#meat paradox

[undextrois]

Meat Paradox

It's the psychological dissonance between caring about animals and consuming them. Here's a breakdown of the psychology involved:

1. Cognitive Dissonance:

* We want to maintain a positive self-image. We generally view ourselves as kind and compassionate.

* Eating meat, especially when we know the process, can conflict with this self-image.

* To reduce this conflict, we engage in mental gymnastics:

* Denial: We minimize the chicken's sentience or ability to suffer.

* Dissociation: We separate the chicken from the meat product.

* Rationalization: We justify our consumption based on societal norms or personal needs.

2. Moral Licensing:

* We may feel that our "good deeds" (e.g., recycling, charity) offset our "bad deeds" (eating meat).

* This allows us to maintain a positive self-image while still engaging in behaviors that might otherwise contradict it.

3. Cultural and Societal Influences:

* Our upbringing and culture shape our views on meat consumption.

* Societal norms often normalize meat-eating, making it easier to ignore the ethical implications.

4. Lack of Direct Connection:

* Most people don't witness the slaughter of animals firsthand. This distance can make it easier to consume meat without facing the reality of the process.

5. Personal Beliefs and Values:

* Some individuals may have strong ethical or environmental beliefs that conflict with meat consumption.

* However, they may still eat meat due to habit, social pressure, or a lack of alternatives.

It's important to note that this is a complex issue with no easy answers. The psychology behind it is multifaceted and varies from person to person. Understanding these underlying factors can help us navigate our own relationship with food and make more informed choices.

[jalapenobee]

is it just me or does visty have like. arguably the worst written plotline bc it feels like they're just there to give kei another tragic backstory and 1nm8 more drama. i know they were with cozmez in rage but they'd be a better group if they weren't centered around kei..........

[web-novel-polls]

Web Novel Quotes Tournament, Round 1B

Quote A: 

"What was he going to do in the future? He also did not know that he felt like he was a moth and NanGong Si the flame. He always wanted to follow the light, even if it would only cause him to break apart."  - The Husky and His White Cat Shizun, Chapter 154

Quote B: 

“We are two ships of Theseus sailing the sea. We met by accident and were afraid to separate, so you gave me your parts, and I gave you mine. We’re not what we used to be. We have become each other.”  - Fanservice Paradox (Tumblr)

*Might be different from the English translation since I just translated a Spanish post because the English translation site scares me, but holy shit. What a quote

[arolesbianism]

Sigh. Nikola why must you be one of the more interesting oni characters. I don't wanna think abt you with your stupid spiky blond hair and your unethical science that mostly just serves to make Jackie more shitty by proxy. But I do. Because you're kind of orbo blorbo. Fuck you Nikola I hope you explode again

[dagasinfilo]

oh i never liked ifls much but dude. this is low 

[yumeboshi]

congrats on 100 omg !!!! may i please order a sickly sweet sprinkle sundae? <3 your vibe is simply incredible

❝ THANK YOU FOR YOUR ORDER、 @bunn3333s .ᐟ ⟡ HERE IS YOUR RECEIPT FROM CAFÉ YUME ⟡

𐙚SICKLY SWEET SPRINKLE SUNDAE：sickly sweet it makes you throw up!

𐙚 dish desc。．a not so romantic dinner sunday made for you after you tried running away.

．。𝜗𝜚 labels。 general yandere themes, manipulation, filthy, mentions of aphrodisiacs, no i promise i write for other characters too, heavy brainrot, MINORS DNI

．。𝜗𝜚 ingredients。sunday

WAS HE ANGRY?

it was hard to tell by the way SUNDAY smiles at you with eyes hollow like shells, gesturing for you to take a seat at the lavish dinner table. your fiancé, although more of a forced engagement, was undoubtedly a good cook. the dishes set across the spacious wooden table cloaked with heavenly silk were straight from a 5-star course meal at the Reverie, each one tingling your nostrils with an exquisitely savory smell.

the situation might have been very flattering if you haven’t tried to run away from him moments ago.

“please, take a seat. i made it just for you, you know.” he laughs shortly at your hesitance, but his eyes pierce through you, like a predator waiting for its prey.

you feel your heart thud against your chest as you sit down tentatively- the scrape of the chair only scratching your nerves even more. although the scent around you tempted your stomach, your mouth felt paradoxically dry and you felt like throwing up. you felt uncomfortable, as if a thousand ants were crawling over your skin by his stare that never once leaves you.

“you deserve to eat,” he breaks your discomfort with a gentle hand that guides your own to the silver utensils that are far too expensive for you. “you’ve been such a good girl.”

the way he says it tells you he doesn’t think that at all. but how can you possibly deny him, when you’ve already done it once? you should be grateful he’s even allowing you to eat.

but as the steak reaches your lips, you feel a sudden churn in your throat that tells you you really shouldn’t eat it. sunday taps you with the other hand on your shoulder- a subtle warning, but when you don’t do as he says, he sighs in condescension and pries your mouth open to force it in, caring little about the way your saliva stains his pristine gloves.

the meat surprisingly melts on your tongue like heaven- it’s juicy and just so right. it’s the most perfect bite of meat you’ve ever tasted, which shows on your surprised expression which makes your fiancé scold you—

“what did i tell you, dear? I didn’t put anything in there. this indeed says something about how little you trust me.”

and when he removes his and from yours, telling you that he’s not going to cook anymore- you beg him that you’re sorry for mistrusting him. oh, what a sin you’ve committed— how dare you even doubt sunday, who always showers you with such love you don’t deserve after your attempt to run?

he pretends to give in to your pretty pleas when you hug him while sobbing about how delicious it is, all the while telling you that you’re such a stupid little dove he has to teach constantly until she learns he manners.

little do you know, the meat you’re chewing has an oddly sweet aftertaste. the more sunday feeds you with his hand over your own, subtly coaxing you to eat the entire thing, all the while making you think it’s your own choice to eat it, the more your brain fuzzes, your vision blurry, slowly drowning your own coherent thoughts with such a primal need that builds itself to the surface, a desire that morphs into a cacophony in your head that chants that you need him so badly.

and he’ll drag out the drugged thoughts of yours, acting as if you’re the one who badly wants him to bury in his thick cock inside you- when in reality, sunday is the one who desires it so bad. he’s wanted to stuff you full with his own cum- make you his, trapping you with his children since the day he’s laid eyes on you, but a true manipulator always plays the longer game, and he was willing to wait.

now, his long-awaited fantasies are fulfilled as he watches your hole gushing around his cock, whimpering his name as you clutch the sheets- pretty bite marks decorating every nook and cranny. and fuck, oh it makes him feel like he’s finally flown to his desired heaven. he feels complete.

he feels like his twisted paradise is near.

[typhlonectes]

The Paradox of the Radioactive Boars

Scientists solve a long-standing mystery in Bavaria.

Deep in the Bavarian woods of Southeast Germany roam scores of wild boars—prized game in a country where hunting is akin to a national tradition. But most hunters would think twice before venturing into the woods to chase these fat and fleshy pigs. Even if they track one and take it down, chances are they won’t be able to enjoy the meat. The boars are too dangerous to eat. In some cases, the Bavarian boars are several hundred times more radioactive than what’s considered safe for human consumption. The hunters are well aware of this phenomenon, typically attributed to the 1986 Chornobyl accident, during which radioactive fallout drifted over to Europe. (Chornobyl is the preferred spelling in Ukraine.) “Europe is pretty much a mess in terms of radioactive contamination,” says Georg Steinhauser, professor of physical radioecology at the Vienna University of Technology...

Read more:

https://nautil.us/the-paradox-of-the-radioactive-boars-376225

[mindblowingscience]

Wild boars in southeastern Germany are known to contain high levels of radioactive cesium, which has been widely attributed to the 1986 Chernobyl disaster. But radioactivity levels have decreased in other animals while mysteriously persisting in the boars – a peculiar behavior known as the "wild boar paradox". New research shows nuclear weapons tests from the mid-20th century are also responsible, and scientists say both sources continue to contaminate the boars via their diet. The stockily built, tusked wild boars (Sus scrofa) appear healthy, but the dangerously high levels of radioactive cesium found in some of them have reduced hunting of the animals for their meat and contributed to overpopulation issues.

Continue Reading.

[jozor-johai]

Ned has this small speech in AGOT Bran I about why he must behead Gared, and I think there's some really interesting takeaways. Not about why he must do it, the part he focuses on; the part Ned doesn't focus on: why it's legal, and what that means for Gared.

"Do you understand why I did it?" "He was a wildling," Bran said. "They carry off women and sell them to the Others." His lord father smiled. "Old Nan has been telling you stories again. In truth, the man was an oathbreaker, a deserter from the Night's Watch. No man is more dangerous. The deserter knows his life is forfeit if he is taken, so he will not flinch from any crime, no matter how vile.

Ned moves our attention along to why Ned had to be his own headsman, but in just a few sentences here, we've been introduced to the paradox of law that makes this system so fundamentally unjust and broken.

We're told that "no man is more dangerous" than this deserter, so we might think, for a split second, that Ned feels he must kill the man because he is dangerous. But as Ned points out, the logic is actually the reverse: "he knows his life is forfeit if he is taken, so he will not flinch from any crime" (emphasis mine). It is not the prevalence of crime that is creating the demand for law, here, it's the existence of this extreme law that is generating the crime. Not wanting to be killed, the deserter would do anything to survive.

