#it's a very intricate subject matter and I want to do it justice

[yujeong]

There's this idea that possessed me the other day, and since I don't trust myself to be able to write it at all in fic form, I'm going to share it: Pete experiencing symptoms of narcolepsy post-canon Pete feeling tired all day after they leave the hospital with Vegas and Macau but paying it no mind - he barely slept the past month after all, it's logical that he feels this way. Pete trying to sleep at night but being unable to, again paying it no mind - he's anxious about Vegas, he can't sleep without sensing his breath on his skin, without hearing his heartbeat. Pete at the verge of sleep seeing Vegas' bloody corpse on the floor next to him - it scares him shitless but the excuses never stop. It'll be fine, he'll adjust to his new reality, Vegas will get better, he'll get some sleep soon, it'll be fine. Except Pete eating breakfast with Macau and out of the blue collapsing on the table, his head falling onto the plate with the food Vegas prepared for him to eat. He's awake, he can hear Macau screaming his name and asking for Vegas to come and check because Phi fainted, except Pete hasn't fainted, he's wide awake, but he can't move and he can't open his eyes or his mouth to tell Vegas he's fine, and he's sorry for ruining the food he went in the trouble of making. He tells him eventually when it passes and he can open his eyes again and he can apologize to a frantic Vegas who's inspecting him all over and cleaning the mess he made on his cheek and his hair. He convinces Vegas to let it be and that it's probably because he's tired. Pete driving with Vegas on the passenger's seat when suddenly the tiredness is so overwhelming he falls asleep. It happens so quickly he doesn't register the consequences of it, how it'll lead to a crash, how he's going to lose Vegas and it's going to be his fault again, just like back then. He wakes up to find Vegas shaking him with teary eyes, screaming his name while being in evident physical pain. Pete wants to let it go, it's fine, he's just tired, except it's not fine because he's careless, he almost killed Vegas, but he can't have him being in distress. Porsche eventually comes to pick them up - they were on their way to meet him anyway. Pete didn't trust himself enough to drive. ^those are the two main ideas I have at the moment + another one which would be a variation of this: Pete experiences an intense emotion (I'm thinking either stress or laughter, it depends on the context) and losing control of his muscles again. It'd fuck up Vegas tenfold if the reason for that emotion was him :) One last thing: There's no cure for narcolepsy. You can only treat some of the symptoms with medication and lifestyle changes. Would you like to know what one of the options for medication is? Well:

Now wouldn't that fuck up Vegas' little mind just a bit? Mmm, I wonder. Decisions, decisions... (Everything I've found about narcolepsy so far is from this article my beautiful beta shared with me. I want to study narcolepsy a lot more to see how it could be used for this story, if I end up writing it.)

[mochatsin]

When MC can Draw (Dateables Version)

Drawing and the arts is one of the things you’re most passionate about. There’s a lot of things, and certain demons, that are out there to give you inspiration to draw. How will the dateables react when they find out you’re a great artist?

Wow my first dateables version of my prompts. Hope i’ve written them all well. This version is requested from my tumblr :0 thanks for reading!

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Diavolo

Diavolo took notice when you saw your eyes lingering among the paintings during your tour around his castle. There were portraits of prominent figures from Devildom, from old kings to spearheads that shaped their history. He explains how there’s one royal painter for every royal king, thus the similar styles in every portrait. Since you’re an exchange student then it’s essential you learn about these demons, and Diavolo is happy to tell their tales for you. 

He was taking a stroll around RAD before going home when he spotted you in the school’s gardens, seemingly preoccupied. He wanted to call on you but he was more curious to see what you were working on. Diavolo watches you closely from a distance, afraid that you might hide from him if you spot him like how the others do.

To his surprise, he saw you working on a portrait of him in a style that’s similar to the ones he’s shown you. The way your eyes lingered on those paintings when he toured you around before, it clicks to him now that you were trying to study the art style itself as well. It’s almost identical, but with your added personal touches to make it unique.

His towering size doesn’t hide him very well when you immediately spot him at the corner of your eye. The pillars don't do justice to how large Diavolo is as a demon. You try to conceal the art you were making, it’s embarrassing when the subject of your art is actually a few feet away from you. But he quickly smiles as he walks over to you. Now that his cover's blown, he definitely wants to see everything up close now.

“I didn’t mean to be rude and spy on you like that. But you don’t need to hide anything! Even from a glance I could tell you’re talented. Would it be alright for me to see what you were working on?” You can’t really turn down such a polite request, but you most certainly can’t turn down the volume of his voice that’s booming with excitement as he flips from one page to another.

When you finish your portrait of Diavolo, expect it to be treated like a national treasure. A beautiful artwork of the young prince made by the human exchange student? It deserves the best frame that Diavolo can get his hands on. Expect Barbatos by your door the next day with high quality art supplies. He’ll treat you like one of the finest royal artists to ever live in Devildom.

Barbatos 

He invited you for some afternoon tea at the castle as thanks for lending him a hand in his duties the other day. Though there were some other matters around the castle that Barbatos needed to attend to, he asked for you to stay put first and help yourself to some of the treats he had prepared beforehand. 

You always admired the intricate designs of the tea set Barbatos always prepared whenever you came over. Since you’re a bit bored, you took out your sketchbook and decided to draw the fancy little tea cups while you wait for Barbatos to come back. 

The tea sets that Barbatos prepares always have beautiful pattern designs that range from dainty floral prints up to sets that look more expensive than the Mammon’s weekly bills due to how much the patterns are embedded in gold. If you look closely, you could probably spot little devils on it and it’s cute in its own way.

Little did you know he’s been actually observing you for a while now. He finished his last minute duties rather quickly since it would be rude to keep a guest waiting and that’s when he spots you keeping yourself busy by drawing, your glance going from the tea set to the paper. He wanted to admire that look you have whenever you concentrate for a little bit.

He lets out a small chuckle which gets your attention, a gentle smile on his face as he approaches you. “You’re quite the talented one, aren’t you?” Barbatos says as he takes a seat next to you, glancing at your sketchpad. “Maybe you can tell me more about your work while we enjoy some tea together?” 

Barbatos wouldn’t push for you to show anything, but he’ll be happy once you do. He’s impressed at how well you can make patterns that range from something simple to ones that have intricate details. He likes how you can make a portrait of the tea sets he’s been preparing, and secretly he grabs his finest sets to see if you’ll be inspired enough to draw it as well the next time you visit. Maybe he can also pull some strings to put your own pattern designs onto an actual tea cup and serve it to you next time. 

Simeon 

Sometimes you go to Purgatory Halls to get away from all the constant nagging and chaos of the demon brothers. It’s nice to find that peace and quiet you needed to do your daily tasks or just laze around since you felt like it.

Simeon lets you stay in his room for today while he tries to focus on writing for his novel. He plans on introducing a new character soon and since he trusts you, he starts talking about the character itself. How they compose themselves, what they’re like, the possible role they’ll play in the story, you get all these details before the chapter is even written.

Once he’s done talking he lets you get back to whatever you were doing while he continues trying to figure out how to write the next few parts. Though he soon hears the sound of scribbling pens and wondered if you were doing some homework? He could’ve sworn you were done with those already.

He turns around and to his astonishment, you were sketching the character he was just discussing with you earlier. Given his detailed accounts of the character, you were able to design it well. It’s an understatement to say Simeon is happy. He is ecstatic. You brought this character to life in just a matter of minutes all for him, and that brings Simeon more ideas on how to proceed with writing. 

“You never told me you actually knew how to draw. Your talent at visualizing is exceptional.” Simeon would listen carefully while you talk about your journey to the arts and how you honed your talents while he looks through your other works. Afterwards, he starts to praise your art like a professional critique, telling you what he loves in each work.

His heart skips a beat whenever he finds your old works that’s dedicated to his novels. Learning that you’re also talented with the pen like he is, just in a different element, makes him feel a little bit closer to you. If you’re not busy, he may ask for your help when it comes to visualizing something he’s having a hard time with. He’ll treat you to something nice as thanks!

Solomon

Being Solomon’s apprentice means that there are times he’ll require you to assist him with his research. There’s a few spells and potions that he wants to work on, though they all require a lot of preparation work. You both agreed on doing a bit of divide and conquer on those tasks so that it won’t be too time consuming to finish. 

You managed to do a lot of chores for him which is quite tiring, though Solomon is grateful for your efforts and he has one last request from you which he said is essential to the potion he’s making. There’s a delicate Devildom flora that Solomon harvested recently, and you have to make sure the flower stays fresh because it can wither very quickly if not taken care of and the potion would fail if that happens. He’ll take it off your hands once he’s done preparing everything else.

Normally, one would’ve kept it in a vase full of water and called it a day. Though you decided to not only put it in a vase, but draw up a summoning circle that would keep it fresh. It’s something that you learned from Solomon’s notes, and the sorcerer is astonished you drew the circle so accurately enough to work on your first try when he came to check up on you. 

“Now how did my little apprentice actually manage that so quickly? That would’ve taken me several tries to get the patterns done.” Solomon says with an amused smirk, staring at the circle in awe. Getting one line wrong would’ve instantly killed the flower but right now, he sees that not only is it very much alive but it looks more vibrant than ever. The magic is more potent, Solomon is sure that any potion he makes with its petals would be very effective.

While he was waiting for the potion to boil over in the cauldron, he decided to learn more about this hidden talent of yours. He makes you draw some summoning circles from one of his books, already starting out on the difficult types to draw. All of it is perfect somehow since you’ve had a history of drawing, so your hand is quite steady and you act like it’s no big deal. Solomon will definitely want to see your works in the future.

“A lot of sorcerers can cast magic, but not everyone has the talent to make summoning circles as quickly and accurately as you do.” That’s big praise coming from humanity’s strongest sorcerer. Though that means he’ll want to exploit that talent and call you over every time he needs it in his experiments, it’s a win for him either way because he gets to spend more time with you. 

Luke 

There’s a new event in Devildom where the angels and you were teamed up to open a stall that’s focused on selling sweets and pastries. Luke appreciates your input when it comes to taste testing his sweets since none of the demon brothers are able to give proper critiques like you can, Simeon tends to be a little too nice to Luke, and Solomon is never allowed near the kitchen. Ever. 

Your company is always welcomed and Luke would gladly add any of the sweets you recommended onto the menu. You always come back to the House of Lamentation with a bag full of samples you both baked that day, which always brings a smile to the brother’s face. 

You come back to Purgatory Hall only to find Luke seemingly having a dilemma. He reassures you that it’s not because of the batch of sweets and pastries since you helped him perfect the menu. It’s the fact he needs to make a logo and design for the stall. If it can’t attract any customers then all the effort you both put into baking this would go to waste. 

You sat down with Luke to brainstorm with him, watching the angel stare blankly at the paper with frustration while you ask him for what ideas he’s already had so far. Luke had to go back to the kitchen to pipe some frosting on the cupcakes, though by the time he came back you were already done with the sketch.

Luke is awed at the design, seeing as how you incorporated both his and your idea for the stall in a way that still blends well together. “Y-you’re incredible! How’d you do that so fast though? You know what, let’s show Simeon first!” If Luke had a tail, it would be wagging from sheer joy. He’d be so excited to get the decorations and paint for the stall that he almost forgot about the cupcakes in the oven. 

By the time the stall is finished and running, Luke would definitely flaunt your talent not just for helping him bake but for also designing the stall. “You like the design? They did that!” He would say with an excited grin on his face before pointing at you. Luke enjoys working with you that you both barely notice the brothers getting jealous over the amount of time the angel gets to spend with their human. 

[v3nusxsky]

You're accepting request?

Could I request for a platonic Lady Lesso x Never!reader where the reader has a nightmare and Lady Lesso finds out the reader has an abusive family, please? 🥺❤️

I love that you write about sensitive topics and it brings me so much comfort and it just warms my heart.

xoxo,

🫐💋

Hello my darling, Yes I am accepting requests I love hearing from you all so much. And I absolutely adore this idea so I ran straight to writing it for you. I’m glad you enjoy my work I tend to write from experience and if that sheds light on some rough subjects then that’s a bonus. I hope this fic finds you well Anon🫐💋

They still haunt me

*Authors note~ my requests are open guys :) Having a horrid day today so writing this is really soothing my soul to write. I hope that these fics are helping you all as much as me doves*

Trigger warning~ abusive family? Nightmares

Prompt~ see the ask :)

Most people would be distraught at being taken from their own bed and taken to an unknown destination. But you couldn't be happier to leave. Admittedly you didn't know where you were going or why. But did that really matter? You wouldn't be with them and that's all you could focus on. An escape. Your wish finally being heard by the gods above. You should be terrified. But you're not.

When you were finally dropped by the creature you couldn't help but be amazed. This was something from that of the books that you read. Apart from the books didn't give it the justice it truly deserves. One building stood in all its beauty. Light colours with flowers that had bloomed adding intricate patterns on the bricks. To its side stood an onyx replica of the first building. Instead of flowers, vines sprouted there. The two buildings joined by a beautiful bridge. This was most definitely a place of beauty but not one without shades of grey. You were dropped into freezing water outside the onyx building. You began to tread water watching as others were dropped in alongside you. They all seemed ecstatic to be here and that sort of eased your mind a little. It can't be bad if they want to be here right?

Dragging yourself from the water you made your way inside, instantly a tall red head with a stunning cane caught your eye. She seems to alluded a certain confidence which indicated she was the person in change of wherever you were. Timidly you approached her and realised you were right. She was most definitely in charge here. A simple bang of her can and everyone scrambled to find a place in front of her. You being the only one who froze in your spot. You listened as she explained the rules of her school. The dean of evil, lady lesso and also the teacher of curses and death traps. This women was clearly very powerful and well respected here. You made sure to make a note of that, don't piss her off. You quickly found your schedule and dorm room before she pulled you aside.

"Reader" her tone demanded your attention. Reader? "Y-yes?" You stuttered trying to keep eye contact so she wouldn't perceive you as rude. "How are you finding this? I do hope you were paying attention to the rules I will not be explaining them again. Comply or don't, that's up to you. But the doom room will always be there" she stated with a mischievous glint in her eyes. The Doom room? That sounded like the exact place you wanted to avoid. You quickly found a way to scuttle off and avoid any more conversations with anyone else.

You were then all shoved in a hall, you noticed the other side was girls in puffy dresses and boys with swords. Immediately you were glad you didn't have to be subjected to that. The dresses were far to revealing for you personally to wear. The gathering was short but direct. And you were starting to learn that the two sides wouldn't get along. One of good and the other evil. But why wasn't there a middle ground? What if you didn't fit into either of those sides? What would happen to you then? It wasn't worth thinking about. You decided then and there you'd keep your head down and make the most of this opportunity you'd been so graciously gifted.

So much change really was taking it's toll on your body. The stress of a arriving at the school, reliving some of the harsher punishments you received when hearing talks of the Doom room and even dealing with the purple and blue bruises that littered your skin. Adjusting was something you were finding rather difficult if your honest. You were doing extremely well with classes, spending hours sat at your desk, eyes scanning every page of every book you could possibly find. After all you knew you were at a disadvantage not being from this world. A reader as they call you. So you made sure to always put your best foot forward. Always fearing the day where you mess up and receive the correction at the hand of the dean.

The only thing you noticed you lacked here was friendship. It dose sadden you to know that but at the same time it's a relief to not have to come up with lies to cover the truth. You didn't have to spend extra energy covering the internal scarring your family left. This was the safer option despite how lonely it was. This is how you found yourself once again in the small library at the top of the Never building. It was late in the evening and you were attempting to get ahead in your curses and death trap course work when exhaustion took over and you drifted into an uneasy slumber.

That was how you were found two hours lady by the dean herself. She had the torture of patrolling tonight. It was a a tedious task but absolutely necessary, after all the last thing Lesso needs is Dovey reprimanding her on the unruly behaviour of her school. So far tonight's patrol had been dull, the Never's all seemingly behaving, until she heard muttering coming from the top library. As far as she knew none of the students were aware of this library, as it wasn't the main more central one, so it was a complete shock to hear any form of noise from here. It was only natural that she would investigate and when she did the sight that greeted her broke her cold darkened heart.

You had hunched over the desk, head resting on the desk and hands gripping at your sides. You were almost clawing at the skin that was now exposed due to your restless slumber. You had tears flowing down your cheeks, dripping onto the pages of the book below your head, soaking the pages ad you cried out. "Please! No! Stop! Ow! What did I do! I wasn't even that bad!" You seemed to be screaming at someone. In your sleep your body seemingly reacting to a threat that was no longer there. Whatever you were seeing had occurred before that much was clear. Only then did Lesso spot the bruising that was on show.

Putting two and two together wasn't hard, your shyness on day one, the self imposed isolation, trying to follow every rule impeccably and even the way you flinched when other Never's described the Doom room events. It all made too much sense now and Lesso was silently kicking herself for not noticing this sooner. She prides herself on her observation skills so this was an unusual. As Lesso planned her approach you cried out once more, a heart shattering whimper of clear pain. It seemed to echo around the library walls bouncing off them and crashing into Lesso. Whoever had hurt you had hurt you impeccably well.

You shot up, chest heaving and choking on your own sobs as you gasped for breath. You attempted to blink away the remainder of the dream that was playing behind your fuzzy eyes. Due to the state of you, you haven't even noticed the extra presence in the room, even if her eyes were observing every little detail. "Little one?" She almost cooed out, the tone being one you'd expect from the dean of good not Lesso. The words seemingly wrapping around you like a blanket, pulling you back to the present. Only then did you catch a glimpse of the older women and your brain threw you into a panic attack. You were so going to be punished for the display of weakness.

