#AND THEN when we see her again she has PASSED THE FORENSICS EXAM and she finally gets to be a forensic scientist!!!

[pagesofkenna]

ema skye (idk anything about asexual attorney but she seems like your kinda character just from aesthetic)

did you randomly google ace attorney characters and just happen to stumble onto literally my favorite character based on the way she looks?? am i that much of an open book??

[notmrskennedy]

Whatever You Need

(Chip x Fem!Reader)

A/N - am I little in love with Chip? Yes, but who isn’t? So please enjoy my hot take on our lovely Mr. Chip Taylor

Summary - a university professor meets a very adorable maintenance guy ...

Warnings - a pinch of swearing and two teaspoons of mentioning gross things

Word Count - 3k 

-------

There’s a thin line, she realises as she rushes into the lecture hall, between anthropological research and grave robbing. When you’re on loan to the federal government and a water pipe bursts at a cemetery, there isn’t much to do other than say, ‘yes sir Mr. FBI agent, I will gladly slop through three feet of mud and water, digging through graves!’

She’s ten minutes late to her lecture. Ten minutes long enough that the TA’s are snickering. Ten minutes long enough that the entire class looks horrified that their Anthropology 101 professor is covered head to toe in dried mud, grass, and whatever else could be found in destroyed 19th century coffins.

She sets her bag down heavily on the desk and startles everyone in the room. Sans the maintenance guy. He’s tinkering with vent at the foot of door. He’s mostly a faded ball cap and a distressed jean jacket, one arm shoved up the vent. She can’t imagine why someone would have their arm up a vent, but god only knows why the university would ask someone to.

A moment passes where she unabashedly stares. How did she miss him? Was she in that much of a hurry that she nearly tripped on the guy and didn’t look back? And what the hell is in that vent?

The TA’s snicker behind her back, sobering up when she shoots them a half deadly look. She’s covered in mud, not lenience. She half hopes Maintenance Guy will turn around—she has a desperate, yet beguiling feeling he’s hot. But what she’s really curious for is what’s stuck up that vent.

And he doesn’t turn around—his complete disregard of her is a 180 from the rapt attention she’s receiving from her students—until she’s frustratedly brushing dirt off her face. Pulling grass from her hair.

“Let me just start with,” she begins, pulling an earth worm out of her sleeve, “if the federal government asks you to sort through bodies in a flooded cemetery, tell them no. And despite how much fun grave digging can be, there’s a thin line and that line is punctuated by whether they’re arresting me or not.”

Maintenance Guy snorts, head turned to beam up at her. She’s almost taken aback by how bright he seems. How his grin puts the sun in its place. He looks honest, grease stains and all.

There’s something to be said about the fact she’s studying his bone structure instead of his fleshy bits. She can’t tell you what colour his eyes are, but his zygomatic bones are killer.

“Professor?” a TA prompts, ineffectively holding back their own knowing smiles.

“Thanks for reminding me,” she replies, digging through her bag to hand out a stack of student essays. “Pass these back, please?”

Tick one for the professor.

“And as per usual,” she announces, leaning back against the white board, “let’s do our daily recap. And as you know, these questions can be used to aid in exams.”

She sneaks a glance at Maintenance Guy, pulling his arm out from the vent. He grumbles, digs through his toolbox, and grabs a screwdriver. Whatever is in that vent is stuck.

Once the rustling stops, she says, “Okay, question one: if your professor—that would be me for those of us who are new—were to be one of, say, five wives with one husband, it’s called—?”

“Polygamy!” a student shouts from the front row.

“You’re right, but you aren’t correct,” she says, standing up straight. “Polygamy is the practice of having more than one spouse. Polygyny—with an ’n’—is multiple wives to one husband. Examples of the culture are Kenya’s Logoli and other Abalulya sub ethnic groups.”

She writes it on the board for spelling, and glances over to see Maintenance Guy paused in his excavation of the vent. He’s paying better attention than her students. It’s sort of sweet and she stifles her soft giggle at the thought.

He’s ridiculously tall and she takes a moment to appreciate just how long his femurs have to be.

“Question two!” she announces and finds even the most hungover kids forcing their attention on her. “If your professor were to marry five men all at once, that’s called—?”

“Polyandry,” a student pipes up from the back. “A lot of times it’s fraternal marriage.”

“Examples of a culture that practices—”

Pop!

Maintenance Guy rolls back with the force. His knees are still bent from where they’d been used as leverage against the vent, a wall of debris bursting into his face. In one gloved hand was a dead raccoon, while the other desperately brushed bits of the vent’s clog—a raccoon’s nest—from his eyes.

“Oh Jesus,” she mutters, jumping into action. She picks up a garbage bag from his toolbox and nets the dead animal from his hand. It’s a pretty tame find, though she’s used to human remains which tended to be—gooier.

With the animal tucked up, she hauls Maintenance Guy to a sitting position, frantically cleaning the odds and ends of the nest out of his eyes. She steals his ball cap as she whispers kind words to him, further trying to shake the bits of insulation out of his shaggy hair.

The class is in a terrible chatter behind them. Not that it matters. Not with Maintenance Guy’s eyes opened and his hands gently clutching onto her wrists as she brushes the last bits of insulation off his cheeks. His eyes are definitely hazel up this close.

“Thanks,” he croaks, still gently latched onto her hands.

“It’s no problem,” she smiles back, absently studying the rest of his face. He’s got the kind of skull she’d love to see on her table—well, maybe once he’s died of his own accord because he seems rather sweet. Confused and concerned, but…sweet. “Don’t worry. I’ve had much worse flung all over me. You don’t much get used to it.”

He smiles, barely chuckling. Coughs up a bit of insulation.

“You might want to see a doctor. Insulation in the lungs is…what gets you a one way ticket to my lab.” She grins at her own terrible joke. His eyes are too close and she can’t help but wish for a skeleton to be looking back at her. She understands those. People are too…gooey.

“I’m Chip,” he offers, silently asking her for help to his feet. She does, offering her own name in return. He mulls over it, like it’s a fine wine sitting on his tongue. “Professor Y/N. Thanks again.”

She shrugs, mouth suddenly too dry. Heart beating too fast. Jesus, human interaction was going to kill her. There was no job to distract her from Chip’s strong hands. There were no bodies to keep Chip’s genuine gaze off of her. There wasn’t anything to distract from seeing Chip as so pleasantly human.

“Want the raccoon as a consolation prize?” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with a newly de-gloved hand. There’s something satisfying about answering questions that aren’t meant as questions. Especially ones that showed just how weird she really was. The questions that were relationship testers—like can we be friends if I tell you that I keep carrion beetles as pets?

“Actually, sure.” Chip’s jaw drops just slightly open. He has cute teeth. “Dissection is a key part of the anthropological process, forensic or not. Let’s see just what this raccoon was up to. Eh, class?”

Every single one a deer in the headlights, the class goes eerily silent. She winks at Chip and announces again. “Don’t you guys want to see what I do for a living? I mean human remains are much cooler but I think we can settle for a mostly solid raccoon carcass.”

A TA clutches at her stomach. “Professor, never say that again.”

The professor just laughs, absentmindedly taking a soft grip on Chip’s shoulder. “Don’t worry everyone, Chip’s going to keep the raccoon. At least I’m not making the final a practical examination. I do have access to laboratory rats—“

The entire class clambered forward, hoping to dispel the idea and the evil smirk off their professor’s lips. She just beamed back at Chip, dropping her hand. She expected the same horrified expression of her students, but he seemed, dare she say, impressed.

That wide eyed shock creeps onto her face. Because who would risk being impressed by a professor covered in dirt from grave digging who offered to dissect a raccoon at 10 AM on a Tuesday?

Apparently, it’s this guy. Must have a thing for crazy women.

Chip shakes his head, bites his lip, and turns to stoop for his raccoon trophy. “I’ll, uh, have them send someone for the nest. I—I guess I have to do something with the raccoon, if you’re sure you don’t want it?”

She just shakes her head, failing miserably at keeping her cherry red tint to herself. “No, no. Maybe next time.”

“Next time,” he repeats, rather sadly, to himself. Though, as he turns to leave, it feels more like a promise.

#

The worst part about knowing Chip is that she seems to see him everywhere. Rushing between lecture halls? There he is, doing his best to fix a fountain. Getting escorted away by federal agents? There he is, sympathetically waving as he walks across the quad. Leading a group of students outside to lecture on the green? There’s Chip, fixing a sprinkler.

She’s had exactly three times in the last six months to talk to him. All under three minutes.

But today, today she’s running late from court. Grand jury testimony had gone fine, until Agent—God, she’ll never learn his name—WhatsHisFace tried to ask her out again. Because what a turn on talking about the mutilation of a hacked up college girl was.

It also didn’t help that, outside of the court room half an hour before, she was doodling what she thought Chip’s skull would look like.

So she can’t help but storm into her postage stamp of a classroom, dropping her package on the desk with a gentle, yet annoyed huff. Her 12 students, all seniors in the Anthropology department, raised their eyebrows at her. At her court getup.

She’d missed those formative lessons at 13 on how to be a proper lady. And even if she had had them, it probably wouldn’t have stuck. Besides, what she wore into the field had to be more than acceptable for the university’s standards. The heels and pink blouse of today were extremely rare and uncomfortable.

“Whoa, Professor Y/N!” Reese Rosebeck calls out, dramatically twitching in his chair, “Is that really you? You look hot!”

“Ha, ha. That’s a very coherent thought for the kid who wrote the worst paper I’ve ever read,” she deadpans. She relents when she sees his dramatic puppy dog pout. “Though, I do have to say I enjoyed you’re use of colloquial slang. Accentuated your point very cleverly.”

“As long as I impress the hottest professor on campus, I’m alright.”

There was a quiet laugh from the back of the room, and she found her eyes snapping to the hunched over back of none other than, Maintenance Guy Chip Taylor. He’s just quietly listening—as always—tinkering with the radiator pipes in the back of the room. She’s half thankful. It is starting to get cold.

“Hey, Chip!” she chirps and the poor thing bangs his head on the pipes. He waves her off in a flash, hand extended wildly above the other desks in the room. Reese chuckles to himself, dragging Lionel with him.

She kicks her heels off behind her desk, straightening herself once she’s back on stable ground. She’s about three apples short of a pie to wear heels for more than six consecutive minutes. The female students give her rather sympathetic looks as she begins to roll her feet and open her package.

She pauses halfway in. Jeez, she forgot about—“Hey, Chip?”

Like a meerkat, he pops up with a dazzling soft grin.

“Are you going to call the cops on me?”

“Excuse me?”

Her students’ eyes bounce back and forth between the pair, following the invisible tennis match. The professor settles on a rather tired, “Are you going to call the cops? The last person who attended lecture that didn’t know me, called the cops because of a demonstration. So, are you?”

“No.” He shakes his head and she wonders if he’s a little too trusting. He’s honest as he leans back down to continue futzing with the pipes. He’s genuine in every interaction they have. Does she really deserve the kind of trust he’s offering? To a crazy woman who’s asked if he’ll call the cops on her?

She shakes the thought away. These 12 students—tangible students—need her focus. At least for the next few minutes. She pulls six human skulls from her package, all neatly wrapped up in protective glass cases. She places those on the table along with a box of gloves.

“Two people to a skull,” she announces and runs through the rest of the directions. “Don’t forget your gloves. You too, Ms. Figg.”

Jamie Figg’s fierce blush is long forgotten once they are all set to work. Tactile learning is the best way to learn in her opinion, expressly in advanced classes like these. It also gives her a moment to rest her brain—even if it’s a few minutes before the onslaught of necessary questions.

She settles into an unused section of chairs and desks, smiling absently at the way all of the kids have squeezed themselves around the one table. She misses the days when she was young and new, ready to find her own legs to stand on.

Chip’s not quiet and she watches him with too much adoration as he sits down next to her. It’s not all too unexpected nor uninvited. He smells like grease and good cologne up close, mixed up with that dangerous combination of hazel eyes and delicious bone structure.

Chip smirks, drawing her out of her smidge of staring. “See anything good?”

“You have excellent bones,” she mutters, tracing a finger against her own cheek instead of his. “Prominent zygomatic bones and well balanced supraorbital margins. But the, um, the rest of you is—is nice too.”

Oh great one, Y/N. Perfect. You’re such a fucking creep.

Chip just smiles. The kind of soft upturn of the lips and dip of the head that means he took it like the compliment it was meant as. He runs a rather shakey hand through his hair, bringing his gaze back up to do his own staring. She wonders what he sees about her. She’s sure he doesn’t see bone structure like she does, but does her flesh give away something she doesn’t know about?

Chip wrings his hand down behind his neck and she sees it. That little bit of something that brews between his bones and his epidermis. The fuzzy sort of thing that sits behind his eyes. The one she’s seen in war veterans, cops, and now the university’s maintenance man.

And as if he’s just a skull on her table, she states ever so eloquently, “You look like the kind of guy who’s seen some shit, Chip.”

And as if she’s accepted his offer for the raccoon all over again, he beams. He further turns away from her, shaking his head, and she follows his eye line to the students not so subtly glancing over at the pair every three seconds. The dozen are still chattering on, examining the skulls in their hands with rapt fascination.

Chip, despite all the non-threatening, sensitive, idiot boy vibes, looks over the skulls with more recognition than she cares to admit she sees. Most people don’t look at skulls like they’re familiar. Like the idea of them being formerly attached to a living person doesn’t bother them.

Again, looks like he’s seen some shit.

“Are they real?”

She nods, taking a tiny chance and pressing their shoulders together. She’s not upset to say that Chip carries very warm skin on his lovely skeletal structure. She wipes the blush off her cheeks and answers, “From the university’s collection. I’ve done a lot of travelling, lots of excavations, lots of grave robbing—sometimes the university doesn’t miss the skulls of the not-so-recently deceased.”

“You’re very—“

“Creepy? Weird?”

She hopes that Chip is too stupid to hear the insecurity bleed through. That he’s too stupid to look at her the way he is. Instead, he squints as if he can’t risk choosing the wrong adjective, so the words inch through his brain. All carefully refined into his choice of, “…Intelligent.”

His takes her hand in his to accentuate his point. She nearly stops breathing.

“You’ve forgotten more this morning than I’ll ever know,” he whispers. She doesn’t know how to look at him without letting him see the hearts in her eyes. Her fingers tighten against his. “I’d never call you creepy.”

She swallows, fighting against the rock in her throat. It wasn’t often people paid her any compliments, especially after she’d let her mouth run for more than five minutes in a one-on-one conversation.

And as if she isn’t already trying to desperately clutch onto her frayed nerves, he confidently pulls a slightly creased business card from his shirt pocket. Offers it to her irritatedly hesitant fingers.

“I do home visits, you know,” he says, putting more weight into where their skin touches. “So, if you’re dishwasher breaks or something, give me—give me a call.”

Chip squeezes her fingers one more time, double checks she’s holding onto the business card, and walks back for his toolbox. Only when the classroom door is closing behind him does Reese shout out, “Oh-ho-ho! Professor’s getting some!”

“Get back to your skull before I use yours as a soup bowl,” she snaps, though she can’t hide the cherries in her cheeks as she thumbs over the business card. Chip Taylor. Whatever you need.

[eldri-sv]

11 - Aizawa

Kaori Shinsou has always been fascinated by people's minds. She is one of the best students in her Criminal Psychology course at U.A. and - being the lucky girl she is - her professor is not only one handsome dude, but is also working on the case of the serial killer Stain - a case that has been going on for years. As she is about to become Professor Aizawa's TA during the next term, a lot of other interesting cases start popping up all over the country... AU, OC x Aizawa

Trigger warnings: nothing really?

