#without dehumanizing or depersonalizing

[silviakundera]

Underrated aspect of A Journey to Love is how the ensemble's perspective is being widened & complicated by their experiences. Intro talks about a war that just ended between An and Wu. An are assholes, going around kicking everyone's ass for $$

First the spy squad from Wu country just want to complete 1 stupid doomed mission, in order to clear their sworn brothers' names who fell in the final battle. No real agenda or deep thoughts besides this personal obligation and Employee Following Orders. Avengers assemble! Our FL Ren Ruyi is on the run and was a Scarlet Guard spy member from enemy country An who are holding the Wu emperor hostage... but the Wu spy chief ML does only a spot of mild torture and basically tolerates this secret because (a) he's determined to retire and (b) she is retired (c) her identity doesn't match any know big enemy of his spy org and the state. But he doesn't want her around.

... record scratch: He compromises. Ok. I do want her around. I won't get attached but ok, she's helpful. I'll even trust her to mentor the princess as we travel to rescue the Wu emperor.

She is only a tutor, though! Won't get her involved in his country's buisness.

Yet then she joins a battle and risks her life to save a bunch of theirs. Ok, ML widens his POV again. She can be their partner!

Everyone loves the mysterious friendly & feral assassin.

Then the squad finds out her identity and tries to kill her. His defense of her inclusion in the group has expanded: (a) her identity doesn't match any known enemy of his spy org and the Wu state, (b) she saved our lives, and crucially (c) she Isn't Born in An Country [isn't truly An] + (d) she was working at the command of her superiors just like we do, a cog in the war machine, and also only killed shitty members of our spy org we don't like

Ok. Now she's on the team. ML & FL are dating now and all the kids ship it. There is 1 (one) Scarlet Guard enemy county spy they accept and support.

But at the same time, she's begun to care about them in return. And we're really IN IT now.

Let's mentor the princess and throw shade on the Wu emperor, considering how our actions matter & how powerful people affect the average person. Caring for the citizens of Wu. They deserve better than their ruling class.

Being generally supportive & respectful of Ren Ruyi's love for the fallen An empress and RR's quest to avenge her.

The Wu delegation willing to (tentatively) ally with RR's former disciple, a marquis of An.

An marquis revealed to have gone against orders to respectfully bury the bodies of their Wu soldier friends, because in his view all loyal soliders deserve it.

The Wu delegation digging up the bodies of their dead friends, to give them a final send off, and mastering their grief to wrench it back from turning into hatred of the An people - focusing their rage and hate on selish & war hungry leaders, not the soliders and generals ordered to fight.

The focus of their resentment now turned to the right direction, expands their thinking & their plotting to have a consideratiom for all the residents of An and Wu, a care for humankind. An citizens are no longer the automatic enemy. ML tells the emperor of Wu to go fuck himself, directly to his face.

Caring about injustice done to some Scarlet Guards and wanting to save active !! "innocent" Scarlet Guard lives. (So far from the starting point! No background check to validate that X, Y, Z don't apply to these people. No rejection of the ML by the delegation or threats for daring to care about a random Scarlet Guard's life or death.) I sure hope the An emperor pays big for being bad at his job, but we gotta be careful about how we deal with him and not mess up An for the nice jewelry makers & brothel workers who live there.

"Having compassion doesn't mean irresolute."

[anneapocalypse]

It didn't have to be you.

I'm not just okay with it, I actually really like the fact that the Warrior of Light and their companions take a more supporting role in Dawntrail. I enjoyed the Scions' role in the story and was happy to see all my faves onscreen, I just didn't mind them taking the backseat to some new characters. I really loved Wuk Lamat and also enjoyed Erenville and Koana and Bakool Ja Ja and even Zoraal Ja as a villain a great deal. But it's more than just the fact that I loved the new characters and the focus on developing them and their setting.

So much of the Warrior of Light's story has been about... the burdens of being the Warrior of Light. How awful and exhausting and isolating and even depersonalizing it can be to be the only one who can solve the problem, again and again and again. It's such a thing in ARR that the patches kind of lampshade the dehumanization your character faces, the way the Scions kind of take the WoL for granted early on, something I've written about before. It's still present as late as Shadowbringers, being a major point of that story's plot that only the Warrior of Light can do this thing, and they very nearly die as a result. This theme finally finds its resolution in Endwalker when you meet Hydaelyn face to face, you learn of the promise made in another time, you learn why it had to be you.

That story arc is finished now. You've done what only you could do. You know why you were the Warrior of Light. If you were at Carteneau, you know why you survived and came back. You know why Hydaelyn had to keep you alive, even as so many of your friends died around you. (That last thing in particular is such a major part of Ariane's story arc; it's the central thing she's wrestling with in the fic I'm currently working on, so it was at the forefront of my mind playing Dawntrail.)

It doesn't have to be you anymore.

That's not a downside for me. That is the appeal. It felt so appropriate to me after the tremendously heavy, world-ending stakes of Endwalker. My character could be invested without everything riding on her shoulders. She could help, voluntarily (in-universe, obviously the game asks you to accept this premise in order to like, play it), without everyone looking to her and going, "Well, it has to be you, so you'll do it, right?" In fact, had that continued, it wouldn't have felt right to me. It would have felt like it undid some of the narrative and thematic closure that Endwalker offered.

So this felt like the natural progression of the Warrior of Light's role in the story following Endwalker to me, and I thought it worked for the story, while allowing me to still feel invested and see a cool new setting and meet some great new characters.

[pondslime]

subterranean

FANDOM : house of wax (2005) PAIRING : bo sinclair x afab!fem!reader RATING : explicit 🔞 WORDCOUNT : 3.9k

Reader POV. Basement fuckery. He tells you it's to keep you humble. It’s really just to keep you scared. The distinction doesn’t matter. You end up here again and again, knees biting into the concrete.

Crossposted on A03 here.

⚠️ Stockholm Syndrome. VERY dubious consent under duress. This was supposed to just be porn without plot. But then I lost my goddamn mind. Oops. Decent amount of weird prose. Depersonalization and derealization. Pet play (but make it weird and kinda metaphorical). Collaring. Forced boot riding. Vibrator and anal plug use. Bondage/gagging/edging. Bo at his absolute WORST (his natural state), being smug and mean and awful. Dirty talk dialed ALL the way up. Extremely dehumanizing and degrading language. Mind break elements. LOTS of backhanded praise. ⚠️

You always got too comfortable.

A lifetime before—when you were first here—you sat on this mattress with him, swallowing down mouthfuls of cold beef and carrots. You can remember the soup swirling in the can, murky and brown like a puddle of stagnant rainwater. He hadn't bothered to warm it up for you, but it hadn’t mattered. The food was something. Sometimes it felt like everything.

You licked the broth off the spoon as he plugged another tape into the VCR.

“One of my favorites.” He told you. Of course it was. Every movie he showed you down here was one of his favorites. Every can of soup might be the last. It was always the same things, over and over.

That’s when you started to lose track of time, you think—when you’d started to cling onto all that nothing.

Time wasn’t all that bad of a thing to lose, was it? Who needed it when his thumb was rubbing against your knee, stroking up your skin? The soup was cold, and his hand was warm. You traded one for the other and you liked it.

Funny. Thoughts like that always felt like they came with an or else tacked at the end.

A chunk of potato sat unpleasantly on your tongue—almost bitter, gravel in your mouth. Just like everything else, you swallowed it down.

He pressed play, his fingers drifting up your thigh. The TV quality was fuzzy, interrupted by the occasional flicker of static. Sometimes the films he chose would start in the middle of scenes. You’d get brief glimpses of things he’d recorded over—the triumphant blare of a talk show theme cutting off mid-note, dropping you in media res. He always assured you that you weren’t missing anything. At least that was one thing he didn’t bother lying about.

The movie wasn’t why you remembered that day, though. It was because of something he’d asked you.

“Where’d ya’ grow up?”

You hadn’t known what to say. He never asked you things like that. Your confusion only deepened when you turned towards him. There was no tension in his jaw, no furrowing of his brow. He looked, for the first time, wholly and startlingly calm.

When you failed to answer, he leaned forward and switched the TV off. He never did that either.

“Tell me ‘bout it. Whatchu do out there, anyway?”

You always regret not lying to him.

The world had shrunk down so much in the time you’d been in the town that it almost felt like you could gather it up and stuff it in your pocket.

You think about home. It looks different now.

Spidery tendrils of dust cling to the gaps between the balusters. It’s so difficult to get light in the house. No matter how many windows you open, there are always corners lost to shadow.

It’s strange how you could be up there one day, replacing the bulb under a fringed lampshade—and the next, you’d be tumbled back underground.

Just last week, you were lying on the couch in the living room.

The dog had padded into the room. She’d been gone for the better part of the day. With the doors unlocked, she went wherever she pleased. It had worried you at first, but it didn't anymore. She'd never leave town. She knew better.

At least, that’s what he’d said.

“Come here, beautiful.”

Jumping up, she curled into the space beside you. You wrapped your arm around her, wrinkling your nose. She reeked terribly of dog, stale corn chips and dirt and musk. You wondered if she might let you give her a bath now that you were in her good graces. It took a while to get there, but she came around. In a manner of speaking, the same thing had happened with you.

Pretty funny, huh?

Earlier, you'd been thinking about the puppies in the pet store window. Did she know about them? Slumbering away behind glass and dust, forever only a couple breaths old. Click. A switch was flipped, and they were as alive as they would ever be, nestled on newspaper shavings. On days like this, did she ever make her way down the hill to see them?

