#Youth knife attacks girl

[hindulivesmatter]

Why Gandhi is a piece of shit and you should hate him.

Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi has been established in our history as a "Mahatma" which means "great soul"

This man is anything but that.

He is EVERYWHERE. He's on our currency, he's revered as a hero who saved India, and we have a mandatory holiday on October 2nd in honor of him.

If you didn't know, now you're going to get to know why he was a horrible human being. Let's begin.

This man managed to fool people Martin Luther King and Nelson Mandela (among many others) into thinking he was a good person.

Here is some of the shit he's done:

In 1903, when Gandhi was in South Africa, he wrote that white people there should be "the predominating race." He also said black people "are troublesome, very dirty, and live like animals."

 Refused to have sex with his wife for the last 38 years of their marriage. He felt that in order to test his commitment to celibacy, he would have beautiful young women (including his own great niece) lie next to him naked through the night. His wife, whom he described as looking like a "meek cow" was no longer desirable enough to be a solid test.

Believed that Indian women who were raped lost their value as a human.

During Gandhi's time as a dissident in South Africa, he discovered a male youth had been harassing two of his female followers. Gandhi responded by personally cutting the girls' hair off, to ensure the "sinner's eye" was "sterilised". Gandhi boasted of the incident in his writings, pushing the message to all Indians that women should carry responsibility for sexual attacks upon them.

He argued that fathers could be justified in killing daughters who had been sexually assaulted for the sake of family and community honour. 

Gandhi also waged a war against contraceptives, labelling Indian women who used them as whores.

He believed menstruation was a "manifestation of the distortion of a woman's soul by her sexuality".

On 6th April 1947, he gave a speech where he said, “ If the Muslims are out there slicing through Hindu masses to wipe out the Hindu race, the Hindus should say nothing and peacefully accept death”.

He hated the great Hindu rulers, especially Shivaji Maharaj. To please the Muslims, he banned the book named ShivBhaavani which correctly depicted Islam’s intolerance and fierce fundamentalism spread by it.

Refused his wife life-saving medication (for religious reasons), but those religious reasons all of a sudden no longer applied to him when he was in a similar position.

Started a fast unto death when Ambedkar asked for separate electorates for Dalits.

Gandhi left his ailing father on his deathbed, to sleep with his wife. The child born out of this copulation died in infancy. According to Gandhi, the death of this infant was the result of this evil karma.

Gandhi, even when he claimed to be the angel of non-violence, made no efforts to prevent the British from deploying Indian troops at various locations during World War II.

Kashmir was invaded by Pakistan in 1947, the brutal Pakistani army committed heinous crimes against Kashmiri Pandits including mass rape and mass killings consequently many Pandits were forced to flee to Delhi and other places. In one incident Pandits took refuge in an abandoned mosque in Delhi. Infuriated, Gandhi threatened to fast to death if the Pandits didn't leave. The Pandits were slaughtered in a communal riot as soon as they abandoned the mosques.

Criticized the Jews for defending themselves against the Holocaust because he insisted that they should have committed public mass suicide in order to "shame" the Germans instead of fighting back. His exact words were, "But the Jews should have offered themselves to the butcher's knife. They should have thrown themselves into the sea from the cliffs. As it is, they succumbed anyway in their millions."

And this is all from a simple Internet search compiled here. I wonder what else is hiding if I do a deep dive.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 16

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

Kate: …Nn…Where is this?

I regained consciousness on the cold floor.

(That’s right…I ended up smelling something that came from behind me…)

(is this…a warehouse…somewhere?)

My head still felt heavy as I raised it, and stood up.

(I’m not tied up…)

I sighed in relief, but then—

Kate: …!

When I sensed a presence, I turned around and saw a boy and girl looking pale and trembling.

(Who are these kids?)

(...Could it be that—)

~~ Flashback ~~

Barkeep: These days you hear a lot of young men and women get attacked or go missing.

--

Liam: Lately, young people have been getting attacked or going missing.

Ellis: Do you mean the incidents Victor and Will are investigating?

~~ End flashback ~~

(...Did I end up getting involved in the incident?)

While I sat there in surprise, I suddenly heard footsteps from the darkness.

Man in a black hood: Looks like you’re all awake.

One, two, three, four men with black hoods over their eyes appeared.

(These were the criminals who attacked me…)

They each held either a gun or a knife.

(I thought I was glad that I wasn’t tied up…How naive)

The fact that I had such freedom meant that there was no way you’d get away.

Depending on what they do, my life could be taken instantly.

I went pale with fear and fell to my knees.

(Calm down…I’m a fairytale keeper trained by Roger)

(Out of everyone here, I’m the one most familiar with “evil”)

I felt for the gun strapped to my garter belt. Luckily that wasn’t taken away.

(Everyone should soon realize that I’ve disappeared)

And then Crown…Roger will come save me.

The evil Crown was the best group you could have as your ally.

(Besides, Crown’s been following this case)

(If they thought that saving me would help solve this case, then they’d be on it now)

I just had to wait.

(...I’ll need to buy some time)

(Or else…the kids and I—)

A shiver ran down my spine when it felt like the Grim Reaper was drawing near. I mustered up all my strength and stood in front of kids to protect them.

Kate: …Why are you doing this?

Man in a black hood: I don’t see a point in explaining ourselves to someone who’s about to die.

(“Someone who’s about to die”...)

Meaning they plan to kill us in the end.

(We’re not being held for ransom)

(They kidnap random youths)

(But…why would they kill all these people?)

I didn’t understand their intentions.

That made me anxious, and after putting all that effort into standing, my legs started shaking.

Look for a chance to escape

Beg for your life

Provoke him +4 +4

Kate: …It’s not like you’re going to let us run. If we’re waiting to die, then wouldn’t it be nice to have something to take with us to the afterlife? But if you can’t even give us that…then do what you want.

A look of annoyance crossed his face and he gulped audibly.

But the provocation did its job and the hooded man started to talk with an air of confidence.

Man in a black hood: In this world, there’s a thing called “being useless”. Withered flowers, abandoned buildings, dead people. However, there are some people who find value in these.

Kate: There are people who value us even after we die?

(I think…Roger and I had a conversation like this before)

~~ Flashback ~~

Kate: Roger, what’s this law written here in “Dissection Laws”?

Roger: As you know, medicine’s advancing pretty rapidly in England. With that comes a lot of dissections performed by doctors and researchers. Now here’s a question. What do you think the problem with this is?

Kate: …They run out of specimens to perform dissections on?

Roger: Correct. So then people go and collect human specimens however they can.

Kate: Ah, I’ve heard of people who dig up graves to steal corpses.

Roger: That’s why the “Dissection Law” was established to prevent that and ensure cadavers were acquired legally.

~~ End flashback ~~

(...Being regulated by law increases the shortage of human specimens)

That’s why they were killing young people.

Not for ransom.

But the corpses had value.

With this, I came to a conclusion—

Kate: Are you all doctors or researchers who need human specimens?

Man in a black hood: Oh? You’re clever…Who are you?

Kate: I don’t have a name to share.

Man in a black hood: Hmm, cheeky. You’re not entirely wrong, but… Let’s stop chatting. My client wants silent offerings.

The hooded man took something out.

What reflected the dim light dully was—

(A knife…)

--

Roger: This is supposed to be the base, but there’s nothing here…Did we get it wrong?

When they entered, the warehouse was only filled with silence and the smell of dust.

Nica: It’s too early to give up, no? These places tend to have dummies. Like hidden passageways or hidden doors.

Roger held up a finger to stop him from talking.

Roger: …I can “hear” something. There are people in the basement.

Nica: Oh, so that’s abnormal hearing. I thought it had its limitations, but it’s pretty useful.

Ale: Arf arf.

Jude: The dumb dog found somethin’.

Picking up Ale who was sniffing around a wooden crate and moving said crate out of the way revealed—

Roger: A hidden passageway.

Nica: See, I knew it. That means you’re likely right.

They descended into the hidden passageway.

At the base of the stairs, a lone candle casted a shadow on the wall.

Roger: There’s no hiding spots though. Guess we’ll have to get out.

After they emerged, someone saw the shadows their shadows on the wall.

Man with mouth covered: …Who’s there!

10 men appeared, all with their faces covered by cloth.

Jude: Oi, quack. Keep goin’. Princess will be dead if ya don’t hurry.

Roger: …Jude

Jude: Huh? What’s with that face? It’s on your conscience if she dies. Go.

Roger: Sorry. I’ll waive your medical bill. Don’t die, Jude.

With that, Roger ran into the darkness.

Man with mouth covered: Hey, one’s running away. After him!.

The once quiet underground  space turned into a warzone full of angry shouts.

