[4uts]

4UTS IS AN INDEPENDENT, PRIVATE, & HIGH SELECTIVE SELECTIVE GUTS OF KENTARO MIURA'S BERSERK. due to the nature of the source content as a dark fantasy, this blog is 21+ and will not follow back unless your age is displayed somewhere on your blog. i do not typically follow first unless we know each other. please read rules and disclosure below before following.

quick links: in character writing. prompts. meta. musings. icon & header art credit.

affiliated with: casca.

general dni rules apply. this blog, by default of the genre it covers, is 21+. if your age isn’t stated somewhere clearly on your blog i probably won’t follow. racist, zionist, islamophobic, antisemitic, transphobic/terfy, homophobic, or otherwise bigoted behaviors will get you blocked immediately.

i am frequently critical of the media i consume. if that's not your thing, no worries, but be aware it may pop up from time to time!

interested in exploring: the contradictory nature of heroism, the body as a thing that betrays, human suffering, the intrinsic human need to survive, selfishness in isolation, sexuality, gender and identity in hyper-masculinity, and more.

disclaimer: berserk is a dark fantasy work and touches upon violence in many forms, from physical to sexual to psychological, and is an intentionally complicated (and sometimes aged) work that puts forth ideas which may, at times, be uncomfortable to read or discuss. because these themes are so crucial to guts' upbringing, experience, and character development altogether, i may discuss these themes in-depth on the blog. i tag any relevant triggers when this occurs as [trigger] tw. if the thought of encountering these themes makes you uncomfortable, i strongly encourage you not to follow. your space is your own to curate — because of these themes, i am unlikely to follow first, and assume that by following this blog you have read this disclosure.

[4uts]

happy post 420!!!

[venustapolis]

The Parca and the Angel of Death (Gustave Moreau, 1890)

[4uts]

❛ I am indebted to you. ❜

between them: a fire. smoke drifts high and heavy into the air, acrid and sharp in his nose. the wood had been wet, but they can't afford to be picky. in his lap: his sword, a whetstone dragged carefully along the edge, the metal singing in time with each pull. he is expecting to spend the night in silence, nothing but that slow and even drag until it lulls him into eventual, fitful sleep. across from him: her. when alanna speaks, that expectation of a quiet evening slips away.

he lifts his head, mouth pulling into a hard frown. indebted. the word gives him pause. with a grunt, he shifts the sword away from him, wraps the whetstone up in its cloth and folds it away in a pouch at his belt, leans his weight forward. in the dark, lit up by the flame and its crackling embers, her hair shines, dark and glossy, the gold pieces in her hair shimmering, fading, shimmering, fading. it's a wonder, guts thinks, that she hasn't been robbed yet by highwaymen, or bandits. then again, maybe she has—and she'd tested herself against them as she had with guts mere hours ago, against beasts waiting in the dark for an opportunity. the light is all they have to ward them away.

gravel-voiced: " i don't want anything from you. " better, he knows, to keep away from things like life debts, the idea of being owed or owing. he sits back. " we were in the same place at the same time. from what i saw, you would've been fine. " it's as simple as that. tomorrow, the sun will rise, and they will go their separate ways—in the same direction, maybe, but not the same path.

@mosvani / HOTD S2 / ACCEPTING

[4uts]

is there anything you need? anything we can do?

" no. " the wind whips past them both, the breeze more cutting than cool. in another world he's able to enjoy the lick of it along his arms, his face, the back of his neck, welcome relief from the pounding heat of the sun. in this one, it's a reminder that he is still in a body which can feel, move, lift itself up, make itself walk. it's a necessary reminder—but not one he enjoys. he turns his head to look at her from the corner of his eye.

she's a formidable woman. wields herself as well as he does, throws her whole weight into it without abandon. objectively, he knows, he's fortunate she decided to help him at all. practically, in his own head, he can't stand the fact he needed it.

with the daylight still lasting he knows he should try and rest, but it's as difficult to sleep with strangers at his back and the sun beating down overhead as it is in the night, knowing what waits for him. the brand pulses in time with his heartbeat, like it wants to keep him awake in anticipation of what's to come. he presses his palm against it, now, overly conscious. she'd seen him, monstrous, and still thought to help him. " i'm looking for a woman. the only thing you can do for me now is tell me you know where she is. "

@apolytia / WE HAVE ALWAYS LIVED IN THE CASTLE / ACCEPTING

[goodnightmemes]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON SEASON TWO SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ Duty is sacrifice. It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honor must pay its price.

