#i love phrasing things in such a way that i cannot be refuted

[lloydfrontera]

also can i just say. very fucked up that javier realizes how much he cares for lloyd, how deep his feelings for him truly are, right before lloyd finds out they are doomed by the narrative to never be allowed to be together. that fate itself has decided one of them has to die so the other can live. like. yikes. talk about unfortunate timing.

[lxmelle]

Do you think there's a way/chance Gojo might still return.

I very very very much don't want that but some theories around here started getting to me.

For example the fact that we don't know Kenjaku's technique and how it works, also in the recent fanbook in Gojo's timeline the airport scene was referred as "a certain place" not afterlife.

Also his end was uncharacteristically 'happy' for jjk. Yes, his body is still used but his soul escaped the exploitation.

Soooo I'm curious as to what you think?

Hi, Anon 😊

Thanks for submitting a question - I don’t get many of these! What an honour that someone wants to hear my thoughts 😆 You’ve opened the floodgates of my mind, so proceed with caution 🙈

I’ll preface by saying that I generally feel that people can believe what they want to, so I don’t typically go out of my way to impose my opinion if I disagree with someone about their views. It’s just about being respectful I guess? I kinda wonder what theories there are out there about his revival, because I don’t engage with the content-makers much at all.

I will say I’m not ignorant to them, and do sometimes come across some posts on twitter & Reddit of that nature. Nobara and Gojo seem to be the most popular for revivalists. I get the impression that these posts dissect phrases / how things are described, or focus on the symbolism of specifics like that of lotuses’ regarding rebirth… but I think it doesn’t change what cannot be changed. Gege has hinted at his stance of them not returning for some time with how the story has been unfolding. Correct me if I’m wrong, and I know satosugu fans also do this for their “ship”, the only difference I perceive is that theorists exclude evidence that refutes their opinions (i.e. cherry picking things that become twisted into conclusions) and therefore it becomes a confirmation bias.

For example, the lotus symbolises many things, including purity due to how the blossoms grow in the murky depths of muddy water. Not necessarily rebirth in isolation. The lotus also carries some meaning in enlightenment. Resolve for growing despite its conditions. So... ince again, it’s not necessarily just rebirth.

In terms of the permanence of death… The have been too many reiterations of the narrator and reactions of characters that describe Gojo’s death for it to not be fact. I know this will disappoint those hoping for a comeback, and I think this question wouldn’t be posed if there wasn’t a sliver of hope that Gojo would “return”. I dunno, I guess I have mixed feelings about this because why just Gojo? Because he was the strongest, therefore he “deserved” to live again? His students need him? But… What about Choso? He didn’t get to be more of a human. And Nobara? Was that all her young life amounted to? What about Yaga? Didn’t panda need his dad? And Nanami? He didn’t get to go to Kuantan or retire with his riches he slaved for as a salaryman. Countless others, really. And let’s not forget Geto. He deserved to have a better life too. Did he not? (I, for one, would love for Gojo to come back on scene if Geto could as well... but... yeah. Alas. 😔)

So I guess I naturally have to ask: If it was so easy for the dead to rise again, why was it not possible for others who have died before Gojo? Also, unlike others, Gojo didn’t seem to reject the possibility of his death, so unlike Sukuna who had an interest in becoming cursed objects to extend his life or Kenjaku who body hopped, of Tengen who erased people... Gojo had no such wish, and felt he would “win either way” whether he lived or died in battle. This was his philosophy that was akin to a Military General. He was, to his core, very objective and accepting. It was both a strength and a weakness - just as Gege described in his character book.

Speaking of being a character… within Jujutsu Kaisen, Gojo Satoru was just one person. Gege spoke about his process behind Yuji as the main protagonist over Megumi and how Gojo’s role as the sensei was sealed after JJK0, whereas Yuta could be omitted. What remains true is that Gojo wasn’t the lead protagonist of the series. It would narratively be a disservice to Yuji, Megumi, and Yuta as members of the new generation.

What remains also true is that he was loved as a character. His legacy had been left. He made a significant dent in combatting the biggest threat to humanity. His role has been fulfilled... as fans we can continue to love him and recognise his impact. I think Gege depicting him in so many flashbacks is an ode to him in many ways. I don’t think it would be done like this if he were “returning”. It just does not make sense.

If we also think about what Gojo wanted as a character, or as an individual - I think he also found his own fulfilment. He didn’t want to return. I’ve come across some interesting perspectives of international fans who opened my eyes to a different perspective too: that Geto was happy to support him “as long as he was satisfied” and wasn’t going to urge him to go back - if going back was even possible in the first place. Because Geto prioritised Gojo as a person and not as the role of sensei or role as the strongest. So if Gojo was satisfied enough, Geto was satisfied that he was there to stay in the afterlife.

Let’s talk about directions too. North, according to Mei Mei, seemed to mean... rebirth. To become someone new. No where does it say that returning back to life was a possibility. Was she even right in the first place? Was the plane actually going to take off? So many questions. Whatever it was… Gojo also said he wished that the airport scene was not a figment of his imagination. The strongest sorcerer. Praying? I mean... why shouldn’t he get his wish? 😪 I think Gege said that the airport scene was like a reward for those who died. There is a better word for it but I can’t remember what it was. Will edit this post when I can remember.

I mean, these are my personal views and I guess people will believe what they wish to believe and hold onto different pieces of what’s shown to justify their beliefs. I suppose I wonder what has begun to sway you if his comeback isn’t something you particularly want? Is it a hope that he can continue something that you feel has been left unfinished? Is it out of love for him?

Hmm… I guess I feel like the baton had been passed, and he’d done all that he could possibly do, as the strongest

…even to the point of letting his body be used once he could no longer use it.

I know it is disturbing on many ways. However, within the series itself, it was a necessary strategy from the perspective of those not knowing how things would transpire.

Everyone there experienced a desperation to survive - to find any potential way to defeat Sukuna without the umbrella of safety that was Gojo Satoru. And Gojo cooperated - he never bothered with collaborating with to others since he always fought alone. This was character development too. This was for the next generation too. He couldn’t fight all battles for them. Some things, they needed to do themselves. Just as how he and Geto, as teens, were assigned to a mission that nearly got them all killed. This was the screwed up jujutsu world.

Ultimately, Gojo did his best in the battle. He did his best before the battle. Killing the higher ups included.

We may not know what Kenjaku’s CT is, but only Yuta can body-hop now… Gojo’s body, without Yuta in it, will not have a functional brain. Remember: he was also brain damaged from the fight with Sukuna.

It isn’t possible to survive without a brain. We don’t know how they’re keeping Yuta’s body fresh and how fresh the body needs to be in order for Yuta to return to it. These are the strange questions we can only speculate since we also don’t know how Kenjaku managed to enter the body of Geto in the state he was in, and then regenerated his heart and arm. Gojo’s body was stitched up in preparation for Yuta, for example. Yes it is mysterious. But. As it stands, again, only Yuta can hop. Gojo... I’m sorry to say 😪😢 is lifeless.

I think some theorise that it’s about the soul. But honestly, I believe Geto’s body with Kenjaku in it did not have Geto’s soul in it. It’s not a “Megumi’s soul co-existing with Sukuna” situation. Nor was it “Yuji with Sukuna”. Geto’s body was imbued with his CT and his memories, just like a cursed tool would - e.g. Nanami’s weapon. So Kenjaku can pilot it and receive information from it as part of his CT. It’s like a humanoid mecha.

It reacted to Gojo’s voice like a “dragonfly without its head” - it was merely a physical reaction.

Just like how a human body will twitch and move even after the person has expired.

Like the tail of a lizard that twitches even if detached from its head. It is involuntary. A residual instinct.

Kenjaku’s perspective of how the body and soul is one directly contrasts with Mahito’s view. So I don’t think we should pick one interpretation as more correct than the other when they both agreed that it was dependent on Cursed Technique in the end.

So... I guess those are my views. I really like how you phrased it - as his soul escaped exploitation. I suppose I see this as being true, since we saw Gege describe Gojo in this kind of “afterlife” that he doesn’t try to explain. I mean, this is an afterlife specific to Gojo, so who knows where it is?

Gege is funny like that I think. Multiple characters have been shown to hold conflicting views, and even as the story creator, he doesn’t play God who knows all and sees all that is able to describe a definitive afterlife. It’s both poetic and frustrating at the same time imho.

Honestly, I also find it challenging to accept. A part of me wonders if he wanted it to be an actual delusion, but I’m reminded of how he talked about souls and reincarnation - so I know in the verse that souls exist and that what Nanami said about his death was something Gojo couldn’t have just imagined in his dying moments.

Sorry it took a while to respond! Hopefully it’s... thorough enough? If you have something else to follow up, please drop me a comment or another Ask!

[k-s-morgan]

Hi, I love your blog. I hope you and you’re family are ok.

In Hannibal what does “unstable” mean in the context of Will? Alana calls him unstable, asks him if he feels unstable but to be honest I have no idea what that meant.

Does it mean that he was losing grips with reality?

Hi! Thank you so much <3 Fortunately, things are fine for now!

This is a really intriguing question that I haven’t seen discussed often. On the one hand, I would think ‘unstable’ hints at Will’s struggle with darkness. He cannot feel stable as long as he doesn’t accept himself. He’s constantly torn between what he is, what he wants to be, and what he can be: this results in his perpetual unhappiness and moodiness, so it’s natural that other people notice this.  

But Alana and others aren’t really aware of this reason. They notice the effects: Will is snappy, dislikes the prolonged eye contact, is occasionally aggressive, has nightmares, loses time, mimics killers to a frightening degree, etc. But what causes these effects, in their opinion? I think the same pattern as with Will’s alleged/possible autism applies here. Every person around Will draws their own conclusion about what kind of person he is and what issues he’s struggling with. Jack assumes he’s on the spectrum, and when he asks, Will neither confirms nor denies it, giving a vague phrase that can be taken in different ways. 

The same happens regarding the instability. Chilton thinks Will is arrogant and self-absorbed, and that his vulnerability and mental problems are a deliberate projection to fool others. Alana thinks Will is a deeply traumatized person who’s trying to recover from something and that he has multiple unique disorders that make him a fascinating case study. To each person who decided who Will is for themselves, “unstable” means different things.

To Jack, Will being unstable means Will becoming overwhelmed with murders and personas of killers he’s investigating (which doesn’t really happen except for when Will is sick in S1 or distraught and angry in S3, and even then, it happens for a second). To Chilton, instability is a ruse. To Alana, this means Will’s mental problems are deteriorating and making him lose touch with reality. She thinks Will is self-destructive and careless with his health, so she doesn’t want a relationship with him until he realizes that he has problems and expresses determination to find a solution.  

Only Will knows what he’s really struggling with, him having innate darkness being the major issue, and since he’s terrified of people learning about it, he uses their ignorance to stop them from thinking deeper, allowing them to draw their conclusions without refuting or objecting to them. 

[istharoth]

Chigiri Hyoma and my rants about him.

Please note that this contains major spoilers from the manga.

*edited because I sound very mean* (sobs)

Also please keep in mind that just because you like a character a lot does not mean that you can't find any flaws in them.

I for one am a huge fan of characters when they have their own flaws but Chigiri Hyoma has become bland to me.

"Yes, this beautiful character has become bland."

Chigiri Hyoma was introduced to us as a mysterious and charming character. We knew almost nothing about him until Isagi had basically forced him to tell about said past.

We later find everything about him after the match of TEAM W.

POINT ONE: Chigiri Hyoma had his character development too fast.

Chigiri Hyoma has shown little development since that. He has always and will always depend on his speed. That is his own character and I cannot refute that by any point.

BUT! What I can say is that he has become bland. (and I will repeat that multiple times in this thread(?))

He always says "I'll stop you with my speed" and proceeds to not stop them. (mostly)

I will say that he has improved in the current chapters but I still think that he can have more development.

POINT TWO: He's too dependent on his speed and history will repeat itself if he continues to do that.

In the U-20 match (when I re-read it because I was simping over Sae and Chigiri) I realized that Chigiri Hyoma is not an important character. Neither is Bachira or Rin or Shidou or Sae, not even Kaiser for that matter. There is only Isagi. No one else. (Going strong with the egoistic vibe)

*Edit*

While it is true that many other characters have shown development during this particular arc and other arcs as well, Chigiri did not shine. His speed would've been more useful. (After Chigiri and Niko were substituted, there was a chance. What Ego said to Chigiri is still in my mind and it has to be utilized.)

*another edit*

He did shine, yes, he did very well during the match and he also showed his disappointment in himself. I am at a point where I'm refuting everything I say so yeah-

*edit over*

If it is never utilised then what is the use of Chigiri Hyoma (as his own character)?

*Edit over*

POINT THREE: This was the absolute best moment for Chigiri Hyoma to shine. (as a character) There should've been more. There should've been more of "IF ONLY" stuff.

Chigiri Hyoma is a helper. He's too kind for his own good. So much so that with his help, his friends surpass him but he doesn't surpass them. (If Chigiri Hyoma was never injured in the first place, he would be a step forward than anyone else.)

POINT FOUR: He's Isagi's side chick. (I have no better way of phrasing it.) He basically- he's so ??? I mean yes, helping your friends is wonderful but Chigiri Hyoma is the reason Isagi understands most of the things.

If there was a slight chance of Chigiri receiving more character development then that would include Kunigami and how to turn him back to how he was.

POINT FIVE: I personally hate it when two characters receive said development because of a ship. This isn't beauty and the beast.

Kunigiri stans might love it but I hate it.

Don't come for me Chigiri stans, I love and adore him as a character but his way of playing soccer/football is very boring. Sure it's flashy and cool but it's boring.

"There can be so much done with Chigiri as a whole but I don't think they plan on doing anything for him specifically."

I swear to god- this feels like a repetition of Tokyo Revengers and I despise it.

[starberrywander]

You know what I really really hate? Conversations that go like this: 

Person 1: “Group A does thing B.” (Phrasing implies that thing B is a universal within group A)

Person 2: “No, they don’t.” (Refuting the idea that thing B is a universal.) 

Person 1: “Yes they do. Here’s an example of someone from Group A doing thing B.” (Treating the response as an inverse universal [No one in group A does thing B] instead of as a refutation of the original universal.)

Person 2: “You’re wrong and I know because I’m a member of group A and I don’t do thing B” (continuing to refute the original universal.) 

Like, person 1 is obviously prejudiced against group A if they’re trying to make sweeping generalizations of every member. They are definitely in the wrong here and potentially being malicious. 

However person 2 also makes a mistake by 1) Addressing person 1′s claim instead of their prejudice, and 2) Failing to recognize what person 1 is communicating. Like, person 2 isn’t at fault for the prejudice being expressed and they aren’t a bad person or anything for this. But they are unlikely to achieve anything here and may potentially make things worse because they are making person 1 continue to argue their point. People tend to dig their heels in on a position the more they try to defend it so person 1 will likely leave this conversation even more convinced that they are right.

Chances are if you see a statement like the one person 1 made, it’s bait. The “Person 1″ may not realize it if they are just repeating talking points that they have heard, but it still functions the same way. It challenges you to refute which just turns into an argument; either further convincing them that they are right or convincing undecided onlookers that their claim has legitimacy because you can’t effectively disprove it when taken at face value. 

I see this with a lot of things right but the most common right now is the “Trans people are groomers” thing. If you read/listen to arguments on this topic you will see this format of conversation every-fucking-where. It usually also turns into conspiracy theories and frustration and its just very not fun to deal with. Massive headache inducer. 

