#justified laboratories

[valyrra]

Shang Tsung is so real for all things he's done

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 10/?)

Any action can be justified, as long as the right words surround it. And, for your luck — or ruin — Silco was a master at turning manipulation into art.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 7,9K

Warnings: use of drugs as medicine (shimmer), description of injuries, suspicious medical operations, Singed is the warning itself, character near-death, threats, threats with weapons, explicit references to scientific experiments without consent, Silco POV

Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 9

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

The laboratory door was shoved open with such force that it slammed against the wall, the sound echoing through the cramped space and plunging everyone into silence. Silco entered, carrying the limp body in his arms, his muscles rigid, his eyes alight with restrained fury. Behind him, Sevika, always steady, now visibly shaken—a rare occurrence that Silco chose to ignore. He couldn't afford to consider the weakness of others when he himself was teetering on the edge of emotional collapse.

The metallic smell of blood and the dampness of rain still clung to his skin, a shadow of what he had just witnessed. The warehouse, that grotesque scene of carnage, remained vivid in his mind—a blur of bodies strewn about, blood-soaked chains, and her—his girl—standing at the center of it all, a living specter of death. He didn't know if the blood dripping from his arms was hers or that of her enemies. In that moment, it didn't matter.

He crossed the lab in firm, almost aggressive strides and placed the body on the metal table. The sound of the soft impact made his jaw clench; she looked so fragile lying there, in stark contrast to the devastating force he had witnessed minutes earlier. He brushed the damp hair away from her face, his fingers trying to remain steady but trembling ever so slightly.

He had considered every possibility when he enlisted Singed, more specifically his skills, for a potential operation before the night's invasion. If she were injured, immediate intervention would be crucial. He knew his own hands, steady enough to suture a superficial wound or apply a tourniquet, were not equipped for more complex procedures. Singed, on the other hand, had neither moral nor physical limitations preventing him from doing what was necessary.

And that was precisely what Silco needed now.

Sevika began strapping her arms and legs to the table, following instructions Silco had given before they even arrived, to prevent her from moving during the procedure should she regain consciousness. Still, seeing her restrained, vulnerable, made something churn in his stomach—something he ignored with practiced ease.

Silco stepped back, watching as Singed inspected the injuries. The doctor was meticulous, his deft fingers peeling back torn fabric to expose the wounded shoulder. The blood still flowed, though less now, congealing into dark patches that Silco had to look away from momentarily to rein in his rising anger.

"The shoulder wound is deep but not fatal." Singed began, his voice controlled and almost indifferent. His eyes moved over the rest of her body, examining the cuts and bruises. "The bruising is of no concern. The nasal bleeding suggests severe exhaustion. But..."

Singed's rare furrowed brow immediately caught Silco's attention. He stepped closer again, leaning over the doctor, his gaze burning with an implicit threat.

"But what?" Silco demanded, his voice sharp as a blade.

"There's something unusual here." Singed said, pointing to her hands, still bearing the marks of the chains' grip. "The adrenaline levels are far beyond normal, even for a combat situation. This isn't just physical exhaustion. She's pushed past the natural limits of the human body. Forced the muscles, the organs... even the heart. Anyone else would have been dead hours ago."

"But she isn't." Silco interrupted, his voice cutting. His eyes gleamed with determination, and there was something else — something deeper, more dangerous. "She will not die."

Singed lifted his gaze to Silco, his eyebrows knit in what seemed to be a mix of irritation and fascination. "It's impressive, to be sure. However, if you want her to stay alive, certain... methods may be required."

"Do whatever is necessary." His voice was low and grave, laden with an authority that brooked no argument. He turned to Singed, who approached with his characteristic inhuman calm. "Everything. No restrictions."

Singed cast a brief, analytical glance at Silco, as if evaluating the intensity of that command. "I believe I can stabilize her quickly." he replied, his tone almost casual. He began preparing his instruments, pulling a metal table stocked with medical devices. Before doing anything further, however, he held up a syringe containing a greenish liquid, a sedative, and handed it to Sevika, though his eyes remained fixed on Silco.

"But it will be... grotesque." Singed said, with the cutting precision that defined him. "And considering your... close relationship with her, you might not handle it well."

Silco's teeth clenched tightly. The insinuation was obvious, and Singed seemed to take a certain amusement in testing his limits. But this was not the time for confrontations. The anger simmered beneath his skin, as always, but he controlled it, only because he had to. That didn't stop him from issuing a threat.

"Choose your words more carefully, doctor."

Sevika, always the voice of reason, stepped forward. "The longer you waste time here, Silco, the faster she dies." The syringe was still in her hand, and the weight of logic in her words was enough to make him stop.

Silco cast one last lethal glare at Singed before turning abruptly, grabbing and dragging a chair closer to the table. He sat down, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of his face, as if holding his fury in check through sheer force of will. His eyes, however, never left her body. Sevika, meanwhile, positioned herself behind him, keeping a silent vigil over Silco as Singed began to remove the bullet from her shoulder.

Silco remained still, but the tension in his shoulders was palpable. He wouldn't look away, no matter what came next.

Somehow, this was all he could do for her now: be there. And in the grim silence of the laboratory, he made a silent promise. If she survived, those responsible for this would pay with interest. And if she didn't survive... well, the promise would still be fulfilled. In blood.

The sound of the small projectile hitting the metal tray was like a hammer striking Silco's already frayed nerves. He watched impassively, though the slight tremor in his leg betrayed the mounting tension in his body. Every meticulous movement of Singed was a test of his patience; every second seemed to drag on. The needle pierced her flesh with almost inhuman precision as the scientist stitched the wound. Each pull of the thread made her skin twitch, and Silco felt as though it were his own shoulder being sewn back together.

When Singed reached for the next syringe, Silco already knew what was coming.

The purple gleam of Shimmer in the cold laboratory light was unmistakable. Silco felt his muscles tense even further. He knew exactly what would come next—he had witnessed it countless times before, and he himself knew all too well what it felt like, even if only briefly. The agonized screams, the contorted flesh, the muscles locked in unbearable strain.

He saw the needle pierce her vein. The purple liquid slid in, merging with her blood, vanishing from sight. Silco gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the inevitable. He knew what was about to happen. The scream. The desperate gasping. The body writhing, struggling against the unstoppable.

But none of that happened.

The room remained silent, so heavy that even the sounds of Zaun in the early hours of the morning seemed distant, muffled. Silco leaned forward, his brow furrowed. He watched her chest, waiting for it to rise and fall erratically, to show any sign of reaction. But she remained still, like a statue carved from marble. Silco caught a glance at Singed, a rare expression of confusion crossing the scientist's face. This wasn't what was expected.

When the man leaned down to check her pulse, time seemed to slow. It was a simple gesture, something that should have been over in seconds. But Singed lingered too long, his fingers pressing against her neck as his face remained impassive, his gaze lost in some distant point.

"Speak, Singed!"

When Singed finally did speak, Silco wished he had stayed silent.

"No pulse."

For a moment, Silco remained frozen, his eyes fixed on her face. There was something terribly wrong about seeing her like this, so still, like a broken doll. Her breathing, something he'd always thought constant and immutable, was now gone. And with it, it felt as if all the air in the room had been drained away.

He stood up without thinking, the chair behind him toppling over with a dull thud. His hands found the metallic edge of the stretcher, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Silco leaned over her body, searching for any sign of life, any movement, but all he found was cruel inertia.

But soon the shock was swallowed by a wave of fury. The rage surged like an uncontrollable wildfire, consuming every rational thought. He lifted his gaze to Singed, his eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity, like embers fed by pure hatred. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew it wasn't the scientist's fault. He knew Singed had done everything in his power. But in that moment, logic didn't matter. He needed a target, something to unleash the anger that threatened to devour him.

Moving quickly, Silco advanced. His hand was already outstretched, ready to grab Singed by the collar and drag him to the ground, but he froze mid-motion.

Something stopped him.

A firm pressure around his neck.

Her hand.

That same hand which, just seconds earlier, should have been limp and lifeless, now gripped him with superhuman strength. He felt her fingers tighten further, nearly crushing his windpipe. The straps that had once bound her to the gurney were now shredded, hanging like torn pieces of cloth. Her arm trembled slightly, as though acting purely on instinct, but the power emanating from that grip was brutal.

The world around him seemed to shrink, becoming an indistinct blur of shadows and cold lights. The crushing pressure around his throat was all Silco could register. Every breath was a losing battle, each attempt to draw air another step closer to despair. He had felt this before. The grip of fingers around his neck, cruel and unyielding, awakened memories he'd rather leave buried.

Vander.

For a brief moment, he wasn't in the stifling, tension-laden laboratory. He was back at the river, cold water lapping at his face as calloused, determined hands tried to wrest his life from him. Silco felt the same desperation, the same primal panic that had taught him a bitter lesson: survival required more than strength—it demanded conviction.

But this wasn't Vander.

Her eyes, once so alive, now glowed with a cold, empty white, as though some strange force had torn her soul away and left only a violent husk. There was nothing human in that gaze, no spark of the woman he had known. Only raw, merciless strength, now squeezing his throat with the promise of imminent death.

Her fingers were claws, digging into his flesh. Pain radiated in waves, but Silco didn't look away. Even as darkness began to creep into the edges of his vision, he refused to blink, to give in. A sudden movement to his side caught his peripheral attention, even as his sight started to blur. Sevika. He saw her move, syringe in hand, and in an instant, she plunged it into the woman's neck.

The effect was almost immediate. The grip on his throat loosened, and Silco fell forward, gasping, gulping air in desperate, ragged breaths. He pressed a hand to his neck, feeling the sharp pain from the pressure her fingers had left behind. His lungs burned as they tried to make up for the lack of oxygen. When he finally managed to lift his gaze, she was collapsing, her body going limp as if the string holding her up had been cut. The arm that had once gripped him with such force now hung lifelessly at her side.

"Interesting." Singed murmured, leaning closer for a better look, the gleam of fascination in his eyes growing stronger. "Perhaps the shimmer triggered some dormant reaction in her blood. That would explain the initial absence of vitals and the sudden attack. It might have acted as a reagent."

Silco raised his gaze from where he knelt, his hand still resting on his neck as he struggled to steady his breathing. At first, he didn't understand what Singed was trying to say.

"It's the first time I've seen anything like this." Singed continued, his tone almost fascinated. "No rejection. On the contrary... it's as if her body has assimilated the shimmer, incorporating it naturally."

Silco didn't respond immediately. Instead, his gaze fixed on her once more. Now, her chest rose and fell with regularity, the rigid lines of pain and tension on her face softened by stabilization. The contrast was almost disconcerting, considering the deplorable state in which she had arrived.

He then noticed Singed's gaze on him, an inquisitive glint that Silco knew all too well. "Sevika." Silco said abruptly. "Return to The Last Drop. Make sure things don't spiral out of control while I'm here."

Sevika hesitated for a moment, the concern evident on her face, but eventually complied. She let out a low sigh before leaving, the heavy metal door closing behind her with a resounding clang.

"You found her." said the other man in the room, almost accusatory. "I thought she'd been dead... for years."

"So did I." Silco replied, his voice lower, almost introspective. His eyes wandered back to her. "We were both wrong."

Singed picked up a scalpel and pointed to the stitches he had made on her shoulder.

"Look." Singed leaned in closer, his tone almost too clinical, as though he were discussing a machine. "The tissue is already healing, and I believe her internal organs are beginning the same process. If her body continues to react this way, it's likely she'll be fully functional in a few days. It all depends on how sustained the regeneration is. But I recommend administering small amounts of shimmer to stimulate what's already in her bloodstream."

Silco nodded slightly, the motion short and nearly imperceptible. It was always Singed's universal solution, yet the idea of introducing more of that substance into her body unsettled him in a way he couldn't quite explain.

Singed, of course, either didn't notice — or cared even less.

"I assume you'd like to start the research immediately, correct?" Singed leaned over to organize his instruments, his voice almost casual. "Now that we finally have access to her, I can collect some blood samples. If I start the research now, I should be able to replicate her genetic formula within a few months. A significant breakthrough, considering the potential it could unlock."

The words lingered in the air, laden with a weight Silco did not want to bear. He ran a hand over his face, then through his hair, feeling the pressure pulsing in his temples. Years ago, he wouldn't have thought twice. Having access to what she represented was the key to something greater, something he desperately sought—to make Zaun into something Piltover feared. That was why he had searched for her in the first place.

And it was also why the crushing sense of failure when he heard of her death had felt like a blade piercing through his resolve. Days, weeks of anguish gnawed at him, but eventually, he moved on. He buried the weight of that obsession under layers of new plans, new strategies. Until that damned day at the brothel when he found her—like a ghost. Like a specter torn from a nightmare or a dream, she was there, alive.

That fragile, motionless body now seemed so distant from the storm raging in his mind. He was not a man prone to sentimentality or hesitation. Since taking control of Zaun, his choices had been driven by logic, necessity, and, above all, ambition. But now... now, it was different.

He had allowed something he had sworn never to do again: to care.

She should have been just another piece on the board, a means to an end. That's how Silco saw the world. Every person, every action, existed to serve him, to help him achieve his goals. But she defied that logic. There was something about her—her strength, her resilience, perhaps even her stubbornness—that had pierced through the walls he had so carefully built over the years.

