enough of these damn court cases

Reasons I ship Kyoutani x Yahaba and find their dynamic so compelling:

Starting off with the skin-deep, “obvious” reasons:

1) The classic “bad boy” meets “good boy” trope. From basic aesthetic to exterior personalities to voice (anime-wise), they embody this. Most people thought that these two couldn’t be any more different from each other.

2) …which is then subverted with our realization that the “bad boy” probably isn’t so bad after all and may be more of a softie inside, and that the “good boy” is a freakin’ firecracker on the inside. The latter is what makes this dynamic so compelling for me, tbh. Let’s face it, we know lots of tsundere characters. It’s prevalent in manga/anime, but it’s rarer to find characters, especially background/tertiary characters (at this point in the manga anyway) to have that inner spark that subverts classic generic/good guy expectations without going into yangire territory.

3) Show of hands! Who here wasn’t honestly surprised the first time they read chapter 141 or watched Season 2 episode 23 when this seemingly generic Seijoh benchwarmer, goody-two-shoes-looking kind of guy shoved the freakin’ Mad Dog against the wall and gave him a huge piece of his mind? Who here didn’t suddenly sit straight up and paid attention to that scene? Who here didn’t feel excited or tense or in awe? And for those of you raising your hands, why y'all lying?

Those are my top “superficial, easy to understand reasons from the available manga material we have so far” bracket.

Delving deeper into it though, from reasons 4 to 15 with consideration to future possibilities, plus some extra stuff:

Keep reading

Smile, young Achilles.

“Graham!”

Will realized it was not the first time his name had been yelled in the last ten seconds. He turned his head and found his coach looking at him impatiently. Pidgeon chest. Piggy legs. Rosy cheeks. Barely a few hairs on his shiny head.

“Yes? Sorry I was…”

“Yes, yes, daydreaming. Now get in there, son.” Head pointing at the court where his team mates waited expectantly. “Jackson’s coming out, his leg’s hurtin’. Now come on.”

Will hated when he had to play. He hated when he had to interact with almost anyone. Dragging his feet, he walked inside the jungle of sweaty young men who were, in a majority and among other things, bigger than him.

This is just fantastic...

Will wasn’t bad at sports, he just did not want to be there and that translated in his performance so, as expected, after half an hour he had listened to his name more than he was used to listening to it in a whole day.

“Sorry.” He shrugged a trot towards the other side of the court.

He was not sorry at all.

A sudden clamor coming from the nearest court called his attention. Oh, the seniors was it?

A young man with blondish hair and tanned skin was running incredibly fast behind the ball. Nobody was able to catch him as he approached the goal, long athletic legs flexing as he moved with such grace Will’s mouth went dry.

Of course he scored. A rather impressive hooky.

Show off.

The screaming and laughing increased as the young man’s team mates patted his arms and back. He just looked at them and smiled and Will still couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. He was mesmerized by the reincarnated Achilles only a few feet away. The boy found his eyes then, his smile having ceased almost completely. Will looked like a blushed statue in the middle of the field.

Oh, now I look like a complete idiot.

Will was about to turn and leave just in time to avoid remaining in the memory of the young Achilles as the idiot who would not move, when he caught sight of a wide, breathtaking smile. His attempts to blink the clueless cloud away failed so he swiftly eyed his surroundings to check for someone the young man could be smiling at. No. The smile was aimed completely at him. Dazzling and warm. Will could not prevent his lips from curling too.

Just like that every game in the field was paused. Everyone seemed to vanish because, oh yes, he finally was seeing someone that was not in black and white.

The young Achilles’ smile faltered for a second, replaced by a frown and-

“Graham!” was accompanied by a hard thud against Will’s shoulder.

“Man! The ball! Wake the hell up!”

Ouch.

“Sor– “ Nah. He sighed.  

Will was sure his face was red like his shoulder but still dared one last glance at the smiling Achilles.

Oh

He was still smiling, perhaps even smirking by then. Smug bastard.

Will’s blush became furious and hot. The young man nodded and ran towards the other side of his court.

                                            *     *      *

After the game (mercifully) ended, Will searched for the most secluded shower. Leaving his small bag on the bench, he undressed and got under the warm spray of water.

It felt divine after all that tension so he sighed contentedly and combed fingers through his curls.

