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mysticmunson · 1 year

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peace (eddie x reader)

an: this is for @funsonmunson-again birthday celebration, a mafia eddie blurb :) im very tired and didn't proof read but i love ur adaptions of eddie so i hope you enjoy! (started listening to peace by taylor swift and got inspo)

word count: 1.5k

warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of death, smut (18+)

11:53 pm.

He was late.

Eddie was supposed to be back from his job at 10, assuring you that you’d have a night of takeout and movies when he returned. Instead, you paced the long hall, biting your nail as Lucifer and Vecna lay at each end with Dio and Zeus sitting on the couch in the living room.

Given his line of work, you didn’t wonder about the typical reasons he could be tardy like traffic or added assignments. Being kept mostly in the dark with his antics, you had to paint your own picture as to what occurred, for better or for worse.

Jeff was in his bedroom, the light still on with the occasional sound of shuffling trailing through the house. It was the only reassurance that something hadn’t gone majorly wrong, that Jeff hadn’t run out in a frenzy or was talking loudly on the phone. You just tried to remind yourself of this as you toyed with your wet hair.

Just a minute before midnight, the front door opened with only one bark from the dogs before a harsh, ‘Down.’. Eddie walked in with only one cut on his face, Gareth trailing behind and locking the door to retreat to his own bedroom.

Reaching your bedroom, his shoulders dropped as you approached, grabbing his cheeks to look at his gash. Taking his hand, you took him to the bathroom, flicking on the light as he stripped his shirt and jeans for comfort. He hopped on the counters as you fetched the first aid kit, setting it on the marble beside his thigh.

“Ugh, today was long.” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut as you angled his jaw to give you access to his wound. The cold alcohol made him hiss, dabbing it to clean the surrounding skin, securing it with a bandaid.

As much as you wished you could take the apology and head to bed, the build-up of emotions lingered as he sat before you. His nonchalance further solidified your apprehensiveness, choosing to look him over a few times to make sure none were missed.

The dead air made him uneasy as you stroked his knuckles that were narrowly bruised, turning a shade of deep purple with splotches of maroon. Allowing his eyes to reopen, he noticed a few tears dripping down your cheeks, unable to see your eyes as you looked down.

“Kitten?” He began, going to hold your waist until you walked away, dropping the blood-stained rag on the floor. His exhaustion was uplifted from his body as he sprung into action, able to cut in front of you before you could walk out of the bedroom.

His chest heaved as he barricaded the exit, your figure unmoving, staring towards the floor at your sock-clad feet. Backing away a step, you took a shaky breath and a sniffle as anxiety bloomed within his chest.

Finally meeting his glance, his heart fell to his gut as your eyes were bloodshot, tears rimming the edges before slipping down your skin. Wiping them swiftly, you rolled your shoulders and coughed to clear your throat, not doing much to assist your current state.

“Eddie, you scared me so fuckin’ bad. When other guys are late from work it’s usually just rush hour or catching a drink with friends, meanwhile, I was pacing for 2 hours wondering if my boyfriend was dead!” You choked, covering your trembling mouth with your hand.

Taking you in his arms, your legs wrapped around his middle as he sat on the edge of the neatly made bed that should’ve had your bodies in it hours ago. Rubbing your back in soothing circles, he hoped the perfect response would come to him, but with your shaking frame within his touch, he found himself stuck.

With a kiss on your forehead, he stroked your hair down on both sides, holding your face to let him wipe away the streams.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’ll make sure to text you if I’m running late or won’t be home on time.” He promised as your foreheads pressed together, noses gliding beside each other, “You mean the world to me, I never want to make you feel like that, I’m okay and I’ll always make sure you are too.”

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his cracked lips as small circles were drawn on your hip bones. There was a prominent heaviness weighing on him, you could tell as he held you, that something was slowly consuming him. You knew better than to ask, it would only make him retreat, never wanting his walls torn down.

“I’m sorry I’ll never bring you peace, I’ll try my best to.” He whispered, looking down at his lap until your finger forced his chin upwards. There wasn’t a smidge of dishonesty in his eyes, knowing this had been a concern of his that loomed silently.

In the middle of the night, he would sometimes glance down at your sleeping frame, admiring how calm you seemed in his arms. He feared it would vanish, that his tranquility would run out and drive you away from him.

He could never admit to you these things, not wanting to plant the idea in your head and not wanting to seem paranoid. But he made sure to hold you extra tight those nights, feeling you naturally adjust to his body against yours and hoping no one would take his place.

“Eddie, you mean so much to me, I feel safest with you.” You confirmed, watching some of the tension dissipate at the reassurance that he deeply needed. Though timed for when you felt vulnerable, you knew his admission was not to derail your own, but rather to come clean.

Tucking his hair behind his ears, you kissed him gently, slotting your lips together in harmony. His usual tender grip that settled on your ass was replaced with a delicate one, just to move you closer to him.

Undoing the knot on your robe, your mix-matched underwear didn’t feel sexy, but neither did this moment. There was an underlying need to embrace one another more than usual, discarding your remaining clothing soon after. His boxers fell to the floor as he scooted to the middle of the bed, following shortly behind him as you threw a leg over his waist.

Pushing his shoulder with one finger, you expected him to fall to his back, but he didn’t budge. He put a worn hand on your hip and the other to stroke himself a few times, hardening enough to enter you.

“Want you close, kitten.” He mumbled, looking at his cock as he slid himself inside of you, chest tightening as your cunt gripped him like a vice.

Easing downward, you were snug against him as you began to rock back and forth. Your chest was against his, feeling the heat radiating off of him as his heart beat faster. He took the hair tie from his wrist to bring your hair from your face, securing it in a loose bun behind you.

He guided most of your movements, shuddering when you’d clench and moaning when you’d whimper. His hand went over the expanse of your back, wandering around the skin that was usually too far to reach or pressed against something while intimate.

“I love you.” Eddie mustered out, breathing into your mouth, catching it hastily in a kiss.

“I love you too, Eds. So much.” You mewled, gripping his firm shoulders as your climax inched forward, tingling your toes. He slipped the hand from your spine to your clit, rubbing small circles as you cried out.

“That’s it, kitten, let go for me.” He cooed, soon feeling the stutter of your hips as he felt his own orgasm sneak up on him.

“Fuck, good girl, my girl.” He mumbled, pulling you further down onto his length as warmth covered your insides.

Your cheek hit his chest as his reached your head, holding each other as if being pulled away in seconds. The reminisce of scars littered his shoulder blades, loving every single one and how only you got to see them this close. The small slivers of skin that were practically pure white, slightly pink as the skin healed itself.

His hand cradled your cheek against himself, pecking your forehead, reminding him you were right where you needed to be. They would worry about cleaning up in a minute, but for now, as their blood pressure returned to normal, they chose to pretend they only existed within these walls.

Sweet nothings were murmured with affirmations of their love until sleep felt too soon to ignore. Standing on shaking legs, he smiled as you walked like a baby deer to the bathroom, following to clean himself up as well.

Wordlessly lifting you in his arms afterward, he set you beneath the covers, slipping in beside you. There was little space between the two of you as you fell into a peaceful slumber, knowing he was right beside you. As he looked down at his arms, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, holding you tightly. Not in fear that you’d leave, but the assertion that he had one thing that brought him peace.

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tanadrin · 5 days

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Do you think it's possible there's a planet with multiple stable sentient species who interact? Or would such a situation inevitably end up with one getting wiped out or the two hybridizing

Well, they could only hybridize if they were closely related, like humans and Neanderthals. And IIRC there's some evidence that humans and Neanderthals/Denisovans probably weren't all that interfertile to begin with, with most coding Neanderthal alleles getting weeded out of our genome.

I think it would be very difficult for two sentient species that shared overlapping niches to survive. H. sapiens and Neanderthals were both smart, seem to have both had language and culture, and had similar levels of technological sophistication, but the latter had a much lower population and so couldn't really compete when their cousins invaded their territory. And maybe some of this is a function of the wider human clade's tendency to engage in warfare and ecologically disruptive hunting--there's a big wave of megafauna extinction that seems to have followed the expansion of human populations all over the globe--but I'm not sure how many species of big-brained tool-users any niche could support.

