#but he does this because light is DANGEROUS
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doberbutts · 2 days ago
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My would-be rapist died earlier this week and I have been having a lot of Complicated Feelings about it since being told. Long story short he died because he was once again being a creep and someone intervened and ended up cracking open his skull and he died from a brain bleed two days later. And I'm just thinking about how 18 years ago this guy was actively attempting to groom me in the middle of church and bible study and only stopped because my parents believed me when they pried the truth out of me. And how that stopped him from pursuing me but not from just switching to Someone Else until it became multiple Someone Else's and the above situation happened.
Truthfully I don't really know what to feel, or think. I am not sad that he is dead. I'm not really happy either. I think he is an excellent example of the multiple failures we have as a society to protect our most vulnerable populations. He is who I think of when I ask what we do with repeat offenders who do not seem to be getting the message that they are making bad choices, and how we're supposed to protect vulnerable people from predators like him.
I do think, for the most part, that prison reform and prison abolition is a good thing. I do think that the death penalty sets a dangerous precedent.
But what do we do with a man who has hurt person after person after person, who even when confined to a facility for the rest of his life (ie, effectively a prison) continues to prey upon patients and staff alike, until he is sent to an all-male facility and even then tries it with a female CNA before another male patient witnesses it and does something about it?
I don't even know if the other guy realizes what a service he's done to this dude's victims, or the collective sigh of relief his victims took upon the news of his demise.
I will not light a candle for you, Joel. Not even your own family is attending your funeral, or pressing charges against the facility or the man who killed you. But it does make me think about how this could have been better resolved, if it could have been, if a better outcome than a long string of sexual assaults and rapes ultimately ending in a violent death could have been had.
He never did manage to get me. But he would have, if my parents hadn't stepped in on my behalf. He was bold enough to try it while they were just downstairs, reading and discussing from religious texts. Bold enough to put his hands on me in the middle of church as the pastor spoke and everyone could see. To my knowledge, I was his first- or was I? Was he bold because he was inexperienced in doing this, or because he was riding the high of having gotten away with it before? Clearly getting caught just taught him to be more subtle, rather than that he shouldn't have been doing it in the first place.
I think if he had succeeded with me, I would currently be very glad to hear about his death.
But he didn't, so now I am thinking about these things. And feeling a little, play stupid games win stupid prizes.
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jeannyjaykaydeh · 14 hours ago
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Merry Sinsmas
Alastor x Reader
Just a little thought I'd like to share with you because I’m in the Christmas mood.
I hope you enjoy reading it and if you celebrate Christmas: I wish you a Merry Christmas. And if you don't: I hope you have a great few days anyway. :)
And to all of you: Merry Sinsmas. :D
Warning: I hope you don't mind that this short story briefly mentions that you are from Germany. If you can't identify with this, just see this sentence as a joke to wriggle out of a situation.
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You're standing in the hotel lobby with a clipboard in your hand, working through a to-do list. You are in the middle of your Christmas preparations. Charlie and Vaggie are busy decorating the big tree in the centre of the lobby next to the stairs, Niffty is cleaning and judging by her crazy laugh, she's in a very Christmassy mood.
Lucifer is tending to the fairy lights, Husk is making punch for everyone and Angel and Cherri Bomb are getting the sound system ready.
As you stare at your clipboard, thinking about what you could do next, you notice out of the corner of your eye a shadow rise from the floor and stand next to you.
You don't even have to lift your eyes to realise that it's Alastor, standing so close to you that his large body is pressed against you.
You hear a snap of fingers, but you skilfully ignore it.
You're too busy dealing with the fact that the radio demon is invading your comfort zone - as he so often does.
It doesn't take long before he clears his throat meaningfully, inviting you to give him your attention.
So you raise your eyes and suppress your annoyed expression as best you can.
You look at him expectantly. What does he want?
He looks down at you with a mischievous smile. Then he takes a quick look at the ceiling before his eyes wander back to you.
You look up and see a sprig of mistletoe hanging directly above you, obviously conjured up by him.
You sigh slightly.
So he wants to be kissed.
Alastor is really trying everything he can to get to you. You realise that he's been trying to make advances to you for months and win your heart with small - and also very large - gestures.
What you keep to yourself the whole time: He won your heart a long time ago. But you don't want to admit it.
Yes, you fancy Alastor - oh, you're so in love with him!
But your fear of commitment and the fact that he's one of the most dangerous demons here in hell stop you from getting involved with him.
Much to the displeasure of your friends, because the tension between Alastor and you has left its mark on them too and now they really want to see you two as a couple.
"Hahaaaa, there's a little green branch hanging right above us. What funny coincidences there are, aren't there, my dear?" he says euphorically in his radio filter voice.
"Real coincidences, yes," you reply sarcastically and leave it at that. At least that's what you try to do, but there's no way Alastor will let you get away with it.
He steps closer to you - it's hard to believe that's still possible - leans forward slightly and says: "You know I'm a man of tradition. In my day, we followed every custom without even batting an eyelid. It would be a shame for me and my inner well-being if you didn't appreciate my traditions, sweetheart."
You give him a wry, cheeky grin. Then you turn away from him and say: "Well, it's just a shame that I'm from Germany and this mistletoe tradition isn't practised there."
You move away from him and leave him standing there in his indignant static noise.
"OH NO, DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!" Angel suddenly shouts across the lobby. He jumps up from his chair and stomps angrily towards you, grabs you by the shoulders, spins you around and pushes you back on your heels under the mistletoe, where he sets you down right in front of the radio demon.
He grumbles: "We're not in fucking Germany here, we're in hell! And here ya don't just kiss under the mistletoe, here ya even fuck when ye're standin' under it! So do yerself and us a favour and respect our traditions! Ya kiss that creepy man now, understand?"
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seat-safety-switch · 1 day ago
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What's your least favourite part of a car? I bet you answered "brakes." Our high-friction foes cost money, rust up whenever your back is turned, ruin friendships in order to bleed, and don't do anything other than slow you down. And, unfortunately, you can't really skip it. At some point, no matter how carefully you drive, you'll have to stop driving in a way that doesn't involve aiming for the nearest snow drift and hoping for the best.
Dealing with brakes has been a bĂȘte noire of my entire life. That's French for "pain in the ass." To avoid the hassle of having to free up broken components, grease slide pins, and spend an afternoon spilling hydraulic fluid all over my pants, I'll often drive for long periods of time trying not to use the brakes at all. They'll last way longer this way, you see. This challenge is made somewhat easier by the fact that none of my cars make enough power to quickly reach a dangerous speed.
Even so, I'm not dumb enough to be paying big money to Big Stop when I do finally have to refresh some of my precious friction material. You'll find me at the junkyard, scrabbling half-consumed pads out of crashed cars that look like they might fit mine. This is because I still need good brakes to deal with all of your bullshit. Yeah. It's not my fault people keep popping out in front of me in traffic, especially when trying to pass on the wrong side of the road on blind mountain corners. I've had to learn to be what the drivers-education mafia calls "a defensive driver," pre-emptively anticipating trouble and making sure never to touch that middle pedal when it does eventually rear its head.
When I see people in the left lane dragging their brakes, or flashing their tail lights at me in the middle of a corner, I just frown. Not only are they inconveniencing me by using up my precious fuel-saving momentum, but they're forcing me to take money out of my pocket to pay for brake pads later. I'm practically being robbed, I once complained to a police officer. He responded by using his brakes no less than five times leaving my community after responding to "a more important call." Don't be like him. Stop using your brakes so often, and we can free humanity of the misery of fixing brakes forever.
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ariiadnes · 1 day ago
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ㅀ╭ âż»  to the end of salvation
& maybe it is too easy to blame mortality on our capacity for love , the slow death that is putting your breath in another's body.
àŹ“.° ・ sukuna. jujutsu kaisen. quote cr : ayumi hamasaki. safia elhillo. repost.
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𝐈. humans are much stronger beings than i thought
but what does sacrifice mean to a god? bloodshed is of little significance unless he is the reason behind it / unless there is sanguine dripping from his claws, flooding an already bloodied land of worship. sukuna thinks little of humanity, deems it unworthy of anything but cruelty and the act of ruin.
he sits on his throne, apathetic, and examines the beings in his shrine. how superficial this all is, another supposed act of celebration that does nothing to impress him. it is dangerous for a god to be bored, he thinks, and he smiles at the thought of spilling blood for such reasons.
but there is yet another sacrificial lamb that kneels before him. in the middle of a revered shrine, your body trembles at the feeling of one’s scrutinizing gaze. it watches, hovers over your figure.
you were granted a life never meant for living, and he would think you’d be so desperate, that you would be so pitiful ( and what a silly thought, really, because you are lucky enough to still be alive in his presence for this long ). but there is something in the way that you force yourself to look him straight in the eye, and there is an anger so present that he can feel his existence strengthen from it.
