#to have known women who were and are the victims of this kind of violence

[self-loving-vampire]

@ante--meridiem said:

I don't know, people's gender stereotype based ideas of How Women Act seem so deeply ingrained that I think asking writers to write gender blind for a while would in fact get us closer to authenticity than asking them to research being a woman. Maybe women who truly act like men and have largely avoided internalising the effects of being treated as women are rare, but women who are much closer to that than the average writer's knee jerk instinct of how to write a woman are common and so at the moment it's better to move in that direction. Women aren't like other minorities in that no one lives in a bubble where they haven't been exposed to a *lot* of information on what it's like to be a woman - in fact most people have been exposed to too much of it and need to be reminded to think of women as individuals not defined by their gender.

@starryoak said:

I mean. What if you’re like me, an autistic woman and had not really noticed any attempts at gendered socialization if they were ever attempted, and have never been harassed, received male attention, or discrimination for being a woman that was not better understood as discrimination for being autistic. I guess I don’t know how to write women either if that’s what’s needed to write them properly.

To these great comments I would add a more general point that I often bring up when discussing neurosexism and "gendered socialization", which is that there isn't really a singular and universally-applicable version of that, and in making assumptions about that kind of thing you are likely to fall into stereotypes and unrepresentative narratives, especially when the loudest voices trying to strictly define What It Means to be a Woman are often radfems.

An autistic, working class woman who grew up in China did not have the same upbringing as the Queen of England, to give an extreme example. In fact, many of the autistic women I have known say they have more in common with autistic men than with neurotypical, gender-conforming women.

And the same kind of thing is true about men. Just earlier I noted that we should not take the narrative that men are death-seeking orcs as anything close to a universal fact about "male socialization" when so many of them clearly want to do other things with their lives instead.

Likewise, not all women have internalized the predator/prey binary. Some of us don't succumb to fear when men look at us or happen to share an elevator or whatever. If anything, I have been sexually assaulted more before transition than after. Not particularly afraid of men either way.

I recognize that most strangers I randomly encounter outside - regardless of gender - just don't care about me and mind their own business, and also that most sexual violence comes from people known to the victim. The types of people who think they're always one lapse in awareness away from being kidnapped and sex trafficked don't speak for all women.

So I worry that if one was to explicitly try to write women as fundamentally different beings they really would just faceplant into sexist stereotypes again, just more progressive-sounding ones that are nonetheless still unrepresentative and often also kind of infantilizing.

Also, for a lot of people (especially autistic people) gender is just not a huge part of their identity.

Occasionally you'll see a writer question like "how do you write women?"

And the answer that's given is often "WOMEN ARE PEOPLE".

I just ... I don't think that this is a good answer? It's true, but I think it's not that likely to help men convincingly write women unless they're starting from "women are magical unicorn creatures". Which, yeah, sure, some men are starting from there, and "just write a person" might actually improve their situation.

I think a lot of men fail with "ah, just switch the pronouns". They write women whose socialization and life history is unacknowledged. Women who have not suffered harassment, discrimination, male attention, etc. Women who wear makeup but don't ever think about the makeup. They get the texture of the emotions wrong. They get the history wrong.

And for a single character, I would argue that sometimes this just doesn't matter. An individual can go against the grain, and have their own quirks and foibles. You can have a woman who wishes that she were a man. Though ... a woman who wishes that she were a man because men have the "better" gender role would be quite distinct from a man, right? In terms of her internal motivations and backstory and stuff? All people live within a society, and are shaped by that, and by their socialization, and their gender role, and their reaction to all that.

So for writing women, you have to know what it's like to grow up as a woman, to be seen as a woman, taught as a woman, all that stuff. You can and should do research on these things! You should read stuff that women have written about what it's like to be a written, how it feels to be looked at by men, what female friendships are like, what women are physically and emotionally attracted to, the particular texture of fear and anxiety that women often have around men in certain situations, the emotional labor that women are expected to do, all that and more. There's a lot to it! And as with most research, most of it will not make it to the page, it'll be a thing that you think about, and then it becomes part of the background texture of the character.

And yes, this is the same approach that you take to all character writing, whenever you're trying to write someone who isn't yourself, when you have to think hard about internal experiences of other people and marshal an understanding of the circumstances of their life.

So I think "women are people" can serve that role, and at a really basic level, writing women is like writing any character with traits you don't have, but there's also a bunch of specific stuff that naturally would come up during research and talking to women that could help a lot more than just "idk, do your own research, just make sure they're not unicorn fairies".

[hadesrise]

## murder for you, baby !!

summary──── a justifiable serial killer on the loose, and jason finds himself being enamoured by him.

pairings──── jason todd x dbd!ghostface!male reader

warnings──── nsfw content, serial killer themes, dead dove do not eat, sexual arousal in response to violence or torture, murder, blood, deaths, gore, foul language, bottom!jason, top!reader, reader’s physique is described as tall and broad ( the slasher build ), possessiveness, choking, praise kink, blood kink, knife play ( reader carving his initials on jason ), toxic!reader ( ? ), sorta toxic relationship but also not, unprotected sex, love-making, pet names, overstimulation, dumbification, degradation if you squint, lil’ bit of manipulation, creampie, doggy style, mating press, biting, marking, oral ( r. receiving ), voice kink ( ? )

author’s note──── not me coming back with halloween themed fic after halloween days have passed lol. i’m alive, y’all !! hope you enjoy this one that took a fucking month to write 😭

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ; this post may contain disturbing contents that may not be suitable for every reader — a reader discretion is advised. MINORS DNI !!

Gotham’s been terrorized by the worst people you could ever imagine, the kind that’ll stick with you forever and take residence to your nightmares if you were unfortunate enough. Many were hurt or even murdered as a result of the villains�� terrorization, with vigilantes running through the night to capture and send them to Arkham Asylum.

With the existence of a Psychopathic Clown, his equally psychopathic girlfriend with PHD’s that’s been wasted down the line, the Mother Nature freak, the ridiculously huge man with a gas mask on, the green coloured living question mark, and many others, no one would’ve ever thought anything could get any worse.

Until some criminals’ bodies turn up across the streets in such disturbing manner that haunts the witnesses to death.

One, a criminal who murdered young and homeless boys, gutted deeply to the point of their intestines hanging out. Another, a criminal known for kidnapping and selling people’s organs, mutilated with their torso torn back to expose the organs settled inside of them. Another one, a priest-turned-criminal who’s been violating women and children, crucified naked in his own church with his eyes gouged out, a Bible verse carved in his chest; ‘And if your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away.’ Matthew 18:9; his penis cut off and body seemingly violated as well. Another more turns up, a governor-turned-criminal who’s been feeding into the rich despite their oath of generosity towards the poor, severely tortured with the skin on his back cut open, ribs severed from the spine and broken to the sides in order to create the illusion of wings, fluttering lungs pulled out from their chest cavity to resemble an eagle’s wings, with the word ‘traitor’ carved on his forehead.

The brutality and gruesome nature of the murders has set an alarming panic and fear across Gotham City that forced civilians into locking their doors at night. Criminals who were unidentified and not found by Gotham Police Department were also turning up in a form of miserable, tortured soul, along with the evidence and proofs of their crimes being carelessly laid beside their lifeless corpse.

The killer taunts those who are in charge of justice within their city each time the damned were unfortunate enough to be hunted down; pigs of failure written in the criminal’s blood right beside the drawing of a police’s logo.

However, despite how gruesome and disturbing the murders were, most people couldn’t deny that it was doing the city a favor. Justice System has failed more times than one could count to the extent of victims yearning to exact revenge themselves against their perpetrator, which causes most to react rather positively to the wrongful, unlikely hero who had seem to suddenly appear out of nowhere. The haunted finally getting the chance to slay the traumatic demons with the help of another psychopath on the loose.

Another justified monstrosity shouldn’t be the counter against one inhumane monstrosity that caused so much pain, trauma, and misery. But kindness could not vanquish one’s tainted blood. Forgiveness could not suddenly wash away the sins engraved deeply into one’s soul.

Imperfect, the victims muttered. An imperfect yet perfect way to save our burning souls wrongfully condemned by the criminals.

Red Hood has heard their murmurs.

Silent whispers of gratitude that fell on deaf ears, their previously dim soul brightening in relief and sanctuary with smiles on their faces as the Universe had finally took mercy on them and sent a Fallen Angel to slay the Demons away. He’s watched their spirit uplift, no longer chained down by the trauma and fear of the monsters that once ruined their lives, able to walk the streets carefree of tormentors. He’s watched their stiff posture visibly loosen, lively peacefulness settling itself at last within their haunted eyes. He’s watched them glow with happiness not feeling the presence of their perpetrator every couple of seconds, finally capable of living without needing to constantly look over their shoulders in paranoia and fear.

Ghostface is what the serial killer’s called, nickname born out of the mask that resembled a ghost always being left behind in crime scenes, each slightly different.

Jason has seen you. He didn’t mean to, really.

The temptation to get at least one look at you was great every-time he patrolled, wishing to just catch glimpse of an immoral hero who could make sacrifices no actual heroes could — who’s doing exactly what he wished before for Batman to do.

The Universe seems to have granted his wishes when his eyes catches the void of ghostface’s eyes, your mask tainted in splatters of blood from the dead criminal below you. Jason feels his world come to a stop as you slowly rise from crouching position and reveal your unnaturally tall height, broad shoulders visible under the black hooded leather. You hold silence and calmness despite being caught, tilting your head slightly to the side.

His heartbeat quickens yet he doesn’t feel fear. Jason idiotically steps closer as if he was in a trance, burning your existence within his eyes to engrave in his memory. Your bloody knife barely grazes his neck to stop him before using it to tilt his chin up, your figure looming and towering over him while seemingly staring into his eyes through his helmet.

A sense of peacefulness overcomes Jason being in your presence despite the absolute brutality and mercilessness that surrounded your entire being. You were deadly, silent, certainly creative with your work that it deems almost artistic, as if the criminals’ bodies were your own canvas to paint on — and Jason finds solace in you. A man he always needed, someone who’d be willing to cross the line and get rid of the actual evil for the sake of victims that’d be forever haunted if it continues to exist.

“I’ve heard things about you, Red Hood.”

Low, raspy, monotone voice speaks, sending shivers down his spine. It sounds cool and handsome regardless of the obvious use of voice changer, somehow littered with tiniest hint of flirtatiousness.

It takes him quite a while to answer, barely managing to let out a “yeah?” as he feels you drag the knife slightly closer to his pulse. His heartbeat quickens, but slows down when the cold metal was finally pulled away.

“Pleasant things,” You hummed, before your voice lowered a few octaves, “Can’t say the same about Batman.” Anger seems to seep through your tone that felt a little more than just sympathy for victims of villains Batman refused to put six feet under. Jason wondered if you’re also one of the victims his father failed.

“You… You know him that much?” Jason’s voice shakes from the nerve, your presence somehow greatly affecting him.

“I think everyone knows him enough,” You chuckled, but it sounded so empty that Jason can’t help but feel the goosebumps rise on his skin. It was quite chilling to meet someone who shows only a certain amount of emotion which could even be felt expressionless due to the monotonous pitch. The ghostface mask certainly did its job of making you seem more less human, the unmoving expression of ghost being horrified to death adding to the eeriness of your toneless mechanic voice.

Jason’s breath hitched when you took one step closer.

“But I know more about you. Your little past and the sufferings you’ve endured,” It’s spoken as if his life was one of your necessary investigation in your twisted justice. “It’s unfair, don’t you think? I would’ve gutted the Joker like a fish if it were to happen to my son.” There’s a condescending way in which you spoke, not directed at Jason but to Bruce.

“How—” Jason swallowed. “How did you—”

“I can make your dreams come true,” You interrupted him with a tempting offer, shutting him up effectively. Wide grin plastered your face despite not being seen behind your mask. “I can kill the Clown for you, Red Hood. If it means it’ll silence your troubled spirit. If it’ll bring you peace. I can hurt him on your behalf just like he deserves.”

It was like a whisper from the devil, slithering its way into Jason’s heart and mind to possess his soul, mirroring the one which whispered on Adam and Eve’s ears.

He’s been wanting — needing — to hear those words come out of Bruce. His suffering and death seemingly being brushed off as a cruel accident shattered him more than he’d ever admit, Bruce’s unhealthy coping mechanism and morality getting in the way of showing his love for Jason that left the younger man feel lesser than he was. Bruce was a complex person that’s sometimes difficult to understand, his impressive ways to stick to his morals being exactly his character, but Jason wanted for once, to actually feel how important he was to his father.

Was that too much to ask for, or was he just unworthy of the entirety of it?

“Why would you do that for me?” Confusion and subtle suspicion filled his tone as Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out your intention despite the rush of hope that shot throughout his chest. He forced himself to feel nothing when you leaned in closer.

“Because you were wronged, of course.” You simply stated. “You are a victim. Not more, not less. You deserve a little more than just empty justice. And I’m a man who got tired of vigilantes that are afraid to make sacrifices for the greater good.” Then, you tilt your head slightly to the side in a way that’s somehow alluring. “But I can also say I’m intrigued by you.”

Jason’s heartbeat quickens again when your big hand seems to wrap perfectly around his throat, fingers resting just above his pulse points. It makes such filthy thoughts flood themselves into his mind, your long and quite thick fingers falling victims to his tainted imagination, and he had to give everything in himself not to bare his throat more for you. You seem pleased of his lack of disobedience and bite, having expected him to shove your hand away or flinch back before you could touch him. You’ve seen Red Hood once and how his uncontrollable rage resulted in violence, heavy burdens and extreme trauma turning him into a ticking time bomb that could explode any minute with the wrong move. He was absolutely lethal, the bullets serving as the evidence of his wrath and resentment towards the underground scumbags. It’s amusing that you have the man of violence himself now somehow completely under your control, surprisingly quiet and shy and obedient. You wondered if this is how he was before he was ruined by the cruelty of the world.

“You want it, don’t you? For me to kill the Joker.”

Jason feels as if you know everything he wants. Is this what it feels like to be important?

It takes a little while for him to answer, but he eventually came up with a “You’ll do that?” which sounded vulnerable and weak for the first time in his second life. Your heart clenched at the doubt and seemingly child-like vulnerability in which he uttered the words, as if he was afraid to trust something after being betrayed countless of times, reminding you of the sole person you’ve even began doing all of this for. They were quite similar yet so different — your older brother and Jason.

You hadn’t meant to cross his boundaries and unknowingly step into the empty hole that made home in his heart. Unconsciously slithering in like a snake by touching the subject his heart was longing for, not realizing his childhood’s still remaining within his spirit.

All he wanted was love and to feel safe again. You didn’t know the Red Hood was so adorably pitiful. A smirk plastered your face.

“I will,” You reassured and leaned your face inches away from his, the hand on his throat lifting his helmet slightly.

Jason doesn’t retaliate, blinded by a meat of hope dangled in front of him. He doesn’t move as the lower half of his face was exposed, and you lifted your own mask the same using your other hand. Jason willingly, obediently closes his eyes before your lips attached to his — a kiss of death, tasting like blood and cruelty. Warm and soft despite your rough, cold-blooded, corrupted soul. A kiss from the devil.

When Jason opened his eyes, you had already disappeared into the darkness with blood stains on the ground you stood before, a single note left behind; Hell will reopen for the Clown.

After neatly tucking the note inside his jacket and making sure no evidence has been accidentally left on the crime scene, Red Hood smiles for the first time in a long while and reaches for the comms without a heavy heart.

“Batman, I found another body.”

Whatever happens, he’ll have no knowledge of the following misfortune that’ll befall on the Joker. It’s the righteous serial killer’s doing, after all.

What was used to be a maniacal laughter turned into screams of agony and pain. Strong stench of death and blood makes euphoria rush within your mind, the feeling of slicing through flesh with your knife bringing pleasure and ecstasy that made your pants tight. There’s a certain amount of satisfaction in the way your own actions cause serious harm and scarring to criminals who once deemed themselves powerful, being reduced into nothing but a powerless prey that could easily be gotten rid of.

You feel increasingly powerful the more you strip them of their dignity and arrogance as they shed blood on the holy ground. Your existence alone striking them with crippling fear and anxiety feeds into your ego, yet you never stray away from the sole purpose or reason for your murders — making them taste their own medicine.

From what you found on countless deep dive and research, Joker preyed on Red Hood when he was still a young child full of life and joy, having been under the name Robin at the time. Second Robin to be exact, considering he was a lot different from the first one. It actually surprisingly pained you when you’d seen how much of an adorable, dorky, nice kid he was before misfortune cut his life short. You would’ve never thought you would find a kid adorable in your entire life, the little menaces often being nothing more than a headache to be around with that caused a certain dislike to grow towards them within you, but Jason was everything a cute kid was. Just excited to be there, to be fighting alongside Batman, to be relevant.

Such a precious boy ruined for the sake of shits and giggles for the Clown. For the sake of getting under Batman’s skin. And the Bat couldn’t even make fucking amends to his flaws as a father and mentor.

Well, he didn’t need to anymore.

You’ll give Red Hood— Jason Todd —what he wants. Yearned for. Perhaps, even what the other civilians who have fallen victims to this vile criminal want. You would stop at nothing until every criminal is gurgling and choking on their own blood.

Joker’s scream shoots a jolt of electricity within your body as your knife pierce through his skinny thigh and to the ground, pinning his leg down. You had been doing an effective job of reducing the maniac into nothing but a screaming, cowering average victim by torture. Bruises, burns, gashes, and stab wounds littered his body that was done carefully enough to not be life-threatening. Fucker was laughing maniacally at first, of course. It irritated you so much that you might’ve went a little overboard.

Watching Joker heave and struggle to breathe from the pain, you tilted your head and roughly grabbed his throat. It catches him off guard and he grips your wrist, barely even having the strength to fight you off. You’re amused by the entirety of Joker’s nature, how he’s still just an average man that can easily be overpowered — nothing that makes him special enough to not be killed, becoming proof of Batman’s selfish willingness to let the victims suffer than bring them actual peace.

