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duhragonball · 4 years ago

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Battle Tendency Liveblog: JJBA Ch. 83-87

Last time, the Red Stone of Aja got mailed out to the bad guys, so Joseph and Caesar have gone to shake down the Venice Post Office. Notably, Joseph wears a hat and coat similar to the one he’s rocking in Part 3.

Turns out, the package is already on its way to St. Moritz, Switzerland. Messina knows this because... okay, try to follow this. So Esidisi hijacked Suzie Q’s body to mail the Stone. So she probably wasn’t even aware of what she was being forced to do, but Lisa Lisa used Ripple Hypnosis on her to retrieve the address. You’d think she would have told the boys about this ability before they ran over to the post office, but maybe they left before she could say anything.

Meanwhile, this dog’s about to get run over, but this is Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, so what else is new. Araki’s hatred for comic book dogs is the stuff of legend.

OR IS IT? Yeah, take a good long look, because this is the only time Araki saves a dog in JJBA. Apparently, Kars is a sucker for innocent plants and animals, go figure.

I don’t know what else to tell you, except Battle Tendency = Best JoJo Part.

As for Joseph, he and the others go to Switzerland, only to get held up by Nazis at the border. Turns out, their mysterious commander knows all about the Red Stone of Aja, the Pillar Men, and Joseph and Caesar’s Ripple training. That guy who tried to rob Lisa Lisa a while back? He was a Nazi spy the whole time. So now they have the Stone, and they want to cooperate with Joseph’s group. Lisa goes along with it, because it’s better than letting Kars find the stone.

For some reason, Araki pauses to discuss Nazi Germany a bit, except he has all these historical events from March and September of 1939. I’m not entirely clear on the chronology of Part 2, except that the final battle with Kars takes place in February of 1939, so none of these things have happened yet.

But the point still stands. Hitler wants Nazi Germany to rise above mankind, just as Kars seeks his own kind of supremacy. And like Kars, the Nazis are interested in the Red Stone of Aja as a possible path to greater power.

Everybody spends the night at some Swiss inn, until Kars shows up and uses his hyper-senses to detect how many men are in their room. Then he slashes through the wall with that blade he sprouts out of his forearm, killing them all with one attack.

Except for their commander, who has the Stone. Kars is confused, because he sensed the number and location of everyone in the room, but somehow he missed this last guy, because he’s got no body heat.

And Joseph barges in just in time to find out that this dude is Stroheim, the Nazi officer who blew himself up to stop Santana. Somehow he’s alive, and also a cyborg, which is why Kars couldn’t detect him.

Kars only wants two things: To capture the Aja Stone, and to kill Joseph Joestar. He says that he can’t afford to spare a Ripple User powerful enough to slay Esidisi, but Joseph wonders if Kars is motivated by a desire to avenge his comrade, rather than any sort of cold tactics. Wammu had called dibs on fighting Jojo, but he’s in Greece at the moment, and Kars is in no mood to wait.

But Stroheim insists on tackling Kars himself, as his cyborg body was specifically designed using the information gleaned from studying Santana. He’s strong enough to rip out pieces of Kars’ flesh, and he’s armed with a big-ass machine gun. He tells Joseph not to pity him, because he’s proud to become this living tribute to German technology.

What I want to know is: How did Stroheim survive Mexico without Joseph knowing about it? He was there when that grenade went off, after all. Maybe Stroheim landed some distance away, where Joseph wouldn’t have thought to look for him. But how did Stroheim’s men find him?

Anyway, Kars is not impressed, and he cuts Stroheim in half with his “light mode”, which is just the blades in his arms. They seem to glow, but it’s actually just reflected light from the complex patterns in the blades. From the sidelines, Joseph is unnerved by Kars’ ability, because he doubts that he could block or avoid those blades, even with the full power of his Hamon energy.

As for Stroheim, he had no idea that Kars could do anything like this. I don’t know, are arm-blades really that big a deal? Wammu’s powers seem a lot cooler, and Esidisi’s “flame mode” looks pretty scary, even if it only melts stuff. Still, it’s enough to beat Stroheim. Kars mocks him for thinking that he and Santana were on the same level. Kars considered Santanta a “novice”, like a “weak puppy.” That’s an interesting choice of words, since we just saw Kars save the life of a weak puppy earilier. Maybe that same pity was the only reason Kars kept Santana around in the first place. As dangerous as Santana was, Kars considers him utterly useless.

He even refers to Santana as “it.” Maybe that’s just a mistake in this scanlation, but I dunno. He’d probably use “it” to refer to that puppy he saved too. And maybe this contempt explains why Kars refers to him as “Santana”, the name Stroheim gave the guy. I always wondered why Kars didn’t use Santana’s real name, but maybe Santana never had one.

But Stroheim’s not done just yet. He has a UV beam built into his eyepiece, which stuns Kars long enough to make him drop the stone, and then it slides over a cliff.

Joseph and Kars race after it, but Kars is faster, because he doesn’t have to worry about slowing down before he goes over the edge. He can survive the fall, while Joseph can’t. So Kars figures that Joseph will try to kick him, and Joseph does throw a kick... at the snow, to distract Kars long enough for Joseph to get the Stone back.

But Kars has blades in his legs too, and he uses one to snag Joseph and pull him over the edge of the cliff. Joseph manages to use Hamon to grab hold of some icicles to stop his fall, but he still has to deal with Kars’ unstoppable blades, and his relentlessness. Joseph’s whole deal is that he outsmarts his opponents by exploiting their inattentiveness. But Kars is laser focused on getting the Aja Stone, so it’s almost impossible to catch him off-guard.

So Joseph uses that tenacity against him by holding up the Stone in the path of Kars’ attacks. Kars wants to kill Joseph, but he doesn’t dare use his blades near the Stone. Remember, Kars’ plan requires that specific Aja Stone because it’s the only one big enough and flawless enough to power his “Ultimate Life Form” mask. If he damages the Stone, it won’t be suitable for his needs. Knowing this, Joseph kicks him down the rest of the way, while he heads back up a “rope” made of Ripple-connected icicles.

Said icicles were provided by Caesar, who expected Joseph to try something like this, because he’s already learned that Joseph thinks in terms of ropes and strings. Stroheim is astonished by their flawless teamwork.

Below, Kars goes out of his way to adjust his fall so as not to crush a flower. He laughs at this latest setback, because he’s just that impressed with Joseph’s resourcefulness. Then he withdraws to try again another day.

This whole arc surprised me when I watched the anime, because it seemed like Kars would be the final boss of Battle Tendency, but here he was fighting Joseph early. And it wasn’t exactly an all-out fight. They had a little footrace and Joseph used the Aja Stone to keep Kars at bay, but not much more than that. Considering all the crazy stuff we saw from Esidisi, you’d think Kars would be much more dangerous.

But that’s just it. Esidisi was extremely formidable, and Joseph destroyed him with his Hamon training. Kars lost 33% of his team in a single stroke. All he has left is Wammu, who’s in Greece at the moment. He simply can’t afford to take on Joseph in this situation, so he doesn’t try anything too crazy. Both of them know his blades are powerful enough to get the job done, so he used them, but when they stopped being effective, he ran out of cards to play, so he left. It’s not that Kars is weak, it’s just that Joseph’s gotten so much stronger. So this fight feels like a much milder affair than the battles with the other Pillar Men so far, even though Kars is supposed to be the best one.

And this is something else I really love about Part 2. There’s only five villains to deal with: Straizo, Santana, Eisidisi, Wammu, and Kars. That’s it, so it makes things pretty easy to keep up with, and it leaves room for Wammu and Kars to fight multiple times.

Compare this with Part 3, where the Stardust Crusaders have to fight through a gauntlet of evil Stand Users as they make their way to Egypt. I think I counted 26 bad guys in Part 3? Somewhere in that neighborhood. And I love Part 3, don’t get me wrong, but if Dio only had ten henchmen instead of two dozen, would it really hurt the story?

This was something that really bugged me about Parts 4 and 5. Would La Squadra Esecuzioni’s role in Vento Aureo be any different if they only had five guys instead of seven? And what was the deal with that dude who lived in the transmission tower? Most of the “villains” in Part 4 were just randos who just fought with the good guys for no particular reason.

With Part 2, you don’t have any of that. Five villains, and three of them only get to fight once. That means every fight has to count, and every fight has to move the story along. Kars isn’t going to just show up to be sociable. He saw an opening to achieve his goal, and he went for it, only to discover his enemies were better prepared than he expected. Now, he’ll have to wait for Wammu...

#jojo's bizarre adventure #battle tendency #joseph joestar #caesar zeppeli #kars #rudol von stroheim #lisa lisa #messina #suzie q

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translations-by-aiimee · 4 years ago

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Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 16

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 16 - Game

Ten minutes later, Lin Yan appeared on the stage awkwardly wearing a silver-grey robe with a small dragon pattern embroidered on it. All ten participants took their seats. Even the Professor File Folder put on a traditional teacher's outfit. The buzzing activity coming from the crowd made Lin Yan blush. It felt like he was sitting on pins and needles; it was uncomfortable no matter how he tried to adjust himself.

This whole situation felt like a melodrama between Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai. He couldn't help but glance back at Xiao Yu several times. The only real ancient man in the audience was standing behind him with a frown. Looking at him with a serious stare, he pressed his hand against Lin Yan's shoulder, like he was trying to comfort him.

When he changed his clothes, he noticed that something was wrong with Xiao Yu, or maybe it was just everything that was wrong. In the dressing room, the ghost had wrapped himself around him and hugged him. He pushed and shoved the other around the narrow room, creasing his costume. Just as Lin Yan was about to start fighting back, Xiao Yu suddenly stopped tugging him around. He pulled him over to the mirror, put his chin on Lin Yan's shoulder and he stared at the person in the reflection. For the first time, his chaotic eyes seemed calm, even holding a quiet sadness.

The mirror surface swayed, like a droplet hitting a calm pool of water, waves rippling away from the center. Standing in the brass mirror was a young man standing with clear eyes, hands resting beside a cloud brocade waistband, and a face exuding pride. Lin Yan backed away in horror. He almost screamed. The person in the mirror wasn't him. Although he had the exact same face, life had done a number on him and he wouldn't be able to make an expression like that anymore.

The scent of agarwood incense in the room was intoxicating. The young man's eyes softened. The tall man in the traditional Chinese clothes adjusted his chin on his shoulder, raising his long eyebrows. His voice was slow and hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time: "I've been waiting for you for so long. . ."

