#and that's a whole other thing y'know. intentionally cruelty and all that.

[teethcore]

i'm getting tired of realizing that xyz situation was traumatic.

[johns-prince]

I think when Paul was young he lived in Paul world, if you were interesting to him you were in Paul's world and his whole focus was on you but if you didnt interest him you were invisible. In Paul's world everyone does what Paul wants cause that's the only way obviously and if you protested you were odd and confusing and might need to be ejected from Paul's world. It's not malicious just a bit i dont know childish? That might be the wrong word. PT 1/2

PT 2/2 Again this may be the wrong word but I think John was a bit childish in that he had black and white thinking. There was the people he loved who he absolutely adored and there was everyone else and fuck them. If you hurt him even accidentally then you were an utter awful bastard and he'd never forgive you. The people who were Good just got his full warmth and love and the people who were Bad got the complete force of his acid tongue and cruelty.

Alright, so, I’m not a Paul girl. I’ve talked about how he vexes me sometimes because I can’t really pin him down as I can John. So I’ll try my hardest to I guess, delve into what I think, in regards to him here, the best I can. 

Firstly I’ll say I know you’re not trying to come off insulting or anything towards Paul. I understand what you’re trying to say.

I don’t think it’s fair to claim that Paul only cared about those who technically did what he wanted them too. I mean we could argue that about anyone, anyone young especially-- I could easily argue that about John. We all would like people in our lives, in our realities, to do what we’d like and behave in an easy way to handle and understand. 

But as we grow older we come to terms with the fact that it can’t be done because the world isn’t fair and we can only control what we do and say, and who we might surround ourselves with. But people are going to be confusing and hurt us and be odd and not always meet our demands or expectations, and we’ll probably be the same to others. Just how it is. 

I think with John you’re quite right. I don’t think it was intentionally though, similar to Paul’s way of dealing with people who upset him. Or, even, people who didn't intrigue him, who couldn't keep his attention— wasn't intentionally malicious or anything, though yes, perhaps a bit childish, or simply unaware.

Like, the thing is, Paul wouldn't know if he hurt someone's feelings, because he was busy and if someone gave him a relatively straight answer, he'd take that. Wouldn't exactly read between the lines— he was always moving, y'know? Like, Paul hadn't exactly known John was upset that he hadn't invited John to help with Eleanor Rigby. Because when asked, John simply said it was fine— even if it wasn't to him.

My point is— if only people had told Paul that he had rubbed them the wrong way, or said or did something that hurt or upset them, at the time of it occurring, he would've probably try to rectify it, or clear it up.

If there was only communication, between all of them. Instead of years later, after John had passed, to be told by George, and even Ringo. How was he to really know?

But anyways... I mean if we’re talking in terms of how they expressed their hurt and anger, then perhaps I could agree overall. 

Paul can be just as biting and cruel as John could be, but his anger was simply much colder. He’d lock you out if you upset him or pissed him off. He’d cross his legs, pull up a newspaper, and basically ignore you. Or he’d walk out. It’s true that if Paul wants nothing to do with you he has no qualms in making that known. In a way I suppose that supports your claim that he basically “ejects” people from his world, or circle of friends and allies. You’ve just as much lost his good graces as you would with John. 

Thing is, Paul had just a bit more patience with people then John. He’s much more diplomatic, or at least that's what it seems since Paul wanted to be more involved in the bands business matters, and did seem to be a bit more on the PR side of things then the others (it was simply Paul trying to keep things smooth sailing, he didn't need chaos he needed control, not necessarily being actually a great PR man inherently) he's also much more sociable, being a bloody Gemini lol John, as surprising as this is to some people, was quite shy, bit introverted. So, Paul, despite being much more emotionally constipated than John, just knew how to deal with people, talk to them, y'know? I don't know if I'm making much sense.

Now, with John, John could bite, or at least could in a way that Paul couldn't. John could give someone a wallop if he wanted too, and if you weren’t careful, he would. I’ve read a quote somewhere that would agree if you hurt John or made him feel as if you betrayed him, immediately you’re seen as the enemy and thus blacklisted by him.  