I guess what I wanted to say was if you find yourself in this type of conversation try to identify which role you are playing. 

If you’re a person 1, check your prejudices. You are probably heavily biased against the “group A” and likely either discriminating against them or at a high risk of doing so. Check yourself and reassess. Remind yourself that all people are people; complex individuals who cannot be fit into neat little boxes. And also remember that no group is a hivemind; the only universals are the things that define what the group is. If it isn’t in the group’s own criteria for being a member then it isn’t a universal. There will always be exceptions and variation. If someone tells you that your statement is wrong, especially if they are from your “group A”, listen to them. They are almost always right. Don’t be stubborn.

And if you’re a person 2, don’t argue at face value. It’s bait. Analyze a little closer and address the prejudice. Call out the stereotyping and describe what is happening, but don’t try to argue their point. If you make them try to defend their position they will likely just convince themselves more. Call out and describe but don’t argue. And if you’re gonna try to argue please, for the love of god, do not refute their universal with another universal. “No one is saying that,” “No one is doing that,” “That’s literally not happening anywhere,” “That never happens.”  They will just use it against you. All it takes is one example for them to refute your universal and it makes their position look more credible to uninformed onlookers which is not what you want. It’s still probably best not to argue with them on it but if you absolutely must do so please remember to include nuance. And don’t forget that you also aren’t immune to prejudice so, again, don’t be stubborn. If someone calls you out on something, listen to them and check yourself instead of getting defensive.

[bible-reinterpreted]

Misunderstanding the WORD of GOD

Why is there so much misunderstanding about GOD or the WORD of GOD?

The reason:

Many theologians insist on their interpretation even if it is not consistent with the whole.

Of course, they will refute me saying “who can say that you are right and we are wrong or (inversely) you are wrong and we are right?”

Actually, I exist or God made me to show the consistency and unity of the WORD of GOD. If it so happens that what I’m writing is different or contrary to what some theologians or preachers are saying, so be it and may I say that it disproves their claim or interpretation.

Actually I’m no theologian nor can I claim expertise (even literacy) of the Bible or theology as a whole. What I’m writing is not my own but I just got them from the inspiration of the Holy Spirit and frankly I oftentimes forget what I have written until the Holy Spirit reminds me again. 

There are so many wrong interpretations and one wrong one leads to another. This is why we can not have even one single mistake.

Only with the guidance of the Holy Spirit can we be able to weave everything or every WORD into a comprehensible whole.

I will give you one simple example.

Some Christian preachers or theologians claim and teach that without Jesus, one is damned (to HELL). Citing a reference in

John 14:6 N I V

Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.

Although I’m part or body of the Church and Jesus is our head or our Lord, I cannot agree with their statement because their claim is inaccurate, unjust and inconsistent with scripture.

First, Jesus did not say “I am the only way”, much more, “the only way to heaven”. What’s more! Many theologians can’t understand the phrase “NO ONE COMES TO THE FATHER EXCEPT THROUGH ME”

The truth is that Jesus Himself will judge us.

And how will Jesus judge us? in

2 Corinthians 5:10 N I V

For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad.

Revelation 20:12 N I V

And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Another book was opened, which is the book of life. The dead were judged according to what they had done as recorded in the books.

This is actually not a new “thing” or doctrine for them. Even before Jesus, it is already the “teaching” or the same status quo.

Psalm 28:4 N I V

Repay them for their deeds and for their evil work; repay them for what their hands have done and bring back on them what they deserve.

Psalm 62:12 N I V

and with you, Lord, is unfailing love"; and, “You reward everyone according to what they have done.”

More on this… UP NEXT

To God be the Glory!!!

[lantsovsupremacist]

i saw that you asked for requests and i also saw that you wrote some nikolai stories based on taylor's songs (i loved). so you could write something based on wilders dreams or you are in love or call it what you want, you choose pls

MY BRAND yes of course i can.

nikolai lantsov: you are in love

and you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars...

“marry me.”

you shook your head. while any other girl would likely collapse onto the cobblestones had they the pleasure of hearing those words from the king, you would not. you could not. the possibility of accepting his proposal was a lie you no longer could afford.

“i have a certain inclination to your use of words, darling,” nikolai caught up to your strides easily, “without them, you answers are so very unclear.”

you stopped your pace, shutting your eyes. obviously, nikolai only meant to try and persuade you of his reasoning. he was unaware of how the repetition further shattered the pieces of your heart.

“stop asking,” you requested unevenly, “i cannot marry you because i cannot be a queen.”

“cannot or will not?” nikolai dropped his calm disposition. his words now swam through endless seas of exasperation.

eyes widening at his assumption, you glared, “your people will not accept a grisha on the throne. they will not make an exception for love because they cannot understand how such a thing between you and i could exist.”

albeit offended, nikokai softened, “and i wish i could do more to protect you but even i am unable to offer you reprieve from your own doubts.”

however bold or brash his words seemed, you took them because there was no other conceivable explanation. you refused to argue with him further, not when your remaining moments were already beginning to slip away.

“you have too much hope in the world.”

nikolai scoffed, knocking his shoulder into yours. you saw through his sly smirk and glowing grin, and he knew it. the fox could hide away from just about anybody but never you—not that he ever wanted to.

so, he would pretend for a minute or two, rile you up with his plethora of personalities. then, he would sober up, resounded to your ability to penetrate his defenses. your keen awareness of every notch in his armor, every foothold to climb his fortress, both aggravated and comforted him simultaneously.

“somebody has to,” he chided you, content to snake an arm around your waist and pull you flush against his side, “i don’t want to forget.”

“forget what?” you questioned, turning to face him more fully as a soft pout formed on your features.

“that i have this,” he motioned to your entwined limbs, “you,” he kissed your forehead, “to come back to. i only ever hoped my heart would find its home.”

you stilled. surely, an artist from above could have captured the moment perfectly because of it. they would have to gently shade your individual silhouettes into one, execute the softness of his gaze, and reproduce the muted lighting with watercolor.

you liked to organize your life into two categories; there was the before nikolai lantsov and the after him. before saltwater became the first thing to invade your senses in the mornings, you would have set fire to the bridge of any desperate man’s creation. after you learned to never assume anything impossible, you willingly gave up a piece of your heart to the most lovesick of them all. the one you simply could not have.

gingerly grabbing ahold of his fingers, you aimed to kiss the tip of each one. as always, he pulled away before allowing you to complete your objective. with a frown, you ran your thumb over his cheek.

“i only got to six. none of that,” you minded him with a calm look, “sobachka,” you began to warn him. 

“it’s more than five,” he commented with a reference to the day before. quickly, he kissed you to remove any possibility of a retort. you could not escape his lips even if you intended to try, which you did not.

the need for air ultimately pulled you away from nikolai. you frowned discontentedly his way, still frustrated by his actions. you understood his insecurities and accepted the validity of his feelings, but it did not ease the pain of watching him crumble before your eyes.

“my love,” you urged, “i have never understood many things and ended up running,” you held him off with a look, “but i want to stay and learn every part of you.”

bashful, he tucked his head into your neck.

“you have to spare some hope for yourself,” you said softly, leaning your head onto his.

he groaned, indicative of him sourly acknowledging your truth. you turned to kiss his temple, giving your lips the respite to linger just beneath his curls. you sucked in a breath when he responded with one of his own, planted upon the column of your throat. tender yet unexpected.

“but i want you to have it,” he responded, careful to inject the appropriate dose of his personality to make you smile without doubt of his sincerity being a means of withdrawal from the subject.

rolling your lips into your mouth, you melted under his gaze and into his arms, “okay.”

he smiled as radiantly as the sun, with a blush to match the artistry of it setting. you thought you could stay in that moment with him, that not even he could carry you to the next quite yet. you should have known better to predict his unpredictable behavior.

“so,” he drew out, “marry me, then.”

“nik-,” you breathed, fighting a losing battle with a smile of your own. his persistence did not force you to agree, rather charmed you to.

“no!” he cut off deliberately, “no,” the delivery of his words now intentionally softer.

“nikolai,” you enunciated, “if i’m a queen,” you caught the exact second light filtered back into his eyes, “i will never have you again in the same way—not how i do now, at least.”

“i don’t understand,” he frowned between his mumble of the phrase.

“we will be closer than ever before,” you voiced, “but i fear that could push us further apart than we have ever been,” you expressed with a sunken tone.

not letting you pull away either emotionally or physically, he took you into his arms. already feeling more grounded, you breathed in his scent of sea and pine. he was all around you, and it was enough.

“i could never not love you,” he countered.

“that’s not what i’m saying,” you refuted, “but what if you don’t like me anymore? after we are stressed and overwhelmed and stubbornly disagreeing?”

nikolai giggled, kissing every inch of your face, “i like every single piece of you,” his thumbs slipped down your cheeks and onto your throat, pushing your head back for further access, “i like you more than any travel i have been on, any adventure i have sought, and more than any squabble we might face.”

looking up at him under a thick set of eyelashes, you quirked a crooked smile, “really?”

“oh, yes,” he divulged, “i like you more than anyone else—even myself,” he began to taunt you, “and i happen to like myself quite a bit.”

“fine,” you relented with a light sigh, “let me show you just how much i like you and i’ll be your queen.”

a smirk stretched across his face but before he could dip his head to yours, you grabbed his hands away from your neck.

“i like you,” you began with a breath, leaning forward to kiss each of his fingertips, “one, two, three,” you continued as he watched you delicately, “eight, nine, ten.”

blinking rapidly, his gaze softened, “don’t be my queen,” nikolai mouthed, a single breath away from your lips, “continue to be my best friend, the woman i look for in every room, the reason time moves way too fast.”

“thank you for sharing your hope with me,” you spoke and drew your lips in a straight line, “thank you for letting me be in love with you.”

“i never let you do anything,” he began to sway, “could only hope you would keep coming back.”

“i’m in love with you,” you insisted, “and i happen to like that very much.”

[asterekmess]

Been seeing you getting hate mail and while I absolutely can't understand why anyone would go to all the trouble to make some one else feel bad... I also kinda really love the discourse on Scott? Like YOUR RANTS oh man. On point. Always. Tbh I tried giving Scott a chance... He is the main char after all... But I was like??? Wtf? That dude does nothing but refute others and does whatever he wants. And this was when I didn't particularly like Stiles either (first time watching Teen Wolf). But then I got to know more of him and like Tony he went asshole to lovable asshole—seriously, Stiles might not be the ‘nicest’ but he tries and his heart is in good place—while Scott is just... self-righteous. Someone pointed out that he sees people as possessions and that irks me too that I can actually see it being true. The dude has literally nothing going on except for being the one that gets bitten. And the Romeo-and-Juliet-esque romance he has.

Okay, okay, where was I going with this?? Right. LOVE YOUR RANTS. People need to understand that Scott not being liked isn't because of his race or anything trivial like it—he just happens to be—but because of his actions. Or inactions, as it were. *remembers the pool scene and Scott saying he's busy and resists the urge to chuck a shoe at him*

Basically, love you, love your work, and love your words! ❤️

I've talked with some friends about it, and our number one issue sort of...boiled down to the hypocrisy of the show? I....sort of rant a lot here, and I would add a Read More, but I can't find the option anymore?? I fucking hate Tumblr. EDIT: I found a post that told me how to do it!

So, since he's the character I focus on the most, let's talk about Stiles' morality. Because, you're right. Stiles is an asshole. He does some fucking awful shit in the first season, and even if he had a Reason to do it, it was still bad. And I still don't like it. But I understand it.

Stiles' lack of shits about what is 'lawful' is literally established in the first ten seconds of the show. He's a sheriff's son who sneaks onto people's roofs in the middle of the night bc they aren't answering his calls, who listens in on his dad's work conversations and is willing to fuck up a crime scene because he's so excited about getting to see a dead body. He doesn't care about laws. He doesn't even care about most basic manners (invasion of privacy much, with having Scott sniff Lydia to see if she liked him?). He's a dickhead, even to the people he cares about sometimes. But personality and morality aren't the same. Stiles' entire actual morality system is based around whatever he needs to do to keep the people he loves safe and happy. Lying to his dad so he doesn't get murdered by hunters? Totally fine. Telling Scott that it was "Jackson's own fault" that Scott attacked him with superstrength and dislocated his shoulder, so Scott doesn't feel like an asshole? That's just best friend duties! He will lie, steal, cheat, and he will kill to keep his loved ones safe (let's not forget this boy threw molotovs at Peter, knowing damn well what they would do to him). We can headcanon all we want about all the different people who are in this group of loved ones, but the list is canonically very short: Scott, his dad, and Lydia. Later on, like, past s3B? It includes Derek. Canonically. Stiles puts his life and the lives of others he cares about on the line while he lies to the matriarch of the Calavera hunter clan, to save Derek Hale. Derek is just canonically a part of that group now, and he fucking knows it bc Stiles is his anchor (that's canon too bb). End of Story, Sterek or no Sterek. It's why we get that insane number of lookbacks when Derek is dying before his evolution. Because Stiles is being forced to choose between two people who are BOTH in his ride-or-die group. He Cannot Pick between Scott and Derek, until Derek begs him to leave.

SO, yes, Stiles does fuckface things, and I don't always agree with what he does, but it is ACCURATE TO HIS CHARACTER. He is morally grey. He NEVER CLAIMS to be pure or good or just or righteous. Stiles knows who he is, and he stays true to himself. And I love him for that.

The same goes for a bunch of other characters! For Peter, who is strikingly similar to Stiles, in that family goes above literally everything. Screw the idea that he was following Derek around waiting for the chance to steal back the Alpha spark. That man put his life on the line (his second life, no less) to get the shit beaten out of him until Derek let him help save Derek's life Again and Again. Family Comes First.

Scott's morality is...confusing as fuck. I thought at first he was similar to Stiles, in that family came first, but...while he's protective of his mother, he also does a lot of stuff that puts her at risk without seeming to care/worry (like leaving Peter alone with her once Stiles hits their car, so he can chase Jackson) (or asking her to come to the high school when he's convinced there's a bomber in it)? Seriously, he's more protective over Allison, than his mother. It's very black and white the rest of the time. Very "this bad" "this good." And if you do "bad" then you are bad forever, while if you do "good" you are only good until you do "bad." The Betas were "good" until they asked for the bite, and then they were "Bad." Derek was "bad" when Scott met him and scared him, so after that, no matter how much "good" he did, he remained "bad." But only when it suits him. Allison is good even when she does bad, because he wants her to be good. Chris is good even though he's done mountains of bad, because of the minuscule amount of good that Scott has seen him do, because Scott wants him to be good. Even DEUCALION is good, despite the crazy CRAZY amount of bad he's done and despite having seen him do NO GOOD, just because Scott wants him to be good. Lying to those closest to you is bad, unless Scott is doing it, and then it's good, because he knows HE is good. Killing people is bad, unless Scott is doing it. Letting villains go is bad, unless Scott is doing it. Biting people is bad, unless Scott is doing it. Protecting family is good even if it requires killing or lying, unless it's not Scott doing it. Revenge for past slights is good, unless it's not SCOTT doing it. And you try to understand it! You try to say, okay, then he's morally grey, got it. He plays with the rules to suit his own morality, whatever. Except that Scott, the other characters, and THE SHOW ITSELF, are all telling you otherwise! They all say that Scott is morally pure. That he is good and righteous and lawful. That he always does the "right" thing, and that when he does "bad" things, it's justified and he had to. THE HEAVENS THEMSELVES say Scott is somehow better or more righteous than the other characters by MAKING HIM AN ALPHA OUT OF NOWHERE. (I'm talking abt canon here, not going into deaton conspiracy theories) It's like....Like in the hate mail response I did, where I pointed out that Every Single Thing people get angry at Derek for doing, Scott did too. Lying, killing (or at least attempting it), attacking innocents, losing his temper, keeping secrets, refusing to work with someone who could help, etc etc etc. Everything Derek has done that is morally "wrong," Scott has also done. And that's okay! Doing a bad thing doesn't make you a bad person, and even if it did, Scott is ALLOWED to be bad! GO FOR IT.

