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anakinstwinklebunny · 5 months ago

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SWEETHEART!ANAKIN HEADCANONS 2

TW: at some point it contains mentions of small sexual content (like breast kissing), so if you're feeling uncomfortable with it, please do not read

Author's note: you wanted it so I deliver it kindly to your notifications or whatever. It's long just for people who asked for even more sweetheart!ani - link

Maul - Manny Montana

Cal - Cameron Monaghan

Shmi - Pernilla August

Sweetheart!Anakin who, after founding out that your ex boyfriend cheated on you multiple times, drove to him with baseball bat for aggressive negotiations. It was the only and the last time he'd use force to hurt someone. Even if it felt good to make him regret even daring himself to think about other woman when he had you, Anakin felt guilty, dirty. And in that moment he promised himself to never do that again

Sweetheart!Anakin who tried to do everything to cheer you up after the break-up

Sweetheart!Anakin who obviously asked you out to prom and that moment started a relationship between you two

Sweetheart!Anakin who often took you out on small dates where you just drove around the neighborhood or around the city. Ending the day with watching the stars on his car

Sweetheart!Anakin who, as a teenager, fully acknowledged that you are the one he wants to spend the rest of the life with, so from that time he saved money for an engagement ring;

"I want to marry y/n," he proclaimed with a sense of pride, looking earnestly at his mother.

She glanced at him with a tender smile. "Ani, you're only fifteen," she responded softly, her eyes filled with both affection and concern.

He puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders, a gesture of youthful determination. "But I’ll be sixteen soon," he insisted with unwavering resolve.

His mother’s smile broadened, and she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before turning back to the sink to wash her hands. The kitchen, filled with the comforting aroma of evening cooking, seemed to embrace their conversation.

"And sixteen is a very mature age." he continued, his voice following her as he leaned against the counter. "I’m quite mature for my age. I have more responsibilities than most boys my age," he added, his tone a blend of earnestness and pride as he studied the gleam of the kitchen’s fixtures.

"I know you do, baby"

He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze fixed intently on her. "Then why don’t you believe me when I say I want to marry y/n?" he asked, a hint of a pout tugging at his lips.

"I didn’t say I don’t believe you," she replied gently, focusing on cutting a carrot. "I said you're too young to get married, and I’m sure y/n’s mother feels the same way."

He slumped against the counter with dramatic flair, crossing his arms and frowning deeply. "That’s not fair," he muttered under his breath.

"Why isn’t it fair?"

"Because why should I wait in the first place?" he insisted, his tone resolute. He watched her slice the carrot, his thoughts consumed by y/n. "She’s the best person I know, and she’s so beautiful," he added with a heavy sigh, his heart and mind wholly set on her.

His mother’s lips curved into a tender smile as she walked over to kiss the top of his head before opening the fridge to gather ingredients for dinner.

He leaned against her for a moment, peering into the fridge and surveying the array of food. "She smiles in the most enchanting way," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "And her eyes are perfect, like the sky on a clear day." He could have gone on endlessly about her, but this was just the tip of the iceberg in expressing his love. "She deserves the best, and I want to give that to her."

After small pause, he continued, "She’s so smart and kind, always ready to help others. Yet, I don’t think she fully realizes how amazing she is. She has this incredible sense of humor that catches me off guard and makes me laugh so hard..." He glanced at his mother, searching for her reaction. "I promise I’d take good care of her," he added quietly.

"I know you would," she replied softly.

He studied her intently, determined to win this argument. “Then why can’t I marry her?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Ani,” she sighed, her tone gentle. “We’ve discussed this before. You’re too young.”

He pouted but continued to watch his mother prepare the meal. He was stubborn, but he understood when she was resolute. “So when will you let me marry her? When I’m eighteen?”

“It’s not just about age,” she explained softly. “It’s about being truly certain that she’s the one you want to spend your life with. Marriage is a serious commitment, Ani. I wouldn’t want you to marry young and later regret it. I want you to be absolutely sure, when you’re an adult.”

He huffed, knowing her arguments were difficult to counter. Though he was only sixteen, he couldn’t imagine his life without y/n.

“Yeah, yeah, but still,” he muttered, frowning as he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

Sweetheart!Anakin who at the age of 20 bought an engagement ring from the money he saved. It was a radiantly shining five stone round brilliant diamond. White gold with two diamond stones at each shoulder and the biggest one in the middle. It perfectly reflected the light; so flawless, so luminous. He was grinning like crazy at the thought of possibly slipping it on your finger;

(here's link if you're interested in what it looks like: ʕ⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴥ⁠ꈍ⁠ʔ)

“Just promise you’ll wear something special tonight, okay?” he said into his phone, his anxiety evident.

“Ani, I’m not deaf,” your voice came through the phone with a hint of exasperation. “I’ve heard you.”

“I know, I know,” he said, still holding the ring close to eye it from different angles. “I just want you to look extra stunning tonight.”

“You always say I look beautiful in anything I wear,” you replied.

“Because you do look absolutely gorgeous in everything,” he said quickly. “But I want tonight to be special. I want you to look drop-dead gorgeous.” He added, stopping at an old bench. His stomach churned with nerves that refused to let go.

He could almost envision your smile through the phone. “Then I’ll wear something drop-dead gorgeous just to make you fall to your knees” you teased.

His heart skipped a beat at your words. He already knew you'd make him fall to his knees tonight, especially with what he plans to do. You could hear his chuckle through the phone. But it was a bit different, as if excitement and anxiety surged within him. “I have no doubts about it,” he replied, leaning back against the bench and taking a deep breath to steady his racing heart.

He had to admit he was terrified, but not of your answer. His fear was that he might mess up, say something awkward, or forget to ask you properly. For millions times, or even more, he imagined this situation. From being just a teenager, to this day he thought what he'll say, how he'll say it and where it's be. It was almost overwhelming, he had never felt so much adrenaline and squeezing his insides stress in his whole life. He took a few more deep breaths and a sip of wine, trying to remind himself that this was the most significant moment of his life and everything will go perfectly

His gaze shifted to the entrance of the restaurant, and he nearly choked on his wine. You were smiling at the waitress who checked your name before letting you in. He was utterly stunned. You were wearing a crimson red dress that clung to your curves perfectly, driving him crazy with your beauty.

For a moment, it felt as if his heart had stopped, and he could hardly breathe. Time seemed to stand still, his mouth going dry as he took in your appearance. You looked... simply perfect. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. His mind struggled to comprehend how you could look so incredible, and the realization that you were dressed like that just for him made his throat even drier.

The dress was a mermaid cut, hugging your hips beautifully. It was adorned with small, shiny gemstones that made it shimmer even more, accentuating your cleavage in a way that made his breath catch. He was certain he was on the verge of a heart attack as he watched you approach their table after making an eye contact. The way the dress clung to your figure was driving him to distraction, so he bit his lip and took a deep breath, struggling to calm his racing heart. He mentally cursed himself for staring at your cleavage, though he couldn’t seem to look away. Everything about you was mesmerizing, and his heart continued to race. He knew his hands would be shaking if he had to hold them up right now. As you drew nearer, all he could do was smile, feeling the knots in his stomach as he stood to help her into her seat. After you were seated, he pushed the chair back and sat down again, unable to tear his eyes away from you. The breathlessness returned as he took in every detail of your appearance, from your slightly messy bun to your full, raspberry lips. “You look...” he began, pausing as he searched for the right words. Gorgeous was the first word that came to mind, but it felt inadequate compared to the way you looked. He let out a small, breathy chuckle. “perfect,” he said, his mouth going dry once more at the sight of his beautiful girl “Thank you, you look very nice as well,” you replied warmly. He took a deep breath, attempting to regain his composure. How was he supposed to concentrate when you looked so stunning in a dress that revealed so much? He was afraid that being too distracted might cause him to mess up this important moment. He managed a small smile and nodded slightly. “Are you hungry?” he asked with a light chuckle, picking up his menu to review it again. “Oh gosh, yes,” you said with a sigh, immediately reaching for your own menu. He struggled to hold back a smile as he reviewed the menu, trying to focus on the food. At this point, all he could concentrate on was you. You were more than just beautiful; you were beyond words. Terms like gorgeous, stunning, and magnificent seemed inadequate. You embodied perfection in that moment, leaving him utterly mesmerized. Your presence rendered him speechless, a feeling that was not new but was intensified every time he saw you in a something new

As they enjoyed their meal, you broke the silence. “What’s going on today? You’re all dressed up, my mom was unusually excited and insistently walked after me to make me wear a dress.. Is there some special occasion? Did I forget something?” your cheeks flushed deeply in what came an embarrassed and slight shame “You didn’t forget anything,” he grinned to himself. He knew your mother was aware of the proposal since he made sure to first ask your parents for approval. “Can’t I just take the beautiful woman I love out to dinner?” you only blushed deeply, feeling extremely exposed to him. But not only from the revealing dress you've never wore before but also spiritually, as if your whole being was revealed to his loving eyes “Stop looking at me like that,”

“Like what?” he feigned innocence, though he knew exactly what you meant “Like I’m about to vanish if you close your eyes,” he chuckled again, “well, you’re so stunning, sometimes I feel like you’re not real” he leaned back in his chair with a smile.

Sweetheart!Anakin who proposed to you after asking your parents for approval/blessing;

He held you close as you strolled down the street, his jacket draped over your shoulders not only to keep you warm but also to offer a bit more coverage for your stunning dress. You looked breathtakingly beautiful. He glanced at you again, unable to suppress the broad, foolish grin spreading across his face. He felt a surge of readiness—he was poised to ask the question that would forever alter your lives.

"Do you remember our first date?" he asked, his voice tinged with anticipation.

your lips curled into a teasing smile "Are you referring to the one in kindergarten or the one in high school?"

He chuckled, rolling his eyes with affectionate exasperation, though the recollections made him smile. "You could say both," he replied, slowing your pace to take in your face properly.

"Well, I loved both," your smile turning warm and genuine. "You were adorable as a six-year-old."

"Were?"

"Now you're handsome and cute" your eyes dancing with affection.

He could only smile, almost feeling his face muscles giving up from too much pressure and stretching. However, he ignored the slight pain to guide you to a quieter, more secluded stretch of the street. The area was dimly lit, and while a few pedestrians were scattered about, no one was in your immediate vicinity.

"Do you remember when we had our fake engagement?" he murmured with a nostalgic glint in his eyes.

you laughed softly "Of course. Although the ring pop you gave me was devoured a long time ago."

"Maybe this one will last a bit longer," he said with a nervous edge in his tone, his thumb lightly brushing your knuckles.

you started to chuckle unexpectedly. "What do you—"

Before you could finish your question, he sank to one knee, his eyes locked with yours, a profound sincerity in his gaze. He released your hand to retrieve the small black box from his pocket.

He opened it slowly, revealing the ring he had chosen earlier that day. As he held it up, his gaze fell back to yours. In that moment, he realized that no amount of carefully crafted words could capture what he felt. What mattered was the truth of his emotions. He didn't need a grand speech; he just needed to be sincere.

"I... I don’t have a fancy speech prepared for this," he murmured, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

He took another deep breath, his fingers tightening around the box.

"But what I do have is the truth," he continued, his voice breaking slightly. He didn't mind his emotions showing; he didn't care that he was overwhelmed. You were standing before him, the most beautiful person he had ever seen, and that was all that mattered.

"The truth is, I am absolutely and completely in love with you," he said, his gaze steady despite the lump forming in his throat. "Every part of me—my heart, my soul—everything belongs to you." He swallowed hard again, struggling to keep his composure.

"You are the first thought I have each morning and the last one at night. Just your presence brings me more joy than I can express..I-i can't imagine a day without you, or my life without you. You are everything to me...And I want to spend the rest of my life with you," he continued, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "To love you, to share each day and night with you, to hold you close, to watch you grow, and to see you shine even brighter than you already do." He took a shaky breath, his resolve firm despite his emotions.

“So, I asked for your parents' blessing, and they gave it to me. But the only approval I need is yours,” He offered you a reassuring smile, drawing another deep breath to steady his pounding heart and quell the sudden surge of anxiety.

He lifted the ring higher, holding it out to you with a hopeful gaze. “I love you more than I ever thought was humanely possible. So will you… will you do me honour a-and-- marry me?”

Well, that was unexpected. All the words he just said, brought an expression full of surprise and emotion. Never in your life, you experienced such love from a person. It was.. overwhelming to say the least. But maybe it's normal? Since we, people, were created to give and receive love? So when you finally meet someone so commitment to what God gave us, it feels so right and pure?

He held his breath, his mind racing through a thousand thoughts. For a few agonizing seconds, silence hung between them, heightening his anxiety. “You’re supposed to say something,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling self-conscious and vulnerable.

You chuckled softly, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Oh gosh... I—yes.”

"Yeah?" He grinned

“Of course!” you confirmed with a beaming smile. As he rose from his knee, he quickly slipped a shining ring onto your finger and pulled you into a tight embrace, lifting you off the ground with joy.

He held you close, just spinning you around in his arms, laughter spilling from both of your lips while great happiness enveloped him. His smile stretched wider than he ever thought possible. When he finally set you down, he gently cupped your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, pouring all his love into the moment.

Pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, he let out a soft, breathy chuckle. “I love you so much,” he said, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. He still could hardly believe it—you had said yes. You wanted to marry him.

“Are you crying?” you asked with a giggle

“Maybe,” he admitted quietly, wiping the shear tear with his hand

Sweetheart!Anakin who cried during the wedding;

As the wedding drew nearer, Anakin's nerves began to get the best of him.

"No, Ani, that’s not quite right," Shmi chided softly, her tone gentle yet firm.

He sighed deeply, staring at the tie in his hands with frustration. After twenty minutes of futile effort, the tie remained stubbornly askew. “Why is this so difficult?” he muttered in exasperation.

Shmi stepped in, gently nudging his hands aside to take over. “Come on, you’re just nervous.”

He sighed deeply, glancing down at her with a mixture of nerves and excitement swirling in his stomach. Today was monumental, perhaps the most significant day of his life. He was about to marry the person he cherished more than anything in the universe, and the nerves were unmistakable. His mother was right. As always.

“Is it that obvious?” he asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

the chuckle followed her words. “Yes.”

He managed a smile, though it came out a bit forced. He reached up to run his nervous fingers through his hair, but his mother’s gentle slap on his hand stopped him in his tracks. “Stop messing with your hair.”

He huffed lightly but relented, knowing it was pointless to argue. He wanted everything to be flawless, and he knew his hair was part of that. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady his pounding heart and quell the fluttering in his stomach. “There’s going to be so many people,” he murmured.

“Does it bother you?” she asked gently.

He shifted uncomfortably, averting his gaze as he pondered the question. The prospect of so many people was daunting, but the real unease came from something deeper. It wasn’t the crowd that unsettled him; it was the sheer magnitude of the commitment he was about to make. He struggled to articulate his thoughts. “I just…” he began, but the words eluded him. It was the concept of marriage itself that churned his insides with anxious energy. “No, I suppose I’ll manage. But… can she?”

“Don’t overthink it, Ani. Everything will be okay.”

He exhaled slowly, taking a deep breath to steady himself. His mother was right—it was just nerves and anxious energy. Feeling nervous before a wedding was normal, wasn’t it? He shouldn’t let his mind spiral. It would all work out in the end. At least, that was what he hoped. He glanced out the window, realizing that they would be heading to the ceremony soon.

His mother pressed a soft kiss to his forehead before leaving him with his friends.

After gazing out the window, he leaned against the wall, glancing at the clock to see the moments ticking away. The anticipation of seeing you in your wedding dress was almost overwhelming. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen you dressed up before, but today was different. Today, you would be in a wedding gown that would make you even more breathtaking than usual. He was sure of it. The thought alone sent a shiver of excitement through him, making his heart race and a smile tug at his lips.

“Take a shot, Skywalker,” Maul called out, already on his third drink. "You'll feel much better"

He rolled his eyes, though he understood his friend’s need for a drink. The situation was enough to make anyone want to take the edge off. He accepted the shot glass, downing the contents in one quick motion before handing it back. The warmth of the alcohol began to ease his nerves. “Just don’t get so plastered you end up embarrassing me out there.”

“I’ll make sure to record how you're crying when y/n walks down the aisle" cal teased

Anakin shot him a sharp look, but the other guys just chuckled. “Shut up. I won’t be crying,” he insisted, crossing his arms with a hint of stubbornness.

As you stepped into view, his heart skipped a beat. Watching you walk down the aisle felt like witnessing something out of a dream—no, a fantasy. You were beyond beautiful; you were ethereal, an angel descended from the heavens. Your long dress trailed gracefully behind you, and the delicate veil covering your face only enhanced your allure. As you drew closer, his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes began to well up with tears. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from you, completely captivated by the sight of you.

Maul leaned in and whispered, "You are crying."

He quickly wiped away the tear that had escaped, grumbling a soft “shut up” in response, though there was no real bite to his words. His eyes were locked on you, unable to look anywhere else. Every fiber of his being ached to pull you into his arms, to hold you close. But he knew he had to wait, just a little longer, until the ceremony was over. The anticipation was almost unbearable, but seeing you—seeing his future with you—made the wait worth every second.

Sweetheart!Anakin who cried during his speech;

Anakin takes a shaky breath, his voice already thick with emotion as he starts to speak, tears glistening in his eyes.

"I—I’m not sure where to start. I’ve thought about this moment so many times, and now that it’s here, it’s just…overwhelming..." he chuckled through already building tears "When I look at you, I can’t believe how lucky I am. Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but whatever it was, I’d do it a million times over if it meant I could stand here with you today..We’ve known each other our whole lives. From the time we were kids, you’ve been there. You’ve been my best friend, my confidant, my partner in crime. You’ve been the person who’s seen me at my worst and somehow still loved me. You’ve been my light, my beautiful star in the night sky, guiding me through every dark moment..There were times when I felt lost, like I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing, but you—you—were always there, like a steady hand pulling me through. You’ve filled my life with so much love, so much joy, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find the words to tell you how much you mean to me."

Anakin paused to wipe away a tear that escaped down his cheek, his voice trembling as he continues reading the written words on the paper.

You make me want to be a better man every single day. When I look at you, I see everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I could ever need. You’re my heart, my home, and I’m so damn lucky that I get to call you my wife..And as your husband, I promise you this: I will love you with everything I have. I will protect you, support you, and cherish you, no matter what life throws our way. I will be your rock when you need strength, your shoulder when you need to cry, and your biggest fan when you reach for your dreams. I will stand by you, through every high and every low, and I will never stop trying to make you as happy as you’ve made me..I’ll be the one who wakes up early just to watch the sunrise with you, and the one who stays up late, talking about our dreams until the stars fade away. I promise to laugh with you until our sides hurt, to hold you close when the world feels too big, and to never stop reminding you how incredibly beautiful you are—inside and out. I promise to be your shelter, your adventure, and your comfort all rolled into one. To love you fiercely and gently, with every beat of my heart. And I’ll make sure that every day, I give you a reason to smile, to feel cherished, and to know just how deeply you are loved..You are my everything, my shining star in the night sky and I promise that I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you’ve made me. I love you more than words could ever say, and I can’t wait to spend forever with you."

Sweetheart!Anakin who, for your honeymoon, took you to different planets

Sweetheart!Anakin who doesn't really care if you're shaved (down there) or not shaved. He always says that for him it's not gross (since you thought it'd be for him) and if any man thinks that way, he's an idiot. For Anakin having sex with you is not only a very pleasurable activity but a deep, spiritual connection between a husband and a wife. And, he loves you. He saw the worse of you, and the best, and he loves every single version of you. So, if you haven't shaved (and you're still up for some love making), he really doesn't care about some hair to go through

Sweetheart!Anakin who is highly considerate, always thinking of ways to make you feel special and appreciated. He remembers little details and surprises you with his thoughtfulness every day.

Sweetheart!Anakin whose physical touch is a big part of your relationship. He often holds your hand, brushes your hair out of your face, and gives you warm hugs that make you feel safe and cherished.

Sweetheart!Anakin who is your rock during tough times. His calming presence and unwavering support help you navigate challenges, and he always knows how to make you smile, even on your worst days

Sweetheart!Anakin who loves taking you on little adventures, whether it’s a spontaneous road trip, a hike in nature, or simply exploring a new part of town

Sweetheart!Anakin who has a soft spot for animals and usually brings home strays or injured creatures to take care for, of course to your surprise and unknown

Sweetheart!Anakin who is the type of partner who not only encourages you to pursue your hobbies/dreams but also actively participates or helps in any way he can, whether it’s by acquiring rare materials for your craft or simply being your biggest cheerleader.

Sweetheart!Anakin who enjoys dancing with you, whether it’s a slow, intimate dance in the living room or a fun, upbeat dance at a party. He doesn't even need music, he'd just swing and hum the song, twirling you around

Sweetheart!Anakin who has a special way of waking you up in the mornings (mostly on the weekends or free days from work). He either does it by quietly whispering sweet words, gently playing with your hair, or even bringing you breakfast in bed with your favorite morning drink.

Sweetheart!Anakin who knowing your love for stargazing. He once spent an entire evening mapping out the constellations visible from your favorite spot. He even named a star after you, the one that always appeared above your house at night. The one that was slightly bigger than others, that shined more than every other. He didn't really care if this star was already named by astrologers, for him it only had one name - yours. As a symbol of how you light up his life every day

Sweetheart!Anakin who sometimes leaves you coded messages or puzzles to solve, leading to hidden surprises or secret dates. And often refuses to help you;

"Ani… please…" you whined softly, taking slow, tentative steps toward Anakin, who was casually leaning against a tree, his hands buried in his pockets, with that familiar smug smirk playing on his lips. "Just one hint."

"No can do, Rapunzel," he teased, shaking his head slightly. "I can't make it too easy for you."

"Please… Is there any way I can convince you to change your mind?" Your voice was sweet, almost pleading, as you inched closer, hoping to sway him.

He smirked at your words, struggling to keep his laughter in check as he watched you use that soft, pleading tone of yours. It was hard not to be swayed by how endearing you were.

"Nope. You’re going to have to try a lot harder, sunshine."

You stepped closer so your lips would brush tenderly against his jawline. Each kiss was a sweet, teasing caress, making it even harder for him to maintain his composure. He felt the familiar warmth of your soft, plush lips, and he closed his eyes, savoring the sensation. His hands instinctively moved to your waist

"….yeah, still not working. Not at all."

"Please… I love you so much." Your lips traveled to his neck, each kiss a gentle whisper of affection that made his resolve waver further.

He tilted his head to the side, giving you better access as his eyes fluttered shut. His grip moves down to your hips, and he murmured your name in a low, hushed tone, his mind starting to drift and blur with the sweet distraction. "You know, you’re quite the menace."

"Now that’s not the hint," you teased softly, your lips brushing his neck.

"Mm… You’re incredibly lucky I’m so head over heels for you," a smile tugging at the corners of his lips

With a final, tender embrace, he pulled you against him. He hesitated for a moment, but the look in your eyes made it clear that he was utterly defeated by your charm.

"Alright, alright… It’s behind the tree."

Your face lit up with a triumphant smile as you planted a quick, grateful kiss on his cheek. You then stepped back, eagerly heading towards the tree

Sweetheart!Anakin who's experiencing your changing hormones during your period. Sometimes you'd just say things he'd find funny, desperately trying to not break in laughter for your sake, but again, he's very patient with you. Since for him, there are times when he'll treat you like a queen you are but there are times when you need to be treated like a little girl

Sweetheart!Anakin who LOVES cuddling to you. He could do it for the whole day, just stuck to your body with no care in the world;

Anakin clung to your side, his arms and legs wrapped around you like a giant koala bear. His face was nuzzled into the curve of your bare neck. He was undeniably, hopelessly, and utterly clingy.

“You don’t want to go to sleep?” you asked softly, your voice a tender murmur as your fingers played gently with his curls, tugging them just enough to send shivers down his spine.

He sighed, the sensation of your touch stirring something deep within him. Burying his face further into the crook of your neck, he inhaled your sweet, addicting scent, mumbling against your skin, “No… wanna stay like this.”

He shook his head slightly, his legs tangling with yours beneath the covers. Tightening his embrace, he pressed himself closer, as if trying to fuse you into one with him. The feeling of your body against his—soft, warm, and familiar—was something he could never get enough of. With a lazy, contented sigh, he trailed his fingers slowly over your bare skin “You’re so warm.”

You giggled softly "Thank you, though are you sure it’s me and not just the duvet?"

He groaned in mock frustration, shaking his head and nuzzling his face into your chest, a bit more insistently this time. “You,” he mumbled, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot on your cleavage. His hands continued their lazy, loving exploration of your skin, each touch lingering as if he were committing every inch of your to memory. “It’s you. Your body. Your skin. You’re warm.”

His nose traced the line of her collarbone, a soft, contented noise escaped him, somewhere between a hum and a sigh, as he buried his face against the curve of your breast. The warmth of your body, so close and so inviting, was almost overwhelming in the best possible way. “You give me butterflies, you know?” he murmured, his voice a little breathless before he added with a quiet, reverent sigh, “Or forget butterflies… I feel the whole zoo when I’m with you.”

He breathed you in as if he could never get enough. “I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “God, you have no idea.” The warmth in his chest only grew stronger, a mix of love and longing that made him leave a trail of tender kisses along your full breasts “I’m gonna miss you…”

you smiled softly, brushing a hand through his hair although you held back a small moan “But I’m not going anywhere.”

With a playful, exaggerated sigh, he placed his chin on your chest, enough to look at you. A slight pout forming on his lips. “But I’m gonna fall asleep, and I’ll miss you in my dreams… I just love you that much… wildly, insanely… infinitely…”

Sweetheart!Anakin who isn't the type to ask you for nudes, since he prefers when you send him the photos of your smile

Sweetheart!Anakin who won your (and his) family's kids love. Whenever your families interact, the children are just rushing to Anakin so he'd play with them, draw something for them or say something funny

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @fuckmyskywalker @slutforfinnickodair

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

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nerdiel-has-no-braincells · 1 year ago

Text

If I Stay

feat: michael kaiser x f!reader

summary: after unexpectedly running into michael, he sees the one thing you didn’t want anyone to ever see: your bruises.

cw: aged!up, abusive relationship (not michael & reader), angst, physical and emotional abuse (not michael & reader), trauma, smut (mdni), please do not read if this will trigger you (for your own safety and mental well being 🫶🏻)

a/n: i am so sorry for the wait with the second chapter! i was completely broken after jjk 236 leaks and it just stopped all creativity in my brain . but i’ve worked through it as best as i could!!!

The both of you stare at each other, neither one expecting to see the other in this part of town. He was a professional football player for Bastard München and you worked 2 barely above minimum wage jobs to support your family. Needless to say the difference between your income was more than enough that you wouldn’t see each other for the next hundreds of kilometers.

Michael’s expression shifted from shock to his usual confident and snarky smile as he relaxed, realizing it was you. You forgot how much you hated that expression.

“Long time no see, babe.” He said, causing you to cringe at the pet word.

“What are you doing here?” You asked in a demanding tone. Did Alexis mention that you lived here and he wanted to annoy you?

Your brain brought up many different scenarios while you waited for his response. You could swear you could see the gears in his head working to come up with an excuse in order to hide his true intentions.

“I moved not too far from here today. I was just getting dinner.” He finally responded, holding up the convenience store food he was holding.

Glancing at the food, you realized how unlike him it was to eat something in this manner. He believed in eating healthy; no junk food, take out — nothing. And yet here he was buying convenience store food.

Noticing you eyeing the food, he chuckles.

“I don’t have food at home just yet and I’m too tired to shop for food after the move so I’m breaking a rule.” He said as if he could read your mind.

Looking back up at him, you raised a brow.

“Why did you move here? I thought you’d live near the higher end part of the city.” You said, waving your hand as you spoke.

Michael chuckled before answering. “Here I won’t run into paparazzi as often and I can just relax. Plus Ness said you lived nearby.”

You blinked as you stared at him. Why would your living nearby make any sense? Because he knew you? It’s not like the two of you were close. You were simply the little sister of Alexis.

“Since when did you not want to be in the spotlight?” You asked, rolling your eyes.

A finger pushed up against your forehead, giving your head a light push.

“Even I enjoy my quiet time, liebling. People change you know.” Michael said, the smile never leaving his face as he let his hand fall to his side.

Rubbing your forehead with your brows knit together, you exhaled through your nose.

“You never seemed like the type who could change.”

Michael chuckled once again before he ruffled your hair. “Everyone can change.”

You knew those words rang true more than anything after seeing how one man could change so much. Or was it a side that he hid from you all this time? Swiping his hand away, you tore your eyes away from him. As much as you didn’t want to go home, you needed to get back before your fiancée figured out you left.

What you didn’t realize was when you lifted your arm, your sleeve rolled down slightly to show a glimpse of the bruise on your wrist, which Michael did not miss.

Grabbing your hand, you looked at him with an alarmed reaction as you weren’t sure why he did that until you watched him roll down your sleeve to show the bruises that littered your arm. Your breath hitched when the expression on his face transformed from his usual nonchalance to pure, unadulterated rage.

Pulling your hand away, you covered your arm again and turned to leave. Michael’s hand reached back out and wrapped around you, pulling you into him.

“Who did this to you, liebling?” He asked, his voice reduced to a low growl and it made you shiver. You never knew he could be so angry. It was terrifying. You never want to be on the receiving end to such anger, which said more than enough of what your reality was.

Ignoring his question, you looked up at him, choosing to look into his anger-filled eyes.

“I need to go, Michael. I left my daughter at home and…and I need to get back to her.” You were hoping, praying that he’d just let you go.

Michael’s eyes immediately soften and he let you go.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized before a smile blessed his face once more. “If she’s anything like Ness, she’ll be worried sick that her mama’s missing.”

You rolled your eyes playfully before making your hasty exit. You didn’t dare to look over your shoulder as you picked up the pace.

Michael watched as you left the store. Once you were gone from sight, he pulled out his phone and dialed the one person he knew would pick up every time.

“Ness? It’s me. Have you gone to see your sister yet?”

You woke up the next day, thankful that when you had come home the night before, your fiancée was still asleep. Even your daughter was sleeping still when you checked on her. Not risking seeing you dressed, you changed into your pajamas and went back to sleep.

As you were picking your daughter up from preschool, you felt your phone vibrate. Taking it out of your pocket, you grinned as soon as you saw the caller ID.

“Alexi!” You greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“(Y/N), my cutest sister!” Alexis squealed, making you giggle. Ever since he graduated and was signed on full time with Bastard München, you didn’t see your brother as much as you’d like since he was busy with practice and games. Of course you went to every game you could and watched the games you couldn’t go to on your phone.

Regardless of how you feel about Michael, the two of them were great together. You don’t know what happened when members of Blue Lock joined their team, but it changed the both of them for the better when it came to their plays. Despite being over the age of 20, they were still signed with the team per their coach’s request, but that would only last for the next couple of seasons.

“The season’s over for the year so have a break! I decided to come home so that I could spend time with you and our mom and dad.” Alexis continued. “I just landed last night and want to get dinner with you. How does that sound?”

You thought about it and what you were expected to do tonight. If you went, your fiancée would not be happy as he expected dinner at a specific time, and you didn’t want him to be alone with your daughter because as much as he loves her, he’ll be sure to cook for the both of them but as soon as you come home, you’ll be expected to receive hell.

Your best bet would be to take a rain check so you can plan better.

“Sorry Alexi, I have plans tonight. How does next week sound? I should be available by then!” You responded.

Alexis groaned before responding. He was looking forward to seeing you but you wanted to get rid of the bruises on your neck at the very least.

“Ok. Next week though! Be sure to bring my adorable niece. I have gifts to give!”

Your heart felt so full. You never expected your brother to love his niece as much as he does. You’re not even sure why you doubted it since he loves you as much as he does.

You guessed the nerves came from the possibility of finding out who the father was. He still didn’t know you were back together with him, not after the breakup in high school.

“Of course! Emma misses you! She’s watched all of your games and proudly talks about her uncle.”

Alexis let out a squeal of awe and it made you laugh.

“Let me know what day works best for you and we’ll plan it, ok?” Alexis asked.

You nodded as if he could see you.

“You got it Alexi. Love you! I’ll be sure to tell Emma when I pick her up. I’m just about there now.”

“Love you! Tell her I love her bunches!” Alexis said before hanging up the phone.

You chuckled as you shook your head. He was always so silly when it came to you and Emma, so when you first saw him play, you were surprised to learn he could be so serious. You knew he could get angry for you, but he never showed you that side of him, you just heard about it from others.

As you get to your daughter’s preschool, the children had just finished class so you were greeted with your daughter bouncing her way to you before jumping into your arms. You hid the pain from the bruises from her, the other kids, their parents, and the teachers as you spun her around, giving her a tight hug before you kissed all over her face. Emma giggled and shrieked.

“I missed you, my baby!” You said in between kisses.

Emma wrapped her arms around your neck, still giggling and returning the kisses over your face.

“I missed you too mommy!” She responded before sliding down, indicating she wanted down.

You set your daughter down and hold her hand to make sure she stayed safe as you walked her home. Keeping her on the side away from the road, you watched as a car passed by then stop, which immediately put you on high alert. Gently tugging Emma behind you, you kept an eye on the car, waiting for the driver to either get out or leave.

The car reversed and stopped once again in front of you and your daughter before rolling down the window.

“Liebling!” A familiar voice calls, causing you to relax. At least it was someone you knew.

“Hi Michael.” You called out once his face came into view.

You felt your daughter peer around your legs to look at him. Outside of Alexis and your family, she’s never met anyone else. You weren’t allowed to spend time with friends, much less leave the house except to purchase groceries.

