#I RISE FROM THE DEAD TO REPORT THIS BREAKING NEWS

[goldenorder]

MOM HOLY FUCK

[moodymisty]

Based off this post sorry I fucking HAD to

Warnings: Vaguely NSFW, Sicarius walking in on you and Guilliman

Why must all his men break protocol? Sicarius wonders if the Codex is merely kindling to them, if they are so willing to break the sacred rules so easily.

Titus, Uriel, and now new men of second company have decided to be a pain. He only hopes reporting this to Guilliman himself will prove to be enough of a threat to his men and whip them all back into shape; Both current and future troublemakers.

In his frustrations, so wrapped up in his own mind on how to deal with this consistent issue, he fails to do a proper knock at Guilliman’s door. Instead he simply walks in, slamming the controls with more force than needed.

Within moments he freezes, as a musky, heavy smell hits his nose and the full noises of the room echo in his ears without the soundproofing in the way.

“Roboute!”

You squeal, hands wrapped tight in the short crop of Guilliman’s thin blonde hair. Most of his head and face are obscured by your skirt- and thighs, which wrap around his head like a vice. The holotable is on but unused, symbols placed randomly from your accidental touches as you sit on the edge.

Sicarius stands frozen, unable to will his body to move as his ears are suddenly filled with the sounds of you and his primarch’s moans- accompanied by then odd, wet sounds of whatever his mouth was doing. What is only two seconds is plenty to him, given how fast his mind moves in comparison to a baseline.

He… was aware of all the basics of sex and reproduction, but the intricacies of pleasure beyond that were spotty at best. He had no need to delve into such useless things, unlike some other, less proper Astartes.

He was also unaware you could do such things with your mouth.

How beneath a primarch’s holy stature; Guilliman’s words have guided armies but now he’s on his knees in penance and using his tongue like its just a-

A loud scream rips through your throat as you spot him and sit up, and Sicarius’ two seconds of internal thought is interrupted as you see him frozen in the doorway with a hand still on the door’s controls.

Guilliman of course is instantly on the defensive hearing your scream, rising to his feet- and removing his hand from his trousers - before reaching for his blade.

Until he realizes it’s Sicarius.

Guilliman relaxes with an angry look on his face; Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before using the same hand spread flat outward to try and shield some of you from Sicarius, and reserve some of your modesty, while you adjust your clothes.

“Did your time in the warp remove your ability to announce yourself before entering, Captain Sicarius?”

Sicarius is angry at his primarch now, and has zero care for you behind him hot faced and attempting to cover yourself to some level of decency.

“I, I did not think it was needed, my primarch. I have an urgent issue that needs addressing.”

Guilliman angrily breaths through his nose, and Sicarius can see the veins in his neck.

“Go. Leave. Whatever you came here for I am sure it can wait until we both forget this encounter ever happened.”

They are both painfully aware that each other have eidetic memories, but they can only hope this moment somehow slips from their minds.

“Yes, my primarch.”

Sicarius finally manages to get his armor to move, and Guilliman sighs. Sicarius swiftly takes two steps backwards and closes the door, facing it at it closes.

He stands there for a moment, the image of his primarch on his knees between the legs of a simple baseline, and a hand doing something in his trousers is seared into his mind. Why is his primarch doing such things when there is work to be done?

“Are you alright Captain Sicarius?”

A marine says as he walks by, looking at his dead expression as Sicarius turns to face him. He points the door.

“Is Primarch Guilliman busy-“ Sicarius quickly speaks, cutting him off.

“Yes he is busy, do not disturb him.”

Sicarius has a far off stare that makes the random Astartes look at him oddly.

“I need to leave. Do not go in.”

Sicarius walks off, rubbing his hair with his gauntlet and grumbling to himself.

[heartfullofleeches]

Maniac

Yans (Nerd, Bully, Student Council) + Dismissive Creep Reader Blurb [G.N All]

Warning: Bullying, mentions of dead animals, violence, death

(An: Never been huge of the school setting but this came up while listening to a song with the same title. If you can guess it you get a cookie)

Creep Reader who's friends with the school punching bag. Saying they're acquaintanced is a bit of a stretch as nerd hangs out with them because nobody bothers them when they sit next to this freak and they dress their wounds, and Creep only tolerates them because they take pictures of every blossoming bruise and cut.

You never offer input in their one-sided conversations, scribbling away in that notebook of yours as they go insane rambling on about what their bullies did that day and how it feels everyone appears to be out to get them. All you ever do with anyone is watch, listen, and write. It's honestly like talking to a brick wall sometimes.... which is why they had no problem accepting the only good advice ever given to them.

"Y'know.... Even if I report this to the principal it wouldn't stop. They'll get suspended for a few days and when they come back - they'll probably just kill you. If you want this to stop, you need to find a new target for them."

A new target...There's only one person more of a freak than them.

"Y/n takes pictures of dead animals."

The rumor spread like wildfire. A tale spun by a sock puppet account and sprinkled throughout the halls. Really, even they weren't sure if the rumor was true or not, but with that camera and your track record it wasn't out of possibility. All eyes were immediately on you. Your phone number was leaked and the threats and queries poured in. People would point at carcasses on the road and make sure you were in earshot when they joked about hoping nobody was taking pictures. They went so far as to sneak a dead bird in your bag when you weren't looking and poured milk on your items when they couldn't find any. They stole your gym clothes, wrote foul things on your desk and locket - but none of them had ever touched you.

As expected, you had no reaction to this. That's the thing your "friend" had always been jealous of you for. So closed off from the world, from the pain it gives. With nobody slamming their head in the lockers anymore, people began to appreciate their talents and hobbies. They made friends. Real ones. They naturally started to drift away from you, but they always stopped when they saw you in the halls.

"Hey, Y/n.... How have you been?"

"Fine."

"None of this is bothering you?..."

"As long as they don't touch me - I'm fine."

All that's where you left the conversation - and your friendship. Your dismissal to it all lead many to give up after a few weeks, but one remained. The same blight on your friend's life since the start of school. Sure, your reactions were lackluster - but they knew they could break you. It was only a matter of time - and you had just given them the key.

"Hey - Freak!"

Your head bounces off the metal door as you're thrown into your locker.

"Can't touch you, huh? The fuck are you going to do about it?"

You rise to your feet, touching the wet spot at the back of your skull. "If we're going to do this, it's better we do it where nobody can see us."

"Ha? - don't want people to see you lose a few teeth? Fine, I got a big game in a few weeks and rather not get expelled before then."

"Sure."

Your former watches as you're lead behind the school. They should do something, call a teacher - but they're too afraid. The weight of the situation falls on them as you disappear from sight. You're going to get hurt and it's all their fault. Your bully cooks up all the things they plan on doing to you, cracking their knuckles and damn near salivating at the thought of seeing your stone face crumple. They're too preoccupied with their threats to notice you pulling something out of your pocket. Their foot falls off the concrete path and into the grassy terrain as they ready their fists, doubling over in pain as pain splits up their side. They vomit spittle and their own words as they look up, metal bars wrapped around your hands.

"what....the fuck."

"Get up."

Gritting their teeth, the bully drags themselves to their feet - back on their knees before they can stand as your fist barrels into their stomach. You grab both sides of their head and ram your knee into the facture scar on their nose. You're unrelenting even as they fall back on their ass, removing your metal knuckles and mounting them as you ball your fists. You weren't ready for a murder charge just let. Over and over, your balled hand cracks against their face and jaw - drawing red with each wet smack. You stop only to switch you your unbruised hand - their arms shooting up in defense.

"please...."

"..."

"stop...."

"Isn't that what people ask you?"

You climb off their battered body, lifting one leg under your arm. "I've studied people for a while. Writing scenarios where I could ruin lives is much better for all of us than actually doing it. I know things about you too... Your family paid off your younger brother's teacher so he got get into that nice college - and you have a full ride... If you can still use both legs."

Tears prick their eyes. They fight to keep them in. This was their future you were playing with. "I'm sorry! I won't hurt anyone again I promise!"

Your grip tightens "I don't care about everyone."

"I won't mess with you anymore!"

They flinch as you drop their leg. "Good." Waking over to your discarded backpack, you retrieve your med kit and camera - dropping down beside them as you remove the lense.

"Smile."

Their eyes burn as the camera flash goes off. You set the camera aside as you open the kit and pull out an alcohol swab - pinning them to the ground as you apply it to their split cheek.

"Ow! The fuck are you doing now?"

"Quiet."

"Get the fuck off me!"

"You have a game in a few weeks, don't you? I don't think I broke anything, but you probably don't want the other team to see you with bruises."

-

The following Monday, your bully greets you all smiles and pleasant as if you were the best of friends. They could do the exact same thing as you and study you like an animal in a zoo to inact their revenge. Anyone who still picked on you quickly turned on their heels when they saw you with their click. They bragged while you were away about how they planned to tear your life to shreds so hard the damage would last long after school. It was going to be the peak of their year -

"Drink this."

"An energy drink? If you wanted to posion me, you could've done it with something better."

"The seal is still intact. No amount of chapstick will fix your dry lips, because you're dehydrated. An athlete should know better than that."

Their fingers instinctly fly to their lips. How did you?.... You did say you had been watching. They didn't know nor understand the full reach of your knowledge until they got a happy birthday message from an unknown number and a speaker ended up in a pool when they were urged to jump in. They had a fear of water since adolescence after nearly drowning at a lake. You never took charge for this acts and mostly blended into the crowd when they happened. You picked up your old hobby of patching their injuries and taking photos as payment. Why were you doing so much for someone who wanted to make you suffer?

"We're friends.... aren't we?"

Huh?

"Besides, if I stick with you, I don't have to look up gore sites anymore - or take pictures of dead animals."

You're such a fucking freak. A freak - that was starting to grow on them.

You became the person they'd look for first during school - when they needed a shoulder to cry on. You rarely offered comfort, but a pat on the shoulders was good enough for them. Their hand would find your shoulder or waist so frequently that rumors began spreading that you were dating - until people found out every touch was met with a light punch to their bruised ribs. They'd just laugh it off and apologize before doing it again an hour later.

Your former friend was having the time of their life - for a while. Something felt... artificial about their new friends. They had a good time at school and when they got together on weekends, but nobody was there for them at any other time. No one to vent to or wish them happy birthday exactly when it turned midnight - like you used you. They missed you. More than anything.

"Hey - give me Y/n's number."

Been a while since they've been in this scenario. Why was your shared bully asking them for your number?

"H-huh? Why?...."

"I had to get a new phone and can't remember the last digits. Stop asking questions and give it to me."

"Okay!"

The bully snatches their phone and punches the number into theirs - eyes softening as the line connects. "Y/n..... What? Of course it's me. I got a new phone. Anyway, I got tickets to that one movie that's coming out this week - the one that got pushed back because the prop knife turned out to be real? You coming or not?... Good."

Your former friend catches their phone as it's tossed back to them - watching their bully walk away with the flush of a middle schooler confessing to their crush. They hadn't been hit at all during the altercation, but their chest hurt hearing your voice after so long away from you - even faintly.

They find you the next day at the top of the roof. It was your favorite hiding place, and the only one your bully hadn't found yet. They sit quietly beside you.

"How have you been?..."

"Fine..."

They purse their lips together. "What...did you do to make them stop?"

"Put them in their place."

"What do you mean by that?"

You point your camera at the passing crowd. "At our age, people only have as much power as you give them. If you stand your ground they'll typically back down, and if they don't - you beat the to a pulp and ruin their families lives."

Your friend can't stop the tears from flowing. You had always been the strong one, that they knew - but how could you handle things so easily? How could they betray you like that? Their only companion in this world - thrown to the wolves when you should've been their for each other.

"It was you wasn't it?"

You stand up.

"Stay away from me."

They reach out to grab you - mend the tattered strings of your friendship. "Don't leave me. I did it, okay? I did it, and I'm so so sorry. Y/n, please forgive me - I couldn't take it anymore. I'd go back to the way things were if it meant you were still with me. Please, Y/n, I'm in lo-"

Their vision blanks, speckles of blood littering the ground floor from their split lip. You lower your hand back down to your camera.

"Don't lie to me. Or yourself like that."

It hurts... Everything hurts.... Still, they smile - showing you the bloodied whites of their teeth.

""ahhh.... Y/n, I'm... I'm bleeding. Don't you want to take a picture of me? Aren't I still beautiful to you? Aren't I good enough?"

You don't grace them with a reply, walking off as they curl into themself. It hurts - their mouth is numb, but it hurts all over. Please, come back. Let them their their head on your shoulder until the pain goes away. Y/n... Please.

"I'm sorry...."

"But are you really though?"

They cover their ears with their hands. Shut up. Go away. If they'd done their job probably - none of these would've happened. The student council president. The worthless coward didn't even have the courage to come themself. Just another lackey doing their bidding.

"Leave me alone."

"Ugh, you're so whiny. This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

"I just wanted I break - I didn't mean to hurt them."

"Yea, yeah that's what your like always says. Misery sure does love company, though. I genuinely don't see what the prez likes about that fucking creep. They're wasting their time and blood for them."

Shut up. "Don't talking about Y/n like that?"

"But you had no problem with it when it was for benefit. What did you call them? A psychopath?"

"I didn't have anywhere else to go....."

"Keep telling yourself that. I can't decide who'd I'd take more - the backstabber, or the maniac."

"SHUT UP!"

-

Walking down the steps to the first floor, you crash into someone skipping their way in the same direction.

"Ah - Y/n!" The student council president grins, picking up your fallen camera. "Good morning, good morning! And how are you doing ok this lovely day?"

"Fine."

"Faaaantastic." They point at their cheek sweeping blood on the shell of your camera. "As you can see here, I had a little bitty accident in my culinary class. I'm such a clutz, aren't I? If you give me one of those cute bandages, I'll take a picture of this cut and smile real pretty for ya!"

"Whatever." The president hums as you fish around in your bag, smiling big for their future spouse - deleting as many pictures as they can of others in that short time. If only they hadn't been out sick when the rumors spread. Then maybe you wouldn't be on that awful bully's arm and in theirs instead. They refused to let this little setback running your future together. After all, they were willing to bleed for you on their own Accord unlike everyone else in your album.

Unfortunately, they were upstaged once again - but their own council member too. They frown as the screams begin. They spit on the floor as blood splatters across the windows.

Couldn't go kill yourself somewhere else?

-

At the rooftop, panic takes flight. No no no... They didn't mean to do it. Their hands flew out before their brain could tell them no. The blood pools like a broken jug. A crowd surrounds the body. Nobody can see them from their place on the roof floor, but they can see everyone. A figure wearing a jacket that was once theirs, dyed with their blood and tears. The camera that hangs around that person's neck. The shutter of the lense. They laugh - finally understanding what they had to do to get you back.

You really did like taking pictures of dead animals afterall....

[blueberrypancakesworld]

can i request a dead x reader x euronymous fic where the reader has a solo project of her own it comes out to the public that she’s dating both dead AND euronymous?? pls and thank you

Dating the devils

warning : drinking, mentioning of smoking and drugs, smutish (making out), implied threesome

Info : Thanks for the request anon and your formal words ;) Have fun reading and everyone else too.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Breaking News: The Swedish celebrity "Dark Lilith" the solo artist and also necomer to the black metal scene was seen performing a satanic ritual in the cemetery last night, apparently trying to summon demons, two figures were seen walking into the night-" the TV was switched off and a sigh came over her lips, her eyes rimmed with dark make-up showing annoyance and yet a little amusement.

She held a bottle of beer in one hand and her guitar in the other. The dark material shone slightly in the dim light in the anteroom. Outside, she could already hear the audience waiting for her.

Thanks Satan that I'm here but the report is unnecessary shit she thought and took the last sip of her beer. She liked it when people reported on her and yet she could do without false statements.

Two unnamed people. She knew for sure that it was neither a ritual of shame nor two unknowns. Her lovers and sex on the farm were more likely to be asked. But every interviewer had either fled or refused.

It was true that she was female, a witch, Lilith, and perhaps went a little too far. But she was a part of the scene, of the time, and in that time from her beginnings to her rise she had gotten to know them.

Her two dead ones, her loved ones, it was romantic. Euronymous always gave her song lyrics and gestures in the form of kisses and instruments. Dead, on the other hand, often drew her things and wanted her to kill him.

