not friends or dating but a secret third thing (anchoring each other to humanity because you are the only one who can understand each others monstrosity)
I get so defensive of the women in TMA like “she killed people” “She fed that guy to the distortion!!” “She was mean to Jon!” “ She tried to kill Jon” “She set that guy’s head on fire!!” “She set that house on fire!” Like, God forbid women have hobbies right??? God forbid women do anything!!!
i am not usually one to repost my tweets and i dont know if tumblr is into chappell roan but i thought this needed sharing (ALSO since i originally drafted this post i went to sleep and woke up with this tweet having over 1000 likes)
Jonelias thought of the day is that Elias must come across as so stuffy and boring to those at the Institute - which, you know, very much helps hide his true nature - but as an avatar of the Eye and a man determined to avoid the End, Elias is someone whose entire being revolves around the interplay of knowledge and experiences. He’s compelled to Know it all and his efforts to avoid death invite him to Experience it all too, a fascinating combination of passive observer and, by virtue of being a 200+ year-old in search of true immortality, an active participant too. This is a man whose longevity and thirst for knowledge invites an obsession with life that contradicts the ‘Sits in his office doing nothing but spreadsheets all day’ image he’s learned to cultivate. (Though, to be clear, he does love the spreadsheets.) And I don’t just mean “obsession with life” in the sense of him avoiding the finality of death, but actually loving the act of being alive.
was thinking about how i imagined monster daisy and just
imagine how much more horrifying it would be to hunt down the woman you love reconstructed. she has the same eyes and the same braid in her hair that you watched her hands shake as she did on herself but now her body is more animal than human. her jaw sits unhinged from her face to accommodate the rows of razor sharp teeth, her legs bend in more places now, the legs of an animal crudely shaped from human bones. the bones of her fingers break through her fingertips forming pointed claws and coating her hands in a layer of her own blood with the blood of others. she is still miserably, woefully human (to outsiders, to you, but you can see the joy dancing across her misshapen shoulders and the smile twitching at her bloodied and torn lips) but she is not Human in a way that can never be fixed. she is predator she is animal but she is still the woman you love and isn’t that cruel? isn’t that awful? to have her look at you with human eyes and animal instincts, to have her reach out handpaw hand and ask you to join her. to plead for you to be by her side once again. you cannot pretend that you are shooting an animal when you kill her. the shot pierces her chest, cracking distorted bones. then another, and another. she still bleeds like a person does. she still dies like a person does.
back on my monster daisy bullshit featuring my qpr jondaisy headcanons 💪
you know you are going to run into her at some point. this fearscape is nothing if not narrative, if not some dream logic incarnation of everything that haunts you, so of course you will find her. you choose to put effort into it though, to Find Her instead of being found.
you are not sure you’d be able to hurt her, even as the twisting mass of limbs she is, even as you See her tearing apart innocents with her pointed teeth and clawed hands. those hands had braided your hair, once and again. her hair still falls down her back in a braid you had watched her make a million of, the golden hair blood soaked and matted but still plaited. someone is going to have to kill her. it cannot be you. you are not the one that promised, even if it is your fault she is like this. (if you were stronger then could you have saved her? if you could defeat the hunters by yourself would she have had to regress to become this? you Know everything now but you cannot predict the future and you cannot change the past, no matter how much you wish you could.)
you See her victims, one by one, the innocent lives she has torn to bits. you know she wasn’t a good person, you know that there was always going to be blood under her fingernails despite how she washed her hands (and you know some of it is yours. she knew it too, and she never asked you to forgive her. you still cannot tell if you did, but she was important to you, and you to her, and wasn’t that enough?) but the monstrosity is hard to look at nonetheless. you can see the way her legs bend and See the broken arrangement of her bones to fit this shape. you can see the teeth crowding her mouth and you can See the way muscles and ligaments tore to make her gaping maw. you know she did not want this, but at the same time you Know she is the happiest she has ever been, sans thoughts of anything but The Hunt.
