However it had no effect on Andra as a smile split over her lips at the blunt short haired woman. It wasn’t a secret that Art was Andra’s first before he decided to start going after Tashi. They were each other’s flings and that was good enough for Andra as long as he wasn’t screwing anybody else that didn’t deserve him. It was her mistake then and maybe it would have been her mistake now if they had more time on that couch.

She didn’t need Tashi picking at scabs.

“Would that make you feel better?” Andra asked with a tilt of her head, “voluntarily giving us a pass for what exactly? To even the score?”

Tashi smirks, “You were always my greatest weapon and I don’t get even, I win.”

Patrick stands on the other side of the counter, taking Art’s glare, “I don’t know what you want from me, man. We were back to normal, great even! I’m at my best and you’re going out with a bang, don’t let this ruin how far we’ve come.”

Art huffs, “I’ll decide.”

“Fine, whatever you want but don’t make it another thirteen years.” Patrick snaps, “…where’s the booze?”

Andra pats at her scalp in frustration, “if you have any respect for me as a past friend, you’ll do right.”

“What’s your definition of right?” Tashi rolls her hands around trying to understand, “Leaving when it gets tough and having unrequited love?”

“What’s yours?” Andra debates stepping to Tashi who gets up in her face, “Cheating on your husband, having a baby on him, lying to him for years, and still walking around like the mean girl you are? Let me tell you something Ms. bob, we’re grown now and it’s tired.”

Tashi sizes Andra up, “it’s cute that you think you have a back bone now. Took you long enough.”

“Keep trying me and you’ll see just how that back bone works.”

Tashi kisses her lips at Andra who steps back, “great talk.”

“You haven’t changed and I don’t think you ever will. I’m glad I walked away from this friendship years ago, you make me sick.” Andra snips over her shoulder as she reaches for the handles.

Tashi fans her hand, “oh fuck you and your excuses. You’re just looking to point the finger at every bad guy to make yourself feel better about your lack of drive for anything.”

“What?” Andra whips around, “You’re the only miserable one I see here. At first I thought it was ambition but that turned into greed and then control. You’re just mad that I would no longer let you diminish my voice. I’ve had enough of that with my own mother! I’m not tennis, I’m more than that, which you’re not and that bothers you so maybe you’re the one that’s really sick.”

Tashi claps it up while Andra stares up at the ceiling, “glad you finally found your voice and told me how you really feel in person, instead of laying it out to the public like you should have. Only took you forever.”

Andra shrugs her shoulders, “if I have something to say, I’ll say it to your face.”

Tashi hums as she steps to Andra this time, brown eyes scanning over her features,“Tell me more.”

“I don’t want to do this with you anymore, Tash.” Andra’s hands are up in the air, “I removed myself from the situation long ago and after this weekend here, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. We just don’t mesh and that’s okay, I have boundaries and you have crazy standards that you expect everybody to follow. Art and I were cool before you came into the picture—

“Aht, don’t do that. We were high school friends before Art. Why should some man come between us?”

This was true, Andra and Tashi were the best of friends anyone can have as teenagers starting from their junior year. This wasn’t their first fight and wouldn’t be their last. They were in different groups by the time Andra came along since she was from Virginia but her family moved out to California when she was fourteen. They knew of each other since they had gym class together but didn’t get the chance to form a friendship until they were sixteen.

“You don’t get it,” Andra sighs, “it wasn’t just Art. It was everything for me and it would have killed me so I chose a different path. If you wanna be mad at me still over that, fine. We can’t change each other.”

“You honestly think that’s what our relationship was?” Tashi pries, “it was about challenging each other and shaping each other into the best of the best.”

Andra tightens her stare, “So tell me Tash, do you like the result?”

Tashi inhales, thoughts wandering as there’s more harsh knocks at the door. Andra deeply frowns figuring it’s Patrick who locked himself out as she looks away from Tashi, sliding the doors back to peek out. She can’t see from the doorway but she also doesn’t hear Patrick or Art talking.

The knocking sounds again and Andra steps out, followed by Tashi. Andra sees Art walking over to the door while Patrick brings his attention away from tinder on his phone.

“I thought it was you,” Andra tells Patrick, shoving his shoulder, making him lift his head to peek up at her.