❛ War is coming, to the whole of the realm.❜

❛ I am indebted to you. ❜

❛ I'm afraid. ❜

❛ We should've just killed her when we had the chance. ❜

❛ When the king speaks, Your Grace, all hear it. ❜

❛ I find myself wondering...do we pursue the same end? ❜

❛ You must accept that the path to victory now is one of violence. ❜

❛ Did you think I would wither in your absence? ❜

❛ You only blame me because your true enemies are out of reach. ❜

❛ She holds love for our enemy. That makes her a fool. ❜

❛ I promise you, you will have all the vengeance that you seek, but you must keep a grip on your impulses. ❜

❛ Do anything but what I ask, and I'll bleed the whole lot of ya. ❜

❛ The gods punish us. They punish me. ❜

❛ This is not the time for blind accusations. We'll know who did this soon enough. ❜

❛ I will not be seen as weak. ❜

❛ Sometimes, we have to pretend. ❜

❛ I cannot trust you. I've never trusted you, wholly, much though I wished to, willed myself to. But now I have seen that your heart belongs only to you. ❜

❛ You think me some kind of monster. ❜

❛ You're pathetic. ❜

❛ We can afford no further mistakes. ❜

❛ You are mad. Mad! You cannot think that I did this! ❜

❛ You would send me to my death. ❜

❛ I would remind you only that when princes lose their temper, it is often others who suffer. ❜

❛ I see all your great adventures have done nothing for your looks. ❜

❛ For too long, I made it my aim to be of consequence. But now, I see that was the wish of a child. ❜

❛ I wish to spill blood, not ink! ❜

❛ Instead of judgment, you display impetuousness, and diminish us in the eyes of our enemy! ❜

❛ Fuck dignity! I want revenge. ❜

❛ They wish now not for the good of the realm, but for the petty satisfaction of vengeance. ❜

❛ Soon they will not even remember what it was that began the war in the first place. ❜

❛ There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin. ❜

❛ I'm as fearsome as any of them. ❜

❛ You showed me grace when you could have withheld it. I'm not often surprised. ❜

❛ I cannot promise to make you happy. But I ask you: make this sacrifice willingly, for all of us. ❜

❛ If you've not yet surmised, you are welcome here. ❜

❛ Sin begets sin begets sin. ❜

❛ If dragons begin fighting dragons, we invite our own destruction. ❜

❛ Do not coddle me. Grant me at least that dignity. ❜

❛ Sadness is a condition of motherhood. ❜

❛ You have as much claim to grief as anyone. ❜

❛ Tales take on a life of their own, like weeds. Unless they are tended. ❜

❛ Always coming and going, aren't you? And I have to clean up afterwards. ❜

❛ You will die in this place. ❜

❛ I have been, at times, unkind, but never untrue. ❜

❛ You must go before you are discovered. ❜

❛ Your mother must've been very beautiful. ❜

❛ You should've burned them when you had the chance. ❜

❛ Is there no honor left in this world? ❜

❛ This is a better death than a traitor deserves. You should thank me for it. ❜

❛ I will not be made to look a fool in front of my allies and enemies. ❜

❛ I believe it is a sin to deny your appetites. They are what make us fully alive as mortal men. ❜

