#moot court practice

[ipeminstitute]

Moot courts are vital for law students as they offer practical legal skills, courtroom experience, and opportunities for honing research, oral advocacy, and writing abilities. These competitions foster critical thinking, teamwork, and problem-solving while building confidence and valuable networks with legal professionals. Participating in moot courts enhances a student’s resume and provides a competitive edge in the legal job market, making them well-prepared for a successful career in law.

#moot court #moot court practice #best law college in ghaziabad #best law academy in ghaziabad

[kaurwreck]

My toxic trait is that sometimes I consider seeking out voice training/coaching entirely because I want to be silvertongued.

#ive had judges at moot court competitions (who are practicing attorneys and judges) tell me I could convince them to jump off a cliff #one time i made someone on the opposing team cry #like entirely because she realized her team had lost the round while i was giving my argument to the judges #literally watched her expression fall and tears well up #but that's when im giving very well practiced arguments on topics ive thoroughly researched #i want people to meet me and assume im the devil #at least once i open my mouth

[asexualjedi]

Me when I’m asked if I want to join a journal. A few days after I submit my memo for the moot court try out and still have to do oral arguments the next month and having to give a response by Friday. Like truly I was like haha I won’t get in or if I do I’ll be able to choose the stuff all at once and see what I think I can do.

#I think moot court will be better in the long term what I wanna do but it’s a huge time commitment and I want to see my mom at least every #other week this semester instead of dropping off the face of the earth Aand I purposely picked the least time commitment journal as my numbe #one choice and that’s who asked me to join and like haha #also I applied to be vp of the gay club. but then?? elections never happened they said they would be in a week. this was several months ago #so I have no clue if anyone else ran or if I’m still running or if that’s a commitment I have to make lmao #Anyways I didn’t think I’d have to time for moot court and thought I’d probably have to decline but I didn’t expect to make this choice in t #the middle of the competition and alos befor the mock trial competition I tried out for even starts #I wanted to try out for all to *sasuke voice* test my ability and get practice and alos so I could choose between what I get in but lmao rip

[wachinyeya]

A historically and culturally significant lake in California's San Joaquin Valley that first disappeared in 1898 has returned after last year's atmospheric rivers flooded the region.

Tulare Lake, known as Pa'ashi — or "big water" — to the local Tachi Yokut Tribe, was "once the largest body of freshwater west of the Mississippi River," per Earth.com.

Vivian Underhill, who published a paper on Tulare Lake as a postdoctoral research fellow at Northeastern University, noted it was mostly sustained by snowmelt from the Sierra Nevada mountains and was 100 miles long and 30 miles wide at its peak.

The lake served as a key resource for Indigenous Peoples and wildlife and was once robust enough to allow steamships to transport agricultural goods throughout the state.

However, government officials persecuted and displaced the indigenous communities in the late 1800s to convert the area for farming through draining and irrigation.

"They really wanted to get [land] into private hands so that indigenous land claims — that were ongoing at that time — would be rendered moot by the time they went through the courts," Underhill told the Northeastern Global News. "It was a deeply settler colonial project."

While Pa'ashi periodically reappeared during the 1930s, '60s, and '80s, the barrage of atmospheric rivers California experienced in 2023 revived the lake despite the region receiving just 4 inches of rain annually. According to Underhill, Tulare Lake is now the same size as Lake Tahoe, which is 22 miles long and 12 miles wide.

Its resurgence has led to the return of humid breezes at least 10 degrees cooler than average and native species, including fish, amphibians, and birds. Lake Tulare was once a stopping point for migratory birds traveling a route known as the Pacific Flyway.

"Something that continues to amaze me is — [the birds] know how to find the lake again," Underhill told the Northeastern Global News. "It's like they're always looking for it."

The Tachi Yokuts have also returned to Pa'ashi's shores, once again practicing their ceremonies and planting tule reeds and native sage.

#submission #!!! #good news #lakes #Tulare Lake #Pa'ashi #big water #water #water is life #revitalization #anti colonialism #decolonization #nature #Tachi Yokut #indigenous peoples

[secondratefiction]

Hi there! Hope you’re doing well! Kicking that funeral services degree’s ass with any luck!! I was wondering if you would be up to writing a drabble for Jason or Tim (whoever you think fits the scenario best) as the boyfriend of a law student. Maybe where they’re living together and she’s just barely getting 3-5 hours of sleep a night while trying to study for finals, writing a full legal brief, practicing for oral arguments, getting ready for her summer associateship, and applying for moot court and law review. (Is this based on some poor law student’s real life? We may never know!) And just like her needing someone to be there and take care of her, but also her wanting to take care of him too even though she is very much Trying Her Best to Survive™? (Btw thank you so much for blessing us with batfam content galore, absolute ICON <3 )

Oh good lord… bless you and this ‘hypothetical’ poor law student. I know my degree is kicking my ass all across the state and back, so I can only imagine… They keep telling me the degrees are worth it… we’ll ride it out and see. Good vides, and better times love 💜

—

Now I fully believe that Timmy would be wonderful at this in his own right… but every single thing about this request violently screams Jason Todd to me…

There are only so many hours and so many spoons in a day, and unfortunately a law degree takes up almost every single ounce of both of them

However, Jason has this innately ingrained need to take care of the people that matter to him, so this is exactly where he shines

He was always Alfred’s best protege, so the man cooks and cleans house like a pro. Not only that, but it’s something that he genuinely enjoys because they are simple and repetitive tasks that let zone out and go through the motions to decompress from his ‘other job’.

While he’s happy to take care of all of that and leave you to focus on the proverbial, ever-growing mountain of work you have - He’s not above making you stop to take a break.

It is not an uncommon occurrence for this man to literally close your laptop, throw you over his shoulder*, and haul you out to the kitchen table to sit down and have a meal with him.

((*I do not care what size you are, or what hang ups you might have about your weight, if this man can hold up a collapsing ceiling, he can carry you across y’alls apartment))

“Ok, I have physically seen you putting food and water into your body, you can go back to your cave now.”

This happens at least 2-3 times a week

He is concerned. Just humor him and let him love you.

Jason is 100% the type to be actively learning from anything you tell him

Some nights, when the insomnia and the nightmares decide to double team him, he’ll even sit up browsing through your textbooks just to try and understand everything you're doing more.

Tim get’s labeled the nerd of the family a lot, but really Jason would have been the family scholar if he’d had the chance

The second bedroom in your apartment is both your office and his library. That shit is floor to ceiling.

With that in mind he is always more than happy to be a sounding board when you need him to. Listen to what you’ve got, argue the other side if necessary

Dear god, just know what you’re getting into there… he lives for that kind of stuff, and he will come prepared. This is one of his all time favorite games, that comes second only to aggravating the living shit out of you (which, if he’s lucky, will be a bonus here)

95% of the time, Jason has got this, got you - focus on your school babe, I’ll take care of it… but that 5%? That bit where he’s not actually infallible? He so very desperately doesn’t want you to see that.

What you’re doing is important, and he doesn’t want the fact he had a rough night to be a distraction for you. This is where you enter a bit of a balancing act…

As much as you may want to put everything aside and take care of him, that is the fastest way to make him shut down.

Instead, grab a textbook and a highlighter. Go ‘make yourself some tea’ and pour him a mug too. Set everything up in the living room and drag him onto the couch with you.

Put his head in your lap, and just run your fingers through his hair while you do some reading.

Bonus points if you put a blanket over him

Poor baby is gonna melt in an instant and be out cold before you know it. Just keep playing with his hair and let him sleep.

And do not mention it if he is emotional when he wakes up… he’s never going to be good/get used to receiving love and affection. Do it anyway, and don’t make a big deal about it.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #batfam #reader insert #requests

[inchidentally]

more of my completely pointless self-indulgent f1 royalty AU with a Charles focus (as always, pls ignore all historical/monarchy mistakes bc it's an AU) (this is a charlos au but I had to throw in a very tiny lestappen moment bc so many moots love them)

after seeing these of Charles playing football I decided they were from a moment when the prince was playing around with his attendants in the palace because he loved terrorizing them about the many breakables and his not-very-precise footwork with the ball. he's permitted to remove his head and hand coverings within the palace walls but only if he won't risk being seen. I imagined this to be after jousting practice - he's not allowed to properly joust ofc but he can do a pretend version with blunted lances and on soft earth covered in hay. he has a special set of beautifully made leather armor so that there aren't any ridged or sharp places to hurt himself.

it's too hot to keep on once they've returned to the palace and underneath he wears this long red and white suit (replace the sponsors with royal insignias lol)

in my tags I had Charles accidentally run out into the courtyard chasing the ball after a particularly wild header and not realize what he's done until he hears his attendants frantic footsteps behind him. he stays frozen in place, eyes wide and sun beating down onto his face. the courtyard is only on the side of the private apartments and he hasn't ventured far but it's still absolutely forbidden.

the only other person there is a young man about the same size and age as the prince with tightly cropped reddish-brown hair, tugging at the stiff collar of his formal suit in the summer sunshine. in the seconds that their eyes meet, Charles feels himself smile wide and open and radiant. the stranger's grumpy pink face turns awed and his eyes widen when the attendants crowd Charles and carry him back inside. Prince Max Emilian is too young and unlearned about the royal customs of Monaco to understand why his mother turns grey and his father looks cunning when Max runs to their chamber and bursts out the story of the beautiful young man in the courtyard whom he'd just seen 'abducted'.

but from then on, Max Emilian would wisely adopt a look of innocence when the sole rumor of the Monaco's second son's exceptional beauty made it's way through the royal courts again, source unknown.

immediately after the incident, the National Council are expecting heads to roll. the royal visitors from the Netherlands have of course been hushed up (or so they thought) but surely someone must pay with their life and the prince's movements restricted even more. they argue that without the prince's virtue and purity, his value to the royal courts hoping to wed one of their own to him will be as nothing. the very protection of the larger countries of Europe could be in jeopardy. they regularly cast acidic glares up where Charles stands in the gallery, fully covered once more and shaking with anger and fear, unable to even speak for himself. they say all kinds of things about how it couldn't have been worse timing for the prince to show such callousness because the palace is meant to still be in mourning.

