#how dare u make such an accurate accusation

[biitchcakes]

@neonwebs said: ❛ you snore in your sleep. it’s adorable. ❜ // ( accepting )

❝ Snore in my — no, I don't, ❞ Jessica snaps at him, albeit playfully. Truth be told, being informed she was sleeping soundly enough to snore was a nice change. She could feel that change, too ⸺ knowing she slept better though the night when he was by her side. ❝ I can't believe you'd lie to me like that, Miggy. Trying to pass your snores off as mine, ❞ she teases, mock hurt and offense in her voice.

[kittyspring-creates]

Fixtures, side A: Larry

Red, bright and wet filled Larry's vision. Late at night in his dreams, early in the morning on his way to school, In the afternoon while he helped the spirit committee, late when the sun settled and the working class marched home. Red in it’s darkest form, so intense he could almost taste pennies on his tongue. Red in it’s purest shape, a set of candy shorts and Mary janes. Wrapped around bouncing legs draped in polka dot stockings. He searched for it, watched it, fallowed it. Drank up every tremble of the pink shoulders. His prey’s tension pulling his attention. It made something in him roar like a beast. 

Though this time he wasn’t the cause of her terror. In this intense, in this quiet library filled with zombified students and sleepy teachers. His kitten’s squeak was clear as water. On the other side of the shelf he was pretending to look at book titles on. He took a long step to the end of it, effortlessly appearing on the other side. Spotting the woman that held a thick book in her hand. Along with a teacher. The action that caused the smaller to shake and freeze in her spot unknown. But a fairly accurate assumption could be made by the smirk on the olders face. A sight that made Larry growl from the rage filling his stomach. Another dirty old man trying to get into a teens pants. A mundane thing he normally would of ignored and walked away from. But the heat in his chest made that hard to do. The flex of his muscles, gearing up for a fight he wasn’t sure he’d even start. His jaw aching from the force of his clench. Red, the only thing in his sights. The tense vibrancy of the color calling to him. Beckoning him, seducing him into something. He waned to answer, to obey even if he didn’t know what that would mean. 

Before he did, that siren song of a voice rang out. Just when did she turn around to face the superiors. “How dare you, what gives you the right to touch a child. Because they have a body. Is that all it takes to excite you, do you have no shame, no morals. Clearly not if your running around smacking teenage girls bottoms.” She hollered, getting a few on lookers from the distance. Despite her loud voice, she trembled where she stood. Her hands shaking beside her. The strain in her arms to keep them in place so clear. Perhaps the teacher didn’t notice. But Larry did. He gripped the steel shelf, clawing at it. Keeping himself still. The man babbled to her, trying to brush off her accusation. She’d run now, Larry believed. Run like a frightened little kitten. Her tail held high with her ears pressed to her head. Maybe knocking some people over. He bet she was fast, athletic despite not being in any sports. 

She didn’t though. Instead she took a step forward like she had done to him when he said something she didn’t like. “It’s the innocence's isn’t it, the idealism that you have all the power and your beloved girls have none. So you can make them do whatever you want because they don’t know better. Well I’ not some hussy for you to tap whenever you want. You can’t touch me like that, I won’t let you. And I’ll be damned if I let you get away with it” her voice was louder, her shaking more violent. But again the man didn’t seem to notice. He had backed u to the shelf from her getting to close to him with her righteous talk. She turned on her toes so she was facing the rest of the library. “Mister Clerk smacked me, he made a pass at me” she called out. The man yelped and another teacher came into view. 

Larry left the scene. He stepped out before he was spotted. Making his way out of the library that was now filled with shouts and shaming phrases being passed at the male. He had never seen someone stick up for themselves like that. To be so obviously terrified. With there held jaw, weak knees, anxious tremors, gasps for air. Yet still hold their own, make someone else accountable for their actions instead of running away. To continue despite their fear. Oh and fearful she was. She must have thought she was alone n that corner with a man much older then her. Touching her. It made him both amused and angry. The amusement he got, he had found watching her be afraid was one of his favorite pass times. That in some twisted way he found joy in it. Like a thirst that wouldn’t quench. But the rage he felt about the other being the cause of it, putting his hands on her and causing her to paralyze for an instant was new to him. Why did it make him feel to violent. Like he wanted to tear the other apart with his teeth for even looking at the woman. 

His contemplation didn’t last long when the door near him opened and out walked the alluring figure. She walked the opposite way from him. His feet moved on heir own, fallowing her before he could take in her back side. She jumped when his chain rattled. Snapping her head to look up at him, as if she knew it be him. He couldn’t help the smile at the idea. “Oh he-hello” she spoke out in that broken way she always did when starting a conversation. “That was crazy, that man in there. The scene you made” Larry jumped right into it, ignoring how the woman looked around the hall. But there was no one else. She halted and turned as if to run away. “Hmm yes well, if you let people get away with things how will they be accountable for their actions” she hurried out. Larry slammed his hand against the wall, stopping her from taking off in the direction she was glancing towards. Her eyes fell on him, those wide bright eyes with her shrinking pupils. It made him want to get closer. Till her whole world was just him, till he was crushing her with his very being. He settled for touching her. Raising his hand to cup her neck. Spreading his fingers up her jaw and through her hair. Feeling the way she shook. It be so easy to grip and choke her. It made him take in a shaky breath. “You’re so cute” he began, taking in the way she raised on the wall. As if backing up would somehow break it. Her peachy cheeks dusting a little more red. Always red. “Terrified and shaking, it makes my heart pound” he grinned wide as she shrank down. It made him feel so prideful, that he was the one to make her freeze, to make her shake, to have her looking at only him. Would she snap at him, Would she run, what would she do. All the excitement, anticipation made his body buzz. 

Kit lowered her head, moving ever so slightly to the left. Her sights never leaving him. She opened her mouth and he waited for her loud voice. But instead she lurched forward and bit his hand. Startled by the sharp canines he jumped back. “Ow” he let out, looking down at his nearly broken skin. Her teeth marks lining the curve if his thumb and finger. He tilted his head up quickly, seeing her still standing there with her hands on her hips. “Complements are always welcomed, but never when it’s threatening. You don’t just put your hands on someone's n-neck” she yelled out, her voice echoing down the hall. She hmphed then hurried to the library again. Despite her false confidence she was scared. Searching for people and security in the moment. Her body gave that away. Her swaying tail and lowered ears. Her uneven voice. Larry hurried down the tiled floor. Rushing to the bathroom. He kept looking at the purpling spots on his hand, the sensation of her teeth on his flesh. It made all his itchy move south. The heat in his shoulders fallowing until he broke out in a slight sweat. He slammed open a stall door. Ignoring the running feet of whoever was inside the room. He was to focused on the way his veins were visible beyond his injurie. How any harder and she would of drawn blood. 

* 

explicit ns/ fw

It wasn’t the hand he liked to use but he needed it. Throwing down his zipper he shoved his injured hand inside. Gripping himself. Tugging and pulling in a harsh manner. His vision filled with red as the heat traveled through him in waves. The over whelming need. The color drawing him, pushing him against the door. He raised his arms to grip at the top. His hips jerking forward, his mouth held open as he tried to breath. Losing the battle with the water, taking it into his lungs. Letting the hot liquid enter him, with the words Kit on his lips. The sensation over whelming to the point he was pouring it out. Spilling all over the toilet and floor. He gasped out despite being in the water. Covered in red, with an over whelming heat surging through him. The woman's being flashing behind his eye lids as he tilted his head down to the space. To the teeth marks lining his skin. 

*

Blood. He wanted it, wanted to taste it off her, off himself. This wasn’t just passion. An odd power play. A need to be better or stronger then another. it was a desire. Strong and crushing. A over whelming obsession. It was love. Larry was smitten by this little kitten. Hopelessly and completely in love. 

[dogbearinggifts]

What did u think of allison in the scene with ben’s funeral? Like her talking back to her father. I figured she would have just kept her mouth shut bc she didn’t seem to have a best relationship with ben?

Maybe not, but sibling relationships are complicated even in healthy households. You might’ve heard people with siblings say you can want to kill them one minute, but then kill the person who’s picking on them the next? That’s a pretty accurate description. Siblings will snitch on you and have your back, tease you and comfort you, ignore you and laugh with you—often all in the same day. 

I don’t know if Allison and Ben had a good relationship or not, but a bad relationship wouldn’t have made his death any less traumatic. If anything, his funeral would’ve reminded her that she would never be able to make amends. She would’ve had years to think about how she should’ve treated Ben differently, how she could’ve been kinder, arguments she should’ve let slide and pranks she should’ve laughed at rather than getting angry over—and at his funeral, all of those feelings would’ve been raw and jumbled together. 

Enter Reginald. Instead of comforting his surviving children or—you know—actually eulogizing his dead son, he uses Ben’s funeral as a chance to berate his siblings and blame them for his death. He accuses them of cowardice, tells them they let Ben die (and if he wasn’t even close enough to supervise the mission, this would’ve been even more enraging—because how dare he tell them what happened when he wasn’t watching?). At this point, it doesn’t matter what kind of relationship Allison and Ben had—this is too much. Their dad is running his mouth, pouring lemon juice all over their fresh wounds, straight-up lying about what happened when they already feel guilty. 

Honestly, the only thing that surprises me about Allison’s reaction is that she waited as long as she did to speak up. 