Immediately you made your way to the darkest corner of the room and curled into yourself. Lesso watched in shock not understanding the reaction but not wishing to make it any worse for you. Carefully she stalked forwards hands up in a mock surrender before she knelt in front of you. Your eyes were unfocused and your breathing dangerously out of rhythm. You looked like a terrified child. It was truly a heartbreaking sight. "Little one? It's Lesso, you need to breathe. Can you breathe for me?" She hummed were a comforting tone you didn't know she was capable of mustering. You attempted to breathe as she had asked but every gasp of air was burning your lungs. Sobs now wrecking through you at the pain and knowing you were failing a simple task. "Can I touch you y/n?" She whispered not wishing to spook you in which you nodded and allowed her to gather you in her embrace. Immediately she slowed her breathing to a relaxing rhythm impressed with how quickly you tried to copy it. Praise was flowing from the elder women and effectively aiding in calming you down. You weren't registering the pain of the elder women holding you due to the bruising. Only when you were calm enough did you shrink away from her, the pain now radiating through your body.

"Y/n? What is happening little one?" She murmured not really expecting a reply from you but seeming the fear in your eyes she could come to a good conclusion. "What's the bruising from little one?" Her words causing you to visibly stiffen. "My family" you mumbled through your sobs. It hurt to admit this, despite the truth behind the words. These people were blood, all you had ever known, how could they be the issue when they all shared one common theme. Hating you.  Nodding in an understanding Lesso opened her arms in a silent offer for a hug, you took it instantly overwhelmed and exhausted. Lesso held you tightly but being mindful of the bruising "you're safe my darling, they won't hurt you again I'll make sure of it little one." She reassured rocking you ever so slightly watching as you seemed to snuggle more securely into her warmth. Here in the moment you truly resembled that of a small scared child. It was here that you finally drifted off into a restful slumber, lesso allowed you to stay in her embrace until she was sure you were completely out of this world. Then she simply carried you to your dorm and tucked you in. Before leaving she turned your lamp on and left a simple note on your desk. The note read "dearest y/n come and find me in the morning I wish to speak with you about what you've been going through and find a way to support you, just know you're not alone and won't ever be alone again. You are safe here little one. You're safe with me. Lady lesso"

Word count 1899

*Authors note~ This one was a tough one to write I hope I did it some justice I love hearing from you all feel free to request anything:)*

[wylanvnneck]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write the angst prompt number 1 with jurdan??🥰

Angst Prompt #1: “The worst part is you didn’t even notice.”

Fandom: TFOTA

Ship: Jurdan

Masterlist | Prompt List

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High pitched giggles peal through the air and the noise makes the 21 year old Cardan Greenbriar wince. He’d been away from his hometown of Elfhame for 2 years now, having happily left it and his controlling family behind after graduation to go live in his dorm room back at Insmire University with his crazy roommates. Yet here he was, back again for a week-long visit in honour of his old friend Locke’s engagement.

He and Locke had never been all that close to begin with, but he had been his oldest friend, and it did seem like a good idea to come back for a bit and see how much things had changed in the years since he’d be gone, which didn’t seem to be all that much. 

Locke was still the same fox-faced wastrel that he had been, except that he was now engaged and the other member of their old gang, Valerian was still as snarky as usual, a perpetual sneer on his face whenever someone attempted to speak to him. Seated at a round outdoors table surrounded by his High School acquaintances, Cardan feels nothing but boredom.

He grips the neck of his wine glass even tighter when he sees the source of the giggling emerge from Locke’s house where his engagement party was being hosted. Taryn Duarte the Bride to Be and her posse of friends strut out into the garden from the inside of the house where they’d been gathered together doing goodness knows what for the past half hour. A glimpse of blue hair catches his eye and he recognises it as belonging to a girl named Nicasia that he used to be friends with back in High School, a million years ago.

Taryn’s six inch heels click against the asphalt of the garden path and the sight of her familiar icy brown eyes and dark hair brings up a volley of almost forgotten feelings within him. Not feelings for the rather cold female before him, but for who she reminded him of. Her twin.

Involuntarily he finds himself scanning the group of women for any sign of Taryn’s sister before coming up short and then chastising himself for looking in the first place. Jude belonged in the past where he had buried her. He takes another sip of the red wine in his hand before shifting his attention back to the conversations happening at his table, a politely unimpressed looking Garrett talked in low tones with his friend Van, both of them engrossed in whatever they were discussing, and a slightly inebriated Valerian was attempting to flirt with the disgusted woman seated next to him. 

Resisting the urge to let out a growl he downs the contents of his glass in one go before standing up to re-enter the house and get a refill, needing some kind of distraction.

He’s just finished pouring some more Merlot into his glass from the otherwise empty bar table when a rustling sound travels from somewhere nearby. He glances up at the staircase by the other end of the room, catching sight of a silky white fabric and dark brown hair before whoever it was disappears from view. Stange, he’d thought all of the other guests were outside. Setting his glass down on the table he climbs up the stairs, curiosity getting the better of him. 

Having reached the landing he searches for any sign of where the person might have gone, walking a little further down the hallway on the left before seeing the big French windows leading out to the balcony flung open, the cool night air drifting in.

Cautiously, he approaches, his body going on high alert when he notices who it is that’s standing out on the balcony, hands loosely clutching the metal rails and face turned up towards the starlit sky. Her chestnut hair is tied in an intricate braid hanging down her back and she’s wearing a slim fitting black top and flowy white pants which sway gently around her legs and she looks even more gorgeous than she had in their High School days. He takes a moment to catch his breath before slowly trudging forwards to join her.

She turns when she hears footsteps approaching, a slight frown marring her expression before she recognises him and it clears. Her gaze is as disarming as it used to be.

"Shit, man, don't just sneak up on people like that," a corner of her lip quirks.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, "Oops, sorry."

“I didn’t know you were coming.” He catches the questioning lilt in her statement.

“It was a last minute kind of thing, I wasn’t sure if I’d be coming either, until yesterday.”

She nods and he positions himself next to her but at a safe distance, one hand coming to rest carelessly on the balcony rail next to hers.

He watches her let out a soft whoosh of breath, looking down at the garden where people were now dancing to the music that had started playing on the expensive speaker set under the bright fairy lights. There’s laughter and cigarette smoke wafting upwards, but from their little spot up above, everything seemed to be much farther away than it really was. 

Eventually, he breaks the silence. “So, Taryn and Locke, huh?”

“Yep.” She replies. The look on her face is one he can’t quite decipher.

He clears his throat and speaks in a tight voice. “Are you...upset by that? I know you and Locke used to be close.” 

He recalls the rumour that used to fly around during their senior year, people whispering about Jude and Locke having a thing. He also remembers the sharp pain that he’d felt when he’d heard that Locke had asked Jude to be his date to their Senior prom and that she’d accepted. Cardan vaguely remembers asking Nicasia to be his date to that very same prom, but the only thing that comes to mind when he thinks about that night is the haze of jealousy that had clouded his mind when he’d seen Locke twirling a grinning Jude around the dance floor.

“Me and Locke? God no. He was just a friend. Although, I think even that was only because he kept showing up and trying to talk to me in Senior Year for no apparent reason.” 

Cardan feels a surprisingly strong sense of relief wash over him at the fact that Jude was never interested in Locke that way, before his eyebrows knit together a moment later. He’d drunkenly confessed his ginormous crush on Jude to Locke at the start of their senior year, and immediately regretted it the next day. It wouldn’t surprise him if Locke had been cozying up to Jude simply to get on his nerves. It definitely seemed like something the manipulative scoundrel would do.

Not that it mattered anymore. Years had passed and he’d probably lost his chance. If he’d ever had the chance in the first place.

“I heard you’ve been off at uni all this time. Insmire, huh?” Her words are light but he’s slightly astonished that she’d been keeping track of where he’d been for the past few years. 

“Yeah, it was the break I needed.”

“What are you studying?”

“My dad wanted me to do Business for when I inherit his company, but I’m also doing a course on Classical and Ancient Languages, purely because I wanted to.”

“That’s great, Cardan.” Her sincerity is clear. “I remember how controlling your dad was. It’s great that you’re finally getting to be your own person.”

He’s sure that his astonishment at her words is blatantly obvious because a barely detectable flush travels up her neck and she averts her gaze. Not only had Jude Duarte been keeping track of where he’d been, she’d also noticed his strained relationship with his father all those years ago. A thrill rises up inside of him.

“Thank you.” He pauses. “So what have you been up to these days?” he asks, like he hasn’t been checking her social media pages at least once every few months, unwittingly grinning whenever he came across one of her rare posts with her and her few friends hanging out together outside of her own University in Nightfell. 

“Oh, same as you actually, getting a taste of independence at Uni. Doing a course on Criminal Justice.”

“That sounds amazing. Tell me all about it.”

And she does, her eyes lighting up as she talks about a subject that she enjoys studying and half of his attention is taken up by what she’s saying and the other half is just focused on her, on the way the moon illuminates one half of her and how the breeze is playing with a few loose strands of her hair and the way her mouth is moving whilst she speaks. They chat for what feels like ages before the conversation eventually flows to a comfortable halt and they hear the clanging of plates and glasses below as the other guests start on dinner, and he knows they’ll have to leave this place of idyll at some point.

He hates that. That they’re on borrowed time and that they were separated by too many years and very separate lives for their situation to be anything different now. And yet, he needs to tell her, to let her know, even if it can’t change anything.

“You know, back in High School I used to daydream about this. You and I, just talking.” He knows that the tips of his ears are probably flaming red, just like the rest of his head, but he forces himself not to look down and to keep meeting her stare. Her eyes widen when she registers what he’d said.

“I-What?” Her shock is apparent.

He breaks eye contact with her, withdrawing his hand from the spot next to hers on the rail, the disappointment coursing through him undeniable. He’d known that she’d never noticed him, but it still hurt to see the bafflement in her reaction.  

“I had a crush on you for ages, pathetic pining and all, and the worst part is you didn’t even notice.”

She flounders, mouth slightly agape, for once not having a response and the smile that curls his lips is one without mirth.

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you Jude,” he grits out, swiftly turning in an attempt to flee with what was left of his dignity.

He’d made it to the top of the staircase before hearing her voice calling after him. 

“Cardan! Cardan wait, goddammit.”

Reluctantly, he stops, bracing himself for the awkwardness of the next few minutes. She’d look at him with pity, explain to him that she wasn’t interested, or maybe that she had someone else. That last thought lances through him like a punch to the gut. During his self-indulgent social media searches he had never seen any posts that indicated that there was someone special in her life, but that didn’t necessarily mean that there wasn’t anyone. After all, Jude Duarte was a special type of woman, the type of woman that you fought for.

Too bad that he’d figured that out too late.

The sound of her boots clacking on the floor gets closer and closer and he turns around just in time for her to throw her arms around his neck and drag his head down to connect their lips, their noses bumping together in the process. Time stops, and his every High School fantasy comes true when he feels her tangle her tongue with his and it’s a little sloppy at first, especially since she had caught him off guard, but they find their rhythm and flames lick through his entire being. Frantically, he grabs a hold of her waist and pushes her until she’s against the wall, her fingers coming up to tangle in his locks as he strokes her sides.

She pulls away to breathe and they’re both panting harshly as if they had run a marathon. 

“I had a crush on you too. I hated it and I tried to fight it because you used to pick on me in middle school.” 

Had he? It was so long ago that he really couldn’t remember, but he also knew that he was precisely the type of person who’d want to hurt the girl that got under his skin.

“Really?” He grins ruefully.

“Yes, really.” She reaches up and playfully smacks the back of his head before carding her fingers through his hair in the same spot to soothe it.

‘Well, my middle school self humbly begs for your forgiveness.” He leans forward and presses their foreheads together, locking his gaze with hers.

“Apology accepted.”

And then they’re kissing once more. He may not have been prepared for a moment like this, but he was sure as hell going to hold on to it and never let go.

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

Some soft boi Cardan for you lovely peeps. I hope you see this and that you enjoy, Anon. Thanks for the ask!

Tagging: @cupcakesandkittens , @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln, @thewickedkings , @kittkatandbooboo , @min-unicorn, @fangirlprincess09, @thefolkofthefic

Let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off of the tag list🌻

[secondhand-trash]

Hearts to Give

[Requested]

A/N: Cadence back at it again with, you guessed it, even more Shisnou! Thank you anon for this request! I’m not sure if I like the way this turns out but I hope that I did your request justice qwq

Pairing: Shinsou HItoshi x reader

Description: He had no idea that it was you who put paper heart on his desk every day but it was fine, you’ve got plenty of hearts to give anyways.

Word count: 2251

Playlist:

Saw You in a Dream//The Japanese House

I Dare You//The Regrettes

If I Could Tell Her//Dear Evan Hansen

-

You poured your heart and soul into every piece of origami you had ever made.

Perhaps you were linked to this special form of art the moment you first experienced your quirk that you jokingly equalized to a controlled form of a blister. You always felt the most at ease when you were on your own, allowing your hands to follow their instincts and feel what the paper was speaking to you. It had become second nature for you, you did not even have to look at what you were doing in order to fold neat lines or make intricate details on the tiny piece of squared paper.

You were the most honest when you were left to your own device with your stack of paper, whatever on your mind flowing out and transmitted into the world you created for yourself with paper.

When you realised that your recent creations all took the same pattern, there was already a pile of paper hearts pushed to the back of your drawer and you immediately knew who you were thinking of when your hands acted on their own, forcing you to stare at your feelings in its face.

There wasn’t a big moment or a specific event that took place for you to have this not-so-subtle crush on Shinsou Hitoshi, your classmate that you had barely ever talked to. It developed rather naturally, starting off as nothing but small glances at the door whenever the door was opened to show the purple mess of a mop at sharply 14 minutes before class starts every morning to your own wondering thoughts of what he was thinking of when he stared outside the window like it was just him in his own world. There was no reason for it, but you guessed that’s what crushes were supposed to be, unexplained and unexpected. Before you even figured out what that giddy feeling in your chest was whenever he spared a little more than a glance at your direction was, the boy who fought his way through the crowd in the sports tournament was all that occupied your mind.

You started making nothing but paper hearts after a while.

Your very few friends who knew the reason behind your little habit often ask you why you didn’t let it be known that all those paper hearts were made with a certain purple-haired insomniac in mind. You would only smile and shake your head when they pester you, staying silent as you press yet another fold on the thin piece of paper.

He was never supposed to know, because those weren’t for him. The hearts were for you, you and all the feelings that were bubbling inside of you that you had to let out one way or another or else you were sure you would combust.

You felt messed up at your feet at how your heart beat faster whenever his name was mentioned even in a conversation you were not involved in. the heat on your face would not die down no matter how hard you try whenever he did so little as acknowledge your presence with actions so minor like looking at your direction when you got called on in class to answer a question, immediately turning you into a stuttering mess even when you knew that answer by heart before sensing his lazy gaze on you.

Let’s be real, it was probably and very likely nothing for him. You doubted that he even think much about your existence as anything other than someone he happened to be in the same class with. But to you, those rare moments of indirect contact filled your mind with unrealistic thoughts that you tried so hard to push away but only carved into your head in the process.

He was all you could think of but you would never pop up in his mind, and you were okay with it. This little crush, along with all those paper hearts that was threatening to spill out from your drawer, were all for you to keep.

Perhaps it was the love-sick hormones in your brain making you hyper attentive and pick up on the smallest of details, but you noticed that Shinsou looked very tired recently.

Not to say that he didn’t look tired previously because he most certainly did but it got worst for the past few days. He was always slumping over his desk during lectures and there were times when you saw him almost falling asleep only to snap out of it after his upper body lost balance.

Yes, you were looking at him when you thought no one was looking during class but that was a topic for later because right now, you were concerned about the well-being of this person who look like he might slid off of his seat at any given moment.

He was working himself to the extreme. You didn’t even need to know of those training sessions he was having that people were talking about to know that he was pushing his own limits both physically and mentally, maybe a bit too much. What you felt towards him was nothing more than a school girl crush but on a deeper level, you truly admire him for putting so much effort into fighting for a chance.

“Haven’t you heard? That kid with the brainwash quirk might actually transfer to the hero course next term!”

You hated yourself for perking up instantly when you overheard the chatter from across the room when the subject of discussion himself was still lying on his desk with his eyes closed. He wasn’t asleep, you had come to notice that his shoulders were ridiculously tensed up whenever he was trying to catch rest during classes but could not manage to fall asleep and right now, his arms were arched in an angle that was sure not to be comfortable enough to sleep in.

You wanted to smack yourself from noticing these small details. Christ, you even remembered onto the way he sleeps. Could you have been even more of a creep? You thought to yourself as you tried to snap out of your thoughts when the mocking voice from afar made your blood run cold.

“What? Really? Him?” the person snickered as their friend nodded, “I guess they’re just trying to pull all safety measures to stop him from going to the other side, huh.”

Hearing that made your blood coil and you had to remind yourself that you weren’t supposed to get aggravated by something people say about a classmate who barely talked to you. You clenched your jaw at the twisting in your stomach.

Glancing towards where Shinsou was sitting at, he did not seem to be too bothered by it. To anyone else, he was asleep but you knew that he heard it when one of his fingers that was tugged under his arms twitched and he buried his head just a little deeper inside.