Lin Yan's head snapped back to the mirror. He staggered forwards and leaned against the mirror. The person in front of him had hair as black as paint, and his mottled blood coat didn't match his eyes that seemed so sad and hopeless. . .

I have been waiting for you for a long time.

Lin Yan scrambled out of the dressing room.

"The break is over. Please quiet down and we'll get started with our next activity." The girl in the red jacket skirt read.

Lin Yan sat in the chair in a daze. The bright stage lights and the dark crowd in the audience made him feel like what just happened in the dressing room was a hallucination, and Xiao Yu was no different. Lin Yan looked back at him, panicked. Xiao Yu leaned down and held his trembling hand. On the table were a small whiteboard and a soft black marker. Xiao Yu motioned for him to pick it up and he moved his hand across the whiteboard: I'll help you.

Lin Yan was stunned and wrote out: Do you remember something?

Xiao Yu didn't seem to want to answer. He shook his head and let go of his hand. He still stood behind him holding onto Lin Yan's shoulder for support.

The audience quieted down, and bright white chasing lights hit the mahogany silk box on the centre of the stage. The red jacket skirt girl stepped forward to open the silk box, revealing the glass box within. The audience let out a few exclamations, and Lin Yan's eyes lit up. It was a beautiful moon flask with two handles. The maiden leaned against the tree art, the linework was meticulous, the enamel fully covered the flask, the piece was still intact, and the overall flask was in good condition.

This authentification wasn't difficult for a student studying cultural relics. Lin Yan carefully looked at the glaze texture and enamel of the flask's body. He wrote his answer on the whiteboard after double-checking that it was correct. When the time was up, the host walked past the square table and stopped when he reached the PSP guy, holding up her mic and asking: "You, what's your answer?"

The PSP guy’s whiteboard turned out to be empty. He was leaning on the table and his attention was focused on his game. When the host asked the second time, he raised his head as if he had just woken up. He glanced lazily around and sarcastically twitched the corners of his mouth into a smile. "It's genuine," he spat out. Then he brushed the host off and lowered his head to continue playing the game.

Lin Yan knew this guy was arrogant, but he didn't expect him to act this to everyone. The girl in the red jacket skirt was embarrassed by PSP's attitude. After putting a polite expression back on her face, she nodded and walked to the next student.

"Well. . . There were nine students who got the answer right, might as well switch it up for the last one." The audience let out a good laugh, and the boy three places down from Lin Yan grinned and left the stage. The professor briefly spoke about the flask. Lin Yan cleaned off the whiteboard and waited for the next question. His mind couldn't get over what he saw. He thought that most people wouldn't make a mistake on such a simple question. It seemed that the people on the stage were not as professional as they thought.

Professor File Folder also seemed a little disappointed. He took a sip from his stainless steel cup and turned his attention to the laptop, not knowing what he was looking at.

The brocade box in the center of the stage was swapped with a smaller one. After the mysterious sound effect, the box slowly opened. It was an ancient book. The host motioned everyone to take a closer look. Lin Yan stood in front of the glass box for a while and returned to his seat to write the next answer: "Genuine, the Southern Opera "White Rabbit" published in the Ming Dynasty, unearthed from the tomb of the Xuan family in Jiading."

He had seen this thing in the Shanghai Museum. Lin Yan thought, this lecture is like an antique appreciation meeting. No wonder it attracted so many people. After they all answered the question, another person left the stage amidst the applause and whistle of the audience, leaving another armchair free.

The questions were asked one by one, gradually getting more and more difficult. A fake yet elaborate sunflower gold hairpin inlaid with gemstones stumped three people, and then a bucket-colour fine-grained water chestnut bucket imitation with a "grinding" technique even had Lin Yan hesitate with his answer. After the authenticity of each item was announced, the professor simply added a few points on the piece, which could count as educating the audience on the topic. The seats were vacated one by one. When the eighth object was brought out, there were only two people left on the stage. Lin Yan glanced to the right, and it was the PSP guy who had toughed it out until the end.

He looked careless, but he didn't expect that he understood the field so well. Lin Yan put his cold palms on his face to cool down and took a long breath as he waited for the next question.

The red jacket skirt girl was holding a delicate paper box in her hand. Instead of showing it to the audience first, she walked over to Lin Yan and the PSP guy, signalling them to come forward. She opened the paper box and carefully took out a fan.

The ink on the front of the golden fan wasn't very visible; it wasn't well-preserved. The ribs of the fan were slightly damaged, and there are signs of water damage on the ink-painted mountains. With this kind of condition, it would be difficult to fetch a good price in a private auction if it wasn't made by a famous artist. But when the inscription on the face of the fan was exposed, Lin Yan and the PSP man couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. On the front, a few lines of the unruly inscription were written on the fan: “Wildwater Bridge Road, The Village of Barren Chickens and Fallen Leaves. Returned to Hou Xidu, The Child Sweeps the Firewood Door." What surprised the two of them were the three small characters following the poem: by Tang Yin.

Lin Yan's heart sped up. If this was Tang Yin's authentic work, then the fan in front of him was worth at least 500,000 yuan. Wasn't he afraid of being robbed bringing such a valuable thing to school? Then a clear picture of the fan was shown on the big screen. As expected by Lin Yan, an exclamation sounded from the audience, and even the host's voice was drowned by the buzzing discussion.

Professor File Folder grew impatient and coughed into the loudspeaker to signal the audience to shift their attention back to the event.

Lin Yan carefully looked at the light brown fan in front of him. He couldn't help but take his time with his answer. Tang Yin's paintings were extremely difficult to distinguish in the field of calligraphy and painting. His style of painting changed throughout his pieces, and he rarely indicated the year on the paintings so it was difficult to guess the painting based on its creation year. Therefore, there were countless counterfeiters and imposters on the market. To be honest, judging this kind of work could only be based on the painting style, date and seal inscription. The most important thing is the eye and inspiration of the connoisseur. Being extremely familiar with the author’s style, the first time he saw the work, he could only make a guess. This wasn't just an answer determined by years of study, but it was also just a luck-based gamble.

In the early years of the founding of the People’s Republic of China, many collectors relied on this ability to make money at auctions overnight, but it was too difficult for students like Lin Yan who hadn’t even finished school. He frowned and thought carefully. Regardless of the painting style, the date and the handwriting of this fan were almost flawless. Although there was a slight deviation from Tang Yin's other landscape paintings, the vigorous and unrestrained spirit of the brush strokes clearly distinguished this piece.

It should be the original one. . . Lin Yan bit on his pen and hesitated. Halfway through writing out his answer, his wrist was suddenly grabbed. Xiao Yu bent down and studied the fan carefully. His fingers lightly tracing the red seal and he seemed surprised. He shook his head at Lin Yan and crossed off the half-written "true" on the whiteboard with his hand.

"After so long, you still haven't figured it out?" PSP guy leaned over to Lin Yan casually with a disdainful expression. Seeing Lin Yan still holding the pen hesitantly, he couldn't help but sneer, "I thought you were so awesome."

The file folder-like professor was staring at his notebook in a daze. Hearing these words, he couldn't help turn his head around and looked at the two with interest. Lin Yan just focused his attention on the painting instead and had forgotten to be nervous. As soon as he raised his head to meet the professor's gaze, his cheeks became hot again. He couldn't help but cry inside. He originally planned to wait for the end of the event to ask the professor backstage regardless of whoever won the contest. Now he feels like he wouldn't be able to ask him anything if he lost to this guy in this activity.

"Hurry up, hurry up." PSP guy tapped the table with a pen and made some muffled noises. "Just go home already, you aren't qualified for this."

When the professor heard this, he couldn't hide his amusement and turned his face to take a sip of water to cover up his expression.

That was rude. He hadn't finished yet. Lin Yan clenched his fist and asked Xiao Yu as quietly as possible: "Are you sure?" Xiao Yu nodded, his pale fingers stroked his throat, and frowned. After a long time, it seemed that it took a lot of effort to say slowly and hoarsely: ". . . I drew it."

Lin Yan's eyes widened. He looked at Xiao Yu in disbelief, and then at the fan. In ancient times, there was no perfect reprinting technology. Famous paintings and calligraphy were often copied by literati and calligraphers. Some were for practice, some were to give to friends. Some were for selling, and the prices of those high-quality copies were even comparable to the originals. But Xiao Yu's counterfeit actually appeared here. . . Wasn't this too much of a coincidence?

"Dude, if you don't know what it is, stop wasting our time." Seeing Lin Yan's hesitation, the PSP guy shook his head impatiently. He lowered his head and continued to play his game, pressing the buttons with his thumb, clicking them loudly.

Lin Yan was also irritated but by this person's attitude. He took a deep breath and wrote his answer on the whiteboard. The crowd in the audience couldn't wait. The people in the nearby seats pointed at the PowerPoint. Someone nodded gently, seeming to recognize the authenticity of the painting.

The sound effect of a gong sounded, and when the host read out the answers of the two, Lin Yan heard a commotion in the audience and even a disdainful sneer from the corner of the room. However, the PSP guy completely ignored the audience’s reaction and crossed his legs. He glanced at Lin Yan, touched the pimples on his face and raised an eyebrow with a chuckle: "You're right, not bad."

The same answer was written on both whiteboards: fake.

The professor showed an appreciative smile on his face for the first time. After he said the right answer, he grabbed the microphone and explained to the audience: "Tang Yin's fan "Xiqiao Going Back to the River", a work made during the Ming Dynasty Chenghua period. The author is unknown. The two students answered correctly."

There was a sigh from the auditorium. This time, most of the people who had thought they were right about their guess couldn't help pointing at the screen to discuss the flaws in the fan. There was even a school official wearing a black suit in the front row who had turned around and argued fiercely with the guests in the back row.

Author unknown? Lin Yan wasn't focusing on the fan, instead looking back at Xiao Yu. His hands still rested on his shoulder, but he didn't respond to anything Professor File Folder was saying. Instead, he frowned as if immersed in memory. He seemed really lost in thought. Lin Yan looked into Xiao Yu's eyes, no longer as wild as a beast like when he first saw him. Now, his dark eyes were like the surface of the river after sunrise, and the turbid fog was slowly burned away in the sun, revealing a hint of clarity from within the chaos.