[majorxmaggiexboy]

 Watching (one of) the Three Musketeers Musical(s) - first 30 minutes

i

okay if i understand correctly he just said “Good evening, sir and madame, and welcome [something something]” and then another person says “I say, are they going to do the whole [bally?] announcement in French?” and another person says “I hope not” and then the French Speaker continues, “We are here [something something...i think i caught ‘pret’...ready?] France, [something something] Premier [something something]”

There are goat noises or something happening in the background idk

Ah! “I think he’s saying something about Gascony”

i think we’re on d’Artagnan’s family’s farm then

it’s 1625, April, apparently

i can’t even pretend to be able to keep up with whatever just got said

they’re giving instructions for what to do if there’s an emergency during the show.

they just said not to record anything X’D i think this is probably a proshot tho so it’s not Super Ironic?

Les Trois...Mousqutaires- Mousk- Mousketai- however it’s spelled en Francais idk rn but they just said the title >:}

already know i will not be able to finish this thing tonight bc it’s like two and a half hours and it’s 10 pm and my wifi hates me and doesn’t want me to be happy

they’re sponsored by comcast

the other two voices just dragged the French Announcer Person and said “didn’t think much of his accent, did you?”

ppl are yelling now and it sounds like a fight is happening

this man looks like Mr. Jonas Armstrong’s Robin Hood hey

there is zero background music or anything they’re just fightin and yellin and laughing and there are people just milling about like. it’s a weird vibe ngl

oooh i’m feeling the look of that Shirt. that’s Very Nice.

the boots are So Tall they make the Trousers look Super Weird tbh

That Was Strange. We’ve got blue lighting and some Music now

i think d’Artagnan just won the fight but like, ultra delicately.

they’re all kind of passing this sword around...by the blade...with kind of awed expressions? it just took like three people, all practically up on each other, to hand this man a sword.

ooh it’s The Family Sword okay

OOP THAT’S HIS DAD

d’Artagnan and Grinpayne are in the same category right now

oh nooooo it’s Book!d’Artagnan

the mom’s like “you’re pretty much all set to go get your ass kicked on the daily so i’m preemptively giving you some medicine for the wounds you will Inevitably receive”

“eVERY WOUND?” sir please calm down

if y’all don’t stop yanking on that poor offscreen horse

abruptly we have reached a Song and The Man Can Sing

hashtag let d’Artagnan say ‘maman’ and ‘papa’ 😔🙌

he cute

THE MAN IS A HORSE THE MAN IS A HORSE LIL DUDE JUST HOPPED UP ON THIS GUY’S SHOULDERS LIKE IT’S NOTHING I’M

HE’S GETTING A PIGGYBACK RIDE TO PARIS WHAT

HIS HORSE IS LITERALLY  JUST TWO PEOPLE AND A ROPE

HE LOOKS SO SMUG ABOUT IT

this is completely absurd dude’s just casually singing while riding on this guy’s shoulders

HE HAS A HAT HE HAS A HAT HE HAS A HAT

ohh god now he’s like fully on this dude’s back like an 8-year-old and it looks Ridiculous i’m wheezing

“what the devil is that” I KNOW

they managed to make the Insulting The Horse thing Extremely Uncomfortable negl

he gave the ‘horse’ a sword

the horse is now three people

now he’s riding...a ladder???? and looking completely unimpressed?

youre facing the wrong way dude

i’m gonna need that dog barking sound to stop immediately u-u

umwhat

they’re dragging the horse again. “That horse, sir, is one of the family” “I Can Well Believe It” OOOOOH

shjdshgsjhjsk the way he just slapped that glove onto the ground. the flair. the finesse. the dazzle

i see the Rochefort situation has a little extra Something Something in this version

the height difference X’D

oh yeah it’s gonna be Like That i guess

where’d the height difference go :O

this is the calmest and most gentle beatdown i have ever witnessed. i can’t even describe what just

the tenderness of that murder that just went down

um

“*gasp* Could Treville Have Set This Young Idiot Against Me” X’D

oh this is super weird what the heck

slap him as you walk by, Roachfort, i dare u. do it. it’ll be funny.

Dammit

THE INNKEEPER HEARD ME

just smacks d’Artagnan in the face with a rag “wELCOME TO THE PINECONE INN” iconic

MAN DID YOU JUST

d’Artagnan’s really just out here ‘simping’ for every woman he sees huh

i like that he looks thoroughly confused bc it’s v Accurate

that was the single dumbest smile i have ever seen in my life please do it all the time

this man is dopey as hell

“I’d go and have a rest if i were u” “REST????!!!!” my guy please chill

okay now this one kinda slaps

i’m only fifteen minutes in what kind of alternate time continuum is this existing in i thought it was at least the 30 minute mark

TREVILLE  TREVILLE TREVILLE HI

kay i am Here for this Aramis hel to the lo my good sir

treville’s so mad he got the line wrong

it’s okay Treville i love u sir

“Athas”

d’Artagnan is Smol and Bi and Severely Alarmed and if that aint a mood...

OwO

d’Artagnan’s fully like Hi We Haven’t Actually Met But You Will Be Forced To Adopt Me

is there no one other than Rochefort who can Height Difference. am i to be left cold and Wanting as with the Bee Bee See. u-u

is someone’s phone ringing

oop Rochefort has been sighted. yes my good sir i need you to come back and be taller than d’Artagnan.

Treville “if you want to be a musketeer i’m going to need you to be a good boy and not participate in dueling or shenanigans” d’Artagnan, immediately “brb i gotta go fight that dude over there”

Athos has him by the Wrist(tm)

ATHOS CALLED HIM A PUPPY

THE HEIGHT DIFFERENCE IS VERY SLIGHT BUT I WILL TAKE WHAT I CAN GET SIR

the tone of this setting up of a duel is. very special.

y’all about to tango or what with this music?

OOF

i was skeptical about this d’Artagnan but he’s kinda adorable tbh good job Mr. Tveit

THE CAPE INCIDENT

Oop Porthos called him a dog

“How fast one grows up in Paris! A moment ago, I was only a ‘puppy’!” DID YOU REALLY JUST

Porthos please

this Height Difference might be kinda Good

he thinks fighting Athos is going to take 30 minutes to an hour XD

He’s just a little cupcake god bless him i do love a good Absolute Moron :3

“What have I done now?” awwwwww

“I may be late, myself, by then” can’t believe this dude won my heart in 22 minutes u-u

awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

“If I die at least it’s clear, I’ll be killed by a musketeer” 

“oh but all the girls I might have loved if only i’d been spared :(” he’s so dumb i love this guy

“Ah, merde” HE SAID IT HE SAID THE THING THERE YOU GO BUDDY

this is officially the one true d’Artagnan.

Athos can you please stop prowling around him as he sleeps it’s a little uncomfy my guy

awww he slept in the gardens where he expects to get Murdered

“If I kill you, Treville will accuse me of infanticide” ATHOS

ohhhhhh he’s going to diiiiiiiiie

he smol

“Monsieur Athos has the right to kill me first, which makes your claim, Monsieur Porthos, far less interesting. And yours, Monsieur Aramis, practically worthless. :D” i love him.

oh heck the jacket’s coming off

“I’d like to fight with my doublet on. My wound has begun to bleed again, and I shouldn’t like to taunt you with the sight of blood you yourself haven’t drawn” ATHOS

come on and wreck some stuff Rochefort

Athos: “three against five and i’m not at my best :(” d’Artagnan “Umm there are Four of us actually :D” les inseperables: “BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA”

“Go back to Gascony. I have no wish to kill you.” “But I have every wish to kill you” D’ARTAGNAN

height difference >:}

ooh Athos liked that

the fights in this show...could be...Better...

the fights are...the Worst...

*slides the actors a $5* pls try to kill each other for real

(to the Inseparables, after helping them fight off 5 of the Cardinal’s Men) “And now, Gentlemen, I am ready for You” oh honey 

current verdict: hate the way the fights are done.real slow start. the songs are Okay but Mr. Tveit could sing a phonebook and i’d  gladly listen. d’Artagnan is Adorably Dumb and Chaotic and a complete Disaster and i am having. A Good Time With This. 

[dduane]

Are there wizardly politicians (speaking in the strictly Earth sense, as I imagine that voting for a wizard for President might actually be a good thing in certain locales where the Art is practiced openly)? It seems like a profession that wizards, being confined to telling the truth, might have a hard time with.

It’s a near certainty (merely in terms of the law of averages) that there’d have to be at least some politicians worldwide who’re wizards.

But I think perhaps a bit of confusion has slipped in here. It is entirely possible for wizards to lie in their “milk tongue”, or any other local language they prefer, that isn’t the Speech. If you’re working in the Speech, yes, you’re stuck describing the universe as it actually is. So that will render life more interesting for politicians working in places where the Speech is used as a language of discourse. Elsewhere? Not so much: not necessarily.

Wizards correctly have a preference for telling the truth whenever possible, as (a) they understand via the Speech the essential need for accurate communication and (b) it’s just so much simpler. (Because [unlike writers, for example…] you don’t then have to waste large amounts of useful energy trying to remember which lie you told.) But sometimes there will be situations (some acute political crises, for example) where one realizes that lying will increase entropy, but not lying will potentially increase it more. In cases like this, each wizard gets to make the choice that seems best to suit the situation at hand. (Nobody ever said this was going to be easy…)

There’s another assumption here that also needs a closer look: the idea that politicians must necessarily, as a matter of course, lie. I’m not saying that this isn’t all too routinely accepted as the truth these days. But there’s an ethical issue buried under this, compounded by a procedural one.

The question is, for each given politician: “To get someone’s vote, will you lie to them?” The quality of the “no” (I’ve never heard a “yes” in public yet: let me know if you have) immediately starts telling you something specific and revealing about that given politician. The more they fudge (or qualify) the answer, the more you start learning about them and about their ethical system. (Not to say that politicians won’t say “Of course I wouldn’t lie!” At which point you start examining their past records to see if this holds up. But the qualifications also will be revealing.)