❛ If I may be so bold, you have not seemed yourself of late. ❜

❛ I've barely had the hours to grieve one tragedy before suffering the next. ❜

❛ I've come to know the face of tortured rest well enough. ❜

❛ Do you think simply wearing the crown imbues you with wisdom? ❜

❛ You have no idea the sacrifices that were made to put you on that throne. ❜

❛ What would you have me do? ❜

❛ Do simply what is needed of you: nothing. ❜

❛ Where have you been, these last days? You vanished without so much as a word.❜

❛ There are those who have mistaken my caution for weakness. Let that be their undoing. ❜

❛ If you die, all is lost. ❜

❛ The horrors I have just loosed cannot be for a crown alone. ❜

❛ Do you take issue with me? ❜

❛ I can sit still no longer. I must act. ❜

❛ I did not think they would be so eager to die. ❜

❛ I need them alive. I came here to raise swords, not corpses. ❜

❛ Will you goad me? When your bread and shelter now depend on my pleasure? ❜

❛ I mislike feeling powerless. ❜

❛ I do not know my part. The path I walk has never been trod. ❜

❛ What you cannot do, let others do for you. ❜

❛ There is more than one way to fight a war. ❜

❛ I do not wish to stand alone. ❜

❛ Has your loyalty faded? Or does it flourish only at night and flee the sunrise like a moth? ❜

❛ What we must do now is... terrible. ❜

❛ This is not war. These are crimes against the innocent, that any upright man would repudiate. ❜

❛ And once again, in the name of power, it's the weak and the women who must endure. ❜

❛ Was it worth the price? ❜

❛ I caution you, boldness is one thing, but overconfidence… ❜

❛ You have the impetuousness of youth, and its arrogance, neither of which is to be desired in a king. ❜

❛ Have the indignities of your childhood not yet sufficiently been avenged? ❜

❛ To claim a dragon, you must also be prepared to die. ❜

❛ You can't possibly still be angry about this. ❜

❛ You weren't going to bid me farewell? ❜

❛ It is your way, is it not? When something does not please you, you run. ❜

❛ There are older things in this world than you or I, or living memory. ❜

❛ You are not the player, but a piece on the board. As am I, for that matter. ❜

❛ It is my fault, I think, that you have forgotten to fear me. ❜

❛ It was worth the risk, no matter the outcome. ❜

❛ The enemy without may be fought with swords. The enemy within is more insidious. ❜

❛ Do you take me for a fool? ❜

❛ Oh, you make an art of provoking me. ❜

❛ Stop wasting your life waiting for something that'll never come. ❜

❛ I'm sure you did your best. ❜

❛ They will underestimate you, and this will be your advantage. ❜

❛ If the gods call me to greater things, who am I to refuse them? ❜

❛ Nothing is clean here. ❜

❛ The order of things has changed. Why not embrace it? ❜

❛ It does seem to me that you've made rather a mess here. ❜

❛ I don't need their love. I need their swords. ❜

❛ Mind your tongue. ❜

❛ I mislike all of this. ❜

❛ It seems you need us more than we need you. ❜

❛ So, what was the fucking point in all this then? ❜

❛ It's best to live, I think. However you do it. ❜

❛ You are not alone. ❜

❛ Will you prepare to face such an enemy? Or will you stay here and make yourself easy? ❜

❛ If you hinder our efforts through sloth or unreadiness, I will see you hanged, and your body fed to the dogs in the street. ❜

❛ You've arrived just in time to see my new army. What do you think of it? ❜

❛ This place will have you barking at the moon. ❜

❛ We must all make our sacrifices. ❜

❛ 'Tis no longer our rule that is threatened, our very lives. ❜

❛ Perhaps all men are corrupt and true honor is a mist that melts in the morning. ❜

❛ The dragons dance, and men are like dust under their feet. ❜

❛ We march now toward our annihilation. ❜

❛ There will be time enough to see which one of us is a coward. ❜

❛ There are omens here for those who seek them. ❜

❛ It's all a story and you are but one part in it. You know your part. ❜

❛ I am meant to serve you, and all of these with me, until death or the end of our story. ❜

