#that’s extremely almost irrationally different from what i usually see here

[southieparkie]

one thing that i find very funny in fanfics is when i can tell when something small like a character’s appearance/general personality is written as something the author genuinely enjoys vs a major thematic plot point incorporated solely to be a contrarian

i see this in multiple south park fanfics but i think the ship i’ve seen it in the most is style. i will read a description that says “6’10 kyle broflovski is bored one day after spinning his 150 lb. basketball on his pinkie finger when suddenly!!!! omega onlyfans goth stan marsh who loves chess pops up on his twitter feed!!! will they fall in love?” i can. i can tell what you’re doing here 😭

[celestoria]

aaa congratulations on your milestone!!!

can i req 7, 18 and 20 with al-haitham?

Tags: somnophilia, jealous sex, creampie, video editor!alhaitham x idol!reader

A/n: this was longer than expected lol.

Do not interact if you are 17 or below (17+)

Alhaitham was never a man who enjoyed the limelight since he found it extremely overbearing. Even if he isn’t willing to relish the fame with you on stage, he’s always willing to support you on the sidelines and watch you shine.

Though people found him to be a genius, yet stubborn editor who never does anything above the bare minimum in the music industry, he hasn’t caught pulling extra hours to get a video finished earlier before you two got together. Some people called it a miracle, but he just calls it doing what was in his job description.

It was normal for him to rewatch scenes of you dancing from different angles over and over again just to pick the best one. He enjoyed seeing you passionately do what you loved.

However, your recent video, a collaboration with an arguably handsome man, made his teeth grit and his blood boil whenever he saw you two in the same frame. Alhaitham deemed it illogical to fret over professional matters, so he pushed his rash emotions aside to get it over with.

But later that night, his mind played scenes of you and that man in his mind. Seeing how close he was to you while you wear clothes far too revealing than he’s comfortable to admit made his jaw clench.

It was uncharacteristic for him to feel this way, letting such irrationalities get the best of him while you lay asleep next to him, his arms wrapping around your waist in the middle of the night, symbolizing your trust in his protection during your vulnerability.

That wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to have your undying loyalty, whether you are awake or not.

His hips grind against the thin fabric of your panties, hidden under a shirt far that’s too big for you. His forehead rested on the crook of your neck, a place where it was usually loud enough for you to hear his needy sighs but now you had your eyes shut like nothing was happening.

Logic, something he always abides by, told him that his actions are a risky take, but his emotions, one he rarely follows, said his greed will only consume him if he doesn’t do something about it.

Alhaitham grunted, the tight constraints of his crotch freed his hardened member. He spreads your cheeks to make room for him as he slips himself in you, trying not to nudge you awake during the process. The warmth of your pussy tightly wrapped around his aching cock. Even when you’re asleep, you still take him so well.

His buff arm hugged you from your shoulder, acting as an anchor to keep you still. A heavy weight burdened his chest, mixing in with pleasure that travels throughout his body as his girthy cock bullies your cunt.

He could just claim you here and now by spilling his seed inside of you. How pretty would it look once it seeps out.

Your eyelids fluttered open, dazed from a dream you can barely remember. Processing what was going on, the first thing you noticed was the heat of your core and the fast-paced friction between your legs.

“Ngh~ '' your hand traveled to clasp Alhaitham’s grip on your body, almost letting a chill run down his spine if he wasn’t so caught in the moment. “Alhaitham, what happened- ah,” you moaned, the moment he went faster in and out of you.

His hand caressed your body before it traveled to your pussy so his rough fingers could circle your puffy hub. Overstimulated, you tried to pull his arm away but his defiance gave him the strength to stay where he is.

He knew full well you’re incredibly sensitive when you just woke up, and he’ll gladly take advantage of that knowledge if it ensured you’ll never think of other men even just for a millisecond.

“You know you’re mine, right? Tell me,” he growled, envy and desperation coating every word spilling out of his mouth.

“Yes,” you swallowed as you nodded, feeling the knot in your stomach growing tighter as he rearranged your insides with how balls deep he is.

Despite your answers, his fingers pressed deeper into your clit, his digits fiddling with you faster than he ever did before. Something tells you he isn’t stopping until he’s satisfied with your answer.

Typical Alhaitham. Never saying more than he needs to.

“Yes. I’m yours. You’re the only man for me, Alhaitham. No one else,” you screamed, your head rolling back.

He loved the way you cried his name, thick with submission and the loyalty he expects from you. The jealousy that conquered his logic turned into possessiveness. He feels reassured he’s the only one who can make you melt like putty from fucking you that hard even in your sleep.

Alhaitham’s lips curved upwards, smirking with satisfaction. His movements began to be sloppy, ready to leak out at any moment. Your walls pulsate around him, yearning for sweet release. With a final stroke, he buried his member deep inside you, unexpectedly filling you to the brim. As he pulled out, his cum oozed out and trailed to the sides of your lips.

You barely came down from the high when Alhaitham flipped you over, rose from where he laid, and knelt behind you. Your soaking wet panties pulled down close to your knees, allowing the cold air to brush against you.

He had your head buried against the pillow and your ass up ate an angle where his dick could slide in so easily. He brought his body forward, his biceps lighting brushing your back and his lips close to your ear. “We’re not stopping until I fuck a smart girl like you dumb.”

[gwemmieee]

Sometimes, I get involved in posts here that attract the terfs, and I peer in to make sure I block anyone who's highly likely to send me hate (which has already happened a lot in just over a year on tumblr), and it's hard for me to unpack how often terf blogs hide behind edgy language that I actually sort of agree with. Stuff like women's liberation, supremacy, etc.

I am afraid of men after how much and how consistently they have traumatized me. I sometimes feel like I hate men, but I don't like to assume and judge and hate people I don't know, so I don't trudge too far down that hole. But I genuinely do think that femininity is superior to masculinity, and I do think that masculinity as we know it is only a positive force when it's used to defend others from violence, and otherwise it is at best a neutral/centrist force. And I don't know if or when any of that will change, because I have no desire to go out of my way to be closer with any man I've met so far--at least no desire strong enough to overcome the fear and trauma. And that's really saying something considering that I'm sexually bi and can find men attractive.

And almost every time I look at a terf's page, it's filled with words that seem to see eye to eye with me. Stuff about women being better, men being predators, etc., but it's all so much more sweeping and generalizing and judgey than anything I'd say (in public). But sometimes when I'm in private and really frustrated, I'll say stuff like that too, so I get it. I also see fully positive stuff sometimes and I get excited! Just today, I saw one reblog some science debunking that biological women are weaker than biological men, and that was wonderful. But she hates trans women, so I still had to block her.

As I keep reading through their pages, most of it is just them policing other people. I find a lot of hateful stuff that contradicts feminine superiority, or that has nothing to do with it. They see people who are taking longer to grow up because they've been abused and had to spend time unlearning that abuse in order to not perpetuate it on others, and they talk about those people as if they're subhuman predators, as if there's some kind of race to be all the way grown up and they're a bad person for falling behind. They get irrationally angry at people over innocent terminology disagreements or not being their ideal kind of consumer. I don't actually see much hate thrown at masculinity at all--I see a lot more hate thrown at people who it seems like they are more likely to tolerate than men, but they throw vitriol instead because those people are just not quite good *enough* for them. "This is what's wrong with our community." "This is who we need to kick out because they're a problem." I also see a lot of them digging out a single social media post saying something extremely nasty out of rage, then doing this weird magic trick where they take this leap of logic into suddenly talking as if that person represents every single other member of whatever demographic they feel like putting down this time (usually transfems). And it's weird. I understand the irony that I'm doing a version of that right now, but the key difference is I'm talking about a political camp that people have voluntarily chosen to rally behind, not a gender identity that is intrinsic to their entire being.

It feels like they're confused. Like, the way they speak about men, women, masculinity, and femininity, I would be forgiven for suspecting that they genuinely think masculinity is just a Y chromosome and a penis and femininity is just an X chromosome and a vulva, and I'm really glad I have no clue what they would say about intersex folks because I don't expect anything pleasant. So it's like, they're saying this high level stuff about the superiority of femininity and the predatory nature of masculinity that I actually really identify with, but they're not basing it on actual femininity and masculinity like I am. They're not considering the deeper nuance and reality around how men and women tend to behave and how that affects where our identities lie. It seems like they really do cling to the delusion that having a penis at birth means you will always and only be a predator, while having a vulva at birth means you will always and only be perfect. And... that's just so sad and limiting and out of touch. Are any of them actually interacting with and trying to listen to anyone who challenges their bubbles of thought?

I think it says a lot that they feel so safe and empowered to shit on people in public in ways that to this day my repeatedly abused and abandoned ass is still terrified to do even in private most of the time. And I'm very frustrated that they have such a monopoly on public speech that can voice the more negative sides of my own feelings around my own trauma around masculinity. The only way I can feel better is by consciously choosing to believe that most lesbians aren't like these lesbians. That most sapphics don't tolerate hate, including this brand of it. We shouldn't be dwelling on hating masculinity. We should spend more time loving femininity.

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing ix.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 3, 844

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

Jungkook recognises that it’s, to a fault, extremely unhealthy for him to pretend like his problems don’t exist and bury them under a blanket of social interactions that were meaningless to him and excessively working out at the gym so he could get his mind off things.

Granted, it was always how Jungkook dealt with things and he was a creature of habit. He was stubborn and irrational at most times, and usually pretending like his problems didn’t exist did him relatively well. Because like most things in life, problems passed and if people were his problem then he’d just not talk to them. Simple, really. Jungkook had it figured out right to the o.

Well, until he realised that a huge chunk of his problems, though irrationally, was working out right beside him.

“You almost done?” Namjoon grunts, finishing his last rep as he drops the weight to the ground as it sounds through the empty gym.

Only because Namjoon and Jungkook were the only people that were crazy enough to work out at eleven o'clock on a school night. But realistically speaking, Jungkook only asked the football group out of formalities and did not expect his own captain to have responded.

Maybe because you’re too busy hanging out with _____, came Jungkook’s bitter thought. But surprise, Namjoon was very much sweaty and engaged in the workout session that has Jungkook’s head spinning.

“Yeah.” Jungkook huffs, dropping his own weight before he dabs the hem of his tank top to his forehead to catch the bead of sweat before it drops.

Namjoon walks over to pick up his own bottle and toss Jungkook his own before he chugs the liquid in one go.

Jungkook has half the mind to be a petty motherfucker and rejects it but he was way too parched to deny the tempting object. Besides, he could pretend like Namjoon wasn’t the bulk of his many problems. Even if he knew Namjoon was unsuspecting of everything, it was easier to blame him for the fact that you weren’t keen on hanging out with him than himself.

“The circuit today was intense.” Namjoon points out, shooting a raised eyebrow expression in Jungkook’s direction. “You nearly killed me, man.” He finishes with a teasing tone.

Jungkook huffs dryly, “Maybe that’s a sign for you to work out more.”

He’s being bitter, he knows that. Because Namjoon was huge and hit the gym as frequently as Jungkook did.

Namjoon, however, is oblivious to this. “Maybe.” And Jungkook hates that he accepts it so easily.

Jungkook’s mind is all over the place and never mind that he’s burnt enough calories to last him his workout quota for the next two weeks, but he has the urge to pry. To ask Namjoon things that he no longer had the privilege to ask you anymore.

But before he can say anything, Namjoon beats him to the first word.

“You and ____ are close right?”

Jungkook pauses, fist tightening around the bottle before he clears his throat. “Um. Kind of.” Because he wasn’t sure anymore, so he settled for that instead you conveyed otherwise to Namjoon. But he knew that you wouldn’t, you weren’t petty like that. “Why do you ask?”

And Jungkook doesn’t like the way that Namjoon looks nervous. Call it his sixth sense, but he just doesn’t like the insinuation behind the way Namjoon fiddles with his fingers.

“Well, you, Jimin and Tae are, right?” Namjoon asks. “And Yena, but I already had this conversation with her anyways.”

“What conversation?” Jungkook immediately asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“I think it’s pretty obvious to most people that I’m into her.” Namjoon snorts, but Jungkook can’t find it in himself to laugh.

“Right.”

“Things have been going well and so far all the hangouts we’ve had were friendly,” Namjoon says with a small smile.

Jungkook doesn’t know what to do with the information he was receiving or why he was even receiving it in the first place. Sure, Namjoon and he were close because they were under the same football team and chemistry between players was definitely a prerequisite when it came to bagging wins.

“That’s nice to hear.” Jungkook grunts.

Namjoon nods absent-mindedly as he plops onto one of the workout benches, swinging a towel over his shoulder. “I told her that I wouldn’t rush into things with her but I really do like her. And I want to ask her out. Officially, that is.”

Jungkook quite literally freezes all his limbs when the words tumble out of Namjoon’s mouth.

“And because you’re important to her, I just wanted to know if you were okay with that? I mean—she has to be okay with it but you’re someone she cares about so your opinion does matter to a certain extent. Either way, I’m going to do it but I thought it was just courteous of me to let you know.”

And damn you for being courteous, Jungkook curses to himself mentally.

“What?” Jungkook croaks because that’s all he can manage.

He’s heard it from Jeonghan, Yugyeom and Jaehyun when it came to locker-room talk but he’s brushed it off because what did they know, right? Even if Yena was heard whispering to Jimin conspiringly, he’d pretended he hadn’t heard a single word just so he could delude himself into thinking that it wasn’t real.

But for Namjoon to directly confirm it to his face, Jungkook feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

“I don’t know, man.” Namjoon sighs, “She’s really something else, you know? I’ve been kind of admiring from afar for a really long time because someone wouldn’t introduce her to me”—he shoots a playful glare to a stone-faced Jungkook who can’t even respond—“and getting to know her personally just really solidified the fact that I really like her.”

Jungkook is a level-headed man, most of the time at least, but there were things that threw him off. Overly salty food, flash mobs, microwaves; but most of the time he was able to recover.

Most. Not all.

“No.”

Namjoon freezes, and so does Jungkook. But for two very different reasons.

“I’m sorry, did you just say no?” Namjoon asks dumbfounded.

Jungkook can’t stop his mouth. “Yeah.” He swallows. Stop talking. “No.”

Namjoon furrows his brows, “Yeah to you saying no or, yeah to literally the context of this conversation?”

Jungkook has never resented Namjoon more than right now, even when he’d made the team run extra laps as a warm-up.

“You can’t.” Jungkook deadpans. “You can’t ask her out.”

And for as long as Jungkook knew Namjoon, he knew that under the calm and collected exterior that he took most of the time because he was the captain of the football team, and diplomacy was necessary. He was petty, and to a certain extent, immature. But he did a far better job and conveying his displeasure compared to Jungkook.

“Okay, and who are you—her dad?” Namjoon scoffs.

Even if it was made explicitly clear by Namjoon that he was doing so out of respect for you, Jungkook still felt the need to defend himself.

“Her friend.” Jungkook snaps. “And you’re my captain. That’s just—weird.”

He knows his excuse is lame, and so does Namjoon.

“Really,” Namjoon says dryly. “That’s your excuse?”

“Not an excuse. Facts.” Jungkook retorts childishly.

Namjoon snorts before raising an eyebrow at Jungkook who is all but making eye contact with him.

“Does this have to do with why you weren’t keen on introducing her to me in the first place when I asked?”

Jungkook nearly drops his water bottle when he swings around, face scandalised in a way that shows that he’s been caught but attempting to deflect.

“What the fuck are you even saying.” He splutters.

Namjoon is as calm as ever, “You tell me, Jungkook. I don’t see a legitimate reason as to why I can’t ask her out.”

Jungkook scoffs, cheeks red. “I told you. It’s weird. What if you guys break up? How’s that going to be for Jimin, Tae and I?”

Namjoon blinks.

“I can be civil.” He shrugs. “The question is, can you?”

Jungkook narrows his eyes into slits as he observes Namjoon. He’s never gotten into any conflicting situations with Namjoon, purely because he never had a reason to. He never knew his captain could be so … retort-inducing, but here he was. Ready to snap back, for a very childish reason he wasn’t ready to unpack just yet.

“Look. How bout’ you think about it a little more?” Jungkook feigns disinterest when he fiddles with his gym bag as if he was looking for something. It was an escape to this conversation. “The two of you just started hanging out and she’s not the type that likes it rushed, anyways.”

“I’m not asking her to marry me, Jungkook.” Namjoon blinks.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, “I know. If you were I think I’d have a stroke.” He mutters. “Thing is, there’s probably a lot of things that you don’t know about her yet so you may as well just … wait.”

His excuses are getting a lot more pathetic by the second, and Namjoon clearly feels the same because he shoots a frown at Jungkook.

“That’s the point of asking her out … to get to know her.” Namjoon drawls slowly, stating the obvious.

Jungkook lets out an exasperated sigh and he wants this conversation to be over because he’s already let out more than what he’d like.

“She’s just not the type …” Jungkook lamely defends.

Namjoon purses his lips. “And that’s coming from you?”

Jungkook glares at Namjoon who doesn’t look like he’s going to back down.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “It means—you’re not her so you have no right to be assuming shit about her. I don’t care if you’re her best friend or whatever the hell you are to her that makes you think you automatically know what she wants or doesn’t. The reason why I’m telling you all of this is purely out of respect for her, and her only. Frankly—I couldn’t give a rats ass about your opinion on this.”

Jungkook gapes at Namjoon because this is the first time he’s seen him anything less than cool and collected. But perhaps this was why he was always taken so seriously in every context he’s found himself in. Namjoon was diplomatic when he need be, and firm when necessary. This was one of those occasions and Jungkook hates that it’s him on the receiving end under the context of you being the topic of conversation.

“Well—”

“And, if you have something you want to say to her.” Namjoon sighs, throwing his gym bag over his shoulder and levelling a look so serious that it sends a shudder down Jungkook’s spine, “Be honest to her. She doesn’t deserve anything less than that.”

Right before Namjoon turns around to leave, Jungkook has to ask—

“How did you know?”

He doesn’t have to say what, because Namjoon clearly knows what he was talking about. The stiff chuckle he releases is enough to prove that.

“I’m not stupid, Jungkook.” He says. “First it was not introducing us to each other and now it’s the unwarranted possessiveness. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

Jungkook purses his lips, feeling his blood run cold because if Namjoon knew then …

“So what? You’re going to tell her?” He accuses.

Namjoon scoffs. “Jungkook, I like you. You’re a good friend of mine. I’m not going to fuck you over like that. That’s your own issue to deal with.”

“Sure doesn’t feel like it,” Jungkook mutters dryly.

Namjoon sighs, turning his body to face Jungkook as he offers him a blank expression that he can’t quite read.

“I don’t know about you but I’m not the type to conflate my personal life with my friend's personal life. Sure, we like the same girl—” Jungkook winces, but Namjoon continues anyway. “—but life goes on. I’m a big boy and so are you, right?”

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek when Namjoon offers a slight smirk with a raised eyebrow.

“So you’re backing off?”

The slight hopeful tone that Jungkook has is naive, and he knows that. But a selfish part of him just wished that Namjoon would so he could figure out how to solve and fix things between the two of you without the interruption of his own football captain in the mix.

Namjoon snorts, “No way. What did you take me for—a pushover?”

Jungkook gapes, “Then what—?”

“I’m still going to ask her out. Your feelings are your own and it’s not my responsibility to look after them for you.” He shrugs, turning on his heel to leave the gym. His hands are on the knob when he turns around. “She’s single. Nothing’s stopping you or me from doing anything.”

And he leaves, not before he adds: “Don’t be late for training tomorrow. We have circuit training.”

It’s been a week since you’ve last spoken to Jungkook and two weeks since he’s apologised to you at your apartment. You still remember the ghost of his lips, the heat of his hands when he held you close.

You still had moments in between where you were distracted, but there was something oddly compelling about a person you were trying to forget for the time being that haunts your every thought. And you hated yourself for it, for still wondering if he was okay or how he was doing when you were the one that put distance between the two of you.

Maybe that’s why your hand reaches out to your phone, but it’s as if God had sent you a Guardian Angel when a hand grips your wrist.

“I thought we weren’t touching our phones?” Namjoon has a teasing tilt to his voice when he murmurs the words.

You flush, meekly retracting your hand as you send him a playful glare.

“What are you? The exam invigilator?” You scowl.

Namjoon snorts before rubbing a thumb between your furrowed brows. You can’t help but flush harder, pouting at him when all he does is grin at you.

“I’m meant to be the person you’re paying attention to.” He returns, voice husky and you feel yourself grow flustered.

Obviously, because Namjoon was attractive and he told you on occasions that he’d intentionally raised the pitch of his voice because it was way too deep for people to understand.

“Grow up.” You mutter, but your tone is light when you roll your eyes at him.

You’ve grown much more comfortable with Namjoon in the recent times you’ve hung out with him, purely because there was something very welcoming about a person like him. He was understanding and calm, yet he was absolutely hilarious without even needing to try. There were moments where he’d make you laugh until you cry which resulted in the librarians shooting you glares from their desks.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He hums, definitely recognising the way you were a little out of the loop even throughout your study session.

The library is quiet during this hour because it wasn’t exam season and rarely were students willing to spend time on a school night at the library against their own will.

“Just … stuff.” You sigh.

And Namjoon frowns ever so slightly because you were always like this, tucked away in your own compartment as if you were afraid to reveal anything more.

“You can always talk to me, you know?” He whispers, eyes focusing on your face when he leans down.

You purse your lips and you nod. You knew you could, but your problems were far more complex than what you could describe in words. Besides, you knew that Namjoon had some … form of feelings to you—so how the hell were you supposed to explain the fact that you’ve allowed your best friend to touch you in a way that a lover is meant to?

“I know.” You sigh, fiddling with your fingers when you bring yourself to look up at him through your eyelashes. “It’s really complicated and I don’t want to unload onto you.”

Namjoon smiles at you so gently you feel even guiltier for feeling the way you do.

“And I’m a pretty simple guy. Say anything and I’ll take it at face value.” He jokes.

