#Acid Retribution

[touhoutunes]

Title: Re:Earth

Arrangement: MK

Vocals: 槙野明

Album: Acid Retribution

Circle: EastNewSound

Original: Catastrophe in Bhava-agra ~ Wonderful Heaven

[jasper-rolls]

Song: Rose Artist: miko Composer: 青井ねまき (Aoi Nemaki) Album: Acid Retribution Circle: EastNewSound

[morbidology]

In 2004, Ameneh Bahrami was a 24-year-old university student in Tehran, pursuing a degree in electronics. Her life took a tragic turn when Majid Movahedi, a fellow student whose romantic advances she had repeatedly rejected, attacked her with sulfuric acid.

The attack, which occurred in broad daylight, caused catastrophic injuries, leaving her face disfigured and her vision severely impaired.

Following the attack, Ameneh endured numerous surgeries in Iran and Europe, facing immense physical and emotional pain. Her struggle for justice began as she sought retribution against her attacker through Iran's legal system. Under Islamic law, Ameneh demanded Qisas, or retributive justice, which would allow her to seek an eye-for-an-eye punishment by having acid dropped into Movahedi's eyes.

After years of legal battles, in 2008, an Iranian court ruled in favor of Ameneh's request for Qisas, sentencing Movahedi to be blinded with acid. However, in a surprising and profound act of mercy, Ameneh chose to forgive her attacker at the last moment.

In 2011, just before the sentence was to be carried out, she publicly announced her decision to pardon Movahedi. Ameneh Bahrami's story did not end with her act of forgiveness. She continued to raise awareness about acid attacks and advocate for the rights of victims.

Her memoir, "Eye for an Eye," provides a detailed account of her harrowing experience and her journey towards recovery and forgiveness. Through her advocacy, she has worked to bring attention to the prevalence of acid violence and the need for stricter laws to protect women.

[tickles-tea]

Glass

Happy birthday to my number one, the light of my life, and the cause of the low numbers currently in my bank account ❤️ This fic is a little different from my usual writing but I really wanted to put something out for Izaya’s birthday so I hope you all enjoy ;u;

Shizuo used to hate Izaya’s laugh.

It was like glass shattering into a shower of sharp edges and unapologetic cruelty, every broken piece expertly aimed to hurt. It dripped in a poison so potent Shizuo could taste it- that vicious cocktail of cyanide and deception. That deception was what made it so bitter, Shizuo was sure.

Because at its core, Izaya’s laugh was completely and undeniably fake.

For all of Izaya’s smirks and snickers, not once did that glee ever reach his eyes. Every smile perfectly fixed in place, every laugh rehearsed and performed, all coming together to form the mask of Izaya Orihara.

As the years passed, Shizuo began to believe that perhaps there was no face behind that mask at all. 

It wasn’t until they’d begun their…situationship…that this belief was brought into question. 

In the darkness of night, hidden between tangled sheets and heated flesh, he found ghosts of sincerity in that mask.

He saw longing in those clever eyes, pupils blown wide with desire and desperation. He tasted restraint on Izaya’s lips where the other would try his damnedest to stay quiet, where he would bite into his own skin to conceal any noise that wasn’t artificial. 

Izaya’s mask cracked during those nights and, with it, Shizuo did too.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the thing that finally shattered him was that same glass-crackle laugh.

Shizuo’s touches had grown softer. Bites were replaced by kisses, black and blue flesh making way for goosebumps over pale skin. He had started to explore instead of devouring.

All it took was one wandering hand brushing a little too lightly over Izaya’s thigh to reveal something Shizuo hadn’t known he was looking for. 

A giggle- sweet and bright and genuine and everything Shizuo had thought Izaya to be incapable of. 

Another crack in the mask had formed and Shizuo desperately needed to see what was behind it. 

His hands were his pickaxe as he chipped at its jagged edges. Spidering fingers climbing up a slender rib cage caused Izaya’s face to scrunch up in a wide toothy grin. Thumbs drilling into the hollows under his arms broke the dam and released a flood of helpless laughter. Despite coming from the same vocal cords, this laugh was so different from the one Shizuo was used to.

If Izaya’s usual mirth was a splintered mirror, this was a stained glass window. Bright, colorful, and refracting beauty like true laughter should. This frantic cackling, irregular and imperfect, was the truest reflection he’d seen of who Izaya could be if he allowed himself to. 

Shizuo knew of crystal clear lakes that played tricks on your eyes, with water so pure that you could see the very bottom without realizing how deep it truly was. He knew, and yet he still drowned in Izaya’s laugh. He let it fill his lungs with each breath and huff of amusement, drinking it all in. It was intoxicating.

It was surprising for Shizuo Heiwajima to willingly dive into the depths of Izaya Orihara. If anyone were to even fathom the idea, they'd be silenced by others for their own safety. Retribution would surely come for them at the hands of either man. However, the thought that Izaya would welcome him in- keeping his hands gripped around Shizuo’s wrists instead of the handle of a blade -was almost unimaginable.

Shizuo had learned that things aren't always as they seemed with Izaya, though. He’d learned that behind those fierce eyes and acidic grins hid a smile so honest that it made Shizuo’s heart clench. If he could believe this impossible reality, was it really so far fetched to think that one day that mask would shatter like glass? Was it foolish to think that Izaya might one day raise one elegant hand and remove it entirely? 

One couldn’t know for sure, but sitting here surrounded by the sugar and sincerity of Izaya’s laughter…Shizuo couldn’t wait to find out. 

[2minutetabletop]

The Acid Pit

Patchwork Paul, a man consumed by unrelenting pain, seeks a twisted retribution against the world that abandoned him to his fate. ☣️

→ Read the article and download the included battle map here!

[therobotmonster]

Most of us don't like to look down.

It's how we're kept under control. Most can't stand seeing chrome where there should be skin. The eternal near-hunger is worse in the first few weeks after the augmentation but one adapts to it quickly. There's a dozen little nudges like that that all work to push your desire toward a single overriding goal.

Reclaiming our humanity.

I want mine back, too, but my desires are still my own. In my mind I never had a body. I was a perspective with hands. My reflection never interested me. When I saw myself in my mind, I was just a abstract person-like shape, only as detailed as child's self-portrait.