You’ve never uttered a word since you captured him and it unnerved Joker from the beginning, but then, words finally come out of your mouth in a form of monotonous, mechanical, emotionless, eerie voice as you lean over him; “Laugh it out, Joker. Why so serious?”

It sounded like a death sentence.

He’s right in a way, because another of your knife pierced the corner of his mouth soon as you uttered the words. Your other hand tightened on his arteries to choke him while you drag the knife to slit the side of his mouth into a grin, following the lines of his red lipstick. It was certainly not a clean cut, but an artist has their own creative ways to make their art. Tears mixed in with blood that gushes out of his face, complete horrors written across Joker’s eyes which boosts your satisfaction. You go on and do the same thing to the other side of his mouth, before finishing your art piece by carving ‘J’ on his painted cheek.

You resist the urge to moan at the sight of blood coating your fine piece, always finding it to be an amazing finishing touch.

From then on, Joker was brought to literal Hell.

Jason flinches when a playful knock sounded from his safe house’s window, cautiously approaching to see ghostface waving at him through the glass. His eyes widened and immediately opens the window to let you in, not wanting anyone to see you — your sudden appearance distracting him from the fact he’s never given anyone the location of his safe house.

He stops in track at the blood splatters across your mask, and just then had he noticed you seemed to be hiding something behind your back with one hand. It definitely strikes his curiosity, but he somehow didn’t feel like you were holding something that could harm him.

“You got something for me, ghostface?” Jason feels you grin under your mask.

“Got you a present,” Your raspy, rough voice enthusiastically quipped.

Jason’s breath hitches when you show what you were holding — the Joker’s decapitated head in a square glass container tainted by its blood. You obviously had planned to bring it barehand, but you considered the possibility of its blood dripping down on his safe house and becoming a false evidence to point him to the murder, which prompted you to put it inside the container. An unbelievably sweet gesture for a fucking psychopath like you.

Jason could feel his heart beat rapidly as he takes in the animal’s state, carved up grin and the letter J and the horrors seen in its lifeless eyes proving the absolute misery and suffering it went through before being put down. The monster was finally, finally slain and gone forever from his life. Nightmares detangles from his spirit and the past unwraps away from his soul, utter peace and relief spreading throughout his chest. Tears gathered in his eyes at the feeling of being free at last from the life long torment, breath shaking as his knees wobbled.

The child in himself, the innocent Robin that was killed unfairly, finally rests in peace.

Then he sees you, his hero, waving your seemingly new knife playfully in the air with your outfit splattered in blood without a care that you actually saved him, and Jason feels a sudden surge of arousal and will to submit. To give you everything, anything.

“Do you love it, Red Hood?”

Without answering you, Jason grabs the glass container with shaky hands and sets it aside on the counter before stepping back closer to you again, blood rushing to his veins from arousal. He removes his helmet with a thud on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, lustful and yearning emerald eyes looking up at you.

“Let me thank you, please.”

It makes you groan as your pants significantly tightens more.

You slide your knife back into the holster before cupping his beautiful face in your hands, and thank fucking Heavens there wasn’t any blood on it that would taint his face, because he’s a sight to behold. He’s truly a gem, something precious you had never seen before. “So beautiful,” You whispered, making Jason flush. “Baring yourself to me for such a simple present, doll?”

“Not a simple present,” Jason mumbled as he snuggles on the palm of your hands. “You saved me.”

You hum appreciatively, getting the itch to bare yourself to him as well. “You wanna thank me by what?”

Jason looks back at you, face flushed with a little hint of uncertainty and embarrassment, doubts. “I— uhm,” He stammers, but encouraged by your thumb’s gentle stroke on his cheek. “By… by becoming yours.”

Your cock throbs. Fuck, he’s so fucking adorable, you just wanna fuck his guts out. You’re usually tempted to gut people, not fuck their guts— which is funny to say the least— but you weren’t going to say no when the Red Hood’s so willing to offer himself up.

“You wanna take my mask off, doll?” He seems surprised by your question as if he hadn’t thought of it, making you chuckle. “If you wanna be mine, I gotta be yours too, don’t I?” It was dangerous to reveal your identity to him, but you couldn’t care less, especially when you could just fuck his brains out to shut him up. That’s the plan, first time that didn’t include butchering or cutting a body up.

Jason fucking Todd and his effects on you.

The emerald eyed male hesitantly grasped your mask when you led his hands to it, slowly lifting it over your head. He’s met with a fucking luscious feature to ever be adorned on a man and dark, lustfully murderous blood red eyes that makes a whimper slip past his lips. You merely widened your eyes at the sound he made before immediately grabbing his jaw and smashing your lips against his, swallowing Jason’s surprised gasp.

He reciprocates the insatiable hunger you displayed, tongue dancing along with yours and moaning into the kiss when your fingers lightly tugged on his hair. You pull him up in amidst of making out and squeeze his ass, encouraging him to wrap his legs around your hips. You detach your lips from his to trail kisses down his jaw and neck as you walked towards his bedroom, questionably knowing where it is, and Jason tilts his head back to give you more access with closed eyes. Letting him stimulate both of your restrained cocks by grinding down, you sat down on the bed and sucked on his throat as Jason moaned.

“Please, please…” He whimpers, uncontrollably moving his hips in a perfect rhythm yet he seemed to want something else.

You pulled away and traced his lips with your thumb, watching as he naturally took it in and sucked, giving you a desperate look. Swiftly turning off the voice changer attached to your neck in a form of choker, you chuckled when his hands fiddled with the belt on your hooded coat. “So needy, aren’t you?” Your real voice sends shivers down his spine.

An alluring, low, slightly rough pitch and somehow more emotionless than when you were using the voice changer. It makes his cock twitch and empty hole clench down on nothing, the need to be stuffed full of your cum swarming in his belly. You’re fucking bewitching, a man made up from every guy and girl’s fantasy, wet dream, and your attractiveness mirroring the Devil’s that would tempt and lure others to sin.

How the fuck were you real?

“Speak up, pretty bird.” You smirked, “What do you want?”

“Your cock,” Jason mutters, cheeks tinted in pink. “Wanna suck your cock and make you feel good.”

“Fuck…” You shifted in place, “You’ll do that f’me? Get my cock nice and wet to take you apart? To fuck your guts out?”

Jason shakily inhales and nods, climbing off your lap and kneeling on the floor. You lean back on your hands as he unstraps your belt and slide your zipper down, slightly raising your hips to help him get rid of the excess clothes. Your thick and lengthy cock smacks against your clothed stomach, making Jason’s mouth water. Thick veins throbbed on your big shaft, the tip angry and red from arousal leaking precum. It wasn’t just big, it was long, and Jason squeezes his thighs together to keep himself from just riding your cock all day.

His hand wraps around the base, starting to stroke it with a content rhythm. God, you were so fucking big. It’d definitely split him open if you shove it in so suddenly and fill him up nice. It’d make him scream his head off from the unbearable length and girth, almost too much, and Jason wants you to force him to take it. Pin him down and fuck him despite his pleas to stop.

Jason swipes his thumb over the slit, smearing precum, pumping it for a good amount before licking a stripe up the underside of your cock. You shudder, removing your gloves to slip your bare fingers through Jason’s hair, encouraging him to take you in. He obeys, relaxing his throat first before sliding your cock inside his warm mouth, and you groaned at the warmth that surrounded you. It almost didn’t fit from how big you were, but Jason braced himself and took it in further until he gagged as the tip touched the back of his throat. Wrapping his hand around your shaft that he couldn’t take in, stroking gently as if to apologize.

A moan slips past your lips when he starts bobbing his head, tongue brushing against the underside of your dick. “Fuck… Doin’ so good,” You roll your head back. “Such a pretty face to fuck, ain’t ya?”

Jason whines, tears gathered in his eyes as he sucks and fastens his rhythm. Curses, grunts leave your lips that left him feeling all hot and bothered, his other hand moving to skillfully pull his pants down and free his aching cock.

You see him touching himself and a smirk adorns your sinful face, gently scratching his scalp with your nails which earned you a whimper from him. “Go on, fuck yourself. We both know it wouldn’t fit that easily without proper prep,” Expression twisting into a cocky one, your grip on his hair tightened. “I’ll do as I please with your mouth until you’re done.”

Without waiting for his approval, you roughly shoved your cock deep down his throat and moaned loudly, throwing your head back. Jason gagged with a loud whimper as his eyes rolled back into his skull and cum shot out from his throbbing cock, hips jutting forward and twitching due to the sudden orgasm. You chuckle lowly, amusement and lust glinting in your bright red eyes, before you pull back and ram on his throat again.

Jason’s cries and moans were muffled as you ruthlessly use his throat to gain pleasure. His mind has already turned into mush from your assaults, white cum and precum staining the floor yet he doesn’t put up a fight. Taking it all like the good, obedient boy that he is. He’s reached behind him to insert two fingers in his awaiting hole, walls clamping down on the digits from the arousal of his throat being utterly wrecked.

Yesyesyes, please. He chanted in his mind. Use me, mark me, cum in my throat, make me yours.

The moment you fulfilled your promise and delivered him the head of his enemy, he was already yours. It’s all he ever wanted. Unquenchable thirst that always gnawed on his throat and hunger that left his stomach restless, his soul practically teared in half from being battered and beaten. He matters now — mattered enough to you, that you went ahead and killed the source of his misery. The love exploding in his chest was almost unbearable; he was already high on cloud nine from the moment he’s seen you present the head so cheerfully.

You see how he looks up at you, emerald eyes almost displaying hearts with how much he was melting. He’s taken your murderous act as an affection, and you couldn’t be more happy, because it’s what you intended.

“Shit, baby… Gonna cum soon,” You panted, thrusting vigorously. Jason hums and flexes his throat to provide you more pleasure, making you tighten the grip on his hair. “You want me to cum down your throat?”

You earned a desperate whine from him, closing his eyes to prove he was waiting for it. His fingers kept their own assault on his prostate, scissoring and stretching the squishy walls, muffled moans escaping him.

God, he looked so fucking gorgeous. He’d look even more gorgeous with your dick ramming inside him.

Jason feels your big cock throb in his mouth and his fingers move more aggressively to pleasure himself, wanting to reach his high at the same time as you. Stimulating your tip with the back of his throat a few times, you moaned loudly with a curse when Jason slightly flicks his tongue over your sensitive underside, forcing an orgasm out of your body. White, thick, warm seeds spurt out from your slit to his awaiting throat as Jason whimpered in delight and shot another layer of cum on the wet stained floor, hips thrusting in the air.

He greedily swallows every drop that spilled down his mouth despite the euphoria making him feel dizzy as his body slightly trembles.

You chuckled, breathing heavily, pleased expression spread across your face. “Good boy. That was such a good throat-fuck.”

The raspy, sultry tone of your voice makes electricity and chills run through Jason’s spine as his walls clench down on his fingers, yearning to be filled. Jason certainly doesn’t have a womb — it’s anatomically impossible — yet he couldn’t help but feel like it’s there, waiting and aching to be fucked and bred. He needs your cum to be pushed so far inside him. Need to be marked entirely as yours inside and out. Need you to rearrange his guts, fuck his brains out, breed him full, then fuck your cum further back into him.

Jason pulled his fingers out, whimpering at the loss of contact, before looking back up at you with begging eyes. “Can you-?” His voice cracks as he swallows, “Take me apart, please. Make me yours, fuck, I wanna be yours.”

You noticed tears gathering in his eyes, as if being rejected of his want to be your possession would be an ultimate heartbreak in his life; a life-threatening, gnawing thorn in his heart that’ll tear him apart piece by piece and shredding his soul. Jason thinks he can’t live without becoming yours, his savior’s. He can’t live without the source of his safety, the man that fulfilled his silly little dream and sacrificed his own sanity for it.

It absolutely amuses you that he’s become so attached just because you’ve driven him away from harm’s way. A little dumb, but he was your little dumb doll.

You gently caress his face and Jason leans into your touch, making your lips curl upwards into a smile. “Of course, doll.”

It leads to Jason being pressed face first on the mattress as you rail him from behind, sinful and alluring noises leaving his lips stained in drool. Your name escapes him like a chanted prayer, hands gripping the sheets, electricity sparking within his mind that left him dumb and unable to think coherently.

“Fuh-fuck! mgh, ah- yes, oh my god—!” He cries out when you pulled almost entirely back and rammed your cock roughly into him, almost seeing stars in his vision.

The roughness in which you handled him, the perfect angle of your hips allowing you to force pleasure out of his body every-time you thrust, the way you push his back down on the mattress to make him arch more into your merciless tactic, leaves Jason absolutely delirious. You didn’t just fuck him good; you fucked him with absolute vigor and violence, occasionally biting strongly on his shoulder to draw blood, showcasing your natural instincts as a serial killer. He feels your big fucking dick throb and gets impossibly bigger inside him each time his blood seeps out the broken skin, and Jason’s head spins at how much it drove arousal in his core.

“Good fuckin’ sex toy,” You grunted, roughly slamming your hips against his and causing a sharp moan to erupt from Jason.

“B-big—! s’too big- fuck!” Jason whines, tears spilling endlessly down his cheeks.

You smirk as you feel your ego skyrocket at being able to reduce a rather muscular man into nothing but a whining, blabbering bitch. “Yeah? I do split you open, don’t I? But you love it since you’re such a fuckin’ slut.”

“oh- aghn! y-yours— hnngh! Your s-slut! No one else’s-!” He chokes out, desperately reaching for you behind him.

“So fuckin’ adorable,” You chuckled and grabbed his hand, pinning it back to the mattress as you hover over him. You seem to fit against each other perfectly well, your large and tall body able to encage him that left Jason’s stomach fluttering. He’s taken a lot liking of the fact you’re bigger than him, considering he’s never been the smaller one when he was with others. It gives him a sense of shelter.

“p-please— pleaseplease- oh! cum— fuck… cum in me again!” Jason blabbered.

You can’t help but comply to his request, fastening your pace and drilling more into him. Incoherent sentences spill from his drooling mouth when he feels your cock pulse within his walls that signified your soon release. There’s a purpose in which you thrust your hips now — more sharp and angled yet a little sloppy, aimed to brush against his prostate and make him feel utterly good.

“Shit… Cummin’, doll.” You grunted right in his ear before shoving him on the mattress by the back of his nape and slamming all the way down on his already gaping hole.

Jason nearly screams, voice cracking, as his orgasm hits like a strong tide of wave at the same time you spilled thick layer of white semen into his fucked out guts. You ride out your orgasm by thrusting slowly a few times as Jason’s body violently shakes from the aftershock. He subconsciously whines in annoyance when some of your previous cum seems to overflow and replaced by your recent one, bucking his hips as if to use your big cock as a plug to keep them all in. His belly felt full from how much you’ve been filling him with your seed yet it still didn’t feel enough. Jason wanted more; he knew you weren’t going full on him yet.

You swiftly turned him around on his back without pulling out and kissed him roughly. Jason mewls into the kiss when the position makes you push more deeper into him, his hands immediately clasping at the back of his thick thighs to pull them up and make it easier for you to fuck.

“My cute little thing,” You murmured against his lips and bit the skin to draw blood, Jason’s hole squeezing down on you from both the pain and pet name. He greedily whimpers your name, holding onto you for life and yearning for more of you despite already receiving what he wants.

It was so fucking adorable and arousing to see him desperate for not just you, but your entire being as well, willing to welcome such darkness with open arms and tearful smile. You weren’t really a desirable person; so many people have thrown themselves at you for your conventionally attractive features and masculine body type that swoons hundreds yet cower away in fear and speak of you in disgrace when shown the demons living inside of you. No one could seem to look past your murderous, cold-blooded psychopathy — some have attempted to, which only resulted in your darkness growing bigger when they break their own promises. You weren’t meant to be loved. Your destiny was written in the stars and the Gods have cursed you with eternity of living in loneliness and madness without cure. You were meant to be feared, a lonely and violent soul that couldn’t be tamed, your sole purpose of existence being a destroyer; nothing more or less.

Jason, however, seems indifferent to your fate.

Instead of running away in disgust and fear at your acts of violence around the city, he was seeking for you. He’s seen what you’ve done, what you could do without feeling remorse, what monsters lie beneath your existence — and still, he graciously opens his heart (and legs) for you. There’s love and desire within his eyes where distaste should be, touch so soft and warm it baptizes your tainted skin. You’re soaked in blood yet Jason takes his time with you to clean them up. Born with thorns yet he willingly prickles his fingers on them.

You’re a danger everywhere you go, but to him, you were home.

It makes your heart clench; he’s broken the Gods curse and it costs him his freedom, because now he’s caught up in your webs. You wouldn’t let him go, like a snake that’s wrapped itself around its prey in a death grip.

Jason wanted to be yours. What better ways to fulfill his wish if not possessing his body, soul, and spirit?

“Sweet dumb thing,” You purred, hips thrusting slow and sensual, unable to forgive parts of his walls that weren’t touched by your cum. “Mine to fuck, ruin, or make love to. That’s right, yeah?”

Jason nods, moaning softly. Your hands now replaced where his were on the back of his thighs, bending him almost in half as you roll your hips to gently brush against every weak spot he has. The sudden shift in rhythm and atmosphere confuses Jason for a bit, his fogged mind unable to comprehend the situation at hand, but the intimacy strikes a further pleasure that was nearly mind-breaking. He’s been reduced to a moaning mess, blood, sweat, tears and cum coating his body.

“p-please,” Jason keened, like it felt agonizing to be loved ever so gently. “I— ah… I want- I want you,” He stuttered out between moans.

“You’re having me, aren’t you?” Replying, you nipped on his neck and sucked, leaving behind a purple bruise.

He nearly cries, shaking his head. A waterfall of tears streamed down his face, and you find yourself captivated by them. It was almost ethereal despite being one of human’s responses to most things imaginable; your victims always shed one or two accompanied by begs of mercy, but all you’ve ever thought of them was amusing. It’s been used as an escaping tactic from you before, which was never successful due to your lack of morality and sympathy towards your target. They were pathetic, but Jason was divine. Tears suited him— not tears of fear, but tears of pleasure and utopia.