So, I think you're right that, in a way, John's way of seeing things, at least in terms of who he wanted to interact with and have in his circle, was black and white. But that's because, unfortunately, John assumed the worst lol he had this belief that, in the end, people in his life would leave him, abandon him. An insecurity, clearly. So, he'd have the horrible habit of 'testing' people out every once and awhile, make sure they were still loyal, still loved him, and would then stick with him despite the occasional test, of John pushing them away, testing their patience and loyalty to him.

If anyone hurt him, you were lucky if that didn't lead to be completely tossed out of his personal circle— especially when with Yoko. She sort of caused that insecurity in John, or how he'd deal with it (black and white) to get worse. She encouraged John to stay away from people who supposedly hurt him (though not Klein, Spector, or magic Alex, no...) or upset him. Cut ties, leave them in the past, they're only going to drag you down.

The funny thing is, though, Paul apparently hurt John very deeply— whether it was intentional or not, that's what happened. I think John tried, earnestly, to let Paul go, to take Yoko's extremely black and white thinking in terms of "letting go of the past and those who hurt you even if it was unintentional they upset you so let them go" and try to run with it.

John simply couldn't. He couldn't let Paul go. At all. Even if, what we might theorize what had happened, why John felt and acted hurt by Paul, worse than how George felt— like a scorned, ex lover, an ex spouse who, despite all their bullshitting, their hypocrisy and spiteful behavior... Still loves their ex, still wants them.

The funny exception, or simply a telling exception.

[nozomijoestar]

The whole time the Illuso fight was happening Trish was with the three who didn’t go- there’s no way she didn’t talk to Anyone for 3+ hours waiting; this takes place during that time and when Narancia is still wounded after Formaggio!

Any echo of her footsteps was largely muffled against rugs. Whoever had the mind to decorate long before her received her thanks. She held her breath for added effect; better to let the blood rush to her brain than be discovered. She'd let the fresh air restore her; the smell of grapevines and sun filtering might even let her rest.

That'd be well deserved. 'Stay away from the windows. Another of the traitors could appear!' they'd said. Oh sure sure, she saw the logic in that. That didn't mean one peek at fresh air would put a gun to her head. Besides, they'd been made her 'Handlers' (how she hated that phrasing) only an afternoon. She had yet to owe them any real favors.

Trish Una was no pushover but a modern girl!

At last she reached a door. The dim  hallway forced her hands to fumble. The doorknob remained attached. She gave it a turn; it was open. 'We'll see who's right when I can be bored in peace.' She thought.

The room was neither bare nor bursting; an inconspicuous middle ground. If she closed her eyes and absorbed the sounds and smells, it could be her mother's. Or any other room in all of Italy's backroads. A pang struck her chest. Her mother would've loved to give where she stood life. Trish grit her teeth and sighed deeply. Pushed the dark pool those thoughts would drag her into aside. It would be better if it remained generic.

From just beyond against a wall a human shape stirred. Her heart thud with enough force to reach her throat. Her eyes darted around, left right, behind. Nothing. It could only be forwards. She pressed against the wall closest to the door. If she'd paid enough attention two were downstairs. The ones who called themselves Bucciarati and Mista with yin-yang attitudes.

She strained her ears. They'd not moved from the staircase landing. Mista was spinning his revolver absentmindedly; from somewhere not too distant (likely the main entrance by his cautious bearing) Bucciarati must be standing.

There were three who'd left. Three who'd remained. A boyish face beneath dark messy hair. Yes, that was the last one. A boy older than her yet smaller than the rest. She peered at the spot of the shape. It was him staring back at her. He lay on an old couch in the corner; an afterthought.

Bandages concealed his biceps, his shoulder. He laid stiff soldiering the pain. She vaguely remembered hearing his whimpers from outside; he himself having limped back to the front steps. It'd been a mere second peeping from the window then, but she'd shivered. Blood had painted his skin a red she'd never seen; the wounds were no paper cuts.

She knew herself. Her mind would've allowed the memory to waste in a repressed pocket. If he weren't before her now. Yet he was, and he was curious. His name escaped her then.

"You hidin or somethin'?" He asked.

"Not hiding, getting some air. You're the one who looks like he's hiding."

"Hey Mista's my friend and I'd do anything Bucciarati says- but laying down there all beat up? Might drive me crazy. Mista can't shut up sometimes. Even Bucciarati knows that."