Things that flattered her, but she also knew that if it came out that she was the biggest solo maker in such a scene, dating the two men from Mayhem would be hell. Everywhere. ,,The Christians and fans are coming for me," she muttered, plucking at the side of her guitar before throwing the bottle into a garbage can, hearing the rumble and clink before she stood up and knew it was time.

The stage was her home. Her fans were her worshippers and her voice was the magic. Looking into the crowd, she saw the many dark shapes, the make-up of the women looking up at her and the blood on them. It was perfect.

And when her eyes fell on the group, she saw the black-haired and the blonde. She winked at them and saw that they knew she meant them. Felt the beating of her heart as she started to play and the guitar joined in. It was another concert of life, it was everything.

The walls shook, the crowd went wild, her voice screamed into the microphone and everything was fucking perfect. It was a bloody night, there was alcohol involved, some drugs and Satan himself.

It was all perfect and as the dark curtain closed and she retreated she heard the voices of the group. ,,You played perfectly!" she heard Euronymous shout as he pulled her close and gave her a deep kiss.

,,Really good...almost deadly," quipped Dead and she saw the hint of a smile on his lips, a gesture she knew she didn't see often and yet she was grateful that they were happy. But the rest of the black circle also congratulated them on another successful concert.

They all grabbed a beer and a cigarette before retiring to the anteroom to have a little celebration of their own and make it all the better. Euronymous always had his hand by her side always had his lips on her body wanting more of her whether in front of the others or not.

Dead watched her, every now and then he would say and show her something and gently stroke her hand, enjoying feeling the bones underneath. They both loved her in a way that was indescribable. And at the latest when the cold night air hit her body, she was snapped back to reality.

,,The afterparty is long over, but here... it's cozy, isn't it?" she heard the voice of the band founder as he stood next to her, entangling her in a kiss and only making her mind even more clouded by alcohol and drugs.

,,Supper cozy-fuck," she mumbled and leaned into him wanting more of him wanting more of them both no matter if it was in a side alley next to the hall. It didn't matter, it was the only thing she needed to get down. ,,Warm...soft," she heard Dead murmur as he knelt in front of her and kissed his way up her legs.

His cold lips almost as cold as a corpse, his pale pale in the moonlight as he ran his knife over her skin while Euronymous used his hand to start massaging her breasts. She wore no tights, just the black top and the short leather skirt.

The warmth she gave him was the only thing the blonde needed to live. He needed her to stay here and Euronymous needed her to keep going. And she needed them both to feel fucking good.

It was a moment between them that would lead to a promising night. If all three of them didn't pause when they heard the clicking sound. ,,What the fuck?" she mumbled, coming back to the now lost to the two of them and looking into the surprised face of a reporter.

,,You're dead!" Euronymous hissed and took out his taser, which flashed through the dead end. ,,Death," Dead muttered, gripping the knife in his hand tighter before the two ran towards the reporter. As he ran screaming for his life, their laughter could be heard. It was satanically good, it was hellishly ampsant for her.

It only got better when she saw her picture on the title page the next day. ,,Fuck look at you so pretty," Euronymous said and Dead nodded in agreement. ,,An album cover...for Lilith," the blonde said and began to draw inspiration.

The picture showed her leaning against the brick wall, her eyes closed with lust, Euronymous at her side, his hand under her top as he kissed her neck.

Dead kneeling in front of her with the knife running over her skin as he kissed his way up her legs to her center. ,,A fucking good picture...I think we should have done this sooner," she muttered, picking up the newspaper before cutting out the article and nailing it to the wall with a knife. It was a fucking satanic masterpiece.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@mayhem-things , @icarus-star

[runawaysiren940]

Here's the full script for the most recent video, minus where I ad libbed:

Dr. Moumita Debnath, a 31 year old doctor trainee, was found dead on August 9th, 2024. After taking a break half-way through a 36 hour shift, her corpse was found on a blood stained mattress. Her body bore the wounds of torture, from the wounds to her eyes, her pelvis, genitals, arms and legs. As noted in The Publica’s report, “The post-mortem report also noted that over 150 mg of semen was recovered from the doctor’s body, indicating that up to 30 men could have been involved in the violation of Debath’s body. The normal volume of semen produced by a male upon ejaculation typically varies from 1.5 to 5.0 mg, according to the online medical encyclopedia MedlinePlus” (Biase). Her family was told that she died via suicide, though her wounds made it obvious that this was not the case; however, this claim allowed the principal of the school to avoid filing a police report. The attempts to hide the crime did not succeed, and have resulted in protests across India and the medical industry, both in response to the lack of protections for medical staff, and because of the attempt to hide the crime. 

In the aftermath, searches for footage of Debnath’s gang rape have trended, as “According to Google Trends, queries such as “Moumita Debnath porn” and “Dr. Moumita Debnath video” have experienced surges across India, with “Moumita Debnath rap[e] video” experiencing a 110% increase in searches. As of the time of this writing, of all the queries associated with her name, “Moumita Debnath photo video” is the 5th most searched in India, while “Moumita Debath last video” is the 12th most searched overall” (Biase).

This isn’t the only horrific case of gang rape, torture, or extreme violence against women. In fact, back in 2023, Vidya Krishnan wrote an opinion piece published in the New York times on the topic titled, “In India’s Gang Rape Culture, All Women Are Victims”, where she writes: 

It is the specific horror of gang rape that weighs most heavily on Indian women that I know. You may have heard of the many gruesome cases of women being gang-raped, disemboweled and left for dead. When an incident rises to national attention, the kettle of outrage boils over, and women sometimes stage protests, but it passes quickly. All Indian women are victims, each one traumatized, angry, betrayed, exhausted. Many of us think about gang rape more than we care to admit.

In 2011 a woman was raped every 20 minutes in India, according to government data. The pace quickened to about every 16 minutes by 2021, when more than 31,000 rapes were reported, a 20 percent increase from the previous year. In 2021, 2,200 gang rapes were reported to authorities.

But those grotesque numbers tell only part of the story: 77 percent of Indian women who have experienced physical or sexual violence never tell anyone, according to one study. Prosecutions are rare.

Indian men may face persecution because they are Muslims, Dalits (untouchables) or ethnic minorities or for daring to challenge the corrupt powers that be. Indian women suffer because they are women. Soldiers need to believe that war won’t kill them, that only bad luck will; Indian women need to believe the same about rape, to trust that we will come back to the barracks safe each night, to be able to function at all. (Krishnan)

Just from recent memory, I can recall several other horrifying cases. 

In a rare case of justice, in May 2024, a pair of brothers were sentenced to death for the rape and murder of a 12 year old girl. To hide the crime, they then burned her alive in a coal furnace. (The Hindu Bureau)

In 2012, 22 year old Jyoti Singh was “beaten, gang-raped, and tortured in a private bus in which she was travelling with her male friend, Avnindra Pratap Pandey. There were six others in the bus, including the driver, all of whom raped the woman and beat her friend.” She later succumbed to her wombs, while her friend supposedly committed suicide. (Khan)

Many rape cases end with the woman dead. It is horrifying to me, from across the globe, to know that women live under constant threat of sexual assault, and while all assaults are horrific, the cases which break into the international news sphere from India are especially cruel and disturbing. It is the culmination of a deeply traditional and patriarchal society, wherein the devaluation of women is compounded with caste and religious issues, along with the rise of pornography. Porn is the instruction, and rape is the practice; though clearly, there was no need for instruction. 

Famous cases include:

The Suryanelli rape case, where in 1996, a sixteen year old was lured with a marriage promise, kidnapped, and was raped by 37 men during her forty day captivity. Although initially 35 of 39 accused were found guilty, in 2005, all 35 convicted were acquitted of charges. 

The Pararia mass rape, where in 1988, at least 14 women were gang raped by the police force, and had their homes looted after they protested against being removed to make way for a damn being built. “India Today reported Sinha's concluding statements were: "It cannot be ruled out that these ladies might speak falsehood to get a sum of Rs 1,000, which was a huge sum for them." (Bonner)

In many caste altercations, women are targeted because to rape a woman is not done just to her, but is meant to be an insult to the community and the community’s honor. In an environment where religious and social conflict occurs, women are especially vulnerable as targets of sexual violence. 

However, what the internet has provided is an avenue to share the debasement and horror of gang rape with other men. It prolongs the suffering and harm to the victim and her family; but also serves as a warning to other women, and as an enticement to other men. Come, they say. Look at what we did. See how we were despicable and got away with it? You can too. 

A 28 year old tourist and her husband were robbed, then man beaten, and the woman, raped by seven men in March of 2024. Since they have taken down the video detailing the event from their social media, I will not show that here, or go deeply into detail. However, in the reactions to the incident, one can note a pattern of behavior, not just from Indian men, but also women. 

The BBC reported: 

“The chief of India's National Commission for Women, Rekha Sharma, also sparked criticism after she responded to a post from a US journalist who wrote that while India was one of his favourite places, "the level of sexual aggression" he witnessed while living in the country was "unlike anywhere else I have ever been". He also gave a couple of examples of sexual assault faced by women he knew.

"Did you ever report the incident to police?" Ms Sharma wrote. "If not then you are totally an irresponsible person. Writing only on social media and defaming whole country is not good choice."” (Sebastian)

Victim blaming is constant, and serves as a deterrent from seeking help, reporting incidents, or enacting change. In the aftermath of the 2019 gang rape and murder of 27 year old Priyanka Reddy, Indian filmmaker Daniel Shravan ranted on social media that  “The government should encourage and legalize rape without violence,” and, “Girls above 18 should be educated on rapes and not deny the sexual desires of men.” He also went on to say that, “Rapists are not finding a way to get their bodily sexual desires [met],” which is compelling them to kill.” (“After a Woman in India was Raped and Murdered, Her Name Trended on Porn Sites”). Because assault and violence against women is so common in India, it makes sense that victim blaming, from both sexes remains so strong, as “according to Inside Southern, the reason for victim blaming is: “People may blame a victim in order to remove themselves from an unpleasant event and therefore confirm their own invulnerability to the risk. Others may perceive the victim as different from themselves if they label or accuse the victim. People console themselves by saying, “Because I’m not like her, and I don’t do that, this would never happen to me.”” (Ram).  In other words, it a pacifier, a way to manage the dread that comes with realizing the ubiquitousness and unpredictability of sexual assault. If there is something you can do to avoid being assaulted, then it must be her fault. And you must be safe, because you don’t make those choices. 

That men make up a large contingent of the judges and lawmakers that in turn pass the laws which allow rapists to walk free iillustrates the universal truth that Anna Maria Mozzoni, a popular Italian feminist theorist, wrote about in 1895, “You will find that the priest who damns you is a man; that the legislator who oppresses you is a man, that the husband who reduces you to an object is a man; that the libertine [anarchist] who harasses you is a man; that the capitalist who enriches himself with your ill- paid work and the speculator who calmly pockets the price of your body, are men.”

It’s easy to forget when the violence is not happening in front of you, when you can excuse it, or look away, or claim that there are forces at play that you don’t understand. It’s easy to say that the problem is with a people or a religion- 

But the truth is that woman hating is universal. A passing interest in anthropology will only show the manifestations of this hatred in creative ways throughout space and time.

Works Cited

“After a Woman in India was Raped and Murdered, Her Name Trended on Porn Sites.” Fight The New Drug, December 2019, https://fightthenewdrug.org/woman-in-india-raped-and-murdered-her-name-trended-on-porn/. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Biase, Natasha. “Name Of Female Doctor Who Was Gang Raped And Murdered In Indian Hospital Appears On Porn Sites As Men Seek Out Footage Of The Assault.” The Publica, 19 August 2024, https://www.thepublica.com/female-doctor-who-was-gang-raped-and-murdered-in-indian-hospital-appears-on-porn-sites-as-indian-men-search-for-footage-of-crime/. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Bonner, Arthur. “Pararia mass rape (1988).” Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pararia_mass_rape_(1988). Accessed 21 August 2024.

The Hindu Bureau. “Two get death for raping, burning alive minor girl in Bhilwara.” The Hindu, 20 May 2024, https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/rajasthan/two-sentenced-to-death-by-pocso-court-in-rajasthan-court-for-raping-burning-alive-minor-girl/article68195867.ece. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Khan, Aamir. “2012 Delhi gang rape and murder.” Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2012_Delhi_gang_rape_and_murder. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Krishnan, Vidya. “Opinion | In India's Gang Rape Culture, All Women Are Victims (Published 2023).” The New York Times, 2 June 2023, https://www.nytimes.com/2023/06/02/opinion/india-women-rape.html. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Ram, Anjali. “Never Ending Tales Of Victim Blaming And Shaming.” Feminism in India, 12 December 2022, https://feminisminindia.com/2022/12/12/never-ending-tales-of-victim-blaming-and-shaming/. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Sebastian, Meryl. “Outrage over Brazilian tourist's gang rape in India.” BBC, 3 March 2024, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-india-68444993. Accessed 21 August 2024.

[thebucketpail]

When You Accidentally Kill a Clown pt. 3

Pt.1. Pt.4 Ao3

Woah part 3?? Crazy, enjoy!

Jason could hardly hold back his grin as Barbara hit play for probably the hundredth time. It was child's play for her to get ahold of a video of the Joker's death, and damn was it worth it. The footage was anything but high quality, which was a given considering it was in a random alley. But the Joker was unmistakable as he pulled a scruffy ravenett off the street at gunpoint. Luckily however, the camera was poised at the perfect position to catch the whole affair, in however grainy the imagery.

Only moments after Danny was pulled into the alley, a short struggle ensued, followed up by a bright flash of green light that threw Joker further into the alley. The video ended on a frame of a panicked Danny crouching by the body, checking his pulse.

“I need you to send this to me,” Jason said, his smile creeping every further.

“Already did,” Babs responded with a snort. “I also sent it to Harley, and I was going to send it to B, but I thought I'd let you break the news” Her own cheshire grin split as Jason nodded.

“Anything new on Danny?” he asked, nodding toward the screen.

Barabara’s expression turned to something more teasing, “I’m not here to get you a boyfriend Jason. But I did get you some surface level stuff,” she said, cutting off his slight protest, as she switched screens, pulling up some documents. “Danny Fenton, He’s an Aerospace student at Gotham U, starting this semester. He just moved here from Illinois. He lives in dorm 206B in the Truman building on campus, and he currently has no occupation. There’s not much on his hometown, there’s some kind of blackout I need to get past, but his parents are scientists of some kind, and his sister and father are both documented metas. Overall I don’t think he’s much of a threat, just a kid who got caught in the wrong place.” Jason Hummed in response, reaching for his helmet.

“Thanks so much Babs, you’re a godsend”

Barbara smirked, turning back to her computer, “I know”

Jason slipped out the window.

---------

Jason didn’t often watch the sunrise. Usually he was too tired, or too busy. But today he was so awake he could practically feel the energy buzzing in his bones as he watched the sun rise over the docks of gotham.

He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling since he found Danny hunched over the dead clown. But something in his chest was pulling at the thought of them. An ache of something familiar yet so distantly unknown filled his thoughts. There was something about that person that had lodged itself in Jason’s brain and refused to leave.

Unfortunately, Jason was pulled from these thoughts by the loud crackle of his comm.

“Hood, report to the cave for debrief,” Jason groaned, just because he wasn’t ready to sleep doesn’t mean he wanted to haul himself across all of Gotham to the Cave. He stood slowly, taking his sweet time to reply and savoring the satisfying pops as he stretched.

“Hood, report”

“Yeah, yeah, don't go getting your cape in a twist. I’m coming. Though I don’t see why it's necessary to pull me across the whole city when an email could do.” he grumbled that last part to himself more than anything.

Jason took his time driving through the city, stopping muggings, taking care of stragglers on their way home from late shifts. And if it took him an hour longer than usual to get to the cave, well then that wasn’t his fault. When he finally got there, though, there was no doubt; this definitely could have been an email.

When he arrived B, Stephanie, Tim and Damian were going over various minor things from their patrols, that didn’t really affect him much to be honest, just the routine; drug rings, arms deal busts, and oddly enough; ghost sightings.

