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

[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.

[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.

[warningsine]

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/09/02/world/europe/france-husband-rape-drug-trial-mazan.html

For years, she had been losing hair and weight. She had started forgetting whole days, and sometimes appeared to be in dreamlike trances. Her children and friends worried she had Alzheimer’s.

But in late 2020, after she was summoned to a police station in southern France, she learned a far more shattering story.

Her husband of 50 years, Dominique Pelicot, had been crushing sleeping pills into her food and drink to put her into a deep sleep, the police said, and then raping her. He had ushered dozens of men into her home to film them raping her, too, they said, in abuse that lasted nearly a decade.

Using the man’s photographs, videos and online messages, the police spent the next two years identifying and charging those other suspects.

On Monday, 51 men, including Mr. Pelicot, went on trial in Avignon, in a case that has shocked France and cast a spotlight on the use of drugs to commit sexual abuse and the broader culture in which such crimes could occur.

The accused men represent a kaleidoscope of working-class and middle-class French society: truck drivers, soldiers, carpenters and trade workers, a prison guard, a nurse, an I.T. expert working for a bank, a local journalist. They range in age from 26 to 74. Many have children and are in relationships.

Most are charged with raping the woman once. A handful are accused of returning as many as six times to rape her.

The victim, Gisèle, who has divorced her husband and changed her surname since his arrest, is now in her 70s.

Since his arrest, Mr. Pelicot, 71, has “always declared himself guilty,” said Béatrice Zavarro, his lawyer. “He is not at all contesting his role.”

Other defendants have denied the rape charges, with some arguing that they had the husband’s permission and thought that was sufficient, while others claimed they believed the victim had agreed to be drugged.

When the police showed Gisèle some of the photographs they say her husband had carefully classified and stored, she expressed deep shock. She and her husband had been together since they were 18. She had described him to the police as caring and considerate.

She had no memory of being raped, by him or the other men, only one of whom she recognized, she told the police, as a neighbor in town.

The first time she will consciously witness the rapes, her lawyer Antoine Camus says, will be in the courtroom when the video recordings are played as evidence.

The trial comes at a moment of heightened scrutiny of the handling of sexual crimes in the country. Rape is defined in French law as an “act of sexual penetration” committed “by violence, coercion, threat or surprise.” A number of feminist lawmakers want to amend that wording to say explicitly that sex without consent is rape, that consent can be withdrawn at any time, and that consent cannot exist if sexual assault is committed “by abusing a state impairing the judgment of another.”

“There is a kind of naïveté on the topic of predators in France, a kind of denial,” said Sandrine Josso, a lawmaker who led a parliamentary commission into what is known in France as “chemical submission” — drugging someone with malicious intent. She started the commission after she says she became the victim of a drugging last year. A senator is being investigated on accusations that he slipped Ecstasy into her Champagne.

Ms. Josso hopes that the Avignon trial will draw attention to the use of drugs to prey on women, and also shed light on the wide profile of predators. “They could be your neighbors, without falling into paranoia,” she said.

Mr. Pelicot seemed like a classic man next door. He was a trained electrician, an entrepreneur and an avid cyclist. His middle child and only daughter, Caroline Darian, her pen name, described him as a warm and present father in a book published in 2022 about the case, “And I Stopped Calling You Papa.” She tried to turn her family trauma into action, forming a nonprofit association, “Don’t Put Me to Sleep,” to publicize the dangers of drug-facilitated crimes.

Her father, she wrote, was the one who drove her to school, picked her up late from parties, encouraged her and consoled her. Her mother was the stable breadwinner, working as a manager in a Paris-area company for 20 years.

When Gisèle retired, they moved to a house with a big garden and pool in Mazan, a small town northeast of Avignon. The couple regularly hosted their three children and grandchildren for summer vacations peppered with late dinners on the terrace, where the family debated, held dance competitions and played Trivial Pursuit.

“I think of us as happy,” his daughter wrote. “I thought my parents were.”

