fear not young followers

“Yo Ky! Flex for the chicks back home dude!” - Brian yelled over the roar of the diesel engines, the smell of gunpowder, rust, and testosterone filling the 113 degree air.

“Dude does it look like I fuckin need to flex! These guns are loaded!” Kyle, or Ky as he was known after Basic Training, popped his biceps at his sides.

He’d gained nearly 50lbs in the 6 months he had been “recruited”, 40 of which was packed on his previously lithe, weedy frame in the first few weeks of Bootcamp. Aiden and Brian hadn’t been joking when they said the Corps breaks you down and makes a Man out of you.

What they hadn’t mentioned was the swift, sifi-esque methods they use for a quick turn around. First was the typical bunk delegations, the haircut, which Kyle was none to happy about. They’d had to strap him to the chair while a bulky older man shaved him down to stubble, theb rubbed a sticky, burning gel into his scalp. He’d later find his hair follicles growing slower, and the roots standing straight up, for that perfect High'n Tight look.

Then, it was orientation, where they were given their uniforms, and watched a 2hr, or at least, what felt like a 2hr instructional video on the basics of life in the Marine Corps. The video was actually a 6.5 hr, covert induction method, implanting deep, subliminal messages directly into the minds of the young men watching.

There was a brief break, where you were allowed to free roam parts of the base, most went right for their bunks to change, then the horn announced meal time.

The food was heavily supplemented with well proven, and experimental chemicals enhancers, that got to work right away on the skeletal and muscle systems of the body. Along with the high protien, high carb diet, it would bulk the new boys up fast.

A second puberty almost, shoulders widened, chests barreled out, torsos and legs lengthened adding height to match the new heavy, dense muscle. Thick hair sprouting on your chest, or pits, legs and ass. Some stayed smoother than others due to genetics, leading to a bit of ribbing about the smoothies being pretty pansy boys. It was considered normal to go though several sizes of uniform and boots in a week or two, some virtually exploded up into hulking meat, while others gradually grew to fit the standard Marine stature. Not one Recruit was less than 6’, 140lbs, and the average boot size was a wide, bulky 16.

During this “growth stage” The routine was brutal. Grueling, long workouts, training exercises designed to test you mentally as well as physically, slowly breaking you down, bit by bit, until you were left an empty shell. Albeit a heavy, stomping, sweaty shell. By the end of week one, the new boys were broken, quiet, obedient young men, following orders without question, for fear that theyd be put through an even harsher routine.

It was the sleep cycles that did most of the mental work. The bunks were fitted with electromagnetic, as well as sound systems that emitted a mixture of subliminal white noise, and energy fields that worked hard on the mind, emptying it of anything the Corps felt was unnecessary, or not up to what a Marine should be. It also had the added benefit of inserting their obedient, tough, hardened persona, burying who they were under layers of raw masculinity.

Already masculine recruits found themselves heavily exagerated. Scratching themselves, speaking in heavy “bro” talk, swearing crudely no matter what the context of their conversations. Their body language changed, standing straight, chest out, shoulders back, hard, ever perky nipples poking through their green cotton tshirts. They’d crave a cold beer, or a hard scotch, able to drink far more than they would have before the added bodymass. Belching openly, even things like the constant funk of the barracks, the sweat of their fellow marines didn’t bother them as much, finding it endearing, an outward display of virility. Men stink, Marines reek. It shows how hard you work to protect your country.

The strong minded never stood much of and chance, although they were slower to assimilate, and often required a second or third viewing of that initial video indoctrination. Kyle himself had seen it 3 times, as well as being admitted to the intense training section of the bootcamp facility.

There, he’d be put through hell, as Aiden and Brian said, as they too needed a good ass kicking to fully confrom. Typically, it was the strong willed, the proud, the intelligent, the gay boys, or bi boys, the “progressive liberal” youths that were taken to intensive training, where the white noise and electromagnetic fields wreaked havoc on their minds.

Filling their dreams with propaganda, using some of their liking for men against them with scenes of overtly masculine boys being men. Which changed slowly to hot blondes, perky brunettes, and finally, switching to nothing but drawn out straight sex scenes and instructions on how to be a true man, how to enjoy yourself and a woman’s touch, a new craving for pussy, the desperate desire to rut and strut for them, the boys would all find their minds draining of intelligence as it was filled with sex, workouts, training, rough housing, rowdy displays of manhood, slowly burying their former individuality.

By the end of the 6th month, not one Recruit was left in their original physical or mental state. All clean cut, straight laced, testosterone pumped tough fuckers looking for their next good time and fighting for the country. Ky, Aiden, and Brian couldn’t wait to get back to the states, Ky especially, as it was a big part of the program to get back, and show who you truly are to your friends and family. Plus, he’d been keeping in touch with Sandra, his “fag hag” who happened to be a drop dead gorgeous young thing he was planning on bedding the first night back! If all goes well, He’ll have left a parting gift deep in her tight, toned belly, and would be crossing the ocean back to the Barracks in a week, a fully converted Marine.

