#Thinking of some metaphors when the Logic cried

[rectanglebrain]

If Mind cried what do you think caused it

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

so i know tiktok has a lot of silly/irrelevant/outlandish takes but your fortnight post from earlier (which i thought was BRILLIANT btw) reminded me of this person that made the connection between fortnight and a short story by sylvia plath. obviously not exactly the same plot-wise but very much setting a similar atmosphere and using a lot of the same imagery https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8MBUYee/

I’ve said before that what I love about TTPD album is how she uses metaphors/allegories/what have you to tell her own story. Each song stands on its own and is its own short story (the suburban gothic nightmare, the alien abduction, the Bible Belt ostracizing, the western bar, etc.) but they’re each a chapter in one overarching story. It really is an anthology in a way, in the literary sense.

So I could see how Taylor may have drawn inspiration for the setting of a song from other art, totally, like how Rebecca inspired Tolerate It or Rebekah Harkness inspired TLGAD or her grandfather inspired epiphany etc. And given that she referenced Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes in the pre-release promo for TTPD, I don’t think it’s beyond the realm of possibility that maybe that journal entry inspired the setting for Fortnight. The tortured artist isolated at home voyeuristically ruminating in what seems like the picture perfect marriage of her neighbours? Sure, I can see the parallel.

But I don’t think she was necessarily imagining herself as Sylvia or writing about them as those characters, because to me it seems very obvious it’s about her and the man who infiltrated her life. This may be reductive of me, but it’s also because Sylvia’s story is so fucking common, and I’d wager even more so in the 60s with the societal norms at play. And the fuck of it all was that Taylor kind of found herself in the same predicament: she left her home in the US, and stayed in service of her partner’s desires, seemingly increasingly stifling her own while her cries for help were dismissed.

Maybe “Fortnight” the song was inspired by fortnight the word in the entry, but also… it’s an everyday figure of speech in the UK, and I even made a post after TTPD came out about how many Brit-isms were peppered throughout the album which is undoubtedly a nod to her time there. And she and Matty were together for that very short a time, both in 2023 and presumably the decade prior. So again, I can see how it might have been a hook, but I don’t think it’s a slam dunk either.

I saw a lot of people make the same connection between Fortnight and Rose and Percy awhile back, and like I said, I won’t dismiss it out of hand because I’m not in Taylor’s head so I can’t confirm anything. And it is a logical take and one that is thoughtful by that creator. I just personally dooooooon’t really think it’s a slam dunk and feels more like a coincidence/loose inspo at most. (Like: oh, artist stuck in 1960s patriarchal gender norms with an unfaithful husband and resenting her perfect neighbours keeping up appearances? I THINK I’VE SEEN THIS FILM BEFORE AND I DIDN’T LIKE THE ENDING. TBH it also feels very Mad Men-like to me. Because again: it’s a common narrative device.)

I went down a bit of a Sylvia Plath rabbit hole last year after TTPD and tbh there are quite a few of her poems that feel so salient to what she wrote about on Midnights and TTPD, but again, I don’t necessarily think they were related so much that tortured artists writing about yearning, grief, loss, infidelity, mental illness, etc. Is a tale as old as time. (As is Americans running off to London lol.)

It’s an interesting discussion! I appreciate when it’s at least grounded in some kind of analysis and not conspiracy lol.

[wisteriatal]

bleeding me dry. CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 1 / made some real big mistakes

CHAPTER 2 / but you made the worst one look fine

CHAPTER 3 / bleeding me dry like a goddamn vampire.

wc / 1.4k

tags / in chapter 1

Stage 1: Kill Jung Bae

The guards barge into the bunker with full force, guns blazing

“Kill Jung Bae, reduce casualties, don’t touch Gihun and bring him to me.”Was what Inho instructed them to do.

He was selfish, Gihun’s plan to kill the guards and barge into the headquarters of the game went too far, but he can’t lie that jealousy got the best of him.

Gihun called Jung Bae instead of him to confront the frontman. In fact, Inho planned to spare Gihun and his friends, stop the games and transport them back to society and away from the island once Gihun’s plan got too far, giving them the chance to convince others that this death island exists.

But Gihun just had to strike his last nerve.

He already accepted the fact that his identity will be discovered sooner enough once he spared all of the players.

But Gihun left him no other choice. He is all Inho’s.

Inho sat in his office, visualiser showing footage of the CCTV cameras in the bunker. The guards have killed almost all of the individuals who were involved with invading the HQ.

He relished in the despair on Gihun’s face. The terror in his face as he kills every guard he could see using the gun he stole previously.

Inho did not care that his guards are dying, he just need him.

Then the moment came, the finale, one of the guards killed Jung Bae right in front of Gihun. Inho could feel one of the corners of his mouth smirk as he took another dose of the warm whisky in his glass.

Gihun’s cries of terror, the tears streaming down his face, Inho felt bad, he felt guilty, but this was only right, just a part and parcel of his plan to carry out the next event.

The guards circled Gihun as he surrendered, shaken by his friend’s death, taking advantage of his grief by snatching the gun away from him and holding him roughly, bringing him to the doors that lead to the back of HQ.

Inho prepares his next stage.

Stage 2: Spare Him

Gihun stumbled harshly into his office, as Inho adorns his signature mask to prevent him from recognising him.

“What did you do to Young-il, don’t tell me you killed him too.” Gihun acts confident, but Inho wasn’t convinced, due to his shaky voice and trembling figure.

Metaphorically, Young-il has already died in his mind.

“Why do you always want to act the hero Gihun?”

Inho pulled out his glock, head and end of it making contact with the middle of Gihun’s forehead.

“Look at what your heroic duties done to Jung Bae.” Gihun was seething in anger, and for some twisted reason, Inho sought pleasure from that, as if proving him wrong that humanity is kind when in fact, it’s gruesome, rude, unfair.

“What do you want from me, and where’s Young-il?” Gihun growls as his worry for Young-il made Inho a slight bit regretful of what he did to Jung Bae.

But he thinks with his emotions, and he is selfish with his needs.

“This purgatory, this pit of hell I’ve created to run away from society, unfair, harsh society, you don’t belong here.”

He clicks the gun that isn’t loaded, as Gihun yells in fear, entire body shaking and teeth grinding in anger, grief, despair, held at gun point by the guards as he kneels before Inho.

“I’m sorry, the Young-il you loved isn’t here anymore.” Inho meant that metaphorically,

But Gihun took it as a declaration that the man he fell in love with is dead.

The man who somehow reminded him of Sangwoo, but was the only one who believed in him, the man who defended him from those who go against his plans, the man who understood his principals and stood by his side to the very end.

He knew something was wrong when Young-il left the next day after what they did in that bunker.

Gihun never saw himself as one who could love so easily, but the similarities between Young-il and Sangwoo, how openminded and logical Young-il is, how protective he is.

He felt loved for once in his goddamn life.

Just for him to die.

Gihun looked at Inho, his eyes slowly tearing before he bawls, yelling in anger as he sobbed loudly, looking away in embarrassment and grief.

Inho felt a slight bit of regret, <em>just a bit</em>

“You don’t deserve to be here, leave, never come back, focus on yourself Gihun.” The guards took Gihun’s shaking body up, as he was still sobbing, before dragging him away.

I love you

That was Inho’s way of saying it, sending Gihun off, killing his best friend so that he could properly watch over him and leave no distractions.

He will not be gone from his sight, he will protect him from afar.

Stage 3: Watch Over Him

I was never good enough for him, he was a ray of sunshine, while I was thunder, raging, angry thunder.

Inho knows that, normal people will call him psychotic, selfish, having sex with a man he loved before leaving him almost immediately, taking what he wants and telling Gihun how he felt before he disappears.

But at least he has a watchful eye over him.

The guards implanted a device at the back of his ear again to track his location, hacking to gain access to every CCTV placed in Seoul that scans Gihun’s presence.

Gihun often eats alone, eating in a nearby food stall operated by a kind aunty, fishcake and rice cake were his favourites.

Inho felt bad almost, seeing the grief lingering in his face as he eats.

He often calls his daughter, but he ends up crying, poor Gihun.

There was a period of time he witnessed Gihun struggling to hang himself, all this money, yet he was devastated, just for him to cry and sob loudly again, never brave enough to take the chance and jump off that stool.

Inho couldn’t allow that, Gihun must not die.

So he devised the next stage, one he did not plan at all.

New Stage 4: Surprise Him

Inho should meet him, but make sure Jun Ho is away, far far away.

He has contacted the fisherman to keep him at bay, and kill him if needed, as long as any contact with Gihun is nonexistent.

He has the guard knock out his mother, for the sake of her safety, so that she won’t remember who Inho is.

As the Guards cleansed the remaining bodies and harvested any remaining organs, Inho prepared to leave.

…

“The same order Gihun?”

“Yup, the same order.”

Gihun says as he puts on a fake smile, the kind aunty preparing the fishcake and rice cake in cups.

He knows how unhealthy is, how depressed he was, how skinny he is after not having the appetite to eat at least two meals a day.

Looking down, the only hope for him is his daughter, his daughter is what made him want to continue surviving. So much money, but at what cost?

He knows how disgusted the shop aunty is from smokers, so he always made it a habit to smoke after his meal.

It was a cold night, the rain seemed to have stopped but Gihun is still dressed in his transparent raincoat, looking down at the table, zoning out.

At least he feels cared for by the aunty, but the lingering memory of Young-il, Jung Bae, his friends, they linger at the back of his mind all the time.

A man sat beside him, he noticed by his bigger figure, his loafers situated beside his, looking to his side out of curiosity, he notices his coat, the hoodie covering his head, as if to shield from the rain.

Looking up, his hood covered the side of his face, but then as he slowly pulled it off, his features soon were recognisable.

Gihun’s eyes widened, almost watering.

Young-il?

His heart was almost pounding and he thought he said that in his mind, but suddenly the man turns his head to Gihun’s side.

“Gihun!” Young-il said in a surprised tone.

His smile, he recognises that smile. Gihun cries almost immediately, not saying anything before diving into his embrace, hugging him so tightly as his sobs grew louder.

“I thought you were dead..” Gihun sobs loudly into the crook of Inho’s neck.

“Im here,”

I’m here

[our-aplatonic-experience]

it's half a question n half a vent because am trying to figure out if my experience is aplatonic/in aplatonic spectrum or it has other reasons.

am autistic, have did (dissociative identity disorder) and avpd (avoidant personality disorder). tell this because it's important for this question. (also am semiverbal so sorry for poor grammar and probably poor wording).

am aroace. but have always thought that have platonic attraction. love seeing friendship in media. include friendship (or thing that i mistake as friendship, because of my weird relationships with relationships) in daydreaming. so at first time thought aplatonic is not abt me.

but. before coming to aroace label, thought am definitely alloromantic. then understood that have misunderstood romantic attraction. that people don't exaggerate their feelings in media n verbal descriptions. (know bad thoughts bad to think that someone is exaggerating but was child n thought abt it more like abt metaphors). n other things abt romantic attraction. so understood it's not abt me and came to label aro.

but what abt platonic attraction? am not sure can feel it.

never was good at befriending. all close people came to my life because we were in the same space. n usually they started communication. when i started communication it was because have some common work or interest. have general problem with communication. can't communicate not abt interesting topics n can't communicate without solid purpose. like "need to do this n that with someone so will communicate with them" or "interested in their experience/have shared interest with them so can discuss it". autistic thing. but maybe also aplatonic thing.

have difficulties with being actually emotionally close with someone. have low empathy. but can compass n can support. but usually feel like my vulnerable parts are behind barriers. like keep distance. like there's a barrier between me n them. have a window for communication, but other parts of me are closed. communication doesn't reach me inside. can't explain better. avpd thing n maybe did thing and n partially autistic thing. but maybe also aplatonic thing. have only one person with who am actually open as a whole. n it's abt trust, not abt feelings (but have feelings to him, just not sure what kind of).

can adapt to people leaving fast. mourning a couple of days, but after that feel nothing. like "okay, go on". forget them easily. did thing, but may be aplatonic thing.

have always worried abt being bad friend. because have difficulties with starting n supporting communication, with checking on people, with remembering abt them first. need to be asked to start communicating. or have to push myself. n it's not because don't wanna talk with them or not interested in. may be interested when already am asked. may feel good during all communication. just don't feel an impulse to start it. if know they are okay, may not communicate for really long time. autistic thing, but may be also aplatonic thing.

have always known that any kind of relationship for me will be less important than work. work may mean job, activism, n so on. may mean special interests. can live without close relationships n with little-to-no personal communication n be happy. but can't live without work. without doing morally important things for me. autistic thing, but may be also aplatonic thing.

definitely feel love. the reason why thought can't be aro and why doubt in aplatonic label. (not mean aplatonics can't feel love. talk abt myself only. am trying to figure our my own feelings. am not trying to police others' feelings).

but what kind of love it is? my love is big n includes a lot of things. love the universe. love chemistry. have cried because of plank's constant physical meaning. have cried because of how world is meaningful n beautiful in its meaningfulness. love logics. love words. really really love words because they are so meaningful. love understand things. love activism. love when someone is good. love that world is built to be good. love love love it all. and love people. because are also built to be good. because are so meaningful. because have done so many great things. because are so unimaginable. hard to explain, don't have better words. and love close people in somehow same way. because they are so adorable. because they are so complicated n so meaningful n so good n so great. like reflection of all beautifullness of the world.

love to them isn't unique for me. so it may be aplatonic thing. but may be autistic thing or just me being weird thing.

but close people are special to me. but is it in a platonic way? when become closer with someone, don't feel something special until reach some point. don't feel specific attraction. communicate abt our common themes. support when they need. may be interested in topics of our communication, but don't feel something special to them. n after some point, when start communicate more frequently, start to feel responsibility. like they are a part of my life. not random strangers. care abt them n their life. feel protectiveness to them personally. can't explain better. at this point used to consider people friends (ask them to be friends, yes i do this).

n there's another point after that one. when start to wanna invite people in my home. usually ask them to be in relationships (used to call these relationships queerplatonic). it's abt trust n abt influence (their influence on my life) n abt responsibility n protectiveness. so can reproduce "standart relationships forming" model: strangers – acquaintances – friends – partners. but in some non-standart way?

also need to mention that feel sensual attraction. n use it as indicator of getting closer.

when think abt it, understand that for me friendship is like alliance? like in adventure stories. a team of heroes who support one another and move together through the plot? it's like i see all of it friendship concept. they are my allies, my team, people who i care abt and who am responsible for. have strong feelings to them. but not sure these feelings look like platonic attraction.

my favorite form of interaction is when there's a small group of my close people who talk one another n me sitting with them, listening n sometimes comment or infodump. that's why like polyamorous relationships. (know every polyamorous relationships are different n they don't have to look this way. talk abt my experience n my wishes). always introduce my partners to each other n love when they become closer. don't push them, just look n hope. no enforcement. autistic thing (need support for communication) n avpd thing, but also may be aplatonic thing.

am not sure how to consider my feelings n relationships. am not sure why feel n act this way. am not sure if it's normal alloplatonic experience, normal alloplatonic neurodivergent experience, or aplatonic experience. don't know standards.

also fakeclaim myself. think that maybe am just trying to pick up new (for me) identity, just wanna be quirky, just overthinking n so on. but it happens with every identity n every diagnosis (including official ones). (don't mean self-diagnosis isn't valid just showing the depth of my denial because for me personally official diagnosis feels like approval. a big one. n i still can doubt n deny). (any fakeclaiming thoughts are directed only to me. i would never doubt someone's identity except mine. i would never think this way abt anyone except me. you all are valid n your all identities, including aplatonic one, are absolutely valid n i feel it as strong as possible).

thank you for reading this for so long. sorry if it was inconvenient. also thank you for this blog n thank you for sharing info n helping people to discover themselves n for being so cool.

.

[babiestbubbles]

I found this in my drafts this morning so here you go, let me know if you want me to finish it!

Softness in the Strangest of Places

Mikey woke up feeling small, really small. So small he didn’t think he could make it off the bed if he tried to stand up. So, he stayed in bed for a while, attempting to will himself big enough to at least brush his teeth. To his credit, he managed to make it to the bathroom, brush his teeth, and make it all the way back to his room before he collapsed back on his bed.

Last night was… rough to say the least. 

He’d been reckless, he knew he had been, but it was a spur of the moment type of thing. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, worst case scenario he’d end up with a couple extra scrapes or scratches. 

Except that in jumping headfirst into a fight he’d unintentionally dragged his brothers into danger too. It was never his intention, he swears. He’d rather deal with a thousand punches than see any of them receive a single one. But intentions aside, he endangered them, if it wasn’t for Raph, Donnie would’ve ended up with a concussion from falling off a roof, and Leo narrowly avoided fracturing his wrist from all of the impact it received from fist fighting. He wasn’t trained for long bouts of it, having to rely on his foundational training from childhood since he now trains consistently with his swords.

None of them were prepared for a fight, weapons abandoned at home in favor of a casual visit to topside. Mikey knew that, and he’d still started a fight. 

He walked home head hung in shame, taking deep heavy breaths as guilt and remorse clawed at his chest from the inside out, caged only by his ribs and fear of breaking down in front of his brothers.

Things got worse when they got home. He had to work so hard to keep up a good poker face while being lectured by Splinter, painfully aware that he’d just get in more trouble for crying. 

His dad’s words clung to his brain, branching out into harsher remarks. “You were irresponsible and childish. This behavior will not be tolerated anymore Michelangelo. ” slowly morphed into, “You are useless and pathetic. This was your last chance and you still managed to slip up.” Distress, fear, and sadness clouding his better judgment.

By the time that it was over, he’d lost track of anything other than his own misery and the burning sting of his father’s words. He walked shakily out of the living room, fighting every urge in his body to sprint to the safety of his bedroom.

The second the door shut and he was safe in his room, he fell into littlespace, hard. He was still a bit big, somewhere between 3 and 5, but lines get blurry when you’re on the verge of tears. Luckily he was still big enough that he had the sense to secure his room. He shuffled to the door, locking it, and pretending that the lock would magically make his room soundproof. 

He sprinted back to the softness of his blankets, jumping onto his bed, but the minute his body touched the mattress, the tears that had been pooling since he walked in, finally began to fall. He sobbed into his pillow, clutching his stuffed bunny close and letting it all out. 

His mind continued to swirl with thoughts, the words from earlier still fresh and metaphorical wounds they caused still aching.

