twisted iron

it starts with an earthquake, pt 4

The world ends on a Thursday, comes crashing down in smoke and fire and ruin. And then it keeps going, and Vox Machina figures out how to make do in the aftermath. [ a post-apocalyptic au for cr ladies week ]

day four: allura [previously: pike, vex, keyleth]


In an ironic twist of fate, she’s on duty when the world ends. 

She’s sitting behind a desk halfway across the continent, counting down the hours until she can return home, and then, bam. End of the world. The saxons blare and the earth rolls like the sea and the whole building shuts down, every grate and door sealed shut, and Drake swears a blue streak while the skeleton crew still in the complex after hours panics, and everyone tries to reach Uriel, or Salda, or the council, and fails. 

They fail to reach anyone at all.

When the smoke clears and the lockdown ends and they step out to see what has happened, it’s already too late.

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So far the main problem with Iron Fist is that the main character isn’t literally any of the other characters


Leading Ladies: (3/?) Coriane Jacos-Calore (Queen Song by Victoria Aveyard) 

He [the prince] asked her to call him Tibe after a few weeks. A family nickname, used among the royals and a precious few friends. “All right, then,” Coriane said, agreeing to his request.” “Saying ‘Your Highness’ was getting to be a bit of a pain.” They first met by chance, on the massive bridge that spanned the Capital River, connecting both sides of Archeon. A marvelous structure of twisted steel and trussed iron, supporting three levels of roadway, plazas, and commercial squares. Coriane was not so dazzled by silk shops or the stylish eateries jutting out over the water, but more interested in the bridge itself, its construction. She tried to fathom how many tons of metal were beneath her feet, her mind a flurry of equations. At first, she didn’t notice the Sentinels walking toward her, nor the prince they followed.

Mary, her boys and Destiel

My thoughts around Mary, what she has seen and her coping with her boys and their angel buddy. 

She’s gone from being a mother of 2 babies in a (happily? generally?) cupid-induced loving marriage, still fighting the supernatural on occasion to happily dead in heaven (which she remembers), to now being a (unneeded) mother to 2 grown men - who live with a supernatural being, in an underground bunker owned by her family’s ‘mythical opposition’ the men of letters and living the hunting life she was desperate to keep them away from. Yeah, tough.

- Resurrection : Dean convinces her of who he is by an emotional retelling of her life and how she met John.  Reminding us that when Mary and John first met they didn’t actually immediately like each other, she 'knocked him flat on his ass’. They did fall intensely in love although their relationship and family was marred by the supernatural and they sometimes fought passionately (she doesn’t know it was a Cupid of course)…. Aside - *ahem “couple who were 'forced to be’ v couple who embody free will” parallels*

Originally posted by castieledits

- Witnessing Dean and Cas being reunited when Cas believes he has died. Cas throwing himself at Dean, shouting then quietly murmuring his name into his neck. She, understandably, has a questioning look in her eyes. Then, um, ANGEL?!

Originally posted by mellofone

- Seeing Cas work tirelessly to find Sam. Seeing Dean completely trusting Cas to do this and also relying on him emotionally (overhearing their #married phone conversation about Dean not wanting to overwhelm her).

- Knowing that Cas lives in the bunker with them, but noting that he doesn’t sleep, emphasising his 'inhuman’ side.

- Seeing how completely Cas falls apart when Sam and Dean are imprisoned as he tries to find them and attempts to hunt alone (v how effective he was at finding just Sam, working with Dean, when she first met him). She blames him for their loss at first. Then upon seeing how completely he is broken, even counting the hours, she tries to support and help him in as much as she can, in her way. Upon realising how he is NOT coping she goes from her first instinct of blaming him for their loss in her role as their mother to actually consoling him.

Originally posted by angvlicmish

Mary is NOT a monster, she’s really struggling, she misses the people she loves and so buries herself in hunting to bury her emotions. Plus her automatic reaction to strong feelings of love, pain and guilt is to get angry… LIKE DEAN (very relevant for Cas’s death scene).

- Cas putting himself in danger to save her from Billie, he then gives an impassioned, muddled speech about how important you/you all is/are to him/everything… but predominantly throughout this is looking at Dean.
Sure he doesn’t want Mary to die, but this speech - this declaration is not really about them all being so important to everything, it can’t be, she’s not been around long enough and she hasn’t done anything to show Cas that she’s of any real importance. 