Nica: Oh, I caught something good. You might look mean, but you’re a quite the compassionate fellow aren’t you?

Jude: Don’t think ya got time to chat when you’re gettin’ attacked from behind.

Man with mouth covered: …Die!

Nica: …

Less than a second after noticing the shadow on a ceiling, a gunshot rang out from Nica’s hand.

He killed his target with precision without even looking.

Nica: Unfortunately, I’m not easy to kill. You chose the wrong people to fight.

Man with eyes covered: …Shit, I thought I had you…Gah.

Jude broke the man’s jaw with the tip of his shoe.

Jude: Shaddup.

Jude: …Who the hell are ya.

Cobalt blue eyes smiled at the cold gaze.

Nica: Nica Schwartz, a member of the German Empire’s Vogel. It’s cruel that you’ve forgotten after I’ve already introduced myself. I have a glass heart you know.

Jude: I’m not imaginin’ things when I say you’re too experienced for a mere lapdog. How’d you know ‘bout his abnormal hearin’?

Nica: Don’t worry, I know about you too. Jude Jazza, the president of a trading company. A company that deals in materials and food that don’t often face changes in demand, as well as luxury items and jewelry… You’re also skilled in handling what’s trending in the market. Having a diverse range of products limits risk, so you must be making a lot of money. …Want me to keep going?

Jude: Tch, all that snoopin’s makes me sick.

Nica: You need to know someone to get along with them. Don’t you think we’d get along, Mr. President?

Nica smiled suggestively. Then, multiple footsteps approached.

It appeared that the mens’ colleagues noticed that something unusual happened in the basement and assembled.

Nica: It’s rude to interrupt when I’m trying to solicit* someone. Let’s finish you off quickly.

Jude: Careful I don’t kick you by accident, Vogel lech.

Nica: That’s my line.

--

Meanwhile—The noises underground haven’t reached the warehouse where the kidnapped youths were being held.

Man in a black hood: Let’s stop chatting. My client wants silent offerings.

Kate: …

I gasped at the dull glint of the knife.

Man in a black hood: Ah, yes. You lot, make sure they only get one stab in the stomach. Our client wants the bodies as clean as possible…Ugh, drugging would’ve been easier.

Another man had warned the man with the knife out.

(There are 4 people…My gun has seven rounds. I can take them)

(However)

—Am I able to kill people?

Kidnapped girl: *sob* …No, I don’t want to die…

Kidnapped boy: Me too…Getting killed…In a place like this…

(...Don’t be scared, don’t hesitate)

(They need to be condemned for taking so many lives)

To not arouse suspicion, I slowly reached under my skirt and then pulled out my gun.

(Roger gave me this gun for self-defense)

(But…Now’s the time to use it)

I hated myself for being weak.

I felt frustrated and wanted to change, so I decided to get stronger by being with Roger.

(Roger would definitely kill them all)

An image of him shouldering the guilt while taking however many lives with his rifle popped up in my mind.

(That’s why, I—these people, kill evil)

I held my gun up and placed a finger on the trigger.

(...)

But my finger was shaking— 

Kate: Ah.

The bullet I resolved to fire went way off the mark and made a hole in the wall.

The hooded man turned at the sound and looked at me with my gun still aimed.

Man in a black hood: Pfft, hahahaha! You use a gun like a child playing with a toy.

Kate: Eek…

He grabbed my arm and took my gun away.

Man in a black hood: I’ll show you how you use a gun properly…When you want to kill someone.

Kate: …

The feeling of the barrel of the gun pressed against my temple was a firsthand lesson in the price of failure.

(Ah…Damn)

(So this is the end…)

The only sound I could hear was my own heartbeat, yet as I stared into the darkness, I wished that I could see Roger’s face one last time.

(Farewell, Roger…)

-

*The word Nica uses can also mean flirt, hit on, make a pass at :3

[allzelemonz]

Explore: Bill Williamson X Male Reader

Pronouns: he/him, Reader is referred to as ‘hustler’ which is a term used by male prostitutes Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Bill is cute when he’s pining, incredibly gay and closeted Bill, prostitution, Top Bill and bottom Reader, Reader is an experienced prostitute, references to period typical homophobia, mentions of past sexual experiences, exploring sexuality and preferences, not his first time but it might as well be, teaching/learning about sex, anal fingering, anal sex, Summary: Bill finally has the courage to seek out another man and you’re happy to show him a good time.

Men like you are rare, you only know of one other. Being an insider makes it a little easier, you’ve been here long enough that you consider the women sharing your space and occupation to be family. They’ve defended you when the law comes asking, saying you’re one of their brothers or cousins just making sure they’re safe, then they’ll turn their tricks with the law and they stop asking around. They’ve helped cover for you when getting hotel rooms for your own johns, keeping your identities safe when the rooms at the saloon are full. It’s a calculated business, one you couldn’t do without this little family of whores. It was the mother figure, the oldest of the girls, that helped you learn how to be as careful as you are now. She was the first to call you a hustler, a term she’d heard a man like you use so he wasn’t so obvious. She taught you how to tell if men were interested, if they were inclined to you or one of the sisters. You all help each other, reading all of the signs and working to make money in a profession you all find to be very noble.

That’s why one of the sisters introduces him to you. It’s nothing abnormal. The girls will play the floor, finding a john they think wants a nice night. They’ll flirt and laugh, offering their services when the time is right. But sometimes they pick up on certain clues, men that shy away or seem far too disinterested, sometimes they even look at you. The girls will smile and ask if they’d be interested in a friend of theirs. If they’re sure, then you get an easy john. If not, you fish on your own.

But, tonight, they bring you someone different from the norm. Most men that come to you are either very old or just old enough to be considered at all. Most men that come to you are clean shaven, maybe a little rich, maybe escaping a wife they’ve never enjoyed. This one is very different. He’s broad shouldered with a heavy beard on his face and the distinct look of living rough covers every inch of him. Still, as one of the girls leads him over to you, he looks like a nervous animal. His face is red beneath his beard as if he’s unsure of himself. You can guess his story easily, it’s nothing new. He’s never been with a man, only looked and longed. He’s finally worked up the courage and when he talks to you he will either follow you shyly or run away.

She lets go of his arm and joins you, leaning against the wall with a smile on your face. “Bill, this is my friend. I think he might be more suited for ya.”

The john, Bill, looks up at you and his eyes dart the way most first timers’ do. He looks at your face, then below the waist, then to the side. He looks older than he must be, his eyes have some youth in them from what you can catch. Reading johns is important, especially when you’re outing yourself every time you try to make money. Plenty of men have attacked you for who you are once you’re alone, plenty of them have been stabbed by the knife you keep on you for that very reason. You note that this john has a gun, most do, but the way he stands gives you the sense that it’s always on his hip.

“Hello, Bill.” You say, light and calm with a smile.

He meets your eyes for a moment before glancing away again. “H-Hello.”

“So.” You glance at the girl that brought him over and she takes the hint to leave. “You, uh, looking for a nice night?”

Bill shuffles on his feet and rubs the back of his neck. “I-I ain’t so sure about all that.”

You nod. “That’s alright. I’m here for whatever you want.” After a beat of silence it’s clear he doesn’t know what to say. “How about we go upstairs and talk? Just talk.”

He glances over you again, just your face and chest this time. Then he nods. You give him an attempt at a reassuring smile and start towards the stairs. The girls point you to an empty room as Bill sheepishly follows you with his head dipped down to hide his face with his hat. You open the door for him and close it once you’re both inside, locking it as usual. Bill stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking everywhere but at you. Usually you’d want to get paid before anything, but with men like Bill it’s important to make them comfortable. The shy ones are always the type to pay, compliment, and tip all in one. It’s not like you get johns too often anyway, you don’t mind taking your time because a lot of guys that you treat nice come back and it’s much easier than guessing which men might be interested.

“You have any interesting stories?” You ask, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Anything interesting you’ve done?”

Bill snorts a laugh. “Sure I do.”

He seems a little at ease in the privacy of the room, not comfortable by any means, just less on guard. Most men are, they don’t have to hide from you like they do every other man in the building.

“Tell me.”

Bill licks his lips. “Well, uh, when I was in the army we had these boys that’d go around and, uh-” He stops himself as he joins you, sitting as far away as he can on the bed. He swallows his nerves and glances around as he finds his place again. “These boys that went around playin’ jokes. Colonel didn’t like that, captain didn’t mind but the colonel hated it.”

“What kind of jokes?”

Bill smiles, reliving the memories. “They was runnin’ around and putin’ syrup on whatever uniforms they’d find lyin’ around.”

“Syrup?”

Bill laughs. “Anything sticky, just ta annoy folk.”

