#self dehumanization

[aroaceconfessions]

i think i dehumanize myself on purpose. ppl already expect me to be their manic pixie dream girl fantasy, so why not play into it? they want a love interest like the girls in movies, and i like the attention. all romance is a performance to me. i might as well play the role well.

i know that I am hurting some people very close to me by leading them on only to cut them off the minute it gets too real, and i know i am putting myself in danger too (i have had many men get aggressive to the point of escalation bc of my rejection) but coming out and actually having to face being alone is too much. i’d rather just let people touch me and flirt with me and fantasize about me than think of me as *just* some friend. maybe it’s internalized arophobia or misogyny or both but i love being wanted too much to ever give it up, even if being treated like a prop for romance disgusts me.

Submitted June 1, 2023

[sinceyousawvienna]

the body’s rejection of self

[kakusboyfriend]

Robot characters who are given names like SL-308-62 but instead of their human friend going Well let's call you Sally for short, they instead ask the other if they Like their current name.

"Do you like your serial number?" they ask. "Yes, quite. It reminds me of who I am" the robot replies. "I have heard others like me go by different names after some time, and maybe one day I'll choose one for myself, too. But right now that is my full name, yes" they continue.

Because it's not your decision to make whether or not the robot will receive a new name. It should be theirs only. What's the difference? One is more complex and the other is simplified. They were both given by strangers instead of themselves.

"62 will do," they conclude. "It's my model number - there will be no other 62 after me."

[fandomsoda]

…

[Heed the fucking tags, this is a severe expression of severe emotions, if you cannot handle these things please do not proceed for your own safety. Seriously. Please. Please do not hurt yourself by viewing this, especially not if you’re only reading for my own sake.]

@ myself

stupid fucking idiot can’t do anything right, no one wants to talk to you, you don’t deserve that, can’t get anything done on time, fucking idiot keeps being antisocial and expecting people to want to talk to them, just an attention seeking crybaby without the stability or decency to even be awake when everyone else is, can’t go back to sleep, can’t control its emotions, doesn’t deserve anything. Can’t even work on your own passion projects because you’re wrapped up in escapism. You wanted to do that birthday art, didn’t you? Really fucking bad, right? Didn’t even have an idea of what you were going to do yet. But you fucking couldn’t, you held it off and then fell asleep and now you can’t do it because it’s not that day anymore no matter how much you fucking want to do it and can’t even muster up the energy to do it before anyone notices because you’re too busy being a crybaby. And no matter what words of encouragement one gives you or tells you it’s ok to get things done late, it won’t help because your stupid little brain won’t let it be ok, it won’t let you do things if you fuck up. Stupid and useless fucking animal that lashes out at every hurt or inconvenience, everyone is fucking scared of you because you’re an idiot who doesn’t know how to communicate. No one finds you interesting, people don’t like to consider you, and they will all exclude you if they can. How dare you ask for accommodations that inconvenience your friends? They’re far better than you are, they shouldn’t have to change anything for a beast like you. Oh what’s that, you wanna go ask for a hug? From who? You know hugging your family won’t help, and none of your friends are people you can meet. Fucking loser couldn’t even make friends with people who live nearby. Probably because you’re holed up in your little house in the suburbs living a better life than most of the people around you and yet you are still just an ungrateful loser. You have it so much better than everyone else, why do you think your emotions matter? Save your tears for someone with real problems. You annoy and inconvenience others around you, everyone finds you annoying. You wanna play the game in your own way? What a fucking idiot, everyone is going to hate you for that, it doesn’t matter what you say, deviation from the norm is only for people who can do it right, which is basically everyone but you. Do you even have a personality behind all those interests? I bet you fucking don’t. Let’s see, aside from fandoms, you’re… a leftist? Ok but that’s not a personality trait. It can reflect a personality, but it’s not one. Let’s see- you care about people? That’s it? Nothing else that isn’t a negative trait I’ve already berated you for? Ok. Well how about you care about people in a way that doesn’t make you nitpick and freak out and ruin the vibe for everyone? I didn’t think caring too much was possible but damn you make it look easy. And you’re so fucking brain dead you forget what you say seconds after it’s out. And even after all these debilitating emotions you’re still gonna go out of your way to give all your energy to help someone else when you have nothing left to give and you refuse to give it to yourself? Damnit, you never learn. Constantly full of selfish desires yet so self-sacrificing for people who wouldn’t and shouldn’t do the same for you.

pathetic mutt of a human being.

[dantevhell]

AUTISM AND (THE CONSEQUENCES OF) DEHUMANIZATION

(1): Franz Kafka, "the metamorphosis" ; (2): Ruta Sepetys, "emilia - salt to the sea" ; (3): Susan Sontag, "as consciousness is harnessed to flesh" ; (4): Walton Ford, glepnir ; (5) Mitski, "cop car" ; (6): Franz Kafka, "letters to felice" ; (7): @soapstore ; (8): witch hat atelier, ch 43 ; (9): Olivia Laing, "the lonely city" ; (10): @fagromyzidae

[warning-heckboop]

Oh to be able to make the complex lore comic that lives in my head about the concept of fairies, anti-fairies, and pixies once being a civilization of one single species of fae that splintered both metaphorically and literally due to internal conflict

[hadesoftheladies]

"we need more men in--"

no. no we do not. we do not need more fathers, we do not need more men in healthcare, we do not need more men in universities, or boys in school or whatever

we do not need more men PERIOD

what we actually need is more women in all these fields getting paid their fucking dues

the less men there are, the less war, the less violence, the less terrorism, the less economic collapses, the more we have a chance at fixing these worldwide catastrophes and healing the earth (this has the entirety of human history's worth of documented and observable evidence)

women and girls are not only healing society but the earth; the fact that boys and men hate that school is no longer boy's club, the fact that they have made themselves useless if not destructive without their precious fabricated masculinity, the fact that they keep expecting a parade in their name for doing the barest of minimums isn't our problem, it isn't a human crisis, it is a crisis of the male identity

no one needs to resuscitate it; let it die a natural, deserved, overdue death

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Fly by Moonlight

CW: Vaguely fantasy, hunting, possessive whumper referenced, bullet wound, guns, blood, makeshift surgery, implied dehumanization, scarring

Chapter One

-

The sky above them was an explosion of stars. With her head tilted back until it tipped against the sleeping bag, providing her the barest protection from simple dirt, she could see the Milky Way itself, winding its ghostly way from one horizon to the other. It was funny, to think that she was a part of that winding, sinuous length of endless light. 