"Now that the first nine rounds are over, please give your attention to the last round with these two classmates, which is also the most difficult round today." The red jacket skirt girl raised her voice and signalled to something behind her.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #yaoi #danmei #yaoi novel

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dontforgetthedragon · 4 years ago

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i wanna talk about hanazawa teruki

(preface: written before the eric trump thing)

yes this is a weird time to be talking about mp100 i know but i was rewatching the anime recently and its only starting to occur to me just how bad i feel for this boy

like, i feel that the first time i watched mp100 my impression of teru was just feral wildchild who speedruns his redemption arc and also has the worst fashion sense but, like, there’s a lot more complexity to our boy teru than that

and its not really until s1 ep11 that it really clicked that the root of a lot of teru’s actions is that he is a child who has been fundamentally failed by the adults in his life

we dont know an awful lot about teru’s parents, other than the fact that he doesnt live with them and, from the manga, we learn they are almost always away on business trips. ekubo theorises that the reason for this is that he has had to hide from claw over and over, so it’s possible he distanced himself from them for their safety. but regardless of the exact details, the fact is they were clearly unable to protect him from the threats in his life. those were things he had to deal with on his own

when we the viewers first encounter hanazawa teruki, shadow leader of black vinegar middle school, it is when he is sent for as a last resort and as the school’s secret unbeatable weapon. he is the one everyone else is relying on, while he relies on no-one but himself. no wonder he developed such an inflated sense of his own importance and power!!! no wonder he thinks hes untouchable!!! when has anyone in his life ever been able to do a better job at anything than him??? he can use his powers to solve all the obstacles in his life - cheat at tests, do well in sports, get popular, win fights - when other people have problems, they come to him

when he has problems, he cant really go to anyone - not even his flakey parents. because if he cant deal with them, whats the likelihood anyone else can? he has to solve it all himself - but at the point we first meet him, he’s always been able to. so whats the big deal, right?

but thats a precarious place to stand

teru doesnt get to learn and fail and make mistakes like a child should. he doesnt have that safety net. his entire approach to life thus far relies on him always succeeding, so he needs to already be the best. success has to be a given because it is this belief that makes up the very foundations of his world, that makes him feel safe and stable. so his reaction to discovering shigeo’s existance is about more than just threatened pride, its about threatened stability as well. because if shigeo is stronger than him, then that means people can be stronger than him, that any mundane-looking person could be. that his ability to thrive by himself is not guaranteed

what happens to him then? he doesnt have anyone to fall back on

(its important to stress that feeling safe and secure is more important to him than being safe and secure. the extremity of his reaction speaks more to a maladaptive psycological response than something actually helpful)

and then he is beaten. soundly. and he has to accept that

it puzzled me in my first watch-though how quickly teru goes from extreme aggression towards and nearly strangling mob to genuine friendliness and even affection. but with this understanding it makes perfect sense

we see from teru’s attempts to speak to claw members that on the surface he has absorbed and understood shigeo’s words. no-one is more important than anyone else. seeing yourself as the main character of the world or as inherently more deserving because of psychic powers is a huge mistake. but your subconcious feelings and beliefs are harder to change and by the end of ep 11 it becomes clear that, for teru, these have simply shifted from i am the most important and powerful character in the world and i cannot be beaten to kageyama-kun is the most important and powerful character in the world and he cannot be beaten. which isnt much better

once he accepts his defeat and relative irrelevance, letting go of his pride, it must have been a relief for teru to know an esper more powerful than him. especially one like shigeo, who showed such a stubborn desire for friendliness and civil relations toward him, even in the face of teru’s open aggression. finally, teru has someone he can turn to for help. someone he can rely on when things get too tough to handle himself. someone else to hand that responsibility to

he goes after claw because he feels that with mob on his side he stands a fighting chance. when ritsu and teru both admit their powers arent enough, its shigeo they turn to. when the group are being attacked by multiple scars at once, teru is the voice opposing reigen, screaming out in desperation - while fending off attacks with increasing futility - that mob needs to do something, that he’s the only one with the power to defeat them

the issue is, thats not fair on shigeo

teruki’s unstable and neglectful upbringing has left him with a warped sense of the kind of responsibility a middle schooler should hold. the idea of turning to an adult for help, or even giving an adult’s words any weight, is completely foreign to him at this point because, in his experience, age has little bearing on power or even effective authority. he’s had to make his own way through life without adults to rely on, so he genuinely doesnt understand the issue with putting this burden on shigeo’s shoulders. they need to defeat the scars attacking them, and kageyama-kun is the one with the power to do it. ergo, kageyama needs to use his power to defeat the scars. whats so wrong about that?

teru isnt really a sad character; he’s very practical about his situation and we never see him wallow in bitterness at these injustices. but im also not sure he actually realises how much childhood growth and development space he’s been robbed of, and that makes it hard for him to face his own failings

#mp100 #hanazawa teruki #teru #its good to see teru taking reigens words into account more in s2 #but he still has a tendancy to rush into things and solve them by himself #like going head to head with shimizaki without waiting for the others

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aegonbeingfakeisracist · 4 years ago

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I saw a theory that Arianne escapes KL safely and possibly marries Willas to unite the Reach Dorne. I guess both being heirs might be an issue, but I see no reason the two could create a new central point between the border between Dorne/ the Reach, so it wouldn't be a big issue. But, Olenne does consider him her fav. grandson and knowing how racist, bigoted she is it's a bit shady. What do you think about the possibility? If Cersei took Aegon's storyline, I see no reason Arianne can't survive.

I desperately want Arianne to survive. And I do think there’s setup for this to be plausible - both parts of it. I’m a cynic that thinks she’ll almost certainly die as much as I hate it, but I absolutely think it would be good storytelling for her to live.

Killing Arianne would be enormously wasteful. I have a post in my drafts about this that’s probably never going to be finished, so I’ll summarize. Her story and driving motivations have so much to do with her sense of not measuring up to her little brother. It’s not true that she doesn’t measure up, but that doesn’t matter. It’s what she’s always thinking about and worried about. And when Arianne is wrong about someting, she feels enormously, enormously guilty. So what would be the point in both Arianne and Quentyn dying? What would be the point in killing the only two PoC with their own chapters? What’s the point of building up how Arianne is clever and competent and compassionate and better suited to rule than just about anyone else on the continent if she’s never going to be able to apply those skills as the Princess of Dorne? What’s the point in Arianne being so similar to Doran if she’s just going to die young and not feel guilt over Quentyn with “I was the oldest, and yet I am the last” not reflecting in her story? What is the point of Arianne demonstrating an ability to learn from her mistakes, recognize her father’s strengths and weaknesses, and surpass him if it’s just a fake-out? What is the point of the Dornish story at all?

That probably seems hyperbolic, and it is a little, but I kind of mean it. Arianne Martell is the beating heart of the Dornish storyline. It is nothing without her. If she dies, it falls flat on its face into something that doesn’t actually say anything. I once saw a post that was like, “Arianne is boring, the Dornish storyline should have been told from the perspective of either a Sand Snake or Myrcella”, and I’m just...no, it absolutely shouldn’t have been. Especially not Myrcella - we do not need another white girl perspective on a place filled with people of colour. The story needs Arianne. It needs the young, compassionate heiress who loves her family and doesn’t remember her murdered aunt and represents what her father explicitly chose over vengeance. The Dornish story is about family. Without Arianne, you just have disconnected people that share relatives. Arianne bridges the gaps - between Doran and the Sand Snakes, between Aegon and the Martells in general. Arianne is the reason that it’s a family drama.

I’m not saying that a character dying means their story was pointless. Of course not. But Arianne’s story is this beautifully intricate one about family and the importance of agency and communication. Her dying would not only be robbing her of the chance to grow and choose her living family over her dead relatives, as Oberyn never could, it would be getting rid of the piece making the Dornish storyline coherent. If Arianne dies, what happens? Trystane becomes the Prince of Dorne? Trystane who is barely even a character and we know nothing about. who doesn’t have anything at all like Arianne’s complicated relationship with Doran? The remaining Martells and Sands don’t have the same push and pull of love and anger? Seriously, without Arianne, what is the Dornish story about?

I’m not opposed to kill-them-all storylines. Not in principle. I think they have a time and a place and can be used effectively. But I don’t buy that that’s a worthwhile thing to do with Dorne. Not only is it racist to do such a thing to the only major house consisting of people of colour, it doesn’t even make sense. It would be losing the thread of what’s going on. The Dornish plot is supposedly about the dangers of revenge, right? Fine. So Doran and his loved ones die because of his attempts at gaining vengeance...but Arianne actually dies because of her supposed ambition? Because she doesn’t just listen blindly to her father, which is apparently bad now even though Doran is the one who is supposedly leading his family to ruin because of his desire for justice that he’s previously set aside for the sake of his living family? None of it makes sense.

The generally accepted idea that Arianne will act rashly and marry Aegon because she’s jealous, ambitious, and impulsive is not grounded in who she is. I’m not going to talk about whether or not she’ll marry him, that’s a whole other issue - though I have to say that I suspect part of the reason Daemon Sand exists at all is to make that a tough call for her. But Arianne marrying Aegon then dying is dumb. While I’m mostly okay with Aegon dying - I suspect that will happen after he’s earned the people’s love and proven himself to be a good, competent ruler - I just don’t think killing Arianne does anything like that. All it would do would fuel the gross “naive, sheltered girl way out of her depth and incapable of playing in the big leagues” narrative. That’s not what Arianne’s arc so far has been, and to pivot into making it that would be gross and wasteful. Arianne should live and become the ruling princess of Dorne. And she can do it. Arianne is smart and capable of using all the tools at her disposal. Her AFFC arc depended on her ability to convince Arys, Myrcella, and Cedra that they should do what she wanted them to - three people from very different walks of life and places in society, all of whom she communicated with successfully. Her easy ability to make friends meant she knew about Quentyn going to Essos, despite how secret the mission was supposed to be (sidebar: Arianne would be a great Master of Whisperers). Despite Areo’s belief that “someone always tells”, Arianne didn’t tell anyone about the huge bombshell of a letter she’d read about her being disinherited for ten years. She sat on that information, waiting and watching, then began her work seducing Arys in case she needed him, not rushing into anything. She only acted after Doran arrested the Sand Snakes and she felt backed into a corner with no choice. Arianne is smart, wary, and naturally inclined to caution. She is not about to make impulsive decisions when Elia Sand’s life is on the line, and she has the skills she needs to get out of tough situations alive.