But I do think that species with very different niches could coexist peacefully, at least long enough to work out that species in other niches were sentient, and to develop the ethical frameworks necessary for coexistence. If there were superintelligent squid, they wouldn't ever compete directly with humans for habitat (though we might have eaten a fair few by accident). We have also managed (just!) not to render extinct cetaceans, which are fairly intelligent, or our close cousins the chimpanzee. I could also imagine a science fictional scenario where two intelligent species were in some kind of important symbiotic or commensalist relationship that would stabilize their coexistence.

I think the other tricky thing though would be timing. It took a long time for the genus Homo to develop intelligence. AFAICT the australopithecines were closer to chimpanzees in terms of intelligence than they were to us; H. erectus was a lot smarter, but probably didn't have language; it's not until 700,000 to 200,000 years ago you get human species that are more fully developed in terms of their intelligence, and that feels like a super narrow window in terms of evolution for another intelligence species to also emerge. Because once you do get intelligent tool-users who spread over most of the globe, they seem likely to me to start to modify their environment in profound ways, like we have. So if another intelligent species doesn't already exist, the circumstances in which it is likely to arise after one species comes to prominence are going to be very different--more of an uplift scenario, maybe. Like I think if we discovered a group of chimpanzees with rudimentary language tomorrow, we would do our best not to fuck with them, but we would inevitably have some kind of impact on their existence for better or worse, right?

Maybe your best bet for multiple sentient species would be to have a reason that the first species (singular or plural) that arose didn't come to dominate the entire planet--they were aquatic, and so never mastered fire; or they were otherwise highly restricted in the biomes they could inhabit; or they were small in number like the Neanderthals, but could retreat to refugia in mountains and forests rather than be wiped out; or they were a diverse clade like early humans, but they also spread out very rapidly, and were subsequently isolated by climate conditions. Like, imagine Denisovans (who were already in Asia) had crossed the Bering Strait land bridge to the Americas, and then sea levels rose cutting them off until the Age of Discovery. If you had a planet that didn't effectively have a two supercontinents like Earth, you might have many more opportunities for related-but-geographically-divided species to develop (though that doesn't avoid the problem of what happens when they meet each other and start competing then).

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roguelov · 1 year

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All Yours

Summary: You and Morpheus were separated for a while to complete different tasks to help the Dreaming. Then, by luck, you run into each other. And quickly realize you can’t keep your hands off of each other. But, Morpheus soon learns something else about you, something you never showed until now - just how much you love making him yours.

Word Count: ~2.7k

Reader: Fem

Warnings: Teasing/flirting, heavily implied smut but no deeds (sub!Morpheus, possessive kink, light choking, dirty talk, very light exhibition)

Requested by a beautiful anon

MINOR DNI/ 18+ ONLY

In the labyrinthian hallway, its high vaulted ceilings stretched far into the heavens, and its handcrafted stone carvings were all markings of elegance. Twists and turns veered off left and right, and strangely - noted only with a keen eye - hidden passages curved downward or upward to unknown places. All of it mysterious, all of it enchanting. Yet, a figure darted through the halls ignoring all its wonders and secrets.

You.

You, in your haste, mumbled to yourself and focused only on your given tasks. Your footsteps mixed with your incoherent mumbling bounced off the extravagant archways, echoing throughout. Only you and your chaotic thoughts. Your fingers danced in the air as you recounted your mental to-do checklist.

Morpheus - reluctantly, after your constant asking - agreed to your help in maintaining the Dreaming. You assigned yourself with menial, odd end jobs; simply anything to lessen Morpheus’s load. And frankly, you enjoyed it. You enjoyed helping him and those around, and also enjoyed the added bonus of him returning to you sooner. He was no longer exhausted, trying to sneak into your shared bedroom under the veil of night. Now, most of his time could be given to you.

Currently, you were on a hunt. A window had shattered in the library, spilling shards everywhere. An accident, truly. Dreamers were unpredictable and always enthralled by what the Dreaming could offer. A few things may be unfortunately damaged along the way. So, you were searching, somewhat frantically, for Merv to ask if he could lend you a broom.

“Merv said he would be …”

Your voice trailed off as you desperately tried to recall where the elusive pumpkin man was hiding. You groaned, taking another turn down the palace hall. Hopefully, or by pure luck, you could run into him.

Luck, instead, brought you someone else.

Morpheus, from out of a hidden passage, stepped out. Your muttering easily caught his ears in the empty hall. Turning his head, he saw your retreating figure. His heart immediately soared, like an infatuated child seeing their school crush. Only a few hours apart and he ached for you - craved you.

He walked - floated - towards you, drawn in by your infectious gravitational pull. His original task was forgotten.

Morpheus’s hand glided across your back, drawing your attention. You perked up, turning your head. Confusion, written so plainly on your face, melted away. The tension in your shoulders instantly dropped. You smiled, wide and beautiful, at him. Your eyes shone with an overflowing love. The world - for a brief moment, just as your eyes connected - was rosy and perfect.

Morpheus’s heart seized at the sight of you. He kissed your cheek. “How are you, my love?”

“I’m good - better now that you are here.”

He chuckled, softly.

Your smile widened. When Morpheus laughed, rarely does it happen, it was a chorus of angels: sweet, melodic, and uplifting. You reached over, cupping his cheek. He leaned into your touch. He turned his head, pressing his lips into the palm of your hand. Oh, how such a simple touch lit a fire inside of you.

You leaned towards him, kissing him passionately.

He hummed.

His lips, soft and rich, moved expertly against yours. It was a perfect meld. His hands cupped your face, bringing you closer. You smiled against his lips. Your hands snaked up, threading into his dark locks - which always called out to you to tug on them. He carefully backed you up against the wall, tucked between two columns out of sight.

You hummed as your back thumped into the hard surface.

His hands wandered down your body, to your waist. He pressed himself into you, trapping you against him. His lips slowly pulled away as you eagerly chased after him. He smiled lovingly. You returned the smile, unable to hide your happiness or love. He dipped his head, and began kissing down your neck.

You sighed deeply. Your hands, still entangled in his hair, tugged on the ends. He hummed, burying his face into your neck.

So long. It had been too long, he thought.

It had been.

You both had been busy these past days - weeks. He missed you, he missed you more than he could articulate.

You tugged his hair, repeating the simple act, but a little harder this second time. He groaned, and gripped your hips white knuckling them. Thrilled by his needy sounds, you bit back a giddy smile. You pulled on his hair once more, and pulled until his face was out from hiding in the crook of your neck. A low moan tumbled off his beautiful rosy lips. His endless sky blue eyes twinkled, excited.

Your heart skipped.

Your hands skimmed down his chest, and pushed him. You easily flipped Morpheus around. Now, his back was pressed up against the wall with you blocking his escape. Surprise passed over his features - a quick jump of his brows. You only smiled, one filled with devious plans.

Morpheus’s chest heaved. His breathing matched your own; or dare you say more erratic as anticipation flooded through his body. Your eyes landed on his parted lips. So enticing, so wondrous. Your gaze flickered back up. Morpheus’s skin buzzed. Your eyes were filled with an undeniable hunger. His heart fluttered in his chest, like a hummingbird needing to escape from its cage. Oh, but he wouldn’t want to. He was happily pinned down, happily pinned to the wall.

You dipped your head, just as he did only seconds ago. Your lips barely skimmed over his neck, a feathery touch. He didn’t fight or protest. He immediately gave himself over. His head fell to the side, giving you easier access.

You smiled against his skin. You started to pepper kiss over his neck, tantalizingly slow. A test.

A tease.

Morpheus sighed as his eyes fluttered closed.

Encouraged by his soft sounds and willingness, you started to be more demanding and suck at his marble crafted skin. The thrill of marking him, here and now, enticed you greatly. Your love bites were to be shown off for all of the Dreaming to see. He was yours, only you could do this to him.

Your teeth grazed over his skin and gently nipped at him.

He let out a breathy moan.

You smirked. You continued, littering his neck with your work - sucking, biting at his neck, and soothing any pains with your hypnotic tongue. You even worked your way to the other side of his neck; nothing would go untouched by you.