For Ned, the epitome of law in the North, who literally acts as judge, jury, and executioner, the tautology of the reasoning is irrelevant. The man is dangerous, now, whatever the situation. Of course, for Ned it's also really about an adherence to the laws of the Night's Watch, which is an institution as old as his house. It's their death sentence to declare, his to pass.

This time reading it, though, I was struck by how Ned's words here are an inversion to Septon Meribald's broken man speech, which is too long to relay here but ends with this:

"He turns and runs, or crawls off afterward over the corpses of the slain, or steals away in the black of night, and he finds someplace to hide. All thought of home is gone by then, and kings and lords and gods mean less to him than a haunch of spoiled meat that will let him live another day, or a skin of bad wine that might drown his fear for a few hours. The broken man lives from day to day, from meal to meal, more beast than man. Lady Brienne is not wrong. In times like these, the traveler must beware of broken men, and fear them . . . but he should pity them as well."

Septon Meribald is describing Gared here, just as much as he's describing the men at war. There isn't a mention here directly of the threat of punishment for desertion, which is more extreme with the Night's Watch than elsewhere, but the reality is the same. Here, though, Meribald's approach is entirely different than Ned's—Meribald, who walks among the smallfolk and gives away what good he can offer, has a much more understanding and empathetic view of these men.

Ned has the capacity for this understanding, but his role is simply not to have kindness here. All of the goodness and kindness Ned has otherwise just doesn't matter here, because here Ned is the law, and Ned is a lord still.

With the fact that even Ned is given this treatment, we see how rigid and unjust the laws and class structures are here. Even a "good person" is not good in Ned's position.

I think this highlights the cause behind the growing smallfolk unrest throughout the books and especially in Feast/Dance. Even the good lords, the ones who can see the problems at work here, are still lords, and still hold themselves to the status quo that keeps them in power above all else. And it takes a very different perspective—like the kind Arya has gotten, for example—to see it the way Meribald does. (Though Arya has gone the opposite route away from forgiveness... that's interesting too.)

[fishfingersalad]

Fuck I figured it out. Rvb post chorus. Its the fucking Homestuck epilogues. Would you like meat (restoration) or candy (shisno paradox).

[daddyhausen]

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ 「 GHOUL 」 ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

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「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 MUSICIAN/BAND MASTERLIST 」 | 「 III MASTERLIST 」

「 COMMISION INFO 」 | 「 LIKE MY WORK? BUY ME A COFFEE — KOFI — DXDDYHXUSEN 」

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「 SUMMARY 」 — blinded by hunger, iii is determined to consume the first being he sees, even if its a pretty bird such as you

「 WARNINGS 」 — smut, 18 +, [ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ],  stalking, ghoul!iii, cnc, dubcon, biting, blood play, mentions of cannibalism, hypnosis, rough sex, penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, vaginal sex, male + female orgasms, hair pulling, forced breeding, oral sex [ male receiving ], throatfucking, throatpie, degradation, name calling, unprotected sex, squirting, internal cumshot, vaginal creampie

「 WORD COUNT 」 — 3.4k

「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x iii

「 GENRE 」 — smut

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「 TAGLIST 」 — @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @mjfass @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @janetreader @bonehead-playz @legit9thlunaticwarrior @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @harmshake @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @selena-tyler-564 @nev-danielgarciawife @teenagedramaqueenlisa

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「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」

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hunger. it’s the only thing that drives him in this moment, the word, the simple thought of it melting, sizzling like venom, all slickly on his tongue, clawing at his parched throat for just a taste of something. anything! for his fangs have not grazed the flesh or a mortal in a month, or was it two? he does not remember, the days merely ebb and flow in the corners of his mind, secondary to his hunger, he’s only able to tell the difference by the rise and fall off the sun. it does not help with the counting of the days, or how long it has been since his last feast, but at least he’s able to differentiate night and day.

his teeth hurt, sensitive from recently having sharpened them on bone while gathering scraps of beef laid waste behind a butcher after closing, the meat disgusting on his tongue, he fathomed how any human could stomach such vile food, but it was enough to satiate him for the moment, at least what he was able to stomach.

through blackened streets he walks, desperate, eyes scanning sidewalks, treelines, darkened corners in search. his waterline tearing up in frustration, he had half a mind to rip his own arm off and starts gnawing chunks of flesh, just to stop the pangs. his stomach gurgles, the hunger rising, like a flame that denies to be extinguished, only growing larger, more ferocious as time passes, and to iii, time is non-existent, neither progressing or regressing. he is stuck in some paradoxical universe where time was meaningless, at a standstill. his stomach twisted in knots, fists of anger pummeling him in his gut, to the point where his slender figure almost doubles over from the pain.

inky black seeps into the whites of his eyes, only accentuating the bloody red rings of his irises, his pupils pinned pointed, constricted, as the hunger burns in his throat, like sickly bile clamouring to his oesophagus, he coughs, sputters, dry heave as nausea swirls in his belly, having to stabilise himself against a nearby hazel tree, the scent of freshly blossoming hazelnuts did nothing to aid the increasing wave of nausea that drives up from his stomach and into his throat.

he swallows thickly, trying to force whatever contents of his stomach back down his throat. sticky strands of bleached silver cling to his forehead, droplets of sweat, coat his pale skin, almost iridescent in the moonlight. spit gathering in the cracks of his chapped lips as he primarily seethes and grunts like some rabid animal frustrated with a failed hunt. that’s when he hears it, the soft pitter patter of footsteps. ever since the accident, his hearing has become supernatural, so much so that he can pinpoint even an ant’s footsteps. he only knows it is blessing the ghoul that bestowed such a curse on him so many moonlights ago.

iii listens closely, the footsteps were close, maybe about a hundred feet north of him, two hundred at most. the footsteps are light, quick, and definitely feminine. his ears prick up at the sound, focusing on it, how frantic the small thuds and taps sound against concrete. he finds himself smiling, a sick, almost frightening smile. drool begins to pool in his mouth at the thought of another feast. finally at last!

he follows the sound, cautious not to disrupt it. he takes small paces, stopping every ten or so to gauge the sound again, repeating so on and henceforth. he is close, practically tasting the scent of the figure of his desires, the scent sweet, not sickly like the aforementioned hazelnuts, it was warm, inviting, slightly floral - honeysuckle. he notes, nose pointed in the air like a sniffer dog taking deep, methodical inhales, of the undeniable human scent until his eyes met the owner.

you.

standing across the street from where he was, doe-eyes wide, even in the blackness of night they seem to pierce through like diamonds. iii could not help but stare, pretty little thing, all dolled up out this late at night, where the moon was as clear in the sky as the pearls that hung idly from your earlobes. he admires, gawks even, and unabashedly so. for the dress you’re wearing left very little to the imagination, and iii…well he does not need much imagination as to where he’d want that dress to be. shamelessly he lets his eyes wander across your figure, down your shoulders, around the curve of your breasts, his tongue involuntary parting his lips with a small, delirious breath, wanting to trace shapes into the delicate, pillowy flesh. his eyes fell down your stomach, so sweetly filling the fabric of your dress, silently commenting on how he’d adore it to be filled, so smooth and supple, letting his giant hands feel and cup the round, growing bump, how your hips would swell and grow to accommodate the spawn your body so willingly nurses.

he’s getting ahead of himself. his main goal was to feast. nothing more, as the hunger pangs so constantly remind him. yet, he couldn't help but fantasise about the pretty human a few feet across from him, looking so helpless, so confused, checking your phone every so often, for a text, a phone call, your maps. whatever it was iii did not care too much, all he cared about was that you were all alone.

perfect. fresh meat.

iii notices how you are positioned perfectly between an alleyway, the crevices so dark that no one – not that anyone was out at this time – would notice if he were to just, sweep you of your feet and devour you. he licks his lips feverishly, collecting the spit that dribbled carelessly from his tongue. his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage, so much so that he has to place a hand upon his chest just to make sure it won't explode.

he takes a cautious step forward, silent as a field mouse. you have not noticed him quiet yet. he watches, taking another step, pausing than stepping again until he was right behind you, practically breathing down your neck. he stands there for a moment, taking in the scent of your shampoo, identifying it at the honeysuckle from earlier. he inhales deeply, catching the additional hints of vanilla scent that radiated off your skin, he shudders internally, how sweet, how delicate your smelt.

before you have time to react, he has a hand wrapped around your mouth, silencing your panicked screams as he drags you into the alleyway. your scent more prominent now laced with fear, a cold sweat develops on your skin.

“food…” he grumbles through clenched fangs.

the ivory grinding in his maw, spit frothing through set teeth as the hunger persists into overdrive. he bares his teeth, ready to bite when he stares down at you, noticing the fear laced in your eyes, all watery and red, silently begging him to spare you. iii’s heart flutters, with what would commonly be known as sympathy, mercy even. for the little bird begs so reverently for her life that she does not realise the gilded cage she finds herself in extends far beyond his grasp. he almost has half a heart not to bite you, despite the hunger raging within him. those eyes, oh those pretty eyes, he could not bring himself to feast on her flesh.

he would still desire a piece of her, even the smallest amount, that would be enough. his tongue lops out past his lips, collecting the cold clammy beads of sweat that gathered on your neck, shuddering as the salty taste met his taste buds. the resolve lasted a total of five seconds before he sinks his teeth into you, not to devour flesh just to draw blood, you let out a piercing scream, it rings through his ears despite it being muffled against his palm.

“shh pretty bird” he grunts, teeth still firmly implanted in your neck.