How could he be so terrible? They probably never wanted to see him again. His brothers probably hated him, the only reason Splinter hasn’t gotten rid of him is because he’s spent 13 years training Mikey and it would be a waste. That was it. Mhm, Splinter didn’t love him at all actually. No one did. All he ever does is mess things up and cause accidents and be unhelpful. Mhm. Yeah. 

The poor turtle was so caught up in his feelings, and headspace, that all logic had gone out the window and he fully believed that his family no longer loved him because he’d made a mistake and gotten a lecture from his dad along with some glares from his brothers.

Mikey cried and cried until he couldn’t cry anymore, and not even ten minutes later, he was asleep. Entirely exhausted from the emotional and physical stress he’d just gone through.

And now he’d woken up cemented even deeper in littlespace, and he had no idea what to do. A part of him still believes that everyone is mad at him, that they don’t want to see him more than they have to, so he stays put. Deciding that it’s not worth the energy. He lays back down, snuggling his bunny and hoping that he could spend the day in his safe space, unbothered and a little bit sad.

Tragically, he has no such luck and less than thirty minutes later, Donnie comes looking for him. “Mikey?” he calls, his voice a bit sing-songy as he tries the door, pleasantly surprised to find it unlocked. Mikey knew he had forgotten something when he crawled back to bed after brushing his teeth.

Mikey can only look upwards and stare wide eyed at his older brother. Tears already beginning to form as he remembers everything that’s happened and emotions start creeping their way back. 

“Angelo?” Donnie asks, concern lacing his voice when his brother makes no move to greet him

Gentle distress floods his veins as Mikey makes an attempt to break his accidental vow of silence but finds the words stuck in his throat, leaving him sitting on his bed with his mouth hanging open as he tries a second, then third, time to speak. 

Through his mild panic the box turtle vaguely registers Donnie asking him what’s wrong and is suddenly struck with a genius idea. 

He sits upright, making sure he’s facing his brother and has his full attention, as he begins carefully lifting up his arms. He holds them in the air at chest level for a second before bringing his two palms closer together and hunching himself inward, effectively signing “Little” or “Small” in ASL.

It takes Donnie’s mind a moment to realize what’s happening, but his face softens as understanding washes over him. 

He slips into his role of caregiver almost immediately, his entire demeanor changing in seconds, and finds himself snuggling closer to his little brother, as he begins asking questions.

The first one is simple, “So I’m guessing you can’t talk, huh?” 

A nod is all it takes to get his brain going, running through all the various forms of nonverbal communication he knows.

He’s aware that Mikey only knows the bare minimum when it comes to ASL, so that’s off the table, but it reminds him that sometimes the simplest solution is also the best. “Can you type?” he asks softly, taking care to add a soft and suggesting tone to his voice so that Mikey doesn’t feel bad if he can’t. When his brother signs back “Don’t know” he pulls out his phone, handing it to the smaller. 

‘kinda can’ is all he manages but it’s more than enough for Donnie, whose face lights up in encouragement.

“There you go!” he happily remarks, before continuing his impromptu questionnaire. “Do you know why you can’t talk?” 

‘M rely tiny, jusa babie’  (Donnie Translation: I’m really tiny, just a baby)

Donnie can’t fight the urge to coo at his brother, “Aww, I’ve got a tiny little guy on my hands, huh?” he says in an overly sweet voice that somehow makes Mikey feel even smaller than before. 

Amidst his contemplation of the next question to ask, it clicks for Donnie that his brother is almost never this small. Hence the need for so many questions. The last time he was this small he’d gotten into a really bad argument with Splinter and- 

oh

Donnie can’t help the way face falls for a moment as he realizes why his brother has regressed so young. 

The question flies out of his mouth before he can even think about it

"Are you this tiny because of what happened last night?"

and Donnie has never been filled with such immediate regret as he watches his brother's face crumple.

Mikey's suddenly reminded of why Donnie was in here in the first place as the tears find their way to his eyes for the third time. Once they start falling, they can't seem to stop, streaming down his face chased only by hiccuping sobs.

Donnie’s on in him in an instant, wrapping him in a tight hug as he begins to soothe. 

"No, hey. Hey, it's alright. Donnie’s got you. I know it last night was a lot, I'm here I've got you. No one's upset with you, I promise. We know it was a mistake, I promise we don't hate you."

He states, knowing Mikey well enough to know exactly what was going on in his head right now.

Big or little, Mikey’s always scared that his mistakes are the end of the world, and it breaks Donnie's heart every single time.

He continues to hold his brother, a stream of soft “It's okay.”, “You're okay.”, and “I'm here”s  continuing to pour from his mouth. 

He tries rubbing small circles on the younger's shell but stops abruptly when he feels him pull away.

As the minutes pass, Donnie hears the harsh sobs fade to gentle sniffles as Mikey calms down a bit, nuzzling Donnies chest a bit as he tries to snuggle impossibly closer to his older brother.

It takes a few more minutes of sniffles for Donnie to try rubbing Mikey’s back again, but this time he leans into the touch, exhausted and desperate for reassurance. “There we go” he sighs as he feels Mikey melt into his arms, “Deep breaths, I’ve got you. Donnie’s got you.” 

Donnie’s never been a big fan of touch, but his little, scratch that baby brother, was always an exception. 

As Mikey leans back to look up at him, Donnie breaks out in a soft smile, “Hi sweetheart. Are you feeling any better? I’m so sorry I upset you like that, I promise I didn’t mean to. Do you think you can forgive me?” The question is asked in earnest, but Donnie knows the baby in his arms is far too tired and vulnerable to say anything but “Yes”, so he mentally files a reminder to apologize to his brother again when he’s bigger.

The small boy just nods shyly, looking back down with a droopy, almost shameful, look. Donnie recognizes it almost immediately. “Hey, hey, None of that! I’m not upset with you for crying. I could never be upset with you for expressing your emotions, especially when regressed. It’s fine, I promise. You’re such a good boy Mikey. My sweet baby brother.”

Mikey’s head continues to dip, though this time with a bashful smile rather than a shameful frown, and Donnie nearly beams at the sight. 

“Alright! With all that crying, I think it’s time we get you a drink and something to eat. What do you say bud?” Mikey nods cautiously in response, still on edge from all the crying, and just generally sensitive because of how heavily regressed he is. “Can you walk?” he asks tentatively, caregiver mode being increased tenfold now that he knows just how baby his brother was. 

He sighs at the sorrowful head shake he gets, but is quick to clarify he’s not upset at Mikey for being unable to walk, but simply hadn’t thought ahead about what to do in the event he wasn’t able to. 

Donnie goes back to rubbing soft circles on Mikey's back as he messages Raph and Leo a quick, “Code Baby, meet me in Mikey’s room.”

Of course, they’re there in an instant; Leo instinctively running up to the bed and reaching for Mikey’s hand to drag him up and out of the room before Donnie gives them a panicked “Hold on!” 

With a solemn look, he attempts to explain things as rapidly as possible…without upsetting Mikey. Which proves to be more than a bit of a challenge.

“Remember what happened last night with Mikey, the lecture he got from Splinter and-” he sneaks a quick look at Mikey, relieved to find him too busy playing with his newfound toy [Read: Leo’s hand] to pay attention to the discussion at hand, “the way he looked like he was holding back tears for most of it?” The second half is almost a whisper, Donnie treading carefully after earlier events. 

Raph and Leo’s faces immediately drop, excitement, about Mikey being little, shifting to worry for their youngest brother. Donnie quickly goes on, wanting to avoid putting his brothers through unnecessary anxiety. “Apparently some time between when he ran to his room last night and now, he regressed. And he regressed hard. He seems to be stuck in babyspace, and can neither talk nor walk ”

Both of their faces soften in understanding as everything, even their posture and stances, shift into caregiver mode alongside Donnie. They’d entered the room expecting a roughhouse filled playdate with an 8 year old Mikey, but now they were more than happy to dote upon their baby bound brother.

There’s also an unspoken twinge of pity, even sadness, lurking in the eyes of all three, that no one bothers to acknowledge. However Donnie decides to err on the side of caution and slips in an added, “I’m not sure if it’s what caused him to regress so hard or if it’s because he’s so tiny, but he’s super sensitive right now guys, so we’ve got to be extra careful how we handle him.” Raph quirks an eyebrow and Leo opens his mouth to retort before Donnie warns, “I sighed when he told me he couldn't walk and had to spend the next 5 minutes convincing him I wasn’t upset with him because of it.” which quickly shuts down any suspicion. 

The attention shifts back to Mikey as he squirms in Donnie’s lap, trying to reach Donnie’s phone but clearly unable. When it’s handed to him, he’s quick to type out a barely decipherable message about breakfast that kicks everyone into gear. 

Raph scoops him up, carrying his bridal style to the kitchen, and though he’s been held like this a thousand times, it still manages to make Mikey feel impossibly smaller. He babbles happily on the trip to the kitchen, clearly excited to be in his big brother’s arms and absolutely glowing under all of the attention. Donnie’s leading the way with smooth determined strides as he uses his gauntlet to run through an index of all the food in their household and organizing it into “Baby Friendly”, “Potentially Baby Friendly”, and “Are you trying to Kill the Baby?”

Leo trails quite a ways behind the other two, having run back to grab a pacifier and teether for Mikey, as well as his favorite Frog Stuffie. Just in case.

It only takes a few minutes for him to catch up with the others in the kitchen, where Donnie is already running around playing scavenger hunt with different ingredients. Meanwhile, Raph is attempting, to no avail, to pry Mikey off of him and set the boy onto a chair, a bowl of cubed watermelon sitting on the counter beside them. As much as he’d love to spectate Donnie’s goose chase for baby food, Leo figures Raph could use the help, so he makes his way over. 

“Mikey! Hey buddy,”  Leo coos.

[bthump]

Hi! I’ve just finished the manga recently, and i dug up your blog at 1am bc i was soooo into your analyses! The thing is, the latest chapters are so confusing to me, can you share some thoughts on that? Why do you think Griffith kidnapped Casca? It must be the fetus but, still. Why did he cry? Or what do you think Guts is thinking? Looking forward to your reply!

Oh my god, I think I completely missed this ask somehow, I'm sorry! I hope you see this even though it's been like a month lol.

Yeah I also find the latest chapters a little confusing, probably in part due to the new team taking over and finding their feet.

I'm going on the assumption that Griffith kidnapped Casca to keep the moonboy from wandering off when he transforms into it once a month lol, but I assume we'll find out for sure eventually. It seems like a reasonable theory for now.

I think he cried because he's feeling his own feelings. Possibly his feelings are stronger shortly after transforming back from Moonbaby, as he implies in his dialogue ("That, too, will soon disappear...") but I definitely believe his feelings are his own, and not residual feelings from Moonbaby. I mean first of all, logically, Moonbaby is happy while playing with Guts and Casca, but Griffith is crying out of a sense of "nostalgia." But also more significantly, the story just doesn't work nearly as well if Griffith's feelings really are gone and now he's feeling baby feelings instead, which just happen to mimic the feelings that have been driving the story along for 371 chapters now.

Guts seems to be pretty focused on feeling betrayed by his sword right now lol. This is probably the hardest question to answer for me, mostly because Miura is no longer writing it, so we don't get the emotional nuances he's always been amazing at. I'm sure if he was writing the last few chapters Guts' emotional state would be incredibly interesting and rewarding to delve into and try to analyze. But what we got was Guts in single-minded attack-mode, followed by Guts despairing over failing to hurt Griffith, and feeling betrayed by his sword.

Which is fine, I guess, if kind of silly in the way its been depicted so far lol. It's potentially interesting that he didn't lose himself to the armour while fighting Griffith for some reason - you'd think he would have, considering how one-dimensional his rage seemed to be in that scene, but maybe Griffith making Guts forget his "urge to kill," could factor in there? I'd like to think that if Miura was still writing the story Guts' rage would have a greater sense of emotional complexity to it, after all, like during the Hill of Swords confrontation.

And as for his feelings about his sword, I think that's meant to signify his self-doubt, given the way he views his sword as an intrinsic part of him (and the way he always reroutes more difficult feelings into simpler ones). Guts freaking out over his sword is Guts freaking out over his own abilities - physical, and maybe mental/emotional too, especially if the lack of berserk armour is a factor.

I think that at this point it seems likely that the armour is going to take over in the next few chapters, based largely on the way Guts' little emotional spiral on the boat features metaphorical breaking chains and a potential visual parallel to Griffith's transformation:

Thanks for the ask, and sorry it took so long lol.

[variousqueerthings]

Daniel LaRusso: A Queer Feminine Fairytale Analysis Part Three of Three

(another massive, massive thank you to @mimsyaf​ )

part 1

part 2

8. Queerness and femininity and masculinity and the colour red and *record breaks*

If we spin the record aaalll the way back to this paragraph: “…looking at what it is girls and women in fairytales have/don’t have, what they want, and how they’re going to get it. It’s about power (lack of), sexuality (repressed, then liberated), and men.” Reading Daniel as a repressed, bisexual boy in a society that doesn’t accept his desires it’s interesting looking at how he moves through the world of the Miyagi-verse, at how threatened other men are by him, at how obsessed they are with him.

He’s out in the symbolic woods and these large boys and men see him and decide for whatever plot reasons to come for him. And they are large and violent and attractive and apart from Johnny again, they don’t have the nebulous excuse of fighting over a girl and even that excuse dies by around the midpoint when Johnny kisses Ali just to get a rise out of Daniel. He’s not trying to “win her back,” he’s not even really looking at her. He’s just trying to get a reaction. They don’t have any of the fighters in Rocky’s excuse either of Daniel being a macho opponent. 

You can read whatever subtext into TKK1 and TKK2 (which becomes especially tempting once CK confirmed that the guys he fought at seventeen have been thinking about him ever since – for thirty-five years), but TKK3 is where it’s really At in terms of obsession and lust and forbidden desires.

Silver is presented as both a handsome prince who saves Daniel and mentors him (where Miyagi is undoubtedly cast in a fatherhood role) and later on becomes twisted into a dark secret that Daniel has to keep, while he turns that thing that Daniel loves (karate, it’s… it’s karate… it’s also men, but it’s definitely karate, because karate makes him feel… things...) into an abusive, violent version of itself.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

But he’s also offering him something liberating. Whatever is going on in that nightclub scene is about something other than breaking Daniel down. Even the bloodied knuckles aren’t just about revenge. It’s about giving him something that he isn’t, in the end, willing to receive, at least not from Silver. In that roundabout, strange way of these feminine fairytales, it’s exploring hidden desires through the metaphor of karate.

Daniel wears red because it’s his colour. In the movies he wears red a lot. Often in scenes with violence in them (the beach/the hilltop in TKK1 and the date/the destruction of the dojo/the final fight in TKK2), but he also has a variety of shirts (and in TKK3 pants) that pop up all the way through the narrative. He wears a red jacket when he accepts Terry’s training, when he punches a guy in the face, and when he tries to get out of the training again (as badly as that goes).

Did anyone consciously think about red’s link to desire, obsession, and violence when they made these? Eh. But is it there symbolically? When he meets Johnny, when he fights Chozen, when he’s in emotionally fraught situations with Terry? Hell yeah.

Probably the most lust-and-violence infused red is that aforementioned punching-board-until-knuckles-bleed bit – not that I thought Terry was going to pull him in for a kiss, because I knew, logically, of course he wouldn’t right? There’s no way… is there? Or later on when Daniel punches that guy and ends up with blood all over his shirt and Terry once more grasps him, euphorically. Blood is violence. Blood is also desire. Red is Daniel’s colour, even though he doesn’t acknowledge it come Cobra Kai. (Maybe he just needs someone else - cough Johnny Lawrence cough - to inspire it in him again).

Daniel LaRusso’s narrative is exploring that most feminine of fairytale tropes: To want and be wanted by monsters and having to hide those desires.

“Maybe this time that strange churning in my stomach that feels like a mix of anticipation and fear will turn out good for me.” - Daniel’s mind.

At the end of the story, Daniel saves himself, with all of the strange mixed narratives around it, and the acknowledgement that the end of The Karate Kid Part Three isn’t satisfying and its aftermath will likely be delved into in the next season of Cobra Kai.

Nevertheless, he saves himself. Not from Silver or Kreese or Barnes, and not entirely, but he makes a decision not to give in to fear (and he continues to try and live by that decision, making it over and over again for the next thirty-five years, even when the return of Cobra Kai makes that difficult for him). 

He doesn’t do it by being the strongest in the land or even through a lucky shot (although that too). He does it by refusing to be like the male antagonists that surround him, by telling them they have no power over him. The narrative isn’t just his getting lost in the forest and all the monsters he finds there, it’s about how he redefines power for himself within that forest. 

He’s a man who isn’t violent, whose victories include helping out a girl whose ex-boyfriend just broke her radio, successfully doing the moves to a cultural dance he’s trying to learn, sitting with his father figure while he cries over the death of his own father, telling a girl that she’s just made her first friend, and breathing a sigh of relief that a tree that got broken has healed. 

Daniel LaRusso is a good boy is the point!

Karate is a metaphor. It can turn into many things: A series of lessons learned about how to be his own man and take care of his own house, a respect for the history of the father teaching him and sharing his home and story with him, fear, desire, masculinity (and the different forms that can take). 

When a tall, handsome stranger offers to teach him karate in the dark, without Daniel’s caretaker knowing how to help him, and twists that karate into something that hurts him - when he reclaims that, over and over, that means something too. 

This man is fine and definitely isn’t carrying the weight of buried karate-based queer trauma - could a traumatised man do this? *stares blankly at a former tormentor as blood runs down his forehead*

9. In Conclusion Daniel Has Kissed Dudes… Symbolically… But We Can HC Literally:

So there’s Daniel and his coded feminine fairytale narrative. It’s all a series of fun coincidences.

1. Ralph Macchio is just Like That

2. Red. All the red. 

3. large portion of his storyline is about lack of power. Yes, he regains that power by the end of the first and second movie through A Fight, but generally he is framed as powerless opposite these almost monstrously physically powerful boys/men. And in the third one it’s barely even about physical prowess (he’d still lose a real fight against Barnes or Silver) and more about regaining lost autonomy off the back of a manipulative, abusive relationship with an older guy.

4. The third movie in particular is narratively a mess, but if reimagined as a fairytale makes a lot of sense (because it’s secretly all about how karate is bisexuality and Daniel gets manipulated through that desire to be better at karate).

5. Queerness and femininity and themes about hidden desires that can only be approached sideways through couching those desires in symbolism: Handshake meme.

6. The fact that the more I think about it, the more feral I am for a Labyrinth AU.

7. To sum up over 5000 words of text: The inherent homoeroticism of wanting to be slammed against a locker by a bully, but extended over three movies and ever-more inventive ways of hurting pretty-boy-Daniel-LaRusso.