You roll your eyes at him and shove at his chest. Only then do you realise how close the two of you are. When did his face get so close to yours? Why were you only realising his breath on your cheek?

It’s late, and you’re tired from the copious amount of studying so maybe that’s why your eyes involuntarily dart to his lips that were much closer to you than you’d realised.

“Can I do something?” He murmurs, and you watch his lips move when he asks.

You find yourself blindly nodding, too caught up in the moment.

Namjoon reaches a gentle hand around your jaw, cradling it so softly as if he was afraid to hurt you. A touch you’re familiar yet new to, enough for you to remember and think of Jungkook even if it’s Namjoon in front of you.

The logical part of you tells you to push Namjoon away, to not subject him to this unfair treatment when you know your heart lays elsewhere. But you’re human and you’re selfish because you’ve never been doted on like this—never looked in a way that shows you that he wants you.

Namjoon tilts your head up so that he’s looking straight into your eyes and you’re positive your face is on fire. It feels … nice. But that’s it. You don’t feel exhilarated like you did when Jungkook held you, and you curse yourself for always comparing the two.

He leans in so slowly that you’re quite literally gripping the edge of your seat. You realise this, though.

Namjoon is strategic when he maps out the journey to your lips, both careful and calm when he brings you closer like he’s been preparing for this for a long time. What you remember, is Jungkook—a spontaneous lover who smirks against kisses and tugs you closer in a rush that makes your head spin.

The two are so different, and you’re inclined to want Namjoon too. But you’ve always been a sucker for adrenaline.

But you push those thoughts away and try to focus on the way Namjoon is treating you so tenderly.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers against your lips and you feel your response before you say it.

“Yeah.” You breathe, fingers digging into your seat.

And Namjoon looks stunning up close, suave and handsome like you always knew him to be when he closes the distance.

He presses into your lips so softly that you barely feel it at first, not until he’s tilting his head to bring you closer and his other hand cups the other side of your face.

Your face is hot because he’s the second person you’ve ever kissed and it feels … it feels. You like it. That’s what you think.

You don’t dare go further than return his kiss, and Namjoon is far too gentlemanly to prod at your lips.

Your hand instinctively reaches out to wrap them around his neck, but a voice interrupts your movements.

“______?”

Immediately, you pull away—remembering where you were and how easy it was for you to be spotted locking lips with Namjoon.

You flush, turning to the source of the voice to mumble a sheepish apology until you realise who it is—and your face pales.

Not only because is it Jungkook, who’s staring at you and Namjoon with a hardened gaze. But because of the company he has.

“Cute,” Jennie smirks, arms looped around Jungkook’s and you feel your throat clam shut.

Namjoon notices the drop in your expression that you try to hide, and he reaches out to squeeze your hand in an attempt to offer consolation. He doesn’t need to guess why.

“What are you—?”

“We were about to leave, right?” Namjoon murmurs so softly that you barely catch him. Not until you realise that Jennie has her eyebrow cocked, awaiting your response.

You blink before you turn to Namjoon who’s still looking at you so gently.

He didn’t deserve this.

“I’ll go.” You say curtly, softly taking your hand back from where he’s squeezing it as you offer an apologetic look to him. All while Jungkook is still staring at you.

“Wait, ____—” Jungkook reaches out to grab at your elbow, and you immediately pull away as if you’ve been scathed.

You knew you didn’t have a right to feel this way, not when you made it explicitly clear that you needed time away from him. But you also thought you made it clear how you felt about him and he was around her … again. It’s like a bucket of cold water that’s been washed upon you and you feel like utter shit when you see Jennie smile up at you, completely oblivious to the conflict you were having in your heart.

“I’ll walk you back.” Namjoon stands up, even as you attempt to protest. But Namjoon levels you with a firm expression that has you snapping your mouth shut and sighing to yourself, begrudgingly allowing him to stand by your side; almost towering over you and even Jungkook when he shoots him a withering glare.

“I’ll do it.” Jungkook snaps back, shaking Jennie’s arm off of him.

Before Namjoon can respond, you’re doing it for him.

“There’s no need, Jungkook.” You say softly, avoiding his eyes.

You don’t have to look at him to see the fall in his face.

“I just wanted to talk—”

“There’s nothing we can’t talk about with them here, right?” You smile stiffly at him.

Jungkook pauses, hands too as they reach for your shoulder.

“It’s not what it—”

You’re cutting him off again, tired of hearing the same thing fall from his lips, “you don’t need to say anything.”

But your heart wants to stay even if your mind knows it’s a bad idea. You’re lucky Namjoon was there because he’s tugging you aside with his arms.

“Let’s go, okay?” He whispers into your ear, soft enough so only you can hear.

You nod your head, turning to leave when you feel your heart break for the same reason again. You hate that your first instinct is the hotness behind your eyelids.

“So you’re with him?” Jungkook huffs, and you can tell he’s exasperated.

You’re about to retort, but Namjoon shakes his head—turns around to mouth something to Jungkook you can’t be bothered to see before he’s leading you out the library, leaving Jungkook and Jennie there.

Right before you step out, you hear Jennie say:

“We should do a double date.”

Namjoon hears this too and wraps an arm around your shoulder as he squeezes. He’s nice enough that he doesn’t ask why you were sniffling on the walk back to your home.

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ prompt: "falling in love with her wasn't apart of my plan but I'm not mad if it happens."

♡ pairing: leo valdez x latina, fem! reader

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / my schedule is going to become more sporadic starting this week :/ but also, writing for Leo is my ultimate favorite thing to do bc I'M MEXICAN AND SO IS HE AND I JUST GET TO UNLEASH ALL MY MEXICANESS INTO ONE FANFIC.

being the daughter of Nemesis, it wasn't unusual to see you messing with the Hermes cabin....a lot. your partners in crime were the Stoll brothers. all the meanwhile, everyone who saw the three of you together knew to book it. it usually meant that all of you pulled a prank and they were terrified to know which cabin it was that got shit end of the stick.

it was usually ended up being the Demeter kids considering they were so easy to prank. you swore that Demeter was going to bite you in the ass one day for how much you messed with her kids but you couldn't lie, they were so easily prankable that it was hard not to do it.

"I'M GOING TO HURT YOU!" you heard someone scream as you and the Stoll brothers ran away from the cabin. the three of you booked it until you saw them stop and ultimately give up, "NO YOU WON'T!" you yelled back jokingly before you accidentally ran into someone.

you heard the chuckles of Travis and Connor as you looked up, "sorry Leo, didn't see you there," you murmured. he gave you his hand, helping you up as Travis and Connor started mocking you, "it's okay but be careful! wouldn't want your beautiful face to get all messed up," your eyes widened, right alongside's Travis who started going into hysterics.

"thanks Leo, at least someone knows how to treat a woman," you poked back to Travis who immediately stood quiet. Leo laughed, "no problem but here, you got some grease on your cheek," he said, seeing the slash of it on your face. he pulled his sleeve out a bit and tried wiping it off, "uh, you kinda made it worse," Connor inquired.

Travis smacked his brother, sensing that this was not the time to make a joke. he quickly dragged himself along with Connor away as you got left with Leo, "I still think you look pretty," he tried to rationalize. he knew the story behind you and knew if you managed to take what he did the wrong way, he would be at the receiving end of a prank and no one ever wanted to be involved in a prank that had your name attached with Travis and Connor.

"have a mirror in your bunker? don't really feel like walking all the way to my cabin to clean it off," you admitted. Leo nodded excitedly, practically grabbing your hand and dragging you away, "course I do. gotta see this perfect face somehow," you giggled at his comment making Leo proud that he wasn't scaring you off yet.

the bunker from where you were originally wasn't too far but when you stepped in, you couldn't help but stand at the doorway, stunned at the organized mess he had inside. "you build a lot, don't you?" you asked. Leo saw the way stared mesmerized at the unfinished project, "yeah, half of these aren't done yet and I haven't even started on those yet but that's what happen when you're the son of Hephaestus," he groaned.

you saw the mirror that was on the wall and wiped it away with a clean rag. as you finished up, you heard music playing lowly throughout the bunker.

"is that....Banda MS?" you asked, whipping your head around to get a clear answer. Leo and you both stared at each other in complete shock, "NO WAY!" you both screamed. you immediately felt a tug at Leo, getting some sense of familiarity from him, "my dad used to blast this song all the time as a kid!" you exclaimed happily.

Leo didn't respond as he was still too much in shock to process what was going on. he hadn't met anyone who ever recognized the music he listened to when he worked. it's one of the memories he had with his mom was that she blared this music when they used to work on things together, "my mom did too," he replied. you found the tiny remote and turned it up as you sat in shock.

"sorry but I really haven't heard this music play in years, it brings back so many memories of my dad," you confessed, "holy Hera I might start crying," you laughed, trying not to cry in the process.

"Me gustas, te gusto, pa qué nos hacemos? te llevo la banda y nos amanecemos. seré detallista, me encantas la neta, te lleno de rosas mis dos camionetas. no es por presumir, pero soy buena opción, bonita pareja haríamos tú y yo, Piénsalo."

you sang out the lyrics right alongside Leo as the two of you immediately felt in your own little world. Jason, who was passing by Bunker Nine with Piper, poked his head in when he heard Leo's singing voice.

"no way," he whispered to Piper who managed to jump over her boyfriend to poke her head inside, "a girl is in his bunker? holy Hera," she murmured to him as Jason stared at his best friend in pride. Jason knew if anyone deserved a girlfriend, it was Leo. despite the front Leo put up constantly, he knew Leo craved love from a significant other so to see you inside of the bunker, not only singing to music in Spanish but to actually understand Leo from a side no one else could made Jason proud of him.

"I have a bunch of music on my iPod I always play in my cabin since Damien is hardly inside, it doesn't really bother anyone," you mentioned as you took it out. Leo quickly put the iPod on the adapter and played the first song which happened to be 'Se Amerita' by Junior H, "I usually played it around Jason and the others but they didn't really understand so it didn't really bother them."

you heard your name being yelled by Travis from across the camp making you sigh. Leo felt himself deflate, realizing that you were leaving, "talk to ya later? I'm pretty sure one of those got caught in a prank and are going to use me as an escape tactic," you murmured, jumping off of the stool.

"bye Amor!" you turned around, not expecting the nickname so suddenly, "goodbye Valdez," you replied, giving him a wink.

you walked out of his bunker, not noticing Jason or Piper who were hiding on the side as you sped off to Travis. Jason and Piper walked in, giving Leo the biggest shit eating grin they had ever had on their faces, "well, well, well, what was that?" Piper asked, "flirting it up with the daughter of Nemesis are we?" Jason added on.

"shut up, it wasn't even-," Leo looked to Jason who immediately told him to cut the shit, "falling in love with her wasn't apart of my plan but I'm not mad if it happens," he confessed, slamming the tool on the table and running his hands through his brown hair.

Piper couldn't believe her ears. Leo had said he had fallen in love multiple times over multiple women he had met but this one felt real. it felt almost raw.

"you didn't tell her that, did you?" Jason asked, now in a kind of panic. Leo shook his head no, "okay good but honestly, it's really surprising. everyone in the camp kind of assume her and Travis had a thing considering how much time they spend with each other," Piper said out loud.

bingo.

that was the thing that was throwing Leo off. he saw the way you acted around Travis. it wasn't the way you were around Connor. you seemed really close to Travis. the two of you were secretive with each other. just know, he heard Travis calling for you and although you were reluctant to go, he felt some kind of competition with the older Stoll brother.

"no, I don't think they see each other that way, they have more of a sibling relationship if I have to be honest," thank you Jason for being the voice of reason, Leo thought. he stood up and stretched himself, "well, if the Gods want us together then so be it but if they don't...I'm going to make em," he joked.

the following morning was thankfully a Saturday. no training was mandatory and it gave everyone a chance to sleep in. Leo tended to be a late sleeper on these days but as he was getting up to go to the mess hall, he heard your laughs from the campfire area. you were sitting with Travis, looking at a notebook with something written inside it as Travis let out another laugh.

Leo felt himself getting slightly jealous as he went for his late morning snack. you had given a bright smile, one that made him melt on the inside, and a wave before going back to talking to Travis. he hadn't seen Connor around so he figured that it was just the two of you which didn't make his jealousy dim down any less.

you had ditched the plans of pranking the Ares cabin with Travis as he wiggled his eyebrows, joking that you were replacing him with Leo.

"hey Leo, what're you up to?" you asked, scaring him a bit. he shrugged, showing you the snacks in his hands, "late sleeper, huh?" you asked. you could sense the slightly different mood Leo was in, in comparison to yesterday, "well, if you need any help with anything, I'll be free all day," you mentioned, hoping he'd invite you to maybe help him in some kind of project.

Leo nodded, not saying anything back before heading back to his bunker. he didn't know if it was just his heart playing with him but the way you were around Travis made him irrationally angry. it was as if only he could be that way around you. Leo knew one of his downsides as a person was being extremely clingy and having a bit too much faith in someone but he was hoping that if he placed all his marbles into a bowl that maybe you'd reciprocate the feelings he got for you just as quickly as he did.

"what're you doing in here trapped?" Jason asked, a little later in the day. Leo continued working on his useless project as he didn't respond, "dude, are you listening? I would think you'd be with ( your name ), trying to ask her out and all," Jason reiterated.

Leo slammed his nail gun down on the table, frightening Jason.

"I saw her with Travis earlier, giggling and laughing with him so I figured that maybe Piper was right and that they like each other," he admitted, frustration evident in his voice, "gods you're in idiot," Jason screamed to Leo as it was Leo's turn to be left in confusion.

Jason sat down on the wooden chair in annoyance.

"( your name ) is currently by herself by lake and you're in here moping around because of a scenario you made in your head?" he practically yelled. Leo was about to speak up when Jason cut him off again, "I told you already, she is like Travis' sister! what're you not getting? I heard what she told you this morning and now she's alone when she could be in here with you!" he yelled, shaking Leo's shoulders.

Leo took a step back, letting what Jason was telling him sink in. once it finally processed, he put his tool down and took his belt off, "think she'll be down for me to join her?" Leo asked him. Jason nodded yes, "go to her you idiot! it's about time you found your soulmate and you're about to ruin it!"

Jason remained in the cabin as Leo quickly walked out. he went to the place where Jason had told him you were currently at and thankfully, you were still there. you were poking the water with a stick before chucking a large rock inside of it. something Percy probably would've yelled at you for.

"what're you doing here alone?" he asked, walking up behind you. you instantly perked up, "I'm bored and didn't really have anything to do today so I usually go to the lake to throw rocks," you replied as Leo got comfortable next to you, "I thought you'd be working on some project right now."

Leo shook his head, "figured you'd probably want to help me start a new project. I don't know how great the daughters of Nemesis are at building things but I can imagine someone as gorgeous and smart as you can be of help," he flirted as he noticed the flustered reaction.

"me vas a matar estupido," you joked, pushing him playfully. Leo shook his head, "how can I kill me reina? it would be really stupid of me." you didn't bother to reply as you let out a flustered laugh.

Leo took in the situation as you grew quiet. the slight Long Island breeze made your hair get pushed back as Leo thanked his lucky stars. Leo knew he went through hell and back. literally. and maybe it was finally time he got what he deserved in return.

never did he think he would be at the receiving end of good karma. his life until recently had put him through trials and tribulations that he didn't think he'd make it out of but thankfully, he did and when he did, he figured that's when the God's placed you in his life. the gorgeous daughter of Nemesis.

"well, let's get crackin' partner," you said getting up. Leo nodded, grabbing your wrist and practically dragging you away to his bunker, "whatever you say reina," he replied, finding comfort in the nickname he gave you.

[henreyettah]

My rosacea (the bumpy kind) is flaring up again so I’m gonna take a moment to vent about it because I’m very tired of it so bear w me here.

I’ve had active rosacea since I was 18. 

Rosacea is a chronic skin condition, which usually appears in primarily middle-aged women. Usually it manifests as a persistent red flush across the surface of the face, sometimes with prominent blood vessels showing. There are several, vastly different subtypes of rosacea. It is unknown what the cause of it is, and there is no permanent cure. It tends to come and go in waves, with each wave lasting anywhere between two to nine years on average.

Because I was (and still am) a lot younger than people usually are when they get diagnosed, the doctors I went to kept insisting it was acne, and would recommend drugstore acne products, or tell me to wait and see if it went away on its own.

This, despite me explaining that I’d already tried those things, and it hadn't helped. 

When I was 19, after more than half a year of “waiting to see if it got better on its own”, I went to see another doctor, again. I didn't think I’d get any help, because I hadn't before, but it had gotten to the point where my entire cheeks were red and covered in bumps (half a year earlier, it had been only two splotches near my cheekbones). It felt like they were on fire, and it was itching to the point where I wanted to rip my skin off to make it stop, so I decided to go in again. 

This time, the lady I saw actually diagnosed me tho. She’d seen papulopustular rosacea (rosacea, but with the fun addition of mild to extreme bumpage) before, and got me a diagnosis, and got me topical medication. Which helped. Y'all don’t understand, within a month it went from burning and hurting... to almost being normal. 

I stayed on the medication (Soolantra) for almost two years. During these two years, my skin healed, and the flare-ups calmed down. They still happened, don’t get me wrong. But they became fewer, and didn't hurt as bad. I learned what to avoid (warm and cold temperatures, alcohol, hot drinks, spicy food, stress, chlorine, certain ingredients in food and skincare) and what helped (cucumbers, chamomile tea, aloe, good sunscreen). It’s recommended that you use soolantra for four months, and then see a doctor if it doesn't help, but since it helped I could get my prescription renewed. 

January 2021, when I was 20, I decided to see a dermatologist. My goal was to ask for some tips on dealing with rosacea during the colder months of the year, maybe get some pointers in general on how I could better care for my skin. Instead, the woman I saw changed my diagnosis from rosacea to acne, which is not the same. At all. I had just gotten my Soolantra prescription renewed, so I still had my medication, but because she changed my diagnosis I couldn't get it renewed without seeing another doctor, and stating my case. Again.

So, without doing any kind of examination, without looking at the progress pictures I’d been taking for the past year, without listening to the symptoms I had, she changed my diagnosis. Based on my age. Because I was too young for it to be rosacea. Despite the fact that the Soolantra had clearly and visibly helped (which it would not do if it was acne). Despite the other doctor’s notes.

In December last year, my prescription ran out. And my rosacea became worse, again. Worth noting here is that I get irrationally anxious about things. Officially, I don't have anxiety, but in reality, I do panic about stuff.

This, together with the gut-churning feeling that having to sort of defend your own experiences to a medical professional tends to give you, led to me not even trying to get it renewed. Maybe it would’ve worked. But I couldn't stand the idea that yet another person would look at me like I was stupid, and tell me again that I was too young to have the condition that I clearly do have. I didn't wanna sit infront of someone again, and go red again, and have to breathe calmly again like I had to last time. 

I did call. I did make an appointment. I cancelled it when they called and asked why I was booking at that clinic, instead of the one where the dermatologist worked. What was I meant to say? “yeah no sorry last time I met that lady, she had me in and out of her office in less than 7 minutes and then I cried in public because she was harsh and changed my diagnosis and I felt like an idiot”? No.

So I did not get it renewed.

Since December, I've been careful with my skin. I stay out of the sun. I try not to do things that will make me red, because that triggers the bumps. I’m careful with what I eat, and what I put on my face. I still get flare-ups. And I’m very tired of it. I don’t mind the scarring I get from the bumps (I always felt that my face was weirdly empty somehow, so I’m actually kinda happy with them) but the flare-ups are the absolute worst. 

Especially because they make me not want to do stuff. I don’t wanna leave the house, I don’t wanna be seen. It hurts, it itches, it burns. It looks really bad. I feel like people are always looking at me, which makes it even worse because it makes me feel embarrassed and that makes me even redder.

I’m gonna have to live with this forever, in waves. And it’s fine, but not really. Fingers crossed that it calms down soon, and stays calm for a while. Right now it sucks ass.

[minsimagines]

so bad, so good ; badboy!renjun

“hii can i please request prompt 2+11+35 with renjun thank you !! 💞💞”

#2 “shut your pretty little mouth” #11 “you’re jealous, aren’t you?” #35 “mine.”  “yours.”

STILL TAKING REQUESTS!

- find the prompt list here

   you stumbled around the corner, cheeks flushed as you huffed out a sharp breath of air. your heart drummed against your ribcage, your fingers tight around the straps of your bag. who did he think he was? what an idiot! you could hear footsteps getting closer and you picked up your pace, wanting to get as far away from renjun and that stupid, idiotic, pretty girl he’d been talking with. you wanted to get away so you didn’t have to see him. so you could cry a little, maybe. 

    “y/n,” renjun called for you, voice calm and unbothered as always. you wanted to slap yourself across the face as your body spun around at the sound of his voice, as if moving on its own accord, needing to see him even if all he ever did was play with your heart. 

    “... what?” you asked, eyes glancing around, trying to look somewhat calm and collected, though it just came off as extremely jittery. 

    “you in a rush?”

    “wha- i-, what do you care?” you squeaked, though you’d hoped it would sound a little tougher. he was, after all, always cool. always tough. he had no feelings, and definitely no heart. you’d seen it first-hand, yet your own stupid heart wouldn’t give up hope that he would change for you. the way he looked at you told you it was possible. it had to be.

    “why would i not?” he asked, stepping closer, the hint of a smirk on his lips. his eyes seemed to pierce right into your soul. there was nowhere for you to hide. 

    “you looked busy enough,” you muttered, though regretted it right after. the last thing you needed was to come of as some needy little girl with a crush. even if that was essentially what you felt like after being pulled into his web. 

    “oh,” he mused, his smirk growing, stopping right in front of you. “i see how it is.”

    a part of you wanted to just walk away. just leave him be and move on. stop looking at him, stop following him on social media. stop doing things that had you bumping into him. but that part of you was small. overpowered by the tingle on your skin whenever he looked at you, or rather, whenever he caught you staring or vise versa. 