You smile along with his laugh, putting on that slight flirtatious attitude you try to have with johns. “So you were in the army?”

“Cavalry.” Bill nods.

“Did you like it?”

You’ve had johns that were military before. Most of them were gruff old men that realized things about themselves a little too late. Bill seems different. Uncertain about his desires, but he has enough of an inkling for his eyes to wander over your body when he talks.

“Sure.” He says, nodding. “I suppose.”

He seems nervous again, so you change the subject. “What do you do now?”

“Oh.” He chuckles lightly, shaking his head. “Ya don’t wanna know about all a’ that.”

“Sure I do, you seem like an interesting man.”

Bill’s face goes red again and he looks down, flattered by the slightest compliment. “I ain’t so interestin’. Yer just saying that ‘cause ya have ta.”

You smile. “I don’t have to do anything. I liked your story, that’s all.”

Bill glances up, then right back down as he clears his throat. “How, uh, how does all this work?”

“You’ve never done this before?” You ask, wanting to make sure his experiences align with your guessing.

He shakes his head. “Well, I-I tried. A couple girls, but I never got that far.” He pauses for a moment as his fist grips at the blanket. “There was a feller a few years ago. He robbed me blind afterwards.”

“Well, I’m not gonna rob you.” You say, softly, not wanting to put any pressure or influence on his decisions. “You just tell me what you’d like to do and we’ll do it.”

Bill shuffles in his seat. “Anything?”

“Generally.” You say. “There’s some things I’ll say no to, but I don’t think they’ll be a problem.”

“Can I kiss ya?” Bill asks, faster than he’s talked all night.

You nod. “Of course you can.”

His eyes light up, but his expression is still nervous. He wants this, but he has that hesitation so many men do. The uncertainty forced on them by society that nags them into believing what they want is wrong. You scoot a little closer to him, making it easy. He leans in, keeping his eyes on yours this time until they close as your lips connect. It’s barely a touch, like the feeling of a wind. Then he must feel it, the desire that pushes past the expectations of a man that looks like him, because he leans in more and actually moves his lips against yours.

His beard scratches against you as he grows in confidence, finding a familiar rhythm. His hand moves to rest on your knee, then he slowly moves to lay you back against the bed. His lips don’t leave yours as he positions himself over you, but he stops when his lower half brushes against you.

“It’s alright.” You assure him, a hand slowly reaching to remove his hat. “You do what you want, I’ll let you know if anything’s wrong.”

Your hand goes to his hair, smoothing it down as you try to reassure him. He takes it, leaning back down to kiss you again and his hands move to work on getting rid of your shirt. You help him where he needs, letting him toss the shirt away. He looks down at your chest as his hands run over it, feeling over your pecs and down your stomach then back up. His breath hitches as he does it and he’s not really breathing, just admiring the fact that he’s running his hands over another man’s bare skin. Then he seems to come-to, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it aside as well. You follow now that he seems sure of himself and what he wants, ridding yourself of clothes as he does until you’re both bare.

His eyes move over every inch of you, processing what he sees with a now obvious consequence out in the open. His hands run over your thighs, feeling the warmth as they travel closer to your own obvious arousal. He looks up at you and you give him a nod and a smile, telling him it’s okay to continue. So he takes you in his hand and feels the weight against his palm. His thumb runs over your tip, spreading the pre-cum and it makes you hiss slightly. Bill’s other hand feels at your balls, just running his fingers over your sack and massaging lightly. His wonder as he explores your body isn’t overly unique, men that haven’t done this before often want to touch because they’ve never gotten to feel another man this intimately before. It’s one of the perks.

You can’t help when you buck into his hand as he squeezes you, needing to feel friction. Bill looks up at you and your gaze meets his with a look that makes his mouth go dry. He leans back over you and kisses you and on hand stays to jerk you slowly while the other finds your hair. You press against him, kissing him back and meeting the motions of his hand.

Then he stops, pulling away just and sitting back on his knees. “I, uh, I ain’t sure how ta do the uh…” He gestures downwards.

“Prepping?” You ask.

He nods. “I-I know it hurts if ya don’t do it, I just ain’t sure how.”

“Do you want me to do it or do you want me to walk you through it?”

Bill looks away for a moment as the red on his face comes over his ears too. “I-I wanna learn.”

You take the hand he had near your hair and he watches as you take a few of his fingers in your mouth. His mouth drops open as he watches you and you can tell his dick is doing the thinking as his eyes keep steady on your mouth. You coat his fingers in spit with a skill acquired long ago, then you bring his hand downwards.

“Feel around, it’s not hard to find.” You instruct, voice soft so as not to freak him out in this new situation.

Bill blinks, trying to think clearly as he runs his hand between your thighs until he feels the right spot.

“One at a time, go slow.”

Bill slowly pushes a finger inside of you and you lift your hips with him to give him a better angle. He moves the lone finger around slowly, then he adds another.

“You want to make room for yourself, so spread them out and stretch the muscles.” You say, keeping your voice as steady and clear as you can with Bill’s large fingers inside of you.

Bill follows your instructions, spreading his fingers apart as he rotates them. He thinks of his size, making sure to spread his fingers wide and ensuring you’re stretched until he’s not nervous about hurting you so much.

“Okay.” You say, breath taking up most of your voice. “Okay, that’s good, Bill.”

“S-So I can, uh…”

You nod. “Go on. It’s okay. Just make sure you get some spit on yourself too, it makes it easier.”

Bill nods as he removes his fingers. He spits into his hand and runs the liquid over himself, spreading the pre-cum as well. He feels slick, he thinks, so he aligns himself. You help him, raising your hips so he can come closer and properly have access. He looks at you one more time and you give him a nod, encouraging him. He takes your hips in his hands as he pushes into you, slowly, careful to watch your face for signs of pain. It’s mostly easy, the stretch nothing too new to you, allowing you to relax in the pleasure of the friction inside of you. Bill fully sets himself inside, his balls flush against your skin and his breathing heavy.

You relax into the bed as he moves, letting him explore the feeling for a bit. Bill moves slowly, grinding and circling to figure out what feels good. The men he’s slept with before took control, he’s never had the time to figure out exactly what he likes.

“What was yer name?” He asks, stopping his movements when he realized he never learned it.

You tell him and he repeats it before he starts a solid pace. You let him settle into it before you move with him, earning a groan when you do. Bill’s pace turns faster and you can feel the ache more and more, but he beats you to it as he wraps his hand around your dick and pumps it as best he can in time with his thrusts. You focus on moving with him, trying to get him off because you can feel your own end coming. Bill does cum first, his thrusts faltering but his hand keeps strong long enough for you to follow him. Your eyes find Bill in time to watch as he pulls out of you and leans forward to kiss you again.

It’s heavy, full of a lot of emotion, and unmistakably more than just a kiss. Not just from Bill, partly from you too. It’s not unheard of, johns falling for their hustlers, but the other way around is much less common. Something about Bill has you though. Not just the sex, his demeanor, his seemingly caring nature, his enthusiasm. So you let your hands tangle in his hair as you enjoy the kiss. It lasts for a long time, Bill not wanting to pull away because he knows it’s supposed to be over now. But he does, once his lips hurt and his jaw aches, he pulls away just an inch and rests his forehead against yours as you both catch your breath.

Silently, unconsciously, he nuzzles against your cheek. It makes your heart skip and you press a kiss to his cheek. You’ve never been so affectionate with a john before, but you’re feeling things with Bill. So when he falls onto the bed next to you, you curl into him and rest your head on his chest. He watches you, face red and heart skipping as he puts an arm around you.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Luke Hallam at The UnPopulist:

For the past seven days, the U.K. has witnessed its worst riots in over a decade. What started off last week as a wave of protests over the horrific murder of three young girls, fueled by false claims about the identity of the attacker on social media, has metastasized into something far more profound: a deep fracturing of relations between communities that threatens to do lasting damage to Britain’s social fabric.

Origin of a Race Riot

Last Monday, a knife-wielding teenager entered through an open fire door at a Taylor Swift-themed dance class in the seaside town of Southport and killed three participants, all girls under the age of 10. He also injured eight more young children and two adults. It was an evil crime, the horror made all the more acute by the youth of the victims and by the fact that someone would target for such an atrocity, of all things, a joyful summer dance party. What came next should be considered a textbook example of how harmful lies can spread on social media. There are generally good reasons to be wary of finger-pointing when it comes to “fake news” and social media’s role in spreading it. But in this instance, it’s hard to overstate the extent of the hysteria that was unleashed. Mere hours after the attack, the killer was seemingly identified as Ali al-Shakati, a Muslim asylum seeker who had arrived in the United Kingdom by boat, and was known to the British security services as a potential threat. Within minutes of the first social media post identifying al-Shakati, the story was picked up by a dubious news organization calling itself “Channel 3 Now.” The al-Shakati story was then parroted by Russia Today, and began appearing in a raft of viral posts on social media, including X, LinkedIn, and Facebook. Right-wing influencers with huge followings, like Andrew Tate, amplified the story, and various posts amassed thousands, often millions, of impressions.

