#trying so badly to beat the same face allegations actually

[reyryz]

have a tokyo meetup wip

[tomhiddlestonfanfic]

Post Apocalyptic Love Chapter Five

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3  - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7  

NUMBER OF CHAPTERS/ONE SHOT: 5/? WHICH TOM CHARACTER: Doctor Thomas Hiddleston   PAIRING: Tom/OFC   GENRE: Drama, Romance

SUMMARY   After three generations of living inside of vault 181, the era of expeditions into the wasteland has finally come. Young scientist Rory Waters is more than eager to join in on the fun together with her colleague and boss, Doctor Thomas Hiddleston. There is only one problem, Rory is a fertile and childless woman in her mid-twenties. In order to be able to go out on an expedition, she has to promise the research board that she will provide them with a child afterwards. There is only one man in the entire vault that Rory can imagine having children with…  

Taglist: @twhiddlestonsstuff​

CHAPTER FIVE The Disciplinarian’s Office

Tom shook his head amusedly at Rory’s habit of getting herself into trouble. It became so apparent how different she was from the other girl’s their age as they sat down in the waiting outside the disciplinarian’s office. The other visitors were children, some accompanied by grown ups, or adolescents, all of which considerably younger than Rory. It was a bizarre experience for Tom to sit outside the disciplinarian’s office with his soon to be wife, just to make sure that she didn’t try to escape from whatever punishment Mister Cavill would have in store for her.

Mister Cavill sighed heavily and shook his head upon seeing Rory in his waiting room.

“You can come back in an hour, Miss Waters, so you don’t have to sit around and wait here with all the children,” he informed her.

“Thanks, Mister Cavill,” Rory replied with a grin as she got out of her seat.

“Then I suppose we could head to the canteen for a meal,” Tom suggested. Rory nodded agreeingly.

They ate in silence until Tom noticed how Rory was not eating but picking at her food as though she was deeply bothered by something. He wanted to cheer her up.

“What’s wrong, Miss Waters? Don’t you like the food?” he asked, causing her to snort at his bad joke. Reflecting over whether you enjoyed the taste of the food you were rationed was merely a waste of time and a luxury of the past. Her entire life, Rory had been constantly reminded to be grateful for what she was given and chided when displaying any signs of discontent. There simply was no room for that kind of behaviour in this new world.

Rory picked up the fork and began eating from her plate. She had been in deep thought and forgotten all about how hungry she really was. Once the plate was emptied she looked around the canteen with its metal walls, ceiling, tables and chairs. They all had the same boring colour of grey. She sighed heavily as she thought about the world outside the vault, it had been pretty grey too, but in an open way that didn’t give her that unpleasant claustrophobic feeling as the insides of the vault did. She wanted to get out there again. She had to get out there again, she thought.

“We should probably head back to Mister Cavill’s office now,” Tom informed her after an hour had passed. Rory nodded and got out of her seat, taking the metal tray with her.

Inside of Mister Cavill’s office, Tom noticed an unmistakable chemistry between Mister Cavill and Rory. They shared knowing smiles as Rory slumped down in one of the seats by the desk.

“So, Miss Waters, what brings you here today?” Mister Cavill questioned in a businesslike tone, leaning slightly forward in his seat behind the desk to look at her through his thick rimmed glasses. He was very muscular, but his gentle ways made him considerably less threatening than he would have been otherwise.

Rory smiled amusedly as she motioned to Tom. “I believe Doctor Hiddleston should tell the story, seeing as Commander Fowler told him to escort me here,” Rory replied.

“Commander Fowler, huh?” Mister Cavill said with a heavy sigh as he looked at Rory. “You know he’ll want proof, right?” he informed her. “That’s why he sent Doctor Hiddleston with you, so he’d have a witness for the administration of your punishment.” 

“A witness?” Tom questioned uneasily. He certainly didn’t want to see Rory get beaten. Especially not after all the awful stories she had told him about it throughout the day.

“Yes, a witness,��� Mister Cavill said and looked at Tom thoughtfully, as though he was trying to read him. “But to judge by the look on your face, you want Miss Waters to be caned as little as I do,” he continued with a smile. “In fact, you make the perfect witness, Doctor Hiddleston, because you’re considered a reliable and conscientious person. We could use that to our advantage. Don’t you think, Miss Waters?”

“You can call me Rory in front of him, Henry,” Rory told him happily. “This is Tom, my fiance, I think?”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Tom realised and smiled embarrassedly as he looked at her ringless hand. “I should probably get you a ring,” he added.

“I would like that very much,” Rory replied with a wide smile and turned to look at Henry. “Can you believe this, Henry? I’m getting married! The plan is that we’re going to have children and raise them together, not collectively like you and I got raised, but as a real family,” she told him excitedly.

“I’m so happy for you. Congratulations, Rory,” Henry told her and walked around his desk to give her a proper hug. “But you should have just come and told me that without pissing off Commander Fowler first. Now we both have to spend the next couple of days acting like I caned you,” told her with a sigh. “I hate it when you glare at me.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told I’m pretty good at that,” Rory replied with a smile. “I’m sorry, Henry. But we can’t act like we’re friends outside of here, because then they’ll get suspicious and possibly ruin everything you have worked so hard to achieve.”

“I know. The number one troublemaker can’t be friends with the disciplinarian who allegedly gives her beatings on a regular basis,” Henry said sadly and parted from her to look at her properly. “I’m sorry I can only see you when you’re in trouble.”

“Me too,” Rory said regretfully. “But at least we see each other quite regularly.”

“It’s not a good thing that you still get sent here on a regular basis, Rory. You’re too old for this,” he told her seriously before turning to face Tom. He shook his hand. “Congratulations on your engagement, Doctor Hiddleston. As you already know, she’s a handful, but she’s also one of the best people I know.”

“Awwh, thank you, Henry. The feeling is mutual,” Rory told him, placing a hand above her heart as she looked at him tenderly.

“I promise I’ll take good care of her,” Tom assured Henry as he walked back to his desk.

“You better,” Henry told him seriously “She’s like a little sister to me.” He looked at Tom for a moment before cracking a smile that made Tom even more nervous. The smile didn’t look genuine.

They spent the rest of the time in Henry’s office talking about details of how Tom and Rory should act to convince everyone that Tom had just seen her get severely caned by Henry. The attention to detail in the story of the alleged caning made Tom feel sick to his stomach. Was this really how people were being treated within the vault? He felt bad not having had any idea how bad things really got for those who couldn’t or wouldn’t keep their heads down and stay in line.

Tom also felt a sense of pride for becoming a confidant when it came to Rory and Henry’s plan to change things from the inside. Henry had set out to become a disciplinarian solely because he wanted to change how badly children and adolescents were being treated. He would actually talk and listen to the troublemakers rather than hitting them, like he was instructed to do.

As the two of them left the disciplinarian’s office, Tom looked at Rory with a new found interest and wondered what else he might not know about her. The more he thought about it, the more he realised how little he really knew about the free-spirited woman walking beside him.

Previous Chapter  Next Chapter

[lunasilvermorny]

Facing the past - Luna and Jacob

This is not part of the headcanon. It’s simply a dialogue that Luna and Jacob would have had if they actually talked about their problems instead of sweeping everything under the rug.

They have so many unresolved issues, that I thought it would be an interesting concept to explore. It got intense.

Enjoy.

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Luna: Aren’t you tired of playing the victim when you’re clearly at fault here?

Jacob: Right, I forgot I was talking to father’s mindless lacky.

Luna: I am not his lacky! Just because you have a warped perception-

Jacob: Accurate perception.

Luna: -of me, doesn’t mean that you know what the bloody hell you’re talking about!

Jacob: Won’t you ever shut up?!

Luna: You’re a failure! You have no one to blame but yourself-

Jacob: Yes, father.

Luna: -if you only did something with your life-

Jacob: Yes, father.

Luna: -instead of acting like a child.

Jacob: You’re right, father.

Luna: LIKE NOW! ACTING LIKE A CHILD!

Jacob: At least I can think for myself!

Luna: Oh, right. You’re so edgy. Hey everyone, look at me-!

Jacob: And I’m the child?

Luna: I wear leather and I smoke like a chimney! Aren’t I cool? Screw the man - literally!

Jacob: Is that supposed to be funny?

Luna: You are a self-centered prick that has nothing to offer and can only stand up against literal children and bully them!

Jacob: I was trying to prevent you from turning into HIM!

Luna: You were trying to kill me!

Jacob: Oh, please. Could you be any more mellowdramatic?

Luna: What about the time you used Bombarda on me?

Jacob: I was aiming for your toy.

Luna: You hit my god damn face!

Jacob: By accident!

Luna: I was 6, you psychopath!

Jacob: Were you already a mindless lacky at the age of 6? Impressive.

Luna: What about the time you destroyed my arm?!

Jacob: It was a tiny scratch-

Luna: It took the healers 6 mouths to fully reconstruct it!

Jacob: Fine, but I was a kid too!

Luna: Funny, when I was at that age, I haven’t completely obliterated any of Olivia’s limbs!

Jacob: Of course not, you were too busy climbing up father’s bum!

Luna: Father this, father that-

Jacob: Yes, father this, father that! He’s the real monster, if you’re looking to blame anyone.

Luna: You think I don’t know how he’s like?

Jacob: Oh, please.

Luna: Because I do-

Jacob: OH, PLEASE!

Luna: I know more than you think, you just never gave me enough credit. You never had even the slightest respect for me!

Jacob: What is there to respect? You were a mini version of him!

Luna: I was a child!

Jacob: You were a little devil.

Luna: I WAS A CHILD!!

Jacob: You can yell it all you want, still doesn’t change the fact that you were a nasty little twat.

Luna: Oh, me? Really? Was I the one that constantly pranked you?

Jacob: You were asking to be pranked, with that stupid face of yours.

Luna: Was I the one that constantly belittling you?

Jacob: It was a matter of time and you know it.

Luna: No, it wasn’t.

Jacob: It was. I knew he’ll get inside your head eventually and turn you against me, so what was the point in even trying? I had no chance, you adored him!

Luna: I have my issues with him, just as much as you do.

Jacob: Yeah, right.

Luna: What the hell would you know?!

Jacob: Aren’t you still in that cozy closet of yours? I know mum knows, she always knew, but does he know?

Luna: ...

Jacob: Right. So you haven’t told him - what a shocker!

Luna: Why the hell would I tell him?

Jacob: Because that’s who you are! You want to know how he reacted when I told him?

Luna: You should’ve kept it to yourself.

Jacob: How can you, of all people, say that?

Luna: He’s old and set in his ways. What’s the point in antagonizing him?

Jacob: You’re right, how dare I find men attractive?

Luna: That’s not what I meant and you know it.

Jacob: All I know is that you’re a little coward. Afraid to ruin your reputation as his perfect little princess?

Luna: He is old! What good would it make?!

Jacob: Don’t you want to be yourself?

Luna: I don’t need to! Not in front of him.

Jacob: Wow, so rebellious.

Luna: You told him because you knew it would push him over the edge!

Jacob: Ha! Oh, really? Was that the reason? Good to know!

Luna: He already had his problems with you-

Jacob: Exactly. EXACTLY! Do you have any idea how it feels that my own father hates me?! My own father thinks I’m a bloody mistake!

Luna: And instead of proving him otherwise-

Jacob: There was no way to prove anything! That horrible man made my life miserable ever since I can remember!

Luna: Look at that, just like you did to me.

Jacob: I was trying to help you!

Luna: You were taking your frustration on me! I was your bloody scapegoat, since you couldn’t confront father, and you know it!

Jacob: You are so blind!

Luna: No, you’re just a hypocrite!

Jacob: Fine, I’m a hypocrite! But it doesn’t mean that man gets a free pass for all the crap he put me through!

Luna: He had a messed up family too-

Jacob: Don’t you even try-

Luna: -they were literally Death Eaters!

Jacob: -to compare the situations. He married mum out of spite! He brought us to this world out of SPITE!

Luna: They messed him up-

Jacob: That doesn’t justify his actions!

Luna: -really bad and you know it.

Jacob: He messed me up!

Luna: Yeah, well. Me too. That doesn’t mean I’m crying about it like a freaking infant!

Jacob: YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THIS MAN DID TO ME!

Luna: Yeah, made you feel worthless. Boo-fucking-hoo. Join the club.

Jacob: Really? Did he ever beat you up?

Luna: Of course not.

Jacob: Did he ever screwed up your face so badly that mum had to literally reconstruct it?!

Luna: I know that he’s not a good man, but he wouldn’t resort to violence.

Jacob: When he found out I’m gay, he used the CRUCIATUS curse on me!

Luna: ...

Jacob: Do you have any idea what it’s like being tortured by your own father?!

Luna: ...

Jacob: Nothing to say, all of a sudden?

Luna: You’re a liar.

Jacob: Oh, am I?

Luna: Yes, you are clearly lying.

Jacob: Of course you’ll say that, you worthless arse.

Luna: You must be really desperate-

Jacob: Why would I lie about it?!

Luna: -to create such fake- BECAUSE YOU’RE A LIAR!

Jacob: ASK HIM! Ask mum. Let’s see what they’ll say.

Luna: Fuck you.

Jacob: And if you ever come out to him, that’s exactly what’s expecting you. You’re welcome, by the way. I had no one to give me a heads-up.

Luna: Shut up! I don’t need to hear these kinds of lies for the psychopath that was probably a few pranks away from using the same curse on me!

Jacob: I would never-!

Luna: You are the only one that ever physically hurt me in our family.

Jacob: ...

Luna: How dare you pass the blame to him, after everything you’ve done.

Jacob: I... I never intended to hurt you, honestly. You were just so much alike! With your stupid smirk and insufferable voice-

Luna: I was helpless.

Jacob: Well, so was I.

Luna: I don’t care. You are the older sibling, you should have known better.

Jacob: ...

Luna: You don’t deserve any sympathy. None!

Jacob: I care about you and that’s more than that horrible excuse of a father would ever give you. He is incapable of real love and you know it.

Luna: ...

Jacob: There is no such thing as unconditional love with that man.

Luna: I don’t need unconditional love. Never have.

Jacob: He is a bad man.

Luna: I know. You’re both bad-

Jacob: He’s worst!

Luna: I know.

Jacob: No, you don’t. If you don’t believe me, then you don’t know.

Luna: Nothing would convince me that you’re telling the truth now.

Jacob: Then ask him.

Luna: I will, but I already know that you’re lying.

Jacob: We’ll see.

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Some cuts are just too deep to mend. I can’t think of any scenario that could ever truly repair their damaged relationship. That’s why they chose to just ignore the past and act as if nothing happened, while letting all the passive-aggressive remarks slip through the cracks.

This post is long enough, but if you’re interested, I’ll add the part where she asks their father about Jacob’s allegations.

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Edgar: Yes, Luna. Come in.

Luna: Hello, father.

Edgar: As you can see, I am very busy. Is it urgent?

Luna; I just have one question.

Edger: All right, go ahead.

Luna: Have...have you ever…?

Edgar: Speak, child. I have no time for hesitancy.

Luna: Have you ever used the Cruciatus curse on him? Jacob, I mean.

Edgar …

Luna: …

Edgar: No.

Luna: Okay…

Edgar: Anything else?

Luna: No, that's all.

*She turned to leave*

Edgar: Luna.

Luna: Yes, father?

Edgar: You have great potential and your OWLs prove it. Do not let him take you down with him. He is below your level in any regard and he knows it. That is why he dragged you into the these vaults nonsense and that is why he is planting these ridiculous ideas inside your head.

Luna: Yes, father.

--

Rowan: So, what happened?

Luna: He did it.

Rowan: Oh, Luna, I’m... I’m so sorry-

Luna: I don’t want to talk about it.

--

Jacob: So, have you asked father yet?

Luna: ...

Jacob: Didn’t like what you’ve heard?

Luna: Of course I haven’t asked him, you’re obviously lying!

Jacob: Figures. You’re such a coward.

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #18)

(cw: vomiting) ----------

01/06/88  2:55 AM Hey.

Y’know what’s weird?

This is getting harder and easier at the same time.

I stayed at the edge of the forest until the arcade opened. It felt safer that way. If anyone wanted to sneak into our game and snuff me out, they’d have a tough time getting past the Surge Protector within working hours. Even still, there was the thought, how was I to know someone hadn’t somehow dodged all my booby traps, and was already waiting for me at my den?

Being paranoid sucks. I would not recommend it.

Once the quarters started rolling in, the thundering dull roar of gameplay eventually grounded me enough to breach the tree line. I bolted through the trees and reached my den, which was blessedly free of murderers, for the time being. I tore down all the curtains so no one could hide behind them, and I kept my back to a tree while I gave another real, more involved shot at using my brush.

I tried to make a pie, but just got cherry slime. I made way too many apples, oranges, and bananas. I made red strings, orange streamers, yellow confetti, red sequins, orange beads, yellow ribbons, always with the red, orange, yellow, red, orange, freakin’ yellow.

Everything about it made me sick. I felt betrayed. This was the one thing that I was supposed to be able to control, one of the few good things the Devs gave me. Now, rubbing handfuls of salt into the gaping wounds I was already nursing, they took it away, for what I preferred to think of as no reason at all. I’d find a reason if I let myself think about it, and it would not be good. The last thing I needed was more ‘not good’ things.

I’m a strong sprite, there’s no doubt about that. But that aforementioned weight on my shoulders was starting to really bear down, slowly carving hairline fractures in my bones. I wasn’t broken, yet. But I was sure as hell breaking, and there was crit all I could do to stop it. You know me, though. I’m not one to resign to fate, or whatever you’d call it. I’m a kicker and a screamer.

So, I kicked and screamed. 

Threw my brush, flipped my bed, ripped my papers down, shattered my mirror, pulled out clumps of hair and just screamed, just like in Fix-it’s apartment. I wanted to purge all the panic, rage, and desperation, and I wanted it to be easy.