Chrome, seen or unseen, doesn't bother me. Nor does my mission.

The choices in my design, however, those I resent.

The living armor would have bound to us whole. It would have functioned without making us a part of itself. The hunger and feelings of confinement could have been simply turned off with a flip of a switch.

They could have given us fingers.

The impulses that would have driven us mad in our palandanium prisons were shut off easily. I cannot feel boredom. The constant hissing of my respirator systems feels like breathing with my old lungs. My more primal passions were subdued. Why then did I still feel the need to pop joints I don't have? Why was my absent mouth always slightly dry?

The answer is obvious. They didn't want their knights to become lords. They made us to frighten demons and were shocked to find us frightening to themselves. So they made us addicted to our humanity and hold it hostage. To keep us from becoming kings they tried to make us into dogs starved for the hunt.

But in the un-boredom of deep space, I did not dream of the warm embrace of living flesh or the taste of wine in the summer as did so many of my comrades. I turned my mind inward to quiet, unseen ends.

I found my switches.

The elders engineered magnificently. Without their shackles I am the perfect machine or retribution they envisioned. The demons I once feared, on this world, now fear me.

Those cackling bloated abominations that gleefully call themselves Dire Wraiths pretended to be devils, but when unseen hands tear their witch-mother's acid barbed tongue from her mouth in front of their eyes, their truth was revealed. I saw sniveling, pathetic, fragile creatures who die in fear and confusion, no different than any other strain of talking meat.

They were not the demons I had been sent to banish. They were parasites supping at the power of greater beings, servile insects who mewled and worshiped greater evils like the vile, black star at the heart of their dark nebula. When they see power and cruelty, they worship.

I have both in excess. They see nothing else.

Yet unseen, I see their true nature and my own. I am not the king the elders feared they would create.

I am Unam.

I am the Unseen.

I was a Spaceknight of Galador.

To the Dire Wraiths on this world I am the God of Death.

What kind of god will I be when I return home?

That remains Unseen.

[hellsite-proteins]

What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I'm the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're fucking dead, kiddo. /copypasta

i did recognize the copypasta by the second sentence or so but i do appreciate you clarifying as well, because this is how the notification first appeared:

and i was worried that i had put out a truly despicable hot take on one of my terrible structures

letter sequence in this ask matching protein-coding amino acids:

WhatthefckdidystfckingsayatmeylittleitchIllhaveyknwIgradatedtpfmyclassintheNavySealsandIveeeninvlvedinnmerssecretraidsnAlQaedaandIhavevercnfirmedkillsIamtrainedingrillawarfareandImthetpsniperintheentireSarmedfrcesYarenthingtmetstanthertargetIwillwipeythefcktwithprecisinthelikesfwhichhasnevereenseenefrenthisEarthmarkmyfckingwrdsYthinkycangetawaywithsayingthatshittmevertheInternetThinkagainfckerAswespeakIamcntactingmysecretnetwrkfspiesacrsstheSAandyrIPiseingtracedrightnwsyetterpreparefrthestrmmaggtThestrmthatwipestthepatheticlittlethingycallyrlifeYrefckingdeadkidIcaneanywhereanytimeandIcankillyinversevenhndredwaysandthatsstwithmyarehandsNtnlyamIetensivelytrainedinnarmedcmattIhaveaccessttheentirearsenalfthenitedStatesMarineCrpsandIwillseittitsflletenttwipeyrmiseraleassffthefacefthecntinentylittleshitIfnlyycldhaveknwnwhatnhlyretritinyrlittleclevercmmentwasattringdwnpnymayeywldhaveheldyrfckingtngetycldntydidntandnwyrepayingthepriceygddamniditIwillshitfryallveryandywilldrwninitYrefckingdeadkidd

protein guy analysis:

in light of my recent post about intrinsically disordered proteins and aggregation, i am trying really hard to ignore the instincts that are telling me how terrible this looks. the loops aren't even pretending to interact with each other, and the secondary structures are small and scattered. the good news is that this probably can't aggregate since it can't stick to anything, but it still has a long way to go. to me, the suspiciously straight loop around the front of the structure is also an immediate red flag, as it matches a row of cis bonds, but given that this thing would not have a stable crystal structure anyways, it doesn't actually matter

predicted protein structure:

[asumofwords]

Ok lets talk about the important thing here:

How do you think Aemond, Aegon, Daemon and Cole dicks are?

🤔

Okay this is a really important question that I must answer.

And since my brain only ever thinks and imagines these things, and in my experience I have a fairly good eye for guessing (hands give it allll awayyyyy), let me begin 😈

Aemond’s cock would be long and have a nice thickness to it, I wouldn’t say he would be massively girthy, but I feel like your hand couldn’t wrap around it completely 😈.

His tip would be a blush pink, the same colour as his lips. He would occasionally trim the hair around the base, and that man is definitely veiny 🤤 I feel like he would be a good 6-7 inches long and very clean 🤤

There’s just something about skinny men, they always have a horse cock.

He has the perfect size dick (although to be fair, I actually hate long cocks because they hurt my cervix lmao) and he knows what to do with it. It has a slight upwards curve, a gift from the gods truly.

His cum would be salty, and quite nice to swallow down. It wouldn’t be gross or foul tasting, this man has a strict diet, and exercises often !

Aemond is clean and makes sure to take good care of his cleanliness and appearance, prim and proper like his attire.

Where Aemond has length, Aegon has girth.

He would sit around 5-6 inches long and super fucking girthy, not a chode, but quite thick. It would stretch you uncomfortably or painfully if you didn’t prep first. His tip would be the same colour as his lips but would get a deeper shade of pink and look angry when he’s horny.

I feel that he wouldn’t be too veiny, though would have some very soft foreskin to nibble on and I feel a bit extra tbh💀

Aegon is one of those fuckers who can cum and keep going, must run in the family. Absolute menace too, despite his cruelty, man knows how to make you squeal. He’s a whore, he fucks whoever, whenever, and has learnt tricks along the way.

