#you will pry kafka from my cold dead hands

[delirious-donna]

The duality of this man. 👌

I swear I am going insane because I love and adore him so much. He is so perfectly human, which is something we don’t always see in Shonen MCs. He’s a determined, kind-hearted dummy.

#whispers into the void #kafka hibino #kaiju no. 8 #I will not stop talking about this series and specifically this man #you can pry him from my cold dead hands

[pinkprimrose05]

character asks bc other anon was a coward: blade

HAJFTOVNWHYFAGDYSDNTJ

General opinion/How much I care about them: Ren Blade Yingxing my beloved beloathed depressed miserable angsty bastard aaaaaaa-

This man, oh my god. This edgy mess is somehow the second fastest blorbo to be coined as such in my blorbo-having history, and I think that alone says a lot. But even if not, he has his special little spot for being: 1) my first HSR fave, 2) my current main (the gameplay is ridiculously fun holy shit), and 3) the reason I downloaded the game at all (shoutout to Bronya, of course, but it was mainly Ren).

Also I really like the fact that he's genuinely batshit insane. An unapologetic menace to the galaxies. He can be so unhinged and evil sometimes, and that's a new flavor of fave in my collection. Did I mention the story doesn't try to redeem him at all? Because it's true! Extremely uncommon win on the hyv writers' part there; doubly so because they manage to balance this aspect with the subtle gap moe they love to give to all their stoic characters.

Yes. Ren is simultaneously edginess incarnate and a tired grandpa that sucks with words and doesn't know shit about technology. Oh and he keeps getting roped into Situations by his colleagues- and goes along with them all the time! The dude was literally asked to pose for a movie cover and he just. did that. No questions asked. Nothing.

I care about him a very normal amount. He's so neat and- oh my god I forgot to mention the aesthetic. Black/blue/red/gold is such a banger color scheme. He also has a spider lily motif and that looks very cool! And the pretty ribbon on the back of his coat is a 10/10 design choice. His only problem is that the game keeps forgetting to edit his silly beta design sneakers out of splash art, and that the washed out jeans clash hard with the coat. But otherwise? Perfection. I could (and did) stare at him for hours on end.

A ship I love: Kafblade is one of those pairs that you can read as romantic or platonic with equal efficacy and I love that for it. They're partners in crime! There's a great sense of trust and faith between them! They're each other's guardian and tether and the one who understands them best and they're such an awesome dynamic, good lord.

Honorable mention goes to jingren for the old man yaoi potential to take the relationship in a very (bitter)sweet or very sad way. There's something to be explored here and I wish canon could give it consideration someday.

A non-romantic relationship that I love: Stellaron Hunter agenda!!! They're so awesome individually and as a group, and the comedy is just lovely. You have Ren wrangling two terribly reckless women because in some way, by some miracle, he happens to be the braincell holder among the three. You have him trailing after Kafka on one of her shopping sprees with a whole bunch of bags and coats, you have him going to an arcade with Silver Wolf because she wanted to show him this brand new game she's been talking about nonstop for four days, and you have him in an impromptu shooting session with them both because they wanted to make silly movie covers and needed an extra actor.

They're one small hilarious family and I adore them so so much, you have no idea. Can't wait until Sam and Elio make an appearance in the story so I get more fuel for shenanigans.

The NOTP: None here sir, as long as the ship is normal it's fine by me.

My biggest headcanon about them: Ren is autistic and you will pry this hc from my cold, dead hands. He's stuck in his own head 80% of the time. He doesn't do conversation at all. Back when he was still Yingxing, he used to spend so much time at the forge when inspiration struck him, to the point of tuning out everything until his friends physically dragged him out to touch grass. He's an autistic nerd through and through, and even several thousand deaths can't take that from him.

An idea for a fanfiction I would like to write/read about them: One idea I've been curious about lately is what would happen in a roleswap scenario, where the Astral Express crew find Ren before the Stellaron Hunters do. He may not make for a great archivist, his state of mind may be less-than-stellar, but it's interesting to imagine the dynamics between him and the crew- and hey, who doesn't love taking sad guys out of situations for a change?

I'm filing this concept for later, just in case. Who knows? The writing ghost visits when I least expect it.

Something that makes me think of them: Everything these days The flute, the sound of wind blowing, red spider lilies, and -to the immense detriment of my composure in public- mentions of the word blade in any context ever. Why gee, thanks for permanently altering my brain chemistry.

#damn thanks yuuto this was a blast to answer. if you wish to hear more just say the word :D #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr blade #blade hsr #hsr yingxing #friend's asks

[soulvomit]

Our culture has a weird narrative around agency right now and it's like, agency is compulsory and it's being confused with heroism or even superheroism. I get that there is discourse about power-over in how writers treat victim or fate-pawn or chew-toy characters when the character isn't from their own group, but we aren't even allowed to portray ourselves as chew toys. NOBODY is allowed to be victim, fate-pawn, or chew toy; it's just that the reasoning is different depending upon who you are. Minorities can't be portrayed as the chew toy by non-minorities. But they also can't portray themselves as the chew toy. Men don't get to be the chew toy character because the world doesn't want to hear about manpain, or something (anymore than it's ever really wanted to hear about male victimhood or unhappiness; Gen Xrs and Millennials may be the only generations that were really allowed to confront this). White women can't portray themselves as victims or unhappy people because of lots of reasons. You can't portray children as victims because nothing bad can happen to them. Basically, every character must always be the tough icon of American social climbing individualism.

Agency doesn't mean heroism. Agency can be the day to day choices one makes. Agency can be limited to one's family or local community. Agency does not always mean one makes good life choices.

