#and what does it mean for their possible relation?

[thephilosopherspetcat]

Okay I see what you’re saying. I’m gonna agree with the above comment about people being rather stupid on the internet, and yeah I can see how that’s upsetting. I’d be quite weirded out if someone reposted my posts to a feeding tube kink page. I’m definitely not disagreeing about that experience or how oblivious it is when people do that, but I think it’s just not really fruitful to criticize essentially the nature of the internet, particularly tumblr, in this case. Does this situation make us both uncomfortable? Yes of course. (Let’s just ignore the more innocent cases for now). But the structure of social media is basically built on the premise that people will find their own meanings and value in posts that the original author my not have intended. I post a picture of my dog and other people who don’t know my dog like the photo because of the landscape or they liked his collar. I just don’t think it’s possible for the internet to exist the way it does without the people posting on it realizing and accepting that whatever we post is going to take on a life of its own, whether it’s a life we appreciate or not. I mean, heck, even the Bible and federal legislation and Picasso have a million different interpretations on the internet and about 1% of those interpretations are nice and comfortable for everyone. I’m not trying to argue that we should feel okay with people using our real stories to relate to fiction, and it absolutely is a bit gross when people take it too far, but I also don’t think it’s worth trying to police people who, for the most part, don’t mean any direct harm and could even help the cause for awareness in many ways. I think it’s probably wiser to accept that some posts won’t be received the way we want 100% of the time, and to police ourselves when we interact with others, but adding more and more rules to an already stupid internet site is unlikely to help us in any real way. Hopefully that makes slightly more sense.

hey. don't tag real disabled people sharing their experiences as "writing ref". you didn't even ask. this isn't a teaching resource itself its someone's daily life. you know we're real people right. right.

[zooliminology]

Hello!! I plan to go into the biology field and take great interest in the entities, I have several questions

Is there any form of sexual dymorphism in the entities of the far plane? Actually--A better question for this would be do the entities have any biological sexes to begin with? Or do they simply exist? You mentioned no evidence of reproduction before, but does that mean that they just don't necessarily reproduce sexually, or that they don't have sexes at all?

Is there any way to test for what the remaining 00.4%(I may be mistaken but I'm pretty sure you said the concrete in Brutalia matched 99.6% with what concrete here is made of) may be in the concrete in Brutalia? Is it likely that the remaining 00.4% is something not found on Earth, like water two?

Somewhat related, have any new elements been discovered on the Far Plane? If so, do they have names yet and are you able to share their information(atomic mass, electron configuration, etc)?

Do any of the entities display higher levels of intelligence than others? Would it be possible to test some of them with the mirror test, for example? I understand that they likely don't have the type of intelligence that animals here on Earth have, as if I remember right many don't seem to have organs at all, but they must have some level of self awareness, I'd imagine.

And finally, have behaviors between the entities been observed that mirror how animals communicate on Earth? Sounds, movements, really anything that can be translated to forms of communication between the species? If so, have you been able to decipher what any of these things may mean to the entities(as in signs of happiness, greetings, signals, that kind of thing).

[ SO sorry for the massive ask, I really like speculative biology and absolutely love these weird little guys you have. They intrigue me. Sorry if you've answered any of these before, I don't think I've seen any of these but I may be mistaken ]

What an intriguing collection of questions.

There is no reason to believe that extraplanar entities have any biological sex, at least not as we know them. There has not yet been reproduction in extraplanar entities witnessed. Not only this, but no extraplanar entity has any set of genitals. Not to excrete waste with, and not to reproduce with. If extraplanar entities reproduce, it is not through means we as carbon-based organisms can recognize.

0.4% of Brutalia's concrete is a material currently unrecognizable as any material found on Earth. This may be water 2, or a solution made with water 2- I am admittedly not sure.

Most, if not all materials in the Far Plane can also be found on earth. It is the composition of them that is baffling. Princes are one-hundred percent made of glass, similar to what we make on earth, but our glass cannot move around independently.

Maax and Sailors in specific come to mind when thinking of 'intelligent' entities. Most entities do not have brains or nervous systems that could tell for sure whether they have any mental activities or are just portraying automatic reactions. However, Maax are capable of learning tricks, such as "sitting" or shaking. Sailors will investigate new objects put into their environments and may be capable of using very simple tools. While no traditional mental capacity can be measured, they for sure interact with their environment not dissimilar to intelligent animals.

Most resemblances to earth organisms appear to be superficial at best. Most entities seem to not have the ability or no need to have developed complex language structures, and if they have, they would not be observable by us. Some entities do, however, seem to communicate in ways understandable by humans. Light Mimics displaying their light-like frills seem to be a 'threat display' of sorts, or a warning to stay away from their house. If this is not heeded, the perpetrator will be promptly thrown away into the snow.

[ruesol]

Lucid Submission - chapter 6

(feudal lord!sukuna x reader)

synopsis:

The fearsome demon king, Sukuna Ryomen, is reborn as an immortal human man as punishment for ruining the balance of good and evil in the divine realm.

To lift his curse and return to his original form, Sukuna must complete the condition bestowed upon him by the deities.

However, it requires him to have a child with the street thief who stole his coin pouch.

fanfic masterlist

chapter warnings: bloody imagery, fantasizing murder as revenge, Gojo is a serial cheater, I’m sorry.

—

Uraume’s handwriting on the parchment paper is crisp and clear. The night before, Gojo had been narrating all the best methods he had used to seduce his wife and other women, and Uraume had been writing everything down so Sukuna could study them later. It felt like a ritual of humiliation, with the women giggling every time Sukuna had a genuine question regarding a method, or how Gojo would down a shot of sake when he was getting bored.

And all for what? So he could impress you and, well, impregnate you.

The words mocked him on the page. For years, the only things he’d been reading were port contracts, money lending agreements, and other business venture-related documents, but now, he was reduced to a bumbling fool who had no clue how to get a woman to like him enough to let him bed her.

But what else can he do but pull the furthest strings for an unyielding heart like yours?

–

Lord Gojo’s guide on seducing a difficult woman:

Listen to her needs and capitulate no matter how trivial the request may be.

Buy her expensive accessories so she may show them off to her friends. They will complain about their idiot husbands, and you will shine in her eyes.

Kill a man in front of her to show off your physical strength (she will know that you are a beast in the sheets).

Spend time with her and learn about her hobbies, no matter how boring. Lord Gojo adds that being partially drunk during this step helps one stray from going insane while listening to mindless chatter.

Tell her you are only in love with her each time she finds a whore in your quarters.

–

If Sukuna had to admit, the entire list mainly seemed to apply to Gojo Satoru’s life. Uraume had informed him that the young lord had a notorious past of cheating on his wife. The fact that she has stuck with him for so long, even after his repetitive mistakes, was quite amusing.

