#blindly as in just with the information presented in the court case

[agentcable]

Taxi Driver 2 Ep. 15

Rainbow Transport takes on another client. This time, however, it is a trap set by the Bishop and Ha-Joon. Not knowing that it is a trap, Do-Ki blindly goes to Jangsan Prison with Kyung-Koo and Jin-Eon to rescue a victim. The only thing waiting for him is Ha-Joon's trap, which will tear Do-Ki to pieces.

Season 2 Episode 15 "They Were All In The Same Team"

The series is based on real-life heinous crimes committed in Korea and has received praise from viewers for its performances and storylines.

If you want to watch the series for yourself, stop reading! This post contains spoilers to the storyline.

Episode 15 "They Were All In The Same Team"

The 15th episode of Taxi Driver 2 begins with a flashback to Ha-Joon's childhood at a children's welfare home. The Bishop, who was then a priest, ran a secret organization at the facility where kidnapped children were brought for undisclosed reasons. As a child, Ha-Joon was bullied for not having his own name. In retaliation for the bullying, Ha-Joon killed another child named On Ha-Joon. The Bishop dismissed what Ha-Joon had done and asked Officer Hyun-Jo to dismiss the death of the real Ha-Joon as an accident. He ten praised Ha-Joon for winning the battle and gave him the identity of the new Ha-Joon. As he grew up, Ha-Joon followed in the footsteps of the Bishop and became Manager On, the Bishop's right-hand man. He is initiated into the cult with a ring that all other members wear.

In the present day, Do-Ki and the taxi crew discuss the ring that they had seen many people at Black Sun wearing. Do-Ki notes that the ring leader in Vietnam was also wearing the same ring. According to Go-Eun, Pil-Seung was seen wearing a ring with a cross and a snake on it, which is similar to the Feel Consulting logo.

The episode shifts to Lee Si-Wan, an employee at the foreign currency office. Upon discovering that three individuals were depositing large sums of money into two overseas businesses with a similar logo, Si-Wan filed a complaint against them. However, on the same evening, while Si-Wan was on his way back home, he was framed for attempting to stab someone in the parking lot and was immediately sent to prison. We are then taken back to the night when the Bishop called Rainbow Taxi. As a client, the Bishop informed Do-Ki that his son, Si-Wan, was in prison for exposing three individuals.

These individuals are Kim Hyung-Sub (leader of the Vietnam Gang), Kang Pil-Seung (CEO of Feel Consulting), and Yang Mi-Kyung (CEO of YN Entertainment), and a named owner of Black Sun. The group concluded that the large sums of money transferred outside of South Korea were connected to Black Sun and Ha-Joon. The group identified three individuals involved in the case: They decided to take on the case to protect Si-Wan, whose life may be in danger. Si-Wan is scheduled to testify against foreign transactions in court in a few days. To support him, Do-Ki, Kyung-Koo, and Jin-Eon get themselves arrested at the same prison where Si-Wan is being held.

Meanwhile, a flashback reveals that before his death, Sung-Chul received a call from Police Chief Hyun-Jo. The late police officer informed Sung-Chul that the Black Sun drug scandal was just the tip of the iceberg of the many fraudulent activities carried out by the cult. Sung-Chul was asked by Hyun-Jo to review an old case in exchange for saving his life. Unfortunately, Ha-Joon had already murdered Hyun-Jo before Sung-Chul could take any action. Sung-Chul visits the morgue where Hyun-Jo's body was kept and finds the same ring on his hand. He obtains the case file that Hyun-Jo mentioned and discovers information about the children's welfare home. The file reveal that the children there were either deceased or reported missing.

Meanwhile, in prison, Do-Ki establishes his dominance by pretending to be a psycho and threatening the other inmates. Upon discovering a bounty on Si-Wan's head, Do-Ki threatens to kill any inmate who tries to harm him. Additionally, he provides Si-Wan with a pepper spray bottle for self-protection. Within a few days of being imprisoned, Do-Ki notices something amiss. Go-Eun is told that everything was normal and that Si-Wan was not in danger, which made everything more suspicious. After a few days, Do-Ki, Kyung-Koo, Jin-Eon and Si-Wan are released to go back home as part of their plan. However, just as they are about to leave, the police chief takes Do-Ki back to prison while the rest are made to go back home.

Sung-Chul visits the children's welfare facility and discovers that the Bishop is the man who pretended to be Si-Wan's father. Inside the facility, he finds photos of missing or deceased children, as well as Ha-Joon with the Bishop. Sung-Chul is then drugged and confined to a room.

Do-Ki faces more complications in prison when he discovers a bounty has been placed on his head. During a visit from Ha-Joon, Do-Ki is threatened with the news that Jin-Eon, Kyung-Koo, and Go-Eun have been kidnapped. Ha-Joon also reveals that Si-Wan was killed and Sung-Chul is being held captive by his men. Do-Ki requests that Ha-Joon release the others as his fight is with Do-Ki alone. Ha-Joon threatened Do-Ki by stating that he was kept in prison for a reason on the day when Si-Wan was to testify in court. He announced that the bounty on Do-Ki's head had been doubled, causing the inmates to become feral in their attempts to kill him. From his secret room, Ha-Joon watched as D-Ki was hunted down by the inmates. Ha-Joon was impressed by how Do-Ki managed to fight off all the inmates. Eventually, Ha-Joon invited Do-Ki into the secret room for a meal and a game.

Sung-Chul wakes up in the welfare home and is invited to have a meal with the Bishop. He mocks the Bishop for posing as a clergyman and assaulting, exploiting, and killing innocent children for personal gain. The Bishop challenges Sung-Chul to predict the winner of a battle between Ha-Joon and Do-Ki, claiming that Ha-Joon is his most trusted follower.

Suddenly, Ha-Joon asks Do-Ki to choose one of his three friends to be killed. Do-Ki threatens to remember what Ha-Joon did to his people. He adds that the victims will always remember the injustice done to their loved ones and will come back to kill Ha-Joon. After delaying Ha-Joon, Do-Ki asserts that he has already won the game they were playing. Ha-Joon switches on the news and sees Si-Wan exiting the courthouse after testifying against the illegal transfer of funds linked to Black Sun.

A flashback takes us to the time when Do-Ki was suspicious while in prison. The group decided to put themselves in danger to help Si-Wan testify against Ha-Joon's cult. Kyung-Koo, Jin-Eon and Go-Eun escaped Ha-Joon's men by using pepper spray. Sung-Chul found the welfare facility. He entered the welfare home voluntarily to throw the Bishop off.

At the prison, Ha-Joon was angered by being outsmarted by Do-Ki again. As the episode comes to an end, he takes the gun from the police chief and points it at Do-Ki, threatening to kill him with his own hands.

[afni-fics]

In Hindsight: Chapter 7: In the Present... Lie in Ruins

In Hindsight: Chapter 7: In the Present... Lie in Ruins by C_R_Scott Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake/Tam Fox, Jack Drake/Janet Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Lucius Fox/Tanya Fox, Tim Drake & Tam Fox Characters: Tim Drake, Tam Fox, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Family Feels, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Good Parent Janet Drake, Bad Parent Jack Drake, no beta we die like robins, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Story Summary: What if Tim Drake was originally raised by his maternal grandmother for the first eight years of his life due to "circumstances" involving his biological parents? What if Tim's grandmother was also the next door neighbor and occasional sitter for Lucius Fox's family?

Chapter Summary: Jack Drake had lied to Tim about his grandmother's death. However, Jack is also dead himself. Tim attempts to cope with the aftermath of learning the truth of what his father had done. Fortunately, he is not alone.

...

"Jack lied."

Lucius's words were stuck in Bruce's head as Alfred drove him into Gotham City from the Manor. They kept repeating themselves over and over and over again. After about ten minutes of focused brooding, Bruce finally voiced the question he knew he couldn't run away from.

"How did I miss this?"

From the driver's seat, Alfred glanced at Bruce via the rear-view mirror. "You had no way of knowing."

"I should have known."

"How?" Alfred's brow furrowed. "Tim didn't even know? His fa--" The old man choked on the word with a grimace, as if he'd bitten into a piece of bitter melon. He huffed irritably before continuing. "--Jack lied to him for years, and gave none of us any reason to suspect anything coming out of his mouth was false."

Bruce shook his head as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts before selecting one. After three rings, the line finally connected.

"You do know it's not even noon, right?" Barbara Gordon grumbled. "What could you possibly want at this ungodly time of the morning?"

"It's about Tim."

There was moment of pause. When Barbara spoke, drowsiness had been replaced with concern in her tone. "What's wrong? Is he alright? Is he having a delayed reaction to the new Fear Toxin?"

Bruce hesitated before answering, making a quick mental note to double check Tim's bloodwork as soon as he could. If Tim was suffering a delayed Fear Toxin reaction on top of everything else, that could further complicate his son's compromised emotional state. 

"It's not about the Fear Toxin, though that could be exacerbating the situation in the background," Bruce said finally. "I need you to do some digging into Tim's family history."

"You're asking me to investigate Tim? Why? What's going on?"

"Tim was never an orphan."

"WHAT?!" 

"We just discovered today he has a living maternal grandmother," Bruce explained. "But for whatever reason Jack Drake lied to Tim and his mother eight years ago and told them both she was dead. From what I've been told, his grandmother was supposed to have had full custody of him back then. Then she got hospitalized. When she was finally well enough to be released, Jack had managed to sever all ties between her and Tim."

"Jesus Christ," Barbara breathed out softly. "Does Tim kno-- Never mind, of course he knows otherwise you wouldn't be asking me to do the investigating. Is he with you now?"

"I'm going to his place in the city with Alfred to check on him. Tracker says he's stationary at the Nest."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Do a deep dive into the history between Tim's parents and his grandmother. Her name is Susan Klein. We need to learn what exactly triggered the original custody arrangement, as well as how Jack managed to take custody away from Susan and hide the fact that she was alive from both Tim and his mother. I also want to know why the hell the courts and CPS didn't get involved back then to return Tim to his grandmother, especially after Jack died."

"You also want to find the rest of Jack's skeletons," Barbara inferred. "Because if Jack lied about something this big to his own son--"

"--What else did he lie about?--"

"--And how much damage could this do to Tim if it's brought to light?" Bruce could hear Barbara indulge in a weary sigh. "Holy shit... Ok... Ok... Ok... Give me an hour to get a shower, coffee, and food. Then I'll start digging. This is all cold case kinda stuff, so it's not going anywhere. Keep me posted if you pick up any new leads from Tim."

"Thanks Barbara."

"Oh, by the way... Who else knows about this?"

"Alfred, Lucius, and Tam."

"Alright. I'll keep this on the down low from the rest of the fam until you can check on Tim. Take care of him, Bruce."

"I will."

With the call ended, Bruce leaned back and closed his eyes. What was he going to find when they finally got the Nest?  He didn't have to wait long. About ten minutes later, Bruce and Alfred found themselves being led through Tim's home by a deeply concerned Tamara Fox.

 ...

Three months and twenty-eight days.

That's how long it took for Tim to travel around the US and the world, investigate multiple archaeological sites, survive the Council of Spiders, cripple the League of Assassins, save the girl, and return home with proof of his adopted father being alive. So much mileage, blood, and lives lost had gone into the journey to recover Bruce Wayne from the time stream Darkseid had sent him into.

Nineteen minutes and thirty-nine seconds.

That's all the time it took for Tim to find evidence his grandmother was alive and well and still living in the same house she always had for the past fifty years. He didn't have to leave Gotham. He didn't even have to leave his workstation. All the information was at his fingertips online. All the evidence pointed at the conclusion that his grandmother (and the truth) had always been just a few keystrokes away.

But that couldn't be right. If that was right, that meant his father lied to him and his mother. Jack Drake wouldn't have done that. So it had to be wrong. Tim just couldn't figure out how the evidence was wrong.

"Recognized: Tamara Fox. Alpha-Zero-Two. Entrance: Garage."

"Recognized: Verified Guest. Alpha-Zero-Two-Dash-Zero-One. Entrance: Garage."

"Recognized: Verified Guest. Alpha-Zero-Two-Dash-Zero-Two. Entrance: Garage."

The voice of Tim's AI security matrix echoed through the cavernous space of Tim's brand new "Nest", the hidden vigilante base of operations tucked behind his renovated theater home. The young man barely acknowledged the announcements, though, as he sat motionless at his workstation with his elbows propped up on the desk and his face buried in his hands. Slowly, his hands shifted, sliding down his face over closed eyes to linger over his nose and mouth. Tim drew in a breath through his nose and tried to release it slowly through his mouth. Despite his attempt at control, his breath shuddered audibly as he exhaled. Desperately, he squeezed his eyes shut tighter and shifted his hands to press against them. The adjustment exposed his mouth pressed into a grim, trembling line as he struggled to keep any sound from escaping.

Despite his best efforts, a thin trickle of moisture escaped his hands and coursed down his cheek. 

Tim heard the hidden door that connected the Nest to his living room slide open, and blindly identified the footsteps of three people walking into his inner sanctum. One of them he was certain was Tam, and he had his suspicions about the other two.

However, in order to confirm them, he would have had to remove his hands and open his eyes...

...and he was not ready to do that just yet.

 ...

The moment Bruce laid eyes on Tim, he felt his heart ache at the sight before him. There was his son, sitting alone at his workstation, and everything in his body language was silently crying out with shock and dismay. 

For a brief few seconds, Bruce froze. His mind was a panicked jumble. What could he do?! What could he say?! How was he going to fix this?! 

Then Tim slowly lifted his head from his hands, and he when he looked over at Bruce, the older man's breath got stuck in his throat. His normally confident and unwavering teenager looked so dazed and hurt and utterly lost. 

"B?"

A single letter, barely whispered, partly a question, but mostly a plea, was all it took. Bruce's feet were no longer rooted to the floor, and he quickly closed the distance between himself and his son, because his boy had called out to him.

Tim rose to his feet as he saw Bruce approach, and he let himself be wrapped up in his adopted father's arms. Bruce could feel Tim lean into him, could feel the anxious tension in every muscle in his son's back as the boy buried his face into his chest. 

"I'm here, Tim," Bruce murmured as soothingly as he could as he stroked Tim's hair. "It's going to be ok."

"I... I don't know what I'm doing wrong," Tim whispered mournfully.

"Wrong?"

"Dad said she died. He wouldn't have lied about that. He couldn't have." Unconsciously, Tim's hand fisted into Bruce's shirt, as if he were hanging on for dear life. "But Lucius says she's alive... Been alive this entire time. And the evidence..." 

As more words spilled out from his boy's mouth, Bruce heart broke at the brittle desperation in Tim's voice.

"I have to be missing something. I'm doing something wrong. I'm making a mistake somewhere and I don't know what it is." Tim drew in a shuddering breath. "Or maybe it's the Fear Toxin. An after effect? Maybe it's making me hallucinate? Mis-hear... Misinterpret things?" He turned his head from Bruce's chest and gazed uneasily at the workstation monitors. "Maybe I'm just seeing things? Maybe I'm just losing my mind?"

The fact that Tim's voice took on a hopeful edge at the thought of going crazy sent a stab of deep concern through Bruce. A quick glance at the workstation monitors showed him all the evidence Tim had dug up on his own since leaving Wayne Tower. A lump rose to his throat. When he spoke, he could barely force his own voice above a hoarse whisper. 

"You're not hallucinating, Tim. I... I can see the evidence myself."

Tim's eyes widened at the screens, then he shut them tightly before shaking his head. "No... No no no no no..."

"Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce glanced over to Tamara, who looked close to tears herself, but was managing to just barely hold herself together. She had one arm wrapped around herself and the other held her cell phone. He could see Lucius's name on the screen as the current active call. 

"Yes?"

Tam swallowed hard before answering. "My dad's on the line. I told him we found Tim. He... He's with Nana... Tim's grandma... right now."