That method usually works. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t this time. It didn’t really have time to. It actually… almost made things a lot worse, I guess. 

I was so loud, the gamer at controls heard me.

After I’d been screaming for a couple minutes, I had the absolute pixels scared out of me by deafening beats on the side of our cabinet, courtesy of Litwak. It sure shut me up, I can tell you that. I fell right on my ass and held my breath.

Way off, I heard Litwak say, “And… all better! Some of these older games can really start singin’ sometimes. Lemme know if there’s an encore, huh?”

Then, some kid’s voice giggled, “Thanks, Mr. Litwak!”

I got us smacked. Maybe that should have bothered me more than it did -- after all, that could only have added to my ‘danger to the game’ allegations. The Nicelanders would definitely go around saying that I’d gotten an Out of Order sign all ready to be taped to the screen after that. But there was hardly anything I could do anymore that wouldn’t have been incriminating in their eyes.

No, what bothered me was what he said. About how we were one of the ‘old games.’ I guess we’re the old games by default, now, with this wave of shiny newcomers being plugged in. But the way he said it just really made me think of how unfair it all is. All the first-generation Litwak’s Family Fun Centre games bust their bits for years to keep the quarters flowing, but hey, none of that matters once something new comes along. Like Roadblasters. I remembered all the grief I’d seen you go through once that flashy eyesore started leeching your ‘loyal fans’ -- and the very same giant wastoid who plugged it in now had the nerve to call games like mine, and by extension, yours, ‘these older games’? My gut burned with so much spite, I wanted to go break through the screen and rip out his moustache. 

Instead, I threw up in my laundry barrell. Somehow, less satisfying.

Once most of the chaos in my head had settled to more flexible levels, and after I’d been dry-heaving my feelings for a solid five minutes, I had a decision to make. The longer I stayed in my den, all alone, the more dread crept back into me. I wanted so badly to be able to be on my own, where no one could see how hard I was having to fight to keep it together, but that was just impossible. I couldn’t turn my back to the darkness. I could barely close my eyes. It felt like the worst kind of pathetic, like a scared little kid needing to sleep with the lights on. But there was no negotiating it -- I needed company. Real bad.

It didn’t take long for me to decide where to go. I was, by no means, in love with the idea, but I didn’t have much of a choice. After all, now that I was no longer speaking to Fix-it, there was only one other non-Nicelander left. Whether or not he’d kick me out on sight remained to be seen.

I stuffed my bag full of notebooks, slung my guitar over my shoulder, and wrapped a few things from my hoard (including a bucket) in a big makeshift blanket-sack, along with as many pillows as I could fit in. All the pillows in the world would not save me from those bricks, but one has to try.

I also found your scarf and goggles. You know. The burned ones. 

I’d kept them, of course, but I’d just been… ignoring them. They felt like the most pressing question of my life, and I hadn’t wanted to face them again until I had answers. But, suddenly, that changed. I don’t know how to describe why, right now. All I know is, when I wore them around my neck, it felt... right. In the most terrible way.

I almost never take them off, now.

Anyway, once all had been gathered, I grabbed the knot of the sack, and like the dull, flightless bird I’d become, I started trudging towards the most awkward series of sleepovers in my life.

Also known as the dump.

I didn’t bother waiting for the arcade to close, or even for the game to end, before crossing the map. The gamers seeing me wouldn’t do any damage -- quite the opposite, really. They love me in short spurts. That is, they love the idea of me.

Once I stepped into the light of the screen, they had their usual little freak out. 

“Woah, hey, what’s that!?”

“Get it, get it!”

I paused. Being on my way to cross behind the building, I was out of their playing range, but it’s not like they could tell, with their crummy depth perception. They puppeted Fix-it over, ‘til his long shadow almost touched my feet, and he looked over his shoulder as much as he could, straining to smile. The gamers mashed the fix button and bounced him around. Bing bing bing bing bing.

“I can’t get it--”

“Jump on it!”

“I am jumping on it! It’s like, in the background, or something.”

“Oh my god, look at Felix’s face. He’s looking at it. What the hell is it?!”

“Looks kinda like a little pink Felix?”

Always and forever with the Dev-damned pink. Not to dig on pink, but it’s so obviously salmon. What’s the point of being 16-bit if the colorblind gamers only see in 8?

I kept moving. The scene felt too familiar, you know. They kept up their insistent twittering ‘til I emerged on the other side of the building. I heard Fix-it hopping around in the foreground again, but I didn’t stop to look. I just carried on to the dump. I’d done the game enough of a favor -- after all, even after I’d left the light of the screen, the gamers were still in a tizzy, jamming in quarters to try to figure out how to get me back.

“I’ve sank a fortune into this game, and I’ve never seen that before.”

“Was it some kind of Easter Egg, you think? How did I unlock it?!”

And so on.

I climbed up the bricks, and I make a point of saying ‘climbed’ here, because the old pile has really grown over the past five years, and I never really thought about it too much until I couldn’t fly anymore. The wrecker’s beloved stump sat flat against the ground, once, but now it’s easily higher than two of me. I set my stuff down a little ways behind it, looked up to see both Fix-it and Wreck-it giving me the side-eyes through gameplay, and pushed together a brick pile big enough to duck behind and gain some semblance of privacy.

I honestly don’t remember how I spent the rest of that day, until closing. I can’t have done anything too interesting. Waited, stewed, debated, panicked, threw up, waited some more. Something like that. 

Waited, waited, waited.

[loudlytransparenttrash]

I'm so sick of seeing things based on the travon Martin and/or Mike Brown stories that make it seem like there is some sort of hunt for innocent black people and the evil whites tm don't care. There's a show called "rest in power" and then some dumb movie coming out based on those cases. Why are bad people being treated like insperational martyrs when one beat a man half to death and the other robbed a store and charged a cop?

Yep, I’ve been over this many times throughout my blog so I’ll just compile it in this reply so you can get all the information and sources without having to scroll endlessly through my blog :) xx 

Narrative: A young innocent African-American gentle giant who couldn’t harm a fly was for no reason shot by a murderous racist cop while he had his hands up begging not to be shot. Some even say that he was kneeling while the cop assassinated him, some say the cop stood over him and shot him in the head. These narratives quickly sparked BLM and their campaign of Hands Up, Don’t Shoot and was used as the justification of extensive violent rioting and looting.

Reality: Michael Brown robbed a store, grabbed and shoved the store attendant before walking out with his stolen items. In the official DOJ report, it shows the officer came across Brown after the robbery went over the police radio, this wasn’t a random targeting of a black male. As the cop went to get out of his car, Brown slammed the officer’s door shut, reached in and began attacking the cop. When the cop pulled his gun, Brown went for it and tried to take it from him. A shot was let off and the bullet hit Brown’s hand. Brown ran so the officer followed, ordering Brown to stop. Brown turned and charged towards the officer and after several more demands for Brown to stop, the cop fired. 

Several witnesses provided testimony that supports these accounts. Blood spatter analysis, shell casings and ballistics tests also confirm it. The autopsy report showed that Brown had a graze wound on his thumb which contained matter “consistent with products that are discharged from the barrel of a firearm that can only happen in close range,” so close that there was no stippling, a patterning of gunpowder that won’t appear within an inch of the gun’s barrel. As Medical Examiner Judy Melinek said “this guy’s reaching for the gun.” 

The official report further backs up the altercation at the car with Brown’s skin was found on the exterior door of the vehicle. Blood from Brown was found on the officer’s uniform, police car and gun. The autopsy even shows Brown wasn’t shot with his hands up. According to the autopsy report, the gunshot wound to Brown’s upper dorsal right arm demonstrated that the direction could not have happened if Brown’s palms had been up, facing the cop and surrendering. It also proves that he was not running away but rather lunging towards the officer. The entire “Hands Up, Don’t Shoot” is a catchy slogan for the BLM movement but it’s one that is entirely unsubstantiated and completely fabricated. 

But of course, aggrieved blacks, social justice activists, the media, celebrities and Brown’s family lawyers had already developed their story long before any facts were released. Brown’s mother made it clear she will not accept any autopsy or DOJ report that proves the officer was telling the truth. Something you won’t ever see in these documentaries - The DOJ report reveals that this race-baiting narrative was being whipped up instantly after the shooting: 

According to Witness 102, crowds of people had begun to gather, wrongly claiming the police shot Brown for noreason and that he had his hands up in surrender. Two black women approached Witness 102,mobile phones set to record, asking him to recount what he had witnessed. Witness 102responded that they would not like what he had to say. The women responded with racial slurs,calling him names like “white motherf-ker.” This bi-racial witness stated that he thought he had witnessed a cop killing as Brown took off running from the police vehicle after a shot was let off while Brown was “wrestling” through the window. Brown stopped then charged at the officer. Witness 102 was in disbelief that the cop “kept missing” because Brown keptadvancing forward. 

Black witnesses also came forward to provide statements, shown in the report. Witness 103 was a 58-year-old black male. He said he saw Brown punching the officer at least three times in the facial area, through the opendriver’s window of the vehicle, while the officer was leaning back towardthe passenger seat with his forearm up in an effort to block the blows. The witness heard a gunshot and explained that Brown took off running before coming to a stop. Brown turned around to face the officer, his hands were then down at his sides. Brown started “moving fast” toward the cop. Witness 103 said Brown never had his hands up. 

Witness 105 was a 50-year-old black female. She noticed Brown’s hands on the officer’s car after the first gunshot grabbed her attention. Brown then ran and the officer chased after him. Witness 105 explained thatBrown put his hands up “for a brief moment,” and then turned around and puthis hands down “in a running position.” She said the officer told Brown to “get down,” but Brown did not comply. Witness 105 stated the officer only shot at Brown when Brown wasmoving toward him. Like Witness 103, she was afraid to come forward due to pressure by the community. She explained that she was coming forwardbecause in speaking with her neighbors, she realized that what they believed had happened wasinconsistent with what actually happened. 

Witness 104 was a bi-racial female. She said Brown was leaning inside the police vehicle. She heard a gunshot then saw Brown run from the car, followed by the officer who hopped out of the SUV and ranafter him while yelling “stop, stop, stop.” She said the officer did not fire his gun as Brown ran from him.Brown then turned around and quickly “balled up in fists” in a running position and “charged”at the officer. The witnessed described it as a “tackle run,” explaining that Brown “wasn’t going tostop.” The officer fired his gun only as Brown charged at him, backing up each time Brownran toward the officer. At no time did Brown get shot with his hands up, according to the witness. 

Witness 108 was a 74-year-old black male. He stated to detectives that the shooting was justified, but repeatedly refused to give formal statements to law enforcementfor fear of reprisal should the neighborhood find out that his account corroboratedthe police officer’s. Witness 108 refused to identify himself but told detectives that the police officer was “in the right” and “did what he had todo,” and that the statements made by people in the apartment complex were inaccurate. He reluctantly explained to detectives thatthe officer told Brown to “stop” or “get down” at least ten times, but instead Brown “charged” at him. Witness 108 repeatedly expressed fear in coming forward, citing community sentiment to support a “hands up” surrender narrative as his reason to remain silent. He explained that he would rather go to jail than testify publicly before the county grand jury. 

All throughout the witness reports, majority of them being black, there is a clear trend of fear of community backlash against anyone going against the “hands up, don’t shoot” story. This pack mentality within black communities is nothing new, but it does show how easy it is for a false racial narrative to spread across the media and country and become a mantra of the professional race agitators as the truth is stifled and forced into silence. Michael Brown’s movie is told through the lens of his family, which et’s remember his parents have already said that they will never accept any alternative findings other than their son was targeted for being black and gunned down by a racist cop for no other reason.

As for the Rest in Power series, it’s the same deal. It’s framed as a truth telling documentary, but all the inconvenient facts are left out because a story about a violent thug being killed in self-defense isn’t as profitable or politicizing as an innocent black youth being slain by an evil racist. From the very beginning, it was obvious they were setting up the Trayvon Martin killing badly by turning it into a giant racial atrocity. George Zimmerman had been tried and convicted in the media and public opinion before any facts were released, with the case almost uniformly being portrayed as racially motivated, and the wearing of a hoodie by a young black male as the symbol. Even Obama framed the case in racial terms. 

In trying to turn the case into a racial narrative, the initial burst of publicity and activism turned on Trayvon wearing a hoodie. The Hoodie has become the symbol of protests and the entire make-believe narrative of the shooting, based on the assertion that Zimmerman found Trayvon suspicious simply because he was wearing a hoodie. But in audio tape in which Zimmerman mentions a hoodie, it’s clear that a hoodie was only ever mentioned in response to a later question by the 911 operator who asked Zimmerman what the person was wearing. The dispatcher asks, “Did you see what he was wearing?” which Zimmerman replies, “Yeah a grey hoodie, either jeans or sweatpants and white tennis shoes.” This is the only mention of Trayvon’s hoodie, and it was among a description which included several other pieces of clothing. 

Still, from images of former Michigan Gov. Jennifer Granholm wearing a hoodie, to the “million hoodie march,” to Havard law students wearing hoodies with a sign “Do we look suspicious?,” to Congressman Bobby Rush appearing on the House floor in a hoodie, the hoodie has come to symbolize the alleged “racial profiling” by Zimmerman which led to him shooting Trayvon. While Trayvon was wearing a hoodie that night, there is nothing to suggest that Trayvon was considered suspicious by Zimmerman for that reason. Despite this lack of evidence of the wearing of a hoodie as an actual factor in the case, the hoodie today remains the symbol of the case.

The racial narrative is based on multiple other falsehoods, the first major one being the NBC News doctoring of police audio in which it falsely made it seem as though Zimmerman said he was following Trayvon because Trayvon was black. But that’s not what happened. Zimmerman once again only mentioned race when the police operator asked about race. The dispatcher asks, “Is he white, black or Hispanic?” and Zimmerman replies, “He looks black.” Seconds later as Trayvon walks closer to him with his hand inside his waistband, Zimmerman confirms to the dispatcher that he is a black male. This is the only mention of race, only after the 911 dispatcher asked the question. 

There also was the claim that Zimmerman used the term “f-king coons” on the police tape. But that was debunked early on. One of hottest topics of argument had been whether George Zimmerman said “f-king coons” under his breath on the 911 tape. The left-blogosphere has used the alleged racial epithet endlessly to paint this as a racially motivated hate crime. In the Affidavit of Probable Cause, State of Florida investigators swore under oath that Zimmerman used the term “f-king punks.” Feeding the media racial narrative, there was also widespread but false claims that neo-Nazis were patrolling the neighborhood where the shooting took place, even though Sanford Police denied this. 

An extensive FBI investigation found no history of racism in Zimmerman’s past. To push the race-baiting narrative, Zimmerman continues to be described as “white” when he’s very clearly Hispanic. Have you guys ever seen photos of him? The dude ain’t white. Also, a year before the incident, Zimmerman had angrily spoken out against the son of a white police lieutenant who had beaten a black man. Zimmerman had also tutored black children for free in his spare time, he was a Democrat, he voted for Obama, yet he is painted as a white supremacist and racist who assassinated an innocent black male for no other reason than Trayvon was black. 

One of the most believed false narrative of the case is that George Zimmerman supposedly was told by the police dispatcher not to leave his car, but did so against police instructions. This allegation is used to claim that the entire confrontation was Zimmerman’s fault, and had he merely followed police instructions, nothing would have happened. But Zimmerman was not in his car at the time of the comment “we don’t need you to do that.” The audio tape proves at no time was Zimmerman ever told to stay in his car. Trayvon had become aware that he was under observation and started circling Zimmerman’s car while Zimmerman was requesting the police. At about the two minute mark Trayvon runs, and Zimmerman loses sight of him. When Zimmerman did exit the vehicle it was in direct response to the dispatcher asking him to report the direction of Trayvon’s travel.

The dispatcher testified at the trial that dispatchers are prohibited from giving orders over the phone because they are not physically on the scene and may inadvertently direct the caller into greater danger. When the dispatcher asked if Zimmerman was still following the direction that Trayvon ran, Zimmerman said yes, that is when the dispatcher said they don’t need him to do that and Zimmerman replied “OK.” There is not a single piece of evidence - none - that suggests Zimmerman continued to follow Trayvon after this point. Of course, Trayvon would ultimately launch his attack on Zimmerman right at the corner of the building where Zimmerman complied with the dispatcher’s suggestion to stay where he is. If Trayvon had truly been fleeing from a frightening Zimmerman, he had more than enough time to reach the safety of his father’s girlfriend’s condo.

The other most believed narrative is that Florida’s Stand Your Ground law was invoked in Zimmerman’s defense. That’s not true, it was never invoked. It made sense for Zimmerman not to rely on SYG, because Stand Your Ground would only be relevant if Zimmerman had a route of exit, but the shooting took place while Zimmerman was on his back on the grass, his head having been pounded on the pavement and being beaten relentlessly by Trayvon. All witnesses say exactly the same thing. Trayvon was on top of Zimmerman, beating his head into the ground as Zimmerman was screaming for help. Blacktivists claim that it was Trayvon calling for help, but it’s been long confirmed that it was indeed Zimmerman crying for help. Zimmerman had a broken nose, two black eyes and cuts to the back of his head where Trayvon slammed Zimmerman’s head repeatedly into the ground. Forensic analysis also demonstrated that the trajectory of the single shot and burns on Trayvon’s sweatshirt were consistent with Zimmerman being on his back with Trayvon hovering over him at the time of the shot. Since Zimmerman was pinned to the ground, he didn’t need to invoke SYG because there was no reasonable means of avoidance. The race-agitators then argue “but Trayvon was just a kid and Zimmerman was a man,” yet forget to mention that Trayvon was far bigger, taller and in far better physical shape than Zimmerman. 