As for Willas, I’ve made a similar argument to this theory before myself - not going so far as to actually argue it, but arguing it’s just as likely as anything else. I think it’s perfectly plausible. Willas has been linked to Dorne through his friendship with Oberyn, which existed despite both the general animosity between Dorne and the Reach and the specific circumstances under which they met, and through how Arianne once thought to marry him. That’s pretty positive, and it stands out when compared to how his family thinks of the Dornish - Mace is mad at the thought of Dornishmen crossing his lands, and his “I have no quarrel with Doran Martell” comes across as seriously begrudging. Olenna calls Ellaria “the serpent’s whore” for absolutely no reason. All of this is connected to Oberyn accidentally injuring him in a tourney, and yet Willas himself doesn’t begrudge him for it. As far as we know, he’s the sole point of contact between the Tyrells and the Martells, and everyone seems to like him. The Tyrells would almost certainly not have motivation to ally with Dorne at this particular moment - they’ve thrown their lot in with the Lannisters, Margaery is the queen, and the Martells have very different interests. But Willas might well want to. And when the Lannister-Tyrell alliance implodes, I can see it happening. The generally accepted answers to the person most likely to defect from their Tyrell liege lord are Mathis Rowan, for his apparent disgust at Tywin’s brutality towards Elia and her children, and Randyll Tarly, for never getting credit for anything. But who’s to say that Mace won’t die, leaving Willas in charge, and allowing him and Arianne to decide to nope on out of there, secede, and unite their regions into a new kingdom?

#replies #azullarks

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radramblog · 4 years ago

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Letting Go- Fallout: New Vegas DLC analysis Pt. 1

youtube

I’m no youtube video essayist, and I’m sure one of those has done a better job of this than I will, but I’m very passionate about this game, and it’s been in my head a lot recently, so I’m hankering to write about it.

The themes of the 4 Expansions to Fallout: New Vegas, Dead Money, Honest Hearts, Old World Blues, and Lonesome Road, relate to one core theme: letting go, and beginning again. This resonates through both the individual plots of each one as well as the overarching story ending with the final confrontation of Lonesome Road. While each is separate, with its own locations, conflicts, and scenarios, this theme is resonant in each, and reflects the main story’s core conflict, being the greed of various factions trying to control the Mojave.

Spoilers inside.

Dead Money

Dead Money, the first DLC, involves the Courier being ambushed and trapped inside the pre-war casino, the Sierra Madre, by Elijah, the former Elder of the Mojave’s Brotherhood of Steel. Time and technology have turned the Madre into a deathtrap, with mutants and poisonous gas around every corner, limited resources, and the bomb collar helpfully strapped to the Courier’s neck by Elijah.

The theme of letting go is very unsubtle in Dead Money. The ending slideshow literally has it narrated by each of the characters simultaneously. And while it is also present in the stories of Dog/God and Christine, it’s Dean and Elijah who are both holding on to greed, to revenge, and to ego. Elijah is obsessed with the technology of the old world, having gotten countless Brotherhood members killed at the battle of HELIOS One, and desperately wants to master the technologies that make the Madre so dangerous to take revenge on the wasteland that he feels scorned him. This obsession leads him to kidnap possibly dozens of people, putting bombs around their necks to ensure compliance, forcing them to try and open the Casino so he can claim the prize- unsuccessfully, until the Courier becomes his latest victim. And while at the climax of the story it is easier to kill him, it is just as possible to trap him inside the vault, letting that greed directly lead to his own downfall. Elijah couldn’t let go of his desperate and dangerous ambitions, and either way he meets his end as a result.

The vault of the Sierra Madre, however, was obviously not designed as a trap for someone born over a hundred years after its creation. Dean Domino was a pre-war singer, and a romantic rival/personal enemy to Sinclair, the casino’s creator. The trap of the vault was meant for him- Sinclair knew of his plan to break in, leaving a document on the vault’s computer that Dean’s curiosity wouldn’t let him ignore, that when opened would permanently lock with Dean inside. This heist, of course, was interrupted by the end of the world. After the bombs fell, he was ghoulified, and while Sinclair and their shared beau were safe in the Madre, it was but a gilded cage that both of them eventually succumbed to. Dean, however, couldn’t let go of them- he’s been planning to rob the Madre for 200 years, bomb collar or not, and still wants petty revenge on Sinclair despite him being long-dead. Ego is Dean’s main downfall- to the point where it’s impossible to talk him down from a fight if you have ever slighted him in dialogue (since one such slight is a skill check, most people end up doing so)- and as such like Elijah his inability to let go leads directly to his death. Unlike Elijah, however, it’s possible for him to survive, at which point he does begin again- finally leaving the Madre behind for the Mojave. The good endings for all 3 companions involve them effectively resetting their lives, beginning again, with Christine resolving to watch over the Madre’s surrounds to prevent its dangers from escaping, and Dog/God quite literally becoming a new person.

The player is also forced to let the treasure of the Sierra Madre behind. Once you enter the vault, you’ll find stacks of gold bars- enough to bankrupt the entire economy of the main game. They are also incredibly heavy, to the point of overencumbering any character with only a few, even if you strip off all your equipment, and without the ability to run surviving the destruction of the casino is impossible. While it is technically possible to swipe the full load (and it’s easy enough to get away with one or two bars), that’s not the point- greed, and the Madre, are a trap, and like Dean and Elijah before you too must learn to let go of it.

Honest Hearts

A lot of people cite Honest Hearts as their least favourite of the DLCs, and while I tend to agree, that by no means makes it bad. On the contrary, Zion is a gorgeous location, and exploring it is an absolute blast. However, it also relates the least, arguably, to the themes I’ve been discussing.

Honest Hearts is a story about three tribes- the Dead Horses, lead by Joshua Graham, the Sorrows, led by Daniel, and the White Legs, led by Salt-upon-Wounds. Both Joshua and Daniel are New Canaanites, Mormons living among the tribes after their home was destroyed by the White Legs. The main thematic ties center around the character of Joshua, a character who, while already having begun again, still has yet to let go. Joshua was the first Legate for Caesar’s Legion, the head of its army and a death-cheating force of nature, until his lack of strategic talent lead to his failure at the first battle of Hoover Dam. For this was made an example, lit aflame and tossed into the Grand Canyon, but survived both in man and as the myth of the Burned Man. From there he returned to Zion, to become the Dead Horse tribes de facto leader, restarting his life but being threatened by old mistakes.

The only real choice you get in Honest Hearts’s story is how to handle the White Legs situation- siding with Joshua and wiping them out, or with Daniel and evacuating both the Dead Horses and the Sorrows. In essence, you choose whether Joshua lets go of revenge against the White Legs for the destruction of New Canaan, or whether he exacts said vengeance with you in tow (not that he needs the help). His arc is left frustratingly unresolved in the former case, but in the latter he is given one final decision point- to execute the defeated Salt-Upon-Wounds or not- to symbolically let go of his past mistakes, or to pursue the vengeance he’s been carrying for years. Ultimately not killing SUW is the only choice that leads to him truly growing as a person, realising his own faults and how he’d been using his faith to indulge his own anger at those who have wronged him.

Thematically, however, that’s about it, and Honest Hearts is otherwise largely divorced from the rest of the main story, the DLCs, and the themes of such. It’s still a good time, and Joshua Graham is ridiculously cool, but it’s analytical relevance is nothing compared to Dead Money or Lonesome Road.

#ramble #gaming #fallout new vegas #christine is great but idk what to say about her here

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jujywrites · 4 years ago

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Always Falling Down, part I

This was part of a rarepair gift exchange. mricj and I got matched because sometimes u CAN manifest what u want for urself~~~

This is Rosawatts for sure, but also very poly, very id-ficcy and very long (just under 7k....). with a small part 2 pending because WE BUILT THIS SHIP WE SAIL IT HOWEVER WE WANT oh and a playlist (click plz~)

PS: the plotbunny emerged from "i thought you (loved me)" by livj707. One of my top 10 TTM fics and the rest of them are in there too!