And it infuriated him.

He couldn't afford to falter. There was too much at stake, and he knew that any emotional attachment was a weakness that could be exploited. Yet, as he watched her, her features softened by induced sleep, Silco felt a pang of something he couldn't define. It wasn't just concern; it was possessiveness. She wasn't just important to his plans. She was important to him.

"Begin the research." his voice came out firmer than he expected, a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. "Keep this under strict secrecy. To anyone else, it's just medical monitoring until her full recovery."

Singed nodded without question, moving mechanically to prepare another syringe. The scientist didn't care about the emotional or political intricacies of the situation. To him, she was a case to solve, an experiment to conduct.

He didn't take his eyes off her. There was something almost ironic about how peaceful she looked now, lost in that dreamless sleep where nothing could reach her — not pain, not despair, not even him.

Silco was a selfish man. Ambitious. Those words had been used to describe him so many times that he had embraced them as part of who he was. But he was also a man of conviction. And that conviction drove him forward, compelled him to do whatever was necessary to achieve his goals, no matter the cost. He believed in it. Zaun needed to believe in it. And now, she would need to believe in it too.

He would convince her. He would show her that everything he did was justifiable, that the ends always justified the means. He would make her see that the true enemy wasn't him, but those who lived above — the wretched people of Piltover, who had oppressed Zaun for so long. They were responsible for everything. For her wounds, for the blood she had spilled, for the suffering that bound them together.

Silco leaned in, letting his fingers trace her face in a tender caress.

He would shape her. She would become something they feared. Something they could never destroy again.

Just like him.

[...]

Seven days.

Seven damned days.

Time seemed to have acquired a rhythm of its own, dragging on like dead weight. For Silco, every second since she had entered that comatose state had become a needle stabbing beneath his skin, a constant reminder of something slipping beyond his control.

Silco hadn't slept in four days. Sleep was a dispensable necessity, something he replaced with sheer determination and generous doses of whiskey and bitter coffee. His mind remained occupied with work—constant updates from Sevika and Singed, Jinx's occasional explosions that decimated critical parts of his operations, and the ever-growing pile of administrative problems that never seemed to shrink.

The weight of exhaustion seemed to triple as soon as Silco crossed the threshold of his office. The wood, so familiar, felt suffocating, as though it had absorbed his weariness. Each step toward the chair was labored, his muscles protesting the effort. When he finally sat, a heavy sigh escaped him, echoing in the silent room.

The lack of sleep was nothing new, but the last few days had tested the limits of his endurance. His mind, so sharp under normal circumstances, now felt like a whirlwind of disconnected thoughts, as if every idea had to wade through dense fog before taking shape. Fatigue pressed on his shoulders like an invisible weight, and irritation simmered beneath the surface, ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

He rubbed his temples with his fingers, pressing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to clear his mind. The torturously long nights blended together, with no clear beginning or end, and he wondered how much longer he could maintain this insane routine before his body finally gave out.

But there was no choice. Not while she remained in that state.

Thinking of her brought a wave of frustration and restlessness that he couldn't suppress. Her body was healed—the shimmer injections had done their job impeccably, regenerating even the smallest damages in record time. Singed, to Silco's annoyance, had been right about the treatment's effectiveness. But what Silco couldn't bear was the fact that, despite everything, she still hadn't woken up.

This waiting was wearing him down.

She now slept in his room—a practical decision, or at least that was what he told himself. Keeping her close made it easier to monitor any changes, allowed him to personally check every detail of her condition. But deep down, he knew it wasn't just that.

He had to admit, the sight of her there, in his bed, was something he would normally find... pleasant. Almost comforting. But under the current circumstances, the context made any such satisfaction impossible. She was there, but she wasn't.

Silco leaned back in the chair, letting his head rest against the backrest. His gaze fixed on the ceiling for a moment, and slowly, the burden of keeping his eyes open became a weight he no longer cared to bear.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

The ceiling was bare, devoid of any detail that might catch your attention, yet you stared at it anyway. Your mind was active, buzzing with questions, while your body seemed trapped in a state of lethargy. It was as if you were floating somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, your thoughts insistently blending together. How long had it been since your last concrete memory? Days? The warm sensation of an embrace was the last thing that lingered before the void.

You tried to move your hands, feeling your fingers curl with some difficulty, as if every muscle had rusted. A deep inhale brought the scent of the room into sharp focus: alcohol, cigarettes, and something metallic in the air—a clear sign of where you were. Yes, The Last Drop.

With effort, you shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. At first, your legs didn't cooperate. Your initial attempt to stand was clumsy, your knees trembling under the weight of your own body. But you persisted, and on the second try, you managed to steady yourself.

Only then did you allow yourself to take in the room around you. It was functional, simple, devoid of personality or any attempt at making it feel welcoming. Minimal, practical furniture—just enough to serve its purpose. However, the balcony caught your attention. As you moved toward the opening, you realized it overlooked the interior of The Last Drop—directly above the club. The bar, the dance floor, every detail below seemed meticulously positioned to be visible to whoever owned this space.

And you had little doubt who that was.

Leaning against the railing, your eyes scanned the scene. Lights pulsed in rhythm with the muffled music that reached you even up here. A sense of familiarity and unease traveled down your spine. This wasn't a place you wanted to be, but it was the closest thing to "home" you had left.

You then moved to a nearby mirror to check your appearance. You lifted the hem of the shirt you were wearing, revealing the smooth surface of your stomach. No sign of cuts or bruises—not that you had really expected any. But something felt off. Your body felt... strange. As if something had changed, something beneath the surface you couldn't quite identify. It was as though everything either responded too quickly or too slowly, like a suit tailored improperly. You tried to dismiss the discomfort, chalking it up to the simple fact that you had nearly died—again.

It was almost comical, in a way. Every time it seemed like death had finally come to claim you, something or someone always pulled you back.

You moved toward the door—or what you assumed was one. There were no clear markings, just a discreet handle breaking the uniformity of the wall. The wood creaked faintly under your hand as you pushed it, revealing Silco's office in all its familiar, somber atmosphere.

And there he was, naturally, at the desk. Silco, slumped against the chair at an angle that looked uncomfortable even for someone like him, someone seemingly accustomed to discomfort. His head was tilted to the side, his eyes closed, his body relaxed in a way that was almost unsettling. He was asleep.

You stepped into the room with light, almost soundless footsteps. Your bare feet made no noise, as if you were afraid of breaking the rare moment of calm. Only after stepping away from the door did you notice something that had previously gone unnoticed: the entrance to the room was nothing more than a false wall. A small, discreet pull handle blended into the surrounding irregularities. If you hadn't just come through it, you never would've noticed.

Clever.

Close to the office, functional for someone like Silco, but also strategic. A possible escape route, if needed.

Your eyes returned to him, caught in a sleep that seemed as rare as gold. He'd also been asleep the last time you saw him. You moved closer, hesitant, with the words he'd spoken when you fainted in the warehouse lingering in your mind like a persistent shadow. During those fleeting moments when you were semi-conscious, although it was more like sleeping, you could still remember. It was as though he was there, speaking to you. Not in dreams, but on the threshold of reality.

You could swear you heard him.

Silco had spoken, perhaps believing his words were nothing more than echoes lost in the void, but they stayed with you. In moments of delirium, you felt the weight of sentences laden with a concern he would never openly admit. And on a few rare occasions, you could almost swear you'd felt a touch on your face. Hesitant, fleeting, like a breeze barely noticeable before it vanished.

He had been an anchor. While you fought not to succumb to your own mind, he had remained there. And now, as you watched him sleep, that realization felt overwhelming.

You stopped a few steps away from the chair, unsure of what to do. Part of you wanted to touch his shoulder, wake him, tell him you were fine — or at least try to convince him of that. But the other part, the one still harboring resentment and distrust, hesitated. So, you decided to come up with a third option. But, of course, something went wrong.

It all happened too quickly for you to react. One second, you were adjusting the strand of hair that insisted on falling over his face, and the next, your hand was being gripped tightly, your body shoved against the desk. The impact reverberated down your spine, and something cold and sharp pressed dangerously against your throat.

Silco stared at you, his eyes blazing with fury, but there was something else there, an emotion hidden behind the intensity. Anger? Fear? Whatever it was, it swirled in a chaotic storm as wild as his uneven breathing. And then, as if an invisible thread had snapped, something shifted. The anger in his eyes was replaced by palpable shock, and then by something deeper: realization. The blade's pressure on your throat eased, still present but without the imminent threat from before.

A smile formed on your lips, defiant and slightly teasing, even as your heart pounded in your chest. "Is that how you welcome someone?"

Your hand, ignoring the danger, rose again, and your fingers gently brushed over the scars on his face. The rough texture of his skin told stories you didn't know, yet there was a curiosity in your touch, a silent acceptance.

"You haunted me even in my sleep, you know?" you continued, your tone softer now, almost a whisper. "I didn't know you were the talkative type when no one's looking."

And yet, Silco remained silent, his muscles taut as if he were waging an internal battle.

Then, with a movement that nearly stopped your heart, he drove the dagger into the desk, the blade embedding itself in the wood mere inches from your head. The sound echoed through the room, the vibration rippling across your skin like distant thunder. You opened your mouth to protest, ready to comment on how close he'd come to hitting you, but the words died in your throat.

Shock froze you for a second. The kiss was urgent, hungry, as if he were desperate for something only you could provide. His strength kept you pinned against the desk, one hand braced beside your head while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You felt his body against yours — the weight, the heat. He kissed you like a man on the edge of despair, as if that moment was the only thing keeping him alive. His lips moved against yours with an almost overwhelming intensity, stealing the air from your lungs before you even realized you were breathless.

He tasted of restrained fury and something profoundly human, something he likely wouldn't admit even to himself. Your hands instinctively rose to his shoulders, gripping tightly as you tried to reclaim some semblance of control over the situation.

But there was no control here. Not in this moment.

His hand slid up your back, his fingers pressing against your skin with a firmness that left no room for doubt. He was everything you could feel—the heat, the strength, the overwhelming weight of his presence. And yet, there was something more. Something that wasn't anger or need, but something deeper, more visceral.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Silco pulled his mouth away from yours, but not completely. He kept his forehead resting against yours, your irregular breaths mingling in the narrow space between you. The heat of the moment still hung in the air as he fought to regain a shred of composure. His eyes, those unmistakable, vibrant irises, opened—cloudy and unfocused—staring at you with an intensity that almost seemed to burn.

"Talking too much, dove." he murmured hoarsely, his voice rough and gravelly, still heavy with the intensity of the kiss. "Not that I expected anything less from you."

A faint, ironic smile tugged at the corners of his lips, revealing the arrogant bastard you knew so well. But there was something else there. An unexpected softness, a rare tenderness that caused faint wrinkles to form at the edges of his eyes, breaking the usual coldness of his expression.

You rolled your eyes and let out a low laugh, the provocation slipping from your lips with ease.

"And this is the part where you admit you missed me."

Silco's eyes flickered at your teasing, a mix of surprise and something deeper, almost gentle, flashing in their depths. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, one brow arching in an expression that was equal parts exasperation and amusement.

"Missed you?" his voice carried a tone of disbelief that fooled no one. "You should be grateful you're still alive, you reckless woman."

Despite the harshness of the words, there was no real severity in them. On the contrary, there was genuine relief beneath his firm facade—a relief intertwined with something that resembled fear and gratitude. All of it mingling together in a cocktail of emotions that Silco probably didn't know—or didn't want—to express.

His hand, still firm on your hip, didn't ease its grip, as though he needed it to ensure you wouldn't disappear again. But the other rose to your jawline, tracing a gentle line along it with his thumb. It was an almost reverent touch, contrasting with the strength of his hold. His eyes traced every curve of your face, lingering on the details as if he wanted to commit them to memory, perhaps afraid this chance might not come again.

"I've got a pretty good guardian angel."

You teased back, making Silco let out a low, bitter laugh, shaking his head slightly.

"I think I might have missed your insolent mouth." The arrogance returned to his eyes, but this time it carried a peculiar warmth. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against the sensitive skin of your ear as he murmured, "But don't think for a second that means I'll go easy on you, dove."

His words were followed by a light nip at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the delicate skin. The gesture carried a hint of playfulness but also an intimacy that spoke of something deeper, something the two of you shared without needing to put it into words. There was a charge in the air, a mutual understanding that said more than any conversation could. He was Silco, a complicated man, and you knew that nothing with him would ever be simple. This tenderness hid something. It was laying the groundwork for something you already knew you'd hate.

"I wouldn't expect any less from you."

You replied with a touch of provocation, your words carefully chosen to echo his from moments earlier. The slight smirk on your lips was defiant, but you knew your attitude would only irritate him more. And it worked. Silco sighed, a deep and exasperated sound that seemed to convey everything without the need for words.

"For God's sake."

He pulled back slightly, relieving just enough of the weight pressing down on you for you to catch your breath, but not enough to allow any chance of escape. The arm he braced against the desk beside your head felt like a barrier, while the other rested near your waist, a constant, dominating presence. It was a minimal concession, but an intentional one—a reminder of who still held control of the situation.

The two of you remained like that for a long moment, the silence broken only by the uneven rhythm of your breathing and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the office. Silco's eyes were locked onto yours, and it was impossible to ignore the intensity in his gaze, as if he was trying to extract answers from you with sheer will alone.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"Why did you run?"