“Dude! You think I should take my shirt off for this? She hasn’t seen a pic since the first fuckin’ week bro! Bet she creams herself when she sees my pecs!” - Ky shouted, giving his pecs a bounce in his shirt.

“Nah, bro! It‘ll be a fucking riot seeing her soak herself when you finally take your uniform off at the pool party they’re throwin’ for our welcome party! Shit’s gonna be SICK!” - Aiden bellowed, taking one last picture of Ky, his best bro, on top of one of the trucks.

The Three of them couldn’t wait to go back, but nothing was better than sweatin’ under the desert sun, showing the world what men are made of, for Good Ol’ Uncle Sam!


The peasantry were starving. The warm summer had left not much room for rain to water the crops and a lot of food dried out because of that. Since King Edmund had locked himself away from all his royal duties, the peasants were left on their own.

“This son of yours is such a wonderful young man. I have so much faith in him when it comes to the safety of the Kingdom, my lord.” Eleanor whispered into the ear of The King.

“He’s a great young man indeed. I have no fear for him as following the throne after me one day.” He agreed.

“But.. There is a but, my Lord. The french wife of his is up to no good. I heard how she feeds the peasantry behind your knowledge. The peasantry will do for themselves, you see. Who is she since she behave above your law and order? Must such an action not be punished?” She whispered softly. He was under her spell, her control.

“I.. But she’s my daughter in law. A Queen to be..” He mumbled and was so very confused. Why was he discussing politics with a woman? He thought.

The Fear

The story follows the experiences of four young teens as they are terrorized by a being that exploits the fears and phobias of its victims to disguise itself while hunting its prey. “It” primarily appears in the form of a strange clown to attract its preferred prey of young children. Together The Lucky 4 Club, Finn, Rey, Poe and Rose struggle to defeat the evil that preys on the fears of Jakku’s residents. 

( Just watched IT 2017 and the number 4 apparently means stability, order and completion of justice so yeah. There’s also some FinnRey in this story but it focuses on the Lucky Four’s friendship and how they unite to defeat IT. )

for @the-bi-writer

anonymous asked:

Hello, I'm a minor (13+ years old) and I'm getting a pre owned professional made suit (I don't feel comfortable saying which suit or maker). I'm buying it with entirely my money and I believe everything I am doing to purchase this suit is legal, but I'm afraid if i post publicly with this suit I'll get looked down on due to the reputation of people my age in this fandom. What do you think I should do? Are my fears justified?

Young suiter anon again: any advice from your followers would also be really appreciated! I’m so scared almost to the point of regretting getting the suit but I hope you guys can help me out

If the suit is bought entirely with your money, then who cares what other people think? It’s your suit, flaunt it! Be proud about it, it’s for your own happiness and no one else’s, and if anyone says otherwise, excuse my language, but fuck ‘em. You earned it, no matter how old you are.

Now I will say that you probably will outgrow the suit in some way so do be prepared for that, and ofc take very good care of it!

- Snake Mod

Royal trouble - (Thranduil x reader)

Chapter 9

As you both arrive back at the halls, a guard immediately greets Thranduil.

“My King, the prisoner has escaped.”

He rolls his eyes and exhales deeply. After practically dragging you back, he looks surprisingly composed, but as he turns around to face you his eyes darken.

“I’ll deal with you later.”

He turns back to the guard and instructs him sternly.

“Take her to my chambers. I want guards on both sides of the doors. Let no-one in or out.”

Two more guards appear and seize you by the arms. They begin to take you away but you aren’t done. Despite the fact that you knew you shouldn’t have slapped him, you still felt angry that he had used you. How could he expect you to want to stay after hearing that? True, he didn’t know you were listening in, but when you had confronted him about it before Legolas had burst in, he’d denied it. Damn it, he even got caught trying to get it on with you and he still couldn’t admit that he at least likes you.

“You have no right keeping me here against my will. If this is how you treat all of your ‘guests’, I’m not surprised that you have such a bad reputation…you aren’t fit to be a King.”

He turns on his heels and walks over to you, roughly lifting up your face to meet his cold gaze.

“Haven’t learnt your lesson, I see?”

Your bad temper was indeed one of your main faults, as Tarron had often reminded you, but you believed that in this instance, you were completely blameless. In no way were you overreacting, this was entirely his fault. Yet despite being livid, looking into his eyes, you can’t deny you still feel attracted to him.