Morpheus’s breathing was becoming more and more labored, coming out in short bursts. His hands latched back onto your hips, needing to hold onto you. His fingers dug into you, definitely bruising you as you were bruising him. He drew you close, bucking his hips against yours. The tiny friction was electrical, dizzying.

Oh, how he loved this.

To be at your mercy.

To be yours.

You pulled away, much to Morpheus’s dismay. A predatory smile crossed over your lips. Morpheus’s typically perfect pale skin was now covered in blemishes, blemishes of your doing.

“Well, don’t you look pretty,” you whispered sultry.

Morpheus’s droopy eyes flickered open, glancing up at you. Never, never in all the time he knew you, did he expect this. You never said anything before. But, oh he loved this delicious surprise. You ran a finger over his bruised neck. A faint hum of pain coursed through him. Pain which morphed into pleasure. He shivered under your delicate touch.

“What’s the problem, my sweet king?” Your smirk grew. “Talk to me.”

Before he could speak, your hand flew down cupping his growing bulge.

His head dropped forward onto your shoulder. A whimper, an unbelievable needy whine, fell from his lips. He let out a shaky low breath.

How did you do this to him? How was he rendered into such a state?

Dream of the Endless, King of Nightmares, was at a mortal’s mercy. Every touch set a uncontrollable fire of want and need under his skin. He could feel himself burning from the inside out because of you. Your lips pulled out such carnal desires from him - desires not even his dear sibling could create. Your hands, your light nimble fingers, mapped out his body knowing how to make him sing, to make the world know who he belonged to.

You were his destruction and savior.

“Morpheus,” you purred. “Answer -“

Footsteps echoed.

You whipped away from Morpheus. You peered around the large column to see a shadow casted on the walls and slowly approached you. As the figure walked forward, the iconic round head and orange hue signified it was Mervyn - the person you wanted to find minutes ago before this exciting turn of events. You quickly glanced back at Morpheus. His glassy, dazed, eyes sharpened slightly at the sound. He tried to move - possibly to see who it was and to promptly remove himself from this somewhat embarrassing situation. Yet, you clamped a hand over his mouth, and kept him in place.

“Don’t.” You whispered, sternly.

He froze.

He obliged to your command. With one word, he was rooted in place.

You casually - or as nonchalant as possible - stepped out into view as Merv walked up. Morpheus was completely hidden behind the column, and you appeared to be leaning on it as if you stopped to have a rest. Your hand tucked around the column stayed on Morpheus’s mouth, not wishing to let go.

The pumpkin man cocked his head. “Uh, hey there, (Y/N). I didn’t see you there.”

“Hey, Merv,” you smiled, picture perfect. “You are actually the exact person I was looking for.”

Merv’s face scrunched together. “You were? Why?”

As you began to tell Merv the minor incident that occurred in the library, your hand slowly, inch by inch, crept down from Morpheus’s mouth to around his beautifully sculpted neck. Instantly, Morpheus craned his head back. Once again, he gave himself over. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky exhale.

Upon hearing him, you gently squeezed. A firm warning: not a single sound.

Morpheus bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed down his growing and apparent desperation.

Merv sighed, “Alright, I’ll go clean it up.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that. I would be more than happy to do so, I would just need a broom and a pan,” you cheerfully replied.

Morpheus’s heart sank. You would leave him? Leave him in such a desperate state? A faint, barely notable, whine hummed in the back of his throat.

But, you noticed.

You squeezed his neck - his second warning. His hands flew up and wrapped around your wrist. He needed to touch you, to find ground in his dizzying euphoric state. He carefully removed your hand from his neck, which you allowed - mostly curious as to what he was doing. He brought your hand to his lips, and peppered up your wrist with delicate kisses. It was his way of saying he needed you.

He needed you now.

The only sign you gave was a smile - a minuscule twitch of the corner of your lips.

“If you say so,” Merv huffed. “Less work for me the better. Here I can show you where I keep my stuff.”

“Actually, could you just drop it off in the library? There are a few other things I need to do, something small on my way to the library.”

Merv squinted his eyes as his lips puckered in thought, then he just nodded. “Okay.” He spun around, walking back where he came from. “And you and the boss better not make a mess because I am not cleaning that up.”

Morpheus flinched.

You, however, laughed. “Will do, Merv. Thanks.”

You slid back in front of Morpheus, like the serpent ready to tempt. Your eyes darkened. The air was knocked out of Morpheus’s lung. One look and he was ready to fall to his knees, to grant you your wish. You grabbed Morpheus’s face, drawing him close to you. “Let’s take this elsewhere, my sweet king.” Your lips brushed over his. “Before we upset Merv.”

A couple hours later, Morpheus strolled through the hallways of the winding castle. He was on his way to his studies, or specifically to the beach to work on his new dreams and nightmares. You, on the other hand, had left, making your way to the library to clean up the mess among completing a few other tasks on your list.

Your lips, the memory of it, still ghosted over his skin. It haunted him. His fingers traced over his neck, feeling the tenderness. He laughed once through his nose. You were devious.

“I don’t think I ever mentioned how much I loved seeing you like this.” You murmured, as you straddled him. Your fingers delicately traced over his bruised neck, and down his bare chest where new marks rose. “I did this.”

His chest rumbled as he chuckled. “Yes, you did, my love.”

You bent down, skimming your lips over his. “You’re all mine.”

His hands cupped your face, kissing you. Muttering against your lips, he said, “I am.”

Morpheus was so enwrapped with his memories, with your lingering touches, that he failed to notice Matthew soaring towards him.

“Hey, boss?”

Morpheus blinked, snapping himself out of those pleasant thoughts. He glanced up to see Matthew descend, landing on his shoulder. “Hello, Matthew,” Morpheus greeted.

Matthew had something to tell the King of Dreams, however his thoughts quickly vanished at the sight of Morpheus’s spotted bruised neck. Matthew snickered, “Did you have some fun, boss?”

Morpheus’s brows knitted together, only to smooth out as realization hit. A passive, almost annoyed, look was painted over his steely features. “We are adults here, Matthew.”

Matthew ignored the obvious irritated look Morpheus was giving him. “Sure, but we’re not animals - well, most of us aren’t. And she got you good, sir.” Matthew’s tone said it all, he was gleefully happy to poke at the Endless.

Morpheus rolled his eyes.

“Now, I understand why Merv was in a mood earlier. He was mumbling about the two of you.” Matthew chuckled. “Poor guy probably saw too much.”

Morpheus stayed silent, unwilling to indulge Matthew.

“Do you want some ice, sir? It might help.”

“I can assure you, Matthew, I am perfectly fine.”

Matthew hummed, “Uh-huh, I bet you are. Probably a lot better now.”

“And what are you implying?” Morpheus turned his head, eyeing the raven.

Matthew cocked his head, his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Imply it however you want, sir.”

Morpheus huffed, turning his head. “Do you not have something better to do?”

“I did.” Matthew settled, lowering himself onto Morpheus’s shoulder, content to take place here instead. “But, I can’t remember.”

“Of course,” Morpheus mumbled to himself.

Morpheus continued to stroll down the hall, with a chirper Matthew babbling on his shoulder. He could send the pesky raven elsewhere, but in all honesty he didn’t mind the jokes. All he could think of was hours ago.

“You’re all mine.”

He was yours, and he didn’t want anyone to think otherwise.

And speaking of the devil, you popped up around a corner carrying a broom and pan. You were trying to find Merv again, or find where to put his supplies. It was deja vu all over again. But, you had a sinking feeling Merv didn’t wish to be near you anytime soon.

Your embarrassment, on the other hand, was far and few. You would happily do it all over again.

Glancing around, your eyes landed on the pair. You smiled at them. Morpheus’s face instantly lit up, he returned the smile. A change which Matthew noted and chuckled to himself.

Morpheus ignored him like he had been.

Your eyes dropped, stealing a glance at his marked neck. Your smile widened and you shook your head. As you walked up to them, you said in a sly remark, “You have a little something on your neck, my king.”

“Do I?” Morpheus smiled, pleased to play along with your banter. “How odd.”

You chuckled.