Sukuna sighs. All the suggestions have a condescending tone to them. The only one that sounds the least bit genuine is about getting you a gift and listening to your requests. Since you are not present for the latter, Sukuna decides to head to the local market to buy you a present before he returns to the estate.

As usual, it is overstimulating. He wishes he could magically conjure whatever he needed in his palm and swiftly leave. Alas, the yearning for his original form deepens, but he traverses through the mist of people. Dull rumbles of multiple conversations fall deaf on his ears as his mind tries to scavenge what you could possibly like as a present.

Uraume follows suit, dodging scampering children and the yells of salesfolk. The disorganization of the street market seems to be getting to him as well. The usually level-headed man was visibly agitated.

“How can I listen to her concerns if she does not tell me anything? The most I’ve heard her say are swear words,” Sukuna complained to Uraume as they walked through the crowd. Both men scan the area to find something that would suit you best.

“Perhaps you took his advice too literally, my Lord,” Uraume suggests as he picks up a silk pouch on display. The embroidery looks impeccable, but Sukuna snatches it from his hand and places it back on the table. “She has no need for a money pouch. I buy most things for her anyway.” Uraume rolls his eyes and continues to follow Sukuna.

“And what do you mean by taking things too literally?” Sukuna continues as the men walk further into the market, with different smells and sights attacking their senses simultaneously.

“I mean that maybe listening is more about taking notice. You can listen to her wants and needs by being receptive to her reactions. Granted, she may be crass and indifferent sometimes, but you will notice a difference if you observe with greater attention.”

Sukuna pauses in his steps and absorbs Uraume’s advice. “Maybe that perverse fool had something useful to say after all,” he says, referring to Gojo Satoru.

“I guess so,” Uraume sighs.

Nothing in the market has caught their attention because, for some reason, Sukuna was feeling especially picky. Maybe it was because of his ever-growing pride or how curt your responses were whenever he’d try to converse with you.

And then he saw it–the answer to his concerns, sitting pretty in a wooden box, surrounded by other wares, was a hairpin with flowers engraved on it. It did not look very remarkable, only crude iron welded together to form the flower, but something about its simplicity made it stand out from the others. A young boy, no older than thirteen or fourteen, runs up to the front of the shop and greets Sukuna.

“It’s a hydrangea, sir,” he says with great enthusiasm. “Welded it myself.”

Sukuna does not look over at the teen and only gazes at his hands, which were covered in calluses and burn scars. Seems like a hardworking young lad who probably cannot afford protective gear.

The old demon’s hands graze over the pin, touching the painted red centre. You have a lot of red robes, so that the pin would complement them well.

“It represents remorse and penitence.”

The boy’s statement hits Sukuna deep in his chest. A critical thought that had been swimming in his mind since his encounter with Geto was that he could probably never reveal why he was so dead set on being your husband.

Worrying has been embedded in his psyche. He sometimes has dreams where you fall in love with him, but, when you find out that he has sacrificed your child for his gain, you cry and scream till you melt into a puddle of blood by his old statue, your skin falling off first, the cavities around your eyes stretching as your bones liquify along the marrow within. Your heart is the last to deliquesce, still beating until it hits the ground. The red liquid glistens under the winter sun as his second set of arms and eyes finally return, then he hears echoes of the Dieties applauding him from the heavens for fulfilling his sentence.

And once again, after hundreds of years, he experiences a new emotion–guilt. 

Sukuna is quick to cough up as many coins as needed to buy the present for you.

–

The trek back to the estate felt long, mainly because Sukuna was agitated to give you the present immediately. The thought of your reaction had him anticipating. Uraume had to ask him to slow down repeatedly, as the smaller man’s lungs did not have enough capacity to rival Sukuna’s hulking resilience. Sukuna only barked at Uraume to join him for his morning exercise.

Uraume balked at the idea by mentioning that Sukuna would be a ravenous beast if he weren’t served breakfast as soon as that last droplet of sweat slides down his neck.

As usual, you do not create much of a racket without his presence, which irks him. It seems that he is the only person to whom you display a negative reaction. He gnaws the thick end of the stick anyway, hoping his willpower will help him break through.

And if not for his willpower, then the gift surely would. You liked pretty things.

But before he can enter his quarters, where you’re resting, Nobara drags him to a far corner of the estate.

“You better have something of utmost importance to say because I do not like being ordered around by a subordinate,” Sukuna half snarled and whispered. The pin he had bought you was still in the box, sitting cold in his pocket.

Nobara rolls her eyes. “Well, do not forget that I left my demonhood for you. Anyway, you must approach with caution when it comes to your wife. It seems that you kidnapping her has…reminded her of some unpleasant memories.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Sukuna did not have time for Nobara’s vague message. The agitation was eating away at the patience in his chest, now gnawing on the bones of his ribs.

“I cannot tell you much because it is not my story to share. But promise me that you will take your time with her. She will be more willing to give you the marble if you do so.” Gojo’s words ring in his ears like a jingling chime–Sukuna would need to be a good listener if he wanted you to trust him.

“She has been quiet ever since she told me about her past. Maybe you would’ve known about it too had you not gone on your trip, and she probably would’ve handed the marble over if you’d have just listened,” Nobara continued as she gazed past Sukuna, eyes trained on the closed entrance of his quarters.

Right. Nobara still did not know the exact logistics of how Sukuna needed to extract the pearl from you. And it was none of her business. No one except Uraume needed to know. Nobara, Yuuji, and Megumi may be thousands of years old in spirit, but they still behaved like children. Who’s to say what could happen if they knew?

Sukuna found himself clutching the gift box in his pocket. Maybe he could take Nobara’s warning with a grain of salt, considering that you were still somewhat of a stranger and no one knew much about your past. Still, he trusted her word, especially since she was the sole receiver of your personal information.

The gift could wait.

Sukuna distractedly mentions that he needs to rest and bids Nobara goodbye, ignoring her suggestion. He walks back to his quarters, where you’re lying with your back to the door. The uneven rise and fall of your shoulders told him that you were awake. So he approached slowly and sat right behind you on his knees.

Sukuna needed you to harbor trust towards him. If not, then all his efforts would go in vain: the kidnapping, the forceful education, the trip to meet Gojo, and keeping secrets from his closest subordinates. The sacrifices and adjustments he has made so far do not yet weigh down on his shoulders. But the moment they do, he knows it will all come crashing down. It’s best if he keeps his past away from his present.

“We’re going to be together for a while, so it’s best we get along,” he says. You do not reply, but he does not miss the brush of a sarcastic snicker you quickly silence. Something is better than nothing. Humiliation is also a form of acknowledgement.

“Is there anything in particular that you wish to do?” Again, no response.

“Sewing, crafts, visiting a temple, going on a trip–just name what you want. I’d rather know explicitly than endlessly pick your brain.”