Johnny’s not going to be happy when he realises Daniel’s got other ex-rivals buried in his closet...

10. Some Other Stuff Aka The Laziest Referencing I’ll Ever Do

Further reading on trans Matrix

Further reading on masculinity and rape narrative in The Rape Of James Bond

Youtube Video from Pop Culture Detective (Sexual Assault Of Men Played For Laughs)

Some film/TV references in this: Dracula (Coppola), Princess Bride, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Labyrinth, The Matrix, Rocky, Princess And The Frog, Cinderella, Enchanted, Shape Of Water, Swamp Thing, Phantom of the Opera 

Some fairytale references: Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, The Wolf And The Seven Little Kids, Alice in Wonderland, Wizard of Oz, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, Company of Wolves (Angela Carter), Through the Looking Glass, Princess Bride

Also referenced is Alison Bechdel’s graphic novel and the subsequent musical Funhome. Further thoughts on this by @thehours2002​ and @jenpsaki​:

https://thehours2002.tumblr.com/post/650033577171533824/daniel-larusso-and-fun-home-click-to-enlarge

https://jenpsaki.tumblr.com/post/650530225997971456/cobra-kai-fun-home-inspired-by-goldstargirls

My list of Cobra Kai meta posts

I wanted to delve into fairytale movies more, but then I was like “fuck, I have actual work to do,” but I was interested in the ways male and female characters are written in these stories:

The Last Unicorn, The Never-Ending Story, The Dark Crystal, Legend, and Stardust.

The Last Unicorn is an interesting one because she’s not really human, until she is. It’s more like The Little Mermaid (the fairytale, not the Disney film) in tone, and of course there’s a pretty substantiated rumour that Andersen wrote that one as a metaphor for falling in love with another man (who eventually got married). 

Andersen in general is just fun to analyse as someone who popularized so many fairytales and exists as an ambiguously queer historical figure – might’ve been modern-day gay, bi, ace, but we’re just not sure. All your favourite fairytales can be read through the lens of queer loneliness and ostracization. Just like horror.

Anyway I didn’t go into the whole Little-Mermaid-Last-Unicorn transformation bit so much as the Monstrous-Desires bit, but I think there could be something to that too, with monsters representing otherhood and all. Stardust is a kinda-almost-this, except she sticks to her human form and all is okey-dokey by the end, she’s allowed to marry the handsome man and be a star.

The Never-Ending Story has Atreyu and Bastian and because of a lack of female characters, an interesting bond between the two of them, but mainly Atreyu is absolutely a go-gettem Hero Type and it’s just interesting to see how Bastian relates to him as both an audience insert, but also eventually as his own character in that world.

The Dark Crystal contains certain… androgynous elements of feminine and masculine coded characteristics in the main character because of how he’s not human, but also they do have a “female” version of his species that he needs to go save (and bring back to life) by the end, so in a way it’s both more and less heteronormative in its characters.

Legend sees another example of a monster (literally called Darkness and looking like a traditional devil) trying to seduce a princess through promises of power, and she “goes along with it” in order to trick him and succeeds in that trick, but is ultimately saved by the male lead. 

In conclusion: I don’t even have Shrek in this.

[queenof-literature]

A Sick Wild Child - Chapter 10

Chapter 10 - Cold

Aaaand we're back! Sorry for the long wait, college is wack.

Uhh big angst warning for this chapter. I can't really tell if this is angstier than the rest of the chapters? But the warning is there.

As I said earlier, I am going to be rewriting this fic as I add to it. Nothing major will change, but I kinda cringe a little when I read back on it because I feel like my style has developed more as I've written.

Ao3 Link:

I hope y'all enjoy!

The rustling of the leaves above were the loudest sound Warriors heard outside camp. Between the soft snores of his companions, the distant flowing stream, and the cackling of the fire, perhaps he should have let himself relax, if only a little. Being as rigid as a board would do no one any good if monsters came, yet Warriors could not force himself to relax. Strained eyes jumped between the other Links, the world outside their overhang, and the only other two not resting.

Whatever allowed Wild to be semi-coherent hours ago had faded as night went on, stuttering chest still rising and falling roughly. 

Twilight hadn’t left Wild’s side, still holding tightly to the boy’s clammy hand. Warriors let out a sigh, trying to force some tension from his shoulders as he stood, slowly making his way over. 

“You need to get some sleep.” Warriors settled next to him, still keeping a sharp ear out for potential monsters. He had made the mistake of letting down his guard, and he wouldn’t do it again.

“I’ll sleep after your watch.” Twilight was lying, and they both knew it.

“You make fun of Time for taking on too much, but you’re the same damn way.” Warriors huffed.

“Pot, meet kettle.” Twilight snarked and Warriors rolled his eyes at yet another dumb country metaphor. “Besides, be careful what you say, Old Man is probably listening.”

“It’d be hard not to with how loud you two are.” A voice said from Time’s bedroll.

“Sorry, Time.” Warriors and Twilight spoke in unison, chuckling lightly when they heard a tired sigh and grumbling.

“Any signs of Wild waking up again?” Warriors nodded towards Wild’s restless form, keeping his voice far lower.

“Nah. I wouldn’t be so worried if he was getting some actual sleep.” As if sensing his name Wild shifted once again, letting out unidentifiable croaks and murmurs. Twilight stroked his thumb across the back of Wild’s pale hand in an attempt to soothe him once more.

“Yeah…” Warriors spoke awkwardly. “The worst will be over soon, then he’ll be able to start healing. Hylia knows Legend and Hyrule are going to shove a rainbow of potions down his gullet when he can handle it.” Warriors joked, feeling success at the small chuckle he received from the other young man.

“I know he’ll be okay, but…” Twilight trailed off, looking down once more at his protege

“Yeah, it’s hard to see him like this.” Warriors nodded.

“Well yeah but I’m worried for what comes after.” Twilight’s eyes still hadn’t met his.

“What do you mean?”

“When he comes to, how much of these nightmares is he going to remember? Some are fake, but his brain is already… addled.” Twilight said for lack of a better word.

“You’re worried about the memories.” Warriors understood now.

“Yeah. He doesn’t remember anything besides a few memories, I’m worried the real ones will mix with the fake ones and just confuse him more.” Warriors hadn’t even thought of that.

“He’ll be okay once he’s aware enough to talk them through, that’s always seemed to help him in the past.” Warriors reassured, clamping a head on his companion’s shoulder. “I know there’s a lot in the air right now, but we need to focus on the now. We’ll deal with the future when we get there.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks War.” Twilight smiled at his companion, finallying meeting his eyes. Both settled in against the wall, taking comfort in the other’s presence. 

~

Cold, scared, confused. Fear struck his heart when he felt the familiar emotions, among others he couldn’t name. His lungs spasmed, and he felt himself cough roughly. Drowning… was he drowning? He didn’t feel wet, water meant drowning… right? Something warm and gentle slid across his hand and he shivered. What was touching him? Was it bad?

No… cold was bad, warm was good, or so he thinks. Yes that seems right. And what was touching him was warm so he could trust it. Yeah, that logic made sense.

Something was wrong though, he shouldn’t be feeling this way. This wasn’t normal. He tried to open his eyes. Wait, when did those get there? He had a body, and bodies had names. Did he have a name? Whatever was blocking his eyes refused to budge, or perhaps it wasn’t even trying. He felt his ears flicker when a noise drew close to him, and the warmth caressing his hand paused. No, don’t stop! He cried out, or he thought he did.

The warmth moved from his hand, allowing the cold to flood back, and he tried to cry out, he wanted to be warm he didn’t want to be cold. He relaxed once more when the warmth moved under his eye, under his eye… his cheek. The hand pushed into the skin of his cheek softly, and he tried to focus on what he heard above him, but he couldn’t push down his panic. What was his name? Everyone had a name, what was his name?

The warmth, which he now recognized as a hand, pushed his cheek with more intent, the noises growing louder. But he couldn’t focus on that, he could only focus on the empty space where his name, his very identity should be. What was his name? Everything would be okay if he could just remember his damn name-

“Wild?” A voice echoed above him, snapping him back from his spiral. Wild… that didn’t sound quite right, but it certainly didn’t sound wrong, and he clinged to it. Wild, Wild, Wild. That was him! 

“Wild?” Another voice asked, and Wild was sure it was a different one. The hand patted his cheek, and Wild felt his nose scrunch. He didn’t like that.

 “Wild? Are you awake? Can you open your eyes?” Wild’s ears perked at the tone, an odd mix of hope and concern. Now out of his spiral, Wild tried once more to open his eyes. Shutting them tightly once more when light assaulted his vision. He felt his head being turned, vertigo crashing into him, only relaxing when his nose brushed against something slightly course but soft.

“Try again.” The voice coaxed. Wild was skeptical, but did as he was told. With great strength, Wild peeled open his eyes. Even after his eyelids revealed the world around him he couldn’t see right away, it took a while for his vision to clear, yet the voice never grew impatient. He felt heat to his back, and it felt like a fire. Maybe that’s what was so bright. After the fuzziness finally faded, Wild could see he was facing a chest, but it looked odd. There was something missing around the shoulders...

“There he is.” The other voice proclaimed quietly.

“How are you feeling, Cub?” Wild felt the chest he was facing vibrate as the person spoke. Cub… cub.

“Tw’ligh?” Wild slurred, wincing at the dryness of his throat.

“Yeah, Cub.” Wild looked up at the face above him, who looked positively elated for some reason. Wild finally realized why the man looked so off, the usual pelt wrapped around his shoulders was gone. Wild glanced around, eyes slow and fluttering. After looking down he finally realized it was covering him instead. 

Wild tried to blink away the fog. That wasn’t right, this was Twilight’s pelt. Oh no, did Wild steal it? That wasn’t very nice…   

“Wild?” The other voice washed over him once more, and Wild realized it had probably been a while since he had responded.

“War?” Wild recognized the bright blue scarf, and the eyes that matched. The fog was slowly receding from his mind, but annoyingly stuck around the edges.

“That’s me.” Warriors confirmed with a fond smirk. “How are ya feeling?”

Wild didn’t know how to answer that. Everything hurt, his muscles felt heavy and useless, his head pounded, his throat was on fire… worst of all…

“Cold.” Wild rasped, trying to bury his face into the chest beside him, enjoying the rumble he felt and the sound of a fond chuckle.

“Sorry, Wild. Your fever hasn’t broken yet, we can’t let you get too hot.” Twilight really did sound sorry, but that doesn’t sound right. Fever means hot.

“Cold.” Wild stressed again, his small movement sending a spike of pain around his ribs. “Hurts.” Wild whimpered at the aches and pain that surrounded his body, especially his ribs. 

“I know, Cub. It’ll get better soon.” Twilight promised.

“How?” How did he know that? Wild didn’t understand. Goddesses, it felt like he was dying-

Wild froze at that thought. No, no Twilight would tell him. Twilight wouldn’t be so happy, he wouldn’t. The conversation continued as Wild’s world was crashing down on him.

“Your fever hasn’t broken, but it is getting cooler.” An optimistic voice continued, not noticing his panic. Why were they so calm? Wild was dying, he was dying! He felt his breaths get more labored, only sending further panic shooting through him. No, he needed to breathe, breathing meant life and Wild was alive he wasn’t dead he was alive-

“-we’ll fix it, Wild, I promise.” Wild tuned in once more and his heart lurched. Fix it? No, no , no, nononono. 

“N-no!” Wild cried out, trying to sit up.

“Woah!” Warriors bolted forward to keep Wild from agitating his illness further. They just got water in his system, they didn't want him to throw it back up now.

“Tw-i. Don’t. P-please don’t.” Wild pleaded.

“Don’t what? Cub we’re not going to do anything.” Twilight’s voice tried to be calm, but the underlying panic only sent Wild further into his spiral. Twilight knew and he was hiding it! The shrine… not the shrine.

“Na- the shrine. P-please. Anythin’ but the shrine. Just let me go.” Wild begged, coughing roughly at the end. Twilight felt his chest grow cold and his stomach drop. ‘Let me go’, ‘No more shrine’, Twilight felt lightheaded. He knew what it meant. Let me die. 

“No, no Cub, you’re not hurt. Not badly, you’ll recover.” Twilight tried to reassure but Wild was too far gone.

“Hey, hey.” Wild felt a different pair of hands on his cheeks, calloused from constant swordsmanship, but impossibly gentle. “Calm down.” Warriors soothed, brushing aside Wild’s bangs. No! He didn’t understand. He couldn’t do it, not again. He couldn’t wake up with nothing but a name he didn’t recognize, cold, hungry, scared, alone. 

“No shrine, nothing like that. We’re staying right here.” Warriors comforted. Wild shook his head, ignoring the nausea it brought. They didn’t understand, he would forget again. He would forget again. Zelda, the Champions, Riju, Teba, Yunobo, Sidon, the Links. All of them.

“Wild.” Twilight’s voice was soft, but stern, demanding Wild’s attention. “Wild look at me.” A hand took his chin, and he was met with dark blue eyes swirling with intense emotions, half of which Wild couldn’t name. “We’re staying right here. We’re nowhere near the shrine. You’re just sick, you’ll get better, on your own.” Twilight specified, rambling in the hopes that Wild would finally understand. Twilight felt his chest loosen when Wild calmed down slightly. 

Twilight wouldn’t lie about that, Wild could trust him. 

“No shrine?” Wild confirmed.

“No shrine.” Twilight put on his most reassuring smile, covering his turmoil at Wild’s earlier words.

“Never. Promise.” Wild demanded in the most stern tone he could muster, and judging by Twilight’s shaky smirk he didn’t do a very good job. 

“I promise, Cub.”

“Yeah, Hylia knows we wouldn’t even know how to work it- ouch! What it’s true.” Wild tried to laugh at the indignant noise, but all that came out was a coughing fit. He still didn’t understand what was going on, but there was no rush or panic or shouting. It wasn’t like the first time. There were no lasers, or carnage, or desperate screaming.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Twilight deemed after Wild’s fit had passed. “You need more rest.” Wild shook his head. He wanted to stay here, away from the things he sees when he closes his eyes. It was nice here, the fog was finally parting and if he went to sleep it would surround him again.

“Yes, Wild.” Wild heard Warriors laugh at Twi’s exasperated tone.

“No.” Wild commanded, well aware of how much he sounded like a petulant child.

“Wild, we’ll be right here. You need sleep. Real sleep.” Wild shook his head again.

“I’d be careful. Mama bear is ready to knock you out.” Warriors teased, yelping when Twilight used his free arm to smack his shoulder.

“Wild, I swear to Hylia, you are going to sleep.” Twilight threatened. Wild huffed. Fine. Wild lifted a shaky and weak hand from under the pelt, pausing to rest the limb above the covers. Slowly he lifted his left hand, barely reaching his target. He swatted uselessly at Twilight’s chest, trying to find a grip. Finally he managed to snag onto the older’s tunic, just above his heart.

“What are you doing?” Twilight chuckled, all ire forgotten at the Cub’s clumsy actions. This would be the hard part. Wild prepped himself, before putting all his strength into his left arm and pulling himself up as far as possible. Even the simple motion of pulling himself up was like climbing a mountain, all his stamina depleted by the time he put his plan into action as his ribs jolted and burned. His world twisted and swirled as dizziness washed over him, his head feeling light and his eyes watering.

“Wild!” Twilight yelped in surprise, hopefully not waking the camp. Automatically his arms flew around Wild to catch the boy now cradled to his chest. “What the hell are you doing?” Twilight asked again, far more bafflement and scolding in his tone. Wild stubbornly shoved his head into the crook of Twilight’s neck, breathing hard. Nausea surrounded him and his aching muscles cramped and twitched. Twilight winced as Wild coughed directly into his throat. Good things this wasn’t contagious.

“You can’t do that! You can’t push your body like that!” Twilight scolded, his words contradicted his actions as he rubbed soothing circles into Wild’s back.

“I mean, you could have asked.” Warriors agreed, smirking at the scene before him now that Wild seemed to be recovering from his little stunt.

“Stay.” Wild demanded, gripping Twilight’s shirt as the other was cradled to his own chest uselessly. His body had no more energy left to spare and he relied completely on Twilight to keep him from falling.

“I’m right here.” Twilight’s exasperated tone morphed more into confusion. Twilight wasn’t getting it. He was warm. Wild was so cold, and he wanted to be warm. Even if that meant soaking up heat from Twilight like a lizard did on a sunny rock.

“Warm.” Wild’s lips twisted into a crooked smile, not aware enough to try and make both the scarred and unscarred sides of his face match. Warriors didn’t even hide his fond grin at the cheesy sight before him, and Twilight’s shocked face was certainly a bonus.

“Wild your fever.” Twilight chided nervously, attempting to gently get Wild away from his body heat. Even being in his lap was pushing it, Hyrule told him to be careful before he went to bed.

“Warm.” Wild huffed, annoyed at Twilight moving too much. Twilight glared at the muffled laugh he heard from Warriors. ‘Help me!’ Twilight mouthed, glaring at him as the other just shrugged and smirked. Jackass. Twilight supposed it would be okay for a little bit, but… just until Wild fell asleep. Besides, Twilight couldn’t bring himself to push Wild off with the dopey and lopsided the grin the younger had. Instead Twilight tucked the covers and pelt around him, knowing he made the right choice when Wild sighed happily and burrowed further. It was the most content he had seen Wild in days, and if Hyrule found out Twilight had disobeyed his instructions and kicked his ass, it’d be worth it.

“We can watch his fever. Let him have this.” Warriors confirmed the voice in his head, and Twilight relaxed at the fact someone else agreed, allowing himself to lean against the wall to better support Wild’s weight.

“Yeah, I don’t wanna move him.” Wild made a noise that Twilight could only interpret as agreement, and tried not to laugh and disturb the boy curled into him. 

“He can understand what we’re saying… that has to be progress, right?” Warriors questioned.

“Yeah, but at this point his fever breaking is the best we can hope for.” Twilight responded as he felt Wild succumb to sleep once more. Twilight didn’t want to admit how worried he was that his fever would never break. He knew that Wild would get better, really he did. But Hylia what Wild had said… what would Twilight do if he had the option. If Wild was dying in his arms and he had a choice. If he had a choice between Wild living with no memories, waking up with them all gone, probably long dead, alone and scared. Or letting Wild, his cub, die. Both options almost sent Twilight over the edge of despair just picturing it.

“Stop.” Warriors scolded, eyes peering into him. Twilight snapped out of his thoughts and glanced back in surprise. “I know what you’re dwelling on. Stop it. It won’t help anything.” Warriors’ tone was harsh, but his eyes were compassionate.