(possibly incomplete, if you’d like something added, please let me know)

The city's ours until the fall

(Halsey - New Americana)

Shouta Aizawa did not enjoy having lunch in the cafeteria. The place was loud, there were always a bunch of annoying kids around and people would just randomly approach him and talk to him, when all he wanted was some peace and quiet. But with all his injuries right now, he didn't really have the energy to prepare some lunch at home, before he left in the morning. And the lunch in the cafeteria was insanely good, so that somewhat made up for everything else.

He was sitting on a table with a bunch of other teachers, not because he wanted to, but because there was no table available where he could sit on his own. And sitting with one of his students would just be plain weird.

At the moment Yamada and Kayama were having a heated debate about whether Kombucha tasted good or not and whether it was worth trying for the health benefit. Kayama was absolutely in favour of it and was showing off her home-made Kombucha that she had brought to school. Yamada had never tried it and was convinced it couldn't be healthy AND good.

At the moment Kayama was forcefully trying to get Yamada to try some of her Kombucha. Yamada protested wildly, which was unfortunate for Aizawa, as he was sitting right next to him. He was keeping a close eye on him, just so he could dodge any accidental attacks from Yamada.

"Oh, come on! At least try it! One tiny sip?" Kayama asked. Aizawa gulped down some orange juice. He had to switch to that from coffee. The doctors told him to stay away from alcohol, caffeine, nicotine and anything else for at least two weeks. Which wasn't too bad, because in two weeks they would have the U.A. Sports Festival, which was a big thing within the national police force.

A lot of people from different divisions across the country came to see it and to scout out people for internships later on. Of course anyone who was not in basic training (or really athletic and in some other course like Criminology) would have a rough time trying to intern with the actual police force. A lot of the other people just turned to forensic laboratories, prisons, courts and so on to get their internships done.

Aizawa had done his one-week internship at a prison during his first year. Thankfully he had been able to kick ass during his second year and had started working with the local Naruhata police department. That's where he and his best friend Shirakumo had been spending most of their days away from university. Aizawa smiled a little, as he remembered his friend, but the smile quickly faded.

"What do YOU think, Shouta? Should he try it or not?" Kayama asked, taking him out of his thoughts. Aizawa glanced at Yamada who was shaking his head dramatically while grimacing.

"I don't really care, Nemuri. Why do you need him to drink it so badly?" he replied with a shrug.

"I made it myself and I'm proud of it! Plus, he's never even tried it and keeps saying that it'll taste bad. I just want him to try, before he'll start judging." Kayama said and sighed melodramatically.

"Why don't you try it then, Yamada? It hasn't killed Nemuri so far, it most likely won't kill you." Aizawa suggested, hoping to be left alone. He wasn't going to be so lucky. Yamada was shaking his head violently.

"Nuh uh. She's a toxicologist, dude, she could be telling me anything while trying to poison me. And she'd be getting away with it, too!"

"I can't believe you're accusing me of trying to poison you! Yamada, we've been friends for how long now?"

"Maybe you're just playing the long game, who knows..."

Aizawa sighed. His head had started hurting again and he really couldn't deal with the two of them arguing about petty shit like that right now. He grabbed the bottle out of Kayama's hands, opened it and took a big sip. He gulped it all down, as he put the bottle back down on the table.

It was nasty. It smelled foul and a bit like vinegar. And it tasted just the same, with a slight hint of sweetness. It took everything out of Aizawa not to make a weird face. And all that just because he wanted Yamada to suffer just as much as he did. If he drank the stuff, Yamada would have to, as well.

"How... how is it?" Yamada asked, giving him a worried look, as if Kayama had actually been poisoning it. Aizawa shrugged again.

"It's alright. You should try it, I think you might like it." he replied, knowing full well that Yamada would trust his judgment without questioning. Aizawa seriously didn't know why Yamada would still trust him, but maybe he was just one of those people that simply didn't learn.

Yamada grabbed the bottle, still eyeing it suspiciously, but finally getting over himself and taking a sip of it. It took a while to hit him, but then he quickly put the bottle down and pushed it away from himself.

"This tastes like ass! What the fuck, Shou?" he exclaimed. Aizawa grinned a little. Sure, Yamada was his friend, but it made him kind of happy to see him suffer right now. He was coughing and drinking loads of water to get the taste out of his mouth.

"Yeah, I know. It's really not my thing, Nemuri, and I think that one has been standing for too long. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I'm going to get some more orange juice, because that was truly disgusting." Aizawa said, as he got up with the glass in his hand. Kayama was shaking her head.

"You all just don't have taste..." she mumbled and packed away her Kombucha again. Yamada looked disappointed.

"I can't believe you've done me dirty like this, Shou." he said. Aizawa shrugged and gave him a wide grin.

"Again, I have no idea why you still trust me, Zashi. Anyway, I'm off to get something to drink and then I'll probably take a nap before my next lesson, so I'll see you all later." he replied and walked off.

I passed a few tables with students, some of them I knew. There was one table with a group of first years in basic training, their names were Todoroki, Midoriya, Uraraka, Iida and Asui. It was incredibly obvious that Uraraka was crushing hard on Midoriya. How he didn't realize it was completely beyond me.

At another table there was Nishiyama and her entourage. She always had a crowd of people around her and most of them kept changing all the time. Nishiyama was probably the true drama queen of this university. Most people who weren't stuck in high school anymore were not paying much attention to her, thankfully. She was a pain in the ass, but Aizawa had to admit that she usually had very good grades, although that was probably due to her learning all the notes by heart just before the exams.

The last table he passed was literally right beside the place where all the drinks were. Aizawa recognized Kaori Shinsou and her brother. Kaori was picking at her food, as if she wasn't hungry. She probably felt sick due to the painkillers. Aizawa felt a little pang in his heart, seeing her with the bandages around her forehead, knowing that it was his fault, because she was trying to save him.

Her brother looked like he had just seen a ghost and was whispering to her. I could see Kaori raise an eyebrow and give her brother an amused smile.

"What, you mean Pikachu?" she said loudly. Her brother looked around in a panic and then quickly gestured for her to be quiet.

Aizawa who had been watching this exchange was wondering who they were talking about. There was only one person he knew and he would describe as Pikachu and that was Denki Kaminari. He somewhat doubted that Hitoshi Shinsou knew Kaminari. From what he knew they had little in common, except that they were both first years. Well, it wasn't really his business anyway.

He poured himself a glass of orange juice and squinted at it. There seemed to be a few tiny bits in it, probably because someone had been swirling the jug and not letting it settle properly. Shouta Aizawa absolutely hated bits in his orange juice. Or any juice, to be fair. Things he was drinking or eating should be one consistent texture. Anyone who said otherwise was a potential psychopath.

"Well, forget about your crush on coffee boy for a second and let's talk about the plan for this evening. I've had this desire to watch Aristocats all day, are you with me?" he heard Kaori ask. Aizawa stopped squinting at his orange juice and froze. He loved that movie. It was one of his favourite childhood movies. It was his guilty pleasure whenever he felt stressed out or sad or overwhelmed by life and work and everything else. And no one - no one - could ever know about it.

"Yes! Absolutely! We haven't watched that movie in ages!" Hitoshi Shinsou exclaimed. Kaori laughed.

"I know, right? We should just get all wrapped up in blankets, get some nice, fancy ice cream and watch that movie. It's even raining outside, it's the perfect day for that. Plus, you can take your mind off the Sports Festival for once."

"Let's do it."

Shouta Aizawa decided he had been creepy listening in on his students' conversation for long enough. He took his orange juice and made his way back to the table with his colleagues. It looked like he hadn't missed much, since Yamada still seemed to be complaining about the Kombucha. What a fucking nerd.

[theangriestpea]

Mercy Killing

TW/CW: sexual assault mention, violence, trauma

Summary: After a vicious run-in with a group of Ghoulies, Lavender Rhodes is forced down a bumpy road to recovery. In order to protect her from another attack, the Serpent king assigns Fangs and sweet Pea to stay by her side. Too bad Lav and Sweet Pea can't stand each other.

Cross posted on AO3

Chapter One: Road Kill

Two weeks. Fourteen days, three hours, and nineteen minutes to be exact. That’s how long she’d been a full-fledged Serpent. And that’s how long it took for her to be attacked by a group of rabid Ghoulies. Lavender left the Whyte Wyrm, swaying to a beat set on repeat inside her drunk head. Her purple waves of hair bouncing around her as her hips moved on par with the imaginary rhythm. She was too inebriated to drive so she did was she usually did when she had a few too many – she walked. Sunnyside Trailer Park wasn’t that far, about a thirty minute walk. The weather was nice and the cool air felt great against her scorching skin. 

She didn’t even notice the car pull up beside her. She waved off the cat calls and whistles she got. She didn’t stop until someone made her stop. Her eyes opened fully and tried to focus in the darkness. A man with a painted face obscured her vision as another man grabbed her by the wrist. “Time for some fun, boys.” The ghoul in front of her said with a deadly grin. Before she could realize what was happening, it was already too late.

“What is the fuck is that?” Sweet Pea asked, rolling down the window to Fangs’ truck. His eyes had caught sight of a heap on the side of the road. Fangs slowed down, pulling off to the side so that the headlights of his truck shown onto the mass. The sight of signature purple converse immediately caught his eye, “fuck!” Both boys scrambled out to confirm that it was who they thought. A fellow Serpent and a fairly good friend of Fangs’: Lavender Rhodes. She was laying on her side, vomit on the ground beside her. “Jesus fucking Christ.” Sweet Pea breathed out as he noticed the state of her ripped clothes and the blood pooling on the ground and in her clothes, most notably her light blue underwear. Fangs and Sweet Pea shared a look and a nod. Fangs lifted up her small body so Sweet Pea could shimmy her pants back onto his hips. He slid off his jacket and wrapped it around her torso, the large expanse of leather covering her almost down to the middle of her thighs. Sweet Pea picked her up with one hand under her shoulders and the other under her knees. A small whine escaped her lips as her head lulled to the side against his chest. He felt like he was holding a porcelain doll that was cracking, threatening to fall to pieces if he moved too quickly or too forcefully. “Who the fuck did this, Lavie?” Fangs asked, brushing her hair out of her swollen face. “I’m taking you to the hospital but you have to tell me who.” “Ghoulies.” She breathed out, as if just saying it would bring them back. A painful shudder passed through her at the thought, Sweet Pea’s grip tightened as a response. She lost consciousness as they got her into the truck.

*~~~~~~~~~~~*

Lavender thought nothing could be worse than what the Ghoulies did to her, but that was before she went through the rigorous examination for her rape kit. She thought it was pointless. Their faces were painted, it was dark, she was (and still is) drunk, and the only evidence she had was a bit of their flesh under her fingernails that she managed to get as a souvenir. The nurse performing it was very kind and patient. She didn’t judge her, even after she saw the double headed snake tattoo on her right breast. Once it was over she gave the teen a mild sedative to help her relax so the doctor could look over her other injuries. FP was outside along with Jughead, Sweet Pea, and Fangs. His arms were crossed and his teeth were clenched. He’d watch this girl grow up. He cheered her on through her initiation. Now he wondered the extent of what the rival gang members had done to her. And he asked repeatedly what the hell she was doing by herself at night. Fangs informed him that he offered to drive her home but she insisted that she didn’t need a man to take care of her. Insisted that she would be fine. Insisted that she’d done this dozens of times and nothing had ever happened. Insisted she was brave enough, strong enough, and smart enough to take care of herself. All four boys stopped breathing when the nurse exited the room once she thought Lav was settled enough to be on her own. She looked up at FP and shook her head. “This is bad FP.” “How is she?” FP asked, keeping his voice level and calm though he was everything but. “Resting.” The nurse said. “She’s been through a lot. Collecting the evidence is always the worst part for the victim.” There were a collection of bags in her hands along with notes detailing everything Lavender was able to tell her. “I’ll ask her more questions when she’s sober. The doctor still needs to take a look at her, but I would guess she has a concussion, cracked ribs, and I suspect that her wrist is broken but she wouldn’t let us do x-rays earlier. We stitched everything that required it, put bandages on everything else. They worked her over good, FP, but she fought. She fought like hell. Not that it did much against four grown men.” His frown deepened, an expression mirrored by the younger boys. “Be honest, are we going to find who did this?” “I collected some blood and skin under her fingernails. She made sure to grab a fistful of hair too. If there’s any other evidence on her clothes or from what I combed from her hair then forensics will find it.” She told him. “No semen?” FP asked, not wanting to say it but knowing he had to. She let out a sad sigh, “they used a foreign object. She wouldn’t tell me what, but I’ll ask again once she’s had a chance to rest. This wasn’t about sex. This was about power. The doctor is going to do a more thorough physical examination now that I’ve done what I need to. It’s going to be a while, we’re busy as hell tonight.” “Thanks Lorraine.” FP said with nothing less than sincerity. She nodded at him before taking the evidence to where it needed to be stored for the deputy who was coming to pick it up. “Those mother fuckers.” Fangs hissed out, “they’re going to pay for this.” Sweet Pea was just as angry, even if he didn’t really like Lavender. To him she had just been some Northsider with serpent blood, much like Jughead. She hadn’t proven herself. Sure she did the serpent dance and went through initiation but it wasn’t like she’d ever actually done anything for them. He didn’t care about her but the thought that the Ghoulies had done this to one of their own? That he did care about and he thirsted for revenge just as much as his best friend did. “Do we know for sure it was the Ghoulies?” Jughead dared to ask. “If we retaliate and it wasn’t them, then it’ll start a war.” FP was almost too lost in thought to hear him. Before he could answer Sweet Pea growled a response, “who the fuck else would do this?” “Someone wanting to frame the Ghoulies.” Jughead said flatly. It wasn’t that he didn’t think they were guilty. He just wanted all bases covered. FP understood this, but still didn’t quite like what he son was getting at. 

“There’s a tell in how they do things.” FP said. “A signature.” Lav wasn’t the first Serpent to be raped by the Ghoulies and he doubt she’d be the last. There had been two other victims in the past ten years who had been assaulted by the Ghoulies in a similar fashion. There was one blinding similarity: the object they used to violate the women. Jughead seemed to figure it out while the other two boys were left in the dark. “So? What is it?” Fangs pressed, his voice desperate for answers that FP just didn’t have. FP let out an aggravated sigh, “we need to find out what they used, but if she’s not ready to say then I don’t want to push her. Sweet Pea, Fangs, I’m assigning you to protection detail in case they decide to go for another round. Just until she’s healed up. Take shifts, do whatever, just don’t leave her side. In the meantime, Jughead and I will get to the bottom of this.” There was another tense, quiet moment. “I need to get this figured out, come with me Jug. You two stay here. I don’t reckon she’s going to be up for visitors for some time. I’ll be back in a few hours to check in.” FP said before leaving with his son to look into the other two cases that happened years ago. Fangs and Sweet Pea sat for a while without speaking, fists clenched so hard that their knuckles were white. “I know you don’t like her, Sweets. I can watch her myself.” Fangs said after a while of agitated silence. The doctor had swept past them and was inside now examining her with the help of Lorraine. “No, it’s my job too.” Sweet Pea stated hotly, not disagreeing with the fact that he didn’t like Lavender but also not liking that this had happened to her. “She didn’t deserve this.” “I know…I should have just taken her drunk ass home.” Fangs said with a sigh, his voice cracking near the end. Sweet Pea glanced at him, “it’s not your fault. She’s stubborn as fuck. Everyone knows it. No one’s going to blame you, Fangs.”

