#they existed and were humans and even mattered. :)'

[chickenscribbles]

Everything functions perfectly fine without you.

[nebra-sky-disk]

we agree on more than we disagree, really my issue is not with the scientific method just in the fact that by being too credulous in experts you actually deny yourself a lot of empirical evidence. i have ideas for how to rectify this, as most of them come from issues relating to capitalism as you point out, but rather than throw out my half baked ideas i dont think it really matters if i have an effective alternative system or not- my point is to maintain healthy scepticism towards the current System of Science and to recognise its (numerous, deep) flaws, not that i have all the answers. i agree that all human made systems are flawed but some systems are more flawed than others. perhaps more human than others.

i dispute that the current scientific system is effective or at least that entire fields are pretty dysfunctional, especially in areas relating to health and medicine. for example i do not think there is good evidence that almost any pharmacological treatment for mental health disorders is effective or helpful. plenty evidence about how its profitable though. the opoid crisis in the usa is another great example. (btw i dont think i had to cherry pick lobotomies. i think there are many more examples of medical harms.) enormous social harms have come from being too credulous in fields that are not deserving of such credulousness. the advances you point out are by no small means miraculous and certainly were fruits of the system you defend. but i do not believe that your system is the only system that could produce such fruits.

i dont think the scientific system exists in a vacuum; i didnt assert this or suggest it imo; i think that the precise issue of science is that it is often misused to mean "truth" to justify a great deal of harm. agreed with you on mental health research, and i agree with you that its good that we left behind lobotomies, but my point is that the same system that gave us lobotomies gave us anti psychotics and SSRIs and all the other BS we have rn and again i reiterate, we should be deeply sceptical of it. im not proposing no system, im just trying to point out the ways in which the current system may be more wrong than right.

as for calling that person illiterate- they consistently showed poor reading comprehension and a really annoying tone lmfao, yes i could have been more respectful but lets me honest 99% of ppl on this website dont bother to even TRY to understand what you say, reading comprehension is so bad here that its a meme. its probably not a disability that leads to them being this way. its a different dynamic, replying to someone who actually read your post and made more than a token effort to discuss and reach understanding with you. which i appreciate a lot btw.

"these researchers published a paper on something that literally any of us could have told you 🙄" ok well my supervisors wont let me write something in my thesis unless I can back it up with a citation so maybe it's a good thing that they're amplifying your voice to the scientific community in a way that prevents people from writing off your experiences as annecdotal evidence

[dollkuna]

the digest. ex-con sukuna's your neighbor and you're determined to make him open up <3

the apartment you snagged wasn't anything special – in fact, it was kind of a dump. but it was cheap, and right now, that's all that mattered. (for sukuna, your new neighbor, it was probably the only place that would take him, given his past.)

sukuna, a scowl practically permanently etched on his face, probably thought the place was too dull for you, too dim. he was right; the wooden floors creaked with every step, and cobwebs clung to the light fixtures in the hallway.

at first, he wanted nothing to do with you. it wasn't personal; he simply didn't care to. but a week after you moved in, you were knocking on his door, a bright, disarming smile on your face.

he pulled the door open slowly, his brows narrowed into a suspicious v. as if you couldn't feel the palpable wave of go away radiating from him, you thrust a batch of warm, freshly baked cookies his way. he eyed them warily, a deep frown creasing his forehead.

"i baked you a little something," you chirped, practically radiating sunshine and rainbows. he visibly grimaced, but you weren't deterred. "you know, like… thanks for being my neighbor!"

sukuna squinted. "s'not like i had much of a choice." he wondered if you knew about his not-so-bright past, if you'd ever seen his face splashed across the papers. but the way you looked at him, so softly, like he was just… human, made him think you had no idea.

that was your very first interaction. he'd tried to cut it short, hoping to make it abundantly clear he wanted nothing to do with anyone. but in your mind, he'd accepted the cookies, and that meant something. that meant progress.

sukuna was fascinating. he made you curious, and you were absolutely up for the challenge.

every time you saw him around, whether it was in the dreary laundry room downstairs or at the convenience store a block away, you made sure to greet him. if you were lucky, he'd acknowledge your existence with a grunt or a curt nod.

"so, what's your deal?" you asked one afternoon, watching him load his clothes into the dryer. your nails tapped a rhythm against a nearby folding table, and you tilted your head, studying him.

sukuna scoffed, not even turning around. "my deal? i have no deal, woman."

"oh, you definitely have a deal," you insisted. "you're the broodiest guy i know, but then you've got this bright pink hair."

slowly, he turned, his lips pressed into a thin, straight line. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"nothing," you mumbled, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. "never mind." you didn't give up hope, though. "i like the pink hair. it suits you."

and no, you didn't miss the faint flush that crept onto his cheeks, nor the almost imperceptible ghost of a smile that briefly touched his lips.

guess he couldn't avoid you forever, anyway.

[wemalyri]

ೀFALLEN FOR YOU જ⁀➴

pairing: devil!heeseung × angel!fem!reader

༘⋆ genre: smut (MDNI), angst, romance ೀ w/c: ~4k

synopsis: When the highest of Heaven and Hell find out about your secret connection, forbidden between angels and devils, you know there is no way out. Your fate is already sealed. Both of you know — when the sun goes up, you two will be burnt and erased from this world for the sin you have committed. However, instead of spending your last moments in agony of suffering, Heeseung and you choose the agony of your still existing bodies. Because this is your last night together. Ever.

warnings: they turned into human forms to fuck, crying + fucking, soft soft soft, soft!dom!heeseung, a glimpse of mean heeseung, LARGE use of petnames (angel, baby, pretty girl, my love), reader is really sensitive, praise (A LOT) and praise kink, we may assume hee has a corruption kink..., fingering, unprotected sex (they're not humans they can, you don't), a really sad ending

a/n: thanks for waiting!! that was supposed to be shorter but i got carried away....kinda inspired by the cartoon 'Angel's friends' (as a kid I was insane)

English is not my native languages, sorry for any mistakes!

You two knew that falling for each other, spending nights together in the messy bed, filling the room with filthy sounds was a sin. You two knew it would have its consequences. You two knew one day they'd find out.

It was wrong from the start. From the way Heeseung's eyes lingered on you for too long — too long for someone who was on the other side, who was your enemy, who was supposed to make you turn away in disgust and frustration. From the way you never looked away when your eyes met his. From the way you were craving for his lips to touch yours one more time now.

The highest angels and devils clearly let you know — they were aware of everything. Aware of the slight touches you two shared in the beginning, of your wet dreams about each other, of the way you gave in to the temptation and committed a sin. Knowingly.

They also clearly let you know one more thing — they are merciless, and they do not give second chances. Once the line was crossed, your fate was already sealed. And you two were perfectly aware of it.

You two will be burnt out.

Why not send you in Hell, you may ask. Because even Hell doesn't forgive such sins. Even for devils it's a death sentence. And Heeseung was ready to go for it from the start. To burn himself just to feel your lips against his, your body under him, your soft skin pressed to his. You were his angel. The angel who seduced him and made him fall even harder than other devils ever had. Made him fall for you.

His breath was hot against the sweaty skin of your neck. You could see the lights on the ceiling reflected from the window dance to the devilish, sinful melody only they could hear. The door to the room was locked.  Like it could save you two from your destiny.

Heeseung's hands were traveling down your body in a fever full of gentleness, trying to remember every single part. His lips were desperately rushing from the skin of your neck and collarbone back to your mouth, not able to choose what to focus on — he needed it all.

You suspended a moan, biting your lip and throwing your head back, when Heeseung's teeth bit on the sensitive spot of your neck. His hand caressed your thigh with affection.

"Always so sensitive for me, angel. No matter how much I touch you... Always so responsive," his hot breath burnt your ear in a whisper. "But don't hold back. Let me hear you."

You shakily sighed, looking at Heeseung's face, which was almost invisible in the darkness of the room.

"I can't," you took another breath, chest rising up and down, "they will hear us."

Heeseung's eyes softened. Or maybe it was hurt and realization of the situation in them. Guess, you forgot.

"Angel," he spoke in the softest tone — the one that none of the demons had ever been allowed to use, the one that not even all of the angels had in them, "they already know."

Your eyes became glassy. Right.

When the sun goes up, you will disappear.

He will disappear.

Everything will disappear.

"I'm sorry," you whispered like it was your fault, like you could fix something. Tears ran down your face, leaving only wet lonely paths.

Heeseung's eyes were glassy too. For the first time in his whole existence. They were full of hurt, pain, and something forbidden. Maybe...love?

His fingers gently brushed against your face, pulling away the strands of your hair. He neared his lips to your skin, kissing away the paths on the sides of your face left after your tears.

You felt how something wet dripped onto your cheek. Your eyes looked up at Heeseung's face. He was crying.

Heeseung was broken. His face distorted in the way you'd never seen before. He bit his lower lip, trying to hold back the tears in his eyes from spilling out more.

Your hand tapped the back of his head, encouraging him to bury his face in your neck. When he did so, you heard a broken cry that made your heart clench, your own tears running down your cheeks again.

After minutes of sniffles and sobs, you two had calmed down. It wasn't the way you wanted to spend your last moments of existence.

Your fingers were caressing his hair in a slow motion, his face pressed to your neck, the tip of his nose starting to trace lines against your skin that made you smile.

"I don't regret it," you whispered in the silence of the room. "I never did. And if I could go back in time, I would do everything the same way."

Heeseung lifted his face from your neck, a small smile playing on his lips. "Me too."

Then his lips pressed to yours. Again.

You savored the moment. The way your lips were soft and breaths hot against each other, the way Heeseung's hands traveled under your shirt, causing shivers to run down your spine.

You softly moaned, arching your back when his fingers traced a line down your spine before pressing his hand to your back just right.

"Like that, angel. Sing for me," Heeseung groaned, bending your thigh to have more access to your core, pressing his hardness to your clothed pussy. Your hips grinded against his in response. "Shh, don't rush. You'll get everything you want, baby."

Heeseung's hands lifted up your shirt, helping to take it off. Then he did the same with your pants.

"I want to see all of you," he whispered under his breath like it wasn't even meant for you — more like he was talking to himself. "I want to remember you like this — naked, sweaty, wet, underneath me. Carve it in my memory. Forever."

His mouth moved to yours with new urgency, tongue sliding inside, devouring you like he was hungry. His knee pressed to your clothed core, making you gasp, panties already wet with your arousal.

"Hee," you softly whined when Heeseung started leaving marks all over your neck, moving lower down your skin.

He was desperate. Shameless. Not the kind to be regretful about his past or present actions. His movements were speaking volumes. Even if there was a second chance, he wouldn't be able to hold back, to keep his distance from you. Even if you could turn back the time, he would commit a sin every now and then. Would fall for you again and again.

"My pretty angel," Heeseung groaned in your collarbone before pulling away to look at the work he'd done. Your skin was full of marks. His marks. "So sinful. Fallen for me."