AO3

FF.net

or keep reading

(Part II here)

~~~~~

~We hold on to the good times and the right now and the long nights~

Can you hear when I say "I have never felt this way"? (I can't see you and me and her without each other)

Roxie

You were 8 or 9 when you realized that you responded to people’s emotions in an unusual way. Your mom’s anger made you feel like there was a small fire in your belly, no matter the amount or what the anger was directed at. Her joy when hummingbirds visited the garden you both made to attract them made you feel invincible. When she felt sad, everything looked gray.

So what, you thought. She was your mother; of course you’d be attuned to her mood. The same with the rest of your family. But there was a slight wrinkle in that logic— you sensed the emotions of your friends at school, and that affected you similarly, if with less intensity.

Soon after realizing that, though, came the realization that even friends of friends, even complete strangers, had emotional signals that you picked up without trying. You brought this up with one of your dad’s sisters (one of your favorite family members, were you ever pressed to admit it), because you couldn’t quite stomach having your mom worry about you. You were pretty sure what happened to you wasn’t normal.

Your aunt introduced you to the term empath, said her wife had the same ability that you did. She taught you ways to handle the side effects (as she put it), how to channel and control it, to some extent. Even with this, though, things got more complicated as you grew older. People’s emotions got louder.

The maelstrom this caused in you was nigh unbearable and (luckily?) manifested itself as stereotypical moody teenage behavior, when you weren’t wrestling with the attendant physical ailments. That led you to what’s turned out to be a lifelong interest in astronomy and stargazing. Or more accurately, it increased your at-the-time budding interest exponentially. Others’ emotions couldn’t sink their hooks into you, not when your mind was buried in a book or when you were alone outside on a clear warm night. Stargazing served as meditation, too, and slowly you gained a better grasp on this whole empath thing.

That was how you met Neil. He lived in another school district; somehow both of you claimed a little park in town as a prime stargazing spot. He said his gramps took him gazing every summer, and Neil found he wanted to do it more often than that. You didn’t know much about him besides that and some shows and video games he was into, but that was hardly a deterrent to your talking a blue streak in the rare times when both of you were done watching the sky. You talked about your hobbies, how school went, how your little brother was doing, what music you were obsessing over. You told him everything except your biggest secret, and even though he didn’t always acknowledge it all, you could feel he took it all in. He was the first person who had ever done that.

Then he moved away with hardly a goodbye, and that was that. You remember feeling hurt and sad for longer than a day, maybe a week or two, but time has worn away the memories of how you felt. College, of course, was the next big chapter in your life, when your present-day reputation for being bubbly and carefree developed. That had always been with you; college life simply made you turn it up to eleven, a coping mechanism of sorts in navigating the world as an empath.

Strange how the peace you found back then has led you right back to that feelings maelstrom, into the difficulty of parsing what belongs to you and what doesn’t.

You didn’t see Neil until you got to SigCorp, at which point all the moments he was in your periphery during training slapped you across the face, along with hazy childhood memories.

“You’re Roxie, right?”

And all the years without him collapsed together. Maybe you didn’t see much of each other, but your friendship still easily restarted, helped along by your shared sphere of work.

You’d say he’s your best friend, if you were asked.

Meeting Eva was a different kind of slap.

You could count the number of crushes you had on one hand, your relationships on six fingers. You hadn’t felt love yet.

You fell fast and hard for Eva. Then you got back up, and cut that off quicker than breathing, because no way would someone as cool, collected and straight-laced as her would ever be interested in you. (Plus, you had no idea if she was queer and that’s not something to ask someone you just met.)

And then there was Neil.

The two of them had capital-h History, obvious from the moment you saw them together. If anyone knew how much time you spend thinking about your friends’ relationship, the effort you put into trying to push them together, how much time recently you’ve invested in worry (especially over Eva, but Neil too) you’d get therapist recommendations at the very least—

It’s not just wishful thinking. Your empathy gives you a sixth sense as to which people are meant for each other, and/or are dealing with feelings towards each other (which also gave you a leg up in office gossip). And Neil and Eva fit so well; that’s why they were paired together, why you convinced Rob they should be a team, despite how much you liked working with her. Not that he needed convincing. That’s how obvious their compatibility was. And yes, this was despite their bickering (and Neil’s pranks on his partner).

What drew you to Rob, as a colleague and as a person, and helped you decide to permanently partner with him, is how quiet his emotions are. He’s hardly unfeeling, despite what others (like Neil) might say. No, it’s just that his emotions are blissfully subtle. Sometimes when you feel them flare up it’s like a gift.

His emotions toward you aren’t subtle, not these days. And sometimes you feel terrible for relying on him as much as you do. But that’s another thing.

Eva

The cases that go wrong from the beginning are always easier on you than the ones that go wrong when you’re so close to closing them out. Talking to loved ones afterwards is the common denominator, the same intensity of pain no matter what went wrong when. But you’ve grown used to that pain, used to letting it glance off your skin because this is your job, and perfection is impossible.

You thought you had, anyway. The case you failed barely twenty minutes ago, the one from which you’re walking to the car with Neil now, found a chink in your armor. A stupid rookie-level mistake that both of you believed you’d fixed came back to bite you; you almost didn’t log out of the machine before your client flatlined. You owned up to it, the client’s brother took a swing at Neil and tried at you, and the only reason you’re both out of there alive is the brother’s wife calming him down.

There’s still paperwork to finish. You did the bare minimum before getting the hell away from that place. And Neil has one whopper of a black eye that he’s too bullheaded to do anything about, because he had a spare pair of glasses and that makes everything just fine.

In the car, the practically-visible wall between you and Neil is even more unbearable given the post-case mood, and it makes you feel sick. This is far from the first case you’ve failed, with or without him. Hell, it’s not even the first case involving bodily harm directed at either of you. It still feels like the last straw. But you’re not going to quit, you tell yourself. Someone has to keep fighting.

Neil may have stopped trying, but there’s nothing stopping you from fighting enough for you both.

Robert

For the most part, you’re an analytical person. You’re able to compartmentalize your thoughts from your emotions, and often able to see past others' emotions to what might be eliciting them. And that’s why your work at Sigmund fits you so well, why you chose memory traversal over being a tech, as much as machines in general and Sigmund’s in specific interest you.

Your personality and Roxie’s make you an excellent team. Even though her default mode is happy-go-lucky, you’ve been partners long enough to know that she’s the kind of person who can feel everything, all at once, and weather it. That talent must have always been there, under the surface; it’s probably what drew you to her in the first place.

Being able to compartmentalize, however, only gets you so far. You’re hardly immune to base emotions, yours or others’. You get frustrated when you know something is wrong, someone’s having a problem, and that your clear-headed distance from the situation isn’t helping fix it.

Watts and Rosalene, one of your best teams, one of the best you’ve ever seen since you joined Sigmund, have been backsliding for some time. Their ratio of completed cases to failed ones is still good (and they’ve had some brilliant successes), but their previous case was a failure and the mood leading up to their next one is not promising, to say the least. They’ve had innumerable rough patches, no question, but even you can tell there’s a good bit of the personal getting muddled with the professional in this patch. You’re in the unenviable position of having to monitor them, getting closer to explaining to the higher-ups why they are still viable.

Viable. What a cold word. Makes you clammy to think of it in reference to your colleagues. Your almost-friends. It’s... bothersome, to see them fracturing, or whatever less-ominous thing might be happening.

On top of that, there’s something off about Roxie. A dimming of her natural light. The only other time that’s happened is when her brother got sick; he’d been in dire straits before he recovered, and the recovery had been hard.

You know this because Roxie told you. You seem to be good at listening. If only you weren’t abysmal at asking. Not that Watts— Neil— would divulge anything, and Rosalene— Eva— seems even less likely to.

You’d ask Roxie but with her, you’re terrified of not knowing what to say.

Neil

You could’ve decked that guy. Definitely could have. For once it isn’t braggadocio— the things he said about you and Eva made you see red. He telegraphed really badly too, so you could sidestep him (he was like two feet taller than you and you aren’t a total idiot), but taking a swing at Eva?! Good thing the guy’s wife stepped in or things would’ve gotten even more fucked. Because of you and for you.

Of course, with the adrenaline gone, your mutual antisocial...ness, toward each other (what? You can’t word when you’re tired) rushes in to fill the vacuum. It’s frigid out too, which is great. And your face kind of—

“Ah, fuck me,” you mutter as your piece-of-crap company car decides to break down in the middle of an empty road.

Eva sighs epically. Her breath clouds. “Shit.”

Ha, she legit swore.

Your momentary amusement is bulldozed by the inconvenient need to talk. The second you’re alone alone with her, in lulls before or after cases, in downtime at the office, the words bubble up in your throat, more insistent every time. And every time you try to open your mouth, they disappear. It’s been like this for weeks, ever since The Incident.

She found the not-from-Sigmund company letter. She found the (other) pills. Unlocked door or not, you haven’t forgiven her for the breach of privacy. She hasn’t forgiven you for keeping (those kinds of) secrets from her. And here you are now.

You don’t know how much more you can take.

Eva speaks before you can get your voice working. “I’m calling Roxie.”

“How?” Flipping open your phone, you glare at it. “No reception out here.”

“We passed a payphone on the way here. Shouldn’t be more than a 5 minute walk.”

You just gape at her while she bundles up in her scarf and hood. “It’s minus fifty!”

Her eyes meet yours for half a second. “Don’t exaggerate, Neil. Not tonight.”

And, predictably useless, you watch her get out of the car and start walking, snowflakes shining around her in the dimming headlights.

Roxie

One of the things about being an empath is, it’s easier to tell when someone’s romantically interested in you. (Too bad there’s no one-night-stand-interest sensor.) That feeling has a certain color to it, distinguishing it from friendship or dislike. And it’s the reason why you haven’t dated much. Every time you’ve felt it, it’s been like a flipped switch, a lightning bolt, leaving you unprepared and uncomfortable every time. Sometimes it’s been because you don’t return their feelings, sometimes because you need a few days to adjust to the idea. Even with one of the ones you liked back (a post-college roommate, because you may be an empath but that doesn’t exempt you from so-called clichés), it petered out eventually when you didn’t fit together anymore.

With Rob, it’s different. So subtle you don’t realize right away. And so soft it’s easy to lean into and pretend you don’t quite know how he feels, keep your already intimate friendship separate from that other kind of intimacy.

You like him. Want to like him as more than a friend, the way he likes you. If you could only let go of your ridiculous double crush.

There’s only so much room a heart should have, anyway.

Eva

The incongruity of using payphones hits whenever you have to use one, which thankfully is extremely rare. You’ve learned the hard way to keep a small stash of quarters within easy reach on cases, whether they’re located in the boonies or not. Even with gloves on, your hands are so cold that there’s a lot of fumbling involved in getting them into the machine, more fumbling while you pull up Roxie’s contact info on your phone. Not that you need to; you’ve got it memorized. She’s picked you up more than once.

It hits you square between the eyes this time, so you can’t ignore it: Roxie’s been like emotional glue, from back when you were a greenhorn changing partners every couple of weeks to now. She was the constant for you back then, and then became your tech specialist for a hefty amount of cases until you got paired with Neil. She’s patched things up several times when you wanted to strangle him, by talking you down, or being a mediator, or just listening to you rant. And since tonight is turning into one giant negative thought spiral, you get stuck on how much emotional support you’ve taken from her without giving anything back, alike or different. After this, well, you have to come up with something. A restaurant gift card? Ice cream from that new place down the road from yours? Why is food the only thing you can think of? True, food has meaning, but you sh—

“Hello?”

“Roxie. It’s me. Eva.”

“Hey! What’s up?”

“Hope I didn’t wake you,” you say on automatic. Nope, she’s probably—

“Nah, binging a few Shadow Junction episodes before hitting the hay,” she replies with a giggle.

Over this line, the brief silence is crackly. “I need a favor. Our car died on us…”

“Oh my god wait, you just finished a case!” There’s some scuffling and a small thump; when she speaks again her voice is closer. She must have taken you off speaker. “Where are you? I’ll pick you up ASAP.”

You give her a handful of landmarks, the compass direction. With the dark, the gathering snow, your barely-held-back exhaustion, you're starting to think you might be back in the simulation.

Your hands hurt. At least they still have feeling.

“There’s a storm coming, isn't there? Are you okay?”

“Tired. Cold. But, yeah, okay.”

“Hey, Eva?” Hearing your name wakes you up a little; the weight in Roxie’s tone wakes you up more. “I’ll call a tow for you on the way, but do me a favor and don’t hang up.”

“Sure,” you whisper.

She chatters about the latest plot developments on Shadow Junction for a few minutes; you feel like you're absorbing some of the energy in her voice. Then she says, “I’m getting on the highway now,” and then she says, slightly more subdued, “Do you want to tell me about your case?”

Nope. “It went badly, that’s all.”

More crackly silence. Then: “I know I’m repeating myself, Eva, but… are you okay?”

I’m fine.

I’ll be fine when I’m back home.

I’m used to this. It’s fine.

You say, “I think I’m losing Neil.”

The metal of the phone booth bites into your hand even through the glove. “I… found some things I shouldn’t have.” Roxie can keep secrets, contrary to her reputation. This one shouldn’t be her burden, and so you don’t share what you found. “He’s been conflicted about what we do for a while. I think he might be trying to leave Sigmund. And that’s his prerogative, but I just—”

