#violence and killing and maiming and gnashing of the teeth

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

I hate printers I hate printing I hate network errors I hate Ethernet cables I hate low ink I hate printers I am going to ~smash~ all printers into smitherines

[epistrefei]

Gods, the woman is so pliable, so willing a victim. She leaves herself wide open, perfectly vulnerable to every relentless attack that Artemis could ever wish to rain upon her. These could not be senselessly chosen, however. Zahrosa deserved only the most exquisite violence, like the difference between the edge of a blade and the bluntness of a bullet. Every movement laced with a precision only reserved for the holiest of her victims; the most venerated, the ones who nearly brought Artemis to her knees.

Zahrosa did bring her to her knees. Even now, while she surrendered to the mightiness of the Goddess' divinity, while she sacrificed herself in the name of safeguarding the fraught nature of the brunette's mindset, she capitulated to the love that presented itself in the sentiment.

Anger was a wild thing, though, and trumped almost all. It co-existed, so powerful it was, even with love, even with the potence of devotion. So Artemis acquiesced: to the fiery hand that clawed up her throat, to the gnarling, gnashing teeth that screamed themselves hoarse within her to kill, to maim, to destroy, destroy, destroy.

"My power is all-consuming, all-seeing, omnipotent." The Goddess booms, the hardness in her eyes morphing to a flat, glowing silver. She hoists the witch with one hand, dangling her in the air a moment only by the fabric of her clothes, staring up in a chilling mask of indifference. "You serve me. You obey me. You defer to me." Artemis throws her to the ground like a rag doll, standing over the witch. At this angle, she seems twice as tall, like she could reach up and pluck the sun from the sky.

She climbs over the witch and kneels over her, hand coming up to grasp her throat. It squeezes, squeezes, squeezes--pushing down relentlessly, pushing Zahrosa down into the ground like she were being buried alive. The Goddess, with her blank silver gaze, watches the witch's eyes intently, obsessively, until the glimmer of consciousness begins to fade. "I will rewrite your DNA with my bare hands. I will twist you so carefully, so lovingly, that no one will recognize you except for me."

The glimmer nearly gets swallowed by her pupils. It fades, fades, fades--and then Artemis releases her throat, dark, ominous, hand-print bruises there on the skin, pulsing and throbbing from the blood cut off and Rosie's gasps.

Unwise, yes. And yet Zahrosa approaches this with the confidence of someone who knows their body, their abilities, the impossibility of their death. Last time, Rosie had not healed herself; she had claimed exhaustion and blood loss as a reason not to do it immediately, when she surely could have. All it took was will. Even the most dire of injuries, Rosie could burn through a few souls and heal in a moment. Even scattered, she could pull the pieces of herself back together if she put enough into it. More important is another confidence, however: she trusts that Artemis will reform her once she is done. She thinks of it not as trust but as conviction, but it is, it must be. She trusts Artemis with her body enough to let her destroy it.

And, Gods, the woman is capable of it. Zahrosa feels already the pull of ligaments as Artemis twists her arm, and as if to prove her willingness, she goes soft and pliant and allows Artemis to press her into the rock with little more than a sigh. Blood trickles down her leg and she turns her head, cheek pressed into the hard surface as she seeks a glimpse of Artemis sidelong. All her threats sound like promises, like poetry, like devotion.

"Whatever pleases you, my Lady." Rosie speaks but softly, though in her eyes remains boundless, ravenous hunger. "Use me. Take me. Show me regret."

The last is deliberate, needling, offering the Goddess a challenge that she surely must take. Rosie must push, always. She much prefers the downfall that she brings herself than the one that is bestowed upon her, and this, she chooses. She chooses Artemis' hands to pull her to pieces. She chooses Artemis to set her ablaze. It's very simple, in some ways. And endlessly complex in others.

"Bloody me," she asks, "Play with me, ruin me. Make me yours so wholly that no one else will wish to touch me again." She shudders at the idea, at the bite of jagged stone, at Artemis' strength and warmth pressed against her. "Prove to me your power."

[longleggedsocialist]

I THOYGHT IT WAS SATURDAY NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!

