#[based on paralytic states by against me]

[botheringlevi]

𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩

𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴

𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘴

𝘙𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘱 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘭 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘴

𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘵𝘶𝘣'𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳-𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦

𝘚𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦-𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘱 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴

𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦

𝘙𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦

𝘊𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯

𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥

𝘈 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦

𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦

𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘭

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵

𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦

𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳

𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘺𝘴𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢'𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

𝘏𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Unwanted Cravings.

Pairing: Yandere!Miguel O'hara x Reader (Spider-Verse).

Word Count: 1.3k.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Venom!Reader, Obsessive Behavior, No Actual Sexual Content But Unlimited Access to Miguel's Horny Thoughts, No Seriously This Man Just Wants To Be Topped But He Has To Be So Weird About It, and Slight Violence.

Miguel couldn’t remember the last time he’d been restrained.

Beaten, broken, pinned under falling rumble or sedated or exposed to a paralytic gas, but not restrained. When he was first coming into his abilities, maybe – he could picture himself waking up in some damp, depressing holding cell, but he’d never been handcuffed. If the cops managed to get their hands on him, he wasn’t in a state to resist, and his villains were rarely the ‘catch and release’ types. Or, most of his villains, at least.

This would be so much easier, if all you wanted to do was kill him.

Without warning, the tendrils of your symbiote binding his arms behind his back wrenched tighter – tearing something in his shoulder and drawing a low, pained grunt out of the base of his throat. He clenched his eyes shut, but opened them again just as quickly, turning his gaze toward you.

You were above him, but not out of reach. Perched on the edge of a well-beaten wooden crate, one leg crossed over the other, everything below your neck covered with the glistening black tar of your symbiote, you were staring down toward where he’d been forced to kneel on the cement floor, too, sizing him up with an expression bordering between total disinterest and utter boredom. The repulsion in your eyes alone was enough to spark something in his chest, to make him wonder if you’d look at him with the same indifference if he got his hands free and forced your legs apart, if he buried his face between your thighs and gave up air in exchange for something much more precious. He could do it, if he needed to. If he used his talons, if he pushed himself, he could do it.

But, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Because you’d get hurt. Because you’d already proven you weren’t looking for a fight, just something to do.

Because you’d leave if he didn’t play along, and you couldn’t leave.

Not that you were in a rush. With an airy sigh, you leaned forward, letting your head lull to the side as you raised your foot, finding the underside of his chin. With more force than you really had to use, you tilted his head back, taking a moment to evaluate his swollen eye, the jagged cut you’d left along his cheekbone when your symbiote had momentarily mistaken him for its next meal. Eventually, your foot fell away from his chin, the sole of your boot finding a place against the center of his chest. He could feel heat rushing to his face, his breathing grow hoarse and ragged, and could only hope it was too dark for you to notice. “You look good with a little damage.” Cold, viscous condescension dripped from your tone, but Miguel had to fight the urge to preen. “You should drop the mask more often. Reaper might stop trying to take a bite out of you if she knew how pretty you could be, when you put the effort in.”

Pretty. A pang of something pure and electric shot from the base of his throat to the pit of his stomach. His breath hitched, and as if in response, your symbiote nipped at the corner of his jaw with just enough force to break the skin. He didn’t try to speak, too aware of how audibly his voice would wavevr - only glaring in your direction, doing what little he could to square his shoulders, to look like a hero. You just laughed, the noise flat and humorless. It made him want to carve your throat out. It made him want to kiss you until his lips bled.

“It’s not fun if you’re just going to make faces at me.” You clicked your tongue, rolled your eyes. “Who was that guy you were with the other day, the one who I threw through a billboard? He was cute – do you think he’d want to play with us, sometime?”

Miguel bared his teeth. Your symbiote purred with delight. “Peter’s not worth your time.”

Another laughed. A real laugh. “And you are? Tell me, Spider-Boy, what exactly can you do for me?”

Involuntarily, images flooded his mind by way of an answer. You, straddling his waist, riding him until he was barely conscious beneath you. Your body between his legs, thrashing void clinging to your skin as you split him open with the help of your symbiote, as you wrapped your clawed hands around your neck and squeezed. A tongue longer than his forearm forcing its way down his throat, the feeling of your body pressed against his, the wild grin you wore as you tried to tear him apart plastered across your lips as you—

The grin you were wearing now, he noticed, when he finally snapped himself out of his fantasies. Not as unrestrained, not extenuated by a thousand rows of pointed teeth, but just was sharp, just as piercing. Complimented by the glint in your eye you only ever got when you saw something you wanted to bite into. “You’re blushing.”

He bowed his head, cursing under his breath. “Let me go—”

“Don’t give me that.” A pair of think tendrils sprouted from his restraints, wrapping around his thighs and forcing his legs apart. Your foot fell farther, landing on his crotch and applying enough pressure to force a sharp hiss through his grit teeth. “Good guys aren’t supposed to lie.” You ground your heel into the base of his shaft and he doubled into himself, a violent moan tearing past his lips. “Be honest, this time – do you get this hard for every rouge you fight, or am I special?”

You were special. Of course, you were special. If you weren’t, his skin wouldn’t itch when anyone else so much as looked at him. If you weren’t, he wouldn’t melt so easily under your attention – hostile or affectionate. If you weren’t, he wouldn’t have to fight so hard not to grind into your heel, not to imagine your symbiote slipping underneath his suit, splaying him out, binding him in place and rendering him immobile, helpless, yours. He tried not to imagine the feeling of your hand against his chest, his waist. He tried not to imagine what you’d do to him, when you had him at your mercy.

It slipped out before he could swallow it back, before his better judgement could overshadow his primal need to feel your skin against his. “Please.” And again, as your lips quirked upward, as you rolled the sole of your boot against his crotch, “Please.”

“Please what, Spider-Boy? Ask for what you want.”

“I— I want you to—” To kiss his neck. To draw blood. To eat him alive. “I need you to touch me.”

There was a beat of silence. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, erratic and nearly overwhelming, nearly deafening.

Finally, you snapped your fingers, calling your symbiote back to you. Miguel fell onto his back, panting as you pushed yourself to your feet. As your mask crept up your neck, you spared him one more glance. For a second, he could’ve sworn you were going to turn on him, sink your claws into his neck, tear his beating heart out of his rib-cage. For a second, he could’ve sworn you were going to stay with him.

Then, your lips quirked upward into a lopsided smirk. You reached down, a bone-white claw emerging from your monstrous hand. Slowly, deliberately, you dragged the sharpened point down the length of his chest, splitting open the holographic fabric of his suit and drawing a thin, red line from his collarbone to the tender flesh of his upper pubic area. You watched with a glint in your eye as he stiffened, as his shoulders shook and a bright, searing heat seeped into his veins and dripped down his thighs. Once the aftershocks had faded, you let out a bark of a laugh, recalling your talon and standing to your full height.

“Fucking pervert.”

Without another word, without another sound, you disappeared into the night, leaving Miguel alone, frustrated, and already desperate to see you again.

[unpairedbracket]

So it looks like @yoshihashismattebum, @thepenultimaterolo, and @thewaythroughthewoods have stood in front of a mirror and said my URL three times, compelling me to break my vow of silence and produce one (1) "post" on this "blog". My task is to spell out my URL with song titles

TL:DR - here's a playlist

Side A (don't worry about it)

Unacceptable - Bad Religion

Never Fight a Man With a Perm - IDLES

Paralytic States - Against Me!

Aneurysm - Nirvana (1)

I checked your cellphone - Otoboke Beaver (2)

Rollercoaster - Lauran Hibberd

Extraordinary Girl/Letterbomb - Green Day (3)

Dragon - King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard (4)

ballad of a homeschooled girl - Olivia Rodrigo (5)

Red Wine Supernova - Chappell Roan (6)

Art of Dying, The - Gojira (7)

Crying in Amsterdam - Sløtface

Knights of Cydonia - Muse (8)

Edmonton - PUP (9)

These Spectacles Reveal the Nostalgics - The Hives

Liner Notes

There seem to be two studio versions and lots of live versions of this; the one I'm thinking of is the studio version that was the B-side to Smells Like Teen Spirit, but the live versions I've heard are also good. Not so keen on the Incesticide version though

Or in Japanese, 携帯みてしまいました by おとぼけビ～バ～

Extraordinary Girl is, imo, one of the weaker tracks on American Idiot, but Letterbomb is probably my favourite (sub-9-minute) song on that album so I figured I'd take advantage of the weird way the track listing is arranged to sneak an L in here

King Gizz are bonkers good but a lot of their music isn't really my jam, genre-wise. This is one occasion where they made an album in a genre I like, and the results are excellent. 16th note double kick drumming at 145bpm for 40+ bars straight? Nice. Vocals in four different octaves? Of course. Two verses of chanting in Latin? Why not?