“I know but-”

“No buts. It won’t come to that.”

“You don’t know that.” Twilight’s voice cracked ever so slightly. Warriors sighed, of course he didn’t. Of course Twilight wasn’t the only one who thought at night about where this quest could lead.

“None of us do. But focusing on what-ifs, especially insanely specific ones, doesn’t help it just makes us all suffer. All of us, Twilight.” Warriors stressed, relieved at Twilight’s eyes widening, knowing he had gotten through. The words were harsh, but Twilight never listened when it was just his health on the line. He needed to know that watching him go through that hurt, just as it hurt them when one of the other Links were in a pit of anger and hurt.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Twilight squeezed Wild, needing to feel his heartbeat against his own. He focused on the breaths he felt against his neck. They were shallow and rough but they were there.

“Don’t be, I get it.” Warriors assured. “But let's face it if we think about everything that could happen on this crazy fucking quest we’ll be here for weeks.”

“Yeah…” Twilight shifted, ensuring Wild didn’t have too much pressure on his ribs.

“I’ll watch his fever, you need to rest.” Warriors commanded softly.

“You know that’s not happening.” Twilight glared.

“I didn’t ask you to sleep, I asked you to rest. You need it.” Warriors raised a challenging eyebrow, turning concerned when Twilight just nodded.

“Yeah… okay. Just make sure he doesn’t get too hot.” Twilight leaned his head against the rock, shushing Wild when he mumbled and huffed as his pillow moved. Warriors reached over and placed his hand on the cub’s forehead. 

“It’s fine for now.” Warriors smiled, happy the raging fever had dulled, even a little.

