#so he lives in constant terror and denial

[hford0311]

In my silence I adored you

*Avenger's Tower Fanfic*

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Hey girl, what-cha doing down there? Dancing alone while I live right above you; I can hear your music playing; I can feel your body swaying

It didn't take a super soldier to hear the music that came out of your apartment. However, the one above you did understand the lyrics, not like most of the others that lived in the tower. He didn't mind it, sometimes, it became a soothing thing when the nightmares woke him up. The vibrations of the music and lyrics gave him was a micro-confirmation that he was no longer in the Soviet Union. No longer trapped under any ice.

"Okay, but how come you can't go one day without it?" Sam asked about your music during breakfast. You shrugged, "I have my space. It mostly stays in my space. Just like Redwing." Bucky snickered. Sam slightly aggressively turned towards his best friend-enemy man. "You live above her! What are your thoughts?" Bucky was slightly started by the question. "I-I don't mind it." You stuck your tongue out at Sam, putting your dishes in sink, and walked away. "You said you only like forties music." Sam accused as soon as you were out of ear shot. Bucky avoided eye contact before he cleared his throat, "I have to train with Steve."

One floor below me, you don't even know me, I love you

When that and a combination of other things didn't work, keep falling back into night terrors, Bucky would sit in front of his glass windows, curtains pulled back. At first, his eyes would wander the city lights. Eventually, his eyes would shift down below and see your shadow swaying and dancing to the music that was nearly never ending. It was a constant, consistency made reality easier to believe in. You were starting to become that in Bucky's word, even though you never would've known. He never mentioned it.

If you look out your window tonight, pulling the string with the note that's attached to my heart; Read how many times I saw you, how in my silence I adored you.

Sure, Bucky and you met occasionally during missions and Avengers' (aka Tony Stark's) parties. However, neither of you ever got beyond glances, brief introductions, and the incredibly rare argument-- sorry polite conversation-- that Steve, Sam, or Nat would drag the pair of you into. Both of you would roll your eyes at the dragger and their "opponent." Plus, the pair of you would almost always be against whatever Sam was arguing. Bucky appreciated the team effort from you. You were also a bit of a history buff which sometimes led to his ears pricking up to some type of familiarity that he could confidently nod along with or it would help him connect the dots with events that didn't include the Winter Soldier.

It took one of these little rantings of knowledge you had, Steve and Sam saw the captivated look that Bucky distantly gave you. They both also knew it wasn't just the words coming out of your mouth that Bucky was interested in, either. The pair of men shared an look. They knew their mission.

"Alright boys, it's been fun." You said getting up, heading towards your apartment. "Don't have too much fun without me." You waved as you hit the stairs.

The duo of men encircled Bucky. "You have a problem." Same stated as if it was obvious and something much worse than actuality. "Sam-" Steve tried to soften the blow. "No, he is in love with that girl and he hasn't said more than five words to her." Sam insisted. Bucky gave them both a confused stare. "Y/n, Buck, we can tell." Steve cleared up. Bucky's face went to complete denial. "No, I don't."

"Those eyes you gave her earlier tell a different story, Buck." Steve softly argued. Bucky groaned and put his hands in his face. "So what if I do? She's living a happy life...why.....why should I enter it more just to ruin it?" Sam and Steve gave each other soft looks. However, both of them were not going to give up that easily. "You're different now. You've said it yourself, you're not the Winter Soldier anymore." Sam stated. "Even if that's true...who said that she's going to....want me back." Doubt filled Bucky's entire body and mind. The pair of men were not going to change his mind in one night.

Only in my dreams did that wall between us come apart

Another night, Bucky added to looking down at your shadow. He wanted to go down and dance with you. Over seventy years ago, Bucky wouldn't waste another second to do. He would've swept you off your feet, literally. He would hold you close during the slower songs, inhaling your scent. Softly kissing your forehead, cheeks, lips... Bucky heavily sighed out loud, walking away from the window.

Oh my darlin', knock three times on the ceiling if you want me; twice on the pipe if the answer is no.

Sam and Steve showed up at your door. You gave them both a confused. "Come in...stop lurking at my door." You responded, letting them in. "So, how long have you liked Bucky?" Sam got straight to the point. You scoffed and slouched in one of your chairs. "Who said-" "Y/n, you never mentioned your knowledge about your so-called fascination with the 1930s before your first mission with him." Steve confronted you. You shrugged, "A girl can learn new things." Sam rolled his eyes. "They're both impossible, Steve." You sat up a little. "What do you mean by both of us?" For the third time that night, Sam and Steve shared a smirk and an idea.

Oh my sweetness *knock, knock, knock* means you'll meet me in the hallway; twice on the pipe *clang, clang* means you ain't gonna show*

You hummed the song you left playing in your room as you approached Bucky's door. You took a deep breath before knocked with the beat that Bucky could perfectly hear from your apartment below. He hesitantly answered. Then saw you, a small smile etched across his face. "It means that I want you, and that I want to meet you in the hallway-- granted next time it'll be on the ceiling but-" Your breath of words was stopped short by Bucky pulling you into his apartment.

~~ Sam looked at Steve, stifling a laugh, "There isn't really a pipe for her to say no to."

[stinkythehutt]

also. something about palpatine being so adept at seeing into the future that all of his successes feel completely joyless by the time he achieves them because he’s just going through the motions… how fucked up and nihilistic and brutal that would make you…

[aleksanderscult]

Analyzing Aleksander's reaction to Alina's loss of her power

(I'm so sick and tired of seeing people use his "You are nothing now" words as a way to justify how he didn't love her that I decided to create a whole ass post about it.)

First of all, let's see what the powers of a Grisha mean to a Grisha, shall we?

For a Grisha her powers is the same thing as the oxygen is for all humans. The constant beat of a person's heart.

Indispensable.

And in a way it's implied that a Grisha cannot live without it. Just like birds can naturally fly, just like a fish can naturally swim. It's part of their nature, part of their body and soul.

Now let's see Aleksander's reaction to Alina's loss of her power.

The moment he saw Alina being unable to summon, he froze. At first he's in denial of what he sees.

How can a Grisha not being able to use her power? A power that is always there no matter what? A power that "feeds" them and keeps them healthy and alive.

We see Aleksander being in a state of shock as he tries to comprehend what is happening with her:

He had never seen anything like that. A Grisha losing her powers is unheard of. Impossible.

He tries again and again to summon her light and bring it to the surface. The fact that he can't feel it causes him panic and pain. In a way, he can't find her soul.

And the very fact that she also lost her collar and feter is impossible too. When a Grisha claims an amplifier, a connection is made that can't be broken.

Another fatal loss for Alina and a disastrous blow for Aleksander and his knowledge, since he knows more than anyone else how amplifiers work and how a Grisha's power work. All the hundreds of years he had spent watching and studying the ways of the Small Science and of power, have gone to waste right now as he tries to understand what is going on with the woman he loves.

His near immortality and rare powers always made him seek someone else to connect with. Someone to understand him and be on the same level as him.

People say that he never actually wanted Alina to be his equal. Well, based on his words and reaction here, I would say he wanted to.

Right now there's no pretense, no tricks or a façade. We see him "naked" and exposed showing us his terror of Alina's loss and despair for his fate. Of being alone forever.

"You were meant to be like me."

Aleksander wanted her strong and confident. Unafraid to rise above the others and to stand right beside him.

"You're nothing now."

I know it sounds cruel but it is true.

If a bird lost its ability to fly or a fish its ability to swim, would you call that normal? If a person stopped breathing or her heart stopped beating, would you call her alive and whole?

Alina lost the very essence of her being, her soul and identity. What happened to her was something completely unnatural and just wrong. Aleksander has lived for centuries and knows more about the Grisha than anyone else (except of course his mother) so he knows that what happened to her, has crippled her. She's not the Alina she was. And she's never gonna be.

It's not a statement of disgust, apathy or scorn. They're words of pain and mourning. Shock and anger.

It's a complete ruin for Alina.

A devastation and tragedy for the unfortunate Grisha that experiences it for the first time in their history. And an equal devastation and sorrow for the Grisha that watched it happen to the person he cared most about.

And it's actually funny how Aleksander seems to be the only person that was devastated for what happened to her.

Everyone else was:

"Alina lost her powers"

"Okay cool".

In a way you can say that it was proof of how he was the one that truly cared about her fate while the rest of her friends didn't seem to give two flying fucks.

The Darkling just gave up.

All he had fought for, all the patience he had mastered for years waiting for his equal to come, went to dust right in front of him.

In a way he committed suicide and just let Alina kill him.

Now if he didn't love her as some people say, why did he do these things after she lost her powers?:

1) Called her to his side and searched for her hand to hold it.

2) Smiled at her and stroked her tears.

3) Entrusted her with his last wish because he'd seen her kindness and believed in it.

4) Asked her to say his name one more time so he could hear it from her one last time. A name that he had probably never said to anyone else for centuries.

5) Begged her to not leave him alone while he died because loneliness frightened him.

I'm sorry but if I was dying, I wouldn't want anyone at my side but the people that I loved the most. And Aleksander wanted the same too.

There's no way he felt disgust or anger towards Alina even after she stabbed him. Whatever she did, he forgave. And whatever happened to her in the end didn't stop him from loving her and wanting her presence at his side until his own end.

(didn't really love her, my ass)

[amoirsetpacis]

Well over a century and a half of senses far more acute than a human's, honed then further by living the life of a wanted man for so many decades, have so often been Vash's savior when luck had the tendency it did to flirt with his coat tails before cruelly pulling away, again and back and away in quick succession.

For now, though, he hates them; because it's so easy to hear the hitch in Wolfwood's breath just beneath the closing of the door, the latch catching shut. Just like he'd wished so much that he'd been wrong, picking up those differences in the heartbeat he'd become so accustomed, so spoiled to; it's hard not to notice something like that, when you've become so used to the constant backdrop.

