#and incapable of recognizing their own worth as human beings

[princesssarcastia]

in this land of milk and honey, we're too shy to say we're thirsty

here, have 1.5k of fic i just wrote about mission: impossible: rogue nation.  AU of the scene where Ethan Hunt wakes up a captive of the Syndicate, where Ilsa Faust gets to run the interrogation the way she wants to, instead of being interrupted by the Bone Doctor.  title from “Little Mercy,” by Doomtree. read it on ao3 here.

“What Vinter and the rest of his stupid ilk never realize is that torture doesn’t work, especially on their own kind.  Pain is cheap.”

-

Ilsa grabs her tools by rote memory, uninterested in taking any care in the work she’s about to do. This isn’t the first time she’s worked someone over for Lane, and it won’t be the last time; she needs to stay numb to it, numb here in the moment and numb after his latest acquisition bends and twists, numb when she has to stand there in the aftermath as the others move in to take what they want from him, numb to the part of her that wants to perk up at the praise following a job well done.

The door groans under its own weight when the guards push it open for her, and she sees the man tense ever so slightly where he’s tied to the post.  Conscious, then, but not quite awake.  Her heels click in the silence after the door slams shut. 

She leaves the lights off; the shadows help, sometimes, with some agents.  Paired with the right kind of drugs, the right kind of touch, darkness can add a dreamlike quality to an already intimate process.  People like them feel safer in the dark.

This one is dangerous. Lane wouldn’t take such a personal interest if he wasn’t.  So, she slips off her shoes, sets them on the table with her tray and her jacket, unbuttons the top button of her shirt and rolls up her sleeves.

Ilsa turns around and—

He’s awake now.

He’s staring at her.

She stares right back.

The moment yawns and stretches between them, arching languidly.  Ilsa breathes in sharply, quietly, and takes a step toward him, still caught on his eyes—although the rest of him is hardly a chore to examine. 

He doesn’t move, focused intently on her.  Assessing. Calculating.  It feels—it feels a little like when Lane looks at her, like he’s cataloguing her expressions and picking apart the things that make her tick.  But it doesn’t make her want to curl up and hide when this man does it. 

“Nice shoes.”

Ilsa blinks, then quirks her brow, amused.  That’s a new one.  

“American intelligence, yes?”  A soft opener. 

He tilts his head, silent, but clearly not buying that she doesn’t already know.

“But not the CIA,” she continues, moving closer in even steps.  “No, you have too much personality for that, I can already tell.”

Now he’s amused, letting his lips twitch, but he keeps his silence.  She starts turning his reactions in her mind, letting her gaze fall over the whole of him to catch them all.  This one is a talker; she just needs to get him started.  And stop getting distracted by his eyes.  There’s something about them that draws her attention, but Ilsa can’t figure out what.

“How long have you worked for the IMF?”  She stops well outside of his reach but still close enough to see his chest rise and fall minutely with each breath.  If she focuses, she imagines she might be able to see it twitch with the beating of his heart.

“How long did you work for British intelligence, before you turned traitor?”  He fires back.  Right on the money.  Not that it’s a difficult guess, given where he is and how she speaks.

“Twenty years,” she says calmly, and watches him mentally turn on a dime, reassessing.  “They recruited me right of secondary school. I imagine it was much the same for you. Sometimes, they catch people later, but MI6 knows how to recognize a good asset in the making fairly early.”

Ilsa takes a step closer. “The agency was my whole life.  It consumed all my time and energy.  My waking hours and my sleeping ones.  And I was…eager to please.  An excellent agent, willing and capable of doing anything they asked of me.  It was hard, sometimes, but in the end it was worth it because I knew everything I was doing was for queen and country.  The greater good,” she adds, letting her mouth twist wryly. 

He watches her for a moment, and she lets him, lets the silence sit, lets it build.  It’s an obvious enough cue, and he’s curious enough now to take the bait.  He wants her talking as much as she wants him talking, neither of them in control nor sure they have the upper hand, yet. 

“What changed,” he asks finally, and Ilsa’s gaze catches on his eyes again.

“I woke up,” Ilsa takes three steps to her left, changing the angle of approach.  “I realized, one day, that I only thought I was fighting for the right side because it’s what I chose to believe.  None of my experiences actually supported that conclusion.

“Have you ever killed an innocent person, Ethan?”  She doesn’t wait for his answer.  “I know I have.  On accident, sure, as an unintended casualty of my mission; but on purpose, too.  Sometimes it was the mission.  To make things easier for MI6, for my handler, for England.  For their convenience.”

Now he shifts, the cuffs on his wrists and ankles clinking.  He doesn’t respond, but she can see it in his eyes.  He has.  Of course he has.  No one in their line of work hasn’t. 

That fact of life actually bothers him, unlike Lane and the rest of the men here.  The same way it bothers her when she forgets to be numb.

She knows what it is in his eyes, now, that’s pulling at her attention. 

His eyes are kind.  He looks kind. 

It’s impossible. 

“I realized I was only loyal to them because of a lie I was telling myself.  And that loyalty certainly wasn’t returned.  The agency doesn’t exist to care for its agents, it exists to use them up until there’s nothing left.  How many times did they leave me out in the cold, dangling in the wind, to survive or die under nothing more than my own ability?”

“That’s the job,” he says, with a hint of condescension.  It grates.  He probably means it to.

“That doesn’t make it right, the way they treated me.  The way your government treats you.”  

His eyes shift.  He knows her game, now, has mapped out the path she wants to take, the weak spots she’s aiming for.  The muscles in his limbs tense and relax minutely, imbued with the strength of surety, surety that what she’s trying to do won’t work. 

But his faith in himself is misplaced, because now she can tell he hasn’t realized yet that what she’s saying is true.  He’s like her, two, five years ago: unable to value his own life.  What his handlers do to him doesn’t matter because he doesn’t matter; you can’t hurt someone if they don’t see themselves as person capable of being hurt.  It’s fine if they use you because you’re letting them.  You’re a tool; if you’re not being used, then what’s the point of you?

The truth is, it does matter.  It does hurt them.  And they only let themselves be used because the right people broke them at the right time, cracking them wide open to let someone else in to twist them into knots.

Truth will out.  It’s more powerful than people like them, steeped in lies and deception, ever expect, which is why Ilsa is so fond of using it.

Faster than the eye can properly see, she lunges for him, sinking her needle into the meat of his bicep and depressing the plunger.  Too quick for him to stop, although he pulls his legs up to kick her in the chest and send her sprawling.

Truth will out.  But of course, the drugs help. 

His kind eyes blink rapidly, then slowly, clearly tensing to try and fend off unconsciousness that isn’t coming.  Oh, it won’t knock him out.  Unconscious is no use to her.  But it’ll ease the way for the truth; make him more pliant, more sociable, more open to suggestion. 

What Vinter and the rest of his stupid ilk never realize is that torture doesn’t work, especially on their own kind.  Pain is cheap.  Their bodies are disposable, their lives are disposable.  Ethan Hunt would happily die for the IMF, for the greater good, probably even for his fellow agents.  He’s a fighter, this one.  He’ll die before they break him. 

But if Ilsa can lay the truth of their lives out in front of him in ways he can understand, it will plant seeds of doubt his lived experiences can’t help but nurture.  Doubt is more dangerous than pain.  

Ethan Hunt and his kind eyes will never work for Solomon Lane, not after Lane shot that poor woman in the head in front of him.  Not after Lane made him feel helpless—and she’s sure Lane did, it’s his favorite way to make people feel, and he’s spectacularly good at it.  

She just needs to make sure Ethan doesn’t work against them.  Finding the ways his handlers have made him feel helpless is a good place to start.

Ilsa waits for his pupils to blow wide and his pulse to slow in his chest and neck before she starts. She stays where he put her on the floor, only shifting enough to sit up.

“How long have you worked for the IMF, Ethan?”  She asks softly.

One breath.  Two breaths.  He blinks again, licks his lips.  

 And tells her.

[cielettosa]

i just read your levi analysis. can you explain kenny and levi more? and how kenny affected levi?

this ask has been in my inbox for a while, sorry for late answer

KENNY AND HIS INFLUENCE ON LEVI'S LIFE

Levi's character is a fascinating study in contradictions, presenting a dynamic interplay between victories on the battlefield and losses in the realm of personal connections. Despite emerging triumphantly from numerous battles, Levi finds himself grappling with the poignant cost of his victories: the erosion of meaningful relationships, the severance from family, and a disconnection from humanity.

A pivotal influence in Levi's formative years was Kenny, a figure deeply entrenched in the philosophy that places a premium on violence and power. This perspective becomes a defining element in Levi's psyche, where his self-worth becomes intricately tied to notions of strength and dominance.

Kenny, recognizing the harsh reality of Levi's upbringing in the Underground, instills in him the belief that survival in such a brutal environment necessitates an unwavering commitment to strength. Levi's daily struggle for survival in the violent underbelly of society becomes a testament to this ethos. Both the narrative and insights from Isayama himself underscore the notion that Levi's focus in the Underground was singular: survival, an imperative that consumed his every waking moment.

Kenny's decision to abandon Levi is deeply intertwined with his own mindset and upbringing. He perceives himself as incapable of kindness, viewing the world as a harsh and unworthy place. Embracing the philosophy that 'might makes right,' Kenny navigates life with a belief system that shapes his interactions and decisions.

In acknowledging his own shortcomings, Kenny openly admits to feeling inadequate as a father. This self-awareness becomes a driving force behind his decision to distance himself from Levi, aligning with his belief in being an unfit paternal figure. The abandonment, in a way, becomes a manifestation of Kenny's conviction that he falls short as a parent.

Furthermore, Kenny's admission that he cannot provide Levi with parental affection takes a poignant turn. Instead of nurturing emotional bonds, Kenny opts to impart skills focused on manipulation and coercion. By deliberately withholding parental warmth and knowledge of their biological relationship, Kenny steers Levi towards a path where violence becomes a tool for problem-solving. This deliberate choice engenders a complex in Levi, a psychological knot woven from the absence of affection and the emphasis on utilizing force in navigating life's challenges.

As a kid, Levi used to make himself stronger in order to receive praise from Kenny. But one day, all of a sudden, Kenny was no longer by his side and left him with a question: “Then what is my strength for?” Later, he crossed swords with Kenny during the dethroning of the Monarchy, and at Kenny’s final moment, Levi finally resolved his hard feelings and discontent toward Kenny. It’s one of the “rites of passage” for Levi.

(isayama) source

Levi carries a profound belief that Kenny's departure stemmed from his own perceived inadequacy—his sense of not being good or strong enough. This conviction becomes a driving force in their confrontations, with Levi seeking to prove himself in an ongoing struggle for affirmation.

At the core of Levi's emotional landscape is a longing for parental affection, particularly from the man who served as his primary father figure following the early loss of his mother. However, Kenny's inability to express typical affection leads him to impart a different kind of lesson—one centered around violence and strength. For Levi, this unconventional form of guidance becomes a surrogate for the warmth he seeks, shaping his understanding that prowess in combat is the path to earning praise and affection.

Levi's childhood was marked by relentless violence, where survival meant mastering the use of force. Alone and fighting daily battles for survival, violence became not just a means of existence but also the linchpin of his identity. The skills that allowed him to endure the hardships of his youth, fighting each day to stay alive, now form the bedrock of his self-worth.

His journey unfolds as a narrative, where violence becomes both a survival mechanism and a means of making a significant impact. As "Humanity's Strongest Soldier," Levi's prowess in combat is not just a skill set; it is the cornerstone of his identity, a defining feature that has shaped him from childhood to the present.

The No Regrets interview delves further into Levi's evolution, highlighting a pivotal moment when he transcended the constant struggle for survival. As he rose above the daily battles, a newfound sense of purpose awakened within him. Contemplating the formidable skills and strength he possessed, Levi began to envision a higher calling – a mission to employ his power for the benefit of others.

The fact that he has great amounts of power means that he carries an immense amount of responsibility. When Kenny said, “Everyone is enslaved by something,” and questioned Levi “Whose slave are you?” Levi also recognized that he is tethered to his own strength, as well as the duty of “I must become a hero”…Mikasa is the same. When members of the Ackerman clan devote themselves to their liege, they’re able to unleash extraordinary power.

[drdemonprince]

I remember reading recently something you wrote about the vibes being the important part of small talk, so I started thinking about it. I consider myself totally incapable of small talk, I never know what to say and feel frustrated when someone tries to strike a conversation and maybe something comes up and it's clear that we have very different stances on general matters that I consider important, cause I don't think it's worth it to spend energies in discussing that kind of stuff with a stranger, but also I don't like to just let it go. Then I started noticing that especially in moments when I'm trying to get out from auDHD shutdowns, the really small, tiny talk that I can have with a neighbour or in a shop is very warming, I find in it a very good quality of almost pure human interaction, and makes me feel like I can someway navigate the world after all, and that there's probably people out there that need the same things I need, just a very simple, warm, connection. So I came to this conclusion: small talk can give me good vibes but for it to work needs to stay really, really small! don't go ruin it with politics or stuff like that lol! So thank you for making me think about this

Yo yes!! I am so glad you came to this revelation.

An important thing for many neurodivergent people to realize is that so-called "neurotypicals" that you encounter out in the world (and how would you even know they are NT anyway) are terrified and insecure around other people, too! Small talk serves the function of broadcasting to a person that you are friendly, that you see them, that you would like to engage, that you recognize their humanity, and that no matter how little you know about them at present, there are experiences and circumstances that bond you together.

