S E C L U S I O N ;

anastasia johnson. bloodshed falls - red creek. kentucky native.

[experienceandobservation]

Dianna Agron | Bustle | May 2023 | 📷 Evelyn Freja

[userpinked]

DIANNA AGRON as QUINN FABRAY in GLEE

[flaine]

So what happens next?

[axjohnson]

giiawriites·:

          He’d normally settle for a smoke and while being from the South didn’t naturally exclude him from smoking around those with child, Clark chewed heedlessly on his fingernails instead, gnawing on cuticles as if it was salvaging Anastasia from brutal word vomit. The silence was harrowing, only the subtle and noxious sounds of nails being nibbled away at, Clark practically at internal odds with himself over the entire situation, scowling profusely. “I’m not sure what I can say,” and a miserable laugh is huffed out, almost erratically as confusion takes hold of every emotion, bewilderment festering within him. Clark is at a complete loss, mouth hanging mildly agape as he throws his hand away from himself to drum atop the leather interior of the car door, “You had to have doctored all of this.” Clark shakes his head as if struck under a damning nightmare with no escape, finally staring down at her obvious stomach before drawing his gaze up to meet her eyes, studying her for any flaws within a facade that he was dire to pick apart. 

             It serves no purpose to weep. Unlike Owen, Clark knows the ins and outs of Anastasia. He knows when she’s crying to be manipulative versus genuinely needing his assistance. In this case, if she were to cry, it’d be for the sake of obtaining his pity. To express irresponsibility is void given she’s now a wedded mother doing nothing more than satisfying her needs with her husband. At this sound of his voice, she felt prepared to handle whatever lashings expected from Clark, despising the daunting silence previously settled between them. “In all fairness, I did ask to sleep with you before I got married.” As if that matters. But Anastasia doesn’t know any better —- she’s about as experienced as a patronized nun, genuinely and innocently unaware of the specifics of what she’s done. Flesh reddened at Clark’s rather worse than expected response, she’s unsure if a glass of water or a reassurance of words will ease him from his agaped-mouth state. Confused, she could inquire in a lowered tone, “Are you upset because of who’s the father or because of the situation at hand?” Cue the pause, scratching the nape of her neck. “Are you upset because I don’t know, it’s not you? I don’t get it.”

[axjohnson]

            It’s unheard of for Anastasia to not speak with Clark. She’s accomplished her duties of pestering him through in-person interactions, video calls, and text messaging for almost a decade; it became the ideal nature of their tempestuous relationship. What initially was supposed to be one month of no conversations turned into two then three, purposefully refraining from his potential lashings while settling with her news. Selfishly, she sometimes momentarily pondered upon the idea of a paternal Clark as she bore his child, reminiscing at her past infatuation with him, but then Anastasia reflects on the idealistic nature of Owen —-  the surprising goodness of him as a husband, provider, and protector. As she sits sourly in the passenger seat of Clark’s vehicle at the front of her destination, Anastasia chose to remain mute, dancing in intentional stupidity as she awaits his response, one she doesn’t seem to look forward to. If he was shrewd, he’d know this... could not, and would never be planned. Perhaps the excitement between Owen and Anastasia got a little too out of hand upon their last minute hitch in Red Creek.          @giiawriites​

[axjohnson]

              Anastasia’s been in denial for weeks. Granted, her and Owen weren’t the most responsible adults out there, but the mere idea of parenting a child seemed completely out of character for the blossoming woman who now formed an identity of her own. In her popularly known distinct fashion, the journalist’s lesser lip quivered as tears prepared to flood, ghostly gripping the face basin while vision soon blurred. Whatever it may be —- human, half human, or other, Anastasia felt prepared for the worse. Absolutely, she knew something felt thin on the ground, yet dismissed it as a normal bug because of the impending autumn weather. Aghast, an unfocused gaze from hysteria led to her accidentally thumping into the gritty surface of the bathroom’s toilet, measly finding placement on the frigid marble floor against the entryway’s wooden frame comfortable enough to gather protruding thoughts. Though Owen awaited outside and she assured him nothing would come out of this, a sentiment said for days at end, consider the blonde fooled.        @giiawriites​