Sovereign Prince Lorenzo is weary, having only been on the throne for a year and still deep in his grief for his father. he beckons the head of Charles' retinue forward to stand in front of the throne. Joris bravely pleads the case that he and his staff were just happy to see the young prince having fun again as they'd been worried that his grief combined with the particular seclusion he already lived in would sink him. he offers to take the blame entirely on himself as he shouldn't have allowed the game to venture so close to the courtyard at all.

Lorenzo smiles grimly at him and looks up to meet his brother's pleading, tear-filled eyes. almost twenty years of growing up together and Charles frequently only able to communicate with his eyes have made Lorenzo an expert at reading them. he decrees that the lives and positions of the prince's retinue will be safe but that in concession to the Council, the prince will be confined within the private apartments for three months and afterward he must remain covered even in the private courtyard. it's possibly the final blow to Lorenzo's spirit as sovereign to see his brother's eyes smiling down at him, even as his freedoms being stripped back even further.

little did any of the court know that in just over a year, Prince Lorenzo would abdicate. and that in just under two years, the powerful Sainz family would see their son ascend to the throne and free Charles from his bondage forever.

#f1 royalty au #charlos

[sophieinwonderland]

I replied to you in rentry form. I don't intend further replies, as your statement that you're "very skeptical of retractors," in response to a court case about a patient's experience of psychiatric abuse, was triggering to me as a psychiatric abuse survivor and cued me to the fact you aren't acting in good faith. You'd rather deny someone's traumatic experience than find a different source. That says a lot. I hope you at least show good faith by posting this ask. rentry. co / 8qczpf2g

Which traumatic experience am I denying? The first one where she said she was sexually abused by her father, or the later one where she claims those memories were implanted?

Because the thing with retractors is that they've given two stories at different times. And the whole False Memory Syndrome narrative is dependent on believing that the witness can't be trusted.

You're trying to frame this as a matter of believing or not believing trauma survivors. But this framing is clearly nonsense when it's more a question of which version of events we believe.

And to be frank, I find your whole shtick here to be a practice in willful ignorance.

You aren't stupid.

You know how abusers tend to operate.

It is possible that Kluft secretly brainwashed a woman into falsely believing that she had been abused by her father. Sure. Technically anything is possible.

But even you have to acknowledge that it's just a possible, if not more so, that she was contacted by and pressured into retracting by her family. That blaming everything on a psychiatrist gave an easy out where her family could deny they abused, and she gets to save face because she didn't lie, the memories were just "implanted."

And the best part about it is that her doctor isn't even allowed to defend himself in the public. He can't reveal details about her therapy sessions or abuse that could protect his name and reputation because all of that is completely confidential. They can say whatever they want about him and he essentially has a gag order.

The lie of False Memory Syndrome is a godsend to abusers. The perfect out.

And I think you know ALL of this! Surely, nothing I just said can be news to you.

End of the day, we don't know the full story in this suit.

You say that you're acting in good faith, but I don't think you are. I think you are smart enough to realize that retractions of abuse accusations can be a result of pressure from abusers. You know the lengths they'll go to in order to protect their reputations.

And I think you're pretending otherwise because pretending to not understand these nuances helps you dismiss papers he's published.

Meanwhile, all of this is moot because Kluft is still regularly cited in academic work because he is, in fact, still regarded as a credible source.

#syscourse #psychiatry #abuse mention #abuse tw

[anew-jackson]

did a moot court in law school (fake pretend court for lawyer practicing) and we called our team “Cobra Kai”

[kccinstitutes]

Intra Moot Court Competition 2023

The School of Law, KCC Institute of Legal and Higher Education orchestrated the Intra Moot Court Competition 2023 with precision, catering specifically to 2nd-year BBA LLB and BA LLB students.

The competition served as a dynamic platform for cultivating essential legal skills, encompassing oral advocacy, legal research, persuasive writing, and critical thinking. It functioned as an experiential learning opportunity, effectively bridging the gap between theoretical knowledge and its practical application within the courtroom.

The event showcased 16 participants organized into 8 teams, each consisting of two speakers. The focal point of the competition was the defense of the landmark judgment of K. M. Nanavati v the State of Maharashtra, a significant case in criminal jurisprudence. The competition unfolded in a structured manner, commencing with Preliminary rounds that culminated in the highly anticipated Final Round. Winners, runners-up, and the best speaker were duly recognized, underscoring the eloquence and prowess exhibited in their arguments.

[uwu-co-in]

What majors 'Attack on Titan'characters would have in college AU (part 2):

Source: My Majors

Word count: 1.1k

(part one)

11. Sasha: Crisis/Emergency/Disaster Management

• Sasha was first admitted to a college with the major Culinary Science, along with her boyfriend, Niccolo, but left the course after a month

• I want to eat food not study it was what she retorted to everyone, but in reality, she just felt she would not be contributing enough to the community

• As the major took out for a lot of field work, she signs up for all, and even joined internships from the first year itself, regarding the same

• A procrastinator; crams on the night of the exam, while Niccolo is cooking her assortment of dishes and gets super groggy on examination mornings :')

12. Connie: Graphic Design

• His mother was extremely proud of her son getting into the college; so much that she had told every other person passing on the streets how Connie will be a genius, in whatever tech stuff he is doing

• Opted for a college far away from home, because he wanted to experience life to the fullest by living alone, and learning to fend for himself

• Teaches basic computer science to two kids, and works as a freelancer digital artist, along with juggling his classes

• Loves his subject and puts effort behind it quite regularly, but call him for a party he'd be there with two extra beer bottles, ridiculously shimmery clothes and a party popper!

13. Jean: Architecture

• Look me in the eye and tell me that Jean doesn't look like a dreamy arch student, always carrying his sketchbook along with him and sitting down to draw the building or monument designs that seem to intrigue him

• Was in eighth grade, when Mikasa told him that the way he draws the buildings are very clean. Boom, and he wants to draw them for the rest of his life

• For some reason, his mother did not approve of his subject choice, until one day she found a few building designs doodled in placards sprawled over his desk and reconsidered her opinion

• Loves a good party once in a while, but really wants to work behind the subject so sometimes, calls a rain check

14. Erwin: Intelligence

• Ever since Erwin can remember, he wanted to be in the army, fighting for his motherland. That was what he had wanted all his life, and he had every quality to enlist himself for it until he sustained incurable injuries on his right arm trying to save an elderly couple from an accident

• Intelligence major was a piece of cake for Erwin, for he was a natural leader, acing all his classes with ease. He loves spending time in the library a lot, and his favourite book is rumoured to be 'Crime and Punishment' by Fyodor Dostoevsky

• He is equally loved and lusted by the women in his university, but apart from occasional casual flings, he does not want to engage in a relationship because it 'fuddles his mind'

• His room is speck clean and he likes working out regularly and eating healthy (cooks his own food and is distrustful of the canteen meals)

15. Zeke: Law

• In school, Zeke was reprimanded a lot because according to his teachers, he was 'always quipped with a brash follow-up question, with no regards to authority'. In college, he encashed it by enrolling himself in a law major programme

• He is a big believer in practical knowledge and quickly networked to find internship opportunities to practice and observe lawyers alongside his regular studies

• With an absentee father, he worked two side jobs as a cashier at Starbucks and a private tutor

• He participated a lot in debate competitions and moot courts to enhance his critical thinking and analytical skills

16. Marco: Film Studies

• Always a sweet and dreamy guy, Marco chose film studies because he passionately believes films influence people a lot

• Ask him, and he will name the most obscure movies just to seem like a film student with a mysterious air, while in reality, his favourite movie is Mean Girls

• Likes people watching and tries to do all his college work sitting in a cafe, with 'coffee, coffee, coffee!'

• Has tried making short films, and although the themes and plots have been pretty good, he is yet to get real recognition for them

17. Porco: Aviation

• Ever the cocky guy, Porco took aviation because it made him feel like he was on top of the world

• Scored average in theory but was very skilled in practical knowledge

• His professors have often recommended he enlist for the air force, but he doesn't want to; he wants a low-key life without stress (staning a king who knows the importance of mental health!)