Of course this case is one of the many that are exploited and twisted by race hustlers like Al Sharpton and BLM to prove the existence of oppression and victimization of blacks. There have been plenty of cases, such as with Roderick Scott, a black man in New York who shot and killed an unarmed white teenager. A jury found Scott to be not guilty of murder because Scott had killed the teen in self-defense. Scott was found not guilty for the same reason that Zimmerman was found not guilty. Both killings were done in self-defense, but you will never hear about this case because only black people are murdered and only white people are found not guilty, remember? Pretty much every legal scholar who has closely followed the Martin-Zimmerman case said that the verdict was correct, Zimmerman had indeed acted in self-defense. 

Again, there is no question that the documentary makers and journalists will leave these facts out. I bet they also won’t tell you how a search of Trayvon’s backpack showed it to contain a dozen pieces of women’s jewelry, including silver wedding rings and earrings with diamonds, as well as a screwdriver which is often used as a burglary tool. They won’t ever tell you this because it gives credibility to Zimmerman’s claim on the 911 call that Trayvon was acting suspiciously around the houses and the reason Zimmerman was on alert was because he was in charge of the neighborhood watch and there had been many burglaries recently committed by youth. Trayvon’s autopsy showed marijuana in his system, which also verifies Zimmerman’s claim on the 911 call that Trayvon was acting like he was on drugs.

The verdict came as no surprise to those of actually following the evidence. It came as a shock to those who bought into the false narratives, evident by the eruption on social media, the mass rioting and outbreak of violence and the eventual beginnings of Black Lives Matter, who carried these false narratives and deceit into the Michael Brown case and have since continued to glorify and martyr criminals in their efforts to demonize police officers, blame whites and demand reparations for this this make-believe targeting and oppression. 

When it first happened, I was all about social justice and I was as outraged as anyone as I heard about these black youths being executed by crooked racist cops and white supremacists simply for being black. I get questions all the time about what made me abandon the left and these activist groups such as BLM and feminism and this is it. It’s the lies, deceit and the searing, irrational hatred for anyone who dares questions it. It’s also the constant state of victimization that one must be confined to in order to maintain the worldview of racial oppression in the United States. I keep hearing aggrieved blacks say “Zimmerman will come for me next, he will come for my child next.” Why on earth would anyone worry that Zimmerman might “come for them next”? Is it because they are planning to break Zimmerman’s nose, give him two black eyes and smash his head against the ground while thundering down punches to his face? Or, is it because they’ve foolishly believed Zimmerman “murdered” and “executed” Trayvon Martin for being black? 

Black youth are in danger but it’s not white men or white cops killing them. 93 percent of black murder victims are murdered by other blacks. Over 1400 more black Americans were killed by other blacks between 2010 and 2011 than the total number of blacks lynched between 1882 to 1968. Despite making up just 13 percent of the population, blacks committed half of homicides in the U.S. for nearly 30 years. In 2012, blacks at just a fifth of the size committed almost 1000 more murders than their white counterparts. The murder rate for 20 to 24-year-old blacks is 17 times higher than the rate for whites the same age. Black-on-white murder is more than double the rate of white-on-black murder. Black males are 7 percent of the population but are responsible for over 40 percent of cop killings. Blacks are 18.5 times more likely to kill a cop than be killed by cops. It would take cops 40 years to kill as many black men that have died at the hands of others black men in 2012 alone. Black and Hispanic police officers are more likely to fire a gun at black suspects than white officers. 

Black youth are being taught to see oppression and white supremacy where it does not exist while embracing and glorifying the “culture” that sees murder and crime rates only comparable to the Third World. They’re taught to celebrate and martyr criminals and that consequences and the law is a conspiracy carried out only against victimized black people. There’s not a single piece of evidence that supports the narrative of innocent blacks being gunned down by police for sport. There’s absolutely zero evidence of systemic discrimination. It’s a fable that can only be believed if you confine your worldview to Malcom X and Al Sharpton’s radicalized race conflict theories. There’s no big evil white police force dedicated to eradicating the black population. There may be some racist cops, but to imply that all law enforcement exists only to kill and lock up innocent blacks is one of the most dangerous myths of our time. If cops really wanted blacks dead, they’d stop patrolling and serving black neighborhoods as black delinquents are already doing a pretty good job at wiping each other out.

BLM chant a slogan that implies they care about the wellbeing of black people, but they always go silent the second the slogan could actually be useful for advancing the wellbeing of black Americans. The only time they’re provoked into action is when the situation doesn’t warrant it, such as the times a black person is shot during the commission of a crime. They’re nowhere to be found when they’re most needed, such as when discussing how to lower black crime rates, homicide, drop out rates, gangs, single mothers, broken families, health and abortion. These are the real problems destroying black lives, yet Black Lives Matter will only ever show up when a police shooting can be twisted and spun into a cool new hashtag, sparking another violent riot and more looting where more black business owners and black citizens will have their property damaged and stolen by their supposed saviors.

[ekedolphin]

39 Days to Go

San Francisco, CA Monday, December 14, 2009 11:30 a.m. PDT

When “The Lion” John Grant had woken up this morning—just like he’d done every previous morning since making his tape—he’d immediately logged into his computer and checked his e-mail.  He’d created a new e-mail account for wrestling business only, kept separate from the e-mail address where friends keep in touch with him, professors send him assignments, and various corporations hawk the miracles of their penis-enlargement pills and easy ways to make $100,000 for working four hours a week.

The last few days, he’d received nothing, but he’d expected that.  He’d only approved the final cut of his introduction tape on Wednesday, after all; and video editor Harry Jaffee had done the rest—making seventeen copies of the master disc and overnighting them via FedEx to the organizations John had specified.  John certainly hadn’t anticipated that any of them would get back to him on the same day they received his video.

But today when he’d logged in, he’d gotten a reply from one of the administrators of the World Wrestling Alliance, saying not only that they’d received his video, but that they were offering him a pre-show tryout match on their January 22 edition of WWA: Underground, live from The Arena in Philadelphia, PA.  Taking a look at the WWA’s schedule, since he knew the company was relaunching on the 15th, he replied with an e-mail saying that not only would he be there in the best shape of his life, but with the company’s permission he’d be happy to sit backstage during the Hammerstein Ballroom show on the 15th as well, to meet some of his future co-workers, build relationships, and learn what he could from them.

Barring that, he didn’t mention in the e-mail, he’d simply buy a ticket to the inaugural event himself and sit in the crowd.  He didn’t even need to sit in the front row and announce his presence or anything.  He may be trying out for the company, and he may be the son of a wrestling legend, but he didn’t feel any desire to call undue attention to himself on a show in which he wasn’t even wrestling.  He wanted the crowd’s focus to be where it should be: on the performers inside the ring.

As for John, at this moment he was exercising on the ringside mat in the Inferno Wrestling Academy, jumping rope, dressed in white workout clothes.  The unusually cold weather San Francisco was experiencing had not let up from two days ago, but John had jogged two miles here from home just like he had every day for the past month.  And when it was time for class, he usually arrived there via public transit; he really only used his car for other, out-of-the-way activities like going out on dates, participating in wrestling events, and that sort of thing.

After spending half an hour jumping rope, John works on the treadmill for an hour, and then lifts weights, completing his workout by getting some time in with a kickboxing bag while trainer Joe Ernest holds it for him.  By the time he’d done that for twenty minutes, the Academy was bustling with activity, from camera crews setting up to record guys cutting promos, to guys working on the various exercise equipment, to other people merely standing around and chatting.

“Hey, John,” says a familiar voice from behind him, and John turns around with a start, having been so focused on what he was doing that he hadn’t even realized how many people were in here.  Let alone that his uncle, “The Tiger” Brian Grant, had arrived.

“Uncle Brian,” John says, clasping his hand and sharing a manly one-armed hug with him.  At 5’10”, Brian was a head shorter than his 6’3” nephew, who in turn was overshadowed (both physically and in terms of reputation) by his 6’9” father Steve, the “Blue Inferno”, who’d won more championships than John had ever [i]heard[/i] of.  But John didn’t have nearly the brute strength that his father had had during his wrestling career, which was one of many reasons that the 18-year-old had emulated his uncle Brian’s style far more than Steve’s.  Brian had practically no brute force whatsoever in his approach to wrestling; he was very much a high-flying light-heavyweight, through and through.

As John greets his uncle, he notices that Brian was accompanied by someone else.  And how could he [i]not[/i] notice it?  The man in question, standing easily seven feet tall and weighing, by a conservative estimate, 285 pounds, was a bald, black, wall of muscle, clearly a current or former bodybuilder.  And he’s looking at John with the cool, yet intense confidence of someone who believed in his ability to beat the living hell out of anyone he came across.  John wouldn’t doubt that in a moment.

“John,” Brian says by way of introduction, “this gentleman here is Jamal Richards.”

“Jamal,” John says in acknowledgement, extending his hand for a handshake.  After a brief moment, Jamal accepts the handshake.  Firm grip; no surprise there.

“He’s 32 years old, a former U.S. Navy SEAL, a four-year All-American linebacker at Florida State University and member of their 1999 National Championship team as a senior; and he played three years in the NFL as a member of the Dallas Cowboys.  He graduated from the Inferno Wrestling Academy in ‘05, and competes in the heavyweight division of the National Wrestling Organization of Japan, where he currently holds their Television Championship.  

“I brought him here today as your opponent.”

John looks at Jamal, his expression becoming more and more incredulous as Brian runs down the resumé of this impressive specimen.  Finally, John says, “You can’t be serious.”  And immediately he curses himself for saying that; he knew Brian would jump all over him for that.

If anything, John’s reaction made Jamal look even more smug than he already was.  And Brian did, indeed, take John to task for saying that.

“I’ve been accused of a number of things, John, but I’m pretty sure ‘being a comedian’ isn’t one of them.  You’ve sparred with myself, your father, Nick, Barry, and Antonio long enough.  You’re starting to get used to it.  But now you’ve been accepted by the World Wrestling Alliance; you’re gonna face all kinds of different opponents.  You think Steve didn’t face guys of all shapes and sizes on his way to five NEW World Heavyweight Championships?”

“Unless you want to prove that your graduating this Academy was a joke, and your father went easy on you,” Jamal adds.

[i]That[/i] did it.  “Hey, I’ll take on [i]any[/i]body, [i]any[/i]time,” John says, staring up at Jamal as his face begins to match the intensity of his much larger, far more accomplished opponent.

“Sounds good to me,” Brian says.  “As it so happens, I’m wearing my referee hat today, so Jamal, get stretched up, and let’s get this show on the road.”

“I’m ready right now,” Jamal replies, glaring down at John.  Brian simply shrugs, and John adjusts his wristbands, preparing himself for the fight of his life.

“Oh, and by the way—just so I can see what both of you are [i]really[/i] made of—this match will be a no-disqualifications match,” Brian adds.  “So this is no time to be lacking confidence, John.”

Gazing once more at the chiseled physique of his opponent, who seemed to be smiling even wider than when John had first expressed his doubts, the young man simply says, “You’ve got [i]that[/i] right.”

[b]Twenty minutes later…[/b]

If someone had spoken to John twenty-five minutes ago, he wouldn’t have believed that person when told that twenty-five minutes later, he’d actually be in a position to win this match.  In fact, the first seven minutes of the match had gone extremely badly for John, as he’d taken power move after power move from Jamal, everything from a three powerbombs to a spinebuster to a gorilla press sidewalk slam.

But when Jamal had made the mistake of going to the outside to grab a metal folding chair and lifting John to his feet with the intention of whipping him off the ropes and hitting a drop toe-hold onto the chair, John had flown back off the ropes with a flying forearm, taking Jamal down to his back.  Quickly grabbing the chair, John had waited until Jamal got to his feet, and then practically fused the chair into the former Navy SEAL’s skull, not even bothering to fold the chair back up before doing so.  The satisfying sound of metal striking bone had sent an “OOOOOH!” throughout all of those watching at the Academy.

The match had gone much better for John after that.  Focusing his attacks on the right knee of the larger man, beating him down with punches, kicks and chair shots, he’d been able to keep Jamal from putting too much weight on it for the rest of the contest.  Throw in a figure-four leglock, an STF, and even—thanks to a sudden burst of strength—a Fisherman suplex—and Jamal’s knee was pretty thoroughly savaged.

Just a moment ago, John had hit a Russian legsweep, bringing Jamal down again, in the center of the ring.  Now he stood perched up on the top turnbuckle, where—showing his respect to a legend of yore by flashing the “I Love You” sign—he jumps off and connects with a Superfly Splash.  He didn’t get quite the same elevation on it as he had in his recent match against Antonio Mason, but when Brian’s hand went down for the three-count, and Jamal wasn’t able to kick out, “The Lion” John Grant had won the contest.

A great cheer came up from the assembled wrestlers and technicians as Brian raises John’s hand in victory, and a chant of “JOHNNY!  JOHNNY!  JOHNNY!” started—which John noticed had actually been started by fellow ’09 Academy graduate Barry Andrews.  When they’d started out in the Academy together, the 25-year-old former hockey player had called John “Spoon Boy” after the alleged silver spoon John had been born with in his mouth, but just like with Violet, as they’d persevered together, they’d become close friends.

Well…

Barry wasn’t exactly as close a friend to John as Violet was.

Speaking of his girlfriend, John didn’t see her in the crowd today, much to his disappointment.  At least he knew that the match, just like the one with Antonio, had been thoroughly and professionally taped by the Academy’s camera crew.

As Jamal lifts himself to his feet, politely shrugging off John’s offer of assistance, he can see the grudging admiration in the eyes of his defeated opponent.  After a moment, Jamal offers his hand, and John cautiously takes it.

“Great match,” Jamal says, and John nods in agreement.  “Game for a rematch sometime?”

“You bet,” John replies, and the two of them share a manly hug.

[b]Ten minutes later…[/b]

John stood ringside with the Academy’s resident interviewer, Alex Yost, who’d been one of the many people in attendance during the impromptu match.  Actually, he’d shown up right as the contest was about to get underway, which had made John wonder if Alex had some kind of sixth sense for these sorts of things.  He wasn’t dressed in his usual suit, however—he wore a black T-shirt and blue jeans.

“John Grant, a word with you, please.  Going into this match fellow former Academy graduate Jamal Richards, you were most definitely the underdog.  Given no preparation time beforehand, how did you triumph today against the current Television Champion of the National Wrestling Organization of Japan?”

Shaking his head slightly in disbelief, John says, “Well, to be honest with you, Alex—early on, I thought I was pretty thoroughly screwed.  Richards clearly had me very well-scouted, and it seemed I couldn’t do anything right for the first seven, eight minutes of the match.  But he got a little cocky going for that chair; he couldn’t leave well enough alone, and that was pretty obviously the turning point of the match.”

“We just got word today that you have earned a tryout match in the World Wrestling Alliance for their second WWA: Underground show on January 22.  On the pre-show, you’ll take on Kid Cool and Willy Murdoch in a triangle match.  Do you have anything to say to your upcoming opponents?”

“Yeah, I do,” John says, giving a half-smile before continuing.  “This is my one and only try-out match for the WWA, and I intend to make the most out of it.  Kid Cool, Willy Murdoch, I’ve got 39 days until it’s time to step into a WWA ring, and start making a name for myself as one of the hottest up-and-coming young superstars in the business.  And if you think I’m going to spend those 39 days relaxing at the beach and playing video games, you obviously don’t know who you’re dealing with.

“I’m gonna train hard, I’m gonna study videotape, and I’m gonna battle the best that the Academy can throw at me.  I will continue developing my style, learning what works and improving upon—or discarding—what doesn’t work.  And when the time comes for me to step through that curtain, you’d better understand that I’ve got nothing to lose by going all-out and bringing the fight right to you.  It may be a match on the pre-show, but I’m gonna treat it like a pay-per-view main event, and I’ll be out there to put on one hell of a show for the fans, and to come away with a resounding victory that’ll make the WWA establishment come tripping over themselves to sign me.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, Alex, I’ve got more work to do.  The match’ll be here before you know it.”

As John walks off-camera, Alex says, “Of course.  ‘The Lion’ John Grant, everyone.  He made a statement tonight with his outstanding match and victory over Jamal Richards; and in 39 days he’ll compete in a three-way match for a chance to earn a WWA contract.”

[thecrimsonarcher]

The Zion Mountain Chronicles--Prelude to a Fall, Willow’s Testimony, Part 2

The last public execution was held a few months prior to the Incident. There was a group of teenage girls walking around the town square, laughing and cutting up as kids that age would normally do. I recognized the girls almost instantly. They'd sometimes come into the library to do research for a class project. They were never disrespectful or crass to anyone else who was using the library at the time. They were always polite and considerate of others, which was what made this act of violence so reprehensible. They were walking around the corner of town square, where Main Street intersected with Bank Street. At the exact same time, there was at least 3 or 4 of the Legion soldiers patrolling the area. I'm not sure who was at fault, but that matter is completely irrelevant now. One of the girls accidentally bumped into one of the soldiers, causing him to fly into a rage. I saw all of it unfolding from the front door at the library. We were right across the street from where it happened. The girl apologized several times for what she had done, adding that she was not paying attention. The soldier, however, was having none of it.

I'll never forget her name, Maddie Garren. She was 16 years old at the time, a junior at the Zion Mountain High School. Her friend, Chelsea Moore, died trying to protect her. She was Maddie's age and was also a junior at the high school.

The soldiers grabbed her by the hair of her head, pulling her across the pavement like a rag doll. She had long, blonde hair, from what I could remember. This poor girl, she kept screaming at them to stop, to let go of her. They were hurting this innocent child because a group of grown men could not overcome their own personal superiority and accept her apology. Everyone on the streets were silent, afraid to speak up or do anything to make it stop. Her friends tried to run to her aide despite the risk it posted to themselves, shouting at them to let her go. But....they did not let her go. They would not let her go. Someone had to pay for insulting their fragile pride and their delicate ego and that someone was Maddie Garren, along with her friend, Chelsea Moore.