Except that he is sinless. It isn't that he learns from the bad things he does, it's that they aren't treated like bad things in the first place. Because Scott did it, and Scott always does the right thing.

Derek's behavior is reprehensible at times, but the show ADMITS that and frames it as bad. Frames it as him doing a bad thing when he scares Isaac or throws Peter or tells Erica who to date. And that's fine, because Derek is established as not being morally pure.

But SCOTT IS. And because they were so desperate to make him continue being "Pure" they didn't frame the things he did as wrong, or if they did, they absolved him of it immediately, using the exact same reasoning that works for Derek's situations, but this time Actually Accepting it.

He scares Stiles, well it's because he's scared. He throws Isaac, it's because he's upset. He attacks Jackson well it's because Jackson was being a dick. He orders Allison to date Matt, well he had a goal to accomplish. Every reason is treated like a fucking doctor's note that erases the bad things he does.

Being scared, or angry, or retaliating to someone being an asshole, or trying to protect himself, was NEVER a good enough reason for Derek to do ANYTHING "Bad." It was never an acceptable excuse.

IF IT WERE: If the show were making a statement about how fallable people are, how they do bad things, but they do them for a REASON. How people will do wild and terrible things out of fear, and how that doesn't make it less bad, but it makes it understandable, so don't demonize them out of nowhere. If that were the case, I would HAVE BEEN FINE WITH IT.

Scott is held to COMPLETELY different standards than everyone else in the show! And I DON'T mean that people held him to higher ones. They dropped that bar so fucking low. Anything was allowed, and any excuse was good enough.

He made out with a girl who was dating someone else, who his best friend was in love with? It's just the full moon, he's angsty about losing Allison. He ducttapes Liam to a bathtub and starts throwing random phrases at him that he hated Derek for saying to him? He's freaked out! He doesn't know what to do with a bitten wolf! It was an accident! He works with a mass murderer behind people's backs without telling them the whole story? Am I talking about Gerard or Deucalion? Who fucking knows. Either way, it's okay, because he was protecting his family. He plots to murder a cancer patient slowly and painfully by replacing meds that likely included painkillers with mountain ash, and the uses someone else's body to deliver the killing blow, and it's okay because he was just being smart! He was just working ten steps ahead! He was saving his mom and the whole town! Who cares if it DIDN"T WORK?

He walks into his ex-girlfriend's hotel room and scares the SHIT out of her while she's naked and alone in the shower? It was the wolfsbane. It doesn't matter that no one else's impulses included HARASSING someone. He lies to his girlfriend's face about her own life because he doesn't think it's important enough for her to know (who am I talking about, come on, take a guess, which one is it? Allison or Kira? Trick question: it's both). He was just being kind! He didn't want to worry her! He didn't want to make her feel bad! She didn't need to know!

I'm so far off track it's not even funny. My point was that Everything the other characters in the show are demonized for or framed as evil or bad or wrong for doing, Scott is shown to do and it's treated like at minimum a comedy, if not a Perfect Brilliant Strategic Move.

God, fucking hell. I mean, the PARALLELS you see in this show, between Scott and others. The scene of Alexander Argent going to the hotel after being bit? That bit where he pulls his shirt up in the mirror? It's a near PERFECT replica of Scott looking at his bite at Deaton's. They paralleled SCOTT MCCALL with AN ARGENT. Deaton has this whole line in S2 where he's bitching at Derek about "the person you should trust the most doesn't trust you at all" And then seasons later, we have Scott look his best friend in the eye and refuse to trust him, only to get upset later because Stiles doesn't want to work with him anymore and he "lost them." Scott goes running into Derek's house in S1 to accuse him of killing the bus driver, and when he can't get a real response, he EGGS HIM ON by accusing him of Murdering his SISTER, just to get Derek to react. Which is the EXACT same thing Kate did when she showed up and wanted Derek to lose his temper. Scott is CONSTANTLY paralleled with villains and assholes, and constantly does the things that others are persecuted for. But instead of feeling regret or learning something from it, instead of growing AT ALL. Those actions are treated as good. We are told they are righteous. And clever. That they are what heroes do. AND YES: There are parallels between Derek and Stiles' behaviors and villains/morally grey characters! Of course there are!

BUT THEY AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THE TRUE ALPHA MAIN CHARACTER. SCOTT IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE GOOD GUY. HE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO MIMIC/EMULATE THE VILLAINS, AND HE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE REWARDED WHEN HE DOES IT ANYWAY.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again; I understand the urge to think that the Teen Wolf writers did all of this on purpose. That they built Scott up as an unreliable narrator, so that we're forced to come to terms with a protagonist who isn't good, and we watch them fall into a villainous role while thinking all the while they are a hero. That all these parallels are intentional and the writers just couldn't Tell us what was going on bc they didn't have enough power.

And sometimes I play into it. I will lie to myself about Scott being the 'narrator' of the entire show, and that we're seeing it all through his eyes so of course things are biased and conflicting, just so I can actually Enjoy watching it.

But I think it's absolute bullshit that this was done on purpose. It wasn't. The parallels appeared because they Wanted Scott to do the badass things that they had all the villains doing, throwing people and being sneaky and clever, and stopping the bad guy, and they didn't want to deal with the fact that they were having him do bad things. So they just pretended he wasn't and refused to acknowledge that they'd already punished other people for doing the same exact shit, but somehow Scott was getting rewarded. They wanted Scott to be the hero, so they made him the hero, and screw everybody else.

[unlikely-course]

The tl;drs of this very long post, which is about Gideon’s arc and her relationship to Harrow:

-Gideon’s arc in gtn is a corruption arc because tlt is not just goth but Gothic

-Gideon “forgives” Harrow because of Trauma and that’s definitely not the endpoint of how she feels about Harrow or their past

-The narrative knows what it’s doing

When Gideon says “For the Ninth!” as she dies, and thinks “this is the loyalty they always said I lacked, this is me making good” that’s not growth, that’s part of the tragedy of the moment. Like, the Ninth does not deserve her allegiance! It is, as Gideon was the first to remind us, rotten to the core. When she dies, it’s for Harrow, and her saying it’s for the Ninth does represent on some level that she’s come to new understanding about who Harrow is and how Harrow views herself *as* the Ninth, but like this is, I mean. Bad. Harrow herself does not deserve Gideon’s loyalty! Gideon gives it to her because it is a relief. Gideon is very good, yes, but the forgiveness is a response to trauma. The second Harrow shows even the slightest vulnerability or regard for Gideon, Gideon is eager to make amends because she has been starved for any positive association to others for her entire life, and Harrow was literally the only peer she ever had to associate with. She correctly identified that resistance to Ninth society was vital to her survival and selfhood, but also that shit is exhausting. That resistance is also partially formed by that society conveying to her: we have no place for you, we have no use for you as you are, and that makes you hateful to us.

Her response to Harrow and the cavalier role then is pretty classic! It is a relief to have a place, to be able to stop fighting, to give herself over to a structure sold to her as one in which she can support and be supported, to resolve the central conflict and most complicated relationship of her life. I maintain that you the reader are also supposed to feel initially relieved and even cheered by Gideon and Harrow growing closer and then gradually unsettled when Gideon embraces cavalierhood and the increasingly invasive demands of the trials, and has her mindset adjusted in increments toward sacrifice. To feel her thoughts turn in this direction is alarming! This is purposeful, and it is purposefully mixed in with good feelings, the same good feelings that Gideon is getting, to distract from and inoculate you against what is happening just as Gideon is inoculated against it.

In addition, Canaan House is a very particular crucible. This is not only the first time that Gideon has ever been bombarded with new people and experiences, but also the first time she’s faced these unknown external threats, which pushes her to unite with the familiar (Harrow) against them. Her past and present environments have made it so that the compassion she comes to feel for Harrow gets bound up in the idea of being loyal to her house, the ‘contract’ of her new role, and the positive interaction it gives her until the idea of her offering her life to Harrow is not simply necessary in the moment but good and right. Redeeming, even, when we as readers know she has nothing she needs redemption for. 

Gideon is so very angry when she comes to in htn, and it is not merely anger at those who have wronged Harrow or anger at Harrow for endangering herself. On the First, she made a simple deal: her life for relief from the emotional state she had to live it in. Forgiveness for some kind of peace. And when she wakes up that exchange is refuted. Gideon frames Harrow’s actions as a rejection of herself out of low self-esteem but also in an attempt to deal with unresolved anger she has towards Harrow, anger that cannot fit into the cavalier role she wants to embody, anger that she attempted to trade away but in actuality can’t. Because the role she was sold, the type of relationship the cavalier and necro is supposed to be, is ultimately false. It encompasses very real and deep relationships, as we have seen, but the framework uses these real elements to its own ends, the Empire’s ends, and despite its proclamations of mutual care the relationship is always at the cavalier’s expense.

This is what it means to say Gideon’s arc in gtn is a corruption arc. It’s not that she becomes “bad,” it’s that the corrupting forces of the narrative have reached out and altered her, worn her down, seduced her even. This is Gideon’s first contact with the wider Empire, in the seat and seed of its wretched power, and it has used her goodness, her capacity for connection (and yes for forgiveness as well!) against her to further ensnare her, to draw her in line with itself. And then she dies for it, as it demands! Wow. And the we have the other side of that, which is when Gideon says “For the Ninth!” she’s signaling to Harrow that she has come to value what Harrow values, just as Harrow herself, watching in horror, has come to realize her values are very fucked up.

And Harrow has indeed realized that by that time! Harrow really does travel such a distance in gtn, but this is largely obscured from us just the same as plot details are in the book, by the limits of Gideon’s perception. And let me be clear: this is a feature, not a bug. It is not a weakness. It is vital! Integral! To the above, and all it entails for Gideon as a character and the overall themes of the series, that Gideon forgive Harrow without Harrow having “earned” it or made real amends. The fact that she does conveys to us everything I’ve just been talking about!

Furthermore, this story is in conversation with a rather particular type of Christianity, but Gideon’s Jesus parallels are even more widely applicable. Forgiveness is kind of a whole theme with that guy, and the book is also plenty interested in what it costs for a human to forgive as divinely as scripture demands (to forgive as the bond demands, as the empire demands). In some ways there are good things that may come of it, sure, but it is not a purely redemptive force for the giver or receiver. It does not necessarily resolve.

I myself can’t say that I ship Gideon and Harrow in the way people traditionally think of shipping, nor as I have traditionally shipped other characters. Still, I reject the notion that that way of relating to each other is not a central part of the questions the book is asking. Like before, when I was talking about Gideon finding something to believe in in the way the adept/cavalier bond is sold to her—although we see that bond encompass many different types of relationships it is in Gideon and Harrow’s case speaking to how romantic love (much like that forgiveness!) is not immediately and entirely redemptive. I mean, Muir does say the series is about how love can be redemptive, but I think can be is the operative phrase here, in that it’s also first demonstrating the ways it’s not, or at least not always the way we think it will be--the limits and then the power. Trying to set that aspect of the relationship aside (like a “sisters” route or something similar) is a weak and queasy side-stepping of the issue.

Remember that interview where Muir says something along the lines of like, she didn’t write it as necessarily romantic but definitely homoerotic? Yeah. 

Despite all that I do want to make it clear that I hope Gideon and Harrow work it out in the end. Just don’t assume the narrative does not understand what working it out might entail. And who knows? I might have the read all wrong. Maybe Muir doesn’t understand what she’s doing. But I feel pretty compelled by the textual evidence.

[fanfalc-616]

The Rights Of A Nindroid

Chapter Seventeen

(Previous Chapter Here)

@ablackswansweet once again helped me with Kyle, he’s basically her OC at this point-

So...

How much do you all hate me? (:

Upon realizing that he had slipped up and thought the way they had wanted him to, Zane redoubled his efforts at resisting.

He cannot fall victim to their lies. He must stay strong. His team is coming for him, it- it has been over six months, yes, but surely they will be here soon. They have not- they would not give up on him, it- they will come for him soon. He only has to hold on a little longer, yes, just a little longer, and then they’ll take him home, back home, back where he is loved and cared for.

Just a little longer.

He can last a little longer.

YOU OKAY?

Zane feels himself shaking, unable to honestly answer the question. He had not told Cryptor of the way he had internally referred to himself as an ‘it’, and he doesn’t plan to. Saying it aloud… acknowledging what he had done seems to make it more real. He would confirm that he is giving into their desires, he would no longer be able to ignore what is staring him in the face.

YES

It’s a lie, plain and simple. Zane is not okay, and he will one day have to come to terms with this fact.

But today is not that day.

Today, he will allow himself the luxury of ignorance.

Today, he holds onto a non-existent shred of dignity.

Today, he lets himself believe in the lie that everything is okay.

That lie is all he has left.

{ { { { { { { { { { ~ } } } } } } } } } }

Cryptor can see through Zane easily. Maybe it’s because he was based on his design, but he’s always known the white ninja better than he’d care to admit.

Zane is not okay, no matter what he says. At this point, it seems like he’s trying to convince himself more than Cryptor.

And that’s a bad sign. A very, very bad sign.

It seems that he’s resisting more, at least- it’s taking longer before they bring him back to the locker, so he must be putting up a fight.

But Cryptor finds himself worrying that it’s more of an extinction burst, a large amount of effort and defiance that happens just before he falls into learned helplessness.

He can’t lose Zane, he- he can’t. At this point, Zane is all he has left.

If he breaks, Cryptor won’t be far behind.

Every day is longer than the one before. It takes every ounce of effort and strength he has to prevent himself from giving in.

But he manages to keep a grip, to hold onto his sanity. He’s going to be fine, he’ll hold out as long as he needs to.

Because this won’t be how it ends. This won’t be how he goes out. He refuses to let himself be brought down, not here, not like this.

If he loses, it’ll be in battle, they will have to take him apart piece by oil-soaked piece.

He still has his dignity, damn it, and that’s one thing that they will never take from him. He might lose it at times, but he won’t give up entirely.

Cryptor isn’t a ninja. He never had been, and doesn’t want to be.

But he will never quit.

That is one thing that him and Zane have in common.

At least… something they had in common.

Now? Now, Cryptor’s not so sure. Zane isn’t quite right anymore. Zane isn’t… he doesn’t seem very Zane, as strange as it sounds.

He’s started to lose himself, started to succumb to the whims of their captors.

Cryptor can only hope that he’ll be able to hang on.

Because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Cryptor is scared. Terrified, actually.

Terrified of their captors.

Terrified of losing Zane.

Terrified of being alone again.

He can’t… he can’t handle being alone again.

Closing his eyes, he realizes that the days he has left are numbered. It’s only so long until Zane breaks.

And when he does, he’ll take Cryptor with him.

Because he can’t handle being alone again. And if the only way to avoid that is becoming their pawn…

Then so be it.