• Flirts A LOT with his fellow classmates, and 10/10 uses his charm to get his homework and assignments done

18. Pieck: Inorganic Chemistry

• Pieck's main goal in life is to see more women in STEM, and thus, her major

• Has excellent mathematical and statistical skills and uses them efficiently to excel

• Straight A student, has the special lucky glasses that she wears while taking her exams

• Very humble and soft-spoken, she is often forced to help others even when she doesn't really want to

19. Gabi: Marketing Research

• Gabi originally wanted to become a footballer and had once run away from home because she felt her parents did not approve of her career choice

• While football is still her passion, she has a newfound love for marketing

• Immense persuasive skills and great essays make her one of the toppers of her batch

• Feels stressed trying to juggle studies and football, but she loves both and can't live life with one without the other

20. Falco: Art History Criticism and Conservation

• Falco loved visiting art museums as a kid, and this love of his followed well into adulthood

• His favourite artist is Monet, and his core memory of college is their field trip to the Sistine Chapel

• Loves art, any art in any form, and appreciates every art he sees; is passionate about learning more and has inculcated the skill of finding beauty in everything

• His dorm room is filled with paintings from roadside artisans that he fell in love with, and on Sundays, he tries painting himself (and fails miserably, but is the happiest)

#aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot college au #college au #aot headcanons #anime headcanons #sasha blouse #connie springer #jean kirstein #erwin smith #zeke yeager #marco bott #porco galliard #pieck finger #gabi braun #falco grice

[murdockparker]

Foolish Endeavor - Part 1

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton was certainly no fool. Bad at cards, sure, a bit taller than most, that was a given, but he was seldom called a fool. Though, one could argue that falling for your best friend was a foolish endeavor, indeed.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: mix of book/show, mixed canon, tried my best to be time-accurate but even the source material isn’t so.... bon appetit!

next part

__

Of all the charming places in the world, London seemed to be at the height of that list. True that many in the ton were used to the daily life of the fair city, but far more found the simple pleasures of the life to be more than suffice, the joys of society far too enjoyable.  

Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was decidedly not one of those few people.

Daughter to the Earl of Kent, the only child he had sired, she grew up rather lonely within the walls of their lavish homes—the one in London, Tonbridge and the estate near Scotland. It was not as if the earl and his wife longed for more children—no, they had tried their hardest to conceive a son to pass the title and fortune on—the countess could simply not carry another child after the miracle of their only daughter. This not only left (Y/N) terribly lonely, but felt the largest sense of duty to fulfill, to provide her parents with a grandson to continue the lineage before the earl should pass. Her father had no brothers, nor male cousins to his name, all records of distant and far-off relatives were coincidentally destroyed in a fire many years ago—her grandfather would deny any accusation that was thrown his way. Because of that tragedy, the earldom would all but disappear should an heir not be procured.  

(Y/N) did not consider herself to be of the maternal type, but as her duty required, she would have to muster any bit of those fleeting feelings to provide for her parents, for their title. How she loathed the system in its entirety for that sole purpose. Naturally, she could not acquire the title for herself—a woman in society could never have that privilege—so she must begin to court, to find a husband to provide her an heir. Of course, this brought a great laugh to Lady (Y/N), as it was of the normalcy that the men in the ton required such a thing as well. 

Courting was, in every word imaginable, boring. None of the eligible men in the ton seemed to strike (Y/N)’s fancy—no matter how hard they tried. Each ball was filled with strife, meaningless conversations and rather terrible company. The keen fact of the matter was that (Y/N) couldn’t simply marry any man in the ton, but a man of no title. Once again, a laughable endeavor as many eligible bachelorettes were seeking the opposite—a man of nobility and the deepest pockets to provide for their full life.

Thankfully the infamous gossip rag, Lady Whistledown, had not yet caught wind of the (Y/L/N)’s true reasoning to the desperate need for their daughter to marry, lest the ton be any of the wiser. Of course, those with half a brain would still want their title-less or less fortunate son to marry a well-off young lady such as (Y/N), considering she would potentially have a rather large dowry and welcome the son into the rather influential family, the point was moot.

So here she was, at one of the many balls of the season, the Cowper ball, standing terribly too close to a refreshment table, hoping not a soul would notice her. Of course, her mother had prepared for such an attitude, having (Y/N) dress in a ghastly pink dress to catch the eyes of suitors from around the ballroom. She was practically fluorescent, shining like a candle in the night. When her eyes locked with a man coming her way, she nearly downed her glass of lemonade.  

“Lady (Y/N),” the man bowed, out of politeness. (Y/N) could all but roll her eyes at the sight. She bit her tongue at the thought.

“Lord Greenwood,” (Y/N) nodded back. 

“Truth be told, I did not expect you to be at this event tonight,” Lord Greenwood said, his hand finding his pocket effortlessly. The man was the older type, not nearly as young as (Y/N) with a good fifteen years difference between them at the least. He had a wife once before, both her and their heir dying during childbirth, so the Lord had no choice but to begin to court again, to hope for an heir again. It hadn’t been a love match, to (Y/N)’s knowledge, but they seemed to care enough about one another to equate such a loss. 

“If I must be truthful, neither did I,” (Y/N) replied honestly, grabbing another glass of lemonade, her silk gloves tracing the delicate pattern on the glass. “I do rather hate these dances.”

“But with a beautiful presence such as yours, surely your dance card must be keeping you busy, no?” Lord Greenwood motioned to the card hanging from her wrist, trying to eye the list of names written on the back. (Y/N) grabbed the card quickly from his prying eyes.

“Y-yes, of course my Lord,” (Y/N) faked a smile, “my dance card always seems to be filled, never giving me the proper moment of respite I so desperately need…” She eyed the man briefly, hoping her point would catch. He seemingly did not. “That moment, of course, being right now.”

“Ah,” the Lord nodded, “apologies for interrupting. I was just to see if you had but a line left on your dance card. I would be most pleased to share a dance with you this evening.”

“I’m afraid my card is full,” (Y/N) gave the most forced smile she could muster, one hopefully read as sympathetic. She hoped deeply that it worked. “Perhaps you should find me earlier at the next dance?”

“Of course, I will surely have to do just that,” Lord Greenwood nodded, his eyes dancing right behind her head. He found himself glancing at a group of young ladies, all looking pleasantly alone and oh-so beautiful. “If you must excuse me.”

(Y/N) let out a caught breath, finally able to release the card from her hand. Her dance card hadn’t been filled at all—not with genuine names at least—she had taken a moment to fill nearly every spot with a believable name so she could have one free evening this season to relax and enjoy the music. Of course, she had left one line free, just in case she were to find a man worth her time and breath. As if that would ever happen. 

“Turning away a viable suitor? I can practically see the steam rising from your mother’s ears.”

(Y/N) found herself turning her head, only to be met with the eyes of Benedict Bridgerton, a friend, thank God above. “Well, hello Mr. Bridgerton. Fancy seeing you this evening.”

“Fancy indeed,” he hummed. “I must say, it was quite hard to not see you this evening.” Benedict smiled at her dress, eyeing the bright fabric with a casual intensity. 

“Mama thought it be best I wore something eye catching,” a sigh almost escaped her lips. “She believes no suitable man would possibly see me otherwise.”

“Now why on earth would she think of that?” Benedict laughed lightly. “It is not as if you try to hide by the refreshment tables or in the hallways, is it not?”

(Y/N) fought back a grin, the corners of her lips turning upwards ever so slightly. “You think little of me, Mr. Bridgerton,” she took a sip of her lemonade, “I would never try to hide, I am rather good at it, so there is no need in trying.”

“Hiding will not find you a husband.”

“Perhaps that is the goal?” (Y/N) eyed Benedict lightly, her brow arched upward. “You see how these ladies throw themselves about the room, going from suitor to suitor,” she pointed across the way, “take Miss Harrison for example, her mama has her in such an ill-fitting dress, her bosom is practically falling out of it.”

“I do not see your point? Miss Harrison has an ample bosom, surely that is what could bait her a husband, no?”

“I could never stoop so low as baiting a man,” (Y/N) nearly shuddered. “If I ever were to marry—and my mama is hell bent on making that so—I would want it to be of my own volition and choice, not because I was merely charmed during a waltz.”

“I once again fail to see your point,” Benedict smiled lightly. “You do not wish to marry, yet you would if a man were to charm you somehow else?”

“If I were to find a man worth marrying,” (Y/N) corrected, “it certainly wouldn’t be within the social setting the ton seems to have everyone wrapped around.”

“Because you despise these gatherings?”

“Precisely that.”

“If I may be so honest,” Benedict leaned closer to her, “I too despise this setting.”

“You share that as if I didn’t know that much,” (Y/N) teased. “You seem to forget that we have known each other for many years.”

“We have,” Benedict nodded, “but ever since your debut, we have seldom chatted, especially at events such as these.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want the ton to think we were courting, would we?”

“Would that be the worst gossip to come about us?” Benedict asked honestly. It wouldn’t be, he had decided. “I can think of, at the least, five other juicy morsels that Whistledown could choose to publish instead. Why, I rather think that your dress this evening would be a key topic of conversation.”