The people who think they came from stars, she thought, must have been people who thought highly of themselves. There was nothing more incredible than this, and it seemed impossible to understand how something as amazing as stardust could coalesce into the reality of wind rushing through leaves around their campsite, the simple beauty of her own heartbeat and blood.

Alongside the universes she could imagine above her, the moon hung heavy and full. Supermoon time, it was so much larger than usual, blocking some of the stars when Anaya tried to find them. 

The moon, she thought, felt like what it was - a piece of earth thrown into space by asteroid impact. Like a mother who loses the grip of her child’s hand, and all of history had been the story of their slow reconciliation. Or maybe of the child running, always staying just ahead of her mother’s reach.

Anaya Cross laced her fingers together behind her head, her heavy, dark hair providing as much softness as any pillow. Beside her, in another sleeping bag, her boyfriend Eden had long since fallen asleep. His heavy, soft breathing and the sight of his ash-blond hair falling over his forehead was another kind of peace. Eden only slept well in the wilderness, and Anaya never slept well at all. 

Even if she didn’t sleep much, here, she could rest by watching the stars. Her eyes traced a constellation, catching on the edge of the corona borealis and following its C-shaped swing from one end to the other. 

Then, she heard a sound.

It was a faded sort of boom, as if someone in the park had set off a huge firework, one of those big mortar kinds Anaya had been terrified of as a child and still avoided today. She frowned, shifting uneasily and pushing herself up a little onto her elbows.

At first all she heard was the wind, the soft whispering of the leaves.

Then it happened again.

Boom.

Anaya took in a quick breath and sat up fully, head tipped to one side. This time, the sound was followed by a high-pitched squeal, almost a scream, but totally inhuman. Anaya’s breath caught, and she scrambled to push herself out of the sleeping bag, leaning on her knees over to shake Eden’s shoulder. “Eden-... Eden! Wake up!”

Eden groaned, slapping ineffectually at her hand, before his eyes finally blinked slowly open. They looked fogged over, still half-asleep, but he moved to sit as Anaya popped up to standing. “Wh-... what’sit?” It was all one run-on sound, hardly language. “Naya? What’ss… what time’sit?”

“I don’t know,” She answered, shifting forward slowly. Between the stars and the moon, the night around them was nearly as bright as daylight, only with a cool, almost blue tint to everything around them. “I heard something. Like a-... like a gunshot. I think. From a really fucking big gun.”

“You heard-...” Eden’s brain was still struggling to come online. He raked a hand back through his hair, leaving it standing up in wild chunks all over his head, before he started wiggling his way out of his sleeping bag, too. He stood, scratching at his stomach underneath his ratty old t-shirt, gray sweatpants hanging low on narrow hips. “A gunshot? Here? But-”

“Protected reserve, I know. But I definitely heard it. Do you think…” She trailed off. All she heard now was the wind, rushing through the trees. Only-... was it only the wind? Or was there a discordant note, crashing of something desperate running for its life?

Boom.

This time she could see Eden heard it too, his eyes widening. The sound was closer, louder, more immediate. Anaya and Eden’s gazes met, and then without a word spoken the two of them half-ran, half-walked as one to the edge of the clearing and away from the obviousness of their campsite. Eden’s car was parked at the camp lot a three-hour hike away, and they were deep within a part of the reserve no one was supposed to go to. It had seemed romantic, when they came here and chose this space, carefully marking their trail to ensure they could make it back. It had seemed like a way to get away from it all and really find peace, let Eden get some real sleep.

Now, though, it seemed to hit Anaya all at once that coming out here - alone, with only her boyfriend, with no one really aware of where they’d gone other than ‘camping’ - had been monumentally, impossibly stupid.

Anaya crouched down behind a tree, keeping the campsite in view. Woods like these could get you lost within a few feet of where you’d been, the trees so close together that they hid you from your own trail unless it was well-marked. Eden moved to be just slightly in front of her, shielding her a little.

Not that it would matter against a gun that could make a sound like that.

“Poacher?” She whispered. 

“Probably,” He whispered back. Now the crashing seemed close, and Eden’s body was warm against hers even as both of them were shivering. “But what is there even to hunt here? You can find deer anywhere in this stupid state, you don’t need-”

The answer to his question came flying out of the woods in front of them.

A huge wolf that somehow still looked half-grown and spindly, with too-long legs and giant paws, flashed through their campsite in a reddish-gray gleam lit by moonlight. Until it tripped over Anaya’s cooler full of beer and went tumbling, high-pitched whimpers and whines filling the air. Anaya jerked forward when she realized the cooler now had a red smear along the white lid, but Eden grabbed her arm to pull her back out of sight. 

“It’s bleeding!” Anaya hissed. “That poacher shot it! We should go help!”

Eden’s grip only tightened. “It’s not a dog,” He hissed back. “It’ll just attack you. Not to mention the poacher will shoot you, too. Just stay here, Naya!”

The wolf stood on shaking legs, a low soft whine in its throat. The light of the moon seemed to turn the tips of its red fur to silver, reflected in its strangely human-looking eyes. Anaya blinked at the sight of scarring around its snout, like something had been wrapped there at some point until it dug in. It limped to the edge of the clearing, tumbling hard to one side before righting itself. Blood streamed from one back leg, clumping the fur and leaving a dark stain. 

The wolf’s tongue hung from its mouth and it panted heavily even as it tried to lick at the blood and the wound beneath it, ears pricked and moving constantly. Its tail was tucked between its legs. Its nose went to the ground, picking up the scents of Anaya and Eden probably, and Anaya shivered when it growled.

The low rumble was more frightening than the sound of the gun.

At least the gunshots hadn’t been about her.

After a long pause, the wolf’s growl ended. It did what Anaya could only call taking a deep breath to steady itself, and then limped heavily away, out of the clearing in the general direction of the main hiking trails where Anaya and Eden had started their hike out here. Its nose stayed low, and Anaya heard Eden let out a breath in a rush once it was out of sight.

“Uh… what do we do now-”

Anaya clapped her hand over Eden’s mouth, shushing him and yanking him further back around the tree trunk.

The man with the gun - and holy shit, Anaya didn’t even know they made guns that big - stepped into the clearing, taking in the sight of the destroyed campsite smeared with wolf blood with a baffled, incredulous expression. He wasn’t too much older than them, maybe in his thirties, but he had a hardness to his jaw that said whatever his age, the years had definitely sucked the life out of him.