Your focus snaps back on reality when Jason suddenly pulled you down by the nape and bit down hard on your shoulder. A pleasured groan leaves your lips at the pain, hips bucking, making him whimper.

“Jason—”

“Please,” He cuts you off and finally murmurs; “Wanna f-feel how… mhm-! how you actually love…”

It strikes something in your core. Despite your perfect skills of hiding your true nature and never being caught, Jason saw it right through you, how you were holding yourself back for his sake. Quite ironic to witness a cold-blooded killer care for someone enough to go soft, even though it looked like you were going rough on him, and it warmed Jason’s heart. But he was a greedy, fucked up human being who wanted all of you. It wouldn’t be enough until he knows he’s taken you fully.

An amused laughter erupts from your chest. Eyes darkening in lust, Jason feels one of your hands wrap around his throat warningly as the other pushed his torso flat down on the mattress. “You… You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, Todd.”

You pull all the way back before ramming in, making Jason let out a loud, choked up moan as his eyes rolled back into his head. Your thrusts relentless and powerful, slamming against Jason’s body with an intensity that made his head spin, your hand holding his throat as a leverage. Your name spills from his lips like a prayer, something that seems to ignite a possessive feeling within you. Jason can’t help but mewl when your grip tightened on his arteries, throwing his head back to let you gain fully control.

The way he’s so obedient and putty in your hands despite knowing you can kill him if you truly meant to makes you love him even more, fucking him and taking away his ability to breathe wasn’t enough. Greediness turning overboard with the darkness and psychopathy that lies within your existence; you almost wanted to cut him open and crawl inside his guts so you could truly claim Jason, inside and out. You wanted to be more closer to him, see how far you can go without Jason pushing you away or getting disturbed.

Jason’s eyes widened when a cold metallic silver touched his cheek, seeing you holding your signature knife through blurred vision from his tears. However, he doesn’t flinch away like you expected him to, instead his walls squeezes down on your cock and his own twitched against his stomach. The unexpected reaction pulls a loud groan out of you, your hips bucking.

“Shit, Jay… You lettin’ me kill you or somethin’? Good fucking cunt just tightened on me,” You rasped, thrusting your cock against his prostate.

Jason gasps, his hands grabbing the mattress and holding it in a tight grip. It’s so shameful how turned on he was at the danger that lurked around you, his usually sharp instincts relinquished to be replaced by naiveté and stupidity for love. He must’ve gone insane; getting killed was one of his triggers because of his past yet his soul yielded nothing in retaliation to the possibility of your blade slicing through him. All of him seems to have come to love and trust you too much just because you’ve decapitated the beast his entire existence feared, which a part of him found utterly ridiculous and idiotic, but not enough to stop.

He wouldn’t stop himself from loving you — not when you’ve given him the love he always yearned for.

You lean in and ghost your lips over his as you dragged the knife on his torso, lightly scraping him. Jason’s breath quickens, his pupils blown wide in lust and need, anticipation seemingly running through his body as his moans turned into desperate whines.

“p-please…!” He chokes out a whisper, rolling his head to the side and whimpering when you snapped your hips warningly on his. “feels— fuck! feels g-good—! c-carve me… hngh! carve me u-up-! shit… make me fuckin’ bleed…! please,” Jason nearly cries for you.

Groaning out a curse, you reflexively bite down hard on the crook of his neck and push more of your cock inside him, causing a loud keen to erupt from Jason as he squirms and cums on his own stomach at the addictive sense of pleasure and pain shooting through his body.

You licked the blood that seeped out from his skin, satisfied at the clear bite mark you’ve left visible before sensually grinding your hips. Jason whimpered quietly, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“That’s it, doll. Let go, feel good. m’not gonna hurt ya, sweetheart. It’ll all feel good,” Whispering sweet words, you slowly press the tip of the knife just above the v line of his hip and drag it down. Jason hissed at the prickle of pain and tensed up, but the pleasure of your cock stimulating his sensitive walls was too great that forced him to relax. “It’s alright, doll. Jus’ carving you up with my name, so you’ll be mine forever. Isn’t that what you want? Be fuckin’ mine?”

Jason moaned softly, nodding his head. Series of pleasepleaseplease blabber out of him accompanied by heavenly noises he’s been making since you started taking him apart, his brain too fucked out that forcibly twisted pain into pleasure as all he could think about was becoming yours. You, his savior, his God, claiming him by marking him up with your name. Jason feels like he could fucking squirt from just that thought alone.

His blood seeping out from the letters of your name arouses you to no end, your cock throbbing inside him while you continue to move, the darkness within you being thoroughly fed of its bloodthirsty hunger. This is the first time it doesn’t gnaw at your skin to drive your knife deeper, pull the guts out, and splatter redness everywhere; instead, it wanted to be gentle, as if Jason was a significant existence too precious to hurt even for the Devil. A proof that Jason was always meant to be yours, the only one who the monster inside you would rather love than kill.

Carving the last letter, you laughed breathlessly in satisfaction and stabbed the knife on the headboard before slamming your lips against his, devouring his pleasurable noises. Jason whines, arms wrapping around your neck to pull you impossibly closer, arching his back when you switched into a much faster and rougher pace.

“Cummin’, fuck!” You grunted, to which Jason wrapped his legs around your hips to make sure it stays in.

“I-in— in me… fuck- oh my god— please… please, cum in me. Make me full again, p-please…” He begs, clenching his walls around you to push you over the edge, his own orgasm nearing.

Seeing him covered in his own tears, sweat, blood and drool fills you with nothing but pure ecstasy knowing it’s all because of you. The most appealing, ravishing man being a slutty mess right beneath you, begging to be bred and full of your cum, does feed too much into your ego. No one can do anything to take you away from him now, because you’re wrapped around his fingers as much as he is around yours.

“Anythin’ for ya, doll.” You chuckled, thrusting a couple more times before shoving your twitching cock deep into his guts with a moan and releasing your load. Jason mewls, his hole throbbing and squeezing down on you as he throws his head back, tainting his abdomen once more.

Riding out both of your highs, you let out a raspy groan and kissed his lips again, Jason weakly reciprocating due to the overstimulation. His body trembled hard, mind almost shutting down from the exhaustion and too much euphoria. “So good, doll. Took me like a good fuckin’ boy. Fuckin’ amazing.” You praised.

Jason could still see darkness in your eyes, the murderous devil, but there’s a hint of happiness he didn’t recognize before. Love and adoration filled your expression despite the violence engraved in your soul, and Jason finds himself smiling against your lips lightheadedly.

He whispers your name like a forbidden secret, then a curse that completely binds you to him; “I love you.”

You could get used to this, you suppose. There’s nothing more poetic than violence meeting love — two opposites can’t coexist with each other, but perhaps it’ll be forced to. After all, the Devil in you decided he was an untouchable divinity no one shall ever harm, not even yourself, despite its never-ending monstrosity towards humanity.

“I love you too, my Jason.”

When Joker’s decapitated head on a makeshift spear turned up that night, stacked upright in front of Arkham Asylum with blood splattered across the ground in words ‘True Justice for the Tortured Souls’ and a bloody ghostface mask laid aside for everyone else to see, Jason knew he was now in safe hands.

People say, never make a deal with the devil.

They never said he couldn’t love one, did they?

© all rights reserved to hadesrise ──── stealing, plagiarizing, or using my works for monetary gain is strictly prohibited. ask permission before reposting or translating.

[tojifile]

@Muzan Kibutsuji . . . (＾＾＃)

Tags: husband!muzan, emotionally dependent reader, f!reader, violence, suggestive, manipulation, muzan is taller than you, mansplaining if you squint, huge daddy issues, toxic relationship

A/N: Thinking about husband!muzan and his wife who’s emotionally dependent on him. She’s a huge crybaby but Muzan loves how dependent she is on him. He loves the dominance he has over her. THIS IS FOR WOMEN WITH DADDY ISSUES WHO WANT TO BE TAKEN CARE OF IN THE MOST TOXIC WAY IMAGINABLE. The relationship and everything is super toxic but I love those and honestly, red flags get me going! (I am a bad example of what you should do with your life, do not copy) Merry Christmas Eve to my ho ho hos! 🎄

p.s. an anon just requested for a Muzan’s wife runs away after finding out so that may be after this, just know that I love toxic relationships with guys like Muzan :)

husband!muzan who only goes out at night. He tells you he has a skin condition that started when he was a kid. There was no known cure, so his “company” constantly tries to find information on possible cures for people with the same disease.

husband!muzan who seemed like the perfect partner, dotting on you, always buying you gifts. He’d buy you things that reminds him of you which made you all the more attached. You loved his attention and how he constantly babies you.

husband!muzan who you caught consuming a woman during a stroll. It was already past 7PM but you decided to go out for a walk. Everything was good, the streets were bustling with different kinds of people, all smiling and happy—that was until you got to a rather secluded area.

You heard loud cries coming from a narrow alley. The screams lured you in. At the back of the alley was where you saw your husband—Muzan Kibutsuji, devouring a helpless young woman. He immediately sensed your presence and turned around.

He swiftly got in front of you and covered your mouth with his palm. “Hello, my love, I trust you enjoyed your evening stroll?” He spoke, his voice dripping with an eerie yet sweet, confusing feeling. You only looked at him with teary eyes in response.

husband!muzan who tries to reason with you but he didn’t even need to say anything. You still wanted him.

Such a shame that you had to find out about his secret, “Kibutsuji-kun..” was all you could mutter after he removed his palm from your mouth. You then started to cry in his arms as he caressed your hair, calming you down. God, he was so sweet towards you.

A few lines of blood dripped down the corners of his mouth. He looked down at you with a soft smile on his face. His suit and pants were stained with the blood of his victim but that didn’t bother him.

Most—no, all of his past wives would’ve been crying and yelling about how much of a liar and monster he is and/or running away. But here you were in his arms, you cried because you didn’t know how to react. You were scared that he’d leave you because you found out his secret.

husband!muzan who is happy to know that you’ve truly submitted yourself to him. He loves the feeling of being in control. It was adorable, the way you melted into his arms, even after you saw him consuming another human being.

husband!muzan who promises to never hurt nor leave you. He just loved controlling you a bit too much. It got him excited, knowing that he comes home to such a cute little human wife who he doesn’t have to hide his true form from.

husband!muzan who then escorts you home while holding you by the waist. Telling you about how you shouldn’t go out at night without him. He doesn’t want other demons to mistake you for a lowly human.

husband!muzan who was just really turned on by the events. As soon as you got home he had you on the bed, kissing you softly. He didn’t even have to use force with you. You were just so happy to submit to the man who gave you affection.

husband!muzan who sometimes lets his fangs sink in your skin. Just for you to tremble and whimper under his touch. He loved it when you would cling onto him and he loves the little noises you’d make whether it be from pain or pleasure.

husband!muzan who tells himself that he’s only staying with you and treating you like this because you’re a valuable asset, one that could keep his facade going.

husband!muzan who slowly submits to your affection genuinely, especially after that night.

husband!muzan who always makes you feel safe and taken care of. He might be the demon king but he can’t let his wife be let down. Muzan Kibutsuji was too much of a loving husband to let that happen.

husband!muzan who treats you like a child that needs to be guided. He can’t have you forming your own thoughts now, right? That would corrupt your innocent little mind. He couldn’t let you turn against him now that he was so attached to you.

husband!muzan who loves to pamper you like a little doll. He loves the idea of using you over and over. Although he doesn’t understand why he’s so attached to you, he just lets it happen. You were still a benefit to him anyway.

And finally.. husband!muzan who has you numb every time he’s had a bad night. Getting you to do nasty things with him, knowing you’re always so needy for his attention.

Comment 🪩 to be on my taglist !

[asthedeathoflight]

Okay im gonna get up on my "source: it was revealed to me in a dream" Ajax soapbox for a second because i think the reason she can't shrug off Barnes is because she feels the Warriors' vulnerability much more strongly than the others do. Like Ajax is a lot of huff and bluster but there's also an undercurrent to it that says that she's actually very aware of how easily they could be hurt. In Roll Call she's clearly uncomfortable with not being armed, in Woodlawn Cemetery her challenge to Swan is based on her not trusting that Swan can get them all home safely, etc. Like yes she's always trying to fight everyone but I think that's kind of evidence of the fact that she's constantly doing the calculations of how much of a threat people pose to them. And she seems very aware that while SHE is not particularly vulnerable, the same cannot be said for some of the other Warriors. Her decision to fight the Furies is primarily triggered by Cowgirl not being able to keep up with the others, and deciding that standing her ground is better than letting them slowly get picked off - even though the script points out that Ajax is not having a hard time running from the Furies.

So I think that the reason she can't walk away from Barnes isn't necessarily because he's triggering a specific trauma in her. She doesn't unload on him because he pushed her past the brink. She knows what she's doing. She calls him an "old ass predator, lookin' for prey." I think the other Warriors are fundamentally wrong about why Ajax can't walk away from Barnes. Its not actually about her. Its about the fact that if she leaves, he's going to find someone else. She's there to make people like him think twice about threatening young women out alone at night. If she walks away, she's letting him get away with hurting whoever he finds after her, who probably wont be as strong as her.

Which is why her getting arrested for it is so tragic, because Ajax is trying to protect an imaginary stranger here, a hypothetical idea of other women who might be hurt by this man in the future or have been hurt by him in the past. And it is because Ajax is trying to protect strangers that she fails to protect her own gang and the women she is actually specifically there to protect.

I hate to think this but while everyone is upset Ajax fought that undercover cop and possibly see her as picking a fight, I feel like her doing that had so much more deeper meaning to it, possibly connecting to her past. Sure, getting catcalled as a female is 'normal' in society but most people ignore it. I wonder why Ajax was so worked up about it.

[charmedreincarnation]

Success story (not the void)

Maya, as I promised you, I'm writing you my success story. It's quite a wild one, so please bear with me.

My journey started during the Angel era, when I was struggling with the void state. I tried everything I could think of to get out of it - every method, every meditation technique, affirming, intention, lucid dreaming, and even coaching from various LoA experts, including those not so well-known. I was desperate for a breakthrough, a key to unlock the life I deserved. I would have done anything, even ate dirt if that was what it took.

At that time, my family was going through a rough patch. My abusive father, a police officer, divorced my mother and left us with nothing. We were homeless, living out of our car, while my dad was living a comfortable life. He had a new girlfriend, a younger woman, and continued to be respected in his job. Meanwhile, my mom, who was a victim of his abuse, was labeled a liar and lost everything. I was filled with rage, towards him, towards the world, towards the jury that declared him innocent. I wasn’t safe in this world especially being homeless, women and children are the most vulnerable to sexual and physical assault. I was scared, unsafe, and had nothing aside my mother and siblings.

I wanted to enter the void, not just for myself, but to give my family a better life and to bring justice to those who had wronged us. I was at a point where I was harming myself, but I couldn't give up because my family needed me. I remember messaging you, Maya, pouring out my story, begging you to help me enter the void. Despite your initial hesitation, you responded with kindness, sharing some personal experiences, and reassuring me that I wasn't alone.

Your words gave me hope. You made me realize that many people who find the law have gone through, or are still going through difficulties. If they could overcome their struggles, so could I.

So, I decided to let go of the void. Not because I didn't believe in it, but because I had elevated it to a status akin to a genie that would magically solve all my problems. When non-dualism and other loa concepts were introduced, everything finally clicked. I realized I didn't have to be angry, or try to be someone manifesting master, or do all these fake methods. I have always known that my family and I were meant to be happy.

For a month, I went through a process of shedding my ego. It was uncomfortable, and there were times I found myself fighting my own thoughts, telling them to shut up. I was separating my ego from myself. You, Maya, had once said that this process was similar to withdrawal symptoms of someone quitting drugs. This thought comforted me. I was becoming someone new, my old thoughts weren't there anymore.

Living in my car, I began to see it as my mansion. My mom's crying turned into laughter, my siblings' whine for food turned into jokes. We pretended that we were living our dream life, and after a while, my siblings joined me in this game. We would come "home" from school and yell at each other, pretending that the house was so big that we needed walkie-talkies to communicate.whenever I needed to steal food it was because we owned the place and can take whatever we want, not because I had to.

One day, we parked at a field, and I started imagining my life. I tried to become the clouds by thinking I am and accepting that my consciousness could be whatever it wanted. I got my siblings to do the same. We became the flowers, then the sun, then the stars at night. Even though physically I was still in the car, mentally and emotionally, I was living my dream life.

When I woke up, I was in a large room. It was decorated to perfection. I heard my siblings running around, throwing toys, and my mother laughing with a man, who's laugh alone sounded like gold. I explored the house, and it was beautiful. There was no yelling, no violence, only laughter and love. My mom introduced me to her boyfriend, and he was holding a newspaper that read that my father had been arrested for domestic crimes and fraud. He was losing everything.

At that moment, I realized that I had done it. My mom was happy, beautiful, and loved. My siblings had plenty of toys and clothes, and our house was filled with love. My family and I were finally living our dream life.

I have been living my life for about a month and now, and it has been blissful to say the least. I go to a well known private school and I am the top student. I am apart of many clubs, and also spend a lot of time volunteering at domestic shelters, and speaking to victims of intrapersonal abuse. I have made friends of people who volunteer with me, so it’s nice to have people who care about the same thing I do.

I am also apart of my writing club, and found comfort in reading and writing and have decided I want to be an author once I graduate. I have always wanted to be a writer but they don’t make enough money often. But now not only do I know I will be successful but my family has enough money to last us multiple generations plus some more. My Bio father had gotten much to what is coming to him and he will be going to jail. I hope he drops the soap but I have let go of my anger with that barbaric fool. So has my mother who has also recently gotten engaged and I get to be her maid of honor. She has a friend group of mothers from school and I have never seen her happier. My now father treats her like a goddess and treats everyone like that. He spoils my mom and us with gifts and luxurious trips. He also spoils the help such as the maids and cooks and never treats them below us. He does not expect anything from my mother except for her to be happy and spend time with us. He is kind selfless loving and respectful. the real definition of a man. I adore him so much and I’m so happy to call him my father.