Just like that, it's so easy for him to falter, to nearly turn right back around. How easy it is, when you're so intertwined with someone, for them to reel you back in with the same hurt that had gotten you there in the first place.

But that anger, that frustration, that disappointment that had carried him out in the first place; it's all still very much there, can't and wouldn't disappear or resolve itself if Vash did just turn around, and he knows it. So even though he falters for that half a moment he still takes the rest of the steps off the porch and off down the street.

--

It's not until he's halfway between the outskirts of the city and the Mistwood, the lights that illuminate the urban sprawl made into dim pollution in his wake and the darkness looming in front of him in the form of the forest, that Vash realizes where his feet have been carrying him, with or without his conscious consent. If he stops long enough to think about it-- which he doesn't want to do, not really-- there's part of him that knows he would have made his way in this direction, anyway.

At least a few hours have passed-- had to have, considering how far he's walked by the time the trees begin to become more dense, before they blot out the slowly awakening stars. He doesn't know what time Wolfwood had come home, what time he'd not so much stormed out as much as drifted, the feeling of being untethered and unsure finally reaching a peak he hadn't realized had been approaching for who knows how long, now.

He's walked further than this before-- much further-- but his head pounds and his eyes ache as though he'd been awake for far longer than he has been, face blotchy and red from tears he hadn't been entirely aware of. Vash has made this particular trek enough times, both on foot and not, that apparently now he can do it without even thinking about it.

It's been over a year at this point, he slowly realizes as he picks his way through the trees. The mark left from his break-neck pace, so many months ago now, his slowly shuffled its way further up the tree as it's grown. It feels like both ages ago and no time at all, with so much in between then and now.

Similar yet different blood had stained the desert then, too, the same gun missing from where it usually sits in their home. Vash had rushed, then, terror lancing through him like ice in his veins. Now, though, resignation has already set in. The same frenzy and denial doesn't have the fuel to eat at him from the inside out as it had before. (Would it have, had he known? That particular reckoning sits bitter on the back of his throat, too. He would have, he thinks. He would have. But the younger Knives sits so firmly in the place in which he had not forgiven his own brother, and Vash's own uncertainty, the second guessing of himself, only furthers his unease.)

Vash had looked that amalgamation in the eye and still forgiven him. He knows, doesn't think, that he'd do the same again and again. Even now, as after another unknown stretch of time the soft grass and dirt that had been molded by the soles of his boots gives way to piece by piece of sand until it gives way entirely to the gentle rise and fall of tiny dunes at the desert's edge. He knows if that day would have repeated itself, he would have forgiven that fear and anger.

So why was it so hard to reach for now?

He doesn't know how he should feel. Everything muddies itself, coagulating in his mind and chest. It's probably how he ended up out here without even being conscious of the decision, pulling him like a lure on a line. Anger, frustration, disappointment, guilt-- pointed in both directions. Both at Wolfwood for what he'd done, and at himself for not reaching far enough into that well of forgiveness, for his lack of resolve. He'd forgiven far worse, even when he probably shouldn't have. So why did this sting so much more acutely?

--

Whether coming here or not would have been part of his conscious plan, he's not sure. Even though finding himself here feels like it would have been an inevitability, Vash still finds no solace in it-- doubts he will, even as he continues onward into the chill of the desert night, as his mind slowly makes itself up, as he treads past homes dug into cliff faces and sleepy towns long gone to bed beneath the light of the moon.

His vision is far better than most, both from the nature of his birth as much as his life. It doesn't make his task any easier, eyes raking over each area of sand as though they were fine-toothed combs. He looks, and he looks, and he looks. Starts scanning near the settlement he'd crept through, though he doubts it'd be there. Slowly, carefully makes his way closer and closer to where the Ark sits, silhouette huge and imposing in the darkness.

It's not as easy to find blood spatters in ever shifting sand when they're not made from droves, when they're not stark against cold metal walls. Wolfwood hadn't told him where this had all taken place-- hell, Vash wasn't even sure that it had happened out here. It makes sense in a way that no where else on the island would have, though that doesn't stop the steadily growing newest form of dread, that there will be no where to know exactly where his trust had been broken. He'll have to wait until morning if he wants to try and sniff out any new information, if he can even get anyone to say anything at all.

For now, though, the exhaustion eats at him, both mentally and physically. Once upon a time it would have taken days for him to feel as entirely drained as he does now, but as it stands between the heading that's still firmly planted behind his eyes and the ache in his chest weighing down every step he's not sure how much longer he can keep going before simply passing out out herein the middle of the desert. Though it may be far more forgiving than the endless wasteland of home, that didn't mean he ever wanted to be found unconscious out here in the thick of it.

Breath sighed long into the night is heard by no one but himself as Vash orients where he is. There is the brief, fleeting thought of going to the Ark, no matter how much it sets his hair on end; but Knives will know something is wrong ( and he's not-- he's not ready to talk about it, not yet, is having a hard time even beginning to parse his own thoughts ), and even if he and Nai aren't the same person there is still a level of guilt it will bring with him that there will be no escaping-- just as there's no escaping the fact that there's no telling if or when Nai would show up there again, and Vash does not want to be there for it.

There are options in other directions, he knows. There's the town he'd blown through before, both as a harbinger and not-- and then there's Home.

It's late. Or early, however one might want to call it. Both of their younger counterparts are probably-- or at least should be-- asleep. And even if they weren't, Vash carries the knowledge of what had happened across his shoulders like a yolk. He knows, he knows he should check in on the younger Stampede. Did he feel it? Yet another dying gasp of a Plant snuffed out? Could he feel it still? Anguish sits so much differently when it's twice over-- did he, too, have that weight pulling at his ankles?

Guilt by association is still guilt, anyway. Asking for a place to rest feels like too far of a step, much more than he currently deserves. That, and Vash knows that even if he could convince himself to board the grounded ship that he'd be read far too quickly.

So instead, as he trudges through the sand towards Home, he makes a detour. Not much of one-- simply off to the side. At first Razra makes a snort of surprise as Vash comes up to him, probably having woken him up, before settling back down once he realizes who's stepped into his little home.

"Hey buddy," Vash says quietly, patting the beast's shoulder. "You mind if I hang out for a bit out here with you?"

Another huff of air puffs out of the boar's nose as he settles back down into comfort, and Vash takes that as about as much of a 'yes' as he's going to get, turning around, sinking to the ground, and propping his back against the gently breathing animal behind him.

He's not sure when he falls asleep, but it can't have been that long ago judging by the sky as he wakes up; it's just barely light out, the sun still not having begun to peak over the horizon. Probably only about an hour or two. It's well and good enough; he doesn't really want to stick around for when the others inevitably wake up, and he's not sure how much of an early riser either of them are.

With a sigh, limbs still feeling heavy, Vash pulls himself up. He's got more hunting to do, though it might be fruitless. Any settlement nearby is likely still just as asleep as the two inside, which means he's got a good few hours of combing through the desert on his own before daring to stick his nose in places where it probably won't be wanted.

He tries not to think about just how much the sand has shifted, even in the scant few hours Vash had been asleep. He has to scuff his footprints leading up to Razra, but outside the little enclosure any proof of his entrance has already mostly been swept away-- how it's been even longer than that since Wolfwood had stumbled in through their front door, and longer still since--

There aren't any shifts in the colour of the sand save for what stands as normal. Initial snooping doesn't get him anywhere, but enough poking and prodding around vaguely hesitant or suspicious gazes points him in a direction. There's no telling if it will actually help him but, well. At least it's a direction.

The woman he comes in contact with isn't much help; he's dealt with and sweet talked similar, but at the moment it's hard to find the patience. He trudges through it as much as he can before she confirms that yes, Wolfwood had passed through here. He figures that's all he'll get without going into details, but whatever he looks like now must have been enough for her to take pity on him.

Another direction he's pointed in, this time with assistance. The man says he'd taken off before he could see what had happened, points him in the direction of the path but no further. Still, Vash thanks him, doesn't blame him for staying where he is; direct, clear paths aren't entirely necessary for someone who's wandered an entire planet by foot. At least this way he can continue to hunt for details with the same eye he had been on his own last night. Ruby and Nathaniel-- he'll have to remember their names, do something good by them for all the trouble they've caused.

Although the sun on this island is an only child instead of a sibling that doesn't stop it from acting in the same sentinel manner, eyes boring down heat on the back of his neck as he looks, and looks, and continues to look. ( Those eyes had seen it too-- if he asked, could they tell them what they'd seen? Surely not any more than Wolfwood already had. Did he even want to know? )Though it's not as intense, a bead of sweat eventually prickles at the back of his neck. His limbs still feel like lead.

It goes on until the sun begins its descent and the moon replaces it in the sky, another singular child. Still, he keeps on, until the exhaustion begins to weigh him down again. He's slept on sand dunes before, though the lack of cover isn't ideal-- so instead he finds himself making the long trek back to his current bunk mate. His phone's almost dead, but there haven't been any messages or calls, so even if the two of them had noticed, had put the pieces together, at least he's being left alone about it. Razra doesn't even snort in surprise this time. It takes until he's settling down against the warmth of the boar once again that he realizes part of the lurch in his stomach is from not having eaten since well before he'd stormed out.

--

Vash isn't sure what time it is when the familiar grass of the yard crunches beneath his boot, chilled with the cooling night air of the changing seasons, for the first time in nearly a week. Each day had been spent in much the same way, until his own failure had slowly seeped through the strange mixture of the desire for denial ( impossible ) and the need for closure, and sunk down into his bones and nerves. He's not sure if there ever would have been any other outcome.

As silently as he used to sneak through places he shouldn't have been Vash drifts around to the back of the house. If he were more comfortable, he might have shucked off his shoes by now to feel the cool ground beneath bare feet, but as it stands he simply quietly brings himself to a stop in the middle of the garden and lowers himself to sit, knees pulled up to his chest, staring up at the moon as though it could provide any possible answers.

