#Battle Between Good Vs Evil

[whitearyankindred]

Can’t Believe You Are So Evil and Racist that You Promote this Rape and White Genocide like this, You Evil Racist Vindictive White Traitorous Fake Women Will Not Go About Doing This Without Any Consequences, You Evil Ungrateful Soulless Fake Women Will All Meet Your End Soon and That Will Be A Happy Joyous Day Of Real Peace and Good Reign Finally and None of You Evil Soulless Clones Will Be Around in Existence Anymore.

The Ultimate 🐂&♠️🐰Party

[enchantingepics]

Story Prompt 102

Circling the chair, a tense standoff unfolded between two contrasting figures. One, with an aura of mischief, stood boldly, while the other, marked by recent turmoil, faced them with a mix of defiance and curiosity.

"Come on, join the fun," the mischievous one urged with a playful grin. "Let's stir things up a bit."

The other shook their head adamantly, refusing to be swayed. "I won't be a part of your reckless schemes."

But the mischievous one persisted, undeterred by the rejection. "You can't deny there's a spark between us. Why not embrace it?"

As they bantered back and forth, the tension crackled, reaching a crescendo with the sudden intrusion of a radio broadcast. Its announcement labeled one of them as a fugitive, casting a shadow of suspicion over their interaction.

Curses escaped the accused's lips as their secret was laid bare. The mischievous one couldn't help but feel a surge of intrigue, wondering what secrets lay hidden beneath the surface.

"I got too close to something I shouldn't have," the accused confessed, their voice laced with desperation. "I've been on the run for months."

Moved by their vulnerability, the mischievous one approached cautiously, sensing an opportunity amidst the chaos. As they drew nearer, a forbidden attraction simmered beneath the surface, threatening to ignite.

"What if we took them down together?" the accused proposed, a glimmer of hope in their eyes. "And then you can decide if you want to be the hero."

The mischievous one chuckled, seeing through the facade with ease. "You got yourself caught on purpose, didn't you?"

Caught off guard, the accused hesitated before admitting the truth. "Maybe," they conceded, a hint of mischief dancing in their gaze.

[rhythmicreverie]

In the stars' grand cosmic ballet, A lost sibling, once anew, Brought chaos in this family play. Dark forces clashed, and light prevailed, As love and strength redefined the tale.

[mindfulldsliving]

Satan's Punishment: A Thoughtful Latter-day Saint Response to Michelle Grim of Life After Ministries

Understanding Satan’s Punishment: A Latter-day Saint Perspective on Michelle Grim’s Insights When we think about Satan’s punishment, it’s crucial to understand its significance in Latter-day Saint theology. Critics often misunderstand this topic, especially those like Michelle Grim from Life After Ministries, who question the relationship between Jesus and Satan. In Latter-day Saint belief, both…

[theversevoyager]

In the land of Arden, darkness descended as an ancient evil rose. A band of heroes united to vanquish the malevolent force. With courage and cunning, they battled through hordes of shadowy creatures, their hearts burning with determination. In the climactic duel, light triumphed over darkness, restoring peace to Arden's people. The heroic tale echoed through the ages, inspiring future generations.

[a-story-teller]

Had another dream story idea and it's BAD out here y'all. My subconscious said "you don't go for sad old white men yaoi? Well here's one and you have to care about it so much. Good luck"

[eelhound]

"I think Homer outwits most writers who have written on the War [fantasy archetype], by not taking sides.

The Trojan war is not and you cannot make it be the War of Good vs. Evil. It’s just a war, a wasteful, useless, needless, stupid, protracted, cruel mess full of individual acts of courage, cowardice, nobility, betrayal, limb-hacking-off, and disembowelment. Homer was a Greek and might have been partial to the Greek side, but he had a sense of justice or balance that seems characteristically Greek — maybe his people learned a good deal of it from him? His impartiality is far from dispassionate; the story is a torrent of passionate actions, generous, despicable, magnificent, trivial. But it is unprejudiced. It isn’t Satan vs. Angels. It isn’t Holy Warriors vs. Infidels. It isn’t hobbits vs. orcs. It’s just people vs. people.

Of course you can take sides, and almost everybody does. I try not to, but it’s no use; I just like the Trojans better than the Greeks. But Homer truly doesn’t take sides, and so he permits the story to be tragic. By tragedy, mind and soul are grieved, enlarged, and exalted.

Whether war itself can rise to tragedy, can enlarge and exalt the soul, I leave to those who have been more immediately part of a war than I have. I think some believe that it can, and might say that the opportunity for heroism and tragedy justifies war. I don’t know; all I know is what a poem about a war can do. In any case, war is something human beings do and show no signs of stopping doing, and so it may be less important to condemn it or to justify it than to be able to perceive it as tragic.

But once you take sides, you have lost that ability.

Is it our dominant religion that makes us want war to be between the good guys and the bad guys?

In the War of Good vs. Evil there can be divine or supernal justice but not human tragedy. It is by definition, technically, comic (as in The Divine Comedy): the good guys win. It has a happy ending. If the bad guys beat the good guys, unhappy ending, that’s mere reversal, flip side of the same coin. The author is not impartial. Dystopia is not tragedy.

Milton, a Christian, had to take sides, and couldn’t avoid comedy. He could approach tragedy only by making Evil, in the person of Lucifer, grand, heroic, and even sympathetic — which is faking it. He faked it very well.

Maybe it’s not only Christian habits of thought but the difficulty we all have in growing up that makes us insist justice must favor the good.