The question came out low, almost a whisper, but it carried a tension that didn't need volume to be felt. He tilted his head slightly to the side, his expression a mixture of frustration and something you couldn't quite place. Perhaps disappointment.

"Why would you put yourself in such danger, knowing full well the risks? You're no defenseless damsel, so don't try to tell me you did it by accident." His tone was firm, but not without reason. "You made a choice, and you chose to leave. So I want to know why."

You knew this moment would come, but you never imagined it would be like this. The situation was so absurdly contradictory — an interrogation at his desk, with your bodies in alarmingly close proximity — that the context almost distracted from the implicit danger in his words. Silco had always been a man of control, and the idea that you had defied him to the point of running seemed to deeply unsettle him. A small part of you felt a flicker of satisfaction.

You opened your mouth, trying to formulate a coherent response, but nothing came. Part of you knew he was right. If you hadn't made that impulsive decision, the abduction would never have happened. Ultimately, you were to blame for putting yourself in this position. But that didn't absolve him of his share of the guilt.

"I don't know..." you said casually, diverting your gaze from his eyes for a brief moment. "A momentary lapse of judgment that went horribly wrong. That's all..."

The instant you saw the shift in Silco's expression, you knew you'd made a mistake. It wasn't a subtle change. It was as though a silent storm had swept through him, extinguishing any remaining trace of patience. The grip on your waist tightened, and you felt his fingers press into your skin like sharp claws — a silent warning. The glint in his eyes was unmistakable, a mix of disdain and admonishment, as if he were deciding, in that very moment, what kind of lesson he would teach you for your evasive answer. You knew this was only the beginning.

"I don't appreciate lies." he said, his voice smooth as silk but laced with a hidden edge. It was the kind of tone that made your stomach twist, a subtle warning that you were treading on thin ice. He leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin, and you could feel the implicit threat in the proximity. "Least of all from you."

The weight of his words hit harder than you expected, their meaning hanging in the air, inescapable. He was dead serious.

"The last person who tried to deceive me..." Silco paused, his tone dripping with cruel irony. "Didn't meet a very pleasant end."

The pause he allowed was long enough for the gravity of his words to sink in, settling in your chest like a heavy stone. His grip on your waist grew even tighter, as if to reinforce the point that he could squeeze harder, both literally and figuratively.

"I'd hate for history to repeat itself."

You stared at him, refusing to look away, even as the weight of the tension between you grew heavier. Silco had this almost supernatural ability to turn every word and gesture into a minefield. The hostility that always seemed to simmer beneath the surface between the two of you was beginning to emerge — quiet but undeniable. It was a violence that didn't need words or actions to manifest; it existed in every glance, in every movement, and in the deafening silence that filled the space between sentences.

It was like a shadow in the corner of the room. Always there, always present. You knew it wouldn't disappear, no matter how many lights were turned on. If anything, the darkness only seemed to give it more space to grow.

"Are you threatening me, Silco?"

Silco's smile was a spectacle in itself, but not in any comforting or reassuring way. It wasn't a smile born of genuine humor, much less kindness. A tight pull of his thin lips, almost mechanical in precision, exposing his chipped teeth as each word left his mouth. There was something about the way that smile lingered on his face that sent a chill down your spine—a visceral reminder of who he was.

"Am I?" He tilted his head slightly to the side, almost innocent, but the sarcasm in his voice gave him away. "Oh, I thought I was merely offering a simple observation, dove. You know, a little advice, from one... friend to another."

He pronounced "friend" with a clarity that felt unbearable, savoring every syllable as if the word itself was laced with poison. The sound of it carried acidic venom, a curse disguised as courtesy.

"Friends?" you teased, tilting your chin upward and leaning closer to him again, letting the weight of the suggestion hang in the air between you. Silco didn't back away. He allowed the proximity, but the gesture was accompanied by an almost imperceptible movement: the hand that had rested on your waist slid away, as if he already knew what was about to happen.

Your eyes caught the detail, but you refused to be deterred. The hand resting on the table moved subtly, almost instinctively, until it neared the dagger Silco had embedded in the wood moments earlier.

"I thought we were past this part."

And then, in one swift, precise motion, you pulled the dagger from the wood and spun it, pointing it directly at his neck. The blade's gleam caught the room's light for a split second, but any sense of triumph you might have felt evaporated just as quickly. Before you could even process what was happening, you felt the unmistakable cold steel of a gun barrel pressing against your chin.

"Getting predictable, dove? I thought you were better than that."

Silco's voice was a low, sharp whisper, dripping with that infuriating confidence that always seemed to follow him. He tilted the revolver slightly, forcing your chin higher. The gesture was as casual as it was cruel, a clear demonstration that he was in control of the situation, even with the blade dangerously close to his throat.

But you didn't back down. On the contrary, your fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger, and you felt the blade press even closer against Silco's neck. One slight movement, and it would all be over. You saw his throat bob as he swallowed, the subtle tension in his muscles betraying that, no matter how composed his face remained, he could feel the danger.

"You're far too confident, aren't you?" Your voice came out low, carrying an almost theatrical calm. You pressed the blade harder against him, feeling the faint resistance of his skin. "I could kill you right now... you saw what I did in my apartment, didn't you?"

"You could." Silco replied, tilting his head slightly as if offering you a better angle. "But you won't."

"And how are you so sure of that?"

Silco, being Silco, seemed to revel in the danger. He leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between you until you could feel the heat of his body against yours. Your heart raced, and it wasn't just from the threat of the weapon pointed at you. It was the entire moment: the suffocating proximity, the piercing gaze, the way he commanded every second of the situation.

"You don't hesitate." he whispered, his lips dangerously close to yours. "So, I wonder, why did you hesitate that night?"

The words hit you like a blow, catching you completely off guard. He knew. How, you had no idea, but he knew what had happened that night, just before your escape. You blinked, trying to process it, but before you could form a question, the distinct click of a revolver being cocked snapped you back to reality.

And then he fired. Without hesitation.

The dry click echoed in your ears, and your body flinched instinctively, taking a moment longer to realize there was no bullet in the gun. But Silco didn't seem to care; in fact, a faint smile formed on his lips, as if he'd merely proven a point.

"You had my loaded gun and no one to stop you. What made you change your mind?"

"How did you—"

"Just answer."

Curiously, something inside you gave way. Without fully understanding why, you let the dagger fall from your hand, abandoning the weight of the threat you'd raised against him. Perhaps it was the fact that Silco's gun no longer seemed like a real intent to harm, but rather a statement of control. That gesture, that silent lesson he always managed to deliver, disarmed you in a way you hated.

You weren't one to stay silent, much less back down. You always had a retort ready, a sharp provocation, something to keep the dynamic balanced. But now, in this moment, there simply wasn't the will to act like a defiant brat. Not when the tone of the conversation felt so serious, so charged with tension.

Still, the feeling was uncomfortable. You were on dangerous ground—not in the line of fire anymore, but treading on thin ice, and you knew that any wrong word could send it all crashing down.

"I... I don't know." You sighed deeply, turning your head to the side, unable to meet his gaze any longer. The admission slipped from your lips with a weight that felt disproportionate to the lightness of the words. "But this time, I'm telling the truth."

That sentence felt far too intimate, more intimate even than the position you were in.

"I wanted to do it... but I couldn't. I just... couldn't. It seemed easy the first time, but now... I froze. And I have no idea why."

It was a lie. You knew exactly why. But some truths were better kept locked away, hidden behind unbreakable walls.

Silco remained silent, and then, slowly, he moved the revolver to the side, setting it down with a gesture that seemed almost casual. He took a few steps back, finally releasing the tension between you. It was a relief, and yet, an unsettling emptiness. You took the opportunity to sit on the edge of the table, the weight of your own confusion now resting heavily on your shoulders.

"Is that what caused the outburst that made you run?"

"In part. I just wanted... to disappear." You admitted, though the bitter taste of honesty was almost unbearable. Part of you hated to confess it, but there was no room for lies now. "To get away from you." The words came out softer than you intended, almost as if confessing a sin to the devil himself.

You expected an outburst of anger, perhaps some sarcastic remark, but what came was completely different. Silco leaned in slightly and raised his hand, gently touching your chin with a disconcerting tenderness. You instinctively braced yourself for a rough grip, something that matched his cold, ruthless demeanor, but the touch was soft, almost... careful.

He forced your face to lift, compelling your eyes to meet his. The look he cast in your direction was rigid, controlled, but there was something deeper beneath that mask of ice. It wasn't anger that you found there, but an almost palpable disappointment, a kind of emotion that seemed misplaced in a man as dangerous as him. It was that, more than anything, that made your heart race—not out of fear, but something far harder to define.

"Don't ever do that again." The words were spoken with a chilling calmness, but the tone was absolute, unquestionable. It wasn't a request; it was a command.

You should resist. Every fiber of your being screamed at you not to submit, to hold onto some shred of control over your own narrative. But the moment his gaze pierced through yours, any trace of resistance was crushed. You simply nodded, too drained to defy him.

When Silco extended his hand, you hesitated for a moment, but soon took it. The gesture was surprisingly natural, almost intimate. He pulled you up to your feet and, in silence, led you back to that false wall. The groan of the door as it opened echoed in the space, but his attention never wavered from you.

"You need to rest." His voice was more controlled now, but it still carried a note of authority that couldn't be ignored. "Your body's been through too much. I don't want you passing out again."

"And you? You need sleep too. You look like you haven't closed your eyes in days." You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Besides, this room is yours, not mine."

Silco raised an eyebrow, his expression slightly skeptical as if weighing your words. "Are you suggesting I sleep with you?"

"Well..." you began, tilting your head and letting the smile spread across your lips. "You kind of already do."

The tone was unapologetically playful, a deliberate provocation you knew he wouldn't let slide without a reaction. Silco's expression shifted, and he huffed, rolling his eyes. Despite his apparent irritation, something in his demeanor betrayed him—he wasn't truly bothered. Maybe, just maybe, he was even amused, though he would never admit it.

"But yes, I do want that."

He remained still for a moment, the silence hanging heavy between you like a drawn curtain. Then, without a word, Silco stepped forward. You felt the immediate shift in the atmosphere—subtle but undeniable. Your body reacted instinctively, stepping back as he advanced. Silco didn't need words to convey the control he wielded. You held his gaze, but it was hard not to get lost in the sharp contrast between the blue and orange of his eyes. It was like staring into an abyss and feeling a strange, reckless urge to leap.

It was only then that you noticed the low, definitive click of the door locking behind him.

Silco stopped in front of you, his presence filling the space like a looming shadow—threatening, yet strangely captivating. He tilted his head slightly, assessing your expression with an almost clinical interest, but his eyes... his eyes told a different story. You had the distinct sensation that you had walked willingly into some sort of trap, one you had set for yourself, heedless of the consequences. And he seemed ready to savor every second of it.

Part 11

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yes, we will have smut in the next chapter, just wait. Now with all the information thrown in the previous chapters, have you figured out why Silco was interested in her years ago? I made a small arrangement on how the story will unfold and in theory it will have approximately 30 chapters, but it can change either more or less. Which means we will have a long way to go.

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[2-dsimp]

I'VE BEEN BRAIN ROTTING ABOUT THIS SO HARDDD but like... any of your ocs reactions to their s/o dying??? or like, getting ill with a disease that can't be cured. ( rivius and uhm any other of your boys?? kinda curious how nokka would react to wifey dying before him ) your ocs have been in my mind for MONTHS now ever since i found your blog and i've been visiting your blog for more than twice a day, it's so bad. also, I'm sorry if I broke any of your rules when it comes to requesting something...

—-/——-/———-/———-/—————-

[The Archdevil reaction to your death]

—-/——-/———-/———-/—————-

“No, no, no! This is all rubbish! The formula needs one last piece! That’s all it’d take to finally fix them!”

Rivius snarled, the devil was holed up in his laboratory. Completely closed off from the outside world, obsessing over perfecting the perfect formula. A formula that could cheat death in its raw essence.

Your life was taken far too soon, an untraceable contamination latched onto you. Before you could make it to his laboratory to get throughly quarantined. The mad scientist was running on empty, blackened eyes with his pupils glowing red with pure devastation. His tears slowly dripped like magma, burning holes into his scattered diagrams and blueprints.

In his manic episode he chopped off his hair, the long mane. That was his only boost of self esteem to show that he actually belonged in his lineage off giants despite his inferior size. Because of his failure for not being able to defy that damnable improbability from wrongfully taking you away from him.

The Archdevil ran his body haggard like a machine running only on steam, while lamenting over his resentment for fate. He despised how many people threw that detestable word around. As if that was a justifiable reason to accept that your death was meant to be. It was complete bullshit, utterly incomprehensible!

If there was enough time he could’ve cured you. He knew he could’ve saved his dearest attendant. At this point he’ll throw away any sense of morality and go off the deep end. It didn’t matter what he needed to do in order to complete his newest creation. Sure, it may cause calamity and wars between other worlds/nations just because of its god defying existence. But you were worth everything and more.

Stepping towards your encapsulated within in a cyro pod he crafted from scratch. He pressed a hand against the glass a promise escaping from his lips. An almost unrecognizable voice from him misuse full of vulnerability.