❛ Be strong. You know you are just. ❜

❛ History will paint you a villain. ❜

❛ I am at last myself, with no ambition greater than to walk where I please and to breathe the open air. To die unremarked and unnoticed and be free. ❜

❛ You speak as if from a distant dream. ❜

❛ Come with me. ❜

❛ My part is here, whether I will or no. It was decided for me long ago. ❜

[4uts]

@cascality, CONTINUED.

he settles into the band of the hawk the way one settles uneasily into a new injury. the tight and twinging pain of a pulled muscle, a puncture wound healing over layer by layer, the unwelcome ache of a broken bone during winter. they welcome him tentatively, at first, and then with open arms—as soon as they realize what it is he can do. from this welcome comes a strange series of dynamics: they respect him, they fear him, they want him to like them, or they want to be him, or they mock him to cover their own shame. what alarms him more is the realization he cares. what is he meant to do with that?

they battle, and laugh, and drink together, jeer and crow and scream at the top of their lungs like wild animals, and guts stands at the edges of it all, uncertain. if griffith has set himself above them, their commander, and casca has set herself apart from them, then guts finds himself stranded, hungry to be a part of the pack, and—afraid. it all feeds back into the feeling that is most familiar for him, the easiest. it's not until after his temper has risen and fallen again that he realizes he's beginning to regret it.

it's casca that frightens him most easily. or she and griffith, in their own ways. the spat they'd gotten into earlier today hadn't been serious, but he'd been left feeling like he'd lost even when he hadn't. it's happening more and more often: she challenges him, and he doesn't buckle, but he comes... almost close. the rest are happy to embrace him for what he is, what he can do, but he and casca struggle against each other like a violent tide.

when casca follows him out of camp and through the edge of the trees, he's still trying to grapple with the familiar pulse of his own temper. there are no stars, tonight, just the moon. the leaves shift and cut through the sheen of light like the smattering of blood into the dirt. it's been a hard day. he'll come to his senses soon. it's a slip that he confesses anything to her at all—what surprises him more is that she says she knows, easy as anything. he licks his lips. she asks why he's snapped. he grinds his teeth, tries to speak. " you're... " the thoughts can churn all they want in his head, but when it comes to giving them a voice, he struggles. he can say nothing at all, or the wrong thing.

he's thinking of dilos, the rest. to them, casca is not so much a peer some days as a nursemaid, target, thing. " you could win any bout against any of them. " but she only tries her hand with him. " they insult you. you don't move against any of it. i don't understand why. "

[beguines]

Mark Laver, "I'm gonna shine out in the wild silence" / "Everything looks beautiful, when you're young and pretty" / "I may never be unhappy again"

[cascality]

@4uts said: " poetry is for men who don't know what to do with their time and don't have the courage to pick up a sword. " here.

he won't change, she thought.

and why would he? she challenged herself. internally. what would a changed guts even look like? less of an oaf, nobler in speech, appreciable manners, something of a polished paragon that the falcon could fly high and proud as they soar above their station — another griffith.

no — she shook her head, in certainty. firmly. that's wasn't what she wanted.

she knew better than that. perhaps, somewhere beneath her irritation, there was a smaller, more inconvenient desire that he might belong. fully. with them. with her. without standing apart like some solitary beast looking for a reason to go back into its cage.

the thought unsettled her. she shifted her footing, easing the dull pressure her armor pressed into her shins. she should free herself of the armor pieces, but she quickly reasoned that she might lose ground with herself, so she swallowed the pain.

as he spoke more, casca's snort was short, and sharp. nothing but a heavy rubble of volcanic rocks spilling from his mouth. unbearably hot, coarse, and stubbornly ignorant. she had never understood his aversion to thought beyond the blade, as though reflection itself was black plague. education fortified the mind, it did not weaken it.

then again, many things seemed to unsettle him. he was very sensitive in that aspect.

she found herself wondering — against her will — what else he loved besides violence. he's romantically gravitated to it, married to it, even. what lived in him when there was no battlefield demanding blood. their lives were sustained by war. fed by it. elevated by it. but surely even he could imagine something beyond splitting men in two.

was she disappointed that he didn't?