The events of the past hour projected inside his head like flashes from a movie. The smiling Achilles. The smiling Achilles’ strong legs. His golden hair.

Will’s sore shoulder.

Damn.

He flinched at the touch and reached for the soap.

 Oh don’t tell me I-

He discovered soon enough that the case where he always kept the soap was empty.

“Shit!”

“Are you alright?” An accented voice from the next stall made him jump. It almost made him yelp. Imagine that.

“Yes.” His eyes widened as he turned. “Shit… Sorry… I’m -” There stood the young Achilles, barely shielded by a pillar separating the stalls. Tall. Lean. Stunning. God.

The young man arched a brow expectantly.

“I just noticed I forgot my soap.” Shyness tickled Will’s skin as he realized he was in front of a stranger, absolutely naked. Flushed too, he was sure.

Aren’t they all naked here?

The young Achilles’ lips curled in a faint smile. “You can have mine. I always bring more than one as backup.” He disappeared for a moment and returned with soap in hand. Taking a step forward he extended his arm, offering the small box to Will.

Oh god, he’s naked. They are all naked here but he is naked and he is here….

“I–”

“You needn’t worry, it has not been opened yet. You can keep it.”  

“Thank you.” Will took the box and dared another glance.

“You are most welcome. The circumstances may be strange to introduce myself, but I’m Hannibal.” His voice was soft and velvety.

Hannibal…

Rare and powerful as Achilles.

“Will.” Beginning to smile.

Fucking finally, stupid muscles!

“I’m Will”

“Will,” Hannibal echoed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

And just like that, Hannibal was gone. Will blinked until the dizziness ceased.

He looked to his hand. Not as he had expected, it was a rather exclusive soap.

Will rolled his eyes and opened it.

The scent of cinnamon and honey filled his head.

Strange.


This happened because I must confess that at my almost 30 years of existence and almost 20 years of studying English, I came to know what the word “dove” means. (Other than the brand. Agh, it was so obvious!)
So my darling @lecteronthelam​ prompted me: Write a fic using the word “Dove”. Go.

So I went… ish. 

(Thank you for your help and encouragement, love)

Expect more chapters if I dare! 

Though talented, Margaret Keane was extremely withdrawn and shy – far from the kind of salesperson you need to be for a career as a successful artist. She was also in the habit of signing her paintings with just her last name. Her husband, an art dealer and championship-level dickbag, immediately realized the opportunity this presented. He started taking his wife’s paintings and selling them as his own, earning millions in the process. Oh, and if you dispute his professional bag o’ wangs status, there’s also the minor fact that he would lock Margaret in a room for up to 16 hours a day in order to mass produce his masterpieces. Meanwhile, Walter cavorted about in their huge house with his assorted hangers-on and generally enjoyed the whole “popular artist in the swinging 1960s” bit to the maximum.

In 1965, after 10 years of unhappy marriage and rampant career abuse, Margaret finally got a divorce. Although Walter initially managed to convince her to continue their painting arrangement, she soon had enough, and cut off Walter’s supply of malnourished children drawings. In 1970, she finally told the world that she had been behind the paintings all along, and challenged Walter to a public paint-off to prove her claims. Walter never took up the challenge, and the dispute over the paintings raged on. Margaret finally took the case to the court, where it came out that Walter had, among other things, threatened to kill her and her child. Maybe those Keane Kids looked like that because they were god damn terrified.