Many ND people get way too into our heads trying to break down what the content of a small-talk conversation means, but it doesn't mean anything that can be conveyed in simple text. Just like a handshake doesn't mean "anything". Or bringing a friend a casserole when they're in mourning means "anything." The gesture is one of affiliation and warmth, and that's just about it. There is no deeper meaning to crack.

I find that when I chat up strangers or just make my own energy more "open" to them initiating with me, the world feels warmer and safer, people are less scary, I feel more confident and optimistic, and I recognize that I don't have anywhere near as much to fear in other people as I might think I do. Most people are so bored and uncomfortable all the time, and bringing up a bit of casual chit chat in the line for the bus or at the cash register can do a ton to help allieve the painful coldness we're walking around feeling all the time.

[soupthatistohot]

What is absurdism/the philosophy of the absurd?

I talk a lot about absurdism and how BSD can be read as an absurdist text, but I recognize that not everyone fully knows what absurdism as a philosophical principle or literary device actually is. So rather than explaining it every single time I bring it up, I figured I'd write a brief overview!

Note: for a while I worked with an inaccurate definition of absurdism that was closer to a definition for existentialism, but have since updated this definition. My main mistake was thinking that absurdism seeks to make meaning when it does not. Posts regarding absurdist analyses before June 2024 might be operating with this incorrect framework.

People often assume that when we talk about something being "absurd," that we're referring to the most commonly used definition of this word: "ridiculously unreasonable, unsound, or incongruous." While this certainly applies to a certain extent, the more accurate defintion of the adjective in the context I talk about it is this: "having no rational or orderly relationship to human life: meaningless." In this case, I find the the noun definition to be most precise: "the state or condition in which human beings exist in an irrational and meaningless universe and in which human life has no ultimate meaning" (all definitions from Merriam-Webster).

Put simply: when I talk about the absurd and absurdism, I'm not simply referring to the fact that things are crazy or weird, but rather to the fact that they are nonsensical in relation to life and life's meaning. This is what is at the core of absurdism.

So what is absurdism, exactly? Merriam-Webster defines it as "a philosophy based on the belief that the universe is irrational and meaningless and that the search for order brings the individual into conflict with the universe."

Existentialism contends that humans are responsible for creating their own meaning, absurdism is a branch of this school of thought that argues that there is no meaning at all, and that the act of continuing to live regardless is a rebellion against the absurd.

Albert Camus was a French philosopher and author who is often considered the father of absurdism as a philosophical principle. In his essay The Myth of Sisyphus, he compared human life to the greek myth of Sisyphus, a man who was cursed to roll a boulder up a mountain only for it to roll back down once he reached the peak, forcing him to start over -- a cycle that goes on for eternity. Sisyphus' mere existence is seemingly meaningless, but Camus argued that there is value in Sisyphus’ continual act of struggle -- his choice to continue pushing the boulder despite the circumstances is better than him giving up entirely, because he is rebelling against the absurd circumstances forced upon him.

Rebellion and revolt are at the forefront of absurdism, as the other options offered are incapable of giving life meaning, according to Camus. If one simply gives in to life's absurdity, becoming a part of the system rather than challenging it, then this accomplishes nothing and means you have trapped yourself within absurdity. The other option is suicide, which Camus also views as "giving in" to absurdity, since the individual succumbs to the idea that life has no worth. Acts of rebellion, on the other hand, have value because it pushes you to keep living regardless of absurdity.

Often, the mode of rebellion assumed by the absurdist is more absurd than the world itself. This is a really niche example, but I think it explains this well: During the communist regime in the then Czech Republic, revolutionary Vaclav Havel was followed by police when he was on vacation, constantly being spied on and sometimes attacked for no reason. Havel's response? He invited his stalkers in for tea.

What an absurd reaction to an absurd situation! But nevertheless it was an act of resistance, because Havel was directly acknowledging that he was being constantly spied on by the corrupt government for no good reason, breaking the unspoken rule of not acknowledging those spying on you. He knew that there was no point in trying to avoid them (doing so would only arouse more suspicion of him), so instead he embraced the absurdity of his situation. Often, an act of revolt entails doing just this.

In literature, whether the absurdist protagonist succeeds in their rebellion often depends on how pessimistic the author is. Franz Kafka, for example, ended most of his narratives in his main character dying in their act of rebellion, mirroring how in the real world things aren't always fair (an absurdity within itself). Camus was a bit more hopeful, his protagonists often surviving, but not always happily. Even in the case of death, though, it is implied that there is more meaning in having rebelled and died, than having continued living complicit to the absurd world.

Additionally, I want to briefly highlight that bureaucracy a big, fat absurdity that authors tend to critique. "The powers that be" often do not make sense and have priorities that don't align with commonly accepted human morals. Capitalism, government, military, police, and law are various institutions/ideas that are often criticized by absurdist authors for this reason. Franz Kafka wrote the story of a man sentenced to death without trial for a crime never detailed to him. Camus wrote the story of a doctor dealing with a plague outbreak that happened because officials didn't want to name the disease as plague and scare the public. These are just a few examples of many from the absurdist authors I am familiar with.

So, that's my brief overview of absurdity! I think it tends to pop up in a lot of fiction nowadays because of the relatable idea that things feel senseless paired with the hope that there's meaning in the act of pushing back against such things -- it makes for a good story!

I didn't cover everything here because I wanted to be concise, but I think this is a good foundational understanding of the principle to move forward with. Who knows, you might start recognizing the absurd in your favorite piece of fiction... or even in real life!

[m-to-z-andbackto-m]

MZM positive ramble time for you peeps who are feeling down

Aren't fandoms wonderful guys?

There is no bad fandom, there's always a good side, and a bad side to every fandom

Even if a piece of media turns up to be controversial or the creator/s ends up being a weirdo, the fandoms prevail and make good content with the laid down concepts!

We can't control who enters our fandoms, we really can't (also gatekeeping is stupid) (unless you have a personal reason to, I've met someone like that, in certain cases it's okay not to share something with someone), share your interests and find your people and place.

Hell, you know I could be sharing my fandoms with white supremacist, exclusive, arsehole bigots and not even know it, we all are!

The only thing that we can control is the content we push out as members

If you want to see something made? Do It! It doesn't matter if you think you can't draw, or write, or compose, dance, cosplay, won't get views etc... you have a reason to try! You'll get better with time! Just have fun and maybe people who share similar ideals will find that they enjoy your lovely creations <3

(Don't do it for views, do it for fun!)

(Also if you don't enjoy your own content, you will in some time when you improve and one day stumble on an old concept you had, someone will enjoy your ideas, I promise!)

Don't Believe Me?

Find any popular creator and scroll/search way back to their oldest content (if it's still available), find their abandoned accounts, etc...

They started out just like you! Even if you don't see it, doesn't mean they didn't!

Creation is a beautiful thing, don't let anything or anyone stop you from trying to learn, it takes a long and hard process, and everyone progresses at different paces!

Even I thought I haven't changed in a year but looking at my older art? I saw that I did progress! Little by little, you're not supposed to notice until it's significant :D

If you're a lovely small creator and content enjoyer like me, let's help each other out, not just us, but every small creator, from artists who only started drawing to song writers who make whole fan songs that only get a few listens/views

Encourage and support everyone you see (as long as they're not the bad kind of weirdos), fandoms are built on the adoration of media, not on the skill of it's members

Even if you don't like their art, leave a good comment so they stay motivated!

Maybe you don't like the inconsistencies, story telling, and characterization in someone's fic, they won't either when they improve! Leave something nice so they keep up that progress <3

We are so creative as human beings, our imagination is incapable of being restricted and our emotions can either aid or restrain us

We're so full of beautiful potential and I want you to take this age old advice into consideration: "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all."

Unless provoked is all, but I'm talking about the good sides of fandoms, the bad side is for another day and boy do I have so much to say about that!

Point is, love and support each other, the fandom shouldn't feel like too much of a stranger to you, you share a major interest with everybody in it, we are a community, act like it.

(And even communities tend to separate their own groups, hence, sides of the fandom, you're somewhere, and you will be recognized by people who share your ideals, you just have to make them clear <3)

I hope you have a wonderful day, and if you don't, at least you recognize that you're capable of having better ones and I hope you'll get more of those feel-good days, and if you think you see or have something that might interest me, I give you my full permission to tag me

Every. Little. Ramble, reblog/reshare, recognition, and reply. Is Worth It. I guarantee you've made someone smile this way, me included.

[bilesproblems]

Mspec Lesbian Mascot: The Rat

Hello guys I'm proposing a mascot for mspec lesbians. I think our mascot should be the rat, specifically the fancy rat, because we have a lot in common with rats. Before I go on, I feel a need to clarify I am pro-rat. I have owned 4 rats and I loved them all very much. The comparisons to rats will all be positive

Reason #1 our mascot should be a rat: rats and mspec lesbians are misunderstood

Rats are often stereotyped as dirty, diseased animals incapable of love and often portrayed as villanous. There's some positive rat representation, but for the most part, rats are not seen in a positive light. Similarly, mspec lesbians are seen as people who are just bi and are invading the lesbian label. We're largely hated and get a lot of shit for things we don't even do! In reality, rats are actually smart, clean, and sweet creatures. They do get sick easily, but rarely anything that can hurt a human. Wild rats can pose a threat, certainly, however pet rats do not. Just like how mspec lesbians, in reality, may be recognizing split attraction, recognizing nonbinary genders as being a separate gender from women, making their attraction mspec, recognizing that their attraction to those under lesbian attraction is significantly greater than their attraction to other genders, or recognizing historical use of the lesbian label and that more was at play than natural progression of language when bi women were no longer considered lesbians.

Reason #2 our mascot should be the rat: rats and mspec lesbians are actually great

Rats are amazing. I've had rats. I loved them. Rats are affectionate, smart, playful, silly creatures. They're a little difficult to care for, and the vets are expensive, but they're worth it. People who have actually owned rats can tell you with certainty that they're much better than people make them out to be. Mspec lesbians are also great. Being people who are marginalized, especially by our own community, we tend to be more understanding of people's identities, even when they don't make sense to us at first. We understand the greater complexities of gender, attraction, how neurodivergency can affect them, and queer history. We seek learning instead of shutting people down. All the fellow mspec lesbians I've spoken with are great people. Perhaps we can get rude when defending our own identities, but please be understanding that we're just tired. We're all happy to explain at first but eventually it gets tiring to defend your right to exist.

Reason #3 our mascot should be the rat: rats and mspec lesbians are slowly becoming more understood and accepted

Recently, I've seen more movements to accept us on various lgbt wikis, especially first-result ones. Flags that were "cancelled" because their creators support us (the pan and aroace flags) never really stayed cancelled. The new flags faded into obscurity. Rats are also becoming more accepted, with various creators like FriendlyRatForecast giving people great positive rat content. I see a near future where mspec lesbians and rats are widely loved.

Reason #4 our mascot should be the rat: I like rats

Part of my reasoning is just the fact that I really like rats and I wanna nominate something I like. I'll admit that, no shame.

Anyways, have a lunian rat/mspec ratbian

[kevin-the-bruyne]

if you follow me you might have clued in on how much im struggling to understand this big dragon hyperfixation [in the last week while being fully employed i have watched all available episodes through once and ep5 4 extra times like this is a Problem™]. And I just cant figure it out, like tearing my hair out cant figure it out because the last time experienced something like this about a show-

-oh

like when i tell you i had a galaxy brain moment it was almost comical. of course of course it would be wenzhou -

my OG Bastard on Bastard ship.

as a Certified Queer™ i am compelled by monstrosity, i am compelled by irredeemable hell bound creatures. And a lot of us might be familiar with this particular bit from Caitlyn Siehl's "Start Here":

When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it.

But there's a particular level of mania i feel when its a monster loving another monster.

When the most irredeemable man you know looks at the other most irredeemable man you know...and finds them worthy of love. When redemption comes without atonement. When redemption is not something another can bestow upon you but that which you bestow upon yourself when you look at your reflection and...decide it deserves love. The idea that human life no matter how corrupted is capable of tenderness and good if they choose it and that no matter how small or insignificant that choice, it still makes its existence meaningful.

That's what drives me insane.

I feel like the comedy overshadows the gravity of the crime yai was in the process of committing. but yai - for no good reason other than he can - drugs someone, essentially kidnaps them, plans to sexually assault them and then record and distribute said act.

thats like 4 life sentences crammed into one night.

and mangkorn - the victim - sees this horrible criminal, sees the man inside the monster in desperate need of love and tenderness and then just gives it to him. he doesnt stop to ask whether he deserves it, he doesn't even wait for an apology [i know yai apologizes to him at the party but that was after destroying even more of mangkorns property and getting caught].

the show isn't even particularly subtle about this theme

like my man is even looking at his own reflection here like how did it take me this long to see this. and so much of the title song and the mv makes so much more sense when you see it through this lens of monstrosity and redemption.

but mangkorn isn't your average victim, right? he's the kind of person who finds not just yai and all his sweet qualities worth loving - he finds yai's criminal action against him endearing. He too is unscrupulous, ready to do whatever it takes to get what he wants.

and the show keeps telling us this over and over that they're the same, two halves of one fucked up whole:

[apparently i am incapable of keeping my thoughts about them succinct so i guess have a cut]

and even the fact that mangkorn says the classic bl line of i can only be myself around you just so early on in the relationship before even like is in the picture let alone love

this whole scene with mangkorn bringing yai to his safe place immediately after yai tries to steal from him and destroys his phone and then says something so intense in this horrible mistimed way like dear god - he means it. he wants yai to see him in the way that he sees yai and wants him exactly as he is in this moment - unrepentant, grumpy, covered with alcohol he spilled on himself.

mangkorn looks at this mess of a man...and wants to be his friend. wants to know him and be known by him. i just want to *banshee screeching*

and of course the progression of their colors pointed out by both pharawee and respectthepetty in more eloquent ways but god the fact that their arc of recognizing the self in the other is so visually visceral

they are each other's salvation in a way that only they can be, through the salvation of the core part of themselves that they see reflected in the other

[anomalys-taxonomy]

Smith’s Thesis part 2

Summary: After being awoken by Collins, C05-36 meets another superior

Warnings: Unethical experimentation, manhandling, removal of autonomy, information overload

It is Smith who next greets them. Smith is taller than Collins, and his stance is as straight as it could be, and yet he still seems smaller next to the other man. They can’t put a name to exactly what they’re quantifying, but it pulls from their data on body language, recognizing expressions, and ranking systems. What human ‘intuition’ is made of.