Unrest broke out initially in Southport, Hartlepool, and London. Rioters released smoke flares and set fire to a riot van; they threw trash cans and bottles at police officers. As the unrest spread, it was the far right—an ad hoc coalition of former members of the English Defense League, supporters of notorious far-right agitator Tommy Robinson, and ordinary people swept along on social media—fueling the violence. It was common to see English flags and chants of “English till I die.” Mosques and Islamic centers were targeted in a horrific wave of xenophobic thuggery. It was, in large part, a genuine race riot—not a phrase to use lightly. In the first three days, it was well known that the suspect was only 17 years old, which means that by law they couldn’t be identified in the media. Still, in an attempt to head off the violence, the police released some limited information confirming that the alleged perpetrator of the atrocity was in fact born in the U.K. Nigel Farage, the leader of the populist-right Reform UK party and a newly-minted member of parliament, echoed a widespread fear that the establishment was conspiring with the police forces to protect an illegal migrant for fear of fueling an anti-immigrant narrative, irresponsibly declaring: “I just wonder whether the truth is being withheld from us.”

Finally, on Thursday afternoon, a judge took the unusual step of allowing the media to release the full identity of the alleged perpetrator despite his being a minor, noting that the suspect was only a few days away from turning 18. It turns out that Ali al-Shakati doesn’t exist. The real suspect, Axel Rudakubana, a 17-year-old born in Wales to Rwandan parents, was not a refugee. We don’t know that he’s not Muslim, nor that his motives were unrelated to some sort of Islamist ideology—though, given that only 2% of Rwanda’s population is Muslim, it seems unlikely. Of course, it hardly matters. There’s no earthly justification for violently attacking mosques, harassing the public, and setting fire to police vans.

[...]

Far-Right Xenophobia Capitalizes On Britain’s Integration Issues

There are two things to say in response to all of this: two things that may at first glance appear to be mutually exclusive, but are nevertheless both true. The first is that the right-wing polemicists have long been packaging these problems together into one overarching, catastrophist narrative of British decline. The problem is, there is no evidence that the knife crime wave has been directly fueled by asylum seekers. As bad as knife crime and other problems may be, it is also simply incorrect to assert that the country has in recent years become, in the words of one representative commentator, “a lawless country where there is no justice at all.” What’s more, right-wing catastrophism is hypocritical insofar as it has often been fueled by the very same politicians who were in government until last month, and spectacularly failed to tackle most of these problems. Indeed, it was the Conservative government that slashed the number of police officers and presided over the arrival of a record number of refugees, while failing to find a humane, durable solution for processing them. (In addition, it’s notable that even as one part of the country, Scotland, managed to successfully bring its knife crime problem under control by adopting a community-led agenda, Conservative politicians in Westminster made vacuous pronouncements about law and order that amounted to nothing for most of the country.)

The second thing to say is that there are real problems with Britain’s model of dealing with ethnic and religious diversity. Whenever there is social unrest or communal strife in France, for example, Brits and Americans like to put the blame squarely on the French model of laïcité—an imperfect approach to the separation of church and state that is often caricatured as consisting in naked animus against religious minorities. But Britain’s own highly communitarian approach—which often gives a free pass to the most radical elements within a religious community—does not seem to be faring much better, with the result that elements within some immigrant communities in Britain’s major cities have failed to properly integrate, and, as the present riots show, longstanding resentments have been left to fester.

Over the past week in the United Kingdom, far-right race riots over the UK’s immigration policies and the Southport stabbing have sprung up all over the Home Nations, especially in England.

These riots are fueled by paranoid Islamophobia, anti-immigrant xenophobia, and fake news.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

SAINT OF THE DAY (July 6)

July 6 marks the feast day of St. Maria Goretti, a young virgin and martyr whose life is an example of purity and mercy for all Christians.

St. Maria Goretti is best known for her commitment to purity and the courageous defence of her faith at the young age of eleven that made her willing to undergo death rather than participate in a sin against God.

She is also remarkable for the forgiveness she willingly granted her attacker as she lay on her deathbed.

Maria was born on 16 October 1890 in Corinaldo, Italy. Her father, a farmer, died of malaria when she was young, and her mother had to work to support their six children.

Maria took care of the younger children while her mother worked. She prayed the Rosary every night for the repose of her father’s soul.

She grew in grace and maturity. Her cheerful obedience and piety were noticed by those around her.

On 5 July 1902, a neighbouring farm hand, Alessandro Serenelli, tried to rape Maria.

On several prior occasions, Alessandro had harassed Maria with impure advances, all of which she has vehemently rejected.

This time, he locked her in a room and tried to force himself upon her.

She fought against him, shouting, "No! It is a sin! God does not want it!"

She warned him that this was the path towards hell.

When Maria declared that she would rather die than submit to this sin, Alessandro angrily grabbed her and stabbed her 14 times with a knife.

Maria was found bleeding to death and rushed to the hospital.

As she lay dying, she forgave Alessandro for the crime he had committed against her, saying:

"Yes, for the love of Jesus, I forgive him...and I want him to be with me in Paradise."

Although the doctors tried to save her, she died two agonizing days later, only eleven years old.

Alessandro was sentenced to 30 years in prison.

He remained unrepentant until one night, eight years into his prison term, when Maria appeared to him, dressed in white, gathering lilies in a garden.

She smiled, turned towards Alessandro, and offered him the flowers. Each lily he took transformed into a white flame. Then Maria disappeared.

From that moment, Alessandro converted and found peace. He repented of his crime and changed his life.

He was released from prison three years early and begged forgiveness from Maria’s mother, which she duly granted.

Alessandro moved to a Capuchin monastery, working in the garden as a tertiary for the remainder of his life.

He was one of the witnesses who testified to Maria's holiness during her cause of beatification, citing the crime and the vision in prison.

Many miracles were attributed to Maria Goretti after her death.

Pope Pius XII beatified her on 27 April 1947 and canonized on 24 June 1950, becoming the youngest Roman Catholic saint officially recognised by name.

Her feast day is celebrated by the Church on July 6.

She is the patron saint of purity, rape victims, young women, and youth in general.

On her feast day in 2003, Pope John Paul II spoke about St. Maria Goretti at his Sunday Angelus, noting that her life provides an exemplary witness of what it means to be "pure of heart."

"What does this fragile but christianly mature girl say to today's young people, through her life and above all through her heroic death?" asked the Pope.

"Marietta, as she was lovingly called, reminds the youth of the third millennium that true happiness demands courage and a spirit of sacrifice, refusing every compromise with evil and having the disposition to pay personally, even with death, faithful to God and his commandments."

"How timely this message is," the Holy Father continued.

"Today, pleasure, selfishness and directly immoral actions are often exalted in the name of the false ideals of liberty and happiness.

It is essential to reaffirm clearly that purity of heart and of body go together, because chastity ‘is the custodian’ of authentic love."

[marmorada]

By Ewan Somerville, Fiona Parker and Alex Barton

A private school pupil was stabbed to death by a teenage boy in south London after she rejected flowers from him, The Telegraph understands.

Witnesses said the 15-year-old girl, named locally as Eliyanna, was travelling to school in Croydon when a row broke out between herself and her friends and other pupils from a local school.

The argument is said to have spilled out of the number 60 bus and onto the pavement outside a shopping centre, where the schoolgirl was attacked by a young man “wielding a sword-like knife” and “wearing all black” at around 8.30am on Wednesday.

Paramedics rushed to the town centre to treat the teenager, who was described by locals as having “a fantastic future ahead of her”, but she died at the scene.

One girl was seen being held back, screaming: “That’s my best friend” as she tried to push past the crowds to reach the wounded teenager.

Police arrested a 17-year-old boy nearby around 75 minutes after the attack took place. The suspect and the victim are understood to have been known to each other.

Chevanice Thomas, from Croydon, told how her friend Apple witnessed the girl being attacked. Relaying her friend’s account, she said: “He gave her the flowers and she threw them away. Her friends all dispersed when she went down. After that the boy apparently stabbed her, blood gushing out and the police put pressure on it. She died on the spot.”

Staff at the Leonardo Hotel on Wellesley Road, where the incident took place, rushed to the scene. Beldine Kutima, who works there, said: “One of our duty managers went to get the bus, but she came back in screaming and grabbing towels from the back room. She ran out there with bin bags and towels. She was crying and in shock.”

