#its for every human and not for bastards who want to destroy it

[eyesofbong]

A Chrollo x F!Hunter Reader Fic | Summary

Best advised to be read in dark mode. AO3 link coming soon!

★ 18+ MDNI WARNINGS: descriptive murder, burning of corpses, torture?, arson, slight implication of attempted suicide, gore, blood, violence, strong mentions of sexual abuse towards children including human trafficking, implied kidnapping, perversion of innocence, predators, CP, and implied rape. (NO I DO NOT ENDORSE THE ABUSE OF CHILDREN. it is only briefly mentioned since it is disgusting to keep the story realistic and strictly used as awareness since this is actual problems in the real world they don't just kidnap children. I WILL NEVER! write about non-con with underage characters or children, rape, and assault.) ★

☆ word count. 8.9k (sheeeesh had to hold back on somethings)

✥ Chapter Summary: Lost in the shadows of your despair, haunted by memories of the children you once saved, you find yourself drifting further from your purpose. But when a call from Chairman Netero breaks the silence, you're pulled back into a world you thought you'd left behind, drawn into the unknown for one last round — for the sake of saving a young man from making the same mistakes you did. ✥

The church was still, bathed in the soft glow of flickering candles. You remained in the pew, feigning prayer, while your mind wrestled with turbulent thoughts.

But before you found yourself here, in this quiet sanctuary, there was a journey—a path that led you back to the world you had once left behind.

“You can’t save them all.”

The words echoed in your mind—a truth you had grappled with for most of your life. So why was it so hard to accept that cruel reality? Why did you live your life the way you did? Most people would argue that they wish they had your power and skills. But they didn’t understand. They couldn’t comprehend the burden that came with such strength.

Why would anyone want to carry that weight for so long?

Power is a double-edged sword. If you aren’t corrupted by it, you’re crushed beneath its weight. How easy it is to destroy rather than create.

You often wondered why Netero had chosen you that day. What did he see first—the helpless child who had lost everything or the Hunter who would grow into his greatest soldier?

You trailed behind the men, each step leading you deeper into the belly of this vile place. They had no idea you were not one of them, no clue that every word you spoke and every move you made was part of a carefully laid trap. The air around you was thick with malice, a foul concoction of despair, fear, and predatory intent.

Since taking the head of your family’s killer, there has been a void in your heart—one you filled with vengeance.

But now, you had a new purpose: to use your power to hunt down the worst of humanity, like this network of mafia traffickers.

Suddenly, your senses sharpened. You heard it—a soft, muffled cry—the children.

The group leader, a man with greasy hair and a twisted grin, laughed. “You hear them, little rascals?” he sneered, gesturing ahead with a perverse pride. “Got a fresh batch of chicklings just yesterday. Innocent, full of life... worth a lot more in certain markets, if you catch my drift..."

A wave of revulsion swept over you, but you kept your face steady, fighting internally the burning in your throat.

Sick bastards. That’s all they were to you. There was nothing more vile than preying upon children, tearing away their innocence, and selling their pain.

Once, you had believed killing was always wrong. But when faced with monsters like these, death seemed like the only solution.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, right, Mistress?” The leader’s voice was thick with expectation, his beady eyes studying you for any sign of weakness.

You met his gaze with a cold, calculated, calm one. “The price is no problem, but I’ll need to see the ‘quality’ of the children you speak of to ensure they’re worth it,” you replied, playing along with his sick game. He grinned, his yellowed teeth bared like a predator sensing victory.

“Of course, my lady, right this way,” he said, gesturing for you to follow him up a rickety flight of stairs.

As you ascended, you noticed the tapes scattered on the floor—stacks of them carefully labeled and arranged. Your heart sank at the sight. You knew exactly what they were: recordings of abuse. Child pornography is waiting to be sold and distributed. Evidence of what these children had endured and what they were being forced to relive in the most horrific way possible.

Images of small, terrified faces pinned to the walls, some in tears, others with expressions frozen in fear, burned into your mind. You forced yourself to keep moving, to keep your eyes forward, your face blank. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to lash out, but you had to stay focused. You had to see this through.

When you reached the top, he led you to a door and pushed it open with a creak. Inside, the children were huddled together, wide-eyed and trembling. At the front stood a small boy with big gray eyes—"The runt." of the group. His clothes were torn, dirt smeared on his cheeks, but there was something in his gaze—a spark of defiance that hadn’t yet been snuffed out. The other children seemed to hover protectively around him, even in their weakened states.

“Well, what do you think of these little lambs?” the leader asked, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Aren’t they precious?”

You glanced at the children, your heart aching. For a split second, your gaze softened when you saw the small, porcelain-skinned boy, his eyes locked onto yours. He seemed to sense something in you, something different. You took a slow, steady breath, and without moving your lips, you mouthed, “I’m here to help.”

The boy’s grip on the bars loosened slightly. Hope flickered in his big gray eyes. You could feel the children’s fear and desperation mingling with a fragile thread of trust. They were so small, so fragile, yet somehow still fighting.

“They are precious,” you murmured, your voice taking on a steely edge. “But not in the way you’re thinking.”

The men’s laughter faltered. They sensed the shift, but too late. You moved swiftly, raising your hand. A wall of stone shot up from the ground, separating the children from their captors. Panic spread among the men as they scrambled for their weapons, but you were already moving.

With a flick of your wrist, a vine extended from the stone wall, and in its grip, a sword was handed to you. The blade flashed, slicing through the air. In one swift motion, you severed their hands before they could draw their guns. Blood spattered against the walls, and the men screamed.

“You crazy bi—” one of them began, but his voice was cut off as you grabbed his face. Nen flames flared from your palm, melting his skin. His screams turned to a hideous, gurgling cry as you slammed him against the wall, against a picture of him touching one of the children.

“My flames are nothing compared to the ones you’ll face for eternity,” you said, your voice cold and unwavering.

"THE DEVIL! YOU'RE THE DEVIL!" he shrieked, his voice cracking in terror.

“YOU’LL GO TO HELL TOO!” another screamed.

You tilted your head slightly, unbothered. “I know,” you replied calmly. “And I’ll be right there with you... to make sure you suffer.”

With a final, furious surge of nen, you let the flames consume him, his body twitching as the fire took hold. One by one, the men fell, their screams swallowed by the inferno of your rage.

The air thickened with the stench of burning flesh, but all you felt was a calm, cold satisfaction. You took a deep breath, letting the fire die down, leaving only smoldering ashes behind.

The floor was now slick with blood, staining everything it touched. You closed your eyes and focused, drawing on your nen, the energy that flowed through your very being. You felt a ripple within yourself, a gathering of moisture in your veins, pulling towards your fingertips. With a single thought, you summoned it forth.

20%

A small, shimmering blob of water began to form, hovering just above your palm. It glistened with a faint blue hue, infused with your nen—your life force flowing through it. The water was more than liquid; it was an extension of your will, a manifestation of the purity and cleansing you desired.

You moved your hand slowly, and the blob expanded, reaching toward the crimson stains that pooled on the floor. It touched the blood, and a strange, almost serene reaction occurred. The nen-infused water seemed to drink up the blood, absorbing it into its depths, turning it from a crystalline blue to a dark, murky red. It quivered and shifted, gathering every last drop, until the floor was clean.

Once it was done, you flicked your wrist, and the blood-tainted water dissipated into steam, evaporating into the air. The scent of iron and smoke faded, leaving behind only the faintest whisper of moisture.

You turned to the vine still hanging from the wall. “Take the corpses to another room,” you said softly. “I don’t want the children to see this.”

The vine extended, wrapping around the charred remains and dragging them away, leaving the room clear. You watched it go, feeling a pang of sorrow in your chest. “I’m sorry, Mother,” you whispered, “but someone has to purge the evil, right?”

The vine nodded as if in understanding and vanished into the shadows.

With the room now clear, you lowered the stone wall, allowing the children to see. They were still huddled together, wide-eyed, trembling, but there was a new light in their eyes—a glimmer of hope.

You kneeled, using a tiny flame to illuminate the room gently. “You’re safe now,” you said softly, your voice switching to a delicate tone.

The small, marble-eyed boy stepped forward. His hand slipped into yours, his grip surprisingly strong for his size. “You back came for us?” he whispered, his voice shaking but resolute.

You nodded, squeezing his hand gently, a warm smile breaking through your hardened expression. “Always.”

The children began to move toward you, timid at first, then with growing confidence, their small hands reaching out, seeking comfort. For now, at least, they were safe.

And you would make sure it stayed that way.

It was mostly your funding that kept the orphanages in Meteor City from crumbling. Your money was funneled into the broken, forgotten corners of the city where children like Chrollo and his friends sought refuge. You couldn’t always be there, but when you were, you made it count—your presence, your touch, your attention. That was the difference, wasn’t it? You had to put your wealth somewhere, after all—unlike Ging or Pariston, whose fortunes seemed to disappear into the wind, chasing their whims. For you, though, Meteor City had become an escape, a place to atone for the things you couldn’t control.

But it was more than duty, wasn’t it?

Chrollo had bonded to you in a way that you hadn’t expected. The other children admired you, but he worshiped you. His innocence clung to you, unsettling and infectious, dragging you into a world where, for brief moments, you almost believed you could be more than just a Hunter. That you could be someone who stayed.

It was one of those quiet, unguarded moments when you found yourself in Meteor City again, his small, frail body curled up against yours on his bed, his head tucked beneath your chin as if he could melt into your very being. His face pressed into your chest, and his small hands clung to your shirt as if you were his entire world.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice soft, pleading. His wide gray eyes blinked up at you, still so full of that childlike adoration that made your chest tighten painfully. He didn’t understand—how could he? He was too young, too innocent.

You combed your fingers through his shaggy, jet-black hair, pretending it didn’t hurt to hear him ask. Pretending it didn’t make you feel like you were betraying something inside yourself. The glow from the window—the familiar golden light of dawn—signaled your impending departure. Mother Nature, it seemed, always knew when it was time to pull you away. You would have to leave again. You always left.

But not yet.

“Okay,” you whispered, the lie slipping from your lips like it always did. “I’ll stay.” You tucked his head back against your chest, hoping to drown his fears in the safety of your embrace. He felt so small compared to you, so fragile. You held him tighter, but no matter how tightly you cradled him, you knew it wouldn’t be enough. You couldn’t stay.

He sighed, his words soft and filled with frustration. “I wish you were just a normal girl. Not the Great Hunter. They always take you away from me.”

The weight of his words crushed your chest. You swallowed hard, burying the guilt and sorrow that always surfaced in these moments. He was just a boy, after all—a boy who didn’t know what it meant to live a life like yours. His love was simple, innocent, and untainted by the reality that you could never be what he wanted you to be.

He sighed again, his voice thick with sleep. “It’s not fair. You’re just a kid like me, but it’s like... you’re not. You’re stronger, taller... you have magic. You’re not afraid of anything.” His sleepy eyes blinked up at you, half-lidded, his gaze lingering on your face as if you were the only thing keeping him from falling asleep. “You’re so cool, Y/N.”

You forced a smile, your heart aching with every word. How could he say these things so easily, not knowing the storm they stirred within you? You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be feeling this pull toward him, this unbearable conflict between duty and something else—something darker, something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

“I want to be strong like you,” he continued, his voice fading as sleep began to pull him under. “Then I’ll be the one to save you.”

You let out a chuckle, though it felt hollow. “Oh really? I can’t wait to see you try.” Your voice was soft and gentle, as if you could keep him safe from the weight of your feelings. But even as you spoke, your gaze lingered on his longer than it should have. The way his eyes—those innocent gray eyes—held yours made something inside you crack. You didn’t want to look away.

And yet, you had to.

As Chrollo yawned, his body slowly relaxing into the warmth of your embrace, your heart clenched in that familiar, bittersweet way. You knew what was coming next—the moment when he would fall asleep, and you’d have to leave. You always left. He knew it too, even if he didn’t say it. His eyes fought against the sleep pulling him under as if staying awake would keep you there just a little longer.

You should go. You needed to go. But instead, you held him close, brushing your thumb along his cheek, tracing the outline of his pale face. He murmured something so soft, so quiet, you almost didn’t hear it.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Your heart shattered.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You didn’t respond. How could you? What could you say to that? You weren’t supposed to feel this way. You weren’t supposed to let it hurt. And yet, his innocent words cut deeper than any wound you had ever known.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you cradled his face in your hands, letting the silence fill the space between you. Your mind and heart were at war, clashing violently as you tried to convince yourself that you felt nothing for this boy—nothing beyond duty, beyond the role you were meant to play.

But his words lingered. His love lingered. And it was killing you.

Only you could carry this burden. You had to ensure that you were the last shepherd, even if you were just a broken saint now.

And when he called, you would answer, no matter how much time had passed since that harrowing incident.

Isaac Netero’s familiar contact flashed onto your phone just as you returned to your quiet estate. The grand home, surrounded by vast lands, had become your sanctuary—where time seemed to stand still. Bamboo trees swayed in the wind, whispering secrets you couldn’t quite hear, and the rustle of leaves was like a lullaby to your broken spirit. This land, untouched and isolated, had become your refuge. Here, you could pretend the world had forgotten you, just as you had tried to ignore it.

You rarely needed to leave; everything you required, you grew with your own hands. The earth was rich and forgiving; the bamboo was tall and kind, your only companions, as well as the critters that inhabited the land, your only solace. They tried to aid in healing your scars, though they only made the loss more bearable. They connected you to reality, keeping you grounded and pulling you back from the edge whenever you felt yourself slipping away. They depended on you as much as you did on them. 

But even Mother Nature, with all her quiet persistence, couldn’t fill the gaping void left by your loss. She could only make the emptiness more bearable, less suffocating.

You had given in to the silence, but she hadn’t given up on you. Yet the moment Netero’s contact appeared, the corpse of your heart couldn’t help but beat with a retired purpose you knew you could no longer fulfill.

Still, your hands, worn and deft, quickly picked up the phone, bringing it to your ear.

“Y/N L/N. Think you have a chance to talk, my dear?”

His familiar, softened gruff voice was a reminder of how time had aged him, even though he had left you with so many unanswered questions. He was still your father in many ways.

But you were now Netero’s little fallen general.

“I’m here,” you replied, your voice a ghost of itself, as if unused to forming words meant for anyone else. “It's good to hear your voice. I would ask, How have you been?”

“I am well, Father,” you cut in, a weary undertone threading through your words. “Trying to keep the ground from swallowing me whole.”

A heavy silence fell between you, a shared history that neither of you wanted to address hanging thick in the air. Netero sighed, his voice dipping into a tone you had not heard in years—gentle, almost pleading. 

“Y/N��”

You remained silent, unyielding, waiting for him to continue.

“Listen to me, just this once,” he started, but you interrupted again, sharper this time, like a blade cutting through the fog.

“My nen is gone, Isaac," you said, each word deliberate and hard. "There’s nothing more to that story. There is no Master of the Hunters anymore.”

The silence that followed was colder, heavier. You could almost hear him wince at the use of his first name, a name you rarely called him. You knew it hurt him—that it stripped away the façade he liked to wear around you.

