#Dead man testifies

[seemabhatnagar]

"Ghostly Proceedings: Court Shocked as Dead Man 'Files' FIR and 'Testifies' in Legal Blunder"

This is a case marred by glaring inconsistencies and shocking negligence which left the court utterly shocked and speechless due to horrifying lapses in the investigation and legal proceedings.

Purushottam Singh and 4 Others vs. State of U.P. and Another

Crl. Misc. Case No.8258/2020

Before the High Court of Allahabad

Hear by Hon'ble Mr. Justice Saurabh Shyam Shamshery J

Key Lapses and Shocking Revelations:

Dead Complainant Filing an FIR: The most astonishing aspect of this case is that an FIR was lodged by a person who had been deceased for three years. The complainant, Shabd Prakash, died on December 19, 2011. However, an FIR was inexplicably filed in his name in 2014, well after his death.

Statements from the Deceased: The court was further astounded when it was revealed that the deceased individual not only "lodged" the FIR but also "recorded" his statement before the Investigating Officer. This defies logic and raises serious questions about the integrity and competence of the investigation.

Legal Representation for a Ghost: Adding to the bizarre nature of the case, a vakalatnama was filed on behalf of the deceased complainant, purportedly signed by one Mamta Devi on December 19, 2023. The vakalatnama was submitted without disclosing that the complainant had passed away years before even lodging the FIR.

Quashing of Proceedings: In light of these awful errors, the court quashed the ongoing proceedings of this case, which arose in 2014. The court could not understand how the investigation was conducted to the extent that a dead person was treated as an active participant in the legal process.

Directive for Inquiry: The court directed the Superintendent of Police, Kushinagar, to investigate the matter further, particularly focusing on the conduct of the Investigating Officer responsible for this glaring oversight. The court ordered that this inquiry be placed on record.

Warning to Legal Counsel: The court took serious note of the negligence of the legal counsel, who failed to disclose the death of the complainant while submitting the vakalatnama. The court sent a copy of the order to the President of the Allahabad Bar Association, advising the concerned advocate to exercise greater caution in the future.

Seema Bhatnagar

[hephaestiions]

For what it’s worth, Draco tries not to be in love with him.

Once the war ends, the world is dim and hazy and wild. For two months, it rains incessantly in Wiltshire. Draco watches his mother’s rose garden flag and flutter, run amok with weeds and ivy from his bedroom window. He spends May and June not doing much of anything but staring— out the window, at his ceiling, at his parents when they try to coax him to dinner. House arrest is not a death sentence, but Draco is empty and vacant and a little dead anyway.

He thinks of Harry sometimes. Harry, limned in fire on a broom, reaching for him, Harry, dead, not dead, clambering to his feet, wand raised, calling the Dark Lord Tom, Harry, who had met his eyes over the Aurors’ shoulders as they handcuffed him to accompany him to the Manor until the Wizengamot had the time to figure out what to do with the Malfoys. Harry, and the world winces into sharper focus, bleak and dull and unbearable. Draco tries, for all he’s worth, not that it’s much, to stop thinking of Harry when that happens.

There’s the trial. Harry Potter is in a suit, his hair damp and brushed and unfamiliar. He speaks for Draco and his mother. Draco recognises the image of Narcissa emerging in Harry’s testimony— haughty and determined and fearful and loving, a mass of contradictions worthy of exoneration after the payment of some hefty fines. His own image he recognises in snapshots and flashes— scared, yes, Merlin, yes, indoctrinated from a young age, that too, in the grip of something bigger than himself, yes, he’s never felt so small. There are other things Harry says, new, like an ill-fitted outfit hanging off him— brave when it mattered, really? and never killed anyone, technically true but the intent was there all through sixth year, doesn’t he deserve to be punished for that? and helped in bringing down the fall of Tom Riddle at great personal risk, a tall order at best, an embellished lie at worst.

Harry believes in a man Draco isn’t sure he ever was. The Wizengamot seems to believe him, and he’s exonerated too, with a magic-monitoring charm on his wand for eighteen months.

No one testifies for Lucius. He goes to Azkaban. Draco watches, dispassionate, as the Aurors handcuff his father again. Lucius watches him back, equally dispassionate. “Take care of your mother,” he says before he’s pulled away, and Draco manages a short, tight nod. That’s that.

Love, or the situation about Harry Potter as Draco takes to calling it, begins two more months after the trials.

“Malfoy,” says Harry, the picture of wide-eyed surprise. They’re in a bar on Knockturn. Pansy, Blaise and Theo finally dragged him here, Draco you need to leave that stuffy old Manor for your own good.

“Harry Potter,” Draco says, because he can’t bring himself to call him Potter anymore, and Harry sounds awkward outside his head.

“It’s good to see you,” says Harry, a sudden grin stretching across his face. Draco has to blink the light of it out of his eyes. “You’re looking better.”

It starts then, in the bar. The stirrings of life in a dead man. It’s annoying and brutal and the kind of thing that keeps Draco waking up and getting himself out of bed every morning and the nightmares occasionally at bay.

They run into each other at the bar, over and over, and each time, Harry begins conversation. Each time, it lasts a few minutes longer, until they’re spending half an hour or more chatting over drinks at the counter. Or, rather— Harry chats, Draco listens and tries not to let his heart spring out of his chest. Each time, Pansy looks considering, Blaise rolls his eyes and Theo peers studiously into his drink when he comes back. Draco wonders if Harry’s friends have their own set of patented reactions and if they’re half as lenient as his friends’.

Draco starts sleeping with Theo about it, eventually. Which is to say Draco starts sleeping with Theo hoping the sex will take his mind off dark hair and green eyes and that rapid, quicksilver smile. It doesn’t help that Theo has dark hair and blue eyes, and smiles at Draco like the sun. It makes him ache with want and loss, and the sex is great, but Draco has to end it within a few weeks.

“It’s Potter, isn’t it,” Theo says when Draco tells him.

There’s no point denying it, so Draco doesn’t. “It’s not you,” he says, and Theo’s lightly amused baleful glare is enough for their friendship to remain stable, if a little stilted.

Blaise takes him shopping and Pansy brings him alcohol and when Greg starts stepping out of his house again, he tells Draco awkwardly, “Well, Potter’s missing out, isn’t he?” Millicent, who starts coming to pub nights gives Draco a once-over and tells him he needs to get a job. Daphne tries to set him up with her sister, and takes it astonishingly terribly when Draco tells her he’s sure Astoria’s lovely, but has an entirely wrong set of bits.

“You should be more open minded,” she tells him, sniffing. “Astoria‘s open minded!”

Draco can only think to blink at her.

Harry’s in the papers almost every day. Sometimes because he gives speeches, but mostly because The Prophet’s society section can’t think to write anything better than “Harry Potter spotted in Diagon’s Sunday Market, with turnips! Turn to page 6 for seven delicious recipes that make fresh and inventive use of the Chosen One’s Chosen Veg!”

It’s all well and good except for the part where the accompanying photos of Harry, scowling or blank or frustrated or very occasionally, smiling at children, sends Draco’s body into overdrive. He finds himself tracing the line of Harry’s mouth, the tops of his cheekbones, his hairline. He thinks his mother notices, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Would you like to get a drink sometime?” Harry asks.

They’re not at the bar. They’re in a cafe and Draco is reading a horrible romance novel at the window.

“We get drinks all the time,” Draco says. He wants to step on his own toes.

“Yeah,” Harry says, laughing. He runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, course, just— I was wondering if you maybe wanted to. You know. Just us.”

“Just us?”

“Forget it,” Harry says, and sighs. He turns away and turns back. “It was good seeing you, Malfoy.” He turns away again.

“Harry,” Draco says. The look on Harry’s face when he turns back again is wide-eyed surprise again, like that first time in the bar. “I— a drink sounds lovely.”

Harry looks uncertainly pleased.

“Just not on Knockturn,” Draco says.

“We could go to Hogsmeade,” Harry says. He’s— the ridiculous man— bouncing on the balls of his feet, fidgety and buoyant and beautiful. “Or London. The Muggle bit. Or Diagon, really, but the reporters—” He grimaces.

I’ll go anywhere with you, Draco wants to say. “Anywhere,” he says instead, hacked short and inadequate.

But Harry smiles at him like he’s the sun. The persistent ache throbbing through Draco abates for a moment.

So this is peace, Draco thinks. Meets Harry’s smile with his own, wonders how Harry thinks it looks. There you are.

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt, “cranes in the sky”. this is a little all over the place and i’m not particularly happy with it, but here’s a decidedly-not-microfic about failing at not being in love with harry james potter. oh draco, you’re exactly like me.

[cosmic-espero]

I can't stop thinking about how Ryuji literally suffered a life altering injury (that clearly causes him chronic pains) and complete social isolation because of Kamoshida and yet he still:

Feels unsettled by the idea of potentially murdering someone, no matter how much they deserve it, and

Puts literally everyone's trauma with Kamoshida before his, including the track team that did not hesitate to dump him the moment he became (in their eyes) dead weight.

And this isn't even the only time this happens- Ryuji constantly treats his traumas, no matter their nature, as less important than others'.

His father's abuse and consequent abandonement are mentioned like once, and through the game Ryuji repeatedly puts himself in physical danger and dismisses his safety as lesser for the sake of others, to the point it's literally a pattern.

