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wingedcat13 · 4 months ago

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Tell No Lies

[Part One of the third Synovus installment.]

Living on a tropical island didn’t mean the weather was always sunny.

Your island wasn’t in quite the right spot to really get the worst of the monsoon season - too far on the eastern side of the Pacific - but you did still get plenty of rainstorms. When that happened, your group of minions battened down the hatches, triple checked the generators, and usually played cards or other bored games. Sorry, board games.

Sometimes you played, sometimes you didn’t. You weren’t playing this time, because you were catching up on some reading. Sans costume, slumped sideways in a chair, one hand on the cup of hot chocolate you had requested and immediately forgotten about.

Then your phone had dinged.

That was weird, because during storms you didn’t usually have service - technology hadn’t yet beaten Mother Nature entirely. But there were the underwater cables that had been set up to provide internet access, and emergency calls.

And that was more than enough for an entity like Optix to get through when it wanted to. Even when your phone was set to silent.

With a small sigh, you had set the book aside and reached for the screen. An email from Optix: the subject line, in all caps, “INVITATION.”

Intriguing.

You opened it, scrolling past the gold-adorned letterhead to the digital party invitation. You read it. You deleted it. You reluctantly pulled it from the trash folder to read it again. You forced yourself to read it a third time.

‘Thank you for informing me.’ You replied to Optix, before sliding the phone away. The book came to rest comfortably against your chest, pages down, probably doing all kinds of damage to the spine. You stared up at the ceiling, ignoring the present to alternate between stewing over the possibilities of the future and miring yourself in the past.

Eventually, your field of vision had been interrupted by a slow-moving face, drifting in from your peripheral. One eyebrow raised, only inches from your own face, it continued moving slowly and smoothly past where most people would have reached a limit.

“Dude.” Alexandria said, “You haven’t even blinked in like. Two minutes.”

Your erstwhile ‘apprentice’ was using her abilities to float over you. Wearing her suit, which had been modified recently to include panels of bright color against the near-black gray you’d initially designed, she looked sleek and surreal. And older than seventeen, though maybe you just couldn’t judge ages past ‘young’ anymore.

“Hello, Menace.” You’d greeted her placidly. “How goes the Great Pacific Vandalism Project?”

Alexandria beamed, and floated away an inch or so to a more comfortable speaking range. She’d finally gotten a better handle on equilibrium in flight, so her gestures as she talked no longer caused her to wobble in whatever direction she indicated. “It went great! We finally managed to get that CEO.” Her grin widened, “Right in the middle of a press conference.”

“It was satisfying.” A different voice had agreed, as another costumed figure moved into your general field of view. This one didn’t lean over you, but rather settled into the chair opposite, and helped themself to your hot chocolate. Cold chocolate, by now.

A bit of concentration had changed that, as the thief raised the mug to consider it. Their dark blue form-fitting suit had changed in recent times as well, now featuring more delicate details around the neck and wrists. Not quite scales, not quite flourishes, not quite vines, picked out in a slightly darker shade. The short cape at the hips now had flared ends, rather than a pointed tip. It had an elegance that Menace’s suit lacked.

Or perhaps that was the wearer?

“Naiad.” You’d been certain that your tone hadn’t changed. “Welcome back.”

Minerva had lifted the stolen mug in salute, and allowed you a trace of a smile. Crime agreed with her - even if she only rarely agreed with it. Once the straight-laced, impeccable hero Athena, she was now known much more widely as the Naiad: a bioterrorist with a strong cult following among ecology groups.

Over the past year, she had very publicly and very precisely targeted companies who were responsible for much of the pollution going into the Pacific Ocean. Working alone at first, then allowing Menace to join her, she had made trips to the great garbage patches that floated in the ocean’s wide expanse, and returned their contents very directly to sender.

Cars, homes, persons, factories and distribution centers (while they were closed and no one was present; employees were innocent until proven guilty) were all fair game. The only way to be sure of immunity from the Naiad’s attacks was to publicly document cleanup efforts, make donations to the groups who did the same, and implement vast reductions in pollution.

It was good mother/daughter bonding time for the two of them. You knew your presence would only overshadow their efforts, so you simply offered aid and tips during the planning phases. And there was the standing unspoken fact that you would appear to bail them out, if it ever became necessary. So far, it had not been necessary.

Minerva had even admitted, grudgingly, that this new angle on life was, at times, fun.

And that, really, plus the trace of a smile, is what had given you a terrible idea.

—------------------------------

What was even more terrible was that Minerva had agreed.

She stood now at your shoulder, just a step behind, while your invitation was inspected by a man who had gotten very tense at your approach. His costume was patterned in pale yellows and purples, a strip of rainbow draped over his collarbones. You couldn’t make out much expression behind the mask, but you didn’t really need to when you could hear the material creaking as he prepared to square up.

“I am… confused.” He allowed, considering the printed invitation. “You - do know this is a hero’s wedding, right?”

“I’m aware.” You answer flatly, the helmet giving you a wonderfully crisp punctuation. You’ve made only the slightest concessions to the event’s formality in the form of a nicer, gilt-edged cape with decorative clasps, and white rose corsages at your wrists to indicate your intention of peace. “I don’t begrudge you the confusion, Sun Dog. I will be grudging if you attempt to deny me entry.”

Sun Dog hesitated a moment more. You really didn’t want to hurt the man, no one you knew of did - which was probably why he was the bouncer at this particular event. It was hard to hate the person whose sole job was disaster response and relief.

Just when you were resigning yourself to this going poorly at the gate, Naiad leaned forward over your shoulder. Her costume had been adapted to include a floor-length skirt in a blue ombre, slit to the thigh on the sides and revealing the usual suit’s leggings beneath, and her arms were bare to the shoulder except for jewelry in the places of her normal accents. She’d pinned her hair up with sea-shell and coral pins, with deep purple pearls for earrings. You stopped breathing, attempting to be as still as possible to prevent any of those decorations catching on part of your ensemble.

“Parhelion. We’ll cause no trouble.”

The name clearly meant something to him. Sun Dog’s body language changed, shifting rapidly through a few shades of things you didn’t know him well enough to identify. None of them were hostile, though, so you gave the man his moment to process.

“I… had my suspicions, but…” Sun Dog shook his head, “Sorry. Not the time or the place. Glad you’re alright - Naiad, is it?” At her confirming nod, he continued, “Anyway, the invitation is legitimate, I’m just surprised you actually came. Uh. Guest book is ahead, gift table to the left. Good luck?”

You nodded regally and moved further into the venue, gaudily bedecked in white and taupe and glittering silver and gold. At the guest book, you confined your signature at first to the simple stylized S that was popular among bored schoolchildren. Naiad signed more gracefully, and pressed the pen back into your hand. You contemplated stealing it to make a point, but added the remaining letters to your name in a normal script instead.

Naiad was also the one to place your gift - a small black box with a silver ribbon - among the bright and shiny assortment of well-wishes, though that was more a matter of practicality. If you’d put it there, everyone would’ve assumed it was a bomb.

And the entire time, you were surrounded by people in costume. Some had made little to no alteration to their standard getups. Others had clearly commissioned outfits specifically for this event. Those who were part of the wedding party were all in what felt to you like mockery of their usual garb; the same shapes and silhouettes, but in shades of champagne and adorned with glitter, their masks or helms altered to match each other.

You didn’t stand out as much as you might’ve. There were heroes who dressed in dark colors and full-coverage helmets. It was the cape that really made your silhouette distinctive, which was why you’d shortened it from its usual wide floor-length to a slimmer, knee-length drape. And besides, who would invite Synovus to a wedding? Particularly this wedding?

Abruptly, you wished that changing your outfit hadn’t felt like so much of a concession, a surrender. You wished that you could’ve hemmed and hawed between narrow or wide skirts, short or long sleeves, backless or high necked. Layers of chiffon, of deep blue with tiny flickering gems in blues and greens and purples, a clear blue sash at the waist, or perhaps a shawl around the shoulders -

But that kind of wishful thinking is what got you here in the first place. The moment passes. Your suit is familiar, fitting, and practical. The rosettes at your wrists feel like chains.

You hear the first whispers from one of the bright costumes around you. Is that Synovus?

You turn to Naiad, “We should find our seats.”

—-------------------------------

You were, rather mercifully, seated to the back and one side, in a portion of the room not quite as well lit. The set up was rather traditional, with everyone split down rows, and the aisle in the center. You were on the bride’s side, and couldn’t honestly have said what the name of the groom was.

A few of the heroes had taken to eyeing you. Before they could investigate or act on their suspicions blindly (you knew which one you thought was more likely), the music started.

And the lights went out.

Your hand found Naiad’s in the darkness, and you lifted it to your helmet so she could feel you shake your head. Not me. Your power was quiet, the shadows entirely natural. You remained still, watching the attendees shift and begin to whisper. Most of them must have been warned ahead of time - prudent, considering how many of these people you’d fought. How many of them had you given a fear of the dark?