He hesitated, then took a deep breath, his voice laced with quiet desperation. “I'm not asking for her to listen to me,” he said carefully. “I'm asking for you, Y/N.”

Your gaze drifted to the bamboo outside, watching the stalks bend and sway in the wind. There was a part of you that wanted to hang up, to let the silence consume you once more, but another part—a faint, barely alive spark—kept you on the line.

“There is a young man,” Netero continued, “who is the spitting reincarnation of you."

Your chest tightened, the ache spreading like a slow poison through your veins. You swallowed, but it felt like shards of glass in your throat.

Netero’s voice softened, almost as if he were trying to soothe a frightened child. “I know I pushed you to retire early, and for that, I am sorry,” he confessed, his words heavy with regret. “I couldn’t bear the thought of what might happen if the wrong people found out you had lost your nen. But this boy—he needs someone who can show him the way. Someone who can give him a chance to choose a different path. A scent he can follow.”

He paused, the weight of his words settling into the air between you. “None of us can do that.”

A flicker of frustration sparked within you, threatening to crack the numbness you had wrapped around yourself like armor. You closed your eyes, the familiar heaviness of duty pressing against your chest. "Why... why do you always drag me back, Isaac?" you murmured, your voice almost devoid of emotion, a whisper lost in the wind.

“Because,” he replied softly, his voice steady but filled with quiet insistence, “you lost your nen, but you didn’t lose everything. I couldn’t save you from your fate... but you can save him before he makes the same mistake.”

For a moment, the world outside seemed to be still. The bamboo stopped swaying, the wind held its breath, and even the critters paused their quiet movements. Everything waited for you to decide whether you would let yourself be pulled back into the life you had tried so hard to leave behind.

A slow exhale escaped your lips, and your grip tightened around the phone. Maybe it wasn’t about saving yourself. Maybe it was about saving someone else—just one more time.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally whispered, knowing you were already halfway convinced.

Netero's sigh of relief was almost inaudible, but you felt it—a soft echo in your chest. "That's all I ask," he said gently. "Just think about it."

And with that, the call ended, leaving you standing alone in the quiet of your sanctuary, the wind picking up again, the bamboo swaying once more.

For the first time in a long time, you felt the stirrings of something beyond emptiness—a faint, fragile thing that might have been hope.

You let yourself fall back against the mat, feeling the familiar, frayed edges pressing into your back. Your phone lay loosely in your grip, screen dark, but its weight still anchored you to the moment. You stared blankly at the stone pond before you, the water still and silent under the overcast sky. But inside, that gnawing feeling had grown stronger, louder, and more insistent. The doubt and emptiness you had tried so hard to bury now surged to the surface like a wave, threatening to swallow you whole.

Then you saw her—the familiar, ethereal form rising from the pond—"Mother," your nen-made spirit, tilting her head at you, trying to read the emotions you kept so tightly locked away. Her shape shimmered and wavered, the liquid surface of her body catching the dim light, reflecting a thousand tiny, dancing fragments of your surroundings.

“You’re cruel...” you muttered, not bothering to lift your head. You didn’t need to see her to know she was there, watching you with a concern you could not bear. The water spirit hovered closer, her presence radiating a gentle insistence. A wave of water reached out, almost like a hand, and as she moved, droplets broke away and splattered onto your face. The cool water trickled down your skin, obliging you to finally look up and meet her gaze.

Her expression was unreadable, but the tension in her form, the way her edges seemed to blur and tremble, told you everything. She was worried. She is always worried. Especially when you have attempted to end your suffering...

Seeing her like that... It only made the ache worse. It plagued you and gnawed at you like an open wound. You hated it. You hated feeling like this—so useless, so empty. Once, you had been so certain of your place in the world, so sure of your purpose. You had moved like a blade through the darkness, cutting down every evil in your path. You had saved countless lives and fought battles that others had deemed impossible. You mattered.

And now... now it felt like all of that was gone. Stripped away the moment your nen vanished. When it had left you, it had taken everything with it. Your sense of self, your purpose, your reason for being—it had all crumbled to dust, leaving nothing but a hollow shell behind.

"Quit it," you muttered, your voice low and tired. "I'm not in the mood."

But Mother didn’t listen. She never did. Instead, she moved closer, her form rippling like a soft wave, the water elongating until it seemed to reach across the space between you. With a sudden, playful motion, she curled around your feet, a cold grip tightening around your ankles. Before you could protest, she yanked you off the mat, dragging you across the ground.

“Really?” You groaned, exasperation flaring. You knew what she was doing. She was trying to wake you up, to stir something inside you. “Cut it out, Mother.”

She didn’t respond. The water around your ankles tightened, and with another tug, she lifted you upside down, your hair falling toward the ground. The blood rushed to your head, and you blinked, momentarily disoriented. For a moment, you dangled there like a rag doll over the pond, your feet held aloft by a watery tendril.

You found yourself staring directly into her face—or what passed for a face—her liquid eyes focused intently on you, unblinking, unwavering. She was demanding your attention, forcing you to look at her to confront whatever was buried deep inside. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the gentle slosh of water moving with every slight motion.

“I said quit it,” you repeated, a hint of irritation in your voice. But she didn’t budge. Her expression seemed almost stern. The water droplets that made up her body shivered slightly, as if she were speaking a language only you could understand.

Mother’s form shifted, her eyes narrowing slightly. Her head tilted again, and for a second, she almost seemed to frown. The water that held you up began to twist and turn, slowly spinning you in the air as if examining you from every angle. Her touch was cold, but there was something else there—something gentle, almost comforting, beneath the chill. She wouldn’t let you hide from this. She wouldn’t let you sink back into the darkness you’d been wallowing in for so long.

“Quit it, Mother,” you muttered, voice strained, but there was no real fight in your tone. You were too exhausted to fight her, too tired to do much more than dangle there, your heart heavy and your purpose frayed.

Mother, ever persistent, moved the water around you in a swirl, as if shaping something from the depths of her core. You felt a coldness, a thin sheet of water sliding up to your face, and then you saw it—your reflection mirrored perfectly in the water.

But Mother didn’t stop there. Slowly, deliberately, she turned the reflection around.

Your eyes widened as you caught sight of your own back and your skin. The large, red Hunter symbol emblazoned between your shoulder blades, stark against your flesh, with the L/N family symbols woven underneath, bearing the phrase that had once given you strength:

"No child left behind." 

The words, so familiar, stared back at you with a cruel clarity. Your vow, your creed. The promise you had whispered to yourself a thousand times over, in the darkest nights, in the quiet moments of despair. The very words you had once tattooed onto your skin were like armor against the world.

Your breath caught in your throat. You tried to look away, but Mother twisted the mirror slightly, making sure you couldn’t escape it.

The reminder was as sharp as a blade, cutting through your excuses and your self-pity.

You were The Great Hunter, not because of the nen you wielded, but because of the promise you had made. Because of the innocent you had sworn to protect.

Mother watched, her watery eyes soft but firm, refusing to release you until the weight of that reflection settled back into your bones.

You sighed, a long, tired exhale, and for a moment, just a moment, you allowed yourself to feel the ache of that old purpose stirring within you.

She stared back, unyielding. Her watery surface rippled slightly, as if in response to your unspoken thoughts, and you felt a tear prick at the corner of your eye. A tear you quickly blink away. The silence stretched on, filled with everything you weren't saying—filled with all the things she knew you didn’t want to admit.

You sighed, feeling the fight leave you, your shoulders slumping. “Fine. Fine, you win,” you said quietly, feeling defeated, but in a way that almost felt like relief. She had always been there to stop you from corrupting yourself, always pushing you, always forcing you to face the things you wanted to ignore. And now, as much as you hated to admit it, you needed her to do it again.

You felt her release your ankles, and for a moment, you simply stood there, breathing, your heartbeat slowing, the cool air biting at your skin. She hovered closer, her watery hand reaching out as if to touch your face, but she hesitated, just a fraction of an inch away. You stared into her eyes, feeling something inside you break loose like a dam giving way.

You hated this... You hated feeling like you were nothing. Like you were just a vessel for the person you used to be.

Your Nen was gone, but you were still here. That gnawing, insatiable need to matter, to make a difference, was still there, burning quietly beneath the surface.

You took a breath, your fingers tightening around the phone still in your hand. "Alright," you whispered, almost to yourself. "Alright, I'll do it."

Mother seemed to shimmer, her form brightening slightly as if she were smiling. Her droplets swirled around you, a gentle, swirling dance of liquid light like she was encouraging you, cheering you on.

Your thumb moved over the phone screen, almost of its own accord, and you found Netero’s name again, hesitating for just a heartbeat before you pressed the call button. The phone rang once, twice, and then his voice came through—calm but expectant as if he had known you would call back.

“Y/N?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, steeling yourself, and then spoke, your voice steady. “Where is he?”

You stepped off the airship, choosing to take a more grounded approach this time. It had been so long since you walked among society; today, you wanted to feel the earth beneath your feet and hear the noise of life all around you. Normally, you would have flown in on Khan, your Seraphrid—a creature resembling a winged horse, only larger and more formidable, a loyal companion since your youth. But today felt different.

As expected, Khan had already beaten you here. His sleek, black form stood tall among the trees, his six powerful legs moving with an elegance that defied his size. His head was turned in your direction, and the two long, string-like antennae that served as his natural bridle extended, sensing your presence. They wrapped around your arm, their touch gentle but firm, syncing with the veins on the underside of your wrist. The bond was immediate, an ancient connection that required no words.

With a familiar pull, you mounted him, his raised hoof serving as a stepping stool, an unspoken offer only the two of you understood. You clicked your tongue softly, a signal you’d always used, and he responded with a low, rumbling neigh that resonated through your bones.

Khan didn’t need instructions. He read your intentions through the link you shared, feeling the subtle shifts in your thoughts and emotions. He began to trot into the dense forest, guided by your thoughts alone, the rhythm of his steps matching the cadence of your heartbeat.

Netero had informed you that the young man, the one you were to meet, was training in these woods. He had given you the young man’s contact information, though he had been elusive with any real details. When you had pressed for more information, Netero had only chuckled, his words tinged with mystery: “You’ll see...”

Typical of him to leave you to uncover the truth on your own, to dig up the bone yourself, like always. As Khan weaved through the thick underbrush, you found yourself wondering about this boy. What was it about him that had made Netero reach out to you after all this time? What was so special that it warranted pulling you back into this world?

The dense forest began to thin, opening into a sun-dappled clearing. Khan slowed to a gentle canter, his antennae twitching as if sensing something ahead. You felt it too—a presence, quiet yet intense, like a heartbeat echoing through the trees.

This had to be the place. As you dismounted, Khan’s gaze remained fixed forward, his body tense and alert. You patted his side, reassuring him, and he relaxed slightly, though his eyes never wavered from whatever lay beyond the clearing.

You took a deep breath, feeling the familiar stir of curiosity and something deeper—something that felt like the whisper of purpose reigniting within you. Stepping forward, you moved into the clearing, ready to meet the young man Netero had sent you to find, ready to face whatever awaited you on the other side.

You dismounted slowly, your feet sinking into the damp earth as the coolness of the soil crept up through your boots, grounding you in the present moment. The clearing before you stretched wide, dappled sunlight breaking through the thick canopy above, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of moss and earth, a living, breathing presence around you. Khan stood tall beside you, his powerful form coiled with restrained energy, his antennae twitching in tune with the undercurrent of tension that rippled from you like a stone dropped in water.

Ahead, the low murmur of voices reached your ears, punctuated by the rhythmic clack of wood striking wood and the sharp rustle of leaves disturbed by quick, deliberate movements. You moved forward slowly, cautiously, each step bringing the sounds into sharper clarity. As you reached the edge of the clearing, you paused, taking in the scene before you.

Two figures moved with practiced grace, their forms entwined in a dance of combat, their bodies speaking a language of strength and discipline. One of them, tall and broad-shouldered, had a presence that radiated intensity and control—Izunavi, a hunter you had known from years ago. His sharp, unwavering gaze and the calm precision of his movements marked him as a hunter, one who had taught countless others the art of survival.

But it was the boy who drew your attention.

He was younger than you had imagined, his golden hair catching the sunlight like a halo, his eyes narrowed in concentration, a fierce determination burning in their depths. His posture was taut, muscles coiled and ready, every motion calculated and precise as he mirrored Izunavi’s steps, his gaze never faltering, never leaving his mentor for even a heartbeat. His body moved with the grace of a predator, but there was a tension there—a rawness, a desperation that was almost painful to watch.

So this was Kurapika.

Your breath caught in your throat. It was like staring into a ghost, a specter of who you had once been—a younger self, with that same consuming fire, that same drive, that same reckless need to prove something to a world that had never shown mercy. You recognized the look in his eyes immediately. You had seen it in your reflection, in the faces of those you had saved and those you had failed. The beast of burden lay heavy in his gaze, the weight of vengeance familiar darkness that seemed to clutch at his very soul.

He was still a child. Just as you had been—a child thrust into a world too cruel and too vast, carrying a burden too heavy for shoulders so young. You lingered in the shadows, your heart tightening in your chest, a sense of foreboding curling in your gut. Finally, you decided to step forward, your presence pressing through the air like a ripple in still water.

Izunavi’s movements stilled. He sensed you first, his eyes flickering toward you, his expression a mask of calm neutrality, though you saw the faint recognition behind his eyes. His stance eased, a subtle acknowledgment. Kurapika followed his gaze, turning to face you, and the intensity of his scrutiny hit you like a blow—a look so piercing it seemed to strip away layers, searching, demanding answers before he even spoke.

“Master,” Izunavi greeted, his tone respectful but carrying a hint of something harder beneath. "Netero told me you might be dropping by."

"Y/N," you corrected, voice soft but firm. Each syllable felt heavy in your mouth, burdened by the memories of your past. You inclined your head slightly, stepping fully into the clearing, moving with purpose, though a knot tightened in your stomach. "It’s been a while, Izunavi," you said, your voice sounding almost foreign to your ears. "I see you’ve taken on another pupil."

Izunavi nodded. "One with a special kind of determination," he replied, a note of pride softening his otherwise stern demeanor. He glanced at Kurapika, who stood like a coiled spring, ready to snap. "Kurapika, this is Y/N L/N—once known as Master Hunter, The Great Hunter, the Hound of the Hunters… too many names to count."

Kurapika’s eyes widened slightly at the sound of your name. Recognition flickered across his features—his expression shifting from curiosity to something deeper, something darker. You could almost see the thoughts racing behind his gaze, the questions forming, and the curiosity and anger mingling in a storm of emotion.

Netero had left you a note from the first examiner of the 287th Hunter Exam: "Kurapika Kurta said he wishes to become a Hunter to exact revenge on the Phantom Troupe and seek aid from the Master Hunter." The Phantom Troupe, a name you had only heard in passing, a whisper of a threat, a gang too small to matter back then. But now, seeing Kurapika’s face, you realize how much had changed and how much you had missed.