She wonders if he even really understands it himself, he looks so muddled and broken. Is it because he’s an angel? Do angels feel like humans? She’s confused and worried, she is already not sure of the new world she’s come back to, and now there’s a supernatural being in her and her boy’s life, it’s intense. And now this?!
She turns to Dean and sees the look of pain in his eyes as he realises how broken Cas is and how he has put himself in harms way for them. 

His jaw is clenched, his body language is closed off, guarded. She understands this is far more complex than she first imagined.

Originally posted by mishacolins

- After such an emotive night she heads out to clear her head, she can’t cope with being around them all, it’s too much. The next time she sees them all it is most definitely jarring. Sam and Dean are all business with her, there’s no sign of anything cosmic or anything in their actions to recall that emotional night. Dean partakes in some over the top posturing with the waitress on Cas’s behalf while calling Cas 'devastatingly handsome’ while Cas seems oblivious, or is that actually a scowl on his face? She’s now even more confused. Does Dean not realise or is this something else entirely? Has she misread Cas? She doesn’t know any other angels so it could be that she’s misunderstood. He is a little awkward and supernatural after all…. but the boys want him around and he obviously cares for them so she should just get them all to get on with the hunt.

- Cas is dying and it’s her fault. He wants the Winchesters to leave him as to save themselves. He tells Sam and Dean that his best moments have been with them which makes her wonder just how old he is and what he has seen. He says the things they’ve shared and done have changed him. She knows this is important but not exactly how, it’s deeply emotional though and it reminds her of how little she actually knows of their time together and her boys that this angel, this supernatural being could have been affected so much by them.
She turns and sees Sam, then Dean’s faces and how they both are pained by Cas’s dying words. Somehow though she can see not just sadness in Dean’s eyes but also regret and self loathing. He blames himself. She knows because it’s what she sees in the mirror. She is reminded again how Dean is so like her.

- Cas looking up at them all, calling them all his family, nodding at her to include her which just makes her feel awful for her part in having led to this, his death and all their pain. She doesn’t really deserve this, to be a part of their family.

- Cas then immediately looking down, not catching anyone’s eye as he says 'I love you’. 

Originally posted by jensen-jay

Cas looking up at Sam as he tells him that he loves them all, meaning him, specifically TOO, then finally the long lingering, revealing look at Dean as he can’t avoid him any longer. She knows now, she understands. 

She looks at Dean and sees so much of herself in him. She wonders if he understands too or if his self-loathing prevents his comprehension that he can be loved like this. She’s not known him very long as an adult but she knows this much about him and that saddens her deeply, it also contributes to her own self-loathing in an ironic twist. And if he does understand Cas’s words, does he reciprocate? Her and Dean, they work with actions, not words and she sees his actions now, how he’s holding back. She understands. But it doesn’t matter now anyway, 

Cas is dying and it’s her fault. She could be the cause of the breaking of her little boy’s heart and he doesn’t even know it. But still in the back of her mind, is this not maybe for the best? How can you love something not…human?

- Sam and Dean fighting for Cas, refusing to leave him, emphasising that he is family, seeing the understanding and love in Cas’s eyes as they do so. Dean had even been arguing with and insulting both the KING OF HELL and RAMIEL as he was so worried for Cas. Mary is terrified of Ramiel, another yellow eyed demon and she has seen this. 

Now, as he is dying, Sam’s consoling words while Dean can’t watch, he looks down like he might even be praying. Or perhaps he just can’t watch Cas’s last moments.

Originally posted by godshipsit

Originally posted by foodiestiel

- But he lives, no thanks to Mary.

- “Let’s go home”….

No wonder she can’t stay around them, with the confusion over their supernatural 'friend’ plus now the guilt (she’s still in the old hunter mindset of kill anything inhuman, she doesn’t have 12 years worth of Winchester Gospel storyline to teach her the grey areas like our boys have and they’ve only recently learned it fully re: Benny, Amy).

Originally posted by shixpe

And yes she’s made it a hell of a lot worse by now also betraying Sam with the BMOL, when he was the one who really still trusted her.

So yeah, in her struggle to find herself she’s ‘abandoned’ BOTH Sam and Dean and now she’s narratively: 

1. betrayed Sam through her work with the BMOL.