[possession]

DIANNA AGRON Chanel Filmmaker’s Luncheon in New York (September 20, 2022)

[cindy-lou]

Dianna Agron Dressed For The Hiva Baby Premiere in Los Angeles, April 1, 2021

[mrsmunsons]

Dianna Agron arriving at the ACIDMAN premiere during the 2022 Tribeca Festival | June 10, 2022 (via theresa, esq)

[axjohnson]

OWEN HURST:

         Owen had proclaimed a dire sense of fondness for Anastasia, her proximity in his life allowing him to survive through plenty. For Owen, marriage wasn’t exactly a rigid concept with conjured laws and proclamations; he never had a prime example of a regular marriage and it was with that he had offered up their union, regardless. What could go wrong when everything else had already soured first? Red Creek had fallen to  cataclysmic shambles and Owen would be damned to stick around any longer; he could shudder at the thought of certain originals returning before they had made their escape. “T’hell y’tryna play into stereotypes f’r?” He wiggled his brows teasingly duplicitous, though understood Anastasia had her concerns; a woman who had a knack for flipping over every stone until every possibility was unearthed. 

          “I could love you too,” Owen affirmed wistfully, having never much considered he’d had an amorous future with a permanent significant other. Anastasia seemed to regal this seriously and Owen would as such do his best, in hindsight, to ensure their union’s success. “Listen, there’s a whole lotta stuff about m’species that I’d rather not think about now. Things I don’t know, but we can figure it out together.” 

              What troubled Anastasia is the idea of Owen failing to remember her. In an effort to ensure that he wouldn’t, she’d give the best of her abilities to maintain his recollection of their marriage and the events which occurred prior. Slight wetness damped the corner of her eyes, infused from happiness and sadness at the mere thought of her potentially becoming nothing but a thought. “I’m just trying to make things right in order for you to be happy.” Transitioning a slight change to her words, Anastasia swiftly corrected herself as the two are now a designated pair; their union still one the blonde struggled to remember to acknowledge. “I’m just trying to make things right in order for us to be happy. I want to be a good wife... a loving one, at that.” Yet she wasn’t angry. No, Anastasia felt fulfilled for once. 

            From their feverish goodbyes to now sharing a room together, such intimacies between the two were previously unheard of. One could say she did feel highly strung in his presence, while others may consider this fairly normal for newly weds. “You and I don’t have to talk about this tonight, however we will have to discuss it eventually,” she reminded him, knowing his abilities (at this point) is an unavoidable topic. Humor followed by sitting at the tip of her tongue, straggling between seriousness and sarcasm, lowly disclosing, “I’ve loved you platonically since the first time you held me while I slept... perhaps even more after getting shot. I do know I’ll love you a lot more than you ever will in a romantic manner soon enough. Or maybe it’s already happened, you just don’t realize.” Nothing short from an empty room and a damned confession, the Hurst’s now had to build from the bottom up in an entirely new country, something Anastasia looked forward to. Blankly analyzing the thin walls of their environment, she inquired, “Where do we go from here?”

[axjohnson]

CLARK ROSCHELL:

          Clark simmered now, the surly look captivating his eyes the very antithesis of the shit-eating grin which now smeared across his lips. Color him impressed that Anastasia would finally bite back in response to his heedless and callous behavior after the myriad of years she had stuck by his side. It wasn’t without argument, Clark finding himself undeserving of anyone’s special attention. He had to at least give Anastasia credit that she wasn’t some psychopathic vampire hellbent on being his friend and she certainly was regarded as a higher status of a confidante, much like Natalie, despite his inability to verbalize such truths. “Kudos to you,” he laughed now, a near damned belly laugh, mostly out of a mere sense of shock for how Anastasia prattled on in defense of herself. It was unlike the woman he had known all these years, though he knew with all his poking and prodding that such a depiction of her remained inside, itching to be unleashed. A sense of pride wafted from him, grin remaining on his lips, “Was just checking if you were really serious about hanging with me for the long-term. Doubt any friends from your high school days are still milling around Kentucky. Just making sure you can handle me for all eternity,” grin could split wider, only faltering at the mention of a husband. “The hell are you going on about now?”