She was covered in scrapes from the pavement and her hair was matted with blood. The soldiers had pulled her so violently they had ripped out a large chunk of her hair, along with some of her scalp. The Legion were abnormally strong despite mostly being reanimated corpses, which I believe is why no one even tried to step up and help. We were terrified of the soldiers, living in fear of their constant presence in town. Just what would happen if we stepped in? Those Good Samaritans would suffer the same fate as the girl, maybe even worse. That's how they were able to effectively keep us in our place, to prevent us from stepping out of line.

One of her friends[Chelsea Moore] tried in vain to make the soldier stop his brutality by coming up to him from behind and hitting him as hard as she could with a loose brick she had found on the sidewalk. Each hit did not make the soldier flinch, EXCEPT for when she struck him at the base of his neck, which appeared to have caused him to be in a lot of pain. He stopped striking Maddie for a moment, crying out in agony with this almost inhuman sounding scream at where the girl had hit him.

This one could actually talk, fitting Kevin's description of the Series 2 troops. He grabbed her by the throat, hoisting her high above his head as if she were a ragdoll, and threw her on the pavement as hard as he could. Even from where I was standing, I could hear this loud crunch or popping sound as she hit the ground. She couldn't cry out because the force of her hitting the ground knocked the wind out of her. He must have broken one of her bones or several. I wanted so badly to come to their aid, but I couldn't risk getting killed. Looking back, I wished I did. Even though I was defiant when it came to preserving our history, I was still very terrified of the Legion. You have to understand--everyone who was not part of the Order of the Southern Sky was frightened by them. Whenever someone dons a uniform, they automatically command fear and authority, often using it to their advantage to inspire "respect" through intimidation. They didn't necessarily need to raise a hand against anyone. Anyone they deem to be "beneath" them cowered in fear, knowing the outcome of their encounter wouldn't be favorable. That's how it was. I know that if you're reading this in the future, you might not understand. Maybe you will.

Right after he slammed the girl to the ground, he began to viciously berate her, calling her every derogatory name he could possibly think of.

"If you ever touch me again, you will be joining your friend. Do you understand me? This is something that doesn't concern you. She has committed a crime against the Order and she must pay for her transgressions!"

"What crime?" I can remember the girl[Chelsea] yelling. Even though she had been injured, she displayed no fear of this thing masquerading as a human. All she could see was their injustice and nothing else. "All she did was bump into you. She said she was sorry several times. It's not like she did it on purpose!"

"She was in direct violation of Code 7-7C. To bring blatant disrespect to the Legion is an offense punishable by death. To disrespect the Legion is to bring dishonor to our Lord and Savior, Kalona!" That's exactly how he said it. I'll never forget how cold and robotic he sounded, a tone made even more chilling by the gas mask covering his face. Just how many times had he repeated those words over the years? Part of me fears the answer--just how many died at the hands of the Legion prior to the Incident? I feel we'll never know the truth.

The girl wouldn't let up, fearlessly defending her friend in the face of so much danger. "You mean to tell me bumping into you is worse than killing someone? Can you even hear yourself talk? You think killing her is going to make us learn our lesson?"

Her words must have struck a nerve because in that moment, he absolutely lost whatever composure he had left and started savagely kicking her sides and beating her with the butt of his rifle, yelling, "I have tried to show you mercy, but you have given me no other choice, you ungrateful third class whore!" Chelsea was 16 years old. For a grown man to think it was okay to call a young woman a whore was just deplorable and disgusting. Regardless of whether they had been brainwashed into doing the Order's bidding or not, it was not acceptable.

While this was going on, I could hear Maddie screaming at the top of her lungs, pleading for the soldier to leave Chelsea alone. She was all bloody and barely able to sit up. But they would not listen. As I said before, their pride and enormous ego was far more important than human decency. That was the true beatitude of the Order of the Southern Sky, to treat those who they had deemed as beneath them to worthy of only one thing--to be erased from existence. Unfortunately, they succeeded....to a certain extent. 12 of us survived in spite of their desires to scrub the slate clean and the 12 of us will make sure to speak up no matter the repercussions.

One of the soldiers forcefully grabbed Maddie by the arm, jerking her up to her knees. I'm guessing he was a Series 1 because he did not say anything to her. He only loomed above her with his rifle pointed at the back of her head. He made some sort of hand gesture to the other soldiers(I'm assuming he was trying to communicate with them), who in return made similar gestures. Whatever was said between them, he didn't move from his spot.

Chelsea was fading in and out of consciousness by this time, completely unresponsive from the brutal beating she had experienced. The soldier grabbed her by the arm and dragged her limp body across the pavement, stopping right next to Maddie, who was inconsolable. She tried reaching for her, but the soldier behind her took his rifle and slammed it down on her shoulder, causing her to collapse, only to be jerked up again. By then, I stood in the doorway of the library, sobbing at how unfair our situation was. They say the sights of hell are never seen or known. To us, living in Zion Mountain was the same as living in hell. Towards the end, this became an everyday occurrence. People were brutally murdered for alleged crimes that amounted to nothing more than little things that could easily be solved with little effort, in most cases, being an apology.

"Citizens of Zion Mountain! By the decree of the Order of the Southern Sky, we will pass judgement on those who deem it necessary to bring shame upon   the Legion. For the crime of assault against an officer, a direct violation of Code 7-7C, we have no other choice but to carry out their punishment as we see fit. To disrespect the Legion is to disrespect our Lord and Savior! To disrespect our Lord and Savior is an offense we cannot ignore!" I can remember those chilling words, even as I'm writing this out. I'm shaking at the very thought of it. As he was saying this, he drew out a handgun from his side holster and pressed it against the back of Chelsea's head. I could hear Maddie sobbing, begging for him to reconsider what he was about to do. But he would not listen. He was an inhuman monster whose heart was made of stone and not once did he regret anything he had done on the behalf of his wealthy masters. He was programmed to behave this way, to act without thinking.

"On the behalf of the Order of the Southern Sky, I hereby sentence them both to death! If anyone chooses to intervene with protocol, you will be charged with treason! You will meet the same end as them!" And with that, he executed his protocol, shooting her without single ounce of remorse in the back of the head. It seemed as though Zion Mountain was completely silent in that moment in time, collectively gasping in horror at how far the Order had fallen. Perhaps they did not have very far to fall, but....what little part of me had still clung on to the delusion of our small town being watched over by an all powerful God....it all swept away the moment Chelsea Moore met her end in the town square. It was all so callous, so cruel. He pulled the trigger as if it were nothing, as if it were the easiest task he could accomplish. As soon as she hit the ground, dead, Maddie let out this loud, ungodly wail that absolutely broke my heart. The soldier jerked her by the arm and put the gun against her temple.

Right before he pulled the trigger for a second time, he asked her to explain herself, to tell him why she did such a horrible thing and dared to walk in his direction--"Is there anything you'd like to say for yourself, you traitorous bitch?  You'd better. It's best you do it now so you won't have to live with any regrets."

To this day, her reply still stuns me because of how eerily prophetic it was--"I'm not a traitor. You are. All of you are. How can you call yourselves servants of God if all you want to do is hurt other people and kill them because you can't understand them and they can't understand you? Do you think he'd be happy? Do you think he'd be happy with this? If anyone around here has committed any crime, it's you and the Order! I think the biggest crime you've committed is believing you're right and using it as an excuse to do horrible things to people!"

"Why do you insist that we are cruel? If it weren't for the Order, you would be nothing. We offer you protection! We offer you a meaningful existence! Without us, you wouldn't know the true nature of God! You would be nothing more than godless heathen whose sole purpose in this world is to die. If anything, you should be grateful for all we have done for you. You should be grateful for your pain I have given you, but....if you feel that way, I have no other choice. You're beyond salvation and for that, you need to die."

Just like that, he pulled the trigger, and it was followed by silence, save for the sound of her body collapsing onto the pavement in dead weight.

I'd rather not discuss the details of what watching them die was like because it was a very traumatic experience, even with all the counseling and years of therapy. The only thing I can say is that after they were finished, the soldiers took their bodies and headed in the direction of the church. As a warning against anyone who harbored "traitorous" thoughts, they did not clean up the execution site. For several days afterwards, there was a big bloodstain on the pavement, along with brain matter and bloodied chunks of matted hair. The rain finally came on a Sunday morning, washing it all away. While their spilled blood was gone, the stains from those evil deeds remained, even until the very end. We were not allowed to talk about it. We were not allowed to acknowledge it. We simply had to move on with this lingering threat above our heads. No one knew what was about to happen to, not even until the final days."

--Testimony from Willow McKinley, former librarian at the Zion Mountain Public Library

[aresaphrodites]

Wicked Games Chapter Thirteen

Thanks as usual to my Main Bitch™️ @itstenafterfour for making this chapter better than I could have ever hoped. 

We are in our last chapters you guys! About three more plus an epilogue, so sit back and enjoy the ride. :)

Betty paces the room for a good ten minutes after Jughead’s taken away. She knows only a few things. Whether she likes it or not, it’s confirmed that Jughead Jones does in fact have a criminal record. She knows it’s for the worst kind of assault charge. She knows that a piece of Jughead’s hair was found at the scene of the crime.

She also knows that Jughead was with her the entire night that Veronica was supposedly killed. She knows that he had talked her into trying to call Veronica; why would he do that if he was just going to kill her? It didn’t make sense. For everything that he might have been in the past, Jughead cared about her now. She knew this.

She also knew that Jughead had to have been framed. There’s no way he did any of this, even if he was that kind of person in the past he just couldn’t be now. She knows that for a fact. She had been shocked at first when Officer Ruiz had told her about his past offence, but she knew better now. Jughead didn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this to her; to Veronica.

She still had a lot of unanswered questions, things she didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter because she knew she needed to get down to the station to try and fix things. Jughead had an alibi. If she had just gotten out of her shocked trance a few minutes earlier, she could have stood up for him. She feels terrible as she remembers the way he had looked at her as he had been dragged from the apartment; the look of pleading and desperation then absolute betrayal. Jughead had always been there for her, had always had her back, and when he needed her the most, she had let him down. But Betty knows she can fix this, and she will. She owes him at least that much.

The station is actually quite deserted when she finally gets there. There aren’t any reporters hanging outside so she know that the news about Veronica’s alleged killer being found must not be out yet. It’s nowhere near as chaotic as it had been whenever she’d been held for questioning and she’s thankful for small miracles.

She walks inside of the building and looks around. She doesn’t see Jughead anywhere so she knows that he’s probably being questioned right now. She hopes he lawyers up. His words can be twisted and turned until it’s what the detectives want to hear and she can’t deal with that. She can’t deal with the aftermath of what will come from all of that.

She walks to the back of the building where she knows Officer Ruiz’s office is. She’s surprised to see that he’s sitting inside of it all alone, head in his hands. She knocks on the door before letting herself in.

“Miss Cooper?” He asks as looks up, startled by her appearance. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.” She shuts the door behind herself and sits in the chair in front of his desk. “There’s no way that Forsythe killed Veronica. He was with me that entire night.”

Officer Ruiz sighs. “Miss Cooper, I understand not wanting to believe that he could do something like this. He was your bodyguard, a trusted man, but the evidence is right there.”

“We live together, I would have known if he had snuck out to go kill my best friend.” She says a bit louder now, growing impatient.

“He could have snuck out whenever you were asleep. It’s not that hard to do.”

Her face burns red as she thinks about what to tell him next. If she comes clean to him about their relationship, it could save Jughead’s name and his life. In the end, it’s not a hard decision to make.

“We fell asleep together that night in the same bed,” she hisses. “So no, he couldn’t have just snuck out. Especially since I fell asleep and woke up on top of him. I’m not a heavy sleeper, Officer Ruiz. I think you can guess why. He didn’t sneak out and he didn’t kill Veronica.”

Officer Ruiz looks just as mortified as she feels, but she sees the way he seems to speculate over her words, trying to decide what to believe.

“You’re his alibi then?” He asks her. “Because if this comes to light and if we can’t prove he isn’t innocent, you’ll have to testify for him in court. Can you be completely sure that you can do that? People won’t believe you. They’ll think you had something to do with the murder as well. I’ve seen cases like this before, Miss Cooper. It’s not easy stuff.”

“It won’t come to that,” she tells him. “He is innocent and you’ll see soon enough.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“The person who killed Veronica is the same person who's been stalking me for the past few months. Recently they were able to get onto my apartment balcony and take pictures of Jughead and I sleeping together. If they could do that, then I have no doubt in my mind they’d be able to get a strand of his hair and leave it at the crime scene. That’s all that was found, right? There was no blood or fingerprints? Not even skin under Veronica’s fingertips from fighting back?”

The officer is silent for a minute.

“That’s what I thought.”

Officer Ruiz frowns, taking it all in. “We still have to keep him for questioning,” he tells her. “If what you’re saying is true, then he’s a target as well. He’s a big enough target that the killer wants him behind bars.” He pauses and leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “How well do you know Mr. Jones?”

It’s an odd question, but she answers it anyway. “Well enough. He wouldn’t do this.”

“Say he didn’t do it, fine. But he does have a criminal record. The assault charge? That’s serious stuff. You didn’t seem to know anything about it, so again I ask; how well do you know him?”

The assault charge. It had been on her mind since Officer Ruiz had mentioned it earlier. What had happened that Jughead would go after someone with a deadly weapon? Was it a gun or a knife or something else? What could anger him that badly? She’d seen the way his temper would often act up and how he’d lash out, the incident with Chuck was a prime example of it, but he always seemed to pull himself out of whatever rage he was flying into. He had impeccable self control.

“I know him well enough that if there’s an assault charge on his record, it’s for a reason. He wouldn’t do something like that just for the hell of it. He is a good person,” she says the words like she’s begging him to believe her and she is. She needs him to believe her.

“We still need to keep him in for questioning, that’s just procedure.” He sighs. “I’m sorry.”

Betty deflates. Jughead doesn’t deserve to be behind bars or even in this place at all. She remembers how he had held her as he led her out of the station the other day and she feels terrible knowing that she won’t be able to offer the same thing for him.

“Tell you what,” Officer Ruiz says as he stands up, “I’m not supposed to do this, but I’ll let you talk to him for a few minutes. He needs to know that he has someone on his side right now.”

Betty smiles in relief. “Thank you.” She just needs to apologize to Jughead. She needs him to know that she doesn’t believe he could be capable of this.

She follows Officer Ruiz to the back of the station, to an empty hallway that looks all too familiar to her. Once they get in front of the room that’s holding Jughead, Officer Ruiz opens the door for her and lets her inside.

“Ten minutes,” he reminds her before closing the door behind himself.

Jughead doesn’t even look up at her entrance. He’s sitting with his hands clasped together on the table. They’re in handcuffs and Betty’s heart breaks at the sight. His head is down and his hair is falling into his face, not allowing her to see it. He looks so small and defeated right now. She wonders how she could have just let this happen to him.

She walks over to the metal chair in front of him and sits down on it. It’s uncomfortable and she wonders how long Jughead’s had to sit it in by himself in this cold room, as he felt like the entire world was against him.

“Hey,” she says softly as she reaches forward and tries to touch his hand with her own. She’s hurt but not surprised whenever he yanks his hands away from her grasp. “Juggie,” she whispers, brokenly, at a loss.

“You think I did it,” he states. His voice is low and for a moment it doesn’t even sound like his own. “You really think I did it; that I could even do something like that. You think I killed her.”

“No, I don’t!” She rushes out. “I don’t think that, that’s why I’m here.”

“The way you looked at me…”

“Jughead, please,” she begs him. “Please look at me.”

He does and she almost wishes he hadn’t. His eyes are bloodshot and she wonders if he’d been crying. He looks so broken down and beaten and he’s only been in here for an hour at the most. It hurts to see him like this and she can’t even begin to imagine how he must feel right now.

“I’m sorry,” she says, meaning it. “I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you. I was just so shocked after what Officer Ruiz said and I know that’s not a good reason, but I need you to know that I do believe you.”

“It was for my sister,” he says after a beat, clearing his voice and finally looking her in the eye. “The gang I was in, I joined it for my sister. It was the only way I could offer her protection. My mom was dead and my dad was an alcoholic deadbeat. I did things like petty theft and drug deals to make money to support us. I had to keep her alive, Betty. I don’t regret anything I did, but I didn’t want you to know.” He looks embarrassed by everything and Betty reaches out and places her hand over his. She’s relieved when he doesn’t pull away this time.

“Don’t be embarrassed about that,” she tells him. He flips his hand over and squeezes hers back. “I’m not going to judge you for something you did when you were younger and fighting to give your sister food and shelter. I’d never do that.”

“When she was in high school, some guy at a party got her drunk; really drunk. He was the kind of guy who had no business being at a highschool party and he shouldn’t have been anywhere near my sister. I wasn’t at the party, but one of my guys called me and told me that someone had taken my sister into a room and locked the door and that they wouldn’t open it.” The hand that isn’t holding Betty’s clenches tightly into a fist. “I don’t remember driving to the party or anything like that. I just remember standing over the guy, looking at his bloody face while I held a tire iron in my hand.”

Betty’s eyes widen and for the first time since she’s known him, she’s scared of Jughead. She isn’t scared in this moment or because she thinks he’ll ever hurt her, she’s scared because she knows now that he’s probably capable of more than she ever expected.

“Was she okay?” She asks, fearing for the worst.

“She was fine. He didn’t get to do anything to her. In the end, he got away free because his dad was the mayor and his mom was some big shot lawyer. They made it out like I was some kind of psychopath and they completely left out the part about him trying to force himself onto my sister.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, squeezing his hand. “You didn’t deserve that and neither did she.”

“It was stupid. I could have killed him.”

“Maybe you should have.” Jughead looks at Betty in surprise, not quite believing the words she’s just said.

“They have to keep me, don’t they?” He asks, changing the subject. Betty just nods sadly. “I’ll be okay,” he reassures her. “I’m worried about you, though.”

“Officer Ruiz thinks the stalker sees you as a threat. He’ll probably do anything to keep you in here for as long as he can.”

“Can you stay with someone? Or go home to Riverdale? If I’m going to be in here for a while then I don’t want you to be by yourself.”