None of them harbored any suspicions. Then, in 2020, three women reported Mr. Pelicot to the police for trying to use his camera to film up their skirts in a grocery store, and he was arrested.

The police seized his two cellphones, two cameras and his electronic devices, including his laptop, before releasing him on bail.

On the devices, the police say they found 300 photographs and a video of an unconscious woman being sexually assaulted by many people. They said they also found Skype messages in which the man boasted of drugging his wife and invited men to join him in having sex with her while she was unconscious.

Over the course of their investigation, the police found more than 20,000 videos and photographs, many of them dated and labeled, in an electronic folder titled “abuse.” The timeline they built began in 2011. The list of suspects grew to 83.

Two months after his initial arrest, Mr. Pelicot was arrested again and charged with aggravated rape, drugging and a list of sexual abuse charges. He is also accused of violating the privacy of his wife, daughter and two daughters-in-law on suspicion of illegally recording, and at times distributing, intimate photos of them.

If he is found guilty, he faces up to 20 years in prison.

During interviews with the police, the details of which were included in an overview of the case by the investigative judge, Mr. Pelicot said he began drugging his wife so he could do things to her, and dress her in things, that she normally refused. Then he started inviting others to participate. He said he never asked for or accepted money.

He met most of the men, the investigating judge’s report stated, in a chat room on a notorious, unmoderated French website implicated in more than 23,000 police cases in France alone from 2021 to 2024. It was finally shut down, and its owner arrested, in June after an 18-month investigation stretching across Europe.

The chat room where most of the men met Mr. Pelicot was called “a son insu,” which means “without their knowledge.”

Over the years, Mr. Pelicot told the police, he developed rules for the visitors to ensure that his wife did not wake: no smoking or cologne; undress in the kitchen; warm hands under hot water or on a radiator, so their cold touch would not jolt her. At the end of each night, according to the investigating judge’s report, he cleaned his wife’s body.

Of the 83 suspects, the police identified and charged 50.

Only one of the men is not charged with rape, assault or attempted rape of Mr. Pelicot’s wife. Instead, that man is accused of following the same model, and drugging his own wife to rape her. Mr. Pelicot is also charged with raping the man’s wife while she was drugged.

Five of the men also face charges for possessing child sexual abuse imagery.

Mr. Pelicot is also being investigated in the rape and murder of a 23-year-old woman in 1991 and the attempted rape of a 19-year-old in 1999. He admitted to the attempted rape, according to Florence Rault, the lawyer representing the victims in both cases, but denies any involvement in the 1991 homicide.

The story has prompted some soul-searching among doctors, since Gisèle had visited gynecologists and neurologists over a series of mystifying symptoms, but had received no diagnosis, according to her daughter.

“What I found disturbing for us doctors was that no doctor considered this hypothesis,” said Dr. Ghada Hatem-Gantzer, a well known obstetrician-gynecologist and expert in violence against women. She and a pharmacist, Leila Chaouachi, have now developed training for doctors and nurses on the symptoms that victims of drug-facilitated assault can experience.

Contrary to popular belief, most cases occur at home, not at bars, said Ms. Chaouachi, who runs annual surveys on such offenses in France. Most victims are women, the surveys show, and around half of the victims do not remember the attack, because of blackouts, she said.

In the case going to court in Avignon, some of the accused admitted guilt to the police. According to the investigating judge’s report, many claimed that they were tricked into having sex with a drugged woman — lured by a husband for a three-way encounter and told she was pretending to sleep, because she was shy.

Several said they believed that she had consented to being drugged and raped as part of a sex fantasy. Some said they did not believe it was rape, because her husband was there and they believed he could consent for both of them.

“It sends shivers down the spine regarding the state of affairs in French society,” said Mr. Camus, who is also representing Ms. Darian and many other members of the family. “If that’s the conception of consent in sexual matters in 2024, then we have a lot, a lot, a lot of work to do.”

[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 !

[screamingfromuz]

I finally figured out why the response from the global left made me so angry.