“Attendant, I never said you could quit being my assistant. Don’t you know that our contract has no end date? I won’t allow you to rot away. Your rightful place is by my side.”

——-/————-/————

A/n: you’re fine! I’m still in the middle of revising my rules! Also thanks for dropping by XD! As for Nokka let’s just say there’s gonna be a rampaging dragon on the loose. 👀

[probablyasocialecologist]

The father of Zionism, Theodore Herzl, wrote in his seminal 1896 pamphlet, The Jewish State, “There [in Palestine] we shall be a sector of the wall of Europe against Asia, we shall serve as the outpost of civilization against barbarism.” Former Prime Minister Ehud Barak, who led the country between 1999 and 2001, used a metaphor with a similar meaning: Israel is a “villa in the middle of a jungle,” arguing that Israel was a civilized nation among Muslim savages in the Middle East. This language matters because it displays a contempt for non-Jews that is carried into its relations with outsiders. It was common for Jews to be taught at school or in religious education, as I was told at home by my liberal Jewish parents, that Jews are the chosen people and have a unique relationship with God and society. We could and should help others (though there were set limits to this sympathy, namely excluding Palestinians). It is a belief system that allows racial supremacy against non-Jews to thrive and justifies disregard for their lives.

Antony Loewenstein, The Palestine Laboratory: How Israel Exports the Technology of Occupation Around the World

[diodellet]

Sorry to bother you, but for your Valentine's Day event I wanted to ask Jamil and Leona with Prompt 15 please

💌Jamil Viper + Prompt #15 (Ranting about how insufferable they are, but your friend thinks knows otherwise. Bonus points if the subject of your conversation overhears Everything.) ++Reader is not Yuu, slight angst with a bit of comfort at the end

It was only something he said. Offhandedly, matter-of-factly, casually, all those similar words.

Aren’tcha happy to see your little fan?

…Not really. It’s annoying.

Then again, a sharp knife could still cut to the bone. Even in the hands of a careless wielder.

(Even if his cheeks warmed at the knowing glance that his clubmates gave him, seeing the flicker of hurt across your features sent a stab of guilt into his gut.)

Jamil scanned his surroundings. He last saw you duck into the hallway of the third year classrooms. Slowing to a walk, he considered your possible hiding spots. The ghosts kept staff rooms locked, laboratories and offices as well. In fifteen minutes, the doors to the classrooms would also be enchanted to keep from anyone entering. That meant—

…What was an empty coat rack doing here?

He walks past it, brow furrowing in confusion. Your—admittedly admirable—disappearance didn’t make any sense.

A potion? Your Unique Magic?

Just as he reaches the end of the hall, behind him, the telltale sound of a spell wearing off confirms his guess, revealing you in place of the coat rack. He half-expected you to turn and bolt.

Instead, your eyes turn glassy and tears slide down your cheeks.

At a quiet call of your name, you wave off the concern. “It’s true, I’m—I’m annoying, you don’t need to…to justify it.”

Your other palm is held out, stopping Jamil from approaching.

“I know, I should have talked to you properly and let it happen. I just… got scared.”

Jamil hated that, being scared. It led each careful and cautioned move of his. As much as he refused to let it step to the forefront of his mind, fear was a looming shadow. The calculated, sharp-tongued vice housewarden of Scarabia was born from a practiced skill in passing fear off as any other visceral emotion.

…Though you were annoying. Persistent. 

Always just a little out of reach.

His hand closes around your outstretched wrist.

The apology is worded perfectly in Jamil’s mind, but his throat refuses to cooperate. “...look, I didn’t…” When it’s just the two of you, he finds that he doesn’t mind being the sole recipient of your wholehearted attention. “As…as long as it isn’t in front of everyone, I’ll hear you out.”

Another tear rolls down your cheek, and your lips form into a shaky smile.

💌Leona Kingscholar + Prompt #15 ++Reader is not Yuu

“I don’t understand what’s his problem.” You wrench the locker open.

“Well, I am having a nice day, thanks for askin’,” Epel frowns, but doesn’t look up from folding up his training attire.

“Is everyone pretending they didn’t see me getting badgered on the field earlier?” Thank god, you still had band-aids. “Scoot over.” Epel makes space for you on the bench, winces when he sees the scrape on your leg.

“Yeah. This is what I get for trying to play and listen to the captain’s yelling at the same time.” You layer two band-aids. “I’m not even first-string, so why’s he on my case? He should be focusing on you and Ruggie more.”

“Hey!”

“In a good way! I just don’t get why he has to take his stress out on me.”

“I hear you.” He slings his gymbag over his shoulder. “I’d wanna stay and listen s’more but—” 

“Yeah, Vil would wring your neck or something. See you.” You’re focused on covering most of the scrape. Unsuccessfully.

Turns out you weren’t left completely alone.

Leona’s blocking your way out of the locker room. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Though he seems to always be frowning, you see a muscle in his jaw tense as you approach.

“...I’m guessing you heard that.” A part of you hoped that Epel would be forced to do penalties with you, he technically was a co-conspirator in your shittalking as the listener.

“Hmph, if you have such a problem with me running the team, then you might as well hand in your jersey right now.”

No way—is what you’d say if you had no shame. But you, mediocre as you are, fought tooth and nail for a spot on the Spelldrive team.

But he’s right. Your hand tightens around your bag strap, protecting its contents. The only marker of your effort. “I'm only…It won’t happen again.”

You’re burning. From shame, from frustration. Why would he take notice of you?

At that minute gesture, Leona steps aside. “Guess I was wrong to think that you could handle some tough encouragement.”

“Encouragement?” A satisfied grin stretches across Leona’s features. “No, no—training’s over. I don’t need to listen to y—this.”

“Now, hold on a second there.” It’s unfair how the authority in his voice is enough to pin you in place. “Next Monday, you’re running twice as many laps for warmups.”

a/n: ahaha this is sooo late... sorry 🙇‍♂️(girlie didn't think she'd struggle this much tryna figure out leona's character in a reader-insert way, this is my karma for making fun of housewarden stannies 🤧🤧) i hope it was an enjoyable read nontheless, i tried to spice up the interpretation of the prompt, make it a seat-grabber or sumn along those lines ahahaha NEways! have a (looks at scrawled writing on hand) happy summer! 💕💕

[stromuprisahat]

An icon, not an instigator

Six of Crows- Chapter 35 (Leigh Bardugo)

I've been thinking about this passage in connection to LB's words on Darklina, not quite able to put into words why it didn't sit well with me. First the quote, courtesy of @aleksanderscult :

I've analysed what Aleksander meant by this in the reply mentioning said interview. To put it shortly- I don't think he meant he expects Alina to manage his behaviour. It goes against his characterisation he'd let anyone control him in such way. He merely expressed his willingness to listen to her, should she disagree with him due to her moral stance.

LB herself puts her issue with certain tropes into two points:

Women shouldn't be expected to act as men's babysitter. He should change by himself.

Women don't have to be good. They, themselves could be even worse.

Her logic is faulty in several places.

First of all a woman acting as "a healer" as LB calls it doesn't necessarily mean she's somehow responsible for her partner's behaviour. It's merely about her influence helping him to overcome trauma or other effects harmful experience had on him. I'd even argue it's closer to what Matthias describes above, than whatever could Alina offer the Darkling. Ever.

You'd need specific qualities Alina never possessed. Empathy, caring, some amount of selflessness... What's the point of "addressing" a notion that doesn't have a leg to stand on?

While I agree that "a man should be able to better himself on his own" Helnik passage above has an important weak spot. A man should be able to better himself on his own without such change being significantly tied to a single person, especially if he's "rewarded" for his progress by romantic relationship with said person.

Genuine change should be driven by recognition of one's faults and resulting desire to become a better person, not a promise of possible relationship dangling in front of them. One that would be otherwise impossible.

While Matthias specifically happens to be a paragon of virtue, and once The Realization™ strikes, he never really falters, never tries to return to his old beliefs, ordinary people tend to struggle and doubt new ways less beneficial to them personally. Especially if their motivation happens to be external.

What happens when the one, who inspired his change is no longer around? What if they break up, his old ties severed and new ones either all business or acquaintances made through the ex-partner? Or are we ignoring the possibility that losing the benefits such change produced could lead the man to slip back to harmful patterns of behaviour and thinking as a way to justify one's failure to maintain the relationship or straight up revenge for ending it?

I'm sure no man would ever even think about that. Who'd be so petty or simply lost?!

This is why Malyen's change in R&R isn't believable. He "realized" his coercion led Alina to suicide attempt instead of expected eternal faithfulness, so he went through 180° turn of his behaviour. It's too sudden and too "perfect". Merely a changed tactics of abuse we shouldn't mistake for genuine betterment. "Look what you were willing to abandon!"

Matthias' case could be roughly fixed in this passage- don't make it all about Nina. Have him remember questioning drüskelle philosophy when Brum proudly showed him the laboratory. Or when he watched the broken body of a boy, who was ~someone's~ friend- make that the impulse to help Nina bury him. Have him remember seeing other Grisha as human, so his faith in their humanity doesn't seem so sudden and pussy-blinded.

Malyen's case would be much more complicated. His vices ~targeted~ Alina specifically. They were never openly admitted, described as such, he was never properly called out on them, certainly not by Alina herself. His doubtful development happened mostly off page in a way resembling just another kind of manipulation, and it didn't take long for it to "earn" him EXACTLY what he always wanted pre-change. He doesn't seem to mind the negative impacts of it any more than he did Alina's failing health previously.

To sum up once again- yes, women shouldn't be those to "fix" their man, but not because it's just wrong to expect them to do men's work, but because true change has to come from the inside. Others can help you realize there are "better" ways, but YOU're the one, who has to change the way you think. (Unless we're in Dead Dove territory, exploring all sorts of manipulation.)

Secondly it's kinda ironic reading LB's take on "Woman's rights AND wrongs", considering her strong tendency to moralize, shame and punish for any seeming "vice". Sure, she eventually changes the tune to "Women can do no wrong.", but that's equally stupid and harmful as the above mentioned Victorian take.

The way the books are written viewed through the lens of the interview turns likely a well-meant sentiment into the notion woman's some passive idol to worship by laying change at her feet, which wow- double creepy. Certainly more empowering than intentionally influencing or even FORCING the man to adapt to her requirements.

[freyito]

currently thinking about how Johnny was like. Never like this in past games. Past timelines would be too arrogant to just give away something that cost THAT much. Like even if his life was saved. Maybe Mk11 Johnny, but Mk9 & MkX? No fucking way would he give away a sword he dropped 3mil on.

But in Mk1, not only does Johnny have such a visceral reaction to Kenshi getting blinded, but his first thought when he wakes up in Shang Tsung's laboratory is Kenshi. Like the tension between Johnny and Kenshi fuckin dissipated in that moment. Sure, Kenshi like loosens up a bit to Johnny, and Johnny's just being his regular ol' "witty" self. But literally in that moment they switch from tip toeing around eachother to something more like. Intimate? Not in a romantic sense (yet), but. Suddenly Johnny doesn't care that he's broke, that he's a struggling actor, that he's going through a divorce, and to be honest I don't think he cares that this whole thing will bring him back up. He could care less that the sword he spent 3mil on that could very much save his wallet is going to a blind man. I don't even think Johnny is aware that Sento would've given Kenshi his sight or telepathy. NOT TO MENTION Johnny was the ONLY one who was against confronting Quan Chi!!! FOR Kenshi's sake. He was so goddamn worried about Kenshi it genuinely hurts.

ALSO! The scene in the Wastes, before the whole Tarkatten colony. Absolute tension. Kenshi's like so fed up with Johnny. That entire thing before he gets blinded, really. And then in the Living Forest they're just chatting away?? Like Kenshi hasn't been hounding and hounding Johnny for Sento for MONTHS. To be honest, I assume Kenshi was kind of resentful of Johnny since he refused to give up Sento, which to Kenshi, was kind of the key for true honor. Yet he still saves Johnny, which I think is just Kenshi's nature. And there is no mention of Sento before the whole Quan Chi sitch. Absolutely none. Johnny's talking all about how Kenshi saved his life and I am so sure he feels so truly guilty about Kenshi loosing his sight but I also think Johnny was trying to justify feeling something so strong for a guy who broke into his mansion RIGHT after his wife left him, in the middle of one of his worst moments in his life.

I really believe that in the instant Kenshi was blinded a switch clicked for both of them. I think Kenshi really only dealt with Johnny because he had to, but also because he thought there could've been a chance to actually get Sento back from this arrogant asshole. But after Mileena, you SEE that he's just given up on it. He's blind, he thinks he's useless, and he's better off dead. There suddenly is no need for Sento. He's failed his clan. Like the lowkey suicidal ideation in that. Ugh. But Johnny doesn't give up on Kenshi. He's so focused on getting him home and safe and you can tell he's thinking about all sorts of ways to repay Kenshi. Only AFTER the fact that the group still goes ahead to attack Quan Chi is when Johnny lands on giving Kenshi Sento.

Anyways. Johnshi is Canon and these two middle-aged bastards are in love with eachother and it is so definitely a lot more than "they're just best friends". THEY ARE GAY LOVERS

[nyrobnua8983]

An unexpected kiss [1/3]

gender neutral reader

Dr. Bright

You were sitting in the laboratory, absorbed in yet another experiment, when Dr. Bright entered the room without knocking. His energetic appearance and irrepressible smile always signaled that something unexpected was about to happen.