    “i don’t know what you’re seeing, there’s nothing to see here,” you rambled, looking away, feeling your ears burn. he moved to the side and you turned after him like a love sick puppy, and before you knew it, you were caught between him and the wall. goodness gracious, you thought as you let out a strangled, surprised, laugh. 

    “is that why you keep looking at me? because there’s nothing to see?” he asked, the amusement clear on his tone, his grin broadening. the dark hoodie he wore caged you in as one of his hands moved up to rest against the brick wall.

    “yes, there’s nothing to see. you’re… you’re not that special,” you muttered, voice lowering with each word, as his face inched closer, his eyes darkening just a tad. 

    “not that special?”

    “you’re… you’re not special. at all.”

    a hearty chuckle left his lips as he nodded his head slowly. “mm, really?”

    “yes,” you breathed. 

    “you might wanna shut that pretty little mouth, hm? you know who you’re talking to?” he asked, the grin only growing, his love for teasing you shining through the intensity in his eyes. everyone else would have shut up by then, but you weren’t everyone else and it had to matter to him in some way, as you were still in one piece. 

    “as if you’re so dangerous,” you whispered. you knew he could be. he had a horrible reputation, but it wasn’t just a reputation. you’d seen him fight. he was dangerous. just not to you. he wouldn’t hurt you. that much you knew. 

    “you make it so easy, you know.”

    you stared up at him, swallowing. you didn’t know what to make of his statement, though your brain spun in circles trying to figure it out.

    “what… do you mean?”

    “you’re jealous, aren’t you?” he asked, a brow raised. “even if there was nothing to be jealous of.”

    “i- that’s-, i’m not-”

    “sure, you took one look at that chick back there and you ran,” renjun scoffed, head tilting slightly as he observed you. “because… i’m not special, right?”

    “as if it matters,” you snapped. “you don’t care.”

    “you’re the one who keeps running away, baby.”

    “i’m…” you shut yourself up as your mind began looking back at all the situations you’d ended up in with him. every time you had been this close to him, every time you had been saddened by him. he was a prick. he didn’t care about people. but... as you thought of the times you’d been sad because of him, even you had to admit you had a bad habit of running off. you even felt it right in that moment. 

    truthfully, you were petrified of being with him, even if that’s what your heart wanted the most. he was so damned charming and he always knew what to say, it took zero effort from his side to make your knees weak. he was a bad boy, he had broken the hearts of lots of girls before you, what would make you different?

    “i don’t…” you trailed off, not sure what to say. you felt almost a little… sad. for him. that you might have acted a little irrationally, even if he also had been vague.

    “and i’m still here.” his smile turned genuine for a second, before falling back into the smirk he usually wore around you. thinking about it, he never seemed to show a single emotion around anyone else. though around you he smiled, he’d even laughed. 

    “why?”

    “easy. cause you’re mine.”

    your heart leapt in your chest. your uncertain eyes looking into his sincere ones. they almost surprised you. 

    “yours,” you muttered to yourself, as if testing out the concept. it didn’t feel bad at all. 

    he hummed, his hands moving, slipping around your waist, pulling you flush against him. your nose brushed against his and your hands moved to his chest.

    “so… that girl?” you wondered quietly. he chuckled, resting his forehead against yours. 

    “i don’t know who she is. don’t care.” 

    “did you…?” 

    “i did nothing. didn’t want to, didn’t have to,” he grinned. “just wanted to see how you’d react.” 

    “that’s stupid.”

    “i’m not known for being intelligent, am i?”

    you leaned back to stare at him. he’d been flirtatious before, he’d been quite sensual even, but he’d never been like this. telling you he thought you were hot was a compliment, sure, and it had made you feel good in other ways, but this was different. it felt like a precious moment. he’d never been one to reveal his thoughts.

    “i can’t tell when you’re being serious or not,” you mumbled, though a small smile stretched over your lips.

   “fine. let me take you out then. proper date,” he said, though he pulled a face at the word ‘date’, making you grin. he hated cheesy stuff, you knew, but you supposed his effort to do something you appreciated even if he disliked it was proof enough for now.

[hanawrites404]

Wynne's Diary - Journey With Asra

(@sweetalnazar HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETHEART)

"Gosh.......how long is it?" I groaned and threw my hands hysterically.

"Just a few miles more, Honey. We are almost there" The whitehead held the map of the city in front of him and steered the paper around to find the right direction of the path. We were touring, since today was the day Asra wasn't being too cautious about my health and neither did I need to dispute against him for not ever bringing me to one of his journeys. But who told me that it was going to be this boring and exhausting?!!

We were walking during midnight on the lonely streets of a hamlet far away from Vesuvia for leisure. We were supposed to reach before evening, but due to some extreme weather, we had to stay back. It was only after five hours the sandstorm had settled down, but when we did reach our destination without any further problems, here we were irrationally strolling just anywhere, Asra being the slowest and worst navigator ever.

"Ugh, are you sure your broken compass is working?" I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms.

"Hey, it's not broken. It's just taking its time. Be patient, will you?" He blew onto the compass to remove the dust and shook it for the needle to gain some movement. He then kept it flat on his palm, but just as I already expected, it didn't work. The pointer fell back dead as before.

"bE pAtIeNt WiLl YoU?" I repeated after him. Asra sighed and kept the compass back into his pocket. He focused on the map instead, trying to find out which road we were on and where would the next milestone be. It had only been twenty-five minutes of us walking from the inn, but because of his sluggish navigation skills, we were sure lagging.

"Ugggh why don't you give me the map instead?" I suggested him.

"Wynne, you have never been in this town before. And the map has branched roads and connected at different spots, which makes it difficult to search for the right route. Give me some time to figure out" he dismissed me. But I didn't take it well as I scoffed and snatched the map from his hands.

"Was twenty-five minutes not enough for you???" I angrily stated with a pout on my lips.

"U-Uhhh....." Asra stammered. He didn't have anything to assert against me, so he just looked down and rubbed his neck. I didn't want to shame him, but damn I loathed his obstinacy and wanted him to just shut up and listen to me for once.

I sighed again and took a look at the map myself. I glanced at the entrance and remembered every turn we took to conform with the illustrations on the map. I noticed the pattern, thanks to the landmarks and me paying attention to the pathways unlike one stupid guy and dragged Asra by his sleeve to show him what I found.

"You see this here?" I pointed at the entry gates. "This is how we came in, after some kilometres, we reached the inn and from here, we went straight down and turned to our left, then we continued on that line at that's when we took a right, walked over that, and again right, and through the roundabout, we made our way to the left, then straight, again straight, and finally, to the right.

So according to me, we should be at least five miles away from the rocky beaches. Also, there must be a brothel somewhere like......" I looked up from the map and scanned around.

"no....no...no........no.....Ah! There" I pointed to our northwest where a grey and tall construction made its place at the corner.

"Oh! I....I never noticed that before" Asra rubbed the back of his head.

"Of course you didn't. If only you had brains like me, we wouldn't have been wandering around in the middle of the night looking like passive thieves!" I pouted again and flicked his forehead, earning a short yelp from him.

I adjusted the scarf around my head and closed the map. I We had figured out the whole passage so I we didn't need it anymore. I handed the map back to Asra and stretched my body for a bit. Seriously, walking continuously for twenty-five minutes may sound like a short interval, but you try it once, you will start feeling like weeping in the middle, especially when you realise that you don't know where you are going and how you are going to make your way back.

And people say that the journey is more beautiful than the destination. Heh, fucking bullshit. Let me hear someone say this when they almost died in the way and I'll fucking slap the morals out of them. I dare you.

"Now then, let's continue on our journey, shall we, My Beloved?" I swear I wasn't being sarcastic. Trust me.

"O-Of course. Sorry for earlier" he apologized timidly. I scowled at him for a moment but let it slip away. It was useless getting furious over him anyway.

"It's alright, at least we know our way now and we aren't lost. That would have been a waste" I snorted and carried forward on our steps, Asra following me shortly.

"Heh...I can't believe our time was saved by an unknown brothel" I kidded.

"Yeah... funny indeed" Asra snickered. I nudged him with my elbow playfully as we walked beside each other, my resentment finally melting away and being replaced with solace and comfort, with him and the starry night.

"So this is how you travel all the time? With no sense of direction and a broken compass??" I mockingly asked him.

"Well, not always. Sometimes I do get lost, not going to lie. But Faust helps me find my track back. Too bad she is not here with me since she wanted to stay back with Ichigo at the inn" I stuffed his hands into his pockets, his bright coat and the black hat he always wears during treks lightly fluttering in the subtle wind.

"And I know this local city well, yet I have no idea why my mind went blank so badly today. I'm sorry for the inconveniences I caused you, Wynne. I wanted you to show you the wonderful places this town has, but I only ended up making it worse for both of us" He held his forehead in his hand, his fingers mushing against his hair.

"Hey" I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "This is not your fault, you have been travelling for hours barely with any rest. I can understand why you suddenly couldn't think of the path. Your mind must have gotten tired too, and there is no one to blame for that. And so, you shouldn't blame yourself too" I comforted him.

"But, I did waste your time. I know how particular you are about time, yet I consumed everything of yours so mindlessly" he shook his head again.

"Oh well, you are right on that" I truthfully agreed. Asra shot his eyes onto me. His expression of disbelief and bafflement.

I raised my eyebrow. "What? You thought I was going to say, no you didn't consume any of my time and then hug you tight and strangle you with kisses? Really, Alnazar??" I cocked. Asra's cheeks flared with ruddy as he looked down at his feet again. My smirk got wider, and I heckled him again.

"Ahhh so you were looking forward to it huh, Asra?? You naughty, wicked boy" I pinched his bronze cheek and laughed. He didn't reply to me and continued shying away and trying to escape from my tease. Looks like I embarrassed him this time. And I don't admit guilt of it as always. It was fun bantering him. But I think I have had too much fun because he was feeling awful, and I cannot just ridicule him anymore. That might just be plain rude, and I didn't want to be an asshole to my only husband.

"Fine, listen to me" I began. "Yes, I agree you did 'consume' my time" I specifically added quotations marks.

"But, you didn't waste it. That's absurd! You would do anything with my time than fritter it. Because.....every minute I spend with you is like magic. I get to learn more, experience more with you. And I discover my interests with you, Dear. You have never wasted my time. And neither did I ever said that to you, but you always assume wrong things and make me worry along with you" I raised my shoulders.

Asra stopped in his tracks, making me imitate him and stop walking too. He turned to face me again, his tanzanite orbs connecting with my golden ones. I peered closely into them, only to find myself in there. There was nothing else in him and that was very odd. Because usually his eyes were the real door to his true emotions and feelings, deeply hidden in like a prize of a maze, so I always stare into them when I want to know what he truly conceals into his deep irises, and I never cared how much time would it need to find them all because it was always worth it.

But.....I saw nothing in them. Just me. Me and my stupid face. Now, why would his eyes show me myself? What did he want to convey?? Was he feeling.....me?? Was he hiding.....me??? Was he............

Looking inside me????

I really had no clue. Asra though being more hospitable and extroverted than I was, always was the one to be more mysterious and secretive than the two of us. Maybe because he had more enigmas than I had?? I guess so. Or maybe he wants to wait for revealing them the right time comes for both of us. But because of never finding such a chance, he ends up being solitary though he never intended to be one.

But who knows. If Asra doesn't open up to me, I would be both courteous and disappointed with his boundaries. Complicated right? But that's how I am. A nasty unsatisfied bitch.

"Look" I held his cheek and stroked him. "If you don't believe me, that's fine. But remember one thing, Alnazar. You are my husband. We are bound together, and I'll never break apart from you, you hear that? And you have never, ever, let my time to waste. Because you are too sweet and cherishing for that, Asra. I adore you, and I'm willing to spend my whole life with you. And I had decided to since the day I yelled at you in the Lazaret for sacrificing your heart"

I sighed bitterly. That Lazaret occurrence had to be one of our bitterest times because we both impaired each other without acknowledging how we both felt at that time. But to be very honest, I never want to forget this. Because I want to remember how we were before and how far we have reached now. And I think that's plausible, and I guess Asra would approve with me on this.

"But back to the topic, you will never be a waste of time, My Love, Never. Mark my words, all this time I have spent roaming around with you and following that cursed compass which never helped had to be one of the stories I would remember and laugh about it every time. And you know why I would laugh at it? Because you were being nuts of course. But also because you were in it" I gently jabbed his nose.

"Every moment with you is like my treasure, Asra. And I don't want to lose it. I want to be greedy about it, and never let you get out of my sight. And I'll stick with you no matter what happens, and whether you like it or not" I tittered.

"I......" He opened his mouth.

"Yes, sweetie?" I tilted my head and innocently yet lovingly peeped at him.

But he ignored me again. He just pulled me closer, grabbed my waist to lift me to his height, and smashed his lips onto mine.

"Mmm!!" My voice became faint and my cloak dropped from my head, but I didn't protest against him and kissed back. My arms snaking around his shoulders and embracing his warm body closer. I was looming over him, and my hands slithered from his shoulders to his cheek, my lips working and pulling onto him.

Asra was a tremendous kisser, by the way. And how do I know? And is that even a question?

Both of our faces were red hot as we pulled back, my lips quivered from incitation and we both were panting away.

"I believe you...." He answered me and roughly kissed me for one last time. I moaned against his lips, wallowing in the pleasure I received from him, my hands curling around his hair and tugging it gently. He then pulled away and hugged me back as he breathed against my neck.

I exhaled with him, enjoying his sweet lips on me. But then I gently patted his shoulder to get his attention.

"hmm?" He replied.

"Hey....take me to the beaches....we came this far now" I told him.

"Ah....sure, Milady. Let's not keep you waiting" he sneered at me, but I was worried, to be honest.

Because I knew very well that it was a sneer of mischief he had on him.

I expected him to keep me down on my feet, but he abruptly let go of my waist and swung me up into his arms to hold me and carry me to the beach like a bride.

"You scared the fucking shit out of me there!" I caught my gust on time. The way I cried out as he took hold of me was the moment I want to shirk so badly. Meanwhile this white fucker was laughing away to glory at me! How fucking dare he?! Ugh I hate him when he does that!

"Tit for tit, sweetheart. I didn't forget the way you pinched my cheek" he winked. Blush swelled around my cheeks and I hid my face in his chest, Asra lightly giggling and resting a small peck on my head.

"Whatever" I muffled.

"Sure, suit yourself" he shrugged.

"Now let's show you the rock beaches" and there he was, holding his beloved wife close to him, never letting her go, never letting her feel alone. Because he was always there for her, and he valued every second with her like golden coins.

And they say, journey is more beautiful than the destination.

Heh, I guess they were right. But to me, both the journey and destination were marvellous when he was around.

And damn, I deserve a fucking slap for disagreeing with such a truth. Honestly.

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 37: Martin Prime

It was weird hearing his fiancé arguing with someone who sounded like him but wasn’t, Martin mused idly. Like listening to a tape he didn’t remember recording.

It was also weird, and would probably always be weird, that he could tell the difference between Jon’s voice and Past Jon’s voice, at least when he was paying attention and not overly upset. Theoretically they were the same person. Practically, they were very different, just because of what they’d both been through. Jon’s voice had just the faintest rasp to it, the lightest bit of scarring on his vocal chords from both Daisy’s knife and Jane Prentiss’ worms, and Past Jon’s voice was a tad softer, less hardened by time and circumstance. The distinction in their voices was subtle, but it was enough.

“You knew about the bullet. You should have said something to her,” Jon said, for what was at least the fifteenth time in the last week. Martin could imagine him waving his arms as he did so. “If she gets shot because she didn’t know to avoid it—”

“It wasn’t like I had an opportunity in the conversation,” Past Martin protested. “I did tell her to be careful.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jon demanded.

From the stress on you, Martin guessed he’d turned the argument on someone else, and it was Past Jon who answered. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, don’t worry, you’ll come back alive but with a ghost’s bullet in your leg that’s going to make you irrationally angry’? I did the best I could. We were recording.”

“I’ve told you before, the recorders aren’t the Eye—”

“Uh, I need to take this back to the library before it closes for the weekend,” Tim said, but it didn’t seem to make an impression on the argument that Sasha was now chiming in to.

“He’s right, you should have told her. Should have warned her against joining the Institute, too.”

“I can do that when she gets back,” Past Martin pointed out.

“I told Basira what was going on,” Sasha said.

“But not in relation to herself,” Past Jon said. Martin could imagine that being accompanied by an accusing jab of the finger,  but he wasn’t going to make assumptions. “Besides, that’s different. Basira is the type to weigh all evidence and theories against her options when making a decision. Melanie’s more the type to give in to emotion, especially anger. It’s impossible to tell which way she’d go if you gave her that kind of information first. It’s very likely to make things worse.”

“Don’t you Know at me, Jonathan Sims.”

Tim made a noise imitative of a supermarket’s tannoy crackling to life. “Manager to Mr. Kettle, manager to Mr. Kettle, there’s a Ms. Pot for you on line two.”

“Would that be the pot calling the kettle back?” Martin asked. He was rewarded with a choked-off laugh from Tim’s direction, but he was pretty sure nobody else in the room heard either one of them. With a sigh, he heaved himself out of the armchair. “Want me to come with you to take that book back? This is going to take a while.”

“Sure. We’ll be back, guys.” Tim evidently directed this at the others, but again, no reaction from anyone. He sighed. “Here, give me your arm. Bringing your cane?”

“Better not, just in case we run into someone. Get me to the stairs and I should be okay.”

The sound of the argument faded into the background as they made it to the steps; Martin let go of Tim’s arm and gripped the railing instead. By leaning forward, he could anticipate when they hit a landing. “Thanks. What’s the book on, by the way?”

“Oh, it’s one of the circus books. I—I know I’m obsessing a little about it. I know the circus itself isn’t the important bit, but…I don’t know. Forewarned is forearmed, I guess.” Tim was silent for a moment. “Unless it is something about circuses that are important.”

“No, not really. Just…an excuse, I guess.” Martin tried to put into words what even Jon had never asked his opinion on; there hadn’t been much of a chance before the Unknowing, and after it there hadn’t been much of a point. “I’ve noticed that’s one of the places the Stranger is drawn to, is the entertainment industry. Not just the circus, but the theater. I-I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not the only one drawn to it. You know as well as I do the damn things overlap, like the bleed on the edge of colors.”

“Mm…hang on, I have a question, but we’re hitting the main floor. I’m gonna throw my arm around your shoulders like I’m telling you a bad joke, okay?”

“Thanks. And thanks for the warning.” Martin braced himself against the railing.

Tim’s arm came down heavily over Martin’s shoulders, and he turned his face towards him, hoping anyone passing them would assume he was engrossed in Tim’s extremely skewed sense of humor. True to his word, Tim picked up in the middle of a joke as they left the stairwell. “…the Brother Superior stands up as usual and sings, ‘Good morning, broooo-theeers.’ And all the brothers sing back, ‘Good moooor-niiiiiiing,’ except for the one little brother who’s rebelling. He sings out—”

“’Night, Martin,” a sweet, young-sounding voice called.

“Night,” Martin called back. It sounded like Manal, but he didn’t want to risk saying the wrong name and drawing attention to himself.

“Oh, hey, are you heading upstairs?” The voice got closer, and Martin and Tim drew to a halt. “This came in the mail drop for Mr. Bouchard. I meant to bring it up right away, but we got slammed with students and I forgot. Must be the first paper of the term coming up due. Can you give it to Rosie, please?”

“Sure, no problem.” Martin reached out uncertainly and—fortunately—touched a cardboard packet; he was able to grab it before it became obvious that was luck. He hoped. “Have a good night, Manal.”

“You too.”

Tim got them started walking again, continuing as he did, “Anyway, so the brother who’s rebelling sings, ‘Good eeeeeeve-niiiiiiing.’ A hush falls over the whole refectory. Brother Superior stands up, looks around the room, looks each brother in the eye, and then sings, ‘Someone chanted eveniiiiiiing…’”

Martin let out a long, protracted groan. “God, Tim, how long have you been sitting on that one?”

“Years,” Tim admitted sheepishly. “You’ve got to have the right audience for it, you know? Someone who both appreciate puns and knows enough about music to catch the reference.”

“If I could see you, I would hit you.”

“Must be my lucky day. Mind the steps.”

Martin switched the cardboard packet to his other hand in favor of the railing, and was surprised when someone tugged it away from his fingers. “Hey—”

“Sorry, should’ve warned you I was doing that,” Tim said. “I just figured it’d probably be better if I hand it off to Rosie, since…” He trailed off.

Since Martin couldn’t see her, wouldn’t know where to find her, and the last time he’d been in her office it had been…somewhat different. He tried to push the image of the top of the Panopticon out of his mind. “Yeah, probably for the best. If she’s still there.”

“She will be. Always one of the last ones out the door. Not sure how much of it is Elias keeping her to the last minute and how much of it is she doesn’t want to miss anything.” Tim paused. “Speaking of being unbearably nosy, wonder what Elias is getting from one of the Lukases that can’t be delivered in person?”

“They don’t like doing anything in person if they can help it, Tim. It’s kind of their whole…deal.” That close to Elias’ office, it didn’t feel safe to mention the Lonely out loud, or any of the fears, really. “I very much doubt we’ll find out, though.”

The railing didn’t level out—it just stopped, something Martin discovered when he almost pitched forward from abruptly not having something to lean on. He caught himself against the wall with a rather loud slap and thanked his lucky stars he’d always had a (mostly undeserved, to be honest) reputation as a klutz. Assuming anyone was still around, they’d probably just think oh, Martin tripped over his own two feet again, insofar as they thought about it at all. Rosie was probably watching, though.

That was confirmed—more or less—when Tim said in a bright, jovial voice, “Rosie! Good to see you. Can you give this to Elias? Manal asked us to bring it up.”