{ { { { { { { { { { ~ } } } } } } } } } }

Sentry looks over at Kyle, who seems deep in thought as he stares at the blueprint for the way the neural net connects to different gears.

“You don’t need to memorize it or anything, you’re mostly just going to be working on some simple mechanisms for now.”

“No I know I don’t need to memorize it, but I was thinking about, maybe, a different design? You know, when you connect the gear mechanisms to the CPU, you should run them through the sensors first. That way it would let a nindroid feel more subtle things, and improve their sensory abilities.”

Blinking a few times, Sentry looks back at the blueprints, comparing the new design idea to the existing one.

“That’s… actually a good idea.” He looks back over at Kyle, impressed with the line of thought. “Granted, feeling things more intensely might cause pain if not regulated properly, but it would be easy enough for them to learn.” While the second part is more to himself than Kyle, the blond seems amused by it, chuckling to himself.

He then mumbles something under his breath that Sentry can’t quite make out, but he elects to ignore it- if Kyle wants him to hear, he’ll speak up. If not, it’s none of his business.

Taking another moment to think on how the different wires might connect, Sentry pulls up a blank blueprint on the screen.

“Could you show me your idea here? A visual model would be helpful.” It’s interesting how quickly Kyle had come up with the idea- it’s almost like he had prior knowledge about how nindroid systems work.

"Yeah sure, give me a minute. I'm just moving this here and…"

Kyle’s nose scrunches up in concentration and he carefully alters the digital blueprint, rearranging the location of the wires and how they connect.

Frowning, Sentry watches the way the wires cross. “Is there enough space to connect things? That looks like it might be painful if put that way.”

Kyle blinks, glancing back over at Sentry.

"Oh! My bad. Made a mistake, don't worry. We wouldn't want to hurt them, now would we?" For a moment, Sentry could swear that there’s a flicker of a smile, a smile that makes him uneasy. But that expression wouldn’t seem to fit what he knows of Kyle, so he shakes his head, brushing it off.

Still, something about the way the words are phrased and spoken puts him on edge. He feels like there’s something he’s missing, but he can’t quite put his finger on what it is.

“No, we wouldn’t.” He agrees, ignoring the feeling. He’s only tense because he’s stressing about Cryptor, that’s all it is. He needs to stop reading into it so much; he has a job and he can’t get distracted so easily.

Kyle fixes the arrangement of the wires before turning back to Sentry with a blinding smile, nothing like the unnerving one that he had though he’d seen.

"Okay, all done! What's next, sir?"

Shaking his head, Sentry gives his own gentle smile. “Just Sentry is fine. And now I think I’ll run this by Dad and see what he thinks about it. Feel free to look around at the other systems while I do.”

"Don't need to tell me twice."

While the response is kind of odd, Sentry ignores the unfounded worry and copies the blueprints to his internal files, heading off to go find Cyrus.

There’s nothing to be worried about. It’s fine.

There- there’s nothing to be worried about. It’s all in his head.

Sentry once again pushes the thoughts from his mind as he steps into the elevator.

Kyle is just an intern. There’s no reason that Sentry should be worried about him.

Still. Maybe a quick background check wouldn’t hurt…

{ { { { { { { { { { ~ } } } } } } } } } }

The damn brat is trying to start up another conversation with him, but Cryptor really doesn’t care about anything he has to say.

"Hey General, you'll never guess what Sentry showed me." Kyle chirps.

Okay. He’s got his attention. “Wh- what who showed you?” A moment too late, Cryptor realizes that he should’ve kept the fear out of his voice.

The blond raises an eyebrow in interest. "The nindroid general, all in white. You must know it, right?"

Cryptor shifts in his bonds as he looks away. “We- we’ve met.” He admits.

"Met, huh. Like Original and its ‘friends’ met?" The amusement in his voice makes Cryptor bristle in annoyance.

“What?! No!” The way his power source heats up refutes his claims, but Cryptor is hoping that Kyle doesn’t notice that.

So maybe he likes Sentry as more than a friend. It doesn’t matter. The other doesn’t like him like that, anyway.

If he really did, he would’ve come to rescue him by now.

"Ow. You're no fun," he says, mockery and mischief in his voice.

Sighing, the nindroid gives in. “... what did he show y- wait.” Sudden fear sets into him. “H- how do you know him?! What did you do?!”

"Calm down, it's not like you personally know the guy, it's not important for you to know how I know it..." It's clear the blond is trying to make him admit something. His choice of words seems very deliberate.

“I- you- that's not…” Cryptor groans, giving in. “Okay, fine, I know him. Now what did you do?”

"Know it how?" He insists, not satisfied with Cryptor's answers.

There’s no getting out of this, is there? Looking down, he speaks up. “He- he saved my life. I owe him.” He admits, choosing not to mention the time they had spent together after the white nindroid had let him stay at Borg Tower.

A low, dangerous chuckle escapes the brat. "I wonder how it'd feel if it knew how useless that was, with you wasting that life here-" His smile grows even wider with each word.

“It’s not like I came here intentionally!” The nindroid snaps, glaring sharply. Does this brat seriously think he can shift the blame onto Cryptor? He’s not stupid.

"And yet the result is the same," he sighs in annoyance. Then, his eyes light up. A terribly unsettling shine, like the sparks of a match before a forest fire. "Oh, I wonder how Martha would like another test subject soon!"

Cryptor feels himself tense up.“Don’t.” He growls out.

The blond doesn't even seem fazed by his threats. "What if we released you in its place? We don't really need three subjects," he admits.

Cryptor feels unease take over him. He- he wouldn’t want Sentry to be stuck here- never in a million years- and he knows that any promise of freedom is a lie, but he… he doesn’t want to be stuck here anymore. He doesn’t want to be hurt anymore.

“I…” He trails off for a moment before managing to continue. “…that… you can’t…”

"Is the heartless and snarky General growing a liking to someone other than itself? Now that's interesting." He sounds amused again. It's really all just a sick game to him.

“Don’t. You can’t just…” Cryptor grits his teeth. “I- I have emotions. You should know this by now. But just because I feel things doesn’t mean I’m attached like that.”

"Then you shouldn't mind if Sentry went missing for a few days." The boy eyes him from the side. "I mean, you don't like it like that, anyways."

He gives his best passive-aggressive smile- or he tries to, before silently cursing at his lack of a faceplate.“You can have friends without romance. Also, fuck you.”

A sharp snicker escapes Kyle. "Always a pleasure talking to you, asshole." He breathes out, then stretches a little. "Anyways… I'm gonna go meet it- uh, him."

Sudden panic washes over him as he stares at the blond. “Don’t- you- you can’t bring him here! Don’t you dare touch him!” He snarls out.

Kyle’s signature psychopathic expression appears on his face. "Oh but I can, I will and I'll dare if it elicits this type of fun reactions out of you." He laughs before heading for the exit. "Bye, don't miss me too much!" He says mockingly, dramatically blowing him a kiss.

“Hey!” Cryptor shouts after him, mind racing as he struggles to figure out what in the name of the FSM he could possibly do in this situation. “Hey, you- come back here! You can’t-“

The voice becomes less and less audible. He can barely make out what the brat yells at him from the hallway. "I'm not listening! I can't hear you anymore! I'm under a tunnel or whatever-"

“No, I- you can’t- that’s not…” Cryptor hesitates as he realizes what he has to do. The only thing he can do that even stands a chance of working.

“I- Master, please! Hurt me! Leave him alone!”

A pause.

Then sounds of running footsteps echoing in the empty spaces get closer. Kyle's head appears at the entrance, a shiny smile on his face. "You called?"

Cryptor struggles to hold onto his pride, to his dignity- but he can’t. He can’t let Sentry get hurt.

“I… M- Master, please, don’t hurt him. Hurt- hurt me instead.” The words are breathed out softly; Cryptor being unable to hold onto his cocky facade. If he had tear ducts, his eyes would likely be watering.

A soft smile replaces the boy's previous expression. He seems… satisfied. That's a first. "Well, I can't say no to you when you beg like that." His finger lightly tapping on his cheek shows he's thinking as he slowly speaks. "And the looming threat of it getting hurt is enough pain on its own for you today, I suppose…"

“I… look, whatever you want.” Cryptor gives in, hating himself for it. “Just… don’t hurt him.”

"Behave and I'll think about it." Kyle's tone is hard, but not mean like before. It looks like he calmed down a little.

“I- I can’t… I…” He’s trembling, he’s shaking so much, but he looks down, admitting defeat. But still, his voice is nothing more than a whisper as he does. “I’ll… I’ll behave.” He breathes out weakly, hating the way he’s forced to let the brat win.

"Good. It'll be safe for as long as you don't cause trouble, alright?" The blond bends down to Cryptor's level, hostility seemingly gone for now. "I kinda like it. Don't make me hurt it."

Cryptor can’t bring himself to look him in the eyes. “I… I won’t cause trouble.” He whispers. “Just… just don’t hurt him.”

Kyle’s laughter is gentle, but it still stings.

They’ve figured out how to get to him, figured out his weakness.

Cryptor feels himself trembling, on the brink of beginning to cry.

He knows that they’ll use this against him. He knows that they’ll use this to break him.

But for Sentry…

He’s willing to break.

[tessiete]

Hiii! I'm in love with your Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan fics, you have such a deep understanding of the characters and their relationship in Legends (old EU) canon and Disney canon,too. It's an absolute joy to read your stories about them,I love the angst,I love the hurt/comfort, I love the sweet moments!!! That's why I've decided to participate in the prompt "game" you posted about on Friday. If you're still taking prompts,I really like #18 or #21 with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, ofc. Have a lovely day ahead!

Oh, thank you so much!! It truly does mean so much to here. Writing is never easy, and so often you rely on instinct, and second guess, but I am so sO SO happy that you enjoy my fics. That’s what it’s about after all - they’re meant for YOU! To love, and to enjoy!

And thank you for contributing to that. I hope you enjoy this prompt fill for #18 (”I am alive. I can tell because of the pain.”) and #21 (”No heart is made of stone.”) Much love!

JUDGEMENT

“Do you think they were...kind?” he asks. “In the end?” 

And though it pains him to speak, Qui-Gon answers honestly.

“No,” he says. “I do not think they were.”

At this, Obi-Wan nods. The judiciary benches have long since emptied, the crowds roused by a hard judgement, and a swiftly executed sentence. There had been jeering, mockery, and cruel laughter, and Obi-Wan had sat silently by Qui-Gon’s side, wrapped utterly in his dark travelling cloak. There had been no gaze to catch, the somber pools of his eyes concealed by the drape of his hood. Neither had there been a hand to hold, their delicate articulations twisted so deep within the folds of coarse fabric as to be invisible to Qui-Gon’s searching grasp. 

Instead, he’d remained stoic, hardly breathing as the magistrate had condemned a young woman to death. 

And it had been Obi-Wan’s word which brought her there.

“I do not think that I should be a Jedi.”

The phrase is whispered, whistled through the clenched teeth, and cracked lips of Qui-Gon’s charge. It is quiet, as though he cannot bear the thought of his pronouncement, but it is also clear, and earnestly meant.

On this, Qui-Gon is not so certain as his padawan, but it is not his place to refute him. Only Obi-Wan can do that. Qui-Gon Jinn is a Master, and it is his job to teach.

So he swallows, shifts his weight, and allows the contours of his body to fall into something more relaxed, hoping to coax Obi-Wan along with him. But Obi-Wan does not relent. So Qui-Gon seeks to educate him.

“And why do you think that?”

The boy turns to him abruptly, offended by the possibility that Qui-Gon cannot see how clearly he has transgressed, and how unworthy it must make him.

“Is it not obvious, Master?” he demands, some fire warming his benumbed lips. “I have murdered her.”

“It is not you who has shaved her head, or torn her limb from limb. It is not you who cried for blood. You did not sentence her. You did not bring her here. You did not sanction or commit her crimes.”

“But I told you who she was.”

“Ah,” says Qui-Gon, comprehension beating a percussive note from his lips. He leans forward, elbows braced upon his thighs, his hair trailing over his knees as he sits in deep thought, puzzling out the stars with Obi-Wan. “Then do you suggest it is my fault for alerting the authorities? Or for failing to negotiate a plea, or mitigate her sentence?”

“No!” cries Obi-Wan. The edge of his hood is too slow to keep pace with the padawan’s thoughts, and slips over his ear to catch and expose his pale face to Qui-Gon’s contemplation. “You tried,” he insists. “Even when it made them angry, even when they threatened to arrest you with her - you still tried...I only tattled.”

“Oh, Obi-Wan,” the master sighs. “Can you not see how cruelly you accuse yourself?”

“She came to me for help,” Obi-Wan protests. “And I killed her for it.”

“No,” says Qui-Gon, firm in this where moments before he has been lax. But then, it had been an exercise, and he had meant for Obi-Wan to reason his way into illumination. Instead, he sinks deeper into self-recrimination, and despair, both of which are far less becoming of a Jedi than an optimistic spirit and faith in his elders. This cannot continue. “You are a child, Obi-Wan,” he says.

“I’m thirteen!”

“And I have lived more than three of your lifetimes, my padawan. Grant me the benefit of the doubt when it comes to accumulated wisdom, both as your teacher, and your elder.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw snaps shut, his eyes falling low. A narrow hand has emerged to pick at a loose thread, worrying the small flaw into a larger fraying edge.

“Yes, Master Qui-Gon,” he mumbles. 

“You are a child, and this woman came to you because she knew you would act as such. She wanted sympathy. She wanted malleability. She wanted a defender who could neither judge nor question her.”

“She used me.”

“We are Jedi, Master Kenobi,” he says. “We come to be used. We arrive with every intent to serve. We are here to help in any way we can, as best we can. You helped her.”

Obi-Wan says nothing, unconvinced, but a drop of water, illumined by the sun slipping slowly beyond the horizon, falls hot and shining upon the sea of cloth pooled in Obi-Wan’s lap. It disappears in almost the same instant, only to be chased by another, and another.

“None of that,” sighs Qui-Gon. He is a proud man, he knows, and gruff besides, but he is no stoic, not like the stubborn boy beside him. And he is proud of him. So he does what Obi-Wan so vehemently chastises himself for now: he shows him kindness. He reaches out and pulls his padawan close, until Obi-Wan’s head is tucked beneath his chin, until his cold hands slide beneath the folds of Qui-Gon’s own cloak to feel the heat of him beneath, until his upset is soothed and muffled by the low susurrations of Qui-Gon’s voice, vibrating like tectonics shifting in his chest. “It will be alright.”

“It still feels wrong,” cries Obi-Wan, his anguish drowning in his throat. “It still feels unfair. It still hurts.”

“It will always hurt, young one,” Qui-Gon says.

At this, Obi-Wan’s upset turns briefly to rage, flickering impotently against the sea before being drowned again by sorrow. “Well, I wish it didn’t,” he says. 

“Don’t say that,” Qui-Gon chides. “It must hurt. It is right that it hurts. You must know it hurts me too, but that is how I know I am alive - I can tell because of the pain. I would never wish something as awful as apathy on you.”

“Well, I do wish it,” Obi-Wan says, tearful and insistent. “I wish I didn’t care. I wish I was numb. I wish I was ice.”

“Do you think that would help?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then I shall tell you, dear Obi-Wan,” says Qui-Gon, his mouth close to his padawan’s ear. “It would not. Ice melts, after all. It does no good to turn away, and leave others to their strife.”