“Well… shit.” The man huffed, moving forward and using the muzzle of his gun to nudge the blood-stained cooler, lifting up the sleeping bag Eden had been in only a few moments ago. He ran a hand back over his crew cut, looking around. “Hey! Is anyone here? Anyone hurt?” The sound of concern in his voice seemed real. 

But Anaya and Eden were alone, in the woods, in the middle of nowhere. And this guy had an enormous fucking gun. They stayed silent, in the dark.

“God damn it.” The poacher sighed, looking down at the sleeping bags. “Shit shit shit. If he killed somebody… that little shit. Fucking campers on our land. Bet he chased them off. I’ll have to call Bill and report it. He’s gonna kill me when he sees Rusty got out, let alone that he made a mess out of campers… if they find bodies on our land again, we are going to have the government up our fucking ass…”

He pulled out a compass and looked at it, then looked ahead, eyes scanning the ground. He must have seen some of the wolf’s blood on a leaf in some underbrush, because he moved forward confidently then. He went through the clearing, from one side to the other, and then was gone. 

Anaya and Eden waited until the sound of the man moving through the forest had faded into the distance, and then looked at each other. 

“... Did we go too far and end up on private land?” Anaya asked.

At the same time, Eden said, “Did he say ‘if they find bodies on our land again?’”

Both of them stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Then, as if they’d come to some agreement that didn’t need words, they moved out to the wreckage of the campsite. Anaya rolled up the sleeping bags while Eden checked on the small cooler, wiped the rest of the blood off of it with a shudder, and then shifted it back into the heavy pack he’d carried out here. Anaya felt the tension rising between them, until it was tight enough it might snap. Her heart pounded so hard it found its way up her throat, making her occasionally stop to catch her breath. The two of them pulled their socks on and then laced up their hiking boots after. Neither even bothered to dress in daytime clothing. Their sweatpants and t-shirts seemed like enough, for now. 

The hike back was silent and slow.

They put one foot carefully in front of the other, following the markings Anaya had left wrapped around trees in non-obvious places. She undid each and every colorful ribbon, packing them back away. Taking back everything they’d brought with them. No sign they’d ever been here at all, ideally.

She found herself wondering where the park ended and private land began. There’d been no signs, no warnings. Not any that they saw, anyway. Then again, it’s not like you could mark every square inch of a wild forest like this one.

Above them, the moon hung heavy. When its light cut through the canopy overhead, it made everything otherworldly and beautiful.

If only Anaya could appreciate it, and not take every quiet step sure she’d see the end of a gun between her eyes the moment she looked up.

At some point, they got close enough to the trail for cell phone signal to come back, and her phone buzzed with a handful of missed messages. Nothing that suggested anything big had happened while they were out of reach. She didn’t dare check it - not yet. Not until she felt sure that the light from her screen wouldn’t draw in either an injured, probably hostile wolf and a healthy, definitely hostile guy with a gun.

She kept cycling her thoughts back to the sight of the thing. Something had been off about it, but she didn’t know enough about guns to even begin to know what. Hell, she didn’t know enough about guns to even know if anything was actually off, or if she was just thinking of movie-guns and not understanding that the real thing was different.

Exhaustion dragged at the edges of her mind, even as adrenaline kept her so wired that she knew she couldn’t possibly have fallen asleep even if they simply laid down right here. Hours passed, Eden and Anaya saying little to each other. They heard the boom just once more, far enough away that they felt themselves finally able to relax.

Wherever the guy had tracked the injured wolf, it wasn’t in the direction they were going. 

Finally, they stumbled back out onto the trail. 

Anaya checked her phone, as surreptitiously as she could.

It was almost three in the morning, and they had another good two hours of hiking on the trail before they got to the parking lot. 

“I say we sleep in the car,” Eden said, voice heavy and husky. When Anaya glanced over at him, his half-lidded eyes reminded her of a sleepy kitten, and she found herself smiling, briefly overwhelmed with love for him. He frowned back at her. “What?”

“You’re cute,” She said. He shook his head and started walking again, but she caught the edge of his smile before he turned to hide it from her.

“Pretty sure the T was supposed to make me handsome, not cute,” He said over his shoulder as he started walking again.

Anaya had to stifle a laugh - talking might be okay, might be safe, but laughter carried further. Especially Anaya’s laughter, which had a tendency to be too loud, according to her mother. Too loud, attention-taking. Just like all her emotions. “Well, you’re definitely handsome,” Anaya said brightly, falling in behind him. “You’re just also cute. You were handsome before the T, too, by the way.”

He didn’t say anything, but his shoulders straightened a little, and she caught the edge of a flush to his cheeks.

Her feet ached by the time they had Eden’s car in view, the ancient Subaru with its huge trunk thanks to the removed backseat a white gleam in the pinkish light of early dawn. The moon was still visible, just now beginning to fade as sunlight overtook it, wiped it out. Each throb was in time with her pulse, and Anaya’s brain seemed to have become mush at some point.

They could sleep in the back of Eden’s car, if they made it to a safe parking lot or something in town. Maybe the diner where they had parked before they came up here, those people had seemed pretty cool about it. 

Eden came to a sudden stop, and Anaya walked into him so hard the two of them both stumbled, Eden with a huffed breath, an oof that any other day would have been funny. But now Anaya just groaned. It better not be the poacher having found them. She was too damn tired to deal with that, or even be scared of it anymore.

At least if he shoots me I can get some damn rest, she thought.

Out loud, she only mumbled, “What?”

Eden swallowed. Anaya could hear it. Something about that woke her back up all at once, sent brand new adrenaline flooding through her. Her head began to pound in time with her feet and her heart. Would anything not hurt by the end of today?

“There’s something under our car,” Eden said, voice hushed. 

Anaya stiffened. “The wolf?”

Eden took one step forward, and then another. He squinted. “... No. I think it’s… a person.”

“A what?”

Who would be out here? Thanks to flooding on the more well-known trails, this park had been more or less empty of tourists. It was one of the reasons Eden and Anaya had chosen this for their off-trail campsite. Eden moved slowly forward, and Anaya followed him. Once she got closer, though, she moved more quickly, dropping her bag next to the car and moving into a crouch.