“You won’t be in here for long. They’ll see that you’re innocent.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” he says with a sad smile. “As long as they have someone they can pin the murder on, they’re not letting me go. I’m the only solution they have to a terrible problem. I’m not leaving here anytime soon. You’re not stupid, Betty. You know that.”

“That’s not fair,” Betty says, voice shaky as her eyes start to water. She misses Jughead already. He’s sitting right in front of her and she misses him and it hurts like hell. She hadn’t realized just what this would mean for them, but now as she looks at him in his handcuffs and face sullen, she doesn’t think she can walk out of here without him.

“This isn’t forever,” he promises her. “I need you to be strong and be safe.”

She’s fully crying now as she nods at his words. There’s a knock on the door and Officer Ruiz pokes his head in.

“Time’s up,” he tells them.

“I’ll be back,” Betty tells Jughead as she squeezes his hand tightly. “Don’t let them break you down. You didn’t hurt anyone.”

Jughead smiles at her but it looks forced. She stands up and leans over the table to place a kiss on his lips. It’s wet and salty from her tears and it’s not enough to lift either of their spirits. She’s leaving Jughead and she doesn’t know how long it’ll be before she can see him again.

“Stay safe,” he tells her once more when she pulls away. She nods and gives him one last look before walking out of the room.

“Sorry, kid,” Officer Ruiz tells her and it sounds like he really is sorry. Before she can answer him back, a voice that she’s starting to recognize all too well echos off the hallway walls.

“Betty?” Chris Matthews walks towards her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He looks different to her when he’s not in uniform. “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” she says, not wanting to talk about it.

Chris looks between her and Officer Ruiz. “Am I missing something?”

“We have a suspect in custody for the murder of Veronica Lodge,” Officer Ruiz fills him in. “It’s Miss Cooper’s bodyguard.”

Chris’ eyes widen and he looks at her in complete shock.

“They have the wrong guy,” she tells him, hoping he’ll believe her. Chris just nods slowly, probably still a bit thrown off by the whole thing.

“I’m about to take my break,” he tells her, “wanna talk about it?”

Usually she’d say no, but right now she doesn’t want to be alone. Jughead had told her to stay safe and what better way to stay safe than to hang out with a police officer? Chris had been nothing but nice to her and right now she needed someone nice. And he’s armed, which puts her a bit at ease.

“Sure,” she tells him. “That’d be nice.”

Chris takes her to a small deli that’s right around the corner of the police station. She just ordered a cup of soup but hardly touches it, her appetite nearly nonexistent after everything that had happened at the station with Jughead. Her mind is still whirling with the story he told her. Instead of feeling scared of him, or disgust at his past actions, she feels a sense of admiration. Jughead is strong, he’s the kind of person she always wanted to be like when she was growing up. She wishes that she had known him when he was younger. She wishes she could have been there for him.

“He’s going to be okay,” Chris tells her, noticing that she isn’t eating. “I believe you. I believe that he’s innocent. As long as everything checks out, he’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about him, Betty.”

“I’m just scared,” she finally admits. “What if this gets out? What will it do to him as a person? How can someone be accused of something so terrible and still be the same afterward?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “But Forsythe seems like a good man.” It’s nice to hear him say that. Jughead had always been a little cold towards Chris, but Betty was glad to see that Chris didn’t harbor the same feelings. “And he has you as a support system.” He smiles at Betty and she returns it. It’s kind of like what Officer Ruiz had told her. She knew that she wasn’t really doing anything at all for Jughead, but if she could offer some support to him then that was a start.

“I just hope that this doesn’t change him.”

“It might,” Chris tells her as he locks his eyes with her own, “but who says that’s a bad thing? There’s nothing wrong with change, especially in people like him.”

Her head snaps up. What do you mean ‘like him’? She wants to ask, but no words come out. Instead, Betty bites at her lip and looks down at her soup. Who says it would ever be a good thing?

She goes to Cheryl’s after she’s done eating with Chris.

Cheryl lives in a glass mansion on Sunset Boulevard. It’s the exact kind of place that someone would expect a woman like Cheryl Blossom to live in; extremely extravagant and unbelievably beautiful. Betty used to love it. When she first met Cheryl, before she even became Betty’s formal manager, she would beg the redhead girl to let her throw parties there. Now though it seemed too open to the world. It didn’t feel secure. There was no privacy and it made her uncomfortable.

“You can take your usual room,” Cheryl tells her, referring to the room that Betty used to use all the time when she would come over. “You should shower and sleep. Are you hungry?”

Betty shakes her head. “No, I’m just going to shower and go to bed. Thanks for letting me crash here, Cher. You’re the best.”

Cheryl smiles at her. “Of course, Betty. I’d do anything for you, you know that. Get some sleep.” She hugs her and places a kiss onto Betty’s cheek before turning and leaving her alone.

With Cheryl away from her, the house seems larger than it already is. She looks at all the paintings on the walls that she knows cost an arm and a leg and notices how they’re all dark instead of lively; they don’t brighten the house up, they add a sense of foreboding to it.

When she gets to her room, she drops her purse onto the bed and makes her way into the restroom. Her eyes have bags under them and she blames all the stress and crying on it. She takes off her clothes and turns the water as hot as it will go before stepping inside. It burns and it’ll probably leave her skin red afterwards, but she doesn’t care. Right now it hurts too good, like it’s the only thing reminding her that all this is real. She stands under the water for a long time, not moving to wash her hair or her body. She just lets the water wash over her until she can’t feel the heat of it any longer.

She doesn’t get dressed before getting into bed. Cheryl always has an extra set of clothes in her spare bedrooms, but Betty doesn’t even look through the drawers to see her options. Instead she slips underneath the covers and falls asleep before her head even hits the pillow.

She wakes up a little past five in the morning. Her throat is dry and her stomach rumbles out for something to eat. She tosses the covers off of herself and puts on a silk black robe that had been hanging in the closet in the restroom.

Cheryl has her protective blinds up right now on all the glass windows and it’s the only thing that makes Betty feel somewhat safe as she walks down to the kitchen.

She gets herself a glass of water and an apple from the fruit basket. A loud giggle comes from the hallway that leads to Cheryl’s bedroom and Betty jumps up at the sound. Against her better judgement, she walks over to the sound and is surprised to see Cheryl’s bedroom light still on. Has Cheryl been up all night long? And who is she with? Cheryl was the type to be in bed by ten o’clock and awake at no later than nine in the morning, so Betty’s surprised to see her up right now. By the sound of it, it seems like she hasn’t slept at all.

The apple falls from her hand accidentally and she curses to herself as the giggles stop and the room gets quiet. Betty presses her ear against the door, trying to see if she can hear what the hell is going on. When it seems like there’s no immediate threat, the giggling starts again and this time it’s followed by a loud moan. Betty jumps away from the door, clearly understanding what’s going on right here. Cheryl has a booty call over. Wouldn’t be the first time. Cheryl has the powers of a seductress, she could bed anyone who fit her very specific type. Is booty call even the right word for whatever is going on? It has to be. Betty hadn’t been aware that Cheryl was seeing anyone so it can’t be an actual relationship.

She walks away from the door and back over to the kitchen. Whoever Cheryl’s having sex with is none of her business. She’s just about to go back to her room to see if she can try to sleep a little more, when there’s a knock at the front door. The house phone that Cheryl has for business purposes rings three times before it’s followed by the sound of Cheryl’s answering machine going off.

It’s a deep, gruff voice on the line.

“Your package is out front.” It’s ominous as hell and Betty wonders who would be out delivering packages at this time.

Betty looks towards Cheryl’s room where she can still hear her friend’s moans followed by the grunts of a man.

She’ll just get the package for Cheryl. Someone could steal it if it stays out there too long; it’s happened before.

No one is outside whenever she opens the door and she looks down to see a small box. It’s a matte black box that looks way too fancy and way too familiar to her. Before she knows what she’s doing, her hand touches the top of the box and takes off the lid, staring down at the contents inside.

“Shut up!” Cheryl hisses at Reggie. He moans like he’s trying to make a statement. As soon as the words leave her lips, she moans out and Reggie sends her a cocky grin. He might be good in bed, but he was in way over his head. It was why he needed her. They balanced each other out.

“We can’t have Betty hearing us,” Cheryl reminds him. “She can’t know about us.”

Reggie rolls his eyes but before he can say anything, there’s a loud crash outside of the bedroom. They look at each other in a moment of shock before they each jump up from the bed. Reggie throws on his sweats and Cheryl tugs on her robe.

They walk into the living room and Cheryl stops in her tracks as he sees Betty hovering over a broken vase and a black box on the floor. The vase was an antique from Cheryl's grandmother, but that’s not what bothers her. What bothers her is the box that’s been thrown to the floor along with the vase, because she knows exactly where that box came from. She knows exactly what’s inside it, she doesn’t even have to look. Her hand is dripping blood from the cracked vase all over Cheryl’s expensive carpeting, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t even feel the gash, even though it’s bleeding quite profusely now.

Betty looks up at the sound of their footsteps, tears falling from her cheeks as she looks at the redhead in complete despair, feeling both betrayed and afraid.

“You weren’t supposed to see that!” Cheryl should be screaming. Her voice should be shrill and terrified. Yet, she’s never sounded more robotic, more emotionless. The voice doesn’t even sound like her.

This was Cheryl. Betty spent her entire career, and even before that relying on her. Being there for each other. Like friends do. That builds a sort of solidarity and trust and she never anticipated for it to hurt so badly now that it was gone.

If Betty had managed to keep her world from falling apart, to keep herself together up until now, she officially gives up. She can’t do this anymore. All of the anger and hurt she had been feeling over the past few months piles up as she looks at the person behind all of it.

“You,” the blonde haired girl whispers out as she looks at Cheryl in disgust. “You did all of this?”

Cheryl shakes her head and moves towards Betty with her hands up, trying to get her to calm down. “Betty, just listen to me, okay? I did this for you--.”

“For me?!” Betty shrieks out. Before either Cheryl or Reggie can guess what’s going to happen, Betty lunges forward and tackles Cheryl to the ground. “I trusted you! You were my friend! How could you do this to me?” She picks up her fist, she doesn’t know if she planned to actually punch Cheryl but it never happens. Reggie picks her up off of the redhead and holds her back in his arms.

“You need to calm down,” he hisses at Betty.

“Did you know about this too?” She yells out at him as she wriggles out of his grip. Oh, God. Are they both going to kill her now? “Did you… did you both kill her?”

They all know who she’s referring to and the room goes completely quiet.

“Betty,” Cheryl says as she stands up from the floor, voice pleading, “just listen to me.”

Betty just shakes her head as she walks backwards and towards the front door. She’s looking at Cheryl right now and she doesn’t even recognize the girl in front of her. She’s surprised when Reggie doesn’t grab her and stop her from leaving. She takes off running down the driveway. She left her phone and purse in the house and she’s well aware that she’s only in a silk bathrobe right now, but she doesn’t care. She needs to get as far away from Cheryl Blossom and Reggie Mantle as she can and she knows exactly where she’s going.

Jughead Jones stares back at the man in front of him. He’s the first person to come inside of the room all day aside from Betty.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, not sure why this man has any reason to be inside of this room at all; he’s not a detective.

“I had to come see you,” he says with a sinister smile. “I had to look at you in the face and make sure that you knew I won.”

Jughead tenses up. He can’t be… No. There’s no way.

“You,” he whispers out. “You’re the stalker. It was you this entire time. You did all this to her.”

“You’re right. But who said I’m alone? Guess you really are as dumb as I thought you were,” the man jokes, but Jughead doesn’t laugh. He opens up his mouth, ready to scream, to try to fight this guy, to do anything, but he never gets the chance. He tries to stand up but falls back down inevitably - his hands are still chained to the table.

The man walks behind Jughead and places a rag over his face. He’s never smelled chloroform before and he doesn’t even have time to focus on it or block the chemical from invading all his senses. Before he even realizes what’s happening or the man’s motivation, he’s blacked out and defenseless.

The man stands there and smiles as Jughead goes limp in his hands. He did all of this and the power he feels from all of it courses through his body.

The door opens up and he doesn’t even turn his head; he already knows who it is.

“You did well,” a high pitched voice says from the right of him. “One down and one to go.” She walks next to Jughead and pulls a knife out from the large bag she’s carrying with her. She yanks his head back harshly by his hair, exposing his neck to her. She bends down gracefully and places the knife next to his neck, making the tiniest cut on it and watching the blood trickle out of it. Then she throws her bag over to the other man in the room.

“Take the picture and do it quick. Police stations creep me out.”

He pulls out the polaroid camera from her bag and snaps the picture for her, making sure that her face isn’t in it; just Jughead’s.

He hands it over to her whenever it develops and she studies it before smiling at him and then places the picture into the matte black box she’d bought just for this occasion; for countless occasions before this one.

“This is the last one,” she tells him, “we don’t need to send anymore after this. Time for the next part of the plan.”

Tag List: @pearlywise @novelistjugheadjones @oldfashionedvanilla @thedenisecarla

[losttalongthewayy]

cs future fic ~ cursed!Killian/Lucy Mills S7 spec of sorts….or, aka the time Lucy Mills got a door slammed in her face, and then the one time she didn’t! Grandpa!Killian angst-y fluff 

He’s expecting her of course —what he isn’t expecting however, is the way his heart twists in almost literal pain at the sight of the tears in her eyes.

It tugs at his heart in ways he just can’t explain and truly, he doesn’t need this in his life.

…Alas, she’s back now and Killian has to do something —say something. “I wager it didn’t go well lass?”  

Lucy’s face falls and Killian wants to kick himself —of course he went with the understatement of the century. He rolls his eyes at himself, but before he can say something else, Lucy replies simply, “No…”

Killian notices the way she squeezes her eyes tight and takes in a deep breath before looking up at him. She swallows, as if truly expecting the worst right now. “Can I come in?” 

Killian’s heart physically hurts at her question. He regards her softly, the inexplicable need to protect her and keep her safe now stronger than ever. “Aye, of course lass…” He says, and Lucy barely nods at him in reply, before stepping in the apartment. 

She drags her backpack as she walks in and then just drops herself on the couch.  

Killian watches her from his spot for a moment before shutting the door and following her inside. “He didn’t believe you?” Again he’s asking the most obvious question there is, but he’s still disappointed when Lucy shakes her head.  

“Nope,” she says, popping the p with her lips. She waits a beat before turning to look at him with huge sad brown eyes. “He closed the door on me,” she tells Killian, and he can just barely handle the way she’s trying so hard to stop herself from crying —a tough lass, she is—that much Killian is certain. Her lips are trembling but she doesn’t allow the tears as she continues. “He wouldn’t even let me explain…he just shut that door…I thought…I don’t…” she trails off, sighing, and closing her eyes. 

Killian sighs too; he thinks he should’ve prepared Lucy better. He knew this was very well likely to happen —a ten year old knocking on a stranger’s door claiming to be his long lost daughter? A mighty pill to swallow if he can say so himself.  

He’s not exactly sure what to tell the lass now —he’s not even certain why he’s helping her in the first place, only that he feels as though he doesn’t have any other choice.

She showed up on his doorstep out of nowhere barely three days ago with nothing but a backpack on her back and a million stories in her head. She tells him he’s not ready to hear the whole story yet and Killian has gone along with it. He’s not sure he wants to hear the whole story, honestly. He already feels responsible enough for her as is, he doesn’t know how he would feel knowing everything.  

Maybe he’s not even helping her though. Maybe everything he’s doing is giving this girl false hope she doesn’t need.

Then again, she has no one —-or so she says, but Killian still believes her. He saw that look in her eyes. That look only those who’ve been left alone have —that look only orphans share and perhaps only orphans recognize.  

He knows this world ain’t Neverland, but Lucy right here is but a lost girl if he’s ever seen one.  

“Lucy,” he calls then at last. His tone is soft, and surprisingly warm —Killian’s never thought as himself as one good with children —this child however, she’s different to him. He reaches for her, and squeezes the kid’s knee. “You can’t give up, lass…” 

Lucy looks at him —her eyes uncertain yet fierce. She thinks about it for a moment, and then just says, “I know.” Her tone is firm and certain; for whatever reason it makes Killian impossibly proud. 

She holds his stare for just a beat, but then inevitably her shoulders drop once more and she slouches back on the couch. She sighs, looking blankly in front of her. 

Killian knows what she’s thinking —she’s told him her fear in more than one occasion —what if she just can’t get her father to believe… 

“Lass,” 

Lucy only slightly shifts her eyes his way. Killian offers her what he hopes is an encouraging nod. “Henry, he’s a great lad…” He tells her with as much certainty as he can muster. Killian hasn’t known Henry Mills for long, he takes his class a few evenings every week, and he’s seemingly very sharp and clever. 

Killian Jones, never in a million years guessed he’d be helping his —alleged— stranded daughter reunite with him. It is a mighty pill to swallow, but for whatever reason Killian feels a pull toward this child and he just can’t turn his back on her. So for now he’s going to offer this beautiful lass the one thing he can think she needs, hope —at least try to do so. “He’ll come around lass, you just have to keep believing yourself —don’t give up, you go back love, and you tell him who you are until he listens…” 

Lucy’s eyes on him are a bit unnerving —have been since Killian’s known her. She looks at him as though she knows him —as though she’s a part of him he’s simply forgotten. 

It’s bloody impossible of course —he’s never met or seen this child before this week, but all the same, this pull toward her doesn’t become any weaker. 

Lucy eventually lets out a long breath and nods her head. She closes her eyes, and Killian sees her nervously biting on her trembling lip. 

He aches to hold her —to fully comfort her; alas, he doubts that is what this lass needs. She needs her family —her father, not a poor excuse of a teacher who’s been alone for as long as he can remember. 

The next words that come out of Lucy’s mouth pierce him like a blade straight across his middle. “Are you going to call social services on me today?” 

Killian gave her an ultimatum earlier in the day —he helped her locate her father, he helped her get to him, now if it didn’t work, if she came back, then he assured her he’d be reporting her to Social Services for once and for all. 