5 Great Women Ignored By History For Absurdly Sexist Reasons

8

the reign of the tudors  ♦ anne boleyn’s execution

Anne Boleyn, Queen consort of England, was charged with acts of treason and adultery and was executed on 19 may,1536.Why did England’s King Henry VIII, who risked his reputation and kingdom in order to marry her, have his beloved wife and queen charged with acts of treason and adultery, which swiftly led to her execution in May of 1536? According to Hester Chapman, an English historical biographer, the world in which Anne Boleyn lived was like that of a “…snake‐pit, of which nearly all the occupants were venomous…” In her 1974 book,The Challenge of Anne Boleyn, Chapman describes a sinister milieu without regard for the truth or kindness, and in which Anne herself was one of the major players.According to Chapman,Thomas Cromwell, concerned with the succession since Henry had no legitimate male heir by Anne, devised a plan to bring about “…Anne’s destruction.” Chapman asserts that Cromwell, knowing that if Anne was charged with “high treason,” there would be no escape.Chapman explains that during this time, those unfortunate enough to be charged with high treason were not allowed to have someone represent them, not allowed to interrogate any “witnesses”, nor allowed to see the proof of the alleged crime.The jurors themselves were not allowed to inquire about the validity of the supposed facts, or they themselves could be imprisoned. A guilty verdict was absolute.Through “bribery and threats,” as well as information freely given from her many enemies,Cromwell obtained the required evidence that he needed to make a damning case against Anne.Chapman asserts that Mark Smeaton, the court musician, only declared guilt because he was promised he would later be set free if he admitted to “carnal knowledge” with Anne.When Henry was told of the matter and shown the evidence, Chapman asserts that Henry was aghast, but believed the charges.Chapman concluded in her epilogue that, while Anne was innocent, there should be no “question of blame.”The King, Chapman claims, was bound by law to endorse her “death‐warrant.” While most historians share common themes or focus on the key players, Retha M. Warnicke, asserts in her 1989 book,The Rise and Fall of Anne Boleyn: Family Politics at the Court of Henry VIII, that the primary reason for the fall of Anne Boleyn was that Anne gave birth to a deformed fetus in January of 1536.  According to Warnicke, most Europeans during this time believed in demons and witches, and that “…witches gave birth to deformed children…and committed incest.In conclusion,this was all a bad timing for Anne Boleyn,surrounded by such lies ,it only took her step by step closer to the grave.

anonymous asked:

I'M A WHORE FOR AKASHI :* so may I ask Akashi alpha/omega HC? I hope that's alright. Thank you!

I got a few!

  • Nobody was surprised when Akashi presented as an Alpha, except him. He thought there was a chance of him being a Beta, as he didn’t have the same presence as his Alpha teammates
  • For an Alpha, he has an irresistible scent. It’s delicate and gentle and far from overpowering, but is more than enough to catch your attention. His mate has to practically peel away omegas and alphas alike who are captivated by his scent.
  • Just like you’d expect from an Akashi, he was raised to treat his partner delicately despite his dominant side as an Alpha. However, as he didn’t really know how delicate was too delicate, he ended up taking his damn time courting his partner. He’s often somewhat restrained in case he somehow scares his omega away. It’s likely that they have to tell him that it’s okay to do more than scenting. 
  • After some reassurance from his partner that they won’t leave him, he soon drops the excess formalities and acts far more natural, but only gets more charming as he’s no longer holding back on his wit.
  • When he was courting his s/o, before they began scenting each other he would often buy them jewellery and clothes just to see them wear it, so he could claim them as his in his own way
  • His ruts are intense. Good luck s/o.

anonymous asked:

Why is the first female nominee being defined by her husband?

Wild, huh?

God, the debate last night was…a lot.

  • Trump was sniffing so damn much…Like, is he okay? Should we be worried, guys? Is he healthy enough to be president?
  • We should absolutely judge Hillary for Bill Clinton’s actions, but should completely ignore the rape and abuse allegations from Trump’s first wife. Kay.
  • He brought up the case from the 80′s where Hillary got a 13 year old’s rapist off, and then fails to mention that he’ll be in court this week because he’s been accused of raping a 13 year old himself???
  • Anderson Cooper was not dealing with any shit and I loved that
  • “Locker room talk” BYE BITCH BYE. No one has to talk like that just so they can fit in with the cool boys, especially if they’re a grown ass man holy shit
  • When he somehow turned a question about sexual assault into ‘I will defeat ISIS’????
  • Whenever Trump yells about defeating ISIS I’m just reminded of that meme of that middle aged Linda lady on facebook saying she’s gonna fight them personally
  • Hillary was admittedly not at her A-game last night and was having a real problem with going over the two-minute mark, but…at least she wasn’t rambling
  • Trump trying to subtly call sexism because he got called out more for going over the mark IT’S BECAUSE SHE WAS ACTUALLY ANSWERING THE QUESTIONS DONALD YOU WERE JUST MAKING SHIT UP ON THE FLY
  • How many times did he say ‘inner cities’
  • Too many times
  • The audience was so into it with their reactions no matter how much Anderson scolded them but EVERY TIME ONE OF THEM HAD TO STAND UP TO ASK A QUESTION THEY LOOKED GENUINELY AFRAID FOR THEIR LIVES
  • I stopped paying attention for literally two seconds because I needed to pay the guy delivering my dinner, and when I tuned back in Trump was yelling that Hillary was trying to blame her lies on Abraham Lincoln???
  • Leave Lincoln OUT of this hot mess please holy shit he had enough drama when he was alive
  • There were these brief, stolen moments throughout the debate where Hillary, in exasperation, would quickly look directly into the camera. Our eyes would meet and I feel as though our souls touched each time
  • Trump? Trump. We get it. We all know about the email thing by now. Find some new material.
  • THAT CARL DUDE WENT FOR IT WITH THE FINAL QUESTION
  • “What do I respect about Donald? His children.” *audience laughs*
  • But then Trump actually gave a good answer which felt a little surreal???? Yikes
  • I know there’s so much more but it’s not fresh in my mind anymore but
  • u g h this election is ridiculous