Now, leaving the separate issue of power to one side – because some people really like power over other people, and will do or say whatever they have to to get it – inevitably, even the best-intentioned politicians are going to say things about a given issue at one point and say different things about it at another point, because circumstances change. The question then becomes: Did they genuinely change their mind after consideration of an issue, or did they simply “change horses”  because they suddenly perceived that the horse they were on was going in an unpopular direction? [Cf. the Tony Robbins thing going on at the moment,] 

And – even if a politician did change their mind after careful examination of their position on an issue – consider too how inherently hostile modern political discourse is to a politician standing up and saying “I’ve changed my position.” Even if they’ve done the right thing, they’ll instantly be accused of being unreliable, untrustworthy, of making “U-turns.” And under such a statement, to many listeners, lies the unspoken (but assumed) one, “I got something wrong…” which no politician ever wants people to hear. Because after all, who votes for someone who sometimes gets something wrong? Like, I don’t know, someone human? (eyeroll) (sigh)

…I should stop now because my schedule for today doesn’t really include a long dissertation on the psychology of politics. But briefly: A wizard running for office would tell you as much truth as they dared, and keep quiet about things they’d otherwise have to lie about (or tell two different groups of people two different things about – because pretty much by definition, no politician serves just one master.) There are always competing portions of one’s constituency wanting things from you, sometimes completely opposing things. If a wizardly poitician got things wrong, they would do their best to set them right. They would act honestly to represent their constituents’ interests, and if personal ethics mean they find they can’t do so, they’d leave office.

Not much more to say about that except that adding wizardry to some problems does nothing but make them more interesting problems. :)

HTH.

[a-splash-of-stucky]

I Know This Game | Four

Pairings: Bucky x Foster!Reader || Loki x Foster!Reader

Summary: You have some more epiphanies, after making some unpleasant discoveries.

Warnings: Language, sexting (mentions of). A N G S T

Notes: I didn’t really know what I was doing with myself for the second half of this part, so apologies if it’s a bit abstract and weird.

IKTG Masterlist

He’ll never stay, they never do

You go to Loki’s dresser to pull out one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers to wear as your pyjamas for the night. You don’t often stay over at his place, as you like to arrive at your office fairly early in the morning to squeeze in some paperwork, or prep yourself for the clients you’ll be seeing during the day. Because you don’t typically spend the night, you only have your bare essentials here — a toothbrush, some makeup wipes, your medication, things like that. Hence the need to borrow his clothes, although Loki’s penchant for buying particularly soft t-shirts may also contribute to that.

After slipping on your borrowed sleepwear, you head over to your side of the bed, feeling utterly exhausted after a long day at work and ready for sleep. You’re already cozied up under the covers when you remember that you’re supposed to be heading into your office tomorrow morning, as you have a rescheduled appointment with one of your patients. You’d need to get up pretty early, in order to have enough time to nip home and change into fresh work clothes. You look around the room for your purse, intending to retrieve your phone and set an alarm, before groaning frustratedly when you realise that you’ve left it in the living room.

“Loki?” you call, raising your voice so that he can hear you over the pitter-patter of the shower.

“Yeah, babe?” he replies, voice sounding a little echoey as it bounces off the tiled walls.

“Can I use your phone to set an alarm?”

“Sure, go ahead,’.

Loki’s phone is charging on his nightstand, so you roll over to the other side of the bed to get it. You hit the button on the side to turn it on, then punch in his password.

He’d left his last app open and running, so it’s the first thing you see when his phone unlocks. It’s a messaging app. You’re about to press the home button, not wanting to pry into the private conversations he has with his friends, when the last few messages catch your eye.

SC: We still on for this Monday, right babe?

LL: Yeah. Gf says she’s got clients the whole day.

SC: Sweet!! Can’t wait to see u xx

You wonder who the fuck this SC person is. And, more importantly, why they’re calling him ‘babe’. Surely that’s a pet name used more commonly between people who are…friendly with each other? The person talks like a woman, but you know better than to jump to conclusions so early.

Your gaze flickers over to the closed bathroom door. The shower is still running and, knowing Loki as you do, you estimate that he’ll probably stay in there for a good five minutes before coming out. You don’t want to snoop — you’ve never been that type of girlfriend — but something about the tone of these messages is making alarm bells ring shrilly in the back your head.

Another glance over those three messages only serves to heighten your unease. You have no problem with Loki spending extended amounts of time with his friends, but something about this seems shady and suspicious. You’d like more information, but are reluctant to stick your nose into his private affairs.

You chew your bottom lip, deliberating over your little dilemma. Surely it can’t hurt to have a quick peek? But then again, you want to trust him. Relationships can’t function without trust, right? You desperately want to think the best of him, but the teasing, flirtatious undertone in those three short messages have created a yawning hole in the pit of your stomach that you just can’t fill with any amount of reason. Hopefully, you’re just overreacting, and reading too much into something otherwise insignificant. You pray that this is not what you think you is, but your gut instinct is telling you otherwise.

You register the time stamp at the corner of each text box. The brief exchange was made about an hour ago, so you would’ve been at his place at the time. What the hell was Loki doing, messaging another girl with you around?

Okay, maybe that thought was a little self-centred and dramatic.

You try to recall what the two of you had been doing at the time. It’s a difficult challenge — given the fact that your mind has been wandering off and focusing on other things this entire evening — but to the best of your memory, you think that you and Loki were probably chilling in front of the TV and having dinner.

The penny drops.

You remember telling Loki about your upcoming week at work, and mentioning something about having back-to-back sessions on Monday. His phone was in his hand at the time, so he probably sent it then. That in and of itself is not incriminating evidence, you rationalise. There’s nothing wrong with him texting or messaging other people whilst in your presence — in fact, he’s completely entitled to do so — but the whole situation just seems a little too sketchy for your liking.

Your thumb hovers over the screen as you hesitate. Do you really want to scroll up and read the rest of these messages? What if you don’t like what you see? What would Loki think if he came out and caught you snooping around his phone? Millions of questions race through your mind. Though you doubt yourself and second-guess your actions, you can’t deny the uneasiness gnawing at your stomach.

You scroll upwards.

You make several discoveries.

You find out that ‘SC’ stands for Sharon Carter. From the ease of conversation, it’s clear that Loki has known her for a long time. The playful banter being traded back and forth indicates a casual familiarity between them, like they’re more than just friends from work, or something.

(There are other pieces of evidence to suggest that they’re far more than just friends, but you aren’t ready to process them, just yet).

They’ve been messaging each other almost every day, often multiple times a day. You think that in the last week alone, he’s spent more time chatting to her online than talking to you in person. To your dismay, you find several messages of a similar nature to the first few you saw. Nearly all the exchanges between them are flirtatious in tone, dripping with innuendo and highly, highlysuggestive. Sharon is apparently a big fan of the kissy face emoji. There are multiple discussions of plans to meet up, all tailored around your work schedule. You feel slightly nauseous, knowing that your boyfriend is making arrangements to see another girl behind your back. Admittedly, it’s not the first time that such a thing has happened to you, but past experience doesn’t make thisany better.

Nothing could prepare you for the pictures.

They’re revealing, to say the least, although ‘revealing’ could be interpreted in a couple of different ways, in this instance. It is perhaps more accurate to say that you uncover several highly explicit photos, taken with the clear purpose of teasing the other person. She’s sent Loki several pictures over the past few weeks — ranging from nude selfies, to shots in the mirror, to snaps of her in various stages of undress. You lose all hope when you learn that he’s responded in kind, sending her a number of scandalous pictures of himself over the past month.

It’s sickening to see.

The pictures are not, in fact, the worst of it. What’s more terrible — the thing that really makes you want to hurl — are the erotic and lewd messages that accompany them. They’re such a blatant proclamation of his infidelity, you wonder how you haven’t noticed any of the other signs before.

You sigh heavily. Of all the things to happen tonight, the universe just had to screw you over again.

You feel like your emotional wounds — barely healed from your time with Bucky — have now been re-opened, the stitches harshly yanked apart. Metaphorical blood spurts from the gashes.

With the bitter taste of bile in your throat and your heart threatening to thump its way out of your ribcage, you set Loki’s phone back down on the nightstand, proud at the way your hand remains so steady. Suddenly feeling very much awake, you get out of bed and pad around the room, collecting your discarded articles of clothing. You strip out of his shirt and boxers, feeling more than a little bit disgusted by the fact that they’ve touched your skin, and change into your rumpled work clothes.

Loki comes out of the shower just as you’re pulling on your shirt, a towel slung low on his waist and dripping wet hair plastered to his scalp. Rivulets of water meander down his sculpted torso. There was a time where looking at that gorgeous, toned body made you weak in the knees. Now, as your eyes drink in the sight, you feel strangely emotionless, indifferent to it all.

He’s confused when he sees that you’re dressed. “You’re not staying the night?” he asks.

You say nothing, avoiding his gaze as you do up the last few buttons on your shirt. Sensing your discontent, Loki timidly steps towards you. “We’re good…right? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” you echo, keeping your tone cool and detached. “What’s wrong is the fact that you and Sharon have a thing going on that you forgot to mention to me,” you say, placing your hands on your hips and jutting your chin out defiantly, daring him to deny your accusation.

His face goes deathly white. “How did you—were you snooping through my phone?!”

You shrug nonchalantly. “I asked to borrow your phone to set an alarm, didn’t I? I open it, and guess what’s the first thing I see?”