[transmechanicus]

Violence and Killing and Maiming and Murder and Spilling of Blood and Ending Of Lives and Gnashing Of Teeth In The Dark Of The Night- oobh my pizza’s done🥰🥰🥰

[painprns]

Horror & Edgy Neopronouns

CW: Illegal activity. TW: Violent actions, murder, stalking, body parts, weapons, and religious themes. A lot of the content in here triggered me so be careful if you want to look at this list. (And before you ask, yes, I am fine. You learn to cope.)

Of course, I don't approve of anything in this list, and this list isn't meant to glamorize those who have mental issues or violent tendencies. I have issues with violence and mental issues. Sometimes, it just helps. If there are any words you think should be added (or removed) feel free to send in an ask.

Note: Try putting a suffix on some words, like -ful or -less. Gives you plenty more options. Also, every new beginning letter will be bolded and with a new color for reading ease.

Pronouns (including emojis, not including extras like parentheses or alternatives): 443

🖤 🕷 🦇 🗡 ⚔ 💣 🔪 🕸 ⛓ 🥀 💀 ☠ ⚰ 🚬 🪦 🔥 😈 👿 💉 ⚠ 👻 🦴 🧠 🫀 🫁 🦷 👁 👀 🪝 🔨 🪓 ⛏ 🩸 💊

abandon

abyss

accelerate

again

alive

alley(way)

anarchy

anger

apart

apocalypse

arm

arson

ash(phalt)

attic

away

awful

awry

axe

back(alley/rooms)

bait

bat

beast

beat(down)

beg

belittle

behead

bet

bite

blade

blaze

blood

body

boil

bomb

bone

boo(m)

brain

break(down)

breath(e)

brick

brittle

bug

bullet

burn

bury

buzz

cannibal(ize)

cap(ture)

car(cass)

carnivore

cat(ch)

caught

cause

chain(saw)

chaos

chase

cig(arette)

claw

clown

coffin

corvid

concern

concrete

consume

control

copy(cat)

core

corpse

corridor

cover

coward

cower

crawl

creature

creep

cremate

crimson

critter

cross

crow

crime

criminal

crumble

crunch

crush

cry

crypt(id)

curse

cut

dagger

danger

dark(ness)

daunt

dawn

daze

deflate

disease

disgust

dissect

dizzy

dead

death

decay

demon

destroy

devil

dice

die

dirt

disappear

disease

disgust

doll

done

drac(ula)

drain

dread

drown

dull

eat

ecto(plasm)

edge

edgy

eerie

elbow

empty

evil

eye

facade

face

fail(ure)

fall

fang

far

fatal

fear

fight

final

finger

fire

flame

flesh

follow

freak

fright(en)

fury

gain

gargoyle

gas(h)

gauze

gaze

ghost

ghoul

gimp

glee

gnash

god

gore

gouge

grab

grain

grasp

grate

grave(yard/stone)

grease

grim(ace)

grime

grind(er)

grip

grit

gross

grotesque

grunge

guard

grue(some)

gun

gut(teral)

hail

hammer

hand

harbor

hard

harm

hatch(et)

hate

hatred

haunt

havoc

head(stone)

heart

heat

hell

hidden

hide

high(way)

hilt

hit

hook

hollow

horror

hound

hunt

hurl

hurt

ice(pick)

ill(ness)

immolate

immortal

imp(ale)

incinerate

inflammatory

inhale

inhalation

instant

intense

irritate

jab

jail

jam

jank

jostle

joke

joy

junk

kill

kilter

knee

knife

lank

last

lather

laugh(ter)

leak

leg

lich

lim(inal)

linger

link

little

lung

lurk

macabre

maim

malicious

manslaughter

marrow

mask

mass(acre)

maze

meat

melt

mime

mince

misery

monster

morbid

moss

murder

mystery

nail

nausea/nauseous

night(mare)

noise

nowhere

necro

off

one

omen

open

over(power)

pail

pain

pale

panic

phantom

phobia

piece

pill

plead

poison

poltergeist

power

prey

puddle

purge

pyre

question

quiet

quiver

rabies

rage

rail

raid

rain

rake

rat

raw

restrain

retch

rip

road(kill)

rock

rot

run(away)

rust

saw(dust)

scare

scary

scent

scratch

scream

search

seize

sewer

shadow

shake

shiver

shock

shoot

shove(l)