Jewish leftist, including myself, never hesitated to condemn the Israeli government and Israeli citizens for their treatment of Palestinians. for example- I know were I was in Huwara. I was calling out the brutality of the pogrom done by right wings extremeness, criticizing it, calling for punishment of the terrorists, warning that this escalation of violence would do nothing but continue the violence. we did not try and justify it as a neutral response for the murder of two people, no, I knew that this kind of behavior has no excuse.

and we did the same every single time. the Israeli left always knew where it was when the Palestinians were the victims of violence, we often stood right there next to them.

and the leftist of the world loved it. held us up to prove that they are right, "you see? even they agree! free Palestine!"

and we expected the same. we expected that if the horrors will come to us, the global left will support us. We knew that they struggle since Israeli missiles hit while Hamas/Hezbollah/Jihad missiles get intercepted by a system that costs millions to operate. but surely, they kept saying that they would have spoken out if the Jews are in danger, they will stand with us in our grief.

and then came October 7th.

and we were shown once again that we are nothing but a token.

people celebrated the attack, and even those who did notת hesitated to condemn it. It was people being butchered in their own homes, a fucking war crime! all while they were hurling hundreds of missiles at civilian targets! at homes, at playground, at hospitals!

and yet, if it was not celebrating, the global left was silent.

I read a colon by a Danna Frank she described how an Israeli women who study in Yell was shaken and crying the entire day, and no one asked for her well being. Frank herself received messages from friends abroad during that day, and one of them asked after the well being of Palestinian waiters in Ramallah and offered them prayers and not ask after her own fucking sake. Seeds for Peace, that always had what to say at the beginning of any Israeli operation, stayed quiet for days, when they did post something, it was to call against violence from both sides, not even mentioning the massacre. and there are so many more instances.

It hurt so much because it was a betrayal. a prof that we are only cared for when we are either a token or dead.

We stood up again and again and again for the rights of others, against our own deeds, and when it was our people left dead on the ground, the quiet was disturbed only by the sounds of celebration.

We should have known

The Israeli left and the Jewish left stand alone in the global stage.

We now know who are allies are.

[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.

[nothorses]

About that "a trans man committing a mass shooting proves trans people really are the gender they identify as" post: women have committed mass shootings too? Okay it's a lot less statistically frequent, but it happens (as the song "I Don't Like Mondays" demonstrates). It reminds me of the time TERFs on Reddit assumed the woman who shot up the YouTube HQ in 2018 was trans, and then when she turned out to be cis, someone immediately speculated she was getting justified revenge on an abusive BF who worked there (though that comment got downvoted and may have been a troll)

I took this opportunity to look more into statistics around mass shooter demographics, and interestingly, there are a lot of myths tied up in this issue.

This article looks into a few studies and databases to investigate the "90% of all mass shooters are white men" myth, and finds that in actuality, "It really depends on what type of mass shooting you’re talking about. Several of the highest-profile mass shootings in recent memory [...] were committed by white males, such as the 2017 Las Vegas attack by Stephen Paddock. But much beyond that, the stereotype breaks down; Muslim man Omar Mateen killed forty-nine people at a Florida nightclub in 2016 on behalf of a terrorism group; white male Adam Lanza killed twenty-seven people in 2012 at an elementary school, though Asian student Seung-Hui Cho killed thirty-two people on the Virginia Tech campus in 2007. And so on."

This article fact-checks the gender-specific claims as well, in the context of trans people, and finds that there have been more claims that shooters are trans than can be reasonably substantiated, and that even this number is overshadowed by the number of cis women who have committed mass shootings.

I bring this up because I think the first article in particular brings a lot of much-needed nuance into the issue:

"The whites-are-overrepresented-among-mass-shooters meme does serve a useful purpose in that it helps displace another myth about mass shootings: that they’re most often perpetrated by angry immigrants from travel-banned countries, and that nothing is more dangerous to America that the scourge of Islamic terrorism. … These are worthy ends, but we shouldn’t have to build another myth to reach them.”

What are we saying when we talk about these kinds of incidents this way?