Examples of this behaviour include:

Trying to distract Kamoshida's guards to allow Ren to run away (and we're not getting into how this mirrors Ren getting into trouble to save a woman he doesn't know, nor how he will do this again by awakening Kidd specifically to save Ren and Morgana)

Willingly going back to the metaverse to try and save the volleyball team, and then putting himself under the spotlight in the real world by openly asking them to testify against Kamoshida

Dismissing his pain when his leg gives out under him while they're running away from the collapsing castle

Offering to stay still as the track team beats him up, willingly accepting the scapegoating and believing himself to be actually responsible

Jumping in front of a taxi to run to the rescue of a girl who had threatened to get him into legal trouble unless he helped take a mafia boss down

Choosing to put himself in danger by running to unlock the safeboats on Shido's sinking ship, only to make fun of the team for crying for him (does he not get why they were crying, or does he think his death isn't worth crying over? A question that makes the out of character and entirely unfunny scene where the girls beat the shit out of him even more heartbreaking)

Saving Ren and Akechi (a guy he openly hates) by refusing Maruki's reality and shielding them by taking a hit in their stead

And I might be missing something because I just. Listed these points off the top of my head. His entire character (despite the way the game semi-regularly tries to slander and mistreat him for the funnies) is centered around self sacrifice and he isn't even an adult yet.

I don't even know where I'm going with this. It's just... Ryuji, man.

[heritagebrowser]

The pulpit at the Saint- Bavon's Cathedral (Sint-Baafskathedraal) in Ghent, Belgium.

Rococo pulpit made by Laurent Delvaux in 1741. The statues represent the blessing of the truth over error. Made of (white and black) Carrara marble and Danish oak, with gilded wood and wrought iron fence, made by J. Arens. The pulpit could be realized with money from Bishop Triest's fund. Laurent was commissioned by the Chapter of Sint-Baafs. The contract between both parties was signed on March 6, 1741.

As early as 1719-1720, the cathedral's clergy had a plan to replace the old pulpit, previously donated by Viglius Aytta, with a new work of art. In 1738-1739 and later, Van der Brugghen from Antwerp, Theodoor Verhaeghen from Mechelen and Laurent Delvaux from Nivelles made a design for a new pulpit. The latter's model was accepted for execution by the Ghent chapter, which concluded a written agreement with the sculptor on March 6, 1741. It precisely described which materials should be used, namely Danish oak and white Italian marble, and what the artwork should look like. In 1745 Delvaux had completed his work.

That pulpit, rightly regarded as a very representative piece of rococo church furniture in Flanders, has been elaborated on a rather large scale. The viewer's gaze is immediately drawn to the allegorical marble sculpture group under the tub, depicting Truth and Time. The Truth, in the form of a beautiful young woman in a graceful pose, holds a bulky, open book in her hands. Her beautifully arranged robe, which the artist managed to portray in a striking way, captures the movement of her long flowing hair. The globe under her right foot means that truth is higher and worthier than all other goods. The sun, shining on her breast, wants to show that Truth is a friend of light and that she looks up to God, without whose light there is no truth. The woman is crowned with a laurel wreath, the sign of victory. The book in her hands contains the following sentence from a speech by Paul to the inhabitants of Ephesus: 'Awake, you sleeper; rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light” (V, 14).

With her graceful body, slightly turned towards him, Truth turns towards a winged man, who foretells Time. He is winged because the proverb says: time flies. The old man sits on some blocks of stone and leans against a tree that supports the pulpit. He is awakened from his sleep by a putto blowing a trumpet, and lifts the veil that hid the Truth from him. People noticed his expressive head with striking play of light and shadow in the spirit of the late Baroque. For centuries, humanity was ignorant of Christ's message of salvation. She didn't see the Truth. Now Time throws off the veil that hindered his 'insight'. Instructed by the Truth, he is inspired by the divine Word, which is symbolized by the putto with the trumpet.

The entire group, inspired by an unfinished work by the Italian sculptor Bernini, is very balanced. The successful contrast between the youthful and lovely woman and the muscular old man, their posture and their draping testify to the artist's talent.

The branches of the tree swing smoothly around the pulpit, which is decorated with numerous rococo motifs and four medallions in relief. Three of these are explicative representations of the victory of Truth over Time and are therefore closely related to the group of images at the bottom. At the front we get the birth of Christ surrounded by angels and cherubim. This represents the Light among people. On the right the conversion of Paul is depicted, who was struck blind on the way to Damascus.

On the left is the conversion of St. Bavo. His eyes opened and he saw. After all, he was moved by the preaching of Saint Amandus and withdrew into a hollow tree in prayer. The last medallion on the back features the bust of Bishop Antoon Triest. The draped sounding board with a dove in a halo at the bottom is supported by two apple trees. On the sounding board, two angels hold a large cross, whose sleek surfaces contrast sharply with the playful branches of the tree. A third angel takes the apple from the mouth of a serpent that is writhing in the tree. At the entrance to each staircase there is a life-size angel on the inside with the coat of arms of Bishop Triest, thanks to whose fund it was possible to have this sculpture executed. The banister with its graceful curves and its lush and playful shells on the parapet is a beautiful piece of rococo in itself. The entire pulpit should not necessarily be viewed from any one point. It is conceived as an image that can be admired from all sides, without the composition losing value. (Source: Erik Duverger)

[1-800-apricot]

imagine being arthur morgan's ex-lover

Thinking about Arthur Morgan reuniting with you. An old flame that never seemed to completely go away. Whose blazes had engulfed the forest of his heart only to dissolve into a root fire.  

And then he saw you. And as he stepped back into that charred oblivion he could see the smoke rising from the ground. Embers and licks of flames begin to rise once more. And perhaps this is when it hits him. The flames of your love had never choked themselves out. Rather they’d moved out of sight. Surviving with what they could find.

And God when he saw you. The way the sun framed your features. The way you styled your hair. Even the way you dressed. After all these years. Arthur Morgan could’ve died a happy man with the sight in front of him. He was sure. He could almost taste the smoke.

You would spot him quick enough. And for that split second his heart raced. But the curve of your lips were quick to dull as shock took over your expression. A tightening in your chest. A feeling far from Arthur with that awestruck expression of his. This was suffocating. 

The look on your face did not get past Arthur. He should’ve just walked away and acted like he never saw you. But he couldn’t. Not when this was his chance to hear you once more. So he made his way toward you. And as he approached perhaps you should’ve fled. There was only ever one ending to this story. You knew it because the two of you had played it over and over again. 

But you didn’t flee. Instead you stood there and watched as he neared. Perhaps you weren’t much better than him. Perhaps moths did still live in your stomach despite the lavender you douse yourself in. The very thought was enough to make you start to move however it was too late. After years, Arthur Morgan stood in front of you. 

He looked different. Time hadn’t been kind on him but that wasn’t to say he looked bad. He didn’t. But it was hard to ignore how tired he looked. The way the sun had aged his skin. Or the way the years of cigarettes seemed to have turned his voice raspier. Through it all though? There were still glimpses of your Arthur.

Maybe that was the most sickening part. That past all that had happened, there was your Arthur. The one you would’ve never left. That thought was shut quickly though. This was not him and the person that was with him all those years ago is no longer you. Perhaps this did not register within his mind though. 

The conversation was slow. Rocky even. His unsure questions and your short, stunned responses. But it seemed within minutes you had found a rhythm and a groove. One that the two of you had so often moved and spoken to. It felt eerie. Like stepping into a haunted house. Except you’d witnessed what exactly caused the haunt. 

You couldn’t testify how long you stood and talked to the man. There were lulls in the conversation where you should’ve and could’ve pulled back. Where he’d led you to a dead end but then he found something else to speak of. It had been something that amused you in the past. But now it was exhausting. That was what it was meant to do though. To wear you down and make you give into whatever was being sold. Even if he didn’t show it Arthur Morgan was raised by a conman. 

And it almost wore you down. It almost made you hand over the last of your coins. Just to feel the heat of his love once more. To rekindle the fireplace flames of your love. But you had to remember. While there had been no man quite like Arthur that also meant there’d been no devastation quite like his. 

So the conversation came to a lull and he searched for more to say. And instead of taking comfort in the growing embers, you cleared your throat. The next words would be the end. You both knew it. The final flag flown in a useless war. You’d thought it would’ve made you more devastated. Like it had all those years ago. However this wasn’t a farewell to love anymore. It was a farewell to all the destruction it's caused. 

So you took a deep breath. Bile might’ve risen but you pushed it down. You declared you needed to go and he nodded albeit a bit numbly. You exchanged goodbyes. And you turned away from him. 

“I missed you.”

Damn you. Damn you. Damn you. It was so unlike him and you hadn’t seen it coming. But no one was around and perhaps it should’ve been expected. Even the mighty could get desperate. This wasn’t a decision though. There wasn’t a choice to be made. So you turned and spoke your final words to him. Words that solidified that this war of love was over.

“You’re the loss of my life, Arthur Morgan.”

a/n: this imagine was based around the song 'loml' by taylor swift. i'm thinking of making a prequel to this where reader originally leaves but i'm not sure. anyways hope y'all enjoyed <3

[thehereticdiaries]

A (Not So) Meet Cute: Chapter Two

Chapter Summary: You finally get home, the skz boys talk about you, and you get added to a very chaotic group chat (sorry i kinda suck at summaries)

Warnings: None for this chapter, it's mostly building plot

Series Masterlist

Chan held your elbow to steady you as you stepped over the shattered glass on the ground. Once outside, you started towards the closest bus stop, eager to get back to your apartment and take a goddamn nap. 