“ well, ” she said coolly, “ i'm glad you specified it's just for men. ” she gave him a look so sharp from the corner of her eye she could've cut him. “ because you’re speaking to me. and i’d hate to assume you’re calling me a lazy coward for daring to think. ” the threat beneath it served a purpose. she had noticed his tangent was aimed past her, through her. she dragged it back. she wanted him to carry the conversation with her.

“ anyway, ” she continued, her voice more level now ,“ if you don't talk, you'll disappear, ” she let that settle with him for a second.

“ i don't care what you hate. poets, men who think too much. that's your right. who is anybody to take that away from you? ” her fingers curl lightly into the bark at her back, grounding herself against the tree.

“ but talking isn't poetry, guts. it's proof you're still here. ” the valley lay pleasantly silent beneath them. the smoke drifted listlessly, while the stars remained cold and indifferent to the world.

“ if you truly didn't want to exist, ” she added, softer this time around. “ you wouldn't fight the way you do. ” that was the truth of guts. that contradiction. he was a great pretender. he could pretend indifference, sneer at philosophy, and do it with a smile, if it didn't threaten to crack his stoic mask. but he clung to survival with a brand of violence that betrayed something deeper going on within the man.

i see you.

“ so stop, ” she said quietly. “ stop fighting so hard. ” she knew he wouldn't. she turned her head just enough to look at him fully now. she wanted to see his face. “ you won't, ” she murmured, almost to herself. “ will you? ”

the question hovered between them. it was somewhat rhetorical, but she still expected an answer. despite his shortcomings, he deserved his voice. her question didn't seek to accuse him of anything. it wasn't quite hope she was aiming for him to give her either. surrender certainly wasn't something she would ask out of him. that was just ridiculous.

she was asking for his heart.

[4uts]

so stop. he turns to look at her more fully. the breeze is pushing wisps of her hair across her face, short and unkempt. whatever expression she wears now, he can't read—he's mostly familiar with the two that are most common with casca, annoyance and altogether indifference. fury, sometimes, the occasional glimpse of joy. but now, right now, it's just...

their eyes meet. she has warm, dark eyes, the color of dark stone beneath water, not quite close to shining, before it's lifted from the stream and left to dry in the hand, charcoal to slate gray. she answers her own demand: she knows he won't. he clears his throat, as something more taut pulls between them, uncomfortable, heavy, real enough to take in both hands and hold. she already knows, he's sure, what he's going to say, before he ever says it.

it plucks an odd chord in him, like the gut ribbing of a string instrument. he's never known anyone like that. not really. who can he attest to knowing him? not his own mother, not gambino. not griffith, who professes to own him, or at least a piece of him, but casca's never made any claims like that. she's never wrapped her hand around his wrist and refused to let go the way that griffith has. she's rebuked him at nearly every opportunity.

she's as much griffith's as guts is, even if his possession over them both looks different. if she were a man—perhaps there would have never been any need for guts at all. does she resent him for that? if she were a man, maybe griffith would've found everything he needed in casca, and not...

unwilling, unrelenting, memory drags him back to the that first day in camp, before their duel, when he had asked griffith if—if—no. had she asked him that, once? had she bucked against the weight of him, as guts had done, as he sometimes does now? that, too, is an endless fight, the endless call to violence.

she's shifted her weight; he shifts into her, so they're a few inches apart. he keeps his voice low, like he can't bring himself to raise in argument with her, now, or at least not here. " i can't. " and he cannot tell her why. if he did, he thinks the words would lodge in his throat. what good does dredging that pain up again? is the physical display of why not enough? why does she need it put into words? she sees him. isn't that enough?