The sound of her pack hitting the pavement made the boy curled up under the car flinch, his arms jerking to cover his head with his hands, knees nearly to his chin. Anaya caught a glimpse of reddish-brown hair through his fingers, a swath of pale skin marked with brown freckles at the shoulders, the tip of his nose.

“Hello?” Anaya whispered, reaching slowly out. Her fingertips just touched the boy when his eyes snapped open and he looked at her with wild, animal terror.

His eyes were the same color as the wolf’s. 

His hair was the same color as the wolf’s fur had been, reddish brown, maybe tipped with some gray.

His left leg had a wound blown right through it - bullet wound, Anaya thought a little wildly, I’m looking at the entrance and the exit’s at the back, he’s lucky it didn’t hit the artery there - and the blood was… everywhere.

The boy’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a useless snarl. His teeth were flat, human, except for maybe his incisors being a little too long, a little too sharp. He had scars marked across his face, around his neck, all over his arms. Some old, simply silk-soft skin marked in risen lines, some fresher, still bright red. A couple even looked like they’d been bleeding recently, too. He made a sound that Anaya only realized after a beat was an attempt to growl.

“... This is the wolf,” Anaya said, voice low. “Eden… Eden, this is the wolf.”

“What? No. That’s clearly a dude. The poacher must have seen him and shot him.”

“No, this is-... his eyes Eden-”

“That’s not a wolf, Naya. End of story. That is a dumbass teenager who did dumbass things. Somebody’s probably looking for him.”

Anaya thought of the poacher’s confusion, his angry concern. “... Yeah, somebody probably is.”

Eden dropped into a crouch beside her, casually pulling out the knife he always had on him, flicking it so the blade showed. “Naya, something’s wrong with this kid.”

The boy’s eyes went to the gleam of sharp metal and he whined, curling up tighter. Anaya frowned, looking at his leg. The blood. The wound. The way the boy’s skin was ash-pale under his freckles. The scars, half of them rough but the other half precise.

Knife-blade scars. She had some old ones herself, although hers had been self-inflicted.

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, felt it trembling under her touch. She could barely reach him, he was so far under the car. “Hey.” She gentled her voice as much as she could, rubbing lightly. Goosebumps rose where her fingertips went, but the trembling seemed to settle a little. “Hey, kid. You’re… you’re really hurt. We’re gonna call someone-”

The boy scrambled backwards away. “No!” His voice came out hoarse, as if he wasn’t used to speaking - or speaking with a human mouth, anyway. “No! Don’t! Don’t call!” He made it to the other side of the car, scrambling to his feet. Anaya went to chase him, but in the end she didn’t have to - as soon as he tried to put weight on his leg, he went down hard, scraping the palms of his hands on the pavement and letting out a pained cry.

Anaya swallowed. “Eden-”

“I’ll call 911-”

“No,” she whispered. “He’s scared of that. Let’s just… let’s just put him in the back of the car, yeah?”

Eden paused. “Naya, are you fucking out of your mind? Where are we gonna take him? He needs a hospital.”

“Or a vet clinic,” She muttered, ignoring the look Eden gave her at the dark joke. “No, let’s just. Okay, let’s just… we have our first aid kit. You know how to do stitches-”

“Stitches, sure, but I’m not exactly qualified to treat wounds like that.”

“Try. Let’s get him into the car. Hey, kid? Kid, hey.” Anaya went to the crumpled heap of teenager, grasping onto his arm. He shivered and tried weakly to pull away, but between the pain and the blood loss, he wasn’t exactly able to put up much of a fight. Eden opened the trunk of the car and threw in their packs while Anaya helped the boy to stand. She could hear Eden laying down the towels and sleeping bags, opening up the first aid kit.

That’s why she loved him. He might think she’d lost her mind on this, but he’d still follow her lead.

The injured boy gripped onto her once he was upright, his eyes dancing in terror from Eden to Anaya and back again.

“Don’t,” He whispered. “Don’t.”

“We’re just going to get you bandaged up and something to eat,” Anaya said, voice soothing, easing him into the trunk until he could lay down in there. “Then we can talk, okay? First off, we need to stop the bleeding.”

Those odd eyes stared at her, but he laid down on his side slowly. Anaya had been vaguely aware the boy was naked, but only now did it hit her that the boy didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care. 

“I’m Anaya,” She said, softly, taking his hand and holding it while Eden took a wet cloth and began to wipe away the blood to try and get a better look at the wound. “I’m Anaya Cross, and this is my boyfriend Eden Yarrow. We’re going to help you.”

“There’s no exit wound,” Eden muttered, looking at the backside of the boy’s thigh. “He needs a surgeon, Naya-”

“Well, good thing you trained to be one, huh?"

"Yeah, before I quit residency-"

"Eden, just... can you get the bullet out?”

Eden exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Probably. It's a pretty clean wound. I definitely shouldn’t, but…”

“Well, try.” She turned back to the boy, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles, back and forth, back and forth. The kid stared at her like she’d grown a second head, but he didn’t pull his hand back. He just… watched her, with those strange canine eyes. “Hey. We’re gonna get the bullet out of you, and then we’ll help you get somewhere with people.”

“No,” He said again. His eyes moved from one to the other. “No… people.”

Eden’s eyes closed. He muttered something under his breath that Anaya didn’t quite hear. Then he moved to dig around in the first aid kit again. 

“Okay. Well, we’ll figure that bit out as we go, then. Can you tell us your name?”

She thought of the poacher mentioning Rusty.

The boy was quiet for a long, drawn-out silence broken only by a hiss when Eden used a sanitizing wipe on the wound, cleaning it out again as best he could. Finally, almost under his breath, he whispered, “Misae.”

“Missy?” Eden said, nose wrinkling. “Your name is Missy?”

The boy’s odd eyes narrowed. “Misae,” He repeated, a little louder. Mih-say-eh. Some of the gravelly hoarseness was leaving his voice, the more he spoke. Anaya wondered if he didn’t speak often. 

“That man with the gun called you Rusty, I think,” Anaya said, keeping her own voice gentle.

“... their name for me.” Misae hissed through his teeth, lips pulled back in a snarl again as Eden began to probe into the wound, eyes closing tightly. Tears leaked fro the corners of his eyes. Anaya gave him both her hands and he gripped on tight enough to hurt, making a sound that was clearly meant to be a canine whine. “Not… my name.”

“But Misae is your name.”