2. betrayed Dean…. by endangering Cas. 

So I think that speaks volumes.

Now for her redemption arc as she’s already admitted to working with the BMoL and is clearly conflicted about nearly losing Cas, let’s get some more wake up calls :)

Dorne has more in common with the distant North than either does with the realms that lie between them. One is hot and one is cold, yet these ancient kingdoms of sand and snow  are set apart from the rest of Westeros by history, culture, and tradition. Both are thinly peopled, compared to the lands betwixt. Both cling stubbornly to their own laws and their own traditions. Neither was ever truly conquered by the dragons. The King in the North accepted Aegon Targaryen as his overlord peaceably, whilst Dorne resisted the might of the Targaryens valiantly for almost two hundred years, before finally submitting to the Iron Throne through marriage. Dornishmen and Northmen alike are derided as savages by the ignorant of the five ‘civilized’ kingdoms, and celebrated for their valor by those who have crossed swords with them.

The World of Ice and Fire

one day, frustrated at sirius’s distracting roughhousing and lack of consideration, remus lupin turns in his seat and shouts, “i told you to be quiet because some of us have exams tomorrow! i’m dead serious about this, so if you could please take your rioting elsewhere i’d appreciate it!” 

to remus’s dismay, sirius merely snickers, “dead sirius, huh? poor moony, struggling to study for exams he’s already prepared for,” and proceeds to repeat “dead sirius” exaggeratedly to the gryffindor common room at large. after a little while sulking over his arithmancy, remus good-naturedly gives in to the inevitable as usual, joining in the common room fun.

from then on, remus’s frequent, often inadvertent use of “i’m dead serious!” becomes the butt of many of sirius’s jokes. remus learns to use the phrase sparingly, but it still pops out unawares from time to time as remus scolds sirius in an angry or emotional state. fond as he is of padfoot, remus tries to dissuade sirius from his constant puns, but the amusingly annoying habit sticks.

nearly twenty years later, remus lupin finds himself back in hogwarts, not for class but for battle, not for learning or teaching but for spells roared in anger and fear, wand slashing violently, nearly a blur. lights flash, almost blinding him, and as remus falls, wand clattering down the stone corridor, he remembers one day many years ago filled with warmth and laughter and wordplay. smiling ever so slightly, remus lupin murmurs for the last time, “i’m dead, sirius”–and thus professor lupin’s last words are a shared joke, a fond memory, and an ironic twist of fate.

The Importance of Iron in Witchcraft

So, I got a lot of really positive feedback about my post about salt in witchcraft, so here’s another one just for you about iron!

Iron, like salt, has been used for many thousands of years as a potent tool in the practices of witchcraft. Iron is one of the most abundant metals in our planet, and is also a really great metal for making into tools. It’s tough, hard, ductile and with a high melting point that makes it ideal for situations in which you might need a tool to work under extremely hot conditions. It’s also one of only three ferromagnetic metals (along with nickel and cobalt), making it an essential part of most magnets and compasses.

In astrophysics, iron is extremely important in the life cycle of stars. Iron is one of the most atomically stable substances in the universe, and it’s also unique because it’s the first element in the periodic table to require more energy to MAKE it than it gives out from atomic fusion. This is important, because when a star gets older and fuses hydrogen to make helium, helium to make beryllium and all the rest, once it starts fusing atoms to make iron, the star begins to die. So, iron is an element that signals the death of stars, and any element that weighs MORE than iron (atomically speaking) can only be made in supernovas - that is, the explosion that takes place when a really BIG star dies.

In biology, iron is one of the most important elements in mammalian, reptilian and avian blood, because it’s the element that we use in the chemical haemoglobin. This is the chemical in our blood cells that binds to oxygen and keeps us alive. Crustaceans like lobsters don’t use iron - they use copper, and instead make haemocyanin, which makes their blood blue! However, just like in stars, iron can mean death for humans as well. If we overdose on iron, we suffer from iron heavy metal poisoning; when we get crushed by a heavy object we can suffer a disease called traumatic rhabdomyolysis or Crush Syndrome, caused by vast amounts of myoglobin (another iron-based compound, found in muscles, which gives them extra oxygen to use) entering our kidneys and killing them, and as a result killing us.

Iron in science is an element of life, death, and of many points in between. But what about its uses in witchcraft?

Witchy Facts about Iron!