What I find interesting is that in a lot of these conversations around crime, we recognize that crime is often the result of poverty. Indeed, this study finds that the number of mass shootings increases in countries that experience an increase of income inequality.

We can also often recognize that these numbers are skewed because they rely on media coverage, arrests, and criminal charges; all of which are influenced by societal bias. The first article on mass shootings notes that, "mass shootings with white victims tend to get more attention, both from journalists and those on social media, than those with victims who are people of color. This is a well-known pattern and explains why the public is quicker to react to a missing young blonde girl than a missing young black girl."

Are white mass shooters covered more because their targets- being overwhelmingly people and institutions they have ties to- are also usually white?

If "white men are overrepresented as mass shooters" means white men are particularly dangerous and must be feared, what does this imply about other demographics overrepresented in certain crime statistics? What does it mean when we find this isn't true- is there suddenly just is not an issue of white cis male violence? I would certainly disagree.

And I think this gleeful claim that "trans men are proving their gender" by committing acts of violence- again, far more rare than cis women doing the same- only plays into these issues.

Is crime the result of entitlement and privileged anger, or is it the result of a broken system failing its citizens? Are cis men committing acts of extreme violence because they are all- regardless of race- whiny pissbabies who take joy in hurting others, or is this the result of a system that teaches men they can only express emotion through anger and violence? That human connection is not for them, and that needing things makes them unworthy of manhood, love, or even life?

I'm not saying we need to coddle and woobify mass shooters. I'm asking: is this an issue we fix by fearing and hating and wishing death on whole demographics of people based on how represented they are in criminal statistics, or can we make systemic and cultural changes that meaningfully prevent this from happening in the first place?

Do we condemn groups as Bad because some of them have done violence, or do we examine the causes and work toward meaningful solutions?

Obviously, trans men and trans people in general are not in any way "overrepresented" as perpetrators in mass shooting statistics. But I think the people reveling in any new trans male shooter are making it very clear that they don't care about solving problems; they're just interested in looking for reasons to hate, fear, and condemn this specific group of people they already dislike.

[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

[someone-will-remember-us]

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/09/02/world/europe/france-husband-rape-drug-trial-mazan.html

France Confronts Horror of Rape and Drugging Case as 51 Men Go on Trial

A man is accused of drugging his wife and then inviting dozens of men to rape her over almost a decade. The questions raised by the case have unsettled the country.

For years, she had been losing hair and weight. She had started forgetting whole days, and sometimes appeared to be in dreamlike trances. Her children and friends worried she had Alzheimer’s.

But in late 2020, after she was summoned to a police station in southern France, she learned a far more shattering story.

Her husband of 50 years, Dominique Pelicot, had been crushing sleeping pills into her food and drink to put her into a deep sleep, the police said, and then raping her. He had ushered dozens of men into her home to film them raping her, too, they said, in abuse that lasted nearly a decade.

Using the man’s photographs, videos and online messages, the police spent the next two years identifying and charging those other suspects.

On Monday, 51 men, including Mr. Pelicot, went on trial in Avignon, in a case that has shocked France and cast a spotlight on the use of drugs to commit sexual abuse and the broader culture in which such crimes could occur.

The accused men represent a kaleidoscope of working-class and middle-class French society: truck drivers, soldiers, carpenters and trade workers, a prison guard, a nurse, an I.T. expert working for a bank, a local journalist. They range in age from 26 to 74. Many have children and are in relationships.

Most are charged with raping the woman once. A handful are accused of returning as many as six times to rape her.

The victim, who has divorced her husband and changed her surname since his arrest, is now in her 70s.

Since his arrest, Mr. Pelicot, 71, has “always declared himself guilty,” said Béatrice Zavarro, his lawyer. “He is not at all contesting his role.”

Other defendants have denied the rape charges, with some arguing that they had the husband’s permission and thought that was sufficient, while others claimed they believed the victim had agreed to be drugged.

When the police showed the victim some of the photographs they say her husband had carefully classified and stored, she expressed deep shock. She and her husband had been together since they were 18. She had described him to the police as caring and considerate.