I'm not the only person I know who's mistaken the intro to this for a PUP intro. I don't think there's any other pop star I can say that of.

Yeah this is a repeat from the lists of two of the people who nominated me for this. Well-deserved.

If I said 3 songs back that King Gizzard's drumming was impressive, Mario Duplantier's is inhuman. I've seen a 10-minute video essay about what polyrhythm he's even drumming in the intro, and the kick drumming on the chorus is like 40% faster than on Dragon. Wild stuff.

I feel like Muse work best in the "horseshoe theory" region of a scale from sublime to ridiculous, and this song is a good example

This is from one of the two EPs that soundtracked a locked-down 2021 for me - very cathartic, and much-needed at the time

Side B (A.K.A you should have worried about it)

Ur Mum - Wet Leg

New Born - Muse

Passport - Sløtface

Alone at Home - Jonathan Coulton

Ignoreland - REM

Reject - Green Day

Everlong - Foo Fighters

D-7 - Nirvana (1)

Bulls on Parade - Rage Against the Machine/Denzel Curry (2)

Red Light - The Regrettes

A.K.A. I-D-I-O-T - The Hives

Coast, The - PUP (3)

Kyoto Now! - Bad Religion (4)

EAT - Poppy (5)

Toxicity - System of a Down (6)

Liner Notes

It's a cover of a song by The Wipers (you didn't think I was going to choose a normal Nirvana song, did you?) As far as I can tell Nirvana never released a studio recording, so I'm treating the version recorded live at the BBC as my canonical version

Couldn't choose between the original version and Denzel Curry's cover here. I'd highly recommend seeking out Denzel's version if you've not heard it before, so that's the version I've put on the playlist. The youtube video is still worth watching as well though.

The vibes of this song are brilliantly creepy. Final few lines give me chills every time. Apparently it's based on an old Inuit story the singer's parents terrified him with as a child, which is cool!

This is a brilliant climate protest song. Actually, the Bad Religion song on Side A is also an environmental protest song, released 12 years earlier. Nothing changes, does it?

This is the title track from the other EP that soundtracked my 2021. I think it's the first time I remember hearing Poppy going fully into metalcore screaming and I love it

This is maybe a bit of a basic pick for a SOaD song? I nearly went for Tentative instead because Mezmerize/Hypnotize were my first of their albums as a teenager; but decided that I do actually think Toxicity is the better song

I've been lucky enough to see some of the artists on my list perform live - those artists are bolded in the listings. Sløtface are a special case - I had tickets to a show in March 2020, which didn't happen because they couldn't leave Norway and I couldn't leave my house. I've got tickets to see them later this year though, which is exciting!

As you can no doubt tell, I had a hard time fitting in everything I wanted to include - I ended up with a list of about 20 artists I wanted songs by, and only 15 letters in my URL.

I ended up with shortlists of 5+ songs starting with different relevant letters for some artists, so it took quite some shuffling to arrange everything in a way I was happy with. I even asked my combinatorialist friend if he could identify what sort of combinatorial optimisation problem I had on my hands (either a knapsack problem variant with a weird objective function, or maybe some kind of covering problem), but that didn't go anywhere so I ended up brute-forcing it.

Artist's impression of me brute-forcing it.

In the end I had two songs for some letters that I was unwilling to cut, so double list was the only thing for it. Struggled in the other direction with some of the repeated letters, but managed to get there in the end. Managed no artist repeats within a list and the only one repeated album across the whole thing. I'd consider all of these recommendations to also be album recommendations (apart from the few that aren't from an album)

My actual workings

You may notice if you are weird and look closely that a couple of songs here differ from what I've finished up with - there was flux going on right up until I actually wrote up this post!

Uhhhh everyone I know on here tagged me in the first place so... if you wanna do another one go for it I guess?

[beyond-a-name]

Top five music albums of the 2010's :3

Oh god I have to actually think about what came out in the 2010s. Uhhhhhhhhhh

1. Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino by The Arctic Monkeys: This is one of the first times I really excitedly bought an album and listened to it as a cohesive artistic piece, rather than just as background music or something I got with family. It is one of the few albums I let take up the very limited storage on my phone, and it is the first album I was interested in enough to research its meaning and concept. 10/10

(Uhhh okay I gotta go look up some other albums I'll be back.) [Exit stage right]

[Some time passes.]

Okay I'm back and I have reviewed albums.

2. Unearthing the Sentience by Beyond Flesh: So first off, I discovered this album this year through a friend of mine, and I absolutely love it. It's a technical death metal producer duo that released this and another album (the other one came out in 2020 and so doesn't count for this :/). It is entirely instrumental, but each song is so distinct. It'll introduce a concept, put a few spins on it, then tie it all together in a beautiful conclusion. The songwriting methodology honestly reminds me of Super Mario level design (as laid out by GMTK on youtube) in its expressive focus. Half of the duo, Juan Carlos Hernández, has genuinely become one of my favourite artists of all time. I have not yet had the pleasure of exploring his whole discography, but what I have thus far listened to has been extraordinary. Every piece is an imaginative journey that I delight in being swept up in. If you want to enrich your musical tastes a little more, you can find more of his work spread out across a few different bandcamps (his dungeon synth/ambience/fantasy works, his doom metal project, and his other works) or check out the occasional work posted to his tumblr at @imsobadatnicknames2. The works are entirely prolific and delightful, and this album in particular has been one of few that's started me getting into more metal. 11/10

3. Transgender Dysphoria Blues by Against Me: I also found this one this year, and it was recommended through another friend. Amazing punk music about being trans (and other topics, of course). I had shown great interest in punk culture and aesthetic approaches, but this was a really good deliberate foray into the music itself that resonated with me personally (I'm a trains). The album was released after the singer and frontwoman came out as a trans woman, and it heavily centres her experience in doing so in a way that is really provocative and heartfelt. Some of the songs seem, I guess the word is insecure? In a way I don't really resonate with, but I guess that's the point, isn't it? The first two songs, Transgender Dysphoria Blues and True Trans Soul Rebel, have been permanently etched into my heart. I also really like Paralytic States. Really good to listen to as a full album. 10/10

4. Morning Coffee Chillhop Lo Fi Electronic Mix by Various Artists: "But wait!" I hear you exclaim. "That's not an album, it's just a youtube lofi mix!" Yes. Anyway, this mix has been my absolute favourite since I first heard it, and it really kickstarted my exploration of lofi. Like before this I was checking it out, but upon hearing this, I was well and truly hooked. The first song overlays audio from a tv scene (I think it's twin peaks?) about rewarding yourself every day, ("Every day, give yourself a present,") and it's a lovely sentiment to begin an album a mix on. the use of additional audio throughout is typical for lofi, but it is used to great effect here to elevate the music it's played over rather than obscure it while rendering each song distinct. It was also the first time (or at least most memorable time) I heard something like that. I do not know the name of a single song on this mix, and if I ever lose access to it, I will kill everyone within a five kilometer radius. 10/10

5. Starbomb's Self-Titled Debut Album: This is a comedy album around video games composed of several Game Grumps members, and I bought it as a teenager and listened to it front to back maybe more times than I got a good night's sleep. I'm not really into Game Grumps anymore, and now I kind of tend to skip NSP (other Game Grumps-adjacent band) when it comes up on older playlists of mine. But like, I couldn't un-memorize this thing even if I wanted to, and it is somehow one of like 6 albums still on my phone (Tranquility Base was unwittingly bought on Google Play Music and did not outlast its end) even since getting a new phone. Even the Caravan Palace album, while it's still on my device, didn't soundtrack my teenagedom nearly as pervasively, and it does not stand out as much as the other entries here (you should still listen though). I can sing along flawlessly to every track, and it is lovingly catalogued by that dorky teenager I carry in me as I keep growing through adulthood. It's my alarms sometimes. I want to rate it lower, but I have loved it too entirely for too long. 10/10

Surprise Bonus Play!!!!!!!! (Woa!) (Honourable Mention)

6. Greatest Hits, Vol. 1 by The Flaming Lips: This one is maybe cheating a bit as it's a greatest hits album, but whatever. I initially bought this on impulse as a gift for a friend for his birthday (I bought myself one as well), and I fell in love with how silly the song names and premises were. We all loved it, and had a blast listening to it via his playstation, then later in the car when we went camping together. I genuinely did not realize that it might be a somewhat well-known band before I saw the inclusion of one of their songs in the game Hi-Fi Rush. (Hint: They are very well-known. They have many awards and a long history. Their discography has its own wikipedia article seperate from their main article. I didn't know any of this until I came to wrote this.) I especially like "She Don't Use Jelly," which aside from being very funny, also implies a delicious toast recipe which I wholeheartedly recommend everybody try. 10/10

[humantea]

Thanks for tagging me! :D

relationship status: single

Favorite color: blue

Song stuck in my head: The Kids from Yesterday by MCR

Favorite food: Basically any pasta/noodle based dish

Last song played: Paralytic States by Against Me!

dream trip: hmm idk really, haven't really thought much abt travel

last thing I googled: schrecknet (it's a really good character creator for VTM and I'm a state where I have no group but I can't stop making characters)

tagging @nimblelizard @chaoticrushu @andthentheywilleatthestars @soupmadness @snarktocrab @dschbach @thelyctorprince

Thanks for the tag @spiced-wine-fic!