“are you worthy, little lamb?”
“isn’t that something you should have decided by now, king of curses?”
the air stills. a pause. your heart threatens to shatter beneath the aching of it all.
divinity laughs : an echo chamber of malice and unspoken beginnings and ends. a red string of fate that knows nothing else but the hollow of your ribs and a nearing tragedy.
𝐈𝐈. that which is two became one, then became two / it's nothing more than that.
you live your days with uncertainty, waiting on edge, and nothing comes. this, perhaps, is the cruelest trial you’ve come to face.
and you think he would hurt you, this renowned god that everyone cowers before ( but you were once the same, truly, and you would be a hypocrite to pass judgment on another’s fear ). but there is no harshness in your coexistence, no matter how hard you search for it. because you know of the tales that the children speak of in teasing tones, the tales the elders pass on in hopes that their youth will not become the next sacrifice.
if they asked you if the stories were true, you wouldn’t know how to answer. because there is a destruction in his existence somewhere in the markings of his body and there is violence in the way his claws threaten to tear apart the red strings, but there is something unidentifiable in the way he looks at you when the moon lights up the sky.
“why do you treat me this way?”
you whisper the words into the night, hoping that they will be heard and unheard. ( but you know that he is always listening, always attentive to you. how strange he is. )
“in what way?” a taunt. sukuna places his hand on your waist, marvels at the way you shake under his touch.
“you treat me like you are made of tenderness.” you ignore the fear that runs deep into your veins, force yourself to speak up in what may be an act of foolishness. “that doesn’t exist in you.”
your voice trembles. a smile tugs at his lips; he kisses you with utmost gentleness that you almost think you have been wrong this whole time.
you are waiting for the day he will kill you. it will come soon, it will, and you cannot tell which will be more agonizing: the waiting game or the killing itself.
𝐈𝐈𝐈. the path spreading out is too narrow ; i can no longer walk with you
to be divine is to live in bliss and devastation. immortality is a double edged sword, granting a lifetime of glory and pain. everything, at some point, comes to an end. even the red string unravels until it is no more, and you think you tried to forget that.
you do not think you are in love with the king of curses and that’s okay. that was never the intention. you were never meant to live this long, anyway. you thought you could face the truth, get yourself ready for the suffering meant to come.
you look in the water and all you see is sorrow and the approach of heartbreak. the tearing of the soul, the filling of blood in your mouth and the emptying of what remains of your spirit.
“why do you wait? lambs are not meant for survival.”
his fingers wrap around your throat, but they never squeeze. his lips press against yours for a brief moment, and he pulls away.
“careful,” sukuna warns, “gods are the only ones who determine life and death.”
“it will be soon.”
your reply comes out involuntarily and he senses desperation in it. are you tired of waiting? have you become weak, unable to tolerate the unknown?
he forces back his grin, lips on your neck, and speaks in such low tones that your knees almost threaten to give out.
“do you want it to be?”
he waits for an answer. it never comes.
𝐈𝐕. i've been in the darkness a little longer / but it's time to go
you have never seen sukuna hurt. a curse knows little of suffering and so much of pain. but when you thrive on the negatives of humanity, what is it that makes you vulnerable? what is it that thrashes so wildly in your being and makes it all so unbearable?
you have not lived your life in misery. not at his side. but time moves on, and so must both of you. one of you will pass into another life, and the other will remain stagnant in the world he rules.
you don’t feel much, not really. it feels numb, feels like the end, but it feels okay. maybe you are afraid, but your grip is too weak that you cannot even hang onto him. sukuna holds you closely, doesn’t allow you to see his face ( and even if you did, it wouldn’t be any different. and who are you to think that you were important to him, anyway? )
“let go.” he orders softly. “don’t be frightened.”
you laugh. he will miss the sound of it dearly.
“who are you talking to?”
he doesn’t know.
this time, he is the one who does not answer. you are dying in his arms and it is more peaceful than you expect. it is beautiful and merciful and all the things you thought it would not be.
( YOU ARE TIRED. )
“was i worthy?”
( IT IS TIME TO CLOSE YOUR EYES AND REST. )
the feeling of his lips against your temple, and a quiet murmur drowned out by a fleeting consciousness.
“you were worthy, little lamb.”
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lunarriviera · 7 hours ago
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under the skin meta: The Monologueℱ (part 1)
[spoilers for s2 in general and ep 20 in specific—which, trust me, you really don't want to watch out of order. it's worth waiting for this one.]
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if you’ve seen The Monologue, you understand. this is why tan jianci fans are somewhere on a spectrum from chronically bitter to unendingly distraught about never not yet getting to see him play gu yun in sha po lang/winner is king. if uts were a north american prestige drama, tjc would have just handily won an emmy. as it is he’ll probably just be in a bunch of romcoms and do more goofy stuff on hi6, and that’s fine too. i guess we’ll always have “wet the bed.”
where was i oh right The Monologue. this will be long but it’s possibly the most glorious moment in this entire drama so here we go.
to build up to it, tho, we need backstory: namely, season two's gradual unraveling of shen yi. we know he can’t sleep well and has ghastly nightmares about a little girl he didn’t save, mostly because he didn’t consciously know she was in any danger. in her red dress, like the little girl in schindler’s list, she stands out, tragic amidst the desaturation, and shen yi makes a variety of horrified faces about having failed her. (horrified faces seem to be his main ones this season, which is partly what makes The Monologue so exciting.)
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anyway shen yi has already been pretty thoroughly harrowed by this particular case as it is, having been the one to figure out (of course) the serial murderer’s ritualistic pattern and motive. shen yi turns his most Horrified Face to du cheng to warn him that the next victim's in danger, and they have this exchange, which will be important later.
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(what du cheng says is ćˆ«æ‹…ćżƒ, which also gets translated as "rest assured"—like, don't let your heart be uneasy. i got this.)
so du cheng takes off to save the next victim, and shen yi goes back to his office to do
what does he think he’s going to do? some paperwork, a little light filing, maybe sharpen some pencils? instead he predictably goes into a glass-shattering fugue state, and imagines the little girl. this begins the monologue scene, even though it all takes place in shen yi’s head. pls indulge me by watching it again, bc i assume you’ve already seen it anyway, and my god it’s such a gorgeous piece of face journey that ALSO sets up what’s to follow.
in some ways this compressed little piece is even better than what comes after. the way he FLIES to her and FALLS to his knees, just rushes up to her stammering and devastated and PROMISING he'll save her this time. honestly it destroyed me, i watched it like 5 times in a row before i could even move on. the unheld-back generosity of this brief performance, the way he’s completely focused on her and then just FALLS APART, it snapped my heart like a carrot stick.
me, a fangirl: SHEN YI SHEN YI NO BB NO PLS SOMEONE HELP HIM me, film nerd: wow fascinating never seen an actor's lips shake before
so now he understands what he needs to do. what he MUST do. having had this revelation, shen yi shows up at the killer’s door, creepy-smiling at him and barging inside. and then he delivers The Monologue, ten solid nearly-uncut minutes of sheer batshit insanity.
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shen yi rants. he raves. he paces and pivots and gestures, he thinks aloud, he surmises and expostulates and revises and reverses and exclaims and delivers each conclusion with rabid glee. he scowls and shouts and is sinister and grins and is just one thousand fucking percent unhinged.
we have never, ever seen shen yi like this before, and thank god, because he would scare people on the regular, and he’s scary enough as it is. why do you think he wears all those baggy pastels and smiles so sweetly. why do you think he tries to pass as an unassuming twink, it’s because if people knew what was really going on inside his head half the time, they’d be screaming crying passing out. (tho the beauty of shen yi is: he also really is just an unassuming twink.)
anyway there i was, like a bonehead, stupidly trying to screenrecord this scene before i realized it would be like fifty gig of fire emoji, and then my hands fell limply at my sides, bc it dawned on me what was actually happening. sort of like that moment in “free churro” when you realize bojack horseman really is going to keep giving this heartbreaking eulogy for the length of the entire episode.
because The Monologue is virtuoso. it's tour de force. this is the kind of thing they play at the oscars during your "in memoriam" clip reel. this is what undergrads copy for their audition pieces. this is some heath ledger shit. it's jack nicholson in the shining, al pacino in scarface. this is about one inch away from brando.
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as a result of all this, shen yi has the serial killer (whose name is ge yutian by the way) eating out of his goddamn hand within like half a minute, absolutely spellbound—which is the entire point. if shen yi doesn’t convince him, all of this glorious sorcery is for nothing.
(the guy who plays ge yutian is good too, a perfect scene partner for this. he picks up every cue and lets tjc have all the room he needs.)