–How’s it going?-he cheerfully asked, coming closer. Your gaze met his, and you noticed the playful spark in his eyes. It was one of those moments when you knew something interesting was on the horizon. Before you could even blink, Bright was already by your side. He hugged you with one arm, seemingly casually, but in that casualness was all his usual cheerfulness. With his other hand, he gently touched the back of your neck, drawing you closer and pulling your attention away from the experiment.His lips touched yours in a kiss that was both tender and swift. It was a typical Bright kiss—spontaneous, full of energy, yet caring at the same time. The air was filled with a faint aroma, a blend of his signature scent and something slightly anomalous that always seemed to accompany him. This scent was like a small part of his unusual world. You responded to the kiss, feeling his energy transfer to you, filling you with a warm feeling. In these moments, Bright seemed to forget his reputation and left only sincerity and emotion. He allowed himself to be vulnerable, showing you a side of himself that few had the chance to see. The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to create the sensation that everything around had stopped. When Bright pulled away, his smile was wide and genuine, and he seemed pleased to have made your day a little brighter.

–Remember, life is too short not to enjoy moments like these. he said, looking at you with warmth.

–Let’s make as many of them as possible.

You nodded, realizing that with him, every moment would be special, full of surprises and joy.

Dr. Alto Clef

The evening hours in the laboratory were quiet, with only the light from the desk lamp softly illuminating the workspace. Dr. Clef was immersed in his research, but you noticed that his gaze occasionally lingered on you, full of contemplation.You sat nearby, flipping through documents and trying not to disrupt his concentration. The evening seemed to promise nothing unusual, but there was an elusive tension in the air.Suddenly, Clef stood up, walked over to you, and stood directly in front of you. His eyes were focused and serious as usual, but today there was a special depth of emotion in them. He sighed softly and extended his hand, gently touching your face. His touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it carried the weight of his emotions.Clef did not rush. He pressed his lips to yours; his kiss was slow and cautious, as if every movement required careful consideration. His lips were cool and firm, just like him, but in that touch, there was a profound passion and struggle he struggled to conceal.He lingered over your lips before allowing himself this act of intimacy. Each kiss was filled with an inner conflict he was trying to control. It wasn’t just an expression of feelings but an entire world of emotions where he tried to balance his restraint with his desire to be closer.When the kiss ended, he pulled away a few centimeters. His gaze was still focused, but there was a noticeable new softness in his eyes.

–Sorry if that was unexpected

he said quietly, as if trying to justify his display of affection.You simply smiled, understanding that the kiss contained everything he couldn’t express in words.

–Don’t apologize- you replied.–It was important. And I appreciate it.

Clef nodded, and a barely perceptible smile appeared on his face, which seemed to be just for you. He returned to his work, but the room retained a new, warm atmosphere, a reminder that even the most reserved individuals could reveal their inner depth when they trust someone.

Simon Glass

You were sitting in your chair by the window, the dim evening light gently coloring the room. Simon, still lost in his thoughts, quietly entered and approached you. His steps were light, as if he was trying not to disturb the silence that hung between you.When he sat down beside you, his gaze was focused and attentive. He was silent, simply observing you, and this silence was filled with emotions that were hard to express in words. Then, softly and carefully, he touched your hand, his fingers warm and gentle.Glass slowly turned to you, his eyes meeting yours, and in them was a whole range of feelings. He carefully traced his finger along your face, his touch light as a feather. At that moment, he seemed to be preparing to do something important and delicate.When his lips touched yours, it was like a soft breeze brushing against your face. Glass's kiss was slow and deliberate, filled with tenderness and attentiveness. He tried to be as gentle as possible, as if afraid of breaking something fragile and precious. His touches were filled with care, every phrase and every movement precisely measured.You felt his kisses conveying his deep affection and respect for your personal space. He did not rush, and there was something soothing in that. This moment was filled with emotions that Glass could not always express in words, but through his gentle, thoughtful touches, he did so with complete sincerity.When he pulled away, his eyes still held a warm light.

–I hope this expresses what I can’t say in words

his voice quiet and soft.You responded with a tender smile, knowing that his kisses conveyed much more than just physical touch. It was Glass's way of showing his deep feelings and respect without intruding on your inner world, and that was what made his kisses truly special.

[twstthing]

[A quick change of clothes(kin).]

Minecraft Single Player! Yuu AU

Summary: Yuu(rmom) has a really weird concept of clothing, Deuce and Professor Crewel figure that out the hard way and witness transmutation.

In NRC, every student gets uniforms. It’s only natural that they get enough from their ever so kind headmage.

Crowley, the said headmage, gets Crewel to tailor a uniform for Yuu as a thank you for doing unintended and unpaid repairs for the Ramshackle dorm. The event was bound to come up, having enrolled them as a half-student alongside Grim. 

Making a uniform for a student isn’t as intensive as creating fashion pieces, however both are pieces of art that require the utmost focus and precision. What kind of professor, let alone MAN, would Divus Crewel be if he let himself slack on providing basic needs for a pup? At the very minimum, he swears upon himself to never stoop down to a level of air-headedness that his boss, unfortunately, has. 

To be honest, Crewel has been itching to get Prefect Yuu a new set of clothing for a while now. Ever since that pup landed in NRC, they have been nothing but trouble with an outfit that gives him one of the strongest eye sores he’s ever felt. A plain, loose cyan blue t-shirt with an equally saturated pair of indigo trousers that have no pockets. Not only is it poorly colored, it lacks function.

Perhaps the lack of function could be explained away with how the pup has their own magic storage, pulling stacks of items in and out of thin air with no strain. But those colors? Crewel is a cunning, logical man, but not everything can be reasoned with nor justified.

Additionally, Yuu(rmom) is due for a good shaving and trim. He’s not sure how the teenaged pup has a fully grown (and very well-styled) goatee, but perhaps it’s just genetics. 

Naturally, there are procedural steps to making a set of clothing for someone, and the first and foremost is to gather measurements. It is one of the faster paced processes, but key to executing all other parts. 

Crewel really should have expected that anything dealing with the new prefect would never go normally.

“Yuu, you need that uniform! I promise it doesn’t hurt at all, it’s actually kind of fun!”

Deuce is on his tiptoes in the Alchemy Laboratory, shouting like he is cooing a cat to come down the tree it ran up. In a sense, he is doing exactly that but the cat is actually a person with extra-stiff limbs and reality-altering powers beyond magic.

Said person looks down from their oak wood block tower, doing several impossibly fast 120 degree hip bends while swinging their arm. Deuce knows this version of gestures, recalling Riddle’s presentation on Yuu’s mannerisms with the assistance of Rook and Iida. If Yuu individually does several hip bends first and arm swings second, it indicates “I am here.” and something along the lines of a declaration depending on the context. 

In this context, Yuu is currently on-guard and firmly standing their ground which means Yuu does not want to do measurements.

Inwardly, Deuce gives himself a pat on the back for remembering all of that and reaching a conclusion. But there’s a slightly more pressing matter at hand that he does not have a method or conclusion to, and that is how to convince Yuu to get down from their tower and get their measurements done.

He’s done everything he could, really! 

Deuce truly thought that his cauldron summoning spell would work in knocking Yuu down to ground level, but the moment the cauldron made contact with Yuu you wanna know what happened? The cauldron DID hit Yuu, eliciting a very manly, “OOF!” from them as their body flashed red, but it didn’t even knock them down. After making contact with Yuu, it shrank into one of the pixelated slabs that Yuu creates and fell to the ground with a light clack.

Magic coercion didn’t work, and his words don’t seem to reach the Prefect’s head either.. Sure;

Turning to Professor Crewel, Deuce bows a into a straight 90 degree angle and shouts, “Professor! I apologize in advance for the.. Un- Uh, seemingly display I am about to do!”

Casting aside his blazer and rolling up his dress shirt sleeves, Deuce takes a deep breath. The oak block tower was 5 blocks high, which means it wasn’t unreasonably tall. A lot of things can be overcome so long as you just try to do it, that’s how Deuce learned he was particularly skilled at hurdling during club practice. Just like how he warmed up at practice, Deuce gives two experimental hops, remembering the feeling of how to make himself spring up.

Professor Crewel is no stranger to the reckless activity of teenage boys having been one himself, so his eyes widen as he realizes what Deuce is about to do. 

Three steps backwards and an inhale is all he needs to sprint straight to the oak block tower, and when the moment is just right—not too close, but not too far from the wall—he leaps once. Deuce reaches to just about 3/5ths of the tower, but he closes the gap between him and the top as his left foot pushes off of the tower and launches himself higher. 

Being face-to-face with Yuu wasn’t necessary so long as he could just get them down, so in the moment that Deuce reached his highest point his arms would shoot out to grab onto Yuu’s legs. Deuce can only smirk in triumph as he shouts, “Gotcha!”

From that point on, gravity could do the rest of the work as it pulled him and Yuu downwards. Deuce is completely ready for the fall, but Yuu seems even more flustered than him as their arms flail around and make the fall much more uncertain.

Though, it was only in that moment that Deuce realized he couldn’t make a stable landing when there is another body of weight that he’s holding onto. He can already feel a sore backache or a rolled ankle coming into play as he falls, but the expected pain does not come even after he squeezes his eyes shut.

Instead, he feels a gentle gust of wind below him, lowering him and Yuu close enough to the ground before completely dissipating and letting him land on his butt. The relief of having no injuries sustained is completely overwritten when he feels the piercing gaze of a very furious Professor Crewel towering about him.

“Yuurmom and Deuce Spade.” Crewel practically seethes out, “Both of you pups. Reckless, unruly behavior that would have gotten you both a nice trip to the nurse’s office. Not only will this be reported to your Housewarden, but I also expect a two-pager reflecting on your actions. Deuce Spade, you will write about the dangers of acting before thinking. Yuu, you will be writing about why listening to authority and following instruction is necessary.”

With a heavy sigh, Professor Crewel settles himself down before declaring, “Now bark if you understand my instructions!”

Deuce spends no time in shouting back, “Yes Professor!”, but Yuu remains silent much to his panic. Yuu’s face is just about as neutral as ever, though the slight crease in their eyebrows is indicative of their immense dissatisfaction with the situation. While Deuce really does want to consider his friend’s feelings here, he would really rather not face any more paperwork and reprimanding from Housewarden Riddle, so he jabs Yuu(rmom) with his elbow. 

Two beats of silence afterwards, Yuu utters out, “Yes.” much to Deuce’s relief. 

Professor Crewel lightly massages the crease between his eyebrows, muttering something along the lines of “stressful pups”. Not too shortly, he turns to Yuu and gestures to them, “Now let’s get your measurements done. I don’t know why you have such an aversion to removing your current clothing, but rest assured that the process will not take long and you can put them back on right afterwards.”

To that, Yuu(rmom) launches out of their seated position to stand and rapidly shakes their head, body following behind their head movements. 

Deuce inwardly sighs, ‘Now we’re back at square one.’

“Pup, is there some kind of connection you have with your clothes? Start speaking, because I am not a mind reader.” 

Yuu takes a moment, eyes scanning Deuce and the professor. It’s a bit jarring to Deuce to see Yuu express this much discomfort at anything. Asides from their overall lack of expression, they typically march to their own beat regardless of the situation. If Yuu(rmom) was 100% human like he and Ace were, perhaps they would be breaking out into a sweat. 

“.. I can’t remove my skin.”

“I don’t think clothes are skin, Yuu.” Deuce states without missing a beat. 

Shaking their head, Yuu replies, “Everyone wears skins.” They wave an arm at Deuce, gesturing to his current outfit, “That’s your skin.” then look down and wave an arm, referring to themselves, “This is my skin.”

Professor Crewel is looking up at the ceiling, hoping to find an answer to why he must explain what clothing is. Pushing past the frustration, he thinks to himself. 

Every day, Yuu shows up with the same set of eye-straining blue clothes. Despite how much farming and tussling they do, their clothes do not appear tattered or even remotely affected by the things its been put through. Even when doused in water, Yuu appeared as dry as sand. 

It doesn’t seem like they have a whole closet of the same clothing either, because Ramshackle’s plumbing bill falls much further below average. While it would be possible that the Prefect could just do their laundry by hand or with one of their otherworldly gadgets, Crewel highly doubts that their arms have the.. articulation, to properly wash clothes by hand. 

If he’s on the right track, Yuu’s current clothing might actually be attached to them.

Looking back down, Professor Crewel gazes at Yuu, “Pup, if I give you a uniform—no, a skin—will you be able to put it on?”

Yuu stares back at him, many figurative cogs turning and churning in contrast to their ultra-still body. They slowly turn their head down and up, which seems to be the closest they can get to doing a hesitant nod, letting Deuce and Professor Crewel sigh in relief. 

Deuce leans into Yuu’s space and nudges them, “See? It wasn’t THAT bad.”

From his own spatial storage, Crewel spins out the reference uniform he would have used after acquiring Yuu’s measurements. It is a men’s size large uniform, based on the speculated height of Yuu(rmom) who appears to be around the same height as the especially loud aide of Draconia. The blazer, vest, tie, dress shirt, and pants are folded into a crisp, square-like shape much to the pleasure of Yuu who draws closer to the stack of clothing. 

