#I could go on but no I shant this post is long enough

[shellibocs]

New oc's hello!!!!!! Would love to know more about indira and delia! What do they do, where do they live, do they travel? Who are they close with, any enemies? What are their hobbies, do they have any big dreams for themselves?? 👀👀👀

TEEHEE op ur opening a bit of a pandoras box with this ily thank u

SO INDIRA otherwise known as indi, is an alchemist originally from novigrad but settled in velen bc. she got the fuck outta dodge with the witch hunts. most of her day to day is spent making potions and salves for nearby villagers, but she does dabble in the darker side of alchemy, she’s basically like. a victor frankenstein esque character trying to create life. she’s a little bit of a freak, she doesn’t talk to the villagers around her so she kind of. gets lumped in with the crones and witches in the area.

she’s settled kind of near crookback bog, and bc of that she meets ciri shortly after her encounter with the crones. she helped patch ciri up and over the time ciri was staying with her, the two got close. ultimately though ciri did have to leave, which left indi a little heartbroken. she decides she wants to be with ciri even if it’s dangerous for her, so she joins geralt on his mission to find ciri, meeting @viktorgf ‘s sybil, @auricfog ‘s lucina, and @risingsh0t ‘s satine along the way!

in my minds eye. she looks like this

miss delia henrietta von frey, or just delia, is the daughter of a baronet and comes from a family that funds archaeological expeditions and excavations due to her father’s interest in history, mainly ancient civilizations. delia inherited this interest from her father and spends a lot of her time studying these civilizations when she’s not being forced to socialize by her family. she struggles with socializing, because she is a chronic yapper and is a little bit of a know it all. she also doesn’t get out much because of her family, but she is constantly trying to go on expeditions with the archaeologists.

she meets alucard when he somehow made it to london and was asking around about sekmet’s tomb. delia, again being a chronic yapper + know it all + special interest in ancient civilizations, “um actually”ed her way into the conversation which lead to her accompanying him on his trip to egypt. after that, she travels with him for 3 years until the events of castlevania: nocturne, and by then the two are pretty close. he’s taught her how to fight, taught her some spells, gives her a cloak that he’s warded to protect her. she’s able to info dump about history to him, with him occasionally adding in bits from his own life since he is 300 years old at that point. throughout season 2 they have a sort of will they won’t they thing going on, until by the end of the season he decides to make the jump and tell her how he feels. I have entirely no clue what is going to happen if there is a season 3 of this show but in my head, her and alucard continue to travel around, probably helpig rebuild Paris or following richter and annette to Saint-Domingue. unsure! either way she’s going wherever he does.

in my minds eye, she looks like this

[maximusboltaqon]

nothing like looking directly at maximus references to realize just how much longer i draw his hair 😳

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my babies!!!! Holy fuck. Wow. I actually can't believe it. I may or not be crying a lil bit because here we are. Here is the final chapter of Smoke, Fire and Ash (besides the Epilogue that is coming tomorrow!). I really can't believe it. This has been such an insane journey to be on. I started writing this fic for my best friend, just emailing her updates, and then she convinced me to post online, so in January (thats how long this thing has been going lol) I started posting with you all!!!

I really cannot thank you guys enough for all the continuous love and support you have given me with this fic. All the memes and laughs and theories and messages, I have absolutely adored talking to you all and getting to share this with you! ARGHHH. I could say so much more, but I shant.... nay.... I wont. haha, so again, thank you all so much, and I hope that when the Epilogue is posted tomorrow, that we can all close this story together neatly! Can't wait to keep writing new stories for you all.

ENJOY! <3

FINAL CHAPTER 109: Through Smoke, Fire and Ash 

There was no singular way to describe how you were feeling. 

No singular way to explain the confusion of grief and both elation that swirled within you. You supposed, this was how Rhaenyra must have felt when she had her hasty coronation on Dragonstone. 

How does one see the light when they are shrouded in so much darkness? 

How is one supposed to smile through all the losses?

Because the shadows outweighed it all, much heavier than the Conquerors Crown you had worn, the weight of the world sitting atop your shoulders and spine, pushing down on your vertebrae with a force that could buckle your knees. One wrong shift and the fragility of your bones and muscle may cause it to crack, collapsing beneath you.

It had been days and yet, it still felt as though it was yesterday when you had driven your dagger into his neck. You could still feel the way it had felt when it pushed through his muscles and tendons, how his body had resisted it. How he had tensed beneath you jolting, how his eye had opened wide in pain and shock.

How he had looked at you.

How it had smelt, the iron of the blood on your hands, your body, in your hair.

All of it.

And at times, during those days that passed you, you would wake in a cold sweat, drenched in perspiration as you dreamt of doing it over and over. Dreamt of watching the light fade from his eyes. Dreamt of the smell, the blood.

And each time you would wake, tears falling down your cheeks and heart rattling against your ribs, your eyes would fall to your hands and a small cry of horror would leave your lips.

Each time, your hands were covered in his blood.

The first few nights that it happened, you would race to the basin beside the bed, desperate to wash the blood away, clawing at your skin with your nails as you scrubbed them raw, sobbing loudly in the chambers.

And each time, Ser Darke at your door would alert the Queen, and Rhaenyra would rush to your chambers in her nightgown, gripping your hands as they dripped with water, not blood, and would whisper to you that it was okay, that it was over, that you were clean.

Each time she would pull you away from the basin, hands raw and sometimes bleeding from your own nails, and would take you to bed, laying down first to clutch your head against her chest as she would hold you, and you would sob.

But after the eighth night of your new and horrifying routine, you woke and looked at your hands.

Blood again.

But this time you did not scream, this time you did not race to the basin to try and wash it away. This time you sat up against the back of the bed and stared at your hands until the sun had risen into the sky, and the maids came to get you ready for the day.

And it was much the same.

For many days after.

You would dine with your family, and there he would be, in the corner of your eye watching you.

Always watching you.

And each time that his shadow would catch your eye, you would know to not react when your eyes would catch glance of your hands, covered in his blood once more.

As though he was punishing you.

Your mother and father, if you suspected that she had told him, were the only ones to know about your crumbling stability. But as the days passed, and almost a moon had turned, it got better.

Easier.

You could now look at your hands without recoiling, and some nights you would not dream of him. Some nights you would not dream at all, and would sleep the entire night through.

And when you did wake up, the smell of blood beneath your nose, you would hold your stomach, the smallest of swells beginning to show, and soothe the skin with your palm, hushing the babe inside of you as you whispered to yourself that it was all okay.

But by the time the moon had turned, you had begun to make your peace with it. Begun to understand that this was your penance for such horrors. That this would be your atonement for what you had done.

A punishment that you would not deny.

This morning however, was different.

Today you would put on a brave face for the realm, not just for your family, who treated you with with such exceptional kindness and patience that it often brought you to tears.

Today the mask of impassivity, the mask of strength and triumph would be slipped over your face for all to see. As was your duty. As was always your duty.

Saria and Aella brushed their gentle hands into your hair as they braided it back against your skull in intricate twists and weaves that lifted it from the nape of your neck completely, whilst Joanna and Amala tended to tightening your gown at the back. 

Your reunion with your two maids had been a tearful event, but smiles were shared after all eyes were red and raw from broken sobs and shared stories, minor tales of survival.

You held your hands at your front, observing yourself in the vanity of your old chambers, unwilling to enter Aemond’s again, not knowing if the stench of blood and memory of the past would be the last thread to be pulled, and your crumbling resolve would snap, and you would be lost to madness like Helaena had been, the weight of it all sinking you into the ground.

The necklace in your hands had warmed in your palms and fingertips, as you pressed the pad of your thumb into the chain, feeling each ridge of the Valyrian steel beneath it, using it to ground you, attempting to count each notch in the chain to help quell the rising tide within.

When Saria and Aella finished their braiding, they moved to place the headpiece atop your hair.

It had been old, far older than you or your parents.

The Valyrian steel had been a relic, a thick band that wrapped around your skull like a crown, that then had four similar bands that smoothed over the top of your scalp, meeting at the top of your head. 

Pressed into the Valyrian steel were round and square cut rubies, and dragon glass all the way along its surface, glimmering in the light, with small coils of gold that were nestled between each jewell. Three emeralds were newly laid amongst the rest, one at each point at your temple, and the last at the back of your head.

It was not heavy like the Conquerors Crown, but it had a weight to it, pressing down onto your head as the girls adjusted it to fit. Adjusted it to look weightless. But there was the invisible weight of it too, and that squeezed at your ribs causing you to be breathless. 

Saria moved to stand in front of you, looking at the chain that you held in your palm.

“Your Grace, might I?” She asked, a hand reaching out to offer to put the necklace on.

You nodded at her and gave her a small, yet stiff smile as she took it from your grasp, watching yourself in the mirror as she came to move behind you, hands fiddling with the clasp as she draped it across your neck. 

The gown you wore was the last piece Aemond had made for you, and one you had not worn yet. But today you would. Today you would carry him with you as you took yourself down to the throne room. 

It was a deep red, almost the colour of blood when it would begin to dry, with gold and black dragons and flames embroidered at the cuffs of your wrists, making their way up your forearm. The bodice of the dress was tight, and in its centre, a gold, beaded dragon, marked with black shivering beads that looked like scales.

A homage to the first dragon you had claimed, and lost. 

From each shoulder, sat a large golden clasp, holding a set of three chains that hung across the neck. But they were not usual chains, instead, they were made to look like stems from a rose bush, pointed thorns all around its length, sharp and menacing.

Placed atop the gown by the help of Joanna and Amala sat the black and gold cloak your mother had worn many years ago for her coronation. It still smelt of her.

Saria finished clasping the necklace at the back of your neck, and stepped back, all the maids looking over you one last time to ensure that you were perfect.

They deduced that you were.

From behind you in the mirror, you could see the figure of Jacaerys as he entered your chambers, adorned in a vision of red and black, the colours of your House.

You spun to look at him, his eyes roaming over your body with the softest of smiles on his lips. His hair had been brushed back and away from his face, curly brown locks tucked behind his ears by small falling braids, gold clasps at their ends to hold them together.

“You were born for this.” He whispered, stepping towards you to take your hands in his, “Are you ready?” His thumbs brushed against your knuckles softly as he watched you.

You swallowed. 

Were you ready?

Would you ever be?

No.

But you had to be.

“Yes.” You lied.

His large calloused hand moved to cup your face before pressing a kiss to your cheek lovingly, a habit that he had inherited from your mother, and something that he no doubt pressed against Baela’s furrowed brows and cheeks when needed.

Jacaerys' gaze dropped to your neck, and then back to your face as he blinked but said nothing, instead offering an arm to you to walk down together.

Resting against your neck, warmed by gentle hands that had held it, atop the cloak for all to see, was the necklace that Aemond had given Alys. 

That your mother and father had then given to you. 

And which you had plucked the emeralds from, not wishing to wear them around your neck, instead placing them within the piece that sat atop your head. A reminder.

At the centre of the Valyrian steel, the chain flush against you, was a steel dragons claw that hung from its centre, and in its grip a large spherical sapphire. 

Taken from the ashes, as a reminder, as a lasting piece that you could have and hold.

The last piece of him.

Aemond’s eye.

"Shall we?”

You looped your arm in his and made your way down to the Iron Throne chambers together. Always together. Through thick and through thin, you shared the blood of Old Valyria, and the both of you had shared a womb, nothing could seperate you. 

Your hand pressed against your necklace as you walked, feeling the weight of it with every step. Feeling his presence despite not being visible to your eye.

It helped to calm you strangely, helped to give you strength, to give you some sort of hope and feel as though he approved. You hoped that he would. You thought that he would.

He would.

In no time at all, you stood before the two large doors at the entrance to the Iron Throne. Jacaerys stilled, unlinking his arm from yours as he brushed his sweaty palms against his robes. Another habit the two of you shared.

You frowned at him, worry beginning to burrow itself in your chest. You stepped forward to cup his face in both hands, “Do you hate me? For what I am about to do?”

Jacaerys' lips pulled into a lopsided grin, hands coming to grasp yours, “I could never, not now, or in any other lifetime, come to hate you. You are my sister, and I have always held firmly in my beliefs that it should be you to sit the Iron Throne. How could I hate you for taking something that was never to be mine?”

