#i normally have so much empathy for him

[im-getting-help]

when i said that, to me, Felix is Lolita, i meant it as like "we are watching the story from Oliver's perspective. All that he percieved as truth is not necessarily what happened or how it happened. We can choose to believe him or reject his version of the story and piece something else based of details" and "Felix was more a fantasy than a real person" and "Oliver did awful things that he justified in the name of love".

I didn't meant it as in "Oliver abused Felix".

[adhdo5]

To be so honest I think Lan Wangji is the character the donghua fumbles the hardest

[prolibytherium]

Literally spiraling into a crisis over not knowing how to text like a human being

[beegswaz]

I MISSED BUG. BEING CORRECT ABOUT WHEATLEY..???? WHY IS THE WORLD SO CRUEL.

[justablah56]

oh my GOD what an episode ,,

[imsobadatnicknames2]

ok but i need the evrart claire essay

Okay just be warned that this is gonna be less of an "essay" and more of a loose collection of thoughts, and I don't know how fresh or novel any of these ideas are going to be when it pertains to popular Disco Elysium fan discourse because I don't really do fandom, you know?

Anyway, I think the most obvious factet of Evrart's character is how he very intentionally calls to mind a caricature of corrupt union leaders, the image of a sleazy mobster who only cares about his own personal gain but pays lip service to leftist politics and pretends to care about the interests of workers as a way to obtain and maintain his power. And I think a lot of people straightforwardly read him as such, because that's the way he carries himself and the type of character the game is riffing on. There's also the question of how much of Evrart's manipulative, duplicitous attitude is just how he normally acts and how much of it is him specifically acting that way towards Harry and Kim specifically, it's important to have in mind that your main character is a cop and that would definitely play a role in making Evrart go out of his way to be a bit more of a bastard and toy with you a bit before he decides to actually do anything helpful.

However, once you dig a little deeper into his characterization, it becomes clear that he's pulling a very interesting double bluff, because it becomes apparent that the shady mobster who only cares about his personal gain is an act he's putting on. He's very self-aware about the fact that he's playing the villain, he seems to actively revel in it, but ultimately, it seems like he does it because playing the villain is the way he gets shit done.

This is not to say he's not actually corrupt, or that he's not ALSO involved in all sorts of shady stuff and taking advantage of his position of power, but the game does make it apparent that on some level he DOES have the interests of the people of Martinaise at heart.

For example, it is textually stated that the harbor doesn't need a night watchman, and Evrart created the position specifically to provide a source of income for René. He knows the pension Rene gets is not enough for him to live on, but he's also aware that René is the sort of right-wing guy who would rather starve to death than take a handout (especially from those dirty union commies), so Evrart created a job position which pretty much involves doing nothing for a few hours every night so he could help him with his economic troubles in a way he wouldn't refuse out of principle. René hates his guts, ideologically stands against everything his organization represents, and is generally an unlikeable asshole and a fascist prick, but he's also a disadvantaged member of the community and that seems to matter more.

Even when he asks you to get the signatures to build the community center, which is definitely one of the most morally questionable things he does during the events of the game (as it will improve the community, but at the same time displace the people from the fishing village), his intentions seem to be ultimately good. Due to the very nature of his character and the act he puts on, it's purposefully hard to tell when he's being sincere and when he's being manipulative. However, if Harry's drama and empathy skills are high enough when he's confronted about it, you'll be able to tell that he's not lying about his motives for wanting to build a community center or about the fact that he intends to provide better housing for the people displaced by the project, and that he feels genuine rage about their current living conditions. It can still be said that he's ignoring their self-determination and essentially forcing these people out of their current homes, but he does seem to have good intentions and think he's doing a good thing for them in the long run, even if his methods are morally questionable at best.

In that way, the Union is an extension of him in this regard too. They're pretty unapologetic about the fact that they're openly operating as a crime syndicate, but the game doesn't give you any reasons to believe they're lying when they say they're doing it as a way to muslce out all the more dangerous gangs and crime organizations out of Martinaise, or that their involvement in the drug trade is at least partially motivated by a desire to make sure it's not controlled by more dangerous and violent crime organizations. Again, they're playing the villain as a way to fill that power vacuum and make sure more dangerous people don't fill that role (but of course, that doesn't erase the fact that, noble as their intentions may be, they're still involved in all these shady activities and turning a pretty substantial profit from them too)

Of course, on the other hand, just because the game seems to hint at the fact that Evrart and the Union are, deep down, a force for good, doesn't erase the fact that he's done plenty of bad shit to further his interests, and the game doesn't shy away from this. He's still extremely corrupt, his long-term plan to wrestle control of the harbor away from the company and turn it into a worker-owned operation (which *would* massively improve the material conditions of the dockworkers if succesful) involves endangering the lives of a lot of his own workers, he and his brother Edgar pass the position of union foreman back and forth between each other to circumvent the term limit and keep themselves in power indefinitely, and if you explore all dialogue options with the Deserter it's all but explicitly stated that they rose to power by getting him to assassinate the previous Union forewoman.

These are things that Evrart himself would probably rationalize as sacrifices that need to be made for the greater good. After all, it is implied that the previous union forewoman was also corrupt, except in favor of the company's interests, and might have even been a company plant. However, this doesn't make those things morally right. Good intentions nonwithstanding, it's clear that the Claire brothers are very "the ends justify the means" kind of people, they probably see getting the previous Union leader killed or endangering the lives of the dockworkers to overthrow the company that exploits them as "pulling the lever" in the trolley problem, which is extremely callous at best.

Here's where we get a little more into "disjointed thoughts" territory, but Evrart can also be seen as a critique of the limits of trade unionism and social democrat politics. Something that I completely missed in my first playthrough but was able to catch on during my second is that the people of the fishing village refuse to unionize, and as a result they don't get the same level of support and protection that the union provides to the people of the more urban section of Martinaise. This is apparently widely known enough for characters other than Evrart to comment on (I forget what character I learned this from, but it was definitely not Evrart). So it's clear that Evrart and the Union put their interests of the members of their own organization over those of other working class people, which is one criticism that can be leveraged against the way a lot of leftists seem to treat unions as the ultimate tool for worker class liberation.

Similarly, when Evrart tells you his long-term plans, it's clear that his ultimate goals don't involve complete worker liberation. As far as the game shows, he's a socdem who's still looking to work within the confines of capitalism. There are more radically left wing characters in Disco Elysium, but Evrart is the only one with any actual power to affect change, which kinda speaks to the lack of presence of more hardline leftist positions in mainstream politics. As someone living in Latin America, I kinda ended up seeing a bit of a lot of our currrent socdem politicians in him in that respect, I guess, but i'd need more time to articulate this thought properly, I guess.

Ultimately, I think Evrart is an amazingly crafted character. He evokes a well-known archetype of a shady, corrupt, power-hungry union leader, but he adds a lot of depth, self-awareness, and nuance to it and subverts that characterization in several ways. I think he atually serves an important role of ideologically challenging players who share the developers' and writers' political leanings. I think it would have been very self-congratulatory and autocomplacent to make the most influential leftist character in the game an unambiguously good paragon of workers' rights and working class liberation. By instead giving us someone who's an absolute callous bastard who definitely has a bit of blood on his hands, who's a socdem at best and a self-serving mob boss at worst, but can ultimately be interpreted as a force for good, and asking the players to decide what they think of him I think it brings interesting questions to the table of our commitment to material gains, what sorts of people we're willing to work with, and the sort of acts we're willing to tolerate, and makes the game a lot more thematically rich.

I also think a good analysis of Evrart is incomplete without an analysis of the ways in which he serves a a charater foil for Joyce, but I don't feel like getting into that rn.