Crewel hands the clothes to Yuu, who manages to hold it upright without using their fingers at all. He remains straight-faced for professionalism, but Crewel wonders to himself when his brain will stop trying to make sense of the illogic that is Yuu(rmom).

And for a moment, Yuu simply stares at the uniform. The next, Yuu’s silhouette dissolves into pure static along with the jarring din of buzzing noise emitting from them. Deuce lets out a shout of shock that is ultimately drowned out by the noise of static, and both he and Deuce plug their ears to block out the cacophony. 

Professor Crewel still subconsciously tries to make some sense of what he’s seeing, and he sees the shifting silhouette of Prefect Yuu. It goes from the average four-limbed human that he’s familiar with, then phasing into a two-dimensional figuration of various rectangular shapes, and then a three-dimensional cubic rendition of the human body. 

As suddenly as it began, the static ends, and Yuu has returned to a human figure. The uniform is perfectly fitted on them and worn correctly, however something more significant changed with the Prefect.

Deuce exclaims it first, “Yuu! Your hair! YOU SHRANK??!! What the heck just happened??”

While Deuce furiously pats Yuu down for changes while asking a barrage of questions, Professor Crewel notes the most obvious changes to Yuu’s appearance.

The awful clothes are gone in place of the NRC uniform, Yuu’s goatee is completely gone, and their short-cut brown hair has been replaced with longer, green shaggy strands. Not only that, they gained a pair of eyebrows and had their rectangular eye sockets replaced with ones that aligned more closely with a normal eyeball. Though, it appears that the square-ness didn’t completely disappear with their pupils still square-shaped.

What concerned Professor Crewel the most was the change in build and physical age. Yuu(rmom) was taller than the average student, but now they’ve been reduced to a height similar to Ruggie Bucchi. Their previous muscle mass has also been reduced to that of the average teenager's, and their face has regained the kind of residual baby fat that students would have.

It was already known that Yuu(rmom) was not human based on their behavior and supernatural abilities, but they have literally shape-shifted into a first year NRC student which brings into question just exactly how old they are. Were they actually a 16-17 year old masquerading as a more mature person or are they a mature person who can change their appearance at will?

Though, it seems like malicious intentions don’t seem to be on Yuu’s mind considering their previous behavior on demanding farmland and an extreme desire to build cubic buildings. Additionally, behind their unwavering behavior lies a familiar sense of immaturity that blends right into the NRC population. 

It might not be a worry for now, but Crewel decides to store this information for the upcoming staff meeting in two days. 

Crewel lets out a loud “Ahem!”, drawing the immediate attention of Deuce and the now more human-looking Prefect Yuu. 

“Continue your celebrations after you two finish writing your reflections. I expect them to be done by tomorrow afternoon and on my desk before I begin teaching the third year pups.”

The reminder visibly knocks into Deuce as he drops his head down in mild shame, and displeasure is now visible on Yuu’s face as their new eyebrows slightly furrow. 

[bardic-tales]

Warnings: Graphic content, unethical experiments, psychological manipulation, violence, animal cruelty, and body horror.

🌙 Name: Diana Grace Ravenscroft 🔮 Age: 33 👤 Gender: Female 🌌 Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Universe 🌟 Ship: None (focuses on professional ambition rather than personal relationships) 📅 Date of Birth: [μ] – εγλ 1974 👼 Mother: Eleanor Ravenscroft (deceased) 👹 Father: Reginald Ravenscroft (deceased) 🎭 Faceclaim: Kate Walsh

Character Overview

🌟 Diana's Persona: Diana Ravenscroft is a cold and calculating scientist whose ambition and obsession with scientific discovery drive her every decision. With a razor-sharp intellect and a clinical detachment, Diana's actions are often morally questionable, prioritizing the advancement of bioengineering and genetic manipulation over ethical concerns. Her relentless pursuit of knowledge leads her to cross increasingly dark and dangerous lines, especially in her experiments on demonic and divine genetics. Diana is methodical, disciplined, and operates with a profound belief in the necessity of her work, despite the suffering it causes.

🎭 Personality: Diana embodies the "Lawfully Evil" alignment, thriving on control and efficiency. A Virgo, INTJ personality, and 5w6 (The Investigator), she views the world through a lens of scientific rigor and unwavering dedication to her goals. Diana’s obsession with the divine and supernatural blinds her to the humanity of others, making her capable of cruelty and ethical blindness. Her ambition clouds her judgment, pushing her to justify the unethical methods she employs. She is emotionally detached, unable to connect with others, and views her subjects—people included—as tools for experimentation. Despite this cold exterior, her obsessive curiosity drives her deeper into moral decay.

💑 Relationships: Diana’s most significant relationship is with her work at Shinra Corporation, particularly her obsession with the divine and demonic blood within subjects like Bianca Moore. Her inability to form personal connections means that the only bonds she values are those that contribute to her scientific pursuits. Though she does not form romantic relationships, her emotional investment in her experiments parallels a warped attachment to the subjects, particularly those with extraordinary abilities.

⚔️ Courage in Conflict: Diana’s bravery lies not in physical battles but in her unwavering commitment to her scientific goals. Her courage is tested when she is forced to confront the consequences of her experiments, including the pain and suffering of those she uses for her research. Her resilience is evident in her ability to continue pushing boundaries even when faced with ethical dilemmas and moral opposition. Diana’s role in the conflict of the story is one of intellectual opposition to those who would challenge her, particularly those who stand in the way of her pursuit of the divine.

✨ Likes & Dislikes

Likes: Scientific discovery, bioengineering, genetic manipulation, control, pushing ethical boundaries

Dislikes: Incompetence, emotional displays, inefficiency, failure, ethical constraints

🌿 A Soul of Many Hobbies: Diana’s hobbies revolve around her intellectual pursuits. She enjoys reading academic texts on bioengineering and metaphysical studies, conducting experiments, and researching supernatural entities. She has a fascination with ancient technologies and seeks to unlock the hidden knowledge of Gaia’s forgotten histories.

Powerset Overview

💫 Powers and Abilities: Diana’s strength lies in her expertise in genetics and bioengineering. She possesses an exceptional knowledge of cellular degradation and genetic manipulation, particularly in the areas of demonic and divine entities. Her skills allow her to perform detailed biological extractions, manipulate genetic structures, and enhance or weaken the abilities of her subjects. She is also highly skilled in laboratory procedures, surgical techniques, and specimen analysis.

💔 Weaknesses: Diana’s ambition often clouds her judgment, making her prone to risky and unethical decisions that compromise her humanity. She struggles with empathy and is emotionally detached, which makes it difficult for her to connect with others or recognize the moral consequences of her actions. Her obsession with uncovering the secrets of divinity and demonic powers can lead her down reckless paths, ignoring caution in favor of discovery.

Key Moments in Diana Ravenscroft's Journey

🌠 Diana’s involvement in Shinra’s controversial Project N of the Jenova Project marks a turning point in her life. Her experiments on Bianca Moore, particularly the extraction of demonic blood, deepen her obsession with understanding divine and infernal genetics and fulls a lust to understand the secret of immortality (in hopes of curing fatal illnesses). Her work blurs the lines between ethical science and horrific cruelty, leading her to question the boundaries of scientific discovery.

Themes:

🌟 Ambition, the cost of knowledge, moral decay, the intersection of science and ethics, obsession, dehumanization, the consequences of unchecked ambition

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @whatwedointhecraft @serenofroses @megandaisy9

@watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @asirensrage

@seastarblue

[itsmoving]

Somewhere, in a secret lair, hidden away from prying eyes, a mad scientist toils away at their latest project. A weapon that would surely put a stop to the pesky hero stuck on their tail.

After days of work, they were finally done, and they gently lay that weeks' magnum opus down on the lab bench, stepping away and taking a breath.

They lean against a cabinet behind them and clutch their cramping stomach. They hadn't had a chance to eat since breakfast the previous day, and they're finally feeling the consequences of not eating or sleeping.

They turn on their heels to leave but stop themselves in their tracks. A curious thought passes them by, and in their starved delirium, they lose the will to suppress it. "Where would science be without curiosity?" they justify.

Without a second thought, they're scavenging through their cupboards until they eventually find exactly what they're looking for: a test tube, 8ml. They hold the glass in their hand, inspecting it, testing its weight.

Then they put it into their mouth and swallow.

Cold is the first thing they feel. Cold glass slipping down their warm throat. Then, as the tube slides into their stomach, they feel the way it rolls around the chamber, light and tickling. It's a strange sensation, yet they can't shake the urge to keep going.

So, they do it again with a smaller 5ml tube, resting their hand over their stomach when they feel it land on top of the other, hearing a quiet clinking sound that sends the smallest of vibrations surging through them.

It was addicting, and they dig their fingers deep into their soft abdomen, shifting the glass around as they search their lab for other inedible treats.

-

When the hero arrived at the mad scientist's lair after they had been alerted to its location, they had come ready for a fight. To say they were surprised would be an understatement.

Not only had they found a whole room filled with ideas and plans for destructive machines and bio weaponry, and not only did they find a very science fiction-esque gun of some kind in their laboratory, but they found the mad scientist in no shape to fight, instead curled up on the floor in the middle of the room, nursing a very misshapen belly, groaning to themselves.

Usually, seeing the mad scientist's plans backfire would mean they got a chance to take them in or otherwise confiscate their inventions, but they didn't even get a chance to fight here. The hero feels bad, but the sight before them is just pathetic.

Cautious, they approach the scientist, looking them over, making sure they're not bleeding. From the closer angle, they can see the way their stomach is bloated and angular.

"Are you okay?" they ask with genuine concern in their voice.

The scientist cracks an eye open and scrunches their brow upon realising who had come to their rescue.

"Piss off." They try to swat their hand at them, but upon letting go of their tummy, another cramp squeezes at their stomach, forcing them back into the tight ball formation.

The hero rolls their eyes and crouches down to them, firmly placing their hand on the apex of the scientist's gut. They hear the faint sound of glass on glass as they move their hand around the fleshy boulder.

"I said piss off, twat!" The hero continues to ignore them, frowning in confusion as they piece things together in their mind.

"Have you been eating glass?!" They finally blurt out.

For once, the scientist actually looks guilty, though they're clearly more embarrassed than anything.

"Why have you been eating glass?"

The scientist still refused to answer the hero's questions.

The hero huffed a sigh and stood up to full mast. As much as the scientist hated the hero, their ministrations made them melt - not that they'd admit that, of course. Sensing they were getting nowhere, the hero left. They'd be back eventually, but they weren't dealing with the scientist's glass-eating silence.

The scientist, on the other hand, regretted not saying anything, if only because the extra hands on their sensitive skin were really helping the indigestion.

[terrys-min-catl]

You know what. Let's talk about how we could have made the arc better

do not put it at the end of the season. this arc just seems to be asking for a long format, at least from the previous one with the university what it is. even longer. this arc holds the potential for revealing side characters, which we are already being told so little, but it was missed

Fillers. both plot and secondary ones. Fillers have always been an integral part of immersion in the world of fiction. After Cecil was knocked out of the narrative due to his brainwashing, it has a good effect on revealing others. but about them in more detail 2.1 filler about Carlos. Let's remember Carlos this is an indirect walking problem, it was from his laboratory that Mother Lauren got out, it was from his laboratory that Kevin came out, it was in his laboratory that the two Kevins met. Carlos feeds himself with false hopes to study dow, and bc of this hope, indirectly, the problems have acquired such a scale in such a short time. Show how Carlos reacts to this, maybe he feels guilty, or maybe he ignores it in every possible way. He cares about his brainwashed husband, or dow is more important again? Show this pls 2.2 filler about the boy. If he gave up his own beliefs so easily in the end, then show me why. For example, the first thought. After the victory over Kevin and a moment of euphoria, thinking again about his adult version, he didnt feel the very contentment he wanted, but only contradictory feelings that he does not want to accept. And then he starts to see everything Mother Lauren is doing from a different angle and doubt, "are these my beliefs too?" Show that he is beginning to change his mind about whom he despised. Children in Night Vale have the power to change reality, either their own or external. So show that the boy's altered reality he made doesnt meet his desires 2.3 filler about Kevin. even more than one. One is not enough here. Like, about Cecil's father, we know 10x times more, and about Kevin's father, only a statement about a 3rd degree burn, and about the fact that little attention was paid to little Kevin. Show their interactions a little deeper. For example, Kevin's father (we already understood that he was an asshole, but still) gaslighted his son, ignored him much more often than it was worth and belittled his own labors, justifying that he must try better. Show how Kevin goes from acceptance to contradiction and understatement, but in the end to the inevitable acceptance. Show that, for example, he resigned himself and began to take his father's habits out of desperation. Show their family relations deeper than just a superficial family abuse. And then Kevin's words in the end abt his father would have been perceived from a completely different angle

Go on and say what you could add to make this acr better

[satansapostle6]

X

Josh Futturman has always had a crush on his beautiful coworker, the sharp, sexy scientist he thought he could only dream of talking to.

Warnings: Mature themes/language. Sexual content.

Part Four

Part Five: My Balls, Your Court

Josh knew that he had to make a move with Brynne, and soon. He knew this partly because for the last few days, Ray had continuously been telling him, ‘You gotta make the first move’.