“Finally,” he heard Tim mutter, as Jason killed the engine in his bike. “B! He’s here! Can we start now?”

“Start what?”

“B, wants to touch base regarding the Arkham breakout,” Stephanie said, sending him a withering glare, probably for making them wait so long. “I think he’s just being paranoid because Joker’s been unusually quiet.” Jason had to stifle a snort. If he played his cards right, this would be the perfect time to tell about the new lack-of-threat to Gotham.

“Paranoia and caution are not the same thing,” The bat himself growled from his place at the computer. “It’s been a week since he broke out of Arkham, we should have heard from him by now. It’s uncharacteristic of him to not have a scheme cooked up and in motion by now.”

“Father is correct, we should be looking further into finding the Joker,” Damian said, “If any of you have information regarding this case, I suggest you share,’’ he sneered, and if he wasn’t practically three feet tall, it would have been fairly intimidating.

“We're doing the best we can, Damian, if Joker’s up to something we’ll know about it” Tim said.

Up to this point Jason had been watching the conversation, trying to hold back his laughter, but a few chuckles managed to escape and he folded into it. Everyone in the group froze and turned to Jason as he pulled his helmet off, still wracked with giggles.

When he had finally managed to calm himself down, wiping a few stray tears from his eyes, Damian piped up, sounding wary at Jason's sudden outburst.

“What is so funny Todd?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Jason said, fighting back another round of laughter before schooling himself into a more serious disposition. “Joker’s not up to anything, don’t worry.” He said. We watched as his family’s faces went from wary, to confused.

“And how do you know that?” Damian questioned further, bristling.

And this was it. Jason delighted in the way everyone’s faces fell when he said with icy diction,

“Because that motherfucker is dead.”

And everyone exploded.

-----------

By the time he managed to escape the cave (and the incessant questioning) all his earlier energy had been sapped out of him and Jason was ready for a very long nap. He was heading back to his apartment in Park Row when something caught his eye. Or perhaps someone.

“Twice in eight hours? I know you’re not from here but that’s still gotta be some kind of record,” Jason quipped as he tied up the assailant he’d just knocked out.

Danny Fenton stared down at him from his place pressed against the alley wall. His face set in an indignant frown. His ice blue eyes glinting slightly in the ever growing morning light that had finally made itself through Gotham’s thick smog.

“Well it’s not like I’m trying to get attacked,” He ground out, “I just wanted some fucking coffee.”

“At four in the morning?” Hood responded, raising an eyebrow under his helmet.

Danny’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he turned to collect his discarded belongings. When he spoke his voice was softer, “I wasn’t planning on sleeping anytime soon.”

Oh. Jason had forgotten that, even if it was an accident, even if it was the Joker of all people. Killing was a hard thing to deal with, and this must be weighing on Danny. Jason mentally kicked himself for not accessing them for shock. In retrospect all the signs were there, hidden just slightly behind the shaky facade. It was in the way Danny hadn’t touched their food at first. How they were despondent and their eyes kept drifting between empty and piercing, it was how they sat stiff as a board until Jason had mentioned their major. Until Jason had distracted them.

After a long pause that seemed as though it would last forever, Danny sighed.

“I should probably be going now,” He said, pushing past Jason to the entrance of the alley. “Don’t worry, I’ll be more careful this time,” He threw a half hearted grin over his shoulder, disappearing around the corner. Jason couldn’t even get a word in before he was gone.

++++++

Ack! Sorry if Jason is a bit out of character here, I haven’t actually gotten around to reading most (Read: Any) of his canon content yet, and I’m running mostly off Fanon and various character analysis I've read over the last few months.

What are your thoughts? This is only my second ever attempt at writing something to post. I promise I read every comment and they make me so happy to see people interact with my word vomit. Next bit will be from Danny POV. Let’s see what's going on in their head.

Fair warning; I don’t plan on doing tag lists for the future, so this’ll be the only one. If you want to see more I recommend following me (I promise I do other cool things too)

@always-be-a-stranger @dragonfirefeather @thatonegaybitch68 @uraniumwizard @ace-aro-as-shit @rosiea184 @amyheart19 @sadpersonmadeoffruitpunch @dat1angel @tkiesai @idkmrpianoman @crystalqueertea @bianca-hooks123 @blep-23 @stargirl1331 @sjrose1216 @thegatorsgoose @akikkobara @help-i-need-a-cool-username

[cristaq]

How about Soap's stream of consciousness?

I need to complete these reports, it’s already afternoon? Need more free time for training… More training remember that you are weak, useless, the pen is out of fucking ink. Need a new one. More time for PT, it’s never enough. It will be a pain to run in this heat. Especially with the equipment. Tired, useless, Price? Any news about Price? Price, Price is dead. Maybe not? Is he? Kiss him, hold him, he was warm. We used to sneak out during smoke breaks. I always forget the lighter. Just so I can light mine from his. Why is it so hot in here?! More PT, God you are fucking useless be better! Price, where are you? What would you think of me? I think I did good with Roach and Ghost. Did Roach file that draft? I could use a smoke… Where can I find a damn pen? Price! Price is dead maybe not maybe yes shut up 

“Captain?”

“What?!” Soap snaps without really realising. He is sitting at his usual desk going through reports about their last deployment. The room is drowned in the soft light of the afternoon. Roach remains behind the door’s frame, not daring to move an inch. He doesn’t look scared though.

“Jesus, I am sorry…” He rubs his face with his palm, trying to regain his composure. “Didn’t really get enough sleep last night…”

“Do you ever, Captain?” Roach finally approaches the desk with a smirk. He is well attuned by now to his Captain’s outbursts. He holds out a folder. “More reports related to the Petropavlovsk gulag.” Soap opens it and scans the papers.

Petropasvlosk… no, petropavlosk… petro something. High value prisoners. Price? No, Price is dead. Printer must be broken, there are ink stains here. Makarov is eyeing a prisoner. We could be there first. An assault on Russian soil? Almost like the time we saved Nikolai. We shutted down the power. How’s Kamarov doing? Been a while. He outlived Gaz and Price. Price is alive though. Maybe. Shut up. Elevation 100 metres. Fuck it’s cold there.

“Maybe we will find him there…”

“Hmm?” Soap lifts his head from the files. He knows what Roach means. He asks nevertheless. “Who’s there?”

“Price.”

Soap folds the paper folder and throws it on the desk and resumes his previous task. Finding a working pen.

“That would be all, Roach. Dismissed.”

“Did I say something wrong?” He just wishes to be there for him.

Soap is finally victorious in his search and lifts the new pen. “Out of my office, sergeant! Now!” He doesn’t look Roach in the eyes.

“Yes sir.” Roach takes his leave but stops on his way to the door. “We will find him, Captain. If you ever need to talk to someone, we are here. I am here.”

Soap doesn’t answer. When the door closes, the cigar smoke starts rising and a teardrop falls on the papers, spreading the ink around.

[cherrylng]

My Chemical Romance - The Black Parade final US tour live report [ROCKIN'ON (July 2008)]

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE

The Black Parade's ‘final’ US tour. 3 West Coast shows & finale in New York follow-up report!

Text & text photo : Yukiko Amida

13th Feb. A newsletter arrived informing us that My Chemical Romance would be touring the US from the end of March. "Before trying to make a new album, we decided to take another turn", it said, "When we started this band, we could feel you guys right in front of us. It's time to give that another go. See you soon," they wrote. I knew they would probably play one last show in the US to close it out, but I was surprised to find out that they would be travelling around the country for over a month. They had started touring the world just before the album release, starting with Summer Sonic in 2006, and had been touring without a break, with a schedule that would leave you breathless just by watching them. In the meantime, they've grown into an arena-class band thanks to the huge success of their album, and now they've dared to choose a smaller venue for the real ‘end’ of The Black Parade….. I want to see this at all costs! I want to see it too much!!! So I decided to fly to the West Coast. I decided to go to the West Coast at the beginning of April because Eddie Vedder had announced that he was going on his first solo tour around the same time, limited to 10 shows. I made the strongest dream travel plan in my history: to see Eddie twice in Vancouver, then see My Chemical Romance in San Francisco, stay at a friend's house in Bend, Oregon for a few days, see My Chemical Romance twice in Portland and return to Japan. Remembering that the Philadelphia show I was supposed to go to last May was cancelled due to food poisoning among the members, I was praying that they wouldn't eat chicken…

4th Apr. From Vancouver to San Francisco after Eddie's dense stage performance, where I had to check several times to make sure my nose wasn't bleeding. I was at the airport early in the morning at 5.30am, eating a lot of Burger King to prepare for My Chemical Romance, which was 15 hours away. I arrived at the hotel around noon and went to the front of the venue to see fans who had slept in the night before (this was the second day in San Francisco) wrapped in blankets and about 30 people already lined up. I had a reserved seat ticket that day, so I went back to the hotel and took a nap, and when I came back at the opening time, there was a long queue that surrounded the venue for one block. Every time I go to a My Chemical Romance show, especially overseas, I always think that the fans are young. And I feel they are getting younger and younger every year. While we were shivering with body warmers on, most of them were enjoying themselves in short sleeves, saying things like "Oh no, it's a bit cold…". There were a lot of kids with their parents, and I thought I must be the oldest fan who wasn't with a child, so I finally entered the venue, stood in another long queue, bought a bunch of T-shirts and took my seat. The Warfield is a historic venue where the Grateful Dead played their 15th anniversary show in 1980, and has a large theatre-like balcony with reserved seating above the standing floor. Even at the top, the steep incline gives a good view of the stage, and for a capacity of 2,000 people, it feels quite intimate. The first support act, Drive By, is already well known amongst My Chemical Romance fans (vocalist & guitarist Todd [Price]* filled in for Frank on the Japan tour last January when he had to return home to the US after a sudden illness!), and the floor was hot from early on. Billy Talent, who followed, had interrupted work on his new album to rush in and gave a performance that made you feel he was at the top of his game, with his creativity on the rise. The girls in the back were screaming so loudly that even using torn toilet paper as ear plugs hardly helped, and the double punch of Benjamin's super high-pitched vocals was already crushing my ears…….. But the next time the lights went down, I had taken out my earplugs, and when My Chemical Romance appeared on stage, the volume increased by a factor of 100 and I was surrounded by screams, but then the intro and start of ‘Thank You For The Venom’ and the huge sing-along from the start blew it all away, and I forgot about my ears.

Considering that Mikey was not present at last year's Budokan concert, I was first of all moved just by the fact that all the members were there, and furthermore, they were now brimming with energy generated by the sense of accomplishment and liberation they felt after having performed The Black Parade as their second ego and shedding that, they looked dazzlingly bright. The aggressive ‘This is How I Disappear’ was like a shower of super-high water pressure, with every single note coming down from the stage with such force that it shook the entire venue with laughable catharsis, and ‘Dead!’ was the third song to bring the crowd to a climax, and I nearly fell off the balcony when I heard the guitars that started next. Hey, this is ‘Hang 'Em High'!! This song, which continues to be the most played song on my now antique iPod mini, was finally available to me live!! It's impossible, it's even cooler than the album, the guitar is so far forward and the vocals aren't muffled at all, I want to listen to it at home with this much volume… I kept thinking about it, almost letting myself go and then rushing back to consciousness, and as I kept repeating it, I realised that it was only 2 minutes and 45 seconds long to begin with. It's a short song, so it was over in no time at all.

And then, before I could even think about it, I heard the keyboards for ‘Welcome to the Black Parade’ and suddenly my head was clear. Seeing Gerard, who had mic'd the audience several times since the start of the show, listening intently to everyone's singing, I felt I understood why My Chemical Romance had decided to do this tour one last time. They are making sure. The band has grown through the experience of making this album and living through their own fears and what "The Black Parade" was for them, for their fans, and the fans who have taken in their image and message have also grown to the point where they can sing in their own voices, "We'll carry on"—I felt that they were confirming this with their own eyes and ears. This feeling was reinforced towards the end of ‘Famous Last Words’, which Gerard began by saying, "It's still the hardest song I've ever sung". Gerard seemed relieved to hear the audience singing in a firm voice, "I am not afraid to keep on living / I am not afraid to walk this world alone", as he had stated publicly that "I'll be taking a break for the next two years, so this will be my last tour for now". Another emotional moment of the day was when Gerard returned to the dark stage after the end of ‘Cancer’ and a quiet keyboard solo, and sang (just a little bit) a slow version of their first song, 'Vampires Will Never Hurt You'. From there, the band rolled into ‘Give 'Em Hell, Kid’, followed by a vertical cover of Bob Dylan's 'Desolation Row', and closed with the classic 'Helena'. The band must have been pushing forward almost non-stop for nearly seven years since they started, but the band's uncanny energy, with not the slightest hint of fatigue or weariness, left me in awe.

8th April. We took a bus from Bend to Portland early in the morning, but to our surprise, it was completely covered in snow from late at night. But we arrived not too late, about three and a half hours, and there was no snow in Portland, but a light rain. I heard that Gerard was signing copies of “The Umbrella Academy”, a comic book he wrote himself, so I stood in line at the comic book store in the occasional sleet shower. After three freezing hours, I finally made it to Mr Way's** table and was about to have him sign my copy of the March issue of Rockin'On, which featured an interview with Mikey, when he seemed to take a liking to a full-page shot of his brother and a photo of him at the Budokan in Japan. He asked me repeatedly if he could have it, so I reluctantly, but with great pleasure, gave it to him. While I was still excited, I hit it off with a girl I met on the bus back downtown (I later discovered we were close in age and felt even closer to her……), and we decided to go to the show together. The Crystal Ballroom, the venue for the show, also has a long history, and is a popular venue for its dance floor that sways as if it were floating, and the beautiful and funky interior designed by McMenamins, which operates microbrew pubs all over Oregon and beyond. The front of the stage was packed, but the side partitioned bar area, which is only open to over-20s, was relatively empty and cosy. The day started with the dramatic ‘Sleep’, which took the audience by surprise. I had no idea that this song, which is so painful on the album, could sound so powerful in their current hands. The amazing power of the band grew with each song, with Ray's dynamic guitar playing, with his afro and physique looking even stronger, Bob's acrobatic drumming, which I have never seen before, with his hair longer and (for some reason) wearing a red flannel shirt, and Mikey, also with longer hair and more beautiful features, moving around and unleashing the bass. Frank's guitar seemed not to be in good shape that day, but his passion for playing was as strong as anyone else's. Confidence could be felt from every faint note of each sound. And speaking of confidence, Gerard, who had been persistently wearing long sleeves, was proudly showing off his upper arms as he wore sleeveless for the first time in a long time (since the hot Warped Tour, I think). The confidence that they had overcome something so huge, as if they were trying to repel the demons that had possessed them, made them look one or two sizes bigger than they were on stage. The last song of the second album, ‘I Never Told You What I Do For a Living’, was a joy to hear on this day! James, now an indispensable keyboard player, sang the Motley Crue classic ‘Home Sweet Home’ and the flow to ‘Cancer’ also made me cry.

9th Apr. Day 2 in Portland is Gerard's birthday! The mood was even more festive than usual, with a cake-shaped balloon raised by a fan at the edge of the stage. After the second song, ‘Dead!’, Gerard himself led the rendition of Happy Birthday, and even after the song, ‘This is How I Disappear’, the audience got excited with a huge chorus of “I want to listen to it one more time!” In the past two days, I've heard all three songs from "Live and Rare" that are not on the album. I was especially happy to hear ‘Kill All Your Friends’, which I had always wanted to hear live. This song was supposed to be the sixth song on The Black Parade, but was cut from the final version and released as the B-side of ‘Famous Last Words’, and when I first heard it, I thought it sounded simpler than the other songs, and I was convinced that the reason was to avoid making the album too long, but later I could see what Gerard meant when he said later, "I wish we had put it on the album". Behind the disturbing title of the song, ‘Kill All Your Friends’, there is the reality that ‘I’ am stuck in the town where I grew up, and the only time I can see ‘you’, my classmate who has left my hometown, is at someone's funeral. With the disappointment and fear that "you will leave again, and I will die here", I decided that, "I should kill my friend, because then I will see you again". It is an ironic expression of twisted feelings. And when they sing the part where they repeat "You'll never take me alive / Do what it takes to survive, 'cause I'm still here" in a live setting, they are giving each and every one of us who feels the same way the courage to stand up for ourselves. So the flow of this song and ‘I'm Not Okay’ is the strongest, and it is burned into my mind as an explosive climax that releases all the kids who are about to be torn apart by their pent-up feelings at once. I'm really glad I came to see it, thank you! I desperately suppressed the urge to get on a plane to Salt Lake City, the next venue, instead of Tokyo the next day.