shred

shriek

sick(ness)

silent

sink

sin(ister)

skin

skull

slash(er)

slay

sledge(hammer)

small

smash

smell

smoke

sob

somber

some(body)

someone

slip

spider

spirit

spike

spook

stab

stain

stalk

start(le)

steal

step

storm

strain

strange

stun

suffer

sunk

survive

sword

syringe

teeth

tense

terror

thorn

threat

tinge

tomb(stone)

torn

torture

tooth

trail(cam)

train

trigger

trip

turn

tyranny

undead

unknown

vamp(ire)

venom

vicious

villain

violent

void

wary

weak

weapon

weep

weird

wick(ed)

wicker

whir

whiz

whisper

will

wilt

wither

wound

worry

wraith

wrath

wreck

wring

wrong

wrought

yank

yell

yelp

zero

zombie

[foreverlilaclies]

No Time For Regret

A JayDick Oneshot

Rated T for Threats of violence and rape and character death.

In all honesty, maybe sending the Red Hood out on the streets while the Joker was at large was probably not Bruce's brightest idea. Yet, his resources were spread thin and there was little h could do with so few people available. Robin was out of commission for the next week with an ankle injury and Red Robin was out on a mission with the Titans. Nightwing and Batgirl were still facing off with Poison Ivy and with Batman on League business, the team was pulled thin and Batman did what he had to do. He had called Jason, the familiar weight settling on his chest as he told him the situation. Jason could do this.

 There was nothing to worry about. He was not a boy anymore...he would be fine. Still, even though Jason had managed to reign in his rage, it still came to life when the Joker was involved. The fact that he managed to subdue and not maim the psycho should have been enough to calm Jason's nerves, but even with the Joker down, he was still on edge, ready for an attack and itching to end it.

"I'll be there soon Red Hood," Nightwing spoke through the comm. "Ivy is detained, just hold on for a bit."

"Hurry it up." Jason replied, jaw tense, watching the Joker carefully. The man was bound, having finally been overpowered by Red Hood. He was still grinning and it grated on Jason's already frayed nerves. He kept his posture casual, ignoring whatever Nightwing was saying in order to calm his own nerves. Great time for Batman to be with the fucking League. The Joker was trying to call out for him, get a rise or something but Jason had managed to tune him out. He wasn't giving this asshole the pleasure of getting inside his head.

"Gordon's on his way." Nightwing stated in his ear. "I'll be there soon." He repeated. His voice was soothing and Jason couldn't help but latch onto it. Dickie wouldn't let anything happen. Dick was going to be there. Even after all these years and the fact that Jason had grown larger than him, he still could not help but cling to the fact that Dick would always be there for him.

"That Nightwing?" The Joker questioned, cheek pressed against the cement and smile ghastly. Jason did not answer him, arms crossed over his chest. The Joker merely chuckled at this. "Good old Nightwing, such a sweet boy. Shame we never talk anymore." Jason did not answer and he could feel the man's eyes focused on him. "Us however," The Joker's voice was slippery like oil. "We got to know each other very well. Funny how that works, eh? One blow with a crowbar and I know all there is to know about you, boy."

"You don't know anything about me." Jason could not help but ground out, fingers twitching violently. The Joker barked out a laugh, head tilting back so the tendons in his neck protruded.

"So vicious! Like a wild dog!" He stated and Jason breathed once. "You seem tense, boy. You still sore about that night? Gotta say, you make a pretty impressive piñata!" He turned onto his back so he could look up at the ceiling, staring at the flicking bulb overhead that cast him in a glow. Jason breathed again.

"Must have been disappointing to see you failed." Jason replied, silently cursing himself for once again rising to the bait. The Joker hummed in a bored tone, bloodshot eyes quickly moving to look at Red Hood's masked face.

"I already ruined you, boy," The Joker jeered, yellow teeth gnashing together in pleasure as he stared at Red Hood. "I already tore you from your pedestal and watched you burn. There's nothing more I could do to you." Red Hood didn't even bother to try to form an argument on that one. Still, his fingers itched to pull the trigger and see this psycho's brains splatter over the concrete wall. He shrugged his shoulders with a forced casual air. Bruce had better be happy that Jason hadn't decided to scalp the asshole. Joker seemed annoyed by his lack of reaction, eyes searching Jason's masked face as if looking for a crack. Jason was not about to give him one. He released a bored chuckle, cocking his head as he glanced the Joker over.