[bookdragonideas]

Here's the thing. I'm a girl, and as a girl, I really like it when girls are portrayed in fiction. Especially fantasy.

But so much fiction/fantasy mixes up 'girls' with 'unstoppable forces of female badass' and there's not necessarily anything wrong with having a character who is an 'unstoppable forces of female badass'. But it gets old real quick. And it is not the same as portraying normal girls, or having good female characters.

And that's one of the many reasons I love Avatar the Last Airbender.

Because all the girl characters have flaws and weaknesses and sometimes act like idiots or jerks. They get emotional and make mistakes. They lose fights or arguments or are just wrong sometimes. Some of them are amazing warriors, and some aren't. Some are powerful or special and some are normal, with nothing special about them.

And I Love that.

I was around the same age as Katara when I first watched Atla. And I instantly connected with her as a character. I loved her optimistic attitude and her fighting spirit. And I could relate with her anger, and with her maternal instinct. I admired her fighting skills of course, but I loved how the show portrayed her compassion and kindness, the way she could both beat up a bunch of bullies AND enjoy a relaxing day at the spa. She was a baddass warrior that should never be crossed. But she was also a normal teenage girl who had a lot of the same internal struggles and problems that I did.

(I never connected to Toph on the same level, but I did relate to her on a few things. She's an adorable trash gremlin who would commit any crime for fun and I love that. But she struggles with being both independent and letting people help her, and I still struggle with that sometimes. I've learned that sometimes, you can help others by letting them help you.)

Yue is, in my opinion, a perfect example of a type of hero that seems to be disappearing. She is not a warrior. She is not a fighter. She's not even a bender.

Yue is a perfect princess, a perfect daughter. She is extremely feminine in a rather older sense.

And she was the only one who could save the world. She gave up everything for her people. She saved everything, everyone, the entire world. Without ever becoming a fighter.

Yue is a perfect example of a girl who was never more than a girl, and how that's okay. Not every girl has to be rough and tumble and fight for her rights in order to change everything. Sometimes it's okay to just be a quiet obedient girly girl. Sometimes that's all it takes to be a hero.

And I love that. Yue is strong in her own way. She is unique and interesting. She appears in only a few episodes and yet manages to be one of my favorite characters.

Song is another great example of this. Song is a healer in a small town. We don't see much of her but we see her compassion and empathy. She is gentle and generous. A healer not a fighter.

She watches Zuko steal her ostrich horse and does nothing.

Is that because she's kind and generous and knows he needs it more? Or is it because she's a healer girl who knows she can't actually stop those two from taking the horse? Maybe neither, maybe both. I have always thought that the scene where Zuko steals the horse and only the audience knows she saw it is one of the most thought-provoking in the series.

Suki is a badass warrior woman who is an awesome fighter and good leader. She is one of the best non bender fighter we see in the entire show. She was one of the smartest, most efficient, and powerful characters we ever saw.

She kissed a boy she had just met because she thought he was cute.

Now don't get me wrong I love SokkaxSuki. Its one of the best couples in the show.

But Suki totally did the old 'love at first sight' thing. And that is awesome. Because when she kisses him she delivers one of the best lines, not only from her, but, I think, in the entire show.

"I AM a warrior, but I'm a girl too."

Being a warrior doesn't mean that she isn't also a teenage girl. She might be a fighter, but she still gets crushes and likes to flirt with cute boys. And hey, she picked a good one. Not every boy is going to come break you out of prison.

Anyways, let's have more realistic girls in fiction. And please enjoy the next 24 hours.

[psychemochanight]

Ok, but a canon-divergent AU where Bruce is a terrible father figure to Dick, but he doesn't know it.

Of course, in canon Bruce is far from being a perfect father (even a good one in many cases), but at least he cares about Dick, even if he has a peculiar way of showing it (I'm talking to you, Bruce, who decides if saving the world is worth it only if Dick will be okay).

But imagine an AU where everything happened the same, or almost, except that neither Alfred nor Bruce cared to show, not even kindness, but that much empathy for Dick. However, in this AU Dick's father was not very affectionate either, so Dick does not associate male figures as affectionate.

It's not until Dick is with his team that he learns... That's not normal.

Dick: So... You guys didn't train until you pass out? Weren't you taught that the only way to get better is to push your own limits?

Roy: *wanting to kill Bruce* No, Dick. The first thing they teach you is how to stay safe, you know, avoid getting to the point where you pass out from the effort.

Dick: Oh.

Donna: Dick, you should rest, you're hurt. You literally have a broken ankle.

Dick, who is at the gym, doing arm exercises and twists that are not at all safe for an injured person: I'm fine, Donna. I'm just warming up. I've been on patrol in worse conditions.

Donna: Wdym by that? Worse???

Dick: Yes...? Villains don't take a break just because you're hurt, you know that.

Donna: That's why there are other heroes to help!

Dick: Don't you guys have a rule about not taking help from anyone? That shows weakness and...

Donna: No, Dick, no.

Dick, confused: Oh.

Wally: Please tell me you're not doing that thing again.

Dick: What thing?

Wally: Not sleeping or eating to be on guard.

Dick: Well, it's my job, so...

Wally: You. Are. A. Human. YOU NEED REST AND FOOD.

Dick: I'm fine, it's not like...

Wally: Don't you dare say that Batman made you stay in those conditions for more days. That's NOT normal, Dick.

Dick: ... It's not?

Dick: So... you guys aren't on guard all the time waiting for your mentors to surprise attack you to test your reflexes?

Roy: I swear to God I gonna kill him.

Donna: I'll help.

Wally: On it.

Dick: *panics*

It's even worse for his friends when they discorver that his siblings are being treated much better, as after he leaves, Bruce and Alfred finally begin to notice how to treat children.

Dick was literally trial and error.

[zylev-blog]

Danny had been sent across the dimensions to correct the flow of time more than once. He had stopped zombie invasions, a robot named vision, saved Ancient Greece(and somehow became a minor diety in their religion), and much more. With each new mission he learned a lesson, which was what Clockwork had intended for him. He learned compassion, empathy, and kindness, but he also learned bravery, how to be cunning, and how to outsmart the enemy. Over the last few years his Fenton genes kicked in, making him a tall 6”6, and he was still growing. It had gotten harder to blend in as a human as he came into more power than he had had as a teenager, but he was managing.

Clockwork had let him have some time off to himself, so he headed to one of his favorite dimensions, a Justice League timeline. He was strolling around Central City, watching Flash zooming around taking out bad guys. He didn’t need to help; Flash had it completely under control and he would only get in the way. He could admire Flash’s resilience and bravery as he took down the big bad of the day.

It took longer than it should have, but Flash eventually noticed his presence. He stopped running, coming to a halt beside Danny, looking his ghost form up and down, as if assessing his threat level.

“What’s up?” He asked casually.

“Not much,” Flash responded with a shrug, “Just normal things.”

He nodded. “I see.”

“Do you want to get dinner after this?” Flash offered.

He blinked in surprise. Did Flash just ask him out on a date?

“Sure, I’m not busy.” He grinned.

Flash rejoined the fight with renewed energy, seeming more like he was showing off than fighting. He chuckled to himself. This should be interesting.

[soleilapproves]

burnt out reader crying about her grades while being fucked by ex convict!Sukuna / alternate title: Sukuna discovers empathy.

Notes: fem/afab!reader, NSFW, angst to fluff (I think), comfort. This is related to the burnt out reader x ex convict!sukuna prompt I posted earlier.

main masterlist

Everything was so overwhelming. From the rumpled sheets beneath your rocking body to the dimness of the room- Sukuna said he’d rather keep the lights off. Something about coming too soon if he saw your face.