“You couldn’t possibly wish to court me, the ton would know it too,” (Y/N) waved him off, simply ignoring the rightful jab at her dress. “You only jest.”

“Perhaps this is true,” Benedict laughed hesitantly. The truth behind his words was shaky at best. “It would be like courting my sister, even if my sisters are mostly wonderful ladies.” He tapped mindlessly against his newly-refreshed lemonade glass. 

“How is your mother dealing with Eloise’s debut? I’m sure that your sister is just loving her time in the season.” (Y/N) was genuinely curious of how the middle Bridgerton daughter’s debut had been going, knowing from their time growing up that Eloise seemed rather… against everything the season had to offer. The earl and the late viscount were great mates from their schooling, the families growing up not too far away from one another while the (Y/L/N)’s were in London. (Y/N) found herself at the Bridgerton residence more often than she’d ever admit, finding great company in the eldest four Bridgerton siblings. She also found comfort in the youngest four, too, almost as if she was their older sister. It felt nice, to feel like she had siblings, and the Bridgertons had quite a few to spare. 

“Mother has her head in a tizzy,” Benedict sighed, a hand resting on his pocket. “She wanted Eloise to debut sooner,” he hummed, “Anthony is rather cross about how she’s been acting.”

“Eloise is younger than when Daphne debuted, no?” Benedict nodded lightly. “Well, Daphne debuted later and found a husband with no problems,” her mind drifted to the rumored duel between the Duke of Hastings and Anthony. “Few problems, I imagine. Best to start early in the seasons, though.”

“You,” Benedict poked her shoulder, “debuted at two and twenty if my memory serves correct.”

“And I,” she poked back, “held off on that front as long as I could,” (Y/N) held back a grin. “I am nearly considered a spinster now, currently on my third season.”

“Just as you’d like it, I presume.”

“You know me too well, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Ah, must we be so formal?” Benedict sighed, his head cocking ever so slightly. “I do understand the prying ears and eyes of the room, but I do rather hate it when you are so formal.”

“Apologies,” (Y/N) sniggered. “I did not know that would cause such a great offense.”

“Minor offense was taken,” Benedict hummed, rocking slightly on his heels. His eyes followed the dancers around the center of the room, watching the new couples and courting prospects alike twist and turn. “But I do miss being called ‘Benny’, if you must know.”

“Certainly your youngest siblings still call you that?” (Y/N) nearly snorted. “I haven’t even dreamed of calling you that since we were out of our leading strings,” she scanned her eyes quickly around, “and even so, I wouldn’t be so keen on using it here.”

“You simply didn’t know me whilst we were in leading strings,” Benedict laughed. “And no, Gregory and Hyacinth simply call me by my given name, as one would expect.”

“So it must be Eloise who still calls you that,” (Y/N) sharpened her gaze at the tallest Bridgerton. His cheeks flushed at the notion. “Ah, I see I’m correct.”

“Eloise is known to be quite teasing,” Benedict coughs, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Particularly with me, so it seems.”

“You are one of her favorite brothers,” (Y/N) hummed into her lemonade glass, nearing the bottom. Soon enough the glass would be empty, leaving her with no reason to stand off to the side. A large sigh escaped her lips.

“I didn’t know my presence would be such a bore to you,” Benedict said, a lopsided smirk following.

“No, trust that it is not you but the dreaded fact that my mama is to find me soon,” (Y/N) finally finished her glass. “I have not taken to the dance floor all evening and—” 

“But your dance card is full?” Benedict grabbed at the card dangling from her wrist, reading the names carefully. His grin grew wide, face twisting in amusement. “You mean to tell me that you haven’t shared a dance with a one R. Montague?” (Y/N)’s eyes were fixed on the floor, a smirk dancing across her lips. “I’m sure that C. Worthy is practically crestfallen to not have waltzed with you.”

“You mustn’t forget I. Lash, he was a rather persistent fellow, rather handsy,” (Y/N) tried to sound sincere, failing miserably.

“So pray tell, what if your mother asks to meet any of these viable suitors?” Benedict asked. “Or asks why you hadn’t been on the dance floor?”

“You must have missed the blank line, Benedict,” she cautiously used his given name, almost in a whisper, “I had planned to make at least one dance this evening.”

“With whom?”

“That, I’m not sure,” (Y/N) all but shrugged. “I have to take to the dance floor at least once, lest my mother be any the wiser. I figured that I would find some suitor I did not particularly hate to twirl around with, one to fool the masses.”

“And Lord Greenwood was not that suitor?”

“Please,” (Y/N) snorted, “Lord Greenwood could practically be my father. No amount of wealth around could get me to play pretend and feign interest with him.”

“This just brings me back to my earlier point, hiding will not find you a husband—or a dance partner.”

“I am not hiding, you seemed to find me quite well.”

“I can always find you.”

“If that is clearly the case, why do you not add your name to my dance card?”

Benedict’s eyes grew wide at his friend’s boldness. It was customary for the man to ask the lady for a space on her dance card, not the other way around. “But I am not a possible suitor for you, is that not correct?”

“No, you’re correct,” (Y/N) said quickly, as if it were obvious. “But I’d much rather spend my one dance of the eve with a friend than someone entirely too vexing.”

“You don’t think I’m vexing?” Benedict threw his hand to his chest in mock offense, a small gasp exiting his lips. (Y/N) narrowed her eyes at the gesture, her smile not dropping in the slightest. “I should take that as a compliment, but somehow my heart hurts.”

“As I said, I would appreciate,” she punched her words, “to spend my dance with a friend.”

“Well, I’m sure your mother would find it most pleasing to see you dancing with a Bridgerton.”

“So you understand?”

Benedict offered his hand gently, awaiting (Y/N)’s to join. “I understand completely.”

—

The evening at the Cowper residence was one of infamy. It is in This Author’s opinion that many a love match were made in the very halls the ton found themselves in last eve. It is on good authority that the elder Lord Greenwood has charmed Miss Alice Harrison and a courtship is surely soon to follow. 

But that, dear readers, is not the high of the evening’s events. Benedict Bridgerton, second eldest of the Bridgerton brood, found himself scarce as always until the eleventh hour, finding his way amongst the dance floor with none other than with dear family friend Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Lady (Y/N), of course, being the daughter of the esteemed Earl of Kent, is rumored to be making haste on finding a marriage partner this season. Could her dearest friend be that candidate? Their dance only had happened after a prolonged conversation nearest the refreshment table, perhaps Mr. Bridgerton found a way to finally charm her in the ways only a suitor could. This Author is inclined to keep a watchful eye on the handsome couple, lest we miss a love match right under our noses. 

Lady Whistledown Society Papers

__

Benedict felt his eyes nearly pop out of his head, reading and re-reading the small pamphlet that had been delivered to the Bridgerton residence in the early morning hours. He normally did not entertain himself with the gossip paper, but when Eloise nearly spat up her first cup of tea amongst the column, he grew interested.

“Brother, it could be worse,” Eloise tried to reason. “You rarely are mentioned amongst her ramblings, if this is to be the worst—”   

“It is not me I am worried about, sister,” Benedict sighed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. “(Y/N) is to find a husband this season, for Lady Whistledown to insinuate that we are courting—”

“It will not hurt her chances,” Anthony chimed in, having been sitting in the room the entire time. “Besides, if I recall correctly, you yourself had once said that a rumor of a supposed courtship with Lady (Y/N) would not be the worst in the world.”

“I was merely saying that in jest, brother! I did not think that it could possibly come to fruition, especially with everything else that happened last eve. Lady Cowper nearly fell into the lemonade bowl, at her own ball, surely that could’ve made some sort of impression.”

“You two did look rather taken with one another on the dance floor,” Eloise said, playing with the threads of her pale blue frock. She had dressed up nicely for the morning, much to her disdain and her mother’s persistence. Perhaps she’d have a caller in the morning, crazier things have happened. “I’ve known her forever, she’s never looked at anyone like she looked at you.”

“You don’t know of what you speak,” Benedict waved. “Sister, I have known her just as long as you, she was merely playing the part of a devoted debutante at a ball to appease the countess.”

“(Y/N) must be a fine actress, then,” Eloise said, sitting on the couch beside Benedict with a flop. “She seemed to fool the entire ton with one dance.” Benedict’s face fell like stone, hardened in thought.

“You cannot possibly be angered that this rumor would be the worst to come of you last evening,” Anthony laughed at his brother’s demeanor. “How unfortunate that you’re supposedly courting a fine young lady.”

“But I don’t wish to be courting anyone, let alone a good friend of mine.”

“You mean to tell me that your long-time crush on (Y/N) has simply dissipated?”

Benedict grew silent. It was true, he had been infatuated with the young daughter of the earl since they were children, her demeanor and way she held herself was unlike any of the other children the Bridgertons found themselves in company with. She had a quick wit, a sharp tongue and the prettiest eyes Benedict had the pleasure of viewing. Of course, he knew she was meant to wed an influential man one day, never could she entertain the idea of courting a second-born son, let alone a man she saw no more than a friend.