Your chest was heaving, eyes half-lidded. You placed a hand on his arm, moving it upper to his shoulder, to the back of his head. You craved his touch, wanted to feel his presence physically, wanted to not let go of him.

"I need you," you said in a quiet voice on the edge of crying, your eyes locking on his. "I need you so much..."

His gaze softened, lips moving to leave a peck on your jaw.

"I know, angel," Heeseung whispered against your skin, your heart melting at the petname and how gently it sounded on his tongue. His lips started leaving soft kisses down your cheek and jawline, moving to your ear and neck. "I need you too. So, so much."

Heeseung nibbled on your neck, licking the pain away after. His hand moved from your thigh to your hip, fingers brushing under the hem of your panties, making you shiver.

"My angel..." he softly whispered again, his thumb brushing above your clit, not giving you what you want yet. "So sweet... just for me…” his voice was desperate, words mumbled and rushed like in a fever. “My baby…My pretty girl…My love…"

You whined at his words and gentleness in them, at the same time feeling how his finger finally brushed against your folds. Your senses were heightened, you were aroused till the point when it hurt. Maybe it was because of the way Heeseung was torturing you with his touch, maybe because of the thought that was playing in the back of your head all of this time, even at such moment — that was your last time together.

Heeseung felt how your thighs tried to clasp together, but his hips in between your legs didn't let you. His hardness only pressed to your clothed entrance with more urgency.

"You're driving me insane," Heeseung breathed out, now tracing lines against your breast with his nose like he was trying to hold back. To savor the moment. To be gentle. Trying not to ruin you. 

Yet.

"Hee, please," you almost cried out, hand tangling in his hair. His fingers were slowly tracing against your folds, already letting you two to hear how wet your pussy was. “I can't wait anymore..."

Then it happened. His fingers suddenly switched from the featherlike touch, pressing harder to your folds, pulling out of you a moan. Heeseung started rubbing them against your pussy with such urgency that could make you cum from that alone. Then he slowly slipped one finger inside your entrance, your body tensing.

"Angel, relax. How are you going to take me all in if you can't even take my finger?" Heeseung asked mockingly, rubbing your thigh with a free hand.

There it was. His dark side — teasing, mocking, dominant, and so fucking hot. It was that exact devil you met for the first time in the lobby, the one you fell in love with.

You relaxed your bottom, immediately feeling how deliciously a single Heeseung's finger was sliding inside you. You breathed out in pleasure, arching your back to feel him better.

"That's it," Heeseung encouraged, a smirk playing on his lips. He was intensely watching your body from the top to the bottom with a lustful gaze like it was his favorite view, the movie that was playing just for him. "Such a good girl for me," he praised in a low voice, free hand traveling up your body, brushing your sensitive skin from your stomach to your chest. He wrapped it around your throat, making you roll your eyes. "Yeah? Like it, baby? What a sinful angel..." Heeseung slightly chuckled, sliding inside you one more finger, making you gasp.

You held onto his hand around your throat, head throwing back, mouth aping in pleasure. Your back arched, hips rapidly moved to feel his fingers deeper inside you. You needed him. So dirty, so messy, so desperately.

Heeseung parted his fingers inside your pussy, pulling out of you a moan. Then he curled them, moving them in the way he knew you'd like, his thumb starting to circle your clit.

The pressure in your bottom part was building quickly, your hips thrusting to meet Heeseung's fingers, trying to shove them deeper inside you. The room was not silent anymore. You filled it with filthy sounds — your moans and wetness between your legs that was coating Heeseung's fingers.

“I-I’m close, Hee…” you managed to whine, back arching in an unnatural way that would definitely hurt later. But there was no later. Only now.

“Yes, angel? Are you gonna come for me?” Heeseung replied in the sweetest voice, his eyes so dark and lustful intensely watching you.

You desperately nodded, feeling how the movements of his fingers became more rapid and forceful. 

“Yes, baby, of course you are. Such a pretty angel. My beautiful girl…” Heeseung mumbled, leaning against your ear again. His praise only intensified your desire and the pressure in your stomach. You came hard with a loud moan, seeing stars, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Heeseung's fingers helped you to ride your orgasm, slowing down after. He pulled them out, causing you to whine, shoving them in his mouth and tasting you on his tongue.

“The kind of heaven I'm ready to die for,” Heeseung whispered, looking at your fuckuped state in bliss. Your back relaxed, falling to the mattress. The unnatural stretch was already giving away, pulsating in your lower back. Heeseung affectionately rubbed it with one hand, another one doing the same with your thigh. He leaned closer to your face to press a kiss on your forehead. “Angel?”

You hummed in response, slowly opening your eyes, damp hair pressing to your temples. Your hand shakily reached for Heeseung's face, resting on his cheek. His gaze managed to turn soft, even though you could still see lust in his eyes.

“I love you,” you whispered, brushing away a strand of his hair. Heeseung softly smiled, reaching to hold your hand and bring it to his mouth. His lips gently tickled the skin of your knuckles.

“I love you too,” he whispered, hot breath against the back of your hand. You smiled back, making him chuckle. “You can't even imagine… how crazy you made me,” Heeseung jokingly confessed, even though his words held the truth. “Can you imagine? A devil in love… and so soft.”

You chuckled, bringing his face closer to yours. “Well, I can.” Your mouth curved into a grin, Heeseung's eyes lowering to your lips. 

You felt something hard pressing against your thigh, making you sigh at the realization. The rush of heat washed over you again. You brought his face even closer to yours, lips smacking against his in the affectionate peck. “Hee,” your voice was quiet but firm. Something serious and sad was in your gaze, but Heeseung couldn't quite catch it. “I want you all to myself tonight."

Heeseung's breath caught in his throat. The way you said this phrase made his stomach flip, his cock becoming even harder — if that was even possible.

"Yeah?" he asked in a hoarse voice, quite affected by your bold phrasing. His eyebrows raised, and the smirk spread all over his face. Yet, his gaze was filled with something deeper, more emotional. Something similar to adoration.

"Yeah," you whispered in reply, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs and studying the lines of your touch with your eyes, trying to remember every single part of his face — his adorable mole on the forehead, his beautiful deer eyes, his plump pink lips, his soft skin. "And I want you to have me too. All of me..."

A lonely tear escaped your eye, soaking the side of your cheek like a reminder of inevitability. Of the predicted future you two were so scared of. The one that was making you doubtful about the next morning, and sure only about the present moment.

One of your hands traveled down Heeseung's torso with a gentle touch, eyes not looking away from his. With the softness of an angel, you tugged on the waistband of his pants, pulling them off his hips. Heeseung's grip on your waist tightened, your featherlike touch clearly affecting him.

With another hand, you pulled his face closer to yours, lips finally touching each other, tongues slowly moving in a gentle dance full of love. You led the kiss and your other hand down his hips to palm his hardness through the boxers. Heeseung groaned in your lips, breaking the kiss and pressing his forehead to yours.

"Teasing is not good for an angel, baby," he breathed out, his dark eyes locking on yours. You gave him a small smile and led your hand under the waistband of his underwear.

"I guess you've spoiled me," your words pulled out of him a chuckle that immediately turned into a moan when you touched him without any fabric in between.

Your hand stroked his free cock, spreading pre-cum all over his length. Heeseung bent your leg, pressing it to you. The tip of his dick was almost touching your core. You ended up gasping at the loss of control when he gripped your hand, pulling it away from his cock and pressing your wrists above your head to the mattress.

"So you're blaming it on me, huh? For the effect I have on you, for turning you into a dirty angel?" Heeseung murmured with a wicked smirk, the tip of his cock pressing to your entrance.

You intended to roll your hips, but he held you still, his free hand pressing your bottom to the mattress.

"Say it, baby. Say it's all my effect," Heeseung's cock teasingly slided between your folds, making you shiver, pulling out of you a whine. "The way you shake and make these pretty noises, the way you're all wet now. Is it all because of me? Answer, sweetheart."

You shakily took a breath, the tension was already building inside your stomach again.

"Yes... It's all you. Because of you. For you," Heeseung groaned at your words, finally sliding inside in one motion. You two moaned from the feeling of being so close to each other, of being in the right place with the right person.

"Gosh, you're insane..." Heeseung stood still for a moment, letting you adjust to his length. Your breaths were heavy, eyes locked on each other.

When you clenched around his cock, he took it as a sign and started moving, settling a slow rhythm. His thrusts were deep, hitting the right spots inside you and pulling out of you two moans. The room was filled with the wet sounds of your hot bodies collided together.

At that exact moment, you realized it. The way Heeseung's body was hovering over you, the way he was pressing you to the bed, the way he let go of your wrist just to hold your hand even when his thrusts were not the most gentle. Everything about it was wrong, yet felt so right. You actually could tell you were loved, happy even. And nothing mattered anymore. You realized that sacrificing yourself for moments like this was your actual fate. And it brought you relief, especially in the moment when Heeseung thrusted deeper, bringing you two to the edge of pleasure.

Heeseung's body weakened, carefully lying on yours, trying not to hurt you. Your heavy breaths became the only sound in the silent room.

You reached to bring his head closer, to run fingers in his soft locks again. He obeyed, burying his face deeper in the crook of your neck, arms instinctively wrapping around you.

Your eyes looked up above you. The ceiling had already started turning light, patterns from the rising sun becoming more evident. While caressing the nape of Heeseung's neck, your hand felt something unfamiliar to the touch. Your gaze moved to his back. That was his wings. Dark and devilish, they appeared on his back, signaling of the fact he was not able to control his form anymore. Your silent tears turned your face wet again.

Heeseung lifted his head from your neck. His eyes, supposed to be dark and sinful, held the unspoken softness and intimacy. His eyebrows were frowned, face wet and slightly red from the tears.

You two snapped.

Your hands cupped his face, pulling him closer to yours. Heeseung held the back of your head, embracing you with his other hand. You sat on the bed, your own wings already making it hard to lie down.

The kiss.

Your lips pressed to each other with unhidden emotion. It wasn't lust or passion, long forgotten in the sheets of this bed. They'd disappeared, turning into a smoke that dispersed around the room. It was love. Maybe something even deeper than that.

When you pulled away, looking into Heeseung's eyes, the tears were running down your face.

"Hee," you said in panic, searching for his reaction in his eyes. He gently held you, eyes soft and — out of a sudden — calm.

"Shhh, I'm here," Heeseung whispered, caressing the sides of your face with his thumbs. But the panic that settled in your soul didn't disappear.

"I don't want you to leave..." you whispered, feeling a lump in your throat from the tears that were blurring your view.

Heeseung gave you a small smile, wiping off the wet paths from your face. "I'm not going anywhere, angel. I'm always here, with you."

The corner of your eye caught a slight smoke coming from Heeseung's wing. You rushed to wrap hands around his neck, lips pressing to all of the possible spots for a kiss on his face.

"Pleasepleaseplease," you mumbled, begging for not knowing who. The panic was hitting hard, the inability to do absolutely anything was only making it worse.

"Angel, you need to calm down," Heeseung firmly said, not loving your anxious state. "Breathe with me, okay?"