You do not budge, only sighing deeply as you scratch the tatami mat. The sliding door to the courtyard is closed, so it’s not like you had set your sights on something distracting.

“So spoiled,” Sukuna muttered under his breath after clicking his tongue. “Do you wish to participate in a duel with me?” he sarcastically suggests.

You sharply inhale, and Sukuna takes note of it. Maybe Gojo Satoru’s advice had some substance to it after all.

“Do you…wish to learn how to fight?”

No answer, but your body has stiffened, which is enough confirmation for him. “We will begin at the crack of dawn. Get plenty of rest.”

And with that, he wraps you and himself in a thick blanket, and pulls you close, his nose diving into the crook of your neck.

Sukuna found himself feeling relaxed for the first time in a while. Your scent had a unique familiarity that he would not find even in the most hidden corners of the Divine Realm. He does not believe that a human can be capable of being so enticing. They were never the objects of his interest, even when he was a demon, only choosing to sink his fangs into their rotting souls when they’d be punished to work through their sins in the Demon Realm. But something about you arouses a guttural ache in him—an amalgamation of desire and, surprisingly, admiration. 

He revels and revels for the next hour and comes to the conclusion that it’s the Divine Magic in your blood that makes you seem this way to him. Your soul was created to entice and lead him astray, yet its existence is the key to his redemption.

–

You wake up before the eve of dawn, excitement flowing in your blood as your heart races faster than it has since you ran away from the man who had wronged you. You could say his real name if you wanted to, but even the thought of referring to him felt like a bad omen, so you’d simply call him Kyo.

You were finally going to learn how to wield a weapon–a real one, at that. The type that the shogunate soldiers would unsheathe when there was danger afoot. The thought of running your fingers along the sharp blade makes you jitter in Sukuna's hold, and you shift, turning around to face your sleeping husband.

But before you wake him up, you stare at him, taking in his peaceful state. The man had a perpetual frown stamped between his brows since he had met you, yet now, he looked so relaxed and innocent like a sweet child holding onto his favorite object. Your nose almost touches Sukuna’s because of how tightly he has held you close. You’re afraid that if you blink too much, your eyelashes will tickle the bridge of his nose, and the frown will reappear.

The feeling of conflict has not gone away since the day he had forcefully sat you in his lap and fed you with his own hand (albeit, by threatening to fuck you if you didn’t swallow). On one hand, you want to do nothing more than slap and punch him; on the other, you want to express your gratitude.

The two sides often die down in the middle, where you do nothing but pretend as if you do not have a voice, only speaking when necessary. It’s easier to mask embarrassment that way, but even then, your pride crumbles because Sukuna knows exactly what to say and do no matter how you act.

It irks you in ways that feel like a thousand birds screeching directly in your ears.

Sukuna stirs, and you freeze, almost afraid that he could read your mind (or, who knows, with the way he talked about his demonic abilities, he probably could).

His lashes flutter, and his eyes immediately lock onto yours when his half-lidded gaze completely opens up. “I will get the courtyard ready for your lesson.”

It’s odd how he speaks barely above a whisper, contradicting his usually crass attitude and gruff voice. The richness of his timbre grates your spine, and you shiver, only nodding at his declaration, still partly dazed.

He calls Nobara to get you ready and hastens to get ready. The girl is awfully cranky, being woken up earlier than expected, but she does not complain. She binds your hair in a hairstyle that will not hinder your performance, and gives you clothing that will be both warm and easy to move in. She gives you basic advice about fighting, but it all falls on your ignorant ears because you’re too busy fantasizing about driving a sword deep in Kyo’s chest.

You try to ignore the titillating feeling you get when you imagine warm spurts of his blood gurgling out of his chest, but you have too much expendable energy. Maybe you could hurt him enough only to render him static, instead–a living, bloodied corpse fresh in the snowy forest, waking hibernating bears. He’s dead enough to not move on his own, but he’s alive to the point where he can feel every tear, bite, and dig the bears would make.

Your excitement mutes itself when you see long bamboo sticks in the courtyard.

There’s no one but you and Sukuna in the courtyard, so it doesn’t mean that the bamboo sticks could be for his bodyguards. Disappointment grows with every passing second.

Under the dull light of the cobalt sky, Sukuna finally gets a good look at your bandaged arm. “What happened?” he asks as he points to it. You quickly retract your arm behind your back.

“I fell,” you lie.

“Where?”

“By the courtyard’s steps. I slipped on the snow.” You were sure that he would stop the lesson before it began if he knew that you had almost run away from the estate the day before.

“I see.” Sukuna does not look convinced, and his frown deepens.

“I thought we were fighting with swords?” You quickly change the topic, squinting at the sticks in a grimacing manner. Sukuna picks up a stick and slowly walks over to you. “We will. Just not yet. Every great fighter starts with simple objects till he is adept enough for a real blade.”

“She,” you correct Sukuna. It did not matter if the greatest swordsmen in history were all, if not mostly, men. Within your mind and heart, you were nothing less. A soul comes before its body.

“She,” he corroborates.

The lesson starts with learning how one must stand when handling a sword. Bamboo sticks weren’t as heavy as real metal swords, but Sukuna still told you to stand with your feet far apart enough to distribute the weapon's weight through your body equitably. Optimal combat practice requires the correct posture.

He teaches you how to hold the sword next. His large hands cover yours as you grip the sword. “You mustn’t let the strain fall on your wrists or your joints will ache; instead, let the strain fall on the muscles of your forearms and biceps, that way you will be able to move the sword more freely as well.”

When you make a mistake, still depending on your wrists to move the bamboo stick, Sukuna clicks his tongue before enshrouding you in his warmth, his back pressing against yours. Your spine is aligned right down the center of his ribs. The sheer heat radiating off of him protects you from the nipping morning chill.

“Like this,” he moves, making you swing along with him. But you still repeat the mistake, still unable to grasp the concept of movement. Sukuna groans, and he only holds you tighter to him, like being pressed to your smaller form was going to be the only solution to the gap in your execution.

It’s dizzying–the heat of his body, and his lips next to your ear as he instructs you. You can’t help but tense up completely. And infuriatingly so, your husband senses it almost immediately.

He pulls the bamboo stick out of your grip and drops it on the ground. He gathers your face in a single hand, tilting your chin so you can properly face him. “If you want to do well, then you have to trust me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Your shoulders are still stiff, and the effort of Sukuna’s consolation is barely making a dent in your determination and steeled mindset. It’s hard to meld and mold into what he wants. Life has lost all its logic since the moment you met him on that fateful day. When you close your eyes, you can still feel the chilled soil and snow staining your knees. The past weeks have felt like a fever dream.

The vermilion in his eyes stirred into something deeper, crimson going obsidian black, and that’s when you realize that his pupils have blown wide. You’ve seen that look many times–the heady gaze men would have when staring at the brothel’s women was similar.