And right now, he actually thinks about it. He needs to think about himself every once in a while too, after all. This could end very badly for him in so many different ways and he knows it. 

He knows the risks. He knows what he’s risking.  

He knows what the right thing to do is. He knows what the smart thing to do is as well.  

He however, also very well knows what he just can not do…  

He reports Lucy, he can’t help her.  

Problem is, he needs to help her.  

“No, Lucy,” he tells her. “Not today lass…not today…”

.

.

.

[nekomegami-chan-blog]

Just Venting - non fandom related

I’m getting rather fed up with my managers at my day job. I can’t wait until my new business is solid enough to provide all of my income. I don’t normally bitch about work, but I really need to today. 

I got into work at 2:30 and the store was in chaos. We were crazy busy and under-staffed (we shouldn't have been, but our manager who is literally almost NEVER actually in-store was there, but like usual, he spent 95% of his time on his phone, rather than helping), and our assistant manager was running around trying to place orders with the faulty laptop like a chicken with her head cut off (her normal state - she has zero time-management skills (or people management skills, for that matter)). I walk in and immediately begin to help organize people but before the rush can even fully die down, my assistant manager tells me that there’s a large store-to-store transfer that is sitting in shopping carts, and that we had to get it out ASAP. To make matters worse, the manager has taken one of our sales people/cashiers and has her making new endcaps and packing up old seasonal merch. I’m dumbfounded by all of the merch being torn apart when there was fresh stuff just arriving that needed to be put away when we had clearly already been busier than normal. 

So anyway, I start putting the transfer away and there was an item that we didn’t stock at this store. I ask the assistant manager if she knows if it’s a special order, or a new item for us, given that it wasn’t in the special order book (not unusual, she doen’t always write special orders down). Instead of saying, “I don’t know” or “we’ll deal with it later”, she gets pissy with me and says, “Yes we do! It’s over there.” I calmly reply, “I checked the UPC/SKU and no, we don’t stock this, and it’s not just a new UPC, there’s nothing by this description on the shelf, I checked.” She huffs at me, smiles in this totally irritating, nasty way she has when you call her out on something, and says, “Well, I guess I don’t know, then.” And walks away. She literally can NOT handle being wrong or caught in a mistake, even just a minor clerical error or something - she blows up and then blames it on being “tired” or her “anxiety” - bitch, no. You just can’t take any sort of conflict with a coworker, even if it’s no big deal. She can be nice to a nasty customer and control her attitude with the managers above her and the owners, so I KNOW she’s capable of controlling herself, but she has a LONG history of verbally beating on coworkers who correct her in any way, which the higher ups seem to always make excuses for. Which is weird, given that she has no actual say/stake/power in the company? Anyway, I digress. The worst part about her snarly comebacks when you challenge something she says is that a few minutes later she will calm down, rethink her response, and either say something “nice” like, “How are your horses?” or else come back and want to tell you why you upset her and she responded the way she did - not really an excuse or a “fuck you” but kind of a mixture of both, like it’s your fault she got pissy. 

Next, since my manager was actually IN the store (though it took a half hour to actually wait for him to be off the phone and walk by at the same time so I could ask to talk to him) I pulled him aside and asked if there was a reason he’d cut me back to part-time hours. He looked confused and I elaborated. “I had asked you to cut me back from 40 hours to 30. 30 hours works great for me. But the past two weeks, you’ve scheduled me for only 25 hours, and you have me down for 25 again next week. Is there a reason for that?” This GROWN ASS MAN who is 26 years old and supposedly running not ONE, NOT TWO, BUT THREE stores (which is ridiculous anyway), looked at me blankly and said, “What?”

I replied, “Yeah, you’ve had me at 25 hours three times in a row now.” To which he responded, “Oh, sorry. I just kept sort of copying the same schedules since they seemed to be working for people. I didn’t actually count how many hours I was giving anyone unless they asked for time off. You can go back to 30 hours, we need you anyway.” FACE PALM. I’m literally the best sales person in any of our stores by the numbers, and not to toot my own horn, but I get daily calls of people wanting to make an appointment to see me. I’m not joking - they call a pet specialty retail store to book my time because I’m a holistic animal nutritionist, but also give some dog training coaching and general animal-behavior/problem solving help and I clip nails of badly frightened pets safely without stressing them (I have mad skills). Not only thst, but 4 different area vets actually hand out my store contact info and will even call ahead to see if I’m working so they can send customers over. I’ve increased store sales by 20% year over year for TWO years in a row - and yet the company only pays me $15 an hour. I’m literally not paid enough to deal with this shit. It’s only my desire to help animals and people and my love of my “regulars” and freaking awesome coworkers that keeps me here. That, and my need for health insurance. But really, who just under schedules their best salesperson out of being too lazy to COUNT to THIRTY?! I’ll admit, I was ready to confront my manager because the only thing I could logically think of as to why they’d cut my hours lower than I requested was as “punishment” for wanting to cut back at all, or as a way to reduce costs by trying to edge me out of my eligibility for health insurance (to have matching contributions, you have to work 30+ hours).

To top it all off, we have a new-hire who started last week. He’s 30, Hispanic, and not someone I’m interested in getting to know beyond an arm’s length coworker. Not because he’s Hispanic - that's not important to me, but he makes a big , to-do about his ethnicity and comes off as low-key racist -but because from DAY ONE he’s been an annoyance. I don’t know if he’s a creep, or if he’s socially inept (he’s 30, he has to have had similar jobs, with similar rules of conduct, right?). Regardless, the first thing he does is start flirting with ALL THE GIRLS who work in the store. There are 6 of us, including the assistant manager, who is in her 60s (the only one he’s not interested in). He starts out by asking one of our other male coworkers if “AV” is seeing anyone. When he says, “I don’t know. I don’t think so,” the new-hire basically goes all Quagmire and thinks he has a shot with her. She reported that our other male coworker saw the new-hire clearly leering at her backside when she walked past them, and male coworker told “AV” about it so she’d be aware. “AV” also noticed new-hire look her up and down, blatantly, when talking to her. She felt uncomfortable. She’s a keyholder/shift lead and so am I, but I’m her “senior” so she told me and I told her to contact our Manager or District Manager. Other girls reported similar things to me, including one who is also a shift lead, but as I didn’t witness anything personally, all I could tell them to do was to contact the higher-ups. I didn’t want to get involved based on “hearsay”. Finally, the new-hire tried the same things on me. He followed me around, leaving a task he knew how to do just to talk to me. He kept asking me personal questions like, “Are you Mexican?” and “How tall are you?” “How old are you?” “Do you live around here?”. I tried to make vague answers, but I wasn’t sure what to do - I’d never been in that situation before. He also did the whole-body look me up and down thing. I didn’t feel threatened (I’m taller and I out weigh him, and I’m pretty strong) but I also didn’t feel comfortable. Later on, I went to show him how to lock the delivery door, and I thought, as I bent down to put the pin in the bottom to look up at our reflections in the door (it’s glass, and it was light inside, dark outside, so the door is like a mirror). I saw him staring at my butt, so I looked over my shoulder quickly. He stammered and took a step back, knowing he was caught. I didn’t say anything to him about it, and continued on like normal showing him how to close.

After work, I texted my boss and said he needed to deal with it, because now I actually had something of my own to report. “AV” did the same and two other female coworkers corroborated when asked about their experiences yesterday (I was off yesterday). The next day after our incident, the GM came in and had a talk with the new-hire and provided him with an employee handbook and talked abut policy. Today the GM came to talk to me and kept repeating how serious our allegations were and how much she didn’t want to let a potentially good employee go over “workplace drama” or “people ganging-up on someone just because he doesn’t fit in our store’s dynamic”. She made a point about how grateful he was for the job and how willing he was to come in early when someone else went home sick, how willing he was to stay late, etc. I was beyond pissed. She wanted to accuse us all of making it up just because we didn’t like him, because he’s “socially awkward” or “inept” and how “he’s not the brightest” and “he’s young”. 

OMG NO. He’s too forward and he leers at female coworkers. And who does she think she is telling his shift-lead that he’s “not the brightest”? Talk about inappropriate!! And YOUNG? He told me himself (unsolicited) that he’s 33. I’m turning 33 this month. The GM called me “mature” (as in old/experienced, not as in “you handled things in a mature way”) but his mistakes are because “he’s young”? FUCKING REALLY? He’s OLDER THAN I AM. HE SHOULD KNOW BETTER. Then she started asking questions about if he had touched me or anyone inappropriately, and whether or not I would want him to be transferred to a different store, or if I wanted to transfer, and again with “how serious” things were. I told her I didn’t necessarily think he had to go, and I don’t want to move (not that they would let me - I’ve asked to be transferred several times when there were potential opportunities for advancement and been denied every time because “this store really needs you” aka I make them too much money here to risk moving me) but that I wanted him to get training on how to appropriately deal with coworkers. She then accused me of not handling the situation myself. “It should have stopped with you. You’re a keyholder and a shift lead. You should have corrected new-hire’s behavior if it was bothering you and your coworkers.” REALLY? I told her I was caught off-guard, that I’d never had to deal with that situation before, and because I wasn’t sure if it was overstepping my bounds and I didn’t feel comfortable dealing with correcting his behavior, I CONTACTED MY DAMN MANAGER. I DID THE RIGHT FUCKING THING! I AM NOT THE HR DEPARTMENT, YOU ARE! And look, here you are, dealing with the problem. BOO HOO for you, that you had to take a few hours to do your fucking job. Don’t You DARE tell me to feel bad about how I handled this. 

She also accused me of dressing inappropriately for work and told me that our dress code didn’t include the pants I was wearing. The dress code in our handbook says we have to wear the store-issued uniform tee shirt and can’t cover it up with a jacket (if it’s cold, we can put on long sleeved shirts in a dark, neutral color underneath). As for bottoms, it says, “dark pants/slacks or jeans, no pants above the knee/shorts” (paraphrasing). I was wearing dark gray capri pants. Totally within policy as it’s phrased. She told me that “yoga pants” are an abuse of the policy, and that pants should be ankle length. No where in the dress code is that specified. I told her as much, and that my manager and assistant manager had no problem with these capri pants, and that I wore them occasionally and even got compliments from my assistant manager on them because they’re cute. She said that the policy was changing, because it’s ‘not professional” and because “old ladies” shop here and may be “offended” or think I’m too casual, and because “other employees may abuse the privilege to wear short pants and come in with outrageous patterns or colors” and told me I could only wear long jeans from now on. Bitch, really?! It’s pretty clear in the employee handbook, which SHE HELPED WRITE AND APPROVED that I was NOT in violation. She just wanted to get back at me because my getting involved and corroborating the same experiences other female coworkers had with new-hire dude meant that she couldn’t just say it was an isolated incident and she had to get involved.  I think what pisses me off most about the GM is that she conveniently forgets my resume. She makes a point of calling me "young" - today's "mature" comment being a convenient anomaly- so that she doesn't have to acknowledge my qualifications. I have a business degree, with a concentration in management. I have two professional certifications in two different fields. I ran my own business for 14 years, and am doing so again now. I have successfully managed another business and a three non profit programs. I was, just two weeks ago, appointed to a two year term on the city's second most influential commission, with a personal commendation from the mayor herself. I was even featured in this year's State of the City address video and got a VIP invite to the State of the City dinner last month. I'm outrageously overqualified and nearly all our store's yelp and FB and google reviews mention me by name in a positive way. I guess the person I'm really mad at is myself for meekly putting up with this shit because I feel trapped until I can get my new business booming. I'm off to a strong start and making headway, but I know it takes a year to really establish a business like mine snd I need to pay off some debt and build a nest egg before I jump in all the way.

UGG. DONE. DONE with this fucking job. It’s been two years, and I haven’t had a promotion (which was part of my hiring agreement, btw), and no raise for a year. And now this shit. DONE. 

[charlesjening]

State of the Profession 2019: We Need to Talk About Accounting’s Big PR Problem

Not sure if anyone’s noticed but the profession is in trouble. You know it’s bad when the most cynical of cynics feels compelled to say yeah, this is kinda actually bad.

Sure, I’ve talked plenty of shit over the years but I’ve also been one of the profession’s biggest cheerleaders, lifting up future CPAs when they’re about to give up on their dreams, supporting ambitious accountants at conferences and lobbying days, even sharing press releases that in the back of my mind I thought were completely stupid but knew deep down had the best of intentions. But now? Now we’re in a really dark time.

I wish I was more into sports, then I could say something relatable like “if the accounting profession were a team, it would be the 1981 [shitty team here]” and Bramwell would commend me for my extensive knowledge of shitty sports teams. Are the Clippers still a joke? The Cleveland Browns? Yeah, I’m terrible at this. Anyway.

Accountants behaving badly

Anyone noticed Bramwell has been writing an “Accountants Behaving Badly” column on the regular for weeks now? WEEKS. Used to be maybe we could scrape one of those together once a month or so, but now every single Monday conference call we have with The Powers That Be, when it comes time for our publisher to ask what Jason is working on for the week, he confidently exclaims “working on Accountants Behaving Badly, should have that done this afternoon!” Well damn.

I pulled up headlines from the last few he’s done, and holy shit. These aren’t just your run-of-the-mill middle-aged accountants embezzling from clients, we’re talking theft, fraud, kiddie porn, even murder. MURDER.

Yorba Linda accountant arrested on suspicion of embezzling $1.8 million from Suzuki of America in Brea

Rensselaer accountant sentenced in child porn case

Phoenix tax preparer sentenced to prison for stealing his clients’ tax refunds

Lansing accountant sentenced to 7 years prison for fraud

Wakefield accountant sentenced to jail, probation for stealing from church

Essex accountant admits fraud against Cats production firm

North Las Vegas murder suspect a UNLV graduate student

EY employee conspires in £76k staff fraud

PwC accountant fired after 1,700 upskirting images

Accountant lied on oath to protect crime gang torturer

I could keep going but we’d be here all day and we still have a lot of ground to cover. You get the point.

I looked back in the archive and it appears it’s worse than I initially suspected. Bramwell has had no shortage of weekly material going all the way back to July, with even more littering the pages of the archive if you go further back than that. What in the hell is going on?

I mean, maybe people are just losing their minds. These are hard times we live in after all. Everyone is all worked into a lather politically and the future seems bleak, and you know, maybe otherwise good, honest accountants just snapped and started stealing and lying and, uh, killing their wives and then sloppily trying to pass it off as suicide.

I want to say these are isolated incidents but damn, in the aggregate, it’s starting to look like accountants around the world have collectively lost their shit.

KPM-God damn they did it again

No discussion about the profession’s PR problem could be had without mentioning the elephant in the room. Not pointing fingers but I just have to say it: KPMG.

Has KPMG had a single positive headline all year? Honestly I have no idea, I’ve been too distracted by all the not positive ones. They’ve had a rough go of it, no doubt. Just when you think their reputation couldn’t get worse (on top of the baseline reputation they’ve always had as the sweaty armpit of the Big 4, that is), something else appears that makes you sigh the sigh of a bitter, alcoholic, old accounting tabloid writer who is sick of this bullshit (I’m projecting here, obvs).

Rather than blockquote the dozens upon dozens of articles we’ve written in the last year or so that simply beat this already dead horse to a pulp, let’s just pull some headlines from the last year, shall we?

SEC Says $50 Million Fine For KPMG Is ‘Significant’ and ‘Appropriate’ For All That Cheating Going On

Survey Finds That Nearly a Third of KPMG Employees Aren’t Surprised by Latest Cheating Scandal

Which KPMG Scandal Is Worse: PCAOB ‘Steal the Exam’ or CPE Training Exam Cheating?

KPMG Australia Partner Pleaded Guilty to Stabbing a Dude with a Corkscrew Outside of a School

Here’s More Proof That KPMG U.K. Totally F*cked Up the Way It Handled Bullying Allegations Against Partner

KPMG Doesn’t Think It Should Have to Pay a $16 Million Fine For Screwing Up BNY Mellon Compliance Reports

Another Day, Another Fine for KPMG

KPMG Just Can’t Stay Out of Trouble

KPMG Mexico Could Be Facing Fine of Up to $1.6 Million For Huge Data Leak Blunder

U.K.’s Audit Regulator Wants to Find Out Exactly Why KPMG Is Such a Hot F*cking Mess

KPMG Appeals One-Year Auditing Suspension In Oman, Loses

Should I keep going? I could keep going. That’s only some of the worst ones going back to March. Of this year. Soooo… seven months. Of course, no discussion of KPMG malfeasance would be complete without including what I think is my favorite headline of the year:

The PCAOB Needs to Just Beat the Sh*t Out of KPMG Already

Alright. So yeah, KPMG has a problem. But bigger than KPMG’s inability to keep its nuts out of the fire is the fact that thanks to the Big 4 oligarchy, every KPMG fuck-up is a fuck-up for the Big 4. The average person doesn’t know nor care that it’s a single firm bogarting all the fuck-ups. All they see when opening up their Wall Street Journal is some accounting firm cheating or failing in their duty to clients or whatever the hell it is KPMG is fucking up this week.

That’s not to say other firms haven’t had their fair share of fuck-ups. Which brings me to my next point.

Our toothless regulator

Those of you who know me know I’ve been an outspoken critic of the PCAOB over the years. At the same time, I can respect some of the work they do in the way I respect about 60% of what is posted in /r/therewasanattempt.

  Back when the PCAOB was formed in the early ’00s, I was but a starry-eyed 21-year-old, and let’s just say I had more important shit to care about back then without turning this already long piece into another tangent about Adrienne’s Poor Choices in Life That Lead Her Here. It would be five whole years until my world would come crashing down and send me spinning into the purgatory of accounting, where it seems I’ve been banished to exist for eternity like some drunken, angry ghost. I digress.

Not sure if you guys heard but the PCAOB is failing in its mission as it quickly approaches its 20th birthday. Damn, has it been that long? Am I that old? Ouch.