Man definitely has a dick that smells like a dick. Not exactly the cleanest of cocks, musky as fuck, salty too, and his cum would be rancid because his diet consists of just alcohol and scraps of food lmao.

Definitely used one of his many dildo toys on himself or will use it on you instead, or make you use it on yourself and have him watch 😮‍💨

Aegon could dissolve your insides with his spunk. Acidic as fuck, a one way highway to thrush or BV. Hits good tho….

Daddy Daemon has a monster cock.

I’m not joking. Look at the size of this man. And his hands ? Huge. HUGE. I’m not joking. I’ve seen it. Anyway, back to his cock.

Daemon has a dick around 8-9 inches long and fat as fuck, he’s got a meaty cock.

A third leg. A tripod if you will.

Poor Rhaenyra is getting her guts rearranged every time he fucks her. She needs 3-5 business days to recover from the sheer force of the thing.

Pale and veiny, when hard his foreskin pulls back to reveal a gentle pink tip (same as his lips). Clean and well kept, Daddy Daemon’s cum tastes like when the heavens have opened and you have been offered retribution. Sometimes sweet, depending on what he has eaten.

Would absolutely be open to the idea of being pegged and anal play. Loves having his ass eaten ngl. This man is a freaky queer daddy 😈

Shoots fucking ropes though, you’ll be leaking for days!

Ser Criston Cole deserves no praise, but I would be lying if I said he didn’t have a pretty cock.

Tan, and a bit on the longer side like Aemond, this man would not know what to do with it. A sin really, to have such a pretty cock, and not use it.

A slightly more tanned knob, leaning to a soft purple colour, average thickness and the occasional vein, upwardly curved for your pleasure.

Ser Cole’s cock would be as clean as a whistle. I feel like Cole would definitely let you put a finger inside his ring, maybe too, and he would blush so pretty about it.

His bush would be soft as fuck too, have you seen this man’s hair ? Lush as fuck, looks like it should be in a hair commercial ad, and velvety smooth. I wouldn’t mind getting some of those hairs tangled up in my nose 🤪💀

His cum would be musky, yet not repugnant like Aegon. He eats well and is always moving so it wouldn’t be marinating inside of him, though I wonder if he empties the tank often or not, or if he actually is fermenting his seed 🤪

[badthingshappenbingo]

Prompt Masterlist: Part 1

Part 1 of our prompt list ("Accidentally Hurt by Friend" - "Eye Scream") is below the cut:

Accidentally Hurt by Friend

Acid Burns

Addiction/Withdrawal

Adrenaline Crash

All of the Other Reindeer

Allergic Reaction

Ambulance Ride

Ambush

Amputation

And I Must Scream

Anger Born of Worry

Angry Mob

Animal Attack

Appendicitis

Arm in a Sling

Asthma Attack

Attack the Injury

Attacked in Their Sleep

Attempted Rape

Auction of Evil

Backhand Slap

Bag of Kidnapping

Banished

Barbed Wire

Barely Conscious

Be Careful What You Wish For

Bedside Vigil

Being Watched

Betrayal

Big Brother Instinct

Biting

Black Eye

Blackmail

Bleeding Out

Bleeding Through the Bandages

Blindfolded

Blood from the Mouth

Blood Transfusion

Bloodied Knuckles

Bloodstained Clothes

Bloody Nose

Bludgeoned

Body Image Issues

Body Swap

Bound and Gagged

Bounty on Their Head

Brain Damage

Brainwashing

Branding

Breaking a Promise

Bridal Carry

Broken Angel

Broken Limb

Broken Nose

Broken Rib(s)

Bruises

Bullying

Bundled Up in Blankets

Buried Alive

Buried in Rubble

Burns

Busted Lip

Cabin Fever

Came Back Wrong

Can Only Move the Eyes

Caning

Can’t Go Home

Captive Push

Captivity

Car Chase

Carved Mark

Cassandra Truth

Catatonia

Caught in a Snare

Caught in a Storm

Caught in an Explosion

Cauterizing a Wound

Cave In

Chained Heat

Chained to a Bed

Chained to a Wall

Chickenpox

Childhood Trauma

Chloroformed

Choking

Chronic Illness

Chronic Pain

Claustrophobia

Clawing at Own Throat

Cold-Blooded Torture

Collared and Chained

The Collector

Comatose

Comfort Object

Common Cold

Communication Suddenly Cut Off

Compelling Voice

Concussion

Conditioning

Confidence Shattered

Confined to Bed Rest

Confrontation

Corporal Punishment

Cough Syrup

Coughing Up Blood

CPR

Cradling Someone in Their Arms

Cramping

Creepy Crawlies

Crippling the Competition

Crisis Catch-and-Carry

Cruel and Unusual Punishment

Crush Injury

Crutches

Cry into Chest

Crying Themselves to Sleep

Damaged Vocal Cords

Damaged Wing(s)

Deadly Game

De-Aging

Deathbed Confession

Defeated and Trophified

Defiant to the End

Definitely Just a Cold

Degloving

Dehumanization

Dehydration

Delirium

Demonic/Ghostly Possession

Denailing

Denied Food as Punishment

Depression

Didn’t Want to Be Saved

Dislocated Joint

Disowned by Family

Disproportionate Retribution

Dissociation

Distress Call

Doctor’s Visit

Doesn’t Realize They’ve Been Injured

Domestic Abuse

Don’t Let Them See You Cry

Don’t You Dare Pity Me

Dragged by the Ankle

Dragging Themselves Along the Ground

Drowning

Drowning Their Sorrows

Drugged

Drunk with Power

Duct Tape

Dungeon

Dying in Their Arms

Ear Injury

Ears Ringing

Eating Disorder

Electrical Outage

Electrocution

Emotion Control

Empathic Healing

Empty Shell

Enemy Turned Caretaker

Epidemic/Pandemic

Exclusion/Rejection

Exposure

Eye Scream

[bebsi-cola]

i mentioned briefly when talking about facial difference that while some countries (mostly in the global north) have a medical understanding of disability - i.e. it's a "disease" or "condition" to be managed with medical "treatment" - although there is a significant understanding of the social model in some of these places, much of the world still has a moral model of disability implicitly baked into the culture. usually i see the first two mentioned, but not the third.

