#a murderess affair

[helloliriels]

S H A T T E R E D

John felt the adrenaline racing through his veins. His pulse pounding in his ears. Every breath he took, too short. The fear gripping him that he might be too late to save Sherlock?

Then he saw him.

Two panes of glass away, in the mirrored classroom across from him. As a madman tempted Sherlock to die for curiosity alone ...

To John's horror, Sherlock unscrewed the cap ... and touched the pill to his lips!

Every nerve came alight as John raised his gun arm. Aiming the weapon, tried and true ...

He pulled the trigger ...

... and fired.

Watching in slow motion as the bullet shattered through the glass before him ... rushing onwards towards its intended target. John smiled. Knowing how this story would end.

But suddenly ...

... John was on the other side of Sherlock?

Staring at the glinting shards of a shattered mirror ... as the bullet instead ... pierced through belstaff, shirt and scarf ...

A crimson red blossoming on Sherlock's torso ... as he fell backwards, unconscious, onto the carpet of Magnussen's office ... !

John fell to his knees.

... Dropping the offending weapon in horror.

Save Sherlock Holmes.

He was always meant ... to save Sherlock Holmes? Not kill him.

Not the man he loved.

"The man we both love."

John heard Mary's voice mocking, as he turned. She picked up the fallen gun ... and fired.

(continued below cut) ✂️

John jolted awake.

The steady dance of the green line ... the rythmic blip and beeps of Sherlock's heart monitor calmed his breathing. Slowed his own racing pulse.

He swallowed a deep breath. Gulping back the tears that threatened to break through the grunt that followed.

Then took a moment to collect himself ... Stealing guilty glances at Sherlock lying there, unconscious ... again.

His fault this time!

He scrubbed a hand through his hair and tried to rub the nightmare from behind his sore eyes.

He had let Sherlock carry on with the fight he himself had picked with Mary!

He was angry.

But angry now ... with himself, more than her.

He knew the truth at last.

The vision of Mary shooting Sherlock.

Sherlock had given him that.

... And instead of arresting the murderess right then and there as he should have ... ? He had tried to understand her. To understand Sherlock's forgiveness ... to understand why they were here?

Until Sherlock collapsed again, requiring EMT's to carry him off.

This time there was no forgiveness.

Mycroft had met John and Mary as they entered the hospital. Slapping cuffs on her as John left to follow the disappearing gurney behind double doors.

He was never leaving Sherlock's side.

"You said ..." John hesitated ... glancing at Sherlock's sedated, softly breathing form ...

"You said ... 'at my next wedding' ...," John smiled, thinking, "there would be no murderers ...? and I'm ... I'm going to hold you to that, you know."

John nodded, brushing a hand along Sherlock's blanket and fixing it. Then he tilted his head as he took Sherlock's hand in his.

"We could have a little ... private affair ... ?

Perhaps Molly and Lestrade will act as witness?

I'd ask Mrs. H, naturally. Only ... I'm convinced she's murdered someone, somewhere?" he teased. His thumb brushing against Sherlock's fingers.

Then he raised Sherlock's hand to his lips, and kissed it.

Falling silent.

The monitor beeped. The rhythm in sync with John's thoughts. Willing Sherlock to continue being here, being present, being alive ... for him.

"Shame."

John turned to see a ghost of a smile cross Sherlock's lips.

"She'd make a great witness."

Join felt the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth ... tightening in his chest, as his heart thumped in relief ... heaving almost incoherent oaths of gratitude between tears.

The next move was instinctual. John's arms were around Sherlock even as they each fitted their faces so close they could hardly breathe.

Then he took off his jacket and slipped into the hospital bed. Holding each other until they both fell asleep.

""

For @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt: broken mirror

[ten-cent-sleuth]

A Galling Yoke, Part 10

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for the Taking the Blame / Framed / Admitting to Something You Didn’t Do and Good intentions that end in bad results squares on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 2.9k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Mature (for potential triggers, not for sexual content)

BEWARE THE CONTENT WARNINGS POSTED ABOVE.

Sleep evaded you for two days straight. The first night, you did not even bother lying down; you knew rest would not come after such a thought had passed through your mind, so you focused on inspecting, scrutinising, picking apart and building up that thought. There was no escaping it. As far as your certainty went, William was the killer. Well, the hirer of the killer; if he was guilty of any felony because of you, you had to do whatever you could to keep him from being punished for it.

As soon as the day broke, you sent a note to Jotyard, summoning your father posthaste. You tried to spend the rest of that day productively but were not nearly as successful as you would hope. You then tried to spend the night asleep but were entirely unsuccessful, listless and anxious as you were. However, Lord Coltidge arrived in the small hours before dawn, so your tossing and turning was not without reward.

Eschewing any preamble, you greeted your father in your sitting room with, “You want me to be blamed for the murder, do you not?”

The earl looked mildly surprised. “Yes. William wanted the true manner of Edmund’s death to come out, but my heir cannot be found guilty of murder. We compromised: I agreed to hire a detective to ‘uncover’ the truth, and he agreed to accept whatever culprit the detective could identify.”

Scowling, you nodded. You knew your father well enough that he did not have to explain that even as he drafted this agreement with your brother, he had planned to shift the playing board here and there so that William would not be the identified culprit. When you dredged up the affair and the mistress, Lord Coltidge found the perfect alternative: you.

And as your mind ran through the possible avenues leading forth from this moment, you found yourself, for the first time in decades, aligning with your father’s point of view.

If only Lord Coltidge had hired another investigator. Any other investigator. Then, perhaps you could guide this case to an open-ended conclusion with no concrete suspects, no arrests. But Sherlock Holmes would not rest until the case was resolved to his satisfaction. Generally, that meant a guilty party that made sense, and the only suspect who would make more sense than the caring brother of the deceased’s neglected wife was the neglected wife herself.

With a sigh, you clasped your hands in front of you and met your father’s wary, watchful gaze. “Allow me until the end of the week.”

To your grim amusement, the earl looked startled and confused for the first time in this conversation. “To do what, Daughter?” he questioned.

“That is my business,” you said, deriving some twisted gratification from finally allowing yourself to express the sternness and derision you felt towards your father. “All you need know is that by the end of the week, I shall go to Scotland Yard and confess as the murderess of Edmund Sulyard. My brother’s name—nor yours—shall not pass my lips.”

Lord Coltidge’s jaw actually dropped. Not wide open, but still. You almost laughed.

“Do we have an agreement?” you demanded.

“You— I—” The earl shook himself. “Yes, child. I shall not interfere with the rest of your week. Yes.”

Heavens, you couldn’t recall the last time he had called you “child”. It might have pleased you, in other circumstances. It should have enraged you, in these. Yet you found yourself feeling nothing at all. Pursing your lips, you gestured towards the door, and Lord Coltidge actually managed to bow and fare you well before departing.

You leaned your back against the wall, pressed your hands to your face, and breathed.

William or you. It was William or you.

It could not be William.

He had his life ahead of him, gold and aglitter. Yours lay in tatters behind you. Heir apparent to powerful titles and prosperous estates, handsome and kind and educated, he had a future. A disobedient and disregarded daughter, a childless widow on the shelf, you only had a past.

It had to be you.

Thus determined, you awayed to 221 Baker Street and pounded on the door as soon as you possibly could. It was still too early for a house call in the eyes of etiquette, but Sherlock would at least be up and would not mind.

Or if he did, he would have much bigger problems to preoccupy him soon.

“Your ladyship?” the detective himself greeted you upon opening his door, brow furrowed. “I fear I have no updates to—”

“I might have one,” you interjected, your heart starting to thaw from the numbness that had encased it mere hours ago.

Sherlock blinked but stepped aside to let you in.

The moment your eyes landed on the case board, the first hints of actual distress hit you: a wave of nausea, a sob building in your lungs, a tremble in the bad knee. Somehow, your fate was the easiest thing in the world to accept until you were here, in Sherlock’s flat, in Sherlock’s presence.

Drifting to the board, you pressed a hand to your chest to still the heart railing against you. Why must you suffer for what William did? it raged. Why must you sacrifice everything when you did nothing? Give in! Give in and tell Sherlock the TRUTH!

Your blood stampeded, your thoughts screamed, your vision swam. You wanted to give in. Angels above, you so desperately wanted to give in—

“No,” you whispered harshly, your hand curling into a fist at your chest. William was your brother. What was wanted didn’t matter. You loved him. It could not be him. You loved him. It had to be you.

“My lady?”

You turned around. Sherlock was watching you but was keeping his distance. You smiled.

“Forgive me for barging in on you in such a way, sir.”

“Of course; it is no inconvenience to me. You are always… That is, you are here about the case?”

“Yes.” It has to be you. Has to be, has to be, has to be. “May I trouble you for some tea? I believe this discussion shall warrant it.”

The furrow in his brow deepened. “Certainly, my lady,” he muttered, clearly hesitant even as he shuffled off to the kitchen.

You surprised yourself with how swiftly you moved once he was out of sight; though your breath trembled in your throat, your hands were steady as they dismantled the board of clues and ideas. And for once, you were glad the winter chill had a knack for stealing through London homes, for Sherlock’s fireplace was already blazing to ward it off. Throwing the numerous notes, photos, miscellaneous papers, and strips of string into the flame was the work of an instant.

“Your ladyship, what—?”

Your heart whirled around in your breast, but you did not move at his voice. In his haste to reach the hearth, he jostled you, and still you remained transfixed on the charring materials, on the puffs of smoke they gave as your case—your husband’s case—disappeared from all but your and Sherlock’s memories.

“Have you gone mad?” he cried, looking up at you from where he kneeled on the floor, his eyes wide and his hair askew. “It will take me days to rewrite and reorder all of my notes! And the coroner’s report—the anonymous letter— I have no copies of those! What evidence am I to present to Scotland Yard when I find the killers?”

You stared down at him. You wanted to comfort him, to reassure him that he would not be found lacking because he would have an unresisting confessant, but you had returned to feeling numb. More so, in fact, than when you had accepted your fate with your father. Indeed, how could you open your mouth to speak when your lips, your tongue, your jaw felt entirely detached from you?

Another moment passed with Sherlock’s bewilderment shrinking to small, soft concern. Climbing to his feet, he grasped at you and murmured, “Are you all right, my lady? Do you feel ill? Has something happened?” Close up, you could see his nostrils flare. “Has somebody… Did somebody tell you to do this? Have you been threatened?”

Heavens, he was so close. His touch was so cold.

“No,” you whispered. “No to all of your questions. I simply…”

“What?” he asked, his voice quieter and harsher than yours had been. “Simply what?”

You stared. It simply has to be you.

Sherlock let go of you with such revulsion that you almost staggered back like you’d been physically pushed. “I do not understand,” he said. “I do not understand at all! If your actions are your own, not born of illness, can you not explain them to me? If they are rational, can you not share the rationale? I trust you, my lady, but not blindly!”

At that, your heart, still beating against you in rebellion, quailed at last. “I ought to leave you now,” you said, moving back towards the door. “I see you need time to regain control of yourself, and it would not do for me to witness a man’s loss of temper.”