You tried to calm down, to breathe. You even managed to do it for seconds. But when Heeseung started talking to you with a dark expression on his face, your face covered in tears again.

"Angel, I want you to know. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. And I am grateful to every single moment two of us spent together. Without you, my existence would be dull, nothing different from other devils' existence. But your presence made it bright," he tried to hold back the sob, but it didn't turn out successfully.

You hurried to hold him closer again, hands caressing his back in panic, lips pressing to his temple a countless number of times. Your sobs collided together, faces wet and red from tears.

"There is one more thing I want you to remember..." Heeseung managed to start, his wing already starting to be erased. "I love you," he whispered.

Tears started to run down your cheeks even more.

"I love you too," you whispered back.

He gave you a small smile. The wings almost disappeared behind his back, which meant that he was next.

You pressed lips to his again. You weren't kissing him like it was the last time. It was your last time.

His face started slipping away from your hands, turning into a little smoke. When you weren't feeling his lips on yours anymore, you opened your eyes.

He was gone.

You silently lay on the bed, not noticing how your wings had already disappeared.

The patterns on the ceiling were the same. They were still dancing in the sunrise just like they did when Heeseung was still there. When he was holding you. When he could tell you to stop overthinking, could call you 'his angel' and wipe the tears off your face. Now he was gone, but the patterns were still there.

Your hands started feeling numb, but you weren't paying attention. The only thing you could think of was Heeseung. You could still remember his dark, warm eyes, but you were craving to be able to actually see them. They were better in real life than in your imagination.

Smoke.

The smoke started blurring the vision, hiding the familiar patterns on the ceiling from your sight. It was getting harder to think with every second like someone was sucking the energy out of you. The patterns on the ceiling disappeared from your sight at all.

It was hard until it became easy. Until you let out the last sigh. Until you turned into nothing.

This is how you were erased from this world. With the last wish in your head. You desired to meet Heeseung again. To be born and able to find him. To see his warm eyes again. To wrap hands around him. To kiss him.

It was your last wish. But did you have a right to ask for that?

No. Because everyone knows that Heaven doesn't forgive those who are fallen.

© wemalyri All rights reserved. Do not copy or translate without permission.

//tags: @ikeugirly

if you loved the fic, pls let me know about it! (like, comment or repost)

[pink-nightmare-lab]

✨🦇General!Lilia Vanrouge one-shot🦇✨

Summary: reader is a diurnal* fae and is curious about the nocturnal fae so she goes to their territory to satisfy her curiosity

*Diurnal: basically the opposite of nocturnal, in other words, most active during the day

Other info: reader is female and a faerie🦋

Side note: might turn this into a fully fledged fanfiction with multiple chapters, also, I don't know the word count but it's long

Also, everything is purely made up, I took some inspo from the Tinkerbell movies and used my own imagination, so yeah, nothing canon here but HOLY MOLY, it took me so long to finish this

You live in a beautiful village surrounded by big trees where fae of all kinds flutter by or walk, going on about their day while the warm sun shines through the trees and illuminating the village in a golden glow, flowers blooming in every corner and magic flowing through the cores of the trees protecting the village.

You were a diurnal fae, to be exact, a butterfly faerie, wings as soft as silk and delicate like the wings of the small butterflies fluttering by, there was nothing better than to fly around and feel the breeze caress your skin like a gentle kiss.

It was widely known that faeries have conflicts with humans for centuries now but even amongst faerie kind, conflicts exist too, for one, nocturnal and diurnal faerie don't seem to get along too well and usually stay out of each other's skin just to avoid unpleasantries.

Yet no matter how often the others warned you and told you all sorts of stories, you always wanted to see the nocturnal fae up close out of sheer curiosity, after all, what if they aren't as bad as everyone says they are?

It's dawn when you slowly arise from your slumber, stretching and letting your wings flutter before getting out of bed, the village slowly coming to life to proceed with their daily tasks.

Today or rather tonight will be different, tonight you're venturing outside the territory of the diurnal faeries and into the lands of the nocturnal fae, yearning to learn more about them since books don't cover much about them.

You put on a beautiful floral dress and your hair up so it won't bother you for today's flower caretaking amongst other butterfly faeries in the nearby meadow.

You flutter towards your closet and grab a dark brown cloak and stuff it into a bag for later, after all, nobody should see it's you and with those big wings of yours that resemble those of a monarch butterfly, they'd stick out like a sore thumb, especially in the dark forest of the nocturnal fae territory, big bright orange wings would certainly be an unusual sight over there.

Once you're ready, you flutter towards the meadow, some already there and tending to the moon flowers, preparing them for an upcoming festival, pollinating them with a special pollen and making sure no illness befell at least one of them.

While you scatter the pollen on the flowers, you carefully observe the guards, ever so often hiding beneath the big flowers to take a better glimpse at them, listening in and trying to memorise their patrolling pattern, technically, it wasn't forbidden to leave the village at night but when your reasoning is to visit the nocturnal fae and try to become friendly, well, that's another story.

When it finally becomes evening, it's time to get ready, you put on a cloak and wait around a certain area around one of the exits for guards to walk past and go towards another area to patrol.

It's your cue to leave and you quickly do so, not the fastest by foot but it worked, you only hope that nobody saw you else you'd be in trouble and then the mayor would be upset and then the ministers when they heard one of their subjects decided to dare to go to the nocturnal faeries.

You take off the cloak once you're a good bit away from the village, you decide to flutter towards the edge of the forest for the rest of this small trip till you reach the edge of the forest, staring into the other side, it looks much darker and dangerous yet it's no time to go back now after planning for so long for this adventure of yours.

From what you've heard, nocturnal faeries are rather "scary" looking, sharp fangs, horns, scales and just overall roughness, that they're pretty mean although that's debatable since you've met plenty of mean diurnal faeries in your life but oh well, those were just rumours, you don't know what exactly to expect but at least it's one step closer to get friendly with them.

Aside from curiosity, you had another reason for this trip...

A while back, you overheard guards whispering amongst themselves, the trees surrounding the village are growing weaker and need a special kind of pollen to restore their strength but their problem was that the remedy lied within the territory of the nocturnal faeries and they're oh so stubborn to ask for help in that regard, instead, they tasked scholars to find an alternative solution.

If those trees die, everything around them does as well, your village is highly dependent on that but most importantly, the moon flowers on the meadow are of highest concern but what makes them special is that they have healing properties and that they bloom the strongest on the third full moon during the festival, without it, aiding the injured would take longer and finding a healer might end up being too late.

To you, the answer was obvious, to negotiate with the nocturnal faeries, asking for help and offering something in return, it couldn't be that bad... but then again, you've never met an actual nocturnal fae.

As night grows closer, you put on the cloak, trying to blend in, the forest seems so much darker compared to the ones in your territory, the tree leafs rustle in the wind and the owls sing their songs, it's hard to see without a light but if you lit up a light it could alarm the wrong type of creatures, so instead, you depend on the moonlight to guide you.

After walking for an hour, you spot a distant light emitted from a campfire but then you also heard... screeching and growling? you're not sure if you're hearing dangerous creatures or actual nocturnal faeries after all but nonetheless, it's an opportunity to see them up close.

You lower yourself and walk along the bushes to try to get closer till you're close enough to peek through the bushes and see what you've found.

Your eyes widen at the sight, real nocturnal faeries! But from the looks of it, soldiers.

Their masks are put aside and they're resting and talking, you hold in a gasp at the sight, such sharp fangs, piercing eyes with a slit shaped pupils, longer pointy ears and as you've heard, some indeed have scales and horns, the rumours about them looking more rough and predatory certainly wasn't a lie and yet... there was something ethereal about them.

To your confirmation, that growling and screeching is indeed just them talking, such an odd yet curious language, you thought.

You decide to stay hidden and keep observing, clearly, it's very important! You were just about to take out your journal but then you remember just how good of a hearing they have so perhaps alarming them wouldn't be so smart, writing can wait but... if their hearing is that good, what if they already are aware of your presence? No, that can't be, else they would've already noticed by now.

You have a clear goal in mind, observe, plan and negotiate (hopefully), after all, finding the remedy yourself and just taking it would be thievery, so you can't do that, you'd be punished and you aren't exactly fond of that.

You spot a fae much smaller and slimmer than the rest, his skin was a beautiful shade of pale, he had sharp fangs like the rest but his red piercing eyes truly captured your interest, his long hair flowing in the gentle night breeze.

Judging from the way the others interact with him, he seems to be someone highly important but it was difficult to really tell if they'd listen to reason were you to actually approach them, you could make nothing of their screeching.

They truly sounded and looked so different from the faeries you're surrounded by all the time yet you couldn't help but look at them in awe, you want to know more about them and get to know their lives and everything else.

Now stuck in a dilemma, you're sure that approaching them head on wouldn't be the smartest idea, they'd probably just shoo you back to your home but you somehow need to at least befriend one of them.

After some more observing, you internally sigh, it's no use to keep watching them so you slowly back away and try to get away without getting noticed.

Once you successfully get away, you continue to walk deeper into the woods in hopes of spotting the sister tree of the ones surrounding your village but that advantage is cut short very quickly.

One step and suddenly a rope snatches your ankle and pulls you up, dangling you upside down.

You did not expect this whatsoever and now you're stuck hanging upside down, also having made quite the noise with the amount of leaf rustling due to the trap.

Your hair is a mess, the skirt of your dress hanging down, revealing the shorts beneath them, your bag fell down alongside your cloak, letting you wings free and making you less hidden.

You curse inside, trying to figure out what to do now while you meekly tried reaching for the rope holding your leg, your wings flutter in frustration.

"first you're snooping around and now you're stuck dangling like freshly caught prey, I must say... I've never seen your kind venturing into our territory, alone nonetheless" a deep voice from behind suddenly speaks up.

You freeze, unable to look behind you but you can tell that it must be one of the soldiers you saw earlier.

"Such beautiful wings, diurnal faeries truly live up to their names, you look like a soft delicate flower, like something that doesn't belong here"

You feel a hand gently caressing your wing, you gasp and slap him with your wing, it was gentle and didn't harm him but it was enough to startle him and to tell him to stop.

After a moment of silence, he's in front of you and you're met with those piercing red eyes again that you saw earlier, he looks like he's thinking with a stern face.

"Tell me, who are you and what are you doing here?" he asks sternly, leaving no room to back away.

"I'm just here for help, I need something that can only be acquired here!" you say after composing yourself.

"and pray tell what it is you're looking for? Not often does your kind come here, nonetheless all alone like yourself, a bit naive if you ask me" he replied unimpressed.

You huff "I came here with a purpose, thank you very much..." you reply back a little sassy.

He keeps looking at you sternly, letting you know he won't help you if you don't tell your intentions first, very clearly as well.

"Okay look... my village has these special trees with magic and they're growing weaker... there's a certain type of pollen that can make it strong again but the problem is, the sister tree carrying that pollen grows here, in your forest, nowhere else and those trees are super important to us..." you explain and the sigh, talking while hanging upside sure is exhausting.