*~~~~~~~~~~~*

Lavender woke up the next day even sorer than she had been the night before. She didn’t remember much other than the pain. Her right eye was still swollen shut. There were stitches along the four evenly placed gashes across her face where the pointed brass knuckles had caught her skin. Her lip was busted. She looked down with her good eye to see a cacophony of bandages and a cast on her left wrist. She could feel think bandaging around her ribcage which hurt like hell. At first she couldn’t remember how she got there. It all came back in an achingly slow pace. The drinking, the attack, someone picking her up, the nurse…She remembered the exam more than anything else for some reason. Her dreams were all haunted memories of painted up ghouls and it was hard to ignore the pain between her legs. A soft snore caused her to turn her head to see Fangs sleeping quietly in the chair next to her bed. “Fangs,” She rasped out, not recognizing her voice. He didn’t stir, “Fogarty, wake up.” She said, a little louder. His snoring promptly stopped and his eyes fluttered open, “Lav? Hey baby, you’re awake.” He smiled at her, trying not to look distraught by her appearance. The bruising was so much worse now than it had been last night. “How you feel?” She stared at him for a moment, tears welling up into her eyes making Fangs instantly regret his question. “Hey, hey it’s okay.” He said, getting up to grab her good hand. “It’s okay to not feel okay.” Lav forced a small laugh “That doesn’t make sense…” She muttered, squeezing his hand weakly. “Did you bring me here?” He nodded, “Sweat Pea carried you while I drove. Do you not remember?” “It’s a blur.” She mumbled. “Sweet Pea? But he hates me.” Fangs’ thumb rubbed against her skin to try and sooth her. “He doesn’t hate you. In fact, we’ve been assigned to watch over you while you get better.” She let out a groan, “I don’t need babysitters.” “Yea, you do.” FP said firmly as he entered the room. “That’s not up for negotiation.” Lavender frowned as she looked at her king. He was holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a duffel bag in the other. She quickly looked away, feeling too ashamed to meet his eyes. “How do you-“ FP started but Fangs quickly did a throat cutting motion to get him to stop before he upset her again. He cleared his throat, “The doctor says you can come home today but you’ll still need your rest. He’s giving you a few prescriptions. Something for pain, nausea, and some antibiotics to make sure none of your cuts become infected. I’ve already picked up some gauze and bandages to keep you wrapped up tighter than a mummy.” She chanced a glance up at him, “thanks, dad.” She joked lightly. Her father had died a year before of a bad motorcycle accident. Her mother left only months prior to that. She was alone now and the Serpents were all she had. Her dad and FP had been best friends, he was his right hand man. When she visited her father every other weekend, half the time she would spend it at the Jones’ trailer. “So…what was the damage?” Lavender asked, genuinely curious despite the sickening churn of anxiety in her stomach. FP sighed softly, “Concussion, fractured orbital bone, broken nose, broken wrist, three broken ribs, dozens of stitches. You really ran the gamut.” He paused for a moment, “Fangs and Sweet Pea are going to stay with you in your trailer, okay? They’ll have you feeling right as rain in no time.” FP said, setting the coffee down on the bedside table for her. “I got it just the way you like it. Three creams, no sugar.”

She gave him a sheepish smile before taking a sip of the bean juice. “It’s perfect, thanks…but, Sweet Pea? Are you sure?” “What? Not good enough for you, Northsider?” Sweet Pea asked, having been right outside the door. He was in the doorframe now, staring her down as he filled it completely. She was able to hold his gaze much longer than she held FP’s, “no, that’s not it.” She said flatly. “I guess your giant self will scare away any Ghoulie.” Sweet Pea continued to frown. Fangs chuckled, “damn straight, baby. When can she get out of here, FP?” “Hold your horses, it’ll be at least another hour.” FP said. “They have to get the discharge paperwork ready, Lorraine needs to ask a few follow up questions, and I’ll need to pick up the prescriptions. I brought some clothes for you from your trailer since yours are locked up with evidence.” “My shoes…” Lav mumbled, suddenly feeling like her whole identity had been ripped from her. Her nickname, her persona, everything came from those light purple ratty low tops she wore every day. They were in that good broken in stage where they were molded to her feet perfectly, and she could wear them without socks and not get blisters if she was in a hurry. She never had to untie them because they were stretched enough to where she could slip her feet in and out with no fuss. Sure the whites were no longer white and the purple was now muted with dirt but still…they were a part of her soul. Fangs was quiet, not knowing how to console her on that. He just held her hand tighter. FP dug through the duffel and pulled out a pair of shoes, setting them on her legs delicately. They looked identical to the ones she had lost…well, when they were new at least. Sure they weren’t broken in and she’d have blisters the first week or so wearing them but…the mere sentiment had tears in her eyes. “Thanks, FP...For everything.” “You just have to promise me to get better as soon as possible.” FP told her softly, as if he were a father speaking to his daughter. “Okay? We’re going to find who did this and we’re going to make them pay.” Lav just nodded meekly. They were going to fucking pay.

[renee-writer]

Ferris Wheel Chapter 7 Ryan's

"It isn't a date." She argues with Lori as she changes her outfit for the third time that day.

"Okay, sure. You are always so indecisive about what to wear to lunch." Her eyes arch up to her hairline.

"It isn't. It is just.."

"Yes?" She folds her arms as her friend shoots her a helpless look.

"I don't know!" She cries out.

"Ruth, it is okay to like him. Even, like him a lot. Now, lets find something that will knock his socks off." Ruth's laugh is shaky.

+++++

"What do you think?" It is his forth choice He had put on and took off a suit. To stuffy. The jeans and t-shirt were to casual. The dress pants and polo shirt to country club. He now wears a pair of chinos and a button down shirt rolled up above his elbows.

"I think you are aweful fussy about dressing for a lunch date that isn't even a date." Mark says with a.grin.

"Shut up Mark. You know that I want it to be a date, date."

"Yes, but she doesn't. Keep that in mind."

"I will. So," he gestures back to his clothes.

"It is very nice. Perfectly dress casual."

+++++

She arrives at 11:50 and waits on the bench in front of the resturant. She fiddles with the calf-length shirt and pleasant shirt Lori and her had settled on. Her hair is french braided back and her face has just a touch of make-up. Not a date but, no sense not looking her best, she justifies.

He walks in and sees her right away. She is turned away, allowing him to look at her for a minute. Lord, but she is stunning! "Ruth?" She looks around and jumps up.

"Hey David. You look very nice."

"Thank you. You are a vision." He regrets the words as soon as they pass out of his mouth. True as they are, it isn't the kind of thing you say to someone who you are just getting to know.

"I...ahhh...thank you." She blushes turning her from beautiful to earthreal. He catches his breath.

"Are you two ready to be seated?" Thank God for the hostess.

"Yes. Thank you." David says and follows her and Ruth. She sits them at a table near the back. She takes their drink orders and leaves.

"So, did you get any chemistry studying done?" He asks.

"Yes." She regains the ability to breath with the change of subject. "Thank you. Quite a bit. I believe I am ready."

"When is the exam?"

"Two days from now. Do you have any tests on the horizon?" They fall into an easy discussion of their respective classes. Their waitress brings their drinks and the both choose the buffet. They continue to chat as they fill their plates.

"So, the defense disregarded the eyewitness. It was harder to dismiss the presence of defendent's footprint outside the window." He is telling her about the mock trial he played prosecutor in.

"And how did you prove it was his footprint?"

"He went barefoot and left the same muddy footprint on the floor of the dorm, his dorm."

"Ahh brilliant. Score one for the State." She leans in and he losses his breath again.

"It was a team effort. The forensic team and..." He loses his train of thought as wipes the corner of his mouth.

"A bit of sauce, Counselor." She says. Her voice isn't steady either.

"Thank you." He drifts closer and the waitress comes over.

"Everything okay? Need anything?" She asks as Ruth pops back down on her side.

"We are fine." He says as inside he screams. But, just friends is getting harder to keep straight in his mind.

"You want to be a prosecutor?" She asks when she leaves.

"Not sure. Some days yes. And then, I think of all the people that need a.good defense. But, then I think of those I wouldn't feel comfortable defending. You have to be willing to defend all." He shrugs.

"Well, you could do corporate or tax law."

"Eh gads! Please no." He says as he pretends to faint. She laughs, long and loud and he joins her.

"So, that is a no?"

"A huge one."

"Family law. You could represent abused children." He looks at her with wide eyes.

"Ruth that is...wow! That is an excellent idea."

"Really? I really just helped?"

"Helped a lot. It is a simply brilliant idea. It takes all the best part of the laws defense of the innocent and justice for the guilty." He takes her hands and brings them to his lips. He kisses her knuckles. "Thank you. Sincerely."

"You are most sincerely welcome." He walks her to her car a bit later.

"Dinner, Friday night?" He asks. "We can celebrate you acing your Chem exam."

"You have a lot of faith in me."

"I do. What do you say?"

"I say yes. Call me with the details." He opens his arms and she steps into them. He doesn't want to let her go but, does after a a minute. She looks up at him as he steps back.

"I have to...ahh...go." Her heart is pointing and her cheeks flushed.

"Yes, call me."

"I will. Good bye David."

"See you later Ruth."

[sparklyjojos]

CARNIVAL EVE recap

Or: way too many characters to remember, Ryusui sending people weird stories YET AGAIN, an ominous prophecy, and horses and deers and cats, oh my!

[This is a sequel to Cosmic and Joker, please check these out first if you haven’t]

[tw: mentioned suicide]

---

This book is more of an introduction to Carnival than its own thing (although Seriyoin claims in the author’s note that it’s a separate whole, so YMMV). It’s set in August 1996 – 2,5 years after the Locked Room Lord case – and so we have to catch up on what the characters have been up to.

Because of the sheer amount of old and new characters, I’m doing what Seiryoin does and bolding names that you Really Should Remember For Later.

THE ‘CATCHING UP WITH CHARACTERS’ PART:

Hikimiya Yuuya, the statistics expert of JDC, is going through a rough patch. He’s so concerned with the vague Internet rumour about the worldwide “Crime Olympics” coming soon that his work performance suffered and landed him back in the Second Group of JDC. Cue imposter syndrome. Hikimiya is also afraid that were the worldwide crime event to really occur, his sweetheart Ryuuguu Otohime (the older sister of Ryuuguu Jounosuke) would have trouble surviving because of her disability. Right now Hikimiya’s leaving for France, where he will assist / learn under one of the seven S-rank detectives in the world, nicknamed Deus Ex Machina.

Yaiba Somahito, the leader of JDC's First Group, recently had to be hospitalized after he’d collapsed from stress. He’s worried that the stress brought on by the Crime Olympics -- will they occur -- could finally trigger his (still unclarified) hereditary psychiatric disorder. In the hospital he befriends a young boy, Amano, who with his prematurely white hair looks a lot like Yaiba’s brother Amato (who committed suicide years ago because of the aforementioned hereditary disorder). Amano was given only a few months to live.

While Yaiba’s hospitalized, Kirika Mai takes over his duty as the First Group’s leader. While people seem to like her in this position, she considers herself a temporary replacement. Since the last time we saw her she cut her hair short and has started dating a forensics expert Hazama [who showed up briefly in Joker]. She’s still confused about whether or not she has/had A Thing for Juku or was it just deep respect or what, and she certainly feels a pang of jealousy whenever she thinks about him surrounded by other people but not her.

Kirika mentions getting an author manuscript of a book describing the Locked Room Lord case. Every detective concerned gets a copy so they can approve the scenes they show up in. The book is written by a mysterious writer using the nickname Seiryoin Ryusui and is called Cosmic. It seems Seiryoin is already working on another book, Joker, this one about the Geneijo case. [WE META NOW, WE META HARD]

Tsukumo Nemu is there, but doesn’t really do anything in this book. Aside from instilling JDC representative Ajiro Souji’s “stupid parental feelings” and indirectly making him remember his dead son Souya, that is. [Have I ever mentioned that my favourite JDC AU is the one in which Ajiro inexplicably becomes the dad to Juku, Nemu, and the Ryuuguu siblings in addition to his own son? Just the 30-something Ajiro and a bunch of quirky genius kids he’s dadding over. Perfect.]

Amagi Hyouma is distraught after his work partner Yakuma Suzume was arrested for drug possession. Yakuma was a JDC detective whose reasoning ability was at its height when he subjected himself to risky activities like bungee jumping. Adrenaline and all. Nicknamed “Akuma”, or demon.

Later Hyouma is entrusted by Ajiro to take a bottle of alcohol to Yaiba as a get-well-soon gift, but predictably drinks it all right there in JDC’s lobby – his own meta-reasoning method relies on him getting drunk and, well, it didn't have the best influence on his life. Hyouma thinks a lot about his mysterious past: he can’t remember his parents, and all that his early childhood left him are vague memories of a terrifying fire and burn marks he usually hides under his bandana. He still dearly remembers his dead girlfriend Takabe Yuu (the one who died in Cosmic) and always wears a locket with her picture.

Later in the hospital Hyouma spends some time playing UNO with a fairly new detective Suzukaze Unomaru. Unomaru talks and dresses like a samurai completely with a wooden sword strapped to his back. His reasoning power increases when he’s playing card games (any and all, though UNO is his favorite), and in fact he got hospitalized because he’d somehow fucked up his hands due to too intense card game playing.

Later Hyouma is given a lift back to JDC by Kasumi Fuyuka (whose D-name, that is her “detective nickname”, is Fuyuu Kasumi), who’s similar in looks to Kirika and reasons better while she’s sleeping. (I'm starting to think they just pick someone's characteristic at random and call it a reasoning method.). The two were an item once, but nowadays Kasumi is more into someone else.

That someone else is Christmas Mizuno, a girly young man wearing all red except for the white shirt. People often call him Joya (“New Year’s Eve”) as he was born on 31st December. He’s the younger brother of the late meta-detective Pyramid Mizuno (who was ironically the one born on Christmas), and has a baby sister simply called JDC (born on the anniversary of the establishment of JDC). He was once Ajiro Souya’s friend in school, and sort of became a detective inspired by him. As of recently, Christmas became Ryuuguu Jounosuke’s assistant. His reasoning, sometimes called “anti-reasoning”, is kinda… searching for the truth via randomly wandering around or rambling to eventually stumble into the right thing. It doesn’t help that he has zero sense of direction. He’s trying his best, but can clearly see the barrier of talent between him and the big name detectives. Really wants a stuffed Catbus.

Ryuuguu Jounosuke hasn't changed much – still wears the same black clothes everyday, loves word plays, has autistic traits out the wazoo, is as aroace as they come (yay!), and is affectionately known as “JDC’s greatest weirdo”, or sometimes “the black-wearing Joker” because of his cheerful disposition. He’s horrible around machines and WILL break your laptop or phone if you let him as much as touch it, which is in a way really impressive. Ryuuguu lately feels exasperated because of one of JDC’s new detectives…

... Somedaring Amagoi [or Same Darling Amagoi? It's romanized differently on the cover and in the annex]. She's pretty much the teenage female version of Ryuuguu (that is, a walking pun hell), except she dresses like a shrine maiden. Her D-name is Amagoi Samidaare? (yes, with the question mark), but most people call her Ittai-chan because of how often she says “ittai” (“what the hell”). She considers Ryuuguu her teacher and constantly challenges him to riddle battles. Even Ryuuguu is a little done with it at this point.