You felt your eyes well with tears, relief pouring from you.

Jacaerys shook his head softly as he chuckled, towering over you, “Don’t cry. You’ll look a mess.”

A laugh bubbled up your throat and you tapped his cheek lightly.

“They’re waiting for me. Actually, waiting for you.” He breathed, stepping back, looking at you one last time as his fingers brushed the necklace, touching the orb that sat against your chest.

Jacaerys breathed deeply as he looked at it, gnawing at it his lip as he held it softly.

You watched his face as he thought for a moment, eyebrows twitching, but then breathed his thought aloud.

"He would be proud.”

You could tell it had taken a lot of Jacaerys to say that.

And yet he did.

You blanched, and the tears that you had tried to hold at bay trickled down your cheeks, hot trails dripping down onto the stones below. 

Jacaerys frowned, head dipping down to your level, “Please don’t cry. Mother will have my head.”

You chuckled wiping the tears away with the back of your hand.

“Away with you then, the sight of you brings me to tears.” You half laughed and half sobbed.

Your brother swiped up a stray tear that had escaped your eyes before he gave a deep and mocking curtsey to you, his curly brown hair flopping against the sides of his face, “At once, Your Grace.” And with that, Jacaerys slinked into the chambers, announced loudly by Ser Erryk inside. 

The doors shut behind him as you heard the crowd inside slowly quieten. You straightened your posture, heart beating against your chest with every breath.

But there would be no waiting, nor halting of what was to come. No moment of stilling for just a breath more to catch your bearings. Because if life had taught you anything, it was that the world does not slow for anyone, and it shall continue to move forward without you, even if you are trapped in the past. 

And so forward, you went.

The doors were pulled open, and you felt each and every eye in the throne room turn to you. All Lords and Ladies from across the realm, Heads of their Houses and knights, watching as you made your way towards them. But your eyes were solely on your parents. 

Queen Rhaenyra was seated upon the Iron Throne, dressed head to toe in black and red, gold crown of her father, the crown of King Jaehaerys before him, seated atop her skull and pride in her eyes. 

Your father, King Consort Daemon Targaryen, stood at the bottom of the throne, hands in front of him as he grinned ear to ear, watching as you descended the stairs and walked towards them.

Atop his head, the Conquerors Crown.

Just as you had told him to wear.

‘This is yours now.’ You had told him, and he had argued, but you had insisted, ‘Return it to me when I sit the Throne.'

“Princess Y/n Velaryon, First of her Name, Daughter of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.” Ser Erryk’s voice boomed into the chambers, and you had to suck in a stiffening breath as you felt pangs of fear wind through you. 

It was almost like the days you had been brought before Aegon, the strange feeling of remembrance racing through you icily. Remembering how it had felt to be presented to this throne twice before.

But it wasn’t the same. 

There was no danger here, only love, and care, and trust. But this did not stop your mind from racing, or your heart from jumping in your chest as you stood before your mother, looking up at her.

Rhaenyra looked out at the sea of Lord and Ladies who stood in the Hall, all having travelled from their lands to come to the Red Keep for you.

All who had sworn themselves to her. 

All who were willing to do it all again. 

“Let all who stand here today, who have travelled across the Seven Kingdoms, who have sailed the seas and ridden to Kings Landing,” Her voice boomed across the room, steady and even, “Bear witness to the naming of Princess Y/n Velaryon as my successor for the Iron Throne.”

You smiled softly at your father before turning around to face the room, looking out at all who stood present, and had come to declare for your mother. 

For you. 

Some faces you recognised, others you did not. House sigils were pressed or stitched into robes and cloaks or armour, House colours adorned on shoulders and skirts. Men and woman of all kinds filled the chambers of the Iron Throne ready to swear their fealty.

Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys were the eyes you found first, standing at the front with your half sister Princess Rhaena beside them. All had their heads towards you, Rhaena grinning widely, whilst Rhaenys dipped hers in a subtle nod, the tiniest of smiles on her lips. 

Lord Corlys however, did not smile, nor nod, but looked at you in appraisal. In pride. He had always treated you as his granddaughter, and despite you knowing the truth about Laenor, it did not take away that he had been a father to you, and Corlys, a grandfather.

At the sides of the chambers, your brothers stood and watched, and it took everything within you to not cry as one head of brown was missing. 

You swallowed thickly as Rhaenyra continued.

“Your loyalty to the true heir of the Iron Throne has not been forgotten. Your sacrifices to regain the throne are not forgotten. All Lords and Ladies who stand before the throne today have shown their loyalty, bravery, and defiance in the face of turncloaks and usurpers. Have shown support of my cause, and my claim as the rightful heir and ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. So today,” She breathed behind you, “I, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, ask that you to do so again. Pledge fealty to the throne and its rightful heir before the Old Gods and the New. Promise your faith, and know that if it is broken, there will be no mercy given to those who go against it.”

You breathed again, feeling your hands begin to sweat. 

This was all you had ever wanted. 

This was all that you had ever dreamed of. 

But there was so much missing from it.

So many missing.

It was a dream that you had thought was lost. Gone with the marriage, gone with Lucerys. Gone to Jacaerys. Gone with the war. 

But here you were, before the eyes of the Heads of the realms Houses, having your succession be named before the Gods, and their fealty sworn to you.

“Step forth now, and make the pledge.”

The first to move, was the silver locks of Lord Corlys Velaryon. He moved with no hesitancy, with a speed that had rivalled all others, moving to stand before you, slowly lowering himself to his knee as he bowed his head. 

Ser Erryk announced him to all present, “Lord Corlys, of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark.”

Corlys lifted his head to look at you, his deep voice moving through the chambers, “I, Lord Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark, promise to be faithful to Queen Rhaenyra and her named heir, the Princess Y/n. I pledge fealty to them, and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and New.” The Lord stood, moving back to his wife and granddaughter, where he kept his eyes upon you, a small nod tipped towards you and the throne. 

Warmth bloomed in your chest as you smiled at him softly. He was still, in your eyes, your grandfather.

The elder Lord Staunton was next, stepping forward to the middle of the aisle of people, bending his knee down slowly until it rested against the stones, bowing his head.

“Lord Simon Staunton, Lord of Rooks Nest, and Head of House Staunton.”

“I, Lord Simon Staunton, Lord of Rooks Nest and Head of House Staunton, promise to be faithful to Queen Rhaenyra and her named heir, the Princess Y/n. I pledge fealty to them, and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and New.”

Lord after Lord, Lady after Lady, Heads of Houses, young and old, stepped forth to kneel before you and pledge their allegiance and fealty to you, naming you as the successor to the Iron Throne.

All you could do was stand and watch, pride and vindication blooming in your chest warmly.

The last man stepped forward, but his robes were far different to those who stood amongst the rest. You watched in interest as he bent his knee.

He would be no older than Aemond had been. His hair was a dark brown, long and pulled away from his face by a clasp at the back of his head. 

As he bowed to you, Ser Erryk Cargyll announced him to the throne room, voice loud behind you, icy grey eyes lifting to meet yours.

“Lord Cregan Stark, Wolf and King of the North, Lord of Winterfell and Head of House Stark.”

Lord Cregan Stark had a long face, not in the way that Aemond had, but Cregan’s thicker, and fuller. Cheeks wider and more muscular, and lips that were dutifully kept still. Furs lined the neck of his robes, and large silver wolf heads clasped it together in a chain at the front.

“I, Lord Cregan Stark, Wolf and King of the North, Lord of Winterfell and Head of House Stark,” His was voice was deep and smooth, his accent lilting upon every word he spoke, “Promise to be faithful to Queen Rhaenyra and her named heir, the Princess Y/n. I pledge fealty to them, and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and New.”

The entire time he spoke, he kept his eyes on you. 

You blinked as he stood, towering taller than most men in the room, and watched as he moved back to his place, feeling a pull towards him in your chest. 

There was no denying that he was handsome, a certain roguishness to him that only men in the North had. His shoulders were broad, and he looked to be a seasoned swordsman with large hands that he clasped at his front.

He did not smirk at you as Aemond would have when he caught you staring, and instead bowed his head out of curtesy and respect. 

You swallowed and looked away, turning to finally face your mother, who sat upon the throne, crown atop her silver hair, and large blade at her side, hand rested on top of the hilt. She looked down at you with bright and violet eyes.

You bowed your head to her, momentarily looking down at the stones, where stains of red sat beneath your feet. 

It was clear there had been an attempt to scrub it free, but the blood of Aegon Targaryen had sat at the foot of the throne for too long, and its viscousness had sunk deep into the porous stone.

When you lifted your eyes back to your mother Rhaenyra, she stood, looking out at all those present. All who had stayed loyal, all who had sworn their loyalty again. To the Houses that had sacrificed men in the battle for the throne, a mere moon before. To the Houses who had stayed true to their loyalty. 

And then, to you. 

To the one person who had made it happen. To the one person who ensured her seat. Months in waiting, months of torture and depravity. Months of sheer will to complete what she had started.

The realm knew you as many things.

The People’s Princess. The Bastard Princess. Survivor at Storms End. The Merciless. The Realms Despair. The Kinslayer. The Claimer of Two. King Maker. Queen Consort. Wife to the One-Eyed King. The Broken Queen. 

King Slayer. 

Queen Maker. 

And a Queen for a Day.

But now you would be known as something that was rightfully, birthright and earned, yours. 

“I, Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Roynar, and The First men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do hereby name, Y/n Velaryon, Princess of the Realm, the Heir to the Iron Throne.”

Heir to the Iron Throne.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[aldritch-ao3]

genuinely this is my fav jjk fic ever. better than canon. i like how seamlessly you weave in all the new lore! The way we slowly learn more about jian's life (and btw. character who is possesive as fuck? yeah:3 thanks) is so well done. the interactions between jian & the rest of the cast kill me - i think part of the reason i ship everyone/jian is because you write their interactions so well it just feels like you can already tell how their relationship would progress, like it would be the most natural thing in the world. also more jian+gojo interactions. 4 me. or more jian+geto interations. 4 me. or- this fic is the one i am most excited to see update in my bookmarks atm, i'm so obsessed. genuinely feels like it's own origional story. jian is my #1 fav guy of all time. i am right behind you in being about to make jian doll. also i love the way you make og!naoya feel like a part of the story still - he's almost a ghost in it, despite still living, because irregardless of how little he appears on screen he still deeply affects the story. i love his parent arc btw. insane place to take his character and yet. it's so good. also you're single-handedly making me obsessed w/ muta despite not caring about him at all before this fic. your background character promotional agenda strikes again. i think he and yuuji should talk. two guys losing control(idk how to better put it but. you get me) of their bodies because of the jujutsu system.

