#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.

[ryuzakemo128]

Who eats alone, dies alone.

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

Masterlist

Credit 4 Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

You weren’t a small.

You were tall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finding none made his stomach drop.

His heart beats faster now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You never felt so free in your life. 

A pity, things came to a head this way.

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

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

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

To have you bent over. 

What a sight that would be. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not while you still live and breathe. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

With your mother dead.

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

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

You were finally good at something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t blink.

You didn’t flinch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a record.

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

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

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

[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)

[leftistfeminista]

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

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

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

Women survivors, ongoing resistance

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

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

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

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

The recovery of memory 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Healing in the midst of denialism

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

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

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

[urween]

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

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

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

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

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

- Description in the second person

- 2 415 words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pictures : Pinterest

banners : @/saradika-graphics and @/thecutestgrotto

[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.