“Girls don’t last in this town.” You murmured, scratching behind her ear. “Just me and you, yeah?”

With a huff, she buried her head in the crook of your neck. It seemed like she was done listening to you.

That was fair, really. Half the time you weren’t even saying what you were really thinking anymore—and when you did, you weren't entirely sure that you made much sense. So much of yourself was locked up in your head and you kept forgetting where you left the keys. It all got clogged up inside your skull and oozed out of your mouth in a trail of sickly platitudes. You were just so thankful, so grateful.

“Sorry.” You whispered. You were always sorry for something, and sometimes you even meant it.

The rays of light were receding off of the arm of the couch, crawling up the wall. Your thoughts filled the living room. You could almost see them floating through the air, bouncing off each other like bubbles. Fleeting, effervescent things, popping as soon as you tried to track their paths. When you turned your head, you could smell his cologne. It was his jacket, hanging discarded over the couch cushions.

For a sudden, terrifying moment, you missed him.

That’s when you said the prayer. You didn't know where you meant for it to go. You guessed it was for whoever was around to hear it. Most days it was him and some of the time it was his mother. Both choices rang false. If God was still in this town, it was here, caught in these beams of light. Or maybe God was the dog heavy on top of you, her breath a rhythmic rumble against your throat.

Maybe you wouldn’t last long. Maybe it was all just wishful thinking.

Today, Bo fastens the collar around your neck. The leather feels heavy against your skin.

He tells you it’s to keep you humble. It’s really just to keep you scared. The distinction doesn’t matter. All the light bulbs you screw in will eventually need to be replaced. Wiping away the dust only gives way to more dust. You'll end up here again and again, knees biting into the concrete.

This almost feels more like his room than the one he sleeps in up at the house. Here, you can feel him more than anywhere else. There's more of you down here too. Real, tangible parts of yourself. Look around. There you are in the stain on the mattress, the blood crusted on the vinyl.

Welcome back, baby.

You keep your gaze on the ground, searching for something to bore your eyes into. Your eyes land on his shoes. Flecked with dirt, they bear obvious signs of wear. There’s a sizable hole in the toe of one of them. You focus in on that as he readjusts the collar, tightening the strap around your neck.

Embarrassment heats your cheeks as you hear him click the leash into place. Even without looking up at him, you can picture the expression on his face. It isn’t a good one. You still can’t decide if he looks more or less like himself when he screws his face up like that.

Tugging roughly at the leash, he forces you to look up at him. Wrists bound; your hands flex uselessly against your back.

“Please—”

Without warning, he sticks his fingers into your mouth, forcing them to the back of your throat. You choke, your hands flexing in panic behind your back. When he pulls them out, you cough, eyes watering.

“Now, normally I like hearin’ you, baby.” He says, smiling down at you. His face is a discordant thing. All American, boy next door. A slice of apple pie that someone put a cigarette out in. “But you know somethin’—”

He crouches down in front of you, still smiling. You watch him silently, shifting anxiously on your knees.

“I never did meet a dog who could talk.” Reaching over, he flicks at the metal ring on the collar. “Feels wrong.”

Dropping the leash, he gets to his feet, striding away. You crane your neck to the side as he rustles around behind you. After a moment, he lets out an affirmative grunt.

Quickly, you pivot your head back to the front. Making his way back to stand in front of you, your eyes flash to the item in his hands. Seemingly amused by your concern, he dangles it in front of you.

It’s a ball gag, shiny and black—noticeably a hair newer than the rest of the junk down here. Maybe he bought it just for you. It’d make a pretty lousy gift, but then again, he was always shit at stuff like that.

He had an incredible knack for getting you shit that you never asked for. Everything came with conditions, a laundry list of provisos and conditions that you didn't remember signing up for. Everything he gave you was actually for him.

“Open up, baby.”

Before you can think to do as he asks, his thumb forces your mouth open, pressing down on your teeth. You sputter as he forces the gag into your mouth, securing it around the back of your neck.

“That’s better, yeah?” He asks, grabbing hold of the leash again.

You stare up at him, exhaling tight bursts of air through your nose. You tilt your head a bit, working your jaw around the ball. Your teeth rest uncomfortably on the rubber.

“You been so good today, think we outta give that pussy some attention, huh?” He smirks. “Whatchu think?”

You whine, the noise coming out in an embarrassingly wet gurgle. Spit runs out of your mouth, dripping down your chin and trickling onto your neck.

“So cute.” His voice is syrupy sweet. He can play at authenticity, but never with you.

He kicks your thighs apart with his foot, nudging the tip of his boot between your legs. His eyebrows shoot up expectantly as he nods down at you.

“Go on, then.”

Disgust is an old friend. She disappears for months at a time, only to show up unexpectedly as if no time has passed. She’s back again, turning your stomach around in her hands. You tilt your hips down. Rubbing yourself against the tip of his shoe, you wonder if he’s doing this for old times' sake.

Rocking forward, you imagine a glossy magazine cover. You could see him on the cover of one. He does have the face for it, when he bothers to put it on.

Bored? 50 Ways to Keep the Spark Alive!

Your jaw is beginning to ache. Bo's hand strokes softly at the top of your head. You hate that the pressure against your clit almost feels good. Your mind unhelpfully supplies more article titles, bubbling up in your mind in obnoxiously curly lettering.

10 Mouth Exercises For The Modern Woman. Have You Tried Screaming? It’s All The Rage in This Town. Once You Start, You Won’t Want to STOP!

“That’s it.” He grins. “What a little slut.”

You look up at him pleadingly, another dribble of spit running down your chin.

“Always got told ya’ shouldn’t let dogs up on the bed.” He muses, the amusement plain in his voice. “But you been on your best behavior, huh?”

Last week, you fell asleep on the couch. You woke up somewhere else.

It was dark and you were pressed against something warm. Not the dog, not the light. Those were both gone. His jacket hanging off the side of the couch, maybe. But it was moving now, and so were you.

“Gotta getcha to bed.” He’d muttered, carrying you up the stairs.

You lay across Bo's lap, the side of your cheek against the dirty mattress. You shudder, your legs shaking.

“Pretty girl.” Reaching over, he tugs you up by the leash, forcing your head back.

Every breath you take seems to make your muscles clench around the plug in your ass. He works it in and out of you slowly and you gulp, shallow breaths whistling out of your nostrils. Every time you jolt forward you can feel him press against you, hard against your belly.

“Hey. What’s wrong, baby? That hurt?”

You nod frantically.

“Huh. Funny…'cuz I don't think it does. You wanna know how I know?” You feel him spread you open, fingers dipping into your pussy. “You’re wet for it, baby.”

He pushes the plug deeper, and your head spins at the sensation. A warbling moan pitches out of your mouth as you feel it sink fully into you. You shiver uncontrollably, whimpering around the gag. Saliva gathers on your tongue, and you feel it spill out of the side of your mouth, pooling under your cheek.

“Good.” He rumbles out, stroking his knuckles along your back. “That’s my good girl.”

You squeeze your eyes shut when you feel him nudge something between your legs. With a click, the vibrator buzzes to life. You let out a startled cry as he strokes it along your pussy.

“It’s nice, huh?” He chuckles. “Don’tchu act like I never gave you anything.”

The vibrator teases against your clit in short bursts, pressing down just long enough to leave you panting before he pulls it away. Almost enough, not quite. You arch back uselessly, chasing after that glittery warm sensation. He laughs a bit, holding the vibrator just above your clit.

You can feel the edge of pleasure, but it’s nothing more than a distant dull thrum. He keeps you hovering over it for what feels like forever, squirming over a feeling that’s hardly there. You bite down on the gag, your sob watery and muffled around the rubber.

“This body’s all mine, girl.” He murmurs, running his thumb down your spine. “I ain’t gotta make it feel good.”

With a hum, he rests the vibrator fully onto your clit. The sensation you’ve been chasing envelopes you, shimmering through your core. Nasally, high-pitched whines escape you in quick, desperate succession.

“But I do, don’t I? ‘Cuz I’m just so sweet.”

You open your eyes, staring up at him in bleary gratitude. He presses down on the plug. The discomfort has crested over and all you feel now is loose and pliant. You moan around the gag, your eyes fluttering.

“You like having somethin’ in your ass while I play with this pussy?”

And you nod, humming out your agreement.

“Mmm-hmm? Yeah?” He teases, mimicking your garbled reply. "That's good, baby. That's real good. Reckoned I’d fuck your ass today, but that pussy’s gettin’ nice and wet for me. Whatchu think? Which hole you want fucked?”

You mumble incoherently through the gag.

“All of ‘em?” He exclaims, the grin evident in his voice. “Well, ain’t that real sweet. Good answer, baby.”

He keeps talking, but it’s getting harder to focus on what he’s saying.

“Next crew that comes through here—maybe I’ll tell ‘em I got a slut who needs breakin’ in. You spread those legs so nice, sure you’d fuckin’ love it.”

The image flashes through your mind. Hands everywhere, laughter and heat and friction from a kaleidoscope of people destined for death. You’re in the middle of all of those faceless people—a tribute to be used up, one last meal for a parade of living corpses.

You’re all destined for the same end, but theirs is closer than they know. Yours is prolonged, tied around touches and salt.

Bo would be in the corner, lighting another cigarette—watching, because he’s always watching. Mouth twitching into a smile because he’s right again. You’re exactly what he thinks you are. You’ll keep your eyes on him because you can’t look at anyone else. After all, if it isn’t his hands, could you even feel it? Would it even count?