“screamin’ will get ya nowhere”

you, even with limited mobility, are able to crane your neck back enough so you can face him, as painful as it is. your eyes meet his, just as he draws back, fangs leaving his flesh, ivory stained ruby red as he licks his lips clean. those eyes stare deep into your soul, satisfied with his intake of crimson. something about those eyes drew you in, yes he spared you from being mauled by him, yet he also drained you substantially of blood. yet…you're drawn to him. you want more of him.

iii licks his lips clean, satisfied that his belly was, at least, partially full. he looks down at you momentarily, noticing the infatuated stare you were giving him, he assumes it was just dizziness, he did draw a lot of blood and quite quickly too.

“why ya lookin’ at me like tha’?”, the british twang rings thick in his words. those previous thoughts dispelled once he caught you gazing, rather unashamedly at his cock. he wasn't aware, now as a ghoul he’d have the ability to hypnotise. he smirks at the newfound power.

“oh, lil’ bird wants a taste eh?” he holds you up by the chin, licking the blood clean until it forms a coagulated, almost gel-like coating around the wounds.

“on ya fuckin’ knees” he grunts, fumbling with the zipper of his jeans, his semi-hard cock pressing hard against the fabric. his long, slender fingers snaking into your hair like tendrils, tugging roughly at root, earning a soft whimper on your part. and yet, you still drop to your knees like a pathetic, obedient slut, blood still present from where he bit you, drying in little crimson speckles on your skin.

“tha’s it…open tha’ pretty mouth for me”

your tongue lops out of your mouth, past petal shaped lips, all rubied like fresh rosebuds. a small glob of spit glossing over your tastebuds, all sleek and wet under moonlight. he jostles your head around slightly, tightening on the makeshift ponytail from a fist full of gathered hair. for no reason in particular, he just wants to toy with you for a moment, to make sure he knew just how obedient you are.

his free hand stuffed into his jeans, fiddling with his semi-hair cock, pumping the shaft, feeling the blood pulsate beneath the skin. he frees it haphazardly, impatiently. letting it flop out from underneath his underwear. even while semi-erect it weighs down, hangs heavily pressed against your cheek, tip drooling warm glossy precum. you salivate, intensively letting your eyes follow the lengths of it, and just like his height, it seems to impose its presence over you. so thick and veiny you’d need two hands just to pump him efficiently. your eyes scan up his shaft, up the veins that pulsate blood feverishly through it, allowing to grow more firm the longer the seconds ticked by, to his balls heavy and full with months of spend denied release.

he grasps it firmly, hissing slightly with the pressure of his of grip and slaps it against the flat of your tongue, just gaining a feel for your mouth, smirking before he viciously bucks his hips forward, swollen cockhead punishing the back of your throat, yet you…so enamoured with him, accept it, allow him to use your mouth as he saw fit.

“fuuuckkk…” he groans through gritted fangs, his swollen cock aching at the sensation of your throat constricting around him, taking him deeper and deeper, inch by inch. your throat nothing more that a pretty fleshlight for him. he was restless, relentless with his movements, the hypnosis, albeit, unintentional, seems to work well in his favour as you just sit there, on your knees, gladly accepting any form of affection, in your eyes at least he’d give to you.

“take it…good girl…tha’s my good lil’ whore…”

the only sounds that whisper through his ears include the sickening slaps of his balls against your chin and the sweet gurgles and gags of your throat, shaft glistening slick with your spit each time he pulls back, shimmering with the iridescence of the moonlight, he holds it there for a moment of reprieve, respite, watching your laboured breaths rise and fall heavy in your chest while your lips still persistently cling around his swollen cockhead. then, savagely swift in his movements, his cock his seated in the back of your throat once more, though he does not move, simply watching, in awe, as his cock swells in the back of your throat, he can so clearly see it pulse through the skin, constricted with coughs and sputters slipping so sweetly from your lips until you physically could not take him any longer.

“fuck-” you cough.

it was breathy, the first word he hears explicitly fluttering past your puffy, reddened lips. it curses him, bringing him further down into the pits of lust. a word so volatile, so rigid, yet it rolls off your tongue so honeyed and sweet. iii adores it.

“wha’s the matter, can’t take a good throat fuckin’ huh?” his words smug.

filling his veins with an entitled sense of grandeur, as he stared you down lustfully, unhappy that his balls were still full, yet not showing it. his cock dripping, a mixture of precum and spit, forming in small globs of pearlescent white at the slit, just aching to be cleaned, worshipped again by your tongue. your eyes, all teary and red, gaze upon him, in some form of faux admiration, unbeknownst to you still, the hypnosis still not wearing off in the slightest, the irrevocable need to please him still lurking, humming underneath your skin.

instead of speaking, silently you grasp his cock, gentle yet firm, enough to get your message across. you took him in your mouth again, not necessarily because you wanted to – you did, however –m wanting to prove a point. that he can use your mouth whenever he sees fit and you’d never grow tired of the fact.

the hunger rushed back into his blood stream until his eyes burned a cherry red, the ghoulish inhibition to devour you then and then was slowly encapsulating his human form the longer you suck him off. he watches his cock disappear and re-emerged from your throat, the greedy suction reverberating against his shaft, all the product of your perfect lips.

“lil’ bird….fuck…” his hips move to an unknown rhythm, absent in his own mind, his only goal was to empty himself, relieve himself frim the volatile ache and need for release.

you suck him impatiently, quickly. hoping that his release would come sooner than you anticipate, his cock grows substantially in your throat, hands weakening through glossy tendrils of hair as he fucks himself deeper into your throat, restless groans catch in his throat as he cums unexpectedly. hot stringy pearls of cum are pumped into your throat. you mouth nothing more than a disposal for his load. he pulls out hastily to gaze upon the creation he has made. cum sticking to your lips all milky and warm. he shudders, cock twitching against your bottom lips.

he stands there for a moment, hand still locked in your hair, breathlessly panting trying to regain some form of composure. still the hunger lurks, this time not for meat, oh no. for now he’s set his desires on that pretty cunt of yours. you already look so gorgeous, all wide eyed and expecting, lips slightly parted in your own need for air, the vile salty taste of is inhuman load still present on your tongue.

in a movement you could barely register, he flips you onto your stomach, your chin hit the gravel with a loud thud, sharp, jacked pebbles scrape the skin slightly as you wince from the force of it. his hands so expertly prop your ass up in the air, your dress along with it, delicate black lace so carelessly ripped by pointed, precisely sharpened fingernails. you attempt to crawl, not necessarily away from him, moreso to regain a sense of your surroundings. he grabs your waist, keeping you still.

“fuckin’ stay still-”

he places a hand upon your head, pushing your cheek further into the gravel, the sensation making your eyes burn and water,

“gonna break this lil’ pussy in” he mutters through clenched teeth, as if talking to himself rather than you. he traces your slick cunt with a pointed finger, gathering your wetness on his fingertips.

“make sure she only takes my cock. ruin ‘er for any other man-”

he shethes himself into you roughly, holding himself deep within your cunt, feeling your tight walls flutter around him, your slick making it easy for him.

“who m’ i kiddin’. no man would want ya’ after you’ve been stuffed wit’ a ghoul’s cock huh? dirty fuckin’ girl”

he pushes past the first meaty ring of your cunt, gummy walls clinging to him tightly as he forcibly spreads you open, breaking you in like you were a fresh pair of boots.

his thrusts are slow, methodical, testing the way you contort and clench around him just to get a feel for it. the force of his thrusts lurches you forward, his hand still locked in your hair, pulling you back every so often to whisper the most vile of things in your ear. to lick behind them and the nape of your neck to where the bite mark still resides, to spit on you like you were nothing more than street trash, his own personal whore. and you welcomed every second of it, sure it is an unusual experience, a dangerous one in fact, you are surprised that he has not devoured you yet.

“mine!” he growled. “ya spoiled for any other man, this cunt belongs t’ me!”

his ramblings are inconsistent and erratic. tossing between silence and jumbled strings of sentences your mind is too far gone to comprehend. you cunt instinctively clenches around him, silently begging for him to do his worst. in any other circumstance you would have screamed, fought back, begged for mercy. yet here you are, just accepting the wonderful torment he bestowed upon you, yet the ghoulish venom he filled you with when his fangs met your flesh spoke otherwise, contradicting any semblance of thought you had left.

“mhm..harder…” it is all you can muster.

“huh? wha’ was tha’, lil’ bird?”

“h-harder-”

“harder?” he is bewildered by the statement, by the gods she speaks more, and it is a heavenly voice that flutters so delicately through his ears.

“m’ girl likes a bit of pain. huh?”

he does not wait for a response, instead slamming against your cervix with the most volatile set of thrusts your body is able to take. your soft, pliable skin rippling with the force of his movements, stomach filled with his cock as you can so clearly feel him through your flesh. through teary eyes you attempt to look up at him, to turn your head to face him with a silent thank you in appreciation. never had your cunt been so vehemently filled and fucked. instead he keeps his hand on your skull, holding you in place while he forcibly has his way with your tight little cunt.

“want me t’ fill this lil’ cunt? huh?” he breathes out in ragged pants before releasing a heavy chuckle.

“lil’ bird, ya aint got a choice. ya gonna take all my cum like a good lil’ slut” his words come out choked as if he was holding back a moan.