Glancing down, Michael’s eyes met your daughter’s, whose eyes shone when he made eye contact with her. She reminded him of you. Taking after you perfectly with your brown, curly hair ending with magenta at the ends, and your matching magenta eyes. Even her eye shape took after your own. The sight of seeing your carbon copy made Michael smile.

As much as he teased you, he knew you were the perfect woman for him. You challenged him by expressing how much you didn’t like him. Every glare you made his way just made him more interested in you. He wouldn’t call it a crush or love, no. He simply knew that you would keep him on his toes.

First, he has to convince you that he’s changed and get closer to you. Maybe your daughter could help him.

“Would you like a ride home? I couldn’t let two pretty ladies walk in this weather.”

You glanced up; it was a perfect, sunny day. Looking back at Michael, you shook your head.

“Nein, thank you Michael. We like to get our exercise.” You responded.

That was a lie. You didn’t want him to know where you lived. If your fiancée found out you knew another man outside your brother and father, you’d be punished.

Michael tilted his head to the side a bit, his smile never fading.

“Liebling.” He whined, dragging the word out. “Allow me to do this for you. You’re my best friend’s little sister after all.”

You opened your mouth to respond before your daughter jumped out from behind you completely and ran to the car, opening the back door.

“Emma!” You called out.

You watched as your precious daughter shrieks and giggles, crawling onto the backseat. You really need to teach her more about stranger danger.

Chuckling, Michael watched as your daughter had the time of her life before his eyes went to you once again.

“Looks like the Scätzchen wants to ride in the car. Let me drive you Liebling.”

Michael and his nicknames. Rolling your eyes, you walked to the back door to shut it after making sure your daughter was safely buckled in. You felt nervous since she wasn’t sitting in a booster seat, but you felt bad breaking her heart. Sitting in the passenger side, you ignored Michael, who had his arms crossed on the steering wheel, leaning against them while he watched you.

It amused him to see you ignoring him as if the two of you weren’t right next to each other.

You continued to stare ahead, waiting for Michael to begin driving so that you can give him the directions to your home. After a minute of two of sitting in silence, you found yourself getting impatient. Looking at him, you see that his eyes were stuck on you, studying you. It caused you to feel nervous for some reason. A smile formed on his lips as he continued to stare. For some reason, the action caused you to blush.

Turning your head away to hide said blush, you cleared your throat.

“I would like to get home soon, Michael.” You stated.

Chuckling, Michael sat up straight and began to drive, listening to the instructions on how to get you home. When you weren’t speaking up to give directions, the ride was silent, save for the humming your daughter was doing in the backseat.

Glancing in the rear view mirror, you watched as your daughter swayed from side to side, humming and staring out the window. The mere sight of it brought a warm smile on your face. You loved your daughter more than anything and when she did things like this, you felt that it melted your worries, insecurities, and dread.

Michael looked at you when he stopped at a red stop light and his eyes widened a bit. He had never seen you smile like that before and the mere sight caused his heart to skip a beat.

Taking his eyes away from you once the light turns green, he begins to think that maybe you weren’t just perfect for him.

Maybe he was perfect for you.

Once you arrived home, you unbuckle and go to open the door before a hand gently wrapped around your wrist, causing you to pause and look at Michael.

“Let me give you my number.” He said.

Rolling your eyes, you wondered why he wanted your contact information.

“It’s ok Michael, thank you for the ride. Emma and I-“

“Please, Liebling.” He interrupted. The worry was adamant in his expression. You remembered that he had seen the bruise that was on your wrist.

“Just in case. I’m a call away and I will drop everything to be here for you.” He continued.

Your brows upturned and you glanced in the backseat to see that your daughter was sleeping soundly. Looking down, you avoided looking at Michael.

“I-I’m fine. I’ll be ok.”

“If you were fine you wouldn’t have bruises on you.” Michael responded.

You felt fingers gently lift your chin to meet his gaze, expressing a sadness behind his eyes for you.

Maybe he really had changed.

“I…” You sighed, giving in to his request. “Ok. Just in case.”

Raising your hand to his lips, he kissed your knuckles before letting go. Holding out his hand, he waited for you to put your phone in it so that he could enter his number.

After he gave you his number, you took your daughter out of the backseat being careful to not wake her. You leaned down to look at Michael, offering him a slight smile.

“Thank you Michael. It really was kind of you to offer a ride.” You truly meant it. While the two of you were used to the walk, it was much faster to use a car.

Michael froze seeing you smile at him. Him. You never smiled his way and even if it was a small smile, it was still a smile.

He stayed to make sure you went inside the house without any problems, which you went inside.

Something inside began to stir in Michael. You changed once you had a child; he remembered your vindictive actions, your harsh words, the glare you always had. But now you had softer expressions, warmer eyes, and for the first time since he’s known you all these years, you now smiled.

Letting out a self deprecating laugh, Michael realized his plans may not go the way he expected.

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voltstone · 10 months ago

Text

ERICSON'S WALLFLOWER

or bpd as a twdg fandom essay, & violet's analysis

[Mar.26-29.2024 | 27,991]

Throughout my time spent within the TWDG fandom—since late 2019, early 2020—, Violet as not merely a love interest but a character exists as the fandom’s staunch polarization. And the funny thing?

I get it. A lot.

Much of what I’ve read into this character has been extrapolated from my own experiences, and those experiences speak to an inherent, polarizing chaos. It’s something that’s quite honestly a purgatory to try and articulate—I have tried—, and another bane to hope that people will get it. At least, enough to not just sweep my words under the rug. This essay is ultimately a trial to see if I’ve done enough work with myself, both emotionally and in writing, to be able to explain this to those none the wiser, or to the some who feel the same things, but have yet to hear it spoken with absolute clarity.

Through a fandom essay, no less. Specifically about a video game character who grows on people—Louis promises so.

Borderline Personality Disorder.

Nobody really likes to talk about it. Too many times in my life, I’ve had people sweep it under the rug because it is not a pretty thing, in times where I was pleading for help; often, in presence of the wrong crowd, it feels like a target nailed to my back.

It’s intrenched within stigma. And what’s difficult about that is…, yeah. I get why. There’s no mystery to it.

…yet there is so much people do not understand because not talking about it is so much easier, and the joke is, talk therapy is quite literally BPD’s primary treatment.

And so let’s talk about it. Allow me to pull away the confusion this disorder brings, and lay it out—as best I can—in a more digestible manner, through a deconstruction of Violet. I’ll have a little fun with it. However, if this essay reads in a more…straightforward tone compared to the couple others I’ve written now, it should. I’ve attempted to write this in a more lighthearted language before, but it didn’t really get the message across well, I would slip to this anyway, so. Yeah. I will still be conversational, just less so.

With that, however, this is another long essay. I hope you enjoy. :)

[Given the subject matter & the inclusion of my own experiences, take heed. This discussion is sensitive. W/ my experiences, I assure you I'm fine. I speak from a place where I’ve worked through my experiences.]

[Also, to stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale: I reference Louis and one of your essays about him, hence the @. But this thing's real long and about Violet, and stuff. Lol.]

[Briefly, but Exhaustively, to Clarify]

Before any discussion of BPD, then Violet’s deconstruction, a few things.

One. No, I’m not outright diagnosing Violet with BPD. She isn’t diagnosed in the game. I’ve not heard anything by Telltale or anyone associated remark BPD either. None of the schoolkids, for the matter, are diagnosed because it’s not that kind of story. The most we’re given is a narrative that explores their patterns in behavior, and then one…“diagnosis” with Willy. That being the, uh, chronic masturbation. (No, I did not think masturbation would be included in this discussion, but here we are. Thanks, you bug-eyed child.) Even then, however, that was likely a symptom of a larger issue with Willy.

Instead, I like this character. I see a lot of myself in this character, recognize the patterns she exhibits, and I’m hardly the first to associate Violet with BPD—since though she’s not diagnosed…, she is a little bit textbook. I’ve also seen a lot of the fandom misinterpret, preemptively judge, Violet for the things she does.

And I don’t mean the confusion and betrayal players feel should they save Louis over Violet. That reaction is normal. Yes, feel confused and betrayed. Because that’s the intention. What I take issue with, and part of why I’ve wanted to write this for a long while, is the…undertones beneath what is generally said. The opinions, too, that go along with it. All of which, ultimately, feed into the stigma that BPD is so intrenched within. The ignorance, and the refusal to understand both why and how.

So I do this through Violet because I adore TWDG, I’m in a TWDG mood, and, she is actually a phenomenal example to use for discussions around BPD. No, she’s not canonically diagnosed, but, it is better to explain a character by using a researched concept, just as much as it’s easier to explain said concept through a fictional example.

…and myself.

This essay will have a lot of commentary based around my experiences. A lot of this disorder’s stigmatization makes it difficult to find good information to understand what it does—specifically from the perspective of the borderline personality, not observers—, because…it’s just not the same as ADHD or depression, which have been big talking points within the recent years. I also have ADHD—runs in the family. That said, conversations in mental health has its fair share of stigma regardless, it’s just that BPD…does not help itself, largely due to the concepts I’ll be going over.

Also, I am very similar to Violet, down to how we dress, but also in personality. We’re not the same, but there’s enough where I feel like I can explain a lot of this character in relation to BPD. Because it’s a personality disorder. In similar personalities, the disorder will—more often than not—present itself the same way.

This does lead me to a third: as much as I’d like to say that this discussion will be the absolute, universal truth, the reality is no, this discussion will likely have blind-spots. It won’t be universal. For a myriad of reasons.

BPD is, again, a personality disorder. Its expression is entirely dependent on the personality, and the experiences established. So anyone who is not an indifferent/apathetic person, who is more extroverted and not the marginal recluse that I am, there will be aspects of this that won’t align. The rudimentary concepts may apply, but the expressions and emotional processings behind these concepts may not.

This also bleeds into the fact that BPD overlaps with many conditions, and traits of the disorder can be found elsewhere. Which, quite frankly, is fairly standard for most disorders, because it’s about the expression and amalgamation of the traits, not the traits themselves. So, as I discuss BPD, you’ll likely find yourself relating to certain points.

Do not take this to mean that you yourself have borderline.

Well, okay. You might. There’s nothing wrong with doing research, and to evaluate all of your resources. Keep in mind, however, there is a difference between one condition relating to another, and one BPD relating to a likewise diagnosis.

BPD overlaps with many conditions (like ADHD); it shares many traits in others.

The reasons for it includes how BPD is developed, where the development will be alongside other conditions—like, say, PTSD—, or other conditions may predispose the condition—ADHD—, or, or, both.

And then, some of this relatability is due to language. There are limitations in the words I choose, especially when this essay is intended for a wider audience. When I say, I go from 0 to 100, you may know precisely what I’m putting down, or, your 0 to 100 is my 0 to 10. And there will be that barrier in understanding because…we’re different people, with different experiences, living alongside different conditions.

Some of you reading will just never understand what it means to get whiplashed by your emotions at the drop of a dime, where you’re perfectly fine one minute, and then you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack the next because someone said something, and you don’t understand why it hurt you the way it did, but it did, and you’ve already lost your shit, but you don’t want to do anything, but you can’t trust that you won’t… All…with the guilt that it is happening again, and you should have known better, and it’s all your fault…

Yeah. It’s okay if you don’t understand what that’s like. And to be quite blunt, if you don’t, be grateful. BPD isn’t fun for anyone. There are slight blessings, but those are gravely overshadowed.

Given that I do expect a lot of people reading this won’t understand, this essay will be exhaustive. I don’t really want to cut corners, even though certain aspects of my experiences will be kept to myself, and not everything about this disorder can be related to a video game character.

I do want to give it its due. The drafts before fell into the trap of not articulating precisely what I wanted, with the transparency I needed.

…hence why it’s long, but with that, let’s start with understanding BPD at its core.

[BPD, in Experience, as an Introduction]

So. Borderline Personality Disorder.

Boiled down, it is purely the complete lack of, or, the severe impairment of emotional regulation.

That’s it.

That is literally all it is. And in understanding that, it explains (in part) how and why many of you may relate to certain aspects throughout this essay—emotions, and the (dys)regulation thereof, are integral to each and every one of us.

However, BPD is distinct, and I will comb through the how and why in this section. It is quite simplistic when boiled down, but this synopsis implicates everything about a person.

It is also. Not. Bipolar Disorder.

(Yeah, let me just kick this out of the way.)

Bipolar Disorder is about the brain chemistry, and is defined by manic and depressive swings.

Borderline Personality Disorder is a disorder of the personality. It’s systemic to the person. Could someone with BPD also have bipolar? Well, yes, which doesn’t help in the confusion, but to be the least bit informative, those instances often imply a specific BPD type (comorbid).

[Further resources will be linked at the end, for the BPD types, relationship with bipolar, and additional elements to come. For the sake of the essay, I won’t delve into this in-depth.]

This nuance—comorbid-BPD and bipolar—illustrates how complicated of a conversation BPD is. Again, it’s why this essay will be exhaustive, but also selective in what it covers.

Including, but not limited to, this kind of nuance.

To embark what a severe impairment/lack of emotional regulation means, it’s important first to establish the working definition of what emotions are—the definition, at least, which this essay utilizes.

Emotions are the reactionary senses of the body. Where sight, smell, touch, taste and hearing are the immediate feedback from the environment to the body, the emotions are the immediate responses to the stimuli, to prompt our actions thereafter.

Our relationship to our emotions is a very complicated one, because…we physically feel our emotions, which can be conflated with the feedback from our environment. Comprehension is also required to understand what, exactly, these emotions are signaling to us, because an environment isn’t just physical. Social, cultural, and psychological environments are included.

If you ever wonder what, exactly, a dog with the intelligence of a 3-year-old actually means, it’s their comprehension level of their emotions. These dogs are feeling the same emotions as a 3-year-old, and a 30-year-old. But there’s a catch: dogs don’t do the whole language acquisition thing like we do. Language acquisition being the learning process we undergo in our youth, because we are wired to speak and derive meaning through vocal, then visual, patterns.

I say this because a lot of emotions are, physically, perceived the same way, but we use language to distinguish one from another because contexts do matter. And they matter a lot.

Like, what’s the difference between lust and common excitement? They both feel similar, don’t they? But, lust is specific to a defined context.

And in this way, language absolutely contributes to the complexity of emotions.

But ultimately, emotions are just there to tell you what comforts you, and what doesn’t. It establishes what kind of environment you feel safe within, or at risk; the gradient within that establishes what you prefer, what you can tolerate. So the places you go to. The people you surround yourself with. Your interests. Activities. How you want to present yourself. Your morals, and ambitions. Identity and sense of self.

All of it is prompted by emotion, and your comprehension of that—ultimately through language—establishes how you respond.

How we actually navigate this is through regulation. Or rather, the process of self-comprehension, where an individual has to evaluate a situation, their internal reaction to such stimuli (both in thought and feelings), and the appropriate behavioral response. Dysregulation, then, is where that process is faulty.

So as we mature into adulthood, and our learned behaviors are set in stone (more or less; old dog, new trick or something), we’ve ideally learned how to comprehend these emotions, how to use language to articulate them and relay them to others, and find what is comfortable and what isn’t.

People get in the way of themselves, however.

For some fucking reason, we think we’re so fucking smart because we can talk, and we got thumbs, and we, like, stand on two feet. Or if we don’t got two fucking feet, we can build a wheely chair to sit our asses down.

And? We like to convince ourselves that we know better than our emotions, to the point where they’re disregarded. Of course, social contexts, understanding how your actions may impact others—those are all nuances which, yes, our emotions may not respect, but we do.

In regards to when people refuse to acknowledge emotions for what they are…

Piece of advice, from someone with BPD, emotions run like rivers. You do not decide what that river’s water is, how much there will be, and when it will flood. What you can decide is what canals to dig to retroactively contain that river, when to do that, and to establish how to treat the different flooding waters. You will drown if you think you can just ignore them.

Because the funny thing about water? If you fall high enough, land the wrong way, you might as well have hit stone.

In this way, emotions are devastating, and the mind and body has many mechanisms to deploy should an individual be constantly bombarded, and there is a need to prioritize our primary senses—touch, smell, sight… To prioritize a survival.

Take DID, for instance, where often it’s the mind “divorcing” itself into several identities in order to protect and shield the host from further trauma. There are many, many disorders like this where the brain deploys its failsafe, but that failsafe comes at a price.

BPD is, effectively, what happens when one of these mechanisms deploy, but the cost cripples an integral function to the human experience. It cripples the capability to dig those canals, redirect those rivers, and it can even imply a blindness to what kind of water is flooding.

…in many respects, this implies that BPD is, inherently, a disorder rooted in other conditions, just set to the absolute extreme. But when I say “absolute extreme” to someone who has never experienced emotional turmoil, the wrong impression may be impressed. Again, much of what I say may relate to your own experiences, and it’s why I have to take great care in articulating precisely what I mean because…it can be easily misinterpreted. Everybody has had moments where they are not in control of what they feel, and they do things. However, while the instances may look the same, the mechanisms, patterns and history behind them…are not.

Hence why BPD and bipolar are so often confused, because at the height of those disorders, it can very well look the same. I have had manic episodes that look identical to someone in a bipolar episode within one moment. But the differences are the mechanisms, patterns, and history. For these two disorders, it’s what’s actually going on in the brain, what stimuli we’re actually reacting to, and then timeframe. Mania in bipolar can last months; in me, I plummet into mania for minutes, or hours, or days—a week at most. And I can rocket right back out of it, back to an indifference, or into some other extreme.

And those mechanisms, and patterns, and histories are what make BPD, well, BPD.

We now get to how BPD happens. And though there is some debate, BPD is a developmental disorder. It’s created.

Through a number of factors. Genetics (like a family history), accompanying conditions (such as ADHD, autism, due to the predisposition to emotional dysregulation), past experiences of trauma, and, the environment.

And that’s the footnote version. Because this disorder, while there are strong patterns observed across diagnosed individuals, again has its nuances. Going into what causes BPD will lead you down a steep rabbit hole—in part because it’s dependent on the person, history, and environment, and in part because…, well, there is stigma, and there’s a lot of unknowns. Borderline, as a name, is not telling of what the disorder is. There’s a long misogynistic history to the disorder’s criteria, despite the fact that there’s a lot of men out there that have stunted their emotions, will fly off the handle when their egos are slightly bruised, call themselves alphas, are vehemently loyal to that alpha identity…

Hm.

That’s a discussion for another day. Point being, I cannot indulge this essay into every kind of way a person can land themselves with the disorder. It’s never ending. I have other priorities to indulge. Such as:

What kind of abuse is commonly attributed to BPD?

The answer? For such a volatile personality?

Neglect.

Funny, isn’t it? How neglect—the absence of—is what often causes BPD, of all things. Most would likely scoff, because our world has groomed the idea that the other kinds are worse, and are what creates monsters. Because it doesn’t make good tv, does it? Like the times where I was sat in time-out for…some reason or another, on a bench beside a chalkboard. Upwards to 10 hours of the day—which is a long time at three years old. That doesn’t make for interesting scenes, does it?

No. And because it doesn’t, and stories like their spectacle, media relies on the other kinds. To the point now where it’s necessary for our idled attention spans.

To be clear, this isn’t to demote abuse types outside of neglect, nor is it to insinuate that they cannot coexist within one circumstance. The fact of the matter is, different traumas with different people in different environments will lead to different conditions. There is no worth in proving to each other which trauma is worse or better, because it’s entirely dependent on the people and environment(s) involved.

What I will demote is the common, ignorant insinuation that neglect doesn’t destroy a person.

It’s why it is ironic, how BPD—an explosive thing—is often born from neglect.

How it does such a thing is…complicated. Lucky for this essay, I’ve lived it.

Within the first handful of years in my life, there were many things like sitting on that stupid bench in my room, for hours upon hours. My parents, at the time, were young themselves and fresh from college. My dad was in the military, so he had been deployed, leaving my mom alone with me, and…her BPD. I suspect postpartum made things worse.

Before you assume, it isn’t that she didn’t love me. Quite the opposite, but it was only through the divorce a few years later was she diagnosed. So, she didn’t have the resources for such a disorder at the time. Which made things worse, because part of treating BPD is being aware you have it.

The thing about these kinds of abuse is that…they come from the people you least want to admit, and for me, it had been my own mother.

And, the thing about neglect, especially mine, is that it’s hard to explain how no…, she was home. It wasn’t like she’d leave me like that. But, even so, I couldn’t tell you what the fuck she was doing when she wasn’t in the same room.

I was left to my own devices. I told myself stories with my stuffed animals to pass the time. I was often hungry too, and there are two accounts from family where, upon visiting, they saw this little toddler know how to work the baby-gate to the kitchen, and start to prepare food—sandwiches for me, and I’d pour food for the dog.

I seldom spoke, was borderline mute. Didn’t really converse until four. But I knew what people were saying before that. I did also pick-up behaviors from my dog as well; I would pant whenever I was happy, and whimper instead of cry.

By the tail-end, as I was getting into kindergarten, my brother was born, the divorce was in motion, and my dad would thankfully win full custody, and my mom, visitation.

You see, through those initial years, those mechanisms deployed.

I had to swallow down the instinct that the parent would be the one to nurture, and I had to find ways to feed myself, then my best friend and true guardian—the dog. Had to learn how to work things like a baby-gate. I also had to be vigilant of her, and know what mood she was in.

It’s these two things, working together, which utterly fractured me emotionally. The feeling of being hungry, truly hungry, is not something I wish for anyone. The realization that it’s not because you’re out of food—not until the separation began, and the weekends with my mom were marked by this hunger—, but because you don’t know how to get that food, and the bigger person is not getting the food, so you try to learn but you are still a small child… It’s even worse. It does something to you. Then, having to sacrifice your own emotional nourishment in order to keep an eye on an adult’s volatility is that final nail.

That was the first stage of my neglect. And it was bad. It was a really, really bad situation. My brother only lived with my mom for a couple years before Dad’s full custody. In that time, from when our mother was the only one to take care of us with my dad helpless in a different country, then to switching every week, he developed OCD tendencies, which are still present.

Twenty years later now, it’s been remarked that I was…kinda the best candidate to survive this out of not just my brother and I, but our cousins as well. And I agree. I’m naturally reserved, and even as a kid, I would push back against my mom. It would ignite her, but the fact that I was confrontation said enough. Meanwhile…, I do not know how the fuck my brother would be mentally if he’d been the one stuck alone with her for those three, four years. I don’t know what my dad would’ve come back to whenever he was allowed to be with his family.

And I would not trade places if given the chance. Because even if I’m a black sheep, my mechanisms allowed me to get away as well-adjusted as I could be.

But… Still. Beneath those remarks…, there is a misunderstanding. When my family says I was the best candidate, it’s because they look at me and see a person who isn’t sick. When I say I was, I mean…my brother would have been worse off.

Granted, now that I’m out of school, it’s slowly dawned on them that…yeah no. There is something wrong.

…as I aged through childhood, I didn’t quite understand what the costs of the mechanisms deployed were, but I knew there was something very, very wrong even back then. And I would tell my family. Every now and again, throughout years, I’d raise alarm because I realized I reminded myself of my mom.

Only to be told that I wasn’t my mother, and that I was overreacting. Told me that, “People like her don’t know there’s something wrong—that’s the disorder.”

Come a mere few years ago, and I am told about times where my mother, as an adult not long before having me, would break down because she didn’t want to be like my grandmother.

There was a family history. My mother knew it. However, she was also diagnosed through the divorce, because she couldn’t take care of my brother and I. Highly doubt admitting her BPD was the reason was because “she didn’t know there was something wrong.”

I was told there was nothing wrong. Meanwhile, I would do things I didn’t understand, and experience the world in a way people around me didn’t, …as it turns out.

For one, which is still true now, I cannot cook for myself, in a kitchen, when it’s dark out. I also cannot cook when someone else is nearby, or already in the kitchen itself. I will wait, because should I cook in those times, there’s a feeling. And I can’t stand it. The feeling of—

Oh. No, the feeling isn’t being watched.

It’s the feeling where someone may be lurking, and I’m about to get caught. This is likely a remnant of times when I was very, very young, and I tried to feed myself, and I…was caught. And she blew up.

There are other behaviors like that, specific to me. Because the body remembers before you yourself.

In the years after my mom, I found myself in the second phase of neglect—the one, I argue, is what actually creates BPD.

And again. For another time. It came from the people I least want to admit.

The neglect, the denial, in every alarm I raised did something to me. Another thing, though given my experiences, it also did feel similar to the first phase. My family loves me, I understand, and I get why they denied. Because they knew about what was happening to me, then my brother, but circumstances had them trapped in watching from afar. A sort of…they didn’t get to me in time.

My mom was also a nightmare for my dad. So…, to see that resemblance is not something anybody wants to admit.

But still. I was in therapy (to socialize me), but that didn’t last forever, and people kinda just shrugged and thought it was good. The therapy did its job. Without noticing what was happening.

The mechanism that deployed was still there, never to be acknowledged. So it festered. It scarred my trauma over, and now, there’s a great blemish on my mental health.

And that blemish has a name, and it’s BPD—the disorder cultivated by the neglect of an aftermath. Where trauma struck, and there was no chance given to process it effectively, and to heal.

All of the nuances I’ve discussed before remain to be true. From what I understand, however, is that the primary reason why Borderline Personality Disorder can look so differently on so, so many people, through a range of traumas is…it’s consequence. BPD has its characteristics, the ones that distinguish, because ignoring the recovery after significant trauma presents itself the same.

Now, I’ll indulge in one of these characteristics.

It wasn’t until recent, as I embarked my adulthood, where I realized the core mechanism I had inadvertently deployed, the one that came with a price:

Alexithymia.

Or, emotional blindness.

This in itself is not considered a disorder, largely because (and for the sake of this essay) it is an associated symptom, a mechanism, of many, many conditions. Depression, PTSD, eating disorders, ADHD and autism (again), schizophrenia, and I can go on, and on, and on.

BPD is included, of course.

There are many ways to be blind. Take visual blindness, where it can be an absolute void, a severe impairment, some colors recognized but not all, or, there’s too much feedback at once, and the light becomes illegible. Being devoid of emotions, or apathetic, is the standard; some people may feel a perpetual onslaught that cannot be deciphered, and others could find themselves in between.

Whatever it may be, alexithymia is characterized as the impaired awareness, explicit identification, and/or articulation of one’s feelings. So, as long as the shoe fits, and the person can’t decipher, convey/express their emotions… That shoe’s not on the wrong foot.

In my case, I fall into the standard.

When I was young, I likely stifled my own emotions in exchange for vigilance. It never left, however. If anything, it got worse the more I neglected recovery. Now, I don’t feel much, day to day. I know I experience emotion, and react to my environment, and have thoughts… Yet, the environment is almost dreamlike. It doesn’t quite register, and the people in my life feel like figments unless I’m right there with them, in the same room. I’m indifferent to most. Memories are a lot like this too—not like I don’t remember anything at all, but in the moment, I kinda just exist. I can think and plan about the future too, but it’s that I’ve realized I have to, not that I feel any kind of urgency.

Because I don’t care. At all.

Or, I do, but there’s nothing in here to tell me that. Because my body, also, is quite null. It doesn’t tell me what I feel. I couldn’t tell you in the moment, so I’ll usually resort to, “I’m fine.” And inside this head of mine? Not much. Kinda like static—the tv is on, there’s a lot of channels going, but it’s just…not there. Beyond static.

So as I write this, and write any of my works, it's less of spilling all the crazy thoughts inside my head, organizing them, and more of me spilling an open wound I don't know how to close, figured I don't really want to close it, because I kinda just like watching it spill across the page and see what I'm thinking, and what I can create.

To be quite honest, being a writer in this way does legitimately feel like I'm a blind sculptor.

If all this sounds like a depressing experience, I'm fine. Genuinely. I am. This is actually quite comfortable for me, and it's also me at my most rational. Plus, it helps that I've developed a fairly strong coping means—this writing thing—that serves to be a therapy in emotional comprehension. Another mechanism, really, that is derivative of what I did as a toddler.

I'm also a hermit. I'm content with being reclusive, and to myself.

And again, I’ve already processed all of this. I wouldn’t be writing this essay otherwise.

So how does alexithymia relate to BPD? In what way is being apathetic mean I can fly off the handle?

What does alexithymia mean for an episode?

BPD episodes vary. Depends on the person, and a trigger, and the environment.

In the traditional a switch is flipped, and the person just loses it, it’s via said trigger. A legitimate trigger, not whatever TikTok is blabbering. Trigger as in to a gun, and it just takes one pull, and you’ve been set off.

When this happens—BPD or not—, it effectively shuts down the reasoning part of the individual’s brain, and sends them straight into fight-or-flight. They are in a very primal state, and will react on emotion alone.

In BPD, our brains are wired to do that in (potentially) a very, very short period of time. Can be literally a blink and you miss it. There’s a look in the eye. If you know, you know. It happens enough times to establish a history of this within the person. Forces people to walk on egg shells to avoid this. Because it’s scary. It can get scary.

Here’s the thing:

It’s scary for us too.

Not too long ago, a lot of changes happened in my life, and on my birthday, I was driving, and I wanted, so badly, to just swerve off the road and down into the woodland—the ditches would’ve been steep enough. Woke up that day wanting to. Didn’t understand why, but I also wasn’t asking because that reasoning part of my brain was switched off. That day, the episode wasn’t explosive, but had I brushed upon a trigger, or someone accidentally said/did something, it would likely have been the case.

I was in an agitated state—straying down the line between stability, and not, where at first glance I’m fine, but…the more you look, there’s something quite wrong.

I was also craving McDonald’s. So I went. I sat myself down on my own, and ate my food.

And suddenly… Literally nothing was wrong. Well, no. I was still mildly stressed from moving from college, but, nothing was wrong that day. I was just hungry, not suicidal. Yet…it felt like I was. Had me believe it for a hot minute.

Had I not had the burger, fries, and McFlurry… I don’t know. Had I had access to something swifter than a car. I really don’t know.

This is what the disorder does. This is why it’s scary for the people around, and terrifying for us.

And in those like me, where everything is null, until it isn’t, it’s terrifying in a specific way. Goes from 0 to 100. Can get to the point where I have pain shooting down my arms, like I’m about to have a heart attack, because everything comes down upon me at once. Or, in episodes like the one I just mentioned, it creeps up on you—that agitated state. To the point where I don’t realize I’m in it, just that I’m suddenly hyperaware of everything, and there is something wrong, but I am not asking why because I can’t. So I just do. Quite blindly. And eat because driving off a road is too much effort.

So it gets scary. In those like me, where emotions just aren’t registering, I can’t tell you what I’m feeling until after the fact, or after considerable thought. Which is also fucking difficult because I don’t rightly know what I’m thinking. But given the situation, that could be too fucking late. And if the situation has me alone, to myself?

With BPD, there are triggers we know to avoid because they are related to traumas. There are things that wouldn’t normally trigger, but somehow did because they were the straw that broke the camel’s back, and we didn’t even know we had a fucking camel. And then. Sometimes. We don’t even know what the fuck the trigger was, and will never know.

The last is very common when we’re unaware of our BPD, but…it also just happens sometimes as well. The world’s big. The shit life yeets is limitless. I dunno.

There’s also a humiliation to an episode. I don't know what's going on. I can't reason like I should, and I don't want you to look at me. I want you gone, especially if I have deemed you the trigger. I want to be left alone. Things will escalate, and escalate, and escalate until that is achieved.

And, there’s a guilt as well. Especially when you know you have BPD, because by then, you should know better, but apparently, you don’t.

This all sounds quite helpless, I realize. However, there’s a reason why talk therapy is the central form of treatment for BPD. Knowing how to communicate does wonders. For those with borderline, learning how to comprehend and articulate emotions, and knowing what triggers to avoid, is a long, arduous process, but it helps. In regulating emotions as best we can, and in explaining to people beforehand what to do—or after the fact, where it’s to explain it wasn’t their fault.

And for those without BPD? Being able to recognize the warning signs on a person is detrimental. Because, believe it or not, there are warning signs. Sometimes they could be the split-second before, however, if there is someone in an agitated state, knowing what that looks like means you know how to avoid an episode, and it gives room to be able to console the person beforehand.

As said. There’s a look in the eyes. I know, because that’s what I spent my first few years of life figuring out.

The arduous process also unveils the…ambiguous sides to BPD. The stuff that people don’t really talk as much, whenever BPD is brought to the table at all.

For this essay, I will spare a glance at identity. No, identity doesn’t have much to do with Violet. However, acknowledging this ambiguous side to BPD establishes just how far this disorder goes, and it tends to crop up when least expected. (It will do so in this essay.)

A disorder of emotional regulation implicates everything, and sense of self is guided by emotion.

So what happens to one’s identity if there’s no guide to that sense of self?

It’s bleak. Or there’s a turbulence. Either way, it’s hard to decipher what exactly you want out of life, and for yourself, because there’s just no good way to tell what makes you comfortable, and what doesn’t. But you still strive to find stability. So you mirror those around you. To blend in and be accepted. By chance, it can extend beyond humans; me mimicking my dog—panting when I’m happy, whimpering when I’m sad—, it was probably so that my dog would console me when my mom wasn’t around. Because my dog (a lovely boxer) was very attuned to me.

The conversation with identity is…just another complicated thing. And this one is harder to articulate, in part because it’s not really discussed by people who don’t have the disorder. As opposed to the mood swings.

All that to say, when it comes to this analysis, the truth is, there’s not a feasible way to explore the nuances such as Violet’s relationship with identity, or alexithymia, because they aren’t spoken aloud to give us enough insight, and by proxy, these aspects of BPD are not what Violet represents. But acknowledging such nuances provides a better understanding in what this disorder means.