“Where were you that day?” Kurapika’s voice was low but steady, each word laced with a simmering rage that seemed barely contained. "I read stories about you... Master Hunter, the one who made crime vanish like mist before the sun. When my people were slaughtered, I didn’t fear, because I knew—you would come. You would hunt them down for me."

The pain in his voice was like a knife twisting in your chest. “I waited years for you! Held onto that hope until I had no choice but to become the hunter I needed.”

His voice cracked, but the fury within it did not waver. "You let them walk this earth after what they did to me... to my people." His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white, his breath ragged. And then you saw it—the flash of scarlet behind his gray contacts, the burning rage of his clan's curse, the anger and grief all mixed into one volatile storm.

A lump formed in your throat, and you swallowed hard against it. The weight of his accusation bore down on you like a physical force. In your absence, the world had shifted and twisted, and you had been powerless to stop it. You had lost your Nen that day, the day you had lost everything.

That’s why you weren’t there.

The same beast of burden now latched onto him had once latched onto you. You had failed him, and his words cut deep into whatever was left of your fractured soul. If only you had known... If only you had hunted them when they were small, a mere whisper of a threat. If only…

But you hadn’t. And now you were facing the result of that failure.

Your silence hung heavy in the air. You felt the burn in your eyes, the sting in your throat, and the weight of every decision and every choice you had made that led to this moment. There was nothing you could say to erase the pain in his eyes—the sense of betrayal that seemed to radiate from him like heat.

Kurapika's expression hardened, his jaw tightening, his eyes narrowing to slits. “I need justice,” he said, his voice colder now, like a blade drawn against a stone.

You drew a deep breath, fighting against the rising tide of emotion within you. “Justice is a fine line, Kurapika,” you replied quietly, meeting his gaze with a steady resolve. “And revenge can blur it until you don’t know which side you’re on.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes burning with a mixture of fury and something deeper—something fragile and almost broken. He turned away, shoulders tense, his footsteps heavy, as if carrying the weight of the world on his back. A part of you wanted to reach out, to stop him, to pull him back from the edge. But you knew better than to force it. He had to find his way, just as you had.

“Kurap-” Izunavi began, his voice edged with concern, but you raised a hand, silencing him. Your eyes remained on Kurapika’s retreating form, watching as he disappeared into the trees, swallowed by the shadows.

“Let him go,” you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. "I’ll talk to him later... once he’s cooled off."

Izunavi hesitated but finally nodded, trusting your judgment. You stared into the forest where Kurapika had vanished, the weight of his words still heavy on your heart. You knew that if he continued on this path, it would lead only to more pain and more loss. You weren’t sure you could bear to watch someone else descend into the same darkness that had swallowed you whole.

You had to try for his sake and yours.

“How far is he in his Nen?” you asked, breaking the stillness. Izunavi turned, his expression solemn.

“He's a determined, quick learner, but he’s already made those terrible vows for his Nen ability. It’s been five months since he started, and he’s planning something for September 1st.”

Next month, you thought. Not much time. “Is it related to the Troupe?”

“Positive.” Izunavi’s response was immediate; his voice edged with tension.

You sighed deeply, feeling the familiar heaviness in your chest. Another lost child, another soul standing at a precipice. The memory of the children from Meteor City flickered in your mind—those small, eager faces filled with both mischief and hope. Even now, you could remember the way they looked up to you, their eyes wide with wonder and something more—something like belief.

Chrollo, Feitan, Phinks—all those troublemakers who had once felt like yours in some way despite being the same age. You had often wondered where they were now, how life had treated them, and if they had stayed on the path you had hoped for them. Maybe, when all of this was over, you’d find them again. Just to see. Just to know.

Izunavi’s voice pulled you back. “His vows are monstrous, Y/N. I don’t know what he sacrificed, but his chains are still out of control. He’s powerful, but he can’t command them yet.”

“Chains?” You repeated, an eyebrow arching in surprise. “That’s his ability?”

Izunavi nodded gravely. “Yes. He wants to bind the spiders to hell with them.”

A small, amused laugh slipped past your lips, as that did sound like something he would say. Then your expression turned serious. “Izunavi… I’ve lost my Nen. If I decide to teach this boy, will you be my eyes?”

Izunavi blinked, momentarily stunned, but he quickly nodded, his gaze steady and filled with a new understanding. “I will,” he promised softly. “But... are you ready for this?”

You took a breath, the weight of your own words settling within you. “I wasn’t Netero’s best hunter just because of my Nen.”

You could still feel Nen, even Mother’s Nen whenever she came to you, like a whisper at the back of your mind, a gentle reminder of the power that once flowed through you like a river. You hadn’t lost your instincts—if anything, losing your Nen had sharpened them. It was like losing a sense and gaining another. You could feel things now, in ways that other Nen users couldn’t—like sensing the shift in the air before a storm.

Izunavi hesitated for a moment, then spoke again, his voice a little softer, a little more unsure. “Y/N, you can do it? Teach him? With your Nen gone…?”

You looked at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “I can.”

Izunavi seemed to consider your words, then nodded again, more firmly this time. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll be your eyes.”

Your gaze drifted toward the direction where Kurapika had stormed off, your thoughts tangled with the past and the present. You knew the path he was on—you had been there yourself once. And you didn’t want Kurapika to stain his hands as you had stained yours, even if it was for what you believed was “good.”

If you could help him find another way—if you could keep his hands clean, you would. You were willing to stain yours all over again for the sake of keeping him from the blood that had already marked too many lives.

You had to operate in his shadow. Teaching Kurapika while also trying to beat him to the Phantom Troupe would be no easy task—especially if you had to do it behind his back. There was still so much you didn’t know. The years you spent disconnected from society left gaps in your knowledge. You couldn’t deny it, and the thought made you clench your fist. At least you could still rely on the physical strength of the L/N bloodline—but even that might not be enough. What if the Phantom Troupe’s Nen abilities were stronger than you anticipated? If they were all together, no matter how much experience you had, they could easily overwhelm you by sheer numbers.

What if you couldn’t protect Kurapika? The thought sent a shiver up your spine.

This was a mess just waiting to explode.

Izunavi watched you quietly, sensing the shift in your mood, the old scars being reopened, and the new purpose forming in your heart. You felt the stirrings of a familiar resolve—a quiet, burning fire that refused to go out.

“Let’s start now,” you said, meeting Izunavi’s gaze with a calm but determined look. “We have until September 1st. I won’t let him fall.”

You followed Kurapika as the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. Shadows lengthened, and the woods grew quieter, the sounds of the day's creatures giving way to the night’s. You had given him time—enough time, you hoped—for his anger to cool and for his heart to steady. But you knew that the embers of rage didn’t die so easily; they could smolder for a long, long time.

You found him near the lake, sitting against a tree with his knees pulled up, his blonde hair catching the last rays of sunlight like threads of gold. He stared blankly ahead, lost in thought, his face a mask of quiet resolve. You watched him for a moment from a distance, letting your presence be felt without imposing yourself. You knew words wouldn’t be enough—not yet, not for a boy with a fresh wound.

Slowly, you made your way toward him, moving carefully and deliberately, leaving space for him to turn you away if he chose. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t push you away either. That, in itself, was something. You took a seat beside him, leaving enough distance between the two of you to let him feel unpressured but close enough that your presence was felt. You let the silence stretch, understanding that sometimes it was the only thing that could truly speak.

After a while, you finally broke the silence, your voice soft, almost tentative. "You want to hunt the Troupe, right?"

Kurapika didn’t move at first, his eyes still fixed on the water. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but resolved. “I don’t have a choice.”

The words hung between you, heavy with finality. You have heard that before, spoken in different ways by different people. It was always the same. A choice made in desperation, when the soul felt trapped by the past, by the need to correct something that could never truly be fixed.

“You always have a choice,” you replied softly, your tone neither reprimanding nor coddling. It was simply a statement of fact.

Kurapika shifted, his hands tightening around his knees. “Not when it comes to this. Not when it comes to them.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, studying the lines of tension etched across his young face. He was still so young—too young for this kind of rage to live so deeply inside him. But rage wasn’t something that cared for age, wisdom, or even reason. You knew that better than anyone.

“They took everything from me,” he continued, his voice harder now, laced with bitterness. “Everything. My family, my home, my future. I can’t just let that go!”

You exhaled slowly, a quiet sigh that was lost in the soft rustle of the wind through the trees. “Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting,” you said gently. “It doesn’t mean forgiving either. But this path you’re walking... It’s not just about revenge anymore. It’s about who you become at the end of it.”

Kurapika’s eyes flicked toward you then, sharp and wary like he was expecting a lecture he’d heard a thousand times before. But you weren’t here to preach.

“I’m not asking you to stop,” you clarified, your gaze still on the water, the gentle waves reflecting the dying light. “I know that’s not an option for you. But you need to be careful, Kurapika. Rage has a way of consuming everything in its path. It’ll burn through you if you’re not careful. Until there’s nothing left of the person you used to be.”

He was silent for a moment, absorbing your words. The tension in his body hadn’t lessened, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—uncertainty, perhaps. Or maybe it was understanding.

“I can control it,” he said, his voice quieter now, but the determination in it was unmistakable. “I have to.”

You nodded slightly, acknowledging his resolve. “Control is important. But you also need balance. Power without purpose is dangerous, even to yourself.”

Kurapika frowned, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Purpose? My purpose is to kill them.”

You turned to face him fully then, your eyes locking onto his. “And after that? What happens when they’re gone? What’s left for you?”

The question caught him off guard. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. For a moment, the hard façade he had built around himself seemed to crack, and you saw the lost boy beneath. A boy who had lost everything and didn’t know how to live without his hatred to guide him.

“That’s why I’m here,” you continued, your voice softening. “I’ve walked this path before. I know where it leads. If you’re not careful, you’ll reach the end of it and find that nothing is waiting for you on the other side. Nothing but emptiness.”

Kurapika’s hands slowly unclenched, his fingers tracing the edge of his sleeves as if grounding himself in the present moment. He didn’t say anything, but you could see the conflict in his eyes.

You reached out then, gently placing your hand on his shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort. “I’m not saying this to stop you,” you said, your voice low, almost a whisper. “But I am saying you need to think about what comes next. After the bloodshed. After the vengeance. What will you be left with?”

Kurapika lowered his head, the weight of your words sinking in. The silence stretched between you again, but this time it wasn’t filled with tension. It was a moment of quiet reflection.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice barely audible.

You gave a small nod, squeezing his shoulder lightly before pulling your hand back. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know yet. Just... don’t lose yourself in the process.”

For a long moment, Kurapika didn’t move, his gaze fixed on the ground, deep in thought. When he finally looked up, there was a new clarity in his eyes, though the fire still burned there, too. He wasn’t ready to let go of his vengeance, but at least now he was starting to see the danger in letting it consume him completely.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, his voice steady but quieter than before.

You nodded again, satisfied for now. It was a start. He would need time to fully understand what you meant, but at least the seed had been planted. And as much as you wanted to protect him from the pain of the path he was walking, you knew he had to walk it for himself. All you could do was guide him along the way.

As the last traces of daylight disappeared from the sky, you stood up, brushing the dirt from your pants. “Come on,” you said, offering him a hand. “Let’s head back before it gets too dark.”

Kurapika hesitated for a moment before accepting your hand, pulling himself up to his feet. He stood beside you, his gaze lingering on the horizon for just a moment longer before he nodded, turning to follow you back toward the camp.

As you walked side by side, the soft sounds of the night surrounding you, you couldn’t help but glance at him, the weight of the future heavy between you both.

The journey was far from over...

© eyesofbong. All rights reserved. Do not plagiarize my work. If you see this content on any account that is not mine, please report it. My work is only available on this platform and on AO3 under the name @eyesofbong

[kamimarroco]

Could you accept the worst of me as you accept the best of me?

CW: sex theme, implied torture, captivity, power imbalance, so many bad things, but also a somewhat soft Fox :)

You curl up in the big, warm, soft blanket, your legs crossed and your hands gently running over your wounds — old and new. You feel a small pain every time you move, your muscles burning from the abuse you have suffered. You lost a lot of flesh, which will probably never be recovered.

You save yourself the trouble of doing activities that require a lot of physical effort, instead trying to settle for spending time watching some drama series or reading some book of a random genre. It's not exactly how you imagine the perfect life to be, but it's definitely a lot better than what you've been through, or what you go through at the hands of your captor when he feels like he needs to destroy your peace to bring some good violence — that is, almost every day.

You still remember when he bit your shoulder fiercely, the intensity so powerful that it was able to take a good part of you. You still remember his hands on your body, sometimes trailing gently, but often leaving a trail of destruction on your skin. You still remember when he entered you, his non-human shaped cock ironically fitting perfectly inside you. But of course it would fit, after all, how could you not accept him after he molded you to accommodate all of him?

It's those kinds of things that just happen because you were made for it. If not you, who else would it be? You are perfect, moldable, obedient in a way Fox has never seen anyone be — at least most of the time. He may even get angry when you fail to remember your position and do as you are told, but it's an anger that evaporates when you're on the ground begging for forgiveness. And he can give you forgiveness if you do everything he tells you to do correctly.

It's a shitty routine that you've forced yourself to adapt to due to lack of options, having lost all your power as an independent person, reduced to a mere object. This is what he must think of you, so this is what you think of yourself.

You hear the door creak, but you don't move your head in the direction of the noise to see who it is, instead focusing your attention on the glow of the fireplace and the crackle of flames — it's warm, it's beautiful, and at least it helps you forget about your life situation for a bit.

You feel the movement in the air and the presence of someone sitting next to you, his calm breathing palpable in the silence that you dare not break. You're pissed, but of course you're pissed. If he wants to talk, he will have to take the initiative.

"How long do you intend to stay mad at me, huh?", Fox's calm, raspy voice echoes through your head, and although it's not very loud, it's enough to reach every corner of the house when there's no noise in the place.

You huff instead of responding verbally, retreating further into the blanket in a clear sign that you don't feel like talking. But Fox doesn't understand this, or rather, he prefers to ignore it and decides to push your buttons even more.

"I see someone is a little shy today", what a fucking bastard. "Come on, there's no need to hide from me when I've already seen everything"

Fox firmly grabs the blanket without warning and removes it from you, which you respond with a little resistance, but soon gives up when the fabric falls to your legs. He sees your scars beautifully adorning your body, each deep and shallow visible to the amber eyes of a predator.

He looks at you like you're some kind of Renaissance painting he painted himself, each wound holding a meaning that connects to the next — many on your legs, others on your abdomen, and of course, the one that definitely left its mark on the type of relationship you would have.

Your missing eye.

"Mmm, I was starting to miss this wonderful view", he speaks in a genuine tone, bringing his claws closer to touch you — fuck!

You hiss and automatically flinch at the small contact of the sharp edge on your wound, the act eliciting the burning that had previously died down.

As much as he compliments your appearance, you don't think you're beautiful because of what he did to you, but that's definitely the least of it. What makes you most angry is how everything hurts you. How the fuck are you going to live normally with that many scars?

You see Fox's ears lie flat against his head, his pupils so thin they seem to be sinking into the iris of his eye. You've spent enough time with the beastkin to know that those signs weren't good for you.