You were spent. Mentally and physically. You didn’t have the energy in you to moan, only letting out breathless pants as Sukuna’s cock roughly moved in and out from your spasming hole. You had come long ago by his fingers so all you were waiting for was for his release so you could leave his apartment and sleep in your own bed as soon as possible.

Sleep.

Something you had been missing for days, trying to cram in everything as much as possible for the back to back exams in the coming weeks. Normally, Sukuna’s voice would’ve had you hypnotized with how deep his moans sounded, but you just weren’t there today. You were glad the lights were off- his ego wouldn’t have been able to handle your ruminating expression. Eyebrows furrowed and all.

Your mind kept flashing you the image of the grades from your mid term exams- C, C, D, B-. These grades are not what you see on a scholarship student’s transcript, but you only had so much mental strength left in you to keep studying. Guilt seeped into the discreet crevices of your contemplation- did you even like your major? Gone were the days of your ambitious past, back when you were an academic force. A storm in the grade curve.

Now you’re just a husk of what was once a great feat.

And then it happened, one tear. Two tears, and then a whole flood of them. Your pants turned into whimpers and wails.

What were you doing with your life? The person you were three years ago would’ve slapped you if she saw the present. Your life had come to an all time low. It was always said that the brightest flames burn out the fastest.

Everything felt like it was being held together by a delicate cloth, and now it was beginning to tear from the seams, spilling out everything you were trying to control. At this point there was nothing left to hold on to. Your body shivered as you removed your hands from Sukuna’s biceps that were caging your body to hug yourself.

“Shit, am I fucking you that good?”

His question made you wail harder, prompting him to cum into your sopping cunt. Even the man who had crept into the most intimate parts of your body didn’t know how you felt. It felt worse knowing that you both didn’t even have any romantic feelings towards each other, simply using each other’s bodies for sexual gratification. An escape from whatever the real world had muddled you in.

Your tears just wouldn’t stop flowing and Sukuna was starting to get concerned.

“What the—did I go too hard?” The room was dark but it was enough for you to see that he was leaning closer and closer to your face, too concerned to remove his limp dick from inside you. You pushed his face away with your small hand but the man was as persistent as a stone hedge.

He pulled out and flipped you both over—your small body now laying on top of his hard, muscled one. His bulky arms wrapped tightly around you as you sobbed onto his shoulder.

“What are you-“

“Just shut up. You can go back to your place later.”

Staring up at the ceiling with a hand on your head, he began to wonder what led him to do that. Every woman he had fucked in the past was kicked out the second he was done with them but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to treat you like that. He didn’t think that it would’ve been possible to treat someone like this. Not after all his years of being a criminal.

Maybe it was because you were in a vulnerable state right now or maybe it’s because you’re at a point in your life where you just need some kind of stability. Even if it veils toxicity. He never knew about whatever was on your mind because you simply never talked about your life with him. Just texted him that you wanted to see him, fucked him, and then left. If it weren’t for your arousal all over his lower half, one would think that you were simpler never there.

He unexpectedly begins to rub up and down your naked back and pulls up his blanket to cover you when he notices that you’re shivering.

The scent of his sweat and body wash mixed together clouded your senses of both smell and judgement. You didn’t say anything and just held him tightly, trembling arms almost choking his thick neck. For now, he was your oasis.

[legalmente-loca]

An Angel In His Eyes

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Angel!Reader

Summary: Dean sees you as pure and himself as dirty. But you crave him and you must show him that there is nothing wrong with him.

Word Count: 3,115

loca's notes: This idea came from this image.

Tags/ Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, oral (f. receiving), dirty talk, lost of virginity

You are perfect in his eyes. A real angel who fills his insides with grace. Anyone who saw you would say you were normal, just another girl looking for her way. But he knew the truth. Created centuries ago, your name too strange not to be given nicknames, heavenly gaze…

You were an angel.

A divine angel, a soldier of God, a warrior of heavenly battles.

And you were perfect for him.

You could see it in his eyes. Maybe you are not used to people's feelings, but you know how to read them. They are very easy to read. And Dean longed for you, in a way that made you feel unique. Being an angel of God was already something unique, but somehow, Dean made you feel more special.

But he also saw something in you that he could not shake off. Your innocence. What innocence? You are a warrior, you had blood on your hands, you had seen your brothers die and you had sought revenge for them. You had observed humans, their pleasures, their ailments, their perfections and imperfections. And likewise, Dean was the human who shined out from all the others. A soldier for his own father, like you. But a man nonetheless who longed for forgiveness. There was too much guilt inside him and as you got to know him better, you could see that he was even drowning in it.

And, of course you, as an angel, wanted to save him.

But he didn't want to be saved, he didn't see himself as someone worth saving.

That’s why he ignored you most of the time. Whenever you tried to get close to him, Dean would pull away. He would even start arguments with you just to have an excuse to get out of the room.

You see, Dean was fighting the lust he felt towards you. How could he not feel lust towards a sweet angel like you? After all, you were perfect. People interested you to a point where you wanted to gain knowledge about how they thought just to feel empathy.

He didn’t want to ruin that. To ruin something so perfect with his dirtiness, because he was dirty. He really was compared to you.

That’s why, when you walked into the motel room, he grabbed his jacket and got ready to leave for a bar where he would meet another woman. But you stopped him with your melodious voice.

“Wait. I want to talk to you.”

He turned around to look at you.

“About what?”

“Why do you seem scared of me?” You asked with clear confusion, tilting your head.

He shook his head in amusement and took off his jacket again.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“And why do you run away every time you see me? You don’t even want to talk to me. You know, I was one of the angels who dragged you back from doom.”

“I know, Cas told me.”

“So where does this fear I feel radiating from you come from?” You walked over to him.

He sighed. The war that was in his head downstairs was now in his head upstairs. He wondered if it would be a good idea to tell you how he felt about you. But he also thought that you wouldn’t understand, that he would have to explain it to you. How do you explain something that even you didn’t fully understand?

“Look, sweetheart…” He ran a hand across his forehead. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m hundreds of years old, my knowledge goes beyond that of any human.”

“Not in this field.”

You looked at him curiously. You knew about history, both human and celestial. You knew about plants and the other gods. You had watched how the different creations of humanity were created. What could he be referring to?

He noticed that you wouldn’t give up, so he decided to give in and tell you.

“I feel… Things for you.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well… Things like…” He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck. “Like lust.”

“Lust…”

You had known Lust, even fought they. You knew who they were and what they did, how they rented people out. Was that the whole big deal?

“That’s all?”

He frowned.

“All? Sweethearth, I just confessed something big to you.”

“Not really.” You shook your head. “You say you feel lust, that’s normal. You’re human, my vessel too. The attraction you feel towards this body is normal.”

“You don’t understand…”

He looked away towards the window. It was starting to rain, a strong wind had been present since the afternoon.

“I feel lust towards you, not just your body.” He returned his gaze to you. “I feel lust when I think about your gaze, not your eyes. When I think about the way you move, not your legs. When I think about the tone you use to speak…” His gaze ran from bottom to top until it reached your eyes. “I feel lust towards you, angel.”

You were speechless. This human didn’t feel things for your vessel, but for you… For you and only you.

You swallowed, the emotions were confusing inside you. And what do you feel for him? You wondered. And you remembered his laugh, his jokes, the way his green eyes looked in the light, and also in his darker form; when he hunted and killed without a second thought, without mercy.

You placed your hand on his chest, right over his heart.

“I have feelings for you too.” You murmured.

Dean gulped, clearly nervous. But no, this wasn’t something he could ruin.

He placed his hand on yours and gently pushed it away.

“I’m not good for you, angel.”

