#ren.

hey so this treebark clip is gonna kill me!

Yet, as abruptly as it had begun, the weight of his foot lifted and the menace of his spear withdrew without a word, turning to leave with the faint air of victory and a tease left suspended in the air. (For ren kek)

@reversescale.

once, he’d believed each of dan heng’s callous advances had been a habit trickled down from his previous incarnation, but now it had become abundantly clear dan feng was not to blame for the sadistic streak that lay lying in wait behind each of the dragon's strikes. it had been made abundantly clear what the lancer used to torment his mental psyche had always been so much more effective than whatever physical pain he could inflict, ren just didn’t think that the trailblazer would stoop this low. because he had to know by this point, yes ? that the crazed obsession had been born of their sins, the curse connected their souls no matter how hard dan heng tried to sever it. he had softened that desire into something more palpable, but the lingering want would always be there.

i will want you for the rest of my lives.

unlike the brutality with which dan heng lured his bracers away, this torment felt more akin to leaving wine just out of reach. water would suffice, but couldn’t it be better ? could he not strive for things he did not deserve ? it was not fear in ren's eyes when pinned beneath a boot that could smash his sternum. it was awe. flecks of fire bloomed in his expression, bringing life to an otherwise deathly countenance. one arm raised to grip the ankle upon his chest, instinctive, as if he intended to keep dan heng there even if their only point of contact was steeped in violence. no matter, for he rewarded ren further, the trace of the beloved spear parting fabric like sensuous rolling silks. a rare flush marked the parts of ren’s body not already bruised and battered, splotchy blemishes contrast to the smooth even tint of skin flushed with desire.

the dragon feigned fairness, and even something akin to nobility, in front of other people, but ren knew beneath that was some compensation ; to alleviate a guilt that came with being born stifling his own ferocity, his anger, his bloodlust. to dangle their red thread in front of him so blatantly, to keep it out of reach, to play with his unyielding affections like a tiger with viscera shredded his heart again and again. this was a hurt that felt good, an unreciprocration that clouded what was left of his muddled brain, ‘til he could barely register dan heng pulling away, the glorious contact of steel on skin gone. he missed it. he wanted it. he wanted the way dan heng used to carve into his flesh because at least then they had been touching.

when he stood from the altercation on misaligned bones and broken bleeding skin, it wasn’t weariness that made standing difficult. it was the way his fingers trembled with longing, the way he yearned to keep those cold grey-green eyes on him. dan heng had always looked so beautiful seconds from killing him.

Can a machine really be grateful enough for its existence that it’s allowed to feel? Before Firefly’s world was demolished, that was something she asked one of her sisters. Them two full of wires, not allowed to get out of their SAM suits without directly disobeying orders, asking each other if their system is competent enough at being alive that they can be grateful? Is such a thing possible for a computer, even one that looks like a girl?

Firefly is a confusing mixture of organic genetic material and wires. Metal. Computer parts, synthetic ears and vocal chords. Taking the fallibility out of humanity, though their aesthetic was nice.

Ren isn’t human, so she doesn’t have to worry about him trying to make her feel better falsely. There’s no gooey honey to his voice, no: you’re human. She wasn’t asking if she was human. Ren knew that. Understood her.

Firefly doesn’t have to watch her facial expressions as much around him. She knows what he sees himself as—some amalgamation of truth, mixed in with falsehoods, coming back with tight threads that he threatens to escape from. Some amount of flesh without soul. It is.. reassuring. She’d never tell him so, that this combination of lies he lives and has to endure reassures her of herself. That she is capable of being both.

He shouldn’t have to endure suffering for her to feel real—and it’s not that, but it is. Ren makes her feel real. More than a weapon. More than a soldier without orders. More             than             a             walking            tombstone. one day meant to die as her world died, in flames.

She feels his jacket fall on her shoulders and resists the functional urge of tears beyond their original purpose. It’s to clear debris from the eyes,  and yet she feels the sting of them. Ren makes her heart ache.

❛ I feel more real with you, Ren. Like I’m… more capable of it. Of truth and reality. ❜ She loves Penacony and its winding passages and roads. She loves to watch Ren navigate them with precision. It always surprises her, this place, its depths. There’s always another secret. She tugs the jacket closer to herself. She’s incapable of being cold, but if she imagines hard enough, it could almost be true.

❛ I know the first thing that’s real is.. important you are to me, Ren. That’s the realest thing I’ve ever felt. ❜ and fear.

i have been afraid.