Besides his ‘smallness’ something is offputting about Smith.

Smith is entirely human.

His eyes tell them that he is not, as do other things they observe. But the files have decided. They aren’t made to question this.

They decide their own silence is something much akin to the way a child would stand before two adults as they have a conversation, even though they hold a vast amount of knowledge in comparison. The super computer, Collins has always said, is smart in theory and stupid in practice. The phrase wasn’t in quantifiable terms, but this is another one of those things that they felt is true. They do not feel a lot, really. Still calibrating. Facial expression isn’t something they’re capable of yet either, so they and Smith are somewhat mirroring each other.

It’s only when Collins speaks that Glade can see the tiniest change. A twitch, going all the way up Smith’s stitched brow. The surgery is on his file, they are sure, but there are parts they don’t have access to. Perhaps, they think, having your head crunched against a wall is a group initiation. In some group settings, this is called ‘hazing’ and it is frowned upon.

“Oh look at you two! Two peas in a pod,” Collins sounds rather pleased, then, but the bitter undertone is obvious enough that even they can pick it up. “Smithy, why don’t you take our new friend here and show it the ropes? I’ve got some very important things to do, and your face is pissing me off,”

Smith doesn’t react in the least to this besides a simple ‘yes sir’, though he’s the one being pinned against the wall now. He isn’t hit, however, and is rather just let go as Collins hurried back about his messy office.

Smith is a scientist, too, and so Collins cannot repeat certain incidents he has undertaken previously. More than that, Smith can’t be so fun to torment. Collins shows much higher margins of enjoyment when the the subject shows fear. Smith doesn’t seem capable of fear, although they don’t know. What they do know for sure is that he is incapable of defying orders anyhow, which means Collins can never do anything to him. If he doesn’t step out of line, Collins can’t really find reason to hurt him without causing unnecessary damages.

Mentally looking through what they have access to, they find that the superiors are lenient with Collins, but Smith has clearly proved his worth. He could easily surpass Collins, and now stands as an equal as far as ranking goes, even though Collins treats him as if he were just an assistant. Smith would be liked better too, because of his obedience, if not for the fact that he’s still disregarded due to previously being [REDACTED]. Having one be an actual acting scientist is unprecedented. The intelligence and trust required for such a role is what sets Smith apart, but he has never once wavered. Something- something about the information registers as important. They catalog it away. There’s so much to take in. It’s like feeling the world unfold inside them. Notes, reports, statistical information they are free to interpret and keep as they please. It is a lot. They are the drop in an ocean, hardly whole, and would not be unless the information lessoned. A synth doesn’t need to have personality, and it would not be advisable unless preferred for the superiors comfort. So, C05-36 continues to be just that. At least for the first day.

[skinnypaleangryperson]

All I ever wanted in life was to be someone and that was seen by someone deeply or even just a group of friends, to be known and recognized and to be seen as an individual and not a replaceable cog or a faceless person online on terrible apps like Reddit. I just wanted to be seen and to love someone deeply romantically and to start a family and to love our children deeply, and it will never be anything but unimaginary thought or scenario for me like every single minute of every day of anything of any sad excuse that I've ever had for identity has ever been so much to the point that it's driven me to literal psychosis and insanity overthinking about identity and if I was ever anyone at all even to myself. I think the answer, especially now at 30 with nothing left to do except to be used for my body not by the men that did it for sex when I was young but now for a job that is even more crushing, is obviously no

The worst part about this feeling in some ways is how repetitive, unoriginal, and astoundingly unremarkable it is, just like everything about me and everything that I've ever thought or I've ever been or done or thought about or have ever been ever was. All that it continues to babe. And that's all that my life will ever be, and all that it ever has been, if it was ever anything, even to myself and my neurotic, crazed, only make believe sense of identity and headspace that was barely ever known even to me, because my head space was always too modeled up and depressed and manic and unhealthy and unbalanced ever really even perceive even my own self.

My life was a miserable waste of a strange miserable person who only became even more so from being a kid outcasted to being a faceless adult that was nothing but a system number to keep corporations running, and could barely even perceive their own self once they were truly drowned by how devastating that was. Only 4 years of doing this and I already feel like my humanity and anything that made me me has now been taken away beyond anything that will ever be redeemed, and I will never be a mother, I will never be someone's wife, and I will be working for the rest of my life for a life that I can't even afford completely alone and detached from everyone and everything. My own mother doesn't even bother to dress up my life as something worth living anymore, she just dismissively tells me that it's hard, and she's right, it is hard, if you're a complete worthless failure of a human being like the way that I was from the beginning of my conception. The mental disorders in the thoughts that I have have become so complex and so negative and so deep, I can't even be bothered to keep up with writing them anymore. It would take me all day and it would never stop, but they're all telling me that I am miserable, utterly f****** miserable and alone, incapable of relating to or connecting with anyone and that I'm too far gone now, and the world agrees. And to think that I'm only staying here for my mom, that I haven't been gritting my teeth everyday for 4 years to not be here anymore, which should in theory be my right and I can't even have that and I've said this so many times that I'm so sick of saying it but there's nothing left to do or to think about. There never has been.

My life has been nothing but an empty void of plastic consumption and of the various mental disorders that I obtained from that to keep me entertained in my head with the profound emptiness that comes along with someone as unimportant as me. I am so tired and my life is done outside of being a literal flesh dance for the sake of my mother's comfort because I've seen too many times the way that I traumatize her when I actually act on these feelings which is all that I want but can't have at least not for the next decade or two. It's an unfathomable hell, having to stare the emptiness and the failure in the mundane day of my unimpressive personhood and a life every single day for the literal void that it is left behind now that I'm past my prime to make something of myself. I am manic and I am screaming every moment of my life. The strangest thing is that I feel like I'm completely alone in my personal devastation of the way that things are which just makes me feel like I'm the only one that has failed this deeply as an adult. On being anything human in general other than going to work and sitting around waiting for the parents to age so that they can peacefully and quietly go to f****** finally after years of waiting, possibly even a lifetime of waiting depending on how you look at it.

I was never made to be loved, to have connections, to date, to have a lot of friends or maybe even any friends at all most of the time. I'm less than human, and I feel like it every moment. I go on social media and it's just plastic, naive childlike s*** posting and garbage that I can't relate to and that has nothing to do with the profound suffering every single day. I've been confused and aimless looking for anyone, literally f****** anyone, who understands for years that isn't an abrasive sociopath. That person doesn't exist. It's just me and myself holding my hand in my grief until it's time to go, being surrounded by a plastic s*** posting world and people with the headspaces of 14-year-olds until I can go.

[tomreview]

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I totally did not forget to upload this

The Hunter And The Bird - Prologue (Hunter toh x Reader series)

Hearing Ears

Summary: You are a human who travelled to the Boiling Isles with Luz Noceda. On a visit to a old book store, you met a strange boy named "Zeno".

It's been six days since you had traveled to the Boiling Isles, a magical realm filled with witches and demons. You and Luz began an apprenticeship under Eda the Owl Lady, the self-claimed most powerful witch on the isles. Today is a day off and you and Luz had already decided to spend this day together at an old book store in Bonesborough while Eda was sleeping all day at her house.

Luz was a cool kid a year younger than you. You two met and bonded through anime just a few days before you were about to be sent to a creepy sounding "reality check" camp and accidentally wandered into the Boiling Isles. She had been a nice company, a bit too bold and hot-headed, but she was a kind-hearted and good-natured kid nonetheless.

Visiting the book store was not the first choice of day off activities Luz had, but you two decided against adventuring in the Boiling Isles with little knowledge of the isles and no adult witch guardian. The last time a tomato-like thing turned into a bat and clawed Luz's face when she tried to eat it, the Boiling Isles never ceased to surprise you.

The book store was larger than it seemed outside, but the passways were very narrow and you had to move through a dim lit maze of bookselves and book piles, but it was worth it as the old book store had a lot of banned books on wild magic.

Luz stared at everything with sparkly eyes in awe of it's mysterious atmosphere and you admired it just as much. After minutes of wandering in the store, you and Luz began looking for books and started reading them in a corner.

You and Luz would chatter about cool facts you just read from the books after finishing every few pages. Wild magic, witch biology, flora and fauna of the Boiling Isles, all so fascinating to study.

"Hey Luz, check out this elemental magic from the Savage Ages!"

"Ooh, awesome! Wait, (Y/N), look to your left!"

From the left corner of your eyes, you saw a boy with ash-blond hair and magenta eyes staring at you. You and Luz both. It's kinda creepy actually, like he was staring into your soul with his eyebrows furrowed with...irritation?

Luz nudged your arms and whispered, "What is his problem?"

"We are probably talking too loud, maybe we should lower our voice a bit."

Luz nudged your arms again, he was walking towards you.

"Silence. Are your round ears not functional enough to hear how loud you were talking, human wannabes?"

He said with irritation, arms crossed with a book in his gloved right hand. You recognized that book as From Bones To Earth, a study of wild magic according to Eda. You were about to just play along with him when Luz spitted back.

"Hey," Luz growled a warning, "We are real-deal humans, and our ears are perfectly functional. You didn't have to talk so mean like that. Is your little witch mind incapable of conveying?"

His eyebrows furrowed harder and grunted. You felt him there, you were like that to a couple of kids in middle school too. Back then, you, a mess at social interaction thought that staring would help stop the kids chattering loudly in your favorite class to help you concentrate, and the result was not great. You were lucky to have people to help you learn to socialize.

His eyes scanned the titles of the books you and Luz were reading and retorted. "Well, apparently YOUR idiotic human brains don't acknowledge the dangers of studying wild magic. Maybe you... magic-less creatures wouldn't understand, but this stuff is restricted for reasons. For your own safety and for not being jailed, I highly recommend you to not tempt with it."

"Pfft, death." Luz scoffed, being the mood. Seeing Luz's unperturbed reaction, the boy hmphed and turned their head around.

You had gotten genuinely curious why he would take that book to read, and the bookmark in it indicated that it was highly likely that he had actually read it and knew that it was wild magic related.

But before you could ask, the boy had left your sight.

****

After reading everything in hand, you set off to find some other materials. Something tells you that the boy had not left yet and you secretly hoped to be able to find him.

You looked around the old book store for his trace when he appeared on your back.

"What are you looking for, doesn't seem to me you're looking for a book."

Great, he showed up himself.

"I am looking at exactly who I was looking for now. Sorry my friend there talked to you like that by the way, she can be so hot-headed and overprotective of her friends sometimes."

"It's fine, I was rude back then."

"It's fine." You shot him a smile and asked, "My name is Tori, what's yours?"

He glanced at you. "It's none of your business."

"Okay, Mister None Of Your Business, what's up with the wild magic you're studying. Lemme guess, none of my business?"

"You learn fast, human." He said sarcastically.

"I sure do." You walked backward in between two shelves and felt the warm morning light pour down from the window to your back. "I am just curious how wild magic is so-" you air quoted, "-dangerous." "I can't find anything on that claim, and it would be nice if you could give some scientific proof to back it up."

"Like how the many great cities fell to ruins because of the practice of wild magic during the Savage Ages?"

"Scientific. History is written by victors, plus that doesn't explain how wild magic can hurt people that practice it, it just stated the consequence."

"... True." He admitted reluctantly. "I ... wish I knew how too." He said quietly, sounding surprisingly genuine.

"Why did you insist that wild magic is dangerous?" You asked calmly with sincerity.

He glanced at you and answered softly with reluctance, "My uncle is badly hurt from the use of wild magic, said that wild magic torn our family apart. I wish I knew how it did that to uncle so I can reverse it."

"Then maybe we can work together to find out. You want to know how wild magic hurt your family, and I want to know how wild magic harms. Meet me every Saturday seven o'clock sharp at the entrance of this store and we can share our findings on it, deal?"

He considered in silence for a minute while your stared at his face. Under the bright sunlight, you could see a scar that sat across his right chin and a marking on his left ear, just what has this kid been through? He looked just around your age. You hope you were just overthinking.

"Deal."

You beamed and your right hand reached for him to shake. He grunted at the unnecessary, but ultimately took it. You wished to have a whoopee cushion on you badly, but sadly you didn't. Maybe you should start bringing one to everywhere.

"Try not to end up in the conformatorium while we are at it."

"Roger that, good luck to you too."

It was then the clock rang eight times and you know it was eight in the morning.

"Gotta go, bye! See you next Saturday, human."

He then left the book store in a rush. You kind of hoped he meant what he said about meeting you next Saturday because you had started looking forward to hanging out with your new friend now.

Little did you know, he was planning to turn against you, who is apparently a practicer of wild magic who got disparately spooked from the danger of wild magic he was talking about. That is, after he figured out how to reverse the curse wild magic inflicted on his uncle, Emperor Belos. He wasn't sure if you practiced wild magic yet, but he would find out in time.