He hums and then just looks smug "I see how it is, we have a little thief here"

You gasp frustrated "I'm not stealing! I'm here to negotiate with your kind! I was hoping to talk with any of you, get friendly and well, get the pollen since the higher ups refuse too!"

He looks contemplative before responding "I truly don't know if you're naive or actually brave for coming here but let me be clear, you can't just waltz over here, expecting to simply 'talk it out' with the first faerie you see, not to mention, we aren't on friendly terms"

You look a little defeated but still keep your composure "...at least please let me down?"

He sighs and cuts the rope, making you fall down with a groan, slowly getting up and reaching for you bag and cloak.

He watches you gathering yourself and evening out the skirt of your dress and removing a few leafs from your hair before looking at him.

"Look, in case you didn't realise, we're in the middle of a war with the Silver Owls, we don't have time for something like this, we're busy protecting our lands, including yours, so you better fly back home and stay out of danger, let the higher ups handle it" he replies while looking around, listening to his surroundings.

You look frustrated but quickly keep shut once he looks at you sternly once again.

He sighs and looks less serious "I've been gone long enough from the camp, it won't be long till someone comes looking for me, you're lucky you came across me, you should better hurry back home before anything dangerous can happen, I can't protect you just because you decided to have a little adventure here, I have my duties to attend to"

You put on your cloak and bag but before you can go, the nocturnal fae calls out to you again.

"the name's Lilia Vanrouge, general Lilia Vanrouge, in case we cross paths again, little lady"

Clearly he knows just as well as you, that this won't be the last encounter.

Once you reach your home without alarming the guards, you sigh, sitting down on your bed, thinking about your encounter with Lilia, it was a rocky start but you know you'll have to come back.

Nonetheless, you start writing down on your journal, everything you found out so far, but you must admit, despite their rough and predatory features, they are quite handsome.

You smile and put the journal away, getting ready for bed for another day of planning the next move.

"You're finally back, general, was it a Silver Owl?" Baur asks once he sees Lilia return.

"No, just a lost deer, nothing to worry about" he dismisses, before heading to his tent, the feeling of your wings still lingering on his mind.

[galerymod]

The Gaza issue is no longer relevant since the Israeli government managed to persuade the United States of America to bomb Iran.

We support the existence of the State of Israel, but every state and every people must take responsibility. What was planned and carried out by Hamas terrorists on 2 October must be answered for reasons of state. However, bombing the entire Gaza Strip just because terrorists are hiding among the civilian population is collective guilt that is being attributed to the defenceless Palestinian people, who were unable to get rid of these terrorists themselves.

Even if you don't like to hear it, what the Israeli government is doing is a crime against humanity. And to stifle any criticism of this with the anti-Semitic hammer is helpless rhetoric. We are in favour of religious freedom as long as we are not told what to believe. Religion is a private matter.

And anyone who really knows the history of Iran knows that America deliberately destroyed democracy in order to install the Shah, who, incidentally, was every bit as cruel as the mullahs.

America made the mullahs possible in the first place, which is somewhat ironic.

We abhor the mullahs' regime, but attacking a state without a declaration of war is against international law.

What, then, is the difference between Donald Trump's United States of America and Vladimir Putin's Russia?

If international law no longer applies, then the world has a real problem.

All negotiations on a two-state solution have been repeatedly undermined by the current Israeli government through its settlement policy, and its true interest is now evident in the expulsion of the Palestinian people.

The Palestinian people have just as much right to a state as Israel does.

Throwing years of negotiations down the drain just because the opportunity now exists is a crime with intent.

mod

A Japanese man has been protesting at the Israeli embassy every week for over a year

[kirietown]

Star Burster | Part VII

Pairing: clark kent x f!reader

Summary: what does it mean to be a man?

Content: toxic masculinity (sorry ily pa kent but im doing it for the plot),

18+

[chapter six]

Word Count: 2.8K

When Clark was four years old he single handedly lifted his father’s tractor to seek out a stray cat that was hiding underneath it. Martha Kent witnessed the entire ordeal and realized that perhaps motherhood wasn’t what she had expected. Regardless, she held only warmth in her heart after having witnessed the event. A miracle, her miracle boy, a gift she felt after years of troubles with infertility. Unfortunately, gossip around town centred around Martha's womb, and yet she never let herself succumb to the relentless harassment and she knew deep down she was one of many women at the centre of bodily speculation. It was easy for her to take Clark on, and claim him as her own, because he was her miracle, and every child despite their differences was a gift. When Jonathan Kent was told the news later on that evening, the farmer only sighed and rubbed his thumb over his eyes. Jonathan loved his boy, more than anything, but unfortunately his principles as a southern man did not often align with loving a son like Clark.

Clark’s childhood from when the Kents had found him in that spaceship had been a series of miracles and mistakes. It was hard to tell which was which at times. For example, a miracle was his ability to lift up various furniture to assist his mother in cleaning the house. A mistake was to use his powers at all in the presence of Jonathan Kent.

Now Jonathan Kent was a wary man; he considered his past unimportant and didn’t dwell on things that made him feel weak or bad. He’d seen a lot, unfortunately, and despite the fact he’d never met a boy quite like his own, he’d met his fair share of folks who were different. It never ended up pretty for them despite how bad he wanted to protect them. He remembered holding his breath the first time he held Clark, the feeling of baby soft skin and hair in his arms. He remembered shutting his eyes and picturing that the wreckage of the space craft would disappear; it never did. He avoided its presence whenever he thought back to the memory of first finding Clark, he avoided thinking about hauling the craft into his truck and locking it in an old unused shed. Sometimes, when Jonathan had bad thoughts, wicked thoughts, he'd go to that shed and stand before the space craft. He'd think real hard about those thoughts, maybe even cuss a little before turning around, locking the door and never dwelling on it again. A good man never cussed in front of his wife, a good man never dropped to his knees and sobbed over his fears for his son either, not in front of his family at least. But in that shed was a rocket that wasn't supposed to see the light of day, and buried with it were the worries of Jonathan Kent that weren't supposed to exist. Jonathan was a strong man, and strong men didn't feel.

Sure, Clark was strong, and sometimes he had a habit of walking without his feet touching the ground. But Jonathan had decided that the only miracle about Clark should be the fact that they’d found him after having prayed for a child for many years.

Clark was a kind kid, it was easy to knock some sense into him, Jonathan found. A stern talking to every once in a while was enough to get him to act straight. He shared his anxiety about lynch mobs, the government and other sources that would steal him away and hurt him if they knew he was from somewhere far far away. Clark listened eagerly, like a little sponge— a human sponge when it came to Jonathan’s words.

Clark was especially interested in Jonathan’s opinions on masculinity. The concept interested Clark; he wanted to know how to act, when to act and what to do, and who better than his father? Jonathan made his thoughts very clear on the matter because a man should always know when to back down.

“Don’t ever let anger take over, ya hear?”

”Learn to let things go,” he’d always say.

Jonathan was quite passive, and he made it his goal; or better yet, his duty to instil this ideology into Clark. Jonathan loved his son, he really did, but he’d be lying if he said the things he could do didn’t give him the heebie jeebies.

“Be kind or they’ll never accept you,” he’d say often. These words had echoed through Clark’s skull his entire elementary school years. It had really been sealed in when Clark had accidentally pushed a boy so hard he nearly flew; luckily the child was only a bit scrapped up and hardly had the attention span to care about the physics involved in the incident.

Jonathan had told Clark that evening that violent men were monsters. When Clark looked into the mirror that night he realized that if he focused real close he could start to see his own anatomy. Was he a monster? How could he be when he still had a beating heart? When he asked his father about it the next day, he only responded that people shouldn't be able to see their own organs.

It was after that incident that Clark began to avoid roughhousing with other boys. This unfortunately limited his friends as most boys in Smallville were quite taken by wrestling and boxing. The girls were at that young age where they wanted nothing to do with any boys, well, except one.

You were always nice to Clark, if not a bit bossy. You got along well with one another when it came to chatting about childish nonsense and playing games. Although Clark was a few years your senior, he still joined in your tea parties and spoke to your stuffed bears and referred to them by the names you’d given them. The two of you were close in those early years as your families often visited one another. They gossiped often, the two of you wouldn't understand until much later that they had made a bit of a deal when it came to your futures. Clark and yourself were wrapped up together whether you liked it or not, really. It was quite traditional, maybe even a little outdated for the time, but Jonathan Kent felt the idea of marriage was exactly what Clark needed to keep being human.

"All a man needs to do is provide, Clark," he'd say.

"What if I wanna help people?"

Your favourite thing had to be the fact that Clark had a habit of lifting you into the air whenever you came near. It was fun for the both of you as due to his height despite his young age it made you feel like you could fly. As for Clark, he just loved the way butterflies would flutter in his tummy whenever you laughed.

Your mother had remarked to his parents that “Clark sure is strong.” Martha chuckled awkwardly, but Jonathan stared at the two of you in fixed silence. His jaw tense as he was seemingly disturbed. He flinched subtilely every time Clark touched you after that, the same way a parent would flinch if a wild dog got too close to a baby. He shook his thoughts, Clark wasn’t a dog, Clark was a person.

Sometimes Jonathan Kent felt unsure, and it only made him feel guiltier.

In the coming days after, Clark had stopped lifting you and at first you were curious but you quickly moved on as children do. You had noted that Jonathan Kent seemed more involved when the two of you played though you were unsure why, nor did you mind, considering the man was nice. However, in his presence it felt as though Clark was suddenly guarded as though he wasn’t a reckless kid no more.

When had Clark grown into a man? You weren’t sure.

It was around when Clark turned thirteen and he burned a hole into the roof that Jonathan Kent sat him down and told him he wasn’t just from somewhere far away, but rather he wasn't from this planet. He told him also that because he wasn’t from this planet, that made him something else, and if he wanted to continue living on this planet happily he’d have to be somebody else. Clark started to wear baggier clothes that day, an attempt at hiding the muscles that were seemingly developing abnormally for a boy his age.

“A true man, a real man, is willing to make himself uncomfortable so that everyone can feel safe. Don’t you want others to feel safe, Clark?”

By the time Clark had matured into his body and was practically his own man, his father’s ideology had been drilled into him. A man had to be kind, a man had to know when to lose a fight, and that any good man had to suppress his strength. After all, everyone respected Jonathan Kent, so who was Clark to question him?

It all came to a head the night of a dance the local community centre had hosted for all the youngsters in town. It was a joyous occasion because despite the youth of the attendants, many of them had been working odd jobs since they could walk or talk. It was a good way to let loose, and an even more notorious way to find a match.

Clark lingered around the drink table which was a far enough distance from the band. His hearing had been especially sensitive these days, and any sudden noise left him cringing. He didn’t mind though, he didn’t mind being uncomfortable as long as he could keep his eye on you. You were dancing along to the music with a few of the other girls, a bright smile on your face as you spun around in circles with them. Despite his stature, Clark didn’t feel out of place as many of the other boys stuck to the sidelines during this particular song as it was more so for the ladies.