Loki sighs in frustration, scrubbing one hand over his face vexedly, before stepping towards you. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t what you think it is,” he says, reaching to take hold of your hands.

Furious, you snatch them away, and cross your arms over your chest defensively. “Like hell it isn’t,” you snarl, “I read those messages—,”.

“You had no right to!” he protests, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Fine!” you exclaim, “Fine, I did something I shouldn’t have, I’ll accept that, but you—,”. You narrow your eyes and jab your index finger into his sternum, “I implore you tell me that what you did was less wrong than what I did,” you growl quietly, venom lacing your words.

Loki breathes deeply through his nose and presses his fingers to his temples. “Y/N, can we talk about this properly? In the morning?”

“We’re talking just fine, I think,” you spit, “Besides, it’s painfully clear to me what you want, and that is not me,”.

“Yeah?” he scoffs, levelling his gaze with yours so that you can see the barely-restrained rage in his eyes, “Well, you know what? No one would want you anyway, not with the way you’re obsessed with your precious Bucky,”.

Overcome by fury, fatigue and a whole host of other emotions, you crack the back of your hand across his cheek. Loki staggers back and clutches his fingers to the stinging skin, staring at you in disbelief. Your palm throbs, but it’s a kind of pain that makes you glower with pride.

“Don’t you dare speak about him like that,” you say sharply, your tone containing enough threat to make him take a step back. You step towards him and he pales even further, if that were possible. “Even at his worse, he’ll still be worth more than ten of you,”.

“See? Even after he breaks your heart, you still scurry after him like a lost puppy,”, Loki sneers, trying to look as intimidating as he can despite the fact that his cheek is still smarting. You see right through his facade, though; from the panic in his eyes, it’s clear that he is downright terrified of what you might be capable of.

“Stop making this about me!” you roar, getting right up in his space so that your words have the highest impact. He’s tall enough that you have to tip your head back to look at him when you’re this close, but you derive some twisted satisfaction when you see the flicker of fear in his expression. It pleases you no end to know that you can make a grown man cower under your gaze.

“How long have you been sleeping with her?” you ask quietly, voice coming out strangely calm and collected, betraying none of the sorrow clinging to your heart. Really, your tone is the exact opposite of what you feel like internally: a complete wreck, emotions descending into utter chaos.

“Look, Y/N, it’s nothing serious between Sharon and I—,”.

“No?” you interrupt, feigning surprise. “Sending each other nudes, and saying I love you or I miss you to each other every damn day, that isn’t serious? You do that with just friends, huh?”

He doesn’t have anything to say to that.

“I think I’ve seen enough,” you grit out, blinking your eyes rapidly to stop the sudden onset of tears from spilling out. You’re proud to have made it this far without falling to pieces, but know that your limits are being tested. Your tough-girl mask is seconds away from crumpling. “I’ll pack the things you’ve left at my place in a box and leave it at the front desk. Any of my things here, you can just throw away. Don’t call me, I don’t want to speak to you,”, you say briskly, adopting a business-like tone.

“Y/N,” Loki says desperately, sinking to his knees and trying, once again to take hold of your hands. You let him this time, but quirk an eyebrow up to signify your lack of amusement. “Y/N, please, please let me make it up to you,” he murmurs, green eyes searching your face for any hint of a possibility for redemption.

You school your face into a neutral expression. “I don’t know why you’re even trying to make things work with me,” you say, completely unaffected by his words or actions. “It’s clear to me that she’s the one you really want. I’m not even sad to see you go,”.

“Baby—,”.

“Goodbye, Loki,” you say curtly, “Have fun with Sharon. You deserve each other,”.

He nods dejectedly, recognising a lost cause when he sees one.

You take a page out of Maria’s book, turning sharply on your heel and striding confidently out the door. You make a quick detour to the living room to retrieve your heels and your purse, before grabbing your coat off the hook and leaving his house for the last time, feeling only the tiniest bit upset about it.

It’s not that late when you leave his building. A glance at your phone tells you that it’s just a little after nine. You should probably take a cab home, or maybe head over to the nearest subway station, but the night is clear, and you figure that taking a walk will probably do you some good. Loki’s place is not that far from the apartment you share with Wanda and Peggy anyway — it’s a journey that’d take just a bit under twenty minutes.

You walk at a brisk pace, hands shoved into your pockets and head bowed to the crisp night breeze. The rhythmic click-clack of your heels lulls your mind into reflecting about the crazy day you’ve had.

After several gruelling consultations, you’d received that infuriating email from Christine Everhart (aka world’s most notorious journalist-bitch). It had been a lovely surprise to receive a call from Jane afterwords, though. Talking to her had helped you to calm down somewhat, but seeing the boys in Bangkok on that news clip only served to bring a whole slew of memories front and centre in your mind. You’d hardly been able to stop thinking about Bucky this whole evening. Then there was the god-awful sex with Loki.

Your body shudders at the thought.

And now this? Discovering that your boyfriend has been cheating on you for who-knows-how-long? Yeah, the universe really does want to give you hell tonight. This whole day has left you more unsettled than you’ve been in a long time. All you want to do is go home, curl up in bed with a nice mug of tea and sleep for an eternity.

You’re in a pensive mood this evening, and the walk home provides you with the perfect opportunity to go back to examining your love life. The train of thought you were on at Loki’s place had been interrupted by the whole cheating episode, but now, amidst the hustle and bustle of the Brooklyn streets at night, you can finally go back to your musings.

And I, I know how to play I know this game It’s all the same

Your epiphany in Loki’s bathroom has given you a deeper understanding of your attitude towards love and relationships. Initially, you’d wondered whether your tendency to allow yourself to be ‘used’ by your partners was a result of your inner masochist deriving some perverted form of pleasure from being manipulated in that way. Now though, you’re more inclined to believe that you’re not so much willing to let yourself be trampled on, but rather, resigned to the fact that it’ll inevitably happen, because from your experience, that’s just part of the life cycle of a romantic partnership.

A couple is walking towards you, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, his head tilted in her direction. You see the smile flickering on his lips as he listens intently to whatever she’s saying. Watching them, you realise that that is what you love. You love the idea of love. You adore the so-called ‘honeymoon’ phase; being showered with gifts and attention, not being able to get enough of each other and of course, having a whole lot of sex. You get a thrill from playing the game of love, because every time you switch up the players, the game takes on a whole new dimension. It ensures that your life is constantly evolving.

What saddens you is the fact that although you enjoy playing the love game, you’re not actually that good at it, as evidenced by your string of failed relationships. The gambles that you take are never worth the risk, as they leave you feeling even more sorry for yourself than before you got into the relationship — a feat in and of itself.

You don’t know how to win at this game.

Maybe that’s because every time the players change, the rules change, so what you thought to be true in your last relationship may prove to be utterly false in your next one. Things are made even more difficult when the other player is a cheater, who doesn’t play by the supposedly ‘established’ rules at all. When they reveal their hand, you feel as if someone’s yanked the floor out from under your feet and left you flailing in midair.

When drops of rain start to fall from the sky, you turn up the collar of your coat and start to walk a little faster. You almost laugh out loud at how impeccable the timing is. The universe has literally decided to give you the perfect setting to complement your downcast mood.  

As you turn onto your street, you become conscious of the fact that your love life really is quite predictable.

You’ll find a guy you like in a bar, or maybe a coffee shop, give him your number, and schedule a date. The two of you will find a few things in common and you’ll feel mildly hopeful that this time, things’ll be different. Soon enough, you’ll engage in some hot and steamy sex, and a few weeks — or if you’re lucky, months — will pass whereby everything in your life is good, you’re happy with each other and you truly believe that this’ll work out.

Then, something will happen to burst your blissful bubble. More often than not, you’ll get cheated on; why do you have to end up with all the cheaters?

You chuckle mirthlessly. Even though you’ve been played so many times, you never seem to be able to spot the signs. In the aftermath of your loss, the power of hindsight will make all the signals glaringly obvious, and you’ll curse yourself for being such an idiot. Love really does make you blind, it seems.

The relationship will end in an unsurprising manner, usually with you confronting your boyfriend. The two of you will exchange some heated words, and then you’ll storm out the door. Textbook example: your break-up with Loki fifteen minutes ago. They always say the same thing, you realise, drawing more and more parallels between your past relationships. Why do they always say the same things? Usually, they’ll always include some version of “This isn’t what you think it is,” or “Just listen for a sec, okay?” and of course, your personal favourite, “Y/N, please don’t go,”.

You wince when you recall Bucky saying those exact words to you — how his bottom lip had wobbled and the corners of his eyes had brimmed with tears.

Bucky had been the one to break your trend.

You can’t help but think how different the rules were when you were playing this game with Bucky. Things had been a lot muddier then, your positions on the board far less clear because you had had a professional relationship with him before you took a leap of faith and decided to let him in romantically. Your relationship with him lasted far longer than any of your other ones ever had — you got well-past the honeymoon phase, settling down into a comfortable routine around each other. You’d ‘levelled up’ in the game of love, so to speak, and treading in this new territory was both exciting and nerve-wracking for you.

Maybe the fact that you let things get so far with Bucky was the reason why, when he pulled the floor out from underneath your feet, the fall was particularly hard. He’d taken you up so high, you’d lost sight of the ground. More importantly, you’d forgotten what it felt like to face-plant into it.

In the end, you muse, your break-up with Loki was to be expected. There was nothing new, or particularly novel about it. As you arrive at the main entrance of your building, you come to the same conclusion you made earlier, in Loki’s bathroom; all your relationships really are more similar than they are different. The features of the ending never change: heartbreak, regret and rejection, in addition to bucket after bucket of tears. True love really was only for Hollywood movies.