******

It had been a week since you made a deal to study wild magic together with a boy in an old book store. You were not sure if he would show up today but you had brought some reading materials you were going to share with him just in case. Luz figured out a way to cast light spells with glyphs a few days ago and you decided to show him that too.

It was seven o'clock sharp in the morning and you were waiting for him by the entrance of the store when he showed up huffing and puffing.

"Sorry, huff, duty."

"No need to apologize, you're right on time. Morning!" You greeted him and handed him your handkerchief for wiping sweat.

He didn't take it and just stared at you confusedly. In the board daylight, you had noticed his dark eyes bags.

"Whatcha are you staring at? Just lending you this for your sweat."

"Oh." He said in realization, his brain must have been fuzzy from running here. "Thanks, I'll give it back to you next week after washing it."

"M'kay. Do you need to take a break first?"

"Give me a minute."

"Sure." You leaned by a wall nearby while he was wandering around and taking his rest.

"Say, what's your name again?"

He stopped pacing around. You couldn't tell his expression as he was facing you backwards while he was telling you his name. "Aah-umm- Zeno!"

"Zeno, ay? Nice name." Sounds kind of like Zuko to be honest.

He breathed a sigh of relief and turned around to look at you. "I'm good now, should we go in?"

You couldn't tell if he was lying or caught off guard by the question. You didn't care if he tried to hide his name by coming up with a fake name obviously on the spot. He probably had his reasons and you just needed a name to call him.

******

You and Zeno found a quiet corner of the book store to study wild magic at undisturbed. You placed one of the many lamps laying around the store between you and Zeno to share the light source and began discussing.

Zeno started out explaining his uncle's conditions, then got sidetracked when you connected those signs with plants magic. Not long after, he started excitedly ranting about how fasinating weather forecast with magical plants was. You listened with pleasure and occasionally added remarks which encouraged his eloquence like kindling to a campfire.

You liked listening to him. You liked how him spoke with such enthusiasm and joy. Studying with someone with the same passion is always great, they make studying fun and make you feel listened to and understood. However, such people rarely come by and you really wanted to treasure this great study pal.

The topic shifted again and again, until you finally checked the time on your phone. It was a few minutes from eight.

Shame, Zeno said he had to leave at eight. You had just become fond of his company.

You grabbed a book of wanted wild witches to pass time. The book stated the information and the pictures of the wanted wild witches for bounty hunters.

"Hmm? Are you a bounty hunter?"

You shrugged. "Nah, but it's surprisingly fun to read, their story is interesting."

You caressed the page of Martha and Diago, a duo of teachers who spreaded wild magic and revolutionary ideas to students.

You smiled. It was always ... comforting to know that someone out there was people willing to fight against dictators.

"Is the stories that amusing?"

"They were not afraid to speak their mind. I admire them, Zeno."

"Admire? They are wild witches! Why don't you admire someone else instead, like the Golden Guard or the coven heads."

"Chill, Zeno. Besides, they work for Belos, and I think Belos is a tyrant."

"WHAT?"

You hushed him promptly. In response, he whispered to you aggressively.

"Why would you say that?!!"

"Easy, boy. I understand that you might have very high opinion of him, but hear me out. I had been investigating how the government of this world works and I noticed how the dissidents kept disappearing. I am sure you know that too."

"Wild witches are dangerous criminals, they deserve to be gone!"

You gasped in horror. "How could you say that! They are people like you and me, no one deserves to be hurt. Plus, we don't know that yet? We are here for the proof how wild magic is dangerous, remember?"

"I am here for learning how wild magic hurt my uncle, not here to be merciful and spare the wild witches. Know your place, human. You are not one to tell me about them."

"Well it was not just the covenless who "gets disappeared" mysteriously, even those with sigils can't express their views freely! Argue that! Even if wild witches ARE dangerous, there is no need to silence everyone. If Belos is not a tyrant, why would he silence the whole isles? Good leaders listen, and no one deserves to be silenced." You said in a sad tone. You were angry at what the Emperor did, but were not angry at him.

You curled up protectively and buried half of your face behind your legs.

"The Emperor is a kind, strong and wise witch who knows the best on how to rule the isles! Sure, he doesn't like those with opposite views and may have imprisoned and done horrible things to them, but that's for the greater good! Those voices will only tear the isles apart, destroying the peace and harmony the Emperor worked so hard to create and maintain! Wild witches burnt cities and homes and inflicted misery on everyone. They deserve no voice and you should be ashamed of defending them! You know what, this is stupid, I can investigate without you. I don't want to hear from you ever again."

You didn't expect him to get all aggressive and personal. You did't know what to say. It was clear that he had this mindset carved in his brain, and no amount of talking now will reach him.

"Fine. I had fun talking with you too."

You whispered the last part. Right after you finished that sentence, the town clock stuck eight times.

He stood up and stormed off.

You sighed in defeat. You really didn't hope things to go like this. You just wished that you didn't lose your great study pal.

******

"Stop right there! Emperor's coven! You are under arrest, halt or I'll fire!"

The Golden Guard had identified one of the two wild witches he was required to capture for his mission in the woods of Bonesborough. The infamous duo was known to be powerful users and enthusiastic preachers of wild magic and had remained covenless til that very day.

According to his intel, the two wild witches had been hiding from the Emperor's coven never leaving a trail for years, but recently the male were spotted in local towns for supplies.

The witch immediately rode on his palismens to fly off.

The Golden Guard rode on his staff of artificial magic and navigated through the woods where the two wild witches were trying to lose him.

The palismen was swift and the Golden Guard almost lost track of him in the convoluted part of the woods when suddenly they heard a loud cry from a feminine voice.

They both followed the source of voice and found that to be a woman who was holding her child. The man immediately got off his palismen to check on the moaning woman.

She was shaking, her right feet bleeding from a cut. The infant bawled such a horrible noise it would make a nightmare potion of top notch quality.

"Martha! Holly! Hang on." The man yelled with his deep and mellow voice.

Hunter now recognised the woman. She was the other witch Hunter was after, although she appeared more matured than her photo indicated.

"Diago... You are here..."

"Don't move! Emperor's Coven!" The Golden Guard pointed his glowing staff towards the couple.

The man, Diago shielded Martha with his body. Upon seeing her father, the child stopped crying and calmed down. As his child quieted down, Diago got on his knees and pleaded.

"Please, I will do anything, please just let us go, I promise we will stay quiet, we just want a peaceful life."

The Golden Guard laughed, gesturing mockingly. "I am not going to be tricked. If you wanted to keep your family safe, then you should have picked a coven and be rid of your wild ways. If I let you be, your wild magic would tear even more families apart."

As the Golden Guard suddenly teleported behind the women and pointed his staff towards the women's throat, the child was spooked and cried even louder.

"How? I have never stolen, never robbed, never cheated, never killed, yet we are to be executed and shamed for eternity. It was within our right to use our magic, who are you to decide our ways and our fate?"

Diago turned to face the Golden Guard. His eyes burned like a silent flame, staring into the Golden Guard's soul. Hunter was speechless.

"Diago..."

"Martha, we will get you to home, our child will be safe, I promise."

Hunter did not know what to do. He wanted to arrest them, but that would have torn their family apart like how Belos told Hunter his family was.

Was this how he lost his parents? Taken by the coven?

The red light from his staff dimmed.

*****

Night fell and at the dark horizon, the cities shimmered with warm lights from windows of houses, aligning with the inky, starry sky. This had been a rough day for the Golden Guard, who was now standing on the tall walls of the Emperor's castle, gazing afar, wondering if you were there somewhere within his sight.

Wearing the golden mask had usually made him feel more confident, more comfortable in his own skin, but today it made he felt more ... suffocating, like there was a heavy weight in his chest.

He took off his mask to breathe, yet that horrible feeling would not go away. Helpless, he turned around to lean his body against a merlon, as if he was hiding from something.

Maybe ... he should not have talked to you like that, even though you were totally wrong about his uncle. Maybe he felt bad at the thought of losing you. Maybe... Maybe because it's for your own good! Unity brought order, and order created peace! That's what uncle told him, told everybody. And he dared not to think otherwise.

The grand castle stood tall before him, looming dangerously, reminding him of his uncle. Graceful, intimating.

His gaze travelled away from the unpleasant sight in search of something comforting, but only the cold bricks, the tall walls and the solemn, masked guards surrounded him.

He could only look up to watch the sky. He remembered a book about astrology that discussed the use of the magic drawn from the stars and he knew you would love exploring new magic sources.

But would you want to hear from him at all? And why would he want to hear from a dangerous mind like you? He sighed, bracing his mask to his chest with one hand, and rested the other on your handkerchief in his pocket.

Deep in thought, he did not notice Darius, the stylish head of the Abomination Coven walking towards him.

Darius cleared his throat loudly to signify his presence, but the emperor's nephew still failed to see him.

Darius cleared his throat louder again in attempt to catch his attention.

Still, he had not bulge a bit.

Annoyed, he called out. "Little prince?"

"Ah!" Hunter finally snapped out of his thoughts and . "Oh, it's you, Darius."

"Tell me, little prince, whatever may occupy your attention so much that you had to ignore a coven's head on your duty?"

"Is that all you are here for?"

He blinked. "Not really, I am just here to notify you that Emperor Belos just summoned you and to check on the abomination supply. Now go quickly to the Throne Room with me, I need to get this over as soon as possible for my quality sleep."

"Oh." Hunter got his back off the wall and followed Darius's stride. Great! He could tell Belos about a technique that he read about with you today to harness wild magic and maybe help fight his curse.

"Chop chop, the emperor does not like to wait."

Hunter quietly trotted behind him through corridors, exited to share his findings to Belos. Not long after, they entered the Throne Room where Belos was sitting on his throne.

Darius stood by the door while Hunter instinctively knelt before the masked emperor and looked up to greet him. "Emperor Belos, I heard you summoned for me."

"Indeed, Hunter. Do you perhaps know why?" Belos asked calmly.

Hunter gulped nervously. He knew Belos's warning voice, the dangerous silence before storm, and he knew why Belos might be upset about. Shit, he had forgotten about that earlier, but he could still make up for it by telling the emperor the new possible cure to his curse.

"You had failed to bring in two infamous wild witches to justice today. This isn't like you, nephew, you don't usually disappoint me. Hearing about your humiliating defeat broke my heart, Hunter, how could you let those threats roam free in our world?" Belos accused.

"Your highness, I did not intend to! I would never! They tricked me with their words and that wild witch had a infant and- "

"And you allowed them bring another menace to the world?"

Hunter fell quiet, his eyes glued to the floor.

Suddenly, Belos growled painfully. Concerned, Hunter's head jerked up to see his uncle being tortured by his curse. "Uncle-" "Scout, bring me the thing."

A scout trotted to the emperor's side immediately and offered him a plate of palismen.

Belos broke the small wooden animal into two halves and consumed the palismen's soul, a ghostly green light flickered in his eyes.

"Uncle, I-"

"No need to elaborate! I don't want to listen to your excuses any more. Tomorrow you shall redeem yourself by bringing the two wild witches to the conformatorium and exucute them yourself. Do whatever you wish with the infant." The emperor commanded.

Hunter widened his eyes in horror, but he dared not to disobey.

"Yes, your highness, I will not fail you, again."

If only he would listen...

******

It was Saturday again. You didn't know if he would still show up. He might not want to talk again, which would have been understandable. Some people don't tolerate other views well.

It was a quarter past seven in the morning. You were debating if you should still wait for him.

Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice calling out for your name.

"(Y/N)!"

He came huffing and puffing again.

He halted before you and panted.

"Sorry, huff, duty."

You responded coldly. "It's fine, I just passed by."

"I thought you didn't want to hear from me anymore."

He took out a familiar looking handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to you. It was the one you lended to him that day.

"Is that all you are here for?"

"I... I still think Belos is right, and nothing is ever going to change that, and maybe he doesn't listen, but I want to listen from you."

You handed it back and smiled.

"Take it, just lending you this because you're sweaty."

He looked at you and took the handkerchief.

"Does that mean we're good?"

"You could give it back to me next week, again."

"So...?"

"Yeah, we're good."

You blushed and admitted.

"You need to take a break first, Zeno?"

"Hunter."

"Huh?"

"My name is Hunter."

[mrs-gucci]

I’m going to try come up with other ideas lol but these jumped out at me. I would absolutely use these for something! I’m saving them too because I just might!

But if you feel like it, these combined scenarios could be really fun for a sarcastic, grouchy ass Flip or Kylo AU. It could be anything from enemies to antagonists to the guy being in trouble with you currently from doing stupid shit and trying to make up with you! Anything you think!

your enemy has been badly wounded, and somebody needs to bandage them up, so you agree to help them, and suddenly they're shirtless, and you can't help but admire their body, something this cheeky motherfucker takes notice of

there's only one bed, but this time, they're arguing over who should sleep on the floor, which nobody agrees to, so instead they end up sharing, incredibly annoyed over having to share their space (it’s not like friends to lovers, in which they both awkwardly get into bed. this is straight up just. i will set this bed on fire if you don’t stay on your side)

The Longest Knight {Sir Kylo Ren x Reader}

author's notes: hello, hello! shannon, dear, you always seem to know what I'm in need of when you send requests in. I've been dying for an excuse to write some medieval/knight Kylo, and this fits in perfectly with that AU, so thank you! <3

**THERE ARE SOME DARK(ER) THEMES IN THIS STORY, BUT ONLY AT THE VERY BEGINNING (there’s an indicator of when the dark content ends, in bold, you can’t miss it). PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS AND TW’S BEFORE PROCEEDING!**

warnings: some angst. some gore. some fluff. smut. enemies-with-benefits. sex w/o feelings. kylo is a huge douche (but in, like, a lowkey sexy way). 

tw's: (at the very beginning): dead bodies & blood, vivid depictions of wounds/injuries, brief depictions of battle, implied (battle-related) murder. mentions of sex work (later on in the story, not relating to the reader character).

word count: 4.4k

terms to know: loincloth: groin-covering cloth tied around the waist (literally just underwear). bedswerver: “adulterer” (an insult). mamillare: medieval breast band (bra).