You tilted your head in confusion. A human no good for you? Well, yes, it was against all the rules. The fruit of your union would be cosmic chaos on its own. But you sensed he meant something else.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… I’m a killer. My job is to kill. I’ve seen more blood than I have in my body and you… You’re an angel. I could never corrupt you like that.”

You held his hand. So that was it. Self-hatred.

“I’ve seen wars made up of bloodthirsty men,” You said. “Destruction of all kinds and cruelty throughout the centuries. I’m not afraid of you and your darkness, Dean. Because I know it really isn’t as bad as you think.”

He sighed and brought your hand to his cheek.

“You’re something from another world… You’re an angel.” He whispered.

You took another step forward and your gaze dropped to his lips. You ran your thumb over them before bringing your own lips closer and kissing them softly. But Dean pulled away from the kiss, at least at first. After a few seconds of looking into your eyes, searching for some sign of regret that he couldn’t find, he kissed you again. He moved his hands up your arms, moving up to your cheeks, where he caressed your skin with his thumbs.

It was your first kiss. You had never kissed anyone in any form, so you weren’t quite sure what to do. Dean seemed to notice this, as he guided you with his lips slowly and gently, taking his time to savor the moment and your mouth. You slowly walked back until your legs touched the edge of your bed, causing you to sit up. Dean stared at you, his thumb tugging at your bottom lip.

You opened your mouth and licked his finger without taking your gaze off of him. He groaned and closed his eyes for a few moments, trying to hold back. But you didn’t want him to hold back. You brought your hands to his belt and undid it before unzipping his jeans. But he stopped you, placing his other hand over yours.

“Are you sure?” He asked softly.

And you could only nod. Your angelic voice was lost in your throat. It was enough for him and he let you continue.

Dean let you pull his jeans down and you looked at the bulge between his legs, causing you to clench your legs together. He noticed this movement and smiled.

“You look so cute right now.” He looked down at himself and placed his thumbs inside his boxers, pulling them down until his cock sprang free.

You gave a small gasp at the sight. The red tip, glistening with precum, eager for you.

You reached up and touched him gently, running your slender fingers along his skin. He couldn’t stop the small moan that came from the back of his throat and he grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t do that or it will be over sooner than we both want.”

You nodded and moved back on the bed until you were sitting on your knees. You held the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head. You looked at him waiting for a reaction, your bra in full view.

“You are beautiful.” He murmured, looking at you in awe.

You smiled and shook your head.

“This is not my real form, Dean.”

“Yes, it is.” He said without hesitation. “Because it’s as beautiful as you.”

You tilted your head, but you didn’t have time to think about it too much as he took off his shirt and climbed onto the bed. He brushed your hair out of your eyes and kissed you softly again. His hands traveled down your body until they reached your bra, which he unclasped.

Your breasts popped free and a shiver ran down your spine. No matter how many moments you had lived, the sensations of now were unique.

Dean pulled away from the kiss and looked at your chest, his lips parted as he whispered something you couldn't quite make out, but you suspected it was almost the same thing he said before.

His hand ran along the edge of one of your breasts and you bit your bottom lip, feeling more moisture between your legs. Dean gently pushed you down to lay down, which you did.

You rested your head on the pillows and looked up at him. The light made him look like a God. Different from the ones you knew, but a God somehow.

He parted your legs and positioned himself between them before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Your body needs to be worshipped.” He murmured as he placed another kiss on your nose. “And that’s just what I’m going to do.”

He trailed his kisses down to your neck, where he licked and nibbled, causing you to let out small gasps from your pretty mouth. He continued down until he reached one of your breasts. He watched you intently as he took your nipple into his mouth and played with it with his tongue. Your breathing changed, your chest rising and falling faster as Dean continued to worship you. He bit down softly and pulled away slightly, tugging at your nipple until he released it from between his teeth until he moved to the other, giving it equal attention until both breasts were wet with his saliva and red from his bites.

He continued his way down your body, scattering kisses across your skin until he reached your waist, where he paused to look at you.

He wanted to know if you were still on the same page as him and you nodded.

“Good girl.” That comment made your legs shake. “Oh, you liked that, huh?” He chuckled softly and pulled your pants down.

Your panties were seen by him and he licked his lips. He could already feel your sting on the tip of his tongue, even before he leaned down and ran his tongue along your core over your panties.

You let out a moan and buried your head into the pillow. Your desire finally being satisfied, even though it was just beginning.

He continued to lick until he noticed your panties getting wetter and wetter, leaving a wet spot. He bit the fabric and pulled it down, patting your hips to signal you to lift them up. He slid your panties down your legs slowly, teasing you, and tossed them to the floor above his jeans.

He didn't beat around the bush and buried his face between your legs, licking and nibbling slowly at first, then faster. He licked like he was thirsty, like your grace was leaking out from between your legs and he wanted to collect it all.

You moaned and held the sheets beneath you firmly as you felt his tongue running over your purest place.

Then he gently inserted a finger, watching your expressions intently. He slowly slid it in and out of you, your walls squeezing him and he couldn't help but imagine his cock instead of his finger. That drew a whimper from him and he rubbed his face against your thigh before giving it a small bite.

He licked your clit as he pushed another finger into you and your eyes rolled back.

“Oh God…”

The name of your creator fell from between your lips as you felt a wave of pleasure rush through you from head to toe, making you shiver and tense your body, closing your thighs around his head as your back arched and your eyes turned blue making you believe that maybe you had teleported to heaven once again.

Dean moaned against your core as he licked up the last of your nectar. He pulled away and licked his lips as he watched your chest rise and fall in gasps with complete lust. He crawled up your body until he was close to your face and kissed you with more fervor than before. You moaned into his mouth, tasting yourself on your tongue.

“You were a very good girl.” He murmured against your lips. “And now you must continue like this, understand?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him. He let out a growl.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Dean…” You whispered.

“That’s my girl.” He placed a kiss on your nose.

He moved his body until he was more comfortably positioned between your legs. He held his member in one hand while resting the other on the mattress beside your head.

“Tell me how much you want this.” He rubbed his lips against your cheek while rubbing his cock against your folds. “C’mon, tell me.”

“I want it so bad. Please, Dean, give it to me…”

He placed one last kiss against your lips and slowly pushed the tip of his member into you. You moaned louder, the sensation taking you by surprise. You held onto his arms tightly.

“That’s it…” He murmured, his breath against your face as he went a little deeper. “You’re doing so well.” He scattered kisses all over your face to relax you.

You felt a sting, at first. More of an annoyance than pain, but that faded as he pushed another few inches in. You felt a trail of your grace run through your body.

“Dean…”

“That’s it, baby.” He kissed your lips, to which you responded gladly.

He reached the bottom and you felt him touch your cervix. He stilled, cursing, waiting for you to give him permission to continue. And you did, nodding and holding him tightly, your foreheads together.

He pulled out of you slowly, leaving just the tip inside before he entered again. You moaned and frowned, your breathing quickening as you felt him part your inner walls. He started to have a steady rhythm, your juices staining your thighs and his pelvis. The rain getting stronger outside.

“You feel so good, baby. Like heaven itself.” He rested his elbows on the sides of your head as he kept up his pace.

“Faster.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, please.”

He nodded and placed a kiss on your cheek before going faster. You moaned louder and your eyes rolled back.

“Oh, fuck.” Dean cursed. “You’re so tight I can barely get out. You don’t want to let me go, do you?” He exhaled a laugh. “Don’t worry, I won’t move away.”

His movements turned into thrusts, the bed beginning to rock and hit the wall.

You turned your face and noticed the cross that was on a wall beginning to bounce.

“Oh, God, Dean.” You whimpered.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby.”

He took your chin in one hand, guiding your face to his again, kissing you passionately as he continued to pound into you.