“And yet, everyone here did!” the boy cries. He pulls away to stare Qui-Gon square in the face, his little visage torn and scarred with salt-stained grief. “They didn’t care that she was to be killed.”

“They’ve been hurt, as well,” he replies. “They are also mourning.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “No,” he says, a flat denial. “They liked it. They were happy.” 

“And can those things not grow from anger, grief, or fear? Can not the Dark rejoice in the sufferings of any heart?”

Obi-Wan frowns. His tears abate, and he takes a deep, gasping breath before laying his head down on Qui-Gon’s broad shoulder.

“Then perhaps one must not simply be cold,” the child suggests. “Perhaps it would be better to be made entirely of stone, so that nothing at all can touch you.”

“Oh, my padawan,” Qui-Gon sighs. He holds his burden close, and runs his fingers through the copper strands of tangled hair pressed against his breast. “No heart is made of stone. They are fragile, heavy things, and that is why we must be so careful with them.”

[harlot-of-oblivion]

The Heart of the Camellia(Part 7)

After having dinner with the rest of the crew, Vergil offers to walk you home while trying to solve a puzzling conundrum: how to ask you to be his date to the wedding.

It's finally back after two LONG months! Hope you guys enjoy this flowery installment! 🌺😊🌺

The song featured is To a Wild Rose by Edward MacDowell, but I listened to the Emile Pandolfi version while writing that scene...its a tad bit longer and has more embellishments here and there. 🌹🥰🌹

Here’s the link to the list of all the flowers featured in this part.🌸💖🌸

Chapter 2: Wild Roses, Wild Nights

There is one thing that Vergil has not gotten used to since living in the human world, and that is being social among a big crowd of people. The clatter of utensils and clicking of glasses makes it hard to concentrate on his own thoughts as everyone chatters and bickers around the table. In all honesty, this racket would usually make him a tad bit uncomfortable, but the presence of you, his lovely rose, sitting beside him brings peace of mind during the chaos of dinner with the crew.

As you laugh at his brother’s punny jokes and smile happily while talking with Kyrie, he cannot help but to admire you from the corner of his eye. He especially pays close attention to the beautifully crafted flower crown that adorns your head. The delicate vines of pink wisteria intertwining seamlessly with the bright lavender asters adds a certain allure to your enchanting charm. His mind keeps mulling over the meaning of the flowers, which never fails to summon that familiar warmth deep within his chest.

I feel the blossoming of love.

And perfect patience will help it bloom.

Vergil’s hands begin to fidget underneath the table as he concentrates on keeping his usual cool composure. Normally, his demeanor is quite calm during these social engagements with the crew, but he recalls Dante talking him into wearing an entirely different wardrobe. It’s highly aggravating that my meddlesome brother has been going through my closet…again, Vergil huffs in his head. But he relents to his brother’s advice despite feeling wary about being deprived of a familiar comfort just so he did not keep everyone waiting.

He picks out a nice dark blue button up shirt and a pair of black dress pants with a matching trench coat before quickly getting ready. When he heads back downstairs, some of the crew raise an eyebrow at him, noticing the obvious change of his usual attire. But he swells with pride when he catches sight of your flushed face as he walks over to you. It reminds him of the expression you had when he was talking to you into the shop’s kitchen, cheeks growing pinker the longer your eyes linger over his bare chest.

As he remembers your cute blunder about “doing pretty boy” his lips twitch into a smug grin, utterly satisfied with himself for rousing such a flustered reaction from you. And when he discerns just how affected you are by his change of clothes…perhaps he should change his wardrobe more often, especially if it elicits such an endearing blush upon your lovely face.

The smug grin quickly disappears, however, when the rather awkward ride in the Devil May Cry van plays in his mind. Usually, there is just barely enough room for the whole crew to stuff themselves inside the messy RV, but there are not enough seats with you joining them. Dante loudly informs you that you can share “frowny flower’s” seat just as Nico revs the engine. Vergil glares his brother’s vulgar suggestion but makes the split-second decision to sit you astride his lap so that you would not get knocked back by Nico’s horrendous driving skills.    

Just the mere memory of your body bouncing against his thighs makes his heart hammer in his chest while his hands fidget faster underneath the table. He remembers having to summon all his willpower not to visibly blush, trying hard not be enraptured by your intoxicating scent while you clutch his shoulders tightly. And any inappropriate thoughts about the sounds that came out of your mouth during the whole ride was quickly snuffed out before you or anyone was none the wiser.

“Flower for your thoughts?”

Vergil feels dainty fingers gently cover his jittery hands as your sweet inquiry brings him out of his improper ruminations. His eyes dart over and peer down at your slightly worried face, your thumb brushing the back of his knuckle fondly as you lean in closer to hear his answer. The corners of his mouth lift into a soft grin before he entwines his fingers with yours as he leans down and whispers by your ear.

“It seems the crew enjoys your company, Y/N.”

A brilliant smile lights up your face. “I can’t help that I’m so poplar!” you lightly jest with a cute pun, cheeks turning pink as you demurely turn your head away.

He chuckles softly, feeling much more at ease as his thumb strokes the back of your hand. When you slip back into the many conversations going on over the table, he notices a certain spark of joy in your eyes as you joke and chat with the rest of the crew. He knows how lonely you get outside of his visits to your garden, and when Dante suggested that you should tag along for dinner, he did not hesitate to invite you.

And now you’re the epitome of beauty in full bloom, my lovely rose.  

Vergil continues to hold your hand away from the prying eyes of the crew underneath the table. He squeezes and caresses your hand every now and then all through dinner, secretly enjoying the subtle glances and coy smirks you give him while caressing his hand back. And towards the end of dinner, he finds himself easily joining in on whatever brash banter and ludicrous tales Dante is currently spinning, inserting his own wry and deadpan comments here and there in between his retelling.

After they are done with dinner, Vergil steels himself for another awkward ride as the crew heads back to the accursed van. You gently tug on his sleeve on the way though and softly point out with an encouraging grin that it is not too far of walk back to your home. His lips curl into a thankful smirk before offering his arm to you as he announces to the rest of the crew that both of you will be walking instead of enduring Nico’s reckless driving again.

“Pff! Still got us here before the big dinner rush, didn’t I?” Nico argues loudly as she tries to light up a cigarette. Before Vergil can even refute her claim, Dante rushes over and quickly cuts him off.

“Say it ain’t cilantro!” he exclaims dramatically while raising his fists towards the sky in mock anguish. Vergil just gives his fool of a brother a blank stare while you laugh and answer him with one of your puns.

“Get clover it!” you quip back playfully.

Dante clutches his chest and gasps. “Your words…they prick me, Buttercup!”

Vergil pinches his brow. “We must make haste before it gets dark, Dante.”

And with that, both of you say your farewells to the crew before departing. Kyrie and Lady both give you a light hug while Nero waves and nods from afar. Dante claps a hand on his shoulder and gives him the most exaggerated wink in all of existence. Vergil scowls at him, feeling close to summoning a sword right behind his nosy brother, but thankfully you are unaware of his brother’s horrible attempt at subtlety.  

Both of you stroll down the street while you gush about the crew and how much fun you had getting to know them over dinner. Vergil smiles and listens intently to your enthusiastic praise, interjecting every now and then with his own commentary, most of them being sarcastic jabs directed towards his brother. You laugh at his wry attempt at humor, affection gleaming behind your eyes as you pull yourself closer to his arm.

Sometime during the light conversation, he recalls the reason behind Dante’s idiotic wink. A couple of days ago, he and his brother received an official invitation to his son’s wedding personally from Kyrie. The invitation itself was very elegant with neat cursive cordially inviting him and “plus one” to the wedding. He remembers raising an eyebrow at this odd phrase and asking his future daughter-in-law the meaning behind it. She smiled sweetly before explaining that she thought he might like to invite a friend as his date to the wedding.  

It only took Vergil a moment to deduce Kyrie’s true intentions before his heart skipped a beat. Even now, as he walks through the city streets with you, just the mere thought of asking you to be his date to the wedding makes him feel both eager and apprehensive. What utter nonsense…a Son of Sparda shouldn’t hesitate, he mentally berates himself. But that still does not quell the odd churning sensation in his stomach as his mind begins to frantically reel, trying to sort out how he should exactly go about this little conundrum.

“That crinkly brow of yours has racked up quite the bouquet today!”

Your cheery voice knocks him out his fretful thoughts. “I beg your pardon?” he replies, never slowing his stride while peering down at you as his brow furrows in slight agitation.

“Oh!” you gasp. “Is that a grumpy frown I see?” you observe playfully, trying your best not to smile by biting your lower lip. “You know what that means…!”

Before he can even retort with his own wry response, you are already throwing the hand not currently wrapped around his arm high up into the air. The bright blue petals of forget-me-nots fall around him soon after, gracefully drifting down as a triumphant grin spreads across your face. Vergil sighs as he passes through the tiny cloud of flowers, but he can never find it in him to be truly annoyed by your spontaneous flower showers.

“You’re just as ridiculously charming as always, Y/N,” he teases you softly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a soft smile as he relishes the blush creeping up your jubilant cheeks.

You giggle softly before clearing your throat. “As I was saying,” you reiterate, placing your free hand back on his arm. “What kind of wedding present are you getting for the happy couple?”

“I must confess,” Vergil starts as you both pause at a corner of a street. “I am…uncertain of what is expected from me in regard to a proper gift,” he admits as his eyes check both sides of the road before leading you across the street.  

“I can help you with that!” you declare with a vibrant grin.

Vergil gives you a grateful smile. “Any assistance you can offer is greatly appreciated, Y/N.”

Both of you brainstorm about what kind of wedding gift is suitable for a father to give his son for the rest of the walk. You list off a bunch of ideas while Vergil listens, nodding his head in approval at some of your suggestions while pondering why weddings have so many complicated customs. However, none of the suggested gifts resonate with him, so you go about it from a different angle. You steer the conversation towards his own interests, explaining that maybe Nero would appreciate a gift that brings his father joy and experience it together.

My lovely rose, you are not only beautiful, but utterly brilliant as well, Vergil mentally praises you as he gazes down at you warmly. He lists off a few of his interests, some you already know about it, but he goes into more detail about why he enjoys them. You grow quiet and stare up at him, tilting your head in thought as you listen attentively to his every word. Your eyes light up when he talks about his prowess in the world of music, absolutely gaping up at him as he mentions his preferred instrument.          

“You have got to be plucking my petal! You play the violin?”

Vergil smirks at your astonished outburst. “I’m quite the accomplished violinist if I do say so myself,” he claims proudly just as he rounds the corner of your street. A contemplative silence is the only answer he receives from you as he leads you towards your very welcoming home. He looks over to see you chewing your lower lip, lost in your own thoughts as your free hand twirls the end of your intricately braided hair.

“Y/N?” he calls out softly as you both walk up your driveway. “Are you well?”

“Yeah!” You blink your eyes a couple of times as you look around and realize where you are. “Just thinking,” you trail off before flashing him a speculative smile. “Does the power of Sparda include the talent for musical performance?”

Vergil quirks an eyebrow at your curious question. “It just so happens that it does.” He ponders for a moment before the meaning behind your question truly sinks in. “Are you suggesting-”

“A violin performance!” you finish, shaking his arm in excitement as you pause in front of your porch. “A stirring violin solo for Nero and Kyrie on their special day!” 

“Hmm…it’s an intriguing idea,” Vergil hums, brow furrowing in thought as he goes over the merits of such a gift. A violin performance does not align itself with the usual choice of wedding gifts, but it most certainly would be very memorable. It would also be a genuine gift from a father to his son, sharing a part of himself that no one has seen for many years. There is only one obstacle that stands in the way of this gift coming to fruition though.

“Unfortunately, the ever-present inconvenience known as my boorish brother does not make the shop the best place for practice,” he bemoans while rolling his eyes in irritation.

“You can borrow my music room if you want,” you propose sweetly.

Vergil’s eyes snap over to you, unsure that he heard you correctly. “Did you say…music room?”

“Yeah!” you confirm with a nod of your head. “C’mon,” you pull on his arm, gently coaxing him to follow you up the porch. “I’ll show you!”

“Well, this is certainly a surprise,” Vergil wonders aloud as you lead him through the front door of your home. “I did not know that you’re a musician as well.”

“I’m not really a musician,” you explain, putting down your purse and straightening your pink floral dress. “Not anymore at least,” you add wistfully as while making your way towards a set of stairs.  

Your sudden change of tone does not go unnoticed by Vergil as he follows close behind. Ever since this friendship between you two has blossomed, he has only ever seen you sad once…when you shared your complicated family history. And now, as he climbs up the stairs, he surmises that this music room must have been your mother’s when both of you lived here. An awful stinging sensation starts to prickle in his chest, not enjoying the fact that he may see you wracked with melancholy again.

Both of you pass by a couple doors before stopping in front of one at the end of the upstairs hall. “And here we are!” you announce in a more chipper tone as you turn the knob and open the door.

The strong scent of dust assaults Vergil’s nose as he steps through the threshold. It is very reminiscent of the stale musty scent of old books wafting through the air of a foregone library. But as he surveys the room, he notes that instead of books, there are shelves and racks full of various instruments and musical accoutrements. And in one corner of the room sits an impressive grand piano, which has escaped the wrath of the dust by being covered with a big piece of white cloth.

“Sorry about the mess!” you fret softly, rushing over a particularly display case. “No matter how many times I dust…!” You take a deep breath and blow a heavy coating of dust off the glass, showing an array of unique instruments inside.

“I take it that all of this is…?” Vergil’s question trails off as his eyes motion towards the entirety of the room.

“My mother was also quite the accomplished musician,” you reveal while turning around to face him. “And she played…well, everything!” you laugh while stretching your arms out wide for emphasis. “This is her instrument collection.” You gesture towards the glass display cases behind you. “And this over here,” you walk across the room and pause in front of a couple of bookshelves, “is where all the sheet music is stored. There’s even some of my mother’s own music that she composed herself!” you announce proudly while pointing to a few folders abundant with pages of staff paper.

Vergil steps over to the shelf and examines the various selection of sheet music. “This is a very impressive collection,” he marvels. “May I?” He reaches for the folders that you indicated as your mother’s original work. You smile and give him an eager nod, which knocks your flower crown slightly askew. This, however, does not diminish your beauty; in fact, it just makes you even more lovely in his eyes. He finds himself subtly admiring you from the corner of his eye as he pulls out the proper folder and begins studying the a few pages filled with ingenious music.  

Your smile turns into a pensive grin as you glance around the room quietly beside him. You hum quietly when something catches your eye in the corner of the room opposite of the piano. “This is where I practiced my breathing techniques,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him, as you wander over to a small chair and table with a candlestick atop its surface. “I tried so hard to not the snuff out the candle while I sang.”

“Now I know why your singing is always so impeccably in tune,” Vergil remarks without looking up from the sheet music. He sees your head snap over towards him in his peripheral vision, eyes wide in surprise as your cheeks turn wonderfully rosy. His lips curl into a cocky grin as he closes the folder and places it back to its proper place on the shelf. He turns his gaze over to the covered piano and raises an inquisitive brow at you. “Do you know how to play?” he asks, finally relenting to the genuine curiosity that has been building up inside him since walking into this room.  

“My grandmother taught me when I lived with her,” you answer softly as you go over to the piano and grab one end of the cloth covering it. You swiftly pull it off in one motion and uncover a spectacularly crafted grand piano. The varnish of its black silken surface shines brightly as you clap your hands free of dust before propping the lid up. The stunning visual of dragonflies buzzing around colorful flowers is painted on the inner side of the lid, a hidden display of rustic beauty among all the elegant majesty.  