“Y… Yes.” His head lowered until the top of it, the shaggy reddish hair, pressed against her. He kept pushing against her, until she twisted one hand free and laid it there, scratching her fingers against his scalp. His whining softened, then. It was all so terribly… doglike.

No.

Wolf.

Anaya tried not to look as his leg twitched and oozed blood even as Eden carefully worked one of the tools he kept on hand into the wound, searching for the bullet. Misae didn’t answer at first. She leaned over, hoping her voice could carry through the pain. “It’s okay, honey. You’re going to be okay.”

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Misae groaned, finally laying his head directly in her lap. She could feel his tears soaking into her sweatpants, the hitching of his breath as he fought not to sob. His voice was a whisper she barely heard, twisted around his pained, frightened whimpers.

“Th-thank… thank you…”

“Found it!” Eden shouted, triumphant. He might have been reluctant to do this, but there was a reason he’d worked so hard to fill his first aid kit with anything you might need to stay alive in the wilderness when medical care was too far to get to in time. There was a reason he’d trained as a surgeon. He was good at this, he always had been. He wiggled the little tool, making Misae cry harder, but then something bloody and shimmering beneath the red came out, and Eden dropped it on a towel beside Misae. “Intact, even. Nice.”

Eden was focused on getting the wound closed up and stitches sewn. Anaya though, watched blood slide along the surface of the bullet, too big, a terrifying size. The gleam of the metal, though, along with the strange runes carved into it, made her eyebrows furrow. “... Eden.”

“Mmmn?” He dipped the needle, pulled it through skin. Anaya knew if she looked she’d faint dead away, so she kept her eyes on the bullet. On the shine. 

“That’s… that hunter shot him with silver.”

Eden stilled and looked up, his eyes catching on the bullet, too. Then shifting over to Misae, who was shaking like a leaf, eyes open now, wide and almost sightless. In shock, Anaya thought, not that she knew for sure or even really understood what being in shock meant. But it reminded her of people going into shock in the movies, on television. Eden’s eyes moved to meet Anaya’s.

“Once I finish stitching him up,” He said, voice low and calm, “We drive this car as far away from here as we can get before we stop.”

“We’re taking him with us.” 

“... Naya-”

Anaya’s jaw set and she raised her chin. “We’re taking Misae.”

Eden looked down at the boy, who didn’t seem to hear or even see the two of them any longer. Then he huffed and went back to what he was doing, sewing slow, careful, precise stitches even as he had to continually wipe away blood, too. “Fine. We go as far as we can with him, and then we… think about what we do next. Figure out how to call his family or something.”

“Fair.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They paused, and smiled at each other.

Then Misae whimpered, and Anaya realized she’d stopped scratching his head. She started up again, and felt some of his shaking settle once more. “Do you have family?” Anaya asked, trying to distract him as Eden finished up. “Someone looking for you?”

Misae was silent for so long that she thought maybe he hadn’t heard her.

Then he answered, voice low, “No family. Not… anymore."

"Did you run away from them?"

"No.” Misae's body shuddered, and Anaya found herself rubbing her thumb in little circles just behind one ear. "No."

"Then-"

"Dead. Everyone... is dead. But me."

-

[spider-man-2o99]

hits the disinformation machine with a bat a big bat a big heavy lead-core thick wood bat kablam whack whack whack whack whack. miguel ohara does not have "spider instincts," he has never in even one piece of official material ever had nor experienced the phenomenon that fandom colloquially refers to as "spider instincts," okay, that concept is entirely and 100% a fandom-born headcanon that people created post-ATSV as an excuse to write the guy as a stupid Feral Brown Beast-Man caricature . lord have mercy. it takes. two seconds of research 2 not perpetuate racist malarkey. do better

[paingoes]

Rubies - Trial II

hiiii. i have such a headache omg. help meeeee

(Content: living weapon whumpee, past child abuse, conditioning, dehumanization, electrocution, physical abuse, verbal abuse, bruises, broken bones, institutionalized child abuse, institutionalized slavery, (internalized) victim blaming, self hatred, retraumatization, whump aftermath)

He had still felt the chill of the ocean when they had first brought him back to base. They’d had to recast his arm for the final time. They’d spotted the broken ribs that had barely had time to heal, not helped at all with the impact he’d made into the water. The fever dreams crept all around the corners of his eyes. 

After Levon had left, the nurses had made a request of him.

He did not have to stand for it, luckily. He sat up on the bed and let them undo the jacket, folding it back against his waist to reveal his bare torso.

He was so covered in bruises then that it almost looked natural on him.

The marks themselves were not the shape of anything in nature, though. Not unless you counted the handprints. Instead, they showed the imprints of rulers and rings. Whip marks. Chains.

They really tried to be respectful as they aimed the camera at him.

~

Two and a half months later, in the new and sterile room, all the bruises had faded. It was the longest he’d ever gone without them. There was still a tenderness in his ribs, but it felt more like a phantom pain than anything real. The cast had finally come off of his wrist — and he appreciated the new dexterity it afforded him. 

He sat on the white floor and watched Kitty hesitate for a long while with her rook.

He was not allowed outside of his room, but he could have her inside of it. He’d had Apollo there too, but from what he understood, the medic had immediately been thrown back into clinical rotations. Kitty’s role in IT afforded her much more free time. She’d spent most of her absence working too, so there was no real change in their schedule.

She put the rook down indecisively, but seemed to tire of the game. She glanced back at the door, furrowing her eyebrows at the lock placed upon it. She folded her fingers up beneath her chin.

“This whole thing is a waste of time.”

The anger in her voice caught him off guard.

“I’m sorry,” he said, drawing his hand closer into his lap. 

She looked up in surprise, a bit of guilt seeping into her expression. 

“I’m not mad at you,” she clarified, “You didn’t do anything wrong. That’s the thing. Levon knows you’re innocent. You shouldn’t have to go through all this.”

He didn’t really feel like he had been through anything, but he didn’t argue with her. He processed the words slowly, trying to work around the irritation in them. It still made him antsy.

“Hey,” she spoke gently, trying to draw his attention back, “I’m not mad at you. You’re not in trouble.”

“Okay,” he conceded, “Sorry.”

He moved his bishop to put her in check. She sacrificed the knight in the king’s stead. Before he could capture it, a voice sounded through the buzzer, directly on the other side of the door.

“Maryam Pike. Can I come in?” It crackled through the static.