When the sounds of marching footfall, deep cries of manly battle, and shod hooves pounding on the drought-hardened ground had ceased from the air, you saddle your horse and ride out to the far field of your property. 

The putrid smell of rotting flesh hits you before any bodies are even in view. Your prized stallion slows his trot, nostrils flaring and ears perked forward as the scene of battle presents itself to both of you.

He begins to snort and whinny in acute panic at the sight of so many corpses, both human and horse. Your stomach begins to churn, and you can barely bring yourself to look upon the scene as your heel encourages him onward, wanting to make sure there aren’t any surviving soldiers. 

Both sides seem to have suffered great loss, although you’re unsure which corpses belong to which side. The conflict betwixt Alderaan and Naboo has been dragging on much too long, and at the end of the day, is any conflict truly worth all of the lives lost?

You certainly didn’t think so, but perhaps you’re just too close to this war, incapable of having an unbiased opinion due to the loss of your beloved husband at the hands of Sir Kylo Ren, the Alderaanean calvary general and the most feared man across all five kingdoms. 

As you make your rounds to check for survivors, much to the dismay of your steed, you quickly lose almost all hope that anyone laid here ended up surviving the brutality apparently brought down upon them during the fight. 

Suddenly, your horse lifts himself up on hinds legs ever so slightly, jogging in place as a barely-audible groan comes from one of the men. His hand moves ever so slightly, and you quickly rush over to him, dismounting with a small first aid bag.

His helmet is that of a high-ranking official, but on which side he belongs, it’s too hard to tell. Not that it truly matters, you’d take just about any man with the courage to fight these battles.

“Sir?” You say, kneeling down beside the large man. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

He grunts lowly, winter-chapped lips opening in an attempt to speak. “S-Stomach.”

Once your mind registers his husky words, you look down at his abdomen and see that his armor seems to have been compromised in a spot right on the side of his stomach. Fresh blood seeps from the deep wound, and you cringe, grabbing one of the towels from your pack to gently wipe away some of the blood, but the tear in flesh is so deep, it’s impossible to do with just one towel. **dark content warnings ENDS**

“My estate is just a short ride from here. I cannot hold your weight myself, but if you can mount my horse, I will take you back and mend your wounds to the best of my ability.”

The mask nods softly, slowly but surely lifting himself up off the ground, wobbling towards your horse, who snorts nervously. He seemingly understands the severity of the situation, though, and stands still as the knight sits himself on his back. 

From there, he lays back, breath catching in his throat as his injuries are tweaked with each of the horses’ strides. You hold onto the reins, leading your stallion back to the house. 

After quite a bit of maneuvering and a lot of quarreling with the injured knight, you finally manage to set him up the cot in your spare bedroom. He sits down on the chair as you do so, mumbling and grumbling about his pain. You found it quite annoying, really, but you can’t really blame him for acting in such a way.

“You’ll need to remove your armor, sir. I cannot treat your wounds with it on.”

“By God’s bones.” He curses under his breath in annoyance, but stands and removes his body armor nonetheless.

Piece by piece is peeled from his body, his physically intimidating figure revealed slowly to your curious eyes. Only his under-layers were left, soon enough, and you found it a bit odd that he hadn’t taken his helmet off first. You would think that would be a great relief to have the proper air exposure on your face, but you’re not really in a place to make assumptions about that sort of thing.

His brilliantly alabaster skin is severely bloodied, bruised, and badly butchered. He would require quite some time to heal and recover, but if you learned anything from being married to an army man, it’s that they’re all stubborn bastards who never take the proper time to allow time for their bodies to properly heal.

He’s soon fully exposed to you, minus his helmet and threadbare loincloth, and you have to look away quickly as your cheeks heat up. The small garment left very little to the imagination, and this knight was...well endowed, to put it kindly.

Putting your own personal feelings aside for the betterment of the patient, you look back up at him with a small smile. “You may remove your helmet now, good sir.”

“I cannot reach up to grab it from my head.” He says in a flat, unamused voice.

“Of course.” You scold yourself for not thinking of that. “Well, if you lay down on the cot, I shall remove it for you.”

Instead of protest, which is what you expected, he complied with your instructions and laid down on the cot. He grunts satisfyingly at the comfort of a mattress, most likely used to sleeping on the ground.

When you reach for the bottoms of his helmet to pull it off, he suddenly snatches your wrist, stopping you instantly.

“If you need touch me, ask before doing so.” His voice is nothing more than a growl.

You almost roll your eyes, starting to truly become annoyed with this knight. You invited him into your home and you’re willing to be his bedside nurse...and he has the audacity to request something like this.

Again you’re forced to put your personal feelings aside for the sake of your patient and for the maintenance of your bedside manner, forcing a smile onto your face. “With all due respect, sir, I’m your nurse for the time being. I will be needing to touch you quite often. Am I really expected to ask each and every time?”

“Yes.” He replies.

Your jaw clenches and you wish nothing more in this moment than to smack this man right across the face.

“Fine. May I please remove your helmet?”

Sparing you the assurance of a vocal reply, the mask simply nods, and you pull it over his head. When the face of your patient is revealed to your eyes, you’re appalled.

It’s Sir Kylo Ren...the man that murdered your husband.

You drop the helmet onto the ground, metal clattering as it rocks back and forth once it’s settled in one spot on the hardwood. This can’t be real.

He snarls. “Why are you looking upon me with that expression? Have you never seen a man before? I have wounds that need tended to, girl, and I’d like to be out of here before sundown.”

Anger begins to boil your blood, tears burning in your eyes as you look down at the man before you.

“You bastard.” Your hand raises, ready to strike him clean against the cheek. He catches your fist in his hand before you can, though.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Kylo warns, squeezing your fist. “I’ll have to have you beheaded for hitting an army man, and your head is much too pretty to be put to such waste.”

You snort, yanking yourself from his grip, teeth gritting as you walk out to fetch all the medical supplies. He’s wearing a cocky expression when you walk back in.

“I recognize you.” He says.

You huff, unamused. “How could you possibly recognize me? We’ve never met.”

His lips curl up into a devious smirk. “You’re right, we haven’t met before, but I recognize you from your husband’s description. I asked him what you looked like, since he was babbling on and on about you.”

You freeze up, bottom lip beginning to quiver as Sir Kylo continues.

“Then I drove my blade straight through his pathetic chest, and later that night, I touched myself as I thought of you.”

He chuckles deviously.

“Bedswerver!” You yell, cocking your fists once more and lunging at him, ready to strike once more. But then, you stop yourself, knowing the consequences you’d surely face should you actually hit him. 

Your fists lower and you simply say nothing, preparing the cloths in the warm water. The tears run down your cheeks on their own volition, but you quickly wipe them away before turning back towards him. 

“He wasn’t worthy of your company, Y/N.” Kylo says as you begin to clean the wounds on his stomach. “And he clearly didn’t satisfy you in the way you needed, considering the manner in which you looked over my body when I took my armor off.”

His hand reaches around and squeezes your ass, making you jump. 

“How long has it been, little lamb? A young woman like you shouldn’t have to live without a man to satisfy her aching need.”

You can’t pretend that you’re not aroused by his words, by his touch. But you’d never let him have you, not in a thousand years. So, you quickly swat his hand away and continue cleaning his wounds. “That’s none of your concern, Sir Kylo. I am perfectly content without a man and that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”

He laughs. “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one. I bet you’re aching right now, just from my words and my simple touch.”

Before he can touch you further, you back away, limbs trembling with anger and frustration. You dunk the bloody rag back into the bowl of water, ring it out a bit, then throw it onto his chest.

“Clean the wounds yourself, since you can obviously move your hands and arms perfectly fine.” You say, wiping your own on a dry cloth. “I’ll be back to bandage you in a bit.”

“Don’t think of me too much, lamb. You’ll release too quickly.” He snickers as you slam the door shut behind you, bursting into tears the moment you step foot into your bedroom.

You sob quietly, the freshly-healed stitches of your heart popping open one at a time, the grief and pain of losing your beloved consuming you once more. 

And now you’re here, mending his killer.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It takes everything you have, every ounce of willpower, to wake up and face Sir Kylo every single day. You know you’re doing the right thing by helping him, but that doesn’t make dealing with him any easier.

He’s impossibly stubborn, arrogant beyond comprehension, and increasingly grumpy. But, you just have to keep going, keep pushing through, reminding yourself that each day brings you closer and closer to his inevitable departure.

You’ve all but blocked out his inappropriate and antagonizing comments or remarks, just getting his bandages replaced and then leaving the room as quickly as possible.

Today, though, he’s achieved a new level of jackassery, a thing you thought impossible until he did it. And boy, did he do it.

“I’ve made arrangements for a few whores to come and provide me some...company.”

Your fist tightens around the bandage in your hand. He smirks.

“You’re more than welcome to join us. There’s plenty of me to go around, little lamb. You’ll get your turn.”

“No, thanks. I think I’d rather stab myself with a sword.” You reply, beginning to switch out his bandages. “You’re lucky I’m even allowing it to occur in my house.”

He just chuckles. “You’d probably be bad, anyway.”

You suddenly rip the bandage off of his skin, causing him to cry out in pain. He looks at you, and you glare down at him. “Just...can you please just stop talking for once in your life? Must you always berate me when all I’ve done over the past few weeks is take care of you? Is this what kindness, genuine kindness, gets me?”

He suddenly seems to sober up, to let what he’s done to you sink in. It doesn’t last long, but you still see it. Perhaps he does have the capability to feel at least some sense of remorse.

Kylo stays quiet for the rest of the time you tend to his wounds, and when you turn to leave, the two words you’ve been convinced are not in his vocabulary, come from the behind you.

“Thank you.”

This sliver of empathy is short lived, especially after the girls from the local brothel make their way up to his room. 

“Oh! Oh! Sir Kylo!”

You shake your head, attempting to read in the study, which is located on the other side of house from the guest bedroom. Yet, their screams, cries and the various other lewd noises still manage to make their way to your ears.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” “Take it, whore, take it!” “Kyloooooooo!”

The temptation to go up there and kick the girls out is increasing by the second, but you don’t. Maybe this will help mellow him out a bit, make him more manageable.  Plus, you’re pretty sure that you’d have to carve your eyes out after walking in on whatever they’re doing up behind that closed door.

Unfortunately for you, it becomes progressively more difficult to focus on your book as the burn between your thighs intensifies. It’s been almost two years since your husband was murdered, which means that it’s been a little over that since you were last intimate with someone.

Normally, and up until Sir Kylo entered your household, you were more than fine subduing your sexual desires. You haven’t once touched yourself, not that you’d really know how to anyway, and you certainly weren’t about to start now.

You cross your legs, hoping that’ll quell some of the burning, but it only makes it worse. Another half an hour passes and your hand now rests on your thigh, slowly inching down towards your soaked and quivering pussy.

Just a quick touch won’t hurt...he doesn’t have to know...

Luckily, a knock at the door brings your motions to a stop. You sigh in relief, walking over to open the door. When you do, you’re met with a bandaged bare torso, a very muscular bare torso. His skin glistens with sweat and the smell of sex radiates from his essence. 

He’s still breathing heavily as he stands in the doorway, looking down at you.

“We’re finished upstairs.” He says breathily. “I’m due for my afternoon bandage change, whenever you’re ready.”

You watch him saunter away, admiring the way his muscles stretch and tense with each stride. You’re burning up by now, both your skin and your arousal, and you wonder how you’re going to get through this next bandage change. 

When you enter the room, the musk of sex is thick in the air, humidity at a suffocating level. You try to ignore it, try not to let it get to you, but it’s just surrounding you. 

Your skin begins to glisten, brow furrowed as you focus on trying to change these bandages as quickly as possible. Kylo seems to take notice of your hurry, your sudden perspiring.

“Is something wrong?” He asks you, biting back a smirk. “You seem flustered.”

Nodding, you continue on with the bandaging.  “I’m fine, just a bit warm is all.”

Kylo hums, reaching down to grab your wrist as you reach up to re-bandage the wound on his chest. He brings your fingers up to his lips, sucking the tips into his mouth gently, tongue swiping over the pads of your digits.

You try to pull away, to leave before you do something you regret, but his hold on you is firm. And if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t actually want him to stop.

Oh lord, this is bad. It’s so wrong. You shouldn’t want this. He murdered your husband, the man you loved. He’s so smug and cocky and yet...it’s what you’ve been wanting this whole time, the thing you’ve tried to suppress, to not let yourself want.

But now, everything else be damned, you want this. You need this. And damnit, you’re gonna have it.

His lips release your fingertips with a lewd pop! sound, an arrogant smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You haven’t tried to pull away or tell me off in a minute or two. Is everything alright?”

You huff. “Just do it.”

He raises his eyebrows, sitting up a little. “Do what? What do you want me to do, little lamb?”

“You know what I want.”

“Oh yes, I’m fully aware of what you want.” He smirks. “But I want to hear you say it out loud.”

You cross your arms on your chest, trying to ignore the twang of guilt that shoots through you as you prepare to say the words aloud.

“Fine. I want you to f-fuck me.”