Matthew glanced between the two of you, unable to believe he was witnessing any of this. “Should I leave you two?” He joked.

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, you don’t have to. I actually wanted to ask if either of you happen to know where Merv is or where I can put his stuff?”

“Down the hall. Two lefts then a right, second door on the right.” Morpheus answered.

You beamed. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, my love.”

You started to walk by. You looked to Morpheus then to Matthew, still comfortably perched on his shoulder. Your smile changed into a little smirk, “And Matthew be nice to him, he’s clearly hurt.”

#the sandman #Morpheus #dream of the endless #sandman morpheus #sandman dream #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x reader #dream x you #dream x fem!reader #fem!reader #smut

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animezinglife · 4 months

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I think what draws me in and completely captivates me with Once Upon a Broken Heart is the sheer, unapologetic fantasy of it all and the equally unapologetic appeal to the hopeless romantic in so many of us.

I actually find it refreshing that Evangeline is a little naive, but that that naïveté comes from that wish for and willingness to find a happily-ever-after. She IS very much that fairytale heroine who gets tossed into one scenario after another, but there’s always a very genuine (in my opinion) sense of love and hope flooding through her.

She won’t appeal to everyone, but she’s also not the ditzy, helpless protagonist I think some would make her out to be. She’s a believer in love. She’s getting a rather tumultuous crash course in what love is through her misguided deal with Jacks.

It’s not the fairytale romance with a prince or a first love.

It’s not something that ends once she has it.

Happiness is something she constantly has to work for. It takes gambles and risks. It’s messy and not always easy to understand. It’s a double-edged sword. It can both uplift and betray you; warm your heart and break it.

She’s learning. She’s growing. She’s figuring out what she wants; what it means and feels like to fall in love and fight for it.

I love too that Jacks genuinely is a trickster. He’s downright diabolical at times and Evangeline is never naive enough to think she can change that. She holds herself accountable for feeling too much for him or expecting him to act like her friend, husband, or lover. He’s not an easy person to love. He’s very obviously not fully human and can be hard to understand.

Yet she’s genuinely seeing that other, more human side of him when he doesn’t retreat from it. That side that’s capable of love and has fallen in love with her (which the readers can see much more clearly). She’s not misguided in her conflicted feelings. She just keeps moving forward with the directions her life takes her. She still believes in love. She still wants to believe in happily ever afters.

She’s learning that none of those things are easy and that they can constantly evolve.

I think a lot of women regardless of age can probably relate to just how much she’s learning about herself through this all.

I know I can.

Evangeline is a softer kind of heroine. She has a gentler strength and resolve. She doesn’t always make good or smart decisions, but she also doesn’t claim to.

She’s not a complicated protagonist. This isn’t going to win any awards for the most complex, intellectually stimulating, insightful narrative of all time or any esteemed awards in terms of craft.

But honestly? I love Evangeline, and I love these books. She’s kind of the embodiment of optimism and hopeful love, and she refuses to break. She’s kind and caring.

She’s that part of so many of us I think we tend to push aside or bury as we get older and more jaded on love.

A certain quote comes to mind about being old enough to read fairytales again. I think sometimes, that can also mean being gentle and nonjudgmental towards our own hopeless, inner romantics and that wish for something better that somehow keeps us going.

#evangeline fox #once upon a broken heart #evajacks #stephanie garber #fairytales #30 and thriving #bookblr #I spent more than enough time in academia #with all the bitterness and taking oneself too seriously #this is kind of a love letter to not doing so #the ballad of never after

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lockandkeyhyena · 1 month

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I wish so genuinely more people knew about your treatment regarding the WC map community. Like you have given these projects that were not yours time, effort, and art but repeatedly get shot in the foot for it because "drama"

It's not Drama, it's a map host being spineless, or being a bigot themselves. YOU should be credited for those storyboards because YOU made them and they were used, regardless of what anyone thinks, end of story. I genuinely think you should push this issue because it's been a big one in the map community.

As a whole, maps are treated more like a business or company, where their workers are payed in "exposure", and the bosses can fuck over anyone they'd like for any reason. The map community will crash and burn soon because artist and participants are sick of the abuse and the constant pressure put on them over something that should've been a non-stressful little side project.

I'm sorry to rant, I just really wish people were more informed and stood with the artist when this shit happens.

thanks for the support anon, it means alot :) generally i’m just going to retreat from the warrior cats map space because of the toxicity that surrounds it. i don’t believe the treatment i’ve received to be warranted but i don’t really wanna kick too much of a fuss up about it and just cause more commotion.

i think i’ll join non-wc related maps occasionally but i can’t confirm anything, maps in general have really drained my creative output. i feel like they could be great if the community around them focused more on uplifting artists than stealing their work for ‘edits’ or glamorising the host over the participants.

if it does implode though, i won’t pretend i’m not watching from the sidelines with one of those drinks that have an umbrella in it.

ultimately, i’ve had some lovely experiences in the wc map community but just not enough to outweigh the harassment, callouts and crunch i’ve needed to experience to stay in the community. it was fun(?) while it lasted, but i need to move on- for my own health.

i can do nothing but wish good things on all the members of the community while still retaining feelings of bitterness that i feel are warranted.

#yeen rambles #ask

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eretzyisrael · 5 months

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By BEATRICE SAYERS

An event in London last week to mark the exodus and expulsion of Jews from Arab countries became an opportunity to counter the current far-left narrative that paints Israel as a country of white settlers.

Organiser Lyn Julius, who runs Harif, the association of Jews from the Middle East and North Africa, told the audience at JW3 that 50 percent of Jews in Israel have roots in Arab and Muslim countries. They had not left those countries willingly, she added, and many left as a result of massacres.

“Families butchered like sheep, bodies buried in the debris of homes in which pogromists had locked the families before setting them on fire. Jewish girls raped, their breasts cut off. No, I am not describing 7 October 2023,” Julius said. “We have been here before. It’s an anti-Jewish atrocity which occurred in Constantine, Algeria, in 1934. But I could have cited any number of similarly barbaric atrocities: in Fez, Morocco, in 1912, in Tripoli, Libya, in 1945, in Iraq in 1941 the Farhud, which claimed the lives of at least 179 Jews.”

She pointed out that Israel was “the solution to pre-existing antisemitism” that had led to pogroms across the region. “In a generation and a half almost all the ancient, pre-Islamic Jewish communities of the Middle East and North Africa have been ethnically cleansed. Hamas simply wants to finish the job. From almost a million Jews in 1948, only about 4,000 remain, and that number dwindles year by year.”

Julius herself is the child of parents who came to Britain from the Iraqi capital Baghdad in 1950. A film shown at the event presented testimony from Jews who had been forced out of their native counties in the Middle East and North Africa.

Jocelyne Shrago is one of the four people interviewed in the film, commissioned from Daisy Abboudi, deputy director of the oral history archive Sephardi Voices UK.

Shrago, who was born in Algeria, told how during the Constantine pogrom her parents and sister went over the wall to the Arab family who lived next door, who saved them. She recalls the bombing campaign during the Algerian war of independence in the 1950s, when she covered her baby niece with her body to protect her. “People had to leave in ‘62 because on the walls there was graffiti that said ‘La valise ou le cercueil’, ‘the suitcase or the coffin’.” Some went to Israel. Her family on both sides went to France, where she lived until 1968, when she moved to the UK.

Other speakers at the event last Thursday, the ninth that Harif has organised, included Baroness (Ruth) Deech, Joseph Dweck, senior rabbi of the S&P Sephardi Community, Marie van der Zyl, president of the Board of Deputies, Claudia Mendoza, chief executive of the Jewish Leadership Council, and the Israeli ambassador Tzipi Hotovely. The ambassador said Mizrachi Jews were not just 50 percent of Israel’s population but had shaped her history. “Israel today is a very healthy mix between west and east.”

Mendoza spoke movingly about her mother’s family, who are from Aden. They were forced to flee and her grandfather was murdered. “The clarity with which my family speak when they talk about threats to your life because you’re a Jew resonate more than ever today. They have seen it before and they do not have the luxury of denalism.”

But she also had a powerful and uplifting message to the Jewish community, and warned it not catastrophise or retreat into itself.