With a scoff, he stepped into your way. “It would not do?” he snarled. “Would that I were more surprised that you would turn your back to reality and hie away under the guise of decorum!”

You frowned but did not reply. Your nonverbal reaction seemed to be enough for him, however.

“Oh, yes,” he said, dry as the unforgiving desert. “Less than a fortnight ago, you accused me of always hiding behind logic, but it was not long in our reacquaintance before I saw that you have taken to hiding behind etiquette. The girl I knew—my friend, my dearest friend—would never have feared finding out the truth, whatever it was, whatever it cost!”

Hiding? “Act not like you know who I am,” you spat. Hiding? “Nobody—nobody—knows who I am.” Sometimes it feels I am the only one not hiding, exposed and alone.

He scoffed again, this time with the full force of his disdain. “Perhaps nobody else, but I am different. My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people do not know.”

“Oh, you are not all that different.” You rolled your eyes to punctuate your utter disinterest. “You may piece together my habits and my history within minutes—within seconds. But that is all external, all merely the world-and-me. You know naught what matters!”

Shaking his head, Sherlock stepped towards you. “No! No, you only think that because I have not commented on what I have noticed since we have reconnected in London.”

You shook your head as well, more surprised by his desperation than by his condescension.

He stepped closer. “Dismiss me not with so apathetic a face, madam,” he warned. “I have refrained from making deductions about the changes in you, but if I must prove myself to be a detective worthy of an answer—” His arm shook with rage as he thrust it towards the fireplace.

“Sherlock,” you tried; no gold he spun from straw could change your mind.

“The first peculiarity,” he cut in, “that stood out to me was the lack of footmen. It took me a few days to verify there were no others, but yes, it seems the butler is the only male in your entire household.”

“Sherlock—”

“Speaking of Mr Rogers, the man has not stopped watching me closely and shooting me dark looks, threatening looks, in all my visits to your home. He is not the only protective member on your staff: after our disagreement in the kitchen, after you watched my experiment with electricity and then fled, your cook saw your distress and castigated me for upwards of ten minutes for apparently causing it. I have never known employees to be so easily provoked on behalf of their employer!”

You had no response for that; you had not even been aware…

“And”—he waved an index finger in the air—“that employer is not what I expected either. I noted you did not withhold criticism of Sulyard as a person yet avoided talking about his effect on you. You did not want Mrs Rogers talking about it, either; you interrupted her—rather unlike you—when she wished to comment on his treatment of you.”

You started to feel lightheaded. “Sherlock…”

“In fact,” he exclaimed, “that you would fall down the stairs entirely by accident was dubious to me from the start—exacerbated by your distress when I asked about your injuries. Each peculiarity can and was taken as a quirk of an individual, but now that I am considering them as pieces of a whole, an image starts to form. Your household is defensive, you are guarded, because your husband was not merely self-centred and foolish as many husbands are, but actively violent and—”

His forehead creased, his lips parted, as he turned slowly towards you. The realisation in his eyes made you sick.

Sherlock, whimpered your heart as it plummeted to the floor and shattered.

He stepped forwards, and though you wanted to step back, your feet were cemented to the floor. Your every limb felt heavy, in fact; your every pore felt torn open, your every hair pulled to attention, your every layer wrenched out of your grip.

“My lady…” There were dozens of questions contorting his face, all of them based on Is it true?

“No, no, no,” you whispered. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t… After everything you’d done to keep him—to keep anyone—from finding out… To keep yourself from ever having to think about…

Shoulders tense but hands wide open, he stepped into your space and reached for you.

Abruptly, you were not numb anymore.

“No!” you yelled, batting away his hands. “How dare you? How dare you?”

“Petal,” he tried again, his voice cracking.

And suddenly, all you could think of was William. Dear, despicable, beloved, wretched brother! The protest in your chest flared back to life: Why must you suffer for what William did? Why must you sacrifice everything when you did nothing? Your eyes stung with liquid bitterness as you grabbed the edge of a chair and doubled over with the pain of so many injuries. Lord Coltidge marrying you off to an abusive blackguard without a thought for your needs or wishes. William Voss ruining his life, ostensibly for your sake, without even consulting you. And most mortifying of all, Sherlock Holmes stripping you of the bandages covering a thousand wretched wounds in his tactless attempts to prove you were known.

“How dare you,” you sobbed angrily.

“I… I simply—”

“What?” you snapped. “Simply what? You simply think you can fix any problem, mend any tragedy, by simply being the smartest person in the room? I am sorry to disappoint you, sir! Cleverness and presumption shall do naught for me! For I am finished, wholly finished, with those who think my life is theirs to dig through, theirs to upheave, simply because they see solutions or—or pathways that I do not. My problems are mine. How dare he— That is, how dare you— How dare anyone dismiss what I wish to do about them?”

Miserably, brokenly, Sherlock whispered your name—your real name, your Christian name, the name he had not uttered to you in fifteen years. Oh, you had struck him—laid him out, cut him open, though you hadn’t intended to. You squeezed your eyes shut and allowed a few tears to leak out. He had not wanted to hurt you either, you knew; nor had your brother or, really, your father. The only one who had ever meant you harm—and enjoyed inflicting it, at that—was your husband. And still, and still, and still.

What was wanted didn’t matter.

“I… I apologise, Sherlock,” you croaked out, peeling your eyes open. “It is… It is humiliating for you to learn of it this way, but I…should not be angry. It is good that you know. Now, you have your motive.”

He looked stricken. “You do not mean that. You cannot—”

“I can, and I do,” you told him tiredly. Moments ago, it had felt relieving, lightening, to react fully and deeply to your brother’s crime and its implications for the first time since it had been revealed or confirmed to you, but now, you only felt weariness. “I murdered Edmund Sulyard for beating and belittling me all the years of our marriage, and you cannot prove otherwise.”

Watching Sherlock’s jaw work and his eyes flit about, you knew there was no coming back from this. You had thought the impassioned conversation in your sitting room had damaged your relationship? That did not even look like a fight anymore! From now on, Sherlock would see you as a criminal if he believed your confession or a lying saboteur if he did not, and either way…he would see you differently now that he knew.

Either way…his friendship was lost to you.

Suddenly, you could no longer stand watching him. Watching him stare and struggle. Watching him slip away from you.

So you ran. So you ran despite your knee’s protests and Sherlock’s shouts alike, you ran until you had turned enough corners to have lost any pursuit he would have mounted, you ran to hail a hansom to drive you home. So you dragged yourself up your front steps, you pushed past the Rogerses’ greetings and questions, you limped to your chambers. So you slid to the floor, you wept and, God forgive you, you hid.

Hi. :) Thank you for reading, and thank you @marveldcmistress for betaing. I know this chapter is a doozy; I only hope it’s not horribly done. Feedback is always welcome! (And as always, a cookie to anyone who can spot the Arthur Conan Doyle reference.)

[phoebe-delia]

Chicago's 6 Merry Murderesses as Taylor Swift's songs

I thought of this earlier today and thought maybe one or two people on here might find it amusing so here you go lol.

For context, you've got to know the lyrics to Cell Block Tango. (If you don't and you want to read on, here are the lyrics.) I will refer to each of the murderesses by both their character name AND the sound they make in the song: Pop (Liz), Six (Annie), Squish (June), Uh-uh (Hunyak), Cicero (Velma), and Lipschitz (Mona)

I am assigning the songs based on the vibe their story gives me. I am also challenging myself by excluding "No Body No Crime," since that would be a bit of a cop-out IMO.

I had fun putting this together! I hope someone else finds it interesting lol.

CW: discussion of murder, guns, blood, violence

POP/Liz: "Bejeweled" from Midnights

Liz says she kills her boyfriend because she came home from work in a bad mood and he was popping his gum too loud, which was a frequent habit of his. She was annoyed and told him to stop, but he didn't, so she shot him. This is, obviously, completely unhinged. It gives me "Bejeweled" vibes because of the lyrics "didn't notice you were walking all over my peace of mind" and "familiarity breeds contempt." Idk I just see a similar feeling of "you've gotten on my last nerve and I'm done with you" from both.

SIX/Annie: "Babe" from Red

Annie says she killed her boyfriend because he told her he was single, they got together and moved in, and then she found out he had multiple wives. So then she poisoned him. This gives me "Babe" vibes because it feels like she fell fast and hard and found out he wasn't the person she thought he was. This one is all about betrayal and feeling blindsided by infidelity and I think the song fits really well.

SQUISH/June: "Getaway Car" from reputation

June says she was making dinner when her husband burst through the door, screaming and accusing her of having an affair with the milkman. She then says he "ran into" her knife 10 times. We don't know for certain if his accusations against her are true; she doesn't let on either way. If he was screaming and raging, she could've thought she was in danger and acted in self-defense. My interpretation, though, is that she was cheating, and then killed him to keep him quiet. For this reason, I chose "Getaway Car," because the milkman was her own "Getaway Car" out of that relationship similar to how Taylor describes in the song.

Uh-Uh/The Hunyak: "Haunted" from Speak Now

Her story is SUPER sad. She's falsely accused of killing her husband, and then no one will listen to her because she can't speak English and properly advocate for herself. To me, this song captures some of the turmoil and grief she's feeling, both for herself and her husband. As the song says, "Come on, come on, don't leave me like this/I thought I had you figured out/Something's gone terribly wrong/You're all I wanted." And like, obviously, her husband didn't leave her here. But I think it portrays a similar feeling of dread and panic.

Cicero/Velma: "Better Than Revenge" from Speak Now

This was the first—and I'm pretty sure only—time Taylor addressed a woman with whom a boyfriend cheated or wronged her. I think it fits Velma's story very well. Velma and her sister did a traveling dance act, and Velma's husband traveled with them. One night, Velma caught them having sex, so she "blacked out" and killed them. Just look at the lyrics to "Better Than Revenge" and see what you think:

"She came along, got him alone, and let's hear the applause/She took him faster than you could say sabotage/I never saw it coming, nor would I have suspected it/I underestimated just who I was dealing with/She had to know the pain was beating on me like a drum/She underestimated just who she was stealing from."

Lipschitz/Mona: "I Knew You Were Trouble" from Red

Mona describes Al Lipschitz as being a sensitive artist. She says she fell deeply in love with him, but that he was trying to "find himself" and ended up cheating on her with multiple women. She's vague about how he died, but she does give us this pretty crazy line:

"I guess you can say we broke up because of artistic differences. He saw himself as alive... and I saw him dead"

Anyway, to be honest, part of what made me pick this song was picturing the music video: this suave, charming artist flirting with this girl and then leaving her because he's a "loner" and a "drifter." I think the story she tells goes well with the vibe of the song.

If you made it this far—thanks for reading!! 💛

[bohemian-nights]

And the way TB act as if Rhaenyra’s hateful comments about Nettles can’t be read as racist… did you expect Rhaenyra to call her the n-word just to be sure ?? How can that be in doubt when she basically said “she’s too darkie to be a dragon, to be worthy of a dragon or a prince” ? And dehumanizing to the point of calling her a “thing” and “creature” ?