When a light appeared, it was not natural, nor electric. Nor was it yours. A pale silver glow began at the foot of the aisle, illuminating from beneath one high heel. Then another. On the next step, the first light began to float, turning from a spot on the floor into a small orb of light. Others joined it, like so many small sparkling stars.

In this way the bride, the hero Dazzler, made her way down the aisle.

You had to admit, it was a stunning display. On occasion, one of the lights would twirl around her, granting tantalizing glimpses of her dress and playing off the crystals in her hair. The pale silver glow was soft and alluring, and in the darkness of the room, it made her seem as though she were a deity of creation; the steps she took forming reality in her wake.

At the altar, she paused, to hand off her bouquet. Then she turned to face the crowd, raised her hands, and called all of the globes of light to encircle her and the man in a suit who was presumably her groom. They formed the shape of a heart, then faded as the room’s lights came back on.

Everyone oohed and awed appropriately. Naiad shifted, and you realized you still held her hand. Without conscious thought, your grip had tightened. Abruptly, you let go.

The two of you sat in silence as the ceremony began.

—----------------------------------

Once everyone had moved to the tables, you actually thought you might get through this without being officially recognized by anyone other than Sun Dog. That was both a relief, and mildly insulting.

Naiad had given you questioning glances since you had left the ceremony, but you’d yet to provide an answer. You’d warned her before you arrived that you would speak as little as possible once inside the venue - your voice would certainly give you away. Naiad had said that was the consequence of being a monologuer. You’d protested, vociferously, because it was true.

But as the guests were mingling, the open bar being besieged, the instant your shoulders started to relax, there was a high pitched shriek from somewhere behind you. Not a shriek of terror or anger or surprise. One of joy.

Of course.

The syllables of your name filled the air, broken into three and a half parts. There was a frantic rustle of cloth and the rapid clicking of heels. Then arms wrapped around your middle, and a heavily perfumed, glittery weight slammed into you.

You, very judiciously, did not move.

“I’m so glad you came!” Dazzler gushed, moving around in front of you. She let her arm trail as she did, so that she never lost contact with you. You felt like you were being circled by a shark. Up close, the makeup and glitzy hair-pieces felt like an attack. “You never RSVP'd! I’d almost given up hope!”

You still had not moved, even to turn your head. Dazzler pouted at you, and you tried to ignore that you knew she was just looking at herself in your helmet’s reflection. Around you, half the guests had abandoned their chairs or their place in line at the bar, half-starting, ready to leap into action. Every single pair of eyes in the place was fixed on the two of you.

And you knew that this was exactly why Dazzler had invited you. You’d known when you received the invitation. You knew when you decided to attend. Because this kind of bullshit was exactly why you’d harassed her into moving to a different continent.

“Many felicitations, Diane.” You reply, as though she isn’t doing her damnedest to make a scene. As though she’d cornered you in a hallway, instead of the middle of the banquet hall. “I get invited to so few parties - I can’t imagine why.”

Laughing, Dazzler moves to swat you on the arm, and transitions from that to looping her arm through yours. “Oh, Syn. People just don’t know you, that’s all! Come on, say hello to everyone with me, it’ll-”

You have no intention of being dragged off by Dazzler to become arm candy. But before you can find a way to elegantly maneuver out of the situation, Naiad is stepping between you.

“Perhaps things have changed since my wedding.” Without a filter, Naiad’s voice is not far off from Athena’s. She’s taking a terrible risk to do this, that someone will identify her by her past persona and its questionable end. But Athena never took quite that tone of condescension. “But greeting the guests is typically something one does with their groom.”

“Oh.” Dazzler steps away, a tiny frown creasing her brow. She’s not used to having competition. Not used to being thwarted by anyone who isn’t you. Still, she recovers quickly, laughing again and holding the back of one hand to her forehead. “Of course! With all the preparations and everything, I forgot there’s so many steps! You must remember, right? All the decisions you have to make, and then there’s so many people here -”

Again, Naiad cuts her off, “Then we wouldn’t want to monopolize so much of the bride’s time. Happiness - and many years of it - to you both.”

She raises an arm to your back, and automatically, you reciprocate. It makes you a unified front, automatically reinforcing her words. You know everyone here will remember this. Naiad is now permanently associated with Synovus.

“Be well, Dazzler.” You add, so no one will think this is some kind of catfight you allowed to happen. You’re not sure that thought was coherent, actually, but saying something seemed important at the time.

Together, you and Naiad turn away, moving to your assigned seats in a corner. The rest of the room is silent, except for the music no one thought to pause. Dazzler’s bridesmaids - most of them heroes themselves - swarm her, whispering furiously.

Dazzler raises her voice to be heard by everyone when she responds, “Oh, we used to date.”

———————————

“I dislike that I can’t even call that woman a menace without besmirching my daughter’s name.” Naiad said, some time later.

The two of you had sat in silence while the room slowly restored itself to a cautious order. No one had forgotten you were there, but some seemed to accept that you were here peacefully. Given that you were not going to remove your helmet, and therefore could not actually consume anything, both you and Naiad had eaten before you came. This also spared the nervous waitstaff the task of servicing your - otherwise empty - table.

You let out a long, slow exhale, below what your helmet will verbalize. “Calling her anything will please her, in the end. Any attention is good attention, and if it lets her play the virtuous victim, all the better.”

Naiad glances back at you, gauging something. “She fooled you?”

You wince, attempt to communicate something solely by facial expression, and fail utterly because you’re wearing a helmet. How to describe what you’d seen in Dazzler once?

“I…. Wanted very badly to be someone worth effort. She caught me by surprise. It wasn’t until much later I realized she actually believed….” You break off, grimacing.

Naiad’s head tilts in a way that suggests she’s raising her brows at you. “Believed you loved her?”

“No - no, I knew she thought that. I wasn’t - I was young.”

These had been the days before Rosie, before Doll. Before there had been anyone but you, still running from and hunting any of Sunhallow’s surviving lieutenants. Nineteen and alone and then suddenly there was someone telling you otherwise, someone with a power of light so like and so different from your father’s.

“She felt.” You say finally, “That we were… destined. Her light, to my darkness. That I was… tameable.”

It had taken some years of retrospection to put the pieces together, but you had. Dazzler had wanted a tame villain; proof she was worth loving enough that it erased your identity in the process. Justification for everything she was, because she was the ‘good’ half. The ‘pure’ one.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Naiad mutters. She raises one hand, as though to pinch the bridge of her nose, but settles for bracing against the mask’s thick material.

“That too. But as I said - we were young.” Your voice was dry, and a little bit weary. Dazzler exhausted you, even now.

“Does she-?” Naiad cuts herself off, looking to re-affirm that Dazzler (and her groom) are on the other side of the room. Still, she lowers her voice, “Does she… know, then?”

Your laugh is bitter, but it is a laugh, “No. No, I got away before she learned all my secrets.”

You tap the table, curving your hand to make a small alcove where only you and Naiad can see your palm, and summon a small flicker of light. Then you let your hand fall flat again, extinguishing it.

“I am complete without her, by whatever metric you care to use.”

Naiad nods, accepting that explanation. There had been glasses of water on the table when you arrived, and she’d pulled one closer to claim it. You can tell she’s thinking by the way she traces its rim. You can tell she’s upset in some way by the way the water in the glass rises to follow her movement.

“How’d you explain the tattoo?” She asks mildly.

“She never saw it. I think she believes I have scars I don’t want anyone to see.”

A tattoo was a kind of scar, in a way, so it hadn’t been a lie. And it had fit with the image of you Dazzler so wanted, for you to have been broken and abused. Ashamed.

Naiad narrows her eyes, “If you were lovers, then-“

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, my dear.”

She leans back in her seat, taking the glass with her. She sips at the water and surveys the crowd. You pretend not to be surveying her. Dazzler was not a secret, per se, but the details of how you’d felt about it are not something you’ve ever shared.

You need to stop giving Minerva your secrets. Particularly when she doesn’t realize how many of them she holds.

The music is upbeat and space-filling. Loud enough that conversations are confined to their groups, but not loud enough you have to shout to be heard. You’re pretty sure this song is on one of Menace’s playlists - something by Chappell Roan.

“Synovus, why are we here?” Naiad asks finally. You willingly give up any attempt to identify the song to consider the question.

“Because I’ve never been to a wedding. Well, no, that’s not quite true. I’ve never been a guest at a wedding.”

Naiad’s gaze drifts to the middle distance, and she downs the remaining water like she wishes it was something stronger. You silently slide another glass over towards her - they set the tables for six apiece.

“Whose wedding were you in?” She asks, making conversation.

“Mine. Technically.” It’s a long story.

Minerva - no, Naiad, you need to think of her that way in the field - had been toying with the stem of the second glass. Now she stopped, becoming very still. At first, your attention pivots to your surroundings, searching for the threat.