“Those feelings were merely those of children,” Benedict assured his older brother, if not, assuring himself also. “I’ve grown since then.”

“If you say so, Brother,” Anthony said. He decided to drop the topic altogether, noting Benedict’s demeanor on the conversation at hand. The energy in the room shifted, it was obvious. Eloise looked beside herself, almost biting back words she desperately wished to share. Anthony shot her a stern look, a wordless plea to not push her brother’s buttons further. The look didn’t work.

“Benedict, (Y/N) is a wonderful friend. I’m sure if you were to court her—”

“I am not courting!” Benedict shot up from the chaise, the eyes of his siblings all locking onto him, Eloise instantly growing silent. His fists were clenched, knuckles turning white. “I have little desire to wed, let alone court a dear friend,” he paused, as if to get his point across, “I wish you would not speculate any more about it, it makes you no better than Lady Whistledown.”

“Benedict, we were mostly doing it in jest,” Eloise quietly added, almost afraid to set her brother off again. She hardly ever went quiet.

“Eloise is right,” Anthony rose to Benedict’s side, a hand placed on his shoulder. “It was mostly in jest.” Benedict shoved his brother’s hand off his shoulder, finding himself storming off to his bedchambers, away from his various siblings.

“What did you all do to Benedict?” Colin asked, having just joined the family from breaking their fast. “He looked as if he was ready to kill.”

“Kill Lady Whistledown, no doubt,” Eloise said, handing Colin the latest gossip column. Colin took a moment to graze the first article, having noted Benedict’s name rather quickly. 

“Ah. I suppose he is.”

—

Across town, at Kent House, a similar conversation was taking place over their breakfast, a feast fit for, well, an earl. (Y/N) felt as if she wanted to crawl inside herself, away from the prying eyes of her mother and father, afraid to even be seen amongst the ton at all. She instantly dashed any plans to be had that afternoon, she simply could not bear to be the topic of gossip amongst the masses. She was hardly the topic of conversation in Whistledown, anything said about her was usually a compliment, but the occasional singe of scandal graced the text of the gossip rag every now and then, but then again, it had for practically everyone in the ton as well. 

“Benedict would be a perfect match for you,” Lord Kent nearly grunted. “He’s the second born Bridgerton. He’s not to be the next viscount, should his brother have sons, leaving the opportunity for heirs to inherit our family’s title—”

“I understand that, papa,” (Y/N) groaned, shoving the fork into the mush on her plate. She hadn’t had an appetite since reading Whistledown. “But Benedict is a friend!”

“Your father and I were friends first,” Lady Kent spoke up, “I don’t see you having any other suitors lining up. You hadn’t had a gentleman call upon you since the first ball of the season.” Her mother continued to eat their meal, taking almost dainty bites of the toast. “How have we not thought of the Bridgerton boy before?”

“Benedict is not a viable suitor,” (Y/N) pleaded again. “He agreed to dance with me last night—as a friend,” her voice was pointed, “nothing more, nothing less. He is but a good friend to me.”

“I wouldn’t push the Bridgerton boy aside so quickly, dearest,” Lady Kent said, blotting the corner of her mouth with a pure white cloth. “Why, any of the Bridgerton boys would be quite the match indeed. They all are the epitome of excellence, great looking and great manners, Edmund and Violet did them well.”

“They did,” (Y/N) agreed quickly, nodding her head. “Although, Anthony is a viscount—also terribly loathsome,” (Y/N) ticked off, one, two, three, her fingers pointed to the ceiling. “Benedict is out of the question,” she pointed to her next finger, “and Colin? He practically still a boy.”

“Colin is your age, is he not?” Lord Kent asked.

“A year or so younger, dear, I believe,” Lady Kent tried to correct. “Or, perhaps,” she thought for a moment, “you may be right, dearest.” 

“The Bridgertons are a perfectly suitable family, anyone would be lucky to marry into it,” It wasn’t as if she had never thought of the notion, marrying any of the elder Bridgerton boys. As a young girl—a hopeless romantic one at that—she practically saw herself with nearly every boy around her age, wondering if they were to be wed in the future. As time passed, the notion about marrying into the Bridgertons became laughable, almost a farce.

“I’m sure if we were to strike a deal with the Viscount Bridgerton…” Lord Kent trailed off, nearly to himself. His wife nodded in earnest. 

“Yes, I am quite certain that the viscount would agree to such a match for his brother.”

“Papa! You cannot be serious!?” (Y/N) nearly screamed.

“Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!” 

“I was merely thinking aloud, flower,” Lord Kent assured her. “You know how badly we need you to marry and produce an heir. You also know we agreed on no forced arrangements until your fourth season, should there be a fourth.”

“Nearly a year to go,” Lady Kent sighed. “You must make haste if you wish to not have your father’s hand in your match.”

(Y/N) mirrored her mother’s sigh. “I am well aware, mama,” She pushed her plate away from herself, almost disgusted by the thought of taking another bite. Not that she had eaten much of it anyway. “It is not that I don’t entirely wish to marry, I just don’t want to find my match at those boring events.”

“Those ‘boring events’ are where matches are made, dearest,” Lady Kent said. “It is simply how things are done.”

“Just because it is ‘how things are done’, does not mean that one cannot go off the beaten path,” (Y/N) droned, falling back against her chair, a rather unladylike motion. Her mother’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. She straightened up. “Trust that I’m working on finding a husband, please, on my own terms.”

“Well,” Lady Kent sighed again, a rather common reaction this morning. “If anything were to come from Whistledown, it at the least makes you more desirable. With a Bridgerton supposedly interested, the rest of the ton is sure to follow.” 

“I’m sure that you’re only saying that—” 

The doors to their dining room swung open, the family butler, Franklin, stood in the dead center. “My Lord,” he bowed lightly. “I’ve come to announce a number of callers for Lady (Y/N),” Franklin said, holding a small stack of cards. “Should you wish to hear their names?”

“How many?” Lord Kent asked, his interested peaked greatly.

“Six so far,” Franklin gave a small smile. “I’m inclined to believe more will be following—”

“Is the Bridgerton boy among them?” Lord Kent asked again. 

Franklin shook his head lightly, double checking the cards in his hand. “No, your grace, it seems as if Mr. Bridgerton is absent from today’s callers.”

“Pity,” Lady Kent said, tapping her fork against her plate lightly. “Well, dearest, I suppose you should find yourself presentable and entertain our guests?”

“Don’t I need a chaperone?” she narrowed her eyes. “Wouldn’t want another scandal to come of our family name, would we?”

“I will be joining in a moment to continue my embroidery,” her mother waved her off, “trust you will not be alone. Though, I do hope Benedict comes around.”

It took everything in (Y/N)’s power to not groan at the thought. To see Benedict amongst her callers—suitors wishing to perhaps ask for her hand—was a laughable endeavor. Sure, he would certainly stand out amongst the masses, his height making it easy to spot him from even the farthest of distances. She always loved his height, how even at their somewhat of a height difference, he never made her feel small. He always had appreciated her presence and opinions, never allowing her to fall to the sidelines…

But she couldn’t possibly bear to see him with the fools waiting for her in the drawing room. No way.

#Benedict Bridgerton #Benedict Bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #reader insert #bridgerton #i'm still doing marvel my guys just.... on a bridgerton kick too lol #benedict is best boy and you cannot convince me otherwise #i've been working on this fic for like a month #i have seven chapters already written with like at least 3 more in the works

[tiodolma]

Elder Damsel: All of our dead father's estates will be mine!!

Younger Damsel: NOOOOOOO I WILL FIGHT YOU IN COURT!

Elder Damsel: Not if I get there first lol

Younger Damsel: watch me

Elder Damsel: (gets to King Arthur's court first)

Gawaine: I will be her lawyer champion

Younger Damsel: T.T WHERE IS SIR LANCELOT?

Gawaine: sorry maam we dont know where he is

Guinevere: He just saved me from Maleagant but he has not come back

Lancelot: GAWAIN WHERE YOU I AM STILL IN THE TOWER PLS SAVE ME BELOVED FRIEND I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME I AM IN DESPAIR

Younger Damsel: if sir lancelot and sir gawain aren't here then i can't defend my claim T.T I am surprised that I cannot find aide in your court. But I will not give up my claim against my sister. Help me please, Oh king.

King Arthur: Ma'am you should give to your sister what she claims.

Elder Damosel: Nope I shall not. I dare her to find a lawyer champion who can help her take what she desire.

King Arthur: That's not fair. Fine I give your younger sister 40 days to find a lawyer champion, according to the practice of our courts

Elder Damosel: I will consent if she desires.

Younger Damosel: YES I WILL FIND MY OWN LAWYER CHAMPION.

///////

Younger Damsel: I have to find the Knight with the Lion! Thus is my quest! Where is he? I cannot find him! I am so sad. Now I am sick. I cannot continue. My claim is moot.

Another Damosel: I WILL TAKE YOUR QUEST, DAMOSEL! LEAVE IT TO MEEEEEEE

........................

Chretien de Troyes's damosels' having their own quests is the most fun part of this book.