" you want to exist. " it's a question—or his own attempt at one. he hates philosophy, but here he toes the line of it, chin tilting up. holding her gaze has become unbearable, so he looks out over the valley, instead. with the sun setting, the world is painted in warm oranges, golds, reds, shimmering like fresh-spilled blood. it's beautiful. " why? "

[krobelus]

[funeral]

Sarah Kane, Crave

[4uts]

you can lie to yourself.

guts is seated, cross-legged, on the ground, eye closed, trying to distill his thoughts into nothing. across from him, isaac: he is sitting with one leg pulled up, resting the weight of his arms atop his knee. utterly expressionless.

he looks the way guts pictured those great, lounging cats from stories someone must have told him a long time ago, the sort that snatch people up and drag them off into dark. strong enough to overwhelm any man, as big as a wolf, with a mouth full of teeth. guts doesn't understand the man, can barely tolerate him—and the company he keeps. just beyond, down below, there is an army of demons guts would've otherwise cut down until his soul was rendered from his body like the fat from meat.

instead, he is here, humoring isaac. in the corner, a candle burns, flickering, and there are herbs burning, smoke drifting lazily into the air. if it's to cover the smell of rotting bodies, guts doesn't know why he bothers. the stench is unforgettable, and familiar. these demons are corpses as much as they were people. he opens his eye, and answers with too much heat, shows his own hand: " i'm not. " his hand itches for his sword. " i know what they are. i know what you are. " the brand on his neck tells him all that he needs to know.

so why is he here, keeping the company of a thing worse than the spawn of hell?

I WHO HAVE NEVER KNOWN MEN / ACCEPTING

[cascality]

don’t sigh at me like that. / from guts !

@abjurator || greenteeth.

she sighed, deep and hard. she owed herself that much. guts was owed her ire.

the audacity of the man.

“ like what? ” she asked, her voice flat.

the brute would sooner bare his teeth and posture like some wounded beast than admit he’d miscalculated. there was never a day spared where he didn’t prove that the promise of imminent destruction thrilled him more than sense ever could. perhaps if she exhaled sharply enough, the sound alone might spare her the effort of running him through.

casca turned her back on him.

before her, the river valley opened wide beneath the shadow of an endless forest. the water flowed pure, clear and cold, slipping over stone in gentle murmurs. she tracked her quarry with an unblinking eye, her patience honed to an art — a broad-backed fish cutting along the riverbed’s edge, unaware of the spear poised above.

casca did not rush.

with one clean stroke, the spear pierced through bone and scale. she raised her prize in one fluid motion, being careful not to disturb the rhythm of the current or scatter the rest of the school drifting downstream.

control.

he lacked it, she would not.

“ you deliberately broke formation. ” she struck again. this time, harder, running the fish through, as if she hated it more than she hated him. another fish to join the bucket. “ again. you think because you can carve through a dozen men on your own, the rest of us are meant to chase after you? ”

with another swift motion, the spear drove downward. another success. bone gave to her might, whilst water split and the prey's tail whipped. in one smooth arc, she let it join the other fish.

“ we aren't props for your glory, guts. ”

[4uts]

they're fishing.

or: casca is fishing, and guts is watching while the spear slips into the water and emerges time and time again, the scales of her quarry shimmering in the sun. he watches as it slips into the bucket, wriggling, writhing, an animal caught in the last throes of its own instincts, body over brain. sometimes he's around her and he feels like he's that fish. stupid. senseless. his mouth works its way into a frown.