It wasn’t until the music played a more classier tune that you finally acknowledged him. A coy smile graced your lips as you beckoned him over. It took him everything in his power to act normal and not trip over himself. He was a bit clumsy now that he wore an old pair of glasses that were meant to obscure his vision a bit. His father had said his eyes were too unnaturally blue and the glasses would keep people from paying attention to them. The consequence was they blurred his surroundings and turned him into a bit of a klutz.

Luckily he made it over to you safely and managed to offer his hand in order to lead you into a dance. It felt natural to move in sync with you, and he’d never been this close to you in some years. You’d left behind the play fights in childhood and instead took up various crafts whilst Clark worked on his father’s farm. Despite the distance between the two of you, he felt as though no time had passed.

“I heard my ma and pa talking,” you said. “That they’re gonna pair us up.” A blush crept on Clark’s cheeks at the thought though thankfully you didn’t seem to acknowledge his eagerness at the thought. However, Clark never could get a good read on you. You always said things matter of factly, your own feelings were never given away. Were you eager too?

“H-how d-does that m-make you feel?” He asked, cursing himself for stuttering his way through the question. The stutter was a more recent development since puberty, and manifested often in your presence. It didn't help that his father had been training him to speak softer, citing that for a big man like Clark it was easy to seem aggressive. Clark didn't want to seem aggressive, that was the last thing he wanted to be. If softening himself made everyone-- especially you, more comfortable then that was fine. Men weren't supposed to feel comfortable, that was what he was taught.

Clark never learnt your answer that night, as you'd been cut off by another voice.

"Hope you don't mind if I cut in, buddy," spoke a familiar brutish man who made it his habit to trail around you. He wasn't a scary man per se, in fact both Clark and you knew him and his family fairly well. At that moment however, his hand was on Clark's shoulder, firm as if in warning. You looked at Clark as if waiting for a response, likely one similar to one of those romance books you had been starting to read. Clark kept track of those, he wasn't necessarily a fan of the genre but he liked to know what you liked.

Unfortunately, Clark wasn't like any of those book characters. He didn't tell the man to buzz off, nor did he deck him for thinking he could cut in and try to swoop you off your feet. Instead, Clark said:

"I- I don't see why not," his hands moved from you, leaving a sense of coldness behind. "Just have a dance with him," he whispered to you then, as though sensing your hesitation. You looked at him, really looked at him in that moment before you turned away and allowed the other man to lead you away in a dance.

Clark didn't know why his fingers felt so stiff, Clark didn't know why the look on your face made him want to tear his own heart out. But what Clark did know was that he was feeling discomfort, and that discomfort was what being a man was all about.

But did Clark really want to be a man?

He didn't stay that long after that. He found himself feeling the need to vomit as he watched you dance with that man, and by the time your dance with him ended, he barely had a chance to try to speak to you because another man had appeared and grasped your hand.

Within seconds Clark found himself in front of the shed he knew his father liked to yell and cry in when he thought no one could hear. Clark didn't have the guts to tell him he could hear everything. He opened the shed easily, apologising under his breath when he felt the lock break under the might of his hands. It was dim inside with barely any moonlight trickling in and yet Clark could see everything clearly as he removed the tarp from atop the space shuttle and watched it come to life.

He watched stunned as the ship reacted to his touch as though it had been waiting for this. It projected images that lit up the shed and casted stunning imagery of generations of people, seemingly of various genders, with some sort of foreign writing next to the images. They were as different as they were similar, all of them seemingly great warriors or scientists, conquerors or engineers. Clark noted their matching dark hair and bright blue eyes alongside a symbol, a mysterious crest dawned on all their chests in the shape of what he could only recognise as an S. Its true meaning was lost to him, and yet he seemed to understand that what was presented to him was a different form of pride entirely from the one he was raised with. These people stood tall, stood proud as though they had nothing to be ashamed of.

The following day he begged Martha to sew together fabrics from the ship to make a suit for him, and so she did. Jonathan did not say a word, at least not until he saw his son finally dressed in the material, standing in their living room, seemingly out of place with the traditional furnishing and decor.

"Clark," he said. His son turned to look at him, towering over the man who once was able to hold him in one hand. "I want you to promise me this," he continued.

"Anything, pa," Clark replied.

"I want you to promise me no matter what you won't tell no one 'bout this side of you," he said. "I've done what I can as your father, but please Clark. You have to promise me." He practically begged him, and Clark felt his breath hitch as he had never seen his father so intentionally vulnerable before.

"I promise," he said, and he meant it.

"Swear to me, Clark, swear or I just may die."

"I swear."

[beardedmrbean]

NEED TO KNOW

During a recent traffic stop in Louisiana, a sheriff's deputy learned a driver was heading to a funeral

His kind response has since gone viral on social media

"It’s the small gestures that leave the biggest impact," one person wrote in response to the post

A Louisiana sheriff’s deputy is gaining attention after he stopped a driver for speeding, only to learn the man was going to a funeral. So, the deputy helped him with his tie.

Deputy Dustin Byers recently pulled the unnamed driver over on Highway 21 in St. Tammany Parish, the St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Office said on Facebook on Sunday, June 22.

“The man explained he was on his way to a funeral and was having a tough day,” authorities said. “To top it off, he couldn’t get his tie right.”

Byers didn’t hesitate to help the man. In a picture shared by the sheriff’s office, the deputy can be seen tying the other man’s tie on the side of the road.

“REMINDER: compassion still exists, even on the side of the road,” officials continued.

The post, entitled “A Traffic Stop Comes With a Side of Compassion,” has been shared more than 2,000 times as of Wednesday, June 25. Many people who viewed the story were appreciative of the thoughtful act, though some wondered if the driver got a ticket. When contacted by PEOPLE, the St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Office confirmed that the man did receive a speeding citation and declined to provide further comment.

“This right here is a powerful reminder that kindness knows no uniform, no badge, and no boundaries,” one Facebook user wrote in response to the viral post. “In a moment that could have simply been about a traffic stop, Deputy Byers chose compassion — turning frustration into dignity and stress into support.

“It’s the small gestures that leave the biggest impact. Thank you, Deputy Byers, for showing that humanity still lives on the roadside, in a helping hand, and in a tied knot,” the woman continued. “May we all strive to lead with empathy, no matter the circumstance.”

[jasina85]

Okay... Hunter the Reckoning 5th edition. I unfortunately have opinions not many people will be surprised about.

The game still feels like it has an identity crisis between wanting the player characters to be the everymen who said enough and started biting back against the supernatural and being very special with access to special powers. This was true in the legacy era with the Imbued and the Numina, it's still true with Edges. Now, having the characters be special - there's nothing inherently wrong with that, because special characters tend to make for natural protagonists, but it feels like the game can't decide if it wants everyman or special more and it ends up awkwardly reaching for both.

I've heard people say that just as VtM 5 took some mechanics for Chronicles' own Vampire the Requiem (which looking at both systems side-by-side is fairly obvious), so did HtR 5 do the same with Hunter the Vigil. I can't comment on it, as I've neither read through or played the Vigil, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was true. Speaking of Vampire though...

The attention to detail in places in this book is god-awful. The example presented for the Linguistics merit IS THE SAME LEBANESE VAMPIRE IN MEXICO CITY WORD-FOR-WORD. Seriously?! You couldn't even be bothered to rewrite that to fit the book it's in now? That just feels lazy.

Hunter Creeds... feel utterly pointless. The only mechanical difference between them is what you can use Desperation dice for and their fluff text all reads so similar for the most part that if you were to remove their names from text, I wouldn't be able to tell most of them apart. They feel like they only exist because the designers needed to shoehorn in some kind of character class system, because ttrpgs need to have those, right?

The Drives meanwhile are fine. Nothing much to say here, since they're primarily a narrative tool, rather than a mechanic one.

Edges! I'm very divided on these. The Asset and Aptitude Edges feel okay... until you realize that stuff like getting your hands on say... a car, a custom-made gun or explosive would fall under Allies/Contacts in other splats, but in here getting those is a special ability, implying you need that Edge to have any chance getting it. It feels very messy.

Endowment Edges on the other hand feel pretty fun! They're obviously supposed to be the choose-your-own-flavor Numina, and they feel like the best fit for representing True Faith, but you could flavor then as Hedge Sorcery or in some cases even Hypertech, as long as you accept most of these only work against the supernatural. It's not ideal, but it's probably the most fun part of this book.

Lastly, I want to talk about how HtR5 uses Chronicle Tenants. In short - it doesn't. Oh sure, it tells you to decide on them, but there's no actual mechanical consequence for breaking them. In Vampire, breaking a Chronicle Tenant usually means Stains on your Humanity, in Werewolf you have Harano... in Hunter you have nothing. Chronicle Tenants, at least to me, have always been half about setting a theme, half ideas to be challenged during play. Do you break one when doing so would be the right thing? Hunter leaves no such considerations, because when there's no consequence, does the choice even matter? Instead it treats them as closer to lines and veils for the players, which is just not what they're meant to be.

Oh, right, the orgs... meh? The returning ones like Arcanum and Saint Leopold are mostly the same as they were in legacy, only with questionable rewrites and squandered old plot threads. Also, who thought having an org who's name abbreviates to KKK was a good idea? No, they're not actually the Klan, but seriously? And yes, the choice for not letting players be a part of an org is still dumb.

I'll be honest, I'm not sure I'm going to read much more of Hunter 5. This has been a highly frustrating experience.

On one final note, I've said this before but god damn it, the actual art style of this book? The actual drawings in black and white punctuated with splashes of blaze orange? It is soooo good. I wish this was a consistent art style across the 5th edition World of Darkness with a different color for each gameline. It is simply just so striking.

[19catsncounting]

I'll show my age a little on this post, because this kind of situation has just come up again, so it's a little fresh.

There are times when someone dies, and their tangible grief is small. It's not really a surprise, maybe it's even expected. The elderly and sick move into hospice centers and those rooms are much smaller than their houses, or they move in with family and those rooms are smaller than their houses. It's easy to divvy up and cherish grief when it's nice and small, a sentimental box of trinkets and a shirt.

And there are times when someone dies, and it's a burden. It is. It's hundreds of pounds of grief and crap and it will crush you like a millstone - not just because it's a lot to deal with and emotionally a lot to deal with - but because it's not your crap, but it is now. It's yours, they're not here and they don't own it and you're reminded that they're not here to own it every time you look at it. You deal with it.

When my wife's mother passed away, she lived in a two story townhouse that was filled to the brim with stuff. Tapestries, posters, pictures - the woman had a habit of tacking posters and tapestries and pictures on the ceiling because she filled up every single spare space on the wall, covering light switches too. She died in that house, and my wife at the time was a teenager, and she came home one night to find that she was now a homeless orphan. My wife could not walk back into that house to take anything because her world was simply destroyed in a way you and I will never fathom - family friends got her clothes and toiletries and some of them packed up totes of things they knew mattered a lot to my wife's mother. Some of those totes were lost over the years, others were placed in sheds or under tarps outside. My wife still grieves the things that she lost, even if we've recovered some of it. We have a record collection of 1000+ vinyls, many of which are warped and damaged and frankly smell like rodent urine. And we will likely have those vinyls forever - hundreds of pounds of grief that are heavier than a human body, but not at all equal to a life.