You trained together, joined Sigmund together, starting planning to join Sigmund together. It’s been an enormous part of both your lives, and now you’ve been a team almost as long as your dream to be a part of this company existed. If Neil walks away, what will you have left?

Roxie. Robert. The McMillans. Eddie, Lisa, Logan. You won’t be alone, and you still have your purpose to guide you. But...

You were so certain you’d see that purpose through with Neil at your side, you don’t see how it would possibly be the same. How you could be the same. Sure puts a dent in your faith that you’re your own person.

You can’t simply ask him to stay. Some small irrational part of your brain thinks bringing up the subject at all will make it come to pass. And those pills. If he does leave, if Sigmund is part of his will too, what if—

You wipe at your wet cheeks and nose. “He’s my partner. I need to fix this, and I don’t— I don’t fucking know how.”

Your voice doesn’t sound nearly as broken as you feel.

Robert

It’s another night of Roxie on your couch, eating takeout from your favorite place and watching a movie together. Neither of you have defined your relationship. You’re fine with that, and you think she is too. And yet...

“Roxanne, I—” You love her, have for a long time now. But you’ve seen how she looks at Eva, and at Neil, and you know she doesn’t have room for you right now, don’t know if she ever will.

You had a chance. You realized your feelings for her well before she fell in love with them (or at least before she began to show signs). The obstacles were too many: she’s half your age, you work together but are sort-of kind-of boss and subordinate. All true. All excuses, too, because you weren’t brave (stupid) enough to take that chance.

But she’s come to you for comfort, and you aren’t an asshole; you won’t deny her that because she has a different measure of your relationship. You love her. You would care for her even without that.

Then she kisses you, and she says, “I’m sorry,” and curls up against you.

Roxie

You’re making a mistake, and you don’t care.

You needed that kiss. It soothed these pangs, this hollowness that’s grown over the past few weeks from whatever is going on between Eva and Neil. And the way Rob’s emotions have started to swirl feels dangerous. Addictive. You want more of that, the power to make his emotions dance with one touch.

It’s getting harder to ignore the voice calling you an awful person.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest. “I know, in every rule book ever made, that I’m leading you on. But I’m not trying to! I’m so sorry. I…” You swallow, sudden clarity hurting your throat. “I think I want to be with you. But, Neil and Eva…”

Saying their names brings fog back over you, reddened by wine. “I can’t explain it,” you whisper, arms around his shoulders. “I can’t... decide.”

You can’t give Rob what he deserves, what you finally know you want to give him, if you can’t make your mind up.

“We’ll figure it out.”

Despite the uncertainty you can practically taste, it feels like a promise. He holds you tighter, and you let yourself sink into him.

Neil

You’re tired, exhausted, and that makes your brain go all overdramatic, but even with that you’re pretty sure this is the shittiest night of your life. You can’t talk to Eva, and she won’t talk to you, and now you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere trying not to freeze to death, watching her freeze to death while she waits for Roxie to rescue both of you from freezing to death. The least you could do is stand by Eva and suffer with her. Then again, maybe she’d rather turn into an Evasicle in peace right now.

You resent how much this case haunts you. You resent even more your inability to walk away from Sigmund and from Eva. They wouldn’t care, but she (probably) would. Does. You wish that didn’t matter so much to you. It shouldn’t anymore, after what she did. The one time you don’t lock your office door. Like a goddamn house of cards. If she’d told you right after instead of sitting on it for a few days, making you wonder what the hell was wrong with her…

You’re such a hypocrite, with all the secrets you’ve kept and keep.

Everything feels gray. Heavy. Tunnel vision, maybe, from the cold and your lack of sleep. Stepping out into the wind chill would probably help you stay awake at this point, except you’re not so far gone as to actually follow through on that.

Eva’s left the phone booth and is standing in the snow, hood blown off from the wind, and she’s too bullheaded to pull it back up. You stare at her hair streaming out, your eyes grow blurry from snowflakes, and your thoughts drift back to distant nights spent with a talkative girl who shared your love of stars.

Roxie

You’re up late at home, watching the Shadow Junction episodes in your queue, when Eva calls you, voice tinny over a payphone. You can’t sense emotions tangibly without being in person, but her and Neil’s voices have a similar effect on you regardless, by now.

You talk with her until you’re on the road.

Something’s wrong besides their dead car, and Eva reveals the tip of the iceberg. You’re relieved. Your instinct hasn’t yet devolved into paranoia.

“He’s my partner. I need to fix this, and I don’t— I don’t fucking know how.”

The turnoff to where they are is coming up. “I can’t imagine how that must feel,” you say into your head mic. A white (gray?) lie. Her pain is making it hard for you to breathe. “But I’m getting you back to the office, and we’ll go from there. One step at a time. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

You call the tow place as soon as you end her call. After that, things blur together until your car meets theirs.

The snow hasn’t stuck; it’s the light, fluffy kind that would be nice in another time and place. You can see Eva and Neil hunkered down in their seats.

You can’t get out of your car fast enough.

Eva’s first to get out once you reach them. She hugs you, and, yeah, you could probably die happy now. You’re such a mess.

“Thank god for you, Rox. Seriously.”

You’re such a mess. Neil’s relief nearly makes your knees crumple with its warmth, but there are... layers to it. Those layers and the ever-present knot of worry in your stomach keep you alert. Besides, it’s not (won’t ever be) the time or place to let them know everything you’re feeling. So you smile past your shivers and wave off his comment. “No problem. Of course I’ll bail you guys out of this weather!” Then you force your offer of a ride back out of lungs tightened with the fear that they’ll know what lies behind it. “Brought you some cider. Blankets too. To thaw you out for the paperwork, y’know.”

They accept. Of course they do; they don’t have a choice. If either of them suspect anything they aren’t showing it and dear god you are so overthinking this. “Tow truck should be here any minute, if you don’t mind waiting a bit longer.”

“You have heat in your car. That’s all I care about,” says Neil, and Eva says, “A few minutes more doesn’t matter.”

Then she puts her hand on his elbow as they walk the short way to your car, and all your stupid mushy probably-touch-starved brain can think is, there’s hope.

They settle in the back instead of splitting up over the passenger seat, and dumb hope unfurls further in your chest. You waste no time in unfolding blankets and handing them each a thermos. Eva acknowledges with a grateful smile, and you pretend not to notice how Neil flinches when you drape the blanket over him. You ignore the flashing burn when your hands meet their bodies, ignore how fast your heart is beating.

You have a plan, even though it’s a selfish one.

Eva

Roxie still believes her bright shiny mask is impenetrable, but you know her better than she thinks you do; something is worrying her. A lot. And here she is, practically saving both of your lives, and trying to hide it so you don’t feel any worse—

You’re faced with the sudden urge to kiss her.

She’s been a shoulder to lean on, a friend, a good friend. Why did this feeling burst through now? Did the weight of what you and Neil failed to do, the weight of what you know and what he’s not telling you, crack and cause this shift?

(What would she think if you tried?)

You push the urge away, but feel it beaming through when you take your first sip of cider.

Maybe in another life.

Robert

Roxie’s on the verge of breaking, and you can’t do one thing to help.

She stands by you, thermos in hand, while she waits for Eva and Neil to tie up some legalities and gather what they need. At this hour, the offices are silent to the point of suffocation. Having these three around is reminiscent of oxygen. Even so:

"I was really scared, you know?" she says, smiling, eyes painfully bright. "All I knew was I had to get them. So I did. They’ve been dealing with something tough and I couldn't ask them even though I wanted to and they were nearly hypothermic, Rob!" The noise that comes out of her is a shrill mockery of laughter. "So after they're done here, we're going back to my place. All of us. I don't want them to sleep alone. I'll hogtie Neil if I have to, I swear to god.”

There’s nothing you can say, so you just nod. And then you realize: there is something you can do.

You want Roxie to yourself, of course; most one-sided relationships are likely that selfish. You want her to be happy even more than that. So you excuse yourself to the bathroom, and then double back to the offices and poke through Eva’s ajar door, knocking on the jamb.

They’re both in there, which makes it easier for you. Neil’s already got a file folder stuffed with papers in his arms (which he nearly drops upon seeing you). You also notice the overnight bag next to him, and that Eva’s looking over hers.

(Of course. The weekend’s coming up. You should get your bag too.) That’ll make it easier for Roxie.

You’re also worried about them, so this isn’t only for Roxie’s sake. Eva looks like a shell of herself, and Neil’s posture seems to indicate he’s in pain.

“What’s up, Bob?” Neil plops the file folder into his bag. “We taking too long or something?”

You shake your head. “Take the time you need. I heard from Roxie tonight’s case didn't end well, so I thought I should check in.”

“We’re as all right as we can be,” Eva says, zipping up her bag. “And anyway, we’re done here.”

She stops when you don’t move from the doorway.

“She’s really worried about you two. I don’t know any details, but… go easy on her. She means well even when she’s overbearing.”

You turn and head back to the lobby, feeling overheated.

Neil

Roxie seems like a supernova in the frozen night (and if you weren’t half-frozen you'd be slapping yourself for your dumb metaphorical thoughts), and that light is enough, combined with Eva’s presence, to propel you into Roxie’s car.

You flinch because, somehow, her brief touch feels like it unlocks all your secrets. Ridiculous, because Eva got there first and you really hardly know Roxie.

The paperwork is second nature. You and Eva go to your respective offices; you squint as if that’ll make your handwriting look any less blurry (okay, guess your glasses need cleaning); at the last second you grab your overnight bag, and instead of heading back to the lobby you gravitate to Eva’s office and stand there like a dumbass while she finishes up.

You thump your bag on the floor. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she says without turning around.

You busy yourself with organizing your papers. But every so often you glance at her, and when you see she’s going through her overnight bag the urge to ask if she wants to stay at your place, or if you can stay at hers, is overpowering. Don’t ask, don’t— “Do you—”

There’s a knock, and of all people Rob’s standing there, as if tonight isn’t freaky enough. Still. Saved by the Bobert bell.

What he says, along with the sheer incongruity of his presence, knocks you out of your numbness for a few minutes. “Jeez,” you say once he leaves as fast as he came by, “he’s really got it bad for her, doesn’t he?”

A barely-heard whisper in your mind hisses, You should know.

She’s wearing an indecipherable expression. “I suppose so.”

It all makes slightly more sense when you get back to the lobby. Before you or Eva can open your mouths, Roxie’s talking.

“It’s been a really bad night for you two. I’ve been there, you don’t have to tell me anything, and... I won’t ask. But I’ve got a spare room and a couch at my place and you should take advantage of that for the night. I’ve already convinced Rob, and I won’t bother any of you, a-a-and I really think it’s for the best so, so please…”

As exposed as you’re feeling, you can see the appeal of staying at her place. It’s closer than yours, and yeah, okay, your brain cannot handle the logistics of dropping off and heading home. Besides, it’s pretty uncomfortable how upset she seems (even if it’s just about her sinking ship, har), and if this makes her feel better, well. You don’t know what’s going on, feel like you haven’t for hours, but you’re with people you know and who know you, even though they don’t know everything. There’s something to be said for having friends in the same line of work.

This rift between you and Eva hurts far more than you can admit to yourself, never mind anyone else. And even though Roxanne and Rob have no idea what’s happened, happening, between you two, them being with you feels like a bulwark holding back any further damage.

Maybe they might even help fix what’s broken.

Roxie could, maybesomehowsomeway. She seems like that kind of person, the kind who wants to fix people’s issues and is good at it, though who the hell knows where you got that impression. She’s standing closer, an arm’s length— a fact you only realize when she reaches up and takes off your glasses.

Roxie

You didn’t notice how close you’d gotten to Neil and Eva while you were talking, or that you’d been moving at all, until a shadow near Neil’s eyebrow catches your attention. At that instant, your accidental proximity doesn’t matter. Your heart stops for a split second. “Neil, your eye!”

“What about my—”

You remove his glasses. Eva gasps, like it’s A Bad Thing you just did (and okay, you can’t remember ever seeing his eyes before), and you can even sense Rob standing protectively close behind you. “Holy schnikes, Neil!” His right eye is nearly swollen shut, the bruise radiating nearly to his temple on that side and nearly across his nose on the other. “What happened?”

A tidal wave of guilt from Eva makes the room wobble, but Rob catches you.

“Sorry, more tired than I thought,” you say to their combined are you okays. Your nervous smile lands on Rob, who doesn’t look convinced. Still, he helps you upright silently.

Neil squints at you with his good eye. “What do you mean ‘what happened?’”

How can he not know? “It’s totally black??” You look from Neil to Eva and back, panic surfacing slowly. “It’s barely open??? Doesn’t it hurt?????”

Eva sighs, pulls a hand mirror from her bag, and holds it in front of him.

A pause.

“Huh,” he finally says. “Guess that explains why it’s a little harder to see.”

“Our client’s brother punched him.” Eva rubs at the bridge of her nose.

“He did not—”

“He said he was fine, but I thought he was just shrugging it off. I didn’t know he didn’t know! Don’t you remember your glasses broke?”

“He was huge! I dodged him easy! I…” Neil digs through his pockets indignantly for a few moments, then stops. “I don’t have my spare pair. Which… means that those…”

“Are your spare pair,” you finish gently, handing them back to him. “Neil, I think you might have a concussion.”

“Well, shit,” he says, at the same time Eva says, “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“That settles it.” You step back a couple paces, reluctantly. “You’re definitely coming back with me. I have ice and I have some bruise cream that’s pure magic, I swear.”

Neil huffs. “I already said I would.”

“You only thought it because I didn’t hear you.” You eke out a grin. “I’m not a mind-reader, you know!”

“Okay, well, this is my official yes let’s crash at your pad agreement.”

“Heard and acknowledged!”

Putting her bag over her shoulder, Eva says, “Then let’s go,” and leads the way to the elevators.

She and Neil take the backseat again, leaving Rob to sit in the passenger seat. Now that you’ve executed your plan, you seem to have lost whatever energy you had left.

The silence that falls, though, feels comforting instead of stifling.