Michael Fyffe, an estate agent who was on his way to work when he saw the aftermath of the attack, said: “Two of the girl’s friends were there. One of the girls wastrying to get past the crowds to the body. Everyone was trying to hold her back to let the ambulance crew do their jobs.”

James Watkins, a youth worker, said friends informed the teenager’s family, who were unable to get to their daughter before she died. “They were unable to say goodbye,” he told The Telegraph. “They were in shock and devastated. It doesn’t feel real to them.”

[....]

The teenager was a pupil at Old Palace of John Whitgift school, a 134-year-old girls’ school that charges fees of up to £19,350 a year.

Anthony King, from My Ends, an organization that aims to reduce violence, told The Telegraph he had spoken to her family in the aftermath of the attack.

He said: “The family and extended family are widely devastated, heartbroken. I cannot articulate the sound, the tears and the genuine heartbreak at what took place this morning.

“She had a bright future ahead of her, she was in GCSE year, Year 11, and she was an absolutely incredible young lady, very articulate, really had a fantastic future ahead of her.”

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

So I think I have a idea of how I wanna go about 'The Best Kinda Accident'

Jaune failed, that Dammed Cat Decides to try and Break Jaune, leading the Jabberwok to the village, leaving it to destroy them it attacks him.

Throwing every single one of his failures at him. Telling him that a broken, useless knight like him can't protect anyone... Can't even help anyone.

That he'll only fail them again and again and again. That all he causes is death. Pyrrha, Penny and Alyx... Jaune knows the cat is right, but also won't allow it to complete it's plan.

To hurt Ruby, his friends when they fall here. He let's it enter him, but the Curious Cat underestimated the Rusted Knight.

Because while Ruby might be a Smaller More Honest Soul. Jaune was a determined one. A stubborn soul that if nothing else could endure, whose mind would break before his souls gave...

Fighting the cruel feline's will Jaune made his way to the place he swore to never go. It roaring at him every second of the way there. Pushing forth all his failures, all his weaknesses and mistakes to the forefront with each step he took.

Until he was before the tree, Jaune would Ascend, would lose himself, but he'd take this monster with him... And so he entered.

But was suprised to find the blacksmith waiting for him...

"Your finally here..." When he ask he is presented with her knife, the third person he'd failed... But as his youth is restored, he promises to remember her...

The real Alyx that only Jaune knew, the girl who did so much wrong but died wanting more then everything to do right. Remembered Penny who made the ultimate sacrifice for others, who died so that others could live... And Pyrrha, who fought when nobody else could no matter how hopeless it was...

He wouldn't let their memories die, if nothing else he would preserve that small part of them that lived on in his memories and live by them. The 3 lessons they taught him.

That it was never to late to change, to make a difference.

To never stop trying to save others, even to their final breath and after...

And no matter how hard it is, that no matter how dire everything is and how easy it might be to give up or run. To get up, to choose your own destiny...

His youth restored? but all he endured not forgotten he steps through the door...

But opens his eyes to not find Vacuo waiting, but himself in a place that fell so long ago...

With his sword reformed as if before the day he fell, streaks of white through his hair and a knife at his side.

He spoke the places name...

Beacon.

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

Thank you Dujour! alas neither of my wotr fic made the cut but one ffxiv sneaked its way among the jojos, and one non oc work snuck in among Muro n co as well as well. Oops went a bit ham on how i feel about them before realizing i should have been doing summaries, so my personal feelings for each under the cut<3

They Make Me Mad- JJBA- oc

Celia finally snaps after listening to Soverano chatting shit all night- but as she approaches to give him what the righteous anger inside of her thinks he deserves she is instead pushed to escort a drunk and high Tesoro home, distracting her and avoiding the fallout that would come from a fight between her and Soverano. But she easily sees through the ruse, angry at Soverano escaping justice, and after Tesoro is definitely made sober after being drenched with a bucket of water, they start arguing about the dangers of doing what's right in their world, which ends with Celia storming off home.

I am the softly falling snow - FFXIV- Post-Heavensward

The observations and musings of a soldier of Camp Dragonhead as he watches the warrior of light mourning, a while after the dragon song war is over, when Ishgard is rebuilding and the camps have new recruits.

old habits die hard, hope for a better future dies faster- JJBA

Conficcare is cornered, and is reminded of when he was younger. try and he might to win, he's not as strong as he thinks he is, and also distracted. ending up on his back with a boot pressing on his rib. during all hes thinking about how he and his friends have changed. His friend that's changed the most arrives and rescues him, but he spirals further into anger and grief and how much the Celia he knew has been warped into the Muro he knows today. Eventually Muro gets through to him, and carries him home, where he tries to comfort Conficcare, and Conficcare gets a glimpse of part of his old friend he though long dead.

A knife offered in friendship- JJBA

After his fight with the stand user Formaggio, and while Giorno, Abbachio and Fugo are in Pompeii, Narancia tries to help Trish feel more safe by offering her his knife in a gesture of friendship- although his way of gifting it to her was not the best in terms of stopping her panicking

Born to Run- JJBA

Chasing promises of power from a mysterious new figure in the Napoli underworld, the youths prepare to race, with Celia called as the mechanic, however carefully laid plans for victory go awry when their leader is attacked on the way to the starting line- and driven by Elena's ernest passion to win, Celia takes the wheel and leads them to victory, with Elena beside her, ensuring they get that far.

They Make Me Mad- JJBA- oc

maybe on here because of recency bias, but i do love it, being the second look at a teen Celia, and her complex relationship with Tesoro [its the foreshadowing, hypocrisy and tragedy- i am nothing if not a sucker for becoming the thing you hated<3]

I am the softly falling snow - FFXIV- Post-Heavensward an outlier in terms of fandom, and quite old actually, well in terms of my writing i still like, at about six months. games were i end up forming such strong emotional bonds with characters will always stick with me, and for the very linear story, ffxiv manages to get me every time<3 its short and bittersweet but im still very proud of it,

old habits die hard, hope for a better future dies faster- JJBA

Shaking them both. i still like You hurt them like they're nothing but Old habits really shows the complexity of their relationship, not just the effects.

A knife offered in friendship- JJBA

Not oc-centric! not even a single oc! Trish Una you will always been the main character of part five to me<3 i also think Narancia deserves better. Knife part isnpired by me thinking how tf did you make this 15 year old girl feel safe around you.

Born to Run- JJBA

again, i love everlasting kiss but born to run is very much a part two that builds on born to run, and i just love the rollercoaster of tension and action and stupid teenagers in love and grief

[opinated-user]

"wannabe gangsters" said the woman who literally bragged about stabbing someone in the streets after being attacked with a bat out of nowhere. with the publishing of her pristine pocket knife with which she did it for more cringe. "wannabe gangster" said the woman who advised to children that the best way to deal with bullies was to grab the heaviest object they could find and smash it against their heads.

self awareness has really never been a virtue that LO has. more than that... LO, those are children you're talking about there. trouble youth who wouldn't be in the same hospital as you if they didn't have trauma, mental illneses and struggles of their own. none of which you have absolutely no sympathy or compassion for. that "tough persona" you claim to loath so much, despite you using it constantly, very much could be a way to protect themselves or because that is how they grew up thinking it was how you were supposed to act. just because they're men doesn't mean that their issues are not important. we all know that she's a gender essentialist at heart, but nowhere it's that more evident that when LO talks about traumatized men, fictional or real. when it comes to herself, all the compassion of the world should be only for her and her alone. when she lash out violently, it's understandable and you're a monster if you don't understand it. when she has violent idealization, that's her coping with what happened to her. but when men struggle in any sort of way, they're wannabe gangster, they're loathsome and don't deserve anything. you could just say "i connected more with the girl" and leave it at that. there was no need to be so needlessly cruel and dismissive of other kids who were going through their own issues. meanwhile, you have been a grown adult the entire time that you were pretending to be a badass fighter in the streets and advocating for violence as the ultimate solution for everything.

[coochiequeens]

A 15 year old girl is dead because a 17 year old boy couldn't accept that his relationship with another girl is over.

Hero schoolgirl, 15, was stabbed to death on Croydon bus in horrific rush-hour attack 'when she stepped in to protect her friend who got into row with her ex-boyfriend when he turned up with flowers and love note': Emotional tributes are paid at the scene

By JAMES FIELDING and RORY TINGLE, 

A 15-year-old schoolgirl who was stabbed to death this morning on her way to school was trying to stop a fight between her friend and her ex-boyfriend, witnesses have claimed.

Tonight the girl, who was a pupil at Old Palace of John Whitgift School in Croydon, has been named locally as Eliyanna. She was attacked at 8.30am - less than a mile away from the school gates. 