The panic is sudden and hot, twisting inside your chest. A desperate little whine builds at the back of your throat.

If I’m everybody else's, I can’t be yours.

“I’d have a hard time sharin’, though.”

Relief. The vibrator pulses against your clit and your eyes go unfocused.

“’S funny. Gotchu down here—and nobody knows.”

Between your legs, your pussy feels pathetically wet, sloppily sliding along the vibrator. You almost wish he’d keep you like this forever, jolts of pleasure lapping hungrily between your legs.

“If there’s even anybody out there lookin’ for ya’…” He muses. “Wish they could see ya’ now, huh? Don’t think they’d feel bad for you, baby.”

Pleasure rolls dizzily through you, electric licks of sensation as he rubs the vibrator against your clit. The rubber in your mouth is an anchor, it feels good on your teeth.

“Betchu thought you were really somethin’ out there.” He chuckles. “How’s it feel to find out you ain’t? Feels good, don’t it?”

You open your eyes and nod up at him, panting out your agreement. Through the haze, you see him smirk. It’s a cruel, cold thing. You’re all full and useless, but he doesn’t need you to say it, because he knows. Thoughtlessly, you shift in his lap, trying desperately to spread your legs wider for him.

“Nothin’ but a little fucktoy.” He coos. “That’s all you are, baby. Want you to remember that.”

He doesn’t need to worry. You remember everything, except what counts.

“Good girls cum, baby. They can’t help it.”

You’re hurtling higher and higher, the pleasure battering against your brain. That’s where the memories are, where the time used to be. It feels better to fill it with this. But then again, you’ve known that from the start.

“Go on, baby. Cum all pretty for me, yeah?”

And you do, a million times over.

He keeps the vibrator pressed firmly against your clit as you tense up, your hands clenching into tight fists behind your back. Your orgasm is a bone-deep shiver, wracking your legs with uncontrollable chills. The pleasure throttles through the last of your coherency, prizing a desperate noise from your throat. Maybe it’s a word. It might be his name. It might just be the time. Maybe this is how you find it again.

The buzz of the vibrator goes dim and far away as he holds it against you. You’re twitching somewhere above it. Each involuntary movement you make brings with it a new hiccup of sensation. Around you, the room seems to spin—whirling into a terrific blur of green and yellow.

It can be beautiful down here, if you squint.

When he lifts the vibrator off your clit, you pitch forward, warbling out a dizzy laugh behind the gag. You wait for the sound of the wand powering off. It doesn't come. Behind you, the buzzing is a low, incessant drone. You’ve barely managed to ground yourself when you hear it kick up a notch.

Click.

The sheets smell like all the thousand versions of you, each one answering questions she shouldn’t. Four walls surround you and they feel like they’re collapsing down on all sides. They could be made of plaster or stone, but they might just be something else. Your limbs, your heart, your mind, him. Separate appendages, but all linked. All part of the same crumbling structure.

A scream builds at the back of your throat as you feel him set it back on your clit.

“We ain’t done, baby.”

Your sleep is deep. Quiet. Only one dream.

Bo’s sitting on the edge of the bed, an inky blot in the gray morning light. He makes a move to stand up and you grab onto his arm.

“Go back to bed, angel.” He murmurs.

It almost sounds real enough.

When you wake up, you're alone. You try the door and find it unlocked.

Figures.

Upstairs, the shop is empty. There’s a can of unopened Coke on the counter. You crack it open and take a sip. Lukewarm bubbles of carbonation fizz over your tongue. God, he really was shit with gifts.

Walking up the hill, you catch your reflection in the window of a sedan. You look haggard, your hair a raggedy clump around your shoulders. You try the handle and it cracks open easily. Crawling into the dirty belly of the car, you wince as you lower yourself down into the seat. You sit with one leg dangling out, absentmindedly studying the dusty speedometer.

There are cars in other towns, parked on different streets. There are places without dust. There are always other futures. Sometimes you turn down the wrong road, and sometimes you die. Sometimes you don’t.

That’s just the way these things go.

You imagine the town collapsing in on itself like a pop-up book. There’s Bo, frowning down at it. He seemed like he’d been the type of kid that wasn’t allowed to check those kinds of things out from the library. He’d bring them back with pages ripped out, scrawled with pen marks. Pilled white card stock where faces used to be.

God, you’re miserably sore. It’s impossible to narrow down the ache to a certain part of you.

Lifting your leg into the car, you pull the door shut. The dust inside tickles your nose. Unthinkingly, you reach up, your fingers brushing against the metal buckle of the seatbelt. The sting is sharp and immediate. You pull your hand away with a hiss, your hand smarting. When you reach for the seatbelt again, you’re careful to avoid the clip.

You buckle yourself in. Click. Alive again, now more than ever. Wrapping your hands around the steering wheel, you close your eyes. The leather is hot against your palms, and it hurts a bit. Just a little. That’s just the pain again, but you don’t really mind. It’s something you can keep. It’s all yours.

Nothin’ you can’t handle, girl.

That’s what he said last night. Afterwards.

You were laying with your head in his lap, the itchy crust of dried spit against your cheek. It was then that you decided that you were so ugly that you had to be beautiful. You had to be worth looking at. You’d rolled over on your back, looking up at him through swollen eyes. That’s when he said it, so low and quiet that you almost didn’t register it. There’d been a an edge of pride to his voice.

Nothin’ at all.

A lick of pleasure thrums between your legs and your eyes flash open. You unbuckle the seatbelt and scramble out of the car, ignoring the pain that sings through your limbs.

Things like that? They always came with an or else tacked at the end. You remember that, don’t you? You couldn’t have forgotten.

Looming above you, the house is a dark blot of ink against the blue sky.

There were no collars for dogs in this town—they didn’t need them. They’d always find their way back home, pawing at the door for some scraps. The only leash is the one that exists in your mind. You can almost see it, trailing off your neck and up the hill, looped messily around the front doorknob.

You were going to die here with all that wetness between your legs, begging him to take out more of you with his teeth.

It's like he said.

You don’t need to tie up a dog if it loves you.

[kaurwreck]

have yall ever noticed in osamu dazai's entrance exam that ranpo cuts to the heart of dazai within moments of meeting him, weighs him against the feather in his gaze, decides it neither too heavy nor light, and then says, simply, unfeignedly, deliberately, "Oh, that's nice. Anyway, welcome to the Agency."

and dazai, despite smoothing himself shapeless under ranpo's scrutiny, is rattled, slipping aside his noh mask to self-soothe by asking kunikida about ranpo's skill. because the radio static crackling along his spine can't be the sensation that he's been caught, or ranpo would have renounced or redressed or recoiled from the snake in his home— so it must be no longer human, buzzing and frustrating such and such skill ranpo set on him, and this placidity is a facade to save face. ranpo couldn't have seen what dazai didn't deign to show him, however much the thought briefly excites dazai.

except then kunikida explains that ranpo's skill is to deduce the truth of a case just by looking at it, and dazai is momentarily stunned, the static roaring in his drums as muscle memory swallows piqued yearning and spits bitter incredulity. even if there were a skill that could crack him apart to out the pluck meat that might reassure him he's made of flesh beneath the chitin, there is no exception to his nullification.

even as the blackened grief encroaches like ennui around dazai's edges, ranpo is calling them, promising them the answer they asked for, and no more than that much. he asks dazai for his glasses (the glasses precious to him, typically on his person, but in that moment, somewhere else), and dazai is coaxed by his curiosity and ranpo's beckon.

and because dazai is still a pitiable creature prone to wanting, he leans towards the taunting lure and takes it between his fingers while holding his breath to brace against the certain-to-be-crushing disappointment.

and instead, substantiation brokering little argument. ranpo can deduce the truth by looking at it. and as dazai's own discernment reverse engineers ranpo's conclusion, he finds no fault in it.

dazai's rhapsody enlivens him in the car with Kunikida, the well of him overflowing with the salvific implications that moments prior he was pinned, writhing in place, by someone sincerely seeing him, who was satiated by enough substance to then look away, who wasn't the least surprised to see wriggling, living flesh in the shape of him.

dazai's so beside himself that when kunikida remarks that he's never seen dazai marvel over someone else's skills like that before, dazai scarcely lies to him when he says lots of things take him by surprise, like when he tried to pick up a clam with his chopsticks, and it was still alive, startling him.

kunikida, who also notices more than he's given any credit for, dismisses dazai's third perspective, depersonalized, dehumanized, and disassociated clam metaphor, and says: "You seemed taken aback that someone had the ability to see and know all."

to which dazai responds with the same seamless and subtly mean spirited deflection he tends towards whenever he's suddenly feeling vulnerable.

but yes, he is taken aback. it's worldview shattering, not unlike when chuuya incited him, or oda shrugged at him, or when kunikida would, later, see a lock without any key (a climax without any hope) and create one himself.

ranpo saw him, saw who he'd been, and said, with prejudice: "Anyway, welcome to the Agency."

because I didn't until a couple of weeks ago, but I haven't stopped thinking about it.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

This Far

Author's Note: More of Jophiel in Living Waters AU. Thank you to @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow Cedric. Thank you to @kit-williams for letting me borrow Arnault, Roland, Anegla and 'Becky'.

Disclaimer: Becky is the non-cannon name for the Reader Insert character bonded for Roland.

Summary: Jophiel meets Arnault and Roland for the first time. It goes about as well as you'd think it would for a Witch meeting a pair of Older Black Templars who's only heard stories of him.