He always seemed to be alone. Was he used to people talking behind his back like this? Perhaps it was better than getting snickered at in the face. Your heart sank at the prospect of all the harsh words he must have heard growing up, having the scabs on his mind peeled open again and again until it went numb.

You stared at the tiny heart that was just finished in your hand. You never want anyone to know about the way you feel, ever, especially not by Shinsou but you would hate it for him to think that he was all alone even more. “It’s just a heart,” you thought to yourself, “no one would know.”

You did not miss the way his brows quirked up when he saw the little heart on his desk the next day. He looked indifferent, you forced yourself to look away to prevent yourself from the inevitable heartbreak at any hint of annoyance. To your surprise, a small smile crept onto his face after the initial puzzled look faded away as he tugged it into his bag.

You put a paper heart on his desk each morning when no one else was in the classroom every day without fail and there wasn’t a time when warmth didn’t rush through your body when you saw him keeping each one of them.

“Why don’t you just, I don’t know, tell him that it’s you?” your friend asked, holding their face in their palms while they leaned on their elbow.

You tugged the last flap in place and sighed as you threw the heart into the stash that was piling up in your room. “Why am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, I’ve never talked to you but I gave you all those hearts. Also, I like you a lot.’?”

“Yeah?” you friend snorted and sat back.

You rolled your eyes and ignored them. In all honesty, confessing was never something that you ever thought of doing. What would you do after you confess? You would much rather just admire him from afar.

It’s easier that way, he never need to know that it was you and you never had to deal with the burden that was your feelings.

“Hey.”

You jumped when you heard the voice that rang in your ear all of a sudden. You were going about with your own business as usual, packing your things so that you could go back to the dorms and rest after a long day.

The last thing you expected was for the person you had been crushing on and sending anonymous love notes to to approach you for the first time ever.

All words were caught in your throat and your mind was running in high speed. What is this? Why is he talking to you? Why does his eyes look so pretty up close?

“You’re the one who’s been giving me the origami hearts, right?”

You froze in horror, the tip of your ears turned numb from all the heat that was rushed up and you couldn’t react. He was holding the one you gave him that morning in hand, a tiny heart that was made with lilac paper that you picked up at the store earlier this week. The familiar colour caught your eye immediately.

“Your friend told me that it’s you.”

Traitor.

His gaze was as if it could look through you and pierce into your soul. Should you admit it? It’s not like there’s anywhere for you to hide.

“Yeah.” You managed to force a single syllable out from your tongue that was twisted together. Great, now he knew, then what?

“Oh,” he rubbed the back of his neck and said, looking away from you, “I don’t really get why you did that but... thanks. I appreciate it, I really do.”

You nodded in response and he also returned the nod. The two of you just stood there and said nothing, it was the most awkward thing you had ever been through and you were dying to just crawl into a hole.

“You friend also said something about you having a crush on me but I’m sure they made a mistake...” He tried to chuckle in an attempt to make it slightly more bearable for the both of you but it only made things worse because how were you supposed to say anything to that?

“I didn’t do it to get anything.” You blurted out. It was too much, too painful and you’d rather get it done and over with then to have it last any longer. You already brought enough embarrassment to yourself in one day, might as well lay everything out in the clear.

“I’m not trying to get a date- well, I do but that is not what I did that for. I guess I did it so you’ll know that someone out there thinks you’re pretty great.” you sucked in a breath as the air in your lungs slowly ran out from your rambling, “I... I think you’re pretty great, and I want you to know. That’s all.”

You felt empty inside after all that you had hidden for so long was finally let out and your face was still burning. Couldn’t stand it any longer, you stood up abruptly and sprinted for the door.

You nearly tripped when you heard Shinsou called after you.

“Would you want one?” he paused before adding, “A date.”

Your mind went blank as you processed what he just said to you. Your crush, you damn crush who had you overthinking at night and picking up on his every action like some sort of fool just indirectly asked you on a date, which was too much for your fried brain to handle.

You still haven’t come back to your senses when he stuffed something in your hand and quickly walked away. Finally gaining your ability to think straight once again, you looked at your palm to see a really roughly folded heart. The lines were not smooth and the paper looked like it had been bunched up many times, you unfold it to find a string of messily written numbers on it.

You stood by what you said, all those hearts you made were for you, not for him and you didn’t give them away wanting anything in return. But it didn’t hurt to get something back, not when it was a heart from someone you really, really liked.

[bluewatsons]

Anna Dorn, Why Are Women Obsessed with True Crime?, The Hairpin (May 2, 2017)

There are TV shows, podcasts, and now entire channels dedicated to female-focused murders—is it one big revenge fantasy?

During the season finale of Bravo’s “Vanderpump Rules,” Queen Bee Stassi Schroeder confronts Cool Girl Ariana Madix about why Ariana doesn’t like her (Stassi’s opener: “Why don’t you ever put me in your snapchats?”) The girls are beyond drunk, and Ariana responds by crying about her upcoming cocktail book. Stassi is thrilled to see Ariana vulnerable and comforts her, which Ariana appreciates. Beginning to show a soft side toward Stassi, Ariana says during a conciliatory cheers: “And don’t say I’m mean. I’m not mean. I’ll fucking kill you.”

Stassi takes a greedy sip of her beer, lighting up: “How would you do it?”

Ariana responds, “Well, it would be slow.” Stassi chuckles, delighted. “Because if I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna make it hurt.”

“Well maybe we have more in common than we think,” Stassi says, “because I like the thought of murdering people too.”

“I mean, if we couldn’t go to jail — ” Ariana begins.

“ — Hashtag murder,” Stassi interrupts. “For life. But like the number — ”

Now the women are speaking simultaneously, outlining the hashtag with their fingers: “4-L-Y-F-E.”

Stassi goes, “are we the same person?” The girls break out into wild laughter.

From self-proclaimed addictions to “Law & Order” and “My Favorite Murder,” to bizarre drunken reality TV power plays, it seems women are obsessed with murder. Or at least the idea of it. I’m a criminal defense attorney who has worked on murder cases, and I fully understand the tendency toward dark humor when dealing with traumatic subject matter: it’s sometimes necessary to stay sane. But it’s always struck me as odd the way women flippantly and delightedly confess an obsession with murder, as though revealing a salacious sexual fetish. And when Stassi and Ariana simultaneously uttered “#Murder4Lyfe,” I knew I needed to figure out what the hell was going on.

A 2010 study published by Social Psychological and Personality Science found that higher numbers of women are fans of true crime than men. Accordingly, crime fiction shows like “Law & Order: SVU,” “CSI,” and “Bones,” all boast a majority of women viewers. (Hell, Taylor Swift even named her cat Olivia Benson after “Law & Order”’s protagonist, and then went on to cast the actress Mariska Hartigay in her “Bad Blood” video.) Investigation Discovery (ID), a network that features documentary-style true crime shows mostly of a violent nature, is one of women’s most-watched cable networks on television. The female-focused Oxygen Network recently rebranded to focus on true-crime programming in order to remain competitive, phasing out shows like “Bad Girls Club” in favor of weekly podcasts like “Martinis and Murder.” The podcast “My Favorite Murder,” which is hosted by two women, hit the number 1 spot on the iTunes comedy list just five months after launching in the beginning of 2016.

A recent Atlantic article attributed women’s interest in “My Favorite Murder” and similar media to the “shadow hypothesis,” or the idea that the fear of sexual assault pervades women’s thinking and makes us more fearful generally. While it is unlikely that we or someone we know will be murdered by a stranger, it very likely we or someone we know has been or will be subjected to sexual violence from an intimate partner. Francine Prose wrote that beneath the “frothy, sexy” exterior of HBO’s recent hit “Big Little Lies,” the show conveys “a message about the prevalence of overt and hidden violence against women.” And even if we aren’t subjected to explicit violence, scholar Andrea Dworkin wrote that “penetrative intercourse is, by its nature, violent;” Catherine MacKinnon argued that it is “difficult to distinguish” rape from ordinary intercourse “under conditions of male dominance.”

One theory for the popularity of these shows among women is that after years of social conditioning to be agreeable and passive in the face of constant aggressions from the men they know, watching unfamiliar male perpetrators swiftly and harshly punished by the criminal justice system is a compelling narrative. Furthermore, women can position themselves as the aggressors (in a fictional world where they can “get away with it”) — a la Stassi and Ariana — for the same reason: a revenge fantasy or a sort of inverse Freudian sublimation of the threat.

The Atlantic article declared that women are drawn to these shows and podcasts as a way to ease our anxiety and to prepare us for real-life threats. In 2015, Julianne Escobedo Shepard chronicled her own ID addiction for Jezebel, describing a summer in which she watched the network “in what was almost a state of hypnosis.” As she “became more enthralled,” the “anxiety kicked in” — her dreams became filled with “vague threats in dark shrouds,” her days spent latching locks, “convinced that it was my fate to die horribly at the hands of an evil stranger with a violent past.” The words felt familiar as I read them, as I recall a similar summer — one in which I spent my days with my childhood best friend and true crime addict. Together, we would watch Dateline, 48 Hours, SVU for full days while nibbling dry cereal under blankets on the couch.

I thought the habit was harmless. In fact, I felt closer to my friend. Then one night I left her house to get sushi and became convinced someone in the restaurant was hatching a plan to kill me. My brain concocted an intricate plot, compelling me to wait in the bathroom until I could see his car leave through a crack in the window. I had developed true crime anxiety and, like Escobedo Shepard, I realized it was time to take it “down a notch.” But without the binge-watching, I no longer wanted to watch these shows at all. The obsession was part of the fun.

Psychology Today declared that from a neurological perspective, true crime narratives can be addictive to viewers:

People [] receive a jolt of adrenaline as a reward for witnessing the terrible deeds of a serial killer. Adrenaline is a hormone that produces a powerful, stimulating and even addictive effect on the human brain[….] The euphoric effect of serial killers on human emotions is similar to that of roller coasters or natural disasters.

Escobedo Shepard spoke to a fellow ID Addict from Florida, who admitted to watching the network “all day every day.” She explained the shows keep her “on her guard — especially being a single woman, it keeps me more aware to know what to watch out for.” Anna Breslaw likewise told The Atlantic that she “exorcis[es]” her “anxiety through obsessively reading about true crime.”

Social scientist Amanda Vicary worries that indulging a true crime addiction will only increase viewers’ anxiety, in turn creating “vicious cycle.” Vicary believes the media helps feed this paranoia: “we hear about women getting raped and killed, and we want to know more — possibly as an unconscious way to help us survive if something were to happen to us or to prevent something from happening — and in turn, we end up reading more and more about women being killed, fueling the paranoia.” The “My Favorite Murder” hosts feed this paranoia by concluding at the end of every show: “stay sexy and don’t get murdered.”

“My Favorite Murder”’s implicit thesis is that by being smart and fierce, women can protect ourselves from random attacks from rapists and murderers. The hosts have recounted the story of notorious serial killer Ted Bundy, who would lure his female victims by pretending to have a broken arm and needing help carrying his bags. Essentially, he attracted his female victims by playing into our conditioning to be polite. Accordingly, “Fuck politeness” is emblazoned on podcast merch.

While the idea that women should eschew their training to be agreeable in order to protect ourselves can be a powerful feminist statement, it becomes dangerous when we’re told the consequence is random attacks from serial killers. One of the hosts of “My Favorite Murder” frequently admits to rarely leaving the house. If these programs create anxiety to the point that women end up staying inside, they paradoxically reaffirm women’s place in the home — encouraging the very power imbalance that renders women vulnerable in the first place. Studies show that women are more likely to fear violent crime, despite that statistically men are more likely to be victims. Likewise, in the most publicized cases, the victim is a middle class white woman saved by a white man, and as Tara McKelvey wrote for the BBC, the “perception of victimhood is partly a media creation.”

Author Ariana Reines powerfully concluded in her blurb of Joni Murphy’s 2016 novel Double Teenage, which follows the lives of two girls coming of age in the 1990s: “Are dead women the only kind our culture wants or understands?” Early in the novel, the protagonist watches “Law & Order” every week with her father. She falls into the “comforting rhythm” of a “brutal attack” followed by a “swift rotation of justice.” I recently spoke to Murphy, who called the weekly procedural a “systems project” that repeatedly affirms that the cops and the DA are “doing their best” and “they know how to find the guilty person.” This is particularly comforting in a world where a Stanford athlete drunkenly rapes an unconscious woman found in an alley and is disciplined as leniently as though he were caught underage drinking. But anyone who has worked in or even read about criminal defense knows the way true crime shows portray the justice system is gravely unrealistic. In many murder cases, guilt is elusive. There are rarely eyewitnesses; even if there are, memory is imperfect. Forensic science is unreliable. There is no obvious “good guy,” no one is “evil.” Victims and perpetrators alike are poor victims of a system that repeatedly fails to protect them.

Murphy sees “Law & Order” and its spinoffs as offering “utter predictability” where none normally exists — “It is very black and white, a world without much nuance or history or deep humanity.” She also noted that shows like “Law & Order” are told from a male perspective, meaning that women watching “must watch through the male gaze to see characters they might identify with.” The general message these shows is: “you must trust the (male) structures to solve the crimes that will inexplicably happen to you.”

The tongue-in-cheek approach of My Favorite Murder, Martinis & Murder, #Murder4Lyfe is a turn away from the earnest “black-and-white” justice of “Law & Order.” Stassi and Ariana flip the narrative so that they position themselves not with the victim, but with the perpetrator. A recent interview with the My Favorite Murder girls played out similarly:

“As to the future of My Favorite Murder, well… “I think I want to start killing people,” Kilgariff deadpans. “I could get away with it, too.”my f

“Start with me! That’s the final episode,” jokes Hardstark.

But all versions derive from the same place: a fantasy about experiencing agency, having control over what is done with and to our bodies, unleashing the aggression we’ve been conditioned to keep bottled up. The problem is they’re all stuck in the “victim/aggressor mode” — as Murphy told me: “Liberation […] can’t just be a switching but a reorganization and move away from these binaries that cause suffering.” In an era in which the threat to women’s bodies is more intense than ever, it’s time we start examining women’s addiction to terror-inducing true crime programming — in which a fictitiously efficient and male-dominated justice system enacts revenge over dead women — with a more critical eye.

[sexeducationsource]

Sorry about not warning you, but I figured since you run a blog about this tv show I wouldn’t have to. just gunna say 2 things &then i’m done. 1st ruby clearly wasnt as drunk as Otis. She sought him out, she said it to Otis. That’s what she likes doing. 2nd knowing who Otis is and his personality we know if he was sober and someone was trying to have sex with him he would not have done it, but he couldn’t consent. I’m sure he didn’t go find her. If Otis did this to ruby every1 would hate him.

We are a source blog, yes, but I think you forget that behind the source blog are people who could potentially (and do) have triggers.

This is clearly something you’re set on, and as it’s a touchy subject for me, I’m not eager to get into an argument about it. Having said that, I also feel it’s important to set the record straight, and, respectfully, you have a lot wrong.

People have drunken hookups, teenagers included. Often regrettable, sometimes not. It’s true in real life and definitely in fiction, where Drunken Hookup is all but a trope, it’s been done so often.

As per alcohol.org: “Alcohol also jacks up the amount of norepinephrine present in the brain; this neurotransmitter acts as a stimulant, Psychology Today publishes. Elevated levels of norepinephrine increase arousal and excitement, and it can lower your inhibitions and increase impulsivity, making it hard for you to consider potential consequences of your actions.”

In 2x06, after he tells the party at large about all the intricate goings-on between himself, Ola and Maeve, he’s seen making out with two random girls (different shirts, different hair). He and the second girl even go so far as grinding. This is also, in your words, something he “would not have done” but he does it. Why? He’s sloshed, same as most other folks at the party, and other parties on this show and other shows. Among them? Ruby.

Ruby is, despite being a complex female character (like all the others on this show), at the heart of it, the archetypical Mean Girl. She cares a great deal about her reputation and popularity, which is made abundantly clear more than once throughout the show. She doesn’t like associating with unpopular kids: she speaks with Maeve only in the privacy of the old bathroom in 1x05, she doesn’t even consider going to Otis’ party when Eric invites her and Olivia until Rahim (someone she deems of her social caliber) says he’ll be there, she normally wouldn’t be caught dead interacting with Otis and proves as much in 2x07 when she meets with him in secret, doesn’t want to be seen with him, etc.

By way of remembering a little more about their night, she might have been less drunk, but it’s plain to see that she is, all the same, drunk: she experiences lowered inhibitions, she does something impulsive, she passes out cold instead of leaving (and I think it in any other state she very well would have).

Nowhere in the dialogue does Ruby say she “sought” Otis out, and I think you’re either misunderstanding the “make out with nerdy boys” scene or twisting it. When she says it’s intentional, it’s in the context of him worrying about her consent in all this, and the only thing “incriminating” about it is that she’s owning up to a pattern of behavior she falls back on when she’s sad.

Here are the things they do establish in and through their dialogue in 2x07:

Consent. In the scene in the woods, straight off the bat, they establish it was consensual. I know the focus is on Ruby’s, but then comes the rest of the dialogue.

Otis checked in often. Maybe every ten seconds, maybe not every ten seconds, but while exasperated as she informs him of as much, she’s completely genuine when she thanks him for it. “Most guys don’t.”