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just a few more notes on the performance, both tjc's and shen yi's:
1. where it really goes off the rails is when shen yi shrieks, DAMN POLICE! and ge yutian JUMPS in alarm. this not only made me laugh (him being so bonkers that he actually frightens a serial murderer!) but is also the moment when The Monologue stops being "aw haha such a fun thing for an actor to get to do" and “
jesus christ what the fuck am i watching." look how i couldn't even get a non-potato screencap. it's from this point on that shen yi is possessed.
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2. because he has to show that he identifies with ge yutian, that the killer can and should trust him because they think alike. but that’s just the old “FBI profiler eventually becomes his prey” clichĂ©, so there’s more to it. he also has to convince ge yutian that his ideas, shen yi's, are ge yutian's ideas, from the inside out—and therefore he's the right candidate for the sheng role. and finally, that it's precisely his ability to act, to be a strong performer, that makes him the right choice. that it’s shen yi who’s most suitable, thanks to his convincing mimesis of ge yutian’s highly suspect “thought process."
3. to really pull this off, even as shen yi builds him up (cf. ge yutian clapping enthusiastically, enthralled by this flattering vision), he also has to tear him down. so he plays two roles at once: ge yutian and an unknown theatre critic—who’s also shen yi, because he’s still the righteous officer of the People’s Police, here to inform ge yutian that his vision is sick and twisted, and not anything his gentle-hearted lover would have wanted, not her way of being in the world.
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4. finally i would argue that shen yi's admittedly shaky s2 state here suddenly seems a lot more bolted-on. a few viewers have worriedly described The Monologue almost as some kind of psychotic break but honestly i read it as so very controlled and so very deliberate. while he’s desperate (must save victim this time. must not fuck it up again.) he’s not deranged. he absolutely knows what he’s doing.
i'm sorry to say part 2 will follow. but to conclude for now:
‱ actors are witches. ‱ 16:9 can no longer contain tjc’s talent this man needs 1.85:1 ‱ you hardly ever get to see someone just NAIL IT TO THE WALL like this, what a time to be alive ‱ (and these were long takes too. there wasn't that much cutting. that was all him.) ‱ pls watch under the skin for some unexpectedly fine acting as well as ofc crime drama, ensemble comedy, weird art historical facts, and captain du cheng (jin shijia), who alternates between being a giant goofball and an aloof occasionally scary badass. also they’re in love.
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lortsyall · 2 days ago
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Echoes of Eywa's Child.
chapter 1.
(Neteyam x Human!Reader series)
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Pending....Pending....
Date: December 21st,2170.
Location: Office,Unit 4,Avatar Department,Human Outpost Biolab,Hallelujah Mountains,Pandora.
Time: 10:15 AM.
A long time has passed since I've known about this once alien planet. 4.4 light years away,a world full of life,like a lost paradise,sat idly in silence,away from the death and destruction that has scattered over Earth like a goddamn plague.
The ones before us saw the danger of it all,and yet they turned a blind eye,all because the climate change and the fractures in the atmosphere caused by the heightened levels of carbon dioxide wouldn’t affect them in the long run. They’d be dead anyway by the time it got too serious. So much for doing the right thing.
I wasn’t even born when they discovered Pandora,though until I actually got a grasp of reality and gained consciousness like everybody does at 5 years old,I’ve actually wondered if the so-called “Goldilocks Zone” existed somewhere else. If God smiled upon the universe and gave another planet the privilege of life.
Trust me,I have no idea how I even got here. So much time has passed since I’ve breathed in the polluted air of Earth,but I guess it’s for the benefit of all.
Guess we'll do it like they always do,huh?Start from the beginning of it all.
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Pending...Pending...
Date: January 26th,2170
Location: Home,New York,USA, Earth.
Time: 12:43 PM.
Nobody ever thought that a girl like me would end up as the head leader of the Avatar Department,or an important person in the Resistance. And I gotta say,I never quite imagined myself becoming this. I dreamt of stages full of fans,as my fingers gave birth to heart-shattering riffs. Of poetry books released under my very own name,painting the pages with complicated feelings and sensations,all of a broken and imperfect human heart. Of having my own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame,making my country proud as a well known actress overseas. Though all those dreams were scattered away,like a feather in the wind,the moment I decided to do what any other scared yet artistically talented person who wants to make her parents proud does.
I got into STEM. Mechanical and Biological Engineering.
And between the sleepless nights of studying,drowning myself in math equations and lab reports,I got a one-way ticket to Pandora in my first year of college,from the one and only Parker Selfridge. Head administrator of the RDA’s operation in Pandora. I can still feel the anxiety lingering on my tongue. They never came with internships for first years,so what was he here for?
He came in to give out 5 internships at my college,yet he left with a new potential piece for this chess game. Me. All thanks to a question he asked that I knew the answer of. And to think I almost didn't say the answer because I thought everyone knew it,but as it turns out,only I did. I sat in the hallway with my friends,staring dumbfoundedly at the bussiness card he gave me.
Only back then,the RDA were treated as heroes,important people who made way for a better life. For an undead Earth. The propaganda was all enough to trick a little mind like mine,though it’s funny how I always thought I was a step ahead of everyone. Life on Earth as I remember it was,to say the least
grey.
The cities were gray. The people were gray. The sky was
well,grey. And between spending the rest of my life here,with my dreams crumbling before my very own eyes,and going out there to actually fight for a new home for humanity,you can guess why I chose the latter.
Nothing out of the ordinary was happening for me here anyway. Gorgeous girl,great personality,they all said,but nobody ever settled. Nobody ever stopped in their tracks to take in the pure and total beauty of the chaos that is me,so I never had a serious partner before. And
I guess I was also excited to see if the stories are true.
How an actual human betrayed his own race for a
Na’vi tribe princess?At least that’s how they put it,and I don’t even want to mention how embarrassing it was for the RDA to come back to Earth with their tails between their legs back in 2154. No unobtanium. No money. No Avatars. No nothing. I was three when that happened,and I remember playing with my cousins with our cardboard toys as our parents watched the TV in confusion and
disappointment,so you can guess why they made Jake Sully seem like an actual demon,and the death of a colonel was a pretty big deal,after all.
Thing is,the RDA only shows you the pearl in their hands,and not the mouth getting ready to swallow you whole. And now I know why they were so understaffed. That total failure after 2154 made people lose trust in the RDA over the years. But to me?
The decision came easily. I needed something new.
What didn’t,though,was the pure work I’d have to do in just 6 months. Learning the language of the natives,the Na’vi. Getting to understand the differences between our anatomy and theirs. The fauna and flora. The tribes. The ecosystems. And
of course,Eywa herself,though I learned that from Dr. Grace Augustine’s botany books,not from the RDA’s training program. I honestly don’t know what Selfridge saw in me,when I know I have friends better in college than me,but I better not question it too much.
I tried telling myself that as soon as I got in cryo,it wouldn’t be a goodbye,rather a
see you later. Looking back at it now,I think it was just wishful thinking. For now,I was me,the girl nobody ever really took seriously. Just another face in a sea of others. Next time I wake up,I’d have to work in an entire department with people twice my age.
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The cryo-sleep thaw was a nightmare and a miracle all at once. My lungs burned as they dragged in air for the first time in six years, my throat raw and dry, every breath tasting metallic. My joints ached as if I’d aged a century.
“Subject revived.” the sterile voice of the AI announced, flat and emotionless. I tried sitting up, only to slump back down against the cryo pod’s restraints. My body wasn’t mine yet—not entirely.
“You’ll feel like shit for a while,” said a woman in a crisp lab coat, her voice muffled as she checked my vitals. “Side effects of long-term cryo. It’ll pass. Welcome to the ISV Valkyrie, and congrats on making it to Pandora.”
The word hung in the air, heavy and surreal. Pandora.
The next few hours were a blur of debriefings and medical checkups. My body eventually began to cooperate, but my mind lagged behind. I shuffled through endless corridors with other groggy personnel, each of us too stunned to speak. We were like ghosts wandering through a ship that pulsed with life—technicians barking orders, holograms buzzing with real-time scans of the moon’s surface, the low hum of engines preparing for atmospheric descent.
When the ship finally broke through Pandora’s atmosphere, I felt it in my chest. The vibrations reverberated through every bolt, every panel, and through me. The world outside the viewport was alive. The dense, green forests sprawled endlessly beneath the floating Hallelujah Mountains, their bases wreathed in ethereal clouds. The sky shifted from pink to blue in the blink of an eye, its colors alien yet breathtakingly familiar.
For a moment, the hum of engines and the chatter of voices faded away. It was just me and the sight of this strange, beautiful moon—a place that could have been paradise if we weren’t here to ruin it.