#you will pry kafka from my cold dead hands

[neosy]

interlude: wage this war

berate me, belittle me, make me seem weak; tear my name from the walls of my successes and make me another fucking pawn.

his teeth dig into the gag in his mouth so hard he can feel his canines prodding from each side, almost shredding into the fabric with the working of his jaw, the grinding of his skull. 

on his knees with a gun to the back of his head he becomes aware of his position as the victim, as someone who was caught, a mercenary not of much use as a hostage. he's fucking embarrassed, frustrated, and angry, so fucking angry it whites his vision, it vibrates under his skin, it makes him almost shake, his wrists fighting his restraints, body restless as he forces it into his submission, to remain as still as possible. he fights his will, not to be subservient, but to exemplify his patience, his understanding of the situation. 

he might not trust jaewon entirely, suspicions always prodding at his mind, but watching him press a gun to kafka’s head was almost humorous, he could almost laugh, cold and bitter, disdainful. he wouldn’t disturb the captain’s plan because he wasn’t fucking stupid, but something about the thought of being used as leverage for the little thief of all people pissed him off. he didn’t like being the ass end of a trade, he didn’t like the idea that he could die in the place of someone else just because. he wanted to cause pain, destruction, a storm inside of him brewing so powerfully he felt like being possessed, losing control in the waves of his misery and ire. 

so simply pushed to his feet like cattle, herded forward towards his crew like fucking property.

the tension in the room could kill, and he could feel the intensity of it mixing with his own, a cocktail of disaster and chaos, every singular being damp with it, soaked in the preface of catastrophe, trigger fingers heavy. they say you can feel when a storm is about to break, the air chokes you, the atmosphere crackles and shakes with electricity before lightening is ready to strike. just the same, he tenses, he feels it like a shockwave and then there is the boom of what could’ve been twenty guns going off almost at once.

neo ducks immediately, slamming his body into whoever has their gun to his head, shaking them off and finding a cover, everything moving so fast he almost finds himself struggling to keep up, if just for a moment. the blasting of guns, the yelling, kafka cuts his wrists free and neo doesn’t bother to thank him, not even turning his direction as he pulls the gag from his mouth. 

as soon as the restraints are gone, the rooms energy hits him hot with adrenaline, and he sets off like an animal. ducked behind the crates he grabs the closest body he sees aiming it’s gun at his crew mates and drags them back with him, arm caged around their throat to cut off their oxygen, letting them fight. neo could’ve escaped in that time, he knew he could’ve, but he refused to be one of the people to leave the battlefield without spilling blood; a hostage he barely stomached, a deadweight he refused, knuckles whitening as the mans hands pressed against his face, brute force hitting him and trying to get away. neo attempted to pry the gun from his left hand, while the right caught him in the face, a hard pressure as he seemed to try to grasp at neo’s jaw, pressing under his mouth. the gun fires wildly in a random direction, the flourish of bullets firing nearby masking the sound, the yells of direction and the sounds of bodies and tearing flesh. 

so neo does what any man would do, and angles his head to dig his teeth into the skin, ripping in so forcefully blood pools in his mouth, teeth almost hitting the bone of the man’s pointer finger as he rips away as if he is feral, knee digging itself into his side, swift kicks to knock the air out, when finally the gun comes free, but he doesn’t use it. he tosses it to the side momentarily, the spat hidden by stacks of crates as he waits for his fight to dwindle, the energy to lessen on the man in his hold before releasing his throat, climbing on him with heavy breaths, and slamming the man’s head into the ground. once, twice, three times, over and over until it caves in, a piss poor excuse for a skull, blood over his hands and chest, dripping down his chin and staining his teeth, body covered in chunks of what must’ve been brain and matter, hideously stained red and black. he wasn’t as invested in escaping in that moment as causing pain, burning anger, his roots of violence and torture singing songs in his veins, skipping through the playground of his bones and muscle memory, making him insane with it.

he knew he only had minutes to spare, grabbing the gun and using cover as he withdrew, firing through the beginnings of his escape.

the crackle of the machine gun rings alarming, every body in the room hiding for cover and he sees several things happen at once; he sees crew members escaping back to the ship, bodies cowering and falling on both sides, he sees their captain walking out into the gun fire like he’s the fucking messiah -- he sees chaos in it’s most potent form, blood and flesh and there’s something almost cathartic, welcoming and disastrous. 

then jaewon, their captain, their leader, their fucking jesus christ reincarnated does what he always does, no matter how bitter neo is to admit it, he pulls through. it’s like he’s dying for their gorram sins, his fucking disciples watching with bated breath as his bullet meets it’s target and the boss battle ends, the highest vantage of danger falling and leaving leeway to a much safer escape, a less daunting trek home. neo doesn’t think much of it, pretends he doesn’t feel much about it either, but he finds himself at least somewhat hoping jaewon doesn’t die. the fucking cockroach that he is, neo doubts that he will, but finds comfort in that fact that even if he does, by some miraculous occasion, drop dead, well, at least it looked really fucking cool, didn’t it? 

he let’s the destruction flood itself, lets mina and other members of the crew cater to the fallen as he’s simply just far too self involved, too baited and angry to feel concern, to go out of his way for them the same way they did for him. he returns to the cargo bay intact, of course, with the exception of his pride.

later, after they safely escape, he considers packing his things.

#sy: sihnon #( solo ) #violence // #gore // #{ i meant to post this before my hiatus LMAOOOO #{ but anyways im back and this is late as per fuckin usual with me #{ also side note none of my things ever show up in the tags #{ *thinking emoji*