Like I don’t actually want to think hard thoughts all the time
I don’t want to be caught in moral obligations or dilemmas or deep philosophical insightful life stuff
I don’t have the desire to prove I’m equal to men
Honestly I just need a man hot enough to dictate my life and make me pump out babies and hide me from the world for forever while emotionally fulfilling my needs while I make a home for him
I give up on being Artist. Let me just be a wife writing poems and if I’m lucky my head won’t end up in an oven

A few months ago, I was able to go to the Adventuredome in Las Vegas. The park is located in the decaying Circus Circus hotel. I found it charmingly haunting. There was a carnival and trapeze artistry in the casino proper. It smelt like popcorn and peanuts. There were a bunch of kids running around as you would expect I suppose. The place was fun but in a cheap travelling carnival kind of way - it wasn't the type of tacky that I like about Vegas, but I had a nice time.
For whatever reason (probably declining revenues) they force you to pay for all the rides in a lump sum and it costs way too much for what you get. The 3D theater was fun, so was the half pipe and pirate ship... I couldn't fit in anything else. Sort of a bummer for how much I paid... and the new Spongebob dark ride was charged separately at 20 DOLLARS FOR ONE RIDE. Vegas, baby. I came for the coasters anyway. I got three rides on El Loco and two on Canyon Blaster. Here are my thoughts:
El Loco (7/10): I usually love these infinity coasters. Monster at Adventureland is in my top 15. However, this was both rough and short. I liked the speed of the lift hill and props to them for building a full coaster on such a small footprint. The near miss elements were great. It was just a little jerky. Probably my least favorite infinity coaster of the half-dozen or so I've ridden. Still, overall very fun.
Canyon Blaster (5/10): I've come to the conclusion that I don't really care for Arrow loopers. This coaster was very small; I'm quite tall and the horse collar wouldn't come down very far so I had a little bit of fear for my life throughout the whole coaster (like, the collar was almost horizontal but the operator told me it was fine). I know people have said that this is not very rough especially for an arrow looper. After my two rides, I'm going to agree to disagree. After getting jerked around on El Loco, this was worse. Positives: the theming was cool, the tunnel portion was fun, and the way all four inversions hit you one after the other - although typical for an arrow looper, I suppose - was pleasantly intense. Just not my bag.
I rode the Big Apple Coaster back in 2019 and was not super impressed, but I believe with the new restraints it's probably the best coaster in Vegas. When I head back there in a few months I'll probably ride it to confirm. I wish that I could have rode Speed: The Ride when it was here. Vegas is a really fun time and I'd like to see it get some modern thrill rides that are consistent with its quality in other areas.

I was planning on getting my child’s footprint tattooed on my back. I have the print from when she was born. No writing or anything else, just one footprint in black.
However, I’ve seen numerous people say that small footprint tattoos don’t age well, as the details don’t last due to the size/intricacy of a footprint, and can look terrible after a couple of years.
Is that accurate? Any advice? Thanks!

I just remembered one of the most embarrassing times of my life that if I could go back in time, I would stop myself.
I was used to be bullied in my primary school for the whole 6 years I have spent there. I still am processing most of those years and putting my self esteem back together. But this one incident just comes back from time to time to haunt me.
I was like 10 or 11 years old, you know the age when kids starts to have little crushes. That first crush, yeah. I was known to be the "fat" girl in school. (Later realised I was chubby and thick boned but still got bullied)
I had this crush at a boy one year below my grade, he was actually awful to me, and we went to tennis lessons after classes in the same group. But for some strange and stupid reason I was gooshing over this guy, and Valentines day was approaching in school.
This was actually one of the first ever occasion that the whole school took it seriously by introducing the Secret Crush letter service.
The point is, you had to write a love poem by yourself, put it in an envelope and with name and Grade given on the front, put it in a box.
I don't know why I did it, I was stupid and should have known that I shouldn't have done it as its just causing me problems in the long run.
One of my classmates who was bullying me here and there asked who did I write the letter for as she noticed me putting a letter into the box. I was reluctant to answer and here is where I made my mistake.
She pressured me saying "she won't tell..." Kids will be kids, so innocent. I told her, who it was and in 10 minutes the whole school knew.
The boy I had a crush on came to the classroom, had such a disgusted face saying he doesn't want a poem from me, and that I am gross. My classmates made jokes about it the whole day, and he was joining in the mockery, even laughing his arse off.
Needless to say my crush faded instantly and exchanged with hatred. The next day when he received the letter,, he didn't came to the classroom, not even after, people kept mocking me the entire month but then found something else to mock me about and forgot about it.
My past is a big part of who I became now sadly, but I can say I made progress on my life for the better. I am soon to be married (not to the guy who I wrote the poem to) to the love of my life and I can't wait to see what my future holds. I think if I was much stronger back then, I would have been able to stand up to my bullies, but I don't blame anyone anymore. Kids will be kids, some grew out of their manners, and some won't.
Thank you for reading this post, if you had similar encounters, I send you a big hug and my condolences. Keep your chins up babies!
Btw my wedding is on 11th of July this year! Wish me good luck! ❤️❤️❤️

I am looking for a lady between 25 and 35 years old, for a committed monogamous childfree relationship. My goal is to become a true team, supporting each other, caring for each other, nurturing each other and helping each other grow and realise our goals and dreams as much as possible. I'm hoping to find someone that values a relationship as much as I do and takes it seriously. It's not the only thing my life revolves around, but it's also not just something 'nice to have' for me.
I am 186cm tall, slim/fit built, dark brown hair, brown eyes. Both my arms are tattooed (full sleeve), as are my calves and the areas above my ankles. Regarding pictures see below. I am a runner, training multiple times a week. I'm also vegan. My love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation. While I am mostly securely attached, withdrawing from me triggers anxiety and I have made a horrible experience with an avoidant partner in the past, so that is something I fear I cannot deal with again.
I am also an atheist.
I am a very warm, soft and sensitive person, I think I am humorous, I am self reflecting a lot and I can also be really passionate and romantic. Those are traits that also are really important to me in a woman.
I can be quite social, I am a good talker, but also love to listen to really get to know someone on a deeper level. I can enjoy an evening out with friends just as much as the silence of sitting at the shores of the river and watching the sunset in solitude (although I've been craving to watch it together with a partner for a really long time now). I can be out in a pub, at a rave, a metal show or at a football game and have the time of my life, but I cannot do these things every day; I need recharge time (on the sofa, in the woods for a run, a lazy Sunday staying in bed etc.). This should give you an idea; basically, I am a homebody that thoroughly enjoys going out in moderation.
I won't say too much about hobbies; suffice it to say I am into the dark, the obscure, the macabre, the occult, the mysterious, the erotic. It won't surprise you that I had a gothic phase in my youth, bonus points if you did too!
What I'm looking for
Although similar hobbies and interests are a plus, emotional and intimate compatibility are more important to me. I am a very sensitive and emotional person (I do cry easily and by this point I don't think I'll ever be able to change that, sorry), so if you're too, we will definitely understand each other. I need someone who I can open up to (which I do rather quickly, anyway), be myself, bare my soul to and I need these things from you, too. I've had my share of emotionally unavailable women who were afraid of intimacy so I know I can't deal with that again because of the way how those things affect me. I am always emotionally invested with the woman I pursue and in those cases that was to my detriment. But my ability to feel so deep is also something I wouldn't want to change because as of yet, although it's getting harder, I haven't given up on finding someone.
With those emotional needs come two requirements that I found to be vital over the years: First, being able to be silly and cutesy together and to accept each other's inner child and care for it. I am not talking about having to deal with another person's immaturity or inability to perform basic adult skills, rather with the way sadness, hurt, anxiety and being overwhelmed manifests for me (and maybe for you, too?). I need someone who is able to comfort me, to hold me, to allow me to be weak and needy for a while until I've calmed down, and I'm more than ready to offer the same. Your inner child can come out for a while, no problem (: Also in a positive way: Thankfully, today everyone seems to be understanding of the cuteness overload cats (or any animal baby, really) can cause; I need that with a partner. I also still have plushies as comfort animals and ideally, you do too.
Apparently in every relationship, one person is the stronger one. In the past, I have been with women who obviously were stronger than me, but that doesn't mean they always had to be strong, far from it. I certainly need to be able to feel protected, but it's not like I'm a particularly needy partner, like everyone, I have my ups and downs, but I can pull my weight and have been told by past partners that I am very caring and that they felt safe and understood with me, and providing that for my partner is really important for me as well.
Second, intimate compatibility. I am rather insatiable and love to experiment when it comes to the bedroom, so you should, too, in order that we can explore and enjoy together. I found out how fulfilling living out those fantasies can be after years of never being able to try and in a relationship, this kind of fulfillment for both partners is a must for me. I found the term 'filthy best friends and partners' to be a perfect description.
I'm looking for a balance between healthy independence and being emotionally present. A relationship where we 'get' each other; we're both each other's number one and treat each other like royalty. Where a disagreement leads to more intimacy between us as we understand better, not to resentment. Where we're comfortable baring our souls to each other, becoming a safe haven and secure base for each other. I don't like the modern notion that you 'should never feel too safe in a relationship' because that sounds like running from the mafia (and believe me, I love mafia movies); you should always put in effort, yes, but safety is one of the things I always want to experience and provide in a relationship. We shouldn't fear that a disagreement leads straight to breakup. I know ‘self-sufficiency’ is trending right now, but I feel like as partners, we’re partly responsible for each other and not our own but also each other’s happiness. Being dependant and dependable at the same time is important; making each other’s wellbeing a priority. If you’re not able to healthily depend on someone and their support while you’re having a hard time, look elsewhere. If I have to be afraid you’ll run at the first major problem that surfaces, even if it’s a ‘you’-problem, it’s not going to work. I think that all things can and need to be talked about. If you think ignoring someone for days is a form of communication, please look elsewhere.
I am looking for someone real. We all have our problems, I don't want or need a 'perfect' person. You don't have everything figured out or 'all your shit' together. Be imperfect. Admit when you feel sad and angry, lonely, hopeless or even helpless – it's all relatable. Don't hide it. Be quirky, be dorky, be witchy, opinionated, be yourself. Don't pretend.
I'm looking for someone to share romance with. Not great gestures, but small, meaningful ones. Poems for each other, expressing our feelings; cards with heartfelt messages that we put our perfume/cologne on, and a symbol that means something to us only, the print of your lips with lipstick, the way I sign and seal my letters for you.
Just as important to me is agreeing on living a healthy life, staying in shape both for ourselves and for each other, regularly working out and eating healthy. I am drug and disease-free and expect the same of you. I do drink as I love a good beer or glass of wine, rum or whiskey, but I've never really been drinking much and especially during the past year have further reduced it. One vice I have is that I enjoy a couple of cigars a year, but I can definitely accommodate you in this regard.
Another important point is aligned life goals: I value safety more than adventure. I want to build a home together with my partner, a safespace for the both of us, where we always feel loved and protected, a place that we create together, make it cozy together so we just love to get back home there wherever we might have been, a home we decorate together for Halloween (my favourite holiday) or Christmas or Springtime, as we live in tune with the seasons, enjoying nature on a walk or the rain outside, reading in our cozy home. I value stability and harmony.
Appearance-wise, I am into ladies on the smaller side), so I'm looking for someone petite/slim/skinny/healthy-fit. Likewise, I am not really muscular and don't have visible abs; like I said, I'm a runner, so if you're more into the gym-type, I'm not a good fit.
I’d prefer to move from text to voice calls, videochat and then meeting up, all of that rather sooner than later. Not that there’s a need to rush anything, but I’d rather see earlier if we’re compatible or not; as someone who catches feelings fast I need to protect myself.
Caveats

• I don't like travelling as it stresses me out; I don't mind being somewhere else for a week or two, but the organisation part of it drains my energy very quickly and dealing with stuff that doesn't work out is overwhelming to me. Smaller trips are ok, but I'm not the right person to travel the world with.
• I am not the most awake person in the morning (i.e. I identify as nightowl)
• I don't want children and had a vasectomy
• I need space for my own projects/time to recharge after social interaction.
• While I feel like I am in tune with my inner child and working on/with it through therapy, I realise this is something that could be a turn-off for people.
• I have been diagnosed with depressive episodes in the past and am taking anti-depressants right now. I realise that I am a work in progress, maybe more so than in times past, but I manage and the fact that I'm putting myself out here is based on me being ready to get to know someone new.
• I want to create a home together here, as I'm firmly rooted where I was born; I realise this is a lot to ask, but I have seen many people here being open to moving, so I want to at least try reaching out to them.