Then Naiad says, flatly, “Explain.”

“It wasn’t - like this.” You wave a hand. “I - this was after Dazzler. There wasn’t - I’m not still married.”

“Synovus.”

“It lasted a week, as we’d agreed at the start, the identities were fake, and we swore to never speak of it to each other again.”

It had been a last grasp at normalcy. You didn’t have a social security number, you hadn’t had a community in which to undergo rites of passage that weren’t geared towards Sunhallow. You’d never been to a public school or a prom or a fucking football game. But getting Vegas married and having a honeymoon, then immediately divorcing?

Well that you could do.

“Who did you even do this with?” Naiad asks, flabbergasted and possibly appalled.

“Ah.” You wish you could sip water, to buy yourself time. “Tallflawes.”

Naiad’s outraged, “What?” Is drowned out, however, by the sound of shattering glass, as a blurred figure drops through the roof.

———————————

It’s a bad idea to crash a wedding. Lots of people, most of them easily rallied to at least half the attendees’ defense. It’s worse when more than half the guests have superpowers.

The good news was that no one had to worry about the falling glass - there were four or five different barriers flung up immediately.

The bad news was that it was absolute fucking chaos for five minutes. You hope no one attending had epilepsy.

You, of course, had no intention of intervening. This wasn’t your doing, you were going to be blamed for it regardless, so you might as well enjoy the show. But then you’d recognized the invader as Prodigy. And he was alone.

And the only thing he was yelling, over and over, was your name.

So you stood, removing the white rosettes at your wrists as casually as someone adjusting cuff links. You called to the shadows you’d been keeping at bay. You dialed up the volume of your helmet’s speaker.

And as everyone in the room except Naiad - including Prodigy - found themselves wrapped in solid darkness, you bellowed into the room,

“BE SILENT.”

You also had a small loop of shadow kill the music, because you never did a thing by halves.

As the room suddenly quieted, Prodigy came to drift in the middle of the space. The hum of his hoverboard was the loudest thing in the room at the moment. He wasn’t even struggling against your bonds.

And when he neither complained nor cracked a smile, only looking at you with wide wild eyes and tendrils standing on end, you felt your stomach drop. You knew even before he said, “They’re coming, Synovus! My homeworld - they sent a ship!”

——————————————

[I did say this was the one where they went to space. Buckle up, everybody, it’s time to dance!

Which Chappell Roan song is playing? Whichever one you personally believe is funniest and/or most tragic. Tag it!

Links to Ao3.]

#synoverse #synovus #Tell No Lies #Personally I liked the idea of the song being Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl #but I see potential in other options #Also #what are people’s thoughts on Dazzler?

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 4 months ago

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Saw your offer and I'm not enough of a horror writer to pull this off perhaps, but you just might be :)

The scene is two field researchers going out to check cameras in the wilderness. It could be day, it could be night, that's up to you. One of them sees a cool plant and pulls out their species identification app to see what it is, as field researchers are apt to do. As a joke, they point the camera of the identification app at their fellow researcher, except it doesn't identify them as human, but rather, some other entity.

That's the prompt! You can take this in any direction you want - maybe the monster eats the researcher, maybe this is news to both of them, whatever you like. I would tell this story to freak out the other field researchers I worked with, so I think having a full version would be awesome :)

You're the best!

Aww, thanks! To be honest, I was inspired by what you did for your 600 follower celebration :)) I do hope I did this justice! It ended up being just over 900 words, hehe

*****

It was a miserable day slogging through the driest bits of the marsh, flies all abuzz around us. The morning had been slated to be sunny, and in preparation of that I had slathered sunscreen all over me and a sunhat besides. Nonetheless, I was drenched in sweat, and all the mosquito repellant in the world couldn't have stopped the army that decided to feast on delicious type AB-.

Pierce was the sole saving grace of it. He might've been a weirdo, at least according to the other interns, but he cracked jokes, helped pull me out of those awful little mires where my foot would get stuck, and hoisted me on his shoulders to grab the cameras.

All through that walk, we saw not a single bird. It was almost as though they were avoiding something, and in a perverse way, I was grateful for that. In my current mood, I may well have thrown my backpack at any bird I came across, quit my internship, and left to go be a barista.

As we approached the umpteenth camera on our checklist, Pierce stopped me. “Say, what's that little guy over there?”

I stopped and let out a brief grunt of frustration. “Who cares? It's almost the end of our internship anyway- Oh, what is that?”

“It's a plant.” Pierce prodded a leaf experimentally.

“Yeah, I can tell. What the hell is it?” I'd spent far too much time garnering a reputation for myself as the plant-nerd amongst our group to be confounded by some random little sprout. “Give me a moment, I think it's time to try out that ID app, eh?”

I fished out my phone and aimed it at the plant. “Well, whaddya know? It's not showing. That's odd,” I muttered. “Is it working?”

“Gimme it,” Pierce replies, snatching the phone out of my hands. “Let's see if it can identify you.”

He froze. A shadow of something flickered across his face, before he plastered a fake smile on. “The latest update must've broken it ,I guess.”

“Really? Let me see!” I tried to take my phone back, curious. “Did it call me a tree or something?”

He lifted it up, just out of my reach, and took a step back. His smile grew more brittle, almost as if he were… afraid of me? “No, it's nothing. Ju- Just gonna close the app now, shall I?”

I shook my head. “Tell me what you saw,” I demanded. “What did it tell you I was? I assure you, it was lying.” I don't think my words were very convincing.

Shaking his head vigorously, he shuffled back, before tripping over a root. “Shit!” He scrambled even more, breath coming in little gasps. I could smell the fear in his sweat.

It made me hungry.

“Don't be like that, Pierce,” I cooed, stalking towards him. “It's almost the end of our internship. Be a good boy, and return my phone.”

He tried to struggle, he really did. But I had my hooks into him, and no mere mortal had ever escaped once they were in my clutches. I took the phone and glanced at it.

“Warning: Inhuman entity spotted? Danger level: High? Wowza, these things are getting good.” Mindlessly, I threw the phone into the water. “Perhaps I'll try for a degree in CS after this, get a good look at the insides of software development. At least that way I won't have to go out into the sun so often. Let me tell you: It really does make a girl appreciate her immortality all the more.”

My teeth were starting to protract, the result of being stimulated by- Damn it, the lectures I'd been going to were far too deeply ingrained into me. “Now, before we take down this last camera, let me ask you something: Have you ever seen me in the tapes we took?”

Pierce went still, connecting the dots. I laughed. “Oh, you sweet, sweet summer child. To be honest, I'm grateful you were so naive. I mean- I was certain I'd get caught at some point. A vampire wildlife researcher? That's almost as ridiculous as a vampire retail worker! Oh, but I did it. I think I deserve a treat for that, don't you?”

He struggled against invisible bonds, eyes flitting left and right. His teeth were gritted hard enough to show his jaw muscles, and I patted his cheek.

“Don't worry ‘bout a thing, P. It'll all be over soon,” I told him, baring my fangs. “I'll even make sure to get rid of the evidence afterwards.”

"Don't," he hissed, barely able to get his words past my grip. "Please, Elsie. This isn't you." I showed no signs of stopping, so he played his last, desperate card. "Someone- Someone will find out. They'll catch you."

"We're all alone in the woods, pal. Nobody's gonna find you. Ever." I paused. "Think on the bright side, though. You always wanted to give back to the environment. Now you get to! Your bones will fuel these trees for the weeks to come."

I leaned into his neck, which was already welling up from my little dengue-carrying bloodsucker cousins' bites, and ran my fangs along the artery that popped off out. “I'd say goodnight, but it's still light out. So, good afternoon, Pierce,” I whispered to his neck. “Good afternoon and good bye.”

Then I sank my fangs into his throat and drank him dry.

I think this is worthy of the taglist, so:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch @ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @tragedycoded, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@xenascribbles, @unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @nczaversnick

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

#writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #my writing #creative writing #spilled ink #writing community #fantasy #short story #Horror #Asks #God what is it with me

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calmcoldevening · 1 year ago

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Bye, little Jay

TW: sadness, slight mention of rape?

Character: Jason Voorhees

Ps: okay, it's just something a little sad <3

Jason was a small child, driven into the abyss of his own vile and unhappy thoughts, mired in darkness. His blue eyes from childhood were sad, full of pain and resentment. The boy is not to blame for the strangeness of his appearance. And yet Jason was in the midst of this empty madness; the hum in his head was moaning louder; from somewhere above, strangely worried voices were heard, Voorhees could swear that a pale child's hand was reaching for him; but he could not reach; he could not breathe; after a couple of seconds, when the body became heavier and heavier, a terrible chill ran through the skin, mixed with an electric current beating every cell of consciousness, and the lungs became more and more cramped and painful, burning pain filled them with cold water.