I find great joy in the little stuff. I love cleaning my room. My bio dad was a hoarder and the house was always a mess because my mom was the sole provider though my “bio dad” made much more. He instead used it on hookers, alcohol, and drugs. Pathetic excuse for a man I know. I love going shopping, as I don’t have to look at the price tag. It feels normal, there was no shift. This is just life constantly changing. I have 5 pets and spend great time with all of them, and they are all so loving and adore me. I love school, and doing my homework, taking tests, assemblies etc. i love talking to my teacher about my ideas and how I can improve. They’re always so encouraging and kind, and I have never experienced that. I also loveeeee having crushes hehe. I never had time nor the “looks” for that prior to these past few months, but I receive a good amount of attention from a lot of sweet man and the “what if” aspect of having crushes is fun. I just love being a teenage girl, something I was not always able to say. I love the world and the people in it, the creations I bring and make, and all I did to make it what it is. I never worry what happened to my old self or life. It died, it doesn’t exist I am here right now with them and the old story is gone. Like an author erasing a part of a story she doesn’t like and never producing it, I did the same. My one true reality and I am so blessed.

Also big thanks to bloggers like @awarenessis @starbursts777 @consciousnessbaddie for introducing this concepts to Tumblr in a simple and kind way. Love to everyone in this devoted app.

Congratulations on your astounding success story 🥹 Your journey is a testament to the power of the human spirit, and it's an honor to hear about your transformation. This is beautiful wild tale, but it's your reality, and it's absolutely beautiful.

Your story is a powerful reminder that we have the power to shape our reality, no matter how dire our circumstances may be. It's a testament to the power of belief, determination, and the human spirit. I'm incredibly proud of you and wish you and your family all the happiness in the world.

[ryuzakemo128]

Who eats alone, dies alone.

Pairing: Poly141 x Outlaw! Female Reader Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not eat, kidnapping, murder, cheating, affairs, coercion to get sex and a 'family', reader is bisexual, tall and plus sized, misogyny, violence against women, violence, and other things that will make your stomach turn. Don't read if you're squeamish. word Count: 3074

Masterlist

Credit 4 Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

You weren’t a small.

You were tall.

You were never considered a pretty little young thing like the women you envied around you. The anger at your circumstances, at yourself, burned inside you like a furnace and the only thing to fuel your wrath was bloodshed.

You're useless, aren’t you if you can’t be like the surrounding women?

What use is your existence if you're scaring people away?

Your charm lured in a victim for your boss. But you didn’t care.

Your boss being a pretty young blonde with enough money to make the oil barons wish she was their wife.

You shot three people in order to get to your target, you didn’t even look at them.

The gun felt light in your hands, the three bodies dropped pretty quickly. 

“Get in.” you ordered. Slamming the carriage door after getting in with him to deter from leaving. You pointed the gun in his direction, “I would hate for someone to get the wrong idea that we’re together.” you spoke in a low husky tone. The smell of his fear drifting to your nose. You might be enjoying this a little too much. Might.

You brought out the handcuffs and snapped them wright on his wrists. Your gloved fingers making sure he can’t simply run away without look too suspicious. 

Ghost called out to Price whom was shooting at the caravan as it rode off into the dirt and dust. They got there far too late. Like they always do. Too late to make any kind of real proper change. 

As soap looked around the medium-sized carriage for an escape route, “Sweetheart, Sugar, darlin. You’re goin no where. You’re stayin on that sweet arse of yours and accepting how things are for time bein.”  You whispered into his ear. 

“I don’t want this to become permanent. So I suggest you compose yourself. A lovely woman will make sure you’re well-fed and cared for. And you’ll be thankin the good lord for everything she is.” you winked at him. Right as the carriage bumped and jostled around along the uneven terrain. 

Price saw you in person the following week with information on a new target. The one who took Johnny MacTavish. The same women who killed three men without a single sign of remorse in her eyes. 

Finding none made his stomach drop.

His heart beats faster now. 

He knew you. The woman kicked out from the church his parents always went to on a Sunday morning. He remembered how a man kicked you in the stomach until you coughed up blood from the blunt force to your stomach. Always kicking himself for never standing up for you. 

Had he known you were forced to take this path alone, then. What would he have done? 

Your mother eventually passed from a cancer which ate at her mind as well as her soul. Your father cheating on her with the maids inside your manor. He thought his amassed wealth would grant him a front row seat straight into heaven by the time he died. Not that he have ever personally read the actual thing himself. He knew a few proverbs and apparently it’s all he ‘needed’. To your poor mother’s dismay, who had actually read it in her youth.

Your eyes looked into his, a wall of steel and stone standing before him. Unlike the woman who was beaten by men just because she couldn’t control her sexuality. The faint scar along the left side of your jawline, a memory and a reminder that men could never be trusted.

Why did you take Soap so aggressively? So much show of power from someone in a short amount of time. It was like you were begging to be shot down. 

But Price knew better than to take a book by its cover. He’s seen the same look in your eyes as the men he had taken to be his lovers years ago. The look of someone who had seen too much, felt too much pain, and was now numb to the world around them. Someone who could endure any amount of pain or punishment and keep coming back for more.

Price still speaks to your father. Not that he would admit this to your face. ‘A monster by association’ you would call him. Not like you would be completely wrong. But you wouldn’t be right at the same time. Though he knew you wouldn’t care for the complexities or details. 

They’ve seen your type, your kind and your brood before. Thrown away like yesterday’s garbage. Thrown to the curb like you weren’t worth a damn thing. Not like you shown it on your face how much it bothered you. Not like you could get in somebody’s face and scream at them before. Not like you can now.

You never felt so free in your life. 

A pity, things came to a head this way.

He didn’t want you dead. He wanted you to bring MacTavish back to them. But it was certainly clear you weren’t going to do to just that. Not like you could defy your boss’s orders in the way he desired you to. If you did, you would be on the streets again, and who was he to tell you to leave a home you found on your own? 

Maddening to be sure. To be stuck between a rock and a hard place. You were making your own way to support yourself, your own way to bend the world to your own image and your own liking. Crafting it to your own whims and desires, like you enjoyed the thought of playing god to serve yourself alone.

Price had to regroup to the others. Before things got messy like it had last time. Three dead in the attempt to blockade you. Like a ram, you barrelled through like they weren’t worth a damn thing. Ruthless in your loyal servitude. A pity. It should have been him you were serving instead.

To have you bent over. 

What a sight that would be. 

But he knew your boss. The dinner party he’s invited to indicate as such. 

Hoping he would be able to sneak Johnny out of there. While she played hostess to her dinner guests with a fake smile. One which never seemed to reach her eyes. A plastered, well-rehearsed smile which looked haunting if you knew sadistic ways. There wasn’t much he could do for him from this far away. 

If you were there? It would be borderline impossible to get him out of that estate. No matter what. He couldn’t do a damn thing. 

“If she’s there, we won’t be able to get him back, Kyle.” price protested, waving at the naive man’s suggestion. “She’s like a dog with a bone, relentless, tenacious, a loyal bloodhound. And I don’t think it’s the money keeping her loyal, either.” 

He wasn’t wrong. You weren’t loyal to her for the money alone, were you? The money made things easier to swallow. Easy to deal with the eccentric nature of her whims of her sexual drive. You couldn’t be bothered to argue with the semantics of why you worked for her. The captives didn’t need to know. Anyone outside wouldn’t understand either.

Not in the ways you would have hoped to get. You would repent later. Repent tomorrow. But tomorrow is always one day away, and you were allergic to the thought of confession. To be brought to your knees because of something as fickle as truth. To escape the wooden pressures of the crucifix and sermons spoken from inside their little chapels won’t touch you again. 

Not while you still live and breathe. 

You were in the hands of a powerful woman married to an oil baron who was away for months at a time. Known for his thing for bringing in young mistresses to breed like some kind of rabid dog. You ignored how some woman would be paid to live there with his wife. Normally as well paid maids and servants. What better way to keep your marriage and the women you found attractive all in one place? 

According to him, it didn’t sound nearly as insane as his wife’s sadistic streak of kidnapping young men from the streets to play with as her one-way lovers. A way to cope with the sadistic desires from his wife, or did he enjoy it too much to take much of an issue with her actions? Who knew. As far as everyone else is concerned. Those men disappeared from the face of the earth.

Gone. Never to found again. Not even their loved ones ever knew what happened to them. But you did. Some of them died trying to escape. Mauled by vicious guard dogs on their front lawn or starved. 

You still remember when your boss spanked you hard enough to make cum like crazy. Not that you could ever explore that side of you. Not like you ever could. Not with the parents you have. “Call me mummy.” she’d hiss into your ear as she’d finger your clit. Masterfully. 

She knew your secret. The kind which could get you killed if the right kind of people knew about it. It’s how she kept you in check. The strangle hold on you was real. Even as Soap was forced to watch the same night, he was brought in to her estate. 

A bisexual woman of your standing? You wouldn’t last a week by yourself. You didn’t want them to that secret. The other being shunned by the church you used to attend with your parents. The church disowned you and threatened your parents to urge them to do the same. When your parents refused because they didn’t trust what the church tried to say.

With your mother dead.

Your father lost to himself with the lust of women and greed of the green dollar bills. 

Picking up a gun, learning how to shoot, learning how to intimidate, and learning to forgive yourself for hurting so damn much. 

You were finally good at something.

Scared men paid more. Scared men didn’t argue. And scared men didn’t survive.

Those who crossed you wished they never saw you. Those who survived knew what kind of monster lurked beneath your eyes. 

The most dangerous thing someone could be is a dangerous woman with nothing to lose and everything to gain. And you played up your dangerous look, and attitude to the absolute maximum. Unhinged in the ways you felt alive. Unhinged in ways men would be praised for. You didn’t need a mirror to know you looked every bit of the part of a dangerous gun slinging outlaw you made yourself into. Like you always wanted to be. Like you are meant to be. 

A cold-heart gunslinger because otherwise you would have been dead years ago. How your trench coat bellowed and how your bandana remained firmly on the lower half of your face. Hiding your identity. Keeping others from trying to find you or tracking you down. Covering your mouth in the covers of darkness. Either way, it worked well for you.

The stallion you rode on while the carriage was getting repaired in the workshop just outside of town. The black horse, a symbol of your capabilities and tenacious spirit. The woman you served had the audacity to still call herself, ‘Lady of the Sapphire Manor’.

You weren’t like her. You were never like her. Never fed into someone’s desire for company like she did with you.

The same manor is technically yours by all rights and reason in terms of inheriting after your mother passed on. It was little to no wonder as to who should own that manor. 

Your father was the first person you murdered. Tied him up on a wooden chair in the backyard, stacking every portrait containing his likeness painted or printed onto them into a bonfire formation. Piling them up around him like a final act of self realisation. He was asleep until you poured that gasoline over him. 

The cold, biting, gasoline-soaked person who gave you life as Soap watched from the balcony in the second story of the manor. Soap saw you getting ready to murder your father in cold blood. This wasn't any old stranger you could emotionally detach yourself from. This was your bloodline.

You didn’t blink.

You didn’t flinch.

Looking over to the woman in the balcony for approval. Her approval. ‘It’s like she needs it, like she craves it, to be owned completely instead of wandering around and wondering if you’ll ever fit anywhere.’ Soap pondered watching this as he remained tied up in his wooden chair. 

The match flicked to the match box, the fire burning the match stick to the gasoline covered man. As his pleas for mercy were ignored, as his screams splitting the night sky as the flames licked his flesh until he was nothing but burned flesh and bone. The flames reflected in your eyes. It’s clear kidnapping, keeping people hostage, tormenting hostages weren’t enough anymore. 

You’re no longer satisfied with small amounts of murder, mayhem, chaos, and pain. You wanted Soap to see the real thing. To smell the burning flesh from people who were the real monsters in the world, and you wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw everything. 

He wasn’t like the rest. He didn’t belong in your world. Just like you didn’t belong in his. You have a part to play. You played it so well.

A monster. A terrible beast. Unloved and unlovable. You had to play the role of the monster to survive.

Soap found him high as a kite walking to his lovers without his pants on with only fifty dollars to his name. Pockets full of opium. No memory of how he got inside the manor. Plenty of memories of all the horrors lying inside the depth of Sapphire Manor. Inflicted by you for the amusement of ‘The Lady’. 

“We’re dead price. DEAD long before we knew she existed. You don’t see it. You’ll never see it. I have seen it. We’re dead.” his nonsenual muttering as Soap gripped his face, rocking him side to side like they were in some kind of long term hospice centre on giant wheels. Too afraid to stop moving in the case, he heard the screams of the man he watched burn to death come back. 

“She killed her father Price. She turned him into a human bonfire and watched him burn.” Soap continued to blabber on and on. 

This all happened in a matter of four days and five nights. Breaking him until he couldn’t trust what he saw in the dark. Always checking to see if you were standing in the darkness. Checking outside his window every five minutes, sometimes hallucinating you were standing outside. 

You were never physically there. You haven’t been since you left him in the middle of town to walk home alone. Likewise, you weren’t a babysitter and you got what you wanted from him. An excuse to get more from your boss. A pay raise. 

Torture isn’t a one shoe fits all scenario. It is usually tailored to the individual targeted. But somehow your methods were brutal enough to break every man The Lady held within Sapphire Manor. The letter you had left in his pants that you gave through the mail slot. 

‘The lady holds no interest in a man who's lost his wits, Soap. Perhaps it's time for you to leave us. I return you to your ‘family’ what ever that is. Lest this be a reminder to keep your nose out of her opium business and shove off elsewhere. 

You turned him into a broken man. Like you have done so many times before with so many other men. A master of torture. A musician in the realm of pain, fear, and madness. You weave it well. You play with it like an artist who poked and prodded, working with your clay. Moulding people over and over. Swimming in the sea of your seemingly eternal madness. 

Taxidermy people sitting in various rooms, permanently frozen in their state of distress, stuffed and poised like hunters did with their animal trophies. Redesigned, redressed and posed in ways you wanted them to look. Another thing, The Lady took pride in her home. People would assume they were fake and none the wiser. Unless they knew of the method of how they came to be. They will never know the gruesome side. 

Your methods of torture evolve after each ‘failure’ finding what works and what needed to be changed. The opium haze of your victims made them easier for them to ply the information from their lips, easier for you to manipulate. You weren’t always so good at this, your first attempts were clumsy and lacked finesse, but with each soul you crushed, each man you bent to her will, you grew more adept, more skilled, more terrifying.

When it came to dosing them with morphine on the second day? The effect of the morphine made them susceptible to suggestion, one tool of many you used to help get you what you wanted from them. You didn’t have to get to the actual torture if they gave you what you wanted. Gentle whispered promises to stop if they talked. 

Was it really so hard to imagine soap gave in so quickly?

 You didn’t even need to get your hands dirty with the actual torture. 

Who knew imagery of darkness, formed and sculpted by your own hand, was enough to break people? 

Price shouldn’t blame him from folding so quickly. If you call being stuck there for four days and five nights relatively quick. Which, in terms of torture? 

It was a record.

The only one who went mad in such a short time. A sick, twisted form of pride gurgled inside you. Chewing at the leftover rage you kept in the furnace called your brain. 

The Lady had eyes everywhere in her manor, and you were just one set of eyes under her service. A gatekeeper. The one who decided who kept their sanity or not. If they even got to see the light of day again, that is. 

What you are now? He wouldn’t have guessed you would have become. He would have called anyone mad for thinking this would have happened anyway. That you were doomed from the start.

[lucifertheanalyzer]

https://www.tumblr.com/communities/critics-of-the-helluvaverse/post/782804402529583104/tw-for-assault-i-think?source=share

I just found all this out, and I am beyond furious. Everything makes disgusting sense now. The way Vivziepop refuses to acknowledge the abuse dynamic in Stolitz, the way she rushes to defend Valentino a literal rapist and how she brushed off a fan who related to Blitzø’s trauma? That’s not ignorance. That’s not bad writing. That’s someone who’s into this kind of shit. Stop sugarcoating it

She was drawing sexualized art of her underaged OC Addison back in her Zoophobia days, who was paired with an adult. Let that sink in. And the absolute worst—she deliberately brought someone with a known rape fetish to storyboard for a sexual assault survivor like Angel Dust. The playlists are non-con. This isn’t “dark storytelling.” It’s fetish fuel and it’s bleeding into the show, and people are still defending her? This should absolutely be part of the conversation when talking about Stolitz and "ValAngel"

Why the fuck isn’t this talked about more? Why is this not common knowledge? Survivors have spoken out saying Angel Dust’s portrayal makes them uncomfortable—and what does Viv do? Nothing. No accountability. No listening. Just more bullshit dressed up as “representation”

I’m sick of seeing her get away with this under the guise of “queer art” or “edgy humor.” Vivziepop has a massive platform, and she’s using it to normalize abuse dynamics and sexual violence through stylized animation—and her fans are still defending her like she’s some misunderstood creator

This should be everywhere. These screenshots, these receipts, this truth—it all needs to be shoved into the spotlight. She loves arguing with fans online? Great. Throw this in her face. Expose it. Stop letting her hide behind a fandom that worships the "aesthetic" and ignores the rot underneath

I am done. Done watching survivors be dismissed. Done watching people call this “deep” or “meaningful” when it’s just thinly veiled fetish content. Vivziepop is not a victim of “cancel culture.” She is a woman who’s shown us who she really is and it’s past time we believe her and act accordingly

I reblogged that post and had it in my queue, guess I have to post it now. 🤷🏾 The playlist has normal videos in like memes, early YouTube videos, and clips from tv shows. It is not all "non-con". The top three videos do not feature those women getting rape. She even liked Onision and Shane Dawson videos back when they were popular, this is how damn old this playlist is.

I am not going comment on the rest stuff mentioned in your ask because those are topics I am saving for a very long blog post or a YouTube video. I am just over this playlist that 16-18 Viv made being bought up, lets focus on the 32-year-old Viv and her recent comments and behaviors.