“Where are you going?” The grip Chan had on your elbow tightened slightly, stopping you from walking away. His eyebrows were furrowed, and you mirrored his expression.

“To the bus stop? How else am I supposed to get home?” This felt like an obvious answer to you. 

“Nah, I already messaged one of our drivers. He’ll be here any minute now to bring us to your apartment,” Chan explained. Your eyebrows shot up toward your hairline. 

“Us?”

“I’m not about to let you take public transport by yourself with your phone dead. You’ve had enough excitement for one day, yeah?” A car pulled up right as you opened your mouth to protest. Chan opened the back door, tilting his head like he was daring you to say no. You sighed but climbed into the backseat, scooting over when Chan got in next to you. 

“Hey Dohyun, thank you for getting here so quickly,” Chan greeted the driver. He dipped his head in a quick bow to return the greeting, then looked at you. You told the elder the name of your apartment building and he quickly returned to the road. The car was comfortably quiet, the only sound being a soft jazz melody. You stared out the window, trying to process the events of your day. All too quickly Dohyun was parking the car in a visitor spot in the apartment’s garage. You and Chan both unbuckled your seat-belts and you shot him yet another confused look.

“I don’t want to overstep your boundaries here. You can totally tell me to piss off, but I’d feel more comfortable if I could walk you to your apartment. I want to make sure your phone turns back on and my text went through,” Chan rambled in your stunned silence. “You don’t have to, of course, but-”

“Chan, it’s fine. You can come up for a bit,” you interrupted. Chan looked genuinely relieved. You shook your head and stepped out of the car. What the fuck was your life right now?! The Bang Chan was in your apartment, sitting on your couch. You focused on keeping your composure while plugging in your phone. 

“You’re going to press charges, right?” 

“Oh, um, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Maybe?” Your statement sounded more like a question. Chan shot you a look that you couldn’t decipher. 

“The other boys and I will help, you know. We’ll testify against that man,” Chan insisted. Your heart swelled with gratitude and admiration for the leader. You stomped down on the butterflies fluttering around your stomach.

Don’t get it twisted, Y/N, he’s being nice because you went through a traumatic event. He doesn’t- your thoughts were cut off by your phone vibrating endlessly on your desk. 

“Jesus, it figures I’d get a million notifications on the only day my phone is dead,” you mumbled in English and picked your phone up. Chan snickered behind his hand. You ignored most of the notifications for now, opting to look for Chan’s text first. You could go through the rest after he left. 

“You get it?” You nodded and sent a message back to him so he’d have your number. “Good. I should get back to the studio to make sure the boys are alright.” Chan stood. You walked him to your door, and he turned back to you once he was in the hallway.

“Seriously, I can’t thank you all enough. I don’t know what would have happened if Seungmin didn’t show up,” you repeated. Chan smiled but shook his head slightly.

“Is it alright if I give your number to everyone else?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Alright, remember to text one of us if you need any help with the court process. Or just text us for fun. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we’d like to get to know you.” Your cheeks heated and you lost the ability to form a coherent sentence, so you just nodded. Chan looked very pleased with this. With a small wave, he strolled down the hallway toward the elevators. You closed your door, leaning your forehead against the wood to calm yourself. 

Chan returned to the car and hopped back into the backseat. Dohyun raised his eyebrows, giving the younger man a knowing look. Chan rolled his eyes but couldn’t contain his grin.

“Just get back to the studio, please,” he pleaded. Dohyun chuckled but didn’t inquire any further. 

Back at the studio, the other members of Stray Kids were discussing everything that happened while they helped clean up the mess. 

“How the hell did you manage to get such a cute girl’s attention?” Changbin poked Seungmin on the cheek. The younger swatted his hand away.

“Dude, she was being followed by a man she didn’t know,” Seungmin scoffed. “I happened to be the first person that went into the cafe.”

“Hey I had no idea what was going on!” Changbin held his hands up in surrender. “I came out here to Minho cursing and talking about calling the cops. Next thing I know, a brick is breaking our door and you and Chan are getting in some guy’s face.”

“You waited that long to see why we all left the recording booth?” Jisung teased. Changbin rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t notice you leaving, I was messing with the backing vocal track.” Seungmin dragged a hand down his face at the rapper’s obliviousness. Felix filled him in with an abridged version of the situation. 

“Oh, shit.”

“Wait, you didn’t know what was happening and yet you joined the fight anyway?” Seungmin quipped with his eyebrows raised. 

“I wouldn’t really call it a fight,” Felix commented. Seungmin glared at him half-heartedly. 

“You and Chan got up in the guy’s face. I trust you both, so I figured he must have done something to deserve it,” Changbin explained. The rumble of an engine interrupted them. Moments later, Chan was stepping through the broken door. Multiple voices spoke over each other until Chan raised a hand.

“Guys, guys, one at a time,” he sighed. “Before you even ask: yes she’s home safe and yes she said I can give everyone her number.” Jisung sprung up, phone in hand. “Jisung, chill. I’ll send her contact to the group chat.”

“You couldn’t have done that on your way back?” Hyunjin asked incredulously. The eldest just shrugged in response before sending your phone number to the “single father of seven” (Seungmin was to blame for the name) group chat. 

“You’re sure she got to her apartment?” Seungmin questioned. Chan nodded, still distracted by his phone.

“Yea, I waited with her until her phone turned on.”

“You got to go into her apartment?!” Jisung shook Chan’s shoulder. “You cheater!”

“What?! How and why am I a cheater?”

“You got to spend alone time with Y/N!” He accused. “You’re trying to get her to like you more.” Chan rolled his eyes at Jisung’s shit-eating grin. 

“You’re a menace,” Chan snickered. “Alright, we’re done for today. Let’s get back to the dorms.” The boys filed out of the studio. A second car had joined the one Dohyun occupied. Chan, Minho, Seungmin, and Jeongin climbed into Dohyun’s car while everyone else got in the other. 

“Hey, Chan?” Seungmin started.

“Yes, I told her that she should press charges and that we would help if she wanted it,” Chan answered before he could even ask the question. Seungmin closed his mouth, a little annoyed that he was so obvious but mostly relieved that you knew they would be there for you. The car fell to silence as they chatted in the newly made group, this one including you. 

You: I seriously can’t believe I’m texting Stray Kids right now :0

Jeongin: are you stay?

Seungmin: obviously not, if she didn’t recognize me lmao

You: hey!! I was a little distracted >:(

You: but to answer your question, i listen to your music sometimes but i wouldn’t say i’m a true stay

Jisung: booooooo! 

Hyunjin: im offended

Chan: pls chill i am begging

Felix: yea, its not that big a deal. we can turn her into a stay >:3c

You: oh sweet baby jesus, should i be scared?

Jisung: no

Hyunjin: no

Felix: no

Seungmin: yes 🙄

You: …………

Chan: im so sorry 

You giggled throughout the conversation. Sure, you were a little starstruck but you were definitely playing up your nervousness. It was funny watching them argue amongst themselves. You spent the rest of your afternoon half paying attention to a new show on Netflix, but most of your focus was on the group chat (which Jisung lovingly named “certified yappers”). You had an oddly warm feeling in your chest bloom as you learned more about the personalities hidden behind the idol image. 

You: i need to go to bed, i have work in the morning. gn guys!

You got a chorus of “goodnight” texts from everyone except for Seungmin. Oh, well. He might have fallen asleep already. No use worrying about it, you thought to yourself while going through your night time routine. Another text came through right after you settled under your blankets. You gaped at the message.

Seungmin: im walking you to work tomorrow. dont even bother arguing, ill meet you outside your building at 8:30. goodnight, Y/N

[klebolddeath]

The case of Carlos Eduardo Robledo Puch, the "Angel of Death"

Carlos Eduardo Robledo Puch, born in Buenos Aires on January 19, 1951, is an Argentine serial killer who was sentenced to life imprisonment for ten qualified homicides, one simple homicide, one attempted homicide, seventeen robberies, two kidnappings and two thefts, becoming one of the biggest criminals in the history of Argentina.

Crimes:

On March 15, 1971, Robledo Puch and his accomplice named Ibáñez entered the Enamour nightclub, taking 350,000 Argentine pesos.

Before fleeing, Carlos murdered the owner and the night watchman of the place by shooting them with a .32 caliber Ruby pistol while they were sleeping.

On May 3, 1971, at four in the morning, Robledo Puch and Jorge Ibáñez entered one of the rooms of a Mercedes-Benz auto parts store and found a couple with a newborn baby.

Carlos shot the man and wounded the woman in the same way. Ibáñez tried to abuse the woman (she survived and testified in a trial).

Before fleeing and stealing 400,000 Argentine pesos, Robledo Puch shot the baby's crib, who managed to stay alive (the authorities did not discover if he wanted to miss or if he really missed).

On March 24, they murdered the night watchman of a supermarket.

In June, Carlos executed two young women on the road who had been victims of abuse by Ibáñez in the back seat of the car they were using.

On August 5, in a dubious manner, Ibáñez died in a car accident and Robledo Puch, who came out unharmed, escaped.

On November 15, together with a new accomplice named Hector Somoza, they assaulted a supermarket in Boulogne, riddling the watchman with a .32 caliber pistol obtained from a gun shop.

On November 17, they broke into a car dealership and murdered the caretaker, a week later they did the same at another dealership in Martinez, subduing the watchman, taking his keys and stealing 1,000,000 Argentine pesos.

Robledo Puch killed him with a shot to the head.