“The polling that we’ve done at the JLC [Jewish Leadership Council] after the October 7 attack shows that while there may be a small number of extremists in the UK who support Hamas, and they must be called out, the vast majority of British people recognise them for the murderous terrorists that they are and they reject those that wish to target jews here in the UK.

“If we fight as if we are surrounded exclusively by enemies, we risk by that very attitude making enemies we didn’t previously have, and losing friends whose sympathies we fail to notice. We have so many friends, I promise you that.”

#harif #jews from the middle east #lyn julius

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tarotbydelilah444 · 10 months

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👭 ✨Details About Your Next Friendship

Pile 1 : blue & pink heart

their physical appearance | this person could have tattoos and/or piercings. They could have a unique eye color or eye shape. They could have long blonde or dirty blonde hair. This person could have a light to medium complexion. They could also be shorter than you and have a muscular body type. This person could have a rbf or look very serious when you first meet them.

their personality + interests | this person is an animal lover and has a strong attachment and connection to animals. They may prefer the company of animals over humans. Your next friend is very intuitive, mysterious, and territorial. They are loyal and very protective of their friends and family, so they will be very protective of you. This person may have a very introverted personality, so they will likely be closed off when you meet them. They value loyalty and trust above all, so it may take them some time to be open to you because they want to make sure that they can fully trust you. This person is very creative and likely a night owl. They will prefer to do things at night because it’s when they feel most creative and powerful. When you you meet this person, they may seem a bit closed off or they could be going through a tough time where they feel unmotivated and unsatisfied in their life, so they may not be too open to receiving your friendship at first.

when and where will you meet this person | you may meet this person in February or during Aquarius or Pisces season. You could meet this person at a party where alcohol and drugs are present. You could also meet this person at some kind of retreat, church/spiritual gathering, or at a yoga studio.

the dynamic between you & this person | this will be a loving and harmonious friendship. You and this person will be very supportive of each other. You and this person will get along well and understand each other on an emotional level. There is a deep love, respect, and level of trust between the two of you. You will create fun and wonderful memories with this person.

will the friendship last | yes. the friendship will last. The two of you will have so much fun together and you will challenge each other to get out your comfort zone and try new things together. You and your friend will likely travel and explore together in the imminent future.

their possible sign | ♓️ ♏️ ♈️ ♌️ or ♐️

Pile 2 | pink & orange heart

their physical appearance | this person may have tattoos. They could have a lean/skinny frame. They could have black or dark brown hair. This person may like to wear head scarves or turbans around their hair ( this could be for cultural reasons or they could be spiritual). They may have a light to medium dark complexion. They might like to wear accessories, specifically bracelets, and they prefer to wear loose or comfortable clothing. This person could be younger than you or they have a youthful energy about them.

their personality + interests | this person could be very spiritual/religious. They have a strong connection to the universe or whoever they believe in. They could have an interest in the occult and mysticism. They enjoy retail therapy or shopping in their free time. This person could be very private and mysterious in a sense. They have a very mystical or dreamy like aura/ personality that is very intriguing yet intimidating to others or you when you meet this individual. They tend to be very misunderstood and judged by others for being different and unique, but they are very intuitive, loving, empathetic, and sensitive. They are a bit moody and they tend to be very secretive or keep aspects of themselves hidden from the outside world; however this person is very tapped into their divine feminine energy and love to uplift and encourage others. This person may also struggling with a mental illness or they struggle with occasional depression and anxiety from time to time.

when and where will you meet this person | you may meet this person at school, if you are in school or you may meet them at work/an internship. This person may be new to your school or your job. You may have to work with this person on a project or something that requires a lot of practice and skill. You could have or may meet this person in the month of May.

the dynamic between you and this person | this person will like you a lot or feel like they have a lot of things in common with you. You and this person will inspire each other. This is a very playful and lighthearted friendship filled with joy, happiness, and laughter. This person looks up to you and they admire you. Be prepared to do a lot of creative activities together.

will the friendship last | no. the friendship may not last. This person have a tendency of being possessive and controlling when it comes to the friendship. They could also be very selfish and self-centered by putting their needs and wants before you and the friendship. They could also be a lack of respect for boundaries on their end and there is a lack of stability in this connection because of a lack of effort or one person is putting more effort than the other is.

their possible sign | ♋️ ♌️ ♓️ ♏️ ♉️ ♍️ or ♑️

Pile 3 | blue & purple heart

their physical appearance | this person could have long or something about their hair will stand out ( the texture, color, length, and volume). This person could have a lighter or darker complexion. They could have blonde or black highlights in their hair. They could have green, hazel, light or dark brown eyes. They could may have a tattoo and they may like to wear conservative or laid back style clothing.

their personality + interests | this person may be very jealous of you before you meet them or you could find this out once you befriend them, so be mindful. This person is a party animal and they enjoy socializing and being the center of attention. They could also be very popular or seem to get along with others for the most part. They can also be very egotistical and prideful at times. Honestly, there is not much to describe about this person’s personality. Sorry if it’s short and vague.

when and where will you meet this person | you will likely meet this person at school and at a birthday celebration.

the dynamic between you and this person | this person will likely compare themselves to you. They have lots of insecurities when it comes to their appearance. They could be very pessimistic in how they view themselves and always looking for validation from others rather than seeking validation within themselves. You will feel like this person is a debby downer and an attention seeker. You will feel really restricted in this friendship because you don’t want to leave the person behind, but you don’t want to constantly put up with their sabotaging behavior. They could also put you down by being critical of you in general. They may also like to play the victim role, if things go wrong. If that doesn’t resonate, this person could have a hard time opening up and being vulnerable. They are afraid to trust others, so it will take some time for them to open up to you.

will the friendship last | it’s up to you. It would take a lot of strength for this friendship to last. Things will need to change in order for this friendship to work and last. You both will need to learn how to trust and be vulnerable with one another.

their possible signs | ♉️ ♌️ ♑️ ♊️ ♒️ ♓️ or ♏️

#pac reading #astrology #channeled message #pick a card tarot #tarot #spirituality

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shadowkat678 · 10 months

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Hopepunk: A Thing Of Teeth And Claws

Hope is a thing with feathers, says a famous poem by Emily Dickinson.

But what happens to that small thing of feathers once it's caught? When the horror around it crashes down, and the song is drowned out in pain and anger and apathy at a world that doesn’t seem to be capable of, and doesn’t want, to change?

I’m tired. I’m angry. I'm afraid. I don’t remember the last time those things weren’t true about me. I don’t have control over what is happening to the world, or to the people I care about. I don’t know if I have a future.

I’m tired.

I know it isn’t just me. I’ve seen it. I’ve been in activism spaces for years now, where that same anger is everywhere. The push to want to do something. To enact some sort of meaningful change in a world that seems hellbent on turning people into nothing but variables and numbers towards goals we are not calculated into otherwise. Where those with the best of intentions burn themselves out in their rage because they feel like there’s nothing else left to be driven by. I feel it in me. It’s not unjustified. But it is exhausting.

Once you’ve gone long enough shoveling coal on the fire you’ll run out, and you can’t burn ashes. Something is close to giving.

I’m tired.

Even more than being tired at the state of the world, I’m tired of what it does to me. I’m tired of my inability to have these feelings result in something good. I’m tired of not being able to have control over my life. I’m tired of seeing the people around me being crushed under circumstances far above our ability to affect. I’m not just tired. I’m exhausted.

But Hopepunk. This term came out a few years ago, coined by Alexandria Rowland. They're the author of the Taste of Gold and Iron series, as well as the duology A Conspiracy of Truths and A Choir of Lies, among others. In 2017, they coined the term Hopepunk, positing it as the opposite of Grimdark. In the post original post on the subject Alexandra says,

“Hopepunk says that kindness and softness doesn’t equal weakness, and that in this world of brutal cynicism and nihilism, being kind is a political act. An act of rebellion. Hopepunk says that genuinely and sincerely caring about something, anything, requires bravery and strength. Hopepunk isn’t ever about submission or acceptance: It’s about standing up and fighting for what you believe in. It’s about standing up for other people. It’s about DEMANDING a better, kinder world.”