Then 8th May. I was unsure about the last New York show when it was announced after I got my West Coast tickets, but after seeing this tour I became more and more determined not to miss this finale, so I flew to New York as well. Luckily, the Honda Civic Tour, headlined by Panic at the Disco, had just arrived in New York and I was able to catch the second day of the show. The stage was cute, with flower-decorated microphones and a papier-mâché set that looked like a school play, and they played their new album "Pretty. Odd." The new album's dreamy world was recreated, and it was a pleasant surprise to see the old and new songs complementing each other better than expected at the show. Can't wait to see them again at Summer Sonic!

Finally, 9th May. It has rained heavily since this morning. Passing by the entrance to the standing area of Madison Square Garden, plastic sheets, raincoats, chairs, and bags of snacks were strewn about, a testament to the large number of people queuing in the rain. In addition to being the finale of the tour, there was another reason why this show was so special, as Mikey wrote in his 25th February newsletter. 'About a year ago now, my brother brought me here to see Smashing Pumpkins. So I looked at my brother's face and said, "This is what I want to be…… We have to do this…… Someday we're going to be on that stage." We both felt exactly the same thing. And now we can announce the realisation of that dream performance.' After warming up with Drive By and Taking Back Sunday, which Adam [Lazzara] happily said was his dad's birthday, the bass line begins as if to give Mikey the leading role. When the dream performance started with 'Give 'Em Hell, Kid,' my heart was so hot that I was almost overcome with emotion. Surrounded by fans in the arena and in the stands next to the stage, the five of them looked more nervous than ever before, but this was soon swept away by the joy of having made their dream come true, and the air was filled with a sense of celebration and thanksgiving. Midway through the show, when Gerard wanted to sit everyone [the band] down to watch the Wave, Ray apparently whispered to him that they could do it standing up, but Gerard just laughed and shook his head and said, "No, we'll make it more dramatic!" and they ended up sitting down, and it was amazing to see a really dramatic huge wave of excitement rise up and flow throughout the stands. I'll never forget the smiling faces of the audience raising their hands and the members just smiling and looking on in disbelief.

Before the final song, ‘Famous Last Words’, Gerard told us an anecdote about seeing Smashing Pumpkins at this venue, and he said that Mikey brought him there. During the interlude, Gerard picked up Mikey from behind (he was still playing the bass!) and looked so happy. The song, played with such brotherly love, was filled with more joy and hope than I could ever have imagined. Countless mobile phone lights flashed during ‘Desert Song’, and a huge chorus echoed through the last song, ‘Helena’, as if they were regretting every second that passed. The final "goodbye, goodnight" turned into a scream, and amidst truly head-splitting applause and cheers, Gerard said. "Even if we never do another show, we'll keep on living—" These last words have caused a stir, with some people thinking it means the end of the band, but when I heard them there, and now that I've written them down, I can't help but feel a little more pleased to have made it this far, and less anxious about it. It was The Black Parade that opened with the song ‘The End’ and showed me that the end is the beginning. And the end of the tour, when we see where it has led us, shows us that the place is so beautiful and that we are so much stronger for going there. When My Chemical Romance comes back to us again, we want to be able to make them proud. As one of the fans from all over the world who has been given more strength than I can take, that's all I can wish for now.

Getting pumped up at Burger King in the morning

The Warfield before the storm

From Portland to Bend by prop plane

Return trip by bus through snowy landscape

A stylish sign at the Crystal Ballroom

Bought a T-shirt without thinking

A flyer for Frank's Skeleton Crew / advertisement for the Portland show

A poster for a book signing with cartoonist Way-sensei (pics by Mycki)

A very personal New York specialty pancake that was treated to our correspondent Akemi Nakamura.

The brilliant stage of PATD decorated with flowers

The poster of the fateful Smashing Pumpkins concert was found at the venue!

Translator’s Note: Sooooo I bet some of you didn't see me coming in with this translation of a MCR live report, eh? 👀

Fun fact: In Japan, My Chemical Romance’s short name isn’t called ‘MCR’, but rather shortened down as “マイケミ / Mykemi”. Just like in the western world, it’s not unusual that Japanese fans will shorten band names to make it easier to pronounce, but in this case, it was shortened based on their writing system. You can see this with Red Hot Chili Peppers / Redochiri and Smashing Pumpkins / Sumapan, for example.

*I’ve checked on who Todd Price of Drive By is and, uhhhh, yeah… other than the frankly brief Wikipedia article about the band, it turns out he had just passed away earlier this year in March. Didn’t expect that when I Googled for more information, but here we are.

**In the original text, in this particular sentence, the journalist actually referred to Gerard as ‘Way-sensei’, an honorific term of respect towards him. But this sentence was the only instance that the word ‘sensei’ was conferred onto him, so most likely this was used while he’s Gerard Way the comic book artist, not as Gerard Way of My Chemical Romance. I used ‘Mr Way’ in that sentence instead as it still conveyed a form of respect towards him.

[mrsmahito]

The PROMISE

Mahito x Black!fem!reader

Summary: You leave your life in America as you start your dream of becoming a big-time model in Japan after working your way through the industry. At night you work at a club to make extra money on the side. One night you're attacked but strange stranger stops the attack. You tell them you'll keep this a secret, that turns into something more of a promise…

Warnings: Alcohol, Blood, Violence, Blood, Gore mentioned, Eventual smut(Slow burn)

Chapter 1~ Nice to meet you!

*Ding Ding*

The door to the bakery opens, the sweet smell of cakes, macarons, and mini pastries fill the air. Outside the sun was starting to set and the sidewalk glowed with a pretty yellow golden sunlight. The cashier busy ringing up a customer, 2 other bakers covered from head to toe in flour, 4 other employs decorating the yummy treats, and the rest wiping the table or sweeping floors. 

“Welcome to Lily’s Cafe!” the cashier shouts joyfully. 

She has short brown hair, with her light brown eyes, in her green shirt black pants, with an apron over it. Through the door frame a pair of red converse shoes with white laces steps through. 

“Hello,” she says with a smile.

The door closes behind you. You're wearing a white and blue striped crop top with roses on the upper rib area, a pair of blue Jean shorts, with a baby blue colored purse, brown glasses, and a black choker with a silver charm. Your hair ebony with small and medium curls down to her waist. As you walk to the cashier all eyes are on you recognizing you from the cover of many magazines. 

“What can I get for you?’’ the cashier asks.

“Can I get a mocha cookie crumble with white mocha instead of mocha?”

“Yes ma'am, and the size?”

“Uh, medium please!”

“Yes ma’am! Will that be all?’’ the cashier said, ringing up the order.

“Yep!” you replied.

“What will the name for this order be?”

“Y/n.” you state quickly, taking out your card.

“Your total is $10.62”

You smile and insert the card chip punching in your pin. Taking your receipt from the cashier.

The cashier bowed slightly in gratitude.

Walking to a booth waiting for your drink silently. You work as a model for a big agency in Tokyo. They mostly loved you for how different you look compared to the original beauty standard that had already been set up, and that made you stand out more compared to other agencies so you become big in no time covering a lot of livestream media. Japan was the best place for you to live as the culture respected privacy, mostly. You turn to the TV. Catching your attention is a News broadcasting station going on about the mysterious levels of death cases rising.

“Breaking News! Today we are living at an abandoned building west of tokyo where a human being last known as missing, is now believed to have been “devoured”, says a witness.He claims he watched some kind of huge monster figure devour him.

“It was huge!!” the man hissed. “It was unlike anything I had ever seen in my 42 years of living!”

The camera focuses back on the reporter as he continues “These “deaths” are getting more and more out of hand!  More humans are going missing! Is there nothing we can do!?”

Staring blankly at the T.V you sigh, it's the same thing everyday more and more people go missing, or end up dead and there's almost close to or never an explanation. Honestly it never seemed to bother you. Everyone is somewhat afraid of death or you have those who are at peace with the thought of leaving this earth. You were one of those people who enjoyed life to the fullest, any of your friends can tell you that. Your life wasn’t all that great anyway.  

You started modeling on side jobs as a hustle to make money after moving out and eventually moved to bigger agencies that noticed your talent. Until you get a call from a big company in Tokyo,Japan saying they want you as their next model. The first person you called was Kyra. Kyra is your childhood best friend that you had ever since 5th grade. She also had received news that she had gotten her dream job in real estate. 

“Can you believe it all our dreams are coming true!!” You giggled. 

“Yeah, I guess, but it still seems like a dream, ya know? To think you were talking about becoming a teacher or a doctor one day and now look at you.” Kyra smiled to herself. 

“Yeah but you also wanted to be a flight attendant at one point, ya know? Give yourself some credit! You graduated earlier and started right into your career.” you wipe your eyes starting to tear up at this point. “I'm so proud of you...” you mutter, holding back your sob.

“I'm proud of you too..” Kyra added in just barely a whisper.

“Now stop crying before I hang up.”

“I’M SORRY OK!!!” you joke. 

You both talked happily for the next few hours, congratulating each other. After getting off the phone with Kyra you called Dani your friend since middle school to tell her the great news as well. You wanted Kyra to come with you but understood that her life was in America.

Eventually weeks passed and Japan was ready to bring their top model home.

“I'm so proud of you.” Kyra said, smiling slightly while embracing you.

“Thank you!” You hug Kyra tightly while holding back tears.

“Ew, don’t get mushy on me.” Kyra said laughing.

Wiping your tears you look up...

“Don’t forget me ok? Or I'll spread a rumor about you! I am and will always be your number one supporter and fan.” Kyra called teasingly, holding back tears.

“I won’t!” You laughed. But deep down you knew Kyra was serious which made you laugh even harder.

You board the plane after hugging Kyra one last time and waved goodbye.

***

Next

[munsonsduchess]

Rock N' Roll Dreams Come True

summary: you've been joining corroded coffin on tour and at a big show eddie can't keep his hands off you w/c: 2.767 warnings: 18+ only minors dni, swearing, oral (f receiving), use of afab language to describe the reader (pussy, cunt), p in v sex a/n: i love rockstar eddie with my whole soul and my whole 🐱so this one getting the most votes on the poll seemed like a no brainer, again i did take a lot of this from something I'd written before for a different fandom but i've edited it and changed some stuff

if you like this please consider reblogging it and leaving a comment, it always helps me out

(moodboard by me)

It had been a dream come true when the Band got picked up originally. They’d played small shows here and there at first, bigger bars than the hideout, a couple local music festivals nothing mind blowing. That came later when Corroded Coffin had been asked to be the warm up act for the warm up act for a very famous band. 

Now here you all were, it had been ten years of climbing the ladder but Corroded Coffin could sell out an area almost as quickly as Metallica or Iron Maiden or any other band you’d care to mention. 

Everyone at home who had cheered them on, who’d believed in the band, they were the original fans. They might not be screaming their songs back to them in a sweaty crowd of metal heads or getting riled up in a mosh pit but there was no way Gareth, Jeff or Eddie could forget those friends who’s faith had never wavered. 

Dave the new guy maybe didn’t understand at first when a guy in glasses and pink Ralph Lauren polo showed up backstage with a girl who wouldn’t stop running her mouth in the most beat up pair of red chucks. Or why a certain hard nose reporter was only too happy to do fluff pieces on the band's meteoric rise to fame. He understood the California Stoners a little more but it still kind of baffled him when everyone begged one guy to take their pictures. 

This was Eddie’s family. Your family. The band and the Hawkins group. You were all older now, maybe not wiser but you would always share something deep, spring break 86 had truly bonded  you all for life. Most of Eddie’s early song writing for the band after Spring Break is what got the band picked up in the first place. 

So there you were. Sitting on a busted amp backstage watching the boys argue before going on stage. Eddie had apparently broken some sort of rule about being 'cool' and 'metal' to the point where the other three guys just couldn't let it go. Gareth had even decided  to document the 'crime' with his polaroid and now everyone was playing keep away while the photo developed and threatening to give it to the next reporter they spoke to, 

“You’re ruining my image!” Eddie protested, "come on dude don't be a dick" 

“You’re ruining your own image! You’re drinking out of a juice box! What are you six?” Gareth shot back, holding the picture above his head and signaling for Jeff to take it

“I need the vitamin c!” Eddie shot back, "it's not my fault  you all want to get scurvy" 

You couldn't help but laugh as Jeff took the picture and handed it off to a random crew member telling them to guard it with their life while Dave and Gareth wrestled with Eddie. This was the Corroded Coffin people didn't get to see, just four guys who loved each other and loved music, not the on stage personas, not what the media loved to make them out to be and  you were so fortunate you got to experience it all.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

The sound of the crowd cheering and chanting the band name sent chills up your spine and looking up at the others you could tell the band felt it too,

“Knock them dead babe” you smiled reaching up to grab Eddie by the lapels of his worn leather jacket to bring him down for a searing kiss, 

“Always do” he laughed before shrugging out of the jacket and draping it over your shoulders. A little pre-show ritual he swore brought the band luck and with how the tour had been going so far, no one could fault him.

You watched as the band took the stage and the crowd went wild. Your chest swelled with excitement as Eddie started playing, a wink thrown to you waiting there for him before his attention turned to the rest of the band and all that nervous energy transformed into an unbelievable stage presence.

You’d read every article that came out about the boys and  saved every article you’d found, clipped from magazines and pasted into a scrapbook you were keeping so that in years to come when you were all old and looking back on the glory days of your youth, the boys could look back at their beginnings. Along with Gareth's collection of Polaroids, embarrassing or not. 

The articles that made you laugh were usually the ones written about Eddie and his stage presence. The way he acted when he was playing had these journalists convinced he was some sort of tantric sex god, they drew their conclusions from the energy he put out while on stage and how touchy he was with you after. The band thought it was hilarious honestly and put it down to lead guitarist syndrome, everyone assumed because Eddie played lead he was just this amazing lover who could never be sated and while it was partially true it wasn’t everything the assorted press made your relationship out to be.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Eddie’s hair shone under the stage lights, his body covered in a sheen of sweat as he played his heart out to a stadium packed full of screaming fans. They were here to hear him play, just to hear their band. No one else. It had been a long time coming, from playing the hideout every Tuesday to a band of drunks who yelled and threw empty beer bottles at the chicken wire surrounding the 'stage' and demanded old country songs to being hare, now and playing a sold out stadium of die hard Corroded Coffin fans. 

His eyes flicked back to where you were standing, your arms inside his oversized jacket as you sang along to every song and danced along to the music. You knew every word to every song they played, you’d been there when most of it was written and Eddie swore up and down you were the band’s good luck charm. If you hadn’t been there at the club there’s no way the band would have ended up where they are now. 

Turning his attention back to the crowd, Eddie poured his heart and soul into their last few songs knowing that everyone else would do just the same pouring every ounce of their being into the music. That's what it was all about in the end, the lights, the crowds, the fame, it was all secondary to the music itself.

As the band finally finished their set before the encore they came back off stage to change quickly and rehydrate. Eddie had other ideas apparently and rushed at you, sweeping you into his arms ignoring your cries of protest about how sweaty he was and demands that he at least wipe down first,

“Need you now baby” he groaned in your ear, pressing himself against you so you could feel just how hard he was. The energy from the crowd had been unlike anything else they’d experienced all tour and Eddie needed you.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

You were giggling as Eddie stole kisses as he dragged you towards the band's dressing room, the rest of the boys staying behind with warnings that Eddie better not miss the encore and threats of serious bodily harm if he did. His kisses were heated the closer you both got to the dressing room, your protests about his sweat slicked body dying in your throat before you had a chance to voice them. Instead they surfaced as little moans as Eddie’s hands roamed all over your body, he pushed you through the dressing room door and kicked it shut behind him.