[vindicated-truth]

Jeongje,

I assume Joowon-ah has given you this letter during one of his visits. Said something about including it in the gift he has prepared for you.

You know he now only has a Lieutenant’s salary, right? He lost access to all of his family’s money, because he didn’t listen to me when I warned him that he shouldn’t ruin his life for me.

He’s an idiot.

But he’s an adult with freewill, and it’s still his money, so of course I have no say on what he chooses to spend it on.

Besides, I don’t begrudge him choosing to spend it on you. Contrary to what you might think, I don’t want you to be alone.

I never wanted that for you, Jeongje.

That’s why I’m glad Joowon-ah is making sure you aren’t. Because… I can’t be that person for you.

Not anymore.

It’s why I’m writing you this letter. Because I want you to know why.

Because I’m sorry, Jeongje. I’m sorry because… I can’t forgive you.

And it’s not because I’ve stopped caring for you. In fact, it wouldn’t hurt this much if I did.

I really wish I did.

But the reason why I can’t forgive you is that the forgiveness isn’t mine to give.

The one person who has the right to forgive you is dead.

Because you killed her.

And I’m not saying this because I want to punish you, either. Because contrary to what you might think, I don’t want you to suffer anymore.

You’ve suffered enough. And I know that because I’ve seen that in Joowon-ah, too.

No one deserves to suffer, Jeongje. Not you. Not him.

But the forgiveness isn’t mine to give. It’s Yuyeonie’s.

I’m hurting because I lost a sister. My parents are hurting because they lost their daughter.

And I know you’re hurting too. Because you, too, lost the one you love.

I’ve always known, you know. Both of you had never been good at hiding it. It hurt that you two believed you had to, but—you made her happy, Jeongje. Yuyeonie had never been able to hide that. And to be honest, neither did you. And I can never, ever begrudge how you made each other happy.

Which is why I know… you’re hurting, too.

It’s the one thing you and I have in common, even after all this time.

You and I… we both lost her.

But all our pain, Jeongje… it’s all secondary. None of our pain compares to what she lost.

She lost her life.

She lost a future that should have been hers. You know she wanted to be a lawyer, right? But do you know the kind of lawyer she wanted to be?

She had a very clear vision of the life she wanted for herself. She’d sit at the foot of my bed while I’d practice on my worn-out guitar and she’d regale me tales of how she wanted to be a lawyer who defended women.

Her ideals were way ahead of her time. She said our society was too patriarchal, that it was a society where women didn’t feel safe, and she wanted to change that.

She wanted to be a lawyer so she could be a safe space for all these women who were victims of the cruelty and violence of men. She wanted to be the kind of woman she herself needed.

She would’ve been the kind of woman who could’ve stopped women like her from being killed by men.

Which is why it was such a cruel twist of fate that her life ended precisely like that.

I always wonder, Jeongje… how many women would’ve also been saved had she grown up to be the kind of woman she wanted to be? A woman who protected women?

Would she have been able to protect our Minjeongie too?

Did you know that she had always been wary of Kang Jinmook? She didn’t dare say it directly because I think she might have been scared back then, too. But she would always tell me, casually but consistently, how it might be better for Minjeongie if we adopt her as soon as it was legally possible.

Do you know what I told her back then, Jeongje? That she was being ableist. That she was looking down on Jinmook’s capability as a father just because he was mentally disabled.

Turned out he wasn’t. He was just evil.

And she was right.

Even back then, Jeongje, she was right. And I didn’t listen to her. Her own twin brother didn’t listen to her.

How unforgivable is that?

Can you imagine what our society would’ve been like if someone with her brains and her advocacy had lived to see her dream come true? Can you imagine, Jeongje, how different things would’ve been if only our society listened to women more? If only we listened to our Yuyeonie more?

She could’ve saved so many women, Jeongje. And now—

Now, we’ll never know. Because she’s dead.

We all lost a sister, a daughter, a friend, a lover. None of that compares to what she lost.

She lost her life. She lost her dream. She lost her advocacy. She lost her future.

And that’s the reason why, Jeongje. Why the forgiveness should come from her.

It had never, ever been my right to give.

It’s why I can’t forgive you. Because the one person who has the right to gift you that forgiveness—is dead.

And I’m sorry, Jeongje. I’m sorry because that’s the reason why… I can’t let you back into my life.

Not anymore.

Because I love her, Jeongje. I love her more than anything in the world, more than anyone I’ll ever love in my life.

She’s my twin, Jeongje. I had never known what it’s like to be alone because from the moment we were conceived in our mother’s womb, she had always been there. She had always been beside me. She was the other half of my soul.

Do you know what it feels like to lose the other half your soul?

Then again, maybe you do.

You love her, too.

I don’t know if she would have forgiven you. Fuck, I don’t know if she would have forgiven me. But that’s our punishment, Jeongje. That’s the pain we all have to live with: that we will never know. Because none of us have the right to take that away from her.

The right to forgive.

Because contrary to what you might think—I don’t want to lose you as a friend.

I miss you, more than you could ever know. More than you could ever hope to understand.

But it’s a loss I have to live with. It’s a loss I choose to live with. Because she’s the only one who could have granted you that forgiveness. And we all have to live with never knowing if she ever will.

I can’t let you back into my life, Jeongje—because I don’t know if Yuyeonie would’ve forgiven you for me to let you.

For me to have you back.

I am not the one who has the right to forgive you, so I am also not the one who has the right to punish you.

So please, Jeongje. Don’t suffer anymore. Not for my sake.

Don’t be alone anymore.

Both of you.

Your friend,

Dongsik

—

Dongsik-ah,

Did you know what Lieutenant Han was going to give me? Because you should’ve talked him out of it still, never mind that it’s his money he’s spending. I’m not going to risk your ire by telling you how much he spent, because I actually know how much all of it cost, but I really hope you’re at least treating him to dinner for a month because I can’t imagine how he’d be able to afford to feed himself after this.

Or maybe just let Jaeyi-ya treat him. I’ve heard he’s been frequenting the butcher shop more often lately.

I’m glad. He deserves to be fed.

He deserves to be happy.

He’s a good guy, Dongsik-ah. You know that, right?

You might be wondering why this prince who has fallen from grace keeps going out on a limb for someone like me.

I’ll tell you why, Dongsik-ah. It’s because he’s lonely.

In the kindest way I can tell you this, I don’t think you’ll ever understand Lieutenant Han. And it’s not because he was brought up in a life of luxury and privilege that the rest of us can only imagine.

But because you were loved, Dongsik-ah.

You and Yuyeonie—both of you were brought up in love.

I think that’s part of why I stayed over at your house a lot, even when we were kids. I was drawn to your family, because I badly wished I had a family like yours. You can’t imagine the kind of envy I felt seeing how your parents are.

You had that ridiculous dream of becoming a singer, even though Jihwa-ya kept telling you to your face that you couldn’t hold a tune to save a life. Yet your parents supported your dream all the same, and had never once compared you to Yuyeonie.

You know, I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion she was tone-deaf too, mostly because I couldn’t understand why she’d keep clapping for you every time you'd “perform” for us during family nights.

I’d been a part of your family for that long.

I never had any of that. And I think—that’s why Lieutenant Han is drawn to me.

Because he never experienced that kind of love, either. And he knows what it’s like to be alone.

That’s why he’s making sure I’m not. Even when I deserve to be.

Because he knows exactly what it’s like.

And I don’t think it’s as selfless as you think, Dongsik-ah. I think—he just wants someone to understand what he’s been through, too.

Because you’ll never be that person for him.

Because you were never abused by your parents, Dongsik-ah, the way Lieutenant Han was. And he’s drawn to me, because I’m someone who understands that the most.

Between the both of us though, I honestly believe I still had it better. And this isn’t false modesty or debt of gratitude or anything like that. My mother was evil, too, but in her own way, she did love me.

At the very least, until the very end, she had never abandoned me.

Even when it meant she had to hurt you instead.

That’s something Lieutenant Han never even had.

He never had a family.

And that’s the reason why I’m writing you this letter, in return.

Because you’re right, Dongsik-ah. I don’t belong in your life anymore.

I belong to the past. And I deserve to stay there.

Do you know why, Dongsik-ah?

Because that’s where Yuyeonie is.

You’re right. I don’t know if she would ever forgive me. But that’s okay. I’m not doing this for my forgiveness.

Because you’re right, Dongsik-ah. I did love her. I love her, still, even when she might not want that love anymore, after everything I did.

After everything I failed to do.

But that’s also why, Dongsik-ah. Why I want to stay in the past. Why I choose to stay in the past. Because that’s where she is. That’s how I choose to live the rest of my life.

Immortalizing her memory.

That’s why I gave you that sketchbook. To the best of my ability, Dongsik-ah, until my last breath—this is how I choose to love her.

I will never let her memory die.

This is how I choose to live the rest of my life in penance.

The people who have hurt you, the people who hurt Yuyeonie and your family—we all belong to the past. That’s why we all belong in prison, because it’s keeping us there.

But you, Dongsik-ah—you don’t belong to the past. Not anymore. There’s no more reason for you to stay there.

Because you have a future with him.

And that’s where the problem lies, you see. It’s precisely because he equates himself with me that he thinks he deserves to stay in the past, too.

He was never there, Dongsik-ah. Because his own monster of a father sent him far, far away, where he was forced to look for love in all the wrong places, when he should have already found it first in his own home. His own family.

You and Yuyeonie showed me that.

I don’t think he did. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so utterly deprived of it. Starved of it.

Until he found you.

You told me, Dongsik-ah, how you will never love anyone the way you loved Yuyeonie, ever again. And you asked me if I know how it feels like to lose the other half of your soul.

I do, Dongsik-ah. But I don’t think that’s the point.

We weren’t supposed to replace her.

We’re simply allowed to love again.

I’m allowed to have a friend again. One who chooses to starve for a month because he doesn’t know how to love halfway and he always gives it his all in everything he does.

I agree with you, by the way. He is an idiot.

But you know what, Dongsik-ah?

I’ve come to love this idiot, too.

And if I’m allowed to have a friend again… you’re allowed to rebuild the other half of your soul again.

You’re allowed to not let yourself be alone anymore.

You’re allowed to love again.

Dongsik-ah… Han Joowon is like me. But at the same time, he isn’t.

Because he belongs to your future. If you let him.

And this is why I'm writing you this letter, too.

Please don't let my friend starve anymore.

Your friend,

Han Joowon’s friend,

Jeongje

[urween]

Soft Hanky | Steve Kemp x ftm!reader | english version

notes : written with a reader with a chest operation in mind

summary: for the good of his business, Steve Kemp learns of the existence of a special category of people. So he finds a young transgender man and sets up his usual plan. Problem is, this man hides many surprises.

⚠︎ warnings : intentionally clumsy description of transgender identity, transgender idolatry, Steve Kemp is a red flag on his own (cannibalism, violence, manipulation, etc.), kinks (degradation, submission, prey/predator)

special thanks and credits to @sparrow-the-tired-lesbian who nicely helped me with this story's translation because it was originally written in french, my native language.

French version here

- Description in the second person

- 2 415 words

You had thought it was an accident, maybe even a sign of destiny. It must be said that your love life did not stretch over miles, not even a few meters. So coming face to face with such a handsome stranger, smiling and interested, it had been a kind of miracle in your eyes, and unfortunately for you, he knew it. Steve, that was his first name, quite classic, nothing original, and a touch of déjà vu. Yet he had caught you in a few seconds, barely had he started asking you questions that your cheeks had become as red as the seats in the movie theater where you had met.

Bad luck for you, destiny had nothing to do with this sudden romance. Steve had been following you for two days, mainly learning about your most frequented places and especially the people you went there with. There the trap was being dug, you had no one, and that was your major asset. No friends, no family, not even a goldfish that would miss you. You were a being living on Earth without human ties, which made you a ghost, the perfect victim.

“No, I don't have a family, it's quite complicated at that level,” you had naively confirmed to him during your first date. Then, “let's say acquaintances rather than friends” he had managed to make you confess. Finally the grand finale, “It's weird to say since I've only known you for a short time but I really like you, Steve.”

The smile that greeted you at this declaration had made your cheeks boil, and then the man in front of you tried an approach – thinking that it was the perfect moment – he placed his hand over yours on the restaurant table. 

Your reaction only encouraged him, and a few moments later you were kissing on a street corner. Everything was going wonderfully, everything was perfect, on time, and even pleasant. All that was left was to tell you– “Wait I... excuse me I think this is a little too much all at once for me”, you had cut him off as you were heading home. He hadn't let anything show, only smiled before reassuring you, “it's nothing we have all the time right?” He should have expected it, you had been different from the beginning, it couldn’t all be that simple.

Actually, you weren’t originally on his list. Vanessa, Penny, Kate. But not your name, not a man. Women were in demand, sought after, and better, not men.

Then one day, when he was deleting the Instagram account of a previous candidate, he came across a post: International Transgender Day of Visibility. The bright colors caught his attention and since he had nothing else to do, he wandered through the topic. Several photos of people involved, but nothing particularly interesting, they had nothing he couldn’t find elsewhere. When suddenly, a photo stopped him dead in his tracks. A pencil drawing of a beautiful androgynous being. Steve clicked on the creator’s profile picture and came across you. You had very few publications, but enough for him to choose you. Your face, your figure, your thighs, hips. There was something special about you, different from women, different from men, different from cisgender people. In your biography, the transgender tricolor flag proudly stood, accompanied by three letters "ftm". It didn't take Steve long to put together all the pieces of the puzzle, you were exceptional. The perfect blend of the harmonious beauty of a woman with the sublime calm strength of a man. Your body was splendid, your features divine. Your taste could only be unequaled.

So, in a few hours, you were first on his list. Your angelic face was going to drive buyers crazy, and you were already driving Steve crazy. The night he discovered you, he didn't sleep a wink, looking for all the information he could about you and what you represented. He wasn't used to feeling so involved, but you were different, that was probably why.

That's how a week later, you met the captivating Steve Kemp when you left your weekly movie session. You were surprised to come across a man so attractive, interested, and above all educated on the subjects that were important to you. He knew the queer terms, laughed while saying that he had visited your dream place, or was curbing ignorance by discovering your name.

But besides this physical specificity, he had – with surprise – discovered that you were not as fast as the others. You never invited him to your place, dodging the innuendos of an upcoming date there. You were open to his advances and yet something always seemed to make you back down at the fateful moment. He had first thought that you were worried about your “special” type, that you were afraid to talk to him about it. But you didn’t give the impression that the subject was sensitive, on the contrary, you spoke about it lightly. So the problem came from elsewhere. Steve had had to dig, but the source had finally become visible. Everything came from a more intimate area. The way you bit your lip when he complimented you, crossed your legs at certain insistent glances, moaned weakly in your kisses. He had thought it was basic behavior, you liked him, it was obvious. Then, he had noticed your slight downward tilt of the head, your fleeting eyes, your weakening muscles. Your body was submitting to him, consciously or not, you were reacting in a primal way to him. This conclusion had jumped out at him during your last kiss. He had gently pinned you against one of the exterior walls of the Asian restaurant, his hand at the junction of your neck and shoulder, your body had seemed to soften in his embrace. You let yourself be controlled by him, protected, supported. He had then accentuated your oral exchange, and everything had been confirmed. Your body needed to be submissive, and vulnerable in powerful and protective arms.

After realizing this, Steve knew how to find the problem: you were not comfortable with this fantasy. It made sense, you had only known the man who made you feel this way for a few days, it was obvious that you did not want to leave your body to a near stranger.

But every problem had a solution, and he had found it.

Wet from your recent shower, your hand grabbed your cell phone placed on the edge of your sink. Steve has just sent you several messages.

- Good morning cherub - A coffee to start the day?

You replied enthusiastically, telling him that you gladly accepted his invitation and in a few seconds you received a response.

- I can pick you up in about twenty minutes - And if that's okay with you, could I show you the famous painting I've at home?🦣

Your smile accompanied you as you put on clean clothes. His proposal tempted you greatly but there was a catch. Spending time with Steve always pleased you, however going to his place necessarily meant skipping a step. He wasn't the type to rush you, but you wanted to and from your exchanges, he seemed to want to too. With a hint of doubt, you grabbed your phone again to answer him:

- Ok for your place, but only to see the painting ;)

Only two streets from your building, Steve sketched a vague smile as he typed a quick reply. He suspected that you were going to react like that, but you had nevertheless fallen into the trap and that was the most important thing. The plan was not to sleep with you anyway, only to take you back to a safe place, to his place. He never slept with his targets, because he didn't particularly want to and especially. After all, they came to his place without any worries, without needing to go that far.

The car ride had been longer than you would have imagined. Between the small paths and narrow roads, it took you about an hour and a half in total to finally arrive at what must have been Steve's place. A little – a lot, but admitting it would be strange – lost in the middle of a thick forest of all kinds of fir trees, stood a long and large building. You got out of the car first, wanting to have time to examine the house before going in.

To be honest, a lot of branches and vegetation camouflaged the interior, you could only make out modern and rectangular lines that ended up disappearing behind tree trunks. But despite that, you found the house quite pretty from the outside.

Steve arrived by surprise behind you, making you jump and let out a little unmanly cry. His laughter mixed with yours made a few birds flutter next to you, immediately you worried about the possible noise that your cry could have made. But Steve reassured you immediately, placing a hand on your shoulder he smiled at you saying: “No need to worry, no neighbors around, no one to complain about the noise”. You were relieved at once, answering something like “Oh great” without knowing that this detail was not favorable to you.

Guided by the warm hand of the owner, you let yourself be carried to the front door – even if there must have been several given the size of the house –. Normally, you would have been somewhat suspicious of this size. Such a large home meant a large income, Steve had told you that he worked as a plastic surgeon and that could explain this detail. However, your attention was not drawn to his income, nor even to the possible danger of a house so far from civilization. To tell the truth, once you had crossed the door, you were hypnotized by the decoration. Everything was extremely dark, in shades of brown and black. There was only a minimum of light, and even the windows did not give enough light to be able to see the four ends of the kitchen open to the living room. The walls were very high, dark too, only interspersed with a few touches of beige. From the inside, you forgot about the rent of the accommodation, you let yourself be devoured by the very special atmosphere. If you took each little detail apart, the decoration was nothing extraordinary, but put together it was as if you were entering a kind of immersive painting. Surely because of the uneven light outside or the floating smell of incense, but you had the feeling of being cut off from the outside world. It was strangely pleasant.