Both Warriors and Twilight quieted, and Twilight allowed himself to simply breathe as Warriors kept a sharp eye on the world around them.

 ~~~

Wild is on a mission and no one shall stop him.

Thank you all for reading! I'll update the summary when I rewrite a chapter so you all know.

And thank you all again so much for the support. I love every comment, and I’m so glad so many people enjoy this story!

[thewritingstar]

The Sun Sets With You

Pairing: Blossutch 

Fandom: Powerpuff Girls 

Rating: T

Word count: 6k 

Warnings: Major Character Death. 

Note: I am so excited to finish this fic! Thank you so much to @creativecilla for commissioning time and time again. She asked for a sad and angsty fic so I hope I delivered! (She also asked for a happy fic so dont worry that's coming soon)

Don't worry there will be a little bonus after this so don't come for my throat too hard.

Anyways, I hope that you enjoy this because I had the time of my life writing it while crying.

Thanks for reading <3

(the italicized is flashbacks just in case ya confused :) 

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“Your love is like a sunset, the longer I wait, it slowly fades into the sea, making a beautiful distraction, As loneliness and despair creep from behind like the shadow of the night.” -Albion Gremory

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The gate waits patiently for her to cross. It's black and shiny as if it were polished just for her. She has been here for almost an hour and yet she hasn't moved an inch. The bouquet of flowers she spent just as long picking out are starting to get annoyed by her lack of movement and although they don’t have a voice or emotions, she can tell they are growing weary too.

She doesn’t understand. Why couldn’t she simply walk forward and make this easy? She was a trained assassin, a spy at the very core where nothing could challenge her except for this field of grass. Grass that is bright green and thriving yet underneath its healthy roots, is a minefield of bodies. It's odd to think about. The care and water used to make sure that the green is at its brightest and the stone looks nice but in reality, it won’t matter.

Nothing matters anymore.

Her grip tightens on the poor flowers. A frail red ribbon holds them together instead of being wrapped in her ginger hair where it belongs. The last time she wore it was the day...it's been a while.

The cemetery has a familiar feel to it. She’s been here before. She has been here many times and has even memorized the grounds. However, this time is much more...intimate. A much more personal experience.

It was never personal because in her line of work, this was normal and happened often. You would come into the office and hear about the poor sucker that got shot, stabbed or blown to bits, grab a hopefully fresh cup of coffee and make sure that you don’t end up the same as them. It was all a part of the job to join the unavoidable circle of life.

Before it was just people whose identities changed day in and day out to avoid this particular outcome. To avoid becoming worm food and having fresh flowers at the bottom of your name. Death never meant anything to her but an end we all have to face. It never meant to stop and think about your life because she didn’t have one to live.

There was no glory waiting for her back home as she finished another mission. There was no dream to achieve because she plagued those of her mind years ago. Warmth and desire from others could not be tolerated. It was dangerous to have anyone close to you but hurt even more when they were gone.

Her dreams had been swept into the night and burned like a fallen star. They were meant for rare quiet days where she could close her eyes and have a glimpse of another chance at life and then it would be over and she couldn’t allow anyone to hold her back. But just as there are dreams, nightmares will surface too.

This was a nightmare only for her eyes. It was common for members of their work to come and pay respects if they got time but for this, she asked that she would be the first. And only then was anyone else allowed.

The months that ate away at her aching heart caused her to be the opposite. She said she had gone, said her dues and the rest followed. Her lies now corrupted her normal life, if you could even call it normal.

So she became the last person and perhaps that's for the best. Even in death, she keeps him waiting. But unlike the other times, he couldn’t leave or say anything about it. The silence of the coffin was enough for her to know that she might get the last words like always but she doesn’t want them.

She would rather keep her words to herself, her mouth stapled shut than utter the last words. She also knew that he would rather listen to her all day than have a moment of silence.

So here she is. A little black dress that poofs out gently at the bottom just above her knees. It was the same dress she had worn on their mission in Italy years ago. It had ended up on the hotel bathroom floor much sooner than expected, however this time the smell of sandalwood and pine had been washed out.

She feels like a housewife ready to see her lost husband coming back from the war in the form of a corpse. The only difference is her vision won’t include the golden bands. Her thumb grazes her ring finger feeling nothing but bare skin and it pains her to think that she was so close. So close to a dream.

She inhales and exhales. Her ability to control her emotions is unlike anyone else. If she chooses to be a stone wall, then nothing will make her crumble. For years she had seen bloodshed and violence. Encountered dangerous people and never once had a hard time sleeping.

Steps take her closer and she feels herself start to decay brick by brick.

Every breath comes out colder and slower and she doesn’t have to look to know she's right in front of it because all the oxygen surrounding her has left and replaced with a frosted void she's grown used to over these past few months.

“Hello.” Her voice is firm and polite.

Formal. She’s too formal and she can practically feel him rolling in his grave to tell her to die it down. Die it down. She hums at that thought and complies with the request that wasn’t even asked but she knows him.

Her feet slip out of her heels, the ones he had bought randomly. The ones she had danced in as he spun her slowly. Her toes feel the dew on the grass. She hates the feeling, her exposed skin starts to itch and irritate her but that just reminds her of her beating heart. So she forces herself to rest on her knees but keeps her eyes shut. Bravery was never something she lacked.

But being brave with her vulnerable emotions had never come easy.

“Just open them.” She scolds herself. No one is around but she feels like the entire world is staring at her.

This isn't work.

This isn’t a mission.

This is him.

Slowly her eyes flutter open to reveal the truth she tried to conceal. The wall inside of her has fallen. There's a suffocating way about this all. She's a woman of logic, a see it before believe it kind-of-person. It's a crumbling mess that turns her into ruins.

And that's when it hits her.

Like the fall of Rome, there are no survivors. There is no happy ending here. Everything leads to Rome...everything leads to heartbreak eventually.

Tears overwhelm everything else. Blossom Utonium has cried for a fallen coworker but never once had she had to grieve and take in the burden of her heart growing dark and heavy.

Her fingers clench the soil. She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want to sob, not at the risk of seeming weak, but to actually force herself to come to terms with it. To see it written in stone as literal as it comes.

Butch Jojo is dead.

There’s no other way to put it. No soft angle to come at. No lessening the blow because she was there and saw it with her own eyes. No one had to tell her because she relieved it every time her eyes closed.

How was she supposed to go on? He was the piece of her puzzle that fit so neatly and perfectly. She didn’t realize that the picture became indecipherable the moment he was removed. She clawed at that table trying to put back all the pieces. Trying to figure out where they all go but she's left with segments that don’t seem to fit any longer.

He was her sun and moon, the day and night and every other cliche slapped onto an overpriced Hallmark card. He was it all, and now he is gone. Gone too soon and she barely had him in the first place.

The gravestone itself is simple. It's the only one on the lot that isn't decorated by a three foot high statue or a giant cross. It's as basic as they come yet the man it was for was far from it. There was no luxury of filling the coffin with a body. So every bit of him was taken physically and metaphorically from her.

His name is in an elegant cursive and his birth name. Something most people didn’t know. Usually spies and assassins change up their name to make their identity untraceable. She had known him as many different names, but Butch was the only one who she cared about. The only one to ever make her feel like herself.

Her fingers hover above the engraving before setting on the coldness and tracing it with the tip of her index finger. It takes her breath away like an old candle finally burning out.

She wonders if a cruel joke is being played on her as she stares at the curls of the cursive. It was the same font she had chosen for their makeshift wedding invitations the moment she realized that he was the one. Of course he would have had comic sans or some heavy metal font on his tombstone if he was given the chance just to spite everything and everyone.

She's sure that this was already made far before his death. In fact, she's convinced that everyone already has a grave with their name stored somewhere in the back for fast and easy access. Hers is probably waiting and collecting dust.

“Hi.” She utters, less formal than the first time and that felt like ages ago. “For the first time, I’m speechless.” She confesses. “I’m not quite sure what to say.”

For days she sat underneath her flickering desk light writing a speech for a funeral that no one would attend.

The words never came into place even though she deemed herself a thoughtful writer. But what do you say when the person who gave you a reason to speak is gone? Was there anything worth uttering when she couldn’t bring herself to do it?

But she wrote. She wrote everything she had felt and ended with a flood of pages on her desk. Pens with tired ink cartridges littered her desk and endless chicken scratched papers were tossed away. It needed to be thoughtful and inviting but in reality, it just needed to be the words she never said.

The moment she finished writing them, she threw them into a box to never see the light of day. But when she finally had the courage to come and pay her respects, she became drawn to them. Her mind fought with her hands to take them even if she decided to keep them in her purse.

Her purse opens and she takes out a few pages. The ones that made her heart ache the most and that are decorated with stains of dried tears. She clears her throat. “The first time I met you, I thought nothing of it. It was in front of the coffee maker at work, you had just joined our firm and you walked by, glanced at me and then you were gone into the other room. That was it. That's what we were meant to be. A simple meeting of the eyes and then we don’t interact again.”

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The coffee drips way too slow, she thinks. A state of the art facility full of lasers, guns and cars and they couldn’t be bothered to get something just slightly better. The mug finishes filling just in time for her patience to run out. She grabs it and turns to look out towards the rows of cubicles that make it seem like a simple office.

Instead of a bored coworker looking tired at a computer, she's met with green eyes and an emotionless face. For a second she saw his lips turn into a smirk. It's quick. A match striking the box with a flame igniting on impact. And then it’s dropped in water and out just as fast. He's gone by the time she blinks next and even though it was nothing, those eyes fueled a fire she wasn’t sure she had.

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“But then I kept seeing more and more of you.”

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“You clean up nice.” Blossom turned to see a guy. She recognized him from last week, a new transfer who she only caught a glance at. He was in a highly expensive tux and was adjusting the equally priced watch on his wrist.

“I assume you must be my new partner.” She said as she mentally analyzed him slowly. Slicked black hair, looks as if he goes to the gym quite often, hands looks steady for a firearm. Green. Forest green eyes.

He smiled. “Must be.”

“You can call me Amanda.” Her fake name suited her fine as she checked the time. “I hope that you read over the files of our mission.”

“I tend to skim and wing it.” He winked and that irked her. “Matts fine for the evening.”

Blossom, or Amanda for now, kept her eyes from rolling and walked to him and wrapped her arm around his. “You might be my husband for this mission but if you fuck up, you better be thankful this isn’t legally bounded.” She finished with a flutter of her eyelashes and a smile before pulling him along.

She didn’t get too far before he pulled her back and her bright pink eyes met deep green ones closely. “I take my job very seriously. But I wouldn’t dream of making you mad at me. But on the other hand, I admire strong women.”

She didn’t know why she didn’t smack him in the face. Usually every partner who has tried to flirt or mess with her learned the hard way that is a no no. Yet, even after moments of knowing him, there was something genuine about him that she couldn’t quite understand but became interested in.

“Glad to see we are on the same page Matt.”

“Of course Amanda.” Butch replied and held out his hand. “After you.”

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The trees nearby moved in the breeze without a care in the world. They had nothing to care for except for their leaves changing in the fall and losing them in the winter. But leaves always came back, they always blossomed and started a new life and were the same tree no matter how many times the seasons passed.

She wondered if those trees ever felt heartbreak or if it was easier to lose something when you know it will come back to you with time. She envied those trees. Envied the way that they can continue their lives just growing and flourishing and it felt like her leaves were turning to dust as she was being cut down.

From her purse she pulled out a thermos and two plastic cups. She nestled one into the ground as she poured the wine into the cup and then one into hers.

“I never cared for this brand of wine before I met you.” She smiled softly and took a sip. “Never cared for a lot of things. Yet this was your favorite and everytime we had a mission, I could always find you relaxing with a glass. I guess it became an acquired taste over time. You became my taste.”

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“Care for a glass?” He asked her as she sat in front of the fireplace.

Due to them working together for more than a year, the agency decided that personal rooms weren’t necessary and if anyone were to see them leave together and follow, it would fit with their stories.

Blossom looked up from the book she just pulled out. A dissatisfying glare focused on the bottle in his hand. “No thanks, that stuff is garbage.”

Butch, or well, Sebastian for the evening, scoffed. “Garbage?” He exclaimed dramatically. “This is some of the finest wine in the world.”

“I’ve had better.”

“It's from Italy!”

“I prefer local or even cheap box wine to that.” Blossom scanned her book.

Butch only huffed again but still proceeded to pour two glasses and joined her on the floor.

“I said I didn’t want any.”

“I think you just haven’t had it with the right company.” He smirked and offered her the glass.

She rolled her eyes and took the glass, her book forgotten now. Blossom brought the glass to her lips, took a sip and tried her best to hold back a grimace. “It's fine.”

He only shook his head and drank his own glass, the small smile on his lips never leaving. “Butch.”

She turned the glass in her hand then glanced at him. “What?”

“Butch. That's my name, my real name.”

Her heart started beating quicker. “Why are you telling me this? You shouldn’t be.”

It was a common understanding. You might know the face of your partner or colleagues but a name and identity was off the table. The only thing anyone needed to track down someone was a name. And the moment it's out there, you can start counting your days.

Butch shurgged and downed the rest of his wine. “Not sure. Never told anyone before. Well anyone who I didn't know beforehand. But there's something about you. I don’t think you fully trust me. I get it of course. I don’t trust people at all.”

“So why tell me?” She questioned.

His eyes met hers. Seriousness washed across his face and any hint of amusement was gone. “I have no one in my life who knows me as Butch anymore. Only myself and my thoughts. And after years in this shit business-you’re the only partner I’ve had that I trust with my life.”

Her fingers tighten around the stem of the glass. Her poor heart is beating much faster; she's sure he can hear it. She’s never had a partner like him. Never met a person who she blindly trusted like this.

“Blossom.” She blurts out. “My name is Blossom.”

And that smirk returns and his eyes soften. She's seen him kill a man before and yet he looks so incredibly soft and honest.

“That's a pretty unique name.”

“My father told me it was because of cherry blossom trees.” She smiles at the memory. She reaches and takes the brown contact from her eyes. Her main defying feature that no one but the higher ups knew about.

Her eyelashes flutter as she places them in the contacts case. She looks back at Butch and prepares for the intergation look.

It never comes.

Instead he's looking at her as if she's the most interesting thing in the world. Pastel pink eyes greet his own and he's taken back and tries to keep these emotions down.

“Its weird I know-

“You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met.” He interrupts. “And I swear I’m not drunk.

That flicker resurfaced. The match struck the box but the flame was held much longer this time. Her reaction surprised the both of them as she laughed and her smile reached her eyes, something they haven’t done naturally in years.

She controlled her laugh and hummed bringing the glass to her lips and taking another sip. It wasn’t as bad as the first. “And you are very-”

“Charming? Irresistible?”

“Interesting.” She finished.

The bottle poured more wine into his glass and he tapped it to hers. “I’ll take it for now.” He winked.

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Her glass is empty now. She pours the glass for him into the soil, hoping to give him one last taste of what he loved.

“Over the years I forgot myself, you have to.” Blossom tells him. “I forgot my passions and hobbies. The simple pleasures of life were taken from me when I joined this path.”

The books on her shelf at home had collected dust over the years. The pages stuck as the days passed but only recently did she find herself opening them, even to just a random page and basking in the tiny shred of warmth it gave her.

“I felt those pleasures rise with you. Even buying a simple candle because you said you liked the scent brought me a joy I hadn’t noticed was missing. I was missing everything in life because I didn’t have a light to guide me.”

She bites her lips hoping to stop another sob. How many tears can a person shed in a short amount of time? When do they stop and allow the body to rest?

“That first time you kissed me.” Her voice cracks. “That's when I started believing that life could be more than what we were conditioned to do.”

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Her feet ached. Her heels were in her hands and she was tired from another successful work day. After six months of locating and sniffing out an underground drug market, they finally caught the group of men.

She glanced at her shoes and dress, irritated that the blood ruined another perfectly good outfit. She wanted to just get into her room, take a bath and pass out on her bed and to not be distrubed for at least seventy two hours.

She got to her hotel door and started to search for her key.

“Oh shit.” She grumbled. Her purse was nowhere in sight.

“Here.”

Blossom turned to see Butch holding the desginer bag.

A sigh of relief left her lips as she took it and fished out the key card. He leaned against the wall, clearly tired and wanting to rest like her. Two years they had been partners. The longest partnership she’s had and she wasn’t complaining. Usually they shared a room on missions but they had separate rooms this time.

“Tired?” She glanced at him.

“No, I'm fully awake.” He said sarcastically. “I feel like I got hit by a freight train.”

“I’m sure those guys thought they did too when you punched them.” Her door clicked open but she didn’t move.

“Oh please, you did most of the heavy lifting. I mean who takes down a giant dude with a high kick in heels.” He was practically beaming with pride from the memory. “Badass stuff Bloss.”

She was sure there was a blush on her cheeks. Shaking those thoughts from her head she smiled and opened the door. “Goodnight Butch.”

“Night.”

…

..

.

“Isn’t this the part where you walk into your room?” He raises a bow that is answering the silent question she asked.

She straightens her back. “Shouldn’t you be walking to yours?”

He moves closer to her. Brushing the hair on her shoulders off and there's a buzz throughout her as his fingers graze her shoulders.

He's closer now. Their lips only inches apart and although her body is killing her and aching, she can’t help but let her mind wander.

“I prefer the view right here.” He says in almost a whisper that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand. “And possibly even the taste.”

His lips press against hers. They have kissed many times in front of people on missions but it's never been like this. Never a sign that everything she had been feeling, wanting could be hers for the taking.

It's not fast and heated. It's slow as if he's testing out the waters that he can glady swim in. It's a sign that they know they shouldn’t be doing this but for once, she's playing by a different set of rules.

They break apart. The kiss wasn’t very long but the sparks linger and scorch through her body. She's afraid to look at him now. Afraid that rejection and everything she had told herself not to want, can’t be hers. The ground should just swallow her whole now.

She feels a hand softly touch her cheek and she looks up at him. This look on his face, she can't describe it. She can see the gears turning in his head, wondering if this was a mistake just as she thought.

But rejection never comes. He doesn’t pull or push away.

Instead his lips turn slightly up. “I know we fight for the greater good, but I’m starting to think I have a different purpose.”

“What?” She questions.

“You.”

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She could have sworn it's only been a few minutes but the sky’s blue had morphed into a dusty pink. A wonderful sunset that she is surprised she can still find beauty in. She knows she’ll have to leave soon. She is afraid that when she does, she might not come back.

One of the final happy moments with him was weeks before his death. Five years they had known each other and it was all washed down the drain.

Her head turns towards the sky as she basks in the sunset. “I hope that wherever you are there are still skies like these.”

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Sunsets in Hawaii were much better in person than any photo could capture.

“Another successful mission.” Blossom giggles as she takes a sip of her mai tai. Her feet are swaying above the water and the breeze flows through her hair. She hasn’t remembered being this peaceful but she could get used to it.

“Yeah.” Butch says as he downs his drink.

Five years she's known him. Every action and mannerism he's done is burned in her memory. It's the most priceless information she has, the most important because it's all hers.

He seems calm, she admits. But something is on his mind. He's not thriving in the glory of another mission or running around crazy and jumping into the ocean like the days before. He seems to be in deep thought. Something she's not quite sure she likes.

The horizon catches her eyes. “The sky is pretty.” She adds.

“Runaway with me.”

The movement of the waves stops. The breeze halts and her eyes widen.

“What?” She turns towards him. “Runaway?”

He nods. “Runaway from this place and all its madness. We could get married, travel the world, anything you want.” He took her hand. “I don’t care where we go. I just want to be with you.”

“With me?” She's practically speechless.

Butch cracks a smile. “Only you. Imagine this.” He scoots closer to her and wraps his arm around her shoulder. “A house on private property, hell maybe even a beachfront. You have your own little library and I’ll even get you a nice espresso machine. A garden with all the flowers you could imagine and even a baby grand piano since I know how much you love to play.”

The images flood her mind. “That sounds lovely.”

“And you wanna know the best part?” He asks.

She nods her head. “Tell me.”

“I would get to wake up each morning with you in my arms.” He smirks and kisses her softly.

“That would be the best part.” She hums against his lips. Her stomach then drops. “But we can’t.”

“Three good reasons.”

She tried to think. How could she leave the agency she's been in since she was a kid? How could she throw everything away? These feelings she had were all muddled into a mess that she didn’t know how to get out of. That vision he told her sounded like a dream.

That's what this was. A dream. Something she wasn’t allowed to have. But she wanted it.

Butch sighed. “I guess it's easier for me cause I’m selfish.” He smiled softly at her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Whatever choice you make, as long as I can still be by your side, is fine by me.”

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Blossom looks at the notes in her hands then back to the stone.

“I’m sorry Butch.” She cries and crumples them. Tears overwhelm her once again but she doesn’t wipe them or try to stop it. She is a dam that's been holding it all for too long. Holding her emotions for years and she was tired.

“Everyone told me to come here to get closure, but I don't want that. I want to feel the emptiness and shallowness. I want to cry myself to sleep and wish I could hold you again. It's torturous and cruel to think like that but it means that it was real. And that it was mine. This-” She beats her fingers against her chest, against her heart. “This is yours.”

“I am sorry Butch. I vowed to never let my heart act over my head. And that is something I regret deeply. You were right. You always have been. You wanted me without hesitation and I’m sorry I was guarded. But I swear when I was with you I wasn’t.”

The laughter and joy he brought her. She felt like she was breathing for the first time around him and even in the most serious situations there was still an element of peace.

“I had hoped that I would never have to say this. Never had to face this reality because it's too painful. I tried to deny it all, even though I watched it happen. Maybe if I had never let myself be charmed by you, I could avoid all these feelings but we both know that you were just so-’ She bites a laugh. “Irresistible.”

Her voice got louder as her sobs grew. “Every single moment was worth it. Your eyes and your smile. The way you knew what I was thinking even though no one else could ever know. I treated it like our job but the truth is, I wanted you to figure me out so I could finally tell myself it's okay to be happy. That's what you were Butch. My happiness.”