Back home, he'd often hated looking up at the cluster of moons that graced their sky, one of the sisters so viciously and visibly mauled. That hadn't stopped the habit, though; searching for some sort of answer to everything that had happened, as if it would make itself apparate from between the lot of them, produced by their orbits. There's only one here, unscarred by his hands, but that doesn't change the fact that there is no ease to be found in her face, in her slow but steady path across the sky-- at least, not now, not in the way he needs. At least the garden serves as a weak sort of balm to tired nerves, despite the slowly setting in decline with the steady march of the year.

They've gone longer than this before, either speaking only as much as needed to one another or not at all. Curt one-or-two word sentences and nothing further than that, hours stuck on the bike in tense silence, sometimes after arguments so biting they'd both ended up bruised from the other. This, somehow, feels worse. With everything that's happened since then, the weight of silence feels so much more dense.

He's not sure how long he sits there before he's joined by a guest. A loud one, at that, yowling at the back sliding door. Immediately Vash twists himself around, contorting himself where he sits to make a 'cut it out!' motion with his hands, to put a finger to his lips and back again, as though the cat could possibly understand what he meant. Can't he at least have a little while longer to steel himself? Or even just fall asleep out here, instead.

It's too late now, though; he can already hear footsteps in the kitchen.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

The IDF has been releasing a lot of incriminating intel on the Shifa hospital in Gaza being used by Hamas. There's footage of a drone going into a terror tunnel underneath it.

There's pics of the weapons found there. There's the results of an investigation into the fate of 19 years old Noa Marziano, who was kidnapped by Hamas, lightly injured in an IDF strike, which killed the terrorist who was guarding her, another terrorist took her into the basement at the Shifa hospital, and killed her there, then Hamas tried to stage "evidence" that she was killed in the IDF strike. And most recently, there's CCTV footage showing Hamas bringing in hostages (one man from Nepal and one from Thailand) into Shifa, with the terrorists being armed, and all of this was done in broad daylight, and right in front of the medical staff.

Of course anti-Israelis, including the Hamas, said it was just bringing hostages in to get treatment.

But here's the thing, Shifa is on the Western side of Gaza, while Hamas breached the Israeli border in the east. On the way between the border and where this hospital is located, there are plenty of other medical facilities on the way. Any of them would be preferable if the goal was to give the hostages medical treatment as soon as possible. But they took these kidnapped men all the way to Shifa instead. Because that's Hamas' headquarters.

I've known for years, like most Israelis, that Hamas is using medical facilities like hospitals and ambulances for its terrorist activity. This evidence does not surprise me. But I think it didn't really sink in for me until yesterday, just how many people knew and kept silent. I'm not even talking about the Gazan medical staff. They live under the constant threat of Hamas, I don't blame them. But the UN, the Red Cross, all of those "noble" NGO's operating from Gaza (and getting a lot of donations to do so), all of those foreigners with access to Gaza, who knew the situation on the ground, and chose to lie, and continued to do so even after the Oct 7 massacre... WTF is wrong with these people? By keeping quiet, they endangered both Israeli civilians (who Hamas could continue to target with impunity when operating from inside medical facilities), and Palestinian ones that Hamas endangered by using them as human shields.

Who is going to hold these people accountable? Who is going to make them pay for their complicity in endangering so many people, millions altogether, on both sides of the border, so that they never dare do this again?

Have ANY of them come forward, apologized, taken responsibility for their long complicity? I've heard of no such thing. In fact, I assume that they will only raise the volume of their accusations against and vilification of Israel, to drown out the voices asking these questions.

In this tweet you can hear an interview (starting at around 35 seconds in) with one of the few foreign doctors, who had worked at the Shifa hospital, and who after Hamas' massacre, did not come forward with his testimony about what he'd seen and experienced while he was there, but did agree to have it recorded once he was asked to. If Hamas is finally taken down, we might get to hear more of these, and I guess... better late than never.

In the midst of all of this, Israel has helped evacuate babies from the Shifa hospital to ones in Egypt, and the equipment to established a second Jordanian field hospital has entered Gaza today.

Israel continues to be attacked by Iran-funded rockets from the south, from the north by Iran-funded Hezbollah, as well as from Syria, by the Iran-funded Houthis in Yemen, by independent terrorist attacks, and online from cyber attacks, by Iran-funded and even Iranian hackers. I kind of tend not to talk about these that much, because they're on going. It's happening every single day, and Israel, in the middle of the fight to destroy Hamas, has to also defend its people on these fronts.

The anger and hurt over the denial of rapes that happened as part of Hamas' massacre continues, and more people are trying to speak up against it:

This is 15 years old Itay Cohen.

He's a triathlete, and was in the middle of a training session, cycling in the south, when Hamas terrorists shot him. He was taken to a hospital without any family by his side, because his parents were locked inside a bomb shelter in their kibbutz. Itay took a bullet to the head, and lost his eyesight, but somehow survived. So did his parents. He vowed he won't stop training, despite his new disability. This terror attack has changed countless lives, from among the survivors as well.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[clare-875]

Until The End (Levi x Reader)- Chapter 7

[The Trial]

_____

A/N: Posted on Wattpad (@CLARE_875) but also decided to post here :)

Summary:

"You can push me away, but I will still fight by you, and I will still follow you… until the end."

The ever-so-stoic Levi Ackerman has only ever known the terrors that living in a cruel world could bring. This all changed one fateful day when he encountered [y/n]; a girl renowned for her looks and abnormal speed. As they escape the confines of the Underground together, they soon discover that freedom doesn't come easy in a world full of Titans. As they rise through the ranks, [y/n] becomes known as "Humanity's Angel", a beacon of hope to humanity as she melts the walls Levi had built around his heart. However, she has her secrets too, and a dark past that might just threaten to pull them apart.

The storyline and characters of Attack on Titan do NOT belong to me, but all to Hajime Isayama; however, I do own this story, and all that occurs disparate to that storyline.

[Series Masterlist] [Chapter Six] <--> [Chapter Eight]

_____

Warnings: Canonical Violence

You sigh, rubbing your eyes as you look at the endless pile of paper that continues to grow in front of you. It had been several days since the encounter with Eren Jaeger, and the unrest on whether to trust in him or not, whether to give him to the military or the Survey Corps, whether to kill him or let him live had been endless. Endless, like the paperwork that remained in front of you. You sigh; despite the dispute about Eren Jaeger, one truth stood as blatant as the moon that hung in the sky. We had lost many people when Wall Rose fell, and a part of being a Captain in the Survey Corps was to sign and mark the papers in front of you eternally.

You look up briefly, taking a sip of your tea, to see Levi at his desk working through the papers you both so despised. The moon shone from beyond the windows, mingling with the light of the candles. You admired the way the light danced on his pale skin and briefly flickered in the grey of his eyes. Despite the way you saw imprints of darkness hanging under his eyes, or how his face seemed more sunken under stress and exhaustion, he still looked beautiful. You quickly shake your head at that thought; what am I thinking? This is Levi. You quickly picked up your pen to continue the papers, trying to shake off the mingling thoughts in your head, but despite your constant denial, your heart had grown fond of the man in front of you.

The recent few years have taken a toll on you both. The Survey Corps was not an organisation you joined on a whim. You saw death almost daily, friends and comrades gone within seconds, making you question if they had been there at all. You had clung to each other in your grief but also in your trust. The trust that despite all our losses, we would still have each other to rely on, that we would find our way back to the other. However, over the years, mere friendship wouldn't be what you would want to call the relationship between you and Levi. You had found yourself yearning for more. Despite his cold exterior, you would notice the small things he would do for you. He brought you his cups of tea, shared his space with you as he did now, gave you smiles that lingered, worried for you, protected you, and kept you close. You quickly turn down your churning thoughts. Levi saw you as family; he saw you as someone he could trust and someone to rely on, and you would continue to deny the intrusive thoughts in your head for as long as that meant he would stay by your side. If only your heart would diminish the warmth that it always found in his proximity.

Levi looked up, noticing that your pen had yet again stopped its movements. You seemed deep in thought as he saw your eyes flicker in conflict, seeming to come to one resolution before frowning as your internal debate continued. After hearing you sigh for the umpteenth time and your movements faltering, Levi couldn't help but become annoyed at your debate, denying that it was worry he was feeling, seeing your usually-composed-self become so uncertain. "Oi," he snapped, making you jump at the sudden sound before realising it was just Levi. His eyes softened briefly, not meaning to snap so suddenly, and he sighed, mimicking the noise you had been making for the past few minutes. "You should take a break," he spoke softer than he had before. You felt warmth rush to your cheeks as you realised, he had been observing your internal turmoil.

Despite yourself, you gave him a soft smile, seeing his concern, "I'm fine, Levi. Besides, this is my last pile," you looked at him as he seemed ready to make a remark back at you, "It's you that should be taking a break anyway, Eren's trial is tomorrow." Levi rolled his eyes at that. "I can handle lack of sleep," he said, and it was true. Despite having issues sleeping yourself, you slept much better than the man in front of you. "You, on the other hand, can't." He got up walking over to the couch that stood in front of his desk, the one you had been working on. As Captains, you had the privilege of having your own rooms. However, Levi would often let you sit with him, and he would never admit it, but your presence made the endless paperwork almost enjoyable to him.

Despite your continuous denial whilst Levi tried to snatch your paperwork from you, it was past midnight, and your speed had diminished with the sun. You were exhausted, and Levi had taken that opportunity to take your paperwork and tell you to go to bed. You pouted slightly at his remark, you didn't know why but the evening sky made you feel more vulnerable and Levi was used to you acting more childishly during the evening hours as your more collected self vanished in the night. You let out a deep breath and decided you were too tired to argue with him right now and let him have a win this time.

"Fine," you muttered, "you win this time, but next time," you looked to Levi as he looked at you, slightly amused. "Next time, I'm doing your paperwork too," you finished while Levi rolled his eyes again, telling you to go to bed. You didn't know what came over you the next few seconds, but between your raging thoughts, your exhaustion, your grief and paperwork, you found yourself reaching out absent-mindedly and moving a strand of Levi's raven hair out of his face. "Don't work too hard," you whispered, knowing already of the plan you had discussed with Levi and Erwin that would take place the following day.