ALL THAT AND YOUR ART FUCKS TOO. this ask is already too long so perhaps i shall return another day to gush about your artstyle.

this is such a nice ask ive been going crazy abt it since u sent it ... singlehandedly revitalizing me after a bad sleep night twice in a row. my hero and savior ...

i'm SO pleased to have any sort of impact on any of my readers, ESPECIALLY in making them more fond of certain characters! i think muta is like, my shining star hero and saviour and best friend and im overjoyed to hear i made even a single person consider his merits as a character more. he's so spectacular and has such remarkable potential and charm. ive said before that while i adore mechamiwa (and the rarepair of throwing kamo in the mix, even!) i wish there was more media, especially fic, exploring who he is as a person outside of the girl he loves. theyre sweet but both of them deserve to shine as individuals, too! my muta agenda. everyone must love him for ever and ever

even im surprised by the directions naoya has taken in this. it just felt right. natural. jian's influence on him, and his influence on jian, makes me kind of like, bouncing off the walls batshit unhinged in a way im not sure i could articulate because i have very little room to really showcase how they are removed from each other - after all, even when theyre separate, theyre bound together as something close to a single entity. im really attached. how did this happen? no one has answers especially not me

extremely flattered you enjoy my art, too ... im very out of practice drawing people on account of the one-two punch of a warrior cats and then sonic fixation that lasted like a year each, and getting to toy with it in a fresh exciting way is a treat for me. motivated entirely by My Guys! not that jian counts there because hes like a weird animal creature. but ive rambled enough about jian's design i shant bore everyone with it again.

asks are like a little treat for me forever. just for you i post more of my Drawigns

[gringolet]

that italian?

okay okay okay i think it happened long enough ago that i can dish about the drama. she changed her url and im not including it anyway so its fine.

prepare for a fuckin. essay in responss to a TWO WORD ask but anyay

so once upon time there was an italian who hated children and loved reylo. she also hung out in the arthuriana tag and got a bunch of asks about it. so one day some poor anon comes in and asks if she has any trans headcanons for arthurian characters, and she, instead of being a normal person and saying like, no, she goes off about how trans characters in fanfic is forced representation and she cant talk about trans people bc surgery is triggering for her.

found this in the archives lol. so i rbd politely explaining that while it was fine to not have trans hcs, her justifications for it were a little offensive.

hey i dont want to start discourse or anything but i see ur asks in the tag a lot and i wanted to politely address this. firstly obviously no one is under any obligation to hc things, and headcanons and fandom is not activism. if you’d just said “no, not really” it would b fine. i mean, cringe of u, but fine. but u make a couple of points here i want to look at a bit critically. then there is “I don’t like when headcanons are pushed up as ~representation, especially when… Ehm, it’s just fandom stuff?” i dont want to misinterpret you or put words in your mouth, but the implication that theres no need for trans rep in fandom and dismissal of that is a very cis take. My initial read of your intention there was a complaint of ‘why should something like fandom spaces, which are for fun and not serious, be filled with non fun serious (bad) trans stuff that i have to see when im trying to enjoy myself.’ now that could be incorrect, you were a bit vague here. if that is what you meant, i think you maybe should examine why you feel that way. if it isnt, im unclear on what exactly youre trying to say here. the idea that trans hcs are performative wokeness and “representation” in fandom is completely ignoring the actual trans people making and wanting them. there is so vanishingly little representation of trans people in actual media and even less thats good, and i think implying trans hcs are being pushed on people and fandom for, ~representation (a world of meaning in the ~ i shant speculate on) is very dismissive and ignorant of that fact. honestly the main thing im troubled by is the idea that trans bodies are inherently disgusting and triggering, which is an incredibly harmful and hurtful idea, and since you yourself acknowledge that trans people and hcs dont predicate surgery i question why you bring it up, except as a justification for disconfort rooted in unexamined prejudice. im not accusing you of being a terf or anything, i dont believe you meant harm by this or have bad intentions, and im definitely not saying anyone has to hc anything. it was the uncomfronted insidiousness of your justification that concerned me. this is not a personal attack at all, you just have a lot of influence in this fandom space and i wanted to make you aware of some of the surely accidentally harmful things ur saying.

so she flips out and rbs that yelling at me and cursing me out in italian (she moved blogs so i dont have her whole response just bits)

basically she completely derailed the original topic and accused me of calling her a horrible person for her triggers? which i never did and would never do, and then tried to make it a wierd anti v proshipper thing

third: I never said there’s no need of trans hcs in fandoms, BUT I’ve noticed that there’s a tendency of condemning people on the basis of what they ship / the dynamics they write. ( like the infinite discourse about how ‘I ship only mlm enemies to lovers because f/m enemies to lovers are Inherently Bad and Abusive - something I personally heard on Twitter sigh ), so I feel the need to say it. blame the current fandom climate.

and were like wow, this lady is unhinged, so we look around her blog and find a. a lot of stuff like saying its racist to not like incest?? and that italians arent white?? also shes a swerf?? and kind of deniel italian colonialsm? and reblogs from a bunch of out and out terfs} there was more but this isnt a callout post lol.

valentine lanzelet made a post about this crazy italian we found and she flipped out on him (this is one of several cursey italian tag rants)

roughly means: GO SHIT YOURSELF (italian alternative to go fuck you), RACIST TERF IS YOUR GRANDMOTHER IN A WHEELBARROW (italian saying which does not translate well) AND WHAT HAS ITALIAN COLONIALISM TO DO WITH THIS YOU UGLY SHIT, and anyways lancelot sucks

(translated by claudio beheaded)

anyway so then. and this is when it gets unhinged. she goes on this server me and a lot of my mutuals n friends r in, camelot, and starts complaining about me.

(in red is the server admin, who was lovely) i asked her to move this convo to dms if she must bc it was rude to bring drama into the server, and she refused, and started insisting that she was being bullied and just wanted to be left alone, so i was like okay lets all block each other and move on, and she refused, continuing to defend everything she was being criticized for

they also said claudio was making them look bad by translating their rants which like... queen if that made them look bad they were already a bad look.

so she keeps pinging people and replying to shit despite everyone else at this point begging her to just drop it and call it a stalemate

imagine this but around n around for like an hour. also she repeatedly got me and valentine confused it was super funny. also she claimed it was an invasion of her privacy for valentine to go on her public blog and look at the things she openly said and rbd there

so the server got put in slow mode and she KEPT GOING even though everyone was just begging her to stop and not even responding

as u can see, around this point we just started spamming her with emoji reactions. she announced she was leaving then went back to arguing a full three times before finally dipping from the server

then she continued complaining about us and calling us puriteens in her tags (trying to make it a proshipper v anti thing i guess lol?)

for literally months before finally remaking. also in that time she got in an argument about how the crusades were fine actually. italianphobia works hard but she works harder i guess

anyway i prolly left out a lot but thats the italian saga

[youngandhungryent]

Still Snitchin’: Tekashi 6ix9ine Posts Video of Snoop Dogg Allegedly Having Affair, Tags His Wife

Source: @JustInMyView / R1 Digital

Tekashi 6ix9ine hasn’t even been home a few weeks and already the most famous snitch in Hip-Hop history has found himself in social media drama with some of the rap game’s biggest names. Not even a week after getting called out by Meek Mill for his dime dropping ways, Tekashi’s now turning his attention to non other than Tha Doggfather, Snoop Dogg. Not too long ago Instagram model and socialite (those are actually things in 2020), Celina Powell began spreading the word that she and the very married Snoop Dogg were creeping on the low and claimed to have proof of their secret affair.

Looking to get back at Snoop for posting a message on his release date in which Snoop said “f*ck 69” and told Meek Mill to avoid taking on 6ix9ine so he could remain “sucka free,” Tekashi not only posted the video that Powell was advertising but also tagged his wife, Shante Broadus on the post.

“For 2 years while I was in jail PEOPLE STARTED WITH ME trying to end my career and it didn’t work now they say LEAVE ME ALONE

this the world we live in GO APOLOGIZE TO YA WIFE @bosslady_ent.”

Talk about living up to your label of snitch.

The videos in question seem to feature Celina Powell kicking it in Snoop’s humble abode and the other has Powell facetiming with Snoop on her phone getting ready to meet up.

Tekashi has since deleted the post but still, it happened and we’re sure Snoop and his wife aren’t going to be too happy about it but for different reasons.

It should be noted that at the height of his popularity and pre-snitching days, it was rumored that Tekashi 6ix9ine and his Trey Nine Gangsters crew were out in Los Angeles looking to personally speak to Snoop Dogg in order to build a bridge with the rap OG but were denied any kind of access to Snoop at the time. This was around the same time that Tekashi was embroiled in a war of words with LA Bloods and even Mexican gang members at the time.

Couple that with Snoop calling out Tekashi and we guess that was enough for 6ix9ine to revert back to what he knows best: telling.

Check out the video below and let us know your thoughts on the situation.

View this post on Instagram

#6ix9ine exposes #snoopdogg for cheating on his wife

. in this video I’m almost positive he is speaking with #celinapowell

A post shared by @ rap.with.ryne on May 17, 2020 at 10:43am PDT

source https://hiphopwired.com/870699/still-snitchin-tekashi-6ix9ine-posts-video-of-snoop-dogg-allegedly-having-affair-tags-his-wife/

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

Alex: candy don't even know what to handle

Candy: mom foiled our kidnapping plans once again but then she got them kidnapped in the first place because we fell in her trap to get it done?!? Ugh. I need to be more like mom!

Alex: she didn't say it like that before, she called you a bitch, old hag, dumb ass, double crosser, traitor, submarine ship silencer. Everything but Good. Nice to see you there Candy.

Me: i love my kids streaming up like an old steamshuo. Means they're getting somewhere in life

Candy: you always tell us we've arrived!

Me: then you go somewhere after you do

Candy under her breath like all soft: bitch

Me: where your husband at? Should you not be having sex someplace?

Candy: sure so I can get pregnant again to have a kid smarter than me

Me: you're hard to trick candy, I had to work with criminals and allow them to create crimes in order to trick my own children.

Candy mutters random shit.

Me: but for real when is it the last time I did that?

Alex: never babe. You never let the world go to shit so bad

Candy: im trying not to laugh but even the tree went Uhhh

Tree: let me calculate again. Yeah never. So yeah This is pretty amazing.

Me: im pretty sure i got something in your drawer to confuse the rest of your victkms

Candy: in 1988, 19987, 2003, 2019

Me: 2016, 2017 and 2018?

Candy: Yeah "just give up Candy all will be alright. We don't need to continue kidnapping anyone."

Me: Unless we want to. Look in your drawer.

Candy: ok fine! But you aren't negotiating their release this time! Alex is! Besides dad you need practice.

Me: i know. He was really cheap huh. Especially since he was paying his own tree and dad and kids

Alex: i should had realized that at some point but i Didn't. I never realized the point or who the kidnappers were. I was lost as Hell. Until i realized it was some,exotic shit for her birthday. Babe you better watch out. Were gonna kidnap you soon. Im almost positive

Tabitha: If we like you.

Me: lock me in a puzzle box

Alex: that you designed no less and back trick us again next thing we know we're kidnapped and we're liking it and you tell us we have to decide what to do. Stay or not

Me: no im forced to tell you I'm kidnapped due to fear and then that I'm the kidnapper and it's your job to figure out which If either I am.

Alex: you know the answer. Babe don't. Babe, don't please im gonna cry.

Ivanka: why what's the answer?

Alex: im writing down not kidnapped on my paper.

Ivanka: so she's the kidnapper.

Alex: im writing no to that

Me: you can tell it Alex

Alex: saving your mom from death. Neither. A completely different thing under a disguise of a game.

Shante: and you think I'm gonna post it?

Me: doesn't all evil believe it's stronger than me?

Shante: but why give them a head start

Me: because then it's fun

Alex: babe. Quit im laughing

Shante: okay i think i get you. I will allow it to post

Tree: YESSSSSS! ALRIGHT YAY.

Alex: what the fuck does he have to do with it?

Me: idk I just know the side of innocence

Tree: my turn to control evil. Its my turn to keep the world safe! I'm a real bad ass Jackie Chan! Middle School Style

Alex: you plan this without me?

Me: you're the one that liked scorpions and i got stung

Alex: unh unh unh unh unh. You did it didn't you. Solved the world's problems with and without love. You did the hate phase. Woah. I never did one of those before. I always wanted to.

Me: you're welcome in advance then

Alex: oh shit! She mother fucking did it! Solved the world's problems! Candy! Eat something man!

Tababatha: I was just thinking mom went to the store and the world changed overnight. For so many people. Millions and Billions. We were told the truth in,her old school ways. I'll do anything for you even,if it's my fault I'll fix it and now they say Irs the ending

Tabitha: i should had known about that with the calander. Sorry about that guys, you may go now. Unclone. Mom didn't need as much help as I thought.

Candy: thank you mom.

Me: of course.

Candy: did she not say you're welcome? Whars next? Who drew a turtle on my paper and said it's me?

We all know tree. Hes too fun, just enough.

Me: a turtle always takes its home with him. Home is where the heart is kid, and you drag it along no matter where it is you go.

Candy: well thank you mom

Me: you're welcome.

Alex: Cruz is all "i just woke up to a fucking miracle." All his mechanics drive his cars. Never him. He,rarely drives.

Me: we can have team racing then, 6 months of the year split. Then it will run the same score it does now but a better ending

Alex: are you shifting me? You know that is illegal and were not supposed to do that?

Me: and the races I said last night we will add 10 to and so your team can run relay.

Alex: two?! We are gonna get 2 prizes?? 1 individual and 1 team?

Me: yeah baby.

Alex: fuck yeah. You want my birthday happy or what?