Even though Bucky had led you to believe otherwise.

—————————————— Tags are open, but I’m only accepting requests via asks or PMs. Tag requests from replies/comments will be ignored.

[lynfantasy]

This is YOUR fault!! -- fanfic

For Lotor Week 2017 @voltronweeks Day 2: Broken (sorry this is a day late) AO3 link

Summary: Lotor was honestly minding his own business, just walking around campus at Voltron University, when a random girl ran into him. It really wasn't his fault her laptop broke, but, well, it's easier to just agree when a feisty redhead girl starts yelling at you.

Genfic, no shipping, Lotor & Pidge (platonic)

Human AU, College/University AU, fluff

Rated for general audiences

Warning: cursing, yelling

I’m sure that this prompt was meant to be deep and/or angsty, but have a broken laptop instead. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

To be fair, it really wasn’t actually Lotor’s fault, but, well, when a feisty redhead girl screams in your face that it is, there’s really no way to fight that. It’s far easier to just… go along with it. Case in point: Lotor was minding his own business, walking through campus at Voltron University at a brisk but unhurried pace, certainly not fast enough to pose any real risk to anyone traveling at a reasonable speed.

Unfortunately, one particular girl was flat-out running straight at him, and Lotor did not have time to do much more than slow down before she directly collided with him. Lotor took a step back to avoid falling, but he was otherwise unaffected. The girl didn’t fare quite so well; her own momentum had caused her to bounce off of him and fall on her backside, and her unzipped backpack and its contents were sprawled across the pavement. Her round glasses sat askew on her nose, and the flannel shirt tied around her waist had been shifted down to her hips as she’d slid back slightly in her fall. When she moved her arms, it was clear to see that her elbows had been scraped up pretty badly, nearly to the point of bleeding. She groaned in pain as she gently shifted her weight, trying to get up.

Lotor offered a hand to her and said, “Oh dear, are you alright? You should really be more careful, running around campus like that.”

Her expression turned sour at the implication that the incident was her fault (which, to be fair, it really was), but she accepted his hand, so Lotor gently pulled her up to her feet and helped steady her, only letting go of her hand once he was sure that she wouldn’t fall down again. “Thanks,” she muttered as she brushed herself off and set her glasses straight, “but I was being careful enough! You need to watch where you’re going too, you know!”

Lotor felt… strangely uncomfortable. At his previous university, no one would have dared to speak to him like that, but he didn’t have the same reputation here at Voltron University that he did at Galra University (for a good reason – he rather hoped, actually, that no one would make the connection between Lotor Imperator, son of President Zarkon Imperator of Galra University, and Lotor “Sincline” here at Voltron University). He froze for a moment, biting back a harsh reply and composing himself before saying, “I do apologize for my speed; however, you underestimate your own. I did see you right before you hit, but I simply did not have enough time to properly react.”

She glared at him with fury in her large, honey-colored eyes. She was probably trying to intimidate him or at least make him feel the force of her wrath, but she mostly just looked rather cute and child-like with her wide eyes behind her large glasses. Her short, reddish-brown hair was doing her no favors either as it fluffed around her round face and made her look pretty adorable. She reminded Lotor of an anime character or a particularly grumpy kitten.

She glared at him for at least five seconds before she finally broke eye contact with a huff and said, “Fine, whatever. Can you at least help me pick up my books?” Without waiting for a reply, she began gathering her stuff and shoving it back into her too-small backpack.

Lotor began to help her gather up her books, but he’d only picked up a few when he heard her cry of dismay. He looked over to see her gingerly picking up her obviously-damaged laptop. She opened the screen to reveal cracks spread across the screen from the lower right corner, emanating outwards like rays of light while twisting and branching like lightning. It would have been almost beautiful if it wasn’t such a costly loss.

“Damn it!” the girl yelled. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck…” She carefully pressed the button to turn it on, and her expression was simultaneously relieved and pained when the screen came on, illuminating the cracks but proving that the computer itself still worked aside from the broken screen. She gently closed the laptop before taking her flannel shirt tied around her waist and using it to wrap up the broken piece of tech to protect it from further damage before sliding it into her backpack. She then turned to Lotor with an absolutely enraged expression. “YOU BASTARD!! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!!”

Putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender, Lotor took a couple steps back as the girl marched over to him. “Please, calm down,” he placated. “This isn’t my fault.”

“THE HELL IT ISN’T!!” she yelled, and Lotor instinctually tensed up in response. The girl sneered as she looked at him. “Some rich kid striding around campus like you own the place, not bothering to look out for people because you assume the world’s gonna bend around you—”

“I’ll pay for it!” Lotor blurted out in an attempt to make her stop with her accusations. He was certain that she didn’t even know how accurate those statements had been to the kind of person he used to be, the kind of person he was trying very, very hard not to be now that he had a second chance. “I… I can cover the expense. I’ll pay for it. Just tell me how much.”

The girl froze; she obviously hadn’t expected him to cooperate so easily. Her anger was replaced with suspicion as she looked him up and down, reevaluating. Finally, she seemed to accept his offer. “Alright,” she said, “but it’s not going to be as simple as just buying a new one. I built this.”

Lotor swallowed harshly, but he kept his tone even as he replied, “I can pay compensation for your time and buy you all of the spare parts you need. Money is not an issue.”

“Of course,” she scoffed. “Rich kid like you going to make your daddy pay for it?”

Literally biting his lip to keep himself from rising to her challenge, Lotor took a few deep breaths. “Actually,” he finally started in a measured tone, “I have been… cut off from my family’s fortune. However, I managed to steal large sums of money from my parents before that happened, and I am now using that money to invest. That is why money is not an issue. If you have some sort of distaste for stealing from the rich, I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

“Oh.” Finally, she looked at least a little apologetic. “Right, okay. Um. I have no problem with that. I’m sure it was justified.”

“How much money do you need?”

The girl fidgeted uncomfortably, absent-mindedly playing with the edge of her shirt. “I’ll have to assess the damage, search for parts both online and in-person… and this model is getting fairly old, so I might have some trouble buying new parts…”

“Perhaps you could use this as an opportunity for an upgrade?” Lotor suggested.

She eyed him with a hint of her former suspicion. “I guess I could, but I’d be starting from scratch. I’d love to do that as a side-project, and the end result would be worthwhile, but the cost—”

“—is unimportant,” Lotor insisted. “I will buy you a high-end laptop if that is what you want.”

“Why?”

Lotor hesitated, considering his words. Finally, he answered, “I have treated people in ways I am not proud of in the past. I cannot really make amends – most would not give me the chance to – but perhaps I can pay kindness forward?” He stopped, hoping that this was enough of an answer, but the girl kept looking at him with an intensely questioning gaze until he added, “Also, your words rather stung, and I was rather hoping to prove you wrong by showing how generous I can be.”

The girl gave an amused snort of laughter and finally cracked a smile. “Alright,” she relented, “I’ll let you buy me a better model. Just let me do some research first.”

“Right, of course. May I give you my number?” Lotor offered.

She gave him a deadpan look. “I’m ace. And aro.”

“Good for you. I’m gay, but that does not change the fact that you will need a way to contact me if I am to pay for your replacement computer.”

“Oh,” she said softly, cheeks coloring a little with embarrassment at her assumption. “Right, okay. Maybe an email instead? I prefer that to phone calls.”

Lotor nodded and agreed, “Of course, not a problem. Should I write it down, or…?”

“One sec.” The girl pulled out her phone and poked at the screen a few times before saying, “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Alright, it’s Sincline, that’s S-I-N-C-L-I-N-E, dot Lotor, L-O-T-O-R, at Voltron dot E-D-U.”

“Sincline.Lotor@Voltron.edu?” she read back to verify.

“Yes.”

“Perfect. And the name…?”

“Lotor Sincline.”

The girl paused for a second before laughing a little at herself. “Right, that should’ve been obvious. Okay. I’ll email you soon.”

Lotor hesitated for only a moment before asking, “What is your name, if you don’t mind?”

“Pidge Holt,” she replied without any pause. “I mean, technically my name is Katie, but everyone calls me Pidge.”

“Well met, Pidge.”

“Uh…” Pidge seemed a little uncertain about the formal greeting. “Same, dude. Lotor. Yeah.”

Lotor stifled a chuckle and ignored the pang in his chest as he thought of his old friends at Galra University. The girls would have probably liked Pidge a lot. Still, there was no reason to dwell on the past. Lotor watched as Pidge struggled to fit everything into her backpack, which looked ready to bust at the seams. “Perhaps I should buy you a new backpack, too,” he offered, only half-joking.

“Dude that would – Do you mind if I call you dude? I call everyone dude, even Allura – that would be amazing because I swear this thing is gonna fall apart any day.”

‘Allura Altea?’ Lotor wondered, but he decided to save that question for another time. “I’ll buy you one, then,” he replied. “And I do not… I really don’t mind.”

“Okay, cool.” Pidge swung the backpack up onto her shoulder. “Well, later then!”

Lotor smiled. “Yes, I… I’ll see you later.”

As Pidge walked away, Lotor couldn’t quite shake the warm, happy feeling that he’d just made a new friend.

[not-that-girl7]

Dear White Friends,

I don’t even know how to start this. I’m just so angry.

You all know what’s going on. You all know the police have killed yet another innocent black person. You know the world is in justified upheaval right now. 