"You're losing your touch, asshole. I suppose age and predicability does that though." He shrugged, turning on his heel, pleased that he had the last word. For a moment it was silent behind him.

"Losing my touch am I?" The Joker muttered at his back, pride wounded. "I think I'm only just starting." Jason kept walking, refusing to get the the fucker's level. He was above this now. Even if at times he didn't want to be. The Joker laughed suddenly. "You think you've moved on, Red? I still have you in the palm of my hand."

"Yeah yeah." Jason waved a dismissive hand, still moving. He approached the warehouse door and reached for the rusted handle. Gordon was on his way and Jason was ready to go home and take a long hot shower and forget this entire day happened. "Hope the cell they put you in is nice and padded." His voice was mocking, grinning under his mask. He heard Joker chuckle again, darker this time.

"You might think you're invincible, brat, but what about dear Nightwing?" The Joker called out, voice bouncing off the walls and Jason stopped walking. For a moment he couldn't breathe. His vision suddenly felt as if it had been stolen and he could hear blood roaring in his ears. He breathed.

"What about him?" Jason asked, tone giving away nothing, refusing to face the man lest he see something on his face that gave him away. The Joker released a low laugh, rumbling deep in his chest.

"Oh come now Red, no need to play dumb with me. You don't think I haven't heard about you two crazy kids? Word on the street is that you're quite sweet on him, and I must say I can see why. He's certainly grown up fine. Perhaps Uncle Jay can pay a visit to him," Jason slowly turned, watching as the Joker's grin widened on glee. "Can you imagine it, kid? We'd have a ball! I could take him dancing or test to see how far that famous flexibility of his really goes." The smile winded if at all possible, his thin eyebrows waggling lewdly and bile rose in Jason's throat at the thinly veiled threat. He released the door handle, barely noticing how he had crushed it beneath his grip, turning to face the man behind him.

"You won't touch him." His voice was barely a whisper. The Joker hummed, leaning back with his shackled hand lifted. He waggled his fingers playfully.

"Ohhhh, getting defensive I see! Come now, boy there's no need to be so greedy. Plenty of Nightwing to pass around. I can only imagine what he looks like splayed out and broken. How long would it take for him to break? What sort of noises would he make?" Jason knew he shouldn't be showing his emotion like this. He knew he was only playing into the Joker's hands, but he didn't care. All he could picture now was Dick. The Joker was studying him with than damned grin and he cocked his head at the former Robin. "I'll get out. I always get out, and when I do...well, let's just say your precious little boy isn't going to be so pretty anymore. You'll get him back of course, I'll have no need of him after my fun."

Jason stared at the Joker for a long moment. He saw his death. He saw the crowbar coming down on him and whistling through the air. He could still taste the blood in his mouth and feel the inferno as death greeted him with curling black lips. He could remember the coffin. The tepid air and the darkness. Batman's- voice growled in his ear about justice and life. The joker swung the crowbar. Nightwing offered him a hand as he danced across the rooftop, his smile filled with mirth. The Joker set the bomb. The Replacement and Replacement's Replacement watched him in interest as he took down the drug dealer with just a fork, impressed but neither willing to admit it. The joker laughed. Dick smiled at him as he led him further into the bedroom, blue eyes bright. The Joker smiled at him, red lips curling back over yellowed teeth into something sinister, something disgusting, something that would never touch Dick Grayson. Not with Jason there.

A single shot rang out through the air and the silence following echoed off the dank walls.

It took less than an hour for Dick to find him. By then, the Joker's corpse had been found and no doubt Batman had been notified. Jason would not run. Where could he run to? Instead he sat on his ratty couch, methodically cleaning his guns as he waited for the door to burst open. When it finally did open, it was not with a bang. The door did not bounce off the wall, there was no snarling voice filling the hideout. Instead it was Dick Grayson, not Nightwing. He slid the door open. His hair was mused and he look exhausted. Jason waved him in and the older man did, quietly closing the door behind him.