There's a lot of notes on this post, a lot of tags, and I don't think many of the people writing them have ever been in this kind of situation.

I don't think a lot of folks would realize that the Winchester house was damaged in a fire. And that smoke leaves a smell. And that smell would linger to the point that - canonically, in this episode it is established - John and his sons did not sleep in that house again, and instead stayed with John's boss. Probably because it smelled like the fire for weeks or months afterwards.

And John packed up the kids in the car and left. Probably left the mortgage unpaid until the bank foreclosed on it due to default, which would have taken years to finalize and process, and longer to restore the house to the point that it could sell if the repairs weren't completed before John left - and they most likely weren't. But in the meantime, someone boxed up those photos that were recently taken prior to the fire (and I might have to explain to some younger fans that physical pictures like that don't often go directly into storage - in the late 1900's, when a family took pictures on a dedicated device called a 'film camera' and took those primitive film cartridges to be developed, they would change out the photos in existing frames or hang up new ones), and put them in the basement, where they would be safe from the elements, the gaping hole where the fire burned out the wall and roof. And in the basement, those pictures and the paper and any fabrics would lose the smoke smell.

It could have been a family friend, going inside the house to sort things out, but I imagine that family friend would have taken the box to their own storage as that would be more sensible. And it could have been a firefighter who managed to grab a box, grab a few things, and hand it off to a grieving father with his arms full, before telling him that the carpets and walls will be soaked from the hoses for a few days, and what companies to call to do restoration services.

And it could have been John, walking through the least-touched areas of the house on his own - the living room, the kitchen, but not up the stairs. He could have picked up a few things, put them in a box, put the box in the basement so it'd be safe while the restoration crew worked on the house, it wouldn't take up any room at any place he and his boys are staying at and always running the risk of outstaying their welcome. And John could have put that box in the basement, planning to come back to it.

And then didn't, because he couldn't, just like Dean didn't either. Because John found out the truth about the demon, and had a white whale to catch to avenge his wife instead of being forced to move on as he would have without that.

If John didn't find out the truth, he would have gone back to the house, but he didn't. Even when he left, in the early years, he always planned to go back to the house. But he didn't. Because the house still smelled too much like smoke.

i've always been pretty distraught about how john left behind a box of family phots in the basement when he took the kids out of kansas. to have so little left after the fire and to still leave what little there was behind... i mean we know at least sam has a picture of mary and john and there is a picture of john and the boys in 1.01 but that's from after the fire.

but ALSO i've realized in the same box there's a handmade card that says "DaD" that Dean must have made for john.

that john also left.

i know john was going through a period of immense grief. but there's something very painful about such tangible evidence of the way dean's childhood - and even the memory of it - was left behind.

[666little-devil666]

Pain and Pleasure

Two experiments. One broken promise. And a final escape that was anything but mercy.

“Bob?” a scared voice whispered into the air. “Are you awake?”

It was the first time she spoke that day, her voice hoarse and broken from hours upon hours of screaming in pain. Her body was curled up into the corner of her small room, her head leaning against the metal grate that they would often talk through.

“Y-yeah, I’m here…” he whispered back, laying in a similar position in his own sterile room.

Their rooms were white and hospital-like. Humane for the most part, with a simple bed, bottles of water lining a shelf they didn’t have the power to reach or twist open, and a toilet/sink combination the likes of which one would find in a jail cell. Well, at least that’s what Bob told her, she hadn’t been in a cell before.

They’d been at the facility for weeks now, being injected with all sorts of experimental serums and gasses, completing tests by the dozen to see what stuck and what didn’t.

Bob was doing better than her.

It wasn’t a question or something to brag about. Just a simple, sad fact they both had to come to terms with a while ago now. His body – though more abused than hers by bad habits – reacted better to the experiments. Yes, he would still scream and sob in pain after each injection, but he could also feel the strength OXE promised.

She on the other hand… she only felt the pain.

It started as a simple ache at the injection site.

Something the scientists easily waved off as simple soreness from the needle and the fluids entering her body. By the second injection, it turned into a horrible burning.

She spent the whole night curled up into the same corner she was now pressed into, wailing and clutching at her shoulders in vain, unable to do anything to lessen the pain.

That night was the first time Bob talked to her through the gate.

He greeted her softly, barely heard above her cries of agony. He tried to talk her through the pain, but didn’t succeed, as she simply lost consciousness after her sobs rendered her dehydrated.

The next morning, however, he was still there… babbling against the grate about nothing, spending his whole night awake to make sure he would be there by the time she woke up.

If she woke up.

By the fourth injection, his powers began to manifest themselves.

He had strength like never before, his body growing impressive muscles overnight. He could make things shake and float around with his mind, and he didn’t feel as much pain anymore.

She still sobbed most nights, her only lifeline being their shared little grate and their half-whispered conversations into the night.

Her “power” was barely existent.

Some weak form of telepathy, where she caught a few words and snippets of thoughts here and there. The first time she successfully finished a sentence during one of the tests the scientists put her thought, they had started to consider her a success too.

But with the fifth – and final – injection, the bleeds began.

It all started with her hands – strangely enough. The dry skin on her knuckles split, bleeding much more than what was normal. And the wounds refused to heal, and began to fester, no matter how much ointment the scientists put on them.

Then, her lips began to crack. At the corners first, always bleeding whenever she ate the meals the facility provided. It became bad enough that she could barely open her mouth to eat anymore, and could only mumble to avoid further tearing her lips.

Her ears were next. Every thought she caught from someone else cost a drop of blood to travel down her ear canal. Sometimes it didn’t even have the chance to completely exit her body, getting stuck and drying, leaving her hearing impaired and her ears itchy.

Her tears turned to blood too, scaring her so much one night, that she couldn’t stop shaking and hyperventilating. She begged that entire night for someone to pt an end to her suffering.

And lastly, her nose began to bleed seemingly at random, until the only thing she could taste and smell was blood.

All she smelled was blood.

All she tasted was blood.

All she saw was blood.

And all she heard was Bob’s muffled voice begging her to hold on.

Promising they would both survive this…

“I’m dying, Sugar,” she whispered against the grate now, smiling despite the pain still actively wrecking her body.

She had given him the nickname because of his sweet, caring heart. And while he had fought it tooth and nail at first, he grew to accept it with time. Now, the little pet name made him all flustered and stuttering.

“No, no… don’t say that,” he called her name, hands pressing against the wall. In his fear, he didn’t notice the shadows of the room start to crawl towards him. “You promised you wouldn’t say that.”

“I can feel it,” she continued, not even registering his words anymore. “I can barely move… I’m in pain… and I will fucking die alone…” she sobbed, her hands not even strong enough to come up and hide her scrunched up face.

“You’re not alone… I-I’m here with you.”

“But you aren’t,” she spoke even softer. “I can feel you, feel your thoughts always just out of reach. Just like… you. I want…”

He pressed closer against the wall again, unable to hear some of her words with her mumbling and whispering.

“I want to touch you.”

He gently called her name, his fingers clutching the grate desperately, “you know we can’t… They don���t know how the injections would react–”

“Bob, please,” she hissed between sobs, sniffling in an effort to stop what she thought was snot from dripping down her chin. It was blood again. “I don’t want to spend my last night alone. I just… I just don’t want to hurt anymore.”

Her voice quivered as her sobs begged for an end that wasn’t in sight.

For days now she had asked the scientists to stop the experiments, she told them that she was too weak, that they didn’t work on her.

But they didn’t listen… they never listened.

They held her signed contract over her like the blade of a guillotine. They held her down as they taped sensors to her head. They put a guard to her teeth while they purposefully put her in the middle of a room with all the scientists, to see just how many thought she could pick up before the pain overwhelmed her.

“I want to feel…. Something other than just pain.”

“Well, I can’t exactly open the door,” he pointed out. Their doors didn’t have doorknobs on the inside, nor were they simple, regular doors. They were thick metal slabs that only retracted when they wanted them to.

“But you can break the wall.”

“Y-you want me to break the wall? Are you–Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably,” she shrugged, her head thumping against the wall as her sobs turned to wet wheezes instead. “But I’m also about to die… and I would like to at least see you before I go.”

Bob’s breath stuttered. He stared at the wall, the shadows writhing around him like smoke, like arms reaching to hold him back… But they weren’t strong enough this time. Not stronger than this.

He stood.

The first hit sent a vibration through the sterile room. Metal groaned, drywall flaked. She gasped from the other side, weakly whispering his name.

The second hit left an impressive dent, blood smearing from his knuckles, his healing still needing more time before it fully developed and left him invulnerable to attacks.

The third made the alarms scream from the speakers above.

By the time the wall finally tore inward with a roar, dust, and sparks raining down, Bob stumbled through the wreckage, eyes wide and desperate…

And then he saw her.

She was slumped into the same corner he favored, barely upright. Her hair was tangled and matted with the blood from her nose, mouth, ears… eyes. Her body looked wrong. Too thin, too small, too broken compared to his god-like physique.

But beautiful… Beautiful in a devasting was. Beautiful in a way the pain could never take from her.

He dropped to his knees beside her, hands trembling as they hovered right above her skin, terrified to touch, scared that he would somehow further harm her. He breathed her name, and reveled in how her eyes blinked open to stare up at him.

Her lips quirked in the smallest smile, and she let out a breathy chuckle, wet and ragged with the blood she continuously spat out. Her shaking hand lifted, trailing through the air before brushing his cheek. Her fingers left a smear of blood on his face, but he leaned into the touch like it was holy.

“Oh, Sugar, you’re so handsome,” she whispered, teeth red and chattering. “Even when you’re crying…”

He let out a broken laugh of his own, swallowing the sob that threatened to tear through him.

“And warm, god you’re warm,” her hand slowly slid down to his chest, where he caught it and lifted it in order to press kisses against each of her bony knuckles.

“You’re freezing,” he tried to tell her, but the words were choked and broken before they could ever leave his lips.

Her skin was so ashen, tinged grey, lips cracked and dark with dried blood. And so, so fragile, unlike him. His muscles strained beneath his skin like marble brought to life – strong, golden, burning with power. His body had flourished under the serums, hers had withered.

“Hold me,” she murmured, trying her best to sit up. “Let me feel you, all of you. Please, sugar…”

He should’ve told her no. Told her to rest while she could, that he would just hold her steady as they were. That he would look out for her and make sure she felt safe…

But the way she looked at him – so soft, so sure, like this was what she needed more than air – unraveled every defense he never had to begin with.

Bob leaned in and their lips connected in a soft clash, one that still managed to feel like two worlds colliding. Her lips were cracked, yes, and his were plush and soft and perfect from the serum, but he couldn’t tell the difference.