I want to share a story of my own experience of being a first-hand witness to police profiling. I don’t share this story out of a desire for attention or out of a “look at me, one of the good ones” attitude. I share it because you -- my white readers -- need to have these stories shoved in your face so that you can learn. You must learn that for every George Floyd, Trayvon Martin, Sandra Bland, or Emmitt Till there are hundreds more who make it home physically, but will be forever affected by the trauma they’ve experienced at the hands of those who claim to “protect and serve”.

On July 6th, 2016, Philando Castile was murdered in cold blood by the Roseville police in Minneapolis, MN. Two days before that, my mere presence made a Roseville police officer think twice about his profiling. The night of July 4th, 2016 my ex-girlfriend, myself, & two of our friends were headed back to our homes in the Twin Cities after watching the fireworks in Stillwater, MN. My ex is black, one of our friends is also black, and our other friend is white. After dropping our white friend off at his home, we had to take some rural backstreets to get back onto the highway. My ex was driving, I was in the passenger seat and our other friend was now alone in the backseat. As we rounded a very dark corner and went under and even darker underpass red and blue lights very suddenly began to flash. The cop was sitting in wait for any unsuspecting victim. Now, this cop walked up the driver’s side and from his vantage point he only saw two black girls, both with natural hair, both dressed more masculine, one with much darker skin. He informed my ex he had pulled her over because the light on her rear license plate was burnt out and in his words he, “couldn’t see a license plate”. He then asked her who the car belonged to -- insinuating it was stolen -- and of course if they’d been drinking. I’m assuming it was because of the complete darkness that the cop hadn't really seen me yet. As the cop was accusing, I was getting my phone camera ready and then I scooted forward into the light and because it was my girlfriend and I knew she wouldn’t mind, I began to talk. “It’s her car, we’re coming from the fireworks. . .she doesn’t even drink and how dare you assume. . .you couldn’t see the license plate when it reflected off your headlights?” 

I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with such a superior attitude bulge his eyes and turn genteel quicker. His hostile attitude turned to an authoritative, but much calmer one upon seeing my white face. After instructing us to have the the stupid rear plate light fixed, he finally let us off with a warning and we drove the rest of the way home completely irate. Independence Day and an innocent person gets pulled over for a DWB (Driving While Black). When we got home we couldn’t stop thinking about how good it was that I was there, but it made me even angrier to think that I even needed to be. Two days later the fear we felt on that back road was proved to be even more legitimate than we thought. It was that night that solidified for me the importance of true allyship. 

As a white woman I still have a decent amount of privilege and it’s my job to fight with and for those that have been marginalized. In my Junior year of college I had the absolute pleasure to take a class entitled Intro to African American Literature. In that class every single book, poem, and letter we read was by a black person that had written from jail and/or about their experiences with the justice system. My extremely sheltered world was absolutely shattered and I’m so fucking glad it was. In that class I learned the importance of listening to black voices, but also educating ourselves. As a person with some semblance of privilege it is my job to know when to shut up and listen, but it is also my job to make sure the white people around me learn -- and learn accurately -- without adding more burden onto the black people around them.

I work to create an environment of change so that one day my presence in a car won’t be necessary to the safe return of any of my black family or friends.

Below I have added links to books and films that I have personally found educational. Please continue to educate yourself by consuming media by black creators. Please pay reparations by shopping from black-owned businesses. Please do as I hope to do and live a life that would make your racist ancestors spin in their graves.

Books: 

“Assata: An Autobiography” - Assata Shakur

“The Prison Industrial Complex” - Angela Davis

“White Fragility” Robin DiAngelo

“The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness” - Michelle Alexander 

“The Bluest Eye” - Toni Morrison

I am searching for my African American Lit syllabus so that I can share an exhaustive list of our required course reading. When I find it I will update this list. (If anyone took this class at Indiana University in the fall of 2013 and still has access to their syllabus, please contact me).

Films:

“Just Mercy” - Destin Daniel Cretton (Rent for free on certain platforms during the month of June)

 “13th” (2016) - Ava DuVernay

“Middle of Nowhere” (2012) - Ave DuVernay

“Fences” (2016) - Denzel Washington

“Selma” (2014) - Ava DuVernay

“The Birth of A Nation” (2016) - Nate Parker

“The Hate U Give” (2018) - George Tillman Jr.

Other links: 

Here’s How White People Can Support The Fight Against Police Brutality

100+ Black-Owned Etsy Shops

Help Philando Castile’s cousin Louis Hunter as he works to keep his restaurant thriving by donating to his GoFundMe here.

Also, I have friends in Minneapolis, MN supporting the protesters by providing first aid. They are in constant need of supplies, bail funds, etc. To support them please donate to their PayPal at: JusticeFrontlineAidCrew@gmail.com

Cover Art: https://www.reddit.com/user/zmooore/

[blogwonderwebsites]

Nature Serena Williams vs. Naomi Osaka: How the U.S. Open Descended Into Chaos

Nature Serena Williams vs. Naomi Osaka: How the U.S. Open Descended Into Chaos Nature Serena Williams vs. Naomi Osaka: How the U.S. Open Descended Into Chaos http://www.nature-business.com/nature-serena-williams-vs-naomi-osaka-how-the-u-s-open-descended-into-chaos/

Nature

Image

CreditChang W. Lee and Michelle V. Agins/The New York Times; Ben Solomon for The New York Times

It all began with the slightest of hand gestures by a coach in Serena Williams’s box and ended in chaos, recrimination and, oh, yes, Naomi Osaka’s remarkable upset victory.

Here’s a breakdown of what happened in the women’s final of the 2018 United States Open:

Nature A Dream Matchup

Osaka, a shy, 20-year-old who was born in Japan but moved to the United States at age 3, grew up admiring and emulating Williams. She even did a report on her in third grade that she was very proud of.

She admitted before the tournament began that it had long been her dream to play Williams in a Grand Slam final, and that dream came true. But surely her dream did not play out like this, in a swirl of controversy and accusations of sexism against the chair umpire, and an awkward postmatch celebration that no one seemed to enjoy.

Image

Naomi Osaka dominated Serena Williams in the first set.CreditChang W. Lee/The New York Times

The setup for the entire controversy occurred in the first set in which Osaka, despite being 16 years younger and playing in her first Grand Slam final, was outplaying the 23-time Grand Slam singles champion by a wide margin.

Williams played her first professional tournament two years before Osaka was born. She was expected to impose her experience, power and will on her opponent. Then Osaka served better, made fewer mistakes and ran down most of the shots that Williams made, frustrating the six-time Open champion to win the first set, 6-2.

Then came the second set.

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Patrick Mouratoglou, Serena Williams’s coach, during the match on Saturday.CreditJulian Finney/Getty Images

SECOnd Set: Osaka Serving at 0-1, 40-15

Nature A Code Violation for Coaching

Carlos Ramos, the notoriously strict chair umpire, interjected himself into the match for the first time, calling a code violation for coaching, which is essentially a formal warning. Ramos spotted Patrick Mouratoglou, sitting in the Williams box, making what he interpreted as a coaching hand gesture (he had his hands about six inches apart moving in a forward motion that Ramos interpreted as an indication of how he wanted Williams to move). Mouratoglou later admitted he was doing it, adding that all coaches did it.

Ramos’s application of the rule was accurate; however, some thought he could have shown a bit more lenience. For example, he might have issued an informal warning to Williams to tell her coach to knock it off.

Williams approached the chair and said to Ramos: “One thing I’ve never done is cheat, ever. If he gives me a thumbs up he’s telling me to, ‘Come on.’”

She added in a stern tone: “I don’t cheat to win, I’d rather lose. I’m just letting you know.”

Then she returned to business, but Osaka held her serve.

SECOnd Set: 2-1 Changeover

Nature A Civil Conversation

During the next changeover, Williams and Ramos had a civil conversation. Calling him, “umpire,” Williams explained to Ramos that she understood why he may have thought Mouratoglou was coaching, but she stressed that she never did that.

Williams, with more championships than any other player in the Open era, has often said she dislikes in-match coaching, even the legal variety on the WTA Tour, and it would be in her interest to do so. She has more experience and more understanding of the game than virtually all of her opponents. Coaching would only level the playing field.

Williams calmly said again that she did not cheat, and Ramos said, “I know that.”

It was the final moment of calm, and Williams said, “O.K., thank you so much.”

It was a key moment because Williams may have thought that she had persuaded Ramos to reverse the call on the code violation, which virtually never happens.

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Williams incurred a point penalty after slamming her racket in the second set.CreditMichelle V. Agins/The New York Times

2nd Set: Williams Serving at 3-1, 30-40

Nature A Broken Racket and Point Penalty

Williams had gained the upper hand in the second set by breaking Osaka’s serve, and it could have been a turning point for the entire match. Instead, Williams hit a backhand into the net for an unforced error, allowing Osaka to break right back and retake control. Osaka exclaimed, “Come on,” to emphasize the point.

Williams’s fired her racket onto the court and destroyed it. Sascha Bajin, Williams’s former hitting partner and now Osaka’s coach, saw the angry display and pointed to the court, saying, “Hey.”

Throwing a racket is an automatic code violation, and because it was the second violation, Osaka gained a point for the next game. Ramos announced the score and then said, “Code violation, racket abuse, point penalty, Mrs. Williams.”

Williams did not appear to react as she sat in her chair.

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Williams confronted Carlos Ramos, the chair umpire, after being penalized a point for smashing her racket.CreditBen Solomon for The New York Times

2nd Set: Osaka Serving at 2-3

Nature ‘You Owe Me an Apology’

Williams walked onto the court on the deuce side, apparently expecting the score to be 0-0. When she was told to move over to the ad court because it was 0-15, Williams approached the chair again, initially confused by the score. “This is unbelievable, every time I play here I have problems,” Williams said to Ramos.