“force ya t’ carry my load. keep ya nice n’ full all the fuckin’ time until it fuckin’ takes- mmm fuck-!”

you feel your defences slipping, your skin burning with desire and need for release, you did not want that of course you did not. he is a ghoul for fuck’s sake! a monster with no morality and only an insatiable need for human flesh! and he wants to use your womb to host his seed! it’s disgusting, immoral, downright wrong! that being said…with the mention of it, your cunt gripped him tighter, pulling him in until he is buried fully into your womb emptying rope after rope of his vile, disgusting seem into you. your cunt accepts the offering so willingly, taking every droplet until he’s fully emptied himself.

your own juices leaking in sticky globs down your shaky thighs, body slick with sweat and cum as he pulls out of you, the burn of the sensation as he finally exits you is nothing short of exhilarating. your fluttering cunt now empty, desperately, instantly missing the feeling of his cock.

“ya comin’ home wit’ me darlin’. gotta keep tha’ pretty cunt full somehow”

just like that his mind was no longer fixated on that insatiable hunger…for now he had far more pressing matters to attend to.

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

[ghelgheli]

Contemporary utopians only consider the efficiency and the abundance of goods and services without sufficiently taking into account the qualitative and material side of production, that is, the autonomy and independence of workers and the sustainability of the natural environment. Their vision of an economy of abundance based on market-driven innovations ends up reinforcing the real subsumption under capital and easily turns into the means of further expropriation from nature and surveillance over workers. Since alienation of work cannot be overcome in this way, fully automated post-capitalism propagates an alternative hope that everyone keeps driving electronic SUVs, changing smartphones every two years and eating cultured meat hamburgers. Such a vision of the luxury future obviously sounds attractive to many people in the Global North because ecological modernization assures them that they do not need to change anything about their extravagant lifestyle. This kind of abundant future appeals to the satisfaction of people's immediate desires without challenging the current imperial mode of living in the Global North. The problem is, however, that such a vision accepts too uncritically existing value-standards and consumerist ideals. It ends up reproducing the social relations marked by oppression, inequality and exploitation that are inherent to capitalism.

Paradoxically, hidden under the optimistic tone of this technocratic vision is actually a pessimistic 'capitalist realism' that holds that there is no strong class struggle to challenge the existing social relations and to fundamentally detach from the capitalist mode of living. People are deprived of the power to transform the system, and this is why technology must play a central role to fill the void left by agency. In fact, this transformation can be implemented without strong social movements, and its promise of a comfortable life appear attractive. Such a productivist vision of post-capitalism ends up endorsing capitalist value- standards under the guise of a grandiose emancipatory project for infinite production and consumption. It gives up the revolutionary subjectivity of the working class and accepts the reified agency of machines as the subject of history.

Kohei Saito, Marx In The Anthropocene

[ozuzo]

Ultimate Homestuck ask game! (100 questions)

1. When did you start reading Homestuck?

2. What made you want to check it out?

3. Had you heard about Homestuck prior to reading it?

4. What does Homestuck mean to you?

5. Has Homestuck influenced you in any way?

6. What's your fondest Homestuck memory?

7. Have you meet friends through Homestuck?

8. How long did it take you to read Homestuck? Have you read it in its entirety?

9. Fave character? (overall)

10. Least fave character? (overall)

11. Fave "problematic" character?

12.  Fave beta kid?

13. Fave alpha kid?

14. Fave beta troll?

15. Fave dancestor?

16. Fave ancestor?

17. Fave guardian?

18. Fave carapacian?

19. Fave cherub?

20. Fave sprite?

21. A character you'd be friends with?

22. A character you wouldn't be friends with?

23. Fave quirk?

24. Least fave quirk?

25. Fave pesterlog?

26. Fave flash?

27. Fave song/songs?

28. Fave fan song?

29. Fave Broadway Homestuck song?

30. Fave lyricstuck?

31. Fave Homestuck AU?

32. Are there any non Homestuck songs that make you think about Homestuck?

33. Fave fanfic?

34. Fave Homestuck writer/fan artist?

35. Fave ship? (alternatively: fave ship in each quadrant?)

36. Have you read any fan adventures?

37. Have you watched any Homestuck video essays?

38. Who's your patron troll? And do you identify with them in any way?

39. What characters are most like you?

40. If you do cosplay, which Homestuck characters have you done or would like to do?

41. Prospit or Derse?

42. Meat or Candy?

43.  The Felt or The Midnight Crew?

44. Beta kids or alpha kids?

45. Red team or Blue team?

46. Canon or fanon?

47. What's your classpect?

48. Do you like your god tier or would you modify it to better suit your taste?

49. If you were in Homestuck, what would your color and typing quirk be?

50. Your strife specibus?

51. If you have one, what's your chumhandle?

52. What character interactions would you have liked to see/see more of?

53. Do you have a kidsona or trollsona?

54. Have you ever made fan kids or fan trolls?

55. Do you have any Homestuck OCs?

56. What's THE Homestuck reference for you?

57. Quick! You gotta prototype your kernel sprite, what are you dropping in there?

58. Would you play SBURB?

59. Do you think you'd win SBURB?

60. Have you read The Epilogues?

61. Have you read/are you reading Homestuck^2?

62. Have you played Pesterquest?

63. Have you played Hiveswap?

64. Have you played Friendsim?

65. Have you read the Intermission?

66. Have you read Problem Sleuth?

67. Have you read Jailbreak?

68. Have you read Paradox Space?

69. Have you read any of Hussie's other works?

70. What's an aspect of Homestuck you feel you know more about than the average Homestuck fan?

71. What's an aspect of Homestuck you'd like to know more about?

72. What's something you like about the fandom?

73. What's something you dislike about the fandom?

74.  Would you recommend Homestuck to new readers/friends?

75. Do you have any Homestuck memorabilia/merch? (official or not?)

76. A hot take or hill you'd gladly die on?

77. What are your popular opinions?

78. What are your unpopular opinions?

79. If you could canonize one thing and one thing only, what would it be?

80. If you could uncanonize one thing and one thing only, what would it be?

81. Are there any panels you particularly remember or enjoy?

82. Is there any character you like aesthetically, but not personality wise?

83. Is there any character who's grown on you over time?

84. Is there a ship you don't particularly like/straight up hate?

85. Do you have any crackships or rare ships?

86. Any headcanons you'd like to share?

87. Do you have any voice claims for the cast?

88. Did you find any part of Homestuck boring?

89. If you're a creative, do you have any Homestuck related projects?

90. Do you celebrate 413?

91. Do you remember the characters' birthdays?

92. What's your favourite art style within Homestuck?

93.  Karkalicious definition?

94.  Has Homestuck influenced what you look for in fiction?

95. What's a non Homestuck thing that you think has strong Homestuck vibes?

96. Others could clock you as Homestuck fan because [blank].

97. You recognise fellow Homestuck fans because [blank].

98. What's your extended zodiac sign?

99. How normal are you about Homestuck?

100. Will Homestuck stay somewhere inside you forever and ever wherever you go?

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN || SEASON 4 EPISODE 03 || THE FALSE BRIDE ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

We climbed a granite ledge, thick with moss and lichen, wet with the omnipresent flow of water, then followed the path of a descending freshet, brushing aside long grass that pulled at our legs, dodging the drooping branches of mountain laurel and the thick-leaved rhododendrons. Wonders sprang up by my feet, small orchids and brilliant fungi, trembling and shiny as jellies, shimmering red and black on fallen tree trunks. Dragonflies hung over the water, jewels immobile in the air, vanishing in mist. I felt dazed with abundance, ravished by beauty. Jamie’s face bore the dream-stunned look of a man who knows himself sleeping, but does not wish to wake. Paradoxically, the better I felt, the worse I felt, too; desperately happy—and desperately afraid. This was his place, and surely he felt it as well as I. In early afternoon we stopped to rest and drink from a small spring at the edge of a natural clearing. The ground beneath the maple trees was covered with a thick carpet of dark green leaves, among which I caught a sudden telltale flash of red. “Wild strawberries!” I said with delight. The berries were dark red and tiny, about the size of my thumb joint. By the standards of modern horticulture, they would have been too tart, nearly bitter, but eaten with a meal consisting of half-cooked cold bear meat and rock-hard corn dodgers, they were delicious—fresh explosions of flavor in my mouth; pinpricks of sweetness on my tongue. I gathered handfuls in my cloak, not caring for stains—what was a little strawberry juice among the stains of pine pitch, soot, leaf smudges and simple dirt? By the time I had finished, my fingers were sticky and pungent with juice, my stomach was comfortably full, and the inside of my mouth felt as though it had been sandpapered, from the tartly acid taste of the berries. Still, I couldn’t resist reaching for just one more. Jamie leaned his back against a sycamore, eyelids half lowered against the dazzle of afternoon sun. The little clearing held light like a cup, still and limpid.

“What d’ye think of this place, Sassenach?” he asked. “I think it’s beautiful. Don’t you?”

He nodded, looking down between the trees, where a gentle slope full of wild hay and timothy fell away and rose again in a line of willows that fringed the distant river. “I am thinking,” Jamie said, a little awkwardly. “There is the spring here in the wood. That meadow below—” He waved a hand toward the scrim of alders that screened the ridge from the grassy slope. “It would do for a few beasts at first, and then the land nearer the river might be cleared and put in crops. The rise of the land here is good for drainage. And here, see …” Caught by visions, he rose to his feet, pointing. I looked carefully; to me, the place seemed little different from any of the steep wooded slopes and grassy coves through which we had wandered for the last couple of days. But to Jamie, with his farmer’s eye, houses and stock pens and fields sprang up like fairy mushrooms in the shadows of the trees. Happiness was sticking out all over him, like porcupine quills. My heart felt like lead in my chest. “You’re thinking we might settle here, then? Take the Governor’s offer?” He looked at me, stopping abruptly in his speculations. “We might,” he said. “If—” He broke off and looked sideways at me. Sun-reddened as he was, I couldn’t tell whether he was flushed with sun or shyness.