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This can’t be happening, she thought. Never in her entire career had she been kidnapped and captured. She was careful and guarded but they got the best of them this time.

The gag in her mouth was doing its job and her wrists were bound behind her back. The cold chill ran up her spine as she watched the men drag him in front of her. He was a few feet away and his face was covered in blood and bruises.

“Only one of you makes it out alive.” The man said.

She tried to pull against the restraints but felt the cool metal touch the back of her head.

“No moving sweetheart.” She heard behind her.

She watched as they removed Butch’s gag and he choked on the air before his hair was pulled and he was forced to look at her.

Those dark green eyes met with frightened brown but he knew that below the color was a brilliance of magenta that he adored.

He should be scared and terrified. And he was. But looking at her even in this state, he felt a sense of happiness wash over him. Everything he never thought he could have was right there in front of him.

Tears fell from her eyes as she watched the man stab him in the stomach. The knife plunged into his flesh and Butch let out a horrifc cry as she screamed into the gag.

“Dying words buddy?” The man laughed as he pulled out a gun and held it up to head.

Even through the pain shooting through his body, he looked at her with tears in his eyes.

His lips turned into a smile, even with blood coating his teeth. “Blossom-” He coughed.

No.

No.

Please No!

She wanted to scream and tell him that she takes it all back. She wanted her dress and the ring. She wanted their own house and a piano where she could play for him.

Everything. She wanted everything.

She wanted him.

“I love you.” He says. 

BAM!

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Her breath catches in her throat as she sees it. The blood and the life leaving his eyes. It replays and she tries to stop the memory.

“Could you ever forgive me?” She sobs. “Forgive me for not telling you?”

Her hand presses against the gravestone. She's not sure what she's hoping for but it's cold.

“You said it moments before your death and I couldn’t even let you die with that. Yet through that you smiled at me. You fucking smiled as death was taking you faster than I could realize because you knew. I couldn’t say it. No matter how much I wanted to tell you, I was afraid that the moment I did, this would happen. I wasn’t prepared to lose you. I wasn’t ready to face a life where I would spend every waking moment wondering if waking up next to you was truly real or a dream.”

Anger rises in her. Anger at the world and the men who killed him. Angry at the agency who turned the other eye when he died. There was nothing for her there anymore. She realized it way too late that she was robbed of everything from this life. Robbed of having him because she was afraid.

“I don't get it. How did you make me want that so bad? How you took my heart and made it beat faster than ever before. You told me to be selfish so here it is. I want you. I want you back and alive so that I can go and buy that white dress. I want everything you said.”

The anger bubbling shifts. It lingers but she takes a deep breath. It won’t help her to be angry or to bring him back. That sorrow takes its hold over her again. It's sad but calming as she tries to reason with herself that he is gone. She knows closure won’t come but she's okay with that.

“But that's not the reality anymore. I can’t change the past but I won’t change the future either. I am deeply and madly in love with you Butch. You gave me a glimpse of what a normal and fulfilling life could be and I thank you for that. Thank you for giving me slices of happiness and making me feel like I was worth loving.”

She reaches into her purse one last time and pulls out a letter and a box. “I resigned and I bought myself a ring.” She opens it and slips on the silver band with a small opal. “It's silly I know, not even a wedding ring. I hope you don’t mind. I stole one of the gems from your watch to make it.” She cries.

“They took all your stuff you know.” Her hands quiver as she stares at her ring. “They took every part of you like it was nothing, like you didn’t exist at all. The watch was all I could get.”

The sun is now setting and the breeze picks up. She's not cold anymore, and can't feel anything.

“They’ll kill me, I'm sure of it. That's what happens when you leave. And when they do, I better see you on the other side. A place where we can watch the sunset and have our little home. A place where this emptiness inside me can be whole again. I just want a place where I can love you.”

The glasses and letters go back into her purse. The flowers lay with her ribbon at the base as she stands and dusts off her dress.

She finally wipes her tears and forces a wonderful soft smile. “You were the most charming and wonderful man I have ever had the honor of working with. But most importantly, you were proof that dreams could come true.”

She touches the stone one last time. Feels the coolness but it's not as frightening. She's not afraid anymore. Blossom takes a step back and her eyes dance over his name one last time. She slips on her heels and grabs her purse.

“Goodbye my love.” She says and makes her way across the grass to the black gate.

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I hope you enjoyed! 

[sou-ver-2-0]

I'm curious about your thoughts on the relevance of the Hades Incident to the Death Game. My one friend thinks that the survivor from it who wrote the journal organized it and is, in a way, trying to make Sara like the girl from it through the Death Game, which is there's such focus on her. Also, we discusses who's parallel wrote the journal: Sou's or Keiji's (since the girl=Sara, lost best friend during first vitim=Joe, Boy even younger=Gin). But I just wanna hear your thoughts on the incident

The Hades Incident, the Present Death Game, and the Role of the Man from the Memorandum

I think about the Hades Incident a lot! My thoughts are very similar to yours, Anon!

Like your friend, I have a feeling that this relationship between the Man from the Memorandum and his own High School Girl is at the heart of the Death Game.

Based on all the parallels we can draw between the past participants and the current participants, it feels like the present Death Game is an attempt to recreate the past Death Game. Assuming that the Man was the sole survivor of the past Death Game, the logical conclusion is that this recreation is his attempt to meet his beloved High School Girl again, likely by forging Sara Chidouin into her by putting her through the same trials.

The fact that all of the participants have been observed by Asu-Naro since birth also contributes to the theory that they were chosen because of their resemblance to past participants, or that they were even molded to fit the personalities of past participants.

I’m also on board with the theory that the Man is most likely Meister from Russian Roulette, since they share a similar color scheme. Meister is the first villain we meet, so it would be satisfying to bring him back as the main villain. Additionally, the Russian Roulette trial is Sara’s first step to becoming a leader, so it makes sense that the Man would want to witness it. Especially since he apparently missed Russian Roulette during the Hades Incident; he would be curious to see it with his own eyes this time.

Here are the most apparent parallel roles from the Past and Present Death Games:

“17-year-old School Girl”: Sara Chidouin

“Her Best Friend”: Joe Tazuna

“A Boy Even Younger Than Her”: Gin Ibushi

“The Man Whose Views Most Aligned with Hers”: Keiji Shinogi

“The Man from the Memorandum”: Shin Tsukimi

There are striking parallels between the Man from the Memorandum and Shin Tsukimi, but there are striking differences too. So I’d love to share a theory my friend and I have often discussed:

“The Man from the Memorandum” was first meant to be played by Original Sou Hiyori. Since Hiyori died, he was replaced by a “back-up”, Shin Tsukimi. This explains why the kidnappers would give Shin such an unusual First Trial. Shin’s First Trial fundamentally changed his personality to more closely resemble Original Sou. What if that personality change was by design?

My friend came up with this theory to explain Shin Tsukimi’s paradoxical position: he is technically a candidate qualified to win, and yet he has a zero percent chance of winning. He seems to exist as both a candidate and a non-candidate. What if—my friend suggested—Shin was originally a non-candidate, but his position was shifted to fill in Sou Hiyori’s candidacy?

Ever since they shared that theory with me, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head! It would certainly explain why Shin’s First Trial is so strange compared to the others.

The part of “The Man from the Memorandum” himself would have been an important role. Since the Man left his First Trial deciding to not trust anyone, it was likely an antagonistic role. Given this role’s difficulty and importance, could it be that Original Sou Hiyori was perhaps…trained for the part?

This also leads into my other theory that Original Sou could be Meister’s son. Original Sou was a unique candidate for the Death Game who seemed intimately involved in preparations from a young age. I’m assuming that he was about Shin Tsukimi’s age since they met in high school. While it would be scarier if Original Sou was an adult pretending to be a teenager in Shin’s school, I think it would be more compelling if he was simply the teenage son of a villain. It would go a long way to explain Original Sou’s strange dedication to Asu-Naro, in spite of him being a potential victim of the Death Game. It would also explain his uniquely serious reaction to the player trying to name him “Meister.”

It could also parallel Rio Ranger’s relationship with Gashu! There’s a moment when Shin and Sara wonder if Gashu hoped to make Rio Ranger his “successor,” but they decide that it ultimately doesn’t matter. Clearly, Rio Ranger’s life didn’t actually matter to Gashu; only the Death Game mattered to Gashu. What if this was meant to foreshadow the relationship between Meister and Midori? Personally, this is one of my favorite pet theories; it would make Original Sou a more complex character and explain some of his bizarre quirks.

Similarities between the Man and Shin

I’d like to talk some more why Shin fits the role of “The Man from the Memorandum” better than Keiji.

The first thing we learn about the Man is his confession, “In the first trial, I killed a person.” Obviously, this more directly parallels with Keiji who literally kills a person, while Shin only metaphorically kills himself. But the metaphorical suicide still counts as a parallel, since the narrative treats it so seriously. (However, I still consider this a potentially significant difference between the Man and Shin. I think it could be evidence that Original Sou would have been a better fit for the role, since Sou had a harsher personality than Shin.)

The role of “The Man Whose Views Most Aligned with Hers” can only be Keiji. Keiji is an adult man and Sara’s strongest ally. He is the voice of reason who helps Sara establish order in the group.

The roles of Keiji and Gin are still important. They are two of Sara’s closest allies. Their deaths would devastate her. And they even get to be mentioned in the book! So it’s not like Nankidai is ignoring Keiji’s significance.

The clearest and simplest parallel between the Man and Shin is that neither of them participates in Russian Roulette. Shin is even deliberately barred from participating! That’s significant! Meanwhile, Keiji is one of the most important voices in Russian Roulette so he needed to be there to help place trust in Sara.

I believe the Man’s role is an antagonistic role, since he wrote, “I would never trust others. That was what I decided.” This line fits Shin better than Keiji. Even though they are both cynical characters, Shin sets himself apart from the group, while Keiji makes himself indispensable to the group.

The relationship between the Man and the High School Girl is at the heart of the Past Death Game. Similarly, I think that the relationship between Shin and Sara is the beating heart of the Present Death Game. Their rivalry is the story’s most fundamental relationship that gives way to conflict and resolution. Even in the event that Shin dies, his presence is still felt in a major way through Kanna, Midori, and the Shin AI.

The game gives us an obvious visual parallel between the Man and Shin in the screenshot I pulled earlier. Notably, both Shin and the Man have slim frames and fluffy hair. However, the Man wears an expensive suit more similar to Midori, while Shin looks like he could have gotten his clothes while dumpster diving.

The wiki mentions another parallel, which is that both the Man and Shin change their views on the High School Girl after the Second Main Game. I agree that’s significant, although we can once again point to some obvious differences in how their views change…

Differences between the Man and Shin

Beyond the question of whether they killed someone in their First Trial, and beyond their taste in clothes, the most glaring difference between the Man and Shin is this:

The Man didn’t care about Kanna.

Not once in his Memorandum does the Man mention anyone resembling Kanna. If the Man took on an antagonistic role like I suspect, he might have acquired a minion like Kanna. However, he considers the Kanna role so insignificant that she doesn’t even merit a line. And since the Man became the victor of his Death Game, he was presumably willing to throw his minion under the bus like everyone else in order to survive. When the Man weeps at the end of his story, his tears aren’t for the loyal, vulnerable little girl; he cries for the brave High School Girl and the lost romantic relationship he desired with her.

If Shin wrote a memorandum about his experience in the Death Game, don’t you think he would have written words for Kanna? He cared so much for Kanna that he would have sacrificed himself for her.

Furthermore, while both the Man and Shin share an obsession with the High School Girl, the nature of their obsessions is different.

After the Second Main Game, the man writes that he felt that “I would be fine with my own death as long as she won it all.” That’s completely different from how Shin feels after the Second Main Game, whether Sara votes for him or Kanna.

If Sara chooses to kill Shin and save Kanna, Shin doesn’t think about Sara’s chances to “win” the Death Game at all. He’s thinking about how grateful he is that Sara—the strongest character—chose to protect the most vulnerable among them, the suicidal little girl. Shin is “fine with his own death,” but not because he wants Sara to win. He’s fine with his own death because he finally trusts Sara to make the most ethical decisions and to always protect the weak. He isn’t thinking about Sara’s life; he’s thinking about her will. He realizes that he should have trusted her from the beginning, because Shin and Emotion Sara share a commitment to protecting the vulnerable.

Likewise, if Sara chooses to kill Kanna and save Shin, Shin still isn’t thinking about anyone winning the Death Game. All he can think about is revenge. Logic Sara affirms Shin’s belief that the strong will always betray the weak. I believe that this Shin has also accepted his own future death, but he seems determined to take Miss Sara down with him, along with the Floor Masters and everyone in charge of the Death Game.

In both cases, Shin is thinking outside the box while the Man from the Memorandum could only think within the rules of the Death Game. Shin is principled in a way that the Man was not. This is another reason why I think Original Sou would have been a very different kind of antagonist than Shin, since Original Sou is presumably loyal to Asu-Naro. If I’m right, Original Sou would not be likely to think about breaking the Death Game or hoping for escape.

…

Those are my main thoughts on the Hades Incident! I could be completely wrong on some of these theories, but it sure is fun to think about. This has already gotten very long so I’ll end it here. Thank you for asking!

[armageddonouttahere]

Consolation

Title: Consolation

Summary: Takes place after “Putting Others First”, in which Roman sinks into his room and doesn’t leave for a while. Logan is the only one not preoccupied enough to come and lure him out, but in this he has to face emotions he’s been putting on the backburner for a long time.

Pairings: Romantic Logince, background platonic Moxiety

Warnings: Crying, self-doubt, insecurity, negative thinking

Rating: General Audiences

Genres: Fluff, Hurt/comfort (with a happy ending)

Word count: 2,500

A/N:  Here we are, at last! I had cranked out the last couple paragraphs of this fic just an hour ago, and I’m very excited. This had gone from a little Logince comfort drabble to a fic of 2,500 words (exactly, though I didn’t do that on purpose). I hope anyone who sees this enjoys it, and everyone who’s been waiting for it likes it even more, after all this suspense. Taglist will be at the end, under the cut.

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Logan was at a loss. The aftermath of Janus’ name reveal left all the sides shaken and fragile. Especially Roman. Logan wanted to help, he wanted to be able to tell Roman with certainty that he will be okay, that everything will be alright. Logan needed to be able to look Roman in the eyes and know that the words that came out of his mouth are truths.

But he can’t. So, Logan focused on the problems he could solve. He endeavoured to keep Thomas in working order, though on the inside he may be struggling. Virgil seemed to have taken a backseat, focused on watching over Patton. The most he’d seen of the anxious side was weekly updates and reports on Patton’s condition, how he was feeling, which Logan appreciated greatly. He needed all the positive data he could get.

As the logical side, Logan was somewhat attuned with the other sides’ reasoning and thought process. He needed this information to be accurate in order to know how Thomas works, how he functions. He knew how the other sides try to solve problems, how they understand things. When something or someone throws a wrench in the system it’s one of the few things that affected Logan physically.

In the aftermath after Roman sank out Logan had migraines for weeks. Roman’s flawed logic- his flawed perception of himself- is the one thing that has caused Logan the most physical pain. Roman’s view of himself shifted so drastically to the negative end that Logan felt… sorry? For him? 

He felt… he- he felt. Roman made him feel. What did he feel, exactly? Empathy? It was true that Roman’s emotional pain gave Logan physical pain, but the shared anguish went further than that. Logan knew what it’s like to feel wrong, to feel unheard. He related to Roman. He knew what he’s going through. 

Their opinions may differ, but Roman still needed consolation. Logan won’t further his belief that Janus is the villain, but Roman doesn’t need a scolding or a lecture, skewed though his viewpoint of Janus may be. He needed someone to listen to him, someone to comfort him.

Logan was aware that he’s no optimal candidate for the matter, not the first choice for consolation (nor the second). He does not possess the endless cuddles and comfort food of Patton, nor does he have the quiet understanding and listening ears of Virgil. His only way of reassuring the prince is through data, probabilities, and chances. Inadequate. Unsatisfactory. Definitely not enough.

Logan made a plan. A plan to make Roman feel better. A plan to get Roman to open his door, something he hadn’t done in two weeks. He gathered things he believed he would need in order to cheer Roman up: the Sherlock screenplay Roman had gifted him at Christmastime, Logan’s book of Shakespeare’s plays (Hamlet being pre-marked with a red sticky-note, in case Roman is feeling increasingly dramatic and macabre), his journal for note-taking, vocab cards, and his laptop- which has a playlist compilation full of ‘cute’ animal videos at the ready. All of this was needed for Logan to get up the courage to knock on Roman’s door. He felt as if he’s putting on an armour of sorts. Preparing himself for battle. 

It’s quite funny- the logical side needs bravery and courage to step outside his area of expertise and comfort the prince of the group.

May 17th, 2020. 1830 hours. Attempt #1: Prologue.

Roman has not left his corner of the mindscape for 16 days, 6 hours, and 28 minutes. Virgil has just given an update on Patton’s condition, which is thus: Patton’s “room” has slightly lessened in its intensity of upsetting emotions. The picture frames’ rate of showing unfavourable memories has decreased. Patton has not cried yet today. The Dark Sides, Remus and Janus, seem to be keeping on the “down-low”. Thomas has not had any intrusive dreams in many days. Virgil has been too preoccupied in keeping tabs on Patton to give him anxiety over much.  Thomas’ motivation has gone down. His restlessness has gone up. Roman’s unconscious contributions to Thomas’ everyday life have gone down significantly. Thomas has stopped daydreaming. He has stopped thinking about the future, what he has to do tomorrow. He is becoming forgetful and apathetic.  As the logical side, there is only so much I can do to keep Thomas in working order without help from the others, that much I can admit. I have put off trying to help Roman in case things only become worse, but the stakes are too high at this point. Action must be taken. I will record the results of this 1st attempt later.

Logan steeled himself, books tucked under his arm. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. 

Around nine at night, he wrote down the results. Roman had been unresponsive to polite requests for entry, knocking, attempts to start a conversation, small-talk, even a referencing desire to build a snowman. He had not responded to propositions of reading from plays or poetry, or any of his favourite literature. In summary, it was almost like speaking to a “brick-wall” (almost, because the door to Roman’s room was made of mahogany).

“Really? Things must be bad,” was Virgil’s response as Logan recounted the events to him later that evening. It was late, almost time for Logan to get some shut-eye after organizing Thomas’ duties for tomorrow. Logan had entered the kitchen hoping that Thomas would get a good night’s sleep so he could have the highest level of productivity the next day, but judging by the Monster Energy drink resting in Virgil’s hands he supposed that was not the case.

“It is certainly concerning. I tried… if not everything, at least a substantial amount of options.”

“Yeah, and if Roman doesn’t answer to a Disney reference… I’m worried about him. Do you want... me to try?” he said, fidgeting. Logan realized he looked uncomfortable with the idea. Virgil must felt a little guilty for not showing up at all during the argument.

“No, I believe that more attempts should be made. To wear him down, in a way. I’m planning to try again tomorrow.”

“Same Bat Time, same Bat Place?”

“An interesting way of putting it, but that’s the idea.” Logan rubbed his eyes and began making a list of all his tasks once he returned to his room.

“Alright. I’m gonna go see Thomas.” Virgil said, getting ready to sink out.

“I assumed you were. And Virgil?”

He popped back up. “Yeah?”

“Please at least try to motivate him a bit, if through fear? I don’t want to deal with a gloomy, unproductive Thomas tomorrow.”

“You got it. I won’t screw him up too much. ‘Night, Lo.”

“Good-night, Virgil.” He was alone.

“Roman?” Logan knocked once more. “Roman, would you be open to company? I wish to speak with you.”

Nothing. He sighed, pushing his journal farther into his pants pocket. He decided to come with substantially less things this time around. To come as he is.

“I’m not entertaining visitors or guests at the present. Please come back another time, thank you,” came a weak and muffled response.

The sound of Roman’s voice gave Logan an ache in his heart which he didn’t want to name. He ignored it, for the moment.

“I just want to speak with you. You’ve been decidedly quiet these past few weeks. Your input, both in-person and in Thomas’ subconscious has dropped a considerable amount. As far as I am aware you have not made your presence known to me or any of the other sides in over two weeks.”

Silence was his response. Facts were getting Logan nowhere. Logan sighed, struggling with himself. Did he tell Roman what he thought in simple terms, what he was trying to say through his data? How could he bare himself to Roman’s listening ears, let himself be known?

“In all honesty, Roman, I’m- I’m…” He took a breath. “I’m worried about you.” He said this in a rush, letting it all out in one breath. Like a Band-aid, as Virgil had stated. The silence that still followed both frightened him and spurred him on.

“Roman, I- I haven’t spoken to you in weeks. I’m afraid of what will happen if you stay isolated for much longer. You’re a necessary part of Thomas’ life, for me to have things to maintain and keep in order. But more than that, more than duties of mine, I mis- I’m… finding your absence upsetting.”

Logan faintly realised his hands had begun to shake, and he clenched them.

“You… mean a lot to m- the Mindscape, to Patton, to Virgil… to everyone. No one means you harm. We need your input on discussions, and revel in your ideas and thoughts. We... miss you.”

Just gotta rip it off.

“I- I miss you, Roman.” Logan shut his eyes, forcing out the idea that he had become emotional enough to begin producing tears. Logic does not cry. “We bicker sometimes and both of us are wrong on occasion, but I would rather have arguments with you than nothing without.”

“Seeing your vibrance and excitement in brainstorming, your happiness in Disney movies and romances, watching your brilliance when creating plays and stories and… being you, I- I find myself… swept up- metaphorically, of course- in every emotion you give off when you’re around me. Seeing you productive and happy gives me more of a reason to work to the best of my ability.”

“It’s… it would be difficult for me to ever say these things in the hearing of the other sides, but… I miss the feelings you bring me when you are around. It is something greater than a job well done, Crofters, or puzzles and murder mysteries being solved.”

“The emotions I feel when you are around are something more than a simple pleasure in watching, in the aesthetical enjoyment of seeing things fall into place. When I’m with you, I feel… spurred into action.”

“Roman, I- I can’t… I can’t bear your absence any longer. I’m worried about you, but more than that, I’m worried that should you keep to yourself, I’ll never… I- I won’t…” Logan swept aside a few tears that had run down his face. His throat ached so much that he feared he wouldn’t be able to get any more words out. The words he spoke next came out in a hoarse whisper.

“Without you I’m afraid I’ll never feel anything again.”

A shuddered gasp tore itself from Logan’s throat as he took his first proper breath in a few minutes. Tears slicked their way down his face freely now. This was, Logan supposed, because such a long drought of emotion had rendered him virtually unable to control any that did overcome him.

“However,” Logan began once more after a few more minutes of silence, his voice quieter now. If anyone else had heard it, they might have said he sounded ashamed. “Should you wish to remain alone for… whatever period of time, I won’t stop you. Asking you to open your door for my sake is extremely selfish of me. I’m… I’m sorry, Roman.”

Logan took one more breath before turning around to leave. He had no idea what the effects of his speech would be, and that scared him. He was in an entirely new territory. This was an unprecedented event, with no similar experiences to compare it to. He had ‘boldly gone where no man had gone before’, so to say.