The ship landed with a jarring shudder, and the real work began.
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Adjusting to life on Pandora was like learning to breathe all over again. Everything about this place demanded respect—the gravity was lighter, the air richer, and the biology... unfathomable. Days blurred into weeks as I threw myself into the work at the Avatar Department.
My mornings began with syncing sessions in the link pods, my mind slipping into my Avatar body like stepping into a cold pool. It wasn’t seamless—at first, every movement felt foreign. I stumbled through training exercises, my longer legs and stronger muscles betraying me at every turn. But slowly, the body became mine.
Afternoons were spent reading over files on Na’vi biology, studying their neural networks and learning their language. The words felt clumsy on my tongue, but I persisted. When I wasn’t in the lab or out on field assignments to observe Pandora’s ecosystems, I was immersed in RDA briefings.
That’s where I first heard his name again.
Jake Sully.
The briefings spoke of him like a ghost, a legend who had long since passed into myth. But here, his name was a warning.
“Resistance forces led by Sully attacked the rail line near Sector 7 again,” one of the military officers growled during lunch at the canteen. “Three shipments of amp suits lost. That bastard and his little insurgents are crippling our operations.”
The room buzzed with tension as reports of attacks piled up. Sabotaged trains, stolen supplies, and destroyed equipment—it was chaos. To the RDA, Sully wasn’t just a traitor. He was the personification of everything standing in the way of their plans.
But the more I learned, the more conflicted I felt. The propaganda painted him as a terrorist, a man who had betrayed his own kind for a primitive cause. But every whisper I caught from the scientists who had been here longer told a different story.
“Maybe Sully isn’t the villain they make him out to be,” I muttered to Dr. Ellison one evening as we worked late in the lab.
He glanced at me, his expression unreadable as he pointed towards a CCTV with his head,as if to say "Shut up. They're listening."
"That’s dangerous talk,you know. Keep your head down. Do your work. They don't like questions.”
I nodded, but the seed of doubt had already taken root.
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The attacks continued, each one more brazen than the last. The RDA ramped up their operations in response, sending more troops and machinery into the wilds of Pandora. But for every move they made, the Resistance seemed to be one step ahead.
And then there was the tension between the people I worked with. Some were diehard loyalists, determined to see the mission succeed no matter the cost. Others—mostly the scientists—spoke in hushed tones about the beauty of the Na’vi culture, the interconnectedness of the flora and fauna, and the destruction we were bringing to this world.
I kept my head down, just as Ellison had warned. But at night, as I lay in my bunk staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but wonder: which side of history would I be on?
Pandora had a way of getting under your skin. The longer I stayed, the more I realized it wasn’t just a place. It was a mirror, reflecting humanity’s best and worst instincts back at us. And somewhere in the middle of it all was me—a girl who had come here for a fresh start, only to find herself caught in a war she didn’t fully understand.
The attacks became more than background noise; they became a constant undercurrent to life on Pandora. At first, they were just distant explosions, reports in the briefing room, or muttered curses from the military personnel in the mess hall. But over time, the Resistance started to feel like a presence, a shadow that loomed over everything the RDA tried to accomplish.
Jake Sully wasn’t just a name anymore—he was a force of nature.
The first time I felt the Resistance's impact directly was during a supply run. It was supposed to be routine—a quick trip to outpost Beta-5 to deliver Avatar-linked monitoring equipment. I was tagging along as part of my training, mostly to observe.
But the Resistance didn’t care about schedules or safety zones.
The attack was fast and chaotic. One moment, the AMP suits ahead of us were trudging through the dense forest, their movements mechanical and predictable. The next, arrows rained down from the trees, followed by explosions that sent the towering machines toppling like broken toys.
The ambush hit like a storm—sudden, violent, and unstoppable.
One moment, I was riding in the back of the supply truck, surrounded by crates of equipment and two guards sharing a nervous laugh. The next, the forest erupted in chaos.
The first explosion flipped the lead AMP suit, its towering frame crashing to the ground with a deafening roar. The convoy came to an abrupt halt as arrows rained down from the trees, their sharp points glinting like falling stars.
“Get down!” someone yelled.
I hit the truck bed hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me. My mask rattled against the metal floor as I scrambled for cover behind a crate. The world around me dissolved into a cacophony of gunfire, shouting, and the eerie war cries of the Na’vi.
The guards fired blindly into the trees, their exo-packs hissing as they struggled to maintain their aim under the pressure. I peeked over the edge of the crate just in time to see one of the AMP suits stagger, an arrow embedded in its cockpit.
Panic set in. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst. I wasn’t a soldier. I wasn’t trained for this. My human body was fragile here—one wrong move, and I’d be dead.
I clutched the sidearm they’d insisted I carry, though my hands were shaking too much to use it. What was I even doing here? This wasn’t supposed to be my fight.
A shadow passed overhead. My breath hitched as I looked up to see a Na’vi warrior leaping from a tree, his bow drawn, his movements impossibly fluid. He landed on the roof of the truck with barely a sound, his golden eyes scanning the scene below.
And then, those eyes locked onto mine.
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For a moment, the chaos of the ambush melted away, leaving only silence between us.
He stood above me, perched on the edge of the truck’s roof, silhouetted against the glowing forest. His figure was tall and commanding, every line of his body taut with a warrior’s grace. The flickering bioluminescence of the nearby trees played off his skin, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across his lean, muscular frame.
His face was angular and strong, the high cheekbones and sharp jawline unmistakably Na’vi, yet there was something softer in his expression. His golden eyes, large and luminous, fixed on me with an intensity that felt like a physical force. They weren’t filled with rage or cruelty but something far more unnerving—calculated curiosity, as though he were trying to read my soul in that single moment.
The streaks of blue war paint decorating his face didn’t fully mask the smooth, rich azure of his skin, which gleamed faintly under the pale light of Pandora’s twin moons. His braids, adorned with small beads and feathers, swayed gently with each subtle movement, a testament to the culture he carried with him like armor.
But it wasn’t just his appearance that struck me—it was his presence.
He radiated confidence, a quiet power that demanded attention without arrogance. It was the kind of aura that made the world around him seem smaller, less significant. The chaos raging around us felt like a distant hum compared to the weight of his gaze.
And yet, beneath that commanding presence, there was something deeper—an unmistakable grief, perhaps, or a burden that someone so young should never have to carry. It was in the set of his shoulders, the faint downturn of his mouth, and the way his hands gripped the bow with both precision and purpose.
“Drop it,” he said, his voice deep and steady, but with a softness that caught me off guard.
The words hit me like a command, though they weren’t barked or shouted. It was the tone of someone who expected to be obeyed—not out of fear, but respect.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe. The sidearm in my trembling hands felt heavier than it should, as if the very act of holding it was a betrayal. His gaze flicked to the weapon, then back to me, and I realized with a jolt that he wasn’t looking at me like an enemy. He was looking at me like a question.
“You are
 different,” he said, tilting his head slightly, the movement as fluid and deliberate as everything else about him. His accent curled around the words, each syllable infused with the lyrical cadence of his native tongue.
I wanted to speak, to ask him what he meant, but my throat felt dry, my voice lost in the weight of the moment.
He crouched slightly, lowering himself onto one knee so we were nearly at eye level. Even then, his presence dwarfed mine. Up close, the details became sharper—the faint patterns of his skin, the slight twitch of his ears as they picked up the sounds of the battle behind him, the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
“You do not fight,” he observed, the faintest hint of curiosity threading through his words. His eyes lingered on mine, their golden glow unwavering. “And you
 fear.”
It wasn’t an accusation. It was a statement of fact, delivered with neither judgment nor malice.
His hand shifted slightly, and I flinched, but he didn’t reach for me. Instead, he pointed at the weapon still lying on the ground between us.
The Na’vi reacted instantly. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet with startling gentleness.
“You do not belong here,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Run.”
“What—”
“Go!”
He released me and darted back into the fray, moving with the grace of a predator and the determination of someone who had everything to lose.
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I didn’t run. Not immediately. Instead, I crouched behind the truck, my legs trembling as I watched the battle unfold.
He moved like the forest itself, blending into the chaos with a skill that seemed almost supernatural. He wasn’t just fighting—he was leading. The other Na’vi warriors followed his signals, their coordinated strikes overwhelming the RDA forces.
For every bullet fired, they had an arrow. For every shout of anger, they answered with a battle cry that sent chills down my spine.
And yet, amidst the violence, there was something strangely... noble about them. They didn’t kill indiscriminately. They targeted the machines, the vehicles, the weapons. It was as if they were trying to make a point rather than simply annihilate us.
When the ambush finally ended, the Resistance had melted back into the forest, leaving behind a convoy in ruins. Smoke rose from the wreckage, and the air was thick with the smell of burning fuel.