“D’ye believe in signs at all, Sassenach?”

“What sorts of signs?” I asked guardedly. In answer, he bent, plucked a sprig from the ground, and dropped it into my hand—the dark green leaves like small round Chinese fans, a pure white flower on a slender stem, and on another a half-ripe berry, its shoulders pale with shade, blushing crimson at the tip.

“This. It’s ours, d’ye see?” he said. “Ours?” “The Frasers’, I mean,” he explained. One large, blunt finger gently prodded the berry. “Strawberries ha’ always been the emblem of the clan—it’s what the name meant, to start with, when a Monsieur Fréselière came across from France wi’ King William that was—and took hold of land in the Scottish mountains for his trouble.”

King William that was. William the Conqueror, that was. Perhaps not the oldest of the Highland clans, the Frasers had still a distinguished heritage. “Warriors from the start, were you?” “And farmers, too.” The doubt in his eyes was fading into a smile. I didn’t say what I was thinking, but I knew well enough that the thought must lie in his mind as well. There was no more of clan Fraser save scattered fragments, those who had survived by flight, by stratagem or luck. The clans had been smashed at Culloden, their chieftains slaughtered in battle or murdered by law. Yet here he stood, tall and straight in his plaid, the dark steel of a Highland dirk by his side. Warrior and farmer both. And if the soil beneath his feet was not that of Scotland, it was free air that he breathed—and a mountain wind that stirred his hair, lifting copper strands to the summer sun. I smiled up at him, fighting back my growing dismay.

“Fréselière, eh? Mr. Strawberry?

He grew them, did he, or was he only fond of eating them?” “Either or both,” he said dryly, “or it was maybe only that he was redheided, aye?” I laughed, and he hunkered down beside me, unpinning his plaid.

“It’s a rare plant,” he said, touching the sprig in my open hand. “Flowers, fruit and leaves all together at the one time. The white flowers are for honor, and red fruit for courage—and the green leaves are for constancy.”

My throat felt tight as I looked at him. “They got that one right,” I said. He caught my hand in his own, squeezing my fingers around the tiny stem.

“And the fruit is the shape of a heart,” he said softly, and bent to kiss me.

The tears were near the surface; at least I had a good excuse for the one that oozed free. He dabbed it away, then stood up and pulled his belt loose, letting the plaid fall in folds around his feet. Then he stripped off shirt and breeks and smiled down at me, naked. “There’s no one here,” he said. “No one but us.” I would have said this seemed no reason, but I felt what it was he meant. We had been for days surrounded by vastness and threat, the wilderness no farther away than the pale circle of our fire. Yet here, we were alone together, part and parcel of the place, with no need in broad daylight to hold the wilderness at bay. “In the old days, men would do this, to give fertility to the fields,” he said, giving me a hand to rise. “I don’t see any fields.” And wasn’t sure whether to hope I never would. Nonetheless, I skimmed off my buckskin shirt, and pulled loose the knot of my makeshift brassiere. He eyed me with appreciation. “Well, no doubt I shall have to cut down a few trees first, but that can wait, aye?”

We made a bed of plaid and cloaks, and lay down upon it naked, skin to skin among the yellow grasses and the scent of balsam and wild strawberries. We touched each other for what might have been a very long time or no time at all, together in the garden of earthly delight. I forced away the thoughts that had plagued me up the mountain, determined only to share his joy for as long as it lasted. I grasped him tight and he breathed in deep and pressed himself hard into my hand. “And what would Eden be without a serpent?” I murmured, fingers stroking. His eyes creased into blue triangles, so close I could see the black of his pupils. “And will ye eat wi’ me, then, mo chridhe? Of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of Good and Evil?” I put out the tip of my tongue and drew it along his lower lip in answer. He shivered under my fingers, though the air was warm and sweet. “Je suis prest,” I said. “Monsieur Fréselière.” His head bent and his mouth fastened on my nipple, swollen as one of the tiny ripe berries. “Madame Fréselière,” he whispered back. “Je suis à votre service.” And then we shared the fruit and flowers, and the green leaves covering all.

16 THE FIRST LAW OF THERMODYNAMICS

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2024-08-24

(Previous post - current page 666)

Section 3 of page 666 is now upd8'd, let's check it out! And as you can expect very much from the topic it's almost certainly covering, they've warned us via the twitter "Content warning for references to themes of physical and mental abuse, flashing imagery, and mild gore". By the way, when Force Refresh didn't reload the game data enough to show the new chapter in Google Chrome for me, I had to go in settings to "Delete Browsing Data" > "Cookies and other site data" for the Time Range "Last hour", because just deleting "Cached images and files" or "Hosted app data" didn't help.

(EDIT: THEY WERE NOT KIDDING AROUND ABOUT THE CONTENT WARNINGS, IF YOU HAVE ANY PERSONAL EXPERIENCE WITH ANY SORT OF ABUSE PLEASE BE CAREFUL WITH THIS ONE.)

Although, before we get into it (AND WAY BEFORE I SCROLLED BACK UP TO EDIT THAT EXTRA WARNING UP THERE), I wanted to cover something that'd been on my mind since my last post, predictionways: How IS Vriska going to escape the Plot Point?

There seem a number of obvious answers that we'll get some combination of, but the last one might not be obvious to everyone, so I wanted to cover it and flesh out / examine the possibilities so we all can feel really smart if it pans out at all the way I'm thinking it could pan out:

(1) Vriska realizes the true power and relevance she'd attained as a Thief of Light never left her heart all along, and this singularity is Nothing, a realm Void of relevance where only she exists. (Very like the Neverending Story after everything was destroyed, maybe?) If she allows herself to divest herself of some of her relevance she's been so desperately clutching onto, she can 8r8k the Plot Point.

Callie hinted that this singularity-center might need to be destroyed, and the fifth section is an 8-ball, a type of container Vriska is famously known to break. It may make a degree of sense that realizing her own power, her ultimate freedom, might be enough to do just that and free her.

(1a) Vriska becomes her Ultimate Self, and is too full of Light for the singularity to contain. This could break it or otherwise get her out of it...

...but I'm not sure it's either possible or a good thing for her to consolidate ALL of herself from the rest of Paradox Space into herself while she's trapped in here? Those versions of her perhaps deserve to keep existing rather than falling into a sea of herself that would need to hold powerfully to the self-actualization and psychological progress she's made as THIS version of her instead of the versions of her that didn't. We're not certain of all the mechanics of being an Ultimate Self, so it's hard to say whether or not it's possible... or could even see her backslide from this Therapy Session, which I really wouldn't want to see because this has been so good, and would definitely make some sense of alt!Callie / AL's warning that what was inside the Plot Point was hungry, because an Ultimate Vriska certainly could be. This doesn't seem the right choice unless in combination with one of the other options:

(2) Vriska finds the collapsed core of the Green Sun's power here and steals it for herself, a hidden treasure that could be intensely empowering, whether via Light or even giving her fancy barrier-busting Black Hole powers similar to alt!Calliope's dead!Jade body. I... feel this option is unlikely. It'd certainly count as something "greedy" inside the Plot Point that "isn't salvation" and could hasten the fragmentation of the Candy storyline because there isn't a singularity vacuuming its power all together, which could apply to breaking the Plot Point too, frankly... eh, I just still think other options seem more likely and better foreshadowed. Especially this last one:

(3) Vriska uses the same communication-across-barriers ability she used to contact (Meat)!Terezi in order to message JOHN and ask the HEIR OF BREATH to free her from the singularity as I once long ago wrongly predicted. If John is the only one who can reach in and pull her out, it would require Vriska to overcome herself enough to realize she needs -- and has the power -- to MAKE a divestment of relevance (as (1) suggested) to John from herself, and let John be the hero in her place for at least a moment. The arms he once reached everywhere with using his ultimate power suddenly become an arm reaching for another hand to pull someone to freedom.

Now on top of everything I mentioned in the old Breath, Blood, and the Flow of Reality post about John being one of the only people possibly capable of freeing someone from a singularity that "not even Light can escape", there's a bunch of EXTREMELY RECENT evidence for this, too. In addition to telling us how surprising and unlikely they would have found it to learn that Vriska messaged Terezi past the barrier sealing Candy's timeline away from the rest of Paradox Space, Callie ALSO just got done asking John to break Vriska out of jail, reinforcing it with an open statement that Breath was the aspect of Freedom, and John embodied the concept. And more importantly, John HADN'T BEEN NECESSARY to break Vriska out at all, and ended up only tagging along for conversation and fun, not even needing to tell Serket where to go! Which makes the entire relevance and narrative choice of Callie asking him to break her out better suited as foreshadowing for this exact necessity while she's trapped in the Plot Point, and all Vriska would need to do to make it happen is pull a trick (communicating across the Breach) we've already seen her pull before in the Epilogues. To have the courage and stability of mind to realize she can't do this on her own, and know who to ask for help. (Roxy, as a Rogue of Void, might even be able to lend her power to the effort too.)