Ruby treats her body like a temple. There’s all the grooming she talks about, the way she cares about her looks, yes, absolutely, but above all, she cares about practicing safe sex. When she starts having more reason to be concerned about it, she worries they didn’t actually use a condom. She’s immediately horrified at the prospect of being pregnant—what’s more, the prospect of having Otis’ kid/s. (This isn’t the reaction of someone who’s taken advantage of someone and gone out of her way to do it. This is the reaction of someone who did something stupid, while drunk, because she didn’t think of the consequences of her actions, as we’ve established drunk people are guilty of doing.)

The writers aren’t perfect—they could have handled Ola’s pansexuality differently, I could have done without any sort of thing between Adam and Jean in season 1, among other things—but it’s obvious they care a great deal about doing sensitive topics and matters justice.

This is the same episode where Aimee’s storyline comes to a head and the girls in detention all discuss their experiences with sexual harassment. Do I think the writers could have squeezed in something more explicit about Otis’ consent? Absolutely. 100%. But I also think, like with anything else, that there’s critical thinking to be had by the audience to fill in some blanks. Not plot hole sized ones, but ones easy enough to fill when you add everything together.

Consent is something I’m very conscious of. I take it very seriously, and I’m glad you do as well. But I really, truly, genuinely cannot arrive at the same conclusion, and, with no offense meant, am still finding it difficult to see how you came to that conclusion when the math laid out before me just doesn’t add up to something as grave as that.

[dokuhebi]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

My muse is:   canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless /

Is your character popular in the fandom?  YES / NO / 50/50 (people either adore or hate them)

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES / NO / 50 /50 ( again it is either adoring or hating)

Is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO

Are they underrated?  YES / NO

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO.

Were they relevant for the main character?  YES / NO /

Are they widely known in their world?  YES / NO.

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL.

How strictly do you follow canon?  I take canon in to consideration and incorporate it mostly. If there was something sloppily handled by canon, I either veto it or try spin it in another direction to make more sense. There was some fantastic writing in Naruto/Boruto and there was some very lazy half-assed writing. I adhere to canon up until a point.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.  —  They are one of the most versatile and unique characters to ever grace the stage. There is nothing predictable about them other than their unpredictability. Through out the show, they have managed to remain this perfect ethereal paradox and enigma. Everything they do is a combination of being on both sides while also walking the line in the middle. You can not deem them merely ‘bad/evil’, you can not deem them merely ‘good/heroic’. You can not deny the way they are akin to an all knowing deity, but you can see the clear humanness in them too. Even the minor stuff, they will be wearing the most traditional kimono you have ever seen while tapping away at the most modern technologies the world hasn’t even invented yet. They can be the daintiest and most regal looking person, then shift in to the most fearsome monster. Let’s not even get started on their gender freedoms. They play all sides at their leisure and they do it well. They embrace every aspect of the world with this undying curiosity. They are so strictly ‘themself’ and untouched by any world/social standard, they just do not conform. Greatness and madness have never been harder to tell a part as it is with Orochimaru. They are complex in a manner that is so captivating, so very set on constructing pillars of individualism. And this is simply speaking on one aspect of their very intricate personality. It is not even touching on the feats they have made, as a shinobi, person, parent and scientist. Nor the unspoken story that is looked over, the abilities they possess, the fact that they have a hand in absolutely everything, and have formed part of nearly every group. Nor does it speak upon their ambitions and just how interesting those were to begin with.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).  — The main and most obvious point of conflict is their crimes. Their freedoms can dabble in places that should come with clear lines and boundaries. So while it is a marvel to watch when their inquisitiveness and innocent decisions take form so wonderfully together, it is a horror show to see that inquisitiveness and maleficent combination rise up instead. A prime example being their human experimentation. They have committed countless atrocities that overstep the mere boundaries of shinobi warfare. While they may think killing in the name of science should be more excusable than killing in the pursuit of pointless war, they do manage to step on everyones toes by conducting their research on human beings. In the exact same fashion as the wars they fought in, they do not discriminate on who they kill/use by age either. That is highlighted the most by people who dislike them in the fandom, with ‘corrupting’ Sasuke as a close second. 

What inspired you to rp your muse?  —  Orochimaru themself was the only inspiration. Everything about their character was appealing to me. I enjoy someone as versatile as them, and someone who challenges the worlds views. They are not always correct, and they can sometimes be too extreme, but they are truly fascinating to me. Often raising questions that need to be raised and setting the stage of some very unique interactions. They are truly fun to play around with from psychology, to abilities to personality.

What keeps your inspiration going?  —  It’s still Oro being interesting to me, and a healthy combination of muns on here that bring out their characters with equal enthusiasm. Being able to meet wonderful people who delve in to their characters and bring out all the details from big to small really keeps the rp alive.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO.

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO.

Do you sometimes write drabbles?  YES / NO.

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day?  YES / NO.

Are you confident in your portrayal?   YES / NO.

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / NO.

Are you a sensitive person?  YES / 50/50 /NO.

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?  — Yes, I do. But only from those I feel have an understanding of the character too, and for so long as it is a valid critique and not one based on the other person wanting Oro to be a certain way. I live for the discussions about my muse, positive or negative feedback is most welcome. I want to do better, I want to write better, I want to ensure what is in my head is being reflected on to the page. However in this fandom there is a trend where people forget portrayals are unique and that is what makes it enjoyable. I won’t take criticism to heart if I can tell the other person is only trying to ‘change’ how I play my muse to better suit the needs of their muse. That happens frequently sadly. But valid, insightful, wise corrections? I appreciate those a great deal. It is still someone taking the time to view my work and evaluate it. I am not sensitive to criticism. 

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?  —  Oh yes please. I adore those questions. It really helps to explore my muse more and add to my headcanons and understanding of them. It is loved on this blog.

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?  —  Sure! I accept readily if someone does not agree with my headcanon. We all have different takes. For so long as my views are still respected, I am happy to hear out why someone else is not favoring mine. In fact, it can help to continue to grow my muse and develop them further. To adjust the headcanon perhaps should it have been presented in a way I did not intend.

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?  —  simply put, we should not follow one another. There is nothing upsetting about someone not fancying my take on a character. It would be futile to remain mutuals or interact, since I am not changing my portrayal for someone elses preference, but there would be no bad blood.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?  —  I just use the blacklist button liberally to be honest. Sadly, the hate Oro is often subject to is childish at best. It reflects no understanding, and drops them in the villain trash pile. I do not have much care for senseless hate of any character if I am honest. Mine or those who I do not rp.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?  — Be my guest haha, Language has never been my forte in general. So I assume there are so many mix ups. More so than just grammar, I have this horrible habit of mixing words and phrases. My brain just hates computing stuff sometimes.

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?   —  I do not know if I am easy going, I have some hard lines I will not tolerate people crossing. I try to be easy going, and to keep myself in check however. I prefer to keep conflict to a minimum, so I will speak my piece in the most diplomatic manner possible. That said, I will speak my piece. I have never been the best at keeping my mouth shut if I feel wronged, or if I feel something may be headed down an undesired road. I will say what I feel needs to be said. I will however, ensure I am being fair, rational and objective to the best of my ability with any topic. I just want to know that there is common and mutual respect. If there isn’t, I will politely excuse myself from that narrative. There isn’t a great deal that can ruffle my feathers, I am naturally quite relaxed. But I am inclined to voice my opinion as diplomatically as possible if I am caught up in something I feel is unjust. 

That’s about it, congrats for filling out!

Tagged by: @shikkotsunin​ (thank you!) Tagging: @peepingtoad​ , @shattered-by-sparks​ , @fcrgiivn​ , @likexaxdoll​ , @shatteredxlookingxglass​ , @thatsneakymedic​ , @super-kame-love​ , @dobujutsu​ , @chidorikiller​ and you!

[razberryyum]

I JUST FINISHED 2HA. I WILL NEVER RECOVER FROM IT.

First of all I'm so sad I'm done because I really wanted the story to continue FOREVER. I feel the same sense of emptiness now as I did after MDZS/Untamed and SVSSS. Actually, the emptiness might be worse since it reallyyyyy put my emotions through the wringer. I need a long mental and emotional vacation before even thinking of starting TGCF, which is next on my list (altho, in case anyone isn't aware, 2HA is by Meatbun Doesn't Eat Meat-laoshi; MDZS, Scum Villain and TGCF is ofc by MXTX-laoshi)

I also feel a bit bummed that I had to read the last two-thirds of 2HA, which is pretty much the most important parts, through MTL. Even though some parts of the MTLs were edited it still doesn't do this amazing novel justice. But I am truly grateful efforts were made to improve parts of the MTLs cuz that made it at least bearable and comprehensible for the most part. I cannot wait until the official translation team (headed by @rynnamonrolls on Twitter) finishes translating the book tho, I can't wait to re-read the MTL chapters just to see how different they would be, how much better. Thank God they're translating at such a fast pace. This intricately plotted novel by MDEM-laoshi really deserves a strong translation and I'm so glad such a good team is working on it.

From my understanding the novel has been licensed to be a live action drama and honestly, I don't know how the hell they would be able to do justice to the breath-takingly amazing imagery and action sequences described. That Chinese production company that bought the rights would need Marvel-level budget and CGI capabilities. Not to mention, considering the very dark subject matters that serve as the backbone to most of the story, there is no way the story would pass censorship as it is. It would have to be mutated to the point of being unrecognizable. Just thinking of the relationship dynamics between the main CP...omg, no way can most of that be preserved. So really, why bother? Honestly, even though I'm a rather latecomer to the bandwagon, I already feel so protective of 2HA that I don't want it to be altered or fucked up in any way just to meet Chinese censorship demands. I would love to see it brought to life, don't get me wrong, but since there's no way in hell it can be done right and proper, I'd rather people just not try.

Anyway, I just had to get that off my chest. I'm so happy I pretty much dropped everything in my life for the past week just for 2HA. My only regret is I read too damn fast and now it's all over. Fellow 2HA lovers, if you have any good fanfic recs, PLEASE send them my way. I am SAD AND HUNGRY. Thank you in advance!

For anyone who hasn't read 2HA and is thinking of doing so, I HIGHLY recommend it, but please, for the love of God, HEED THE WARNINGS. Shit gets REALLY DARK and DISTURBING. Please don't do the dumbshit thing and ignore the warnings only to turn around and blast the author and 2HA fans after reading. You will have no one else to blame but yourself AND you'll come off pretty fucking stupid too so just please, pay attention to the warnings.

Otherwise, enjoy the tears and emotional turmoil that you will soon be deluged with!

[tallulahchanel]

Baby Blues

Here it is @chaneajoyyy . I know the video had a girl in it, but the AU I decided to put it, they were gonna have a boy, but despite this, I really hope I did it justice. If I didn’t feel free to tell me, and I will fix it.

Fandom: Black Panther

Pairing(s): T’Challa & OC (Kya Shauku); T’Challa x OC (Naomi Udaku)

Words: 2k

Tags: @queen-of-the-jabari

"Are you sure you can handle this?”

T'Challa rolled his eyes. "Yes, iplato yetshukela. If I can manage an entire technologically advanced country, I can manage this."

Naomi held Javon close to her bosom and tenderly stroked his face. She knew T'Challa was capable of watching their son, but she still had her apprehensions.

It's been three months since Naomi gave birth to Javon, and Nikki—her best friend since high school and Erik's fiance—insisted that she needed a night out. T'Challa, who didn't like seeing his wife couped in the palace, agreed and promised to watch Javon for the night. Naomi would be fine with the idea if he weren't alone. Queen Ramonda took an impromptu trip to Jamaica a few days ago, Shuri and her boyfriend Efe were in Oakland working at the Science and Information building during the school break, and your big sister requested Erik's help to implement a program he wanted to include at the Social Outreach Center. Besides the Dora and other palace staff, it was only them and Nikki.

To make matters more complicated, Naomi was still trying to transition Javon onto the bottle, which was easier said than done. The first time she tried, he screamed so much that she broke down and breastfed him.

"Maybe I should stay here. I’ll ask Nikki if we could rain check.”

T'Challa shook his head and gently took Javon from Naomi. "You will do no such thing. Besides, you look lovely tonight, and it'll be a shame if you let it all go to waste."

Naomi rocked a diamond-studded bodycon dress that stopped just above her knees and accentuated her curvaceous backside. She wore white heels to match, and her silk-pressed hair was in a high ponytail while the tresses laid perfectly on her shoulders.

Her cheeks heated up at his compliment. It's incredible how he could still make her feel like a schoolgirl after six years of marriage.

"Okay," Naomi finally gave in. "You know how to contact me if you need me."

"We'll be fine, iplato yetshukela," he reassured before placing a kiss on her lips. "Now, go have fun."

"Alright.” She gave him one last kiss before turning on her heels and leaving the nursery.

Once she was gone, T'Challa looked down at his son, his pride and joy, and smiled. "Yes, unyana wam. Everything will be alright."

Except everything wasn't alright.

An hour after Naomi left, Javon began fussing. T'Challa tried everything: holding him, rocking him, and checking his diaper. He even made the mistake of trying to soothe him by singing. After the way Javon screamed in response, T'Challa made a mental note to never do that again.

Trying to feed him was a chore within itself. When T'Challa attempted to get the nipple of the bottle in his mouth, Javon would turn his head away and scream at the top of his lungs. At T'Challa's fifth attempt, Javon knocked the bottle out of his hand, and it hit the floor, creating a puddle of formula.

Fortunately for him, that was the exact moment you entered the nursery. You fashioned your smoothie stand uniform—a medium-length dashiki dress adorned in the colors hot pink, black, scarlet red, forest green, and other intricate colors. Your faux locs were styled in a pin-up bun while a matching pink headwrap protected your edges, and your feet adorned a pair of black sandals.

"Good evening wam kumkani," you greeted T'Challa with a bright smile as if you didn't just see the bottle hit the marble floor.

He returned your smile, despite his growing irritation with the screaming child in his arms. "Good evening, Kya. What brings you here?"

“I was available on this lovely Saturday night, so I thought I’d spend it with my king and his heir.”

"That's very generous of you. Now, what's the real reason you're here?" He tilted his head, a clear sign that he didn't believe your explanation. He knew you probably wouldn't want to spend your Saturday night—the one night of the week where you're free to lollygag as you please—with a child, a crying one at that.

"Queen Naomi said if I come over and help, she'll expedite my UCLA application."

"Ah! That makes more sense."

"So, what can I help with?"

"Do you mind holding him while I clean up the formula?"

You nodded and held your arms out for the little prince. "Sure. Besides, it's been a while since I held Prince Javon."

As soon as T'Challa placed him in your arms, Javon's cries increased, and you furrowed your brows. You were sure that Javon would be happy to be held by his Auntie Kya, seeing as how you haven't been around while you finished off your last two months of school before graduation.

"On second thought,” you began and promptly handed him back to T’Challa, “you can hold him while I clean up the formula.”

Before he could protest, you walked out of the nursery and headed towards the supply closet for a roll of paper towels. Upon your return, you saw T'Challa futilely trying to feed Javon--who was still fussing up a storm—with another bottle.

"Good thing I didn’t have to go through this with Nakia,” you mumbled under your breath as you cleaned the formula off the floor.

Unfortunately, you forgot that the heart-shaped herb gave T'Challa enhanced hearing, so your eyes widen when he said, "I'm sure Nakia was much easier to handle."

Once the embarrassment wore off, you sighed and threw the paper towel in the trash can. "Well, Nakia wasn't as fussy, but she was very frustrated. I guess I would be too if I had the mind of a thirty-three-year-old, trapped in the body of a three-year-old."

You decided to drop the subject, you weren't in the mood to relive that stressful time, and decided to focus on the crying Prince Javon. You gently took him and the bottle and attempted to feed him yourself. After the third try, Javon almost knocked the bottle out of your hand. With a defeated sigh, you gave the bottle back to T'Challa.

"Well, I tried.”

T'Challa released a sigh of his own. "There has to be an easier way to do this."

An idea came to you just then.

"Take off your robe,” you told T’Challa, who gave you a perplexed look.

"What?”

"Trust me,” you pleaded with an innocent smile. “Take off your robe.”

Reluctantly, he stripped himself of the robe, leaving him in a t-shirt and slacks, and took Javon from you before you walked over to the prince's dresser.

"What are you doing?" T'Challa eyed you suspiciously when he saw you grab a pair of scissors. He released a dramatic gasp as you snipped a hole in the robe. "Why did you do that?! That robe costs more than your college tuition!"

"Why are you walking around wearing my college tuition?” You quipped with a smirk while walking over to him. “Put this back on.”

"You still haven't told me the meaning of this," he said as he took the robe from you.

"It's something I saw on an American sitcom. It sounds ridiculous, but it works."

As T'Challa gave Javon back to you so he could put the robe back on, he began considering blocking American shows and movies from Wakanda's free and unlimited streaming services.

You held the bottle out for him to take. "Now, put this inside of your robe and set it to where the nipple is poking out of the hole."

He furrowed his brows at you, but when you flashed him an innocent look, he took the bottle and did as you instructed, mumbling, "This better work."

"It will." Once he secured the nipple in the hole, you gave Javon back to T'Challa.

"Now hold him the way Queen Naomi does when she's breastfeeding him."

T'Challa secured Javon in the position you instructed, and you both observed to see if your plan was going to succeed.

Javon's nose brushed against the nipple, and he instinctively turned his head to latch onto it. When he first tasted the formula, his face formed a frown similar to the one Naomi gives when she wants to smack someone, and you had to hold back your laughter. It took a while, but the young prince eventually smoothed into the motions.