           Undoubtedly, Anastasia loved Clark more than she loved herself, but the more she aged, the more she became fed up with his overbearing, negative behavior. Granted, the development of their relationship took years for them to get where they are today, however Anastasia strived tremendously to let him witness her growth throughout this time. “I met you when I was twenty-three. I am not who I was years ago. Yes, I may have moments here and there where I cry for your help.. where I need you, but I’ve changed for the good.” Her aggravation increased at the audacity of him laughing, obliviously searching for the joke. Of course, Anastasia can always count on Clark to make a mockery out of anything. She wasn’t sure if his kudos was complimentary or an insult, remaining stoic, and still slightly intoxicated. “I haven’t left because I care about you a lot, Clark. I love you a lot. Platonic or not, it’s a feeling I cannot and will not shake off —- I want absolutely nothing but the best for you even if I’m not apart of the picture.” That itself remained true. No matter if a rift developed, if Clark preferred them going their separate ways, she’d happily oblige without protest. It would hurt, but again, she’d do anything to make him happy. “You’re more than just Clark Roschell. You’re my family. Of course I want to stay for the long-term!” Anastasia exclaimed, somewhat hurt at his statement. The sting of his words negatively impacted her physically, uncomfortably taking several steps back. “Anyway, I didn’t even attend high school in Kentucky. I was an army brat; I spent most of my time in Germany, Italy, and Kosovo before settling in Kentucky for about two years worth of schooling.. then back in Europe for college.”

          Her mention of marriage did not slip past the creaks much to her dismay. It’s not that Anastasia felt ashamed for what she did, more so the way she went about things. As if Clark and her spouse interacted, fearful of the consequences of their actions. “I married Owen Hurst on a whim the night before we left Red Creek. I could not.. leave him there alone, so he’s coming up a few days after we reach Kentucky. He’ll be living in Kentucky permanently. We’re legally married, but friends.” And this was all she planned on discussing, neglecting the intimate details of their relationship. “I met him before you. I spent the night with him after our vows; it was a quick trip to the courthouse. That’s all.”

[axjohnson]

             “Does that mean you love me?” As if Anastasia knew what love was. Her only time acknowledging love was the desperate confession spilled to Clark years prior, undoubtedly facing heaps of protests by the elder male. If that was love, then she knew the remnants would be painful. Though her feelings still remained, even if solely platonic, the brash decision made by Anastasia and Owen was one she’d obviously spill to Clark being that he’s her closest confident. In the end, his approval meant everything to her. “I don’t know. I mean, this is weird. Marriage is stereotypically portrayed as an undying love,” the blonde voiced, questioning further the depths of their license. It’s not that she regretted their procedure —- she more so feared Owen possibly ditching her despite their agreed nuptials, and a replication of the demise of her parent’s failed, abusive relationship. 

               Insecurity wavered through, lowering her head as the fresh, musky scent of the South swept by; Anastasia now fiddling her thumbs fretfully. “You don’t have to love me. I think I love you? I could love you.” Cue the brief pause, purposefully darting sight within his reach. “I want to love you. Before you reborn as a phoenix, at least.”    / @giiawriites​

[thatskepticalbitchcara]

screaming crying barking etc etc

[f-yeah-askmemes]

slightly angstier ship meme

send me a ship and i’ll tell you:

who is more likely to get injured doing small tasks

who worries more about the other

who is more afraid about the other leaving them

who is more likely to leave (for any reason)

who is more likely to drunkenly confess

who is more likely to push the other away (for any reason)

who picks fights more often

who usually apologizes first

who is more likely to withhold their feelings for the other

who is more likely to lash out at the other

who gets more jealous

who is more likely to support the other in a relationship with someone else “as long as they’re happy”:

[axjohnson]

CLARK ROSCHELL:

          “Just clarifying,” Clark gave in swift rejoinder, choosing to not comment further when irritation bloomed, bringing the cup to his lips as if to silence himself. He had always taken Ana to be gullible though he could always forget how literal she tended to be, too. “Fuckin’ Christ, I wish you’d relax for a second,” he snapped his fingers now, reaching for the compartment that held all their liquor for the evening, “Drink up, kid, maybe drunk you will be someone that I have more in common with,” he snickered then, rolling his eyes as she called him out on his rigidity. “Whatever, you’re the one who chooses to stick around and pester me. I’ve been the one telling you I’m a dead end all along.” 

                  “I don’t need your clarification, I’m not your child and I’m certainly not hard of hearing,” Anastasia snapped back, wiping the alcoholic remnants from the corner of her mouth. Of course, even when attempting to have a civilized conversation, she could have faith in Clark derailing the essence spiriting the room. “Don’t tell me what to do.” She didn’t embark on this journey to get scolded on loosening up and having more fun. Anastasia didn’t wish to feel confined in his presence; if so be the case, she would have made him sign a contract to declare Clark as her sole preserver.. over her dead body! “This is actually getting ridiculous. I stick around because I care. Why are you criminalizing me for showing that I.. that I give a fuck?” Anastasia murmured, bewildered at his continuous persistence in her not needing to stay, and fed up with his antics to the point where she had to verbalize her disdain vulgarly which is completely out of character. “Would you rather me be like everyone else and tell you to rot in hell? That you don’t need anybody, and no one cares about you? Do you really look at me as if I’m everyone else —- that I’d stoop that damn low to abandon you?” In an almost tiresome gesture, Anastasia loudly quivered, “Fuck you, Clark! And that goes literal, too. But uh, don’t tell my husband that. Speaking of.. he is arriving in Kentucky, too.”

[axjohnson]

OWEN HURST:

         Owen hesitated now, the memories inflicted upon him from his time in the military murky at best, amalgamating with Lyra’s acute extempore which bore him to be something…. enchanted. He hadn’t a clue what magical ichor flowed in his veins but all he could recall was that Lyra was once reserving him for a cogent quietus, a looming annex in which the original would take all of Red Creek under her nimble control. It had wrought a frigid conclusion, the intangible recollection of her undying hold on his mind and free will, in spite of chains since severed, though an eternal inquietude remained; the stark reminder that Lyra could return without notice and burn down all he had built in her absence. “I was already a target,” he warily began, wounded irises peering over at Anastasia as if searching for any feeling of prospective betrayal, “Was hopefully bein’ t’key term. I never wanted t’put y’in harms way.” Apologetic lexicon would never take back the years he spent in keen avoidance of Anastasia, the mere thought of her coming into harms way an inescapable chasm that had wrought his disappearance, until now. “I…. I was scared,” Owen had never figured himself to be a man who would admit to any fears, gnawing his bottom lip, “I couldn’t imagine what they would d’t’you if they knew of our friendship.” 

          The looming severity of their conversation was noxious now and he vied for a breadth of comedic relief, a light grin spanning across waxen countenance, “B’sides, I had’a crazy ex-girlfriend who also made m’nervous ‘bout what she’d do t’y. I’ve got skeletons, Ana, y’ll have’t forgive me.” Owen nudged her now, a sliver of intimacy that he had always enjoyed in their relationship, a lump forming in his throat at her mention of murder. “I seen a lot of death, Ana. Too much f’r me to wanna relive, but it’s not in the way y’think. I was in the army. An’ sometimes I feel more like a ghost than I do a human if y’wanna talk about species an’ all that. I hope I’m human, I think I’m human, but a huge chunk o’me died out there with all th’shit I seen.” The inevitable gnaw of his bottom lip returned, his stomach lurching at all that he had dished out to her, as truthful as he had ever been since moving to Red Creek. 