Bruce felt Tim freeze in his arms. He felt his own heart stutter as well. 

"She... would like to speak with Tim, if he's able. She understands though if he's too overwhelmed right now."

Tim turned his gaze to Tam's phone, his red-rimmed blue eyes wide and warring between longing and dread.

Bruce stroked Tim's back. "You... don't have to if you don't want to," he murmured. "We can wait until you feel better... Until we figure things out on this side."

For several seconds, there was nothing but tense silence in the air. Bruce could practically see the gears turning and grinding in Tim's mind. He could see the war play out on his son's face as he struggled to make a decision. Then, finally, Tim uneasily reached out and offered an open hand to Tam.

Tam nodded and raised the phone to her own ear first. "I'm handing my phone to Tim now." Then, she carefully gave Tim the cell, watching as he wrapped his fingers about the edges of the device and raised it to his own ear. 

"H-Hello?"

Though he was still holding Tim closely, Bruce wasn't close enough to hear much of other end of the call. He could tell it was a woman's voice, but couldn't make out most of the words. But he could see his son. He watched, helpless, as after a moment Tim's eyes filled immediately with tears and spilled over onto his cheeks. One short anguished sob escaped him before he used his other hand to clamp his mouth shut. Though it stifled the sounds, Bruce could still see and feel the sobs wracking his boy's entire frame. 

As Bruce held him tighter, he could hear the tone of the woman's voice shift to something so soothing and maternal that his own heart ached along with his son's. It had the desired effect of calming Tim enough so that the could finally find his voice once more. 

"I love you, too, Nana," he whimpered softly. Then, he stretched out his hand and gave the phone back to Tam, who was in tears herself as she took it back. 

Once his hands were free and the phone was pressed again to Tam's ear as she spoke with her father, Tim crumpled to the floor as he burst into tears once more, this time without restraint. Bruce followed him down to control his fall and let his son cried brokenheartedly against him.

"He lied," Tim keened between sobs. "He lied... He lied... He lied..."

Tears coursed down Bruce's face as he watched his son come apart at the seams. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Alfred gazing at him with love, sorrow, and tear-filled eyes as well. Though long dead, Jack Drake had broken their beloved boy's heart, and they would be damned if they didn't do their best to put the pieces back together again and make things right for everyone involved.

...

Author's Notes:

Author's Note: This was a challenging chapter to write. I hope I did Tim's breakdown justice. Things will, hopefully, start looking up for him from this point onward for a bit.

As for the length of time I put down as Tim's search for Bruce during the origin Red Robin run, this was just a wild guess on my part. In the comics, there was a map on a page in the first issue showing a map with pins on where he had previously investigated. Based on that, I estimated he had been travelling nonstop for at least several months before being intercepted by Ra's and getting dragged into the League and Council drama along with Tam.

#tim drake#tam fox#tim/tam#red robin#fanfiction#wip#rr: in hindsight#batfam#batfamily#lucius fox#bruce wayne

[patchoulimademoiselle]

Guilty. (Part 6.)

Part Six.

Steve Rogers (Lawyer AU) x Reader Insert. 

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: A bit of angst, Steve is an asshole at dinner and you make a hard decision. 

Notes: I missed last weeks update, so here it is. I’ll be posting on Friday as well. Sorry that this is a bit shorter than the other parts, this was just the right place to end it. 

Masterlist.

Part Six:

When James let's you into his apartment, he and Steve dive into conversation like old frat brothers. You on the other hand remain distracted, a blonde haired blue eyed someone has his hand on your thigh under the table, an innocent placement that would look more friendly than anything if someone else were to see it.

But you know the difference.

You can feel his restraint, muscles taught as he holds himself back from doing anything inappropriate. But all you can think of is where that hand was minutes before, and nothing they talk about proves to be more interesting than that. His jaw ticks ever so slightly, the only indication that he doesn't really care about the words coming out of his mouth. He gestures with his other hand, speaking so vividly that you can almost see the words rather than hear them.

Almost.

Because then his eyes land on you, along with the other set across the table, and you realize that now was a bad time to space out.

"What?"

He has the nerve to smile, hand squeezing you gently before retreating entirely, and you almost whine at the loss.

"Not so bright, is she?" Steve jokes, and the glare you give him is far from playful. What the hell are you doing?

Bucky scoffs from across the table, eyebrows high in disbelieve of the exchange he's seeing, and you're pretty sure you know what he's thinking. "I would hope she is, she's working with you on my case after all." Bucky reaches for his glass of water, and you can tell it's only in an attempt to relieve the tension in the room.

"Only where it counts." The smile Steve gives you is large, all teeth and sarcastic, and you aren't sure what his angle is. "He asked what your opinion is on how I'm leading the case."

Is this a power play? Here, now? In front our your client?

You grind your teeth, crossing your legs and sitting up before looking over at Bucky, who wears a small smirk on his face at your expense. "My opinion is that it's the best shot we have at winning your case at all." You say honestly. "I hope you understand Mr. Stark himself had nothing to do with this, and that it is Zeke Stane who we will be facing in court. He has been making moves under the table to buy Stark out of the company for years. The proof we have of the fraudulent claims he is making against you is the only way we can outsmart his lawyers."

You feel like you're on the stand right now, being drilled by two different men with two different perspectives. One knows you are right, and is only trying to see how well you can prove yourself. The other has no idea what to expect from you, and is blindly assuming that you know what you're doing. Steve is trying to embarrass you, Bucky is trying to simply understand.

"From a lawyers perspective, that makes perfect sense." Bucky plays with his glass. "But you aren't trying to prove it to the opposing side, you're trying to prove it to a jury, everyday people who are selected at random, and perhaps in Stark's pocket." Bucky holds up his hands, "Sorry, Zeke's pocket."

Steve nods, clearing his throat. "That's why we want to call and eye witness to the stand. Either Stark himself will have to testify, or an eye witness named Natasha Romanoff." Steve explains. "She's a former lawyer who worked closely with Tony Stark, and gave us some vital information we will be using against Zeke at the trial."

Bucky sighs, shoulders slumping, and your heart aches at the sight of it. "This whole thing feels rigged, and the fact that this is all on chance alone doesn't help ease my mind." He admits. "I was hoping you would come here with good news," His eyes zero in on you, and your breath catches in your throat, "But all I'm hearing is possibilities."

It's a coin game, head or tails, no real certainty of who is going to win, the only odds you have in your favor are chance, the probability that there's an option for the jury to decide with you at all. This is all you have to offer, just the basic knowledge that as long as you present something, there's a chance the jury will vote in favor of it.

"It's what we have." Steve is collected as always, brave faced when he needs to be. "When we have a statement prepared from our witness, we'll let you know."

To put it simply, dinner does not go smoothly. The daunting words Bucky left you with haunt you the entire time, and Steve simply ignores you for the sake of being good company. It's not until you leave that he finally addresses it, his hand catching your hip as he sits on the hood of his car, eyes dark and gleaming against the moonlight as he looks up at you.

He's probably going to scold you for loosing your cool, and you're probably going to scold him for trying to embarrass you. It all comes down to who speaks first.

"I can't believe you-"

"You know better-"

Both at once, and then silence. His eyebrows furrow, and you sigh, pulling your bag from off of your shoulder and depositing it in his hands, you dig through your toiletries for a cigarette. He lets you take a step back, the small flame from your lighter illuminating your features in the dark. It's concerning how often you've been reaching for them.

It's then that he speaks again, a small puff of smoke leaving your mouth. "You know better than to let your feelings get involved."

You scoff, looking up at the night sky as if it will crack open and give you an answer. It doesn't, and your eyes turn back on him in a glare. "Why did you put me on the spot like that?" The weight of the cigarette between your fingers feels heavy, a burden of your inability to function without chaos slapping you in the face as you go in for another drag, holding the smoke in your lungs as you speak again. "I got you your lead, I let you do all the talking, and you throw me under the bus as a thank you?"

It's Steve's turn to sigh, holding his fingers out, and you place your cigarette between them.

"I need him to trust me." He says. "I need him to trust me to lead the case, and the only way I can do that is by dimming the spotlight on you."

You aren't even sure what that means, crossing your arms over your chest as you wait for him to explain, cigarette tucked between his lips, the picture of pure sin as he tilts his head up to release the smoke straight up into the air.

"Bucky doesn't think with his head, he's been thinking with his dick." Steve is blunt enough to say, placing your purse beside him on the hood of the car. "He asked you to come over for dinner, and asked you what your opinion was on our lead. He favors you, and if I'm going to lead the case I need him to trust my judgment."

Just like you thought, it was all a power play, all a show to prove his dominance over you, to prove that he wears the pants and he runs the operation. It feels like a slap to your face, even though it shouldn't matter to you, Steve finds triumph in your embarrassment, and it makes you feel belittled not only as a lawyer but as a person.

"So you mock my intelligence in front of our client?" You question. "You mock my credibility as a lawyer in front of the man paying me to represent him in court?"

Perhaps he didn't see it from your perspective, because his jaw goes slack and his eyes glaze over with what you can identify a guilt. Or concern.

When you reach back in for your turn with the cigarette, he grabs your wrist, pulling you down to his eye level. "It's nothing personal." He says, "It's just how the game is played." You roll your eyes and try to tug yourself free from his grip, but when it doesn't budge, you realize he's looking at you with an entirely different expression now. Lust, desire, red hot and burning you alive when his eyes flick down to your lips, "Besides, if you knew what I knew, you wouldn't be complaining."

You did all the hard work, you risked everything to bring him the information he has, and now he's risking your credibility to boost his ego? You aren't exactly listening to him at this point, lost in thought rather than his words, but your responses are automatic, "What do you know?"

He hums, pulling you just a little closer, your heels scuff on the parking lot pavement as you shuffle forward, between his open legs, his hand reaching up to cup your jaw. "I know that Bucky Barnes is a dirty man," He says, lips only centimetres from yours. "I know that if you came here alone tonight, he would have tried to fuck you."

His words shock you back into focus, and he only nods at your expression. "I know because he was looking at you the way I look at you," He says. "And the dress I picked out for you didn't exactly help either, did it?" His finger hooks on the thin strap on your shoulder, tugging you down into a kiss. It's quick and chaste, his intent isn't to seduce you, but to reassure you. "But I wasn't going to let that happen. That's why I did what I did, to show him that I'm not stupid, and neither are you."

"You prove to him that I'm not stupid, by telling him I'm stupid?"

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue at you. "It was only to confirm that I'm leading the case, that you're loyal to me." He says. "It eliminates the probability of him trying something."

Of him....trying something? You never saw James as a threat, and never considered that he would try to make a move on you. But you also didn't think Steve was the jealous type, making a show for all the right reasons, just executing it the wrong way.

It's hard being a women in your line of work.

It almost makes you more upset, the fact that this was all a dick measuring contest, Steve needing to prove himself not only to you, but to Bucky as well. Not to mention Bucky, did he really see you as nothing more than a good fuck? Did he not take you seriously as a lawyer, only feeding into it for a chance to have sex with you? It's suffocating, and his gaze suddenly becomes too much, his grip suddenly feels too tight, his advances feel unwelcomed, and for the second time, you tug your wrist in an attempt to free yourself.

He lets you. "You're upset." Not a question, but you can tell by the look on his face that he wants a response.

"I'm overwhelmed." You admit, "The past few days have been rough."

Between this case and the emotional roller coaster that Steve has put you on, you feel just about ready to break. That doesn't make you weak, that doesn't make you emotional, it makes you human. You're running off just hours of sleep, the only thing keeping you on your feet was caffeine that is now burnt out. You haven't had a home cooked meal in what feels like years, eating takeout and fast food for every meal. The hangover you had this morning doesn't help either, your entire body thrown off.

The conversation you had with Natasha floats through your head, your presence a ghost in the shell of your body as you recall her advice. All of your benefits come with commitment, that's what she said, and as far as you're concerned, Steve Rogers isn't committed to you. He's committed to the job.

You watch as he stands, shrugging out of his suit jacket. He tries to drape it across your shoulders, but you dodge his attempt, ducking under his arm to take his place where he stood in front of the car. He clucks his tongue at you, annoyed, but patient as he tries a second time. You let him, his fingertips brushing across the skin on your shoulders as he bundles you up, eyes swimming with.....you can't quite place it.

"Stop trying to butter me up." You say. "We need to talk."

He too looks stressed out, rubbing a hand down his face. He hasn't had any sleep either, or at least that's what you gather from his sudden lack of energy.

"What did you promise Stark for those files?"

"I already told you, he just wants us to keep his name out of this." You tell him for a second time. "But, Natasha did tell him we were fucking. We have dirt on each other now, I went to his house and met his wife, he has a daughter, he just wants this to go away."

He lets out a sound of disbelief, a light puff of air rather than a laugh. "You really are too reckless, our faces could be plastered on tabloids as we speak."

You shrug, "Would that be the worst thing in the world?"

Even his smile looks tired, lip barely twitching.

"I guess not."

There's something unspoken between you, something dancing along the line of confessions and commitment. You can see it in his eyes. He's done. The chase isn't thrilling anymore, or at least not as thrilling as you. The heat in his gaze is like flames licking your skin and once again his fingers gab you, pulling you close, nose brushing your cheek as he whispers in your ear. "Don't do anything like that again. Do you understand?"

He must mean you acting without him, or it could be getting drunk alone, coming in to work hung over, a number of things on the list of don't do. There's a very fine line of what he does and doesn't tolerate, and it feels like you have to constantly dance between the two in order to keep his attention.

But the point he's trying to make is lost on you, the feeling of his hands traveling down your waist distracts you from the words coming out of his mouth.

Your mind is racing, too much is happening too fast, too many plot twists and turns that are overwhelming your brain. Bucky, Stark, Natasha, you feel like you're letting them all down, failing at your job as a lawyer even though you have guidance.

Gently, you remove his hands, taking a step back. "This is unprofessional." Your voice sounds weal even to your own ears, but you don't back down. "Take me home."

"Y/n-"

"Just take me home, please."

Your voice sounds distant, it makes his expression drop. But he doesn't say anything else, walking to the passenger side of the car and holding the door open or you.

The drive is silent, he doesn't even play the radio as he drives through the city to take you home. you don't mind it, but it does give you time to think.

You didn't mean to have a small breakdown, you did admit you were overwhelmed, but he kept pushing. There's but so much a person can take, sleepless nights and early mornings, one too many has finally caught up with you, and the way he touches you doesn't help. You only hope it doesn't change the way Steve sees you as a lawyer.

He wouldn't judge you, right?

You're not quite sure yet, but if the way he's gripping the steering wheel is anything to go off of, you can tell he's pissed off about it. Seeing him pissed off pisses you off, because what does he have to be upset about?

"You used me tonight." You say over the soft silence. "You dressed me up pretty and used me as bait to get Barnes to eat out of our palms." The gesture you had thought so hard about, the attentive way he kissed your shoulder, it was just to ease your suspicions. You felt used, hurt, which is exactly why you have to do this. 

"It won't happen again."

It doesn't need to, it only needed to happen once.

This won't be the end of it. It's just a new chapter, a turned page in the dynamic you share. You're no longer his arm candy, no longer a pretty faced right hand, no longer his little assistant. You're partners, and it's about time you start holding up your end of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Guilty Masterlist. 

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[occultdreamland]

Find the Right Card -- 1

He stands at the entrance of your small abode, presence all consuming and demanding of your attention. By the colorful robes draped over his shoulders, to the many rings that adorn his fingers; you need not have an idea of who he is to know him.

“Come. Sit down.” Your voice breaks the steady silence, the whisper of calm breeze the only other that accompanies you. His eyes are only on you as he sits, graceful as one of those show horses you see from time to time. “What brings you here, My Prince? To such a place outside of your own, I’ll specify.”