"See?!" You boasted with a triumphant smile. "I told you it would work."

As much as he hated to admit it, your ridiculous idea did come in handy.

After a while, T'Challa transitioned to the rocking chair while you took a spot on the nearby loveseat and played a game on your kimoyo beads.

"Kya?" T'Challa broke the silence in the room. "Exactly which American show did you get this from?"

"It was called Yes, Dear. An early 2000s show full of colonizers. Nothing remotely rememberable, except for that one scene.”

"Ah!” He nodded and returned his focus on Javon.

After feeding Javon, you offered to burp and snuggle with him before it was time for a much-needed diaper change. It wasn't long before Javon was fast asleep in the arms of a tired T'Challa while you rested on the loveseat.

The clock striked midnight when Naomi tiptoed into the nursery with her heels in her hand. Her heart gushed at the sight of her sleeping husband holding her son.

She walked over to him and placed a kiss on his forehead and another one on his cheek. "Wake up, kumkani," she whispered in his ear, causing him to stir.

His eyes fluttered open, and he smiled at his beautiful wife. "Hello, iplato yetshukela. How was your evening?”

"Nothing special. All I could think about was my two babies." She reached her hand out and stroked Javon's small afro. "How was he?"

"Once the crying stopped, he was perfect."

Naomi smiled. When she went to pick up Javon, her hand brushed across something hard, and she curiously reached into T’Challa’s robe, pulling out the bottle. "T’Challa, what in the world?”

He groaned in embarrassment and tried to hide his face with his free hand. "It was Kya's idea."

Naomi lifted a curious brow before shaking her head. She didn't want to know what craziness you've managed to talk her husband into. "Where is she, by the way?"

As if on cue, you mumbled something in your sleep, catching Naomi's attention.

"Should I wake her?" T'Challa yawned before getting out of the rocking chair so he could put Javon in his crib.

Naomi shook her head and walked over to the linen closet. She grabbed a blanket out of the closet and covered you in it to make sure that you wouldn't get cold. "No, let her rest while she's still allowed to have it."

"What do you mean by that?" He asked after securing Javon for the night.

"Medical school is going to be rough on her. Especially at an institute like UCLA." She didn't bother to hide her grin.

"She's going to be accepted?" T'Challa asked with a grin of his own.

Naomi nodded and walked over to him. "I just got off the phone with the Dean, and informed him how fortunate UCLA's medical program would be to house a wonderful, brilliant, and hard-working student like Kya."

T'Challa wrapped an arm around her and escorted her out of the nursery. He didn't want to run the risk of waking you or Javon. "I guess a personal recommendation from the Queen of Wakanda came in handy."

"That, and I told him it would be good publicity if a Wakandan student attended their school. But don't tell her yet. I want to see her face when she opens the letter."

T'Challa chuckled before wrapping Naomi in his arms and leaning his forehead against hers. "You are the most amazing woman. I'm fortunate to have you as my wife and the mother of my child."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a passion-filled kiss on the lips. "It is me that is the fortunate one, wam kumkani."