Hollywood Mavericks 2014 :The Rebel With a Cause: Ava DuVernay
Director @AVAETC unflinching biopic about Martin Luther King, Jr., Selma, is one part of a larger goal: to tell important African-American stories through film.

A few things that weren’t on director Ava DuVernay’s to-do list: a studio film, a historical drama, a male-centered story line. “I wanted to be the black Lynn Shelton,” says DuVernay, referencing another of indie cinema’s most consistent female forces. “A movie a year, make a little change, make another … so Selma is certainly a different path.” Still, no one will accuse DuVernay, a former publicist who won the Best Director prize at Sundance in 2012 for Middle of Nowhere, a stark drama set in Compton, of selling out for taking on the first-ever feature film about Martin Luther King Jr. (a production with the backing of Oprah Winfrey and Brad Pitt’s Plan B Entertainment, no less). Her mission remains constant: to tell substantive stories while helping other filmmakers of color do the same. It’s a goal she furthers through her pet project, the African-American Film Festival Releasing Movement, a collective that brings independent black films to theaters. “We’re an endangered species,” she says. “I know beautiful filmmakers whose voices are being suffocated by a system that doesn’t pay attention. You got a voice? We’re going to amplify it.”


Ava DuVernay, 42
Credit check: Venus Vs., Scandal, Selma
“When I was a publicist, I would tell filmmakers, ‘Don’t be nervous—it’s going to be fine.’ Now I have to take my own advice, and I see how terrified they were. It ain’t easy putting yourself out there.”

She is one of the Hollywood Mavericks 2014
Starring Johnny Depp and the innovators, risk-takers, and big thinkers who are changing the face of entertainment.

It’s like a tale of two cities in Hollywood these days. Not just because it’s the best of times (there are more ways to reach audiences than ever) and the worst of times (a historically bad summer at the box office, Kourtney & Khloé Take the Hamptons), but because entertainment, too, is being riven by the struggle between the haves and the have-nots. Only in this case, it’s the have-talents, the have-ideas, and the have-guts vs. the have-not-a-clues—that is, the slaves to the status quo. We’re betting big on the former: the freethinking innovators, creative disrupters, and risk-courting visionaries bold enough to flip the script or go off it entirely—payday, reputation, and conventional wisdom be damned. They range from a comedic duo taking dead aim at North Korea to billionaire hedge-funders on a mission to save independent film to a first-time director igniting a dialogue about race relations to a fearless actress starring in the sweetest little abortion rom-com you’ll ever see. There’s no happy ending to this story—at least not yet—because our heroes are still writing it.

MOVIES & TV
Hollywood Mavericks
By Alex Bhattacharji and David Walters,Photographs by Jeremy Liebman,Styling by Sarah Schussheim and Eugene Tong

Bucky: Never, Never

Bold words go hereeeeeeeee


Bucky wasn’t much of a lover. If he had a love language, it’d be acts of service or words of affirmation. So you didn’t push. And why should you? A quick snuggle and a forehead press while he breathed all over the lips he’d just kissed? Only to then notice the group was staring and Steve was giving him a proud smile and Wanda looked ecstatic. The two of you had darted apart as if you’d been set alight and left separately.

Since then (two days ago roughly (two days and three hours in two minutes)) you’d avoided each other. It wasn’t obvious, neither of you got up and left the room when the other entered. There were more than enough rooms that you hadn’t shared one since.