“Your name is on the tongues of many under my employment. I wonder what a witch has collected so much of my mens’ spare time,” He says, his eyes cold and never leaving yours. It brings a chill to your spine.

You give him a pointed stare; “A witch I am not. Scryer is a better, healthier term for me.”

There is a pregnant silence.

He tilts his head to the side, jutting his jaw out in a way that you can discern as unjustified arrogance, “Tell me, what is it that those soldiers do to speak of you so highly.”

“They tell me their name before they dare enter my dwelling, as a start,” you quip, letting your gaze break from his as you gather your collection of markless tarot decks, displaying them in front of him, eyes now expectant on his pale face. “Be my guest, however, and pick the one that draws you in. Don’t dwell too long, they like to tell their own story. A story that may not be what is the truth.”

“I believe I came here for an answer, not a story, wench.”

“Is a story just as viable as an answer, My Prince?” You bite your tongue at the name he bestowed upon you, but it is not unusual for men to say such things.

Finally, his eyes break from you, and the relief you feel is insurmountable. He is quick to pick a deck, two fingers laid lightly on top of it as he pushes it toward you. You hum, a lick of a smile reaching your lips. While not your best deck, it certainly suits him. Cleaning away the other decks, you open the one he presented to you, scattering them around the table in a circle, making a mess of the card order and bringing them back into a clean stack.

“What type of spread will you be requesting, My Prince?”

“I asked for information, and I shall receive information. Will I have to tell you any differently to get what I want?” He says.

You raise your head in acknowledgement. You begin to release the cards into the spread you have chosen, all ten cards set into their positions, with the second card being placed on top of the first and the other eight others being placed where they belong.

The Princes’ eyes sit on the spread, dissecting the back of every card as if he already knows what they are.

Your fingers rest on the card beneath another, and you carefully reveal what it is. It’s the Knight of Coins; reversed. “This is the present card. Tell me, what does this card tell you?”

He scowls and rolls his eyes. “It tells me that I’ll be riding a horse. Staring into the horizon with my sword drawn.”

“That’s what you see. I want to know what this card tells you.”

“How will I know what the card tells me when I do not know what it means?”

You cock your head to the side with an expectant huff. “This spread tells of your past, present, future, with your past and present challenges, and the outcome. This one tells of your present, and the card speaks of wasted energy and money. What does that tell you?”

“It tells me that you’re a waste of my time.”

You laugh, something that surprises you. “If I am a waste of your time, you can always leave, my Prince.”

But he doesn’t budge. And he stares at you. Again.

“I will let you think for a moment. It’s always good to reminisce on this card.”

Another beat, and he still looks at you like a caged and hungry dog stares at a slab of meat. You continue, lifting the card that had sat on top. “The challenge, the Magician reversed. My Prince, to be up front, what have you to lose? A loved one, your position in the court, maybe the power over the men you command in these dire times?”

This card speaks to you, this time, telling you that you have many, many things to lose shall you upset this man. However, you also know that he hears the same thing, the way the energies between him and the card bend and wave before your eyes.

Finished with his speedy introspection, he looks up at you, his eyes demanding a continuance of this process. You lift the third card, it sits to the left on the two card pile, and it tells you of the past. The Empress, and you tell him as much. “Nature is our mother, she is a mother to me just as she is to you. It seems you have been a disobedient prince, and she will correct your actions like a mother would to her own child.” It was a risky jab at him, but said in light humor. It doesn’t seem to bother him; his skin as steel as his own blade.

Next is the future. The upright hierophant. “Ah, something that should please you greatly, my Prince. You will be a great scholar, and if not that a man of great intellect.”

“I am already a master of the blade, what else do I have to accomplish in my life?” He says, baring his teeth as if the card insulted him.

“But are you a master of politics? Of the on-goings in the court and the well-being of the people you will rule over? Or of the briars that line your great castle gardens? There are many things outside of war, my prince.”

You turn over the next card, goals and aspiration, a reversed ace of wands. It tells you what you already know. “You are resisting change, resisting the thing that brings you to the best outcome.”

He bites down on what you assume is a fiery retort, and you let it slide. He is beginning to taste bitter; a sign that he is up to no good in your home.

“Have you any say, my Prince?”

“None that concerns you, lowlife.”

Yet you continue, your drive of knowledge on this man a once in a lifetime deal. This card is the foundation of him, what makes him who he is and what drives him to his goal. Nine of Cups, upright. You pull a face(How immature of you! You were trained better than this!) and it upsets the Prince. 

“I now know why my men are so enamored with you, now,” he barks, standing from his seat so fast that it knocks it over right onto a case of valuable oddities, making you stand as if you are fast enough to catch a falling section of the wall, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach, “Your sorcery will be punished, witch! And do not think that my words are as empty as those cards. We will make sure that your presence will leave this town like you never existed--you and your collection of harlots!”