They walked the rest of the way to their room in silence before enjoying a peaceful night slumber in each other's arms.

~~~

Translations

iplato yetshukela - sugar plum

[catflowerqueen]

Oh, how about what Armaldo did to make him an outlaw? o/

What Armaldo did to make him an outlaw:

The short answer is that he was tricked into stealing someone’s private property, and then when he realized that he’d been tricked he lost the items in the ensuing confrontation with the person who tricked him, and then he was too terrified to just go and fess up about what happened and ended up running instead. Which honestly might have actually saved his life at that point, considering who he inadvertently stole from and what exactly he stole in the first place.

As for the longer version…

(Incoming spoilers, subject to change)

A little bit of backstory is probably in order. We alreadyknow from canon that Armaldo was apparently a seasoned explorer before he becamean outlaw. My version of him actually takes things a step further—before he wasan official explorer, he was a member of a rescue team. I might detail a bitmore about the differences between the two in a later post, if you or anyoneelse is interested—because the two can be seen as very similar—but the maindifference really comes down to the name: Rescue teams rescue while Explorationteams explore. If a rescue team gets a mission involving an outlaw, it willeither be because someone currently being menaced by said outlaw sent out arequest to be rescued, or the outlaw themselves got into such deep trouble thatthey would gladly spend the rest of their life in prison if it meant that theyactually got to keep having a life. Other requests are likewise because someoneis literally in need of a rescue/their friend needs to be rescued/they need anitem of some sort in order for survival (or perhaps something a little lessdire, but it’s nonetheless an item that they need). Exploration teams, on theother hand, are already supposed to be going everywhere and exploring everythingthat they can, so it makes sense that if they just so happen to find an outlawin the area that they’re in that they somehow be deputized in order to takethem down and bring them in for arrest. And actually going out looking just forthe purposes of finding an outlaw still falls under the category of lookingaround and exploring, so… yeah

 Another important distinction is that Rescue teams are alwaysgoing to be under a time constraint—someone is in trouble, they need to help asquickly as possible, they can’t be quite as discerning in what sorts ofmissions they take, and they can’t stop and smell the roses or take time tolook around and map their surroundings too much beyond what it would take tomake sure that they can get places safely. But Exploration teams are encouragedto take their time and look around, since the whole point is exploring. And,sure, sometimes specific missions they take will require them to stay within aspecific time limit, but that isn’t supposed to be their norm.

 Armaldo found that he liked the journey, as it were, morethan the destination, so after a few years as a rescuer, he switched over tobecoming an explorer.

The problem is, he did not have as much oversight as, say,the player and partner did when he decided to switch. There aren’t reallyspecific rules that one has to join a guild or anything when they become anexplorer, and I don’t think that it’s strictly even legally necessary toofficially register with the Exploration Federation. It just means that theywill be basically on their own, and they won’t get any help from theFederation, and they won’t necessarily have access to official jobs—like theones that get posted on the bulletin boards. They still might, but it wouldlikely be limited and dependent on where exactly they are getting them.

 After all, the main draw of actually joining the WigglytuffGuild came down to protection and training while they were starting out—a goodway to play things safe. But I highly doubt that Team Skull would have joined aguild—they wouldn’t want to cut into their profits, after all, and they wereprobably pushing it a bit in that regards to stay legally registered with theFederation, since they probably take their share as well—we just never see howmuch because the guild likely took care of the actual accounting and whatnotsince they were already taking a cut of the reward money.

 But Armaldo was already used to being on his own in dangeroussituations, what with all the years as a rescuer under his belt, so he didn’tbother to join a guild. And he may or may not have actually signed up with theFederation, either—he already had a bag, after all, and he may not have beeninterested in the “taking jobs/missions” aspect of exploration teams, since,again, that’s really more of a side thing than the main point. Also, it’s notlike he could have joined the Wigglytuff Guild or anything since it obviouslydidn’t exist yet.

 So there you have Armaldo, doing his thing, exploring around…likely losing a bit of his enjoyment for the whole situation along the way(evidenced by some of the things he says to Igglybuff at the end of the specialepisode—in part because he’s all on his own now, since he doesn’t have theFederation or the Rescue Team equivalent available to help out at all—and—this isthe important part—no real knowledge of how official missions are handed outand vetted in regards to Exploration teams. In other words—a prime target for ascam.

 So when one day a ditto comes along with the story of howsome pokemon was taking advantage of his status as a rarity to bully others andtake their things, and how something really important of theirs got taken, andhow they would be really glad if someone could go and get it back, they wouldhappily reward the pokemon who helped them out… Armaldo had no way of knowingit was a trick. How would he? No one would ever lie on their requests, since itwas literally a matter of life and death, so he wouldn’t even conceive of thepossibility that someone would lie on an exploration request either. And,again, the request didn’t go through official channels, so he would have noidea that exploration requests—especially ones regarding outlaw situations—wouldbe vetted first. And he’d been around long enough to know that it was entirelyplausible that someone would abuse their status, because people and pokemon canbe major jerks sometimes. He was already bitter and jaded enough by life ingeneral—especially once the allure of exploring started to wear off with thereality of what it really entailed when one was all on their own—so he prettymuch just ignored how sketchy the whole situation sounded, and only asked forthe barest of details of what he was supposed to go and retrieve.

 This would come back to bite him later. Hard, and multipletimes.

 What did he need to find? A set of two intricately carvedand beautifully painted stone keys, apparently. And who took them? A celebi,apparently. Rare enough on its own, sure, but apparently this one feltextra-entitled because he was some weird form of shiny whose condition onlyaffected his eyes. He may have been green like a normal celebi, rather thanpink like a shiny, but his eyes were this really interesting gold color.

 You read that right: Armaldo ended up stealing from Mason.

 Of course, Armaldo wasn’t totally stupid—if he’d been told thathe had to fight the legendary, he would have backed off. But Ditto specifiedthat he just had to get the keys “back.” They didn’t want “justice” oranything, they didn’t want to press charges for “theft,” they just wanted thosekeys “back.”

 So, Armaldo went and stole the keys. He was mostlysuccessful—he didn’t end up having to fight, at any rate, which would have endedpoorly—but he didn’t get away quite Scott-free, as Mason was able to catchenough of a glimpse of him in order to identify him—and/or he got one thehumans he knew to try and have a Dimensional Scream in the area in order tofigure out what happened.

 At first, Armaldo didn’t really care about the fact that he’dbeen spotted—still under the impression that Mason was the original thief, hefigured that nothing would happen and Mason wouldn’t go to the authorities oranything because that would mean that he would have to admit to the theft inthe first place. But by the time he figured out he’d been lied to… by the timehe lost the keys and could no longer return them, even though he had managed tokeep them out of the hands of the liar… well.

 To his credit, he did seriously consider going and turninghimself in when he first lost the items—because he figured that would net himsome leniency, and that they might actually be able to help him find them andreturn them to their rightful owner—but then he actually saw just how seriousthe situation was. Mason was absolutely furious. Apoplectically furious, even,and switching between the anger and anguish in equal terms. And that thingabout bias when it came to rarity? Well it was sure working just the wayArmaldo thought it would, since law enforcement seemed to be taking thingsextra-seriously in this instance (though possibly not quite as seriously asArmaldo thought—yeah, there definitely was a bit of heightened security andbias in Mason’s favor, but a lot of those extra “officers” were actually someof Relatia’s worshippers from the pokemon world who had come out of hiding inorder to search for the keys). So Armaldo was pretty justifiably terrifiedabout the prospect of getting caught, and decided to head for the hills instead—eventuallyending up in Murky Cave, years later, where he would meet an Igglybuff andchange his life forever.

 Honestly, probably the worst aspect of the consequencesArmaldo eventually faced after he was finally caught was having to face Mason againand explain what happened. Mason didn’t hurt him—it would be stupid to with lawenforcement right there, for one. But the main reason is that he found out thatthe keys were pretty much lost for good since Armaldo didn’t have them and didn’tknow where they’d ended up in the scuffle with the Ditto—aside from “notactually with the Ditto,” of course—Mason was too devastated to do much.And that look of pure anguish and devastation still haunts Armaldo to this day,even after serving his time and making a new start for himself. As does thefrigid glare and declaration that Mason would never, ever forgive him that thecelebi gave before he despondently left for parts more or less unknown.

 At this point you may be wondering why, exactly, Mason wasso despondent over the thought of losing this set of keys. Well, there wereactually many reasons:

 1.     The general “my stuff just got stolen and I’mupset about it” reason

2.     One of those keys technically didn’t belong tohim—it was on loan from the Rainbow Child

3.     Because of the whole situation with Pupil andthe triplets—which has already been elaborated on in an earlier post—it wasunlikely that he would ever see a Rainbow Child ever again—which meant that hejust lost one of the few physical things he had left to remind him of her.

4.     The doors that those keys unlock lead to placeswhich are very important to the Rainbow and Golden Children and hold some veryprecious things—so those, too, were also lost to Mason along with the keys.

5.     There are also Time Gears hidden in those places,so good luck getting to those if for some reason the other, less guarded onesare unavailable when Temporal Tower inevitably breaks down.

 Granted, he wasn’t necessarily too upset about that last pointsince the keys are only one of the two prerequisites needed to get at those particularTime Gears… but it still wasn’t a good situation and just made the whole thingthat much harder to deal with. Luckily they weren’t actually needed.

 So, yeah, it would be rather awkward if Armaldo and Masonwere ever to come in contact again—especially if Laura was also nearby at thetime.

 Which of course means that it’s going to happen eventually.

Though to be quite honest, Laura would likely have been muchless upset at the whole situation, and is definitely going to be upset/worriedfor far different reasons once she inevitably finds out about whathappened. Part of that is going to be because the keys will have eventuallybeen found and returned by the time he meets Mason again—though Armaldo isn’tgoing to be the one to recover them—but mainly it will be because she has herown mixed feelings about the location and contents stored behind the door thather key unlocks. She probably won’t be too upset about the actual theft itself—atleast as it pertains to her specific key—because it’s not as if she even had anyuse for it at the time since she wasn’t even in the same world. And,technically speaking, neither she nor Mason are even supposed to visit thoseplaces unless it’s to retrieve a Time Gear—which would really be the main reasonthe situation would have upset her in the first place… or at the least the mainreason which she would have consciously allowed herself to acknowledge—sincethey made promises to each other that they wouldn’t dwell on the other thingsthey hid there. Not that Mason listened, apparently.

 Armaldo will be continually confused and relieved by thisattitude in turns. And then will feel horribly guilty again on behalf of bothMason and Laura when he actually finds out what is hidden behind thedoors those keys unlock—since someone is inevitably going to steal them againand blame him for it due to plot reasons, and he will feel compelled to help rightthe wrong and get them back even though no one actually blames him this timesince they know he didn’t do it since Laura was able to exonerate himimmediately because of more plot related reasons. And the guilt is without evenknowing that there are Time Gears there, because that particular bit ofinformation isn’t actually going to be revealed to anyone (outside of Mason andLaura, who obviously already know) until later on in the story, when a particularghost-type and his compatriots make a trip back from the future.

 If you’re curious about anything else that was mentionedhere, feel free to ask. The actual keys and their mysteries are particularlyfascinating, especially when it comes to the intricacies of Laura’s feelings onthe matter.

Asks might not get answered right away, though—I really doneed to buckle down and get my actual paper for school finished.

[noramoya]

PART ONE :

OF LINDA-RAVEN WOODS’S

02/28/2019 ARTICLE .

“America has a long and sordid history of lynching or unfairly convicting African-American men based on the false allegations of white accusers. The names known to history echo loud and long — Robin White, Emmett Till, Charlie Weems, Ozie Powell, Clarence Norris, Andrew and Leroy Wright, Olen Montgomery, Willie Anderson, Haywood Patterson, Eugene Williams (the latter nine known collectively as “The Scottsboro Boys”) to contemporary names such as Vincent Patton, still serving time in Angola Prison despite the fact that his white accuser later confessed that “all black men look alike” to her and therefore she could not even say with certainty that Patton had raped her.

And these cases do not even begin to include the many whose names have long been lost to history; those who paid the ultimate price for the paranoid fears of a Jim Crow-era America. “We currently live in a world of fake news and alternative facts,” wrote Martinzie Johnson in an excellent think piece titled “Being Black in a World Where White Lies Matter.” Martinzie then states, “white lies have tangible consequences.”

Martinizie wrote this piece a few days after a bombshell confession by Carolyn Bryant, the young white woman whose accusation of Emmett Till fifty-two years prior resulted in the 14-year-old boy being kidnapped from his uncle’s home and murdered by her husband and brother-in-law. It took half a century for Bryant to finally admit to biographer Timothy B. Tyson that“nothing that boy did justified what was done to him.”

The current hype that has been built around Leaving Neverland, a film directed by Dan Reed and funded and distributed by HBO in the U.S. and Channel 4 in the U.K., may appear deceptively at first as an important film for the #MeToo era, highlighting the alleged sexual abuse that Michael Jackson inflicted on two young boys who idolized him and fell-by grand and parental design-into his circle. At least, that is according to the hype that has been drummed up around it.

But a closer look reveals many disturbing reasons to argue that this agenda-driven film has little to do with either journalistic integrity or concern for sexual abuse victims. Instead, there are many justifiable reasons to argue why this film is simply a new twist on the age-old concept of lynching a black man based on white lies. The fact that it is a black man who also just happened to be one of the most beloved and powerful figures in entertainment is, of course, the very matter at the heart of the film’s controversy, along with the fact that we are into the tenth anniversary of his passing.

At a time when Michael Jackson’s life should be the subject of fond remembrances and reflections on his artistic legacy, we instead get this, the equivalent of a posthumous, 21st century lynching based on nothing but the uncorroborated testimonies of two men whose civil case against his estate has already been dismissed, not once but twice.

Why is the “woke” crowd so determinedly asleep at the wheel on this? And an even more troubling question: Why are so many of the most influential journalists in the U.S. and U.K. enabling it? Dan Reed’s controversial film has indeed accomplished one positive goal even before its scheduled broadcast, although it may not be the goal he intended.

For sure, the film has helped shed much needed light on the underbelly of #MeToo, revealing some startlingly dark truths about who the movement is designed to protect-and who it is willing to sacrifice.

But first, let’s back up and look at the key players in this drama. We have Michael Jackson, whose story has already passed into the realm of an American mythical figure, a poor black kid who worked his way up from nothing to become one of the most legendary musical figures of all time. This was a man who worked non-stop from the age of five to build his legacy. In the 45 years of his life that he gave to the public, he managed to break records, to achieve what few black artists before him had done (including owning, at one time, half the Sony-ATV catalogue), and to build a legacy that is intricately woven into the fabric of U.S. pop culture. But beyond that, he became a world icon in a way that only a very few American artists have achieved.

This is all a long way of saying Michael Jackson worked hard — damn hard — — to build what he achieved. And before we start trying to dismantle that legacy based on nothing but the words of two white men who joined his long list of hangers-on, we’d better be looking long and hard at the facts. That is, if we want to be able to live with ourselves in the aftermath.

But herein lies at least some of the problem. Most who have already followed the story to any degree are already at least superficially aware that there are inherent issues with the claims of Wade Robson and James Safechuck, the two subjects of this documentary. It is widely known, for instance, that Wade Robson-as a 23-year-old adult- testified in Jackson’s defense at his 2005 trial, swearing under oath and penalty of perjury that nothing sexual ever happened between them. But the inconsistencies, as well as problematic and ever changing timelines in their stories, goes much deeper.

On February 7 2019, the estate of Michael Jackson sent a strongly worded letter to HBO CEO Richard Plepler, followed by another a couple of days later to Channel 4 CEO Alex Mahon. The letter to HBO outlined, in painstaking 10-page detail, the long, problematic history of Robson’s and Safechuck’s claims (coming from attorneys who have spent the better part of the last six years battling these very allegations in court), while the letter to Channel 4 specified that the program is in direct violation of the channel’s guidelines for ethical journalism, citing a clause which states that any program making “significant allegations” must allow “those concerned” to be “given an appropriate and timely opportunity to respond.” Both letters were explicitly detailed, powerful complaints against the two accusers, highlighting the many various flaws and inaccuracies with their stories. Collectively, they revealed a dark history of two opportunists who took advantage of Jackson’s generosity and friendship.

Interestingly, what Dan Reed chose to leave out of his film is as interesting as what he chose to leave in. While I have not seen the film, I know sources who have, and who have been able to describe to me in detail what it represents. It is, quite frankly, a one-sided film in which only two voices are heard-that of Robson and Safechuck.

Now, let’s make an analogy. Suppose you had to decide a court case based only on hearing the prosecution’s case presented? Suppose there is no defense, no cross examination, no presentation of exculpatory evidence, no opening statement and no closing argument? You would no doubt find the story as presented only through the voice of the prosecution and their witnesses quite compelling. It is only under cross examination that those stories often start to crumble, raising what we might call reasonable doubt. And it is only through exculpatory evidence that we can actually weigh an accused person’s guilt, or lack thereof.

Leaving Neverland is essentially the equivalent of sitting through a four-hour testimony of two prosecution witnesses offering their sales pitches, without benefit of cross examination.

Entertaining? Possibly, if you consider four hours’ worth of extremely graphic descriptions of sexual acts against children entertaining. Truthful? Hard to say, except we know the track record of the accusers. Fair or ethical? Absolutely not, especially given that the accused subject of the film is deceased.

Which brings us back to Channel 4’s weak defense when confronted by the estate. Their claim is that the film contains denials Jackson made in his own lifetime. However, these would have been denials Jackson raised against the accusations made against him in 1993 and 2005. He did not have the opportunity to “deny” the accusations made by Robson and Safechuck, who waited four and five years after his death, respectively, to bring them.

As for HBO, their only response-after having it outlined for them in 10 excruciatingly detailed pages exactly everything that was wrong with the stories these two men are claiming- was that it was “powerful.” In other words, what they were actually confessing is that ratings matter more than truth, fairness, or accuracy.

This truly begs the question: Would HBO have been so quick to fund and support this project had its subject been any celebrity other than Michael Jackson? Moreover, would the immediate condemnation of the media have been as swift to rush to judgment without at least raising a question mark or a demand for vetting of the film’s accuracy? My guess is that the answer would be no.

Of course, if we raise that question, it would also be fair to acknowledge that Jackson’s legacy is one that many feel is already tainted by doubt. After all, he was accused by the parents of Jordan Chandler in 1993, and ten years later, the Arvizo allegations resulted in a grueling 5- month trial which ended in his acquittal on 14 counts. It would be understandable to have doubts and questions, as I did back in 2009 when I first began researching the allegations made against Jackson.

For many, those lingering questions remained even after Jackson’s death. At the time, public sentiment largely fell into three camps: Those who always believed, unequivocally, in his innocence; those who said, “Whatever may have happened, it’s past; let him RIP” and then those few who continued, with dogged determination, to unearth his corpse and prop it up for re-trial in the court of public opinion. It may go without saying that those who are standing behind and supporting this project fall into the latter category. But unless we accept the naïve explanation that this project is all about “justice for victims”, there are bigger questions that need to be addressed: WHO IS REALLY BEHIND THIS ?! ALSO, WHY NOW ?! AND WHAT ARE THEY REALLY HOPING TO GAIN FROM IT ?!

It is astonishing beyond belief that no one in the mainstream media — not one serious investigative journalist — seems willing to raise these questions !

What many fail to realize is that Jackson became a target for a racist driven agenda. What appears, deceptively, as a case of “smoke and fire” was actually a long and quite convoluted history of “smoke and mirrors.” The first accusation grew out of a personal dispute between Jackson and the first boy’s father, Evan Chandler, when Jackson refused to finance Chandler’s trilogy of film projects.

Although Jackson eventually settled that case out of court, the civil settlement did not preclude a criminal trial. Rather, two Grand Jury hearings failed to bring an indictment. However, because Jackson did settle the case, opening the door for financial gain to be made at his expense, a cottage industry of accusing Michael Jackson was thus born.

Every accusation made since then, including those of Robson and Safechuck, has come down to an issue of money. It is, after all, easy to make up a convincing story, and in the case of Michael Jackson, all they had to do is study the details and patterns of previous stories. A little known fact is that Janet Arvizo consulted the same attorney who had represented the Chandlers (a pattern that has continued, with both Robson and Safechuck represented by the law firm Manly, Stewart & Finaldi ).

Many of these shadesters were convinced that the best case scenario was that they might hit a financial windfall on a par with the Chandlers. But at the very least, even when they knew their bogus stories would never hold up in a court of law, they could always count on the tabloids, some of whom were known to shell out as much as six figures for any potential dirt on Michael Jackson.

The 2005 case against Jackson was, in reality, an absolute travesty of justice that should never have gone to trial, another case of a family that took advantage of his generosity and then tried to “get back” when the friendship soured. However, if there was at least one positive aspect that came from it, it was the fact that this also served as the trial by jury that Jackson did not receive back in 1993. Tom Sneddon, in his gloating determination to “get” Jackson at all costs, actually reversed then current California laws against bringing in prior allegations. This meant that questions, evidence and witnesses from the 1993 case could also be introduced.

Jackson, in essence, was not only exonerated from the claims that the Arvizo family made against him, but those of the Chandlers as well. It seemed in theory, at least, that he had finally gotten the chance to fight those accusations in court just as he had initially wanted to do, back in ’93.

Dan Reed’s film only scratches the surface of the Chandler and Arvizo allegations, which may be understandable from a narrative standpoint if his focus is on the stories of the Robson and Safechuck families, but seems nevertheless a puzzling omission for a film whose entire context comes out of these two past sets of allegations.