Arrest, conviction and requests:

On February 3, 1972, Robledo Puch and Somoza entered a hardware store in Carupá and murdered the guard and tried to open a safe with the keys.

Carlos shot Hector dead and burned his face and fingerprints with a blowtorch to make the police's job more difficult, and fled with the stolen goods.

He was arrested on February 4, 1972, when his identity card was found in Somoza's pants pocket.

At that time, he had just turned 20.

On November 27, 1980, Carlos Eduardo Robledo Puch was sentenced to life imprisonment for an indeterminate period, the maximum sentence in Argentina.

In the San Isidro court of appeals he said: "This was a Roman circus and a farce. I am condemned and prejudged in advance."

Carlos is currently still deprived of his freedom in a ward in Sierra Chica.

Since July 2000 he can request conditional release.

On May 27, 2008, Robledo Puch requested parole but was denied because he had not improved positively in any of the sociological aspects necessary to live in freedom.

On August 31, 2011 and October 39, 2013, he was again denied parole.

In November 2013, he asked for his sentence to be reviewed or to be executed by lethal injection, but this was not possible because the death penalty cannot be applied in Argentina.

On March 27, 2015, the Supreme Court of Justice of the Nation rejected an appeal filed by Robledo Puch against the aforementioned sentence that denied him parole.

He was also denied parole in 2016 when he threatened to kill then-President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner.

On May 10, 2016, after 44 years in prison, Robledo Puch left the Sierra Chica prison for a day. He was taken by the San Isidro Forensic Consultancy to undergo a series of medical tests due to his deteriorating health.

Nicknames and Movies:

He was nicknamed by several Argentine journalists as the Black Angel or the Angel of Death, due to the crudeness with which he committed the crimes at such a young age.

On August 9, 2018, the film El Ángel was released in Argentina, based on his criminal story, directed by Luis Ortega and starring Lorenzo Ferro.

That's all, sorry if the translation is not exact and thanks for reading ;)

[matan4il]

Update post:

Yesterday, there were no less than two terrorist attacks against Israeli civilians, one in the morning, and one in the evening.

The first one happened in Beersheba, where the terrorist stabbed and injured two people before being neutralized. The terrorist was an Israeli Bedouin, who had been convicted of drug-related criminal charges. The prosecution asked for his arrest, but the court decided to be lenient, to aid in his rehabilitation, and instead only sentenced him to community service. He was due to start in two weeks, but instead he chose yesterday to attack innocent civilians.

The second terrorist attack took place in Gan Yavne. A Palestinian man, who used to have a work permit in Israel, but lost it and remained here illegally, carried out the attack. The Palestinian terrorist started stabbing people at a gym and then at a nearby cafe, wounding 3 people, all of them originally determined to be in serious condition, one is a teenager, the other two are reported to have life threatening head injuries. The terrorist was 19 years old, and he was neutralized at the scene. In investigating how he managed to stay inside Israel illegally after his work permit had expired, the police has arrested two people so far.

Israel has wrapped up its second operation at the Shifa hospital in Gaza City, with another soldier pronounced dead (20 years old Nada Cohen), bringing the IDF fatalities in the Gaza ground operation so far to 256, and the total number of killed Israeli soldiers in this war, including during the Hamas massacre (reminder that some of those soldiers were girls serving in non-combative posts, without combat training or even a weapon, and were slain while still in their pajamas) to 600.

The end of one operation in a Gaza hospital doesn't mean that's the end of Hamas abusing medical and humanitarian facilities, so there are and will be more such operations. That's why I'm also sharing this reminder that nothing is sacred or even just... off limits to Hamas, who moved kidnapped civilians in ambulances, as one of the released hostages testified.

I mentioned in a post expressing my frustration over foreigners' ignorance over the conflict, which doesn't stop them from acting like they know better than the people actually living it, the Hamas-Fatah "civil war," which erupted in 2007, when Hamas killed Fatah members in Gaza and took over the place. The two Palestinian factions have tried reconciliation several times over the years, but it never lasted long. Israel's war in Gaza against Hamas and its fellow terrorists organizations is not over yet, but already there's signs of that tension. This def bodes well for Palestinians if Hamas survives this war.

A city council meeting in California, which dealt with Holocaust remembrance, ended up being the scene of some despicable displays of antisemitism in its anti-Zionist form. IDK what was most distressing to hear about, the way they screamed "Lies! Lies!"' at a Holocaust survivor, or that they took and threw to the ground the phone of a Jewish man who came to speak about his grandma who had survived the Holocaust, or that they mocked a mother speaking of her child being harassed at school to the point he doesn't wanna be a Jew, because he doesn't want to be hated... Maybe that they made my friend, who attended the meeting, cry on what was supposed to be a very special day. I saw coverage on Israeli TV of the city council, which both told me how bad it was, if of all things, that's what they're talking about, and at the same time, it was nothing like hearing about it from her. So I'm glad that she shared some of her own impressions about this ugly demonstration of hatred (I'm also scheduling her post for a reblog). I just hope Jews all over the world know that we here in Israel care about you, we love you, we are standing by your side, and we wish we could do more for you. <3

Speaking of antisemitism, and an inability to recognize it as such, to call it out and condemn it, here's some recent examples from around the world. In Spain, the locals went out for an Easter drink, a tradition called, "to kill the Jews," but insisted it's not racist. Attacking and even killing Jews actually was customary in Europe on Christian holidays such as Christmas and Easter. In fact, this specific nickname is derived from those old attacks.

In London, a policeman insisted that swastikas being displayed at an anti-Israel protest were not antisemitic, and should be taken "in context," despite admitting that a symbol that's abusive or would cause public distress would fall under his jurisdiction to act against.

In the Netherlands, a single mom of a Jewish girl was attacked for the daughter's choices (she decided to move to Israel and has served in the Israeli army) both at home and at her workplace, a hospital. The mother was so rattled after the attack at her home, that she wouldn't stay there. A Jewish hotel owner offered her a free stay at his hotel. In an interview with an Israeli reporter, the mom said she's considering moving to Israel, too (source in Hebrew).

This is 32 years old Celine ben David Nagar.

She worked as an office manager at a law firm, was married to Iddo, and they had a 6 months old baby together. On Oct 7, Celine was on her way with a friend to the Nova music festival, but they never made it there. The Hamas rocket attack started first. For 10 days, she was considered missing, and it took a while, but eventually they found her body. While her fate was still unknown, two days after the massacre, Iddo went on TV and talked about the fact that Celine was still breastfeeding. Following the interview, hundreds of Israel women volunteered to donate their mother's milk to the little baby girl. At Celine's funeral, Iddo asked said goodbye to his wife, and asked hr to watch over him and little Eli from above.

May her memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[someone-will-remember-us]

One of dozens of men who deny raping an unconscious French woman at the invitation of her husband said he had sex with her despite thinking she “looked dead”.

Husamettin Dogan, 43, angrily denied rape when he gave evidence in the trial of Dominique Pelicot, 71, and 49 other men. Pelicot admits inviting them to have sex with his wife Gisèle after he sedated her at their home near Avignon over a period of ten years up until 2020.

Dogan, who moved to France from Turkey as a young man and has never held a steady job, grew angry with the judges during questioning over his encounter with the near-comatose Mrs Pelicot, which was recorded by her husband. He claimed he had been publicly vilified and badly treated by police.

Like all the other accused, he said he believed he was taking part in a sex game organised by the couple after corresponding with Pelicot on a swingers’ website.

“When I started the foreplay, I saw that she didn’t have any reaction,” he told the court in Avignon. “I said, ‘Your wife’s dead?’ He told me, ‘No, you’re imagining things.’” He went on to say that Pelicot started to have sex with his wife as if to show him what to do.

“She raised her head a little,” according to Dogan. Nevertheless, he said that he had sex with her for about half an hour until her snoring became loud and he decided to leave.

During questioning, he said he could never have imagined that a husband would drug his wife and subject her to such acts. “They call me a rapist. I am not a rapist,” he said.

Pelicot told the court that he had informed Dogan his wife was drugged, as he had done with all the other accused. In addition he is charged with helping a 50th man, who is also on trial, to sedate his own wife.

Mrs Pelicot, who has divorced her husband, was in the courtroom as she has been every day since the trial opened on September 2. She has eschewed the right to anonymity and a trial in camera to publicise the evils of domestic rape.

The issue of consent has dominated the hearings, with the accused insisting that they were unaware they were raping Mrs Pelicot, although some have said they accept now that they committed the offence.

That was the case of Mathieu Dartus, a 53-year-old father of two who also testified on Wednesday. He was asked if he had understood that Mrs Pelicot was not in a state to be able to give her consent when he was presented to her at the couple’s home in Mazan, a small town near Avignon.

“Now, afterwards, I understand that — but that night, everything was crazy,” he said. A report by court experts said Dartus, afrequent visitor to partner-swapping clubs, was known to his family and friends as “affable, pleasant, always ready to help”.

The trial, which is forcing France to examine its attitude to rape and women’s consent, is due to end just before Christmas.

[fayevalcntine]

The thing about Louis's relationship with Claudia is that, yes it's not on the same level of Armand and Lestat's, but you're making a mistake in even equating the latter two in some way. One is her maker, the man who was also her parent, who failed in parenting her and taking care of her emotionally (even when he severely rejected turning her before giving in), who abused her physically and emotionally, while the other is a coven master who never promised her any support or protection in the first place and took part in hazing a vampire who is the equivalent of a child to his age (and I don't say this to excuse his behavior).