It’s not about Valyrian features (silver hair and purple eyes). Rhaenyra has three dragon riding brown-haired and brown-eyed sons. Rhaenys had black hair. The arguments she constructed to attack Nettles were based on ideological beliefs and prejudices that were strongly founded on racism, classism and blood supremacy. Saying she was stressed because Daemon is cheating accusations is insane because Daemon had been openly having affairs before he met Nettles, but Rhaenyra didn’t cared because Mysaria’s skin is “pale as milk”.

She could’ve actually said the N-word and they’d still say Septon Eustace was lying to make her look bad

Yeah, she tried to murder (a possibly pregnant but I’ll pretend that’s not a possibility because Daemon would never stoop so far as sleeping with a n-I mean Nettles) 17 year old in her sleep, but she would never ever ever call Nettles a “low creature.” The Greens are the real racists, not the would be murderess!

How does anyone take these people seriously 🤣

They know Missy Anne is a racist(notice how their #2 defense after pointing out the obvious is that everyone is a racist).

They just won’t admit to it cause they either share her views(see them calling Daemon liking Black women a detrimental character trait or calling Dettles disgusting) or they worry someone will call them racist.

Bozos, you’re not racist for stanning Missy Anne. We all like crazy’s in this fandom(I myself love Daemon’s crazy behind). No one cares if you stan this demented Karen. You are racist though for denying her racism, spazzing out and frothing out the mouth to cut Nettles cause the show doesn’t need anymore Black people, and trying to gaslight people into ignoring her bs as well as your own🙃

[sheep-from-rad]

I saw your Hamilton and Legally Blonde sagau stuff, I just want to request something like that with Chicago (Cell Block Tango or We Both Reached For The Gun would be cool) I imagine sadistic or cruel characters for both Roxie and Velma, I just don't know who would fill the bill, the casting is of course up to you. Love your work btw

SAGAU Musical AU x Cell block Tango Notes: I looked at my inbox and around 98% of it revolves around musical and music and I know I reached my target audience. More SAGAU musical aus in my masterlists and Requests are open 24/7 (all ask not just musical and music related) Warning: murder (this is Chicago musical so yeah murder) Masterlist 

Recap before I start. Basically this is just a normal SAGAU setting. Reader was a player, their game became self-aware and then for some reason the next time they woke up they were in a different place. They got isekai-d to Teyvat. The only difference this one makes I think it’s the fact that the reader is focused more on entertainment such as musicals and makes characters act in plays. The first part of this series (not really series because it’s a mess at this point and my masterlist is a mess) is here: SAGAU x Hamilton: The Schuyler sisters ft Ningguang, Jean, and Barbara. 

Anon, I’m sorry this one request became more on analysis rather than a fic because I don’t really know how to write the scene down. Also when I first read your request I mentally told myself, “hell I wish I can draw because this one request is better in pictures than in words”. So okay let’s go! SAGAU MUSICAL X Cell Block Tango!!

Rosaria as ‘Liz’ aka Pop!     "I took a gun and fired two warning shots—into his head."

Pop’s reason for murdering her husband is just pure annoyance. As we know Pop’s husband was very lazy and did nothing all day but to lay down, drink beer, and chew gum. Loudly. I’m not gonna cross out Misophonia here. I have Misophonia and honestly it’s not just loud sounds that gets my brain to erase all logic before diving to frustration then anger. It’s also the repetitive noises like water faucet, tongue clicking, finger tapping on desk (especially when they have acrylics and purposely doing it) and much more more. ASMR is fun but only the talking ones and not those that involve tapping etc. Mukbangs are also hell because of chewing. 

    Going back to topic I casted Rosaria as Pop because as we know Rosaria is a no nonsense person and you should never really bother her unless you guys are really close (like Kaeya for example) or something that threatens peace is afoot. Rosaria also doesn’t bother going around with people and likes to be on her own. I’m gonna be honest here, Rosaria is more likely to kill an annoying companion than an enemy. 

Ayaka as Annie aka Six!     "Single" he told me ``Single, my ass Not only was he married, Oh no, he had six wives!” 

    I want Yelan for this but I put Ayaka instead of the shit and giggles. Six tells the story of Annie Young who was courted by a man and later married. Turns out, the guy was not single at all, he had 6 wives even though he said he’s single. Annie then poisoned him with arsenic. 

I don’t have a reason for Ayaka to be here aside from the memes that rose when her banner was stuck on air for weeks and the tabibito memes. Yandere Ayaka memes count as well. Also, if you ever cheat on Ayaka, it’s not gonna be her to deliver justice to herself. It will be Ayato and his sword together with Thoma burying your body somewhere you will not be discovered. 

Eula as June aka Squish!

    “...and then he ran into my knife. He ran into my knife 10 times.” 

Moving on to our third murderess we have June.  Based on the song, June was making dinner when her husband Wilbur entered the kitchen and accused her of having an affair with the milkman. Also based on the song, the accused got violent and June started stabbing her in self-defense. It’s not clear whether she had an affair or not though.  I casted Eula as Squish because Eula is not someone you should push around. Eula left her home to become rogue and becoming violent is probably not something that she bats an eyelash on. As we see on her story quest as well, she is not afraid to get her hands dirty. She’s also not afraid to out someone even if they are related. It’s the same with June who did not hesitate to kill her husband.     Alternative to Eula, we can also cast Shenhe for this role. Shenhe gets the job done (also because her lore tells that her homicidal tendencies are just being suppressed.) 

Sucrose as Hunyak aka Uh uh! 

    “Uh uh, not guilty!”

    I don’t really know who to add here so I added Sucrose instead. Ekaterina aka Hunyak aka Uh uh’s part of the song she insisted that she did not do the crime. It is said that she committed adultery but she is not a murderer. She was accused of chopping her husband’s head while her lover held him down (based on the song) and she was then thrown to jail. Unlike the other girls in the song, she waved a white handkerchief in her part making her innocence clear but she was still hanged and was the first one to be hanged. 

    So yeah, I don’t have a reason to add Sucrose here but I guess her tagline ‘Harmless Sweetie’ can count. 

Ningguang as Velma aka Cicero!~

    “It wasn't until later when I was washing the blood off my hands I even knew they were dead”

    I originally wanted Signora for this but I have something bigger for Signora. In Velma’s part of the song, it was stated that Velma, her husband, and Velma’s sister travels around and performs acrobatic acts. One night while they are celebrating in Hotel Cicero, they run out of ice so Velma went out to get some only for her to come back with her husband cheating on her with her sister. Velma then killed them both and then pretended to have amnesia. 

    I don’t have a reason to cast Ningguang this and honestly I casted her as Velma because I want a La Signora and Ningguang showdown. Much like Ayaka, I don't think Ningguang will do the dirty deeds herself (That is Yelan’s job). We saw Ningguang fight when Liyue was in danger and then she fought again in her hangout quest. She only fights when it's threatening her or threatening her nation. 

Yae Miko as Mona aka Lipschitz

“He saw himself as alive and I saw him dead”

The last murderess that we have is Mona aka Lipschitz. Her part of the song tells that Lipschitz actually admitted to killing her boyfriend Al. She said that it was the artistic difference but  in reality she killed him because he cheated on her with different women and one man.     I don’t think Yae Miko will kill you though but she will make sure to scar you mentally (and maybe physically) for life if you ever wrong her. We know how loyal she is to Ei even though Ei locked herself and didn’t come out until things got cleared out. Aside from character, Yae’s loyalty is what makes her stand out and that loyalty is not something that you should test. 

La Signora as Roxie Hart

    La Signora my beloved. Like what I said in Ningguang’s part, I want to cast La Signora as Cicero but I think Roxie’s role will fit her more. Roxie was an aspiring actress who is a little too obsessed with fame and she is married to a dull-witted man named Amos. She frequently cheats on her husband and then a man named Fred Casely rolls in. Roxie hopes that having an affair with Casely will slowly raise her to stardom but in reality Casely was just using her. Enraged, she killed Casely and landed herself in jail. 

    Roxie then got herself a lawyer who taught her how to charm the public to get their sympathy. Roxie made a false story about Casely and then later when the media’s eyes were on her again, she pretended to be pregnant. 

    I casted La Signora here instead of Ningguang because I really think she fits the role. I won’t say La Signora is obsessed with anything but the same as Roxie, La Signora is focused on a goal even though it will get her hands dirty. Also, we know the Eleven Fatui Harbingers are based on La Commedia dell’arte right? In La Commedia dell’arte, La Signora is the wife of Pantalone and she is also a mistress to Pedroline. Also in La Commedia dell’arte, La Signora married Pantalone only for his wealth. Sounds very Roxie Hart to me. 

This concludes the casting for Chicago. I'm really sorry Anon if this is not something that you want. Once again, I still believe that this will look better drawn than written.

Taglist @chihawari / @zuri-feather @tinandabin / @eccedentesiast-sapphic

[la-pheacienne]

What are your favourite greek classics? or in general from the greek literature canon? I'm not greek so i confess that i only know the ones that date back centuries that i needed to study from my classic greek classes :) I read antigone and i like it

And, aside from les mis, have you read any other french classics? or any that are now encapsulated as "european" (spanish, polish, romanian etc?

Sorry if any questions sound weird. Do not need to answer if they make you uncomfortable

No it's not weird at all, thank you for asking!!!

Unfortunately, I have read far less greek classics than I would like. My first response will be kind of basic, I think one should always, always, start with Homer (with a slight preference for Odyssey). Odyssey is truly magical. There is nothing quite like it. Thematically, conceptually, narratively, stylistically it is just so flawless. It is like a dream of adventure, love, monsters, good and evil, loyalty and treason, and longing for home of course.

Then since you have read Antigone you could try Oresteia, this is a trilogy (I think the first trilogy ever created?), so it's three consecutive tragedies, and it's amazing, I think this one particularly appeals to someone who is looking for a more, let's say, morally dubious world. It's less idealistic, it's a story about a rotten royal family tearing itself to pieces. What's cool is that every single POV has more or less valid reasons for doing what they are doing, and your opinion on the characters really changes when you go from one tragedy to the next. Everyone is partly right and partly wrong (some more than others), but in the end the gods intervene to settle this affair once and for all. It's really cool. Then Oedipus Rex has of course the OG "trying to change my destiny and making it happen instead" arc which is a really powerful theme, used consistently ever since in any type of modern media, films, tv shows and books.

But since you ask about Greece, in case you are interested in reading modern greek literature, I have a soft spot for the Murderess of Alexandros Papadiamantis (you can find it in Amazon), I think it's the best modern greek novel honestly. It's about an old woman who slowly becomes deranged and starts killing little girls, starting with her newborn granddaughter, because she feels that girls bring only misery to their families (and will only experience misery themselves). Then I will also include this quite niche recommendation (this one will be more difficult to find but an english translation does exist), its The End of Our Small Town by Dimitris Hatzis, it's a book with many beautiful and heartbreaking short stories/portraits of different social types of people in Greece during the period between the first and the second World War.