Patrick snorts, “nah. My serve is more baseline.”

Tashi walks along the path between the couch and sliding doors, peering at the view of the afternoon sky turning lightly yellow against the blue. There’s birds in the sky but they’re flying further away. All of their heads turn back to the knocking, leaving Art to unlock it before Andra tells him to ask who it is.

Her attention is pulled away as Patrick starts carrying a conversation about dinner but she’s curious to who’s at the door. She see’s Art standing up straight before closing the door, locking it while holding a piece of paper.

“Who was it?” Patrick examines as Art makes his way over to the three still holding onto a fallen paper.

The blond shrugs, “some girl looking for some other girl.”

“God, I hope it didn’t slip to the paps that we’re out here.” Tashi actually seems uneasy about that, perhaps this news was more damaging than she was letting on.

Art replies, “Yeah that would not be great.”

“I mean…would it be the worst?” Patrick sits up on his elbows, “The press is hot right now and I’m the hottest topic—which I should be.”

“Yeah mainly for having a kid with your coach, who happens to be my wife.” Art retorts, “You should be so proud.” He flicks the paper into the air, leaving Patrick to reach up and snatch it.

Patrick turns his attention to Andra who’s sitting on the other side of the lounging shaven man, “…you never told us this was some religious town.”

“What?” Andra frowns, trying to not dissociate.

Patrick holds the paper up in the air as if it’s show and tell, “Latter-day saints? Don’t tell us you invited us here to join a cult?”

“I didn’t invite you!” Andra declared while Patrick flicks the paper to the ground and raised his hands in surrender.

Tashi asks Art, “what’s the name of the girl she said she was looking for?”

“It wasn’t Tashi.” Art notifies, “don’t worry.”

Tashi breathed out a laugh, “me? Never.”

Art moves to sit at the dining table glancing at the three in the room. Andra’s gone quiet, Patrick’s humming a tune while he’s messing around with his phone again, and Tashi is burning her stare into him. He knows they’re going to have to talk at some point during this trip but for now?

“Andie and I ate not too long ago but nows a good as time as any to decide what to eat for dinner. So…any suggestions?” Art questions, eyes moving around the sitting room.

Tashi mumbles that it doesn’t matter, arms crossed as she also seems to have a lot on her mind. Patrick is sitting up against the arm of the couch now, blabbing about many options that most likely wasn’t in the fridge or freezer. Art’s eyes are on Andra as she moves to pull the large curtain over the sliding doors, which makes Tashi eye Art watching her as well.

Andra moves back to the kitchen, pulling out some already prepared items from her assistant to rest on the counter. Patrick’s back at the record player and Tashi has now taken Patrick’s spot on the couch.

The braided woman flinches as she feels hands lightly grip her hips. “Hey, are you okay?”

Andra nods, “yeah…I think so. You?”

“Ask me tomorrow,” Art whispers into her ear.

Andra utters, “just need to get through tonight.”

“Yup. Perhaps slow and steady wins this race?” Art guesses as he swiftly presses a kiss to Andra’s hairline by her personalized chocolate chip.

When he leaves her side, Art catches Patrick’s eyes who has his brows raised at that exchange, waiting for Art to tell him something with Art’s own eyes. Art just shifts his blues, leaving the main area to take a minute to himself. That doesn’t last as Patrick shortly follows after Art, seeking answers about what his plan was with Andromeda.

Tashi turns to Andra as Patrick disappears into her shared room with her husband.

“Guess it’s our turn to be fucking housewives, huh?”

Andra leans her elbows along the counter, feeling a cramp in her stomach while she breathed through it, “the real ones just exited the scene.”

Tashi laughs at this as she pushes to her feet looking for a drink. She wouldn’t exactly call this, “happy hour,” but it’ll do for now. Andra knows it’s bad luck not to cheers and Tashi Duncan was one of the last people she wanted to do so with but Andra had a feeling that she didn’t want anymore bad luck.

So the glasses clinked while Patrick and Art hashed it out behind the barn doors. Outside of the cottage by the water, stands a darkened silhouette underneath the slight shade of a dogwood tree, just lurking and waiting for the right time to rally.