You’d taken to the eastern wing, realising your bedroom was below the eastern wing standards and had been moving your things into the new room you’d discovered. Wanda, yet to had venture into the very places you now habited until the kiss, was astounded. She’d made at least three jokes already about how she didn’t understand why there weren’t turrets on this fortress. And she too had moved in down the hall. With only three rooms separating the two of you, one a home theatre, the other a bathroom and the last a computer gaming room, things were going well.

You could play magic in the empty room that was interconnected to yours and Bucky could have the western and southern regions that the rest of the group mainly habited. North was for all the mission boring stuff, guns etc.

“My money is low.” You sighed at your companion, both of you facing a computer with Sims playing.

“Use a cheat then.” She mumbled back, clicking away and you snorted.

“I’m trying to make my way as a real sim here, normal life style and you want me to cheat because the bills are three simoleons more than I can affored this… How often do the bills come?”

“Twice a week, I think. Shh. I’m designing.” She grunted and you made a groaning whine. The game was being frustrating and it was making you antsy, which was making you feel bored. You sat up, struck by the idea to shadow Bucky when you shot yourself down. Bucky likely didn’t want to see you.

But then, he wouldn’t have to.

Quick as a flash, you threw out an excuse to a distracted Wanda and left, bee lining for the privacy of your room.

“Yo, Fri, wheres Jamie?” You asked the open air.

“He is in the southern kitchen, Y/N. And please don’t shorten my name.” The disembodied Irishwoman scolds.

“Thank you!” You yelp and take off, racing down the halls and stopping in a bathroom to whisper an update on the whereabouts of Barnes. Until you’ve got him in your sights.

So far, two minutes in, this felt nothing different from shadowing the fellow Avenger as he went about his day to day business. He was currently eating his favourite, a cheese toastie, when his mouth opened.

“Friday, where’s Y/N?” He asked softly, his eyes searching the room for witnesses. You noticied a pause in the A.I before it responded.

“In the Eastern wing, Mr Bucky, in the blank room.” She answered and you blinked, amazed. She’d covered for you.

“Thank you, Friday.” He replied softly and picked up his sandwich, walking off toward the east. You tracked him slowly, putting to use the skills you’d learned but never needed. You weren’t very good at it, but he seemed too distracted to notice.

Just as he was about to enter the corridor that yours and Wandas rooms connected to, he took a sharp left, down a hall you hadn’t explored yet. You moved even slower this time, not knowing where he was going nor the lay out until he came to a stop at a ledged window.

Wordlessly, he tapped the ledge three times and the window went from vision inhibiting solid white to classic glass. His forehead wrinkled a little as he realised something.

“Where is she?” He whispered to himself and you gaped. How dare he.

“How dare you!” You snapped, revealing yourself in your sudden offense. He didn’t move, but by his clenched fists, you could tell you surprised him.

“How dare I what?” He asked sourly, not looking at you, just tapping the ledge till the window went white.

“Spying on me!” You yelped, pulling off your shoe and throwing at him. He caught it without meeting your gaze, though now he faced you. Instead, his head was ducked and his hair curtained him.

“You have no proof. And i wasn’t spying.” He grouched, and you barked a disbelieving laugh.

“You were too!” You imitated his low voice, “Hey Friday, where’s Y/N, I wanna creep on her.”

“I did not say that! And that’s not my voice! And you were spying first!” He fired back, his head snapping up, but his eyes avoiding yours. He pegged the shoe back at you and you dodged it with a deft move and a growl.

“You were too coordinated for this to be the first time, you sneaky… Sneaky… Sneaky snake!” You shouted and his lips went white. “Oh yeah! Laugh it up, you filthy snake. Being all friendly and wrapping yourself around me until you can squeeze and squeeze and make it hurt!”

He reared back slightly, eyes finally snapping to yours and you registered his hurt.

“Me? Hurt you? You’re the one that pulled away from me with that look in your eye! Caught up in a stupid moment for three seconds until you returned to your senses I guess!” He stormed and you pulled off your other shoe, throwing it violently and wildly, missing him completely.

“Shut up, I did not! You pulled away from me and stormed off”

“You moved rooms!”

“I was scared!”

“Yeah, I know you were.” He whispered viciously, spinning and throwing a punch into the wall.

“Don’t you dare, James. Don’t you dare think I’d ever do that to you. I would never be afraid of the Winter Soldier coming back.” You whispered back brokenly, stumbling away from him. You couldn’t tell him you were afraid he’d hurt you, because he already had. But you knew he’d never lay a hand on you in violence. “I would never think you could hurt me in that way.”