You felt that trail run through your entire body again, and your eyes lit up. Dean watched in fascination as your eyes turned blue. That trail surrounded your body, and this time, Dean could admire it.

You arched your back and pressed yourself around him, causing him to moan and swear he saw the shadow of your wings expanding across the bed.

“T-that’s my good girl. C’mon, cum for me.”

You moaned his name, and your angel power exploded, the trail becoming too bright for Dean’s mortal eyes. He had to close them, but his movements didn’t stop, though it’s not like he could move too much since you were practically squeezing him tightly.

Dean came shortly after you did, his cum filling you, staining your walls and spreading out.

He dropped down beside you so he wouldn’t crush you, both of your breaths panting as you tried to get back to normal. He looked you up and down and leaned in close to you.

“You okay?” he murmured, running his hand through your hair.

You looked up at him and smiled tiredly.

“I’m doing great…”

He laughed and pulled your body closer to him, your head on the side of his neck, and you breathed in his scent.

“Was this okay? No regrets?”

You shook your head as you traced lines across his chest.

“None. And you?” You looked up at him.

Dean smirked and wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

“Nah.”

You laughed and snuggled into his body. Dean grabbed the sheet and covered both of your bodies.

“So… now what?” You asked.

“Now what?”

You shrugged.

“So… How does this go? Did it just happen this time, will it happen again or… Will it turn into something more?”

He looked down at you.

“Oh, this will definitely turn into something more.”

He hugged you tighter and placed a kiss on your hair.

You smiled and closed your eyes. Being an angel might give you a lot of knowledge in many things and innocence in others. Having a relationship with a human would go against the rules of heaven and The other angels would probably talk behind your back. But you didn’t care. You had Dean.

Dean Winchester One Shots

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[kiragecko]

Story Idea

Telekinetic supervillain who REALLY loves historical architecture. Living in a superhero universe where heroes keep crashing through stained glass windows and leveling entire streets. As well as the normal corruption causing building to be demolished or “restored” in extremely destructive ways.

Kinda has Poison Ivy vibes, without any of the femme fatale trappings - her entire focus is preserving historical valuable buildings, and she doesn’t really care if humans that get in the way die. But she also isn’t going out of her way to kill people.

And the leader of the local superhero team can see where she’s coming from. And decides that just throwing her in jail every time she acts up is a sign they’re failing in their duty to protect the city. Instead, he starts trying to gain her trust. He doesn’t care that much about buildings, but he works on lessening his team’s collateral damage. He promises the supervillain that he’ll try to pressure the city government if she brings problems to him rather than taking them into her own hands. Eventually, he convinces her that she can protect the city’s infrastructure better by being on his team than she can on her own.

She’s incredibly helpful! She will keep burning buildings from collapsing until everyone can get out and the fire is extinguished. She’ll hold skyscrapers up while supervillains reign destruction down around them. She’ll deconstruct traps and grumpily direct her teammates towards the hidden mastermind who set them up. And when the crisis is over, she’ll see what can be salvaged and rebuild it if possible.

But she’s a PR nightmare.

Former Supervillain refuses to help people. She DOES NOT care. Your kid is trapped in the burning building? That is not her problem. Go bother someone else. Dude is holding a bunch of people hostage? It’s fine, he’s not causing any damage to the building he’s in.

People DO NOT like this attitude. People do not accept that she’s part of a team, and other heroes are capable of filling the “empathy” and “human rescuing” gaps.

And she’s high maintenance! The team frequently end up in situations where protecting lives is in conflict with protecting property. They take missions that mean very little to them, because they’re important to her. And the leader is constantly having to talk her out of rampages, pressuring the government to drop lucrative and unethical contracts, and making sure she’s sticking to the plan in the field. And she isn’t interested in interpersonal relationships or social niceties, so none of them are even doing this out of friendship!

-

Sometimes, you help someone not because they’ll be grateful, but because it will make your community better. Sometimes, you help the local drug addict not because he’s likely to turn his life around, but because he smashes less windows when he has a warm, quiet space to stay. And sometimes, keeping that community benefit takes a long term commitment.

I want to see a superhero team turn a villain as harm prevention and then willingly bear the cost of keeping that villain from causing harm. Not because it’s rewarding (though there are rewards) but because it’s more effective than any other method. And I want the villain to go along with it because the heroes actually found a more efficient way for her to reach her goals.

And it being messy for everyone, but I want them to make it work. And it to be worth it, in the end.

[inkskinned]

crows use tools and like to slide down snowy hills. today we saw a goose with a hurt foot who was kept safe by his flock - before taking off, they waited for him to catch up. there are colors only butterflies see. reindeer are matriarchical. cows have best friends and 4 stomachs and like jazz music. i watched a video recently of an octopus making himself a door out of a coconut shell.

i am a little soft, okay. but sometimes i can't talk either. the world is like fractal light to me, and passes through my skin in tendrils. i feel certain small things like a catapult; i skirt around the big things and somehow arrive in crisis without ever realizing i'm in pain.

in 5th grade we read The Curious Incident of the Dog In The Night-time, which is about a young autistic boy. it is how they introduced us to empathy about neurotypes, which was well-timed: around 10 years old was when i started having my life fully ruined by symptoms. people started noticing.

i wonder if birds can tell if another bird is odd. like the phrase odd duck. i have to believe that all odd ducks are still very much loved by the other normal ducks. i have to believe that, or i will cry.

i remember my 5th grade teacher holding the curious incident up, dazzled by the language written by someone who is neurotypical. my teacher said: "sometimes i want to cut open their mind to know exactly how autistics are thinking. it's just so different! they must see the world so strangely!" later, at 22, in my education classes, we were taught to say a person with autism or a person on the spectrum or neurodivergent. i actually personally kind of like person-first language - it implies the other person is trying to protect me from myself. i know they had to teach themselves that pattern of speech, is all, and it shows they're at least trying. and i was a person first, even if i wasn't good at it.

plants learn information. they must encode data somehow, but where would they store it? when you cut open a sapling, you cannot find the how they think - if they "think" at all. they learn, but do not think. i want to paint that process - i think it would be mostly purple and blue.

the book was not about me, it was about a young boy. his life was patterned into a different set of categories. he did not cry about the tag on his shirt. i remember reading it and saying to myself: i am wrong, and broken, but it isn't in this way. something else is wrong with me instead. later, in that same person-first education class, my teacher would bring up the curious incident and mention that it is now widely panned as being inaccurate and stereotypical. she frowned and said we might not know how a person with autism thinks, but it is unlikely to be expressed in that way. this book was written with the best intentions by a special-ed teacher, but there's some debate as to if somebody who was on the spectrum would be even able to write something like this.

we might not understand it, but crows and ravens have developed their own language. this is also true of whales, dolphins, and many other species. i do not know how a crow thinks, but we do know they can problem solve. (is "thinking" equal to "problem solving"? or is "thinking" data processing? data management?) i do not know how my dog thinks, either, but we "talk" all the same - i know what he is asking for, even if he only asks once.

i am not a dolphin or reindeer or a dog in the nighttime, but i am an odd duck. in the ugly duckling, she grows up and comes home and is beautiful and finds her soulmate. all that ugliness she experienced lives in downy feathers inside of her, staining everything a muted grey. she is beautiful eventually, though, so she is loved. they do not want to cut her open to see how she thinks.

a while ago i got into an argument with a classmate about that weird sia music video about autism. my classmate said she thought it was good to raise awareness. i told her they should have just hired someone else to do it. she said it's not fair to an autistic person to expect them to be able to handle that kind of a thing.

today i saw a goose, and he was limping. i want to be loved like a flock loves a wounded creature: the phrase taken under a wing. which is to say i have always known i am not normal. desperate, mewling - i want to be loved beyond words.

loved beyond thinking.