I stumbled out from behind the truck, my legs barely holding me up. Around me, the survivors were regrouping, their faces pale and shell-shocked.
“Medic!” someone called, dragging a wounded soldier from the wreckage.
But I couldn’t move. My mind was stuck on him—the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d spared me when he could have easily ended my life.
“You do not belong here,” he’d said.
The words echoed in my head as I stared at the destruction around me. For the first time, I began to wonder if he was right.
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horny-deepspace · 2 days ago
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PLEASURE
synopsis: The walls of the bedroom echo with the click of handcuffs being fastened, followed by silence
 warnings: light bdsm, dom/sub wc: 2,2k
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Chapter 1.
He will never refuse to crush your foundations and suppress your moral principles; squeeze your will into a fist and command it as he pleases - without any effort.
It is impossible to resist his magnetic, sexually arousing timbre of voice. Outwardly, he remains invariably serene, with flawless facial features. It is hard to believe that he is real, only his sarfir-red eyes make him alive.
You appear, prove your - correct point of view, read moralizing lectures. This is more like expressive attacks on your part, and from him - complete calm. He does not raise his voice. He expresses himself in a suggestible and convincing way, forcing you to surrender in the end. It is unclear how he manages to influence others. There is a high probability that the reason is Evol deadly force. You need to try to find him a worthy opponent. The head of Onychinus is respected and feared - according to the timeless classic.
He takes verbal attacks for irony, considering your past professional activity. Six months ago, he bought you out of the brothel. Since then, he has become your only Master. In fact, life has changed significantly, because everything is learned in comparison. With him, you do not need to be afraid of unfamiliar clients, guess what is on their minds. Sylus immediately made it clear what he expects from you. He told you about his preferences.
Nothing that happened between you was a revelation. You came across different clients ready to order exotic services for an additional fee.
The thread of trust with Sylus grew stronger day by day. Over time, you began to look forward to intimacy with him more and more often, while feeling even more completely safe. You know: he will cover you, will not let anyone hurt you. Even if it is about retribution, the price he paid for you, and his protection is just a pretense.
The bathroom door opens, releasing hot clouds of steam. You close your eyes. In advance, you mentally outline the silhouette of a strong, male body, with transparent droplets of water flowing down the muscles.
Any discussions are left far behind when unbridled passion flares up between you. So strong that nothing and no one can stop you. You are powerless against each other. It is akin to addiction. You are completely different, but the craving is irresistible - is it only on a physical level?
Or is it not just that?
When he is away for too long, you begin to yearn. Almost howl from helplessness and the desire to run wherever your eyes look, just to calm your heart again. Self-hypnosis almost never works: neither promises to break up with him, that their new meeting is definitely now the last; not confessions that you bite your fist until it marks, holding back desperate moans through the pain.
You need him.
Needed. More than air.
Life without it has long ceased to seem significant

It is dusk outside. The weather in Zone N109 is consistently gloomy. The path for travelers is illuminated by a bloody moon, high in the sky in a fog of clouds, through which the warm rays caressing the skin do not penetrate.
Once a bustling technology center, this is now, after the catastrophe that occurred, one of the most dangerous areas. Surrounded by other forbidden zones, this "island" has turned into a lawless land where danger and opportunity coexist. The Zone is rife with violence and crime. Due to illegal trade and dangerous research, many of its activities are associated with protocors and Wanderers.
But everything seems very far away when you are in his arms.
He approaches you from behind, barely touching, drawing abstract patterns along your spine until he reaches your lower back. You want to step back, press yourself against his chest and stand there until dawn, which will not come. Today you don’t really want to swear, because it’s a useless exercise. The worst thing is to try to remake a person to your own rules, to deprive him of his own “I”.
- You won.
- I know, - he only says in a whisper. There is no mockery in his intonation.
Long fingers, exciting the imagination, climb under the unbuttoned shirt, under which you are wearing only panties and a leather harness on your chest. You like to wear men's shirts, sweaters and accessories: to remember his warmth, the smell of perfume. At least this way you can not part, keeping the memories.
With a slight movement, Sylus turns you to face him. You slip your finger under the belt of the towel, hinting at an extra piece of clothing, to which Sylus raises an eyebrow questioningly. Finally, his lips twist into a smug grin. There is no need to rush, you have the whole night at your disposal, except for those days when the man is present at important meetings and negotiations.
Humility will pay off in full.
The costs of the profession do not disappear without a trace. In the brothel, the owner expected productive work from the prostitutes: the more clients, the more income. The slaves themselves received just enough to keep from starving to death.
You are incredibly lucky to be freed, when hundreds of the same weak-willed slaves are still languishing in the brothel. Asking for a big favor is a thankless task. You have already received everything: the best lover who can provide for your life exactly until the end of the term of need. If he wants, it seems that he has the power to close the brothel, only in place of one establishment another will appear. This is an endless struggle between evil and evil.
Those same fingers that you can’t stop dreaming about, grasp your thin wrist with traces of abrasions and bruises that have not yet disappeared.
- Put it behind your back.
Your breath catches from the realization of what will happen next. Sylus goes to the chest of drawers with clothes. The top drawer contains his special toys. The cold metal of the handcuffs gleams in the dim light of the lamps. Breathe, just breathe. You obediently move your hands back and clasp them in a lock. The tall, blond figure walks past you, then stops behind you, out of sight.
The click of cuffs echoes off the bedroom walls, and then there's silence. Sylus walks around you, coming back to face you. His dark lashes flutter. Without realizing it, you're staring at him, taking in every inch of him: the smooth curves of his brows, the thick lashes, the neat nose, the sensual lips.
The man's gaze lifts, and his eyebrows rise, giving him an innocent look. A minute passes, maybe two. It's hard to tell. Reality swirls around you as you fall into his eyes. Your thoughts are naked. You have no intention of hiding your desires.
You watch with agonizing anticipation as he takes the metal chain attached to your choker at the other end and threads the carabiner through the ring on his collar, symbolizing a single bond.
Sylus advances on you until he collides with the wall. Your shoulders shake. Your heart starts pounding, but you don't panic. Thanks to his mercy, you're probably still alive. With that - the past lifestyle, girls don't grow old, especially in Zone N109.
This debt is indefinite. Never to be repaid.
- Sweetheart, if you don't want to...
- I remembered the past at the wrong time, - you brush away the rapidly running tears on your cheeks. - I owe you all...
He puts a finger to your lips, urging you to shut up, to which you nod in agreement and throw your leg over his waist. There should be no reason for sadness today or tomorrow. With ease, the man grabs you by the armpits and lifts you off the ground, allowing you to wrap both legs around him, because there is nothing else to hold on to.
Sylus is your support. A gift from fate.
- Forgive me.
This time he silences you with a kiss, punishing you by pressing your lips together and depriving you of the rest of your air. His hand pulls the chain down, bringing your chest closer to his.
- Think of us.
Sylus's deep, low voice makes you smile tenderly. His rough tongue licks the salty tracks of tears. You will only cry from the highest degree of pleasure, because he swore: "I'll be damned if I don't get my way."
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ice-cap-k · 2 days ago
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So... Unstable Universe Parrot. I've got thoughts I want to get off my chest about his character, so I'm here to ramble about it.
Parrot kind of drives me crazy. I know I'm not the only one upset by some of his choices throughout the series. But something kind of dawned on me that put the guy in a new light.
Spoilers ahead. Tldr at the end.
Parrot's regularly proven himself to be a hypocrite, what with telling Wemmbu off about how stealing is wrong and you shouldn't stoop to your enemy's levels, only to immediately turn around and talk about stealing from Reddoons the next video later BEFORE he even realized there was anything wrong with Red or Capitol City's way of business. Then there's the blatant killing off of Dean and Wifies' pets while arguing it's fine for him to have an allay just to make it super obvious that, yes, he is a hypocrite.
Then there's the entire mess with Wifies during their fight. They "broke up," sure. Parrot ran away despite Wifies begging him to come back and then later accused Wifies of being the one to leave. Wifies has since apologized profusely and no longer made any attempt to argue with Parrot on the matter of his own safety because he fears Parrot will leave again. Parrot has not yet apologized as of the time I am writing this. Wifies may have overstepped by burning the compass, but Parrot refused to hear him out on a very real concern that Parrot is throwing himself into danger, and Wifies just doesn't want to lose him. Considering Parrot's hero complex, as shown by repeatedly jumping into fights that aren't necessarily his with little to no regard for personal safety, this is a very real risk.
And, you know, also hypocritical on Parrot's behalf for refusing to listen when he himself has expressed one-sided concern for Wifies' well-being during the entire confrontation with Clown. A scenario where Parrot literally refused to let Wifies help despite Wifies wanting to because he did not want to risk Wifies safety.