If you're interested, feel free to message me and include some pictures of yourself and I will reply with my own. Have a nice day (:

General
I am looking for a lady between 28 and 35 years old, for a committed monogamous childfree relationship. My goal is to become a true team, supporting each other, caring for each other, nurturing each other and helping each other grow and realise our goals and dreams as much as possible. I'm hoping to find someone that values a relationship as much as I do and takes it seriously. It's not the only thing my life revolves around, but it's also not just something 'nice to have' for me.
I tried to be as concise as possible while still providing what details I think are crucial to know; I realise this post turned out very long, but I prefer those because I can get as good an idea as possible with detailed descriptions, bar actually talking to the person, and find that very valuable, so if that also applies to you, that would be awesome.
Basics
I am 186cm tall, slim/fit built, dark brown hair, brown eyes. Both my arms are tattooed (full sleeve), as are my calves and the areas above my ankles. Regarding pictures see below. I am a runner (ranging from 5k to full marathon), training multiple times a week. I'm also vegan. My love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation. While I am mostly securely attached, withdrawing from me triggers anxiety and I have made a horrible experience with a fearful avoidant partner in the past, so that is something I fear I cannot deal with again.
I am also an atheist.
I am a very warm, soft and sensitive person, I think I am humorous, I am self reflecting a lot and I can also be really passionate and romantic. Those are traits that also are really important to me in a woman.
I can be quite social, I am a good talker, but also love to listen to really get to know someone on a deeper level. I can enjoy an evening out with friends just as much as the silence of sitting at the shores of the river and watching the sunset in solitude (although I've been craving to watch it together with a partner for a really long time now). I can be out in a pub, at a rave, a metal show or in the stadium watching football and have the time of my life, but I cannot do these things every day; I need recharge time (on the sofa, in the woods for a run, a lazy Sunday staying in bed etc.). This should give you an idea; basically, I am a homebody that thoroughly enjoys going out in moderation.
I won't say too much about hobbies; suffice it to say I am into the dark, the obscure, the macabre, the occult, the mysterious, the erotic. It won't surprise you that I had a gothic phase in my youth, bonus points if you did too!
What I am looking for
Although similar hobbies and interests are a plus (and there have to be at least a couple things we have in common), emotional and sexual compatibility are more important to me. I am a very sensitive and emotional person (I do cry easily and by this point I don't think I'll ever be able to change that, sorry), so if you're too, we will definitely understand each other. I need someone who I can open up to (which I do rather quickly, anyway), be myself, bare my soul to and I need these things from you, too. I've had my share of emotionally unavailable women who were afraid of intimacy so I know I can't deal with that again because of the way how those things affect me. I am always emotionally invested with the woman I pursue and in those cases that was to my detriment. But my ability to feel so deep is also something I wouldn't want to change because as of yet, although it's getting harder, I haven't given up on finding someone.
With those emotional needs come two requirements that I found to be vital over the years: First, being able to be silly and cutesy together and to accept each other's inner child and care for it. I am not talking about having to deal with another person's immaturity or inability to perform basic adult skills, rather with the way sadness, hurt, anxiety and being overwhelmed manifests for me (and maybe for you, too?). I need someone who is able to comfort me, to hold me, to allow me to be weak and needy for a while until I've calmed down, and I'm more than ready to offer the same. Your inner child can come out for a while, no problem (: Also in a positive way: Thankfully, today everyone seems to be understanding of the cuteness overload cats (or any animal baby, really) can cause; I need that with a partner. I also still have plushies as comfort animals (some of which in quite a litteral sense as they make for really amazing pillows) and ideally, you do too.
There is a saying that in every relationship, one person is the stronger one. In the past, I have been with women who obviously were stronger than me, but that doesn't mean they always had to be strong, far from it. I certainly, like I said, need to be able to feel protected, but it's not like I'm a particularly needy partner, like everyone, I have my ups and downs, but I can pull my weight and have been told by past partners that I am very caring and that they felt safe and understood with me, and providing that for my partner is really important for me as well – this just to put the picture I'm (somewhat haphazardly) trying to paint into perspective.
Second, sexual compatibility. I have a high libido and I have kinks, so you should, too, in order that we can explore and enjoy them together. I found out how fulfilling living out those fantasies can be after years of never being able to try and in a relationship, sexual fulfillment for both partners is a must for me. Someone on here has coined the term 'filthy best friends and partners' which I have no shame to be stealing because it's such an apt description.
I'm looking for a balance between healthy independence and being emotionally present. A relationship where we 'get' each other; we're both each other's number one and treat each other like royalty. Where a disagreement leads to more intimacy between us as we understand better, not to resentment. Where we're comfortable baring our souls to each other, becoming a safe haven and secure base for each other. I don't like the modern notion that you 'should never feel too safe in a relationship' because that sounds like running from the mafia (and believe me, I love mafia movies); you should always put in effort, yes, but safety is one of the things I always want to experience and provide in a relationship. We shouldn't fear that a disagreement leads straight to breakup. I know ‘self-sufficiency’ is trending right now, but I feel like as partners, we’re partly responsible for each other and not our own but also each other’s happiness. Being dependant and dependable at the same time is important; making each other’s wellbeing a priority. I love the relationship model outlined in Stan Tatkin’s ‘Wired for Love’ and you should, too. If you’re not able to healthily depend on someone and their support while you’re having a hard time, look elsewhere. I know codependency is the latest thing everyone’s afraid of, but experiencing someone you’ve grown very attached to just bailing because they’re counterdependent and can’t stand working on themselves while simultaneously letting you in is something I’d rather not go through again. If I have to be afraid you’ll run at the first major problem that surfaces, even if it’s a ‘you’-problem, it’s not going to work. I think that all things can and need to be talked about. If you think ignoring someone for days is a form of communication, please look elsewhere. If you think’s it’s okay to lovebomb someone and then leave after a couple of months with the minimum amount of information and no proper conversation because you’re not ready to own up to what’s happening to you emotionally, please look elsewhere.
I am looking for someone real. We all have our problems, I don't want or need a 'perfect' person. You don't have everything figured out or 'all your shit' together. Be imperfect. Admit when you feel sad and angry, lonely, hopeless or even helpless – it's all relatable. Don't hide it. Be quirky, be dorky, be witchy, be opinionated, be yourself. Don't pretend.
I'm looking for someone to share romance with. Not great gestures, but small, meaningful ones. Poems for each other, expressing our feelings; cards with heartfelt messages that we put our perfume/cologne on, and a symbol that means something to us only, the print of your lips with lipstick, the way I sign and seal my letters for you.
Just as important to me is agreeing on living a healthy life, staying in shape both for ourselves and for each other, regularly working out and eating healthy. I am drug and disease-free and expect the same of you. I do drink as I love a good beer or glass of wine, rum or whiskey, but I've never really been drinking much and especially during the past year have further reduced it. One vice I have is that I enjoy a couple of cigars a year, but I can definitely accommodate you in this regard.
Another important point is aligned life goals: many childfree people seem to be adventurous, but that is a trait I don't associate with myself at all. I value safety more than adventure. I want to build a home together with my partner, a safespace for the both of us, where we always feel loved and protected, a place that we create together, make it cozy together so we just love to get back home there wherever we might have been, a home we decorate together for Halloween (my favourite holiday) or Christmas or Springtime, as we live in tune with the seasons, seeing them change around us, enjoying nature on a walk or the rain outside, reading in our cozy home. I value stability and harmony.
Appearance-wise, I am into ladies on the smaller side (albeit not regarding height), so I'm looking for someone petite/slim/skinny/healthy-fit. Likewise, I am not really muscular and don't have visible abs; like I said, I'm a runner, so if you're more into the gym-type, I'm not a good fit.
The natural progression for me would be to move from text to voice calls, videochat and then meeting up, all of that rather sooner than later. Not that there’s a need to rush anything, but having my heart broken because I already developed feelings due to a longer timeframe and then everything unexpectedly turning to shit is not something I want to have to live through again. I’d rather see earlier if we’re compatible or not; as someone who catches feelings fast I need to protect myself, I unfortunately had to learn that
Caveats/Possible red flags

• I don't like travelling as it stresses me out; I don't mind being somewhere else for a week or two, but the organisation part of it drains my energy very quickly and dealing with stuff that doesn't work out is overwhelming to me. Smaller trips are ok, but I'm not the right person to travel the world with.
• I am not the most awake person in the morning (i.e. I identify as nightowl)
• I need space for my own projects/time to recharge after social interaction.
• While I feel like I am in tune with my inner child and working on/with it through therapy, I realise this is something that could be a turn-off for people.
• I have been diagnosed with depressive episodes in the past and am taking anti-depressants right now. I realise that I am a work in progress, maybe more so than in times past, but I manage and the fact that I'm putting myself out here is based on me being ready to get to know someone new.
• I want to create a home together here, as I'm firmly rooted where I was born; I realise this is a lot to ask, but I have seen many people here being open to moving, so I want to at least try reaching out to them.

If you're interested, feel free to message me and include some pictures of yourself and I will reply with my own. Have a nice day (:

Spoilers ahead…
Dear Karthik Subbaraj,
Congratulations on yet another interesting movie, and for resisting the impulse to name this one, too, after a food item. Iraivi is an unusual feminist film, in the sense that it’s seen entirely through the prism of sympathetic male characters. Your men aren’t monsters who drink or cheat on their wives or subject them to torture. They do these things, yes, but… differently. Arul (SJ Surya) drinks, but only to drown out his sense of failure – he’s a director and his film is in the cans, being held hostage by a sadistic producer. Michael (Vijay Sethupathi) has sex with Malarvizhi (Pooja Devariya), and he continues to lust after her after his marriage to Ponni (Anjali) – I love that all your women have names that suggest classical heroines, including Arul’s wife Yazhini (Kamalini Mukherjee) – but it’s a marriage he committed to in a hurry and he still hasn’t reconciled himself to it. He’s being a bastard, certainly, but he’s not a one-note villain. And the torture they inflict isn’t the stubbing-a-cigarette-into-the-wife’s-bare-arm variety. It’s more mental than physical.
So we get women who are collateral damage – and I include Arul’s comatose mother (Vadivukkarasi), and the nurse who’s not allowed to do her duty – of men being men. They’re being babies, really. Yazhini tells Arul that he should get on with his life, write another story, make another movie. He says it’s like her trying to have another child while still pregnant with their daughter. (Yes, all these men end up with girl children.) He’s a wallower – but maybe all artists are. You like to do that, don’t you Karthik? Even in a film like this, you deliver a commentary about filmmaking and the artist. Why, even Arul’s father is a sculptor, and though we never see him ill-treating his wife (thank you for sparing us the clichés of raised hands and raised voices), we’re informed that he’s responsible for her state. His son’s following the father’s footsteps. Maybe you’re trying to say that the wives of obsessed artists are doomed to become collateral damage. Your films make us think, Karthik, so thank you for that.
All your stories have at their centre a filmmaker, or at least (in the case of your first film, Pizza) a storyteller. And through them, we seem to hear your voice. “Works of art should not be in places where they are not respected.” “Namma padam pesanum, naama pesa koodadhu.” You compare masala movies to a massage with a happy ending. (I laughed, but please don’t judge me when I say I rather like massages with happy endings – I refer to masala movies, of course.) We even get a line of dialogue about Dolby Atmos. (What will the B/C-centre audience make of this, Karthik? But then you don’t really give a shit, do you? More power to you.) And you like your insider jokes. That crass, egoistic producer who does not care about art – he reminded me of the crass producer from your earlier film, Jigarthanda. You like Rajinikanth too. You referenced Thillu Mullu in Pizza, Thalapathi in Jigarthanda, and now you have Arul singing Malayala karayoram, Michael singing Oorai therinjikitten.
Or is that more of an Ilayaraja homage? You like to keep the audience guessing, right? When the Bobby Simha character in Jigarthanda said he was a Shankar-Ganesh fan, it appeared that you were mocking the endless Ilayaraja nods in Tamil cinema, but here you are, doffing your hat to the maestro. “Raja Raja dhaan.” Arul says this… twice. (By the way, which is that nightclub which plays Maanguyile poonguyile? Do let us know.) And the reuse of Unnai thaane – first in a scene between Michael and Malarvizhi; later in a scene between Michael and Ponni – is the kind of Easter egg we come to your films for. Let me list some others, though I’ll probably need to watch the film a second (or third) time to get them all. The name of the bachelors’ quarters is Ambal Mansion – it goes with your theme and title. I didn’t get the bit about the windmills (something connected to the gust of wind that makes the row of cycles fall over in the first scene?), or why you showcased the book of Shanta Shishunala Sharif’s poems. (I confess. I Googled up that name. I can’t remember the last time a Tamil film made me Google something up. Madras, maybe.) And despite your note at the beginning that Iraivi is inspired by the works of K Balachander (he made female-centric films, but I don’t know if I’d call them feminist films), this is really more of an ode to Mani Ratnam, isn’t it? Specifically, Aayidha Ezhuthu. The three men, one of them – the impulsive one – named Michael. The film starting out as Arul’s story, then becoming Michael’s story, and finally Jagan’s (Bobby Simha) story. The finale with the woman on the train. Plus, the arc of the Madhavan-Meera Jasmine plot was essentially about being easily misled (in the case of the man) and becoming collateral damage (in the case of the woman.) And yes, the rain. All that rain. As though the skies were weeping for these women.
Am I digressing, Karthik? If I am, I’m just following your style, which is the opposite of simple and linear. As a result, I find your films longer than they need to be. (You may feel the same about my reviews.) For instance, I did not care for the scene in the nightclub where a director is felicitated. I realise it was there as a last straw for Yazhini, but it felt redundant. But I suppose they couldn’t be any other way, because you like these shaggy-dog stories that you then embellish with novelistic detail. I love the way you introduce your characters, the time you take with them. Our films lay out characters and their relationship to each other the minute we set eyes on them, but you make us wait to know how Arul is related to Jagan and where Michael fits in and so on. And when it appeared that a semblance of a plot was kicking in (something about Arul needing money to buy back his film), I dug out my phone and checked: it was a whole hour into the movie. Borrowing an image from Malarvizhi’s profession (oh wait, she’s an artist too; she’s literally an artist), it’s like daubs of paint slowly forming a bigger picture.
And you really like an expansive canvas. Not only does the crass producer have a brother, you also bring in his wife later on, to conclude a deal he began making. These segments practically form a mini-movie, with another woman left reeling by the actions of her man. Your films have this… density. They’re packed – with characters, with complications, with information doled out in bits and pieces. (A character says, “Un kitta onnu sollanum.” And instead of hearing what he has to say, we cut to someone else.) Take the scene where Michael asks Arul for money he is owed. You just need to get Michael to Arul’s antiques shop, so the next part of the plot can be staged. Arul could have told Michael to collect the money at the shop. Instead, this is what we get. Arul tells Michael to wait for a week, when he can get the 50 lakhs he is owed. Michael says he wants only 10 lakhs. Arul says he has only 8 lakhs, he’ll give the remainder later. Michael goes to Arul’s father, in the hospital. He has only 5 lakhs. And he directs Michael to the shop, to get the remaining 3 lakhs. Your signature intercutting adds to this texture, Karthik. Shots of Michael and Arul’s father in the hospital are intercut with shots of Arul hunting for booze. Shots of Michael and Jagan outside a courtroom are intercut with shots of Arul being consoled by his father. Happenings are stretched and meshed the way they would be in real life, and not compacted according to the page-per-minute requirement of screenplay-writing textbooks.
I could never predict where the film was going (win!), what these people were going to do (again, win!) –though I must admit I found this to be the weakest of your “twists.” The subplot about stealing sculptures, too, I found rather conceit-y, something half-heartedly cooked up to fit with the title and the theme, rather than something plausible, something these people would do. When Michael, here, commits murder, with a hammer, I went, “This mild-mannered chap? Really?” But then, even in Jigarthanda, I wasn’t quite convinced that the characters would do the things they did. They seemed to be puppets of a screenplay rather than credible human beings, whose actions evolve organically from who they are (or at least, who they seem to be).
But even if I am not convinced by the overall trajectory of your characters, I love how fleshed-out they are on a moment-to-moment basis. I loved the scene where Arul barges into Yazhini’s house, after their separation, on the day of her engagement to someone else. In a lesser film, she would have asked him to get out, and he’d have dug his heels in, and she’d have cooled down and… But here, she rushes straight into his arms. And you make us see why. She was frustrated, fed up with him. But she’s also confused. Was she hasty in abandoning this man? Should she move on with another man? Does she even need a man? With just this one scene, you’ve compensated for the underwritten heroine of Jigarthanda. The story arc may be Arul’s, but Yazhini registers as a fully formed character. Similarly, Michael’s arc allows for the delineation of Ponni and Malarvizhi, and through Jagan, we get glimpses of his mother, and possibly of all womanhood as viewed by a compassionate man. And then you say that women don’t need even this compassionate man (poor chap!), that they have to emancipate themselves instead of looking for a penis-wielding emancipator. What delicious irony, given that you begin the film with women talking about marriage, tying themselves to a man!
Or not, in the case of Malarvizhi, who is easily the film’s most interesting character. Her husband is dead, and she doesn’t want love anymore – only sex. When Michael buys her a diamond necklace, she gives it back to him – she can buy her own trinkets, thank you very much. But the character feels shoe-horned into the film, Karthik. I felt betrayed – and I bet she did too – that after a point, she was used simply as a plot device to get Michael and Ponni together, and also to illustrate Michael’s (who is now standing in for all of mankind) hypocrisy. I felt she deserved more. And yet, I appreciated your generosity in fleshing her out like all the others, without judging her. She gets to be the rare woman in Tamil cinema who dumps the man, and the way she lets go of Michael is echoed in the way Arul lets go of Yazhini, with a heavy heart and some playacting. A side effect of the Malarvizhi subplot is the reassurance that Vijay Sethupathi is still interested in making cinema, rather than just massy entertainers targeted at the box office.
Ponni gets a better deal (and Anjali is terrific, raw and expressive in a way she has never been). In a great scene – rather, a set of book-ending scenes – Michael tells Ponni that he was forced to marry her, and she’s going to have to “adjust” to this if she wants to be with him. Much later, she throws the “adjust” word back on his bearded face when he asks her if she slept with someone else. In a different kind of movie, we’d be invited to see this symmetry, stand up and applaud. But you’re too subtle for that, Karthik. Iraivi is your subtlest film. Which is why I winced at the melodramatic lines about men and women, most of which came towards the end. Aan, using the long-sounding vowel, versus penn, with the shorter one – for such a visual filmmaker (this is another outstandingly shot film, less showy than Jigarthanda and probably richer for that), do you really need the crutch of linguistic special effects from another era of filmmaking? Also, when the rest of your film is so allusive, isn’t there another way you can explain the twist without having a character resort to such an inelegant information dump?
And why is it that your films come together more in the head than in the heart? Why are they easier to admire than love wholeheartedly? I used to think it was because your characters are essentially deceitful, self-serving and unsympathetic, so though we were invested in what they did, we didn’t really warm up to them. But here, you have Ponni and Yazhini and Malarvizhi – and they’re still remote. But perhaps this is bound to happen when there are so many people, so many strands, when we don’t follow one person’s simplistic “you go, girl” journey like we do in, say, 36 Vayadhinile? But when the parts are so well-crafted, we don’t complain as much about their sum not adding up to a satisfying whole. I am sure that you will, one day, make that wholly satisfying film, but for now, thank you for these parts. Thank you for the ambition. I felt there were too many songs (some good work by Santhosh Narayanan), but thank you for ensuring that they don’t break character, the way songs usually do when a character speaking in his or her voice suddenly segues into the playback singer’s voice. Thank you for giving us SJ Surya, the actor – I never dreamed he had such a capacity to hold a scene, to hold the screen. Thank you for continuing not to sell out. Thank you for trying to do so much, even if not all of it needed to have been tried. And thank you for making me fight with myself, for not making it easy to decide if you’ve made a “good” film or a merely “okay” film. For now, Iraivi is a fascinating film, and that’s enough.
Sincerely, etc.

It seems like she’s feeling insecure again. I keep my eyes shut tight, preparing myself for the song and dance I had been through so many times before. The weight of the bed shifts under me as she crawls under the blankets. A cold limb flops over my torso, wrapping me in a frigid embrace. I resist the urge to flinch as the moist, squishy mass of flesh presses into my forehead, a tickling droplet of fluid slides down my face and over my tightly pursed lips. Not daring to move, I waited patiently for the words I knew must come. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, a muffled teary voice sounds in a desperate tone:
“Do you...”
The voice falters, emitting several low-pitched, labored gurgles before continuing:
“Love me?”
Without hesitation I respond, as gently as could be managed:
“Of course I love you. But it’s time to go back to sleep now, okay?”
The gurgling continues, higher pitched now, like an excited baby. After a few moments the squishy mass detaches itself from my forehead, and the weight in the bed shifts. The gentle smacking of feet against hardwood floor, and a door quietly closing across the house resound in the otherwise silent room. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, I rock gently back and forth with my head in between my legs, resisting the tears that are fighting to escape. I allow a few moments of this pointless self-pity before forcing myself to stand up.
I walk down the hallway to the bathroom, not allowing my eyes to stray to the door to what used to be my room. A look in the mirror reveals that my forehead has already started breaking out in small orange pustules, along with a small streak of them where the fluid had dripped down my face. At least it didn't get in my mouth this time. That isn’t a panic I would like to revisit. I retrieve the small bottle of vinegar from the medicine cabinet and apply it to a cotton ball, beginning the tedious task of treating my face. A harsher acid would probably do a better job, but I prefer to avoid the stinging even if the pustules disappear more slowly. It’s not like I need to look handsome for anyone. It’s unlikely she can even really see me.
Once my skin is sufficiently covered in the stuff, I grab a bucket and mop, and clean the wet footprints from the hallway, and from the living room where my bed is located. Most of the wood flooring throughout the house is already somewhat corroded, but I’d prefer to keep my home intact to the extent that I am able. Although it’s up to anyone’s guess what manner of hellscape the bedroom must look like. I hadn’t been in that room in a long time. That was her domain now, and there was no reason for me to enter. No reason to take that risk.
I light the small gas cooktop in the kitchen and get to work making food for the day. Canned food is surprisingly appetizing when there’s nothing to do but eat. It would taste better with some seasoning, but there was no point in going through that much effort. This food serves one purpose, and that’s to keep us from starving. I slide one plate under the crack between the floor and the bedroom door and sit down in the living room with the other plate in hand.
The book on the coffee table catches my eye as it does every morning. Sighing, I pick up the ratty collection of pages and flip to a random one. One of the few books on the “Great Plague” as they call it, that was ever published, or at least, the only one I could ever find. Titled “The End” by Jared Kramer, It was more of a fanatical opinion piece than a proper informative book, but Kramer at least provided a bit of information on the virus, how the transformation works, and what methods could be used to, in his words, “Cure” the afflicted. A shotgun was noted as the best medicine, with gasoline and matches being a close second. Near the middle of the book, the portion that was coincidentally staring back at me from the pages, it turned into a near unintelligible ranting on the philosophy of consciousness. Apparently, Kramer had only just begun to consider whether blowing the afflicted’s brains out was a morally reasonable decision. He had never come across as a particularly intelligent guy in his writings, and my assumption was that he was simply the only person who wrote fast enough to get a book published before the plague became a worldwide epidemic. Towards the end of the book, Kramer does a 180 and states repeatedly that “Accepting the transformation is the only road to salvation”.
“Salvation... as if”
My words perish in the empty air, a death rattle of frustrated skepticism.
I had never quite understood what that actually meant. Salvation would be something like deliverance from harm, harm being the only thing that the plague brought to the world. The book thuds as I carelessly toss it back on the table. It's obvious that the author was in the process of transforming as he wrote the final passages, but they never ceased to bother me. Perhaps I'm just fixating on those words as a way of keeping my mind occupied.
There’s really no reason to focus on such pointless things.
--------------------
The following night my sleep was peaceful and uninterrupted. She usually shows up once a week, if not less frequently. After waking, the bathroom mirror reveals that the pustules ha subsided slightly, leaving my skin smooth, if not free of the noticeable blemishes. A subtle glint of light shines off of my head and my heart rate accelerates.
Surely not.
Surely it was a trick of the light.
I begin rifling through my matted hair furiously and there it is. A single, silver hair hanging in front of my forehead.
I guess this is it then.
She made sure I had sworn on everything under the sun. Her stupid goofy smile reflected in my memory.
“First grey hair and I’m outta here mister”
To think that a silly little joke between us had turned into this solemn responsibility. The steel of the revolver was cold in my palm. My eyes locked onto it, unsure of when it had made its way from the drawer of the coffee table into my hand, or for that matter, when I had entered the living room. The earth seemed to be rotating at impossible speeds. Everything was black except for the gun in my hand and the book on the coffee table. That goddamn book. One of the pages had begun to tear away from the others, no doubt a result of my less than careful treatment of the thing, and a single word seemed to assault my fragile psyche.
Salvation.
I get it now
My heartbeat slows marginally as the unravelling of this book that I’ve read so many times presented a welcome distraction. There had been nothing left for Kramer, or anyone else for that matter, in a world that was dying around them. His salvation was freedom from the great plague. His call to “accept” the transformation, was not the same as giving in to it. After all, hadn’t he expressed over and over again exactly how to “find release” as he called it, from the infection.
Kramer, unlike me, had accepted that there was no life in transformation, no being, no humanity, and no way back. His moral dilemma had come to a close, likely with a bullet in his brain.
A reluctant chuckle rose through my chest and escaped my throat. It didn’t sound like me. It was twisted, choked, and raspy. She had always known hadn’t she, that I would stay in this house with her. That’s why she had forced me to swear up and down on something as silly and inevitable as a grey hair, before locking herself in that room five years ago. Knowing her, it had all been for my own good, a way for her to look out for me even after she was long gone.
The creak of the door was like nails on a chalkboard. I laid my eyes for the first time in years on my wife, or at least, what was left of her. I had seen the afflicted before, but seeing her in this state brought a blockage to my throat that nothing could have prepared me for. Her head had been obscured by the typical growth, characteristic of the great plague, A mass wider than her torso which was completely wrapped around her head, the loose flesh sagging down onto her shoulders. Large orange boils were dotted across this mass, as well as glistening, concave pits, where those boils had burst and left scars. The thick external vein structure wrapped around it was partially translucent, providing a window to the tar-like substance flowing slowly throughout. The worst thing, however, the thing that forced my tears out of my eyes and onto the corroded floor, was her body. Her clothes had long since disintegrated, leaving a sight that was fundamentally identical to what I remembered, with one exception. The excess weight of the mass upon her shoulder had atrophied her spine, which had crumpled, leaving her torso contorted in a grotesque fashion, the flesh and muscle folding in upon itself in places.
I had let this happen. I had as good as desecrated my wife’s corpse by leaving her in this state, by convincing myself that a cure would be found for a plague that had long-since been eradicated by other means. I did this.
My hands move as though without instruction from my brain, raising the revolver to my eye-level, pointing at the place where my wife’s head was concealed amid that horrid mass of flesh.
Her head tilted upwards slightly, as if she was looking at me with eyes that had been long-since obscured. That muffled, teary voice sounded out from amidst the heap weighing on her shoulders. Despite myself hesitated for just a moment, savoring the shadow of a voice that I would never hear again.
“Do you love me?”