You've been driving along the highway for a long time, hoping to see the familiar sign "Crystal Lake Camp". And even though your sister said that it doesn't make sense to return to this place, even after almost fifteen years, and anyway you're just crazy, you didn't listen to her. There was a burning desire in my chest to see these familiar places again, albeit with a bit of longing and disappointment. After all, this is where you spent the best part of your childhood.

Finally you saw the cherished yellow sign of the camp and turned right. The road was overgrown, massive trees arched around the path; it seems that there have been no people in this place for a long time. You don't know why you decided to take a car at all—after all, you could have hitchhiked to the forest and then walked — but at the time of departure it seemed to you the best idea.

Parked at one of the old cabins, you happily got out of the car. The hardness of the earth and the tall grass tickling your ankles, not covered by jeans, added to your confidence. It was overcast. The wind played with your hair, and you blissfully closed your eyes. All the accumulated anxiety over these gloomy fifteen years has disappeared by hand. A long-forgotten calm reigned in your head, for the first time in such a long time you did not hear these terrible whispering thoughts. Emptiness.

After going further into the camp, you entered the cabin that once belonged to you. It was located next to the cabin of Jason and his mom. You pushed the door with a soft movement, and surprisingly, it gave way. It was stuffy inside, and there were grains of dust in the air. You went inside, looking around the contents of the room with an enthusiastic gaze. Everything remained in its place. You left immediately after the incident, your parents felt that you should study with a psychologist, and not be in this place, reminiscent of the tragedy. It was your shortest shift.

You sat down on the bed. The opposite wall was filled with drawings. You didn't have time to pick them up. These were your doodles that you drew during creative hours (there was even your drawing of shiny pasta hanging on the wall!), as well as Jason's pictures. He was always good at drawing, that's what the boy really liked. Therefore, on the third day of your impromptu friendship, you gave Voorhees your brand-new double-sided pencils, which you haven't used on this shift yet. You will always remember his shining eyes when he took a bright box.

Rummaging around the nightstand, you didn't find anything remarkable, in the end, the rest of the things were probably taken by the counselors. You stood up, dusting off your hands and jeans. This place is abandoned.

You came back here the next day. The weather was sunny and cool, so it seemed like a real pleasure to wander through the forest. This time you were in more suitable clothes: a spacious T-shirt, which is not a pity to get dirty, and soft fabric shorts. Birds were chirping in the foliage of the trees, and in some places you even saw squirrels with copper fur running around. Charm.

After getting everything you need out of the car, you returned to the cherished cabin. A strange, but effective plan appeared in your head, which you wanted to make a reality. To live for such a long time with a heavy heart, with guilt because of his helplessness on that ill-fated day became harder with each passing month. And it's not even that you couldn't save a person, but that you really treasured him. Jason was your best friend at Crystal Lake Camp, your only friend. Perhaps he was something more, as far as the childish naivety allowed. And the fact that you lost him left a deep wound in your soul. Now you wanted to get rid of these feelings by creating a kind of crypt of your friendship in your old cabin. Was this idea strange? Absolutely. Did it bother you? Not a drop.

After washing the room, you tried to return it to its former state: a carelessly made bed, scattered T-shirts with the name of the camp, stacks of books on the floor, bedside table and by the window. In addition, you took out of the car a massive duct-taped box with the initials "J.V.". You kept it throughout your entire life cut off from this place. Tearing the tape with a stationery knife, you laid out on the table a lot of clumsy drawings, soft toys, old magazines, Jason's favorite games. You placed all this around the perimeter of the room, as far as your faded memories allowed. The cabin turned out to be very cozy, however, due to the lack of proper lighting, everything seemed gloomy and abandoned, but this did not interfere with your joyful mood.

Over the next couple of days, you've made this house and the lot around it presentable. The grass had to be trimmed a little, to remove excess garbage, to wipe the outer walls of the cabin. In general, it turned out to be in very good condition, if we take into account the coming of fifteen years. It seemed that this particular place was untouched by rains, thunderstorms and thickets that covered the steps and walls of other houses. A God-forsaken place. Your own paradise.

When you went into the cabin again, you saw a bouquet of bright blue flowers on the table. Outwardly, the plants resembled simple buttercups, which could be found around the perimeter of the camp, but they were different: the petals had a delicate blue hue. The stems were pulled together by another, especially long flower. You smiled and, this time securely, tied them together with the green ribbon you found in Jason's box. And although you didn't know where these flowers came from, you didn't feel any threat from their addressee.

Finally, when you thought you had done your best with this house, you were sitting on your old bed again. Painfully running your worn fingers over the bedspread, you looked around the room with a sad smile. Just like that day. Absolutely everything. And now you felt like that little girl of eleven in a red plaid shirt that you stole from your mother's wardrobe, and black breeches, with a wreath on her head. That day you wove identical wreaths for yourself and Jason. You remembered everything down to the smallest detail, how you painted his hands with crayons, how he smiled cheerfully, and how you got together for this trick from his mom. Pamela has always been kind to you.

And now you've made two wreaths again. One was resting on the table, the other was tangled in your hair. You gently tucked your hair behind your ear, humming sadly.

"It all started here," you smoothed the yellow flowers with your palm, "This is where it ends."

The cherished relief did not come immediately. And yet, when you got into the car and took one last look at the neat cabin, you smiled bitterly. Time to move on. It is impossible to exist all your life because of one tragedy, and even more so to blame yourself for it. We need to live.

Pressing the gas pedal, you turn the car around and look back at the cabin through the rearview mirror again. Something shone sharply in the bushes. You shifted your gaze to the road and tensely frowned. Now everything will be different.

"Bye, little Jay."

#slashers x reader #jason voorhees #jason voorhes x reader

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beardedmrbean · 7 months ago

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At first glance, the photo is an innocuous one: Taken on a sunny day in 2022, a cheerful group of twelve men and women are huddled together, posing for a selfie. They’re all dressed in military fatigues — their badges identify them as Egyptian, Indonesian and Bangladeshi officers. One man is wearing the light blue beret of a UN peacekeeper: The group has just finished their induction course for their stint at MONUSCO, the UN's mission in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Innocuous, that is, but for a bald man with glasses in the center of the photo; his arm casually draped around the shoulder of an Indonesian officer. A military source shared the picture pulled from social media with DW, Sweden-based investigative outlet Netra News, and German newspaper Süddeutsche Zeitung.

Before the officer was deployed to the UN mission, he was deputy director of the Intelligence Wing of an elite force in Bangladesh: The Rapid Action Battalion, RAB.

The force, made up of Bangladesh’s police and military, was set up in 2004 with the support of the US and others to fight terrorism and violent crime. But its brutally efficient methods meant it was soon mired in accusations of wide-spread human rights violations, leading its former backer, the US, to impose sanctions on RAB in 2021.

In an investigation published last year, DW and Netra News revealed that RAB commits torture, murder, and abductions – and goes to great lengths to cover up its crimes. Its targets: alleged criminals, opposition activists, and human rights defenders.

Its members seemingly operate with complicity from the highest political level in Bangladesh, according to two whistleblowers. A claim the government rejected as "baseless and untrue."

RAB members sent to UN missions

A year after those revelations, DW, Netra News and Süddeutsche Zeitung can reveal that members of this infamous unit are seemingly being sent on peacekeeping missions: The deputy intelligence chief turned peacekeeper was not, we found, the only man who came from the group that several of our sources referred to as "death squad."

For months, DW and its partners conducted interviews with military and UN sources in Bangladesh and beyond; trawled through classified military files, deployment lists and painstakingly identified officers through Flickr, LinkedIn and Facebook.

One man's UN deployment was corroborated with the help of his daily running routes uploaded on a jogging app: for months, the avid jogger ran around Bangui, the capital of the Central African Republic, the seat of the UN's MINUSCA mission. In another picture, he posed for a selfie outside RAB's headquarters in Dhaka.

Two deputy heads of unit that runs torture cells among the peacekeepers

We found more than 100 RAB officers who went on peacekeeping missions, 40 of them within the last five years alone.

While we don’t have evidence that every single officer was implicated in crimes, at least three of them — Nayeem A., Hasan T. and Masud R. — worked for RAB's infamous Intelligence Wing, two as deputy directors. According to several sources, it is this unit that runs a secret network of torture cells across Bangladesh, some of them located in safe houses, others hidden deep inside RAB’s compounds. Survivors and military sources told DW and Netra News of beatings, mock executions, waterboarding and electric shocks.

"We have all the available tools," one former member of RAB explained. One particularly brutal method he witnessed was to place a detainee inside a container and heat it from below. "At some point the temperature is untenable," and the detainee, he said matter-of-factly, "would speak up."

The torture cells, another source said agreed, are "where they get information from civilians."

A source in RAB told DW, Netra News and Süddeutsche Zeitung that both of the two deputy directors were implicated in crimes, such as torture and executions.