She had no memory of being raped, by him or the other men, only one of whom she recognized, she told the police, as a neighbor in town.

The first time she will consciously witness the rapes, her lawyer Antoine Camus says, will be in the courtroom when the video recordings are played as evidence.

The trial comes at a moment of heightened scrutiny of the handling of sexual crimes in the country. Rape is defined in French law as an “act of sexual penetration” committed “by violence, coercion, threat or surprise.” A number of feminist lawmakers want to amend that wording to say explicitly that sex without consent is rape, that consent can be withdrawn at any time, and that consent cannot exist if sexual assault is committed “by abusing a state impairing the judgment of another.”

“There is a kind of naïveté on the topic of predators in France, a kind of denial,” said Sandrine Josso, a lawmaker who led a parliamentary commission into what is known in France as “chemical submission” — drugging someone with malicious intent. She started the commission after she says she became the victim of a drugging last year. A senator is being investigated on accusations that he slipped ecstasy into her Champagne.

Ms. Josso hopes that the Avignon trial will draw attention to the use of drugs to prey on women, and also shed light on the wide profile of predators. “They could be your neighbors, without falling into paranoia,” she said.

Mr. Pelicot seemed like a classic man next door. He was a trained electrician, an entrepreneur and an avid cyclist. His middle child and only daughter, Caroline Darian, her pen name, described him as a warm and present father in a book published in 2022 about the case, “And I Stopped Calling You Papa.” She tried to turn her family trauma into action, forming a nonprofit association, “Don’t Put Me to Sleep,” to publicize the dangers of drug-facilitated crimes.

Her father, she wrote, was the one who drove her to school, picked her up late from parties, encouraged her and consoled her. Her mother was the stable breadwinner, working as a manager in a Paris-area company for 20 years.

When she retired, they moved to a house with a big garden and pool in Mazan, a small town northeast of Avignon. The couple regularly hosted their three children and grandchildren for summer vacations peppered with late dinners on the terrace, where the family debated, held dance competitions and played Trivial Pursuit.

“I think of us as happy,” his daughter wrote. “I thought my parents were.”

None of them harbored any suspicions. Then, in 2020, three women reported Mr. Pelicot to the police for trying to use his camera to film up their skirts in a grocery store, and he was arrested.

The police seized his two cellphones, two cameras and his electronic devices, including his laptop, before releasing him on bail.

On the devices, the police say they found 300 photographs and a video of an unconscious woman being sexually assaulted by many people. They said they also found Skype messages in which the man boasted of drugging his wife and invited men to join him in having sex with her while she was unconscious.

Over the course of their investigation, the police found more than 20,000 videos and photographs, many of them dated and labeled, in an electronic folder titled “abuse.” The timeline they built began in 2011. The list of suspects grew to 83.

Two months after his initial arrest, Mr. Pelicot was arrested again and charged with aggravated rape, drugging and a list of sexual abuse charges. He is also accused of violating the privacy of his wife, daughter and two daughters-in-law on suspicion of illegally recording, and at times distributing, intimate photos of them.

If he is found guilty, he faces up to 20 years in prison.

During interviews with the police, the details of which were included in an overview of the case by the investigative judge, Mr. Pelicot said he began drugging his wife so he could do things to her, and dress her in things, that she normally refused. Then he started inviting others to participate. He said he never asked for or accepted money.

He met most of the men, the investigating judge’s report stated, in a chat room on a notorious, unmoderated French website implicated in more than 23,000 police cases in France alone from 2021 to 2024. It was finally shut down, and its owner arrested, in June after an 18-month investigation stretching across Europe.

The chat room where most of the men met Mr. Pelicot was called “a son insu,” which means “without their knowledge.”

Over the years, Mr. Pelicot told the police, he developed rules for the visitors to ensure that his wife did not wake: no smoking or cologne; undress in the kitchen; warm hands under hot water or on a radiator, so their cold touch would not jolt her. At the end of each night, according to the investigating judge’s report, he cleaned his wife’s body.