Eyes dark as they took in your form, your home made corroded coffin shirt you wore to every show since the first one you'd ever been to,  but above all you were still wearing his jacket and Eddie would freely admit what seeing you in his clothes did to him,

“Baby do you have any idea how hot it is knowing my girl is on tour with me?” he grinned, his hands reaching out to pull you in close by your hips, “knowing everyone is looking at you but they can’t touch”

His teeth nipped at your neck as he sucked a bruise at the base of your throat, his hands trailing down your body to push your skirt up around your hips. You moaned openly as his hands kneaded your backside, Eddie knew exactly where to touch you to make you melt into him. 

You pulled at the hem of the tank top Eddie was wearing and managed to pull it off with his help. As soon as the tank top was off Eddie’s hands were pushing you back towards the couch, 

“Gonna fuck you so good baby, gonna make you scream my name so everyone knows who you belong to” he growled into your ear. 

You let out a yelp of surprise when the back of your knees hit the arm of the couch, reaching out for something to grab onto so you wouldn’t fall but only grabbing air as you toppled backwards. Eddie smirked and licked his lips at the sight of your legs propped up by the arm of the couch while the rest of your body lay flat on the couch. 

Crouching down so he was at eye level with your throbbing pussy, Eddie pushed your legs apart and settled himself between your opened thighs. You could feel the heat of his breath against your panties, the sensation only made you wetter as you waited for whatever Eddie had in store for you.

It wasn’t much of a wait as Eddie’s large hands trailed up your thighs, over your panties, his fingers ghosting over the waistband. Placing soft kisses to the inside of your thighs Eddie moved his fingers along the seam of your panties chuckling to himself when he started rubbing his thumb against clit and hearing the moan you let out in response,

“That’s my good girl, be as loud as you want baby. Want everyone to hear you” he crooned fingers rubbing your soaked panties against your needy cunt,

“Please Eddie, need you, please” you begged, you wanted more than this teasing sensation. Needed him to stretch you out with those thick fingers, needed him. 

Eddie laughed at how needy you were for him. Who was he to deny his girl anything she wanted? His good girl..

“Since you asked so nicely” the sound of fabric ripping filled your ears before Eddie’s mouth was attached to your dripping pussy, licking up the slick from your folds and moaning at the taste of you. Always so sweet for him, he could stay here for hours and had done so on more than one occasion.

You keened loudly at the feel of him, his tongue working wickedly between your legs as he sucked on your clit like it was his favourite milkshake, “taste so good honey” he purred as he slipped a long finger into you.

“Please Eddie, need more” you gasped, “please, please” 

“Greedy little girl, you want more than this? Tell me what you want” 

“Need you to fuck me, need your cock inside me” 

Eddie almost gave in then and there. His cock was straining against the denim of his jeans, it was painfully hard but he was a man on a mission and he would not be deterred. Instead he added another finger using them to stretch you open as his mouth went back to work on your clit. 

The room smelt of sex and sweat, the sounds of your moans and Eddie’s fingers in your wet pussy filling the air to the point that you were sure the crowd could hear it from the main stage. It was music to Eddie’s ears and he wasn’t going to stop until you made the sweetest sound of all for him.

Adding another finger he worked them in tandem with his mouth as he found the spot inside that had you seeing stars and gripping his hair tightly in your hands begging him not to stop. You could feel the coil tightening in your tummy, you were so close and Eddie could feel it too with how your walls were fluttering around him, 

“That’s it baby, cum for me” he encouraged, his fingers moving quicker and quicker until you felt the pressure inside you boil over and you came with a loud moan of his name soaking both Eddie’s fingers and his chin. 

He didn’t stop until he was sure you had come back down from your high and you were panting on the couch trying to catch the breath he’d stolen from your lungs. 

Standing up Eddie quickly unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down around his ankles. He looked down at you, your face flushed and chest heaving. God you looked so pretty like this, all wrecked after an orgasm. Almost as pretty as when he fucked you into your shared hotel room bed every night. 

That was for later, for now Eddie needed you and he wasn’t going to wait. He lined himself up with your entrance and pushed in, gripping your hips tightly as he did so. God you were so tight, so warm, he had to be careful not to blow his load there and then. 

A string of curses left his lips until he bottomed out. The stretch was almost unbearable every time Eddie filled you but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the feel of his thick cock dragging through your pussy walls. 

The way Eddie fucked you like each time was the first and the last and he’d never get to feel this again, dragging his cock out of you until just the tip was left inside before slamming his hips back against yours. Again and again, angling his hips so that the tip of his cock hit that sweet spot inside of you. 

You were clawing at the couch, his arms, anything you could reach. Moaning loudly at each deep stroke inside, you were sure you could feel Eddie in your stomach and it felt incredible. 

You could feel yourself getting close again as your pussy clenched down around Eddie’s cock. Knowing you both weren’t going to last much longer he reached between your sweaty bodies and rubbed quick energetic circles on your clit encouraging you to come apart around him. 

It didn’t take long for your high to wash over you again and you were screaming Eddie’s name for everyone to hear as your vision whited out, Eddie continued to fuck you through your high his own not far behind as he released into you with a grunt.

You stayed like that for a moment as you caught your breath. Splayed out on the couch with Eddie’s weight on top of you, his head resting on your stomach. Finally he looked up at you with a boyish grin on his face,

“Fuck honey you were amazing” he praised, a small kiss placed against your belly button as he pulled out and you groaned at the empty feeling left behind. 

Eddie disappeared from your line of sight for a moment before coming back with a warm wet towel to clean you off with. He placed another chaste kiss against the inside of your thighs before helping you stand and fix your clothes and hair. Not that the other members of the band or really anyone backstage wouldn’t know what the two of you had just been up to. 

Reaching up you captured his lips with your own and smiled into the kiss. Maybe the magazines were on to something after all. The moment was broken when Jeff began knocking hard on the door of the dressing room,

"You have two seconds to get out here or I swear to god I'll kill you myself!" 

Eddie pulled the door open wide and grinned at Jeff's irate expression as if he hadn't just been fucking your brains out on the couch,

"Relax, I told you I wouldn't miss the encore!" Eddie gave you a quick parting kiss before following after Jeff to finish the set for good.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Days later Eddie came back to the hotel you were currently crashing in with a ‘surprise’ for you. Peeling off his jacket he was able to show off a brand new tattoo, a heart with both of your names written inside. Eddie showed it proudly on stage that night proclaiming to all the world his love for one girl. 

His sweetheart.

Taglist: @pillow-titties @eddiemunsonwillbethedeathofme @munsonology @thegirlblogstuff @boomhauer @prettyboyeddiemunson @hellfireeddie6 @that-lame-ghoul9000 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @anxiousstark @ruinedbythehobbit @winnifredburkleismyhero @manda-panda-monium @insertcoolnameherethanks @aftermidnightwriting

Let me know if you want to be added!

His sweetheart.

[xxxdreamscapexxx]

Sacrifices series: Chapter 2: The hunt

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.4k

Series Summary: After closing the Darkhold, Wanda struggled to find her place in the word. Until she met you that is. And in you, she found hope. But the past has a way of coming back and she’s faced with an impossible choice once again. A choice that’s going to break her heart. Chapter summary: After the last time she saw you, Wanda spent every waking moment trying to capture the monster, who was terrorizing her city and causing mass panic. What will she stumble on?

Warning: angst!; nightmares, lack of self-care, sleeplessness, emotional trauma; Hurt - No Comfort ; Blood, human sacrifice, gory details of a mutilated body, dark magic... That should be it, but in case I missed anything, please let me know. Also, Reader will not be making an appearance in this chapter, but she has a significant role to play in the future. Chapter 1: Sacrifices

It had been exactly 9 days since Wanda last came to see you. Nine terrible days, filled with exhaustion and disheartening failure. She worked tirelessly to find the person responsible for all the dark sacrifices. They were calling him “The Sorcerer” on every news platform there was, stopping regular broadcasts for every small detail the reporters could get their hands on. It was causing only outrage. That was the worst part. But if it meant views, no one cared to listen. She had hardly slept all that time. Her nightmares were getting worse. More realistic, more vivid. She almost felt trapped in them, every time she managed to fall asleep. As if invisible bonds were holding her prisoner in her own hellish plane of existence, refusing to let her go. It was getting harder to claw her way out of them. She had started to fear falling asleep. Not without someone watching over her. But who would be there to watch the Scarlet Witch sleep? She hardly had any friends left, despite what she was being told. Besides… Who could she trust? The dark circles under her eyes were growing bigger, her eyes sunken in. She had lost her will for most things. She was ready to break down completely. And the only thing that gave her hope, that helped her hold herself together, was the hope of seeing you again. After another dead end and way too many grotesque pictures of the horrors left behind by The Sorcerer, she sighed, defeated and unable to continue doing this a moment longer. Her heart ached so bad. Not just for herself, but for the millions out there, that lived in fear, for those who suffered the consequences of that monster’s actions. God, she needed to do better! Everyone was counting on her to find him, to stop him from doing any more harm, and she was failing! How pathetic… The most powerful magic wielder in the world, and she couldn’t catch a stupid man, playing with powers he didn’t understand… She had one more location to run down for the day, one last place, where he could have been hiding, before she would be done and she could finally rest. She could finally get in her car and drive to your house. That’s what she called rest now. Sneaking and sculking around your house like a criminal, just to sneak a glance at you from your windows. Ugh, she truly was pathetic. How low she had fallen… Driving through the streets filled her with a sense of dread. There was another protest. People with hateful signs marching with their heads held high. What was to be proud of, she wondered? What kept their heads from hanging, when they said such terrible things? She never thought she’d see the day, when people would once again rise, to burn witches. Had they learned nothing? Were they so easily fooled? Did the actions of one person truly condemn everyone, who had a gift? She didn’t believe that. But to prove it, she had to catch him first.

The whole world was wrong. And no one felt the sting of it as much as she did. Being able to read minds didn’t help, either. Almost anyone she passed thought of the dangerous monster, that walked the streets. Who would be his next sacrifice? What would be the terrible consequence of it this time? How many would it affect? No one knew, but everyone feared for their lives, their families, their children, their homes… Everyone was sending suspicious looks at their surroundings. They had so many reports of people claiming to know who The Sorcerer was. Most times it was simply neighbours they didn’t like, co-workers they envied, poor strangers, who had been unlucky to catch the eye of the wrong person. Ugly. All of it. She hated it. But sometimes, they got some legitimate intel. Like this last location. Which is why she was forcing herself to go there today. When she reached the old building, she could feel the dark energy that surged from it. She could never mistake it. It was like the perfume of a long-lost lover. She couldn’t name it, couldn’t touch it, couldn’t explain it in any way, yet she would always recognize it. And here, it lingered in the air, it seeped into the building, the concrete pavement, the very earth this place was standing on. All polluted. It made her sick to her stomach. Or was it that she hadn’t eaten in… How long was it now? She didn’t remember her last proper meal. But she had found a protein shake in the kitchen this morning. At least she drank that. Not that it mattered much. As she made her way inside, Wanda felt almost dizzy. Her very being rebelled against the energy of this place. It roared with outrage and disgust. Yet another, small, but undeniable part of her felt like it was just waking at the presence of such darkness. “Don’t touch anything here.” An inner voice whispered. “All diseased. All rotten.” It kept whispering, making her wish she could cover her ears and turn away. She could still see the door back there, she could still walk away from this place and never return… What wishful thinking. She could no more run away from here, than she could run from herself and she knew it. But it helped, giving herself the illusion of choice, when there was but one. Forward. As she ascended the stairs, her eyes peering up, she almost hoped he would be here. She needed this to end. She needed for this to be over, so she could be free.

“At least freedom is still possible for you.” That voice spoke again. That inner awareness of hers. And just when she was about to ask what that meant, a realization, or rather, a sudden recognition of another presence alerted her that she wasn’t alone and it dawned on her. There were people living here. Amongst all this… Filth. If she could feel it from outside, if it was consuming the entire building… What did it do to them? “Death.” Hissed that voice again. An echo of something she already knew. “Only death.” And that confirmation made her feel sad, most of all. Sad, that she had taken so long to find this place. Sad, that she had failed them too. That she had left them to live with this. A sudden bang, somewhere above her, startled her, making her blink away the almost trans-like state she had been walking in and she summoned all her strength, all her power, to face whatever was lurking here. Her heart was beating faster with every step she took, climbing each floor with this gut-wrenching feeling that something was waiting for her there. That she was being watched. But there was no one. Only the muffled sounds of people, behind their closed doors. Each one living their own lives there, completely unaware of how much they were being affected by the evil presence that loomed over the place. Then again, not everyone was lucky enough to be able to leave. She could see, hear, she could smell the poverty here. Now that was a true horror. A very real evil that she alone was unable to fight, or win against. Poverty claimed more lives than that Sorcerer could in a lifetime. It was the true enemy of the people in this world. Yet, there were no protests of outrage, when children starved and died, when potential was snuffed out in so many households, just for the lack of money… No one cried for the people lost to that evil… Tragic really. That people would band together and hunt down that Sorcerer, that they would do unspeakable things to him in the blink of an eye, yet would stay docile and submissive, when faced with the man-made atrocities of this world. Tragic. It almost made her want to give up then and there. But people didn’t have much protection against magic. And so, it fell on her to protect them. Even if not all deserved the grace of her efforts.

She had reached the top floor, wrapped up in such thoughts, carelessly unalert. It wasn’t like her to be so easily distracted. But she realized it wasn’t her. It was this place. It had a power of its own. It was messing with her and she had to remind herself to be at full attention. It was dangerous here… Especially here. There was a single door on the top floor, glaring at her, as if it could scare her into leaving. So much decay here… It wasn’t just the surface, the chipped paint or the dust, it was an undercurrent of sorts, a living, breathing thing that ran through the whole building, poisoning everything it touched… He must be here. No place was better suited. No place she ever stepped foot in had so much darkness in it. It was like it was made of evil. She used her powers to unlock the door, surprised that it would even work. There were no protective enchantments, no defences she could feel or spot. There was no one inside either. She could hear no thoughts, feel no sign of life. The door just opened for her and Wanda stepped inside with a sense of dread inside her. She could smell the decay here, mixed with herbs and spices that lingered in the air. She walked into the hallway, trying not to breathe too deeply. The smell was so heavy it almost made her lightheaded. And it looked like a normal apartment really… If it wasn’t for the negligence she could see with every step. Furniture falling apart, paint falling from the ceiling and walls, the dust and grime she could see everywhere. Who would choose to live like this? The next room she stumbled upon was a small, dark bedroom. The smell of dirty sheets and unwashed clothes hit her nostrils as soon as she opened the door and it made her eyes sting. How disgusting it all looked. The windows were closed shut, heavy drapes covered every surface that could give off light, making the room even more unwelcoming. She wouldn’t wish this on her worst enemies. This… Life.

Wanda stepped away from the room, grateful to be able to breathe more freely, even if reluctantly and she made her way to the next room, a more specious living room it seemed. There was a strange buzzing sound she couldn’t quite place here. Irritating and low. The curtains were closed here too, preventing her from seeing clearly and she used her magic to pull them aside, causing a cloud of dust to start spinning in the air around them, illuminated by the sun-beams that made their way inside. She could see bowls and plates of half-finished food on the small table, all rotten and mouldy now. There were flies everywhere, feeding, buzzing, flying around her as if to test if she could be part of their next meal too. It made her sick. On impulse, or perhaps, because she couldn’t stand the feel of it much longer, a blast of magic surged from within her and into the room, causing the small insects to fall. Dead in an instant. One fell right at her feet and she looked at it for a long moment, her face a grimace of open disgust, before she looked away. She didn’t dare look down again, too scared to watch herself walk over them as she stepped further inside. Looking past the broken couch and the ripped carpet, the first thing she saw was writing. It was on the walls, the floor, on random pieces of paper. Scribbles and notes everywhere. Spells. Real ones. Those that weren’t, she soon saw, were covered in paper and then that was overwritten with new spells. So many, she had to take her phone out and photograph, so she could examine later. The next thing she noticed, the one thing she realized wasn’t broken, or destroyed, were shelves. Full of mundane things, or so it seemed, but her eyes stopped on a shelf filled with books. Old ones. There were no titles on the spines, so she took one, delicate fingers opening the heavy, hand-stitched covers to find that it was a grimoire. Or an attempt at one. Her senses told her that whatever spell was being described on the pages she was looking at wouldn’t really work, regardless how much power one had. But it was a beautiful book. A real antique. And it made her wonder what else was hiding there. She used her magic to pull them all off the shelf, holding them up in the air and opening the pages. They were all books on magic! Old, new, some full of misinformation, but some… They had some truth to them. Whoever this person was… They had a real treasure-trove of information. And a book on the Scarlet Witch. The prophecy, the description of her powers… All there. Was he researching her? Was he thinking of going after her? How long did he have that book for? Did he know who she was, how to find her? But what scared her most of all, was the thought that if he knew who she was, he could also know about you. You could be in real danger and she wouldn’t know it, because she left you!