Dollface would soon be ready for the next task once the hours passed with some friends to bring to the match.

.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･.ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *

Continue with my summer anthology writings & prompts here.

[seat-safety-switch]

Recently, a child asked me why an old Toyota was making a horrible noise. It was part of my community service, cleaning up after a group of disadvantaged children. Originally, I thought it was just that they were poor, but after this interaction I realized that they (the kids) were also stupid. That sound? An exhaust backfire from poorly clocked ignition timing.

I mean, sure, there were obviously lots of other problems too. Vacuum leaks, a clogged-up throttle body, and what I suspected was just a hint of worn-out, rattling heat shield. It all came together in an incredibly loud melange of 1980s car adversity. This poor, late-80s Tercel was suffering, ready to be lowered into the grave but still fighting on past all odds, a testament to the survival instinct shared solely by high-mileage import automobiles.

You’re probably out there going, I bet this asshole is going to try and fix up a total stranger’s car just to demonstrate to the children the importance of doing basic maintenance. Nothing doing, bud: the directions on my court order were incredibly narrow and specifically indicated that I shouldn’t teach the kids about any sort of internal combustion engine, much less old two-door economy cars. Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t bring in consultants. Guest speakers, if you will. Enter Shaky Tim, my painter “friend” from a few years back.

Tim had ingested virtually every solvent known to man during the course of his long career, and as a result had developed what the medical journals called “a superhuman ability” to sense the specific concentration of gases in an area. He was basically a human mass spectrometer, except that he didn’t cost thousands of dollars, and he’d piss his pants if there was too much ethanol in the mix. Shaky Tim went over to the driver, who was letting the thing idle while he checked his smartphone (presumably with some kind of hookup app meant for poorly-maintained engines to find a sexy mechanic in their area,) and Shaky Tim helped him adjust his distributor.

Before we go any further, I think it is important to note two more facts about my friend Tim. One: he can no longer speak the Queen’s English, as it was taken from him by what his whiteboard scrawls indicate may have been some kind of Varsol-sponsored leprechaun. Two: his customer-service skills leave much to be desired. As the terrified children watched on, Tim pried the hood-release cable out through the fender liner, popped the hood, and loosened the distributor cap tie-down bolt with his bare hands. Then he pinched off a vacuum line while sniffing around the exhaust header leak, and, using his unearthly sense of smell, slowly wiggled the thing into perfect running condition, the ignition system now humming in the mathematical ideal.

I like to think the kids learned a lot from Shaky Tim, and maybe they accidentally learned something else from me. It’s better to have your burned-out druggie friend get into a fight with a random Tercel owner than to get into that very same fight yourself. I hear Tim’s gonna have that thing painted any day now, as soon as he remembers where his paint shop is.

[dailymanners]

"We all interrupt and know it’s only sometimes okay. But we may not realize how detrimental it can be:

You are more tense, feeling you need to be ready to jump in before even the person finishes.

You deny yourself a moment after they finish to gather your thoughts.

You lose the chance to hear something that could prove your counterpoint wrong.

You appear rude. Consciously or not, most people feel disrespected when not allowed to finish what they’re saying.

You appear egotistical and seem to believe the other person is inferior. Interrupting implies that you deem your words more worthy than the remainder of what the other person has to say.

You appear uncontrolled. People will view you as not having the self-discipline to avoid being rude and egotistical.

You lose power. When people talk, they often worry about what you think. If you wait until they finish, indeed, wait a second after, their anxiety increases, which yields you more perceived power.

Objections

Despite the above, you might think that interrupting yields sufficient benefits to justify it. For example, “I’ll forget what I was going to say.” Solution: Take a note, which is particularly easy in the virtual meetings so common amid the COVID restrictions. Where that’s not feasible, say one word to yourself that will remind you of the point you want to make.

“Interrupting shows that I understand. Romantic couples prize being able to finish each other’s sentences.” The benefit of that is outweighed by the liabilities. You can show that you understand the person by, after s/he finishes, responding thoughtfully. Interrupting isn’t required.

"I’ll seem too passive and disinterested.” Your body language conveys engagement and your responses to your conversation’s partner’s full statement will be better, making clear that you’re engaged. Of course, at times, moderate interrupting is fine. I'm merely issuing a caution against undue interrupting.