#arthuriana #yvain knight with the lion #yvain #yvaine #chretien de troyes #hey kids it's damosel time #heli blobbing

[us-laws-you-should-know]

Marijuana Legality: The Quick(er) Version

A few days ago, I started writing a very long, very detailed post about marijuana legality state by state... and it got eaten by tumblr's drafts features.

This post is going to be the Cliff Notes version of that post.

First off, Wikipedia's Legality of cannabis by U.S. jurisdiction page is an excellent resource for this. It doesn't capture everything, but it captures a lot, and you can always go to linked pages for individual states and/or check the linked sources for more information.

The short(ish) version:

Under federal law, specifically the Controlled Substances Act, marijuana is a Schedule I drug and cannot be prescribed or possessed legally aside from a very tightly-controlled quota for scientific research purposes. This scheduling includes language stating that marijuana "has no currently accepted medical use" and "[t]here is a lack of accepted safety for use of the drug or other substance under medical supervision", which is... arguable.

There is a process for changing drugs, including marijuana, to a less restrictive schedule under the Controlled Substances Act or removing them as a controlled substance altogether. But that process hasn't happened for marijuana so far.

Technically, this supersedes state and local law on the subject; state law can be more restrictive than federal law, but not less restrictive, or else the whole idea of federal law governing the whole country is moot. Theoretically, that means that federal police could arrest anyone, anywhere, for marijuana possession under the Controlled Substances Act, regardless of what local authorities say on the matter.

Realistically, that's highly unlikely. Any case where someone gets arrested for marijuana in a state that says it's okay is practically asking for a Supreme Court case on the matter, and said Supreme Court ruling would inevitable be controversial and divisive, and right now everybody's content to just... pretend the federal law doesn't exist when the state says otherwise. Probably some years down the line such a Supreme Court case will indeed happen and cause a shift to the current murky and unstable status quo, but it's highly unlikely that said Supreme Court case will star you, random marijuana user. (And if it does, well, upside is there's bound to be a bunch of folks willing to represent you for free just to get in on the action!)

Also, the federal police are busy, and hey, if they don't have to worry about marijuana use in a large chunk of the country, that just gives them more time to go after other kinds of federal criminals.

So, if state law's what matters, what do the states say?

Again, I point you to the Wikipedia page outlining exactly this. (It's most of what I'm using for a resource here myself.)

Recreational use of marijuana is legal in 24 states (Alaska, Arizona, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Illinois, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Montana, Nevada, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, Ohio, Oregon, Rhode Island, Vermont, Virginia, and Washington state), three U.S. territories (Guam, Northern Mariana Islands, and U.S. Virgin Islands), and Washington D.C. Note that Ohio's measure here is newly passed and doesn't actually take effect until December 7, 2023, three days from now.

Commercial distribution is legal everywhere that recreational use is legal except Virginia and Washington D.C.

Personal cultivation for recreational use is legal everywhere that recreational use is legal except Delaware, Illinois, New Jersey, and Washington state.

Recreational use is decriminalized in Hawaii, Louisiana, New Hampshire, and North Dakota.

Medicinal use of marijuana is legal in 38 states (the recreational use ones, plus Alabama, Arkansas, Florida, Kentucky, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, South Dakota, Utah, and West Virginia), four U.S. territories (the recreational use ones plus Puerto Rico), and Washington D.C.

Medicinal use is decriminalized in Nebraska and North Carolina.

Iowa gets a special shout-out here for allowing medicinal marijuana, but not allowing any actual distributors of said medicinal marijuana in the state; medicinal marijuana patients need to go out-of-state to get their marijuana supplies, but those supplies remain legal upon bringing them back to Iowa.

Personal cultivation for medicinal use is legal everywhere that recreational cultivation is legal plus Illinois, Washington state, Hawaii, Oklahoma, and South Dakota.

Marijuana remains illegal for both medicinal and recreational use in ten states: Georgia (though several cities/counties in Georgia have decriminalized it), Idaho, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, Wisconsin, and Wyoming, and also the territory of American Samoa. Everywhere but American Samoa has some exception for CBD oil, though, with limits on the percentage of THC present.

A number of Native American reservations have also legalized marijuana use, either recreational or medicinal.

Most of these laws have restrictions beyond just "it's legal". You might have to be 18 to purchase marijuana, or 19, or 21; there's generally a maximum amount you're allowed to possess, or grow, at one time; medicinal use might be restricted to specific symptoms or conditions outlined in the original law; details may vary about having it in a public place, or about the specific forms allowed.

Also, some laws specifically address potential effects of marijuana use within the state beyond simple criminality. Can marijuana use be considered in a child welfare case, and held against you as a parent? Can use of medicinal marijuana get you fired if you fail a drug test your employer gave you, or just because your employer doesn't like it? Does being fired for using marijuana count as being fired "for cause" for unemployment purposes? Can marijuana use disqualify you from accessing needed health care like organ transplants? Excellent questions! The answers will vary. Or they might not be specified in the original statute at all, which leaves it open for the courts to decide.

If you're going to purchase and/or consume marijuana, please, look up all the details of your local laws on the matter beforehand.

#marijuana laws #cannabis laws #cannabis legalization #marijuana #cannabis #pot #weed #us law #american law #united states law #drug law #substance law #controlled substances act #controlled substances

[chromiumagellanic06]

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 15: Dreamer

MASTERLIST

Summary: Naera discovers something strange about Helaena.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: nothing, really

Princess Naera Targaryen, during the first year of her marriage, was seemingly very occupied. She is said to have worked from dawn to dusk on concluding her affairs in a rush, often enlisting the aid of her husband and uncle, Prince Daemon of the House Targaryen. Despite this, she had taken adequate time to grow as needed to familiarize herself with her half-brother, and nephew-by-law, Prince Aemond, as well as her half-sister, and niece-by-law, Princess Helaena. By several accounts, and none better than the letters sent by Ser Redmond of the Kingsguard to his family, the Princess had begun training Prince Aemond at his request, and had persuaded him against typical knightly brawls, and aligned him closer to the same grace and poise she herself fought with.

Her relationship with Princess Helaena, however, is under much dispute, as by certain accounts, the princess had begun speaking to the young girl about topics none other present could verify or even make sense of. It is well known in history that Princess Helaena, daughter of King Viserys of the House Targaryen, First of his Name, with Queen Alicent of the House Hightower of Oldtown, was a strange child. She is recorded by the Palace Maester as having been mentally deficient, and collaborating and interesting herself overly in insect life and off-turn musings. Thus, it is strange that Princess Naera, who had until previously made it practically known well and wide that she had no wish of learning anything of her half-siblings, would grow as close to them as she did, in as little time as she had. 

It is also imperative to note that the Princess was firmly standing in support of the Blacks in the civil war, that is the faction of court supporting the claim of her sister, Princess Rhaenyra of the House Targaryen, as the rightful heir to the throne. Another notable member of the Blacks is, of course, her husband, Prince Daemon, and the couple did execute an instrumental role in the war that was to come. For her to fraternize with her half-siblings, the Greens, was observed as strange, and at the time, even indicated a potential political defection, as often suspected by Princess Rhaenyra, the Princess of Dragonstone, who was not present in King's Landing at the time of these affairs. As indicated by copies of letters retained by Grand Maester Mellos of the Red Keep, Princess Naera had argued against the heir on this subject by stating, very clearly, that her decisions were not to be doubted, as her support lay with the pure branch of the family at all times. 

Whether she had considered a defection during those formative years, as her father, King Viserys of the House Targaryen, First of His Name, had his health progressively depreciate, is moot, for historically, as indicated by all her actions related to the war itself, it is clear that her loyalties lay with her sister, at least when the Dragons danced and died. 

The Days before the Dance:

A Comprehensive History of the events preceding the Dance of Dragons

by Grand Maester Glyspar of the Reach

“I pulverised them all,” and Naera knew that she would keep silent at Aegon’s claims. Civility, yes, as she had once pledged. She would not question it. She would not point out the lack of height of his feats. She would not speak.

“Ser Criston believes that I shall be ready for tourneys soon.” Oh, but the little prince would all but fall off his horse before he even struck lances, and that was the bitter old truth.

Daemon had taken no such claims of civility, and snorted at his nephew’s words. Oh, by the old gods and the new, at least he did not snag in a comment with it. That would be a headache.

Naera moved around the peas on her plate. Her appetite seemed to be falling, day after day, for wine, for food, even for water. She felt as though she was a plant meant for a windowsill left outside in the sun and rain, in the open nourishment of the world. She didn’t love it.

She glanced across the table, where her half-sister fiddled with her fork also, muttering strange phrases under her breath. She had never really paid attention to her, who was Naera's, she supposed, niece by law, or would it be good niece? She did not know. Helaena had always seemed a little off, out of it, lost, as though her mind was tuned to a different frequency altogether. There were times she behaved in earnest, and those times only grew with the prayers and lessons Alicent had subjected her to in order to ‘prepare’ her for marriage. She was a victim of society.

Naera almost pitied the girl.