The ideology of Hopepunk was based on the time of the article’s current political landscape. Protests, civil unrest, and feelings of anger that were (still are, I’d argue) spreading like wildfire. And in a small circle, this caught on. There wasn’t much to go off of, and the ideas that spread from this post didn’t have a uniformity to it as much as other Punk genres of political and literary analysis. There were, and are, a lot of critics believing the term to be yet another line of fluffy optimism and half empty words.

A year later, Alexandria would publish an article on the subject, expanded upon additional reflection, called One Atom of Justice, One Molecule of Mercy, and the Empire of Unsheathed Knives on the blog Optimistic Indie Roleplaying. This is when I first heard of Hopepunk.

Alexandria writes in their opening:

“In July of 2017, I coined the word “Hopepunk,” initially defined very simply in a Tumblr post. I believe the purpose of this article’s commission was to have me write something uplifting. I don’t know if I can. I think it would be (I’m afraid it would be) nice. (…) Nice is an illusion, and so is the suddenness of realizing the lie.”

Alexandria goes on:

“I’m afraid. I’m losing my story, my belief in an atom of justice. I watch it happen, a little more every day, unraveling from my hands—and I’m a professional storyteller. (…) I’m afraid of who I’ll be when the last threads slip out of my fingers. I’m afraid of settling into complacency, of something in me breaking, of retreating into niceness as the last-ditch sanctuary before complete despair.

“Hopepunk says [about human nature], ‘The glass is half full,’” wrote the me who lived in mid-2017. Seems naïve now, doesn’t it? Those are the words of a person cloaked in a story that hasn’t yet been worn threadbare and ragged; a person who thinks they have a sword in their hands, a person who thinks that they as an individual can make a difference, that there is some fundamental goodness in humanity.

What do we do when our hands are empty, when our warm cloaks are gone, when we look around and see how big the world is? When we see how helpless and insignificant we are, how the rest of the world isn’t even particularly cruel or evil, just . . . mediocre? Complacent?

What’s the point?”

And as I read this now, years later in 2023, I feel this sentiment burrowing deeper inside me than ever before. This is what I see in myself. In the people around me. In the world, spinning away into what seems to be never ending disasters and war and pain.

What's the point?

It seems that day by day the hole is dug deeper. The world feels as if it’s ending. But then again, to someone, somewhere, the world has always felt as if it was on the verge of ending, hasn’t it?

I also am a storyteller. I have always believed there is power in it. In how you can create something that becomes real around you. That reflects our own reality in new ways. Things that connect us. Empower us. That’s what art is for me. That’s what it always has been, when the night is long and I need something, anything, to grab onto.

Like Alexandria, I feel my grip on the story around me slipping. The threads are frayed. And I am so tired.

I feel like a child pretending. Hoping that this will make things feel less terrifying when the lights go out and I’m alone in the dark and the day is so impossibly far away. I’m afraid. I'm terrified.

I’m not a hero, and I don’t know if I have the tools to fight monsters like this. These are not problems that can be solved with spells or swords or pretty words. The world around me is burning.

I’m burning.

So, what do we do when we find ourselves here? When hope, the thing of wings and feathers, has been shot down in front of us? When softness is not enough? When nice is just platitudes? What can I do when the world and its problems are so big and I’m so small?

“What is the point?” Alexandra asks. “How do you do it? How do you manage when the task before you is enormous and impossible? (…) How do you go on?”

Hopepunk isn’t just about the Hope part of the word. What is Punk? Not just the music. The ideology. The movement. The message? We all have a thought about what Hope is. What defines Punk?

I listen to the music, and have for a while. I have a lot of friends who are punks. I’d like to think I’m a bit of a punk myself, though I haven’t had the energy or means of connecting with the scene in person. There’s a variety to it. Subgenres of music. Differences in ideas. But let me tell you one thing I’ve noticed about all punks:

They’re goddamn stubborn bastards. And at least for the vast majority, they’re passionate goddamn stubborn bastards.

I’ve been interested in the punk movement for years. Two of my favorite books on the subject of the punk movement are “Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk” by Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain, and “Punk Rock, An Oral History” by John Robb.

There’s a long running joke in punk circles about a young punk asking an older punk that very question of what punk is. The older punk smiles, strides up to a trash can, and kicks it over before turning around, pointing, and saying “That’s punk”.

The younger punk thinks on this, then sees another trash can before going over and copying the move, turning around after punting the second can and asking, “That’s punk?”

Before the older punk shakes his head and replies, “No! You poser!”

Point of the story? What is punk? Fuck if I or anyone else actually knows! It’s not about following directions, or going down a checklist. Certainly not just copying everyone else before you. But you know it when you feel it.

Recently, Punk has been idealized a lot. People forget that Punk isn’t just about insolent people lashing out against authority and sticking it to the man. It isn’t just about individualism and loud songs.

Despite not knowing exactly WHAT punk is, never having one clear cut uniform answer, we can see it when it's in front of us. There’s a sound to it. A spirit. A vibe. And there are commonalities that run as a throughline.

In the intro to Punk Rock, and Oral History, Henry Rowlins was invited to share some of his thoughts in the volume. He says,

“Everyone had their own version of punk. Everyone decided what punk was for them. There were endless arguments about what we were fighting for, what we should be wearing (…), what we should listen to and how we were going to change the world.

Punk terrified the establishment. Punk made me get onstage and make music. Punk made me change my world. Punk…punk saved my life.”

Punk has long been considered one of the more nihilistic musical genres, having a thriving subsect of Political Punk dedicated to pointing out and raging at the wrongs of the world the artists see around them. Punk is angry. Punk is passionate. Punk is loud, and messy, and sometimes even ugly, and moreover, there’s room for all of it.

But its stereotypical image perhaps isn't one most people would default to when thinking about the mainstream idea of Hope. Hope is supposed to be something soft, isn't it?

Back to the article, Alexandria gives their answer to what they think the point is, and it is one that feels much more connected to the punk part of Hopepunk.

“Sheer, simple, bloody-minded obstinacy. That’s how you count the stars, build the Library of Alexandria, and go to the North Pole. That’s how you hold the story even when it’s unraveling in your hands. You grit your teeth, and bear the pain, and keep going: One star at a time, one brick at a time, one step at a time.

You can do a lot when you decide to be a stubborn motherfucker who refuses to die.(…) Ask it of Hopepunk, then: “What’s the point?”

And the answer is, of course, that the fight itself is the point.

I am not just tired. I am afraid. I am angry. I am furious. The idea of rage is generally thought of as very punk.

But Hope. Let’s go back to hope. Where does hope come in, that fragile thing made of feathers and song? I am not soft. Not really. I feel myself shattering, jagged edges that will cut me if I let them. That will cut others. Even those I want to help. Even those who don’t deserve it. That the anger will bleed out and burn everything around me. How does that fit with hope?

I believe in stories. That we can learn from them. Moreover, in the end, I believe that everything is a story. History is a story. People are stories. The future is a story we simply haven’t seen the ending to yet, and so can still shape the path of. And like stories, all these elements tie together. Stings whose threads make up a tapestry.

I’ve been thinking a lot about stories lately. About certain ones that have heavily impacted my own. About ones I’ve made, either by myself or with others, both real and imaginary. In Alexandria’s first post, they mentioned a certain scene from the Two Towers.

As Frodo falls to his lowest point, burdened by the influence of the One Ring, not knowing if his other friends are even still alive, carrying a burden bigger than any one person should ever have to shoulder, Sam gives his speech.

Sam: “It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?

But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why.

But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.”

And as he says this, Frodo asks what I find myself asking. What many people ask, I think. What are we holding onto? And the answer: “That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo… and it’s worth fighting for.”

In my anger, in this darkness around us, it can be hard to see anything else. But that has not been all my story is. That said, anger is important. Anger, placed properly, and aimed towards a purpose, can be righteous. It can be a driving motivation towards change. It glows in you...but it can’t be all I have. A fire on its own will eventually burn itself out. What is anger without something the anger is driving you to do in a real, meaningful, way?

“It’s about being kind merely for the sake of kindness, and because you have the means to be, and giving a fuck because the world is (somehow, mysteriously, against all evidence) worth it and we don’t have anywhere else to go anyway.