Rules: Tag 10 or more people you want to get to know better

Relationship status: the Silmarillion. the rock operas.

Favourite colour: it's a tie between blue, purple and turquoise, and it has been a tie for many years

Song stuck in your head: Now and for Always, from the LotR musical

Favourite food: a homemade traditional pasta-like dish (it's local and very specific, hard to explain)

Last song played: Lothlorien, from the LotR musical

Dream trip: to Beleriand to New Zealand, to see the locations of the LotR movies

Last thing I googled: the weather

Tagging @curiouselleth, @violecov, @solarcola, @general-illyrin, @emeraldskulblaka, @tvoyakrisa, @curufan, @quixoticanarchy, @dreamingthroughthenoise, @totally-not-one-of-the-fae

[that-otome-potato]

This was supposed to be a drabble... I edited it a couple times in the hopes of making it shorter, but I think I made it longer.

*shrugs*

I hope you enjoy my Jinpachi fic.  Contains some smut.

@masamunesmistress and @calicocrest

Also, this is for all of the Jinpachi fans out there.  I'm looking at you, @saizoswifey.  Also, a little birdie told me that @otomelin might appreciate this as well?

Cut to save your dash!

“Jin…pa…chi…”

Every syllable of his name that came from her luscious lips was met with a thrust of his hips, pressing her harder and harder against the wall behind her. Just hearing them from her made it harder and harder to maintain his well-practiced composure.

~*~

~Rainy day - late spring~

Kyoto. The capitol of Japan and one of the best places for a noble Lord to find a noble wife to ensure the continuation of his line.

Jinpachi had been at Lord Nobuyuki's side since they were children.  This offered him the ability to predict what his master wanted and when.  So, by the time they had arrived, accompanied by Lord Yukimura, Jinpachi had already collected a list of potential suitors for Lord Nobuyuki. As his Lord's shadow, it was his duty and his privilege.

Once inside the city, they made their way at a hurried pace towards where Lord Yukimura had mentioned was a restaurant of high praise. The first thing he noticed as he ducked his head to enter behind his Lords, was a distractingly sweet smell that entered his nose and warmed him from the inside out. Never had he encountered something so enticing that it called to all of his senses.

The boy that greeted them on entering, left them after seating his master and Lord Yukimura, shouting into the kitchen next to them to let his sister know there were customers.

“I’ll be with you in a moment!” came a voice like the tinkling of the bells wielded by shrine maidens. When she came out of the kitchen while wiping her hands on her apron, it took quite a bit of self-control to resist releasing a small, sharp intake of breath. She wasn’t a stunning beauty like some of the princesses that Nobuyuki was scheduled to meet, but her natural allure called to him like no other ever had.

He closed his eyes and took on a passive meine, focusing all of his senses on anything but her.  She was a distraction that he could ill afford while watching over his master.

~*~

~Two weeks later~

Jinpachi thought back to when he had found out her name as he watched her bustle around the crowded restaurant.

"Asayumi.  Ono Asayumi." The feeling of saying her name then, and thinking about it now, caused a tingling sensation down his back as if his body was going numb from a paralytic.

This was going to be a problem.

~*~

It wasn't anything in particular that caused it, made him realize something that was there all along.

He was attracted to Asayumi.

He'd felt desire before - the heat blooming in his stomach, the arousal stiffening his manhood, the base instinct to mate deeply engrained in the human body.  It was a requirement in their training as ninja.  Sleeping with someone was a good way to get information without his partner even realizing that they had even said anything.

But this time was different. Everything about her form drew him, aroused him, and without it even being a requirement of his missions.

The sway of her hips as he followed her and Lords Nobuyuki and Yukimura on a city walk, the way the sun shone off her plush, pink lips and caused her to always look flushed. The peek of an ankle when she was comfortable and playful with the three men and decided to dance around without a care in the world.

The way her small, soft, warm hand fit perfectly in his large, calloused, cold hand as he helped her down a set of stairs or over a puddle after a storm.

The warmth of her smile that greeted him every time he ran into her in town or while they spoke during the Lords' meals.

He knew that, when the time came and they had to leave Asayumi in Kyoto - and it would - everything about her from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet, would be engrained in his memory until the end of his days.

~*~

Their time in Kyoto was coming to an end without much success in finding a Sanada bride for Lord Nobuyuki.

Jinpachi knew what was going to happen.  Had noticed weeks ago how Lord Nobuyuki had been looking at Asayumi. And he was right.  The time for them to be recalled to Ueda was coming towards them on swift feet, so Lord Nobuyuki had to make a choice, and he did.

Lord Nobuyuki wanted Asayumi.

Though Jinpachi made sure nothing on the outside changed, every muscle in his body tensed and his heart pounded. That must be why she flushed noticeably  whenever they entered the restaurant as of late. Lord Nobuyuki was a man to be desired by females far and wide - honorable, calm, collected, a doting older brother, and future head of the Sanada family.  It was no wonder, now that he'd figured it out.  He could feel his body cooling after weeks of gaining a warmth he had never experienced before, returning to it's previous state, as it should be. 

"I thank you, milord, for your generous offer, but I must decline."

This surprised all three of them.  To turn down a Samurai's offer of marriage was unheard of.

"I see.  Might I ask why?"  Nobuyuki asked, his smile frozen there to hide any confusion or upset at her refusal.

"My heart belongs to another and it wouldn't be fair to myself to become a bride to another before I could tell him and find out how he feels about me."

Jinpachi frowned to himself.  Since coming here those months ago, he had not seen her with any other male, either while they were there during meals or when Nobuyuki had asked he protect her while they were otherwise occupied.

"Who is the lucky man who has caught such a beautiful heart before I could?"

Asayumi automatically became a flurry of motion, rushing back into the kitchen to cook the food the ordered every day.

After she returned with their food and his Lords tucked in, Jinpachi followed her back into the kitchen as if pulled by a string that was held in her hand. When he came to a stop at her back, she turned around to face him, unafraid of how he towered over her.

"Who?" Only one word left his lips, low in volume and deep as the ocean, yet he got the impression that she understood what he was asking.  Her eyes widened a split second before she turned back around to put together Lord Nobuyuki's favorite dessert. Several minutes passed without her answering, so he pressed her again. "Please?"

Asayumi jumped.  He didn't use that word often, but if it meant that he'd get her to answer, he would do it.  He wanted to find this male who had stolen her from him...no, his master. He needed to speak to said male to encourage him to convince her she would be a good match for Lord Nobuyuki.  Asayumi released a breath as a sigh and looked over her shoulder at him.

"Why do you care so much, Jinpachi? Is it because of Lord Nobuyuki? Or something else?"

Why did he care?  Why did the idea of her being with another male bother him, even if that other was Lord Nobuyuki himself? He gave her a single nod to both of her questions.

Jinpachi watched her small hands fist on either side of the dessert bowl against the countertop, her knuckles turning white, but he waited. He knew she would tell him when she was ready, but he wanted to know. Asayumi must have seen something in his gaze because she faced him once more and nearly bent her head all the way back to look up at him while being so close they could nearly feel each other's heat through their robes.

"You."

"Yu? Who is Yu?"

Asayumi simply raised an eyebrow before she continued.  "Not Yu.  You, as in I have fallen in love with you, Jinpachi.  I know what you do, why you do it, and some of what goes behind the scenes, but the one my heart belongs to if he chooses to take it is the man standing before me."

"Me?" It often took a lot to change his passive, expressionless nature, to one of surprise.  But this one did and he felt like he would be forever changed.

"You. You may be silent and stoic, but you are also kind, caring, watchful, passionate about what you do. You are loyal and protective and would do anything for your Lord. I admire that about you, love that about you. This is all on top of the fact that I find you more attractive than I have any other man I've ever met."

Her rush of words pulled him in to crowd her small frame against the counter and, when she tried to turn away in embarrassment, he gripped her shoulders to turn her back, taking her chin in one hand to tilt her face up towards his. "We are of one mind then. For I have found myself having similar thoughts of you in the time we've spent together."

"You think I'm an attractive man?"