Me: it's been awhile since i gave anyone presents. So yeah. And Happy Birthday Chandler

Chandler: it's gone. Its all over. Its his now

Me: yeah he don't matter. Its all about the babies he always says

Alex: remember Clifford? I didn't want a dog. You did. Those 2 boys. I wanted them but you wanted them more. You see Chandler, a dad's love really goes deeper than the ends of the Earth. 2 universes or 2 planets. That's why i got you a dog even though she said no and she did. Remember I said that to you? And you said it better be the biggest dog in the world. Those weren't my birthdays we were laughing about. They were yours. You got whatever you wanted. The world's biggest boy. Shaquille

Shaquille: i was that boy. You wanted to save me Chandler.

Candy: I see dad

Alex: You wanted to help your mom save this world. Just yourself. You and you alone and your mom. You get your wish i mean that. That's why you were born to Jesse. Only you were able treat your mom right enough to be able to win with her, no one else.

Candy: mom did you even say I can't have a dog?

Me: i said we saved people not animals and i didn't have time for anything but people. In fact I saw on your Insta you had dogs I didn't know about for years and i said to myself, "who said she could have dogs? May be her dad. Probably. Although she's all grown now i bet he would. To spite me" why would I say that stupid shit If it was not true!!

Candy: oh my God mom. I remember you saying that and I thought "oh my god here it is what? 8 billion yesrs later and I'm still in trouble" and i even asked "mom is it alright I have dogs?"

Me: and I said "what? Oh my God of course as long as you take care of them. Are you taking care of them? You are aren't you?"

Alex: 2019! And it broke my heart!

Candy: and i said "I'm such a dork! I am taking care of them!"

Me: and i said it doesn't mean you're a dork. Taking care of them means you're a good person. A good human especially when you're so busy with work and travel and all you have to do.

Alex: we're gonna have dog races, i know. I know i am.

[wormssss]

7 9 20 22 35 41 cuz wth not

7: choose a song to live off of.oh jeez uh this is hard iaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuhhhhhmmmmmmmmmm i doNt know if i cAn why the hArD qUeStIOnSkjnskJSNSDF*Sprinkles has given up 9: is your phone charged enough?hAHAHAHAHA jokes oN yoU my phone is always plugged into my computer and therefore always charging so yES! it is. >:} 20: what are the promises you’ve made to yourself?UH. OKAY. IF I TOLD YOU. ALL OF THEM. I WOULD EXPOSE M’SELF. AND THEN THIS POST WOULD EXCEED THE INFINITE AMOUNT OF WORDS TUMBLR ALLOWS SO. we’ll go with like the main few1. leaaveeee the goddmdandaMn house onCe in a wHILE jEZuZ2. get. less chub. you chub. freaking. marshmallow oh my god YOU NEVER LEAVE YOUR H O U S E3. you need to. uh. dissociate from the. bad friends. yeah.4. S E L F  C A R E  I S  I M P O R T A N T5. stop making science experiments with random things in the bathroom sink, thats bad6. NEVER DROP YOUR FAKE LIP PIERCING IN THE SINK EV E R  A G A I N7. control. urself. angerry wise, strengf wise, L O U D  W I S Ethere’s more but i shant go oni… those werent even promises oh my god they were just me yelling @ myself22: what wouldn’t you do to help a friend?any kind of. murder. im open to breaking someone’s nose or knocking their teeth out but. im not gonna. commit murder. im also not gonna hurt them or force them into something big without their consent because “tHEY NEED IT11!!1!”, im at least going to get a “mmnnnehhhh okay…” from them before i do anyhting leike dat mi slowly losing the abiliyty to TYPE NEXT QUESTION35: how do you pronounce ‘crayon’?uh like the only way to pronounce it??? people say crayon differently than cray-on???? like, cr, long a, and on????????? THERE’S A PLACE WHERE PEOPLE DONT SAY IT LIKE THAT????????????????????????????????????? IM 41: if you could choose one instrument to master overnight, which would it be?ONE??????????? ONLY ONE??????? THESE H A R D  Q U E S T I O N S  F I R E  ASDJSDFHi mean…….. maybe the piano……….. or some super hard-to-learn instrument sO THAT WAYi dont need to spend years practicing and learning i just*snaps fingers* learn it like tHaT HAHA! CHEATING AT LIFE!

[jasmine-jules]

Slave to the Game(A Jack the Ripper Story): Chapter 4

Word Count: 4900+

Warnings: Graphic depiction of violence(the murder), Murder, Mild language, Implied rape

Here’s our master list for the next chapters, and if you want more!

~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve read plenty of crime novels in my youth, stealing moments at night to read The Murders in the Rue Morgue by Edgar Allen Poe, The Rector of Veilbye by Steen Steensen Blicher or A Study in Scarlet by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The one thing that is never actually discussed in these books is how dull and painstakingly long the interrogation process is - person after person going through the police department giving us nothing more than extra paperwork. To only give the department some gray hairs and the need to pull all nighters at the morgue.

In addition to the long nights, there was one other thing that seemed to cause my accelerated aging. The police station had recently had an accident in their crime lab, making it unusable, so they elected our morgue to do assist in the investigations. This means my alone space is constantly violated by the same three policemen, and each of them having an air of disapproval surrounding them. That not only means I don’t have my space, but my space is being filled with bigoted men who don’t think women deserve to be in the workforce, especially those of a higher class like myself. Bigoted men who think they know my lab better than I do. Bigoted men who clearly don’t deserve to be in law enforcement because they are idiots who don’t know how anything works.

“Are you sure that goes there?” a voice said from behind me.

“I’m pretty sure I am doing this right.” I said coldly as I was pushed aside from my work table by Mr. Arnold James. I mean seriously, even his name sounds bigoted, “I have worked here for nearly 3 years now, and I was practically raised here as my father owned this facility before he passed.”

Having elected to ignore me, he pushed aside the evidence that I had been working on, and replaced it with almost an identical piece of evidence then proceeded to use the tool wrong. I threw my hands up in the air and walked out of the morgue in defeat.

“Miss Bellaus! I thought you’d be working!” Archer exclaimed as I walked into his office area, where he was filing the reports to send to the police department. Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t trust him but I would rather be with someone who might be on the wrong side than those who <i>are</i> on the wrong side. Even if they are two completely unrelated topics.

“Can we kick them out. Please. Let them do things wrong at a different morgue. I cannot stand another moment of their bigoted...ness.” Archer chuckled at my comment.

“I wish, but if we don’t let them use our morgue then we will not be allowed to continue working on the Leather Apron murders and we really can’t have that happen.” I gave him an inquisitive look, “...with the murders being connected to your relationship with Jessamine? Now, how about you get back in there and show those bigots who’s the boss around here.” I grimaced at the thought but walked out of his office towards the morgue anyways. As I stepped down the stairs back to where the bigoted men resided, I couldn’t help but feel that something was off about that conversation.

“Oh, look! The little girl is back again.” Mr. Arnold James exclaimed and I nearly punched him in the nose right then and there.

“For one, my name is Miss Bellaus not little girl.” He looked indignant at the apparent disrespect I was showing him, but I barreled on, “Number two, you are doing that wrong. If you look at the piece of evidence I was examining and compare it with yours, you’ll see my subject will show quite a bit more of what you are looking for. Your subject, while it is bigger, it has less blood on it, while if you look at mine you can see a much larger amount of blood on it, allowing me to have an easier time of collecting the sample and twice as much evidence. Though that is not where your mistakes began. The first mistake was believing that everything I did was wrong and proceeding to re-do every experiment I had already completed only because I am a woman.”

Shock rose on their face and Mr. Arnold James looked ready to explode, his face turning more red than the crimson dress I was wearing, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I am quite a bit more observant than any of you pigs are,” I spat. “Which is why while you weren’t looking, I went back and replaced it with my specimen once again because you had even been using the microscope wrong while completing your experiment. I mean, how hard is it to use a microscope anyways??” I exclaimed.

I turned to the other two men in the room, having finished tearing Mr. James Arnold a new one. “Number three, you two have not been using gloves the entire process so there is a good chance that if I had used that evidence for a testimony in court it would be disbanded because we would’ve been accused of tampering with it. Now, if you would be so kind and start actually doing this right then maybe we'll get along or I am going to kick you out and have Mr. Clay report you to the chief of police for insubordination towards the head of the morgue.”

They didn’t bother me for the rest of the time they were there. I’m pretty sure they had asked Archer for my schedule of when I would and wouldn’t be there because I actually never saw them again. The only evidence that they hadn’t ran away completely was the crumbs of food left on the work tables. Which goes to show their incompetence once more.

Another highlight is that after my outburst whenever I walked into the police station to bring a report that Archer or I had filled, it’d get very quiet and the men would nearly jump out of my way to let me pass

That being quite a happy improvement, especially since Archer and I were present for many of the interrogations involved with the Leather Apron case. Although, all interrogations we were present for had quite similar results since most of them were only questioning the witnesses, not actually interrogating suspects. They all had the same thing to say about what they saw the night of the murders. The prostitute was seen entering her apartment with a young person, most likely a boy. The young boy wasn’t seen leaving the apartment but the next time someone went to find her, she was dead. Giving us absolutely nothing to go on. Then the police would find a lead from the thousands of letters sent into the police station, follow it, arrest someone and release the suspect within three hours because the police found they had a rock solid alibi.

Then came one letter. At first, it was just set aside as some person trying to rile up the police but then they sent it down to my lab for examination. They did this with every letter they got. They were trying to see if anything useful could come of it. Nothing ever did. They were all fakes and I could easily pull some fingerprints, which if the Leather Apron was as smart as we all thought, I wouldn’t be able to find any incriminating evidence. I also never read them, it would take up time that I really didn’t have. I don’t think the police read these letters either. Although, this letter was spotless. No fingerprints. No stains. Not even a spec of dirt that I could try to trace. Absolutely nothing. So I did read this letter.

Dear Boss,

I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits.

I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I cant use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope

ha. ha.

The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn't you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight.

My knife's so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck.

Yours truly

Jack the Ripper

Dont mind me giving the trade name

PS Wasnt good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands curse it No luck yet. They say I'm a doctor now. ha ha

The letter slipped out of my hands and a thud echoed in the room as my back hit the wall. I clasped my hands against my mouth as a scream threatened to escape. It wasn’t even the fact that this letter was possibly the real thing but something about it felt familiar. But I had no idea what. My first instinct was to call out for Archer but if he was apart of this somehow then what would he do if I showed him this letter? Try to destroy it? If I left it here and he found it, would it disappear like that piece of cloth did? The letter did say to keep it until something else happened but should I even be listening to whoever wrote this letter? Was anything in this letter even valid? My train of thought was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Hey Miss Bellaus, can you look over-” Archer’s voice abruptly stopped as his eyes fell upon me. He dropped the papers he had in his hands and rushed over to me. “What happened? Did something happen to Jessamine?” I shook my head.

“No. Nothing’s happened to Jessamine.”

“Well then what’s wrong?” he exclaimed.

“One of the letters the police sent to us just... caught me off-guard. It felt too real but I don’t think it’s gonna be anything to worry about.” I responded.

“You sure?” I nodded again. “Alright then.” Disbelief shone from his eyes but if I was truly in shock, I wouldn’t be in the best state of mind, right? “I just wanted you to look over a report I had written out for the police about the heart attack victim we had yesterday.” he said, changing the topic.

“Right. Sure.” I walked numbly over to the table where he had set the report. “What did you want me to look for?”

“Just double check I had everything right. It’s just been a hectic few weeks so I haven’t been completely focusing on wording.” I read over it and handed it to him.

“That seems fine.”

“Right. Thank you Miss Bellaus.” and after a few seconds, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes I’m absolutely fine.” I said sharply, “I’m just going to finish up testing a couple more letters before I head out.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.” I nodded as he walked away. He paused and turned his head, “You know you can always talk to me. Right?” I smiled at him tersely. I took a deep breath and released it when he finally disappeared through the door. I don’t think our conversations have ever been like this. Even when we first met, our conversations flowed without any weirdness about it. I felt my shoulders slump with frustration. I really do hope he has nothing to do with the Leather Apron, or I guess Jack the Ripper now, because then once this is all over we can go back to how everything was before. Which would be nice. I sighed once again and walked back over to where I had dropped the letter. I slipped on some gloves - no point in contaminating it even more right? - and started looking it over again.