“That’s right. I knew you wanted it.” Kylo takes your hand and trails it down his muscular abdomen, stopping just above where his loincloth sits on his hips.

“Take it off.”

You’re chewing your lip numb as you reach down and undo the tie holding the garment on. Your breath hitches as you slide it off, exposing his member, which is hardening steadily.

“Instead of staring, perhaps you’d like to try touching it?” He smirks.

You shoot him a glare. “Stop talking, for once in your life, please spare my ears the sound of your constant squabble.”

Kylo chuckles, putting his hands behind his head.

Your hand wraps around the base of his length, and he grunts softly. It’s your turn to wear a smirk.

“Oh, do you like that, Sir Kylo?”

He huffs. “Every man likes their cock being touched. Don’t go thinking that it means anything.”

You squeeze his shaft, drawing a deep grunt from his lips and small buck of his hips. He looks away, jaw clenched in an attempt to prevent any further noises. 

This fact only makes you more determined, hand pumping his cock with more vigor, alternating between different paces and pressures to really drive him crazy.

You’re thoroughly enjoying this, drinking in the sight of him trying his absolute hardest not to react to the touches that so obviously arouse him. You tease him even more, using your fingers to touch certain parts of his length. 

Well, it’s fun for the few minutes it lasts, but suddenly, you find yourself in his position, laid back on the cot. He’s on top of you, now, pushing the skirts of your dress up, fingers yanking the laces on your bodice.

He quickly pulls it off, followed by your skirts, leaving you in only your mamillare and your loincloth. His eyes roam your newly exposed skin for a moment before his hand slips down between your thighs, fingers pressing up against the fabric.

“I knew it. Were you listening, little lamb? Were you listening to me fuck those whores and wishing it was you?”

Your breath hitches. “Well, it was sort of hard not to listen when the girls were screaming.”

His fingers wrap around the waist tie, pulling them down to fully expose your wet heat. He smirks, rubbing around until he finds that one spot that has your back arching and a gasp escaping your lips.

Before he can even say anything, you reiterate his words in a mocking tone. “Every woman likes being touched there. Don’t go thinking that it means anything.”

He huffs, rubbing you harder.

“Tell me how wet you got when you heard me fucking those whores. Tell me that you wanted a turn on my cock, wondered how good I’d feel inside you.”

“N-No.” You say, a stern expression on your face. “I’ll never say that to you.”

His jaw clenches as he bends down, lips next to your ear. “You'll be screaming it once I’m done with you.”

Your eyes widen when his fingers slowly press up into your entrance. 

“Kylo...” You’ve never been touched in this way before. It’s...different, and not necessarily unpleasant.

He sees your hesitation. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

And you did.

His digits begin moving in and out of you, curling up occasionally to stimulate a certain tender spot inside you. You’re biting down on your lip, surely hard enough to break the skin, trying your darndest not to give him the privilege of hearing your noises.

As you did to him, seeing you suppress your noises only spurs him on more, movements becoming quicker, swifter. Your orgasm draws closer with each skilled stroke, but just before you reach your peak, he pulls out.

You thought you wanted to hit him before; now, you kind of want to pop some of his abdomen stitches. 

“Why did you do that?”

He laughs devilishly, reaching down to pump his cock, slicking it with the juices of your arousal. “You didn’t think I’d actually let you get off that easily, did you?”

“Well, I was sort of hoping...”

You’re brought to silence when he crawls on top of you, trapping you beneath his massive form. His mushroom head swirls around your entrance, collecting some of your slick before pressing it inside of you.

It’s been quite a while since you’ve had anyone, and you don’t think you’ve ever had someone of his size before, so you gasp softly as he presses forth. Soon, his entire length is seated in you, stretching and filling you to the brim.

His eyes are squeezed shut, jaw clenched as he tries to remain still in order to allow you an adjustment period. Once you’ve had some time, he begins moving his hips, rolling them at a steady pace. 

“Knew you’d have a nice little cunt,” He growls, teeth baring. “So wet and tight for me, little lamb.”

You bite your numbing lip in an attempt to prevent any of the desperate moans or cries that want to escape. He’s doing something similar, jaw clenched tightly. 

Only the wet squelch and sharp snapping of skin colliding can be heard between the two of you, minus the occasional grunt or sharp inhale from either of you, which is quickly shut down almost as soon as it slips out.

Soon, you feel your climax begin to appear on the horizon, walls clenching and pulsing around his cock. He takes notice, quickly speeding his rhythm up, exhaling loudly through his flared nostrils.

He’s getting close, too, balls pulling up as his body prepares itself for orgasm. The energy between you two, as well as your physical movements, quickly turn desperate. 

“Don’t release inside me.”

“I’m flattered that you think I’d even want to.” He says, smugly.

You huff, rolling your eyes. “I see that even the throws of passion and ecstasy is still not enough to tamper your unbearable attitude.”

“There is nothing that can stop me from taking the opportunity to get a rise out of you, milady.” He smirks before his brows knit in the center of his forehead. “If you’re gonna cum, I suggest you do it s-soon.”

Your eyes flutter shut, hips attempting to lift up off the mattress, wanting him to hit that certain spot inside you. As soon as you find the right angle, a choked sob leaves your lips as you’re quickly brought and tossed over the edge.

Kylo groans softly, thrusting rapidly before pulling out at the last minute, spilling his seed all over your abdomen.

Both of you are breathless as you ride out your climaxes, basking in the peaceful bliss that washes over your body, basking in the luxury of his utter and complete silence. It was a welcome change, a much-needed reprieve from the past few weeks of dealing with him.

He eventually flops down onto the mattress beside you, grabbing and re-securing his loincloth around his hips. You’re already a bit sore from being stretched for the first time in two years.

“May I just sleep here tonight, Sir Kylo? Unless you’d like to carry me back over to my bedroom.”

The side-eye he gives you is incredibly humorous, but you contain your laughter, not wanting to add oil to the flame.

“I won’t be a bother. I will stay on this side of the cot; you’ll barely even know I’m here.”

“Are you truly incapable of walking yourself back to your bedroom after one session of fucking? Was I really that amazing that I’ve left you unable to move about the house?” He laughs.

"And suddenly, the pain of walking over to my room seems less painful than staying here and listening to your vexing squabble.”

Kylo huffs. “If you stay here for the night, you may not breach the center of the mattress. I will kick you out if you even come close to bumping into me or making any sort of physical contact.”

Mocking his words from earlier, you smirk. “I’m flattered that you think I’d even want to touch you.”

“Very funny.” He says, flatly, rolling over to face away from you. “Just stay on your fucking side of the bed.”

You roll your eyes, sitting up to braid your hair for bed before fluffing the goose-feather pillow beneath your head, settling down for the night. Soon, Sir Kylo’s obnoxious snores bounce off the walls and you put your pillow over your head, hoping to muffle the noise.

God, even his snores are arrogant.

-

The next morning, when your eyes flutter open at the first sign of light through the window, you find the sheets next to you vacant.

You sit up, eyebrows furrowed as you look around the room, ears open to listen for any noise anywhere in the house. You don’t hear anything.

Then, you see a piece of rolled up parchment on his pillow along with a small satchel. When you open the pouch, you’re shocked to see a pile of shiny coins. You unrolled the note, reading the sloppy script.

For the medical supplies and for your trouble. Here’s hoping our paths never cross again.

-Kylo

As you read the very brief and to-the-point note, you can practically hear his snide voice in your head reciting it. The cold, cocky tone of his words shone through the parchment and ink, incredibly so. You huff, tossing the note back onto the pillow before getting up to begin the day. 

Well...at least you’ll never have to see him again.

[jingyismom]

Thoughts on Lan Wangji’s uncomfortable position during Sunshot

Rated T, pre-relationship wangxian, cw for harrassment, suggestive language, no other warnings, canon compliant

~

During the Sunshot campaign, Lan Wangji only had the reputation of being peerless and pure before the fighting began. It is entirely possible that this, plus his position and appearance, could have resulted in jumped-up heirs from lesser sects thinking him easy prey.

He came into it late, too, after leading the Wei Wuxian-finding mission with the Jiangs.

Imagine this beautiful young cultivator in spotless white appearing in a city filled with men primed for war.

Worse, imagine the fragile state of Gusu Lan and their dependence on these alliances.

Lan Wangji is politically aware, even though he's not held to the same standard as his brother. And when these men loom out of dark corners spewing lewd remarks and making even lewder requests, he wants to kill them. If the situation were different, they would come away at least maimed.

But he cannot afford to be rash. Not when the Cloud Recesses is not yet rebuilt. And he is in no real danger - if one of them tried to touch him he would feel no qualms taking a hand in recompense. So he...lives with it. For months.

Lan Xichen has other, more important troubles on his mind, there is no need to make him aware. It is just men indulging their baser instincts. It is nothing.

Except. Over time. It begins to wear on him. Its true he's only the second master of Gusu Lan, an ornament, a bargaining chip. A thing. He begins to feel like a thing. And after weeks, then months, of bloody fighting and unceasing, unseemly comments on his body, his face, his mouth - he begins to feel like a dirty one.

One night, Wei Wuxian is walking between tents during the push for Nightless City. He hears gruff voices, liquor-proud, making obscene offers not far away. He tenses and strides over, resentment rising beneath his skin. How dare anybody in this army treat a fellow soldier this way?

He comes around a corner and freezes. Lan Wangji is there, practically glowing in the black of night. Is he already taking care of the problem?

The voices continue to jeer. Lan Wangji doesn't move.

Is he...with them? It can't be possible that Lan Wangji would...hang around...anyone like this.

Wei Wuxian peers closer at him, still hidden in shadow. His face looks. It looks...weird. Wei Wuxian still has trouble reading Lan Wangji, but he knows this is...not his normal face. It's tense. Like he's angry. That, he's seen before, maybe too often. But there is the slightest furrow to his brow.

Like he's torn. Or...helpless. Which is, well. It's ridiculous. Lan Wangji is incapable of helplessness.

Still, the strangeness of it kicks him into action. He comes out into the firelight ready for a fight.

And pauses once more.

There are four men Wei Wuxian doesn't recognize facing Lan Wangji.

Blocking his path. They're saying things...the things they are saying. Are. Are far worse than any of the hushed, private joking Wei Wuxian has been privy to among friends. The things they are saying are forceful. Joyfully violent.

And they're saying them to Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji's eyes snap to him immediately and go wide, but Wei Wuxian doesn't see it. His vision is bleeding out to tones of red and gray, Chenqing clutched tight in one shaking hand. He points it at the men. They laugh. They don't yet know what he is, what he can do. He's happy to show them.

He raises his flute to his lips, only for a hand to catch his elbow, to drag it back. He shakes it off. He's going to rip these sorry excuses for men into small pieces, and then make their ghosts thank him for it. He's going to--

"Wei Ying."

He looks at Lan Wangji's face, right beside him now. It isn't stern, or reprimanding. It only looks tired.

He stops. Looks back at the men. 

"I was just speaking with Nie-zongzhu right over there," he lies, bringing up the only name he can think might strike fear into these animals. "Shall I go and get him, and let him hear what trash is fighting alongside him in his righteous war?"

The men scowl and leave. He turns to Lan Wangji.

"Lan Zhan," he says, confused and still unsteady with rage. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Lan Wangji says. He lets go of Wei Wuxian's arm and turns to go. Wei Wuxian catches his in turn.

"Nothing? Nothing? Lan Zhan, why did they think...why did they think they could say such things to you?" He knows Lan Wangji could have ended their lives with one strike. "Why were you letting them?"

Lan Wangji does not look at him.

"Because they can," he says. He tries to break away, but Wei Wuxian holds on.

"No," he says firmly. "They can't."

Lan Wangji turns to face him at last. "Why not? They may speak as they please to the second son of a broken clan."

Wei Wuxian bridles. "A broken - Lan Zhan-"

"If Gusu Lan is to recover, it cannot afford animosity from any who might give it aid." His voice is hard and sharp as steel. "Their words are of no consequence. Their coin is a different matter."

"No consequence?" Wei Wuxian asks. "Lan Zhan. They were saying..."

"I know very well what they were saying," Lan Wangji says, and pulls away at last. He leaves Wei Wuxian staring after him in open shock. 

Lan Wangji is mortified. He tells himself he is merely concerned about what he almost witnessed Wei Wuxian do to those men, but in truth is he is shaken. Scared, and tired, and very much ashamed. That Wei Wuxian has witnessed the way mere strangers could reduce Lan Wangji so easily to nothing. For the first time in his life, Lan Wangji feels uncomfortable in his own skin. And now it is as if Wei Wuxian knows. As if he knows that Lan Wangji is just...just a blank canvas for any passing uncouth fantasy. He both is and isn't the Second Jade of Lan - He is not untouchable, not in mind, in spirit. He is neither peerless nor pure. But he is not human, either. Not real in any way that counts.

And now Wei Wuxian, almost the only person that counts, can see it.

They do not speak of it. The war rages on. They fight, side by side, and protect each other.

Wei Wuxian does his best to protect Lan Wangji off the battlefield, too. Tries to make sure he never walks past strange tents alone at night, without being too obvious about it. He knows Lan Wangji wouldn't thank him for it, and their friendship is tenuous as it is. Still, the expression he'd seen on him that night haunts Wei Wuxian. He doesn't want it to make a home on his beloved face.

After Nightless City, though, things change.

Wei Wuxian isn't respected, exactly. But he is feared. When he speaks, cultivators at least pretend to listen. They've seen now what he's capable of.

He hasn't forgotten those men. Hasn't forgotten the lurid, barbaric pictures they dared to paint over Lan Wangji's undeniable impeccability, nor the unforgivably horrible way they'd managed to make Lan Wangji feel.