Although you expected a scolding from your captor, you are surprised to see him breathing deeply and his ears going up, his fingers touching you instead of his claws.

The scars still hurt even though it's just his skin against them, but at least it's more bearable. Plus, you don't want to try his patience when he seems to be in a good mood.

"They must hurt a lot, don't they?", he asks as he runs his fingertips over them, careful not to irritate and inflame them any more than they already are. "There's no doubt now why you're so mad at me"

Fox brings his lips close so he can kiss your skin, his tongue running over it and collecting the taste of blood still fresh in some areas. You squirm and feel your face burning, your legs wanting to get up and run, your heart rate rapidly increasing.

You hate yourself for how easily you can be affected, even the smallest act of affection causing butterflies in your stomach. You don't know the reason exactly — maybe because you haven't had intimate contact in a long time, maybe because he's the only person you've interacted with in the last few months, maybe because it's him.

And the last option is not very pleasant for you. It could be anything except the last one, because only a person so fucked up in the head would be able to feel something for their torturer.

Which is not your case... right?

Fox retracts his tongue after making sure to 'tend to your wounds', his touch somehow gentle on you — even though he was the one to blame for your pain. You're not much of a believer in someone who does wrong once, much less a man who does it multiple times without any remorse.

"Yeah, you're going to need a lot of rest to heal", he speaks as if he were the most professional doctor in the world, giving you the most basic advice that any healer can recommend.

You play along and just nod, finally getting the space you need when he gets up to walk to a corner of the room you don’t bother to look at. Just the fact that he's not near you already does you so much good.

You sigh, closing your eyes for a brief moment before opening them again, lowering your gaze to yourself again. You can't stop looking at yourself, you can't stop feeling. No matter how much you try to distract your mind, you will never be able to divert attention, always coming back to you, to what happened to you. Something you are unable to change and was out of your control.

You've said this verbally a few times, but you deeply resent Fox for what he did to you. Death was a mercy that was taken from you in the last moments because he changed his mind, not you. Even the most natural thing that every creature has a right to, he took from you.

That just went to show how powerless you've become. How dependent you have become on his every action with you, and you hate it.

You just wish you could go back to who you were before.

You were so absorbed in your thoughts that you were taken by surprise when you felt a warm surface passing over your cheek, your eyes catching sight of a mug of... coffee?

"Here. I thought you might like it", Fox said as he held another mug of coffee in his other hand, your eyes narrowing in suspicion at the sudden kindness on his part. "It's not poisoned, and the only drugs I could have put in it would have been those to ease your pain", he gives you a small, mischievous smile that you assume is meant to calm you down, but ultimately does nothing for you. You gently take the mug from his hand and start blowing on it, trying to bring the liquid to a cooler temperature.

He sits down next to you again, still with a smile on his face, taking a sip of his own coffee while looking at you. You decide to stop after taking a few more puffs, finally getting the sweet, savory taste into your mouth, your brain being bombarded by receiving such a sugary reward.

"So, how is it?", he asks you when you're done tasting it.

"It's... Good", you finally speak, taking another sip of your drink as the two of you share a moment of relative peace.

[ms-scarletwings]

This Single Oversight Will Bring Irken-Kind to Its Knees

I have a little riddle for you.

What does an ant nest, a computer, and the ancient city of Troy have in common?

While you ponder the significance of this question and consider your answer, there’s a few things I want to analyze about the worldbuilding of Invader Zim.

We may have heard it said before, least I have (and agree), that the fate of the IZ universe appears to be a rather bleak picture.

Through our lens of focus, being upon Earth and an oh-so specific nutball waging his battle upon humanity, we often don’t do as much thinking about the larger cosmic war taking place meanwhile. Not between the Meekrob and Tenn, not between the Tallest and every dumb luck threat they are thrown against, but between the Irken Armada and all life in the entire universe, sentient or not.

Their intentions will not be made any more clear, between outright eradication or eventual enslavement of every lifeform they set their sights on. While they have alliances and neutral treaties, those agreements seem few and far between, as well as born from temporary conveniences. The cards have already been dealt, and all available evidence has indicated that every planet they are aware of is doomed from the moment The Massive was operational.

Though littered with inefficiencies and incompetency that could suggest an empire in internal decline, the development of the control brains and other centralized command crutches of the species suggests the Irkens can still keep a well oiled machine running, no matter how many mishaps happen along the way. At least, that machine and their plundered resources will definitely outlast the survival of their enemies, for sure.

To speak of their enemies, there has not been a single competitive race within the show that demonstrates any credible threat to Operation Impending Doom II- only those that can resist the conquest a little bit longer than others, or those who survive by appeasing Irk (or evading its detection). The fall of Vort, which stood as the homeworld of the only aliens with the technological ability to match the armada’s firepower is…. Really bad news. That’s to say the least of comparatively primitive, TINY planets like Earth or Blorch, standing zero chance in the way of what’s eventually coming. This is a war that has continued despite the death of two.. FOUR Almighty Tallests if you follow the movie’s events… and Irkens wholly are still thriving for it across the Galaxy.

So, given all of these facts, and the perception that the Irkens (like any invasive species or colonial force) don’t seem to be a society that will make responsible and/or sustainable use of their ill-gotten territory… it seems like this is how life across the universe ends in Invader Zim one day: Not with a bang, not with the whimper of heat death, but through screams muffled under the bloody boots of a dominant predator- a predator that is, itself, doomed to cannibalize its own once it hits the carrying capacity of all existence.

Bleak, concrete, and horrific as that may sound, there’s still a “however” here to consider!

Yep, that’s me about to point one of my big fat fingers to the sky and protest- Irk just might be,

Not so Undefeatable, after all!

And not only have I figured out exactly what sort of countermeasure you need to destroy these invaders, I have reason to suspect it’s a plan already long ago set into motion.

Let’s break it down,

An Irksome Achilles’ Heel

True, individually, the bug bastards are irritatingly tough to kill through conventional means. True, collectively, they are nigh impossible to outmatch. And more than most anything else, they owe this tenacity to two things: numbers, and R&D. Possessing some of most state of the art pinnacles in transportation, communications, and military equipment, the Armada found a knack for being able to steamroll most lesser planets before it.

The genius of the individual PAK unit grants each and any one Irken a theoretical path to partial immortality itself, by route of consciousness archiving. I strongly believe that kind of cybernetic progress was also one of the stepping stones that led to the creation of the Control Brains. Nonetheless, this very same strength of the Irkens’ has also proven to be the source of their greatest vulnerability.

Paks, Paks… Oh Paks. The entire race’s civilization revolves around such technology the way we do around our own brains, our own hearts, and our communicative network. For all intents and purposes, and as I’ve gone on about ad nauseum in my other spills about the show, a PAK is all and at once

• Synonymous with the holder of their soul, consciousness, being, whatever you want to call their personhood.

• Able to have their data repurposed by future generations, in the result of an Irken’s permanent death.

• A universal necessity shared by the entire population.

• Susceptible to alterations, sometimes by intelligent enough individuals (as demonstrated by the Zimvoid comic arc), but usually by a Control Brain, directly.

In addition to that last quality, there’s another way the code in a PAK can be changed, for better or worse- Via evolution. Though I am talking about digitized neurology, the actual data in a PAK is a lot more comparable to biological DNA or a “self-learning” AI than it is a rigid computer program. By this, I mean that its code is subject to certain changes over time, perhaps both directed and completely random, particularly during the recycling of its information back into the Smeeteries.

And this is actually good design on the control brains’ part, the same way not reproducing Irkens as genetically identical clones was. Genetic and digital diversity are desirable goals to keep in mind if you want a healthy and versatile stock of workers, engineers, soldiers, and everything in between. We’re talking about highly sentient, highly intelligent, and emotional organisms here. A static drone mindset is going to offer them inadequate ability to adapt to their lengthy life experiences or be unique persons. How else would social mobility have purpose in their world? How else could the cream of the crop rise so far above their peers? That positive was deemed worthy of an obvious risk, however: computational errors.

When the Bugs Get Bugs

 IZ does not clearly lay out what it means for an Irken to be defective, but it gives us a general idea. Defectiveness is not something diagnosed from a code scan for this missing value or that incorrect variable. It’s not judged by one specific character trait or quality that’s abnormal for an Irken to display. “Defective” is a judgement stamp, wielded by the Control Brains when they gauge the total sum value of a life’s contribution to the species. And it’s not one given to Irkens which are merely incompetent, no. Anyone proven to be unfit for their standing is given generous opportunity for redemption or simply reassigned a more suitable occupation. If it were based on likability, we’d have seen Skoodge sent to Judgementia years ago.

Rather, it’s given to those who are viewed as so twisted that they are proven to be an existential danger to their brethren. Irkens that are so destructive to the essence of the collective that their memory must be purged from the record and their identity erased.

I adore the enthusiasm behind fans who want to view this as an analogy for disability or neurodivergence against a conformist society, but the metaphor I’m seeing is one of extreme antisocial behavior. A defective Irken screams less “adhd/autism” to me than they do serial murderers (of their own) or outright traitors. Pardon the use of a gross phrase, but it’d seem we were talking about an Irken equivalent of what the outdated gens would have dubbed the “criminally insane”. No one on screen has ever shown Skoodge or Tak the sort of concern that would get them sent to the Spike of Judgement, but when Zim was in that hot seat? NO one was doubting what his verdict would be.

^ courtesy of “The Trial’s” transcript

I think about the 40 shmillion mistakes a lot.

It’s such a vague quantity. But it sure sounds like a hell of a big one. And what mistakes… what did the lil squirt even have to compare them to? There’s no standard one person an Irken can be. Every presentation of the flaws in that code to the control brains hasn’t ended up a flaw to him.

I only started writing this because I really couldn’t stop thinking about the 40 shmillion. There’s no chronological room for bad self-modding to add up to that so quickly.  DNA replication, nature’s own sloppy and random process of creating new life, can be excused around 120,000 hiccups when duplicating with a 6 billion pair-long protein. But this kind of shuffling is under a futuristic AI’s precise eye. Yes, defects happen, but as bad as him? From birth??? How could you possibly get that many detrimental deviations from the mechanical fucking god-queen(s) of their entire homeworld?

And then it hit me.

You don’t. Not from Irk.

The hot take I’ve been charging for this entire time is thus.

Zim is not defective by any random accident. In fact, I smell the tampering of foreign sabotage.

Not only is this guy the thing his kind fears more than any else, they have every right to be shaking in their stance.

That puzzle i posed at the beginning of this journey, have you seen what I’ve seen yet?

Because the answer I was looking for as to what similarity connects an anthill, a PC, and a city from Greek legend was a most effective tactic for taking them down.

Do you know the best way to deal with a bad ant infestation? Cuz you can lay down all the raid and crushing action you want, but you won’t really be getting anywhere unless you target the pests directly at their queen. To that end, liquid ant baits are marvelous inventions- a sweet substance hiding a small amount of slow acting poison. Poison to be peacefully delivered by the stomach of an ant to the rest of her colony, poisoning her kin, who sicken more members, on and on until the queen is destroyed and the entire nest perishes. An insidious toxin to do all the work while its user never lifts a finger, pretty ingenious.

And when it comes to computers, we also have ways to attack entire networks at source, from quietly and far away. “Trojan” was a category of malware responsible for 64.31% of all cyber attacks on Windows systems in 2022, and they still make up a majority of active malware hits today. The concept is deviously simple. The malicious code is hidden within an innocent looking program, maybe even within a legitimate software that does what it’s supposed to. Once the stowaway is invited into the system, it can get down to it some sneaky, nasty, destructive work on your device. As for what those acts could look like, well, malware exists to do all kinds of things. Mostly something involving trying to get money/information from you or hijacking your computer for whatever its creator wants to use it for. And some of them will just up and wreck your shit, disable your antivirus software to open you up to more infections, disable important operations, wipe your data. Use your imagination.

And as for Troy.. well, where do you think Trojan programs got their name? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So, Irkens have their Armada, bionic drones, and homeworld- in other words, the thriving swarm of army ants, the billions to trillions of computers they so rely on, and their nigh untouchable fortress, always at war.

And some damn crafty bastard(s) in the stars said

“Here is their sugar-bait,”

“Here is their cyber attack,”

“Here is their wooden horse.”

And one particular race is going to be getting the last laugh before long.

Nerds That Are GOATed With the Sauce

That’s right, I thought about this all the way through to finding our prime suspect. And let me tell you, NO ONE in the Galaxy reeked of fish like the Vortians did. Get over here and lemme show you my whiteboard with all the red circles and polaroids on it.

- The Means

In a way of tragic irony, Vort has contributed more than any else to the same Irken conquest that turned on them in the end. A natural talent for cutting edge engineering and technical development actually does not seem to be what Irk already came into the ring with. For how mighty and superior they view themselves, the greatest achievements of their military can actually be owed to Vortian outsourcing. When we would have gotten a look at Tallest Miyuki’s very own “finest minds” during her reign, notice something interesting about these guys below,

Zim there is the ONLY Irken to be found! Yes, transferred there because of the punchline explanation of ‘he breaks everything he touches so maybe he’ll have an affinity for weapons research’ but damn right he actually did! And still does; I don’t want it to go unsaid that Zim has shown MUCH more technological skill and innovation than near any other Irken we’ve seen.

Another fun thing to note about this is that Lard Nar was also part of this lineup, and in the transcript he was in the process of working on the blueprints for The Massive. (which leaves you with the cursed knowledge that Zim, Prisoner 777, and Lard were all familiar coworkers long before the events of the show) And that brings me back to what I’m saying about the real reason the Vort natives were enslaved and imprisoned instead of outright sweeped after conquering. The Armada needs their skills, because Vortian advancement is something their own scientists couldn’t come close to. Left to their own devices, Vort could have easily outmatched them at an earlier point in history. It’s a people that figured out infinite power sources and potentially wormhole technology, while PAKs were something a disfigured human tween with a lot of time on his hands was able to crack. If anyone could outpace and outsmart the defensive measures of the Control Brains, it’s going to be them. And what better, cleaner way to sabotage the enemy than from within. 

The very same strings of inserted code that cursed Zim with his delusions, paranoia, lust for destruction, and horrible tactics may also have blessed him with a determination and intellect higher than almost any creature alive. The saboteur gave Irk the most powerful racecar in history, and then fitted it with bicycle brakes. No matter how hard Zim tries to conform to what will give him admiration, no matter how competent he is at keeping himself alive, it’s as if he is instinctually compelled toward whatever actions will cause the MOST damage to his allies in the process. Dib may think he’s the bulwark against the invasion when, ironically, he’s fighting against the one being that’s predetermined to be the arrow that strikes Irken leadership right in their dumb, green heels. (There is also an instance in the comics where Dib figures out that Zim is the ace in the hole for total Irken eradication but that’s another fun story.)

Oh, oh HO HO, and that’s only what he’s capable of doing before the empire’s actual immune system against defects like him wakes up and notices!

Three planetary blackouts, two dead generals, and a whole swath of dead invaders was just the fucking warm up, babey! All that is merely the kind of loud disruption that you need in order to fulfil the real thing this Trojan horse exists for in the first place.