Levi felt himself freeze at your affection. He had been used to brief touches and concerned words, but the way your eyes were full of worry just for him made him stop at the sight. A familiar feeling rose in the depths of his chest despite him still dismissing that in his thoughts. He quickly composed himself, not that you noticed his break of character as you felt your exhaustion slowly consuming your thoughts. "If you don't hurry and go to bed, you're gonna look real shitty tomorrow," Levi said, causing you to roll your own eyes. "I'm going, I'm going," you muttered before turning around and quickly going out his door, leaving Levi with your paperwork and a soft smile on his face.

.....

The sun had risen fully, light seeping in through the windows of the courtroom as you found yourself by Levi's side, who stood in between you and Erwin. Despite him allowing you to go to sleep earlier as he had taken care of your papers, you had dreamt yet again of the woman on the boat, and of the green expanse of terrain you now knew had to be what you encountered every time you left the walls. It had been years, and you had searched for answers, but it was hard seeing the lack of access you had to answers from the past. The only person who knew of your dreams was Levi. He had known since you were young, but he had always patted you on the head and told you not to worry, that it was just a "shitty dream", and that you would likely find answers when you least expected them. I sure hope so, you think to yourself as you stifled a yawn; you could never really go back to sleep after those dreams.

You suddenly looked over as the door burst open and saw briefly that Hange and Miche were the ones who had let Eren into the room, his eyes seeming to adjust to the bright lights of the courtroom. You could hear Hange say something to Eren before slamming the doors shut, and a brief, tense silence took over. Two men then forced him forward before telling him to kneel as one man locked Eren's chained hands under a metal bar. Mutterings started to rise throughout the courtroom, but you looked straight ahead despite the palpable suspense. You hear the creak of a door and the shuffle of seats as Commander-in-Chief Darius Zackly enters the forefront of the room.

"Well then, let us begin." He pauses while looking at a piece of paper in his grasp, "Eren Jaeger, yes?" Darius Zackly looks over his glasses as he stares at the emerald-eyed boy in front of him. "You are a soldier, sworn to sacrifice your life for the public good. Is that correct?" Eren looks up and answers slowly, "Yes, sir." He then continues to explain why Eren is here: "The final decision rests entirely in my hands. Your fate will be decided here." As you expected, concealing Eren's existence is no longer possible, and the trial today would be one that decided which force would hold custody over him. The military police or the Survey Corps.

Nile Dawk, the Commander of the Military Police, is then called forward to provide their proposal. The proposal that Eren should be eliminated immediately. That in favour of preventing a spark of civil war, Eren die for humanity's sake after leaving behind all the information he can provide. "There is no need for that!" the shout of Priest Nick, a Wallist, part of a religious faction believing the walls to be holy, starts to berate the idea, claiming he should die on the spot for deceiving the walls. Despite them not having influence much in our society, the past five years have given them power, what with the abandonment of Wall Maria. Order is called before the Survey Corps is called to provide their proposal.

Erwin then speaks, "I, 13th Commander of the Survey Corps, Erwin Smith, will present my proposal." He then turns his head to Eren, continuing, "We would welcome Eren as an official member of our forces and use his power to retake Wall Maria." He then looks forward, "That is all." Silence takes over. Straight to the point, as usual. Despite Darius questioning his brief proposal, Erwin keeps to the proposal he has given. Darius then continues to ask where the mission will take place, asking Pixis if the wall to Trost has been sealed completely, to which he replies affirmatively. "We would like to set out from Karanes, in the east. From there, we will proceed to Shiganshina. We will determine the route as we go." Erwin speaks up as the crowd looks at him.

"Wait a minute!" One of the merchants next to Priest Nick starts to shout, claiming that we should seal all the wall gates once and for all as the colossal Titan only destroys the gates. This causes an argument that takes over the courtroom between the merchant and members of the Survey Corps. His delusion that sealing the gates would protect everyone when he is truly trying to protect himself and his money starts to seep its way through his words, giving you a headache from the merchant's ignorance. "You talk a lot, pig," you glance slightly to your side and see that Levi was the one who had spoken. People quiet down and stare, surprised to see the usually silent Humanity's Strongest Soldier speak up. "Where is your proof that the Titans will wait while we seal the gate? The "we" that you wish to protect are your "friends" who help line your pockets. The people who starve because there isn't enough land to sow don't even figure into the thoughts of you pigs."

The merchant stops at Levi's words but continues with his argument, when Priest Nick joins in, calling the merchant a traitor for wishing to alter the walls. The two continue into the argument, shouting their ideologies despite the otherwise silence of the room, voices bouncing off the echoing walls, until finally, Darius asks for silence. He then looks to Eren as he wishes to confirm something, "Can you continue to serve as a soldier using your Titan powers to benefit humanity?" Eren looks up with a determined stare, "yes, I can!" Despite his answer, Darius looks to a report from the defence saying that, "immediately after turning into a Titan, he swung his fist at Mikasa Ackerman." Eren's eyes turn sharply to Mikasa as you look at the raven-haired girl who answers when she is called.

"Is it true that, as a Titan, Eren Jaeger attacked you?" A brief silence takes over before she finally replies, albeit hesitantly, "Yes, it's true." You look at Eren's horrified face, confirming your suspicions that he had not been aware that he had lost control. Murmurs of distress started to arise again before Mikasa continued, "But on two previous occasions, Eren saved my life in his Titan form." Despite her argument, Nile Dawk speaks of Mikasa's bias as she was taken in by the Jaeger family at a young age. "Our investigation has also revealed a surprising fact about the underlying events. At age nine, Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman killed three robbers who tried to kidnap her." He then asks whether there is a right to trust humanity's fate, resources and lives with Eren.

Murmuring starts to turn into shouts of disagreement as the courtroom starts to get out of control again. Now, people started to target not only Eren but also Mikasa, accusations ringing through the room and growing as Eren tried to rebut their shouts. The tension starts to rise with the noise as Mikasa and Eren's names are thrown across the room before you see Eren's wide gaze snap. "No!" Eren lurches forward with his scream as his chains rattle against the weight of metal. Silence takes over as people now look at him with fear written across their eyes. "I mean, you're wrong... You're simply coming up with theories that fit whatever suits you to think," Eren's voice slightly shakes as he looks to the floor in front of him. "Besides, none of you," Eren then looks to the Military Police, "None of you... you've never even seen a Titan! What are you so afraid of?" You see Eren's face grow angry as you notice his eyes shine with vengeance, along with Levi's swift absence beside you.

"What is the point if those with the means and power do not fight?" If you're afraid to fight for survival, then help me. You... cowards!" Voices started to rise swiftly in the room at Eren's words before he started to yank against his chains again at all the noise. "Just shut up and bet everything you have on me!" Silence is met by tension as the Military police aim their weapons at Eren's seeming lack of control, but it is unnecessary as you see the end of Levi's harsh kick against Eren's face, a tooth falling out of his mouth. Clangs of metal against metal and the sound of Eren's body being pulled and kicked and punched move across the room. You look to Levi as his grey eyes spark dangerously, but he continues despite the silent looks of distress in the room and Mikasa's deadly form held back somehow by Armin.

Blood now seeps onto Eren's clothes as Levi holds him under his boot. "This is a personal opinion. But I believe pain to be the best way to train someone." Levi's stare is sharp, "what you need is to be trained like a dog, not a man." A shiver runs down your spine despite knowing of the plan, silently thankful for Levi's harsh words never to have been directed at you. "It's easier to kick you while you're kneeling, too." You can't help but inwardly grimace at his violence, though you keep on a neutral face as he continues to kick Eren's already beaten form. Even in the Underground, you had never seen his movements so merciless, at least to anyone but the Titans. "Wait, Levi," Levi turns to Nile, "what is it," he says, expression bored and foot still in Eren's face. "That's dangerous; what if he gets angry and turns into a Titan?" he continues to kick Eren as he replies, "What are you saying?" Bringing Eren's face up to his eye level by his hair, he continues, "Aren't you going to dissect him?"

"When he turned into a Titan last time, he killed twenty other Titans before collapsing. If he is an enemy, his intelligence makes him a more formidable foe. Still no match for me, of course. But what will you do? Anyone persecuting him should also consider that fact." The quiet in the room continues with those around the courtroom now with unsettling emotions on their faces at Levi's blunt words. "Do you really think you can kill him?" Erwin then raises his hand, "Sir, I have a proposal." Darius then looks to Erwin, "The details of Eren's Titan power remain uncertain, making it dangerous. Thus, I propose to have Captain Levi take responsibility for Eren's control, and with Captain [y/n] and their squad, embark on an expedition outside the walls." He continues, "Based on the expedition's results, I'd like you to judge whether Eren can control his Titan power."

Darius looks briefly at Erwin and you before turning to Levi, "Control Eren? Can you do it, Levi?" Levi, still looking at Eren, replies, "I'm certain I can kill him; the problem is I doubt I can do any less." Darius then closes his eyes, seeming to have come to a decision.

.....

You sighed; you were with Hange as they tried to get Eren cleaned up amongst their continuous fawning over the poor boy. "Are you alright, Eren? Does it hurt?" You ask as Hange dabs at a cut across his face. Eren looks up, his eyes wide with awe and cheeks turning slightly pink. "Just a bit," he says before his eyes wander behind you and suddenly stiffens, eyes finding the floor. You meet his line of sight to see that Levi leant against the wall, projecting a sudden dangerous aura. You sighed, giving Levi a pointed stare, to which he looked to the side, pretending to ignore you.  You roll your eyes before sitting next to Eren on the couch.

"I'm sorry about all that," you say and give Eren a kind smile. He looked up slightly though still rigid, "but the pain you endured was all for our plan." Erwin nodded as he agreed, "Yes, you allowed me to play my cards at the right moment," walking to Eren, he leaned down and reached out a hand, "You have my respect. Eren, I look forward to working with you." Eren looks up with brief surprise before shaking his hand. "Yes, sir, thank you."