The ball was in his court, and he needed to act quickly. So, he was trying to work up the courage to do so. After all, he knew for a fact that Brynne was single, but he also knew that women like that didn’t tend to stay single for long if they didn’t want to.

He knew that the annual Kronish Ball, a formal office party before Christmas, was coming up that Friday. So, he figured, that would be the perfect opportunity to ask Brynne out on a date, or at least hang out with her at the hall if he couldn’t get his shit together and ask her out. Ray was heavily encouraging this, and so was Dr. Kronish, for that matter.

That afternoon, Josh Futturman had finally worked up the courage to head up to the lab a little while before leaving work that day, when he found that there might’ve been a slight problem with that plan. As he headed towards the lab, he saw a couple of scientists leaving in a hurrry, looking shell-shocked.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” the young woman breathed.

“It’s okay, it’s fine, we just have to fix it,” the young man told her.

“Hey,” Josh frowned as they looked at him, “What’s going on? Is Dr. Camillo in one of his moods again?”

The female lab assistant quickly shook her head, seeming terrified. “No. It’s Dr. Johansson,” she informed him in a hushed tone.

“Dr. Johansson?” Josh said in surprise.

“Yeah. Someone messed up a bunch of data, and now we have to start running the tests all over again. Set us back two months. She’s fucking livid,” the male lab assistant explained.

Josh said nothing, cautiously approaching the lab, half expecting a war zone. He walked in on Brynne scolding one of the underlings, presumably the one responsible for the mistake, sounding disturbingly like Dr. Kronish on the rare occasions where he would actually get angry.

“No, that’s not what I’m asking you,” Brynne stated, seething beneath her calm exterior. “Did you, or did you not, forget to check the input dates?” she demanded.

“I… Forgot to check the input dates,” the young man told her, barely able to look her in the eye.

“And how is that possible?” Brynne interrogated him. “Did the forms not specifically say to double check, triple check, fucking quadruple check, the input dates, because there might be some confusion on that?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, “They did.”

“And did Dr. Fernandez not specifically tell you to notify him before submitting the reports?” she concluded.

“Yeah,” the guy nodded. “He did.”

“Well then, why the fuck did you not do it?” she demanded.

Josh stood there awkwardly in silence, never having once seen her this angry before.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, avoiding her gaze.

“‘I don’t know’?!” Brynne repeated. “‘I don’t know’ is not an acceptable response for someone working in a laboratory! You’re curing disease, not making a fucking McChicken!”

Her voice had a terrifying echo throughout the empty room, and although Josh was paralyzed with fear, he now knew that Brynne’s rage was completely justified from what he heard.

“I’m gonna ask you again, because I hired you, and am therefore responsible if it turns out I hired someone completely incompetent. Now, why… in the hell… did you not have Dr. Fernandez check your work before you submitted it?” she prompted.

“I…” he paused, seemingly realizing how careless he sounded. “I thought it was good. So I just submitted it.”

“Unbelievable,” Brynne muttered, “That was careless, lazy, and above all, just arrogant. You cost us two months worth of testing, and thousands of dollars to restart the entire process, with one little careless mistake. You realize that, at a place like this, I can fire you for that?”

He was quiet for a moment, then responded.

“Yeah.”

“Now, I’m pissed, but you realize I could have you scrubbing the fucking toilets for Josh over there?!”

Josh gulped nervously, realizing he was now a part of the conversation.

“Josh. How would you like a day off, hmm?” Brynne asked, obviously a rhetorical question. “How would you like a nice day off, while Brennan here cleans up a whole building worth of shit?”

Josh just frowned awkwardly. “Uh… That sounds nice.”

“See, if I was an asshole like Dr. Camillo, you’d be scrubbing shit right now,” Brynne pointed out, “You’d be scrubbing shit for the rest of your career, and you’d still have to thank me, because working in Dr. Kronish’s lab is still a privilege. But I’m gonna be beyond fair, and have you personally run up to Dr. Kronish’s office and tell him why we can’t go public for another two months, if we’re lucky.”

“Alright,” he nodded, not having anything else to add.

Josh was suddenly pushed aside as Dr. Camillo barged into the room, fuming.

“Is this the jackass that fucked all the data to shit, and cost us another two months?!” he boomed.

“Stu… I swear to fucking God,” Brynne Johansson warned. “Get the fuck out!”

“I don’t work for you! I work for Dr. Kronish,” he argued.

“Oh yeah? Go and fucking tell Kronish you’re pissing me the fuck off right now, and see what he says!” she suggested. “Do it! I fucking dare you!”

Josh and Lucas Brennan were both equally terrified for their lives as they watched Dr. Camillo rush out of the room with his tail between his legs. Brynne turned back to her employee, about past her breaking point.

“Brennan. Go tell Dr. Kronish what happened, specifically your part in it, and then go work on restarting everything,” Brynne exhaled slowly. “If I hear you disregard anything you’re told again, you’re fired. If I talk to Dr. Kronish later today and he says you never told him the full story, you’re fired. Understood?”

“Yeah,” Brennan nodded quickly, “Understood.”

“Go,” she barked, not wanting him in her sight for any longer.

Josh quickly stepped aside for Brennan as he quickly rushed out of the room. He looked over at Brynne, who just stood in the middle of the empty room, one hand on her hip, and one hand squeezing her temples in an attempt to soothe her approaching stress migraine.

“Hey, Josh,” she sighed, sounding exhausted.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly.

“What’s up?” she asked him.

Suddenly, Josh no longer felt like asking her out on a date.

“Sorry, it’s nothing important, if this is a bad time, I can just leave you alone,” he offered.

“No, no, it’s fine,” she assured him. “Sorry. I didn’t want anyone else to have to see that.”

“It’s okay,” he promised her, “I get it.”

“You must think I’m an asshole,” she scoffed, a sad bitterness to her tone, “I felt like Dr. Camillo.”

“No,” Josh shook his head immediately, “Definitely not. I mean, you’re tough, and everything, but… You’re fair.”

Brynne just nodded appreciatively, genuinely comforted. “Thanks. I… I’m just pissed we have to start all over again.”

Josh realized that this was one of the first genuine conversations he’d ever had with her; no flirting, no banter, just talking.

“Yeah, who wouldn’t be?” Josh agreed sympathetically. “Weren’t you scheduled to go public with everything after New Year’s?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, frustrated by her current predicament, “We were. Now, everything has to be pushed back.”

“Jesus,” he murmured.

“Anyways. Enough of that for today. Did you wanna talk to me about something?” she wondered.

Josh gulped fearfully, having no idea how to segue.

“Uh…”

He only got more nervous as she looked at him, naturally expecting an answer.

“The Kronish Ball! On Friday!” Josh managed, realizing he wasn’t making any sense.

Brynne just nodded, not understanding the relevance. “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot about that.”

“You’re going, right?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “I’ll be there.”

“Great!” he laughed, horrified as he realized there was more to that sentence. “Did you, uh… have a date?” he croaked out.

She shook her head, and he nearly jumped for joy.

“No, I was just gonna come on my own.”

“Great!” he blurted out again, not knowing where to go from there. “…Me too!”

Josh cursed himself as he realized that was all he knew to say. She just stared at him blankly, equally unsure of how to continue the conversation.

“Cool.”

“Cool,” Josh forced a smile that was really more of an awkward grimace, slowly backing out of the room. “Cool…”

The word was about to lose its meaning. Frantic to say something, anything at all, he opened his mouth before his brain had actually planned out what to say to her.

“My balls…! Your court?!” he yelled out an invitation, alarming the both of them.

He was mortified as he realized what he’d actually said to this woman, a distinguished scientist with a PhD. She just blinked, completely dumbfounded by his words.

“…What exactly are you asking me, Futturman?” she questioned. “I’m not sure why, exactly, but should I be contacting HR?”

“No…! Sorry!” Josh laughed, close to tears, “I just… Uh…”

He quickly realized it would sound worse if he were to just stop there, so he figured he was forced to correct himself.

“I was just wondering… Since we were both planning on going alone…” he had no idea what she was thinking.

“Yeah?” Brynne prompted.

“I, uh… Did you, maybe, wanna… go to the party, together?” he slowly stumbled over the sentence. “As, like, a date?”

He was horrified as she paused for a moment, her beautiful features seeming completely blank.

“Yeah, Futturman,” she chuckled, lightly brushing back her coppery hair, “Yeah, I would.”

“Okay! Great!” Josh exclaimed, in awe of himself. “Cool!”

“Cool,” Brynne nodded.

She stood there, watching in amusement as he slowly backed out of the room before racing down the hallway to celebrate, silently screaming as he pumped his fists in the air

-

Part Six

[dr-futbol-blog]

Before I Sleep, Pt. 2

Sheppard and the team enter the Ancient laboratory that immediately springs to life the moment he walks in, recognizing him. This emphasizes the physical connection he has to the Ancients, and the tangible physical effect his body has on things on Atlantis.

Sheppard had told McKay to "Shut up for a moment" when Ford alerted him to something out of the ordinary, and while it's not precisely a command (but more of a confession that he's unable to concentrate fully on his surroundings when he's listening to McKay), McKay does stay quiet for a notably long time. For someone that experiences anxiety from 'not talking' (cf. Tao of Rodney, S03E14) and whose anxiety can only be increased by the sudden halt in their domestic conversation--not knowing what's going on and suspecting the worst given the previous experience he had down in the city in Hot Zone (S01E13)--he tries very much to be helpful by doing as he was told. But as soon as he hears a strange mechanical sound, he has to voice his agitation with "What-- what is it?"

In the lab, they find an elderly woman preserved in a state of metabolic stasis. They are joined by Weir, whereas McKay and Beckett seem to have joined them off-screen some time before this, discussion ensuing on what they should do with her. It's interesting that again we see the the entire scene with Weir whereas it's made clear by Sheppard's comment to McKay ("You said she was frozen") that he had said something before Weir's entrance that we never got to hear. Again there seem to be not insignificant chunks of dialogue that have happened between them that we, as the audience, are not privy to. It's not just interesting that this keeps happening. It's interesting that this is contrasted with it not happening between Weir and Sheppard. There's the text. And then there is definite subtext.

We get a reference back to the previous episode Sanctuary (S01E14) with McKay throwing shade Sheppard's way:

Beckett: She's so old I'm afraid the process of reviving her might actually kill her. McKay: We cannot let this chance to talk to a living, breathing Ancient slip through our fingers--again. Beckett: And who knows what state of mind she'll be in? Not to mention the fact that she might be carrying some horrifying contagion. McKay: And who knows what she knows about our city? More importantly, does she know about any ZPMs lying around? Sheppard: Ah, there's a thought.

He's still understandably salty about the whole affair and we never find out what, if anything, Sheppard told them about what happened on Proculus after he took on after her with the jumper. We do know how he described it in his mission report but that would likely be known by Weir only. And if this episode teaches us anything, it's that his mission report did nothing to change her view on there being some kind of monkey business going on between Sheppard and McKay.

But we are able to tell by their behaviour that Sheppard and McKay are on much better terms than we last saw them, and it's even possible that what ever melding took place between Sheppard and Chaya had some kind of a soul-purifying effect on him, easing the burden of his guilt--temporary though its effects may be. He still narrows his eyes at McKay, his expression once more difficult to read. A quick narrowing the eyes is thought to convey hurt, contempt, distaste, or anger - basically seeing something you would rather not see. The thing that he would rather not see here is McKay, of all people, openly mocking what was anything but an easy experience for him, albeit he is somewhat justified in doing so (and the physical, bodily words he uses to describe it, 'living, breathing', 'our fingers', might suggest that Sheppard had, in fact, told him everything). Especially due to the cold shoulder he had been giving McKay before they had even met her for reasons that he clearly did not understand at the time.

This is why he quickly shifts his eyes away from McKay while still squinting, looking contrite, as he's very much blaming himself for what took place. It's not even entirely clear whether he himself realizes that he was being mind-controlled during the ordeal, albeit the look he gave Chaya after she had caught them arguing in front of her door (and what he wrote in his mission report about himself having been at the receiving end of an attempted seduction) suggests that he did figure it out. At the very least, he feels as though he got played by an Ancient, and that despite all of his efforts, he had failed to provide safety for the people of this galaxy.

Not surprisingly, Sheppard sides with McKay on what should be done with her. Beckett objects but Weir makes the call based on McKay's recommendation as supported by Sheppard. McKay is talking very fast and sounds somewhat irritated, he even calls what he's doing with Beckett "arguing about it." Some of his irritation may be Sheppard related, and Sheppard knows this, but not all of it is.

McKay does not look at Sheppard as he exists the lab, and Sheppard doesn't turn to look at him as he goes. But it's not from not wanting to look, as the camera pans in a way that actually invites us to expect his gaze to follow McKay walking out and yet, he doesn't turn his head. The panning tells us that it's not because he's captivated by the sight of this would-be Ancient and can't look away, it's because by fixing his eyes on her he's fighting his natural inclination at this moment.

But McKay's comment also tells us that despite what he might have felt about Chaya and especially the hold she seemed to have on Sheppard, he does have a genuine desire to learn from and about the Ancients. It doesn't seem as though they've quite reached the "We'll laugh about it later" stage about it yet, and there's definite soreness there on both sides. While their discussion on the intercom was good-natured, it seems like they don't quite know how to be around the other here, especially with other people around. They are trying to find their footing around the other. But during this episode, we see them trying to get there.