Your eyes widen, and for the first time in years, you feel what it is like to know an abyss of fear.

~~~

Those armored men, the men under the name of Prince Maksimillian, destroyed your home, tore apart every tapestry and crystal and orb in your possession, burned your books and every tarot they grabbed their hands on. You remember screaming at them, restrained in the bruising metal grips as they tried to secure you into the carriage filled with all of the other scryers and readers in your village, weeping at the destruction of their home and from being torn from their families. 

It took two men to restrain you, and a third to knock you out after threatening to curse them and their children after you saw a bag of your cards being thrown into the growing pit of flames.

You sit in the corner of a crowded cell, shackled,  curled with your knees to your chest with an elderly woman pressed against you. You had given her an odd stare before, but her old eyes only blindly mistook you as her young grandchild. Even then, the cell was pressed for space, maybe twelve people shoved in here. Most of them women, you count three heads of men, two of whom mere children.

You all sit there for maybe two days, there is no light here, but the guards rotate shifts at about an hour and a half each… the math kind of ends there, though. You’re a seer! Not a mathematician! It all confuses you to the point you start to doubt the time from the start til they begin to take out women and it becomes more spacious in the cell. 

By the end of one of the guards shifts, where there are only five others beside you in that cell, a man in silver armour seemingly grabs you from the room, holding you by your chains, pulling you along the dim corridors. He takes too many turns, definitely a mistake in the construction of the building, and it wouldn’t surprise you that this level of the jail was meant for that. You aren’t surprised execution is about to come to you, but the screams of men and women that puncture your ears startle you to near tears.

But you are drawn away from those horrible noises, at some point, and then taken up many, many flights of stairs, taking you higher and higher until you stand in a gold gilded room, the High King’s Throne empty while Prince Maksimillian obtains the smaller throne right of his fathers. He lounges on it, a leg propped up on the knee of the other with a hand lazily holding a goblet. He looks pleased to see you.

“You finally brought the right one,” he says, and it’s the first time you hear a humorous tilt in his voice. It’s not directed to you, of course, but to your guide, your escort. The prince raises an eyebrow, a face he must make often because the knight releases you and leaves.

The doors slam shut, and you are left alone in this vast room with the prince.

You are unsure of what to do, for the first time in a while. 

Prince Maksimillian takes a long sip from his drink. “Do you know why you are here?” 

“N-No, my Prince-” 

“I do.” He is blunt, but relaxed, languid. “And I don’t want to tell you.”

“My Prince-”

A smile graces his lips, and you wonder if you said something wrong, “I don’t like such formalities. Maksimillian will be fine. Maks even better.”

“M-Maksimilian, my Prince- why am I here?” You ask, a tremor in your voice.

“You intrigue me, scryer.”

He doesn’t even know your name!

“And you are of a breed I have never been introduced to. One with the spirits, with the unseen. You are a seerer, and an elegant one at that. It’s something that this court needs to show them the things that they have never seen before.” He accentuates himself with the waving of his cup, “And not only that, but my father - oh, my father - needs help that only you can provide. Well, not just you, but you were chosen out of all of those old hoots and hags. Hand picked- by me! An honor most of our knighted will never see out of me.”

There is a silence that sits between the two of you. You are speechless, and you wish you had your personal tarot with you to separate and divide these emotions to make sense of what’s going on. But all of that was burned, gone in ash. It will take you years to accumulate what you had before, the connection with your crystals melted and the love you and your decks shared now gone, soot a black snow in your river side village.

“But…” you whisper, looking down on the floor, unable to hold his interested gaze. It’s the first time he seems to take an interest in your words, “You destroyed my decks, the thing that made me the thing you saw. I can’t just… take a new deck and expect to be the same. They had personalities! That’s why that deck had called out to you, because it knew what you are, and could tell us the closest truth of you and your objective. I can’t get the same result without getting back what I lost...”

Maksimillian huffs, “I am the first born son of the High King of Rosodour, the face of the wealthiest Kingdom of the land. I can assure you that there will only be the highest quality materials bought for your shows.”

You stutter, eyes widening in disbelief. “My abilities are not a show!”

“Your presentation is, however,” Maksimillian continues, now leaning forward, his elbows propped against his knees as he places the goblet next to his feet, “I can give you back what you lost in the round-up, but all I ask is that you soothe the hearts of the people in my court even if it risks doing more harm than good in the long run.”

“I can’t accept this!”

“I was not asking you.”

“Prince Maksimillian, this isn’t right!” You plead, almost dropping to your knees, “Even if I do as you say, regain the trust of all of those cards, I won’t be able to live as a fraud! Like one of those harlots in the brothels!”

He sighs and buries his face in his hands, “Accommodations have been made for you. I can show you to your room, or I can have one of the maids or servants take care of you. I will send for someone to take note of what you need for your craft.”

[voronyaro]

Úveluie the Exile

Lothlorien, Caras Galadhon, T.A. 3011

The lilt of a gentle voice reciting sweet and chaste poetry filtered through the glade and harmonised with the sigh of wind passing through golden leaves. Istarien delighted to read her own work, even if the confidence to do so often eluded her. Still, Luidhros’ request for a performance was more than enough encouragement for such a kind afternoon.

Broad shoulders, a tall and powerful frame, dark hair, Luidhros was Noldo in all but personality. He had his eyes closed to better appreciate her verse, which allowed her to take a little guilty enjoyment in the sight he presented. Unfortunately, it was not to be for long.

“Good Eve Luidhros, ah! And Istarien! Well met.” Húrien strode over, all high bearing and knowing smiles, slotting seamlessly between them as Luidhros came out of his reverie.

“Well met, Húrien.” He hummed with a rye smile, “I would ask after you, but something tells me you have a tale you are eager to tell.” And by the way the Scholar’s eyes flashed in the starlight, Istarien had to agree. With a sense of finality, she tucked her poetry back into it’s pouch and settled in for what new piece of gossip their old friend had to offer, even though it may have cut her recital short. Húrien could always be relied upon for entertaining topics.

“Ah, bless you Luidhros, you know me so well. For, did you hear? Úveluie has returned to the Golden Wood!” Istarien wrinkled her nose at the cruel name but her head still tilted curiously. She had heard the name mentioned before but had never known whom it referred too. A glance to Luidhros told her he was also at a loss.

Húrien huffed, perhaps silently berating herself, “Oh, of course, our dear Istarien and well-mannered Luidhros would not know her as such. The ah-.” She pondered a moment, trying to recall the title, tutting at herself as it eluded her. “What a dreadful mark upon my scholarly art, but I have not spoken Quenya for a yeni and more… Mm… Arcaumaro! The Arcaumaro. You must know of her Luidhros?”

Her assumption certainly appeared correct, if the shift in the ellon’s expression was any judge. Istarien could not remember seeing the Noldo appear quite so… taken off guard. Curious, yet cautious. “I do. Though I cannot claim her acquaintance.”

“But you know enough, I deem, to understand why she is known as Úveluie best?” Húrien asked with a smirk. Luidhros apparently could not quite stall a small huff of amusement before nodding his head. Istarien was about to ask why, but she found herself interrupted a second time as the powerful voice of Pethbes entered the fray.

“Úveluie? Do my ears deceive me? She cannot be back.” The practical and tidy cook said as she approached them.

“And yet I swear upon my heart she is, dear Pethbes! I first heard it from Lathron yesterday, but this morning I recognised her myself!”

From the tone of her voice one could easily tell that Húrien was deeply enjoying herself. However, she was an excellent storyteller so it was easy to forgive her gossiping habits.

Pethbes, as usual, did not see much fun in the telling. Her expression was highly disapproving as she spoke. “Have the Marchwardens been informed? I cannot imagine Lord Celeborn would allow her to set foot upon even one Golden leaf, let alone roam the city unattended.”

Luidhros spoke up, “I was not made aware of her, but there have been no warnings of trespassing either. She must have been permitted entrance into Caras Galadhon.” His tone was gentle and deep as ever, but he held a curious expression

“Can we be in such need of martial might?” Húrien asked.

“Mirkwood grows darker every day. And Lord Celeborn is by far wise enough to forgive past transgressions for the sake of War.” Luidhros replied.

“How much worth can one Soldier have Luidhros? She cannot be that impressive, I did not even know her as a warrior.” Pethbes griped, waving her hand dismissively.

Luidhros’ reply was grave, “Then the tale has suffered in the telling. i arben na Aran, as you would call her, did not stand at the High-King’s side for nothing.”

Pethbes’ eyes widened a moment, before her scowl deepened once again. “You cannot mean to say Úveluie, with her infamous reputation, was once a member of High King Gil-Galad’s court.”

Luidhros could only nod, and this shocking revelation stunned Pethbes into silence. Finally, Istarien felt she had a moment for her question.

“What did this Úveluie do to garner such infamy?” The youngest there, Istarien was used to the slightly patronising glances that her question earned. But she knew her companions would answer her eventually and so bore them without comment.

“Ah, how rude of us, of course you do not know.” Húrien’s expression was apologetic enough to be sincere but Pethbes immediately took it upon herself to give an answer.

“Though there was a time when she was welcome in Lothlorien, Úveluie has never been kind or pleasant. Always loud, rude, never satisfied to let a disagreement rest and ungrateful for the hospitality she was shown here. She is ill made both inside and out! I do not know how the High-King can have stood for her disrespect.”

Seeing that Pethbes was about to slip off track, (and very eager to continue the tale herself), Húrien took over quickly. “Her banishment came after a dreadful audience with our Lord and Lady. No one knows for certain what was said, only that the Lady Galadriel suffered such a grievous insult that the Lord drew his sword before recovering his temper and ordering her gone!”

Istarien’s eyes were wide as the tale was told. Though she had no true personal experience, all knew the Lord Celeborn to be wise and thoughtful. Calm in the face of every storm. It was difficult to even imagine what mere words could have stirred his ire. “If that is so then how can the March Wardens have allowed her within?”

Luidhros, after being quiet for a moment, finally replied. “Now that I have given it more thought, it is possible- even likely- that many of our younger warriors would not know her face to refuse it. Her exile was not recent, after all. Not even by our reckoning.”

Húrien gasped in what might have been distress but was far more likely to be thrill. “Could that not mean the Lord and Lady are unaware of her presence here?”

With that, Luidhros rose from his seat, reaching his towering height over all of them. “If that is the case, it will not be for long. I fear I must excuse myself and see to this. Thank you again for your indulgence Istarien. I will have to beg you finish it for me another time.” Istarien could only blush and nod before the Noldo was up and gone away, leaving their little gathering quieter in thought.

“… If she can have been so cruel to someone as kind and beloved as the Lady Galadriel, I certainly am discomforted to think this Úveluie walks among us…” Istarien eventually murmured quietly. But Húrien was quick to comfort her. “Foul and loathsome she may be. But if you encountered her you would only be in danger of an unpleasant conversation, nothing more. We are as safe as always Istarien.” Her smile was confidence and brightness itself. But Pethbes was not convinced.

“To that, dear Húrien, I ask simply this. How could you know? When we do not even recall her true name?”

To her credit, Húrien did not pretend to have an answer.

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

Up upon her toes, fingers straining as high as they could go, the parchment still fluttered just out of Istarien’s reach. A little mischievous breeze plucked at it tauntingly, threatening to pull her poetry from the lamp it had been caught in if she did not act fast. Her brow was furrowed with the deepest concentration and she worried her bottom lip as the very tip of her nail grazed the edge of her quarry.

A sudden gust made her gasp and flail, accidentally batting the poem which broke free without warning. She gave a cry of frustration and spun to give desperate chase, but in blindly spinning she ran herself headfirst into a solid, immovable tree.

Well, she first assumed it to be a tree, the collision so jarring that it quite took her off her feet. She could have sworn a tree had not been there before! Not the most graceful of the Eldar beneath the eaves of Lothlorien, to be sure.

However, after giving a small whine of pain and gingerly searching her head for damage, she opened her eyes to look up at her obstacle.

The elf that looked down at her was possibly the tallest she had ever seen, even taller than Luidhros though Istarien had no notion of that being possible. Her nose would barely reach their chest! Their shoulders were so wide, features so sharp and graceless, that it took her a long moment to recognise them as an elleth at all. Indeed, if any elf could be called ill-made or unbeautiful, it would be this one. Istarien had to stifle an urge to shrink away when her gaze found the twisting scar that pulled gruesomely at their right eye. 

Still, all of that flew from her mind the moment she noticed the parchment this stranger had caught between their fingers.

Istarien flew to her feet with a small noise of delight and relief and her eyes were bright with gratitude as her poetry was handed back to her. “Ah, my sincerest thanks! I had thought to never see it again!” She exclaimed as she ensured none of the ink had run before glancing back to her saviour.

This quendi looked stranger and more unusual by the moment. Up on her feet, Istarien had a better view of the dull, rough-spun cloth and leather shirt she wore, the in-elegant pauldrons upon her corded shoulders. A far cry from the soft and virgin or gold linens and robes of Caras Galadhon. Her hair was a dull and uninspiring flaxen colour, braided resolutely away into a long rope behind her. And, oh, Istarien had not noticed the sheer musculature of her until now. The Stranger’s forearms were so thick it seemed she could have uprooted a mallorn with just her bare hands alone. Not an ounce of femininity to her, she looked utterly foreign.

The Stranger had a quirk to her lips as she silently dipped her head in acknowledgement of Istarien’s thanks, which was when the strangest and most unsettling part of her appearance was shown.

Soft lines spiderwebbed their way about her eyes, creased over her mouth and framed the sharp jut of her nose. Lines of age. That wasn’t right, that shouldn’t be. If not for her shear size, the touch of elegance to her frame and the long ears that tapered to an unmistakable point, Istarien would have easily mistaken her for one of the second born.

And yet, though she unsettled her deeply, there was some… strange pull to her. A heady throb to her presence, just noticeable at the edge of Istarien’s consciousness. It was wholly unlike the Lady Galadriel’s divine and otherworldly aura, this was primal and earthen and quiet. To a poet’s mind, it was like comparing the dreamy and powerful pull of moonlight to the thick yet subtle scent of a thunder storm.

She blushed when she realised she was staring.

The stranger only seemed to find this passingly amusing and was about to leave when Istarien stammered out, “A-ah, please! Allow me to thank you properly! You are a newcomer to Caras Galadhon yes? Let me…” 

And, all at once, the disparate deductions of her mind finally spooled all the pieces of this puzzle together. Her eyes widened, and she felt a second, more fearful thrill run up her spine.

“No need.” Úveluie said, her accent in sindarin so odd it was almost difficult to comprehend. “This is not my first visit to the Golden Wood.”

“Úveluie…” Istarien whispered, the ugly nickname leaving her lips before she could reclaim her composure. And yet the slip still confirmed her suspicion. Úveluie’s natural smile turned to a darker pall and her back straightened to her full, intimidating height. A peerless warrior, Luidhros had said. Cruel and ill-made inside and out, Pethbes had said.

“Rumor spreads even faster than I remember beneath the mallorn’s leaves.” Her words were bitter, though they held a hint of amusement, and the suddenly harsh edge made Istarien flinch.

“The March Wardens will be told!” She blurted out, without truly knowing why. An abrupt sense of vulnerability had stricken her, something about the eerie shift in this elleth’s manner giving Istarien fright.

Úveluie seemed unphased, though her head tilted with a predatory-like curiosity. “I should hope they already have been…” Her pause was small, but her eyes were so piercing it gave an unsettling sense of invasion. “Why do you tremble?” She asked finally. “Has my reputation grown so dreadful?”

Istarien hadn’t noticed the slight tremor in her fingers until this moment, the parchment in her hands gently fluttering in her grasp. Her grip tightened to still it, her pride demanding that she be brave.

“You do not belong here, you break our Lord’s law by crossing the border of Lothlorien.” She was grateful that her voice was stable, some well of strength giving her the courage she needed.

“I cannot be blamed if the sentries have short memories.” Úveluie replied dismissively. “And besides, I am only here for the sake of a friend.”

“Then they will soon miss you!” Istarien countered, “Captain Luidhros already pursues you, he will surely-“

“Who?”

Istarien stalled at the query. Her tone was so… bored. So dismissive. Luidhros was a Noldo, a war hero, an honoured Captain among the Galladhrim. The fact that someone who had spent time in Lothlorien did not possess even a passing memory of him, showed him such disrespect, Istarien was utterly thrown. Anger and insult boiled in her eyes but for once she was voiceless to express it.

Úveluie seemed to recognise her ire, though she did not appear regretful. “No matter. I am thoroughly discovered it seems. Thank you for the warning.”

She had the nerve to dip at the waist before she turned to leave, an insulting play at gratitude and farewell. Istarien found she could not restrain herself any longer. An ugly part of her rose to meet this challenge and she nearly spat her next words.

“I hope you rot in exile!”

There was a pregnant pause. Úveluie ground to a full stop, holding herself eerily still for a moment before slowly turning back. The look in her eyes was truly, deeply discomforting. As was the bitter and vile tone in her voice as she replied. “Verily! Whilst you seem content to rot here.”

“Excuse me?!” Istarien cried, outraged.

Suddenly, and in a motion that almost defied sight, yet also seemed no more than a casual reach, Úveluie plucked the page of poetry from Istarien’s hands. “This?” She scoffed as she glanced over her verses, the Poet still looking from her hand to the page in bewilderment. “Another wistful ballad of chaste love beneath yellow trees? How original.”

The sarcasm dripped from her tongue and Istarien uttered an indignant, “How dare-!” before she was interrupted.

“-Here you compare sweat on your brow to the morning dew, that must have pushed your literary talents.”

Istarien gritted her teeth and made to snatch the page back but Úveluie, in an act of utter pettiness, simply held it out of her reach. She flushed an angry red at being forced to play into such a childish act. Stars above, she could not remember ever being so furious. Úveluie just smirked.

“They were right about you,” Istarien declared, “you are cruel and ill-made, inside and out!”

Úveluie seemed to take wicked satisfaction in her fury. “Were they now?”

“Yes! Perhaps if you listened, you might learn to be less foul! Though I doubt you capable!”

“And perhaps if you set foot outside these borders you could write poetry with even a shred of originality. I know you are capable, but I still doubt you ever will.” And, with that, Úveluie released the page from her grip.

By the time Istarien had caught it out of the air her new and detestable acquaintance had left. As mortifying tears pricked at her eyes, she found she had no wish to follow her.

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

Translations;

i arben na Aran - (Sindarin) Knight of the King Arcaumaro - (Quenya) Protector of the King Úveluie - (Sindarin) Not amiable, an unloveable person.

[privateinvestigator41-blog]