Regardless, Violet is a representation BPD in relationships, and the dysfunction of those bonds. How it’s exacerbated within an apocalypse, and then the self-treatment of.

Or, or, Violet has…a tendency to be a wallflower. More or less.

[Ericson's Resident Wallflower]

The Final Season (TFS) is particular when it comes to Violet. It will be evident throughout this essay, the care that the game and the team behind it devoted for her. From the dialogue to her actions, Telltale did well in illustrating this character. I will argue, however, that the quiet intensity in nuance laid throughout is what evoked the need to write this essay.

Because Violet represents something quite thoughtful in regards to mental health—the reality of what a disorder is, and what it can do.

So TFS is particular, and it begins with her introduction, where there’s this need to recontextualize her. Not once, but twice.

Clementine is first introduced to her silently. She follows Marlon out into the courtyard, and Tenn whistles at the wall.

Because on the school’s wall is a girl, and she rises from her lounging at its height. There’s a glance shared between Clementine and Violet, before Clementine speaks more with Marlon. After that, another glance, where Violet turns away—not before the player can spy a bit of intrigue in her face.

Clementine reunites with A.J, meets Louis, before a recontextualization, where Violet (she does talk) snarks about the crashed car, and the walkers that the accident brought to their door.

And it takes Louis to pry a proper greeting from her:

“Ahem. ‘Hello, Clementine. I’m Violet. Nice to meet you.’” “What he said.” [. . .] “Don’t mind Violet. She, uh…, grows on you. I promise.” [Ep.1 | Done Running | School Gate]

Good job, Violet. Way to be sociable.

Sarcasm aside, yeah, it’s a little rough. Violet is overall dismissive of Clementine, save for the comments. To the point where she has Louis introduce her ass.

Now Louis…is a quiet presence throughout this essay, though he is all the more integral to her character. There will be fewer words compared to other relationships, but those words signify a unique dichotomy between him and Violet, one that the other schoolkids—Minnie and Brody included—do not have with her.

And it starts immediately. That dichotomy. Louis is the one who tells Clementine Violet’s name. He is the one who formally introduces the two. Because he knows how Violet is. Ensures to lingers so that he tell Clementine—promise her—how Violet is worth sticking around for.

It’s just that the girl is troubled. So.

Thereafter, his banter is teasing, and Violet is still sardonic. But, she ultimately does play along. In her own way. When in the woods, and the schoolkids are focused on clearing walkers to have Aasim, Brody and Mitch make a safe return, Louis strikes the conversation, Violet scoffs, but can relent depending on the player’s dialogue choice(s). It is important to note that Violet scoffing doesn’t necessarily equate to her being mean; it’s clear through the card game later that…this is her way of banter, with Louis especially. She takes jabs at him. He retorts. Does the same. It’s on equal footing.

The next true recontextualization presents a taste of what Louis means. After clearing the walkers, and A.J socks Marlon, Clementine is left to acquaint herself with the other schoolkids. Mitch and Willy, Omar and Louis, Aasim, Ruby (where A.J apologizes for biting), and Tenn, right alongside Violet.

And those two are tending to the school’s makeshift cemetery. It brief, but Violet explains they lost the twins, and for the hour, they’re paying their respects.

From the wall, then the gate, then here, at their burial ground, it’s as though TFS wanted to scatter Violet’s introduction across her nuances. First it’s a silent couple glances, with her overlooking the courtyard at a perch, then it’s her being a little prick at the gate, a lightheartedness when mowing down walkers, and then it’s…this, a staunch vulnerability to and for her people. In context to the graves, her people being the twins.

All the moments that night thereafter feed into this. The card game goes back to an apathetic, yet also teasing, demeanor. Her shared conversation with Clementine, as A.J becomes an artist draws, it’s again a vulnerability, this time rattled by the fact that the dorm was once the twins’.

Throughout this first episode, Violet’s standing with the rest is shown to be quite reflective of this almost inconsistent preamble.

Marlon is the most succinct when he remarks, in the rain, after Clementine chooses to ask for Violet’s support:

“Violet being difficult. Why am I not surprised?” [Ep.1 | Done Running | Courtyard]

It’s such a blunt statement, intended to dig at her.

Though, there is truth to it. Violet’s introduction overall says as much. She admits it herself when in the dorm, and she finds that Clementine is housed where the twins were.

“Honestly, I just miss having someone around to talk to. [. . .] And I’m not, exactly, like…a people person. You know? I know I sometimes have a habit… Have a habit of being a little bit too harsh.” [Ep.1 | Done Running | Dorm]

Violet is not sociable, so naturally, she struggles to find someone to talk to. But, she is also sardonic—that much we got from the gate, even if it was followed by Louis’ banter which she reciprocates.

But ultimately, it’s Brody who gives the best context to Violet, and really voices what Louis is getting at.

When Clementine goes fishing, Brody begins a conversation, and within that, she can reveal based off the prompts:

[She’s…intense.] “She’s always been a little bit like that. But after the twins died, she really closed up.” [It wasn’t your fault.] “Still, I was the one that had to break the news to her. And ever since I did, she’s become distant.” [Ep.1 | Done Running | Fishing Cabin]

There’s two key things here, starting with the unsociability that Violet’s demeanor and Marlon’s slight reference.

Then, the revelation that Violet has closed herself off. She’s become distant within the past year.

…it implies that the Violet first introduced to us is not truly Violet, in a sense. It presents to the player thatmuch of her arc with Clementine will be about uncovering her, and really bringing Violet from this depressive spiral. Romantically or platonically so. And these lines are intended to both explain the character, and to incite enough intrigue for the player to follow Violet down her route.

But it’s rather unfortunate that so much of this character is hidden away from the start, because there's the chance that people glance over her, take this initial Violet as Violet, and decide to spend more time with Louis and follow down his route. Because, for the sake of this essay, it's damn near impossible to really appreciate this character when you don't go with her route.

Same can be said for Louis, of course. But, respectfully...

It ain't about him. So. Moving on.

Playing leader.

When Marlon is shot, Violet immediately jumps into action to protect Clementine and A.J from getting jumped by the rest, and she assumes the leadership role. Regardless of player choice. There is an curious point with her being a leader, though that will be set aside to explore later.

Instead, I’ll side-step, and bring about a piece of conversation upon Clementine and A.J’s return. In this, we gather a very telling side of Violet, one that speaks volumes to her character.

[Clementine] “You’re sitting in Marlon’s chair, aren’t you? You’re their leader now. They’ll listen to you.” [Violet] “They don’t, though. They only listen when they want to.” [Ep.2 | Suffer the Children | Office]

Again, we’re side-stepping from the playing leader thing. Violet says that they don’t listen to her—says it like it wasn’t a really a surprise, just a point of frustration. Because, of course, Violet’s difficult. The last leader said so. But also, none of them have stepped up to fill that role. They take issue with her, but none of the schoolkids have really challenged her to take the mantel for themselves.

The silent nuance here is…why is it that she’s the leader? Violet made it seem like she really didn’t want to be at the boarding school—what with the contention between most, then the fact that she’s still in mourning. Tenn appeared like he was the only one keeping her there, but by stepping up in this way, not necessarily.

His presence and her need to protect him is a huge factor. Absolutely. Just not the only one.

We return again to Louis, the one schoolkid with the shared dichotomy. He is the other love interest. Him and Violet are often on opposite sides—especially in regards to everything Marlon.

And yet…, the way they speak about each other when one is taken away says everything about such a dichotomy.

To start, we’ll look at Louis:

“I know I’m always teasing her. Trying to get her to do that one eye roll she does—you know the one. Where it’s like, ‘you’re such a dumbass,’ she has to do a full-body eye roll. I do it because, when I actually do manage to make her laugh, it’s worth it. If I needed her, she’d be there. Meat cleaver in hand, ready to chop someone in half if it meant protecting me.” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Dorm]

He brings context as to why their banter is so dogged to tease. Louis does it because it’s reciprocated once he gets under his skin, and she retorts back with the signature full-body eye roll, but also, because he’s striving to reach another side of her, one where she laughs.

Because Louis is a big entertainer. He craves to draw that out from people, so when he has someone like Violet where it’s not easy to do that, it means that much more when she does, because it tells Louis how despite everything, she is there, listening.

Then there’s Violet, and her words for him:

“You know, when I first got here, I hated him. He was so…much. You know? He walks into a room, and it’s like, ‘Look at me! Watch me perform!’ It’s so stupid. But then I realized, under all that, he… He really cares about people, and he doesn’t just feel it, he says it. He’ll tell you every goddamn day how much you mean to him. Shit, he’ll probably sing about it. [. . .] We’ve got to get him back.” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Dorm]

She nods to Louis being this big entertainer. Says that she hated it, and that it’s stupid. And yet, Violet thinks fondly of how genuine of a guy he is.

And between these two quotes, there’s a mastery in storytelling, because there’s an active dialogue between Louis and Violet. Doesn’t matter if one is on the boat, and they’re not. Their words parallel. Had they been in the room together, this would’ve been a back-and-forth.

Louis says that he teases her. Tries to get underneath her skin. Violet says that hated it, and hated him, for his antics. Yet, she then admits that…there’s a genuine nature there, because Louis does care, and he will say and sing it so. That genuine nature is the fact that he just really wants Violet to laugh, and to find that side of her.

Because Violet’s his friend. He values Violet as his protector, because Louis knows that she will be there whenever he desperately needed her.

And Louis is Violet’s friend. Which is why, without a word from Clementine, she states, firmly, that they need to get Louis back. Because in that hour, he was in peril, and he desperately needed Violet’s cleaver at hand.

It’s a tragedy, really, for both. When the other is taken, the one thing that each praise of the other is what’s stolen. For Louis, his knight is blinded; he has to be the one to protect her. For Violet, a comfort goes mute; she can sing in his place.

After spending a few moments with Clementine in the dorm, there’s Ruby’s hootenanny, and through that hootenanny, Violet can tell Clementine what brought her to Ericson’s:

“I spent a lot of time at my grandma’s house growing up, what with my dad being a drunk and my mom working three jobs. But after my grandpa died, Grandma just kinda…shut down. Spent all day and night rocking in her little chair in the den. I’d sit there at her feet as we both watched tv, mostly cartoons, since she never seemed to care. Sometimes I could hear her crying, but I didn’t look back. I’d just feel really weird and turn up the volume, you know? “Anyway, one day she left the den and came back with another chair, and a .22 rifle. Set the rifle butt on top of that chair, holding the barrel back to her chest. So, you know…, she had trouble reaching the trigger this way, but she must have known it would happen… Because she took out this really tacky wooden backscratcher—the real long kind with the one end shaped like a hand—and used that to push the trigger in. So…yeah. Bang, right? Her body folded up and just…kept rocking. “My mom came to get me five hours later. I hadn’t moved. She asked why I didn’t call the police or an ambulance or anything. I just shrugged and told her it wasn’t like Grandma was going anywhere…, and besides, I just wanted to finish my cartoons. She shipped me off to Ericson the next day. I was eleven.” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Piano Room]

Through all of what Violet tells Clementine, there is still that flare to make the story more interesting for, you know, a video game. It’s a violent kind of neglect she shares.

But it is neglect all the same.

Violet was born to an alcoholic and a mom who stretched herself thin to compensate, yet even so, she later can admit that their home was a trailer—so the income of three jobs, all her time spent away from her mom, wasn’t enough. Perhaps there were financial troubles. The money might’ve been all drained away by cans of beer, or bottles. Violet did have an escape through her grandparents, though that didn’t last, and she was trapped to the same neglect. This time, with a better house. Probably.

Until her grandmother went and shot herself.

…with Violet in the room. Right behind the child.

And? There was no consolation; she was sent straight to Ericson’s, where the apocalypse then struck, the adults left, and Violet…was the difficult one, designated as this wallflower, or buzzkill. There were the twins, Minnie especially. Yet, even then… That relationship likely wasn’t reciprocated.

The flare that TFS adds to why Violet found her place in troubled youth—the violence, which could’ve dashed the screen she watched for those five hours—, it hides much of what went wrong with her, but simultaneously, it defines the gravity of her childhood.

It describes a mechanism of hers. One undoubtedly developed from her times alone with a drunk, whenever her grandparents and mother weren’t there. A sense of apathy, and with it, a broken moral compass. To not mind yourself, and not get in the way. To let it happen, and just get it over with, in whatever way that could imply.

And, with the sheer gravity, it begs the question…, how far did that neglect go? All of the abuse, if it wasn’t the only kind. Children aren’t born to sit in one place for hours, with fresh gore rocking in a chair behind.

The question wasn’t answered, of course. She was sent away instead. Then there were the adults. And then, other schoolkids. Violet isn’t…a people person, you know, so it’s only natural for her to be the difficult one as Marlon says.

Still, however, with Clementine as they watch the stars together, Violet denotes for the bird constellation,

“A bird is free. It could go anywhere it wanted to. Up and up and up, and never come back. Go south, east, west, doesn’t matter. You could fly straight into a sunset. And see where it ends.” [Ep.2 | Suffer the Children | Belltower]

And to that,

[Clementine] “You wish it was you, don’t you?” [Violet] “Sometimes, when it all feels so heavy down here, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be weightless.” [Ep.2 | Suffer the Children | Belltower]

Violet has struggled to belong, and yet, she remains. Yes, there’s the apocalypse. However, in all the years at the school, she could have left just as well. There’s a version of her, lost in development, where Violet does leave had she not been saved.

So why didn’t she?

The answer to that, quite simply, is one Louis may admit to Clementine, should that version keep his tongue, and the silent nuance behind her playing leader:

Violet is too loyal to her people to leave.

It’s why Louis teases her, to try and find that laugh, and why he knows that if he needs her, she will be there to protect him. Violently, with a meat cleaver.

It’s why she takes charge, because Violet knows none of the others wanted to, but they needed someone to lead. Whether or not they appreciated that it was her.

And, it’s why she acts without thought to stand her ground against Marlon. If she’s asked, the camera doesn’t leave her because it is no surprise that she will stand beside Clementine, as opposed to Louis, where he decides with uncertainty, and the camera has him shuffle to frame; for Violet, the change in her face is immediate. The camera doesn’t have the time to idle in tension. What Louis says is dead-on:

“If I needed her, she’d be there. Meat cleaver in hand, ready to chop someone in half if it meant protecting me.” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Dorm]

Even if she isn’t asked, Violet will then stand her ground once Marlon is shot. She vouches for the outsiders, in the name of reason, and for the twins and Brody.

She doesn’t think when Clementine is in danger—didn’t matter that her and A.J are just exiled. Violet will do as told, trust Clementine—to shoot, or to run.

Takes the helm after Marlon. Backs Clementine every step of the way.

Cannot let Minnie go until she has to, and Violet has seen that the person she clung after is gone.

Violet is too loyal to her people to leave, for her loyalty unbridled.

It’s her strongest quality. It is, also, what marks Violet with borderline.

[Emotional Anchorage]

We slip back to describe BPD at large, beyond this essay and character. However, everything of this section has its place with Violet.

And it begins with emotional anchorage.

Emotional anchors are not inherent to BPD. It’s not unique to the disorder because, instead, I’d argue it is a universal experience. These anchors are anything which triggers an emotional response. These can be specific objects—like an old stuffed bear, a photograph, a house—, or stimuli—like a scent, a song. Tangible things like these are indicative of our nature. Humans like things. We like to collect, and tinker, and destroy. It helps if it’s shiny. It really helps when there’s fire or light involved.

Here's another thing about anchors:

They can be people.

They commonly are. It’s how we distinguish strangers from significant relationships—friends, family, partners. Anchorage is present despite the nuances between friends (just a friend vs BFF), and family (siblings vs parents vs offspring). And, partners—emotional anchorage explains how queerplatonic relationships come to be, because the fundamental element of a partner (being an emotional anchor) is present, it’s just the romantic and/or sexual implications are ambiguous.

Emotional anchoring is the process in establishing the anchor, leaving anchorage as this essay’s way to articulate the concept itself.

Borderline Personality Disorder will naturally encourage these attachments.

Within the community, BPD has a term: favorite person (or FP). It is as it reads. There is a designated favorite for us, and this favorite person can be a friend, a family member, or a partner—anybody, really. With FP, we begin to fall down the well in emotional anchoring as it pertains to the disorder.

Because, ultimately, a FP is either the strongest, or the only, emotional anchor an individual with BPD has. (For the sake of this essay, I will replace FP with primary/prime emotional anchor going forth, to be more consistent in word choice.) And the anchoring of this person is generally not intended. It just happens, where there’s a strike of intrigue, and everything follows thereafter.

The moment I anchor a person, it is a stark change from the indifference/apathy I display to I want to spend all my time with you, and I will literally die for you without a second thought. I will remember everything you value better than I remember my own, and I will present those nice things to you, at every opportunity. Tell me your favorite color once, and I will remember it for decades to come. Tell me to break my nose, and I may very well do it on the spot.

Which. Yes. Is intense.

Understanding the disorder behind it, however, allows me to take the precautions to…warn people beforehand. And to tell them upfront, if ever I am encroaching on boundaries, just say knock it the fuck off, Volt. In exchange…, I don’t take it personally. Because, uh, yeah. I can get intense. I understand. I may feel a type of way in the moment where boundaries are made, but that’s the BPD talking in my ear.

But also, I know I value someone being upfront with me more than a passive rejection. Frustration is what sets me off—the not knowing why—, not the rejection in itself. Because if I don’t know why, that’s how I interpret things as abandonment.

I have been rejected many times in life by people I’ve deemed emotional anchors. And it stung. A lot. Far beyond what I could ever articulate, but if I had to try, they are wounds carved to the bone, or with one, where my heart was quite utterly eviscerated.

There’s a deeper conversation there, with an anchor changing before my eyes. And, yes, it’s ultimately this which the essay will discuss in great detail. Through Violet.

Yet, before that, emotional anchorage is one of the few things that borderline has the chance to gift a person, because it’s not all bad. If you’re like me—where everything is null, and blurry, and static—, having a person suddenly there to awaken my body to speak, sharpen the world, and bring chaos inside my head… It’s a lot. It’s demonstrably a devastating thing, but in a very raw and beautiful way.

Demiromanticism, no doubt, is a reflection of how I express BPD. So to realize my demi ass has feelings, whenever it happens, is nice. …it also means I then have to determine whether it’s that, or a crush. And there is a difference between genuine feelings and a crush, and yeah, I prefer one over the other.

But. (And this can be platonic or romantic.) Having someone be that anchor grounds me, and while the relationship will have turbulence—because the boat I sail is on a river I can’t build canals for—, there brings such a confusing clarity to the world. I have a purpose where I didn’t think I did before.

It’s a high. A borderline addiction.

To not a thing, not a habit, but a person.

When it’s healthy, it’s everything, and I can brave all storms. When it’s not, it’s obsession and mania, it’s my boat trapped in a whirlpool with the anchor at the center of it all; I may break away, violently, or I will sink, and it will be the death of me.

…and when there’s no anchor there at all, I and my boat are to the whim of the river—because there are no canals, I have to rely on my boat to guide me and find an anchor. This can be where people turn to destructive behaviors. Substance abuse. Eating disorders. Everything alike.

Why though?

Why is it this way? Why do people like me sink their teeth and set anchorage like this?

This is where identity creeps its way back.

Because though anybody can develop emotional attachments, to the point of anchorage, BPD again does this to an absolute extreme. My personal anecdote may speak to it without debate. Understanding how identity gets itself involved further speaks to that extreme. BPD isn’t necessarily about the traits themselves, right? So rather, it’s how they manifest, and fester, and the mechanisms behind it all.

With identity, it hinges on what you find comfortable, and what you don’t. It’s guided by your feelings on things, and your comprehensive response thereafter. Passions turn into aspirations. Self-perception feeds into expression. And on and on.

So, if someone does not have a stable sense of self, there is a disturbance in identity. There’s no coherence to the person. Few consistencies, if any at all.

The identity is as stable as your regulation of emotions allow, and if it’s dysregulated, so will your identity.

A broken sense of self fractures a person. So we scour for stability. We do so in people. But with that broken sense, it’s easier to just swap out characteristics and emulate the environment, should there be a promise of stability. When this happens, it can be recognized as masking—because, debatably, it is—, but it can also go so far that people confuse this borderline trait with something like DID.

To those none the wiser, yeah, it might as well be DID. Because, like…, they just change so quickly. And if it’s a matter of mirroring different people, it can also imply that the BPD encourages the person to alter their personality depending on who they’re with at the time. Which. Yes. Has the capacity to resemble switching between split personalities from an observer’s perspective.

However. I have outlined (in quite the broad stroke) what DID is: a split in identities, in order to protect and shield the individual from further trauma. It’s dissociative in nature, where the distinct, established personalities will operate the individual at different times—given the nuances which come with DID.

BPD does come with dissociation as well—my personal experience with how I live day to day is indicative of, for simplicity, derealization and depersonalization. However, it’s not a split. What’s happening is this one identity does not have a stable, set personality. With the incapability to regulate emotions, it indicates a level of alexithymia. So how are we supposed to understand what we want, and don’t want, in everything from interests to moral standing? Things that a personality is grown from?

This copycat behavior is in itself a mechanism that BPD deploys. It’s kinda masking, not to purely to hide from and integrate into social norms, but also to find a sense of self through a very, very desperate act of scavenging.

In BPD, the best candidates to copy are the people who make us feel good—get a high from—, and that we want to be around, and whom we fixate upon—to a manic point:

Those emotional anchors.

As we go back to Violet, keep this in mind. Again, no, there’s no feasible way to remark for certain what her relationship with identity is like, so the implications that emotional anchoring has on identity can’t really be applied. But the intensity—the level of fixation—can.

Because Violet struggles in her bonds with other people. There’s an idealization present to those bonds, and a devaluation. Both this good and bad, the highs and lows, are via anchorages.

So we’ll start with Minnie.

[Emotional Anchorage: An Obsessive Good Memory]

“Sophie was a good friend. And Minnie… Uh… We were close, me and her.” [Ep.1 | Done Running | Dorm]

When we meet Violet, amongst her introductions, Clementine learns about the twins from the two who still tend to their graves—Violet, and Tennessee. Not long after, there’s a card game, and not long after that, Violet finds Clementine and A.J in their dorm.

The one which was home to the twins.

“Huh. I see you’re, um…, settling in.” “Yeah. Is that okay?” “Sure. I guess. I always liked this room. Sophie had, like, paintings and shit on the walls. Lots of color. And Minerva…, she was really musical. [. . .] She had the most amazing voice. Real bluesy. [. . .] That was a long time ago. After they… Afterwards, Brody and Tenn took down all the paintings. And that was the end of it. I shouldn’t have even brought it up. It’s not a good memory. Guess I just lost my train of thought.” [Ep.1 | Done Running | Dorm]

The way she speaks of Minnie, there’s an adoration, and a nostalgia made bitter by the perceived tragedy.

Of course, those twins (…okay, well—) aren’t dead, they were traded. So even though Violet has yet to see Minnie, she is now a presence to her mind that isn’t nearly as bitter. She focuses on getting the school prepared for a fight, alongside Clementine, but through it all, yeah, Minnie is still there.

And when looking at the stars with Clementine, if Clementine remains quiet for the fish constellation, Violet comments,

“Bright, pretty, good with other people. Always moving, tons of energy. Sounds like anyone we know? The energy one is easy. Good with people, not so much. [. . .] Y’know, it… Well, maybe this is weird to bring up, but it reminds me of Minnie.” [Ep.2 | Suffer the Children | Belltower]

Minnie is a big part of her, despite their time and distance from each other. They grew up together. They got closer.

Another thing:

Violet never says girlfriend.

The only time where it’s “proclaimed” by the season that Minnie and Violet were girlfriends is through Clementine, where whenever A.J sees the carving in the fishing cabin’s wall, she can say,

“It means they were a couple. [. . .] Violet was Minnie’s girlfriend.” [Ep.1 | Done Running | Fishing Cabin]

Is it fair to assume that? Yeah. That’s…what carving a heart or potato with initials is supposed to symbolize.

But like.

Let’s be for real. What the ✨fuck✨ does Clementine know? Sure, she’s somehow not concussed after hauling ass in the sky, with a car. But she doesn’t know these people. Point blank.

We don’t know when this heart was carved. Just that it’s V + M (suggesting Violet did it, given the order), it’s out of the way from the school and in the fishing cabin, and it’s just shy from a bed (and alcohol).

Again, Violet herself never says girlfriend.

The heart could’ve been carved with Minnie there with her. Or, Violet was deep in mourning, and decided to brand the cabin—likely because it holds a significant memory.

…and Imma be honest, the cabin has a bed, and it is covered in bottles. Everywhere on the table. Some scattered around. So I will give the benefit of the doubt. Considering the…subtext around the fishing cabin, doing some quick math with my gamer instincts, yeah, if you leave youth (troubled or otherwise) alone, you might get Lord of the Flies, or…exploration. I guess.

It is clear that there was something. There is validity to “[w]e were close, me and her.”

The question then becomes why the ambiguity? Had TFS been made in a different time, and James didn’t have a boyfriend, and Violet and Clementine couldn’t be a couple, yes, it would’ve been Telltale beating around the bush.

Except even in this moment, Clementine outright says girlfriend in reference to a sapphic dynamic.

Because TFS was not made in a different time, James did have a boyfriend, and Violet and Clementine can kiss and hold hands.

The ambiguity indicates something else. That ambiguity is heightened the more Violet talks about Minnie pre-Broken Toys (saved Violet route). Because she speaks so fondly of her, with almost this conviction.

Yet…she still does not say girlfriend.

This is textbook. Given the essay, and what I’ve already exhausted over, it shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it is quite plain:

What Clementine stumbles upon isn’t a mourning over a lover; it’s instead, at its core, a lasting idealization.

With BPD, idealization is as follows:

“[A] way of coping with anxiety in which an object or person of ambivalence is viewed as perfect, or as having exaggerated positive qualities.” [Verywell Mind | Idealization and Devaluation in BPD]

This tracks.

Violet speaks so fondly of Minerva, with almost this conviction, yet she does not say girlfriend. Ever. Because the conviction is the intimacy, but Violet is a pragmatic individual. Though there’s idealization present, referring to Minnie as her girlfriend (for whatever reason) is too far for even her mental state.

Like she mourned Minnie for a year. She gushed about her to Clementine every chance she got. So…why not say it?

With this all established,��TFS then allows us to witness how idealization in borderline often corrodes into devaluation—the inverse of idealization, its absolute antithesis.

“Used when a person characterizes themselves, an object, or another person as completely flawed, worthless, or as having exaggerated negative qualities [. . .] because there is often no middle ground for a person with BPD. Feeling challenged, threatened, or disappointed can quickly cause them to devalue the people they formally idealized. Rather than cope with the stress of ambivalence, devaluing functions to minimize the anxiety caused by ambiguity.” [Verywell Mind | Idealization and Devaluation in BPD]

This corrosion has a name. It is splitting.

Like with the previous definitions, I will allow my resource to explain this concept, because of everything this essay has to offer, it is this that the everything hinges on.

“Splitting involves an inability to hold two opposing thoughts, beliefs, or feelings. People who have BPD tend to view others in all-or-nothing [. . .] terms. “This self-protective defense mechanism aims to help people with BPD protect themselves from getting hurt in relationships. By labeling people as ‘good,’ they are able to engage in relationships despite the emotional risks. If they feel threatened, they can then quickly discard the individual or the relationship by labeling them as ‘bad.’ “Like most defense mechanisms, someone with BPD may not be aware that they are engaging devaluation and idealization. Splitting is a subconscious way to protect themselves from perceived stress[, and] reflects the challenges associated with maintain an integrated view of the good and bad in a person under stress. Some researchers suggest that some of the difficulty is rooted in the way the brain, particularly the amygdala and prefrontal lobe, activates in these experiences for people with BPD.” [Verywell Mind | Idealization and Devaluation in BPD]

…again, this essay has to break away from Violet and TFS to provide an insight, a discussion, of what this means for BPD.

I will start by clarifying that splitting from one end to the other is a bitch to deal with. The catch is not every person with BPD is incapable of reading the world beyond black-and-white. I’m one who can, …when I’m not in the midst of an episode. Day to day, I’m apathetic/indifferent—take your pick—, and because of that, I don’t give enough of a shit to really fixate on what is “good” and what is “bad” to me. I take everything as they go.

Because I really, really do not give a flying fuck.

The moment there is any seed of emotional attachment, or anchorage, it changes things. For me, it’s generally that I really adore this person, but they did something that hurt, and it confused me, so I shut down and close myself off. Namely so that I can have the time and space to breathe and process. Because I feel a lot for these people. I’ve gone over how intense that feeling is. And the last thing I want to do is hurt them.

So the moment I get confused, it boils into frustration, but frustration means ire with me. And that’s terrifying, because I don’t know what I can and will do if I’m backed into a corner. Because I know my brain shuts itself off.

The other thing to this as well is…it’s not always such a violent shift between idealization and devaluation. It really depends on how confused I am, the person, and then the time and distance laid between me and them. If there’s minimal distance between me and them, and minimal time between then and now, then yes, it will be explosive. If, say, a year has passed, and I have not seen this person within that time, then the splitting will look very different—largely because I don’t perceive it as an immediate danger, so my brain never shuts off, and I can process in the moment with reason. There’s still significant emotions there, of course, and given it’s still splitting, I do have that shift between the extremes. Difference is,I am able to regulate myself better.

Take note of this nuance, because it is absolutely present in Violet.

And we resume her relationship with Minnie, where we witness the corrosion from idealization, inching towards its antithesis. The process is best explored if Violet is saved, where it doesn’t taken an age, nor a day. It takes mere morning hours.

When spying upon the boat to get their bearings, and formulate a plan, they find Minnie chopping wood. Or, Clementine does, pulls a knife on her, before Violet intervenes. They embrace. Clementine has opinions off to the side.

Then.

They talk. And Minnie… Um. Well. If Delta was inspired by the New Frontier, Minnie would’ve had a fat branding right on her forehead.

Immediately, it becomes evident that Minerva has no interest in going back to the school. Her loyalty lies with the Delta. And given the prompt, she will have this to say:

[Violet’s in charge.] “Really? The Violet I knew could barely stand to talk to people, let alone play class president. You’re the one who convinced the school to fight back. From where I’m standing, that puts you in charge. Your ‘leadership’ is going to get my little brother killed.” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Forest]

Huh.

Not only does what she say about Violet directly contradict what Clementine sees from her, Minnie is also blatant in steamrolling right through the testament, and tells Clementine that no, you’re the leader, and you’re bad at it because you are a threat to my brother.

It’s a little jarring. Because, one, ouch. That’s mean. Mitch died because he ran into a knife, and it was not Clementine’s.

But two, what?! Violet, whose first line to Clementine is snark about her driving, could barely stand to talk to people? Violet. Who stood up to Marlon, cleaver at hand? The one who Louis says (given the other route) will do just that to any threat?

Our Violet, who Clementine gets to know. The one who immediately took the role after Marlon because nobody else did? Despite the fact that, yes, she realizes there’s no promise that the schoolkids will actually listen?

Violet…is openly sardonic, is she not? Does she not confront people with a weapon?

It’s a little jarring, then it’s…dissonant the more you pick it apart. Because what is Minnie talking about?

I will say, for sure, Violet changed within that year apart. But not to the degree that Minnie implies to us. We have Louis’ words for Violet, and then Violet herself—constantly brings up protecting the twins. And she’s shown she will. Violet will shoot Lilly if told. And Violet, after Marlon’s death, brandishes her cleaver to shield Clementine and A.J from the other schoolkids.

Maybe part of the change was that she vowed to herself that she’d do better after losing the twins. Wouldn’t be surprised.

…but Minnie didn’t like killing walkers, though. Which implies that, yes, Violet probably filled a protector role for her, in regards to the dead.

It’s baffling. I can go on and on and on.

Just as Violet did, between seeing Minnie after so long, and finding Clementine in her dorm.

“The thing is, seeing Minnie… I feel like it should’ve scared me. But it didn’t. The person we ran into in the woods, that wasn’t Minnie. Not really. The way she sounded, and acted… The way she talked about Sophie, and Lilly… I’m…confused, I guess.” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Dorm]

She voices the same sentiment.

But upon various dialogue prompts, the corrosion inches its way to Violet:

[She’s one of them now.] “It sucks, but…I don’t know what else I expected.” [It’s not Minnie’s fault.] “I never said it was. But it doesn’t change anything.” [We can save Minnie.] “You saw how she reacted when Lilly showed up. Those are her people now. And we are not.” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Dorm]

I do think it’s interesting that, even if Clementine says to Violet that Minnie could be saved, she says otherwise. Because Violet is pragmatic. Minerva coming back from the Delta is just not realistic.

So through time and distance, and the wake-up call in the woods, Violet expresses an acceptance of this. The fact that Minnie won’t come back. It’s not quite splitting, because…this isn’t a true devaluation here; it’s the idealization ebbing away.

“Minnie…, the real Minnie…, she’s gone. She’s been gone this whole time, and I…have to stop mourning her. I won’t let her take you or A.J. Or anyone else I care about.” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Dorm]

And she admits it to Clementine aloud. Promises her that she, and A.J, along with everyone else, will be protected from the Delta—from Minnie, if need be.