Warnings: Some dehumanization and depersonalization. Some anxiety and fear. Jophiel worries for his brother's safety. Let me know if I need to add anything.

Past =-= Next

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Jophiel has been really excited to meet Arnault and Roland- hearing about them from Cedric and later Ramiel. Also from a thoughtful Claude, who’d found them, “interesting, and warm.”

 Which was an interesting reaction from his shyest brother. He grinned and gave each of them a hug, his eyes scanning them, looking to find the worst that could happen, but didn’t see, which had him chirp at them cheerfully.

He talks about some of the things he’d manage to scavenge- some medical supplies and stuff to make medicines and what not that Cedric had been worried that they wouldn’t be able to procure, not without going to one of the Shoals.

It has Catius look over at them, his shoulders relaxing a little, his bright ocean blue eyes sparking more true, then his mask he’d developed. He hates the masks that his brothers have to make to protect themselves, but understand why they do.

He peers a little into the future- it’s so much harder on Ancient Terra- and he only gets fuzzy images that are very hard to interpret. But- once he’s alone he’ll write it down and try to wrack his brain for what his trainers taught him about future-sight. 

Which, he knows, is always just glimpses of possible futures, and not to fall into the trap of trying to break things to get to what those futures could be. Truely, future sight can be a terribly cursed and frankly useless warp ability.  

Despite what people think of it perhaps being among the most powerful of gits, it truly isn’t. Not that he’s going to tell them, or anyone that. Doesn’t want to sound ungrateful for the blessings gifted to him by his dead primarch.

A few days after Claude has met Roland, Arnault, and their Bonded humans (interesting thing about Ancient Terra, these bond things- and how Roland and Arnault and explained it to his brothers, who’d told the rest of them about it. 

He can likely see these bond things with being a trained psyker, it was still… a strange concept). Jophiel is happy to meet the pair of older brothers- who have grown to mean so much to a couple of his most wounded brothers.

Once he meets Arnault and Roland he’ll be able to get a true measure of their characters and souls. Be able to glimpse more clearly into what might be and what could be rather than the more vague, nebulous ones that he’d only gotten as he heard stories of these beloved older brothers.

He deliberately keeps his Librarian’s hood on, but not much other armor. Black Templars, as a chapter, despise Psykers. Deeming them all as witches, and heretical to be purged and killed. No matter their allegiance to the God Emperor. 

(That the God Emperor is a Psyker without peer). But he’s not going to say that, that would be far to anger inducing. It would upset Ramiel and Cedric far too much to hear him say that to older Black Templars. Again. But he’d only said that because of that bastard.

He knows the others are curious on how he arrived on Ancient Terra. But he… his face burns with shame, glad that Ramiel and Cedric are ahead of him, and don’t see his face at the moment. Jophiel really doesn’t want to talk about how he got here.

It will be a test- to see how Older First Born Black Templars on Ancient Terra (Bonded) react to a Winged Son of Sanguinius. Erriox’s tempered reaction- to his feathers, Iron Warriors tended to be very difficult to be afflicted by Warp-nonsense. Usually, at least. Also, he’s Bonded to a Harpy, so it’s not like he’s unused to seeing winged sentients in some capacity.

He focuses his thoughts on the here and now- as he hears Cedric and Ramiel call out happily to Arnault and Roland who call back out to them. They all breach the surface, to speak with them and Angela and Becky.

He notices the way that Arnault and Roland seem to have a protective slant to their words and actions. Noticeably, they seem to be gentling their reactions to the pair of younger Black Templars.

‘Oh Claude’. Jophiel thinks fondly. ‘You were too heavy handed in your warnings.’

He shakes his head a little- a smile on his face, Claude could have the best of intentions with his actions. But- sometimes would reveal a little too much, with what he said and didn’t say at times. Jophiel will need to rescue Cedric and Ramiel from the clutches of overzealous older brothers who are worried and wondering of the traumas they have endured.

Jophiel greets a cheerful, closed lipped hello to the pair of humans. One of them seems more anxious about meeting him than the other. So he does his best to be particularly adorable, to help her relax and ease up.

He notices the way that Arnault twitches- and backs away- trying not to taunt the Black Templar (well, this one at least). Not with how much Cedric and Ramiel adore them. He’s glad that Becky seems to be less afraid of him. Glad when she approaches him to talk. 

Notices the way that Roland tenses up and watches him- very closely. He’s glad that neither of them have charged and/or started growling at him yet. Or bellowing about the fact that Heretics should be purged- and witches must die. 

Slowly- ever so slowly, Roland and Arnault seem to start to relax- the more that their Bonded relax around him. Which is great! Less likely for him to be stabbed. Less, not completely. Older Black Templars tended to be far less flexible in some ways than the younger ones.

It’s best, likely, that he meets with Roland and Arnault, the least of the non-Black Templar Primaris, for their sanity and likely his continued well being. Which is fine- he has the Gannet Aunties and cousins.

Roland has a restraining hand on Arnault’s shoulder. Cedric and Ramiel had been talking about all of their Primaris brothers for weeks- for a few months. Especially, with hesitant caution and watchfulness, their Librarian brother Jophiel.

Especially with what Claude said and not-said about how they had been treated. Arnault charging the little ones would likely go poorly. And the Little witch- er cousin, hasn’t done anything witch-y to their little brothers, or to their Bonded. 

The Little Witch allows their Bonded to interact with it at their pace. The little witch keeps a polite distance and respectful demeanor towards the pair of them as well. Doing it’s best not to rile Roland or Arnault. Even as he feels the way his fellow Older Black Templar Brother muscles are tense and relax.

"Hello there, Jophiel," Becky says, the bolder of the pair of women, while Angela hides behind her, watching the two of them interact.

"Hello ma'am," Jophiel says nodding towards both of them, briefly looking in their eyes before submissively looking away from them.

"Oh my- your eyes are quite striking," Becky says as she grabs his face.

Jophiel freezes and stares at her- his eyes darting around as he notices the way the two older Black Templars are watching him. Surprisingly Angela giggles a little at the unintentional squeak he'd let out when she'd grabbed him.

He hadn't meant to flinch a little at her touch- but he'd had. He hadn't expected that she'd touch him. Jophiel's more worried about Roland and Arnault's reaction, than anything else.

It's not like he could defend himself if the women tried to hurt him. The retaliation he'd receive from the Black Templars would be far more damaging than what these base line humans could inflict on him... physically at least.

"When Cedric and Ramiel talked about their brothers- and how different they were from them," Becky continued to say, not noticing the way he had flinched, but Angela had. "When they said different, I hadn't realized that you boys could get wings."

"It's... not a common feature," Jophiel says weakly, tucking his wings against his back, "It's... very rare actually."

Jophiel wonders how to phrase that he'd like it if she let him go without sounding rude or potentially upsetting her. Which is the last thing he wants to do with an Emperor's Champion and another Older Black Templar within charging range.

As well as Erriox and Mama Lenora, he’s meeting Roland and Arnault because, while hesitant about Jophiel meeting them, both Cedric and Ramiel did want him to meet them. Jophiel had pointed out, very sensibly, that neither of them would like a Librarian being around them. Around their Bonded. 

At least Roland seems to have relaxed a little with the way his Bonded had approached him. While Arnault still seems rather tense- and ready to tear him to shreds.

Angela notices how nervous the poor young mer is, and how he's trying to do his bet to make a good first impression on him. Her anxiety lessens and she had noticed the way he'd flinched when Becky had grabbed his face.

Also the not so hidden panicked look he'd given to his fellow Primaris and the way he's still nervously watching Arnault and Roland. She lightly tugs on one of Becky's arms.

"Let go of the poor boy's face," Angela says softly.

"Fine, fine," Becky says, gently patting one of Jophiel's cheeks as she does so. "You're features are even softer than Rami and Ced's."

Jophiel pouts at that, and tries to come up with something and Angela comes to his rescue again, "He's likely a bit younger than them."

"... How'd you guess that accurately?" Jophiel whines, "I'm not that much younger than them!"

With the ‘suffer not the witch’ part of being the ideology of the 

He doesn’t like it when mortals are so afraid of him. He understands why- he knows he’s one of the scariest things, creatures, in any given room. But he dislikes being reminded of that. Slowly she seems to relax at his silly antics.

Ramiel and Cedric’s exasperation at their youngest (hey!) brother’s antics. “I’m not the youngest!”

He pouts at them exaggeratedly, “yes you are.” Cedric and Ramiel say simultaneously, both of them having matching, shit eating grins on their faces, “you came out of the vats last- by at least two weeks.”

They both have teasing grins on their faces. Good- they are happy, even if it’s at his expense, he’s glad that the shadows of sorrow and pain in their eyes have lightened. Even though it’s at his expense, he’s glad that they are feeling positive emotions.

The older Black Templars seem to both be chuckling, amused at their antics, and watching them. He pretends not to notice when they realize precisely which specialty he has- with the Librarian’s hood. He’s not trained enough for the mighty staff, and he chose not to wear the rest of his armor as a show of trust and vulnerability.

“But- that was when we were Then.” Jophiel says with a sulk, “I could have been the one to survive the longest in our Then before coming back here.”

“Hm…” Cedric hums as he tilts one his hand from side to side in a so-so manner. “Perhaps, perhaps not.”

Jophiel pretends he doesn’t know the way that Arnault and Roland are watching him with calculating blue eyes- the same, or similar hue as Cedric and Ramiel’s are. He’s watching from the corner of his eyes, the Emperor’s Champion. 