Hi all. I hope it's okay to share this here. I'm new to this whole thing and I just need to let out some thoughts and feelings that have been weighing on me lately. It's been a really difficult year.
Where to start.. Perhaps some context. My partner and I currently live in a small single bedroom studio apartment in the UK. We have just given birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy who has just turned one month this previous Sunday.
11 Months ago, in June, my partner and I suffered a late miscarriage of our son at 18 weeks. It was devastating and heartbreaking, and holding him in my arms was a moment that I will never forget and will weigh heavily on my heart for the rest of my life. Carrying his coffin through the crematorium and reading the poem I wrote him is something I never thought in my life I'd ever have to do. Then, two weeks later, I lost my job. It was due to a mistake on my part, one I'll always hold my hands up and admit to, but the timing of it couldn't have been worse. It stung.. it still stings, because the job market hasn't been kind to me since. Every single day I'm out looking for work, doing odd-jobs here and there to get by but I've been unable to find a new consistent job, and so we're having to rely on government benefits to get by financially.
Fast forward to now.. we've been blessed with a gorgeous baby boy. But with blessing comes challenge. My partner is battling PPD, struggling with her self-image, and feeling lost in herself. She can't walk past a mirror without breaking down and the stress of looking after him alone when it's my turn to sleep causes the same reaction. Our baby boy has colic and so, to ensure we're actually resting, we're currently rotating in shifts to look after him. We tried the standard 8 hours each and that didn't work out for us so now we're rotating in 3 hour shifts. For 3 hours I'll take him, then we'll both look after him together for 3 hours before my partner then takes him for 3- and then so on. Admittedly, we've struggled to stick to that routine but it's definitely working better than the one before.
I've been doing my best to hold everything together. Since we brought him home I've taken the lion's share of responsibilities so my partner can rest and recover from childbirth, as well as have the time she needs to push through her PPD. I usually let her sleep over the 3 hour mark by quite a fair bit and in the beginning the baby was glued to me to allow her to recover. I was more than happy for this and I want it clear that I'm not complaining. I made that choice and I am happy with it. What I'm venting about here is a bit more complicated.
I don't... feel anything with him. I don't have the connection with my son that everyone else seems to have. It's like I'm babysitting a stranger's child. Am I not supposed to have this overwhelming feeling of love and joy? My partner and each of our parents all have this connection with him. They have so much love and pride when they see and hold him and I.. don't. What I feel is instead a sense of responsibility, a paternal desire to protect and keep him safe.. but I don't feel anything else. I'm always told that it's because my partner carried him for 9 months and that our parents have had children before themselves so they know what it's like.. but I can't help but feel guilty and cruel because of it.
And ultimately, I think that's what it boils down to. Guilt. It's eating me up inside. I feel guilty for not feeling what everyone else seems to feel, for not being able to provide financially, for not always knowing what my baby needs. I miss our lost baby every day, and it's hard not to see him when I look at our new baby. It'll be a year since we lost him in a few weeks and it's a painful reminder of what we lost. I'm terrified of being the type of Dad my Father was, I'm terrified that as he grows older he'll resent me because I was unable to provide for him the way I should. I just.. I've always dreamed of being an this amazing Father and an amazing future Husband to my partner and with each day I feel like it's a dream I'll never achieve.
I know that it's supposed to get better. Everyone says it and I don't doubt it.. but it's hard to see that light at the end of the tunnel. One thing I'm incredibly grateful for, though, is how supportive my partner and I have been with each other. Every trial and tribulation has only ever made us stronger and I fall more in love with her every day. Seeing her be the Mum I always knew she'd be.. it makes everything just a little bit easier. I've told her all of this and she's told me her own woes, and we're doing everything we can day by day- and it's for that very reason that I want to do right by them both.
I'm sorry if this post seems out of place or self-indulgent. I just needed to let these thoughts out into the world, to lighten the load even just a little bit. Thanks for listening, Dads. And sorry if this isn't the right place for it. I'm still learning the ropes of this whole new Dad thing.

It seems like she’s feeling insecure again. I keep my eyes shut tight, preparing myself for the song and dance I had been through so many times before. The weight of the bed shifts under me as she crawls under the blankets. A cold limb flops over my torso, wrapping me in a frigid embrace. I resist the urge to flinch as the moist, squishy mass of flesh presses into my forehead, a tickling droplet of fluid slides down my face and over my tightly pursed lips. Not daring to move, I waited patiently for the words I knew must come. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, a muffled teary voice sounds in a desperate tone:
“Do you...”
The voice falters, emitting several low-pitched, labored gurgles before continuing:
“Love me?”
Without hesitation I respond, as gently as could be managed:
“Of course I love you. But it’s time to go back to sleep now, okay?”
The gurgling continues, higher pitched now, like an excited baby. After a few moments the squishy mass detaches itself from my forehead, and the weight in the bed shifts. The gentle smacking of feet against hardwood floor, and a door quietly closing across the house resound in the otherwise silent room. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, I rock gently back and forth with my head in between my legs, resisting the tears that are fighting to escape. I allow a few moments of this pointless self-pity before forcing myself to stand up.
I walk down the hallway to the bathroom, not allowing my eyes to stray to the door to what used to be my room. A look in the mirror reveals that my forehead has already started breaking out in small orange pustules, along with a small streak of them where the fluid had dripped down my face. At least it didn't get in my mouth this time. That isn’t a panic I would like to revisit. I retrieve the small bottle of vinegar from the medicine cabinet and apply it to a cotton ball, beginning the tedious task of treating my face. A harsher acid would probably do a better job, but I prefer to avoid the stinging even if the pustules disappear more slowly. It’s not like I need to look handsome for anyone. It’s unlikely she can even really see me.
Once my skin is sufficiently covered in the stuff, I grab a bucket and mop, and clean the wet footprints from the hallway, and from the living room where my bed is located. Most of the wood flooring throughout the house is already somewhat corroded, but I’d prefer to keep my home intact to the extent that I am able. Although it’s up to anyone’s guess what manner of hellscape the bedroom must look like. I hadn’t been in that room in a long time. That was her domain now, and there was no reason for me to enter. No reason to take that risk.
I light the small gas cooktop in the kitchen and get to work making food for the day. Canned food is surprisingly appetizing when there’s nothing to do but eat. It would taste better with some seasoning, but there was no point in going through that much effort. This food serves one purpose, and that’s to keep us from starving. I slide one plate under the crack between the floor and the bedroom door and sit down in the living room with the other plate in hand.
The book on the coffee table catches my eye as it does every morning. Sighing, I pick up the ratty collection of pages and flip to a random one. One of the few books on the “Great Plague” as they call it, that was ever published, or at least, the only one I could ever find. Titled “The End” by Jared Kramer, It was more of a fanatical opinion piece than a proper informative book, but Kramer at least provided a bit of information on the virus, how the transformation works, and what methods could be used to, in his words, “Cure” the afflicted. A shotgun was noted as the best medicine, with gasoline and matches being a close second. Near the middle of the book, the portion that was coincidentally staring back at me from the pages, it turned into a near unintelligible ranting on the philosophy of consciousness. Apparently, Kramer had only just begun to consider whether blowing the afflicted’s brains out was a morally reasonable decision. He had never come across as a particularly intelligent guy in his writings, and my assumption was that he was simply the only person who wrote fast enough to get a book published before the plague became a worldwide epidemic. Towards the end of the book, Kramer does a 180 and states repeatedly that “Accepting the transformation is the only road to salvation”.
“Salvation... as if”
My words perish in the empty air, a death rattle of frustrated skepticism.
I had never quite understood what that actually meant. Salvation would be something like deliverance from harm, harm being the only thing that the plague brought to the world. The book thuds as I carelessly toss it back on the table. It's obvious that the author was in the process of transforming as he wrote the final passages, but they never ceased to bother me. Perhaps I'm just fixating on those words as a way of keeping my mind occupied.
There’s really no reason to focus on such pointless things.
--------------------
The following night my sleep was peaceful and uninterrupted. She usually shows up once a week, if not less frequently. After waking, the bathroom mirror reveals that the pustules ha subsided slightly, leaving my skin smooth, if not free of the noticeable blemishes. A subtle glint of light shines off of my head and my heart rate accelerates.
Surely not.
Surely it was a trick of the light.
I begin rifling through my matted hair furiously and there it is. A single, silver hair hanging in front of my forehead.
I guess this is it then.
She made sure I had sworn on everything under the sun. Her stupid goofy smile reflected in my memory.
“First grey hair and I’m outta here mister”
To think that a silly little joke between us had turned into this solemn responsibility. The steel of the revolver was cold in my palm. My eyes locked onto it, unsure of when it had made its way from the drawer of the coffee table into my hand, or for that matter, when I had entered the living room. The earth seemed to be rotating at impossible speeds. Everything was black except for the gun in my hand and the book on the coffee table. That goddamn book. One of the pages had begun to tear away from the others, no doubt a result of my less than careful treatment of the thing, and a single word seemed to assault my fragile psyche.
Salvation.
I get it now
My heartbeat slows marginally as the unravelling of this book that I’ve read so many times presented a welcome distraction. There had been nothing left for Kramer, or anyone else for that matter, in a world that was dying around them. His salvation was freedom from the great plague. His call to “accept” the transformation, was not the same as giving in to it. After all, hadn’t he expressed over and over again exactly how to “find release” as he called it, from the infection.
Kramer, unlike me, had accepted that there was no life in transformation, no being, no humanity, and no way back. His moral dilemma had come to a close, likely with a bullet in his brain.
A reluctant chuckle rose through my chest and escaped my throat. It didn’t sound like me. It was twisted, choked, and raspy. She had always known hadn’t she, that I would stay in this house with her. That’s why she had forced me to swear up and down on something as silly and inevitable as a grey hair, before locking herself in that room five years ago. Knowing her, it had all been for my own good, a way for her to look out for me even after she was long gone.
The creak of the door was like nails on a chalkboard. I laid my eyes for the first time in years on my wife, or at least, what was left of her. I had seen the afflicted before, but seeing her in this state brought a blockage to my throat that nothing could have prepared me for. Her head had been obscured by the typical growth, characteristic of the great plague, A mass wider than her torso which was completely wrapped around her head, the loose flesh sagging down onto her shoulders. Large orange boils were dotted across this mass, as well as glistening, concave pits, where those boils had burst and left scars. The thick external vein structure wrapped around it was partially translucent, providing a window to the tar-like substance flowing slowly throughout. The worst thing, however, the thing that forced my tears out of my eyes and onto the corroded floor, was her body. Her clothes had long since disintegrated, leaving a sight that was fundamentally identical to what I remembered, with one exception. The excess weight of the mass upon her shoulder had atrophied her spine, which had crumpled, leaving her torso contorted in a grotesque fashion, the flesh and muscle folding in upon itself in places.
I had let this happen. I had as good as desecrated my wife’s corpse by leaving her in this state, by convincing myself that a cure would be found for a plague that had long-since been eradicated by other means. I did this.
My hands move as though without instruction from my brain, raising the revolver to my eye-level, pointing at the place where my wife’s head was concealed amid that horrid mass of flesh.
Her head tilted upwards slightly, as if she was looking at me with eyes that had been long-since obscured. That muffled, teary voice sounded out from amidst the heap weighing on her shoulders. Despite myself hesitated for just a moment, savoring the shadow of a voice that I would never hear again.
“Do you love me?”