After all, 'Let the best man win' doesn’t mean the good man will win. It means, 'This will be a fair fight, no prejudice, no interference — so the best fighter will win it.' If the treacherous bully fairly defeats the nice guy, the treacherous bully is declared champion. This is justice. But it’s the kind of justice that children can’t bear. They rage against it. It’s not fair!

But if children never learn to bear it, they can’t go on to learn that a victory or a defeat in battle, or in any competition other than a purely moral one (whatever that might be), has nothing to do with who is morally better.

Might does not make right — right?

Therefore right does not make might. Right?

But we want it to. 'My strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure.'

If we insist that in the real world the ultimate victor must be the good guy, we’ve sacrificed right to might. (That’s what History does after most wars, when it applauds the victors for their superior virtue as well as their superior firepower.) If we falsify the terms of the competition, handicapping it, so that the good guys may lose the battle but always win the war, we’ve left the real world, we’re in fantasy land — wishful thinking country.

Homer didn’t do wishful thinking.

Homer’s Achilles is a disobedient officer, a sulky, self-pitying teenager who gets his nose out of joint and won’t fight for his own side. A sign that Achilles might grow up someday, if given time, is his love for his friend Patroclus. But his big snit is over a girl he was given to rape but has to give back to his superior officer, which to me rather dims the love story. To me Achilles is not a good guy. But he is a good warrior, a great fighter — even better than the Trojan prime warrior, Hector. Hector is a good guy on any terms — kind husband, kind father, responsible on all counts — a mensch. But right does not make might. Achilles kills him.

The famous Helen plays a quite small part in The Iliad. Because I know that she’ll come through the whole war with not a hair in her blond blow-dry out of place, I see her as opportunistic, immoral, emotionally about as deep as a cookie sheet. But if I believed that the good guys win, that the reward goes to the virtuous, I’d have to see her as an innocent beauty wronged by Fate and saved by the Greeks.

And people do see her that way. Homer lets us each make our own Helen; and so she is immortal.

I don’t know if such nobility of mind (in the sense of the impartial 'noble' gases) is possible to a modern writer of fantasy. Since we have worked so hard to separate History from Fiction, our fantasies are dire warnings, or mere nightmares, or else they are wish fulfillments."

- Ursula K. Le Guin, from No Time to Spare, 2013.

[tls12lessthan3]

throughout the story both kim dokja and han sooyoung define themselves in opposition to yoo sangah. kim dokja defines himself as a reader in contrast to yoo sangah as a protagonist, and han sooyoung defines herself as a villainess in contrast to yoo sangah as a heroine. outsider vs insider, evil vs good. in doing so, they dehumanize themselves and yoo sangah. kim dokja denies himself the agency that he gives a protagonist, positioning himself as merely an observer in both his life and others to cope with his mental health issues. han sooyoung denies herself any emotional or moral complexity, assigning herself a simple role she feels most comfortable in due to her own self worth issues as a way to conceptualize how her 'genre' as changed around her.

as coping strategies, these kinda suck ass. they hurt themselves in doing so, and they hurt yoo sangah. the overlapping roles they assign to her - protagonist and heroine - make unrealistic demands of her, project a perfection that isn't real, put her in a box and ignore all attempts to escape it. they distance themselves from her and damage their relationships in the process. and a large part of yoo sangah's character and arc is her either fighting back against this dehumanization or just refusing to play ball as a way to deconstruct the heroine archetype. when she is dying she uses what seem to be her final moment to make one last escape attempt of kim dokja's idolization of her, reminding him of the pepper incident and forcing him to recognize her as not just a person but a friend. and during moments when she and han sooyoung are at odds, their different attitudes towards it are so stark - han sooyoung regards it as almost a battle of good and evil, whereas yoo sangah sees it as a more personal argument. han sooyoung's discomfort comes from a clashing of philosphies, whereas yoo sangah's comes from the fact han sooyoung is kind of a fucking bitch who has killed people she cares about and might again.

when kim dokja and han sooyoung categorize the world in this way, they dehumanize themselves and their loved ones. and yoo sangah refuses to play along, recognizing both her own and their humanity and forcing that same recognition onto them. when kim dokja and han sooyoung build a wall between themselves and yoo sangah, defining themselves by that distance, yoo sangah climbs it. yoo sangah doesn't just expose the dangers of the small box she gets shoved in, but exposes the others as well. she's an incredibly important character for orv because she does exactly that - it's an extension of her larger role in the narrative as someone who challenges roles and tropes of the genre, who reaches across the divide caused by these expectations we create for ourselves and others and says hey, im just a person, just like you. so maybe we should hang out sometime and just be that, yeah?

[everythingseasoning]

love, forever?

vampire! Suguru Geto x reader x vampire! Satoru Gojo

Tags: Morality, and selfishness vs selflessness themes. // Vampire! Suguru and Satoru, who are vampire hunters that protect humans from evil ones. // Blooming rivalry between Satoru & reader for Suguru’s attention. // AU characters. Satoru is clingier and more emotional than his canon self. Suguru despises the strong (vampires) for hurting the weak (humans). // New vampire lore ;). // Angst. Suguru battling his inner demons, trying to do good despite his vampire nature and urges. // Reader has multiple targets on her back (Naoya appearance!) // Both Suguru and Satoru fall for reader. // Eventual smut in later chapters. //

Chapter Warnings: College party drinking, Reader slaps Satoru, Mentions of blood and feeding, Reader falls in a ditch (LOL), Suggestiveness, MDNI

Chapter Word Count: ~4.3k (it’s worth it!)