“Of course.” Rosie’s voice sounded just like Martin remembered it, and he curled one hand into a fist to stave off the memory of her staring up at them, face perfectly blank except for her eyes, somewhere between dazed and terrified, as she blandly asked if they had an appointment…

Not for the first time, Martin wished there had been any other way of protecting him from the Eye than by destroying his vision. Setting aside the usual, mundane difficulties that came with total blindness—difficulties any person faced with complete loss of sight would have to deal with—there was the simple fact that the last thing Martin had seen, live and in person, had been a post-apocalyptic hellscape. The last time he had seen the Institute, it had been a tower of black glass and twisted steel looming up into the stratosphere; the last time he had seen London, it had been swarming with very interested cameras and monitors and paintings of eyes; the last time he had seen the sky, it had seen him back. He could remember the way things had been before, but those last impressions were awfully powerful, and it hurt.

“Was there anything else, Tim?” Rosie asked. Martin frowned slightly. Under her voice was something eager, something…hungry. She wanted something, and he wondered what it was. He remembered Jon’s unwilling statement, where he’d talked about her constant desire for secrets—she could probably give Sasha a run for her money in terms of snooping, and no wonder Gertrude had always talked to her as if she was in the know. Was that all it was? Was she prying for secrets? Or—Martin bit his lip—was it possible she’d been taken over by the Not-Them, that she was drawn to Tim because of his Stranger mark? She sounded like he remembered, but if she were replaced in this past, would it replace his memories of the future, too?

He bit back a groan. Douglas Adams was wrong about the biggest problem to time-travel being grammatical tenses; clearly, the biggest problem was making sense out of the recursive nature of body-stealing, memory-altering creatures.

“Nope, that ought to do it. Gotta get to the library before they lock it up for the night. Have a good weekend, Rosie.” Tim knocked twice on something wooden, probably her desk, then came over and touched Martin’s arm. “Let’s go, Freckles.”

“Night, Rosie,” Martin called, because he would have before and Past Martin would too and there was no sense in making Rosie—or Elias, if he was still there—suspicious. He could imagine the false, charming smile she flashed in his direction, but there was no audible response and he didn’t expect one. Instead, he simply linked arms with Tim, let him lead him down the corridor, and prayed nobody had left a door open for him to run into.

The sensation of stepping into the library was instantly a familiar one to Martin—the feeling of stepping into a soaring, open space, but an oddly safe one—odd because of the sheer number of truly dangerous and terrifying works contained there. Any book with Jurgen Leitner’s bookplate on it was destroyed long before it got this far, of course, but even before he’d gone to the Archives, Martin had wondered if someone would be able to tell one of Leitner’s books if the bookplate was papered over or removed. Once he’d learned the truth, that Leitner had been a collector rather than the author or even the commissioner, he’d wondered how many books of power were actually in the Institute’s library. On the one hand, it didn’t seem likely that Jonah Magnus would allow any genuinely powerful books to get this far; on the other hand, it would certainly explain the library’s asinine and borderline ludicrous lending procedures.

Martin hung back by the door, sliding his hands into his pockets and hoping he was sufficiently out of the way of everyone bustling to get their assigned tasks completed so they could be out the door on time. Idly, he wondered who was on the desk. He’d usually ended up working it on Friday afternoons; everybody else hated it because, as Rebecca had once complained, there was always one person who came back with an enormous stack to return with ten minutes to go before they were supposed to clock out. Every book had to be checked against three different lists, certain inspections had to be made, and the identity of the person returning the book had to be checked twice. And it all had to be done by hand; every attempt to automate and bring in a computer had been met with catastrophic failure. Martin had actually kind of enjoyed it, especially since it usually meant he was left alone at the end of the week and could take his time, lingering over shelves and experimenting with the acoustics. If he thought he could get away with it, he might creep up here some evening after the Institute was closed and throw a few more songs into the darkness. It was different in the Archives.

“Well, hello there, Martin!”

Martin almost leapt out of his skin and whirled around, his heart pounding. “Jesus!”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” The voice was coming from roughly Martin’s height, but that was about all he could tell, that and that it was female. It had no distinctive characteristics, nothing to trigger a name in his mind. And yet, whoever owned it knew his name, which meant it was someone he should know. He’d have to bluff. “Haven’t seen you up here in a while.”

“Yeah, just—been busy,” Martin said lamely. He waved in the direction of the desk. “Kind of figured you’d be glad to see the back of me, to be honest.”

“Oh, now, why would you think that?” The woman, or at least Martin presumed it was the woman, patted him on the cheek with a soft, fleshy hand; he tried not to flinch at the unexpected touch, or the unpleasantly dry feel of her palm. “You’re such a hard worker, and always so cheerful. You’ve been missed, but I’m sure Jon appreciates having you in the Archives.”

If this was a joke, Martin didn’t think it was very funny, but he managed a smile anyway. “Well, we all had a settling-in period, but that’s in the past now. I do miss it up here sometimes, but I like being down there, too.”

“And we’re very glad to have him,” Tim said, suddenly right next to Martin. “C’mon, buddy, we’ve got a weekend to catch before it slips away…have a good one.”

“You, too, Tim. And you, Martin. Don’t be such a stranger—come back and visit us more often. We’d love to see you again.”

“Sure,” Martin said softly. “’Night.”

Tim didn’t say anything the rest of the way back down to the Archives, which Martin appreciated. Going down stairs was a hell of a lot more complicated than going up; he couldn’t lean as safely, and the kick-and-drag method was a bit less effective. It took concentration to keep from pitching forward and tumbling down the entire flight, and if he tried to spare any braincells for conversation, Martin was pretty sure he’d end up missing his footing. Tim’s hand at his elbow helped, especially since the main floor was crowded with people leaving for the day. A few called greetings to Tim, but they all ignored Martin, which was fine by him.

There was a sense, when they re-entered the Archives, of an argument put on hold, something that was confirmed when the first thing Martin heard anyone say was Jon’s voice. “What do you think, Martin?”

“Gender is a social construct, Shakespeare is overrated, and paisley is horrendously tacky no matter what color it is,” Martin replied promptly. Someone hastily turned a snigger into a cough.

“I mean, about whether or not you would have told Melanie more about what to expect in India.”

Martin felt around until he located a chair. “I think my opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Past Jon protested.

“Not in this.” Martin met Jon’s hand coming towards him and squeezed it gently. “What I would have done doesn’t have a lot of relevance here. It’s not our story anymore.”

“What?” Past Martin sounded genuinely confused. “Of course it’s—”

“I mean,” Martin said quickly, “that you’re not us and we’re not you. What I was like at this point in things isn’t anywhere near where you are, and vice versa. Same with Jon and your Jon. To be honest, I don’t even know if I would have made the effort to be friends. But at this point, things are different enough that telling you how we would do it isn’t very…efficient, I guess? It’s your story, your lives. You’re the ones shaping it. Trying to do things the way we wish we’d done it…well, if the circumstances aren’t the same, it won’t have the same outcome necessarily. You’ve got to do what you think is best.”

“That’s…a good point, actually,” Jon admitted. He sighed. “I apologize for lecturing.”

“’S all right,” Past Martin said. “Gave me a chance to stand my ground and all.”

“Which you need to do more often,” Tim said cheerfully. “Anything to boost your self-esteem.”

“Ouch, Tim, really?” The effectiveness of Sasha’s reproof was lessened by the obvious smirk in her voice.

“Yeah, okay, I probably shouldn’t have said it like that, but it’s true. I’m not completely oblivious, you know. I can put the pieces together, and from the little you’ve said about working in the library, I got the impression you thought they hated you up there. Especially Diana.”

“They did,” Past Martin protested. “The only one who ever even spoke to me directly was Diana, and even that was just to give me orders. It’s hard not to know someone hates you when their method of asking you for help is to wait until you’re in earshot and then tell someone else to ‘just leave that for Martin, he’ll fumble his way through it eventually’.”

“Did they really do that?” Jon asked quietly.

“Constantly,” Martin affirmed. “Speaking of, Tim, who the hell was that who was talking to me while you were checking that book back in? I didn’t recognize the voice.”

“Wait, seriously?” Tim said with an audible frown.

Martin sighed. “Look. Down here it’s pretty easy to tell who’s talking. You’ve all got pretty distinct voices from one another. It’s hard to tell my Jon and your Jon apart if I’m not concentrating, but there’s enough of a difference and I know you well enough to be able to figure it out, usually. But out there? If it’s not someone with a distinctive pitch or accent or speech pattern or whatever, it’s hard to tell. And something like ninety percent of the people who work here speak with the exact same voice. About all I could tell was that I was talking to a woman.”

“I guess that makes sense. Just figured you’d recognize Diana’s voice when you heard it.”

“Pretty sure I would. So who was that?”

There was a half-second’s pause before Tim said, “Diana.”

“Diana?” Martin repeated incredulously.

“You’re sure you didn’t recognize her?”

“No, and it’s not just the accent. I didn’t think the ladders got that close to where I was standing.” Martin rubbed his forehead. “God, my mental map of the library is all off now.”

Jon wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. Tim sounded bewildered. “What do ladders have to do with anything?”

“It sounded like whoever was talking to me was around my height. I mean, that could’ve been the way sound bounces in the library, but—”

“No, that’s—she is around your height. She always intimidated the hell out of me.”

Martin sighed. “Okay, I think we’re talking about two different Dianas here. Which Diana was this I was talking to?”

“Diana—what the hell is her last name? The head librarian?”

“Caxton,” Past Jon supplied.

Something cold trickled down Martin’s spine. “Describe her.”

“Uh—tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair that she usually wears piled up on top of her head, looks like a Quentin Blake illustration come to life—?”

“That’s who the artist is! I can never remember his name,” Sasha said, punctuating the remark by—from the sound of it—slamming her open hand against the desk.

“That’s not Diana Caxton,” Past Martin said decidedly. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, or why she would have told you she was, but—”

“It’s the Diana Caxton I know,” Past Jon said. “And you should, too. She was there when I took Melanie up the first time, said they missed seeing your smiling face up there.”

“Look, that’s not Diana,” Past Martin insisted. “I should know. I worked there for ten years, Jon. She’s shorter than five feet tall, her hair’s been completely silver for a while now, and she has a Korean accent. I don’t know who this woman is you’re describing, but it’s not Diana Caxton.”

Jon tensed, his arm tightening around Martin’s shoulders. Softly, he said, “I think it is now.”

There was a moment of horrible silence as that sank in. Martin had to admit that the idea of the Not-Them taking over Diana hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d just…assumed that if it was anyone, either it would be someone in Artifact Storage foolish enough to disregard the warnings or it would be Rosie. And, okay, maybe there’d been a foolish little part of him that had hoped it wouldn’t take over anyone. But somehow, the idea of it being Diana Caxton just felt wrong. It was true that she hadn’t liked him all that much when he’d worked for her, but then, he’d been unqualified and incompetent, bluffing his way along, and she’d likely had to pick up a lot of his messes. And he knew for a fact that the twice-widowed bookworm had a flock of grandchildren who adored her—he still remembered the day her youngest had come to visit, just before he’d been transferred to the Archives, and attached herself to Martin with a thousand innocent questions and bragging stories about “my Nana”. It wasn’t fair for anyone to be taken by that thing, but especially not someone like Diana.

There was a banging noise, like the Archives doors had just blown open, and Martin jumped, clutching at Jon’s arm. His first thought was that it was the Not-Diana, having realized they knew, coming to take them out. His second was that it was Elias, the jig would be up, and they would have to try and implement their plan now, and what if Jon wasn’t strong enough to do what had to be done and—

“Basira?” Sasha said, sounding somewhere between shocked and relieved. “What are you doing here?”

Oh. Martin relaxed, but not much. There was absolutely no hiding his or Jon’s presence. Past Jon sounded nervous as he said, “I can explain about—”

“Save it. I don’t care.” There was a thump and a rattle as Basira—her voice was unmistakable, too—dropped something on the desk in front of them. “Here.”

“Are those the tapes?” Past Jon asked.

“As many of them as I could get,” Basira replied.

“What happened, Basira?” Sasha’s voice was gentle, but—surprisingly—there was no static in it, even though Martin could almost feel it building in the room. It hit him, suddenly, that Sasha’s ability from the Eye didn’t enable her to ask for secrets. Only to take them. He decided to keep that particular unpleasant realization to himself for the moment. “I thought you said you were done with the Institute.”

Basira let out one of those frustrated noises Martin, unfortunately, knew all too well. “They’re covering it up. Altman’s death. Saying he was dirty. That he got stabbed in a drug deal gone wrong.”

“Wait, so the operation you went on—” Past Jon began.

“Doesn’t exist. I mean, I didn’t know Leo well, but…it’s not right. And they seemed happy enough to get me out the door.”

Someone poked at the box, if the rattle was any indication; Martin guessed it was Sasha, since she spoke again. “So why bring us the tapes?”

“Well, they’re sure as hell not going to solve Gertrude’s murder,” Basira said. “And from what you said the last time I was here, they’re probably of more use to you anyway, even if her death’s not in here. Before, I guess I had enough police in me not to steal evidence, but…”

“They’ve rather lost your loyalty,” Jon supplied softly. Martin slipped his arm around his waist and pulled him close.

“You won’t get in trouble for this, will you?” Tim asked, actually sounding concerned.

“Don’t think so. Daisy knows I’m bringing them to you. They won’t know they’re missing until they do inventory, and then only if they check the sectioned stuff.”

“Thanks, Basira,” Sasha said. “I owe you a drink or two. Just say the word.”

“Long as you promise not to talk shop,” Basira replied. “If I never hear another thing about this place…that’ll be enough for me.”

Martin heard footsteps starting to retreat across the Archives floor. Impulsively, he called out, “Basira.”

The footsteps stopped. “What?”

Martin looked in what he hoped was the right direction to look her in the eyes. “Keep her close. You’re her tether, and excuses only carry you so far.”

It was the same thing he’d said to her, once upon a time and simultaneously in a nonexistent future, loitering in the hallway of an abattoir outside an instrument room. She hadn’t wanted to listen then, and if he was honest, he hadn’t really taken his own advice all that well. He could only pray she would listen now, and that she would understand what he was talking about—and what he wasn’t saying. Don’t let your partner turn into a monster because it’s easier than saying stop.

After a moment, Basira said, her voice so soft it almost wasn’t audible, “Right.” With that, evidently, she left the Archives.

Jon pulled Martin around and wrapped him in a tight hug; Martin could feel his face pressing into his shoulder as he hugged him back. He, at least, had understood. They held each other for a moment, both hoping—despite what she’d done to them months ago—that Daisy could still be saved.

There was another rattle as someone poked at the tapes. “Where do we start?” Sasha asked.

“We go home,” Tim said firmly. “It’s Friday, and it’s past quitting time. Let’s just—let’s just go home, take the weekend to regroup, and we can come back and look through these on Monday. Maybe, um, maybe you two can go through and pick a few you think we ought to listen to.”

“Or,” Jon suggested, “we can sort them out. Gertrude labeled some but not others. If I set the blank ones aside, that might be good practice for you to sort out the color muddle. If that’s all right.”

“Either way, Tim’s right,” Past Jon said softly. “It’s late and we’re all tired. Especially…now. Let’s just go home. We’ll see you on Monday.”

Everyone wished one another goodnight, and the team departed, leaving Jon and Martin alone in the Archives. Martin waited a moment, then asked, “Do you want to start looking through them now?”

To Martin’s surprise, Jon hesitated for a minute, then said, “No. I think I want to put these in the Archivist’s office, and then I want to take a walk with my fiancé and maybe go out to dinner. What do you think of that?”

Martin smiled. He could feel himself blushing a little, but he didn’t care. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”

[septembersghost]

I sincerely hope you are not going to leave the spn fandom or delete your Dean posts and analyses. They are very well written, thought provoking and true, even your tags are brilliant. I enjoy reading them a lot especially because you express exactly what I feel about Dean but you do it way more efficiently and beautifully than I ever could. I'm afraid I feel there are not many fans out there who love Dean for who he is and…(part1/3)

These messages are so thoughtful and kind, and “Dean needs you” sent me over the edge a bit...I might’ve teared up.

It’s safe to say, having been in this fandom forever, and longer than most any other, I would never leave it, because I would never leave him. ♥ and don’t worry, I’m intensely, irrationally attached to my tiny corners of the internet, because I always end up pouring so much of my silly little heart into them. I’ve migrated across multiple blogs and never delete the old ones, and every single one is layered in love for Dean, as I said before - Dean is the heart of every home I’ve made online, somehow. I joke that my love for him will outlive me, but it’s also...absolutely true. The posts will stay eternally, or at least as long as Tumblr exists and hosts them.

My not knowing how much longer I’ll be here, and that weighing on my spirit, doesn’t have anything at all to do with SPN or fandom, but rather with the situation of my real life, otherwise I guarantee you’d all be stuck with me and my unabated Dean feelings indefinitely. I’m stuck with my unabated Dean feelings, having an outlet to pour them into online again has been a rare source of relief. Imagine if all of this had been pent up in my mind and my chest for the past 6-7 weeks! I shudder to think! seriously, though, as ridiculous as it may sound, the enormity of the sadness might’ve been unbearable had I not been here. I’m fairly good at sharing emotions and I’m a sensitive person, but I am not good at sharing grief, I usually close off (I know I talked about this at some point in a personal post too). this would’ve been extremely difficult to bear that way.

With that in mind, thank you so much for reading them, be they weepy posts or rambling tags (and finding any meaningful coherence or beauty in them at all), that sense of not being alone is a balm in itself, and it truly means a lot to me that anyone is here to share with/listen.

Ships..and I have an unusual, well, relationship, because they’re quite often not my focus? I’m completely of the ship-and-let-ship mindset, it’s not a judgment on anyone’s morality, as long as no one is hurting anyone else in reality people can ship whatever they want. in any given fandom, there are ships I might adore, there are ships I can take or leave, there are ships I loathe, as do we all. interpersonal character dynamics are valuable to me in diverse ways, but the sense in which I interact with them is, not better or worse, just different from a lot of fandom? and that’s on me being wired the way I am.

I was in the archives of my oldest blog over the past month, and found this post, where I’d quoted a mutual, who had written: “my definition of otp doesn’t necessarily mean romance and sex must be involved. i’m talking extreme intimacy. two people who are so deeply intertwined in such a way that they can never and will never be separated, a love that is almost unexplainable,” and I’d added, “I find I’m drawn to relationships that exist almost cosmically, in a spiritual sense, soul mates that go beyond mere romance or beyond the physical, people who are satellites and anchors for one another. Love on the whole is a grander idea to me than romance alone (though of course a LOT of the time that’s part of it, it can be body/soul, and it can simply be soul). But when two beings discover that in each other lies the other’s salvation, when connections form that can never be erased, or bonds are forged that should be impossible (and yet are immutable), when they see the beauty in one another that no one else can see - the superficial bits (gender background etc etc) disappear. It may be inexplicable, it may not always be happy (but maybe it’s rapturous); it’s necessary whether it burns eternal or only flames for a moment. And that’s true love in any sense, those are my favorite love stories.” Of course romantic couples can fit this, but friendships can fit this, family can fit this. I’m not sure why we don’t use all the different definitions of love in our interactions with stories.

SPN has spiritual connections everywhere, it’s part of what I love about the show’s use of dynamics, but fanon and I don’t align on the interpretations sometimes, and that’s fine! I hang out in my own little corner.

the problem that is occurring is the erasure of Dean as a person, from primarily two different factions of fandom (and they’ve always been guilty of it in one way or another, but S15 made it MUCH worse). shipping usually doesn’t upset me, but since the finale (or since 15x18, take your pick on which side of fandom), I have literally cried over shipping posts that have just totally obliterated him as an individual. people saying that his death was “happy” (can you hear me screaming), because he was setting Sam “free,” and that’s all he ever wanted. people saying his death was intentional, because he was suicidal over Castiel (BEYOND gross and untrue, and makes me feel sick to my stomach). and those are the extreme examples - though pervasive ones - there are a lot more insidious things going around, the constant use of the word “repression,” the fundamental misunderstandings of everything he is, of his depth, of his emotional resonance and intuitiveness/openness, of his intelligence, and people taking those misconceptions at face value. there are things I see daily that drive me out of my mind. 

some of the commentary about his sexuality and the way it’s being related to John and John’s abuse is also very unsettling to me, because it’s missing the real point of what John’s neglect and mistreatment was about. I don’t think Dean is repressed, thus I don’t think his sexuality is that complicated for him. I think he is fully aware of who he is, and has been since before we met him. there’s so much being said about him needing to come to terms with himself, and from my subjective point of view, I’m like...he’s already gone through that, he knows. the narrative has moments which objectify him so often and there are many, many layers to that and his relationship to his own physicality, and there’s an element of fandom and the way he’s being talked about which makes me uncomfortable because it feels fetishizing, much like his pain is often fetishized, and in the aftermath of his death, I can’t cope with that. (and look, I say he’s beautiful all the time too, because he IS, in myriad ways, inner and outer.)

it feels like I had to watch someone I love that much die, and some of the meta and commentary on him is trampling his grave (and he doesn’t even have a grave, don’t make me think about the pyre), it’s as though more and more pieces of him are being stolen, and all I want is to protect him, when I had no power to save him from the narrative. his traits are given to other characters, his attributes are ignored altogether. I’m not saying all of fandom does this, or all the shippers do, of course they don’t, but it’s happening far too often.