The thought of that almost made her heart pound out of her chest as panic gripped her, refusing to let go. She hadn’t seen you in 9 days! So many things could happen in that time. What if he did know about you? What if he hurt you? She would never be able to live with herself if that happened. And the only reason she could even breathe, the only reason she wasn’t running to you right now, was the thought that she hadn’t heard of a new victim of The Sorcerer. He was laying low these days. Or perhaps it had nothing to do with her. Maybe he had stumbled on this, saw that he couldn’t use this book and moved on? But the only way for her to find out, was to find him. And to do that, she needed to know more about him. Wanda closed the open books in a swift motion and she left them in a pile on the shelf. She’d be taking them with her on her way out. She wanted to go through them, when she had more time and she wasn’t paralyzed with fear for your life. With uncertain steps, she stumbled upon the kitchen, the sight making her gag. Dirty dishes and rotten food lay everywhere, the smell of it so completely overpowering, she had to cover her nose and mouth with her hand. The bugs and maggots here were thriving and she couldn’t stand the sight, so she moved on. She couldn’t possibly find what she needs here anyway. There were only 2 more doors she hadn’t tried. One was clearly the bathroom and she was sure she wouldn’t be able to stomach whatever was waiting for her there, so she chose the second one instead. But it wasn’t simple choice or chance. It was a feeling of sorts. Something calling her to that spot. Something dark and mysterious, something alluring, yet repulsive. Magic. The worst kind of magic. She could feel it. The corruption that started there, originated there and was spreading out. It was unmistakable and it was calling out to her. With every step she took, Wanda could feel the power that was concentrated behind that door. With how strong it was, she was surprised that The Sorcerer managed to keep out intruders up until now. Such dark magic sought out to corrupt anyone and anything. Other would have felt it too. They must have. When she opened the door, she gasped, the coolness that washed over her making her shiver and step back for a moment. But it wasn’t just that, it was that smell again. Death. So much stronger than before. It was all-consuming here.

Like this entire apartment, the room was dark too. In fact, it was much darker and she summoned her magic, so she could illuminate the space, searching for a light switch on the wall, but unsurprisingly, there was no electricity. She could see candles though and she lit some, hoping to see better, but as soon as she did, she wished she had never stepped foot in this place at all. Right in front of her, nailed to the wall, was a body. A human one. His eyes were carved out, the jagged edges around the wounds bloody. His chest had a hole too. Right where his heart was supposed to be. The organs were removed, gone now, probably taken by the monster who did this… She could see the poor man’s neck was snapped and she realized it’s probably how he died. Hopefully it was quick.

But what did The Sorcerer intend to do with the organs? He was going to use them for something. A spell. Another omen perhaps? And she needed to know what it was. Swallowing, Wanda forced herself to look away from the grotesque display on the wall, lighting the rest of the candles in the room, so she could see better. There was an alter here. It was obvious it grew, just as his obsession with dark magic did. Objects were placed there with great care, but as his collection grew larger, he had less space to fit them all. Idols, bones, figurines, objects with dark power… There was only 1 thing missing, a central piece that had its own place of significance. Something he must have taken with him. His book. The grimoire he used for his spells. It was gone… “Fuck!” She cursed under her breath, her eyes scanning the room frantically. There were other books. He must have moved those with significance here… Once he realized which ones were actually written by magic wielders. But the one he was using for his spells was gone. He was too. And she had no idea where he would be going. He must have known that someone was going to come for him. But how? “Damn it!” She screamed, a burst of magic knocking over his alter, his objects scattering on the floor, some, more fragile things breaking in the process. She wanted to hunt him down more than ever. She wanted to run out of the building as if she’d find him on the street, just waiting for her. But life was never that easy. Wanda walked out of the apartment with newfound determination, a stack of all his books trailing behind her, hovering in the air. She didn’t bother to hide her powers. In fact, she was hoping that he would be watching. She hoped he’d see her make her next move too. She made a call to S.H.I.E.L.D, briefly explaining the situation and she waited for the black cars to start coming. It didn’t take long. Agents were everywhere, surrounding the place and the one in charge approached her with careful steps. “Get all the people out.” Wanda said through gritted teeth. “This is a condemned building now.” “I understand.” The woman smiled at her, making a sign for the agent beside her to start spreading the word. “Top floor. That’s where he used to be.” Wanda continued, looking up briefly. “There’s a body inside.” The woman only nodded this time. Far more serious at the implications of another dead body. “Not one of his sacrifices. But it will be.” The redheaded woman continued, before the agent could interrupt her. “Just… Give the poor man a burial.” She said, a note of tiredness in her voice and she turned to leave. “And after that?” The agent spoke after her, stopping her in her tracks. Wanda looked back at the woman, then the building, ugly and grey and somehow more disturbingly unnerving than it was when she first came here. “Tear it down.” She said, a tremor in her hand giving away how much she wanted to do it herself. “Tear it down and salt the earth.” “Does that help?” The woman spoke again, thoughtful. “It has to.” Wanda said, her voice much smaller now. “It has to.”

---------------------------------------------------------------- It took me some time for the second part, but inspiration struck and I wrote this in 3 days. I'd love to know what you guys think! I have 2 more chapters in mind for this series. Should I write them too?

[wachi-delectrico]

Tank update!

On plants:

I keep having to trim back the rotala rotundifolia because it grows at insane rates and covers all the other plants, the light gluttons. The cryptocorine wendtii are doing much better: one that had completely melted is growing back leaves at really quick pace for a crypt; the one I accidentally cut the leaves of (was trying to cut a bad leaf and accidentally cut that one and the only other healthy leaf the plant had) is coming back and growing a new leaf slowly but surely after I cut its bad-looking roots and replanted it.

I'm fiddling with the amount of potassium I should add as fertilizer, since many plants started showing signs of a potassium overdose - started at 5ml, now 3ml to see if any signs of a potassium deficit show up.

I've also been experimenting with the placement for the CO3 diffuser* (*see: a chunk of aquarium sponge pushed into hose, lol). I've now moved it to where the bubbles rise to the filter's waterfall, so it naturally pushes and distributes smaller bubbles around while bigger bubbles get broken into smaller bubbles. The first location I put it on, one of the corners, worked ok-ish but it wasted a lot of CO2. The second location was right underneath the filter intake, testing if the filter's impeller could maybe break the bubbles and dissolve the CO2 in the water before going back into the tank, but that not only didn't work but also put extra stress on the impeller which made it very noisy and annoying lol. Its current location as previously described seems to be doing the best out of the three, with the plants releasing a lot of oxygen! :3

Lastly, I'm still experimenting with the light fixture. Went from two 325lm 6500k bulbs and one 475lm 2700k bulb, to changing one of the 325lm bulbs for an 800ml 6500k one, two having two 800lm 6500k + one 475lm 2700k, to taking the 2700k out. The two 800lm bulbs have a good reach and colour temperature, buuuut they did leave a darker spot right in the middle where the hygrophilla angustifolia are, so I added one little 325lm 6500k bulb back. Right now, I'm using two 800lm bulbs and one 325lm bulb, all 6500k, with the dimmer one right in the middle.

On water chemistry:

I've gotten the nitrate levels down considerably, from 120ppm (very unsafe and bad) to 20ppm (good :3), turns out the food I was using to up the ammonia created inconmensurable and uncontrollable amounts of waste, gracias Shulet ni para ciclar acuarios servís.

Speaking of ammonia, I'd gotten the ammonia down to 0ppm but these last few days I've noticed it increase up to 0.25ppm - possibly due to a drop in pH caused by the DIY CO2, which could mean the "ammonia" detected is actually ammonium, much less toxic than ammonia, as the API Ammonia test detects both and has no way to distinguish between the two. As An Autistic Guy obsessed with numbers and data and accuracy I'm so happy that the numbers are inaccurate and the test is so vague, I love that so much, it doesn't make me want to pull my teeth out at all (I am in pain).

Despite the "ammonia" issues, things look good rn! Especially thanks to keeping nitrates under control at long last, the presence of visible algae has started to decrease. I've been taking the brown algae out with a stick, and have been dosing hydrogen peroxide locally to the harder-to-deal-with filament algae to weaken it enough for the snails to go at it. I'm happy to report that the hydrogen peroxide has weakened the filament algae to a point where the nerite snail is able to eat it.

(All the little dots floating in the water are planorbis snail larvae that hatched today!! Yippee!!!)

On stocking:

It's still just snails for now. A week or two ago I discovered a bunch of dead or half dead planorbis snails in the filter intake tube, victims of the siren call of all the brown algae within it - apparently - though two adults survived and have laid various egg sacks on the glass, on plants, etc, so their presence in the tank will make a triumphant comeback for sure. The one adult bladder snail I had also fell victim to the filter intake, though that one's babies had been crawling around for a few days before its untimely death; there'll be plenty of snails going around for everyone. Don't worry, I've fixed the issue now and snails with shells that are 2mm thick or more will be safe from now on. The nerite hasn't laid any eggs yet, though when it does I'll probably scrape them off (they don't hatch in freshwater).

I'll be gone from monday til thursday, and though I'm a little worried (as always) I am also confident in that things will be fine once I come back. I'm really excited, I should be able to add the tank's main attraction, a betta fish, very soon. :3

[tsarisfanfiction]

And So We Tangled Back Together

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: Gen Genre: Friendship Characters: Clarisse, Michael, Sherman He'd been dead for two years. For two fucking years. But Sherman could see the ghost, too, and her hand didn't go through him when she reached out. Also related/a sequel to Dawn Rises From The East, although full knowledge of that shouldn't be needed as long as you know it's a Michael Lives!AU where Michael was amnesiac for two years - a few people, including me, really wanted the Michael&Clarisse reunion, so I finally got around to writing it! I have a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

Clarisse hurried up the hill, past the golden fleece and the sleepy Peleus, her spear clutched in one hand.

Sherman had been vague, when he’d IM’d her a few days earlier, telling her that she had to get to camp now and refusing to elaborate beyond assurances that there was not another war starting, Apollo had not ended up mortal for a third time, and no-one had died, and Clarisse didn’t like it.  She didn’t like not knowing, didn’t like the urgency in her younger brother’s voice, didn’t like the way he hadn’t seemed to be able to make his mind up on whether or not whatever needed her presence was a good thing or not.

He'd been excited, but in a subdued fashion, and anything that made Sherman subdued was not normally good news.  Things that made him excited…  Well, that was also a short list and combat-related activities normally topped it.  He was a son of Ares.

Being summoned mid-week, just as college was due to start for the fall, was concerning, and she hated that Chris hadn’t been able to come with her – his nursing course didn’t allow for things like summer breaks, and he didn’t have any days off he could take until next month, and Clarisse hadn’t been willing to wait that long when Sherman wanted her at camp now.

She missed his solid presence at her side, though.  With so much uncertainty, she could have done with it.

Sherman was waiting for her at the entrance to camp, where the ancient archway still stood and welcomed demigods into camp, the same way it had done for the years she’d lived there.  His back was ramrod straight, and his arms were crossed.  Tension screamed out from the set of his shoulders, and he had a new scar zig-zagging its way down his face since the last time Clarisse had seen him in person.

She hadn’t got the story out of him during their last IM, when she’d first seen it, and that either meant it was an embarrassing scar, or whatever Sherman had summoned her for was more distracting than showing off his latest badge of honour.

Clarisse hoped it was the former, and not just because it was her duty as his older sister to mock him for stupid scars, and get payback for all the years where he’d been a little shit, before the war – the first war, against Kronos, because they’d been through two together and word had it that there had been more battles during Apollo’s mortal phase that she’d missed and Sherman hadn’t – had sobered him up and he stopped challenging her for the rights to lead the cabin every other day.

“Report!” she barked at him as her march came to a stop in front of him.  He’d grown again; she had to look up a little, and Clarisse herself wasn’t short.  “What the fuck needed me here?”

She glanced past him, at the camp, and couldn’t see anything wrong.  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and that didn’t track with Sherman’s posture, or the fact that he’d insisted she come at all.

“It’s…” he started, stopped, and gritted his teeth, although he didn’t look away from her.  “It’s Michael.”

Michael?

The name immediately brought to mind fucking red and gold fletched arrows, shouts and insults, a figure too small for his age but with enough of attitude to more than make up the difference.

It had been two years since Manhattan, since she’d finally caught sight of all the Apollo campers – the surviving Apollo campers – and realised the short bastard was missing.  When she’d looked for him and heard that he’d fucking died, that there wasn’t even a body to burn.

Two years since she’d watched an empty golden shroud burn and cursed him for doing what she’d told him to for the first time in their lives as black guilt coiled in her gut.  She’d told him to die and he’d done exactly that, taking out a bridge in the process and halting Kronos’ advance, bought time for the rest of his siblings to flee to safety.

Two years since he’d sacrificed his life to protect his siblings and Clarisse had discovered the hard way that the bastard had shot his own fucking hole in her heart and that with him gone, there was a gap in her life that she’d never even noticed he’d filled until he didn’t, anymore.

But Michael was a common fucking name, and after two years there was no reason to bring him up again, so it had to be someone else, some other Michael-

“It’s him,” Sherman said, clearly reading at least some of her thoughts on her face, and Clarisse scowled as he continued.  “Michael Yew.”

Hearing his name, his name with no room for misinterpretation, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“The bastard died two fucking years ago,” she snapped, because Michael was complicated and Sherman knew she’d fucking mourned him already, in the privacy of their cabin late at night when most of them were trapped in nightmares and she couldn’t even fall asleep – didn’t need to, when it felt like the nightmares hadn’t bothered to fucking wait.  “Why the fuck are you calling me to talk about that short asshole that went and got himself killed like a fucking imbecile two years later?”

“Nice to see you again, too, bitch.”

The voice came from behind her, and up a little bit, and it was familiar, not just the sound of it which had haunted her memories and her nightmares for years, but the direction, too.

She whirled around, spear igniting out of habit and crackling in her ear as her eyes fell on Thalia’s old fucking tree, and the small figure perching in the lower branches, looking like he belonged there.

The fucking ghost perching in the lower branches.

Clarisse crossed the distance to the tree in the blink of an eye, her spear still crackling as she glared up at the apparition.  Behind her, Sherman let out a string of curses, making it clear that he saw him, too, so Clarisse wasn’t fucking hallucinating.

“I was going to tell her first!” he was growling up at the tree, but the small bastard perched there wasn’t even looking at him.  Familiar dark brown eyes, glinting the slightest tint golden in the sunlight, were glued to Clarisse.  Too familiar.

“Get the fuck out that tree,” she ordered, because it hurt, seeing him in the tree as though he’d always fucking been there, and also because she couldn’t see him properly, couldn’t be certain-

“Turn that thing off first,” he demanded, with a sharp glance at her spear.  “I’m not getting fucking electrocuted.”

Two years ago, Clarisse would never have done anything the bastard asked, but she needed fucking answers and she didn’t need the electricity active to skewer the bastard if this was wrong, if it all was all fucking wrong.  A flick of her wrist and she had the electricity deactivated, but she didn’t relax her grip on the weapon.

“Down,” she growled, and he dropped to the ground, barely disturbing the pine needles in the process, because the bastard had always been able to move through the trees like a fucking ghost.

He didn’t look like her memories.  Not quite.  His hair was longer, and his face gaunter, devoid of the teenage softness that he hadn’t quite lost entirely by Manhattan but seemed to be long gone, now.  His clothes didn’t quite hang right, not a perfect fit but more like he’d lost weight – like Chris had been, in the aftermath of the Labyrinth.