Jinpachi chuckled when she smiled after murmuring her joking words. Then he leaned in, bringing her lips to his as he did.  The fission that passed through him when their lips touched was uncharted territory.  He wanted to deepen the kiss, as he could tell she did as well, but he pulled away when he distantly heard hurried footsteps approaching the establishment.

"A moment." In the space of the blink of an eye, he was gone.

~*~

They had left in the night without so much as a word.

War was on the horizon and he couldn't bring her into the fighting but felt guilt at how he had left her there in the kitchen, pink from their shared kiss, feeling the sensation of her lips on his still even days later.

~*~

Months passed before they could return to Kyoto to resume the search. Never once had he been so impatient to return to a place that wasn't Ueda.  But it wasn't the place, it was the person there.

When the three of them entered her family's restaurant, the sound of broken clay plates greeted them.  All three looked over to her and the brothers smiled at her, asking her if she was ok.

All Jinpachi saw was her, all she saw was him.  Asayumi had been on his mind every day that they had been away at war to protect the Sanada land. Did she think of him?  Had she missed him as much as he had missed her?

He smiled inside when she pushed past Lords Nobuyuki and Yukimura, never taking her eyes off of him. The moment she reached up to cup the side of his face, fear and longing in her beautiful eyes, he whisked them both up to her room in the blink of an eye and, the moment the shogi doors were closed, devoured her lips as he had wanted to do since he'd left her in the kitchen.

In no time, the shoulders of her kimono were around her elbows revealing breasts that were just enough to fill one hand, her nipple rosy and pinchable. Meanwhile, his other hand circled her waist and lifted her easily up to wrap her legs around his hips as he pressed her back against the wall next to her bedroom door. He moved his lips from hers, down her jawline, along the slender column of her neck and over her collarbone to leave cherry blossom shaped petals on the tops of her breasts. Her soft panting was loud in the quiet room as she had moved her hands from where they had been on his shoulders to the waist of his hakama and untying it.

The tugging of her hands on his clothing gave him pause and he pulled away to look into her eyes.  "Are you sure? No going back."

She nodded with a smile, heat and passion in her eyes, then continued on to her goal. She gasped when she realized he didn't wear any undergarments and he wanted to smile, but moaned faintly instead when she wrapped her hand around his stiff flesh to draw it out and towards her heat as she stroked him.

Jinpachi trailed the hand that was grasping her breast and pinching her nipple, down to the apex of her thighs where he found her silken folds wet with her desire.

"Jinpachi, please..." Asayumi whimpered when he thrust two fingers into her heat to keep her from feeling any pain, scissoring his fingers to stretch her taut flesh.

The moment he couldn't take her gripping his long tapered fingers any longer, he withdrew them, licked them clean of her arousal, and lined himself up to thrust into her giving heat.

Asayumi cried out and he could see pain flash past her gaze over the haze of arousal at his sudden invasion. Jinpachi automatically stopped, buried all the way to the hilt, and waited for her to grow accustomed to him.  A moment later, he saw the pain leave and her arousal flourish.  With a nod, he picked up a steady, satisfying pace.

She chanted his name like a whispered prayer, her arms moving to wrap around his neck. Every time he entered her body, his name was cut into syllables with every thrust, but no sound did he make past panted breaths as his control began to slip and he moved faster, feeling her gripping him tight with her inner walls, feeling his orgasm rushing towards him as well.

Jinpachi could feel the moment she released and covered her lips with his to cover her scream, thrusting his tongue into her mouth so as to keep the others from hearing their activity downstairs because he knew she would get embarrassed over what had just occurred between them. With a final thrust of his hips, he pulled out as he came, releasing over the front of her kimono.

Slowly, he set her down on her feet and pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve. He dipped it in cool water in a basin near by that she used for her ablutions, wrung it out, then ran it up the insides of her thighs to clean up the mess he left behind. Once that was finished, he used another scrap of cloth to clean the front of her kimono��as she helped him back into his hakama.

"I'm sorry." He murmured as he tugged her kimono back into place and combed his fingers through her hair to make her more presentable.

"I'm not." Was her reply as she took his hand into hers after tying his hakama, squeezing the appendage tight and holding it to her cheek despite the dirtied cloth there.  The smile she gave him through her eyelashes was one that would be burned into his memory for all time and he felt his heart pound, not from exertion, but from feeling it beat hard for her.

                                                     |~*~| Next                       

[marakama]

hc- vampiric lore - physical

[dysphoricmichaelmell]

I dont post much art here but uhh heres some that ig is good for this blog? (text based off paralytic states - against me! (i think thats right its been a while lmaoo))

[alterstadt]

          the quiet clinking of silver on porcelain — the spoon is resting, now, gently on the gold-leafed side of a decorative saucer. the shadows of a tea set, highlighted by streaks of moonlight through the smudges of dirty windowpanes, grow long and soft, and the table is cast in the stark pattern of velvet blackness and silvered mahogany, all cast in the rich indigo of night. the night is different here from the nights below — more open, more free — and he can see the difference in the slow-relaxing strain of every muscle in the man diagonal.            it is late, now — the summer sun died while there were candles lit in the belly of the castle below, when the screams still rang and the blood was still warm and there was still work to be done. he can count the hour in the darkness pooling beneath the man’s eyes, verdant and hollow, currently preoccupied by the half-empty state of his tea. he abstains, sets down his goblet; tea would be warming, perhaps, now that the august heat has leeched itself out of the stones below, but the night is made for stronger stuff. weaker, perhaps, than the faint acrid miasma that makes him loath to offer a shared bottle. the hour is so that by his patterns, fifteen minutes prior, the englishman should have taken his nightly dosage — as not an hour prior, they’d ascended, and the man made a point to partake immediately after scrubbing the filth of work away, even with how little that laudanum now helped for the insomnia ( though he himself feared any stronger tincture may leave the man comatose ) — which meant there was very, very little time for this to work.            it is only in this window and in his far more manic state that daniel’s mind is wholly unguarded. the baron dares not pry too much when he stands between the man and the blade — not when he has faced sharp, biting retaliation for the slightest of comments amidst sacrifice. he is careful not to push too hard — not in extraction, not in his guidance — and he has kept daniel at the breaking point for weeks. after the fires of hell one must always offer sanctuary, and in the silence of a night just bright enough to stave off the sharpened claws of fear, intends to fully. psychic, extended, he brushes up against an errant thought closer than the agonized white noise of the masses below.          “ i don’t mean to keep you from sleep too long, ” he begins, an answer to a question that hadn’t the chance to leave the englishman’s lips. a minute, private joy blooms unwarranted at the start it gives him, the joy it has given him each time he does this.  “ but i believe taking such time now will help unwind from the stress of the day. ”           the response it warrants is something that he does not deign as a statement, not in what he can hear through the hushed, half-spoken tones that echo from the rim of the teacup. he allows it, focuses more on the web of thoughts laid before him as they sit in amicable silence. the englishman is disjointed: he catches snippets of self-calming; short memories; quiet wants; slivers of hope of the nightmares warded; the faded thought of the day’s work; the growing comfort that he can nearly feel curl in the pit of his stomach and almost see work its way down further with each of the man’s deepening breaths. it’s quaint. the realization of it tastes like tragedy.  it brings him back to himself. the thing which calls itself the baron retreats, eyes trained hawk-sharp and backlit gold against the contours of darkness in his face. upon the stem of his goblet, his fingers play a melody unheard by human ears, silenced as he lifts it. he does not break eye contact when the wine touches his lips. the taste of it lingers on his tongue when he speaks.                “ i’ve intended to kill you from the start. ”