I say this while simultaneously acknowledging that I care very much about Sam and Castiel as their own individuals, and I care about other assorted characters (there are many), and I care about their dynamics with Dean, it’s not like I keep that a secret, it’s plainly evident that I care about his connections - because he is so deeply loving and associated with love, and because I love him for all those facets, how can I NOT care about the people who fill his heart. of course I do! I care the MOST about he and his brother, there’s an irony in me answering this given another massive post I wrote up for today, but it’s all foundationally framed around him for me (which is why I keep jokingly referencing - I love everybody, because I love you).

now, Sam stans and Cas stans - and to be clear, it’s fine and good that they are other people’s favorites, I have no problems with this! - would likely accuse me of doing exactly to their faves what I say they do to Dean - prioritizing him over them, possibly not seeing them the way they do, so it’s also likely I’m a hypocrite, BUT - the fallout of the ending makes it all much more acute.

there are also some really serious lines of propriety that have been crossed in regards to the actors, and people blurring lines and inappropriately involving them (and the slander that was launched a Jensen on 11/5), and that needs to END.

all that said, I understand why you’re hurt that he’s being made half a ship, and being reduced in so many ways. I hope, at some point, that tapers off, but it’s been very distressing to deal with what essentially amounts to insult on top of grievous injury. he deserves infinitely better. he deserved so much more than the narrative, he certainly deserves more from the fandom, especially when they’re claiming to care about him.

it hurts to see how one of the most complicated fictional characters has been reduced to only one of his many aspects yes, he is SO complex and multifaceted, and every aspect of him deserves to be seen and appreciated. (and cherished, but I understand not everyone cherishes him like we do.) he’s everything! he is. he’s it.

you see Dean, you get him and you love him. Your posts about him are as exquisite as him 😭  that’s legitimately the loveliest and most touching response I could ever wish to receive. hopefully it’s a comfort, and keeps him alive a little bit for you. I love him forever, and I love you for being here and treasuring him and seeing him too. I’ll be with you for as long as I can be! 

he’ll always be with me. 💗 💗 💗

[enduringsea]

( rules: you can usually tell a lot about a person by the kind of music they listen to! put your music on shuffle and list the first 10 songs, then tag 10 people! no skipping! ) / tagged by @yellowcrumpet​ ╭( ･ㅂ･)و )))

Thanks for the tag! I LOVE these things-- I don’t rlly have a playlist either though, just a mess of music files on a device I haven’t updated so I’ll be checking my YouTube history too lol. There’s a uhhh.... pattern to be found, mainly relating to Code Vein or other OCs.... which isn’t surprising ._. ;; I made it a separate post bc I knew this was going to get long and rambly with lyric snippets and crying about fictional characters, sorry :D

1. Repeat Until Death - Novo Amor don’t go / you’re half of me now / but i’m hardly stood proud / i said it, almost oh i’ve been low / but damn it i bet it don’t show / it was heaven a moment ago oh i can’t seem to let myself leave you / but i can’t breathe anymore This one gives me Loubeth vibes ok, partially bad end route ;-; While Elizabeth is a very strong person, her friends are the most prominent reason she tries to do anything at all & isn’t living day-to-day in a monotonous grind to survive without a solid purpose other than ‘help random ppl bc it’s the right thing to do’. If she loses them, it’d ruin her & hammers into her head how everything she’s ever done has been a failure. She suffered a major betrayal by her boss before the Collapse, she was unable to fully participate in proj. queen despite her incredible test results, she failed to defeat Cruz and take her blood during Operation Queenslayer, and if she fails to protect the people she’s finally found meaning with? She’d break down completely & destroy herself to save them. She’s always had some level of abandonment issues, and without her family around it’s so much worse, even if it isn’t the most obvious because she’s generally seen as very well put together-- I really can’t express how much it would hurt her to lose Louis, Yakumo, and the others. She’s just not one to show just how bad it can truly get for her mentally and emotionally-- she’s resilient as hell, she’s been through hell repeatedly and survived it all, so it’s easy for others to assume she’s fine all things considered. It makes her feel weak and ashamed of herself if she shows any level of vulnerability, so she doesn’t; she swallows it down and is afraid of disappointing those who look up to her as a fighter and friend-- of course, no one at Home Base would blame her for being vulnerable, they all have their moments, Bethy just sets herself to such a high standard it’s difficult for her to talk about her own suffering in spite of how well-versed she is in getting her thoughts and feelings across otherwise. Louis is the one most keen to how deeply she’s hurting, but he doesn’t understand just how deeply until she finally does fall apart. The final swell of the song and its desperate lyrics really relays the pain they both feel-- Louis too would not fare well if something happened to Elizabeth, because he blames himself she was even involved in Operation Queenslayer for a long time, I honestly did so bad in explaining coherently, this song just has so much emotion and hurt behind it adklfjdfdff </3

2. Looking Out For You - Joy Again this is a love song for a girl who will never know it’s about her she's beaming that smile / all the while i’m all tripped up on my own throat i guess there is no hope This song reminds me of Elizabeth & my friend’s character Takashi Fujioka, who gets-- vERY...FRIENDZONED, for lack of a better word, by Elizabeth in his story, it’s really summed up best as tragic (;﹏;) Before the Collapse they were hitting it off, then the Collapse happened, they were separated, he lost his sisters, Mido happened, he was experimented on + became a revenant, etc, etc; years have passed since then & she’s gotten her life together as much as one can in a world like Vein, but for Takashi it’s like no time has passed at all. Elizabeth is subtly older in appearance, she’s been working w Lou & Co. for a long time; Loubeth blatantly have a connection, & rather than bringing up his feelings + making it awkward bc he values their friendships, he just kinda. chokes on them & does his best to help out the team. It doesn’t help he can’t even be jealous bc Louis is a really solid friend to him too, IT’S JUST A MESS OF A SITUATION & the death of what could have been if things were different.

3. Closer - Teagan And Sara ( no lengthy explanation for this one thank goodness, I’ve just been watching BoJack Horseman again and I really like some of the songs they add in, I like listening to this one on loop when mindlessly coloring something )

4. Brutal - Olivia Rodrigo  all I did was try my best / this the kind of thanks I get? they say these are the golden years / but I wish I could disappear ego crush is so severe / god, it's brutal out here I have it on a playlist for Elizabeth somewhere, not all of it applies to her but it reflects some of her struggles she has both before & after the collapse. She’s-- always kind of been a mess while under immense pressure + has serious self image issues, this song hits that side of her well. She’s been held to humanly impossible standards by both herself and her family bc frankly? She can reach them, she’s NOT exactly human. She was born into her position as a hunter & intends to keep it for as long as she lives (like revenants, her kind is very much ‘either gets killed or lives 5ever), even if some days she really feels how heavy the burden can be. She didn’t have a normal childhood and she’s fine with it for the most part, but it alienates her from most of her peers-- she never got to date anyone, never had a close group of friends, never went to parties that weren’t formals, etc., while she feels a little childish about it, she does envy ‘normal’ and understands the pressure she’s lived under her entire life has caused damage-- she has been exploited for her abilities, there’s just not much she can do about it but to keep going, rlly.

5. Freaks - Surf Curse  don't kill me / just help me run away from everyone  i need a place to stay / where i can cover up my face don't cry / i am just a freak / i am just a freak UhhhHHH this song really makes me think of Oliver Collins :D;; thank TikTok for showing it to me. It makes me think of how scared he was, of both the world and the revenants who captured him. The song’s use of the word ‘parasites’ really makes me think of Revenants and the BOR parasites XD I’m hoping when I poke my video editor again, I can record some Oliver footage to make a short video to this song. Oliver deserves so much better, I wish you could save him, but that’s what AUs are for, hahah.... The second half of the lyrics make me think of the AU I have where he lives and has to grapple with the guilt of surviving and the things he did to other revenants to get by too.

6. All Eyes On Me - Bo Burnham you say the ocean’s rising / like i give a shit you say the whole world’s ending / honey it already did you’re not gonna slow it / heaven knows you tried got it? good / now get inside I haven’t seen the Netflix special yet but I’ve had this song on repeat since my move started. The lyrics hit too hard & resonate with my existential dread, covid exhaustion, and extreme burnout in my 20s, but bc I have Damage I can also relate it to CV ._. ‘you’re not gonna slow it, heaven knows you tried. got it? good now get inside’ makes me think of--;; the bad end route again, and Elizabeth’s desperation to keep her found family together. It’s not like her to completely stop caring about an issue, but in the moment she realizes what’s being taken from her? She doesn’t want to save all of revenant-kind if it means she’s going to wind up alone all over again, her world is effectively over if she’s forced to be alone again. The MC frenzying means the only immediately identifiable hope she had of saving everyone else is gone, so why not just go home? If they’re all doomed, she wants to at least be together for a little while longer, it’s fine if they use her blood to survive & everyone else in the mist is out of luck, it’s soul-crushing bc I’ve never had her in a situation where she’s been this reckless, despondent/hopeless, and thinking irrationally where it’d impact more than herself-- especially when she’s normally goal-oriented, organized, meticulous, so on so forth: she’s not one to act without thinking something through first, but that last breath of light just got sucker-punched out of her. All she wants is home, comfort, and family, and ultimately in the bad end route she does manage to preserve their lives, maintain the mist, and supply blood beads, but her own condition leaves her on the throne-- it’s a mix of the bad, neutral, and true ending rlly ldkfjdf BUT YEAH enough rambling on that :D;; This song’s really good and touches a lot of different thoughts and ideas both in real life and my ocs, kind of embarrassing--;; thank u bo burnham for ruining me with this beautiful song

7. Yellow - Coldplay look at the stars / look how they shine for you / and everything you do your skin / oh yeah, your skin and bones / turn in to something beautiful do you know / for you I'd bleed myself dry Does this song make me think about JackEva? Yes. Yes it does. Star / night sky symbolism? Bam. Sappy lyrics about love and finding the person you’re with absolutely mesmerizing and worth dying for? BAM. If JackEva were capable of using their own blood to save each other, I can see it-- hJNGn they just care about each other so much, Jack cries for her even though they both knew that eventually one of them would succumb to their duty, and if the roles were reversed I can see Eva doing the same, I adore them beyond human language. On my CV RP blog, my Jack’s not shippable bc-- Eva, my friend even have them looking after his nephew (an oc--) at one point. I should seriously drop some headcanons down eventually....

8. Louder Than Thunder - The Devil Wears Prada  are we meant to be empty-handed? / i know i could, i could be better i don't think i deserve it / selflessness, find your way into my heart all stars could be brighter / all hearts could be warmer 

LMFAO throwback to my middle school playlist, I’m old-- I’ve applied this song to a lot of things back in the day, but I really connect it to Loubeth now, especially Louis. Lou & Bethy are both functional idiots who are too hard on themselves & have trouble recognizing their worth beyond what they can do for others. They’re trying to be better-- to make up for what they perceived wrongs they’ve done, but it’s hard, they don’t believe they’re worthy of the love and support the other gives, but they still yearn for that sense of security. After Louis’ memories are returned, he finally understands the guilt he’s felt since he became a revenant and it really skews his self-perception; he blames himself for so many things & Elizabeth, who has always been able to kill when necessary, sets it straight-- “It’s not your fault”, and it takes Louis some time to properly absorb that message. He thinks she’s just trying to comfort him, which she is tbh, but she’s not wrong: “It’s not your fault you couldn’t kill someone. It was never your job to kill anyone.” It’s up to people like her to do those sort of things-- Elizabeth may not have been present when Cruz frenzied, but if she had been? It would have been over before it started, that’s something she has regrets over, even if nothing could have been done since she was already on the field. Actually, she’s actually really quite angry that security failed to monitor Cruz properly and has a few select words for the ones there who could have actually done something before it got out of hand-- civilians and doctors are exempt from her shtlist bc they’re not meant to be killers (so don’t worry Artorias, she’s not ready to bite your head off!), but they had to have some kinda security detail rite o-q??? They’re probably hiding from her wrath-- BUT ANYWAY, she insists she’ll never blame Louis for not being able to do something as serious as killing another person. He was a normal human being who cared about his friend, not a failure, and he couldn’t have been expected to do something that shouldn’t have fallen on his shoulders in the first place. As many times as it takes, she’ll reaffirm that it wasn’t his fault, she’s not angry, he’s always done his best and her opinion of him hasn’t changed. He’s a good person and she loves him through all the hurt, though she doesn’t drop the word ‘love’ for a long time. It just-- takes Louis a while to accept she views him as someone worthy of the love and respect she has for him. It’s kind of ironic she’s so adamant on Louis not blaming himself considering she’s the one privately blaming herself for-- wow there’s too much to unpack, she feels guilty she was even born?? im so broken over these two. I love them and yet they SUFFER... 

9. What I’ve Done - Linkin Park i'll face myself / to cross out what i’ve become erase myself / and let go of what i’ve done today this ends / i'm forgiving what i’ve done

I have Louis Amamiya brainrot and I’m so glad I’m not the only one who thinks that this song fits him super well & it needs to become an AMV dsjfkldsfd. I’m a near life-long Linkin Park fan and this fits with Lou so well thematically. As much as I’ve gone on about Louis’ guilt, he does steel himself to keep going forward in spite of it and make things right, for everyone. Maybe it wasn’t really his fault, but at the end of the day his inability to kill Cruz in that moment left a disaster in its wake that got a countless number of people killed-- the MC included with Karen and Aurora. He doesn’t want to run away from the truth, doesn’t want to make excuses, he wants to take responsibility for it and he’ll work himself to death if it means things will be better-- it’s both admirable he’s got a strong resolve and VERY concerning with how willing he is to die for the cause, please don’t overdo it, Lou, you’ll break mine and Bethy’s hearts ._.;; It won’t always be easy, there are moments the grief gnaws at him, but in the end he does overcome it (and uh. as in the bad ending, we know he can actually do it this time). I know we can’t see everything, but I would have loved deeper character interactions, especially with Louis with an emphasis on grieving + forgiving himself properly-- but this song really is nice with the whole ‘I’m going to face my mistakes head on, forgive myself, and keep moving forward’. It’s what Louis deserves: self forgiveness and a damn break ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

10. Call of Silence - Hiroyuki Sawano you will know you're reborn tonight / must be rough but i’ll stay by your side even if my body's bleached to the bones / i don't want go through that ever again so cry no more / oh my beloved ngl idk if those are the correct lyrics, buuuuuuut....... im a weenie and am internally weeping abt loubeth after midnight, what else is new lmfao- i’ll at least try to be brief :D I also used to really like Attack on Titan when I was in high school, I dropped the anime years ago because I was waiting for s2 and never got back to it once it started airing again, I thought I’d finish it once the anime was complete since I eventually caught up with the manga, such a good series BUT ANYWAY-- I think it’s a really pretty song and Loubeth fit with the tender lyrics. IT’S LATE, idk what to say about them other than what I’ve said already dsklfjdslf im sorry I really ramble a LOT and I’ve been so busy lately I haven’t had the chance to >w>;;

[captain-jinguji]

Yandere alphabet for Syo and Cecil? Ó3Ò

Yes 😏 I'll do Syo in another post so for now, im sorry for messing Cecil up ~

CECIL AIJIMA YANDERE ALPHABET

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

He worships them. Literally has a shrine in his room dedicated to them and prays in front of it every day, asking the Gods to grant him his wish of being with them forever. He's very clingy and always has to be around his darling; never lets them go anywhere alone. He even went as far as to bring them to Agnapolis and put the castle in lockdown for a while. 

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

He, personally, doesnt let himself get messy. He has servants do his dirty work so his darling never has the chance of thinking less of him because how can they hold him accountable for actions he never did? Just don't go into the lower parts of the castle.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

No mocking here, surprisingly. He quite honestly treats them like a Queen/King, well, at least, if you can ignore the golden chain that connects them to him at all times. All their wishes are fulfilled, as long as they're reasonable and don't include the fact that they want to escape him 

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He'll get their affection one way or another, even if it means drugging them just so he can hold them without them squirming around. Almost grooms them to be like a cat; soft, independent, and loyal

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He's actually quite secretive. Like he shows affection and the love he wants from them, but he doesnt open up his thoughts and most certainly never lets them in on his plans or next steps. They might be a Queen/King to him but a King can rule without one.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Laughs at their attempt. First of all, even if they did manage to hurt him in any way, the guards would restrain them. No one is to touch the future King of Agnapolis, not even the future Queen/King that rules alongside him. Second of all, he'll just tell himself its the heat and the new environment making them go crazy and think irrationally 

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Its a game of cat and mouse. He likes to chase them, almost like kids do on a playground, but he will never let them escape from within the castle's walls. Sometimes he even sends his pet panther LuLu after them to ~play~ a little bit. 

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

When he ordered Lulu to attack. He doesnt quite remember what they did to hurt him this bad, because he already forgave them for it, but he does remember seeing red and sending his panther after them. They needed stitches and to be hospitalized for a short period. 

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Oh they will rule together of course. The Kingdom already loves their future King and Queen/King. Of course, they're also expected to keep the blood line going and believe me when I say that he's been working on that. 

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Doesnt get jealous; he gets sad. Theres no one better than him right? They wouldnt leave him, right? Because if they did, they will never see the outside world ever again. 

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Like a cat. Sly, calculated, but still affectionate at times. He tries to keep the peace between his darling and him as much as possible but sometimes his claws come out and puts them back in their place. 

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Much like Ren, he would charm his way into their heart and present himself as the most best possible choice in a partner. He has everything from looks to fame to wealth, and they wouldn't want that? Let him make them believe that that's what they NEED. 

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

He does a whole 180°. His usual soft caring attitude turns into that of a killer. He knows everything about them and more. Has taps on his darling at all times and is known to act out violently at times. But who is to defy the future king? 

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Torture. Remember how I said dont go into the lower parts of the castle? Yeah not only does he torture people there that treated/looked at his darling wrong, but he brings his darling there to emotionally and physically torture them himself as well. Theres no escaping him. He's everywhere. 

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

A lot. See it as a traditional "wife obeys husbands every wish" kind of scenario. What he says goes and his darling has absolutely no say in it whatsoever.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Again, he tries to reason with himself that its hormones acting up or the new environment, but he knows that that's not it and his patience tends to run thin. They might be the future Queen/King of the country but beside him, theyre just another pretty face that needs to be quiet in the public eye. 

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

They cant escape. Not only is the castle on full lockdown at all times, but they are also escorted everywhere they go by several guards. If his darling died, he would absolutely break. He'd lash out at anyone and anything, maybe even going as far as killing part of his Kingdom, maybe even himself. 

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No. He becomes extremely obsessive with them and sees them as THE perfect mate. Nothing could replace them and nothing can take them away. 

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

As a child, he always had everything, and that followed him into adulthood. The traditions his country kept over the years taught him that HE is the sole ruler and HE calls the shots. It's about control and obsession more than it is about love. 

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

If his darling retreated from him or cried, he'd see it as one of their temper tantrums and let them be. He would try to make them feel better with little gifts and such, but if they retreat for too long, he just forces them back into his bubble.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Well he didn't just abduct them, he literally took them outside the country meaning that Japanese laws dont apply. In my opinion, he took it a step further by making a smart move. 

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

None. He's quite literally, always on his guard, and has guards around him. They cant get to him. At all. 

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Yes and hes done it before. He will admit that sending a wild animal after his darling was a bit harsh, but the torture is still going on. 

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Again, he has a whole shrine dedicated to them and adds pictures of them and him all the time. He proudly displays it to his darling and acts fake hurt if his darling calls him out, successfully making them feel guilty and comfort him. Emotional manipulation is a big part of his. 

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He takes a while. Mainly because he has background checks done on them just to ensure that they are the perfect darling for him. He finds out everything and stalks them like prey for months, maybe even years. 

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Yes. Thats his ultimate goal. To have a quiet, non-opinionated pretty face by his side that bends to his every will and desire. 

[98prilla]

Turned Pt2

Decided to do a little second part to this randomness, first part can be found here: https://98prilla.tumblr.com/post/190297629504/turned  but this is able to be read stand alone. This is the events mostly from Logan’s perspective, cause I saw a post saying not enough fics let him have feelings sooooo I decided to change that. 

         “It makes sense, run down, edge of town, plenty of places to hide, Roman, are you even listening? Logan asked, turning to look at his companion, stopping his stream of analytics for a moment.

         “We lost Virg and Pat.” Was the quick reply, and it had Logan whipping around, gaze searching the street as if they would pop out from a bush and yell surprise.

         “Why would they deviate from the group? Virgil especially, he’s always on guard.” Logan replied, a scrap of purple catching his eye. He walked towards it, feeling Roman behind him, tense and ready to spring. Logan crouched, looking at the ground. A patch, matching those that Virgil sewed onto his hoodie, probably hadn’t been stitched on tight enough and had fallen loose.

         “I don’t know. But it looks like we at least know what direction they went. Good eye, teach.” Logan stood, patch tucked in his pocket, acknowledging the praise with a small nod.

         “Let’s hope they left more of a trail. Anything off main leads into smaller side streets and alleys. Nothing straightforward. They could have gone any direction.” He felt his pulse pick up a pace at that thought. He was sure they were fine, Patton had probably spotted a stray cat and wanted to pet it, forgetting they were on a mission and in potentially dangerous territory. And Virgil had followed to make sure he didn’t get into trouble. They were fine. They had to be.

         Roman took the lead as they followed Logan’s tactic of taking only left turns. Most of the off shoots were short or dead ends, and at this point they were doing their best to conserve energy and not full on sprint as they methodically looked down each dim pathway. It had only been minutes, but the tension radiating between Roman and Logan was tight enough it would trip anyone who walked between them, the worry sharp and grating against Logan’s chest.

Then they heard it. A sharp, furious shout. They locked eyes for a single moment, before turning as one and sprinting towards the noise, heedless of any danger. That had been Virgil, and it was close.

Another minute had them pounding into a narrow alley, Logan’s vision tunneling as he saw the two figures on the ground, ears ringing and breath caught in his throat.

Patton was slumped against a brick wall, eyes closed. Virgil was holding onto his shirt, but even from behind, Logan could tell one arm was badly twisted, one leg bending in a way it was impossible for any human limb to bend. His shirt was shredded, red streaks crisscrossing his back. They were late, they were too late. It had been a trap, he should have noticed their absence sooner, should have kept a closer eye on them, should have had a better strategy for finding them, should have done something.

He was the strategist. He was the mathematician, the planner. So why, in all of his calculations, was this never a possibility he’d considered?

“Lo!” The shout cut through his haze, and suddenly everything snapped into focus. He could breathe again, he could hear normally, it was like time started moving once more. He adjusted his glasses shakily and looked to Roman.

“They’re not dead, Lo. Patton got bit. He’s turning. And Virgil’s… well, beat to hell is putting it kindly.”

“I’m not deaf, y’know.” Was the reply from Virgil, but it lacked his usually playful scorn, falling flat against the wheeze each of his breaths came with, the shaking of his hands.

