“Well if THE KING had six wives while I was asleep why can’t I have six husbands?” Scott says to Cleo as Scott’s six aforementioned husbands Avid, Pyro, Abolish, Owen, Sausage, and Legundo sit behind him getting very mad over a game of monopoly
Cleo: Because half of them hate you and they all hate eachother
Scott: That’s part of the appeal
Shelby in the corner with 18th century Ao3 pulled up: It’s true
Vampires smp fic
Canon divergence after Ep7
Summary: Scott gets his revenge on the people that led to Avid’s demise.
About 20 more chapters in the works because I want to fully flesh it out.
Chapter 1: The Wheel of Fortune
It had been three days since Scott lost everything. Even before he knew that that was what Avid meant to him. The man with lilac eyes that he could stare into for hours. He’d never see again. Scott had lost people before, but none like him. Avid was different and Scott wished it didn’t have to take him building a grave to realize it.
“Y’know” Pyro begins as he peruses through the books in the castle library, “It’s been so much quieter since we got rid of Avid.”
“What do you mean by we?” Scott asks, a grimace slowly forming behind his book.
“I know it technically was only me and Owen who” he pantomimes how he plunged the stake into Avid's chest. Scott can’t help but feel queasy at his movements. “But we all wanted him gone.”
Before Pyro can continue on his self righteous rant Scott lets out a desperate and cackled laugh. He drops his book and curls into himself in his armchair. Pyro frantically moves towards Scott. “Is everything alright Sire?” The moment that dreaded word escapes his lips Scott’s claws shoot out from underneath him and tighten around Pryo’s neck. He lifts the slightly taller man into the air like he weighs nothing. Pyro gasps for air, as if he needed any.
“I’ll ask this but one more time you insolent fool.” Scott’s large voice echoes around the room as he shouts at Pyro. “What do you mean by we? Because last I checked Drift didn’t want him dead, Shelby didn’t want him dead, and most of all I didn’t want him dead.” With each name added to the list Scott grip tightens until he ends his sentence and throws Pyro across the room into a book shelf.
Pyro coughs and rubs at his throat whilst trying to hoist himself back up, but Scott grabs him by his hair and rams his head into the shelving. “You and everyone else in this fucking castle have forgotten your place.” He continues to bash Pyros head in. “None of you get to decide who lives and who dies, only I, Scott Goldsmith of Oakhurst, have the right to decide who draws their last breath. Since you turned Shelby you have been nothing but an idiotic ingrate who thinks compliments will keep you from the pyre.” Blood from the side of Pyro’s head and his mouth form a small pool on the floor.
“Please, Sire, I’m sorry I-” Scott cuts him off by picking him up by his hair and digging his knee into his stomach. Pyro vomits up a fountain of blood as the previous puddle of it starts to stain the wood flooring.
“Don’t call me Sire!” Scott shrieks in Pyro's ear. He puts his right hand back around Pyro’s neck and his other slowly digging into the wood of the shelf behind him. “I may be a Sire but you are no fledgling of mine and I can’t wait to see the townsfolk throw your dead body into the flames of the forest.” As he screams he tightens his grip on the bookshelf causing it to break off a large piece of wood. Without thinking Scott raises it above his head and trusts it down into Pyro's chest. A mangled shriek escapes Pyro’s mouth as he loses balance and his body slowly goes limp.
}————————————————————————{
Scott steps back, allowing Pyro to fall to his feet. Blood slowly makes its way to Scott’s shoes. He looks down at what he’s done, and yet, he feels no remorse. No hurt, nor anger, just retribution. A faint smile finds its way to Scott’s lips, but it only lasts a moment. Scott kneels down and grabs the back of Pyro’s collar. He stands back up and drags the body slowly behind him as he forms a trail of blood soaked wood behind him. He keeps walking, and walking, and walking. Out of the castle, over the bridge, through the forest, and finally to town. He sees it barren and empty, but he’s been alive for far too long to know that that’s not the case. He makes his way through Oakhurst, fertilizing the soil with Pyro’s blood. Scott doesn’t even wince at the extreme pain he receives upon standing next to a chunk of silver, no pain can compare to the pain he was already in. He begins to hear hushed voices huddled in the tower at the center of town that contains their first holy beacon.