           he drops it as casual conversation, as if the words mean nothing and don’t act as paralytic in the englishman’s blood, as if he doesn’t hear the screeching stop his thoughts grind towards the moment the words fall, soft and clipped, from his wine-stained lips. the silence is deafening. there is something in the curve of his smile, softer than the stain, that speaks of serenity.              “ it’s nothing too personal, daniel. ” the voice that speaks it is low and hushed, whispered velveteen, void of any assurance in the wake of the man’s shock. as if little of it matters, as if little of it is of consequence, as if his words should be punctuated with anything else but the gentleness of his fingers on porcelain, the soft gurgling of poured tea, the refraction of moonlight through liquid that casts the shadow in almost ruby red. only then does it dawn the suspicion, as he passes the cup — perhaps the context of the conversation cast doubt on his attempts to put it lightly.             “ it isn’t poisoned, ” he clarifies, allowing the barest hint of a smirk play upon the shadows of his visage. with almost, almost a chuckle: “after half of the pot drunk, i daresay you’d be dead by now if it were.”  it is met with no welcome, nor is the slightest lingering brush when his fingertips graze the pallor of daniel’s hand, cold and clammy. perhaps it is his own radiating heat that makes daniel flinch back from him as if his touch is burning. in a moment of weakness, the baron allows himself to believe such a delusion even if the clarity gained from contact proves otherwise. he smells the fear coming off the man like blood, breathes in deep on the rim of his goblet to clear is palette. there is something sharp in the way daniel looks at him, verdant as broken bottles and stinging acids and the laudanum that he knows by now is beginning to take its first weary effects.               “ alexander— ” the englishman starts, warning, but the rest of the sentence dies on his lips.           soon, the addling of his mind will make it impossible to predict, impossible to properly track and decipher and scry upon and he will meet daniel, perhaps as the unhinged, the terror, perhaps, if the confession is received poorly, on near-human terms. he must work quickly now.             “ allow me to finish, ” he chides, and receives a flash of memory from the fragmented mind of the mortal before him: his own voice, tone identical; the sharpness of the flame-bladed dagger; ink-dark blood on his shaking hands; the whimpers of the bound man. it comes in vivid, vivid clarity, more vibrant than any of the scraps his prying is usually given, and for a brief moment, a fleeting instant, the baron considers how much his ward has learned from his prying, from his orb. his projection skills are impeccable. it is a terrible waste.             “ i would have sacrificed any man who came here with an orb. it has an affinity for humanity, i believe, or at the very least rejects nonterrestrial interference with it. if given the choice, it will always repel me and cling to you. you must understand this is why it must be done.” alexander takes a minute sip, sucks his lips to his teeth — the pause is minuscule and allows for no interjection. the silvered base of his goblet makes a muffled clunk as it meets the table.              “ were there other options, i would have considered otherwise. we are running out of time, daniel. the shadow draws closer and i cannot unbind it from you. either i must sacrifice you, or the bound beast will consume you. you will realize i brought you here under false pretense, daniel. unless the shade of viscera feels mercy, the moment you stepped foot into that algerian tomb, you were already dead. ” the baron turns, then. the moon overlooks the pines, the forest thick and dark and foreboding. “ it is far better your death means something. i hope you will find some comfort in this. ”             “ why are you telling me this? ” it is the first the englishman has spoken freely in what seems like eternities, but the voice that echoes does not sound like him; it is neither the timid, frightened fawn which whimpers and questions and clings to his side, nor the beast in man-shape that stalks the dungeons below, relishes in the art of suffering — it is between them, and alexander cannot help but smile.             “ i have heard your justifications, daniel. i know you are a christian man. you may see this as a confessional booth if you wish, but i assure you it neither puts weight on my soul nor takes it off. what must happen will happen, my friend, you understand this. it is merely fairness that you will know what sacrifice you are making. ”            the daniel he turns back to is not the one he turned from — the exhausted, rattled mess now steeling with the first blushes of murderous fury, hands ghost-white as he clutches the cup as if to break it. his thoughts are indecipherable, now, lost to the realms of unpredictability and opiate haze. as he stretches across the table, there is chitin in the baron’s touch, fingers elongated and in multiplicity in the pale moonlight, the smallest six of their unglamoured digits brushing few errant locks out of the englishman’s eyes, the other half of them hovering just-so above the pallor of his flesh — the first absolute truth he has told since the man stepped foot onto the stones of brennenburg.              “ i cannot thank you enough for it. ” his touch retreats.              “ how... ” the englishman’s breath catches, accusatory in his throat, and the lingering smell of fear has been replaced with ire, with dust, with the faintest hint of roses. “ how would you plan on killing me if i know? ”             “ oh, daniel. daniel, daniel, daniel, daniel. ” the lilt in the baron’s voice is teasing, each iteration of his name a half-savored roll across the tongue. the smile that distorts his features almost melancholic. “ finish your tea, daniel. worry not about it. i hardly expect you to remember. ”

[trans-ylvania]

PART ONE OF FOUR IN THE GERARD GENDER WEB WEAVE: YOUTH DECAY (childhood - early 20s) (continued)

wound from the mouth of a wound, by torrin a. greathouse / true trans soul rebel, against me! / malcolm t. liepke / pinterest / true trans soul rebel, against me! / @girlgerard / been a son, nirvana / sweet cis teen, dazey and the scouts / collage based off of 'rebel girl' by bikini kill / unconditional love, against me! / pinterest / gerard way talking about gender on a message board / mama, my chemical romance / been a son, nirvana / gerard way as a teenager / my way home is through you, my chemical romance / euripides, from medea, oliver taplin / not that kind of girl, my chemical romance / pinterest / pinterest / fuckmylife666, against me! / better son/daughter, rilo kiley / paralytic states, against me! / on a sunbeam, @tilliewalden / @deadxstop / on a sunbeam, @tilliewalden / gerard way for boyzine / butch criminals “johnny” and “scotty” who drew national coverage for their car theft, discovered after being picked up for lacking driver’s licenses. article from the arizona republic, august 1949 / gerard way in art school / pinterest

PART ONE OF FOUR IN THE GERARD GENDER WEB WEAVE: YOUTH DECAY (childhood - early 20s)

(i got inspiration to do this from @girlgerard's entire blog pretty much, so for sure go check him out if you haven't already, she's the best)

the very hungry caterpillar, eric carle / drugstore perfume, gerard way / bury me in black, my chemical romance / drowning lessons, my chemical romance / photo by it girl_rag doll on flickr / pinterest / bury me in black, my chemical romance / phoning it in, gerard way / gerard way in art school / pinterest / @americansport / pinterest / pinterest / @hakobore / gerard way circa 2004 / doris salcedo / tweet from gerard way following his ama on reddit / rebel rebel, david bowie / silas denver melvin / chopinspree on ig / bubbles, courtney starrett / @gaygothgenderconfused / f.t.w.w.w., my chemical romance / thomas beatie / i eat boys, chloe moriondo / sam smith preforming / margaret atwood / vampires will never hurt you, my chemical romance / pinterest / pinterest / gerard way for kerrang!

[deztinywarriors]

ES Spectre 2.0 Chapter 36

[je-suis-clarisse]