Obtaining the most effective Personal Investigator for your personal Condition

private detective Columbia SC

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CEO Formula

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[ash037]

FOR EVERYONE WHO SAYS BEING GAY IS ‘UNNATURAL’

okay first of all no it isn’t. For your theory of saying that it is unnatural you mostly bring up the theory of animals. BUT GUESS WHAT???!!! animals are homosexual too boomers. Before I present the evidence may i say once that dude if you are gonna put humans the same level as animals then why don’t you go bark all day... guess what you actually do. So just to educate you a bit about animals : -

Giraffes:  Among giraffes, there's more same-sex than opposite-sex activity. In fact, studies say gay sex accounts for more than 90 percent of all observed sexual activity in giraffes. And they don't just get straight to business. Male giraffes know how to flirt, first necking with each other - that is, gently rubbing their necks along the other's body. This foreplay can last for up to an hour.

Bottlenose Dolphins:  Both female and male bottlenose dolphins display homosexual behavior, including oral action where one dolphin stimulates the other with its snout. In the bottlenose world, homosexual activity occurs with about the same frequency as heterosexual play. Male bottlenose dolphins are generally bisexual - but they do go through periods of being exclusively homosexual.

Loins:  Homosexuality is common among lions as well. Two to four males often form what is known as a coalition, where they work together to court female lions. They depend on each other to fend off other coalitions. To ensure loyalty, male lions strengthen their bonds by having sex with each other.

Mountain Bisons:  Homosexual activity between male bisons is more common than heterosexual copulation. That's because female bisons only mate with bulls about once a year. During mating season, males that get the urge engage in same-sex activities several times a day. And so, more than 50 percent of mounting in young bison males happens among the same gender.

Macaques :  Both female and male macaques engage in same-sex activity. But while males usually only do so for a night, females form intense bonds with each other and are usually monogamous. In some macaque populations, homosexual behavior among females is not only common, but the norm. When not mating, these females stay close together to sleep and groom, and defend each other from outside enemies.

Albatross :  The Layson albatross, which nests in Hawaii, is known for its large number of homosexual partnerships. Around 30 percent of pairings on the island of Oahu are made up of two females. They are monogamous, and usually stay together for life - as it takes two parents to successfully rear a chick together. The chicks are often fathered by males that are already in another committed relationship.

Bonobos:  Bonobos are considered the closest living relative to us humans, and are known for seeking sexual pleasure. They copulate frequently, including with the same sex. They do so for pleasure - but also to bond with each other, climb the social ladder and reduce tension. About two-thirds of homosexual activities happen among females, but also males enjoy a roll in the grass with each other.

Swans (the fifth of all swan couples are GAY) :  Like many birds, swans are monogamous and stick with one partner for years. Many of them choose a same-sex partner. In fact, around 20 percent of swan couples are homosexuals - and they often start families together. Sometimes, one swan in a male couple will mate with a female, and then drive her away once she's laid a clutch of eggs. In other cases, they adopt abandoned eggs.

Walrus : Male walruses only reach sexual maturity at the age of 4. Until then, they are almost exclusively gay. Once they've reached maturity, most males are bisexual and mate with females during breeding season - while having sex with other males the rest of the year. It's not just gay sex though - the males also embrace each other and sleep close to one another in water.  

Hopefully you changed your mind now and are ready to embrace and accept the power of the rainbow. But once more despite the FACT that animals DO INDEED are gay as we say it but that doesn’t mean that humans are to be compared to well animals. FYI hopefully you do know that humans used to wander naked on the earth and that was their ‘natural’ state- doesn’t mean we do it today. If you look at it THAT way I can quite confidently say the lives we are living now aren’t exactly NATURAL. Would you say the fuckin buildings and computers and all that is ‘natural’ i wouldn’t so HOPEFULLY you think with your BRAIN for once instead of blindly believing the information you get from wherever your anti-gay ideas sprout from 

- reblog this pls cus we need to educate the assholes as Morgan Freeman says : ‘ I HATE THE WORD HOMOPHOBIA , IT’S NOT A PHOBIA YOU’RE NOT SCARED YOU’RE JUST AN ASSHOLE”

[webcricket]

It’s No Secret

Pairing: CastielXSisterWinchester!Reader

Word Count: 1754

Warning: Adult/NSFW/18+ readers only! Once upon a time Castiel thought it would be best to keep your romantic relationship a secret from your brothers. Once upon a time the seraph rather explosively realized this was an utterly absurd notion. Fluff and smut.

Castiel dislikes secrets – both secrets kept from him and keeping them himself. In his experience they lead to conflict, negative emotions ranging from resentment to rage, poorly informed, or just plain bad, decisions, and ultimately shatter the trust in relationships, the pieces of which take time to put back together if they can be repaired at all. At present, as he trails you on a wooded path, crackle of fallen leaves tamped beneath feet on this sunshiny Kansas autumn afternoon filling the air with a dryly crunched chorus, the latter outcome troubles his mind.

When initially he felt a draw to you – his vessel physically reacting to your presence in a room, even more so to nearness – he suppressed the superficial attraction with a series of stolid stares, stumbles over speech, and seraphim signature awkward silences, none of which stood any chance of stopping burgeoning love from crowding every corner of his celestial heart. It wasn’t long before he unburdened himself of the building pressure and confessed to you that particular secret. He never was very good at lying, especially when asked directly by the wide-eyed disarming object of his affection; it took you no time to seal your shared devotion with a kiss.

Doubtful of his worthiness to woo you, Cas worried, of course, about how Sam and Dean – mostly Dean – would feel about a fallen angel, friend or no, courting their sister. So as the situation evolved, progressed from stolen glances, caresses, and kisses to sex – at first shy and worshipful grown needy with a desire too often denied in order to sustain secrecy – your brothers remained in the dark; it’s what Cas’ doubt deemed necessary, and you happily paid the cost of staying mum on the matter in exchange for his love.

The angel, though, deeply dislikes secrets, especially this one; he nourishes a blossoming lotus of guilt seeded by cowardice for what amounts to a purely speculative and selfish shield against your brothers’ blindly overprotective indignation and, as you’ve grown closer, an increasingly inconvenient barrier between you to having as much semblance of a normal relationship as can be expected as a hunter and angel coupled by the profoundest bond of all.

Watching the rhythmic sway of your hips as you tread before him quietly humming, baby blue fabric of a sun dress donned specifically for the unseasonably warm day draping your curves, overcome by the rise of carnality consuming both his vessel and celestial nature at the sight and all he has subdued, he stops up short beside an elderly oak; the edge of his trench coat flutters against the grizzled bark in the same wending breeze that ruffles locks loosened to caress the temptingly exposed skin of your sun-flecked shoulders. If you intended to tease him into lustful surrender with your attire, it’s definitely working.

Inhibited by the unforgivingly echoing halls of the bunker and obstinate occupation of the concreted confines by Sam and Dean in their unsuccessful search for a case in an endless stretch of supernatural silence, it’s been nearly two weeks since he touched you, took you, in the way he yearns to. Routed again today by Dean’s suggestion you all spend the afternoon fishing since there didn’t seem to be anything better to do, your brother intimating you should make those freaking awesome sandwiches Sammy likes so much for a picnic lunch, the angel senses your surging frustration, too.

Cooped in the kitchen all morning while the boys went on ahead, marching to meet your brothers after Cas chivalrously excused himself from the shoreline upon your phone call to meet you at the car to help carry the luncheon accoutrements, mumbling about stuffing their mugs and hoping they choke so maybe you and Cas can have a few minutes alone, you’re both at the barren limit of making the best of it and barely preserving casual composure.

Standing there, reaching out a palm to stabilize his arousal dizzied form with the sturdy trunk, he can taste the salt of sweat thinly sheeting your skin. He scents, too, the wet warmth of wanton need steeping your center. A gravelly laugh vibrates his torso, self-effacing retort to the absurd folly of hiding your fondness for so many months; relief and realization, finally, that not enough is enough – no more secrets. Whatever consequences he imagined up until now are worth being able to openly adore you for all the time you have together.

Hearing only the sound of your footfalls noisily cushioned on the forest floor, you turn, the angel’s name on your tongue, to see what’s holding him up. “Cas? We forget something in the car?”

Shaking his head, enigmatic smile skirting his mouth, he looks at his boots and bends to set down the basket he carries. “No, nothing is wrong. I was just … thinking.”

You stride forward, carefully negotiating several roots to cross the distance to him. Casting a quick glance over your shoulder to be certain you’re not seen, you squint against the glare of the sun glinting off water through the thick grove of trees a couple hundred yards ahead. Dean’s boisterous laugh carries on the breeze; they’re close, but not within eyesight. Swinging your stare back to the angel, outstretching fingers, you pull at the lapel of his coat and flatten a palm to his chest, matching his strange smile in a gesture of curious concern. “About what?”

Gaze lifting, brightness of his blues darkened by a hedonistic hunger, he rests his hands at the tuck of your waist and yanks you into the firm pillar of his body; pivoting, he traps you with his weight against the weather-coarsened trunk.

Arms reflexively slotting round his neck, you squeak in surprise at the swiftness of the movement.

At the sound, the creases around his mouth dimple in a broader suggestive smile. “Us,” he growls, “this.” He leans in to ravish you with a kiss; the indelicate demands of tongue and teeth asserting he’s reached a cosmic peak of emotional and physical frustration.

You yield to the crush of his vessel, melting as he stiffens, the hardness of his cock pressing your belly through the restriction of fabric.

“Cas-” You tear your mouth from his with a sharp gasp, twisting your head sideways to speak as he continues to nuzzle your cheek with the scruff of his chin, a cavalcade of kisses wandering along the angle of your jaw and to your neck where his teeth graze the sensitive skin overlying your pulse point– “Sam and Dean might hear.”

“Hmm-” Calloused hands roam up and down your sides; one slides to squeeze your ass, the other snakes under the cotton of your dress, the caress drifting between your thighs to rub your unclothed and soaking sex. His growl renews, exhaled breath thrumming hot over your flesh to flutter your heart, at the discovery you wear no panties– “you’re right, they might.” Releasing his attention from the love-seared spot of reddening skin beneath your ear, he murmurs, “Let them.”

“Are-are you sure?” you ask, a breathless rasp of eagerness and apprehension. You bury a hand between you, deftly unbuckling his belt and shoving down slackened trousers to free him and leaving no question in his mind as to how you feel at the prospect.

Removing his fingers from your slick, pushing your dress to bunch up at your waist, intent to take you clear, his palms round the supple swell of your hips. Nudging a knee between yours to spread you open, using the tree for balance to leverage your legs around him, he lifts you off the ground with a grunt not from effort, but anticipation. The sink of his cock into your silken slit serves answer as to his absolute certainty.

It’s been too long for sentiment and tenderness to prevail; giving you mere milliseconds to adjust, he sets a punishing pace with the piston of his hips.

The sting of bark abrading your spine fades to oblivion in the deep plunge and shallow drag of his length filling you over and over. There’s no slow burn – bliss coils in your belly, every nerve ending ignited by a fuse of explosive ecstasy. Nails clawing at his nape, thighs trembling beneath the bite of his fingertips, a cry of – “Castiel!” – coalesces in your throat amid the wreckage of whimpers and moans bursting therein.

Tilting his hips for a final brutal thrust, punctuating the exertion with a reverberant groan, bliss breaks over your body, sweeping the seraph along in shuddering pleasure. Limp in his bracing arms, urgency of longing placated, he holds your spent frame snug; grip tender and less bruising than the lovemaking, he lavishes the lulling pound of the pulse at your throat with nips and kisses until he softens and slips from your sex.

Insatiable, squirming in his embrace, you murmur a moan at the emptiness.

Stifling the dissatisfied noise with a sluggishly sweet kiss, he lets your legs slide lax. Supporting you with an arm slung round the waist, allowing your sensually scorched senses the opportunity to reacquaint themselves with your feet, he tidies you both and tucks himself and the rumpled shirt back into his trousers.

Unable to stymy the smitten smirk adorning your pinkly-flushed features, shaking and brushing out the wrinkles of your disheveled dress, smoothing a few stray wisps of hair behind your ear, you catch the angel by the hand and look toward the brouhaha of Sam shouting on the lake shore where Dean is evidently reeling in something of massive proportions.

Castiel’s regard locks on the bruising crimson of the hickey ornamenting the bared slope of your neck. Before, he would have erased all marks of passion from your body. Now, pleasure over the visible declaration of devotion – not healing grace – wells to affect a self-assured smile in the upward camber of his lips. Weaving his fingers to fit through yours, reaffirming with a squeeze his relinquishment of all secrecy from your brothers, he stoops to pick up the picnic basket.

Urging him into motion with a tug, you stumble onward in the dreamy drunken afterglow of delight.

Past mistakes, the inevitable future ones, asking you to stay silent for so long out of a misplaced protective and, as he’ll soon find out because Sam and Dean have known for months about you two, unfounded fear, the seraph harbors regret for a lot of things – loving you isn’t, and never will be one of them, and it’s no secret he wants everyone to know.

[dcbbw]

Timing--Part 6 (Coming Forward)

This is Part 6 of my fanfic and it’s my version of events once the gang travels to LA to find Tariq. In my version, he refuses to come forward and Riley made a painful decision. In this part, the events leading up to the photo scandal are discussed. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please excuse any typos and/or grammatical errors. PS—my Liam is Asian Liam, and my Riley is tall, like me.

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Song Inspiration:  Morning Dove, Julie Byrne: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wSRdGF12dDk

Tagging: @gennesaret @simsvetements @cora-nova @carabeth @hopefulmoonobject @katedrakeohd @aworldoffandoms @sirbeepsalot @speedyoperarascalparty @drakesensworld @lauradowning29 @liamxs-world

Word Count: 3699

Liam X MC, Liam X Riley

Liam and Riley sat on one end of the sofa in Liam’s study. Hana sat at the other end, and Bertrand sat behind the oversized and imposing desk.  Bastien stood in a corner near the window. Drake and Olivia were sitting in plush chairs on one side of the massive desk. They were all waiting for Maxwell to bring Lady Penelope and Lord Tariq. Riley looked around the room, impressed with the staff who had to come and clean up the destruction Liam had left behind before joining her at House Beaumont. God, was that only yesterday?  

It had been decided to talk with Penelope and Tariq together, although Bertrand wanted to do it separately so as to minimize Constantine’s involvement in the scandal. He was overruled by everyone else agreeing that the best way to corroborate stories was to have both present. Both sides of the story gave them the full story, and with the full story, a cohesive statement could be crafted.

Liam looked calm and stoic, but kept running an index finger under his ascot in an attempt to adjust it. He wasn’t nervous, but rather he felt a growing anger. Towards Penelope because she knew what she was doing, setting events in motion. She knew.  Anger towards Tariq because no matter what he had been led to believe, no meant no. Always. Anger towards Bastien because….damnit, it was Bastien. He had trusted the man with his life, his entire life and knowing that he would blindly follow orders, no matter what they were, who they hurt….Liam could not begin to grasp the concept of loyalty so blind or service so unquestioning, although that was the requirement of Bastien’s job. And lastly, anger at his Father. Did Constantine even have an inkling of what he did?  He gave up on the ascot seeing as it had to stay in place after last night, and settled for clasping his hands together in an effort to calm his nerves. What a tangled web.

Riley sat next to him on the sofa, and placed her hand on top of his. Liam looked up at her, and she smiled reassuringly.  Liam had not wanted Riley present; he did not want her to have to relive that night again, ever again but Riley was insistent. We all deserve to know not only the truth, but the why of the truth.

“How can you be so calm, love?”

“What else can I be? It won’t do any of us any good to be emotional, at least not in the beginning. We have to take control of this meeting from the start if we hope to get the results we need.” Hoping to lighten his mood, she gave him a coy look.  “So, how do I look?” Beautiful. “You look like the next Queen-to –be, bohemian scarf and all.”

“Well, no need to cover my neck if my overzealous boyfriend hadn’t staked his claim last night”, she said in a teasing tone.

“Strange, my very passionate girlfriend necessitated this damned ascot.” His smile was mischievous as he took her hand.

A knock at the door put an end to their bantering. The door opened, and Maxwell came in, ushering in Penelope and Tariq. Tariq prepared to bow, but Liam held up his hand. “No need for formalities. We’re just having a pleasant chat. Please, both of you have a seat.” He gestured to the chairs on the other side of the desk. As Maxwell and Drake prepared drinks for everyone, pleasantries and small talk were exchanged to help break the tension.

The train ride from Portvaria was comfortable. Tariq was jetlagged from the flight. Dinner and the Palace accommodations were more than adequate. Finally, Bertrand cleared his throat. “Lord Tariq, Lady Penelope, we have asked you here to assist in fully clearing Lady Riley’s name. You both played significant roles in the scandal which resulted in her being unfairly eliminated from the social season, and being smeared and slandered by the media. Lord Tariq has agreed to speak with us and hopefully give a statement in defense of Lady Riley to the press, but before we can do that, we need to know the events that led up to the photos being taken.”

Penelope’s eyes darted around the room before settling on Riley. “You said you forgave me. You said you understood!” Riley’s brown eyes met Penelope’s blue ones steadily. “I do forgive you Penelope; please do not ever question that. However, while I have some understanding of the circumstances you found yourself in, we all deserve to know them, even Tariq.”

Maxwell noticed that Penelope’s gaze was guarded, her body language defensive. No way is she talking to us. He rose from the sofa and crouched in front of Penelope. He touched his forehead to hers, effectively fixing her eyes on his. “Hey, Pen”, he said softly. “Hey Max.” Her voice was shaky. “Kinda scary, huh? “Penelope nodded. “Don’t be”, he reassured as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “No one here wants to hurt you, or call you out, or set you up for anything. We just need to know the events that led up to this huge ass mess. We all just need to know what happened. “Penelope continued to look at Maxwell, her distrust falling away. “I…..I guess I can do that. Where do you want me to start?” Maxwell ran his finger along Penelope’s cheek. “Thanks, Pen….you’re the best”, he whispered with a small smile as he stood to return to his seat.

Liam watched the exchange with interest. He had never viewed Maxwell as a ladies man; if anything, he attributed his friend’s conquests to a combination of humor and alcohol. This….this was a new side to Maxwell, and it was sparking Liam’s jealousy. Was this a ploy on his part to get Penelope to open up, or was this Maxwell genuinely comforting her? And if it were genuine, had he comforted Riley like this before? Liam flashed back to Lythikos, to the kiss with Olivia and how Riley had sought solace with Maxwell. Where was this coming from? Just 10 minutes ago he and Riley were happy and in love.