However, what distinguished Sukuna’s gaze from the debauchees’ was that it was softer, earnest behind the brusque determination.

“Lose yourself. Fall into me,” he whispered as he stared at you, not daring to lean closer. A part of you wants to rebel further by pursing your lips and doing the opposite of his command, forcing him to get frustrated and oust you from his life, but you know that a good swordsmanship is hard to come by, and this could be your only chance at learning a craft that could help you defend yourself.

You nod slowly, and he promptly moves away, handing back the stick he had dropped earlier. “Now, mimic my movement, and then you can do some strength training for your muscles. Your days as a thief have left you weak. You’ll need to regain your stamina if you want to keep learning every day.

His aggravating comments do a surprisingly good job of motivating you to do better for the next hour. So much so that you pass out due to exhaustion, making Nobara grumble as she dragged you to the bathing room. Flashes of consciousness return to you, but you ultimately fall asleep in the bath as Nobara is scrubbing your arm.

You wake up in the dining room, across the table from where Sukuna watches you like a hawk.

“Early riser, you are,” he scoffs, and you groan as you drag yourself to the table, muscles worked to the bone that they ache with every movement. The spread seems to have more meat than usual. You don’t comment about how you have more side dishes placed at your end. Or that his bowl of rice is untouched and his chopsticks are still clean.

“Please refrain from making jokes, as your humor is nothing to be proud of. I fell asleep in the bath, so how did I end up here?” You get straight to the point with your interrogation, which makes Sukuna sigh. He picks up his chopsticks and presses his lips in a flat line. “Eat a little and I’ll tell you.”

Not having much choice, you do as he says. As much as you hate to admit it, Uraume’s cooking is excellent. The food tastes like he cooks out of pure interest and not his obligation to Sukuna. You used to cook like that, too, but now that time seems so far away. Out of reach, like it has simply disappeared.

A sip of the soup has you feeling almost entirely rejuvenated, and you try biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from sighing in satisfaction. Your kidnapper of a husband didn’t need to know that you were starting to get comfortable with this life.

“Before you lose your mind, I shall tell you that no one other than Nobara and I were around when it happened.”

Sukuna’s statement only makes you raise your brows, but you digress from making a further curious comment, only shoving another mouthful of venison and rice.

“I carried you out of the bathtub and helped you dress up.”

You nearly choke on your food as your eyes grow wide. You slam your chopsticks down and wrap your arms around yourself as if protecting yourself from a wild animal.

“You saw me naked? Wha–Why did you employ Nobara then?” you yell, and Sukuna rubs his temple as he rests his elbow on his thigh. Uraume shuffles in with some tea and makes an off-handed comment about arguing after dinner, as the soup only tastes good when it’s warm, but that only earns him a glare from you.

Sukuna motions him to give you both some privacy, and the white-haired man grumbles something about being spoiled and slams the shoji door shut.

“Nobara may be strong, but she cannot carry a grown woman. If it is any consolation, she was helping me dress you up, so we were never alone.”

“Still, we have yet to consu–we do not know what each other’s bodies look like beneath our clothes. It was rude of you to act that way.”

“You already know what my upper body looks like. I can show you the bottom half if you’d like to be on even ground.” Sukuna’s deadpan expression has you horrified, and you’d hurl your bowl of rice at his face if you didn’t respect each grain harvested.

“That is unnecessary!” you quickly counter.

“I do not see what the issue is. We are husband and wife, and we will eventually–”

“Do not complete that sentence if you wish to live.” You aren’t sure how you’ll set his death in stone (and if he is a demon, then he is practically immortal), but you do not have any significant threats in mind to spit out.

“You have already tried to defy my strength and failed. Empty promises do more harm than good.”

You sigh, your head in your hands as your mind tries to fill in the blanks to the best of its abilities, but alas, no significant memory arises. The only thing you could do was ask Nobara whether Sukuna was telling the truth, and even then, you’ve known the man long enough to be aware that he does not see any point in lying. His ego has him convinced that he does not need to sugarcoat or hide his true thoughts.

“I did not expect having a conversation like this before giving you your present,” Sukuna confesses as he places a dark wooden box on your end of the table. You look confused, but you open it anyway. Your gaze moves from the hairpin to his face, which seems uncharacteristically bashful as he stares at his bowl of rice, pretending to gather a morsel for himself.

“Why did you buy me this?” you ask as you run your fingers along the ornament. The metal looks somewhat crude, but when you examine the pin closer, you notice that the flower has small details like little folds on the petals.

“It is a wedding present. I noticed that I hadn’t bought you a proper one. However, judging by the conversation we just had, consider it an apology bribe instead.”

You don’t know what to do with yourself. You cannot handle conflicts with a sound mind. It does not come easily to you. A person either yanks your sanity away from you, or they’re patient enough to understand you. Sukuna Ryomen had done both in a matter of weeks.

“It is pretty,” you say as you place the box back down. Your soup was still warm, so you continued to eat, not wanting to waste Uraume’s effort. You can feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze on you, but you do nothing to address it. The man across from you is usually eager to show off his power and strength, but all you see is someone trying their best to veil their self-consciousness. It evidently stings him that you haven’t worn it immediately.

“It is. And so will your quarters be once Nobara sets it up soon.”

 Your ears perk up in hope, but a part of you thinks he’s joking with you, trying to show you where the true power lies in this relationship (if you could even call it that).

“I believe I have already told you that your humor is not very sharp,” you mumble with a deadpan edge in your tone.

“I am not jesting. You will sleep in your own quarters from tonight onwards. Of course, Nobara will sleep in the same room, so you don’t do anything rash.”

The words are caught in your throat, but they don’t itch to get out. You sink the verbal affirmation deep in your gut, where your pride dissolves it. Instead, you grab the pin he had gifted you and put it in your hair.

“I see,” you mumble, pretending to be absent-minded.

When you look up, you notice the ghost of a simper on his face before he promptly bites the inside of his cheek.

----

taglist: @sukubusss@lady-of-blossoms @gradmacoco @cheriiepies @brunnetteiwik @poopooindamouf @miakxn @emochosoluvr @sunasgf1 @albakugo @00frenchfries00 @kurtswld @riahlynn-102 @purplehideoutmentality @magnificientscarlett @after-laughter-come-tears @justlia110 @dishs0pe @favvkiki @i0lovepink00 @ihe4rtme

[cavetreasures]

Sorn's problem

I've been thinking about Sorn and what I'd probably find if I cracked his skull open (lovingly) and stirred through his brain, and I have an interrrrpretation.