  1. Iron is stable. Iron’s stability, both atomically and magickally, makes it a fantastic magickal conductor, and also means that magick doesn’t seem to affect iron very much. Enchantments on iron are never as strong as on other metals, and even the best witches will have difficulty making an enchantment or other spell anchor properly. However, this has the advantage that iron doesn’t pick up negative magick from background sources, and it’s extremely unlikely that there will be issues with ritual or altar tools made from iron. Keeping your magickal supplies inside an iron or steel box, or a box that’s been nailed together with iron nails, will prevent them from leaking out and attracting spirits that might cause harm.

  2. Iron is protective. Along with silver and a few other little bits and bobs, negative spirits and fae folk cannot touch iron lest it burn them and cause them pain. Additionally, negative magicks targetted at someone wearing an iron pendant will be attracted into the pendant and then dispelled. This makes it an ideal protective charm for everyday carry or everyday wear.

    This is why horseshoes are considered lucky
    - back in Medieval times, when protection against negative spirits and magick was much more widely practiced, poor families would often be unable to afford much iron. However, a horseshoe is made of iron, and comes with holes already cast into it, which allow you to nail one over your door easily, which keeps out harmful spirits, magick, and fae, who might seek to hurt you or your family.

  3. Iron is inconspicuous. Anyone can carry an iron nail after all, and a little piece of iron wrought and twisted into a small pendant is far from a traditional witch’s item. Those secret witches who perhaps do not live with accepting families or within an accepting community or country can find great solace in the use of iron as a protective charm.

  4. Iron is cheap. Iron nails, iron rods and iron knifes are pretty easy to get hold of and relatively quite cheap. They’re versatile and not especially likely to draw attention to you - after all, nobody’s likely to question why someone has a couple of iron nails twisted into a pendant, and if they do question it, why it’s just an artistic display! And of course, easy to replace with $5 worth of string, iron and a hammer.

  5. Iron is ancient. Iron is one of the oldest protective charms out there, right up with salt and sage. It’s been used for literally thousands of years to protect people against everything from wolves to armies to poltergeists. That’s a pretty impressive history!

  6. Iron is practical! The best cookware I’ve ever used has always been my cast iron cookware set, which makes better food than I’ve ever tasted, and it’s very easy to clean. It’s also extremely hardwearing - I wholly expect to one day be able to pass on my cast iron frying pan and wok to my grandchildren, and it was already been owned by my mother and father before me. Iron knifes are sharper and cut cleaner than almost anything except obsidian, and high-carbon steel (an alloy of iron and carbon) is the best cutting edge known in bushcrafting circles, where all the best knives are made from it

I hope this helps all you lovely witches and magick users out there!

– Juniper

day 1; new

notes; kami has too much time and made his boyfriends playlists that reminded him of them (he makes one for himself too. nerd.)

katsuki bakugou

shape of you - ed sheeran // follow you - bring me the horizon // you’re gonna go far, kid - the offspring // killin’ it - krewella // planetary [go!] - my chemical romance // killer - the ready set // wreak havoc - skylar grey // wolf in sheep’s clothing - set it off // so what - three days grace // kick me - sleeping with sirens // give me a try - the wombats // strange love - halsey 

kirishima eijirou

first date - blink-182 // i really like you - carly rae jepsen // hearts don’t break around here - ed sheeran // empty gold - halsey // sleepless - future myth // a shot across the bow - mayday parade // fire and rain - acceptance // i was made for loving you - tori kelly // somebody else - the 1975 // little talks - of monsters and men // goner - twenty one pilots // cross my mind - a r i z o n a

kaminari denki

meteor shower - owl city // driving through a dream - andrew mcmahon in the wilderness // adore u - seventeen // i got you - bebe rexha // given it all - hayley kiyoko // temporary bliss - the cab // last young renegade - all time low // thunderstruck - owl city // 1965 - zella day // love song - sara bareilles // bet on it - zac efron // la da dee - cody simpson

thehoveringbrain  asked:

I have this idea that music and dance (performing arts) majors would have the quirk of always counting in their head, 1,2,3,4...or even out loud 5,6,7,8... When you find yourself counting something is near. Counting keeps you grounded, especially when you perform: it helps to fight off the urge to wander away. It's ironic and twisted that artists end up needing numbers more than science majors do.

i love this.

The Tunnels (2/?)