“I'm not offering you water,” Steve intervened, nodding at your still-hot coffee in your hands. You smiled shyly, shaking your head from left to right. Even though he was driving, Steve had finished his drink in less than twenty minutes. One hand on the steering wheel, another still on his paper cup – as if he was afraid of losing it – he chained small or large sips of caffeine as if it were an elixir of youth. You hadn't asked yourself any questions at the time, assuming that he hadn't slept well or that something was getting into his head. Once your little observation was complete, you offered some of your coffee to your interlocutor – which he accepted – then you headed towards the famous painting that had brought you here. It was nothing special, just a large horizontal canvas full of raised paint strokes. You weren't even an art expert, but when Steve had told you about this work you had been curious, and throughout your conversations you had wanted to see it in person. “It's like seeing lots of people live,” he had confessed to you “as if I had the superpower to transform bodies into colorful souls”. His description had intrigued you, you had wanted to put an image on this power, and since Steve didn't have a photo of it what could be better than seeing it in real life?

“I would have rather said that they die,” you began, tilting your head, “look at their positions, it looks like they're being sucked in or crying, your accusing finger accompanied your analysis by drawing abstract shapes in the air, and then the colors are disappearing, the bright orange becomes crimson”.

Too absorbed in your investigation, you didn't pay attention to Steve standing behind you. Your two silhouettes were in perfect alignment, bland and undefined because of the darkness, seen from the front you seemed to disappear into the icy build of the man towering over you by several centimeters. His eyes ran slowly over your exposed and naked neck, you're drawn back. They imagined the tempting curves that were hidden under two or three layers of fabric – so easily torn, even with the tips of his teeth –. Your shoulders were relaxed, and you were confident. You were just looking at a painting, without suspecting the threat that lay behind you or the evidence hidden behind the paint. You were just looking at the work that a man you liked had at home. Without thinking for a moment that behind you this same man would be desperately a handkerchief soaked in GHB. Without thinking that his arm was stuck in this position when it should be wrapped around your neck. Without imagining the flood of thoughts that were rushing through this man’s mind at the same time. You were just admiring a painting that he had told you about, that was close to his heart, that he had never spoken about to anyone except you. While he was petrified by doubt. “I think I wouldn't like to have this superpower, to see people's souls,” your voice declared, “I wouldn't like to know who's good or bad, it's too volatile,” you continued, taking a step back, “and then bad people are just misunderstood, and I like trying to understand them.” Your heel hit the tip of a polished shoe, you thought you were going to fall backward. Your back was stopped by a boiling bust, and a smile returned to your lips. A hanky fell to the ground and as you bent down to catch it, Steve’s firm hand stopped your movement.

“Leave it here,” a voice you had never heard so lightly sighed, “it won’t be of any use anymore.”

Really want to do a part two, who knows maybe one day?

pictures : Pinterest

banners : @/saradika-graphics and @/thecutestgrotto

[leftistfeminista]

A nondescript house on Iran Street in a residential neighborhood in Santiago once served as a base of operations for Chile’s National Intelligence Directorate, which systematically used political sexual torture against young women militants. Informally the house is known as “Venda sexy,” which means sexy blindfold, or “discotheque,” because of the loud music played all day to mask the sounds of torture.

Officials operated the house as a clandestine extermination and torture center between 1974 and 1977. Most of the women tortured inside were members of the Revolutionary Left Movement (MIR), a radical-left organization that promoted armed struggle. It was the most heavily persecuted political organization during the first period of the civilian-military dictatorship. The government often killed or disappeared detainees after torturing them.

Authorities kept detainees blindfolded in the bedrooms at all times. They were taken out only to use the bathroom and for torture sessions, which consisted of beatings, mock executions, drowning, and the application of electroshock. All of this took place during office hours. After office hours, sexual torture was common.

Women survivors, ongoing resistance

Over the past 10 years, the Collective of Women Survivors in Resistance Forever (MSSR, in its Spanish acronym) has played a leading role in making sexual political violence visible. The collective of elderly women survivors of clandestine torture centers has worked to cultivate a living memory for the present and the future. They have asserted the idea of political sexual violence in a range of spheres: in the street, in public debate and also in the courts. The state completely omitted this concept in its investigations of the systematic violation of human rights that occurred during the civilian-military dictatorship. 

“Political sexual violence is what happens when cops grope students,” explains Beatríz Bataszew, who is now seventy and who was once was a MIR militant and survived political sexual torture in the Venda Sexy. “All kinds of stuff happens in police stations.” Bataszew highlights the long filaments of horror that run from the dictatorship to the present. 

The MSSR comrades succeeded in having the Venda Sexy declared a historical monument in 2016. The process that the clandestine torture center has undergone has been complex. 

Bataszew recognizes that the recovery of the Venda Sexy was something that survivors wanted, but she insists that this should happen on their terms and not those of the state or whoever is in government.

The recovery of memory 

The MSSR comrades initially sought to expropriate the property so that a social and human rights organization could own and operate it as a memorial. But the house was privately owned and its owners wanted the state to pay an exorbitant sum to purchase of the former torture center. 

After reflecting on this, they decided against expropriation, since they did not want to enrich the property owners. The family living in the Venda Sexy had ties to Chilean police and harassed those who came to pay their respects to victims outside the house. They destroyed memorials, dumped water on people and called the police when they felt that too many people had gathered.

The compañeras opted to do commemorative work outside of the house. They sought to occupy public space and not enclose memory behind closed walls. They set up a memorial in a nearby plaza, which is periodically vandalized and then rebuilt. Well attended public activities have occurred there over the last five years. While the MSSR focussed on social activities, Gabriel Boric’s government pushed ahead with the expropriation of the house. 

On September 1, 2023, ten days before the 50th anniversary of the coup d'état in Chile, the official gazette published a decree expropriating the house. The Metropolitan Housing and Urbanization Service acquired the property. 

Those who lived in the former torture center in the post-dictatorship period had gutted and renovated the building. The Ministry of National Assets holds it today and it remains as they had left it. The MSSR highlighted the building’s significant architectural alterations early on. This was another reason why they decided not to insist on expropriation. 

Bataszew said the MSSR wanted to avoid a media spectacle linked to the expropriation and the construction of the memorial site. She sees the fact that today the site is called “Iran 3037��� as an attempt to sanitize memory, which becomes denialism, as it seeks to hide all that the name “Venda sexy” evokes. 

The activist warns that these kinds of spaces can become centers of cultural activity managed by memory “entrepreneurs,” who build careers in human rights in a way that is too cosy with the state. Today, she says, official memorial sites are structured as companies with boards of directors under corporate management. Bataszew sees these practices, which attempt to reconcile and appropriate memory, as a response to capitalist markets under social democratic government.

Healing in the midst of denialism

The state’s denialism and erasure indicates its reluctance to reveal ongoing state violence against feminized bodies. Subversive memory is uncomfortable because it is a militant memory that reveals the continuous filaments of terror that run through to the present. To bury the memory of the dictatorship is to bury the fact that the entire political, social and economic system is an inheritance of the military regime. This is an inheritance built on the bodies of countless comrades.

Bataszew and her MSSR comrades are still active doing education in the streets. The state can keep their empty house, in her view. “Let them keep the walls, we have the streets,” Bataszew said with a laugh. “Autonomous feminism is outside and institutionalism is inside.” 

She ended our conversation by reflecting about how the street is the place of popular education and how we heal through the construction of memory. We heal together, we do not need their vulgar reconciliation policies. Our justice comes through building a better future.

[drunkonvodkaaaaaa]

BRITISH KILLERS-

I haven’t really seen people talk about this so i thought I’d make a post!

Most of these are ones that i and everyone i know irl genuinely don’t even remember learning about. I just know bc they’re so famous and have inspired many other killers. They’re kind of like a part of our culture if yk what i mean? Like they get told like ghost stories sometimes which isn’t great but that shows the level of infamy they have.

I have left links to videos or websites about each one! (Sorry many are from Eleanor Neale - i thought her videos were very well informed when i was getting the resources, i hope that’s okay. Fair warning she’s not very sympathetic towards them sometimes and if that’s something you want to see I’d recommend doing some more searching i just couldn’t find anyone who gave a more detailed account with at least some acknowledgement of motives and challenges)

ALSO I’ve missed out killers i personally don’t know enough about despite them being very infamous.

They’re all lowkey vile sorey.

Anyways enough yapping-

HAROLD SHIPMAN

Was a doctor who would give patients lethal doses of medication during home visits. He killed about 284 elderly people (though this no. Changes depending on where you look). His crimes had a massive effect on laws on how GP practices could carry out their work.

PETER SUTCLIFFE ("Yorkshire Ripper")

Murdered 13 women and tried to kill seven more. He was lorry driver who claimed he heard voices from God telling him to murder prostitutes.

(There is a Netflix doc too)

FRED AND ROSEMARY WEST

English housewife Rosemary West killed 10 women and girls, including her 16-year-old daughter, her 8-year-old stepdaughter and her husband's pregnant lover. The victims were subjected to horrific sexual violence before being killed, chopped up and buried under the West's house in Gloucester, which quickly became known as the "House of Horrors". Fred West was charged with murdering 12 young women and girls.

IAN BRADY AND MYRA HINDLEY Brady murdered five children with his lover and accomplice Hindley during the 60s. They abducted, tortured, sexually abused and then murdered children. The crimes became known as the "Moors Murders" because some of the bodies were buried on bleak Saddleworth Moor in northern England. This was influential in spreading awareness on child safety and abductions. Especially when stressing “stranger danger” to children - women can also be dangerous. (This is because Myra would offer the children lifts/ other excuses to get them in their car for abduction. Both she and Ian knew children would be more likely to say yes to Myra then they would to Ian due to her being a woman.)

JACK THE RIPPER

The body of Mary Ann "Polly" Nichols, the first victim of the murderer known as "Jack the Ripper", was found in London in 1888. The killer stalked white Chappell, stabbing prostitutes to death and leaver their bodies mutilated. Blamed for the murders of five women, Jack the Ripper was never caught. Theories about his motives and identity still inspire books and plays.

PHEW that took ages!! I tried to find the best stuff but would recommend deep diving more if you’re interested! Happy researching!

There are other ones i would recommend if you are interested in these which are not SUPER infamous but still very famous and interesting. I’d have to dig them out first so lmk if you want more and I’ll make a second post!

[azmstea]

✨CHOSEN GALACTICS: FREEDOM OR DEATH

FIRST CONCEPTS

Entry 1: Genetic Material Rebuild "Hospitals" [HORMGE]

In the original language they're called "Hospitais de Reconstrução de Material Genético", that's why they're known as "HORMGEs".

TW: This post contains mentions of violence/slavery and a final art with extremely bright/neon colors. Please, proceed if you're sure these things don't make you uncomfortable. "Chosen Galactics" may have colorful characters, but it's recommended for mature audiences due to several sensitive topics in it.

Reblogs are appreciated!<3

(this is a lot of yapping I'm so sorry in advance too)

Before starting, let's give a small explanation of what Hybrids are in "Chosen Galactics".

"Hybrids are the only "close" contact that monsters have with "humans" after their extinction. These beings are made of both Monster DNA and Human DNA, being banned from the humanity but supported by the Monster kind. However, since the beginning of the Dictatorship, things changed around how they demonstrate "support" for these creatures." - Agent S' notes.

With that said...

These hospitals/laboratories are responsible for the research and several tests to find the most efficient way to change the DNA of Hybrid Monsters, one of the species that are among those who are considered low in the society's hierarchy, only being above Hajikays.

They aim to transform Hybrids DNA into pure Monster DNA, deleting the human percentage in their material. However, as expected, these hospitals don't follow any type of safety and/or health protocol, leaving them in EXTREMELY POOR CONDITIONS.

Although it's said that they are not forced to join, it is extremely common see most Hybrids being dragged to these laboratories without any kind of permission beforehand.

Outfits example:

Their outfits, meant to be white, are now yellow-ish and brown due to how dirty and unhygienic these places are. The name tag on their clothes help identifying their full name and species, making it easier for their research and avoid possible incidents, to say the least. Of course, variants of these clothes exist.

These victims go through many different types of exams in order to become "pure beings" and "save them" from this terrible fate, according with scientists. However, in the majority of the cases, many of these Hybrids never see the light of the day again. What happens with them is kind of unknown, though. Besides, what happens there, stays there, apparently.

The abuses? Unknown. The food they serve? Unknown. How exactly the experiments work? Unknown. What exactly make them not be able to see the day again or what incidents happen? U n k n o w n. Any confidential information besides the ones above (which were also extremely hard to share with other people) are well-hidden from Regular Monsters or other Hybrids, so it's common see families hoping to see their loved ones come back someday. Oh, such a pity, indeed.

"Luckily", there is a not-so-great way of avoiding this terrible fate and have a better chance of escaping: If any of the superiors notice a lack of interest or a strong position against them, the Hybrid will be sent to a "Crystal Extraction Camp", where they'll work without any type of payment extracting crystals, an extremely valuable resource in this world. Since the place is as neglected as the hospitals, Hybrids have a bigger chance of escaping at the right moments, but it doesn't mean that no one is watching.

"If people managed to escape, then why is it so hard to know in details what happens inside of these places?"

Remember, they are all being watched wanting it or not, so if they're discovered spreading too many details, they might never come back to tell more. They disappear, they're gone forever. Due to the extreme fear, almost no Hybrid dares to share informations about the bad conditions they lived in.

No Hybrid is spared; men, women, elders and even kids are victims. It's a shame that no one can share more about their suffering, right?

...Right?

Oh.

Poor Alice.

[newstfionline]

Sunday, October 27, 2024

War affects over 600 million women and girls, UN says (AP) More than 600 million women and girls are now affected by war, a 50% increase from a decade ago, and they fear the world has forgotten them, top U.N. officials say. U.N. Secretary-General Antonio Guterres said in a new report that amid record levels of armed conflict and violence, progress over the decades for women is vanishing. The report says the proportion of women killed in armed conflicts doubled in 2023 compared with a year earlier; U.N.-verified cases of conflict-related sexual violence were 50% higher; and the number of girls affected by grave violations in conflicts increased by 35%. Sima Bahous, head of the U.N. agency known as UN Women, cited the fears of millions of women and girls in Afghanistan deprived of an education and a future; of displaced women in Gaza “waiting for death”; of women in Sudan who are victims of sexual violence; and of the vanishing hopes of women in Myanmar, Haiti, Congo, the Sahel region of Africa, South Sudan, Syria, Ukraine, Yemen and elsewhere.

People in Washington Are Fleeing Town for Election Day (Politico) Kate Brown moved to Washington for politics. But on election week, she’s leaving town for the same reason. “I’m not entirely sure what’s going to happen,” Brown said, and that makes it a great time to get away. As Washington reaches the end of a fraught election season—and prepares for a potentially even more fraught interregnum—people across the political spectrum are expressing worry about a violent display by the losing side. For liberals, fears of a Jan. 6 rerun are baked in. But conservatives also worry about antifa-style outrage. Which means all kinds of people are scouting conveniently timed vacations: The policy scholar who was happy to find he had business in Los Angeles and his wife would be in Florida. The former Hill staffer who decided months ago that election week was a good time for a Mediterranean voyage. The liberal think tanker who planned an Arizona bike getaway. The odds against a cataclysm, public-safety pros say, are long. Yet they’re not long enough for some.

North Carolina government calculates Hurricane Helene damages, needs at least $53B (NPR) It’s been about a month since Hurricane Helene tore through North Carolina, causing 1,400 landslides and damaging over 160 water and sewer systems, at least 6,000 miles of roads, more than 1,000 bridges and culverts, and an estimated 126,000 homes. The state budget office estimated that the storm caused at least $53 billion in damages and recovery needs. That’s a record-setting bill, smashing the $17 billion from Hurricane Florence in 2018.

In Ecuador, power-dependent patients wait in anguish as the government imposes hours-long blackouts (AP) The first time the electricity went off at night, Linda Vidal went into panic mode. For more than a year, the 52-year-old Ecuadorian woman suffering from Hodgkin lymphoma and a chronic respiratory disease has relied on an electricity-powered oxygen concentrator to breathe properly. She is one of an estimated 1,000 power-dependent patients in Ecuador who spend hours in anguish as the government imposes electricity cuts of up to 14 hours a day to deal with a severe drought. Like other South American countries, Ecuador has faced a prolonged dry season that has hindered hydroelectric generation, which represents 72% of the national electricity production. When it’s time for the power to go off, Vidal must sit still without fidgeting, in anguish. for as long as her device is off in order to be able to breathe. “For me, having a supply of energy is extremely important,” said Vidal, who lives with her younger sister in the capital, Quito. “I depend entirely on my oxygen concentrator, and I am always worried about whether we are going to have power cuts or not so that I can live.”

The human smuggling trade and Germany (BBC) A five-month-long BBC investigation has exposed the significant German connection to the lethal human smuggling trade across the English Channel. Essen, in the west of Germany, sees many migrants pass through it, and its location—a four or five-hour drive to Calais—makes it ideal for people smugglers. It is close enough to get boats there fast, but not too close to the more heavily monitored beaches of northern France. For £12,500 ($16,222), our undercover reporter posing as a Middle Eastern migrant is told that he’ll be given an inflatable dinghy, with an outboard motor and 60 life jackets, to get across the English Channel. The smugglers boast that they have about 10 warehouses around Essen—and that they can deliver a boat to Calais within a morning or an afternoon. This year more than 28,000 people have so far made the journey in small, dangerously packed boats.