Olivia interrupted his thoughts. “Penelope, I have a question before you start. Did you have anything to do with me being ousted from the social season?”

Penelope looked at Olivia in genuine surprise. “No! I knew you had withdrawn the night of the Coronation, but didn’t know why, and no one would say anything. Were you set up too?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Olivia’s brow knit as she stared into her drink.

Looking around the room, Penelope asked, “Where should I begin?”

“How about the beginning?” Hana suggested.

“As good a place as any, I suppose.” Penelope leaned forward in the chair, hands clasped loosely together, looking down at the carpet. “It was when we first arrived at Applewood. Bastien approached me with an offer. I would be Lady-in-Waiting, guaranteed, regardless of whom Liam chose, as long as it wasn’t Riley. All I had to do was make sure that Tariq found himself enamored of Riley and in her room before we departed for the next stop on the tour.”

“Why would you consider an offer like that?” Drake was trying not to show his anger, but Penelope looked at him, startled by his tone.

Penelope looked even deeper at the carpet. “I have severe anxiety. To the point of panic attacks, and having…actually needing emotional support animals.

“Your poodles”, Drake said softly.

Penelope nodded.  “My poodles. In any case, court events tend to trigger the anxiety more than usual, and the social season was really hard on me. I am not the prettiest, or the smartest, or even the most charming. It was pretty clear from the day of the croquet match that I would not be a serious contender to win Liam’s hand, which meant disappointing my parents. Add in the constant bitchiness and hidden agendas of the other ladies; not being able to try to secure a suitable match because you had to keep your eyes on the prize, which is being Queen…..” Penelope’s voice trailed off. After a few moments, she spoke again. “Even when it came to considering other matches, women of the Court are nothing but statistics: height, weight, hair and eye color, financial stability. And the further we got into the social season, the ladies became something to wager upon, based on our odds.” She clasped her hands more tightly. “Anyway, taking the offer seemed the best of both worlds: being Lady-in-Waiting to Queen was the best alternative to actually being Queen, and I would be free to find a suitable match without so much of the courtly politics involved.

Bertrand spoke up. “Bastien, why was Lady Penelope chosen?”

Bastien spoke from the shadows. “She was determined to have the least amount of ties to court, and would be the least likely to ask questions about the assignment. “

Penelope gave a sigh. “You mean I was the most gullible.” No one responded.

“So tell us what you did”, Maxwell prompted.

“It was simple enough. I told Tariq that Riley had been confiding in me. Said that she thought he was cute, and different from the others. Hinted that she may not really like Liam. Bastien gave me correspondence, supposedly from Riley, to pass along. “

“What about the photographer? “Liam asked.

“I was simply asked to hire a photographer, put her on retainer, and advise her that someone else would follow up.”

“Bastien, can you elaborate further on this information?” Bertrand gestured for Bastien to come out of the corner and into the room proper as he asked the question.

“The King Father instructed me to find a way to ensure that Lady Riley and Duchess Olivia were eliminated from the Coronation so that King Liam would make the best choice for Queen. The best choice being Lady Madeleine, who was the remaining of the top three contenders.

For Duchess Olivia, it was assumed that protecting her family name would be her first priority. For Lady Riley, the assumption was that flirtations between Lady Riley and Lord Tariq would cast doubt upon Lady Riley’s loyalty to Liam, and Liam would no longer consider her. When no rumors were forthcoming, the photographs were leaked to humiliate Lady Riley, to make her an unacceptable suitor. The hope was that Liam would just move on after Lady Riley left Court.”

“Except I never left. The Queen Mother says I have her to thank for that. A compromise was struck between you, your Father, and Stepmother?” Riley looked at Liam. Her eyes were calm and open, but Liam thought he detected a flash of anger in them.  He nodded sadly. “Yes. It was the only way to keep you here and buy us time to investigate. “Everyone here knows that. Why are you defending your actions?

“How did you manage to get Tariq to her room?” Hana asked as she took a sip of her drink.  Penelope lifted her head. “I went to the maid, and asked her to tell Tariq his room had been switched due to repairs.”

Bastien’s head was hung low. “I had removed the lock from Lady Riley’s room earlier that day.”

Bastien lifted his head to look at Riley. “I neither expect nor deserve your forgiveness, but I am offering you my most sincere apologies. I acted in service of my King at the time, but Liam is my King now. I realize my actions betrayed your trust to the very core, but I know other persons, in this very room, who have betrayed you as deeply. I ask only that you consider granting me the same benevolence you have shown them.”

Riley’s eyes landed on Liam first. He chose Madeleine. She turned to Bertrand. He sold bachelor party photos to make a quick buck. Finally, they landed on Olivia. If they both had not been targeted, they would still be holding a cold war over Liam falling for her instead of Olivia.

Liam watched as Riley’s eyes went around the room.  Why is she looking at Bertrand? What the hell went on during this tour?

Riley looked back at Bastien with thoughtful eyes. She gave a small nod. “Thank you, Bastien. You have certainly given me a new perspective to consider.”

“Yes, thank you, Bastien.” Liam’s voice was neutral, but his jaw was clenched. Why did he feel as if he had just been called out?

Tariq rose from his chair to head to the bar cart. “Why was I chosen?”

“We needed someone who knew Liam, but was not too close to him. Drake and Maxwell would not have been believable. It was also favorable that you had no close ties to the Court as well.”

Tariq drained his drink in one swallow, and poured another. “Am I just a joke to you people?” His tone was harsh. “Oh, I know how the Court views me. Lord Tariq, some simpleton with no thoughts in his head other than fashion, alcohol, and searching for the next big party. I knew I should have shied away from this social season.” He paused as he took a swallow of the liquid courage in his glass. “Do you know why I accepted Maxwell’s invitation to New York and the social season? Because I thought it was a chance to reconnect with my only two friends. I guess we all see where friendship got me. “He gave a derisive snort.

Drake spoke. “I consider you a friend, Tariq.”

“Oh Lord Walker…spare me your pity, or commiseration…not sure which you are offering. I am the walking stereotype of all you despise in a noble. At best, we have mutual friends that necessitate us spending time together on occasion.” Tariq’s eyes were wet, but no tears had fallen. “However, I am most fortunate you prevented what could have been an even more tragic situation. “Tariq looked at Drake. “I am indebted to you.” Drake nodded, his eyes hooded.

Liam gave a swift look between Drake and Tariq. Drake was there that night. Drake saved Riley. The thought was not as comforting as he would like it to be. Perhaps it would be if someone had bothered to tell me that tidbit.

“Yes, Drake….thank you again for being there that night. A thousand thank yous would not be enough.” Riley smiled gently and warmly at Drake.

“I care about you, Brooks.” He’s said that before. The night she was taken from the Coronation Ball. And that same look was in his eyes. Liam forced himself to focus on the conversation.

Tariq continued. “I left court about 3 years ago. Not so much as left as I just stopped coming to the events. My House is a minor one, so my absence was not really noticed. I am an only child and more prone to the frivolity of Court than the politics. I did some traveling, did some shopping. Then one day, Maxwell calls me up asking me to join them in New York and for the social season. It would be a chance to reconnect and maybe meet someone. I….I was really looking forward to spending time with my friends.” Tariq looked at Maxwell, his eyes sad.

“However, Liam was busy with the suitors and Maxwell was busy teaching Lady Riley the ways of Court, so I ended up more alone than if I had just stayed home. I found the ladies to be self-absorbed, boring, and not interested in me save for my title and any connections I may have with the Prince.

When Lady Penelope told me that Lady Riley had interest in me….it…it was a breath of fresh air. I found her enchanting from the moment I first saw her. I did doubt it at first; one need only look at how she and Liam look at each other to know that both parties harbor strong feelings for the other. But, I was hopeful…especially when Lady Riley engaged me in conversation.”

Riley interrupted him. “Tariq, it was just general conversation! Nothing untoward, nothing suggestive….just plain old conversation! How could you reconcile my actions with whatever was in that letter?” Tariq looked at her, then at the carpet. “The letter stated that you were shy and unsure, and that discretion was paramount when interacting in public. That does not excuse my actions in your room though.”

“Tell us about that night, Tariq.” Olivia urged. Strangely enough, she did not feel the contempt for him she expected to; she empathized with him. Court could be cold and lonely, and it was obvious he had grabbed at the first semblance of affection and acceptance.

Tariq poured himself another drink before taking a deep breath. “I went to my room and found a note pinned to the door. The note said that my room was under repair, something about the plumbing. I had been reassigned to another room which was unlocked, and my luggage would follow shortly. I got to the room, and entered it to find you”, he looked at Riley, “preparing for bed. It did not strike me as odd at the moment, given the letter and Lady Penelope’s conversations.

I thought your protests were you playing coy, or being shy, or I…I don’t know. All I know is I wanted the letter to be true. And then Lord Walker came in and stopped what could have been a disaster. After I apologized, I left the room and was accosted by Bastien who told me that as long as I went away, my role in this would never be made public. But if I were to speak out in defense of Lady Riley, I would be stripped of title, lands, and placed in jail for attempted rape. He said that Lady Riley would be taken care of.

When I saw the press, I wanted to come forward but I was too afraid.  Lady Riley had protection, I had nothing. So I just kept traveling, and that is when you found me in Los Angeles. I thought you had come to either threaten me more or arrest me. That is why I would not speak with any of you”

“Why are you coming forward now?” Bertrand asked curiously.

“I am tired of running. I want my life back. Lady Riley needs her reputation back.  And for both of us to lose so much over what amounts to nothing more than manipulation and a cruel prank….it makes no sense. I am prepared to give a statement that will allow as much truth as possible, but I won’t live in fear because of it.” He turned to Liam. I” understand you are willing to help with that?”

Liam looked at Tariq before slowly looking around the room. His head was spinning with the information gathered. He needed to compose his thoughts. After a few moments, he spoke. “This evening has been both painful and enlightening. I would first like to offer my most sincere apologies to Lady Riley.  My love, I cannot begin to imagine what this conspiracy has put you through. Your strength is an inspiration. Next, apologies to both Lady Penelope and Lord Tariq for being manipulated into such positions. The Crown…the new Crown….will do all we can to make things right for all involved. Lord Tariq, you will have nothing to fear and will lose nothing by giving a statement to the press. You will work with Duke Ramsford to prepare such a statement tonight. Lady Riley and I will give statements after I visit Fydelia tomorrow. Now, if everyone will excuse me, the past 36 hours have been quite exhausting, for all of us I imagine.”

Liam stood, ready to bolt out of the room. He had thought Riley would be the one torn open by the betrayal, but it was him. He wanted to lash out, he wanted to ask questions. What type of person plotted to deliberately destroy someone? Your Father, that’s who.  And who agreed to be an instrument of such destruction? Well, one person is who you trust with your life. Even more disturbing than all he had heard tonight was the fact that Drake seeing Riley naked, and that Maxwell was more than likely the one who had been comforting Riley at night during the engagement tour was first and foremost. That’s a whole new level of fucked up and insecurity.

Riley grabbed his hand. “I will see you later tonight?” Her eyes searched his.  

“Not tonight, love. I need to be well rested and clear headed to deal with Madeleine in the morning.”  

“Are you okay, Liam?” He wasn’t fooling her for a minute. “I know this evening is a lot to take in, especially if you are hearing most of it for the first time.” The concern in her voice was evident. “I will at least stop past later to say goodnight. I don’t want you worrying. Tonight was a good thing. Now we know, and there are no more secrets.”

Aren’t there?  Liam smiled weakly at her. “I’d like that”, he said as he kissed her on the cheek. And then he was gone.

Later that night, Riley stood in front of Liam’s door, knocking softly. No answer. She tried the door. It was locked. She checked her phone, the text she had sent 2 hours ago was still unanswered. She stood there in the hall uncertainly before removing her scarf and hanging it on the doorknob.

[eachainn]

Obsession

Suzaku didn’t need to look at the clock to know that he had woken up late. He could see the way that sun slanted in through the curtains and across the floor.

Usually he would have been up hours before, taking a half hour to himself to train before going through his usual routine of checking in with the guards. He and Captain Gottwald would go over what the family had to do for the day before going their separate ways. Sometimes, he might go out for a ride with Lady Marianne or he might just sit with Princess Nunnally while she had her breakfast. If he was honest with himself, he had been killing time until Lelouch woke up. The prince didn’t keep regular hours, he would get distracted with his work and sometimes not go to sleep at all.

At least that pattern had changed, although to his detriment. Lelouch was sleeping now, but at the expense of his morning training.

Suzaku smiled wryly into his pillow, shifting his head when Lelouch gave a half asleep murmur and rolled over. Suzaku adjusted, lifting his arm as Lelouch curled into him. The prince’s arm flopped over his side, Suzaku shivering as Lelouch’s fingers drifted over his back before settling. Their legs tangled together, Suzaku huffing a laugh into Lelouch’s hair. He heard the prince grumble in annoyance, but Lelouch was quick to settle down.

Suzaku waited for Lelouch’s breathing to even out again, the prince quick to fall asleep. It had been like that since the prince’s meeting with Clovis. Suzaku hadn’t even needed to ask how it went, there was no question what the answer was after the frantic energy that Lelouch had poured into his work.

Suzaku dragged his fingers lazily up Lelouch’s back, watching as the prince hummed and moved closer. Suzaku looked down at the top of his head, smiling softly.

Lelouch had managed to convince Clovis and his father that his plans were viable. It was a step forward, and it meant that Lelouch would be leaving.

Suzaku’s fingers curled on Lelouch’s back. He swallowed, pushing back a soft noise.

He had known that it was going to come eventually. It was what happened with every prince and princess. They would be used to help continue the emperor, assigned to posts and turned to their work. They would gather a cadre of soldiers around them and under their knight. It was the expected pattern that he had studied.

Becoming the personal knight of one of the royal heirs wouldn’t have helped him, only being the Knight of One would give him what he need. He could take Japan under his protection and work to help them from there.

It was a simple enough plan, and one that Suzaku was sure that he could accomplish. After all, the hardest part was already done. He was in the Rounds, all he had to do was prove himself. There were always rumors about Bismarck Waldstein retiring, but Suzaku was sure that it would happen in his lifetime. By then, he would be able to earn enough honor and glory to impress the next emperor. After all, he had impressed the current one enough to be put in charge of the safety of Marianne’s family.

That didn’t stop him from wanting.

Lelouch was going to Japan, going to help it and Suzaku wanted to follow along. It would be a smart move on Lelouch’s part, but Suzaku didn’t want to ask. He had his orders and Lelouch would want his family looked after. Besides, Suzaku couldn’t forget the way that Julius had asked him to come along.

He shuddered, remembering the smile that Julius had given him and the way that the prince had spoken. Both of the older twins were confidence, so much so that it sometimes was overwhelming. But there had been something about the request that had raised his hackles. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but Suzaku was sure that it would come to him, right after he had time to think. Of course, that might take a while between his duties, his Japanese lessons with Lelouch and…everything that followed.

Suzaku closed his eyes, tugging Lelouch a little bit closer. The prince had been up late, which meant that he would probably be sleeping for a while longer. Suzaku knew that he had duties to attend to, but all of those could wait, at least for a little while longer. No one would hold it against him, certainly not Captain Gottwald. The man liked to feel like he was in charge of every portion of the household guard. He had been looking longingly at Lady Marianne when the two of them had gone out on their rides, and Suzaku was glad to cede his position to the captain.

He grunted as Lelouch shifted again, pushing harder against him. Suzaku held his ground for a moment before rolling onto his back. Somewhere in the shifting Lelouch must have woken up because the prince groaned and tried to burrow in further.

Lelouch stayed that way, trying to burrow into Suzaku’s chest like it was a pillow. Suzaku winced when Lelouch dug an elbow into his stomach, and then the prince was pushing away.

Lelouch shot a bleary look at the clock, Suzaku biting his lip to keep from laughing as Lelouch frowned at it for far longer than it should have taken to read it. The prince swayed in place before falling over to the clear side of the bed with a groan.

Suzaku propped himself up on his elbows, watching as Lelouch groped blindly for the covers, pulling up the edge over him before slumping again. Suzaku watched him for a moment before slipping out of bed.

Despite all appearances, Lelouch was awake. The prince would protest for a little while more before finally getting up. Lelouch would go immediately back to work, which meant that he had a good ten minutes to bring something for Lelouch to eat. With only a few months left, it was only a matter of time before Lelouch started to forget to eat entirely.

Suzaku smiled softly at Lelouch, giving himself a short moment to look his fill before moving around the bed to collect his clothes. He would have to stop by his rooms to gather his uniform before he could present himself. The staff of Aries Villa knew what the two of them were up to by now, but there was a matter of professionalism to consider, even if it was a thin veneer. Suzaku didn’t think that Lady Marianne would care. Things were very informal, dangerously so. When this was all over, he would have to get used to the formality of the court or the military again.

He was in the middle of pulling on his pants when he heard another groan from the bed. Suzaku glanced over his shoulder, shaking his head as he watched Lelouch push himself up. It didn’t take him long to feel Lelouch’s annoyed glare on his back.

Suzaku pulled up his pants, not bothering to zip them up. He glanced back in time to see Lelouch drop back down onto the bed with a grunt. Whatever Lelouch said was initially lost in the pillows and blankets, Suzaku tipping his head to the side. Lelouch remained there for a moment before lifting his head and repeating himself. “Take those off and get back in here.”

“Is that an order?”

Lelouch glared balefully at him, the prince dropping his head back onto his pillows. “Yes.”

Suzaku shook his head, padding back over to the bed. He knelt on it, leaning over to kiss Lelouch’s temple. He got a soft mumble for his troubles, Suzaku pulling away. Lelouch made an aborted grab for him before his hand flopped limply onto the covers. Lelouch stared at it for a moment before shifting it bed. “Let me guess…duty?”

“Yes.”

“Damn it all.” Lelouch made an impatient gesture, Suzaku not sure if it was meant to dismiss him or to order him closer. “Can’t you forget it?”

“Your mother-”

“Will forgive you. I’m sure of it. Besides, she has no reason to complain, not when she was doing the same thing when she was in the Rounds.”

Suzaku raised an eyebrow. Marianne might have been lax, but there was no question that she took her duties seriously. There was no other reason that the empress, a woman stripped of all other titles and duties, would continue to patrol the grounds and sit in on the guard briefings. She couldn’t have gotten into the Rounds without being serious.