While the claim cannot be corroborated independently, several other sources confirmed that it was likely that deputy directors with command responsibility would have signed off on what was happening in the torture cells, or at the very least known what was happening.

And yet, they were later tasked, as peacekeepers, to protect vulnerable civilian communities. The idea of peacekeeping was born after the Second World War: a force at the behest of the international community made up of soldiers and police officers drawn from the UN's member states, sent by the Security Council when governments fail and countries descend into turmoil.

Currently, tens of thousands of peacekeepers are deployed globally, in conflicts and crises ranging from the Democratic Republic of Congo, South Sudan and the Central African Republic to Kosovo and Kashmir.

Despite these lofty ideals, peacekeeping operations, individual soldiers and entire contingents have over the years been embroiled in scandals, which the UN has always been swift to condemn. Critics say peacekeeping missions have been ineffective, while those defending peacekeeping say they have saved countless lives.

In 2012, after several sexual abuse scandals by peacekeepers made headlines, most notably of children in Haiti, the UN implemented a new human rights policy for its personnel.

Up to 'abusive government' to vet peacekeepers

While troop contributing countries generally continue to select and vet the military personnel they send to missions with the exception of Force Commanders and their deputies, they now have to attest for each soldier that they have not committed or are alleged to have committed any human rights violations.

In the case of Bangladesh, that means that "they are asking an abusive government to then decide which officers are abusive or not," Meenakshi Ganguly, deputy director for South Asia at Human Rights Watch said in a phone call.

Bangladesh's government, Ganguly explained, "does not seem to believe that people that commit human rights violations need to be prosecuted and held to account.” Indeed, few members of RAB have ever been prosecuted.

And that is why she, together with several other human rights organizations, both Bangladeshi and international, has long called for RAB to be banned entirely from peacekeeping operations.

They are not the only ones to sound a warning: In August 2019, the Committee against Torture, a UN body made up of independent experts that monitor human rights in UN member states, published its report on Bangladesh.

Its authors voiced concern at "numerous reports" of cases in which members of RAB "have been credibly alleged to have committed torture, arbitrary arrests, unacknowledged detention, disappearances and extrajudicial killings of persons in their custody.

'Grave concern'

One of the report's authors is Jens Modvig, a medical doctor who runs Dignity, the Danish Institute Against Torture, an NGO housed in an unassuming office block in Copenhagen.

While making coffee in the organization's small kitchen, he recalled the experts’ "grave concern" at the reports of human rights abuses by Bangladesh's security forces. It was a term, he said, they had "not used lightly."

The Committee's recommendations, Modvig said, "was that former and current members of RAB should not be allowed to do service in peacekeeping operations."

And yet, our investigation shows nothing happened.

DW, Netra News and Süddeutsche Zeitung sent several requests for an on-camera interview to the UN Department of Peacekeeping Operations. They were declined.

Instead, the UN agreed to respond in writing to the findings: "We do not have", a spokesperson wrote, "the resources to screen each and every person and have a long-standing policy that places specific responsibility on troop and police contributing countries."

In the case of Bangladesh, the spokesman went on, UN Peacekeeping "has continuously engaged bilaterally with national authorities to convey concerns about serious allegations of human rights violations by defense and security forces, in particular by members of RAB".

UN susceptible to blackmail?

We did eventually find one man willing to go on-the-record: Andrew Gilmour, a former UN Assistant Secretary-General for Human Rights. Today, he heads the Berghof Foundation in Berlin that advocates for global peace: a-long-time UN diplomat, who, he said, picks his jackets according to an interview’s topic and mood.

For a story about peacekeeping and human rights abuses, he donned a somber blue.

If he was still in the UN, he said, "I probably wouldn't be able to be this frank and to say we get some really pretty useless troops and some pretty brutal ones as well."

Bangladesh, he concluded, was far from a unique case: "It is not the first time that member states have put forward people with bad human rights records to serve in their battalions that they assign to the UN." At times, he said, "it can be entire contingents that were implicated in some action, repressing people in their own country, for example, and other times it is individuals."

He stressed repeatedly that the UN was doing its best to prevent that from happening.

But he conceded, if the UN pushed countries too hard, there was a risk they might threaten to pull out their troops entirely. It was "pretty hard to do something about if the government of that member state is insisting on putting forward a contingent or an individual."

In one case, he recalled, "one country that was really important in contributing troops to a number of peacekeeping operations literally said, OK, we're going to pull out all together." And so, he explained, the UN's Secretary General at the time "had to basically go to that country and essentially apologize to the head of state."

Otherwise, four UN peacekeeping operations would have collapsed, Gilmour said.

His testimony seemed to point to one thing: that when it comes to peacekeepers, the UN is seemingly susceptible to blackmail.

A UN source agreed: at even the slightest hint of criticism, officials in Bangladesh — one the UN’s major troop contributors — threatened to withdraw their troops. As of March of this year, about 6,000 Bangladeshi peacekeepers were actively deployed worldwide.

It's unclear, however, whether Bangladesh would actually go through with this threat and thus lose access to UN missions, which are lucrative both for individual soldiers and the countries deploying them.

According to government officials, Bangladesh has received more than 2.5 billion USD over the past 23 years. Individual peacekeepers receive a higher salary than they would back home.

The spokesperson for UN Peacekeeping rejected the claim that the UN is seemingly powerless when faced with threats: "The largest troop contributor at the moment contributes less than 10% of the 65,000 personnel deployed. Therefore, no single troop contributor can credibly threaten to undermine the viability of a peacekeeping operation by withdrawing all of their forces".

UN's hands seemingly tied

There is a reason why, according to Gilmour, the UN's hands are seemingly tied. When he was "very, very young," the majority of UN peacekeepers came from places like Sweden and Ireland, he explained.

But over the years, as the Cold War drew to a close in the early 1990s, faced with deadlier missions, Western governments increasingly started to pull their troops out of peacekeeping operations, preferring to pay for them instead.

Democratic governments had to weigh whether they could pay a certain blood toll, according to a political source from a western European country with inside knowledge of the workings of the UN. If soldiers deployed to UN missions returned in body bags, he explained, their governments could soon have a parliamentary inquiry on their hands.

That, he added, was not a problem countries like Bangladesh had to deal with. At the same time, he conceded that UN peacekeeping missions were lucrative for both individual soldiers and governments to fill their coffers.

#nunyas news #they send in rapists to deliver food #so this isn't something that should shock anyone

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jessiesjaded · 1 year ago

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I was tagged by @inloif thanks boo 😇

rules: share 10 of your comfort shows then tag 10 people

1. Uhhhhhhhhhhhh. Ngl rewatching the X files this year was very comforting. So I'll say x files. Especially the early seasons!

2. Xena warrior princess- quite literally have had a 20+ year relationship with this show by this point, it'll always be special to me.

3. Fringe. I still think it's one of the best scifis i've watched... also I love you, Olivia Dunham

4. Veronica mars, for all its faults, was my favourite show of all time until they rebooted it and the first 2 seasons will always be bangers. To me.

5. Always sunny. Terrible terrible people, whom I love.

6. I haven't watched it for a long time but the seasons of DW with 9 and 10 were very special to me as a teenager so.... :)

7. 90s Sailor moon! It's just good fun still.

8. Spirited, I mean a show about the ghost of a dead punk rocker haunting an uptight dentist? Who wouldn't love that.

9. Diagnosis murder... I love dick van dyke....

10. Love between fairy and devil.... it's just so whimsy and girly and silly 🥰

I tag @hotdadlicense @polyshow @pokerharem @queerb @saniremon @vivi-mire @ghostbonezzz @girlovessquirrels @shinydudunsparce @useful-boy @retconnedtimelord @woundedheartwithin @shanaraharlyah muah

#obviously dont do it if ya dont want too etc etc 😚#tbh i forgot every show i ever watched but lmao

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valictini · 7 months ago

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My take on the whole egg situation (this is all MY OPINION based on what we've been shown for the past 2 months) :

Why did they get some of the eggs back only to end the arc one week afterwards?

I think it's because the admins loved their characters and knew it was going to end soon, so they wanted to be able to play as much as possible before leaving, even if they were not paid.

Why did some of the admins not get this opportunity ?

Either the studio considers them "not their problem anymore" (Pomme and Dapper who left) or they consider them liabilities and at risk of leaking stuff because they publicly supported the ex admins (Empanada, Sunny) All of this is speculation, but my guess as to why Cherry was so upset was not only because she was fired, but she was refused the opportunity to say good bye as Empanada.

Why is the studio icing out their admins instead of straight up firing them?

Because then there are fewer chances for legal retaliation because "they left on their own accords." Never mind that 99% of the admins never intended to sue the studio and only wanted to be treated right, or at least know what was going to happen to their role.

It also shows how little the studio cares about its admins. I believe 100% that they still dont see them as colleagues/employees, but as fans to whom they gave privilege. Privilege that they're not entitled to and thus can remove at any misstep. To me, there is literally no trust there.