I feel like there must be something that's holding Sorn back from being fully himself and going for what (who) he wants. One reason is that it wouldn't be entirely satisfying for me to discover that he's doing all this simply because he's just that emotionally stilted — but there are other little things as well, like the below shot of the camera lingering on the back of his head as he's watching Jun leave the car.

You usually see things like this when the story is telling you that the character is hiding something. Might be confirmation bias though, and I'm not sure how much effort they're putting into narrating through camera shots, but anyway.

When we first see Sorn, we watch him through Jun's eyes, and Jun sees him as this unhinged, hypersexual creature — wild and unrestrained, getting off in the middle of the day, in a public space, lacking any shame or inhibitions. Free and unfeeling. I'm however convinced that Sorn's actions in that first scene are directly related to Jun.

What if he thinks he's not allowed to be with Jun? If that is true, then what he was doing in that scene was forcing himself to perform an exaggerated version heterosexuality — but then he notices Jun, and his efforts go out the window.

I think Sorn has always been aware of his attraction to Jun. He does all those deliciously devious things to Jun without batting an eye because "well, he's heterosexual, it doesn't mean anything, he won't feel anything for me anyway, I can bullshit my way out of this." He thought he's just going to suffer with his one-sided thing, and Jun will never know.

And then Sorn disappears because of The Reason (feelings of worthlessness, or family drama, something else, or everything at once). He severs the connection completely because he needs to, trying to get over Jun. And it's completely fine, because Jun doesn't feel anything for him anyway. He has a girlfriend, he's alright. So Sorn tries to forget him, but it doesn't happen — because he's hooked, and no matter how many partners he has, they just cannot fill the Jun-shaped hole in his heart. They can never satisfy him enough. He never lets them really see who he really is; he never allows them into his personal space.

But at least he's at peace, because Jun is straight— so there wasn't even a potential possibility for a relationship, right? Well, no wonder his reaction to finding out Jun is openly gay is so mixed when they meet each other again. His obsession is back. He cannot stand the idea that Jun is going to have more — and it is not going to be with him — so the bullshit is back on, and he goes off the rails.

Sorn creates this situation where he thinks he's in control, where he's going to get a taste of as much as he can, for as long as it's possible, without stepping over the line. And in his mind it's fine, because Jun doesn't like him, so he's the only one who's going to get hurt — and he's probably used to suffering already.

And he's in denial of Jun's growing feelings for him, justifying Jun's unusual animosity by attributing it to his own jerkish behavior, arguing that it's normal for Jun to have such a reaction to everything that he does. And his friends always calling him a jerk and blaming every little thing on him without really paying attention to his feelings are not helping in any way — they're just solidifying his delusion and maybe reinforcing his bad guy self-concept.

Similar to his whole "no-attachment sex apprenticeship" thing, the printer prank was done to get Jun's attention, teach him a lesson, and keep him in control. He thought Jun wouldn't suffer because it wasn't that serious to him — but Jun cried. He underestimates Jun's emotional depth and plays into the condescending mentor persona, convinced that he's the only one who can be really affected. In other words, he has his head stuck in his own butt.

So I think soon everything will slip out of his control and it will blow up in his face. Jun will get hurt, Sorn will have to face the devastating consequences of his actions, and I will cry. :)

[sometimesoliloquy]

all of our time chasing America, but she never had a home for me

In season 2, desperate with worry over June's mental health, Nick says to Serena "She doesn't have anyone to look out for her." Serena rightly points out "It appears that she does". Through the years, through thick and thin, even when she was back with Luke and Nick remarried to Rose, he was always there looking out for her. But in the end it appears it was Nick who never had anyone to look out for him.

Nick—as a young man, essentially abandoned by his family, failed by his society and his country. Left without a safety net by the greed and corruption of a capitalist oligarchy masquerading as an equitable democracy. And finally, he ends up failed and abandoned by his own love, the very love that held so much potential to save him as it had saved her. The woman he did and would do anything for but who ultimately refused to fight for him when the raw face of his flawed humanity held up too painful a mirror to her own.

London Grammar’s beautiful song “America” has always made me think of Nick ever since I first heard it four years ago, but now, in the aftermath of season 6 and the series ending, it hits harder (and more tragically) than ever. Interestingly, the artist’s intended meaning behind the lyrics was a more symbolic one, using “the American dream” as a metaphor for her own personal journey of letting go.

But relating to the character of Nick, I think it also works very nicely as a more literal interpretation of how the America in the (semi)fictional world of The Handmaid’s Tale (and June, herself, in representing a much more privileged and complacent sector of that society) let him and so many others like him down—and how our real world America indeed continues to do the same.

How the “American Dream” has essentially become a cruel mirage for too large a swathe of the population, left to flounder and fight for meager scraps, all the while disdained by folks looking down from up on high scoffing “pull yourself up by your bootstraps!”, who themselves have never struggled to literally afford a pair of boots for them or their children.

I get that the writers and show runners wanted to hit a political message with their ending. What I’ll never understand though is the message they ultimately chose to send—one reeking of elitism, classism and non-intersectional white feminism—when they had such an important and poignant opportunity staring them right in the face, one that is both (unfortunately) timely and timeless.

The show really had a chance to highlight the socio-economic oppression that results from corrupt capitalist societies and exacerbates harmful societal division. Which, combined with self-absorbed, self righteous complacency from the upper and middle classes (often even in the most “liberal” and “progressive” populations), makes the rise of totalitarian regimes possible, with those would-be groups looking to grab power (exactly like the fictional Sons of Jacob) thriving on the confusion and division, the “othering” of certain groups, and preying on the most lost and vulnerable in society, those who are disillusioned and desperate, failed by their government and tossed aside by their fellow citizens who view themselves as more “deserving”.

Instead those in charge of THT seem to have doubled down on the idea that certain groups of people are in fact less deserving, in the end providing forgiveness and redemptive arcs for two major architects and founders of Gilead, a baby thieving rapist, and a cattle-prod-happy torturer of women. But not for the disadvantaged young man who got conned into a violent cult parading as a faith-based charity organization for a job and ended up a reluctant citizen of a totalitarian regime with a small amount of power.

They could have presented a message that sometimes good people do bad things out of ignorance and/or desperation, but are still worthy of being saved. That if they have a good heart and want do the right thing, all they might need is someone to say "I see you, I understand." To reach out a hand to help pull them out of the darkness. Instead they gave the character with a tragic backstory an even more tragic ending, with ultimately no one who would fight for him. It's not a very hopeful message if you ask me.

(Sooo this was part of a much much longer review I was writing on my phone in gmail drafts which gmail then decided to delete so fuck me, I guess😅😅😭 Anyway, this is all that was left and I don't have the energy to reconstruct it all, at least definitely not rn, so I guess I'll just leave this excerpt here.)