NOTE: even if you you saw the teaser already, or any edit of the teaser, please read this chapter, as I’ve edited it a lot, and added in more juicy dialogue & scenes ;)

Ch. 01 | Living Haunted

The drink is nothing short of young and dumb, the blend of tooth-rottingly sweet flavors hitting your taste buds as you stare holes into Suguru’s back. You can see the sculpture of his muscles and beautiful bones through his tight tee, your ex’s sculpted body turned away from you. He’s speaking to a girl you had heard about— the life of all parties, pretty, smart, and fun. You could see that she might be his type. Green jealousy explodes in your chest, along with a poisonous, deep sense of insecurity. The horrible feelings move through your body. Was he moving on already? Did you really mean so little to him? Would she be the one to make him stay?

You take another swig from the plastic blue cup, hoping the painful twisting motion of your heart would be soon dulled. Coca Cola, sherbet, and yakult alcohol would be your poison of the night, you think, swallowing down the concoction as tears prick your eyes. 

“Another one of those people who drinks their troubles away?” 

The voice amidst the bass and booming music causes you to turn, your eyes meeting striking blue ones. Snowy hair rests soft and thick on his head, your heart skipping a beat when you see such a beautiful stranger. 

If you were being honest, you weren’t in the mood to talk to somebody else— not when your heart was still tied right onto Suguru’s. You love Suguru, you really do. The recent past haunts your every waking moment. And even in your dreams, he’s there, chuckling as you braid his hair, the nonfiction book he’s been reading facedown in his lap as your fingers thread his silky locks; He’s watching you with a fond smile as you run ahead of him in the campus garden, jumping amongst the flowers; The warmth and sturdiness of his hands against your face as the two of you kiss— his soft, supple lips meeting yours in that familiar dance and tangle. In your dreams he’s still yours. You both made up. In your dreams, things are warm and right. 

When you wake up in an empty bed, with an aching heart, it just feels cruel. The light slipped away again. You thought you had it. You had your dream come true only to realize it was just that— a fleeting dream. There’s no respite from the memory of all his adoration, thoughtful gestures, all the times you’d stare mesmerized as he sat focused, his eyebrows pinched as he worked… The way he felt when you were wrapped in his embrace, your face buried in his sturdy chest— that feeling of being cared for— 

You missed him bad, with every fiber of your being. 

Suguru is still all you can think about. You’re at this damned college party because, even a month after he’d broken up with you, all you wanted was to be close to him, to see him. It’s pathetic. Knowing he’d be here, knowing you’d be tearing your heart open again, the wound freshly cut back open— and you still came here. How many times had you stalked his social media despite having been removed from his following? 

“Cat got your tongue?” The beautiful stranger breaks you out of your thoughts, forcing a reply. 

“No—” you start to say, raising your voice. It’s just barely audible over the clamor of the party. 

“Really?” He butts in, raising an eyebrow. “‘Cause it seems like there’s some hard evidence against your statement.” His small smile is as unconventional as it is disarming. 

“And you are?” 

“Satoru Gojo, if you haven’t heard about me already. I go here, don’t you know?”

You roll your eyes, scoffing. “And why would I know of you?” 

Satoru just tilts his head ever so slightly, his smile unwavering as he replies, “Your head is under a rock, is what I heard you say.”

Confusion flits across your face before your mouth falls open slightly, a feigned look of offense stretched on your features. You feel like ignoring this pesky person. You glance away for a second, in search of Suguru’s back— the spot he’d been standing in holds a different person, somebody you don’t know, somebody you’re not at all interested in. You frown, scanning the crowd.

Satoru waves a hand in front of your face. You look up at him, annoyed.

“Why are you talking to me?”

“What? Need a reason to talk to a pretty girl?” 

“That’s an overused line,” You shout back, the music so loud you can barely hear yourself. Your attention shifts away from the snowy haired man back to the sea of party goers. You desperately search the throng of buzzing chaos. No sign of Suguru. Just dancing, mingling, kissing, drinking, the typical activities going on under the strobe lights. Fuck.

Suguru, where did you go? Please… Your heart feels like it’s a rock in your stomach. Please don’t tell me you’re fucking her right now in somebody’s bedroom. It’s not my business— but I can’t stand the thought of it—

Satoru chuckles, and you look back at him, unable to hide your expression of pain. You’re about to excuse yourself to find a bathroom to cry in, when he speaks again.

“You’re right. How should I flirt, hm? Wanna coach me? It’ll lift your blues, too,” His smirk would’ve had you folding had you not ever met Suguru. But you did cross paths with the raven-haired man— collided and intertwined, more like— and now nobody compares to him. Nobody would ever be him. 

“Not really. Excuse me,” you begin to say, before turning slightly, about to slip away—

“Suguru is my best friend,” he says. 

You freeze, whipping around now to face Satoru.

“He told me about you— first time he ever told me about anyone, actually. Suguru said you were somebody he actually loved.” Satoru’s cheeky expression has been wiped off, replaced with one of aloof nonchalance and detachment. It’s almost eerie, but your focus isn’t on that.

You’re at a loss for words, eyes caught on Satoru’s, hanging onto everything he says like maybe, just maybe, it means that Suguru wants you back.

“He’s had his fair share of flings and hookups, after all.” Satoru teases, smirking again, bending down to your level.

“I thought I was losing my best friend to a weakling.” His breath is surprisingly chilly against your face. “Turns out you were never the one. Sucks that you couldn’t make him stay.” You feel everything shatter. “Sucks for you, I mean,” Satoru finishes. He leaves out the part where he gloats about being the one Suguru has always admired, and stuck with. 