Of the 83 suspects, the police identified and charged 50.

Only one of the men is not charged with rape, assault or attempted rape of Mr. Pelicot’s wife. Instead, that man is accused of following the same model, and drugging his own wife to rape her. Mr. Pelicot is also charged with raping the man’s wife while she was drugged.

Five of the men also face charges for possessing child sexual abuse imagery.

Mr. Pelicot is also being investigated in the rape and murder of a 23-year-old woman in 1991 and the attempted rape of a 19-year-old in 1999. He admitted to the attempted rape, according to Florence Rault, the lawyer representing the victims in both cases, but denies any involvement in the 1991 homicide.

The story has prompted some soul-searching among doctors, since Mr. Pelicot’s wife had visited gynecologists and neurologists over a series of mystifying symptoms, but had received no diagnosis, according to her daughter.

“What I found disturbing for us doctors was that no doctor considered this hypothesis,” said Dr. Ghada Hatem-Gantzer, a well known obstetrician-gynecologist and expert in violence against women. She and a pharmacist, Leila Chaouachi, have now developed training for doctors and nurses on the symptoms that victims of drug-facilitated assault can experience.

Contrary to popular belief, most cases occur at home, not at bars, said Ms. Chaouachi, who runs annual surveys on such offenses in France. Most victims are women, the surveys show, and around half of the victims do not remember the attack, because of blackouts, she said.

In the case going to court in Avignon, some of the accused admitted guilt to the police. According to the investigating judge’s report, many claimed that they were tricked into having sex with a drugged woman — lured by a husband for a three-way encounter and told she was pretending to sleep, because she was shy.

Several said they believed that she had consented to being drugged and raped as part of a sex fantasy. Some said they did not believe it was rape, because her husband was there and they believed he could consent for both of them.

“It sends shivers down the spine regarding the state of affairs in French society,” said Mr. Camus, who is also representing Ms. Darian and many other members of the family. “If that’s the conception of consent in sexual matters in 2024, then we have a lot, a lot, a lot of work to do.”

(archive)

[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.

[mydreambatfam]

Batfam Fancast Part 13: The Al Ghuls

Oh baby my first request! @callmekohaii asked and they shall recieve.

The eternal Al Ghuls. Ra's,Talia,Dusan,Nyssa and Damian. For centuries this family has affected the world in more ways then we will ever know. Integral to the League of Assassins this family are known to be pompous and pretentious aristocrats. So who will be these immortal individuals?

Before we go any further we do have a major conflict to resolve. That problem is the ethnicity of the family. When potrayed before they had rather problematic castings, however the very concept of these characters are problematic in of themselves. Being Middle Eastern aristocratic type people that create conflict based on personal extremist ideals. Similar to the Drake family I have to be careful with how I elaborate and edit on these characters stories and must be thoughtful with how I want to portray these characters without stepping on anyone's toes.

I also have to remember to cast people that aren't completely Americanized, unlike most of the Batfamily who are all east coast American besides Alfred. Actors who are of Middle Eastern or Asian descent seem to be my best bet and have some actors be mixed as well.

Ra's Al Ghul

The leader of the League of Assassins, the Demon's Head, Grandpappy Stabby Stab. The figurehead of the family, Ra's Al Ghul is a legendary DC character, a well-known Batman villain that can keep up with the likes of Batman. Obsessed with destroying the world to remake in his own image he will do anything and everything for his goals, but still hold himself to degree of honor. However he is hypocritical holding onto old ideals that won't have him accept more liberal ideas. He still respects people of similar status though. Even seeing the like Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake as potential successors. Yet still forgoes someone like his Son or Daughters as successors no matter their enthusiasm for it.

There is only one actor that can covers all the things needed for this character and has been with him for over a decade. Oded Fehr has been voicing Ra's Al Ghul for Young Justice since 2011. He is 52 years old, has experience with action thanks to the Mummy movies and is Israeli. He is by far the best choice for this mastermind.