What a celebration of hubris the Spike of Judgement was. Yeah, let’s take our method of filtering the corrupted data from the hive mind, and completely centralize it on a single planet! As well, let’s have the very purging agents also be the same ones to perform the evaluations themselves, I’m sure that it would be unthinkable for any outsider to design a worm that could make it through the brains’ firewalls. Goddamn spectacular. Like inserting an infected USB into your laptop, the Tallest never realized what kind of beast they woke up by plugging that PAK into the Spike’s mainframes. Those brains were meant to handle an expected spectrum of deviation when it came to defective Irkens, never a sleeper virus of this complexity.

From here it probably won’t even matter if Zim survives much longer on Earth, his virus has already spread to the very thing relied upon to keep things like him out of the data pool in the first place. With the Judgementia brains corrupted and no higher authority to overrule them, the firewall is effectively broken, and you know what that means? Bigger cracks for future defectives to start trickling through, both spontaneous and artificial. The ideal scenario is one where a degenerating and glitched population accelerates the incompetency of the empire to the point where it just implodes on itself; nevertheless, even a disease that only slows down Operation Doom could be a game changer, by giving the rest of the little guys more time to band together a coalition strong enough to strike back when the time is right.

- The Motive

The history of these two races’ alliance is something I lament us not having more lore to pull from- how far back it goes, what the character of the Vort was like during that time, what the Irkens had offered in return- a few among dozens of questions it rears.  The implication behind how it ended lies in Zim’s creation that slayed Tallest Miyuki. Interestingly, the Empire never received the memo of what exactly went down, or, perhaps, stubbornly denied the account of the other scientists who were there that day. Neither Red/Purple nor the Judgmentia Brains had any idea that Zim’s actions led to the death of a Tallest. So, makes sense that the Vortians became the unintentional scapegoat (no pun intended) for the incident, and the rest is history.

Note: It’s also in the realm of possibility that Vort was actually the one to withdraw from the alliance instead, given that the same blob that devoured Miyuki (purely the fault of their Irken transfer) also went on to cause untold amounts of devastation. Red’s reaction to the real story stuck out to me as more telling, although.

But why am I even talking about this? Zim was decades old before war was declared on them, and either people’s regard to each other seemed strangely… respectful, if anything.

But, was Vort really a monolithic bunch? Irk was already an empire by this point, and diplomacy with those they needed something from did not mean they weren’t otherwise an aggressive force in the universe. For all we know, the alliance itself might have been coerced, or result of depraved leadership among the Vortians.  Any citizen with a conscience who could see the writing on the walls would be disgusted by giving so much aid and brown nosing to such a menace, no? I know who would have seen that writing before anyone else. Brainiacs who are smart enough to build something like The Massive and all its bells and whistles would know better than anyone just what it was all capable of in the wrong hands. The collateral damage against your own people might be a sacrifice worth making in the face of the alternative.

- The Oppurtunity

So.. that’s all well and good, yeah? A why, and a what, yet this is actually the tricky part of saving the galaxy,

Sneaking your StupidifyIrk.exe file onto the assholes’ homeworld without alerting either them or your own treacherous, weak, collaborator superiors to your actions. Infecting and releasing a random Irken alive would be far too dangerous, far too noticeable to the point where they could just be destroyed outright before given a chance to wreak real havoc.

But what about releasing a dead Irken? 🤔

PAKs are only screened for criminal flaws when errors begin to affect their body’s behaviors in destructive ways. A fully competent scientist, or soldier, or navigator performing a lifetime of loyal service to the empire and then meeting an unfortunate end? Their minds’ shadows can be accepted back into the data pool no questions asked. That’s only business as usual.

That almost makes new smeets something of a reincarnation of their ancestors. Personally, I see it kind of like replaying a video game and re-rolling your stats, even if you’re reusing your character’s name and general play style.

Either way, we come full circle to my theory about Zim’s actual origin. Maybe not “our” Zim, but the previous iteration of data that was shuffled to create his person. Whoever they were, I’m convinced that they were also an exceptional individual. They were probably pretty arrogant, but it was a more earned confidence, and they were a prodigy genius, the likes of which that was drawn to work alongside Vortian allies, as another researcher. Then, an untimely demise befell them. I couldn’t say they fell victim to some unfortunate accident, considering the cockroach durability of their body. No, I find it a lot easier to imagine they met their end in one of the more embarrassing ways for an Irken to die- A PAK stolen, disabled or forcefully detached by an assailant they might have allowed a little closer than they should have. To the homeworld, it’s a small matter. One more PAK recovered by the natives of the friendly planet, brought back home to be repurposed by the smeeteries, right?

Well, that’s what one smartass might have been hoping for.

And they really were a clever cookie, because that scheming seed is fruiting beautifully.

[lizardsfromspace]

MONSTER MONDAYS #3: THE MYSTERIANS and VARAN

It's time once again! Well again. Because I didn't post anything the first week. Anyway I'm watching every Godzilla and Godzilla-adjacent film, from the original to 2004's Final Wars. Alas, this does include Godzilla '98. This week: the only week of the whole series to feature neither Godzilla or Mothra.

THE MYSTERIANS

1957 - Directed by Ishirō Honda - subbed

The Mysterians opens with a village's festival being interrupted by a mysterious fire. Then the village falls into the Earth and vanishes, along with an astrophysicist studying an asteroid that was formerly a planet. That's the first ten minutes.

Then we meet Moguera, a gigantic beaked robot with the wonderful noise of constantly whirring antenna, and for its second ten minutes, The Mysterians is a giant monster movie

Then the Mysterians unveil their massive underground sphere. Spheres! This is an act of DOME CINEMA!!! And we go inside its 1950s sci-fi vibes: the flying saucers, the vast spaces full of spinning tubes, the colorful caped and be-helmeted Mysterians themselves, who make a deal with humanity. Their species was doomed by radiation long ago, so all they want is three kilometers of land on Earth to live on, and - as they just casually drop - to mate with our human women. And the alien bastards have already taken our babes! Now it's time for the Duke a unified global military force to get repeatedly melted because they keep trying to attack the dome that has death rays that melt anyone who threatens the dome

If this happened today there would be no trouble getting volunteers to make it with the mutant space men. Actually, the obstacle may be that they're not freaky enough. If you're down to take a one-way trip to the bone dome you'll want them to have more than a few scars and boils under that helmet - but then again, maybe Mysterians leave the helmet on

The Mysterians is resolutely A Good Time. 🛸🛸🛸

Varan the Unbelievable

1958 - Directed by Ishirō Honda - subbed

Our last Toho kaiju film in black-and-white, and our only one in Toho Pan Scope, which is a euphemism for "it was shot in TV aspect ratios then blown up for widescreen" (more on that later)

Recipe for a kaiju glup shitto:

Some kind of unique gimmick or design

Be prominent but relatively undeveloped

Having a brief cameo in Destroy All Monsters and/or Final Wars, but with no other major appearances besides their debut

The only movie starring them is mediocre-to-bad

Meet Varan. Varan is a big spiky lizard who haunts a lake, and - huh? Why is he holding out his arms? Why -

YES

There are some fun setpieces involving Varan but the pacing of this film is just strange, being slow overall but with abrupt changes from one plot beat to another, which makes sense if you look up its history. Varan was written as a three-episode TV miniseries, and the crew was in the middle of shooting it as a TV miniseries when the co-producer pulled the plug & Toho asked Honda to both blow it up to widescreen and try to make three TV episodes into a coherent feature film. No wonder it was his least favorite of the movies he made. It's not nearly as good as what we've seen before but hey, he did manage to make a movie out of it, so good on him

Varan is an ancient dinosaur who was asleep in a lake, which caused him to be seen as a mountain god by the nearby village. He is not a mutant dinosaur, because Varans are introduced as a known species of dinosaur that was gigantic and could fly just like a flying squirrel. I wish this was a fact in real life that we all knew. Tyrannosauruses, stegosauruses, Varans. We need more Varan. "What if a smaller Godzilla who could glide" is a good concept. Honestly this is the least sketched-in monster we've seen so there's room to grow. I want to see Takashi Yamazaki tackle this. Get that second Oscar

So there's one element of Varan that did work perfectly. And that's the score from Akira Ifukube. I heard that it was good, but I didn't expect this film to open with a track like this

In conclusion 🐿️🐿️

THE LIST: Including all the post-2004 films I won't be rewatching

NEXT WEEK: 1959's quasi-sequel to The Mysterians, Battle in Outer Space, and we move on to the 60s and meet the queen herself, Mothra.

[npookie0]

The Forbidden Fruit.

Ther x Ronin, Adam and Eve retelling, Spread the Rot.

cws: religious themes

Etherality, one of the two humans created by God on his perfect earth, a perfect woman for Craig, perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect body. Everything in her was meant to fit Craig's tastes, after all she was to be his wife in this beautiful garden.

She was sitting on a cold stone by a river, like a nymph, beautiful, flawless. Her eyes locked on the reflection she could see in the river, long red hair falling down her back, milky skin, blue eyes dark like the night's sky. Somehow this person, this woman, she felt foreign, like a complete stranger who copied her every move.

Ethereality ran her hand across the surface of the river, disrupting the water and causing her reflection to disappear for a second. It was an idiotic thought, she's a woman, a woman created by God to be Craig's wife. She was ethereal, a true beauty. She couldn't feel alien in her own body, it would mean that she's questioning God's creation, that would make her imperfect.

"Ther, Ther, sweet Ther, when will you open your eyes?" A man in the form of a serpent was resting on one of the branches of the great tree, the tree holding all of God's wisdom of what's right and wrong. His serpent form was red, with eyes as black as coal. His eyes locked on the human on the other side of the river.

Ronin - because that's the man's name, the name he picked for himself at least, is an angel, one of God's favourites, or at least he was until he cut the wings binding him to heaven off. He hated heaven, hated the strict rules, hated the forced perfection.

He wanted to break free from heaven, create his own damned world, chaos and sin, freedom. To do that he needed to create chaos, destroy God's perfect plan, and dispose of all the virtues God created.

He planned on using Craig to do it, an empty headed man like him was easy to manipulate, whisper to him about power and he'll take the fruit like it's the only thing that matters to him. But something, or rather someone else caught his eye, Ther, or Ethereality, he watched them for a while now.

They were like him. Hated the form He put them in, hated the man they had to share a paradise with, hated everything about this holy place. He saw that, and he saw how much they fought their feelings, tried to bury them deep inside, yet they couldn't. They couldn't fight the truth, they just needed a push to accept it.

And that's when a magnificent idea popped into the man's mind. He could feed the fruit to them, he could help them and take them away from that damned place. Craig didn't deserve them anyway and Ronin? Ronin could give them everything, the whole world would be on its knees for them.

Ronin waited for them to pass the tree, he saw the curiosity in Ther's eyes. They were thinking about taking one of the fruits, he saw it, he saw the spark in their eyes.

"Oh, why won'tcha give the fruit a try, love?" Ther jumped. Hearing the man's voice from behind them. Their eyes widened when they saw who he was.

"Who are you?" They asked, their eyes moving between the void in his eyes and the broken halo on his head.

The man's hair was white, it was probably the only clean and holy thing about him, he was wearing a black cloth over his hips that reached his to his knees, under his chest there were two scars. The scars caught Ther's curiosity.

"An angel." He whispered, taking a few steps towards them.

"Really?" They asked, not believing him.

"Nah." He waved his hand dismissively and put his hand under Ther's chin. "But I can be your saviour, I know how to give you answers to the questions about yourself and your purpose." He whispered into their ear, while he pulled one of the many fruit's from the tree.

"Wh-what? But God sai-"

"Shh, what He said doesn't matter. He wants to toy with you and that bastard, you will never be a full fetched being if you listen to Him." He cupped their cheek and  caressed it with his thumb, like a lover would.

"Come on, gain your freedom, take it with your teeth, raw and bleeding." He smiled and put the fruit to their lips. "What do you say, Ther?"

Hearing this name, it made something in Ethereality squeeze. The name... it felt just right. Like freedom, like it was who they were meant to be. If it's just the name that made them feel that way, then maybe eating the fruit would do even more?

Maybe... Just maybe they could find their own reflection?

[someoneintheshadow456]

FUCK THAT MECHANICAL BASTARD IS2G I HAD TO CHANGE THE DIFFICULTY TO EASY BECAUSE OF YOU-

Anyway moving on…

Pour one out for Vex and her Driver who loves chocolate as much as I do. I gave her to Morag because that’s going to be her and Brigid in 50 years.

Torna’s grievances to how Blades get their memories wiped are valid. Wanting to destroy all living beings? Not so much. And they seem to be two steps ahead of Shulk and Co because they’ve already got their sights on killing the Architect.

Seriously Amalthus you sus af. I just KNOW all that pretending to be sorry about Malos is an act. Plus the sheer irony my Desi ass sees in the sus character being BLUE.

Jin used to be a good guy but sided with Malos. It can’t be because of Lora because he adopted her before Malos showed up (although how she was adopted probably did NOT help). And everyone is also pointing out “he convinced me” isn’t the whole story. I did say that the only one missing is a gay couple before. And Malos from what I see has shown no interest in women. So MAYBE…

(Diversity win? The rogue blade trying to destroy humanity is gay?)

The most interesting part of XC2 is the geopolitics. XC1’s world didn’t feel fleshed out at all. I know the Mechon destroyed most of it, but you don’t get a sense of where every place is and how they relate together. I also love how each titan has its own type of people.

Nia why the ever loving fuck did you not work your magic with Vandame?! Also I was very VERY right to wonder if there’s more to Nia than meets the eye considering she used to be with Torna.

And now it looks like I’m starting to change my mind about Zeke. In fact I’m beginning to feel very sorry for the guy. Especially now that we’re visiting his Daddy Dearest…

[professor-in-progress]

Engineering is Inherently Political

Okay, yea, seemingly loaded statement but hear me out.

In our current political climate (particularly in the Trump/post-Trump era ugh), the popular sentiment is that scientists and other academics are inherently political. So much of science gets politicized; climate change, abortion, gender “issues”, flat earth (!!), insert any scientific topic even if it isn’t very controversial and you can find some political discourse about it somewhere. However, if you were to ask people if they think that engineering is political, I would bet that 9/10 people would say no. The popular perception of engineering is that it’s objective and non-political. Engineering, generally, isn’t very controversial.

I argue that these sentiments should switch.

At its base level, engineering is the application of science and math to solve problems. Tack on the fact that most people don’t really know what engineering is (hell, I couldn’t even really describe it until starting my PhD and studying that concept specifically). Not controversial, right? We all want to solve the world’s problems and make the world a better place and engineers fill that role! But the best way to solve any problem is a subjective issue; no two people will fully agree on the best way to approach or solve a problem.

Why do we associate science and scientists with controversy but engineers with objectivity? Scientists study what is. It’s a scientist’s job to understand our world. Physicists understand how the laws of the universe work, biologists explore everything in our world that lives, doctors study the human body and how it works, environmental scientists study the Earth and its health, I could go on. My point is that scientists discover and tell us what is. Why do we politicize and fear monger about smart people telling us what they discover about the world?