[8stranger8]

jj and queerness

just rewatched s3 ep17: "in heat", and I have a lot to say:

as much as I love will and jj, by all creative writing choices made this episode, that conversation with will at the end should've led to jj coming out. people talk about emily a lot, but no, jj is one of the most queercoded characters I've ever ran into.

the expirence of the hidden relationship you're not exactly ashamed off but you also wanna keep all to yourself because sharing it means dealing with other people?

having your partner upset at you because they feel you're ashamed of them?

the awkward conversation with emily about will's looks?

those are expirences almost every queer person I've met had. including me.

the voice crack when she's analyzing the unsub and talking about being queer and freedom to be yourself?

will telling her he doesn't care charles was gay he just wishes he told him so he could've supported him?

how deeply affected and understanding jj is with this whole case?

having all of these happen in a case that is specifically about queerness and suppressing queerness?

and that's just the first time a case dealing with queer themes that affected her specifically. It does, in fact, happen again.

s8 ep15: "broken" -

the team run into a convertion camp within their investigation, and the moment jj is faced with it her focus gets put on shutting it down.

while all of them are shocked and upset by it, jj is angry in a way that seems so personal.

she's affected by it in a way non of the others are, and she makes it a point to make sure the police gets involved as fast as possible when everyone else were ready to just skip forward and leave it alone.

her relationship with her mom and growing up:

jj describes feeling trapped in a small town. saving up and working her ass off through high school so she can get into college as far and as fast as she can.

she felt so trapped, that after first leaving she never ever came back.

she grew up in a small town where everyone is all up in each other's business and no one can be themselves.

she also personally mentions it in north mammon, and scolds the parents for fighting, specifically in relation to one of the parents hiding being a homosexual man.

again, it's personal for her. she seems angry, personally so.

s14 ep12: "hamelin" -

"one daughter who never saw seventeen and the other..."

there's a stop, they're giving space for implications. her mom looks disappointed and sad, she's clearly judging in that way only a mother can. she has something to say but she can't, because it's too much.

"the other what, mom? the other what?"

jj clearly knows what her mom wants to say. she looks like she's heard it a million times before, like every conversation they have somehow ended with the same complaint.

"..who left. went away, and stayed away."

this is all queerbaiting ofc, or could mean absolutely nothing, but jj and queerness is something very very dear to me.

[aldmeric]

Species Anarchy: What It Isn’t

I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently. The ideology of species anarchy does overlap significantly with otherkin, alterhumanity and nonhuman experiences, but it is not inherently related to these concepts.

Take holotheres for example. They are known as physical nonhumans. The term “physical nonhuman” denotes something very specific, as it is an identity defining term under the nonhuman umbrella (and for some, the otherkin and alterhuman umbrellas). Holotheres are physically nonhuman, but not all of them claim to be biologically nonhuman, as per their self identification. Some do, and those are the instances in which species anarchy may overlap.

A key point that often comes up in holothere spaces is psychosis and schizophrenia (clinical zoanthropy etc). Some individuals have these labels unwillingly placed upon them for expressing themselves, and while they may be considered delusional or psychotic by modern psychological standards, these individuals would likely be highly revered and treated with extreme care and sensitivity in pre-colonial environments due to being seen as spiritual guides — nonhuman creatures come in the form of a human vessel to teach crucial environmental lessons to their clan or village. They also would not have many of the symptoms that come with psychosis if the effects of colonialism hadn’t leeched into everything we know, but that’s a conversation for another day (as is the criteria for delusions, psychosis and schizophrenia being rooted in Christianization and generational trauma of Indigenous people).

Some holotheres take pride in their psychosis, which I would argue is the healthiest possible avenue of existence (if that is constructive and healing for you personally, but it isn’t for everyone). Every brain is different. It would be boring if everybody lived in the same reality. However, some individuals rebel against the label entirely, as I mentioned earlier, but in a different context — they reject the labels that the system of modern Western psychology they believe has imposed upon them, and they choose to redefine what existence is for themselves, and in general, because they know that the system labelled them as such due to the constructed societal view of being a failure if you are unable to conform — of the three, this is the most similar ideology to species anarchy.

While I have always known I’m bosmer in my heart, gut and soul, it was not something that came in words to me until later on in life. I knew I was different, but I didn’t know how. As a child, I had an intense phobia of getting “found out” to be biologically different from humans, and to be hauled off to a facility to be dissected or tortured or brainwashed. While I did suffer from childhood trauma, none of it was ever related to this fear. It’s been completely unexplainable for me (until now). I’ve dealt with a lot of medical mishaps as a result - doctors did not know how to treat me because my body was not responding the way a human’s would. They were confused, and I nearly died as a result.

I realized that, through evolution, I am biologically not human whatsoever. My mother has experienced similar experiences as I have, but not to the extent that I deal with them.

Carl Linnaeus never defined the term Homo sapiens. He just… left it blank. It was the only species he did not define. Just think about that for a moment.

For thousands of years, we have questioned what it means to exist, but only for a couple hundred have we questioned what it means to be human. How do we answer our questions to something with no definition, and the author of the term is long gone? In a time where the only way to become an expert was to observe the unknown, Carl Linnaeus made observations, he crafted definitions — are we not allowed to call out when we have done the observing now? What makes this century different from the last two?

Where do we draw the line when something new has been created?

Species anarchy is that line. It is also the act of drawing it. It is the act of crossing out human and replacing it with what you know to be the truth.

That is why it overlaps with alterhuman, otherkin and nonhuman experiences. It is not inherently of them, but you know who and what you are. Who am I to define you? Who is anyone to do so? You have the pen and the paper. You have the stick in the sand.

Remember that your brain telling you things is a message. Your brain is a very real organ. If you know something about yourself to be true, that is your brain physically being aware of an observable truth, and translating it into thought. Yes, this goes for spiritualism as well.

Species anarchy is a very broad philosophical ideology, and it can be applied to and overlap with many other core identity values. It does not discriminate against anyone, I want that to be very clear (I take holotheres very seriously). As I find myself learning more and more about different types of nonhumanity, I can see a lot of overlap between all these amazingly different experiences and species anarchy. I wanted to make a detailed post explaining the differences between them.

[vycotans-and-vycelium]

Gender Expression

Vycotans are simultaneous hermaphrodites (meaning they produce both large and small gametes as well as can both sire and carry offspring) and therefore do not have physical markers seen in dual-sex based species which are used as a determiner for gender. However, partly due to being passed around from one alien empire to another, there is an appearance based system for determining the gender of an individual. 

There are two primary determiners which are apparent at birth and two secondary determiners which are not clear until puberty culminating into four recognized genders. 

Primary Determiner—Apparent At Birth

The coding that determines the main pigment present on a mech’s body is a complicated dance of inheritance and it is not always apparent what color a couple’s offspring will be until it is born. It is possible for two stark parents to give birth to a shade, two shade parents to give birth to a stark, and for a couple to have a bitlet which has colors not present on either of them.

