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marvelsbanner · 3 years

Text

Body, Mind, and Soul

Prompt: there simply needs to be more vision fic out there🥺 may i request a cute one where you've been going out for a while but the big L word hasn't been said yet and vis is just.. trying his best to tell you but doesn't know how🥺🥺 he's just so cute like that😭❤️ kissy i love ur stuff

Pairing: Vision x reader

Warnings: Slight language, tooth rotting fluff - beware of cavities

Word Count: ~1700

A/n: Reblogs, likes, and feedback are very much appreciated! <3 All mistakes are my own!

**I do not own marvel, sadly** **not my gif**

“Darling, may I speak with you for a moment?”

Vision phased through your walls to where you were sitting on your bed reading. Months ago you would have jumped straight out of your bones, startled by the synthezoid’s intrusion and lack of personal boundaries. In all honestly, it was no sooner after you had explained the concept of privacy and simple manners to Vision that you had come to look forward to his visits, not caring if he was intruding as long as he came to see you at all.

It was strange, you’ll admit- very strange. You were the newest Avenger recruit, and the youngest (if you didn’t count that he was technically born a little over a year ago? He had the wisdom of a thousand year old sorcerer, so you didn’t think of him as younger) and so he had a naturally protective nature about him when it came to you.

He always tried to be by your side during missions, saving your ass on multiple occasions. He never made you feel weak or like you needed protecting, but he was just always there for you. Not just in missions, but in everything. Joining the Avengers was a life changing decision that was not easy in any sense. You didn’t exactly have the prettiest past, which is partially what landed you there in the first place. You knew that none of the members there were exactly saints, but you couldn’t help but feel like you didn’t deserve the new chance at life you were given. Not to mention you had been hearing about the Avengers for years now, and in your mind it was hard to take them off of this pedestal of superhero-assassin-gods to simple coworkers and family.

Vision could sense your uneasiness, they all could really- but he had no filter and no sense of boundaries and was the only one to confront you about it. You were taken aback at first, but it was truly exactly what you needed.

He would bring dinner to your room, offering to sit with you as you ate- even though he didn’t need to himself. He brought you DVDs, claiming Wanda told him that they were what lifted her mood. When that didn’t work he tried bringing some old records that Tony recommended, eventually bringing some books from Steve’s “project modernization” stash that peaked your interest. Some nights he would sit with you as you read, reading over your shoulder or watching something on the tv, just content to be in your presence. You never asked him to, and you never asked why, but you also never asked him to leave.

The dynamic between the two of was certainly an unlikely one, Steve even asking you at one point if he needed to tell the Synthezoid to back off before you assured him that it was fine.

Somewhere along the way you found yourself falling for Vision, utterly terrified and mortified over the uncertainty of if he could even feel those kinds of feelings towards anyone in return. But then you would hear him laugh at one of your jokes, a real hearty laugh when the joke wasn’t even that funny- or that smile, that god damn smile that stretched across his entire face with those pearly whites that made your heart flutter in your chest, or even worse- the small, shy smile that he would give you when he didn’t think you could see him that brought a faint blush to your cheeks every time. It was in those moments you let yourself feel a slimmer of hope that he could maybe, just maybe feel the same way.

He eventually figures out that he feels the same as well, after a long conversation he had with Tony and Bruce over whether those feelings should even be possible for him or not. He decides that whether or not he should be able to, he most definitely did, and suddenly fleeting glances and stolen cozy nights turned into hands intertwined under the table during meetings and stolen kisses in the compound halls.

A year later and everyone knows that it’s never just y/n or Vision, you get the both of you or neither of you, because you were a team.

About a month after the two of you had confessed your feelings Vis had asked you to “go steady”, it was adorable really- he said he saw it in a movie and thought it was what most human couples still did, and he was so nervous and flustered and cute you couldn’t help but say yes.

Boyfriend and girlfriend, partners in crime, lovers- whatever you wanted to call it, you were. The labels didn’t matter, all that mattered was that you knew how you felt about each other. At least, you hoped you did.

Vis had been acting strangely lately. He seemed more nervous around you; he was stuttering and losing his train of thought- he would sometimes act like he had something important to say and would end up saying nothing at all. Sometimes he would bring you flowers out of nowhere or prepare a meal he knew you loved, just to disappear for the rest of the night and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Sometimes he would babble on and on about some sort of poetic metaphor and ask if you understood what he meant and when you didn’t he would just tell you to pretend he said nothing at all.

So there he was, phasing through your wall and asking to talk and you could see a large bouquet of roses behind his hand and you weren’t sure whether to be excited or scared or all of the above, so you simply dog-eared your book and set it aside, patting the empty side of the bed next to you for him to sit.

He settled on the floor before walking over to the side of the bed and sitting, revealing the bouquet of flowers fully before shyly offering them to you.

“I was informed bouquets are a romantic gesture appropriate for such occasions” he explained, hands fidgeting as he spoke, not making eye contact with you.

“And what occasion is that?” You inquire, quirking a brow at his behavior.

“Ah yes that, right, well..” He started before opening and closing his mouth a few times, unsure of how to go on.

“Darling, I don’t have much to go on with this in terms of past experience- this is all very new to me as you know, however, I have come to understand that there is a certain point in relationships, romantic relationships that is, where the feelings that one has for the other might start to change.” He explains, fingers continuing to fidget and pull at another.

“Vis.. if this is you wanting a break from me, from us- flowers don’t exactly portray that message clearly..” You reply, anxiety beginning to settle in your chest.

As soon as you say that, any worries at what he could be implying flood your mind as his face fills with distress.

“Oh no- darling, no, that’s not what I was getting at at all!” He hurriedly says, setting the flowers on the bed and taking your hands in his own. “No no, it’s quite the opposite actually! See, I’ve been wanting to tell you this for quite a while, months even! But I wasn’t sure when a good time would be, and no article online could give me a set answer and I didn’t know how you felt- I thought I did sometimes but other times I just couldn’t be sure and then on this last mission when you almost got hurt and I couldn’t bear the thought that-“ you cut off his rambling by taking his cold face in your hands, “Vis hunny, slow down. What is it you want to tell me?” You ask, finally getting him to meet your eyes. He looked more nervous now than he had been for any mission in the past.

He hands came up to rest atop your own on his face, intertwining your fingers together as he spoke softly, “Well darling, I just- I just thought, we’ve been together for quite some time now, and I think I can safely say- maybe- I hope- that neither one of us want to be letting this go anytime soon and I, well I just thought you ought to know that I love you.”

A smile immediately pulled at your lips, you had been so afraid just a moment ago that he wanted nothing to do with you and there he was, telling you that he wanted everything to do with you. You wanted to say it back, you wanted to scream it out but he was sitting there with his big anxious doe eyes and a small, nervous smile as he awaits for your answer and suddenly all your words fail you- so you pull him in to a kiss instead.

It was sweet but not chaste, lips firmly planted against each other as you fought the urge to cry because he was so perfect and you felt more loved than you had ever felt before. Your hands clutched the sides of his face as he planted his on your shoulder blades, bringing you closer to him but never too forcefully- always giving you the option to retreat, but you never take it, and you never will.

The two of you finally part, gasping for air as he searches your eyes to gouge your reaction and finds a singular stray tear, chasing it away with a swipe of his finger.

“So, may I assume that this may be reciprocated?” He asks shyly and you laugh, the two of you laugh together with big smiles and open hearts and you assure him “Yes, Vis, I love you, I love you too. Body, mind, and soul.”

“Body, mind, and soul.” He repeats, a smile forming at his lips before he pulls you in for another kiss, the rest of the world melting away until it felt like only the two of you, like it was always meant to be.

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dear-yandere · 4 years

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[ terror eyes ]

yandere! risotto nero x reader. commissioned.

› word count: 2.8k. › warnings: consensual kidnapping, delusions, dependency, implied familial abuse, graphic gore and murder. › art credit: 39805470.

“Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.” — Kait Rokowski, Alight

he didn’t expect to feel this way. he didn’t expect to lose himself in you.

it’s the way your eyes shine when you look at him — the fleeting glances, the lasting smiles. it’s the way you say his name — the unexpected tenderness, the excitement on your face. it’s the way his heart beats wildly in your presence, the way he’s reminded of its existence. it’s the way you remind him that he is human, not the monster he’s made himself out to be.

when he looks in the mirror, he sees a void, a blackness so thick he’s afraid it will devour him whole. of all the things risotto nero does not fear, he fears himself most. and yet, when you look at him, there is hope, light, the very opposite of what stares at him from the mirror. you look at him like there’s something worth adoring, something worth loving — emotions he never imagined could be directed at him. it’s a foreign feeling, something he hasn’t felt in years. nothing short of a nuisance at first, the way your gaze would pin to him like a fan adores their idol or a disciple worships their god. being the source of admiration is nothing new to him — many a man look up to him with a mixture of awe and fear, some groveling for mercy and others joining his cause. risotto nero is accustomed to being watched, to having eyes on him from every angle and direction: from diavolo, who both trusts and distrusts him; from the capos, who look at him with awe and scorn, and from his own underlings, who both fear and revere him. risotto nero is a force to be reckoned with, and yet, the way you look at him like a lover is enough to unravel his layers, as if there was nothing to fear at all.

it’s hard not to feel naked around you, to not feel vulnerable, as if you’ll figure out his deepest desires and worst fears if you so much as tried. vulnerability is not to be shown in his line of work, even you understand this much. despite the way you look at him with such ardor, you keep distance. whether it’s out of fear or respect, he doesn’t want to find out. it’s better this way, to keep you at arm’s length; you aren’t supposed to be alive. that thought rings true in the recesses of his mind, a reminder of who you truly are, who he truly is, of how this relationship was fated for end from the start. but even he isn’t immune to selfishness and desire.

“welcome home!”

your voice holds the universe together, its stars and planets localized entirely to the house you both call home. there isn’t this urgent need to be careful around him — to feign happiness, to pretend your heart hasn’t been shattered so many times you’ve lost track of its pieces. there isn’t this urgent need to put your guard up around him, ensure it’s airtight, ensure it can take another beating. there isn’t this urgent need to be afraid around him. not anymore.

you don’t wait for a response, you never do. he never speaks without purpose, and you’ve grown accustomed to the way he wears silence like a mask. bounding up to him with a skip in your step, you attach yourself to his arm and lead him to the living room, the same conversation on your tongue as yesterday, the day before, and every day before that.

“how was work?”

a trivial question, considering his occupation; work is never good nor bad, because to him, taking life is neither good nor bad. it’s normal, it comes as easy as breathing. but for a moment, he feels the normality of it all wash over him. the catharsis that an ordinary life brings, one where he is married to a loving spouse, someone who greets him when he arrives home, someone who dotes on him at his highest and comforts him at his lowest. for a moment, you are his home, and for a moment, this is normal.

but moments are fleeting.

his heartbeat reminds him that this is real, that you are real. but there’s an ache in his chest and a longing for something else — for something more. he wonders if this happiness isn’t enough for him. if he was good, would he be capable of love? if he was good, would he be worthy of love? of your love?

how foolish... murderers aren’t meant to dream.

“i was so lonely without you, even the little metallica got bored...” you rub the smooth head of the stand, a little part of his soul perched atop your shoulder. a means to keep track of you, but you insist on treating it like a friend. as much as he pretends to find disinterest in your affection, he feels your touch vicariously through the little being and silently revels in it. “you didn’t get hurt did you?” your eyes scan his chest, searching for any visible wounds. when you find none, you look up at him with a smile that reaches your eyes. “i know you have a high pain tolerance, but i know basic first aid, and...”, you hesitate, heat dusting your cheeks like stardust. should you finish that thought? it’d not like he particularly cares for what you have to say, or so he lets on.

“and i want to be of use to you.”

he stares at you, a sense of affection flickering through his gaze. his heartbeat quickens and he searches your eyes only to find that same brilliance, that same hope worn proudly like armor. a reminder that you are blameless in all this. there are still things you don’t understand, things you couldn’t possibly understand. the true nature of his job, the truth about his past, all parts of him remain shrouded with uncertainty, parts of him that will forever remain a mystery. never does he speak of the thoughts weighing him down. you wish you could understand and he wishes he could let you, but his heart does not allow it. you are better off in the light.

“aha, forget i said anything. i was just joking...” your laugh is sardonic and forced, and yet it is still music to his ears. “but rely on me if you need anything, okay?” the question is rhetorical, you don’t expect an answer nor do you expect him to ever need your help, but you offer yourself on a silver platter nonetheless. it’s the least you can do for the man who saved you.

risotto laughs through his nose and corrects that earlier thought: you may belong in the light, but you’re better off here. he tells himself that anyways, convinces himself that what he did was for purely for your benefit. and even then that sentiment feels foreign, his behavior like a man possessed. who is he? that day he saw you, that day he killed your parents, who did he become? he’s heard that some change when they meet a lover, that they become someone else. a sick yet romantic concept, to change into someone else entirely as easily as changing clothes, as if love is enough to change the depravity of humans. tragedy and hatred was never foreign to him, the better part of his adult years spent wallowing in contempt and resentment; a shameful part of him, one he looks back on with disgust. how he used to wish that were true, that the scum who killed his cousin would seek forgiveness and repentance. but life is no fairy tale. and yet, when he met you, he became someone different, someone better.

and it still isn’t enough to make him worthy of you.

you are not red. when he met you, you were pure, untouched, unsullied by the red that surrounded you. unaffected by the red of your parents who hurt you, by the red of your family who let them, by the red of your friends who left you. despite the sea of blood you used to live in, you were anything but. anything but that wretched color, anything but the color of blood. you were his realization, his epiphany: his world has been dyed red for so long, he’d forgotten the beauty underneath.

you make him feel alive again.