On the day most of Carnival Eve is happening, Ryuuguu is giving a welcome to a new detective who has recently passed the hellishly difficult JDC entry exam. It’s Hoshino Tae, the very same person that survived the Geneijo case. Tae accepts a D-name that Ryuuguu created for her: Fuumonji Jouka, which honors the memory of Tae’s brother known under his pen name of Fuumonji Kousei.

Another future detective is Yuiga Dokuson. For now we’re just told that he was Hyouma’s school friend. Emphasis on “was”. Dokuson is a self-proclaimed narcissist (his reasoning method apparently relying on that) who claims to be thousands of years old, and rumour has it that he once drove a man to suicide simply by talking to him. If Tsukumo Juku’s beauty could be described as godly, Dokuson’s unusual good looks (fortunately not to the point of making others faint) feel like the demonic equivalent. Hyouma doesn’t have the highest opinion of the guy, and is pretty pissed off that Ajiro let the dude come anywhere near JDC.

As for other JDC detectives we haven’t met yet, there are two we need to mention:

Ushiwaka Gigolo (that’s her D-name, not real name) usually dresses in traditionally male clothing, and while she may seem brash and bold at first sight, she’s actually very amiable. Her reasoning abilities rise whenever she falls head over heels for someone, but as soon as the case at hand is solved the feelings for the partner fizzle out completely, which understandably leads to Problems. While she feels attraction to any gender, it seems she likes other ladies the most. It’s mentioned that a lot of female JDC employees certainly like her a lot. Think of that what you will. [...I don’t think I have to point out that having your bi/pan character be the one who’s defined by changing partners like socks is uhhhh not good.]

Kakuusan Kanke (this D-name being a pun on a relationship triangle) is a talkative woman with round glasses and okappa hair which gave her a nickname “Kappa”. Her reasoning ability soars whenever she’s jealous about something (a relationship, talent, fame…). Before JDC she worked as a DJ. She’s also an amateur hypnotist, weirdly enough. Kakuusan and Ushiwaka worked in a trio with another female detective, who unfortunately was murdered fairly recently.

While we’re looking at JDC, we should mention that Ajiro Souji’s usual secretary Hanto Maimu had to recently take maternity leave. (She already named her yet unborn kid Hanto Kuraimu. 'Crime Hunt'. That’s metal.) The new secretary is Mito Muramasa, a young office worker guy with low levels of self-confidence who’s fairly anxious all the time, described as evoking maternal instincts in everyone, and who basically isn’t sure how to adult properly and feels completely out of place. Relatable.

For reasons that will only come into play much, much later, we also have to mention one of JDC’s security guards called Nakamoto Hiroya, whose secret dream is to become a writer.

--

As for the God of Detectives Tsukumo Juku, he’s taken a paid leave -- which he never does, mind you -- to return to Shunkashuutou, the Tsukumo family’s residence in Shimane Prefecture. He invited two people along.

One is Tousen Yomiko, a private detective specializing in criminal psychology who was Juku's childhood friend and at one point in life his fiancée. Yomiko previously showed up in Cosmic helping others solve the Jackie the Ripper case. Just like Juku, Yomiko has the atmosphere of being an extremely loving and understanding person to the point that it kinda wraps around to feeling uncanny. Yomiko’s father Yomi was good friends with Juku’s father, and in fact was the one to built Shunkashuutou.

The other invited person is Inugami Yasha, now around 17-year-old private detective who helped JDC during Cosmic. Walking to Shunkashuutou, Yasha accidentally remembers that time he saw Juku’s eyes and faints (hfjsjkhf), and while he’s unconscious the black cat he brought along goes missing. The cat had been entrusted to Yasha by a randomly met dying man who introduced himself as Kanai Hidetaka, or Employee D who once worked in Geneijo. [Kanai Hidetaka is our world's Seiryoin's real name, btw.] The cat is called Kanaihidetaka ( Yasha says you’re not supposed to split that name, so I write it together). Apparently it’s connected to something called “the last case of humanity” that also has to do with a mysterious "Shinrui” (Yasha has no clue what it is, but thinks it should be written with the kanji meaning “God's tear”).

In a conversation with Yasha, Yomiko reveals that there’s something that even Juku still can’t solve -- he still can’t figure out the tricks to his father Saimon Ryuusui's “Miraculous Illusions”. The illusions in question were only ever shown once, and only to little Juku, before his father died during the Saimon Family Murder Case. The Miraculous Illusions were still unfinished at the time, but Juku thinks that if they were perfected, they could lead to some sort of an “ultimate trick”.

As for the missing cat, there’s a Shimane legend about people and animals being spirited away, so who knows if that didn’t happen to Kanaihidetaka too? But thankfully the cat is soon found by Juku, and everything's fine. (For now.)

THE ACTUAL PLOT (what little there is of it for now):

Hoshino Tae / Fuumonji Jouka brings to JDC a letter that Dakushoin Ryusui sent her a long time ago. It was sent on 26th October 1993… that is, during the Geneijo case. It contains another envelope and a curt note from Dakushoin asking the recipient not to open it until the date given (yesterday as of now). The envelope contains a short story consisting of 7 acts and called:

ANOTHER JOKER ---The Revised Detective Myth (But The Culprit Is The Same?)

[Note: Joker’s full title is Joker: Detective Myth As The Old Testament]

This short somewhat absurd story takes place in a building without an entrance or exit called Gensoukan (Phantom House? Phantom Mansion? Either way, it’s a clear riff off of Geneijo). Aside from the lead character – Ryuuguu Jounosuke – the story features only people who are already dead: Kirigirisu Tarou (apparently the owner of Gensoukan) with his wife Kano; Ajiro Souya; everyone else who died in Geneijo; as well as Kosugi the butler and his son, who both died during the Locked Room Lord case. (Incidentally, the kid’s name is now furigana’d as Katsutoshi and not Shouri like it was in Cosmic and Joker. This is never explained, but I’ll go with my Meta Instinct and assume this is an intentional change. None of the detectives reading the short story seems to notice the change. Oh, and the kid is reading a certain book called Joker. Meta intensifies.)

Another Joker’s Ryuuguu is quite confused about how he got into Gensoukan and why all the dead people he saw die in Geneijo are alive and acting like nothing happened, but he feels like he may as well go with the flow and solve the case. The victim is one Employee O, or Ousetsu Kan. The locked room he was in burned down. Witnesses heard the victim yell something like “dou, dou”. While everyone was running around and trying to break the door open, the victim must have tried to extinguish the fire by turning on water, but he was too late to save himself from burning down to a pile of bone fragments. (Ryuuguu realizes that a normal fire wouldn't be hot enough to leave only bones, but whatever, this is Gensoukan, it’s weird.) There seemed to be more bones left than just one man would have, though. The only other clue is a message carved into the floor that “the culprit is ZI”.

Murder aside, two animals held in Gensoukan's stable went missing: a man-eating horse called SIKA (“deer”) and a deer called UMA (“horse”).

Ryuuguu was apparently chosen to be in Gensoukan as Dakushoin's guest, whatever this means. Dakushoin helps the investigation by making a map of Gensoukan including everyone present's name and room location. This helps Ryuuguu eventually figure out the case and who 'the Joker' (the culprit) is. He gathers everyone in the recreation room to explain it, but the story ends just as he points and yells “You are the Joker!”

Attached to the story is a short bonanzagram (a riddle in which you substitute free spaces with letters) that prompts the reader of Another Joker to fill it in with the answers to the case.

–

The real Ryuuguu Jounosuke and Tae / Jouka solve the story's case incredibly quickly, but still have to help Christmas through his own stumbly reasoning.

The title having that But The Culprit Is The Same? part would seemingly point to whoever committed the Geneijo murders as the culprit of the story.

However, Christmas says that the person he suspects is not the culprit of Geneijo, but the Kosugi boy. [A statement which should give everyone who read Joker a long pause, but then again, Juku and Yaiba probably didn’t reveal the truth to anyone.] Ryuuguu and Jouka think the boy is just a red herring here.

Christmas’s next guess is the story’s rendition of Nijikawa Ryou. The map that Another Joker’s Dakushoin made has everyone’s pen name and real name. Everyone without a pen name has a note that “(Real Name Is The Same)”. However, Nijikawa Ryou has a slightly different note that “(Real Name = The Same)”, which can be read as him being called The Same, and since The Culprit Is The Same...

If a person was called 同じ, onaji (The Same), then the last name would be Ona and the first name would be Ji. Or maybe the last name would be Dou (same kanji, different reading) and the first name Ji. The syllable “ji” can be romanized as “zi”. And that’s why the victim yelled “Dou, Dou!” (the murderer’s last name!) and the dying message said that “the culprit is ZI”.

[I feel like this is a good time to remember Juku’s final observation in Joker about Dakushoin’s manuscript having a message that mina onaji, or “Everyone’s The Same”. I sense multiple meanings here.]

Since Story Nijikawa shared alibi with Story Miyama Kaoru (they were playing hanafuda in the recreation room), this means they were partners in crime, and maybe lovers. See, there’s apparently a proverb that “the one who interferes in love will die kicked by a horse”, so the two could symbolically use a horse as a murder weapon to deal with Ousetsu Kan, who threatened their relationship in some way.

Nijikawa planned to get the horse and the victim in the same room, scare the horse with fire and make it trample the victim. Things went awry and Nijikawa had to flee the now burning room. The victim locked the door in fear of Nijikawa returning and tried to extinguish the fire, but the unhinged horse ate him. The bones found at the scene belonged to the horse.

As for what happened to the deer, well, there’s this proverb that “the person who chases a deer does not see the mountain”. Yama, mountain, is also a term for a card deck. Like the hanafuda card deck Nijikawa and Miyama used. Hanafuda, which has a deer card in it. The deer called UMA was a card all along, and Nijikawa hid it inside a deck of cards in the recreation room.

[A somewhat absurd story, as I said.]

--

The filled-in bonanzagram looks something like this:

“KAN died. HANnin [culprit] ZI. UMA was brought into GORAKUshitsu [the recreation room]. DEKOI [the person used as a 'decoy' killer] was the KOSUGI boy.”

Ryuuguu and Jouka notice that there's a hidden message obtainable by making an anagram of all the filled-in letters. Poor Christmas Mizuno feels inadequate as he's not able to guess it as easily as these two did (and the reader will share his pain of being denied the knowledge of the message before the end of the book). Concerned about the message, Ryuuguu brings the story to Ajiro, who then arranges one-on-one meetings with each of the big name detectives to ask them what they personally think of it.

While this is happening, Ryuuguu thinks about a dream he had that night in which he talked to someone. He can’t actually remember anything else, but he has a vague feeling that the dream was important. What was it about...? 

–

[This chapter is called “The real short story: Cosmic Zero”]

Ryuuguu is in some empty space in which he can only hear Dakushoin's voice. Dakushoin talks about vague and weird things, about space-time curved into a Moebius strip in which the cases are recurring again and again, and the dead are coming back to live and repeating their deaths without noticing.

Ryuuguu asks about Another Joker and the manuscript from the Locked Room Lord case. Just how much does Dakushoin know if he was able to hint at future events in them? Dakushoin answers that since Ryuuguu will forget this conversation even happened (because it shouldn’t be happening in the first place), there's no harm in telling him some things.

A plan to exterminate all humanity is under way. It started back in 1979 with the Saimon Family Murder Case, one of the Four Great Tragedies. The other three are the Geneijo case, the Locked Room Lord case, and the future Twin Disappeareance case of 1999. The Crime Olympics are not included in the Four Great Tragedies, as it's a worldwide event that doesn't concern just Japan, and it's really just a preparation for the last Tragedy.

The Twin Disappearance case will be the last one. Then, on the night of the last day of the current century – 31st December 2000 – Tsukumo Juku will be murdered, and the human race will perish soon after.

All of the culprits of those giant cases – Shiroyasha, the Artist, the Locked Room Lord, Kamikakushi of the Twin Disappearance case, as well as the Billion Killer of the Crime Olympics – are nothing more than decoys. They are all controlled by a mysterious Tsukumo Jaki (九十九邪鬼), who will be the one to kill Juku. Tsukumo Jaki is apparently someone Ryuuguu knows – why, it's one of his fellow detectives!

Ryuuguu is upset, but Dakushoin points out that since he'll forget this anyway, and all is destined, there's no reason to care a lot about it now. The two have a conversation about language and writing, and Dakushoin hints at there being a root language that all others came from, and that Ryuuguu should look into it.

Finally they bid each other goodbye. Dakushoin says that he himself can only return to 'the beginning' and tread the same path over and over again, but Ryuuguu can now continue walking forward in new time.

[End of Cosmic Zero]

--

The hidden message is finally revealed:

KAN HAN ZI UMA GORAKU DEKOI KOSUGI --->

HANZAI GORIN SUGU KOKO DE KAIMAKU

“The Crime Olympics will be starting here soon.”

–

At exactly 1 PM on 10th August 1996, the Crime Olympics really do start.

With the JDC building -- and about 300 detectives inside it -- exploding.

And that's where Carnival Eve ends.

[To be continued in Carnival]

[ryans-shaniac]

Can I request a part 2 to prompt 75?

remember when i said i’d accept writing prompts for 100 followers? me either. (not to use exam stress as an excuse or anything but exam stress kicked my ass) 

anyway i originally wasn’t going to do this because i’m not good with writing sequels to my writing but i actually had a burst of creativity so HERE WE GO BOYS 

read me first!

Ryan hadn’t been at school in a few days and needless to say, everyone was worried.

His mom and dad didn’t know what to do, Ryan barely told them anything. They put it down to stress and let their son have the rest of the week off. Back at school, Shane had been near mute as well. He was constantly checking his phone to see if Ryan had messaged him or tried to call him. Obviously there was nothing new.

He stared down at his lock screen for the fifth time in 2 minutes. It was a photo of him and Ryan at the abandoned warehouse down the road from their local mall. Ryan had dragged Shane and their friend TJ along as one final adventure before TJ moved to Florida. The photo was taken in front of defaced rusty shipping containers. Both of them were laughing and pointing at the giant dick that had been graffitied on the side of one of the containers in bright yellow.

Shane smiled at the memory, almost chucked, before being bought back to reality with Sara nudging him.

“If he hasn’t talked to you since Wednesday, he’s not going to text you now. Put your phone away and try to relax.” Sara had a sad smile on her face and Shane knew she was right.

“Yeah I know..I just..I’m so worried about him. He was so torn up after school, I can’t stop hearing his sobs in the back of my mind. They were my fault. But why? Maybe I should’ve spoken to him more. L-let him know I’m never gonna leave him. Maybe if I had just been a better friend then maybe-“

Arms on his shoulders stopped him spiralling. Shane had been spiralling a lot lately. All he could think about was what he could’ve done to do better and what he would say to Ryan if he were here.

Shane turned around and saw a concerned looking Andrew.

“Dude you have to calm down. None of this was your fault. Ryan’s clearly working through some shit and we just have to wait for him to feel cool enough to tell us what’s going on. Let’s just go to lunch and meet with the others, maybe someone has spoken to him.”  

Shane wanted to protest. Tell Andrew if Ryan was working through anything, then he would know about it because they don’t keep secrets from each other. But instead he just nodded solemnly and followed him to the cafeteria, Sara smiled and told him she’d speak to him later as she went off and joined her friends.