"You actually killed him." Dick murmured, still facing the door. Jason set his gun down, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans.

"Yup." He replied. There was nothing more than needed to be said. He didn't have any explanation to offer. He knew why he did it Bruce could suck it.

"Jason-" Dick turned to face the younger man but Jason shook his head, unwilling to listen to him. He was not going to deal with this. Not even from Dick and especially not from Bruce.

"He threatened you, Dick. He threatened to...he was going to hurt you. I couldn't let him hurt you. I'm not sorry I killed him. I'm not sorry that animalwas finally put down." His voice felt like it was coming out in a jumbled rush but he couldn't bring himself to care. He would not apologize for this. Dick shook his head, lips pulling into a thin line.

"Threats-" Dick began and Jason reached forward to grasp his hands in his own.

"He was going to do it. I could see it in his eyes. He knew about us, and he wanted to hurt you for it..." His voice trailed off for a second and Dick patiently waited for him to continue. "So fuck Bruce, fuck anyone who says I was wrong to finally do something about it! He was going to hurt you, Dickie. I couldn't-I couldn't let him hurt you." He looked down at their hands, throat dry as he waited for Dick to condemn him like Batman would. Dick gave Jason's fingers a gentle squeeze.

"Sweetheart." Dick breathed and suddenly Jason was pulled against the older man in a hug. He quickly clung to the older man, burying his face in his shoulder, inhaling the sweet laundry detergent that Dick used as well as the musk that was all his own. "I'm not mad." Jason heard Dick whisper into his ear. "I'm so sorry you had to be with him." Jason did not move, eyes clenched shut as he held onto his lover. His fingers dug into Dick's side, but the older man did not move away, holding onto him like a lifeline. Jason couldn't think of anything to say. So, he continued to hold onto Dick. Bruce didn't matter, Batman didn't matter. Nothing mattered but holding Dick close and assuring himself that the monster would not return on his promise.

"I love you," He murmured against Dick's throat, breath warm against his skin. "I love you..." Was he repeating himself? Was he even making sense? Dick held him tighter, repeating him softly. His hands gentle in Jason's hair and his voice soothing.

[frederickwiddowson]

The writings of Luke the physician starting with his version of the gospel - Luke 14:15-24 comments: go out into the highways and hedges

Luke 14:15 ¶  And when one of them that sat at meat with him heard these things, he said unto him, Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the kingdom of God. 16  Then said he unto him, A certain man made a great supper, and bade many: 17  And sent his servant at supper time to say to them that were bidden, Come; for all things are now ready. 18  And they all with one consent began to make excuse. The first said unto him, I have bought a piece of ground, and I must needs go and see it: I pray thee have me excused. 19  And another said, I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I go to prove them: I pray thee have me excused. 20  And another said, I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come. 21  So that servant came, and shewed his lord these things. Then the master of the house being angry said to his servant, Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in hither the poor, and the maimed, and the halt, and the blind. 22  And the servant said, Lord, it is done as thou hast commanded, and yet there is room. 23  And the lord said unto the servant, Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled. 24  For I say unto you, That none of those men which were bidden shall taste of my supper.

 Here, Christ again admonishes the people whom God created out of the Gentiles in Ur of the Chaldees of old. They’ve made many excuses and those who have will have their invitation to have a meal at the Marriage Supper of the Lamb rescinded.

 Revelation 19:9  And he saith unto me, Write, Blessed are they which are called unto the marriage supper of the Lamb. And he saith unto me, These are the true sayings of God.

 Matthew gives a more complete rendition of this lesson when Jesus is teaching in the temple indicting the nation of Israel for their historical disobedience and violence against God’s prophets. Matthew introduces a figure who some say is the Antichrist, the Beast of Revelation himself, although this may simply be a representation of the tares, the phonies, in the church. The Gentiles again will play a part in spreading the gospel of the kingdom as the nation of Israel refuses to stop making excuses and follow their Messiah.