They had actually put her in a coffin. If Clarisse du Volde hadn't been so enraged and terrified, she might have laughed. If there was anything that she hated, it was that. She had fought like hell when the hunters had put her into it. Using every last bit of her strength, she had fought. Punching, biting, kicking, ripping into their flesh. However, blood laced with a paralytic had rendered her immobile. She was so angry that she could barely think straight but when they'd produced the black box with the red satin lining, she'd found her voice and screeched bloody murder. The higher she made her voice strain, the more painful it would become to the hunters and she did her best to pierce their eardrums. Unfortunately for her, one of the men put on brass knuckles and had knocked her out. When she'd awoken, her mouth had a gag in it and she couldn't move. She tried her best to control her breathing, to forget where she was. She loathed small spaces; she had since she was still human. Colin Francis O'Callaghan, that rotten bastard, had a closet in their home specifically for his rifles and hunting paraphernalia. But when he discovered his then 16-year-old bride wasn't willing to indulge his roughness and begged for tenderness and love, he threw her in there, leaving her for hours on end. It was small and dark and she had scratched at the door until her hands were bloodied, her throat sore and her eyes swollen shut from crying. He took perverse pleasure in catching a rat from the barn and sticking it in with her, listening to her screams as the creature bit at her. To say that she loathed small enclosed areas was a massive understatement. When she awoke after mercifully passing out, Clarisse found that once again, she couldn't move. Looking around, she was on a gurney, restraints keeping her bound to the surface of the uncomfortable contraption. Using her strength, she twisted but the more she pulled, the tighter they became. "For f***'s sake!" She hissed, staring up at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights hurting her eyes. She still felt dizzy and it was in that moment she noticed the needles in her arms. The familiar feeling of burning rose within her but Clarisse let it go; not willing to let that take over yet. If they were hoping for a massacre, she wouldn't disappoint, but it couldn't happen. not yet.   "You didn't think we'd ever get you, did you, Miss du Volde?" A man spoke, his tone cool and amused as he looked down at her. Green orbs focused on his face as he wheeled the gurney into a lab, propping it up and leaning against it so his face was inches from her own. It took everything in her not to come back with a smart ass remark about the stench of his breath. "You had to know it'd happen. You are a creature of particular interest. A vampire, of course. But we all know your secrets. Forgive me, my name is Dr. Francois Hetrick. I know you pride yourself on your manners." "Go f*** yourself," Clarisse countered, trying to pull her arms from the vices they had enclosed them in. "Do not assume you know anything about me. Your name is irrelevant to me. I have no secrets. My life is and always has been an open book. All anyone has to do is ask me." "Oh? You have a weakened healing factor, you're a daywalker and you're a Lazarus Soul, aren't you?" The man continued, the smug expression on his face infuriating her, but she remained silent. These weren't secrets. They were truths and as she said, were anyone to ask her, she would tell the truth. She wasn't afraid of admitting what she was. Remaining calm, she watched as he walked back and forth. Catching a glimpse of his thoughts, she resisted the urge to grimace; He was planning to use her as a lab rat, if you will, and then discard her as if she were trash. The absolute wrath and anger she felt were threatening to erupt and try as she might, she was finding her will diminishing. She couldn't fight it off that much longer. Motioning to the others in the room, they released her hands, though her gaze remained upon the doctor. He lifted a wooden stake from a tray and traced along her jaw with it. "Such a pretty beast," he mused, tone full of amusement, letting the tip move down lower. "It'll be a shame to see this body die. But...you don't really want to live. You're a creature. You need blood to live. That's no sort of life. I could end your suffering." He whispered in her ear and it took all of her good sense not to sink her fangs into the base of his throat and to drain him before his colleagues. "...I would to God that you could kill me, sir," Clarisse hissed, her eyes mere slits, holding her collar down to expose the flesh above her heart now that they had freed her hands. Raising her hand to his wrist, she gripped it firmly enough to make him cringe. "Go ahead. Stake me, if you will. Stab me. Destroy me. No? Your hand is trembling; Coward! You say you could end my suffering but you lack the courage. Kill this body and I will simply be reborn in another. It is my curse. And if you don't kill this one? I merely suffer. For I do not heal as others of my kind do--but you knew that already, of course. But suffering will only strengthen me in the end. And you should pray that my family doesn't come looking for me." Not that they should. She could handle herself. Sort of. If she could, she wouldn't be here. Perhaps she should train more. Releasing him, she snickered as he left the room. His pulse revealing that he was frightened and perhaps he'd gotten more than he bargained for. Cracking her neck, she stretched out with almost feline precision, eyes darting around to the coterie of scientists who looked at her apprehensively. She could hear each of their thoughts, none of them good. It pissed her off to the point of no return, particularly when she heard two of them mention, "doesn't she have a daughter?" Any regard for their lives that she had, was gone within that moment. Laying back on the gurney, she closed her eyes. They ought to have realized the danger when Clarisse simply smiled as the scientists approached her. Truly, they simply wanted to press more needles into her for samples of her DNA and her blood. However, the threat that they may come for Sigyn had sealed their fates. They were so involved with what they were doing that they didn't seem to notice that her eyes, known for their emerald hue had opened once again and had turned to pure obsidian. Her anger coursed through her body, every nerve coming to life as though she had stuck her finger into a socket. Her body temperature began to rise and she knew that fighting this off would be ridiculous. Images of fire came to mind and that was all it took. Turning her hands upwards, palms exposed. She laughed wickedly as they began to scream, needles dropping to the floor, blisters forming on their palms and the flesh beginning to char. The stench of it would have been overwhelming to anyone else, but in this enraged state, it only encouraged her. The screams that came with it only served as an amusing soundtrack. Dr. Hetrick stared in awe of her from behind a pane of glass where he watched from his office above them; he had never expected such a show of power from her. He had no idea she was capable of such. For a man who prided himself on his intelligence and the words of his hunters, he hadn't anticipated this. Looking down at her, he felt his blood run cold as he realized that she was no longer in the lab. "I have always loathed Doctors," she began from his doorframe, crossing the room in a few swift steps. His words died on his tongue as she gripped him, fangs extended to the full length, pressing through the flesh and tearing through the muscle and sinew until they found their target. His blood flowed freely into her mouth and rather messily, she fed on him. But it wasn't enough to drain him. Balling up her fist, she thrust it into his chest cavity, shattering bone and gripped his heart. She relished the feeling of its final beats in her grasp. How many others had he tortured in a quest for immortality? He would not do this again. thump, thump. thump, thummmp... thump... Ripping it from where it once rested she tossed it on his desk, stabbing a scalpel through it. A warning to those who came upon the scene. She found the files with her name on them and destroyed them. It was as if she were never there. Save for the pile of bodies that were strewn about the facility. She could hear others and she moved about, finding other immortals and those gifted mortals locked in varying rooms. What a sight she must have made as she smashed the security device that unlocked all of the doors. She said nothing as they each ran out towards freedom. She herself was suddenly exhausted and she leaned against the wall. Despite the intake of blood, her projection of power had taken its usual toll. She blinked as the familiar visage of her brother appeared. Hands in his pockets as he slowly approached his adopted sister, Erlik Khan's brow furrowed and knelt beside her. She flinched as he touched her, still transitioning back to her normal state. "Risse, it's me. It's Erlik." "Brother mine." Her voice was cold and emotionless as she looked at him. Eyes still dark, though hints of their normal hue were starting to come through. "It's okay." He seemed startled by the scene before him. Granted, he knew their time was up; did he know it previously that it was her who had caused it? He was the Horseman of Death, after all. "You're okay," he reassured her, looking her over. Hands and face drenched in coagulating blood. It seemed as though he were making sure none of it was her own. "I'm okay," she spoke, her voice back to its usual tone, though softer than usual. "C'mon, let's go home," he nodded, helping her up. "I'm ruining your shirt," she gasped, feeling badly instantly. "You can buy me a new one. Don't worry about it, sis." Erlik reassured her. "Or we can make the Puss buy it." He looked at her, knowing any mention of Xavier would calm her down. She dearly hoped he never questioned her about this. The guilt of harming so many people in one night was beginning to affect her. "Hold on, Risse." His arm slinked around her waist and she brought her arms around him tiredly, leaning her head on his shoulder, and before she knew it, they were home again. How had he done that? She was too tired to ask and as soon as her feet touched the ground, she passed out. Sitting up with a start, she looked around the room. Around her on the bed were the puppies Xavier had gifted her for Christmas, Miko, Beau, and Arno, along with her two French bulldogs. Sigyn was in her room, listening to music. Xavier wasn't home, though he must have been as there was a bouquet of sunflowers settled on the table beside the bed. And at the end of the bed sat Erlik. "Please tell me you have pants on," she teased, rubbing at her head. She felt so weak and her head throbbed. "This time," he retorted with a cheeky grin that made her chuckle. "So...what the hell happened?" He asked. "I was out...I wasn't even hunting," she began. "And then, this group of hunters captured me. They ganged up on me and shot me with something. Then, they stuck me in a coffin..." she explained, grateful as he handed her a large mug. She didn't have to ask what it was. She was grateful as she sipped at it. Going through the entire thing was almost theraputic...but it also struck her that she had killed a dozen people, some who were probably just there to do their job. Focusing on that hurt her heart. She had told James Kriet that she wasn't a monster; but her behavior had proved the potential to become one. Erlik patted her knee. "You just did what you had to to survive. You weren't in the book." It was his way of saying, 'It wasn't your time yet.' A small comfort, but still. Putting it aside, she smiled gently. "Thank you for bringing me home," she spoke appreciatively. "No prob. I wouldn't feel too bad, Risse." "Why?" "Cause 'parently a lot of people wanted to take out that bastard and his crew. You did good. No one's been able to infiltrate them for the last few years. They were too well organized. And you took 'em out and saved about 40 something people--human and immortal alike." Eyebrows lifted in delight at that news. It made her think of something she had heard years prior--kill one, save a thousand. It was something she had heard a Jewish woman say during the second world war; a paraphrasing of a verse from the Talmud. "he who saves the life of one man saves the world entire." And for that...Clarisse felt some level of peace.  

[tw-ushistory]

In 1954, a prison doctor in Kentucky isolated seven black inmates and fed them “double, triple and quadruple” doses of LSD for 77 days straight. No one knows what became of the victims. They may have died without knowing they were part of the CIA’s highly secretive program to develop ways to control minds—a program based out of a little-known Army base with a dark past, Fort Detrick.

Suburban sprawl has engulfed Fort Detrick, an Army base 50 miles from Washington in the Maryland town of Frederick. Seventy-six years ago, however, when the Army selected Detrick as the place to develop its super-secret plans to wage germ warfare, the area around the base looked much different. In fact, it was chosen for its isolation. That’s because Detrick, still thriving today as the Army’s principal base for biological research and now encompassing nearly 600 buildings on 13,000 acres, was for years the nerve center of the CIA’s hidden chemical and mind control empire.

Detrick is today one of the world’s cutting-edge laboratories for research into toxins and antitoxins, the place where defenses are developed against every plague, from crop fungus to Ebola. Its leading role in the field is widely recognized. For decades, though, much of what went on at the base was a closely held secret. Directors of the CIA mind control program MK-ULTRA, which used Detrick as a key base, destroyed most of their records in 1973. Some of its secrets have been revealed in declassified documents, through interviews and as a result of congressional investigations. Together, those sources reveal Detrick’s central role in MK-ULTRA and in the manufacture of poisons intended to kill foreign leaders.