She moaned into his mouth, cracked lips parting just for him, her blood somehow unbelievable sweet on his tongue. He curled his arms around her, lightly lifting her up from the floor where she lay, and cradled the back of her head to better press their bodies together.

Her hands clutched at his scrubs, weak and shaking, like she was climbing Everest just to reach him. All the effort she put into being with him made him want to erupt. He wanted to break the two of them out of the lab, and run away somewhere where it was only the two of them.

Where he could keep her safe with all the powers he had developed, and she would smile up at him every day. Where the two of them didn’t have to live in fear ever again. Where they could–

“Take this off,” she gasped, tugging at the scrubs again, a trail of pink saliva connecting the two of them. “I want to feel your skin, please sugar…”

As if she even had to ask so nicely. He was ready to blow the whole lab up for her, what did he care about a flimsy piece of fabric?

In seconds, his shirt was gone – torn and thrown into the rubble left behind – exposing thick muscles. The kind of strength that shouldn’t exist – the kind that had torn through walls, lifted entire rooms, and carried the last of her soul for her, when she was too weak to do so.

Her hand skimmed his chest again, and his skin didn’t even shiver at the coldness anymore, burning too hot. “Jesus, look at you,” she whispered with large bloodshot eyes, voice reverent. “Like a statue made for war…”

“You’re beautiful,” he told her then, voice rough with the truth, watching as she rolled her pretty eyes at him.

She even managed a little laugh, wet and soft with whatever it was that was stuck in her throat. “I look like a ghost, cutie…”

“But you’re not a ghost.” Yet, a small dark voice whispered at the corner of his mind, one he quickly shook off. “You’re just uh, just as beautiful as I imagined you’d be…” He nodded, his cheeks flushing under the confession.

She made grabby motions up at him then, and he was quick to help her up into a sitting position, being as gentle as he could as he slowly removed her hospital gown. Her body was bare underneath, fragile – bruises blooming like galaxies on her skin. Her ribs showed with every ragged breath she took, and her thighs were skinnier than his arm – though, he supposed, his arms were rather thick now – and trembling as he helped her straddle his lap.

She was already out of breath, even from that little movement, and he could hear her lungs straining for oxygen she couldn’t swallow fast enough. “Sorry… god, I am pathetic.”

“H-hey,” Bob gently caught her chin with one hand – the other holding onto her hip to keep her seated – and angled her face up so her eyes met with his. “You’re here, okay? And I’m here. That’s… that’s all that matters,” he promised her.

Bob kissed her collarbone then, tasting the salty sweat on her pallid skin, while his hand on her hip slid down to her behind, cupping it and using his hold on her to drag her closer to the aching hardness of his cock. She felt so small in his hands – delicate, like she’d fall apart if he pressed too hard. But she didn’t.

She rocked against him, hips slow, and teeth gritting through the pain in her bones.

He knew he had to distract her from the pain. To give her mind something else to focus on… her body to feel something different.

“Let me taste you,” he rushed out before his usual bumbling foolish self could stop him. “Please,” begging never felt quite so good before.

He laid her back gently on the cold floor – right on her gown, so there was somewhat of a barrier present – kneeling between her trembling legs.

Opening them softly, he finally just laid on his stomach on the floor to be closer to her, licking a slow, sinfully desperate lap over her core. And though the move had been hesitant and shy – it… it had been a while for Bob – she still cried out above him, the sound raw and unfiltered.

In moments, she became soaked. Her body was already begging for him, already inviting him in with involuntary clenches and fluttering, even in its weakness.

“You’re so… w-warm,” she panted, her bony fingers quick to tangle in his long hair. “So hot. It feels like… like fire!”

He worked her slowly, worshipfully. Despite how they looked – he as a god, she as someone on death’s door – their roles had completely swapped. She was now the Goddess he worshipped with his unworthy tongue. She was the one he prayed to with flicks of the muscle and fingers he curled inside her.

He was the lowly peasant somehow blessed enough to touch her.

His fingers stretched her open, working her until her excitement was pooling under her ass, and even longer until her weakened thighs created efficient muffles around his head. God, he couldn’t even remember the last time he was in this position, but surely that one didn’t feel this good.

She was tight and slick and fluttering around him like her body was just as desperate to keep him close as her heart was.

When she was gasping, her thighs twitching and sobs wrecked her body, he finally pulled back, their darkened eyes meeting in a hot stare.

He surged forward, swallowing another of her moans – his name – with another intense kiss, allowing her to taste herself. It was strong enough to completely overpower the taste of blood in her mouth, and she moaned her thanks against his lips loudly.

Bracing one hand next to her head, he used the other to push his pants down, his cock throbbing in his hands in tandem with his galloping, bleeding heart. “I-isn’t this… are you sure?” he checked in just in case, stopping with maybe an inch between their bodies. “You have to tell me if it’s too much…”

“I want too much,” she breathed against him, smiling up at him with her cheeks finally full of color. Flushed and healthy, despite their gauntness. “I want all of you, sugar.”

And so he gave it to her.

He sank into her in one slow, shaking thrust. Bob had to bite the tip of his tongue to stop himself from blowing prematurely – it had been a very, very long time for him – his whole body trembling with the effort it took to stay slow and gentle with her.

Her arms wrapped around his neck – and her legs desperately tried to copy the move with his hips – clutching at him as her body shook too, finally warming up as their bare skin melted together.

“Jesus… christ…” he groaned, his bracing hand lifting up for a moment only to slam down again, cracking the tile underneath.

“You’re burning,” she gasped out, and he sat up in horror immediately, while still settled inside her.

He checked his body for any visible flames, and laughed a little when she gave him a little whine and an unimpressed look at having lost his warmth. Quickly, Bob leaned back down over her, one of his hands stabilizing him, the other sliding under her head to create a somewhat comfortable pillow.

“You’re perfect,” he told her, nearly weeping as he gave an exploratory thrust inside her. “God, you’re so… so perfect.”

He truly began to move then – slow, grinding strokes that dragged every inch of him through her fluttering walls. She was panting beneath him, hands grasping uselessly at his broad back, blunt nails digging into the marble like muscle.

She couldn’t even begin to try and match his rhythm – could barely even rock her hips anymore – but she didn’t need to. He did all the work for them. He held her tight, carrying the motion so she didn’t need to do anything but feel pleasure.

He fucked her like she was a prayer – slow, reverent, aching with desperation he couldn’t begin to put into words. Each thrust made her gasp louder, made her sob into his neck and bite at his skin, though both of them knew she wouldn’t be able to leave any lasting marks.

But she still held on. She was there, present, and finally not in pain.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair, and could feel her body clench at the words. “I love you. I love you, I–” he kept on whispering, again and again for as long as he could talk.

She shattered in his arms soon enough, crying out his name as her body shook like she was about to break apart in the pleasure of it all. Her climax was messy and raw, her pussy pulsing around him in frantic, fluttering contractions.

In that moment, her weak, barely there power activated itself in a way even she didn’t know it could. Rather than his thoughts invading her mind, the effect was the opposite. One second, he was still going strong, his hips not losing their fragile rhythm, and in the next he felt what she was feeling.

Felt that brain-melting, earth shattering pleasure that kept on rocking her body in waves, and he pushed himself inside her to the hilt, boxing her into his arms as he spilled inside her.

He felt her body fill with his warmth, both of them left shaking and whimpering on the floor together.

Bob pressed his face to her neck, breathing her in like that alone would keep her alive.

But they both knew that surge of power was her last cry…

He was sweating, flushed and still glowing from the strength that the serum gave to him, a stamina that had him ready for a second round before the first was even over. And she was barely breathing, her body already cooling down despite his arms still being around her.

“Thank you, sugar…” she whispered to him, hands framing his cheeks once more.

“You didn’t deserve this,” he choked out, tears slipping freely from his eyes. It wasn’t his first time crying after sex anyway… “You deserved everything.”

“I got you,” she told him, smiling in a way that showed how the pain began to invade her body again. “You’re everything.”

Then… she seized.

Her body arched with a wet, strangled scream. Her mouth opened in agony, and blood poured from every orifice visible, too much. Too fast.

“No–” he cried, grabbing her body, trying to steady her, trying to help, do something.

He dragged her onto his lap, cradling her against his chest as she continued to shake and twitch in his arms, her gaze barely lucid, head lolling uselessly.

“I can fix it,” he promised in a whisper, leaning close so her damaged ears could hear him. “I can help. I think–I think I know how to make the pain stop… You don’t have to hurt anymore.” He promised her, wiping the blood from her mouth with his thumb. “I’ll send you somewhere better. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe.”

“Your power…” she wheezed, her hand weakly curling into his hair, leaving more blood behind. “You told me – you told… me…”

He nodded, thumb trailing the red tears below her eyes. “You won’t feel anything anymore… just… the void…”

And finally, his friend, his only friend, the only one he could ever remember loving this much, smiled up at him, her face struggling to relax under the waves of pain washing over her.

He pressed a hand to her chest.

The shadows rose around them like smoke and oil. They twisted, curled, and then sank into her skin, swallowing her from the tips of her fingers, until they began to curl at the edges of her jaw.

For a second, she looked so peaceful.

Her body stilled, her eyes fluttered shut, and she exhaled one last time.

Then, with a gentle sound, she disappeared.

Her outline melted from his lap into the floor like spilled ink – a stain of black shadow on the white tile, the last part of her he could reach out and touch.

Bob sobbed, curling into himself just as the metal doors behind him groaned open.

The guards poured in, weapons drawn, shouting commands. But none of it mattered anymore.

She was gone. And he had saved her.

He had saved her.

New York glowed in flickering neon.

Distant sirens wailed like ghosts beneath the hum of traffic, and Bob leaned against the edge of the rooftop, watching it all like it might answer a question he hadn’t asked aloud in a long time.

Behind him, the Tower was quiet. The New Avengers – the title still legally wasn’t theirs – were finally getting some rest.

All except for him… or so he thought.

“Can’t sleep?” Yelena’s voice was soft, not startling him, just joining him in the light-pollution filled night.

He didn’t turn. Just gave the slightest shake of his head. He knew she would catch it. She always did. “Didn’t even try.”

She stepped up beside him, arms crossed against the chill, gaze following his down to the yellow cabs and blinking crosswalks below. Her white-blonde hair moved with the breeze, lips pouting as they always did.

“What’s on your mind?”

He hesitated. The city breathed beneath them, all those lives going forward while he was still somehow stuck in the past. “Someone I sent into the Void.”

Yelena looked up at him then, but didn’t push for more. She knew he would share if he was ready.

“She was… sick. Dying,” he told her. “She was in so much pain, and I couldn’t take it anymore… I thought I was helping, I didn’t know what the Void was then. Only that she would be–that she would be gone.”

He scoffed, elbows resting on the railing so he could hold his head up. “I thought I was helping,” he mocked, angry at his past naivety. “That I could give her peace.” He paused. “I don’t think I did.”