“Interrupting increases the conversation’s energy.” The benefits of that are dwarfed by the aforementioned disadvantages. Certainly, with people who you’re confident enjoy the high energy of an interruptive conversation, you can more often interrupt. But even then, the person will likely appreciate your letting him or her talk. Plus, you derive that benefit of being more relaxed and having another second to think about what they’ve said before speaking.

"Some people welcome being interrupted, like when they've gone off track." True but that's an exception. Don't let that rationalize your interrupting often.

"What if they go on a long rant and won't let you get a word in edgewise?" That's another example of a case in which interrupting is often justified. Just decide whether the benefit of interrupting outweighs the liability.

To do

The good news is that interruptus horribilis is curable.

Keep top-of-mind the main benefit you feel you’d derive from interrupting less often: Probably it’s one of the above, although possibly something else. A client today said, “Not interrupting will make me more promotable.”

After the person finishes an utterance, it's sometimes wise to wait a second before speaking: Say “One Mississippi” to yourself. That will ensure that the person doesn’t have more that s/he’s eager to say. Also, your waiting will make clear that you were listening and not just waiting for the person to finish so you could dispense your pearls. Plus, it gives you time to think. In just that one second, countless brain neurons fire.

The takeaway

Except in certain subcultures and work cultures—for example, Supreme Court justices interrupting the litigants—interrupting yields more liability than benefit. Fortunately, there’s no need to be perfect; an occasional interruption, especially a brief interjection without expecting your conversation partner to stop, like: “aha” or “good point," or to stop a chatterbox is fine. And, as mentioned, in some conversations, moderate interruption seems fine. But one of the more realistic ways to up your professional and personal game is to reduce how often you interrupt.

I read this aloud on YouTube."

[mariacallous]

On Tuesday, the Supreme Court of the United States will hear oral arguments in a challenge to abortion pill access across the country, including in states where abortion is legal. The stakes for abortion rights are sky-high, and the case is the most consequential battle over reproductive health care access since Roe v. Wade was overturned in 2022.

At the center of this fight is mifepristone, a pill that blocks a hormone needed for pregnancy. The drug has been approved by the US Food and Drug Administration for more than two decades, and it’s used to treat some patients with Cushing’s syndrome, as well as endometriosis and uterine fibroids. But its primary use is the one contested now—mifepristone is the first of two pills taken in the first 10 weeks of pregnancy for a standard medication abortion, along with the drug misoprostol.

If the justices side with the antiabortion activists seeking to limit access to mifepristone, it could upend nationwide access to the most common form of abortion care. A ruling that invalidates mifepristone’s approval would open the door for any judge to reverse the FDA approval of any drug, especially ones sometimes seen as controversial, such as HIV drugs and hormonal birth control. It could also have a chilling effect on the development of new drugs, making companies wary of investing research into medicines that could later be pulled from the market.

Pills are now the leading abortion method in the US, and their popularity has spiked in recent years. More than six in 10 abortions in 2023 were carried out via medication, according to new data from the Guttmacher Institute. Since rules around telehealth were relaxed during the Covid-19 pandemic, many patients seeking medication abortions have relied on virtual clinics, which send abortion pills by mail. And it keeps getting more popular: Hey Jane, a prominent telemedicine provider, saw demand increase 73 percent from 2022 to 2023. It recorded another 28 percent spike comparing data from January 2023 to January 2024.

“Telemedicine abortion is too effective to not be in the targets of antiabortion folks,” says Julie F. Kay, a longtime reproductive rights lawyer and director of the advocacy group Abortion Coalition for Telemedicine.

Tomorrow’s argument comes after a long, tangled series of legal disputes in lower courts. The Supreme Court will be hearing two cases consolidated together, including FDA v. Alliance for Hippocratic Medicine, in which a coalition of antiabortion activists filed a suit challenging the FDA’s approval of mifepristone, asking for it to be removed from the market. The Alliance for Hippocratic Medicine is represented by the Alliance Defending Freedom, a right-wing Christian law firm that often takes politically charged cases.