“you’ll tell me if something’s wrong, won’t you?” there is no need for words, but you speak in hopes of giving assurance. you want to be his shoulder to lean on and to cry in, even if that offer will forever go untouched. but he can’t. as much as he longs for that companionship, to fall apart in your arms and let you the collect the pieces, he can’t. he doesn’t know what he needs. he doesn’t even know if he needs you.

but you need him. “if it concerns you.” his reply is blithe, far too scathing a response for a lover’s concern, but you show no signs of quarrel. this isn’t the first time he’s brushed you off, especially when this false game of house has become commonplace: go to work, come home, be greeted a woman who’d happily be your wife if you asked, rinse and repeat. “i can take care of myself.”

you nod like you always do, but he knows you’ll fuss over him come his return from work tomorrow. a familiar smile is directed at him — a display which still feels foreign — and the gentle musings of a woman smitten with love follow as you guide him to the couch with the promise of dinner being ready soon. as he seats himself, the worries of the day roll from his shoulders like rain. how you fell for a man like him is beyond his understanding. even if he did save you from a far worse fate, from a family who would sooner be your undoing than the catalyst of your betterment, he is undeserving of your love. what he sees when he looks at you is hope and misguided truth — you’re too bright for him.

“we’re running low on groceries,” you call out from the kitchen, broaching the topic carefully, scared he’ll think you’re eager to leave. in this situation, you suppose most would assume that much, but you... you want to stay here. you want to be with him, to be around him more, not just when he returns from work. you want him, and you know he wants you too if only he’d let himself indulge. “i... i know you usually pick it up yourself, but i want to come with you,” you try to explain, confidence melting away like ice under his gaze. will your words get through to him? “n...next time, i mean, if that’s okay...” you meekly clarify.

if you didn’t admire him, the way he looks at you now would make your legs buckle. his eyes have never scared you, not like he expected they would, but there’s a certain terror they inflict when he looks at you as a nuisance rather than a lover. piercing red on black, the eyes of a demon rather than a human. and yet, he is your guardian angel, the only man who’s ever saved you. you know you’re safe with him, he wouldn’t hurt you like they did. the thought has flitted through your mind from time to time, memories of your abusers’ bodies mangled and torn apart from the inside. explanations don’t come easy to risotto, so you’re still left in the dark about your own parent’s deaths. not that you cared much for their passing, you were more concerned with the nature in which they died. tiny slits had opened on all corners of their body, as if they’d been instantaneously cut from the inside. you still remember their screams, guttural like the dying wails of animals, infused with the intense smell of iron permeating the air. you want to learn more about him, to understand him, and this... this power is the best place to start. why did he save you? why does he keep you? will there come a day where he leaves you too?

“it’s dangerous.” his eyes peel away from yours and you allow yourself the luxury of relaxation. “passione is still looking for you. your parents had an outstanding debt that your disappearance alone isn’t enough to tide over.” he notices the way your shoulders slump in his peripherals. if his lies weren’t for your own good, he might have felt some semblance of regret. “things will settle down, it’s pointless to keep asking,” he adds with a tone of finality. he’s never been one for consolation, so he doesn’t dwell on the sadness that permeates your being. you’re safer here, even you realize that; you don’t put up a fight.

“i see...” you turn away, hands busying themselves with a nearly-finished dinner. the smell of a home-cooked meal imbues the air with warmth, a reminder of his childhood. how long has it been since he’s enjoyed the presence of another, a meal made by someone who loves him? even when he treats you harshly, keeping you in the dark about your own safety and the reality of your situation, it’s never held against him. the love you pour into his meals is palpable, carrying a certain sweetness even where the dish has no place for it. if he’s being honest, it’s... addicting. to feel normal again.

his earlier reasoning isn’t a complete lie, more of a... half-truth. upon learning of your home life, of how much abuse you endured at the negligent hands of parents who refuse to let you leave, he’d intended to kill you too. put you out of your misery. leaving the children of hits alive is problematic for a number of reasons, the biggest being that grief drives people to extremes. risotto has always been keen on finishing jobs thoroughly, but even he could see that something inside of you was... broken. the way you watched your parents being ripped apart, mauled by something you can’t see nor begin to comprehend... amidst the guts and gore, he wasn’t able to place an emotion to it at the time, only that it was visceral, animalistic. realization only came later: the look on your face was one of pure happiness. surrounded by the blood of your own family, you were happy, relieved, hopeful. to see them finally suffer as much as you had, to see them finally gone from your life; you were so much like him, and yet so far removed all the same.

regret is lost on him. he doesn’t regret ‘saving’ you. your parents had it coming; their presence in the underbelly of naples had become troublesome for passione, the pair even going so far as to try to escape their debt to the mafia. a last-ditch attempt akin to the behavior of animals who��ve been cornered, risotto almost felt pity upon learning of your existence. the onus of repaying their debt would have fallen on you, a tactic even he didn’t quite agree with. but passione was never known for their lenience; this was the life risotto had chosen, after all. a life of crime and of murder, a life befitting a monstrous stand like his. at some point, he’d lost all sense of sympathy for his hits, their faces replaced by that of the drunk driver who killed his cousin. that scum’s sentence was far too lenient, and risotto has seen first-hand the trouble leniency can bring.

but he felt sorry for you. coming to terms with the sudden onslaught of pity was nauseating enough, but he’d offered to hide you until things settle down. the don was enraged that you’d ‘escaped’ before risotto could finish you off, but it was easy enough to let it go: you’ll ‘turn up’ eventually, and the debt your parents owed is the back burner for the time being. and, whether or not you preferred to die at the hands of your savior, you still followed him without quarrel when he took you. under normal circumstances, perhaps it’s better to say he kidnapped you, but you’ve always insisted that he did just the opposite; he freed you. for the first time in his life, he saved someone. where he couldn't save his cousin, he could save you.

“i’ll stop asking, but... maybe we can go together one day?” you pipe up, already setting a fresh plate of food before him. a model housewife, if this had been under normal circumstances. despite your attempts to hide any sadness, you wear a blissful expression when you glance up at him, head curiously tilted with the weight of your admiration for him. when you speak, he feels your love for him in every word; when you speak, he feels like he can love again. “as a couple,” you suggest, your smile genuine.

no, he doesn’t deserve you. not in the slightest.

“...i’d like that.”

but maybe one day he will.

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pen-observing · 3 years

Text

Tall, dark, handsome stranger (Ruin)

A devoid life in high society makes you question what making a choice for a passionate life really means. A party brings Lucifer, that beautiful creature, as an answer to what you’re truly looking for.

Warnings: mentions of abuse and infidelity, Lucifer uses a fake name, reader is gn!, I legit hint at you being horn knee but try to be very poetical about it

MASTERLIST

How many years have you spent standing on side-lines? How many years have you already toyed with the concept of regret between your fingers? Some may claim that time is an illusion; a filthy thief drenched in dread – it seems like an excuse; not a justification. An excuse of the lowest kind for those who have trouble admitting that time is very much real. It’s perception, it’s effect, it’s reminders. Time reminds you just how much you are choking in this very room. Nothing but a small human; with a delicate neck, heart full of pain and a wish to live something out on your own terms.

Your wish is as grand as this very room; all golden shine and lights that could be eternal. Delicate order of decorations that scream extravagance. A royal place fitted for the higher educated. A place with such dazzling faces which just pass by without making an impression on your soul. If you dislike it so much; why are you here?

History would claim it was security. History would claim it was a privilege. You just claim it was fear that resulted in a fitting circumstance for a better life. Right now, you are married to a rich noble who, sadly, only has that to offer. It is enough to survive, not enough to fill a void inside your head; inside your soul, inside of this damned ballroom.

Was it a blessing or a curse which brought you alone to this party? Having to chat empty words with emptier minds as the music plays was torture. However, your spouse’s presence would make things even more unbearable.

As much as you want to break out, explode; turn the gold into dust – you could not bear such fleeting hope after 5 years of the same life. The same parties, the same ruin. Why should something about tonight be different? Perhaps, because you did not imagine time to play illusions on you, yet, alas, time plays along and alone.

Smooth words and fancy talking are never as interesting as hearing about a new face in such a boring crowd. Apparently, a man of black and red with enigmatic features came tonight. Nobody knows him, but - they all talk. It was only a matter of time before someone directed your attention towards him. An unimportant Madam made a casual remark about how: ‘‘All the handsome charms of this world could be in one man, but he would still be unfitting for company.’’ Why?

He was leaning against the wall opposite of you; a gloved hand holding a wine glass. Looking to the side outwardly showing distaste and unamusement for tonight’s crowd. If only you had the luxury of doing so. He was a free man while you were just a human tied to societal standards. Perhaps your eyes lingered a bit too long, perhaps time decided to play again; whatever the excuse or justification you want; your eyes met.

An invisible string of connection. Apparently, a strong pull.

When the Madame stepped away and you secluded next to a neighboring pillar; that string tugged his presence closer to you. It must have been his intention. You’ve seen his types before, why should he be more interesting than the surface? He would probably try to flirt just looking for trouble.

“It would seem that you have a strong desire to escape this place. Tell me, where would your soul rather be?”

Inside of somewhere and something that doesn’t cry of emptiness. “Instead of answering such a pointless question, I will just acknowledge that you were able to see through my joy filled act.”

Was he observing you or just naturally gifted at judging other people? His words were fancy but not without genuine interest in his tone. Did he actually care?

“If that is the case allow me to acknowledge how rude it is to ask a question without properly introducing myself. My name is Amias.”

Looking back at such an introduction now, you know you should have stayed away. Why nurture the small hope while time sings a song about how this could be the one thing you are looking for? The song is tantalizing, your soul dances along to the melodious promise.

You’ve been inside of these circles long enough to spot a dangerous man. You should have been more logical instead of surrendering to emotions. Why? For what cruel game are you dancing with him right now? For what purpose is his scent so captivating, his eyes so seductive and his touch so smooth? Why is his hand trailing down your back?

Why aren’t you worried about the higher society? Why? You are married with a vow to a noble who seems to embody goodness to everyone inside this room! Even conversing with this handsome stranger can create rumors. Dancing with him creates a scandal.

Why, why? You could have continued a historically secure life without tasting what is forbidden, would that have been so wrong?!

Wrong? No. Creating more of that emptiness? Yes.

Perhaps, you glided under gold with this man because only you know how a secure life for you means only financial stability. Your spouses’ hands are never this gentle, your spouses’ voice is never this delicate. His voice, however, is honey.

Dancing, trembling with excitement as the anticipation grows from what this man does to you; this, this was the one thing you’ve been chasing. A chance to not play it safe, to not stay on the side-lines. Something to fill the emptiness of this life which has been a void for so long.

This was a matter of choice only. Amias could give you whatever you longed for. Why wouldn’t you discretely invite him home? Why wouldn’t you give this man your body and soul while well aware about how his name itself was a lie?

His eyes are so pretty. His touch is so satisfying. You want more.

Yes. This is your choice. You choose your own suffering. It might as well have some pleasure woven into it. After all, Anna Karenina made a similar choice as well.

These strings are binding. You are not free, he is. You are tied inside an empty life chasing a spark.

If you choose ruin, why not choose the hands of a beautiful stranger to bring it to you?

What is this? This is just an idea I got months ago for which inspiration finally came! Rejoice oh thee who cares! I tried to make it appropriate. One anon recently said they were afraid of asking too many questions so I am here to officially state: ASK WHATEVER YOU WANT! Be free! Honestly I read Anna Karenina in high school and remembered her while I was thinking about this. Speaking of reading, this might be my way of procrastinating on all the assignments I have. Am I rambling? Definitely. I just hope tumblr does this fic justice with tags!

#obey me #shall we date obey me #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x mc #obey me fic #infidelity mentioned well implied well you know #Now that i think about it this could be any brother but i imagined the sleep deprived one

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forgottenvoice · 4 years

Text

Hey guys this is a one off dive into the HASO stories. I set in the the amazing universe of @starr-fall-knight-rise, although because of the extreme aspects of the story it is definitely not where they are planning on taking this universe. Consider it a possible alternate ending of their masterpiece. Also holy cow this got way longer than expected. Dont expect a sequel this one was enough of a pain.

300 years had passed since humanity joined the GA and since then there has been an uneasy peace unknown to the humans. Sure there have been conflicts such as the drev and burg war, however the scale of these pale in comparison to what humans consider total war. The humans became a natural threat in the galaxy that no species wanted to fight against. Something was bound to happen eventually although this time it came from an unexpected source.

Some humans now were alive when they showed up. The karviks, they called themselves, were an interesting race. The humans bonded with them immediately because they were the first race to have an innate curiosity about them. They asked why to everything and then went to great lengths to figure it out. Unlike other species who only cared about advancement of knowledge in things directly related to their survival, the karviks wanted to know for the sake of knowing. This made them much like the humans, the only difference is how they went about getting that knowledge. Whereas the humans would hurl themselves head long into the discovery, much to their own harm, the karviks being more fragile, deliberated and acted much more carefully. Theirs was the more sterilized version of the human drive to know.