Nyssa Raatko

Nyssa Raatko also known as Nyssa al Ghul is the oldest known daughter of Ra's and half-sister to Talia. She was born early 18th and disassociates herself from her father sometime in the early 20th century. She has lived through WW2, her family she had were victims of the Nazis concentration camps. Even when she begged for help her father did nothing leaving her there. This left her spiteful and out for revenge.

Unlike canon a major change I'm going to make is the WW2 backstory, instead of a Nazi Concentration Camp, It's a Japanese prison in the Philippines. They tried to escape to the Philippines till the war spread there, her husband and sons dying after the "Bataan Death March" and Nyssa becoming one of the many women who are victims of the Japanese, becoming a Comfort Woman. Her evolution post WW2 however is to have her path of vengeance though violence changed into kindness... with violence. Using the generations of wealth she had acquired she becomes an icon of peace to the public, helping third world countries develop, using her sect of League Assassins to kill whoever stops her development, no matter their morals or even compassionate actions. She accidently becomes the very thing she wished to not associate with.

For Nyssa I need an actress who is most likely more mixed compared to Ra's, living in Southeast Asia. She doesn't have to be white and has to be active enough to do some to little fighting.

Elodie Yung is the only actress I thought of. She's the only half asian actress with martial arts training and enough experience in both action and acting. You might remember her as Elektra in Daredevil and as the main character in The Cleaning Lady.

Dusan Al Ghul

The tragic Dusan Al Ghul son of Ra's Al Ghul. A disappointment to his father's eyes he would do anything for his respect, even rising through the ranks under the guise of the White Ghost. He also albino for some reason. I think instead of him being Albino I want to emphasize him being an unintended child. Using those old ideals the Al Ghul's follow he is a bastard in his eyes, it's not just Ra's Al Ghul but the whole family that shuns him.Think Jon Snow or Gendry from Game of Thrones. Decades of longing lead to Dusan's obsessive drive for his family's love.

Joe Taslim has been nothing but delight finding international stardom thanks to The Raid:Redemption and later the HBO/Cinemax show Warrior. Staring in one of the best contemporary action films and martial arts drama, he is perfect to play this bastard son.

Talia Al Ghul

Daughter of the Demon and Mother to Damian, she is a main stay when it come to the Al Ghuls, a master manipulator like her father she later commanded the organization known as Leviathan. From villain to ally, then back to villain it's hard to say where her true loyalty will stand. She sees her methods as absolute and only the most stubborn of personalities could ever change her mind. Not even her own son persuade her, even willing to kill her own son for her own ambitions.

Many of the castings are rather difficult, yet this was a rather easy character to make. Known for her work in the show The Boys and as the character Farah Karim in Call of Duty Claudia Doumit is a Austrailian actress of Lebenese descent. Her prolific filmography has shown she is more than capable of playing this popular anti villain.

Damian Wayne

The newest Robin and biological son of Batman Damian Wayne is DC current wannabe shonen protaganist. He's a great character when writers remember that League of Assassin training means nothing when you fight beside the people who beat them constantly.

Brutal, short-tempered, and looking to be accepted, his assassin upbringing has left many holes in his ability to socialize in modern society. Unable to relate to anybody besides the more upscale aristocratic part of the world. He wishes to grow up so fast only to forget that growing up is part of the process. A major change I want to address is his upbringing, I want to emphasize the brutally conservative nature of the League of Assassins and the cycle of abuse his family continues to use. By embracing his father's side of the family he learns to forge his own identity and unlike many writers right now, learns that he does not want to be Batman and luckily has Brothers willing to carry that weight for him.

Another major character dynamic I want to switch is between Tim Drake and Dick Grayson. I want the antagonistic nature between him and Tim to go from rivals to family, with Tim filling in as the Big Brother role. Dick being the oldest needs to fill the mentor role, especially since he is the Batman to his Robin. By Dick having the more begrudging frenemy nature allows for them to grow as master and student. Think of Damian as Ahsoka Tano with Tim and Dick as Anakin and Obi-Wan during the Clone Wars. Damian grows on you as a character while the other two are more established and likable.You can even fit Drake and Josh on here with Damian as Megan.