Francine McKenna writes via MarketWatch:

The PCAOB board is staying out of the public eye in 2019, in violation of bylaws established by the law that created the PCAOB, the Sarbanes-Oxley Act of 2002. The law requires the PCAOB to hold at least one public meeting of its governing board each calendar quarter. However, the PCAOB board has held no public meetings of its governing board since December 20, 2018.

MarketWatch asked the PCAOB to comment on its apparent lack of compliance with its bylaws regarding open board meetings.

A PCAOB spokeswoman told MarketWatch, “Consistent with long-standing practice, the Board holds open meetings to take action on business such as standard-setting or voting on its budget and strategic plan. We expect to hold two open meetings in the coming months to address our 2020 budget and a proposed concept release related to our quality control standards.”

Not only is the PCAOB getting called out by us pundits circling the profession like hungry vultures waiting to pick the last rotten piece of muscle off a rapidly-decaying corpse (no offense, Francine, you know I love you), the normies are starting to pay attention, too.

In September, the Project on Government Oversight wrote a scathing hit piece on the PCAOB titled How an Agency You’ve Never Heard of Is Leaving the Economy at Risk that I absolutely recommend reading in its entirety.

A federal watchdog you’ve probably never heard of is supposed to be protecting your financial security.

It’s supposed to be policing some of the biggest and most powerful firms in American business.

It’s supposed to reduce the risk that, as a result of fraud, error, or corporate incompetence, your financial future goes poof.

Indirectly, it’s supposed to help safeguard any savings you’ve stashed in the stock market, any stake you have in a pension or retirement fund, and maybe even your paycheck and employment benefits.

It’s supposed to help avert man-made disasters like the financial crisis and mortgage-meltdown of a decade ago; the accounting scandals that destroyed a long list of corporations such as Enron and WorldCom almost two decades ago; and the savings and loan crisis that consumed mountains of taxpayer money in the 1980s and ‘90s—the kind of catastrophes that can cripple your community, crater the economy, or collapse the financial system.

But in key respects it’s been doing a feeble job.

That goes on for, well, let’s just say it’s a long read. Read it. All that to say, everyone’s getting called out now. Remember the good old days when mainly all we had were low blows for Grant Thornton and McGladrey cracks? Yeah, that time is over.

Meanwhile, in Canada

So we’ve established that the profession has a PR problem and that’s all well and good, but at this point, I’m not entirely sure even Don Draper could turn this dead horse into dog food.

On September 11, I wrote an article about CPA Canada’s new advertising campaign, the goal of which I believe was to make CPAs “cool” although who the hell knows with these things sometimes. Yeah, I guess that was it.

In its ongoing effort to smash the green eyeshade stereotype and convince the public that CPAs do more than just annoy their clients and vague tax-like things civvies will never understand, CPA Canada hired advertising agency DentsuBos to develop a new campaign with the lofty goal “to portray CPAs in a modern light.”

The “new face” campaign comes on the heels of last year’s “boring CPA” campaign, also developed with DentsuBos, which ran a cool $5 million. Personally I prefer the AICPA campaign in which a small business owner literally gets his ass beat until a CPA appears to rescue him but whatever.

Just nine days later, Canadians across their fine country opened up their Financial Post to read all about how CPA Canada absolutely fucked up the Common Final Examination, which for my fellow ignorant Yanks who might be wondering, is their version of the CPA exam essentially. Abject failure, slapped all over the national news. Embarrassing.

So what now?

This article is already way too long and since no one is around to edit the shit out of me I could probably make it even longer, but let’s not turn this beating into a massacre, K? Point has been made.

So I have to ask: What is the solution? For all this talk of public trust and ethics, the profession is wobbling unsteadily at a pretty crucial crossroads and in desperate need of a come-to-Jesus moment. All it’s gonna take is one more big scandal to topple the whole thing, and at this rate, we should see that, I dunno, next week sometime?

I dunno about y’all but I’m getting tired of getting all worked up over the potential for some big blow-up only to be disappointed when literally nothing happens. To be frank, I’ve had doom and gloom blue balls since 2008 still waiting for the economy to fully bottom out and that never happened, so let’s just say I’m not too hopeful even Enron II will have much of an impact at this point when not if it happens. Sure, there will be a few salacious headlines and maybe we’ll get another toothless agency out of it but will anything really change? From the depths of my cold black heart I’m inclined to say nah.

I guess all we can do is wait, see, and hope middle-aged bookkeepers would stop robbing their employers blind.

The post State of the Profession 2019: We Need to Talk About Accounting’s Big PR Problem appeared first on Going Concern.

republished from Going Concern

[marymosley]

Smollett and the Scourge of Celebrity Justice

Below is my column in The Hill newspaper on the dropping of charges against Jussie Smollett. The decision to give Smollett community service and an insulting $10,000 fine has outraged people around the world. Indeed, the City estimates that it spent $130,000 in pursuing the hoax. The costs belie the claim of the Chicago District Attorney that it was merely trying to save badly needed resources. Those resources were already spent in finding the hoax and securing 16 charges from a grand jury. The result is a travesty of justice that shocks the conscience.

Here is the column:

The sudden dismissal of all charges against “Empire” actor Jussie Smollett unleashed a torrent of outrage. Even Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel denounced the decision by the Cook County State’s Attorney Office as a “whitewash of justice.”

There is, however, a more accurate term: “celebrity justice.”

On trials ranging from O.J. Simpson to Michael Jackson to Martha Stewart, I have written on the notion of celebrity justice. Indeed, the objection to “celebrity justice” has been heard in the United States for decades, as people question if the law applies as equally to the rich and famous as it does to average citizens.

The answer is that, no, it does not. In most cases, celebrities actually receive harsher treatment and fewer benefits from the criminal justice system.

Yet, there is no other explanation for the absurd decision to drop all charges in the Smollett case. Smollett sent Chicago and the nation into pandemonium over his claim that two men jumped him on a public street, yelling racist and homophobic insults as well as “This is MAGA country!” The idea that Trump supporters beat a gay African American actor and then tied a rope around his neck, unleashed a torrent of condemnation and protest. Smollett appeared in public in apparent brave defiance of those who abused him.

Later, after a citywide search by Chicago police, Smollett’s story began to unravel. He was uncooperative with police and, soon, two brothers were found to have purchased the rope and other key items from a nearby store. They implicated Smollett in the hoax, and a grand jury handed down 16 charges against him.

Smollett seemed destined for a well-deserved prison stint — until the sudden decision to drop all charges for a token $10,000 fine and community service. Smollett promptly walked out of court and proclaimed he was innocent and the attack did occur.

So, there is videotape of Smollett’s co-conspirators buying the materials used for the hoax. There are two witnesses who reportedly implicated him. There is forensic and material evidence undermining his account. The only thing missing was a confession.

The decision to dismiss was announced by Joe Magats, Cook County’s first assistant state’s attorney, who explained that the county stood by the charges and the allegations of a hoax. He said prosecutors simply decided to prioritize “violent crime, gun crime and the drivers of violence” and that “I don’t see Jussie Smollett as a threat to public safety.” The explanation was as forced as it was false.

First, Cook County presumably has not decided to confine prosecutions to violent crimes, or everything from blackmail to bank fraud to tax evasion would be effectively immunized.

Second, this was not just any nonviolent offense. Smollett sent a city into crisis and caused the Chicago Police Department to direct huge resources into the search for racist, homophobic Trump supporters terrorizing innocent citizens. Magats said that the office did not want to use limited resources to go after nonviolent crime, but it already spent those resources in uncovering the hoax and securing 16 charges. All that remained was what looked like a perfunctory trial.

Third, Smollett not only used the hoax to try to improve his professional position, but he maintained his innocence after walking free, and his associates attacked his accusers.

Finally, and most importantly, this was framed as a hate crime. In Chicago, committing crimes from disorderly conduct to harassment “by reason of … race [or] … sexual orientation of an individual or group of individuals” is a hate crime. Smollett triggered fear of racist, homophobic attacks through a premeditated, coordinated hoax. His motivation was to use race and sexual orientation to commit a fraud on the city.

The view of the Cook County District Attorney’s office appears to be that if you use race or sexual orientation to terrorize or abuse an individual, you will face serious jail time, but if you fake the same attack to use race or sexual orientation to terrorize or abuse a city, you are forgiven with a small fine.

While Smollett can claim that his was not a hate crime because he did not specifically target a victim, his actions had the same impact on the city.

Magats could claim he was applying blind — not celebrity — justice by securing a plea as in any other false-report case. However, most false reports are not calculated to inflame unrest over racist or homosexual intolerance. Most do not involve an international outcry and an unrepentant defendant. Hopefully, the prosecutors at least scored an autograph, because they walked away with little else.

As someone who has long questioned the mantra of “celebrity justice,” this month is unsettling not only because of the Smollett decision but because of the ongoing controversy surrounding the treatment of sexual abuser Jeffrey Epstein.

Epstein was given a ridiculously light plea deal for sexual abuse of underaged girls. The deal came as various powerful figures, including Bill Clinton, were named as travelers on Epstein’s infamous “Lolita Express” flights to his private estate on the Caribbean island of Little Saint James with young girls who allegedly were used as prostitutes. Epstein had the foresight to implicate powerful men in his activities and, when facing a public trial, then U.S. Attorney (and now Labor Secretary) Alexander Acosta cut him an absurd deal to avoid serious jail time and seal the record. The deal was recently declared unlawful — but Epstein avoided a long sentence, his friends avoided an embarrassing trial, and Acosta was later given a cabinet position.

Epstein received special treatment, and his victims were not only denied knowledge of the deal cut with Acosta but denied any semblance of justice.

Celebrity justice is often the ill-informed explanation of acquittals of famous persons. The first “Trial of the Century” in 1921 of film star Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle, for allegedly raping and killing showgirl Virginia Rappe, resulted in acquittal, as did cases against stars like Michael Jackson and Robert Blake. However, these cases had critical flaws — and other celebrities, such as Martha Stewart, were convicted on cases that were overcharged.

Prosecutors often relish the opportunity to try a celebrity, and their concerns about “celebrity justice” criticism push them toward overcharging cases. Some cases, however, are distorted by the pull of influence and power before trial. That was the case with Epstein, which produced a grotesque result; he used backchannels to secure a secret deal with Acosta — a deal recently declared by a federal judge to have violated federal law.

Smollett may also have turned to such backchannel efforts. News reports have alleged that Michele Obama’s former chief of staff, Tina Tchen, and another Smollett associate contacted Cook County State’s Attorney Kim Foxx to seek her intervention in the case soon after the scandal broke. Foxx is accused of keeping the Smollett team informed of developments, and she later had to recuse herself. That left the matter to her subordinate, Magats, who cut a deal for Smollett that drew a rare public rebuke from the mayor and the Chicago Police Department — as well as international outcry.

Smollett may have benefitted from a simple failure of prosecutorial judgment or a raw example of celebrity justice. Like the Epstein case, it is not clear if the problem was an absence of blind justice or of equal justice. What is clear, however, is that this represents a travesty of justice.

Jonathan Turley is the Shapiro Professor of Public Interest Law at George Washington University. You can follow him on Twitter @JonathanTurley.

Smollett and the Scourge of Celebrity Justice published first on https://immigrationlawyerto.tumblr.com/

[blockheadbrands]

9 Habits of Highly Successful Cultivators

According to Cannabis Business Times:

More than $5 billion in state-legal marijuana flew off store shelves in 2015, and national sales are expected to boom as voters and legislators christen new markets and relax rules. But with the piecemeal end of prohibition, growing the plant is more complicated than ever.

That’s partially because the sprouting industry confronts a pile of rules, but also because growers are often raising thousands of plants at a time.

Today, above-board growers must work not only to raise plants, but also to cultivate employee talent and build relations with neighbors, while dutifully obeying regulations they often have worked to help shape, ensuring on-site biosecurity, investing in technology and developing a niche.

Some of the nation’s leading cultivators spoke with Cannabis Business Times and shared lessons they have learned along the way, as well as basic best practices for anyone looking to follow in their footsteps.

1 Pick Your Partners Wisely

It’s one of the most important rules in life and in business: Commit to a business partner with whom you’re compatible.

Former high school biology teacher Tim Cullen, co-owner of the large Colorado Harvest Company, says he found a good match in partner Ralph Morgan, but all around him sees shotgun marriages exploding or slowly coming unglued.

“It would be easier for my wife and I to get divorced,” he says, than it would be for him to break up with Morgan. “My wife and I just have one son and own one house. If Ralph and I got divorced, we have 80 employees, we have six buildings, we own a lot more real estate together, we have a lot more money at stake. Ralph and I cannot get divorced.”

Cullen says it’s important for partners to be compatible in work ethic and complementary in experience and demeanor. He brought to the table a larger grow operation, Morgan a stronger retail presence. “We were just like nice puzzle pieces that fit together,” he says, with similar ages and family experiences meshing well.

But everyone hasn’t been so fortunate.

John Lord, the owner of LivWell, a business described in media reports as Colorado’s largest grower — but not by Lord, who pleads ignorance to that fact — says he chose not to have a partner after a rocky past relationship.

Lord’s pre-cannabis professional background includes the tightly regulated manufacture and sale of baby products to big-box retailers; he says that throughout the cannabis sector would-be industrialists like himself have partnered with younger people enthusiastic about growing the plant.

“What happens in a lot of situations is you ended up with the senior money guys and the young entrepreneurial grower, and that was your marriage. And most of the times that relationship has ended badly,” Lord says.

Many younger growers, he says, consider growing cannabis an art form, something he says is not conducive to a large marijuana-growing business that must turn out reliable product, just like grocery stores, without whimsical variation.

When manufacturing a product on an industrial scale, “you can’t just randomly say, ‘I want to make purple ones today,’ ” he says, noting he’s also seen many formerly illicit growers have trouble adjusting to a rules-compliant MO.

As cannabis businesses grow, all sorts of relationships grow into business partnerships. Some grow out of friendships and others vaguely resemble a family farm.

Rachel Cooper of Washington state’s Monkey Grass Farms, one of the state’s largest growers as a Tier III operation, says her business associates are a pleasure to work with. They’re her mother, father and sister, with past careers in construction, nursing and corporate procurement.

“At least with family, we get over things really quickly, and at the end of the day we’re working to the same goal,” says Cooper, who handles the business’ marketing and public relations. “It’s been fun, actually.”

2 Shape Regulations Before They Shape You

Around the nation’s capital, Corey Barnette is becoming a familiar face, advocating with municipal leaders to tweak local laws and appearing at a press conference last year with three U.S. senators to unveil a bill that would undo federal prohibition on medical marijuana.

Barnette, easily one of his city’s most accessible and civically minded medical marijuana growers, knows the value of molding the regulatory clay before it hardens. “In our industry right now, there’s a serious risk that legislators and regulators will get it wrong simply because they don’t know,” he says. “It does us no good to propose a medical marijuana bill if once we pass those laws it prevents patients from getting the care they need.”

There’s been success so far for D.C.-based cultivators like Barnette, with the city drastically expanding qualifying medical conditions from a short list to one of the nation’s most relaxed standards, and lifting a cap of fewer than 100 plants per grow operation to 500 and then 1,000.

But Barnette, sole owner of District Growers, is not done lobbying. He says one of his next targets is a restriction on licensees moving their grow location, and he’s hoping legislation will soon pass allowing his company to move.

Right now, Barnette is forced to grow his plants only to a small size to cope with limited growing space and his desire to offer a wide range of strains. District Growers’ facility has about 700 plants now, but only 250 would fit if they were grown larger.

“The space I need to grow 95 plants is radically different than 1,000 plants,” he says. “Luckily we had the foresight that at some point these rules had to relax. The question was how long it would take.”

If not for businesspeople going down to city hall, he says, the evolution of laws would have been much slower.

Cooper says Monkey Grass Farms works with a lobbyist in Washington state’s capital to ensure the business’s needs are well-represented, and Cullen says about 25 percent of his time is devoted to rubbing shoulders with decision-makers.

3 Prevent the Need for Pesticides

The U.S. government currently does not approve any pesticides for use on cannabis, which remains federally illegal, and the presence of chemicals on retail product has led state regulators and consumers to panic in states like Colorado, where officials have scrambled to curb their use and where a lawsuit (that has since been dropped) was filed last year by consumers against LivWell for alleged pesticide use.

Growers say one of the most effective ways to reduce the need for pesticides is to simply keep gardens clean.

Lord says LivWell stopped using synthetic pesticides a year ago and advises other growers to do the same, but he says that is, more than anything, to ward off bad press. The public is naive, he says, if it believes unblemished supermarket produce is organically grown.

Still, bureaucrats in places like Colorado and Oregon now are giving their blessing to some pesticides due to labels not explicitly ruling out use on cannabis. Lord says, “There are certain products that are approved now, [which] my guys wouldn’t have within 100 yards of our grow.”

Cullen says his company also had to adjust to changing rules, but has managed to work with restrictions by strictly following an integrated pest management protocol, though he says some insects he’s come to tolerate, particularly gnats.

His staff wears what Cullen calls “hospital gown uniforms” to limit outside contamination.

Some growers, of course, eagerly embrace organic solutions.

The co-owners of northern California’s Artifact Nursery, established last year and already topping more than 2,000 clients, seek out nature’s fixes.

Co-owner Jamie Westbrook* says he watched a nature documentary with his son where a small forest mushroom’s spores infected and then killed an insect before it sprouted a new mushroom from the corpse and unloading another dose of biological warfare on nearby insects.

“Literally the next day I was reading through the farm bureau magazine on companies that had isolated these from the wild,” he says, prompting him to buy the product.

Westbrook says using natural pesticides that affect only the surface of a plant is ideal, as they can simply be washed away, unlike systemic pesticides that travel through a plant’s vascular system and potentially deposit themselves in soil.

Some of his other go-to treatments are organic oils — including sesame and clove — which are applied to plants with a backpack sprayer, coating them and suffocating mites, some of which are microscopic.