[ro-is-struggling]

Breakfast In Bed || Clark Kent x Reader

Based on THIS and THIS requests

Summary: Being married to a superhero was bound to have some tough times, you knew that well when you accepted Clark's marriage proposal. However, the last few months were becoming too difficult for you as he was having trouble balancing his daily life and his responsibilities as Superman. Intentional or not, he was neglecting you and you were getting tired of waking up alone every morning. But just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Clark surprises you with breakfast in bed and a talk that reminds you why you love him so much.

Warnings: a little angst, but mostly fluff, fem!reader

English is not my first language

Word count: 1800

Notes: I don’t know why but I always have the need to write Clark like the most romantic and adorable man in the world, so enjoy! Consider this as my valentine gift to you

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You knew your relationship with Clark would be complicated from the moment you learned about his special abilities. You always knew he was far from ordinary, you just thought his greatness had more mundane roots —his kindness, his empathy, the way he cared about everyone and how he always surprised you by remembering even the smallest details, all the normal things that made you fall in love with him. You'd be lying if you said you weren't surprised to learn the truth, but it also explained a lot —the way he sometimes seemed to be able to be on two sides at the same time, his incredible strength and great sense of hearing. It made you worry about the kinds of dangers he faced every day as Superman, but it also made you love him even more. So you decided that you would stay by his side knowing full well that your relationship would be far from normal. 

Through it all, you managed to make things work. Clark was very good at keeping his identity secret to protect you. And you were great at pretending that his long absences didn't bother you, making him feel better when he was late for your anniversary dinner after a year of marriage. To be honest, it wasn't always that terrible. You did have plenty of moments of blissful intimacy, away from the outside world and the dangers it presented. And it was wonderful. You loved spending quality time with your husband, even if it was just sitting in silence working to meet some deadline for work. Just knowing he was there with you was enough to make you feel happy, loved.

The problem you had now was that he was spending less and less time at home. He came home late every night, exhausted after a long day at work —both as Clark at the Daily Planet and as Superman helping people in danger. And in the mornings you were lucky if you got to have breakfast together. He always tried to make time for you, to spend a romantic evening at a nice restaurant or curl up on the couch to watch a movie, but somehow work always got in the way. If it wasn't Perry calling him to cover an urgent story for the paper, it was a person in danger crying out for Superman. 

It was frustrating because you felt you couldn't say no. Clark would always ask your opinion before doing anything, looking at you with those beautiful blue eyes while assuring you that if you said no, he would stay where he was. But how could you say no when a child in danger cried for their hero or a tragic accident required his presence? There was no way your conscience would let you live with that decision.

You knew his work was important. Both inside and outside the newspaper, he helped people. People in vulnerable situations, people in danger, people who needed to be heard. It was truly noble of him and you admired him for his determination to make the world a better place. That was the biggest reason why you didn't say anything, but the truth was that you missed him.

You missed coming home from work and finding him waiting for you, asking you how your day had been the moment you walked through the front door. You missed going to sleep next to him at night after spending hours sharing work stories over dinner. You missed the warmth of his body wrapping around you in the cold mornings and hearing his voice raspy with sleep wishing you good morning when he still had his eyes closed. In the last few weeks you were lucky if he made it to dinner. Going to sleep alone and waking up alone in the mornings had become your routine. And you hated it.

That morning was no exception. When you opened your eyes you found the left side of the bed empty. Your arms clung tighter to Clark's pillow, inhaling his scent to make you feel less lonely. It was supposed to be his day off, but you wouldn't be surprised if Perry had called him last minute or some catastrophe had gotten him out of bed early. You had barely seen him last night. Clark had arrived late when you were already asleep and you only managed to mumble his name in the dark and hug him when he lay down next to you, and now he wasn't next to you when you woke up either. The day had barely begun and you already wanted it to end.

Letting out a long sigh, you decided it would be best to get up and do something to distract your mind. Clark wasn't there and it wasn't going to do your mental health any good to stay in bed crying all morning. So you dragged your feet lazily to the bathroom, going about your morning routine before leaving the room to prepare breakfast.

Only the moment you opened the door you were assaulted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee. You frowned in confusion, wondering if perhaps you had mistakenly left the coffee maker running all night. However, when you entered the kitchen you discovered that it was no mistake. Standing in front of the stove was Clark, flipping pancakes and cutting up some fruit while humming to himself. 

You couldn't help but smile as you watched him move. He still had his pajama pants on and his hair was a mess. You took advantage of the fact that his back was turned to you to admire him silently as a warm and fuzzy feeling spread through you. The sadness disappeared from your system as you watched him carefully stack the pancakes, taking his time to decorate them with little pieces of fruit just the way you liked. He looked adorable, bent over the counter as he arranged breakfast on a tray, ready to be taken to bed. You wanted to run over and hug him, but before you could move from the doorway Clark turned, finally sensing your presence.

"What are you doing there? You're supposed to be sleeping." he said and you could swear he sounded disappointed to see you there. "I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed."

You walked into the kitchen. Just a couple of steps and you were in front of him, wrapping your arms around his naked torso and resting your head on his chest as you hugged him. Clark reciprocated right away, planting a kiss on the top of your head as he breathed in the scent of your hair. 

"I'm sorry," you pouted, lifting your head from his chest to look at him. "We can go back to bed if you want."

Clark answered you with a kiss, his lips caressing yours gently. It was a quick kiss, but it still managed to take your breath away. 

"What's the occasion?" You asked as you broke away, stealing a strawberry from the pancakes and popping it into your mouth. It wasn't your anniversary or your birthday and it wasn't Valentine's Day, so you wondered what had prompted Clark to make such a gesture to you. 

"I wanted to apologize... I know I haven't been around much and I know it's not easy for you, even though you are too nice to tell me."

"Clark..." You wanted to intervene, but he silenced you by resting his index finger on your lips.

"I need you to know that you're important to me, more important than anything else." Clark slid his hand up to your cheek, his fingers caressing your skin gently. He gave you a warm smile, losing himself for a moment in the bright light of your eyes. "Do you remember what I told you the day I asked you to marry me? I said with these powers I could see the beauty of the universe, the flowers blooming on the other side of the planet or dying stars exploding in brilliant light thousands of miles away, and yet, the day I meet you I knew I had to be with you because for the first time in my life the only thing in the universe worth looking at was right there in front of me. That is still true. It will always be true, angel."

"Damn it, smallville!" You let out a giggle, feeling the tears building up in your eyes as you remembered that day —one of the happiest days of your life. You hated the way he always knew exactly what to say to make you feel better, it made being mad at him really hard.

Clark smiled at you, his blue eyes shining with love in them as he gently wiped away a tear that had escaped and rolled down your cheek. "You're the most important thing in my life and I'm sorry I haven't been showing it these past months. I promise you I'll be better in the future. I'll try harder to make this work, to make us work."

"I know this is hard for you too, baby." You said, letting your hands fall from his shoulders to his chest. You knew Clark wasn't neglecting you on purpose. You knew it hurt him as much as it hurt you to be away or to miss a date you had been planning for a long time. Balancing his normal life and his superhero life had always been one of his biggest challenges. 

"I know you love me and I know you care about me, you don't have to doubt that. I knew things were going to be difficult sometimes the day I said yes. I understand how important being Superman is to you, it is who you are and I love you for that too. I just... miss you sometimes, but I'm sure we're going to find a way to work this out. We always do."

"I swear if I could love you more I would explode." Clark smiled at you before taking your face in his hands again and pressing his lips together. You couldn't help but smile into the kiss, feeling that familiar warmth fill you inside. It was the comforting warmth of love, of the happiness it gave you to be in Clark's arms after so much loneliness.