It’s about digging in your heels and believing that one single atom of justice, one molecule of mercy does exist somewhere in the mindboggling vastness of the universe—believing in that, even if for no other reason than fuck you, buddy; fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. I do what I want and this, this is what I want; this is the world I want to live in:

One where the atom of justice exists, even if I’ve never seen it myself, even if I’ll never see it.

It’s about doing the one little thing you can do, even if it’s useless: planting seeds in the midst of the apocalypse, spitting on a wildfire, bailing out the ocean with a bucket. Individual action is almost always pointless.

Hope and strength comes from our bonds with each other, from the actions we take as a community, holding hands in the dark.

What if hope isn’t just a thing of feathers and wings and song? What if punk isn’t just about anger and insolence and lashing out against the world around you? What if the world, people, and stories aren’t so simple?

I can’t answer what Hope is, what Punk is, or what Hopepunk is as an idea binding these two words together to anyone but me. I do know what my story has been. And I know the stories I’ve been told. The stories I’ve witnessed. The stories I’ve touched.

I’m tired. I’m angry. I can’t not be anymore. I don’t think it’s possible. It’s part of me. Perhaps something even greater would be wrong if they weren’t.

But I also remember the people who’ve come into my life in ways that seem so small in comparison, yet somehow, inexplicably, still changed me to the point I continue to think about them years later. The woman who approached me, sitting outside and crying after being almost fired from my first job and, with no possibility of reconciliation, bought me a sandwich and sat with me while I waited to be picked up. Friends that stayed with me during some of the worst times of my life. Strangers that turned into those friends.

In spite of it all, I’ve also seen so much love.

I have always hated false dichotomies. These truths can coexist, and like the tapestry of stories, wind together into something bigger. The softness of hope does not feel like it can survive the type of anger and force and sometimes nihilism of punk. The good in the world feels like it should be shattered under the darkness.

Maybe it all morphs into something new.

Maybe hope becomes a thing of teeth and claws, bared in defense of life’s small everyday acts of love. Friendship. Community. Of myself, and proof that the world is brighter than my own frustration makes it feel. Of all the things that exist in contrast that make these very injustices sting so very much.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be fragile. Maybe hope can be bloody and messy and stubborn and defiant, even in the face of my fear and exhaustion and pain. Maybe it can make something more balanced. Something stronger, as all these contrasting elements come together and inform each other with new perspectives.

Maybe it can be what saves me.

Near the end of the article, Alexandria says this:

Hopepunk isn’t pristine and spotless. Hopepunk is grubby, because that’s what happens when you fight. It’s hard. It’s filthy, sweaty, backbreaking work that never ends. It isn’t pretty, and it isn’t noble, and it isn’t nice, though I expect the natural inclination (and even my own instinctive inclination) is to make it so—to forget the word “radical” in the phrase “radical kindness,” to forget the “punk” part of “hopepunk,” which is really the operative half of the word. To forget the anger of it and let it soften, because softness is what we’re aching for. We want the world to be better—kinder, more just, more merciful. We still yearn toward noblebright, toward an honest and desperate belief that love conquers all.

But we forget, sometimes, that we have knives too in this empire. That we can unsheathe them, that we can turn our blades to the defense of an atom of justice and a molecule of mercy that might not even exist—except . . . except for where we make them exist, in the hands we hold out to each other, and in the shelter we offer even when we ourselves are exhausted, footsore, and filthy, with the wolves at our doors.

Maybe this doesn’t even have to be big acts. It’s something I’ve grappled with often. The feeling that where I am now is not enough. That what I do cannot change the course of the tale I find myself part of. That I can only be a passive observer as things happen around and to me. That I am so helplessly unable to make any meaningful difference in my own story.

And I want to, so desperately. But maybe those first steps can lead to more. The shelter and small words said earnestly in a time of need is just as much a part of this as life altering choices I want to be able to wield.

I've always dreamed of enacting change. Of being someone who could somehow inspire another person the way the stories of others had inspired and saved me. The books I clutched in my hands when the world was too big, and I was far too small. But it's good to remember that even the imposing might of mountains eventually wears under the passing of water.

I still feel like that child more often than not, and that everything I do in spite of it is just a mask dangerously close to slipping. But just as much as those stories, everyday people did the same in touching me, and shaping me. The right word spoken after tragedy. Encouragement from those who bothered to pay attention to things I did not speak aloud.

Maybe I should also reconsider the worth of myself in being the hand that stretches out to other people. Maybe that kindness is just as much a part of this as my anger and fear.

I’m tired of being only angry. Of being only sharp edges and fire and fear and burning myself to ashes in a way that harms none of the people doing this to us. I’m tired of missing the joy while I can have it based on the actions of a few hollow, spiteful, greedy, and selfish bastards that only care about themselves, damn the rest.

So, I will be a thing of teeth and claws when needed. And I will grow fur to keep those close to me warm. Because despite my anger, and fear, and exhaustion, the world is still, somehow, worth it. People are worth it. I am worth it. My story can impact others, and the story of humanity is not yet fully penned.

I have to believe that. If it is not so, then I have to make it so, even out of pure, stubborn, spiteful obstinance. That people are not evil at base, because I am not, and I am not special in the grand scheme of things.

I am just a person. We are all just people, grasping for things to drive and carry us day to day. And people are both kind and horrible. Messy tapestries of different things tying us together into something unique and terrifying and amazing and horrible and full of wonder and joy and anger and fear and beauty.

All of us, each and every one, desperately trying to keep hold of our stories before someone else twists them out of our hands.

Another common example of Hopepunk is a scene in Terry Pratchett's "The Hogfather", spoken by Death. A scene Alexandria discusses and also references in the name of their own original article. Here, Death explains that humanity must first learn to believe the small lies, such as Hogfathers and tooth fairies, so eventually they can come to believe the big ones.

Justice. Mercy. Duty.

Hope.

As is true of many concepts in Diskworld, when asked by the character Susan "Well we have to believe in that, or else what is the point?", Death answers back, "My point exactly. You need to believe in things that are not true. How else can they become?"

My kindness will be worth it, because it made me and those around me a little happier. Even if it hurts me in the end. I am not naive to the world around me. I am angry. I am tired. I am scared. I am just one person. And maybe in the end it's how Alexandria says:

There are no heroes and no villains. There are just people. That’s Hopepunk: Whether the glass is half full or half empty, what matters is that there’s water in that glass. And that’s something worth defending.

Stand with each other, and never let the person beside you forget that to move forward we need something to hold onto, whether knife or outstretched hand. There is still good in this world. Even if we have to fight to create it ourselves with every step we take.

No story is over until the final word has been penned…and even with all the horrors and uncertainty of the journey, we don’t have to travel through ours alone.

#hopepunk #essay

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cool-island-songs · 1 year

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I want to talk about difficult themes in South Park fanworks. I've relied on SP fanfic during two of the most difficult periods in my life - when I was a teenager struggling with mental health problems in an extremely abusive household, and again as an adult in my 20s with debilitating health problems that have rendered me isolated and depressed.

I think there could stand to be far more understanding and compassion about how people choose to express themselves in fandom spaces, which are full of neurodivergent people, mentally ill people, people with serious trauma, and people struggling to connect with others or express themselves creatively in their offline lives.

A lot of the fics produced in the late 00s dealt with heavy themes like sexual abuse, self-harm, dysfunctional relationships, abuse, and mental illness. I relied on these fics as a teenager experiencing many of those things in my real life. Not everything I read was sophisticated or realistic because much of it was being written by other mentally ill teenagers. But it made me feel less alone, and the things that really warped me were the real life abuses I had to endure, not the fiction that I retreated into in order to be able to keep going mentally.

Returning now as an adult with real problems in my life, I can see that there exists a new social order that enables people to condemn certain subjects as unable to be explored. I understand that it's what some are used to, but personally it sickens me to see real people harassed with malice, with their creative efforts being distorted in bad faith and without nuance, in campaigns by grown adults who should know better.

No one person knows what everyone else is going through. No one person has the moral authority to decide what subjects are allowed to be explored in art, nor to determine for everyone else what was done tastefully and what wasn't. Let people explore difficult subjects. You truly cannot know what people have experienced in their lives.