I wasn’t exactly lying when I told Archer I would be going over letters before I left. It just wouldn’t be letters, only one. I examined it and began writing down every little thing about it, the color of the ink, the material of the paper the letter was written on, the possible utensils used, really anything that could give me a lead on who wrote this. By the time I had finished, nothing stayed undocumented. That just left me with one thing. What to do with the report and letter. Logically, I should leave it here and file it away because that’s what would have done before all of this but every warning bell goes off in my head when I think that because if Archer is involved, then leaving this for him to find would possibly be catastrophic. So if I didn’t leave it here, where would I put it? My house? Where any of my servants or mom could find it? I do have a locked drawer where I keep all of my work related stuff, but that doesn’t mean someone could still get in. Though my room is the only place Archer wouldn’t go because even a serial killer has to follow proper manners in this era. My eyes flickered over the letter as I pondered what to do.

“I’ll bring it home with me.” I decided aloud. I slipped the letter and report into my handbag and made my way to the door. The carriage ride passed with little incident and by the time I got home it was almost dusk. I had decided to stop at a little sweet shop, I felt deserved something tasty.

“Good Evening Miss Bellaus, are you up for some dinner?” One of my maids, Elizabeth asked. I smiled sweetly as her,

“That would be amazing. Thank you Elizabeth.” She smiled at me and I walked to my room. I took the key that hung behind my dresses and opened up my drawer, sliding the letter and report in. Now I guess I just wait.

~~~~

September 30th

I shuffled my legs beneath the covers before rolling onto my back. Sharp pain ran through my body and I shot up into a sitting position. I cursed under my breath as I twisted my arm around to my back and ran my fingers across. A hiss of pain escaped my lips as my fingers ran across already scabbing scrapes. What the hell. I rolled out of bed, stumbling as I hit the ground. I stripped off my nightgown and twisted to look at the scrapes on my back. I stared in horror at the reflection. Calling them scrapes was an understatement. They were more like gashes running in long streaks across my back. They resembled the kind of marks that were left on Jessamine’s back after one of the nights we had spent together, only a more extreme version. They were deep and they were colored a dark red, implying that whoever had given them me was in extreme pain...or in immense pleasure. I paused at the thought, <i>What happened to me last night. And why can I not remember.</i> I broke out of my train of thought as I heard footsteps approaching the door.

“Miss Bellaus? Do you need any help? I heard crashing.” One of my maids, Grace, asked through the door. I closed my eyes in annoyance. She must’ve heard me getting out of bed.

“I’m fine, Grace. Thank you.” It was a few seconds before I heard her footsteps leading away from the door and I let out a breath. My breath was sucked back in as an idea came to me. I rushed to the door and ran to catch up to Grace, not caring if the door slammed.

“Actually, Grace!” I reached her side, “I do have one question.” She dipped her head, allowing me to continue, “Do you know when I left the house last night and about what time I got back? If so, do you know where I was headed?”

“You only left the house for a short while, Miss, then you came straight back with a friend. But don’t worry, I won’t tell your mother.” she said with a small smile.

“No, no. I don’t worry about that. I can’t remember,” I spoke in a small whisper, my fear getting the better of me.

“I don’t understand, Miss. You don’t remember a single thing from last night?” I shook my head and I felt panic sweeping across me. Why don’t I remember anything? I have three gashes on my back. Surely I would have to remember getting those.

“Did I leave the house after I came back with the friend?” I asked, trying to get a better picture of what might’ve happened. Grace nodded,

“About two hours later when I was tending to the fireplace, you and your friend snuck out. I assumed you were going out to a pub or something. I don’t think you saw me. Then as I was heading to bed just a little after one in the morning, you came back to the house. I couldn’t see much as the lamps were all out, but you were staggering like you had been hurt. I went to bed shortly after that; I wouldn’t know if you snuck out again after that.”

My heart plummeted. I went out twice last night maybe more. Both of which I had a friend with me. Both of which I couldn’t remember a single second of. Grace seems to think that the friend I had with me was… but I would never cheat on Jessamine. At least… I had thought I wouldn’t.

“Thank you Grace. That’s all for now.” I said, dismissing her. She looked reluctant to leave me alone but she walked away after a few seconds. How do I not remember any of it? It was obviously a rough night, with the deep gashes on my back and my staggering in last night. My hands involuntarily gripped my head, pulling harshly at my hair. Why don’t I remember it. I <i>should</i> remember it.

Memory flashes took over my thoughts in a second. Days where I could remember waking up but don’t remember actually falling asleep. Moments halfway through the day where I lost hours of time, moments where I thought I just had gotten lost in thought or in whatever I was doing. Moments where I was in the middle of making dinner but the next thing I remember was getting ready to go to bed. Full nights missing and if I thought hard enough I would be able to line them up perfectly with the last two murders.

I let out a strangled cry. What the hell is happening to me. Filled with panic, I fumbled through my closet for something that I could get on easily. I tore off one of my dresses off the hook and put it on. I fumbled with my brush on the desk and the letter from Jack the Ripper floated to the ground. With shaking hands I lifted it up and suddenly I knew why it felt so familiar. I shook my head in panic. No No No No No. It can’t be. My hands blundered on my desk as I looked for something with Archer’s handwriting. With trembling hands I compared them.

They didn’t match.

I gasped in relief, my eyes filling with unshed tears. But why does this letter still spark recognition? There is no reason I should still feel this way towards the letter. I felt my chest start to constrict as I felt the now familiar symptoms of panic start to settle in.

In the throes of my panic, I shoved my feet into a pair of shoes, not even caring if it looked presentable and rushed out of my room. I almost crashed into Grace but I rushed past her, ignoring her cries of worry. I let my instinct lead me and I honestly had no idea where I was going, but the path I took felt eerily familiar. Only I did not remember ever going down this street. But that’s the problem, is it not? I can’t remember. How many days or nights have gone by that I don’t remember.

The scene that I came upon was swarming with policemen. I pushed my way through into the scene of the crime, bile rose in my throat and I could not push it down this time. I reached a wastebasket just in time as I retched. Her ears were missing. Just as the letter from Jack the Ripper said.

“Miss, you can’t be in here.” A policeman said with worry. I shook my head.

“I’m with the police department, head of the Morgue involved with the Jack the Ripper case.”

“Jack the Ripper, eh? Fancy new name you got there.” he replied cockily.

“It works better.” I whispered as I walked back over to the body. “What’s her name?”

“Catherine Eddowes.” I nodded and surveyed the body. From first glance her face had been mutilated, her throat severed, and a giant jagged wound in her abdomen. As I stepped closer I could tell that her kidneys and uterus had been removed, just like the last victims. Only in Eddowes case, the mutilations to her body were way worse than the others. Just like the last victims, I knew she would look similar the Jessamine even though I couldn’t actually see her features anymore. “We actually found a first body, just a few blocks from here. Although we don’t know if it is is connected to, what is it..Jack the Ripper?”

“Two murders?” I choked out in horror. The policeman nodded,

“The only thing we don’t know is if she is connected. Only her throat had been slashed. No wound in the abdomen, like the previous two and Eddowes.”

“Do you have a picture?” I asked, my voice a little stronger now.

“Of course.” He called over to a man with a camera and the man walked over. “I need the picture from Elizabeth Stride’s crime scene.”

“Did you just say...Elizabeth Stride?” I blurted out. The policeman sent an inquisitive look to me,

“Yes, why? Do you know her?” The man with the camera pulled a picture out of Elizabeth Stride.

“She is...was one of my maids. She’s usually the one that checks on me in mornings so that the kitchen maids can start with breakfast if I am up but...it was a different maid this morning. I mean I would normally notice if one of my maids are missing but...I wasn’t in the best mindset this morning.”

“That’s a start. We’ll need you to come in at some point for some questioning. You aren’t in trouble, but we need to know everything about Miss Stride. Do you know anything about Miss Eddowes here?” I shook my head reluctantly,

“Only that she looks like one of my friends Jessamine, as have the other two but I have already told the police this.”

“Thank you for all your help.”

“Much obliged. I will send in a report of Eddowes later today, same with Stride.”

“Thank you. I will call a carriage for you to head over to the crime scene.”

“I will not need one. I need to go somewhere first before I go see Miss Stride.” I walked out of the room as proudly as I could but the moment I got out of view from the scene I broke into a run with a destination in mind.

Robert James Lees. The clairvoyant Archer and I had run into almost three weeks ago, after we went to the first Whitechapel Vigilance meeting. I got to the edge of his street and paused. Do I really want to do this? Sink this low? I took a deep breath and walked the rest of the way there. I only hesitated briefly before knocking on the door. I saw a quick flash of someone looking into the peephole before it disappeared again.

“Miss Bellaus. I’m surprised to see you here.” he said, opening the door just enough so his face could look out. He was obviously opposed to letting me in.

“I need your help. I’m...forgetting things. Huge blocks of time.” I could still sense hesitancy, and I shared much further than I wanted to, “Time missing over the nights of the Jack the Ripper murders.” His eyes widened at the last phrase.

“Come on in.” He opened the door wider to let me in and as I walked through I felt a sense of finality as the door clicked shut behind me.

“I was hoping you would be able...maybe bring back up past memories or something. Or I don’t know, talk to the victims….I just need to do something.”

“Follow me.” he told me, leading me in his sitting room. “Now you need to know something Miss Bellaus, I cannot actually bring back memories for you. That is something you need to figure out how to do yourself. The one thing I can do is give you some insight for why you are having these blackouts.” He gestured for me to sit down, and as I did he walked over to a cabinet, opened it and pulled out a letter. “This is something I received from your father. Shortly before his passing.” He held it out to me and tears welled up in my eyes as I recognized my father’s handwriting.

Dear Mr. Lees,

I am sending this letter in hopes that you will be able to someday help my daughter understand. I know she will come into contact with what I am to share with you, and I wish you will share this when she asks about certain things.

There is a drug. Commonly known as the Devil's Breath but she will know it as Scopolamine.

I let out a sobbed breath as I read the last line. Scopolamine is a drug that if used correctly, can quite literally take the free will of any victim but if used another way, would be seriously addictive.

I became addicted to it after an unfortunate accident with the chemical. I never realized the effects until later. Major blackouts. Periods where I would make dinner and not remember eating it. Going to bed but not remember waking up. I don’t know what I did in the duration where I was on this drug.

I eventually rid myself of this illness but I never truly recovered. I still had frequent blackouts even after I stopped taking the drug and I began to notice not only my memory was affected, my physical health began to decline as well. I guess that is why I am on my deathbed now.

My daughter did come in contact with it once, but I quickly steered her away from it but even once can be the downfall of anyone.

One reason I am writing this letter is someone who had become like a son to me had taken an interest. One of my students wanted to do a research paper on it, I tried steering him away from it as well but once he had his mind set on something, he never let it go. I took this student under my wing in hopes of putting this mind of his to something useful, maybe one day taking over my morgue and in league with my daughter, I knew they could do anything if they had each other. Though every once in awhile I would find him back at his old reports with one of those wretched white flowers in front of him scribbling away and I knew I didn’t try hard enough. I only hope he doesn’t go any further with his research. Clay really did achieve anything he put his mind to.

I gasped at the revelation. Clay. Like Archer Clay. But a wave of doubt ran through me, Archer had never mentioned he knew my father, let alone having had him as a mentor or father figure. It couldn’t possibly be my Clay.

I wrote this letter with a second reason. To warn my daughter of the possibility Clay never stopped his research.

Don’t show her this, or let her know this letter even exists if she never asks. But if she comes to you with worries of blackouts, please show her this. I just want her to be safe.

Sincerely,

Thaddeus Bellaus

P.S. I love you my dear Dinah Fae. Always live with love in your heart.