He leans in further so that you are now inches away from his face. The top of his tunic shows off his bare neck and you’re almost tempted to steal a glance to his Addams apple, but you keep your focus on his eyes.

“I would stay quiet if I were you. Due to your little scheme to free your friend, you have now wasted more than enough of my time and I am not known for being tolerant.”

Taking his hand away, he walks off down the opposite hall. If he was ugly, it would make things a lot easier. His perfect blond hair swaying as you raise your voice to him.

“It wasn’t me who freed him. You might want to speak to your son.”

Hearing the last word you say, he freezes. You feel like smirking. Maybe now he will know what it feels like when someone you care for deceives you. He calls for another guard and instructs him to do something, but you can’t make out what and as you’re pulled away to Thranduil’s chambers, you are suddenly hit with the realisation that you have just dropped Legolas right in it.


Whilst the King had discovered the news of your disappearance from a watch-guard, Legolas had returned to join Tarron and Tauriel. Nym arrived shortly after in hope that he could help, despite the awkward reception Tarron gave him, he still felt slightly guilty from the night at the Ball.

They knew it wouldn’t be long before the King would catch on about Tarron’s escape. After discussing various attempts at how they could get out of this situation, it doesn’t take long for attentions to start turning towards whose fault it all is.

As Tarron steps forward to voice his idea, Nym flinches.  

“Why not put the blame on someone else?”

 “Like who?”

“I don’t know…”

“Wonderful input, oh Tarron the wise.”  Legolas snipes.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see you coming up with anything either.”

“We would not have to be doing this, if it wasn’t for you. We have risked my father’s trust by helping you; it was Tauriel who persuaded me. If she were not here, I wouldn’t have even bothered to help you out. All of this was caused by your foolish actions-”

“So saving a person’s life is classed as being foolish? I’m glad I don’t live by your standards.”

Tauriel feels the tension begin to arise between the two elves and tries to think of something to soften the mood, but Nym beats her to it, making a surprise contribution to the conversation.

“What about a dungeon guard? The King is well aware of their tendencies to have a bit too much wine…”

“Yes! That could work, but we would need to check which guards were on duty. I’ll go t-”


Tarron and Tauriel both sigh at Legolas’ stubbornness.

“What now?”  

“I just don’t feel comfortable allowing our kin to take all the blame. I think he shoul-”

“Legolas, what choice do we have? We were the ones who let him go, therefore we must figure this out. If you can think of anything better, then please tell me. But for now, that’s all we have. Ok?”

“Fine. But I don’t think he’ll buy it.”

“Why don’t you stop being so pessimistic all the time and try…”

As Tarron stops mid-sentence, all eyes turn to the door.

“My Prince…”

A messenger bows low. He rises to look at Legolas.

“…his highness wishes to see you.”

Legolas looks over to Tauriel, who looks to the floor. No one is quite sure what will happen. The King surely knows, but what can he say? There’s no doubt he’ll see through their plan.

“Tell the King I shall be there shortly.”

 “I am sorry, my Prince…but he wishes to speak with all of you, including the prisoner.”


As Tauriel and Tarron traipse in, Nym lurks behind looking fearful, followed by the young prince. Standing across the other side, you manage a weak smile aimed at Tarron, who you haven’t seen since the incident. Thinking about it, you haven’t actually spoken to him since he shouted at you for making Tauriel leave. In turn, they all bow to the King before shuffling back, trying to escape the awkwardness brought on by the lasting silence.

The guards immediately grab Tarron by the shoulders whilst another one orders you to stand in line next to Legolas and Tauriel. As you are guided in-between them you feel his gaze burning into you, following your every move. Once you are all in place facing the throne, Thranduil assesses each of you and as soon as his gaze passes to you, you turn your head to the floor. Noticing this, he stands upright, smirking proudly. Despite your outbursts and angry temper, when it comes down to it, he knows he who has the power here and so do you.

“It has come to my attention that all four of you assisted the prisoner’s escape. Would anyone care to tell me why you thought this necessary?”

Legolas speaks first.

“I know that it would appear this way, father, but it was not us who released Tarron.”

“Is that so?”

Thranduil folds his arms and you can’t help but notice his biceps strain underneath the tight fabric of his dark tunic. He tilts his head as his eyes narrow on Legolas; it’s obvious he isn’t buying into whatever excuse they must have thought up, why didn’t he just tell him the truth? You figure it must be an elven trait and furrow your brows as you try to focus on something else in the room.

“Yes, Tauriel and I were merely checking the dungeons when we saw one of the guards free him.”

“Well….it appears my own son mistakes me for a fool.”

“Father? It is the truth, Nym wasn’t even involved and Ariella was-”

“I have witnesses, who would claim otherwise. They tell me that you and Tauriel set Tarron free. I also have the knowledge that a certain Lady was involved in the planning of this and that Nym assisted in distracting the guards.”