Kitty gave Delta a concerned look. He blinked, unsure what she was waiting for. 

“Do you want her to? You don’t have to let her into your space,” Kitty said.

He shrugged. She was just doing her job. There was nothing he could really do to avoid questioning, anyway.

Kitty stood up from her spot on the floor, stalking over to the entryway. She opened it up.

“Does it have to be here?” She asked Maryam, “It’s his room.”

The older woman shrugged just the same.

“His choice. I have the office too, if you want to take the hike.” She glanced over Kitty’s shoulder, addressing Delta. “You want to get out for a little bit?”

He did, actually.

~

They were back around the table. Apollo was absent this time, but everyone from the council was still in attendance. Levon leaned against the back wall casually, sorting through the folder he’d been given. His expression was unreadable.

They knew how impossible it was to get Delta to speak in front of people. He had his gaze all the way down even as he sat at the table. It was too difficult to try and have him give testimony. They’d had to resort to other ways.

Maryam slid the cassette player into the center of the table. She looked at Delta, giving him a final chance to amend it. He had nothing to add.

He still cringed to hear his own voice play over the tape.

[

Q: What is your earliest memory?

A: …I was playing with a baby pool, filled up with all these little fish. The staff were asking me if I could move them around, but without using my hands. It took hours, but eventually I could focus enough to push them around just by thinking about it. I made them swim upside down. 

Q: Where did this take place?

A: One of the lower levels of the Institute. It was one of their wet labs.

Q: What were your parents like?

A: I never knew my parents, ma’am.

Q: How did you feel about other children your age?

A: …Indifferent.

Q: What is the primary emotion you associate with your childhood?

A: …I don’t know, ma’am.

Q: What were the rules at the institute you grew up in?

A: No running. No fighting. No talking back. Be respectful when addressing a superior. Wait for explicit permission before using your powers. Take your medicine as prescribed.

Q: When you were a child, did you ever make any attempt to escape or to disobey your handlers?

A: Never to escape. And I never, um. Never intentionally disobeyed. But by accident sometimes, yeah.

Q: By accident? What did you do?

A: …I was getting fussy one day after drills. There are these kind of growing pains you get if you move up a new level — and I was getting them really badly that day, and I guess I was lashing out too much. I wasn’t really listening.

Q: And what happened?

A: Got some warning shocks. When that didn’t work, they. Um. Increased the voltage until I was ready to listen. 

Q: To clarify, are you saying they electrocuted you?

A: Yes, ma’am.

Q: Did this happen with any frequency?

A: Not to me.

Q: Not to you? What does that mean?

A: Not to me, ma’am. It happened to the other students a lot more. I didn’t need as much correction, ma’am.

Q: And you witnessed this “correction” personally?

A: Yes, ma’am.

Q: How frequently did this happen?

A: In the first years, it was multiple times a day. It didn’t happen as often later on. A lot of the problem students had already been eliminated from the program at that point.

Q: I see. And you never once attempted escape?

A: No, ma’am.

Q: Why not?

A: 

Q: What was that?

A: I didn’t have anywhere else to go.

]

The tape clicked off. Delta folded his hands in his lap.

“We also have testimony from other alumni of the Beldam Institute,” Maryam declared, though Delta disagreed. You couldn’t be an alumnus if you didn’t actually graduate. She’d gotten testimony from the drop-outs. It’d been edited into a neat and digestible format, though to him it seemed a bit hokey.

Levon pulled it up onto the projector, his expression still unreadable.

The woman in the video was in her mid-20s, which meant she hadn’t been there from inception, and that she hadn’t stayed long. She said as much in the video. She was a kind of lightworker - lasers, burns, flash bombs. She’d been transferred to the Institute out of foster care.

“-would’ve been unethical to have adults working those hours. 16 hour days — and there were younger kids there than I was, ones that needed like ten hours of sleep, and they never got it. I don’t think I had a single moment of free time while I was there. The amount of-“

“-and of course they hit the kids. Where I went, at every house I’d been to, they hit the kids. That was nothing new to me. But they had the kids hurting each other. And these were untrained psychics who were still learning to use their powers, they didn’t know their own strength. And they were learning to use it on whoever was lower in the hierarchy than they were. Some of them would get messed up bad. One time-“

“-said pack your shit, get out. I didn’t have any more value to them anymore. I had been fucking gifted. And they just burnt me out like I was nothing. Glad they did, though. The only way kids ever left that school was burnt out or in a body bag. I still haven’t-“

There was no footage of the Institute. No cameras had been allowed inside except by licensed professionals. What they did have were the scans of the old photo books. Delta recognized the backgrounds so clearly, even though it’d been years since he had stepped inside. He felt only some dull recognition for the children in the photos — there’d been too many to keep track of. He’d never cared for them much anyway.

He felt the air in the room stiffen as the pictures got progressively gorier. Training accidents. Wrong dosages. The stripes they’d whipped into the backs of the worst kids. He wondered how much of his survival had been pure luck. He hadn’t known just how mismanaged it’d been at the time. Though he did have inklings.

“It’s clear the defendant was raised in an environment in which his every move was controlled under threat of severe physical punishment or death. His surroundings instilled a sense of learned helplessness within him. From an earlier age, he has been made to feel he has no option but to obey. Due to that conditioning, we can reasonably say that any exhibit of his powers has been under duress. It’s absurd that he should be held legally or morally responsible for his actions.” Maryam had a practiced cadence, especially on such short notice. She looked at nobody and nothing in particular when she did it. Levon watched her like a hawk.

She took a deep breath.

“There’s evidence this coercion continued beyond Beldam Institute.”

She switched between files on the computer. A new screen filled the projector.

“Hold,” Levon held a hand up, “Delta, you don’t have to be here for this. You can take recess.”

She couldn’t get him to talk about Paris. It’d been a no-go. His chest tightened up whenever he tried. The questions made him dizzy.

She had other ways, though. She was surprised she’d managed to dig them up. There’d been so few photos or videos of Paris anywhere. By now, the videos of his time on-the-run far outnumbered any from his reign. He couldn’t imagine how much effort it must have taken her to find this one.

He shook his head. He didn’t see any reason to, did not want any reputation for sensitivity. Keyglades didn’t even stand out as one of the bad ones, anyway. 

“I’m okay, sir,” he said softly.

The video began to play.

It had sound.

Paris’s voice cut through the white noise. It was distant, grainy with analog. Still, Delta felt his ears perk up, immediately rapt. Unable to pry his attention away even if he had tried.