They fit right in with the humans, and together they were able to advance galactic society 10 fold. However, as part of the karviks entrance into the GA they wanted to know about all its members. They were directed to study the races other than the humans first for simplicities sake. Eventually though, after 50ish years of being in the GA they turned their sights on the humans. It took them nearly 20 years of dedicated study to mostly figure out the intricacies of the human race and culture, and though they carried on as normal what they saw terrified them to their core. They secretly talked with other races about the nature of humans, and though they all assured the karviks that humans really were not that bad once you got to know them, there was no convincing them.

As the years went on the karviks became more and more distant. The GA assumed they would just retreat back to their home world unable to adjust to life in the GA as so many other species had. And for 10 years they lay largely forgotten. The humans were mildly annoying and upset over losing their favorite research buddies, however they eventually coped. It was during this time that we can only assume they obtained the long discarded and ancient work of a disgraced gib scientist about the god trapped within the soul of humans. This is where the galaxy took a turn for the worse.

It was an average year in the GA when suddenly contact was lost with a few exclusively human colonies. When military patrols showed up they found what was left of the colonies dieing and unable to be helped. It appeared as if a new disease had be brought against humanity. However, no suspicion was cast on anyone as disease was common among the humans. Although this appeared more lethal than anything before it there was a great cause for alarm as these two colonies traded heavily with each other and were on largely unwxplored worlds, who knew what was out there that could hurt a human.Much testing was done and thankfully it was discovered that only humans could catch it. Life carried on as normal until the next wave of contagion.

This next batch hit all the remaining outer colonies nearly simultaneously. It moved fast and killed only slightly slower. Upon examination the disease seemed to have mutated to an even more lethal form. However something was unnatural with its mutation. It suggested manual manipulation not merely the product of nature. This is when suspicion began to be cast. It was decided that for the time being everyone was a suspect. Much to the disapproval of the GA the humans enacted a universe wide recall of all humans who were not on a human colony or earth an moved all aliens off world. In what seemed almost a reinforcing move the virus began popping up on every non human world.

The work for a cure had begun in earnest at about this time and humans had cut all imports from the galaxy. The galatic economy collapse and in the ruble accusations arose. Each race was blaming the other for hostile acts against the humans and driving them from the assembly. It was all the GA could do the hold the galaxy together.

The karviks were notably quiet, and almost would have been successful in their plot against humanity if not for the luck of the humans.

In their 10 years since leaving the GA they had diverted all of their research into military power. It was something they had never done in history. Because of their nature war was an unheard of phenomenon on their planet. They had no conflict, not even minor resource struggles. They were always to busy wondering to even consider fighting, it would only hamper discovery. So when they needed to militarize they took all their inspiration from the most overkill warriors in the galaxy, humans. They had developed stealth ships that would be undetectable by humans not specifically looking for them, and they developed a super virus that would take the humans years the cure, not that they expected humans to live that long.

One fateful farmer named Jerome plinth would knowingly be one of the few reasons why humanity survived. He was working on his harvester when a large metal tube crashed down into his fields and began spewing a thick purple vapor. In his investigation he took several photos and sent them to the authorities. When investigators showed up to his property he had already passed and word was sent immediately to the UN. Around this same time a UNSC ship in orbit was conducting maintenance on their sensor package and had just started to check the system scanning all frequencies when a strange signal was intercepted. It was on a channel that had been discovered by a human-karvik research team and then classified for use only by the humans. This coupled with the unique manufacturing style on the tubes gave away the identity of the attacking party. Unfortunately this information would come to late for anyone on the inner colonies, as the karvicks warped into the orbits of all the remaining colonies at once. There was nothing left except for the shattered remains of planets struck by artificial meteors.

If there is one thing that humans are know for it is their ability to beat the odds and do the impossible. The virus that was designed in such a way as to be nearly impossible to find a cure for was cracked with the week. Revenge for the fallen can drive humans beyond what is though possible even to them. A vaccine was quickly distributed to the remaining humans, now only a quarter of what they once were. Plans for revenge moved though the upper leadership of the UNSC until a solution was found. The GA was notified of the plan however no permission was asked for, not that it would have been given. The GA was horrified by the lengths that humans would go to in war and had never seen anything so barbaric and yet elegant and poetic before. They briefly thought about trying to prevent the humans from acting but for fear of the humans turning on them decided to not interfere.

They humans prepared a final defensive fleet around earth in what appeared to be a last ditch effort against the inevitable finale assault by the karviks. When the assault came it came with a vengeance. The karvik fleet out numbered the humans at least 10 to 1. However the human fought hard, when the fighting dropped to the ground the humans deployed tactics not used since the end of their second world wars. Even with this barbarian fighting they were still losing and losing bad. Until out of nowhere the karvicks retreated. They plan had worked. Victory was won.

Unknown to the karvicks a single stealth vessel was sent to their home world. The humans inside gleefully released the canisters sending enough of the virus to wipe out 10 worlds. One of the first things done once the virus was cracked was to reverse it an make a strain 15 times worse than than released on the humans, one that spread fast and killed oh so slow, that was only compatible with the karvick. The GA watched on in horror as the humans totally eradicated the karvick race, sparing noone. They were once again for the first time in centuries reminded of the destructive power of the humans scorned.

After the war the humans cut themselves off from the galaxy, only occasionally sending messages to maintain knowledge on the GA and any scientific breakthroughs of the galaxy. The GA recovered and let the humans have their peace wanting them to cool down before once again stretching out amongst the stars.

On earth the humans were working. Under the guise of preventing another incident like they had just endured, they underwent forced evolution. The genetic code of every developing human was altered. In a single generation all genetic disease was permanently removed from humans and modifications were applied. Much of the inspiration came from the hero of a long dead video game about some destructive rings. The base human became so strong, tall, and powerful that not even the military prosthetic from the defunct steel eye suits could keep up with them. Humans also guy integrated themselves with technology, wiring a computer directly into their brain and replacing the lenses of their eyes to allow them to see in thermal, IT, and have a natural zoom mechanic. They became super soldiers, with titanium bones and a baseline strength 10 times higher than before. They decreased their reaction time to less than 10 milliseconds and and enhanced their lifespans significantly. Now the base human remained in their physical and mental prime for nearly 300 years only to rapidly degrade and die in 5. They removed the bodies ability to atrophy and develop fat deposits growing nearly 2 ft above the old average. They became the terrifying stuff or nightmare. However they elected to keep the personality of humans, never able to give up what makes them them. We dubbed ourselves the grown, and after 70 years of isolation most of the old have died out, leaving only us. Now all children are grown and it will continue this way forever. We evolved ourselves.

We sent our body modifications to the GA so they can update their records on humanity and will begin moving back into our home among the stars within the month. We look forward to having friendly duels with the drev and resuming our work with the vrul scientist soon. The tesriki can expected trade to reopened within the week. Despite the new bodies we, humanity, are still the same as we have always been in spirit and in personality. We look forward to rejoining the galaxy. We are sorry for they isolation but we needed to finish getting over a bad break up.

END TRASMISSION: HUMANITIES SPEECH REAGRDING ISOLATION AND PLANS OF REJOINING THE GALAXY

The GA members looked around the room at each other. "What...." the drev leader was the first to break the silence. None had any words after witnessing the speech. They all were thinking the same, if that is what happens when humanity is brought to its knees then it is best in future to keep them propted up.

"Do we even let them back in?" Queried one of the factions in the back of the room. "What choice do we have?" The drev leader countered.

They all continued to stare in silence and horror at the black screen before them. The unanimous agreement with the drev leader hanging in the room. It seemed best to avoid another bad break up with the humans.

#humans are crazy #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #humans are space australians #humans are space orcs

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ohmygodtheywereparabatai · 3 years

Text

Finally watched Hello Future Me’s video floating around my recommended feed, and halfway through his excellent analysis struck a spooky thought! Here’s a theory for the girl in red.

Sane at the Time of the Finale:

Azula’s Downfall Was in Spiritual Revenge

The poetic justice of Zhao drowned by the moon spirit’s other half, Ozai’s power stripped by a full-fledged Avatar... part of what makes Azula’s defeat so unique is her crumbling sense of self, an introspective enemy instead of an outside one. Katara, whose confidence and network of support are pointed out as the mirror image of what Azula could have had, finally gains the upper hand and pins her down.

From birth, the princess endures an environment that perfects and hones her nature to the shattering point. Plenty of signs point to her devolution: the betrayal of Mai and Ty Lee, getting sidelined by her own father at the literal crowning moment, and her irreversible childhood at the center of the snowball effect. But how ‘bout I do anyway, and tie in the mechanisms of the spirit world with Azula’s last moments? The connection is far from obvious, but well and present. The role of another world in weakening such an iron-fisted character visible in the first GIF itself.

I. “Taking you down is the Avatar’s destiny.”

The spirit world is one fundamental half of the Avatar. Its guidance and power are endowed to a messiah-like figure, who masters the four bending disciplines in order to restore and keep balance. It’s constantly reinforced that the Firelord is meant to be brought down by him, that a century of bloodshed is repaid when the warlord’s life is taken, and the end of his corrupt regime is the beginning of a fuller, more peaceful era.

“Aang, you must defeat the Firelord before the comet arrives.” (Roku)

“Your destiny! This is incredible. You will be involved in a great battle, an awesome conflict between the forces of good and evil.” (Aunt Wu)

“I should have seen this war coming and prevented it... But I believe you are destined to redeem me and save the world.” (Roku)

“Because I know my own destiny. Taking you down is the Avatar’s destiny.” (Zuko)

“Everyone, even my own past lives, are expecting me to end someone’s life.” (Aang)

A seemingly inconsequential detail is that the Firelord at the time of the final battle is not Ozai - it’s his daughter. By then, the title of Phoenix King is exchanged for her coronation. The nail on the head isn’t nitpicking terminology, but that Aang already suffered defeat at Azula’s hands. She herself plays a masterful and instrumental role in the war, literally her father’s will embodied. She’s there to hunt the Avatar, lead the massive drill against Ba Sing Se’s walls, orchestrate a coup, oversee the takeoff of the airship fleet, suggest the annihilation of Ba Sing Se in the first place. It’s a long time before we see Ozai at the warfront in the flesh, and even then, the damage dealt by Azula in Book Two and Book Three resonates. Keeping all this in mind, jump to Aang’s death.

“I went down! I didn’t just get hurt, did I? I was gone! But you brought me back.” (Aang, to Katara)

At the end of Book One, when a spirit is killed and revived, balance is reduced to moonless havoc, and all hell descends on the guilty party. The Avatar-slayer would be far from an exception to this counterbalance. So what we witness in “Into the Inferno” - Azula, gruesomely unmade - may just be the most brutal act of vengeance onscreen, and as a direct consequence of this:

While Aang is not directly responsible, it’s safe to assume the spirit world often acts of its own volition. Notable spirits possess harsh views on modernization, and lash out at humanity for its flaws: Wan Shi Tong’s disappearance, the ocean spirit’s wrath, the aye-aye spirit in LoK antagonizing any human presence, the Mother of Faces admonishing vanity and disrespect.

In this vein, the Avatar spirit remains a powerful source of Aang’s strength, weaved into the very outcome of greater forces such as fate and salvation. In the crystal catacombs, Azula threw a wrench into a universal narrative - for an instant, the world really was lost.

And, truth is, we’ve already watched as an entity descended from the Avatar’s power - one who Azula identifies repeatedly as her lifelong plague - haunts her to the point of systemic delusion. Ursa herself, granddaughter of Roku.

II. “You’ve turned my own mind against me...”

Time to reconcile show canon with the comics!

There’s no one who ties more into the tragedy of Azula than her mother. Hello Future Me dredges “The Search” and “Smoke and Shadow” for panels where her condition is exacerbated by fear and animosity. She’s obsessed with the idea that Ursa was pitted against her from day one, and even claims her influence strangled the loyalties of her friends and forced Ozai to “break free of her control.” The possibility of the slightest truth to Azula’s more elaborate fears raises a host of alarming implications. Especially when acknowledging her character is as sharp as a tack - a dulled edge when madness factors in, to be sure, but not negligible.

Is it logical to develop the belief that Ursa was an agent of evil in the royal court? The death of Azulon and her subsequent disappearance... It wouldn’t take long for Azula - aware of Zuko’s fate at the time, and her mother’s resignation to prevent it - to connect the dots. Ursa’s blood relation to the same Avatar that rivaled Firelord Sozin is another thorn in the side of trust. Whether Azula was aware of it or not, the strife born in Zuko, the eternally entangled red and blue dragons, exist to her biology as well. This makes it difficult to ignore a spiritual side to her illness, which draws primarily from Ursa’s “ill” intent.

Azula is also seen embracing the idea that spirits risen solely to take revenge can derail lives, legitimacy, and loyalty. The comics give us a chance to absorb the hidden subtext at face value.

The Kemurikage were born when robbed mothers abducted the children of others as punishment. Fear of the spirits crumbled the warlord Toz’s support and ended his cause. The masquerading dissenters in “Smoke and Shadow” are able to undermine Firelord Zuko’s authority, create a divide between Mai’s family and her father, and sow widespread fear. Curfew, searches, and interrogations shape the beginnings of a “ruthless” rule, eerily evocative of Azula’s much more rapid descent...