 Matthew 22:1 ¶  And Jesus answered and spake unto them again by parables, and said, 2  The kingdom of heaven is like unto a certain king, which made a marriage for his son, 3 And sent forth his servants to call them that were bidden to the wedding: and they would not come. 4 Again, he sent forth other servants, saying, Tell them which are bidden, Behold, I have prepared my dinner: my oxen and my fatlings are killed, and all things are ready: come unto the marriage. 5  But they made light of it, and went their ways, one to his farm, another to his merchandise: 6  And the remnant took his servants, and entreated them spitefully, and slew them. 7  But when the king heard thereof, he was wroth: and he sent forth his armies, and destroyed those murderers, and burned up their city. 8  Then saith he to his servants, The wedding is ready, but they which were bidden were not worthy. 9  Go ye therefore into the highways, and as many as ye shall find, bid to the marriage. 10 So those servants went out into the highways, and gathered together all as many as they found, both bad and good: and the wedding was furnished with guests. 11  And when the king came in to see the guests, he saw there a man which had not on a wedding garment: 12  And he saith unto him, Friend, how camest thou in hither not having a wedding garment? And he was speechless. 13  Then said the king to the servants, Bind him hand and foot, and take him away, and cast him into outer darkness; there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth. 14  For many are called, but few are chosen.

[storyunrelated]

Stay The Course

This would be the 'guy called Lord Fleshgrinder jacking it' story I mentioned the other day.

It's...a silly story.

All of my stories are silly, really. It's kind of my thing.

That and, you know, bodily fluids. And cannibalism. And sadness.

[It's all fun and games until it affects you]

Lord Fleshgrinder cackled as he fed another screaming innocent into the gnashing teeth of his machine, shredding them to a bloody paste. There wasn’t anything about the process he didn’t like. From start to finish it was his favourite thing to do, and the horror of those watching only added to it. He’d never been happier.

There was some grumbling about this. Those who had cast their votes for the other candidate - Lord Generic - were understandably grumpy that they had lost. This was to be expected, but the narrow margin of Lord Fleshgrinder’s victory really just rubbed salt in the wound. That Lord Fleshgrinder also took time out of his day to sometimes go out and personally rub actual salt into actual wounds drove this home.

So they waited patiently - if unhappily - in the queue to be ground into a bloody paste for his enjoyment. He didn’t need to do it. He just wanted to. And so he was.

Not everyone was miserable though.

“I don’t know what you people are so unhappy about! Democracy is a hard-won prize!” Jemima said. Of all the people waiting in the queue she looked like she was one of the happiest. This was mostly due to her thinking that before she got to the grinding part she would be taken off in a different direction and treated specially on account of who she was. She was wrong, but she did not know this.

“Oh God noooo! Nooooo!” Someone further up screamed as they were reduced to slurry and sprayed against a wall. Lord Fleshgrinder hooted with laughter and deliberately slowed the machine down to really draw it out.

“I know a lot of you voted the other way but now is the time for togetherness, not bitterness! We wouldn’t be complaining if our candidate had lost!” Jemima yelled over the sound of screaming and flesh pulverisation. Those concerned people around her did not look convinced, and one - Bill - was moved enough to speak up:

“You’ve spent the last eight years complaining that your candidate at had lost, while also claiming our candidate was destroying the country,” said Bill, doing their best to remain civil. Jemima blinked, wiping some blood from her forehead where it shouldn’t have been. That machine really sprayed it around.

“Yes. And?” She asked. She was sincerely and legitimately unaware of what point the concerned person had been trying to make. Bill saw this and felt perhaps a different approach was needed.

“He’s grinding people to a bloody paste!”

“It’s perfectly legitimate!” She declared.

“At no point in his campaign did he say he would do this! He has no mandate to do this!” Bill said. He wasn’t wrong.

During a debate, when questioned on whether he would actually put his flesh-grinding machine into use (he brought it with him to debates and also slept with it in the same room) on the citizenry should he win the election, Lord Fleshgrinder had answered with an emphatic ‘no’. Turns out he’d been lying. Who knew?

Jemima was unmoved.

“I don’t have time to wrap my head around whichever technicality of procedure you’re trying to appeal to. I just know he has the best interests of the nation at heart,” She said, dismissing these issues with a wave of her hand. She barely felt a thing. Her resolve and her belief in the correctness of her position was such that she was unassailable. You could drop a mountain of evidence on her and she would not yield such was the strength of her convictions. Reality couldn’t hope to budge her by so much as an inch. Her own reality was far too powerful.