Apologies for the pre-update writeup, I just really wanted to make that last John call for y'all if you hadn't realized the possibility, y'know, before we potentially see it happen a few upd8s from now. :D

Alright, on to all the trauma that Doc Scratch helped inflict on Vriska, manipulating her into actions that only injured her psyche further and her friends moreso, and all the guilt and anger she feels over it. I suspect she'll have to finally at least PARTIALLY realize the trick that's being hinted at regarding "ultimate freedom" -- ie, the answer to the Ultimate Riddle -- and just how much Doc Scratch's talk of inevitability not only gaslit her into thinking her worst instincts were unavoidable, but that even as he was TELLING her that he was manipulating her, he was admitting that he HAD to manipulate her to make this happen, meaning the power had been in HER hands all along, not his. Without Vriska provoked into being the one to inflict the injuries in the entire Team Charge vs Team Scourge cascade, without the fact that this was all FRIENDS hurting FRIENDS, none of them would have experienced enough of the severe psychological trauma required for Doc Scratch's half-Gamzee chucklevoodoos to control them into unknowingly writing his DNA code, and leaving those like Aradia in an inverted, highly manipulatable state for guiding their session into creating the Tumor that would birth the Green Sun. Let's click the White Cueball and start watching Vriska painfully confronting some serious emotional abuse and trauma from her past at the hands of a very-Dirk-Strider-like pseudo-parental figure...

*CLICKING THAT DAMNED CUEBALL NOW*

Okay, NO TIMESKIP notice this time, she looks the same in her room-- it would make sense that Doc Scratch is next on the chopping block this time and I'd WANT to see her live first reaction to it. What's with this poppy hoppy fun music? We're definitely getting something more sinister for Scratch. (Also I have to say, the music so far this entire Vriska Therapy Session flash has been... okay? But not up to the usual Homestuck banger standards the original comic's run spoiled us with constantly, in my personal view.)

VRISKA: Whew. VRISKA: Long day.

Oh gosh I hope she doesn't go into the next one IMMEDIATELY and rests first--

Oh GCATAVROSPRITE is the music this time, I get it! And he's acting more catlike than ever w/ those paws lifted!

GCATAVROSPRITE: mAYBE, yOU SHOULD TAKE A BREAK, fROM ALL THE TOTALLY AWESOME PERSONAL BREAKTHROUGHS YOU ARE HAVING, GCATAVROSPRITE: aND KICK IT WITH ME AND ERISOL FOR A WHILE, ERISOLSPRITE: yeah, you kiinda look liike 2hiit.

THANK you, get her to relax at least a BIT before tackling something harder than her freakin' abusive mother(s). Also,

--just, Erisol looking unexpectedly fly as fuck, and more Dave-like than ever. Like, I'm just surprised he looks so cool. Good damn art.

VRISKA: Says Scarfshades McLopsided.

Hey!!!

ERISOLSPRITE: 2ay2 the bu2ted a22 biitch wwearin the 2ame raggedy jacket 2he2 wworn 2ince wwe wwere liike fiivve.

FUCKIN' OWNED, GOOD SNAPBACK.

VRISKA: Says the guy who literally can't change his clothes.

That's low AND not helping your case, fuck you! You're being incredibly disrespectful AND proving him right!

ERISOLSPRITE: ii cant be held accountable for my dii2cordant cla22-2wwag diichotomy, but here you are a 2weep and a half deep iin a per2onally raiilored realm of 2elf-reflectiion and you 2tiill choo2e twwo look liike thii2.

EXACTLY, that's what we're saying!!! --Not that it can be helped TOO much, from an emotional standpoint she sorta has to take forms similar to her past to face her past to an extent, so...

Also, let me do the math on that... (6/13)*4 ≈ 1.85, so if we're still in "YEAR 4" then 1.85 solar sweeps have passed for her since she entered the Plot Point. If anything, Erisol's being generous as fuck here by rounding down instead of saying "nearly two sweeps". (And this confirms we haven't timeskipped again-- or if we have, must not have skipped MUCH.)

VRISKA: Heh.

What, can't mess with perfection?

ERISOLSPRITE: heh.

Oh shit, they're actually getting on, look at his damned animated grin. This is just some black-vibey friendly jabbing!

ERISOLSPRITE: anyway, come chiill.

Please, please do Vriska for your own damn sake.

Oh no, Tavros, don't suggest cat things.

Yeah, get some R and R. (And pointless playtime.) So you don't burn out. Good advice Tav.

FUCK IS HE STILL ALLERGIC? :C

.....okay GCATavrosprite you make a good goddamned point, you're doing pretty well against the allergies all things considered.

Oh no, she thinks she needs to keep going. :( This is gonna be even less fun for her than she thinks.

VRISKA: I'm kind of on a roll here. Gotta strike while the iron is hot!

Intense trauma-release therapy does not work that way!!! Heavy revelations have to be PROCESSED and mulled over before you subject yourself to more psychological pounding!

GCATAVROSPRITE: [...] aND IT KIND OF FEELS LIKE THE FIRE IS ABOUT TO GET REALLY REALLY HOT,

Ooh, a serious warning from Tav and Erisol that this shit is about to be some fuckin' BUSINESS. Listen to them! (Exactly as you put it Tav, that iron is gonna MELT too long in too hot a fire. I hope this doesn't knock her back at first and then we get ANOTHER TIMESKIP so soon mid-section... D: )

VRISKA: Whaaaaaaaat?

Oh she doesn't fucking see it coming, does she. She thought she just conquered the worst of her abuse with her mother(s) just now. She is NOT ready.

VRISKA: Oh 8lah 8lah 8lah, don't be such a pussy. GCATAVROSPRITE: i LITERALLY CAN'T NOT BE A CAT,

PFFF

VRISKA: How 8ad could it even 8e?

How genre savvy could you POSSIBLY have lost track of being to make such a statement?

...Welp, she's gonna try it. Let's hope it doesn't make her backslide into being too afraid to touch it for another year or two. :C :C :C

ERISOLSPRITE: ok wwell fuck u2 for tryiin ii gue22, havve fun gettiing traumatiized.

PFFFFDHF okay that was pretty funny

VRISKA: I'm not gonna get traumatized!

Lemme guess, smash cut to a dozen and change clicks from now: "...I got fucking traumatized."? X'D

Oh here we go:

{ENTER SCRATCH'S PARLOR}

OH HERE WE GO WITH SOME PROPERLY OMINOUS MUSIC. AND I LOVE THE TYPEWRITER SOUNDS AS HIS TEXT TYPES OUT AGAINST THE PURE BACKGROUND. THIS IS DONE SO GODDAMN WELL

(Even if I still think this music still doesn't measure up to original Homestuck tunes, it's still FITTING AND WORKS GREAT for the scene, and the style and art choices are top notch, especially the pure backgroundless white font.)

Yep Vriska, a "perfectly predictable inevitability", you should have seen this coming. Did you know you'd show up here, or did you not and he's rubbing it in your face? Cause I'd bet it's the latter.

It certainly has been a while, Vriska. You seem to have blossomed nicely.

CREEPY ABUSIVE UNCLE VIBES ALREADY REACHING CRITICAL LEVELS THREE CLICKS IN

Care for a piece of candy?

GOD DAMNIT

VRISKA: Oh fuck your stupid candy, you glo8e-headed little freak.

Congratulations Vriska, you've successfully lost 99% of your chill five seconds in, have fun getting traumatized

Doc hinting at the inevitability theme by saying he'd know for a fact she'd enjoy the candy.

Although it was less the wary hunch of a scared little girl than the delightful certainty that you'd come crawling back to me, sooner or later.

FUCK THIS IS JUST RAW ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP WE ARE FULL NON-WATERED-DOWN EVERCLEAR HERE

Holy SHIT are they pulling out all the stops with his awful phrasing here, no wonder they put so big an emotional abuse trigger warning on this update on the twitter page. And it's only going to get worse.

Of course I know. I'm always watching you.

Fuck, this is just. Exposing levels of vulnerability and awful fear that Vriska had to contend with in her youth that we hadn't even PUT TOGETHER back then. Every veil of silliness has been ripped straight off to show the gory mess of how this would have psychologically affected her while she was younger, here. I used to hate the epilogues and early HS^2 a little for doing this so liberally, for making clear how RETROACTIVELY FUCKED things were in ways that made my heart ache without any balm or healing... but unlike those earlier glimpses into their past attitudes, THIS time we are fucking going to goddamn RESOLVE the psychological issues and get some clear closure on them. That's part of why the entire p666 Vriska Therapy Session / Hyperbolic Therapy Chamber is already quite nearly my favorite part of all Homestuck so far, and I DO mean ALL of Homestuck so far.

VRISKA: You know what? VRISKA: I've 8een pretty damn good. VRISKA: 8een losing track of the sweeps I've spent in here fixing pretty much everything other than the thing I actually came in here to fix, 8ut it's paying off! There's a convenient timer for the express purpose of tracking that.

Oh god don't show her. Don't make her worry about how much time she's losing in here or how much it might be reflecting out there.

VRISKA: Yeah, and I never look at it 8ecause it pisses me off!

Phew. At least she's had TIME to come to terms with worrying about it.

VRISKA: 8ut it's fine. VRISKA: It just means I've had a lot of time to think stuff over. VRISKA: Stuff that was holding me 8ack, throwing me off-course.

I get the feeling he's about to do a pretty good job trying to convince you that you can't escape this so easily. To throw the wrong sort of doubt at you about what exactly you're barreling towards. About who the real "YOU" is-- he's going to try and convince you you're the one who hurts people.