“Thank you for showing me this, Lees.” I told James with a sob, clutching the letter tightly against my chest, holding onto one of the last things my father made.

“Oh my dear. I wish you had never shown up on my doorstep and I wish I never had to give you that letter.” he murmured.

“Me too.” I whispered.

“Now be on your way. I’ve done all that your father wished me too. I hope you find your way in this mess.” he replied. I smiled sadly at him and dipped my head to him before walking out the door with the letter held tightly in my hand. I have some work to do.

[palteringcecutiency]

>Psii: Be honest with your brother.

-- martyrsLegacy [ML] has begun trolling palteringCecutiency [PC] --

ML: How is your evening going? PC: Rather well. PC: And how is yours? ML: I'm enjoying it! We're having cupcakes, I shant ask if you want any. ML: I do have a question, and I wont pretend I didnt message you to ask it

PC: Your restraint is appreciated, I'm. PC: Regardless. PC: Ask freely, I could never turn you away. ML: Caesurae recently showed me a conversation you had had with him where you became very angry suddenly and told him that he'd not been your friend on Beforus (which is understandable), but aside from a poorly phrased comment about not wishing to short his own pan I cannot see what caused the sudden shift, and I was wondering if you recalled? PC: http://caepaecaesurae.tumblr.com/post/156832275980/574rc45m-caepaecaesurae-entirely-fair-it ML: Ah. ML: I feel as if I should let you know that he has some sort of learning and processing disorder and does not always make the correct or any connections between different events and emotional responses. ML: I spend a great deal of time explaining what he has done wrong extensively in small language he can easily grasp PC: Then he'd best give up on our friendship. PC: Not that he had any problems on Beforus, but whatever his excuse is, he can have it. ML: This is not something he has told me to tell you, Psii, and I don't expect you to suddenly coddle him ML: Only to know he sometimes is that 'stupid'. PC: Of course not. PC: Then why tell me at all? PC: What purpose does it serve other to get me to change my behavior and my thoughts? ML: Occasionally it is a comfort to know these things when someone has somewhat baffling behavior. ML: I will explain to him what he did wrong. PC: I regret to inform you that this hardly explains anything. PC: /Possibly/ some of his most recent shit. PC: /Perhaps/. PC: But that is all. ML: I'm not speaking of the more distant past PC: And I'm only speaking of the past week. ML: Hm. I assure you that there are a great many things it affects, but I do not care to make this an argument of any sort. PC: ...I am hardly eager as well, today has been PC: tiring. ML: I'm sorry to hear ):B PC: Mm. PC: It is not like every night can be a good one. PC: I am fine, I just PC: I am not eager to push things into squabbling if it can be helped. ML: I certainly do not want to fight, so we're in accorance. PC: Then I suppose you can continue, if you wish, with what you were saying. ML: I do not recall, honestly. Thank you for showing me what I need to lecture him about. PC: Ah. PC: You're welcome, then. ML: Is there anything else I should know about? PC: ...that's a rather broad and loaded question. ML: Goodness is it? ML: Is there anything else you would like to bring to my attention DAoG: PC: ...I don't know. PC: ...all of our conversations are at knife point, and you'd both say that was my fault. PC: He's wishy washy and toys with me, but that didn't matter before, so why would it now? PC: He does his best to keep me on my toes, but why wouldn't he want me off my guard. PC: He insists on wanting to be friends but runs every chance he gets and breaks it off on a whim and blames me. PC: I don't know what you want me to tell you, or why. ML: I don't believe hes been showing me all the logs ):B How is he toying with you and keeping you on your toes? -- palteringCecutiency [PC] sent file logs.zip! -- PC: See for yourself, not that I think you'll believe me. -- martersLegacy [ML] has accepted file logs.zip -- ML: Pardon there are quite a few of them and they are all long. ML: You think he is trying to get rid of you? PC: ...fuck. ML: ):B PC: ...I don't think so. PC: ...I know so. ML: How do you know? PC: How can I not know, Kankri. The signs are everywhere. PC: Either you're blinded to them or you don't care, and I already know that. ML: I must be blind then ):B PC: ...knew that too, regardless. PC: You're too smitten not to be. ML: Whatever else you might think, I won't allow you to be taken from me again. PC: I so dearly wish that was true. PC: But I know better. PC: Things can get easily twisted until you drop such a thought. PC: And I know you side with him. ML: I do not call you brother lightly, Psii ML: And the night we found each other again was one of the most joyous in my existance. ML: Caesurae and I may eventually part ways as we drift apart ML: But I'm afraid you're stuck with me. PC: I PC: I missed you, so much. When we were apart. And I was so happy that you found me in the bubbles. PC: But PC: here PC: is different. PC: ...so different. PC: ...I find myself wishing for Alternia once more, as stupid as that is. ML: Would you like me close tonight? PC: I PC: I don't know. PC: I want you close always PC: but I am at Horuss's. ML: Oh, dear ):B ML: I am glad that you and he are enjoying each other so much PC: I'm sorry. ML: There isn't anything to be sorry about, I'm glad you have another person now PC: I would rather have you back. :c ML: ):B I don't want to ask you to leave him, and I'm not comfortable enough with him yet. PC: ...I was speaking more in general. ML: I don't understand? PC: You PC: You're quite PC: ...you have a life, now. PC: With friends and quadrants and clade and a business. PC: And so does Mother, and Meulin. ML: Oh no ):B ML: I thought you wanted more independence ML: You know I can always bring hive inventory work, or have you over at the shop? PC: ...I do want more independence. PC: Because all of you have adjusted and moved on PC: and I have to live with that now. ML: I want you to be a part of my life, Psii PC: Your life does not have room for me aside from an occasional mention. PC: And even if it did, you do not need another burden. PC: You have too many already. ML: That sounds as if you have decided for me PC: No, I just counted the days you did not come hive, for so many reasons. ML: ):B PC: It's been a cycle, Kankri. PC: I'm used to it. PC: I don't expect anything anymore, you are your own troll and always have been, and if that is where you want to go, I have no place to object. ML: You are still my family. PC: And he is your quadrant. ML: Did you feel this way about Meulin? PC: ...yes. PC: But she has her own life as well, and quadrants, and I don't fit into it either. PC: The same with Mother. ML: Her 'life' is running around in the woods because she is too restless to stay with us, we're too boring. ML: ..pardon for that PC: ...regardless. ML: I haven't gone anywhere, I'm right here. PC: ...I know. PC: ...that makes it worse. ML: ):B ML: I want you close to me PC: ...I do too. PC: So fucking much. PC: I want to rip you away and steal you and hiss at anyone who tries to take you from me again. PC: But you /picked him/. PC: And you /love him/. PC: And I fucking /promised/ I wouldn't fucking do that, like some fucking wide eyed idiot who thinks things work the fuck out ever. PC: fuck. ML: Psii, start coming to work with me PC: yes PC: of course PC: the solution to this is to wedge me into a building with cronus and the demoness every night PC: brilliant as ever ML: ):B ML: Will you not even try? PC: kankri i can barely stand myself every night PC: how am i supposed to put up with /him/ PC: and youd get mad if i got blood on everything ML: I have faith in you, and also a nice back room where someone can take breaks when they need to PC: you have faith in everyone PC: i just PC: where are you ML: Hive, now. PC: coming ML: I'll get us a thick warm blanket PC: love you ML: I love you as well

-- palteringCecutiency [PC] gave up trolling martyrsLegacy [ML] --

PC: [[ Psii at one point got very somber over a while of messages back and forth with Kankri, then kind of miserable, and then eventually said he had to go find his brother and apologized for leaving him ]]

methodicalauxilium: [[ Dl tries to help psii Not get super duper depressed, but he doesn't really know if he should get involved between him and Kankri, so he just mostly does it with snugs. When Mituna says he needs to leave, darkleer just says it's perfectly alright for him to do whatever he needs, and that there will be more time later. ]]

PC: > Go attach yourself to your brother and fail not to start crying the moment you're bundled up with him. > Being miserable is hard, it's hard and nobody understands.

ML: >Shh shh shh hes here, he has you.

PC: > Congratulations Kankri, he has acquired a sniveling mess of a brother who very obviously loves him to death but has so many issues getting in the way. > One that isn't going to be easily pried off until at least the morning.

ML: >He is fine with this, perhaps he should take a day off of work and spend it with Psii.

PC: > You'll feel remarkably guilty about that, and try to get him to go anyway (you're fine, damn it) but your missing him is too much for you to win against his stubbornness.

[americaiskillingitsyouth]

not been haveing a gd 1 m8

this is absolutely just me screaming into the void but my poor poor v good v nice friends have heard enough of my shit (they havent said bc theyre good and nice) but its not their job to listen to my bullshit 24hrs a day - so now its yours!  i don’t have a vent blog so all u lovely ppl who followed me for my posts about industrial music and irreverent memes now need to hear me whine! 

so since november i had myself a full nervous breakdown right? like we went from like non stop crying to hearing shit and seeing shit and being completely irrational and delusional it was terrible.  ive had the worst insomnia since i was bab; my parents used to take turns to rock me down the end of the garden so the other could sleep. that never got a lot better. i also have this jaw thing bc my dentist yanked my wisdom tooth with far too much gusto and oh my godddd when that jaw bone comes out of its house it FUCKING hurts and boy howdy u cannot sleep. the hospital ppl were p useless but they had a follow up, which i couldnt attend for reasons i shant go into (suffice it to say it was not my decision to not go).  ive also since i was like 12 had anxiety. like the all the time kind. like i dont actually give a fuck about anything but its the feeling of anxiety all the time. when i was in denmark the doctor said it was probably a good ol’ case of generalised anxiety disorder,  but i didnt live there long enough to be formally diagnosed, which means now im dealing with englands healthcare system - the very same one that told me after 2 years of constant anxiety “youll grow out of it”. like i wasnt some nebbish woody allen character i didnt give a single fuck about school, or what anyone thought of me but i was just anxious all the time. that is still the case. 

now the doctor i came to her all gross and depressed and hallucinating a bit back in november like “think im broken help?” and she was like “thats a really bad combo of shit to have - bet that’s shit - have some time on govt money and work on u.” i asked her how long itll take to get over this and she gave me an estimate of like 6 months based on how fucked up i was at the time. 

fast forward to now, and i keep feeling like im doing alright, but i also have this feeling like i feel guilty if i do anything i enjoy. dont get me wrong, the chores are getting done at an insane rate and ive learned about like SQL and other shit that is objectively boring bc i feel useless and i dont deserve to have a good time. i also dont enjoy anything anyway so theres no point in doing it - might as well do the hateful things. 

but like i applied for 14 jobs today that are far beneath me even tho i dont have to do anything at all bc i want the money to get fucked up at my own leisure and not have the credit score that is usually reserved for dead people. i am not going to let a hurty face and a nasty case of GAD fuck me up forever. 

u w8 m8, gimme a couple more months and i will be ready to take on my 3 biggest nemeses: gwynyth paltrow (i dont even care enough to look up how to spell her name), jamie oliver and elon musk in a cage match and win. 

but rn i feel sad and i feel pathetic bc everything is like i somehow forgot to ride a bike and am having to learn again. i hate it. i also dont know how to do a read more so sorry for this v long post. if u are a stranger and wanna offer a fellow stranger some words of encouragement that would be more than welcome bc i dont wanna make my friends have to deal w me anymore haha :/ 

[yasbxxgie]

On January 30th, 1973, only six months after the break-in at the Democratic National Committee headquarters in the Watergate office complex, five men were tried and convicted of conspiracy, burglary and violation of federal wiretapping laws. That, of course, was not the end of the matter, as the trail lead directly to President Nixon himself. That same January, veteran soul and R&B singer Roy C. Hammond released a politically charged 45 called “Impeach The President,” a rock-solid drum workout with a funky guitar riff that perfectly captured the zeitgeist. He might have seen the writing on the wall for Nixon, but little did he know that the first four bars of the song were destined to become an iconic hip-hop drum loop, sampled in over 696 songs.

The slew of ’80s and ’90s hits built upon “Impeach” reads like a list of rap classics – MC Shan’s “The Bridge,” Audio Two’s “Top Billin’,” “Jump” by Kriss Kross, “The Rebirth of Slick (Cool Like That)” by Digable Planets, “I Get Around” by 2Pac and “Unbelievable” by Biggie Smalls, to name just a few. Even dance and pop acts from Soul II Soul to Janet Jackson have utilized that song’s boom-bap, and you know a beat is special when master lyricists like Chuck D. (“Rebel Without A Pause”) and GZA (“As High as Wu Tang Get”) reference it in their rhymes. The making of “Impeach The President” and its enduring influence not only illuminates an important chapter of hip-hop history, but it also provides yet another familiar tale in the perpetual struggle of artists to get fairly compensated for their work.