So, from Europe I have read french, russian, and english literature. And also Kafka, that's it. So I can only speak about this. From french literature, I would recommend a less talked about novel of Balzac, Le Cousin Pons, that is one of my absolute favourite books. Balzac is the contrary of Hugo in the sense that Hugo is a Romantic, he talks about society but aiming to inspire people, to put it simply, while Balzac is a Realist, so he wants to present society exactly as it is, and it is not a good portrait. Where Hugo is hopeful, Balzac is resigned, so it is a really depressing book. But still, hands-out the most in-depth portrait of french society, 100 percent relevant today, and the appeal of it is that it makes the modern reader feel akward cause the things he criticizes are still prevalent in the modern way of thinking. I guarantee that you will find people you know that are exactly like some characters in that book. It is the story of an antique collector that is ignored and scorned by his superficial bourgeois family because he's weird and he only cares about his hyperfixation (his collectables) until they realise the true value of his collection and they construct a plan to steal it and basically destroy him in the process.

[astingpoppybrinkmann]

Some of Britain's most notable murders where in the 1900s, some examples are the Bermondsey Horror, Jack the Ripper, Amelia Dyer and The Richmond Murderess, many of these crimes were very horrific and some are still unsolved, these crimes highlighted the problems in the police force and helped improve them and the technologies used to help them solve crimes. The Bermondsey horror was the murder of Patrick O'Conner who was Ms. Marie Manning's lover and victim, in a plot to get his money Marie Manning and her husband Frederick Manning, who was thought to have known about the affair, hatched a plan to invite him to dinner and kill him. Mr and Ms Manning shot and bludgeoned O'Conner to death in their home and buried him under the kitchen floor and tried to take his money, however the new police force and new technologies like the telegraph meant they were quickly found, ending up with the couple being hanged for their crimes.

Jack the Ripper is probably England's most notable unsolved murder, he killed at least 5 women but it's possible more were killed, he mutilated their bodies in horrific ways such as disemboweling, mutilating their faces and removing organs, the police force at this time wasn't great at solving crime so the Rippers identity is still unknown as well as his motives, many believe it could have been sexual sadism or rage. This crime was probably one of the main reasons why the police got an upgrade and improved their detective skills and training.

Amelia Dyer was a horrific serial killer, having killed over 400 infants, she turned to baby farming around 1869 but instead of finding the infants new homes to adopt them or care for them she would instead starve the babies and fill them with drugs, especially one called 'mothers friend', eventually to be more efficient in her killings she would strangle them with cord then throw their bodies and remains into the River Thames, after people found some of the babies, Dyer was put on trail and soon hanged in 1896.

The Richmond murderess is a case about two women, Kate Webster and Julia Martha Thomas, Kate Webster had previous convictions for other crimes before she landed a job as a house maid for Julia Thomas, when Julia tried to fire Kate for her poor work, they got into a heated argument, after Julia went to church she came back to a nasty surprise, Kate Webster pushed Julia down a flight of stairs then either choked her or came at her with an axe, it's unclear which one happened, she then dismembered Julia Thomas's body and boiled it, threw most of the parts into the River Thames but kept a head and a foot, the foot was discovered in Twickenham, but the head was lost for a long time, Kate Webster was found guilty and executed. The head was recovered in 2010.

[frumiousreads]

Alright so hi, for those who don't know I love historical true crime and host a podcast about it (A Murderess Affair) but without being super promo-y I wanted to share who I talked about this past week.

Kate Leigh was born March 10, 1881 in Dubbo, New South Wales. She was the eighth child of Timothy Beahan and Charlotte Beahan. 

Her father worked as a boot-maker. She was abused and neglected all throughout her childhood, which included time in a girls’ home at age 12 and gave birth to her daughter when she was a teenager in 1900, Eileen May Beahan.

 And this is something I learned through an Australian Bio website but the so called “girl’s home” was actually more like a girls juvie.

She left (or was kicked out, who’s to say?) when she was 18 and soon ‘got into trouble’. She married in 1902 to a petty criminal by the name of James Leigh, who was known for illegal bookmaking and it’s thought that this is where she began to build her underground connections. 

In 1905 both were arrested for assaulting their landlord but only James served time. While he was in prison, they “underwent separation”, or whatever the 1900 equivalent was for divorce.

Honestly, that was probably best for her at this point because she soon began to have some sort of relationship with a man named Samuel Freeman who only gave her more connections to the underworld.

 In early 1915 Leigh was given to 5 years in prison for falsifying an alibi for Freeman and another man Ernest Ryan, both of whom were convicted for armed robbery.

 Fun fact, these two were the first armed robbers to use a getaway car in the history of Australian crime.

What’s also interesting is that this was something she had a history of doing. She had a criminal record but it was specifically noted within that how she would provide bail and alibis for various gangsters and racketeers.

Once out of jail, she jumped immediately into the ‘sly grog’ trade. Essentially supplying moonshine during Australia’s very own Prohibition. From her home in Surry Hills in Sydney, Australia she became the head of organized crime.

 She supplied a whole range of goods. Drinking venues, betting and gambling, prostitution, and starting in the mid 1920s, cocaine. She quickly earned the title “Queen of the Underworld”, and had a strong base of gangsters who were devoutly loyal to her.

 She would often come to their aid and had impressive sharpshooting skills that helped her gain an advantage over those who would try and attack her.

In March of 1930, a rival gang broke into Leigh’s house, and she shot and killed one of them, “Snowy” Prendergast. She was not charged for this, but at some point in 1930 she was charged for cocaine possession and consorting, which I had to look up and apparently it’s when police think you are regularly associating with those in organized crime. Which feels like cheating to be honest. Like, that’s such a hand wavy way to arrest people.Now the reason for her arrest was interesting. 

Apparently, she and Tilly Devine, her rival at this point, publicly denounced Leigh as a “dope pusher” and “white slaver” who was able to avoid charges because she had connections with those high up in the Labor Party. This was the motivating cause for her arrest, also probably motivated by those in the Labor Party who were mentioned and just couldn't let that association stand.

She was sentenced to serve 2 years, but only served 1 and paid a fine of 250 pounds. Now, sometime either right before or right after she was in jail, she also shot Joseph McNamara in December of 1931 and wasn’t charged with anything.

Since this was the Depression era, she was also smuggling stolen goods for resale, which she and two other men were convicted for but ultimately she was again, let out with a suspension of her sentence as long as she returned to her family in Dubbo for 2 years.

Despite being raided almost constantly by police and all of her minor convictions that she kept accumulating, her sly-grog trade continued through the 1930’s and 40s and dear god I’ve just realized that 1930 was almost 100 years ago. I need a minute. Jesus.

She had a legendary appearance, appearing in court with silver fox furs, large brimmed hats, diamond rings on her fingers and apparently “leathery” skin from working in the sun. 

She married in January 1950 to someone known as “Shiner” Ryan who ultimately ended up dying in 1957. They only lived together for about 6 months in Sydney, before he got fed up I guess with her continuing the business and then moved back to Fremantle.

She declared bankruptcy in 1954 due to failing to pay about 6191 in pounds from taxes, but continued to live at Surry Hills until her death in February of 1964. She was survived by her daughter and buried in the Botany cemetery in a traditionally Catholic ceremony.

Until her death, the press painted her to be this sweet, kindhearted woman who provided social services and whom had really done no wrong. She was highlighted for her wartime patriotism and overall generosity.

 I mean all of this could be true of course, but also let’s not forget the fact that she was essentially an organized crime kingpin who also had a massive blood feud with fellow kingpin Tilly Devine.And that's everything I was able to find about Kate Leigh.

Sources: https://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/leigh-kathleen-mary-kate-7164https://www.discoverwalks.com/blog/sydney/top-10-facts-about-gangster-kate-leigh/https://www.discoverwalks.com/blog/sydney/top-10-facts-about-gangster-kate-leigh/

[collymore]

Sentient but unborn babies have legal and moral rights too; like not to be killed, Carla Foster!

By Stanley Collymore   That child was capable of a life,   that you most callously and   very deceitfully deprived   it of Carla Foster, and as such you’re a   pitiless murderess, quite deserving of   a jail sentence, which you discernibly   very clearly reassuringly got, but one   far too leniently so I personally think   because the dreadful suffering, very   obviously and so cruelly endured by   your baby, and rather unnecessarily   so, is to any intelligent, and equally   conscionable mind rather similarly   patently, thoroughly unimaginable.   I say and write this because I’m   unequivocally pro-choice and   rather distintinctively so, as   regards women even within honourable   bona fide marriages as it’s undoubtedly   their own bodies; and both naturally, as   well as unquestionably, in my plausible   thinking; coercion of any kind, oughtn't   to be a part of their criterion, in having   or raising children. However, distinctly   when a woman literally gets pregnant,   quite regardless, of the means of that   happening, voluntarily or involuntarily,   being the case; then rather knowingly   does carry that child almost full term   only to then callously, or indifferently,   or even on a whim then dispose of it   as you’ve basically and malevolently   done; that in my conscionable mind   is clearly, cold-blooded murder pure   and simple; and the court custodial   sentence that you were then legally   and morally given, although strictly   in principle spot on, and irrefutably   perfectly correct was basically too   significantly so child's play literally   in relation to what you should very   obviously, clearly have been given.   For you knew all along Carla Foster,   now a publicly known convicted   baby killer, how significantly   advanced your pregnancy was; just as   you were distinctly aware of precisely   what you were clearly both criminally   and immorally doing; an evil state of   affairs that judge both sensibly, and   morally recognized, and thus rightly   punished your discernibly arrogant,   high handedly malevolent, plus too   your demonstrably, actually selfish   and odiously, egregious action! As   is in the irrefutably laudable name   of everything, that's fittingly moral   and decent, 20 weeks is distinctly   a long enough period distinctively   for any genuine characteristically   responsible mother to truly make   a quite rational decision, whether   to abort a pregnancy or basically   carry on with it, as do millions of   quite ordinary pregnant mothers   globally and give birth to a baby!   (C) Stanley V. Collymore   13 June 2023.   Author's Remarks: I don't see how Carla Foster was ever vulnerable! She's fully an adult not a frightened teenager and moreover is already a mother of 3 children. Why then was she allegedly "embarrassed" to go to her doctor in the appropriate time to request a termination of her pregnancy?   To terminate what is very essentially a human life even though it is basically a baby but unborn at 8 months, is clearly just plain barbaric, and those who're in the process of supporting Carla Foster, doing so with all their distinctly inane arguments that aren't rationally in any realistic way arguments of any kind are very effectively no better than this very immoral, rather deceitful and distinctly lying woman herself. And undoubtedly like her are just as callous and horribly inhumane to such vulnerable and also crucially unborn babies.   And essentially therefore for each and every one of you literally intellectually challenged morons this was effectively about the ending of a very vulnerable human life! Predictably so as life is all very cheap these days and accordingly there's no respect for it, transparently so, by scum like yourselves! Precisely, as it was in Victorian days; and, as is blatantly self-evident in Brexit cesspit Britain, retrogression and manifestly not progression is quite self-evidently the order of the day.   Finally, contraception is quite readily available and abortion is legal also in Britain up to 24 weeks so distinctively there's actually no excuse to terminate after the legal deadline.   I'm positive that Carla Foster has heard of the concept of adoption as are those that are quite idiotically supporting her vile killing of her unborn baby; so why was that option not utilized by Carla Foster if for whatever personal reasons she didn't want to have that child?   Yet when a very sensible and intelligent articulate white Caucasian female who is similarly British like Carla Foster but very categorically states that she really doesn't want to have any biological kids of her own and furthermore never has done, a decision that her husband also consensually and lovingly supports, yet this lady's mother-in-law is obsessively doing all she can to force her to, in spite of her coherent reasons for not having any children rather clearly outlined by her, we nevertheless have the same vile idiots who're now actively supporting Carla Foster were the very ones rather publicly castigating this young married lady and even branding her as selfish and a traitor to the white race and also the future white generation in Britain, and ostensibly the world, for not doing her part to sustain the white Caucasian race. How more stupid can you get; but that's Brexit Britain for you; thick and toxically verminous as fetid shit!