FYI, this is a story COLLECTION. Lots of standalones technically. So, you can basically start to read at any chapter, no pre-read of the other chapters needed technically (other than maybe getting better descriptions of characters than: Adam Vir=human, Krill=antlike alien, Sunny=tall alien, Conn=telepathic alien). The numbers are (mostly) only for organization of posts and continuity.
OC Written by Charlie Stastarrfallknightrise,
Typed up and then posted here by me.
Proofreading and language check for some chapters by u/Finbar9800 u/BakeGullible9975 u/Didnotseemecomein and u/medium_jock
Future Lore and fact check done by me.
Caution swearing!
Also, god I love you Conn… please never change!
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Want to find a specific one, see the whole list or check fanart?
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"Both of you get your suits back on."
"What the hell is going on!?”
Richards demanded, Adam took a deep breath,
"Captain Richards that was not an opening for a discussion, that was an order. Now put the damn suit on, or I swear I will knock you out and do it myself!”
The three of them were floating in the module staring at each other, hands resting against what must have been no more than a few millimeters of aluminum.
He stared at them, and they stared back.
Adam did not break eye contact with the two, willing them to do as they were told. Chavez was the first to move, hurrying over to her space suit and struggling to pull it on in a near panic as bright lights flashed from outside. Inside his heart was pounding but he tried to remain calm for the two standing before him.
He hurried over to help Chavez pull on her gear, finally sealing the helmet in place as Richards finally moved to do the same.
Adam helped pull the hard torso over the man's head and link it to the waist before helping him pull on his gloves and, eventually the helmet. Before he let go, he kept hold of Richards by either side of the helmet staring at him through the glass,
"I promise, if you listen to me, I will keep you safe."
He kept eye contact with the other man until Richards finally nodded, and Adam let him go to float over and put on his own suit. His hands were steady, for now, but he knew as soon as the crisis was over he'd be shaking like a leaf.
If he survived…
He gritted his teeth, cursing himself for thinking like that.
He was Admiral Vir for crying out loud. He had survived far too much to go and die now.
He returned to the helm of the command module as he looked out the thick window at the lights flashing on either side of them. Despite the war that was raging around them, everything seemed so strangely quiet. There was no sound no rumbling, not even a vibration as one of the jets flew past. Despite being at the controls of the vehicle, there was nothing he could do. They only had a certain amount of fuel to get them to the lunar surface, and if he wasted any of it at all, they would be either caught in orbit, or miss the moon entirely.
He had to keep his cool.
Another bright burst of light lit the window to his right. This one was closer this time.
His heart leaped up into his throat.
Richards and Chaves joined him buckling into their seats.
"What is going on?”
Richards demanded again, his mike distant and tinny with the sound of very old technology.
"I believe Anti-Alliance forces are attempting to assassinate me. They have been trying for months now, and I think they are being encouraged by very powerful members of the government."
They watched as another set of ships zoomed past.
He saw a flash of a silhouette, just enough to know that one of them was a Thunderhawk and the other was a silver Rundi drone.
It confirmed his worst fears. The Chairwoman had been behind this the whole time!
[…]
Red nearly collided with the rocket. The Thunderhawk had pulled up the last minute, but he had almost been too late. He jerked the stick to the side, throwing up his wing just in time to avoid hitting the rocket as it made its slow way through space. He dove down on the other side forced to break off pursuit and cut in front of another Thunderhawk coming in from above. He made to look like he was going to ram them, playing a dangerous game of chicken, which he won at the last second as the other pilot panicked and cut to the left.
There were too many of them. Only five out of the original twenty had been destroyed, and he and the rest of their pilots were busy just keeping the thunder hawks away from the rocket, much less to have any time of firing at them. He had sent one of his people down to earth and one of them off towards the moon for backup. The moon was still hours away yet, so the hope that some help would be sent from them was unlikely, and even the woman he had sent down to earth's surface was cutting it close.
He didn't have much hopes that they would be able to hold out that long.
Inside the cockpit his warning lights began to blink and blair as one of the other jets got a lock on him. He rolled right to avoid them and dove down, cutting off the lock but still being pursued by those behind him. Up ahead he saw one of the silver balls erupt into flames as it was targeted by an expert hit from one of the Thunderhawk pilots.
He rolled right.
Someone else rolled left. He cut up just in time to avoid being hit and raced forward to cut off another Thunderbird that was heading directly towards the rocket.
[…]
Eris hurried down the hallway, her knees screaming as she did her very best to sprint, but despite her human anatomy, she was a little too much like a starborn.
With a cry of frustration she reached up and tore off her hoodie, throwing it to the ground and engaging her anti-gravity belt. The ribbons on her back billowed out behind her.
Light spilled in from the windows on either side of the catwalk she was now on, filling her with a buzzing energy that she could feel radiating through the ribbons like electricity. She knew from her study of starborn that they could travel at thousands of miles an hour in the vacuum of space, especially when under the power of a star. She didn't think she needed to go THAT fast, but anything would be better than what she was doing now.
As if in response to her will, she suddenly began to glide forward, picking up speed as she swooped towards the end of the hall, wind catching her in the face and roaring along her cheeks. With her starborn skin, she barely felt a thing as she raced around the corner and out of the waiting door. Two men dressed in military ACUs dived to the side as she blew past them crying out in alarm and confusion as the "Alien" floated by.
Somewhere distantly, she could sense Conn racing in the opposite direction towards the base.
Sunny and Admiral Kelly had Admiral Massie in their custody and were dragging him out into the hallway.
She blew across the open ground her ribbons snapping and billowing behind her as she did. She didn't even have time to imagine what she looked like as she roared over the open field and towards the waiting news vans which were just beginning to pack up their things. They were close to leaving, but she set out a sharp hard telepathic pulse ordering them to stop.
Compelling them to stop.
They froze in their tracks and looked up to see her coming.
Someone scrambled to turn on their camera, not sure what was going on but sure it had to be something good.
She tried not to think about what they would see as the camera flared to life following her approach.
"Make us live."
She ordered,
The news people glanced between each other in confusion,
"But no… we aren’t-"
"What are-"
She came to a sudden jolting stop before them, her billowing black hair fanning out behind her like a curling halo.
"I said, put us on air."
This time the telepathic pulse was too strong to resist. Mostly that, paired with the fact that none of them were sure they really wanted to resist. She was way too interesting to pass up.
They hurried to do what they were doing, and Eris was given just enough time to feel nervous before the camera was turned to her.
They were live.
She read it in the minds of those behind camera who she cut off as she began to speak,
"Citizens of Earth, there has been a horrible conspiracy against you. The UN president has ordered the assassination of Admiral Adam Vir and has continually attempted to sabotage the mission. Just now General Massie was taken into custody after ordering the deployment of twenty Thunderhawk’s to harass the rocket and make its destruction look like some sort of collision with space debris."
The group gawked at her as she raised her hand with the small silver device and began playing the recording.
She knew something like this would never be admissible in court. She was pretty sure it would be considered entrapment of some kind, which is why it must be heard now, before everyone, so that the actions of the president could be judged by a jury of the world where it could not be hidden by political machinations.
"Communications have been lost with Apollo 11. And it is... Well... It is likely that he is already dead..."
Her voice broke,
"No matter what happens, I need you, and this nation to understand what is happening before it gets swept under the rug. I saw it with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears and experienced their meeting in the thoughts of a man who is both xenophobic and hateful to his own humankind."
She kept talking trying to give them all the information she could, spilling thoughts she had heard in the head of the UN president and General Massie alike. Every meeting, every liaison, every name until her voice was beginning to crack.
[…]
The UN president was just standing to enter her vehicle when a slow muttering began in the crowd behind her. She turned as the ground before her went silent.
She watched as a wave ran through the people. A wave of nudging and whispering and showing off news feeds they had pulled up on their wrist implants. It wasn't long before the entire crowd was either staring down at their arms or clustered around someone else for viewing.
"What is going on?”
She wondered, turning to one of her men who was staring down at her own wrist.
"Madame president?"
He said with a look of confusion.
She could hear it now.
"Her and General Massie have ordered members of the UNSC to adjust funds in order to hide the twenty Thunderhawk’s they were squirting away for just such an event."
She hurried forward, grabbing the secret serviceman by the arm, staring at it as she watched the streaming newsfeed and the freaky white alien with the large dark eyes and flowing black hair.
"She is afraid of aliens, she wishes to isolate and eventually use humanity's superior forces to overtake trade in the galaxy, forceful if need be."
The muttering behind her had turned into an angry grumbling, and she turned to see the eyes of hundreds that turned towards her.
"Get me out of here."
She hissed. the Secret Serviceman took a step back with a look of confusion and indecision on his face.
"It's your job."
She snarled, but he just stared at her.
She hurriedly ran over to her car as the crowd began to filter in around them pressing close. A few of the secret service men pulled guns, but a large majority of them were frozen with indecision and were taken over by the crowd. She scrambled into the back seat of her vehicle and slammed the door shut screaming at the driver to get moving.
The crowd was surrounding them now, pounding at the glass.
She could hear their angry voices raised for her to be heard behind bullet proof glass.
Outside, she watched a lone figure step onto the platform where the lectern was and stare at her with its beady black eyes. The Chairwoman of the GA stood over the crowd like it's filthy alien lord.
And even though Rundi could not smile, she could swear it was smiling.
[…]
Baby K hit a rough patch of turbulence coming down from the atmosphere. She struggled with the controls as she was thrown left and right inside the cockpit of her rickety shuttle.
Donovan Red had ordered her down here to grab the UNSC, but she was so scared and full of adrenaline that she had dropped it at too steep an angle. The ride was much bumpier than it was supposed to be, and her teeth were rattling inside her head.
Just then two Jets suddenly cut in behind her out of nowhere, and she heard her console beep and warn her about a lock on, making it clear that she was just one click of a trigger away from imminent doom.
"This is Eagle Dispatch One, unidentified vessel, you have crossed into restricted UNSC airspace, identify yourself or be destroyed! You have ten seconds to comply, over."
She scrambled for her communications, but her fingers felt as stiff as wood as she scrambled for the button.
"I repeat, this is Eagle Dispatch One, unidentified vessel, you have entered restricted UNSC airspace, you are ordered to identify yourself or be destroyed. Five seconds remaining. Over."
She slammed her first into the comms button nearly panicking,
"UNSC!"
Her voice was rattling,
"This is B-baby K, and I... The Apollo 11 is under attack!"
She was breathless as she forced the words out.
There was silence over the coms,
"Say again? Uhm I mean please repeat over.”
"Apollo 11 is under attack!"
”…”
”…”
More silence,
”Roger that. Please stand by. Over."
The lock lifted and the two jets pulled up to the side of her, staying close now.
She recognized those jets as two F-90 Darkfires.
They stayed by her side for a moment, and as close as they were she could see one of the pilots fidgeting with the coms, talking and wildly gesticulating, while his copilot was beginning to wildly flip switches.
Meanwhile, a second voice came in over the coms.
"On your left! Eagle Dispatch Two here, unidentified vessel, please land on UNSC base airstrip one. Just contact the control tower once you get close for guidance and instruction."
Baby K looked over into the other jet, just to see the pilot adjusting his helmet and clicking an oxygen tube to the front of his helmet. His co-pilot had already put the additional oxygen mask on and was also flipping switches.
”Uhm aren’t you going to escort me?”
Baby K managed to blurt out in confusion,
”Godspeed Baby K, Eagle Dispatch Two over and out.”
Both men in the jet to her left had apparently finished their preparations and gave her a quick salute.
Then suddenly, both jets adjusted their angle and cut engines, before switching to their big fusion engines, rocketing them up and out of sight within seconds.
[…]
So far it had been a relatively quiet day at the Ellington Field Joint Reserve Base. Most of the air traffic had been canceled due to the launch of the Apollo mission, so there was not much to do, leaving much of the Airport less staffed than normal.
In the Air Traffic Control tower of the base, only two men were working. Though “working” was stretching it, considering Senior Controller M. Fredrick was currently in the middle of his book (though he was at least in front of his station) and his comrade Senior ATC Instructor A. Millard was currently sitting in a corner, watching a movie on his implant.
”So what are you watching? One of those old Star Wars movies?”
”You bet! Those are the best! By the way any info on that “lost civilian” who got into our airspace?”
”No not yet, though I sent Eagle Dispatch and told them to be extra unfriendly, that will scare these civilians off for sure!”
”Pffft, why couldn’t they watch the start like any other person? There is always some dumb rich kid doing dumb stuff with daddies private shuttle… I don’t understand why we always let them off with a warning…”
The console started beeping,
”Oh look that’s them now!”
”Put ‘em on speakers!”
”Will do!”
…
”ATC this is Eagle, come the FUCK in!”
Fredrick rolled his eyes,
”Ahem… This is Elling Field ATC, calling Eagle Dispatch One. We hear you, over.”
”ATC what the FUCK took you so long!?”
”Ellington Field ATC, to Eagle Dispatch one, firstly: language, secondly: please follow standard radio rules, over.”
”THE APOLLO IS UNDER ATACK BY HOSTILE ELEMENTS!”
”Ellingt-WHAAAAT!? Repeat please! Over!”
”THE APOLLO IS BEEING ATACKED BY HOSTILE ELEMENTS! REQUETING IMMEDIATE ASSIST!”
Fredrick just stared at Millard dumbfounded. As the senior officer Millard was quick to collect himself and jumped up and towards his console.
”What are you waiting for Fredrick! Are we blind!? DEPLOY THE GARRISON!”
Fredrick ignored all protocol and just flipped the switch to connect his comms to every recipient available.
”ATC to all personnel and everyone who can hear me, the Apollo is under attack, I repeat, the apollo is under attack. I want all available planes that can reach the outer atmosphere ready ASAP! Get the darkfires on the runway I want them in the air yesterday!”
[…]
Conn raced towards the airstrip, feeling the wind in the ribbons at his back. He couldn't go nearly as fast as he wanted to with air resistance.
Why the hell did Adam always have to get into so much trouble, why did he always have to be the center of attention!?
Everyone either hated him or loved him, but the problem was people who hated him also wanted to kill him.
Why did he have to be so controversial!?
Why did he have to be hated for something that was such a big deal. Why couldn't he be hated for having controversial political opinions. Conn paused…
On second thought, controversial political opinions were kind of what had gotten them here in the first place, so he guessed that was kind of a useless comparison. How about being the kind of guy who liked to talk too much about fishing. That was a great way to make people hate you for being boring, but it didn't usually mean that people wanted to kill you.
Maybe they could get the man a hobby doing something that wasn't so controversial…
Like…
Kicking small Animals or…
Cannibalism.
He came roaring to the stop at the edge of the airfield just in time to watch an entire platoon of pilots racing towards jets. He could hear their minds and looked up to see a rather dinky shuttle descending from the sky. He floated forward towards one of the jets as two pilots leaped inside.
He was going to need a ride.
The pilots turned to look at him, but Conn just shook his head.
The pilots decided to ignore him in the confusion and Conn grabbed on tight.
Starborn, he had come to learn, were a very interesting species in comparison to others. Vertically, as in from the top down he was very fragile and likely to break his neck or collapse his spine if there was any kind of pressure, but with horizontal forces, he was practically indestructible. Below him the ship roared to life and soon they were gathering speed along the runway.
His grip was tight, and he used the extra energy from his ribbons to speed himself up along with the jet to reduce the pull on his arms.
His grip wasn't that strong.
They went vertical almost immediately, and he made sure to orient his body in the correct direction as they went hurtling into the sky.
[…]
Red's right wing had been hit. If there had been atmosphere around him he would have been a goner, but there was no air resistance here, so once he regained control of his roll, he pulled back into position and fired one last shot as the opportunity arose. The sixth Thunderhawk was destroyed in an eruption of debris, which he dodged only with difficulty, limping without the aid of the maneuvering jet on the end of his one wing. Things were only speeding up now, the Rundi were almost gone and the pressure was being laid thick on his people. They were hard to hit but the pursuit made it almost impossible for them to do any real maneuvering of their own. He was almost hit again as another Thunderhawk sped underneath him. They rolled this way and that rocking from one side to the other. Flying through debris and over strips of silver metal.
Below them the earth hung as a glowing orb.
Red cut in a wide circle coming in with the sun at his back, using it to blind one of the enemy Thunderhawk’s as he came in. He watched the group of them form up suddenly as a ring around the slow moving rocket, intending quite certainly to rush it all at once. He screamed into the comm trying to order his men around, but it was going to be too late, he could already see it coming.
The jets rushed forward, and he did too, screaming inside his helmet as they went to broadside Apollo 11.
And then with all the silence of space, sixteen F-90 Dark Fires came spitting overhead all at once, raining down a line of ordinance that cut through the group of unsuspecting Thunderhawk’s.
Space around them was filled with a myriad of silent explosions as each and every one of them was ripped to shreds.
All except one…
He saw it at the last moment.
It had been hit in the tail and had gone wildly off course.
It turned sideways, but had just enough force... For its wing to tear straight through the aluminum siding of the rocket.
FUCK!
[…]
Chavez and Richards had been ordered to strap into their seats.
Adam had taken it upon himself to lock down the rest of the main cabin. Outside the flashing lights were like a fireworks display without sound. He grabbed onto one of the rails, forcing equipment back into place, so that if anything happened it wouldn't fly out.
His legs were kicked up behind him as he floated forward reaching for some of the controls as a sudden bright wash of light filtered in through the windows. He heard a scream over his com, and then the air around him was rent with a horrific tearing noise, which suddenly went silent. There was a rush, and he jerked forward as he was sucked back... And out of the ship entirely.
His hands and legs kicked and flailed as he tried to right himself, hearing his own breathing as the only sound as he watched the rocket begin to spin, debris erupting around him as air, and whatever wasn't strapped down was sucked through the small opening.
The rocket was spinning wildly but still on course, while he was spinning wildly in a silent abyss.
Grunting against the force of his spin, he reached down for the controls to the CO2 canister built into the pack of his spacesuit.
He groaned, not sure which way was up or down or back. He tried to right himself against the spin by firing in the opposite direction to slow his spin.
He could see the rocket now spinning in the opposite direction with the sudden loss of oxygen. He hoped the other astronauts were ok. He saw the silhouette of a jet fly past in the distance making its way towards the spinning rocket.
At least there was someone here to help.
Maybe the others would survive-
And then he just… stopped, coming to a confusing halt in the middle of space.
That shouldn't have been right!
He should have kept going forever!
He tried turning his head, but he felt like the pillsbury doughboy in this two thousand year old suit.
What was happening?
"Did you miss me Baby?”
Well shit, now he sort of wished he could keep spinning.
There was a tugging on the outside of his suit, and Conn floated into view in front of his helmet.
"Hey sweetheart."
"You are probably the last person I wanted to see."
He said, though he didn't entirely mean it, and unfortunately Conn knew that too, the mindreading asshole that he was.
”I could hardly let the father of my child go spinning off into space without taking accountability for his family. After al child support is paying way more than widows pension."
"Shove it up your ass Conn."
"No really, not even the vacuum of space is going to save you from your responsibilities. Now, about custody, I was thinking you could have every other weekend and a couple of major holidays…”
He gave a rueful sort of smile as Conn grabbed him by the life support pack and started floating them towards the rocket.
The F-90s had somehow managed to slow the spin of the rocket, and pull it back on course with grappling magnets.
All around them space was filled with debris. No more working Thunderhawk’s were present and those that were were quickly being grappled. One sleek racing jet slowly cruised past them. One of its wings was damaged, but whoever was inside waved with one hand as he rolled past.
Adam lifted a hand as Conn brought him the last few hundred feet to the torn opening in the side of the ship, allowing him to step through.
Conn patted him on the side of the helmet,
"Make sure to be home by dinnertime sweetie."
Before blowing him a kiss and vanishing back out the hole.
Adam floated there, a bit nonplussed for a moment before turning back to the front of the ship where Chaves and Richards were still strapped into their seats staring at him and after Conn. He floated over to strap himself in.
"Admiral! You're ok!”
"Yes, it seems that I am, thanks to a... Friend of mine."
Just then Conn appeared again just before their right side window, and like the classy gentlemen that he was began rubbing his butt up against the glass.
He sighed,
"Friend is kind of stretching it."
"Apollo 11 this is Houston, do you copy!"
The man on the other end of the line sounded close to tears, and Adam hurried to respond,
"Houston this is Apollo 11."
On the other side he thought he heard the sound of voices cheering in relief.
"What is your status, over?”
"We are a bit beat up Houston, we have a tear in our hull, but our suits are ok, and we have help."
"Prepare to abort mission."
Adam frowned,
"Now wait a second there Houston! I didn't get sucked out the side of my own rocket to just quit now. Tell the boys to come up here and patch us up and we can finish the mission. All systems are still functioning, and we are back on course."
He glanced over at the others,
”That is, if the crew wants to continue."
There was a pause and then Chavez timidly piped in,
"I'd be ok with that."
Richards sighed,
"Roger Houston, patch us up."
Granted it may have been cheating. Apollo 11 hadn't had support with special tools that could just patch up a spaceship within ten minutes, but then again the original Apollo 11 hadn't been in the middle of a firefight while on their journey to the moon.
So it was with some trepidation that Houston allowed it, and before long they had air back inside the cabin back up to pressure, but they also had a sixteen-man rotating escort for the rest of the way.
The group of them were even shocked to see Rundi drones join the formation, only to learn that it had been the UN president who had allegedly called the hit on him. It was hard to believe, but they were only getting snippets here and then from over radio and from Conn, who floated around occasionally to rub another part of his anatomy against the window and give them teasing updates.
The moon was growing slowly in their vision.
"Hehe, I can see my house from here."
Adam remarked as they prepared to detach the lunar module from the rest of the ship.
They landed without incident, observed by mobile camera crews and news reporters as he made his own footprint on the never changing dust of the moon's surface. He gave them a thumbs up to let them know he was fine and hesitated only once before setting up the UN flag in the dirt. He refused to let his enthusiasm be dampened by the day's events and hopped around dancing and leaping for joy as another one of his childhood dreams was fulfilled.
…
That was before he plowed face first into the moon's surface and required help from Richards to stand back up again.
They left soon after taking another three days of escort back to earth before strapping themselves in for final entry.
Conn left them just as they were entering orbit with a very big and very drawn out middle finger for all three of them.
"Your friend is super delightful isn't he?”
"You don’t know the half of it, try having a child with him."
Adam muttered, refusing to elaborate even as they stared at him in confusion.
They fell from the sky and landed somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, picked up by the waiting navy vessel who was within nine miles of their landing site. They were fished from the water and returned safe and sound to the ship to cheers and cameras. Adam's legs felt a little like jelly after days of not using them, and he was finally able to relax lying on the deck of the ship under the sun as people ran around them on either side.
His hands shook slowly building up after the stress of the last week. He took long deep breaths and closed his eyes.
The next few days were going to be a real shit show.
And somehow it wasn’t because he was now known as the man who faceplanted on not one, but TWO interstellar bodies…
The media was way to busy with the other story, a massive net of deceit and corruption that would now be uncovered.
Previous First Next
Want to find a specific one, see the whole list or check fanart?
Here is the link to the master-post.
Intro post by me
OC-whole collection
Patreon of the author
Thanks for reading! As you saw in the title, this is a cross posted story written by starrfallknightrise and I'll just upload some of it here for you guys, if you are interested and want to read ahead, the original story-collection can be found on tumblr or wattpad to read for free. (link above this text under "OC:..." ) It is the Empyrean Iris story collection by starfallknightrise. Also, if you want to know more about the story collection i made an intro post about it, so feel free to check that out to see what other great characters to look forward to! (Link also above this text). I have no affiliations to the author; just thought I’d share some of the great stories you might enjoy a lot!
Obviously, I have Charlie’s permission to post this and for the people already knowing the stories, or starting to read them: If you follow the link and check out the story you will see some differences. I made some small (non-artistic) changes, mainly correcting writing mistakes, pronoun correction and some small additional info here and there of things which were not thought of/forgotten or even were added/changed in later stories (like the “USS->UNSC” prefix of Stabby, Chalar=/->Sunny etc). As well as some "biggemajor" changes in descriptions and info’s for the same stringency/continuity reason. That can be explained by the story collection being, well a story collection at the start with many standalone-stories just starring the same people, but later on it gets more to a stringent storyline with backstories and throwbacks. (For example Adam Vir has some HEAVY scars over his body, following his bones, which were not really talked about up till half the collection, where it says it covers his whole body and you find out via backflash that he had them the whole time and how he got them, they just weren't mentioned before. However, I would think a doctor would at least see these scars before that, especially since he gets analyzed, treated and goes shirtless/in T-shirts in some stories). So TLDR: Writing and some descriptions are slightly changed, with full OK from the author, since he himself did not bother to correct these things before.