This appeared to be a reference to her 2004 Open match against Jennifer Capriati, in which several bad calls went against Williams, and the 2009 semifinal against Kim Clijsters, when Williams was called for a foot fault at a critical juncture and threatened to shove a ball down the lineswoman’s throat.

When Ramos explained that Williams had a point penalty for smashing her racket, she calmly said, “Yeah, that’s a warning.”

She continued to argue that she did not get coaching and implored Ramos to make an announcement to the crowd explaining just that. Then Williams’s frustration level increased and she grew angry, repeatedly saying that she did not get coaching.

As the discussion became more heated, the audience, heavily in Williams’s favor, began to boo, and then cheered Williams as she became even more demonstrative.

“You owe me an apology,” she said to Ramos, loudly emphasizing certain words. “I have never cheated in my life. I have a daughter and I stand for what’s right for her and I have never cheated. You owe me an apology.”

She concluded by telling Ramos that he would never umpire one of her matches again. When the match resumed, Osaka was unfazed and held her serve to draw even, 3-3.

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Osaka during the second set.CreditChang W. Lee/The New York Times

SECOnd Set: Changeover With Osaka Leading, 4-3

Nature ‘You’re a Thief’

Osaka broke Williams’s serve again, this time with an impressive down-the-line forehand with Williams at net. Williams then continued her argument with Ramos during the changeover, sounding like an unrelenting baseball manager going after a home plate umpire.

First, she said that she had already explained to Ramos that she never got coaching.

“For you to attack my character, then something is wrong,” Williams said. “It’s wrong. You are attacking my character.”

It was difficult to hear Ramos’s response, but he apparently disputed Williams’s claim, because Williams replied: “Yes you are. You will never, ever, ever be on another court of mine as long as you live.”

Then she pointed at him and said: “You are the liar. When are you going to give me my apology. You owe me an apology. Say it! Say you’re sorry.”

When Ramos indicated he would not apologize, Williams cut off the discussion and said, “Well, then don’t talk to me.”

But Williams resumed, adding, “How dare you insinuate that I was cheating.”

As Williams got up to return to the court, she exclaimed to Ramos, “And you stole a point from me, you’re a thief, too.”

After that, Ramos issued the third code violation, which resulted in a penalty of a lost game. The rules state the first violation is a warning, then loss of point, loss of game and finally loss of match. It never got to that, but it was close.

Ramos announced to the crowd, “Code violation, verbal abuse. Game penalty, Mrs. Williams,” as Williams returned to the court. The crowd, somewhat uncertain of what exactly was going on, began to buzz in agitation.

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Osaka returned to the baseline as Williams argued with Ramos.CreditAndres Kudacki/Associated Press

2nd Set: Osaka Serving at 4-3 … Make That Williams Serving at 3-5

Nature Ramos Explains the Penalty

Williams walked back to the court and prepared to receive Osaka’s serve, apparently unaware that she had forfeited the game and it was now her serve, trailing 3-5. It was a wild situation to happen in a Grand Slam final, and debate raged over whether Ramos was too hasty by issuing the third code violation, but it was within the rules.

Ramos called the players over to the chair. First, he explained the situation to Osaka, and then to Williams, who was incredulous.

“Are you kidding me, because I called you a thief?” she said. “But you stole a point from me.”

Osaka stood close to the chair for a moment, signaled something to her box, and then turned and walked back to the baseline, where she tried to stay focused by bouncing up and down in the middle of the court, mostly facing away from the dispute.

Williams repeated her argument that she was not a cheater and then said, “Excuse me, I need the referee.”

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Williams making her case to Brian Earley and Donna Kelso.CreditBen Solomon for The New York Times

Nature Appeal to the Tournament Officials

Brian Earley, the longtime tournament referee and Donna Kelso, the Grand Slam supervisor, entered from the player’s entrance at the corner of the court, and Williams made the first accusation of bias for being a woman.

While Williams appealed to Kelso, who is also a WTA supervisor, Earley climbed up to the chair to confer with Ramos and was heard to say, as if repeating, “For calling you a thief.”

Then the discussion was among Williams, Earley and Kelso for nearly three minutes while Osaka waited.

Williams repeated over and over that it was unfair. “This has happened to me too many times,” she said. “To lose a game for saying that? It’s not fair. I mean, it’s really not.”

That was when Williams introduced the issue of bias.

“Do you know how many other men do things that are — that do much worse than that?” she said to Kelso. “This is not fair. There’s a lot of men out here that have said a lot of things, but if they’re men, that doesn’t happen to them.”

The fans, most of whom could not hear the discussion, grew more agitated, with whistling and booing mixing with jeers and invective.

Williams added to Earley and Kelso, “Because I’m a woman, he’s going to take this away from me?”

Then, suddenly, her tone softened.

“I know you know it,” she said to Earley. “I know you can’t admit it, but it’s not right. I know you can’t change it, but I’m saying, it’s not right. I get the rules, but I’m just saying it’s not right.

Then, just before returning to the court she said: “It’s not fair. That’s all I have to say.”

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Williams and Osaka embraced at the net after the match.CreditBen Solomon for The New York Times

Nature Osaka Beats Her Idol

If the raging dispute distracted Osaka in any way, she did not show it. Leading by 5-4, 40-30, she drilled a serve out wide at 114 miles per hour. Williams tipped it with her racket, but the ball only deflected wide. Incredibly, Osaka was a first-time Grand Slam champion at 20, and the first ever from Japan, man or woman.

During what was the greatest moment of her career — if not her life — Osaka heard booing from a still-angry crowd. Osaka gave the slightest exclamation with her fist, pulled her visor down over her face and walked to the net.

Williams met her with a smile and gave her a hug — a notable difference from the formal handshake at the net five months ago in Miami when Osaka beat her idol in their first meeting. Osaka shook Ramos’s hands, but Williams declined, making one more comment about the apology she still expected.

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Osaka and Williams before receiving their trophies.CreditChang W. Lee/The New York Times

Nature A Muted Celebration

Williams and Osaka stood next to each other on the podium with the former champions Chris Evert and Billie Jean King and the U.S.T.A. president, Katrina Adams, but no one smiled at first. When the M.C. started to speak, the fans unleashed loud boos and Osaka pulled her visor over her face again, and wept.

Seeing that, Williams put her arm around Osaka and said something to ease the tension. When it was her turn to speak to the crowd, she implored the fans to stop booing and to laud Osaka’s achievement.

Osaka’s brief and poignant acceptance speech underscored the overall sadness of what should have been such a happy moment.

“I know that everyone was cheering for her,” she told the crowd, referring to Williams. “I’m sorry it had to end like this. I just want to say thank you for watching the match.”

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Williams answered questions after the match.CreditBen Solomon for The New York Times

Nature A Call for Equality and a Calm Reflection

Williams came to her postmatch news conference prepared to discuss the whole matter. One key issue was that Mouratoglou had already admitted to reporters that he was in fact coaching, contrary to her premise throughout the controversy. She said someone briefed her about it before she came in, and she texted her coach for clarification. She did not seem pleased with him.

“I’m trying to figure out why he would say that,” she said. “I don’t understand. I mean, maybe he said, ‘You can do it.’ I was on the far other end, so I’m not sure. I want to clarify, myself, what he’s talking about.”

In her final statement, after a question about what she might have changed if she could go back, Williams again invoked the sexism that she referred to on court.

“I’m here fighting for women’s rights and for women’s equality and for all kinds of stuff,” she said.

“For me to say ‘Thief’ and for him to take a game, it made me feel like it was a sexist remark. He’s never taken a game from a man because they said ‘Thief’. Then she added: “The fact that I have to go through this is just an example for the next person that has emotions, and that want to express themselves, and want to be a strong woman. They’re going to be allowed to do that because of today. Maybe it didn’t work out for me, but it’s going to work out for the next person.”

Osaka came in afterward and finally had a chance to express happier feelings about the win, her parents, her coach, and how she will be received in Japan, where she will be welcomed as a hero at a tournament in Tokyo this month.

She said that she really did not know what happened during the dispute, and insisted that she still held the same adoration for Williams, no matter what happened.

“I’m always going to remember the Serena that I love,” she said. “It doesn’t change anything for me. She was really nice to me at the net and on the podium. I don’t really see what would change.”

The only thing that really changed is that now Osaka is a Grand Slam champion, too.

Read More | https://www.nytimes.com/2018/09/09/sports/serena-osaka-us-open-penalty.html | https://www.nytimes.com/by/david-waldstein

Nature Serena Williams vs. Naomi Osaka: How the U.S. Open Descended Into Chaos, in 2018-09-10 11:39:59

[kidsviral-blog]

Cumia: Twitchy, stop being tattle tale p*ssies when I degrade McKayla Maroney

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/cumia-twitchy-stop-being-tattle-tale-pssies-when-i-degrade-mckayla-maroney/

Cumia: Twitchy, stop being tattle tale p*ssies when I degrade McKayla Maroney

http://twitter.com/#!/AnthonyCumia/status/277915701463875584

How dare we accurately quote tweets!

@anthonycumia @steveyknight @twitchy twitchy, more like snitchy

— Colin hamilton(@Chamilton515) December 9, 2012

Like Ellen Barkin, the oh-so-classy Cumia is upset that we reported his self-published tweets.

.@anthonycumia @steveyknight @twitchy You posted in a public domain. Tattle tales? I think not.

— Buck That Trend! (@FatBrando) December 10, 2012

They are special snowflakes, you see! You are only allowed to quote things they’ve said if you are going to fawn all over them and praise them.