she kills someone in front of you, devours his organs in a way that is burnt into your memory. basira has a gun and it is pointed at daisy and you want to tell her not to shoot but at the same time this is no longer the daisy whose hand you held or the daisy you saved from the coffin or the daisy who told you you were one of her reasons to stay. you keep quiet but martin does not and then she is upon you.
her teeth are latched to your leg they are digging into your flesh and drawing blood. nothing could hurt you here but the pain is visceral and you think it will scar (the same way her knife scarred your neck the same way you can still feel the tender touch of her fingers on your scalp the same the same the same). she does not recognize you and while you know why (not Know. just know. you understand her in a way The Eye could never) it hurts anyway. you wanted to say goodbye. you wanted to lace your fingers in hers one last time. you wanted you wanted you wanted but you cannot have.
she lets go of you to beckon basira to her side. she begs and she barks and she yells, forcing out the sounds from a mouth that is no longer built for words, and she does not recognize you. she does not call your name, she does not speak to you, she does not recognize you as anything but prey. (you were something different to her once. you were inhuman and so was she, you helped her remain suicidally human because she did not want to become this again, you were redeemable to her. has anyone else ever thought you were redeemable? has anyone else ever viewed you, monstrous as you are, in the way she did? but then again, does it really matter, when she is not viewing you at all anymore?) basira shoots, once. then again and then again. daisy falls. her eyes are still human, still void of recognition. her clawed hands lay limply on the ground. you want to reach for them, to feel as she goes cold, but martin is here worrying about your leg and basira is standing over daisy’s body and all you can do is hurt.
you do not stay to watch her corpse burn. you do not stare as your leg mends itself together, scars blossoming in your skin. you get up and you keep moving. that is all you can do for her now.
(guy who always forgets to make posts for their fics) hi i wrote a short jon daisy s4 fic!! its been a while since ive posted anything and just wanted to write their dynamic <3
Fucked up at the club thinking about Jon and Daisy’s relationship and about not forgiving and not asking to be forgiven and about somehow finding camaraderie and comfort in someone who’s hurt you so deeply and who you’ve hurt deeply in return and also about Jon wishing Daisy had recognized him before Basira killed her and im going to go explode now goodbye.
Also to expand on my last post. Jondaisy where their relationship (whatever it may be) started in the Buried. Where the thing that binds them is this horrible thing that nobody else they know has suffered through and their mutual eldritch monstrosity. Where even they aren’t sure if they’re only doing this with each other because they can’t with anyone else. Where love and fear and perhaps a dash of hate bleed and meld together. This is the person who tried to kill you. This is the only person you can talk to. The only person who will touch you for reasons other than hurting you. This is the person you tried to kill. The only other person you really had resents your weakness. Maybe if you can touch this person without hurting them, be near them without going for the throat, you can prove that you can resist the call of the Hunt. Do you see my vision??
So normal about Jon being like I don’t remember what you looked like but the man who let you die is going to suffer for what he did to you. If only Sasha coulda seen that.
So normal about Jon being like you died hating me and wanting me dead but I’m still gonna make sure this man knows I’m ending him in your name. Sure wish Tim coulda seen that.
So normal about the fact that everyone believed Jon was losing his humanity but no one got to see the ways his love and compassion for the people he lost or who hurt him drove him to that final moment.
So normal about the fact that even after everything Jonah’s done to Jon, the only person he never thinks to get justice for is himself.
You didn’t choose this. You were put into this position. If you just didn’t talk to that man. If you just let him die. If you just weren’t so damn curious. If you just didn’t want to know so badly.
So you didn’t choose it. You were forced to, yes. By that man who trapped you, by that man who led you to that trap, by that man who hides away cowardly, by that woman who is too weak to do anything. And so you are forced to make this choice.
What were we talking about? Ah, yes, the trolley problem.
Sometimes I think about Jonelias and it strikes me that this 200 year old man, whose evilness was specifically passive, chose to pour alll his energy for a new ritual into growing a clueless avatar that cannot stand to be anything else but active.
I feel like i have so much more to say but it escapes me right now. Its brewing somewhere at the back of my mind but it’s probably drown out by how much i need them to kiss.
ALT