You’re shocked, mouth hanging open. You’re hurt. You’re aching in confusion about what wasn’t good enough about you. You’re angry and betrayed— all the feelings clash like giant waves crashing against one another inside your heart. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Satoru grins, shrugging. “It means what it means. But I’m curious,” he says, leaning closer, his pearly teeth glinting red under the strobe lights, “What is it about you that had Suguru caught up on ya?” His lips graze your cheek, his voice in your ear, “I don’t get it.”

You slap him before you can realize what you’re doing. Violence is not the answer, but this time, it sure as hell felt like it. Your fingers sting, your panicked thoughts a running train. Did I just? Oh my god! I didn’t— I fucking did—

“I— I’m sorry—” you stammer quickly, eyes wide in shock at your own actions. Satoru is eerily emotionless, staring down at you with those startling ocean eyes. You shiver despite the heat of the stuffy, overcrowded room. 

“Hm.” 

It’s all he says. You open your mouth to speak again, blinking— 

And he’s gone. 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

A swig of the liquor causes the liquid to slosh in the green bottle. 

“Thought you liked shy girls, Suguru?” Satoru pokes, a red handprint on his cheek. He’s kicked back on the couch outside the bathroom, grimacing when the alcohol hits his tongue. He’s spitting it out back into the bottle immediately. 

“I do,” Suguru replies calmly, a streak of lovely bare skin showing amidst the shaving cream on his face. He runs the razor back down, taking off more of the fluffy white foam. 

“Yeesh. Can’t believe we used to drink this shit,” Satoru sticks his tongue on dramatically, tossing the full glass of alcohol across the room. It lands right in the trash bin with a clang. “That’s where it belongs,” he huffs. 

“So?” Satoru prompts, kicking his feet up. “You realize she doesn’t fit your ideal type, right? Why’d you get with her for a whole year, then?”

“She was shy at first,” Suguru says softly, a glint of something like pain in his eyes. He catches Satoru’s gaze on him in the mirror and the glint disappears. Satoru notices, but says nothing, now peeling open a candy from its foil wrapper. 

“And I told you already, Satoru,” Suguru continues, sparing his friend an exasperated glance. “I love—d her.” A blip. A mistake so quickly covered that if it was anyone but Satoru, they’d have missed it.

Blue eyes pierce Suguru. 

“But it wasn’t going to work out. Love isn’t meant for us. You and I… We’re not meant to be with humans,” Suguru murmurs, looking at his face in the mirror. It was myth that vampires didn’t have reflections. They do. But there’s something the myths forgot. Some sort of change is written in a vampire’s eyes. There always has been, and always will be, some sort of difference from a person’s antecedent human form, and their new, evolved one, hidden in their eyes after they turn. Suguru touches his eyebags, dark and heavy. 

That’s not what changed. No. His warm, earthy brown eyes had turned purple the night Satoru turned him. He woke up with them, the day after everything changed. 

Suguru’s tired reflection stares back at him, rich amethyst irises shining like glossy, sharp stars in the mirror. He wishes he didn’t recognize them. Now he’s stuck dealing with people commenting on his “cool contacts,” for the rest of eternity. Suguru exhales deeply, softly, his still, dead heart aching.

“Being undead with a vital thirst for human blood will do that,” Satoru ho-hums, blissfully unaware of the insensitive nature of his obliviousness. 

Suguru is silent, continuing to shave. He grimaces at the knowing that his vampire instincts made him crave you dangerously, the one he loves, more than anything else. It was cursed, his very existence. He was turned into a walking, sentient, functioning monster. The blade knicks his skin. He curses quietly.

“So,” Satoru grunts with chocolate melting on his tongue, grateful that at least his cravings and delight in sweets didn’t change when they turned, “You don’t trust yourself to be around her without hurting her. But you were doing well for a year. What do you say changed?”

Suguru dabs at the blood dripping down his otherwise unmarked face. It would heal, his skin would be perfectly smooth again in a day, not a trace of his mistake, or scar, would remain. All wounds heal within 24 hours for vampires. It’s something Suguru was grateful for, considering his job of being a vampire slayer. 

“My urges got insatiable. Blood bags weren’t enough,” Suguru says curtly. Despite the battle of breaking up with you being long over, Suguru’s mind is a war zone. I couldn’t even look at her… without… needing to taste her blood. His fists clench on the marble sink. It got bad. I almost hurt her.

Satoru stares at his best friend, knowing that in this silence, his mind is a maelstrom. Suguru sees Satoru’s unflinching gaze, but remains quiet. He knows his friend won’t understand. 

But Satoru presses on anyway, nodding, looking bored. 

“Right. You can’t suppress your urges right now. That happened to me too. The second year is the hardest.” Satoru was the one who turned Suguru, after all, on that unwelcomed, fateful night. “It helps when you just feed on multiple pretty girls a night and compel them all to forget— You could’ve had both, you know. Her and human blood from others. You’re so mopey now.” Satoru’s callous remark piques Suguru’s irritation, a flame of anger burning in the raven-haired man’s chest.

“I won’t do that and be in a relationship.” 

“I saw you feeding on that random chick an hour ago. If you and I didn’t always ask for consent before feeding, I’d never have believed she would be okay with that,” Satoru’s eyes gleam playfully. Suguru doesn’t reply, and Satoru deflates. 

“You’re still grumpy. You move around like you’re actually dead, Suguru. You torture yourself by still caring about your ex. She’s nothing special. I don’t get it.” 

Ah. The truth comes out. Suguru’s eyebrows knit, his mouth pressed into a firm line as something dark flickers in his eyes. 

“Satoru, she has a name, and she’s worth something even if you can’t see it. Just shut up.”

“And what worth do you see in her?”