All eyes are downcast as no-one dares admit that he’s right.

“Therefore, I will ask again. Why did you all think this necessary?”

“There was no reason for him to be imprisoned in the first place.”

Everyone’s head turns to you. Thranduil’s eyes catch yours and you know this won’t go down well, but how else were they going to justify this? It was all up to you now.

“Tell me, my Lady…” his voice dripping with sarcasm,

“…do you know what warranted his imprisonment?”

Sheepishly, you shake your head, wishing that you had never spoken up.

“Then how can you possibly-”

“My King, I-we are unreservedly sorry for testing your judgement. I can assure you that it will not happen again and we will do whatever we can to gain back your trust, your Highness.”

Tauriel always had a way with words, but this time you weren’t so sure you agreed. She clearly doesn’t believe the words she is saying, seeing as though it was her who wanted to rescue Tarron almost as much as you did.

You lean back a little to peer at Tarron from behind Legolas’ head. Attempting to register his emotions, you see nothing but anguish, all the while, the King is watching you.

“Ariella and the prisoner shall stay. The rest of you may leave us.”

His hurried tone and blatant disregard of Tauriel’s apology causes you to look to Nym and Legolas in confusion. They both seem as unsure of his words as you are. You glance back as they leave the room. Tauriel exits giving you a forgiving look, behind her, Nym’s face is riddled with fear.

The door closes with only you and Tarron left to face the King.

“Well, well…” he croons, sitting down on this throne, he flicks one leg over the other.

“I don’t know how I managed to miss this…it’s been so obvious…you’re in love with him.”


“Do not deceive me, Ariella. I have seen the looks you exchange with that abandoned ill-bred elf.”  

“He’s my best friend, I don’t think of him in that-”

“Of course, it makes perfect sense now, why you spoke out so strongly against me in the healing room…”

He ignores your defence and locks eyes with Tarron.

“Ariella is my friend, nothing more.” he states.

As Tarron stares angrily at Thranduil, refusing to break eye contact, it makes you think back to the time you first got into trouble with the King. The Tarron back then shivered with fear and cowered away, but now, it was evident that he wasn’t backing down.

“I find that very hard to believe.”

“Why? Just because you can’t keep your hands off her, doesn’t mean-”


You jump a little at the volume of his shout.

“…I will not hear another word from you…I have come to the decision that you shall be taken back to your village, never to return here again. You are lucky I have let you off so lightly, others would not be so lenient…impudence to royalty is punishable by death.”

His words hit you hard and panic sets in. You aren’t ready to lose Tarron just yet.

“No…you can’t!” you yell, as Thranduil edges forward on his throne, grinning.

“Oh…but I can.”

“Please! He didn’t mean to upset you! I’m begging you-”

“Despite the fact that I do enjoy seeing you like this Ariella, no matter how much you beg me, I won’t be changing my mind.”

“But Thranduil, please!”

“Yet, I do love it when you moan my name…”

He grins, adding to your frustration.

“How can you do this?!”

“Oh, quite easily, my darling…”

Thranduil addresses the guards standing beside Tarron.

“…I suppose we should ensure that he arrives back safely…we wouldn’t want Ariella getting even more upset now, would we?”

The smirk on his face is still apparent and you feel like slapping him for a second time, as tears begin to fall from your eyes, you can’t let Tarron leave, not like this. You run to the other side of the room, desperately trying to reach Tarron as the guards haul him away, but you are stopped from doing so by a huge figure that blocks your way. Realising Thranduil’s hold on you, it’s clear that there’s nothing you can do.

 “…Please…” you whisper, trying to pull away from him, but it’s too late.

“Ariella, my word is final. He is gone…”

He ducks his head below your ear and places a light kiss on your neck that makes you shiver.

“…and you, my sweet…are to remain with me.”

Jeff Guinn’s biography, Manson: The Life and Times of Charles Manson is now out in paperback. Guinn’s book has new information about Manson’s upbringing and how Manson came to San Francisco in 1967, after serving time in prison, and used what he learned from pimps, the Bible, Scientology and ‘60s counterculture to attract followers — mostly young women — and teach them to follow and fear him.

In the interview Guinn explains his method of writing history: 

“What I do in all of my nonfiction books is I try to pick an era in American history that I want to write about. Once I pick that era, then I try to find some iconic individual or event. The theme, the theory behind all my books, is that history doesn’t happen in a vacuum. So I look for interesting times in our nation’s history, when all of the different threads of things would come together to make one moment possible, be it a wonderful moment, be it something horrific like the Tate … murders. But really, the purpose of the book is to, through Charlie Manson, show the context of the 1960s.”

Charles Manson Photo: Michael Ochs Archives