Not only that, if Violet is romanced, she makes a request:

“There’s something I’ve always wanted to try with someone I cared about. And I never have. [. . .] Have you ever danced with anyone before?” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Dorm]

I’ve always taken this line to signal how nervous, and how new Violet is to this kind of relationship. Because it is new to her. This is the first time where her feelings were reciprocated. She always wanted to try dancing with someone, but for whatever reason, never had with Minnie. And she’s nervous because…she wants it to be reciprocated, and Violet here is gaging a reaction, testing the waters.

In writing this essay, another thought occurred:

This is Violet moving on.

She’s nervous because there is a lot of weight to this request. She’s gaging what Clementine says, because Violet is invested now. All-in. 100%.

It’s not about Minerva—doesn’t even outright say that she never had a dance with Minnie.

Because by this point, through this dance, Violet’s realized just how unreciprocated her feelings were, because now, she has the chance to dance with someone who does reciprocate. And not just in the dance. Clementine’s loyalty extends further than that.

Another detail that I noticed is perpetuated throughout every interaction with Minnie is who she always prioritizes, and how it contrasts Clementine. With Clementine, of course A.J is first priority, and Violet understands that. And she goes out of her way to help with him. Conversely, Clementine helps with Tenn, and the school, and the other Ericson kids. All of which are who Violet also prioritizes.

Meanwhile, the same can’t be said for the other side of that contrast. Because it’s always what about Sophie and Minnie? from Violet, and never what about Tenn and Violet? from Minerva. It’s only ever Tennessee for her.

With the initial encounter, yes. She wouldn’t be asking about Violet because… Violet’s right there. She’s talking to her. However, we overhear Minnie talking to Dorian, asking to have Tenn join her. Not Violet. Then, further into the night, where suddenly she’s singing her own boss music and a red bar just takes up the whole screen, Minnie goes out of her way to claim Tenn.

And then, for good measure, axe Clementine.

But not because of Violet. Clementine gets axed regardless of who she saves, because Minnie…is far, far more pissed that Clementine put Tennessee in danger than anyone else. Including Violet.

The Delta changed Minerva. Yes.

Yet, Lilly never was able to remove her loyalty to her people. Her people being Tenn.

It’s telling, how (in)significant Violet was to her because all I read is…, it is nowhere close to the significance Minnie had on Violet. Because Minnie had other priorities.

She just happened to be Violet’s primary emotional anchor. And with that comes everything Violet could feasibly offer a person.

Here’s the thing to understand with this essay, and what I’m getting at with Minnie and Violet’s past relationship:

Violet anchoring Minnie is not Minnie’s fault. It’s not Violet’s either; a kid isn’t going to understand why they’re feeling a certain type of way, but when it feels nice, they will follow. Especially when the adults responsible for troubled youth are just…gone.

But what this does bring to light is a nesting place for borderline’s stigma.

Emotional anchors, splitting between idealization and devaluation—these concepts are the source for much of the fear against people with BPD. When gathering articles to reference at the end, some articles I pull from r/BPD on Reddit because having resources that are from people with experience asking and answering questions is incredibly valuable. Many discussions in r/BPD related to this (exchange primary emotional anchor with FP) are frustrating. For myself to read, because several are people not with BPD venting, but, I imagine it was frustrating to type out because…they’re venting for a reason.

Depending on the discussion, however, what is said is ignorant to all of what I know of my disorder. I know where it comes from. I know that the emotions behind all of what I do with anchorage are genuine. But then there’s people who vent, or there’s others who prompt a question because they are nervous that their friend (with BPD) is not genuine.

Of course, I can’t promise how other people with BPD are like. BPD is dependent on the personality, and if you have a shit personality. Um. Yeah. You’re not a fun person to be around. Sorry?

Not really, but, you know.

Stigma aside, it is true. I understand the insecurities, and the need to vent. Being someone’s anchor because of borderline is a lot of fucking pressure, and truth be told, it’s like that because…what if you just can’t reciprocate the intensity? After that honeymoon phase, people without the underlying disorder tend to get exhausted emotionally, meanwhile…, there is no cease from the other.

So people tend to draw away. They either do so quietly, in attempt to not hurt feelings, or, they’ll be direct and antagonize because of they stress they’re under. Either way, if the condition has gone untreated, the confusion this brings will then ignite the individual’s borderline. This is where you get insecurities born within the relationship, which the person can then go further and self-sabotage because there is no regulating themselves. You get constant bombardment whenever they feel neglected. They’re overbearing. You feel that their claws are dug deep, and it’s far deeper than you could’ve ever imagined.

Because there’s an anchorage.

If this is what happened, and Minnie entertained Violet, but never reciprocated the magnitude of devotion Violet brings with her… I can’t blame the girl. And given that Minnie was a troubled youth just as much as Violet was, she had her fair share of issues.

Because frankly, I don’t care if she was brainwashed or what, Minnie still killed her twin sister. You know, the one that has been in the same situations, the same environments, throughout Minnie’s life, yet when she saw the Delta, Sophie did not fold. Sophie actively fought against the Delta, whereas Minnie…complied.

Even before they were caught on the raft that Sophie planned to steal.

“One of the girls saw that this was a place worth fighting for, and her tears dried. But the other twin, she could never forget her old home. She rejected every gift, every opportunity. Stirred up trouble every chance she got. She convinced her sister to help her steal a raft and leave on the river. Of course, they didn't get far. What happened then, Minerva?” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Brig]

This Parable of Twins is, of course, by Lilly’s word, and yes, she did brainwash Minnie. So naturally, there will be an element here where the details are lost. I buy that Minnie did accept her place in the Delta where Sophie never did, but I don’t really believe that it was just because she saw it was a place worth fighting for.

The reality of Minerva is she’s a very conflicted person, and she’s passive by nature. She’s a good head taller than Violet, yet, when Violet talks about her (and Sophie), it’s always about protecting her. Because Minnie didn’t like killing walkers.

I also wonder if the reason why she’s so passive is because Sophie…might’ve been the one that got her and Tenn into trouble right with her, if she was more combative. As for the confliction, Minerva may have been caught in between—because there’s a combative twin, and then there’s a younger brother to protect, one who’s passive to a fault.

It’s this confliction and passiveness that has Minnie primed for manipulation. She will seek stability through, well, passive means. With the Delta, do as they say.

…and with Violet, it’s let the girl have her infatuation, maybe entertain it, but don’t cross too far into romantic territory because the girl’s a little too intense.

(Of course, Minnie is also the one who was practically dead herself while leading a herd by voice alone, to kill her brother and maybe do a little slashing. So like, she is just as intense, just…in less of a loyal kind of way, and more in fucking unhinged way. Because she also might’ve been the one to instill Tenn’s beliefs.)

Once it’s revealed what happened to Sophie, Violet snaps. She yells at Minerva.

But even still, there’s a slip of that anchorage:

“Who are you?! Fuck survival! Look at what you’re doing! Minnie, please, I just want to talk to you for a second! I’m sorry we never searched for you, for Sophie… I’m sorry we trusted that fucker, Marlon. If I ever thought there was a chance—” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Dorm]

Following this, time ticks away with a bomb in a boiler, so Clementine lunges for an escape—to get A.J back to her side. And Minnie tries to stop her.

With a knife near-identical to Jane’s in S2. And it manages to gouge a near-identical scar in Clementine’s sternum. A stark parallel to S2’s ending. Except, Violet doesn’t hesitate. The moment she is out of the cell, she disappears into the backdrop, then an arrow finds its place in Minerva’s shoulder not long thereafter.

She does stay at her side, for when the schoolkids leave. Perhaps for closure, if the previous dialogue gives any indication.

Because even though Violet shot Minnie, moved on from her with a dance, and realized that she wasn’t going to return, that anchor is still there. Minnie was, after all, still a significant part of her, and that…doesn’t really ever just go away. The idealization may have drained, but the feelings themselves do remain.

We then look to another Violet, who was taken rather than saved.

“At least here I have Minnie… [. . .] Don’t act like you know her. She tried to escape. Her and Sophie. They said if I fight back, they’d kill Minnie. Or one of you. All you’ve done is get us hurt or killed. If you fuck this up worse, I’ll stop you myself. And don’t think I won’t. I’m not losing her again, or anyone else.” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Brig]

And another aspect of BPD, and anchorage, becomes clear:

Borderline primes people for manipulation, much in the same way that a passive and conflicted nature primed Minnie.

There’s a flipside to emotional anchoring in BPD, and it has everything to do with how the disorder forces people to become reliant on their anchors. People who cannot discern nor regulate their own emotions, and people with a bleak, instable sense of identity.

Which is a problem because there are people who’re able to take a person’s emotions, and weaponize them as a puppeteer. They manipulate through any means necessary.

Most, in an effort to avoid being manipulated themselves, try to hide their emotions and keep them out of reach. They suppress them, because suppressing your emotions is how you get the most control, and nobody else.

Right?

Coming from experience, do not do this. Suppressing your emotions is the last thing you want to do.

Especially if you want to avoid getting yourself manipulated.

I felt that I had to suppress not just as a child, but before that, because I was in a fucked situation. And it did this to me.I have no control. Life is a writhing storm at sea, and I just fucking hope I can find an anchor within the storm’s eye—but I know there’ll never be a calm to this storm.

And the wrong people know this. The ones who prey and manipulate to abuse the loyalty I am so desperate to offer, and can pull it from me with ease, should idealization blind me from the warning signs.

When Violet is saved, she sees through Minnie quickly. Because it’s in how Minnie talks. And it’s weird, because Violet also includes how she talked about Sophie, when the most Minnie said was “she died protecting the Delta. A hero” once prompted by Violet’s concern. That shouldn’t have raised alarm, yet…something about it did. To Violet.

So she’s able to let go. Violet still holds the memory of Minnie quite dear to her heart—the one in her head—, but after this, it was more about closure, not bringing her back. And all it took was that one interaction.

But here, back to a Violet taken away, it takes longer. She’s not told what actually happened to Sophie; instead, both Minerva and Lilly feed into a broken trust with Clementine, and condemns Violet back to the girl who sat with Grandma’s body rocking behind her.

Her loyalty blinds her to what Minnie has devolved into, so she goes and tries to stop the bomb, save the boat, and secure a future with her because Minnie is all she knows and trusts.

Yet.

It’s broken when Violet does. Because Violet has her face marred by the bomb. She’s left to defend herself—blindly—as she clambers out of the water with a walker snagged at the leg. She asks for Minnie at first, is led by Louis, and then…it becomes clear what happened when they hear gunshots, clearing away the walkers.

Minnie. Is left. Unscathed.

Well, okay. She does, like, panic and stuff, and then gets bit. So, that explosion had been her death sentence.

But Minnie is not burned. Not like Violet.

Which…implies something. However it happened, Violet was the one closest to the bomb, and Violet was further down the beach, towards the boat, whereas when Clementine, A.J and Louis reach her, Minnie is away, towards the woodland. Getting her ass bit. A bunch.

She either got off the boat at a different (earlier) time, or, she just…abandoned Violet. To defend the last of the boat and her crew. And, probably, to look for Tenn.

Leaving Violet to realize something, and as she struggles to see the world, she begins to try and apologize. To Clementine. Who didn’t lie to her about the fucking bomb on the boat, and given that, it also kinda explains why Clementine didn’t take her sweet time consoling Violet from her episode because. Um. The bomb.

Whatever it was that happened, it’s enough to rattle Violet to reason. And to snap her out of it.

Within one interaction. (…explosion.)

It’s…the little things like this—the ones that go unsaid—, which indicate Minnie’s sense of priorities, and how even when Violet actively worked to help save the boat, those priorities never were Violet. Before this, she manipulated and lied to her, and (via the alternative path) she never…danced with Violet, despite Minnie being the musical twin. Instead, Violet never danced, but she does sing now.

Which again has me wonder, was it Minnie entertaining Violet, and/or, if the subtext found in the fishing cabin does indicate this, was it never romantic like how Violet wanted? Just physical?

I’m kinda losing my mind over here?!

There was always an imbalance. Violet always prioritized Minnie, and her sister, and her brother. She prioritized the latter two because of Minnie, and then prioritized Tenn after the sisters were traded off. Prioritized Minnie’s interests—singing, and took it on herself—, and left her own—like the dancing—to…wane in self-doubt.

And then…, we have Minnie who killed her twin, and then went after Tenn to also kill him. The killing part is, well, the brainwashing and trauma, and stuff, but point being… Violet is still not in the equation. She’s an afterthought to Minnie.

This isn’t to say that Violet and Minnie’s relationship was downright toxic, or abusive, or anything along those lines. All we have is Violet’s word. But given Violet clearly glorified Minnie to herself, her word is unreliable.

What this is all to say is…, it was no mistake on Telltale’s part to have Violet physically blind, or then speak about how she had been blinded figuratively—before reality set in. Down one route, this was done by having the wool pulled from her eyes; down the other, it was the blinding in itself that brought her clarity.

It’s what I mean when I say that Violet’s unbridled loyalty is also her bane. She establishes strong and intense emotional anchors, to the point where should that anchor be lost, she will refuse to let go. And not because she wants to trap herself to that anchor, but because that’s…how BPD is. Attachments like this are really hard to shake off. But also, Violet didn’t know who else to turn to.

There’s Tenn, sure, but she’s his protector, not the other way around. There’s some of the others—Mitch, Willy, Ruby, Aasim—who we don’t get enough time to really see how Violet is with them. Marlon she tolerates, but there’s a clear strain between them.

Louis— God, there’s Louis, and he’s the one that she is vehement about getting back—indicating that he is yet another anchor for her. Thing is, he was also Marlon’s best friend, and they are…opposites. A lot of conflict comes from that.

…this essay really doesn’t have much to say with Louis and Violet. In part because, frankly, I didn’t really know where I could put him with the points I strive to make. There is absolutely space for him, yet, another thing:

Their words for each other, when the other is taken, are enough. Louis and Violet say everything themselves.

I did give commentary to the dialogue quotes, but it was sparse for this precise reason. I don’t need to get into how quietly powerful their friendship is. Louis is the one who introduces Violet by name. He’s the one that promises Clementine that it’s just her way, because he knows her. If blinded, he’s also the one that she relies on to guide her. And despite Marlon, and perhaps despite even Clementine given the different routes, there is never a malice between them.

Which I adore TFS for doing, because it would’ve been easy to have them be rivals and fight over each other. Especially for Clementine.

But that’s also juvenile, and while those storylines have their place, it is not here.

Never has. Never will.

So there’s Louis. He’s an anchor. Yet, because he is the one grounded anchor Violet has of the schoolkids, not fazed by idealization nor devaluation… That is their dichotomy. It is unique of all other relationships Violet has before Clementine—after Clementine as well, should he be the one saved.

We have Brody. Who does represent a point of devaluation for Violet. The lowest to a volatile relationship.

[Emotional Anchorage: Walking Triggers]

Truth be told, in this most recent endeavor to write Violet’s deconstruction, Brody was who reignited the compulsion. Because there is a deep-seated complexity to what happened between her and Violet, and why it happened. …only for me to find yet another post somewhere that was made by a glanced judgement.

Its criticism wasn’t in any way toxic, which was nice because this fandom…has a mean streak. But it did harken back to borderline’s stigma regardless.

Devaluation is a very ugly mark on someone with BPD. Worse than idealization, in the eyes of many. It in itself is toxic,and this coping mechanism is one of the reasons why BPD a disorder with the stigma it portrays. There’s a dysfunction in the order within our behavior.

That dysfunction, and the subsequent behavior, provokes a defensive ignorance.

Violet is wrong to do this. This is an antagonistic trait of hers, and Brody gets the brunt of it. She had to live with this for a year.

However, making blanket assumptions is reductive, especially in a discussion where it’s about understanding the how and why. There’s a reason why Violet devalues Brody. The path to how it happened in the first place is actually quite apparent. If you know how to read the signs, you can see this happen a mile away. So through understanding the how and why, it’s easier to 1) avoid it entirely, and 2) navigate devaluation if/when it does transpire.

Both Brody and Violet together make one mistake, and the fix is straightforward. Not easy, but straightforward.

Before that, though, we first shall establish a few things.

For one, Violet is…a lot. Don’t let her apathetic demeanor fool you. Just look to the previous section—that alone is enough to prove otherwise.

Along with the apathy, Violet is sardonic. She’s aloof to people when she doesn’t have strong attachments, but, she likewise shows to be pragmatic and reasonable. Which like, same. I wear belts and layer my jackets with vests too.

…and I also know what this kind of character implies: Violet is a little bully. She absolutely has the capacity to be cruel.This is also confirmed later, where at Ruby’s hootenanny, there’s mention of an Erin with braces that Violet would make fun of. (Probably because braces are hard to take off; they are a little goofy in an apocalypse, but also…really unfortunate the more it puts stress on the mouth and dental structure.) Violet then comments that she didn’t know why she did.

I wear belts and layer my jackets too; upon reflection, I did the same thing as a kid. So I have some insight to this which may explain the why here. Given how Violet speaks of this schoolkid, I’m willing to bet that Erin wasn’t someone who Violet had strong emotions for, one way or the other. She likely was pretty indifferent to Erin.

So, if that is true, Violet being a bully here comes from a place of 1) being apathetic, and not reading social cues like she should’ve, and/or 2) Erin was an outlet, but not a personal one.

Snide comments, and other slighted behaviors like this, they do not register.

Nothing clicks up here, behind my eyes. The comments are too brief to. So where this lashing out is coming from, it happens so swiftly that, by the time it leaves the mouth, I don’t know where it came from. There’s not much feeling to it. It was an impulse. So I just continue on my way, and never consider why.

In this way, there’s no malicious intent, it’s just cold. But outwardly, cruel.

A lot of times, to me, it was just play.

This is how a play with you. I make fun of you; you make fun of me. If you get hurt by it? Well. That sucks. Anyway—

Which, yes, is toxic, and I’ve realized, and I’m an adult now and I…don’t do that. Kind of. Social cues are a thing now, and I’ve gotten myself more aware of people. But I still do like poking fun, with the full expectation that it’s dished back.

Granted, I don’t know just how much of this applies to Violet. She has her insecurities, and is nervous when bringing herself to the table. And I am definitely not that—it’s not a confidence; I don’t care enough to be confident, I just do my thing.

But. This does establish a pattern with Violet, and with BPD, the disorder reflects the personality. There are common traits to BPD, but the expression of those traits varies depending on the person. For someone like Violet, who is already rather cold, this means any trait of BPD which stems from a cold demeanor will be present, and elevated. To borderline’s extreme.

Or, because Violet already can be cold to people, where devaluation is concerned, her personality makes it ten times worse. It doesn’t end. She makes comments—except, now, because there is significant emotion behind the comments (to Brody), it is to sting. It is cruel.

But…, it’s also complicated.

The bond between Brody and Violet is first made to be antagonistic, and Violet’s the one who perpetuates. Unlike the night before, where she with Clementine had a nice banter going in the dorm (if a tad guarded), Violet on the way to the cabin is hostile. Her words aren’t aggressive, but they’re instead dismissive at best, scathing at worst.

Brody does push back a little, and tries to brush it off, but it’s quite plain on her face that this does get to her.

In the cabin and away from Violet, Brody gives the context. It’s not just the words themselves hurt, it’s the fact that there’s a history there.

“Hey…, about Vi… I’m sorry she’s being a little mean. It’s my fault. [. . .] I was there when those walkers killed Sophie and Minnie. They were really close with Vi, and…I think she blames me for what happened to them. I mean, how do you even apologize for something that fucked up? I don’t know. Maybe I deserve it.” [Ep.1 | Done Running | Fishing Cabin]

Violet is hurt. Brody’s guilty.

Then, there’s a second, damning piece of history that explains why Brody, of all the schoolkids, gives the most insight to Violet’s mental health, and why this is happening.

“We all used to be friends. Guess I kinda just missed that.” [Ep.1 | Done Running | Fishing Cabin]

In the same way where it was textbook idealization for Minnie, this is textbook devaluation.

It’s made complicated because they were friends—good ones, considering they’ve been stuck in the same place since the outbreak—, but now there’s a negative connotation. That being the twins.

And remember, devaluation is an avoidant mechanism. Ambivalence is confusing, and that agitates a borderline personality.

Brody can then explain more, depending on the prompted dialogue:

Once again, Violet is distant where she wasn’t before.

But we also get a further confirmation that Brody is the one with the negative connotation, and it’s because she was the one who had to tell her. …which in itself is an interesting choice of words, but we can assume Marlon pressured her once the conspiracy is revealed.

Then another confirmation, to the fact that opening a conversation has not been feasible.

Turn to Violet, and she first says this:

“God. Sometimes she just gets on my last nerve, you know? [. . .] I mean, it’s— It’s not like I hate her… I just… ‘I wish we could all go on a road trip together.’ God, she’s so…ugh. You know? [. . .] I don’t know what the problem is between us. With Brody…, I don’t know why it’s like this. Why is it so weird? I can never relax around her. It just keeps getting worse.” [Ep.1 | Done Running | Fishing Cabin]

All of this is telling. Violet is very animated here, both in how she says it, her shifting tone, and what she’s saying. First it’s a comment. Second it’s admission. Then there’s that sardonic tongue, an ask to gage whether or not Clementine understands, before it all breaks and she goes back to admission.

The last couple lines say something crucial to know when understanding the dynamic here. And if a player is impatient with dialogue, they will miss these.

I can never relax around her. It just keeps getting worse.

So Brody is a walking trigger.

Within the bounds of splitting to devaluation, this happens when an emotional anchor develops a level of ambivalence, but because anchors do not just go, the anchorage is instead insecure, rather than the source of stability once relied upon.

Yes. Brody is another of Violet’s anchors—just not the primary one.

And what it means to be a walking trigger is…devastating. Not just for Brody, but for Violet as well. She doesn’t have the support Brody gives her anymore. Can’t trust it. Because every time Brody walks in the same room, Violet cannot relax. She is agitated.

Don’t take this to mean in a figurative way.

It is literal.

Triggers rise from people an emotional response. In BPD, this often means that the brain will shut its reasoning off, and prioritize this “survival” instinct. Fight-or-flight.

So when Violet says, I can never relax around her, this isn’t a oh I’m nervous, I don’t know what to do. This is I cannot function when she’s in the same room as me. Maybe she’s hypervigilant around Brody. To the point where Violet cannot stand Brody anywhere near her…

So she sabotages. She’s cruel to Brody in the comments she makes. She does not allow Brody to get close, because it is too much. Rather than a calm, reasonable state of mind, Violet feels things. A cold pit in her stomach. A dwelling ache in her chest, or a knot in her throat. Can’t focus on what she’s doing—Brody’s there.

And the easiest way to stop it is to push Brody away.

And, and, initially, blame the girl.

[Because you blame her.] “Well, that’s what I used to think. I just keep thinking that things might have ended differently if I was there. Maybe I could’ve protected Soph. And Minnie…” [Ep.1 | Done Running | Fishing Cabin]

There’s a confliction here. Violet did blame Brody, until she realized it wasn’t that. Instead, she blamed herself.

It’s the following prompt, however, that gives the best clarity to Brody and Violet. The prompt,

[Because she never said sorry.]

where Violet tells Clementine exactly what the trigger is—because by this point, a year later, she’s figured out how to articulate what it is:

[Violet] “She tell you that?” [Clementine] “More or less. She wants to talk about it, you know.” [Violet] “I just… I feel guilty about the whole thing.” [Clementine] “Why?” [Violet] “I was supposed to be out with the twins that day. I wanted to work in the greenhouse, so I asked Brody to cover for me. But then… I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I… I wanted to talk to Brody, to tell her I didn’t blame her for what happened. But every time I tried, I was reminded of who we lost. It was easier to just not talk about it.” [Ep.1 | Done Running | Fishing Cabin]

If BPD isn’t a lonely experience, or a humiliating one, it can be a guilty life to live.

Violet expresses why losing the twins hurt as much as it did: there was never closure, and she blamed herself. Hence why, earlier, I suspected that seeking closure was what kept Violet at Minnie’s side after shooting her.

She was finally saying that goodbye, regardless of how the interaction itself went.

But it’s what she says about Brody.

Violet wants to talk. She has wanted to. But Brody’s a walking trigger. Every. Single. Time that Violet tried to talk, the same turbulence arose. In BPD, without that regulation, it is unbelievably difficult to talk when…your body’s actively flipping the fuck out.

A cold pit in her stomach. A dwelling ache in her chest, or a knot in her throat. Can’t focus on what she’s doing.

Of course she found it easier to just not talk about it. That is an instinct ingrained by borderline.

BPD is a lonely experience every time you lose an anchor this way. The disorder is humiliating because you do not want people to see you like this, when you’re in the midst of an episode, and you have no fucking control over your body, so you yourself are flipping the fuck out.

And it’s guilty. Because when you’re in Violet’s position, where you know the reason why, you know what you want to do, but your body works against you at every turn…

It devastates a person.

Because it is your fault. You did this yourself. Reap what you sow. You’ve done it again, it’s humiliating, and you are very, very alone because you just cannot stop burning bridges.

…in the apocalypse, being chained to a boarding school does not help. There is no way to give the time and space someone like Violet needs to think, and to process, and to let those emotions relax. Brody kicks up those emotions whenever she’s around, and the dust just never settles.

Violet trapped herself in a cycle. By the hour, or by the day, for a year, it would’ve been a ceaseless agony.

One that did scar over. Violet probably got used to it, and found a routine to the snide comments. It wasn’t like Brody was leaving anytime soon.

Until she does, and she suffers a disorientating last few moments.

I’d like to think they made amends and had a full conversation. I don’t know, however. But, at least Violet does take the first step when walking from the cabin, and she entertains Brody’s fantasies about a road trip, and that she would’ve had her sights on the Grand Canyon.

Because the one mistake they made was they never talked. It wasn’t going to be an easy thing, but it is that straightforward. So when they did, or began to, the devaluation began to ebb away.

Then, a tragic irony.

Brody’s guilt was never just I’m not Minnie, so she hates me, and it’s my fault. Rather, Brody’s guilt was warranted, and quite honestly, yeah. She should’ve be guilty, because it’s I watched as my leader gave this girl’s world away, and did nothing, lied to her, to her face, for a year.

Violet didn’t know this at the time. So for her, Brody was a point of devaluation because it’s her mental health actively jeopardizing things, not the truth and circumstance. The deception, in the conversation of that mental health, instead plays itself like salt to a wound, and then a tragic irony once Brody was murdered for it.

Because Brody knew they had to tell people. If the path to mending their relationship was encouraged, then it could be read that it gave her the inch to confront Marlon. If otherwise, Brody wanted to tell everyone because she needed to, despite what turmoil the truth would’ve caused Violet.

By the time Violet does know, and there’s a funeral, she says this about Brody:

“Brody, she was… She was real sweet. She had big dreams. And we all knew they wouldn’t come true, but we didn’t care. And we didn’t care because when she was talking, whatever she said seemed possible. [. . .] I don’t know if she found the place she dreamed about, but I’m gonna miss her.” [Ep.2 | Suffer the Children | Courtyard]

There’s forgiveness. With Brody died that devaluation.

Not a moment thereafter, however,

“Marlon was… I can’t. Not for Marlon. After what he did to the twins and Brody, I—” [Ep.2 | Suffer the Children | Courtyard]

The cycle continues.

Now with Marlon.

If Violet devalued Brody, she absolutely vilified Marlon. Because not only was it about the twins, there’s also Brody.

So of course she didn’t give him any peace after the fact. Why would she? Marlon had his own complexities, yes, but those complexities hurt. They brought another ambivalence.

As the essay rattles from the schoolkids, we’ll discuss another relationship now. A new, fresh one. Clementine, through who we see all of it—the emotional anchorage, the idealization, and devaluation. The splitting between. How intense Violet can be, and how volatile.

We have Clementine, who is given the chance to witness what Louis means for this wallflower, and that she grows on you (he promises so).

[VIOLENTINE: The Ship, and its Anchorage]

Platonic or romanced—the difference doesn’t matter in this essay. The shift of context between friend and more than that is just that: a shift in context. Distinguishing the two will have its moment, but it is hardly integral to the fact of the matter:

Violet anchored Clementine, and she did it swiftly. (In record time, dare I say.)

In regards to the arguments against romancing Violet, there’s a lot of people who look to Minnie, then back to Violet, and point to Clementine’s “girlfriend” dialogue. “Violet’s not over Minnie,” is a common one, right alongside, “Clementine’s just a rebound.”

Now. I’ve spent 5.5k words tearing those arguments to shreds in one section, and I still have with me another few things to say about Minnie and Violet’s relationship up my sleeve. In light of Clementine and Violet’s relationship.

Because even though I do buy that they were closer than friends arguably would be, they weren’t girlfriends. It’s why Violet was insecure within their relationship, and why that insecurity devolved into a strong case of idealization. Violet genuinely did love Minnie. Her bond with the twin will honestly forever be there, but that bond wasn’t unconditional. The conditions were at the cost of Violet’s mental health.

Then there’s the rebounding, and I will use this as a jumping off point regardless of relational status.

Rebound relationships are defined by a partner still with a previous relationship’s baggage. They’re not done healing. They haven’t quite let go. It gets in the way for committed relationships where the expectation is that both are in it 100%, and that person just…can’t. Because they’re still fixated on the last partner.

…which yes, does sound like Violet. Cuz it kinda, sorta, frankly is.

However. For one thing, this dynamic doesn’t just apply to a Violet route opted for romance. The rebound applies to a platonic dynamic, in part because I don’t frankly believe Minnie was a true girlfriend, and in part because idealization is not specific to partners. Especially in what we see in TFS, Violet needed to let go of Minnie regardless.

Then there’s the fact that being a rebound isn’t always bad. To rebound, which is where the term “rebound relationship” derives from, means for something/someone to bounce back. Or, it can mean a kind of backfire. Both uses of the word can be applied to relationships like this, which, yes, is why they’re fickle, and why people do their best to avoid.

Here’s the thing: Violet needed a new relationship to pull her out of the old one. Because Clementine is a catalyst for Violet, and she was anchored so quickly because whether Violet herself realized, she did want to move on. She couldn’t, but through Clementine, she got the chance.

And I do confidently say that she did want to, because by one interaction in the woods, Violet is disillusioned from Minerva immediately. She’s snapped out of what image she had of her, and is the one that remains realistic where Clementine can offer supporting words—along the lines of we can get her back.

It’s why Brody, through the cabin’s conversation, observes the same.

“We all used to be friends. Guess I kinda just missed that. But when you showed up… I don’t know, I just haven’t seen her warm up to someone in a long time.” [Ep.1 | Done Running | Fishing Cabin]

I find it interesting that Brody picks up on Violet taking to Clementine so quickly, and is able to read enough into this to try and see if it’s enough of a push for Violet to start healing. She’s right, it is enough, and Violet does take a first step in mending their relationship, and breaking away from the devaluation that was arguably heightened by her idealization of Minnie.

…granted, it’s dependent on player choice. There are Violets running around out there having fished with Clementine, but never did reconcile with Brody.

In any case, I am going to argue against Minnie being Violet’s ex because 1) who the fuck cares, I’m not concerned over purity over here, and 2) it’s likely they weren’t exes at all.

However, I won’t fight against this being a rebound. It is. But, Violet’s arc is about learning how to let the fuck go, she has a problem with letting go, so of course the relationship would be a rebound by proxy. A healthy rebound, at that.

By the time she is forced to let go of Clementine, after two newcomers are voted out, her attachment is made quite plain the moment Clementine is in danger within— What, five minutes, and Clementine is at gunpoint?

Regardless, Violet is there, bow at hand, with Louis behind her. She is ready to shoot, and it is no bluff. Violet will if prompted. Or, she will run should Clementine prioritize getting the two out of it.

Because Clementine’s already anchored. Violet trusts her to make the call, and she will follow without hesitation. Later on, after a weary night with A.J shot, then a morning of crawling back for medicine, Violet calls for Clementine to talk in the office. And in there, the anchorage is confirmed further:

“What happened out in the woods… I saw they had you pinned, and I… Shit, I got so crazy. “I know you think I didn’t do enough for you and A.J, but when I saw you were in danger, I had to do something.” / “When I heard you call for help, I didn’t even think.” [Ep.2 | Suffer the Children | Office]

The second line is dependent on whether or not Clementine blamed Violet before, as her and Louis walked the exiled to…exile. And stuff.

But, her account as to why she ran right for Clementine, and pulled an arrow on Lilly says everything I got so crazy, I didn’t even think, I had to do something. Clementine roused a trigger.

This time, in a very good way. Well, as good as the circumstances. In any case, this does count as a trigger because it’s inciting an emotional response, and given Violet’s wording, a fight-or-flight. (I realize triggers are specific for negatives; for the sake of brevity, I don’t care. I still say it counts.) It’s the reason why, before, when I detailed how I personally get with my anchors, I do similar things. No, not literally pull an arrow on someone, but I act on impulse without care, because I just want to satisfy their needs to the absolute fullest. It’s genuine, but it’s also triggering—under a positive connotation.

After this, of course, we push into Violet leading the school as they prep for an attack, with Clementine right alongside her. Whatever happens during this time is unknown, just that the school built-up the walls, laid their defenses, and focused on instruments to help, such as traps and explosives. Shortly after the time-skip, of course, we get the belltower sequence.

Starting with an inquiry:

“I know you came back for medicine, for A.J, but after that, you could’ve just left. Avoided all the bullshit with the raiders. Why didn’t you? Sorry, I know that puts you on the spot. You don’t have to answer. We’ve all got our reasons.” [Ep.2 | Suffer the Children | Belltower]

Violet asks something that has likely been on her mind for a while, but then… Not backtracks, but she does relinquish the pressure for that answer.