Stark

Starks have a higher volume of bright, flamboyant “eye catching” colors present on their bodies. Their armor is often shiny and lustrous. One thing to note is that the colors on stark’s bodies tend to have higher saturation and denser pigmentation. As a result, the colors appear to be very intense and bright. For this reason it is possible for two mechs the same color to be classified as either a stark or a shade.

Shade

Shades have a higher volume of matte, earthy, unsaturated colors present on their bodies. Often it appears that their colors have been muted and tuned down. Their armor does have a glossy finish to it, but it is not nearly as shiny as a stark’s armor. The colors on their bodies look like they have been mixed with chromatic greys and they tend to blend into the surroundings of their environment better than a stark. For this reason shades are more often given caregiver roles.

Secondary Determiner—Apparent At Puberty

When a vycotan is first born they have armor however it is soft and not fully formed. In order to remain warm they are coated in a thick layer of fluffy wires which act as both a source of keeping warmth and nerve endings which allow for neural connection with the parent. This means that at birth there is no way to tell if the bitlet is Crested or Unadorned (the two secondary gender characteristics).

As a bitlet grows into a youngling their armor starts as smooth and rounded with sparse remnants of that baby fluff. If the child is crested their armor will start to sharpen and develop growths. If the child is unadorned these growths will never appear and the armor will thicken.  

But what IS crested and unadorned?

Crested 

Crested means that the armor on an individual's body is angular and often has orate patterns naturally occurring on the armor. This can manifest as armor growths which might appear as thorns/spines, extensions from aft plating (which often resembles coat tails, faulds, or pteruges. Lastly and most importantly on the head armor there are often extensions which might look like horns, crests, antenna, or facial thorns. These extensions do have nerve endings and are sensitive to different types of stimuli.

Unadorned 

Unadorned individuals lack these growths on their armor, which instead is very minimal and rounded with only small raised areas. One drawback which can also be a benefit is that they do not have the same heightened sense that a crested individual has. However similarly they are not as susceptible to overstimulation. Unadorned also tend to have thicker, heavier armor which is more resistant to impact related injuries, while extensions present on a crested individual always have the threat of being broken off by attacks.

Present Recognized Genders

Vycotans have a total of four genders but focus mainly on the primary two which are apparent at birth. However an individual being crested or unadorned is still an category taken into account when the vycotan is older.

Crested Stark -> Bright and Highly Pigmented Colors, Sharp and Angular Armor

Unadorned Stark -> Bright and Highly Pigmented Colors, Rounded and Heavy Armor.

Crested Shade -> Muted and Matte Colors, Sharp and Angular Armor

Unadorned Shade -> Muted and Matte Colors, Rounded and Heavy Armor.

Gender Changes

Because vycotan gender determiners are mostly cosmetic it is fairly easy to change appearance to correlate with a preferred gender.

This could include buying paints or pigments that can be applied to armor to change the presenting color or using gloss to make armor appear shinier. Often because armor growths on a vycotan are sensitive and nerve heavy, they cannot be filed down so instead a crested individual will simply cover them up with a veil if on the head or covers if on other parts of the body. An unadorned individual might add attachments that resemble armor growths.

Obviously this is only one example of how a vycotan might alter their appearance to conform with a preferred gender, but these are just some examples.

[natequarter]

What does “the doctor is a function of the universe” mean?

this is an eldritch eu time lords thing - the gist of it is that the time lords defined and shaped, not the universe itself, but time - they shaped and define the arc of history. another related idea is time lords are Made of Maths (think logopolis/castrovalva), or, distinctly, that, having defined the universe, the time lords are an essential part of the universe. they are not just defined by maths, but made of physics. and the doctor, of course, [ANGRILY KICKS THE TIMELESS CHILD] is a time lord. see the book of the war on the "great houses" (time lords):

It’s long been held that the Great Houses may well have been responsible for many of the physical laws of the universe as they’re now known, but even that misses the point. The Houses are those physical laws. The laws are extensions of their own selves, of their identities and of their culture. In theory, the idea that anybody might be capable of going to war with these bloodlines is utterly ridiculous. In theory, it would be like going to war with gravity, or with a colour, or an element, or a geometric shape. In practice, however, the last fifty years have shown that it’s somehow possible.

see, separately, the entry on the anchoring of the thread:

The early universe was effectively structureless, but the Great Houses seem to have known that this state of affairs wouldn’t last. Given enough time it would inevitably begin to develop a definite framework, as new cultures emerged across the span of the continuum and new species began to impose their own versions of meaning on the continuual strata. The ever-nervous academicians of the Homeworld knew they wouldn’t be alone much longer, and most likely feared how other intelligences might influence the shape of the future: in theory the coming generations of species could be so different that a collision between them and the Houses would be as catastrophic as a collision of different forms of matter. Already, early deep-time explorations performed by the Houses’ pioneers had shown that there were things at work in the formative future, things which simply couldn’t be classified or even monitored by the Houses’ own technology. Attempts had occasionally been made to avert the existence of such things, often using the most violent and primitive of the early time-technologies.

But the Houses’ grand solution was to create the structure of the future for themselves. They were to stitch their biologies into the substance of creation at the most fundamental level, root themselves (or at least their culture) into the continuum, build a framework through which sentient life – their kind of sentient life – could understand, monitor and manipulate time in the outside universe. The bonding would make them virtually indestructible, as a society if not individually: the price would be infertility and cultural stasis. For the universe to remain constant the Houses would have to remain constant as well, and indeed the entire noosphere-core of the Homeworld would have to exist outside the main body of time. Or at least, outside the meta-structure of history which they were about to create.

it's a bit complicated, but that's the gist of it.

[fiaistired]

I want to figure out how old Elias Bouchard really is. When was he born?

In MAG 49 it’s said he joined the institute in 1991 and became head of the institute in 1996 after being body snatched by Jonah Magnus.

In MAG 192 Rosie says that “he seemed far too young for the role he had apparently found himself in” - referring to the head of the institute position.

How young is too young for a head of an institution position? Here’s a first not *exactly* evidence-based assumption - but let’s say it’s probably being below 40 years old. That is based solely on the experience of attending university, I’d say most institute heads at uni are at minimum 40 (also, not exactly related but all university institute heads have PhD’s). (I don’t want to get into too many details here, since I’m not a 100% sure how the higher education system works in the UK, but in my country at least, one must have at least a Habilitation, which is almost like a second PhD, or be a capital “P” Professor, which is the highest university rank, to become an institute head. To achieve these scientific titles, it usually takes a lot of time, so most people are over 40 when they get the position. Or even 50, when it comes to the Professor rank). 

One can assume then, that “Elias” is below 40-ish while he interviews Rosie. Unfortunately, we don’t know when exactly that happens. It could be anytime between 1996 and 2015. 