From his spot standing beside Cor on the hard-packed dirt floor, Youngest laughed. The bright sound was shocking in the heavy silence. “No wonder Prior knew about this place. The drama department must hang out down here all the time.” He pointed to their source of light, wall sconces with heavy torches that burned a strange blue color. “Who else is crazy enough to leave an open flame like that?”

“Do me a favor and shut up,” Cor snarled, squinting as she tried to make out anything beyond their five-foot bubble of light. “Look, these places run on rules, okay? What time would you say it was when we fell?”

At her angry tone and furtive glances, Youngest’s eyebrows rose. “I dunno. A little after noon, maybe?” He reached for his phone. “It’s only been a few minutes since you grabbed me.” Pushing the center button on his cell, he frowned and muttered, “Okay, I know I plugged this in before I sacked out last night, so why’s it acting like the battery’s dead?”

Cor, who had backed up until she felt her shoulder blades brush the wall, rolled her eyes. “It’s not going to work ‘til we get back Above. So how about you quit messing with it and focus,” she suggested shortly. “We have no guarantee how long it’s been. Time works differently here.”

Shoving his phone in his pocket, Youngest asked, “Is that a physics joke?”

Still trying to see into the darkness in either direction, Cor twisted one of her iron rings. (Left middle finger. They were all polished until they shone, but this one was what she played with when her anxiety spiked. It was stamped with the Elder Futhark rune, alternately called kaunan or kenaz.) She shook her head. “Look, this is what it boils down to - if we don’t make it back to campus by 3 AM, we’re fucked.”

Turning fully to face her, Youngest tiled his head. “3AM?”

Shoulders slumping in exasperation, Cor held in a scream. “Where is your family even from?”

“Pittsburgh,” he answered flatly.

“No, before that,” she prodded. “Doesn’t your family have stories that get passed down, generation to generation? Ghost stories, or ancestral tales or warnings?”

Youngest shook his head in confusion. “My grandpa set a barn on fire when he was a kid,” he offered.

Tugging the ring nearly off before shoving it securely back on again, Cor considered praying for patience. She caught herself before she could so much as silently wish. (You never knew who might be listening, and eager to deal.) “My mom’s side has stories going back to 13th century Wales, and my dad was descended from vikings, so their family epics reach even further through history. Which means I know a thing or two about the old ways.”

At her pronouncement, Youngest threw up his hands. “So?”

“So 3 AM is the witching hour,” she clarified. “A time of death and birth, when the veil is thin and magic is strongest.”

“Magic,” he repeated, deadpan. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Incredulous, Cor stared, before bursting out, “You got to a school infested with the Fair Folk!” She could hear her voice growing louder, could feel her gestures becoming wider, but couldn’t seem to calm down. “Bojangles is right outside the campus library, busking half the week! How the hell could you possibly miss the thing with an alligator’s head, skeletal hands, a brown suit that looks like it was made out of skin, and it plays nothing but In the Hall of the Mountain King, repeatedly, on an accordion?

Lip curling up, Youngest scoffed. “That dude’s a cosplayer, or something. A furry, maybe? Anyway, did you just say Fair Folk? Like… fairies?” He studied her like he was waiting for proof of insanity and leaned away. “Cor, fairies aren’t real. They’re stories, moral lesson wrapped in allegories to teach dumb kids right from wrong and not to follow strangers around grocery stores.”

Cor wrapped her arms tighter around herself at his dismissive words, and the condescending tone wasn’t helping with the panic attack threatening to crush her lungs. “For the love of god, would you please shut the hell up before you get us both killed?”

Seeing her struggle to breathe, the way her chest rose and fell but Cor still couldn’t seem to get enough air, Youngest held out his hands. “Okay, no need to freak. …fairies.”

Shutting her eyes for half a second, she pulled her hands away from her body to run over her fanny pack again and clicked the stud in her tongue against the roof of her mouth, Cor forced herself to ignore her fear and focus on anger. When her eyes darted back to Youngest, she glared. “The Fair Ones, the Good Neighbours, the Kindly Gentlefolk, or the Gentry, okay? Calling them something else will be perceived as a discourtesy or a challenge, and we’re already up shit creak without a paddle. Let’s not make it worse.”

“Sure,” he bit out. “The Gentry. Now, why do we have to get out of here by 3?”