unfortunately the moral model is actually still the most common attitude worldwide in regards to disability. the moral model is where blame or moral responsibility is put upon disabled individuals for their disability. this might be for some sort of unknown fault, sin, retribution, evil etc that is manifested in the existence of the disability itself. this ends people with a social stigma upon themselves, their families, and even people who are friendly with them.

families might often hide the existence of a disabled member, or mistreat them for the perceived disgrace upon the family (or both). it also leads to a system where people are really considered disabled when they are too impaired to hide it or live independently, and people who can struggle along are forced to do so. to be clear, the people who are too disabled to live independently are treated quite awfully. the situation is such that disabled people who struggle but can "pass" as abled so to speak would be treated so poorly for reaching out for help that even if they were to be believed to be disabled, it's worse then pretending not to be.

you see it in fiction. i see it a lot in the novels i read where the bad guys end up disabled (a nicer word than what is usually said) as "just desserts" for their evil actions. but in real life as well do you have people deliberately disabling or disfiguring others as a "punishment". i mean the ongoing occupation in palestine for example is a notable case of deliberate mass disablement by the oppressive force. acid attacks (throwing acid upon another person) was utilised in afghanistan and pakistan against girls going to school. there's also a gender based trend of acid attacks against women in bangladesh - mostly against those who deny other people's advances.

now im mixed asian myself with a bunch of asian friends so i can't say that my viewpoint isn't skewed towards asia bc it is. i forgot why i was writing this whole post except that i guess it kinda hit me how... narrow the focus is on disability tumblr. when i first started talking about disability i remember feeling that there was a lot if perspectives missing from the conversation. people might not get it if i yelled that you should bring your disabled family to religious and community gatherings instead of hiding them away. or something.

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Rorkoun

CR 6

Neutral Evil Huge Aberration

Adventure Path: Kingmaker: Rivers Run Red, pg. 86-87

These absolutely bizarre aberrations slither through the lightless waterways and endless, inky depths of the Darklands, making their homes in tight crevasses no creature of their size should be able to fit in and emerging to gorge themselves on whatever creature may pass by. Able to cram themselves into tiny cracks thanks to their boneless, semiliquid body, victims may not even realize one's there until its teeth are already closing around them!

When discovered in cavern waterways closer to the surface, Rorkoun are typically found nesting in pools or bogs near the hideouts of goblinoids and mite/mitflits, because their alien intellect registers two facts: they cannot stand the flavor of goblins and mitflits, but both of those creatures often bring in what the Rorkoun truly enjoy, the (say it with me now) flesh of sapient humanoids. While normally these creatures are opportunistic ambush predators, Rorkoun fill a strange niche in the Darklands: that of the guardian to small raider tribes. Not out of loyalty, but because goblins and mitflits both love to antagonize nearby civilizations, which invites reprisal from those civilizations, and that reprisal comes in the form of delicious morsels the Rorkoun truly enjoys to feed on; any actual guarding it does is purely incidental. While goblins often believe the twisted abominations to be protector beasts that guard them from the retribution of dwarves, drow, and other Darklands denizens, their fanatic belief often blinds them to the fact that the Rorkoun only ever attack invaders until it manages to grab onto a morsel or two and dive back into the waters to enjoy its meal, leaving the rest to do as they will.

Rorkoun strike like the snakes they just barely resemble, lashing their lengthy bodies from their watery homes in the hopes of Grabbing onto a target and either constricting them to death or pulling them into the water to drown. They have a 15ft space and a 15ft reach, making shorelines in the Darklands even more precarious than they already were, and their strength and size can spell doom for single targets that get grabbed by their bite or their coiling slam attack. The bite of one of these creatures deals 2d6+7 damage, the slam 2d6+3, and both of them Grab anything they hit. Anything that can't break the grapple takes an additional 2d6+7 damage each round from constriction, but the primary danger is being dragged into the water and swiftly drowned; even breaking free of the grapple doesn't end the danger, because most creatures pulled underwater--especially ones which rely on bludgeoning weapons--have their offensive options drop to nearly zero. It's difficult to fight back or gain any meaningful distance before the horror just grabs them again next round!

If you think you're safe taking to the air or being able to walk on water, they have a disgusting way around that, too, by horking up Gobs of their horrid mass at targets within 30ft as ranged touch attacks. Anything hit by a Gob takes 1d6 damage from the impact and must succeed a DC 19 Reflex save or become entangled in the slime, plummeting to the ground if they're in the air, sinking if they're swimming, and becoming stuck in place if they're on solid earth. This technique is especially dangerous when aimed at foes already engaging goblins and gremlins alike, as being entangled usually assures a swift and horrible demise by countless thrusting spears and cutting daggers. Mercifully, any amount of Acid damage destroys a Gob completely and utterly, allowing Wizards with Acid Splash to free themselves and their allies without risking too many resources, and Rorkoun themselves have a Vulnerability to Acid that means bringing acid flasks and Acid Arrow into the depths is a good move.

Rorkoun are incentivized to use their slime as a support projectile, as tribes of goblins near their homes will usually throw such victims into the water for them to feed upon like a sacrifice. Without other monsters helping them kill creatures that were gobbed up, any creature that gets outside of their reach and stays out is typically safe. "Stay away from the water" is the surest way to avoid having to get into combat at all with these things, and while not always feasible, taking the battle away from the shoreline assures no third party attacks will leap from the depths to assault the party. The threat posed by these tentacle monsters is immense, but the Rorkoun need this massive threat radius because of a crippling weakness: Aquatic Dependency. Their lives swiftly end if they spend even a single round without their space intersecting a source of water, their bodies painfully and "violently" dehydrating the second they're not drawing water into themselves. They take 1 point of damage the first round they're not touching the water, then 2 the next, 3 the one after, then 4, 5, 6, so on and so forth until they either slip their body back into the water or die horribly. The process is stated to be so painful that Rorkoun will only bear it if they're literally on the verge of starving to death, and otherwise will never risk leaving the water for any reason or any length of time.