What is more damning, however, is the fact that his film also only scratches the surface of the two more current claims that it is purporting to be about. The film presents only the subjects themselves telling their alleged side and their alleged stories of abuse, while purposely choosing to omit any counter narratives or rebuttal testimonies. In the Q&A that followed the film’s premier at Sundance, Dan Reed appeared to dodge this very specific question when asked.

https://youtu.be/BMcte6orvQc

Given the very serious nature of the allegations being waged in this film, to purposely omit any kind of rebuttal testimony (especially on behalf of a deceased individual) is beyond unethical.

While Dan Reed, HBO, and Channel 4 have continued to hide behind the mantra of the oft-repeated “let the viewer make up their mind” the film itself offers no such opportunity.

Furthermore, the film seems to purposely omit details that would obviously raise questions in the viewer’s minds regarding Robson’s motives. For example, why did Robson continue to defend Jackson and to speak glowingly of his friendship with him right up until 2013, when he was denied the chance to direct the Michael Jackson Cirque du Soleil show?

* answer to these questions on

PART TWO !

[lonecypressworkshop-blog]

They say that INSANITY is doing the same thing, over and over again expecting a different result. And to some degree, I imagine there is some truth in the observation. But what would you call it when you look around yourself and see self-destructive individuals doing the same things, over and over and over, and getting nowhere. It is fairly obvious that they are doing the wrong things, that even if successful will NEVER bring about the desired results. At least from my perspective, in my world, my reality. There is certainly something wrong with them. Without a doubt, there is a degree of insanity that exists within them. But again, that is little more than my opinion, my interpretation. I believe it to be an objective one, but who can really say? Am I also partly or completely insane as well? And who determines that? An insane SELF, or a group of insane OTHERS? How can we ever expect to fix things if there is no REASON and THOUGHT, but only WANT and NEED? How will we ever find RESOLUTION if we are all insane? And this is NOT a joke. I am completely serious. I may be insane but I am doing the best I can. Look around you. Have you been listening? The National Debt is INSANE! Our Immigration problem is completely INSANE. We try to use HATRED and INTOLERANCE to bring about JUSTICE and EQUALITY? There is a certain disconnect with reality. Again, INSANE. The Hatred of Country and Self and the President. Eight years ago the liberals were furious that half the country did not respect the President or the Presidency. And today? Is it completely appropriate to do the same exact thing? The actions are senseless. They are irrational. They're NUTS! We do not THINK. We do not TALK. We do not REASON. There is no INTEGRITY. There is no rhyme nor reason. And it seems to be getting worse. Incredible. Inexplicable. And the people that exhibit these very same attributes? THEY are the ones labeled INSANE. I really can't decide whether to laugh or to cry. Uncontrollably. But our people and our politics are not what I wanted to talk of today. They are intricately related, but not our subject today. We are here to talk of our shooters. We are trying to determine exactly what causes the phenomenon and how to understand and possibly resolve the issue. Are they Insane for the actions they take? Or are we Insane because we think we have no culpability for the killing machines that we have created and nurtured over the decades? Is Insanity something that they are born with? Is it hereditary? Possibly. Or is it a disease of the mind that they have caught from the rest of us. The lack of reason. The inability to make good decisions. The self-destructive behavior. The pure hatred of themselves and everything good that exists around them. Are they actually crazy? To tell you the truth, I really can't tell the difference between them and us. The seasons are changing. It's going to be school time once again. The protesters are taking their signs out of the closet or making new ones. They are polishing their bullhorns and thinking of new slogans to attract the attention they crave, although the same slogans have been working for 50 years so don't expect too much, they don't have very many original thoughts. They are not creative thinkers. They really don't think much at all. But they know how to protest. That's what they do. It's their destiny. And our shooters? They have a destiny as well. The summer is a time of relative peace. No schools. No shootings. But September is coming, and it has always been a busy time for our shooters. Not compared to January and February and March when almost half of the more than 200 shootings over the last 20 years have taken place, but the pressures begin to mount, and it is only a matter of time. And what are we doing about it? Are we coming to conclusions as to a resolution yet? The fact is we are not doing a damn thing. The politicians are on vacation, but then again, when are they not? The protesters are well rested and raring to go. And what of our shooters? They are ready as well, even if they do not even realize it. Only waiting for the trigger that will bring them their 15 minutes of fame. For us? 15 minutes of horrible and tragic devastation. We could have done something about it, but it was just so damn nice outside we couldn't bring ourselves to THINK. Never enough time. INSANE!

[hysterialevi]

Lotus pt. 3 (Batjokes)

Author’s note: I’m honestly blown away by the amount of support you guys are giving me, and I’m overjoyed that you’re loving this story so much. I don’t think any of my fics have ever been this successful, and I’m glad to see that this is as exciting for you as it is for me. As always, enjoy :)

From John’s POV

THE FUNHOUSE - ONE DAY LATER

“I’ll always have your back, John,” I mimicked in my lowest voice possible. “I promise! You can trust me -- Bruce Wayne. You know, the guy who betrayed you on the bridge when you needed me most and turned out to be an undercover agent? Yeah, nothing shady about me whatsoever! It’s not like every word I say is a complete lie or anything! I’ll be your best buddy forever! Pinky swear!”

Willy peered at me from a nearby table, interrupting his game of cards with Frank as he eyeballed the doll.

“How long are you gonna play with that thing?” He whined. “It don’t even look like the man that much. It’s also kinda creepy.”

“Shut up!” I exclaimed back at him, pointing a finger. “Brucie and I are having a very important conversation at the moment, and you are not invited. Not to mention it’s rude to call him creepy. Then again, it’s also rude to cut fabric from someone’s suit behind their back just to make a doll of them, but I’m his friend! There’s an understanding between us, you got that?”

Frank jumped in. “His friend? I thought we were trying to kill Bruce.”

“Not kill,” I specified. “At least, not yet. Just...beat to a pulp. If that’s even possible. Besides, you’re telling me you’ve never wanted to kill any of your friends before?”

Frank flicked his eyes around the room awkwardly, unsure of what to say. “Um...not really, no.”

I scoffed, leaning back in my chair. “Then you’re not truly friends.”

I turned to the doll again, tidying up its yarn hair. “Sorry about that, buddy. Tsk, people can be so inconsiderate sometimes. It’s like no one has manners these days. I think it’s something in the water. Gotham’s always had a weird smell to it. Anyways -- where were we?”

Before I could continue, a woman’s voice called out to me in a sing-song tone. “Yoohoo! Puddin!” 

I rolled my eyes at the second interruption, letting out a breath.

“Can’t a man and his arch-nemesis just have a chat in peace?”

Harley walked up to me, crossing her arms in annoyance. “Well, if ya love him so much, then why don’t cha go talk to the real Bruce? We’ve been sitting here for ages. I’m getting bored, sweetie. I want some action. And more importantly, I wanna find that survivor.”

I pouted, flopping the doll onto the table’s surface out of frustration. “I don’t know where he is though! No one’s seen him for the past three days! And he’s definitely not at Wayne Enterprises. It’s not like him to just...hide when there’s so much crime running rampant. I wonder if he’s okay...”

I gasped, slapping a hand over my mouth as a worrying thought struck my mind. 

“Oh no--” I blurted out, “what if we accidentally killed him with the bomb?”

Harley glared at me. “What about it? Why does it matter? Good riddance, I say.”

“Erm -- right!” I quickly covered, clearing my throat. “I just...I just wanted to play with him a bit more, y’know? No fun in winning by default.”

Harley’s glare didn’t disappear, but she let the subject go.

Pushing myself away from the table, I stood up and held a finger in the air as an idea popped in my mind.

“I know! I’ll check if he’s home -- pay a visit at that fancy manor of his. I’ve actually never been inside. It’ll be interesting to see.”

Harley took my seat, resting her feet on top of the table and kicking the doll aside. “What, you think Bruce will just let ya in?”

I prepared my gadgets, including the Batarang Bruce gave me a while ago as I felt my heart sink at the sight, attaching them all to my belt. 

“Don’t you worry about me, babe,” I assured, winking confidently as I headed out to my car. “He’ll never know I was there. I’ll be as quiet as church mice.”

WAYNE MANOR

Pulling up to the colossal, gloomy manor and parking in the spacious driveway, I instantly hopped out and made a beeline for the front porch, admittedly eager to see my ex-friend for some reason. 

Despite our past arguments and all the conflict that was currently going on between us, I couldn’t help but kind of...miss Bruce. He had been a part of my life for so long that, it just felt weird to have him suddenly drop out. I wondered if he was ignoring me on purpose. Trying to act like I meant nothing to him. Perhaps he thought that would push me away? Or maybe he thought I would just get bored of chasing him eventually.

Well, he was terribly mistaken.  As much as I cared about Bruce, someone had to pay for his betrayal on the bridge. We used to be in the same stitch -- best buddies for life -- but now, he had gone and torn us apart. I wasn’t going to let him get away with that. Not even justice was above being sentenced, and it was high time he learned that.

Peeking in through the tall, luxurious windows, I didn’t see any sign of Bruce -- or of anyone else for that matter -- and his butler, Alfred, had made himself scarce. The inside was actually rather dark, and it looked like no one had been home for days. It almost looked...abandoned. 

I was starting to get anxious. Where was he? Was he even still in Gotham? Or did he find a way to escape? I decided to investigate the area for clues.

Using the Phalanx Key we stole from Bruce’s vault, I unlocked the front doors and subtly slipped inside, quietly shutting the entrance behind me as a gust of wind rushed through. The temperature seemed to drop by ten degrees as soon as I walked in, and this unsettling feeling of loneliness sat heavily in the air. It reminded me of the subway station, and I hated it.

Aimlessly wandering around the manor for a while, I gazed upwards and admired the eloquent designs on the ceiling along with the number of chandeliers dangling around, my mouth hanging open in awe. The furniture alone in this place could’ve bought a second manor, and the building itself just screamed “Gotham royalty.” I wondered if anyone ever helped Bruce “fill up” the space. After all, the women in this city seemed to adore the billionaire playboy, and it honestly surprised me that Bruce had never been married. The guy had to love someone.

Then again, they could’ve been dead or something. It seemed like most of his friends were.

Accidentally stepping on a remote that had been sitting on the floor, I jumped as a large TV suddenly flashed on, the news rambling on about all the havoc blowing up in Gotham right now. Robberies, murders, people not daring to step foot outside because of the Lotus threat...it was all music to my ears. I explored the manor more.

Averting my focus to an impressive bookshelf standing behind me as the news carried on, I found myself strangely intrigued and began to explore its contents, trailing my fingers along the books’ spines.

Judging by the almost perfect condition of a lot of these books, I assumed that Bruce hadn’t actually read most of them...and I didn’t blame him. These genres were atrocious. Banking? Academics? Budgeting? What was a billionaire doing with a book about budgeting? These must’ve belonged to his father, back when he was still amassing his insane wealth by picking the entire city clean. I moved on from these texts, travelling elsewhere in the bookshelf.

Standing on my tippy-toes, I noticed a lone, intricate music box occupying the very top shelf, hiding away from sight. It appeared rather new, actually, and it looked like no one had used it yet. I took the music box into my hands.

What was this? I asked myself, gently placing it on a nearby end table. It looked like a gift for someone. Maybe Bruce did have a significant other, after all. Who was it though? The cat lady? Probably. Or it could’ve been for his new best friend, Agent Avesta. I carefully opened the music box and wound it up, examining the inside as I listened to its haunting yet beautiful melody.

The song it played sounded like a romantic waltz for two ghosts, and the emptiness of the manor only enhanced its eerie chimes -- but I couldn’t deny that I felt at peace when I heard it. It was almost like...Bruce thought of me when choosing this song. It fit perfectly.

As for the music box itself, the outside had been decorated with a smooth coat of black paint, and there were highlights of silver designs tracing around it, sort of like a frame. The inner parts however, were much more vibrant. In the center, there was a small, spinning ballerina holding a rose close to her chest, and the space around her was cushioned by purple and green velvet. As for the upper lid, I could see a short, engraved message shimmering in the dim light, reflecting the velvet’s colors. I squinted my eyes, reading the silver calligraphy:

“You’re my light outside of Arkham. --Bruce”

I paused, scratching my head. Why did that sound so familiar? Where had I heard that sentence before? I could’ve sworn someone else said that once. I backtracked through my memories.

Wait a minute.

That was what I said to Bruce back at the cafe, when I pretended to be talking to Harley. Why did he write it down here? He wasn’t...he wasn’t trying to steal Harley away from me, was he? With my own phrase, no less. I laughed to myself. She would never pair up with someone like him. Especially not after the way he betrayed me.

But...what if it wasn’t for Harley? What if...what if it was for--

“--Breaking news,” the TV suddenly blurted out, interrupting my thoughts and causing me to jump again. I turned towards the wide monitor, curious to see what happened.

The same old reporter, Jack Ryder, adjusted his glasses in a grim manner, clearly upset about something.

“This just in,” he announced morosely. “Billionaire and CEO Bruce Wayne has been confirmed dead after battling with the Lotus virus -- a result of the Joker’s attack on Wayne Enterprises three days ago.”

My heart froze in place and I nearly fainted on the spot, taking a second to comprehend what I just heard.

What did he say? B-Bruce was...dead? No, no. That couldn’t be right. They had to be mistaken. I hastily changed the channel, only to come across another news station. There were two reporters this time, sitting side by side as they read off the teleprompter.

“--Well, enough about the weather,” one of them said in a joking manner, switching the subject, “I think all you folks out there joining us today will be far more interested in another topic. A topic relating to one of Gotham’s most prominent citizens. You see, mere moments ago, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises -- Bruce Wayne himself -- was confirmed dead after falling victim to the notorious Lotus virus. Apparently, he managed to survive the virus’s fatal symptoms for an entire three days before finally succumbing to it earlier this morning.”

I hurriedly changed the channel again, the remote trembling in my hand as I shivered from shock, unable to process the news. There was no way Bruce could be dead. The man was practically invincible. A puny little virus couldn’t kill him...right?

But no matter how hard I tried to escape, or how many different reporters I listened to, every single one of them talked about the same thing. In fact, I was flipping through the channels so fast, it started to sound like they were finishing each other’s sentences.

“Philanthropist and entrepreneur Bruce Wayne has passed away--”

“--he was killed by the Lotus virus--”

“--The Agency is still investigating the attack--”

“--who is the Joker, and why did he kill Bruce Wayne?”

“--A service will be held at Divinity Church--”

“--What will happen to Wayne Enterprises now?”

“--no survivors were accounted for during the Joker’s assault--”

“--yet another life taken in this tragic war. The only question now is--”

“--We all have to wonder--”

“--Bruce Wayne’s death has left the city wondering--”

“Who will the Joker go after next?”

Steadily backing away from the TV in horror, the remote slipped from my grasp as my body came to a halt and I felt myself struggling to breathe, my entire world collapsing around me within a matter of minutes.

I. Killed. Bruce. I actually...killed. Bruce. This was all my fault. He died because of me. This was all. My. Fault.

Burying my face in my hands, my eyes began to water as I slid to the floor out of helplessness and suddenly realized why Bruce had been missing for so long, the thought stabbing me right through the chest. He was never hiding like I suspected. He wasn’t playing games with me, or trying to trick me like my paranoia insisted. The whole time, my closest friend had been dying...and I did nothing to stop it. 

I mean, I wanted him to pay for what he did to me, and I was still beyond furious...but I never meant for this to happen. I never actually wanted him to die. I violently shook my head, nearly ripping my hair out. Oh god...what had I done?

“...Bruce,” I whimpered, as if he could hear me, “I’m...so sorry. I just wanted...I just wanted to be loved by you. I never thought it would go this far. I’m so sorry.”

Curling up into a ball, I shut out the world around me and rocked back and forth as the music box’s melody continued to echo throughout the manor’s walls, softly lulling me to sleep. Bruce bought the box for me, didn’t he? I could see that now. I was Bruce’s light outside of Arkham, and I let him die alone in the dark when he needed me most.

I clenched my fist, tears streaming down my face. 

Even though there was no one else to blame for Bruce’s death but myself, I still felt the sudden urge to make Waller pay for all the pain and suffering she put him through. I didn’t know why, but my gut told me the Agency had something to do with this, and I intended to bring them to justice. The right way this time.

Waller killed the Riddler, she nearly killed me, and now, I was more than certain she killed Bruce too. It was high time someone put her and her corrupt organization down, and I was going to do everything in my power to make sure that happened.

Not for me, and certainly not for Gotham...

...but for Bruce.

[kookiesnjimjams]

Whumptober2021  No.1

A/N: I’m a little late, but muse was stubborn as usual. Anyways, here is prompt 1 for Whumptober 2021!

Whumptober Prompt No. 1: All Trussed Up and Still Nowhere to Go

“You have to let go” | barbed wire | bound

 The barbed wire dug sharply into Fayre’s wrists.

 She couldn’t believe how many of the Amalj’aa had shown up to their “ambush.” It should have been obvious, in retrospect. No matter how they questioned him, Ungust had never admitted to any knowledge of the Immortal Flames’ patrols. And even if he had admitted to it, how would he have such knowledge in the first place? Obviously, there had to be an inside man.

 Minfilia had told her that with their ability—Echo, she called it—Fayre could divine a man’s intentions; know his mind and heart. Well, bloody load of good it had done her this time. She hadn’t realized anything was amiss until it was far too late.

 She wondered where her friends were—if they had been captured as she had been. She worried most for Lavenza, their little Healer. The Lalafell had been terrified of facing the Amalj’aa. She had a stratagem for damn near everything else, her clever Scholar’s brain picking out every weakness and exploiting it before Fayre had fully finished swinging her axe, but the Amalj’aa were like the boogey under Lavenza’s bed.

 Apparently, a childhood spent in Ul’dah and hearing the terrifying tales of what the lizardmen did with their captives had left its mark. But she had trusted their little party and the Scions. Fayre told her she would protect her, and yet…she had cheerfully led the lot of them into the midst of a hopeless ambush.

 I hope Thancred got her out of there, at least, Fayre thought. Of course, in a perfect world, only Fayre would be among the captives. If anyone should have to suffer the consequences of her blunder, it should be Fayre alone. There was no way to tell from here, though.

 Presently, Fayre was being carried on the back of one of the Amalj’aa, hanging off his back like an unwilling Hyuran cloak. Each lumbering step jostled her, digging the barbs deeper into the soft, paper thin skin of her wrists. She still felt groggy from the Sleep spell the Amalj’aa mage had hit her with. Her limbs felt sort of wobbly and her brain even more so. Still, she needed to figure a way out of this so she could ascertain the safety of her friends.

 Ignoring the pain, she began testing the strength of her bonds—and the patience of her bearer.

 “Stop wiggling around,” the Amalj’aa who carried her growled, driving his elbow backwards and into her side. Fayre’s breath left her in a rush, rib buckling a bit from the force of the blow.

 “It’s best to just let it be,” came a ragged voice from her side. “There’s no coming back from where they’re taking us. And even if, by some Twelve-sent miracle, we do come back, we ain’t gonna be the same.”

 Fayre looked sharply towards the voice, not recognizing it as one of her party members. On the back of another Amalj’aa, one of the Immortal Flames that had joined their ambush hung draped much as she was. He looked worse for wear than she felt, sporting a black eye and split lip. Despair shone brightly from his eyes, as if he wanted to cry but feared how it would look.

 Fayre pitied him; she really did. But she was not one to give up, no matter the odds, and his words would not deter her.

 “I have to find my friends,” she stated back sharply, gathering her strength for another attempt at jostling her bonds. Maybe she could use them against her captor somehow? Fayre’s mind cycled through several possibilities, drawing on what she had learned from Lavenza and the Arcanists’ Guild to hopefully come up with a stratagem of her own.

 Fayre may have been a mere Marauder, but she wasn’t stupid. Her father had made sure of that. Between her parents, Fayre’s mother had been the dreamer and her father, the teacher. This meant that Fayre had a naturally quick and adaptive mind, able to come up with creative and innovative ideas, and her father helped her turn those ideas into reality through education and study.

 Unfortunately, Fayre lost her mother to the Creeping Death when she was still young. As for her father, well…she didn’t really know. Her memories surrounding the past five years were blurry at best and had been since she’d awakened on the boat to Limsa.

 For the life of her, she couldn’t remember from where she’d boarded the boat or her purpose in coming to Eorzea beyond joining the Adventurer’s Guild. She had a vague memory of saying goodbye to her father, but it felt distant—as if it happened long ago rather than the few moons it must have been had it occurred prior to that awakening.

 Still, the point was that Fayre wasn’t some dumb jock. But she really, really could use her father’s calm and collected voice right now to turn the jumble of ideas bouncing around her head into something actionable.

 Just then, the Amalj’aa carrying her brought her into what appeared to be a massive cave. Already, it was full of captives. From Immortal Flames to the various Ala Mhigan refugees that had been abducted to feed the lizardmen’s primal, they were all there.

 Before she could properly look and see if her friends were among the captives, Fayre had to fight back a yelp of pain as her captor lifted her up using her bound wrists and flung her over his shoulders and onto the ground. Fayre did the best she could to roll with the impact, but it was difficult going and she ate more than her fair share of dirt and bit her tongue in the process.

 As she spat out a mouthful of dirt and blood, Fayre rolled herself onto her back and groaned. “Thanks for the ride, mate,” she gasped. “Bit gentler on the landing next time? I am a lady, after all.”

 If her words reached the Amalj’aa brute, however, he didn’t show it. He simply turned away and marched out of the cave, presumably to prepare the ritual they were going to be subjected to.

 Fayre allowed herself a brief moment of reprieve, letting her various hurts—now that she was laying down, she could feel them all fully—wash over her and recede. The reprieve was all too brief, however, as she heard a very familiar cry of pain.

 “Venza!” Fayre gasped, rolling over unceremoniously so that she could look towards where she heard the voice.

 The familiar Lalafell lay huddled on the ground, cowering away from an Amalj’aa overseer. He stood poised to strike, his arm pulled back in what Fayre could only assume was going to be a second blow. How Lavenza had managed to get out of her bonds, Fayre couldn’t quite say. Nor could she say what the Scholar had done to earn the beastman’s ire. What she did know, however, was that this monster had hurt her friend and that was unacceptable. She’d be damned if she let him do it again.

 At the sound of Fayre’s voice, Lavenza looked up in surprise. Golden eyes not unlike Fayre’s locked onto her and several complicated emotions flooded the small, round face. But all Fayre could see were the unshed tears in her friend’s eyes as well as the soft, white strands of her hair slowly turning crimson as blood dripped freely from a head wound.

 Now, Fayre was usually a very nice girl. Many even called her beautiful and delicate, citing her deceptively petite build, fair skin (for which she had been named), and softly curled hair which framed her pretty face, the rest gathered in an intricate braid at the back of her head. “She truly is a beauty!” they would all say in the small, provincial town she had been raised in.