As their time at the belltower continues, it’s clear where the question came from.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to just…talk so much. It’s just, I’ve watched people leave before. Family, friends. They never come back. But you did. And now I can’t imagine what it would be like if you weren’t here. Um. Shit, that sounds so much dumber when I say it out loud. You know what I mean.” [Ep.2 | Suffer the Children | Belltower]

Violet’s hesitancy to speak her mind, be vulnerable, is interesting, particularly because it’s about doing so too much. It’s a very specific one, with ambiguous implications. This could be an anxiety she put on herself, or, this was something that she took after a mention that she was talking too much, getting too personal, one way or another. Then there’s also another thing, where it sounds dumber than she intended. As though when speaking her mind, Violet has an idea of what to say, but she doesn’t know quite how to articulate it.

This is a really good line of dialogue, so that latter insecurity is just that: an insecurity.

Nevertheless, this speaks volumes because it’s the first verbal admittance to an issue with abandonment. All the adults left her life, and never returned. Those include her parents, who never tried to get back to the school. Her grandfather died, so not his fault, but her grandmother shot herself right behind Violet. Which is abandonment, and really fucked to do. The teachers of Ericson’s…

Then fellow students. Most probably died, including Brody. And the twins were taken away.

Abandonment is a huge thing.

So we turn to the route where Violet is taken. And it’s not good. Violet reacts as predictably as this essay has outlined.

[Clementine] “Vi? What happened? Are you okay? Violet, talk to me… We’re here to take you home.” [Violet] “I looked for you. When they grabbed me, I saw…you let them take me. I’m just supposed to forget that because you’re here now?” [Violet, if platonic] “Some fucking friend you are.” [Violet, if romanced] “Some fucking feelings you had for me.” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Brig]

Here we have now a fresh faultline within her and Clementine’s relationship. It brings ambivalence. Upon seeing Clementine, she’s plunged into an episode.

And Violet splits. Her image of Clementine is distorted, so she falls back to the same pattern she did with Brody, and she is hostile.

[Clementine] “What’s wrong with you, Vi? Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.” [Violet] “No, Clem. I’m done. This whole situation is so fucked! At least here I have Minnie…” [Clementine] “You mean the Minnie that betrayed us?” [Violet] “Don’t act like you know her. She tried to escape. Her and Sophie. They said if I fight back, they’d kill Minnie. Or one of you. All you’ve done is get us hurt or killed. If you fuck this up worse, I’ll stop you myself. And don’t think I won’t. I’m not losing her again, or anyone else.” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Brig]

We also have Violet manipulated on top of that, led instead by Lilly and Minnie’s word, not Clementine. Because BPD primes people to manipulation, especially in times when they’re at their most vulnerable. But, throughout these interactions, we do see Clementine attempt to console her, and talk.

Violet, however, is not open to. She is not in the right state of mind. This is a BPD episode, so Clementine is not able to get through to her here. Violet does not trust her—too much ambivalence. Mitch’s death is fresh on her mind, she’s been lied to by Minnie about what happened to Sophie, and with that lie, she was told that more people would die if they did not listen.

And of course, the more time is spent, Clementine starts to get frantic as everything escalates because there’s a fucking bomb ticking away in the deck down below. So there comes about an urgency, and she can’t spend that valuable time consoling Violet.

So she starts chipping away at the door.

“What the fuck are you doing?! You’re gonna get us all killed!” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Brig]

And Violet does precisely what she said she would do, and she attempts to stop Clementine herself. Because there’s Minnie again, but she also doesn’t want anyone else to die either.

Lucky for Clementine, she is stronger, and she is able to overpower Violet within a minute. However, in trying to get the cells unlatched, then to find her way to A.J, she herself is overpowered by Minerva. The urgency and stress associated backs Clementine to a corner. She still doesn’t want to see Violet hurt, so, she explains,

[Clementine] “We planted a bomb on the boat!” [Violet] “Fuck you, there’s a bomb! Mitch is dead! You just… Fucking go!” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Brig]

…and again, Violet does not trust her. Mitch’s death is still fresh on her mind. Everything that Lilly and Minnie fed to her is still present.

Then, the bomb goes, and it takes Violet’s sight with it. Even on the beach, she asks for Minnie, amidst confusion because, somewhere down the line, they got separated. Louis has to be the one to support her. By this point, and some beats after, it feels like this is another Brody. Like there’s no turning back, not until a long, long year where Clementine would be in the same shoes.

Minnie makes herself known, though. She’s off in the woodland, with her people.

And that is when this Violet has the wool pulled from her blinded eyes, because she realizes what happened.

The moment is brief. It’s very easy to miss. Yet, the attempts Clementine gave on that boat to console her, before the urgency really began to set in, was not fruitless.

Violet tries to apologize:

“Clementine? The stuff I said on the boat, in the cell, I, uh…” [Ep.4 | Take Us Back | Beach]

It’s not the right time for it. The schoolkids need to get off that beach, but this brief moment is huge.

The thing about episodes is, yes, in the moment, the individual is not consolable. There’s no reasoning with someone who is shut down. However, the attempts to try and console, and/or any verbal promises to leave the door open for when they’ve calmed down, the effort can be recognized and appreciated.

Once Violet snaps out of it, that’s precisely what it was. She understands that Clementine was never trying to hurt her, nor did she come to her disingenuous. Clementine was there to bring her back, because the situation was exactly as Violet herself said—fucked.

But still… Clementine was there to bring her back.

Either way, Clementine proved herself to Violet, because down this route, she left twice, and came back both times.

Of course, the night does not end there. Clementine loses a leg. Another schoolkid is gone.

So through the weeks thereafter, Violet gave herself the time, and then, she tries again with the apology:

[Violet] “I wanted to wait ‘til you were up and about, but how I behaved on the boat… It was really unfair. My head was so messed up—by Lilly, and… And Minnie. I was so wrapped up in my own shit…” [Clementine] “It’s okay. You went through hell in that boat, and I let that happen.” [Clementine, if platonic] “I’m just glad we got you out of there.” [Clementine, if romanced] “I’m just glad I got you back. I was so worried I’d lost you.” [Ep.4 | Take Us Back | School]

In this apology, Violet articulates the position she was in, and admits the kind of influence Minnie was to her—not a good one. And in turn, Clementine acknowledges her. She doesn’t demean Violet for what she did. On top of that, she expresses how she’s just happy that Violet is there in the moment.

This route is bittersweet. We have the beginning, where Violet is guarded, then she warms up to Clementine, finds an anchoring point, and acts upon a fierce loyalty. Which then is hurt when Clementine chooses to save Louis instead. The time on the boat is very bitter because…the truth about borderline is, yeah no, it does not care who the person is to the mentally ill. The disorder is a disorder for a reason. It will hurt, and it will put a strain and test a relationship.

Then you just have the big fuck you axe where Minnie…effectively was the one who managed to wound Clementine, have her get bit, and then lose the leg. Which isn’t really how an eye for an eye goes, but that’s what this route goes with.

But then…, it’s sweet. Because Clementine did the right things, with what stress she was under.

She tried to talk to Violet, and in doing so, she left a door open for Violet to crawl back through when the time was ready. It was sooner rather than later for her, since Minnie… Whatever. However, it’s an apocalypse; a boat was just blown the fuck up. So while it was the time for Violet, it was not the time for literally anyone else. Ergo, a second attempt, to which there was resolve.

Clementine and Violet did not make the same mistake that Brody and Violet did.

And that’s what saves the relationship.

Now, let’s waltz all the way back and save Violet, just to show what Clementine and her do right to build a healthy connection, whereas her and Minnie went wrong. To do this, taking a brief visit to the romantic will help in dissecting an evolution found as the episodes progress.

After the bits of dialogue in the beginning of this section, Clementine can choose to confess her feelings for Violet. It can be solidified by a kiss, or a question for a relationship, or…a meek silence, to which Violet is able to read and feel the same. Clementine can also express confusion, in that she needs the time, but express the interest all the same.

There’s a sweet moment here, and with the kiss, it can also be a touch awkward because…

Okay, they kind of flounder. Violet more so. Which is interesting to note, because Violet “supposedly” was in a relationship before. Sure, the moment on its own doesn’t mean an experienced person wouldn’t be any less awkward, but with the following steps in their relationship, it does support the suspicion this essay has in that she never had a reciprocated, romantic relationship with Minnie.

The moment where Violet asks Clementine to dance, and is nervous to do so, is one of those steps in the relationship:

“When you told me you have feelings for me, I was shocked. Then I started thinking. There’s something I’ve always wanted to try with someone I cared about. And I never have. [. . .] Have you ever danced with anyone before? [. . .] Do you…wanna? Just us. No one else around. I mean, I know it’s kind of weird, but it’s something I’ve always wanted to try.” [Ep.3 | Broken Toys | Dorm]

It’s a step in way of romance (Clementine even remarks after how they’re getting better), but it’s also a step in Violet’s confidence in being vulnerable with someone. She’s still clearly anxious here. Violet still has some of that self-deprecation, and it comes back if Clementine rejects the offer because the idea was stupid, or something along those lines.

But she still does ask. And it’s a big ask, because this is important to Violet. So if Clementine reciprocates the dance, it’s yet another sweet moment, and it builds the confidence within for this relationship further.

Before the night, Violet can tell Clementine how she got to Ericson’s. Then, through the night itself, she backs Clementine every step of the way. Shoots Minnie. Escapes with the schoolkids, only to come back and find her with Tenn and A.J, safe and sound.

During their walk, Violet opens up again. This time, there is none of that self-deprecation, and Violet even gets choked up—but she’s not really ashamed for it, she just continues and says her piece.

“While we were looking for you guys, and I… I thought you might be…gone for good…, um, shit. I was trying to figure out what I’d do if you were gone, and I realized how goddamn stupid I was. About Minnie. For a whole fucking year. I was so wrapped up in losing her and Sophie, I pushed away everyone who tried to care about me. Marlon, Brody, Louis. Even you and A.J. I tried my damnedest not to care about either of you. And I still couldn’t tell you why.” [Ep.4 | Take Us Back | Forest]

She admits everything. Is so very open to Clementine, and tells her what is on her mind. There’s Minnie. There’s what she regrets.

[You were afraid] “I was a goddamn coward. I’m not a coward anymore.” [I’ve done the same thing.] “And then you wonder why you fight so hard to stay alive. I don’t wonder anymore.” [You cared about me.] (Platonic) “I didn’t expect to find a friend like you, not ever again. But I’m really glad I did.” / (Romantic) “Yeah, I did. Way more than I meant to. I’m still kind of amazed we found each other, you know?” [Ep.4 | Take Us Back | Forest]

By this point in the story, Violet has undergone her arc.

She is a changed person because of Clementine’s influence, and she sees what she either didn’t see before, or did but had forgotten. Through a rebound, because Violet just needed a second chance to redeem herself.

Now…, she didn’t expect to find a friend like Clementine ever again? It’s interesting that Violet indicates Clementine was a second chance with the platonic route, not the romantic. Is this her quietly admitting that Minnie was never beyond a friend, actually? Or is this in reference to Brody and Sophie instead?

I dunno. Just found that interesting, since she could have said an equivalent for the romantic dialogue. In any case…

There is something so profound with how this relationship contrasts the ones which came before. As a friend or partner, Clementine never gets to the point of Minnie’s idealization, nor Brody’s devaluation. Both are antithetical to each other because they balance on the same scale—that being insecurity. Violet cared for Minnie and Brody deeply, and those emotions are genuine.

However.

Minnie was put on a pedestal because there were faultlines to that relationship which Violet did not want to face. Brody, instead, was degraded because rather than faults, it was easier to ignore the good sides to Brody. And the good sides were a really, really sweet girl who dreamed of a better life—something that Violet could never see for herself after the twins.

Then there’s Clementine.

Even at their worst moment, where Violet’s trust in Clementine waned, she still did trust her. Clementine told her there was a bomb. Violet snapped because Mitch was the one who knew explosives, and he was dead. And yet, she got herself blinded because she knew Clementine wasn’t lying to her. She trusted her enough to know…

Well yeah. There’s a bomb.

Beyond that, however, Violet decides to do some arts and crafts, even though she says they’re stupid. Or Violet’ll ask for a dance that she’s desperately yearned for. She’ll talk to Clementine, a lot, even if she didn’t mean to do it “so much.”

Clementine as an anchor never truly corrodes. It’s tested down one of the routes, yet by the end of it, the relationship is maintained.

…there’s a final note which taps into this.

We come back again to identity one last time. For a brief anecdote—nestled within the shadows of what exhaustion this essay has gone over with Minnie and Brody, and now Clementine—, but an important one. Violet’s sense of identity will remain to be untold because we don’t have that perspective. She never talks about herself like that, so there’s no true insight for Clementine to gather.

Yet there are scant traces of identity diffusion, or an incoherent identity, ceaselessly disturbed by external influences.

This calls back to a copycat nature where borderline personalities will imitate in order to find stability. Ambitions, beliefs, interests—these all go right along with it, because they very well can change, and do so radically. Impulsions in way of severe life choices are made on the foundation this nature provides.

And that foundation is not strong.

There is no way to truly understand and deconstruct Violet’s sense of identity, yet, her behavior and choices made throughout the season can give us something to chew on.

Between the two routes, Violet is…a hair shy from being an entirely different person. The Violet Clementine brings onto the boat is not the same as the Violet she meets there. By contrast, Louis remains consistent; bring him on the boat, and he acts as expected—same with when we find him…without a tongue.

One is Clementine’s Violet. The other is Minerva’s Violet.

In both routes, Violet’s impulsion changes her life’s trajectory. She either shoots Minnie, or, she goes after the bomb and blinds herself. In one route, she’s outspoken, combative to the Delta, and fiercely loyal to the school; in the other, she does behave like how Minnie described her—never could talk to people, never to be class president. The Violet in that second route is withdrawn and quiet…

But she does confront Clementine.

She mimics Minerva’s newfound bellicosity that she dawned from the Delta, and it’s pitted against Clementine by following both her and Lilly’s word.

Going back to the first episode, where Brody tells Clementine that Violet withdrew herself from everyone, a lot of that was depression. Violet also actively told herself to push everyone away (…except Tenn, a remnant of the twins). However, there is a read here that she withdrew herself because there was no one left for Violet to mirror. She reverted herself back to the girl who sat in front of the television, with her grandmother’s fresh corpse just behind her.

Not to say that Violet doesn’t have a personality on her own. No, she still does. Having a weak sense of identity doesn’t automatically mean that there’s no identity at all. It can just mean the self-perception of identity is weak, but given that it is a self-perception, what is Violet going to draw from if she doesn’t…know how to read herself?

So Clementine meets Violet in the midst of this. She’s sarcastic and grates for a minute about the car. She keeps up a wall between her and Clementine. But by the end of the episode, and the start of the second, here Violet is cleaver at hand, about to lead the school.

Marlon scathes when she stands toe-to-toe. Talks about her being difficult again—but that in itself is ambiguous, because does this mean she’s gone toe-to-toe before, or does this mean Violet has a tendency to be inconsistent? And was that night another inconsistency?

But then… Louis. He admires the fact that Violet is like his white knight. He relies on her to protect him, because he knows that there is no doubt—she will.

Then being a leader. That comes as a surprise to presumably everyone. There’s a few points of dialogue that suggest it, others that blatantly say it, and then more few beats where we see the contention between Violet’s leadership and the schoolkids.

There’s conflict here. Violet is inconsistent in who she wants to be.

And it’s just that, isn’t it?

The TWDG community has long since decided that Violet’s arc is about letting go of Minnie (for those who see past the “rebound” thing), and self-discovery. Which is still true, but through the lens of BPD, there’s another layer to this. It’s about learning to let go despite disorder. And then, it’s learning what she wants from people, and who she wants to emulate, again, despite disorder.

What kind of person does Violet want to be?

And this is distinct from Louis, because with Louis, it is also a self-discovery. He is care-free, live in the moment, to a detriment. To be quite frank, the only reason why he got that far into the apocalypse was because he relied on his community. Not because he couldn’t contribute, but because he has his fair share of self-depreciation.

But there is no question. He knows who he is, and he knows the kind of man he wants to be. It’s why Louis does talk about his sense of self as much as he does.

Whereas Violet really doesn’t, perhaps because she can’t. All of what she confines in Clementine is the fact that things get overwhelming, and she gets confused. Quite frequently. But also, her relationships. Everything external for her, because… Again, she struggles to articulate what’s going on internally, because of that confusion. It takes time for that articulation to be feasible.

Violet has a patchwork identity. She’s kept traits of others—such as the singing. Granted, everybody does this. However, there’s her own within patchwork, but those have gone largely unexplored in the past.

Then here’s Clementine, the catalyst to this arc.

Which begs the question, why? What about Clementine has this impact on Violet?

Something about her draws Violet in.

At first, yeah. Clementine’s new. There’s an air of mystery around a girl who totals a car at Ericson’s front lawn, with a kid in tow. But that mystery alone doesn’t equate to a cleaver pulled, guarding the new people from the rest—her own people.

The answer is rather simple: Violet is mirroring Clementine, so all there is to do is look at that reflection. And we find a leader. We find someone who is compassionate, and does everything to fight for their own. Actually fight. Tooth-and-nail. Someone who does whatever it takes to survive, even if that means rubbing the good ol’ walker jelly, or, taking risks to secure a bag of food.

Clementine’s compassion for people is evident once she wakes up, and she has A.J by her side. Her skills in leadership, her drive to fight, to survive—those are all made very clear at the train station, with both Louis and Violet following her lead.

So Violet mimicked. She found the same traits within herself, then elevated them. Brought them to the surface.

As the relationship continues to build—platonic or romantic—, Violet finds reciprocation. She’s not just emulating what Clementine would like to see. After all, she was sat in the headmaster’s chair while Clementine and A.J were still exiled. That indicates how Violet found, if not a comfort, a consolation in that part of herself.

The reciprocation continues whenever Clementine responds to her, and she validates Violet, she shows interest in what Violet says, and what Violet wants to do. Violet can ramble on and on as long as she wants, and Clementine would still listen. Violet (if romanced) can ask for a dance, and Clementine would oblige. Either way, Violet gives Clementine a pin. Clementine puts it on.

It's that compassion, and it cascades authenticity off Clementine to the people she surrounds herself with. She’s also someone who feels strongly. This character is a very empathetic person. Throughout S1, Clementine was perceptive of the people around her, and she cared. Deeply so. S2, the same thing, even if her morality began to grey. The start to closing herself off to protect herself was present. S3 as well, especially in her drive to find A.J once she learned he was still alive, out there somewhere.

Throughout the seasons, there are also plenty of moments where her empathy shows. Clementine does genuinely feel what the people around her express. Like with Louis, when his tongue is cut. You can hear in her voice how pained she is, regardless of the relationship itself. She’s pained because Louis is.

And given what she’s lived through on top of that? Clementine would absolutely put 100% in a relationship, enough to match someone like Violet.

There is another reason to this why, and the thought struck me when I was reminded of an easter egg during Violet and Clementine’s scene up on the belltower. A constellation, which Clementine can draw for herself, and he’ll wink right back at her:

Kenny.

This connection is an interesting one to make for a scene with Violet. It’s cheeky first and foremost.

Regardless, there’s a parallel drawn here. Violet and Kenny are very similar, in that…Kenny likely had BPD. TWDGhas two seasons, then a couple flashbacks, where we can read it so. That man was volatile himself. Fiercely loyal, but could absolutely flip on a dime if his perception of the people around did not align with what he desired—it’s why he’s so fickle with Lee, to the point the gameplay reflects it, and then Clementine as well, because this behavior was the ultimate antagonist. His spiral down mental health escalated, and escalated, and escalated.

And he’s guilty. Tells Clementine that to leave him, or to shoot him, is the right choice to make.

But should the two survive together, with dreams of driving down to Florida, we find that he…is okay. He’s stable. His anchorage with Clementine and A.J is strong, without ambivalence. In this storyline, she sees that with people like him, sticking around through the bullshit can be worth the trouble.

Of course, it’s also a testament whether or not it is worth it. Some people, including myself, left Kenny in S2. Because the turmoil through the season was just that significant.

He genuinely cares, but like my mom, Kenny still hurts. Especially in S2. Because despite himself, he just could never seem to get past what he felt, and his impulses.

Clementine’s relationship with Kenny varies across different choices made, and the interpretations thereof. My personal interpretation of Kenny will contrast wildly to another. And that’s okay.

But whatever the interpretation is, and the choices made, Clementine has experience with people like Violet. She’s lived through the type of behavior conditions BPD and alike bring. She knows how to navigate them, and find healthy grounds.

Clementine keeps an open line of communication with Violet. Expresses interest, and accepts what Violet herself has to offer. But she also has her boundaries. For one, A.J. He is her priority. Two, when Violet fights her, Clementine fights back because it’s not okay—do not lay a hand on me. Now, whether or not she would’ve fought like she did if there was no bomb, and A.J was still in the cell…

I don’t know. I assume it would’ve been one of those major choices of the game. Either talk her down, or fight.

…similar to what Lee has with Kenny, up in the attic after the house in Savannah is swarmed, or on the train before that.

Bringing Kenny into the conversation is…funny, in a way. At least to me. I write all this, because TWDG secured its place in my heart by being the very thing I needed through a really, really bad year where my mental health (BPD) reared its ugly head. TWDG as a whole, but S2 especially. I realize why so many people have issues with the season, and I get it. It’s only natural for that to happen when every season has its distinctive personality—not everyone will gel with its voice. That, and it does have its fair share of flaws.

But if it was not for S2, I would not be in the fandom. Because that season was 2019 boiled down to the pure chaos I inadvertently put myself through, and it did so by having me play a character who when she was taken seriously, she just could not do it right, then…, when she wasn’t, it was out of neglect, where the adults put themselves first. Every. Time. And…one of those adults was a blunt reflection of it all.

Up until the final moment. The breaking point.

It’s how I felt inside my head. And still do, sometimes. When I’m stuck inside a season rooted in instability—a winter—, things just keep happening, and there is no end, even though I try to maintain the fantasy of peace in those slow moments. But…there’s just no end. There’s only escalation.

It was something I needed to experience in isolation, where I understood that it’s just a game, and it’s within the scope of 7.5 hours.

Swiftly thereafter, I started writing. Because again, it’s what I’ve always done. So AYDF came to be, where Clementine’s an alcoholic, but not because she’s legitimately an alcoholic in the gameplay. I get she’s not; my Clementine is an alcoholic because…it’s an obscure remark of borderline, and an exploration wherein I thought to use an entirely different disorder to express such a thing. In part because I’d yet to really (re)consider BPD (it wasn’t until some time later that I understood), but also…I’m a storyteller. Having alcoholism represent BPD is interesting.

It’s all why I adore TWDG, and my Clementine, and ADYF. Together, they’re an anchor of mine.

Clementine and Violet’s relationship included, because I did not expect to find Violet. I knew about their relationship before playing—heard it whilst I did light research on which games to buy. But I didn’t expect to find a character who…also emulates what S2 did for me. Just, in a more matured light than who I was in 2019. Also didn’t expect the relationship to provide growth for my Clementine in regards to these personalities, because mine did absolutely struggle the first time—with Kenny, and the devastating choice she made.

Cuz like.

Oops. A.J’s still alive. Um. Whelp.

(…for context—because I know the assumption—, no, Jane was not there. I left S2 with both her and Kenny dead. Clementine just shot the last adult who could’ve helped A.J.)

To see the chances where Clementine is the person Violet needed—to treat her well—, and take those chances, I didn’t expect to find Violentine as this embodiment of a healthy relationship despite borderline. It’s not perfect—obviously it’s not—, but all things considered, it is healthy by the end, no matter the route.

It’s regardless of whether or not Violet actually has BPD. She’s not diagnosed, and I don’t intend to have her be diagnosed. But at the same time…, this essay kinda makes it clear that Violet is a textbook example anyway. A good one to me.

And a good one to A.J.

[A.J, & Serving an Example]

Throughout this essay, the priority has been clarifying BPD, and unveiling what it feels like. A mechanism that may lead to the disorder, then the mechanisms that the disorder itself deploys. How it effects the person, in their identity or, most notably with Violet, relationships.

And the way Violet articulates herself, through the several dialogue lines within this post, it is evident that she’s aware. There’s a self-deprecation to it, but, Violet knows her issues and what it does, whether or not she knows its name—BPD, or something else entirely. Given the ambiguity that the game allows, it is still left unsaid.

But that’s the first thing: she does talk about it. Violet knows herself well enough to.

Not only that, she demonstrates a responsibility in her disorder.

With this essay, there hasn’t been much in the way of responsibility. Because it isn’t until A.J enters the discussion do we truly see this come to light.

I will be the first to say that, while I can sympathize with other people of the diagnosis—even empathize—, I am rather critical when it comes to being responsible of our actions. From knowing a trigger but being around it anyway, to refusing to communicate when a hand reaches out—there’s issues I take. Because there are things that needs to be done with BPD, and those are not it.

The fact of the matter is, sorry, it fucking sucks. But also, it is your disorder, as it is mine. It isn’t your fault that it happened, but it did, and you’re kinda just stuck living with it. It’s not the responsibility of anyone else to fix and manage every aspect of BPD.

Finding people like Clementine, or a support system like the schoolkids, will do wonders because, yes, they can help. But Clementine, and the schoolkids, also have their fair share of shit. To expect them to drop everything is unfair, the same way that being expected to just drop your BPD for someone else’s sake is unfair.

It’s a give and take. There will be a ceaseless line of dialogue in the name of boundaries, and clarification, and everything in between.

So we return to Violet’s apology to Clementine.

“I wanted to wait ‘til you were up and about, but how I behaved on the boat… It was really unfair. My head was so messed up—by Lilly, and… And Minnie. I was so wrapped up in my own shit…” [Ep.4 | Take Us Back | School]

She doesn’t excuse it. Violet gives reason—and that reason is, more or less, she was not in a right mind—, and she articulates what position she was in, but there is no excuse.

Because the difference between an excuse, and an apology, is that one is done with the intention to be forgiven, the other is done with the intention to resolve—the forgiveness is a hope, not the reward.

Being able to do such a thing, unprompted, speaks volumes to Violet’s maturity, and her understanding of her own mental health. For people with BPD, more often than not, it’s easier to blame someone else because…looking inward, and realizing you royally fucked up again is not easy. Or, it’s easier to use apologies to seek a reward—like forgiveness—, and to indulge in a brief gratification that may ensure a person stays.

Well, okay. The same can really be said for everyone. BPD, however, does has its way in amplification.

Nevertheless, A.J is able to witness this moment, take it in. It’s a lesson in itself.

But given Violet is saved, and Louis is mute, there is another moment which not only speaks volumes, but it serves to A.J clarity.

After the last meal shared in the game series, and Violet with Clementine deliberates over a caravan, A.J can ask Violet one thing:

“Aren’t you still mad I killed Tenn?” [Ep.4 | Take Us Back | School]

It’s a fresh wound for her. The pain of it is laid clear across Violet’s face. However, in response,

“The thing you said on the bridge…, that he was messing up all the time. It wasn’t something new, you know. Tenn got himself or other people into trouble all the time, long before you guys got here. He was always so lost. He lived in a world that just…isn’t there, you know? And that’s why I tried to look after him. But when I was pulling him away from the walkers, and Minnie, I could also see…he just wasn’t there anymore.” [Ep.4 | Take Us Back | School]

Or, it’s complicated, but she understands why. Violet is able to acknowledge where A.J comes from. She does, and she sets aside her emotions. There is no corrosion here. Violet doesn’t devalue A.J for this, even though the gravity of his choice would’ve provided a validity. A warped and intense validity, but one all the same.

They trade more words, and amongst them, Violet asks a damning question, and A.J accepts:

[A.J] “So you’re mad, but sad.” [Violet] “Can I be that for a while?” [A.J] “Yeah, it’s okay.” [Ep.4 | Take Us Back | School]

A.J acknowledges her. She asks for further acknowledgement—the time to heal.

And he understands, and he allows her the room.

…the thing about Violet and A.J, in contrast to Louis and A.J, is that A.J looks up to these characters for very different reasons. Louis is a great guy. I want A.J to be like him, or better yet, a matured version of Louis. He’s charming, charismatic, good-natured, and through the game, we do see that he begins to donate an effort to do better.

Really, it’s not a mystery as to why A.J grew attached so quickly.

Violet, meanwhile, is confusing. She’s not that great with people, is instead a bit of a pill to swallow, and with her trauma comes a volatility.

Sure, she was the one who stood-up for Clementine and A.J when Louis didn’t, but in playing this season, I’ve always gotten the implication that A.J—at least initially—does have a preference for Louis. And I say implication because it’s never said outright, but there are some dialogues and reactions of his that had me wonder. I also don’t mean he doesn’t like Violet, no, but more that he doesn’t necessarily understand what Clementine sees in her.

At least, that isn’t until time passes, and more is spent with Violet, does she start to grow on him as well.

Louis models a more…digestible person. He has his problems, but they are easy to explain and understand. He was a spoiled brat. He sabotaged a marriage over something so very petty. And now, where his upbringing still rears its head through his immature work ethic, he struggles with deep insecurities.

There is a complexity here. One that does deserve its own essay, though I’m not really the right person for that. (Here’s an essay, by @stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale. Pretty good. And they gots a lot of essays like it. …but also, again, sorry for tagging; I know this is absurdly long. Lol.)

Violet, meanwhile, comes with a confusion because her issues are so steeped in stigma. Which is to be expected in conditions like BPD, where…yeah, there’s the chance she will lash out, do things she doesn’t mean, because a switch was flipped.

Where Louis is someone that A.J would like to aspire to, Violet seem to stand as a figure A.J can grow to appreciate. Having her as a model gives A.J the chance to understand that with people like Violet, you give them space and time. Work with them, and if they are genuine people, they will prove themselves worth the effort.

It does take effort, however, and the time spent with them.

And if there is no effort given, and no time spent…

Yeah. Violet will be that wallflower.

[Conclusion]

There’s nothing else this essay really has to say at its core. BPD is a very, very confusing disorder. Both internally, and externally. Stigma doesn’t help. It is, after all, a huge reason why I wrote this.

Because the stigma is quite honestly the worst thing about BPD. In many resources—whether they’re linked below, or you find them on your own—, you’ll find that a BPD diagnosis often comes with others right along with it. Addictions, eating disorders, depression…

To those who don’t know better (or maybe they do), that’s just…natural. It’s how it is.

But I remember going to my family, telling them that there is something wrong, only…to be assured otherwise. Not for my sake, but for theirs. Because BPD isn’t greatly understood, and when it is, realizing that none of them got to save me from my mother in time has its way in denial. What my mother did wasn’t right, however, I could’ve ended up like her.

Just not through those initial traumas.

Rather, I could’ve, had I made the same mistakes she did with the silent traumas thereafter—decades, now, where the people around me refuse to acknowledge my words, and listen to me, because I know the look in the eye, and I sometimes find it in the mirror. Those initial traumas may have been the first lashing, but it’s the time after which seals BPD within a person. Because the condition goes unchecked. It ferments. People tell you one thing, but you feel another, and as a child, you decide to trust their word, not your own body. Which breaks you. Gets to a point where there’s no real return, because people like me weren’t allowed to learn otherwise.

Understanding what happened to me was a very lonely experience, despite the sheer amount of people I had around me.

…and it hurts, somewhere deep in the recesses of my alexithymia, that my abuse never came from people who hated me. My mother didn’t, not in those initial years. None of my family did, in the decades into adulthood. But still, they hurt. The abuse came from the people I least want to admit, in ways that media would deem too boring for our idled attention spans.

I proclaimed that BPD is when a mechanism deploys, and the cost means a sacrifice of one integral function. It is still true—the mechanism, alongside the personality, and that specific initial trauma will influence how that BPD is expressed.

Yet, Borderline Personality Disorder happens when a mechanism deploys at a great cost, and that sacrifice is never restored. It is the neglect of the individual’s emotional turmoil after catastrophe that does it, where the same mechanism festers until it is there to stay as an ugly, depraved scar.

It is the disorder where a person was never allowed to heal, despite the mind and body screaming that they need to.

So when I hear BPD and the diagnoses alongside, I hear yet another time where someone likely knew there was something wrong, but they chose to find stability by other means, because it wasn’t found in the people around. Addictions bring those dopamine hits that BPD elevates. Eating disorders, where maybe…they can find something about themselves to control. Because there is none day to day, nor in relationships. And depression? Honestly, it speaks for itself; if a person manages to find themselves with a tumultuous anchor, or no anchor at all, it’s easy to slip into.

Or, if the diagnoses are born conditions, like ADHD or autism, or others, like schizophrenia, those speak to a concern where those conditions were left unchecked, and they festered as BPD, they were what predisposed it…

Yet, when I hear a story like Violet’s, it is a true reassurance.

Sure she’s not diagnosed. But still. The game doesn’t hide anything. It doesn’t “assure” the player that Violet isn’t this type of person, that she isn’t literally sick in the head.

TFS shows her issues quite plainly. And it’s because it does, and refuses to lie to make anyone feel better, does the game promise something that is so, so desperately yearned for in those with borderline.

It’s acknowledgement.

To tell someone that, yes, you’re not confused that you feel confused amid a chaos. You are. But there are ways to work with it, and around it. You can, actually, have strong relationships with people, and in those like Clementine, even if/when you fail, they will stay, because they understand.

To tell someone all of that is a first step towards understanding BPD, a disorder so shrouded because of stigma, and little else.

And so you have a character who still has her struggles with it, but she has a support system, and she’s taught herself enough to manage—did it well, considering the circumstances. She was left to her own devices. Sure, she had her grandparents to escape from home, but…, well. Yeah. After her grandma, Violet was then sent straight to the boarding school. The apocalypse struck. The adults left. And though her community still cherishes her, Violet…was designated as their wallflower.