So how do Azula’s visions of Ursa, conjured unconsciously or from a little something more, and her steep debt to the world and Avatar link together - forge the ideal weapon and circumstances for retribution?

^ Just like that.

This only covers Ursa’s side of the family, the redoubling of spiritual balance after Aang’s fall like the snap of a rubber band. Azula’s complete undoing has to do with the lashing out of both families.

III. The blue dragon

Now, what was it about that first GIF?

Azula’s health begins to spiral right as she’s slated to become Firelord. Her identity is unraveled and called into question - Ursa made manifest slips through the chinks in her armor, prying at insecurities. Her inner turmoil admittedly makes her a poor candidate for ascension, and at the pinnacle of Fire Nation victory, - the crucial, final stages of the Hundred Year War - past rulers would look down on Ozai’s decision to usher her onto a seat of absolute power. Sozin’s Comet itself is an event that imbues firebenders with enhanced abilities, and it’s been theorized before that the “acting up” of royalty during the finale could be explained as such. The phenomenon may have also caused the reemergence of imperial spirits... and it isn’t too far of a fetch. More on that shortly.

It’s made clear that Azula’s destiny is far from holding royal court. The comics throw around that word, “destiny” a lot, but it’s a given signpost for any projected arc in the world of Avatar. And it ties in nicely with the will and workings of spirits.

Roping predestination with the probable dissatisfaction of the lineage, we finally have a whole picture. The combined force of an upended natural order, demanding the Avatar-slayer’s penance, and a royal bloodline destabilizing her reign in its infancy... planting mistrust and paranoia, and causing rash decisions. From a cherry pit to five minutes’ tardiness, Azula’s clarity and self-assurance are hacked away.

This is inviting the subversion that it wasn’t all in her head. That the Azula who readily accepts the Phoenix King’s declaration is rattled and isolated at best, but far from the composure that took just one afternoon to shatter. Zhao and Ozai face justice at the hands of the spiritual. The third main villain of ATLA might not have escaped due consequence either.

Finally, this scene. Azula, ensconced in blue flames. Is there any suggestion of the presence of spirits?

Azula’s fire is blue for purposes of flaunting her skill and sheer drive for perfection. The hottest temperature is blue in color, exactly her achievement. The technique isn’t bothered with because it saps extra effort, and so Azula’s signature symbol of power is hers alone. Fitting. But the fact remains: after leaving her hands, the fire quickly cools to orange. See below:

This color change isn’t seen in Azula’s throne room. The fire surrounding her is definitely detached from her body.

Now, it’s obvious why the animators didn’t suddenly decide to give the iconic blue a rest... but it’s incredibly intriguing from the imperial spirits angle. If Azula herself wasn’t keeping up the blue flame, then at the time of “Into the Inferno”, we’re staring into the faces of invisible devils on her shoulder, supplying the driving energy from the beyond. Onis whispering unseen evils down her ear that cause her, inevitably, to snap - the voices of Sozin and Azulon, a hundred sprawling generations. The cherry on the top is Ursa, descendant of the liaison between mortal and spirit that Azula personally killed, who torments her long after she’s relieved of the crown.

“Trust is for fools. Fear is the only reliable way.”

Hello Future Me describes Azula’s personality as a Machiavellian type, named after the guy who coined “It’s better to be feared than loved.” Watching her escalation unfold, it’s sad to wonder how someone as fearsome as her responds to being the recipient of that fear - when her own weapon turned on its hilt cuts too deep.

IV. End!

I think the scene above - the girl who opens with this directly after the demise of an admiral who engaged the incarnate of the tides (and swiftly lost), is a bit telling of her fate.

*To clarify, my framing of Ursa’s appearance as spookier than just a figment of Azula’s imagination - *cough* possibly the personified revenge of the Avatar spirit - is NOT meant to demonize Ursa herself! It just offers up an alternative explanation to what Azula hears and sees. Their bond is a poignant standalone, and I don’t mean to hate on the real Ursa/Noriko. Neither does any part of this discredit the impact of Azula’s childhood and history of neglect on her future.

That is all. Thank you for entertaining my theory!

#atla #avatar the last airbender #azula #atla theory #it’s 3 am no regrets

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unluckyadept · 3 years

Text

Character Journal Entry

{EASTER SUNDAY, 2021T}

The journey does not end here.

=-=-=-=-=-=

[It had been a long time since he had properly written. A very, very long time. So much had happened. It wasn’t just A long story—it was SEVERAL long stories.

But he had to at least try. Had to put in the effort, during this lull, this brief respite.]

=-=-=-=-=-=

It is something I have had to remind myself, now. More often than before.

=-=-=-=-=-=

[He had one particular person in mind as he reflected. If only he had proper time for a letter….

Maybe he could draft one as he wrote down his thoughts.]

=-=-=-=-=-=

How easily a man’s fortunes may change! It was not too long ago that I looked out to a new sunrise, a life of my own choosing.

My friends and I were well. Our families were well. Our lives were secure, and our allies were prospering. The common man could travel freely, secure in the knowledge that he need only concern himself with the {[business/matter/reason]} that drives his journey—others maintained security within the towns and across the countryside, and would maintain order and enforce justice should lawlessness prey upon him.

Everything was so secure, in fact, that I no longer held it a concern. Yes, even then, the tension was growing—and the Prideful summer season of the Colosso was a month of (what felt like torturous, at the time, before we learned what it was like when it’s even worse) hatred and disdain, and unpleasant as usual—but I was certain that with the sunrise, peace could be made possible by reaching out in joyful prosperity to the common human nature that is within all people.

It was not so long ago that all was right in our worlds, and we eagerly climbed out of the dust of mere survival and into the sunlight of true Living.

Not so long ago, indeed, that all was well for us in the world.

We had all we could ask for; health, family, friends, purpose, security, justice, fair recompense, resources, joy, peace, and—for the first time in an incredibly long time, on my part—

Hope.

It seemed, in those golden days, that against all odds—against all I’d been told, all that I’ve suffered, all that holds contempt for me, despite all my previous perpetual misfortunes, the repeated betrayals, the years of futile struggling!—against all odds, at last, all was well and we could all begin to know a life of true Joy in a happy and prosperous peace.

The years of darkness were finally behind us, and in that hour—brief as it was, and all too quickly and most painfully stolen—it was all worth it.

It had all been worth it.

To experience such true peace, surrounded by blessing, unburdened by darkness—

Oh, it was so, so worth it!

=-=-=-=-=-=

[…And then it was gone.

His heart ached as he sat in silence and sorrow, thinking back on how it started to fall apart, piece by piece.

Worse, and worse,

and worse

and worse and worse and worse and WORSE until at last, it had stuck so incredibly deep that it could only distinctly get worse if the walls continued to close in and suffocate him entirely.

It was so profoundly and inexplicably terrible that it sounded like a wild story written by an inexperienced Writer, too intent on giving suffering to the main characters that they failed to appreciate how it muddied the main plot and was too arbitrary to be realistic.

If he weren’t currently LIVING through this Purgatorial suffering, he wouldn’t believe it were even possible to be “realistic” for things to go so suddenly, so terribly, and so thoroughly wrong.

Each day was a year, now. His wretched and arduous labor was compounded by the yawning abyss that was the hopelessness of seeing no end in sight to such misery.

How quaint of poetic irony to strike him in such a way, that he was truly blind of the world as much as he was (and in fact, because he was) blind of true Hope.

Oh, he knew what it “looked” like, well enough. He knew he had once held such confidence and serenity, and that it had been worth it, to press on until his burdens were lifted. Abstractly, he did believe—within a given set of necessary requirements for it to be possible—that it could happen again.

He knew it existed. Logic dictated it was still true.

But he could no longer feel it.

Not in its true state.

=-=-=-=-=-=

What is a man’s life, to toil away, and have tyrants destroy all he worked for? How easy it is to be so burdened by suffering under hateful tyrants that such a mindset drains the will to live.

Even I ask myself this, in my own iteration.

For mine is a terrible fate, a burden one would not wish on any man. And indeed, my whole life has been filled with sorrow and pain. All my joy has been fleeting in comparison. And it seems to me now, in this hour, as our enemies close in on us once more… that what little good I have managed to do will be meaningless. Soon to be forgotten, even sooner to be lied about, and already been robbed of any credit for what people DO acknowledge as positive.

But there was something that a good friend said, shortly before I lost

=-=-=-=-=-=

[He stopped there, feeling the terrible weight on his chest—from all the tension, all the strain— making it hard to breathe.

And he clenched his jaw, trying to fight off the inclination to be overcome by the raw pain that still ran deep.

For this was the message he was getting at, after all, wasn’t it?

And yet a single tear still managed to escape and mar his face, betraying the lonely sorrow that persisted despite an adult appreciation of reality and a mature acceptance of the inevitability.

Taking a moment to close his eyes and let it pass, he took in a deep breath and let out a sigh before he continued.]

=-=-=-=-=-=

It is not Man’s fate to have to rely on the whims of the world to determine whether or not existence will have meaning.

The journey does not end with losing everything over time, until at last, even the connection to this world is permanently severed.

It does not end in sorrow, in loss, in suffering, in misery, having long forgotten even starlight in the grim darkness of years without a sunrise.

=-=-=-=-=-=

[And his heart was less burdened now, reminding himself of this fact.]

=-=-=-=-=-=

Did not our ancestors toil away in thankless drudgery, generation after generation, subject to the greed of entitled ignorance, before we ever came to know those moments of prosperity and peace?

If we endure, if we stay true, then if nothing else, those who come after shall benefit from the good we have done and the foundations we placed—even if it had been torn asunder again and again, still, able to pick up the pieces—and build the world we wish to see.

And so we must remain strong, we must continue, for it is a certainty that there is good in all people, and it is never too late for the true repentance of past evils to contribute to a genuine reconciliation and peace.

For how many could honestly say that there is naught in their life that they regretted so deeply, so truly, that they were moved to become a better person? When we learn from our mistakes and desire to do better—to do good—then we do indeed turn aside from the darkness and work to build a better future.

How, then, can we say so readily that it is impossible for others to do the same? Are we not all equal?

We are not identical, but that is not necessary to be equal in dignity.

Therefore, let us resist the despair that “they” will never change, and are dead set on hatred and misery.

It is writ upon every heart this indelible truth: just as we know our hopes, dreams, dramas, sorrows, anguish, labors, friendships, enmities, joys, and rewards of time and effort…

…so does every human soul. I refuse to accept the notion that judgment must be made upon entire groups for the sins of individuals. And it is unfounded, cruel, unjust, and bafflingly pointless to treat people poorly for the sins—real or imagined or generalized—of their ancestors, let alone the ancestors of people who are judged to be similar in appearance.

So too do I reject the notion that it is impossible for things to change.

Everything is impossible if no one puts forth the effort to make any given “impossibility” a reality.

Such true Joy and Hope as I had known was indeed a prosperity such as been admired in ancient ballad and inherited dream.

If I had known it then, against all odds, having healed from the wounds and sickliness of years of suffering—

If I did indeed live long enough to Live, however briefly, then might it not be possible again?

The journey does not end here, my friends.

This is not the end.

Darkness does not have the final say—nor is anyone barred from true change, such as drives one to grow strong, work hard, and do good in this world.

For it is not indeed about whether we knew luxury, in the end of this life. Nay, rather, what lingers, what is carried over, is this—

We live to build the world around us. Each labor we undertake that adheres to the paths of virtue provides the resources used to build a better world. As we continue down this road along the shoreline, yearning for those who have already taken the road to dawn, we know this—

The good others have done for us has brightened our lives and brought us higher out of the darkness and into the sunlight, and has had meaning.

So, too, do our good deeds impact others.

The journey does not end here, my friends…

This is where it BEGINS.

—Felix

#cje #still relevant

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lunarzs · 3 years

Text

Autumn

August is taking her last breaths.

Autumn will arrive, soon enough.

She's one cruel mistress, Autumn. She's beautiful, as she walks across the streets, giggling softly as her hair flows in the air. She's light, drifting like the breeze she breathes, jumping on tree branches, as they shake beneath her weight. She smiles sharply, even chuckling, as she watches humans walk by, passing by her in streets but never seeing her. Foolish of them, she thinks. She's merciful enough, however, as she blows softly on their ears, sending the cool chill down their spines. She shrugs as they wear warmer clothes the next day.

Humans may not, but every other creature sees her. And they run from her. Her honey-colored eyes aren't so sweet, maybe. Her fluffy lashes brush against her cheeks as she smiles at birds sitting on trees. When they see her smile, they flee. Farther and farther, until the ends of the Earth, they run from her. She always catches them, in this little game of theirs. Years upon years, too many to count, and she's always the sole winner. The birds gather families and food and hide or flee, shivering as setting sun shines on her pale skin. 'She's so much like her sister', they whisper. 'Winter, cold and cruel, will follow after her', they scream.

Autumn in not like her sister, though. Far from her. Winter doesn't bother with games, or being merciful, or even smiles. She's straightforward, and she never plays games. Autumn loves games. She loves puddles and storms and crunching leaves. She runs around, touching every single leaf, giggling as proud creations of Spring wither, tremble and fall.