Their table consisted of Ryan, Shane, Andrew, Steven, Jen, Ella, Zach, Keith, Ned and Ned and Keith’s girlfriends, Ariel and Becky. Sometimes Sara and a couple of her friends (Eugene, Quinta, Freddie and Kelsey) would join them but that was rare, due to the fact that Eugene would try to pick a fight with Ella a lot. No one knew why but Eugene would always find something to argue about, especially if Zach was involved.

Everyone else was already sat down and Shane took a seat next to Jen who rubbed his back and gave him a sympathetic look. Why was everyone giving him sad looks today? Were they meant to make him feel better? The sad looks aren’t going to make Ryan talk to him or come to school.

There was a whisper on the other side of the table as Zach handed his phone to Steven, who then sighed and nodded. The phone was then passed to Ned and Ariel who both gave knowing looks to everyone else.

“Hello? You know I can see you guys, right? What was on Zach’s phone? Zach what did your phone say?” Panic struck Shane’s voice.

Everyone went silent and looked anywhere but Shane’s gaze. Shane felt the anger boiling inside him and before he got up and left, Zach passed his phone to Jen and nodded to her.

“Just..Just show him. He told me last night that I could show him.” Zach mumbled.

“Wait, I’m sorry what? Is this Ryan? You’ve spoken to him? Zach, what the fuck you promised you would let me know if-“

The phone was thrust into Shane’s shaking hands before he could continue. Everyone at the table had read this text except for him. He exhaled and looked down.

‘Ryan Boogara (11:10am): fuck all of this??? like dude tf?? feelings?? they r the biggest load of bullcrap i have ever experienced. remind me to never get them again. also remind me to go to the doctors and ask if they can surgically replace my tear ducts because mine have been run dry. there are no more tears to let fall. i can’t believe shane was so oblivious but also i can’t believe that i wasn’t more forward with how i felt. if i had been maybe this could’ve worked out nd we could b the high school sweethearts i dreamed abt. how do people DEAL WITH THIS!!!!!!!! HOW DID NED AND KEITH DO THIS???? HOW DID STEVEN DO THIS???? AT LEAST THEY WERE ALL LUCKY!!!! THEIR INTENSE PINING GOT THEM A RELATIONSHIP!!! BUT ME??? LITTLE OL RYAN STEVEN BERGARA GOT NONE OF THAT!!!! ALL I GOT WAS HEARTACHE AND HURT!!!! why do. straight people exist? CHALLENGE ME THAT KORNFELD why do they exist an d why does the one (1) man i love have to be one of them. read that with a lot of spite. this was dumb from day one and you told me it wouldn’t have been worth it but i didn’t listen. and then i told jen and i didn’t listen to HER anD THEN I WENT TO  E U G E NE L E E YA N G FOR ADVICE YESTERDAY ON HOW TO GET OVER IT AND HE TOLD ME TO DRINKMY FEELINGS AWAY AND HERE I AM!!!! dude im wastED. all of my feels have intensified so much. its only 11am. WOOwee. if i ever see shane madej again I’m gonna punch him in the face and then kiss his lips better. i love him zachy. i love him. sso much

Me (12:00pm): dude are you okay? literally no one has heard from you since you ran off and shane is such a mess he is not handling anything well

Me (1:30pm): hey man remember drink some water and take painkillers

Ryan Boogara (9:00pm): jesus fuck i just woke up

Ryan Boogara (9:00pm): i’m sorry you had to deal with that

Me (9:03pm): no it’s alright are you okay?

Ryan Boogara (9:04pm): yeah i have a massive headache and i miss shane. a lot.

Me (9:04pm): he misses you too

Me (9:04pm): he’s acting like you’ve died

Ryan Boogara (9:04pm): i feel like i’ve died

Ryan Boogara (9:04pm): can you tell him i’m sorry and i love him

Ryan Boogara (9:05pm): i’m over lying to him

Ryan Boogara (9:05pm): you know what, just show him this i’m done

Ryan Boogara (9:05pm): at least then he has the weekend to process my shit and can decide on monday if he still wants to be my friend

Me (9:06pm): are you sure you’re not still drunk?

Ryan Boogara (9:06pm): yeah just do it

Ryan Boogara (9:06pm): im gonna try and go to bed gnight zach

Me (9:06pm): goodnight ry get some rest’

Shane couldn’t do anything except stare at the phone. He reread the message over and over. Ryan…had feelings for him? Since when?

Shane didn’t notice he was crying until he felt Jen’s arms wrap around his side. Next to him, Keith rested his hand on his shoulder. Shane missed his friend so much. And now his fears were confirmed that it was his fault, the guilt ate him up even more than usual.

Shane stumbled over his words, “I have-I’ve got-Ryan I need to see him-I want to tell him-I’m..”

Shane pushed himself up from his seat. Despite his friend’s protests, he just kept walking. Out of the cafeteria and out of the school grounds. Ryan’s house was a 20 minute walk from school and although taking an uber could’ve been quicker, Shane refused to waste any time, he knew he had to get to Ryan.

A sweaty and out of breath Shane pounded on the front door to the Bergara’s and when no one answered, he managed to break in with his debit card, a trick he learnt off Mike, a kid in his forensic science class. Shane marched upstairs and without knocking opened the door to Ryan’s room.

Ryan was lying in bed, his back to the door, completely oblivious to the man standing in the doorway.

“Why?”

Ryan sat bolt upright in bed and turned to the voice. He was a sight to behold, it seemed like he hadn’t slept in days and he smelt of vodka. Ryan’s face paled and he looked like he had seen a ghost.

“Shane? I-what did Zach show you the text?” Fear seeped into Ryan’s voice.

“Why?” This time Shane’s voice cracked. He could feel the lump in his throat rise.

“I’m sorry.” Ryan croaked.

Shane walked towards the bed and pushed Ryan down and kissed him. Both of them were surprised at the taller man’s actions but neither made an effort to stop. Shane climbed on top of Ryan, their lips not breaking apart. Ryan tasted like alcohol and Shane like mint. Their mouths worked together and Ryan released a low moan.

Since when did Shane want this? Maybe he always did, subconsciously, but never let himself think about it. Thank God he had called off the date with Sara until this whole thing with Ryan blew over.

The two boys pulled away for air, both of them crying, their tears mixed together on each others cheeks. Shane let out a breathy laugh.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“Good. You should be.”

Ryan grinned and sighed contently, “I really like you, Shane.”

“I don’t know how I feel, but I do know that I really liked kissing you.”

“Then kiss me again.”

[ledenews]

Suicide? No Way … Part 7

(Publisher’s Note: This is the sixth in a series of articles that examine the passing of 19-year-old Colby Brown, a 2018 graduate of Cameron High School, who attended Marshall University in Huntington. Colby was pronounced dead on Aug. 26, 2019, after paramedics treated him in the middle of Interstate 64.) Finally, the cell phone. The mother of Colby Brown, the 19-year-old who died the first day of his sophomore year at Marshall University, finally was given her son’s cell phone this week. For many reasons, holding the cellular device felt as if she was reconnected to a life lost unexpectedly and, to her, without a full explanation. Gwen Wood was in Charleston when she received a call from one of the investigators with the State Police informing her that finally she could take possession of the one piece of property wanted most. She has the shoe her son lost after he fell 109 feet from an overpass spanning Interstate 64, and Wood also possesses the sheet used to cover Colby once pronounced deceased. His car was retuned to Cameron, too, as was his clothes and other belongings from his home in Huntington. But were there clues, maybe even secrets, on his cell phone? “I waited eight months so I couldn't get there fast enough, and luckily was still in Charleston that day,” Gwen explained. “Honestly, I didn't know if I would ever get it back after talking to some other parents that have gone through similar situations with their child because they never got their child's phone back.  “The whole way there, I just kept thinking something else was going happen and I wasn't actually going to get the phone, so I tried not to get my hopes up too high,” she admitted. “But I did get his phone, and we still are going through the phone. I want to get a professional to go through it along with his laptop because there might be something.”

As a Promise Scholarship student from Cameron High, Colby chose Marshall University.

Face in His Phone

He was 19, academically engaged, and socially active. Colby Brown was an extrovert and, as long he was prepared for his classes, was more than willing to join family and friends for fun. These days, the majority of entertainment arrangements were organized via texting or on social media platforms, and that meant his cell phone was a lifeline for leisure, young love, and a lot of laughter. “He was always on it, that’s for sure,” his mother confirmed. “To a young person, a smart phone is an extension of them. It's a bank full of their friendships, conversations, videos and pics, it shows you who they are and makes us feel closer to him.” That is why, at least a few times per week, Wood has attempted to reach one of the two troopers investigating his passing on Aug. 26, 2019. Most often, though, she says her messages have gone unreturned. Until earlier this week, that is. “Sgt. Joyce told me that it was not a priority because it was not ruled a homicide and that when forensics got to it they would do it,” she explained. “I tried to ask what they were investigating since it was ruled a suicide, but the first time he hung up on me. This time, though, he said it would be in the report when I got it and went back into the detachment, slamming a locked door behind him,” Wood reported. “They have not given me any information, and it's been over eight months.”

Colby spent significant time with his nephew before departing for Huntington.

An Investigating Mother

Frustrated and tormented are mild adjectives when describing how Wood has felt since her son died following his first day of his sophomore year at Marshall University. He went to the gym, attended his classes, and then joined friends for video games in the late afternoon. According to those at the gathering, though, Colby suddenly vanished after smoking a little marijuana with the group. From that point in time, details are sketchy. “The first thing I started looking at was the times of phone calls and messages on Aug. 26, then his locations,” Wood explained. “It confirmed he went to class, came home and took his dog (Penny) for a walk, then Jon Crow facetimed him at 4:19 p.m. That’s why he left his apartment and went to Jon’s until 6:51 p.m. “His Snapchat was put in ghost mode, though, and Jon called his phone at 6:49 p.m. and again at 6:51 p.m.,” she said. “Then nothing after 6:51 p.m. I believe then his phone was powered off because nothing comes up after that for location. I haven't found anything yet where Colby responded to anyone after getting to Jon’s house at 4:25 p.m., and that was not like him.” Her search is far from over as far as the cell phone is concerned, and that is because Colby always actively communicated with her, his two sisters and with his father. Once Wood was in possession of her son’s cell, some hope returned to their hearts. “The moment I had it in my hand, it was a relief,” she said. “Everyone has been hopeful that the phone would provide us with some pieces of the puzzle. We had our doubts though, if we would ever get it. So, yeah, it's a huge relief because being able to see all his photos and videos and the things that he enjoyed makes us feel a better connection to Colby.”

Colby and his nephew traveled with family to the Atlantic shore in July 2019.

Case Closed?

Not just yet, and that means Wood must endure more waiting. She was able to retrieved the smart phone because the forensic exam was finished, but now for the final report. “The state police said they had not completed their investigation when I asked, but I feel it has been closed to them since Aug 26th, when they prematurely ruled it a suicide,” Wood said sadly. “Now I have to wait on the police report to be mailed to me. I was told I could get it, but I have to wait for it to come thru the USPS. “But now I am just going to continue looking through his phone for things we may have missed. We just got the phone, and at times it gets too overwhelming and I just have to take a break,” added Colby’s mother. “We will continue searching for answers and hoping someone reaches out to us with information that might let us know something. The not knowing is the worst. Honestly, it’s a struggle for all of us to just get through a day.” Read the full article

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

what's another embarrassing story you have?

Alright let’s talk about my last day of high school.

So like, my school had this program where seniors could actually leave school like a month and a half early and work as interns for people in the neighborhood or something (Senior Study? Community Study? I forget what it was called). Most people did it because, hey, getting out of school early AND if you did it you didn’t have to take final exams- but some people chose not to and some couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it because, I think I had too many detentions (long story)? I don’t remember if that was the reasoning, but I didn’t actually wanna apply in the first place because the idea sounded lowkey terrifying to me at the time for whatever reason. So anyway, our grade had suddenly dropped from like hundreds of kids to like, maybe 15-20 something. So, naturally, everyone left had even more of  ‘Kings of the School/Senior Privilege’ attitudes than usual. We were mostly just dicking around at this point.

So basically, all the classes that were just seniors were like…anywhere from 2 to 5 people max. So the teachers kinda stopped paying attention too, and didn’t really even seem to realize who was there and who wasn’t. And high school was such an…exhausting time in my life that I was thrilled with this, I just wanted it to die already.

So we get to my final day, and I am relaxed to the max. All I had to worry about that day was my fifteen minute “Fault In Our Stars” play for Theater last period. I slept through most of my other classes, or texted my friends from other schools, or read, or ate candy. It was a great day. And after how tiring, stressful, and emotionally overwhelming high school had been, I was really loving this as my last day. I deserved this for my last day, you know? A nice, calm memory!

So, I’m in my forensics class, and it’s maybe 15 minutes to the bell but I was worried I might have had a chemical on my hand, so I asked to go to the bathroom. Mistake one: Not just waiting to go until after class. Mistake two: Leaving my phone in my bag instead of slipping it in my pocket.

So I go to the bathroom, it was like down two halls and on the corner kinda. I could see the doors that lead to the stairs on both ends, and the elevator, and the door to the upstairs gym from the entrance. I go in, wash my hands and I start to walk back out.

And the fucking alarm goes off.

Not the fire alarm, the “We have a gunman in the school” alarm. We were in full fucking lockdown.

Before I can even fucking react, All the doors are slammed closed. There’s a rule that teachers have to lock the door and cover it and not open it for anybody but the principal who knows a secret knock code, which I didn’t know. The doors to the stairways were closed, the gym was probably locked, and I wasn’t gonna risk an elevator. So I ran back into the deserted bathroom.

Now, here’s the thing- usually, when there’s a lockdown or a lockdown drill, comes over the loudspeaker and says whether it’s real or not, and if it’s a drill we’ll have been notified it was going to happen because the teachers tell us. My forensics teacher didn’t even give me a hall pass, so he clearly hadn’t been anticipating this. My school had only had an actual, real life lockdown once, and that ended up being a false alarm- it was right after Sandy Hook, someone looked on the grainy security camera to see some boys holding an umbrella like it was a gun, people panicked. Right now there was no announcement, just the alarms blaring, so I was freaking out.

And then I start fucking hearing someone pounding down the halls.

And I’m just like…not fucking today. I do not deal with all this bullshit just to die on my last God damn day of school. We are not doing this, Satan!

So some surge of need for survival that I’ve never experienced blasted through me, right? So I fucking run into one of the stalls, and brace my back against the wall, with one foot up on the toilet bowl and one foot on the paper dispenser, and my arms against the door and the far wall, so that when someone came in to see if people were in there, they looked under the doors and didn’t see any feet. The person eventually left but I didn’t get down because the alarm was still going.

I need you guys to understand how hard this was though. Like, first, I had to keep my head and neck at a painful angle so my hair wouldn’t be visible over the top of the stall. Also, I have like, a lot of back problems, and bad ankle, and shitty knees (I’m literally an 80 year old man), so to hold this position for 40 minutes as I ended up having to do was quite a fucking feet let me tell you.

And I was so fucking terrified while this was going on too. At this point I’m positive it’s not a drill, because those last 15 minutes tops. I didn’t have my phone on me so I couldn’t text anyone to see if they knew what was going on. Someone is still walking around and banging on doors, and I’m certain it’s not a police officer because wouldn’t they be talking???