But there have been other things to take care of.

Until the banquet.

After the battle, after Wen Ruohan has been killed, liquor is bountiful as cultivators and foot soldiers alike make merry, preparing to feast. Jin Guangshan, now that things are over, has opened his purse to the victors, and none of them intend to waste it.

Once Wei Wuxian has recovered, once Lan Wangji has deemed him well enough not to need healing music any longer, they lose track of each other in the busy work of cleaning out the city, of preparing to celebrate a job well done.

But when the night arrives, Wei Wuxian is hurrying back to the Jiang quarters alone to join their contingent and head to the banquet. He's late, partially because he's him, and partially because he does not want to go. But Lan Wangji will be there, and he hasn't seen him in days.

He hears voices down a parallel street. Rough and loud. Familiar.

He turns and is halfway down the connecting alley before consciously deciding to change course. Dozens of voices whisper in his ears of vengeance, of justice, and black smoke licks his skin.

He sees them, lit harshly by the bright moon, washed out, pale and ugly, leering. He doesn't care what they're doing, who they're talking to. They have to pay.

"Wei Ying."

Lan Wangji's face swims into view, suddenly close. He looks nearly wild with concern. Wei Wuxian realizes Chenqing is already pressed to his lips, the first notes of a fierce melody dying on the air. Lan Wangji is gripping his wrist.

"They are not worth your life," he says."

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to disagree. Lan Wangji's fingers tighten. Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and looks away from his steady, grounding eyes.

The men are still there, daring to look at them. Brazen.

"You have nothing better to do than lower the value of this entire street by merely standing on it?" Wei Wuxian calls to them.

They shift uneasily. But one of them lifts his chin, defiant.

"Who are you to discipline us? We're not Jiang or Lan, you can't speak to us this way."

Wei Wuxian angles away from Lan Wangji, faces them fully. Lets the shadows grow longer all around him. Pitches his voice low and calm. "Oh? Can't I?"

Three of them begin to back away, but the mouthy bastard stands firm. "You've no claim on us nor that one. What, is ruining our celebration your idea of fun? He's been acting all high and mighty all the while we've been down in the mud. It's high time he takes a turn on his knees."

Wei Wuxian flinches as if he's been hit. He doesn't look at Lan Wangji. He can't manage it, can't believe he's allowed this to happen again.

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji pleads beside him. "The banquet. Your shidi and shijie are waiting for you. Lotus Pier needs you."

Wei Wuxian's breaths have gone erratic and shallow. He cannot kill these men. He should not. It would be...there's a reason. Lan Wangji doesn't want him to. He cannot kill them.

But he cannot leave it be, either. Something dark and animal rears up inside him.

"No claim?" He repeats. "What claim could I or my sect have on miserable refuse such as you? What claim could I possibly need in order to teach you a lesson? Cutting your throats would be

counted as a service to the world. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

The man crosses his arms. One of his companions is pulling frantically at his shoulder. "Give me one good reason why I can't bend that pretty thing over my knee."

A vicious snarl rips out of Wei Wuxian's throat and he lunges forward, but he's held back. Lan Wangji is holding him back.

"Why are you stopping me?" He bites out at him. "Why aren't you ending them yourself?"

Lan Wangji is angry now, enraged, Wei Wuxian can see. Why is he still letting these men breathe?

"Because my duty to my family comes first. As does yours. Wei Ying, think. Alive, they are nothing. Dead, they are an excuse to deal a killing blow to both our sects."

Wei Wuxian clenches his teeth and rips his arm out of Lan Wangji's grasp. He's right. Wei Wuxian hates that he's right.

The resentment is burning him up from the inside with no outlet. But Lan Wangji is looking at him, holding him steady with just his righteously angry gaze. 

"Well?" Calls the man, who apparently has a deathwish. "I'm waiting."

"For what?" Wei Wuxian bites out, not looking at him. "Leave if you value your life."

"Waiting for you to give me a reason we can't have him. It's just one night. Who's to know? Who's to care?"

It's a ridiculous question. Beyond ridiculous. There is no single reason - the best one is that Lan Wangji would have the perfect excuse to kill them if they did indeed try. But Wei Wuxian is past thinking clearly. He sees only the worn, tired anger in Lan Wangji's eyes. 

The dark, animal thing in his chest strains against his hold, bucking and shaking, trying to get free. Trying to curl around Lan Wangji and protect him from anything that could dream of making him feel so exposed.

"One reason?" Wei Wuxian asks, then turns to look at them again. He lets the resentment free, lets it seep out into the night in curling, questing tendrils. Entirely without thinking, guided by some deep-seated, abhorrent instinct, he wraps his arm around Lan Wangji's waist. "He's mine."

He lets the thick wisps of shadows flick at the cultivators' faces, cold and burning. They claw at their own skin, crying out, and finally, finally, turn and run. The resentment chases them out of the street, and then returns to him, preening.

Once their screams have died out, and the resentment has settled back beneath his skin, Wei Wuxian comes back to himself. With a sickening start he realizes that he is still holding Lan Wangji firmly against his side. He lets go and steps away, heart pounding.

"Sorry," he says. "I'm - sorry."

Lan Wangji is staring at him, expression unreadable. Wei Wuxian cannot believe he's managed to do something so thoughtless, so stupid, so...horrifyingly revealing.

"That was stupid. I didn't mean to...I was just trying to speak a language he'd understand. I'm sorry. You're not - you don't-"

"I understand," Lan Wangji says quietly. His gaze has shifted to Wei Wuxian's shoulder. He looks strangely fragile. Tall, straight, and graceful still, but...

"No," say Wei Wuxian, "no, that was uncalled for. I should have left when you told me to. I'm sorry I made things worse."

The shake of Lan Wangji's head is slight. "No more apologies. I will see you at the banquet."

He leaves then, sword in hand, one arm neatly folded behind his back. Wei Wuxian watches him go, and can't help but feel he's made yet another fatal mistake he can't take back.

He's mine.

Lan Wangji cannot get those words out of his mind. He cannot forget the sound of Wei Wuxian's voice, the certainty in it, the firm, inarguable tone. They echo in his ears almost palpably, an illicit caress that won't let the shiver in his spine die.

He feels the ghosts of Wei Wuxian's fingers on his waist for a week. He finds himself, at random intervals, placing his own hand over them, trying to exert the exact same pressure, to feel - but it is not the same. Not without the warm, hard length of Wei Wuxian's side against him.

The alien mixture of emotions from that moment twist and mix and become ugly parodies of themselves in his dreams. He does not know what he felt, then, anymore. Does not know what he feels now.

The only thing he knows with any confidence is that every time he sees Wei Wuxian thereafter, he aches, and aches.

Aches to simply tell him that he was right. 

[millennialfangirl]

My Daniel Sousa meta: from AC to AoS with a heavy dose of Dousy

(that absolutely nobody asked for)

I have just been really in my feels over Daniel Sousa lately, so I thought I’d write them down. I am absolutely in love with his character evolution, in particular, what Agents of Shield was able to do with him. I feel like we started off with his character in Agent Carter with a young buck of sorts, trying to prove his worth. There was a bit of inexperience there, a bit of naivete. 

And he had all of these feelings for Peggy Carter that he didn’t know what to do with, but he tried to act on nonetheless. And when it didn’t work out, he ran away, not by going to California, but by jumping into a relationship with someone else before he had properly dealt with his love for Peggy. Outside of his love-life, when you look at him as an agent, he was clearly good at what he did, but he was still learning. Case in point, Samberly took issue with him as a leader because he didn’t take the time to get to know him. Sousa was a good agent, but he was still learning how to be a leader. 

He was also a hero. He was also willing to run into walls, focus on the greater good, even at his own expense!!!! 

I believe he wasn’t just talking about Peggy in that scene in the time loop. I think we was talking from experience. I mean, he risked his life to turn off that portal to the zero matter stuff. He made the sacrifice play. (but more on him focusing on the greater good later).

Jump forward 6/7 years, and our first introduction to Sousa is of a confident man in charge, a man who has earned his stripes, and knows how to be a commanding leader. He’s no-nonsense the moment he realizes the base has been infiltrated, and he remains that way for the first several episodes of the season he is in. 

I feel like his personality in the first few episodes was just Sousa’s leader persona, the man married to his job, focused on the mission, the greater good. He held tight to that persona as long as he could, trying to maintain control of something, anything. He’s still holding tight to it when he lashes out at Jemma and Deke. But when Deke tells him they were all pulled out of their lives, he starts to realize that he’s not the only one who’s not in control. But it’s when he and Daisy are captured that he realizes that this team is giving their all to this mission, even if they are doing the best they can in the midst of chaos. I think he can, not only see their strengths now, but their weaknesses, their humanity. This allows himself to let down his walls, be more of himself. He doesn’t feel the need to be the man in charge who knows everything. He recognizes he’s not the only one fighting for the greater good, even at his own expense.

And we can’t forget about the incredible detective/agent that Sousa is, and proved himself to be over the years. He’s the one who discovered Peggy was helping Stark. His instincts were always right, and he used that big brain of his to get to the truth, JUST LIKE HE DID WITH HYDRA. (and just like he did with the chronicom bomb) 

Y’all, I could cry over the fact that Daniel J. Sousa discovered Hydra DECADES before anybody else, and it led to his death. Not Peggy, not Howard, not anyone else over the years until the events of Winter Soldier, did someone realize that Hydra was still a threat. I can’t imagine the amount of detective work he put in over the years trying to get to the truth about Hydra. How long had he known? How long had he been suspicious of colleagues and missions? A part of me thinks he had been following his hunches since Thompson was shot. I think he followed the clues left by that pin they wore that was actually a Hydra symbol. I feel like Sousa may have lost himself in the job, dedicated himself to ending Hydra, and sacrificed his own personal and love life in the process, for the greater good. As I mentioned earlier, I think Sousa was speaking about himself as well as Peggy when he was talking about Daisy and knowing people like her. He sees his own dedication to the cause in her, and he admires it. And most importantly, he knows how lonely it can be.

(Was he starting to realize he was ready for a relationship? That he was lonely? Is that why he checked his hair before going to meet up with “Peggy” at the beginning of 7x03? Just in case they could pick things up again? I don’t know, but there was something sad about that scene, something lonely.)

But can we talk about Daniel Sousa knowing exactly how to lay on the charm? We should have known from the beginning of his time on AoS. If you look back at the episode where he’s on the train waiting with Coulson, you’ll see the way he confidently flirts with the blonde spy who is trying to get the jump on him. He’s not fooled, not at all. And he plays his part perfectly, acts suave, shamelessly flirts with her, leans in real close to her personal space. These are not the actions of a square incapable of having fun or breaking the rules. These are not the actions of someone who lacks confidence. 

And let’s not forget the fake relationship trope and how AMAZINGLY Sousa played that role. That took some bravado and confidence. He f*cking swaggered up to her like...wut? But the way he looked that man-child Gideon up and down as he walked away...I died y’all.

But the great thing about Sousa, is that being macho and a flirtatious ladies’ man isn’t his true nature. These are not character attributes that he values, but rather, has learned to use over the years when necessary.  I feel like Sousa has had the time and experience from the war, in the SSR, with Peggy, with Violet, and then Shield, to build up his character and his own belief in his abilities, not just as an agent, but as a man who is more than his “aluminium crutch.” He is a hero in his own right, and most importantly, A GOOD MAN. He’s learned to work within the patriarchal society without devaluing women, or himself. 

At his core, Daniel Sousa IS absolutely a SQUARE and a DORK, but not because he has to be, but because he CHOOSES to be. And that is extremely gratifying and sexy. Because that means the minute he learned Daisy reciprocated his feelings, he was able to use that charm and flirt. And he was ready and willing to follow Daisy anywhere, even if it meant breaking the rules. But he’s still holding on to his core values that make him a good man and all those square aspects he holds onto.

In closing, Daniel Sousa is capable of being everything Daisy needs, whether it’s soft and caring, flirtatious, daring, adventurous, or a dork who is ready to pick her up when she falls. 

And I just think that’s really neat. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk.

[beepbeepbobop]

Back again.

I was telling my friend (who isn’t a Baccano! fan, but listens to me ramble) about my take on immortals and Czeslaw, and I don’t know where to put it, so!  It goes here.  As a warning, this is mostly me rambling and probably treads ground that has been talked about a lot in the past, but I hope it’s interesting anyway.

(This and the Infinity Train post is not a sign that I’m going to be more active in the future.  Social media and the prospect of interacting with other people’s posts still make me anxious.  Maybe one day.)

So!  The first thing to keep in mind is that change is a major theme in Baccano!.  No one is incapable of changing, but people have different relationships with it depending on who they are.  Czes can't believe that he has changed seventy years after Isaac & Miria stealing him despite clear evidence that he has.  Meanwhile, Nile actively resists change:  His greatest fear after becoming immortal was that he would become desensitized to the loss of human life and begin to devalue it, so he spent decades fighting in active war zones so that he'd never forget the reality of death.  This backfired, and instead left him inured to loss of life...but it's clear that he doesn't want to be this way?  Realizing that he's gotten to the point where his expression doesn't even change if someone dies is devastating for him.  Chane is the opposite:  While it's absolutely for the best that she stops being a hitwoman and killing machine for her father, softening up is terrifying to her because then she can't serve her father the way she wants to.   Czes is on the opposite end of the spectrum, because he wants to be better because he thinks he's a bad person (later on, he decides that he's the only bad person left in the world.  Sir.), but can't recognize it because he doesn't feel different.