Silence stretched between them, a respectful space only filled up with the unsaid comfort she offered, and the sounds of the city below.

“Do you think she came back with us?” Yelena asked him softly, her body turning to face his.

Bob’s jaw clenched, his anger still simmering just under the surface. Thankfully, he had his power under control enough not to cause concern. “Even if she did… the lab was gone. You blew it up. Nothing left but rubble. No people. No help.”

“Would you want her to come back?”

He closed his eyes, his head hanging again, hair hiding his face from hers.

“I don’t know,” he whispered the reveal. “Because if she did… she’d be all alone. Hurting.”

Yelena didn’t say anything, just gently reached out and rested a hand on his arm. Her own way of silent comfort. Her presence.

He didn’t move.

And below them, the city kept moving, unaware of the shadows its heroes carried in silence.

She woke up on the surface of the exam table.

The lights above her buzzed harshly – white, sterile, familiar. Her limbs were heavy. Her skin already ached. The metal straps at her wrists dug into her skin, holding her down as a shadow loomed over her.

A lab coat.

A clipboard.

A gloved hand holding the first syringe.

“No,” she croaked, panic rising like bile in her throat, no matter how many times she had seen the exact same image. “No, please–please not again–”

The needle pushed into her arm.

And the pain came, just like before, just like all the other times – fire burning through her veins, tearing her apart from the inside as it was pumped all over her body by her treacherous heart. Her back arched, and her mouth opened up in an earth-shattering scream.

Then, the world blinked.

She was on the table again.

Buzzing light. Metal restraints. The same syringe. The same scientists.

The same scream, ripping out of her throat. Again.

And again.

And again.

Trapped in her worst memory. A loop with no exit. A mercy turned into a curse.

A gift of love that condemned her to hell.

[drinking-with-cupid]

Sorry if this is badly written, I'm bad at organizing my thoughts.

So, I was thinking about how we, who are in relationships with fictional characters, are often sad that our partners aren't real. How we wish they were here with us. And I was wondering... Who says they aren't real?

Like, yes, they can't be with us in flesh like other human beings. But they exist. As themselves. Many of our partners aren't even human for example and couldn't possibly "be real" in this world. Yet we fell in love with this version of them. So in order for us to fall for them, they had to be fictional.

And that still doesn't mean the relationship is one sided or less valid than others. Because while many people will assume our partners can't love us back, what if they can? What if their love shows itself in the comfort we feel when we think of them? Or the happy smile on our face when we talk about them? Or the undeniable pull we feel towards them?

What if it wasn't just a coincidence that we fell in love with these characters, but instead the inevitable outcome of a bond so strong that it can't be separated no matter what? What if we were meant to find each other in every lifetime, even if we're worlds apart?

I guess what I'm trying to say is... Maybe if we change our perception of what it means for someone or something to be "real", then we might as well be in very real relationships with real people. Their way of existing is just a different one than ours.

[radicaldreemurrs]

just found your blog from that stupid twitter post: im incredibly sorry people are being mean to you. i feel like theres some sort of disconnect in how people view online discussions: if people dont like your tone they can be rude back, even though youre talking to yourself on your own blog and theyre coming in to harass you. maybe due to people forgetting that a tumblr 'blog' is supposed to be a journal of sorts. i hope you dont feel the need to temper your own expression for others. you arent giving a lecture.

anyway: i read through much of your posts describing your interpretation of the story. theres many things i could say but i dont find most of them relevant. people could stand here poking holes in each others arguments with facts and logic for hours and it wouldnt accomplish much of anything (especially since this argument stakes more on thematic preference and gut instincts than anything else at this point). where we are in the story any sort of read will have holes because we have half the story. people can try and 'get you' by asking how you justify the soul reading noelles thoughts or whatever, but its mostly to make themselves feel better that theyd sweat if someone asked them how theyd justify whatever else holes there certainly are in their takes. its easy to be insecure when your work will always be unfinished because youre working with paint that still has years to dry, i guess.

i find your read on the game completely fascinating and its making me consider facets i havent before. i think it provides incredibly nuanced reads of kris noelle and ralsei that people should look into whether or not they 'believe' you as i thnik theyre relevant anyways. the way i see it, honestly, is that the idea that the game about dissociation is true no matter how you look at it. in this interpretation, that is literal while the player commentary is a metaphor to service that. while in a standard read, the player commentary is literal while the dissociation aspect still exists as an allegory. they work in tandem and so i think people would find a lot in reading your work. that would make the game more complicated, of course, which i suppose is what people are afraid of.

theres really no point in people getting mad over your opinions differing from theirs seeing at the POINT of art is to interpret it in a way that is personal and meaningful to you. as someone with different life experiences, i cant fully agree with you, but i wouldnt be surprised if by the end of the game you were right on the money. who knows exactly where tobys working from after all. not to mention how undertale pulled the same trick with making you think flowey has meta awareness before rugpulling.

i hope you have a day that is not ruined by whatever obnoxious people are certainly currently in your askbox with me.

this was a very nice thing to receive today.... thank you very much for saying so. that's all i can ever hope for when i pose my own ideas, that it'll help people consider alternate perspectives and come up with interpretations of their own that relate to their experiences too, i always just wanna open up discussion and get new angles going. and yeah you're right, people could just try to keep poking holes in my argument thinking they're pulling some absolute gotcha but unfortunately for them i'm an adult human being with better things to do, and i don't owe my time to anyone who doesn't care to understand my experiences. i know this well by now, trust me.

and don't worry, i'm very stubborn. it would take a lot for me to change my temperament just cause some dickheads online didn't like the way i expressed my points. if it were that easy, i wouldn't be where i am now, heheh. i hope you have a good day too, this was very thoughtful of you to express.

[hisosisu]

@sapphicjino glad someone noticed so i could talk about it!!

so my feelings about susie's tail is that there are two factors that make her insecure about it: its size, and the fact she has one at all. this stems from another hc/theory people have been talking about, that susie is half monster half human, and that her places of residence before have been full of only humans, with her as the only monster in town. in a situation like this, she would have been teased relentlessly for a variety of monster features, of course, but even among other monsters, something like too small of a tail would be embarrassing too, as it's not very monster-like. because of the existence and size of her tail, more than any other feature, she doesn't fit cleanly into either group. this results in her hiding it as much as possible under baggy clothing, and trying to avoid any mention of its existence, getting embarrassed when it's brought up. this is only made worse by the fact that her tail often shows her emotions, when she's trying to be closed off and broody lol. but i feel like, in a vacuum, susie always liked her tail, liked having one, either because of the connection to a parent, or just part of her identity as a monster, the most suppressed and bullied side of herself for much of her life. she wants to show her true emotions and have her friends around her know how she feels, no matter how little she would want to admit that. so it follows that her ideal self would have such a large tail that it would be unmistakable, she could no longer even attempt to hide it under her clothes, and she would fit in much better with the monster-centric population of hometown. of course, feelings (especially teen feelings) aren't that simple, and i do think while her "ideal" is drawing off her subconscious, current susie would see her dark world tail as just as, if not more embarrassing. at least it's not ashamedly tiny, but she was always made to feel like her monster features were something to hate and hide regardless. she might not care as much around kris or ralsei, but trying to hide it around noelle in the dark world is natural, especially since, aside from showing her excitement around her crush, it's almost an invitation to look for a tail on her in the light world, too. so while susie might not admit it, having a larger tail (especially with spikes on it lol) would be her ideal, because it would force her to stop hiding what she was taught to dislike about herself. but it's still embarrassing to completely betray her cool guy vibe by having it wag like a dog.

deltarune redesigns for my hc that the lightners take on a more idealized version of themselves in the dark world.

[phantomrose96]

"Okay but we're all totally recommending Gideon the Ninth to our male friends, right? Because can we TALK about what good male character representation Gideon the Ninth has?? Because it's literally so so good.

First off there's Palamedes, who's witty and smart and sarcastic and he literally solves like half the plot. Literally the plot would not have worked without him. And he's regularly shown to be smarter than even Harrow. And best of all, no one ever questions him or belittles him for being a man. Literally everyone treats him like an equal, even the women who see him as an enemy.

Then there's Isaac, who really feels like a real teenager he's so fleshed out. He's got a lot of personality and angst and big emotions, and the author literally never once sexualizes him. Like you know she gets it. Then Magnus is literally so nurturing and wholesome, he's like a genius inversion of the usual Strong Man trope. Literally God HIMSELF is a man.

It's really refreshing how much you can tell the author is a staunch meninist, just from the way the narrative respects all the men across the board. The only time a woman belittles a man is when Ianthe belittles Naberius, but she does that to everyone so it's not sexist. Plus Naberius is a bad ass. He literally beats Gideon in a duel. In fact the only male characters who feel like "bad" male rep are maybe the eighth house, cuz they're both kinda stereotypical male personalities... but when you consider there are 4 or maybe even 5 other prominent men in the story, it stops being "bad male stereotype" and just becomes "good male diversity :)". I really wish more authors felt brave enough to include 4 or even 5 prominent male characters, who all MATTER to the story.

Like I think that's what gets me? It was like every male character mattered. All the main character women wouldn't have gotten to where they did if not for the men who were playing SUPER important secondary roles to them? And those men weren't just there for love interests either, except kinda Palamedes whose whole motivation was the two women he's in love with, but it's REALLY done well! He literally has full autonomy of his choices the whole time and when he steers the trajectory of his whole life for the women he's in love with, it's genuinely so human and heartfelt.

But yeah it's like they were all HUMANS. It was so refreshing how easy it was to empathize with them? It wasn't like "they were men", it was like "the author knows these characters are humans, and they are men too". Idk how to explain it but it makes me really feel like I can understand men better when I usually think they're such a mystery or just really shallow in books :). I just think men should know books like this exist and that they know authors like Tamsyn Muir are out there and they get it :)."

[buccellato]

Fucks me up to think about how Legato's legacy in-universe after his death in Trimax (and presumably Tristamp) is probably gonna be how much he sucked and nothing else....

Like, nobody will like Knives but Vash will be long-lived enough to be able to eventually talk about his good qualities from when he was a child and his quasi-redemption in his last days. But who remembers Legato? Livio and Vash are the only living people with any extended memory of him and neither of them would have anything nice to say (and rightfully so). Neither of them probably knew he was a slave, either—as far as Vash can tell this dude showed up one day and hated his guts, for all he knows he's just another survivor from July! Outside of Knives, Elendira, Legato, and maybe Conrad, I don't think any other character knows his actual life story.

And to add on to that, there's no way of looking up that past either—he had no name or personhood before he was effectively rescued, so who could investigators or reporters or archivists track down for information? The human being that was Legato only existed for as long as he knew Knives, before that he was something to be kept and abused as an object. There's presumably no surviving family they can reliably contact, nobody to really say "yes I knew him, here's what his life was like, here's how we can prevent something like this from happening again".

His entire existence will be reduced down to "a human weapon that was freakishly loyal to public enemy #1" without any reflection on the mechanisms that made him the way he was because there's just no actual knowledge of his life.