At first, Autumn likes to chase Summer away. Summer must be nice, she supposes. For some, at least. People go to beaches and the seaside, enjoying the summer sun kissing their skins and turn them tan. Autumn loves to mess that up. She runs on the edge of the sea, as water rises and falls. Her breeze turns into blowing wind, annoying the waves. Water tries to fight her, and she plays back. Sea slaps on the shore, and sky darkens. Summer sun is too bright for Autumn anyway. Such tasteless move, the blinding light. Autumn loves poetic, much like Spring. But Spring sings with flowers and birds, and Autumn sings with whistling wind and golden sun. Suddenly, beach and sand and cold drinks aren't that interesting anymore. Autumn cackles. Humans and their fleeting interests, changing like the weather. It's truly hilarious.

Golden and warm, Autumn loves them. She thinks it's beautiful, the contrast. Wind blows, cold, like the touch of a ghost, as Autumn paints the world her own colors, warm, like the dying breath of the sun. Green turns into yellow and red, and the sky weeps as Autumn jumps into the puddles rain creates. Children are her favourite. They understand the beauty of her work. The run on fallen leaves like small wizards who have conquered the world. Too bad they forget their magic once they grow old.

Sometimes, Autumn comes across people who she has once laughed with as they raced through the falling leaves. Once young and free, but now with hairs gray and skins ashen. She leans on windowsills and watches with a smirk, sometimes, as the aged legs barely stand without shaking. She feels no pity or sadness, oh no. She brings death to nature, everywhere and everyday. She enjoys watching lives end, not because she's cruel or malicious, but because that's how nature is. The coin always has another side to it, and whenever life is made, it shall end one day. She just finds it interesting, how the clueless, foolish child running around on corpses of leaves, never notices that hands of Autumn will touch their skin one day as well.

Autumn laughed with them as the ran on leaves. She still laughs as they put them in grave. If humans are foolish enough to forget about the one thing that makes their lives worth living, she's not to be blamed for it. If they don't laugh as she blows past their windows, she doesn't care. There are still children running on leaves and jumping in puddles to have fun with.

Autumn is a bit dramatic, one would say. She doesn't disagree, although she adds drama only where it's needed. She thinks death is poetic, therefore she colors it as it fits, sings to it through the wind, and watches as it grows more beautiful around her, as dead leaves set the earth on a silent fire. Death is poetic. When children go to school around the time she arrives, she sits down and listens through the dampening windows, at the stories they tell. And oh, beautiful they are.

She hears about how Achilles lost his companion and footing, how Icarus burned and fell at Apollo's feet, how Paris and Helene brought passion to make history, how Romeo and Juliet's blood painted the earth as red as their love, how Heathcliff died in Catherine's room with a poisoned heart, so on and on and on. War, hurting, pain, death. All born from something seemingly so beautiful and pure called love.

Autumn watches humans put a love they cannot find on a pedestal. She watches them sigh at the thought, but they never find it, as they are never willing to go through the pain for it. She watches as they run from the rain, ignoring leaves on the earth, ignoring birds flying away, ignoring the wind blowing past them. Anyone rarely, if ever, stops. Someone rarely would stop and look at the sky, look Autumn in the eyes, and she smiles at them. She wonders if they can see her. They probably can. They're probably the ones who taste true love, she thinks.

Because love is death. Autumn is death. Therefore, Autumn is love.

And sometimes, she slips through an open window. Inside, someone might be sitting on a chair, wrapped in a blanket, book in one hand, and a mug of steaming liquid in another. She watches them calmly, as her wind blows and her rain falls, chilling the room, but the person engrossed in an illusionary world seems to radiate warmth. She likes the ones who dream. They fly higher than every bird, never fleeting, but soaring.

She sometimes stays, and sometimes leaves, closing their window in good manners. She laughs as they jump, startled by the sound. Humans, so weak and so fun. She likes them sometimes.

But for now, she slowly walks the sky. So glassy blue, bright and warm. She thinks of Summer, running around and spreading warmth, gathering what she's left around as she feels Autumn approach. Autumn smiles, honey-colored eyes gleaming, golden and silvery hair brushing softly in the wind.

She doesn't have to wait long, now.

#autumn #fall #august #writing #winter #spring #season #short story #my writing

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cognitivefunk · 4 years

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Misery Loves Company

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Characters: Dazai x MC Rating: T Warnings: Suicide mention, angst, alcohol Word Count: 2,567

Invariably, the dark is drawn to innocence. Such purity comes along, shining brilliantly, almost too bright to gaze upon in the vast sea of ugliness. But just as vibrantly as it shines, it is mournfully temporary in this diseased world. There are those more capable than others of masking the true nature that hides beneath the surface. The nature that bubbles and seethes, corrupting and tainting the heart and the mind with its poison, always inches away from coming straight to the surface.

In essence, it’s like cramming a puzzle piece into place. But when it doesn’t belong to the same set of pieces, it only creates the illusion of assimilation. In truth, to show the ugliness of one’s heart is the quickest method of ousting one’s self. The outcast, the other. It’s best to smile and pretend that all is well in the end, for the comfort of others. Because inside is where the weakness lies. The weakness that cannot bear the burden of being seen for what it is. It’s frail, and it’s vulnerable. But it is also passionately destructive.

A drink to chase away the demons, sleepless nights of cold sweat and shame. It’s a filthy cycle, he would be the first to admit it, but it is a cycle nevertheless. A cycle he found himself in time and time again. Sip by sip, his thoughts become muddied, a temporary peace to lay the demons at rest. The burn of the liquor on his throat was a reminder of his sin. In the morning, it would be followed with the ardent sorrow that consumed every inch of him. He didn’t deserve the escape, but he was a coward. The guilt was cumulative, and he wondered how much his body and mind could take at times. To die would be a blessing.

To live was a perpetual curse. Moments of fleeting happiness weighed heavy on his heart. At times he still yearned for the chance to feel human. Albeit, maybe it was very fitting to cast his humanity aside when Comte came to him that fateful night. He had never felt human to begin with. A grim smile splayed across his face, as he cradled his head in his hands. To become a monster, is truly poetic. In life he was a leech on the misplaced trust of others. Sweet words, empty promises… He never could follow through. He laughed to himself, a hollow sort of laugh that went through the motion with no semblance of joy to be found. He couldn’t even manage a successful suicide. The last time should have been the last. But then how would he atone? As if his existence could ever be atonement. Thus, for him to live off the life essence of others, made sense to him. He had always done so…

He sighed, unnatural golden eyes lifting toward the window at the sound of pelting rain. He sat there, listless, watching as the water streaked down the windowpane. He envied the water, flowing freely, but it also made the ache in his heart squeeze harder. His limbs felt heavy, and his chest felt tight, but he pushed himself up from his desk to push the window open, to feel the cool droplets kiss his skin. He shuddered at the coldness of the rain and slowly lifted himself out the window. The rain was the only sound outside; it was an otherwise abysmally quiet night. He wandered aimlessly to the garden. The hydrangeas had not yet blossomed yet, but it was fitting. He wasn’t sure if he should be allowed the comfort of their beauty, but he was drawn to them as a sort of lonesome comfort nevertheless.

His body sunk down onto the wet ground, his eyes fixed up at the rain. Each drop that hit his skin reminded him of his existence. He was tangled in the thoughts of wanting to become one with the rain and just wash away, and wanting to face his sins head on and become a better man. He doubted himself capable of the latter. He felt the sting of tears welling in his eyes and he bit them back, closing his eyes and falling back against the paved walkway. He wanted to stay like that for a little while. Just slip into his drunken stupor and float away. That’s it, just float. Don’t think about existing.

With innocence comes ignorance. You had been finishing up with the dishes when you saw movement outside the expansive windows near the dining hall. You almost thought you’d seen a ghost, so you continued on with your work, but something was tugging at your mind to go check. You dried your pruned fingers on the dishtowel before skirting off to your room to grab a sweater and your umbrella. It was raining hard outside, and you didn’t think you would be able to sleep until you determined the source of the “ghost” you had seen.

Your throat felt tight as you swallowed nervously, it was darker than you had realized and you thought about turning back when you saw what looked like a body lying near the garden. For a moment, you wondered if you should go back inside and alert one of the other residents. Your heart quickened in your chest, your thoughts solidifying the ghost theory, but you fought back the fear and inched closer slowly. “Hello?” your voice was dampened by the falling rain, and you hoped the body would move to show you that it wasn’t a corpse. Dazai did not move. He tightened his eyes and furrowed his brow, his solitude intruded on. He was in no condition to wear the mask of the clown, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want you to see him like this. Maybe if I don’t move, she’ll go away.

There was a permeating uneasiness in the air and you decided to try again, “Are you alright?” As you approached the drenched figure his frame came into sight, almost hidden among the budding bushes. “Dazai!” you exclaimed, nearly dropping your umbrella as you ran over to him, dropping to your knees to check on the man. He took a deep breath in, gathering himself before he smiled and opened his eyes. “Toshiko-san, you shouldn’t play outside in the rain, you’ll catch a cold.”

He managed to keep his voice level, but it was quiet and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. You could smell the gin on his breath and you frowned, aiming the umbrella over his face to shield him from the rain. “I could say the same thing about you, it’s cold out tonight, you should go back inside…” Your worry only made the ache in his chest press deeper. Who was he to you for you to show him such unabashed kindness? Or were you like that with everyone? A frown seeped into his façade and he lifted a hand to cup your cheek. It felt cold and slick, leaving an almost slimy sensation but you didn’t flinch.

“Yoshiko-san…you’re too defenseless,” there was an unmistakable sadness in his voice, it was dark and vast, and you could have sworn you were glimpsing into oblivion in that moment. “Go back inside; I just want to be alone for a while.” The corners of his eyes looked wet, but you couldn’t be certain if it was from the rain. For his sake, you would believe it was the rain. You felt like there was a boulder in your stomach, and it twisted your guts as you shook your head.

“I’ll go in if you get out of the rain. I won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re out here,” you tried to reason with him. Your soft hands reached out to pull his Taisho-style kimono closer to his chest and he grabbed your hand, causing you to pause. He didn’t move, and just stayed there like that, staring at your hand and feeling it under his grasp. Your hands were so small, and they were still pruned from washing the dishes. “If you reach for a falling man, he will drag you down with him.”

You wanted to tremble from the cold but you battled against the sensation, not wanting him to think you were shivering because of him. It was from the cold, from the sadness of the situation, but you didn’t want him to think you were afraid of him. You wished you could pull him out of his own head and embrace him in comfort. He was so cold. Even for a vampire, it couldn’t be good for him. “Then I’ll sit here in silence until you’re ready to go in.” You weren’t going to budge. Not when you could see the condition he was in. You wanted to show that you were there to console him.

His eyes were swimming so he shut them again, lifting a heavy hand to cover his face, wanting to just disappear into the ground beneath him. He still hadn’t let go of your hand, and he wasn’t sure if he was seeking your warmth or just wanted to hold onto something so he wouldn’t disappear. I’m a despicable man…

The smell of you was wet with rain, and the heat of your blood was beckoning. He frowned again, groaning against his hand as he let go of yours. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the rain, but he was feeling weak against your tempting light. “You really are too defenseless…” he meant for his words to sound more warning, to have malice to scare you away from him. But they just sounded empty. Empty.

Defeated, he moved his body against his will and sat up, sighing as he faced you. “Will you leave me alone if I go inside?” he asked, searching your face for a sign. What was he searching for? For affirmation? You watched him for a moment, unsure if you should really leave him alone. Your heart was reaching for his. You didn’t realize he had gotten so close until you felt his breath on your lips. His hand was resting on your thigh, as he leaned closer to you.

“If you don’t leave now, I’ll kiss you.” He said it like it was a threat. How could his kiss ever be a threat? Your expression turned confused, and it was that very expression which sealed his decision to claim your lips with his. You could taste the gin on his lips, and he kissed you as though he wanted to engulf you with him. His tongue slipped between your lips and you didn’t fight him when he deepened the kiss, his hands drifting up to cradle your face against his.

He released you, his breaths coming out in puffs. You hadn’t realized you dropped your umbrella until you felt the cold water running down your face, waking you from the trance you were in. Dazai was standing beside you, offering his hand to help you up. He had already grabbed the umbrella, and you shakily took his hand and he helped to pull you to your feet. He was silent as he started to walk back toward the mansion, turning only to make sure you were still under the umbrella and following him. The tension in the air was thick, and you weren’t sure if you should say anything. It was an uncomfortable silence.

When you came to the door, you were the one who ended up opening it, wanting to see him enter the building. He watched you, an unreadable expression crossing his features before masking it over with a placid smile. “After you, Umeko-san” he placed his hand above your head on the door, holding it open as he ushered you inside. He shook the umbrella before closing it, leaving it lean against the entrance of the hall to dry. “I’ll walk you to your room,” you offered and his expression tensed again. He didn’t say no, so you figured it was alright to walk him to his door.

The walk to his room was just as awkward as the walk to the mansion, and you wished you could think of something to say to cut the tension. The both of you stood outside his door and while his hand reached for the handle to go inside, he paused, and glanced back at you. “Goodnight, Kimiko-san”

“Dazai…it’s __” your voice cracked slightly and his expression fell, both in surprise and regret. Normally you let him call you whatever he felt like, but it especially stung after he had stolen that kiss out in the garden. For some reason it made you feel unwanted and a rush of your own painful memories threatened to surface. Dazai played the fool, but he was observant and clever. He could see something flash across your face, and the tears from before threatened to spring back anew.