TLDR uBPD Mum wrote her twin daughters a birthday poem but sent it twelve days late, full of innacuracies and with a request to visit one of them. The request is for a fictional exhibition in a specific date range. She forwarded her original message to the other twin without to editing out the visit request or making an attempt to cover the fact it was written for the first twin and sent to the other as an after thought.
Context A birthday poem sent to me an hour after it was sent to my twin sister. It was also 12 days after our actual birthday, neither of us heard from uBPD mum on the day (I've asked her not to contact me but she thinks that my sister & I are 1 entity so even though my sister is still in contact with her, mum treats her like she is not). My sister (Twin1) trained in fine art in the city she now works in. She is not currently making art so has no idea what exhibition uBPD mum refers to in the poem. I have marked lies/inaccuracies with an * I've asterisked the line about being a proud mum and gran because if she was so proud, why does she make no mention of wanting to see her 2 grand sons on this trip to the city to see my sister at her exhibition? She hasn't seen her grandsons in at least a year despite visiting near by their city in our small country twice last year. She didn't even tell my sister she was in the area until my sister phoned to wish uBPD mum happy birthday on her birthday February this year.
Poem
Twin1 and Twin2 38 today * That's just not possible no way Where has the time gone Times flies sadly that's so true Doesn't seem that long ago when Myself and Twin2 went to the zoo.
You were and are my sunshine of Hometown on Gala My beautiful twin daughters living in bonnie Hometown Bay A prouder mum I could not be how you both excelled and now you both have your own family You get to experience the love and joy like I had and still have as I reflect on my wonderful family tree When you hurried home excitedly to show all the things you had lovingly made for me
You were always caring and sharing Even at such a young age so helpful too. Remember girls I was on the phone to uBPD Gran When you flushed Twin2 nappy down the loo I was panic stricken and mortified when the neighbour below said it had flooded her too.
I loved my plants* .it was a not easy to maintain with two Mischieves monkeys who tipped them upside down . It was funny but I also did frown Before you knew it we were back to laughing and getting along Happy again and full of song
Love shack was your favourite tune I loved that song too you could sing it to the moon Love shack baby love shack Oh to hear you sing that song would bring It all right back
The time we all got such a fright Twin 1 When you accidentally bumped into a light Well lamp post * Out of the three of us who was startled the most?
You were fine ,you got a war wound scar Was it the left or right side I can't remember I think it was your right eye It was so long ago at the time you were very shy
Twin 2 walked into a gate * I was dumstruck only seconds too late* You got a scar on your eyes too By then I was beside myself and did not know what to do !
Almost in the space of a year You each have a scar by your eye Which side they are on your eye is unclear Now you parents yourself you know what I mean How quickly things can happen Even when your close by to the scene
Bless the wee lady above is in Hometown She used to shout girls you whoo seconds later it was raining milkyways all over you I could only chuckle when I realised I too Along with uBPD dister we went to our neighbour for our daily rations of sweeties too * And to this day I believe my mum never knew.
Remember when you got up early and Oh my you got hold of the butter I think I was in a flutter Butter in the rods of the Wendy house it was everywhere If I recall righghtly it was in your hair.
You used to trick people switching places * Sometimes you did trip up on your laces You tried to fool me but that was not so easy * However tricking your pals and strangers was easy peasy.*
The things you have done this uBPD Mum and gran could not be more proud of you You won a camera for your ambulance picture Twin2 you designed the school logo in highschool too Is there no end to your talents You both excelled and followed your career Which I never regretted not being able to As th minute I knew I was expecting I always prioritised you* and am a proud mum of twins with 5 wonderful grandchildren too*
The trips we went to beech and picnics with aunt The endless pictures are wonderful memories of happy times with you I still have her special multi coloured umbrella Where we often seemed shelter under it too
So many more memories this is some of them I just want to ask you Twin 1 can I come with my friend M or F and see your exhibition* city between 23 rd and 29 th Sept I love seeing all that you can do and have done
Your pictures in the cafe The story about wellies and where they travelled from faraway I believe it was Canada And you made a wellington cast Now it's a focal point for tourists and everyone to see.*
I often look at the screen you both made me made before I moved country All the gifts over the years cards and mementos each one speaks words to me When you gave me the picture and chair for my birthday .
That incredible exhibition in the gallery when you made a clear curtain and even there there is a story
I understand if you say no don't come .I hope and pray one day we will all Be together again surrounded by my family.Until that joyous day comes remember I carry love in my heart for you all eternally❤️