So it’s funny, to have found this character this way, because Louis was right.

Violet does grow on you. If you let her, anyway. She can be suffocating.

Anyway. Hope you enjoyed.

Volt out.

Volt's Library (my writing) Clem Comic Essay #1 (canon stuff) Clem Comic Essay #2 (language)

Links: to start your own research

BPD (General) | 1 ; 2 ; 3 (4 types); 4 (quiet BPD)

BPD (Stigma) | 1 ; 2 ; 3 ; 4 ; 5 (r/BPD)

BPD (Anchors/FP) | 1 ; 2 ; 3 ; 4 (r/BPD)

BPD vs Bipolar | 1 ; 2 ; 3 (comorbid BPD & Bipolar)

BPD (Identity Disturbance) | 1 ; 2 ; 3 ; 4 (r/BPD)

BPD (in Relationships) | 1 ; 2 ; 3

#volt's library #twdg essay #fandom essay #essay #long essay #TW: this is intended to explore BPD; so with that comes the sensitive topics as mentioned in the introduction #twdg #twdg violet #twdg clementine #violentine #twdg louis #louis & violet 🥺🥺🥺#twdg minnie #twdg minerva #twdg aj #twdg brody #twdg 4 #the walking dead game #bpd #borderline personality disorder #the amount of times i looked something up and saw myself staring back at me is…too many times #like okAY GOOGLE i GET IT i have bpd #i know #LET ME WRITE ABOUT TWDG IN PEACE #thank you #and also thank the wiki transcripts my gOD #and and gotta love reminding myself that violet's dad was canonically an alcoholic #which is concerning for aydf since…well…gotta love alcoholic clementine #also also i do intend to edit/polish this later but what i wanted to say is here anyway so #im gonna nap now

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starswallowingsea · 1 year ago

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Suguru Geto is a fucking eugenicist and I'm tired of people just brushing that aside to make silly gay fanart of him: an essay.

Hi hello JJK tag I have come to drop one singular essay to you and I do hope you'll at least listen, since it is a serious issue that needs to be addressed.

Before we get into the meat and potatoes of this essay, lets first define eugenics and why it's bad. Strictly speaking, eugenics is the movement for "racial purity" that requires the planned reproduction of people only within narrowly defined racial categories, as well as the elimination of undesirables within a population (oftentimes people of color, disabled people, and queer people) via sterilization or death. The movement began in the late 19th century and continues to some extent to this day. You can read more about it here if you're interested.

Eugenics goes hand in hand with other forms of bigotry and manifests in how people refer to each other, including some of the ways that Geto refers to non sorcerers within the manga, even before his death and subsequent possession of his body by a spirit. Geto refers to regular humans as "monkeys" and cleans himself in response to coming into contact with him. This sounds familiar, doesn't it?

This wording is very intentional on the part of Akutami and the translator. Geto is a villain and meant to be someone we see in disgust and while there are sympathetic villains in other series and I'm not going to say that you can never like villain characters (some of my own favorite characters are villains who have done fucked up things before), there is a difference between the two. Geto is specifically a representation of eugenicist, racist, xenophobic beliefs that exist in the real world. He is not someone who is fed up with the system, he is not someone who just wants to fuck around and find out.

This comment here further emphasizes my point. One of the core ideas behind scientific racism and eugenics is the idea of biological races or that people with different skin tones have different, distinct biological functions in their body. An example of this in our world involves GFR production and "race corrections" in kidney tests (source) that are only just starting to be phased out in the medical field. The idea of needing a race correction for something like kidney function is a product of scientific racism and indirectly plays into eugenics. Denying that people are the same race or even species as you because of uncontrollable factors (sorcerer abilities, skin color, country of origin, sexuality, gender, etc) is uh. Not a good thing!

"Monkeys" is a word that comes up frequently with Geto's talks on non sorcerers as well. It's a loaded term and again a deliberate choice on behalf of both Akutami and the translator to use it. Historically, due to scientific racism in the field of evolutionary science specifically, black people and people of color were assumed to be more closely related to monkeys and therefore "less evolved" than white people. It's a loaded word used with intention by Geto and by Akutami in the writing of Geto's character.

IN CONCLUSION can we please stop woobifying Geto as a character. His ideals and goals are an important part of him and watering him down to do gay shit with Gojo is really not what we should be doing with him in fan works. Yes Gojo's reaction to losing his friend to essentially the far right pipeline of eugenics and fascism is realistic and it's okay for Gojo to feel hurt and betrayed by this, but the reality is that Geto broke away because he believed so strongly that the world needed to be cleansed of non sorcerers and Gojo eventually accepted that he lost his friend, no matter how much it hurt to let go. This is an important part of Gojo's character arc and development but to ignore the everything about Geto's beliefs and never acknowledge them, or god forbid make JOKES about this stuff is a surefire way to make sure disabled people and people of color don't feel safe talking with you.

Notes:

I cannot stop you from shipping Satosugu or any other Geto ship. This essay was meant to inform people of the deeper meaning behind Geto's beliefs and maybe help some people see that real life issues are reflected in the media they consume. JJK is not a work that shies away from handling harder topics and this is no exception.

I will not be responding to any bad faith arguments on this post or in my inbox. If you have a genuine question feel free to come talk to me and I am willing to have a civil discussion with you about it, but calling me names or insulting me will be met with a block button so just save yourself the trouble and block me first.

#shay speaks #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk analysis #suguru geto #geto suguru #satosugu #sugusato #stsg #sgst #anti satosugu #<- these tags are intentional bc i need as many people as possible to see this #i dont engage with the fandom in general bc of this specific issue with people just #glossing over geto's fucking eugenics policies and viewpoints and making them into jokes #so uh. this might be a wake up call to some of you.#otherwise feel free to block me my feelings wont be hurt lmao i already block so many stsg shippers as they come up in my notes

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 1 year ago

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MARTHA'S IS PRETTY ROMANTIC - CHAPTER ONE: COMPLICATED?

summary: the vacation at martha's kicks off in full swing, but one comment that apparently came from tyson's mouth not only sends your mind spinning, but throws your entire focus out of whack (+neon dinosaur undies)

warnings: swearing, sexual innuendos, overthinking, pining (i should also warn you this is gonna be a slow burn so buckle up), oblivious idiots

word count: 3.3k (she's a short one)

prologue | series masterlist | next part

“So…”

Even the tone of Toni’s voice indicated that she was setting up for girl talk, which, to be honest with her, had been banned within the last seven hours because the boys had both been with one of you nearly all the time, which meant having your little chats was literally impossible.

Until now: Mat and Tyson had both booked a water ski and water board session for the next hour, and neither you or Toni had really had any intention to do it with them, partly because you’d only stepped off a plane mere hours ago, but mostly because it was the first day, and the only thing on either of your minds was relaxing on the nearest stretch of beach, reading in the sun.

In theory, you should have seen her questioning coming from a mile away.

You sighed, turning your head away from your book as you placed it in the beach bag next to you. Toni had been sitting up on your left, applying suncream and every so often you could see her eyes flicker to the boat you both knew the boys to be on. You were pleasantly surprised it took her so long to begin the line of questioning, but you’d already exhausted the whole ‘oh my god, this place is beautiful’ conversation, and the beach you’d occupied wasn’t very busy either.

“So?” You repeated, adjusting your sunglasses so you could see Toni properly.

She rolled her eyes, smiling at your faux obliviousness, “You and Josty look pretty cosy.”

“In what way?”

Truthfully, you were curious as to what the two of you looked like from an outside perspective. Sure, Tyson was usually an affectionate person - with other people. But with you, it was like he was scared to touch you properly. Where he’d probably throw an arm around someone if he was standing with them, say, in an airport, like you were this morning, but with you he’d just stand next to you closely, his arm or front pressed to your back. He wouldn’t budge his hands - not even if it got busy and you had to make your way through a throng of people.

It was kind of weird, to be honest, because you guys flirted - there was an odd dynamic and hidden tension - but it would never surpass words. That was due to Josty being uncharacteristically non-touchy (unless it couldn’t be helped), and you, you guessed. You weren’t really too touchy with anyone, and it occurred to you, just then, that it was your penchant to keep yourself to yourself that threw Tyson off.

It was why you were a little curious as to what Toni had made of it all.

Toni hummed, hesitating almost, and you immediately knew that she’d picked up on something, “I don’t know, but it’s like you’re on each other’s wavelength mentally, but it’s not really backed up properly.” She paused, thinking, “You guys don’t touch each other. If you touched each other, there wouldn’t be a doubt in my mind that you weren’t together, but…He looks at you like he’d let you break his heart, if that makes sense.”

It didn’t make sense, not at all, really.

You shrugged, “We’re just good friends.”

Toni froze, hand pressed to her forearm where she’d been rubbing her suncream in, and tilted her head, “No.” She said, a hint of defiance in her tone.

“Yes.”

“That’s not what Mat told me.”

There was a shoot of uncertainty that buried itself in your chest as it propelled you into a sitting position, your brows knitted together in both complete and utter befuddlement, and downright fear. Mat had to have gotten that from somewhere, “What did Mat tell you?”

Toni swallowed, clearly sensing something was amiss with your reaction, “He said that Tyson had told him it was complicated. I asked why but he said he didn’t know, I just assumed you guys were hooking up or keeping it quiet, that’s why it was weird you weren’t touching each other.”

You shook your head, “No, we…Tyson said it was complicated?” You clarified, a hand getting thrown out into the space between you.

A small smile crept onto Toni’s face, and you could understand why. If the roles were reversed, you’d have found the entire situation somewhat hilarious, of course you would: other people’s drama always was, but not yours.

If there was one thing that remained constant between you and Tyson, it was that you rarely had drama. Your relationship was pretty steady, it had been that way for years. Well, up until Buffalo happened. Then things got a bit weirder the more you saw each other on a weekly basis, and it started after a drunken night out and a bad game of Twister, and from then on something sort of just went a little more unsaid.

But this was a little extreme.

Toni nodded, “Apparently.” Then, in your silence, “Have you two ever hooked up?”

You shook your head, a perturbed expression still on your face.

“Almost hooked up?” This time Toni’s voice seemed to climb in pitch, an almost disbelieving tone etched in her own voice.

“Not that I’m aware of.” You shrugged, this time your eyes going out to take a quick glance at the sparkling waters in front of you.

You could make out their boat in and amongst other ones, a wakeboard and a figure attached to the back of it, a spray of water kicking up behind. You squinted your eyes; it was too tall to be Tyson – too pale.

Toni hummed thoughtfully, returning her attention back to applying her sunscreen. You were about to pick up your book again to try and distract yourself from what Tyson had told Mat (what part of your relationship was complicated?), when she spoke up again, a little quieter, “I still think he looks at you differently.”

You didn’t even bother asking how.

***

One of your favourite things about going on holiday was the getting ready for tea; a nice shower to clean your skin of sticky sunscreen and saltwater always provided such a relief, and getting changed into a pretty dress and putting on some light makeup fresh out of a shower was an experience completely unmatched in your day to day life. It might have also had something to do with the fact that you were in Martha’s Vineyard with Tyson, Mat and Toni, and although it had only been one day, it felt like the much-needed getaway from your working life.

A little escape every now and then couldn’t hurt, and the company certainly helped alleviate any tension.

You’d only just managed to put on your dress when there was a knock at the door.

Considering the fact that you could hear Mat singing along with the music from the house speakers, and you knew Toni had just gone downstairs to supervise, it meant that Tyson was the one knocking.

He’d not had the chance to shower and get dressed yet because you’d been using the shower, and when he slinked in, back-first, you couldn’t resist the amused smile on your face at his caution.

“You can turn around, I’m dressed.” You laughed softly, sitting on the stool of the vanity and eyeing him through the mirror.

He spun around, eyes bouncing from you to the towel folded neatly on the end of his side of the bed (his side because you had your bags and shit across your side), before his gaze returned back to you.

“Is it okay if I just take a quick shower?” He asked, already reaching for the towel.

“Sure, do you want me to leave—”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He brushed your question off and disappeared through the bathroom door.

It took a couple of seconds for your brain to really digest what he’d just said.

It’s fine.

It’s fine? Fine for what? Fine for you to see him in his naked glory, or fine that meant he trusted you wouldn’t look?

You hadn’t seen him grab his undies from his suitcase thrown under the bed, so he’d just wander out into your shared room in nothing but a towel, dripping wet, curls sopping and water droplets rolling down his chest? He expected you to be cool with that?

You couldn’t be cool with that. You’d seen him getting out of the ocean, sure, but a shower felt different. There was barely ten feet between you both in this room at all times, and the door was shut — claustrophobic. That’s what it felt like, imagining Tyson climbing out of the shower smelling of his shower gel had you feeling claustrophobic. Your skin was prickling and you felt your cheeks get hotter by the second.

Why was this bothering you so much?

You’d seen Tyson naked before, almost. He’d showered at yours and you’d gone into the bathroom with permission because he’d forgotten…he’d forgotten his underwear and his towel had slipped. He’d caught it easily, what with those hockey reflexes and all, but you’d seen the deep v-line, the happy trail and the beginnings of a short trim of pubic hair.

It hadn’t bothered you then, and the only thing that had changed remotely since that incident was that talk with Toni.

Tyson said it was complicated.

In what fucking way was your relationship complicated? Had you misread something? Missed signals? Given him the wrong idea? (There wasn’t a right idea, really.)

And if you weren’t careful, history was about to repeat itself because he’d just walked into the bathroom and got in the shower with only his towel and damp trunks and no underwear again. Only the idea to kick you out hadn’t occurred to him considering the fact that he’d shot your suggestion of leaving the room to give him some semblance of privacy down, and hadn’t given any hints as to how he’d actually get from a (wet from the shower) to b (dry and in clothes) when 60% of the steps needed for part b were under his bed.

Should you rush your makeup? You weren’t putting much on anyway, so you could make it quick if needs be.

Or should you start to pull out his suitcase even though that would be a complete violation of privacy?

You swallowed, blinking at your reflection in the vanity mirror and continuing your work. He was an adult, he could figure it out for himself.

You’d just sprayed some perfume when the telltale realisation seemed to strike.

“Fuck.” You could hear him groan, the sound ricocheting off the tiled walls.

You smiled a little.

“Um—” he started, voice raised above the noise of the fan, and you took a few steps away from the dresser to the bathroom door to hear him clearer, “are you still there?”

You furrowed your brows at the hesitancy in his voice, “Yes?”

There was a quiet pause for a moment, almost as though he was thinking about how to possibly go about manoeuvring his way around this little bump in the road, before:

“Please could you go into my suitcase and get me a pair of clean undies?” His voice sounded a little weaker, like it physically pained him to ask that of you, and because you’d anticipated what he’d need a little ahead of him asking it, you were already pulling the suitcase out from under his bed before he’d even finished asking his question.

“Yeah, where are they?” You shouted over your shoulder, cursing under your breath as you took in the chaotic and unorganised state of his suitcase. If you didn’t know better you’d have assumed he’d already rifled through there in panic mode because not a single thing was folded or placed in a manner that suggested related things were kept in one space, i.e. toiletries, underwear & socks etc.

No, it was all just one pile of bottles and cans and odd shoes and socks and crumpled undies that did have you wondering if they’d been picked straight from a packet or if he’d forgotten to do laundry and just fished them out of the basket in a mad dash. He probably had more caps than t-shirts, and his suitcase was barely a third full. In fact, the heaviest thing was a pair of weighted bracelets. What he’d need those for had you stumped because 1KG to Tyson, let alone any hockey player, was not enough to maintain their needed and current muscle mass whatsoever.

You were staring at the cacophony of random colour assortments (bless his soul) when his reply came through the crack in the door, “Anywhere, everywhere. Just take the nearest pair — huh,” you heard him chuckle softly to himself, “would you look at that? I’m a master rhymer.”

“You’re definitely something.” You mutter to yourself, pulling an amused face at the neon dinosaur undies you’d just dug out.

Those would do, you decided.

“How do you want me to do this?” You asked, pausing at the door.

You weren’t about to walk in on him naked (although your skin did prickle at the thought — goddamn claustrophobia!) and you certainly—

“For starters, you’re not gonna dress me.” Tyson breathed a laugh, finishing your internal dialogue rather well.

“All you have to do is ask.”

The silence was deafening.

You blamed the beachside margaritas. They’d probably gotten to your head (any buzz they created had worn off before the boys had even got back from their boat).

Fuck.

Tyson wasn’t saying anything. In fact, he’d gone so quiet on the other side of the door that you wondered if he was still breathing.

You should have taken the hint, honestly. The flirty thing had dwindled massively since after the team dinner when he’d asked you to come here in the first place, and you had absolutely no clue where all of that just came from. You hadn’t even been thinking the words, they’d just flown out of your mouth before you could catch them and now you felt like an idiot holding Tyson’s dinosaur undies in your hand—

You didn’t remember when your eyes closed, but they flew open when the door creaked in front of you. You almost felt too ashamed to even lift your eyes to look at his face when it peaked through the gap, some steam billowing out as soon as he did so.

But Tyson wasn’t smiling, which instantly struck you as odd and almost had you apologising on the spot.

If it weren’t for the look on his face. He’d always been pretty readable, he wore his heart on his sleeve most of the time, but now you couldn’t quite grasp what he was thinking. He was looking at you, but it felt like he was looking straight through you with the way his brows were slightly furrowed in consideration. He looked serious.

You started shaking your head, an apology on the tip of your tongue and cheeks aflame.

“I-I’ll keep that in mind.” He muttered softly, a smile threatening to tug at the corners of his mouth until he reached his hand through the gap in the door, eyes still boring into yours. Your cheeks still felt hot, and you doubted he’d not notice considering the fact that there was barely five inches between you both, and his hand flexed.

Somehow, and with a lot of effort, you managed to string a couple of words together through the thick haze of your embarrassment, “You do that.”

You placed his scrunched up undies in his waiting palm, and before you could say anything to incriminate yourself further, you turned your back, ears pricking when you heard the sound of the door shut behind you. You’d made it three steps to the bed when it occurred to you that what Tyson had told Mat might actually be true.

Only, there was barely another second to dwell too much on it before Tyson was strolling back into the bedroom, wearing only his neon dino undies and a distracting lack of anything else.

Your brain seemed to lag slightly when it took in his slightly damp hair and defined chest. And shoulders. And arms. And your mouth only seemed to dry when your eyes briefly caught on the dark stripe of hair–

“You look nice.” He complimented offhandedly, dragging his towel through his hair one last time before throwing it on the bed and sending you a charming smile – it was a quieter smile than the ones he usually thrown your way, but given the rather awkward atmosphere you’d created, it wasn’t much of a shock.

“Thanks.” You returned the tight smile, turning back to the dresser and picking out some jewellery.

And all the while you were putting your earrings in, choosing a bracelet, rings and a necklace that Tyson assumed matched your dress, he couldn’t really take his eyes off you – as if he couldn’t already. He’d almost stubbed his toe on his suitcase when he got a look at your entire outfit because you wore it beautifully. And to top it all off, when you’d opened the bathroom door to pass him his undies, he’d gotten a whiff of your perfume in return for the steam, and he almost had to slam the door shut to deal with another little issue.

It had barely been twenty-four hours and you were already driving him crazy. On the boat, Mat had told him to grow a pair, but he didn’t know if he wanted to unless you gave him some indication of perhaps mutual feelings (as though Tyson would ever actually give you obvious hints). He thought maybe he’d misheard your little comment earlier, and he’d opened the door to just double-check, but that had just gone out of the window when he saw your red cheeks and lack of eye contact.

It could have been a hint, but it could have also just been a cheeky comment – and under no circumstances was Tyson ever going to get those two confused. Ever. You meant too much.

“That offer to help dress you still stands, you know?”

He blinked, and you were suddenly turning around to look at him. His fingers faltered on his shirt buttons and it took a second for his brain to understand what you’d just said because he’d sworn your mouth had moved but no sound had come out of it, and then his eyes drifted down.

He’d missed a button hole and his shirt wasn’t lining up.

He sighed, shaking his head and quickly unbuttoning to the mistake, “‘M starting to think I might have to take you up on it.”

You laughed softly, not bothering to say anything, and instead watched him from where you’d stood leant against the dresser, your arms crossed, as he focused on buttoning up properly.

There were tons of good jokes floating around your head, but given the delicate situation you’d found yourselves in (there was no way it wasn’t delicate – the atmosphere in the room gave the impression that if you even so much as stepped on the wrong floorboard something would inevitably come to light), you’d opted out.

It never even crossed your mind to leave Tyson to finish getting ready and make your way downstairs with Toni and Mat.

“You ready?” You asked, eyes taking in his outfit.

It seemed very Mat-inspired, with a short-sleeved black linen shirt and baggier beige dress pants. He looked…hot, at the very least. And he smelt fucking insane, too.

He hummed, nodding, a cheeky smile on his face before he held his arms at his sides and spun on the spot.

“You look really good.” You breathed a laugh, not detecting a single hint of lies in your words.

“Yeah?” He mumbled shyly, and you nodded, making for the door.

“Yeah. Mat might faint at your feet when he sees you.”

Tyson swallowed, feeling his cheeks redden at his own effort to hold himself back from asking just how ‘good’ you thought he looked. He didn’t care about what Mat thought, he’d seen him at some pretty tough points in life and vice versa, so if anything, he cared about Mat’s opinion on aesthetics the least.

“Well, that’s always my intention.”

#tyson jost oneshot #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost imagine #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #nhl fic #martha's is pretty romantic #hockey fic

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thebeautysurrounds · 10 months ago

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I’ve been thinking a lot about how people’s reactions to certain queer shows and something I think we need to examine how we treat more ‘dark’ and ‘emotional’ shows versus more ‘happy’ shows in this case I’m gonna be talking about the “debate” between Young Royals and Heartstopper.

Firstly these shows exist in two different lanes, and draw in two different audiences and potential age ranges, in my opinion, Young Royals is for older teenagers (think juniors or seniors or someone who is about to graduate high school and is going into college) while Heartstopper is geared towards those who are just starting high school or in the middle of it and is in that transitional period of their lives. Obviously, if you are not in these age ranges you can still consume and enjoy these shows, But I want to discuss how people act like they both can’t exist and you can’t like both or both shows existing for a reason. I’ve never really been a fan of punching down or belittling queer media (unless it’s harmful) Queer media in all forms is still lacking (especially those mediums centering WLW relationships). That being said the debate of which show is better is honestly so tired.

For people who say Young Royals is so much better (don’t get me wrong it is an amazing show and by all means like whatever you want) but liking it more because it’s “darker and more realistic” compared to Heartstopper which is "much happier" and "unrealistic," To me is so disingenuous because firstly so what? campy shows that feature queer characters deserve to be unrealistic, What's wrong with being unrealistic? Queer media has been subject to the Burry Your Gays narrative for decades or extremely unhealthy tropes and storylines so what's so wrong with having storylines and shows that are unrealistic or extremely happy? (even though the themes in Heartstopper are realistic).

Have you thought about how that may be an intentional choice? Now bare with me here this may be my over-analytic brain at work but Heartstopper has more or less some of the same themes as Young Royals just shot in a very vibrant and colorful manner to showcase how happy and colorful young love is BUT if you actually have watched the show or read the graphic novels you would know the show and graphic novels cover some heavy themes.

SPOILERS AFTER THIS POINT……

I want you to keep the song Pumped up Kicks by Foster the People in mind throughout this...I have a point I promise. Heartstopper is shot in a very poppy colorful way and in my opinion, symbolizes how when you’re young and in love everything feels warm, colorful, and vibrant. While Young Royals doesn't utilize this cinematic style they do use some form of vibrancy to convey tone and emotion. In Young Royals many of the scenes featuring Simon and Willhem's 'good moments' feature the sun especially shining on Simon when Willie is looking at him or whenever they are just in each other's company, this is especially prominent in the last scenes of the last two episodes of season 3.

So while people's criticisms of Heartstopper can be warranted (not saying you can't dislike the show) the comments that it's just so bubbly and bright just aren't true. The last season of Heartstopper saw multiple characters go through traumatic situations and it has been building up that way from the very first scenes in the first season of the show (but for the sake of time I'm only going to discuss both main characters in the two shows) Charlie not only is still struggling with being outed but is also battling with an eating disorder, this is foreshadowed throughout the first two seasons leading up to its inevitable blatant reveal when he is at dinner with Nick and his family where Nick starts to piece together why he is never hungry, passed out on the Paris trip and never finishes his food, which leads his to eventually research the signs of an ED. Nick is also still figuring himself out when it comes to his Bisexuality, while also dealing with the feelings of, feeling abandoned by his father, and having to reckon with the fact his brother is not supportive and dismissive of his sexuality and relationship.

Now before I said keep Pumped Up Kicks in mind that's because while this song has an upbeat, catchy tempo the song actually has a really dark undertone and meaning. So while Heartstopper is shot in a very vibrant colorway most of its characters and content of the show deal with dark themes and it's not all just a happy love story, and if the script for the next season follows the graphic novel closely, then we will see the characters go through even more challenges which also falls inline with the "darker" more emotionally message of the show. So to end this so it doesn't become a dissertation, both shows more or less have the same themes they just exist in two different lanes, I don't know why exactly people are fighting for one to be more valid than the other. When both can exist and be impactful to both or each audience, more queer shows need to exist where the characters are just happy and in love and I need y'all to unpack why you view more doom and gloom (for a lack of a better word) queer shows or movies are more valid than ones where the characters are just happy and have relatively in some aspects great experience when it comes to young love and figuring out one's identity. Sepreatlty why do you want these characters to suffer to find love? Why do characters have to go through something traumatic for their identity to be more valid and for you to relate and want to root for it more versus the latter?

Anyway, this was longer than I intended it to be but I just had to get my thoughts out there. TL;DR: Heartstopper and Young Royals are two great shows and if you think one is better than the other cause it has darker themes you are missing the point or probably objectively missed the dark undertones of the show, and one isn't more valuable than the other.

#young royals #heartstopper #queer shows #lgbtqia #queer media #rant #anaylsis #netflix #nick nelson #charlie spring #nick and charlie #simon eriksson #willhem #prince wilhelm #simon and wilhelm

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dareactions · 1 year ago

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Been reading your reactions on your blog and its 3 am rn but I have two requests I'll probs be sending them both in seperate asks but first one, okay so I have been playing a dwarf inquisitor for the past week or so, he's 2 handed warrior

I also had a warrior dwarf in my old DnD club before graduating but anyways, how would the companions react to a dwarf 2 handed inquisitor stareing directly into Iron Bull's eyes and with the most serious tone asking if Bull could PICK them UP and THROW THEM to the enemy, how would the other companions ESPECIALLY Bull react to just watching their inquisitor get full on YEETED into enemy lines So all they see is this short dwarf with an AXE bigger than their body coming at them at 90 MPH just a ball of rage who wouldn't be terrified?

XD this hit me after remembering in a session where my friends Orc paladin suggested throwing my character towards an archer up on a hill got a fucking NAT 20 AND IT WAS GLORIOUS

i hate to admit we've done this in my dnd group too, and i fear my players will soon too bcs i gave the kobold a fucking nuke. why did i do that? oh god everyday is stressful.

Cassandra: She stops, and she stares. For a moment she truly wonders if maybe the rage demon in front of her stops in confusion too, because its actions become stilted and slow for a second- it's the second she needs to cut it in half as she turns towards the Inquisitor. ''Are you out of your mind?'' Is the only thing her mind can conjure up as she in absolute dread watches The Iron Bull listen to them. Why did she agree to this, why did she start the Inquisition. She should've let the world end, why are they all like this. It doesn't matter how impressive it is to her deep down, she wants to retire.

Solas: Well, that is certainly not what he had expected. His eyes narrows and his mouth opens as if to say something, just to close. It could work. That's the worst part, honestly, that he could see it work and can't even find it in himself to question the tactics. There's a moment where his spellcasting is far less controlled, more lazy in hitting its targets because he is simply far too busy watching the Inquisitor go flying. He can't even laugh, he probably would if it weren't for the fact he watches them covered in blood stand back up after cleaving half of their enemies in half. For a moment he rethinks his plans. Just for a moment.

Dorian: He yells out in glee at this, it's the funniest shit he has heard for months personally. Because Dorian Pavus for some reason, doesn't think the Inquisitor and Bull will go through with it. There's no way, absolutely not, it's ridiculous for all intents and purposes! Except the Inquisitor flies past him at an alarming speed just seconds later and Dorian finds himself lucky he has the sense to not send a spell after in pure shock, staring in awe as he ignores Sera's loud cackling to his side. He probably shouldn't tell Cassandra he found that impressive, he has a feeling she won't share the sentiment- but he looks over at Bull who just grins in pride. No wonder people were horrified of them, were they all normal people they probably would be too.

Sera: She is a cackling mess, leaning against Dorian trying to gasp for breath as Cassandra goes slack jawed. It's too funny to be impressive, it really is. The Inquisitor goes flying and she can feel her stomach muscles start cramping as people drop in front of them. Was death supposed to be this funny? Is there some kind of demon for people who die horribly hilarious deaths? She isn't sure but she has to be calmed down because breathing becomes more difficult by every second she laughs. ''Do it again! Do it again right now!'' Her request isn't appreciated by Cassandra, but Sera doesn't care. She just needs to see the confusion on these things faces one more time, just once more !

Blackwall: He shares Cassandra's retirement sentiment. It's impressive, really, it is. But at the same time he has to wonder how healthy it actually is, getting launched at such an intense speed- what if an ally had gotten in the way? Even so his mouth tugs with a smile, his eyes stay focused on the remaining enemies in front of him but- maker, why did the Inquisitor have to spin? He takes a deep breath and steels himself, this is fine. It's fine. He doesn't break out laughing until after the battle is done and Cassandra starts yelling at the Inquisitor, and they have the audacity to go ''Well, it worked didn't it?'' at her. He isn't sure if he is older than Cassandra anymore because she seemingly ages in front of him from it all.

Iron Bull: If you ask Bull, he was born for this moment. Everything has led up to launching a small violent dwarf with a giant axe in the air through enemies, this is why he was put in this reality. He is gleeful like a child receiving gifts, excitedly screaming as the Inquisitor cuts down foes mid-air. It's fun and he feels the surge of adrenaline from pulling a stupid stunt and somehow succeeding. His hands itch and the Axe he was wielding himself gets picked back up in seconds, slicing through enemies with a new eager ferocity. He fucking loved his job. This was the best job ever, fuck everything else, he'd just launched his boss in the air to kill things!

Vivienne: It's all very barbarish, isn't it? She frowns from the back where she is carefully weaving magic to her will, really, throwing the Inquisitor? Even so she can't exactly argue with how useful it is, seeing as the long line of dead things sort of counter any argument she might have. Even so she scoffs at the blood bath, rolling her eyes at delighted yells and laughter from some of her allies- this is absolutely barbaric. No, she is not smiling to herself, absolutely not. ''Do well in not getting blood on me, dear.'' Is her only comment on the matter, as she just shakes her head and moves through the battlefield. Children, she works with children.

Varric: His first reaction is just the words ''Don't ever think I'll do that.'' to Bull who laughs heartily, clearly not understanding that Varric very much has no intention to ever become a projectile. It's funny, something straight out of his books and he is for sure putting this in one- even if nobody will ever believe him. It makes him wonder just what else is possible if you have sheer stupid will and dedication, and how the hell Hawke didn't try that trick years ago.

Cole: He stares in confusion at the spot where the Inquisitor just was, eyes narrowing at the now empty plot of grass. They were just here, and then he looks up and just sees the spinning ball of absolute carnage that is flying through the air. He lets out a tiny ''Oh.'' because what else can he do? Cole just stares for a second longer before nodding, alright. He supposes that works too, and the Inquisitor is happy, so it can't hurt.

#did i have an order for my writing #i cant remember #anyway #dragon age inquisition #dragon age reactions #companions reaction #dorian pavus #iron bull #cole #cassandra pentaghast #vivienne de fer #blackwall #the iron bull #sera #varric tethras

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micheya · 2 years ago

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Al haitham x reader | Logical until he isn't (Kaveh thinks he's a loser)

Synopsis: Just an average piece on how both Al haitham and Kaveh think of each other as losers, and how Al haitham realises that confessing isn't necessarily as simple as an equation (Kaveh told him so. He didn't listen)

___

I think Al haitham thinks that Kaveh is the loser with all his poetry and stuff. When Kaveh is telling him to "go out" and "At this rate you'll be a lonely loser forever." He can't help but think that Kaveh is the pathetic one, getting drunk, prattling around like a little fairy with his love letters and such filled with frivolous similes and unnecessary metaphors like they're really some sort of masterful magic that you have to find from deep within your soul.

He'd seen it all before. Back when he had taken an interest in "The History of literature; History of Language; The Development of linguistics; Communications between creatures and their evolution; Poetry through the ages; Humanity's social evolution: the display of love-" He had listed

"Stop, stop, stop!" Kaveh had an incredulous expression that day, "What is wrong with you?! Are you the Akasha itself?!"

Al Haitham just huffed with his arms crossed, "I have read everything I'll ever need to know about 'wooing' a person. And of course I am not so limited in my thinking to understand that theory never always 100% aligns with reality. I do talk to people, Kaveh. And I'd assume me as a living breathing human would at least be able to figure out what makes a person tic."

Kaveh could only really pull a face in almost offence. He hadn't been directly insulted this time around but the knowledge of Al Haitham living with this (whatever "this" was) highly unromantic view of romance felt like an absolute stabbing.