The gilding on his fins, truely are impressive, he’s heard of the future-deeds of this Champion. Impressive were his deeds, and tragic his final end. He keeps his words on that sort of thing locked behind his teeth.

“It’s nice to meet you two,” Jophiel says to Arnault and Roland, “Cedric and Ramiel talk about the two of you a lot. They think the- oph.”

The groan he made as Cedric and Ramiel ram into him- to stop him from saying something potentially embarrassing as Revenge for being called the baby of the squad has him yowling dramatically at them about Betrayal as he tussles and wrestles with the two of them.

Before relenting in their grasp- as a Librarian, while he’s been taught hand to hand- it’s not as extensively as his brothers who have more close-combat Chapters. And he sulks and pouts at the two of them.

“You two are so mean!” He whines at them, all floppy dramatics at them.

His eyes carefully flickering towards where Arnault and Roland are. He can tell that the Emperor’s champion is being mildly restrained from charging after them- after Jophiel specifically and he flinches a little- and curses himself for that. He shouldn’t show weakness in front of  First Born Space Marines. Also Cedric and Ramiel had noticed that. Fuck.

“I haha- just remembered I had something important to do,” Jophiel says to his Black Templar brothers- eyes darting towards Arnault and Roland nervously.

He’s likely overstayed his welcome, or will soon. “It was an honor to meet several people who have come to mean so much to Cedric and Ramiel.”

Jophiel says that to Roland, Arnault, Becky and Angela. “Good day to you all.”

He’s not running away- but that Emperor’s Champion’s face he saw the way it darkened some of the times. The coiled, barely hidden violence, just barely restrained by the other Black Templar.

He tugs at Cedric and Ramiel’s arms. He absolutely doesn’t want either of them near an older Black Templar in such a poor mood. “Come on- we- we- we need to help Catius and Claude with getting uh- something- for Erriox and Lenora right now.”

Cedric and Ramiel have both noticed that he’s slightly stuttered and how he’s become increasingly nervous of their Really Cool Big Brothers. Their smiles faded a little, “Okay Jophi- we’ll go.”

“Have a good day Miss Angela, Miss Becky,” Ramiel says, lightly squeezing one of Jophiel’s shoulders. “See you later Brother Roland, Brother Arnault.”

Jophiel could get skittish of older brothers and cousins far faster than any of them- due to his wings. Perhaps they’d pushed him a little too much to meet Roland and Arnault at the same time.

Cedric and Ramiel believe that this meeting has gone great. Neither Arnault or Roland had Charged Jophiel or tried to kill him or bellowed about him being a witch who should die.

That was the worst fucking lie he’s ever said in his life- but he’s not going to let Claude and Ramiel stay near him in such a mood. He’d never been able to protect them from Petras or Cedric’s mentor when the other was in a mood. But things were different here. They were on Ancient Terra.

They weren’t so beholden to their older brothers and cousins. Not as much. None of them were in any official pod or shoal. Independence came at the cost of a lack of support and resources. But. As lonely as it could be, it was… likely safer- in some ways. For now at least.

“You scared the baby,” Roland scolds Arnault.

“Baby witch,” Arnault rumbles.

“Baby witch who’s one of Ramiel and Cedric’s makeshift pod.” Roland points out, “Who’s been nothing but polite, and likely badly harmed by older brothers and cousins too.”

Arnault rumbles, his bond with his beloved is much more intense than Roland’s is. So his protective instincts were screaming at him to get rid of the threat. Even if said threat hadn’t done a single thing to harm, or seem as if it was a threat.

When they had been told of Jophiel- and what it’s specialty was they had… concerns. About the Witch potentially deceiving their little brothers. But- that didn’t seem to be the case. It had cast none of it’s magic on any of them. 

Hadn’t been sly or conniving, hadn’t sought to harm or steal their souls. To corrupt and be cruel. But- it hadn’t been like that, it had- Arnault noticed- wanted to try and protect Roland and Arnault’s little brother’s from his growing annoyance at it’s continued presence. Which… sat poorly in his hearts.

Angela wades over to her Bonded and puts her hands on her hips as she frowns at him a little, "Arnault- why were you acting like Jophiel was a threat?"

"Because it's a witch!" Arnault says with a growl.

"... 'it' has a name and pronouns," She says disappointed in him, "His name is Jophiel. He didn't seem like he was a bad sort."

"But-" Arnault protests.

"You don't have to like him," Angela continues, "but he seemed very sweet, and rather nervous to make a good impression on you and Roland. Because of how much you both mean to his older brothers."

"So?" Arnault continues.

"So- I'd like it if you could try not to act like you want to kill him." Angela says, "Unless he proves to be bad."

"Yes love." Arnault says sulkily as he steals kisses from his beloved as he curls around her.

[hyperpotamianarch]

Well, I would like to conclude my experience with His Majesty's Dragon. I do not mean by that that I don't intend to read farther entries in the Temeraire series, but rather that this is a conclusion to the thread I started on it. I have some things to consider before deciding whether or not I continue, mostly if I want to actually buy them (as my local library only had the first book.

That said, let's go over my impressions from the book. Firstly, I'd like to say that the climax kind of passed me by. I know, it's a weird thing to say, but I kind of only realized it was the climax in hindsight? It seems obvious enough now, but for some reason it didn't when I read it.

As my retroactive excuse, I'm going to claim that the plot of the book and the climax aren't really as connected as they maybe should've been. Basically, most of the book focused on Laurence and his adjustment to the Corp. There was the plotline about the handler who dehumanized his dragon (I know it's kind of a weird thing to say. Depersonalized might be a better term), and in general I think that the plot focuses on that? Honestly, I think I wasn't completely clear on what type of book I was reading, which contributed to my odd reaction to the climax. After all, the Napoleonic invasion was very clearly in the background all the time, but for some reason I wasn't really sure when to expect it. Something in my mind simply refused to believe it was going to be the important, climactic event... I really don't know.

A few more tidbits: when Laurence first meets Celeritas, he thinks that this explains why the Corps care so much even about wild dragons. Then we find out that Celeritas is technically bound? I'm not sure I'm using the correct terms, and perhaps I'm too used to books like Eragon and Pern where there's a magical side to bonding a dragon. I mean, I guess wild dragons are simply dragons without handlers? Who are less likely to care about humans?

This kind of leads me to the next point: while it's made clear that at least in the Corps everyone considers their dragon to be a person (and if you don't, you're an outcast I won't even bother typing the name of. Because I forgot it and decided that it's appropriate punishment for someone who denies the personhood of another). But they're still sometimes treated like beasts. Like when that Captain suggested that Temeraire could switch handlers. The way they handled that didn't seem like transferring a person - it didn't even really seem like transferring a child between foster homes, which might be the closest equivalent considering Temeraire's age, because they literally choose to lie to him in order to get him to cooperate. Oh, and did I mention the breeding program? Like, really. They're fully sapient creatures, but they have freaking breeding programs. How would people react if someone suggested that smart people should only breed with each other, to create a superior race of really smart humans, Homo Sapience Sapience, if you will? (Yeah, I know this is the actual category of modern humans, bear with me.) Does that not sound just a little bit disturbing? And yet, that's exactly how Temeraire's species was created. Dragons are also not considered equal citizens - quite possibly not even in France, right after the revolution. But why?

This could neatly lead to Napoleon. I didn't really have strong emotions towards him as an antagonist, which might strengthen my previous point about how the story is more character driven and less focused on the war. He also participates in dragon depersonalization when he wants to abduct Temeraire even after he hatched. An understandable desire, certainly. The rough comparison might be, say, a Russian royal baby abducted and raised by communists, then a royalist supporter attempting to reabduct them after they are already teenaged. And yes, I could've just swapped Russian with French and Communist with Revolutionary, but for some reason this was in my mind. Either way, it's still abduction of a sapient person who frankly doesn't want it. So yeah.

Here I want to delve into a slightly less related topic - mostly persona; musings. You see, I only thought of reading His Majesty's Dragon because I've read another book by Naomi Novik - Spinning Silver, which I was recommended for its Jewish representation. Now, I knew coming in that this book doesn't contain any Jews. I just assumed that if I enjoyed Spinning Silver, it probably wasn't just because it felt like pretty much the best Jewish representation I've seen in a book. I still took a second or two to think about whether there might be something interesting to explore about Jews in this world. Plus, I thought about my opinions towards the historical Napoleon, which are definitely informed by my Judaism.

Regarding the first point of those, I'm afraid it's unlikely for Jews to be really affected in an interesting manner by this change in the world. Dragons do appear in Jewish folklore sometimes, but not really a lot and it really depends on your definition of dragons. There probably was, at some point in history, a Judean dragon force - but it was destroyed long ago, and any possible Jewish traditions on dragon handling were likely lost to history. During the time the book takes place, emancipation for Jewish people around Europe is barely starting. Jews served in the French army at the time, I think, but as there still was a degree of antisemitism in France, I doubt any of them was allowed to be a dragon handler. If they were, one of the possible results is the British Corps mocking the French for having Jews among their dragon handlers. So... yeah.

I could write a thing or two about Napoleon and the Jews here - mostly, the guy wanted them to assimilate to French society, which was appreciated by some Jews but unappreciated by many others. I don't think I need to elaborate much, though, as it's not all that relevant. To be honest, I'm rather indifferent to the man.