~~~

The first step through your front door pulls a deep sigh out of you. Rob, Eva, and Neil’s various flavors of tension decrease slightly.

“I’m just gonna… stop for a minute.” So saying, Neil plops onto the floor in front of your stupid-huge couch.

“Sit wherever you like,” you say as you go to the kitchen for an ice pack.

You’re glad you turned the room into something slightly more presentable, even when you weren’t expecting three people to come by— cleaned up junky desserts from the coffee table, put pillows back, et cetera. You wrap a hand towel around the ice pack and bring it back to Neil, telling him to use light pressure. “I’ll go get the supplies.”

As soon as you flick on your bathroom light and see yourself in the mirror, your throat tightens with the need to cry. A few gasping sobs come out of you but, “Okay okay okay,” you whimper, clutching the sink rim, they’re here, you got them, you’ve made them safe now. “Get it together. Snap the hell out of it. You’ve got a job to do.”

You gather everything you think you need and then go back over it: disposable gloves, the arnica bruise cream, antiseptic wipes, washcloth, cup of warm water, 8-hour painkiller/swelling reducer. Then you splash off and dry your face, finagle all of it into your arms, and get back out there.

Neil’s made it onto your couch, probably because Eva’s sitting there now. She’s on his left. There’s space for you between them.

You’re friends. Colleagues. You’ve all been through highs and lows working at Sigmund, in parallel with each other. They can’t read your mind.

You unload your supplies onto the coffee table and take the seat.

Eva lets out a breath.

“Sorry for grabbing your glasses,” you say to Neil as you put on the gloves.

“Eh. Extenuating circumstances.” He shrugs. Takes them off. “‘Kay, do your worst.”

“I’ll be as careful as I can. First, these.” You hold up the wipe pack. “Your skin’s not broken so it shouldn’t sting, but I’ll make sure any excess is gone anyway. Oh—” You grab the pain pills. “Take these first, actually. I can get you water.”

“I have my own… water,” he mumbles, digging through his bag and retrieving a bottle. “Thanks.”

Once he’s taken the pills, you run the wipe all around the bruise, holding your breath while you dab at his closed eye. “Don’t move.” You wet the washcloth then and apply that, making sure no residue stays to get into his eye. That would suck.

“Okay, move if you need to. Magic cream’s the last thing!” You hold it up with a flourish. “Never had to use it on something this, uh,” you fumble for the word, “extensive, but I promise it’ll help.”

“Who died and made you Florence Nightingale?” he said with a chuckle.

You pause in the middle of daubing cream on your finger. “Who?”

“It’s an old reference. Really old. Like, my gramps knew the history, that’s how old.”

“Early 20th century nurse, I believe,” Rob says in a musing tone. “Founded the profession.”

“You’re almost as old as him, so you don’t count.”

“She opened the first nursing school, too,” says Eva.

“And you’re a nerd so you also don’t count.”

“She sounds pretty cool,” you say quietly; you’re close to Neil’s face again, applying the cream from the outside of the bruise in. “Glad someone’s remembering her, still.”

You don’t even notice the silence fall, you’re concentrating so hard.

Neil holds his breath this time when you put the tiniest amount of cream on and around his eyelids, using the barest pressure to rub it in and still wincing in his place.

You’re very close to him. Your hand tingles. Whatever’s charging the atmosphere is impossible to analyze.

“Um. All done.” You pull your hand away, look away, throw the glove into the little trash can under the table.

“Rox?”

You look back at him and try to breathe evenly.

“Just… thanks. For all this. And…” He leans forward to catch Eva’s gaze. “...sorry I got my head bashed in and forgot about it.”

“We should get that checked out tomorrow.” Her voice is worn, but her eyes are soft.

Your worry changes form in that instant, from low-key constancy in your veins to the choking kind of worry that comes from realizing you love them, are in love with them, your best friends who are in love with each other and either don’t know or can’t admit it. They certainly don’t have the room to accept your feelings.

You’ve known this for long enough; it’s hardly a revelation. But something about tonight has crystallized your feelings, made them impossible to bury. Now you know the origin of the physical ache that’s been dogging you for weeks, to the point of becoming a second skin, and you desperately wish you could do anything to ease Neil and Eva’s pain as much for yourself as for them. You just squeeze Neil’s hand, pretend Eva taking yours doesn’t stop your heart, and stare at Robert who graciously doesn’t stare back.

You nod, because you don’t trust your voice. But then you speak anyway. “We’re a team. Mismatched as we may be. We gotta stick together, you know?”

Looking at them both, you see Eva smile, and even Neil has a tiny flash of one when he says, “The four musketeers, or something?”

“Close enough.” Robert, soft, as he eases onto the couch next to Eva.

“No, exactly. One for all, and…” You swallow, looking at Neil, wishing so hard for Eva’s sake. “And all for one.”

Your hands left Eva’s and Neil’s to settle on the couch minutes ago, but now, almost synchronized, their hands cover yours again.

Every ounce of tension rushes out of you, in spite of the fact that your brain is in red alert mode, your heart’s beating fast enough it hurts, and heat’s flashing through you from head to toe.

Maybe one day you’ll tell Neil and Eva everything you feel. Maybe one day you’ll share your biggest secret with all three of them. But for now, all that matters is that you’re all together, safe for tonight, warm and dry. All that matters is the others’ emotions are blending into a shared, soft calm, that you’re almost, just about, being held by them. All that matters is that you all have each other.

For once in a long while, your mind is quiet.

#JujYwrites #SiqSquare #To the Moon #Finding Paradise #Rosawatts #Winlin #so. much. PINING

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thenightgazer · 5 years ago

Text

The Epistle of Forgiveness

Almost a month after the event of The Finding of Almagest, Vergil takes his visit to the library. Instead of reading, he wants to apologize to Lyra. What will Lyra do? Will Vergil get his forgiveness?

The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

-Oscar Wilde

The Literarium looks a little bit crowded today.

It’s not a regular view for Lyra.

Some guests are reading and enjoying coffee at the reading sections. Others are gather around sale section. Some of them approach her to ask for book location or her book recommendation. While walking around the reading sections to offer coffee refill, she spots her co-worker—Nate— is busy flirting with a group of school girls, completely forget his duty to rearrange book display. Lyra rolls her eyes in disgust, but do nothing since she doesn’t like being bossy.

Lyra was going to change her direction to the Rare Section before she remembers the loyal guest of that section isn’t present today.

Almost a month, she ponders. New record.

She starts to think that maybe she made a mistake for trusting a stranger.

Because the truth is, she knows that Vergil gave her a fake ID on their first meeting.

A true bibliophile won’t betray another bibliophile, Mr Steiner had said that. A way too innocent perspective, but this time she believes it.

Maybe because it’s Vergil, not anyone else.

“Your eyes, Librarian,” she remembers Vergil’s odd words. “Those eyes spoke nothing”

Lately, she finds herself drown to those vague words. No, more like haunted. Why did he say that? What does he mean about ‘I’ve seen thousand stories behind every eyes, but yours telling me nothing’? Does he sees something in her that she herself can’t see? But whatever it is, Vergil said that with suspicious tone. A kind of tone which Lyra translates as a potential danger.