Known for such hits as “Shotgun Wedding” (Blackhawk Records, 1965) and “Don’t Blame The Man” (Mercury, 1973), Hammond cut “Impeach The President” with a bunch of all–black high school musicians from Jamaica, Queens whom he dubbed The Honey Drippers. He doesn’t even remember the drummer’s name now, but says, “I had to spend many hours with him after school, but he turned out to be pretty good.” Recorded at Broadway Recording Studios in Manhattan – in the same building that currently houses the Ed Sullivan Theater – “Impeach The President” was too controversial for Mercury, to which Hammond was signed at the time, so he released it on his own imprint, Alaga Records. Without the promotional power of a major behind it, it went on to sell only a few thousand copies and was relegated to the stacks of obscure funk 45s.

Flash forward to the T-Connection, a popular hip-hop club on Gunhill Road in the North Bronx. In 1980, Aaron Fuchs, the founder of hip-hop label Tuff City Records and one of the early journalists to write about hip-hop, was the guest of Bronx DJ Afrika Bambaataa. “When you see a guy coming to a gig with a little laptop and you remember what it was like to see Bambaataa and his posse come to a gig with four or five guys carrying crates of records behind him, it was very tribal, man, a whole ’nother experience – very post-gang,” says Fuchs, now 69. “He [Bam] showed me the extraordinary respect of letting me see his records,” he continues, and “even with certain stuff scratched out, I knew enough about music and its history to fill in the blanks.” Among a record collection that Fuchs calls,“the most expansive panoply of the musics that nurtured hip-hop,” he identified a 45 of “Impeach The President,” with Alaga Records’ trademark red and yellow label.

“‘Impeach’ was cultish,” says Fuchs, “It kind of separated record purchasers from crate-diggers.” Always trawling through the lists of distributors’ cutouts, he managed to score a 50-count box of “Impeach The President” for the bargain price of 25 cents a copy. “What I did was, if I’d go to the Roxy and I had a new record for Afrika Islam, I’d throw in a couple copies of ‘Impeach,’” says Fuchs. “I never got into or was able to get into greasing people or paying people off, but I could really live with using that type of stuff as currency.”

Based in Long Island City at the time, Fuchs started working with a young, up-and-coming DJ/producer from the nearby Queensbridge projects named Marlon Williams AKA Marley Marl, one half of the very first commercial rap radio show, Mr. Magic’s Rap Attack, on New York’s WBLS-FM. Also an intern at Unique Studios in Manhattan, Marley was just cutting his teeth on production and had a small set-up in his sister’s apartment in the projects that included a four-track, a Roland TR-808 drum machine and two SDD-2000 sampling digital delays by Korg. In 1984, Marley would produce a track for Tuff City artist Spoonie Gee called “Take It Off.” Interviewed by Dubspot in 2013, he recalls, “Fuchs said, ‘Here, I can’t pay you for this Spoonie Gee session, but you can take this pile of records.’ In that pile was “Impeach The President.”

According to Fuchs, “Marley was voracious, and as soon as I gave him something, it was used one way or another.”

Marley went on to sample the Honey Drippers’ kick and snare (with accompanying ghost notes) to each of his SDD-2000s, adding a hi-hat and a kick from the 808 to bolster the sampled kick. He shaped a hook by sampling a reverbed horn fanfare from The Magic Disco Machine’s 1975 record “Scratchin’,” and reversed it to play backwards so it sounded like a stab of pure noise. Finally, he brought in his cousin Shawn Moltke AKA MC Shan to christen the track with lyrics.

“The track ‘The Bridge’ was made not to be a record. It was made as intermission music for the Queensbridge festival that we had in Queensbridge Park in 1984,” Marley says. “Now the first time the track played everybody’s heads turned. Everybody was like, ‘Wow, it’s a song about Queensbridge.’ Everybody was like, ‘Play it again, play it again.’ It was so popular that day that we played it in the park, one of my nephews took the tape and spread it around Queensbridge. Everybody in Queensbridge had a copy of that song and it wasn’t a record yet. I had to do something about that.”

Though “The Bridge” was made in 1984, it only saw the light of day as a release in 1986 on Bridge Records, becoming an instant classic. Marley, who helmed a crew of now legendary artists known as the Juice Crew – featuring Shan, Biz Markie, Big Daddy Kane, Roxanne Shante, Craig G. and Masta Ace – went on to use the “Impeach” beat on many subsequent productions, including such certified rap hits as 1986’s “Eric B. Is President” by Eric B. & Rakim and 1986’s “Make The Music With Your Mouth, Biz” by Biz Markie. He even accidentally handed the beat over to the competition when BDP made “The Bridge Is Over” the following year.

“The funny story about ‘The Bridge is Over’ is that I had met BDP for the first time at Power Play studios when they was playing their demos for Mr. Magic,” says Marley. “So he went into the room, the music was very loud. He did not like it at all, so it got really, really heated. In the rush to vacate the studio, I forgot my famous drum reel with all my drum sounds on ’em. Fast forward, I’m listening to the radio and I hear this song called “The Bridge Is Over” utilizing my drum sounds. I was like ‘Yo! That sounds like my drum sounds. Who’s that?’ ‘That’s them kids that Magic dissed in the studio the other day.’”

By the time “Impeach The President” appeared on the DJ-friendly Ultimate Breaks & Beats series – Volume 11, released in 1987, to be exact – the cat was out of the bag, and that break was on its way to becoming a standard building block for rap tracks. In that year alone, it was used in “I Got An Attitude” by Antoinette, Dana Dane’s “Dana Dane With The Fame,” Cool C’s “Juice Crew Dis” and Audio Two’s mega-hit “Top Billin’.” Fuchs even took his own stab at a version, getting Spoonie Gee to drop some lyrics on a track called “You Ain’t Just A Fool, You’s An Old Fool.”

Ironically, Fuchs decided to go after his old buddy Marley, who had produced two hits from LL Cool J’s comeback album on Def Jam, Mama Said Knock You Out, in 1990. “Around The Way Girl” and “Six Minutes of Pleasure” both used elements of “Impeach The President,” to which Fuchs claimed to own the rights in a New York Times piece on April 21, 1992. He eventually settled out of court with Def Jam for what he describes as “low to mid-five figures.” Of course, these were not the only songs at the time that sampled “Impeach,” and Fuchs went after other artists and labels as well. “There were some lawsuits that had to be filed,” as he puts it, “but eventually it got to a point where it became business as usual.”

During this time, Roy C. Hammond had moved down to Allendale, South Carolina, where he currently runs a record shop. One day while listening to the radio, he heard the song, “Luv Me, Luv Me” by Shaggy and Janet Jackson, a cut from the How Stella Got Her Groove Back soundtrack that was released in 1998. He immediately recognized his own song in the mix, and after doing some calling around was able to track down Fuchs, who had authorized its use in the movie. It turns out the two had met back in 1968 when Hammond was singing tenor in The Genies, a doo-wop group, and Fuchs was a young reporter for Billboard and Cashbox.

“He said, ‘Look, I’m trying to make you some money.’” recalls Hammond, 77, of their reunion 30 years later. “I said, ‘Hell, you should have got in touch with me.’ He had it listed with ASCAP and I’m a BMI writer, so I went over and questioned them about it, and they took it out of there immediately.” It still means that from 1990 through 1998, Fuchs was profiting off “Impeach” without even trying to track down Hammond.

“And he was tellin’ me how much money I was going to make,” Hammond continues, with Fuchs eventually persuading Hammond to sign a five-year licensing deal for the track. Fuchs sealed the deal with a $500 check that apparently bounced.

But Fuchs tells a different story. “You know what’s crazy?” he says, “I never made a deal specifically for ‘Impeach.’ I do all kinds of reissues if you look at my catalog. I put stuff out from the ’40s to the ’80s, you know? And I actually put out a Roy C. album. He had had two albums on Mercury – one was called Sex and Soul and the second album was called More Sex and Soul. And then he had a bunch of stuff he had done independently. So, you know, I had a few things by him and that was one of them.”

“I didn’t authorize none of that,” Hammond maintains. “After he got a contract to license it [‘Impeach’] for five years to give it out to different people for beats, he was supposed to pay me, and he didn’t pay me.” Ask Fuchs, however, and Hammond profited, “hugely.”

Hammond has since taken Fuchs to court several times but hasn’t been able to receive the compensation he says he deserves, and puts it down to the failings of his lawyers, of which he’s gone through several. “The one in New York asked him [Fuchs] for half a million dollars or something, and we wind up getting $100,000,” he says. “And the most I got was $40,000 after lawyers fees.” That was ten years ago. “Just a few months ago,” Hammond adds, “I talked to this attorney and after that Fuchs sent me $32,500. Now that’s the biggest I ever got from him.”

But he is not bitter in the least. “I feel great that I contributed something [to hip-hop]” says Hammond. “But I’m still going to fight this guy, and I’m going to find a good lawyer that’s going to be honest and bring this thing in front of a jury.”

Editors’ Note: Following the publication of this story, RBMA Daily received an email from Aaron Fuchs, the president of Tuff City Records, contesting Marley Marl and Roy C. Hammond’s claims. Fuchs denies Marley Marl’s claim of nonpayment for the recording session of Spoonie Gee’s “Take It Off.” He also contests Marl’s quote from the Dubspot interview regarding a “pile of records,” stating that “I have never offered any DJ or producer ‘a pile of records,’ but rather specific records that I curated and deemed to be of value either to their production needs or fund of knowledge.”

Fuchs also states that Marley Marl was not named as an individual in his 1992 lawsuit against Def Jam, which was filed in response to the label’s release of songs produced by Marl on LL Cool J’s Mama Said Knock You Out LP. Furthermore, Fuchs states that agreements made with Hammond prior to 1998 were accompanied by advances, and seeks to clarify that “No check I ever wrote to Hammond or any other artist has ever bounced.”

[serialslaughters]

Jack The Ripper

Serial Killer Files, 6

Famous for terrorizing the area of Whitechapel, London in the 1880s, Jack The Ripper, also referred to as the Whitchapel Murderer, was a serial killer who was well known for his atrocious killings performed in a signature style. Despite leaving behind trails of dismembered and gruesome bodies, the notorious serial killer was careful never to leave anything behind that could expose his identity. To this day, the world’s most notorious serial killer, Jack the Ripper, is a mysterious and unidentified individual who has baffled investigators for years and continues to haunt history. 

While evidence has lead many to believe that Jack the Ripper has killed only five people, now known as the canonical five, the Ripper himself claims to have taken the lives of up to 11 women. All five of the canonical victims were prostitutes, due to the living conditions and economical status of the Whitechapel district where it was not uncommon for women to turn to prostitution as a means of survival. Prior to modern day intrigue, Jack the Ripper was also extremely infamous during his reign of terror in Whitechapel, London. At the tine, literacy rates were increasing and the public became morbidly fascinated with The Ripper, constantly reading about him in newspapers. The public was so angry at the failed attempts to identify the killer that the home secretary and police commissioner were pressured into resigning. 

With the scene set, the timeline of the killings that had the public completely immersed in Jack The Ripper will now be discussed. Due to the possible falsehood of the 11 alleged victims that The Ripper claimed to have killed, only the five canonical victims will be covered.

August 21, 1888: The first victim of the infamous serial killer occurred at 3:40 AM, the body of Mary Ann Nichols was found in Buck’s Row in Whitechapel. The body was found by Charles Cross while he was walking along Buck’s Row with a man named Robert Paul who called for police.  Mary Ann Nichols’ body had a severe slash through the throat and she was disemboweled. It was determined that she only been dead for half an hour, which likely meant the killer was still nearby when Charles Cross found the body.

September 8, 1888: The body of Annie Chapman was found at 29 Hanbury Street. Her body was found by an elderly resident named John Davis. Chapman’s throat was sliced open and her womb was missing. The divisional police surgeon at the time, a man named Dr. George Baxter Phillips, proposed that the killer had anatomical knowledge due to the precision in which the womb was removed. This lead to the first clue - the killer was most likely a doctor, or at the very least, possessed a basic level of anatomical knowledge. 

September 27, 1888: Central News Agency receives a letter from the supposed killer. It read, “Dear Boss, I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they won’t fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and shant quick ripping them ‘till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now? I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with, but it went thick like glue and I can’t use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope. Ha. Ha. The next job I do I shall clip the lady’s ears off and send to the police officer just for jolly wouldn’t you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work then give it out straight. My knife’s so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good luck. Yours truly, Jack the Ripper. Don’t mind giving the trade name wasn’t good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands. Curse it. No luck yet. They say I’m a doctor now. Ha. Ha.”