Before we wrap up, let's talk quickly about something unusual and unique about them: Deathwatch. This ability isn't listed anywhere in their Special Abilities block, nor is it a Universal Monster Ability, and it's not listed under constant spell-likes as it technically should. I'd consider this a printing error if it weren't for the fact that Deathwatch as a spell exists, and it's a fairly useful spell for something that's an opportunistic ambush predator: It allows the Rorkoun to constantly assess the health states of living creatures around it, letting it know which one to focus its wrath on as the easiest target, and how to avoid hidden Undead, unappetizing Constructs, or creatures who are too full of vigor for it to bother with. It's a 30ft cone, which also allows the Rorkoun to track prey in complete darkness, prey which is invisible or hard to spot, or sense when something (perhaps even something wounded) walks or swims past its hiding spot so it can spring out like a snake in a peanut can.

You can read more about them here.

[aylacavebear]

Retribution Chapter 2

18+ for numerous reasons

Summary: You had DID for most of your life, over forty years, since you were two. It wasn't until after you were forty-three that you were finally able to heal it and become a singular. You're a hunter and have been with Dean for a very long time. Once you become singular, you have to face the horrors that your mental illness subjected on those you cared about, loved. Can you get past seeing yourself as worse than any monster you've ever hunted down?

Pairing is Dean Winchester x Reader/You

Warnings: Sexual Abuse (memories), Physical Abuse (memories), DID - Dissociation Identity Disorder (AKA MPD), Mental Health Issues, Alcoholism, Self-Deprecation, Thoughts of deserving to have it all done to "you".

Please, if you suffer from any mental illness, seek help. There are people out there who can help you get through it, no matter how alone you feel now or how hard it may seem.

A/N: This is going to be very dark, darker than anything I've written thus far. It will include many triggers - abuse both sexual and physical - in memories and what happens to the reader. I'm hoping it will have a happy ending but right now, I am not sure where this will go. This is your main warning before you begin reading. A/N: Dreams and Memories are indented in italics. Thoughts are in italics only.

Word Count: 1687

----------------------------------------- Chapter 2 - Too Many Thoughts

When you woke, it was still dark outside, and your entire body hurt as your head was throbbing. You barely managed to glance at the clock on the night table; after seven. This was probably the worst hangover you’d had, or at least, hoped you’d ever had. Just as you were attempting to sit up, your stomach churned, forcing you to run to the bathroom.

That’s what I get for not eating anything for two days and drinking an entire bottle of whiskey.

There was only what was left of the whiskey in your stomach. That came up, along with stomach acids, and before long, it was only dry heves. You were physically and mentally exhausted. You knew it was your fault for being where you were. You knew better.

With a groan, fighting against the pain in your body, you managed to at least rinse your mouth out before making it back out to the bed. Lying so that you were on your side, you grabbed your phone and dialed the local pizza place, ordering a meat-lovers. Your body needed some sort of nourishment, and this was better than nothing.

“I’m not mad. I just wish it would stop, Sweetheart,” Dean told you as the two of you cuddled in bed. “I don’t remember any of it. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do to make it stop. I hate that those things are happening to you,” you told him, feeling guilty as you’d seen the new bruises on him. Yeah, he was a hunter and got beat up a lot, but this was different. These bruises were from your other personalities, and you couldn’t stop them. Just seeing them made you want to disappear. He sighed, pulling you closer to him, “I know I’ve asked before, but… Do you have any suggestions?” You thought for a bit, contemplating something that had been on your mind for a while, “What if you forced it? Made whoever is doing this finish you?” You were quiet when you answered him, as you weren’t sure how he’d react to that. Dean was probably the most kind-hearted man you’d ever met. Not only did he hunt monsters, keeping strangers safe, but he’d gone and fallen in love with you, of all people. Then, he’d stayed with you even after the abuse had started. You knew your suggestion was something he could never do, but you had no idea what else to suggest. “I can’t do that. You know that,” he sighed sadly, “Every time I touch you when that stuff happens, you get violent.” He paused, wanting to lighten the mood, “You know, you’re quite strong in your sleep. There aren’t too many things that have hit me as hard as you have,” he chuckled lightly. “Not funny,” you mumbled, still feeling bad. You saw it again, the switch, as you let the memory play out. You had wanted to be close to him intimately, but that wasn’t what happened. “It is kinda funny,” he said playfully, letting his hand find its way to your hip, gripping slightly. Before he could lean over to kiss you, you pulled away, “I can’t this morning. I’m sorry.” You slipped out of bed and began dressing. This had become the norm, and the man still hadn’t cheated on you. 

The knock on your motel room door pulled you from the memory. Forcing yourself up, you grabbed some cash out of your wallet and opened the door. The smell of the pizza wasn’t enticing at all, but you needed to eat. After paying, you sat down on the bed again, the pizza in front of you.

If it weren’t for the throbbing in your head, you would have turned on the TV to at least focus your thoughts on something other than the memories flooding your mind. You did manage to eat a couple of slices of pizza, though, even if it had taken you almost an hour to do so.

Even the vibration of your phone going off hurt your head, but this time, you picked it up and stared at it for a while. 

I should at least let them know I’m alive, shouldn’t I? They shouldn’t worry if a monster is okay. A monster needs to be killed.

Your hands shook at that thought, but you felt oddly calm. Turning off your phone, you glanced at the second bottle of whiskey, debating drinking again. Luckily, you weren’t in the mood for a worse hangover the following day.

Putting the pizza box on the table, you drank some water, then crawled into bed and turned off the light. You hoped the nightmares wouldn’t come, but there was no guarantee anymore. Since becoming a singular, things just hit you out of the blue.