Then you stumbled back to your room, asking Friday to lock the door before collapsing beneath the blankets, a force field encasing your bed to keep anyone that bothered you away. You wanted to interruptions to your misery, not even Wanda.


Red: Text me when you’re ready.

That was the only text Wanda sent you, but you felt sure she would be pacing outside your room, staring at her Butterfly galaxy and having literal crackles of tension surrounding her.

Instead of responding, you fell asleep, eyes dry, only to wake some time later with your cheeks wet.

You patted the mattress until you felt your phone, a warm golden glow lighting the black object.

6.34pm. Dinnertime.

Sitting up, you wiped your face, the world beyond your bed made of a golden blur. You let the field flicker, turning off completely.

“Can I have some low light please, Fri?” You whispered hoarsely and the room lit slowly to reveal a dark ball against the wall. You gasped when it moved, eyes peeking out.

It was Bucky.

Your eyes went to your door, taking in its unbroken solidity before looking back at him.

“Hello, snake.” You muttered and his hands fell to the floor, landing either side of him, his gaze clashing undauntedly with yours.

“I’m sorry.” He grimaced, climbing slowly to his feet. “I don’t… I do know why I doubted you and I’m sorry. It was stupid.”

“Yeah, it was.” You croaked, eyes still locked on his as he came to a stop at the end of the bed.

“I won’t do it again. The other day proved I couldn’t hurt you even if I really wanted to.” He pleaded, his eyes practically begging permission to climb onto the bed.

“I know, Jamie.” You mumbled, swiping the one tear that dared escape away and he crawled his way across the covers to you, before hesitantly putting an arm around you. When you buried your face into his chest he squeezed you tight and rocked left and right a little.

“I’m sorry too. So damn sorry, James.” You spoke into his shirt and he hummed away the apology.

“We both weren’t thinking, it was too much of the moment and not enough of us.” He pointed out, voice by your ear. You untucked your face from his shirt and met his steady blue eyes with your own shy ones. “Can I court you, Y/N?”

Without waiting for a response, he slowly, in case you wanted to stop him, he lowered his lips to yours, kissing you once, twice, three times before properly sinking into it. When he pulled away, he tucked you closer to him, the two of you now with your backs against the mattress, and gave you a hard squeeze.

“Ssss…” He hissed in your ear and you snorted, smacking him in the stomach.

“You’re made of a trash can.” You stated plainly and he grinned, eyes tracing your face.


And then theres more bold wordsssss

@fangirling-all-the-way-tbh

CROSSOVER HELL IS WHERE I LIVE ALWAYS:

I’m just having too much fun with Sailor Senshi in an Ace Attorney AU:

-DEFENSE ATTORNEY USAGI, WHO HAS NO IDEA WHAT SHE’S DOING

-FORENSIC INVESTIGATOR AMI

-PROSECUTOR REI (I’m like imagining her as like Franziska but instead of a whip she like RANDOMLY SHOOTS OUT FIREBALLS FROM HER HANDS like a stage magician except IT’S REAL and if fucking whipping everyone in a courtroom is somehow acceptable legal behavior I really don’t see them drawing the line at FIRE)

-POLICE OFFICER MAKOTO

-MINAKO BASICALLY STILL GETS TO BE SAILOR V BECAUSE YEAH, GREAT VIGILANTE/THIEF OF JUSTICE, YEP there are plenty of costumed weirdos running around in Japanifornia, V would fit right in.

-Setsuna ends up as a witness for some reason and NOBODY CAN GET A DAMN ANSWER OUT OF HER

-omg CHIBI-USA AS USAGI’S ASSISTANT. IT WOULD BE AMAZING AND TERRIBLE.

-WHY DO I FEEL LIKE HOTARU WOULD GET WRONGLY ACCUSED OF MURDER? THAT WOULD TOTALLY HAPPEN. USAGI AND CHIBI-USA DEFEND HER AGAINST FUCKING PROSECUTOR COUPLE HARUKA AND MICHIRU. I’M A GENIUS.

Basically all of the S season is rewritten as an ACE ATTORNEY COURT CASE, yes.

(wait who the hell would be the Judge?)

(Luna?)

(nah Luna’s not nearly incompetent enough)

( … I’ll get back to you on that one)