                Uninvited tension entered the premises. Anastasia teetered on a thin line between naiveness and dumbness - the two are barely inseparable, and how flawed her train of thought might have been. She should have known better. Granted, Red Creek excelled itself in the segregation of supernatural species, resulting in citizens not easily being able to detect who belongs to what, but it’s Owen, someone she put her faith into long before Aurora, Clark, and even Cole Darius. Was. It’s the past tense that replicates concurrently, the blonde trapped in a stupefied daze. “You were already a target,” she repeated once more for absolute sureness, detecting the dryness of her throat as a cry for concern. “Which means..” Everything warped into a blur. While it is true this is clearly deception on his behalf, a part of her couldn’t fault him for neglecting to tell her.. yet it was her, and he should have known she would not pass judgement, and that’s where she felt insulted, particularly hurt given the complexity of their friendship, though that title may come to an end due to the current intimacies taking place. “I don’t understand,” Anastasia jabbered, scratching the back of her head to indicate her confusion, and to emphasize how incomprehensible the idea of him, the man who comforted her in the midst of her sorrows, lied to her. “I met you six years ago and this entire time you haven’t been human? You were scared because someone or something might hurt me including your ex-girlfriend?”  

                She could sulk in silence, not feeling the need to weep, but visibly let down by his actions. Anastasia’s thoughts retraced to her innocence being taken for granted by other supernatural species including the time when an original vampire accepted her as an evening meal.. to her disdain. It sent shivers down her spine. Her body movement froze at his nudge as hazel orbs protruded out, echoing, “I never knew you were in the army.” That, too, is true; it’s strange how much they spoke, yet so little she knew about him. A sense of guilt ensued because of the trauma derived from serving your country to then becoming some sort of manifestation.. a reign of power. It’s clear he doesn’t know what he is, but is made up of something peculiar. “Whatever you are, you’re still my Owen,” Anastasia mustered out, grabbing a fistful of her hair before heavily sighing out of frustration. “I’m hurt, but I do understand why you did what you did. It doesn’t make me like you any less.” 

            An uncomfortable laugh dispersed, immediately relieving her locks to palm the forefront of his knee,  still avoiding proper eye contact. “I wouldn’t have told anyone. I would have never judged you if you had told me initially. I’m sure my other friends might have encouraged me to stay away from you - to not trust you anymore, but it’s me. I’ve thoroughly accepted every single part of you since the day we met. I would’ve never kissed you if I didn’t!” Thus, speaking of that unpredictable moment, the blonde’s eyes rolled back, brooding over the what-if’s. Regardless of their spurious situation, Owen is a good man whose characteristics triumphed many of the other citizens of Red Creek. He proved himself well-grounded each time the two conversed, a trait Anastasia deeply admired. “I kissed you because I wanted to maintain a meaningful goodbye, but how could I possibly leave knowing you feel like a ghost? You don’t even know what you’re capable of. That makes me ill; I can’t leave you. You need me. I need you. You don’t have anyone for God’s sake. Do you think I could live with myself in Kentucky knowing I left you in this current mental state?” The emotional pressure of it all saddened Anastasia, harboring at the thought of him morosely residing in the swamps of Red Creek alone. “It’s not as if you and I can get hitched and everything will miraculously soothe down,” she quipped as a joke, mocking the exchange of nuptials. 

[lena-luthor]

DIANNA AGRON as ABIGAIL FRAY in AS THEY MADE US (dir. Mayim Bialik)

How am I supposed to tell my mother that she can’t be there when her son, who she hasn’t seen for 20 years, visits her husband, who is dying? I just… I don’t know how to tackle that one yet. But I’ve got to fix it. I said I’d fix it.