Logan was so wrapped in his own panic, for that is what it was, he almost missed the imperceptible click of Roman’s door opening as he walked away. Every muscle in Logan’s body tensed, and he prepared for angry words and scathing insults. Logan would face it, however. He turned around, and was met with a sight for some very sore eyes.

Roman held open his door an infinitesimal amount, peering through the crack. Through the small open space Logan could see the prince out of his usual outfit, the beautiful swath of his hair, and one very tearful eye. Logan opened his mouth without knowing what would come out, but the air was knocked out of him.

Roman flung the door open wide and his socked feet ate up the steps between them as he flung his arms around Logan, the force of his embrace almost tipping Logan over. An embarrassing ‘oof’ escaped him at the impact and his hands went up to grip the back of Roman’s jumper after only a second of hesitation.

Logan’s mind filled incredibly fast with all sorts of information: the scent of Roman’s hair, the warmth of his body, how Roman buried his head in Logan’s neck and the slight wetness that came from tears. The way Roman’s nose jutted into his neck, the almost imperceptible touch of Roman’s lips on his shirt collar. Logan’s body betrayed him in an audible catch of his breath as Roman clung to him harder.

“Roman, I-” Logan began in a faint whisper, but Roman only shushed him and tightened his grip, rocking them from side to side ever so slightly.

They stayed like that for Galileo knows how long when the prince peeled himself from Logan. Roman looked upon Logan with eyes so bright from unshed tears Logan would have believed there were stars in them.

“You never said anything. Not a word.”

Their conversation was as hushed as could be, the Mindscape and the world beyond it ceasing to exist and zooming in on the two of them, in this moment.

“I’m not good with words. When it comes to talking about feelings, I mean. You know this.”

“Don’t lie, Specs. That was one of the most eloquent and beautiful things I’ve ever heard.”

Logan scrambled to find a breath within him as Roman smiled up at him. For one of the few times in his life, he found himself with nothing to say.

“It was moving, and heartfelt-” Roman continued, taking Logan’s hand and stepping back, towards his room. He paused in his motions and looked at Logan once more.

“-and it was incredibly romantic.” He said softly.

“I’m- I’m glad.” came Logan’s strangled reply. Roman smiled at him again and led him into his room. There they would sit and talk for hours, and Logan would hold Roman to his chest. They would confess to things bothering them and their hopes, dreams, and fears for the future. It would grow late, and Logan would give in and begin to card his hands through Roman’s hair as the prince drifted off to sleep.

There, in the black-blue of the sky of Roman’s window, scattered with stars and the slanting rays of the moon, Logan would look down upon the prince’s sleeping head and realize, though he had first doubted his abilities, he had been enough. Enough for Roman and for himself. He had been enough.

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Taglist:

@count-woe-laf @psychedelicships

[zosonils]

what are some random papyrus headcanons you currently have?

ooughwhhghgh anon you know the EXACT way to my heart. got a map to it and everything. a real good and fancy map. the ones with sea monsters in the corners

autistic adhd papyrus real

he tends to think of anything he doesn’t understand [and even some things he does!] in terms of puzzles, since they’re a lifelong special interest and they help him contextualise things! for instance if he’s navigating someplace he’s never been before it’s easier for him to visualise things as an incomplete map that he has to find the pieces [landmarks] of than it is to just wander until he finds his way or go up to someone and ask for directions [talking to people he doesn’t know very well is also a puzzle and he has more trouble solving that one because sometimes the clues lie to you]. this approach to things makes him astoundingly good at working through things logically, although between the difficulties applying this sort of thinking to unpredictable social situations and his occasional penchant for insane troll logic he doesn’t have a 100% success rate

in addition to this he’s a really visual thinker and can understand almost anything really quickly if he has a way to visualise it, whether it’s explicitly given to him or he thinks of one himself and suddenly goes OH I GET IT NOW. anything that doesn’t come with a coherent visual metaphor is borderline impossible for him to grasp, though. dude needs his diagrams

he likes playing video games, at least when he isn’t hyperfocused on his duties as a royal guard in training, and he tends to get an insane amount of mileage out of them because once he beats whatever objective the game explicitly gives him he’ll start making up his own self-imposed challenges or ‘puzzles’ instead. like if you gave him tetris he’d be super into the standard a-type and b-type modes, but once he gets tired of those he’ll start doing stuff like trying to play in time with the music, or without rotating any pieces, or painstakingly arranging incomplete lines so that the empty spaces form some kind of intricate pattern

gloves and especially scarves are a comfort accessory for him! even before/after the battle body is a thing and he’s wearing different clothes from one day to another pretty much every outfit he wears includes those accessories. if it’s too hot for a huge warm tightly-wrapped scarf he just grits his teeth and wears it anyway

the reason pap hates grease so much is that it sets off literally every single sensory issue he has. it sticks to you when you touch it just a little, it feels just as gross through your gloves, it’s hard to wash off, it stains your favourite scarf so you have to put it through the washing machine twice to make absolutely sure it doesn’t smell weird later and stress you out again, it has a gross taste that stays in your mouth for ages, it’s just the worst! how his brother stomachs the stuff he’ll never know [and it’s not because he doesn’t have a stomach, that doesn’t mean he can’t have standards either]

papyrus knows that sans suffers from depression, and he understands what that actually means as opposed to just having a surface-level grasp on ‘sans isn’t happy as often as he should be’. the issue isn’t that he doesn’t understand or desperately want to help, he does, but the sheer magnitude of sans’ issues is just substantially more than papyrus has any frame of reference for. the best he knows how to do is to be as blisteringly positive as possible in hopes that some of it will rub off on sans, while also refusing to enable any of the lazy or blatantly self-destructive habits sans has that papyrus can tell aren’t making him feel any better. short motherfucker needs a trained therapist and/or antidepressants more than anything but papyrus is doing everything he can, and while papyrus being papyrus is already enough to keep sans going he’s helping as much as he does specifically because of the deliberate effort he makes to beat sans’ depression over the head with a bone until it runs off hissing

wow that one got long lmao sorry i just really hate when people portray papyrus as completely oblivious to sans’ problems when he’s pretty strongly hinted to understand them to at least some degree and 1. it literally makes for such a better story on both the heartwarming and crushingly tragic ends of the spectrum if pap knows and is doing his best to help 2. even if it didn’t people are still deliberately ignoring huge chunks of papyrus’ characterisation in favour of portraying him as the smol little innocent cinnamon roll uwu bean who doesn’t understand anything and y’all have got to realise the implications of forcing this personality on the most heavily autistic coded character in the game :|

on a more lighthearted note, papyrus can reluctantly but wholeheartedly appreciate a good pun or cleverly-planned prank, he just knows that sans likes getting a rise out of people with them and goes with his instinct to groan over his instinct to laugh because it makes sans happy. sans is completely aware that papyrus is doing this, so there’s an unspoken self-aware undertone to their whole routine lmao

whenever papyrus, sans, and undyne are together they have this wacky dynamic where they’re all constantly tossing the straight man role around like a hot potato and i want a dumb sitcom about the three of them living in the skeleton household that goes absolutely mental with this wacky dynamic and god damn it i’ll write it myself if i have to

papyrus gets to kin me for this one, there’s like a single phineas and ferb dvd that fell into the underground a few years ago that made its way to him in one way or another [sans probably gave it to him with no way of predicting the special interest hell [positive] he was about to unleash] and he immediately became obsessed. he can recite entire episodes from memory because he watched them so many times the audio got burned into his brain. his favourite character is doof and he considers the annoying dog his personal perry the platypus. when he gets to the surface and finds out that there’s like 200 more episodes he cries with happiness

aroace papyrus also real

it’s getting late so i’m going to leave this here but i am always down to talk about papyrus. i fuckin love papyrus so much guys

[dahlia-coccinea]

Wuthering Heights - Chapter 3

This is a somewhat difficult chapter to discuss fully in a single post. It introduces so many important themes and has the first glimpse of the story of the earlier inhabitants of the Heights. Sorry if this is too long - I've tried to keep my comments concise. It is difficult for me to not mention every tiny detail I like lol 

We learn that Zillah has worked at the house a year or two and is aware that Catherine’s old room is off-limits but seems to know little else. It shows that despite the emotional unloading that Heathcliff does to Nelly he is very reserved about all that has happened in the past. 

It seems the house has been ruled by chaos for years and there is an instinctual need for the inhabits to defend themselves against it. We see this when Lockwood first climbs into the box bed and closes the doors he says he “felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and every one else.” The need to shut out the world and crawling into small spaces is repeated later in this chapter with Catherine's diary details how, with Heathcliff, in an attempt to avoid the cruelty of Hindley and Frances “made ourselves as snug as our means allowed in the arch of the dresser,” and closed off the world by fastening their pinafores together. 

We get some other interesting glimpses of Catherine and Heathcliff early friendship. It is quite popular to say that Heathcliff is Catherine’s whip and he is a blank slate for her, but I think this diary entry is another example of their oddly egalitarian relationship. First, we have this scene of Catherine lashing out against their ill-treatment:

I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dog-kennel, vowing I hated a good book. Heathcliff kicked his to the same place. Then there was a hubbub! 

That Heathcliff swiftly follows her lead certainly shows a reciprocation of the other’s attitude and worldview - or simply that if one is going to get in trouble then the other will follow suit. Still, I do hold that he doesn’t just mimic her or do as she wishes. We get a number of examples that show neither play a clear leader in their antics with one happening shortly after this incident. Catherine's diary continues: 

I have got the time on with writing for twenty minutes; but my companion is impatient, and proposes that we should appropriate the dairywoman’s cloak, and have a scamper on the moors, under its shelter. A pleasant suggestion—and then, if the surly old man come in, he may believe his prophecy verified—we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we are here.

Here Heathcliff takes the lead in coming up with more plans to get further into trouble and it seems Catherine is more than pleased to go along with it. 

There are other, now iconic, details of Catherine’s character in this chapter. Such as this description of the box bed from Lockwood:

The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mildewed books piled up in one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched on the paint. This writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of characters, large and small—Catherine Earnshaw, here and there varied to Catherine Heathcliff, and then again to Catherine Linton.

And later:

Catherine’s library was select, and its state of dilapidation proved it to have been well used, though not altogether for a legitimate purpose: scarcely one chapter had escaped a pen-and-ink commentary—at least the appearance of one—covering every morsel of blank that the printer had left. Some were detached sentences; other parts took the form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed, childish hand. At the top of an extra page (quite a treasure, probably, when first lighted on) I was greatly amused to behold an excellent caricature of my friend Joseph,—rudely, yet powerfully sketched. An immediate interest kindled within me for the unknown Catherine, and I began forthwith to decipher her faded hieroglyphics.

Catherine holed up in the box bed and writing on every spare bit of paper she can get her hands on and scratching her name in the paint, tell of someone who has no one to talk to. She’s alone and is compelled to at least make sense of herself with ink and paper. Nelly does say later on that “there was not a soul else that she might fashion into an adviser” beside Nelly herself. Which is a poor adviser, considering how Nelly disliked her throughout her childhood. 

Adding to Catherine’s loneliness is the endless abuse of Heathcliff and herself, at the hands of seemingly everyone in the house. In this short excerpt from her diary, we are told Hindley’s treatment of Heathcliff is “atrocious,” and that now he is the new master they are no longer allowed to play, and “a mere titter is sufficient to send us into corners.” Heathcliff has his hair pulled by Frances, Catherine’s ears are boxed by Joseph and they’re both berated and verbally punished by him. Finally Hindley “seizing one of us by the collar, and the other by the arm, hurled both into the back-kitchen” where she says that outside on the moors “cannot be damper, or colder.” Upon their return and proceeding punishment she says she’s cried until her head ached. Consistent with what we later hear her tell Nelly, that Heathcliff’s miseries are her own, it is not her punishment or ill-treatment that makes her so upset but the casting out of Heathcliff. She writes: 

“Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a vagabond, and won’t let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more; and, he says, he and I must not play together, and threatens to turn him out of the house if we break his orders. He has been blaming our father (how dared he?) for treating H. too liberally; and swears he will reduce him to his right place—”

Critics that suggest Catherine is glassy-eyed and naive idealist really gloss over these excerpts in my opinion. There is a constant downplaying of her abuse compared to the other characters among those that seemingly think she’s the only character with moral agency and therefore the cause of all problems in the story. 

I love how strange the encounter that Lockwood has with the book “Seventy Times Seven, and the First of the Seventy-First,” and the following dream is when first reading Wuthering Heights. Hardly anything in WH is superfluous and when rereading it this makes much more sense. This is quite an interesting segue into meeting Catherine’s ghost, and later learning more of her life. Forgiveness is such an important aspect in the book and will come up many times. Notably, while on her deathbed, Catherine tells Heathcliff she has forgiven him and that he should forgive her. 

I think it is amusing and also very interesting how in Lockwood’s dream he’s walking with Joseph (in itself is very metaphorical) and Joseph tells him he should have brought a “pilgrim’s staff” and that Joseph’s staff is really just a “heavy-headed cudgel.”

It’s unsurprising the appearance of Catherine’s ghost is so iconic. It’s impossible to discern if it is merely Lockwood’s dream or him actually encountering her spirit. There are details about her that Lockwood, at this point, does not yet know. Still, he does make many attempts to logically explain what happens. Either way, the imagery of the scene is both frightening and tragic. 

We get some really interesting glimpses of Heathcliff’s character in this scene. Normally he is very collected and if his emotions are out of control they tend towards anger, but here we see him truly terrified and unable to maintain composure after finding Lockwood in the room.

Heathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trousers; with a candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as the wall behind him. The first creak of the oak startled him like an electric shock: the light leaped from his hold to a distance of some feet, and his agitation was so extreme, that he could hardly pick it up.

Even after Lockwood identifies himself Heathcliff is said to have found it “impossible to hold it [the candle] steady” and was “crushing his nails into his palms, and grinding his teeth to subdue the maxillary convulsions.” It is interesting that Heathcliff doesn’t become so angry that he throws Lockwood out. It’s another oddly humanizing moment for him. An overly dramatic author would likely have him behave like a complete monster, but he instead tells him to finish the night there and not to scream like that again. This is a scene that I wish we could have some perspective from Heathcliff. Not only is he startled by a noise coming from Catherine’s old room but then Lockwood adds to his distress by rambling about Catherine saying:

And that minx, Catherine Linton, or Earnshaw, or however she was called—she must have been a changeling—wicked little soul! She told me she had been walking the earth these twenty years: a just punishment for her mortal transgressions, I’ve no doubt!

This and Lockwood’s further talk which makes it apparent he has snooped and glimpsed a little bit of Catherine’s and Heathcliff’s past, does set Heathcliff off: 

“What can you mean by talking in this way to me!” thundered Heathcliff with savage vehemence. “How—how dare you, under my roof?—God! he’s mad to speak so!” And he struck his forehead with rage.

Lockwood doesn’t quite understand this reaction saying:

I did not know whether to resent this language or pursue my explanation; but he seemed so powerfully affected that I took pity and proceeded with my dreams; affirming I had never heard the appellation of “Catherine Linton” before, but reading it often over produced an impression which personified itself when I had no longer my imagination under control. Heathcliff gradually fell back into the shelter of the bed, as I spoke; finally sitting down almost concealed behind it. I guessed, however, by his irregular and intercepted breathing, that he struggled to vanquish an excess of violent emotion. 

And later when watching Heathcliff call for Cathy through the window:

There was such anguish in the gush of grief that accompanied this raving, that my compassion made me overlook its folly, and I drew off, half angry to have listened at all, and vexed at having related my ridiculous nightmare, since it produced that agony; though why was beyond my comprehension. 

At one point Lockwood also believes Heathcliff to be “dashing a tear from his eyes” during their conversation. Of course, he is confused because he doesn’t know that one of Heathcliff’s few fixations has been looking for signs of Catherine for the last 17ish years. 

I’ve mentioned this before, but something that doesn’t happen in the book because Heathcliff never narrates it, but I think if someone retold the story or made a film adaptation it could be interesting to explore, is how Heathcliff came to find Catherine’s writing on the wall. She must have written it shortly before she talks to Nelly since she’s already considering marrying Linton, and Heathcliff must still be living at the Heights since his name is there also. When Heathcliff returns three years later we know that he takes over Catherine’s old room so really he should have discovered it the first night there, probably after having visited the Grange. 

@astrangechoiceoffavourites has mentioned this in one their posts, but another great aspect of the book is the background happenings that are very realistic for the time and particularly farm life. Cats and dogs roam about, Heathcliff mentions that the house goes to bed at “nine in winter, and rise at four,” and there are mentions of chores, etc. The details create a realistic backdrop and ground the characters in reality. I feel like the novel is never overly sentimental because of this and it really strengthens it. 

After Heathcliff comes down to the kitchen where the household is starting their day, we are instantly reminded how terrible Heathcliff can be when he swears at and threatens to hit Cathy for not making herself useful and working for her keep. Ironically, he tells her, “You shall pay me for the plague of having you eternally in my sight,” when, as I’ve mentioned before he has her sit at the dining table with everyone else. He also could just send her away if he despises her so much. 

I see a lot of similarity between the glimpse we get of Catherine Earnshaw from her diary and the current situation Cathy Heathcliff is in. Their situations are certainly different but both are in a similar state of abuse and neglect and both are quite self-possessed and antagonistic towards those that try to control them. They also are associated with books (Catherine filling them up with writing and Cathy reading) and have an affinity for animals. In this chapter it is mentioned that while Cathy is reading she has “to push away a dog, now and then, that snoozled its nose overforwardly into her face.” There are other similar encounters, such as when the dogs at the Heights come to greet Catherine Earnshaw upon her return from the Lintons. 

I’m sure I’m forgetting points I want to make in these posts. I’ll probably to a larger summary after I complete the book and try to tie together some of the ideas I’ve mentioned. Its also difficult because I keep wanting to bring up things that happen later in the book and I want to make a note of it now - but I’m also trying to reread as impartially as possible. Which is really an impossible task lol. 

@astrangechoiceoffavourites

[ieattaperecorders]

Tendon, Heel

Considerations of injury, and the possibility of death. Discussion between the Archivist and Martin Blackwood, in situ.

(Because sometimes fanfiction is for making characters talk more explicitly about their thoughts and fears than you expect or even want them to in canon.)

Read on Ao3

They'd watched Basira walk towards the tower until she'd disappeared.

Martin had asked, because he was a glutton for punishment, how it was possible that they were headed towards the same tower from the same place but going two different directions. Jon had replied that she was on a different path now. When Martin asked what that even meant, he'd only said it "meant what it meant." Literally, symbolically, they were one and the same.

It really wasn't fair to be mad at Jon for giving him frustrating answers when frustrating answers were all that there were. Martin knew that.

They moved on. With each step, the heat of the furnace faded from the air and the sounds of metal grew distant. Jon had let his hand slip back into Martin's and his pace was slower, eyes fixed on the tower. For his own part, Martin tried not to look at it - it had a habit of holding his gaze in a way that felt non-metaphorical.

They'd walked in silence for a while when Jon abruptly cried out, his bandaged leg folding in on him. Luckily Martin had enough foresight to walk on the side of Jon's injury, so when he stumbled Jon leaned hard into him rather than falling flat on his face.

"Easy! Easy," he said, "here, sit down - -"

Jon grunted what might have been a response, teeth grit, face tight with pain. He took long, slow breaths as Martin eased him to the ground.

"S'alright," he finally managed. "Just took an odd step."

"Let me see your leg. I knew you shouldn't be walking yet." Martin sighed. "Just ‘have to stretch it out' like hell."

"That's not - - I thought it was healing." Jon reluctantly peeled up the tattered fabric of his pant leg. "It was healing, it has been. You saw the state that it was in before."

Martin didn't respond beyond a quiet hmm noise. Carefully, he pulled the blood-soaked bandages back, exposing the wound to the air.

Jon wasn't wrong, really. The mess that . . . that the thing that used to be Daisy had made of him was healing, far faster than would have been possible if natural laws meant anything. It was worlds better than what he had first bandaged up. But there was now scarring that was painful to look at, and the central spot where her teeth had dug in was still a deep, inflamed red.

"I think . . ." Jon's eyes got a distant look to them, one Martin recognized by now. "I think . . . it might not ever heal. Not completely, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"She was able to hurt me. Harm me. Something lasting," he sighed. "Something I can't easily recover from."

Martin frowned, looking at the center of his wound. He felt a twist in his chest. "It's . . . just going to stay like this?"

"Probably? It isn't - - I can walk on it fine. It hurts, but nothing serious. Just stepped at an odd angle and got caught by surprise."

"Well. I don't know how nightmare-magic healing works." Martin said, tossing the old bandages aside. "But I don't imagine a fresh bandage would hurt. And there are probably things out here that can smell blood or something, so . . . hold still for a moment, yeah?"

Jon nodded, and Martin pulled what he needed out of the pack, settling into the acts of first aid. He cleaned the area around the wound and taped down some fresh gauze. He'd just about finished his work when he felt something - a hand moving gently though his hair - and glanced up. Jon was looking at him with affection, reaching over to pet his head. Martin smiled back, brought Jon's hand down to his face and kissed it.

"I don't know if first aid makes any difference anymore," he said. "But it's something, right?"

"It does make a difference, I think. Not the physical bandaging, but the fact that you wanted to help me. That you tried," Jon looked at Martin intently. "I think it would be far worse now if you hadn't."

You tried. It makes a difference. Martin swallowed and let out a soft laugh.

"This is how it is now, huh? Dream logic. Putting a metaphorical bandage on a metaphorical injury on a metaphorical leg."

Jon smiled wryly. "I can assure you that the pain is very real."

Martin's expression must have changed, because Jon frowned and shook his head.

"It's not bad, though," he said, beginning to stand. "It'll feel better once I've had more chance to walk it off, and I think I'm ready to move on."

Oh, definitely not, no chance that he was going to allow that. Martin crossed his legs. "Well, I'm not. So how about you try resting it off for a bit instead, hmm?"

". . . Fine."

Jon sounded immensely put-upon as he sat back down. But the tension in his face lessened as he took weight off his leg, and he released a long, slow breath. Martin felt quietly vindicated.

"I really did get used to the idea that nothing here could hurt you," he said after a pause. "Not like this, anyway."

"Mmm." Jon traced his fingers over the edge of the bandage.

"Was it just Daisy?" Martin glanced uneasily around them, looking for signs of movement. "I mean . . . are there other things out here that could do that?"