Cor knew he wasn’t taking her seriously, but she would gladly put up with his patronizing tone if they could just work together to make it out in time. Tapping her foot against the floor, both reassured and terrified of the jingling confirmation of her anklet, she explained. “If we’re still Underhill at 3, we’ll be bound here. For a year and a day. And considering we’re mortals, the food situation, and the fact that you don’t know a thing about the rules down here, I doubt we’d last a week. Even if we did…” She shook her head and bit her lip. “Say we survive that long, don’t get tangled up in any oaths or power plays, find a trustworthy source of mortal food, make it back to the surface, we’d still come back changed.”

Taking in her grave expression, and the way her voice shook on the last word, Youngest blinked. Hushed, he said, “You’re serious.”

“And well versed,” something spoke from their left, the remark tripping out in a sibilant hiss that echoed in the close space.

As Youngest spun to face the it, Cor leaned her head back against the wall and whispered, “Godfuckingdammit.”



Basically, time is a big circle, a loop. Everything is predetermined, and the three-eyed raven knows all the events in this big loop and how they are connected.

So the three eyed raven knew Bran would make the mistake of touching the wrong tree root and will end up in front of the white walkers. He also knew that once that happens, his time will be up and Bran will have to “become” him. He knew then, that the white walkers will come for Bran, he’ll be killed by the wight king and Hodor will ultimately help Bran and Meera escape by holding the door.

So the three-eyed Raven takes Bran to Winterfell in the past, where Bran can come face to face with Hodor of the past. Time is a big loop, and by taking Bran in the past, the raven connects the present and past to each other. 

Bran is somehow, in the middle of the past and present. When the appropriate time comes, the three eyed raven encourages Bran to “listen” to Meera. So Bran does. He understands he has to warg into Hodor so that Hodor can help them. Bran’s act of warging into Hodor, connects Hodor’s past and present selves. Making the loop something like this:

So when the present time Hodor, hears Meera say “hold the door”, and starts to stop the door from opening, the past time Hodor can hear her too. And not just hear, but sort of experience it. Warging definitely has a toll on the person, but this warging is extreme, as it is across two different times. The extremity of it, screws up with Hodor’s brain in the past, who is somehow experiencing his last few moments without really realizing what is happening. He keeps hearing ‘Hold the door’ and the extreme experience of holding the door against the white walkers as they hurt him, has such a psychologically damaging effect on Wylis, that he ends up saying ‘Hodor’ for the rest of his life, and the growth of his brain stops, and he basically goes kinda insane.

smefd  asked:

I'm a big fan of The Walking Dead. So if a Negan like character was introduced, which companion would he pick to kill as an example. Probably excluding Strong from the lineup because there is no way he would kneel to a human. I know this is kind of dark, eh whatever.

Trigger Warning: Violence, gore, and disturbing dialogue.

Strong’s head skipped across the concrete like a stone over water, then skidding to a stop and rolling so his yellow eyes pointed back towards the group. A trail of blood followed his head, a crimson line along the black concrete between his torso and his decapitated skull.

Pickman sighed, dropping his baseball bat to the road with a thunk and leaning against it, looking almost comical, like a Pre-War silent movie star posing with his cane. But instead of a cane, it was a gory, smooth mahogany thing, darker where the mutant’s blood stained it. “You know, I really didn’t want to have to do that,” he sighed. 

He turned back to them, swinging on his heel in one smooth motion and raising his free hand. “I didn’t! A domesticated mutant’s worth an awful lot to the right people. Besides the fact that mutants produce a great deal of blood when drained.” He paused, then raised his eyebrows in admittance. “Then again, mutant blood clots too fast to paint with. It’s too thick and unwieldy. Doesn’t make the right kind of art.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” Cait spat, blood and spittle striking the pavement. She tried to pop her jaw, felt it ache where his men had knocked the tooth out.

“Am I?” Pickman walked closer. Didn’t swagger, didn’t pretend. He knew how much power he wielded. He needed no posturing to cast fear into anyone’s heart. Blinking innocently, he leaned down, looking into the girl’s bruised face. He delicately tucked a loose strand from his ponytail behind one ear. “No, my dear. Sick implies that there is something wrong with me. That I interpret the world incorrectly. No, I understand exactly what I am doing, and why I do it. I am not sick. I am conscious. More so than all of you.”

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