“Now,” Viserys coughed out to his son, “Daemon was only ten and six when he took part in his first tourney,” though his point, his crux was forgotten as he gasped for breaths and searched for water. His hair had all but fallen off, just a few palsied strands left to veil his rounded head. Naera wondered if his illness could be helped.

“Wasn’t our dear sister younger, father?” Aemond called out from across the table, catching half the family off guard, and all eyes turned to him. “I believe Naera partook in her first tourney before she came of age.” Their eyes were a flock of birds, halting at a tree, and then whooshing to the next.

Naera felt watched, and it was not pleasant. She shook off their curiosities, “Five and ten, I believe.” She did not believe—it had been five and ten. It had been just a dozen nights before…Naera shook those thoughts away.

Aemond had no reason to know this much of her—Daemon did not know this far into her past, and Naera was left curious as to why he did. His one eye did not leave her, not for very long, but his gaze was hardly malicious—it was almost earnest, admiring, hopeful. She did not know what to make of it.

“I believe Aemond shall be the youngest in the family after all,” Alicent tried, and tried, and failed. She tried for what, none any longer knew, for not every opportunity needed to be used as a demonstration of pride. “All is left for the gods to see.”

“The raven does not walk.” Naera flipped her head to Helaena, only to find the little girl plunging a knife into chicken’s meat. The raven does not walk, but she could not just be referring to the bird she ate. Ravens did walk, they had feet, and oh, Naera caught herself thinking too far.

Aemond stared at her, watching intently, almost smiling at her naivete, but not quite. She’d might as well play along.

Naera smiled at the child, “Which raven?” It was silly, really, to indulge her imagination only.

Helaena looked up, her face so very, very innocent and young, and whispered, “The one with three eyes.” The one with three eyes. The three-eyed raven. The three-eyed crow.

No.

Naera froze.

Raven.

Fire and Blood.

Naera felt chilled, as though one had poured ice down her veins, her bones grew frigid, her teeth all but chattering, legs shaking, but all that was seen was the rise of gooseflesh all across her skin.

Bloodraven.

Aemond watched her with intent, questioning her reaction, her widening eyes, her paling skin, her frightened state, at his sister’s words. All were too consumed by their days’ troubles—none paid mind to it at all, how the Silver Knight had been caught fearful of a little girl’s musings.

“Of the old Gods,” Helaena added, and Naera felt cold, colder than she ever had, as the biting, freezing, burning cold settled around her, on her, within her, everywhere, with no end to it. There, there, there, trees, with faces grained in, and from the dark, hollow eyes rained blood, crimson, burning, warming—the old gods of the north, and it was cold, so very, very cold. She could feel her skin dry and freeze and ship off in pieces and clumps, cracking, shattering, breaking.

The same tree, but more, for past the branches and twigs and decay, beneath the snow and ice that crested it, entangled in vines and bales and all that lay there, was a figure with silver hair, pouring down, and the palest skin of decaying porcelain, and through his decaying, torn, broken body, with bones and nerves and hairs all clumped and tangles, pierced roots and thorns, strangling, tying, tearing it all tight, and amidst the gruesome mess, snapped open an eye of fire and of amethyst.

“Naera?” She fell back in her seat. The cold wasn’t there. The winds weren’t there. The weirwoods weren’t there. She turned to face Daemon, his eyebrows raised, questioning, but not silent. “Are you alright?” And she hated his tone—grimy, despicable, patronizing. Are you alright? As though a question by him could make her realise that she wasn’t—as though a statement from him could permit her to confess that she wasn’t.

“Quite fine,” and she hated her own tone also, ireful, disrespectful, contempt ridden. She felt guilt, for she knew that his intentions had surely been loving, but she could hardly separate his devotion from his desire to control her.

“You look a little pale, dear,” and Alicent did fare concern rather well on her features, not quite as hateful as Naera had justified her to have become. She was almost motherly, once in a while. She supposed Alicent was a mother—and thus had the gentleness people expected of her.

Ha.

Naera stood, eyes falling on Helaena, who stared down at her plate, shy, timid, as though speaking her mind was something to be regretted. “I believe I shall retire, then,” her mind settling on a goal of sorts to speak to her sister again, someday soon. 

“I’ve sent for the maester.” Daemon walked into her—their—bed chambers.

“Did you get into another tavern brawl with a Kingsguard, or did you just trip while walking?” Naera set the letter to her side, reaching for the next. Another request for her attendance at Qarth. She crumpled the page up and threw it in with the rest. That was seven—five more, she’d expect, if things were still in order back in the Walled City. If not, she might need to attend after all.

“You’re ill.” He stated it as though it was obvious.

“Not any more ill than I’ve ever been, kepus,” and she stopped herself from tossing in a statement of how considerate his care was. He didn’t need his pride to grow larger than it already had.

“Naera,” and he was growing annoyed, she noticed, and looked up at him, at his crossed arms and anxious face. He was worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she shook her head. “It’s just…she’s a strange child,” Naera decided, laying back in bed, tossing the papers she had carried to her side. 

“Hm?” Daemon was tired, eyes nearly shut for the night, “Yes, strange girl…” he trailed off, not really projecting any thoughts on it.

“Yes, but strange, do you understand her?” Naera did not seem tired, or ill—she was stranger, Daemon decided. She was hooked on her half-sister—the future Green Queen, for all they know, and she was stunted by her words. The raven does not walk. Of course, ravens don’t walk.

“Naera, the girl isn’t right in the head.” He concluded easily, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to somehow coax her to sleep, but she did not relent. Naera sat still beside his head, mind up in the air, thinking, wondering, theorizing—it was a waste of her efforts.

He sighed, “What is so strange?” He’d indulge her.

“Don’t you—” she stopped herself, he didn’t need to know, “Nothing, you are right.” She closed her eyes in respite, calming whatever cursed curiosity mingled in her thoughts. “Rest.” She pulled the blankets over her head, settling beside him, three candles still burning bright beside her. She never let him put them all out for a second. He had stopped questioning it, for the night is dark and full of terrors.

“Perhaps, she’s a dreamer,” he tried to console his wife, although she felt no grief or sorrow irrespective.

Naera shuffled the sheets off, sitting up, leaning close to his face. Her eyes gleamed in the light and darkness, but oh, she feared something in his words.

“Daenys, you mean.” Daenys the Dreamer, she who foresaw the Doom of Valyria and saved the Targaryens from its horrors. Daemon hummed, yanking her down to lie on his chest, and he carded his fingers through her hair, perhaps only to calm her down, to drill her into a dazed sleep.

“Viserys was always fascinated with Daenys,” he recalled, “Always said that he’d be a dreamer like Daenys, or like Aegon. Once,” Daemon chuckled in reminiscence, “He got very drunk, went on about how Aegon was a dreamer also—foresaw the end of Westeros, a long night that never ends, and then he tripped down a staircase.” Fun days, before his brother had grown to resent him for who he was—before his first exile, he supposed.

A Dreamer. Naera did not speak as he recounted further tales of his young days, for her mind stuck to what she had seen—what she had heard. If Helaena could prophesize—would it mean that there would one day be a creature such as that? A long night—no.

“The long night, kepus,” she corrected, “The winter that shall never end.” He knew the tale, surely, every nursery tale north of the Riverlands referred to the Longest Winter, a thousand years ago, when kings froze in their palaces and mothers murdered their children as acts of mercy, but there was more—in the East, there was more to the tale, be it to the Bloodstone Emperor of Yi Ti, or the legends of the Shadowlands themselves. “The long night ends with a prince of light charging against the darkness. The prince who was promised,” the Conqueror, the Breaker of Chains, to whom even darkness knelt, whom even the night feared. “When the red star bleeds,” and she heard her words echo within her mind, hollow, cold, luxurious and old, but distant and faded. Melisandre. “Azor Ahai, borne amidst salt and smoke, who shall wake dragons from stone. It is an old tale from Asshai, in the religion of the Lord of Light, that such a warrior shall return.”

Daemon wheezed out a breath, “When shall that be?”

“Ten years? A thousand? After a very long summer, it is known.” Me nem nesa, it is known, and she knows—that it shall be her, the Conqueror, the Breaker of Chains. The Princess who was Promised. The Last Targaryen, no, the very Last Dragon, and hers shall be the blood of Old Valyria.

“We shall all be long gone by then,” he mumbled against her head.

“Indeed,” Naera turned her head to watch the flames dance around the candles. “We shall.”

“Is that all you’ve got?” Then followed a string of debilitating insults in High Valyrian, and Naera was almost persuaded to laugh at Daemon’s treatment of Aegon. It wasn’t as though it’d help him. He had gone too far.

Ser Criston had excused himself from the affairs, claiming something along the lines of guard rotations, but he simply did not wish to be present as Daemon treated his nephew—the Green Queen’s son, in the way that was his god-given right as an asshole uncle.

Naera only watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, counting the seconds until she could drag him back to reading her correspondence. It had become easier with some help, and she wasn’t convinced to grant him respite from his chosen duties.

Ser Redmond glanced at her from the edges of his eyes, staring down the dagger at her waist, the resilience on her face. He had not enjoyed getting stabbed by Valyrian Steel. He glanced, off and on, between blades and metals, as he tried his whole best at training her other brother. Failing.