[robininthelabyrinth]

Lan Qiren is in Qinghe for whatever reason, and hears JGY playing for NMJ. He recognizes the melody, but now what? They just came out of a war, the Lans are still weakened. He cannot go against the Jins alone, he learned that his nephews are as stubborn as their fatheir in their love and doesn't want LXC stuck in the middle, the Jiangs are still weak and recovering. There's only one person who can help him save his nephew's brother/boyfriend/soulmate/fiance/something? LQR visits Yiling.

Lan Qiren had once wanted to be a travelling musician, before his elder brother ruined both their lives.

He’d always been sensitive to music, even more so than most of his clan. When he was very young, he’d told his mother about the music he could hear all the time, in his head, the good music and the bad, the harmonious and the discordant, and she’d gently stroked his forehead and told him that one day he would learn to play something so beautiful that he could drown it all out.

He never had.

She was gone now, his mother, heart-broken and aged faster than she should have – another casualty of his brother’s selfishness, that he called love. Lan Qiren never denied that his brother’s song was a love song, the pure notes of the xiao calling out to a dream lover, beckoning but never summoned in return; it was only that long before his brother had met his wife he had already heard the way the high treble of his song was unstable, straining, powerful but without foundation. The direction of the music was the wrong way around, however beautiful: too many high notes, untethered to reality – untethered to anything, really.

Not to family, not to duty, nothing.

He didn’t care about anything, his brother. Only himself.

Lan Qiren still played, of course. He’d never been especially good at fighting – that had been the specialty of the mighty Qingheng-jun, noble and above it all – and it turned out he was a fairly good teacher, of music and cultivation and morality. That worked out for everyone: it meant he could stay home, where it was safe, and govern the affairs of the Lan sect to ensure that there was something there for his nephews to inherit.

He was never allowed to go travelling.

Still, it wasn’t all bad. Even if his brother renounced the world, he had given Lan Qiren his nephews. Beautiful children, both of them: the simple song of cleansing for Lan Xichen, the child who smiled as lightly as the breeze; the complex chords of Inquiry for Lan Wangji, the serious child who thought too much.

Lan Qiren tried to do his best by them both, however clumsily: he tried to teach them duty, to teach them the importance of family, he tried to teach them compassion – he tried to try to stamp out his brother’s instability and inability to recognize the damage his actions could do, and did, to others. His brother had been a genius, and his children inherited his talent, but Lan Qiren would not let them become arrogant, as he had become, to think that because of their talent the road before them would always be smooth – such that the first stumble would be enough to cast them down into the abyss.

The war, and their father’s death, taught them that better than he could ever have.

Lan Qiren was not a very good fighter, and an even worse general, but he did whatever he could. He had prepared Lan Xichen as much as possible for the position of sect leader, though he’d thought there would still be years and years before his nephew would have to take it up; in the end, Lan Xichen inherited it too early but still excelled, keeping his head and remembering to think things through.

Lan Wangji was earnest and hardworking, as Lan Qiren had once been; he protected what he could, did what he could, and never sought fame instead of helping the helpless.

Lan Qiren was very proud of both of them.

He only hoped he had done enough for them.

It was usually Lan Wangji he worried about, both in the past and today: he had the family stubbornness, their tendency towards blind faith, and he too often associated with bad company, which made Lan Qiren afraid.

His brother had loved a murderess, and sought to help her escape her punishment no matter what justice required – how dare you pardon her, he’d screamed at his brother all those years ago, don’t you remember that the man she murdered was my teacher too, that I loved him, that his wife grieves for him, that his children are orphaned, who cares if you love her, she still needs to pay for what she’s done, and his brother had shrugged it all off and said I have decided and because he was sect leader there was nothing Lan Qiren could do about it – and Lan Wangji is altogether too fond of Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch, who reminded Lan Qiren very much of her.

Lan Qiren had taught himself over the years not to hate her, his brother’s beloved with blood on her hands, for the death of his dreams and the cage of duty that had come down around him; those could only be ascribed to his brother. He still felt justified in hating her for the death of his teacher, who had been kind and strict and perhaps a little silly, overly moral, a stickler – he had only tried to stop wrongdoing, as he always had, and she had killed him in the defense someone she had believed was in the right without a shred of evidence, based on nothing but her belief that they wouldn’t lie to her.

Foolish.

That was the true tragedy of it. For all the damage she ultimately wrought upon his life, she was in the end little more than a stupid little girl who was, in her own way, deceived by love.

Friendship, too, was love.

Lan Qiren had brought her the signed confession of her dear friend, the woman she’d called her sister, the proof that that ‘sister’ of hers had in fact committed the crimes that the teacher had accused her of and that her counter-accusation against him had been fabricated purely as a distraction – you killed an innocent man, he had told her, voice cold, because you couldn’t be bothered to think for yourself – and that had been the thing that had made her finally realize that she would spend the rest of her life in a prison for what she had done. That there was no rescue, no reprieve; that this was the consequence of what she had done, the penalty she would have to pay, and she might as well make the best of it.

He’d finally had a nephew, the year after that.

It had been the only thing he could think to do for his brother, who despite everything he loved to the bone. They were all fools for love, in his family.

At least Lan Xichen had found himself a good love.

His childhood friend, who was as honest and upright as he was: Nie Mingjue was solemn and sincere, in need of someone to cheer him up, and Lan Xichen had no greater pleasure in life than trying to coax out his rare smiles.

Lan Qiren enjoyed ‘accidentally’ bumping into the Nie boy whenever he snuck out of the hanshi at odd hours, if only because it consistently made the other man look as though he was regretting being born. They were so shy about it, even though Lan Qiren had made it clear that he wouldn’t stand in their way as long as they did their duties to their respective families in regards to children.

Perhaps it wasn’t him that they were worried about. The rest of the world might not be so understanding; he couldn’t blame them for treasuring their love between them as if it were a tender flame that might blow out if exposed to the fierce wind.

He still enjoyed teasing them both.

This evening, though, it had been different.

Nie Mingjue’s face had been flushed red, as it always was, and he made his excuses as if they pained him – he’d never enjoyed hiding, would tell the world if Lan Xichen would let him – and that was all quite normal, but there was something wrong with his song. It was usually a steady beat, militant and powerful and inspiring, but it was oddly out of tune, another melody forcing its way in.

It wasn’t the gentle strains of two songs merging, each one yielding to the other, two songs joining together in harmony to become one – this was a clash, one melody suppressing the other and knocking it out of joint. Dangerous, disharmonic –

It sounded like poison.

It sounded like – Lan Xichen?

Lan Qiren bid Nie Mingjue a hasty farewell, forgoing his usual gentle mockery, and retreated to his own home, breathing hard. It was impossible, what he had heard, utterly impossible.

Lan Xichen would never – he loved Nie Mingjue.

Though – he loved Jin Guangyao, too, who presented himself as polite and gentle but whose inner tune was always a step off beat, sometimes too slow, at other times too frenzied. With such uneven music in his heart, it was always a surprise to Lan Qiren that Jin Guangyao could play instruments as well as he could, manipulating them with his clever fingers until they did what he wanted them to.

Lan Xichen loved Jin Guangyao, and Nie Mingjue did not, and…

There were always ways to resolve that sort of thing.

No. Lan Qiren knew his nephew, or thought he did. Lan Xichen was sincere in his affections, honest and righteous, and more than that he was caring – he would never, never, never murder one lover to more easily replace him with another.

And yet.

Lan Qiren recognized the song that was stealing into Nie Mingjue’s body, leeching away his self-control and pushing him slowly towards an agonizing death. It was Clarity, a song he had taught Lan Xichen with his own two hands, and the invading song was Turmoil, a collection in the Forbidden Library that no one but the sect elders could access – though such a restriction did not apply to the sect leader.

He hadn’t thought Lan Xichen had looked at those songs, but he had been the one who had taken their collection of books with him when he fled the Cloud Recesses. There would have been plenty of time to look over them, to learn them, to –

No.

Lan Qiren couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it. Even if the portions of the song that were Clarity sounded like a perfect replica of the way Lan Xichen played the melody, each pause and each start characteristic of his nephew – he would not believe it, not for nothing.

Not until there was proof.

He’d spent so long trying to save his nephews from his brother’s mistake – he would not now allow them to fall into their mother’s: of being too quick to judge, too trusting, too blind.

He would find out what happened first, and only then decide.

But how could he investigate? Lan Qiren knew himself: he did not have the power to take the journeys that would undoubtedly be necessary to find out what had happened, still healing as he was from the wounds of war; the strain on his heart would likely kill him. Lan Wangji had the musical talent to do it, and do it well, but it would break his heart even to ask him to consider his brother a suspect. But there was no one else so skilled in music, who lived with it day in and day out, who used it even above a sword –

There was one.

He wants to bring someone back to Gusu, uncle, to hide them, Lan Xichen had told him, his eyes troubled; they had both known without saying who that person was. I don’t know what to do. The things they are saying about him…

At that time, Lan Qiren had opposed any attempt to reach out to Wei Wuxian, that troublesome brat. He had still hoped that by putting distance between them, Lan Wangji would eventually learn to forget or at least learn to think clearly, but that was clearly not working.

He would write a letter, he decided, and send it off at once. There was no need for an introduction: Lan Qiren had been the boy’s teacher once – a teacher for a day, a father for a lifetime, no matter that they’d never one gotten along – and anyway, Wei Wuxian had been planning on leaving his mountain soon in order to attend his nephew’s first month’s party, to which he had been invited.

Lan Qiren would ask him to come to Gusu first, instead of heading to Lanling directly through the Qiongi Path. He would offer him the protection of the Lan sect in the event that someone in the Jin clan thought to make trouble, a safe harbor to go to Lanling and to return unscathed, and in return he would ask Wei Wuxian to help him figure out what had happened.

He would prove his nephew’s innocence, even if only to himself.

And perhaps he could even use the same occasion to explain to Wei Wuxian why he should let Lan Wangji go, or at minimum why he should exercise the greatest caution in the future, knowing that if he dragged himself down he would be dragging down another with him…

Yes, that was what he would do.