That was the Clark you missed so much. The loving husband who wrapped his arms around you and kissed you until his lips were tired. The one who showered you with compliments until you were flustered. The one who didn't hesitate to show you how much he loved you with sweet words or cute details. It had been so long since you had the chance to be alone like that, sharing such an intimate moment, that you almost forgot how good it felt when Clark kissed you or how safe you felt when he put his arms around you. It was a beautiful feeling that you could only describe as the touch of true love. You never wanted to forget it, you were willing to do anything not to lose it.

"I love you too." You murmured against Clark's lips, giving him a quick peck before pulling away from him. "Now, about that breakfast..."

Clark let out a chuckle. "Go back to bed, I'll be there in a second."

[someone-will-remember-us]

In the four years after she discovered her husband had been drugging her and inviting strangers into their home to rape her, Gisèle Pelicot liked to walk to clear her head.

Striding through the countryside alone, she would throw the questions that tormented her to the wind: “Dominique, how could you have done it? Why did you do it? How did we get here?” Asked what she was doing when she was ­disappearing for hours, she would tell her three children: “I am talking to your father.”

From his prison cell, Dominique Pelicot, who has admitted orchestrating the rapes at the couple’s home in the Provençal town of Mazan, could not answer. Nor would he when facing his former wife across a crowded courtroom, except to say: “I am a ­rapist … like the ­others in this room.”

The 50 men who appeared alongside him, charged with aggravated rape and sexual abuse, have also failed to explain their actions.

Why, when confronted with the inert body of a drugged and unconscious woman, did these “ordinary men”, as they were described in court, with ordinary names – Laurent, Nicolas, Philippe, Christian, Hassan – not leave? Why did not one of them go to the police and put an end to the decade-long abuse of a woman that could have killed her?

“The question is not why you went there, but why you stayed,” one of Gisèle Pelicot’s lawyers, Antoine Camus, told the court.

Camus cannot imagine why the men, who he says represent a “­kaleidoscope of French society”, did so except for a lack of empathy towards their victim, who he says was treated as “less than nothing”.

As the trial enters its final days this week, the accused will be ­permitted a last word on Monday before the president of the court and five judges known as “assessors” withdraw to consider their verdicts and sentences. The public prosecutor has demanded a maximum prison term of 20 years for Pelicot and sentences of between four and 18 years for the 50 others.

Then, Gisèle Pelicot will walk out of court for the last time, flanked by her two lawyers, Camus and Stéphane Babonneau, who have protected her like praetorian guards every day. There will be a last round of applause and cheers from the crowd – mostly women – who have arrived at dawn to queue for hours outside the courthouse for a place in the hearing, and who have presented her with gifts and shouted “Merci, Gisèle!” as she left each evening.

A criminal trial aims to answer questions. During this three-and-a-half-month hearing, the accused have produced excuses but few answers.

Sitting in court, we listened to the men arguing that Pelicot had given his consent for them to rape his wife; that they had not “intended” to rape her; that what they had done was not rape; that they did not have the profile of a rapist and therefore were not one. That they believed Gisèle Pelicot was only pretending to be asleep. That they had too much testosterone – that it was their body, not their brain, acting. That they too were victims of her manipulative, perverse husband.

With Gisèle Pelicot unconscious and unaware of what was being done to her, the videos her husband recorded of the assaults were, as the public prosecutor pointed out, “worth a thousand words”. In them, we saw Pelicot directing his ­personal pornographic scenes, ­moving his unconscious wife – dressed in lingerie that was not hers and with crude messages written on her buttocks – into positions, holding her mouth open, whispering to his cast of naked strangers to “get on with it”, to do this, do that, or to get out if she so much as twitched. Defence lawyers tried to have those recordings struck out as evidence.

“It is evident that Mme Pelicot was not in a normal conscious state,” public prosecutor Laure Chabaud said.

“She was in a state of torpor closer to a coma than sleep. [This] didn’t seem to dissuade the participants, none of whom spoke to Gisèle Pelicot or sought her consent.”

Several of the accused did admit there was something bizarre about the scenario, as Pelicot instructed them to get undressed and warm their hands on the radiator because his wife was “sensitive to the cold”. But they stayed anyway. A few realised their “mistake” and were sorry. Others were almost defiant, shocked they were in court. Most deny rape.

Those facing the gravest ­accusations, of up to six counts of rape, sat in a second glass box on the left of the courtroom, stroking their chins, fiddling with their beards, bowing their heads or complaining to their guards that journalists were “looking at them meanly”. Those on bail and free to come and go went in and out of the courthouse with ­collars pulled up, hats pulled down and masks hiding their faces.

Giving evidence, the Pelicots’ younger son, Florian, dismissed the men as “not la creme de la creme”, but they looked ­ordinary enough in their jeans and leather jackets, anoraks, trainers and ­hoodies. Their backgrounds were varied and in other ­circumstances might have provoked sympathy – broken homes, childhood abuse, drug and alcohol problems – but there was no common thread. Many had no previous criminal record, although some were charged with possession of child abuse or ­bestiality images. They were all functioning adults, most with jobs, children and ­partners.

For Camus, their excuses are ­evidence of French society’s “­culture of rape” being played out in real time. “These absurd suggestions, prejudices, hypotheses, ­preconceived ideas … all deployed before our very eyes, and all at the expense of Gisèle Pelicot,” he says.

In court, she would stare at them or the ceiling, listen to their excuses, dismiss their ­apologies, her face impassive. “She is ­disgusted, appalled and indignant … but not surprised,” Camus adds. Her ­reaction was the same as it had been when she had first seen the videos in the run-up to the trial: how could they? “She was waiting for the explanations, some kind of exchange, and she has not had that.”

The depravity of what the world has seen and heard will not be ­easily erased from the memory.

“We thought we knew ­everything men were capable of inflicting on women but never imagined a ­husband drugging his wife and offering her up to dozens of predators for 10 years,” said one woman who has been attending court to support Gisèle Pelicot.

The case has also raised broader questions over the toxic ­masculinity riddling French society, how the police, courts and society treat rape victims, the use of drugs in rape, and, of course, consent, or the absence of the concept in French law. In France, rape is defined as “sexual penetration, ­committed against another person by violence, constraint, threat or surprise”. The Mazan rapes have been shoehorned into the “surprise” category – but feminist groups are divided over whether adding consent to the law would be a good thing or simply place undue focus on the victims.

Statistics from the Institut des Politiques Publiques in France ­suggest that over a 10-year period there were more than 400,000 cases of sexual violence in France, 86% of which resulted in no action and only 13% in conviction. There are about 700,000 cases of domestic abuse each year, only 27% ­ending in ­conviction. Campaigners are ­hoping the Pelicot trial will signal a ­watershed in a country where the #MeToo movement has struggled to maintain much impetus.

The case has been shocking because of its scale and ­perversity, but we have been here before. In 2018, as French women began to open up about sexual abuse in the wake of the Harvey Weinstein ­scandal, a collective of 100 women, including the grande dame of French cinema, Catherine Deneuve, wrote an open letter saying it had all gone too far and was stifling men’s ability to seduce.

Blandine Deverlanges, a teacher and founder of the local feminist group Amazons of Avignon, says the Pelicot trial is already encouraging other rape and sexual assault victims to speak out. “Gisèle Pelicot has offered us her story and it is our story. She has held her head high and in doing so encouraged other women hesitating over whether to report rapes to come forward.”

The Avignon trial lies on a ­continuum that began in France in 1974, in Aix-en-Provence, when another Gisèle, feminist lawyer Gisèle Halimi, represented Anne Tonglet and Araceli Castellano, two Belgian women who had been raped by three men while camping.