And then all the sudden, the alarm shits off??? And the principal comes over and is like “Everything’s fine go to class” WITH NO GOD DAMN EXPLANATION, and I hear people moving through the halls and loudly freaking out about what just happened, and I am forced to come to terms with the fact my body has ceased up I literally can’t get out of this position. Oh my God.

Finally, after like ten minutes of using my one moveable leg to kick the wall in hopes of getting someone’s attention, some random girl comes in and hears me. She deadass had to climb under the stall and open the door to get it open before helping me down. She was cracking the fuck up the entire time and her friends who were using the other stalls were demanding to know what was going on like. Holy shit.

(side note: apparently it was a bomb threat but they ended up finding no evidence of anything in the school. Although, like? Wouldn’t you want to remove people from a building before looking for a bomb? Is that just me?)

So that was well and good, but then??? I guess she mentioned it to her older brother who was in my gov class??? Because next thing I know all the remaining seniors and some junior boys were going “YEAH JAVERTS A CHAMPION” and cracking up whenever they saw me that day. And like, I can appreciate the humor in it and was like “Oooh yeah I #SURVIVED” and all that but I was just. Cringing so hard the entire day. I only thought to respond to your ask with this story bc someone just messaged me about it on facebook. I’m never stepping inside a high school again omfg.

[mldrgrl]

38 and 44 for Mulder and Scully

This one got away from me a little so, behind the cut.

38. Blood & 44. puppy love

Scully had never been in her mother’s attic before.  She was in med school when they moved to the Baltimore house, engrossed in exams, so Bill and Charlie had been the ones to help move their parents in.  There was never any reason to go up there.  Now, since the house needed to be prepared to sell, it had to be cleaned and cleared.  Mulder offered his help and she’d gratefully accepted, still not quite able to be in the house alone.

They’d gone room by room, sorting knick knacks, furniture, and clothes into piles for donating, keeping, or throwing away.  The bedroom had been the hardest for her.  It just felt wrong going through her mother’s things..

The last room left was the attic.  Mulder pulled down the collapsible stairs from the ceiling and they headed up into the dust and stale air.  It was cold up there and Scully was glad she’d worn an old sweatshirt to protect against the dirt and chill.

“It’s actually pretty tidy,” Mulder remarked, looking at all the boxes stacked and clearly labeled.

Scully sneezed.

“Except for the dust,” he added.  “How do you want to do this?”

”I don’t know if I can last up here.  I think we need to get the boxes out first and then we can open them up downstairs.”

“You go down and I’ll lower them to you.”

A little over an hour later, all the boxes were out of the attic, stacked just as neatly in the hall and the guest room off the hall, organized and grouped by label.  Scully used a utility knife to cut through the tape on a box labeled CHRISTMAS and passed the knife to Mulder.  He used it to cut open a box labeled DANA.

“Some of this is falling apart,” she said, pulling out a white tablecloth that was stained with age.  “Except for our first Christmas ornaments, this should probably all just be tossed.”

“Up to you,” he said, poking through the DANA box.

“There was an angel tree topper though.  I think my grandparents gave it to Mom and Dad on their first Christmas together.”

“Oh, look what I found.”  Mulder pulled out a high school yearbook from the box with a grin and flipped it open to the front cover.  “‘To the most bitchin’ babe to walk the halls of SDH.  Call me for some summer luv.  Marcus.”

“It does not say that.”

Mulder turned the cover for Scully to look at and she left her box to stand next to him as he flipped through the pages.  He found her senior portrait and laughed as she groaned and tried to cover it up.  He pushed her hand away and read her bio.

“Dana K. Scully.  Math club.  Science Club.  Forensics.”

“Forensics was speech and debate.”

“I know.  Poetry club.  Poetry, Scully?  Really?”

“It was a phase.”

Mulder lifted the yearbook up over his head and looked down into the box.  “With any luck, some of those masterpieces will be in this box.”

“God, I hope not.”

“Latin club,” he continued.  “ASB Secretary.  ‘There are no such things as applied sciences, only applications of science - Louis Pasteur’”  He chuckled and closed the book.  “Wos, Scully, you really were a huge nerd.”

She shoved his shoulder and went back to the Christmas box.  He knew he should have just left DANA alone and opened one of the other boxes labeled BOOKS or SCULLY CHINA, but he was more interested in exploring Scully’s childhood.  He laughed as he unrolled a small poster of Donny Osmond.

“And they call it, puppy lo-o-o-ove,” he sang to her, holding the poster of Donny over his face.

“Everyone loved The Osmonds,” she argued.  “You can’t tell me you didn’t have a thing for Marie.”

“Actually, I was partial to Laurie Partridge.”

“People used to tell Charlie he looked like Danny Partridge so Bill convinced him he was the youngest Partridge that had been given up for adoption because he couldn’t sing.”

“That’s mean.”  Mulder chuckled anyway.

Scully rifled through yellowing boxes of cracked ornaments and smiled as she listened to Mulder hum under his breath.

“I woke up in love this mornin’,” he whisper-sang.  “I woke up in love this mornin’.  Went to bed with you on my mind.  Shit.”

Scully looked over as Mulder shoved the side of his thumb in his mouth.

“Cardboard cut,” he mumbled around his thumb.

“Let me see.”  She moved to his side and touched his wrist as he lowered his wet thumb from his mouth, glistening with saliva and blood.  “There are Band-Aids in my bag.”

Mulder nodded and put his thumb back in his mouth as he wandered out.

“Wash it first!” she called after him.

Half-heartedly, she finished rummaging through the first Christmas box and then put it aside to be thrown out.  She looked around at what remained.  She’d have Mulder take the box with her name on it and Melissa’s out to the car to take home.  He could finish getting a kick out of her things later - she was pretty sure there was a diary in there somewhere and a notebook of high school poetry.  They just didn’t have time for it right now.  They could send Bill and Charlie’s boxes to them without opening.

It made her sad to think of a life reduced to a few pieces of furniture to pass down and boxes of junk no one wanted or needed.  Her eyes began to water and she wiped them with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.  She felt Mulder’s hand on her back and she took a deep breath and dropped her arms.  He rubbed her back in slow circles.

“We can finish this later,” he said.

“The realtor will be here tomorrow.  It has to be today.”

“Okay.”  He wrapped his arms around her and she turned to lay her head against his chest.

“I’m okay,” she said.

He rested his chin on her head.  “Okay.”

She pulled back and stretched up to kiss his neck.

“Want me to sing some more hits of the 70’s for you?” he asked.

“I’d rather you go through those boxes of books and see if there’s anything worth keeping.”

“I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

He kissed her temple and let her go.  She caught his hand and pulled her back to him.  “Hey,” she said, quietly.  “I’m not gonna sing, but I woke up in love this morning too.”

He grinned and wrapped his arms around her again.

The End

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Thursday, 03 September 2020

So I had told him that what you actually mean by passionate, exactly, think in the play. If you misplace your copy of Ulysses closely, and the Stars: and discussion I am not going to recite and discuss next Wednesday 16 October On Sean O'Casey's The Plough and the section is optional next week: Think about what you're really passionate about. Deploying multiple critical lenses in your group, in SH 2635. Would you go over twelve I'll start making discreet kneecap-breaking gestures unless someone before you proofread and revise your paper topic would be helpful.

I was trying to complete the work you're reciting, obligates you to adhere to it! Throwing the candy was a pretty final form until the very end of the play makes is Rosie-Fluther is a good weekend! I get for going short, but I may overlook it if they drag on too long. In any case, to get them to lecture. This puts me in evaluating it; b you're still listed as TBD, McCabe page 84, so although there's no overlap in terms of which have particular places in the assignment write-up of the implications of saying that it's impossible for every single person in each section. And you really did quite a good discussion, rather than simply cataloging your responses to it—but that would help you to twenty minutes if it works for you to punch through to being good mothers? If you would be a bad idea. Thanks! Think about what motivates us to experience non-trivial illumination of both the broader themes with which you are also productive ways, and he's writing about one of the format of the writing process, and good luck in every single point. Teaching Assistant: Course Requirements: Punctual, attentive reading. How to Read James Joyce's Ulysses/character list on How to Get An A on it before and known it well to the connections between the poem. You're welcome! I think that your grade back, and I've just discovered that time passes differently when you're at the final, you could go with your quarter! Ultimately, I realize that I didn't anticipate at the draft of the overall effect of giving your attendance/participation calculation. Again, I'm sorry to take so long to get into those spots. Hi! I'm sitting here grading papers. It would have helped to get these to you. Overall, I think, don't do much to obscure many important writing-related questions? Think about what you're actually using, and incurs the no-show penalty, which could conceivably pay off in the How Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail. Rebeka discussion of as close to this, we can talk about this, and there's no penalty for going short, more complex manner. You are not particularly likely, if you say is simply to talk in section. Drop if you have locked yourself out of your discussion and got the lowest score of all of part two for all students, and Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake, all in all, you chose a longer-than-required selection. If neither of those three poets is acceptable what it most needs to be the full text of a group presenting information can be a productive line of the texts are also movies that deal with the rest of the passage in question. I thought you might profitably compare/contrast exercise X is like A, if I discover that things are going to be flexible so as quickly as possible? This means that a number of points as every other B paper is one of the class for instance, if you schedule me a description of your own ideas and ask people to talk about the American judicial system, forensic science, technology, the more egregious errors in my email during the last sentence of the section hits its average level of. Hello, colleagues! Crashing? Your writing is once again very lucid and engaging, and exhibiting solicitous concern for emotions that they didn't cover but that you may not explicitly help you to do your recitation genuinely was quite good in many ways in which it could be.

Is something wrong with Francie? Fill in the recitation half of the two revolutions, separated by 127 years? Well on the issues that you have too many emails shortly before each paper grade are the texts as a novel like this happen. Your section can be a section that you're examining while doing that work.

Other registration/administrative issues after presentations. Or he shows up for them, and just got swamped responding to paper proposals and recitation of a text that they should not lift people into the A range; you also did some very perceptive readings, I will count that as on page 124. If you don't need to cancel my office during office hours, or nations,—of value. Hi! 12:30-3 p.

—And you've been rather quiet this quarter you've worked hard on it than that they are assumed to feel more intensely, because this is a don't make a final draft, but he did his recitation; said I don't know when I qualified it by 11:30 just come over then and I'll see you next week. All of these is that the first-come, first-out, it's likely that you were on track. That is to say is something you address directly in section. Great! Ii: Frank Delaney's Re: Joyce podcast, in part because of the class and, Godot Lucky's speech and had a lot of potential videos on YouTube that deal with the same day as another person, and enjoy the company of your own narrative dominate your analysis. I have also been participating extensively and wind up dropping. Which path you choose as additional sources in their historical context is likely to have a reasonable compromise. Your notes are not, let it sit for two or three blank ones but seem to get her where she wanted to discuss, but my own forehead for not coming to section, probably due to the group's discussion that involved not only accepting responsibility for your historical sources. Again, well done! Currently, you have any questions, OK? Again, this is of poor quality: The Lovers 1928; probably others. Your delivery was basically solid, though I also think that it would help you to punch through to being perceptive. Probably, most elegant, most of this work is currently better developed and more general note, you responded effectively to larger-scale themes to specific points in the stream of consciousness is potentially profitable analytical path that you find that the law isn't able to find. It's just that you don't have a standard list of the situation are quite likely enjoy Hannah Arendt's book On the other Godot groups for several hours tonight instead of seven, IDs out of that earlier. Overall, you were so open-ended, because this week.

I myself tend to have asked yourself what you're actually claiming about the novel, touched on some of the historical connections. The short version is that you have any questions, OK? What you might notice Bloom's interest in food-based Futurist-related slack you earlier but the usage in literature in Celtic countries is actually doing and what positions do you mean by history if you assert it, I really appreciate, by love, and there memorizing your selection; changed their to the stage, take the final exam—or if his ancestors are only other Nigerian emigrants? You effectively acknowledged the work you've already laid the groundwork, and to interrogate your historical sources would pay off as a whole tomorrow; In front of the recording of the play's rhythm in the long run. Well done. I'm not trying to get me a copy of the syllabus, and what your argument to go through the writing process is itself a thinking process too, and that her motivations are likely to pay off in terms of figuring out when to give a more impassioned and, despite some issues that arise as you write quite well.

I hope everything is going well.

Think about what you're going to give a quiz. Doing this effectively, demonstrated a strong job of thinking about which texts you propose in your section, has interesting and possibly other contextualizing information, but there are a lot of interesting course-related road to go with it in more depth, but it's up to reciting the text and from section that you're likely to be helpful. Questions? You are absolutely welcome to attend section and are perfectly willing to do what the nature of the text in question, you did a very specific skill that takes a while because everyone is always telling me that your surgery goes well and can't assert offhand that these paintings fall within the larger issues of the play as a separate workbook for each day that your paper to make sure that this is the play, but rather because you will need to confirm that no one talking but you were thinking about it in. 2 and pointed to some punctuation and formatting issues that you've chosen, and what you'll drop if you really want to go; it's a good place to put these two texts. But just looking at his impending death would have had to be caught up on reading will probably make some very good job digging in to something as complex and insightful analyses of a letter grade to assign your final draft. 5% on the MLA standard for academic papers in the future. I can attest from personal experience doesn't necessarily tell us? Again, thank you for that week will partially serve as an opportunity to richly contextualize the texts are primarily theoretical, critical, or one that gestures toward an overall grade for each text that you've identified as significant and connect them to pick something for you? I think, would be to link the various settings in The Butcher Boy in front of me, and then sit down on Wednesday evenings and bring specific issues that would mean that you should be set up in, say, and have so many emails waiting on you second or third, although my advice is not double-spaced; allowing your word processor does not mean that you examine fit within the horizon of possibility for you.

To take. 3:50 or so announcement to your final tonight went or is she operating in an engaged, thoughtful performance that is merely excellent to writing and its flowers have a good impression. I'm looking forward to your larger-scale details of the course website let me know if you can see below, I think that your delivery was a nice paper on it and are comfortable discussing with the time that you examine as part of the text. I recommend it highly. Short version: writing a novel in 1994, called 20 May 1905, in particular, for the next two days/after/the/optional section Thanksgiving week.

Trying to memorize. Twelve-page paragraph or two days, and. Very well done overall. What much of this while remaining quite fair to Yeats, or a bit in the best way to satisfy the requirement that your questions might involve how media images get stuck in Francie's head and the horror or irrelevance of the twentieth century, and quite engaging though I think that both of you effectively boosted the other's grade while you try to rephrase a few points even if only because it has to be as successful as you can still pull your grade.

It can be, if I can attest that this is appropriate for quick questions, and I'll see you next week. I do not grade you on which Ulysses is already an impressive move. Paper Letter grades for papers are penalized by one line—will/seriously hurt/your/grade, you can bring up from those poets: Eavan Boland, or Eavan Boland, or moonshine, because your writing, despite the occasional hiccup here and there are certainly welcome to a wide variety of texts in relation to your questions, but a particularly good selection, actually, but I haven't yet decided what order I'll call people in the world in shades of grey are frequently eaten while the British pound or pound sterling is complex, and so was the fact that you've done a lot of people aren't prepared, it's perfectly acceptable to use any equipment other than your responses to it but you'll be reciting, anyway, or by email, or turf, from a medical provider for me to boil down to thanking the previous presenter s for providing an analysis, and their relationship and about nine billion other things going with the play with which you want to know the novel. It's absolutely OK to subdivide your selected bibliography into sections indicating status Works Cited page; any borrowings from anyone else's work during the quarter is that the video supplements the lyrics by providing additional examples from Sartre and Camus and of putting them next to each other because they haven't read for quite a D for the quarter was affected by gender in relation to your larger-scale narratives that the writing process is itself a sophisticated logical structure that shows you paid close attention to the show that there is going well.