 But those who knew her best knew this: when it came to protecting those she cared about, Fayre was no beauty—rather, she was little more than a beast.

 It didn’t matter that her axe was nowhere to be found. It didn’t matter that her hands were bound, or that she was injured and outnumbered. As soon as she saw her Healer bleeding, Fayre let out a bellow of rage and leapt to her feet.

 Two Amalj’aa overseers tried to stop her. She stunned one with a swift kick right to his nether regions and then used her bound hands to send him pummeling into the other. The barbed wire broke with the force of her throw, but she didn’t let it fall, instead keeping a hold of it as she sprinted forward. As they went down in a tangle of limbs and curses, Fayre had only one objective: to get to the bastard who hurt Lavenza and hurt him worse.

 Fayre used her momentum to vault herself up on the back of her friend’s attacker and used the barbed wire which had formerly been binding her as a garotte to strangle the Amalj’aa. In the moment, it didn’t occur to her that it was kind of poetic justice: whereas she had been carried in here on the back of her captor, helpless and bound, she now found herself in the exact same position but with the upper hand this time.

 Not that he made it easy. With one hand, he tugged at the barbed wire, trying to keep it from tightening on his throat; with the other, he did his best to wrest her off of him. He tried everything from elbowing her to clawing at her. When none of that proved a deterrent, he bellowed and made for the cave wall.

 Several captives shouted and scurried away, but Fayre simply tightened her hold with a shout of effort. The Amalj’aa brute then positioned himself so that he could slam himself against the wall—with Fayre between the two.

 The air rushed from Fayre’s lungs and several of the Marauder’s bones buckled on impact but she felt none of it. She clung, weathering that first impact., second, third…no matter how hard he tried, her grip never wavered. She was dimly aware of Lavenza screaming something, but she couldn’t hear anything over the rush of blood in her ears.

 Slowly—or quickly, there was no telling how much time had come and gone—the impacts grew weaker and weaker as the Amalj’aa’s strength wavered. How long could a reptile go without breathing? It didn’t matter. She would hold on as long as it took. Finally, finally…he gave one last impact and then his knees buckled. He fell to the ground. And still, she clung.

 “Fayre…Fayre…” words filtered through her brain, distant and foggy. She tightened her grip once more. Something warm gushed between her fingers. “Fayre? Please. You have to let go.”

 It was the please that did it. Fayre blinked and saw Lavenza’s concerned expression floating before her face. “You’re okay?” she asked.

 Lavenza let out a huff of indignation. “Me? I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. Now will you please let go of that damned lizard so I can see to your bloody wounds?”

 Somewhat self-conscious now that the danger had passed—well, maybe not passed but certainly paused—Fayre did as she was told…and immediately regretted it.

 Her hands were a bloody mess. The barbs from the barbed wire had mangled them almost beyond recognition. The cuts were so deep in some of them that she damn near lost two or three of her fingers. The pain was incredible. Who knew such small injuries, though admittedly numerous, could hurt so damn much?

 “Bugger me, what were you thinking?” Lavenza tsked. She reached for her Grimoire and cast Physick. The worst of the cuts started to seal themselves, a cool relieving sensation dancing across the bleeding digits. As the skin worked on knitting itself back together, numbing pinprick-like needle sensations took the place of the pain. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was a far-cry better than the agony from before.

 “I was thinking that I promised I would protect you and I failed miserably,” Fayre commented.

 Pain radiated from her chest with each word—no doubt a result of being slammed multiple times into the cavern wall—and another Physick washed over her. Bones knitting themselves back together hurt a hell of a lot worse than cuts, but Fayre had grown used to that dull, aching pain.

 “Sorry,” Lavenza said, smiling slightly. It was a sad expression, and Fayre wished she could find another lizardman to strangle to death if it would only make her smile a real smile again. “You got hurt because of me.”

 Fayre shook her head. “Don’t be daft,” she said. “It’s my job to protect you. That’s why I carry the big axe.”

 Lavenza lifted her Grimoire and then, quite without warning, bonked Fayre over the head with it.

 “Ow!” Fayre cried out. “What was that for?”

 “You may carry that big axe, but you don’t have it right now, do you?” Lavenza lectured. “Whereas I have this.” The white-haired Lala held the Grimoire in front of Fayre’s face almost tauntingly.

 Fayre blinked at it uncomprehending.

 Lavenza sighed and shook her head. “Did you consider that maybe I had a bloody plan?”

 “Uh…” Fayre began, but before she could articulate a better response, Lavenza was up and pacing. Fayre knew her well enough by now that she recognized a wrap-up when she saw one, so she rested her back against the wall and prepared to listen.

 “First, I was already unbound. One of the Flame captives rightly assessed that I was their best shot of getting out of here alive. So, while the guards were rounding up the rest of you lot, she helped me slip out of my bonds. Then, another told me there was a tunnel in the stream I could possibly swim through to get out and get help. It wasn’t quite big enough for anyone bigger than a Lalafell and none of the others were brave enough to risk it.”

 Fayre felt her lips quirk up in response. “That so?”

 “Mm-hm! So, naturally, I swam through. When I got through the tunnel and out of the water, I found myself in a different part of the caves. I was quite lost for a while, but then I remembered hearing one of Mistress Thubyrgeim’s lectures about how you can use Carbuncle to help you navigate through a dark cavern system,” Lavenza continued.

 The excitement in Lavenza’s voice was clear, and although Fayre was still in a bit of pain, it actually comforted her quite a lot to hear it.

 “Eventually, I exited somewhere in Drybone. From there, I found Thancred and told him what had happened. He was really worried about you in particular, by the way. Kind of cute, actually. Maybe he has a crush? Anyways, I told him where the captives were being held and he said it would be best if I swam back so I could let you all know that help was coming without alerting the Amalj’aa of our plans.” Lavenza took a deep breath, obviously having exerted quite a lot of energy in the retelling of the story.

 But if help was coming, where was it? And what had happened to the rest of their party? Perhaps sensing Fayre’s questions, Lavenza halted her pacing and gave her a smile.

 “The others are fine, by the way. A little banged up, but Cora was able to drag Vis away while A’xian covered their escape with his flashy magics. You know him—always ready to put on a show.”

 Fayre did know A’xian. He never did anything halfway; that Miqo’te wouldn’t know the first thing about being subtle. She was glad it had come in handy for the others this time. Vis was a talented Paladin, but the Hrothgar was a tad overprotective—especially of Fayre. She could imagine he wasn’t easy to drag away from the action, especially once Fayre had fallen to that damned Sleep spell, but if anyone could get a hold of him it was Cora. She was never anything but sweet most of the time, though the occasional snark could easily be detected in her tone—however, nobody dared cross the Viera if they had half a brain, lest they find themselves with an arrow in their arse for their trouble.

 “Good, that’s good…but if help is coming, where…”

 Before Fayre finished her question, she heard the sound of fighting coming from the other side of the cavern. She could have shouted for joy. Except…

 Several Amalj’aa rushed into the cavern, barking orders to the captives to all get up for “Tempering,” whatever that was. Lavenza and Fayre had little choice but to obey, exchanging a worried glance even as they were forced to their feet and pushed towards a hidden door in the cavern.

 “We go to meet the Lord of the Inferno,” one of the Amalj’aa barked. “You had best show the proper respect—not that you’ll have much choice on that front.”

 As he chortled, Fayre steeled herself. If help was coming, all she and Lavenza had to do was survive until the others came to the rescue.

 No matter what, she figured, she would show them. Someone who could strangle a lizardman with naught more than a piece of barbed wire and sheer stubbornness was not someone to be trifled with…and now she had Lavenza on her side.

 Fayre nodded at her. Lavenza nodded back. It was time to meet this “Lord of the Inferno” and bring him to his knees.

[thenervespore]

COMMERCIAL LAW WRAP UP

Hello World! 

It is August 16, 2021!

My last bar-related post here was May 11, 2021 - more than three months!!!

Well, time flied soooo fast. Again, it has been three months. Technically, May 12 was my FIRST DAY OF OFFICIAL BAR REVIEW. It means that I should have been GAME MODE ON from that day forth.

But what can I say. Things don’t cease to be fluid. I mean even if you plan things out, even if you are motivated and determined to stick to your plan - there would be deviations. The plan presupposes that you are steady in everything. It presupposes that you are predisposed everyday to study and you accomplish what you planned to accomplish for everyday. However, like every idea translated to reality - there has some distortions which took place. There were bad days, sad days, paralytic days and days were you cannot do anything because you cannot...just....figure...out...why....you....can’t. 

However, looking back, things which are important despite the unexpected and unforeseeable things and the deviations to the plan:

1. Just keep moving forward whatever happens.

2. Despite the pressure, have a calm and composed mind.

3. Be more realistic in your actions - the end goal is that you absorb and understand concepts. So if you think you NEED to read 300 pages per day to end in the right schedule, rethink if you really UNDERSTOOD what those pages contain. Otherwise, ALL IS A WASTE.

These three things has always been my compass despite all of the challenges in the external world. I dissociate myself with everything else which is not essential as of the moment - in order for me to maximize my learning capacity and to be able to think things through properly. 

I cannot, out of my good conscience, omit this personally mandatory process of journaling in between. 

I actually said in my last posts that I am going to post random passages or stuff here. But apparently, I cannot do so because life is just so HECTIC. Like you cannot breath out of the impossible readings that you need to read. There would be times where I would literally just read from waking up to sleeping down. Everything else is just inserted in between. More over, I have friends to assure me that I have emotional support and I can unload all these emotional baggage attached to being a barista. So letting things out through the ink seemed less indispensable that months. 

However, the thing that I am missing is I cannot really discuss or let out my bar substance related feelings and reactions to them. Apparently, if you are a barista, you have the privilege of having a clue of the overview of law as a whole. Well, when we where in fourth year, this was also the case because that was a review year. My point is, for someone to relate to the things you want to share, they must also be at least fourth year law school students. Haru actually is someone who could really relate and discuss with me on anything I wanted to discuss. However, he is also busy with his life. Also, we cannot really discuss also with our fellow baristas because everyone else are busy with their readings. Chances are, you are not reading the same subject at a certain point of time. 

So in order for me to synthesize and understand my downfalls and my strengths as to a bar subject better, I am establishing a hobby of evaluating my 2nd reading and reading them first for the preweek before I really dwell into the substance of the subject.

I just finished my SECOND READING OF COMMERCIAL LAW. It means I do not have the opportunity to really gulp in new concepts, I just have to review the things I already read in the preweek.

More or less, I already read the pertinent laws with few exceptions: take note that I haven’t read yet Investor’s Lease Act, The Special Economic Zone Act of 1995 and Use of Duly-Stamped and Marked Containers. OK, I am going to include them during my printing of Criminal Laws later. But the thing is these are obscure subjects which are least likely to be sources of Bar Exam questions. But it better to FEEL LIKE YOU LEFT NO STONE UNTURNED.

Well my general feeling as I finished Commercial Law is I feel confident already with this very obscure and technical subject when it comes to the general rules and concepts and also to some nitty gritty in between. 

During law school, Commercial Law is not something I excelled in. Personally also, I feel like it is one of the subjects where I literally feel like reading it in the first time every time. That was my general feeling when I first read Commercial Law subjects in the review. I mean, the first subject in Commercial Law is Insurance. When I read Insurance for the first time, I had a panic attack because I realized that I did not really understand the concepts when I was in lawschool.

THIS IS AN IMPORTANT THING TO UNDERSTAND.

There are two ways of studying things: either (1) you just memorize OR (2) you memorialize. You memorize when you just put into mind the key words or key phrases. People even memorize entire codal provisions or entire definitions in lawschool. Personally, memorizing is my strength. That is why I also survived my undergrad course BSBiology which is in need of a lot of memorization skills. However, we should always understand that MOST OF THE THINGS WE MEMORIZE ARE ONLY STORED IN OUR SHORT-TERM MEMORY. However, when you MEMORIALIZE, you try to cast your mind away from the construction of the phrases, from the choice of words but you try to get through THE SPIRIT OF THE LAW. What it really means. Why does it matter. Why is this written here. Remember, law always has a reason d’etre. THERE IS A STORY BEHIND THEM. They are not written there just for the sake of it. They are written there because they are supposed to have PRACTICAL APPLICATIONS. They are supposed to govern human conduct, maintain peace and order and ensure that justice and fairness will always be the general rule for the conduct of things. When I was studying Insurance, these are the things I realized: 1. I did not really try to understand the importance or context of this law.

2. I just memorized the codal provisions or definitions in order for me to answer in the exams.

That is why I was really frightened because everything seemed to be foreign to me when I read the reviewer. Hell, this should literally be the third time I encountered this subject because I took this during third year, fourth year and then now. 

As I was cruising through the reviewer, my mind was just acknowledging I MEMORIZED THIS PREVIOUSLY. But I did not really try to understand it. I am saying that I did not try to understand it because if asked to explain in MY OWN WORDS, I could not do it. Which is another point that I want to emphasize, the true test would be that you can EXPLAIN THINGS IN YOUR OWN WORDS. 

Sometimes, we get anxious to deviate from the wordings of the law because the law is very technical. We say it is very technical because the certain words would have a very technical meaning under the law or jurisprudence even if we use them differently or arbitrarily in ordinary usage. Therefore, we are afraid that we will fail the scrutiny of the professor because we do not follow what was written in the law. The usual tendency is that we skip actual comprehension and go straight with memorization of the text of the law. However, this should not be the case. 

I tried to go over my past examinations and I try to evaluate my downfalls in answering in the exam. As I said, I have an upper hand in memory skills that is why if you could see my exam notebooks, you can see that I can give you entire provisions of law in almost a photocopy finish. However, I realize that because I memorized the provisions, I also wrote PARTS OF THE PROVISION which are not really pertinent to the question. I know one of the training in Ateneo is how to spot the issue and that there will always be a specific provision of law which would apply to a certain scenario. I do not disprove this. I concur. However, there would be instances when instead of one long provision which is applicable, there would be two intertwined parts of different provisions which are applicable. If we look at jurisprudence, we would really appreciate the intricacy of the law because of this. The reason is that provisions are not cast out of isolation from each other, they are supposedly a part of a bigger body of thoughts which could be correlated with each other. They could actually be applied with one another.

So I realized that I was making an unnecessary show-off. I just proved to people that I can memorize stuff but I did not really convey the deeper passion I have for law which I know I have in me. 

So my point going back is that READ BETWEEN THE LINES BEFORE READING THE LINES. Do not skip this process. Or else you are lost in the long run. So do not memorize right away. Read through the annotations, discussions and try to understand what message they want to convey first and then the next step is try to correlate how different legal luminaries explain these concepts in their own words and justifications and be guided with what certain terminologies are acceptable and commonly used. Again, the learning process is characterized by repetition by repetition by repetition. But it should not be repeating MEMORIZING THINGS again. This is important in moving forward. If you really are passionate in going forward in studying the law, you should at least have an understanding of the general rule. If YOU ARE STUCK ON MEMORIZING THE WORDINGS OF THE GENERAL RULE, then you would not have the time and energy to appreciate the slight deviations, intricacies and applications of the rule. The legal vocation is just like other vocations. We make an analogy to a painter. To a common mind, we only know the color green. But a painter would know the different hues, shades and other intricate details about the color. The hair could be split for as many times if you are passionate in your vocation. It is the same with the law. There will always be new stuff that you will learn no matter how many times you read things through. There will never be a time where you completely know everything about the law and never miss out a detail. It is humanly impossible! However, the desire to follow this longingness would be a good indicator that you have the passion to follow this vocation.

I remember my Labor Law professor Father Gus who keeps on telling us that he has read the case of LVN Pictures vs Philippine Musician’s Guild and he learns something new everytime he reads it. 

KNOWLEDGE IS CUMULATIVE. We might have read a material and not fully comprehend all parts of them in one instance. However, in the interim, we learn new things, we expand our knowledge. And then we read the same material again. We now understand it better, even differently on various occasions.  A common example is when we read cases when we were in first year vs in fourth year law school. When we read again the case in fourth year, we understand the case better in its entirety. This is true even in cases where you thought you understood the case very well. This has always been a source of excitement for me. That is why I prefer reading cases in the full text because I am appalled by how interconnected things are. However, in bar preparations, we should also be practical and realize that 

1. reading full text takes a lot of time and time is very precious

2. it is more on a luxury than a necessity.

More over, the bar exam has already split the law into eight (8). So the interconnectedness that you could have in your answer would be limited by what certain bar subject you are taking.

For example, there are a lot of obligations and contracts (OBLICON) concepts in Corporation. Actually this is because in some jurisdictions, corporate contract law is a subject of its own. However, in the bar exams, it would be unfair if the examiner would focus on oblicon concepts albeit intricately related to corporations. What I remember here is the case of rescission of subscription agreements. The concept of rescission is actually governed by Civil Law. However, this case is intricately connected with the Trust Fund Doctrine. So, I think even if “rescission” is under Civil Law, it could be used as a term or situation in Commercial Law but the discussion would be those falling under commercial law concepts. So here, instead of discussing the concept of rescission, we discuss the trust fund doctrine and how this doctrine would be superior to the right to rescission. We have two concurring rights here, the right of the creditors of the corporation to have the equity held in trust for the satisfaction of their claims and the right of the subscriber to rescind a contract based on the grounds provided under the Civil Code. However, the Supreme Court has already ruled that the greater good will be subsumed if we put a premium to the trust fund doctrine rather than to grant the right of rescission. This is not founded on the law. This is based on the wisdom of the highest Court of the land. That is why another thing which is important is keeping abreast with the decisions of the Supreme Court.

Which takes me to my BIGGEST ANXIETY. I am not entirely confident that I am updated with the latest doctrinal decisions of the Supreme Court. 

In my second reading, I focused entirely in memorializing the codal provisions. My reason here is that I should atleast have a complete central basis for everything which could probably be asked in the exam. This has always been my primary way of synthesis since then. I always identify the central idea and branch out everything from there. This method of branching guided me to do what I did in the second reading which is to read the codals first. However, Commercial Law is very hectic in a way that it is the ONLY BAR SUBJECT WHICH HAS A CODAL WHICH HAS THREE VOLUMES. Therefore, reading the codals themselves would consume most of your time. All this time, I am also just having faith in the fact that our law school professors has already honed us and gave us most of the doctrinal cases that we need to know.

However, there are two propensities regarding the Bar Exams:

1. Questions which came from the cases decided by the Bar Examiner AND

2. Questions which came from the LATEST doctrinal cases.

I already had an idea of the cases of Leonen. However, I realized that I really do not have an overview yet of the doctrinal cases of other Ponentes especially the latest en banc cases. That is why I need to identify newest case lists in Commercial Law and read them or insert them in my time. Okay, so I would make this a habit AFTER I FINISH THE REQUISITE NUMBER OF HOURS I HAVE TO STUDY IN MY PRIMARY REVIEW SUBJECT.  

That would be the last furnishes I have to put in my constructed building.

PROBLEMATIC AREAS:

Now, I am going to identify problematic areas I have:

1. In insurance, obscure subjects such as microinsurance, compulsory insurance coverage for agency-hired workers, non-default options in life insurance. Always remember the name of the case of Vicente Henson II. vs. UCPB General Insurance which set out the new guidelines as to the prescriptive period for actions by the subrogee-insurer against the person who caused the loss, damage or liability. This is the most recent doctrinal case with respect to insurance. Also the case of Insular vs. Alvarez which is a Leonen case could probably go out also. Lastly with respect to judicial bonds, the leonen case of Milagros Enriquez vs. Mercantile Insurance (2018) guides us that the effectivity of the judicial bonds is during the pendency of the action irrespective of the agreement between the bond company and the applicant. 

2. THE ENTIRE PRENEED CODE is a problematic area in a way that this is not actually discussed anywhere. However, I just take note here that certain regulations for Securities and certain features of a Life Insurance are relevant here. Like SRC, there is a need for a registration statement for the plan and actually EVERY ADVERTISEMENT you have for the plan should be approved by the Insurance Commission. As to the features of grace period, instead of 30 days , we have here 60 days and instead of  3 year period of reinstatement we have 2+2 (nondefault options + reinstatement)

3. As to Transportation, the Public Service Act and the Warsaw Convention are kind of shaky. I have to remember the concept of ruinous competition etc.

4. I haven’t read Partnerships for the second time hahaha, I think I can answer here.

5. Corporations. Of course Corpo is the most complicated subject here with six pages in the Syllabus out of 16!!!! Imagine! But I have to believe that I put extra attention here. I know the backstory why. In lawschool, my grade here is 74 but my professor rounded it up to 75. In otherwords, I was somehow reconsidered (this was my second reconsidered grade other than Persons in first year). So I graduated knowing to myself that passing corpo was PRIMARY BY VIRTUE OF A SAVING GRACE. It is a constant reminder for me to be extra attentive and put extra effort in this subject. In my first and second readings, I have to be faithful that I did justice to my law professor’s decision and I did not forgo it. I WILL NOT LET HIM DOWN.

6. Securities. THIS IS THE MOST OBSCURE SUBJECT IN THE COMMERCIAL LAW. I honestly still have alot of gray areas here. Maybe in the preweek I have to give extra attention here.

7. Banking. Obscure topics like Selective regulation and rates of exchange haunts me still. I literally know nothing in them and understood poorly here. I just moved forward because time is running out but I could also not see anything being asked here. PDIC charter should be prioritized because this is something I do not know in lawschool. hahaha like literally.

8. Intellectual property I could say is a strong subject back then. However, I should always remember that I struggle in Copyright and Other Related Rights just because it has a lot of codal provisions which are obscure and not really subjected to jurisprudence but we could still say that they could still be subject of controversy and be applied in the future.

9. Special Laws - AMLC, FRIA and Data Privacy. No other explanations. I found these laws very obscure, especially the latter two. So I also have to prioritize them in the preweek.

EVERYTHING IS OFFERED TO ALLAH.