Louis's relationship with Claudia also isn't just marred by parental neglect when he's also in the same line of men who put his hand around her neck. He physically abused her the same way Lestat first did, and for that he even threatened to tear Lestat's head off, yet in a moment of turmoil, didn't hesitate to replicate it. But even taking that aside, the parental neglect is severe on both his and Lestat's end. During the opening scene of 1.05, Louis makes no mention (in past scenes) of knowing she was self-harming, yet Lestat mentions she self-harmed for attention during the trial. So who exactly knew? Was it both of them? And even if Louis didn't know, it's pretty blatant within the symbolism itself in 1.05 that he takes part in this neglect until cops knock on their door over the dead bodies found as a result of Claudia's instability. They both avoid confronting the issue until they literally can't anymore, and even then, their argument turns from yelling at her to yelling at each other. Same thing that happens later in the ending fight scene: even in these horrible moments of conflict, she's never the center of it even if her wants and needs are in the beginning of it.

This is what she means when she tells Louis that she's been "a third, all my life". Even when Louis promises "it's you and me", it doesn't end that way. Even if he's conspiring with Armand to keep control of the coven for her, or trying to twist his relationship around into having more control for her, none of it ends up centering her and what she wants. This is true even when it comes down to her being turned: Louis drags her body around like a lifeless doll while dangling the promise of never leaving Lestat to him just so he can agree to turn her. Even if they considered the consequences of turning her, it didn't matter because Lestat ended up doing it anyway. In this, Claudia is angry at both of them because from her perspective, when exactly was she prioritized as the daughter? When Louis wanted her turned for the sake of dampening down his guilt? When Lestat turned her for the sake of keeping Louis close? When both of them ignored the glaring issue of her emotional instability and loneliness? When she nursed Louis back to health only for her abusive parent to still be let back in the house? When even in his supposed self-sacrifice, Louis hurls "go sit with your choices!" at her? And this doesn't even touch upon the diaries and Louis's need to editorialize them to alleviate his guilt, when they're the last remains of her existence.

Louis didn't orchestrate the trial or sit in as witness testifying against her, but he feels guilty over her destiny all the same, because he's directly responsible for when she was turned ("created") in the first place. It's not about the men he chose "over her" or even just how his own parenting mirrors that of his family's treatment of him. "Hey, it's not on you. You hear me? I carried her home. I made you turn her. And saved her from a fire… so a half century later she could…" - this line isn't him simply absolving Lestat from his guilt over her life/death, it's him expressing his own guilt and viewed culpability in how he failed her.

[yellowbunnydreams]

Melancholia (William Afton x F! Reader) [Part 2]

~You may want to have little bit of a stronger stomach for this one, folks~

@itsybitsyb0nes @springlockedfool @brightcosmos

CW: 18+ MINORS DNI - Age difference, Older man/younger woman, Murder (adult and child), violent acts, manipulation, gas-lighting, dead bodies, blood, gore, graphic description of injury, use of religious imagery, toxic relationship, boss x employee, god-complex, knife-play, vomiting/retching/gagging

William Afton gazed down at your frightened form beneath him. Shadowed by his presence, covered in blood and his sins with the wide look of horror and fear that made his shiver in anticipation. His hands tightening on the axe instinctually as his pupils widened in the low light. Adrenaline coursing through him, the thrill of being caught in such a perverse act, dismembering a body. He almost wished you had gotten there all but ten minutes earlier, he wondered what you would have done, seeing the killing blow being brought down on your co-workers head.

The body had no use to him anymore. But you had potential as his newest disciple.

He grabbed your arm, gripping so tightly you knew you would bruise, making you yelp as he dragged you to your feet despite the slick floor. You could see it properly now that the light was turned on. The gore that splattered across the table, oozing from the gap where his head once sat. There was something acrid smelling too that dripped from a throat that would never close again, making bile rising in your own throat as you looked over the torso that had been stripped down. Shirt and vest gone, you could make it out in a bin-bag in the corner of the room, you felt at least grateful that William had left your co-workers pants on. As strange as the thought was.

William slid in behind you, making your body tense as you could feel the taller, predatory figure against your coated back. Barely warm blood seeping into your own clothes, as Afton wrapped his hands around yours, placing the axe into them as your mind raced as to what he was doing. Shock had settled in deep within your psyche.

You hadn't even cried tears for your co-worker yet.

His hands moved awkwardly around your loose grip, staring at the body in front of you as he forced you to bring it down. Flinching as your hands gripped onto the shaft of the axe handle despite the fact you wanted to do anything but that in that moment as the sharp blade bit into the torso. The sickening sound of wet meat and crunching bones and cartilage filling your ears as William raised your hands again, letting the weight of the axe fall and cutting further into the chest. The low, almost wheeze of air exiting dead lungs, sounding almost like a moan of pain making you finally sob as your body shook. The reality hitting you as you tried to struggle away from your boss but were only met with his hands tightening on yours and forcing the axe down harder.

You had never wanted to know what the smell of a split human stomach was, or to know what the bisection of a lung looked like, but you gagged as those images were seared into your retinas. William humming in distaste as he surveyed what you had accomplished together. Turning his head towards yours and smiling almost reassuringly as his eyes sparked and his breathing was a little ragged, licking up the track of one of your tears as you continued to sob. Squeezing your eyes shut and turning your head away.

"Little lamb, you took communion so well. Doesn't it feel good?" He cooed, stroking your hair with bloody hands and streaking more evidence through it as you gagged. The smell in the small room was vile, as was your proximity to the murderer.

"N-No...God, no it doesn't feel good. You're a monster."

"If I'm a monster, then so are you. Your prints are now all over the weapon, I could testify that you helped me cut him up into little pieces." A promise, a threat, as William stepped out from behind you. Axe over his shoulder as he surveyed what was left to be done. Tutting and sucking air through his teeth as he stood over the body, fingers tapping impatiently over the wooden handle of his chosen weapon. "Damn it, you got his stomach. That's going to be a pain to clean up."

The comment was almost so normal that you couldn't help a startled laugh that escaped your lips, making William raise an eyebrow at you as you were half laughing, half sobbing. Choking on mucus and spit as your mind reeled at what was happening.

"Oh well I'm terribly sorry I've made a mess." The words were as slick with venom as there was bile in your throat. William huffed, that predatory smile returning to his face as he hefted the axe again, swinging it with vicious force and burying it half into one hip joint. Hearing the meaty crack and splinter that meant he had met his mark.

"Your apology is accepted, little lamb. Now," Another swing as you kept your head turned, unable to watch but only finding yourself staring at the decapitated head on the floor instead. "Strip."

"Ex-fucking-cuse me?" Your head snapped back towards William, who shrugged off his blazer, unbuttoning the purple, starred vest and revealing how tightly his white shirt fixed to his firm chest. The only sign of blood against his cheeks, smattered into his grey hair and across the collar of his white shirt. Not even glancing at you as he picked up the axe again. starting to separate the other leg from the body.

"Strip. You're covered in evidence and we need to get rid of it." Gesturing to your vaguely as you looked down at yourself. The tears still streaming down your face, unable to stop them as you realise your breathing was no longer verging into hyperventilation. "Also, second warning for language."

"You're chopping up a...you're chopping up one of my friends and you're warning me about swearing?"

"You're in uniform. You know the rules."

"Pretty sure there's rules about murder too."

"Freddy's is a place where fantasy and fun comes to life. This is my fun." The way he so easily twisted the tagline for the normally cheerful restaurant turned your stomach. But you weren't sure your already weak digestive system could handle adding to the smell of blood, meat and vomit that permeated the small space. "Now, are you going to give me your damn clothes, or am I going to have to come rip them off of you?" Turning his attention to you with the same slow, predatory smile that made your blood run cold.

Shaking your head to indicate that it wouldn't be necessary, your fingers shook as you unbuttoned your own star vest. Shrugging it off before letting it drop to the floor. Swallowing hard as you began to unbutton your shirt too, glancing up at Afton and watching as he had completely turned his attention back to the body, swinging the axe with precise movements that made you wonder just how many times he'd made the motion before, how he managed to keep so calm and collected about it all. Your shirt dropped too, hands covering your bra and chest as you tried to discreetly reach behind you and check whether or not there was blood on the strap around your back.

"Shoes and socks too."

"Mr. Afton, I-" Opening your mouth to protest as you looked at the gore on the floor, swallowing hard as you tried to desperately not think how it had been a living human that you knew.

"No ifs ands or buts. All of it comes off. You can keep your underwear if you like. You got it all over you."

"And you didn't?"

"That's different. I know how to get blood out of my clothes." Another swing and he used the blade of the axe to move the pieces he'd cut towards the edge of the table. Grabbing a few trash bags and wrapping them around the various limbs, bone splinters and internal organs as they spilt out of the body cavity. Your stomach turned as you heard and watched them sloshing about.

"And I, as somebody who has a period doesn't?" The comment slipped out before you could stop it, making Afton pause and look up at you. That manic smile reappearing as he began to laugh, the sound rich and vibrant as his blue eyes flashed, running his hand through his brown hair as his tongue worried over one canine.

"See, I knew I was right about you, there's something workable in there." Laughing as he shook his head in disbelief. Continuing to scrape and clean the table with a practised ease, even as he grunted whilst moving some of the heavier bags. Bringing out a tub of cleaning supplies and gesturing vaguely to the binbag pile. "Put your clothes in there when you're done. You can go wait in the bathroom if you like. Although, if I find that you've left, or decided to call the cops..." He trailed off and gestured to the table in front of you. Making you nod in understanding before you finished stripping down and gingerly placing your clothes in the bag. Trying not to gag and failing as you were sure that you touched still warm intestines.