“Right. Of… of course. We need to get them home. Someone needs to be monitoring Patton, in case…” He didn’t finish that thought, didn’t allow it. Because Patton would survive the turn. He was kind and strong and brave, and he could survive the extreme flu like illness that raged through a human when their body was changing. “And I need my medical supplies to treat Virgil’s injuries.”

“No. Not until Pat… I’m not important. I’m not leaving him.” Virgil protested, fire in his voice. Logan knew he must be half delusional from the pain of his broken limbs alone, it was amazing he hadn’t passed out yet himself, and arguing with him was not going to help the situation any.

“ok. We will take care of Patton first. But Virgil? You are important. You are just as important to me as Patton is. And I will not lose either of you today. That is an unacceptable outcome. So, I need you to listen to me and do what I say. Do you understand me?” Logan asked, voice low but intense, putting every drop of fear and worry and terror into it, a minute fraction of that soothed as Virgil nodded once.

“yeah… yeah of course, Lo. I…” Virgil’s breath stuttered as a wash of agony flashed through his chest, and instantly Roman was there, supporting him.

“He’s going into shock. If you take him, I can take Patton. He’s the lighter of the two.” Roman nodded, scooping Virgil up in his arms. He knew it was bad as Virgil didn’t say a single sarcastic, snarky comment, just kept his eyes glued to Patton, face going white from the movement of Roman’s steps, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out.

They put Virgil in the van first, laying across the backseat, head resting against the window. They were as careful as they could be, but any movement made Virgil’s face blanche, his vision flare white. But he still pulled Patton close as the placed him in next, ignoring the pulsing pain from his broken arm as he held him tight, murmuring soothingly to him, stroking his hair, feeling his temperature burning hot, his skin clammy and his breathing shallow. He could feel the small tremors wracking Patton’s body, the fever already eating away at him, and all his own pain was forgotten as he kissed Patton’s soft curls, keeping up his steady, low chatter, ignoring his own exhaustion as the car pulled away.  

Roman was driving, doing his best to go as fast as he could without causing the car to bounce around on the road. Logan had pulled the spare blanket they kept in the car in case of emergency out, wrapping it around the two of them. He didn’t take his eyes off them the whole car ride, making sure Virgil stayed conscious, it was possible he had a concussion and if he fell asleep now, he might not wake up.

Just that thought was enough to make his heart start pounding, his mind lose focus and start to spiral, until he felt a hand on his arm, and looked up to see Roman steering one handed, eyes still firmly on the road.

“They’re gonna be ok. We will make sure that they’re ok.” His voice was low and firm, and usually Logan would scold him about taking a hand off the wheel, usually he would rattle off statistics countering Roman’s words, usually he would clear his throat with a huff of embarrassment before moving onto a different topic.

He found he didn’t have the energy for those options right now, simply giving Roman a grateful, if slightly doubtful, look, unable to formulate words to put his fears into context, because he wasn’t even sure himself what they were besides a profound sense of loss and emptiness and an ache that didn’t end that he could already feel building in his chest, the realization that he would rather claw out his own heart than watch Patton die shooting through him like lightning as they pulled into the drive of their house.

Virgil was just barely conscious, enough that he refused to let go of Patton, but not enough to recognize the irrationality of that action, and it made getting the two of them into the house quite a struggle.

When they finally managed, they settled Patton in his bed, wrapping him in all the blankets in the house they could find to try and break his fever, even the one they gave to Virgil. He was too cold, Logan knew, a side effect of shock still hitting him, but every time he tried to get close, tried to get Virgil to let him look at his injuries, Virgil refused, getting almost angry at the suggestion.

Virgil was sitting on the bed beside Patton, wiping his brow with a damp cloth, ceaselessly talking to him, stroking his hair, squeezing his hand, reminding him he wasn’t alone, despite him being likely unable to hear the words, it brought Logan comfort. If Patton had his loved ones right there, perhaps he would wake up quicker. Perhaps he would hold on harder. Perhaps he wouldn’t-

He cut that thought off with a sharp inhale, turning and stalking out of the bedroom without a word. It hurt him to stand there and watch and be helpless, hurt him that Virgil wouldn’t let him look at his own severe wounds, knowing the longer they went the higher risk of infection, of the bones setting the wrong way, of Virgil himself not recovering. It hurt to look at Patton’s too pale face, cheeks flushed and hair sticky with sweat, it hurt to see the shallow rise and fall of his chest, it hurt to see him, usually so loud and funny and there, so still and not.

But it hurt not being there too, he realized, as he began to pace the living room, hands clasped tight behind his back, head down as he stared at the endlessly repeating carpet, wearing a rut in it. It hurt to not know what was going on in there, even though it was no doubt no different than it had been moments ago, it hurt to think that Patton might wake up and he might not be there, it hurt to think that Virgil could begin showing signs of an illness and he wouldn’t be there to catch it, it hurt to know that nothing changed when he left the room.

His mind wouldn’t stop whirling, wouldn’t stop shouting the statistics and information he’d so carefully memorized about human to vampire transitions, wouldn’t stop telling him what he didn’t want to know, that the survival rate was low in a situation like this, where the turner had been unwilling. That there was nothing they could do but wait for the process to complete. That right now the venom was working it’s way through Patton’s system, altering every single one of his cells, changing and twisting the DNA inside into something other than human, that the process was unimaginably painful, that the body then saw the changed cells as a disease and fought against them, and if the body won out then the victim would die.

He froze. Die. He had been so carefully avoiding that word. Refusing to acknowledge it, because if he didn’t acknowledge it, then it wasn’t real, it wasn’t a possibility, it didn’t factor into this equation.

Patton could die. The world tunneled around him, his breathing too loud in his ears, his heart beating so fast and so loud he was surprised it didn’t tear open his ribcage to escape its confines.

Patton, smiling in the kitchen, making some terrible pun as he pulled cookies out of the oven, making Roman groan and Virgil snicker.

Patton, surprising Virgil with a birthday party, somehow figuring out when it was even though Virgil had never mentioned it, not even Logan had known it was his birthday.

Patton, eyes wide with rapt attention, arms resting on the table, chin resting on his hands, leaned forward, listening and absorbing every word as Logan lectured about the stars, space, his own private hobby being astronomy. And after, Patton asked questions, he’d actually listened, in a way nobody else ever seemed to.

Patton, sweet and kind and soft and always, always seeing the best in the world around him, in the people around him, even when they were ready to give up on themselves.

Patton, dressed in his favorite cardigan, cat hoodie tied around his shoulders, eyes closed, arms crossed on his chest, lying inside a coffin, not breathing, not moving, nothing but an empty shell of what had once been a person.

He slowly became aware of someone talking. The voice was far away, too distant to understand, but he thought he recognized it. It was someone he knew, someone important. Dimly, he registered a rhythm being tapped out against his arm, one he was familiar with, one he’d taught Virgil. Slowly, in fits and starts, he began to copy it, began to try and soothe the hurricane that was his mind, tried to focus on nothing but the steady beat against his skin, the voice drawing ever closer.

“That’s good, Lo. Keep it up. You’re doing good.”

“Well.” He croaked out, and the rhythm paused.

“What?” Roman’s confused voice, then finally his vision came back into focus, and he could see Roman crouched before him on the ground, when had he fallen to the ground, and he focused on his familiar form as he continued to breath.

“It’s I’m doing well, not I’m doing good.” Roman rolled his eyes, but sank back on his knees anyway, not taking his attention away from Logan. Logan realized his face was wet, and he almost wonderingly wiped away the tears. When was the last time he’d cried? He didn’t know. But they were still coming, and he couldn’t stop them, and he almost didn’t want to. “and I’m not doing either of those things, it seems.” He finished, with a choked half laugh, half sob.

“Patton is… and Virgil won’t let me near him and I can’t fix any of it! I’m supposed to be… I’m supposed to know… and I don’t. I can’t. I’m…” Roman was caught off guard. Logan was the most put together, steady person he’d ever known. He’d never seen him this off balance, this emotional, this afraid. In the face of near certain death, he could spout of probabilities and in a split second calculate what course of action would get them out alive.

“Teach-“

“I know! That’s the problem, I can’t… I can’t be optimistic because I’ve memorized the facts, I’ve memorized the likelihoods, I know the outcome, but it can’t… it has to be different, it has to be different, because it’s Patton, not some number, not a… a percent or a textbook, it’s Patton.” He fell silent, a choked sob working it’s way out of his throat and then Roman was holding him, hugging him, something Logan would usually shy away from, contact he usually only tolerated, but now it felt like a lifeline, and he clung to Roman as if the world would vanish if he let go.

“You need to rest up, teach. You’re exhausted.” Roman murmured, and Logan shook his head.

“I’ll be fine. I need to be up, in case something deeper is wrong with Virgil, in case something starts to go… go wrong, with Patton.” He replied. Roman pulled back, concern in his eyes.

“Do you know how long it’s been? You’ve been awake for nearly 48 hours. You’re not gonna be any help if you’re sleep deprived, and you know it.” Logan sighed, wiping his face and readjusting his glasses. Roman was right. He hadn’t realized it had been that long, time was passing oddly for him, what felt like a single minute turned out to be hours, and sometimes an hour was merely a second. Sometimes he blinked and nearly thirty minutes had passed, he knew it was a sign of sleep deprivation, of shock he himself was suffering from, and he could feel the strong urge to close his eyes growing.

“A few hours. Just a few hours. Wake me if anything, absolutely anything, happens, no matter how trivial. And how come you don’t need sleep?” He answered, grudgingly.

“Because I’ve been taking short, well placed naps, not pacing myself to exhaustion. Now get some sleep. If you need anything, you know where to find me.” Logan nodded, numb, the tears having eked the last sense of feeling he could muster out of him, and he pulled himself onto the couch, asleep barely a moment after his head hit the cushions, not realizing that Roman hadn’t agreed to his terms.

           Logan jolted awake out of a dead sleep, eyes wild and heart pounding, the tail end of a nightmare vanishing before he could recall what it had even been about. He looked at the clock with a furious glare, realizing what time it was. Nearly noon. He’d slept nearly 12 hours.

         He lurched up, off the couch, padding quietly down the hall to Patton’s room, forcing himself not to hesitate before he entered the doorway, terrified of what he’d find, what would be there.

         Virgil was still awake, sitting on the bed in the same position, Logan didn’t think he’d moved once. He walked over, tentatively reaching a hand out, placing it against Patton’s forehead. Instantly, his knees buckled with relief and he fell to the floor, lightness exploding through his chest, bursting inside him like fireworks, laughter bubbling up from somewhere inside him he’d very nearly lost. Virgil’s eyes widened, and Logan pulled himself together enough to formulate words.

         “The fever broke. The fever broke, Virg. That means he turned. He survived. He’s going… god, he’s going to be ok.” Virgil slumped back against the bedpost, running his hand through his hair with a long, shaky sigh, a smile breaking across his face.

         “Roman went to get food. Figured we all needed to eat, but none of us would make anything. He’ll be back soon, knew I’d watch him.” Virgil said, voice hoarse, almost gone. Logan nodded, turning a critical eye to Virgil.

         “As soon as he’s back I’m getting you taken care of. No complaints, no arguing, we are going to the living room, treating your wounds, and you are getting some sleep. Patton is going to be ok. If you leave, he won’t disappear.” Logan said, a bit softer on the last sentence, seeing his own fears echoed in Virgil’s face. Slowly, Virgil nodded, deflating slightly.

         “Ok. Sounds, sounds good, Lo.”

[rosiewidow]

GET TO KNOW ROSIE WIDOW

rosie finds herself trapped in routine by the time she’s seven. meals as a family, pouring her all into her schoolwork for the satisfaction of gold stars and straight As, and ballet and gymnastics on the weekends. she wraps a sky blue ribbon in her hair, smoothes imaginary creases out of her matching dress, and smiles brightly for yet another family photo that’s hung in the home as a reminder of how perfect their lives are. she learns early on the perfection is boring. 

her parents are strict; so much so that anything that was even vaguely outside of the image they’d crafted for her was prohibited. rosie pretends not to notice the judgemental looks and sneers they give anyone who lives differently than they do. but pretending she doesn’t see it doesn’t mean she’s any less aware of it. because of fear of what their disappointment feels like, rosie lives her life the way they want her to. she doesn’t have a rebellious teenage phase, doesn’t try smoking behind the school, and won’t partake in shots at parties with her friends. rosie spends the majority of her life feeling as if she’s watching it breeze by her, and someone else is starring in the film of her life because the quiet perfect little girl everyone knows is not who she is. or rather who she wants to be.

her parents fully intend for her to go to college with the intent of becoming a doctor or something practical. rosie spends her junior year slaving over college applications, and the entire time she’s sitting at her laptop writing her personal essay the more she realizes she has no idea who she really is. it’s not like you can say “i wanna go to your school because my parents said i have to”. well she could, but then she wouldn’t get in and that’d be just unacceptable.

an overachiever by force, rosie spent her free time tutoring her peers who were underperforming. its how she made a lot of her friends, and finds herself in a role where she has to look out for the well-being (both academic and personal) of her classmates. as a tutor she learns a lot about the people around her and the drama that swirls around them, and she finds that she is extremely good at doling out reasonable advice. she also doesn’t entirely mind being kept in the loop but removed from the drama on a personal level. 

when graduation rolls around her entire life is laid out in front of her. corona university pre-med, a sweet responsible boyfriend who fits in the family dynamic like he was made for this, and the financial support of her parents until she graduates. to the outside world she’s got it all figured out. on the inside she’s screaming at the thought of being this caged. 

she knew gigi from high school, not enough to say they were close friends. but enough to admire the blonde’s life from afar. so, when her friends suggest they go to the circus one day rosie is excited to see what gigi’s life is like up close. it’s both the biggest mistake of her life and the first real step to liberation. 

after the show rosie stays behind to talk to gigi and congratulate her. so, as her friends leave she hangs back with a bouquet flowers to gift her friend. it’s here that she meets julian, the lion tamer. nothing about their meeting is romantic in the way she knows romance and love to be. instead, it’s almost entirely carnal. their eyes meet and she finds herself wrapped up in want and need in a way she’s never known it before. 

despite her having a boyfriend at the time, rosie finds herself behind the tent caught in a kiss that’s nothing but heat and sure touches. julian is like no one she’s ever known before. he rides a motorcycle, smokes with far too much regularity and wears more black and leather than she thinks anyone person should be allowed to. he’s her first act of rebellion. 

rosie breaks up with her boyfriend not even a full day after meeting julian. her parents are...not pleased to say the least. this is where her relationship with her parents begins to get rocky. warm family dinners are replaced with rosie eating in her room alone. and instead of her parents telling her how proud they are of her all she gets is disappointed gazes and hurtful comments muttered under their breath. as much as she pretends that it doesn’t truly bother her, it does and she can’t help but blame her parents for loving an image in their mind as opposed to their actual child. her parents disown her when she admits to them that she rescinded her acceptance to corona university. with nowhere else to go, she moves in with julian because she feels as if she has nothing else.

!!!!   CHEATING AND EMOTIONAL/PHYSICAL ABUSE TRIGGER WARNING !!!

things with julian were never perfect, and rosie is no fool to have ever thought they were. but now that her entire life is wrapped around him it’s becoming more and more evident who he really is. it starts out small; him getting irrationally possessive if she so much as stood too close to someone. it escalates into being told that she’s unimportant and insignificant, and if she ever thought of leaving him she’d never find someone else to love her. her own parents didn’t love her enough, so how could anyone else? rosie, who’s spent her entire life biting her tongue, begins to believe his words and once again finds herself caged. 

julian is controlling, manipulative and selfish. worst of all, he’s a liar and a horrible one at that. rosie can practically taste someone else on his lips, she can smell perfume that’s not hers when she’s doing his laundry. it drives her insane, and she spends her days wondering if every girl she sees him y’all to is the girl she’s in secret competition with. it haunts her, and she can finally see how men are nothing but destructive forces. when she confronts him about it she finds herself on the receiving end of physical attacks that make her wary of sudden movements and flashes of anger in people’s eyes.

!!! DEATH & MURDER TRIGGER WARNING !!!

rosie won’t say she woke up one day and snapped. she knows herself well enough to know that’s not how this works. the rage has always been there, lying in wait until she was ready for it. she spends her days playing the part of the perfect girlfriend, smiling at every unfunny thing he says and pretending to find comfort in his arms. she needs to be the picture of love if she’s to get away with this. the decision comes to her easily, as if there’s not much to really think about here. and in hindsight, there isn’t: rosie has spent her entire life being tamed and she is not about to let some stupid, undeserving man continue the cycle. this is supposed to be her liberation. 

she will never admit to anyone that julian’s death was no accident, and she certainly won’t admit that gigi may have helped her. as far as anyone else is concerned, tragedy hit her like a thief in the night and stole the one thing she loved most. her taking julian’s place was a loving move made to honor him, because it’s what he would have wanted. 

she spent months shying away from the dating scene, playing up the broken widow role for the sake of her own ability to remain innocent. now that she is dating again she’s trying to take things slow, playing timid and unsure as not to give herself away. she’s bisexual, and now without her parents and julian breathing down her neck she can be open about that.

she loves her lions!!!! she takes great care in feeding them and grooming them, and has established a real great bond with them as if they’re just regular house cats. she respects them and in turn, they respect, rather than fear her. 

all black aesthetic bro! catch her wearing the prettiest laciest things in the world and heels do shape that they could double as weapons it’s who she’s always been underneath the ribbons and flats. 

really is the sweetest person despite everything. just...don’t cross her or hurt the people she cares about. 

loves horror movies and is a real sucker for a tragic love story. her favorite movie is jennifer’s body because to her, it’s both. and i mean jennifer check was right! 

aside from lion taming she does some trapeze work, putting her years of gymnastics to good use. she takes great pride in the name ‘mistress of the haywire’ 

she loves kids and works part time as a baby sitter on the island for some extra money. and honestly, despite the uh unfortunate nature of her exe’s death, kids adore her. she’s got a real motherly nature and is always up for adventures and crafts. 

likes taking care of people honestly. she’s always got little bandaids and neosporin in her purse. she’s prepared for most accidents, both because they happen frequently in both of her jobs and because she was going to be a doctor had she not decided to hell with that. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS

people who knew rosie before she left for the circus. either classmates, friends or people she tutored

circus regulars

exes. both before she left for the circus, and more recently. could be someone she just went on a few dates with to get back into the dating scene

hooks ups

all the usual stuff ya feel

[hookedontaronfics]

Honky Dancer series - Chapter 8

Chapter title: Consequences Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3  | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Trigger warnings for a subtle mentions of an eating disorder and some medical drama A/N: A lot happens in this chapter, and it’s quite dramatic. The chapter bears its name well; you cannot outrun the consequences of your actions, as our beloved Juliette will soon find out. I hope you enjoy this emotional ride! X

Night shoots, I quickly learned, were a special sort of experience. Most of us had tried to nap before the call time, and we were all standing around clutching cups of coffee, full of caffeine and running on adrenaline. The choreography for “Saturday Night’s Alright” required every dancer that was hired, and a cast of extras simply to fill the background too. The amount of crew and the rigging required to give the number an expansive feel also added to the sheer number of people on set at the moment. The volume level was almost too much, with everyone chatting excitedly.

I was standing with my usual group, minus Markus, who was giving me an extremely cold shoulder by not acknowledging my presence at all. I couldn’t blame him, though; I’d told him to never talk to me again, after all. But now that it was the next day and my simmering anger had dulled, and I’d managed to smooth things over with Taron, I wondered if I hadn’t acted out too irrationally. Blame the baby hormones, I thought ruefully to myself.

Being on that carnival set, amongst the twinkling lights and magical atmosphere, made us feel like we were transported somewhere else. And I certainly hoped that effect would come across on film when it was all said and done. My favorite part was the massive Ferris wheel, ablaze with color. I spotted Taron, talking animatedly with Dexter, and when he looked over I gave him a small wave, which he cutely returned.

“Ugh, adorable,” Leah commented, making me smile behind my coffee cup lid as I took another sip. After what felt like a waste of an hour, we were finally called into place. We discarded our coffees and dumped our jackets and bags and went through last-minute costume checks, the costumers nit-picking over the littlest details, adjusting collars here, snipping stray threads there. We had already been walked through some preliminary blocking, but now that the cameras would be turned on, we all wanted things to be as perfect as they could be. The less takes we all had to do for each beat, the better.

Still, that constant ripple of excitement and thrill ran through all of us and kept us going as the nightly hours wore on. Watching Taron in his element really felt like a treat though. How he managed to turn that energy on and maintain his performance level take after take after draining take was mind-boggling, really. And whether he was tired or not, he never showed it, and he stayed positive and kind to everyone around him. But even though the work itself was exhausting, I still loved everything about it. 

The track itself was phenomenal, and Taron’s vocals were strong. I never got tired of listening to it no matter how many takes we did. Giles Martin was a genius, keeping the original integrity of the song but building segments of the different musical influences that Elton had been exposed to and incorporated into his music over the many years, and those flavors had also been used in our dance styles. The choreography was engaging, energetic and exciting, and being a part of this musical number certainly felt like being a part of something much larger than ourselves. The sequence was a crucial part of the storytelling, and needed to feel as youthful and adventurous as Elton’s life was during that time.

I had to admit that I was more than happy when they finally called that night’s filming to a close, as the first creep of dawn was just beginning to tinge the sky. I felt the exhaustion and soreness in every fiber of my body, and blearily changed out of my costume, located my bag in the pile, and wearily made my way off the set and toward the tube station before realizing someone was calling my name. I whirled around, nearly knocking myself off my own feet as I stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk.

“Juliette! Hey, wait up,” Taron said, jogging over to me and sweetly brushing his fingers over my cheek, still somehow not looking exhausted. “Clara’s with her dad and your mum has Troy. Can I just drive you over to my place?” he asked, and I was so tired I didn’t bother arguing, and nodded instead, letting Taron slip his arm around me supportively.

“How are you not completely exhausted?” I grumbled.

“Well, I’m not pregnant, so that helps,” he quipped lightly. “But I’m also just used to it, I think. Not exactly the first night scene I’ve ever been in.”