You hear footsteps and look up to see that Levi has started walking towards you, sitting in the space between you and Eren. He put a leg over the other and forcibly put one hand on the back of the couch behind Eren. "Hey, Eren..." You notice the boy's eyes flicker subtly between you and Levi before meeting Levi's deadpan stare. "Yes, sir," he replied hastily, "do you resent me?" Eren's form moves rigidly with nerves as he replies, "N-no," he then seems to relax a bit and looks to the ground in front of him, "I understand why it was necessary." Levi leans back on the couch, "that's good."

You think back at the interaction at the trial and huff slightly, "You still took it a bit far, I mean didn't you lose a tooth Eren?" Before he could reply, Hange had started shuffling around before bringing out a handkerchief with a tooth. "Yeah, it's right here," they say nonchalantly as you feel yourself sweatdrop. "Don't pick that up... it's creepy," Levi says with a disturbed look on his face, but Hange doesn't seem the least bit concerned. "Even this is an important sample." Levi looks to Eren and the injuries that now adorn his face, "That's still better than getting dissected by people like Hange, right?" Eren looks at the tooth, slight emotion betraying his eyes, "I'm not like them..." you hear Hange say, and you laugh slightly. "Hey, Eren. Let me see inside your mouth," the boy, seemingly increasingly uncomfortable at their proximity, surprisingly does what Hange says.

Hange then lets out a noise of surprise, and we all turn to see that they are still looking into Eren's mouth, "the tooth... it's already grown back." 

[goodbye-alchemy]

Why Do We Fear The Reaper

Why does the image of the grim reaper, a skeleton donning black and bearing a scythe, frighten us so?

Why is he the very image of the grim, of death, and why does he haunt our nightmares the way he does?

Maybe it’s because of his hollow eyes and the unending darkness behind them. Maybe it’s because the sight of him is a vision of our inevitable end.

Alternatively, perhaps he is frightening because of his existence within each and every one of us; a representation of what will be left when our flesh melts away after we die. Perhaps we don’t like the way he embraces death and we resent him for his lack of fear.

But in our fear of his image we forget that within every one of us is also a skeleton clad in darkness. It walks with us, talks with us, and feels the weight of every burden we bear. It holds us up as we live and finally it will be the last of us when we die. We are so terrified by the vision of what we possess under our blood and flesh and the potential of what we may become when it is gone. He is our impermanence and our vitriol is fueled by our denial of it.

But in all truth, the reaper is kind.

As his name suggests, he sows the seeds of life. He allows us to grow tall and proud. He cares for us, waters us, faces us toward the sun. And when we begin to wither, when our roots begin to rot and our leaves do not take water, he brings us mercy. He reaps us. He takes responsibility.

When the deer is shot and bleeding, the reaper comes and takes him away so he may not witness the hunters taking his hide. He takes responsibility.

He does not plant life recklessly. He grips the scythe in his hand and faithfully brings peace to every stalk that fades. Why do we fear him when he is our constant, the being most devoted to us in life and beyond?

He does not come for us until we are ready. And he mourns us when we try to leave before we are.

Within us each is the reaper who waits and holds us upright until the end. He reveals himself when we feel the pull of the final sleep and takes our pains away and places them squarely on his own shoulders. He carries the weight of the world we build in our time without question and grants us freedom from our burden, when he can never be free of his.

He is faithful, he is quiet, and he serves us even when we treat him with terror and repulsion. We see his sunken, sullen face and we run away, and even then he is devoted. He chews our food, brushes our hair, and dances for us. Fear him or don’t, but do not mistake him for terror when he is gentler than life has ever been or will ever be.

He is the first and final kindness, and his skeletal hand will feel warm when he gently takes you away, and he will mourn you long after you are forgotten.

The reaper is kindness, and he takes responsibility.

[psydelta]

Imagine this: Bruce doesn't understand the concept of death.

He has pretty developed abstract thinking but this concept just. Evades him. He simply doesn't understand and has no intention to. Death is a social construct, and Bruce refuses to follow it.

It has so much crack potential but I'd like to see some DRAMA. Like, when his parents are shot in front of him, Bruce goes "nope, I refuse" and simply drives the whole concept of death out of his head. Instead he tells himself that "they'll be taken to the hospital and be fine". He anchors down with them, holds their hands and waits for help. Imagine Joe Chills terror when this child looks at him with horrified expression and goes "That must really hurt! Why did you do this?" and takes bloody hands of his dead parents muttering reassuring things and constant stream of you'll be okays and this will heals.

After Alfred takes Bruce home, he tries to explain that his parents are dead. But Bruce just looks at him with big eyes and says: "But they're in the hospital, and doctors will help them, right?" Alfred tries again and again, and eventually Bruce goes into full-blown tantrum and refuses to listen, covers his ears and goes hiding. Alfred doesn't have a heart to try this again.

And after days, then weeks, Bruce starts asking about his parents. Shouldn't he and Alfred go check on them? Why aren't they home already? What's happening? Where are they? And Alfred explains again: "They are dead, Master Bruce. They'll never come back, they are dead". But Bruce doesn't hear "dead" . He nods as if he totally and completely understands and hears "abandoned you" instead. Because being alive and abandoning him is better than being dead.

He lives with this. With the thought that his parents couldn't put up with him - put up with Gotham - anymore. He imagines their new life and shows hand-drawn pictures of them - alive and happy and in the midst of craziest adventures 10-year-old can come up with - and Alfred excuses himself after to cry alone every time.

Bruce forsed into therapy. It's not healthy to just forget about death; it's not healthy to live in such complete denial. And he goes, willingly, without complaints. He talks about problems at school, about his fears and anxieties that had gotten worse after his parents left him. He talks about them at length - mother's kindness and warmth, father's guidance and patience - and cries. And every time his therapists try to tell him: "But they're dead, Bruce", he gets this blank look in his eyes for a second and goes quiet and still. His sessions last for three years; Alfred thinks about fourth and does nothing.

After that it is still the same path - Bruce decides that he must help Gotham, seeks training, becomes Batman, all that drill. He fosters Dick - and loves him with all his heart. They fight, Dick leaves, and Bruce thinks that maybe it's not Gotham - maybe it's just him.

He finds Jason - hungry and miserable and too angry to be alone. He takes him under his wing, and makes him Robin, and everything is not fine - Dick still doesn't come home but at least he picks up the phone - but it's good. Bruce is good. He content with his life.

And then Jason dies.

It uproots everything. Dick comes home to scream at Bruce about his dead- something, they wasn't brothers truly, but Dick started to accept Jason as his successor. He screams himself to exhaustion. He turns to leave again. And then Bruce pulls down his cowl and says: "I understand that you are upset. It's my fault that Jason is in this condition. It'll take a lot of time to heal but hell be fine, Dick. I promise."

Dick is frozen. He stands with his mouth open, unable to form one coherent thought, until Alfred guides him away with a gentle touch on the elbow and explains Bruce's inability to understand death in hushed voice. Dick doesn't believe him. Not at first. Not until he sees Bruce talking at Jason's corpse with almost serene smile on his face and then Dick out of the cave to promptly retch into the nearest toilet. It's too much.

It's too much for Alfred too. He doesn't know what Bruce sees inside his mind, when the are at the wake and coffin is lowered into open maw of the grave. But Bruce talks to Jason - and Alfred doesn't listen after "I'll wait for you, son, as long as I need".

And the worst part? Jason does come back.

[mermaidsirennikita]

I feel like What We Do in the Shadows or Good Omens would be better recommendations for Our Flag Means Death fans. Re The Terror there's a lot of subtext but there's nothing explicitly gay to my understanding.

I don't care for Good Omens personally (I get why other people do, and it's def a better rec than the other things lmao) but What We Do in the Shadows, definitely. Very similar sense of humor. A similar approach to queerness onscreen (ie not constant self-denial and suffering lol), and obviously both have a connection to Taika and Rhys.

I didn't dislike The Terror, it was just very slow and I struggle with a lot of slow things (whatever gives Tobias Menzies work though, I adore him). But yeah, I never heard of anything explicitly gay in The Terror?

For me, there's nothing wrong with subtextual queer content, and obviously there is a very long literary and cinematic history of queer coding--it was once all you could do. However, as a consumer, I think that in new content I don't want shit I have to squint and read into. If that is ALL I CAN GET, which with some projects it is, then that's not on the creator--it's obviously on the bigger powers that be, and I'm aware of that.

But let's be real, there are creatives who do very purposefully want to live in the in-between of baiting fans and keeping audiences who won't pick up on the coding (what's the word again? Hmm...). And so, with the vast majority of new content... I wanna see it explicitly done. That doesn't mean I have to see explicit love scenes or whatever, I just don't want ambiguity as to whether or not these two characters like each, whether this one character is gay, etc.

And that was something OFMD gave, you know? There was NO QUESTION. I got into that show midway through the first season airing because of Ed/Stede gifs I saw, and I was like "oh wow that looks WAY more textual than I expected???" But even then I didn't expect a kiss, I didn't expect feelings, I didn't expect it to be confirmed through Calico Jack that Ed slept with men, I didn't expect Stede to realize he was gay--all of these things I didn't expect at all. (I mean, I also didn't expect explicitly NB Jim because I had no idea based off the gifs that Jim existed, and though I don't love their arc in s2, Jim did offer really amazing rep for people in my life I dearly love, that they can't easily get basically anywhere else.) I think that's what will be hard to chase. Not IMPOSSIBLE, but tough, because even when there are explicit, canonically queer characters and arcs on TV, they're often couched in suffering.

... Or rather, the popular ones are. And the really, really popular ones often leave it ambiguous.