I think Parrot was telling the truth. He doesn't understand.
And that, when I really thought about it with this last episode, is kind of fascinating. Even when Parrot has lived through an exact scenario beforehand where he felt the desire to keep someone he cared about safe, he refused to listen when the situation was reversed. In fact, Parrot said his usual "I don't understand" multiple times after Wifies burned the compass and explained he wanted to keep Parrot safe.
He doesn't understand, despite having been in a very similar situation before.
The more I thought about Parrot's actions throughout the entirety of Unstable Universe, the more I realize that Parrot doesn't seem to experience empathy. At all.
He feels sympathy. He feels bad for the people forced to mine for ores to line Capitol City's koffers. He feels bad for Wifies being chunk banned and missed him dearly because he does care about him. He felt bad for Dean's predicament with the mafia and took him under his wing. He has a strong sense of justice. He helps people. He knows what's wrong and fights for what is right. In fact, Parrot is an objectably good guy. But he can't put himself in someone elses place. And when he does end up in the other person's shoes, he can't handle it.
Just look at how freaked out he was over Clown saying they were a lot alike. Something that had a profound impact on one, possibly more videos. Let's ignore the moral high ground Parrot tried to scrape together at the end that was absolutely unjustified and focus on Parrot's actions after Clown said that for the moment. Even after getting Wifies back from the threat of Clown almost killing his friend, Parrot STILL wanted to go after Branzy again despite very clearly seeing what that kind of a hostage situation would lead to. Even after experiencing the same threat to a loved one that he was trying to hold over Clown's head, Parrot could not make the connection that Clown may feel the same. That history would just repeat itself.
Heck, he doesn't even care that he's planning on dragging into a war a bunch of innocents who had only been trying to escape the mafia when he went to the Farlands. Despite the fact that he had his own civilization already taken over by the mafia.
Parrot has his hero complex and acts narcissistic and hypocritical because he can not make the emotional connection between his own feelings and others.
I'm no psychologist, but he strikes me as someone with Empathy Deficiency Disorder. People with this disorder tend to criticize or blame others without understanding where they are coming from, don't take responsibility for their own actions, have little to no patience, rarely show any appreciation for others, and regularly put themselves first and foremost.
Sound familier?
You could probably consider someone like Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean as someone with something similar to this disorder. That or more of a narcissistic disorder, but those tend to go hand in hand.
I don't know if this was the content creator's intention as he wrote up his character, but it certainly helped me put Parrot's actions into perspective. It's really cool to think about watching a character go through the hero's journey without something as basic as empathy. While it's too early to tell, the only other character that might come close to such low empathy is Ash, who is literally the big bad. Then again, we see so little of Ash and his spoken word makes him an unreliable narrator regarding his own goings-ons. Not even Clown, who we've seen has plenty in common with Parrot. Clown experiences empathy, because he knew how upset Parrot would be if Wifies was threatened. Just as upset as Clown would be if Branzy was threatened.
Parrot has changed a lot as a character through the series, but his ability to empathize has remained static. I imagine at the true climax of the story whenever that may be that Parrot will somehow come to understand that other people can and do feel the same. And I'd like to say that will be a satisfying moment, but who knows what it might take to reach that point. A lot has been lost already.
(Tldr: I think Parrot's character has Empathy Deficiency Disorder and that's why he does the most frustrating, seemingly selfish things.)
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grimalkinmessor · 1 year ago
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A lawlight thing I don't think people talk about enough is the sheer amount of confidence Light has in L's competence.
(I'm not talking about the handcuff bits either—Yotsuba!Light actually has far less confidence in L's abilities than regular Light does, because Yotsuba!Light thinks L is wrong, and that every move L has made against him has been wrong. Yotsuba!Light only regains his belief in L near the end of the arc, when Light himself begins to suspect that L might not be wrong.)
But those little inner monologues we make fun of all the time, the ones where Light basically talks himself in circles trying to the find the best, most non-suspicious answer? That's him acknowledging that L is incredibly intelligent.
Light, before even properly meeting L, was completely sure that L would think of every single possibility, every single response to every single word Light could spout, a counterattack to every move he could make, even if he didn't know exactly what they were. And yes, you could say that it's Light simply being overly cautious, but Light is so sure of L's responses in those moments; his sheer belief that all L needs is for him to slip up once, even though that cannot possibly be true (one hint of suspicion wouldn't have been enough for the Task Force I don't think, not even compiled on the fact that Light fits their profile) is honestly....kind of staggering??
Light had no clue that L even existed before the broadcast, and the only true shows of L's ability that he saw before they met in person were the broadcast (a loss) and the cameras (annoying, but a win).
As soon as they meet in person, Light is thinking battle strategy. There's a moment of "Oh fuck" when L reveals himself, and that moment is because Light is certain that L would've been a fox in his henhouse if he hadn't.
But Light, again, doesn't take the moves that he can't be certain of the meaning of as proof that L is stupid—he takes it as proof that L is smart.
And at every turn, L proves him right. :)
I just think it's interesting that Light very much respected L's intelligence, even as he hated him. Light's faith in L's abilities was pretty much instant and I thought it might be fun to explore :3
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nevermeanttoknow · 7 months ago
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hes a vast avatar to me for reasons
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wolves-in-the-world · 1 year ago
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Goran Viơnjić as Nikola Tesla in Doctor Who 12.4, Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror.
image descriptions below the cut
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[1] A still from an episode of Doctor Who, showing Goran as Nikola Tesla in front of Niagara Falls with an audience of men in suits and top hats, only their backs shown to us. Nikola is gesturing towards the waterfall as he speaks. He's a tall, slim man of about fifty in an old-fashioned suit with a tailcoat, pinstriped trousers, a waistcoat and watch-chain. He has a moustache, and brown hair parted in the middle, a few inches long and styled neatly with a bit of a wave.
[2] Goran as Nikola Tesla gesturing towards a device I don't understand well enough to even describe except that it's two corrugated metal cylinders and electricity is arcing between them, blue and dramatic, while he gestures like a magician. His other hand is on a lever, his face obscured by a starburst of blue light.
[3] A close-up of Goran as Nikola Tesla with a lightbulb in the foreground gleaming with warm light. He's looking off-screen and smiling slightly, eyes large and grey-blue, eyebrows raised, creases in his forehead and around his mouth. He's wearing a butterscotch-yellow tie with a wing or tuxedo shirt collar.
[4] A side-on view of Goran as Nikola Tesla bent over a workbench doing something with a tool we only see as a faint gleam of metal. He's bent almost double, intent on his work, a curl of hair falling down above his forehead, his coat gone and his shirt sleeves rucked up to the elbow so that his arms are bare and evidently hairy. The scene's dark, lit only by a candle lamp.
[5] A view of Goran as Nikola Tesla looking at a figure mostly out of view, visible to us only as blonde hair at the side of the screen. Nikola's eyes are a little wide, his mouth slightly open, making him look bewildered, and perhaps wary - I thought of it as his "okay, either you or this situation is bonkers" face. His thumb is just visible at the bottom of the screen, suggesting he's gesturing or fidgeting with his hands.
[6] A view of Goran in a crowded street, no coat, standing almost a head taller than everyone else and gesturing with one hand in a way that signals frustration or defensiveness, his eyes closed, mouth open as he speaks. A few bowler hats are visible around him, and a few of Nikola's companions - Dorothy, a serious-faced woman of thirty or so with tightly curly hair and smart clothing; the Doctor, currently a woman with straight blonde hair looking curiously past Dorothy; and just a glimpse of Yasmin in the background in a flat blue hat.
[7] A side-on view of Jodie Whittaker as the Doctor and Goran as Nikola both paying rapt attention to a glowing green mechanical-looking ball in a dish, with the Doctor pointing her sonic screwdriver at it and Nikola bending down to watch at the opposite side of the desk, hands folded together as if he's fidgeting, intent on her work. The Doctor's in a long light grey coat with a hood, incongruous for the era, and it's clear she'd be a lot shorter than him if he weren't currently courting back pain.
[8] The same scene as before, minutes later - the Doctor only visible as blonde hair in the foreground, Nikola's face transformed like he's realised something wonderful, eyes on the Doctor and leaning forward slightly, or still leaning on the desk. His mouth is open as he talks, his eyes bright, skin creasing faintly at the corners with a real smile.
[9] The same scene as before, seconds later. Goran as Nikola is looking to the side, no longer smiling but serious and thoughtful.
[10] The same scene as before, seconds later. Nikola is looking back at the Doctor and raising his eyebrows in a question at something she said, his forehead creasing, his expression perhaps a little doubtful.