“We have them on the defensive now.” Scott overhears Martyn proclaiming from inside the tower.
“A few more calculated moves and we can take out those heathens for good.” Abolish chimes in while, likely, shining the tips of arrows for his crossbow.
“I’m aware of Apo’s allegiance, but what if hers isn’t enough?” Legundo points out. “If we could get one more to even just slightly question whether they’re on the right side or not could do great things for us.”
“And who’s gonna go against Scott for us hmm?” Pearl incredulously asks. “Pyro and Shelby would never, Avid is in love with him and wherever he goes Drift follows, Sausage is insane, Cleo asked to turn me so I know she wants me on their side more than she wants to be on ours, and I know your insinuation was Owen but even he isn’t enough of a lunatic to go up against Scott.”
Almost as if he was summoned by the mention of his name, Scott opens the door to the tower. Everyone in the room takes out their stakes, silver swords, crossbows, garlic, and books and fully puts their attention on Scott.
“What are you here for?” Abolish shouts out, his voice lined with vitriol.
“You don’t need to convince anyone to go against me.” Scott says plainly.
“And why is that?” Martyn spits out. Without a single muscle on his face moving he throws Pyro’s limp body onto the meeting table, the stake still firmly in his chest. “Because I already have.”
Every human steps back in surprise and shock. Hands are held over mouths and bodies are held closer to themselves. Legundo is the first to step forward. He slowly moves his hand to hold onto Pyro’s wrist. He feels for a pulse, although vampires are technically dead they still had a faint pulse that a trained mind could make out. And yet, there was nothing.
“He’s, he’s actually dead.” Legundo states with a shocked expression towards the townsfolk. He turns towards Scott. “Who did this?”
Scott looks down at his hands that were now dried with blood “I did.”
“No no no, you are insane if you think you can get away with that lie.” Pearl hisses as she moves towards Scott, silver sword at the ready. She goes to slice him down but stops mid swing when she realizes he’s not moving.
“Come on.” Scott states. He moves closer to Pearl. Scott reaches out towards the sword and grips it whilst bringing it to his neck. The flesh of his fingers sizzle as the silver embeds itself into it. “Kill me, please.” Unlike other times that Scott has offered his own life, there is no sense of mockery or sarcasm in his voice. Only sadness and regret. Pearl pulls his sword away from his neck and reattaches it to her hip.
“Why did you do this?” Pearl asks, a worried but still prepared look finds its way to her voice and face.
“He killed him, he took everything away from me.” Scott’s words slowly slur together as tears form in his eyes, he didn’t even know he could cry after being turned. They stream down his face like angry waterfalls. “He killed him.” Scott starts to fall forward, Pearl moves out of the way as Ren takes her spot and catches him.
“Hey hey, ladie it’s alright.” Ren reassures. The sweetness in Ren’s voice doesn’t translate over to his partner when Martyn asks the burning question, “Who did he kill?”
Scott stays silent for a moment before speaking. “Avid… he killed him in cold blood.” Scott slowly rises. “He and Owen made him dig his own grave and shoved a stake through his heart as he called out for my help.” Scott hurls himself at the table and lands a right hook straight on Pyro’s gaw, immediately knocking it out of place. Ren is the only person that even tries to pry him off of the corpse but it’s no use. Scott keeps swinging his first down onto Pyro’s face, slowly disfiguring it. The humans watch on in horror. It’s only until his face is almost unrecognizable that Martyn and Pearl move in to help Ren.
“Alright settle down, blood sucker.” Martyn snaps in Scott’s face as he’s pulled away from the table. “So what does this mean? Are you on our side or what?”
“I’m on no one’s side anymore.” Scott proclaimed. “I’m on the side of revenge. I will run the rivers red with the blood of every vampire within the borders of these damned beacons. I don’t ask for help. All I ask is that you stay out of my way.” Scott hoists himself up and moves to exit.
“We’ll help you.” Everyone turns to look at the voice's origins. Abolish. He walks up to Scott who still has his back turned. “We’ll help you kill every last one of them and then I will personally drive a stake through your heart.”
The room falls silent, save for the low hum of the beacon. As Scott opens the door and takes a step out into the painful rays of the sun.
“Good”
Are we gonna pass on the fire bit at the bottom?