Even if you hate something and don't want it to exist, it honestly bothers me how awful people's tactics are on this. Don't spread it then? Don't screenshot it to shame people? You are giving it hate clicks and if you're sitting around reading and looking at things that make you miserable all day instead of just creating and/or uplifting the things you do like, maybe consider why that is.

#stupid discourse #south park #south park fandom #south park fanfiction #you are adults #act like it

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distressedbeanpole · 6 months

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Okay Ultrakill Crack theory on who the next prime soul is. I personally think the third prime soul will stick with the Greek King theme.

In original Myth, Minos was the king that built the labyrinth, and had a wide who cheated on him with a bull (compelled by Poseidon but whatever) Minos was made a judge of hell in Greek myth AND in Dante's inferno.

We know in Ultrakill itself, Minos started as an esteemed judge in hell, and fell from grace so to speak by uplifting Lust.

Then we have Sisyphus. While he doesn't exactly show up in the Divine comedy, traces of him do, especially in the greed layer, where the greedy participate in the Sisyphean task of pushing their wealth past someone with a similar amount of wealth.

[insert rest of breakdown of existing prime souls because I'm tired] oh but one point I want to make is that Sisyphus was made low, and kept down after the insurrection.

My guess is Odysseus, or as he's known in Inferno, Ulysses. Wasn't Odysseus the hero of his story? Yeah, but the Romans HATED this guy. He went around, lying about who he was, tricking his foes and all that. The Greeks saw him as clever and cunning. The Romans saw him as a dishonorable backstabber. His story ultimately ends with him returning to his kingdom (after YEARS of being away) he dresses up as a stranger, joins the competition to win his wife, and after he wins goes "Heyo it's me, everyone who tried to get with my wife is gonna die now. And also also, everyone who tried to get with the guys that tried to get with my wife can be hung."

Known for the strategy of the Trojan Horse, this guy was a trickster. So how does he translate to.Ultrakill?

I think, Ulysses was involved in some sort of rebellion similar to Sisyphus and Minos. While Minos and Sisyphus were trying to improve the lives of those around them, Ulysses joined a similar cause, but betrayed them from the very start for a promise of gaining leadership.

Ulysses is the current ruler of a layer of hell, gained by forsaking those around him, those that believed him to be a leader, ones that believed his counsel.

Ulysses will be built of fraud, every action, and every word an attempt to raise himself up. Ulysses will have started at nothing and pulled his way up above everyone else.

In terms of gameplay, I think Ulysses would use their Flesh prison as a Defensive mechanism, like a Trojan horse. You'll be fighting this thing, and then when you get it almost low then BAM this guy pops out and uses some fancy language to say stuff like "Thanks for getting rid of the competition" and "I've worked too hard to let you ruin this"

Then he AND his flesh vault will be attacking you. Things start getting bad for Ulysses he'll retreat back inside.

I feel like the idea has merit but babysitting and class has ruined me, so I'm just gonna set this down and go. Let me know what y'all think

It could also be midas, cause it seems like Midas Sisyphus and Minos are grouped as like 3 bad kings but Ulysses might be dope

#ultrakill #ultrakill act 3 #fraud #treachery #theory #prime soul #p3

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dailycharacteroption · 2 months

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Instinctive Metaphysicist (Starfinder Archetype)

(art by dendysetiady on DeviantArt)

When Pathfinder tapped into a few disparate elements of D&D 3.5’s Psychic Handbook in order to bring psychic magic into their setting, they mostly took the names of certain classic spells and pretty much dropped the rest, eschewing the crystals and pseudoscience in favor of actual historic looks into mentalism and claims of psychic phenomena.

One of the things they brought up was mindscapes, metaphorical psychic landscapes that translate the inner workings of a living mind into a form that the mortal mind can understand, and more importantly, can be described in exciting ways for the players.

Now, while the binary mindscapes associated with psychic duels had pretty clearly laid out rules for how they work, the more in-depth personal mindscapes are rather… rules-lite, shall we say? On the one hand this is good because it means that the GM has leeway to do whatever here. On the other, it’s extremely frustrating since the mindscape chapter did a poor job of inspiring what you MIGHT do with such things. Healing someone’s mind by fighting painful memories or outside influence, extracting information with a literal mind-heist, or damaging a mental construct representing some psychic power in an enemy are all fine and dandy ideas. It’s a pity that the game doesn’t really give you an upper limit on what you can actually do to a person with a single casting of mindscape door.

In essence, exactly what you can do with mindscapes is left wholly in the GM’s hands, making someone’s mind into basically a weird sort of dungeon where you often have to get in and find a way out of someone’s mind, especially if they know you’re digging around. This also means that your GM is going to be in a lot of pain if you cast that spell a lot on people that are not who you’re meant to dive into in the story.

So with that in mind, I had hoped that the Starfinder delve into mindscapes would be a bit more detailed, but instead I was disappointed still, partially because of today’s subject.

Now with that preamble out of the way, I present our subject, the Instinctive Metaphysicist!

As the name suggests, this archetype refers to a person who, due to exposure to them, knows their way around mindscapes in ways that many others do not. They may not even be particularly potent psychics, but they have a knack for navigating and utilizing mindscapes in their work, though some of the more powerful can manifest constructs of their imagination into reality.

Despite my dislike of how some abilities of this archetype are handled, this archetype has a sort of… ancient mystic vibe to it which I do appreciate, like some wizened elder who was never formally trained but has a deeply insightful understanding of the mind from decades of practice.

It’s also notable that this archetype is heavily associated with (but not exclusive to) uplifted bears due to their psychic abilities and yearning for a cultural identity, which has given rise to the “Endless Forest”, which is either a collective mindscape of their people, or perhaps a recurring framing device for personal mind palaces that they create, depending on how you look at it.

When taking a longer rest, these psychonauts can retreat into themselves to recover much faster than others, and even use this reclusion to fight off mental effects, though they become insensate while their thoughts are deep within their own heads.

The more powerful among them can flex their minds to bring forth objects or illusions from their minds into reality for a short while, ranging from small physical objects to complex illusions and later even full illusionary environments.

Finally, they can also attempt to pull a foe into a binary mindscape to duel them, allowing them to fight directly with the foe in the landscape of the mind. However, the rules for this are much less robust than Pathfinder’s psychic duels, and is confusingly worded.

While the rest of the archetype is fine, the fact that the final ability is basically instigate psychic duel, a 1st level spell in Pathfinder, is annoying to me, especially since this is the only officially printed way for characters to do so in Starfinder without conversion or homebrewing. Beyond that, however, the archetype is simple enough, and being able to create illusionary terrain or temporary objects can be useful in the right situations. As such, you can mostly build your character as normal with these abilities to supplement it. I can see both spellcasters with a psychic bent taking it, as well as those of a less mystical persuasion having a knack for mindscapes.

Even without having any abilities that directly affect mindscapes, this archetype does make for an intriguing ability set. One has to imagine that these characters often contemplate what the nature of reality and imagination are. Some may seek to understand the cosmos more, while others may dream of being the masters of their own mental reality.

What began as an exercise in meditation and autohypnosis has warped into something stranger as ascetic guru Palani’s “Rock by the Sea” has evolved into a collective mindscape of his many fans and followers. Completely out of his depth, the charlatan seeks to develop this into a cult, but in truth, he is not the real cause of this psychic construct, and he certainly isn’t its master.

Kogress of the 40th battalion will never pick up a doshko again, not after the horrors he witnessed. The old vesk would love nothing more than to move on from those times, but those horrors will not let him be, or rather, his subconcious mind will not, projecting the memories of that battlefield into a hellscape that surrounds him whenever he grows stressed.

The xararians, a human-like species ruled by a mageocracy that fears religion and technology as threats to their absolute power, have long held the wider galaxy in grim contempt as they try to keep their people isolated. However, a new threat to the regime grows from within, as more and more people are touched by what could be called a contagious dream, one that offers freedom and equality.

#starfinder #archetype #instinctive metaphysicist #vesk #uplifted bear #xararian #starfinder 23 Hive of Minds

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