Al Haitham of course ignores him and carries on with his day as usual. But then eventually whether days, weeks, months later when he finally develops a sort of liking for someone beyond the usual friendly acquaintance, he finds out that every once in a while his mind does go blank like he'd hear some other akademiya students discuss amongst themselves in their own journey's of romance.

His initial plans to go by the books to discreetly show affection usually start as intended, but end with it either completely going through the target's head or turning into an accidental work session (at least he and you are spending time together, though he doesn't miss the face you pull at the sudden work dropped onto you. He's sorry.)

Apparently bringing you fruits isn't enough to notify someone of romantic intention. He had completely ignored Kaveh telling him to gift flowers. He understood the gesture, he wasn't completely devoid of general understanding of these sorts of practises, but fruit and food in general would be much more useful to you in a practical sense.

He made sure to let you know of the benefits of what he had decided to give you that day and would always allow a bit of time to stare at your expressions afterward, though unfortunately due to his stern face the initial reaction to this tended to be a sort of unfounded guilt, "Am I in trouble?" You had to ask the first few occasions of this happening, before ultimately accepting that this was just the way he was.

"No, why?" He'd pull a rare smile, something about it being slightly devious, "Are you guilty of something? I may let you off easy if you confess now." It was taunting but in a gentle tone meant to pass off as a joke. You got it as seen by your own chuckle, the sound of it being something he relished, he was extremely fond of everything to do with you and continued to wonder (despite not making it explicit himself) how you hadn’t noticed his feelings.

Like he had said to Kaveh he had read everything he needed to know, or was curious enough to learn about, and he had read of great declarations of affections. Giant presentations for the mere request of courting a person.

It was such a request that would make one's intentions almost most definitely 100% clear.

But instead, he resolved to pass you a bunch of tangerines for that day's worth of fruit.

He processes the point Kaveh was trying to make, that love as an equation can only work so well until your actual feelings of love get in the way.

#yaepublishinghouse #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x you #al haitham x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x you

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just-1-scorpio · 25 days ago

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Reading Asterion by Alessa Thron, so you don't have to. Chapter 10 and 11.

This is a joined review, made by me, and @wordsmithic

So this time we have a positive.

There were some little bit funny lines. That's it.

So the chapter starts with Asterion interigating Ariadne.

Ariadne tells him everything. With Asterion wanting to kiss her, as if she didn't literally tryd to kill him. And Ariadne is suprisingly fine with Asterion being the Minotaur. We also learn that she is a high priesstes for some reason. And the two come to the conclusion that there is a mole among Asterion's men.

wordsmithic: Isn't it a little early for him to want to kiss the woman who tried to kill him?? I get that she's hot but he shouldn't be THAT relieved to see her

wordsmithic: Ariadne is "The High Priestess"?? I feel like this is a mockery... Has their institution *anything* to do with priests and gods, or are they calling each other "the high priestess" for the aesthetic?? I need answers

scorpio: I was asking that veary same question. So far the temple just seems to be a fency place where Minos lives, and assasins are traind at. But then why are they called priestesess, and why is the place called a temple?

wordsmithic: I have no idea :o still it's not clear to me 🤷‍♀️

wordsmithic: Why doesn't Ariadne care about him being non-Human? It comes down to the worldbuilding again. Are Monsters established to exist in this universe? We read about Medusa in previous chapters but we are not shown if she's a Monster or not.

wordsmithic: And, in any case, shouldn't Ariadne have SOME reaction that Asterion is not who she thought he was? Also, why are these creatures called Magical and not Mythical? They were not born of magic

Then after this, the chapter ends with the begining of a shooting.

Then chapter 11 starts.

So the chapter starts with a gunfight. They hide in the kitchen, and wait till they attackers have to reload. The gun fair stops, and two men get in the kitchen. Asterion quickly kills them, then Ariadne get's a gun. The two then go out, and hurry into the car, and get away from the screen.

wordsmithic: A gunfight follows and the tone is all over the place. Ariadne and Asterion are trying to fight the way out, while half the time thinking how the other one is hot. Exhibit A:

Then they go back to Asterion's place. Him and Theseus have a little argument about Ariadne being locked up in a cell, or staying in a room. It ends with Ariadne getting a room. Asterion's men oviously not like her. We also learn that she probably doas not have the best hold over his workers, but this might not be intentional from Alessa's part.

wordsmithic: This is said by Asterion. Great hold you have over your men, my guy

wordsmithic: This sentence doesn't make sense in general, because Asterion wants Ariadne alive so of course he should tell them NOT to try and kill her??

After this, they go in Asterion's room. Ariadne goas to take a shower, and it's comformed that Asterion is centuries old.

wordsmithic: Aaaaand he's centuries old.. If we are talking about THE Minotaur he should be at least 2.500 years old. From the Minoic age and such

After this, they both get into the shower, Asterion trys to pull out sharpnel out of her and they end up having sex. Okey. I gues. At least the ending of this chapter is funny.

Can I talk about the worldbuilding agein? I have still a lot of questions. What is the temple, and why is it called that? Is it a temple for Phonos? But agein, there were more then one, and are more like a personified spirits (daimones) of murder, and killing out side of the battlefield, so probably not. Do Ariadne and the other assasins have to perform any type of duty out side of killing people for money? Is Minos a priest?

Trying to figuring out anything about the world building of this book at this point feels like this:

#asterion #greek mythology #ancient greek mythology #greek mythology retelling #Review

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i-just-needed-a-place-to-ramble · 1 year ago

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Okay I have to say that it bothers me immensely how this fandom treats the Donnie’s Gifts episode.

Specifically the shock collar.

I know, I know, it’s an incredibly old topic that’s like poking a sleeping bear to bring up again, but if you may feel the same I do, then hear me out.

On one side, we have people who see it as Donnie being deliberately cruel and actively wishing to control his brother through force if need be.

On the other side, we have people who see it as something good, and poor Donnie didn’t mean to hurt Leo! He didn’t mean for his gift to cause harm! He just wanted to create something to make Leo focus more, he just doesn’t understand that what he did was bad! But it’s okay because he doesn’t get it!

Both these readings suck, in my opinion, though one I see more often than the other.

Now, I love Donnie, I do, he’s so, so fun and interesting and a fantastic character…but the shock collar was an incredibly messed up thing to make. Obviously, he loves his brothers, and he just wanted the best for them, but it was still an objectively awful thing to do to your brother. (Don’t get me wrong, Mikey and Raph’s gifts were also not great, but let’s focus on the collar.)

See, making a collar like that, and having your brother wear it, knowing what it does…that’s not a good thing. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t get to explain it first. It doesn’t matter if it was meant to help Leo in the long run. That ‘help’ is forcing Leo to endure painful shocks until he’s conditioned to, what, pay attention? (And that’s a funny thought, considering it was the shocks that distracted him in the first place.)

Good intentions don’t automatically make things okay.

There’s also an admittedly ableist tone to the reading of Donnie simply being let off the hook because he “doesn’t understand why it’s bad.” That’s- that’s so infantilizing. Donnie is more than capable of knowing when he messes up! And he did mess up here! I hate when people use his autism as an excuse, it feels so ableist to me. Just let him own up to it and apologize! He’s not a bad guy, and it’s okay for characters to mess up! So long as they own up to it! Donnie’s a person too, and he has flaws, let him own them, please.

However, this is not to say that Donnie is evil or abusive for doing this, not at all. While he should not be absolved of guilt, he clearly isn’t intending for his gifts to come off the way they had, and he clearly made them out of concern for his brothers. It’s understandable that he would go about it the wrong way - it’s just not okay that he did. And what he did warrants an apology to the others, especially Leo, even if they themselves shook it off.

So, yeah. The shock collar is incredibly messed up. It was painful enough to affect Meat Sweats- and Leo had it around his neck. It’s a comedy, so I know we gotta take these things with a grain of salt, but whenever I see this episode tackled in a more serious way, it almost always either 1) makes Donnie out to be the Worst, as though we aren’t constantly shown him caring immensely for his brothers, or 2), admittedly more prevalently and annoyingly, it chooses to focus on how sad and misunderstood Donnie is, rather than the very real harm he caused. Like. LEO IS THE ONE WHO HAD A SHOCK COLLAR ON HIM. Put there by HIS OWN BROTHER. And no one cares about that??? Leo’s pain is dismissed??? Donnie’s feelings matter more??? What????

I think that’s what gets me most here, honestly. Not that Donnie is presented as evil, or innocent, but that Leo’s experience doesn’t matter in comparison to Donnie’s reactions to it. It leaves a horrible taste in my mouth to see time and time again.

Again. It doesn’t matter what the intentions were. It also doesn’t automatically make Donnie abusive or evil.

But it was a shock collar, made to hurt, made to correct, and if you look at it outside of the comedic lens it was established in…it’s not okay.

Donnie’s not a bad person, and he’s actually a pretty great brother, a hero in his own right…but he really messed up here.

And that’s okay to admit.

#rottmnt rant #Donnie’s Gifts #shock collar #rant #tmnt rant #don’t get me wrong #again I love Donnie #and he’s not a horrible person #but this was horrible of him to do #this and a certain other episode #your faves can mess up guys it’s okay for characters to have flaws #it’s okay for characters to be called out #it helps them grow #and it makes them better #okay long rant over sorry everyone haha #long post

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tiptapricot · 2 years ago

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Hey just a PSA but the writer of City of the Dead is a Jewish man who has been upfront about how uncomfortable it makes him that people keep trying to insist that he's writing catholic guilt.

I know that David Pepose is Jewish, but that doesn’t impact the criticism of his depictions.

I don’t think anyone should be attacking his identity or his authenticity as a Jewish man, but that is different from criticizing his writing and the undertones and out of character takes in his portrayal, as well as the pieces it glosses over and doesn’t include. His experience is valid and enough, but it is not the same as the system’s and it does not make him immune from creating things with harmful or inaccurate tones for them. We’ve seen this already with some inaccuracies in his Black White and Blood issue to the more orthodox childhood of the system (saying they went to Hebrew school despite that being very unlikely for them to have done).

My critiques of his depiction of their Judaism as well as others I’ve seen and discussed with people were not trying to say it was writing the system as Catholic, but saying the way Marc was written and the way his guilt was portrayed was out of character and very much lined up with the Christian/Catholic ideas of punishment and suffering to atone for wrongdoing. That’s in the text and can be easily gleaned from it.

The current context around it also doesn’t add more exploration besides “I did bad and I’m so guilty I must punish myself and that’s why I do what I do.” In fact the context that is there makes things weirder by having Marc seemingly be even more spiritually inclined/favorable to Khonshu than he has been in the past.

It’s just a mixed bag of “this is not how this character should be acting and has uncomfortable undertones” whether they were intended or not doesn’t change that. Criticizing what Pepose hs written for Marc does not mean saying his experience is less authentic, just that he wrote something off for the character and things don’t map on one to one.

As far as his responses to the critique of this handling, that’s where this gets more complicated. Besides discussions and dissections here on tumblr, the only conversations/reactions on Twitter I’m aware of are below with peoples names other than Pepose’s crossed out as to not give them further exposure past their interactions with him.

I do believe there’s been a lot of miscommunication and bad faith responses on his part. I understand wanting to clarify when something drawn from personal experience is read differently, I get that people saying he wrote guilt with a Catholic vibe when maybe he drew it from himself is uncomfortable, but again, that doesn’t impact the critique and more context is needed to change where things sit currently. But it’s just a funky and strange situation in general.

(This following response involves a different user than the previous talking to Pepose. The original person left no more responses and said nothing else than what is shown above)

This is all I’ve seen on him responding to the subject, and later Pepose blocked both posters in this thread from what I’ve heard. This is the extent of their interactions with him.

Overall I think saying the handling of Marc’s Judaism in this first issue is weird and off is a fair criticism/observation to make. I don’t think it was intentional or there was any malice behind it, but it does show a lack of understanding of the character of Marc Spector, and was tied to a multitude of other problems throughout this first issue (like as we see above with a misunderstanding/mishandling already of the system’s DID and plurality). And I think people can also be upset about that if they are.

Again I understand being uncomfortable, but issues are still allowed to be pointed out and there is still room to mess up when writing characters from your own community. Fair criticism to how something reads is not the same as personally attacking someone’s identity. And it shouldn’t be, but I genuinely don’t think anyone I’ve seen here so far has been doing that.

Though with all of this I am a non-Jew discussing things I’ve talked about with my Jewish friends, so please please if you want more in depth and explanatory posts on this topic, as well as how Pepose has been handling MK (most of which I am drawing from and the discussions with have informed my stuff here) you should check out @fdelopera as they’ve made many dissections on the topic as a Jewish MK fan! And they can speak on this topic much more in depth and with much more awareness and information than I can.

Some very relevant posts to this is their dissection of why Marc’s spirituality and handling so far is an issue and very funky and an examination of the Jewish themes in MacKay’s writing.

But those are my overall thoughts as well as continued clarification on my points on the topic so I hope I articulated things well!

(ID in ALT for all)

#the fruit is talking again #the fruit is answering again #moon knight #moon knight comics #moon knight city of the dead #marc spector

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ryverbind · 1 year ago

Text

Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Emo Buff Daddy [15]

TW::: smut, mention of self harm

And quick A/N: i know a couple people were upset with me for not using the keep reading option-- i'm very sorry but i'm still new to tumblr so i didn't quite understand how it worked! i've added this feature to all of my chapters so anyone can skip past it if they want. i hope it's better now-- happy reading!! <33

++++++++++++++++++

"I don't see why you're still standing."

Sal's dark tone and breathless voice catches me off guard. What's that supposed to mean? My gaze snaps up to his and our eyes meet. His are slightly narrowed as though his brows are furrowed behind his prosthetic.

His hand suddenly wraps around me and presses into the small of my back, his nails digging into my too-warm flesh. The stinging sensation pushes me over the edge and I suck in a breath, still looking up at him inquisitively. What does he want me to do if not stand?

His free, gloved hand reaches up and aggressively latches onto my jaw, setting my face right before his. The rough surface of his prosthetic nose scratches against my mask as his eyes glare into mine. I feel exposed to him, all my thoughts, feelings, as well as my entire body completely bare to him.

The edges of his fingerless gloves brush over my chin, making me gulp down any visceral reaction I may have because of the light touch. It's teasing, almost. A soft, barely noticeable touch makes me feel more than a complete, full enveloping touch does. Because no matter how ridiculous it may seem to someone else, a fleeting touch has so much withheld intention. There's a difference between wanting to do something and actually doing it-- the prospect of someone holding back makes every nerve-ending in my body light up. I could power an entire city right now.

Sal's head tilts slightly to the left. His fingertips dig into the hollows of my cheeks, his breaths are a bit ragged and muffled, his knee is propped between both of legs with reason. His combat pants rub against the inside of my bare thighs, creating a friction so delicious that it's nearly painful. He moved us into a compromising position before I could even really notice.

"I said," he starts, voice low. So low that it carries off into the air around us to the point that I almost miss it. "I don't see why you're still standing."

I blink up at him and he squeezes my face. So I suck in a breath that's been deprived of me for the past couple minutes and lick my dry lips. He makes me nervous in an exhilarating way. "What do you--" my voice cracks and I quietly clear my throat, casting my gaze off to the side. "What do you want me.. to do?"

As if my head began to lean away from him, he readjusts his grip on my jaw, gripping it so tightly that I'm forced to look into his eyes yet again. His ocean eyes that seem more like the depths of a dark sea rather than clear water once you're near the surface, just about to breach.

"If your knees aren't bruised by the end of the night, then there's a problem," he rasps out, dark eyes capturing the image of my parted lips before our gazes clash again. "So bruise them."

I swallow thickly over the sudden shiver that passes through my body. Sal notices my light tremor, his fingers loosening around my face.

We stare at each other for a moment or two longer as I replay his words in my head. He obviously wants his dick in my mouth, and honoring up on our bickering that I thought was merely some harsh jokes a few weeks ago feels a bit horrifying now that the opportunity is being presented to me. Obviously I want to do it, but if it's anything like what I felt last night, I'm not sure I'll be able to do such a great job at taking all of him into my mouth. There's no way.

"Hey." Sal regains my attention again, his eyes blazing as he stares at me. His voice is just as serious as it's been since we ran into each other, but the underlying lust is filtered out for a moment. "Are you uncomfortable?"

I gulp, shaking my head vigorously to let him know that I'm fine. I guess my silence made him feel the need to make sure that I'm cool to do this. That's... uncommonly kind of him.

Sal relaxes a bit, his shoulders dropping as the tenseness falls away and he moves his fingers from my jaw. To replace that bit of control, he slaps my cheek gently and holds my chin up with two fingers, tilting my face toward him. "Good," he breathes. "Then don't fucking make me say it again."

My lips are uncomfortably dry, so I lick them again and nod once at him. I swallow down all of the surface level fears I've developed in the past second and grab onto the waistband of his cargo pants. I'm so glad the photographers put him in this getup because I've never seen him look more drool-worthy in all my life.

"You--" I say quietly, looking down the empty hallway that we're occupying. I slowly pull my fingers from the fabric of his pants and crack my knuckles. "Here?" I ask.

"C'mon," he taunts suddenly, taking a little step closer to me. His combat boots scuff the cement ground at our feet and his eyes squint. "You always have so much to say. Where's that dirty mouth of yours now? You nervous over the possibility of getting caught?"

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out as a rush of heat filters through my veins. He's not wrong. I'd hate to get caught sucking him off in a fucking hallway. I can't be vulnerable like that.

But Sal's on a warpath today and he isn't showing me any mercy. But then again, when does he ever show me any mercy?

His eyes drop to my mouth again and he snickers beneath his breath. "That doesn't turn you on? The prospect of someone finding us while I'm buried in your throat? You're such a little slut, I'm shocked you're not into that."

There he goes again with the degrading. His voice alone is enough to sway me, but his words are manipulative too and suddenly his desires are my own. Maybe the looming threat of someone walking in on such an obscene act is pretty invigorating...

Sal's calloused thumb rubs along my wet bottom lip, pulling it forward. "So soft," he mumbles, eyes never straying from where his fingers touch. His hand wraps further around my back just as he dips his thumb between the seam of my lips, the digit barely brushing over the surface of my teeth. "They'd look so pretty wrapped around my cock."

My breath catches in my throat and I effectively pause everything-- my thoughts, my breathing, my movements, even my fucking heartbeat. Sal seems to notice the moment I've reconsidered his offer. Just as he releases my lip, I drop the tactical gear in my hands, grab his biceps, and reverse our positions. I back him up with shaky breaths until he's pressed against the wall, then I drop to my knees right in front of him.

"Good girl," he purrs, praising me prettily as he drags his fingers over the underside of my jaw. I waste no time after his words shoot through me. I trail my hands up the sides of his legs and keep eye contact with him the entire time before finding my way into the top of his pants again.

I hook my fingers into the fabric and give a light yank, watching as Sal's pale hips come into view. His boxers are just barely visible, hardly hanging onto him at all. I brush my thumb over his warm skin and swipe my tongue over my bottom lip when Sal sucks in a sharp breath. He's sensitive.

I pull his pants down the rest of the way, which didn't take much effort on my part since they're pretty loose. They pool around his ankles and then the only thing in my way is the thin fabric of his underwear. Even with that covering him, his member is incredibly apparent and there isn't a single thing that could hide him right now.

And then there's that tattoo on his hip. Earlier today, mere hours ago, I still couldn't make out what it was. I have so many opportunities now, I can rip his underwear off him and finally answer the question I've had since Larry sent me that damned picture of him over Discord.

His shirt is covering the very top of the tattoo from me, so I'm only able to see a set of vertical curves and lines along his skin that never connect at the top that's hidden from my view.

My fingers carefully trail along his bare leg until I reach his boxers, crossing over to the front to palm his thick cock through the fabric all while looking into his mesmerizing blue eyes.

Sal's breath stutters as I rub my hand along his length, teasing him until he cracks-- hopefully. He was rough with me last night, deliciously so, and that's the type of attitude I'm looking for again.

I squeeze his dick lightly, not enough to set this scene in motion, but it's enough for him to shut his eyes in ecstasy. "Vi," he says darkly, a grating edge to his voice. "If you don't start choking on my dick in the next second, I'm going to do it for you."

My hand tightens around his member again and I tilt my head up at him. His eyes are still closed. "I don't think you'd be able to choke on your own dick, Sal," I say softly, sensually.

His head snaps down to look at me, eyes blazing with lustful rage. Within the next second, as promised, he's shoved his boxers down with one hand and buried his hand into my hair. His fingers wrap around the strands and he yanks my head back roughly so I'm looking up at him. He doesn't give me a single chance to finally find out what kind of tattoo he has on his hip. "It's about damn time I shut that dirty mouth of yours, you fucking brat," he barks out, nearly sneering down at me with that impressive fire in his eyes and the tantalizing grip he has on my hair. Then he pulls me back a bit more, tilts my head down just a tad, and taps my chin. "Open the fuck up. Now."

My mouth willingly falls open and before I can fully prepare myself, Sal drags my face forward and bucks his hips up at the same exact time. His dick slams into the back of my throat and my immediate reaction is to choke.

Thankfully, he doesn't move. He sits there for a second while I gather my wits and adjust to something so large intruding my airways. But I quickly close my lips around his length and blink over the tears that brim my eyes.

"You're going to cry?" He says through pants, letting out a single laugh. "Pathetic. You can do better than that."

With his cock filling up every inch of my open mouth, I can't make a sound no matter how badly I want to. I simply blink up at him quickly, relishing in the way he gazes down at me with glazed eyes that drink me in so devilishly.

So instead, I moan around his length and shut my eyes again, hollowing my cheeks as I suck on the part of him that's in my mouth. I lift a hand and wrap it around the rest of his cock, giving it a gentle squeeze. My other hand moves to his bare thigh. As soon as my fingers brush his skin though, Sal uses his free hand to slap mine away. "No touching unless it's my dick. Got it?" he breathes, fingers tight around my wrist.

Fuck it, whatever. If that's what he's into then fine. It's not going to stop me.

Sal drags his fingers through the strands of my hair until he reaches the end, then he wraps it around his hand, holding on close to my scalp. He pulls my head back then pushes his dick further into my mouth.

And then he's thrusting into my throat, pushing my head forward to meet him halfway. I'm just the added pleasure-- he has no patience, doesn't want me to help him at all.

I do everything I can to use my tongue, licking under his shaft and using my leftover saliva to pump the rest of him with my hand. But Sal fucks my mouth rough and quick-- so much so that this is simply so he can cum as fast as possible. It's not about a slow build up, it's about using me to chase his high.

Too bad he chose the wrong bitch for the job.

Tears threaten to stream down my cheeks as his head repeatedly slams into the back of my throat. I choke on his cock multiple times and it has to be music to his ears. Sal's a whimpering, groaning mess above me, bucking his hips into my face and tilting his head to the ceiling.

Sal's hand is still clutching my wrist, but I want to drag this out for as long as I can, especially if he orgasms quickly like he did last night.

I tug on my wrist a bit and Sal pauses his rough thrusts, taking a breath. "What?" he asks, shockingly a tad concerned. "Are you okay? We can stop?"

He's let go of my arm and that's what I wanted. Instead of answering, I glance up at him and pull back so just the tip of his dick is between my lips. Then I suck gently, swirling my tongue around him to lick up all the pre-cum that had leaked. Sal shivers, a deep groan following the action. The sound forces my thighs together either to hide the evidence of my own arousal or to provide some relief for myself-- I'm not sure which one.

I wrap my hand around his velvety cock to give him a tight, slow pump, all while looking into his eyes. I want to watch him squirm.

He lets out a quivering breath when I separate my mouth from him with a reverberating pop that makes him flinch. He moans quietly and my eyes catch the way his hand squeezes into a fist then slowly stretches out beside him. That's hot. Mr. Darcy who?

I use my hand as leverage, placing my tongue at the base of his cock to slowly lick a stripe all the way back to his tip. Then I suck the head of his dick into my mouth again, my tongue wrapping around his throbbing member and eliciting a pretty little whimper from him.

Finally, I start bobbing my head along his length, sucking and licking up as much of him as I can. The salty taste of him coats my tongue deliciously, making me eager for the moment he finally climaxes.

Sal lets out a deep, trembling breath as I repeatedly take him in and out of my mouth, going as deep as I possibly can to force him into making some kind of sound again. He pushes a hand through my hair, gently massaging my scalp with his long fingers. It's almost intimate, but I know better. This is praise for doing well.

"You can take more than that, Vi," he says, voice audibly shaking. "Keep going, pretty girl. Don't make me take the reins again."

I know he'd love to take control and shove his dick down my throat again, but hopefully I can get him to cum on my own. I just know he'd cry for me. I want that bad.

I pull him out of my mouth and use my hand to pump the entirety of his pretty, soaked cock that I'm finally able to lay my eyes. He's definitely a good size. Gorgeous, pink, and so incredibly sensitive.

And there's the tattoo. My eyes were pinned to it as soon as I had a moment to admire his cock. It's faded, something he must have gotten years ago compared to the newer, darker marks on his arm and neck.

A crescent moon and stars around it. Fitting for him, actually. I find myself admiring it while I take my time to pleasure him. It's detailed, pretty. If there were any perfect words to describe him, this perfect little tattoo says it all. Dark, night, a little bright, definitely a dreamer. A hoper. It's him, more personal to him than any of his other tattoos.

I'm brought back to reality, heart thumping affectionately in my chest when Sal twitches in my hand. I look up at him, panting heavily since I'm finally able to get a good breath of air in. Saliva and pre-cum is smeared across my face and Sal seems drunk off of the image when he glances down at me again.

His fingers stop their gentle caress and tighten around my hair again, quickly using that grip to keep my head still as he shoves his throbbing dick back into the depths of my throat.

He doesn't say a word as he repeatedly thrusts in and out of mouth, making more tears flow down my cheeks. He doesn't have to say anything-- I took my mouth off of his cock for too long and right after he warned me. This is his nonverbal way of telling me that karma's taking control.

No matter how many attempts I make to bring him closer to climax with my tongue, by sucking every inch of him I can, it means nothing. All he cares about is making me crumble beneath him. All he craves is the sound of me gagging on him. All he wants to see is his cock filling up my mouth and the tears that have begun to paint my cheeks.

"Just like that," he moans out pathetically, beautifully. "You're doing so good." I'm hardly doing anything other than acting as his fucktoy, but if that's what he wants then I'm more than happy to oblige. Watching him fall apart, pleasure himself, and show this vulnerable side is enough to satisfy me. I don't even need to cum if it means he'll do it for both of us.

"I'm about to cum," he rasps out, still pounding into my throat roughly. I might not be able to speak after this, not with the way he's fucking my throat raw. "Swallow every drop or you'll fucking regret it--" his voice falls into a sinful whimper and he shudders, his fingers tightening impossibly around the strands of my hair.

I moan against him, squeezing my eyes shut as he picks up the pace, his dick roughly pumping into my mouth. It's brutal and I love every second. He feels good, he tastes good, he sounds good. I'm obsessed with the way he falls apart so viscerally. It's intoxicating.

For just a second, I'm thinking I might actually orgasm over the sound of his salacious moans alone. He's so vocal and so dirty about it-- how could I not? But he bursts into my mouth before I can think harder about it. The salty flavor and warmth of his cum envelops my tongue so quickly and I try to keep it all contained, but he continues thrusting into my throat. A bit of the liquid seeps from the corners of my lips, dripping onto the floor.

I don't care and Sal doesn't either for the moment. He simply whimpers between breaths above me, sucking in as much air as he can before he looks down at me and begins to pull his cock from my mouth.

I suck on him to lick up whatever cum I can. He jolts at the feeling of my tongue on him, hissing as his head tilts down to look at me.

I run my free hands up his thighs, absolutely reveling in his post-orgasm bliss with him. He's so pretty-- takes his hand out of my hair to run it through his, pulling strands away from his sweaty forehead. And now that the moment is over, he's not stopping me from touching him.

But as I'm feeling his skin, I notice something. A row of thin, raised lines. Not just one, multiple.

I try to rationalize it in my mind. There's no way-- but what if there was a way?

My heart thumps wildly in my chest and I flatten my palm on his thigh, rubbing my thumb gently over the protrusions. I swallow the remnants of Sal's orgasm and watch him with a renewed mind. He looks down at me and wipes his cum off of my chin, sticking his thumb into my mouth to slather the liquid onto my tongue.

He's still glowing right now-- he must not realize what I've discovered and I can't even fully wrap my head around it myself. I know what this is. How do I bring this up? I don't know if these are from two months ago or from years ago and if he's not happy... I can't just act like I haven't noticed anything.

I gulp down my nerves. It's going to be uncomfortable for both of us but I'd rather help him. I know I would have appreciated it when I was going through a tough time. Whether I hate him or not, I don't hate him enough to let him suffer alone.

"Sally," I say hoarsely, clearing my throat. "Are these..." my voice is barely audible from the way he abused the inside of my throat, but I rub my fingertips along the lines on his thighs again and Sal suddenly returns to the land of the living.

He roughly shoves my hands off of him, nearly pushing me onto my haunches. His boxers are back on before I can even regain my balance. "What?" he asks, taking a breath to recover from the marathon-like orgasm he just had. My heart thumps in my chest, an overwhelming mix of anxiety and shock taking hold of me. "I have a lot of scars, Vi. If that's going to gross you out then let's just stop this now."

My head rears back at his sneer and accusation. He's deeply offended and I can't help but feel like he's acting this way because someone's turned him away because of the scars before. That's not my intention-- I'd never do that.

"No, they don't--" I gape up at him, brows furrowing. "I'm the last person who's going to be grossed out by scars, Sal. I'm just..." I pinch my lips together as a wave of fear washes over me. He's going to think I'm insane for actually worrying over him. "Fuck, this sounds crazy," I warn. "But I'm just worried."

I watch him with wary eyes, but Sal scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Don't be worried about scars from my delinquent past with Larry. If anything, I deserved these," he grumbles, looking down and grabbing his pants. He shimmies them up his legs just before I can get a look at the scars that I felt. And I don't believe him. Those are too meticulously placed.

"Deserved? Delinquent?" I ask softly. "These are--"

"Yea. Delinquent. Larry and I hopped a barbed wire fence and my unlucky ass got caught on it. That's what those scars are. I broke laws, karma broke me. That's the circle of life." He says this all so nonchalantly, all the while swiping another drop of cum from my lips.

No one would be able to lie so efficiently. Not even I could. Something's still sketchy about this and I want to question him more. But that's invading his privacy and I can already tell that he's on edge. One wrong move-- which is the direction I'm heading in-- and he'll never open up about this regardless.

But what if he's telling the truth? Maybe I'm just bringing up past trauma. I didn't get to look at the scars on his thighs anyway.

I should keep asking anyway though. If he needs help...

I'm driving myself insane. I want to pester him, beg him to be honest with me just because I know how desperate I was at one point for help with my mental. I couldn't leave anyone to stay silent when I suspect that there's something wrong, even my enemy. It's just not--

"Now, I remember saying something about you having to regret not swallowing everything," his voice suddenly turns sinister in a very pleasurable way. He pulls me back to reality quickly, and I find my heart racing for a different reason. The truth always comes out. Obviously he wouldn't trust me enough now, but maybe he will in the future. I will find out.

For now, there's nothing more I can do. I tried.

Sal tilts his head down to the floor between us, so I follow his gaze to notice the various drops of milky white on the floor.

I gulp, swallowing the remnants of what was left in my mouth. The salty taste begins to die away-- I can hardly taste anything, in fact, as anticipation takes hold of my entire body. My mind goes blank in an instant, my worries replaced with expectations.

My eyes instinctually look back up at Sal who's already gazing at me. I'm guessing he's waiting on some kind of reaction from me.

Half of me wants to let him do whatever it is he's undoubtedly planning, but the other half of me is hyper-focused on the clothes I'm supposed to be changing into. And what I discovered just seconds ago. This doesn't feel right, not when there's so much else to focus on. But memories of last night have plagued me all day. What to do, what to do...

I really should just get dressed and start heading back to the other room. If Sal and I are away for too long, it's going to look really suspicious. And I mean, if anything, we can find another time to continue this. If he's adamant on punishing me, so to speak, he'll make time to do it. That'll give me time to figure out a plan on how to get the truth out of him too.

With that thought in mind, I grab the pile of clothes and push myself off my knees, standing to my full height. I take a breath and then a step back, all while Sal watches me closely. His eyes are so bright right now-- they look like they're glowing. The hardly contained desire swimming around in his cerulean irises does nothing to help.

I open my mouth with the intention of telling him that we'll figure something out later, but I don't even get a chance to say a syllable-- I only squeak out in surprise when Sal lunges toward me, sweeping me off my feet with no effort.

My hands automatically latch onto his shoulders once he wraps my legs around his waist with a little grunt. My eyes widen significantly when Sal turns on his heel and starts heading for the room that he just came out of. The clothes that were previously in my grasp are pressed between him and I-- they miraculously stuck around during whatever just happened.

Sal's hands grip my ass tightly, his fingertips digging into my flesh as he quickly walks us closer to the changing room. "You're lucky I don't make you lick that off the floor like a fucking dog," he bites out, a short chuckle following.

I have too many responsibilities for him to be talking like this.

My legs tighten around his waist and I squeeze my eyes shut. My lips pinch together as I try to remind myself why I can't just let him tear me apart in the room that he's carrying me into. My thoughts are clouded-- rational mind is completely missing because Sal is in tactical gear, I just sucked his dick, and he has his hands on me. How could anyone think?