My brain socialist
My heart anarchist
My eyes pacifist
My blood revolutionary
My tits: OUT
My teeth SOMEONE ELSE'S
"Alistair Mitchell, 61: Lawyer whose calling was knocked into him at a riot" (2009)
'Private Eye once described Alistair Mitchell as “the only man in British legal history to be convicted of biting a policeman — with someone else’s teeth”. His surreal, tortuous saga began on March 31, 1990. The 32-year-old Alistair, then a director of a wholefoods co-operative, had been asked by Alexandra, his girlfriend, to photograph the poll tax riots for a film she was making. Shinning up a steel bus shelter, Alistair duly did so. He leapt off when a policeman struck the shelter with a baton.
He had been long separated from Alexandra when, at about 6.30pm, Alistair saw a police officer grip a protester by the neck in a chokehold that he had read could prove fatal. “That’s dangerous,” he cried out. “You could kill in eight seconds.”
In response two police officers pinned Alistair against a nearby shop window, broke his right index finger, and gripped his windpipe. One of them shouted: “In six seconds you’ll be dead.” Unable to move, he fainted.
To his surprise, Alistair was subsequently charged with assaulting two police officers. According to The Guardian, when he was summoned before a magistrate to give his account, it tallied exactly with those of two eyewitnesses who were working in the shop against which he had been pressed by the police.
The novelist Maeve Binchy, a family friend, testified that, far from being violent in character, Alistair was “painfully honest” and “gentle”.
A police officer then displayed bite marks on his left hand, saying that Alistair, “snapping like a dog”, had bitten him. The dental expert who had made a mould of Alistair’s teeth deemed this “highly unlikely”. Speculation followed: could the officer have bitten his own hand?
Although the question was left unanswered, Alistair was found guilty, fined £250 and sentenced to prison. When a judge upheld Alistair’s sentence at appeal, a second, six-day incarceration followed at HM Prison Wandsworth.
Unable to sleep in a cell, Alistair found prison “strange and frightening”. Nonetheless, it produced an unexpected consequence: he was asked to assist in founding a group offering legal help to some of the 500 protesters arrested during the poll tax riots, an event by then known as “the Battle of Trafalgar Square”.
Assisted by the Haldane Society of Socialist Lawyers, Alistair helped to form the Trafalgar Square Defendants’ Campaign. He held meetings to collect witness statements, arranged lawyers for defendants, and support for those in prison. Alexandra, meanwhile, logged the television news footage of the day. They developed a system of legal monitoring for use at demonstrations.
In 1993 the High Court quashed Alistair’s conviction at judicial review. By then, his spare time being consumed by legal matters, Alistair decided to begin a law degree at South Bank (now London South Bank) University. The £40,000 Alistair won in 1997 in a civil action against the police would later pay for his studies for the Bar. As a barrister he initially specialised in family and criminal cases, later expanding into civil, immigration and commercial law. Whatever the lawsuit, the gentle Alistair was always happy to work with police officers.
More: https://www.thetimes.com/comment/register/article/alistair-mitchell-61-lawyer-whose-calling-was-knocked-into-him-at-a-riot-3cc8rmfmq
YES, YESS, I'VE ALWAYS THOUGHT THE MYSTERY INC WOULD BEAT LIGHT
BUT WHAT ABKUT DAPHNE??
daphne would be locked in on misa's acting/modeling career and pull clues from that. Like getting her autograph, then realizing it matches the handwriting on the diary page that was sent with the kira tapes.
Incorrect. She is beating the dogshit out of Light.
Velma would put together that the handwriting is the same and when she goes to tell the gang she walks in on everyone watching Daphne beating the shit out of light
English translation because this is to funny
Barbie, the Princess, the Pauper, and Karl Marx: The Emancipation of the Subject in the Capitalist System
Barbie and Karl Marx fighting capitalism one flash of pink at a time 🩷
saw a post on bluesky that boiled down to saying the trans flag was ugly and some reply was like “it’s not even nice colors it’s fluorescent teal and hot pink” and like. i’m sorry but neither of those colors are present in the trans flag. are we looking at the same flag
how is this not “pastel”
decided to make whatever twisted dimension flag this person sees int9o a real flag
This fucks
Miku ahh looking flag