This letter wasn’t released to the public until October 1, 1888. Many believe that this was just a letter fabricated by a journalist but the letter was released to newspapers anyway. The public stuck with the name “Jack the Ripper”, and from that point on, it became the famous nickname for the most notorious serial killer of all time.

September 30, 1888: Just 3 days later, at 1:00 AM, the body of Elizabeth Stride was found on Berner Street by a man named Louis Diemschutz. Only Stride’s throat was slit, leading police to believe that the killer was interrupted when Diemschutz approached. It was concluded that she had been dead for just half an hour when examined at 1:15 AM. Horrifyingly, just 45 minutes after the discovery of Elizabeth Stride’s body, another body was found in Mitre Square, just west of Berner Street. Catherine Eddowes, was the second victim that same night. Eddowes’ uterus and left kidney were removed and her face was severely mutilated and disfigured. Most disturbing, is the close proximity of the killings in both time and location, which very clearly presented the arrogance and brazenness of the killer. 

Somewhere between the two sites of the murders, the killer dropped one of the few solid clues that investigators and police would discover: a piece of Catherine Eddowes’ apron. The vital clue was found by Alfred Long on the doorway of an apartment on Goulston Street, just east of the Eddowes murder site. Written with red chalk was a message on the apron that read, “The Juwes are the men that will not be blame for nothing”, a sign of anti-antisemitism that was popular during that time. However, it’s not the message that was most perplexing, but the direction in which the apron was found. Goulston Street was east of the Eddowes murder sight, meaning the apron was dropped when the killer was going in direction of the Stride murder site. This unusual decision meant the brazen killer was willingly entering an area that was packed with police officers and witnesses. This might mean that the killer lived in the East London area, which might explain the motive for entering such a dangerous situation.

Later, police receive a postcard dated “October 1, 1888″ from someone claiming to be Jack the Ripper, with similar handwriting. It read, “I was not codding, dear old Boss, when I have you the tip. You’ll hear about Saucy Jacky’s work tomorrow. Double event this time. Number one squealed a bit, couldn’t finish straight off had not the time to get ears for police. Thanks for keeping last letter back till I got to work again. Jack the Ripper.” 

While it has not been confirmed, many sources state that this letter was received the morning directly after the two murders. If this is true, it would mean that none of the public knew about the double killings and couldn’t have possibly written the letter, leaving only the actual killer to have sent it. 

November 9, 1888: On the ninth of November, the final canonical victim, Mary Kelly, was found at 13 Millers Court in her bed by her landlord’s assistant. Her body was “skinned down” and disemboweled. The landlord described the state of the body as, “The sigh that we saw I cannot drive away from my mind. It looked more like the work of a devil than of man.” 

With the five canonical victims dead, the timeline is now concluded. These are the events that follow. 

Police began to gather eyewitness testimonies of the monstrous man. From these interrogations, a rough visual description can be envisioned. Jack the Ripper allegedly appeared to be between 25-35 years old, roughly 5′5″ - 5′7″, stocky, with a fair complexion and a mustache and was seen dressed in a dark overcoat and dark hat. His overall alleged description was said to be, “perfectly sane, frighteningly normal, and yet capable of extraordinary cruelty.” 

Having presented the timeline of the letters, clues, and five canonical victims, a list of eight compelling suspects will now be conferred, starting with the official three (the official three are according to McNaughten, lead investigator at the time). However, it is important to note that there are hundreds of likely suspects but these eight are the most likely. Additionally, the top three official suspects are not widely believed to be the actual Ripper but are still going to be listed due to their status.

Suspect #1 - Montague Johnson Druitt. Druitt was a barrister who allegedly had an uncle and cousin that were doctors. Druitt died around age forty and had an interest in medicine and surgery. Montague supposedly lived with his cousin who practiced medicine close to where the Whitechapel murders occurred. Furthermore, Montague’s mother had gone insane just a month before the murder of the first canonical victim and he had written in a note that he feared he was also going insane. On December 3, 1888, just four weeks after the murder of the last canonical victim, Druitt’s body was mysteriously found floating in the Thames River. According to McNaughten’s notes, even Druitt’s family believed he was Jack the Ripper.

Suspect #2 - Michael Ostrog. Ostrog was a Russian doctor and criminal who had previously spent time in a mental asylum due to homicidal tendencies. McNaughten states that Ostrog was unable to provide strong alibis for his whereabouts during any of the five murders. He was not convicted due to a lack of sufficient evidence.

Suspect #3 - Aaron Kosminski. Kosminski was a German and Polish Jewish resident of Whitechapel, London who had spent time in a mental asylum in 1889 shortly after the last murder. Kosminski had strong hatred towards women, especially prostitutes, and spent time in asylums up until he passed away. Kosmniski also matched descriptions of Jack the Ripper from eyewitnesses. Additionally, a book published called  “Naming Jack the Ripper”, written by Russell Edwards, claims that a shawl bought at an auction proves Kosminski is the killer because of DNA evidence. The shawl was allegedly found at the murder site of Catherine Eddowes and was stained with blood and semen that matched the DNA of Kosminski’s decedents. However, it was discovered that there was a mistake made in identifying a mutation in Eddowes’ DNA. A mutation named 3.14C is very rare and found in only 1 of every 290,000 people, meaning if it were found on the shawl, it was almost guaranteed that the article of clothing belonged to Catherine Eddowes. However, the scientist that tested the DNA had mistaken 3.15C for 3.14C; 3.15C is a very common mutation and is found in 99% of individuals from European decent, meaning the DNA on the shawl could essentially belong to anyone, making it almost impossible to link it to Catherine Eddowes specifically. After this revelation, this theory was immediately debunked and skepticism reached an all time high. 

Suspect #4 - Jack the Ripper is actually a female. This theory proposes the idea that Jack the Ripper was not really a “jack” at all but a female named  “Jill the Ripper”. An investigator that studied the case during Jack the Ripper’s reign of terror also had a hunch that Jack the Ripper wasn’t a male. This would explain why the killer was able to slip through crowds of police and witnesses without being identified as the murderer because police were looking for a male. A midwife would have basic anatomical knowledge and would frequently have blood on her clothes without raising suspicion. However, it is important to note that all eyewitness testimonies point towards the killer being a male. 

Suspect #5 - Prince Albert Victor Christian Edward (the royal conspiracy). Prince Albert frequented the areas where the Whitechapel murders occurred which resulted in him contracting Syphilis, a disease that drove him to insanity. Many believe that his insanity resulted in a streak of cold blooded murders. Those who believe this theory propose the idea that he was never identified as the killer because royal aids ensured that his murder sites were clean of any evidence that would trace back to the royal family. However, there is a complete lack of evidence that supports this theory. 

Suspect #6 - Walter Sickert. Walter Sickert was a famed painter during the late 1800s and was accused of being the ripper by famous crime novelist, Patricia Cornwell. Cornwell became obsessed with proving Sickert was Jack the Ripper and spent 2 million pounds in 2001 on purchasing Sickert’s paintings, writing desk, and letters. In a desperate attempt to prove her theory, she devoted her time to cutting Sickert’s paintings in half and searching for clues within the paint strokes. Cornwell claims that Sickert was obsessed with Jack the Ripper, which is true. Sickert referenced the infamous murderer several times in his work and even titled one of his paintings “Jack the Ripper’s Bedroom”. Cornwell also claims that one of Sickert’s paintings mimics the facial wounds of the fourth canonical victim. Furthermore, Patricia stated that Sickert allegedly cosplayed as the Ripper multiple times. One of Cornwell’s largest piece of evidence comes from Peter Bower, a forensic paper expert. Bower analyzed Jack the Ripper’s letters and Sickert’s letters and was able to identify them as products of a handmade paper run that only produced 24 possible sheets. Basically, the fact that both Sickert and Jack the Ripper had letters written on papers that only had 24 sheets in existence is extremely unusual. However, it’s important to note that all of Jack the Ripper’s letters are unconfirmed. 

Suspect #7 -  Joseph Barnett. Barnett is particularly suspicious because he lived with the fifth canonical victim, Mary Kelly. In fact, Barnett lived in ten different locations throughout Whitechapel, London, making him an expert on the streets and allies in the area. Furthermore, Barnett was allegedly in love with Kelly and he supposedly referred to Mary Kelly as “his wife” on November 10, 1888 even though they were just roommates. Barnett also disagreed with Kelly’s prostitute nightlife and worked hard to make enough money to keep her off the streets. Some theorize that Barnett committed the first murders to keep Barnett off the streets, which actually worked. However, when Barnett lost his job, Kelly returned to the streets to make ends meet which resulted in explosive fights and bitter tension between the two. In one instance, Mary Kelly brought home two other prostitutes which angered Joseph and resulted in a violent fight. At one point, a window was broken. Barnett packed his bags and moved out the next day and just 10 days later, Mary was found dead in her apartment. Barnett was interrogated for four hours but eventually was let go. Having resided in the building for a long period of time, Barnett would have intimate knowledge of how to unlock doors from the outside and would know Mary’s schedule and tendencies. Evidence at the scene suggested Kelly was killed in her sleep, and not by an outsider she invited in. She was wearing her nightgown and her clothing was folded neatly by her bed. Furthermore, Barnett’s association with Mary Kelly and the residents of Whitechapel would allow him to easily get close to unsuspecting victims. Jospeh’s friends also called him Jack. Further condemning evidence is his perfect match to the physical description of Jack the Ripper. The murders also stopped right after Mary Kelly died, and with his lover dead, there would be no reason to kill because there was no one to keep off the streets. 

Suspect #8 -  James Maybrick. Maybrick is the final and most popular suspect in the Jack the Ripper case, and is widely believed to be the actual killer. Maybrick’s death corresponds with the timeline of murders, as he died just one year after the final canonical victim was killed. Mayrbrick was an upperclass cotton merchant who resided in a state called the Battlecrease House in Liverpool, England. Many believe that this who actually prove that Maybrick is not the killer due to the widespread belief that Jack the Ripper was a poor local and not a wealthy merchant. However, it is important to note that all the murders occurred on weekends and it would make sense that a wealthy man could travel by train on his days off. Maybrick could also benefit from the murders not being in his local area. However, the most damning piece of evidence that makes Maybrick the most likely suspect is a diary found underneath the floorboards of his estate. In the diary, a page reads, “I give my name that all know of me, so history do tell, what love can do to a gentleman born. Yours truly, Jack the Ripper.” Also, the diary supposedly contained intimate details of the murders and according to historians, it matches the era of the Jack the Ripper murders.

However, this theory begins to unravel dramatically when the inquiry of how the diary was found comes up. The diary was supposedly found by a man named Mike Barrett who at one point claimed that he had fabricated the entire diary, only to retract his statement later. When asked about the diary, Barrett claimed he was going through a rough divorce and did not give further details. But if the diary really was found underneath the floorboards, this would be almost concrete evidence that James Maybrick is, in fact, Jack the Ripper. 

Another piece of evidence is an old gold pocket watch with letters carved into the back. The letters were the initials of the five canonical victims, with the short message, “I am Jack. J Maybrick” etched in below them. The scratches were confirmed to have not been done in modern times. The pocket watch was purchased for 225 pounds in 1846, with no further information on the matter. With all the confusion and jumbled information surrounding this theory, it’s hard to tell if Maybrick really is Jack the Ripper or not. While it is widely believed that he is, many also don’t think Maybrick had anything to do with it at all. His home was very far from the location of the murders and with his wealth and steady job, there would be no reason for the successful merchant to murder innocent women in the Whitechapel district.

With all the information, murders, and suspects listed, Jack the Ripper’s case has now been concluded. While there are many compelling suspects and interesting pieces of evidence, we are still a long way from identifying the notorious killer and the case of Jack the Ripper may forever remain unsolved.