You hurried towards the bathrooms, looking around the hallway section and realising that it was perfect for William to work in. There were no cameras apart from near the door into the main dining area, since there were bathrooms near by and it would open up the company to all sorts of lawsuits if somebody felt that their privacy was being invaded.

It felt like an age, sat against the cold tile and shivering, arms wrapped around yourself as you wished that you could warm up. In reality, it wasn't that cold, but the shock had set in and your body was trying anything to shut out the horror, the feeling of cooling skin beneath your fingers. Organ meat squishing in black bags, the way that your co-worker's head bounced against the floor before William Afton booted it out of the way.

You weren't as covered as you were, but you could feel the ghost of the blood lingering against your skin.

The bathroom door swung open, and you barely lifted your head from your knees. It wasn't until a soft hand touched your head that you looked up, bleary eyes puffy from crying as the reality sunk in that you had experienced death up close and personal. You hoped for a saviour.

All you got was William Afton.

He was shirtless, and you realised after a quick appraisal, pantsless too. Wearing tight black boxers, you might have laughed at the absurdity of it all if you weren't tracing the faint lines and dots that seemed to be mirrored up his chest. A sparse trail of hair across his chest and stomach as he smiled in what you supposed was a benevolent way down at you. He looked like a priest, laying hands on the congregation and absolving them of their sins.

The irony did not escape you.

"You need to shower. I have some spare clothes in here that we can use."

"Leave me be. Maybe I'll wake up from this nightmare if I just keep my eyes closed." Murmuring as William sighed and tutted. Crouching down in front of you and running those same bloody hands soothingly over your hair.

"Most people would be happy to be in the presence of a man like me." He sighed, watching your head move slightly as you looked at his angular features, the dark almost bruises under his eyes making his blue eyes stand out more as the lacked that spark once more. Cold. Dead.

"A murderer?"

"A god, little lamb."

"You're not a god, you're sick."

"I have controlled life, whether somebody lives and somebody dies. Is that not, in it's most basic essence, what a god is?" You stared at him as he gave a rueful smile, his hand landing on your cheek and stroking the thumb over your cheek bone as he stood up, turning and cocking his head to one side as he gave you a smile.

"Do not make me regret my decision to be benevolent, little lamb."

You woke up in your own bed the next day. The lingering sense of an uneasy dream following you as you swallowed, reaching for the half drunk soda besides your bed as you looked at the time, rubbing at your face with your palm, digging the heel in.

You could have almost convinced yourself that it was really just a horrible dream if it wasn't for the new, still in the plastic wrapping uniform that sat on your dresser.

Bile rose and you grabbed the trashcan nearby as your guts emptied themselves of their contents. Coughing and spluttering as you drooled acid and orange tinted stomach lining into the bag lining the trash. Splashes of dark soda looking too much like congealed blood in your shaken mind as you retched again. Your head hurt, your whole body hurt. Grabbing the phone as tears streamed down your cheeks and you tried to swallow back the foul, acrid taste in your mouth. Tongue running over your fuzzy teeth as you dialled the number for Freddy's and heard it ring a few times, staring off into space as you waited for somebody to pick up.

"Good morning, little lamb." The cool British accent made you want to cry as you felt your whole body tensing. Sobbing before you could control it, free hand shakily reaching up and wiping your trembling lips as you heard him make a satisfied hum through the crackling phone-line. "No good morning for me?"

"Go to hell." You croaked, earning a tut and a chuckle from your boss.

"Rude. And here I was thinking that we parted last night with a special understanding." You could practically hear his pout through the phone.

"What, that I'll be dead before I hit the door if I told anybody?" Thinking back to the blended blur of emotional turmoil, unable to pick out a specific point where he might have been referring to.

"That too, but that you would be my disciple."

"I'm not your disciple. I'm your fucking Judas." You spat, tired of him harping on with what you had pieced together was a god-complex. Running your fingers through your hair as you moved the trashcan to one side, hoping that moving the source of the smell would make you less queasy.

"Fiesty today aren't you? Well, Judas was still a disciple first, dear, if you're going to try and use faith against me." Chuckling through the phone as you heard a faint creak and imagined William leaning back in an office chair. "Why did you call, little lamb?"

"I called Freddy's, not you."

"Sadly, there was a network outage last night, the only phones that work in the building right now are Henry's and mine." You swore under your breath, feeling your fingers snag in a knot that had formed as you tossed and turned over your pillow. Glancing back at your messed up sheets and comforter before sighing.

"I've thrown up, I shouldn't be around food today."

"Perfect, then you'll work in my office. I need somebody to help me do paperwork." You could hear the disinterested musing in his voice, despite the fact that your stomach was still twisting, your blood boiled, hands tightening on the phone. "See you in a few hours, little lamb."

The fact he had hung up on you didn't even register until you went to open your mouth, and all your heard was the sound of the dead line.

It was almost funny, how easily William Afton snuffed out things like that.

Afton's office was surprisingly spacious when you had entered it upon arrival to work. Dressed in a uniform so new and crisp that it dug into you at weird angles slightly, you felt embarrassed as your colleagues stared at you and whispered amongst themselves. Any rumours that had started to percolate were quickly dismissed however, as soon as they saw your drained, greenish complexion.

You weren't really in a fit state to be working.

But there you sat, on a kid's party chair that William had clearly dragged up the stairs and sat at a low coffee table. The room itself wasn't large, but William had kept it relatively dark. A control panel on one wall that you figured was for party lighting, which made sense as you knew a lot of kids would find and fiddle with it otherwise. You were surprised however, to see the same paper stars and neon confetti carpet in the space, despite the dark, dull furniture, the lack of personal items about the place and on surfaces, you would almost describe the office as friendly.

Almost.

William Afton ruined the illusion entirely.

The tall man was dressed in another black suit ensemble, white shirt and purple vest. His pin-badges were back too, although when you looked carefully, they were different than the day before. The worn out enamel one was still there. An almost skeletal grin on what might once have been a yellow bunny, you wondered how many damn badges he had that he could just change them on a whim. His hair tousled back roughly, blue eyes flickering over paperwork as he silently leafed through them.

He hadn't even greeted you when you entered his office, simply gestured to the too small chair and a pile of manila envelopes. You figured out the task pretty quickly, stamp the envelopes and push in the paperwork that needed to be filled out into them, realising that they were health and safety training on 'bio-hazard clean-up'. A little scoff escaped your lips at the absurdity, making William glance up at you and raise an eyebrow before going back to his paperwork.

"So, are we not going to mention last night, at all?" You were the one the break the silence first, watching your boss pause before leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. Realising all too late that you had played directly into his hand.

"What is there to talk about, unless you want to relive the gory details?" His eyes sparked and his tongue ran over his teeth, your head shook before you could stop it. Earning a disappointed huff from him as he sat back in his office chair. The plastic groaning as it strained slightly. Eyeing you coolly before slowly standing to his towering height. Rolling his shoulders and joints, hearing the pop and crackle of joints that seemed a little bit worse for wear than somebody his age should be.

"Why didn't you kill me?" The words hung heavy from your lips, William staring at you before approaching you, nodding his head up as a gesture for you to stand, waiting for your compliance before growing frustrated that you weren't moving quickly enough for his liking. Grabbing your upper arm in a vice-like grip, making you yelp as you tried to fling your weight out of his hand whilst he sighed and dragged you over to the large glass window that took up a large portion of his office.

"What are you doing, let me go!" You protested, trying to stop yourself from approaching the glass as images of you being thrown through it came to mind.

Afton scoffed as he wrapped his fingers around the back of your neck. Forcing you to look down over the dining area and watch as your co-workers moved about and children played as normal. Running, screaming, even behind the thick, one-way glass, you could hear the tinny bass of the music from Freddy and the band. You hadn't ever realised it was one-way, thinking the darkness of the glass was a trick of the light and angle.

"See? Isn't being so high wonderful? I get to watch you all and play with your lives without you realising it. Want more hours? You'll have to impress me first. Piss me off? You'll barely meet the requirements of the contract for your employment." His breath cool against your ear and making you shiver as your gaze flickered sideways, and you saw that same elated spark.

"I-I see." Swallowing, praying he would let you go soon. But William's eyes were focused outside, watching the pizzeria go by without a care.

"Pick one." His voice startled you, your attention landing fully on his his intense blue gaze.

"What?" "Pick one."

"For what?"

"You'll find out. Pick one. This is a chance for you to play god with me, little lamb, and I am not comfortable sharing my throne."

Your heart raced in your chest as you looked down at the swirling mass of families and workers. Eyes naturally drawn to the purple of the staff vests, but then your attention flickered to a child running through in a bright pink dress and blonde curls, before an adult leaning against one of the vending machines and trying to sneakily vape caught your attention. A group of children circled around a smaller one, a child in a party hat. You couldn't pick a child, the smell of spilt vomit and heavy, cloying iron filling your mind as you thought of that inanimate, slack jawed expression on such a young face.

You couldn't pick one.

Could you?

The cool glass under your fingertip was the first indication that you had in fact, chosen.

"That one." The words a whisper almost lost on William as he glanced along your line of sight. A slowly building mania palpable on his face as he looked where you were pointing.