North Korean Troops Assemble in Russia’s Kursk Region, U.S. Officials Say (NYT) Several thousand North Korean soldiers have arrived in Russia’s western Kursk region, where they are expected to participate in a coming counteroffensive meant to dislodge the Ukrainian troops who have occupied a portion of the region since August, one Ukrainian and two American officials said on Friday. The North Korean troops have not yet entered the fight, and it is not yet clear what role they will play, the officials said, speaking on the condition of anonymity to discuss sensitive intelligence matters. Whatever their role, the officials said, any significant contingent of North Korean troops will allow Russia to keep more of its forces in eastern Ukraine, where they can stay focused on seizing as much Ukrainian territory as possible before the harsh winter weather sets in.

An anxious China is backing Myanmar’s faltering junta in civil war (Reuters) When an alliance led by three rebel armies seized swathes of territory near Myanmar’s border with China from the military junta last October, Beijing looked the other way. A year on, rebel forces have ground down the junta, pushing the military out of vital borderlands and making inroads into the contested heart of Myanmar. In response, China has sealed the border and shut off key imports to territory under rebel control, said a rebel leader and five border-area residents, a move analysts say aims to dissuade the alliance from further advances. After initially backing the Three Brotherhood Alliance to crack down on rampant border crime going unchecked by the junta, Beijing is increasingly alarmed at the rapid degeneration of the military, which it still sees as a guarantor of stability in its neighbour. China is also anxious about the ascendancy of rebel groups that have been helping the alliance and are also tied to the U.S.-backed parallel National Unity Government.

At least 126 dead and missing in massive flooding and landslides in Philippines (AP) The number of dead and missing in massive flooding and landslides wrought by Tropical Storm Trami in the Philippines has reached nearly 130 and the president said Saturday that many areas remained isolated with people in need of rescue. Trami blew away from the northwestern Philippines on Friday, leaving at least 85 people dead and 41 others missing in in one of the Southeast Asian archipelago’s deadliest and most destructive storms so far this year, the government’s disaster-response agency said. The death toll was expected to rise as reports come in from previously isolated areas.

Israeli strikes on Lebanon and Gaza leave dozens dead (AP) Lebanon’s state-run National News Agency said an Israeli airstrike hit guesthouses where journalists were staying in southeast Lebanon, killing three media staffers from two different news agencies Friday. In the southern Gaza Strip, an Israeli attack left 38 people dead. Lebanon’s health ministry says the total toll over the past year is over 2,600 killed and 12,200 wounded. The fighting in Lebanon has driven 1.2 million people from their homes, including more than 400,000 children, according to the United Nations children’s agency. Israeli strikes have killed much of Hezbollah’s top leadership since fighting ramped up in September. Israel’s offensive in Gaza has killed over 42,000 Palestinians, according to local health authorities. United States Secretary of State Antony Blinken met with Jordan’s Foreign Minister, Ayman Safadi, on Friday in London, where the Arab leader accused Israel of engaging in ethnic cleansing in Gaza. Safadi did not mince words when describing Israel’s role in the conflicts, saying cease-fire negotiation mediators are trying to “get through the nightmare that the region continues to live in.”

Israeli strike kills three journalists, Lebanon says (NYT) On Friday, Israel struck a guesthouse in southern Lebanon where, according to Lebanese officials, eighteen journalists from seven different news organizations were staying; three media workers who worked for channels widely seen as aligned with Hezbollah were killed. Meanwhile, US lawmakers including Sen. Bernie Sanders called on the Biden administration to open a formal investigation into the Israeli strike on Lebanon that killed Issam Abdallah, a Reuters journalist, last year. And—after Israel alleged this week that six Al Jazeera journalists who are covering intense military operations in northern Gaza have ties to Hamas and another militant group—Al Jazeera vehemently denied the claims, and the Committee to Protect Journalists noted that Israel has “repeatedly made similar unproven claims without producing credible evidence.”

‘We were made to love and be loved,’ Pope Francis writes in latest encyclical (Religion News Service) Addressing a world faced with consumerism, division and artificial intelligence, Pope Francis urged faithful to “return to the heart” in his new encyclical, “Dilexit Nos” (“He Loved Us”), published on Thursday (Oct. 24). “In a word, if love reigns in our heart, we become, in a complete and luminous way, the persons we are meant to be, for every human being is created above all else for love. In the deepest fiber of our being, we were made to love and to be loved,” the pope wrote. The technocratic societies of today, the pope wrote, favor the mind over the heart and risk turning people into “insatiable consumers and slaves to the mechanisms of the market.” This can be seen in the wars and conflicts in the world today, he added, where some “may be tempted to conclude that our world is losing its heart.” Francis described the pain of mothers losing their children to war as “a sign of a world that has grown heartless.” “In this age of artificial intelligence, we cannot forget that poetry and love are necessary to save our humanity,” Francis wrote. Unlike the mind and the will, he continued, the heart cannot be easily swayed or manipulated. “The world can change beginning with the heart,” Francis wrote.

Comedian (The Art Newspaper) They’re selling Comedian. You may recall that in 2019, the artist Maurizio Cattelan unveiled a new sculpture called Comedian, which is a banana duct-taped to a wall. It was generally understood to be a commentary on the absurdism of the contemporary art market. Well, one of the three editions of Comedian will be auctioned at Sotheby’s in New York, and it’s estimated to sell for $1 million to $1.5 million. What the person will be buying is a certificate of authenticity, the instructions for how to display the sculpture, and a single banana and one roll of duct tape to get you started out. Prior to auction, the work will be displayed in New York, London, Paris, Milan, Hong Kong, Dubai, Taipei, Tokyo and Los Angeles, which sounds like a pretty exhausting itinerary until you remember any town with a grocery store and a Home Depot can convincingly execute the sculpture.

[spookychick78]

Final Girl

A Woman Left Lonely

Michael Myers X AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Violence/Gore, mentions of DV

Word Count: 947

It started off slow. She was happy. He lavished her with attention, grand gestures, all the usual tactics men like him use. She had no need for him, she was independent but he made sure to break down all her walls and invade her life anyhow. He was good at the game he played. He'd done it before, but how could she have known? Men had never really paid attention to her in the past and here he was. He was handsome, dark hair, green eyes and well built. She herself was beautiful, but she could never see that. She felt appreciated in a way she never had before, and as previously stated, he was good at making a woman feel like she was the only one in the world. She wasn't. She was naive.

It wasn't her fault, she thought he loved her and who wouldn't have? He was an impressively good actor in that aspect. Showing up at all the right moments, pursuing her endlessly, fooling her friends and family. Sure, maybe he cared in his own sick way, maybe in the beginning. How couldn't he? She was sweet, kind, gentle and most of all free. People like him prey upon women with her qualities. She just couldn't see it. But Michael did. He saw right through him.

He was a different kind of monster, but a monster nonetheless. It pained Michael to watch as she fell into his arms. It took him time to win her over, she was a smart girl but eventually he had to watch as she succumbed. She was happy in the beginning, of course. The monster knew better than to let her in on his tricks too soon. He wore a different kind of mask, but little by little, it began to slip. But by then, he had her. He had plucked her from a life full of love and dragged her into his decrepit world. Once there, things changed. Not all at once, it was slow enough for her to stay, thinking maybe it was just a bad day here and there. Then the bad days become one long nightmare in which he would give her just enough hope to cling to so she wouldn't run. Once he had her fully encaged, he fed her lies. Her life ended for him, but he kept on living his. Nights filled with laughter, friends and family turned cold and lonely with no one around. Not even him. She was alone keeping the awful secret her life had become.

Michael had never stopped watching. He was unable to help her, he knew that. He had never wanted to end someone's life more, but he knew, even though he would be saving her, there was a chance it would hurt her. So he watched. He watched her fake smiles, they were nothing like the ones he used to look forward to seeing. He watched her slowly cover herself, hiding the bruises her monster would leave behind after accusing her of doing all the things he was doing. And Michael watched him.

He watched him lie and take from her. All the while he was giving it to someone else, anyone else. He would leave her in the cage he made for her, filling her head with stories of how he was out working for her, killing himself for her. All lies. It had never been just her for him as she had become for Michael. She meant nothing to him. She was another game to be played, but he had taken this game farther than others. She had married him. He had taken her innocence. He had won. Michael couldn't watch anymore, it was unbearable.

Rage was all the Shape was able to feel for what felt like ages. As she sank into misery so did he. His knife plunged into victim after victim, only wishing to end one life. He saw what he did to her and it was unforgivable.

He pulled his knife out of his latest kill, enjoying the slick sound it made upon exit. His breathing was heavy and he was tired. He walked calmly over the bodies that lay scattered and out the door. The night was cool, the smell of autumn in the air. He made his way back home, but as he neared the house he noticed something strange. He could see a person standing on the sidewalk in front, just staring at the door. Whoever it was had a hood over their head, making it impossible for him to see who it could be. He thought perhaps it may be Loomis, that wouldn't surprise him. He paused as he watched them study the house, contemplating before marching up to the door. They tried the handle, which was of course unlocked and let themselves in. He hated killing in his home, it was such a pain having to clean up afterwards but he readied his blade regardless as he moved towards the back door. He made sure to be silent as he pushed it open, making sure his masked breathing wouldn't give him away. He heard a sniffle and followed the sound. He saw the hooded individual standing in the front hallway, studying the staircase. As he entered the doorway, the rotting floorboard creaked underneath his boot giving him away. He had only made that mistake once before. The person turned, slower than he expected, seemingly unafraid. They certainly weren't startled. The moonlight streaming in from the window just barely made the face visible underneath the hood. If he chose to speak, he would have been at a loss for words.

[protege-not-protagonist]

Criminal Minds: The Protégé Chapter 2

Ch 2: Tangents

Blurb: After deciding to leave the BAU, Spencer is now a full time professor at the FBI Academy, teaching profiling and criminology. Spencer is struggling to live life without the BAU, but that is to be expected when it has been all he has known for almost 2 decades. The BAU meanwhile, struggled to find someone to fill the genius shaped hole in the team when he left, and they still are struggling. At least, that's how the newest profiler, Agent Grace Matthews feels. Grace is good at what she's good at, it's why the bureau accepted her earlier than most. But how could anyone live up Dr. Reid's legacy? So, when Grace answers a call intended for her desk's previous owner, she jumps at the chance to meet her predecessor and ask him for some advice. Together, they find a kinship… but unfortunately, they also uncover a disturbing pattern in the deaths of inmates and patients the BAU have helped put away.

Masterlist

Previous chapter

Audience: recommened mature audience for depictions of violence and sexual references

TW: murder, prison, criminology

Five years ago: Honolulu women's state penitentiary, Hawaii, April 29th 2017

‘I'm SSA Rossi with the FBI’s Behavioural Analysis Unit. Can I get you to state your name for the record?’

‘Helen Fitzpatrick.’ She answered flatly.

‘And how old are you Helen?’

‘I…I’m um seve-eighteen.’ She then looked up at him again and glanced across at his files. ‘The FBI? You shouldn't be here, they haven't found Jocelyn yet, and even if you had that's only two. Three's the magic number… Why are you here?’

Rossi observed her expression and chose his next words. Obviously, she was mis-speaking on the number of her victims to attempt to get him to draw it out of her. So she could relive it. ‘We are interested in the profile of this case, it has a unique element,’ he began vaguely. Last thing he wanted to do was stoke her ego.

‘You mean the psychopathic, sexual sadist element, traditionally there aren’t really any women who fit that typology…that’s why you’re here, you think I’m the first?’ she stated. Her expression was neutral.

‘Well, Are you?’

‘I don’t know, you're the expert.’ She looked away and began bouncing her leg again.

Rossi didn’t know what to make of it, usually it would mean she was nervous, but something about it seemed off. It seemed like there was more agitation than nervousness. He noted it down.

‘Your lawyer said you were willing to cooperate with anyone other than Kauai PD, so what do you have to tell us Helen?’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Well, I think I’d like to talk about James Peterson and Christina Yuki, , but we are keen to hear about Jocelyn as well. Where is she Helen?'

‘Mr Peterson?’ A confused expression painted her face, well he assumed it was painted. ‘So there is three?’

‘Your first victim,’ He explained. ‘You did confess to his murder, didn’t you? That is your signature on the statement there isn’t it?’

She frowned. ‘I did confess… Are you sure he was killed first?’ Her tone was questioning, but not in a mocking tone, like he expected from most unsubs. It seemed more puzzled.

‘Does that upset you?’

‘It does, Mr Peterson was my Gym teacher, and he was a nice one. Nice to kids like me, you know? Was he buried like the Christina? Was he not reported missing? It's been eight months?’

He knew this play; it was play for attention. She was trying to get details relayed back to her, looking for a sense of accomplishment. He gave her the bare minimum. ‘He was found near a campsite about a month after you went in here.’

‘Good, good,’ she nodded absently. ‘He wasn’t hidden for too long. Eight months is a long time, I can't imagine how Jocelyn's family feel.’ She slouched down to lay her head on the table.

Was this kid for real? It irked him. Usually, those kinds of words would be a gloat, a taunt. But the way she spoke and her tone seemed genuine. But then there was the body language. It swung between disinterest and hyper attentiveness. Her eyes were unfocused, like she was out of it, yet trying to stay focused. He made his notes and continued the interview.

‘If you wanted them to be found, why'd you go to so much effort to bury them so well. Why do you do it? Burying victims is unusual. How do you choose your locations?'

Helen looked up at him briefly and began to laugh, letting her head slump on the table. He barely heard her mumble, 'Even he thinks they're buried well.'

Now he was pissed off, and he wasn’t in the mood to try hide it. 'I don't see what's funny Helen.'

She stopped and sat up straight, ‘If I help you find Jocelyn’s body, will you let me transfer to federal prison?’ she asked suddenly, perking up.

Rossi shook his head in disbelief and scoffed.

‘Sure, we can talk with the DA, but it will be difficult considering you’ve already been sentenced-‘

‘No, it’s not. You guys make deals all the time,’ she sat forward, determined now. ‘I know you do, I’ve read your books Agent Rossi.’

‘Is there a reason you are trying this now, Helen?’

‘I've been weighing options, do I drag my family to court, put them and my neighbours on a stand for the chance of pleading insanity and getting put in a mental facility where they try to treat me, or stay with the lifers here and get worse. Or now with you here, do I cut a deal, and try to get into Federal Prison, where I can sleep with both my eyes closed and get a decent doctor to help me.’

‘So let me get this straight, you don’t want to put your family through a retrial, you know you need help, and you hope they find your victims? Is that right?’ he asked with a sarcastic chuckle, ‘See that’s empathy Helen, but you don’t have that, do you? You brutally tortured, killed and assaulted two women and a man-’

Helen cut him off, ‘Assaulted then killed, there was no necro-wait, wait Mr Peterson was assaulted too?’ She frowned.

He ignored her. Mr Peterson hadn’t been sexually assaulted. If the police’s profile was right, if she was a sexual sadist, she was trying to get him to talk more details of the case, reliving the event. But she wasn’t enjoying the details that were relayed to her, she wasn’t toying with him like she should be. And that was not even taking into account that right then, she seemed to display that she had an understanding of empathy and morals, not behaviour congruent to someone with extreme Anti-Social Personality Disorder. If the profile was wrong… which he was suspecting it was with every second he spent in this room. He needed to find out how wrong they were.

He continued, ‘Then you load them in your truck, and go out into the rainforest and you bury them deep, and mark their graves, which shows remorse-’

‘Does it?’ She scoffed, ‘Does it Agent Rossi? You aren’t as smart as I thought you were, psychopaths don’t feel remorse, neither do sexual sadists. Or is that why you're here? The profile doesn’t add up? Look’s like someone’s made a mistake.’ She snickered.

---------

Quantico, FBI Academy VA Thursday July 2023 11:58 am

The walk over to the coffee van was interspersed with a bit of small talk. He asked how his colleagues were going. As far as he knew, everyone was still there and Garcia had reluctantly returned. He had always stayed in touch with Garcia. He also often saw JJ and the boys. Occasionally he would catch up with Emily and they would see a foreign film together. The other members he would admit, he hadn’t seen this year. Rossi had dropped off the radar after Crystal passed away. Tara had been busy with life. He knew Simmons had returned to the BAU after their special assignment. Luke had been busy as well from what he could gather.

From what he heard, the team had only recently been put back together. What Agent Matthews told him confirmed that. With Deputy Director Bailey now, sadly, out of the picture, the team had been restored as well as most of its resources. After the Sicarius case had been wrapped up last year, and Spencer had tendered his resignation, the BAU had a period of trialling different candidates for the position. Each potential team member was put on a roster and given cases to consult on so they could be assessed.

Grace had been vaguely been involved with the BAU earlier that year because she had been a lead investigator on the forensic team that worked the Sicarius case. She also told him she had known Rossi from before she even studied at the academy. Her work had caught Prentiss’ attention. But Rossi had been the one to write her a letter of recommendation and convince Grace to put her name forward as a candidate. After three probationary cases, Prentiss had chosen her. She had officially been with the BAU for eight months now.

Matthews explained she initially had trouble becoming as familiar with the team, because they were already quite close with each other and she was now the youngest member by a significant margin. But she said everyone had been welcoming. Garcia and her in particular got on well, and had recently gone to a fantasy novel convention together.

Unintentionally, she seemed to have become the ‘office baby.’ She was adamant that she didn’t mind. She said it felt oddly comforting to have someone watching out for her. Spencer tried not to profile what that meant about her psyche.

She asked him how he was finding teaching. He loved it. He missed his team, and he missed the feeling that came when he knew they made an arrest. But there was just something about the special assignment with Simmons that made him question everything. And it wasn’t some traumatic incident. It wasn’t some new godforsaken horror that had finally been enough for him. It was just living with Matt, for four months. Watching him call his family every chance he got and helping him film videos of him singing happy birthday to his kids. It was eating take out in hotel rooms and Simmons only ever talking about his family and his life and then him, only being able to reply with statistics, and fun facts.

And Spencer had always known it. He’d seen everyone around him have a life outside of work. He used to think he did. But after months with Simmons, he realised he didn’t, not really.