He looked older, but it had been two years.  Of fucking course he looked older.

He’d fucking grown, too, still a short fucking bastard but not as short as Clarisse remembered, another inch or two added to his height since she’d last seen him.

He was still a good foot shorter than her, though, and the way he looked up at her, chin tilted but always defiant, always challenging, never deferring, was the same it always had been, except there was a look hiding in the depths of his eyes that Clarisse could recognise, because it was coursing through her, too.

Fucking uncertainty.

Clarisse did not like being uncertain.

She lashed out with her empty hand and he was quick, had always been quick, but not quick enough to completely evade her at that range as she grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and bodily dragged him closer.

He’d never weighed much, by virtue of being so fucking tiny, but he was still a solid body and the resistance that fought against her was grounding.

He was there.

She was actually gripping Michael fucking Yew’s collar.  Two years after he’d fucking died.

Except there hadn’t been a body, and shit.

He was tugging back, glaring at her as he fought for his freedom, but it wasn’t anything like the struggles he used to do if she caught him.  It felt more performative than genuine, and the look in his eyes, that flicker of uncertainty was still there.

Clarisse leant her spear against the trunk of the tree and gripped him with her other hand, too, vaguely aware that he was straining on his tip-toes and that she was bearing a considerable percentage of his weight.  His hands wrapped around her wrists, tight enough to bruise, but she ignored them.

“Fucking answers,” she spat, leaning into his face.  “What the fuck, you bastard?  Two fucking years and you show your ferrety-ass face again?”

He bared his teeth in a snarl and it was familiar.  Normal.

Except that look in his eyes hadn’t gone away entirely.

“Clarisse!”  More hands joined Michael’s, and Sherman pushed her back, enough that she wasn’t in Michael’s face anymore even though she still had a solid grip on him and wasn’t letting go until she got her answers.  “Damn it, Michael, this was why I was going to tell her first!”

“She’s hearing it from me,” Michael snapped back, and Clarisse agreed with him.  Sherman meant well, but this had never been his fight.

“Back off, Sherman,” she warned, not looking away from Michael.  “Michael, talk.”

“Let go of me,” the son of Apollo shot back, but his fingers were still digging into Clarisse’s wrists, the grip white-knuckled, and Clarisse got the sudden, bizarre thought that she wasn’t the only one using physical contact to ground herself.

Had she been a hole for Michael, too?  But that didn’t make fucking sense, and even if it did, Michael had been the one missing.  She’d been at camp for another fucking year before leaving, easy to find if he’d just fucking tried.

She pushed him back, against the bark of the tree next to where her spear leaned, but let his feet fall flat on the ground again.  She didn’t let go, though, and nor did Michael.

“Talk,” she demanded, ignoring Sherman as he grumbled something and backed away.  He had always been smart enough to know when he wasn’t wanted, even if he was usually enough of a little shit to ignore it.

Michael glared at her, looking pointedly at her grip on his collar, but he spoke anyway, and Clarisse was not prepared for the answer.

“Traumatic amnesia,” he said shortly, daring her to challenge him.  It was absurd but it fit.  “When I fell from that fucking bridge I lost everything.  Didn’t even know my own fucking name.”

Clarisse remembered Chris, remembered the way he barely knew who he was, the way he didn’t recognise anyone, didn’t recognise her.  It hadn’t quite been amnesia but parts of it might as well have been.

Even two years ago, when she told Michael to fucking die, she wouldn’t have wished anything like that on anyone, not even Michael.

But it fucking fit, because Michael was an asshole but he would never put his siblings through that shit, never let them think he was dead if he had any say in the matter.  Not before Lee’s death, and definitely not after it.

If Clarisse was honest, Michael wouldn’t even pull that shit on her.  He was a sneaky bastard that loved to creep around in trees and hide and ambush with his fucking arrows out of nowhere, but faking his own death wasn’t his style.

“Where were you?” she demanded, because he had to be somewhere for the past two fucking years.

He had the audacity to fucking shrug at her, despite the grip she still had on his collar.  “Homeless.”

“For two fucking years?” Clarisse pressed, because homelessness and demigods was a common combination but it was also a dangerous combination.

It did explain why he’d lost weight, though.

“Yeah,” Michael confirmed, but he was defensive about it, a challenge in his eyes that looked familiar.  His what are you going to do about it challenge.  “Will found me three weeks ago.”

Three weeks.

Michael had been on the streets for two fucking years, and amnesiac the whole time, because if he hadn’t been he’d have found his own way straight back to camp.

Fuck.

“Fucking bastard,” she mumbled, but even she could tell there was no heat in her voice.  “You- fuck.  Mr D get your head back on?”

Michael’s face twisted into something that didn’t look happy.

“They came back on their own after Will found me,” he said, and Clarisse was no expert but two years of amnesia and everything coming back just like that didn’t sound right.

“What the fuck?” she demanded, and Michael still didn’t look happy.

“I don’t fucking know,” he snapped, and his grip on her wrists loosened, less restraining and more starting to push her away again.  She still didn’t let go, didn’t think she could let go.  “Get off me.”

“Clarisse-” Sherman said from behind her, but she ignored him.  She ignored Michael giving up on prying her hands away and shoving at her chest, too.  He’d never had the strength to overpower her, and that hadn’t changed.

Instead, she stepped in closer, towering over him and leaning the top of her head against the tree.

“You were fucking dead,” she said, and it was a good thing that the only people around were Michael and Sherman, because there weren’t many people she was comfortable letting down any walls around, and Michael didn’t make the list except this was about him and she had two years’ worth of guilt-laden grief that she’d never thought would have anywhere to go.  “I told you to die.”

Michael stopped trying to shove her away, his hands finding her biceps and resting there instead, not gripping tightly like he had been, earlier, but not trying to pry her off, either.

“I know,” he said, and it was calm, calmer than Michael usually was.  The fact that it wasn’t an argument, that he’d agreed with her was strange, too.  Wrong.  “I said some fucking stupid shit, too.”

He sounded tired, and strained.  It was probably the closest thing he’d ever said to an apology, to her.

Except it wasn’t, because he’d given her the chariot, back then, calling for a truce, asking for help, and she’d thrown it back in his face.  He’d only turned nasty after that, when she’d rejected the words but taken the chariot anyway, and even looking back she didn’t think the truce had been a true apology rather than a last ditch attempt to get the Ares cabin to fight, but in the weeks, months, years since, she’d realised how big even that had been, for Michael.

She’d been scared.  It had taken her time to admit it even to herself, but she had been scared.  It had taken her longer to realise, to accept that Michael had been scared, too.  Scared enough to ask her for help, but she hadn’t recognised it – and even if she had, she didn’t have enough faith in her younger self to think she’d have done anything different if she had.

“You bastard,” she grumbled, but it didn’t have any heat in it.

Nor did Michael’s returned, “bitch.”

She still didn’t let go of him, although her grip relaxed, fingers tangled in fabric with no desire to find their way out.  Michael didn’t start pushing her away again, either, his hands falling down by his sides as he leant back against the tree.

That wasn’t right, either.  Michael didn’t do that, but then Clarisse didn’t just stand there, loosely holding onto him with no intention of a fight, either.

But ten minutes ago, she’d thought he was dead.  She’d spent two fucking years believing him dead, living with the echoes of their last argument in her ears.

She didn’t think she wanted their arguments to resume again.  Not after how they’d ended last time.  Michael wasn’t spoiling for a fight, either, as passive around her as she’d ever seen him, and she thought that maybe, just maybe, they were in agreement for once.

What she didn’t know was what to do about it.  They didn’t do agreements, didn’t do civility.  They’d never managed that, always needed a buffer between them – it was no coincidence that their arguments had worsened after Lee’s death.

Sherman was still there.  She could feel his silent gaze on the back of her head, observing but not saying anything.  He’d never been enough to stop their arguments before; she didn’t think he’d manage now, either, if they started.

But he’d seen her mourning Michael, two years ago, and she’d been worried then about losing his respect, which she’d had to fight so hard to earn in the first place, but he hadn’t turned on her then, and two years on, she knew he wouldn’t turn on her now.  It mattered less now, anyway.  She was still his big sister but she wasn’t head counsellor, not anymore.

“Don’t fucking do that again,” she muttered, and felt Michael freeze.  “I thought you were fucking dead,” she added, the words spilling out before her brain could catch up.  “Dead, you bastard.”

Michael shifted, still trapped between her body and the tree, but it still wasn’t a fight to escape.  Instead, Clarisse felt a light pressure on her chest as his head leant forwards.

“I’m not dead,” he said, stating the fucking obvious, but it was tired, Michael was tired.

Clarisse was tired, too.  Too tired to turn it into an argument when it was obvious that Michael wasn’t angling for one.

“You fucking bastard,” she said flatly.  It wasn’t an apology, she wasn’t quite ready to apologise for the shit from two years ago even though she knew she needed to, but it was something and the way the weight increased against her chest told her that Michael understood.

She still wasn’t prepared for the word he mumbled, barely audible.  Just one word, a question and an offer and a promise all at once, and Clarisse couldn’t say no.  Should’ve said yes years ago, when there was a chariot between them, had regretted it in the years since and never expected to be faced with it again.

“Truce?”

Clarisse didn’t plan on making the same mistake twice.

“Yeah,” she said, and her hands finally fell from Michael’s collar.  “Truce.”

[sofasoap]

Lastochka AU - Strange encounter

Pairing : Nikolai x F!Reader ( OC/Mini MacTavish)

Summary: You just can't get a break, can you?

AU to my Lastochka series

WARNING: Mature Theme. Crack Fic. I repeat. Crack fic. don’t take it so seriously. Swearing, violence, death, innuendos.

A/N : The meaningless crack plot continues. Thanks to @siilvan for listening to my weird blabbering on Nik, and @gamergirlbones, here is the crack I promised. Not proof read. I am half asleep. I'll check it again later. * zzz *

masterlist

You crouch behind a dumpster bin, arms wrapping around your messenger bag tightly, panting away, listening to the shouts of foreign languages and footsteps running past your hiding spot. 

For countless times. You wonder why every strange thing has been happening to you, since you moved to this city. Getting picked up by a strange man, who turns out to be your brother’s work associate (with questionable background ), being set up by your best friend with the said dodgy person (well, you have to admit, it turns out to be a decent date. Ok. Pretty good date, you admit.) 

Now you are being chased by mobsters, who want to kill you. 

For reasons unknown. 

“Fucken bitch, think you can get away from us? Hand over the package!!” You made yourself even smaller as you heard the assailant yell out between the alleyways, voice getting closer and closer. 

What package?  You look at the manila envelope inside your bag, is this what they are after? Some business analytic report and boring colour samples your boss requested for the office renovation project? 

Wait. Now you remember. You walked out from the designer’s office, you ran into someone. Both of you dropped whatever was in your hand, apologising to each other as the other person scrambled to pick up the package on the ground, mumbling something incoherent before they scurried away in a hurry. 

The two packages look exactly the same. 

hell damn it. You picked up the wrong envelope. No wonder it weighs heavier than you thought.

Thinking back to your workmate’s joking words when you complain about all the bad luck and strange occurrences you had since you moved here ; 

“ The stars aren’t aligned right, or your chi isn’t matching with this city. Chaos is ruling the universe!” 

Or the goddess of fortune just playing jokes on you.

Banging noises and bins getting overturned snapped you out of self-deprecating musing. Gotta think something fast, you tell yourself, if you don’t want to end up on the news being a dead body floating down the city river, discovered days later. You would rather die from falling out of the helicopter, piloted by Nikolai. 

With a shaky hand and suppressing that fear slowly rising from your stomach,  you fumbled as you dug out the mobile phone from your bag, scrolling through the list of contacts and hoping Johnny isn’t on a black OP mission or middle of nowhere. 

Your thumb came to a stop when you saw a name on the list. Should You? Or should you not? 

Fuck this. Maybe luck will be on your side this time round, you press on the name of the contact, hoping for the best. 

One ring, two rings, three rings. “Come on.. Come on.. Please…” Praying in your mind as you hold your breath while biting your nail,waiting anxiously. 

“Hellllo, my Lastochka, have you finally decided on our third date?” Nikolai purred as he picked up the call. 

Rolling your eyes ,you whispered into the phone harshly, holding back the tears and panic. “There is NO third date if I am gonna die in this dumpster in the next ten minutes!!” 

“Where are you?” You can sense his immediate tone change. He speaks up again before you can notify you of location. “Nevermind, I will just track your phone. Stay where…”  Before he could finish you saw a shadow looming over you, with gun in hand. Letting out a scream and out of instinct, you dropped the phone and deflected the gun split second before the person pulled the trigger, bullet grazing your cheek. Swinging your bag into the person’s groin with all your might, you quickly crawl away as the attacker collapses onto the floor with pain. 

As you scurried away from the danger, you nearly forgot to pick up the phone. Ducking back to retrieve it, you notice the attacker slowly getting up, ready to fight again. Before they had the chance, you gave them another kick in the stomach and harder kick in the head, grab the phone and ran as fast as you could away from the alleyway. 

You didn’t get too far when you heard the sound of gunshots ringing between the buildings, people screaming, followed by a hand pulling you into a broad chest.

Very familiar warm chest and scent. Feeling of safety. Nikolai. 

“Seems I got here in the nick of time.” You feel his chest vibrating as he laughs at his own pun. “But I see you manage to defend yourself with no problem, little bird. Soap had taught you well.”

You would have collapsed on the ground with relief if he wasn’t holding you up with his strong arms. Turning yourself around to lean into his chest, “How did you get here so fast?” you asked. “Did you stalk me again?! Wait, you did, didn’t you? You mention something about tracking..” you looked up at him suspiciously. 

“That is another subject to discuss when your brother gets here next time.” he dismisses you lightly. “So, Are you ok? Why are the local mafia chasing you down??” Pulling you away from him, your body heats up as he cupped your face gently, scanning up and down your body, checking for signs of injury. He frowned as he saw the bullet burnt mark on your cheek, from the bullet barely dodged minutes ago. 

Closing your eyes as let out an exasperated sigh. You quickly recount all the events from earlier on the day. 

“So, here I am, nearly got gunned down, and have something in my possession which I shouldn’t have.” you concluded, fishing out the package from your bag. “I don’t even know what’s in there.

“Well, open it then.” Nikolai nodded towards the envelope, encouraging you to open the mystery package. 

Opening up the seal flap of the package, you took a good look inside. 

“Well, this is definitely not the colour swatch and carpet samples my boss asked for.” you closed the flap again, sighing. “You can have it. I can’t exactly have… that.. Things with me. I don’t know what to do with it.” 

Passing the envelope over to Nikolai, he opened it, eyebrow raised and said nothing. 

“What do I do now??” You muttered as you stood there, totally lost. “They know I had the package.. They are going to try to track me down.” You bit your lip, thinking hard. Should you go back to work? No, that will only bring trouble to more innocent people. Hotel? Out of option too. 

“I’ll sleep with you tonight.”

Did you hear him right?

“What????” you took a step back.  “Wait, wow, hold up! We are not up to that stage in our relationship yet!“ 

“Does that mean we will eventually get there?” He asked with a sly smile on his face, “should I be prepared? Get stuff ready? What would you like?” 

You are mortified, you are just digging a hole for yourself here. “Get your mind out of the gutter! We are talking about serious business here!” you berated him. “So what do you mean by sl.. Sleeping with.. With me tonight?”  you stuttered, face burning. 

“I’ll stay with you, until the situation resolves.” Patting you on the head. “I’ll contact Price later. See what he can do and organise. But in the meantime,  you are stuck with me.”

Honesetly? You don’t know if that is a good idea or not. 

But part of you can’t deny maybe it’s not such a bad idea as you sat on your bed, watch him changing out of his shirt into comfortable loungewear, you secretly gawked at his broad back and the corded muscle, how it flexes when he put one arm through the sleeves, and into another… 

“Should I take my pants off in front of you too?” Nikolai turned around suddenly, a devious smile on his face. 

Caught red handed. Well, not your fault when he decided to change in your room, with you in here. He claims he isn't leaving your side, “Just in case. They might break in any minute.” 