A young lad, perhaps twelve, maybe a little younger and large for his age. You recognised that striped t-shirt from a mile away, the poorly done buzz-cut, he was a real handful for everybody who worked there. Parents dropped him off with five dollars and the promise that they would 'be back later before closing', and so the child had become a menace in search of arcade tokens, tickets and loose change. You couldn't believe that you had picked a child out for whatever William had planned.

And neither could he.

"An interesting choice, little lamb...I'll be back in a moment." His hands lingering down your back as he released the grip on your nape, trailing down the curve of your spine before offering you that wide smile, although the light didn't reach his eyes as usual. Stuffing his hands into his blazer pockets, you didn't need to be told twice to stay where you were.

William made his way down the spiral staircase that might have once been an exterior features for a building, you watched helplessly from above as he stalked his chosen prey through the crowd. How he bobbed and weaved with a grace and ease that surprised you given how tall he was, and whilst he wasn't thin, it would have been very hard to call him 'built'. Swallowing hard as the adrenaline set in, watching as he approached the child, wondering that surely, William wasn't such a monster that he would harm a child. Let alone in public.

You closed your eyes and put your head into your hands. Your stomach turned again, unable to bear to watch as all your mind could focus on was how much glee William had in his face after you had swung the axe into your co-worker's chest. The thick, cracking, meaty sound that you knew would haunt you to your dying day, as quickly as it may come without the chance to absolve yourself of these sins.

The hand on your shoulder made you give a short scream, before that hand clamped over your mouth and you felt warm breath stroking over your ear in a sensual caress.

"Look little lamb, at what you have done whilst playing god."

You forced your eyes to open after a moment, looking exactly where the kid had been standing. Stomach dropping as they weren't there anymore, frantically searching the main dining hall as William's slender fingers rested against your pulse point, hearing him groaning in your ear as he felt is fluttering and pounding under his touch. Wondering how much fear he could push through you before your body would collapse and cease to function. Finally, you caught sight of him, mouth opening to warn him, despite the fact that William had a firm grip over your mouth to stop you uttering a peep.

You were surprised, doing a double take when you saw the child standing by an arcade game and pushing in tokens occasionally. Frowning, you knew that the kid would always spend his money on drink and a soda, wondering where he got the money from for extra tickets.

"See, doll, I can be kind....gentle...God doesn't always need to be wrathful." Murmuring lowly, he stroked your hair in a way that made you shiver. Swallowing hard as you turned your head out of his hand and looked at him, cheeks flushing and every nerve screaming at you that it was wrong and you needed to leave as William's face was less than an inch away from yours.

"But, I am going to have to take two to balance it out now, don't you think?"

Of course there was a catch.

There were always catches to the deals with the Devil after all.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

Inspired by the latest Reductive Audio:

Lil useless facts about my fav boys/listeners. No hate if I didn’t include your fave, I was making my list off memory and am just now realizing I missed like… three entirely series worth of people.

Vincent

He prefers silver jewelry over gold, but doesn’t care if styles are meant for men or women. He likes what he likes and will wear it. He’s a particular fan of dainty necklaces and women’s wrist watches, but likes men’s rings better.

Sam

He smoked when he was human. Lucky Stripes, since they’re cheap. It was a bad habit he picked up when he was eight or so to cope with his home life. He lost the ability to be chemically addicted to nicotine when he was turned, but he still itches for a cigarette when he’s particularly stressed.

Alexis

She’s very jealous of Will’s attention. She gets twitchy when he’s paying attention to anybody else for too long. This results in spikes of her reckless and bad behavior. It started when Vincent was turned, then when he took in Porter, then when she turned Sam. The most recent was after the Inversion.

William

He cannot paint or draw to save his life. He’s followed five or six Bob Ross paintings, but they never turn out right. He can draw stick figures, but that’s about it. His penmanship is beautiful, though.

Porter

Will made him testify against his maker since Porter’s treatment was particularly brutal amongst Felix’s progeny. Porter didn’t want to, but he recounted every moment of Felix’s torture while being stared down by the man himself in front of the whole council. It was so damming that Felix invoked him to stop. That’s the moment that Porter still has nightmares about.

Lovely

Lovely is incredibly anxious around their human friends. They’re scared that they’ll lose control and hurt someone, even though they’re very well fed and haven’t shown any lack of control in the past. This results in a few months after the inversion that Freelancer thought they were dead, since they showed up on the casualty list.

Treasure

Their older brother is a humanborn freelancer. He’s an enforcer for the Department. They think that fits him well, since he was always sort of a bully growing up. Treasure themself is an investigative journalist who writes for an empowered newspaper. They were trying to get a table at the Monarchal Summit even before they met Porter, but that didn’t pan out.

Freddy

He played french horn in high school. He was pretty good, and was drum major in marching band his senior year. He threw up before every game because he was so nervous.

Bright Eyes

Singer/song writer. Y’all ever listened to the Mountain Goats??? That’s their shit. Slow moving acoustic guitar, songs about the most disturbing and distressing emotions humans are capable of surviving recorded on cassette. Singing at dead coffee shop open mics in the wee hours of the morning. Their voice is raspy and rough, but the texture just draws you into their even timber and perfect pitch. They’re a minor celebrity in Dahlia’s sad boy live music scene.

David

His hips and back hurt So Much all of the time. He figures out that it’s because he’s incredibly strong but not flexible in the slightest. An imbalance in those two factors can lead to a lot of pain. He starts doing yoga after the Inversion when it got really bad and it’s helped a ton. Plus, Angel does it with him, and he likes watching them bend into all of those poses in their tiny, skin tight shorts.

Asher

He keeps track of how much David weighs and makes sure he can comfortably lift and carry that much weight at the drop of a hat. At the end of every work out, he deadlifts David’s weight to make sure he can do it when already spent. He should have been carrying David after the Inversion, but he didn’t have the strength to do it even when not fucked up. He won’t let that happen again.

Milo

He needs reading glasses but refuses to wear them. He tried contacts but he can’t stand to put anything in his eye. So he just squints and struggles through. His phone’s text is blown up like a grandpa’s. David is so bothered that Milo won’t just… get glasses. He keeps passive aggressively offering to add Milo to their vision insurance plan.

Christian

He had a little crush on Asher in middle school that translated to teasing the shit out of him. Which, Asher being Asher, put him off and hurt his feelings. He’s well moved on but sometimes, when the sun catches Ash just right or he smiles that stupid, toothy smile, Christian mourns his own stupidity.

Arden

Desperately protective of Christian, especially after the Inversion. The first time Ash makes a light-hearted joke about Christian’s limp, Arden put his ass on the ground, despite Christian laughing at it.

Gabe

He drove a white Chevy Cameo with a red interior for most of his life. It was lovingly maintained, and since it’s such a rare model, he did all of the maintenance himself. After the crash, the truck was totaled. David still spent a few years trying to put it back together. He called it quits when he was working on the interior and found dried blood under the leather of the seats.

Angel

They have a small stuffed lamb that they’ve had since they were a baby. It’s beaten up, falling apart, and no longer the stark white it started out as. Lambie is kept in their bottom bedside drawer. They only pull him out when they can’t sleep. They were worried David would think it was weird, but he actually finds this more endearing than he can put into words.

Babe

They didn’t start talking until they were three. Their parents thought that they were nonverbal, and had started teaching them ASL as an alternative. Then one day at the breakfast table, they opened their mouth and started spouting full sentences. They taught Asher ASL and the two of them use it when they want a private moment in public/when Ash is overstimulated. (Side note; David also knows ASL, he took courses in high school. Very useful, he loves it. He does not love it when watching them flirt nastily in front of him.)

Sweetheart

They’ve had anxiety since they were a very young child, and it’s always been an internally-sourced thing rather than externally motivated. They recall the first time they ever got in trouble at school (first grade, for pushing a boy who had been tugging on their hair all through recess). They remember the first time they got a B (fifth grade, on a math test they studied for for hours). Their parents had high expectations, but Sweetheart was having panic attacks from the age of three. Definitely something ~chemical~ going on there.

Darlin

They feel pack bonds incredibly strongly. Their body reacts physically when someone in the pack is threatened or hurt, without them even having to think. They shiver when Sam calls them ‘mate.’ When David says something in his lovingly dubbed ‘alpha voice,’ they can’t help but listen. They knew Gabe was dead before they got the call. They thought Ash was dead during the Inversion because they felt David’s dread through the bond so strongly.

Avior

He’s unnerved by human’s tactile nature. Being in a body is strange for him, and he prefers Aria to Elegy (at least before meeting Starlight), so touch is an extreme sensation for him. Humans touch so much. He’s not opposed to it when it’s someone he knows, but handshakes are the bane of his existence.

Starlight

Halloween is their favorite holiday. They start decorating for it in August. They plan elaborate, complex costumes and parties. They desperately want to move into a house so that they can set up scary decorations and shit in their yard and hand out candy to trick-or-treaters. Avid lover of the Spirit Halloween animatronics. They go to Halloween Horror Nights every year.

Camelopardalis

He’s trained himself to use the human terms for things (ex: terra or earth instead of elegy) since some in the Department don’t like it when daemons use their terms. It means that he gets weird looks from other daemons when he talks to them. It’s an alienating feeling for sure.

Vega

He’s never tried human food. He never saw the appeal. What he doesn’t know is that he would absolutely Love dark chocolate if he tried it. He likely will never know.

Warden

Avid reader of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle comics. Just the comics, though. They don’t have an apartment in Elegy, but they do have a small storage unit where they keep their comics. They coalesced a few years before the comics starting their run, and for some reason, they just fell in love. Vega thinks this is silly and that they should be embarrassed, but they refuse to be.