They say misery loves company. He breathed deeply, “__-san” your name left his lips as a whisper, but it blossomed in your heart and you met his gaze with your own, the familiar desire to be wanted, to be acknowledged written across your face. I am a truly despicable man…

He pressed you against the wall, his nose trailing along your jaw as he breathed in the scent of you. He could taste sorrow on the air, and it reached inside of him, pulling him to you. He wanted to pull back before it was too late. His lips trailed the side of your cheek until they found solace in your lips again. He pressed against the kiss, groaning quietly into your mouth. You felt his tongue against yours once more and it made you shiver. You wrapped your arms around his neck, a silent declaration that his kiss was welcome. When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen from his kiss, and his eyes were darkened with lust.

He pulled back; his eyes seemed to glow with fervor as he examined your face closely. “Oyasumi, ___-chan” There was something tender in his voice and he gently removed your arms from his neck. He wanted to walk you back to your room, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he found himself outside your room right now. He pushed the handle down and opened his door, turning to say one last thing before he exited to his room for the night. “I can’t do this to you, not tonight. Not like this,” he murmured quietly. He was still intoxicated, both on the alcohol and on his own melancholy. He didn’t want to taint you like this. He had to show some restraint for his own sake. Selfish as though it may be.

You cleared your throat and fixed your mussed hair, nodding in response. “Of course…goodnight, Dazai-san” you offered a small smile of your own, for his sake. You were glad to see him retreat back to his room instead of lying outside for the night. As you left for your own room, he leaned against the door of his from the inside, slumping against it until he sank to the floor. He sighed and cradled his head into his hands once more. It ached for now, but tomorrow he would pretend nothing had happened. For her sake.

#usagiwrites #fanfiction #ikemen vampire #osamu dazai #dazai #ikemen dazai #hurt fic #angst #I couldn't make this into sexy time #it didn't feel right #and I wanted to wallow in angst for a bit

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blistering-typhoons · 4 years

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Charcoal｜A Disney Headcanon

I've been agonizing for weeks as I wanted to write something for two of my favourite Disney villains (Clayton & Shere Khan) and couldn't figure out what, until my brain was like- why not combine them?

So here we are, just a little headcanon of a time where these two might have run into eachother!

Warning(s): general bad guy behaviour and mentioned off-screen death

Clayton is used to the heat, the wet that clings to every fiber of his body and drips from his hair. He knows what it's like to sit for hours on end, perfectly still in the sweltering atmosphere.

If he were poetically inclined (not until several glasses of port and his own company he's not), he'd say you could almost melt into the jungle. Suck the shade from the glistening bark and obnoxious palm leaves fanned out above.

He's never done well in desert.

But most of all, he's used to things going his way. There's not much to complain about when giving a relatively dry perch and a gun to croon over.

But things, as they tend to do, do go wrong.

For all his familiarity in the jungle, he's never been comfortable with it. And the canopies of India are nothing to trifle with, especially not with a half blunt machete and a quarter of his supplies, which were now bottle of whiskey (bloody awful); his gun slung around his shoulder, over his chest and finally a box of sodden matches

He spares a fleeting moment of disgusted sympathy for whomever finds the bodies of his co-explorers.

Clayton grits his teeth sharply, irritatedly smoothing a palm over his rapidly dishevelling hair. His forehead slicks with sweat and dirt, coated in a layer of shredded plant.

With a subdued grunt he swings the blade through a weak gathering of vines, trampling them beneath his boots as they fall tattered to the ground.

He swears, dignified, under his breath as another veritable horde of mosquitos buzz past him.

He stills.

Lastly, Clayton is a hunter.

The jungle creaks and hums around him, plants swishing from his abusive stampede. His mind twitches, nerves convulsing every noise.

Something is slinking around him, soft and infinitely dangerous. He breathes softly out of his nose, free hand laying a steadying hand on the strap of his rifle.

Muscles flex as he lowers himself to the ground, tensing as he keeps his guard locked and focused.

With care he lays down the machete, and slips the strap off and the gun into his hands. It feels safe and comforting, tainted with burning sweat and gripped quietly.

A distant animal calls out, too distant for Clayton to be startled.

His prey rustles around him.

''Come on, show yourself.'', he whispers with no breath, barely uttering the taunt.

It does.

Clayton is, by nature, a loud man. Almost wild, reckless, arrogant and yet cool in his ambitions and merciless glories.

Clayton is also not stupid.

The tiger that prowls into view is stunning. Deep orange accentuated with sharp, almost angry black and settled with white. The cat's muscles coil and bunch undearneath that beautiful coat, effortlessly dangerous.

Clayton would have shot it by now, sparing only a moment's panic. If he was feeling good, he might have even skinned it.

But the way it looks at him, and Clayton knows it's looking at him, suggests something far more terrifying than a pair of sharp claws and a shredding grin.

Intelligence.

Something flickers in Clayton's gut, but he doesn't falter. Not even as he aims his gun at the beast.

It looks almost bored, but Clayton isn't fooled for a second. Those black, glittering eyes issue a challenge.

Go on then, do your worst.

And then Clayton sees it. A flaw in the otherwise perfect machine of nature stalking his every movement. A flaw that can't even be hidden, but did take a moment's notice to find.

Burns.

Etched near the right eye and marrowing the cheek, gnarled and subtle.

Clayton chuckles deeply.

''Fire.'', he drawls, pleased.

The tiger betrays nothing, but Clayton feels he's been understood. So laying his heart bare, he lowers the rifle and sets it to the floor.

''Bit of an impasse, chap? Could be awfully inconvenient for either of us if we went at this full-cocked. Perhaps I'll introduce a dealbreaker. Something to even the ground, eh?'', he says, mostly to hurry his hand movements.

Something low and primal is drawn from the animal, seemingly from the quivering belly of the creature.

It's rage, bottled and presented to human senses.

That's good.

Clayton can handle rage.

Fire with fire, and all that.

#Disney #Tarzan #The Jungle Book #Clayton #Shere Khan #Disney Fanfiction #Headcanon #I'm very proud of this #And the cover

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zakthefiend · 4 years

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My Eldar Headcanons

(BEFORE YOU READ THIS, KNOW I’M RELATIVELY NEW TO THE HOBBY AND HAVE ONLY RECENTLY BEGUN READING THE BOOKS AND CODEX. These are just some silly thoughts I had on the enigmatic but prideful race of space elves in 40k. All five factions!)

Aeldari as a whole:

There’s no LGBT organization since there never was a need for one. Due to the extended lifespans and being practically the oldest continuing race(besides necrons and orkz), they pretty much don’t care about sexuality. Gay, straight, bi, pan, ace, doesn’t matter to them one bit!

This also includes genders identification. They live for over a millennia, they have the time to not care about something that really isn’t bothersome.

Martial arts and duels are the most popular past time for any Aeldari. The sight of weapons clashing and fists flying has been a favored past time for them.

Philosophy and deep thinking is an natural quality they all share. You will not find a race better at poetic thought than the Aeldari.

The pride they still cling too is not unfounded. They are still the only ones to have wraithbone technology, they are the most psychically powerful species, have mastered the art of war beyond Millennia, and had the entire galaxy in the palms of their hands. They also still hold influence for a majority of the webway.

Ynnari are both a blessing and a curse to the eyes of the elves. One hand, they could lead them to a new era of salvation. Other hand, doom their species to complete and utter destruction. It’s a gamble, and this species is very adamant of taking any anymore.

Asuryani(Craftworld Eldar):

Not one Craftworld is the same as the other. Sure the core idea of Asuryani are the same, but years drifting in the void has added much more different traditions and practices. Biel-Tan, the most militaristic of the Craftworlds, probably have a heavy support to the military and has the most willing fighters in the Craftworld. Saim-hann meanwhile, probably prefer to race and show off their speed however way they can.

There are still festivities and celebrations on the Craftworlds, their just not as big as grand as say a Drukhari party. To avoid Slaanesh, excess in anything is restrained as possible, and you can enjoy yourself as long as you don’t have TOO much fun. They try to find the balance between the two, but end up constricting it’s people to tightly.

Those who follow the path of a warrior are treated similarly to celebrities. This has caused many who want fame and recognition to go down the paths. You can imagine how much they change after actually going through with it. These same new bloods are given another chance to leave. They don’t allow those simply seeking fame and admiration instead of duty.

When Asuryani want to have sex, they have a special circlet that dampens the psychic presence they have to Tau levels of existence. It takes time to get used to, so it’s more common for insemination to be used instead. Still, the child cannot be brought in until the spirit stone has been prepared.

Minor Craftworlds(Craftworlds half the size of average Craftworlds) are much more likely to be raided, attacked, or pillaged. Those same ones are found going through the Webway more, escorted by Corsairs, or cutting deals with the Imperium than the usual ones. Don’t be fooled! They are still powerful vessels that would require some serious firepower to take out!

Asuryani are the most adamant on joining Yvrainne and her crusade. They’re goal is to survive, and joining the Ynnari is something they just risk. Only the exodites are more refusing.

Drukhari(Dark Eldar):

You know Victorian England? That’s the Drukhari. Except add metal music too. They believe in being the most upstanding individual in the most blatantly corrupt society. By being the absolute worst individuals imaginable.

Bondage resembling the movie hellraiser in public? Sure! Holding hands and showing affections? SCANDALOUS!

They are the true remnants of the Aeldari empire. Despite your opinion, they are the ones with the most technology from their empire, they were a legitimate faction in the empire, and they still follow customs from the empire. Since they are the ones that remember the customs(their cult customs) had done.

A kabal, coven, and cult will support each other just as much as they are willing to try and kill each other. They can’t outright since each faction has something that is incredibly precious to the Drukhari. Coven: Biological and Scientific manipulation, Cults: Entertainment and scout knowledge(A wych cult were the first to discover the Tyranids for the Drukhari), and Kabals: Military and order.

Cults, Kabals, and Covens bring in slaves but never the same type. Wyches will take as many type of species as they can, Kabals LOVE to take high ranking individuals to play with, and Covens will find the strongest just to fuck with.

They still believe in their gods, but not as much as the others might. Khaine being popular with the wyches, but the others tend to do their own things instead of listening or wasting time on serving a dead god.

Nobles still exist, but their power and influence have diminished almost entirely. Very few even retain some aspects of their previous power.

Despite the daemonic incursions, infighting, chaos warbands, imperial might, and Tyranid invasions, the Drukhari are the most likely to outlast the other Eldars.

Corsairs(Pirate Eldar):

The most likely type of eldar to meet. As well as the most honest of their kin, since as long as you don’t cross them you’ll be fine. Human relationships are better... but only as much as you can expect from the xenophobic Imperium.

They have seen the most of the galaxy, and yet, they have barely found the entirety of the galaxy’s secrets.

They were the first Eldars to discover the Tyranids that enter the galaxy, but it was only in hushed whispers and rumors. Originally just some species of space whales or a new kind of daemon than what the galaxy will soon learn.

They are by fat, the best fliers and maneuvers in the galaxy. No other species can match their speed and agility as they fly across the stars. You need to get to somewhere quickly and safely? Get a corsair!

They are the bulk of Yvraine’s fleet and soldiers. After all, everything is coming to the end... why not go out swinging?

Adventurers, pirates, mercenaries, their whatever they need to be when it comes to the job. Mon’keigh, Tau, Asuryani, even Drukhari, if there’s adventure and excitement(and a bit of coin never hurt anyone), they’ll be sure to do it!

Exodites(Tribal Eldar):

The only level of tech their willing to go to is basic black powder. No steampunk or western style eldar, Your more likely to find Neolithic to Medieval Exodites with them.

Everything is done with the bare minimum and done quietly to avoid the humans from discovering them. They’ve adapted to their own worlds, such as traveling silently by trees in dense forests or moving under the sands in dune worlds.

They do keep an advanced transmitter so to get help from a Craftworld or a passing by Corsair fleet if the world is too far gone to be habitable or they’ve been incredibly compromised. Look to what Vulkan did to the last Exodites on a planet for a better understanding...

Hit and run tactics, guerrilla warfare, scouting, and guides through death worlds, Exodites are widely used by other Aeldari in search through forgotten ruins or lost cities all decayed to almost dust. They avoid them as they were what brought their fall, and will allow the others to repeat the same lesson that they clearly haven’t learned.

Some have dinosaurs, others have large birds of prey, kraken sized squids, and pretty much any other beast of burden to aid them. Dinosaurs are just more well known because every species can agree that dinos are cool.

Harlequin(Clown Eldar):

When you see one running, probably best to run with that one. They’re never too far from showing a performance or from danger either! Expect a surprise no matter what the outcome!

The only eldar that are given passage anywhere due to how strange yet entrancing they are. Their arrival means a play will begin! However, what play that will be, entertainment or for bloodshed, is only found out too late. Be weary around them!

They speak in rhymes and poetry. This also includes anecdotes, haiku, hand gestures, charades(really good at those), or with tarot cards. The meaning being shrouded by mystery that only few have managed to figure out BEFORE it was executed...

If you haven’t guessed yet, they’re the most mysterious of the eldars. WHICH IS SAYING SOMETHING WITH ALL THIS SHROUDED MYSTERY FOR THEIR ENTIRE RACE! Sorry, got my gripe at how much more lore there is for Space Marines than... well anyone else really. To the topic! It is said they also reside in the webways like the Drukhari, but in more remote regions that not even they know!

The most flexible species in the galaxy. While much can be thanked by the gravity belt around their waist, they can still bend and flex in ways that could break your mind! Great for distractions, no denial there!