" it isn't chasing after me, " he insists. they've had this argument once, two times, five, ten. it's an endless, painful circus. he goes off and clears a path. casca takes this as glory-seeking. they argue, then bicker, then brawl, or settle. it ends. he does it all over again, so caught up in the easy call to bloodshed that the rushing in his ears overwhelms any thought of formation or order. some sort of hearkening back to his days under gambino, when it was every man for himself as much as it was any of them together.

his stomach turns at the thought of him. guts turns away from the thought, focusing on the stream of water, the slowing and the rushing, the white-water peaks where it splits over a rock.

she raises the spear up again. now, he takes it from her, like a petulant child. it's comically light in his hand compared to the weight of any sword, any shield. he holds it wrong, drives it down into the water anyways. when it brings it back up, there's a fish on the end, bright-red blood dripping in rivulets back into the river. it thrashes madly. her graceful eye and agility is his brute force—it still sees results. why can't she see that?

he drops the fish into the basket, but doesn't hand the spear back. not yet. instead, he dips it into the stream, letting the blood wash from the sharp tip. " i don't understand why you think that any of this is about my glory. " lest the band of the falcon forget, casca included: he was dragged into this by griffith before he ever made up his mind to do anything like join.

[4uts]

not even the best memory in the world can remember everything at once.

with the afternoon sun beating down onto the back of their necks, guts is more focused on placing the saddle atop his horse's back than he is @shekofeh, until she speaks. his brow furrows as he 'rounds to the other side, fixing how it's settled until he's satisfied. she stamps with her front hoof—he deftly avoids her whole weight settling onto his left foot, just to come back around, standing next to shams. " i don't see the point in it, " he admits, voice near enough to a murmur, reticent.

the leather of the billet strap creaks as he pulls it tight, slipping it into loop and closing the buckle. he checks to make sure it's not too tight, but the beast still shifts, snorting, moving a half-step away—he's quick to reach up with a hand to her neck to calm her. when did he first learn to saddle a horse? can he remember how he fell when he was first bucked off, the stinging wind on his face at the breakneck speed of a gallop? he can't. it's not so much the matter of reaching out and finding nothing as knowing it just won't be there.

thrown away, not important, things that don't seem significant until they suddenly are. how much of his life has he taken and ground into the dirt beneath his heel? how much of what he knew has he turned his back on? most things, save one. he brushes past shams to grab his saddlebag, slinging it atop the saddle and hooking it into place with a few dull clicks. " don't tell me you try and remember everything. "

I WHO HAVE NEVER KNOWN MEN / ACCEPTING

[4uts]

talking is existing.

talking is existing, @cascality says. guts can't help himself: " i don't want to talk at all. " existence is a rote action, an endless spiked wheel of fortune, spinning and spinning, and he wants nothing to do with it. he wants to feel the tightening of the muscles along his arm, up into his shoulder and neck, and feel the way his elbow aches when he grasps the haft of his sword with two hands. this is easier. this is not existence.

they're tucked up, backs to the trunk of a towering tree, staring from the hilltop out into the valley. night's watch. griffith thinks it's funny to put them together and see what will happen, like he thinks of them as dogs on leashes he can let go just to see run, the fucking bastard. still: the breeze is cool and calm. the air smells of campfire smoke, and if he looks up, he can see the stars. from the corner of his eye, he can see casca, her head tilted down, the line of her jaw, her nose, her brow. she's...

" i hate poets—philosophers, " he says, with great disgust, to save himself from thinking, going too far down a path he's not sure ends. he turns his head to the side and spits. " poetry is for men who don't know what to do with their time and don't have the courage to pick up a sword. " they may as well be nothing at all: ashes scattered on the wind.

I WHO HAVE NEVER KNOWN MEN / ACCEPTING

[notmorbid]

i who have never known men.

dialogue prompts from i who have never known men by jacqueline harpman.

i can't forgive _____ for not being here.

i would have sworn it couldn't happen to me.

i never think about the past.

i may not have much time.

i never made up stories.

so, you've got a secret.

what a horrid little prick i was.

what right do you have to keep a secret in a situation like this?

anger was my only weapon.

human beings need to speak. otherwise, they lose their humanity.

what's the use of talking about it? it won't make any difference.

talking is existing.

they don't want us to know anything.

any decision can be analyzed.

we must have been living in a dream for a long time.