Suzaku zipped up his pants, giving Lelouch a skeptical look. “Are you sure?”

Lelouch flinched. “I’m a direct result of it.”

“Ah.” Suzaku chuckled, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Poor prince.”

Lelouch made a weak swipe at him. “Don’t mock me.”

“Apologies, your highness.”

“Better.” Lelouch huffed and dropped his head back to the pillows.

Suzaku gave him a moment before reaching out to drag his fingers down Lelouch’s back. The prince shuddered but didn’t bother to move. He would eventually, but Suzaku couldn’t wait for it. There was only so much indulgence that he would allow himself. He still had to stay in shape, to stay sharp in case something happened.

He leaned over Lelouch, brushing away strands of hair before kissing the back of the prince’s neck. Lelouch shuddered under him, Suzaku tempted to roll back in bed and continue. It was obviously what the prince wanted, and Suzaku was tempted.

Suzaku took a deep breath and pulled away, ignoring the muffled curse from the prince. He brushed his fingers down Lelouch’s back one more time before standing up. He thought he heard the curse turn into a whine, but then he was already walking over to where his shirt had been dropped the night before. Suzaku pulled it over his head, tugging on it in the hopes to get rid of the worst of the wrinkles. He frowned when they didn’t come out, but he gave up soon after. Gino and the other knights would be coming to the villa soon to drill. His shirt would just get dirty anyway.

He gave the hem one more tug before looking back over his shoulder. Lelouch was still sprawled over the bed, looking like he was on the edge of falling back asleep. It would be good for him, considering all the hours he had to make up. Even if he slept through most of the day it probably wouldn’t be enough. Suzaku made a note to try and coax Lelouch to be earlier, but that was for later. For now, he had his own schedule to keep.

That didn’t stop him from pausing, Suzaku watching Lelouch for a moment before speaking. “Gino and the others should be here in twenty minutes to practice.”

As he thought, that got Lelouch to lift his head. The prince studied him for a moment before rolling laboriously to the side. “I’ll be there.”

Suzaku inclined his head in a partial bow before walking out of the room. He knew that Lelouch would hold to his word, even if he was a little late. It didn’t matter, the prince would never participate. He would just sit on the sidelines with his book and pretend not to watch them.

Pretend not to watch him.

He allowed himself a small smile, Suzaku ducking his head as he walked out of the suite. He would never be Lelouch’s knight, but those moments were the closest he would get and he intended to hold onto them.

---

Julius leaned forward towards the screen, knowing that it wouldn’t help. The distance between him and his family wouldn’t change, but he couldn’t fight it. It had been months since he had seen them outside of their calls, and even those had gotten spotty. Schneizel was keeping them moving, hoping from capital to capital ahead of their forces. Schneizel seemed to think that he could convince the leaders into a treaty, but Julius knew them better. They wouldn’t bend, which made Julius want to point out that it would be better to sit in Euro-Britannia and muscle their way into the EU from there.

At least then he would be able to talk to his family every week, if not every day.

He looked over the gathered group, hungrily memorizing everything, from the way that Rolo sat upright and alert for the first time in a long time and the way that Lelouch looked ready to fall asleep in his chair. None of that matter more than seeing them.

He dragged his gaze over all of them, finally settling on Marianne.

His mother was leaning back in her chair, her bad leg propped up. Julius frowned, about to address that when Marianne beat him to it.

“I feel you worrying from here. I’m fine.” She patted her leg, a wince crossing her face. “It’s about time I tried to work it again. It’s a matter of building up my strength again.”

“But Mother-”

“Suzaku and the others are making sure to go easy on me.” Marianne laughed. “I doubt that I could win against all five of the Glaston Knights. They’re just sparing my feelings, but I’ll let them figure out their mistake soon enough.”

Julius sighed and sat back, getting comfortable. He doubted that he would be able to convince Marianne otherwise. His mother seemed to be fixed on her course. He felt a flash of nervousness. If Marianne was training, then she would be going out more, possibly without guards. His gaze flicked to where Sir Kururugi was standing behind Lelouch.

At least Sir Kururugi was still there, he wouldn’t let Marianne get into too much trouble.

He let out his breath in a rush, Julius rubbing his shaking hands against his legs. His gaze darted over to Rolo, giving his younger brother a nod. That got Rolo to relax, Julius watching as Rolo leaned forward.

“Nunnally and I have been keeping busy, big brother. We’ve been to three different openings, a couple of hospitals.”

“And that one debut. Lady Fitzwilliam’s daughter just came of age to be presented at the court.” Nunnally pressed her hand to her face to smother a giggle, Julius watching as Rolo tried to make himself smaller. It took Nunnally a while to gain control of herself, and then she spoke so quickly that her words seemed to run together. “They wouldn’t let Rolo stop dancing.”

“Nunnally!”

“They wouldn’t stop talking about how handsome he is.”

Rolo blushed and ducked his head, Julius watching his brother carefully. It was rare that Rolo went out, and this was far better than the coddling than his brother had been getting. Then again, it was probably not for the best that all the attention had landed on Rolo. He hadn’t been trained to deal with the court, they had avoided it since the assassination and Rolo had been too young before. He didn’t know how to deal with the lying and the flattery. It would end badly.

Julius glanced over at his brother, waiting for Lelouch to say something. Instead, Lelouch just started awake, Julius sighing. He had heard about what his brother had managed to do, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Schneizel seemed to think that it was a good idea, but Julius wasn’t sure.

He had always expected Lelouch to follow after him, to be annoyed at everything that they were doing and bungling his own plans. But they would work together, like they always had.

Julius licked his lips, watching as Rolo and Nunnally teased each other, Rolo getting redder with every moment. It was a conversation he didn’t know how to bring up, or want to with everyone there. Maybe he could get his mother alone on the next call, and they could discuss how to deal with Rolo. After all, it was important that Rolo got the proper court introduction.

He turned his attention back to the conversation when Marianne reached over to swat Rolo lightly on the shoulder. “Later.”

Rolo nodded and settled back in his seat, looking attentive. It took a moment for Julius to realize that they were waiting for him. He cleared his throat, glancing around the empty room he was in before nodding. “I can’t tell you where I am-”

“Typical.” That came from Lelouch, Julius glancing over at his brother with a smirk.

“It’s a military secret. I can’t just tell anyone.”

“But you are in the EU somewhere?”

Julius rolled his eyes at Lelouch’s question, ignoring his twin. “If we stick to the current schedule I should be able to talk to you next week.”

“And will you be safer?”

Julius nodded in answer to his mother’s question. “I will. We have to wait and see what we’ve done has taken fruit. And, by then, I hope my presents will have reached you. An apology for being out of contact for so long.”

There were various exclamations of surprise and excitement, Julius smiling through them even as the call came to a close, far too soon for his liking. He sighed and looked at the clock, hating that there was an allotted time. Still, they were in dangerous territory and calls could be traced. It was only because Schneizel indulged him that he was allowed to do this. If it was any other way, then he would have gone months between talks.

Then again, if it had been any other way, he would have been in Euro-Britannia using their force to crush the EU instead of just talking with them in the hopes that they would back down.

If it had been any other way, Sir Kururugi would have been with him.

Julius shuddered and looked back towards the door. He wouldn’t be bothered for a few hours, Schneizel wouldn’t meet with him until the morning and the room was all his. The only restriction on his time was the call, and that was done.

He swallowed, glancing back at the screen. He had fought hard not to stare at where Sir Kururugi had stood behind his brother. It should have been easy because Sir Kururugi had been unobtrusive. There was every chance that Sir Kururugi wouldn’t be included, but Julius was glad that he was there. It had been a relief to see him standing there, perfectly formal swathed in his cloak.

His hand twitched against his leg, Julius tipping his head back. He may have missed his family but, now that he had seen Sir Kururugi, he ached to see him again. Working in the EU had been enough of a temporary distraction, but the fixation got worse every time he called his family, because Sir Kururugi would be there. Taunting him, teasing him, making him want to go home and complete his game. Complete the game and talk to his father. Then the Knight of Seven would be his.

Julius shuddered, his fingers restlessly tapping against the armrest before he gave in. He reached for his pants, hastily undoing them. He shoved his hand in them with a gasp, wrapping his fingers around his cock as he closed his eyes, imagining Sir Kururugi with every stroke.

[kairostechinc]

Artificial Intelligence: ‘ethics are always relevant, just differentiated’

Ethics in AI

AI-enabled technology has many use cases.

In art, computer vision and machine learning help in the detection of fakes. In the military, the same type of technology is used to detect war crimes by analyzing the images taken in the field of banned ordnance prohibited by international conventions. Pictures and images can be taken with great details and then compared and analyzed.

But for individuals, the main question arising is: what happens with my data?

All these data don’t belong to those who collect them or process them. It belongs to someone else i.e. to the data subject from where it was obtained. That is where the Ethics questions come to light.

What happens with the data? Where does it end up? Who sees it? Who does what with it? Will it be kept forever? Or for a limited time? So many questions and no one to answer all incoherent, easy-to-understand ways.

It doesn’t apply equally to every single use case, of course. They are cases where it is critical – in the medical and legal field, for instance – and others where it is important but not that critical. For instance, if a company possesses your contact details but no financial information, it is still important but not that critical.

But the Ethics case is always relevant. It’s differentiated by case, but always relevant.

For example, if we have a conversation as in consumer-to-business, I need to know if a record is kept of our interaction – be it a phone call, video conference, chat, email, text messages, etc. If on the other end of the line is an automated system through an automated system (like a bot – chatbot, voice bot, etc), I as a consumer should be informed about that. If I’m not talking to a human but to an automated system, I should be informed upfront before the start of the conversation.

This matters a lot. Especially in written contact as it’s almost impossible to figure out from the start that you are not talking to a human. Thus, customers should always be informed upfront that it is an automated system they are talking to, and if they are sent to a human adviser at some point. That is an ethical act and many businesses have implemented necessary mechanisms and abide by this principle.

So Ethics are always relevant. Just in a differentiated way from one context to another.

Ethical concerns with Artificial Intelligence

There are many ethical concerns with AI.

Human agency is starting to give away more and more power of decision, even if in limited, capacity, to automated systems. That’s not good.

It does depend on what the decision is. Sometimes it can be a low-level technical decision, with no real impact. But if the decision is life-impacting, then that’s not good. Same if it’s difficult to understand. Most people don’t understand why the output was generated i.e. why that and not something else – and they just apply it blindly because it’s “computer says so”. But in our connected and globalized world, there are unforeseen impacts that could be life-impacting.

For example, your loan has been denied. Why? The advisor will say ‘I looked into this and that and then I got that data’. Even if you try to challenge it by saying that it doesn’t look right, they still won’t be able to explain because there’s a lack of explainability of the output. The decision was made using your data but you, the data subject, are the one affected and you cannot know why it’s so.

So although you are the one impacted, you can’t know why. You can’t even challenge it in a court of law because they can’t explain it. Even if they want to explain it, they have to ask ‘who owns that input?’ A question that most times cannot be answered.

Who owns the output of the AI system? Is it the company that uses it, or the company that devises the system, or a third party like an external provider? Or is it somebody else?

The company that devises the AI system can be a software company and there are the service providers that actually use the output of the AI system and provides services to businesses. Then, there is the business you deal with as a customer. So, three different entities. Hence the ownership is not clear. Who are you going to sue if your consumer rights are breached?

Ownership is not clear because there are no standards, laws, and regulations.

At present, there are no laws, no regulations, no agreed standards. Work is in progress but we have some way to go before the first regulation is issued.

This makes possible life-impacting situations. For example, people ending up with criminal records because the judicial decision is based partly on the output of AI systems. However, the judge cannot explain the decision in full as the entity/company owning the AI system invokes IP rights. This is essentially a breach of human rights and is possible because of the absence of laws and regulations for AI systems.

But what standards to follow?

Do you see many companies apply their own ethics? It doesn’t really happen. You can run your internal audits but in the case of AI systems there is unforeseen, far-reaching impact and there’s should be independent audits of these systems.

If, for example, there is significant bias in a process, then introducing AI systems without having an Ethics framework will essentially automate the bias, even scale it. This is one of the major reasons why Ethics is important in every business and in every domain.

There are so many discussions around it but what comes of it?

Over the past two to three years, there were a lot of discussions about issuing standards so that you can actually measure and detect problems in a coherent way across jurisdictions. Some discussions end with practical actions but there are a lot of other discussions that don’t result in anything, unfortunately.

This Article Source is From : https://www.softwaretestingnews.co.uk/artificial-intelligence-ethics-are-always-relevant-just-differentiated/

[hedwig-the-angry-bitch]

Searching For A Lawyer? Look No Further!

Do you need a lawyer? Regardless of your situation, you need to understand that dealing with lawyers can be very expensive and stressful. The tips here https://www.arbeidsrechtforum.nl can help you find a good lawyer that fits within your budget. Keep reading for more information.

Many people find it wise to keep an attorney on retainer. By doing this, you won't be quite as stressed. Instead, you can take time to find the best lawyer for you. If you have an attorney on retainer, you'll have someone to turn to for expert advice.

Clearly settle what your problem is before you go looking for a lawyer. The first thing to ask is whether you even need a lawyer. For example, divorce cases, criminal cases and financial cases usually require an attorney. If none of these apply, you still might need a lawyer for a professional opinion on financial or business matters.

In the long run, it may be more cost-effective to invest in the services of a specialist lawyer. A general attorney will have to spend billable hours background researching your case, so you may end up paying out more in the long run.

Generally speaking, take your lawyer's advice. They are experienced in legal matters, but speak up. You should tell your lawyer if there's anything that you don't like. Although your lawyer is representing you, they also have many clients.

Log your interactions with your lawyer. Note the date, time, what was discussed, any monies paid and what the lawyer says your bill is up to. This will help you if there are any billing or other issues later.

Lawyer referral services are an excellent tool. This type of service can locate a lawyer for you. Some screen the lawyers on their list based on experience and proof of qualifications. There are those that list good lawyers based upon whether or not a lawyer maintains liability insurance per state bar standards. To select the right referral service, you must understand the service's selection criteria, such as example: https://www.degraaffarbeidsrecht.nl.

Ensure the lawyer's office is friendly. See if they return your calls promptly and if they are pleasant when doing so. If they take long calling you back, it may be an indication of how they'll treat you once you become an actual client.

Talk to your attorney about jobs you can complete on your own. For instance, you might can prepare some paperwork. Also, inquire as to whether you can run certain errands for your case so that you aren't billed when someone else has to do them.

Stay away from attorneys who boast that they can easily win your case. This is a red flag for a casual, poor quality lawyer. You have to have a lawyer who can navigate tricky territory and look for intriguing facets and issues. You need to select carefully.

Before you file a claim for Worker's Compensation, do research. The requirements of each state is different in terms of how much time is available to you to file and what documentation you need to present. Workman's Comp differs from other types of court claims, and it should be handled differently. There are things that are slightly different that need to be done.

Prior to meeting with an attorney, list any possible information that may be helpful. Understand that lawyers are paid on an hourly basis. Thus, if you are looking for papers or are always calling for clarification, you are going to be billed for those instances. You will spend less and have a resolution if you properly prepare yourself prior to meeting with them.

Your court case may seem urgent to you, but your attorney might see it in a different way. It's likely he has a ton of more important work to do. Just remember to be patient.

Understand that the results of the case are important to your lawyer, as well. They've been through this before and know exactly what it takes to win or at least come out with a positive outcome, and they will do just that.

Even if you like the first attorney you consult with, meet with a few more. Legal issues can drag out longer than you anticipated, and therefore it is important to have a good comfort level with your lawyer. Selecting wisely at the outset of your matter often makes a huge difference.

Never hide anything from your lawyer because it can cause problems later. The more you leave out, the more holes in your case. Realize that your lawyer can't compromise your situation, so trust them.

Don't spend money on a lawyer unless you're sure what you're getting for that money. You may have to pay a retainer to have your case looked at. Their availability is what you will be paying for.

It is never a good idea to make decisions quickly. Most people would answer no, and they wouldn't hire the first lawyer they found either. Do your homework with lawyers to find the best one for you. You don't want to go in blindly.

Lawyers can serve many purposes. Whether you are going through a divorce or filing for bankruptcy, a good lawyer will make the situation much better. Also, they can assist you when you are dealing with a contract.

There are times when you have to trust your intuition when choosing a lawyer. Sometimes, you will feel a connection or just feel comfortable with a person. Of course, you should only do this after you look over their records that the state's bar association keeps.

You need to ask yourself certain questions when finding the right lawyer. First, are you comfortable with this lawyer's methods? Do they have enough legal experience to win your case? Do you understand all they are saying? Can you afford them?

When you need legal representation, you need a lawyer who has the background experience to handle your case, and they must be interested in helping you. Visit: https://www.jansenarbeidsrecht.nl or use what you have read regarding your search, and you should be able to find a good lawyer much easier. This is definitely on choice worth making right.

[sociologyontherock]

My Career Trajectory

By Adrienne Peters

Quite early in life, I recognized a clear interest in understanding why people act in different ways and why certain behaviour is viewed as more or less deviant. It never felt constructive to judge others. Thus, I tried (sometimes imperfectly) to see everyone as equal and to imagine that people were not “bad” but instead were labeled for doing “bad” things. I was also curious about the obedience of human beings and how social control – formal and informal – could be such a powerful tool.