Locals say they saw a group of schoolchildren getting off the No 60 bus outside the Whitgift Centre, where a row between the girl, wearing a green school blazer, and the boy - in a black blazer - 'spilled out' on to a street busy with pedestrians. 

It was previously claimed that the girl had been attacked after she 'refused to go out' with the boy and 'rejected his offers of flowers', but it has now been claimed he was in fact trying to speak with her friend.

The friend had been trying to hand the boy back a bag of his belongings while he tried to give her flowers when the fight broke out, seeing the victim attempt to intervene, witnesses said.

This afternoon, a love note with the words 'special girl' and 'princess' written on it, along with blood stained red roses, were being examined by forensic officers. The note was then removed from the scene.

Chevanice Thomas, whose friend claims to have witnessed the stabbing, said the girl had rejected flowers from the boy moments before he attacked her with a knife that resembled 'a sword'. Another witness claimed she heard a girl saying she 'didn't want to go out with him any more'. 

The bus driver and a passenger tried desperately to save the girl's life but she died at the scene at 9.21am. Community worker James Watkins said the girl's 'devastated' family were summoned to the scene this morning but were 'unable to make it' in time to say goodbye to their daughter.

Officers arrested a 17-year-old boy in nearby New Addington at 9.45am. Metropolitan Police Chief Superintendent Andy Brittain said police are not looking for anyone else in connection with the incident. 

Old Palace of John Whitgift School is a selective independent day school for girls aged three to 18. It is consistently ranked as one the best in London and is a sister school to Whitgift School for Boys. It is not yet clear which school the boy attended.

One witness to the attack claimed she saw a boy and a girl arguing, with a girl saying she 'didn't want to go out with him any more'.

The woman, who asked not to be identified, continued: 'There were about seven or eight children who got off a bus which stopped outside the Whitgift Centre.

'There was a young girl and young boy arguing. He had flowers with him and they were arguing about the girl breaking up with him yesterday.'

Those who knew Eliyanna said she had a bright future ahead of her, on track to pass all of her GCSES later in the school year.

Anthony King, chair of the My Ends organisation which works with the Met Police in Croydon said: 'The victim was absolutely incredible with a very bright future. A very comedic young lady. 

'The word I think that was used was jovial. She was on track to pass all of her GCSEs. She was very articulate.'

The girl's family had tried to rush to her side upon hearing that she had been hurt, but tragically arrived to late.

Mr Watkins, who works at the youth prevention and intervention programmes at Mainz World, added: 'It's disgusting, when we look at these children being killed that are from the borough it hurts you in the heart. These could be our kids, it's devastating.'

Amongst those who witnessed the stabbing were two girls, said to be the victims best friends.

Mr King added: 'Two 15 year old girls were absolutely devastated by witnessing their very close friend being stabbed. They're still being interviewed by police.'

Michael Fyffe, who witnessed the attack, told Sky News: 'I turned around and could see that someone was trying to resuscitate her.

'There were loads of people who had just come off the bus and then I think two of the girl's friends came out and they were trying to rush over towards the body.

'So myself and a few of the other people tried to hold her back and just say, ''Look let them try and help your friends" and she was just screaming, "Is my friend dead? She's my best friend".'

Speaking to journalists at the scene, Metropolitan Police Chief Superintendent Andy Brittain said officers were not looking for anyone else in connection with the incident. 

'This is every parent's worst nightmare, and I know the officers who responded this morning, along with our emergency service colleagues, are devastated at the victim's death,' he said. 

'This is an emotion I share and I know people across Croydon will be feeling the same.

'The victim's family has been informed and our thoughts are with them at what must be an incredibly difficult time.

'We carried out urgent inquiries to find the suspect and within 75 minutes of the incident happening a 17-year-old boy was arrested in New Addington. He remains in custody and will be questioned by detectives.

'We remain in the early stages of our investigation, however based on what we know so far we believe that we are not looking for anyone else in connection with this offence.

'From our initial inquiries, we believe the suspect may have known the victim. However, we're not in a position to release the victim's identity at this time.'

A mother-of-two, who asked to be named only as Bridget, said: 'I was on the bus before and came off and walked back down, I saw them resuscitating her.

'The driver was holding her, and a lady. The emergency services were already here when I walked back.'

She said two other schoolgirls, believed to be the victim's friends, were trying to get back through the police cordon but were held back.

Victor Asare was on a bus on the way home from a night shift as a security worker when he said he saw a boy in a black blazer stab a girl in the neck with a knife which was 'black, thin and about a foot long'.

The 50-year-old said: 'The boy wore a black blazer, the girl wore green. It looked like the girl didn't want the boy to come closer.'

He then described the boy stabbing the girl in the neck with a black knife.

'A lot of people came, everyone came off the bus,' he said. '[The boy] ran away. Everybody was crying and screaming. The girl was on the floor.

'We tried to catch him and a lot of people tried to save the girl. I was so shocked, I was shaken. It's somebody's daughter.

'I finished work but couldn't sleep, so came back, I wanted to see if the girl was OK.'

Croydon MP Sarah Jones attended the police press conference alongside Croydon mayor Jason Perry.

See complete article

[ricardian-werewolf]

Chapter 6: Holy water cannot help you now

Ao3 Link Summary: As the aftermath of the attack on Keramzin comes to the forefront, there is a reflection across Ravka of their Sankta Sol's martyrdom.

Chapter below cut:

After. As the darkness claimed her, the Girl knew this black void was not the end. More, a sleep. The soft, tranquil stillness of a coma. She had fought so long, so hard, and deserved a chance to lick her wounds. The knife to her chest had torn into her heart, but a flicker of sunlight healed the skin before the Darkling could notice.

As she slipped in and out of the inky black, her faithful came from out of the woodwork to settle the girl’s body upon a gold-encrusted litter and laid her upon sheets of gold satin and silks. From there, she was carried by her faithful Soldat Sol across Ravka to the place of her birth. Her friends and allies accompanied her, the gold-eyed twins at her side no matter the day or night. Millions flooded the Dva Stolba valley, chanting her name until their voices were hoarse, and yet screamed still more. Mothers wept, tore at their garments as her litter was carried past village and town alike. Men removed their caps and clutched the icons of her form - the stag’s antlers cast in a halo around her head. The icon showed the fetter on both wrists as she cast a glow of sunlight. 

All while, the girl slept and dreamed of a fox-prince with golden hair and hazel eyes. He, too, slept. Buried beneath the ice-sheet of the Ash Tree, brought into a coma through their shared tether. The darkness did not sink its claws into him the way the girl feared. In its stead, the darkness loved her prince the way it could never love her. Time healed all wounds. The girl knew that like a surgeon’s scalpel, the darkness was seeking to cut from her prince the tumor that had festered in his soul for so long. 

The Darkling had evaded fate once again, leaving the orphanage of the girl’s youth a smoldering ruin. Into his embrace he had taken the Grisha children, promising brimstone and hellfire to follow if anyone made to move against them. But, one did. Sturmhond, the wolf of the seas, made the Darkling’s plans to attack the Firebird’s nest a near impossibility. The First Army, of its Otkazat’sya men and women, raised new banners in the name of the Sun Saint:

A fox circling a sunburst, all backed in the deep green of the Little Prince. 

They took up their guns and sabres once more, and marched into the fog of war to bring glory to their war-torn home. All while worshiping her name and offering prayers of healing for the soul of the girl who had become their savior.

Little girls scattered fire-flower petals on the grasses of the Firefalls as the Apparat, returned from his holy exile, proclaimed the Sankta Sol in a place beyond what mere man knew. She was not at the Making of the Heart of the World, not yet.

Nor would she be. For the tether that stretched between the Little Saint and Little Prince was a bond that could not be cleaved even by death. As long as the other loved their half, they would not die. The Little Prince was too clever to evade death’s scythe. He would be the one to plunge into the underworld, guided by the girl’s light, and they would emerge.

Together. 

She would not let the Darkling rule another day. He would face his fate, whether with the steel of a Grisha blade or cold bullet of a rifle. It would be up to the girl to undo the pain and misery that had swallowed her country and people whole. She would live.

She would rise, become the savior her people needed. It was time to come out from under her old matron’s skirts. The Girl would waken, and she would have at her side a king who would crown her in cloths of gold and fox-fur, impress into her skin the prayers of a man who loved her for who she was. His word was holy oath, more than even the Apparat’s cries. 

Her faithful would come for her, and she for him. This much was something that could be written in the stars, in the compass that pointed ever truly north, and the ring upon the girl’s finger that only the red-haired girl of one eye and many scars recognized.