Sal moves one hand to grab the heavy metal door leading to the changing room. He rips it open like it weighs nothing, but the way it scrapes across the cement floor says different. Maybe it only makes a scary sound, but it's actually pretty light? Who knows.

As soon as he crosses the threshold into the room, the door slams shut behind us. Then, Sal's unwrapping my legs from around him and dropping me to my feet. The sound of my shoes hitting the ground echoes in the room-- cement floors again.

I swallow thickly as my clothes drop to the ground. They're going to be so dirty. My hands slide from Sal's shoulders to the top of his chest due to the sudden height difference. The same goes for him; his hands move from my ass to my waist, my shirt riding up from the contact. His cool fingertips press into the skin of my hips, and he uses that as leverage to yank me even closer to him.

"You have to be quieter than you were last night, Vi," Sal breathes, leaning his head down to rest on my shoulder. His prosthetic nose runs along the length of my neck, causing shivers to erupt along my spine. As those words roll off his tongue, one of his hands crosses over to my stomach.

I have two options: get pleasure and get caught or wait it out and play it safe. Either way, I'll see to it that he makes up for this later. I have no doubt that he'll make extra sure to handle me later too.

"Wait," I say, wincing over the fact that I'm not going to go through with this. Truly, it hurts to push him away for now.

I can always count on Sal to listen to me when it comes to our situationship. He doesn't listen regarding absolutely anything else, but he at least takes this seriously.

His hands pause instantly and he pulls his head away from my neck, looking into my eyes. He's wary, concerned, alert. "What?" he asks. "We don't have to."

I lick my lips and take a deep breath. "Don't get me wrong," I tell him. "I want to, but everyone's expecting both of us to come back any minute now."

Sal looks off to the side, his hands slowly dropping from my waist. The loss of contact makes me want to whimper. There's a far-away look in his eyes as he seems to think. "Oh," he murmurs. "That's true," he whispers to himself.

I gape at him. How could he forget? He's literally clueless. I've said it once and apparently I have to fucking say it again. I place my hands on my hips and roll my eyes. "Really?" I scoff. "You forgot that you're supposed to be modeling right now? You're working for Treyarch but you let pussy blind you?"

Sal's eyes meet mine again and his eyebrows furrow, a glare taking over what little features I can see on him. "You don't have room to talk. You're not even supposed to be modeling with us so why do you have clothes?" There's that snarky, aggressive tone again.

"You never fail to prove how self-centered you are," I sigh, taking a step back and leaning down to grab my clothes from the floor. "Larry mentioned me and the photographers heard. They asked me-- well, more like told me to go change." Just thinking back on what happened a few minutes ago brings a smile to my lips and a fluttering to my heart.

Sal snorts, "Tasteless," he says in regard to the photographers choosing me. He turns away from me and moves to a corner of the room. The corner has a fancy chair with a pile of clothes on it-- if I had to guess, those clothes are for Sal. And then a vanity with a mirror and table with makeup and other essentials. Those probably all belong to Ash.

They're tasteless for choosing me when he chooses to hang around gothic beauties like the one from the bar the other night?

"Says the man with a preference for emo barbies," I murmur halfheartedly. I'm too focused on ingesting the room. My words were a mistake though-- I'd gone back to the night that woman sat with him at the bar and I let the argument get to me. I really shouldn't have said that because it shows that it bothers me. But, it doesn't actually bother me.

A wave of anxiety slams into me like twenty puppies running to a newcomer at a daycare. Fuck, he's going to attack me for that one. It's so obvious that the woman bothered me.

Sal tilts his head at my words. "Is that what you're calling yourself now?" he says and I perk up a bit. I don't know how I should react to that. He didn't realize I was talking about his lady friend, but he also just admitted that I'm part of his preference in women. "I think bratty little bitch sounds better."

I lick my lips and try to contain the smug smirk that so desperately wants to take over my face. He's so preoccupied, I doubt he even realizes what just came out of his mouth.

I glance around the room. There's not much in here-- some ugly orange rug on the floor, a black leather couch with Todd and Larry's clothes on it. Todd's clothes are neatly folded whereas Larry's are just thrown into a pile-- that's how I was able to distinguish who's were for who.

Then there's a little folding screen. Ash's clothes are hanging over the edges. Besides that, there's a mini fridge in the corner adjacent to Sal. That's pretty much it.

"I wouldn't have to be a bitch so often if you weren't such a dick," I finally respond to his words after letting them percolate in the air for a short while. "Fix your attitude and then I'll fix mine."

Sal glances over his shoulder, black-lined eyes meeting mine. "Fix yours first and then we can talk," he says disinterestedly.

I shake my head. "Guess we'll never agree then."

I walk over to the folding screen and step behind it, laying my clothes on a little stool that the photographers were gracious enough to place back here. I start pulling my shoes off with a little grunt, moving onto my socks afterward.

Arguing with Sal comes so naturally now. It's mildly aggravating, but it isn't making me want to retrieve heads on pikes like it usually does. Maybe it's because we're both distracted right now.

"You're only well-behaved when you're being a whore," Sal says, and I look up because his voice is a lot closer to me now than it was before. And now, his slightly monotone voice is replaced with a nagging, agitated tone.

My head snaps up as I'm shimmying my skirt down my thighs and I make unexpected eye contact with Sal who's standing right in front of the folding screen.

I pause my movements, heat enveloping my cheeks at the same moment that Sal realizes I'm almost half naked. His eyes latch onto my thighs and then he takes a step back, then another until he can't peek over the top of the screen anymore.

I release a sigh of relief. "Do you watch all your women change or something?" I grunt out, watching him with a raised eyebrow-- not like he can see it. I know it doesn't really matter-- he's seen a lot of me so far. This is innocent compared to what he saw last night, but it still feels awkward and it seems he feels the same way.

"I didn't mean to," he snaps, crossing his arms over the armor plate on his chest. "I actually had pure intentions for fucking once. Don't make me out to be the bad guy."

"Funny," I respond, pulling my shirt over my head. "You always play the villain so I never expect anything else from you."

"Wow," he sarcastically says. "High praise. Considering me a villain is the nicest thing you've done for me."

I glance up at him while pulling on black cargo pants. He looks so proud and smug. What an ass. "It wasn't a compliment," I grit out.

"And that's exactly why I took it as a compliment. It pissed you off."

I shake my head, roll my eyes, and go back to changing. The entire reason his fingers aren't in me right now is because we have somewhere to be, so I don't understand why the hell he's sticking around and pestering me.

Then something slaps me in the face. Well, my mask.

I blink, shocked at the audacity of Sal to throw something at me, but when I look down to where the unknown object dropped, I see a little rectangular piece of foil. I tilt my head, wondering if I'm seeing right.

I lean down and grab it. Yea, this is gum.

I stand up again and eye Sal curiously, warily. Did he poison this?

Sal must see the contemplative look in my eyes because he scoffs in disbelief. "It's just fucking gum, dick breath. I'm doing you a favor."

I cringe at what he just said. "Oh my fucking--" I take a deep breath and close my eyes. "Get out of here, Fisher. There is absolutely no reason for you to be hanging around with me. I literally cannot stand you." The more I think about what just happened, the words that came out of my mouth, the more I want to jump over this folding screen and choke him out.

Sal cackles evilly, backing over to the metal door with his hands in his pockets. "You're just upset because I'm right, like I always am."

"Fuck off, asshat," I fire back. It's a weak comeback but it's all I've got. Of course this would happen after I thought about how mild our argument was earlier.

Sal's laughs die off when he opens the door, but then he calls me. "Vi," he says and I hesitate to look up. But when I meet his bright, cerulean eyes, I see determination. "We'll continue where we left off later. Okay?"

I watch him. Those are good words. Those are expectations. So I nod gently. "Okay."

And then he's gone. Completely disappeared from my view in the blink of an eye.

Every inch of malice and aggravation I felt just seconds ago melts away like candle wax. It'll reform all over again later, but for now, it's just replaced by butterflies making my stomach turn excitedly. So there's something for me to look forward to later. Absolutely wonderful.

I pull off my shirt and replace it with the long sleeved grey one that I was given. It's a little big on me, but no one has my body proportions either so I expect as much. My chest plate is adjustable, which helps tremendously. It makes the loose shirt stick to me like glue and because of that, it's hardly noticeable that the clothing isn't even my size. Said chest plate is much like Larry's-- camo and cargo. If anything, it's more like an armored vest with gun magazines and extra storage.

I secure it over my arms and to my chest then move on to the belt that holds a couple holsters for what I presume will be prop guns that I get later.

All that's left is for me to tug on the tan combat boots, which I lace up fairly quickly, and from there I'm home free. The issue now is walking up to my friends like I didn't just have their friend's dick I'm my mouth. I have to face Larry and pretend that I didn't suck the soul out of his step-brother's cock.

Simple. Easy job.

I take a breath and watch the door, begrudgingly unwrapping the spearmint gum that Sal was oh, so generous enough to give me. I want to be mad at him— I am mad— but he did help me out, even if it was only because he didn't want everyone else to smell the clear evidence of whatever happened in the hallway.

My feet trudge toward the big metal door while I chew on the stupid fucking gum. This couldn't be any worse... but no regrets.

My hand fits around the handle easily, but when I push it down to open the door, a little tug does absolutely nothing. I pause and stare at the door, bewildered. Sal threw this thing open earlier? One-handed? No way.

I give another tug, this one a bit more forceful. The door squeaks on its hinges, slowly moving to follow my weight. It's not extremely heavy, but I have to put some weight behind it and physically walk with the door. Am I tripping or am I just pitifully weak? Both?

I'm finally able to get the door open enough to squeeze my body through. Even then, the door gives me a little shove in the right direction, hitting me as it slams shut before I can move out of the threshold. My glare pierces through the inanimate metal while I rub my abused back. I did not ask to be the target of everyone's hostility today.

The hallway isn't nearly as eerie to me now as it was a few minutes ago. I walk through it quickly, the buzzing lights on my mental back-burner once I reach the door that separates me from reality.

I purse my lips, blowing out a sigh. Ash, Larry, Todd, and Sally Face Fisher are on the other side of this door. I am not going to fuck up. I am going to be brave. And I'm not sure why I'm so nervous— maybe it's because any one of them could have very easily walked in on Sal filling up my throat like it was a common occurrence. Yea, probably that. But, we didn't get caught, so there's really nothing for me to worry about.

I guess my fantastic, trauma-induced ability to lie is a plus here. Not like it's fed me all too well in the past. Seriously, I'm playing three different people right now and all it's doing is tangling me up in a sick mess that I created. There's Vi, who no one knows, there's y/n who everyone loves— except Sally-- and then there's Lexi who just so happens to be the object of Sal's affection.

Things literally couldn't my be any worse. But damn if I do, damn if I don't. I'll lie my ass off when I leave this hallway if I have to.

With my little pep talk finished, I pull this much lighter door at the opposite end of the hallway open and cast my gaze upon the darkened room. The Faces are perched in front of a large, stretched out tapestry being used as a background. It's this dusty looking city scene from what I can tell. And my friends are just milling about, talking with each other. Well, most of them. Todd is in the corner stuffing his fishing hat under a pile of prop rubble. I guess the photographers tried to make him keep it.

I amble toward them, a little unsure of how to address anyone after what I just did. I actually got to sleep on the knowledge of Sal and I last night, but now I have no time to recover.

Relax, y/n. Everything's fine. No one's going to suspect a thing.

Upon finally reaching my friends, Larry's the first to acknowledge me. His eyes glance over me appreciatively and he nods his head, furrowing his brows as a little smirk pulls at his full lips. "You look delicious. But you always do," he chuckles. Then he walks over and claps a hand onto my back. "So what took you so long, Vivi? Found some good dick to munch on?"

There's no way to describe the way my stomach suddenly drops out of my ass. I've seen this scene so many times. It's like when Jim gets caught flirting with Pam in The Office— that initial reaction of fucking book-it or use the worst excuse known to man while awkwardly looking around.

So I intellectually hit my friend with, "Yea. Why else would I be chewing gum?"

I make a face akin to the expression that anyone would pull after sucking a lemon or taking a shot of tequila. I genuinely want to disappear. This is going terribly.

Even Todd turns his head toward Larry and I, raising an eyebrow in my direction. Ash and Sal are just out of my direct line of sight and they can fucking stay there. If I meet any more judgemental gazes, I'll probably vomit.

But Larry's a giggly mess, something I didn't take note of because I'd panicked. His hand is squeezing my shoulder while he bends over and wipes a fake tear from his eyes. "See?" He says, giving me a wide, gap-toothed grin. Cutie. "You get it. That's humor, baby!"

I giggle nervously, slowly letting go of the nauseating bout of anxiety that just swam through me. "Mhm," I hum. "Don't worry, Lar. I'll always take good care of your jokes." I cannot form good, coherent responses for the life of me right now.

Larry can't answer me in time because there's suddenly a huge prop gun shoved into his arms. I step away from him, baffled when the weapon clatters loudly in his unprepared hands. It's a shock to my system and the same goes for Larry who juggles the hunk of— metal? plastic?— with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

"This shit is heavy," he gasps out, finally getting a good hold of it. "These— these aren't real, right?" He asks, looking up at the photographer who's currently holding out a big Resident Evil-esque gun toward me. Assault rifle, maybe? I know nothing other than Leon Kennedy when it comes to those games.

I take the weapon carefully after Larry's nervous remark. He's not kidding— it's heavy as hell, definitely metal. They wouldn't give us actual weapons right? There's a serious issue going on in the world with these things and the last thing I want to do is hold a real one.

I look up to the photographer, my gaze questioning, hoping to get an explanation for Larry's question.

"No," the photographer says, snickering. "Well, they were once." I cock my head to the side. Were?

I watch the photographer drop a hand gun into Ash's awaiting arms, then a shot gun goes to Sal. They both look pretty shocked by the weight too.

"Hold on," Ash says. "We didn't come here to fuck around with real guns. Fake ones, fine. No one can get hurt. This is different—"

"I said they were real at one point," the photographer cuts her off, heading toward Todd. "They aren't real anymore." Todd trades in his fishing hat for a gun similar to mine and the photographer rolls his eyes. "Our crew found these on eBay. They're refurbished military-grade guns, basically. They were either damaged or deemed as duds. But someone bought all of them and got creative, took them all apart and put them back together as paint-ball guns. So no, they can't hurt anyone. Plus, since they're remade and no longer used for horrendous shit, they come pretty cheap."

My lips form into a little "o" at the explanation. See, this is more acceptable. Perfectly explains why they seem so real.

"That's actually pretty interesting," Todd murmurs, turning his weapon over in his hands. "Sounds like something I'd be into."

"Leave the Super Gear Boy in seventh grade, Todd," Sal pipes up, sighing at his scientific friend.

I roll my eyes. He always has to kill the mood, and for what? I think this is a good way to kill off guns instead of letting someone fix them up to resell as actual weapons. Todd would thrive in the paint-ball industry.

"What's paint-ball even like?" Larry asks, completely mystified if when putting the sound of his voice into account. I glance to him, noting the way he looks into the barrel of the gun. Even if it's not real, that shit still makes me nervous.

I close an eye, recalling my limited paint-ball experience. If I wasn't doing something band related or reading in bed, I was playing paint-ball, truth be told. I grew up in two of California's— no, America's— major city's. If you weren't old enough to hit the bars or clubs in town, there was virtually nothing for you to do, period. That left me with dad's favorite little hobby and a run down storage building for me and my two or three friends to go rip open the gates of complete chaos. It was fun.

"I don't quite know how to explain it," I tell Larry, shrugging. I hold my gun at my side, gripping it by the handle. "Think Call of Duty. You load it, then you shoot it basically."

"And how do you know?" Ash asks, scrunching her nose up at me when I turn to acknowledge her. I love her little nose scrunch. It has to be the cutest thing I've ever seen.

"I had a lot of free time as a kid. So I used some of that time to play paint-ball," I tell her with a smile.

"You'll definitely have to teach me one day," she grins, viridian eyes twinkling in the bright white lights.

The photographers move us into place mere moments after Ash's request. I'm not used to photoshoots— so I do my best to follow the directions aimed at me. Move here, step there, pose like so.

There's a lot of straight faces and eye work. "Look angry," "look determined," "look scared but in a way that doesn't show it." None of it makes much sense to me, but I do my best, aiming my gun in random places and trying to keep the awkward grin off my face.

It's tedious work if anything. I'm stuck changing positions second after second or having to hold a pose with this heavy ass gun for ten minutes at a time. I agree with The Faces now— it isn't half as fun as models make it seem.

"My arm is killing me," Sal grumbles to himself, but I catch his words and Larry seems to as well. Sal is positioned behind me, one of his elbows on my shoulder and the other aiming his gun forward. If it's not already obvious, he fought like hell to convince the photographers to put him with someone else for this shot.

I've been trying to smoosh down all of the excitement I feel because his knee is positioned between both of my legs. His chest is pressed into my back. I can feel every breath he takes, I can smell his shampoo, I can hear every word he speaks before he even says it. Every single syllable that leaves his throat. It consumes me, leaves me a drunken mess below him.

But I try to hold onto my sanity and I do that through negativity.

"Yea," I grunt, discreetly rotating my arm. "Well, you're killing my shoulder with that bony ass elbow of yours."

Sal doesn't respond immediately, only presses his elbow even harder into my shoulder. I bite down a gasp, sneering at the photographer in front of us.

"Hold that expression, VioletViolence— perfect, beautiful!"

I want to roll my eyes. Maybe they put Sal and I together for a reason. Somehow they know we bring the worst out of each other, and thus, the angry facial expressions.

"Stay strong, broski," Larry calls out from beside me. Yea, right. He's one to talk. He's laying on his stomach with his gun propped on the ground, all he has to do is put his hands on it. "Free style match!" He suddenly yells. I furrow my eyebrows, confusion swallowing me whole. "I'll go first," Larry continues in a sing-song voice.

"Okay, so... actually, someone give me a topic." I shake my head at Larry's request. He went back on his word immediately.

But Ash is quick to jump in. She's positioned to mine and Sal's left. "Ooo!" She says. I can't look up at her or I'll get scolded for moving. "How about cake?" I almost snort and break character. Cake, of all things. It had to be Ash.

A sudden flash blinds me for a second, but I blink through it, trying to hold my angry gaze.

"Cake?" Todd mutters, huffing out a quick laugh. "That's all you could come up with?"

"Hey," Ash snaps, disappointment evident in her sweet voice. "I think it's a good topic. It's definitely going to be hard for Larry to—"

"Got something," Larry says, an evil chuckle following his statement. My eyes widen— that's a concerning laugh and he actually managed to come up with something in, what, half a second?

I need to fear this man. This buff daddy, tactical gear-wearing, snarky, humorous, emo man.

"Alright," Sal sighs from above me, finally pulling some of the weight off of my shoulder. I groan at the instant relief. I'm definitely going to get back at him for this later. "Please, do go on," Sal continues sarcastically. My guess is that he doesn't believe Larry could come up with something like that on the fly. I hate to say it, but I'm with him.

"Okay, alright," Larry whispers. "Prepare for absolutely malarkey."

I guilty grin quirks my lips and I truly struggle to hold back a couple giggles. Larry is ridiculous.

"Do you like watching people eat cake too?" Larry asks and I glance down at him, noting the shit-eating smile taking up his entire expression. He's going to get in trouble for that. And why is he asking about cake? I thought he was going to bust a few free style rhymes.

And bust some rhymes he does, taking me by complete surprise.

"Nah, I prefer watching them eat my dick. When she sucks my soul like a motherfuckin' tick. Love it when she goes in lick for lick— errrrrrr. Resident Evil, baby, I know those zombies would pick herrrrr. Got her lips around me, getting stifferrrrrr Getting kinda goofy like Stiflerrrrr."

I snap my head down to Larry, eyes wide and a cackle working it's way up my throat. Did I hear all of that right? Is this motherfucker kidding me right now?

Every single one of us breaks character— Sal snorts as soon as Larry ends his verse, Todd actual smiles and pats a giggling Larry on the back, and Ash is in tears. Her gun has clattered to the floor and she's fighting to regain control of her emotions.

I join them, giggling with Ash who's borderline moaning in humorous pain on the ground beside me, on her hands and knees. The photographers have given up on us for now— all four of them moving away to chat about the pictures, no doubt.

"Honestly, should I say that?" Larry asks, taking a deep breath and swiping a hand over his face as he calms down from his insane laughter. "That was a little much."

Sal hums next to him, so I look up. The man looks like he's holding onto his sanity by the thinnest piece of string known to humanity. All of that just to drop his own free style continuation of Larry's monstrosity.

"It's never too much, she can never get enough. She's always barking at me like a dog, ruff ruff. She's a fucking baddie, you know she likes it rough. My girl's all pretty like Hilary Duff. She begs and she pleads, she likes that kinda stuff. Transformers Megan Fox vibes, I feel like Shia LeBeouf."

"You have to be fucking kidding me," Todd bites out, voice wavering with barely held back amusement.

Ash grabs onto me for moral support and I look toward her, tears building in my eyes while I try to contain the laughter that so desperately wants to be released. How on earth could both boys come up with something like this?

When I finally see Ash, she's got a permanent gaping mouth with her eyes squeezed shut in that awesome silent laugh that tells everyone something really funny just happened.

It's a wonderful, core memory moment where everyone's keeled over, giggling or crying their guts out. Sal and I aren't angry with each other, Larry isn't flirting with anything that has a pulse, Todd isn't stoney-faced, Ash isn't plagued by constant worry. We're all just friends being goofy and enjoying our time together. I hate to say it, but this is something we don't get very often.

I look around at my friends as they recover. Larry finally takes his hands off the floor, kneeling on the ground with tears streaming down his cheeks. He swipes a hand over his face as Sal walks toward him. They do a quick fist bump, praising each other for the perfect lyric session. Sal is still bent over, his eyes scrunched together with glee to accompany his horrible attempts to contain giggles that tumble out from behind his prosthetic.

I wish he looked this happy all the time. I wish he was this happy all the time. No matter what, I can't help but imagine what it would be like if we were different people in different universes. Maybe we would have met sooner. Maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty for wanting him like I do. We could have been friends. We could have been lovers. We could have been more-- more than whatever this is. Fucking around when we feel like it because we both clearly have issues, both personal and regarding each other.

But I guess it doesn't really matter now because none of those universes are achievable. I can't unlock upgrades in life-- I just have to hope and assume that things will get better between us. To do that, I have to stop being so angry with him all the time too though. And that might be hard to do.

"She can't hear you bro," I hear Sal say. My kidney twitches at the sound of his voice. I'm being overdramatic, but that's how keen I am when it comes to his voice. I instantly tune in and feel frustration build up in me. I just know he's talking about me. "Vi's just mad she isn't Hilary Duff." I turn away from Ash, narrowing my eyes at Sal who then turns to me with malice veiled by amusement in his pretty gaze. "She isn't Megan Fox either. Must suck."

"What point are you trying to make? That I'm not successful? That I'm not pretty?" I sneer, tilting my head in question. Anyone would find that offensive. I don't know what he'll say to that, but I'm prepared for anything. If he wants a verbal battle, I'm absolutely down.

Sal shrugs, hands readjusting their grip on his gun. "I'm not saying that. I'm saying that you're not as successful or pretty as them."

I can't believe I put my everything into a blowjob for this absolute, complete, stuck up, and disrespectful cunt.

Tongue in cheek, I spin on my heel and look down at the ground. I can't tell if the flame of rage is growing in me, or if the embarrassed, insecure pin is about to officially pop my ego balloon.

Ash looks up at me, finally getting to her feet again, but she isn't laughing anymore. She isn't smiling either.

"Ash," I say shakily with failed attempts to hide my shaking hands. "I'm going to fucking strangle him," I bite out.

It seems like every time I try to look at him in a positive light, Sal's able to tell. Like he's a mind reader. And he jumps in every single time to completely obliterate any chance I was willing to give him. Even just a sliver of hope gets thrown back three miles the very moment he detects it. And now, we're ten steps back compared to the half step we had taken forward.

I can put up with most things he shoots my way, but shots to my insecurities really tear me down.

"Sweetheart, no one's going to strangle anyone, okay?" Ash says, bringing her small, cool hands to my cheeks. She lifts my face, forcing me to look into her eyes. When I do meet her gaze, those viridian irises are filled with the big R's-- regret and revenge. "Not until I do it first," she continues sweetly, her voice sugary like melted chocolate. To anyone else, it would seem like a joke, but that look in her eyes is real.

I feel a little better now.

"Ash," Sally spits out quickly, voice panicked. "I was kidding. Don't strangle me." How very pathetic of him to be scared now.

"Yea," Larry cuts in, chuckling. "He'll moan if you do."

Larry's barely able to finish his statement when a loud thwack echoes in the big room, followed by a resounding "Fuck! I'm sorry!" from emo buff daddy himself.

Ash looks off to the side, fuming with grace-- something only she can achieve. "You're lucky, Sal," she says coldly. "Larry handled you well enough, I think." She lets go of my face, so I finally chew down my anxiety and embarrassment and turn to the two boys again. Sal's looking like he's caught between contrition and anger, like he can't tell which emotion he should feel. "You need to cut this shit out, Sal. Vi didn't provoke you, there was no reason for you to say that. There's never a good, viable reason for you to target someone's looks. That was low, even for you."

I watch him with a glare, staying silent. Ash handled him better than I could. She said everything I wanted to and more.

Sal scoffs, "I wasn't serious. I'll even give Vi a compliment if that fucking helps. A real one." I don't believe him. There's nothing he could say or do that would make up for the damage he just did. Hearing his attempt at appeasement makes infuriation boil in me again, and his stupid blue eyes glancing my way only make that worse. It doesn't matter if he looks good in all that tactical gear.

"Actually," Ash chirps, "I think that's a great idea. Both of you give each other one compliment. And be serious. Don't be generic either, say something that sticks out about the other person."

Is Ash on fucking drugs? Did she smoke too much again because there's no way she dragged me into this.

"Okay, cool, fine," Sal grunts, looking to me again with a gaze that spell out the most genuine form of nonchalance. He couldn't care less about me. "I'll go first. Vi," he starts, tilting his head down. The light illuminates his azure irises, trapping me in that gilded cage I repeatedly find myself in upon simply looking at him. I hate this. "I think you have gorgeous eyes. They go with almost any color I've seen you in."

I gulp. Not only did he steal my compliment for him, he also hit me with the same compliment he gave Lexi. Does he know that we're the same person? Was that him trying to discreetly tell me that he knows my secret? But, then again, why would he go out of his way to fight me about Lexi and even text her?

Well, I've done that too, actually. But he's not like that-- so did he really mean that then? That's the only thing I can really think of.

I gape at him like a fish for a couple moments, blinking quickly while I try to come up with something to say. Blush on my cheek, fingers dipping into the pockets on my vest, boots toeing at the cement beneath me all while my heart races and my insides tremble. I shouldn't react like this after he said I wasn't as successful or pretty as famous women. I'm being ridiculous.

"I--" I say, voice barely a whisper. "You--" I try to speak a bit louder, but my voice cracks so I clear my throat, tilting my head down. What kind of compliment can I give him? "You..."

"What? Nothing you can think of?" He snaps, crossing his arms, gun still in hand. His tone blazes with fury. "You're such a hypocrite. You can get mad at my joke, but then you can't find a compliment for me even after I gave you an honest one."

I pinch my lips together. He's so fucking aggravating. "Shut up," I seethe, "I'm trying to pick one." The truth falls from my lips before I can think better of it. Please don't say anything-- please don't say the obvious. Please don't point out that there's actually things I can't help but admire about you, Sal. There's a lot that I hate, but there's a few attributes that I respect too. "You have pretty and talented hands," I finally say, lifting my left hand to gesture toward him. But that sounds like I'm referring to his expert ability to make me cum. "You're really, um, a talented guitarist," I tack on, wincing. I'm trying so hard to keep the heat off of me that I may very well be attracting it instead.

I take a quick, quivering breath as true terror grips my mind and body. Anyone would be able to tell how hard that was for me, how shameful it was. This is awful, this entire day has turned into a mess.

I pull a mag from my vest, inspecting it to pass the time and ignore my surroundings. But when I look into the cartridge, expecting it to be empty, I'm pleasantly surprised to see it completely filled with neon blue and green paint-balls.

Surely these photographers aren't that dumb. They can't be, right?

A satisfying shiver runs through my body, making goosebumps rise along my skin. This is just the distraction I was looking for. Everyone's had more than enough time to think over the compliment I gave Sal, but I won't let them get a chance to say anything about it.

"Hey, Ángel," I call loudly, glancing up to survey the room and find the photographer who told us about these guns in the first place. I finally catch his confused gaze and nudge my chin in his direction. "Do you guys have extra tactical gear?" Come up with something, y/n. No one can suspect anything. "I'd love to bring this home if I can," I lie smoothly, offering up a shy smile. "You know, for... memories."

Ángel shrugs, giving me a look that screams that he thinks I'm a little crazy. "I mean, we always have extras but you can't take it home. Activision spent money on all of this."

"Ah," I hum, returning to examining the weapon of mental destruction in my hands-- a fully loaded magazine of paint-balls. "Bummer," I mumble.

With an energetic grin on my face, I shove the mag into the holder right in front of the trigger. This is unlike any paint-ball gun I've ever seen, so I'm taking a guess-- but it clicks into place easily, so I assume I'm doing something right.

"Well," Ash says softly, awkwardly. "That was a... nice compliment, Vi." I can tell she's trying to make me feel better, but she's struggling too. I don't blame her. What I said was so sad, really.

But I have this paint-ball gun to make me feel better.

"Yea," I murmur distractedly. "Hey," I ask her, looking up for a moment. "Does this thing have a safety? Does it work?" Using what very little knowledge I know of weapons here. I'm a fan of knives for a reason.

"Um," Ash purses her lips, leaning over my shoulder. She turns my gun over and flips a little switch, showing a red dot. "Yea, look," she continues. "When red shows, safety's off." Then she switches it again.

I nod my head, letting that information go in through one ear and out the other as soon as I flip the switch again, taking the gun off of safety. I'll never need that knowledge anyway.

"Thanks, Ashy," I chirp, grabbing onto the barrel of the gun with one hand and the handle with the other, lifting it up so I can look through the scope. It's one little red line line at the end of the glass so I move the weapon, glancing around the room until Sal is in my sight.

"Nothing's better than revenge, my dear friend," I mumble to Ash as I close my left eye to get better focus on my target. I lick my lips, waiting for Sal to acknowledge me, finger hovering over the trigger. Energy reverberates through my body, hitting the top of my skull and bouncing back down to my toes, only to repeat the process over and over again.

Ash gasps and I really wish I could see her expression right now. "Vi," she hisses excitedly," Are you really--"

Before she can even finish her sentence, Sal turns his head, blue eyes flashing when he notices me. I see panic fill him for a brief second, right before I turn my aim to the armor plate on his chest and press down on the trigger before I can give myself time to change my mind-- or give Sal time to talk me out of this.

There's a loud thunk that comes from the gun as soon as the paint-ball flies out of the barrel. Then the splat heard around the fucking world the exact second that Sal's armor plate gets hit with neon green.

Paint gets everywhere. It's on the bottom half of his prosthetic, all over his chest and black shirt, spilling down his pale arms.

Sal staggers on his feet, taking a step back to catch himself from the velocity and force of the paint-ball. It didn't hurt him-- he didn't make a painful sound, plus the armor plate protected him. But he's a mess now which makes this evil plan of mine so worth it.

I lower the gun, opening my left eye to get a good look at the damage. Todd's jaw is dropped, his eyes wide. He caught a bit of the paint too, a couple green dots littering his freckled face. Larry starts laughing as soon as he gets a good look at Sal too, tears streaming down his cheeks for the second time today as he drops to his knees again.

Ash giggles beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "This is why I love you," she tells me confidently. My smile widens. "Great minds think alike."

Sal looks down at himself, lifting his arms up to examine his now neon green chemical spill. All that black polish on his nails is covered in green. His shirt sleeves: green. Veiny, guitar playing hands-- you guessed it, green. It's a beautiful catastrophe in my opinion.

And then he looks up, absolutely murderous blue eyes locking onto mine. Now he feels just like I felt earlier-- ready to attack at any second.

I grin at him, putting my arms in a comfier position over my body so I can hold onto my gun. "What a shame," I say, feigning disappointment. "I ruined those pretty, guitar playing hands of yours." I stick out my bottom lip in a fake pout. "I guess my compliment to you is obsolete now."

__________________

A/N:::::: HI SWEET BABIES!!! i'm back with another ryver original. the lyrics that larry and sal spit out during this chapter was the outcome of an idea bestowed upon me by my friends. i mentioned that i liked watching people eat cake, and they said, "that sounds like either the intro to a porno or a lyric in a rap song." so... i wrote a a couple verses for it LMAO i can't control myself, i am very much an embarrassing disappointment.

ANYWAY i really wanted to post this sooner, but i had my first day back at college yesterday and i was utterly exhausted. i literally fell asleep at 8pm and all of you know that i'm an unapologetic night owl so going to bed early was WEIRD-- but needed apparently. I didn't wake up til 9:30 this morning and that was only 'cause i had a class at 11am :3

huge thanks to MadamMilky on Wattpad for coming up with Sal's tattoo-- i think it's such a cute, unique idea for him and it just fits so incredibly well <333

so here you go, dropping a 12k word load on you guys again. thank you for the continued support, for the love, for the friendship. thank you for everything. i love you all eternally, more than the sun loves the day and the moon loves the night <;33

#sal fisher #sally face #larry johnson #ash campbell #todd morrison #travis phelps #enemies to lovers #sally face fandom #sally face fanfiction #fanfic #smut

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