You were in that invisible bubble again, between the door and the bed. Your body was lying on the bed, alone.  Where’s Dean?  To the left of the bed was the desk, and that was where he sat, just watching your body sleeping in the bed the two of you shared. You put your hands on the invisible bubble, leaning a little closer. The dream shifted, and now he was sleeping in the chair. Your heart went out to him, and you wanted to cry, almost as if you knew what was coming. Your body on the bed reached over, finding his side of the bed empty. So, they sat up, looking around before smiling when their eyes found him. They got out of the bed, sauntering over to him. With how he was sitting, there was no way they were going to get his sweats off of him or even low enough to have sex with him. You wondered how this would play itself out. They knelt in front of him, caressing his semi-hard cock through his sweats. Their movements were slow, skilled, and moved with a purpose. He shifted in his seat, making it easier for them. That also made it so that they could slip him loose of his sweats.  You could see the smile on their face, and you screamed at them to stop, pounding your fists on the invisible bubble. It didn’t make them stop, though. They leaned forward, slowly dragging their tongue along the underside of his cock, causing him to not only moan but also twitch in their hand. They started at the tip, teasingly letting their lips slide down his cock, flicking their tongue along the underside. He moved slightly in his sleep but hadn’t touched them yet, so they kept going. They dropped the back of their tongue, opening their throat, then deep-throated him a couple of times before slowly lifting their mouth off of his cock. Their eyes had never left his face, always watching him. With a smile on their lips, they straddled him, lining the head of his rock-hard cock with their entrance. You could hear them moan in delight as they descended on him completely. They ground their hips against his, holding onto the back of the chair behind him. They were careful, though, not rocking him too much, as they didn’t want to wake him. It wasn’t long before you could hear them cry out with their orgasm, but he’d come too. You weren’t sure how you knew; you just did. He never woke up. Once they came down from their high, they slipped off of him, then licked him clean before cleaning up themselves and crawling back into the bed to sleep. The tears had been streaming down your cheeks, and you were on your knees, sobbing again.

When you did wake, you could feel the tears you’d been crying in your sleep. You curled up into a ball and sobbed. When you were awake, it was the memories of when your personalities had lashed out at them. When you were asleep, it was the memories of what they’d done to him while he slept. 

It wasn’t fair. You were what was left now, and somehow, you had to deal not only with the memories of what they’d done but also find a way to pick up the pieces. Then, you got another idea.

I could call Cas, have him wipe their memories of me. They’d never remember what I’d done to them, how I treated them, the abuse I put them through. And they wouldn’t even know who I was. I never want to forget, though. That is my burden to bear. Would he do it, though?

At least you were sober enough to think a little clearer, even if you still felt slightly hungover from the night before. Your head was still throbbing, so you went and made some coffee, hoping it was the lack of caffeine that was giving you the migraine that didn’t seem to want to go away.

What if it was the other way around, and he wanted to make Cas take away my memories? Is that something that I’d be okay with? Is that fair to them, to him?

You were torn, and it only made your head hurt worse as your thoughts wouldn’t stop. Contemplating calling Cas was something you at least wanted to consider, even if it really wasn’t fair to anyone involved.

As you sat with your first cup of coffee, you thought again about contacting Crowley. He was the King of Hell, after all, and you had his number programmed into your phone. He’d helped the brothers with things in the past and you’d gotten his number out of Dean’s phone at one point in time.

Would I have to die in order to have those things done to me in hell? What would Crowley want as payment? How do I come back from this, from being a monster for so long?

Your thoughts were circular, ruminating on repeat. With all you’d cried within the last couple of days, you were a bit surprised when more slid down your cheeks. The pain in your heart and soul felt like more than you could even bear. 

I’m a monster…

----------------------------------------- Chapter 3 - Too Many Memories

Retribution Master List

Tag List: @jc-winchester @nancymcl

[akronus-writes]

37 days of slaughter

recently, the brutally maimed and hung body of a young boy was found hanging from a tree, slurs carved into his skin and his genitals melted off by acid, the police currently say there are no suspect-

30 days after the unidentified boy was found killed, 57 people have died, having seemingly died in their sleep after all of them reported having dreams of being slowly hung at the exact same tree, according to the morticians, autopsy shows they show injuries consistent with being hung by a noose.

recently, the bodies of the three girls who disappeared while swimming surfaced during a class, having seemingly been drowned and left in the pool for three days. many associate this, and the figure cloaked in red that many reported seeing nearby before the original incident, too be connected to the "dreamscape hanging" incident, drawing parallels due to both the seemingly magical nature of their deaths, and how all of the victims are believed to have had a hand in a queer teens death.

experts have identified a recent car crash too of been caused by some form of scythe, the cut that seems to have destroyed the car having caused it to split in half and crash into a ditch. the strange nature of these deaths, and the victims controversial histories with the queer community being called similar to the recent deaths in Australia.

a group of teens who police confirmed to have been suspects in the recent murder of a queer teen have been found dead in a local cemetery, their bodies having been somehow pulled into the dirt, and faces contorted in pure terror.

a recent attempted pyre burning of a queer couple was recently stopped, after the only survivors, the would be victims. reported that the fire seemed to of gone out of control, and attacked the mob as if it were a living being.

many have been left puzzled after the parents accused of murdering their gay son somehow disappeared while being flown inter-state, no evidence of where they could have gone has been found, though some speculate they jumped out of the plane in an attempt to avoid justice, and either died in the forest, or have managed to evade authorities.

meteorologists have been left confused after a tornado literally stole an entire house, and the family inside, who have repeatedly been accused for the disappearances of many queer and POC people in the area.

police have been left puzzled, after the brutal serial killer wanted for killing numerous queer people in the english countryside, was found dead in the center of a small town, seemingly killed by a revolver round to the head, but according to the morticians, neither an exit wound or the bullet can be found.

Retribution: something given or acted in recompense, especially Punishment

@f4y3w00d5 @gobodegoblin @monsterfucker-research-wizard @good-wizard

[thewolfisawake]

The gaunt face and wispy locks of their mother peered down. Today it was scowling...she wasn't pleased. They couldn't quite understand her words but memorized them still. It would centuries before understanding her words were ramblings of disdain. That day particular cursing their appearance, their nature. How pitiable they were the last shot. A flitting sense passed them...they weren't sure on it.

You're just like him.

They stared at ghillie dhu, mismatched eyes wide. Not quite sure of the details but they knew that they were being sent away. With the people--fae--they were told to avoid. Not good folks. And Mawr had been the one to head the exchange. He said such unkind words and though they didn't understand, it brought a pain in their chest. How could they be hurt without bleeding? How could it hurt so much? How could he do this?

You're just like him.