I think I'm especially off it at this point because I don't watch as much TV as I once did, and I do read so many romance novels, many of which do feature queer characters who are explicitly queer and have amazing HEAs (albeit after some angst!). That's become more of my standard, and I have less patience for TV

[stigmvtas]

welcome to marina, PALOMA "BABE" MORI ( demi woman, she/they ) ! they are a TWENTY SEVEN year old who has lived on the island for THEIR WHOLE LIFE. word on the street is they’re currently living in TOWER HILL and works as a TAXIDERMIST / STRIPPER. everyone also says they look a lot like NANA KOMATSU. what do you think? — JAMES, 24, THEY/THEM, EST.

MENTIONS OF PARENTAL DEATH, CAR ACCIDENT, NIGHT TERRORS, MORE DEATH, STALKING, HARASSMENT, GUN VIOLENCE (IMPLIED), DRUGS. UMM. YEA.

profile.

full name: paloma mori.

birthday: august 13th, 1996.

astrology: leo sun, leo moon, leo ascending.

sexuality: bisexual.

currently listening to: 8 now by food house.

last known location: [[[cannot be found]]]

PINTEREST.

brief history.

parental death / car accident; she's raised by her maternal grandfather and uncle, smack dab between her two brothers - their parents died in a car crash when her younger brother was just a baby, babe still too young to remember them much, or the accident that took place.

they live in a small apartment atop their grandfather's restaurant - a small noodle & beer shop that welds just enough profit for them to get by.

has been called babe her entire life - sometimes her grandfather says its because after her older brother had watched the movie of the same name, he thought she looked so pink and pig - like.

night terrors; is diagnosed with night terrors at a very young age - her cries and screams wake their household nightly, tiny limbs thrashing about like undergoing an exorcism. every night, on repeat - again and again. sleep paralysis becomes common - strange figures always lurking in her doorway, fingers curling over her doorframe - insomnia after that, because babe can no longer stand to sleep.

as a kid there's only so many explanations to her diagnosis - none feel right, a girl always in denial - settles on the belief that maybe she's a medium. that maybe what she sees are just spirits reaching out for her - wanting her help. she's so young, her family just thinks she'll grow out of the belief - but she never does. it's better than acknowledging the truth - of the deaths she's tethered to.

grows up the weird girl - the girl who talks to nothing, the girl who says she's really seen bloody mary in the mirror - the girl who's always bruised from taking a fall from her skateboard, over and over again - the girl who never learns. the girl who set the robotics club room on fire, and was banned from competitions from there on. always plenty smart - but terrible at utilizing it.

death; her grandfather dies shortly after babe's high school graduation - and college seems like a distant memory. she'd been serious about it, once - but now she needs to help out where she can. her uncle's taking over the restaurant with her oldest brother in tow - her youngest already picking up jobs when he should be studying. babe hates to see them struggle - hates how palpable the grief is in the air, how thick it is - how she can barely breathe.

she gets a job at the strip club as a dancer - she's young and charismatic, muscle built from years of roughhousing - it reels in plenty money, enough to help out her household and have some leftover. she picks up taxidermy classes, because college still seems so far away - babe knows how to move forward, but not how to pick up the pieces and continue where she's left off - dozens of projects left half - finished, plenty of relationships dropped without warning. the only constants are piper, her best friend since diapers, practically, and reggie - the boyfriend she breaks up with, but never truly leaves. she's known him for so long - it feels impossible to ever really part.

stalking / harassment / gun violence; years later - babe's a known face at the club with a plethora of regulars, customers who adore not just her body, but her personality, who respect her - who pay her plenty. a new customer begins to get a bit too - affectionate towards babe. too close, too interested. the club's good about discomfort - and he's escorted off premises after he tries to follow her into the dressing rooms. it doesn't end after that - an obsession that carries outside of the club, that follows her - he follows her, to and 'fro - the police useless, because he hasn't touched her - and when her oldest brother finds out, he decides to take matters into his own hands. the man doesn't die - but he comes close to it, and when the police come knocking this time 'round - it's babe's uncle who steps up; who confesses to the crime. a crime he hasn't committed - but will protect his family from.

it's been a year since then; her oldest brother's taken over their family's restaurant - and the guilt swallows babe daily. she's only semi - recently gone back to work, much to the protest of her brothers; her oldest brother still upset about her decision, and still not talking to her.

facts & temperaments.

has unironically called herself an empath and in her defense she sort of is. feels emotions so so deeply that they hurt. a big crier, can't help it. tends to let them get the best of her - an irrational thinker who always jumps to conclusions, whether it's about you loving or hating her.

a little performative, dramatic - feels like she needs to be, like if she's not a caricature of sunshine then she's just the girl with a should - be - dead stalker and an incarcerated uncle. the girl with the dead animals, and the profuse swearing of mediumship.

a big - time partier, a known raver; self - proclaimed scene queen. always wearing rave attire, even in the cold - loves big, bold colors, the more neon the better, her arms consistently covered in kandi that she gives out like candy to her most favorite people of the week, sometimes the hour.

drugs; big big big on psychedelics and like. party drugs. loves poppers. will never admit that she has a problem - thinks she can always just reel it in.

has probably said rawr :3 in the past 24 hours.

loud and bold and talkative - isn't afraid to point out things that others may not; doesn't get the hint when to shut up. a bit of a blabbermouth, but she can't help it.

needs to be validated often that she's still liked and loved and adored, it's a bit of a problem. tends to latch onto others and form the occasional obsessive attachment. it's no big deal. sometimes it lasts for days, sometimes months. she finds most people interesting, and sometimes the most random things draw her in. thinks there's more beneath every person and she wants to know Every Layer.

a little hypersexual - a coping mechanism to deal with. Everything. but also just loves love! will also get incredibly jealous at times, but it's almost as a joke? but only babe finds it funny, and only after everyone's like babe wtf? then she's like omg jk haha im not that possessive :3 (kind of is)

once again, a big crier - at minor inconveniences, at sad movies, at misunderstandings; even when angry, it's just more tears. purposefully wears mascara that runs for the aesthetic. has probably never taken her eyeliner off.

big on adrenaline - seeking and cheap thrills. loves the idea of overcoming danger. believes in ghosts and cryptids and probably wants to fuck mothman, experiences medium revelations like several times a day.

has several tattoos that are just the @'s of people she's fucked whether it's their instagram or twitch or what. she thinks it's funny. and it's like, girl? kind of matches how her shitty little honda civic that's always falling apart is covered in bumper stickers on the outside and like. actual stickers on the inside. like she's just vomited lisa frank.

downs several monsters or various other energy drinks a day. aforementioned car's floor is littered with the crushed cans and general. gross shit ngl. we love her though.<3

[my-breakup-playlist]

I've heard people with OCD talk about intrusive thoughts that take the form of a constant debilitating fear that you're secretly [a child abuser/a murderer/etc] and that you just didn't notice it yet, or that you're so deep in denial that you even managed to fool yourself.

I lived in constant fear that I was mentally/emotionally abusing my ex. To the point where I would regularly check with mutual friends and with our therapist, to see if there were any red flags-- hell, even any pink flags-- in my behavior that I needed to correct. Always the answer was no (but what if I'm just that good at covering my tracks, the fear says--)

He called me abusive.

Even then, our therapist said that no, I wasn't. Not even close.

And as many times as he said it, he only ever named two behaviors. Withholding affection (by 'affection' he meant specifically, explicitly, 'sex'-- to the point that I had to start marking sex on a calendar every time it happened, just so i had physical evidence that it hadn't in fact been months since the last instance) and invading his privacy (asking him to explain his thought process was deemed to be surveiling behavior-- I didn't touch his phone, I didn't go into his office or get on his computer except to play video games on it, always with his permission. His feelings, though-- those were off limits to me.)

Maybe that's some DARVO shit. I know that him calling it abuse actively played into those fears that I had confessed to him. He knew that calling it that was a sure-fire way to shut me down, and it always worked (even if he wasn't doing it intentionally, it got results, so why stop?)

Even now, more than a year since I last saw him face to face, I'm still wrestling with that fear.

Did I send an online order to his house because I was careless with autofill, or was that some secret subliminal plot to hurt him? Did I screw myself over financially with a bureaucratic blunder because I made a dumb mistake while stressed, or was it a cunning plot?

Which is dumb, because I know the answer. I was there.

But let's walk down that road for a minute. Let's say I've got a Tyler Durdan situation going on and I'm secretly, subconsciously doing these things to fuck with him.

I would have landed myself the single most milquetoast evil alter at the offensive-DID-stereotypes factory, if the most diabolical thing it can think of is to send him shampoo and request he log on to the BMV website. Worst case, he... What? Thinks about me in annoyance for a day? At worst, I've robbed him of the hour it takes to drive to my mom's house and back to drop something off.

I'm not contacting him directly or showing up at his house, in respect to the boundaries he set.

And the thing is? Maybe he's calling it abuse anyway. Maybe he's telling his friends and family that I'm actively terrorizing him or something. But even if he is, that's a him issue. Because of he wants to make me into a boogeyman, then there's nothing I can actually do to convince him otherwise. Every act and accident will be cast in the worst possible light anyway, regardless of reality.

Which is why I'm posting this here.

Because I tend to re-read these posts when I get twisted into knots about it all, and also because I'm probably not the only one who has this particular flavor of fucked up in a relationship. Maybe it'll help them, or future me.

Here's hoping.

[darkmasterofcupcakes]

Since you sent me an ask, I'll send you one too: 20 for our blorbos?

20. Confessions

For the longest time, he'd been in denial. He wasn't even fond of the woman who just happened to live in this house with him and their old Students (and the one who taught dreams and always seemed inebriated, or the one who lived in the fuse box when she wasn't tinkering with this electrical contraption or that, but they were easy enough to ignore), he told himself for weeks. Once that had passed, he admitted there was some fondness, but a begrudging sort; the kind you feel towards one you admit is a worthy rival.