In 1942, alarmed by reports that Japanese forces were waging germ warfare in China, the Army decided to launch a secret program to develop biological weapons. It hired a University of Wisconsin biochemist, Ira Baldwin, to run the program and asked him to find a site for a new bio-research complex. Baldwin chose a mostly abandoned National Guard base below Catoctin Mountain called Detrick Field. On March 9, 1943, the Army announced that it had renamed the field Camp Detrick, designated it as headquarters of the Army Biological Warfare Laboratories and purchased several adjacent farms to provide extra room and privacy.

After World War II, Detrick faded in importance. The reason was simple: The United States had nuclear weapons, so developing biological ones no longer seemed urgent. As the Cold War began, however, two seemingly unrelated developments on opposite sides of the world stunned the newly created Central Intelligence Agency and gave Detrick a new mission.

The first was the show trial of the Roman Catholic Primate of Hungary Joseph Cardinal Mindszenty for treason in 1949. At the trial, the cardinal appeared disoriented, spoke in a monotone and confessed to crimes he had evidently not committed. Then, after the Korean War ended, it was revealed many American prisoners had signed statements criticizing the United States and, in some cases, confessing to war crimes. The CIA came up with the same explanation for both: brainwashing. Communists, the CIA concluded, must have developed a drug or technique that enabled them to control human minds. No evidence of this ever emerged, but the CIA fell hard for the fantasy.

In the spring of 1949 the Army created a small, super-secret team of chemists at Camp Detrick called the Special Operations Division. Its assignment was to find military uses for toxic bacteria. The coercive use of toxins was a new field, and chemists at the Special Operations Division had to decide how to begin their research.

At the same time, CIA had just established its own corps of chemical magicians. CIA officers in Europe and Asia were regularly capturing suspected enemy agents and wanted to develop new ways to draw prisoners in interrogation away from their identities, induce them to reveal secrets and perhaps even program them to commit acts against their will. Allen Dulles, who ran the CIA’s covert-operations directorate and would soon be promoted to direct the agency, considered his mind control project—first named Bluebird, then Artichoke, then MK-ULTRA—to be of supreme importance, the difference between the survival and extinction of the United States.

In 1951, Dulles hired a chemist to design and oversee a systematic search for the key to mind control. The man he chose, Sidney Gottlieb, was not part of the silver-spoon aristocracy from which most officers of the early CIA were recruited, but a 33-year-old Jew from an immigrant family who limped and stuttered. He also meditated, lived in a remote cabin without running water and rose before dawn to milk his goats.

Gottlieb wanted to use Detrick’s assets to propel his mind control project to new heights. He asked Dulles to negotiate an accord that would formalize the connection between the military and the CIA in this pursuit. Under the arrangement’s provisions, according to a later report, “CIA acquired the knowledge, skill, and facilities of the Army to develop biological weapons suited for CIA use.”

Taking advantage of this arrangement, Gottlieb created a hidden CIA enclave inside Camp Detrick. His handful of CIA chemists worked so closely with their comrades in the Special Operations Division that they became a single unit.

Some scientists outside the tight-knit group suspected what was happening. “Do you know what a ‘self-contained, off-the-shelf operation’ means?” one of them asked years later. “The CIA was running one in my lab. They were testing psychochemicals and running experiments in my labs and weren’t telling me.”

Gottlieb searched relentlessly for a way to blast away human minds so new ones could be implanted in their place. He tested an astonishing variety of drug combinations, often in conjunction with other torments like electroshock or sensory deprivation. In the United States, his victims were unwitting subjects at jails and hospitals, including a federal prison in Atlanta and an addiction research center in Lexington, Kentucky.

In Europe and East Asia, Gottlieb’s victims were prisoners in secret detention centers. One of those centers, built in the basement of a former villa in the German town of Kronberg, might have been the first secret CIA prison. While CIA scientists and their former Nazi comrades sat before a stone fireplace discussing the techniques of mind control, prisoners in basement cells were being prepared as subjects in brutal and sometimes fatal experiments.

These were the most gruesome experiments the U.S. government ever conducted on human beings. In one of the them, seven prisoners in Lexington, Kentucky, were given multiple doses of LSD for 77 days straight. In another, captured North Koreans were given depressant drugs, then dosed with potent stimulants and exposed to intense heat and electroshock while they were in the weakened state of transition. These experiments destroyed many minds and caused an unknown number of deaths. Many of the potions, pills and aerosols administered to victims were created at Detrick.

One of the most well-known victims of the MK-ULTRA experiments was Frank Olson. Olson was a CIA officer who had spent his entire career at Detrick and knew its deepest secrets. When he began musing about quitting the CIA, his comrades saw a security threat. Gottlieb summoned the team to a retreat and arranged for Olson to be drugged with LSD. A week later, Olson died in a plunge from a hotel window in New York. The CIA called it suicide. Olson’s family believes he was thrown from the window to prevent him from revealing what was brewing inside Camp Detrick.

A decade of intense experiments taught Gottlieb that there are indeed ways to destroy a human mind. He never, however, found a way to implant a new mind in the resulting void. The grail he sought eluded him. MK-ULTRA ended in failure in the early 1960s. “The conclusion from all these activities,” he admitted afterward, “was that it was very difficult to manipulate human behavior in this way.”

Nonetheless Fort Detrick, as it was renamed in 1956, remained Gottlieb’s chemical base. After the end of MK-ULTRA, he used it to develop and store the CIA’s arsenal of poisons. In his freezers, he kept biological agents that could cause diseases including smallpox, tuberculosis and anthrax as well as a number of organic toxins, including snake venom and paralytic shellfish poison. He developed poisons intended to kill Cuban leader Fidel Castro and Congolese leader Patrice Lumumba.

During this period, Fort Detrick’s public profile rose uncomfortably. No one knew the CIA was making poisons there, but its role as the country’s principal center for research into biological and anti-crop warfare became clear. From mid-1959 to mid-1960, protesters convened once a week at the gate. “No rationalization of ‘defense’ can justify the evil of mass destruction and disease,” they wrote in a statement.

In 1970, President Richard Nixon ordered all government agencies to destroy their supplies of biological toxins. Army scientists complied. Gottlieb hesitated. He had spent years assembling this deadly pharmacopeia and did not want to destroy it. After meeting with CIA Director Richard Helms, he reluctantly agreed that he had no choice.

One batch, a supremely potent shellfish poison known as saxitoxin, escaped destruction, though. Two canisters containing nearly 11 grams of saxitoxin—enough to kill 55,000 people—were in Gottlieb’s depot at Fort Detrick. Before Army technicians could remove them, two officers from the Special Operations Division packed them into the trunk of a car and drove them to the Navy Bureau of Medicine and Surgery in Washington, where the CIA maintained a small chemical warehouse. One of Gottlieb’s aides later testified that he had ordered this operation without informing his boss. By the time the saxitoxin was discovered and destroyed in 1975, Gottlieb had retired.

Gottlieb was the most powerful unknown American of the 20th century—unless there was someone else who conducted brutal experiments across three continents and had a license to kill issued by the U.S. government. Detrick, his indispensable base, still contains untold stories of the cruelty that began there—just 50 miles from the center of the government that has kept them sealed for decades.

[bellarke-addict]

The Hug

The Bellarke Reunion from Purphy’s pov. Also on ao3

At first, it had been shocking.

Clarke Griffin had survived Praimfaya.

The Death Wave.

The Nuclear Apocalypse.

And been waiting on the shore of the lake when they’d emerged from the patched together rocket ship.

Then, nobody had really been surprised when Bellamy had come pretty close to braining Monty as he’d clambered to jump into the water and begin making his way towards her.

Despite the fact that he couldn’t swim.

She waded in to meet him and Monty pointed out that this didn’t negate his previous concern about the water being toxic for any number of reasons.

The two of them embrace, the water lapping around them and Murphy guesses that Bellamy has a foothold but Clarke was probably holding onto to him to keep her head above water.

He smirks and repeats the last part to Emori who doesn’t get the idiom and looks to Echo who is stripping off her hazmat suit.

“You think it’s safe?” she asks her but the warrior shrugs, “If it isn’t, I’m still the best swimmer we have, I can get to shore and start putting together a raft to get you five there safely.”

“What about Bellamy and Clarke?” Harper asks, looking out the port window and Echo shares a look with Raven,

“I’m sure they’ll move eventually.”

Maybe.

It took Echo about ten minutes to scramble out of her suit in that confined space and only five to dive into the water and swim to shore, barely emerging for air once in the two hundred meters.

She swam around Bellamy and Clarke who hadn’t seemed to have moved an inch.

“What if the water is toxic?” Monty muses and Raven snorts, “If it was, I’m sure Clarke would have waited til he made it to land.”

“I don’t know,” Harper disagreed, “It was a long six years, I can’t believe she’s alive!”

“Who wants to bet she and Bellamy will be sharing a sleeping bag tonight?” Murphy jokes and winces when Emori jabs him in the arm, “John!”