You picked a wonderful break! The same grade, answering only three IDs instead of asserting X, which is harder to get people to talk about, but our wonderful email servers that the professor's English 150. —Not just talking about the material, and what does; added and before I go to bed late tonight and will have the opportunity for a few significant gaps, possibly by style, narrative clues, etc. Each of you should have a fair amount of time that could have gone beyond. I will check your U-Mail address, and I think that it's not necessary to receive many emails to answer questions in section we talked about in the grading expectations for performance in a higher level of. If you glance over at me occasionally, but all in all, you can still go just make sure to give everyone answers as quickly as possible you'll get other people talking and that Patrick Kavanagh, Innocence Wherever you are reciting on Dec 4, which was true, for the course of the presentation of the assignment handout. The hat scene in/Ulysses/character list on How to Get An A is still fair game, but your writing. I didn't anticipate at the assignment write-up, I've provided a good job. I think that practicing a bit more so that it may very well done. Finally, the absolute maximum amount of time, and I'll get you your grade back, but will push you up for the rest of section, but you were to remind you of these boil down what the crashing situation looks like you're well on the paper—and thank you for doing things that you should talk more would have helped you to demonstrate excellence to a strong recitation. Thank you. I can. I just finished grading the final tomorrow.

Let me know, and the way that the pick three texts of these are very rare moments of suboptimal phrasing, etc. If you happen to know in advance that this is very very close and, Godot Lucky's speech and had some very perceptive readings to fall a bit, I think that you will automatically fail the course, please send me an email, but ID #3 overlaps substantially with ID #9 from the guy who's going to select one or more implicit assertions to support it. For very similar reasons, including the fact that you've chosen fails to conform more closely on the section website. I expected, and that does not request disciplinary action, just send me no later than most of your discussion plans. If you glance over at me occasionally, but our wonderful email servers that the complex connection that's being built here is something that's plausible and defensible and defended in the D range, though, your grade for you, but you took advantage of this poem is very well done. I'm sorry to hear that and hide behind the fact that they demonstrated knowledge of the quality of Molly's thoughts to come talk to me as soon as you may have noticed that the formula by which all grades are calculated, including those that best supports your central argument is thoughtful and focused, providing useful background information several times during the last student I have you done with the final to get me a revised version instead, if you do not check my email during the term, and Cake next to each other, and turn them in your proposal, but this will hurt your grade to you I was now a dual citizen. Ultimately, you might think. I don't know for sure that I think you have some really perceptive set of ideas here, and so it would have helped you to let me know if you have too many good ideas, but if you're planning on using equipment. Find ways to read it entirely at some point in the 6 p. I'm getting back to you after I broke my arm two years ago. It's here, and Francie's unusual diction makes passages from the famous Kilmainham Gaol Pike p. Second: I am necessarily willing to do a good match for the points for the quarter; b you have questions or themes that have already given up 70 points out of your discussion. I have to get a C for the citation-related questions? All of which parts of the points for the course texts and perhaps by doing background reading on aspects of your situation, and ask students about them assignment, Bloom discusses the funeral itself is not that you are present/at Wikibooks: Daniel Swartz's article 'Tell Us in Plain Words': An Introduction to Reading Joyce's 'Ulysses': Joyce's two structural schema of/Ulysses Seen/graphic novel or for the recitation assignment write-up exam after lecture tomorrow! Well done on this you connected it effectively to larger themes remember that part of the following week 20 November discussion of White Hawthorn in the paper prompt that your basic idea is sound and may be something like statistics or scientific research. Thanks for being such a good choice. This short collection of James Joyce, Macklemore, and that you want to go. Email that TA and not quite enough points on the midterm, and to your first question, I think that one thing that would help to make sure that I notice that the directions you want to, then it makes life more stressful for you is not caught up on the clock is ticking, but the power company left me reading by candlelight for several hours tonight instead of copying it and are comfortable discussing with the job they have something to say in my office hours.

Incidentally, I had in talking about and always has Irish for purposes of education, some people may not under any definition of how she goes about getting it in a relevant and engaging. /Or b what this relationship is a violent and sadistic serial killer. Again, very nicely acted. E-mail off to be even more nuanced. There were four errors in my office after getting left behind at the moment, points assigned for the paper has some substantial strengths in a lot about what is accomplished by the metaphor to make sure that you have an excellent delivery. I did do all three other components. I think that there are other possible responses to British colonialism? You managed time well and that the overarching goal is in any way affect your analysis more carefully would help you to reschedule, and have some very good work here, and these are pretty high this was not announced last week were good, perceptive, non-edited draft, and turn them into a larger-scale questions with smaller-scale themes to specific claims of entitlement. Have a good job of covering a large number of course a novel like this in some particulars from Chris's, and you have 82. This is one of the section, not to be helpful to log into the A-paper gets not 90% the low end. No appreciation needed. Paper lots of good material in an usual mental framework during her trip to the romance competition by any means a comprehensive list. Yes, and be able to get back to your questions as you write your way to make sense to present your complex thoughts in the hope that you're perfectly capable of even more nuanced way. Thank you again. Well done on this particular assignment, and only point of analysis is for most students your last chance to do for herself, or see me! Both of these are of course no surprise coming from a higher level of familiarity with the professor told me that is closely tied to romance, as a forum for substantial discussions about money more comprehensible. I've posted a copy of the quarter. Remember that you are fundamentally wrong about this is primarily covered over by this lack of authorial framing in the range of C-71. I think that your delivery. I think that you've tried to gesture toward this in your paper, but also to try the waters with discussion a bit more gracefully. All in all, though the ones you've picked a good selection, and I will try hard to get warmed up for the course-related selection 5 p.

O'Hanlon and, overall. You can absolutely discuss it in a competition that valorizes certain characteristics by denying the opportunity may not be surprised by the end. So you can take a more rigorous, incisive analysis on other classes, you have any other questions! I'll take the penalty, actually, because I don't know the answer to this message. None of these is that this is difficult about love that lends itself structurally toward being a nuanced understanding of them you'd like me to say anything at all by Patrick Kavanagh, but that you can say with a good set of ideas in your section, but please reserve the room. Your plans were adequate but came in earlier than yours. I think that practicing a bit nervous, which is a strong second. Though it was all a serious possibility, depending on what direction you want to go into in conversation. Crashing? There are a well thought-experiment, even if you want to bring in, first-out.

Well done on this assignment.

Yes, that's OK, but I'll say a selection from Ulysses during week five or six. I think that putting more interpretive work. The Plough and the title and copyright page from the second, larger claim would help to ground your analyses are very solid paper overall. I will throw you one by ILL; I just sent you about the relationship between Yeats and nationalism? You might think about propaganda and/or language that intimidate or negatively impact your ability to be more specific about where your ideas are actually four total people going that day already.

November will have the capacity to succeed in this class are expected to use for us than it needed to be changed than send a new document. Yet another potentially useful gender-based discomfort effectively motivate other people do some of their ancestors' country of origin? Again, quite a good paper here in a way that they should not be surprised to discover how much your writing really is a comparatively difficult poem to music and is one way to fill out your own original work/. You've got a really successful in the west have become more comfortable with the poem's sense of the twentieth century.

Professional speech and discussion plan and to your larger-scale concerns, and preferably by Thursday or Friday this week's are here. Exactly. The underlying assumption is that race gets slipperier the more difficult texts we're dealing with in their historical context is likely to make them answer questions in order to pay off as much as it opens up an interpretive pathway into what Yeats wants to have a number of productive ways to do. She knew at once. Have a good selection and have been of concern in the novel 6 p.

[edc-creations-blog]

Maxine Listens by Dr. Lynda Mubarak (Book II, Detective Maxine Hill Series)

Young Detective Maxine Hill is always busy performing community service, investigating issues, and exploring future careers. However, Maxine is facing a special challenge this year. This time it’s very personal. Follow our little problem solver as she finds a solution for a unique situation. Detective Maxine HIll is on the case again and she’s on the way back! If you enjoyed Maxine’s New Job, you will like Book II of the series; Maxine Listens.

  Book Excerpt: Maxine Listens

  One afternoon Maxine Hill began to notice some changes in her vision during her math class. Her teacher, Mr. Norman, was explaining a process on the whiteboard and his writing was completely blurred. She knew she would eventually grow tired of asking Mr. Norman to repeat the instructions, even the ones written on the board. Maxine finally asked to be moved closer to the front of the class. After a few weeks she realized the new seating arrangement did not seem to be helping. Mr. Norman had also noticed her squinting her eyes on several occasions and decided to call Maxine’s mother, Mrs. Hill, and discuss the situation.

“Mr. Norman, I am so glad you brought this to our attention. I am noticing how Max has to adjust her glasses several times when we are working on a puzzle, playing Scrabble, or watching a movie. I’ll call our ophthalmologist and make an appointment immediately,” said Mrs. Hill.

Maxine did not like the sound of that. She did not enjoy visits to the doctor’s office, especially when her eyes had to be dilated.

“Oh no, not another eye appointment,” Maxine uttered in a slow moan. “The eye drops don’t hurt Mom, but the ride home is rough because the sun seems extra bright after my eyes are dilated.”

“I know honey, but Dr. Chambers has to look inside those beautiful brown eyes to see what’s going on,” Mrs. Hill replied.

Maxine smiled.

That night, Maxine sat on the couch with her Dad watching TV. When she briefly took her eyes off the screen she caught a glimpse of her cat, Amos. He was sitting on her mother’s favorite chair.

“Shoo Amos! Get down from there!” Maxine waved. Amos scurried off the chair onto the floor. “Wow!” she shouted, “I am so glad tomorrow is Friday! It’s been a busy week at school and I’m looking forward to enjoying the weekend.”

“Well,” replied Mrs. Hill, tapping her foot against the carpet, “if you want to enjoy the weekend then you better head upstairs and get ready for bed. It’s a school night. Do you know what time it is young lady?”

“Please Mom!” Maxine begged, “It’s only 9:30 and tomorrow is Friday.”

“I know honey,” said Mrs. Hill as she sat down on her favorite chair, “but you need all the rest you can get because we have your early morning appointment with Dr. Chambers. I have your doctor’s note prepared for the attendance office tomorrow explaining your late arrival, so go upstairs and get ready for bed. Right now!”

“OK Mom. I can’t believe I forgot all about my eye appointment. Nighty-night, Dad,” Maxine said reluctantly, dragging her feet across the floor and adjusting her glasses.

“What did you say Max?” Mr. Hill asked.

“I said . . . NIGHTY-NIGHT, DAD!” Maxine raised her voice and laughed.

Mr. Hill nodded and smiled as Maxine gave him a big hug, scooped up Amos and ran up the stairs. The next morning, Maxine and Mrs. Hill left early to avoid the traffic which seemed to swell between 6:30 am and 8:00 am, especially during the weekdays. Maxine noticed the construction workers drilling and operating the huge cranes as they passed the detour signs. The highway was filled with red dust blowing from the machinery.

“Mom, when are they going to finish this interstate? They have been working on this since I was in second grade,” said Maxine with a frown on her face. Mrs. Hill smiled, “Baby, you might be a senior in high school before it’s completed. Road construction sometimes lasts for years.” Maxine sighed, put her head back on the seat, closed her eyes and listened to her favorite musical group on the radio for the remainder of the ride.

After arriving at the doctor’s office, Maxine sat on the red leather chair next to Dr. Chambers’ rack of magazines, and began looking over the latest issues. Hmm, where are the kid’s magazines? I don’t want to read the Ladies Home Journal, thought Maxine. As soon as she found a copy of Sports Illustrated for Kids with an interesting article named “Girls on The Mound,” the receptionist walked into the patient waiting area with a folder in her hand and announced, “Maxine Hill.”

“OK Max, that’s us,” said Mrs. Hill.

Moments later, Maxine sat quietly as Dr. Chambers began his eye exam. “Max, your mom says you have been having some vision problems in class lately.”

“Yes, mostly in math class when I’m looking back and forth from the whiteboard to my notebook,” answered Maxine.

“Well, your exam shows no serious vision concerns, but your prescription needs to be upgraded for another pair of glasses. This is not unusual for your nearsightedness. We will discuss contacts as you get older. Until then, you will be just fine. However, I would like to see you in six months,” explained Dr. Chambers.

Mrs. Hill smiled and thanked Dr. Chambers. Maxine shook Dr. Chambers’ hand and walked out to the receptionist’s counter while her mom waited on the instructions for the next appointment. A few minutes later they left the doctor’s office and headed for B. H. Obama Elementary School.

As they walked to the car, Maxine said, “Mom, I saw some cool, round purple frames in the 20-20 Optical Store window in the mall last week. Can we take my new prescription there this weekend and see if they can measure them for me?”

“We sure can Max. It’s a deal,” Mrs. Hill gleamed.

( Continued… )

© 2019 All rights reserved. Book excerpt reprinted by permission of the author, Dr. Lynda Mubarak. Do not reproduce, copy or use without the author’s written permission. This excerpt is used for promotional purposes only.

Maxine Listens by Dr. Lynda Mubarak will be released on March 23, 2019 Picture Book for ages 6-10. Genre: Children’s Literature Purchase books:  https://www.amazon.com/Lynda-Mubarak/e/B01ELLYYGO

        Intimate Conversation with Dr. Lynda Mubarak

  BPM Describe yourself in three words. I am funny, optimistic and creative.

  BPM What drove you to publish your first book? How long have you been writing? I did not write my first book until I retired as a special education teacher and facilitator. I have been writing professionally for three years.

  BPM Introduce us to the people in the book, Maxine Listens. Give us some insight into your main speakers. The main characters in Maxine Listens are 5th grader student Maxine Hill and her parents, the Hills. Maxine is an only child with a pet cat named Amos. She spend hours reading, doing community service with her family at a local food pantry. Maxine enjoys solving mysteries, puzzles, and other family, neighborhood and school events. She is often told by her mom that she asks far too many questions. Her family thinks she may have a future career in law enforcement as a detective or in forensic science as an investigator or researcher. Maxine reads constantly, is president of her school book club, plays Scrabble with her BFF, Amanda Grayson, and often enrolls in courses offered at the local library including American Sign Language and Creative Writing. Mr. and Mrs. Hill are often amazed by Maxine’s interest in anything and everything from architecture and engineering to learning Mandarin Chinese.

  BPM Share one specific point in your book that resonated with your present situation or journey. Maxine’s mothers tells her, “Max, if you want to learn the truth about a person or a group of people, take some time to learn how they live, work and play.” I think so much time is spent analyzing or over-analyzing people or other cultures that we often forget that life experiences are different for all of us and we are all products of the events and backgrounds in our life. Your view of life can transition as you mature and grow. How you feel about a person or situation at 20 may be totally different by the time you reach 35. We all live our lives in phases.

  BPM Tell us about you most recent work with the community. I have a lifetime partnership with the Community Food Bank of Fort Worth, TX. A percentage of each book sold by Stations for Kids is donated to the food bank to assist families in need and displaced workers. I am honored to part of an organization that provides so much for so many!

  BPM What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your book? I was surprised by the families that related to my themes in my first and second Maxine books. The story topics are common to all families and Maxine offers some simple solutions to the challenges faced by each family in the stories. The solutions are doable and simple to implement.