Their also the best dancers, play performers, artists, story tellers, and the most colorfully dressed Eldars as well! They could do an entire play of the Horus Heresy to PERFECT detail, but choose not to since humans wouldn’t like the thought of their god being a massive dick. They also purposely screw up a part in a play so not to give Slaanesh power from their performance. Only their god, Cegorach, may have their energy.

#eldar #Craftworld #dark eldar #drukhari #corsair #corsairs #exodite #harlequin #aeldari #space elves #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000

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alxndre-0001 · 4 years

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Black Mirror Episode Impressions

So I got into watching the series a little before classes begun and here are some thoughts:

Warning: If you don’t like a non-rainbow image of people,then do not proceed.

THE NATIONAL ANTHEM

Fascination over other people’s misery

Aka social voyeurism, our tendency to find satisfaction in other people’s scandal. I feel like the sex with the pig wasn’t the voyeuristic act itself, it is a stand-in for something far more insidious and cruel, our tendency to fascinate over the humiliation of other people.

On how public opinion shapes political and personal events

Note how PM Callow was forced to fuck the pig not because of any apparent security reasons to save the princess but it was ultimately the social pressure, which changed overwhelmingly after the finger was cut, that drove him on. The social pressure which was misinformed since the netizens who clamored for it did not really understand the problem behind closed lines. They merely relied on media which was twisted to cater to sensationalism and people’s natural love for anything scandalous. In effect, PM Callow fucked the pig.

But it wasn’t only that event which was shaped by public opinion, I think the suicide of the artist/ kidnapper was also egged on by public opinion that is if we assume that he did all of that to prove a point, like a social experiment that people will forget about the kidnapping if they are presented with something as horrendous as fucking a pig. His point having been proven, his predictions were confirmed that people are truly fucking terrible. And it depressed him so bad enough to kill himself. But this theory backfires if we assume that he planned everything out and knew what was going to happen down to the very last detail. The other reason for his suicide, for me, and which I think is more far fetched is that upon seeing the pig fucking on the telly, he actually participated in the hypocrisy of the masses which he dared to expose. The artist, if I remember correctly, actually sat and watched Callow as he fucked the pig, if he did know his plan was going to work anyway, why sit and revel in the disgusting horrowshow? Perhaps he found himself fascinated by the scandal as well? I don’t know but the artist’s suicide is the most baffling angle in the episode for me.

Public opinion causes movement both on a social and personal scale.

Our words have an impact to shape reality, if Callow was not pressured to fuck the pig, he wouldn’t have had. But one cut finger later, and the tides of the masses changed.

But there is also an interesting angle about the performance art of the artist. If the whole pig fucking thing was meant to be taken as an art work, then the artist’s statement makes a lot of sense. Often in art, even in literature, art works with controversial value (think Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, Egon Schiele’s artworks, Balthus with Therese, Dreaming) often become sensational because of the controversy they generate. The masses no longer see the whole point of the artwork. In Lolita for example, the people pounced on the pedophilia and incest plot of the book when all Nabokov really wanted to portray was something else entirely, that Humbert was a bad man and that he hopes readers should not be easily taken in by the poetic words of a madman and essentially an unreliable narrator. But the merit of Lolita as an artwork was reduced to its shock value, the entertainment which people consume.

Similarly, in this episode, the artist wanted to send the message: Look beyond the entertainment to see something far more important (i.e look beyond Callow’s sex with a pig to see that the Princess was indeed freed). But of course, humanity being the disappointing lot that we are, glued our eyes to the pig fucking. I started to realize what a truly fantastic show BM is from this point on because it did not only criticque the people who watched the pig fucking and literally dropped everything they were doing to do just that. It also criticqued US, the audience that watched the episode itself. I admit that while the pig fucking was going on, I wasn’t even thinking about the princess and whether she was alive. I was only absorbed by the scandalous thing happening right before me. Who am I to criticize the citizens when I am just like them? This is the self-awareness that sets apart this episode from the others, I guess. It was like watching a microcosm of real life, the ultimate Black fucking Mirror – like looking at yourself in a mirror only to find that your image has been darkened by so much filth, our darkest tendencies being handed to us in one show. Great first episode, by the way, Brooker.

The fact that two months after the pig fucking, the whole thing was forgotten, people moved on with their lives which scares me tbh. This only goes to show that we have become desensitized with the sensationalism and violence that goes on in the real world as it is shown almost daily whether in newspapers or television. Reminds me of what Susan Sontag said in her work, “Regarding the Pain of Others” where she cites the influx of violence and brutality in television as having altered the way we empathize about real people and real world events. The word is desensitization. And it is true, when we reduce real events into mere forms of entertainment, we dilute their gravity as events with consequences on real people.

It was believed by the French Enlightenment thinkers that distance ( a child from UK may not empathize with an enslaved child in a Boko Haram situation because of geographical constraints) and time (zeitgest, generational gap) delays our moral response. The distance in this episode and in real life as well is the technology. The screens in our televisions and computers, create a distance which delays and frustrates our ability to protest to morally objectionable acts and to truly connect with each other. Or we may protest, but it is fleeting or hollow – we may protest that there is child slavery in Nigeria but it stops there, we move on. Take the people at the pub for example, the ones holding their mugs of beer anticipating Callow’s humiliation, acting as if what was about to happen was the fucking Superbowl, they look as if Callow was not a person, like Callow was not even one of them. Nobody really thought about the humiliation Callow could be feeling at that very instant. They did, however manage to feel some form of sympathy for him midway but sympathy is not empathy much less compassion. Someone even said feeling sorry for somebody can be a mere recognition of the fact that you’re doing so much better than the other person.

WHITE CHRISTMAS

Does existence need to have a body? Or is it the mind that gives existence to a person?

Are the cookies an extension of the person or are they a different entity from the person himself herself? I find it odd because they can be given punishment although they do not cause any effect to the original as in Joe’s case. If the purpose was to punish then necessarily, the cookie should have been considered a different entity but still an extension of the original, forming part of the original, even if it feels like a simulation of the real us.

Is it just the real person who can be punished? Who knows in the future, a simulation of us can also be punished. Akin to our social media selves, in a sense the persona we have in social media are mirrors, mere shadows of our real selves, just like cookies, they are a fragment of ourselves. Our online personas or cookies can be punished as well despite them just abstracts of us when we are subject to online humiliation, criticism, our online selves can be manipulated as well by companies who profit from it, like Smartintelligence.

In the very last scene, the people gave Joe’s cookie an existence enough to consider its confession as legally binding to convict a person. They did not treat it as mere evidence but something that could speak for itself, one woman even saying in the effect that Joe need not talk as the cookie already talked for him. Also the part where Joe’s cookie was subjected to repeated punishment. If it was considered as punishment, then necessarily, one must consider his cookie as existent in the first place? No one can punish a non existence after all.

Matt’s ending was fitting, like “a taste of his own medicine” kind of thing, pretty ironic in my opinion because in the first scene with the cookie of the woman, he controlled the cookie, forcing it to submit to whatever he wanted. But in the ending scene, he was deprived of his own existence, he was made invisible because he was basically a non-person, as if he does not really exist. It’s also kind of snarky how in the first few scenes, he said that people did not want to feel invisible and yet that was exactly what happened to him. In a sense, he is just like the cookie of the woman, he is deprived an existence of his own through the conditions imposed on his freedom by the prison authorities. Notice that in both cases, their existence are conditional, the woman’s cookie to the whims of Matt, Matt is totally blocked from anyone through the whims of the the prison officials or whatever they are called. Since they have no freedom on their own, we can say they are tools, they do not exist.

Which also reminds me of one idea which goes like this: a self cannot be created without others. Does Matt still exist when others are totally effaced in/from his life? How can he have a self(existence) when he could no longer jnteract with others? I feel like Matt’s punishment is even more cruel that that of Joe’s

Torture can also be of different forms

Will it be ethical if we create versions of ourselves in the future without giving them the same rights as we do have? Are copies of us considered as humans?

The similarity in White Bear where there was some sort of a cycle of punishment. I find it interesting, the repetitive nature of punishments to highlight their meaninglessness and banality.

WHITE BEAR

Public persecution through social media or the internet.

Our particular inclination to fascinate on other people’s misery.

“Are the sound waves making them behave like that?”

“Maybe they’ve always been that way, they just needed the rules to change.”

Well, interesting to note because technology (the white bear radio waves) are mere enablers of our innate tendencies to enjoy other people’s misery, be it in social media or otherwise.

Using the excuse of serving justice as a veil for such tendencies, when in truth we become even more brutal than the people we condemn. Ironic that we condemn rapists, murderers, terrorists, people who dehumanize others but in our condemnation, we have dehumanized such people as well.

Social media to ventilate social outrage which becomes quite easily disproportionate. It becomes a place to condemn people.

Shockingly unfair that Victoria did not know what she was being accused of, yet people do not really point this out. Her lack of knowledge about her alleged crimes or the fact that she was an accused in the first place makes this episode almost Kafkaesque ala The Trial, although later on we do know what she is accused of. Is it ethical in the first place to condemn a woman who has no idea what she is being accused of? Is justice merely carrying out the punishment or does it also concern giving a fair trial to a person?

The performative nature of social media in expressing social outrage, in fact everything in this episode feels like a performance. The participation of the viewers, the whole structure of the show hinges on performance, the value of entertainment even to the detriment and humiliation of very real people. Our humiliation becomes a commodity for people to consume.

On the punishment of Victoria It is cruel because she is made to relive the humiliation several times and yet her memory is erased every single time. If the point of the punishment is to reform Victoria (assuming it really is) then why not let her reform on her own and understand the consequences of her actions? This is where the intent of the punishment is revealed— the punishment means nothing, it is not meant to reform any criminal or prevent any form of future criminality, it is merely a performance after all. It is absolutely meaningless. I wonder if our criminal justice system operates on the same principle – the meaninglessness of punishment which is fundamentally cruel because it completely dehumanizes the accused.

FIFTEEN MILLION MERITS

The myth of meritocracy

Notice how the bikers are basically given the false hope that they could escape their monotonous daily lives if they could only earn enough credits to buy a ticket to enter Hot Shot and have a chance to elevate their status in society. One finally gets the credits, buys a ticket to HotShot, however this is where the myth falls apart. Notice how Abi, basically within the first few minutes that she got in the rehearsal room was already asked to go on stage, on the ground, as we later learn that she was attractive. She did not even get to sing in the rehearsal room the judges barely considered her singing voice despite her having the best voice thus far in the competition or something like that according to one judge. One of the girls in the rehearsal room was practically complaining that dhe had been singing for a week yet Abi gets scouted first, the girl who just stepped inside the room like five minutes ago. Notice also that Bing was scouted on the basis that he looked “ethnic”. Both Abi and Bing’s talents, merits or what have yous flew off the window the moment their physical qualities became the basis for letting them go on stage. What happened to good old talent and skill?

On the “ethnic” comment, I find it quite racist, as it feels like it referenced how white people exoticize Black people.

Meritocracy is a lie because in this episode, one’s hardwork and talents did not become the reason for how Abi and Bing escaped the bike room. Abi got out because she was hot and perfect for porn, her singing was discarded. Bing on the other hand, got out because he sold out. It wasnt his talent that made him leave the biking room, it was the shock value of his dissent which appealed to the judges and the masses and not his prepared dance.

Bing is a tragic anti hero because unlike Abi who had compliance juice which coerced her to porn, Bing had none and consented fully to his own exploitation. He was adamant about the hypocrisy of consumerism, the endemic classism in that world, capitalism and so on. However, the moment he benefited from the system that actively exploits others including himself, he sold out. He took the benefit and forgot the cause. This is not very different from people who are fully aware how a system creates inequality to others, but because of the advantage they acquire from such system, they refuse to question the status quo. In Bing’s case, he pretends to criticque the system with his shard of glass, but it is a hollow dissent, it’s all just fashion, there is no conviction or real belief to it, at least no longer.

On the nature of exploitation

The reason Bing went to the show was his rage against the exploitation that the system were committing against basically everyone. But he eventually played by the system which he used to critique. Which brings the question, is Bing still exploited? He who has actively consented to the exploitation of the system just so he could live a better life? Will his consent erase the exploitative nature of the deal he got?

An example: are employees who are basically treated like slaves, no wages, no rights no nothing, any different from a class of employees who are given high bonuses, plenty of benefits but are not allowed to unionize or bargain with their employers although they willingly disregard such abuses because of the benefits they receive? I think they’re both exploited just on different levels. Just because one receives benefits from an exploitative system, does not mean they are no longer exploited, exploitation does not need to be total for it to be exploitation. Just because something is wrapped in something pretty, does not mean it is good.

Similarly, Bing’s participation in that very same system, makes him exploited despite his better life and richer status. He only got out of s smaller box to go to a bigger box, and yet the reality of the exploitation still remains, the system still fucks him over, he hasnt really gotten out. In fact, this time it’s worse, the system has profited from his outrage, the only thing which sustained him and which remained real and authentic to him. He laments during his performance that the system makes everything real into the artificial shit it sells to the masses. But that’s exactly what he became in the end, he was a COMMODITY, his individuality as a person was reduced to nothing but consumption for the audience. And this is why he is an anti hero. Imo

Which makes the ending even sadder. Bing looks out on a seemingly real landscape view, drinks a fresh juice from a jug very different from the vending machine crap he used to get before, and despite the debate on whether the view was real or simulated, one wonders still that Bing got his new, “authentic” lifestyle from reducing his individuality as a commodity, from bare exploitation of the system which he now participates, so are they real, afterall? One musician said, is something beautiful if it came from ugliness? Is something authentic if it came from exploitation?