Engineering, however, has a reputation for being logical, objective, result oriented. Which I get, honestly. It’s appealing to believe that the people responsible for designing and building our world are objective and, for the most part, they are. But this is a much more nuanced topic once you think deeper about it.

For example, take my discipline, aerospace engineering. On the surface, how to design a plane or a rocket isn’t subjective. Everyone has the same goal, get people and things from place to place without killing them (yea I bastardized my discipline a bit but that’s basically all it boils down to). Let’s think a little deeper about the implications though. Let’s say you work for a spacecraft manufacturer and let’s hypothetically call it SpaceX. Your rocket is so powerful that during takeoff it destroys the launch pad. That’s an expensive problem so you’re put on the team of engineers dedicated to solving this problem. The team decides that the most effective and least expensive solution is to spray water onto the rocket and launchpad during takeoff. This solution works great! The launchpad stays intact throughout the launch and the company saves money. However, that water doesn’t disappear after launch, and now it’s contaminated with chemicals used in and on the rocket. Now contaminated water flows into the local environment affecting not just the wildlife but also the water supply of the local community. Who is responsible for solving that issue? Do we now need a team of environmental or chemical engineers to solve this new problem caused by the aerospace engineers?

Yes, engineers solve problems, but they also cause problems.

Every action has its reaction. Each solution has its repercussions.

As engineers we possess some of the most dangerous information in the world and are armed with the weapon to utilize it, our minds. Aerospace engineers know how to make missiles, chemical engineers know how to make bombs, computer scientists know how to control entire technological ecosystems. It’s very easy for an engineer to hurt people, and many do. I’m not exempt from this. I used to work for a military contractor, and I still feel pretty guilty about the implications of the problems that I solved. It is an engineer’s responsibility to act and use their knowledge ethically.

Ethical pleas aside, let’s get back to the topic at hand.

Engineering is inherently political. The goal of modern engineering is to avert catastrophe, tackle societal problems, and increase prosperity. If you disagree don’t argue with me, argue with the National Academy of Engineering. It is an engineer’s responsibility to use their knowledge to uplift the world and solve societal problems, that sounds pretty political to me!

An engineer doesn’t solve a problem in a vacuum. Each problem exists within the context of the situation that caused it as well as the society surrounding that situation. An engineer must consider the societal implications of their solutions and designs and aim to uplift that society through their design and solution to the problem. You can’t engineer within a social society without considering the social implications of both the problem and the solution. Additionally, the social implications of those engineering decisions affect different people in different ways. It’s imperative to be aware and mindful of the social inequality between demographics of people affected by both the solution and the problem. For example, our SpaceX company could be polluting the water supply of a poor community that doesn’t have the resources to solve the problem nor the power or influence to confront our multi-billion-dollar company. Now, a multi-billion-dollar company is advancing society and making billions of dollars at the cost of thousands of lives that already struggle due to their social standing in the world. Now the issue has layers that add further social implications that those without money are consistently prone to the whims of those with money. Which, unfortunately, is a step of ethical thought that many engineers don’t tend to take.

Engineers control our world. Engineers decide which problems to solve and how best to solve them. Engineers control who is impacted by those solutions. Engineers have the power to either protect and lift up the marginalized or continue to marginalize them. Those who control the engineers control the world. This is political. This is a social issue.

Now look me in the eyes and tell me that engineering isn’t inherently political.

[th3-unseen-backup]

02/08/2015 17:14:56 PST

>Initiate protocol SEEK.

>Searching…

>39/287 person(s) of interest found…

>Open “Deacam” live video feed.

>Create new .txt

>...|

The Deacam

[Flitting through the corners of the traffic camera’s grainy view, a man in a cowboy hat is seen hurrying through the shadows of LA. At one point, the man attempts to cross a seemingly barren street yet manages to narrowly avoid being hit by a car. Unshaken, he stops, speaks to the driver, and afterwards the driver points him in the opposite direction as he continues to explain something to him. Afterwards, the cowboy breaks away from the driver, bounding through the shadows, a left here, a few honks there, three blocks straight – almost runs into a street vendor here, a right and finally… he slows down, but still clutching his chest. He approaches a cafe and is wreathed by its warm tide of light.]

>Store “deacon sadly doesnt get hit by a car.txt” in folder:Files under directory:Storage 4.

>Reconnecting with “Deacrophone”, please stand by…

>Connected.

>Automatic live transcription protocol initiating, please stand by…

>Start.

[Footsteps with the gentle click of spurs, followed by panting. Then, a doorbell chimes happily, gentle murmur crowds a corner, footsteps muffled by a rug for brief second.]

Bennett, A. : Oh, thank god, you’re here. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t come. Do you want to get something before we get into it? I was gonna get a coffee.

Keller, D. : Sorry, Arthur, I got a little lost on the way here. [Rustling of fabric, continues speaking over it.] I'm not much of a coffee drinker myself, is there something else you'd recommend?

Bennett, A. : Hm, I could see you enjoying some chai. You don't have to, though, I know you've got some… Dietary restrictions. [A pause.] I'm sorry, Deacon. This whole small talk thing is pretty new to me.

Keller, D. : [Short chuckle.] Don't we all? A cup of chai sounds wonderful, Arthur.

[Footsteps joined together.]

Keller, D. : Don't worry about the small talk either, friend. We've got enough big stuff to talk about tonight that we should get started, eh?

Bennett, A. : Can we wait… A bit for that kind of talk? [More footsteps, fabric rustles.] (Gently, but closer to phone’s general location.) Remember, I'm the one paying here.

Keller, D. : Of course we can wait, Arthur. I've got all night. [Footsteps.] As for who's paying… I suppose we'll have to see.

[Chair screeches against the floor, creaks. The gentle tide of conversation across the cafe is all that accompanies us. Break in conversation lasts exactly 17 minutes, 46 seconds, and 3 milliseconds.]

Bennett, A. : [Some footsteps, followed by the clinking sounds of cups on a table and another chair hauled out.] (Playfully) We will not 'have to see'. [A sigh.] So, where do we start?

Keller, D. : [A long sigh.] I'll admit, it's been quite a while since I've had a human drink - erm, besides alcohol. [Clink of a cup, pause.] Why don't we start with the vampire hunter you keep on a leash, huh?

Bennett, A. : He's a valuable asset. I'm sure you can understand that. I don't see what the issue is here, and even less why you keep insisting on destroying every plan I've ever had and putting every person I've cared about in danger. [A pause.] (Softly) You're included in that, for what that's worth. [Another pause.] Vampire hunters all around the nations are connected to Magnus, in one way or another. Cut one of the hydra’s heads, and two’ll bite, you know how organized crime goes. Killing Magnus wouldn't solve anything. Keeping him alive is what gets me the information that keeps us alive.

Keller, D. : I can understand keeping him close for intel. And I guess I can even understand going to his house for glasses of wine, sure. (Growing with conviction) What you need to understand is that bastard had a deliberate hand in the deaths of kindred I cared about. As for destroying your plans, how the hell am I supposed to know anything? It's not like you have told me anything about what you're trying to do. I'm in the dark here, Arthur. So forgive me for ‘endangering everything you care for’ or whatever. [Shuffling of mug against wooden table.]

Bennett, A. : What you need to understand is that the intel I got from Magnus is what saved the lives of some kindreds stuck in that building. Shiloh would be dead without what I've been doing here, and you too, probably. What happened at Crépuscule would have happened regardless of his presence, the only difference is, I got to save some people. [A pause.] And I'm sorry I assumed you were smart enough to understand I, a vampire, wasn't hanging out with a vampire hunter for 'fun'.

Keller, D. : And how was it supposed to look, Arthur? [Tightening of leather glove around porcelain] Get off your god-damned high horse for a second and look at this from my perspective. You had intel that Crépuscule was gonna go up, and what? Instead of - I don't know - warning the kindreds there about the attack, you sat down, had a glass of whiskey and fucked around? And don't make some excuse about not having enough influence to speak, Emizel climbed the fucking rafters with a microphone to talk shit.

Bennett, A. : You're right, I knew. I tried warning some people, but I should have tried harder. Some vampires make it seem so goddamn hard to act even somewhat amiable. [A pause.] (Raising in intensity, but not volume.) But you're right. I don't know why I didn't try harder, or why I still can't bring myself to care about the people that died. Maybe it's because all of them were awful to me, maybe it's 'cause I'm a monster, maybe it's 'cause I still can't bring myself to believe that there's any unlife worth living. [Shuddering breath.] Still, it doesn't change the fact Magnus is more useful to us alive than dead, and that going after him, whether you manage to kill him or not, essentially equates suicide, and worse, a fucking war. [A pause.] All the cards are on the table now, Deacon. What's your verdict?

[Long period of silence settles over them, punctuated by the simple rhythm of a boot tapping the floor and the piercing clicks of its spur.]

Keller, D. : How can you be so human, yet so glaringly not simultaneously? One second you preach about protecting ones you care about, but the very next, you're stone-hearted about every single kindred around you that you sign away the lives - the unlives - of. Regardless of what you think about the ways we are forced to live, you have no say in how others live it. And you sure as hell have no say in who dies. [A pause, a breath.] I don't give a rat's ass about killing your vampire hunter pet any more, to hell with him. What I care about is the oath I made to the Crown and the Ventrue clan to protect our kindred, and to uphold the Masquerade. I failed to protect anyone that day, hell, I almost met The Final Death myself. [A pause.] Maybe you don't feel the same, but this unlife was a miracle for me. It gave me a… A second chance. [Grinding of a chair against a plywood floor, the clamber of boots.] Whatever curse you see it as, you need to start looking for the blessings, Arthur, or the Final Death is going to come a hell of a lot sooner. And no matter how well you prepare, it's not gonna be the freedom you think it is.

[Footsteps followed by the snap of spurs, first on wood, then on rug, and, accompanied by the merry chime of a bell, finally on concrete.]

>Store “arthur n deacon argue like bitter exes in public awk transcript.txt” in Folder:“word on the street” under Directory: ME :3

>End transcription.

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[ash-and-books]

Rating: 5/5

Book blurb: The Shadowhunter Chronicles meets Chinese diaspora folklore in Darker by Four, the first in an epic contemporary fantasy duology from Jade Fire Gold author June Tan.

A vengeful girl. A hollow boy. A missing god.

Rui has one goal in mind—honing her magic to avenge her mother’s death. 

Yiran is the black sheep of an illustrious family. The world would be at his feet—had he been born with magic. 

Nikai is a Reaper, serving the Fourth King of Hell. When his master disappears, the underworld begins to crumble…and the human world will be next if the King is not found.

When an accident causes Rui’s power to transfer to Yiran, everything turns upside down. Without her magic, Rui has no tool for vengeance. With it, Yiran finally feels like he belongs. That is, until Rui discovers she might hold the key to the missing death god and strikes a dangerous bargain with another King.

As darkness takes over, three paths intersect in the shadows. And three lives bound by fate must rise against destiny before the barrier between worlds falls and all Hell breaks loose—literally.

Perfect for fans of This Savage Song and Only a Monster, Darker by Four will pull readers into a world of love and desperation and revenge—a world where every deal has a catch, no secret stays buried, and no one is exactly who they say they are.

Review:

A girl out for revenge, a missing god, and a hollow boy find their paths converging as they deal with magic, mystery, and friendship. Rui is driven by the need to avenge her mother's death, she has magical abilities and is training to become a strong exorcist to get rid of the revenant... particularly the one who killed her other. Yiran is from a wealthy and powerful illustrious family... however he is the bastard son who was born without any magic, making him the black sheep of the family. Nikai is a reaper, serving the Fourth King of Hell, he is even his friend... but when Four goes missing the entire underworld begins to crumble and he has to find him. Rui spends her days training and the only time she allows herself a moment of distraction is when she spends time with Zizi, the mage who creates illegal talismans that she tests out. Rui has been harboring a crush on Zizi for as long as she can remember, he is the boy who saved her all those years ago and he is the only person she truly feels comfortable with. Yet when she goes to tests out Zizi's newest talison/spell and a revenant attacks her and Yiran also happens to be there she does the spell and ends up transferring her magic into Yiran... and it might be a permanent transfer. Yiran now has the one thing he's always wanted: magic so he could be accepted by his family, yet he know's its not his truly and that if he doesn't learn to control bit it'll end up killing him. Yiran, Rui, and Zizi all find themselves working together to fix what has happened but when a king of the underworld appears and makes a deal with Rui.... things get complicated and secrets threaten to destroy the only love she's ever known and make her question the one boy who she's given her heart to. Can she find a way to get her magic back or will getting it back mean losing everything else? The first book in a duology and it was such a fun read, I loved the magic world that was created and the magic system was a unique one. I adored Rui and Zizi's romance and relationship, they were so cute and I can't wait to see where the second book goes and how everything progresses after the way this one ends. It's a fun read and I would absolutely recommend!!

*Spoilers: Four ran away from Hell to find out his beloved again (Four is Zizi and Rui is the reincarnation of the woman he loved). While Four became human he gave up his memories and hid himself, yet when Rui made the deal with Ten, one of Four's brothers, the truth comes out and Ten forces Four's memories back into him. Rui finds that she has new magical powers and after the deal with Ten is completed her magic is returned and Yiran is back to being magicless. Yiran feels betrayed and used while Four doesn't really remember who he is and what his responsibilities are. Rui and Zizi admitted they loved each other before Four's memories came back into Zizi. The guild covers up the hybrid revenant's attacks and claimed that Rui saved them all, and gave her a promotion to captain to hush her up but what she really wants is Zizi back. A hybrid revenant offers Yiran a new way to get magic and he seems to be interested. The book ends with Four's memories of old Rui coming back."

*Thanks Netgalley and HarperCollins Children's Books, HarperTeen for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[its-aighost]

A Monster Hunter X TGCF crossover Rant that has been stuck in my head for the past several months!!!!

THIS might CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR MXTX'S WORK HEAVEN OFFICIAL'S BLESSING!!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

So, for like, a while now, I have been going over a AU idea for Heaven Official's Blessing but Monster Hunter, cause I have problems.

(To TGCF fan's who have no idea what monster hunter is, it's a video game series where you hunt Giant Monsters (DUH) but there is also a bunch of lore for the world and every single monster also has their own lore as well!!!)

So, this is the actual rant.

Xie Lian; he is a Prince of a Fallen Kingdom Called Xianle, which was destroyed by an Elder Dragon many years ago. Instead of a Silk Band, Ruoye is a pure white Palamute who accompanies Xie Lian where ever he goes. Xie Lian's main weapon (Even if he can just use his fists) is a long sword!!! He is only just re entering the Hunter's Guild

Hua Cheng; To explain my Hua Cheng idea, I also need to explain the side game called Monster Hunter Stories. Basically, monster hunter but a turn based rpg where you ride monsters. Hua Cheng would be a rider. His Monster? A Silver Rathalos named Eming!!! uwu. He would also be a Dual Blades main, and his dual blades when set on his back would be a uniquely made so they look like silver butterfly wings. (Wraith Butterflies could just be implemented as a type of in world insect.)