And yet it isn't only McKay that's making Sheppard feel uneasy here. Looking at her, someone that has been alone for 10,000 years, has manifested to him both what he fears and what he thinks he deserves. When he met the 10,000 year-old wraith previously, he used the vastness of his loneliness in an attempt to hurt the thing because it's what most hurts himself. He can sympathize with the woman in stasis, just like he could sympathize with the wraith enough to turn it into a weapon against it. He doesn't confess to it out right, but we can hear an echo of this in his words:

Sheppard: The whole time we thought this city was abandoned. Teyla: Is it possible the Atlanteans left her behind when they abandoned the city for Earth? Sheppard: Maybe she wanted to stay behind.

Maybe she wanted to stay behind, he muses. The man who had chosen to fly helicopters in the most remote part of his world in a hope that shutting himself off where there are no people would keep him from getting too close to anyone to get hurt again. To get anyone hurt again. In a way he envies her. Though he has tried to escape into solitude, Sheppard does not yet know what it means to be truly alone. He does not yet know what it means to love someone so much that he would willingly choose inhumanly unbearable loneliness if it meant that this person could be happy for just one moment. One day, we will see him get to that point. But in this episode, we get to contrast where Sheppard and McKay are now with where they started, months ago. And it seems that the time they have spent around each other has changed them both.

Continued in Pt. 3

[fatehbaz]

It's a big mess of hubris; the manipulative use of scientific language to legitimate/validate the status quo; Victorian/Gilded Age notions of resource extraction; the "rightness" of "land improvement"; and the inevitability of empire.

This was published in the United States one year before the massacre at Wounded Knee.

This was the final year-ish of the so-called "Indian Wars" when the US was "completing" its colonization of western North America; at the beginning of the Gilded Age and the zenith of power for industrial/corporate monopolies; when Britain, France, and the US were pursuing ambitious mega-projects across the planet like giant canals and dams; just as the US was about to begin its imperial occupations in Central America and Pacific islands; during the height of the "Scramble for Africa" when European powers were carving up that continent; with the British Empire at the ultimate peak of its power, after the Crown had taken direct control of India; in the years leading up to mass labor organizing and the industrialization of war precipitating the mass death of the two world wars.

This was also the time when new academic disciplines were formally professionalized (geology; anthropology; archaeology; ecology).

Classic example of Victorian-era (and emerging modernist and twentieth-century) imperial hubris which implies justification for its social hierarchies built on resource extraction and dispossession by invoking both emerging technical engineering prowess (trains, telegraphs, electricity) and the in-vogue scientific theories widely popularized at the time (Lyell's work, dinosaurs, and the geology discipline granting new understanding of the grand scale of deep time; Darwin's work and ideas of biological evolution; birth of anthropology as an academic discipline promoting the idea of "natural" linear progression from "savagery" to imperial civilization; the technical "efficiency" of monoculture/plantations; emerging systems ecology and new ideas of biogeographical regions).

While also simultaneously doing the work to, by implication, absolve them of ethical complicity/responsibility for the cruelty of their institutions by naturalizing those institutions (excusing the violence of wealth disparities, poverty, crowded factory laboring conditions, mass imprisonment, copper mines, South Asian famine, the industrialization of war eventually manifesting in the Great War, etc.) by claiming that "commerce is a science"; "pursuit of profit is Natural"; "empire is inevitable".

This tendency to invoke science as justification for imperial hegemony, whether in Britain in the 1880s or the United States in the 1920s and such, might be a continuation of earlier European ventures from the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries which included the use of cartography, surveying/geography, Linnaean taxonomy, botany, and natural history to map colonies/botanical resources and build/justify plantations and commercial empires in the Portuguese slave ports, Dutch East Indies, or the Spanish Americas.

Some of the issues at play:

-- Commerce is "A Science". Commerce is shown to be both an ecological system (by illustrating it as if it were a landscape, which is kinda technically true) and a physiological system (by equating infrastructure/extraction networks with veins) suggesting wealth accumulation is Natural.

-- If commerce/capitalism are Natural, then evolutionary theory and linear histories suggest it is also Inevitable (it was not mass violence of a privileged few humans who spent centuries beating the Earth into submission to impose the Victorian/Gilded Age state of things, it was in fact simply a natural evolutionary progression). And if wealth accumulation is Natural, then it is only Right to pursue "land improvement".

-- US/European hubris. They can claim to perceive the planet in its apparent totality (as a globe, within the bounds of extraterrestrial space as if it were a laboratory or plantation). The planet and all its lifeforms are an extension of their body, implying a justified dominion.

-- However, their anxiety and suspicions about the stability of empire are belied by their fear of collapse and the simultaneous US/European obsession at the time with ancient civilizations, the "fall of Rome", classical ruins, etc. At this time, the professionalization of the field of archaeology had helped popularize images and stories of Sumer, Egypt, the Bronze Age, the Aegean, Rome, etc. And there was what Ann Stoler has called an "imperialist nostalgia" and a fascination with ancient ruins, as if Britain/US were heirs to the legacy of Athens and Rome. You can see elements of this in the turn of the century popularity of Theosophy/spiritualism, or the 1920s revival of "classical" fashions. This historicism also popularized a sort of "linear narrative" of history/empires, reinforced by simultaneous professionalization of anthropology, which insinuated that humans advance from a "primitive" state towards modernity's empires.

-- Meanwhile, from the first decades of the nineteenth century when Megalosaurus and Iguanodon helped to popularize fascination with dinosaurs, Georgian and later Victorian Britain became familiar with deep time and extinction, which probably contributed to British anxiety about extinction, imperial collapse, lastness, and death.

-- Simultaneously, the massive expansion of printed periodicals allowed for sensationalist narrativizing of science.

-- The masking of the cruelty in a euphemism like "land improvement". Like sentencing someone to a de facto slow death and deprivation in a prison but calling it a "sanatorium" or "reformatory". Or calling the mass amounts of poor, disabled, women, etc. underclasses of London "unfortunates". Whether it's Victorian Britain or early twentieth century United States: "Our empire is doing this for the betterment and advancement of all mankind."

-- If an ecosystem is conceived as a machine, "land improvement" actually means monoculture, high-density production, resource extraction, concentration.

-- The image depicts the body is itself is also a mere machine (dehumanization, etc.). And if human bodies are shown to be also systems, networks, machines like an ecosystem, then human bodies can also be concentrated for efficiency and productivity (literal concentration camps, prisons, factories, company towns, slums, dosshouses, etc.). This is the thinking that reduces humans and other creatures to objects, resources, to be concentrated and converted into wealth.

And so after the rise of railroads and coal-power and industrial factories in the earlier nineteenth century, the fin de siecle and Edwardian era then saw the expansion of domestic electricity, easier photography, telephones, radio, and automobiles. But you also witness the spread of mass imprisonment, warplanes, and machine guns, etc. And in the midst of this, the Victorian/Gilded Age also saw the rise of magazines, newspapers, mass media, pop-sci stuff, etc. So this wider array of published material, including visual stuff like maps and infographics could "win over" popular perception. This is nearly a century after the Haitian Revolution, so more and more people would have been able to witness and call out the contradictions and hypocrisies of these "civilized" nations, so scientific validation was important to empire's public image. (Think: 100 years prior, everyone witnessed widespread revolutions and slave rebellions, but now the European empires are still using indentured labor, expanding prisons, and growing even more powerful in Africa, etc. An outrage.)

Illustrations like this ...

It's people with power (or people with a vested interest in these institutions, people who aspire to climbing the social ladder, people who defend the status quo) looking around at the general state of things, observing all of the cruelty and precarity, and then using scientific discourses to concede and say "this was inevitable, this was natural" and not only that, but also "and this is good".

Related reading:

Peoples on Parade: Exhibitions, Empire, and Anthropology in Nineteenth-Century Britain (Sadiah Qureshi, 2011); The Earth on Show: Fossils and the Poetics of Popular Science, 1802-1856 (Ralph O’Connor); "Science in the Nursery: the popularisation of science in Britain and France, 1761-1901" (Laurence Talairach-Vielmas, 2011); Citizens and Rulers of the World: The American Child and the Cartographic Pedagogies of Empire (Mashid Mayar); "Viewing Plantations at the Intersection of Political Ecologies and Multiple Space-Times" (Irene Peano, Marta Macedo, and Collette Le Petitcrops); “Paradise Discourse, Imperialism, and Globalization: Exploiting Eden" (Sharae Deckard); "Forgotten Paths of Empire: Ecology, Disease, and Commerce in the Making of Liberia's Plantation Economy" (Gregg Mitman, 2017); Imperial Debris: On Ruins and Ruination (Ann Laura Stoler, 2013)

Fairy Tales, Natural History and Victorian Culture (Laurence Talairach-Vielmas, 2014); Mining the Borderlands: Industry, Capital, and the Emergence of Engineers in the Southwest Territories, 1855-1910 (Sarah E.M. Grossman, 2018); Pasteur’s Empire: Bacteriology and Politics in France, Its Colonies, and the World (Aro Velmet, 2022); "Shaping the beast: the nineteenth-century poetics of palaeontology" (Talairach-Vielmas, 2013); In the Museum of Man: Race, Anthropology, and Empire in France, 1850-1960 (Alice Conklin, 2013); Inscriptions of Nature: Geology and the Naturalization of Antiquity (Pratik Chakrabarti, 2020)

[yellowocaballero]

ORV Characters Ranked by Least to Most Likely to Commit White Collar Crime

You guys said you wanted my ORV takes, and I try not to say things unsolicited, so I'll drop the good meta-analysis and literary criticism that I'm known for. For comedy purposes please pretend that ORV is American.

Omniscent Reader's Viewpoint characters broken down by likelihood to commit white collar crime, least to most:

Lee Hyeonseong: he's convinced that he's never committed a crime in his life. Intentionally, of course not. Unintentionally, he takes shopping for groceries extremely seriously, and is sometimes so wrapped up in the fruit inspection experience that he'll leave without paying. Due to his innocent face, bulk, and sheer confidence, he's never caught. In an economically thrifty maneuver, KDJ always sends him on snack runs for parties and texts him math problems while he's there. He insists it's like couponing. It's not couponing.

Jeong Huiwon: similarly, of course she would never choose to commit a crime. Also similarly, when KDJ says, 'Hey, wanna commit a crime?' she always participates. Since the crime is normally targeted at rich people, KDJ can usually morally justify it to her. She calls this harm reduction. It's not harm reduction.

Lee Jihye: would love to commit a crime in theory, almost never in practice. She has an idealized image in her mind of the ideal high school experience and it involves grand theft auto. However, the worst she ever gets is breaking & entering and trespassing, mostly because she didn't stop to wonder if the building was abandoned or not. She can't even shoplift from Claire's.

Shin Yuseung: the kind of kid who sets the dissection frogs in the school laboratory free. Looks up illegal exotic animal trading on the deepweb and sighs in longing. But exotic pet trading isn't very Animal Rights of her, so she just leaks information to the CIA and busts the rings. Lee Gilyeong convinces her to track down shady sellers on Craigslist and bust their kneecaps. Neither of them view this as significantly different from the dissection frog liberation. KDJ gets her a rescued exotic cat for her birthday as a reward.

Lee Gilyeong: self-explanatory.

Han Suyeong: she's been pirating media since she was eleven and has never stopped. World-class expert in pirating everything. She's the unsung hero who rips the CDs and games and puts them online. Runs the pirating websites. Has never paid for a webnovel or manwha or manga in her life. Despite this, she insists that pirating books is immoral and that people should support small authors. The FBI knows she exists and has been trying to catch her for years. She brags about this constantly.

Yoo Sangah: has committed tax fraud before, will commit tax fraud tomorrow, is currently committing tax fraud. Embezzles her company's embezzlement. Insists that she's only committing victimless crimes, mainly because she doesn't view business executives as people. Her ability to evade the IRS is mythological and it's how KDJ got a crush on her.

Yoo Junghyeok: does not understand adult life well enough to knowingly commit any sort of white collar crime. He is this high on the list because he enables and helps KDJ in literally everything he does, especially using his clout as an influencer. This is because KDJ has convinced him that these things aren't crimes, and he doesn't understand adult life well enough to figure it out.

Kim Dokja: has done every white collar crime under the sun. I can't emphasize enough how much crime he does. He's currently blackmailing SYS's college tuition out of a US Senator. HSY makes the shell companies and launders so much money with him. Alternates between running a pyramid scheme and a ponzi scheme depending on the month. Started a cult that one time but we don't like to talk about that. Runs the betting ring for YJH's esports games. Fixes the games. YJH does not know he does this, but KDJ splits the profits and Yoo Mia also needs a college tuition so he decides not to think about it too hard. Big into crypto and runs every crypto scam you can possibly think of, which is normally where the the ponzi schemes come in. Steals YJH's identity often. Somehow everything he does is technically legal. The only crime he does not commit is pirating. Exclusively targets the wealthy and ultra-wealthy and has never stolen money from a poor person. Sugar daddies all of his friends and pays all college tuitions. Anonymously yet obviously sponsors huge amounts of money to YJH's Twitch streams, mostly in apology for the ID theft. Would really rather be living a quiet life in a big house with all of his friends, but that big house ain't gonna pay for itself.