Don't get me wrong, there is some truth to this. From what some of the admins said, they did genuinely feel privileged to be part of the project. And that's precisely why some of the more exploited admins stayed, too. They felt lucky to be part of the project and sacrificed themselves in order to meet the studio's unreasonable demands.

But here's the thing, just because you love your job doesn't mean you have to be punished in some way to balance it out. Just because you're passionate doesn't mean you don't deserve basic fucking respect as a human being.

You'd think that after so long, after so much work, the admins would be trusted as colleagues... well, Pomme's example is there to show us that no, they don't care. The second they think you did something wrong, you're just trash to be disposed of, behind closed doors. (I believe to this day we still don't know why Lumi was iced out)

Why did they keep the server running when Quackity said there would be a pause?

Because, as Quackity stated, his #1 priority is keeping the project running. What we didn't realise at the time is that it meant that everything else would be ignored.

Mire importantly, i think they didn't want the more active players to lose interest and so, they simply left it open for them. Never mind all the ccs that missed out on lore and events for the crime of wanting to make sure things were solved before playing again.

What is going to happen at the event of the 24th?

Probably a reset of some sort, seeing how many ccs are ending their character's lore while some still being like "well this character is done but I'm not". Idk if I can bring myself to care though, with how hard the studio is trying to make us forget everything.

They want us to forget that they fired dozens of people via a single discord announcement that didn't even stay up for 24h before the server was closed. They want us to forget that to this day (as far as I know), nothing has been done to contact the exploited ex admins. They want us to forget the fact that Quackity promised to keep running the server only when the problems were solved, and then opened the server back up only two days after. They want us to forget that some of the admins that were still technically in the studio have been and are still being iced out instead of fired. All to save their own asses from a lawsuit that they're honestly INVITING on themselves at this point.

All this to say, thank you, admins. I'm sorry the studio prioritised the project's image above your wellbeing. I'm glad some of you had a positive experience and got the opportunity to leave on a positive note. I'm sorry for the rest who had to go public to even be heard about the abuse you suffered from.

I'm still hoping for a miracle, for some sort of satisfying resolution. I'm still hoping to see my favourite ccs coming back, signaling that stuff have actually been solved. But I won't hold my breath either.

Again, all this is just my opinion. I'm probably wrong on some of the more speculative parts. You might not agree with everything I said. And that's fine. As fans, we will never be given the full truth anyway, so all we can do is speculate.

#qsmp crit #qsmp neg #qadmin situation #qsmp admin situation #qsmp discourse

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mightyflamethrower · 8 months ago

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The theocracy of Iran has been the world’s arch-embassy attacker over the last half century.

So it has zero credibility in crying foul over Israel’s April 1 attacks on its “consulate” in Damascus and the killing of Iran’s kingpin terrorists of the Revolutionary Guard Corps there.

Remember, the world was first introduced to the Iranian ayatollahs by their violent takeover of the U.S. embassy in Tehran in 1980.

Iranian surrogates next bombed the American embassy in Beirut and the Marine barracks in 1983.

In fact, Iran has attacked US and Israeli diplomatic posts off-and-on for decades, most recently in 2023, when Iran helped plan an attack on the US embassy in Baghdad.

For this reason and several others, Iran’s justification for sending 170 drones, 30 cruise missiles, and 120 ballistic missiles into Israel on the grounds that Israel had bombed an Iranian diplomatic post is completely ridiculous.

One, Iran has never honored diplomatic immunity.

Instead, it habitually attacks and kills embassy personnel and blows up diplomatic facilities across the world.

Two, on April 1, the Israelis attacked a pseudo-“consulate” in Damascus which was hosting grandees of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps as they planned terrorist attacks on Israel.

Without Iran, the Middle East might have had a chance to use its enormous oil and natural gas wealth to lift its 500 million people out of poverty rather than to be mired in constant tribal and religious anti-Israeli, anti-American, and anti-Western terrorism.

During the Iraq War, Iran’s Shiite terrorists and its massive supplies of deadly shaped-charge explosive devices killed hundreds of Americans. It routinely hijacks container ships in the Straits of Hormuz and stages near collisions with American ships and planes.

How does Iran get away with nonstop anti-Western terrorism, its constant harassment of Persian Gulf maritime traffic, its efforts to subvert Sunni moderate regimes, and its serial hostage-taking?

The theocrats operate on three general principles.

One, Iran is careful never to attack a major power directly.

Until this week, it had never sent missiles and drones into Israel. Its economy is one-dimensionally dependent on oil exports. And its paranoid government distrusts its own people, who have no access to free elections.

So Iranian strategy over the last few decades has relied on surrogates—especially expendable Arab Shia terrorists in Iraq, Lebanon, Syria, and Yemen, along with the Sunni Arabs of Hamas—to do its dirty work of killing Israelis and Americans.

It loudly egged all of them on and then cowardly denied responsibility once it feared Israeli or American retaliation.

Two, it has fooled Western governments and especially left-wing American administrations by posing as a persecuted victim. Iran claims it is the champion of aggrieved Shiite Arab and Persian minorities, unfairly exploited by Israel, moderate Arab regimes, and rich Sunni Gulf monarchies.

Three, Iran hopes its pseudo-diplomatic outreach to left-wing Western governments, coupled with its lunatic existential threats and unleashing terrorist attacks on its enemies, can coax or bully the West into granting it concessions—especially time to acquire a dozen or so nuclear weapons.

Yet for all its loud, creepy threats, Iran is incredibly weak and vulnerable.

Israel and its allies shot down almost all its recent nocturnal missile and drone barrages. Lots of other missiles reportedly blew up on liftoff in Iran or crashed in transit.

Before the Biden appeasement of Iran, the Trump administration had isolated and nearly bankrupted Tehran and its proxies. Its Revolutionary Guard terrorist planners proved to be easy targets once they operated outside Iran.

Iran’s only hope is to get a bomb and, with it, nuclear deterrence to prevent retaliation when it increases its terrorist surrogate attacks on Israel, the West, and international commerce.

Yet now Iran may have jumped the shark by attacking the Israeli homeland for the first time. It is learning that it has almost no sympathetic allies.

Does even the Lebanese Hezbollah really want to take revenge against Israel on behalf of Persian Iran, only to see its Shia neighborhoods in Lebanon reduced to rubble?

Do all the pro-Hamas protestors on American campuses and in the streets really want to show Americans they celebrate Iranian attacks and a potential Iranian war against the United States?

Does Iran really believe 99 percent of any future Israel barrage against Iranian targets would fail to hit targets in the fashion that its own recent launches failed?

Does Iran really believe that its sheer incompetence in attacking Israel warrants them a pardon—as if they should be excused for trying, but not succeeding, to kill thousands of Jews?

In sum, by unleashing a terrorist war in the Middle East and targeting the Israeli homeland, Iran may wake up soon and learn Israel, or America, or both might retaliate for a half-century of its terrorist aggression—and mostly to the indifference or even the delight of most of the world.

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xochimillilili · 5 days ago

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Kitty boy tummy and thighs on the fucking dash !!! ^_^ ooOoOOo I am so so softttt oOoooOoo .•°•°☆

It/He prns only !!! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

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224terminal · 1 year ago

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𓇢𓆸 𝒶𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓈.

situated on a lush hilltop and overlooking the sparkling seascape, a lone stone cottage sits. externally, it's unassuming with its sun-bleached cobbles and circular windows. plum trees flank the seaside abode, and glass bottles in an array of spectacular colors are tied to boughs heavy with fruit. they sway in the summery breeze, singing a fragile melody that permeates stifling, sticky humidity.

inside, however, the home is as eccentric as its inhabitant. paintings, both finished and unfinished, line the walls, some hung and others propped, and the stone floor is mired in dry paint splatter. cloth curtains are parted to allow sunlight to filter in through large bay windows, offering a view of the glimmering ocean beyond. there is no second floor, merely a ground floor and a cellar, and so every room necessary to the layout exists here: a bathroom, a kitchen, two bedrooms, and the main, paint-spattered room. there is no television, but there is a radio and it rests on a windowsill as if it's a pie put out to cool. it details this afternoon's forecast between static crackles: clear, sunny skies with a zero chance of rain.

idyllic and isolated, this will be your new home. and a young man named amaryllis, the one who followed up with you in response to the listing he had posted, will be your new housemate. his standards for a companion were easy to meet: must be okay with messy workspaces (lots of paint). must enjoy peace and terrible internet connection (sorry in advance). must not mind sounds at night (bottles hung on trees make noise). must be good at running errands and doing light physical work. he was warm and friendly in the listing, what with his additional comment of i will provide you with plenty of plums should you need any. and with an eviction notice hanging over your neck like a guillotine's blade, he was a godsend. a godsend you'd snatched up the minute you found him, desperate to find a new place to stay before the end of the week.