Feng Xin and Mu Qing; used to be Xie Lian's subordinates and friends till Xianle fell. Personal reasons for leaving. Both High Ranking Hunter's of the Guild. Feng Xin is a Bow Main with a Palico (lil talking cat side kicks in the games) named Nan Feng. Mu Qing is a dual blade main whose Palico is named Fu Yao.

The Four Ghost Kings; The Calamities

In this AU they are actually Rider's who don't register Under the Guild and have actually been known to go against the guild for a slew of reasons. Already brought up Hua Cheng so

Black Water He Xuan; a Rider who rules an island off the coast, and rides an Ivory Legiacrus. A recluse who doesn't mess with the guild as long as they stay out of his territory. (No one knows what he looks like)(uwu') idk what weapon he would actually wield.

Green Ghost (green worm) Qi Rong: Monster is a Deviljho. Instead of being a man eating Ghost King, in this AU he feeds his victims to his giant Deviljho! He doesn't wield a weapon cause he doesn't see the point. Just lets his monster and subordinates do all the work.

Bai Wuxiang (White No Face) This one makes me wonder, as I 100 percent see him riding an Elder Dragon. For the Au, it might be a unique to the story one or, It would be the elder Dragon Blackveil Vaal Hazak. This being the elder dragon that destroyed the kingdom of Xianle. I choose Blackveil Vaal Hazak for two reasons. White color palate and the concept of the effluvium which is like a sickness thing that finds and kills its prey. (Fitting) he is also a Wyverian instead of a human (Monster Hunters version of elves (kind of???)) Uses a Long Sword.

The Elemental Master's:

Unlike the 'Calamities' the Elemental Master's are Rider's who work for the Guild.

Water Master Shi Wudu; this one was hard, as i either want his monster to be Mizutsune or Shogun Ceanataur. His weapon would be a sword and shield because he basic.... also the Mizutsune Sw&S is a fan.

Wind Master Shi Qingxuan; (using She/her terms) Insect Glaive. It just fits. Don't ask. She wields an insect glaive. Her monster is either a Paolumu (More a joke then reality) or a Legiana (Cause pretty) Either way, it be a flying Wyvern cause wind.

(Thunder Master is irrelevant as always... cry...)

Earth Master Ming Yi. (He/him pronouns) Uses a Hunting Horn, but terribly, and his monster a Duramboros that doesn't listen to him. (If you know, you know)

Other Character's of Importance; Hunter's Guild:

Ling Wen is the Quest Maiden that isn't respected enough.

Pei Ming; Flirtatious bastard who is a very high ranking Hunter. He either uses a Longsword or a Charge Blade. (Pei Xiu definitely Charge Blade.)

Quan Yizhen: Hammer.

Lang Qianqiu; Great Sword User and is definitely a Palico enthusiast.

Not Hunter's Guild;

Banyue; A Rider who is an outcast of her village and rides a Nargacuga

Xuan Ji; and ex hunter whose weapon of choice was a heavy bowgun. Works for Qi Rong to get back at Pei Ming.

Guild Master Jun Wu; a wyverian who has worked as the Guild Master of the area for a very long time. Has a soft spot for Xie Lian even if he is the one who had him removed from the Guild years ago. (owo')

State Preceptor Mei Nianqing; Xianle's State Preceptor and a Wyverian. Went missing after Xianle's fall.

Locals:

Puqi Village is where Xie Lian get's posted as a Hunter after his return to the Guild The area surrounding the village is a plains biome.

Tiantang; the Massive Capital City where the Hunter's Guild Base is located for the region. (Tiantang just means heaven... aka its just the heavenly capital)

I think that cover's most of my mental ramblings on this particular Au idea....

(I also have thoughts for MDZS Monster Hunter Crossover but it's not as fleshed out as this was.)

[monochromatictoad]

📝,👯‍♀️,💞,👀 for any :3

I hope you don't mind me doing this for Buttons 👉👈

📝: How would your story in canon go? How would you influence the events of the original story?

So, Buttons wouldn't actually influence too much over the story. I'm constantly back and forth on whether or not the others learn or even know of Buttons' existence. I feel like, AM would be very cautious about letting anyone else around his Buttons. So if they got close to wherever it wandered off at, AM would simply redirect them, or just straight up punish them for being so close to his most precious thing.

The ending still plays out the same, with Gorrister, Nimdok, Benny, and Ellen dying, but when Ted becomes a slug creature, that's when AM finally introduces Buttons to him. Mind you, Buttons has completely lost its mind and previous identity to AM, but Ted still believes he hasn't.

In the Game, Buttons would be a secret character, who doesn't speak, but if you find the hidden documents in every character's level, you can piece together its story. Each character would have a slightly different speech at the end of the Bad Endings, where they talk alittle about Buttons, and then you get taken to a secret level where you play as Buttons, where it unleashes AM and becomes Buttons. In the good endings, the characters would talk about Buttons, and about trying to figure out how to bring its previous humanity back. There is a secret level behind this one too, where you play as Buttons meeting AM for the first time.

No matter, you can never change its outcome.

👯: What canon character are you most similar to?

It's hard to say, because the Comic, Radio Drama, Game, and Story all portray the characters differently, with the Game being the biggest difference. However, I relate more to AM than anyone else in the story, but Buttons isn't like anyone known in the story, having been an American scientist before getting taken by AM, where it becomes the Buttons that Ted meets at the end.

💞: Aside from with your f/o, who else would you commonly be shipped with? Why?

Probably either Ellen or Ted. It just depends on the continuity, but also, because Buttons previous gender is unknown, it would be more like a default Yuri or Yaoi, with very little in-between. If its the game continuity, it would be Ellen they ship it with, given they elaborate more on her story, and people would be fully into the "She deserves better than any of the men around her 😠", before trying to force a feminine design for Buttons and then try to cancel people who interpret Buttons in other ways. Other continuities, would be Ted, purely just to make a yaoi ship that isn't with AM.

👀: How does your ship with your f/o influence both of your characterisations and the world? Would there be any interesting metas written about your dynamic?

Yes. Buttons is in the heart of AM, and AM alters the perception of the other five to prevent them from finding it. However, AM is still AM at the end of the day, and is still a bastard, even towards Buttons. Buttons just doesn't have the understanding that AM is actually awful, seeing AM as a good being and its partner. It only thinks that AM is protecting it, but it also doesn't have the memory of humanity before hand.

I think there definitely could be, but I think there would also be people who don't fully understand the dynamic, thinking that AM is actually protecting Buttons, but in reality, AM is possessive. He doesn't let the others know of Buttons, because he doesn't want them touching, looking, or even sharing the same breath as it. Buttons is his and he does not share.

However, I think that some people could see that in a weird way, AM does love Buttons, but isn't programmed to love. That's kinda the point of his character. He can't love like a human, thus being angry and resentful, and destroying the world in the first place.

[thearoaceshark]

Disenchanted x TMNT.

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•○•

There was a small red demon and a human in an orange tunic in the Heaven. They had just killed God and were looking at His reserve light bulbs, probably if they put one in Him He will revive.

"Look, Mikey, light bulbs. Stacks of 'em. Brand-new hardward-store-fresh light bulbs" the demon said to his half-sibling "Where's your other nunchuck?" He asked and the youngest took out another nunchaku "Hand it over"

Mikey was going to give it to him but they backed away.

"Wait a minute. What are you gonna do?" they asked.

"Smash the light bulbs"

"Okay, then" they was going to give it to him but "Wait a minute"

"What?" The demon was getting angry.

"If you smash the light bulbs, God can never come back" they said worriedly.

"We took a vote and everyone agreed I would become the new God, and you would be my number two. My butler. Cool butler Mikey. Now butle-up, Miks" he try to persuade them.

"But we don't have no proof you could become God anyway. You yourself pointed out everything is slowin' down and fadin' out. That's what's gonna happen"

"Aghh. Look, Miks, I need this. I had a very traumatic childhood. I never told you this, but my drinking buddy stiffed me on the bill multiple times"

"But Raph, why not for once in your life... Choose love?"

"Okay, let me tell you about love, buddy. Love is a scam. Same people who proclaim love are the ones who pollute the air, join love cults, kills animals, spill oil, hates homosexuals, read bargabe on the beaches even if they have a stack of garbage next to them, make fun of feminine things, they make spelling mistakes, make bad and offensive jokes about others, promote insane vaccine conspiracies––"

"You're right. Take the nunchuck" they said this time handing him the weapon once and for all.

Raphael entered the light bulb warehouse, and Mikey prepared to hear him destroy the hundreds of them. But instead nothing was heard, and they saw their half-brother dragging out a gigant light bubl.

"All right, come on, Miks. Give me a hand with this thing. I don't wanna drop it," he said, concentrating on his work, putting on that blank expression he always got when his feelings were disconcerting to him and he just wanted to ignore them and concentrate on what he was doing.

"Aw gee, Raph! You're the best" they said happily helping him carry it.

"And don't forget it. Now let's screw this into God's gaping neck hole and see what happens"

And so they did, they went to the body of God and removed the broken light bulb to place the new one. Waoh, blurring and twisting the light bulbs reminded Raph of when he was decapitated and brought back to life but his body and his head didn't join together and he had to be twisting it every time he fell. They were bad times, Casey and Donnie let his headless body fall into a puddle of their vomit once, the damn ones.

"Inka. Dinka. Binka. Bonka. Boom!" He recited while they screwed in the new light bulb and it began to flicker, until it finished turning on, giving God life again. Before the resurrection of the great creator, Heaven began to shine again, the River of Joy returned to its heavenly glory and the angels stopped crying.

"Aghhh. Ah! What a refreshing nap" said God rising from His ancient eternal resting place "I didn't have any of my usual recurring nightmares. Did I snore?"

"No, God, you were dead" responded His most beloved creation whose life He let be a shit, Michelangelo.

"Daed tired, that is. I hope you rested well, Lordy" the red demon lied and laughed nervously.

"Why is you being so modest, Raph? God, I'm the one who killed you. Raph is the one who brung you back to life" but those in the orange tunic decided to tell the truth. And God started laughing, that laugh He makes when He "already knows," because of course He knew.

"I know all that, Mikey. I was just testing you" because of course the bastard did. "I was going to smite you. Maybe even mega smite you. But for your honesty about killing me, I forgive you" decree the deity. He grabbed the nunchaku that killed Him. "So, this is the murder weapon. Hmmm." He dropped it from the sky and said smilingly, "Look out below."

Yes, that brick was probably going to kill someone, or ruin someone's life, or both. Or maybe its just killed some annoying guy complaining about the happy ending and the holes in the plot that no one cares about, but no one is going to miss him.

"Now, Raphael, I'd like to know why you were so modest about bringing me back to life"

"Pfft. Ah, geez, man. When you're a dirty, dark demon, and you don't allow God to just die, it's bad for your reputation" he explained his point seriously "I'll never live this down" God laughed at his words.

"Haha, such integrity from one of Hell's tiniest flunkies. I would never have thunk it" He reached out to pat the little demon's head "Raph, I don't usually do this, but I really like you, and you did save my life" He said, leaving the caresses "Maybe that's why I like you. Huhuhu. Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to give you a single wish. Right now, no holds barred, anything you want" Mikey just watched the conversation unfold.

"Anything at all?"

"Do you want wealth? Fame? Success? You wanna be a big shot?" He began to name everything he could ask for "Would you like to lose weight? Eat endless pies? Maybe total enlishtenment? Pick one thing. It's hard, isn't it?" Raphael thought about it.

"...Does the wish have to be for me?" he asked.

"Strange. No one has ever asked that" God said "The answer is the wish can be for anyone you want"

"Well, than my wish is for Leona the Mermaid to come back alive. For Cass"

"Interesting. May I ask why?"

"Why? Because Cass has tried so hard and done so much" he began to explain, letting his emotions come out "Because Cass deserves love. Because the love of Cass's life is Leona, and because..."

"Because what?"

"...Because I love Casey, and I want them to be happy once and for all" he confessed, shit, that toothy human had stolen his heart... They were and are the best friend he has ever had.

"Aww, that's beautiful, dude" said Mikey.

"Yeah, yeah, leave alone" said the demon, he wasn't going to let his feelings out again for at least the next nine hundred years.

"I'm going to give you a big huge" they said approaching and taking the red one in a hug, he left and snuggled into the chest of his younger sibling "Do I feel tears on my tunic? Are you cryin', "Raphie?" they said borrowed and surprised.

"I'm not crying. I'm not crying. I... That was me laughing" he said and faked a laugh "Hihi. I'm a clown. I just... I have no feelings, you know me. I'm all like, bibbidi-bobbidi bibbidi..." he was heard sobbing "Boop!" The demon took a deep breath. "Skippity-skoppity skip... Sewer apples."

"I hereby grant Raphael's wish" God proclaimed "Leona the Mermaid comes back to life for Cass. Clap!" He exclaimed as He gave a great applause, a roar was heard and divine waves were formed. He had done His thing.

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In the land of the living and mortal, a person with black hair and squirrel, rabbit, beaver, all the nicknames you can think of, teeth, was sitting on the rocks on the beach mourning the loss of their beloved mermaid. They was resting on a large rock behind her, so beautiful, until she began to decompose.

"I hate this. Everything sucks," said the queen, although that was just a title, they wouldn't feel like a queen, and they certainly weren't fit to rule. "My crazy mom finally died, and yet, where is the glory? And what is that smell? My boots or Leona's rotting fish body?... Sorry Leona"

"Apology accepted, Cass" they heard behind them say "By the way, what reeks are your boots"

They turned around and saw the mermaid alive. Alive and smiling at them.

"Leona? You're alive?" They jumped over the stones and went to their beloved who received them in her arms.

They both looked into each other's eyes, happy about this miracle, and kissed. There is finally peace and happiness in Casey's life.

"Just don't stab me anymore, okay? There's other ways to get to my heart" their girlfriend told them when they separated from their kiss. And they kissed again.

The end.

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"What?!" said a man coming out of his window "Why does it end so quickly?! You didn't even rewrite the entire chapter, and why did you only copy what it said in the English subtitles and barely adapt the dialogues to how the TMNT characters would say it?! You know so little about English? You live in America and you still watch shows in Spanish and that's why you don't know how to reinterpret it because you've only seen the Latin dub? What an idiot. And why didn't you write the scene of them fuck–? Agh" a brick fell on his head and he died.

End

○

"Oh, a fun fact. Did you guys know that Leona the Mermaid is your half-sister?" God told to Mikey and Raph

"WHAT?!!"

Now, thats the end. By.

[cassolotl]

I may be asleep

I've been watching 1899, which has some full-on creepy unreality vibes. I'm sort of on holiday, so when I look out of the window the view is unfamiliar. We've been experiencing a heatwave here for coming up to two months now. And today I've had (I'm still having) a migraine, which makes my head a bit swimmy, and I've had a nap about that, and in combination I feel a little bit unreal myself.

