#at the time it was just self-indulgent ''time to pick Isayah's brain because the guy will never get a break''

[misfortuning]

For the questions - "1. How do they move and carry themselves? Pace, rhythm, gestures, energy?" -- "16. Do they dream? What are those dreams like?" & "28. What are they likely to do if they have the opportunity, resources, and time to accomplish it? Why?" ! Sorry if these are hard to answer !

THE MEANING OF LIFE— accepting!

NOT AT ALL THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THESE THEY’RE SO BEAUTIFUL also confession time i’ve reblogged this before and have answered 1 here but i’m a slut for this meme so i’m gonna answer it again 

1. How do they move and carry themselves? Pace, rhythm, gestures, energy?

He moves like a predator, such casual confidence because he draws more blood than he sheds, will shed enough blood for the both of you because he is not afraid to go for the throat; He carries himself like prey, ever alert, paranoid, ready to put his back to a corner and fight for his life, for so much more than that. (There is no escape. Onward.)He moves at his own pace, struggles tooth and nail to resist the current that threatens to drag him under, sometimes, because he refuses to be moved by anything other than his own will. His rhythm is a heartbeat, endless, unceasing—in the heat of a moment it becomes a race against the world, himself, the confines of his own rigid self-control. (There is no escape. Onward.)Gestures are subtle things, hedged and trimmed to present an impassible wall through which he allows only the smallest slips of information. He does not open himself to connection, does not desire anything of the sort. (There is no escape. Onward.)Energy comes and goes, strings drawing slack to a restless tune, the swell and swallow of a distant storm. At times he is less a man than a riot, chaos tearing at his flesh from the inside; at times he is less a man than a hollow sky, a vessel in which there is nothing but echoes, black and bleak. (There is no escape. Onward.)

16. Do they dream? What are those dreams like?

get ready for some real incoherent nonsense y’all,

He dreams of fire; can’t remember if it was real but it must have been, at some point, in some form, because what wasn’t? What wasn’t done to him in the name of (love and safety and humanity and promises from his own lips) in the name of science, God, he remembers now—He’ll never know how many tools were used to flay him bare, exposed, never know how many needles or what was in them but they are there, in his veins fire and ice and IN HIS VEINS AND pain and then nothing—Nothing but pain when there’s anything at all (slowly anything there could be is being taken from him, things he wouldn’t even think of or miss until they’re gone and there’s no coming back)—And faster now, sand through his fingers, water, blood in his hands and bleeding away and he is losing everything, losing them one by one and two by two and who is left? Who is left?(He is still here and it burns him, bleeds him, drowns him with how alive he is INHISVEINSINHISLUNGSINHISHEADINHISCHESTOHGODGETOUTGETOUT he is left)alone

He wakes in a sweat he cannot feel, eyes stinging and darkHe does not remember falling asleepHe doesn’t remember

He dreams of water. It is never-ending and he chokes and chokes, never-dying.

He dreams of an empty, echoing house. There is no one there no matter how he looks, vacancy a looming hunger the longer he searches for nothing. He waits for it to strike but it only gets farther and farther away. There is no one there. There is no one.

He dreams he is a wolf, more so that he has been in years. There is a child laughing. He is a wolf. There is a child. He is a wolf. 

In his dreams, she introduces herself. That is how he knows it is a dream, only a dream, but the knowledge does not make it better. Nothing makes it better.

He dreams rarely of a golden ocean, burning. He is yelling, screaming or calling for someone he isn’t sure, but he does not stop. Cannot. He is becoming the roar.

He dreams he is on the table. Sometimes they are all on tables, sometimes some of them are already dead. Sometimes she is there, smiling sadly—always smiling, never on the table.

He dreams she doesn’t die. He dreams she will not, no matter how he tries.

He dreams he wakes up. He dreams he wakes up. He dreams he wakes up. He wakes up. He dreams.

28. What are they likely to do if they have the opportunity, resources, and time to accomplish it? Why?

Utterly dismantle and destroy the organization he was formerly a part of. It is the source of so much trauma in his life, which he already had plenty of and really did NOT need any more (call out @ me). Isayah isn’t a fan of irrationality in the least, but that place drives any and all scraps of rationality or morality from him. Like, get ready for some brutality, because—He would first hunt down every single member and benefactor, behead and dismember them, gather the pieces in the compound and burn it to the ground, gather every smudge of ash, weld all of it into a lidless metal box, sink that box to the deepest depths of the oceans and move as far away from the ocean as physically possible, and then as soon at inter-planetary travel became an option, move himself and all of his loved ones as far away from Earth as they could get. And then he might find some way to vaporize Earth, just for good measure. Maybe launch it into the sun.