[margridarnauds]

Bláthnait and Blodeuwedd: The tragic murderesses of Ireland and Wales

Mór gním do mnái brath a fir 

“It is a great deed for a wife to betray her husband.�� 

Blathnait (”Little Flower”)

The exact details of Bláthnat’s early life vary across the three recensions of the text Aided Chon Roí (The Death of Cú Roí) - In the first two recensions, she’s the daughter of Conchobar and, therefore, an Ulster princess. In the other two recensions, she’s a daughter of the otherworldly king Mend and raised on the Isle of Man. Regardless, they all agree that she was abducted from her home by the king of Munster, Cú Roí mac Daire, who forced her to become his wife, despite her having been in love with the great Ulster hero, Cú Chulainn.

 Stung by Cú Roí’s earlier harsh treatment of him, Cú Chulainn approached Bláthnait, and the two of them devised a plan to kill Cú Roí. They agreed that she would incapacitate Cú Roí and would then signal that the deed was done by pouring milk into the river, turning the water white. She bathed Cú Roí and then, when the moment was right, tied his hair to the bedpost and flung open the doors of his fortress, allowing the the warriors of Ulster to pour in. 

For a time, Bláthnait was happy in Ulster, however, there was a price to be paid for her freedom: Cú Roí’s poet, Ferchetne, grief-stricken at the loss of his master, threw both himself and Bláthnait off of a cliff, their deaths being referenced in the Dindshenchas poem Findglais (”White-Stream”). 

Blodeuwedd (”Flower-Face”)

Blodeuwedd, unlike Bláthnait, appears in only one textual source, the Fourth Branch of the Mabinogi. The hero Lleu Llaw Gyffes has been cursed by his mother to not have a human wife and so his uncle, the trickster-sorceror Gwydion, calls forth a variety of flowers to create Blodeuwedd, her name meaning “Flower-Face.” However, while Lleu loved the wife that had been created for him, she fell instead Gronw Pebr, the lord (arglwyd) of Penllyn,who she met while Lleu was away and Gronw was hunting nearby. The two of them quickly fell into a deep, mutual passion, embarking on an affair. However, their time together was bittersweet, as it was with the knowledge that, soon, she would be forced to return to her role as Lleu’s wife. So, as with her Irish counterpart and her lover, Blodeuwedd and Gronw began to put their heads together as to how to get rid of Lleu.

Feigning worry for Lleu’s health, Blodeuwedd learned from him that he could not be killed inside or outside a house, neither on foot nor on a horse. Then, she asked him to demonstrate which he, not suspecting anything, proceeded to do, giving Gronw a chance to strike. 

Like Bláthnait, the two lovers’ time together was brief: Gwydion sought his nephew out, finding him in the form of a sick eagle and nursing him back to health. Gronw was killed by Lleu after begging for his life, casting the full blame for Lleu’s death on “the cunning of a woman” (drycystryw gwreic), but Blodeuwedd was given a worse fate: Transformed into an owl by Gwydion, reviled by all other birds, never to show her face in the light of day again. 

In the present day, both women have often been popularly interpreted as goddesses of spring and, academically, among Celticists, as twisted examples of the sovereignty goddess motif, though, perhaps, while there’s something to the latter (since these do parallel other stories both in and outside of Wales and Ireland), they also offer other questions. Were they heartless murderesses? Femme fatales who drove good men to their deaths? Are their stories meant to demonstrate the inherent untrustworthiness of women (an ongoing theme in medieval texts)? Do they represent, more than anything else, the cost of agency in a world where they were never fully seen to be human to begin with? Or, perhaps, are all of the above true? 

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Romance- Velma Kelly

Pairing: Velma Kelly x Reader

Characters: Velma Kelly

Warnings: N/A

Request: Anon- No one has a romantic bone in their body anymore! What happened to playing songs outside windows, glitter and sparkles on handmade Valentine’s cards, dancing in the rain!? What happened?!” 

Word Count: 440

Author: Charlotte

Being stuck in prison was always hard but it became even harder when you had to face different holidays that outside of prison you once loved.

Today was Valentine’s Day and in a prison, it was hard to enjoy it. You had been happily married, and unlike most of the other women on murderess row, you hadn’t killed your husband and knowing he was on the outside, living his life, it hurt a lot. You had received a card from him and even if it wasn’t the same as a Valentine’s Day at home, it was better than nothing.

You were sat in your cell looking at the card when Velma stuck her head in, noticing the card that you held.

“From an admirer?” She smirked.

“Husband,” you corrected.

Velma rolled her eyes, marriage still being a sore spot for her, not that she would admit it. After she had murdered her husband and sister when they had started an affair, you couldn’t really blame her for why she hated the concept of marriage.

“Anything saucy?” She asked.

Even if she hated marriage and didn’t trust the sanctity of it, she still wanted gossip and anything that took her mind off of the hell that was day to day life in prison that didn’t change up a lot.

“Unless legal fees are saucy, no,” you frowned. “He said he loved me but most of it is talking about selling my mother’s jewellery to pay for my lawyer, not that I get a say in the matter. I guess I am just lucky he even bothers to write to me and find a way to pay for a lawyer.”

She groaned at the sound of it, and you could hardly blame her. You were equally bored by the contents of the card and had hoped for just a moment of escapism from your fate behind bars.

“No one has a romantic bone in their body anymore! What happened to playing songs outside of windows, glitter and sparkles on handmade Valentine’s cards, dancing in the rain?! What happened?!”

It was somewhat true of the pain that you felt after the romance of the honeymoon period dying quickly but also seeing other couples that were romantic, unlike your husband, did rub it in further.

“He was never that romantic,” you shrugged. “But even he does better than this normally.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll get better when we get out of here,” she smiled. “Then you can ditch your husband and find a man that knows how to treat you right.”

You nodded your head, not wanting to argue but also not believing in it.

[drwcn]

Discordance!verse part 2: there are consequence to loving someone you shouldn’t. 

in which wwx is lxc’s husband through political alliance, and there is an affair. 

[8] | [7] | [6] | [5] | [4] | [3] | [2] | [1] [synopsis]

Objectively, massacre was not the correct term to describe the sight before him, but it was the only word that came to mind as Lan Wangji stepped dazedly across the threshold into the courtyard of Songfeng Shuiyue Pavilion.

At some point during the hour before Nie Huaisang arrived and broke him out of jingshi, it had begun to rain. 

The swoosh of the discipline whip being wrought through the air howled louder than the easterly wind, and like lightning it came shooting down, delivered with a thunderous crack as it made contact with a young man’s back. 

Two ninety nine. 

Technically I’m your brother too now... Let’s be friends!

But there was no light, no brief moment of wonder in the aftermath, just the echo of a sickening splatter. The cotton under-robe between whip and skin, once pristine white, had been reduced to strips and tatters. Drenched red, it was nearly indistinguishable from the raw overturned flesh.

“Er-gongzi!”

We can’t - I can’t... I’m your, we’re - Lan Zhan, mm, Lan Zhan please - 

In the periphery of his awareness, Lan Wangji heard disciples yelling his name, ghostly hands pulling at him from all directions, but it was beyond his capacity to heed those warnings now. Transfixed, he gravitated towards the man under the whip, who made not a sound even as his body convulsed with every merciless stroke. 

Three hundred.

I’m not afraid. The future doesn’t frighten me. I have you. Nothing else matters.  

Wei Wuxian laid face down along the surface of a flat long bench, stripped of his outer robes and deprived of his guan. His hair, swept over one shoulder, dipped into a puddle of rain water, cloudy and pink from the blood that dripped down his chin. 

Inside the dry refuge of the pavilion hall, Uncle and the Elders sat in witness. No one showed any inclination to stop this insanity.

Three hundred and one. 

Don’t panic, let’s not panic. We will explain ourselves. Everything is going to be fine. Lan Zhan, look at me, do you trust me? 

As he drew close enough, Lan Wangji saw the thick strip of leather clenched between Wei Wuxian’s teeth and bound back at the base of his skull. But it was hardly the gag that kept him silent - Wei Ying was barely conscious. 

There was water running down Lan Wangji’s face. Whether it was rain or tears, only the gods knew.  

The whip sailed through air again, cutting off raindrops in their paths, but -

Clang! 

Nie Huaisang’s saber swung into the disciplinary weapon, knocking it out of the hands of the disciple.   

“LAN WANGJI!” 

I’m not afraid. 

I have you. 

I have you.

You do have me.

That single thought thrust him back into the present, freed from that far away place suffocating him inside a thick fog of utter hopelessness. 

“You cannot wield my saber. Your meridians are locked. Your core is muted. But take it anyway. At the least, it’ll intimidate. But remember, if you really try to use it without spiritual energy, it will damage you.” 

So be it. 

The rain pelted down around them, and Lan Wangji found himself surrounded by eight senior disciples pointing their swords at him and at the saber in his hand. Without his cultivation, the early spring downpour felt like ice against his skin, and Qinghe’s first class spiritual weapon weighed more than gold. 

"Lan Wangji! Remember yourself!" 

His uncle had stepped out under the eave, along with five other Elders. 

“Stop this.” Lan Zhan demanded, as if he had any rights to make demands. As if he hadn’t been defiling the sanctity of his brother’s marriage behind his brother’s back, as if he hadn’t broken the trust of the one person who had always, always been there for him. 

His uncle was so angry he couldn’t speak, but Elder Zonghui beside him, the most senior and respected of the thirty-three did not have such a reactive temper. 

“Put down the saber, Wangji. Your sense of righteousness is misplaced. Nothing is happening here that isn’t deserved and agreed upon.” 

“Agreed upon by whom?” Lan Wangji gritted his teeth, seething. 

“By all parties involved, of course. Requested even,” said Lan Zonghui, his unaffectedness towards the violence being committed before his very eyes chilled Lan Wangji to the core.  

“Wei Ying requested to be whipped three hundred times?!”

“Four hundred times,” corrected Lan Qiren, cutting into the conversation. “Your actions have violated a dozen precepts of our clan, but for the four most salient transgressions we issued fifty lashes each, totaling two hundred. As you are both participants, you were both to receive them, but Wei Wuxian offered to bear the entirety of the punishment.”

At his uncle’s words, the pain that tore through Lan Wangji was akin to being gutted by his own Bichen. 

“Take Lan-er-gongzi back to his room. He is not in his right mind."

“Do not move!” Lan Wangji commanded, as loud as his nature allowed. “I am not leaving without Wei Ying.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Nhn....” 

Wei Wuxian clung perilously to the edge of consciousness and pleaded at him through hooded feverish eyes. From where he clutched at the front edge of the bench, a trembling hand reached out and tugged on Lan Wangji’s robes. 

Just like that, like a taut string on his guqin plucked with a force too great, the tension inside him snapped, and all the fight that kept him going melted from his bones. Lan Wangji lowered his arm. Qinghe’s saber slipped from his grip and landed on the ground with a splash. 

“Wei Ying...” He fell to knee, uncaring of the eyes judging them as he smoothed back Wei Wuxian’s wet, matted hair and caressed his face, undoing the gag in the process. 

The rain had stopped, but Lan Wangji continued to cry. “Why...”  

Wei Wuxian reached for his cheek, brushing the teardrop collecting at the groove of his nose with his thumb. He smiled, a chasm of crimson red. 

"Lan Zhan...”

“I’m here, I’m here. You have me.” 