[11] A close-up of Goran as Nikola in a room with warmer and dimmer lighting, his hair coming loose a bit as short curls on his forehead, frowning as he talks to someone off-screen. The angle exaggerates his nose, emphasises the lines around his mouth.
[12] A different view of the scene, zoomed out. Nikola is bent over a worktable beside Yasmin, a young woman with curled hair and a smart navy-blue jacket, and they're looking at each other as though discussing a problem, Nikola folding or rubbing his hands together. The desk of a mess of wires and oddments, lit bulbs in metal cages and what might be the odd green ball from earlier.
[13] Nikola and Yasmin in a very different location, dimly lit, with strange red lights in the background and a green light over their faces. (They're on an alien spaceship.) Yasmin is looking down at the floor like she's stunned, mouth open, and Nikola is holding her arm like he's just pulled her back, but his eyes are on something or someone else we can't see. His eyes are wide, his expression startled and openly afraid.
[14] Nikola and Yasmin still on the spaceship, blurry machinery behind them, but Nikola is almost level with Yasmin now and they're standing close, both looking at a third party off-screen. Yasmin's expression is one of distaste and a little anger, and Nikola's eyebrows are drawn down, expression somewhere between bewildered and worried.
[15] A different scene, different lighting - deep blue in the background, warm light on Nikola's face. It's an odd angle, his head ducked as though looking at something, his expression serious.
[16] A different scene, perhaps daytime with electric lighting, Nikola in conversation with someone off-screen who's clearly shorter than him. His hair's a little disarrayed, eyebrows raised and forehead creased, but there's something of a smile to his eyes and his mouth that gentles it.
[17] The same scene, seconds later, slightly zoomed in. Nikola's eyebrows are lower, forehead still creased and eyes a little scrunched, like he doesn't understand yet what the other person means. There's something tender about it still.
[18] A different room, darker, Nikola grinning while the Doctor is mostly off-screen, just a little of her hair visible, except she's raising a hand for a high-five that he isn't reciprocating. Creases are splayed out from his eyes, deep ones around his mouth, his nose sharp from this angle.
[19] A different view of the high-five moment, focusing on the Doctor as she realises he doesn't know to reciprocate - the high-five wasn't invented yet - and starts to lower her hand. Her mouth is wide open, teeth showing, somewhere between a grin and talking, and her body language is open exuberance. The creases around Nikola's eyes are still very visible from this angle, though most of his face isn't.
[20] A view of Goran as Nikola with his eyes closed as if he's blocking something out, and a look of forbearance and faint frustration on his face.
[21] A side-on view of Goran as Nikola, a shorter man in the background and the TARDIS behind them both, its windows glowing white. Nikola's expression is determined and a little grim, more hair curling messily against his forehead.
[22] A view of Goran as Nikola outside, trees in the background, a blurry blue-white sky and what might be yellowish grass. He's wearing old-fashioned aviator goggles on his forehead, where they're pushing his hair up so it's even messier, and he's looking down at something with a troubled expression.
[23] A view of the Doctor and Goran as Nikola in the TARDIS, the scene awash in electric blue and peach-pink, and no other lighting. The Doctor's leant over the TARDIS controls doing something there and looking back at Nikola, who has picked up some sort of contraption and is looking down at it, expression either troubled or focused. The light on his face is blue, throwing his features into sharp and unflattering relief.
[24] A view of Goran as Nikola in the TARDIS still, the lighting blue, the angle of his shoulders suggesting his hands are on his hips, and his expression now one of open joy. His eyes are large, his mouth open and smiling slightly, soft creases on either side.
[25] A view of Goran as Nikola on the street, looking with his head tilted at someone in the foreground - barely visible, except for the bowler hat. Nikola's expression is tolerant, a restrained smile with narrow eyes, and his hands are probably clasped behind his back.
[26] A view of Goran as Nikola on the street, now talking to the Doctor, only the back of her head visible. Nikola's in the same pose as before, hands behind his back, only leaning slightly towards her now, his expression warm as he talks to her. The creases around his eyes are back, and it's another angle that emphasises his nose.
[27] The same view as before, only now Nikola's ducked his head, almost like he's shy, or needs a moment to collect himself. The creases have gone from his eyes, but the smile's still there at his mouth.
—
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merakiui · 2 years ago
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some thoughts about jade leech as a stalker.
(cw: yandere, nsfw, stalking, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, mentions of death/strangulation)
Jade does not love often. In fact, he has a rather small supply of love, which is reserved for his hobbies and family, so when he loves something other than those two things it can only mean trouble. When Floyd has something special and doesn’t share... Well, naturally Jade’s going to want it. He’s never been inherently greedy. Rather, he’s always let Floyd have everything: the larger half of a bluefin tuna, the shinier stone, the bigger seashells, the slice of cake with more frosting, his uniforms whenever Floyd’s were dirtied or damaged. And in return Floyd has, for the most part, shared his things with Jade. This has always been their normal. 
But this time Floyd makes no mention of sharing when it comes to you. In the past, when they were particularly interested in someone, they would share them. Or, in other words, torment that person in equal succession. Azul has been their prime target for years now, and it doesn’t look like either of them will stop their relentless pursuit in seeing how fast they can get Azul to grouse or groan or sigh. You might think they live to see Azul’s misery, but truthfully they want to accompany Azul as he carves misery into the hearts of the poor, unfortunate souls who thought it wise to do business with deep-sea beasts. Teasing him is just a bonus. 
When it comes to you, Floyd is his usual authentic self: blunt and honest to a fault, dangerously so. But that’s what makes his twin so fun. Floyd won’t sugarcoat the obvious. If he dislikes you, he’ll make it known. Jade, on the other hand, will speak syrupy sweet lies in an effort to maintain proper goodwill, even if he detests you. You’ve never really interested Jade, so he can’t say he hates you. But he can’t say he loves you either. To him, you are just a powerless human in a habitat that does not suit you. Really, even with all of the tricks and traps you pulled to beat Azul at his own game, you remained boring to him. He didn’t pay you much mind after everything had been resolved and you’d been free to return to Ramshackle. That should have been the end of his story with you. 
But then, some time later, you start to make frequent appearances at the lounge. It doesn’t take Jade long to learn that you only show up when Floyd’s on shift, and it also doesn’t take him long to theorize that you might have fallen for his brother’s unique charms. It’s sweet, in a way, how Floyd lights up when he sees you, how you smile a little more brightly when he speaks to you, how your laughter is so very buoyant when Floyd lifts you into the air and spins you happily. Jade’s content to watch from the sidelines, pleased to know that his brother has found a friend in you. That might make it easier to trick you into a contract.
He’s so set in this way of thinking, only viewing you as a pawn or a stepping stone towards some bigger end goal. But when Floyd brings you back to the dorm and you become more than a constant in Jade’s life, he starts to wonder what makes you so special. What is it about you that has his brother so enamored? What makes you irresistible? What parts of you are appealing? Jade thinks it might be how quick it is you submit when Floyd’s got you pinned into the mattress, face first, rough hands spreading your thighs apart, so he can sink into you more easily. Floyd likes that; he likes the weak things that crumble under him. He likes to push things to breaking. He likes to mark and bite and bloody and bruise and shred.
Jade likes to fix. He likes to mend, and then break, and then mend all over again. He likes the process, the psychological science behind a simple gesture, much like how he takes great pleasure in playing god over the plants in his terrariums. They say a budding serial killer starts small—with animals like rabbits or squirrels or cats. Jade starts with plants. He’ll put them in stressful environments—in soils with nutrients that don’t quite work—and he’ll watch them wilt, mottle, mold, and decay. He’ll watch them struggle to adapt, he’ll watch them yearn for water or sunlight, and only when he’s certain they’ve had enough he’ll give them proper, healthy care. It’s fun, the way he has so much control over something as dynamic as a plant. But plants cannot protest, cannot fight back, cannot act in the same way humans do. 
But it’s quite satisfying to pluck dried petals from a withered flower, almost like a morbid game of effeuiller la marguerite, and not hear a single scream.
So Jade is fully expecting Floyd to tire of you, to break you enough until boredom sinks its fangs into him and he moves on with his life. And what Floyd breaks Jade fixes, so he’s very ready to glue your heart together when Floyd shatters it. He’s ready to offer a handkerchief and his ear should you need to vent. He’s already prepared his speech: â€œI must apologize on behalf of Floyd. You know very well how he gets. If I can be of assistance in any way, please let me know.”