He could pick up on the irritation from the first syllable. The tape showed surveillance footage  a hallway within Keyglades’ city hall. It led away from the main conference area and twisted up into the further reaches of the government building. Delta had been pretty sure at the time it was restricted territory, that they shouldn’t have even went that far.

Paris’s speech had risen to the rapid-fire pace it always took when he was pissed. Delta swore he worked himself up just for sport sometimes. Paris didn’t want a solution, he just wanted to be mad. He should’ve known better than to interrupt.

On the tape, Delta’s voice was low enough that the exact words were indistinct. But the sound of the ringed hand coming down hard against his face had been picked up in crisp resolution.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?!”

It had caught him off-guard. It seemed to catch the others in the room off-guard now, some of them visibly flinching at the abruptness. In the tape, he had reeled, though he did not have long to do so. Paris’s hand caught on the loose fabric of his shirt collar and slammed him into the wall. His grip moved upwards, onto his neck. Tight and uncomfortable, but not actually choking. Just meant to hold him there. Make sure he couldn’t avoid it.

“It’s not about the fucking tax, it’s about the principle. That’s all it ever is with these people. Can you stop acting like you know better than me? There’s a reason nobody fucking asks you. Who the fuck even gave you permission to speak?”

Delta frowned, looking down as if he was getting scolded in that same instant. It had the same effect. He tucked his legs further beneath the chair, shielding them. In the tape, Paris pushed him to the floor — not a hard thing to do — and stomped down on his wrist. It was too mild for him to really consider a beating, but some blood had dripped from his mouth while he was on the floor, which is probably why she’d chosen it.

Maryam cleared her throat.

“Would you say there was anything exceptional about this event?” 

It took him too long to realize the question was directed at him. He knew they were all looking at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up from the floor.

“No, ma’am.” His hands balled up in his lap.

“And was this an atypical occurrence?”

“No, ma’am.”

“How often would you say you experienced this level of violence?”

That level, specifically? That much was hard to quantify. It depended on how quickly operations were moving, how much the plan was working, how badly he’d fucked up. He’d like to say he had a good track record when it came to his powers. He aimed to please. The worst of it came when he didn’t. He would have answered monthly if he’d been asked how frequently he was actually beaten. Those were the standout ones, the ones that left him sore for days afterward, the ones he most thought of as deserved. Well, justified. He deserved all of it.

But the tape hadn’t shown a severe beating. That kind of pettiness came much more frequently. Weekly, he guessed. Biweekly if things were going well. The other kind of biweekly if things were going poorly. If he counted the smaller things — the shoving, the hair-pulling, the grabbing — he would have said almost daily. But he didn’t count those.

“Weekly, ma’am.” He didn’t let his uncertainty show in his voice. He couldn’t pose it as a question; it wasn’t something they could answer. Weekly was a good enough approximation.

He saw Kitty’s eyes narrow dangerously. Her claws carved lines into the woods of the chair from gripping it so hard.

“This caused significant injury, as evidenced by the condition he was in when he first came to Galatea.”

The screen clicked abruptly to the photographs the nurse has taken just before she’d cast his arm. There were several of them, taken from different perspectives. The broken angle his wrist was held at. The thick, dark bruise against his ribs where they’d been kicked in. There was a whole litany of other bruises along his arms and neck. Handprints, implements. Nobody could argue they were obtained in combat. None of the photographs showed his face.

It was his first time seeing the full mosaic. He’d avoided the mirror whenever he could while it was happening. He remembered how badly he did not want Simon to see them, to have the proof of his failures be written out so clearly on his body. It felt a million times worse for Levon to see him like that. He wanted to apologize. He’d promise to do better, if he was allowed to. His lip bled from how hard he was biting into it.

The bruises were bad. Each of his separate ideologies burned in his brain, building and fighting each other. He’d failed. He’d earned it. Paris was fucking crazy. He’d never be able to please him. He’d deserved it. He was supposed to be better than this. He deserved worse.

Kitty’s hand brushed against his. He flinched, but forced himself not to withdraw it. Too well trained to pull away. She seemed to pick up on this as she drew her own hand back.

“Where are you?” she whispered. He couldn’t answer.

When he looked up again, Levon was staring straight at him, not at the bruises on the screen. As soon as they made eye contact, Levon looked inconspicuously to his watch.

“Think we’re gonna call it for today,” he announced. 

~

He’d expected to return straight back to his room afterwards, but nobody escorted him. Kitty led him through the airy hallways instead. This section of the building was made mostly of glass and white tile. 

“I swear this is their best kept secret,” she said as she pushed open the outer doors.

They entered into the bio-pond. The algae green ambiance contrasted sharply with the tidiness of Galatea’s interior. Despite her claim, a few other people drifted around the edges, absorbed in their own work. They didn’t pay the pair of them any mind.

It was the first time he had stepped outside all week. The damp air was suddenly much easier for him to breathe. She sat him down by the edge of the pond. A row of turtles sat on a log in the center of the water. The grass was soft, slightly damp. It felt cool against his palms.

Kitty leaned forward over the water, pointing out the fish that lived inside of it. He saw her claws poke out like she wanted to snatch them straight from the water, but she held herself back. 

He didn’t speak. Subconsciously, he tried to shield his arms, covering up the bruises from her sight. Of course, they weren’t there anymore. And when they had been, she’d seen them already. 

He didn’t know how long they stayed there, but he saw the sky slowly fading to purple by the end of it. The mosquitos were starting to bite. 

“Why don’t you hit me?” He’d asked when he finally had to return to his room. She went in with him, just for a little while, until she had to go back to her own. His head had drooped a little when he asked in, in its exhausted state.

“Whyyy would I hit you?” She asked instead, hooking one finger around his. This time, he didn’t flinch, felt no urge to withdraw it.

Because he was difficult, more needy than he’d been in years. Because he was evil, because he deserved it. Because she could. Because everyone else always had.

He shrugged.

“Never,” she promised. She brought his hand up to her lips, kissing it gently. 