“No, no...shouldn’t be here.” Wei Wuxian shoved at him weakly. “My penance... I deserve it." 

But Lan Wangji could not stand another second listening to such words, such lies. He removed his outer robe and laid it across Wei Wuxian’s ruined back. Then, as carefully as he could, he rolled the other man over and into his gentle embrace. 

Strengthened by resolve, he turned to the mixture of faces that watched him with anger, mortification, and disgust, and said, “It takes two for a sin like this. If Wei Ying is culpable then so am I.”

"No.” gasped Wei Wuxian, struggling in protest. “Go, go -” 

“Three hundred and one. There are still ninety nine lashes left, aren’t there? I am here, and I submit before the ruling of the Elders and the Lan family precepts.” 

His Uncle shook his head, sweeping back his sleeve and sighed long and loud, as though all his anger had been defeated by a sense of profound disappointment and resignation. 

Lan Zonghui stepped forth, down the steps towards them. His eyes cut like frozen glass as he examined the spectacle. 

"Even your mother knew decorum,” he said, glancing from Lan Wangji kneeling the on wet ground to Wei Wuxian cradled against him. His gaze lingered there. “Or, perhaps not. The fruit does not often fall far.”  

Lan Wangji wasn’t sure if Zonghui had meant his mother the murderess, or Cangse Sanren the sectless wanderer, but in his arms, Wei Ying seemed to hear the connotation behind those callous words. He took shuddering breath, closed his eyes, and turned his face into Lan Zhan’s chest.

The fist that grasped at the front of his lapel trembled, tight knuckles blanched as white as his robes. 

Lan Wangji felt ill. What could Elder Zonghui have possibly insinuated for Wei Ying to hide himself away like this? As if what was said was too cruel for him to brave, as if the three hundred or so lashes he endured were nothing compared to this carefully chosen insult. 

“Words are unnecessary. You know what you know. We have nothing further to say.” Lan Wangji curled around Wei Wuxian, covering him as much as he could. 

“I’ll take the whip.”

“Your meridians are locked,” countered his uncle, a trace of worry lacing his tone. 

But Lan Wangji could not be dissuaded. “The whip, if you please.” 

Too weak to protest further, Wei Wuxian stared up at him despairingly, dark doe eyes brimming with tears. He was frightened, despite having shown no signs of fear just moments ago. Releasing Lan Zhan’s robes, his cold hand curled around Lan Zhan’s neck, bringing him closer. 

Lan Wangji went willingly, eyes falling shut, and let the press of their foreheads together anchor him to what was real, what was true. 

He heard the whip before he felt it, and when he did -

He always knew the discipline whips were painful. They were created for such purposes, charmed by the most clever and fickle of their spells. It did not kill, but it tortured. And now he understood. 

Excruciating. 

The pain was excruciating. 

The second hit followed soon after the first, and when the impact exploded along the column of his back, he felt Wei Ying quiver against him and heard the sob strangled in his throat. 

Lan Zhan did not envy his position, for he understood completely now that although the discipline whip hurt, it would hurt him more to know that it landed not on himself, but on the man he loved. 

The third hit never came. 

“That’s enough!” 

All eyes turned to the source of that outraged bellow, a seldom phenomenon within Cloud Recesses. 

Lan Xichen stood under the courtyard doorway, the wind at his heels, long hair flying about him, seemingly descended from the sky. Behind him, Nie Huaisang peeked out nervously, pointing to the saber on the ground.  

“Uhm - if I could just -” 

“Xichen -” Elder Zonghui started. 

But Lan Xichen did not allow him to finish. “When has it become acceptable at Cloud Recesses to abuse the Sect Master’s heir and husband without the Sect Master’s knowledge or consent?”

He stepped up to Wangji and Wuxian and physically put himself between them and the congregation of clan elders who had all come out to greet him upon his arrival. 

Uncle sighed, for what seemed like the umpteenth time that afternoon. “This is not abuse, this is punishment.” 

“Oh?” Lan Xichen tilted his head, eyebrows rising innocuously. “For their sexual relations, I assume?”  

This was perhaps the first time ever in Gusu Lan history that a Sect Master had rendered the Elders so utterly speechless. 

Lan Xichen turned to the senior disciple still holding the whip in mid swing. “Put that away before you hurt yourself.” 

"We have not told them to stop,” objected one of the Elders in the crowd, as though he was unable to fully process what was happening.

The glare that Lan Xichen cast over his shoulder was cold and pointed. Without raising his voice, he said, "But I have. And the last time I checked, Wei Wuxian is still my husband and I am still the Sect Master of Gusu Lan and the head of this family."

“Xichen-” Uncle interjected then. “You don’t understand -” 

“On the contrary I understand perfectly. Each year, I, as Sect Master, am granted one allowance to veto the council’s decision. I have never in my life used that privilege before, because I have trusted in the wisdom and guidance of my Elders. However today, forgive me Uncle, Elders, for saying that you are all mistaken.” 

Not waiting for a response, Lan Xichen knelt down beside the two young men.

Lan Wangji stared at his brother with wide, anxious eyes and held Wei Ying closer. He could face his uncle, he could face the Elders and all the world, but for his brother Xichen, the subject of his betrayal, he did not know how to begin to atone or what he would do next.  

“Xiong-zhang, I -”

“How is he?” His brother’s brows were furrowed tightly as he scanned Wei Ying up and down. 

Of course, thought Lan Wangji. Of course his focus would be on Wei Ying. Xichen was not like Uncle, not like the Elders; he knew better. He knew Wangji. And because he knew Wangji, he would know that the one to blame in this wretched situation was not Wei Wuxian. 

Lan Wangji hung his head. His whole face felt hot with shame, and he could not bear to look at his brother anymore. 

“Not good.”

Nestled against him, Wei Ying swayed in and out of consciousness. With the adrenaline of Lan Zhan’s punishment fading, the effects of the freezing rain and his earlier punishment were quickly catching up to him.

“How many?” 

“Three hundred and one.” 

Lan Xichen cursed under his breath. 

A stream of pale blue light flooded into Wei Ying’s left temple. Lan Wangji let out a breath of relief. His brother was strong, of cultivation and of heart. He was kind and forgiving, and undeserving of all that Lan Wangji had done to him, but at least...at least he could forgive Wei Ying, if not his little brother. That was mercy enough. 

The infusion of spiritual energy jolted Wei Ying awake. Sucking in a sharp breath, he grabbed onto Lan Xichen’s wrist. 

Lan Wangji watched with twisted pain and guilt as Wei Ying turned those doe eyes on his husband, “Zewu-jun -” 

“Wuxian, conserve your energy. All can be said later.”  

"No, no, Zewu-jun.” Wei Wuxian shook his head, “Don’t save me. If you do... Please...don't send me back to Yunmeng. I can't go back like this. Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang - I can’t. I know what I have done. I know I deserve everything - anything - but please I beg you, I am willing to die, but let me die here at Gusu. Please the disgrace on my family, on Yunmeng -"

Lan Xichen dabbed his clammy forehead with the edge of his sleeve. "Shh, enough of that. You're delirious, A-Xian. You know not what you speak. No one is going to die, and I will not send you back to Yunmeng." He laid the back of his hand against Wei Wuxian’s temple. “Heavens, he’s burning up - Wangji!” 

Lan Wangji did not realize he had faded off to that hazy place again until his brother shook him by the shoulder. A cool hand pressed against his forehead. “Dear gods, you too. What - what happened to your -”

“It’s been locked,” piped up Nie Huaisang, clutching his saber. Amidst the chaos, no one seemed to be questioning his presence and what he was still doing there. “I tried but I couldn’t -” 

“No, you wouldn’t be able to. The spiritual seal of Gusu Lan can only be undone by the natural momentum of the cultivator’s core. It’ll take time. Come help him, Huaisang.” 

Nie Huaisang threw an arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulder as Lan Xichen lifted Wei Wuxian into his arms. 

Together, they rushed towards Hanshi. 

Update:

[part 3]

[zhaozaipalooza]

Your Weekly Insight into SA Culture Horror! - Chandramukhi

A breakdown of a cultural icon, and this 🤏🏾 close to a love letter to @crookedmouth-mountainbones, mod for the event and enthusiast of both Zhayu and horror. (There’s been… almost seventeen Chandramukhi films? WHAT?)

First things first, we’ll knock the mythology out of the way. Last week we looked at the ocean, otherwise a Hinduistic dive into La, your beloved Koizilla. I snuck in a subtle hint that Tui was next… Chandra, meaning “bright, shining, glittering”, is the moon god. Yes, he’s gay for Agni (no, please, from what I’ve read he’s pretty straight 😭).

Two stories of interest when it comes to this ladies’ man. He fell in love, illegitimately, with the star goddess Tara, ending in a declaration of war: gods fighting on Tara’s husband’s side, and asuras fighting on Chandra’s side. Oof. The guy went on to have many other consorts, representing the 27 closest constellations to the moon (aww). He was devoted to Rohini the most, and when the rest of his 26 wives got cranky enough to snap, dude got cursed.

^ Rohini, for one, is the personified star Aldebaran, brightest in the Taurus constellation. Her designation is therefore Alpha Tauri.

Another fun story (further highlighting this dude’s terrible luck): the Hindu tale behind the moon phases! Ganesha, the absolute icon of an elephant god, was returning from a hearty feast, certainly full after gorging on his favorite sweets, modaks (google for mouth-watering image results). When a snake slithered onto his path, the animal he was riding on spooked and turned tail, and Ganesha fell hard on his stomach… and all that sweetness came right back up.

Chandra, witnessing this, busted a gut, causing Ganesha to break off one of his tusks in fury and chuck it at the moon’s face. Then he cursed him (again) to never be whole… the reasons for waxing and waning, and the large crater on the moon, visible even from earth.

Okay, so where the heck were we? Horror? 😂

Well, somewhat relevant! Chandramukhi combined comedy with thriller-horror elements and racked up half a billion rupees in the box office, going on to win about eleven awards from different film-honoring associations. Two actors were awarded the Kalaimanami, the highest honor a Tamil Nadu citizen can receive, and it was the first Tamil film to be dubbed in German as “The Ghost Hunters”... okay, okay, point made.

Chandramukhi, if you’ve already guessed part of the name, means “moon-faced” or “as beautiful as the moon”. The film itself was a HUGE hit. I remember being a kid and going cold at the sight and sound of her: rattling anklets and bugged-out eyes, an unhinged, murderous voice… The movie has everything: haunted mansion, twisted-up love affairs, a mysterious and harrowing origin story for a spirit out for vengeance, things unexpectedly breaking and catching fire, poisoned coffee, a pushed fish tank, strange singing in the night… exorcisms! And split personality disorder! (Though, like James McAvoy’s performance in Split, a poor representation of the actual condition.)

The famous “Raa, Raa” track came out of the film - meaning “Come, Come” - and so did the “Lakka lakka…” sound Chandramukhi makes, goading her prey to her (popular among children! I might recall schoolmates chasing me around with this… I hated it 😂). The line uttered by Prahbu to the protagonist, translated to “What atrocity is this, Saravanan?” is used sometimes to the effect of irony and surprise. We can meme, too! With the best of ‘em!