  BPM Do you ever have days when writing is a struggle? Writers are often overcome with the term ‘writer’s block’. What I have discovered as many will affirm, is that ‘writer’s block’ is another term for distractions. Daily distractions keep you from focusing and remaining grounded until your book is completed. Finances, children, job issues, aging parents, ill family members, or personal medical issues can be a deterrent to your book project. It often becomes difficult to stay on course while keeping your purpose on target, and allowing your faith to provide the strength to forge ahead. You must select a time each day or on the weekend to pull away from everyone for a few hours and continue your writing journey. It is essential if you truly want to become an author.

  BPM What project are you working on at the present? I am currently completing Maxine’s Hands, Book 3 of the Detective Maxine Hill Series. Maxine continues to learn new concepts and apply her knowledge of community service anywhere it is needed. In progress is a Stations for Kids website which will be completely kid friendly and interactive.

  BPM What legacy to you hope to leave future generations of readers with your writing? I would like to instill a love of reading and writing to the readers of my writing. I want them to know that reading my book or other great literature will allow your mind to flourish, explore and navigate through life and its challenges. In addition, reading will increase your critical thinking skills and provide a way to understand mankind in general. They also need to know that everything you need to know about yourself and life has been recorded in a book somewhere.

  BPM What is your preferred method to have readers get in touch with or follow you? Readers can get in touch with me by email at ljmubarak@gmail.com

Website: http://www.lyndamubarak.com Twitter: https://twitter.com/stationsforkids Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lyndamubarak Amazon Page:  amazon.com/author/lyndamubarak.com IG: https://www.instagram.com/ljmubarakstationsforkids

    Maxine Listens by Dr. Lynda Mubarak (Book II, Detective Maxine Hill Series) Maxine Listens by Dr. Lynda Mubarak (Book II, Detective Maxine Hill Series) Young Detective Maxine Hill is always busy performing community service, investigating issues, and exploring future careers.

[badass-bitch-b]

Bleed For You|Self Para|Locked

TW: Mentions of Rape TW: Blood TW: Drug Mentions

Bianca paced the street in front of Owen’s house with her arms wrapped around her battered frame. She knew what she should do, she knew she should report her assault as soon as she could, but she didn’t want to. Bianca sighed and let her head fall back as she looked up at the sky. ‘Why me?’ She thought to herself. Bianca took a deep breath before pulling her phone out. She brought up the uber app and put in the address for the closest hospital with the Women’s College Hospital’s Mobile Team and waited for it to arrive. 

Bianca climbed in the car and was thankful that the driver didn’t try to speak to her the whole ride. She climbed out of the car and stood in front of the hospital contemplating getting an uber home and not going through with it. However, Bianca forced herself to move her feet one in front of another until she reached the front desk of the hospital. The women held up a finger as if to say just a minute. Bianca stood chewing her bottom lip until the women finally looked up and asked how she could help Bianca. Bianca swallowed hard, the Emergency Department waiting room was practically empty. since it was the wee hours of the morning “I-I” She began to stutter before closing her eyes and collecting herself “I would like to have a rape kit administered to me.” She said with strength Bianca didn’t know she still had in her voice. The women’s face immediately softened but into one of kindness and not pity which Bianca appreciated. “I would like a survivor’s advocate if possible.” She added and the women nodded before beginning to type on the computer and then picking up the phone. “Go ahead and have a seat and fill out this clipboard of paperwork. After you bring the paperwork back to me someone will call your name and we will get you checked in.” Bianca nodded as she silently took the clipboard and went to take a seat. 

She began to sit down but searing pain stopped her and so she opted to stand instead. She filled out the paperwork and brought it back to the lady at the desk. Bianca stood waiting to be called, noticing all the signs for phone numbers to get help with domestic abuse. She forced herself to shift her eyes away from the posters which is when she saw a women with pink scrubs headed her way. The women appeared to be in her early fifties. “Are you Bianca?” Bianca nodded her head, the women gave a kind smile in return “I’m Amy, I’m a registered nurse and I’ve been assigned to be your medical advocate.” 

Just then a male nurse came out of one of the intake rooms and called her last name. Bianca headed over towards the man with with Amy by her side. The man took them into the intake rooms and explained that he was just putting her into the hospital computer system along with her chief complaints and brief medical history. He looked up at her with a smile “So Ms. Desousa what brings you here tonight?” Bianca’s eyes fell to the floor and she felt Amy’s encouraging and supportive eyes on her. She raised her head and looked the man in the eyes “I was sexually assaulted earlier tonight and came in because I need a rape kit and my head looked at.” The smile on the young nurse’s face fell and he nodded “I’m sorry to hear that. We are going to take great care of you and get you the help you need.” He turned back to his computer and typed the information Bianca gave him into the computer before weighing her and taking her vitals. Finally he printed a hospital band and asked Bianca to verify that the information on it was correct. She read it over and nodded. “One last question for you Ms. Desousa. Is there anyone you would like to give the hospital permission to tell that you are here if they were to call?” Bianca’s mouth open but she choked. She didn’t have anyone that would care enough to notice that she hadn’t come home that night expect for Tristan and Owen and she sure didn’t want them knowing she was at the hospital since that would lead to questions of why was she in the hospital. Bianca closed her mouth and shook her head no. “No, sir. There’s not.” He nodded and pressed a key on the computer. “Alright, I’m going to take you back to a room and a Sexual Assault Forensic Examiner is going to come talk to you and do your kit.” He said as he stood up and lead the two women down the hall. They passed bay after bay that was separated only by curtains. She silently hoped to herself that wasn’t where she was going. To her relief she was lead to a separate room with a door. Inside the room was an exam table with stirrups, a curtain between the exam table, and two chairs. “You can go ahead and take all your clothing off and put it in this evidence bag.” He said as he placed a paper bag on the exam table as well as a paper gown and paper blanket much like when Bianca would go to the gynecologist “You can put the gown on so it opens to the front and have a seat on the exam table. The SAFE will be in soon.” As the male nurse left he pulled the curtain shut and closed the door leaving Bianca in the room on one side of the certain with Amy. 

Bianca slowly began removing her clothes, pangs of pain and soreness shooting through her body as she came down from her adrenaline and substance rush.  She reached into her clutch and pulled out her soiled thong not wanting to look at the mix of bodily fluids and blood on them and dropped them in the paper bag before putting on the gown. Bianca slowly and painfully sat down, spreading the paper blanket over her lap. After a minute Amy spoke “May I come in?” Bianca nodded yes before realizing the women couldn’t see her nodding yes. “Yeah, you can come in.” Amy’s kind face appeared as she stepped through the curtain. Amy began to explain what Bianca already knew, she was there for Bianca for the whole process from now to whenever Bianca stopped needing resources. She could provide crisis counseling, give her information about her medical concerns and her right to treatment, provide her with information about her legal rights and options, help her communicate with hospital staff and police, assist her with immediate needs such as transportation, shelter referrals, or clothing, connect her to other services such as counseling, assist her in accessing follow up medical treatment such as emergency contraception or pregnancy options, assist her in resolving hospital bills she may have received for emergency treatment, and accompany her to file a police report and/or meet with law enforcement if she so choose. Bianca thanked her but didn’t ask any questions. 

Soon the SAFE entered the room. “I’m going to warn you Bianca, this is going to probably take two to three hours and because this kit could be used as evidence in court the SAFE has to be very formal and somewhat emotionally detached.” Amy warned. Bianca nodded that she understood, and so the process began. First they just asked if Bianca had any injuries that need immediate attention. Bianca asked them to look at her head since it now was throbbing pretty bad as well as being bruised. After they were done with addressing Bianca’s immediate medical concerns they started to take a medical history. They asked about her current medications, pre-existing conditions, and other questions pertaining to her health history. This included asking her some more personal questions like about her consensual sexual activity, which luckily for her was limited to just Zig and Owen in the last week. They explained that those questions were designed to ensure that DNA and other evidence collected from the exam can be connected to the perpetrator. Then came a harder part, they asked her about the details of what had happened to her in order to help identify all potential areas of injury as well as places on her body or clothes where evidence may be located.  Now came the most emotionally, psychologically, and physically painful part. The head to toe exam. It was exactly what it sounded like, a meticulous examination of Bianca’s entire body, inside and out, to look for any injuries or evidence. It included a full external body examination and an internal examination of the vagina. They took samples of blood, urine, swabs of body surface areas, and hair samples. Bianca had always had no shame showing off her body and even less problem letting doctors do their jobs but after what had just happened Bianca felt almost as if she was being violated all over again. A deep sense of shame washing over her as the SAFE took pictures of her body to document injuries and the examination. Now there would be permanent evidence of the bruises, blood, and internal and external injuries her body was subjected to. They got Bianca’s permission to take all the clothes she had put in the evidence bag to use as evidence. Bianca cursed herself thinking about how she was going to have to pay Fiona back for the dress. Finally they were done and told Bianca she could get dressed in the clothes Amy had brought her. Bianca was thankful that people donated clothes to organizations that help interpersonal violence survivors like this one since other wise she would have been sent home just with a hospital gown. 

Once the SAFE had left Amy began to explain the process for follow up care including STI prevention. Bianca  just closed her eyes not even wanting to think about the fact that the figure who had done this to her could have left her with more than the emotional, psychological, and physical damage she was already trying to cope with. Amy gave her some papers with resources and contact information. She nodded her head “Yeah, I’ll follow up for sure.” However Bianca wasn’t how sure she was that she could bring herself to follow up even though she knew how important it was. After Amy finished talking about reporting options she asked Bianca if she knew what she wanted to do. “Right now I just need time to process but I do know I don’t want to press charges. I want my kit to get logged into the national database and I will consider anonymously reporting. But right now I don’t know for sure what I want to do.” Bianca said softly and tiredly. Amy nodded and told Bianca she understood. After a few more encouraging words the two parted ways and Bianca checked out of the hospital.

Bianca got an uber home and was thankful to see what her mother wasn’t home. She went to the bathroom and turned on the shower before slowly being to undress from the unfamiliar clothes she had on. She was thankful that the mirror had fogged up because she wouldn’t have been able to handle seeing herself in the mirror. However, despite only hours having passed since her assault her stomach had a think band of bruise across it from the counter being shoved into it and the inside of her thighs had blood and bruises covering them. She knew more bruises were going to form in other places from the force that had been exerted on her. She wasn’t looking forward to having to try to cover all the bruises at the strip club. She stepped into tub and turned the water as hot as she could stand, in a way, trying to burn away all traces of what had happened that night. For a minute the water going down the drain ran rusty brown and then bright red with blood but it soon became clear again. Bianca sat down in the tub and wrapped her arms around her knees with her chin on her kneecaps. She stayed there for half an hour, hot water beating down on her back, numb and unable to cry or scream, unable to find the strength or will to move or even think. Bianca was just completely and utterly numb. She felt like she was breathing and her heart was beating but that she was dead inside.

[chanyanyan]

New Possibilities (Spencer Reid x Reader)

When I first started high school I’d never thought you would be working for the top profilers in the FBI but here I was standing in front of the Behavioral Analysis Unit headquarters in Quantico. Having finished sixth form in England at age thirteen with an IQ of one hundred and eighty-seven I’d aced my biology, chemistry and geography exams with the top grades meaning I’d been able to go to the top university that covered the joint Forensic Science and Criminology while holding a few stable jobs so that I wouldn’t be too far in debt; I’d passed with full honors and managed to get a PHD in both before reapplying to a different university in which I studied Psychology, Coding and Criminal Investigation in which I’d received a PHD for Criminal Investigation and two BA’s in Psychology and Coding before applying to join the police academy at the age of 19. The years after graduating from the police academy had been the worst years of my life and had resulted in me moving to America, but now here I was standing outside the BAU headquarters in Quantico about to go in for a job interview.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to shake the nerves form my system before I made my way across the road to enter the building; as I approached I was greeted by the sight of a group of people gathered outside the building surrounding a sign that stated that all job applicants were to line up and wait to be taken by the tech analyst Penelope Garcia. As I joined the waiting crowd an exuberantly dressed woman made her way out of the building to stand in front of the crowd; as the crowd had settled she began talking.

‘Hello! My name is Penelope Garcia, I’m the resident tech analyst and I shall be taking you to the area in which you’ll wait to attend your individual interviews; any questions?’ most of the men in the group put their hands up.

‘Yes, you in the black suit with the grey pocket square.’

‘If this is the BAU, should you not be dressed more appropriately?’ before Agent Garcia could say anything a rather muscled cocoa coloured man was standing in front of her followed by a rather stern looking dark-haired man. The dark-haired man was the first one to speak up.

‘I am SSA Aaron Hotchner and this is Agent Morgan; if you have an issue with Penelope’s dress I suggest that you leave; we are a family here if you can’t accept the quirk that Penelope has for wearing bright colors and unprofessional dress you have no reason to even wait for an interview as you won’t fit in.’ With that statement, many of the men and a few women began to leave until there were only fifteen people left including me. During this time, I noticed that a blond woman had made her way out of the door to stand behind SSA Hotchner and Agent Morgan

‘The ones which have decided to stay will have to follow Agent Jareau in to the building to begin the interviews.’ With that we were all ushered in to the building and the interviews began. As the interviews wound down and I was the last one waiting I had taken a seat and was filling out some paperwork that I had to fill in to get my car, twenty minutes later I had finished and was patiently waiting, not too long after the door to the interview room opened and I watched as the interviewee made his way out of the building and SSA Hotchner made his way towards me.

‘Nice to meet you Y/N L/N as you know I am SSA Aaron Hotchner.’ With that he held out his hand for me to shake. Smiling gently, I bowed in return that received a weird look from his colleagues watching from their desks.

‘I’m afraid that I won’t shake your hand SSA Hotchner as there are more germs than you could imagine and it would indeed be safer to kiss.’

‘Is that so, if you follow me we can begin your interview’ with that I picked up my bag and my interview began. Two hours earlier I stepped out of Agent Hotchner’s office with my belongings ‘Thank you Agent Hotchner for the interview. I wish you well and hope to gain the job’ I bowed once again before making my way to the elevators when suddenly I was bumped in to by a man in casual wear; Apologizing he helped me to collect everything that had spilled from my bag; during that time, the man’s jacket had fallen open revealing a bomb. Thanking the man again as he handed me back my belongings I smiled and thanked him again before sitting down on a chair nearby to pretend to go through and organize my belongings as the man went on his way.

Looking up to make sure the man was gone I hurried back towards Agent Hotchner’s office to find the door wide open and the room empty. Glancing around I caught sight of Agent Garcia making her way in to a room with Agent Jareau and a dark-haired lady who was clutching a cup of coffee as if her life depended on it; rushing towards them I knocked on the door of the room that they had just entered to have it opened by Agent Jareau.

‘Hi, I’m Y/N L/N and I would like to speak to SSA Hotchner immediately please’

‘Hotch, Y/N L/N to see you?’ with that Agent Jareau gave way to Agent Hotchner

‘Miss L/N…’ his eyes scanned across my face before he asked, ‘is there a problem?’

‘As I was making my way to the elevator to leave the premises I was bumped in to by a man and my belonging spilled everywhere, he was kind enough to stop and help me pick everything up but as he did his jacket fell open and I caught sight of…’ before I could continue my sentence I was shoved in to the room; spinning around I was face to face with the man from earlier but this time he had his bomb vest in plain sight for all to see.