His chest ached.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @dietofwormsofficial @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

[the-sage-libriomancer]

Shigure's relationship with Kyo drives me crazy. he doesn't hate Kyo in the slightest - in fact, he pities Kyo, and not in the condescending "oh you poor little boy, cursed to be a horrible, disgusting monster" sort of way that everyone else does. Shigure pities Kyo for the reason he should be pitied: he's just a kid caught up in a system so inhumane it can't possibly be survived without some seriously unhealthy coping mechanisms.

and it drives me crazy because - listen, Shigure is the only zodiac member who's emotionally aware enough to see the other zodiac members as exactly what they are. he knows Yuki is a severely traumatized kid who projects all of his self-hatred on a single convenient target. he knows Akito is really a scared little girl with a raging god complex (literally) and no concept of a healthy relationship. and he knows Kyo is a regular-ass human being who doesn't deserve to be locked up for the rest of his life just because some arbitrary system says so. he KNOWS it's stupid. he KNOWS it's ridiculous and unfair. and he has to share a house with Kyo knowing that Kyo is living with a sword over his head, hating himself and hating others in perfect tandem because he has no other way of coping with the insane amounts of negativity he's had to deal with his entire life.

but the thing about Shigure is that he KNOWS all of this, and the same time he doesn't really CARE. he feels sorry for Kyo, but an apathetic sort of pity, a disinterested "this is how it is. such a shame." sort of pity. in some ways he's worse than the other zodiacs because he DOES see Kyo as a person, someone he likes being around even, but he still considers Kyo below his attention because all his focus is on Akito and breaking the curse. and sure, once the curse is broken Kyo will theoretically be set free with the rest of them, but that's more of a coincidental side effect than anything. despite being in a much more dangerous and precarious mental space AND comfortably in Shigure's reach, Kyo is about as much a priority for Shigure as Ritsu or Momiji.

and it drives me CRAZY because i think Shigure does start actively caring about Kyo as the series goes on, but it's hard to tell when that happens and to what extent. when Kazuma told Shigure he planned to reveal Kyo's true form and Shigure said he was going too far - whose sake was it for? was Shigure trying to protect Kyo, who would be hideously traumatized/emotionally scarred by such a cruel betrayal? was he trying to protect Kyo and Tohru's relationship, which was still formulating and might, under such severe testing, ultimately end up damaged beyond repair? was he only trying to protect Tohru, who wasn't ready to be burdened by such a horrible aspect of the curse so soon, or perhaps simply didn't deserve it? or was it all for the sake of himself, trying to protect his still-forming plans of using Tohru's positive effect on the Sohmas to break the curse?

Shigure cares about Kyo, but they're not close and Kyo clearly isn't a priority. he treats Kyo like a person - offering him genuine advice, teasing him like he teases anyone else, even speaking up on his behalf once or twice - and yet he's too entrenched in the long game to spare much active interest in Kyo. for a very long time, he doesn't care about Kyo the way he cares about Yuki or Tohru, and it's never made clear when exactly that changed. and the thing that gets me about this whole situation is that right from the start, Shigure is in a position where he can meet Kyo at his level - as equals, just one human being to another - but he doesn't, because Shigure is a chessmaster, Shigure is someone who observes and calculates, Shigure never steps in unless one of his chess pieces makes a wrong move and he absolutely has to.

it drives me crazy. Shigure drives me crazy. this series drives me so so crazy.

[lonestarss]

WAILS SO FUCKING LOUDLY BTW.

[backatitagainatichirakus]

To me their dynamic is like this:

Tobirama: i'm a weapon

Izuna: i'm spare parts

*both nod in understanding*

Hashirama & Madara: ༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽

[gay-jewish-bucky]

rent firing gunshot of the week: i believe in a peaceful two-state solution to the israel/palestine conflict and believe both people have the right to live with self-determination and statehood in their shared homeland (both groups descend from the Canaanites) free from the conflict and the long simmering hatred between both groups that has been fueling it since before the exile, i'm fighting hard for a ceasefire/hostage release/and a genuine peace process, we cannot go back to the status quo

[robin-with-a-pen]

I love writing about Chilchuck and his family, I hate writing about his wife

Why has Ryoko Kui cursed us like this? Why must I name this poor woman myself????

[artheresy]

The legacy of a craftsman

The amount of space that Blade and Yingxing takes up in my brain is feeling increasingly concerning. I can't stop thinking about them...

Like now that it's finally not just a leak, has anyone else read Baiheng's Travelogues about the Xianzhou Zhuming? Featuring Baby Yingxing??

Literally the second one devastates me emotionally I can't even explain it. Yingxing being so discouraged by the masters on the Zhuming who are long life species degrading him to the point he, a child, talks about how he'll probably never live to see his parents be avenged after what the Borisin did???

THAT HURTS

And God I can't even,

GOD if I could properly put into words the fact that Yingxing is a craftsman being so important to his character and identity and how Hoyoverse making a point to specify the injuries that occurred to his hands in whatever gray transition period happened between Yingxing and Blade that made him unable to craft weapons again is such a tragic visual to completely severe the two identities, that is ALL you would hear from me ever.

Because see the thing about Yingxing being a craftsman is that all stems from a goal in his past. As a child his home planet was taken over and turned into a weapons nursery, his parents were slaughtered, it became his goal as a child to create technology and weapons for the Cloud Knights to fight terrifying monsters like the Borisin. And that goal ended up defining the rest of his life, going on to become the Legendary Furnace Master on the Xianzhoh Luofu. That ended up becoming part of his legacy with the HCQ. It's clear how heavily important that part of his identity is defining not just his time in the HCQ but his time on the Zhuming, and everything that occurred to him as a child to lead him to that exact goal. His whole past.

And for Hoyoverse to specify how Blade's hands have been hurt to the point of no longer being dexterous, to the point of no longer being able to forge a weapon ever again, as those injuries cannot be healed by whatever Abundance shit he has going on since they likely happened before he became immortal(?). It just... it is devastating. It's something used as a way to severely separate the two of them so people realize they are two different identities on top of Blade already making it clear he sees Yingxing as dead. The way that they went about his hands... it's not merely that he relinquished that identity, which would be him no longer making weapons out of choice. It is that he can't connect to that identity anymore, the change he went through was far too severe. Thus he cannot make weapons anymore, he has been stripped of any ability to.

I'll make like a better post explaining this later, but I believe the use of Yingxing status as a craftsman and Blade's inability after he was revived TO craft anything is fundamentally used as a tie to the separate of identity between them and it's so well used and so tragically used.

Because again, it is not that he lost Yingxing's passion for it or decided on a different path. It is a wall that separates him from being able to do what Yingxing did in the past just as he is unable to connect to the identity his body held before death.