Do I have anything more to say? I don't know. It's an interesting world, I guess. Maybe I should talk about the details, like the type of dragon Temeraire actually is, or how Laurence's first love got married to someone else due to the conflict with his station as a dragon handler, or Napoleon's fascinating plan - most interesting because apparently it was never attempted before. It was an interesting book, which I may have misunderstood because I was focused on too general worldbuilding? That doesn't really sound right, but it might be a part of it.

I can probably be persuaded to buy the next book, but I actually think I may have bought too many books lately. I don't have a nice budget for that, considering I am yet to have regular income, so I do need to consider my financial decisions better.

Anyway, adieu! Until next time! Thank you for reading.

[crosstheveil]

Anthroposophy: Lucifer, Ahriman, Christ

"Lucifer" is a spiritualizing force of temptation and distraction that brings higher knowledge, freedom, unrestrained creative exploration, and the dissolution of structure. Following him is a path of depersonalization, foregoing personal history and possessions, spiritual bypassing, overindulging in fantasy and mythology, change for the sake of change, anarchy, delusion, false ideologies, seeing the world as an illusion with no real value, retreating from life, hedonistic confusion of what maximizes enjoyment and states of ecstasy or mania with what is divine; the desires, passions, and aspirations that lend to overreaching ambition or hubris. He motivates us to find bliss (lifted from the weight of physical existence) by chasing anything that excites or voices itself from spirit in spite of lacking the ability to discern (regressing into animal nature) where those impulses are coming from, leaving us in a perpetual state of wandering aimlessly with infinite potential.

"Ahriman" is a materializing force of deception and lies that reduces things into forms and processes of physics that can be preserved in one differentiated state. Following him is a path of developing an overly analytical and mechanistic worldview, scientism, dogma/orthodoxy, reluctance to change, not being able to see beyond genetics, consumerism and commodification, acquisition of wealth, rationalism, weaponized intellectualism, becoming cold and dehumanized with a lack of empathy and compassion or any emotional depth; the fear, doubt, and pessimism rooted in material concerns such as survival, loss, and limitation. He motivates us to keep our essence contained in the physical realm (immortalize the body) by making us more like a machine (transhuman), looking for the solution to every problem through more effective systems of technology and surveillance, developing algorithms to recognize patterns and make predictions on a massive scale (artificial intelligence), and determining your value based solely on social credit. 

"Christ" is the harmonizing solar force that balances the Luciferic and Ahrimanic impulse. Jesus himself was an advanced soul that carried the essence of Christ to perform a ritual that changed humanity by his sacrifice. When Christ incarnated to serve this purpose, it allowed for humanity to ascend out of matter into the kingdom of Heaven represented by the soul. Through the essence of Christ, we attain a natural sense of morality and we’re able to evolve by working from within ourselves to develop a conscience and see clearly. This Christ consciousness rests in the heart chakra, a center of truth. Unless we are centered in the heart, we’re not truly participating in life. We find balance by grounding spirituality, refining the knowledge received from spirit, aligning our ego with the truth of our soul and using that to serve others in a more meaningful way, realizing our physical body as a temple of the divine.

Without Christ consciousness, we fall under the influence of Lucifer or Ahriman and worship them as God. These forces then become parasitic and feed on our potential as individuals by draining and misdirecting our essence to serve them.

The names of these entities are ways of identifying forces at play that are higher cosmic impulses which drive and personify through us to greater or lesser extents at different phases of our evolution. Our consciousness is seen as a vessel which carries these impulses but the force itself transcends its personification. We may or may not be aware of the spiritual forces that are acting upon us but it’s only by learning what we can about their essence that we can start using them to transform ourselves.

[secularprolifeconspectus]

Why I call Abortion Violence a Genocide

The reason I stand by my use of "genocide" is because abortion violence follows "The Ten Stages of Genocide" as defined by Dr. Stanton of Genocide Watch in 1986.

To prove this, I will illustrate stage-by-stage how abortion violence meets the criteria of the framework below. Note that I am working from the reasonable premise that all human organisms are people by default, and burden of proof rests on those who claim a class of "human non-persons" exists.

1: Classification

"All cultures have categories to distinguish people into “us and them”. Bipolar societies that lack mixed categories, are the most likely to have genocide."

"Us" is the class of born people, "them" is the class of preborn people.

2: Symbolization

"We give names or other symbols to the classifications. We give the pariah class a name, or distinguish it by colors or dress; and apply the symbols to members of the group."

Born people gave the class of preborn people the name "fetuses".

3: Discrimination

"The powerless group may not be accorded full rights or citizenship. The dominant group is driven by an exclusionary ideology that deprives less powerful groups of their rights. The ideology advocates monopolization of power by the dominant group. It legitimizes the victimization of weaker groups."

The powerless group is The Preborn. They are denied the right to protection from aggressive violence, and they are not recognized as citizens by law. The dominant group, The Born, uses political power and custom to maintain this status quo. Their ideology excludes people with certain age-appropriate limitations of ability from human rights. It advocates for born people to have exclusive power to grant or deny the humanity of powerless preborn people.

4: Dehumanization

"One group denies the humanity of the other group. Members of it are equated with animals, vermin, insects or diseases. Dehumanization overcomes the normal human revulsion against murder. Hate propaganda is used to vilify the victim group. The majority group is taught to regard the other group as less than human. They are indoctrinated to believe that “We are better off without them.” The powerless group can become so depersonalized that they are actually given numbers rather than names. They are equated with impurity and immorality."

Born people deny the humanity of preborn people. The Preborn are equated with primitive animals, property, parasites, or tumors. The Abortion Industrial Complex (AIC) and its activist wing, the Pro-Choice Movement (PCM) uses propaganda to blame The Preborn for patriarchal oppression. The Born are taught to regard The Preborn as not yet fully human. They are indoctrinated to believe that "we are better off without unplanned babies". Preborn people usually are not given names. They are equated with sexual stigma and shame.

5: Organization

"Genocide is always organized, usually by the state, often using militias to provide deniability of state responsibility. Sometimes organization is informal or decentralized. Arms are purchased by states and militias to facilitate acts of genocide. States organize secret police to spy on, arrest, torture, and murder people suspected of opposition to political leaders. Special training is given to murderous militias and special army killing units."

The State sanctions elective feticide and organizes it under NIH population control programs (eugenics campaign by the 20th century elite), using the Planned Parenthood Federation of America (PPFA) to provide deniability of responsibility (see: Alan Guttmacher.) Facilities are built and supplied to facilitate mass feticide. The State uses the DOJ & FBI to spy on, arrest, and incarcerate pro-life activists. The Ryan Residency gives special training to abortionists.

6: Polarization

"Extremists drive the groups apart. Hate groups broadcast polarizing propaganda. Motivations for targeting a group are indoctrinated through mass media. Extremists intimidate moderates, silencing the center. The dominant group passes laws or decrees that grant them total power over the targeted group. The laws erode fundamental rights. Targeted groups are incapable of self-defense, ensuring the dominant group control."

Pro-Abortion Extremists drive the PCM apart from the PLM (Pro-Life Movement). PPFA broadcasts polarizing posts and ads. Motivations for seeking an abortion are indoctrinated through social media. Pro-Aborts intimidate moderates, silencing the center. A Supreme Court decision grants born people total power over preborn people. The repeal of abortion regulations erode the right to life. The Preborn are incapable of self-defense, ensuring The Born have total control.

7: Preparation

"Plans are made for genocidal killings. Perpetrator group leaders plan the “Final Solution” to the targeted group “question.” They often use euphemisms to cloak their intentions. They indoctrinate the populace with fear of the victim group. Leaders often claim that “if we don’t kill them, they will kill us,” disguising genocide as self-defense. Inflammatory rhetoric and hate propaganda are used with the objective of creating fear of the other group."

PPFA plans to increase their abortion sales quota and expand their business into the global south. The AIC leaders plan the "Solution" to the unplanned fetus "epidemic". They call it "healthcare" to cloak their intentions. They indoctrinate the populace with fear of The Preborn. AIC leaders claim "without abortion, women will die," disguising feticide as self-defense. "Gestational slavery, forced birth" and "unwanted children, rapist's baby" are used in order to create fear.

8: Persecution

"Victims are separated out because of their class identity. Sometimes they are even deported or confined and starved. They are deliberately deprived of resources in order to destroy them. Programs are implemented to prevent procreation through forced abortions. Children are forcibly taken from their parents. The victim group’s basic human rights become systematically abused through killings, torture and forced displacement. They are acts of genocide because they intentionally destroy part of a group."

The Preborn class is treated as separate from the rest of humankind because they exist where and how humans do at that age. They are expelled from their literal place of origin, or held captive within it and slaughtered. They are deliberately deprived of oxygen or nutrition. Preborn babies are forcibly extracted from their parents with vacuums, forceps, and curettes. The basic human rights of preborn humans are systematically abused as they are lethally injected without due process and dismembered alive without anesthesia. The unplanned, imperfect, and unprivileged are intentionally destroyed.

9: Extermination

"The mass killing called “genocide” begins. It is “extermination” to the killers because they do not believe their victims to be fully human. Acts of genocide demonstrate how dehumanized the victims have become. Already dead bodies are dismembered. Destruction of property is employed to annihilate the group’s existence from history. They do not differentiate civilians from non-combatants. They result in widespread war crimes: mass rapes of women and girls, all men of fighting age are murdered."