Suguru is silent for a moment. How could he convey the light and warmth that you were in his life? He’d died twice, once literally, once figuratively, and yet— you brought him back. “…She’s… good.”

“And?”

Suguru’s temper flares. “You just don’t get it, so will you just leave it?” He snarls, fangs involuntarily popping out. He curses silently in disgust at what he has become. 

“You’re such a grouch nowadays,” Satoru huffs, before popping another chocolate into his mouth. He gets up, stretching. 

“Well. I need to feed again.” 

“Be safe about it. And I’m not referring to your safety,” Suguru says sternly, his whole head turned to look at Satoru now, some white foam still on the man’s face. 

“Yeah, yeah, mom, I got it.” With that, Satoru pulls his black coat over his lean, muscled body, a wolfish grin on his face as he slips out the apartment door. Did he need the black coat? No. Not at all. Vampires don’t get cold. They’re already icy to the touch. But it helps him blend in, both with humans and the night. 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You’re intoxicated. It’s two AM and you’re stumbling around campus like a fucking idiot. 

Well how about that? Satoru spies you from across the quad, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. 

He slips through the shadows. 

You nearly jump when a tall, dark figure appears before you, looming over you. 

Snowy hair shines in the lamplight, blue eyes flashing like glaciers, staring right at you. You swear they flash red for a second.

“You again?” You slur your words. You aren’t scared. He’s Suguru’s best friend, which means he by extension must be a good guy. Almost as if he hears your thoughts, Satoru grins. His teeth are brilliant, his canines shining ivory and glistening like expensive accessory jewels.

If Satoru was being honest, this was a chance to understand the enemy. The golden goal would be to get Suguru to forget about you and move on, so his best friend could finally look and be alive again, the two of them happily slaying the vampires that hurt humans— and this was the first step in his plan. 

“Hey,” he nearly purrs, slinking around you as you take a step forward— stumbling a bit— 

Cold fingers grip you firmly, holding you upright. Satoru: 1, gravity: 0. 

“You’re fucking making me freeze even more!” You retort, snapping at him as you yank your warm arm away from his cool grasp. You were more than tipsy, but you recalled his rudeness from earlier.

He lets you go and you teeter. “Just trying to help. You sure aren’t shy, huh?” Satoru remarks.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You spit out, the question giving you both Deja vu.

“It means what it means,” Satoru grins. Deja-fucking-vu. You’re getting fed up now, huffing and mumbling under your alcohol-tinged breath, an insult that Satoru’s super hearing picks up on. He stifles a laugh. You keep walking. 

“Wait,” Satoru calls out. You don’t turn around or slow your snail-like pace. He strides up to you in two quick, lengthy steps. He bends, entering your vision, his teeth sharp and protruding from his close lipped smile. Were they always that long?

“I’m great at reading people. And as much as you want to deny it, your heart is beating faster around me.” He suppresses his urge to poke your ribcage, directly over the beating muscle. 

“Shut up,” you growl. 

“You could make me, you know.”

“There you go again with that cliche flirting,” you snort. 

“And here I am again, asking if you’re offering lessons. Though the better question would be if you’re even qualified to give them,” Satoru grins.

He keeps up with your sluggish pace as you try to make your way back to the dorms.

“What do you want from me? Don’t you think it’s weird to be flirting with your best friend’s ex?” 

You think this will shut him up. That, or he’ll have a lame excuse. But for the first time in this second conversation you’re having with him, his answer changes.

“If I’m being honest,” he speaks in a rich, velvety, low voice, and you almost feel entranced, your feet stopping, your gaze resting on Satoru. “I’m doing this for him. And about what I want?” 

You sway in the chilly night breeze, barely registering anything but the sound of his voice. 

“I want to know you better,” he purrs. You’re breathless as he continues, his voice like a siren in your ear, “If you were sober, would you let me bite you?”

He pulls away, and you’re back to your senses in a second. You feel like slapping him again. You almost do, but your hand misses, causing you to stumble. 

“Too slow!” He cackles as you tumble onto the ground, your dress flying up.

You look absolutely humiliated, livid, and harmless from the ground, eyes narrowed in deep hatred for this weirdo. 

“Need a hand?” Satoru smirks, his tall, silhouetted form outlined in light from the lamp behind him. 

You push off the cold cement, ignoring him, fuming silently as you continue your drunken walk to the dorms. That typical pang of hunger hits Satoru out of the blue, impelling him to leave.

“I have to go now. See you around,” Satoru says, before disappearing, the need to find a sober person he can get consent from to feed on overpowering him. 

Suddenly the night is quiet again, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. You keep walking, not realizing that there are no longer lamps to light the way until you’re surrounded by darkness. You aren’t familiar with this part of campus, squinting to see the road sign to your right. You barely make out the words ‘Under Construction’ written in bold black letters, and you shiver as the cool breeze swings through the area. A snapping twig sounds behind you and your eyes widen, fear running through your intoxicated bloodstream. 

“Hello?” You call out. You hate to admit it, but you regret letting Satoru leave. Nobody answers.

You take another step into the darkness, speeding up your pace. Another snap of a twig, and you’re breaking out into a full blown run now— blood rushes through your ears—

Something catches your foot, and you tumble forward, falling down into a ditch, knocking out.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Satoru sighs contentedly, his eyes crossing as he swallows his last gulp of blood for the night. The woman is staring at the ceiling with a lovestruck look, the pleasure from the toxin in his fangs acting like a drug. He releases his lips from her skin, licking at the two puncture marks on her neck. 

“Fuck…” She mewls, leaning in to kiss Satoru. He lets her kiss him.