I was no rebel, but I was neither obedient nor controlled, and this raised my suspicion and further curiosity. I wanted to better understand the motivations for and explanations of behaviour, combining sociological, psychological, as well as biological and legal approaches. This resulted in my selection of criminology as an undergraduate major and a sociologically-oriented undergraduate experience. My graduate training, at both the master’s and doctorate levels, was much more multidisciplinary.

 Graduate school brought me to Vancouver in August 2006. I completed my master’s degree in the School of Criminology at Simon Fraser University (under Simon Verdun-Jones’ supervision) with a focus on the criminal justice system’s responses to often criminalized mental illnesses, particularly what has been labeled attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). My legal case analysis and interview findings revealed that, despite the prevalence of ADHD and the challenging behaviours associated with this diagnosis, the youth justice system did not demonstrate sufficient attention to this diagnosis in court decision-making. Critical points of intervention were often overlooked. Instead, the system appeared to rank and prioritize mental health needs in ways that were shaped by social hierarchies and structural inequalities. These results have been shared with legal and educational professionals in British Columbia and Newfoundland.

 After unexpectedly taking two years away from my scholarly pursuits to explore love in Germany, I returned to British Columbia to complete my PhD at Simon Fraser University. I conducted my doctoral research under the supervision of Raymond Corrado, who is a leading scholar in Canadian youth justice theory, research, and policy. My doctoral study involved collecting secondary case file data on approximately 200 youth sentenced to probation in order to determine whether specialized probation models were effective for youth with severe mental illness and those involved in very serious criminal activities often through associations with criminal organizations and gangs. The findings provided significant but marginal support for high-intensity supervision models. Evidently, involvement in the youth justice system was more complex than the models imposed by formal, colonial case management.

 During my PhD, I also worked as a research associate at the University of the Fraser Valley with the RCMP Senior Research Chair in BC conducting research on existing policing models, and the organization and structure of police departments and agencies (including the use of specialized “crime reduction” units). The results of these studies have been published in a variety of formats as reports, scholarly articles, book chapters, and as presentations to government and at scholarly conferences.

 My work with the Senior Research Chair for the RCMP in British Columbia led me in 2015 to apply for a three-year teaching contract in Police Studies at Memorial. Following a relatively successful hiring process, my partner and I found ourselves driving from British Columbia to Newfoundland. We packed our sweaters and rubbers, and were off.

 While the position’s focus was teaching, I was not interested in relinquishing my research. After applying for and being awarded a SSHRC Insight Development Grant, I continued my longitudinal youth probation study in BC following the same young people as in my PhD dissertation as they entered early adulthood and also examining the case management practices used for youth convicted of a sexual offence. This follow-up research has revealed important supplementary results to my doctoral findings that can guide understandings of issues associated with the criminalization of youth in Canada. Three reports, which have policy implications, have already been submitted to various government bodies in British Columbia. Further data are still being analyzed.

 Since commencing at MUN, I have also been successful in receiving a Seed Fund grant to conduct policing research with the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary (RNC) on officers’ perceptions of their training and job-preparedness. Obtaining the necessary RNC approvals was a lengthy endeavor and data collection has unfortunately been further interrupted due to COVID-19 public-health measures. I designated my start-up funding to commence a local study of young people involved in the justice system in Newfoundland and Labrador. This has been a long and tedious journey, and one that has also been further delayed due to the pandemic.

 In addition to my primary research activities, I have become engaged with local organizations in Newfoundland based on my research interests. I coordinate and facilitate a prisoner peer-support program (7th Step Society NL) at Her Majesty’s Penitentiary (HMP) and in the community for former prisoners. I am also the board chair of the association Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder NL (fasdNL). In my work with the former, I have recruited several of my graduate students as volunteers to gain relevant experience with this organization; I have also begun a small assessment of the support needs of prisoners and their experiences in the criminal justice system generally, and specifically at HMP and the 7th Step program. A former graduate student and I are applying for a Mitacs grant to conduct a Newfoundland and Labrador-focused FASD needs assessment starting in the fall of 2020 to determine the diagnostic, service, and support needs of families, caregivers, and professionals who are impacted by fetal alcohol spectrum disorder.

 Throughout all of this, in 2017 I was hired for the first full-time, tenure-stream faculty position for Police Studies in Memorial’s Department of Sociology. This surpassed my ambitions of moving home to conduct local research and community engagement. It has been an uphill battle full of numerous obstacles. Yet I feel I have made progress. By mid-2019, I had received momentum from the necessary bodies to conduct my proposed research projects – i.e., the Department of Justice and Public Safety, the Office of the Advocate for Children and Youth, and the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary. By the start of 2020, with the first minor blip known colloquially as Snowmageddon, and the soon to follow much larger blip of the COVID-19 pandemic, I have had to redefine the meaning of progress (just as we often have to redefine our conceptualizations of success).

 The COVID-19 pandemic has been an unanticipated barrier for much of my research. However, the pandemic, along with Black Lives Matter, has presented new incentives to conduct my research on police training models with the RNC. As well, I have recently applied for a Multidisciplinary Fund grant to conduct a study with the Canadian Mental Health Association, Newfoundland and Labrador. It is now moving forward and will include new opportunities to focus on the challenges of delivering services to vulnerable populations amid a pandemic.

 My research agenda is varied but tightly interwoven. My interest in focusing my research studies on Newfoundland was motivated by several factors. One has been my experience teaching RNC cadets. As the Liaison for the Majors in Police Studies and Co-coordinator for the Diploma, I really enjoy this work, as well as working closely with my colleagues in the MUN Department of Sociology. The ambition to conduct a Newfoundland youth justice study was motivated by the lack of local data, outside of official statistics collected from and provided by the police, courts, and corrections. My research, community service, public engagement, and teaching are now – and I hope forever – inextricably linked.

 The research I conduct is informed by the developmental/life course criminological perspective, while recognizing not only important life-stage experiences and events and relationships but also more importantly the institutions that shape these pivotal experiences at each life stage (families, schools, employment, relationships, and the criminal justice system). Since joining the Department of Sociology, I have grown substantially and become even more dedicated to examining the systems and institutions that many members of society have accepted and often blindly follow.

 My academic journey has been a test in perseverance and patience (and sometimes pity). While I have always possessed skills attached to the former, I am trying to adopt positive Newfoundland values and welcome the continued support from MUN to practice more gracefully the second.

 The COVID-19 pandemic and physical distancing health measures really encouraged moments of self-reflection, and equally important, to think about the larger social-political structures and conditions. This has forced further reflection on my research, public engagement activities, teaching, and service. Although I feel overwhelmed or unsure at times, I am pursuing issues that I feel truly passionate about.

I did not have early ambitions to be an academic. Nor did I anticipate the fortune of being appointed at MUN so early in my career. What the future holds is unknown. Yet I am hopeful I will be able to continue to do work that is meaningful personally and to the local community. As much as possible, I welcome opportunities to integrate my students into my outreach work and volunteering with 7th Step and hiring student research assistants for fasdNL.

A career in academia certainly requires dedication and strategizing. My dedication is still being tested. However, I am regularly reminding myself to be and go gently. To quote a John Lennon song, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other  plans.” Now is the perfect time to commit sociology in Newfoundland and Labrador.

[ellacrossman96]

Save Marriage Couple Walkthrough Definition Marvelous Useful Ideas

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[reviewsbyracine]

I SAW AN EPISODE OF LAW AND ORDER: SVU: “Babes”

With everything crazy happening in the world, it is important that we still depend on the little things that make everything feel right. For me, I know that I can always depend on classic episodes of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit to help me feel at home. There's something strangely soothing about Benson and Stabler working together to solve a sex crime. (And yes, I know that Christopher Meloni left the show nine years ago - as far as I'm concerned, the Stabler episodes are the only episodes that matter.) When it comes to rewatchable episodes of SVU, I always come back to “Babes," a season ten episode. So with nothing better to do, let me tell you why it is possibly the best episode of SVU ever created.

"Babes" starts with our usual fake-out cold open: characters just trying to enjoy a night out before stumbling on a gruesome crime scene and then we never see them again. This time, it's the last diners at a restaurant. Despite holding holding up the kitchen staff from going home, the gentleman on the date asks to order desserts (despite the fact that they seem to be eating salads) and suggests flambé because it's "exciting." The irate waiter tells them that "the only thing that's flaming is the maître d'."

Just then, a man on fire can be seen screaming and waving around just outside the restaurant. Yes, that's right: SVU set a man on fire and made a visual gag out of it. A poor bus boy throws pitchers of water on the man as he collapses dead into the restaurant.

Stabler and Munch arrive at the scene (Benson is at a conference for… some reason) and meet up with M.E. Warner, who shows them that our John Doe is not only charred to a crisp but is also missing his private parts. When Munch asks where the victim came from, Warner tells them with a straight face to "Follow the bloody brick road."

Someone give SVU's joke writer a raise because John Doe's not the only one who's on fire tonight.

Back at the station, Warner rehydrates his fingerprints (what?) and discovers his identity is that of a homeless man named John Galli. They visit Galli's father, played by Michael Badalucco, a man who hates cows more than coppers. Mr. Galli informs them that his son had been targeted by "Street Cleaners," a vigilante group that runs around beating up homeless people and posting videos of their exploits online. Planning a sting to catch the Street Cleaners in action, Tutuola suggests they "introduce them to the laziest, filthiest bum they've ever seen."

Smash cut to: Munch pretending to be a homeless wacko screaming conspiracy theories into the night. No joke, this edit is hilarious.

Anyway, the Street Cleaners run out to beat up Munch and are quickly arrested. The detectives take off the perps' ski masks and one of them is a girl. The music treats this reveal like it is the most shocking thing that could ever happen. Obviously, they didn't kill Galli - SVU always throws a red herring at you in the first ten minutes and this episode is no different.

Returning to the station, Stabler and Munch find a blowtorch that was found at the scene and can be traced back to the science lab at Blessed Heart High School. Their guide at the school is Max, the president of the school's chastity club (remember this for later), who informs them that the only student who has access to the lab after hours is senior Alec Bernardi. Stabler and Munch spot Alec, who immediately looks guilty and tries to escape the cafeteria. Munch tells Alec that he looks like someone lit a fire under his ass.

"Fire?" Alec asks, sweating. "I don't know anything about a fire."

Smooth, Alec, real smooth.

He's got a burn on his hand so it's obviously him. They bring him to the station for interrogation, where Benson returns from her conference just in time for Alec's mother Peggy to burst in. Peggy is played by the incredible Debi Mazar, so even though the episode was cruising along at a comfortable seven or eight, the energy level has now been dialed up to eleven. Alec is proud of mutilating and immolating Galli and reveals that he did it because Galli raped his little sister Tina and got her pregnant.

Benson speaks with Tina, who vehemently denies being raped. However, she is pregnant. Turns out, she seduced Galli to get pregnant on purpose because she and her friends are in… you guessed it… a pregnancy pact! That's right, this episode's ripped-from-the-headlines story is the Gloucester High School pregnancy pact, where a bunch of teenaged girls got pregnant on purpose.

Benson tells the girls that they are stupid. "What's the big deal?" one girl asks. "That vice president lady's daughter is gonna have a baby. Why can't we?"

The pact's ringleader is Fidelia Vidal, who is excited that she and her friends are "totally gonna be the hottest MILFs on the block." Her father, Not-Bobby Canavale, wants Benson to leave because she is scaring Fidelia with some truth talk. Suddenly, her boyfriend bursts in, having just heard the news of her pregnancy - and it's Max, the chastity club president. Oops. Fidelia's baby daddy is not Max but is instead a twenty-two-year-old rapper named Dizzer.

Let's talk about Dizzer. In an otherwise perfect episode of SVU, Dizzer is a straight-up garbage character. Dizzer is a white rapper who works at a place called Skribble Skratch Records. His motto, airbrushed on his shirt, is "reckin' decks 'n' gettin' sex" and he attempts to get a fist bump from Tutuola, calling him a "brother." Again, this guy is white and he is trying way too hard.

Stabler hands him a court order for a DNA test and the detectives leave to let Not-Bobby Canavale know that they're actually getting stuff done this episode and everything's going to be alright. Not-Bobby Canavale goes to Fidelia's room so they can go get the amniocentesis done and make a DNA match, but her door is locked. Stabler shoulders the door open because he's an animal and the parents and detectives are met with a disturbing sight:

Fidelia, dead, having hanged herself on her ceiling fan.

Obviously everyone is distraught and it's a genuinely shocking moment. Not-Bobby Canavale comforts Max, and Michael Badalucco is spotted moping in the crowd to remind us that he is still in this episode. Fidelia's mother lets the detectives know that someone online was calling Felida names like "slut" and "whore." The email address leads them back to Dizzer, but he denies having sent the harassing emails. His alibi is that he was taking part in a threesome in Brooklyn and reminds the detectives of his motto/airbrushed shirt. Tutuola looks ready to punch this man. The detectives take his phone into evidence and thankfully we don't have to deal with Dizzer ever again.

Tech agent Morales proves that the IP address actually came from an internet cafe and holy shit the culprit turns out to be none other than Peggy Bernardi, seen in some seriously unflattering ATM camera angles. Peggy proudly shows off a onesie for her new grandbaby that says "My grandma is a GILF" and high-fives Tina. When Stabler and Munch confront her about her harassing emails, Peggy goes off on a warpath about how Fidelia ruined her kids' lives and kicks the detectives out of her house. ADA Greylek suggests that they hit Peggy with criminal impersonation and reckless endangerment, among other charges, and Munch reminds the group that Peggy only used words against Fidelia and to arrest her would go against the first amendment. Good ol’ Munch, always a voice of reason. Before they have time to commit to what exactly they're arresting Peggy for, word comes in that a mob has formed outside Peggy's apartment, led by Not-Bobby Canavale. Stabler and Munch arrive to rescue-arrest Peggy.

On the stand, Peggy says that sending harassing emails to a hormonal teenaged girl was "just a goof." A large television is presented so that Peggy can awkwardly read her fake-teenage bibble-babble to the courtroom. We get to learn what "OMFG" and "STFU" mean. In her last message to Peggy, Fidelia writes that her "fath is knocking," implying that their conversation was ended because Not-Bobby Canavale was at the door. However, Tina suddenly comes to a realization and informs the courtroom that "FATH" actually stands for "first and true husband" in some dumb chastity club lingo.

Stabler and Munch realize that Fidelia's "FATH" was Max, who comes clean: when he realized that Fidelia had cheated on him and didn't love him, he killed her and faked her suicide. Case closed.

Max and Alec are put away for their crimes and Peggy is let go. ADA Greylick gives Peggy some unnecessary attitude and Peggy goes fully ballistic, strangling Greylek and screaming "I'm a good mother!" Greylek tells Stabler to "collar that bitch for assault" but Stabler sees poor Tina in tears, having witnessed everyone she knows and loves fall apart in front of her. Mr. Galli offers to take Tina in, given that she is pregnant with his grandchild, and promises to help her raise the baby. The episode ends on a rare moment of kindness.

So what makes "Babes" the best episode of Law and Order: SVU? The episode features a lot of "ripped-from-the-headlines" moments, from the Gloucester pregnancy pact to the the suicide of Megan Meier. There are some genuinely funny moments in the episode and the performances are pretty great, especially Debi Mazar. And while Benson isn't featured all that much, it's a pretty heavy Munch episode, and he's always great. The episode starts with a homeless man on fire with his penis chopped off and still somehow finds a way to get more crazy by the end. "Babes" is a season ten episode, which means it's SVU in their bonkers prime, a few seasons before Stabler left but long enough into the show's run for them to feel blindly confident in what they were doing. If you are able to stream this episode, I highly recommend checking it out - it will almost definitely improve your day.

[mytraffictickets]

How Traffic Ticket Dismissal Lawyers in Travis County Help You Fight a Red Light Ticket

One of the most dreaded things you may see while going through an intersection is the flash from a red light camera. Luckily, it doesn't always mean that you'll get a ticket as it involves a number of things. Many times, a driver may be issued a red light ticket when they blindly drive straight through an intersection, even after seeing that the light has already entered the red phase.Other times, the driver may have entered the intersection at the time when the light had changed from yellow to red.

Sadly, most of the traffic ticket defense lawyers have encountered cases where people simply plead guilty and pay the fine instead of fighting their ticket. However, they recommend fighting the ticket to avoid the necessary points and conviction.

Here are a few simple steps that you can take for a dismissal of your traffic tickets in Travis County:

· It is wise to understand the options that are available for you instead of immediately paying the fine.

· You should appear in traffic court to contest the ticket by following that particular court’s procedure.You will be unable to avoid points from a red light traffic ticket unless you choose to do something about it.

· Always aim to get a dismissal of your charge.Make sure you consider and discuss the following:

1. Where were you when the light turned red?

2. What was the color of the light when you were on the stopping point?

3. Were the lights working properly?

These are just basic questions, but it is your job to listen closely, ask relevant questions, and find the necessary arguments that you can present in front of the judge to get your ticket dismissed.

Whether you've received a ticket for distracted driving, running a red light, or a speeding ticket in Travis County, reach out to the experts at My Traffic Tickets for the best assistance. Visit https://mytraffictickets.com/ or dial 1-877-298-9099 for more information about how they can assist you with your traffic ticket needs.