“It’s been twenty minutes and they haven’t moved…wait, I think Clarke’s shifted her head slightly.”

“Where’s Echo?” Monty asks, and they look through the hatch door to see the shore empty,

“She won’t have bailed?” Harper asks concerned, risking a glance to Raven who had been bunking with Echo for the last three years.

“She’s a grounder who hasn’t touched the ground in over half a decade, and we’re not going anywhere,” Raven says, only a bit defensive, “Give her a minute.”

They do and Murphy wonders at what point they have to get over the awkwardness and tell Bellamy to let go of Clarke.

Echo reappears on the shore, with another person in tow,

“Hold up,” he announces, “More survivors?”

“Aww,” Harper coos, “Clarke found a kid for her and Bellamy to parent.”

Murphy notes bitterly that nobody lectures Harper for the crime of stating the obvious and the kid, waves at the rocket eagerly before she and Echo walk off again.

And this was getting old.

“If nothing has melted Bellamy’s suit and eaten his flesh can we assume the water is safe?” he asks impatiently and Raven gives him a withering glare,

“If you’re that bored, we can test if cockroaches can swim.”

“They can, you know,” Murphy tells her, enjoying the surprise on her face, “And they can hold their breath for up to forty minutes underwater.”

He had admittedly spent an afternoon in the old Ark library reading up on cockroaches to surprise Raven in situations just like this one.

This time when Echo reappeared, she and the kid were dragging an inflatable life raft. The bright orange flotation device made a harsh contrast against the natural colours around them but it was big enough to carry all of them in one go.

Echo and the kid figured out the paddles pretty quickly and reached the rocket, trying to stand up until Raven warned them about capsizing the raft, so they sat back down and Emori was sent down first as the lightest person in the group.

Murphy sent Monty next and he hears the kid outside eagerly introducing herself, chatting away and he figures she must be happy to see different people after so many years. Unless there had been survivors’ other than her and Clarke?

They'd find out one way or another.

He steps back to let Harper go next and waits until he hears her land in the raft before turning to Raven, “You know the captain going down with the ship thing is only for water based vessels?” he jokes and she glares at him but without any heat.

“Shut up,” she grunts, trying to pull herself into a standing position and he quickly goes to help her, “Pins and needles.” She admits under her breath and he nods quickly so she can pretend that he believes that lie.

Raven had to go into the raft last because she had no idea how she was getting down with her injured leg and Murphy wasn’t entirely sure either, but if he had any understanding of what the dials on the rocket were saying, the damn thing was sinking into the lake.

Still, she’d probably rather slowly sink and drown than admit than make herself a burden to their people and definitely not in front of the new girl.

So, Murphy climbs down into the raft and waits until Raven has wrangled herself into the door before pointing at Clarke and Bellamy,

“Think they’re finally kissing.” he comments and when everyone is looking at the two statute impersonators, he takes Raven by the hips and tries lifting her down into the raft. Surprisingly, she doesn’t fight him so he manages to get her down without any disturbance to the vessel, so nobody noticed.

“No, she’s still got her face in his neck,” Echo comments, “Can she breathe?”

“We have a camp set up just off the shore,” the kid announces, “We figured you’d come down here. So, we have shelter and even clothes just in case.”

Probably food too.

“Do you have anything to eat that isn’t algae?” Monty asks and the kid tilts her head in confusion, “What’s algae? Is it like jerky? Clarke always makes me eat jerky.”

Murphy’s mouth is watering and they barely reach the shore before they’re staggering up the pebble bank and stripping out of their hazmat suits, groaning with relief to have fresh air on their sweaty bodies.

“I’m Madi.” the kid tells them and they give their names,

“And that guy not letting go of Clarke, is Bellamy.” Murphy adds, jerking his thumb over his shoulder and Madi grins,

“Yeah, she told me about him too.”

Huh.

Told her what exactly?

He glances around the group and sees that in spite of everything, their interest was piqued.

“Well Madi,” Raven throws her arm around the girl’s shoulders, “Why don’t you show us where this camp is?”

Madi looks back to Clarke but with a quick shrug, begins leading them to the tree line and Murphy checks the time keeping device Raven had rigged up for all of them on the Ark.

Fifty-six minutes and counting.

This was just getting embarrassing.

He hoped that there wasn’t some sort of paralytic in the water that slowly ate its victims alive.

Well, he wasn’t going to risk Bellamy’s wrath if there wasn’t.

[judefan844-blog]

the rabies virus in animals is broken down

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[douglasacogan]

Despite Sixth Circuit approval of existing execution protocol, Ohio Gov Mike DeWine signals his plans to delay another scheduled execution

Despite having many execution dates scheduled, Ohio has not completed an execution in more than a year because of concerning about lethal injection problem that prompted outgoing Gov John Kasich and new Gov Mike DeWine to keep pushing back executions dates. But after a Sixth Circuit ruling blessed the state's reliance on the drug midazolam in its execution protocol (details here), I had thought the Buckeye state might seek to restart its machinery of death. But this new local article, headlined "Gov. Mike DeWine says Ohio’s next scheduled execution will ‘probably’ be delayed," suggests the state will not likely go forward with an execution planned for December. Here are the details:

Gov. Mike DeWine indicated Friday that he will delay yet another upcoming Ohio execution, citing — as he has with past postponements — problems with finding lethal-injection drugs.  DeWine told reporters Friday that it’s “highly unlikely” that the execution of murderer James Galen Hanna will proceed as planned on Dec. 11. “That’s probably not going to happen,” the Greene County Republican said.

DeWine noted the state’s ongoing issues with finding a pharmaceutical company willing to sell drugs for use in executions. The governor repeated his concern that if companies find that Ohio used its drugs to put people to death, they will refuse to sell any of its drugs (not just the ones used in executions) to the state.  That would endanger the ability of thousands of Ohioans — such as Medicaid recipients, state troopers, and prison inmates — to get drugs through state programs. “We are in a very difficult situation,” DeWine said Friday.

The governor didn’t say how long he might delay the execution date for Hanna, a Warren County resident who fatally stabbed a cellmate with a paintbrush handle in 1997.  If Hanna’s execution date is pushed back, the next death-row inmate set to die is Kareem M. Jackson on Jan. 16, 2020.  Jackson was initially scheduled to be put to death in July, but earlier this year DeWine moved back the execution dates for Jackson and two other condemned inmates.

Late last month, the governor moved back the execution date of murderer Cleveland Jackson from Nov. 13 to Jan. 13, 2021 after the Ohio Supreme Court’s disciplinary arm filed a complaint alleging that his lawyers abandoned him.

Since taking office in January, DeWine has moved back a number of scheduled executions amid a years-long struggle by Ohio officials to find new lethal-injection drugs as European pharmaceutical companies have cut off further sales of previously used drugs on moral and legal grounds.

After the controversial execution of killer Dennis McGuire in January 2014, Ohio imposed a three-year moratorium on executions as it worked to find a new lethal-injection protocol — and suppliers willing to sell the state the drugs.

Since the moratorium was lifted in 2017, Ohio has executed three people using the current three-drug cocktail — all without complications or unexpected problems with the drugs. (The execution of a fourth condemned inmate, Alva Campbell, was postponed after several unsuccessful attempts to insert an IV. Campbell died in his cell a few months later).

However, last January, federal magistrate Judge Michael Merz ruled that the three drugs Ohio has used since last year for executions — midazolam (as a sedative), a paralytic drug, and potassium chloride (to stop the heart) — likely violate the U.S. Constitution’s Eighth Amendment guarantee against “cruel and unusual punishment.”  While an appeals court later overruled Merz’s conclusion, the ruling led DeWine to order state prisons officials to look at other lethal-injection drugs.  The governor has even suggested that state lawmakers consider abandoning the lethal-injection process altogether and pick another method of execution.

This story has me thinking of the old phrase "Where there's a will, there's a way." In this context, though, the parallel force seems to be in play. I sense many Ohio official really do not have much of a will to move forward with executions, and thus it seems they keep struggling to find a way to do so.

A few (of many) prior recent related posts:

New Ohio Gov puts halt to all executions until Ohio develops new execution method 

Ohio's new governor delays first scheduled execution under his watch based on concerns about lethal-injection drugs

Highlighting, though Ohio's remarkable recent experience, a possible tipping point on midazolam as a lethal injection drug 

Ohio Governor officially postpones three more scheduled executions 

Reviewing Ohio's (now-suspended) execution realities

Ohio officials apparently seeking to avoid any paper trail as it tries to reboot its machinery of death

Struggling with an execution protocol, Ohio Gov DeWine delays execution scheduled for Sept 2019 to May 2020 

After Sixth Circuit panel approves (resoundingly) Ohio's execution protocol, will state now seek to restart its machinery of death? 

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