“Look at me,” Satoru commands gently, his voice taking on a different tone now— and she’s under his spell in an instant. 

“Forget this entire interaction. Forget that you ever saw me. Forget that I fed on you. Don’t question the slight tenderness in your neck tomorrow morning. Associate it with sleeping weirdly,” he murmurs, and she’s caught on his every word, nodding when he stops talking. 

“Good.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Satoru retraces his steps, walking on the road he last saw you on. His teeth have retracted, going back to a normal length, as they always do after he’s fed. Yeah, he may be selfish, jealous, and dislike you— but he’s not a villain. It’s late, you are intoxicated, and he still wants to make sure you’re okay. 

“She’s probably fast asleep back at her dorm. I’m just wasting my time,” he grumbles in the dark. But he just has this funny feeling, like something happened, and now he’s acting like some lovesick fool that worries and checks in on their lover. 

Blood. Satoru smells it, that familiar, rich, sharp scent that sends a rush of electricity through his body. Because he just fed, his brain doesn’t light up as it usually would, and he realizes that somebody is hurt— and that somebody is probably you. 

Satoru’s legs are a blur as he races towards the source—

He stands over a dirt edge, a hole in the path made by the ongoing construction. You lay in the ditch looking like a broken doll, effectively knocked out. There’s a gash on your arm and knee. 

“Fuck,” Satoru curses, quickly climbing down to get to you. He’s by your side in a flash, checking your pulse. It’s normal. He feels the tension in his body drain. You’re probably just passed out from the combination of alcohol and falling in a ditch. Satoru rolls his eyes, huffing, “Idiot,” as he scoops you up into his arms. 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

He didn’t know what to do. Leave you in the hallway of the coed dorm? Drop you off at the 24/hour care station? He figured he should do the latter, and so he went. 

He dings the bell at the front desk, shifting to readjust your relaxed body. Ten seconds go by. During that time, Satoru finds himself staring at your face, a few smears of dirt on your skin. You breathe in and out, because you have to. It’s not like him and Suguru, who breathe to fake their normalness and blend in. They have no need for oxygen. Your lips look so soft. Your chest rising and falling gently, you look totally at peace, and Satoru is mesmerized. He gets lost in the rhythm of your breaths for a moment— the steady beat of your heart bringing about a peace and longing ache in his own lifeless one. He snaps out of his daze, and rings the bell again, huffing impatiently. Another ten seconds go by, and he starts to spam the bell. 

“Where are they?” He grumbles. Satoru slips behind the desk, frowning and pissy, looking into the back room. Nobody is there. 

“Seriously?” 

He can’t just leave you here when the door is unlocked and the place is unattended. Satoru curses under his breath again, looking down at your sleeping face, your body curled against his frame in his arms. 

“Guess Suguru has to confront his demons tonight,” Satoru sighs, not realizing the weight of the statement he’s just uttered.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Sweet, mouth-watering, the scent of a dream— it wafts through the hallway, into his room, and Suguru wakes up with a growling stomach. 

Human blood. One that smells absolutely ravishing. Suguru sits up, alert and awake, wondering if Satoru brought back somebody to share, somebody who wanted to be fed on and possibly fucked by the two of them. The raven-haired man stands up and tears open his door—

Satoru is hunched over a body on the couch. Suguru makes his way over, his fangs protruding, his amethyst eyes glinting with hunger—

Satoru finishes wiping the blood off your arm, the sight of the red cloth in his hand making Suguru freeze when he realizes Satoru brought back a hurt person.

“Satoru–” 

Satoru turns, standing up, and Suguru finally catches a glimpse of who is on their couch. If his heart was beating, it would have skipped a beat. 

Suguru’s eyes are wide, his mouth agape. You?

“Hey,” the snowy-haired vampire says. “Before you get pissed—!”

Suguru is crossing the living room in a flash, shoving Satoru up against the wall. Suguru’s head is ringing, swirling with hunger, anger, fear, grief, and shame. Something as seemingly small as the sight of you did that to him. 

“Did you fucking hurt her? I swear to god, if you so much as touched a hair on her head—” Suguru hisses before Satoru shoves his best friend back, scowling.

“Listen for a second! She was in a ditch when I found her, okay? By the construction site. I may not like this little pest of a weakling, but I didn’t hurt her,” Satoru retorts. Suguru backs off, clenching his fists so hard that it draws red blood of his own. His eyes burn holes into the floorboards. 

Satoru watches, a beat of silence passing before he speaks up, “Hey, Suguru. Just… just take a moment to get a hold of yourself. If you have to take a walk…”

What Satoru didn’t understand was how absolutely feral Suguru was for you, down to a chemical level. Bringing you around was enough to make Suguru’s head pound with a dizzying need to feast on you— but bringing you when you were bleeding? Suguru is feeling white hot need pulse throughout his body.

“She— she’s not supposed to be here—” Suguru manages to say, his voice strained. 

“Why–”

“She can’t be by me!” Suguru roars, looking up from the ground to meet Satoru’s shocked gaze. Suguru’s purple eyes are filled with a storm of anger and pain, and Satoru opens his mouth to apologize—

But Suguru is gone in a blink, the door to their apartment creaking as yellow light from the hallway spills in, falling on your face, painting you in a soft glow. 

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[deception-united]

Let's talk about writing fantasy.

Fantasy is one of my favourite genres, to read and to write. But the worldbuilding required and the existing tropes can make it difficult to craft a unique, compelling novel. There are a number of less-discussed nuances that might not always be at the forefront of writing discussions. Here are some tips to help you out:

Ground it in reality: Even though fantasy allows for boundless imagination, grounding your world in elements familiar to readers can make it more relatable and believable. Making it too otherworldly can make it difficult to understand or follow, and will likely make it much more difficult to interweave the explanation of your world and its society into the text seamlessly.