Mass feticide began with industrialization. It is "termination" to the abortionists because they do not believe The Preborn to be fully human. Brutal later procedures demonstrate how dehumanized The Preborn have become. Already dismembered babies are burned for electricity. Disinformation is spread to eliminate the existence of The Preborn from serious consideration. They do not differentiate viable fetuses from unviable. They result in widespread social and economic coercion: the mass predation by the AIC upon vulnerable women and girls, the silencing of all men who would fight for the lives of babies.

10: Denial

"The perpetrators of genocide try to cover up the evidence and intimidate the witnesses. They deny that they committed any crimes, and often blame what happened on the victims. They block investigations of the crimes, and continue to govern until driven from power by force, when they flee into exile. There they remain with impunity."

The AIC covers up the inhumanity of abortion, malpractice at facilities, and extralegal fetal tissue trade. They intimidate PLM activists and deny the existence of abortion survivors. They lie about evidence and falsify data; they gaslight women who regret their abortions as "sensitive to stigma." They block legal investigations by colluding with corrupt officials. Dangerous abortionists continue to operate with impunity until driven out of business by force, when they flee to a vulnerable community and practice under the radar.

Further commentary:

Over the past few weeks, especially with current events between Israel (committing a genocide) and Palestine (Gaza is a death camp West Bank is apartheid), I've gotten more pushback than usual on using the word "genocide" to describe the mass killing of abortion.

And the critics aren't wrong: abortion doesn't fit the definition in the strict sense. If you are limiting genocide to the original meaning, then it refers exclusively to systematic extermination of the population of an ethnicity, nationality, or religion. In fact, in this sense, "holocaust" probably better describes abortion, as it refers to a sacrificial killing en masse; however, calling abortion "THE Holocaust" is anti-Semitic, so avoid the term altogether. Democide is another option, but it is limited to a mass killing executed by a government power.

And simply calling abortion a "mass killing" or "massacre" frankly doesn't communicate the extent, gravity, and urgency of the human rights violation. Some genocide scholars have generalized the term to describe any widespread killing of a targeted class of people.

When I say "abortion is genocide", I don't mean abortion fits the DEFINITION of genocide. I mean abortion violence fits the PATTERN of a genocide. I'm open to arguments against this, but it's where I stand for now, and I hope I have illustrated my argument well.

ps. The genocide of Gaza is NOT up for debate. FREE PALESTINE!

[clippedwingsmuses]

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎" 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐲? "‎‎

canon divergent multifandom multimuse - private - indie - penned by crowmun please see my rp tracker before asking about replies that i owe

musing characters from: danganronpa, pokemon, my little pony, genshin impact, sonic the hedgehog, cookie run, minecraft diaries, kung fu panda, friday night funkin', steven universe, five nights at freddy's, murder drones, && kinitoPET

muses - rules - about mun + exclusives & mains - verses - credits - promo tags memes - headcanons - drabbles - permanent starter calls

a study into the effects of: psychological torture, mental & emotional abuse, abandonment, depersonalization / dehumanization / derealization, murder, violence, hypnosis, toxic/unhealthy relationships, suicidal thoughts, cult ideologies, religious trauma, mind controlling, experimentation, genocide, neglect, stockholm syndrome, imposter syndrome, moral ambiguity, vampirism, && debilitating anger please be mindful when threading / viewing, as many of these triggering topics are relevant to the backstories / worldviews of my muses and will be reflected in their thoughts. most topics will be tagged with '[topic] tw' if / when they appear.

i swear a lot ooc, and my characters (primarily surge & kokichi) will do the same. i can tone down the swearing ON REQUEST or based on the rules of my mutuals. swearing will ALWAYS be tagged when it shows up.

other blogs: @mirrormazemuses (oc multi, HEAVILY UNDER CONSTRUCTION)

affiliates: @snowypetalsmuses

rules under the cut for mobile users

Typical roleplay etiquette applies here. No godmodding, no meta-rps, no powerplaying/controlling my muse, & don't be a dick.

This blog is PRIVATE, meaning that I only roleplay with mutuals. -- This is a sideblog! I follow from my main; XOX-B1TE-M3-XOX. -- Wanna break mutuals? HARD BLOCK ME! I'll forget otherwise.

Personals will be hard-blocked unless they have a RP sideblog.

I will not roleplay with minors because of my blog's themes.

Proper grammar and punctuation are a must when threading with me.

I exclusively do LITERATE roleplays, typically multi-para in length.

You don't have to match the length of my replies, nor the speed at which I reply! However, I expect more than a sentence or two reply.

If I have not responded to our thread for TWO WEEKS+, tell me! -- Similarly, if you have not responded to our thread for more than THREE MONTHS without notice, I will consider it dropped.

This blog will deal with mature themes, but I will not write NSFW. -- Content leaning to NSFW will fade to black, no exceptions. -- I will not engage in mature themes with minor/aged up muses.

If you write content intended for pr*shippers, or you are one, leave.

I will not roleplay fight sequences unless they are heavily plotted.  -- If our RP is edging towards a fight, please talk with me first so we can discuss where it goes. I will do the same to you.

I am MULTISHIP, so I will ship my muses with multiple characters. -- Every character that I RP with will be set in their own verse. -- Please ask before including other people/muses in our verses.

I am more than willing to write pre-established relationships! -- I will not write pre-established romantic or familial relationships, unless I know you personally.

Don't reblog memes/threads/musings/aesthetics from me.

Specify verses/muses when sending starters/asks! See my verses HERE. -- The main muses of my blog are KIERAN, KOKICHI, KATSUTOSHI, and KITSUNAMI. I will respond as them by default depending on their activity.

I only ship characters in the same age group, including aged up muses. (Ex.: No Scoots x Mane 6, even in the post-finale verse)

If you read these rules, please send an ask with 'I will heal you'. -- I'll also accept you liking my pinned as sending the password.

my blacklist: images of bugs / blood/gore / body horror / spiders, unsanitary jokes

[catgirl-catboy]

Weird opinion but, I’m a big Hifumi fan and I feel like he’s extremely underrated compared to Tsumugi, a more conventionally attractive weeb.

oh, he is 100% underrated, expecially considering the fandom made Gonta into basically Hifumi 2.0.

I was talking to my friend Crow about this the other day, and I genuinely think Hifumi should not have been a trial 3 character, and that he makes a better victim for Sayaka than Leon.

Two young kids are very lonely. One's family is never mentioned until Ultra Despair Girls, one has an absentee father.

They both find something that changes the course of their lives, and gives existence meaning.

An idealized image of a girl.

They both devote their entire selves into chasing that image, and have no relationships outside of that.

One is glorified for her devotion, the other is demonized for his "obsessiveness", despite this being the school for obsessive types.

Both are dehumanized.

It'd be the perfect commentary on how Hope's Peak as a whole fails every student that attends it, and it wouldn't be at the expense of Leon's character either!

He fits with the themes of chapter 3 beautifully, and honestly I'd buy him making the mistakes with Robo Justice before I'd buy Hifumi making them. Leon is about coolness over practicality, and nobody gets good at art without having at least a passing interest in anatomy.

Also also also, if you take Hifumi's character with any degree of seriousness, which I do because I am way too serious about everything Danganronpa- he meets all the criteria for a depersonalization/derealization disorder. Celeste WANTS to belive she's living her dream. Hifumi is actually living his dream.

There's a potential for a really interesting arc there, where Celeste descends further into self-delusion while Hifumi pulls himself out of it and begins to see his classmates as people and not characters.

Sorry this got long I love to ramble about DR and will do so at the slightest provocation.

[kitabasis]

There’s SOMETHING there when it comes to Testament discarding their gender after becoming a gear…I’m not sure want but there is something

Yeah it’s…hmm. This is very much headcanon (and will probably be elaborated on with some amount of citations in a later post) BUT. In my opinion. Before death #1, Testament was trying to really act like a suitable heir for their father and make him proud (even though he literally just wanted them to be themself!!! He loved them no matter what!!! Frankly he probably loved them even when they killed him!!!<-which is a piece of lore that contradicts so many things BUT I <3 unwilling patricide and making Testament’s guilt issues even worse. So.), which meant following in his footsteps, which meant enlisting in the Order and performing masculinity (which I think could be linked because well. Traditionally being a soldier is seen as masculine, whereas being gentle and pacifist and taking care of orphans—which was Testament actually wanted to do, and what came more naturally to them—is traditionally seen as feminine) instead of like questioning their gender (also there’s maybe Catholicism stuff going on?? What religions people follow/are popular in the Guilty Gear world is confusing to me…). So I imagine they started dressing more femininely post death #1 because there was just like…no possibility of following in Kliff’s footsteps (and also they had amnesia until death #2? At least according to X Plus), so they just did whatever, probably without putting much thought into it. And then later when they were doing all their introspection and healing in Dizzy’s hometown (which was also Kliff’s hometown iirc? Which isn’t relevant except that it’s fun) for 7 years their gender probably came up as part of that. Also I wonder if a little bit of Dizzy-era Testament’s intense self-dehumanization could’ve been like dysphoria- and resulting depersonalization-related. Like in addition to all the intense self-loathing and stuff. In a “they’d rather see themself as a monster/shield/weapon/etc than as a man” way. If that makes any sense?