his name is amaryllis. he's polite and accommodating, mostly quiet, and he's an artist. his hair is dyed a brilliant, fiery scarlet. when you questioned such a bold color, he offered you a tiny, nearly bashful smile and said, "everyone has a specific vision of what an artist should look like. i want to embody the kind of artist who is strange, but not quite strange enough to be ridiculed. more like...a strangeness that can be charming if looked at the right way. that, and the color matches the flower i'm named after."

he's so sweet and clearly passionate about his profession as a painter. in fact, it's how he makes a living. he's mostly housebound, so he paints all manner of artworks and sells them to the local museum in town. they proudly display his work in pretty frames with even prettier placards. amaryllis was humble in his explanation, but you think it's a very impressive talent of his. he should brag about it more often. when told that, he chuckled and shook his head. boasting, according to him, is not an appealing facet of humanity. you stuck your tongue out at him in reply: "if you have skill, show it off. why hide?"

why hide indeed?

you work at a tea shop in town. in the summer, it's bustling with activity. tourism keeps the island afloat, and so you're never spared the stress of a midday rush. although amaryllis insisted you needn't work so hard to pay rent, you argued that you'd feel like a leech if you didn't. so in the mornings and late into the afternoons, you make deliveries for the shop and work behind the counter. it keeps you active, and it's enough to provide you with rent and grocery money for amaryllis. sometimes your boss permits you to bring home some of the imported tea. you share it with amaryllis; he's fond of bittersweet, herbal blends.

amaryllis never paints the same thing twice. landscapes must have notable differences, even if he's only ever peered out his window to paint the slivers of the sea he sees between the plum trees. it's harsh criteria, but you suppose many artists are similar when it comes to the tribulations of creation. he paints the most delicious-looking still lifes. plums show up in a lot of these—the only similarity you'll ever find between his paintings. you asked him about it, ever the curious one, and he offered a thin smile and a cryptic answer: "plum blossoms symbolize hope. in a world where we're always racing against an invisible clock, i want to have hope. and what better fruit to symbolize that than plums? they're delicious and nutritious and, better yet, fun to paint."

you sat beside him, admiring the splotches of green giving way to an azure sky on what was once a pristine canvas. plum blossoms bristle in an unfelt breeze. amaryllis shudders through a brutal coughing fit. he does that a lot.

amaryllis owns a motorbike. it was a gift from a friend who sent it to him when he bemoaned not having the capabilities to see one firsthand so that he could try his hand at sketching it. your jaw had dropped when he wheeled it out of the cellar onto the grass, huffing and trembling like a fawn on unsteady legs. the unveiling was grand, even if it was just you and him at the peak of a hill, surrounded by plum trees and swaying bottles. it's a sleek, purple vehicle that looks practically new despite being aged by years.

"and," amaryllis says, puffing his chest out after catching his breath, clutching the tarp close, "purple like a plum."

"i'm starting to think you're fond of plums."

"they're my lifeline."

"you say the strangest things."

"like a true artist! see? now you understand the appeal of the weird, don't you?"

you open your mouth, shut it, and then snort. before you can stop yourself, you're laughing. under the shadowed shade of the plum trees, amaryllis smiles wistfully.

"i have no need for it. i'm also not very good at painting vehicles, so it's yours to use. now you won't have to pay bus fare."

"or walk the twenty minutes to the stop," you add, grinning.

"that, too."

wind rustles through the grass. it tugs on your clothes, bringing with it fleeting scents of summer sea salt. you intend to say it first, but he beats you to it.

"thank you."

"what for?" odd. you should be the one saying that.

"for being here. it's nice to have a friend in all of this isolation." he turns his glacial gaze seaward. "perhaps i'm burdening you, but i just didn't want the house to be cold and empty when i..." he hums, contemplative, and corrects himself. "i wanted to know what it felt like to surround myself with company who cares. they told me i had five years and that i'd be lucky to know even one of those... but it's been two and so far i'm really grateful for my luck. if it wasn't for that and plums, i never would have met you."

at first, the meaning leapt over your head like a horse over a vertical. you almost replied with, "and if it wasn't for my eviction notice, i never would have searched for a housemate," but then it hit you. and it hit.

it hit hard.

"oh. oh, amaryllis..."

his eyes showcase stories his lips don't dare speak. frigid and sharp as ice one moment, and the next they're weak and watery. he disguises his sniffle in a poorly feigned cough.

"i spent the first year wallowing in pity and hatred. the world is the worst, but then so am i. i thought things like that. i wanted good health. i wanted to walk and run long distances. i wanted to leave this island and travel to a big city. i wanted to ride a motorbike and feel the wind grabbing at my clothes and hair. most of all, i wanted more time. i never know how to use it correctly, and i was always getting lost in my drawings so that i could ignore it. but when the sun sets i'm reminded i'm losing days." he scuffs his slipper against the grass and forces a laugh. "i guess i grew out of the bitterness. it's easier to swallow a plum-flavored pill than it is to try choking down mean sentiments. i think that now."

"i... i'm sorry."

as soon as it leaves your lips, you feel overwhelmingly stupid. you have a million things to say to him, and yet none of them can be properly phrased.

"there's nothing to be sorry for. it's not your fault."

"but..."

"it's not so sad anymore, so please don't fret." he gestures to the bottles swinging on the branches, each clink an echo of something forlorn. "i put these up to keep death away. i can't outrun him, but i can scare him off with loud noises." this time, his smile is hopeful. "and if two years is enough proof, i think it's working."

you watch him in silence. how he can smile despite being crushed by the weight of time—by the unfairness of the world—you'll never understand. for a while, the two of you stand there and watch the bottles in the plum trees. blue, green, yellow, purple, brown, orange... they're in every shade imaginable. every shade except red.

when amaryllis recovers from his most recent coughing fit, his fingers are curled into fists. red, you realize, is not a color he's fond of, even if it's the color he's chosen to dye his hair. red is a color you can find in his palms, imprinted like a stain, a permanent reminder of incurable frailty.

the ride to work is made in a daze. you don't even realize you're thirty minutes late. funny how time works.

"if you could have anything in the world, regardless of how expensive or strange it might be, what would you choose?" amaryllis asks this one starry night. the two of you sit near the sea on a patchwork quilt, listening to the distant splish-splashing of fish in the sea. the moon casts a silver spotlight on a quiet, evening tea party.

teacup in hand, inhaling a flowery aroma, you consider his question. "i'm sure i have something in mind, but right now i'm drawing a blank."

amaryllis nods his understanding. "i would want more time." you try to soothe him with something better than an apology, but he's quick to add, "not to live! but to paint."

"aren't those essentially the same?"

"not quite. when i paint, i'm alive and well. things outside of that are stagnant and almost...dead. or should i say unfulfilling? loneliness is more painful than death itself. well, that's what i think."

"wouldn't you get bored after so much painting? what would you even paint with all of that extra time?"

having been moon-gazing for the entirety of that exchange, amaryllis turns to you. he smiles. "you."

"me?"

"there will never be enough time to truly capture all of you." he glances at the ground, his finger tracing swirls and loops in the sand. "your habits and mannerisms. your smile. the light in your eyes. the way you get so worked up when it's too humid. every part of you that's so you—i couldn't begin to attempt to portray all of it in so little time."

"then don't. i'd rather you spend your time doing something comfortable and less...stressful."

"it's never stressful painting you."

"you've been painting me?"

his smile falters. "i..." he clears his throat, suddenly awkward. "i have. yes. i... i'm sorry."

"hey, it's fine! no need to apologize just... why haven't you shown me? i'm flattered, you know."

"it's embarrassing and...strange."

you quirk an amused grin. "isn't strange what you want to be?" you lean in close and he jerks away so quickly it's comically cute. "a strange artist who can be charming if looked at properly. that's your ideal vision for an artist, right?"

"of course. but..." he sighs, his shoulders deflating. "i don't paint people often."

"but you painted me."

"you're an exception."

"does that mean i'm not a person? or...am i like a fruit or something inanimate?"

"maybe." his eyes shine with mischief. "maybe you're neither. maybe you're an angel."

"please." you roll your eyes, snorting around the rim of your teacup. "i'm not an angel. i'm just me."