Consistency: Fantasy worlds can be complex, with their own rules, magic systems, and histories. Ensure consistency in your worldbuilding, avoiding contradictions or sudden changes without explanation. I find it helpful to keep a world bible or notes to track details and maintain coherence throughout the story.

Character-driven plots: While epic battles and magical quests are exciting, don't forget that compelling characters drive the heart of any story. Develop multi-dimensional characters with strengths, weaknesses, and personal arcs that resonate with readers (see my post on character development for more).

Avoid clichés and stereotypes: Fantasy often draws from familiar tropes and archetypes, but try not to rely on them too heavily. Subvert expectations and breathe new life into old conventions by adding unique twists or exploring lesser-known mythologies and cultures. Make it your own!

Magic has consequences: Magic adds wonder to fantasy worlds, but it should also have limitations and consequences. Consider the societal, environmental, and personal impacts of magic on your world and characters. A well-defined magic system can enhance the depth and realism of your story.

Worldbuilding through storytelling: Instead of dumping large chunks of exposition, reveal your fantasy world gradually through character interactions, dialogue, and plot progression. Show, don't tell, and let readers piece together the intricacies of your world as they journey through your story (check out my previous post on worldbuilding for more tips).

Embrace diversity: Fantasy worlds should reflect the diversity of our own world. Include characters from various backgrounds, cultures, and identities, and explore themes of inclusivity and acceptance within your narrative.

Conflict beyond good vs. evil: While the battle between good and evil is a classic fantasy trope, consider adding layers of moral ambiguity and complexity to your conflicts. Explore themes of power, redemption, and the consequences of choices made in the face of adversity.

Research is essential: Even in a world of imagination, research plays a crucial role in grounding your story in reality. Whether it's drawing inspiration from historical events, cultural practices, or scientific principles, thorough research can enrich your worldbuilding and add depth to your narrative. Even fantasy worlds and elements require some sort of basis to make them more believable.

Revise: Like any genre, writing fantasy requires extensive revision and polishing. Be prepared to revise your manuscript multiple times, seeking feedback from beta readers or critique partners to strengthen your story, characters, and worldbuilding.

Happy writing!

Previous | Next

[vath-and-such-vinluv-s-stuff]

UNCLE SAMSONITE VS UNCLE GRANDPA

The Ultimate Battle between Chaotic Good and Chaotic Evil. Whichever Uncle wins, we lose.

[gusty-wind]

THE BATTLE BETWEEN GOOD vs EVIL

[casscainmainly]

Jason being turbo evil during the Dickbats era is so interesting when thinking about Black Mirror. I don't think it's intentional, but SO many things could be read differently in the context of Dick and Jason's relationship.

Like the core theme in Black Mirror is letting go vs. not letting go, which manifests in the circus motif of holding onto someone who's falling:

Importantly, Dick is on the side of letting go. Of releasing, of letting things fall. It's probably just meant to distinguish him from Bruce, but it's interesting that this is happening post-Battle for the Cowl, which ended with this scene (in Battle for the Cowl #3):

This fall represents Dick's inability to save Jason, and Jason's unwillingness to save himself. So the falling/letting go motif in Black Mirror could be read in direct response to this - he had to let go of Jason (physically and emotionally) to become Batman.

Jason's name never appears in Black Mirror, and he is only alluded to once. In an auction selling off items of horrific value, the auctioneer puts up the crowbar that Joker beat Jason with for sale:

This crowbar is what Dick is using in the above image where he says "the feeling is like slipping, like your hands sliding out of the hands holding you". This again connects Jason to Dick's philosophy of letting go, but Dick never actually thinks about Jason. His internal monologue here is entirely general, despite him holding the item that killed his brother; his mentality has completely let go of Jason, to the point where he doesn't think about him anymore.

Dick's response to Alfred finding the crowbar is also interesting:

There's something dismissive about the way he says "just toss it in the river," yet it's clear (through his shadowed facial expression) that the crowbar deeply troubles him. It's the war between letting go (tossing it in the river) and not letting go (keeping the crowbar). He then talks about the growing evil of Gotham, which is another of Black Mirror's motifs - being unable to recognise something that was once familiar. I wonder how much of that is also linked to Jason, whose turn in Battle for the Cowl is described by Dick as "a flipped switch".

Jason's words also echo throughout Black Mirror. In Batman and Robin #6, as well as Battle for the Cowl #3, Jason is the most vocal about Dick being a bad successor for Bruce:

Dick's insecurities about being a good Batman in Black Mirror can be traced back to these conversations, and Jason gets Dick so bad in Batman and Robin that Dick actually tries to resurrect Bruce in the next issues. Despite Jason never appearing in Dick's internal monologues, it's clear he heavily affects Dick's actions and beliefs, or at the very least compounds his insecurities as Batman.

Of course, the most obvious parallel to Jason is James Gordon, Barbara's (clinically) psychopathic brother. I think Babs and Dick mirror each other a lot here - they both have the attitude of 'letting go' of their respective brothers, whereas Jim represents holding on. The narrative itself, though, implies Jim is right:

Holding on isn't about forgiving James for his actions, but about never giving up on him. About believing that he (and, by extension, Gotham) deserves someone who will stay and fight (to protect them, and to protect others from them). Dick comes to understand this:

Dick uses the word "redeemed" here on himself, implying he feels he needs to be redeemed for something - in the context of this post, we could read it as his failure to save Jason, a failure baked into his adoption of the Batman mantle from the start. More importantly, this monologue shows a shift in Dick's philosophy. The idea of letting go is the idea of mobility, something Black Mirror hammers home with the circus imagery. Here, Dick is rejecting that in favour of stability - of staying still, or fighting instead of dodging.