Spencer had tried to go back and find a balance, that is why tried part time in 2020 originally. But the BAU wasn’t something he could just give half his time to. It demanded all of him. And when he realised that one year, one week and two days ago, he decided to leave. He knew if he stayed, he’d keep putting everything into it, he’d never settle down, never find someone, never have kids. Derrek had been right all those years ago, the job wears people down. And if anything showed just how much the job had gotten to him, it was his interaction with Matthews this morning.

Spencer could never walk the streets and see just people. He saw suspects, and unknown subjects. He watched from the bench as Agent Matthews ordered their coffee and muffins. He didn’t want to, but he saw how much he had changed in his almost two decades of the job. In her smile, her braids, and her soft cardigan, he saw himself on his 24th birthday, in that stupid birthday cake hat, trying to blow out trick candles in 2006. How long it would take until she didn’t smile when she ordered coffee? How long until she ran from inquisitive ex-students in the hallway? How long until she couldn’t recognise herself in her old ID photos?

She sat down and pulled a few files from her messenger bag. No wonder she had clutched it so tightly, she was not supposed to take files without permission.

‘Don't worry these are abridged copies, I print them for readability and annotations, but I don’t like having photos out where people can see them,' she explained, seeming to eerily read his mind. She placed them on her lap keeping them closed and face down.

‘So… I guess I've wanted to meet you for a while now because,’ She fidgeted with her hands, ‘Well, there is no easy way to say this, but it feels like my colleagues expect me to replace you and I'm struggling to live up to the expectations.’

‘How do you mean?’ he frowned.

‘I know it’s been a year since you left fully, life goes on you know, they managed without you, managed without me. But when I joined, the first case I had, the one I consulted on, I was brought in because I was an expert. I was at my most knowledgeable and confident. I mean, not that I’m not good at profiling, but I guess I did something in that first case, when I was at my best, that made them think I was like you, you know a genius, good at everything. And they ask me things that I don’t know how to do, or expect me to know things. And they never say it, but there is always a disappointed look in people’s eyes when I tell them I don’t know. I don't know statistics, or how many people live in a certain city. It’s a big hole to fill, and I trying to work out how big. What were you especially good at? How can I be what the team needs me to be? How do I be like you?’

He just stared at her. What was he supposed to say to that?

‘Agent Matthews, I’m sorry to tell you, I don’t know the answer, other than you can’t be me, just like I can’t be you.’

She quietly chuckled to herself at that. ‘Finally, something you don’t know.’

He smiled. At least she was good humoured about it.

‘What are you an expert in, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘My BA is in Archaeology, with specialisation in forensics and sociology. I worked two and half years in forensics for CASMIRC before the BAU. My thing is overkill, mutilation, Unusual or improvised weapons, and rituals involving burials.’

He did the math. She would have been 21 when she was admitted to the bureau? Probably 20 when admitted into the academy. She had already been an agent by the time she had been taking his classes. So it had to be extracurricular study, or specialisation then. He doubted his colleagues were as disappointed as she thought they were.

'Well, Agent Matthews, it sounds like you were picked because you were the best candidate for the job. Have you talked to Emily about it, is she still the Section chief?’

‘Yeah I have, she told me she is happy with my performance, but that doesn’t change any unspoken expectations. I feel like I’m some Spirit of Halloween's off-brand costume version. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to talk to the legend himself.’

‘Legend?’

She laughed, ‘Umm, yeah, you're a pretty big deal in the bureau, don’t let it go to your head though, Alvez said you don't need to have any more titles.’

‘Sounds like him,’ he chuckled. ‘Well, when I was in the field, I often would do detailed geographic profiles. I actually did one of my thesis on them. Is that something they ask you to do?’

‘Yes!’ she exclaimed, ‘Exactly! When Simmons isn’t there, I would work one up… nevermind that I had to teach myself how to do it the first time cause everyone assumed I knew how and left me alone at this police station in the middle of nowhere… but every time I do one, Prentis or Rossi will come back and ask me something like, “can you pinpoint all the homes built in 1973, with left-handed children under 9?” Like could you do that? I am crazy for saying no?’

He smirked at her over-dramatics, ‘Well not on my own, that is where I would ask Garcia to help with the building ages, but the handedness of someone is something you have to observe in person so I imagine that would be difficult. But I’m assuming you're being hyperbolic to illustrate a point.’

‘Maybe just a little,’ she snorted.

Grace’s name was called out and he got up to get their order. He glanced at her drink she had gotten for herself and handed it to her along with her muffin. It was bright green and milky. Matcha perhaps? She did say she preferred tea.

‘What you would include in your geographic profiles? What would you say is your standard set of facts you know about a place when you get there?’

He thought about it for a moment, he never considered that his profiles had been extra detailed, but he supposed, compared to what was taught at the academy, they were significantly more detailed.

‘Well, as well as the points you used to generate your comfort zone, like the victims' homes, kill sites, disposal sites and abduction points, I would include points of interest like public places; parks, churches, lakes, malls, and also get to learn the demographics of an area. Essentially, when you do a geographic profile, as well as a comfort zone, you also want to know how the average person in that zone lives their life and what would stick out as odd, who would fit in and who wouldn’t, that helps shape who a likely unsub is. You want to know where they shop, where they go for fun, where they would work, where they would spend their free time. And it's going to change everywhere you go, no two places are the same.’

‘And you would just know that stuff off the top of your head?’ She asked, taking a sip of her drink.

‘Sometimes, but I’m me. As for statistics and facts, you only really need to learn statistics related to demographics and facts about a place if they are what make it unique. Like if it’s a tourist town, it might be worthwhile knowing where most of the visitors come from, then, if tourists are involved you might be able to predict if state lines are being crossed. Industries are important too, knowing what a town’s main industry is and being familiar with it can really help when things seem to be motivated by money. But I think the broader your knowledge the better, but you seem to have that covered. And you’re young, you’ve got time to learn, and you have Garcia to help you, it’s okay to ask her to look up things like demographics, it's a few clicks away for her and she’s always happy to help.’

He took a sip of his coffee and suddenly felt struck with a sense of déjà vu, except it was now him telling someone they were still young.

‘Believe it or not, Agent Matthews I don’t know everything… see before I read your term paper I never knew about the Leonski case. I’m sure you’ve got other things that I don’t know stored in there. How did you know about that case by the way? It’s not exactly one that comes up on the first google results page for serial killers?’

‘You know how to use google? Could have sworn you told me you didn’t know how to use your email calendar earlier,’ she joked.

He shrugged, ‘It’s old age.’ They both grinned at each other.

Matthews took another sip before she answered, ‘I had to do this history essay in high school on America's involvement in World War Two. I focused on America as an occupying force during and after the war, cause everyone always chooses Pearl Harbour, Atomic Bombs or the Battle of the Coral Sea. I wanted to know more about a footnote in the textbook, it said something like; it’s often the case that crime rates sky rocket during war periods, and soldiers on leave are a high proportion of violent offenders. I always found that interesting, the power and status that comes with being a soldier during war times and what the rationalisation of, “Oh well I could die soon, doesn’t matter” does to a person’s moral compass.

'It was an interesting rabbit hole. Like, did you know that there was a two-day riot in one of Australia’s state capitals, Brisbane in 1942? One Australian soldier was killed and hundreds of citizens and servicemen on both sides were wounded. The exact details of the event are vague. The riot was censored heavily in the press, especially censored from the US by General MacArthur. There were many reasons tensions were so high between Australians and the US army, but it was largely due to the publicity of the Leonski case that same month, even though those murders happened in a completely different city and state… I mean I could talk all day about it but I'm getting a bit off topic… Sorry.’ She apologised and looked down at the files on her lap.

‘No, no, that’s fascinating. I take it you like history?’ He smiled. She was obviously very passionate about it. He was beginning to see what she meant when she said it felt like the team compared her to him. It was no secret he loved to go on a tangent.

She perked up again, ‘Love it. Ancient is my favourite. And I will be controversial and say Dark Ages-’

‘Oooh bold of you,’ He mocked a wince.

She laughed, both finding humour that only those knowledgeable in the field would understand.

‘Look I know scholars will get up in arms about how absence of written sources and excessive violence doesn't mean people weren't enlightened, but until they can come up with a better name for it other than pre-medieval or post iron age, I will just say Dark Ages. I mean it started with a massive volcanic eruption in the 6th century that plunged Europe into a mini ice-age and literally blocked out the sun. The whole period is defined by raiding and “migration” that occurred because of resource shortages. Dark Ages is a fitting term, and I will die on that hill. Oh actually, speaking of dying on hills, I heard you did a symposium on Medieval Violence and Criminology. Are you going to teach that content again?’

He finished his mouthful of muffin and thought about how to tell her it wasn’t the most in demand topic. If it ever did happen again, it was not going to be anytime soon.

‘If there's an interest in it, maybe but, I can send you a copy of my notes if you want?’ He frowned when her face fell a little.

‘Yeah, okay… sounds good.’ She glanced at the file on her lap and shifted in her seat. ‘I uh, should move on to—I actually have a reason other than personal curiosity to be here, Dr. Reid. I mentioned I had some news and um, well, this is where the pleasantries end I’m afraid…’ she passed him a file labelled;

‘#20061104WL: NATHAN HARRIS’

It was a case he remembered very well, from a long time ago. Nathan was the young sexual sadist that had approached him at the metro station asking for help. They had stopped him from killing anyone, including himself. He was institutionalised and put on their watch list. But he had kept checking in on Nathan occasionally. It was one of those cases that just impacted him deeper than others. He had been the one that saved his life. Hesitantly, he took the file she offered him and sighed as he opened it.

Spencer’s brows furrowed in confusion. The typeset was strange. The font had been changed to Comic Sans. Then there were the words themselves; they had random parts of them bolded in groups of three or four letters. She would have to have some program on her computers that would format the files this way. He scanned the pages of her file, it was difficult for him to read, he couldn't get over the partly bolded words, he kept trying to find a pattern in it, like it was a code. What did it mean?

The answer came to him as he pieced the odd format with every term paper Grace had written and exam short answers she typed. He saw the way her handwritten notes in the margins slanted one way, then the other on a new line. He saw it in the random capitalisation in her letters. She had a habit of starting a sentence small and ending it large and sprawled out. No wonder she didn't seem too enthused by reading his paper and would rather go to a seminar.

‘You have dyslexia?’ He stated more than asked.

Her mouth fell open and she looked at the file in his hand in panic, ‘Oh no, I grabbed the wrong copy.’

‘It’s alright, I’ve memorised this anyway.’ He reassured her. Spencer cast his gaze over her again and saw her demeanour had changed. He recognised it immediately. ‘I don’t see why your ashamed of it, Dyslexia is very common, one in ten people have it-’

‘Um, it’s not really Dyslexia, please don’t tell anyone… only Rossi and Garcia know,’ she cut him off. ‘Dyslexia is when you have trouble recognising and connecting symbols to meanings and phonetic sounds. Mine is actually the opposite, it’s Hyperlexia…’ That puzzled him, he had Hyperlexia too, it’s what allowed him to read so fast. ‘...But I have ADHD, so there are too many connections being made. When I read, my brain processes physical shapes of words, meanings, familiar particles, tries to predict what should be there, and jumps ahead to other words on a page. And all that happens quicker than I can comprehend the sentence. I have to really focus and concentrate.

‘It’s workable, but I take a little longer than the average person to read. Makes it really difficult to proofread, or read aloud and I'm hopeless with numbers and letters not arranged into words or mixed together… number plates kill me.’ She pointed to the file, ‘This is a technique called bionic reading, it essentially allows me to read with my unconscious mind. By only focusing on the bolded letters, it halves the input and gets my brain working on just filling in the blanks rather than anything else.’

He tried to read the file again bearing that in mind, not thinking too hard about the placement of the bolded letters. Spencer nearly fell off the bench. He finished it before even realised he read it.

‘Oh my God.’

‘I know right? Look at you go speed demon. But I can only read like this from my device. And it's not like they format reports like this or… books. Which is a shame, I love stories. I’d get through so many more if reading a digital copy felt as good as reading a physical book.’

‘So wait, you’re telling me you didn't have this strategy to help you while you studied here? Or at school?’

‘No, I only heard of bionic reading a few months ago. Garcia helped me make this program and app.’ She shrugged.

‘That must of been very difficult, and learning to read in the first place would have been-’

‘It's embarrassing, I was barely literate before 4th grade. But one day it clicked when I figured out a system. It's never clicked with numbers though.’

He stared at her, ‘Why didn't you ask for special consideration for your studies?’

She shrugged, ‘I didn’t know I needed it, I was only diagnosed with ADHD recently. Besides, I don't want it. If I can do this well without it… it's worth more, you know?’

With that one sentence Spencer could understand her far deeper than she probably realised. He hated that he profiled her so easily without even meaning to. It was the unspoken rule among profilers; don’t profile each other, and if you did; don’t say anything about it.

Matthews would have struggled academically her whole life, and yet she didn’t seem to realise just how intelligent and adaptive she had been her whole life to make it to where she was without a diagnosis and strategies. If suddenly everyone treated her differently, marked her assignments easier, allowed her extended deadlines, higher grades would not have felt like an accomplishment. Grace would see it as demeaning, an insult. And from her reaction to that suggestion, he could tell Grace felt she had something to prove and felt that her struggles were her own fault. And pair that with feeling inadequate in her position compared to him, meant all her life; she had probably felt second best. If that feeling had been constant enough to affect her like this, it was probably a person she was constantly compared to. A person constantly around, a person she could not distance herself from, which meant it was family; a sibling. Perhaps an older sibling who always did better at school than she did, and she could never figure out why, until recently.

‘I can understand that,’ he nodded.

‘Anyway, the unfortunate part of this meeting. Sorry, I don’t usually do this bit. See, I sit at your old desk in the bullpen and I have your old desk phone extension. Sometimes I get calls that are meant for you. Yesterday, I got a call from Morton Psychiatric Hospital-' He glanced back down at Nathan’s file in his hand. He already knew what she was going to say. Nathan was out. He was killing.

His throat tightened. Matthews' eyes darted everywhere but him as she clasped her hands tightly together. She swallowed before she began again, ‘-Dr Reid, I’m sorry to say, Nathan Harris died Tuesday night. I told them I would inform you.’

He hadn’t expected that. Spencer was glad to be wrong, but he sat in shock. Nathan was dead?

Next chapter

NOTES: I don't know if this should be marked as mature cause it has been ages since I posted a fic on tumblr, have no idea how it's going to handle a criminal minds fic. But oh well. ALSO GRACE AND REID ARE NOT GOING TO BE THE ROMANTIC INTEREST FOR EACH OTHER. IN THE TAGS I TRIED TO MAKE THAT CLEAR BUT I KNOW SOME PEOPLE DON'T READ THEM…. but don't worry I have someone else in mind to pair Spencer with, and Grace might go a bit "Operation parent trap" style to get them together. Also Grace will get a love interest to… Hopefully though she won't be too much like Reid and end up with her very own Graeve. With this fic, I think I'll put specific trigger warnings a the start of each chapter because I plan to have sort of breather chapter in between cases and each case will have a variety of different stuff depending on the unsub. These first few chapters are intended as a bit of fluff and an introduction to Grace. if you love it leave a comment, like reblog question, whatever, it is much appreciated and it really motivates me

[hanszoe]

hello, i wanted to ask you about your opinion on amab intersex hans in canon. it's mostly a head canon, but i feel like it could work for both manga and anime.

i haven't read the manga yet so i don't have the context of how they're depicted in it aside from a few panels i've sought out

to preface, i think that attempting to analyze hans' experience with sex and gender on the basis of canon is pretty pointless. the material never appears to address it, they're depicted with female secondary sex characteristics and often speak masculinely, that's the extent of their canon depiction as far as i'm aware of. isayama can get away with his "who knows" specifically because of his lack of addressing it. in the anime and maybe a panel in the manga i haven't checked they do contrast themself with men once and speak from the type of violation usually associated with misogyny, but that says nothing about their sex

on their being intersex, the experience under amab umbrella is probably so vast hans could have had so many different experiences. i'm not intersex and consider myself quite uneducated so i'd prefer an intersex person be the one to write about what hans' life might have been like if they were amab, but i don't think that it's an invalid interpretation of their character. isayama probably wrote nothing of their past specifically for reasons like this anyway, both to avoid actually depicting them as queer and also to leave it up to fan interpretation i guess (your pick of good or bad faith there).

what is the precedent for intersexism within the walls, is it possible for eldians to be so since there was apparently some "God's will" type genetic editing going on, does random mutation and what we're familiar with as nature still work the same way, have there been sex assignment surgeries, would hans have been a victim of one, if so how did others treat them when they developed female secondary sex characteristics, would they have faced difficulties entering training on account of it. so many things that could have happened to them.

as far as my analysis of them and their reasons for joining the survey corps and wanting to leave the walls it wouldn't be out of place at all. i feel that they simply faced "something is wrong with hansi". ironically bigotry is often vague in this way. i want to believe that to define something, to truly want to understand it on the basis of what it is, even if it means making up new words, is to love it. (also very much hans and titan research. maybe it's a reflection of what they wished someone would have done for them). a double edged sword, but the kind of faith hans has in particular, "i wish you wouldn't group me with them" about those who misuse it, that's what i mean.

my only small thing is that the origin of their sex and gender even being in question is that the illustrations of them must have been "not feminine enough" for some readers, which led to the "what are their primary sex characteristics" type of question. though i am not intersex, i am someone with a body that compels strangers to question something similar. hansi's existence, at least as the character that was illustrated by isayama and is interpreted in our world, began as someone who appears to have been supposed to be a cis woman, but was degendered on account of their appearance. there is a violence in that too that i don't want to overlook. hans may be amab as much as they may be a cis woman. there is an important sharedness there, though one of course cis women have a much greater imperative to understand.

thank you for your ask! i want to see more of hansi, i want to know everything about them that they would comfortably share so that i can love all of it too. if they're intersex, if eldia didn't have the medicine nor the words to describe them, if they've never even known what's "wrong" with them. i wish they had a creator who would have given them that voice.