And...this is pertinent to the older immortals in particular - I'd argue even moreso than with the younger ones.  Aside from the fact that the Elixir literally stops you from changing in the sense of age or injury...it also has to place inhibitors on your brain.  Your brain is, after all, a physical part of your body!  There are some....weird aspects about immortality that no one is able to figure out (for example, immortals can give birth; someone also pointed out that there are no examples of crying in reverse even though that's also a part of your body), but it's still safe to say that the brain doesn't age either because then...then a lot of the cast would be catatonic from Alzheimer's.  Even without that, the human body can only retain so many memories.  If an immortal's brain had the ability to deteriorate over time or overload based off of the amount of memories it contains....well, I don't think any of the older immortals would be able to function.  Szilard definitely wouldn't be able to function (and neither would Firo after he devours Szilard) because Szilard has the memories of over a dozen people running around in his brain.  Which brings me to my next point:  If an immortal's brain functioned like a human's, devouring would not work as a concept.  One of the hallmarks of being immortal is gaining other people's memories.  Imagine the strain that would cause.  And yet, it doesn't seem to be a problem!  The chief worry of those who have devoured other immortals is worrying that having the memories of the other person might change you consciously or subconsciously.  This is Firo's concern over devouring Szilard.

So...the fact that the brain doesn't physically grow older or change (with some leniency given because real world science sure is iffy here)...feels relevant because, mn...

Many of the older immortals feel stagnant, or stuck in time.  Firstly, if the immortals changed at the same pace as a human being, I don't think most of them would be recognizable from one era to the other.  And yet, they are!  The Victor Talbot of the 1700s is clearly the same person as the Victor Talbot of the 1930s, albeit with alterations (because what kind of person would stay exactly the same after centuries?).  The answer to that question is Elmer, by the way.  Everyone comments on how he acts just like the Elmer they remember back in the day.  But Elmer is a special case, seeing as he's our local empty shell and probable sociopath (not that he has ASPD!  ASPD, sociopathy and psychopathy all present and function entirely differently from each other, which makes it....strange that they're lumped under the same umbrella - but that's another matter).  Secondly, immortals...Uhm, they all handle grief horribly, and seem to feel stuck in the past?  Maiza, for instance, acts starkly different from his past as a rebellious noble-boy gang member, but he's never forgiven himself for giving Gretto the information that led to his death.  (Gretto being his brother.)  Huey's overarching goal is to bring his dead girlfriend back to life, and he's been working towards this goal for centuries.  Sylvie, who admittedly was not an immortal when Gretto died, held off on drinking the Elixir until she was all grown up, then set out to finding Szilard to take revenge on him for killing the boy she had run away with.  This lasted for, you guessed it, centuries.

This isn't to say that immortals don't change, or even that they don't change drastically.  I mentioned Nile, who became inured to death after fighting in war for decades.  Czes went from a trusting, innocent child to someone paranoid and self-centered enough to try and get an entire train car's worth of people killed for his own safety to someone who wants to be a good person, but thinks he never will be and that there's something fundamentally wrong with him.  But changing appears to be very, very difficult, and happens over an extended period of time in response to extreme situations.

And...this is particularly relevant to Czes (who keeps coming up as an example because he's the main person I'm thinking about with this tangent) because....it arguably hits him harder than any of the others due to being a child.  Only the best decisions were made aboard the Advenna Avis, which includes letting the eight year old drink the immortality elixir.  But...mn.  It's one thing to be perpetually in your thirties, or twenties, or sixties, and another altogether to perpetually be eight years old.  Czes can't truly 'grow up' even though he has more life experience than most adults combined, and it shows in his extreme emotional reactions, his self-centeredness, ect.  There's a certain misconception about anime-only fans that he's an adult in a child's body, but I think it's easier to tell in the light novels that that's not the case, especially since you see what he's like back before the Advenna Avis.  (He is shy.  Very shy.  Did nothing wrong ever.)  Also, the fact that SAMPLE goes, "Yes!  The perfect sacrifice!" when they specifically take a child to target emphasizes this.  It's not proof - I'm pretty sure that SAMPLE would focus on his physical age as an 'eternal child', and may or may not have the resources to analyze him and go, "This boy is still eight years old in his head," - , but it hammers the point home.

Then...mn.  One thing that's stuck out to me ever since the start is how long Czes was with Fermet.  There's such a thing as learned helplessness, and it's not like Czes had anywhere to go, so that's not what is odd to me...especially when Fermet is known for manipulating people, and could definitely seed the idea that Czes can't go anywhere.  More than physical proximity, I think about how long Czes believed in Fermet.  It's explicitly stated that Czes absorbing Fermet's memories is what made him realize that - oh, Fermet was just sadistic and everything he said was an excuse.  And...I think this is both an example of being controlled in many respects, and....another example of an immortal being stuck in the past - but in a very, very different way.

First off, learning that the people you look up to want to harm you is...difficult at best, especially when you're younger?  But being mentally 'stuck' at a certain age would make things worse, because Czes is perpetually an age where it's natural to depend on a parental figure, and at an age where the brain isn't equipped to make those kinds of calls or realizations.  There's also the matter of cognitive dissonance!  Cognitive dissonance means a lot of things, but essentially, it's the idea that you have two conflicting beliefs, but the actions you take can retroactively alter your beliefs/place emphasis on one more than the other, as the mind is predisposed to reduce dissonance.  I...take issue with how cognitive dissonance is interpreted because many examples don't account for the beliefs or opinions not being equal in the first place, but that's not the point.  The point is that, as a child, the impulse to reduce dissonance is present while also being played against difficulty reading intentions, perceiving the world outside of yourself, and thinking critically.  (For what it's worth, abusers also tend to discourage critical thinking because it damages their narrative, which would also play a part.)   So, for example...

Say that, theoretically, Czes was yelled at every time he questions the idea that Fermet's intentions are right, or that maybe Fermet doesn't have his best interests in mind.  (Czes is insightful, and they lived with each other for a long time, so this probably happened at least once unless the text directly contradicts me.)  This is tame compared to the things we know about his time with Fermet, but ignore that.  The desire to not be yelled at would lead him to hurriedly agree later on, and cognitive dissonance means that you're inclined to try to make your beliefs agree with your actions.  In other words, the more he plays along, the more his brain tells him that he definitely believes this, and it makes perfect sense to!  Fermet has shown that he cares about him, and took him in after his grandfather died, so of course.  It only makes sense.  And it's even harder for him to bridge the gap to a different conclusion because of how difficult it seems to be for immortals to change.  It's only when Czes devours Fermet (or...or at least gets his memories) that everything snaps into place, because he can't reconcile that no matter how hard he tries (coincidentally, this also happens when he gets memories of being an adult, and while I seriously doubt that Czes went through Fermet's memories willingly, it kind of hammers my point about how difficult being eternally young would make things).  So of course he snaps as hard as he does.  It'd be kind of amazing if he didn't, honestly.

TLDR:  Being immortal made it even harder for him to recognize or comprehend his trauma.  Sorry for that.

[little-mad]

Hands From Above

A/N- Yeeeah so I had a little break from finals stuff and decided to write about one of the recurring daydreams I have during class when I should be paying attention. Do I have any context for what's going on in this story? The answer is a resounding no.

“The image on screen now is a diagram representing a transform boundary.” The voice of the professor barely processed in my brain. My eyes were practically glazed over as I absentmindedly fiddled with my mechanical pencil.

Truthfully, I should have been taking notes. After all, we did have an exam coming up by the end of the week. And yet, I found myself incapable of focusing on the dull information being presented on the two large projectors at the front of the room. Being a general education class, the material didn’t exactly spark my interest.

I released a quiet sigh, wondering whether I should give up on the pretense of taking notes and just take out my phone as several of the people sitting in front of me had already done. The lecture hall was big enough that the professor wouldn’t notice, and if she did, I doubted she would go to the trouble of halting her lecture to reprimand someone.

It was just as I was about to reach into my backpack and pull out my phone that I heard it: a harsh scraping sound, echoing loudly from above. All eyes in the room snapped to the ceiling, just in time to see the entire thing being ripped away.

I felt as though I was choking on my own breath as I stared up at the gaping hole where there had once been a ceiling and a roof. Pounds and pounds of metal, wood, and other building materials...just torn away in an instant.

There wasn’t a chance to try to consider a rational possibility, because the impossible truth soon displayed itself to me as plain as day. Several huge, looming figures could be seen above. But before I could even get a clear look at them, a massive shape shot down into the lecture hall.

That was when the screams erupted. The room broke into absolute chaos as the students tried to scurry to one of the exits. I remained seated, frozen in fear as I watched what appeared to be a gigantic human hand reaching down into the room. My blood filled with ice as fingers that looked to be longer than my body wrapped themselves around a guy a few rows ahead of me. Once the student was held firmly in the enormous hand, the appendage retreated upwards. However, that was just the beginning.

More giant hands dropped down from above, all reaching for more people to take a hold of. It was only at that moment that my adrenaline finally seemed to kick in. I couldn’t stay here like a sitting duck, waiting to be grabbed. I needed to escape.

I jumped to my feet, not bothering to grab my backpack before I stumbled out into the aisle. My gaze snapped to each of the three exits. There was one down at the front of the room, and two up in the back. I saw a girl running down the stairs towards the exit the professor had already escaped through. I think she would have made it, were it not for the fact that a massive hand moved a bookshelf in front of the door at the last moment.

My heartbeat stuttered. These things...these giants, they were making a concentrated effort to prevent the lecture hall’s occupants from escaping. It would only be a matter of time before all the exits were similarly barricaded.

A sharp shriek rang out from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see a student not five feet away from me being dragged up into the air by fingers that pinched around her waist.

The sight left me feeling sick to my stomach. I just wanted to curl up into a ball under one of the seats, as a couple other students had already done. But I knew doing so would be a mistake. If I didn’t want to end up being grabbed too, staying in the room was not an option.

Gritting my teeth, I charged up the stairs. “I knew I should’ve sat in the very back,” I thought bitterly to myself.

With the front exit now effectively unusable, the remaining students in the room were streaming up towards the back in a frenzied horde. A guy I recognized as being on the school’s basketball team shoved his way through the crowd, nearly sending me toppling over as he did so. A growl rose up in my throat, but I held it back. There would be plenty of time to be angry after I got the hell out of here.

It was just as I reached the top of the stairs that another one of the giant’s hands descended from above, this time though, it was carrying something. The students that had been thronged in front of the door to the right had to dive out of the way to avoid being crushed by--oh my god, was that a car?!

In the giant hand, the vehicle looked like nothing but a toy. It was set down on its front bumper, leaned against the door behind it so as to act as a makeshift barrier. I could hardly believe what I was seeing.

My eyes darted over to the remaining exit. There were already people shoving their way through it. Then, a thought occurred to me. I glanced around the room. Everyone left was congregated up near the last door. So far the giants had been picking people up one by one, but what if…

I dove backwards down the stairs just as two hands reached down and gathered up a group of people all at once. I didn’t have a chance to see what happened next, as my left heel landed awkwardly on the edge of one of the steps and I was sent falling back. I tumbled down a couple stairs before finally coming to a halt near the middle of the staircase.

My body ached, and the warm, wet feeling on the heel of my right hand told me I’d scraped it hard enough to draw blood. I didn’t have time to dwell on my injuries though. I scrambled in between the nearest row of seats, peaking cautiously over top to see what had become of the rest of my classmates.

An instant feeling of dread came over me as I watched a hand pluck up the last remaining student. I was the last one left. Did the giants know I was here? Was it only a matter of time before they snatched me up?

A part of me wanted nothing more than to try to hide and wait it out until perhaps the giants left. However, the logical part of my brain told me that was foolish. From so high above, it would be child’s play for the giant creatures to locate me. Hiding wouldn’t work, I needed to run.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I leapt back out onto the stairs and once again dashed up them. My breath caught in my throat as I felt a rush of air behind me. I had no doubt a massive hand had just tried to nab me.

I increased my speed, pushing myself to the absolute limit. I had never been particularly athletic, and I was sure that were it not for the adrenaline, I would be experiencing a painful stitch in my side. Either way, it didn’t matter. Any pain or discomfort would be well worth it if I could escape.

“They didn’t block it, I can still get out,” I told myself as I made it to the top of the stairs.

With a last burst of energy, I dove forward. My right hand wrapped around the door handle, and just as I was about to pull, I felt the sensation of something huge, warm, and pulsing with a heartbeat take hold of my bottom half.

“Nonononono--” I was being dragged away from the door. The giant hand wrapped around me was strong, so damn strong.

I tightened my grip on the door handle, clinging to it desperately like the last lifeline it was. If I let go, it was all over. I had no idea who these giants were or what they wanted with us, but I doubted it could be good.

The immense hand was relentless in its tugging. I could feel my fingers slipping from around the door handle. Tears of frustration and fear began to leak out of the corners of my eyes. I had been so close. Why couldn’t I have been just a little bit faster?

One final yank was all it took for the giant to detach me from the door handle. I couldn’t even muster a scream as I was lifted up into the air. My stomach felt like it had lodged itself in my throat and my head was swimming from the speed at which I was carried upwards. It was like being on a rollercoaster times twenty. I slammed down my eyelids, unable to take the stinging pain from the wind in my eyes.

When the horribly disorienting movement finally came to a halt, I very slowly opened my eyes. I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting to see. Perhaps I had imagined the giant abductors to be some sort of monstrous looking beasts, complete with fangs and horns. Whatever I had envisioned, it was nothing like what I was currently being faced with.

A young man with a head of curly auburn hair and a set of piercing blue eyes stared back at me. He wore a chipper expression on his face, seeming quite pleased with his own actions. “Aha, I finally gotcha,” he beamed.