Until the day she didn't return to the house when he assumed she would after he'd won their latest "game". At first, Tony had assumed she was playing with him, waiting for him to let his guard down in order to get back at him for a surprise attack. So he'd stayed alert, albeit doing his best to act as though he wasn't concerned in the slightest. He didn't want to give her any sort of satisfaction of making her believe he was nervous, much less afraid. But then hours passed and she never returned, and Tony found himself genuinely....afraid. He didn't know what had happened to Paige, and started to consider the possibility that she may not return. His heart had raced, ticking in his ears so quickly and with so much force he was almost expecting it to pound through his ribs like a jackhammer.

Tony didn't remember much of what happened between the second the fear of never seeing Paige again set in, and her stepping through the front door, complaining about bodybags and autopsy tables and the rudeness of the examiner to just cut up her favorite dress. He only remembered the rush of relief he felt upon hearing her voice again.

And it was that memory that brought him to this moment, standing over the body of the Concept of Creativity and holding a single rose, blood-red in color, in his hand. It had taken some time to reach this point, but eventually he had accepted what his desperation and (though he was loathe to admit it) terror at the possibility of being parted from Paige for eternity truly meant; he had fallen in love with her (he made a note to keep this fact from Shrignold until he was ready to deal with the constant gushing over the fact...which would likely be never).

Once Tony had admitted how he felt to himself, there came another issue - telling Paige. Of course he had considered the obvious: simply telling her how he felt. Despite what some might assume they were perfectly capable of simply talking when they felt like it; the chases and battles and various "games" weren't the only aspects of their relationship, after all. He quickly dismissed the notion. Confessing how he felt to Paige couldn't be done in such a simple manner. Even if she reciprocated, she'd no doubt still mock him for his lack of creativity, and Tony was not in the mood for mockery; not that he ever was. And thus he came up with the solution he was currently implementing.

"I shall see you in a few hours, my dear," he said, knowing she couldn't hear him, using words that he'd used before, in a tone that was quite different from past utterances. He got to his knees beside her, carefully placing the rose in her hand while simultaneously placing a gentle kiss upon her lips, savoring both the feel and the slight coppery taste. Being careful not to disturb the rose, Tony got to his feet and went to his workshop, knowing that only time would give him the answer he was looking for.

Unfortunately for him, he instead received a death of his own at the hands of his love....but when he awoke, he found a piece of wet paper folded into his hand. Unfolding it revealed a heart - somewhat mishappened and smeared, but a heart no doubt - painted in blood. Perhaps not so unfortunate, then....

[smokeybrandcompositions]

More Thoughts and Prayers

I cannot believe I am about to say this, but I agree with JD Vance, in part. The shooting this past week in Georgia is the opening salvo to what has effectively become “Murder Kids Season” in the US. It’s no coincidence that sh*t coincides roughly with the school year. We deal with this form of aggressive terrorism yearly, since the late Nineties and that Columbine fiasco from which no one learned anything. I grew up in the ghetto during the late Eighties and most of the Nineties. Gun violence was an afterthought for me. By the time I was twelve years old, I knew a handful of people who had been shot, one who had been killed, and had fire arms pulled on me, personally, twice. The chance of getting shot or killed in the cross-hairs of gun violence was a very real possibility for me throughout my childhood. I am numb to it so when Columbine happened, I wasn’t as moved as the rest of the country who didn’t live in a constant war zone Most of my peers felt the same. See, when that sh*t happens in generally impoverished, mostly ethnic minority neighborhoods, it’s not a school shooting. It’s called gang violence or black-on-black crime and dismissed as “those silly n*ggers.” The country at large, doesn’t care. But let that sh*t happen in an affluent, predominately white, suburb in Colorado, and reform is necessary. National reform has always been necessary. But, like Vance said, school shootings “are a fact of life.” Whether we want to accept this truth or not, whether you have the privilege of denial or not, school shootings are the reality. You can’t plan against crazy. You can, however, mitigate it, and it’s in that notion Vance (and the GOP at large) and I disagree.

I am not going to sit here and pretend I understand the nuances and intricacies over gun rights or pretend to divine what the fathers meant when they wrote the Second Amendment, but I am definitely going to stand on business in whatever they couldn’t possibly imagine how easily available or deadly weaponry would become. Those old white men wrote about their right to bear arms as a precaution against tyranny. They were writing about keeping f*cking muskets and flint locks on hand to clash with other muskets and flint locks. No one in the f*cking 1800s could even begin to understand the violent carnage a f*cking AR-15 could do to the physical vessel. Automatic rifles like that are tools of war. They are designed to inflict the most damage, with the least amount of ammo. They are designed, specifically, to kill humans. They are man-eaters and should not be used by anyone but soldiers. However, if you listen to the Right, them sh*ts are fine to go on a weekend hunt. You need them to take down elk and sh*t. Want some swiss cheese venison? Grab your daughter’s pink AR and go on a bonding father-daughter trip! None of that seems reasonable or makes a lick of sense to me but, here we are, another deadly shooting in a white suburban high school, and no one is doing anything about outside of “thoughts and prayers.”

Interestingly enough, I had a shooter threat when I was in high school. This was in 2002, long before these sh*ts became something of a recurring circumstance like fire season in California or Hurricane season in Texas. The day of, a ton of people were leaving campus as I was going in. More than one told me there was a kid on site with a shotgun, a kid I knew in passing, actually. I didn’t question anything and went back home. We had the next two days off. The kid was detained. He did have a shotgun, but it wasn’t on his person. He never brought it to school. Eventually, he was remanded to a mental facility and got the help he needed. Apparently, he told someone he planned to shoot up the school, and they told someone, who told someone, who did something. That day wasn’t the planned day, it was later in the month, but because word got out, the situation was resolved. Kid was crazy and his pops hat the gun. You can’t do anything about that. You can’t guard against crazy. It happens. My situation was a no win scenario but this one in Georgia? That one in Sandy Hook? Hell, even Columbine to a certain extent.

All of those horrible outcomes, so many of these terrible situations, can be either stopped or mitigated by common sense laws. Mental health screenings. Felony disqualifications. Yearly registrations. Stringent background checks. A limit on full auto weaponry. Like, what civilian needs a fifty caliber anything? More cops in school Vance’s answer to this violent problem, isn’t the solution. Just ask Uvalde about that one. Pretty sure I made it abundantly clear full auto sh*t should not be in the hands of the general populace. That includes law enforcement. The f*ck you need an AR for if you spook at the sound of a falling acorn? If you can’t handle yourself with a pistol, you don’t deserve anything larger. The job is dangerous, yes, but you knew that when you took it. If you’re too scary, if it comes down to you or that terrified ten year old with a bullet in their leg and you don’t have the guts to choose them, then you don’t need to be a cop. How many of these men and women in uniform are abject cowards? How many of them will hide behind protocol while f*cking elementary schoolers are being slaughtered? You wear that uniform your job is to rush headlong into danger, not wait outside until it subsides. Seriously, how effective can more cops be, other than to “lessen the damage”? I mean, speaking from experience, not much. It just makes the crazy more focused. It makes them hone targets.

Once again, back in high school., I came across a guy I knew sneaking out of the office. I stopped him and mustered a bit of small talk with him for about a minute or so. Suddenly, cops and a councilor basically tackled this guy and hauled him away. In the aftermath, the TA for said counselor informed me that he was on his way to st6ab a mutual friend of ours. She had recently gotten a boyfriend and that sent this guy into a spiral. He physically attacked her, swapping between passionate declarations of love and vitriolic attacks of hate. This guy was known nutter. We’d been friends since the eighth grade and he’s been obsessed with her even back then. He was diagnosed with ADHD and bipolar disorder. I don’t know if he was off his meds that day, but when heard the news, he tried to assault her. Didn’t get anywhere because her crew stopped him, but the attempt was enough. Later that day, I bumped into him. In that time we spoke, he was thwarted again but this time, his had a shiv on him. He was looking to stab this girl. For choosing someone else to be with. Pure nutter. If I wasn’t there, at that time, he might have done it. You can plan against crazy. Everyone in this situation did exactly what they were sup[posed to do, Nutter just happened to slip through the cracks at the right moment. Tragedies happen. You mourn, cope, and address. You ask why this happened and how we can remedy the situation. You make the attempt to do better. The US has done none of that. We haven’t even tried. Our “leaders” push that responsibility on Resource Officers but make it legally nonviable to pursue gun companies. They protect and legislate at the behest of the gun lobby. Kids are dying in droves but no one wants to take the guns out of their hands, just put more cops on deck to maybe mitigate the murder. It’s f*cking appalling. But, you know, thoughts and prayers.

[smokeybrand]

More Thoughts and Prayers

I cannot believe I am about to say this, but I agree with JD Vance, in part. The shooting this past week in Georgia is the opening salvo to what has effectively become “Murder Kids Season” in the US. It’s no coincidence that sh*t coincides roughly with the school year. We deal with this form of aggressive terrorism yearly, since the late Nineties and that Columbine fiasco from which no one learned anything. I grew up in the ghetto during the late Eighties and most of the Nineties. Gun violence was an afterthought for me. By the time I was twelve years old, I knew a handful of people who had been shot, one who had been killed, and had fire arms pulled on me, personally, twice. The chance of getting shot or killed in the cross-hairs of gun violence was a very real possibility for me throughout my childhood. I am numb to it so when Columbine happened, I wasn’t as moved as the rest of the country who didn’t live in a constant war zone Most of my peers felt the same. See, when that sh*t happens in generally impoverished, mostly ethnic minority neighborhoods, it’s not a school shooting. It’s called gang violence or black-on-black crime and dismissed as “those silly n*ggers.” The country at large, doesn’t care. But let that sh*t happen in an affluent, predominately white, suburb in Colorado, and reform is necessary. National reform has always been necessary. But, like Vance said, school shootings “are a fact of life.” Whether we want to accept this truth or not, whether you have the privilege of denial or not, school shootings are the reality. You can’t plan against crazy. You can, however, mitigate it, and it’s in that notion Vance (and the GOP at large) and I disagree.