Her friends and allies would disperse, and would return to the lives of outlaws and miscreants intent on surviving. But from her place of rest and enshrinement, they would emerge crowned in the certainty that the Sun Saint had not forsaken her most beloved of peoples. She had not failed them once ere this.

Now she would not either.

Carried up in the flames of the firefalls, the litter carrying the girl was deconstructed, and a dome of the finest Fabrikator made glass placed over the bed. In its becoming of a coffin, the falls were parted and the coffin placed into a cave lit by the stalagmites that dripped down from its ceiling. Then, the cave was sealed, prayers were finally offered, and the crowd drew away in reverence for their martyred saint.

All across her homeland, church-bells sang songs of mourning, calling the faithful to mass and supplicants to kneel at their shrines. All to beg for the soul of the girl who was an icon. 

Inside the coffin, the girl touched the fetter at her wrist and the collar at her neck. 

A smile touched her face. In her ear, she heard a voice whisper.

“Rest well, Sunshine.” The girl’s laugh was a silent one, but it brought mirth to her. She closed her eyes again, and let the darkness carry her down into a world only the Little Prince and she knew. There, she would be home. Orpheus had found her Eurydice. She would strum her lyre and sing sweet songs of the return of a fox-king and a sun-queen. 

Those who heard her song would know of her return, and carry in their breasts the sacredness of such a gospel sung by a girl unto whom death nor the Darkling could touch. 

[reginarubie]

Girl, Rhaenyra doesn't even have an idea how those hands were *used* some time ago 🤡 I'm sorry princess but your precious flawless kiddo maimed his uncle and the latter suffers from chronic pains let alone he lost an eye!

Rhae is all ✨uncle rights ✨only when it comes to Daemon.

Hi @wildfieldz!

I think therein lays Rhaenyra biggest flaw. She is blind to her children's flaws. If they wanted me to feel sympathetic for them and supporting of her, I would've wanted to be shown a scene in which Rhaenyra sat down her sons and gave them an earful for what they had done.

As I kid I inadvertently once, pushed another child and he broke his ankle, though I had not done it on purpose, as we were merely playing my parents gave me the earful of my life. And not because it was my fault and I had meant to do it, but because I had been careless and someone had gotten hurt. They told me I had to be more careful and not engage in those physic plays — we were pushing each other around, I was bit wild in my youth since I lived in a little town with mostly boys my age and only another girl — where people risked to get hurt.

Imagine if I had purposefully got into a scuffle — four to one, nonetheless — and purposefully hurt somebody else. I tell you I would have been made apologize, understand my mistake and grounded for the rest of my childhood, to the very least.

What they did was cruelty. They picked on Aemond continuously because he had no dragon, the bullied him and whilst it had never turned actually physical by what we've seen, when Aemond actually proved he was above their bullying, when he showed them their bullying had only made him bolder and stronger they ganged up on him again.

And whilst I could excuse Baela and Rhaena as they were grieving for their mother and her dragon was the only last they had to her, beyond each other and I can understand their rage, especially since they lived him claiming Vhagar as him “stealing” their mother's dragon, a good parent would've sat them down, held them through their grief and told them violence is not the answer.

Jacaerys and Lucerys do not hold the excuse of having just lost their mother. They don't show us if they were close with Laena, what they show us is two bullies who see their victim finally becoming virtually untouchable — they could only bully him because he was the only one without a dragon and now not only he commands a dragon but he also has claimed the oldest, largest and strongest dragon alive — and are rageful because as of now they've lost their pride and the victim they could pick on.

The confidence boost Aemond received by proving everyone wrong — remember in the books it says that Aemond was spurned even further to try and claim Vhagar because his own father taunted him about not having a dragon and try to have the backbone to try and claim one if he managed, which is even worse, but I digress — and claiming Vhagar (and be claimed in return, because girl is a big ass dragoness who can make her choices) also helps him stand up to his bullies.

Yeah, he could've been gentler to the girls because they had just lost their mother, but it's not his responsibility to teach his cousins/nephews how to control their own rage. And yeah they fight and children fight, even thought they ganged up on him four-to-one, kicking him and attacking him whilst he was down and still Aemond got the upper hand. And still, despite that, despite them ganging up on him in such a cruel way, he says hurtful things (the truth), but he stops. Even when he can actually harm them — when he has the rock in his hand and the upper hand — he stops. He's reluctant to actually harm them beyond the scuffle.

Does that stops them? No. Jace — who brought a knife to a fists fight — waits for his little brother to take the knife to momentarily blind Aemond with sand and attack him.

They wanted to wound him in the same way he had hurt their pride by claiming Vhagar and standing up to them.

If I had done something remotely similar I would have been grounded to the next life. My parents would've had a very stern talk with me and you better believe I would have to apologize to the dude I had harmed.

Instead Rhaenyra defends them, and that's fine, that's right, but then she is never shown as reprimanding her sons for what they did. She never teaches them that's not the way one ought to act, what her sons did was her responsibility (not only because she put them in that situation herself, but because she was not looking after her kids as she ought to have but was busying herself with her own uncle — but ehi!, ✨uncle rights✨, right? — and she failed as a parent since her children acted that way to begin with. What is worse she doesn't even address this failure, but lets things going stale and the hatred to cement even further).

Aemond was permanently disabled because of what Lucerys and Jacaerys did purposefully even after he had showed he was not a real threat, by always hesitating before harming them, though he could have. And Rhaenyra never actually addressed it.

How do we know she hasn't? Because if she had, at the dinner scene after her children her saw her toast to her enemy — Alicent — and be graceful, had they been taught what they had done was wrong they would have tried to do something similar. Would it have served something? Maybe not, but it would've shown Rhaenyra actually is a good leader, because a good leader knows how to unite people and how to guide them to do the right thing.

That boy had been permanently disabled, and people at the time could die of the loss of an eye, because of all kinds of infections. Her sons got what? Some bruises and a broken nose? And not the stern earful of their life they should have received.

Uncle rights works like women rights for Rhaenyra. Only as long as it advantages her.

Passo e chiudo.

Thank you for dropping by! Sending all my love ~G.

[daisychainsandbowties]

beatrice the last surviving scion of a fourth house family that has poured child soldier after child soldier into the emperor's battlefronts as cannon fodder, as fit for little more than making larger initial thanergy blooms by virtue of their youth. beatrice raised to die but kept from that end by cohort intervention (cough second house cough) keeping her off the front lines until she's older and feeling bereft at that loss, at not being allowed to be the weapon and the bomb she was raised to be (after all, what more are the fourth meant for than blowing things up and dying). beatrice whose faith remains strong, who lives by the fidelity of the fourth, who can verge on reckless, and self-sacrificing and be so, so, so angry

fourth house beatrice who has always seen herself as a blunt instrument, sitting up at night counting each cell in her body, always found by the dawn before she finds the end of her power.

beatrice who reads reports from the front lines, descriptions in unvarnished terms of whole cities alight in death. necromancers soaking up that initial bloom of thanergy as soldiers disappear into a fog of blood and ash.

the horrible artistry of it; of bones shivering up out of the dirt, shields made of flesh and grease traps of human fat. bea reading about death from the sidelines where she is sidelined. hungry for the feeling that comes with the star-crushing gravity at the heart of thanergic fission. she is the last of her line and racing towards her destiny, her purpose, her power

the transmutation of death into glory.

bea in her little navy-and-white uniform, the colors of the fourth house, trying to prove herself. learning every theorem she can find, reaching outside the purview of her house for a touch of bone magic, of flesh magic, staying far away from psychometry and anything that seeks to speak with the dead because she doesn’t want to look at the past. let the dead rest but let them be useful first.

the fourth motto is fidelity, facing ahead, so bea takes what is useful. anything, everything, learning how to chart the points of bright contact, stripping life to make death, always trying to understand how things come undone, how they die, because that is her calling, her purpose. to give death meaning, to take sacrifice and make it light.

and then she meets a girl. a wildcard from the fifth who arrives on Tisis with something to prove, who challenges every last person seeking to fill the position of cav to the last living scion of a powerful family, the would-be heir who will never inherit because she’s like an arrow, like a knife.

ava, who comes in laughing and emerges bleeding, victorious, from the dueling ring. who takes bea’s hand into her own bloody fist and makes her feel as though she’s already on fire, the heat-death she’s been seeking given a body and a face and a playful smile. a cavalier who makes stupid puns and asks questions about everything (‘but bea, i need to know how your magic works so we can coordinate. you know, strategise!) and bea saying to her again again again ‘i make bombs. i die and i make it matter, that’s all.’