“I can think of a few,” I smiled. “Bit of a fan of your work, here,” I teased lightly.

“Well you nearly have to be, now that you’re dating me,” he smirked back, and I cracked a smile despite my exhaustion. I sank gratefully down into the plush of the car seat, fighting off falling asleep right then and there. The last thing I needed was Taron taking it upon himself to carry me to bed, as sweet of a gesture as that would be.

“I think today went well,” Taron spoke into our tired silence.

“Really well, at least on our part. It’s always one thing to rehearse a dance. It’s another to see it in the place, in the world so to speak, the lights and colors and costumes. Something about that just made everything feel much more real today,” I replied. “And you… You totally killed it.”

“I don’t know if I killed it, but I wager I gave it everything I had,” he smiled, looking over at me.

“Well, I think, from what I’ve seen, you’re carrying this whole damn thing.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, running his fingers through his hair in the way he did when he felt humbled by something.

“Well I do,” I smiled, more to myself than anything.

“I am so ready to crash,” he yawned when we finally pulled into the drive and parked. 

“You and me both,” I sighed wearily. We made our way inside, and I realized oddly that I hadn’t been in his home for a fair bit. It felt just as cozy as before as he led me to the bedroom, pulling me to him for a couple of sweet kisses before we both got ready for bed, too tired for anything more. He did his best to try and block the morning sunlight creeping across the floor, able to darken the room a bit, and we curled up together and were sound asleep within minutes, my brain for once too worn out to keep me awake.

The baby, on the other hand, had other ideas, waking me up a few hours later. I stumbled to the bathroom and wretched, hardly anything in my stomach to get rid of. I groaned slightly and splashed water on my face before returning to my slumbering boyfriend. I checked my phone briefly, scrolling through social media mindlessly, waiting for sleep to find me again, but hunger found me first instead.

I got up and, still too exhausted to make anything else, popped some bread in the toaster oven, rapping my fingers on the counter as I waited for it to be ready. I smeared some butter on, then took a few bites, chewing slowly, my hand resting on my belly. But then the part of my brain that worried about calories kicked in, and I found I couldn’t eat another bite. I tossed the rest of the toast in the trash and reminded myself I needed to stay away from carbs as I returned to the bed, not entirely satisfied but at least my stomach had stopped gurgling uncomfortably.

“Mmmm,” Taron murmured next to me, turning over and sliding his arm over my waist and nuzzling into my neck. “Can’t sleep?” He asked, cracking his green eyes open and looking at me.

“I got sick. And then I got hungry,” I smiled, as his eyes drew down to my stomach, his fingers splaying out under my sleep shirt and caressing my skin there sweetly.

“This will be worth it in the end,” he said gently, kissing my forehead. “Try to get some more sleep. Tonight will be difficult if you don’t.” I nodded at that and tried to let him soothe me back to sleep, and I eventually did end up drifting off again.

We woke with enough time to shower, make some dinner, and watch a little telly together before heading to set and doing it all over again. The second night seemed a little easier, but maybe it was just because I knew more of what to expect, the lag between scenes, the flurry of activity, the massive rigs swinging around and being readjusted constantly, the dead space where we had to try and keep our bodies warm, the constant makeup and costume retouches, the attempt to keep our energy up through the slog of what felt like a 14-hour night. We had fun with some bumper cars and there might have been more horsing around than actual dancing during that sequence.

The next two nights felt a little more laid-back, as a bulk of the large group shots were already done. The transitions into and out of the scene, with the bar and with Kit Connor, who played the mid-aged Reggie, were the focus of those days, so I spent more time sitting around than anything else, but that also gave me time to be curious about the behind-the-scenes machinations of putting a movie together. I found it completely fascinating, so different and removed from what I did on the stage when I danced professionally, a completely different set of lingo I didn’t quite understand. What was a grip? A racking focus? A polarizer? I had no idea, but hearing people talk casually about the technical aspects made me feel curious to know more.

Needless to say, I was grateful when night shoots, at least for that sequence, were done. It was kind of saddening to see the carnival get dismantled, but of course it had only been put up for the film and I knew that. I had to return to my own crazy schedule, my daughter and my own students and trying to balance that with further rehearsals for “Bitch is Back” and time with Taron as well, though the next few nights he spent at my home with me. It wasn’t even a conversation we had, he just showed up every evening, joining me in making dinner and helping Clara with her homework and walking Troy and just generally filling a space in my home I hadn’t realized had been empty. Eventually I thought it was high time he had a key, so I made it a point to make a copy and give him one.

“You’re in the special group of people who gets one of these,” I giggled as we cuddled on the couch together, long after Clara had gone to bed.

“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “And just how many people get a key to my girlfriend’s abode?” he chuckled.

“My mum, of course. Zayn, just in case something came up with Clara. Now you…” I smiled, as Taron flipped the key around in his palm slightly. He seemed a bit reserved about it, but then he’d been a bit reserved the past few nights. I chalked it up to just being knackered from night shoots until he sighed slightly and spoke my name in a hesitant manner.

“Juliette. I really need to ask you something,” he said, his eyes focusing somewhere just above the crown of my head.

“Anything, T,” I replied, even though a cold knot had formed in my stomach.

“Markus pulled me aside the other day and um, he wanted to pass along a few… things.” It was just like Markus to try and fuck everything up for me, even if we weren’t together. Even if I’d thoroughly ended things. Why could nothing in my world stay perfect, ever? I swallowed past the lump in my throat, willing my voice to not shake.

“I’m sure he wasn’t doing so out of the kindness of his heart,” I said coldly.

“Of course I took things with a grain of salt. We haven’t exactly had the best history, Markus and I, all things considered,” he said, finally focusing on my face, but the look of hurt that knitted his brows caught me off guard. “But he told me that you two were still together, that you slept with him again, when you had told me you wanted to be with me. When you were supposed to have broken up with him. And you never told me about that, and your nonadmission might as well have been as good as lying to me,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly.

“I… I’m so sorry,” I tried, my brain still processing what he was saying to me.

“I’ve been wrestling with this for a few days, whether to ask you about it or not. Whether to strike a divide between us or not. I’m forgiving, but relationships have to be founded on trust and communication, neither of which you’ve given to me, and that hurts.”

“I tried to break up with Markus. I tried to tell you that I failed. I felt so...humiliated and… ashamed. Of my history, of my weakness, of this shitty pattern I’ve never been able to get myself out of. I never meant it to hurt you, so I thought I could protect you from… me,” I said, stumbling over the words, unable to keep the tremor out of my voice. “You have to believe that, please.”

“I believe you, it’s just a misguided principle, really. Relationships sometimes hurt. Sometimes you have to be raw, and open, and vulnerable, and ugly in front of the other person, and sometimes that makes them hurt for you, because they love you. I want to accept your flaws, your imperfections, but I can’t do that if you won’t open up to me. I can’t do that if I can’t trust you to be honest with me. I can’t do that if you try to protect me from the difficult, painful bits. I can’t do this, if you won’t extend that to me,” he said into the dead silence of the room. My heart was near pounding out of my chest and I felt the need to get sick.

“What are you saying, Taron? Are you breaking up with me?” I asked softly, tears already threatening in my eyes.

“I just need...some time. To think. To know where I stand. I am hurt, and you’ve got to learn that there are consequences for your actions. But I’m not leaving you, no,” he said as evenly as possible. “I told you I loved you, through the hard times too. I stand by that. I just need you to try and earn my trust back,” he said softly, brushing his fingers lightly over my chin.

“Okay,” I sniffled slightly, feeling the shame burning in my chest.

He leaned over and set the key on the coffee table, the clink of the metal against the wood top making me cringe slightly, before he stood up and turned to me.

“I’ll see you around at the studios. We’re not going to be strangers. But there is this wedge we need to deal with, and I hope you can understand that.”

“I created it,” I said, a couple of tears rolling down my cheeks. But I couldn’t pity myself; I had done this. I had turned Taron away from me, yet again. I had made a muddled mess out of something that should have been good and pure.

“Hey, no need to cry. We will work through this, alright?” he said, tipping my chin up to look at him, but his face was fractured into a thousand tiny pieces through my tears.

“Why would you want to? Why aren’t you pissed off at me?” I asked, pulling away from his touch, his arm returning to his side awkwardly.

“I was, at first. But I try incredibly hard to not act out in anger. It never leads to anything good; it tends to cause more problems than it solves. I also know that even while you had promised to choose me, you really hadn’t, not yet. I wanted to believe I’d be enough to convince you...” he trailed off.

“Fuck, of course you are, T. You’re the best thing that’s ever really happened to me. And I keep trying to ruin it, so maybe you’d be better off without me dragging you down,” I said harshly.

“Stop, stop. I won’t let you talk about yourself that way,” he said, kneeling down in front of where I sat on the sofa, directly into my line of sight again. “Your self-loathing won’t help anything. Please see that.”

“Maybe I’m one person you can’t fix. Maybe no one can,” I said shakily, and Taron sighed deeply.

“I hope this feels better in the morning, but going around in circles on it with you all night won’t help either. I’m going to take my leave, and you should get some sleep, and we’ll figure out how to move forward together. That is, if you still want to.”

I couldn’t give him an answer so the silence between us yawned open until he stood up and placed a soft kiss on my forehead before gathering up his jacket and letting himself out the door. I’m not really sure how long I sat there, staring at nothing, thoughts whirling around my head. Time passed me by unnoticed until Clara padded barefoot into the room.

“Mum?” she asked, and I startled back into reality.

“Yes dear?” I asked, trying to push back the edges of darkness I felt threatening to overcome me.

“I got sick in my bed,” Clara said, starting to cry.

“Oh, honey,” I said, instantly sweeping up off the couch and going to attend to my sick daughter, cleaning the linens and giving her medicine and crashing in my bed with her that night, her feverish little body shivering next to me as I held her tight. At least I had this; I could look at my bright, inquisitive, beautiful daughter and know I had a hand in bringing her up in this world, hopefully teaching her how to avoid the pitfalls I’d fallen into in so many ways. I was grateful she was still young, that boys still had cooties and she was still years from her first kiss, her first love, her first heartbreak.

By the time the morning rolled around, neither Clara nor I had gotten much sleep, as much from Clara’s illness as from my dark thoughts. I called my mum to see if she could watch my sick kid while I went to teach classes and later Rocketman rehearsals, and of course my mum was all-too-kindly available to come over. I tucked Clara in her own bed, glad that her fever had come down overnight, and called school to tell them she wouldn’t be in that day while I waited for my mum to arrive. I made some coffee, desperate for the caffeine boost, and when my mum finally made it across town I blearily stumbled through my day. 

I couldn’t help glaring daggers at Markus’ back during rehearsals every time he wasn’t looking, which was most of the time, but I knew that was petty. It certainly wouldn’t make him apologize for ratting me out to Taron, and it wouldn’t take back what happened between us either.

By the time I got home I was completely exhausted, but Clara was feeling better and I couldn’t just crash out, even if my mum offered. I shook my head, telling her she’d done enough already for me, and sent her home with a thank-you pound note she tried to protest but I slipped into her purse anyway when she wasn’t looking. I ended up tossing a frozen pizza in the oven, but found it difficult to choke down the calories, while Clara didn’t seem to notice how little I ate as she chowed down on her slices. We watched a movie together, and I admittedly might have nodded off a few times, the Disney songs drifting in and out of my dreams.

I was so happy once Clara was tired enough to put to bed; I even skipped a shower just so I could faceplant in my bed that much quicker. I missed Taron’s warmth next to me as I pulled the blankets tightly around me. He promised we’d be okay, but what if he found more reasons to stay away from me in this temporary absence? What if he didn’t really miss me all that much? What if I was the one that was unlovable? I shivered slightly under the covers, the darkness creeping even closer than it had before in my mind, threatening to take over as I sank into a restless, dreamless sleep.

That darkness that resided inside my brain manifested itself in my attempt to control my calories; every little thing I put in my mouth had to be accounted for, and controlling my diet seemed to help me calm my nerves. Even when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control, this one thing I could have total control over. I had exactly one scrambled egg white and 8 ounces of a protein shake in the morning, a 150-calorie protein bar at lunch, a handful of plain unsalted nuts for a snack to sustain my energy, and usually made some fish and vegetables for dinner. Eating for two was an absolute myth; I was religious about my prenatal vitamins and making sure the growing baby inside me was still getting the crucial building blocks it needed. But overeating wasn’t going to help either of us so I stuck to my routine, obviously varying things up for Clara so she wouldn’t be bored or wrinkle her nose up at my dinners. 

Over the next couple weeks of classes and rehearsals, I started to see an instant change in my arm and leg tone, and that made me at least happier. I had been needing to lose that unnecessary weight for years, and even if I couldn’t stop my belly from getting bigger, I could stop the rest of me from following suit.

As we headed full on into the summer months, the weather grew hot and sticky, as London weather was wont to do. We’d been rehearsing the Broadway musical-style choreography for “Bitch is Back” for a while in the studio, but were finally taking rehearsals outside, into the back lot to do some initial blocking. Taron was of course there, sporting some mockup cardboard wings that looked completely ungainly to manage. But somehow he did, as we danced our way through the piece and Dexter showed Taron and Matthew Illesley, who played the youngest version of Reggie, how the scene would operate.

I could feel the sweat trickling down my back, down my arms and legs, dripping off the edge of my nose. We were all allowed to wear our sunnies since it was a rare bright day in London and we weren’t officially filming yet. But when the production was able to secure the Pinner Street location, we would all need to be ready to go, so putting in this work now was important. They made us take a lot of breaks, providing Gatorade and water in massive jugs to keep us all hydrated, but I was beginning to feel rather sick to my stomach and had to fight through the nausea for the rest of the rehearsal.

Seeing Taron there, being so close to him and yet feeling far away, was painful. He acknowledged me, but it was mostly in a professional manner, and I could feel the difference in my bones. I wanted nothing more than to have him scoop me up in his arms and hold me to him, but that reality had been shattered. There are consequences to your actions, Juliette, the words popping into my brain and making my heart ache. I couldn’t run from those consequences; the only way to move forward was to accept them and move through them.

But how was I going to be able to prove to Taron that he could trust me, when we weren’t even spending time together? What grand gesture could show him how much he meant to me? I wasn’t really sure, and these thoughts hounded me throughout the day.

The next few days were much the same, the temperatures staying sticky hot and making me feel worse for wear. Pregnancy and heat did not go well together, and I found myself taking a few more breaks than everyone else, coming up with some lame excuse as I hadn’t told anyone on set I was pregnant. Only Taron and Markus knew that, and well, we all know who actually did his part to check in with me, concern written all over his face.

But then rehearsals suddenly ground to a halt, and we were left in a strange holding pattern as the production moved onto other scenes, keeping to its schedule and of course keeping Taron very busy. We had a couple short rehearsals to keep the choreography fresh in everyone’s brains, but there wasn’t much else for us to do. I focused more on teaching my classes, texting off and on with Taron when he’d ask how Clara was doing.

<She’s got a recital next week, if you’d like to go. She’d probably like that; she’s been wondering why you haven’t been around as much. I just told her it was because of work.> I responded one evening.

<Of course, I’d love to go. Text me the details and I’ll be there.>

And be there he was, dressed in a sharp navy suit coat, a white shirt underneath, and pressed slacks, looking as handsome as he ever did. Sitting next to him was almost intimidating, stealing glances at each other, sharing awkward smiles with each other as we waited through student after student, some well-practiced, others not so much, waiting for Clara’s turn.

When she got up on the stage, I could hear a bit of an audible gasp from the crowd; my opinionated little girl had chosen to don a sequined, sparkly pink jacket over her recital dress, and she had on a pair of star sunnies too, “just like Elton!” she’d declared when I’d tried to convince her otherwise.

“That’s our Clara,” Taron grinned over at me with a chuckle, before looking down at my hand and slowly taking it in his. I sucked my breath in slightly, still staring straight ahead as Clara took a seat at the piano. “You look beautiful today,” he whispered in my ear, taking in the light summer dress I’d chosen.

“Thank you,” I said, glancing over at him, those dimples of his causing my heart to flutter again. That special thing we had, it wasn’t gone by any means. We sat through my daughter’s songs, Clara gamely making it through Bach and Debussey with only a few stumbles, before getting to play a chosen song. And of course she’d chosen “Your Song,” playing it with gusto to much applause and appreciation from the audience. She gave an enthusiastic bow after her performance and skipped off the stage, returning to us excitedly as we were still clapping for her.

“Lovely job, sweetheart,” I said happily, giving her a huge hug.

“I think Elton himself would be very proud,” Taron added, making Clara grin so big she was showing off her toothless gaps.

“Yeah, if only he’d been able to watch it,” she sighed, making us both laugh.

“He’s a very busy man, but maybe some day you could play for him,” Taron said, as I playfully slapped his arm.

“Don’t promise her that!” I hissed slightly under my breath, but Taron waved it off.

“I’m sure I could get it arranged,” he said, as Clara fairly begged Taron to stay around for dinner. He obliged, and it turned into a really decent evening, the first one I felt I’d had in a bit, even after Clara commented “ewww, fish again?” when I served us dinner. He stayed long enough to tuck my daughter into bed, but said he probably shouldn’t wear out his welcome, though we lingered too long at the doorway, unspoken words and feelings passing between us.

I was actually at the academy when I got the phone call that the Pinner Street location had been secured, and that we’d be needed on set within a few hours. I scrambled to get my afternoon classes covered and made sure mum could pick up Clara from school before heading over to the studios, arriving just in time to get through hair and makeup. We changed into our costumes and were all boarded onto a shuttle and driven across the city, dropped off on a suburban street where crews were already busy setting up rigging for the cameras.

The place was an absolute blur of activity as us dancers huddled in the shade of some trees, trying to stave off the bright sunlight. We used each other to stretch and warm up, a steady hum weaving through the shimmering air as directions were shouted loudly, people running frantically to and fro. I hadn’t imagined this much chaos as the rest of the production had always been incredibly orderly. But I supposed this could happen with locations in the streets; it probably was a pain in the ass to secure city permits to shut entire blocks down for filming. When the city gave you a window of time, you had to spring into action; there would be no dragging feet here.

This sequence, of course, was an important element of the story that brought Taron into the picture as a sort of segue from rehab into his childhood years. It involved the other patients in rehab and the counselor, a brass band, and Taron in a bright orange neoprene Elvis-inspired devil costume with massive wings. The first time I saw him in it I nearly tripped over my own feet. The costume left very little to the imagination, but it was also somehow fitting to the vision of Elton that Dexter and Taron had created for the film. Elton at times played the devil, but he could also be the angel, and in many ways he was neither and both at the same time in his own story.

I loved the energy of this part of filming; the heat, not so much. The makeup crew constantly had to step in and powder us all between takes, and I’m sure our costumes weren’t going to smell very nice by the end of it. The filming day was kept short, as there were heat advisories and the production certainly didn’t want anyone to pass out. The heat sapped the strength right out of my body, and I wondered at how weak I felt as I made my way home, knowing I’d have to fight through the next few days in the same way.

The weakness in my body didn’t really abate the next day, and was joined by more nausea. Even if I didn’t get sick, I still felt turned inside out. I could barely stomach water, but I made myself push it down nonetheless. If my performance suffered for it, no one said a word to me. The third day, the dizziness hit me like a sack of rocks, making me stumble into another dancer and completely ruining the take. I mumbled my apologies and tried to concentrate the best I could. My muscles knew the motions; my brain couldn’t keep anything straight so I tried not to think too much and let my body do the work it knew by memory.

But some things you cannot win against, no matter how hard you fight. Weeks of undereating had caught up to me, leaving me emptied out; spots began to dance across my vision, my skin flushed cold despite the heat, and I found it difficult to breathe. I vaguely thought someone was calling my name, but I couldn’t hear them over the rushing in my ears. The music continued on, but my body did not; I dropped to the ground and stayed there. I don’t remember hitting the pavement, but I came to with my face burning, pressed against the hot surface. I was dimly aware of people gathered around me, and I thought I heard Taron yell at someone to “get these bloody wings off” before bright orange swam into my view.

“Juliette, can you hear me?” he asked as he knelt down beside me, the material of his costume stretching taut over his thighs. I don’t know why my brain focused on that, but I couldn’t move my head enough to look up at his face. The crystals glittered almost painfully bright in the sun as my vision went in and out of focus.

“She’s probably got heat stroke,” one voice said.

“Give her some space,” another added.

“Where’s the fucking medic?” someone else in the throng of voices shouted, my brain picking these out amongst the murmurs.

Did I really look that bad? I wondered, unaware of how crumpled I must have looked. Someone brought over an umbrella and at least shielded me from the sun; someone else tried offering water but I could neither hold the bottle nor swallow when it was poured into my mouth, vomiting onto the pavement instead, a strange thought that I should be embarrassed weaving its way through my brain, too wispy for me to grab onto.

I felt my body being moved as my pupil reaction was checked, my pulse taken, my body fussed over. Words were said that I didn’t understand and then I was being lifted through the air on a stretcher and pushed into the back of an ambulance. I flicked my eyes around at the faces staring down at me, the hands pushing IV lines into my arms, everything blurry and strangely in slow motion. 

And then I felt the sharpest pain in my abdomen, making me cry out. I instinctively tried to curl into a ball but the straps held me down, and I started to feel panic rising in my chest as another sharp pain wracked my body. I clutched at my stomach, gasping out something incoherent; this wasn’t right, and I knew it could only mean something terrible was happening.

“Oh god, the baby,” I heard Taron say, his voice sounding too loud and tinny to my ears, my secret spilled out for everyone within earshot to hear.

What was happening to my baby?, I thought, as more hands poked and prodded me, more needles stuck into my flesh, more words were said I couldn’t make sense of. All I could understand was the shivers that shook me, the pains that tormented me, the blackness that threatened to overtake me. The noise was too loud, the siren, the beeping machines, the medics’ voices, the rattling of wheels over roads as we sped toward the hospital, the hush of the cast and crew we left in our wake, growing in a cascading crescendo inside my brain until, mercifully, there was silence. 