The queue shifted up as Lord Fleshgrinder finally finished with the person he’d been working on. He beckoned for the next.

“This is just like that time you said that it was ‘childish’ to complain whenever the Ultra Court ruled in favour of something I disliked and to celebrate them when they agreed with me. I’m just saying - they’re not to be trusted when they do things I don’t like! Activists judges!” Jemima said. Then she paused, considering, tapping a finger against her chin. “Unless they’re doing something I agree with. In which case, proper judges and honest defenders of the rights of the people!”

“But that is childish!” Bill said, despairingly.

“Oh posh. As if,” Jemima said, sticking her tongue out at him. “Your problem is you just hate it when you don’t get your own way! You people all need to accept what’s happened and to move on!

It was then that single bone shard flew from the grinding machine. Many such shards had done this before of course, but Jemima had not been in the path of any of those ones and so hadn’t been concerned. This one, however, went right for her. She was still busily preaching the benefits of sitting down and shutting up as the shard whizzed past her cheek, nicking her skin.

The instant she felt the sting her eyes widened and her words died in her throat.

“What...what was that?” She breathed, a shaking hand reaching up to her cheek. It came away with blood on it but for the first time it wasn’t the blood of someone she didn’t know and didn’t care about. It was important blood. Her blood.

“Me? This has affected...me?” She said, more to herself than anyone else, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her mind reeled and her worldview crumbled. How could she have been so blind? Of course Lord Fleshgrinder was unsuitable for office! It was so obvious now! It had been obvious before too, of course, but how then could she have made such a glaring mistake?

Because she’d been misled. That had to be it. How else could she had supported such a willfully careless ingrate? There was no other possible explanation!

Wheeling around and raising an accusing finger Jemima stepped out from the queue.

“You lied to us!” She screeched.

Lord Fleshgrinder, noticing this, gave Jemima the ‘finger guns’ and then returned to plucking off the fingers of his present victim, who was hanging on for dear life in the mouth of the grinding machine. Not for nothing had Lord Fleshgrinder made ‘This Little Piggy’ his campaign song. The victim got down to three fingers before losing their grip.

Jemima didn’t care about the scream or spray of blood that followed. She just cared that Lord Fleshgrinder had been so rude as to look at her and dismiss her all with one flippant gesture. Her veins popped with righteous fury and she turned some of this fury back on her fellow members of the queue.

“What are you people doing? Why did you let this happen? Up! Up you wastrels! We must eject this rapscallion! This bounder! It’s all your fault, you know! Up! Up!”

None of them responded, of course. They were too stunned by this sudden about-face. It was so abrupt it had given most of those present whiplash. With at least one notable exception who came bursting forth to challenge her.

“Get back in the queue! How dare you insult Lord Fleshgrinder by doing something he doesn’t want you doing!” The notable exception said, wagging a finger in Jemima’s face. Jemima was impervious to this trick. She’d practically invented it.

“Damn and blast to Lord Fleshgrinder! Look what he did!” Jemima shouted, pointing to the tiny nick on the her forehead, now scabbed over.

“Who cares about you? He hasn’t affected me yet so you should shut up and accept it!” The notable exception said, puffing up their chest. Jemima was aghast at this basic and obvious lack of humanity being shown to her.

“Where is your empathy, man? Think about me! Think about how I’ve suffered!” She roared, grabbing a member of the queue and wielding them likea baton. The notable exception did likewise.

“I don’t want to!” They declared.

The two then fought. The members of the queue being swung around like weapons objected to this treatment, as did their immediate families. What started as sporadic disorder quickly became widespread disorder, then a brouhaha. Then finally just a riot.

Lord Fleshgrinder - his exalted position and ability to do whatever he wanted utterly unaffected by anything that was going on - watched the violence with the biggest shit-eating grin spread across his face.

“This is the best day of my life,” he said, unzipping his flies and extracting his disappointingly tiny penis. The things he proceeded to do to it were not normal, but worked for him. After a fashion.

He really hoped he saw someone get maimed. Not killed. Maimed. Specifically maimed. Something permanent. Something that would leave them crippled for life. He hoped the pain would show on their face. He hoped he would be able to see the moment they realised what had happened.

He doubted he could finish properly otherwise.

END