“Would you train me, Princess?” Aemond reached out a dulled blade towards her.

“I believe Ser Redmond has been assigned to train you, my Prince.” Naera glanced across at Redmond, smiling, frustrated, hesitating, shameful, for he had barely stood a chance against her ever.

“Ser Redmond is weak.” Ah, there, he said it. “You are not.” He sounded almost pleased to say that, as though praising her pleasured him, earnestly, with pride.

“Very well,” and she took the blade in her hand, heavy, but tolerable. “Come,” and he charged at her, swords clashing, and he grunted, gasped, and gave away his attack. Again, and she dragged her blade up above him, dodging his attempts with ease, jumping, bending, surprising.

“Now,” Naera stopped him with a raise of her hand, and Aemond could only take a breather, watching with intrigue as his half-sister spun and twisted the blade in the air, perfectly balanced, perfectly silent. “You can either be a Westerosi knight,” armour clinking, steel blades clashing, orderly, strong and secure, “You can be loud, and proud,” she pulled the blade behind herself, tossing it up in the air, and it soared down in an arc, the whipping of the blade against the wind the only music of its making, and she caught it by the ragged hilt, silent, graceful, careful, quiet, calculated, experienced. “Or, you can be quiet,” and she took a light step forward, blade striking across his face before he could see. She hadn’t broken his skin, barely grazed it, even, “and deadly.”

He was reminded, of a beast which hardly roared, it only soared, high in the skies, preying, hunting, lying in wait, silent.

“Like Vhagar.”

“Like Vhagar.” Naera smiled, fixing her braid against conflicting with her vision. “Again.”

He did try again, holding his breath, eye-watering from the effort, and again, and again. He tried for the entire evening, her work long forgotten, and they both missed Daemon watching from the edges alongside a scowling Aegon. 

“Who taught you how to fight?” Aemond asked her later, arms sore, and breath still swollen while she seemed to have barely exerted herself—there was grace, a leering, lingering, lasting calmness, as though the fire had gone out from her soul-the fire of her blood had extinguished, leaving behind a carcass of grace and equity.  

“There was a battle master in Sunspear, an Eastern Sellsword,” she had never even learned his name, Naera realised, “He knew all the ways, from Braavos, from the Grass Sea, from Yi Ti, and the knightly ways of whatever lay North of Dorne.”

“Everything, then.” He sounded gladder than she had ever heard him, almost hopeful, as though she could teach him all those ways also.

“Yes,” she would indulge him, perhaps, but as they walked, he stopped, watching somewhere deep in the corridors, where knelt his sister, a centipede in her hand. Helaena muttered things furiously at her septa, who only looked around for assistance, frustrated with her girl’s behaviours.

Muttering furiously, she stopped with the words, loud and clear, “There is a beast beneath the boards.” There is a beast beneath the boards.

Beast—Dragon. Boards—wooden boards? Floors? The Earth?

“Aemond,” she caught his attention, “Has anything Helaena ever said come true?” She swallowed, dry, grating, as he pondered upon her words. Naera feared her words, what they could mean, what the answer could represent—a truth most dangerous.

Aemond only stared back at Helaena, who had set the centipede down on the window sill to fetch another, much longer, letting it crawl up her hand as she spoke more, faster, mind rushing, lips failing to follow.

He fought for words, remembering too much, and all too soon, whatever she had said, whatever had occurred, trying to find that little overlap which Naera questioned, scrutinised and examined. After their births, the sullen look in his mother’s eyes whenever she saw Rhaenyra, the pain, the anguish, and the bugs, the fear, the needlework, the dullness of Helaena’s entire life, and more, and more, the mutterings, the whispers, every word, every breath, every musing of Helaena’s—Laena Velaryon, and oh, he remembered the day when the Strong boys and Aegon had handed him a pig, and what his dearest sister had said.

He'll have to close an eye.

“Yes.”

Naera drew in a cold, long breath, something of fatigue catching up with her, a dull ache in her back, lingering, growing, spreading across her shoulders, her neck, daring to lap at her head.

“What was it?”

Aemond turned back to Naera, a hand flying up to his eyepatch. Oh.

No.

“That I’ll have to close an eye.” Then, there was the urge to justify it—to repeat the claim he so forcefully had bestowed upon the Greens. An eye for a dragon. He got more than he gave, and he gained the mightiest beast of them all. He gained Vhagar, the last great dragon.

“What else?” Naera asked, tune moulded into a whisper. “What else did she say?” What else did she prophesize?

“Spools of black, spools of green, and…” he shook his head, trance broken, her whispers in his mind quietening, “There is a beast beneath the boards.”

There is a beast beneath the boards.

Spools of black, spools of green—The Blacks, and the Greens, the dresses, the colours, the threads. Rhaenyra and Aegon—Rhaenyra and Alicent, rather, the Black Princess and the Green Queen. Spools of black. Spools of green.

There is a beast beneath the boards? “Thank you, my Prince,” Naera was already taking large, calm, confused steps towards Helaena’s quarters

MASTERLIST

#daemon targeryan #original female character #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #team black #house martell #dance of dragons #melisandre of asshai #melisandre #daemon x y/n #daenerys targeryan #azor ahai #dreams #fanfiction #archive of our own

[ebookporn]

CDL VS. COPYRIGHT: THE CASE AGAINST THE INTERNET ARCHIVE

Four major publishers filed a complaint against the Internet Archive two years ago. While the hearing is still underway, this historic and unique case is predicted to have vital effects on future discussions about copyright law in the digital age.

by Amrita Anand

On June 1, 2020, four major publishers — Hachette Book Group, HarperCollins Publishers, John Wiley & Sons, and Penguin Random House — filed a complaint against the Internet Archive (IA) for willful mass copyright infringement following the release of its National Emergency Library earlier in the year as part of its Open Library project. Through this motion, the IA’s lending library suspended all waitlists for their available materials for the duration of the national emergency, citing the need for accessible educational materials in a period where libraries were otherwise shut down completely.

This decision received much backlash from authors and publishing companies for the lack of restriction in lending materials and the IA’s apparent lack of sympathy for authors’ monetary compensation. The IA then defended itself in a statement, saying that the National Emergency Library only lent materials to readers for two weeks at a time, with measures similar to ebook publishers to keep further copies from being circulated.

Ebook lending is a primary concern in Hachette v. Internet Archive — the organization identifies itself as a library, and specifically notes its practice of Controlled Digital Lending (CDL) to stave off copyright violations. CDL differs from ebook lending in libraries, in that the latter license ebooks directly from publishers, to then be lent to patrons a certain number of times. The Open Library project, meanwhile, collates scans of existing purchased or donated books, making available what a statement from the IA termed an “accessible facsimile of the printed book” to its users. This is not, however, the first instance of debate surrounding digitization: in 2014, courts ruled in favor of HathiTrust, a Google Books digital preservation initiative whose goal of creating a massive database of searchable text involved a similar method of scanning books.

The dubious legality of the IA’s model stems not from the source of the scans — the original purchase or donation is commonly accepted as an appropriate way for a library to access materials — but the fact that these scanned copies are circulated freely at all in a mimicry of digital piracy. The IA’s invocation of CDL policy — that is, the one-to-one “owned-to-loan” ratio of available copies on the Open Library — is its defense to this claim, though the implementation of the National Emergency Library rendered the point moot by lifting restrictions on lending.

READ MORE

#ebooks #digital publishing #copyright law #book piracy #controlled digital lending #internet archive #open library #librarians

[ceterisparibus116]

hello!! so i know there is not much extra time to be had in law school, so i was wondering: in your opinion, do you think doing moot court is worth it?

Ooh yes! YES.

Okay. To actually add some nuance to the discussion. Law school is very busy, but not all demands on your time are equal. Preparing for exams (whatever that may look like for the individual) is obviously important, but if you show up for an interview with A's in all your classes and nothing more...well, that's not going to look great. To be a competitive candidate, you need extracurriculars.

Of the possible extracurriculars out there, moot court (by which I assume you mean appellate advocacy) is one of the fanciest. If you're going for civil law, moot court will definitely make you stand out.

If you're going for criminal law...well, most criminal law firms and offices are more interested in mock trial (or trial team, or whatever the school may call the competition that puts on a fake trial).

The difference is that very few lawyers will actually argue appeals, so the value of appellate advocacy is simply in oral arguments. When do you need to give oral arguments? Any time a contested motion is set for a hearing. That happens all the time in civil law, compared with trials, which happen rarely in civil law. In criminal law, by context, far more cases go to trial, and there are relatively fewer motions set for a hearing.

But both moot court and mock trial are far more practical than doing, say, law journal, which gives you no real advocacy experience.

What if you have to decide between, say, moot court and an internship? Or between moot court and working with a clinic? That will depend way more on your individual goals, and on what the firms/offices you hope to work for one day are looking for. If you have an idea of what you want to do, I highly recommend reaching out to firms and offices that do that kind of work and asking what they would prefer to see in a candidate. (Plus, that gets you on their radar - and that's always a good thing!)

Does that help?

#law school #legal #random #asks #ask me things i'm friendly