I began to float into the void, the absence of noise, of feeling, of the physical realm, detached from what was happening to my body. The darkness came up to meet me, soothing me, warming me, easing me into slumber, the medicine working through my veins, easing the fire in my body. And then everything, everywhere, went black, and I was gone.

This is not the end of the story. Read Chapter 9 HERE.

[frame-to-frame]

On Griffith’s Sacrifice, Coping Mechanisms, and Heartbreak

This is an essay that jumps off from the amazing  Griffith   meta written by @bthump (most particularly part 4). All of the groundwork for the following argument is laid out there, this is just an elaboration on Griffith’s decision to make the sacrifice, though I hope it also stands on its own.

CW for extended discussions of self harm, self loathing, and suicide

~~

What I love most about Griffith’s fall into villainy is that it’s not motivated by ideology. Unlike the villains we’re used to, who differ from Our Heroes on the basis of their (often warped) ideals (e.g. a belief in anarchy, vengeance, hierarchies between peoples, etc.), Griffith does not ultimately make a moral or ideological decision to perpetrate an evil act. In his choice to become a monster, as he finally capitulates and chants “I sacrifice,” he’s not justifying a utilitarian worldview that proclaims that the sacrifice of a comparative few is better for the long run for humanity as a species (even if this does end up being the ethical consequence of his actions with Falconia). No – in his final human moments, Griffith isn’t weighing the pros and cons of moral philosophy, instead, he’s making an emotionally motivated decision, one ultimately based in guilt, self loathing, and the inability to live with a broken heart.

I want to draw out (at length, I’m sorry) the motivations behind Griffith’s final decision to sacrifice the BotH and, most importantly, to sacrifice Guts. In this reading (which ofc is just one interpretation of this sequence, but one that I think hangs together rather well), I’m mainly suggesting two things: one, that this is, at its core, an act of self destruction, specifically self harm at its most extreme. And two, that when Griffith makes his sacrifice, he’s not choosing to finally attain his dream, it’s all about the choice to “cut [his] love asunder.”

In my view, this decision is a manifestation of Griffith’s impulse toward self harm finally functioning as a weapon pointing outwards instead of just inwards. In his sacrifice Griffith has been driven to such a point of unbearable emotional pain that self annihilation through harming the person he loves most in the world seems like the only option left – and so he decides to sacrifice Guts in order to not just hurt but utterly destroy himself.

So how does he get to this point?

Making the decision to hurt/kill Guts, more than the BotH (as we’ll get into), is the extreme endpoint of Griffith’s trauma and emotional damage (his self loathing, emotional dependency, etc.). Leading up to this he must reach what he thinks of as a point of no return, of unbearable emotional pain, and he must also have all other possible escapes and coping mechanisms stripped away. When he makes this decision, he is at the darkest, most emotionally damaged moment of his life.

As I see it, Griffith has two central mechanisms to cope with the pain and negative feelings he can’t deal with (usually his guilt): emotional repression/denial/rationalization (I’m considering this as a bundle) and self harm. The first is Griffith telling himself that the pain doesn’t exist; the second is telling himself that he deserves to feel it.

To recap, since reuniting with the BotH, Griffith has been grappling with the knowledge that he essentially has no worth to anyone anymore and that he is entirely dependent – not just because of his post-torture physical state, but more fundamentally because he’s realized that he’s in love with Guts.

It only makes sense, then, that his overhearing what he thinks is Guts’ plan to leave him again functions as the tipping point for that final, unbearable emotional burden of a broken heart. As a form of self protection, Griffith summons a cavalcade of coping mechanisms to attempt to avoid the heartbreak that comes with the recognition that he can’t fathom a life or a future without him.

Let’s run down how these defense mechanisms and the possibilities to escape his heartbreak are dismantled piece by piece, leading up to the moment the behelit opens:

When he first overhears Casca and Guts’ conversation, Griffith’s first instinct is to try to run away back to his dream, falling back on that familiar combo of denial and emotional repression. When he takes the cart and irrationally follows that fleeting vision of his dream, he’s once again trying to deny that Guts is more important, attempting to convince himself that the dream can still serve as an effective replacement for losing Guts.

However, once the cart is overturned and the dream vanishes, he is forced to accept that this dream of a kingdom is not an escape – it’s gone from his reach. All he has left to look forward to is a future without a dream and without Guts, a realization communicated through his hallucination of a domestic future life with Casca.

During this hallucination sequence he is still trying to rationalize away the pain of losing Guts forever. He tries to repress, tell himself that this is fine, it “isn’t so bad,” because he’s still trying to protect his heart.

But then the behelit reappears, first in his mindscape and then, afterwards, summoned by the threads of fate, and the possibility for his dream re-emerges in a tangible way. At this point, whether the behelit only serves as a physical reminder of living his dream, or whether he knows on some level the significance of its reappearance – that it means the real possibility of choosing his dream over Guts once and for all might once again be in reach – this marks a fundamental change in Griffith.

After this point he’s no longer calm, or determined, or resigned – he loses his composure completely and goes into hysterics. He’s not repressing or redirecting anymore, he just freaks out. So why is the behelit’s appearance what seems to trigger this? Personally, I read this as being the moment he truly realizes that the dream isn’t enough.

The look on his face in response to this physical reminder of the dream is nothing short of terror.

This is why, I think, immediately after glimpsing the behelit and awakening from his nightmare, Griffith tries to kill himself, as he lies, body broken, in the river. What makes the most sense to me in interpreting this sequence of events is that Griffith is confronting on a fundamental level that nothing is worth losing Guts, even the dream can’t replace him, and that ultimately nothing can.

This is the moment he accepts that he doesn’t even want to choose the dream anymore – and that, consequently, there’s nowhere left to hide from his pain.

In attempting to commit suicide he’s still trying to protect his heart; the only answer it seems to him, as a final escape, is choosing to die over living a life without Guts, dream or no dream – over living with the pain of a broken heart.

He, of course, fails, because fate has other plans, and the soul-shattering despair of his heartbreak steadily begins to creep over him (as the Eclipse monsters close in around him). At this point he is trying to hold back that unbearable, undeniable pain of knowing he is about to lose the only thing that truly matters to him, forever; this is the knowledge that he will not be able to cope with Guts leaving him again, that ultimately nothing can fill that void.

Once the behelit is actually in his hand, he begs Guts not to touch him – “I’ll never… never again with you…” – this desperate pleading is his final, futile attempt to protect himself, because he knows that at the touch of his hand on his shoulder, and all the visceral reminders of his emotional dependency bound up in that, he will be unable to hold back the floodgates of loss and despair that threaten to overwhelm him – the realization that no, in fact it isn’t “fine” to lose him forever, even if it means getting to live his dream after all.

I think you can read this scene in terms of Griffith realizing what’s about to happen or not, either works. If you buy that he does realize it, his begging Guts not to touch him has the added layer of desperate terror over the prospect of being forced to choose his dream over Guts once and for all.

When the behelit opens, this marks the utter breakdown of Griffith’s first coping mechanism – in this moment, he can no longer deny, repress, or escape from the pain of his broken heart. In and after this moment he is stripped bare, left utterly naked in his emotional vulnerability.

When he goes on to catch Guts as he falls from the pillar of heads, Griffith’s desperation is so nakedly on display it’s almost uncomfortable to look at. There are no masks left to shelter him from his emotional pain. He simply has to live it.

Despite thinking that Guts is going to leave him, that Guts was always disgusted by him, Griffith still, irrationally, impossibly, loves him and wants to save his life at any cost. He doesn’t want to choose the dream. He’s not yet ready to make the sacrifice – he still prioritizes his love for Guts over everything else, even though his heart is broken and the pain of it is clearly unbearable.

That’s where the Godhand’s guilt trip comes in.

Now, I read this sequence as working in a very particular way. In my view, their whole spiel here isn’t simply telling Griffith that the dream is still within reach – this is something I believe he’s already realized can’t replace losing Guts; it’s functionally irrelevant to help him cope with his pain at this point.

More importantly, what the Godhand is doing is persuading Griffith to make the sacrifice, by leaning on his guilt and self loathing. This may seem like splitting hairs, but this is the heart of my point: that Griffith isn’t being convinced to choose the dream, he’s being convinced to cut his love asunder.

They’re ultimately reminding him of what lies at the core of his dream: his guilt and monstrousness, in order to convince him that he ultimately deserves to feel the pain of sacrificing what he loves most, because he is, at his deepest, truest self, someone evil, dirty, cruel. They’re not getting him to choose the dream, they’re getting him to choose the sacrifice, and we can see this in the way the sequence is constructed.

What the Godhand is actually telling Griffith is that sacrificing his loved ones (not, ultimately, attaining the dream) provides an effective way out of this unbearable pain, because it will allow him to shed his own humanity: finally becoming the monster he always (thought he) was. This is ultimately what convinces Griffith to agree to the sacrifice.

As a reminder, at this point, Griffith has zero capacity to deal with the feelings of guilt that comes with the mountain of bodies the Godhand lays at his feet throughout this sequence. He’s emotionally vulnerable, his heart broken and his capacity for emotional repression at an all-time low. The Godhand also remove the possibility for Griffith to rationalize this long-standing guilt away (as being “for the greater good”) by telling him that all those choices along that road of corpses have been evil acts; that he is, fundamentally, already a monster: someone who deserves to reap what he’s sown.

As we’ll see, this tactic of leaning on Griffith’s self loathing isn’t strictly necessary to get him to sacrifice the Band, but it is necessary to get him to sacrifice Guts.

Basically, the guilt trip is designed to remind him of his inner monster, what he hates most about himself, in order to ultimately convince him to perpetrate an act of self harm, as both punishment and atonement for the actions he feels intense guilt over.

It’s not a coincidence that the same language keeps coming up in their emotional manipulation. This is who you are.

This particular reading of the guilt trip sequence circles back to the sentiment I opened with – that Griffith’s decision to make the sacrifice is not based in an ideology of utilitarianism. He’s not being convinced by the sunk cost fallacy (though this does play into it with respect to sacrificing the BotH) – he’s ultimately being convinced by being told that he is already a monster, and that accordingly the only thing he can do is embrace that self-loathing impulse to destroy everything he cares about – because this is who he is: someone who is, at his core, already evil.

(And, quick sidebar, I’m not sure I need to say this, but I don’t think anything Griffith did was actually evil up until his decision to make the sacrifice. He was just another leader who had to make hard decisions. This whole thing is just the Godhand playing into Griffith’s fucked up conception of himself.)

Remember that Griffith already associates the guilt of pursuing his dream with both self loathing and what he believes to be his own monstrousness. His willingness to put others in harm’s way for the sake of his dream is what he’s always hated most about himself and why he feels he deserves to suffer and be punished over it. We know he feels guilt about allowing people to be sacrificed for the sake of his dream, his “filthy schemes,” etc. – basically he feels guilt about putting others in harm’s way in order to further his own goals. These goals, of course, are not evil in themselves, but instead are ironically and perversely motivated by justifying those same acts as a sort of vicious circle.

And remember that he already has a pattern of coping with this guilt primarily through self harm, because this capacity for monstrousness is the greatest source of his self loathing. Having sex with a child predator, viciously self harming, and the risky behaviour that ultimately lands him in a torture chamber are just small steps on the road to “I sacrifice.” This final act is framed by the Godhand as the ultimate way to punish himself for continuing to pursue the dream, by embracing what is cruel, dirty, and loathsome about himself.

Up until this point, the guilt trip has been centred around Griffith’s general guilt over sacrificing people for his dream. It’s been designed around getting Griffith to agree to sacrifice the BotH, and so accordingly, this section of the guilt trip ends with this:

Here we see medium shots/closeups highlighting the faces of the BotH, who “should forgive [him],” because they have already agreed to lay down their lives for the sake of his dream. However, we also see Guts, who stands apart from the Band, depicted alone in extreme long shot in the corner of the page… and this is where the Godhand’s emotional manipulation gets really dirty.

The next pages are as follows:

This final section of the guilt trip is so utterly manipulative. The first handful of times I read this part I was really confused by why Void says this – don’t the Godhand know that the dream doesn’t matter anymore, that it’s no longer dazzling in Griffith’s eyes? That the junk has grown dull?

Without thinking any deeper about this, it’s easy to read this moment as Griffith choosing the dream over Guts – that Griffith is deciding that yes, it is more dazzling than anything. But of course, Griffith (and we as readers by this point) know it’s not. It’s been hammered home already that the dream pales in comparison, that nothing is worth losing Guts, not even for the sake of his dream.

What I think Void is actually doing here is subtly redirecting Griffith toward the deepest source of the pain he truly cannot bear: his loss and heartbreak. Void’s tactics here are indirect, he doesn’t say it outright, but he is gently pointing Griffith toward who in fact lies in the ruins of his dream, who is more dazzling than anything. It’s not a coincidence that “in the ruins of your dream” is overlaid on a panel of Guts’ face.

The way the guilt trip is laid out differentiates Griffith’s decision to sacrifice the Band from his decision to sacrifice Guts. Remember that from Griffith’s perspective, Guts has already decided to leave – he’s functionally no longer a member of the BotH. Guts didn’t want to be Griffith’s soldier, he wasn’t just meeting a fitting end for what he always wanted in life (to prop up Griffith’s dream).

Those constant reminders that he’s a monster aren’t ultimately for the purpose of getting Griffith to sacrifice the Band – in fact this is something he’s already effectively agreed to do a chapter earlier:

No, all of this been leading up to convincing Griffith to sacrifice Guts.

And, indeed, what’s promised to Griffith directly after Void’s declaration is “raven-black wings” – it’s the promise of becoming one of the Godhand, of becoming Femto, not of obtaining a castle or becoming emotionally repressed NeoGriffith. It’s the promise of becoming a monster. And in fact the kingdom doesn’t even rate a mention:

Griffith isn’t choosing the dream, in fact it doesn’t even rank anymore. The appeal is the sacrifice itself, not what comes after. No part of this sequence is designed to make choosing the dream appealing to Griffith, it’s all about the dream’s negative aspects: the self loathing, guilt, and monstrousness that come along with it. The Godhand is trying to convince Griffith that he’s already reached the point of no return, that he’s already made too many evil choices to come back from, and thus he deserves everything that comes along with making this choice.

What’s happening here is that Void is conflating Griffith’s guilt and his heartbreak into one jumbled mass of pain, and he’s telling him that he deserves to feel all of it, because he is, at his core, an evil person. The Godhand is telling Griffith that he deserves not only to have his heart broken, but to hurt the person he loves most, because he’s never been worthy of love in the first place, that he’s always been a monster. This is ultimately Griffith’s reason for choosing to sacrifice Guts – because he has been convinced that he deserves to feel the pain of sacrificing what he loves most.

So when Griffith finally acquiesces and accepts the sacrifice – finally saying “yes,” right after this, Griffith follows it up with the declaration that “You’re the only one… who made me forget my dream.” This sentiment is also, on the surface, really puzzling – because why does he say this of all things in this moment?

But what he says actually makes a lot of sense if you read this as being the moment Griffith realizes, at Void’s subtle prodding, that he’s not just going to have to sacrifice the Band, but that he’s going to have to sacrifice Guts as well. It’s working in direct response to Void’s “If even now, that castle… is in your eyes more dazzling than anything.” This is his answer to that question. No, it’s not – you’re the one who made me forget my dream. You’re the one who made the junk grow dull.

I don’t even read this as an accusation made in anger, there’s no malice in his face at all… his hatred is reserved for himself alone.

“You made me forget my dream.” Ever since the torture chamber, from when Griffith equates the dream with “junk,” to his terror at the prospect of the behelit, to the guilt trip over the road of corpses, the dream has been exclusively framed in negative, destructive terms. Pursuing it has been the most loathsome, unconscionable part of himself, the part he can’t live with, and in and through the guilt trip he’s just experienced, Griffith has fully recognized that.

In this sense, what might at first glance be read as spite (“you made me…”) actually functions as the complete opposite. Guts making him forget his dream was a good thing. You were my light out of the darkness. And that is why it has to be you.

This is actually Griffith’s final declaration of love. It could have just as easily been: “Yes. I love you most of all, more than anything in the world. It’s you I have to sacrifice to become a monster.”

This marks the extreme point of tension between love and hate, the “suffering so profound as to make someone rip himself apart.” This is loving someone so deeply that it utterly destroys you to hurt them.

And if you choose to read it this way, it sure does put a whole new spin on “The life you couldn’t take by your own hand, the life of the person you loved the most and hated the most!! You gave it to us!!” if the person you loved the most and hated the most are, in fact, different people. After all, he did actually give them both of their lives. And really, the only time we ever see Griffith’s hatred actually being directed at Guts was for all of about five seconds after he rescued him from the torture chamber.

“You’re the only one…Who made me forget my dream.” The look on his face here is one of acceptance and self loathing, not one of anger, spite, or accusation. His sad smile points directly back at those others we’ve already seen as Griffith recognizes and accepts, with utter self contempt, this aspect of himself – that he is someone willing to do wicked and cruel things that he hates and wants to punish himself for. It’s got that same sense of knowingness to it too – it’s that final confirmation of “yes, you were right, I am a fucking monster. This is the proof.”

To restate my point, it isn’t that the Godhand’s guilt trip convinces Griffith that finally grasping his dream can fill the void of his loss and heartbreak. To Griffith, the appeal of making the sacrifice doesn’t lie in his being able to finally choose the dream over Guts once and for all – it’s in being able to become a monster (i.e. someone willing to do selfish, evil deeds) in order to bury his heart. The guilt the Godhand lays over him throughout this sequence in this sense actually functions as a sort of salve, a reminder that this is, at his core, what he’s always been.

The Godhand is giving him one final escape from his pain – the annihilation of his unbearable, painful humanity. If Griffith is in no position to attempt suicide bodily, then doing it spiritually is the next best option: to destroy his soul, his humanity, in and through his sacrifice, by burying his heart in the body of a monster. And by monster I don’t mean Griffith knows he’s going to become Femto per se, just that he has been pushed to the point of believing that he is someone capable of committing a true act of evil in sacrificing the person he loved most.

At this point, Griffith has nowhere else to turn – his capacity to deny or repress his feelings is gone, his choice to kill himself as an escape has been taken away from him, and he knows he can’t live on with the intense pain and guilt that threaten to overwhelm him. The only answer left is the inward-outward pointing sword of self destruction.

To sum up, there are four main reasons (at least for the purposes of this meta)* that Griffith makes the sacrifice, which are all jumbled together in a complicated, self-loathing mess:

It allows him to justify the deaths that weigh on him by finally achieving his dream

It validates what he thinks Guts always thought he was (“You believe that, don’t you?” / “You of all people”)

It allows him to “atone” for the actions he feels guilt over by self harming/dirtying/punishing himself by hurting the person he loved the most

It provides the possibility of living with the pain of his heartbreak by becoming someone truly evil who seemingly wasn’t ever worthy of love in the first place

*Despite my saying this, there’s actually still a ton to say on this topic – but since they don’t strictly fit this meta’s argument, I’ll just briefly mention a few additional reasons (also motivated by self loathing) that Griffith agrees to the sacrifice: the chance to become able bodied/physically superior (and not just equal) to Guts (a God with wings to “soar in the heavens”), the self-destructive appeal of finally making a selfish choice (vs. “for their sakes”), etc.

Basically, in this moment Griffith is embracing that deciding to become a monster, at the highest pinnacle of self loathing, is doing the worst thing he could possibly imagine and killing the one thing he loved most and thought he had left in his life (“take all you have left”) – turning that sword outward onto Guts in order to turn it most damningly back on himself. Through this act he has actually become the monster he always thought he was.

Because, let’s be real, Griffith’s decision to sacrifice Guts is an evil choice: he is doing harm to another person from a selfish, morally indefensible place. While the BotH’s sacrifice can still be rationalized away as their meeting a fitting end – a death they had already agreed to in service of “the greater good/dream” – sacrificing Guts is the actual step he needed to take to bury his heart and self destruct completely.

Griffith’s decision is still coming from a place of extreme self loathing and psyche-shattering pain. We may completely understand and sympathize with him in his final human moment; he is after all motivated by guilt, self hatred, and a broken heart – but his sacrifice particularly of Guts is still crossing a moral line. This act can’t be justified in any moral or ideological sense, only in an emotional one.

This why the sacrifice of one’s most dearly beloved (not soldiers) is necessary for apostlehood in the first place. In other words, to become a monster, you need to hate yourself so much that you’re willing to hurt the person you love most, in order to not just hurt but utterly destroy yourself – to turn the sword outward in order to turn it back inward once and for all.

The Afterword: Femto and NeoGriffith

Reading Griffith’s choice to sacrifice Guts as an act of self loathing also provides an interesting perspective on Femto if we read him as a manifestation of Griffith’s last, self-destructive human impulse: a crystallization of his last tear shed. Because if we read Femto as having become basically that same inward/outward-pointing sword, he is essentially an embodiment of Griffith’s self loathing, self harm, as well as his capacity for cruelty, monstrousness, and guilt.

In that sense, Griffith’s acts of cruelty as Femto are all manifestations of that same self-loathing impulse to not just hurt those around him, but to ultimately hurt himself by lashing out at those he cares about – to make Guts and Casca hate him in order to justify the hatred he feels toward himself. In that sense it makes some kind of ironic sense for him to keep Guts and Casca alive, as a parallel masochistic reminder to Guts’ of the “wound” he left him.

Even if OG!Griffith is not actually in there somewhere to actually experience that pain in whatever capacity (though he clearly is, his heart was buried, not destroyed), Femto can still be read as a crystallization and embodiment of that final act of self hatred, which becomes truly monstrous/evil when it’s finally directed outward at others.

And if Femto is Griffith’s self harm personified, then it only makes sense that NeoGriffith is an embodiment of his other coping mechanism – denial and emotional repression.

And, let me also point out, both coping mechanisms are set up to be taken down by the recognition that Guts loved him all along.

Thank you for reading,

Thoughts, critiques, and disagreements are very much welcome