You pull out the stool and sit down in front of the keyboard. “Hmm,” you ponder aloud as your hands take up position atop the black and white keys. “It probably needs to be tuned, but…” Your voice fades away as you begin to play the piano.

Vergil is transfixed on the spot as you fill the room with a sincerely charming melody. The song is a pleasant piece called To a Wild Rose if memory serves him right, but it is not what has him so captivated as he listens to your impromptu performance. He cannot help but to compare you to a flower blowing softly in a spring breeze as you sway gently in time with the tune. And every time you close your eyes when the music starts swelling up with emotion he feels utterly entranced like a bee to a bloom, drawing ever closer to his lovely rose as you continue to serenade him with delightful music.

Carefully, he treads across the room to stand beside you, making sure that his presence does not break your concentration as you continue to play. He takes the time to admire the lovely profile of your face as your fingers glide gracefully across the keys, adoring the subtle twitch of your lips as they curl into a tender smile at every musical refrain. But upon closer inspection his keen eyes detect a certain sadness within that warm smile. The pin prickling sensation that always arises within his chest at the mere thought of you being unhappy flares up again as you play the song to its conclusion.      

The final notes of the song echo in the room as your eyes crack open and begin searching for him, looking a bit perplexed until you glance over to your side. “Hoppin’ hyssop!” you gasp, jumping in your seat a little as you clutch your chest in relief.

Vergil smirks as you huff indignantly at him, still so amused by your flowery exclamations every time he manages to startle you with his sudden appearances. But your annoyed expression soon melts away as he continues to hold your gaze. His mind begins to shuffle through many different possibilities, wondering what words he can say that will grace him with that radiant smile once more.      

“Flower for your thoughts?”

He tilts his head at the sound of your endearing question. “You play so beautifully,” he declares, enjoying the way your face flushes at his compliment as he bends down to take a seat on the piano stool. “And yet there was an air of melancholy around you while playing such a delightful song.”

You wince at his words and quickly glance away to stare down at the keyboard as he settles in beside you. Good going, you dunce, Vergil sarcastically rebukes himself. At this rate, you will assuredly win her over with this frank conversation. He flounders for a moment, trying to figure out how to salvage this blundering exchange, but your soft affirmation stops him short.  

“I know,” you sigh, “it’s just…” you pause for a moment, hands wringing the end of your braid as you bite your lower lip. “This room is like bittersweet vines growing in a berry bush.”

Vergil’s brow furrows in confusion at your words. You look up from the keyboard and giggle softly when you see him arch an eyebrow, silently asking you to elaborate on your odd berry analogy. “No matter how hard I try to only pick the sweetest berries from the bush,” you begin explaining while leaning your head to rest against his shoulder. “I still end up eating a few bittersweet ones.”

It grows quiet between the two of you as Vergil makes sense of your words, turning them over and over in his head. He finds it hard to focus though with you nuzzling up against his arm, which summons a strange fluttering feeling in his stomach. But despite the pleasant distraction he somehow manages to understand your words, and it strikes a chord deep within him.

Even though you have moved on to live a better life…the past still comes back to haunt you ever now and then. He knows this feeling very well since he is guilty of brooding on occasion. The prickling in his chest squeezes around his heart as thoughts of his mother come unbidden to the forefront of his mind. Unfortunately, this always brings back memories of the pain he had to endure over the years since that dreadful day, along with the incessant urge to get away from these unpleasant recollections.  

Vergil wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer to him, seeking the solace he currently craves while hopefully bringing you comfort as well. “If it’s too much trouble,” he whispers close by your ear, “I can find somewhere else to-”

“No!” You shake your head gently and gaze up at him with beseeching eyes. “You need a place to practice!” Your face softens as a reassuring grin enhances the rosy hue of your cheeks. “And I think it will be good for me to hear music in this room again.”

Vergil regards you curiously. “And why is that?”

“Even bittersweet berries can lose their acidity with enough sugar.”

And with that small bit of gardening wisdom you finally grace him with the radiant smile that always puts him under your dazzling spell. His lips curve into a warm smile as he lifts his other hand and straightens your flower crown. “Perhaps we can practice together?” he suggests softly.

“Oh, no!” you blurt out while bowing your head down bashfully. “I’m horribly out of practice and I would just slow you down.”

“Nonsense,” he scoffs as his hand gently lifts your chin and beholds your wondrous gaze as his thumb softly strokes your cheek. “It would be an honor to play the violin while you play a piano accompaniment.”

Vergil can practically feel the heat emanating from your blush as it rushes through your cheeks. “Umm, well,” you mumble quietly, “when you put that way…” You give him a gracious smile and a slight nod of your head. “How could I refuse a such an earnest request from such a strikingly handsome devil?”

The melancholic mood hanging in the air completely dissipates and the prickling in his chest releases its grip to make way for the pleasant warmth now flooding through his entire body. He hums and gives you a pleased grin before sighing softly. “I must take my leave soon,” he informs you, which makes your lower lip poke out in a disappointed pout. “But what do you say,” he continues while withdrawing from your personal space, “to a stroll in the garden before I depart?”

“Ooh!” Your pout instantly disappears as you playfully gasp in surprise. “You know it’s pretty rare for me to amble though the flowers at night nowadays!”

“Yes,” he grumbles lowly as his brow furrows in irritation while the memory of the Fury demon attacking you in your garden flashes before his eyes. “At least…not without me as your escort,” he tacks on as an afterthought, hoping that you understand that he only wants to protect you from another horde of demons should they show up after nightfall.

Your eyes soften as you reach up to take his hand, which is still holding your chin. “I know, Vergil.” You stare deeply into his eyes for a moment before flashing a bright smile. “Well, c’mon!” you exclaim excitedly, shooting out of your seat and pulling him around the piano by the hand. “Let’s go!”

Vergil follows you out of the music room, down the stairs, and through the hall into your kitchen. You open the back door and lead him through its threshold, instantly transporting him into another world filled with wonderous blooms. He takes in the pleasant perfume of your garden as you wrap your arm around his elbow. Both of you walk among the flowers nurtured by your own hand, enjoying each other’s company in comfortable silence as twilight settles over the sky.

Even though is quiet between the two of you, Vergil’s mind is a torrent of activity, going back to the matter of asking you to be his “plus one” to the wedding. This stroll through the garden is the perfect opportunity to bring it up, but he is still struggling with the proper words. As he guides you down a more secluded path of your garden, an impressive section of flowers catches his eye. Their delicately layered petals closely resemble a rose, but upon closer inspection he recognizes them to be camellias.

Vergil’s mind immediately stops whirling as he focuses on their meaning. His feet move of their own accord towards the romantic flowers while he draws out a plan inside his head. You look up at him inquisitively as he guides you off the path. “Straying away for a closer look?” you inquire sweetly.

“Yes,” he replies, determination flowing through him as he marches on until coming to a halt in front of the beautiful blooms. “I presume you know about the heart of the camellia?” he questions while peering down at you for confirmation. “How the petals and the…” His mind comes to a blank as he tries to recall the correct term for the leafy part of the stem.

“Calyx,” you inform quietly, nodding your head gently as your eyes gleam with interest.

Vergil hums in appreciation before releasing your arm. “They never separate from each other,” he begins to explain, bending down to pick a pink camellia, the marvelous flower of longing. “Even after death…the petals don’t fall off first like many other flowers,” he continues as his hand moves over and plucks a red camellia, the vibrant flower of passion and deep desire. “They’re always…” He stands back up and turns to face you once more with both flowers in hand.

As he takes a step up get closer to you, Vergil notes how the asters of your flower crown sparkle like stars in the waning light of twilight. His eyes never stray from your tender gaze as he reaches for your hand, and places it on top of his other hand holding the camellias. “Together,” he finishes softly, stroking your hand gently as he relishes the crimson blush spreading across your face, which can only mean that you understand what he is trying to say:  

My heart yearns for you with a fiery passion every moment we are apart.

“Y/N, my lovely rose,” he utters the term of endearment he refers to you in the privacy of his mind aloud for the first. You gasp quietly as his body presses even closer to you and gazes upon your stunning visage with heavy lidded eyes, adoring the way your blushing cheeks glow in the fast approaching night. “Would you do me the honor of being my date to the wedding?”

Your eyes widen as his heartfelt request hangs in the air unanswered. But Vergil’s able to pinpoint the exact moment you comprehend his question as the light in your brilliant eyes shifts from uncertainty to elation. “Yes!” you burst out with a joyous smile. Your arms wrap around his neck as you jump up on the balls of your feet, pulling him into your tight embrace as you squeal in delight by his ear. “Yes, of course I’ll be your date to the wedding!”    

Vergil stands there dumbfound for a moment, still getting used to this kind of close contact, but then he remembers to encircle your waist with his arms. He places the hand still holding the camellias in between your shoulders and the other rests on the small of your back. His head starts to spin as the fragrance of flowers along with your own intoxicating scent ensnares his senses and lulls him into a fervent stupor.

You shift your head back to stare up at him with a radiant smile, which only seems to set that warm feeling pooling in his belly ablaze. He bends his head down and just before he can even fathom what he is doing…his lips press a tender kiss between your brow. His ears pick up a low gasp from you, and he fears for a moment that this gentle gesture is unwanted. But when you let out a sigh of delight and slide your arms from around his neck down to rest against his chest, all tension leaves his body as he lets all his worries go and just basks in this intimate moment between you, him, and the lovely flowers.    

It feels like an entire lifetime has passed until Vergil finally moves away, already missing the feel of your silken skin against his lips the second they leave your brow. He glances down and notices that your eyes are closed, so he rests his head against your forehead and hums softly before he speaks. “It’s getting late,” he murmurs, watching closely as your eyes flutter open and gift him with the sight of your adoring gaze. “I must take my leave now.”

A tiny sliver of sadness twinkles in your eye as your mouth twists into a forlorn frown. “I wish twilight would last just a little bit longer,” you grumble, pressing yourself deeper into his embrace as your hands cling to his shirt.

Vergil chuckles softly at your adorable show of stubbornness while he removes his hand from the small of your back to cup your cheek. Your face is so close his now…he can feel your every breath against his lips. It grows incredible quiet as something shifts in the air, the tenderness from a moment ago now replaced with something more intense. He wants to admit to you that he also abhors leaving your side day after day, but it seems his mind is struggling to find the proper words. So, he does what he has always done in the past: recite a poem that perfectly captures this heady moment:    

Wild nights - Wild nights!

Where I with thee

Wild nights should be

Our luxury!

 Futile - the winds -

To a Heart in port -

Done with the Compass -

Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden -

Ah - the Sea!

Might I but moor - tonight -

In thee!

When his recitation ends, he nuzzles his face even closer to yours, feeling you take several shaky breaths as he tenderly brushes his thumb across your cheek. Even though there is not much light outside his keen eyes can still detect the endearing blush upon your lovely face, reminding him more and more of the camellias at his feet. He can also see your eyes glowing with unrestrained ardor and once again he feels himself getting pulled closer and closer…    

Vergil turns his head slightly and presses a soft kiss just above the corner of your lips. You whimper softly and clutch onto his shirt tighter, which only stirs the flames of desire as he withdraws, enjoying the satisfaction that comes with coaxing that exquisite sound from you. “I shall escort you back to you home now,” he declares softly while taking a step back and offering his arm to you.

“Huh?” You shake your head and blink your eyes a couple times before fully registering his words. You glare at him cutely as you take his arm and Vergil just smiles smugly in return before leading you back to your house through the garden. When both of you arrive at the backdoor of your home, you pout and sigh sadly as you glance up at him with doleful eyes. “Well…here we are,” you state the obvious as you continue to cling to his arm. “I guess I’ll see you soon?” you ask with a hopeful smirk.

Vergil hums in amusement before freeing himself from your vice grip on his arm. He gently takes both of your hands and places a kiss atop both of your knuckles before responding. “Until we meet again, my lovely rose.”

You grant him one last radiant smile before heading into your house, but then you turn around and peek your head out through the door. “Until then…Vergil,” you murmur back with an impish grin as you slowly reach out and take the pink camellia from his grasp. Your delicate fingers caress the inside of his palm before retreating to your side, giving him one last longing look before closing the door.

A dreamy smile sneaks onto Vergil’s face as he exits your garden through the back gate, not bothering with summoning the Yamato and opening a portal back to the shop. Instead, he strolls down several streets, feeling like the luckiest devil in the world while the day’s events play in his mind like a movie. The entertaining dinner with the rest of the crew, the discovery of your music room, the passionate moment by the camellias…he is still flying high from the fact that you wholeheartedly agreed to be his date to the wedding!

When he finally arrives at his destination, he completely forgets to reign in his dreamlike state as he opens the door and enters the shop. He is vaguely aware of Dante sitting behind his desk, gawking at him like an oafish buffoon as he drifts past the desk and up the stairs without so much as a greeting. His mind is too occupied with thoughts of your radiant smile, your welcoming embrace, and that lovely sound you uttered when he nearly kissed your lips.

As Vergil enters his room, he wonders if he could talk you into performing with him at the wedding. And if he is successful…he hums at his own clever idea since that would mean even more time spent with his lovely rose. He brings the red camellia up to his nose for a sniff, feeling excited by what may blossom from his more amorous advances in the future. And as he stores the desirous bloom with the growing pile of gifted flowers, he muses that you are like its delicately layered petals and he is like the protective calyx underneath them.

And both are bound together by the heart of the camellia.

Read Part 8 (Ch.1) right here

Read  on Ao3

My Masterlist if you want more 💖

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[reddieorrnot]

short soulmate au where richie is a little bitch :)

“So... I finally heard him last night.”

Eddie snapped his head up from his book and glanced over to Beverly. The redhead was perched on her bed, looking right back at him. It took him a second to realize what she meant, his eyes widening when he finally connected the dots. 

“Your soulmate?” He exclaimed, setting down the piece of fiction and crawling up to her bed to sit beside her body. She giggled at his excitement and gave him a small nod, her hair moving along with her head. “Well? How’d you do it?”

Everyone knew that when the time came, you could hear what your soulmate was hearing. It all came at its own moment though, if it was too early in one’s life or one of the soulmates weren’t ready yet, you wouldn’t be able to hear anything. But if it was the right time, communication could be done by talking out loud. The idea always excited Eddie, and it made him a tiny bit nervous at the same time. He, like most people, was a little anxious that their soulmate wouldn’t like them. Beverly always told him that was impossible because it would be his literal soulmate. He was also scared he would just never hear anything, that he just didn’t have a soulmate. 

Late at night every day, when he was positive his mother had fallen asleep, Eddie would lie in his bed looking up at the ceiling. He would close his eyes, and put all his focus on his hearing, listening to everything around him. He would try to find some sort of noise that sounded like it couldn’t be coming from his room, like some sort of cough or sneeze or anything. He would have taken anything at that point. And when he didn’t hear anything, Eddie would gently whisper into the night a small greeting, just in case his soulmate was too shy to speak first. He would do that daily and had done it for a while. But there was a consistent rate of failure. 

His personal disappointment, fortunately, did not cloud his happiness for Beverly, though. 

“Well, I just knew somehow when I started hearing him. Like even if there had been a highway next to me, which there wasn’t because I was just in my room, I would have heard even the quietest pin drop from his side.”