You had to kick him out of the bathroom when he tried to follow you in. “There’s no window in here!!! I will be alright!!” you half screamed and slammed the door into his face. 

“It’s not like I haven’t seen a dick before.” You retorted, giving him a nonchalant shrug, but in fact, you were nervous as hell. 

Nikolai hummed, his expression not giving anything away, and proceeded to remove his pants. You tried to look away, but you couldn’t. Oh, that’s a nice bulge. You noticed as he turned slightly, facing you side on.  You clamp your thighs tight subconsciously, a pool of warmth growing down there. Fuck. should have told him to sleep on the couch, so you could relief your self in private. 

A dip in the bed snapped you out of your daydream. You looked up, his beautiful dark eyes stares back at you. “Cm’ere  Lastochka. Sleep on this side.” he commanded. Leaving no room for argument. He is trying to shield you from the window and door.

Forever a protector. You feel both annoyed and touched by his action. Sick of being treated as a damsel in distress, but you know well that the situation is way out of your control, you would have died if he didn’t come to your rescue earlier this afternoon. 

Switching the bedside table light off, he tucked both of you in, kissing you lightly on the head. 

Not tonight. You are not going to give into your desire tonight. You are still in danger. It’s not time to think about how nice he smells, his large hand cradling your head, how well it will cup your pussy and it is ALSO not the time to think how his dick is gonna stretch you wide….

“You alright there?” he whispered.

“Why do you ask?” you replied, words slightly slurred, eyes half closed from exhaustion from the day’s event. 

“Because you are grabbing onto my shirt. Quite tightly too.” he mused. 

You let the shirt go immediately. Embarrassed, you flip your body away from him, ignoring his chuckle and force yourself to try to fall back to sleep. 

Your eyes shot open to the sound of glass breaking in the living room. Nikolai was already standing by the edge of the bed, back towards you, gun ready in hand. 

“Just as I predicted.” You can hear a gleefulness laced with malice in his voice. A hunter waiting for his prey to show up, ready to toy with them. 

The other side of Nikolai you have never seen before. It sends shivers down your spine. Note to self, you thought, never get onto his bad side. 

Shooting you a brief glance before turning back to face the door, he pointed to the pillow he was sleeping on, “There’s another gun under there. Grab it and stay behind me.” he commanded in a hushed tone. From your previous observation, how your brother and the boys behave, you know better not to disobey him when he is in full commander mode. 

Nikolai yanks the bedroom door open and throws a knife you didn’t notice he was holding into the first intruder’s throat, killing him instantly. You barely suppressed a scream as you saw the body collapsed onto the floor, blood flowing onto the carpet. 

Your landlord is going to kill you. Was your initial thought. How are you going to get rid of the blood stain?!!

The intruders were clearly caught by surprise. They were only expecting you inside the apartment. The other two immediately trained their guns at the two of you, but faltered when they saw who they were up against. 

Nikolai growled at them in a language you couldn’t quite understand, the two stunned assassins nodded quickly, dragging their dead team mate’s body with them as they hastily retreated from the broken window. 

You sighed as you looked at the damaged window. Now how are you going to explain that to the landlord too? Shaking your head, you moved behind Nikolai,avoiding the broken glass on the ground as you joined him peeking out the window, making sure the enemies were true to their word in retreat without causing further problems.

“What did you say to them????” you gaped in wonder, amazed how fast they came, and how fast they went. 

“Easy. I told them you are my wife. And if they lay a finger on you, they will have me to deal with.” You snapped your head towards him,  brain freezed for a second at what he has just told you.  

“This is what I propose, just in case they go and check the marriage registry. We should head to the registry office tomorrow to get married. So what do you say, Lastochka, will you marry me?” 

WHAT. DID .HE .JUST. SAY.

“..... get someone to clean up the carpet first before we discuss marriage please. I am going to lose my bond money because of that.” 

Tag list:

@homicidal-slvt @nrdmssgs @siilvan @roosterr

@preciouslittlecreature @jynxmirage @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot

@glitterypirateduck

@whydoilikewhump

@alypink

@liyanahelena

@caramlizedtomatos

@ashwasherelol

@okayyadriana

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The nurse and the nerd

Charlie Walker x fem!reader

warning : +18, handjob, kissing, implied drug use (medications), mentioning of wounds, no use of Y/n, minor degradation

Summary : After Ghostface had struck Jill dead in the hospital again by the heroine Sidney. But Charlie Walker, the second killer, has survived and is now in an asylum where he has a special relationship with a certain nurse…with even more special treatments

Info : Yeah back with Charlie I missed writting for the film nerd and thought hey what if...so yeah have fun reading and hope you like it ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was another massacre that struck the small town. Another night of murders that made everyone afraid, another night when the nightmare vans had to drive to a certain house. A night in which Ghostface was caught because he wasn't stabbed too hard. A fact that his accomplice would not live to see because she died at the legendary hands of Sidney, or so the news said.

Either way, it was the talk of the nightmares that were also running in the nurses' room of the prison…for weeks nothing else seemed to have taken hold of the boring little town, not that she was complaining but it was becoming such a hustle and bustle that it was almost too much.

,,It's a murder I mean murders and it's almost like the presidential election who's where and what" she said and heard the smirk of her superior who had been here for a while and had already noticed the Ghostface's first act. ,,Well, nothing else happens in Woodsboro and so we have a little celebrity here," she said, pointing to the room at the end of the corridor with the special patient.

He alone had already cost the Asylum a few break-out attempts and, above all, appointments with the press. She herself could hardly cope with the reporters' floodlights when she had to stand next to him.

That smile on his lips, confident and above all on her face…yes, she had read the interviews and he had almost gone a little too far. But she knew that the further she stood around, the longer it would take them to get home.

With a sigh, she took the silver tray on which the medication and bandages were lying before she said goodbye to her colleague with a ,,You can do it, ask for an autograph!", which was returned with a shake of the head before she left the nurses' room and went to her little darling. Knocking on the door and looking round one last time, she heard the almost cheerful ,,Come in" before she went into the room with the sign with Charlie Walker's name on it.

As always, she found him lying on the bed even though she was sure he was walking around, she had seen him walking around often enough, seen him doing other activities…special activities.

Yet he looked so innocent, not like a murderer, like a simple nerd. The long brown curly hair gently combed by him under her watch, the blue eyes that were still on her had never left her. The loose clothes, the white shirt that looked too big and the sweatpants that matched the grey socks.

,,You're back, my angel," he said, leaning forward slightly and making a pained face as if he was going to be stabbed again. But she shrugged it off with a roll of her eyes and put the tray on the white bedside table as she sat her down by his bed. ,,Oh, our little star is in need of help," she murmured, taking the newspaper from his lap and seeing that he had opened the interview.

His face, contorted with pain, showed a slight shame as she began to read through the interview. ,,Especially my personal nurse who takes such good care of me and looks after me, I really appreciate her," she read his last sentence and couldn't help but laugh reproachfully at his flattery and lies.

Rising from the bed, she set the paper down on the bedside table before grabbing the bandages and pulling his shirt off his torso without waiting. ,,Don't be so hasty, darling," Charlie began, but was interrupted when she pressed on the not yet fully healed cut and made him open up.

,,You appreciate me Charlie? I know you do but if this is how it's going to be I'm going to be transferred…it has to stay a secret understand?" she asked ignoring his pleading look to touch him more gently as she pressed a little harder on the wound and the gasp turned into a pained moan.

,,Yes-yes, of course, I'm just grateful," he said hastily and relaxed when she took the pressure off him and continued with her work. Her hands ran gently over his skin, cool, slightly rough hands from working with people. Rough hands like his hands that had once held a knife. Hands that now walked slowly to her, holding onto her like a helpless victim.

Yet they both knew that he was not a victim, he was the perpetrator who was now helplessly injured in the asylum and under her mercy. She ignored his hands and began to tend to his wound actually carefully and somehow lovingly at the end of the day she was not only paid for it maybe she liked it, maybe it was a mutual attraction.

His need for her and her care that was almost taken up by the younger one. Fortunately, the stitches were not fatal, he was given pills for the pain, to sleep and when he was exercising, but otherwise he was fine.

So well that she knew where this meeting would go again when she saw his gaze avoid hers once more, her gentle touch something he did not deserve. Kirby had only ever played with him, the stupid bitch had to die for it, it was that simple, but she was his pretty nurse, she was good to him.

Didn't see him as a loose cannon and looked after him almost like a mother, while she was just the right amount of strict. ,,What are you daydreaming about Charlie?" she mumbled to him, seeing him flinch as if she had caught him doing something when he tried to sit up slightly, but her hand came to rest on his middle. She wasn't stupid, of course, she had seen him look at her in shock, almost holding his breath, a wince going through his hips and legs several times.

He was a little sucker for pain, even if he didn't want to admit it. ,,Nothing…I really don't…only your care is so good," he stammered, his blue eyes darting around and repeatedly lingering on the bust of her body pressed against the white fabric of her uniform.

The white trousers that framed her behind and his gaze always rested on them when she turned round, her hips framed by the white shirt on which he would so like to lay his hands.

He had fallen for the angel in the white dress, his sweet nurse who treated him so well. He barely noticed how his cock began to show through his jogging bottoms as her fingers slowly closed around his hardness and she leaned towards him.

Her smell surrounded him as he moved his hips with a whimper, trying to get more friction as she held him out. ,,I'm good so good for you, aren't I?" she asked, whispering the words to him as he nodded his head into the pillow, begging her to kiss him.

Briefly sloppy and rewarding as she began to stroke his cock. Sensing how needy he was even though they had done this several times, he never seemed to get enough of her.

She knew that anyone could come into the room but where would the fun be if they didn't? ,,You know you deserve it all, don't you? The pain, the stalling…a naive virgin," she chided as she ran her other hand over his body, squeezing the wound lightly again, his groan louder than before as he thrust against her, trying to get more of that feeling.

,,Y-yes I deserve…it all ma'm all" he mumbled chuckling his head moving back and forth into the pillow praying her words and amusement made his cheeks redden.

He continued to cling to her with his hands, his pleading and begging more interrupted only now and then by her kisses that stifled his whimpering pathetic noises.

His moans and whimpers filled the room with shameless noises, the almost wet squeaking coming from his cock, the precum running out of the tip in single drops every time she ran her thumb over the sensitive tip, squeezing it slightly and making it twitch again.

The space when they were together seemed to get smaller just the two of them. An unfortunate murderer rubbing against her like a writhing worm not a picture of a poor murderer being deceived.

He was the scum of society, a thought that had often crossed his mind as often as he served, his pretty blue eyes releasing those tears.

Kissing away his tears, taking away his pain from her before she got tired of his pleading. ,,I'll let you come if you don't open your sweet little mouth like that in public," she demanded, watching his foggy mind try to make sense of her words. His puffy lips red from the kisses and his biting on them to stifle the embarrassed noises.

,,Yes-yes-yes please…I'll be quiet…I promise," he mumbled, barely able to contain himself as his partner watched this for a few more moments before she let him come, picking up the pace one last time and pressing her other hand to his mouth. Stifling a loud moan, he felt the last twitching movements go through his body as his body stilled and she took her hands off him.

Watching him close his eyes, his chest rose and fell and he relaxed as she cleared her throat, ,,Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked, holding out the cum-stained liquid on her hand. He might be cute, amorous and sweetly pathetic but in the end he was a murderer, a patient under her over whom she had power.

Like a good eared boy, he wouldn't get out of here without her and as he looked at her with a pleasurable, perversely flashing look before licking her hand.

Her praise for him was pleasure she knew that if she continued this game he would not only be hard again but he would also beg to kneel in front of her, leaning between her thighs. ,,If only the press knew what kind of murderer you are," she said as she gathered her things and saw how the words must have struck the right chords in his head.

He probably swallowed hard as he imagined her giving interviews on camera while he knelt before her. He was getting love and part of a film epic.

She fixed the things on the silver tray before giving him one last kiss on the forehead, knowing that when the door closed behind her, those ominous noises would come from his cell again until she started her next shift…her next shift to take care of her good boy and not a murderer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@icarus-star , @roryculkinsgf , @angelsanarchy , @ria-coolgirl , @sl4sh3rfuck3r , @eddie-munsons-mommy

[scotianostra]

12th August 1332 saw the Battle of Dupplin Moor when Scots under Domhnall II, Earl of Mar are routed by Edward Balliol.

As battles go this was a disaster for the Scots fighting on behalf King David II, who was a child at the time. So what went wrong?

Looking at the figures Balliol’s army that included the disinherited and mercenaries from England and Wales, who really should have had no chance.

The numbers involved, as usual vary, some say there were about 5,000 Scots, but it is generally said that at least 15,000 were fighting for the Scottish King, son of Robert the Bruce, other sources put the number at up to 40,000. The usurper’s army has been put at around just 1500, they were outnumbered by 10 to 1.

After a skirmish at Kinghorn, where they landed, the Disinherited soon marched for Perth, to engage the smaller of two armies that were being mustered against them. A few miles to the south west of the town, on Dupplin Moor, a heavily outnumbered, mainly English force, destroyed the far larger Scottish army, using tactics that would make English armies a dominant force in Europe for the next hundred years. Edward III of England was using this as more or less a testing ground for his new highly disciplined bowmen that he “lent” Balliol.

The Scottish army under the experienced regent Donald of Mar was split into two divisions, most of whom were carrying the traditional Scottish long spear. The English adopted tactics they would put to good use in the decades after, , where the men-at-arms all dismounted and formed into lines to protect the ranks of Welsh mercenary longbowmen, on loan from Edward III. Since the Scots had the advantage of numbers and naturally wished to drive the invading force from Scottish soil, they attacked and charged Balliol's lines with the Highland charge, however they failed to break through and were pressed back; thus exposed on the field of battle they became targets for the longbowmen and the Scots were hit by the volleys of arrows sent in their direction. The second Scottish division was then ordered to attack and split into two columns and tried to outflank Balliol's force. This second charge got nowhere near Balliol's lines as they too were cut down by the volleys of arrows sent in their direction. Once the second charge had failed the Scots fell back in disarray, their retreat being hampered as they stumbled amongst the casualties already lying on the ground, making themselves even easier targets for the enemy longbows. The battle turned into a rout and according to one account the Scottish dead were said to he piled fifteen feet high whilst the English men-at-arms patiently waded through the battlefield finishing off any Scot that showed any signs of life. By the end of the battle the Scottish dead included the earl of Mar himself, the earl of Menteith and the earl of Moray, the High Chamberlain Alexander Fraser, eighteen other Scottish barons and at least 2,000 soldiers from the Scottish army. (Although estimates of the Scottish dead vary wildly and as high as ten or thirteen thousand in some cases.)

You know I like to delve into the chroniclers of the day, as close as we get to a newspaper in medieval times, and if you follow my posts you will also know that, much like today they were biased in there reports. The main English chronicle of the day was written by the Franciscan monks at Lanecrost.

Priory of Lanercostewas in northern English, in what is now Cumberland, it covers the history during the years 1201 to 1346. Not surprisingly the Monks were Pro-English, probably what we would call a headline nowadays the Monks reported that in Perthshire at the battle "A most marvellous thing happened that day..." The chronicler's definition of 'marvellous' might not be everyone's, as he was enthusing over the great piles of dead soldiers that lay on the field of Dupplin Moor - "the pile of dead rising up from the ground was more than a spear's length in height", drooled the chronicler, clearly experiencing a tight little thrill of ecstasy at the thought.

Another chronicler and historian John Capgrave wrote an account almost 200 years that would have been drawn from the more contemporary Lanecrost accounts and describes the carnage at Dupplin thus;

In this battle...more were slain by the Scots themselves than by the English. For rushing forward on each other, each crushed his neighbour, and for every one fallen there fell a second, and then a third fell, and those who were behind pressing forward and hastening to the fight, the whole army became a heap of the slain.

The true casualty figures will likely never be known, but it seems clear that the Scots casualties were in the thousands, while the Disinherited lost two knights and 33 squires. It was one of the worst defeats suffered by the Scots on home soil. Scottish casualties were divided between the large number that were killed in the main body of the fighting and those who were able to retreat and start to escape the battle.

Edward Balliol would eventually be sent scampering back to England, I have covered him in other posts throughout the year.