Yesterday we had a few showers of rain for the first time in many weeks. For the UK this is very weird, I'm sure you know that we're known for our precipitation.

This evening, the sun is starting to set. I'm sitting in an unfamiliar window, with a view of some sports fields, and for at least an hour now a flock of seagulls has been grazing in this sports field. Every now and again one will land and another one will take off, but generally there have been about 15 seagulls, just milling around several feet away from each other and apparently ignoring each other, but moving in the same direction together anyway, waddle waddle waddle, peck peck, waddle waddle.

And the reason I noticed was because I was sitting on the sofa, and I glanced out of the window and realised that part of the view had vanished. Some fog is rolling in, and I know all the things are there but it's like some big solid unmovable things are being disappeared.

I'm thinking about yesterday, when I looked out of the window, and the ground was dry, but I said aloud, "it feels like it might rain," and then within five minutes there was the first shower of rain in weeks, so short but so welcome. How did I know? And then later in the evening, it was still baking hot so we had the windows open but it was dark, and I breathed in and could smell that after-rain smell, and I could smell it before I could hear the raindrops. It's an incredible smell, hardwired into us from the dawn of humanity to help us survive by finding water. Smelling the first rain after a long, hot, dry period is a full body experience like nothing else. And since then I've been thinking about how I'm sitting here in my pristine luxury holiday accommodation, breathing in That Smell, and having the exact same emotions and sensations that my ancestors did thousands of years ago, people who would not recognise the flash bastard cars that I can see through this window as I watch the fog engulf whole buildings like they're nothing.

I'm looking at the green field with its incidental flock of grazing seagulls, where in the daytimes humans gather to play unproductively like they've played unproductively for thousands of years, and I think about how huge swathes of the forests of the world are literally burning to the ground or being razed by humans for imaginary numbers that they don't need, and my gaze wanders to the flash bastard cars parked under my window, and I just want to go down there with a crowbar and smash the hell out of them. I could happily never see another car moving ever again.

This morning I dreamt of a room in a dilapidated house being consumed by invisible mould that was toxic to the touch, and I was trying to navigate it in order to destroy it without it destroying me first. The room was rotting around me. I often have strange, vivid, visceral dreams when I have a migraine coming.

The grass in the sports field is short, not because of the grazing seagulls but because of some humans moving numbers around on a screen. I'm thinking about my ancestors who could smell rain within moments of the first drops hitting the ground, and how most of the time I feel like a brain floating around in the head of a body that propels me around, but when I smell that smell I know that I both think and feel with my whole body, and if I met my ancestors from thousands of years ago we'd probably understand each other.

[crispycookedcat]

I Found Him It wasn't like I stopped searching anyhow, I found him. But now I don't even know if I wanted to keep seeing him. In this state, he looks so pained, so absent, lost in a body that has betrayed him.

It had been about two days since Paul had found him and he wasn't handling it well. He remembers it vividly, almost becoming nauseated from the memory. He remembers how he felt, the distance forced between them, the helplessness he felt to it all, and at the center stood a nasty rage at the man responsible for it. He was standing behind the one-way glass staring down at his husband strapped into a hospital bed, hooked up to vitals and IV bags that delivered his nutrients and some weird conglomerate of the same treatment he had taken that turned him into a monster. Crying out to him with desperate pleas and heartbroken wails that he was too late, that he was so sorry, that he was begging him to look up.

His head was bandaged neatly, hair matted and unwashed from sweat and possibly blood, his body heaving with every labored breath. He had never seen Patryck so defeated, so hollow, so gone. It hurt his soul, made him frenzied, made him angered beyond words, but no matter how hard he punched and hit the glass, the window failed to break, and his heart sank further into itself.

He became so frantic he almost lost control, his forced monster form almost breaking free from its human prison, he almost forgot who he was, who he promised to be in the moment. That thought snapped him out of his desperation but threw him into even more agony. The man he had married, the man he loved to death, who he planned to retire with, was now another pawn in Tord's wicked game of global dominion. It made him sick, so very very sick.

So now in the present he lays on his back in his barrack, alone and with his own darkened thoughts having torn his room to hell, fighting between the monster within his body and his own reason. How he wished to let loose, to go to Tord and raise hell and bring down his whole base. But he couldn't, he would end up like the others, dead or forced into mind control. It was something he couldn't risk. "What did they do to you...? Why did he do this to you...?"

He muttered into the air while digging his claws into his balled fists, he couldn't understand the lost mind of his Boss, why he was willing to do something so risky like this. Unless. His face blanched and he felt nauseated again. The other three men that he found down there months ago. They were all in the same position as his Pat: lost, gone, hollowed, empty, and nothing more than zombies at that point. He was planning something big, something far worse than what his initial plans were. "No...no no no no NO!"

He gripped his skull with his own monstrous hands and sat up with new fear established in his soul. He was pulling the most cliche but the most probable plan in any villain's notebook. His goal was to achieve total global control, yes, but who or rather what could be used to destroy rebellions, any rebellions. Loyal soldiers capable of uprooting them at the source, and able to not only uproot but absolutely maim and dispel any chance of reformation.

Paul felt dizzy as he screamed out, the familiar ringing returned to his ears as his vision blurred, it hurt. Everything hurt. So this was Tord's plan. Using monsters to cause unbridled mayhem. Paul realized he wasn't the first, he was the most successful out of all of them. He could go back and forth seamlessly with retaining memories of both human and beast. He could feel his control slipping, horns jutting painfully from his head, he was played like a fiddle.

Those clones of his beloved bought Tord time and kept him from discovering quicker what was really happening to him. This was an induction, training, this was conditioning. And he felt himself slip further into his mind.

"Tord... you fucking... bastard..."

Was the last he uttered before he faded away and the beast took over once more, with the last thing he felt was nothing but absolute rage.

[moonfurthetemmie]

The Maelstrom and the beasts

Beasts

Those most at risk to turn into beasts are those who have trouble regulating their emotions. This is one of the things that Nightmare and Dream managed to find out before they died, though it had only been a theory. The others have since seen this proven as fact.

People like Cross and Error, who were close to a spirit, happen to have a slight immunity buff, but if it won’t save them if they can’t keep calm. There’s also only a handful of people like that. Finch and Ink may be the only other ones.

Hacker and Bobby are probably high risk wuh oh

Xena is very high risk and Cross is trying very hard to help her work on that, but Xena doesn’t want to work on it. She doesn’t want to fight this thing! No one else can seem to convince her to at least try.

The radiance beasts are called ‘radibeasts’ (said like ‘ray-dee-I beasts’), and the corruption beasts are ‘negabeasts’. Totally did not base the radibeasts off of the Sin Eaters from FFXIV: Shadowbringers. Me? Never

None of the beasts are sentient. 

The radibeasts’ blood glows gold, and the negabeasts’ tend to glow purple, but not always. Similarly, the radibeasts tend to come mostly in white, yellow/gold, and sometimes orange, while the negabeasts’ can come in any number of colors. This is because radiance and positivity are gold, and while negativity is purple, corruption’s color somewhat depends on the user. At least in DS and other kai + frey involved AU/MVs

The radibeasts and negabeasts will go after each other at any and every opportunity. The only thing they want to kill more are humans, monsters, and Corvus and Orion.

The Maelstrom

The Maelstrom, after it absorbs the old Tree’s magic, is able to form tentacle-like appendages from its body, made of it’s super toxic corruption or radiance. That’s why Orion was mumbling about calamari and squid

The Maelstrom might be sentient, but it couldn’t understand its surroundings for a while. It can only sense emotions, positivity, negativity, radiance, and corruption. It didn’t know Corvus and Orion were statues, and then destroying them would destroy the magic it wanted.

The Maelstrom controls the beasts. It directs them to certain places or people during a fight, and can command them to ‘retrieve’ things, such as the statues of a couple of spirits

The Maelstrom also acts almost entirely on instinct. It seeks out strong sources of positive or negative emotions and takes it for itself, turning it into magic for itself. It has no real goal except to ‘survive’, and as it’s own magic is constantly warring against itself, it needs to consume large amounts of magic frequently. 

It would likely spread to another multiverse if given the chance. 

Due to the Maelstrom’s nature, the multiverse is actually sitting in a balance between positivity and negativity! Unfortunately that balance is still fucked up right now somehow.

The Maelstrom, oddly enough, will leave unusually strong spirits alone until it can find a source of the opposing magic. For example, Dream’s radiance might’ve been a tempting target, but it didn’t have an equally powerful source of negativity, so it didn’t go after him right away. If it knocks its own shit out of balance, that’s not going to be good for it! Or anyone else, with how powerful it’s gotten. If it becomes purely negative or positive the whole multiverse will probably crash and burn. So that’s a fun thought.

Origin story!

In Corvus and Orion’s universe, a very small settlement of priests lived near the Tree. They had decided to try to help protect it, as a tree with this sort of magic must surely be very important. Lots of people, human and monster, seem to want to take the apples, too. 

Two of those people have been hatching a plan for a while now. And while they’re working out how to distract the priests, not realizing that there’s a guardian spirit as well, the humans run into this little creature. A little impish dude. A trickster. A little bastard, if you will.

The imp had tried to steal apples from the Tree before, evading the priests but being chased off by the guardian with a few scratches. They’re not too happy with the spirit guarding the Tree, and decide to be a little bitch about it. The humans don’t know this, though. 

The imp, disguised as a regular monster, asks the humans what they’re up to, and goes “oh? You wanna steal the apples? Well, I tried that once. I failed, but I’ve been working on a way to deal with the spirit. I can help you, if you promise to share.”

The humans agree, not realizing that by ‘share’ the imp meant ‘give them all to me’, and they all make a plan. 

The imp has been painstakingly working on a weapon that can deal with the Tree’s guardian. An ornate magic dagger, which they refuse to show the humans until the time comes.

During a short lapse in the priests’ active watches, they attack. The imp goes for the spirit, only for her to jump out of the way. They wind up stabbing the Tree itself instead, and before they can pull it out the spirit kills them, their hand still clasped around the hilt of the dagger. That’s um. Not good for the spirit. 

The priests had heard a commotion and come running, and the humans are forced to flee, but the spirit’s fuuucked. The priests can’t seem to heal her. 

She tells them the Tree is going to need a new guardian, and they’re all like “yes, yes, we will steal their firstborn children.”

“That’s. Oddly specific. and kind of medieval. But whatever i guess, as long as they can protect the Tree.”

The spirit expires, and they begin looking for the two humans that attacked with that little imp fucker.

…It seems like there’s still a presence inside the Tree, though.

They study the imp’s dagger and learn about many of the enchantments on it, but do not notice that it was also very capable of transferring certain energies. Guess what little bastard in stuck inside the tree

The process caused them to lose a lot of themself, though, and they’re essentially asleep. Once they wake up…weird shit starts happening, eventually leading up to the Maelstrom’s ‘birth.’ Anything of the person it once was is gone, now. They paid a much bigger price for their greed than they could’ve known.

[thegardenmoved]

pov: you are my oc, winifred talswood, and you are having a bad day.

 “Winifred, Winifred, Winifred,” A familiar voice trills behind you. It would sound warm and inviting. It would make you turn around, in a different place, in a different universe where you are not running down a hallway, in an alternate universe where your boots are not soaked in blood. 

 You still pause for a brief, preternal moment; if the thing chasing you were a human it would not have even registered it, and that pause would not have mattered. But the thing chasing you is not human and maybe never was, and the moment where you hesitate matters.

 The hall in front of you bends, shifting, clicking, enlargening in a confined space where it is not possible. This time you really do stop, skittering to a halt, your boots a soft squeak under the metal tiles. You have hesitated and now you will die. Its footsteps draw closer, keeping the same steady beat, unhurrying. Where will you go? You could run down that ever-shifting, ever-changing hallway, that leads to everywhere and nowhere. It will twist you and turn you, mislead and misdirect, and it will lead you right back to your albatross.

 The footsteps stop, far too close to you for your liking. You have to take a moment before turning to look at it. Your albatross looks the same as ever: its long orange hair is still brown at the roots, the lenses of the circle glasses perched on the bridge of its nose still red, its eyes still a mismatched brown and blue, its signature brown corduroy jacket wrapped around itself. The thing you can’t stand is how pleased it looks with itself, as if tearing apart this space station and your crew is the best way it could have spent the day.

 “I hate you,” You say before your albatross can say anything. Both of you have heard these words before, but you keep saying them anyway. “You killed everyone here, you ruined this life, all because you wanted to find me again.”

 Its eyes soften in something that looks like confusion, if you were certain that it had the capacity to feel an emotion that wasn’t associated with destroying all the lives you’ve lived to get away from it.

 “Oh darling,” It says. Its voice is the same too. Maybe it’s mocking you. “This isn’t about you.”

 You freeze, a deer caught in the headlights of a large, lumbering truck that you had thought wouldn’t hurt you. It is your albatross, its every business is you. Until it wasn’t anymore, apparently.

 “Finding you,” It continues, stepping forwards. You tense up. It does not abort the motion of touching your left cheek. Lorelei’s touch burns, but in a mundane way, the way a touch feels too much when one has been starved from it for weeks. “Was a lucky coincidence. Killing the station?” A fraction of a shattered smile. “Not so much.”

 “I hate you,” You repeat, your voice failing in all the ways it shouldn’t. The albatross’s touch is so nice, and it is the only person who will touch you now, once all of this is through.

 Its thumb brushes your cheek gently. You resist the urge to shudder. “You might. Or you might not, later.”

 “What bullshit answer is that?” You ask.

 Lorelei shows another hint of a smile. “Not one you wanted.”

 “Condescending bastard,” You mutter, unable to help yourself. Its fingers do not tighten on your cheek, so you count that as a win. “What am I supposed to do now?”

 “Run,” It says, with much more bite in its voice than you expected. “Run far, far away from here. Oh, and let go of that ridiculous guilt. You are terrible at penance, and it won’t do either of us any good.”

 “You could’ve just stopped at ‘it won’t do either of us’.” You say, a long-forgotten reflex. You are trying to banter with it like you have all the time in the world, and you don’t. You cannot stand and talk with your albatross, and you cannot feel any positive emotion with a thing that has just admitted to murdering an entire space station of people.

 “You’re impossible.” Lorelei tells you, but its voice is light.

 Your voice is far too hard when you say, “I need to run now.” 

 “Yes,” Lorelei agrees. “Yes you do, dear.”

 It tilts its head, angling closer to you. The kiss is so quick you don’t even register it until its over; the only evidence is a fluttering in your stomach that must be from hatred.

 Lorelei steps back, pushing its glasses up the bridge of its nose, its old familiar habit that tugs something from you. Its expression is unreadable. It inclines its head, and says so softly you think you might have imagined it, “Goodbye, Winifred,” then turns and walks away.

 Your traitorous body stays still, dumbly staring after it. Your even more traitor of a brain insists on replaying all the moments you were happy with it, all the times before: before you were running, before it came back, before it disappeared. The memories that you cannot replay, the memories you locked in a vault with all the emotions you had felt with it, for it, even.

 Then, your brain shifts gears, and you are running, running, running, down that impossible corridor, down into another impossible place far away from here.