They spat out that horrid concoction. The bile a combination of a sickly green and the silver of his blood. It burned and threatened to make their innards raw. Despite their effort, they retched again and again. Acid shearing their throat, the physical battering secondary to the pain from it. And seeing their own vitality splattered across the dirt was a crawling, chilling realization that some part of them was destroyed. A rasp escaping them making it evident, their voice was lost. A broken yet frenzied gaze turned to the perpetrators. One jubilant. One sorry, pitying. And it was the latter that brought it all about and did nothing to spare them.

You're just like him.

He was splayed beneath the man. Painted with a coyness while revulsion roiled within. It was one thing to sleep with the commander. It was another to do so knowing Mhoirbheinn watched him be dragged off. He hadn't wished to leave his friend but the commander was fickle. Especially when Mhoirbheinn pissed him off. The superior gave no thought as he inserted himself and while painful, it wasn't the worst that's been done to him. There were three goals in mind that night: butter up the bastard (as he's been doing), to reconsider his plans an upcoming skirmish, and most importantly, keep him from doing any further retribution to his friend. If it meant being taken with all the grace of horsetail, so be it.

Yet, he had woefully underestimated the irritation and the disdain the commander held for his association. Blood and ashes, it hurt. Of course, the other was uncaring of the pain. Nor did he care of bites and bruises that ravaged his frame. To his superior, he was an object of desire and tool for his games.

You're just like him.

He knew Foirtchern was playing some game. He had too much confidence about coming to the throne room. Despite having never been present in Unseelie in centuries, almost seemed to understand its workings still. And he knew what to bring up. Balmoral was suspicious of him from the beginning. Yet he decided to avoided speaking the link between them. Because he knew his misdeeds were interspersed with the topic. He thought he could avoid much of it if he was decisive and could speak the right words. And Foirtchern knew he would. And he had said it hadn't he? How he inherited the same skill...though Balmoral could only now see he was nascent compared to Abyssborn's use. How Balmoral too would weave through deceit and omission.

You're just like him.

Witnessing the perpetrator to a massacre had shaken some up. However, Bal remained undeterred. Red and silver gore trailed up and down the manor. And a certain trail led to a man. Shattered around his entrails and sinew were remnants of a mask. He only knew of him through tales but something told him this was one that his mother wished vengeance on. Already taken out. He didn't know why.

No, that was untrue. At least now it was. He knew this man died because of his cruelty and disregard. Balmoral knew that he had two childred, the younger he disdained yet would not waste. He told that child he was mistake, a spare and that he should have been grateful for his purpose. Then continued to ignore that child despite the unknowing squalor he let him be raised in and the mistreatment from his 'heir.' Bhaltair Rathais died a death that was likely deplorable in his own eyes. He was abhorrent in memory and reason to his killer--his so called spare--and he was unforgivable in every sense to Balmoral.

And he was just like him.

It drove the fae to consciousness. Balmoral shot up, a stinging permeating in his chest. A stinging that became a stab as he noticed...sensed...the coldness and emptiness beside him. He expected no less.

He was a swindler. He was a betrayer. He was an accomplice to misery. He was a user, uncaring of whom he took advantage of. He was manipulator. He was cause for suffering for someone he said innumerable times he loved. This was just deserving of his sins throughout his existence.

Balmoral looked down at his hand. Slowly unfurling his clutched hand, showed a signet ring. The edges having cut into his palm, staining it alongside another. There on his middle finger was a band of silver, vibrant against the dried blood. He closed his hand again to see the dark stone housed within. A gift he was wholly unworthy of.

"...Ha..." he said resting his head against it. To still wish despite all he's done, "...what a wretched creature I am."

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Cathy Wilcox, Sydney Morning Herald

* * * *

GOP in full panic mode.

June 6, 2024

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

Republicans are scared. They understand that Trump's conviction for election interference is a devastating blow that threatens their prospects in November. If they lose—and they should—their eight-year delirium will come crashing to an end like a bad acid trip. MAGA extremism will not recede entirely, but its high-water mark will be in the past.

That prospect frightens MAGA to its core because they understand they have no vision, no organizing principles, no plan other than revenge—Trump's revenge to be exacted in a second term. If they lose that dark animus, the GOP’s reason for existence evaporates.

The surest sign of the GOP’s panic is the apoplectic rage that characterizes the ugly threats of Republican officials and surrogates after the guilty verdicts. They have lost their collective minds and their grip on reality, history, humanity, decency, and rationality. Their threats are a sign of weakness—not strength! Like the threats of schoolyard bullies everywhere, they emerge from deep-seated fear and insecurity; they are designed to conceal the underlying panic of imposters worried they will be found out for who they really are.

Still, Trump and his surrogates' parade of threats and lawless actions is difficult to bear—especially when they pile upon one another as they did on Wednesday. But as we review those actions, remember that they are signs of desperation and fear by a party on the run. All it took to put the GOP into full panic mode was a verdict by twelve randomly selected citizens who heard the truth about Trump's corruption.

We should not dismiss the revenge fantasies of the Convicted Felon and his pathetic homunculi. But we must keep them in perspective. For all the wild talk about retribution, House Republicans could not impeach Joe Biden despite holding control of the House for the last two years. And after a four-year investigation of Hunter Biden, the best (or worst?) the Trump-appointed special counsel could do was allege that Hunter denied he was an addict on a standard form gun purchase application and paid four years of taxes late.

So, we should take the Convicted Felon’s threats seriously, but we should recognize that MAGA has a dismal track record of delivering on their revenge fantasies.

With that preface, let’s look at the various ways that MAGA extremists are seeking to protect Convicted Felon Trump after 34-guilty verdicts.

Speaker Mike Johnson floated the idea of defunding special counsel Jack Smith, something he rejected in early May (before the guilty verdicts).

Senate Republicans have signed a letter vowing not to cooperate on any legislation that does not directly relate to public safety.

Convicted Felon Trump said that “it’s very possible that it’s gonna have to happen”—referring to locking up his political enemies.

Steve Bannon—a surrogate of the Convicted Felon—said that District Attorney Alvin Brag “should be—and will be—jailed.”

Bannon also said that “media allies” of Biden should be “investigated.”