Eddie listened to her, lips parted in a tiny gasp, hanging onto her every word. Maybe it was because her words were so enchanting, or because she was so beautiful, but Eddie couldn’t tear his attention away no matter what. Beverly and he had been friends since sixth grade, now going onto 5 years as they started Junior year. Eddie would never understand why such a cool girl would ever want to be his friend. She wore the coolest clothes, listened to the coolest music. And Beverly even carried around gum and a small perfume for after she smoked, just for Eddie’s behalf. It was incredibly kind, and made Eddie feel like his opinion mattered. Beverly was one of the best things to ever happen to him. 

If I wasn’t gay, Eddie thought, I would wish for you to be my soulmate. 

“He was writing a poem, something about the seasons, and I guess I must have heard him proofreading it out loud. I was so freaked out, Eddie, you don’t understand,” By this point, Beverly had sat up and now was facing Eddie, clutching his hands on hers. “And then, I finally spoke. I was like, ‘Hello?’ and he immediately stopped talking. Probably from like... shock or something.”

“Then what?” 

“Then he replied, and he couldn’t believe he could hear me! He’s got the sweetest voice, I swear. We stayed up so late talking, just about ourselves and our lives. He actually doesn’t live too far...” Beverly’s gaze drifted from Eddie to out her window, it reminded Eddie of some cinematic moment, the way the light hit her eyes that you could see them twinkling. 

“Bev, what’s his name?”

She giggled again, “Oh gosh, I forgot to tell you that part, didn’t I? His name is Ben, Ben Hanscom.”

Eddie smiled and brought Beverly in for a hug, “I’m so happy for you.”

“I'm just not quite sure if he can always hear me, or if he just tries to? It’s all very peculiar.”

“You’ll figure it out, you always do.”

She pulled away from the hug and took Eddie’s hand within hers once more. “You’ll hear yours soon, Eddie. I know you will.”

“I hope.” 

- Three Months Later -

It was while he was sitting on his bed one afternoon, doodling on his AP Chemistry homework. Eddie’s day had been long, and excruciatingly boring. Mike, Beverly’s friend, had invited Eddie to go along with the two out to the town. Eddie had politely declined, even though it sounded fun, he’d much rather prefer simply relaxing at home. And that’s what he was doing, and he was, in fact, enjoying it very much.

Suddenly, Eddie heard the sound of a pencil dropping. The impacted surface sounded like wood, which didn’t make sense because Eddie’s room was carpeted, but he still leaned over the bed to check if one of his pens had rolled off. Seeing no indication of such, Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, leaning back into his old position. 

A few minutes later, Eddie heard the sound of something falling on the ground once again. This time it did not mirror the previous sound, differing from the phantom pencil that must have dropped. It was more hushed, something lighter. Eddie immediately jumped from his bed and looked all over his floor, searching for what had grabbed his attention. That’s when he heard it. 

A soft whisper filled Eddie’s ears, “Oh, you motherfuck, just land in the can.”

Eddie nearly jumped, desperately looking around his room for some intruder. Perhaps he could have chalked it up hearing his mother pass by his thin room walls, but the voice was too different from hers, even in its quiet state. That revelation prompted Eddie to realize what was occurring. His soulmate. If he hadn’t been nervous beforehand, when he believed someone was in his room, he sure as hell was nervous now. He moved to the edge of his bed in a rather slow fashion, leg bouncing as he sat down. As quick as he could, Eddie then mustered up enough courage to speak into the quiet environment around him. 

“Hello?” 

There was no way Eddie could deny he heard a sharp inhale be taken right after he said that simple word. Something told him that his soulmate was most probably as nervous as he was now. Silence returned and Eddie was about to start convincing himself he was going crazy when a voice filled his ears once more. 

“Holy shit, I mean, hey?”

They were definitely a guy, Eddie thought. It sounded like someone his age, but Eddie had a hard time painting a mental image of him in his head. 

“Hi... I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure what to say...” Eddie struggled to come up with a coherent thought, phrases sprinting into his mind and leaving just as rapidly. In all honesty, he wouldn’t be surprised if the only reason he had spoken again was to hear his newly found soulmate’s voice. 

“I, uh, I actually know exactly what to say to you...” The sentence made Eddie’s breath get stuck in his throat, as he located the shy tone coming from the other boy. The shyness didn’t do any diminishing toward his deeper voice though, it wasn’t Mike deep but definitely not Eddie’s higher voice. He felt a little self-conscious for a second about how possibly sounded but quickly shook the thought away. 

“You know exactly what to say to me?” Eddie leaned back into his bed, hugging himself, trying to knot away from the nerves in his stomach. What could his soulmate have to say? Had he planned it out for the first time he would hear Eddie? Was Eddie really that important to someone, where they had prepared for their meeting? All these questions made Eddie’s brain buzz, as he couldn’t focus on anything. 

“Yeah... I’ve been waiting to hear you,” Eddie’s thoughts were confirmed.

“Really? Tell me what you have to say.”

“Okay, just listen, though, alright?” 

The verb use made Eddie chuckle, “As if I wasn’t already doing that?”

“Okay, whatever,” The other boy was laughing too, “Just... listen...”

Eddie nodded, then remembered no one could see him, so he mumbled a small, “I understand.”

There was quiet for a second, then the small noise of gentle tapping. He couldn’t pinpoint what could be making the noise, perhaps Richie had written what he had to say on some note. It was all Eddie could assume, as he was a little lost. He continued to do as said, keeping quiet and simply focusing on his sense of hearing. 

Then some familiar music began to play, it had some beat filled intro, and once again, Eddie couldn’t pinpoint what song was. It had a piece of upbeat music and it was so familiar. 

Then it hit him.

“Are you fucking-”

“We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I,” 

“I cannot fucking believe-” 

“A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy,”

“Do you know how goddamn annoying-” 

“I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand,” 

“Holy christ, please turn it off before it gets to the-”

“Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you,“ 

It was a few lyrics afterward where the boy ended up pausing the song, to which Eddie believed he only did because his so-called soulmate started laughing so hard both of them could barely either Rick Astley at that point.

“I wish there was a way I could hang up on you after that,” Eddie said with an exhausted sigh. This only made the other boy laugh again. 

“Well aren’t you fun, I’m Richie,” The name gave Eddie butterflies, and hearing that voice made him melt right back into the previous puddle.

“Richie, you are incredibly annoying.”

“No, I’m not annoying, I just told you I’m Richie!” When Eddie groaned in response, Richie continued, “Okay, now tell me your name.”

“Why should I?”

“Because we’re soulmates, duh.”

It was obviously a good reason, but Eddie still rolled his eyes up at the ceiling. 

“My name is Eddie.”

“That’s absolutely adorable. Eddie... Eds.” 

“Don’t you dare call me that!” 

“Too late, you cutie.”

Even though he had instantly refuted it, Eddie knew that deep inside he actually hadn’t hated that nickname as much as he had let on. And he also knew he definitely didn’t find Richie all that annoying.

But hey, he wasn’t about to just say that, was he? 

[kingflugabone]

tommy and tubbo completely switched outlooks in 1/20/21′s stream

was talkin about this with a friend as soon as i realized it but here’s the short version: tubbo started an optimist and (almost) ended a pessimist, while tommy did the opposite.

let me explain.

[spoiler warning for content under the cut]

[note: it doesn’t matter much, but i watched both perspectives of the main events while skipping over some of the fighting after initially watching tommy’s POV]

in the beginning of the stream, tommy and tubbo are walking to what could very possibly be their grave. they know it, we know it, dream most certainly knows it. despite this fact, and despite the horrible odds that these two kids are facing, tubbo stays positive. he keeps saying, as he has in the past, things like, “we’re going to get the discs back,” even commenting that it’ll be “awesome” to have the discs in their possession. he says this with the core sentiment that everything is going to be okay.

this is not an idea tommy shares with him. he takes a more pessimistic, or perhaps a more realistic approach. he even comments on this directly to tubbo, saying, “we need to be self-aware and we need to be honest. ... if we were to die tonight, we’d be gone. ... because tubbo, i need someone to get back and tell my story.” that is the gist of tommy’s thought’s on what the outcome will be, though he does also specifically mention that people love tubbo for his optimism in dire situations. tommy fully expects to die.

they head to the mountain, and they fight dream. it is reaffirmed over and over by dream that tubbo is expendable, that he is just a pawn in dream’s greater plan, that dream could kill tubbo and feel absolutely no remorse. dream even backs tubbo into a corner while still on top of the mountain and is one hit away from killing him before tubbo pleads with him and buys himself more time. this, in my opinion, is where tubbo’s perspective began to change. it was the moment of disillusionment.

tubbo was not the only person starting to experience a shift in ideas. meanwhile, tommy has gotten his hands on what he thought was one of his precious discs and only needs to put it in an ender chest to keep it safe while securing the other. he probably felt invincible. dream knows this, too, and uses tubbo as a pawn again. he says that as long as tommy gets the discs, tubbo will die.

tommy, disc in hand, pearls behind dream where tubbo has placed an ender chest, and puts the disc inside. [side note: that was the first time i have ever cheered out loud during a stream] dream tells tommy that tubbo was begging for his life minutes prior, the only time he was actually attempting to win the fight, which tubbo confirms. dream then asks for the disc again, and what ensues is the earliest instance of a complete shift in perspective on tubbo’s part. dream starts to count down from 10: tommy gives up the disc, or tubbo dies. while dream counts ominously in the background, tubbo says, “keep the disc, tommy, keep the disc. it’ll be worth it. ... i’ve done enough in my life.”

dream reveals that the disc tommy has is a fake, makes tommy and tubbo both put their items in a hole to be blown up while still using tubbo’s possible death as leverage, and then takes them down to the area i like to call “dream’s chamber”.

in the chamber are the two real discs, mellohi and cat, both laying on the floor. after showing tommy and tubbo his plans for others’ most prized possessions and explaining his philosophy on attachment, dream reiterates that he’s gotten everything out of tubbo that he needs, and that he no longer serves a purpose. he says, “tommy, i need YOU alive! i DON’T need tubbo!” he proceeds to further break down tubbo psychologically by echoing his points from the events earlier this month, notably on the 6th, that tubbo is a follower rather than a leader, and that he did not make a good president.

dream then, in an apparent turn of events, decides that he’ll just kill tubbo outright so that his death can serve as tommy’s heroic “origin story”. he tells tommy that he’ll give him a chance to say goodbye. the discussion between tommy and tubbo that follows is the real, most clear evidence of a complete shift of outlooks from both parties.

most of what tubbo says in the discussion can, i think, be summed up in one phrase, which he himself used: “all good things must come to an end.” he accepts his death, as he did when dream was counting down. the first time he tries to bring up the idea that he’s done all he can and it’s his time to go, tommy refuses to accept it. he brings up solution after desperate solution, trying his hardest to look on the bright side and see a way out of their impossible situation. tubbo refutes his solutions every time. for i think the first time, the person on the server who was arguably the most consistently optimistic throughout the entire rest of the story is the one trying to bring tommy back to a harsh reality. tommy, who was generally optimistic but a realist through-and-through at the beginning of the day, is the one trying to make tubbo see a way out when there is none, if only to give him hope. tommy is looking on the bright side, while tubbo accepts the dark.

at the end of the day, both are back to looking hopefully towards the future, but it cannot be ignored how quickly the change in outlook occurred. it happened over the course of maybe half an hour, forty-five minutes if we’re pushing it. i’ll leave you with an idea dream has reiterated in many instances during his time on top: everything he does, he does as a show of power. he does it to show others that they are weak in comparison.

he exercised this power to the fullest today, and hopefully won’t get the chance to do so again.

[please note that everything i talked about is solely about the characterized versions of themselves from the dreamSMP roleplay, NOT the creators themselves. everyone is still on good terms irl!]

[queenofnohr]

Aeaean Spring Breeze - Ch. 4: Like Iron, Like Steel

Dreamwidth version here

---

[we begin with a storybook segment]

Once upon a time......

—There was a man who was like iron. He had a strong will and a tenacious spirit. A hero who loved the gods, and was beloved by the gods. A warrior who departed for home after a long, long war.

......He was tired. Tired of war, tired of thinking. Tired of killing. And it was the same for his men. Fighting so much for so long had worn away at their very souls.

Witch: Then it would be better if you became beasts.

……And perhaps it was. Being able to simply live without thinking. It must be very fun to be a beast.

It was only a single man. One man who stubbornly refused such a fate.

Man: —I must return home.

Not, “I want to return home.”  “I must return home.” The witch refutes the man’s words.

Witch: Why do you need to return? Everything you want is right here.

Man: It’s not. Penelope isn’t here.

The witch is at a loss for words. Out of everything in this whole wide world. It was for the sake of a single woman. He would risk his life to go home for one single woman.

Witch: —I can’t. I won’t let you go, how could I let you go?

Perhaps it was because he was the first thing she’d ever felt an attachment toward. She wanted this man, wanted to show the world she had him. In some respects, it was the mismatched desire to own him. In that way, the witch was still a witch. ……If she could just be with him. If that wish was granted, she would be okay.

[end storybook segment]

Mash: I’m not picking up on…… anything, in this room. Arjuna: So it seems. No signs, no fire, no ice. Orion: Then should we go ahead? Circe: Hm...... Odysseus, try tossing that stone. Odysseus: Like this?

[he throws it]

Arjuna: …...I’ll amend my previous statement. There isn’t any fire or ice, but there does seem to be invisible beams set up. Odysseus: ......You’re sharp. Circe: The eyes of a Great Witch can’t be fooled. Arjuna: So…… What should we do? Should we go back down the previous path and try to see if there’s another route? Odysseus: That would probably be a futile effort. If we take into account the layout of this labyrinth, even if we follow other branching paths, they’ll likely just lead us back here. Jason: ……Huh, looks like there’s a button on the other side of the room. It’s like it’s screaming “Please push me!” Arjuna: Then, shall I try shooting it? Jason: Wait—

[Arjuna shoots it]

Arjuna: ……There’s something repelling my arrows…... Jason: Can you warn us before doing something like that!? What if it exploded!? Orion: Ya’know, I’ve been thinking this for a while but…… Arjuna kinda acts like an accelerator rather than a brake…… Like, instead of stopping us from acting rashly, he tends to take the lead when it comes to rushing in…… Arjuna: Preposterous. I’m the picture of serenity. In fact, it’s my role to keep the rest of you calm. Orion: It’s pretty scary to have a catalyst with no self-awareness…… Circe: Hm, hmmmmm, how about this……?

[lasers appear after Circe uses her magic]

Circe: Alrighty, now we can see them clearly. Jason: Okay, we can see the laser trap. Then all we have to do is run and press the button, right? If we do that, then we should be able to clear the room. Circe: *sigh* Looks like it can’t be helped. ......’Kay, then you guys wait here a sec. Odysseus: Are you going to be okay? Circe: Huh? What’s with that look? Are you gonna say you’re worried? Odysseus: A little. Considering the traps so far, I doubt the solution would be so simple. Circe: ……Yeah, I think so too. But for now I’ll put up a defensive barrier and give it a go. Now then, let’s go, Master!

> Take ca—

Circe: Huh?

[Circe explodes]

Circe: Gyah!!? Ouch ouch ouch ouch! What the hell was that!? Orion: The second Circe entered the room, it’s like all the lasers entered attack mode and homed in on her…… Circe: Th- This sucks! It broke through my boosted defenses like they were nothing! Even some of my clothes and hair got singed! Odysseus: ......Are you okay? Circe: I’m fine! But what are we supposed to do? We’re not gonna be able to get through like this! ???: Oh my, not with that attitude you won’t.