Despite decades of scientific consensus on the drug’s safety record, the Alliance for Hippocratic Medicine has alleged that mifepristone is dangerous to women and leads to emergency room visits. A 2021 study cited by the plaintiffs to back up their claims was retracted in February after an independent review found that its authors came to inaccurate conclusions.

In April 2023, the Trump-appointed judge Matthew Kacsmaryk of the Northern District of Texas issued a preliminary ruling on the FDA case invalidating the agency’s approval of mifepristone. The ruling sent shock waves far beyond the reproductive-rights world, as it had major implications for the entire pharmaceutical industry, as well as the FDA itself; the ruling suggested that the courts could revoke a drug’s approval even after decades on the market.

The US 5th Circuit Court of Appeals narrowed Kacsmaryk’s decision a week later, allowing the drug to remain on the market, but undid FDA decisions in recent years that made mifepristone easier to prescribe and obtain. That decision limited the time frame in which it can be taken to the first seven weeks of pregnancy and put telemedicine access, as well as access to the generic version of the drug in jeopardy.

Following the 5th Circuit ruling, the FDA and Danco Laboratories sought emergency relief from the Supreme Court, asking the justices to preserve access until it could hear the case. In its legal filing, Danco aptly described the situation as “regulatory chaos.”

SCOTUS issued a temporary stay, maintaining the status quo; the court ultimately decided to take up the case in December 2023.

As all this was unfolding, pro-abortion-rights states across the country were passing what are known as shield laws, which protect medical practitioners who offer abortion care to pregnant patients in states where abortion is banned. This has allowed some providers, including the longtime medication-abortion-advocacy group Aid Access, to mail abortion pills to people who requested them in states like Louisiana and Arkansas.

Though the oral arguments before the Supreme Court begin on Tuesday, it will likely be months before a ruling. Court watchers suspect a decision may be handed down in June. With the US presidential election in the fall, the ruling may become a major campaign issue, especially as abortion access helped galvanize voters in the 2022 midterms.

If the Supreme Court agrees with the plaintiffs that mifepristone should be taken off the market, some in the pharmaceutical industry worry that it will undermine the authority of the FDA, the agency tasked with reviewing and approving drugs based on their safety and efficacy.

“This case isn't about mifepristone,” says Elizabeth Jeffords, CEO of Iolyx Therapeutics, a company developing drugs for immune and eye diseases. Jeffords is a signatory on an amicus brief filed in April 2023 that brought together 350 pharmaceutical companies, executives, and investors to challenge the Texas district court’s ruling.

“This case could have easily been about minoxidil for hair loss. It could have been about Mylotarg for cancer. It could have been about measles vaccines,” Jeffords says. “This is about whether or not the FDA is allowed to be the scientific arbiter of what is good and safe for patients.”

Greer Donley, an associate professor of law at the University of Pittsburgh and an expert on abortion on the law, doesn’t think it’s likely that the court will revoke mifepristone’s approval entirely. Instead, she sees two possible outcomes. The Supreme Court could dismiss the case or could undo the FDA’s decision in 2023 to permanently remove the in-person dispensing requirement and allow abortion by telehealth. “This would be an even more narrow decision than what the 5th Circuit did, but it would still be pretty devastating to abortion access,” she says.

The Supreme Court could also decide that the plaintiffs lack a right to bring the case to court, says David Cohen, a professor of law at Drexel University whose expertise is in constitutional law and gender issues. “This case could get kicked out on standing, meaning that the plaintiffs aren't the right people to bring this case,” he says. “If most of the questions are about standing, that will give you a sense that that's what the justices are concerned about.”

As the current Supreme Court is considered virulently antiabortion, reproductive-health-care workers are already preparing for the worst. Some telehealth providers have already floated a backup plan: offering misoprostol-only medication abortions. This is less than ideal, as the combination of pills is the current standard of care and offers the best results; misoprostol on its own can cause additional cramping and nausea. For some providers who may have to choose between misoprostol-only or nothing, it’s better than nothing.

Abortion-rights activists have no plans to give up on telehealth abortions, regardless of the outcome of this particular case. “Let us be clear, Hey Jane will not stop delivering telemedicine abortion care, regardless of the outcome of this case,” says Hey Jane’s CEO and cofounder, Kiki Freedman.

“They’re not going to stuff the genie back in the bottle,” Kay says.