ava who keeps asking why. why do you have to die? and there’s no answer for it beyond tradition, beyond the fact that what bea has mastered is a cruel and incredible strength. no one wants a bone magician from the fourth. no one wants to shake her hand when she’s twenty and her bones ache because she belongs to her grave. (and she doesn’t get buried. she’s an explosion)

beatrice who learns to fight with ava, who watches ava spar with shannon, transfixed by the flow of her. the raw kineticism of blade and body aligned, the bright flashing point of her blade and her wild smile. and mary, who is standing on the sidelines with bea trying to explain how to absorb thalergy more efficiently, leans back and says, ‘oh shit, you like her.’

denying it furiously but later sitting in the caf staring at ava while she attacks a bowl of gruel, sipping coffee and nibbling on a biscuit and for once in her life wishing the meal could last forever, that she could just sit there, forever, and watch ava move. wipe her mouth on the sleeve of her uniform and say a eulogy for the last part of her bread roll, every so often forcing bea to avert her eyes when she looks up.

and bea was raised in the shadow of death but here, sitting opposite her with their knees almost touching, here is light. and bea knows thalergy but she hasn’t known life - not really - until this moment.

and suddenly beatrice the fourth, whose strength is her anger and her duty and her faith, finds that she’s a little less brave. that there’s hesitation in the way she reads the reports of ground troops disappearing in thanergic fire. she keeps thinking of ava with her on the ground, and how abruptly precious bea’s body becomes because her death will not be quiet. ava who gives her pause, as nothing else ever has.

ava, who said the words to her with blood on her mouth from a split lip she took from someone’s knuckle-knife, kneeling and pressing a bloody kiss against bea’s knuckles as she said, grinning, one flesh, one end.

[beardedmrbean]

The 17-year-old charged with murdering three young girls at a Taylor Swift-themed dance class in Southport can be named as Axel Muganwa Rudakubana after reporting restrictions were lifted.

On Thursday morning, the teenager appeared at Liverpool Crown Court charged with three counts of murder and 10 counts of attempted murder. He was remanded in custody.

Earlier on Thursday, Axel, from Banks, in Lancashire, had appeared in the dock at Liverpool Magistrates’ Court for a preliminary hearing.

Axel, who turns 18 on Aug 7, was born to Rwandan parents in Cardiff before moving to Banks.

He has been charged with the murders of Bebe King, six, Elsie Dot Stancombe, seven, and Alice Dasilva Aguiar, nine; 10 counts of attempted murder; and possession of a bladed article, namely a “kitchen knife with a curved blade” following the attack on Monday.

The three children died after being stabbed while they were attending the Taylor Swift-themed dance and yoga workshop.

Eight other children suffered stab wounds, with five in critical condition. Two children have been discharged from hospital.

Dozens of officers stood watch outside the courtroom after another night of violent protests across the country.

The teenager appeared at a hearing at Liverpool Crown Court, where Judge Andrew Menary KC, the Recorder of Liverpool, made the ruling.

Judge Menary said: “Continuing to prevent the full reporting has the disadvantage of allowing others to spread misinformation in a vacuum.

“Whilst I accept it is exceptional given his age, principally because he is 18 in six days time, I do not make an order under section 45.”

Previously, the teenager could not be named because of his age, but his anonymity would have fallen away next Wednesday when he turns 18.

Judge Menary heard arguments from the prosecution and defence and representations from the media about whether reporting of the defendant’s identity should be restricted until his 18th birthday.

Arguing against naming him, the prosecution said he had an “autism spectrum disorder diagnosis” and had been “unwilling to leave the house and communicate with family for a period of time”.

Axel, who spent the entire 55 minutes of the hearing covering his whole face, with his grey sweatshirt pulled up to his hairline, rocking back and forth and side to side at times, will next appear at Liverpool Crown Court on Oct 25.

A provisional trial date, lasting six weeks, was scheduled for Jan 20 next year.

Judge Menary told the defendant, who did not acknowledge the judge and continued to keep his head down: “You are remanded to youth detention accommodation until these proceedings have been completed.

“That position might change when you achieve your majority in a short while.”

[monasteryicons]

An icon of purity and forgiveness

Over 500,000 people from around the world gathered for Saint Maria’s canonization in Rome in 1950 – a testimony to the impact that her story and example had and still has on countless Christians.

Born in Italy in 1890, Saint Maria grew up in a family of poor sharecroppers. The family's search for work led them to the western coast of Italy, where shortly after her father died of malaria.

A struggle to the death

Her 19-year-old neighbor Allesandro became infatuated with the young girl and propositioned her several times, to no avail. On July 5, 1902 he could control himself no longer and made sexual advances to the young girl, who struggled as he strangled her and rebuffed him shouting "No! It is sin! God does not want it!" Allesandro's lust transformed to violent anger and he stabbed Maria fourteen times with a long knife.

“Father, forgive them…”

Doctors struggled in vain to save her life. She underwent surgery without anesthesia, and halfway through the surgery woke up. She insisted it stay that way. The hospital pharmacist asked Maria "Think of me in Paradise." "Who knows which of us is going to be there first," she said, looking at the old man. "You, Maria," he replied. "Then I will gladly think of you," she said. After twenty painful hours of suffering during which she forgave and prayed for her attacker, Maria passed to heavenly life fortified by the Last Sacraments, her last earthly gaze resting upon a picture of the Blessed Virgin.

One of the youngest canonized saints of the Catholic Church, Maria was pronounced a saint by Pope Pius XII fifty years later in 1950. Saint Maria's mother and her murderer attended the canonization ceremony together. Calling her a "Saint Agnes of the 20th century," the pope proposed her as a patroness of modern youth, and since then she has been venerated as icon of purity and the patron of young women and victims of rape. Half a million people attended the ceremony outside of Saint Peter's Basilica, When the pope asked them, "Young people, are you determined to resist any attack on your chastity with the help of the grace of God?" the resounding answer was "YES!"

A murderer repents

After thirty years of hard labor, Allesandro was released and visited Maria's mother, asking her pardon and accompanying her to Christmas Mass in the parish church where before the hushed congregation he acknowledged his sin and asked God's forgiveness and the pardon of the community. He became a laybrother at a Capuchin monastery, working as its receptionist and gardener until his death in 1970.

Her feast day is July 6th. Monastery Icons’ icon of Saint Maria is available in our full range of formats and sizes – plaques and prints from 4 inches to 5 feet tall.

[fair-night-starry-tears]

The REVEAL of the scuba recruiter

Warning: angst, drama, and conflict

Plot: this fight is taken place in the Paradise of Youth

@adrianasunderworld @mangacupcake @writing-heiress @the-weirdos-mind @skboba-stars @nproduction626 @rose-tea-and-strawberries @anxious-twisted-vampire

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was a a reckless fight, taking part of a ridge to the ocean. The maidens recruited Panny and Peter to aid their fight. As they helpfully agreed, as the maidens and guardians dodge the cannonballs that were blasted to their way, each gone off one by one aiming the maidens.

Freya had to tackle Estella down from getting hit and Isabelle leaped to dodge one that barely got her by a mere few inches. The blasts were increased one by one. From the madden Hook, screaming “fire” to his crew. As Smee and Samatha help carry the next sets of ridged cannonballs to the crew mates, every pirate was shooting and firing. Barely giving the girls a break as they sail closer, as the fight progress. Panny created a field of vines to work as a net, slowing the cannonballs. The maidens could sigh in relief from this. But the net was suddenly sliced down, revealing the scuba diver.

The man let out a spine chilling groan, it was agony but also a nightmare as if the girls and boys was hearing this man in pain. But he charged to the maidens, with a knife in hand. It took Rielle a moment to snapping back and shove Peter away from the oncoming attack. Each maiden awaken from the sense of fear, and all made a dash to get a distance to attack the man. As Hook arrived, he ordered the other pirates to attack the maidens. As he will deal with the guardians of youths himself. Grabbing a rope and swinging to them as the ship had reached the dry lands, he swung to Panny. As the girl panicked, she threw vines to the man. Making Hook drop to the ground, his body bounce from the hard floor. As her vines had charged, it also attacked the scuba man. Knocking the helmet clean off. She dug her arms into the ground to capture the man.

Just as Panny was ready to fight, she froze in place. as her face distort to despair, her heart aching as she could barely mutter a word. That’s then Peter screamed, in pain just like his sister. As the maidens turn to face who they were oh so terrorized. They saw his face, the scuba man true face.

Golden orange curly locks flowing in the air, his bangs are short but straight, his skin was like a peach, yet his eyes. Glow a cruel bright purple of corruption, his eyes have a hollow gaze of grief and agony. That’s when Panny mutter something that will never be forgotten. “Fa…. Ther?….”

The man shed a single tear, as he was facing his daughter. But he said no word. After all. He was a corrupted individual.