> That lovely voice…...!

Euryale: Hello, everyone. It is the goddess who both walks with and is clad in with loveliness, poise, and purity— That’s right, it is I, Euryale. Now then, what are your complaints? Odysseus: I have no complaints, but I do have questions. Euryale: Oh, you’re scary. Like a hunter shooting prey. So this is what it means to be a warrior who puts intellect before heroism. And it is because of this that you are a hero of humanity. I wonder how you’re different from savage warriors.

> Why are you doing this?

Euryale: ...... ...... Rather than answering that, I’ll tell you how to get through this room. Jason: (She dodged the question!) Euryale: The trick to this trial is to synchronize your breathing with another. Two of you must step in time and synchronize your breaths as if dancing to avoid the lasers. I wrote down detailed rules. Here, read and memorize them. Circe: Th- This is really complicated. Euryale: It’s complicated, but not impossible. Just believe in your goddess. Orion: ……That’s the least trustworthy phrase in the entire world…... Euryale: What did you just say? Orion: *silence* Odysseus: …...Goddess Euryale. I have a question. Euryale: What is it? Odysseus: Until now, if there was a trick to solving a room, there was also a hint to help solve it…… Why wasn’t there a hint this time? Euryale: No reason in particular. Don’t get carried away, human. Those hints are both the kindness of a goddess and her fickleness. Whether or not I give you a hint is all on a whim. Asterios: Euryale, I found the lost sign! Look, look! Euryale: Ah, wait. I’m broadcasting right now, so don’t come over! ......Anyway. That’s why! Jason: In other words, it’s just a run-of-the-mill mistake on your end. Arjuna: ......Hmmm. In that case, the problem is who Circe will sync her breathing up with. Master is out of the question. We cannot put them in harm’s way. Then, out of those remaining…... Jason: Syncing my breathing with Circe? The Great Witch? With me? ......That’s impossible...... Orion: I’m with Jason. Georgios: Arjuna and I have different places of origin and are from different eras. ……Isn’t Odysseus the best choice for this task? Circe: ......Absolutely not. Georgios: Why? Circe: I don’t really have a reason, but I still don’t wanna. Teaming up with Odysseus for this is totally unreasonable. It’s like the gods are toying with me! Orion: Well, that goes without saying. She admitted herself she does whatever she wants…… Circe: Totally! Jason: Oh my god. Master, say something.

> Circe, even if you don’t want to, it can’t be helped

Jason: Right!? Circe: Ugh...... W-When you put it like that...... It’s not like I’m trying to be unreasonable, damn it.

> Is there anyone besides Odysseus?

Circe: Hmmmm…… First of all, Jason and Orion? Hard pass. Totally out of the question. Jason: What was that!? I didn’t wanna team up with you anyway, but “totally out of the question”!? Orion: Yeah, that’s super whack! Circe: Medea. Jason: Urp. Circe: Artemis. Orion: Oof. Circe: Arjuna and Gerogios…… Hmm, it feels like I’m already out of sync with the two of you…… Georgios: How harsh. But I do agree with you.

Circe: So that leaves…… Hmmm…… Just like before...... It comes down to…… You, I guess…… Odysseus: Seems like it. There’s no need to feel embarrassed, though. We’re dead, after all. Circe: I mean, you’re right, but…… It’s totally more complicated than that! Odysseus: It’s for the sake of getting through the labyrinth. ……You probably have a good reason to hate me. But I’m asking you to please bear with it for just a little bit. Circe: ......That, right there! That’s the exact sort of thing I hate! Do you get it!? Odysseus: It seems like you hate my existence. Circe: ......Ugh. I’m SO glad I put that limiter on my emotions. If I hadn’t, we’d probably have killed each other by now. It feels like this is going nowhere, but whatever. Let’s get this over with, Odysseus. Just follow my lead. Odysseus: Very well. Circe: ……Keep close to me. Odysseus: Like this? Circe: That’s too close, idiot. Move away a bit. ‘Kay, let’s go. Let’s see…… Step here first. Odysseus: .....We were able to avoid it, however narrowly. It’s just as the goddess said. Circe: We’re still going. Left! Right! Center! Crouch! Jump! Stay close and turn! Jason: So breathing in sync was the correct answer after all. Circe: Quiet, peanut gallery! 1, 2, 3...... Turn here! Mash: It’s like a ballroom dance. Circe: This is pretty frantic for a dance! Odysseus: Naturally. If a goddess has something to do with all this nonsense, then of course this laser trap is serious business. Circe: Crouch! Odysseus: Rahhhh! Jason: Ha, ha, ha, seeing Odysseus so frantic is pretty unexpected— ……Oi. Some of my beautiful golden locks burnt off. Wait, this trap is seriously lethal!? Circe: Why else would we be jumping around like our lives depended on it!? Georgios: Be that as it may, it really does look like you’re dancing. Smile, you two. Odysseus: In this situation......!? Circe: As if we can smile like it’s nothing! Crouch now!

[They do smile for Georgios]

Circe: We made it! Switch off! Arjuna: The lasers disappeared. Let’s move.

[something rumbles]

Arjuna: Hm?

[an alarm sounds]

Circe: All of that and we still have to fight!? Odysseus: It’s simply the whims of the goddess. Our move will be to counter-attack.

[battle, and after Odysseus gets some of his memories]

Odysseus: Mm. This is...... Circe: More of your memories? Odysseus: Correct. I’ve regained another portion of my memory. But the question of why I was summoned here still remains. Putting that aside— ......Circe. You’re Circe. Circe: So you’ve finally remembered? That’s right. I’m Circe, the Great Witch of Aeaea Island. Odysseus: Those words are finally sinking in. ......It’s been a while. Circe: Your memory came back, and while it’s an unfortunate feeling, I’m not really shaken up. Fufu. Odysseus: ......Did you use magic again? Circe: Again? Odysseus: You did it a couple times while I was on Aeaea Island. Circe: Huh, really? What did I use it for? Odysseus: ......You don’t remember? Circe: Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. I don’t remember at all. Odysseus: ......To be frank, it might be too much coming from me. Circe: Just tell me! Odysseus: Hahahaha. Forgive me. I was joking. Circe: ...... ......? Odysseus, now that you’re here again, what do you think of me? Odysseus: Let’s see. You’re a proud Great Witch who has acquired all manner of knowledge. ……I’d like for you to break your bad habit of turning people into beasts. Circe: Hmph. I always choose who I turn carefully.

> You do!?

Circe: Gah, Master! Arjuna: If I may speak frankly. ......Circe would change anyone into a pig, regardless of who they were. Georgios: Yes, I think so as well. Do you have any standards? Circe: I do! I have standards. But, I won’t tell you what they are. Odysseus: ……Yeah, I’m aware. I know what your standards are. Circe: !? ......I’ve never told you, though. Odysseus: Indeed, you haven’t. I might also be wrong. Nonetheless, I don’t want to say it, so I’ll keep it a secret. Circe: ......Hmph.

> (Those two have a secret……!)

Mash: (It makes your heart race just a bit, doesn’t it senpai?)

> I don’t want you to turn anyone into a pig……

Circe: ......Oh no, Piglet, it’s my— Policy, I guess? Just a kind of feeling. Jason: You just do it to whoever annoys you enough!

Georgios: Hmm……

[Georgios snaps a photo of Odysseus]

Odysseus: Another photo I presume, Georgios? Georgios: You had a nice expression on. Odysseus: I’ll take that as a compliment. Now then. Let’s go confront the goddess who stole my memories and made this Singularity. Then it’ll be case closed. Hopefully. Circe: ……That’s right. Let’s go! Odysseus: ......Though, I’m hungry. It seems like a stray Servant’s fate is a lack of mana.

> What should we do?

Odysseus: Forming a contract would be the quickest way, but...... Arjuna: I would advise against that.

> Should we form a contract?

Odysseus: ……No, let’s stop that train of thought there.

Odysseus: Although this is a Micro-Singularity, a goddess is involved. You shouldn’t form a contract thoughtlessly with a strange Servant. Arjuna: You think yourself unworthy of our trust? Odysseus: Indeed. Circe: Then, do you want to supply your mana with food? And by that I mean……! Everyone: Kykeon. Circe: That’s right! Jason: Kykeon, huh……? Circe: What’s with that look of disgust? Odysseus: I don’t hate it. On the contrary, it’s quite nostalgic. Circe: Really? If that’s the case, I always have ingredients to make kykeon on me! Jason: What in the world would possess you to do that…… Arjuna: Then let’s take a small break while Circe treats us to kykeon.

---

Ch. 3 ← → Ch. 5

[uglyducklingpresse]

Backlist Bulletin #2: Letter to the Amazon

The island—earth which is not, from which you cannot depart, that you must love because you are condemned to it. A place from which you see everything, from which you can do nothing.

— Marina Tsvetaeva (tr. Adora Phillips and Gaelle Cogan), Letter to the Amazon

I love when things are sad and gay, because I am sad and gay, but of course that is not useful. It’s not useful as a social or literary position, because one wants to refute the conflation of those qualities: Sadgay. Gaysad. I don’t want one to predicate the other. I don’t want this maudlin fatalism about the impossibility of queer love, which fuses desire and mourning. But there it is, lumped inextricably in my selfhood (and poetics) and experience. This was also, it seems, true of  the experience of Marina Tsvetaeva, transgressive early 20th century Russian poet and author of Letter to the Amazon.

 The “letter” is an essay, a form which already queerly troubles the boundary between public and private text. Tsvetaeva addresses Natalie Clifford Barney, a wealthy American expatriate living in Paris, responding in 1932 to Barney’s 1920 Thoughts of an Amazon, wherein Barney celebrated and valorized her lesbianism. Barney (despite or perhaps because of her position as a sexual iconoclast) was a distinguished figure in the Parisian literary scene, and held salons in her home from 1919 to 1968. Tsvetaeva encountered Barney after she came to Paris as a refugee in 1925, with her husband and daughter. Tsvetaeva, needing support, must have been aware of Barney’s resources and habit of helping unfortunate writers. Though this surely colored their relationship, they also connected as frères fèminines (Barney’s phrase) – women with deep emotional and erotic ties to other women. Tsvetaeva had connections with several poetic luminaries, but the emotional core of Letter to the Amazon is her relationship with poet Sophia Parnok, an intense love affair which spanned from 1914-1916. Parnok was 5 years older than Tsvetaeva; the common narrative is that the elder woman seduced her. The affair was public knowledge, and was painful for Tsvetaeva’s husband. Both women activated each other as muses, and despite the interpersonal and political instability which ultimately divided them, they seem to have remained major figures in each others’ emotional lives.

 I don’t know, this book is weird. It’s weird, even for me, a person who is on Team Sadness, to watch someone being so at war with their own joy. Approaching Barney makes sense for Tsvetaeva. Playing into flirtation, into some underscoring of their shared idealized passion for lesbian relationships, makes sense. But Tsvetaeva is bent on an argument that lesbianism is unsustainable. Ultimately, she writes, lesbian relationships break down in the face of innate desires, in “normal women,” for family and reproduction. The essay addresses the child, the desire to reproduce the lover in the child, as an unassailable keystone in womens’ emotional lives.

 I agree with the reviewers who find this disappointing. Maksymchuk and Rosochinsky, writing in LARB, argue that Tsvetaeva overlooks the Socratic claim that same-sex unions result in non-biological progeny like theory, art, and heroic acts. Emma Brown Sanders, writing for Full Stop, attacks Tsvetaeva for her formulation which suggests lesbianism is a choice, arguing that Tsvetaeva’s privileged background did not allow her to appreciate the uniqueness of her own experience, instead assuming her particular flawed relationship had universal qualities. I will say that it is hard not to argue with this book. I’ve taken it a little personally.

What bothers me about Tsvetaeva’s conclusion is that she is a person of dazzling intelligence, capable of striking leaps and lateral, associative movement. This is clear in her poetry. From “Poems to Chekoslovakia” (tr. Kaminsky/Valentine):

 Black mountain

blocks the earth’s light.

Time—time—time

to give back to God his ticket.

 I refuse to—be. In

the madhouse of the inhumans

I refuse to—live. To swim

 on the current of human spines.

...

                                      •

 They took—suddenly—and took—openly—

took mountains—and took their entrails,

they took coal, and steel they took,

they took lead, and crystal.

 And sugar they took, and took the clover,

they took the West, and they took the North,

they took the beehive, and took the haystack

via Poetry Foundation

 How is this person, so evidently brave and wild, content to say that lesbianism is subservient to natural laws when her own experience should have shown her otherwise? How can she resign herself to say;

Love in itself is childhood. Lovers are children. Children do not have children… One cannot live off love. The one thing that survives love is the child.

In her introduction, Catherine Ciepiela notes that parts of this argument are prescient, as the movement for queer rights has focused largely on respectability politics in exchange for assimilation—gay marriage, adoption, valorizing heterosexual family systems by aping them. (Gross.)

What allows this text to become interesting to me, despite its irritating qualities, is the feeling that I am watching a brilliant, passionate person at war with themselves. There are some texts that are centrally important to me as a writer, from the Black Arts movement, where the primary emotional action is vaguely similar: an internalized racism becoming a violent attack on the self. It feels like I’m seeing something forbidden, something private. How much can I watch someone hate themselves, I wonder, reading Funnyhouse of a Negro, or Baraka’s The Slave. Although Tsvetaeva faces different societal pressures, and does not allow herself the same level of emotional directness, the rejection and erasure of the self feels the same. She uses a huge and elemental language which makes it feel fatalistic and impersonal. Near the end of Letter to the Amazon:

Toward evening the mountain flows back completely toward its peak. When night comes, it is peak. It seems that its torrents are flowing backwards. At night she pulls herself together.

…

Weeping willow!  Mournful willow! Willow, body and soul of women! Mournful nape of the neck of the willow. Grey hair in front of the face, so that nothing more is seen. Grey hair sweeping the face of the earth…

(p. 30)

There is a similar quality, here, with the Black Arts writers I mentioned, of a poisonous secret that the writer is both trying to uncover and trying to keep obscure even to themselves. Aside from the difference in tone, there is another important distinction between these types of self-attack: what Tsvetaeva gets from this negation of herself is a kind of safety. A woman who loves women and is able to stop, or at least to stop being in sexual relationships with women, can be readmitted into society. She can become invisible within heteropatriarchy, whereas Baraka and Adrienne Kennedy could never render themselves invisible enough to be subsumed comfortably into the racial landscape of America. Tsvetaeva gestures towards some regret, some way that heterosexual connections lack the compelling depth and completeness of lesbian relationships, but she never admits to the safety, ease, and invisibility that returning to a heterosexual marriage affords. She frames this return to a conventional family as foregone, an extension of the tragic unsustainability of lesbian relationships. And that engenders in me something like pity for this fierce doomed creature. She is comforting herself, in the precarity of her life in poverty, her refugee status, her regret-tinged marriage. At least in the domain of her own sexuality, she can protect herself, albeit through disfigurement and compartmentalization. Has she won, then, at sad gayness, by claiming an agency over her own erasure? “Why did she come?” she wonders, parenthetically. “To hurt herself. It is, sometimes, all that we have left.” (p 23)

— C. Bain

The Backlist Bulletin is a weekly column on titles from UDP’s back catalogue, curated and written by Apprentices.