She made an annoyed sound. This boy had attempted slicing her with his knife seconds upon meeting. He hadn't known just whom she was; yet still he, annoyed? That had to be some payback from the universe. Trish moved closer with a relaxed stride. Far more in control. She sat and crossed a leg on a chair.

"What's your name again anyway? And why'd you come back empty handed?"

The shadows cast over his face deepened his irritation into anger. Harsh lines and harsher angles warned her; she'd tread close to a rattlesnake. His dark eyes highlighted the two small bandages on his face. They appeared to glow with a light all their own. Trish recoiled in her seat a few centimeters. Never had she seen someone at once piercing yet restrained. On their journey to the vineyard he'd laughed and argued the loudest.

"Narancia Ghirga. And you're Trish something or other."

"Trish Una." To say her mother's surname turned her stomach. The shape of the syllables etched into all she was. The last heir to that name.

"Oh that's what it was. Didn't they tell you how I got busted up?"

"No one tells me anything clearly anymore..."

They went silent and looked away to opposite ends. Narancia sucked his teeth then clutched his shoulder. She watched him wince, curse under his breath. His face still hovered between pale and not. The image of his blood splattered at his feet chilled her. He attempted to sit facing her head on. Her legs stood as if possessed of their own mind.

She helped him asking nothing; focused on which spots caused pain, distanced her touch from them. A great sigh from him announced the end. Trish eyed the spot beside him. How small he seemed, how paradoxical that he'd survived. She sat next to him.

Narancia spoke blunt with an ease that told her what sort of man he was.

"I'm not allowed to get into details. Not unless Bucciarati wants it. Sorry...I did get your stuff though. It's just this bastard who's part of the guys hunting you- he caught me out of nowhere. So in kicking his ass I kinda...ended up burning everything."

Narancia hung his head and curled inward. 'What a little boy.' Trish thought. 'And yet...'

He mustered the strength to look at her. Now he pouted, all anger evaporated. The mess he called bangs made her want to brush them aside. The demure air draped over him made her want to tell him it'd be alright. His bandages stood out uncomfortably close. She listened.

"So yeah that's how I messed up. I dunno if we'll ever get to buy more. But next time I'll definitely bring everything back."

"No...I'm the one who should apologize. You got hurt because of me and- even if I didn't know the story, I was mean."

For the first time she learned he could smile softly. 'It's really cute...'

"Nobody knew he'd show up. You were kinda pushy though."

He chuckled with a lighthearted melody. She felt blood rush to her face. Blushing, now she was blushing! Did he do it all intentionally? No, he seemed a 'Go with the flow.' guy. That seemed far worse.

She 'Hmph'd and turned her head. For herself alone she smiled. Pieces of it trickled into her tone.

"You know you're not so bad. It's nice to see a guy who tries hard."

Trish heard a faint gasp that fizzled out as quick as it'd come. Narancia rubbed his head unsure how to continue.

"...Thanks. I don't hear that a lot."

"Really? That's strange."  

"You think so?"

"You should ask them to praise you more. Otherwise that's so unfair, doing all that work with no thank you."

Her eyes fell toward his bandages. It'd been instinctive, a human thing in morbid fascination. The longer she stared the greater her stomach turned again. 'Sometimes it's rude to stare Trish.' Her mother's axioms rang long after her voice ceased. Sometimes the human mind knew only cruelty.

She looked down instead. They'd subconsciously moved far closer than she liked. He hadn't appeared to notice. He stared into space on some other wall; the profile of his face had gone contemplative. It was strange. A warm calm chased back her skeletons in silence.

Slowly she touched his hand and grinned when he looked surprised.

"We have however long it takes Giorno and the others to come back. I mean, Pompeii is three hours away y'know?"

"Yer not gonna fall asleep like a pampered rich girl if I talk? Promise." He spoke cautiously, his eyes sizing, judging. Ready to protect himself as if rejection were certain.

Trish made herself fully comfortable; turned all of herself toward him. His eyes followed her with his mouth in a small 'O'. He searched her face again. At last he relaxed; a pleasant thump in her chest caught her off guard.

"No. We can talk about whatever. Doesn't really matter to me, as long as I'm not bored."

"...For real? Then y'know the other day-"

It was Mista who found them hours later (disgruntled for the runaround in looking and stern complaints- 'Honestly how hard is it to listen?!'). It was a quiet observation, a rare time he kept it within. He didn't know two people could laugh so happily.