Joshua King*, Westbrook’s business partner, says the best measures to reduce the need for pesticides sometimes are the simplest.

“The best preventative is keeping plants healthy,” he says, with “simple things like having fly strips around,” and adding hydrogen peroxide to water or a nutrient solution and applying it to soil/media, can help prevent bacteria in the water, pythium (a waterborne root disease), to some extent, and other things that effect roots. Plus, the residual is oxygen, which the roots love.

(Note: In the world of microbe organic cultivation, however, the use of hydrogen peroxide is not advisable for anything but cleaning.)

“There’s a lot of tricks you learn over the years,” King says. “Organic is very time consuming.”

4 Be a Good Neighbor

What democracy giveth, democracy can take away. It’s a lesson learned across the nation as jurisdictions legalize marijuana. In Washington state, Monkey Grass Farms had first-hand experience beating back a ban. And much like dealing with pests, prevention matters.

“Our county planning board was trying to ban producers/processors,” Cooper recalls. “It stemmed from some neighbors who were angry there was a pot farm a few blocks from their house.”

“Some people do find it very offensive, and it’s important to educate them that we’re good businesspeople and that we’re setting up legitimate businesses,” she says.

Barnette says although there’s a steady march to repeal prohibition, “there’s still a significant level of taboo, and it’s important at all times to be aware of that. We have to be aware that not everyone everywhere utilizes cannabis.”

5 Consider Investing in Technology

As commercial cannabis growers ramp up production, some are turning to technologies and equipment that save valuable staff and production time, that make products more consistent, and that also save them money.

Artifact Nursery’s owners say that they recently decided to push the technological envelop by turning to LED lights for the company’s clone-producing mother plants, which require more than 15 hours of light each day to be arrested in a vegetative state. The gamble has paid off, Westbrook says, and the nursery now uses 80 percent less electricity than it did previously.

Cullen says one piece of machinery that’s been invaluable is an electric Twister trimmer for some products — “a godsend,” he says.

An “Agritech” computer helps mix nutrients for different plant rooms, and monitors temperature and other environmental parameters.

6 Gather the Right Team and Help Your Workforce Grow

Lord says he fired many of LivWell’s original employees, finding they fancied themselves master growers and artists rather than industrial farm workers.

David Bonvillain, founder and CEO of Elite Cannabis Enterprises in Colorado, says he has seen this more often than he would like in the industry. “The delusion of grandeur just because you grow an agriculture crop is insanity and needs to be stomped out,” he says. “Nobody else but cannabis cultivators see themselves as some gift from above. They all need to spend a six-month tour-of-duty in a four-acre production tomato greenhouse with the teams in there grinding all day, every day and get a reality check on what this is about to be like for them.”

As a solution, Lord says that he now works to educate his employees and provide them a career path, with an eye toward retaining talent.

The staff generally starts off as trimmers, about 70 of them working the field currently, and after a while it becomes clear whether they have the desire and skill to move forward, Lord says. If they stick around, they have a 401K plan and opportunities for growth.

“We put them through training and get them to understand there are probably 1,000 ways to grow cannabis, but we’ve chosen one, and you will follow that regardless of your personal preference,” he says.

Several PhD holders and botanists are on staff, Lord says, and the company works to ensure they, too, grow in knowledge. Seven members of the company’s research and development team traveled to Panama last year for a large agricultural conference.

“We’re not going to find the answers within the cannabis world,” he says. “It’s going to come from high-tech agriculture. We’ve exceed the knowledge base by a long way.”

Bonvillain suggests that if you want to be a truly qualified expert, “Get a degree or the equivalent through work/life experience. Be the very best at your craft. Learn everything possible. A ‘master grower’ should know every methodology, every style, everything about the plant from the cell structure to growing mediums (all of them) to [integrated pest management] strategies, as well as have a comprehensive knowledge set on what does what within those strategies.

“They should understand the fundamentals of planning and supply chain, the cost of goods sold,” he says, “all the way through the tiers of costs. And they should understand personnel management and control/compliance documentation procedures and interpersonal communication skills,” he says.

Cooper says Monkey Grass Farms similarly had to weed through employees, but that there remains a core team that feels it’s progressing together. Among the businesses’ important hires were an operations manager and someone who ensures strict compliance with regulations.

“We’ve found some very loyal employees. They’ve been growing with us, and we’re hiring consultants to educate them,” she says.

Cullen, meanwhile, has found investing in a solid bookkeeper and a chief operations officer essential to success. A federally illegal business can’t be too careful, and a large grower can’t do everything themselves, he notes.

7 Consider Certification

While growers can’t call themselves organic, a federally regulated term, they can choose third-party certifications that at least verify their practices.

Artifact Nursery sees their “Clean Green” certification as a reflection of their values, but also sees it as useful in attracting customers. “Some people really care about what you’re using on their product,” Westbrook says. “You get the whole gamut of people with different moral imperatives and concerns.”

Other certifications exist, such as the Patient Focused Certification (PFC), established by Americans for Safe Access, one of the nation’s largest medical marijuana advocacy groups.

The PFC program applies standards backed by compliance inspections, staff training and an independent consumer complaint process, giving dispensaries with which growers work a sense of quality assurance. Medical growers, distributors and labs are eligible for the certification.

“Certification from patient-focused organizations using objective criteria can help cannabis farmers establish safe and reasonable industry standards,” says PFC Program Manager Tim Murphy, which also can be useful “as states adopt product safety regulations.”

Lord says he’s not seen the recreational industry turn en masse to non-governmental certifications, at least not yet. Consumers must be able to recognize the meaning of a certification for it to have value, he says.

8 Don’t Try to Do Everything. Focus on What You Do Best

“Far too many groups try to take on too much and frequently don’t have the experience, expertise or bandwidth to do everything well,” says Elite Cannabis’ Bonvillain. “Just because you ‘can’ make a new product (say, a tincture) doesn’t necessarily mean that you should. Many folks fail to consider all facets of product development, packaging, labeling, distribution, customer service, etc.”

If you are going to do it all yourself, he says, “pick the right internal partners for your organization. Otherwise, strategically partner with strong third-party organizations that can complement your capabilities while you complement theirs.”

9 Early Bird Gets the Worm

It’s difficult to know when the moment is right to jump into the cannabis-growing market. Currently, state lines are walls through which locally legal product cannot pass, leaving open the door for would-be cultivators on the other sides of those walls.

“The time is still out there for a lot of people,” says Cullen, who credits his success in part with being among the first to enter Colorado’s medical market, which he did after growing on a small scale for himself and his father following their diagnosis with the same medical condition.

*Editor’s Note: Names have been changed at the interviewees’ request.

TO READ THE ARTICLE ON CANNABIS TIMES, CLICK HERE.

http://www.cannabisbusinesstimes.com/article/nine-habits-of-highly-successful-cultivators/

[itsiotrecords-blog]

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Domestic violence has been a plague since people started shacking up. For thousands of years, it has been generally kept quiet for various reasons. Victims are afraid to speak out or fight back, they sometimes feel enormous shame, and sometimes the victims feel a need to protect the reputation of the abuser. Domestic violence has, at times, been considered a private matter and, in some countries, authorities are simply not willing to intervene. Countless victims have endured a lifetime of abuse and, in many cases, they have been killed. Domestic violence isn’t limited to any particular class, race, or other demographic. It happens in poor neighborhoods, middle-class communities, and in the upper-class sections. Burger flippers, accountants, teachers, and wealthy business types can be abusers. There have been plenty of seemingly harmless individuals that have turned out to be vicious abusers. Who would have thought that Bill Cosby was actually a monster? Or John Lennon? Well, surprise surprise!! It turns out that many of our favorite entertainers have this dark secret. Those same people that we look at with admiration and awe as they entertain us. Remember, it is all an act. Here are 15 shameless Hollywood men who are wife beaters.

#1 Chris Brown You’ve likely seen the pictures and you were probably quite shocked. Rihanna’s face was badly bruised, her lips fattened, her nose swollen, and her eyes blackened after taking a severe beating at the hands of Chris Brown. The whole thing started when they were on their way home from a party. While in Brown’s Lamborghini, Rihanna pressed him on a text message that he had received from another woman. The situation escalated rapidly and Brown blew a fuse. He punched her repeatedly as she sat in the passenger seat. He threatened to kill her as he continued the beating which had the R&B songstress close to losing consciousness. Brown was charged and pleaded guilty to felony assault. Their relationship ended but, inexplicably, she began to date him again for a brief period.

#2 Charlie Sheen Charlie Sheen is no stranger to controversy. He has battled various addictions and recently announced that he is HIV positive. His image was severely tarnished in 2009 when, on Christmas Day, Sheen was arrested for beating up Brooke Mueller. Sheen pleaded guilty to a charge of misdemeanor assault and was sentenced to 30 days in drug rehab, probation, and was ordered into an anger management program. This wasn’t a one-off. Sheen has been involved in other instances of domestic abuse. He allegedly got violent with his ex-fiancee, Brett Rossi. Other women such as Denise Richards, Donna Peele, Brittany Ashland, and a few escorts have been victims. He even “accidentally” shot Kelly Preston when they were living together in Malibu in 1990. Of course, Sheen denies a lot of the allegations but the evidence against him his pretty overwhelming.

#3 Michael Fassbender Michael Fassbender is currently one of the biggest stars in Hollywood. His movie credits include 300, Prometheus, Inglourious Basterds, and the X-Men franchise. He has been a very busy in the past couple of years. His adoring fans choose to ignore the fact the Irish actor has been accused of domestic violence by his ex-girlfriend Sunawin “Leasi” Andrews. She claimed that Fassbender threw her around in a drunken rage. She also said that Fassbender had once “dragged her alongside their car”. She suffered a sprained ankle, a broken nose, and the incident even caused an ovarian cyst to burst. She was also left with a blown out knee. The sad thing is that she dropped the charges because she didn’t want to damage Fassbender’s career and the violent incidents have been pretty much swept under the rug.

#4 Steven Seagal Aside from gaining a lot of fame through making cliched action movies, Steven Seagal has made a name for himself as being, well, quite a dirtbag. There are several women ranging from actresses to housekeepers and personal assistants that have accused the bloated tough guy of sexual harassment. Some of the stories are just plain creepy. Those women were much luckier than his now ex-wife, Kelly LeBrock, who makes claims in her upcoming autobiography that the 7th dan black belt in Aikido raped and abused her throughout their 9-year marriage. She has not gone into much detail yet but she says that the whole experience will be covered in her soon-to-be-released book. The revelations just do more damage to Seagal’s already battered image. Steven is currently married to Erdenetuya Seagal.

#5 Vanilla Ice Robert Van Winkle is best-known for making that annoying song Ice Ice Baby. The 49-year-old one-hit-wonder has managed to stay busy over the years making more terrible music and appearing in various roles in film. He has had his share of legal issues too. In 2001, Ice was arrested in Florida after assaulting his wife. He pleaded guilty to disorderly conduct, was placed on probation, and forced to go to family therapy sessions. It doesn’t seem that the therapy paid off all that well because he was arrested once again in 2008 for battery stemming from an incident in which he allegedly kicked and hit his wife. Ice claimed that he merely pushed her. The case was eventually dropped and the couple has since gone their separate ways after 16 years together.

#6 Tommy Lee The infamous Motley Crue drummer and amateur porn star has led a wild life filled with drugs, booze, and groupies. He has made headlines for his outrageous antics and rocky relationships. He was married to Pamela Anderson in the 90s and the two were tabloid fodder. According to Anderson, Lee physically abused her on several occasions. He would get extremely drunk and/or high on drugs and slap her around. In 1998, Lee did 6-months in jail after he kicked and beat Anderson leaving her bruised and bloody. Lee was also ordered to donate $6,200 to a women’s shelter on top of attending counselling and 200 hours of community service. His former wife, Heather Locklear, also made accusations that the out of control drummer had assaulted her numerous times during their 7-year marriage.

#7 Sean Connery In a 1965 interview with Playboy, Sean Connery said that there is nothing wrong with hitting women. Scotland’s Greatest Living National Treasure said that it shouldn’t be done the same way that one would hit a man but an open hand slap is appropriate in certain situations. He defended his position during an interview with Barbara Walters several years later. As it turns out, the famous actor did use a closed fist on his wife, Diane Cilento. One night in 1965, Cilento entered the couple’s bedroom where Sean was waiting. He slugged her in the face so hard that she was momentarily knocked out. She awoke and locked herself in the bathroom. The punch had left her bloodied with a black eye and a badly bruised face. The two finally divorced in 1973.

#8 Johnny Depp Johnny Depp has played some very interesting characters in his career. He has played most of them quite well too. One real-life role that Johnny was apparently pretty good at was that of a wife beater. Depp married Amber Heard in 2015 but the marriage lasted just over a year and ended with allegations of ongoing domestic abuse. She leaked photos of the results of one of the assaults which showed her with a swollen and blackened eye. Heard claimed that Depp was very drunk and threw a telephone at her during an argument. A witness to the incident added that Depp also swung a wine bottle “like a baseball bat”. It is emerging that there was definitely a pattern of abuse that started with Depp kicking Heard. It escalated to punches and eventually to more severe assaults.

#9 Michael Lohan Michael Lohan might be best-known for being the father of Lindsay Lohan but he is also known to be one of 15 shameless Hollywood men who are wife beaters. He married his first wife Dina in 1985 and the two divorced in 2007. According to Dina, Michael physically abused her throughout their marriage. After the divorce, Michael hooked up with Kate Major. That relationship was turbulent and, evidently, marked by physical abuse too. He was arrested in October of 2011 after losing his mind over Kate’s refusal to perform oral sex. Major suffered bruising on her arms. Lohan threatened to slit her wrists and also threatened to throw her off their 4th-floor balcony. A few months earlier, Major called the cops when an argument between the couple got physical. There were also a few other similar incidents. The two are no longer together.

#10 Bobby Brown The marriage between Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston was far from being a romantic fairy tale. Instead, it was a tragic tale of heavy drug abuse and violence. In 2003, police were called to their home where they discovered Houston with a bruised face and a bloody lip. Brown was charged with battery. The two continued their drug-fuelled and often violent relationship until they divorced in 2007. Brown claims that most of the violence occurred while he was trying to get sober and Whitney was continuing with heavy use. Police reportedly responded to 7 physical disputes during their marriage. Bobby has since gotten himself clean and lives with his new wife, Alicia Etheredge. He launched a website that is dedicated to stopping domestic violence. It honors his deceased daughter, Bobbi Kristina, who was also a victim of domestic violence.

#11 Sean Penn Sean Penn was a pretty funny and somewhat lovable goofball in his role as Jeff Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High but he has been far from that in real life. Known for violent outbursts like punching photographers and hanging paparazzos over hotel balconies, Penn has built a reputation as a hot-head. He is also considered to be a domestic abuser. As his marriage to Madonna was crumbling late in 1989, police reports state that Penn entered their Malibu home to find Madonna in her bedroom. She tried to leave the house but Penn tied her to a chair and kept her there for 9 hours. During this time he smacked her around and generally terrorized the terrified pop star. He made a deal to untie her in exchange for a sexual favor. He is also believed to have hit her with a baseball bat in 1987 which resulted in her being hospitalized. Gnarly!!

#12 O.J. Simpson The story of O.J. Simpson and his wife Nicole is one of the most extreme cases of domestic violence. Simpson had beaten Nicole so severely in 1989 that she was hospitalized. Police had been called to their residence several times prior to this occasion. Unlike the previous times, Simpson was arrested although he got off pretty lightly having to merely go for counselling. Simpson would beat her up as they were having sex and he once threw her out of a moving car. You have likely heard the infamous 911 call recording. It is terrifying. Even after the two divorced in 1992, the abuse continued. He kicked in her door and went on a rampage. He constantly stalked her and, in the end, it appears that he killed her despite the ex-football star being found not guilty in his infamous trial.

#13 Michael Jace Those of you who were fans of the television show The Shield will be familiar with Michael Jace who played Julian Lowe. As with the sad case of O.J. Simpson, Jace killed his wife, April. April was Michael’s second wife. His first wife, Jennifer, divorced him in 2002 after suffering through Jace’s ongoing physical abuse during their 6-year marriage. Several witnesses described instances of abuse that included Jace kicking, punching, and choking Jennifer. Michael was going through financial difficulties after not being able to find work after The Shield. Jace apparently became enraged during an argument and committed the ultimate act of domestic violence by shooting April three times right in front of their kids. He then called 911 and told dispatchers that he had killed April. He told police on the scene that he only meant to wound her. Oh, well that makes it ok then? He was sentenced to 40 years in prison.

#14 Glen Campbell The Rhinestone Cowboy has had a lot of successes over his 50+ years in show business. He started off as a session musician and recorded with some big names including Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, and Merle Haggard. He might have had a relatively clean image but he was far from clean. He did a ton of drugs, drank too much, and had a violent temper. He hooked up with Tanya Tucker in the early 80s in what was to be a tumultuous and drug-fuelled relationship. It didn’t last all that long and when it was over, Tucker sued Campbell for $3 million claiming that he physically abused her. Although the case never actually went to court, the revelations didn’t help Campbell’s sliding career or public image. Campbell is now suffering from Alzheimer’s.

#15 Nick Gordon Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston’s only daughter, Bobbi Kristina Brown, was engaged to be married to Nick Gordon when she was found face-down in a bathtub. She was taken to hospital but remained in a coma until her death about 6 months later. It has come to light that Brown had been the victim of domestic violence at the hands of her fiancee. Witnesses have stated that Gordon had severely beaten Brown on numerous occasions. One such time, he kicked her several times which resulted in Brown losing a tooth. He then ordered her to go upstairs to her room. She had to crawl because she was unable to walk. He would apparently choke her, hurl her into walls, and punch her. One of Bobbi Kristina’s friends said that she often saw bruises and other marks that were caused by beatings. It is definitely a very tragic story.

Source: TheRichest