You will be surprised to know that if a child does not get his nourishment through his mother's milk, if he is not fed with his mother's milk, then his life-energy remains weak forever. He can be fed milk in other ways also, but if he does not regularly receive the warm touch of his mother's heart, then his life becomes frustrated forever and the possibility of his living long is reduced forever. Those children who are not fed on mother's milk can never attain to much bliss and silence in their lives.
The whole younger generation in the West, and gradually in India also, is becoming filled with great rebellion. The deepest reason for this, the root cause, is that Western children are not being fed on mother's milk. Their respect towards life and their relation to life is not full of love. From their very childhood their life-energy has received many shocks and they have become unloving. In those shocks, in the separation from their mother, they have become separated from life itself - because for a child there is primarily no other life than his mother.
All over the world, wherever women are becoming educated, they do not like to raise children close to them - and the effect has been extremely harmful. In tribal societies children are fed on mother's milk for a long time. The more a society becomes educated, the earlier the children are separated from their mother's milk. The sooner the children are separated from their mother's milk, the more difficulty they will have in experiencing peace in their own life. A deep restlessness will prevail in their life from the very beginning. On whom will they take revenge for this restlessness?
The revenge will be taken on the parents themselves. All over the world children are taking revenge on their parents. On whom else will they take revenge? They do not know themselves what kind of reaction is happening within them, what kind of rebellion is arising within them, what kind of fire is arising within them. But unconsciously, deep within, they know that this rebellion is the result of being separated from their mother too soon. Their hearts know this, but their intellect doesn't. The result is that they will take revenge on their mothers and fathers; they will take revenge on everyone.
As soon as he is born, a child is immediately separated from his mother. His second source of life-energy is related to the heart of his mother. But at a certain point a child will have to separate from his mother's milk too.
When does that right time come? It does not come as early as we think. Children should remain close to their mother's heart a little longer if their love and heart are to develop rightly throughout their life. They are forced to separate very early. A mother should not separate the child from her milk; she should allow him to separate on his own. At a certain point the child will separate on his own. For the mother to force the separation is just like taking the baby out of the womb after four or five months instead of allowing him to come out after nine months. It is as dangerous for a mother to separate her child from her milk before he himself decides to give it up. This effort of the mother is dangerous and because of this effort the second center, the heart center, of the child does not develop rightly.
While we are talking about this I would like to tell you something more. You will be surprised to hear it. Why is it that all over the world, the part of the woman's body towards which men are attracted to most is the woman's breasts? These are all children who were separated very early from their mother's milk. In their consciousness somewhere deep inside a desire has remained to be close to a woman's breasts. It has not been fulfilled - there is no other reason, there is no other cause. In tribal societies, in primitive societies, where the children remain close to the mother's breasts long enough, men have no such attraction towards the breasts.
But why are our poems, our novels, our movies, our dramas, our pictures all centered around the breasts of women? They have all been created by men who, in their childhood, could not remain close to their mother's breast long enough. That desire is left unfulfilled and now it starts arising in new forms. Now pornographic pictures are being created, pornographic books and pornographic songs are being written. Now men harass women on the streets, throw stones at them. We create all these stupidities and then later on we complain about them and try to get rid of them.
It is very necessary for the child to remain close to his mother's breasts long enough for his mental, his physical and his psychological growth to take place rightly. Otherwise his heart center will not develop properly - it remains immature, undeveloped, stuck.