I like to think that I'm far and away the most prolific contributor to your baggage.

Fuck. This won't be good.

VRISKA: Man, I figured may8e this place was working up to something really intense, 8ut instead all I get is Glo8ehead the Gru8toucher playing puppetmaster again.

Eueuuugh that nickname D:

...Is Vriska shaking or laughing? I think she's shaking. D:

VRISKA: You fucked with a 8unch of little kids and 8lew up, then you LOST.

Lord English might have lost, but I don't feel quite like Doc Scratch really did. He pretty much gave his master the Paradox-Space-spanning story he wanted, from beginning to end.

VRISKA: You could 8arely handle me when I was six, I'm supposed to 8e scared of you NOW?

It doesn't matter that you're not six sweeps anymore, that's-- you're visibly shaking. This is a big fucking deal. This is digging into the creepiest and most disgusting parts of what was done to you.

Well, you're shaking.

There we have it.

...Vriska is pulling out the whole-ass PDF File word. I... I hope she's just trying to taunt him for manipulating children, here, and playing the uncle angle. He's not-- I mean nothing actually happened, right? Please tell me nothing physical actually fucking happened besides the cueball-explosion physical-abuse-ways, I don't want sexual abuse retconned into existence here...

Exquisite. I missed that fumbling braggadocio. It's heartening to know that this place hasn't cured you of it yet. It makes you so much fun to play with.

Yeah... the parts of Doc Scratch that Vriska is going to remember most clearly are the times where he was condescending in ways that denigrated her and confirmed her worst fears about herself, intentionally. :C

WHOA DID HE JUST SPACE SHRINK HER??? IS HE GONNA PUT HER ON THE TOY BATTLEFIELD?!

{o} ==>

Matching the scale and visuals of the situation to how she always felt. :C :C

And SICK that the music is breaking down, I'll freely give it credit for shifting to action mode.

Now then, why don't we have ourselves a little game?

Just like Dirk and Caliborn, and their union in Doc Scratch, always love to do to people.

FUCK he glitched away the "WHAT WILL YOU DO?" prompt. This is DEFINITELY about the Ultimate Riddle and Doc Scratch's ultimate lie that Vriska never had any autonomy, a lie he poisoned her with from an early age to make her even easier to manipulate both then and down the line.

DAMMIT, changing her clothes by force?! D: D: D: D:

FUCK FUCK FUCK NO THAT'S EVEN WORSE HE CHANGED HER INTO KID FORM HUGGING HERSELF FROM WHEN SHE WAS ABOUT TO BE INJURED THAT'S CREEPIER AND MORE AWFUL THAN I EVER EXPECTED NO WONDER THEY CONTENT WARNING'D THE FUCK OUT OF THIS, I'm going up there and putting some EXTRAS on there.

I don't have personal experience with this sort of abuse but I do have experience with some who HAVE and some who WORK therapeutically with those who have so this is playing out like a critical hit to triggers I can only empathize from a distance with and it's STILL getting almost too much already. Wow wow wow wow wow they didn't pull any punches.

Ah, and there she is. My favorite piece.

AAAAAA

Thief to E4; Thief takes Page.

That loud BLAM just then and the brown blood knocking her back along with her injuries, so pithy yet so HEAVY and with the meaty SFX to go with it, just, brutal, auughh.... Vriska's NOT getting out of this one lightly. She's not going to want to come back here. She's going to be too traumatized for a good while isn't she.

Thief to F5; Thief takes Maid.

Oh god I don't want to screenshot each of these...

Another meaty THUNK and some rust blood splashing her. God.

Thief to Z8; Thief takes Seer.

Even after all Terezi taunted her and so clearly loved being blind, she STILL hates herself for what she did to Terezi?? :'C

Her blood too D:

Z8 ISN'T EVEN A F8CKING P8SITION, YOU HACK!!!!!!!

She didn't even get the number of exclamation points right...

All the world's my board.

No Escape.

Thief to ∫40; Thief takes pawn.

Wait what, who?

Is that Gamzee's blood or Eridan's? She only killed Gamzee just recently in Candy... (Checks with digital color meter--) That's #680768 blood, which is closest to... Eridan's, huh, weird. Maybe Erisol will be able to help her with this later after she's run away. IF AND WHEN she can finally run away. It looks like he wants to reinforce the impression that he can make her kill ANY AND ALL of the people friends she knows, COULD have made her do it. That's horrible for her to think of herself.

Now Equius's blood. She's swearing but can't make it stop.

He even calls Kanaya (and her blood splash) nothing but her killing a pawn of his choosing.

Thief to Ω413; Thief takes pawn. Check.

This is one of the first reappearances I can remember of the arc number 413 since we started HS^2, I don't even recall it in the epilogues. What's in Check here, the kids' whole universe, the one the trolls created? Is he getting her to blame herself for that, too?

KARKAT'S BLOOD AUGH that's always tough to see whenever I have to see it, it just makes you want to protect him when you know you can't.

Vriska calling him a cheap fucking karma ghost, this a stupid fucking charade... won't stop the fact that this is real emotional pain she's feeling and real pain that was already inside her for nearly her whole life up until this vision brought it out into the open.

VRISKA: AND I'M NEVER GOING TO 8E CAUGHT UP IN YOUR FUCKING G8MES EVER AGAIN!!!!!!!!

Then why are you so afraid you will be?

Of course you will. You think you're better than me? Better than fate? Vriska, I am going to put you in situations where you have the potential to do terrible things. I am going to make things ugly. I am going to corner you. I am going to pressure you. And no matter how much "better" you claim to be, all I have to do is catch you at the wrong moment. You're one bad turn from burning all your quaint little progress to the ground. One lapse away from being mine again.

Yeah, these are ALL just more and more of her deepest fears about herself. That she can be made to kill again, so easily, no matter how far she thinks she's moved past it all. Until she internalizes the answer to the Ultimate Riddle and realizes she has the power to make the better choice-- to ALWAYS make the better choice, and he was just fooling her into thinking she never did-- how could she possibly escape this sort of trap? She can't, not yet. And that abusive cueball asshole INTENTIONALLY made sure she felt that way, because that's what kept her easy to control. Learned helplesness.

VRISKA: Get me out of here.

Fuck, she's so defeated... so helpless. Please, PLEASE let this work. Please make it so she CAN escape this memory RIGHT THE FUCK NOW and confront it later. Because I'm very afraid it won't.

VRISKA: I want a do-over. Oh, please. You of all people should know that you don't *get* do-overs. The rest of these frivolous little vision quests may feel like sparing you the effort of getting things right the first time around, but the real world doesn't work that way.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK THAT'S EVEN WORSE THAN I EXPECTED

No, you'll just have to endure it. This won't take long.

LET HER OUT YOU FUCK

You had a good run out there, flying solo and swashbuckling around as if Light itself were yours to command. It'd be wise to remember that it's a borrowed blessing. You flourish at its whim. Continue to spit in its face and take it for granted, and it will abandon you once again, perhaps for good.

Back to the ultimate riddle shit again. Doc Scratch conning her into thinking "everything you've achieved, I made for you, or you stole from others".

Being a true Thief of Light doesn't mean being at the whim of Light, at the mercy of what she can borrow. Kanaya tried to teach her back when she wanted her to clean her room that anybody can make their own luck.

Instead Doc Scratch is playing the role of Demiurge, standing in place of the Sun and claiming all Light radiates from him, when there was plenty inside her all along.

Do you remember who you were, before it chose you? The choices you made when luck wasn't on your side? You were such a delectable little victim.

Bluh!!!!!!

Poor Vriska, with her voracious lusus. With her demanding legacy and her uncooperative, fickle little friends. So much was out of your hands, then; how could you help but mbe my lovely assistant?

Doc Scratch inherited every last ounce of Equius's nonconsensual creep factor from Arquiusprite.

And this is going into the relationship between Light and Agency again, Void and the Lack of agency-- when Vriska felt trapped, felt she didn't have a choice, that was Void hemming her in, her "bad luck streak". Agency is your ability to choose what you do next, and so is Light. That's the privilege sometimes but not exclusively known as Luck.

Vriska: You didn't fucking own me.

Still so helpless-looking, but at least a bit of defiance in her expression. Which I expect handily crushed, unfortunately...

Exactly.

Fuck! And yeah, that's his point-- he's trying to say she CHOSE to do the wrong thing when the chips were down, which is what she's most afraid she'll do again.

But she needs to internalize the fact that it was a choice... that it HAD to be a choice... is an important flaw in the way he gaslit and conned her.

But what matters is that I might as well have. You let yourself believe you had no option other than to take me up on my hard bargains, again and again. For all your talk of independence, all your combative posturing and insistence on your own freedom, you barely bothered to put up any actual resistance to my suggestions. You took the easy way out, swearing all teh while it was your move. What a phenomenal waste of your considerable talents.

Her psyche is playing against her with the cards face up here... she just has to read them correctly. This is what she's afraid of, but it's also the flaw in his logic, the source of his power over her. The idea that she never possessed Ultimate Freedom, even though he's practically telling her that she DID, just to convince her she's an awful person.

It was an insult, and a warning. You're a trump card, Vriska, but your potency is a double-edged sword. One you've gotten far too comfortable swinging around, in the past. What do you intend to fix, when you leave this place? What, I wonder, will you break? I'd encourage you to be mindful of both. Of course, you could always cast aside those pesky trivialities and go with the flow, smashing through circumstances with nary a thought for the consequences. It'd be easier. We could dance together again, just like old times. You choose.