I am not going to sit here and pretend I understand the nuances and intricacies over gun rights or pretend to divine what the fathers meant when they wrote the Second Amendment, but I am definitely going to stand on business in whatever they couldn’t possibly imagine how easily available or deadly weaponry would become. Those old white men wrote about their right to bear arms as a precaution against tyranny. They were writing about keeping f*cking muskets and flint locks on hand to clash with other muskets and flint locks. No one in the f*cking 1800s could even begin to understand the violent carnage a f*cking AR-15 could do to the physical vessel. Automatic rifles like that are tools of war. They are designed to inflict the most damage, with the least amount of ammo. They are designed, specifically, to kill humans. They are man-eaters and should not be used by anyone but soldiers. However, if you listen to the Right, them sh*ts are fine to go on a weekend hunt. You need them to take down elk and sh*t. Want some swiss cheese venison? Grab your daughter’s pink AR and go on a bonding father-daughter trip! None of that seems reasonable or makes a lick of sense to me but, here we are, another deadly shooting in a white suburban high school, and no one is doing anything about outside of “thoughts and prayers.”

Interestingly enough, I had a shooter threat when I was in high school. This was in 2002, long before these sh*ts became something of a recurring circumstance like fire season in California or Hurricane season in Texas. The day of, a ton of people were leaving campus as I was going in. More than one told me there was a kid on site with a shotgun, a kid I knew in passing, actually. I didn’t question anything and went back home. We had the next two days off. The kid was detained. He did have a shotgun, but it wasn’t on his person. He never brought it to school. Eventually, he was remanded to a mental facility and got the help he needed. Apparently, he told someone he planned to shoot up the school, and they told someone, who told someone, who did something. That day wasn’t the planned day, it was later in the month, but because word got out, the situation was resolved. Kid was crazy and his pops hat the gun. You can’t do anything about that. You can’t guard against crazy. It happens. My situation was a no win scenario but this one in Georgia? That one in Sandy Hook? Hell, even Columbine to a certain extent.

All of those horrible outcomes, so many of these terrible situations, can be either stopped or mitigated by common sense laws. Mental health screenings. Felony disqualifications. Yearly registrations. Stringent background checks. A limit on full auto weaponry. Like, what civilian needs a fifty caliber anything? More cops in school Vance’s answer to this violent problem, isn’t the solution. Just ask Uvalde about that one. Pretty sure I made it abundantly clear full auto sh*t should not be in the hands of the general populace. That includes law enforcement. The f*ck you need an AR for if you spook at the sound of a falling acorn? If you can’t handle yourself with a pistol, you don’t deserve anything larger. The job is dangerous, yes, but you knew that when you took it. If you’re too scary, if it comes down to you or that terrified ten year old with a bullet in their leg and you don’t have the guts to choose them, then you don’t need to be a cop. How many of these men and women in uniform are abject cowards? How many of them will hide behind protocol while f*cking elementary schoolers are being slaughtered? You wear that uniform your job is to rush headlong into danger, not wait outside until it subsides. Seriously, how effective can more cops be, other than to “lessen the damage”? I mean, speaking from experience, not much. It just makes the crazy more focused. It makes them hone targets.

Once again, back in high school., I came across a guy I knew sneaking out of the office. I stopped him and mustered a bit of small talk with him for about a minute or so. Suddenly, cops and a councilor basically tackled this guy and hauled him away. In the aftermath, the TA for said counselor informed me that he was on his way to st6ab a mutual friend of ours. She had recently gotten a boyfriend and that sent this guy into a spiral. He physically attacked her, swapping between passionate declarations of love and vitriolic attacks of hate. This guy was known nutter. We’d been friends since the eighth grade and he’s been obsessed with her even back then. He was diagnosed with ADHD and bipolar disorder. I don’t know if he was off his meds that day, but when heard the news, he tried to assault her. Didn’t get anywhere because her crew stopped him, but the attempt was enough. Later that day, I bumped into him. In that time we spoke, he was thwarted again but this time, his had a shiv on him. He was looking to stab this girl. For choosing someone else to be with. Pure nutter. If I wasn’t there, at that time, he might have done it. You can plan against crazy. Everyone in this situation did exactly what they were sup[posed to do, Nutter just happened to slip through the cracks at the right moment. Tragedies happen. You mourn, cope, and address. You ask why this happened and how we can remedy the situation. You make the attempt to do better. The US has done none of that. We haven’t even tried. Our “leaders” push that responsibility on Resource Officers but make it legally nonviable to pursue gun companies. They protect and legislate at the behest of the gun lobby. Kids are dying in droves but no one wants to take the guns out of their hands, just put more cops on deck to maybe mitigate the murder. It’s f*cking appalling. But, you know, thoughts and prayers.

[lookingfornoonat2pm]

Your comment to nostalgicamerica was spot on. I might add to that by saying that he is an antogonist and a child who loves to stir the pot. He has claimed he is neither Republican or Democrat. I can shoot holes in that all day. He is a Trump supporter. He just doesn't admit it. He represents the hatred in America against anyone who seems "woke". He represents the "fuck your feelings" that MAGAs aspire to. I wonder how long he will like the Dictatorship we will live under if Trump gets back in the Oval office. That isn't the way America was or should be as his many posts identify with. I'm old and can remember duck and cover drills and the fear of Nuclear War. We had bomb shelters in our town of 2800.

I appreciate the ask. And it's important for people like @nostalgicamerica to realize that living under the constant threat of nuclear holocaust was part of the mood that underwrote the sunny, ultra-positive aesthetic of mid-century America. People tried to be so absurdly optimistic because the daily reality of proxy wars, police killings, and ratcheting-up of tensions with the worker republics was a horrible thing to experience every day. I am lucky to have had parents who didn't live in denial and explained this reality to me.

To even attempt understand why so few of the images from mid-century America include black people is already to violate the dictates of contemporary American fascism.

As far as MAGA dictatorship goes, I think it won't be as bad as you think--it will be even worse.

Because it is the nice, kind, law-abiding, middle-of-the-road liberals who will turn me in to the cops when or if my sexuality becomes illegal. The people who want us to ignore the genocide in Palestine so that we will line up behind Biden are the exact people who will turn their backs on me and members of other minorities in order to save their skin. The MAGA types already actively want me dead.

I do not fear a generation of terror as much as I fear a culture that becomes spiritually dead and morally empty because its counter-culture and resistance movements adopt the values of the dominant classes.

[tunglo]

What I would do with all the monk research if I wrote fiction...

I’d keep the choir master / choir boy dynamic. That is lit. I would shift it out of the old rag and bone warehouse on Elm Hill to Llanthony though because, well. Look at it. It’s walking distance to the picturesque ruins of the actual medieval priory. We could have some Hardy-esque bollocks about good clean country air and old stones and stuff. Contrasting the memory of grass and open spaces (pretend monk life) with the smog and crowding of the city (real life).

The monk would be that same kind of clueless upper middle class boy whose only previous experience of hard work has been fagging for a swell who loved nothing more than taking the piss out of their obvious infatuation with him. The kind of sad lonely type who only got affection from the staff, and that dried up when he got too old for that kind of familiarity to be acceptable. 

Maybe some kind of earlier near death experience to help drive home their extreme religiosity and terror of damnation? Marking them out as different somehow within the family and social circle? Consumptive disease is the ideal, but I’ve always quite liked drowning in Victorian fiction. You get to play with that idea of the difference between the world below and above, and then repeat in the worlds of want and expectation.

So, yeah, a pasty introverted youth with ~delicate~ health and an obsession with serving God. (In a patriotically Anglican way, obviously.) Then the boy gets to be some slightly wild rustic. Like, they’ve never even experienced a properly starched Eton collar. Even if I pushed it into my beloved early Edwardian period, they probably still only had schooling up to the state mandated age of 12. Maybe their Welsh literacy is better than their English? Mamgu taught him everything he knows?

But they’d have learned stuff you can’t get from any amount of Latin grammar. There would be some faux fairytale / pagan revival style bullshit going on, about the old ways, and the love of God, and much fearful angsting that this angelic looking lad is temptation delivered by Satan himself. Because God can’t just love everyone? Without demanding constant penance and suffering? What even is this madness. Surely life can’t be that simple???

They need to double down on the self denial, and the fasting, and the helpless fainting during prayers or something.

And there would be a raging storm one day, for no particular reason. It would just look cool and somebody could be out catching their death of cold in it. Imagine: monk robes all sodden with mud and cold water, like drowning in the ornamental boating lake of their cousin’s estate one long ago morning.

And there would be some equally pointless scene at the ruins, playing hide and seek with local kids for some festivity or other. And they’d have to hunker out of sight in a darkened corner, chill enough that it raises goosebumps on the skin even though it’s the height of summer. Which would inevitably lead to the boy pressing a silencing finger to the monk’s lips in a symbolic not actual kiss that they’re gonna do all kinds of sinful things thinking about... 

Eventually the monk would have to back to real life(tm) because no upstanding English family is going to let their kid prance about in this foreign regalia forever. They can get a curacy in a nice English village and marry a nice English girl and produce nice English children. It would seem so dull and grey and awful in comparison, like they’d been caught in a fairy trap and changed beyond belief while life at home went on as always, and they’d think about throwing reputation and respectability away to go be happy and live the kind of life they want.

But they wouldn’t, because that’s not how these things work. Instead WWI would steamroll along and they’d have to go do their patriotic duty. Be a good son, and a good brother, and then a good uncle, etc, etc, etc. Until they’re old, and need help to get around, and have pity visits from dutiful grand-nieces who take them on a drive out to the country to go see some pretty ruins from the ancient old days when there was no TV or miniskirts or portable transistor radios.

And there they’d meet some other young descendant who would conveniently have their own ties to the area and, I dunno, some memento from their dearly departed Tadgu that’s actually a pressed flower in glass commemorating a long ago summer day when two dumb idiots in love almost shared a not quite kiss...

Just, yeah. Self-denial and misery. But hope for the future that other people won’t have to.