As Twitchy reported, the co-host of “Opie and Anthony” wished gymnast McKayla Maroney a happy 17th birthday by sexually degrading her. Cumia then doubled down and continued to take to Twitter to rationalize his disgusting “hymen breaking” tweet.

RT @sixxcrow @anthonycumia wow- they are acting as if you actually banged this girl. All you did was mention her hyman. -EXACTLY! assholes

— Anthony Cumia (@AnthonyCumia) December 9, 2012

Well, @cofemale mind your fucking business. As long as its legal, my preference isn’t your concern. Do you gay bash too?

— Anthony Cumia (@AnthonyCumia) December 9, 2012

His preference? “Throwing a banging” to the 17-year-old gymnast.

Any guy is lying if he says he wouldn’t throw a banging to McKayla Maroney.The dishonesty in USA2012 is nauseating.

— Anthony Cumia (@AnthonyCumia) December 9, 2012

Hey, it’s legal somewhere, the 51-year-old rationalizes.

RT @cofemale I wonder how long has been a pedophile. R U registered w/ the state.51&17 R not legal anywhere. Should investigate -yes it is

— Anthony Cumia (@AnthonyCumia) December 9, 2012

Plus, he shoots guns so he can’t be vile! Or something.

RT @aaronimholte read the comments section of that Twitchy storyApparently now you are a flaming liberal-Im shooting a .50 in my Avi! Ha

— Anthony Cumia (@AnthonyCumia) December 9, 2012

Some fans also rationalize by implying that we shouldn’t point out vile behavior, because conservative. Allegedly.

@anthonycumia @steveyknight does @twitchy know Cumia is one of the few entertaining conservatives on air today?

— JMO (@J1_O_M) December 9, 2012

@anthonycumia I find it bizarre how Twitchy decided to post your tweet. Michelle Malkin, a conservative, founded that website.

— chippah_seve1994 (@ChippahS) December 9, 2012

Sigh. Evidently, we should ignore the sexualizing and degrading of minor girls, then. It’s not repugnant if someone you like does it? That’s not conservative thinking; it’s leftist.

Cumia retweeted this one.

@greggutfeld Anthony Cumiafunny @times; but I will no longer watch Red Eye or 5 if you have him on again, EVER @anthonycumia #teaparty

— Tom Callow (@Kala_Bon) December 9, 2012

See, he’s on Red Eye and he wants to make sure you know it. So, you can’t call him out for his own reprehensible actions! Cumia is retweeting a bunch of tweets that are calling him out. Clearly, it is a sad attempt to rationalize and deflect. People are picking on him for his “preferences” and it is their fault. Silly rubes who believe in respect. And, you know, the non-degradation of girls.

By the way, Mr. Cumia, how can one “tattle” if someone hasn’t done anything wrong?

@anthonycumia @steveyknight @twitchy Should have acted like a decent man

— Amanda Hafley(@amandahafley) December 10, 2012

Indeed. But, evidently, that’s not his “preference.”

Update:

The foul-mouthed Cumia still can’t stand the heat and is viciously lashing out at his critics:

Really, @kelejohnson ?You want to make inaccurate accusations?How about YOU?#ChildMurderer

— Anthony Cumia (@AnthonyCumia) December 10, 2012

RT @markc574 If McKayla Maroney was my daughter I would break your fucking jaw. -Internet tough guy.Piss off.

— Anthony Cumia (@AnthonyCumia) December 10, 2012

Why doesn’t everyone just shut the fuck up and let me get back to my racist tweets.

— Anthony Cumia (@AnthonyCumia) December 10, 2012

RT @johncasolaroim starting not like you…. your a …..i hope you get ur time one day god i hope you do… -You’re on the drugs

— Anthony Cumia (@AnthonyCumia) December 10, 2012

RT @aces3123 you’re a foul mouthed scumbag! PEDOPHILE! -You look brain damaged & your wife has a fat pig face.

— Anthony Cumia (@AnthonyCumia) December 10, 2012

RT @wglibrarian That’ll impress ‘em.Deviant. -These religious characters that have been bashing me are like mentally challenged children

— Anthony Cumia (@AnthonyCumia) December 10, 2012

Disgusting.

Read more: http://twitchy.com/2012/12/10/anthony-cumia-twitchy-stop-being-tattle-tale-pssies-with-your-verbatim-quotes-of-my-tweets-about-throwing-a-bang-to-mckayla-maroney/

[drjerilyn]

Midrash Musings: The Wisdom of Solomon, Part 2

Sorry, it has been a while, dear readers since I posted more Midrash Musings. As we continue through the Bible, seeking to use our imaginations to ask the question, “what if...” and discover a richness to God’s word, I offer the following.

The Wisdom of Solomon-Part 2

A Reading from 1 Kings 3: 16-28

by Jerilyn E. Felton, D. Min. (Copyright 2017)

Scripture taken from NAB (http://www.usccb.org/bible/1kings/3) 

Solomon’s Listening Heart.*16 Later, two prostitutes came to the king and stood before him.17One woman said: “By your leave, my lord, this woman and I live in the same house, and I gave birth in the house while she was present.18On the third day after I gave birth, this woman also gave birth. We were alone; no one else was in the house with us; only the two of us were in the house.19This woman’s son died during the night when she lay on top of him.20So in the middle of the night she got up and took my son from my side, as your servant was sleeping. Then she laid him in her bosom and laid her dead son in my bosom.21I rose in the morning to nurse my son, and he was dead! But when I examined him in the morning light, I saw it was not the son I had borne.”22The other woman answered, “No! The living one is my son, the dead one is yours.” But the first kept saying, “No! the dead one is your son, the living one is mine!” Thus they argued before the king.23Then the king said: “One woman claims, ‘This, the living one, is my son, the dead one is yours.’ The other answers, ‘No! The dead one is your son, the living one is mine.’”24The king continued, “Get me a sword.” When they brought the sword before the king,25he said, “Cut the living child in two, and give half to one woman and half to the other.”26* The woman whose son was alive, because she was stirred with compassion for her son, said to the king, “Please, my lord, give her the living baby—do not kill it!” But the other said, “It shall be neither mine nor yours. Cut it in two!”27The king then answered, “Give her the living baby! Do not kill it! She is the mother.”28When all Israel heard the judgment the king had given, they were in awe of him, because they saw that the king had in him the wisdom of God for giving right judgment.

 Here begins a midrash to tell us ‘the rest of the story,’ a Part Two if you will:

There is more to this story than just Solomon’s decision to give the child to her mother. First of all, the two prostitutes had very biblical names: Shiphrah and Puah. Both women were born into Jewish households and their parents named them after the courageous midwives that saved the Hebrews in the time of Moses as told in the Book of Exodus. Unfortunately, as times were very violent ones, both sets of parents were killed in one of the many battles that raged around their villages. The two young women were literally thrown onto the streets to fend for themselves.

           It was Shiphrah who asked to spare the life of the child because she truly loved her son, Gershom. Though a single mother, she had hoped to raise her boy to become a servant in the house of a rich merchant. Though her outlook for honorable employment appeared very bleak, she always prayed that God would take pity on her and her son and give them what they needed to survive for the day.

           Puah, on the other hand, was a very cold and calculating woman who was jealous of the gifts that Shiphrah possessed. Shiphrah was kind and often shared her meager food ration with other women in the brothel who were worse off than she was. Puah took everything she could get, and resented being shoved aside to make room for younger and prettier women. She resented the goodness she witnessed in Shiprah’s actions.

           When her claim to the boy was denied by King Solomon, Puah left the palace, vowing to get even with Shiphrah at all costs. She did not have to wait long for that opportunity to arrive, for the very next day, in the belongings of Shiphrah, there was found a very expensive broach that a merchant claimed had been stolen from him by a prostitute. Shiphrah was dragged before the king again, and this time it was Puah that claimed to be a witness to the thievery.

           “I saw her hide this broach in her tunic then put it in her mattress, O great king,” Puah said. “She thought I did not see her do it, but I did and she should have to pay for her crime!”

           Puah stated that Shiphrah had seen the broach in the traveling bag of the merchant who came by the brothel the previous day in the late afternoon. He had just come into town and had come to see his friend, Manasseh, who ran the place. He stayed just the afternoon and then left. The merchant returned later that night claiming that his expensive broach was missing. He reasoned it must have been taken by someone at the brothel because that was the only place he had stopped that day.

           The king considered the manner in which Puah accused her fellow prostitute. There was something in her manner that betrayed a sense of wanting to even the score, get revenge for the embarrassment she had felt the previous day at being accused of lying. King Solomon detected a sense that all was not right with the story told by the accuser.

           The king had the two women and Manasseh stand before him. Much like a lawyer who grills the untruthful person on the witness stand, the king continued to hammer at Puah to discover where her story did not ring true. He asked both women to describe the broach in question. Shiphrah hesitated, honestly trying to recall what it looked like, but could not give an accurate description other than it was red. But Puah, on the other hand, gave a detailed description down to the small circle of rubies that encircled a large ruby that made up the center. The king had his answer!

           Again, Puah had incriminated herself, proving by her very words that it was she who had taken the broach and tried to blame her fellow prostitute for the crime.  The king, in his wisdom, rather than kill or maim her, decided to banish Puah from the city. If she dared to enter the city at any future time, she would be killed. Shiphrah, on the other hand, was given a job as a serving maid and her baby boy would, in time, be given a job within the palace.

           So let us also consider how important it is for us to take responsibility for not only our good and noble deeds but to be humble if caught in an unintentional mistake. Most importantly the story tells us that we should never lie to get what we want nor should we seek revenge for past hurts.

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