Hush

He loves Popeye’s fried chicken sandwiches. Doc fed him one once and it blew his fucking mind. He won’t make them with magic, either, he insists that they don’t taste the same. Doc has started just getting gift cards for him to keep so he can get one whenever and doesn’t have to wait for them to give him money. He’s ravenous for those things.

Doc

They’re actually a warder, not a healer. Hush’s presence has encouraged them to refresh their healing knowledge, however. Even if he himself is difficult to hurt, he sort of invites chaos.

Morgan

He uses his foresight to see what the owner of his favorite little bodega down the street is going to have for breakfast every morning. It’s his little morning ritual and practice for his magic. He feels weird all day if he doesn’t do it.

Seer listener

Their sight is more potent and more clear than Morgan’s. They can give stark details, see full landscapes, and turn 360 deg in their vision and see the whole space. They also can hear what’s happening consistently, something that goes in and out for Morgan. He figures that they’re just more powerful than he is, something that makes them just the slightest bit uncomfortable.

Damien

Gets incredibly stressed on election days, whether for local, state, or national elections. He forces everyone he knows to vote, volunteers to shuttle people without cars, and has at times volunteered to be a poll worker. But elections make him anxious. He cares so much about the results. Huxley has recently instated a post 9pm ban on watching the news on election nights so that Dames will actually sleep and not stay up all night stressing.

Huxley

Does not eat beef. Not for religious reasons, but because of the impact of beef consumption on the environment. He’s about one step away from a full vegetarian, he just likes chicken and is concerned for his protein and vitamin intake. This is difficult for Damien, who loves nothing quite so much as a rare steak.

Lasko

He was forced to take piano lessons as a child. He hated it, but took them up to the point he left home. He’s still very good, and did get peer pressured into showing off at a random guitar center once while out with the D.A.M.N. crew. He nearly died of embarrassment.

Gavin

He has a collection of very pretty rosaries that he uses as jewelry. He is not religious, and if asked, cannot describe what a Catholic is to you. He likes to wear them around his neck, dipping over his body since his shirts always cut down to his navel. It makes people gasp and blush, which is his favorite effect to have on somebody. His fav one has beads made of mother of pearl and a little, golden crucifix on the end.

Freelancer

They love cheap Chinese buffets. They claim that, the lower the health rating, the better the taste. Their desire for krab rangoons is strong enough to pull them from the comfort of their home at 2 in the morning if the fancy strikes. Damien in particular is horrified by this, and keeps offering to cook them some actual Chinese food.

Dear (Lasko’s listener)

An all star volleyball player in high school and college. They were a setter, and took their team to nationals all four years of high school. They are on the starting line up all through college. When it gets brought up in their trip that Damien plays casually, they said they did too. And then absolutely creamed him.

[ninyard]

Can't stop thinking of your Aaron's trial posts and now with your response to the ask about why he called coach first... oooh my god.

I can imagine a fucked up version where if he's obligated to testify, he's questioned on this decision and somehow it's revealed that David Wymack is his dad.

I know nothing of the law but it's interesting to imagine some of the people there are more open to the idea of the first instinct of this traumatized kid is to call his dad, than this hotshot striker calling his coach before law enforcement.

yeah i mean he’d have to clarify that david is his dad and honestly every scenario that i picture kev on the stand kills me. this one i hadn’t thought about and it really hurts just as much

like the prosecutor’s keep referring to him as Your Coach. as if david being david somehow has anything to do with this. the coach who gives “second chances” to criminals and addicts. your coach, who allowed the son of a high ranking mafia member onto your team. your coach, who you called, upon finding a dead body and a scene covered in blood. your coach, who answered, and kept you on the phone for six minutes and thirty four seconds while a man lay upstairs dead in a pool of his own blood next to the young man he’d just assaulted.

but david is my father, who answered on the second ring. he’s my father, who told me to take a deep breath, and call the police, as soon as he heard what had happened. he’s my father, who stopped the crushing weight of a panic attack in its tracks, who told me to hold it together for just a few minutes longer. david is my father who held me when i cried, when nobody else was looking, when he didn’t even know yet that he was my father.

[ironforest4]

To people who have not played Ace Attorney: Which of these do you think has NOT happened in the games?

[guess-i-do-art]

Jonathan Harker is dead.

The official cause given by police was that he leaned too far out of a high-up window and fell. There are multiple witnesses that can testify to this, but that doesn’t stop the rumors that Count Dracula himself was responsible.

His body is brought back to England the same day the Demeter crashes on shore.

A few months later, Mina finds Jonathan’s journal inside the coat he died in. She reads it, horrified, and turns it over to the doctors examining her friend Lucy’s strange illness.

Van Helsing and Seward, after reading the journal and the supernatural death of Lucy, know what they have to do.

Dracula leaves for Transylvania once more, but not before attacking Mina. She, Seward, Arthur, Van Helsing, and Quincey follow with the intention to put an end to the vampire.

Seward fears one of Dracula’s brides spotted the group while they snuck into Castle Dracula, so they evacuate immediately. While leaving, Mina could have sworn she caught a glimpse of a familiar face…

So that’s my Dracula AU! A concept at least. I got the idea while listening to the song “I Know Those Eyes/This Man is Dead” I HIGHLY suggest giving it a listen!

Songs of the AU: The World has Gone Insane, I Know Those Eyes/This Man is Dead.

[stupittmoran]

In 1992 a man that had no record of violence whatsoever was approached and entrapped by the feds illegally.

After he was sent the wrong court date and failed to show up, his innocent son, dog, and wife (while holding their infant daughter) were all slaughtered because of it.

Randy Weaver and his family lived in an isolated cabin in the mountains of Ruby Ridge, Idaho.

An undercover federal agent targeted him and entrapped him into selling him a sawed-off shotgun.

The agent ingratiated himself to Weaver for weeks. He kept asking Weaver if he would sell him a shotgun. Weaver initially hesitated but finally agreed. Then, the agent asked him if he could saw it off first since he didn't have the tools. Though he warned FBI guy it was illegal to do so, he was nice enough to do it anyway. The agent then also had him drive out of the way across State lines to add charges.

After Weaver was sent the wrong court date and (understandably) failed to show up, the feds used this as permission to do anything and everything they could to take him down.

Marshals called in military aerial reconnaissance and had photos studied by the Defense Mapping Agency. They prowled the woods around Weaver’s cabin with night-vision equipment. They had psychological profiles performed and installed $130,000 worth of long-range solar-powered spy cameras. They intercepted the Weavers’ mail. They even knew the menstrual cycle of Weaver’s teenage daughter, and planned an arrest scenario around it.

On August 21, Marshals outfitted in full camouflage and carrying machine guns trespassed onto the Weavers’ property. Three marshals circled close to the Weaver cabin and threw rocks to provoke the Weavers’ dogs. As Weaver’s 14-year old son, Sammy, and Kevin Harris, a family friend, ran towards the barking, a marshal shot and killed his dog. Sammy Weaver fired in the direction those shots came from. As he was leaving the scene, a marshal shot him in the back and killed him. Harris responded by fatally shooting a federal marshal who had fired seven shots at them.

Snipers from the FBI Hostage Rescue Team were sent in the next day and ordered to shoot to kill any adult male outside the Weaver cabin. Randy Weaver was shot in the back after he stepped out of his cabin. As he struggled to return back inside, they shot and killed Vicki Weaver (his wife), who was standing in the cabin door holding their 10-month old baby.

From the testimony of Randy Weaver: "On August 22, 1992, completely without warning of any kind, an FBI sniper shot and killed my wife, Vicki. He was using a .308 caliber sniper rifle with a specially weighted barrel and a 10-power scope. He was using match grade ammunition. He had years of training to kill. I heard him testify at the trial that he wanted to kill. He shot my wife in the head and killed her. She was not wanted for any crime. There were no warrants for her arrest. At the time she was gunned down, she was helpless. She was standing in the doorway of her home. She was holding the door open for me and Sara and for Kevin Harris. She was holding Elishe a our 10-month-old baby girl, in her arms. As the bullet crashed through her head, she slumped to her knees, holding Elisheba tightly so she would not drop her. We took the baby from her as she lay dead and bleeding on our kitchen floor."

Weaver and Harris, who never fired any shots at FBI agents, surrendered after an 11-day siege.

Thankfully after all of this was said and done, the FBI conducted an "internal investigation" and guess what? They did nothing wrong. SHOCKER.

Randy Weaver and his daughters filed a wrongful death suit for $200 million which was related to the killing of his wife and son. In an out-of-court settlement in August 1995, the federal government awarded Randy Weaver $100,000 and it also awarded $1 million to each of his three daughters.

The government did not admit that it had committed any wrongdoing in relation to the deaths of Sammy and Vicki.

The moral of the story is, if the government wants to kill you, they'll find a way to do it. They are not your friend. They do not have your best interests at heart.

If you are an enemy of the state, if they don't like you, the Constitution seemingly doesn't apply.

These federal agencies (FBI, CIA, ATF, USMS, etc.) Do whatever they want, stay in power indefinitely, and have effectively unlimited funds. Not only should they be defunded, they should be abolished entirely. They do nothing but make us less safe and are wholly incompatible with a free society.

The fact that people want to give the government more power, more control, and take away our means of defense (gun control) is absolutely beyond me. If they could pull this off in the 90's they can do it now. I assure you.

Never give up your guns. Your government will kill you.

Dylan Allman on Twitter/X