If the New 52 hadn't interrupted the Dickbats era, it would've been interesting to see Dick deal with Jason in this new light. He's tried to help Jason before, but kind of accepted that Jason would never use it:

Post-Black Mirror, though, I think Dick would have a different approach to 'saving' Jason. Idk I just think there's some untapped potential in their dynamic that this era represents, as it indicates a potential repairing of their relationship rooted not necessarily in Dick's love for Jason, but in Dick's newfound approach to Gotham and redemption.

[nastasya--filippovna]

After two and a half years of hyperfixating on Good Omens I FINALLY had a Good Omens dream. In my dream I watched the ending of season 3 and apparently at the end there is like a big battle between heaven+hell vs Aziraphale and Crowley (who are still not talking all throughout the season) + all of humanity. They win but Aziraphale gets seriously injured and he takes to bed rest in his very fancy, very extravagantly luxurious Victorian mansion, and Muriel is his primary caregiver & since they love to cosplay so much they dress up in a little Victorian nurse costume with the little apron and pinafore and frilly cap and all. And one day when Aziraphale is feeling a little better Crowley asks them to let him see his angel and Muriel tells him that they can accompany him when they will take Azi's dinner up for him.

When they go to his chambers at dinner time Muriel tells Crowley to wait outside while they take the soup in and ask Aziraphale if he wants to see Crowley. Crowley stays quietly but presses his ear to the door the minute Muriel shuts it behind them. He hears muffled conversation he can't quite make out and then Aziraphale shouts : "It's disgusting, it's horrid, it's abhorrent and anomalous, and above all it's WICKED and it's EVIL! I don't want to see it ever again. Take it away from me!"

Crowley lets out a quite sob and dashes down and corridor and drives away from the mansion forever, heartbroken eternally.

Muriel walks out of the room confused to find the demon gone and the bowl of soup, still full, in their hands. Of course Aziraphale was only talking about the soup.

~ The End~

[liittleemiixeer]

I know this theory has already been thought but I wanna delve deeper into it. I think the man who appears at the end of s2 ep1 is Abel. I know there have been theories about him being a demon hunter, but some of the reasons I'm not that sure he is one are tied to the circumstances of his appearance and the context provided by the narrative.

[long rant ahead hehehe]

Both look unusually pale and have a similar face structure, and the contrast of white hair vs. black hair makes me believe he might be the abel to his cain lmao. The contrast suggests an obvious juxtaposition, as if they were meant to be two sides of the same coin.

We know Cain hasn’t visited Heaven in a long time, and his strained relationships with the other immortals hint at a larger, unresolved conflict (they basically gossip about him going against his own family). AND let's not forget the deeper context here. In the biblical narrative, they're the first children of Adam and Eve. Then, Cain kills Abel out of jealousy after God favors Abel's offering over his own. But what if in HSR Abel never truly died? What if he survived and is now on a mission to confront his brother, perhaps to stop him from causing further destruction or to seek vengeance for what he did to him?

If Abel somehow endured, it would make sense for him to appear now, especially after we’ve just learned about Cain’s alternative, more destructive form. Besides, the fact that Pileon, a demon, is the one who finds him is rather telling. If this character were a demon hunter, it seems unlikely that a demon would be the one to discover him in such a vulnerable state—bloodied, weakened, and seemingly at the end of a fierce battle. The timing of this man’s arrival—just as we uncover Cain's darker nature—is too precise to be coincidental.

As a philologist, plotwise, him being Abel would certainly make sense in the context of the story's themes—of survival, moral conflict, and the struggles between heavenly and demonic forces in a world devastated by apocalyptic events. His return could add a layer of depth to the ongoing narrative, representing a force of justice or redemption against Cain's darker tendencies.

Moreover, if this mysterious character were simply a demon hunter, his appearance might lack the same emotional and thematic weight. However, as Abel, his presence would be deeply significant and would make great storytelling. He would embody not just a force of opposition against Cain, but a figure who brings moral complexity and personal stakes to the narrative. He could even represent vengeance, adding layers to the conflict between good and evil in a world ravaged by apocalyptic forces.

With all that being said, if he ends up being a demon hunter or something completely different, I'd really like to see a compelling reason for it. Something that works as a plot device that deepens it even more. Since Alexandra is doing an amazing job with HSR, I don't doubt her, she'll excel at it!!!

[petulant-plants]

I feel like a see a lot of speculation about ‘the Sun King and The Lady are the real bad guys of the story’ and ‘maybe Sarcean wasn’t so bad after all’ kind of stuff…

And I think there is definitely more going on between them that makes the story less light vs dark, black vs white. But I also think that the overall story kind of plays with nature vs. nurture (or circumstance) and that in one context someone can do “evil” and in another do “good”. I don’t think it’s bad thing if Sarcean was a bad guy who did bad things, like making and using the collar, like killing all those people. Of course I believe it’s more nuanced than a black and white, light and dark, good and bad. But just because there’s nuance doesn’t mean the rolls flip and that secretly the whole time the light were the real bad guys and the dark was fighting the good fight.

I feel like if that is the case then it might neglect all the inner turmoil the characters have had to go through to try and understand their rolls in this new old world. If Sarcean maybe actually had a point and was doing the right thing, then Will’s battle with himself and his desires doesn’t mean as much because he’s not actually fighting any dark impulses