"I'm not sure. Mostly not, I think. I don't know what will happen when we reach Elias, so it's possible he can. The Powers are infinitely greater, of course, but they have me where they want me already." Jon's eyes went glassy again, and Martin felt the hair on his neck stand up. "When Basira asked if - if she could kill me, I Knew the answer was no. But in hindsight I'm sort of glad she didn't try? It wouldn't have been fatal, but it might have been enough to hurt. Coming from her."

"Is there - - " Martin wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer, but he had to ask. "Anything that can kill you? I mean . . . permanently?"

Jon blinked at him. It was a deliberate act, a gesture of surprise, as Jon never blinked anymore unless he was thinking about it.

Martin blinked back. "What?"

". . . You don't know?" Jon asked.

Martin should have been more annoyed by the question, really, but he was so sincere. There was a look of innocent bafflement on his face, ridiculous against the backdrop of darkened skies and scorched earth and a face that always seemed set in shadow regardless of the lighting.

"No, Jon," he let out a small huff, fondly nudging his arm. "There's a great number of things I don't know, as you seem to keep forgetting."

"Ah. Right."

"Look . . . I'm trying to keep a stiff upper lip and all, but it really, really wasn't fun seeing that back there," Martin said, "and I'm not sure how many more surprises like that I can take. So if there's something dangerous that I don't know about, something that could really, permanently kill you, I want to know before it's coming up behind us and - -"

"It's not - I mean - -" Jon let out a small breath of laughter, "I think I'm looking at him."

Martin stopped mid-sentence. Even realizing how absurd it looked, he couldn't keep himself from turning around - as if there would be something behind him, something else for Jon to be talking about. He turned back. Jon was still looking at him.

"What - - you mean me?" he sputtered.

Jon nodded.

"How? How is that even possible?"

"Same reason Daisy could hurt me." Jon shrugged, mildly. "Same reason Basira could kill Daisy. Maybe even the reason your bandage helped as much as it did."

"I . . . ." Martin tried to process what he was hearing. He felt lightheaded. "Oh, Jon . . . ."

Jon held out a hand and Martin took it, squeezing as tightly as he could.

"Because I love you." Jon clarified, unnecessarily.

"God . . . yeah, okay." Martin took a deep breath. "Well, uh, geez. I won't. In case that needs to be said!"

"I'm not worried about that."

"Okay, good!" Martin's laugh was anxious and too loud, his head was still spinning. "Wait . . . why - why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

"I didn't really Know until recently." Jon shrugged again. "I've been trying to, ah, give you privacy? . . . Not Look too hard. It wasn't until all this happened that I put it together."

Martin furrowed his brow. "But you thought I knew?"

"On some level, Basira knew she could kill Daisy before I told her. I thought this might be the same," he picked at the tattered edge of his pant leg. "I assumed you hadn't wanted to bring it up. Or you thought I knew already, since . . . ." he made a vague gesture with his free hand.

"Right . . . ."

"It wouldn't fix things." Jon said softly. "I was telling Basira the truth when I said that," he frowned in that intent way he did when he was trying hard to be clear. "I can't Know the future. But you don't need precognition to know what will happen if a glass vase is dropped from a ten story building. You just need to know how fragile the vase is, and how hard the concrete is.

"I - I'm not quite sure what my death would do," he continued. "Maybe it would be no different than the death of any other avatar. Either way, the entities would remain here. . ." he looked up at Martin, something searching in his face, desperate to be believed. "I would tell you if it would fix things, I wouldn't hide that from you. I know I've changed but I'm not a - - that is, i-if I knew a way back I would take it, even if - -"

"Hey. Hey. . . I know." Martin reached with his other hand, brushing it over Jon's shoulder. Quiet and careful. "I know."

Jon pressed himself into Martin, spindly arms clinging, head tucked under his chin. One of Martin's hands ended up crossing Jon's back, the other went on the back of his head, soft hair under his palm. He closed his eyes and breathed. Allowed the feeling of Jon shifting gently in his arms to block out everything else.

"I know you want to fix this as much as I do," he said when he was ready to speak again. "That's why we're both out here. And even if I can harm you, I never would. You know that, right?"

"Mmm." Jon held him close. There was no hint of hesitation or wariness in him, but his response still felt troublingly uncertain.

 "Jon. You do know that, don't you?" He pressed. "I mean . . . lower-case ‘know,' yeah, but I'd hope you wouldn't need mind reading to figure that one out."

"I do know," Jon said. "But . . . what if I was like Daisy?"

Martin's grip on Jon tightened, he felt his stomach twist. "Oh, God," he said. "We're doing this, huh?

"We don't have to." Jon's voice was soft.

"No, no . . . let's . . . God, let's talk about it." Martin took a heavy breath. "Fuck. Would you - would you want me to? Do you want me to -" he winced, afraid of the answer "-make a promise like Basira did?"

He kept a hand on the back of Jon's head, it allowed him hold him close without looking him in the face. While he talked, Jon reached a hand across Martin's arm and gently stroked down it. The gesture was jarringly comforting against the content of the conversation.

"Honestly . . . I don't know." Jon sighed. "I should say yes. That's what I should want, but truly I don't know what I want anymore. I - I think -" his thumb drew thoughtful circles across Martin's bicep. "If it came to that, if I was that far gone, I'd wish for you to decide. Do what you think is right."

"No. Jon, no." Martin shook his head, "you can't put that on me. Not that."

"I think I might have to?" Jon pulled back, meeting Martin's gaze. "I don't understand my feelings lately. There are times I'll look around at everything, all the horror and nightmares and pain, and - -" he swallowed, but didn't look away, "and it will seem so right and so perfect. Then I'll see you, and - and I'll see the terror and sorrow in your face. And I'll remember, and come back to myself - -"

"Jon . . . ."

"I trust you," Jon's voice cracked on trust. "In a way that I can't trust myself. I can't trust my own mind. But I trust you. I - I need this to be your decision."

Martin looked at Jon for a long time, silently, until a gossamer-silk certainty rang in him. His mouth formed a hard line. When he spoke his voice was tight, calm, and iron-edged.

"Fine," he said. "If it's my decision, then I decide not to. You said yourself it wouldn't fix anything, wouldn't - wouldn't make anything better, so I can't see the point. And I don't - I don't want to."

Jon nodded and sagged back into him, resumed petting his arm. He couldn't tell if Jon was relieved or resigned. Maybe he was just glad to have the choice made, the uncertainty removed.

"We've got a plan, one that will fix things," Martin said firmly. "Go to the tower, kill Elias. Settle it all that way."

"Right. . . ."

The tone was familar. Filled with doubt he wasn't speaking of, but couldn't quite keep to himself.

"You don't need to say it." Martin sighed. "I know you don't think it'll fix things, killing Elias. But . . . you don't Know it won't, right? So it might work."

". . . Right." Agreement without conviction, more damning than an argument.

"If it doesn't, we'll figure something else out," he said firmly. "If he can dream-logic his way into this situation, we can dream logic our way out. We just have to not give up."

"Maybe." It wasn't full agreement, but the concession sounded earnest and that was something. "It's clear by now even if I could theoretically Know anything, there's a great deal I manage to miss."

Martin didn't even try to keep the sardonic lilt from his voice. "Like assuming that nothing can hurt you up until you find out the hard way?"

"Like that." Jon's hands kneaded the fabric of Martin's shirt. He smirked without humor. "It's . . . strange, you know. In a sense I'm so powerful, but I don't feel it. Not in the places that matter. I can Know the most intimate horrors of this world, but not a way to repair it. I can destroy whomever I please, but I can't . . . can't save a - a - single person who's trapped here. . . ." he trailed off, voice shaking.

Martin squeezed Jon a notch tighter. "You can protect me. You've been doing that."

"That's true . . . I'm glad of that, at least." Jon took a deep breath and pulled back, keeping their hands linked. "You're still vulnerable in many ways, Martin. But you're quite possibly the only thing in this world that could end me. And I include myself in that."

"Yourse - - wait, you don't mean - "

"No one gets that escape in this place," he said grimly. "Not unless it's part of some nightmare tableau, and then not permanently. You and I are no different there. No . . . my fate is in your hands. From a certain perspective, you might be the most powerful being in this world."

"Hmm."

"How does it feel?" Jon asked. "Being powerful?"

Martin considered for a moment.

 ". . . Bad," he said decisively. Jon squeezed his hands, a sad smile on his face.

"Yes," he sighed. "Yes, it does."

[aniiplexoxo]

75 78? For william?

[ ah. i sure did.... write this wfbjhewjew ]

[ “Do you think I wanted this to happen?” (75) and “There was nothing you could have done.” (78) ]

[ Characters: William Afton, Keegs Arrowood ]

[ Warnings: Keegs straight up kills a bitch. also repressed emotions. ]

It was hard not to stare at the body on the floor, or the pool of blood under it. To some extent, it reminded Keegs of when his former boss was killed by Splice. The major difference was that Splice had bitten into that man’s head like an apple. This woman though? She had a hole in her chest.

She kind of deserved it. It was late, well past closing time. Keegs had chosen to work longer than usual, mostly so he could attempt to get through to the creature in the ball pit, and he hadn’t thought anyone else was there. Except, she was.

Keegs wished he could say it was instinct, but he knew it was more. He’d been observing her all day- watching her drag her small, malnourished daughter around like she was a doll. And he knew damn well she was locked in this building because of one of his animatronics, who probably intended on being the one to kill her.

But she found him first.

All it had been was a tap on his shoulder. It had startled him, but that wasn’t why he did it. He did it because she immediately launched into one of those privileged spiels about how she should have been treated better, and how her daughter was probably “terrified” without her mother.

And then she grabbed his arm.

She couldn’t have dodged even if she knew what was happening. She definitely didn’t die when Keegs’s forearm found its place between her ribs. He knew that because she gurgled her own blood for about a minute before her body finally relaxed.

He dropped her instantly, only now realizing what he’d done.

This wasn’t the first time he’d killed, but he’d always been in control, or not the one doing the actual killing. But he didn’t shake, or feel fear, or anything like that. He just stared down at the lifeless body in front of him.

He stared until someone grabbed his shoulder, jolting him out of his little trance. “How did you do that?” he heard a familiar accented voice ask, and his body tensed up in reply.

Of all the people that could have been working late, it just had to be William.

When Keeg’s looked at him, he scoffed at the expression the android wore. “What, do you think I wanted this? Like I somehow planned for this to happen? It was your animatronic that locked her in.” 

…. He had a point. There was no way William could have been involved in this. But when Keegs opened his mouth to argue anyway, nothing came out. He shut his mouth to avoid looking like an idiot.

“Well, let’s get you cleaned up then. I’m sure one of your robots can take care of… that.” William pat him on the shoulder, using the hold to lead him off to the restrooms. Keegs had a feeling blood was often washed off in there, and he didn’t ignore that William didn’t ask again how he killed her.

---

After realizing that Keegs wasn’t going to be able to do anything himself, William had left him in the restroom and retrieved a washcloth from the kitchen. He then wet it with warm water and began cleaning the blood off of Keegs’s arm.

Keegs just watched him do this, not moving a (metaphorical) muscle. He couldn’t even look away as the cream coloured cloth became pink with blood. It’d have to be thrown out if they wanted to just sweep this under the rug.

Neither of them spoke, but that was okay. The silence was heavy, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was more like a blanket, one of the soft ones. It wasn’t like they shared moments like this often.

Finally, after realizing that Keegs was probably running every single way he could have avoided this and therefore getting himself stuck in a loop, William spoke up.

“There was nothing you could have done,” he told him, which made Keegs finally look up at him. It was rather clear he didn’t believe that.

“There are hundreds of things I could have done,” he argued, and it felt like his throat was closing up as he spoke.

Keegs didn’t feel guilt. It wasn’t programmed into him, because Azriel saw no point in giving it to him. But his chest was tight, and his throat felt like he’d been screaming for hours. He even started to feel like he was about to cry.

Maybe it was because he’d just ripped a mother from her child, even if that mother had been abusive. Maybe it was because he’d taken a kill from Splice without even meaning too.

But it was probably because he has always been in control of himself, and the thought that that control would slip terrified him.

“No, there aren’t,” William replied, shocking him out of another loop he’d been caught in. The man was still cleaning his arm, and the motion was soothing. It helped calm him a little. “Not everything is based on logic, and what could have been done. The only timeline is this one, and it can’t be changed. Emotion can get to even the best of us. And you need to stop trying to shove it further and further down.”

Unfortunately, he was once again right. Keegs was a master of feigning emotions, but he chose to ignore the few real ones he felt. Fear, anger, sadness, and even love on occasion. And he just pushed them deeper down, unwilling to become more human that he already was.

Crying wasn’t really his thing, but he couldn’t stop the tears that escaped him. He expected William to change his mind, to decide that showing his emotions wasn’t something he would tolerate. But he didn’t. Instead, he reached up and gently wiped away the tears.

It felt nice to be held, even if it was just a hand on his cheek. Keegs leaned into the comfort, closing his eyes with a soft and shaky sigh. He’d only ever cried once before this, and there wasn’t anyone there to help him like this.

How unfortunate that it was the man he was built to kill.

His eyes fluttered open in surprise when he felt lips on his forehead, the little kiss coming way out of left field. But… it wasn’t unwelcome. Not at all.

William lingered for a few seconds, before leaning back. Keegs knew he was about to tell him to go home, to rest, but he immediately shook his head, holding onto his boss’s sleeve.

“Don’t leave me,” he softly begged, willing William to listen to him just this once.

There was a pause, and then William nodded. “Let’s go home then.”

It was the first time Keegs stayed the night at the Afton house, but he figured it wouldn’t be the last.

[shadystranger]

Bernardo character analysis cuz yes

The major hindrance of Bernardo's life was actually himself all along.

Bernardo is a smart guy and as much as he holds expectations he's never satisfied, worse he is the first to feel the most disappointed with himself (ex: him emphasizing on how pathetic and loser he actually is) Bernardo used to see himself as an incompetent third rate book-smart, even after he became the second highest ranked member in the organization he still thought of himself as a loser.

Bernardo's negative view of himself probably stemmed from only one thing and that's that he was too demanding of himself. Bernardo always pursues the finest of things be it liquor, cigarettes, etc he doesn't settle just for any quality, the reason he does such a thing may be because he knows enough just how inferior they would be. You only know something is good when you have experienced what is inferior. Bernardo fancies the finest of things because he's too familiar with the worstes of them Bernardo used to be quite poor not to a great extent at all but his modest family situation posed to him more hurdles in life than it did him good.

Near the end of Bernardo's route after Gian finds Bernardo under the rain, he shares his beer with him Bernardo first got disgusted by how awful it tasted compared to the wines of highest quality he's used to but finds himself later content with it. Bernardo's attitude with the finest of things x otherwise could be also said for Bernardo's aspired self in his mind and what he's in reality. I like to think that moment is more of a metaphor that even his self who does wrong-doings, cries in the rain and is miserable at times is fine on its own without being prefectured and Gian loves Bernardo for who he is anyway.

Bernardo's life used to be quite a series of pure downs and no ups. He emphasized how awful his time in the army had been (which he had to serve in to be able to get into university), no sooner he's imprisoned and is targeted too much for his own good, worse he ends up in the Mafia (the least place he likely wanted to be associated with) and finds himself with no choice but to miraculously work his way in the stocks in a dying stock market or else his life ends. The only time life works Bernardo's way is when Gian helps him and quite literally saves his life, this is probably the beginning of Bernardo's fixation with Gian.

Bernardo is not perfect, he proved to have self-doubt and self-aversion issues at some points but he is not the type who sees less worth in himself and such.

A good chug of Bernardo's mindset is the incarnation of reason. He does not carry out decisions unless he has re-thought them thoroughly and his actions are bound to be from the utmost consideration of the organization than anything, he for the most part knows how to base his actions on his logical side rather than his emotional side and the benefits it has on the organization.

However both the army and family proved to be discard-able means, Bernardo's history in army is kinda vague though it was clear he hated every bit of it and his plans of a family was destroyed because the one he truly fell in love with was a man (and with Bernardo's attitude It probably was never that any women was fine as long as she gives him a child, it was never that any woman would "work" rather it had to be the "specific person he genuinely fell for" unfortunately for him Gian was a man, so that led to smartass plan B of them using any women to hitch two of their kids which is a dick plan overall because it shows that as long as it means he'll reach his goal Bernardo'd not mind using anyone even if he won't go out of his way to, needlessly. Basically Bernardo is an extreme the end justifies the means kind of person) back to the point Bernardo for a long while didn't know how exactly he should spend his life, to Bernardo life is a mere means, probably an empty stage where you've to fulfill your duties and that's it.

In the grand scheme of things, Bernardo has three main factors to how his mindset works: number one is his strong sense of responsibility and reason, number two is his indecisiveness, oftentimes due pessimistic approach and number three is contradiction (which is usually because of Gian).

Bernardo originally strongly believes that he and the organization are in a kind of dutiful relationship. He must be logical, wise, steadfast and completely discarding his own real emotions. Bernardo adopts more of an old and robotic approach to life he is aware he was born for a reason and that's to put his all into being useful, have a family and die. but all of these are mere means for him to fulfill that desire in him to leave a proof of him existing. When you serve your country (ie army, later → the organization) when you get married (ie → a child) both are what you'd most likely think of when you want to bury yourself down into even one person's memory after you die. I don't know if his fixation with the thought is out of self-doubt or low self-worth but one thing for sure It's the only way of life he adopted.

Kind of nearly everything Bernardo searched for (be it, purpose, investment, money, and companions) was given to him by the organization. Maybe it's because of that that he holds the organization this highly in his list of priorities.

CR:5 was in a way the light that guided him through the tunnel. It's no exaggeration to say it played a big part in him continuing to live because he's now actually tied up with an "existence".

The organization keeps on giving than anything and Bernardo'd never really have any reason to betray it you'd think but then you see him turn around and help Gian ditching CR:5 if he wanted to or giving Gian the money he got rather than maybe investing it in the family's ledger especially when CR:5 wasn't in its best shape then.

I'm pretty sure aside from Gian followed by the capos no one matters much to Bernardo. (I included the capos too because Bernardo does admit to Ivan that he's a dick but he would never does harm to someone close to Ivan even when it was convenient for him to)

Bernardo literally has no reason to betray the family, but because he considers keeping Gian safe of greater priority he decides to, this doesn't lessen his loyalty per se but just shows how he sets his decisions based on his own list of priorities, Bernardo would be the biggest asshole if it means he gets the end he desires and Natasha's case was no different as the organization. Bernardo loved Nastasha, he had no reason to ill-treat her but because he knew only through her he could set up Dave, which getting rid of him was beneficial to the family and probably work as a self-satisfaction to Bernardo, he used her. It's not that Nastasha never mattered to him but rather that the organization and maybe his desire to settle scores with Dave had the upper level in his priorities than her.

Another thing to put into consideration Is that in Ivan's route Bernardo did say that he had a "naive image" of the family. He joined expecting better but the reality was disappointing. Bernardo does have his iffies about the ordeal of things but he'd usually just stay still in the sidelines, he doesn't take a step more than his line of sight allows he's cowardly in a sense.

I believe Bernardo's indecisiveness and hesitation lies in the fact he's the type of person who considers the negative what-ifs of any situation most and bases his train of thought on the worst outcome and even when he does not, his fear of the numerous dead-ends and no guarantee 100% that "that thought" would work is due that. In essence he limits his own self through his cautiousness and pessimism.

He's the one who chains and limits himself this much. That's why I think the scene on the bridge at the end of the route symbolizes him managing to rid himself of his constant indecisiveness and cowardice.

Bernardo knew Gian approximately around the time he was with Nastasha. But the difference is that Bernardo truly loved Gian whereas he didn't have as strong feelings towards Nastasha.

Since day one Bernardo had always kept making sure his love for Gian stays hidden if Gian does not notice he will not tell him, the thought was not even considered to him because he was cautious more than anything to protect his relationship with Gian the risk of it changing by Gian becoming aware of those feelings he held for him was too high and not worth it, Bernardo would have never taken the intuitive unless he *knew* the chances were in his favor and he wouldn't lose their current relationship.

In the general pessimistic predictions Bernardo had, Gian and him had no future. Despite adopting the mindset of expecting the consequences of every step he took, that rational valve of Bernardo gets inherently broken when it comes to Gian sometimes. The moment Bernardo decided to make his feelings for Gian blatant he did not regret it. Even if it meant he was fucking up their relationship, he didn't regret it (Though it could also be because Gian makes Bernardo lose all his original sense of reason, since Gian is the cause of Bernardo's "contradiction" or who knows?)

As I already said, Bernardo doesn't get to act based on his emotions due his position in the family. Acting sensibly is commonplace and default for him. Bernardo is not a man who can be tied up by bonds: to him partners can be used, promises can be broken, companions can be betrayed, Bernardo is much more unsympathetic than he lets on (with expectations to that maxim).

When it comes to Nastasha though I don't think It's that he's a mere dick to her because Bernardo is actually not (even if overall he is)

Let's put some things straight Bernardo originally gave her a better life and was the one who gave Nastasha her only source of income (her shop). And it was heavily implied that Nastasha did think if Bernardo abandoned her, she'd have nowhere to go. Bernardo himself is not heartless. So he probably for that reason didn't want to end their relationship of nearly 9 years. It's not that he had much romantic feelings for her (even if he did love her at some point) and was switching between her and Gian because he can't decide and making Gian a side-track in progress. It was more like he was being considerate of her whereas Gian was the one who mattered to Bernardo the most and whom he has the strongest feelings for (not just romantically).

So even If he wasn't interested, Bernardo would still speak sweet nothings over the phone to Nastasha, still give her flowers, and such. He was maintaining their relationship, but he did not intend to give her a future with him. (Is he shitty for acting and leading her on? absolutely. Was it not with good intentions here and there? to be fair, No)

Despite the fact Bernardo took the bystander stance on Nastasha and let her be r worded by Dave, fully aware of the consequences he still regretted his actions and cried under the rain which would seem quite hypocritical of him.

Bernardo continued to hold the bouquet of flowers then, not because he was holding on his love for Nastasha and past, It was because the bouquet of flowers resembled his self that acknowledges Its own incompetence, wrong-doings and failure (also the scene where Gian said he should give him those flowers and Bernardo replied he'd buy him another one but Gian insisted on the one he was holding means a lot more when you view the bouquet as Bernardo's unfiltered self).

In the Best Ending when Bernardo shouted his love for Gian in the void, It could be interpreted as a kind of rebirth for him.

I mean Bernardo originally could not face his genuine probably overwhelming love for Gian (now you see his Gian whoring traits all over the place be it in his own route, the other capos' or the neutral one)

Because of numerous reasons, had Bernardo remained the same as his past self he would still have been stuck, unable to get out of the dark dilemma he had gotten himself into. But through Gian he was able to change and overcome his mental fears.

To sum it up, Bernardo lived his life searching for a reason to live and the meaning of life and family. He wanted to prove himself through his constant efforts and "deeds". You'd think overall such a man has no emotions in him and is incapable of loving thanks to his strongly logical mindset. But he loves Gian like the biggest dumbass ever in love and CR:5 as well (saying this cuz Bernardo did say that spending time aimlessly with the five of them is like a dream-like reality).