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I currently (40M) had my ex (35F) completely destroy our relationship while I was working out of town for a few months. This happened a year ago and wish I had these stories as a resource while going through it. I have just started to use Reddit and been reading the experiences of others here and have decided to share my story in hopes it will maybe help others. That way some good may come from some of the worst times of my life.
A little backstory for context for the story and insight to some of the decisions I made. When I turned 30 I left the major city in my Province (it is like a state if you are an American) because buying just a simple house is over a million dollars and I don't make near enough to afford that. My goal was to move to somewhere more rural to buy a house, meet someone, get married and have a child or two. It was my only dream I had and believed I could attain it. I lived out in the bush on my step dads property in a run down trailer I bought so I could save money for the first 3 years. I had my dog but the loneliness of living in the middle of nowhere had got to me. By then I had saved a fair amount of money, so I decided to move into the town. It was nice, it cut my commute down by 40 minutes, I had started to make a few friends and no longer felt so isolated. It was through my friends I met my future ex. Let's call her Kali. She had a long term boyfriend when we first met. Their relationship ended a couple of years after meeting her and we started dating a few months after.
We mostly had a great relationship for the next 4 years. The only thing was it was on again off again. She would dump me after I did anything really special for her for a week and beg me to take her back. It was like clockwork. I used to think it was because of her depression and that she didn't believe she deserved to be truly happy. Nowadays I actually think she might have been cheating the whole time and just felt guilty about it when I did nice stuff for her but I will never know the truth. I don't care what the reality is anymore anyway, Time has a funny way of making stuff like that irrelevant. We did have one bigger break of about 5 months. When it happened I took time off work to travel in my RV the whole time. From spring to summer. I really didn't like the town I lived in and decided to use that time to check out the rest of my Provence to figure out where I wanted to restart my life. She was basically the only reason I stayed for so long. I did have a decent job and family close by but most people I met there were not good people. Lots of drug users, liars, and general scumbags. I had only a few real friends there. After I got back and had decided where I was going to move to she had decided she wanted me back. She begged me to stay and be with her. She told me that she wanted to get serious. We started making real progress about getting married, having kids and looking at buying a house. Everything was coming up Milhouse and I couldn't be happier. So You can probably guess this is when my tale becomes interesting for you and life got real bad for me.
My career is seasonal. I work from spring to the end of fall and can go on unemployment insurance or find work. My dad had asked if I could help on his farm breeding horses that winter when I had still planned to leave my town. I had promised him that I would because it would give me a place to stay before people in my field of work would be looking for employees. This had been agreed upon before me and Kali had got back together. Now I have always been a man of my word. It's something I take great pride in. I have always hated liars. I don't mind a little embellishment to make a story more fun or if two people's stories are different as long as they both believe that was how the events happened. Everyone remembers things slightly off. She was upset that I had intended to keep my word to my dad but I had every second weekend off. The town my dad is in was only a 2 hour drive. So I told her I would be back twice monthly for weekends and that it would only be for 4 months. For the first two months everything seemed fine. During this time I started to look at rings to pop the question and booked an expensive spa for two days in May to propose. There was only one weird thing that happened during the first two months. On one of my visits she confided in me that her brother's wife had cheated on him and that their newborn baby was most likely not his. I was shocked that she not only knew but didn't plan to tell him. She said she didn't want to tell him for fear of breaking up the family. I told her that he has the right to know and that she was being a bad sister by knowing and not telling him. I also informed her if he found out she knew and didn't say anything that he would most likely kick her out of his life. She made me swear I wouldn't tell him. Even though I thought it was wrong I did agree to not say anything. It did get me wondering how she could not only not tell him but stay friends with someone that could do that to her brother. I think that's when I started to question her morals. The third month she asked that I didn't come out because she was "sick". I told her I didn't care, I could still come out and take care of her. She convinced me that she didn't want me to come so I just worked on the farm instead. I switched weekends so I could come out the next instead of in two weekends. The weekend she was "sick" her phone was off the whole time, lasting into the week. She told me her phone went through the washing machine. She was actually on a bender but I didn't learn that till later.
So I head out the following weekend. As soon as I arrive I start getting super sketchy vibes. I was already weirded out about the stuff with her brother and ghosting me for 4 days as we talked/texted multiple times a day normally. At first she acts great to me, cooks me steak and we go out to the bush to have a fire in the snow. At the fire she really started drinking heavily. She then mentions a guy she had been hanging with lets call him Brad. So alarm bells start going through my head. We go back to her house and she keeps drinking. I wanted to keep a clear head so I only had three beers all evening. She put her phone down unlocked because of how drunk she was and I took it to the bathroom with me to look up texts between them. I felt so guilty for doing it at first but once I see the text between the two of them the guilt is replaced with rage. I go to her room to confront her and she breaks down. First, how dare I go through her phone, this never would have happened if I would have broken my promise to my dad, nothing really happened between them, blah, blah, blah. I was furious and drove off. She blows up my phone the whole time. I don't answer. Ten minutes after I left her mother called me. She lives at her moms house. I took the call and her mom said she is freaking out and has harmed herself. I decide to go back and she has a bandage wrapped around her arm. Her mom hid all the sharp objects she could find. She was having a full on panic attack and begs me to not leave. I told her I would stay if she told me the truth. She admits to hooking up with him one time just that last weekend when she asked me not to come out. It kind of matches the messages and I believe her. I stay there till she falls asleep. Once she does I send Brad a text saying that she has a boyfriend with some screen shots of our conversations me and her have had that week. I was about to drive back to the farm when the dude called her phone. I pick up the call and tell him I am her boyfriend. He asks if that was a joke and I assure him it is not. He said he didn't know and actually apologized. I tell him that I'm pissed but if he didn't know I couldn't blame him. I should have asked him more questions but I was tired, not thinking straight and just wanted to go back to the Farm even though it was two am by this point. I get home and crash. Turned my ringer off because I know once she wakes up she will start calling like crazy. After getting the horses in for the night I decided to look at my phone for the first time all day. Around thirty missed calls and a ton of texts. I decide I need another day before I talk to her. Now while the whole day all I can think about is that it was just one time, she seems to be genuinely remorseful about it, how I'm 39 and really want children before I get too old. I took a call from her the next day on Sunday in the morning. She is still wasted. She hadn't stopped drinking since I was there Friday. We talk and I tell her that I am really upset but am willing to give us another chance. I still was in love with her and wanted to have kids, get married and buy a house with her. It was the dream I felt I worked so hard for. She was so happy I took her back and swore to me nothing like this would ever happen again. Basically I was a fool lol.
So I decided on my next set of days off to borrow my stepdads summer home on the river so we can have the place to ourselves. I grab food that she loves so I can cook her dinner and try to make it very romantic. I want to rekindle my love with her so I wanted to go all out on an amazing weekend. I pick her up and she is already a little drunk. I kind of wanted to hang sober but I don't wanna mess up with her so don't say anything thinking we can do a sober day when I take her out to go shopping and dinner the next day. When we get there she gets hammered. Kali had brought a big of bottle fireball on top of a bunch of white claws. I again didn't really drink that night. Once she was drunk and tired I carried her to the bed. As Kali is in my arms she looks up at me and says in slurred words "I don't know why you even felt threatened by Joe" I ask "what did you just say?". "I don't know why you even felt threatened by Brad" she replied. I put her to bed and my mind starts racing. Now her ex before me has a really close name to the one she said first but I also know she has a friend named Joe I only met a couple of times. They were not close or even hung out but were more like acquaintances. I go in her purse to look at her phone again but the battery is dead and I can't find her charger. I have an Iphone so I can't charge it up to look. I didn't sleep that well that night with everything going on in my head. I woke up at 6 am to her being very loud on the phone. I went out to the living room and she had drank all the booze left over from the night before. I ask her who she was on the phone with and she tells me an uber to leave. I ask why is she going to leave? Kali tells me she is upset that I tried to get into her phone. Guess I didn't put it back in her purse. Must have been out of sorts and forgot. I tell her I can drive her once I go to the washroom and get some clothes on. I go to do that, come out of the washroom to see Kali has already left. She was so drunk that she had left half her stuff behind. I decided to have breakfast before bringing her stuff to her house. After breakfast I packed her stuff into my SUV and noticed it had snowed that night. I could see her footprints out into the driveway. While Dropping off her stuff I noticed there were no footprints leading to her house, so I tried calling Kali. No answer. I left her stuff in the snow and decided to drive by her brothers and sisters house to see if there were footprints going into any of their houses but there were none. I sent her a nasty text about knowing she didn't go home, to go be with Brad or Joe or whoever and never call me again. It was a lot more profane than that but that's the gist of it. Cleaned up the house my stepdad lent me and back off to the farm yet again. The next day she blows up my phone and again I wait another day to talk to her. She tells me that she went home but I know that can't be true from the snow, but she says I must have been mistaken. She apologizes for getting drunk and leavening and that she is going to stop drinking after her birthday in two weeks. She has rented a hotel in the town I'm in for her birthday and wants to spend it with me. I agree just because I have to know the truth and want to look at her phone to make sure I am not crazy. She had gaslit me to the point I was questioning what I saw with my own eyes. A couple of days later I decided to send Joe a message on Facebook to see if he would give me the truth. I get a text from her telling me not to bug her friend and that she is embarrassed. I apologize and tell her I am excited about her birthday soon.
The weekend of her birthday comes so I go to meet her at the hotel. She brought her sister and other friend along. It actually is a really fun time. The girls did coke the first night into the second evening. I don't really like it but I figured she can let loose especially if she is going to stop drinking after her birthday. I also knew by Saturday night that they would all crash hard so it would give me time to look at her phone so I could know the truth. As I mentioned the weekend was really fun so I felt bad about going into her phone yet again. I did it anyway and my whole world came crashing down. Now I figured that I would maybe see Brad or Joe texts and Facebook messages. Seemed like Brad was done but Joe and her were totally hooking up. I also found out that she had slept with 3 other guys. I also saw she was using coke all the time now. She did it maybe three times a year when we dated but now it was every weekend. It looked like she started using regularly right before I left for the farm. Joe helped get it for her too, out of all the guys he was the one she hung with the most. Turns out he was also a meth head who was trying to quit for her. She also went to his house the morning she left the other weekend to hook up and buy coke. I was floored. I just staired and took screen shots till the early morning. I decided I wasn't just going to dump her but I wanted to ruin her life not realizing she was already doing that all by herself but hindsight is 20 20. So I started coming up with a plan of what I was going to do. I woke up the next morning and acted like everything was fine and went back to the farm. I was still so upset and didn't want to harm myself or others so had a family friend take my firearms for a while. I don't think I would have used them on myself or others but I knew I wasn't thinking clearly and didn't want them in my house while I was like that.
I didn't have to see her till I moved back because the next set I had off I had tickets for a concert in the city I used to live in. During that time all I thought about was how I was going to do something to ruin her life. I came up with some small things but my main plan was to pretend like we were fine and ghost her when my contract was up with my boss next winter. I had promised him another year after kali and I had gotten back together. Just typing it out makes me look back and cringe that I was so crazy. When I went to the city for the concert I told my best friend, my brother and a few others my plan. No one liked it and thought I should just go no contact, cut her straight out of my life. That probably was the smart thing to do but emotion was clouding my judgement. Also you all would get this story. They even informed me that because I would be lying to her, that I would be compromising my morals and turning into a worse person they didn't recognize. I either didn't see it that way or care. I have a hard time recalling what my brain was thinking during that time. All seems like a haze now that it's been a year. I think I was really upset that my dream and all I had worked for was ruined. A friend later said I may have been in love with the dream and not her. Maybe that's the reason I kept up all this insanity.
My time on the farm had come to an end and I was moving back to the town me and my ex lived in. I was set with my plan, excited to implement it and have what I considered just. But you know what they say of the best laid plans. My ex wanted to go to hang at her brothers as a welcome home party. I went but ended up drinking. Heavily drinking, to the point of black out. I don't remember much from that night but have had it recounted for me. I woke up in the drunk tank. Guess I couldn't lie and play it cool then huh? The story I was told later is, while at her brothers I had gotten drunk and loud. Kept waking up the new baby and we were asked to leave. So we caught a cab and I confronted her in the cab but all I could do was call her a lying, cheating, whore on repeat. She got upset and ran into the house locking me out. I had a bunch of my stuff in her house so I went to the door and demanded she let me in. All the while still only referring to her as the aforementioned 3 words. She told me to leave but my jacket and wallet were inside. It was below freezing at night still and probably wouldn't have made it home in the state I was in. I then kicked in her door to keep calling her LCW and grab my stuff. She was on the phone to the police, so I was taken away by them. One of the lowest points in my life. It still brings me so much shame to this day but it is what happened and I am not going to sugar coat it. I never laid a finger on her and I am so happy that I hadn't. Laying hands on women in that way is one of the scummiest things a man can do. I had to go back to her house once they let me out because my stuff was still there. I apologized to her mom who had been at her boyfriends that evening promising to repair the door for her. Kali begged me to talk to her and like an idiot I didn't just leave. I told her I saw everything and she only admitted to Brad and Joe. Lying about them and the others the whole time. Even when I brought up the screen shots she still couldn't come clean. I left just shaking my head. There is still a ton to this story but this is long enough. I could do a part 2 if there is interest. Catching you folks up to where I am now and the messed up things that happened in between.

Later, toward dusk, several enormous water bugs, a very dark reddish brown, emerge like elves from the wainscoting, and go lumbering toward the larder—pregnant mother bugs too, with baby translucent outrider bugs flowing along like a convoy escort. At night, in the very late silences between bombers, ack-ack fire and falling rockets, they can be heard, loud as mice, munching through Gwenhidwy's paper sacks, leaving streaks and footprints of shit the color of themselves behind. They don't seem to go in much for soft things, fruits, vegetables, and such, it's more the solid lentils and beans they're into, stuff they can gnaw at, paper and plaster barriers, hard interfaces to be pierced, for they are agents of unification, you see. Christmas bugs. They were deep in the straw of the manger at Bethlehem, they stumbled, climbed, fell glistening red among a golden lattice of straw that must have seemed to extend miles up and downward—an edible tenement-world, now and then gnawed through to disrupt some mysterious sheaf of vectors that would send neighbor bugs tumbling ass-over-antennas down past you as you held on with all legs in that constant tremble of golden stalks. A tranquil world: the temperature and humidity staying nearly steady, the day's cycle damped to only a soft easy sway of light, gold to antique-gold to shadows, and back again the crying of the infant reached you, perhaps, as bursts of energy from the invisible distance, nearly unsensed, often ignored. Your savior, you see. . . .