Now, Chandramukhi’s actual story is a bit sad.

A tear-jerker of an explanation here. A hundred and fifty years ago, the woman as beautiful as the moon was a dancer in the city of Vizianagaram. This city was visited by the king Vettaiyan, who was immediately bewitched by her, and brought her to his palace by force… where she lived the rest of her life under his ownership. She provided royal entertainment, yet refused to reciprocate his advances, already in love with a dancer named Gunasekaran. When the king discovered she was meeting her lover in secret, he had Gunaeskaran beheaded and Chandramukhi burned alive in front of his court. Her spirit became bent on vengeance in the afterlife, and after Vettaiyan’s many priests and sorcerers were finally able to tame her, was locked in a corner of the palace and guarded by a king cobra.

Ganga, the character in the film who transforms into the newly-possessed (-ive?) Chandramukhi, exhibits “split personality disorder”, in that her actions as a crazed murderess are distinct from a loving and oblivious young woman. The iconic “tie bell anklets around her feet to hear if she sleepwalks, confirming Ganga and Chandramukhi are one and the same” scene is branded in my memory. Spooky!

Shine bright! Catch you next time ;p

[conradscrime]

Winnie Ruth Judd: The Trunk Murderess

March 11, 2021

This is one of my all time favourite true crime cases. I first heard about Winnie Ruth Judd, also known as “the Trunk Murderess” a few years ago when my grandmother let me borrow a book she had read about it. The book I read was written by Jana Bommersbach and was truly amazing, she did an incredible job telling the story and did not skip a detail. This is a long case and I will not be covering everything in this short post, however I encourage everyone to do their own research and read the book!

Winnie Ruth McKinnell, also known as Marian Lane later in life, was born on January 29, 1905 in Indiana to parents Rev. H. J. McKinnell who was a Methodist minister and his wife Carrie. 

Winnie met and married Dr. William C. Judd in 1922 at the age of 17. Dr. Judd was 20 years older than Winnie and a World War I veteran and their marriage had various problems. Dr. Judd was a morphine addict who had a hard time keeping down a job thus making the couple move around a lot and face financial struggles. Winnie was unable to have children and this further strained the marriage. 

In 1930 Winnie and her husband were living separately but still communicated quite frequently. Winnie moved to Phoenix Arizona and began working as a governess for a wealthy family. 

It was in Phoenix where Winnie met John J. Halloran, also known as “Happy Jack” by the media. Happy Jack was a very well known businessman and extremely good looking and though he was married him and Winnie began an affair. 

Winnie found a job working as a secretary at a medical clinic and this where she would meet her two best friends, Agnes Anne LeRoi and Hedvig “Sammy” Samuelson who were roommates having moved from Alaska to Phoenix due to Sammy contracting tuberculosis. Tuberculosis was extremely common back in the 1930′s and it was known that areas of warmer climates helped those with TB get better, so Phoenix being an extremely hot and sunny place was ideal. 

Anne and Sammy also knew Happy Jack and it seems as though they were very flirty with him as well. Jack apparently was the ladies “meal ticket” they relied on him heavily financially and emotionally and he had made a connection with all of them.

 The three women hit it off and soon became fast friends, with Winnie even moving in with Anne and Sammy for a brief period in 1931, though she soon moved out in her own apartment as there was some differences among them. I’m assuming these differences were very minor, they just seemed to have differences about running a household because the three remained besties even after Winnie moved out on her own. 

On the night of October 16, 1931 an alleged fight broke out between the three women and Winnie Ruth Judd murdered Anne LeRoi and Sammy Samuelson. Winnie shot both women with a .25 caliber handgun in their bungalow and what she did with the bodies is extremely disturbing. 

Two days later on October 18, 1931 Winnie boarded the train on her way to Los Angeles, California and had two trunks of luggage with her. However, one of the baggage handlers said the luggage smelled really bad as well as he could see some kind of “fluid” escaping from them. He notified the district baggage agent thinking that what was inside the trunks was just deer meat. How wrong he was.

 The trunks were then tagged to be held for inspection and when asked for the key to open the trunks Winnie Ruth Judd claimed she did not have a key for them. The trunks were sent to the police station where the police finally opened them and what was found inside was extremely disturbing. 

The dismembered body of Sammy Samuelson were found inside of the trunks, while Anne LeRoi’s body was found stuffed into a trunk but completely intact; she had not been dismembered. Winnie was not there when the police discovered the contents in the trunks, she had actually gotten her brother to pick her up and drop her off somewhere in L.A. When the contents of the trunks were discovered Winnie Ruth Judd had disappeared though she eventually turned herself in a few days later on October 23, 1931. 

Of course Winnie became the prime suspect right away since she literally was attempting to travel with two trunks full of her best friends dismembered bodies. She was dubbed “The Trunk Murderess” “Tiger Woman” and “The Blonde Butcher” and the media had an absolute field day with it. 

The main motive people suspected was obviously jealously. The prosecution believed that Winnie had murdered her friends because they also had feelings for Happy Jack and that the women were fighting over him when they were killed. 

When police visited the bungalow where the murders took place on October 19, 1931 they made some shocking discoveries. According to police it did not appear as if the women were shot during an enraged fight at all, it appeared as though they were actually shot and killed in their sleep. 

The strange part was that both of the women’s mattresses were not found in the house when police went. One mattress was found miles away in a vacant lot with no blood stains on it and one mattress was never found at all. 

Winnie Ruth Judd’s trial began on January 19, 1932. She was only being tried for the murder of Anne though, not Sammy, therefore the dismemberment aspect was never brought up in court because Anne had not been dismembered. 

They argued that the murders were premeditated and that Winnie had planned this due to the fact that the women’s friendship was deteriorating with jealously over Jack Halloran. Winnie herself had a gunshot wound on her left hand which they believed was self-inflicted; her attempt to take the blame off of herself. 

Winnie Ruth Judd was charged with first-degree murder on February 8 and was sentenced to hang on February 17, 1933. They figured a death sentence would make Winnie confess who her accomplice was because a lot of people found it impossible that a small woman like Winnie Ruth Judd would have been able to kill, dismember, and get the bodies in the trunks all on her own. 

However, Winnie’s death sentence was overturned after they found her mentally incompetent and she was sent to the Arizona State Asylum for the Insane on April 24, 1933. 

Jack Halloran became under suspicious when it was found that he had been having an affair with Winnie. Lots of people believed that he was Winnie’s accomplice in the murders and had helped her dismember them. Winnie testified against Jack in mid January 1933. 

Winnie claimed that on the night of the murders she had gone over to Anne and Sammy’s place to hangout and play bridge with them. At one point she said the three women began fighting because Winnie had told them that another woman Jack had been seen hanging with named Lucille Moore had syphilis and was being treated for it. Supposedly the women began telling Winnie that she needed to let Jack know about the syphilis but Winnie told the women she could not tell Jack about Lucille’s medical history because of her job and the risk of losing it plus according to her Jack and Lucille were just friends. 

Anne and Sammy did not believe this and Anne threatened Winnie telling her she would tell Jack about Lucille’s syphilis. Winnie fighting back told Anne that if she told Jack, Winnie would go around and tell everyone that Anne and Sammy were lesbians which I think was a rumour going around considering the two women lived together and were unmarried at their age, and back in the 1930′s that was insane. 

Winnie said the women started physically attacking her and she killed them in self defence. I just want to say the above information about syphilis and lesbianism is from one source I found and there is probably no way of knowing if this is exactly what started the fight between the three women. 

Jack’s team argued that Winnie was crazy and that this was the story of a crazy person and Jack was freed from the case on January 25, 1933 though his reputation was still ruined and he eventually fell out of business and died in 1939. 

Winnie escaped from the asylum a total of 6 times, with the longest time being from 1963 to 1969 when her identity was finally discovered in California and she was taken back to Arizona. 

Winnie Ruth Judd was paroled on December 22, 1971 and in 1983 she was issued an absolute discharge meaning she was no longer considered a parolee. Winnie Ruth Judd died at the age of 93 on October 23, 1998 in Stockton California. 

Winnie had written a confession in 1933 stating that she had planned to murder Anne due to her fighting for Jack’s affection with Winnie. Winnie claimed she had not intended to kill Sammy, but when Sammy walked in on Winnie and found Anne dead she began to fight with her. In this confession Winnie said that everything had been done by her alone, she had not had an accomplice, not even to help her transport the trunks. 

Some people do not believe that this is a true confession, they think that Winnie just wrote this in an attempt to keep going with an insanity plea. So what do you guys think? Is Winnie guilty of murdering her friends in cold blood, did she really just mean to kill Anne or did she kill both women in self-defense? I’d love to hear what you guys think about this one!

I barley scratched the surface of all of the interesting information about this case, I 100% recommend you all look further into this one because it’s insanely interesting to me and there’s so much more to it. 

I don’t think we will ever truly know what happened on the night of October 16, 1931, but after almost 90 years this case still haunts America. 

[allons-y-to-hogwarts-713]

Captain Swan Aesthetic - Chicago AU

And who in case she doesn't hang Can say she started with a bang? Emma Swan!

This came from a short burst of inspiration and motivation from a conversation on the Captain Swan Movie Marathon Discord. (Basically Chicago was mentioned, and it was a CS channel, and that was enough for my brain to shout AU and then this manip happened, and it spiraled into the aesthetic.)

For anyone unfamiliar with Chicago, Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly are two of the main characters. Velma is a performer who Roxie aspires to be. Velma murders her cheating husband and gets high profile lawyer Billy Flynn to take her case. Meanwhile Roxie has an affair with a guy who says he’d help her become a star but uses her and tries to dump her, and she kills him. She tries to get her husband to take the fall, telling him it was a burglar, but he accidentally-ish confesses when he realizes she was cheating on him. Roxie goes into the same jail as Velma and gets the same lawyer to take her case (and gets reporters’ attention on her case instead of Velma’s), and they sort of keep trying to one-up each other’s case to get the news spotlight back on their own story.

So basically the rise to fame/infamy they get as murderesses becomes a big performance, and the way it’s portrayed in the movie version is kind of Roxie picturing it in her head as flashy musical numbers, thinking she‘s getting what she’d hoped for but just in a very different way, so it kind of cuts back and forth between the dancing and the actual cases during the songs. I’ve only seen the movie, so I’m not sure how differently the stage production does it, but I gather the reality of the cases are sort of literally the musical performances, which emphasizes the spectacle these cases become.

(I hope I described all that accurately enough....)

However, for a CS au, I’d proooobably put Emma in Roxie’s place but skip the husband (or mayyybe she cheated on Walsh with Neal or vice versa so whoever she’s married to could be just as bad as the guy she had an affair with but idk, I wouldn’t really want to make her have an affair and I definitely wouldn’t want to make her cheat on Killian), and then Killian would take Billy Flynn’s place and they’d fall for each other along the way, which could probably be its own scandal but almost anything can turn out fine in fiction lol.

So yeah, some things would probably have to be altered to make a CS AU out of Chicago, and I don’t have the full ideas or attention span to work through it all, but if anyone would want to write one, I’d certainly read it.