[romanceyourdemons]

rage (1972) is thematically a fairly standard early-70s eco-centric and anti-military film, but it is fascinating in the way that it carefully positions the military industrial complex and its auxiliary branch, the police, as the enemy of the all-american working class rural man. the film spends its first ten minutes establishing what a perfectly american ranch life the main character and his young son live. they care for their sheep, they love their community, they drive an old but lovingly maintained truck, they play checkers in the light of a campfire. this ideal life is not only threatened but destroyed, and not only destroyed but disrespected and treated as something without value by the military, which is the sinister force in this movie and the controlling force behind the equally sinister industry and police. when a nerve gas the military is developing for chemical warfare is accidentally released over the protagonist’s ranch, killing the protagonist’s livestock and son and leaving the protagonist a dying man, the protagonist swears revenge against the people who not only killed his boy but treated him and his son as test subjects to be observed and lied to at will. the working class man’s brutal vengeance against the military is supported by the film: rather than the denial of resolution the frequently concludes revenge films coming from the protagonist attaining his revenge and getting no catharsis, as in i saw the devil (2010) or memento (2000), this film ends with the protagonist being denied his revenge, with his corpse becoming the depersonalized and dehumanized property of a military that always viewed it that way. rather than argue that his revenge is over-the-top and pointless, as the former method would have, this method telegraphs that his revenge is good and just, and that it must still be completed even though he is no longer capable of carrying it out. this film is not perfect, by any means: the pacing, editing, and dialogue are frequently strange, and the motif of throwing liquids onto the ground, while serving to emphasize the ecological dimension of the film, tends to break up the flow of the film. however, the message argued by rage (1972) is a very interesting one, especially compared to modern mainstream media messages around the american military and rural people

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Shamanism (excerpts)

From the book, The Korean Mind: Understanding Contemporary Korean Culture

Korean Sociologists say that the depersonalizing and dehumanizing aspects of Confucianism contributed enormously to the continued survival and popularity of shamanism because shamanistic rituals provided direct, immediate relief to many of the intellectual and emotional problems caused by the strict Confucian code of conduct….

Korean educational writer In Hoe Kim said in an article entitled “The Values of Korean People,” published in 1979 (Seoul, Munumsa), that the traditional shamanistic beliefs of Koreans had become identical with their most basic goals –a long life that was peaceful, mentally and physically comfortable, envied by others, and ensured continuation of the family line. But the very things that made shamanism an “easy” religion for people to accept and follow had a negative side that also fundamentally affected Korean attitudes and behavior.

Recent studies of shamanism conducted by the Korean Institute of Policy Studies (KIPS) say that shamanism promoted childish submission to the supernatural, precluded self-reflection, and discouraged any attempt to develop self-esteem, to improve one’s own character or habits, or to be the master of one’s fate and take pride in creative efforts of any kind. On the plus side, shamanism valued human life and human happiness and sought to maintain a harmonious relationship between people and the cosmos at large, from local nature spirits to the gods of the universe.

While the KIPS noted that the general influence of shamanism on people was that it made them passive and submissive, the flip side was that if their lives were disrupted by any outside force, regardless of its source, they were prone to blindly lash out with extraordinary violence.

The Korean Mind: Understanding Contemporary Korean Culture Boyé Lafayette De Mente    ISBN: 978-0804842716    Reprint edition 2012

____________________________

Shamanism is at the heart of Sun Myung Moon’s church

Sun Myung Moon – Emperor, and God

Holy Grounds and the Shamanic Guardians of the Five Directions in Moon’s church

Shamanism: The Spirit World of Korea Any understanding of the so-called New Religions of Korea would be difficult without some knowledge of shamanistic influences upon them.

Fear and Loathing at Cheongpyeong

The Moons’ God is not the God of Judeo-Christianity

Hananim and other Spirits in Korean Shamanism

[squirrelpatties]

those "i'm not a pet i'm a x-year commitment" posts would apply pretty well to trolls i think. they canonically can live for 20+ years, likely close to 40-60 or so if you consider that peppy was an adult before the 20 year timeskip. they're sapient and social, so trying to have a single troll and thus keeping it in isolation would be akin to torture. they're loud because singing and dancing and making music is in their bones, and they can be very annoying when they want to be. again they're smart so they'd need a lot of enrichment/could escape their cages easily, and who knows what other complications/costs would occur from having a pet troll. sure, if the troll in question maybe somehow decided that being a pampered pet wasn't a bad deal then they might be more agreeable, but in most cases trying to have a troll as a pet (or, god forbid, buying a troll to give to a kid as a gift pet on the holidays without putting any thought into whether said kid is equipped to take care of a pet) would not go so well.

which is what makes it fun to make the faves suffer that kind of thing, because there's so many whumperful ways to go about it. the dehumanization (depersonization??) potential alone is off the charts. though whether branch would sell all that well with his slightly duller colors (that canonically tend to desaturate a bit when he's unhappy, even if they never go full gray again after the true colors scene) compared to normal pop trolls. but having him stuck in the pet store is a torture of its own so >:))))

im terribly sorry anon but as I was reading through these pet troll asks flashbacks of those fluffy pony abuse artworks flashed through my brain and I got dizzy and had to sit down

[humanransome-note]

Bg3 fanfiction is hard….!!!!

I’m writing Astarion X Markus (my Durge) and I’m trying to keep the balance of Markus being a fucking Creep™️ but not so much that you think about crossing the street when he walks by.

Cause Markus would be violent without the Urges, the tadpole dampened them into something more manageable, but Markus himself is still capable of and willing to relish in violence. (Example: He didn’t kill Nettie for trying to poison him, but he did kill the bird in the infirmary.)

He’s capable of kindness, it’s just not something he has practice in, he’s found it easier not to try. The greatest kindness he has been able to offer is his detachment.

But it’s not just Markus I’m trying to balance, I’m also trying to balance their relationship. Because one thing I’ve seen even in other ppl’s playthroughs is that Durge and Astarion can be either the best thing to happen to each other or the worst.

Their issues could perpetuate each other.

Astarion’s belief that power = freedom, could push Durge deeper into violence, because Durge’s greatest power is violence.

Durge’s violence could push Astarion’s selfishness, because a facet of violence is dehumanization and depersonalization.

But they could also be good for each other.

Astarion’s want for freedom, his want for independence, could help Durge push off/reject their father’s influence.

Durge’s restraint, Durge’s willingness to help even beyond the tadpoles, (with Cazador, with Karlach’s engine, with Wyll’s contract) shows and helps Astarion realize that he can rely on others, and that doesn’t negate his independence. Also not every interaction is a transaction.

These are two people desperately trying to understand kindness both toward themselves and others, and it’s vulnerable and soft!

BUT ALSO BOTH OF THESE NUMBNUTS HAVE THE EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE OF FUCKING TODDLERS!!! SURE ONE KNOWS HIW TO FLAY A PERSON AND KEEP THEM ALIVE, AND THE OTHER CAN AND HAS SEDUCED LITERALLY THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE BEFORE!!! BUT NEITHER KNOWS WHEN OR HOW TO ASK FOR A HUG! NEITHER OF THEM KNOW DECENT, LET ALONE HEALTHY COMMUNICATION!

But I went to therapy and mostly get it, and I’m trying to keep them from sounding like they’re trying to get a good grade in therapy

[atypicalacademic]

For Alsal <3

🍇: What sort of friend are they? Where are they in the group dynamic?

🍎: Do they share any features or traits with any family members?

🍰: What's something your OC counts as unforgivable?

🍻: What's your OC's favourite comfort ritual? How do they calm themselves down after a rough day?

YES for Alsal-

What sort of friend are they? Where are they in the group dynamic?

The Energy, the provider. They're the friend that's always coming up with fun things to do, be it throwing rocks at the lake or going hiking or on a spontaneous vacation or a concert, or just laying back while they do your hair in their fancy bedroom. Their vocation also makes them incredibly protective on many accounts. Alsal thinks life is to be celebrated, just as it is, and while they probably aren't the best person to have a sit-in-silence kind of day or to unpack a deep emotional burden, on the gods they won't let their friends fall out of love with living.

Do they share any features or traits with any family members?

They look just like their mother, Arithri Dres. The resemblance is almost uncanny, from the thick curly hair to the freckles to the big eyes, but Arithri, unlike Alsal was a softer, smaller looking woman, unacquainted with hardship of any kind for most of her life. To put it lightly, they don't remember their mother fondly, and they don't like having the resemblance pointed out. I always say the Selaren bloodline carries a kind of self-destructive hubris; it's not quite a death wish as much as an "this action will cost me dearly but it is Necessary and I can take it." Their father had it, so did their brother. So does their son, although Zennat physically resembles his father more. I think they try to protect him from it, to not too much success.

What's something your OC counts as unforgivable?

A bunch of things, but for one, depersonalizing, dehumanizing people for one's own gain. Treating people like things, as though their autonomy and sovereignty over themselves doesn't matter. Any corruption of their love, be it through betrayal or abuse. (They take war betrayals less seriously than interpersonal ones lol). Harming someone they love and protect, but that goes without saying. These things, in their view, justify everything that they do in retaliation including committing genuine war crimes, leveraging their power to wipe the offender off the face of Nirn, destroying everything the offender holds dear, so on and so forth.

What's your OC's favourite comfort ritual? How do they calm themselves down after a rough day?

I mean for that they have to first admit to themself that they, Alsal Selaren, Nerevar Reborn and Protector of Morrowind, had a day where they didn't win at everything all the time. Which they don't. But in general, as hard as they push themself, they're also good at treating themself, no reason or justification required. They think they deserve everything good, and they give it to themself whenever they can, be it food or drink or entertainment or fine company. Besides, they cheer up pretty easily. From the sun rising over the sea to the sound of chatter to brightly colored mushrooms and a new textile type in the market, or just the sight of Zennat peacefully sleeping, this life, war-torn and endless and all-consuming as it may be, still gives them so many reasons to be joyful.