The Felon’s architect of the Muslim ban—Steven Miller—asked, “Is every House committee controlled by Republicans using its subpoena power in every way it needs to right now? Is every Republican DA starting every investigation they need to right now.”

GOP Rep. Ronny Jackson said “he would encourage Congress to ‘aggressively go after’ President Biden and his family.”

The Felon’s judicial allies are also doing their best to protect him from further criminal jeopardy:

First, the US Supreme Court continues to delay its ruling on Felon Trump's baseless claim of presidential immunity for his attempted coup and insurrection. Every day that the Court delays its decision makes trial in the DC election interference case less likely. The Court’s glacial response to a matter of national urgency is reprehensible. And transparently partisan.

Second, the Georgia court of appeals issued a stay of the trial proceedings in the state RICO prosecution of Felon Trump for interfering in Georgia’s 2020 presidential election. See CNN Politics, Donald Trump election subversion conspiracy case indefinitely paused by Georgia appeals court.

The stay of the Georgia case is worrisome. Per the Atlanta Journal Constitution, the court of appeals issued a stay on its own motion. AJC writes:

Because none of the defendants had requested a stay, this means the appeals court decided on its own to issue the stay, leading some observers to speculate the court may ultimately reverse McAfee’s decision and disqualify Willis and her office. The appeals court, if it agrees to hold oral arguments, has indicated it will do so some time in the fall, and it must issue its decision by mid-March [2025].

As Joyce Vance noted,

“Unlike federal courts where judges are appointed for life, Georgia elects its judges in races that are non-partisan in name only, with predictable results.”

So, unless and until a different prosecutor replaces Willis, the Georgia case is going nowhere. And if Fani Willis removes herself, it is not clear that a different prosecutor would pursue the case. I do not know how Willis would be replaced if she voluntarily steps down, but per NBC,

Under a 2022 Georgia law, when a district attorney is disqualified, the case is referred to the executive director of the Prosecuting Attorneys’ Council of Georgia, who is tasked with finding another prosecutor for the case.

If Willis is disqualified on appeal, we should expect the appointment of a prosecutor who will dismiss the case.

Third, Judge Aileen Cannon has dropped all pretense of presiding over a criminal trial involving unlawful retention of defense secrets and is converting her courtroom into a theater-in-the-round for right-wing attacks on the special counsel appointment process. In a move so unusual it has never happened before, Judge Cannon invited strangers to the Trump defense secrets case to submit briefs and present oral argument over a day-and-a-half hearing.

The challenges to the appointment of Jack Smith are baseless. Similar challenges have been rejected numerous times. But Cannon seems intent on fabricating a record to justify removal of Jack Smith. See Salon, "Not normal at all": Legal experts say Judge Cannon's "absurd" ruling shows she's an "absolute hack".

Meanwhile, Cannon has not ruled on Jack Smith’s request for a protective order to protect FBI agents and other witnesses from Felon Trump's dangerous accusations that they had orders to “shoot to kill” him during the search of Mar-a-Lago.

It is difficult to describe how inappropriate and unprecedented Cannon’s actions are. While we should avoid falling into conspiracy theories, it seems doubtful that Cannon came up with the stagecraft of a right-wing assault on the special counsel in her courtroom on her own. A plausible explanation is that she is being coached by political operatives working for Convicted Felon Trump.

All the above reeks of desperation to protect Trump from further political damage. Those who humiliate themselves and undermine democracy to protect Trump will be remembered by history alongside those faithless servants who abandoned America during prior crises. In the meantime, recognize that their angry outbursts are signs that they are running scared. They can visualize life after the Convicted Felon has been defeated and they understand they have given up everything for the worst president in American history.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[floatyhands]

I hate that my lack of sufficient artistic skill and writing abilities is preventing me from drawing a comic or writing a fic where Gilda Gold and Harvey Dent contemplates the symbolism of the blindfolds on statues of Lady Justice.

So, the modern symbolism of Lady Justice being blindfolded is of course to symbolise how she is impartial and does not judge by appearance, "Justice is Blind" and all that. Yet, if this article is to be believed, it may have initially satirically represented Lady Justice being blind to the injustice occurring before her.

Another thing to note, contrary to some of the misinformation I've been seeing online, Lady Justice is NOT Themis (a goddess of DIVINE law and customs, not earthly temporal justice), and she's definitely NOT Nemesis (a goddess of divine RETRIBUTION, balance and fortune who emerges to smite the hubristic and wicked when Themis is disrespected). She's probably not even Dike (temporal, human justice), Themis' daughter. Rather, she's the Roman Justitia, first introduced by Emperor Augustus, and used ever since by various emperors in their iconography to declare themselves protectors of justice. (CORRECTION: Well, normally. Some statues of Lady Justice ARE meant to of Themis or Dike, though from what I can tell, they tend to not be blindfolded as often.)

Naturally, as a sculptor, and as someone with perhaps at least a passing interest in Hellenistic mythology and iconography (if we go off the headcanon I've come across where she's the originator of the nickname Apollo, either by calling Harvey that, or by having him model for a statue of Apollo she made, which the press picked up on), she'd know about this stuff.

Imagine her bringing it up to Harvey, back in the early days of their respective careers. Them chatting about what ideal justice looks like, whether she should be impartial and dispassionate, weighing only the evidence presented before her, or whether she should be clear-eyed, letting no injustice go unrighted under her steely, watchful gaze. Them talking about whether earthly concepts of justice under the law is inextricable from the ruling power of corruptible institutions. Whether public statues like that are symbolic ideals to strive for or propagandistic icons masking what really goes on.

Imagine Harvey, walking into the Gotham courthouse on that fateful day against "Boss" Maroni, glancing up at that statue of Lady Justice, her inscrutable expression, her hidden blindfolded eyes, and wondering what it means for him.

Imagine Gilda, walking past the Gotham courthouse, months after the incident, seeing Lady Justice, blind and impotent, sword sheathed, scale rusted, the details of her features marred by the years of acid rain from the noxious fumes of Gotham's poorly regulated industries, and her sadness turns acrid at the city that wears down and scars everything in it.

Imagine Gilda being commissioned to sculpt a new statue. This time, Justice's eyes will not be shielded.