Commentary on how capitalism exploits what is authentic and real to something that can be consumed or basically, a product. Capitalism operates on taking advantage of other people as well as anything real and genuine in this world, making a product out of all of them. In this way, capitalism objectifies people ( as in the way Abi was reduced to her beauty and entertainment value for porn), it is a system that slowly dehumanizes the worth of a person. And yet, the masses love it,we love objectifying people for our benefit, to entertain us etcetera etcetera. I feel like the reference in the episode to reality talent shows was not very accurate but still a good one. I would have liked it if the producers used a more relevant kind of reality show which operates on other people’s drama (Keeping up with the Kardashians, Jersey Shore and basically other shows that thrive on scandal) because it much likely depicts our tendency to make entertainment of other people’s lives. Where does one draw the line? Reality tv has been such a part of us and though I don’t particularly enjoy them because of the sheer and blatant script behind their “real” interactions, but I also don’t know. Television and the internet has become such a ubiquitous media form that people can hardly be blamed for failing to assess the kind of entertainment they consume. But just a quick snarky comment, the Kardashians are just like Bing, they play by the system,of course they have amassed an empire out of it, but still doesnt change the reality that they are a product of the system, the system that thrives on this exploitation.

Again, what an interesting episode. I love episodes that analyze our relationship with media and the entertainment we consume because as much as we’d like to believe television and media are just for fun, they aren’t. In fact, I think media has the most insidious kind of influence on anyone, and also most subtle because some references and statements can be jacketed into harmless, good fun. Again this echoes, at least for me, the message in The National Anthem , that through media and television we create a distance between one another, delaying our moral response to things which may be otherwise exploitative.

SHUT UP AND DANCE

The hypocrisy of vigilante justice. The people in Shut Up and Dance had their own brand of justice which involves taking the law into their own hands. But in doing so they resort to highly questionable methods such as coercing the criminals into various other crimes. I feel like this kind of meting out a penalty in the name of “justice” is fatal for several reasons. One, this encourages a sort of moral superiority exercised without individual responsibility. Note that the hackers were the ones who can determine who were the criminals to be punished and for what punishment they should be given in relation to the seriousness of their crimes, what then was the basis for their standard of someone committing a wrong? When justice is determined by a select few, it becomes no justice at all and opens the gates for abuses. The hackers could easily base the misdeeds of their victims on purely arbitrary grounds and subject anyone, even on the flimsiest misconducts into excessive punishments.

Conscience as the best judge The hackers code of justice seems not to be based on the law, the hackers did not after all say Kenny and the rest committed violations of the law, instead they operate by relying on the pressure created by personal conscience. Note that the hackers mainly blackmailed the victims to a release of the incriminating videos or whatever, however the victims were driven with fear knowing that what they did had moral consequences whether to their reputation or families.

The hackers were clever not because they laid out almost unexpected traps but because they force the victims to face their own conscience, to take individual responsibility for their actions, that which they believed they were protected from because all their crimes or misdeeds were done in anonymity, in secrecy. The conscience being a powerful motivator, the hackers were very subtle in their coercion, as they did not even have to directly present the horrific effects in the even the videos or objects get leaked to the public.

Excessive punishments

This episode together with White Bear, White Christmas and Hated in a Nation all deal with how punishments are given and considered. Note how the structure of the narrative are different for White Bear, White Christmas, Shut Up and Dance. In these episodes, the audience is hidden from the fact that the main protagonists are criminals convicted for some crimes ( Victoria with child murder, Kenny for child porn, Joe with murder???). In fact, the stories are told in a way as if to humanize the criminals as they were later on subjected to horrific punishment after the audience is made privy that they indeed committed some horrible thing. Unlike in Hated in a Nation, the narrative was pretty upfront that the targeted individuals were somehow already publicly condemned albeit for very slight misconducts and or misinterpreted, blown out of proportion statements.

I suspect there is one very good reason for doing so. In all these episodes, a very crucial theme presented was the question of whether excessive punishment even for the worst criminals (Victoria, Kenny) was ethical. Note that social punishment being one of the main premise, the writers of Black Mirror must have realized that for us to look at punishment as immoral and inhuman, we need to look at it objectively without the crimes committed by Kenny and Victoria being factored in. Black Mirror seems to be saying this kind of excessive punishment is immoral and inhuman and cruel in all instances whether done upon a guilty or innocent person. Suppose in the very beginning of White Bear, we already learned that Victoria helped and watched on as a child was being murdered by her boyfriend, would that have changed the way we looked at how she was basically maltreated the entire time? Knowing our tendency to believe that the very worst criminals deserve the worse treatment, I bet many people would say Victoria being tortured in such manner was justified. In fact, there was a survey online about whether she deserved her lot and unsurprisingly, majority believed she truly had it coming (compare it if Victoria was perfectly innocent). For them, it was justified because she’s an absolute scum from the lowest depths of misery and so she must be horribly treated. But because the narrative was structured in a way that we see Victoria and Kenny as humans first before criminals, we were forced to reconsider the torture and social humiliation done upon their person. We think, “Wait up, was it really right, what they did to these two?”. If we knew them as criminals first, we would have responded differently, that Victoria and Kenny deserve even more beating and cruelty. But such thinking is deeply flawed. THIS KIND OF PUNISHMENT IS WRONG IN ALL INSTANCES WHETHER DONE UPON A GUILTY OR INNOCENT PERSON. Black Mirror is saying to judge the wrongness of an act, we must look at the act itself and not the person who committed the act. The wrongness of an act does not change just because it is being done upon a terrible person. To think otherwise, to believe that the wrongness of an act is relative to the person who did it means to have a partial idea of justice, that justice is kinder only to those who are infallible, those who have never done any mistake, those who possess no flaws. Criminals after all, have rights and in no way I am saying they should be exempt from the law. By all means, jail those menaces but give them their due.

See how narrative structure can be so powerful? In the beginning, we are fooled that Kenny and Victoria are perfectly fine individuals who were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Tabula rasas, no stains. Of course, the audience would have a deep sense of injustice, I dont know about anyone, but I did with Kenny, because I wrongfully believed he was a minor ( lol the actor looked so young) and looked utterly horrified for something so innocent such as jacking off in-front of a camera, like big fucking deal, right? It isn’t a crime, surely. And yet when the plot twist was subtly but beautifully delivered at the end, I was forced to face the moral ambiguity of the whole situation. Was it wrong to coerce Kenny to commit more crimes and kill another person? Was it wrong for the hackers to release the video and not have kept the end of the deal? Or was it perfectly justified because Kenny was a fucking pedophile and just imagine the children in those photos who are fucking jacked off by some person? And this is the true gift of Black Mirror, to place us at morally ambiguous points about our use of technology to justify our transgressions against other people. Moral ambiguity is the best way to present satire and commentary without the show becoming preachy about some moral code, Black Mirror allows for the audience to think for what they may but first consider the consequences.

I see this all the time especially with criminals of heinous crimes, social media outrage pours on, often wishing ill to such people. And though I understand and empathize with the outrage, and though social media outrage has no substantial effect to the meting out of the final punishment, we cannot deny that we are guilty to the thinking that cruel acts are justified when done to cruel persons. We have the tendency to view justice as some sort of a thing which can be deserved only by good people and not those who have failed morally or otherwise, in some way. That’s why we have right to due process, why we still give fair trial to an accused even if his case is so damning, precisely because we recognize that justice is for everyone.

Having said that, I think Kenny needs to go to jail and FAST however he did not deserve all the psychological torture and manipulation. Aside from those other acts he did unwillingly, his punishment should only concern that for the child porn however he was driven to commit robbery and even had to undergo having to kill someone. The punishment was severely disproportionate from the crime he was supposedly being judged for. We live in a society with such a flawed sense of justice.

Black Mirror as a whole

And yet the most persistent message so far by Black Mirror, is that try as we may to criticize the people in their universe, we are very much part of that world. The ridiculous people of the UK, the audience in Hot Shot, hell, by watching the show itself – which is in an entertainment form, we can become complicit to the exploitation in media. In fact, I noticed how many BM episodes, show the very performative side of the internet and essentially of humanity– everything is a performance, there is an actor, and there is the audience who benefits from the show.

Shut up and Dance for example reminds me of a puppeteer show, Kenny and Hector and several others, dance to the music of the hackers, their actions are controlled as if with strings in a puppet show. Also the title itself shut up and dance, maybe it’s a song, but we know someone else is shutting them up, making them mere puppets of the show. Also, the ending music which was truly haunting and disturbing, was one of-my favorite songs during high school. It is called Exit Music by Radiohead which was supposedly to be used in a Romeo and Juliette movie, the one with Leo DiCaprio and Claire Danes, a story based on a play.

In Nosedive, Lacie was unhealthily obsessed with putting up a show for everyone to give her the social approval and validation she needed to hike up her ratings. The technology in their world also exploits this need to feel seen, to feel important, to feel that one matters despite it being provisional, the rating system system presents a very classist way of categorizing people based on the social ratings given by just about anybody.

In White Bear, Victoria was subjected to a series of humiliations and brutal attacks only to realize that what she went through was a simulation of the kidnapping and murder to a child she committed with her boyfriend. She was revealed into an audience, who enjoyed each and every instance of her suffering and I believe they even paid for the show? Though she is a criminal, was it really justified, the performance derived from someone’s misery?

Some people said it was an amusement park, like a carnival. In fact, now that I think about it, Victoria does feel like a caged animal, the whole town is her whole cage. The people who take pictures of her down the road resemble onlookers in a carnival show where because of an attraction’s grotesque nature, they are fascinated to take pictures of it. She is subjected to multiple tricks, just like a lion in a carnival, where she expected to bring out a most pleasing experience for the crowd. The fact that she is a tamed animal made for performance is brought down by the fact that each day she has to forget the previous events, otherwise her horror, her suffering and her utter ignorance for the cause of it all which is the selling point of the show would be lost and the show would become uninteresting to the public.

White Bear is so interesting to me as a manifestation of the performative capacities of technology and of men because we already see it happening right now. In Twitter for example, a man who by sheer amount of fake news or misinformation can quite easily become the hunted in a public persecution. Granted Victoria is a whole different situation because she is actually a criminal, however, sometimes we mask our love for entertainment regardless of who suffers in a sense of social outrage, justice, horror to moral violations but the truth of it all is our hypocrisy. We don’t really want justice to be served, we just want a stage to present that we are morally superior than other people. And I deeply lament that. There is a thin line between expressing opinions on social injustices or crimes and enjoyment over other people’s misery. Regardless of whether the person is criminal or an innocent person, this kind of social performance and dark pleasure is unjustified.

This is really no different from public executions all through out history. I always wondered about the appeal of such events which bring hordes of onlookers as if putting a person in the guillotine was so entertaining. Some people say it was to deter crimes by showing a horrific picture of what can happen as a punishment. If it’s really about that that brought the audience, they why go to witness an execution, the knowledge itself that the guillotine is where criminals end is enough to scare some people. But I think it is more than that, maybe it’s also about social voyeurism, a dark fascinating picture of another person’s suffering, the “thank god it’s not me” mentality. The audience from the public executions in France is really no different from the people in Hated in A Nation or White Bear. We just look because something suffering can be entertaining especially if done on people we particularly dislike, we do nothing until we become the hunted and see how exactly that feels like. There’s a word psychology gives to it: SCHADENFREUDE, or the feeling of pleasure one gets from the misery of others.

and so on...

HATED IN THE NATION

The excess of call out culture — the plot revolved around personas who mysteriously die one by one until it was discovered that they were actually attacked online days prior for some unpopular remarks. The cause of death? Bees or ADIs supposedly made to function like real bees who can cross pollinate flowers. The episode, for me, examined the effects and ignorance of call out culture which can escalate from genuine offense at someone’s statement or action to a witch hunt of some sorts, sometimes even leading to death threats. The journalist, the rapper and the random lady all did something very minor and not even illegal to warrant them becoming the victims of the DeathTo hashtag. It’s also quite obvious why the producers used bees to represent as the attackers, hives of bees = hive mentality.

Individual responsibility — the hacker, upon his manifesto being found out, laments that the people who participated in the DeathTo hashtag were irresponsible, that they refused to consider the consequences of their actions or to take individual responsibility for their participation. I also wonder why the internet seems to dilute our understanding of individual responsibility.

Which reminds me, of one activity we did in Philo class in college, our professor asked what if we all had a cloak of invisibility like Harry Potter, what would be the first thing we’d do? A lot of us, unsurprisingly answered robbing a bank or retaliating on someone who had wronged us in the past. Either way, all the answers were more or less conventionally wrong. She asked us to participate in that activity either before or after she showed us the White Bear episode. It was only after a few years that I realized the crucial question she wanted us to explore: Why does anonymity (both in social media and in terms of hiding behind the cloak) increase our propensity to do wrong? The obvious answer is people are often only encouraged to do good because others are looking. That is not to say it is wrong but for me there is also another reason and which I wondered many times — anonymity shields us from personal responsibility. The internet, anonymity gives us a reprieve from the reality that our freedom goes in two ways, our actions have consequences

#black mirror

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