inevitably, with memory comes pain.

we're human again.

i'd rather die than go back there.

i'm not inclined to wait for orders.

it's impossible to predict what might happen in a world where you don't know the rules.

sit down and rest. i'm going to heat up some water.

i want to keep going until my last breath.

how can i know, if no one tells me?

i want to know everything there is to know: not because it's any use, but purely for the pleasure of knowing.

i might need to know things for reasons i can't imagine today.

not even the best memory in the world can remember everything at once.

we're not very resourceful, are we?

nothing's ordinary, when it's happening to you.

it's unbearable to imagine a child's pain.

you can't mourn for what you haven't known.

will you hold my hand?

i feel as though i'm deserting you.

how will you survive?

will you be able to cope?

i've always been alone, even among all of you. i'm so different.

i need to be held.

i have loved you so much.

i'm tired. but everyone's tired, aren't they?

you can lie to yourself.

feelings remain a mystery to me.

does one person need all this?

we're better off dead than desperate.

hello? is anybody there?

i've stopped trying to imagine what i don't know.

what does having lived mean, once you are no longer alive?

i've never had anything else to do.

time is a question of being human.

[notmorbid]

greenteeth.

dialogue prompts from greenteeth by molly o'neill.

i've never been quite sure what it is that i am.

i am not a _____.

what do humans like to talk about?

how could they do this to me?

my whole life has fallen apart in such little time.

you have a _____?

they must all think i'm dead.

my poor ____. you must be so afraid.

how could i not have seen this coming?

do you think i'm in a position to be judging who's evil and who's not?

they care less about facts than about fear.

i've ever liked to be busy.

i thought the devil had come to drag me down to hell.

it doesn't seem that long ago to me.

you would come back here?

it wasn't bad. just different.

it drove me mad at the time, but i miss it now.

i don't blame you for wanting to leave.

i have a plan, but i'm going to need some help.

i was naïve and trusting, but i'm wiser now.

i would appreciate the company.

you are clearly far trickier than i gave you credit for.

you look as tired as i feel.

i'm out of practice at being courageous.

this is my home. i will not abandon it.

i can't leave. i tried once. i won't do it again.

i will help you, if you will let me.

it's not too early if i didn't go to sleep.

no offense, but this isn't exactly the center of civilization.

i don't have any dignity. i'd ask the devil himself for help.

i know it's hard to leave.

appealing to men is really not my area of expertise.

it is good to know i can still be surprised.

please. i want to help.

don't waste your pity on me.

fair weather, and good fortune keep you safe.

my life could use a little danger to keep it fresh.

i wish i didn't have to keep asking for your help.

i thought for sure you'd be killed.

i won't be underestimating you again.

whatever it is, i'm starting to believe we can face it. that we can find a way to win.

i don't think i'm particularly well-suited to the role of knight.

you rescued me. that's who you are.

don't sigh at me like that.

i know you're angry, but don't take it out on _____.

i've been doing fine on my own for ____ years.

i only wish i had more to share.

how long should i wait for you to drown your pride?

i don't do 'nice'.

this is the most interesting thing that's happened to me in years.

i am sure we both have stories to tell.

it was a dream. you're safe. this is real.

let's both forget the past, and try to do better in the future.

do you want company?

i only came up here to check that you were alright.

i thought we trusted each other.

i can't imagine what it must be like to lose a child.

i'm so tired. i don't know what the right thing is anymore.

it's bad luck to look back.

my world will be a darker place without you in it.

you must find a new light. it would sadden me to think of you in the darkness.

i hope you find your peace.

do you really think we have a chance?

there's not much for me to lose, these days.

you value your life so little.

you must promise me to fight. not to throw your life away.

lying is a mortal defect.

i'm not good, but i'm not all the way bad.

a half-rotten apple is a rotten apple.

of course i'm here.

you're not going. i will not lose you.

have you run off again?

why don't you tell me something you've learnt recently?

you're not one to miss a free meal.