Some other information we do know about him is that he’s graduated collage with third class honours and has a PPE degree. According to google, students in the UK typically start university at the age of 18. Also, according to google, Oxford has never had a postgraduate degree course in PPE, so Elias has a bachelor’s degree in PPE (which btw stands for Philosophy, Politics and Economics), meaning he was either 21 or 22 when he finished uni. We do not hear anyone mention him finishing any other courses, so we can assume that’s all that he studied.

Another thing we don’t know is at what age he started working for the Magnus Institute. We do know it happened in 1991. The earliest he could have been recruited was at the age of 21 or 22, straight out of university. Making him 26/27 at the time he “got promoted” to the position of institute head, in 1996. As mentioned previously, at Rosie’s interview, where she found that he looked too young for his position, in between 1996 and 2015 (whenever that interview took place) he would’ve been between 26 and 45 years old (at the youngest) depending on the year the interview took place in. Taking my assumption from before, that during the interview he’d be 40 or lower, I’d assume that the interview probably took place anytime between 1996 and 2010 for the comment of him looking too young in his position to make sense. Of course, it could’ve been a few years after graduating uni when he got recruited, which would further push down the date of the Rosie interview. I think the oldest he could possibly be is in his late thirties during it. So, the eldest he could be in 1996, if that is when the interview took place, would be around 40 years old (which I also don’t think it did take place in 1996 since it would make Rosie work as his assistant for 20 years and I’m not certain that she could remain that oblivious to all the weird stuff going on for that long. But what do I know, maybe she’s got a gift for not noticing. I don’t know for sure).

So, in the year of his body being overtaken by Jonah Magnus, 1996, he’s between the ages of 26 and 40. 

We, the listeners, know him mostly from our time spent with him and the archives crew from 2015 onwards. Based on our established age range, in 2015 he would’ve been anywhere between 45 and 59 years old. Which would mean that last time we hear him speak is in 2018 in which he’s anywhere between 48 and 62 years old. 

I don’t know how old his va, Ben Meredith is exactly. I’m pretty sure he’s a millennial? Either way it doesn’t really matter how old his va is, though all we have to picture him by is his voice only, which at least in my opinion doesn’t really sound like the voice of a 62-year-old, but that is straight up just a subjective opinion. Maybe he’s a particularly young sounding 62-year-old?

Some additional information we supposedly get about “Elias” is that he was working as a filing clerk in 1972, which he says to Jonathan Sims in MAG 29, but that contradicts with the information gathered later by Jon and revealed in MAG 49 where he says that Elias joined the institute in 1991. All this might seem like just the lies of Jonah Magnus, but it presents an interesting point of having a conversation take place in 2016 with the reference to his being an institute employee in 1972. In 2016 he’s between the ages of 46 (which would make him 2 years old in 1972) and 60 (which would make him 16 in 1972), neither of which make sense, thought one would think that if he’s older and Jon doesn’t know how old he is exactly, it wouldn’t be that suspicious for him to have worked at the institute in 1972, though that seems like a stretch. Perhaps Jon just didn’t question or notice how it doesn’t really make sense for him to have worked there in that year, or maybe the writing-story-planning team didn’t put that much thought into this particular interaction/the implications of it, or maybe Elias looks older than he is. 

In conclusion, Elias Bouchard was born between the years of 1956 and 1970.

Also, fun fact I did a poll to see what age Tumblr users thought Elias was and they picked between 40 to 50, with 45 to 55 being a close second, so if anyone voted in that and picked anywhere between 45 and 59, I just want to let you know you’re right.

TLDR: Elias Bouchard is (most likely) anywhere between 45 and 59 at the start of the Magnus Archives.

[rustchild]

one of the wild things about people’s stubborn insistence on misunderstanding The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas is that the narrator anticipates an audience that won’t engage with the text, just in the opposite direction. Throughout the story are little asides asking what the reader is willing to believe in. Can you believe in a utopia? What if I told you this? What about this? Can you believe in the festivals? The towers by the sea? Can we believe that they have no king? Can we believe that they are joyful? Does your utopia have technology, luxury, sex, temples, drugs? The story is consulting you as it’s being told, framed as a dialogue. It literally asks you directly: do you only believe joy is possible with suffering? And, implicitly, why?

the question isn’t just “what would you personally do about the kid.” It isn’t just an intricate trolley problem. It’s an interrogation of the limits of imagination. How do we make suffering compulsory? Why? What futures (or pasts) are we capable of imagining? How do we rationalize suffering as necessary? And so on. In all of the conversations I’ve seen or had about this story, no one has mentioned the fact that it’s actively breaking the fourth wall. The narrator is building a world in front of your eyes and challenging you to participate. “I would free the kid” and then what? What does the Omelas you’ve constructed look like, and why? And what does that say about the worlds you’re building in real life?

[astrofiish]

HES MARRIED?!?!?!??!!!?

[merry-fagoland]

traveler as a "Witness"

[seaweedstarshine]

“They engineered a psychopath to kill you.” “Totally married her. I'd never have made it here alive without River Song.”

Sources: Let's Kill Hitler, Diary of River Song: My Dinner With Andrew, Closing Time, The Husbands of River Song, Diary of River Song: The Furies, Diary of River Song: Animal Instinct, The Ruby's Curse, Time of the Doctor

[nexus-nebulae]

watching a video and someone went like "she died because she 'lost the will to live'. if she had died from an ACTUAL MENTAL ILLNESS that would be fine, but instead she just 'lost the will to live'" like 1- what do you think depression is. 2- this is why focusing on the label rather than the actual state of existence will always be ableist and harmful. not everyone is given the language for that shit

[qserasera]

one scenario i like to imagine is like if there was some fancy exorcist shindig somewhere at one of the matoba manors and there were like these 2 matoba guard guys standing around the entrance

a masked visitor: *approaches the door* exorcist bouncer 1: where's your invite the visitor, in a tone of outrage: how dare you, don't you know who i am??

exorcist bouncer 2: no invite, no party. now go away

*visitor leaves* (1) natori shuuichi, not wearing a mask: *approaches the door* exorcist bouncer 2: excuse me sir where's your invite natori, laughing with sparkles: ✨✨ahahaha✨ an invite? well...i'm sure i had it in my sleeve around here somewhere but...

exorcist bouncer 1, elbowing exorcist bouncer 2 in the side: that's not necessary, natori-san. please do head on in exorcist bouncer 2, after natori goes in: what why exorcist bouncer 1: he's on the VIP list exorcist bouncer 2: what VIP list exorcist bouncer 1: the one drawn up by matoba-sama obviously, didn't you read the introductory scroll from nanase-san

exorcist bouncer 2: ??? but him????????

exorcist bouncer 1: don't question it, u don't need to know