This isn't the real Doc Scratch-- this version of him IS, in its sick perverse way, still helping her. Still giving her the hints to realize that true balance between embracing your role and yielding agency to others is CRUCIAL to make sure you're doing your best to do the right thing. Which is especially difficult when your role, your best methodology, is that of an Agency Thief. A dangerous role which must be careful with its moves so as not to gluttonously trample over the wills of others who deserve a say.

But in order to choose, to take up the mantle of Ultimate Freedom, Vriska has to TRUST herself enough TO choose.

Trusting yourself enough to entrust yourself with CHOICE is one of the hardest decisions you can possibly make. Few ever truly make that decision.

What'll it be, Vriska? Player, or piece?

Well?

Thief to ∞108.

Whoa, what now? What the fuck is this going to be?

I look forward to finding out. Good luck.

Oh, so it's sending her back to the Plot Point. ∞108, or 8108. Is this the elusive arc number of one of our timelines, of Candy? One of infinite... or 1 and 0, creation and destruction, sandwiched between two 8s, two Vriskas with perpendicular orientations, Vriska and Vrissy? Hmm...

Oh thank fucking god we're back...

HAH

thanks so much I needed that mood lifter XD

{Level Complete!}

Thanks for ENDING it too, holy shit. I don't think I could have taken much longer of something THAT heavy tonight. Wow, that was masterfully done... not dragged out, just enough to get to the true point. To a setup for her decision, for her personal answer to the Ultimate Riddle.

Which makes plenty of sense why the NEXT section seems like it's likely a weird colorless version of one of Davepetasprite^2's feathers. They're the perfect person to talk to about her Soul/Heart, the greater self and the meaning of Ultimate Freedom, just as they hinted at during their last big talk in Homestuck.

--Yeah, she didn't get as much help from that as she would have wanted... and now the candle is ABSOLUTELY burning down.

The glimpse of the next unclaimed tiers, here... are these hinting at the start of the next section? We have her inhibitions bound, then a reference to a child development psychologist, then a somatic spark-- physical contact?! Then Deja Vu, a flash of the past (or possibly even meeting her GHOST self from the ghost rain, the more vulnerable (Vriska) inverted to Page of Void mode that she BERATED TO TEARS back toward the end of Homestuck to prove how much more (Vriska) had grown than Vriska before leaving her crying and for Ghost Terezi from the pre-retcon timeline to meet)... Heuristic Grace, getting her luck back possibly... burning, getting hotter, and then a transcendental gleam? No, no that's got to just be a candle and it burning out the rest of the singularity... I still don't think Ultimate Vriska is the solution to all this, could it be?

Oh shit, I forgot about how the BLACK CANDLE is burning down due to VRISKA'S blue flame.

Recall my proposals at the beginning of this post? I completely forgot about yet one more opportunity for her escape:

(4) That Vriska's Light has been burning away at the singularity of the Plot Point this entire time, and will naturally destroy it no matter what, especially if she embraces her Agency and her inner Light. The Green Sun was not just a symbol of Light but an ultimate manifestation of Space power... and collapsed into a singularity, it could indeed also have been not just a Void but an ultimate manifestation of Time power. The years, sweeps, that Vriska is spending inside of it could be wearing it away all on its own, rapidly exhausting a reservoir of Time that alt!Calliope preserved at the center of the singularity just to give the noncanon timeline more time to exist than it otherwise would have had?!! Instead, Vriska is burning it up, and the sprites and ghosts who fell into the Black Hole during the Ghost Rain and concentrated themselves in this singularity are helping her use that naturally limited Time to arm herself and become the best version of herself she can be, so when the Plot Point collapses and shit really starts hitting the fan for the Candy timeline, they can execute a NEW plan to breach into the Canon/Meat timeline and do something so incredibly important that it reseats the timelines outside Paradox Space in new relevance stolen out from Canon. Something incredibly important, like unexpectedly facilitating Sburb's creation in what Dirk and Rosebot are trying to do, or sendificating the kids the final frog they used to create this Universe, or something, which came from somewhere we've still never resolved...

So many interesting possibilities here. And only two or three more updates until we'll know for sure what and how!

I'll probably continue to be too busy the next week or two to be in the mood to chew through bonus material or commentary. Talk to you next upd8 instead, most likely! :D

[jeff-from-marketing]

Hey it's been a hot minute, I'm gonna go off about Helldivers 2 for a bit, because the whole thing fascinates me.

Funnily enough it's not even the actual game itself that truly fascinates me, as great as it is. I do genuinely think that, while not perfect, it's a very solid game that knows what kind of experience it wants to deliver, and does a fantastic job delivering on it. The Starship Troopers-esque satire is hilarious, and I love how much the gameplay reinforces that satire through things like reinforcements canonically being a whole new Helldiver sent into the meat grinder, and that the mission still counts as a celebrated victory even if you never make it back alive. I could even talk about how the objectively clunky system for calling in orbital support is actually a positive for the game, but only this game and the type of experience it's selling.

But none of that is what fascinates me about this game so much. Because y'see, I played the first Helldivers game, and it was also a great bit of fun! It's actually why I was interested in the second one to begin with. But I also know that the first Helldivers was not a very wide reaching game, none of Arrowhead's games have been. They've not done poorly by any means, they're still in business and have been for over a decade now. But they've always been fairly niche affairs. Until now. To really sell the picture, I wanna rattle off player counts for their previous games:

Magicka in 2011, Arrowhead's first big game and published by Paradox, had an all-time max player count of 11,727 players according to SteamDB. I don't believe it was on any other storefronts, but I could be mistaken. A quick wikipedia visit tells me that the game sold roughly a million units over a year which, again, not bad! Especially for a game that is admittedly fairly unusual, but is a lot of fun!

The Showdown Effect in 2013, which I only just found out about right now after double checking my numbers, had a all time high of just 3,284 according to SteamDB, and is now delisted from Steam. Though apparently there's a remake from another company happening? There's a lot less info on this one in general.

Gauntlet in 2014, this one I do know a bit more about since I also played this one. A remake of the original 1985 game, and was a good bit of fun as well! This one is trickier to get an accurate player count reading, because it did have a PS4 release and those are harder to find numbers for. Regardless, it was also on Steam, so therefore I can use those numbers at least, which gives me a max consecutive player count of 12,730. I don't know how much PS4 factored into this.

And now we get to the real interesting one: Helldivers 1. Again, this is tricky because not only was it on console, but it was actually on console before it was ever on PC, which heavily skews numbers. SteamDB has the peak at just 6,744, but this doesn't sit right with me. I've seen estimates of 50k people around the place, some say 35k, but never a solid source. It's also very difficult to search atm because of how much Helldivers 2 is blowing up. Speaking of...

So Helldivers 1 is their most popular game, and I'll be generous and say that the 50k count is the accurate one. So surely Helldivers 2 can't be that much more- oh I'm not even going to pretend, you already know what's going on here. The game has reached ~450k concurrent players just on Steam alone! And the game also exists on PS5, and if I recall correctly: there's official statements saying that the player counts are roughly equal with each other. That means a peak of ~900,000 individual players. To illustrate how bonkers batshit insane that is, motherfucking Fortnite has a current consecutive player count of roughly one million.

Let me reiterate: a game that came out of basically nowhere with little marketing, from a small studio with only about 100 employees, is rivaling the juggernaut that is fucking Fortnite. That is insane.

As someone who has played all of Arrowhead's previous games besides The Showdown Effect, this is bonkers. There's a reason the sentiment was "there's no way to have predicted this" when the servers were at their worst, because look at the previous data! How is anyone supposed to predict a sequel to a niche game (from a company very few people have heard about) to get a ~1800% increase in max player count? Their initial server capacity was 250k, which would've been very optimistic if you were just going by Helldivers 1 numbers. But then that wasn't enough. And then 360k wasn't enough. And then 450k wasn't enough. We're now at 700k server capacity and just finally getting things under control. This game just exploded in a way no one could have reasonably predicted. And I have no idea why this is the case either.

I'm not saying it's not deserved; it absolutely is! Like I said, game is great, and there's not even any shitty business practices I can bitch at this time! It's just so sudden and out of nowhere that it baffles me. Such a small percentage of these players would've even heard of the first game, let alone played it. It didn't have a massive marketing campaign, this is pretty much all spread through word of mouth, which is insane in its own right. It's not even like the game is entering an untapped market, it shares its existence with games like Deep Rock Galactic, Vermintide, Darktide, the actual Starship Troopers game, probably some others I'm forgetting. And yet, despite all of this, it breached containment something fierce. I don't have a big conclusion to make from all this, I'd love to be able to say "oh people are just getting tired of Triple A- oh I'm sorry, Quadruple A gaming and this is a breath of fresh air" and it is that, as was Baldur's Gate 3, but I'm not naive enough to think that's the main reason. Not when so many other great games continue to go undiscovered, and so many people still end up buying whatever the next big Triple A thing is. It's a great game to play with friends, and there's a lot going for it and a lot of charm, but such is also the case for the other games I already listed in this paragraph and they don't see the same popularity.

Whether it's just dumb fucking luck, or a really oddly specific set of circumstances at play that I can't see, I'm just dumbfounded and flabbergasted. But I'm not exactly gonna complain. It's fun getting sent into the meat grinder to spread Managed Democracy, and I'm glad the game is doing as well as it is, though I do hope that the devs get to have a bit of rest once the dust finally settles a little bit.