"the beauty of art is that you can glamorize and romanticize the mundane. like doing laundry! it becomes far more appealing when it's put on a canvas." he's traced an inescapable maze of lines into the sand. you miss the next part, for it's spoken so softly. as if it's forbidden sin. "when i put you on my canvases, you're an angel. my angel."

under a velvety blanket of stars, you think you hear whispers in the wind. you shrug them off and down the rest of your lukewarm tea.

angels are not unknown to amaryllis. in fact, there's a room in the cellar, designed to be secretly accessible to those who know of it. he's named it "the angel room." for the first few years of his childhood, he was in perfect health. and during those treasured, bygone years, at a small primary school in the center of the island, he met his angel. you don't recall him now, for he was yanked from school in his third year, destined to be homeschooled for the rest of his slowly deteriorating youth, but he's remembered you. you left an impact as all angels often do.

rather than feathers and halos and white silks, you adorn yourself in things that are you. your smile. your eyes. your laughter. your kindness. these things cannot be bottled or replicated, nor can they be plucked from your back to ensure you'll never fly again.

a school portrait is framed in the angel room. the class is small, comprised of just eleven students, and of those eleven two faces are circled—yours and his. it's the only photo he has of you and him. the rest were taken by someone who was paid handsomely to travel the distances amaryllis can't reach to capture you on film. for the sake of creativity. for the sake of imprisoning the muse. for the sake of being strangely charming. a dying man's wish carries more weight when life's gifts are not guaranteed. subtle manipulation works best when weaved into a sob story. canvases line the walls. none of them are finished. they're all attempts to paint you perfectly. no matter how hard he tries, he can never get it right.

it's unfortunate and frustrating, but then he can't change it. the world has dealt him a cruel hand, but he can be crueler. he can be greedy and cling to the time he has left. he can be selfish and keep you in his reach, shackled by way of circumstance.

it's fate, or so he thinks when he recalls all the time spent in a lingering infatuation, hoping for a day in which he could meet you in person after so much time apart. sometimes the world gives him sorrow. this time it's given him an angel. for as long as he lives, amaryllis will keep this angel to himself.

time means everything when it's limited, but for today and tomorrow and the foreseeable future it's all he needs to feel some semblance of relief from the ever-encroaching unrest of the inevitable.

sometimes amaryllis catches himself thinking how much better it would be if he could take you with him. it's wrong and terrible, but then it would be fair.

he's never known fairness. he's never known romance. he's never known the joys of life. but with you, his angel, he knows it all and so much more. and for that he is forever thankful.

#— terminal writes #— passenger : amaryllis #*gently holds* i love him T^T #yandere oc #yandere x reader

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witsserviceablesubstitute · 2 years ago

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More navel-gazing It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia

IASIP's strength is its interrogation of toxic masculinity because it's satirising four characters that are riddled with it. Dee included (her need to be one of the boys 🤝 to be best girl and prove their sexism wrong 🤝 her impulse to tear down every woman she views as a threat). Carmen was a good early example of this strength because Mac really likes her. Whether romantically or not, he wants to know her and be around her (to the point he's researching trans procedures), but he can't get over how he'll be perceived by being with her and so Mac loses what could've been a great relationship for him. What's more, Carmen is never the villain, it's always Mac; his toxic hangups and the environment that created them.

I think that's where a lot of the homoeroticism springs from too. The writers knowing from the start that they wanted one of their male mains gay to explore that side of the machismo, yet not seeming to know which one. It's like I can see them switching between exploring the potential with both Dennis and Mac in the early seasons (Charlie too, but to a lesser degree. I mostly see Charlie as Ace anyway, but I know that's headcanon and not intentional). IASIP is also very good at playing with how homophobia can go hand in hand with these incredibly homoerotic relationships. How there can be sexual and romantic things they do with each other that come with rules and lines and boundaries that make no sense. That maybe they could just be uncomplicatedly happy in whatever way they define their relationship but they won't be because of the caveat; no homo. Until it is masks off homo and then how do these characters mired in toxic masculinity navigate an unmasking of what was always there? (I'm glad they let Mac come out for this reason, actually).

The main weakness of the show, however, is whenever it touches on race. The satire comes apart quickly and I wouldn't be surprised if IASIP had a large queer following, but not intersectionally so. It's like the writing has a deeply personal understanding of how patriarchal structures obliterate personal development (without also taking from their characters personal responsibility), but whenever they apply the same principles to racism they're squinting at an image too far from them to see.

#it's always sunny in philadelphia #iasip #navel gazing #dee reynolds #dennis reynolds #mac mcdonald #charlie kelly

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tortoisesshells · 1 year ago

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WIP Tag Game

Tagged by the lovely @aloveforjaneausten

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

full disclosure: I don't have a WIP folder so much as I have a "recently worked on list" in the midst of the mire that is my writing folder. For the sake of argument, I'm considering a WIP to mean "writing project" and "opened in the last two weeks".

customsanddutiesCH31 customsanddutiesCH31ALT customsanddutiesCH31_NightmareStart InHushedWhispers_NowWithMoreTimeLoop when we woke unknelled the monsters of the deep are made A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow a sunny sleepy corner two weddings and a road trip

Tagging: @boltlightning, @johnbly, @theonlyredcar, @jomiddlemarch, @sagiow, @enchi-elm, @ramiroangel, @mercurygray, @pomprincesse, @admiraleyk, @evilbunnyking, @starsuncounted

#wip meme #fic #my fic #... sorta #if it seems like i've been struggling. well. yes. i have.

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thecpdiary · 6 months ago

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The Unseen Costs of Brexit

Brexit has undeniably altered the UK’s relationship with the EU and had significant consequences on various aspects of daily life, from travel and living abroad to education and employment opportunities. Through writing, I focus on the points that drive home the message of the tangible impacts of Brexit and the need for progressive leadership.

A Call for Change Brexit was sold as a move to reclaim sovereignty and control, but the reality for many has been a profound loss. As we navigate the aftermath, it becomes increasingly clear that the promises made have led to unforeseen consequences for all citizens.

Political Reaction

Immigration became a central issue in political debates. Parties and movements advocating for Brexit, such as the UK Independence Party (UKIP) and the Leave campaign, capitalised on public concerns about immigration. They argued that leaving the EU would allow the UK to regain control over its borders and immigration policy.

Loss of Freedom to Travel and Live Abroad

The ability to travel and live freely across EU countries has been curtailed. For many, this has meant giving up dreams of retiring in sunny Spain, pursuing careers in cosmopolitan cities like Paris or Berlin, or even just experiencing the richness of European cultures firsthand. Travel Restrictions

Visa requirements and limited stays in EU countries have replaced our previously seamless travel experience.

Relocation Barriers

Moving abroad now involves complex immigration processes, impacting those who once planned to retire, study or work in the EU. Education and Employment Opportunities

Younger generations, who were just beginning to explore their futures, have been particularly hard hit. The opportunities to study, live, and work in the EU, which were once easily accessible, have become complicated and prohibitively expensive. Erasmus Withdrawal

Students have lost access to the Erasmus+ programme, which provided opportunities to study across Europe, enriching their academic and cultural experiences.

Job Market Challenges

Employment in the EU now comes with additional hurdles, limiting career prospects that were once easily accessible and attainable. Economic and Social Impact

Brexit’s economic fallout has led to job losses and business closures. The promise of newfound economic prosperity seems hollow as industries struggle and communities face financial uncertainty. Trade Barriers

New tariffs and regulations have disrupted supply chains, increased costs and have created many challenges for businesses, especially small enterprises.

Social Division

The referendum and its aftermath have deepened societal divisions, with communities becoming polarised and national discourse often mired in conflict. Politicians' Disconnect

While many politicians who championed Brexit continue to lead comfortable lives, still enjoying the benefits of EU residency or citizenship, ordinary citizens are now facing the brunt of the fallout. The Hypocrisy of Brexit

David Cameron, Nigel Farage, and Boris Johnson who appear to remain unaffected, highlighting a glaring disparity between the rhetoric used to amass votes, and the reality for the average person. There is a growing need to hold leaders accountable for the promises made versus the outcomes delivered. A Call to Action: Make Your Vote Count

As we approach the General Election, it is crucial to advocate for politicians who recognise the damage done and are willing to pursue policies that can repair and rebuild our connections with the EU. We need leaders with vision and a commitment to reversing the detrimental impacts of Brexit. Support Forward-Thinking Leaders

Choose candidates who are focused on restoring opportunities, enhancing economic stability and fostering unity both within the UK and with our European neighbours; advocate for policies that will ease travel, education and employment barriers, ensuring that future generations do not miss out on the opportunities we have taken for granted. Brexit has undoubtedly changed the landscape of the UK. By voting and demanding accountability, we can strive towards a future that reclaims the lost freedoms and opportunities, ensuring a brighter and more inclusive path moving forward. This approach underscores the concrete impacts of Brexit while appealing to a sense of agency and the need for action, encouraging us to vote for much needed change in the upcoming election.

Informed Writing for Democracy I hope my efforts to write about these issues will contribute to a more informed electorate. Writing about important topics can inform and educate the public, which is essential for a healthy democracy. By sharing my perspectives and insights, I aim to spark conversations, challenge prevailing narratives and encourage others to think critically about the issues that matter when choosing the party they vote for.

For more relatable, inspirational and lifestyle blogs, please check out my site https://www.thecpdiary.com

#thecpdiary #blog #Brexit #Costs #hypocracy #divisions #beproactive #yourvotecounts #general election #UK

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