Unfortunately, you remain intact. Months pass, Floyd continues to love you, and your relationship unfolds like a lotus in early morning. Jade continues to observe. Floyd has never been one for privacy, so he’s seen every kiss, every bite, every inch of exposed skin. Hell, he’s sat at his desk and tallied Mostro Lounge’s monthly expenses while Floyd fucked you dumb on the other side of the room. He’s even made eye contact with you when you happened to gaze his way while his twin was buried balls-deep in that tight hole of yours. He wonders what goes on in that head of yours. Perhaps there’s nothing substantial within. Floyd’s scrambled your brains enough, so you could just be useless now. Though that wouldn’t be very fun, would it? He knows there’s more to you than you let on, especially when you play top and take every inch of Floyd, riding him so skillfully, and all Floyd can do is dig his fingers into your hips to guide you along to the rough, erratic pace the both of you have set. 
Jade watches fondly from the shadows. Floyd likes to have access to your neck and shoulders; he likes to take you from behind while leaning down to bite into soft flesh. But Jade thinks it would be much nicer to gaze upon your face, to kiss salt from your eyes, to pepper your jawline with tiny pecks, all while peering into eyes that house a beautiful soul. He thinks it would be nice to hold you down, have your legs wrapped around his waist or thrown up onto his shoulders, while he bottoms out. If it were Jade, he’d take you in every position, but he’d find the most pleasure in eye contact. There’s something intimate about it, much like how there’s intimacy in the hands that wrap around a throat. You have to be close to someone when you’re restricting their airflow; you have to squeeze until veins pop, until your hands are sore, until your fingernails have burrowed so deeply into skin that the crescent moons color crimson. It takes minutes to strangle someone, and every minute is spent staring into the wide, terrified eyes of a desperate soul on the verge of death.
Jade likes the way you smell, the way you speak, the way you laugh, the way you are, in every meaning of the word, so very filled with life. Even down to the way you breathe and gasp and moan and cry, you are life itself. Jade wants to bottle that for himself—pluck you from Floyd’s flower pot and place you in a terrarium with the most potent elements just to see how long you’d fare. He wants to save you from those same conditions, sandwich your face between gloved hands when he’s kneeled to your lowered height, and whisper about how it’s okay, about how you’re safe, about how he’d never truly hurt you. Jade knows that loving someone is a very special thing, but the way he loves you is not quite pleasant. The love he has for his hobbies and family is natural. Normal. Simplistic and familial. 
The love he has for you is murderous and frightening. Some days he looks at you like you’re prey he’s not yet devoured. Like you’re to be his first victim. 
Jade starts small. He takes tiny trinkets—a keychain, a pencil, an accessory. He stores these in a shoe box under his bed. When Floyd brings you over and clothes are cast aside, he swipes your undergarments for himself. He won’t wash them until he absolutely must. He’ll have the soft fabric wrapped around his dick later that same evening when Floyd’s fallen asleep and he’s up late contemplating love and lust and life and death, and he’ll cum to the thought of you. Sweet, adorable, oblivious you. 
He’s what one would call a persistence predator—a hunter who gradually wears his prey down over time. He takes from you, watches you, listens to you fret about missing things to Floyd, who promises to find the bastard who’s messing with you and squeeze them until they’re blue and purple. Jade smiles at that. Floyd wouldn’t really do that to him. Sure, they’ve hit each other when they’ve fought and roughhoused on occasion, but the punches were never truly meant. Sure, they might have been thrown playfully or angrily, but they were all temporary bouts of strength. Floyd wouldn’t truly hurt him, so to hear these determined promises and to see how you relax around him... It’s really cute. Jade wonders how much more he can take from you. 
And he wonders how much more you can take before you’re splintering. 
Really, you got lucky that Floyd picked you first. He’s far more merciful. Far more sweeter. Far more loving. At least Floyd is honest with his (at times) rough nature. At least he makes it known that he wants to bite you until you’re bleeding. But Floyd can’t stand whining. He hates it when people cry about things he can’t bother to care about, and lately you’ve been whining about this stalker you think you have for weeks now. Floyd’s told you you’re just being a scared shrimpy—that there is no stalker, that you’re probably just misplacing or losing these items, that none of them really matter because they’re replaceable. 
Jade gets lucky when Floyd finally washes his hands of you, officially fed up with your whining. And what Floyd damages Jade fixes. So when you’re in tears, distraught over the break-up and your missing items and your stalker and the fact that the door to Ramshackle was left unlocked again and that you feel like someone’s living in your shadow, Jade arrives to rescue you from your fear. You don’t even hesitate to cling to him and cry, spilling your worries in waterfalls. Perhaps it’s because he’s a familiar face. He is a reflection of Floyd, after all. 
“Oh dear,” he’ll whisper, stroking your back, allowing you to bury your face in his chest and sob. â€œThere, there.”
You can’t see his expression, but there is a smile spreading on his lips. And his eyes are alight with cruel glee. 
“Would it make you feel better if someone accompanied you to your classes?” Your feeble nod is all he needs. â€œIn that case, shall I spend a few days at Ramshackle with you? I’m certain whoever’s pursuing you won’t get very far if I’m around.”
And he’s right. Your stalker never takes anything again. They never leave the front door unlocked. They never trail behind you, taking shelter in your shadow. That’s because he’s your stalker, though you never managed to figure that out, and this time he doesn’t have to dwell in shadows or on the sidelines. This time he can stand before you as a friend, a soon-to-be lover, and perhaps a lifelong mate. 
Jade does not love often, but when he does it is as beautifully painful as tearing the wings from butterflies. 
#meraki mumbles#yandere twst#n/sfw#i think my favorite thing about writing yandere jade is how brutal and remorseless he can be#it's probably because he grew up in the harsh environment of the sea#which would naturally harden anyone and make them more predatory than a prey#it's probably also why he (and floyd and azul) see nothing wrong with murder#yes it's morally wrong and very much illegal#but in the ocean it's eat or be eaten and really do you think jade is going to let some other predator snap his darling up? :)#challenge: write one yan jade thought without it spiraling into a thought about his murderous rizz#challenge failed </3 he is a walking danger you cannot tell me he wouldn't think of the most horrifying things when it comes to darling#more jade thoughts!!! consider an artist (painter/sculpter/etc) jade who is absolutely obsessed with you (the nude model from his art class)#because you're the one who has finally inspired him and broken his months-long artist's block#and also because he'd like to paint you in the most vicious red#or jade who has broken into your home and is living there in secret without you knowing#sometimes he sleeps under your bed just to hear your steady breaths#he never rearranges anything in your house but he does do the dishes or clean up messes you've made#you can never remember if or when you cleaned these things but you never think much of it#jade stands at your bedside when you sleep at night and he watches you#you'll happen to wake and you'll spot him but by the time you've scrambled to wake up and turn the lights on he'll already be gone#so you're left to wonder if he was ever there in the first place or if you were still dreaming#he is the terror that you will never see until it's too late
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ct-hardcase · 9 months ago
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because twitter's seen it already, I feel the need to share that keeve made a habit of resting her hand on terec's shoulder when either needed support
(IDs in alt)
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fruixtii · 2 years ago
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did i ever mention my hc that lilia has insomnia
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llycaons · 7 months ago
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'jiang cheng would like a strong woman' have you considered she would probably not like him
#if a woman who demands to be treated by respect/maturity/communication meets jc it would be over before it begins#if she has a low tolerance for being yelled at mocked etc. etc. well you can see how short it'll be. even personalized gifts he failed at#he has so much to work on. the only exception is if she likes hot messes I guess and she doesn't mind being yelled at#OR if she wanted to study him like a bug. if she truly sweeps in take control of LP and starts issuing orders#AND likes jc for whatever reason. maybe THAT could work. but it HAS to be a good reason it cannot be đŸ„șđŸ„șđŸ„ș he had a sad life#or thinks his inability to communicate is sexy or whatever. man idk. I feel like any woman with the independence to choose#would see the red flags immediately and gtfo. as a sect leader he has so much authority. his wife wld possibly bein a rly dangerous positio#actually we have canonical evidence. hi wq. in a lifetime of being legendary your refusal to marry this guy#even tho it meant you'd die a starving enemy of the state is up there as one of the best <3 rest in peace#and yes living a short happy life with wn and granny and a-yuan and wwx and her family#WAS more gratifying and better for her than a long and probably miserable life being jc's obligation wife while he awkwardly does his best#to be a good husband. and fails. because I mean. he needs help and a wife is not gonna fix him. also her family and wwx are dead :/#however our girl made her choice and was spared that fate love and light rest in peace#not that she made it for herself like we know she did it for her family. but I imagine she was like WHEW dodged a bullet there#cql txp
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thatwitchrevan · 2 years ago
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I just think having a shoto as a secondary weapon is so funny. It's like guess what fucker, I have my full size lightsaber that so I can duel with other Jedi and end any non-Jedi in the blink of an eye, but I've ALSO just as an extra 'fuck you' got this small one that I can get up close and jab you with. Threatens you with a dagger but it's made of laser. Be afraid of my tiny crystal light sword. Bitch.
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