Boy have I seen some terrible fancast for this boi. Like I hate all of them, why you casting 20 something you heathens? IMDB, Google, the damn Disney Channel. Can you not find 1 non white child actor? Gordon Cormier is a 13 year old Filipino Canadian actor who is going to play Aang in the Avatar The Last Airbender live action adaption. He is the only actor who can fit all the criteria that I have put for this character. I have scoured the globe and no one in his age bracket will work besides him. If this young man can play Aang, he can play Damian Wayne.

[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.

[erin-gilberts]

Getting to know you asks 🤗....

1. What's your go-to treat/snack (coffee/tea, cake/ muffins/cookies, etc)?

2. Would you rather hang out with friends indoors (shopping, arcade, hanging out at home, etc) or outdoors (goof off at the park, take a hike and chat, go to flea markets, etc)?

3. What are 5 of your favorite movies?

4. What are some artists you can listen to on repeat?

5. What's a fun/interesting fact about you?

Sincerely that drive-in mutual 😌👻🚫🎟

Hello @wanderingnelipot! I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to answer your lovely ask. It's been a particularly rough couple of months, but I would still love to chat and get to know you better if you're interested!

1. My go-to treat is an iced latte! I used to have a pretty regular routine that on Fridays, I would always go to a local cafe after spin class and have an iced latte and an avocado toast. Cookies are always a good cozy snack for me, and I'm also partial to niche baked goods...whatever a cafe or restaurant considers their specialty and is really proud to be known for. I'm back in my hometown now and my favorite lil place currently has some phenomenal seven-layer bars.

2. I'm down for all kinds but I definitely love adventures. This week, I had a friend over and we made friendship bracelets while marathoning the Ghostbusters movies, which was lovely but a little more stationary than I usually am on my own. Wandering the woods and chatting, exploring a flea market, or goofing off at the park all provide a great opportunity to leave the house and have new experiences in new settings.

It's why I was delighted to see Frozen Empire for the first time in a place far from home - it felt like an adventure!

3. Ghostbusters Answer the Call

Jurassic Park

Bridesmaids

Titanic

Both of the live-action Scooby Doo movies - I think they're such a spiritual ancestor of Answer the Call 😂 I love them unironically; they are so goofy and were so panned but so much fun.

4. I'd most accurately describe my style of music as "crooning lesbians" lol. MUNA has been a staple in my playlist for years. I also associate a fair lot of Taylor Swift's songs with Erin Gilbert / ATC so she gets replayed often, too!

Best introduction to MUNA: "What I Want," "Home by Now," "Everything"

Most Erin songs by Taylor Swift: "Antihero," "All Too Well," "Cassandra"

5. I'm a pretty bold person who has a storied history of doing super wild things to really meaningful ends.

As a young hate crime survivor, I decided to unlearn my fear of the woods and the violence that happens to women within it by making an emotional trek 15 miles into the mountains to the site where another lesbian hate crime victim was killed.

The next year, I drove 12 hours to Toronto to see a 15 minute short film at its premiere. The short film was about the above woman's ^ story, following her partner who survived the attack, and I gambled that the director would be present. He was - his crew actually found the cairn of stones I left at the site. He was moved as hell that I came so far to see the film, and called me out on stage.

In 2022, Paul Feig was launching his cocktail book in the barely post-pandemic landscape, and on about three weeks notice, I impulsively booked a trip to NYC to attend his talk. Again, it was a gamble I'd get to meet him - they weren't announcing he'd be signing books; I just assumed and took the chance. He was! And I got to emphasize to him exactly how much GB: ATC meant to women and queer people, and he was so absolutely moved and chuffed that I brought a copy of Erin and Abby's book for him to sign.

He's since followed my friends and I as we went on a big trip tracing the footsteps of where all they filmed ATC and now recognizes our wee group by name.

So I'm 100% impulsive as hell, but I think it's always to some pretty incredible ends. 🥰

I'm going to leave you some questions in return xx