Like Pelicot, they also waived their anonymity and refused a closed-door hearing at a time when rape was treated as a public indecency misdemeanour under laws that dated back to the Napoleonic era. Halimi said at the time: “You must convict these three men, because otherwise you will condemn women to never again be believed.” The men were convicted and the trial led to a rewriting of France’s criminal code.

Agnès Fichot, a ­lawyer who worked with the late Halimi on the case, says attitudes have changed in the past 50 years, but there is “still a long way to go”.

Fichot argues the law does need a “consent” clause but that the ­burden of proof should be inverted. “It should not be for the victim of rape to prove she consented, but for the man to prove he had her express and clear consent,” she says.

Fichot has attended the trial and is astonished that none of the men recruited by Pelicot had considered reporting him. She is dismayed by their refusal to take responsibility for their actions. “Not one of them came out of that house and thought of going to the police to say there was a woman in danger, to tell of the horrors her husband was inflicting, so she could be saved.”

The videos ruled out ­suspicions, fostered by some defence ­lawyers, that Gisèle Pelicot had been ­complicit in the abuse. Still, they questioned her about her sex life – whether she was a swinger, an exhibitionist, an alcoholic, a manipulated and subjugated wife. One asked why she had not appeared angrier with her former husband, and why she had not cried more in court. As more videos were shown, the questions seemed as obscene as the images we were watching.

“I went to court hoping the [defence] arguments would be changed since the 1970s but they had not,” says Fichot. “The testosterone excuse was the absolute worst. It was the archaic argument that males, who have all the privileges and domination over women, have this weakness and we cannot blame them for it because they are male and have uncontrollable urges.”

It took four years after Pelicot, a retired electrician, was arrested in November 2020 for the case to come to trial. Until she walked into court in September this year, Gisèle Pelicot had not seen the man she once ­considered a “perfect, ­loving, ­attentive and caring” husband, father and grandfather, who she had been married to for 50 years, since he had been taken into custody.

On 2 November 2020, the couple left their neat home with a swimming pool, where they had intended to spend their retirement, to drive to the police prefecture in Carpentras. Six weeks earlier, Dominique Pelicot had been arrested for filming up the skirts of four women in the Leclerc supermarket. He had made a ­tearful confession to his wife, promised not to do it again and to seek medical help. He told her on this occasion they would be home by lunchtime.

But at the police station, a senior officer showed Gisèle Pelicot some photographs and told her what her husband had been doing to her for almost a decade. After the shock came the indignation that prompted the decision to waive her anonymity and insist that the trial – including appalling videos described by Roger Arata, the president of the court, as “particularly offensive to human dignity” – be held in public so that “shame changes sides”.

It was a decision that made the 73-year-old grandmother internationally recognised and gave feminists a new slogan.

“We warned her holding the trial in public would cause a storm, but it meant the outside world could look in and see exactly what had ­happened,” Camus says.

His fellow lawyer Babonneau says Pelicot’s determination that this should not happen to another woman is her driving motivation. “Normal people need to read about it to be aware it can happen. She was an ordinary woman, a pensioner living in the south of France … what could she expect from life: no trauma, no dramatics, a nice house in a nice village and she thought this would be her life for ever.”

Babonneau and Camus are struck not just by her former husband’s manipulation but his cynicism. The drugs he had been giving her had caused blackouts and memory loss. She had inexplicable gynaecological problems, and was convinced she had a brain tumour or degenerative neurological disease.

Her children had persuaded her to see specialists. She was ­accompanied by her husband, who did not once try to ease her fears.

“When she was tired, when she said she had gynaecological problems, Dominique would joke: ‘Gisèle, what are you doing at night?’ It is beyond belief. Disgusting,” Camus says.

He likens her betrayal to that of the moment in The Truman Show when the film’s main character discovers his existence has been a reality television programme. “He discovers that everything he believed was real is false … For Gisèle, it has been the same, except it was a pornographic film and the director was her husband.”

The trial will indelibly mark all those who spent time at it. Reporters who jostled for a seat in the small courtroom ­listened to Arata read the list of alleged crimes for each accused in a monotone, as if repeating a weekly shopping list: digital penetration, ­vaginal ­penetration, oral penetration, anal penetration, sexual touching. We would hear the most ­appalling ­evidence, see the most appalling videos and think nothing could be worse. Except the next day it often was.

Marion Dubreuil, court correspondent for the French radio station RMC, was there almost every day, live-tweeting and sketching those in the courtroom. “What saved me was documenting it,” she said. “I found sense in my work.

“I tell myself: this trial will change things. Rape is the most ­absolute crime; the most banal and the most common. Now we are ­speaking about it, people realise it is ­happening all the time. I see this in those around me. The trial has made them think.”

The public prosecutor, Jean-Marie Huet, who had originally wanted the case to be held behind closed doors, admitted to Gisèle Pelicot he had been wrong. “I salute your courage, madame, and your ­dignity ­throughout these proceedings,” he said. “We asked for a closed-door hearing without knowing the force of your character.

“In an incredible burst of resilience, you asked for a public hearing, and you were right, madame.”

Sitting in a local cafe, Camus taps the table irritably when reminded of the defence lawyers who have attacked Gisèle Pelicot.

“When people say she is not ­feeling enough hate, that she doesn’t cry enough … I ask, what do people want of her?” he says. “What do they expect her to do? Kill herself? That she is still standing is a testament to her amazing resilience.

“My preoccupation, my ­obsession since the beginning of this trial, is that she does not come out of it more damaged than when she went in and, in fact, I have the impression she has come out of it strengthened. She went into it very fragile with her head held high and she has come out of it … with a sort of pride.

“People will ­remember Gisèle Pelicot because there are many lessons to be learned from her and this trial. She is a monument, she raised her head, she lives, she refuses to be swallowed by the ­shadows or by hate.”

It is the job of courts to ask ­questions and dig out the answers. Reporters, too. In this instance, we have both failed. The question of how so many men were able to dehumanise Gisèle Pelicot will take psychologists and social anthropologists some time to unravel.

(archive)

[theuniverseiswithyou]

before tsc came out I was all for the idea that the Trojans would care so much about jean they'd break their good guy streak and get a red card defending him, but after having read it I don't think that's the message Nora is heading toward.

all through the sunshine court jean is coming to terms with the Trojan's kindness and empathy. many times he's had conversations about the raven's play style and how toxic and unnecessarily violent it is. jean thinks it's normal and the way the game should be played, he says exactly that to them a lot, but in his head he also acknowledged that the Trojans are the second best right behind the ravens. he knows in his bones that the trojans are going to win championships now that the ravens are gone. according to jean's definition of how the game should be played, nobody but the ravens 'play it right'. but then how are they part of the big three? how are the Trojans championship material when everything about them is antithesis to what he was taught?

I think jean is hurtling towards the realization that the ravens didn't play right. that none of the violence enacted on him and on their opponents was correct or necessary. the Trojans confuse him the same way Neil confuses him, they refuse to give in to pressure. no matter what physical or verbal abuse is thrown their way during games, they never return it. and jean thought at first it meant they don't fight back, but I think in the next book when he starts playing with the Trojans he'll see that they do fight back. just not in the way he was taught.

as vindicating and cathartic as it might seem for the Trojans to get red carded, I think what would be even better for jean's healing is to be nice himself. to play a whole season without getting carded once. to push away instead of towards. to do it so much that by the end he doesn't even think about it.

I want jean to break his cage. I want him to spit on everything the raven instilled in him about how you're 'supposed' to play exy. when he's facing off with an opposing team, and they're calling him a whore and a traitor, I want him to look them in the eyes, smile, and say in the words of the iconic Catalina Alvarez, "have a winning day!"

I want him to kill them with kindness.