But how could that man be a danger to her? He is indeed an intimidating man, but what she sees is just a gentleman who has a divine passion in literature and using poems as his unique way to express his perspective towards the world like a man of letter. A man with profound knowledges who held flowers delicately— a lenient manner which reflects nothing like his stern appearance at all.

Is it a mistake, she laments. To offer him a friendship?

“Lyra!” Mr Steiner shouts from receptionist table. “A little help here, please.”

“Just a second!” Lyra hurries her steps back to the receptionist table, making mental note to not accidentally spill anything about Vergil and Almagest in front of the owner of the library or she would get herself into bigger trouble.

The elder son of Sparda is furious.

He was on his way to take a brief visit to The Literarium after weeks of exhausting mission at Fortuna before a sudden demon attack ruins his day. Doom will always come upon those who try to mess with him, and that demon chooses the wrong person to deal with.

But this time is different.

Because the demon scatters something important for him.

He slaughters that demon out of rage, unlike his usual calm demeanour when he’s fighting. He wasn’t just stab it; he sliced it into dusts.

I was angry with my foe

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

He sheathes the Yamato and mentally curses himself.

Will I ever get my atonement?

As much as she loves her job as a librarian, Lyra loves closing time more than anytime.

It was almost an hour since Nate left this place, and yet Lyra hasn’t finished her task to account today sale. Tomorrow is Saturday, so she takes no haste in her work. Not that she has plan for weekend—in fact, she rarely has any plan for anything— she just prefer to do her things in her own pace. That’s why working in this small library suits her. It grants her more personal space without abandoning her passion of literature.

She grunts in annoyance whens she hears the doorbell is ringing.

“Sorry, we’re closed.” Lyra says, her eyes still focus on her paperwork.

Her suspicion grows when the person says nothing as she sees a shadow of a tall man looms behind her. She turn around to see the man and gasps excitedly.

“Oh! Hello again, Vergil!” Lyra greets him. “What a surprise! You know it’s closing time—wait, tell me it’s not blood on your glove.”

Vergil glances at his stained glove, “It wasn’t my blood.”

“Uh… good then,” Lyra nods anxiously when she sees Vergil is holding the Yamato. “I thought you were hurt.”

“I did not,” the hybrid assures her. “And you may put that thing away. I mean no harm at all.”

Lyra lets out a sigh and reveals a cutter she hides behind her back, “My apologies. You look like a hitman who wants to rob this place, by the way.”

“So I’ve been told,” Vergil admits, sending the Yamato into thin air. “I didn’t mean to scare you in any way. Please put that thing down. You have nothing to fear from me.”

“I don’t fear you, Vergil. I’m only making a prevention. Though I assume the cutter won’t have any effects on you,” Lyra lowers the cutter and put it back on her desk. “So… what brought you here, all that with katana, blood stain, and pale face?”

It’s difficult to instantly get a direct answer from Vergil’s stoic face. For a moment, the hybrid doesn’t say anything but flip his hair frustratedly. Expressing feelings isn’t easy for a man who avoids any interactions like him. He’s a man of action, not words. He might have the ability of memorizing and reciting poems in splendid way, but poem is poem. He recites because he can’t find any better words for himself. For once in his lifetime, he regrets his choice of mastering demonology and martial arts rather than improving his communication skill.

He sighs more than three times in less than a minute, must be a terrible problem, Lyra thinks suspiciously. She actually wants to rant about how Vergil could send his katana into thin air like magic, but she holds her tongue.

“Uh… do you want a cuppa? If that could help you a little bit relax,” Lyra offers. “I can brew it now if you—“

“No, thank you,” Vergil declines hastily. “I need to tell you some—“

They hear a crack from the office door. Mr. Steiner’s whistling as he wears his coat. The old man stops his whistle when his eyes catch the presence of a tall, menacing man who looks like he wants to murder someone. He glances doubtly to Lyra, who’s hiding her panic behind a polite smile.

“Mr Vergil here wants to return a book,” she explains in white lie. Her hand quickly grab a book from her desk as she reads its title, “The Interview with the… Vampire? Right, Mr Vergil?”

She counters Vergil’s unapproval glare by glares back at him, like she’s trying to tell him to be quick and answer before Mr Steiner suspicion gets any higher.

“Yes,” he finally answers without stopping his glare to the librarian.

“I’ll take care of this quickly, Mr Steiner. Don’t worry,” Lyra reassures her boss.

Mr Steiner nods slowly, “Alright, then. I want all the entries done for Monday. Lock the door when you’re about to leave.”

“Understood.”

“See you around, child. Don’t sleep too much.”

“Be careful on your way back home, Mr Steiner.”

“Good day,” Mr Steiner says to Vergil as the hybrid steps back to let the old man make a way. He and Lyra wait in anticipation until the owner of The Literarium heads out from the library and they can’t see his figure anymore.

“Whatever is that vampire book from all the books you could come up with?” Vergil scolds.

“I just grabbed whatever book I could grab at that moment!” Lyra surveys the front cover of The Interview with The Vampire. “Anyways, do you still want to tell me your unfinished story?”

“… about that… I’m obligated to tell you… my sincerest apologies.”

The man looks terribly grim, like he’s choked by his own words. Whatever reason behind his apology, Lyra can spot a heavy guilt inside his voice. His absent for almost a month and the sudden, buffling arrival give her an amount of hunch. Perhaps he lost the Almagest? If that’s true, I swear—

“For what? You lost the Almagest? Or broke it into pieces?” she chuckles jittery, half-hoping that her hunch is nothing but a mere negative thought. But her smile is fading when Vergil says nothing, confirming her question.

“I didn’t lost it,” Vergil takes out the Almagest from the back of his coat. The book looks horrific with the front cover is almost ripped off entirely, revealing the front page of the book. “I was attacked. A demon clawed the cover off. I managed to save the rest of the book, but still…” he sighs frustratedly. “I will pay the fine, no matter how much it takes.”

Much to his surprise, Lyra doesn’t even make a sound. She takes the book and inspect it carefully, flipping pages in silent. Her silence isn’t really a new thing for Vergil, since she isn’t a loud person. But this time is different. The silence is colder. There is no serenity behind it up to the point he finds her demeanour… almost intimidating.

Look at that eyes, Vergil surveys. It’s getting more hollow than usual.

“… well, well,” she mutters after a quite long silence. “Aside from the front cover, the contents are still complete. I guess this is your lucky day.”

“Which means?”

“I won’t charge you the fine.”

“… thank you?”

“You’re welcome. But you are not going anywhere before I fix the cover, sir. Hurry up!”

He follows her to the office, which is larger than he thought it would be. There are dishwasher, pantries, coffee brewer, old bookshelves, a large desk and a set of traditional bindery tools. Lyra tells him to take a sit while she collects some equipments.

“So… you are a devil hunter?” she asks.

“Apparently I am.”

“Ahh! Now I remember where I thought I’ve seen you around before! About five months ago, there was a devil hunter who has the same hair colour as you exterminating demons in the neighbourhood. His stature somewhat looks like you, except he has longer hair and rugged face. But I know it can’t be you. He talked too much.”

The picture of Dante bragged around this neighbourhood makes Vergil gets dizzy, “How unfortunate for you to meet my brother in such a manner.”

“Oh that’s fine. I wasn’t the one who call for his aid,” Lyra giggles as she cuts the strands of old binding threads of the Almagest to separate the old cover and the sections of assembled pages with a scalpel before she realized that Vergil just said something about ‘brother’. “Wait! That man was your brother?!”

“A younger twin brother, to be exact.”

“Ahh, so both of you are sons of Sparda!”

The half-devil narrows his eyes, “How do you know that?”

“The wealth of information of this neighbourhood is quite impressive. When your brother was around, they whispered something about ‘son of Dark Knight Sparda’, ‘strongest devil hunter’, ‘owner of Devil May Cry’ and ‘the legendary devil hunter’. I remember they mentioned his name, but I can’t recall it…”

Dante would blabbered rubbish if he heard this.

“Then you realized I’m a hybrid,” Vergil concludes.

“Righty-ho.”

Vergil waits in anticipation. People who know about his true identity mostly will pretend he doesn’t exist because being a descendant of Sparda means danger and dangerous. Only a few of them will taking interest in him for the sake of power and benefits, like Arkham and The Order of Sword to Nero. He’s ready for whatever Lyra’s reactions after this confession, but the librarian does nothing but cutting strands from Almagest. He catches no apprehensive reactions from her.

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” he murmurs curiously.

“Should I?”

“Most of people do. A common reaction when they discovered that I’m son of Sparda.”

Lyra shrugs, “I don’t find any reason to fear you.”

“Even when you saw the blood on my gloves and my sword mere minutes ago?”

“Told you already, I was only making prevention. And to be honest, I actually suspected it since our first meeting. I heard Sparda’s human form had white or silver hair like yours. No wonder you try so hard to cover your true identity.”

“You know my ID card is fake.”

“Yup.”

“And you still made me a member card, knowing I could be a threat to this library.”

“I just wanted to know what are you going to do in this library, yet nothing happened. You read and borrow books like normal people. You were never late to return the books and never complained. You bought one and two books with real money. Had you do something malicious to this library, I would’ve report you to the authorities. Though I doubt they could handle you, but at least this library has insurance,” she giggles mischievously.

“You could let a man cause trouble because of your curiousity, Librarian.”

“But you didn’t. And that’s that,” she winks. “Now I’m going to make a new cover. We don’t have modern equipments to make this process quicker. So this is the only way. Cutting the strands of all seven-hundreds pages.”

“I… uh… sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. It’s been a long while since the last time I do the bookbinding. It’s fun, actually. Strengthen the philosophy of never judge a book by its cover, because cover is replaceable.”

“All readers have different understanding of the book,” Vergil adds.

“Ahh, you are right!” Lyra glances at Vergil. “Like all books, you may find people who’s not interested in you, fear you, taking advantages from you. But it will take fewer people to really understand you, flip the pages carefully and waits for another chapter from you. You could change your cover, Vergil, but you are what you are now. As you said earlier, all readers have different understanding of the book. But that doesn’t mean the book is ill-favoured. The reader can only concludes the essence of the book, and decide whether they’d like it or not.”

“Your point is…?”

“That you being a hybrid and all doesn’t change anything to me. You’re still my friend.”

Will you still consider me as a friend, Vergil recalls all horrible things he did in the past. If you know I almost destroyed this world twice?

Yet he can’t deny the relief in his heart when she said that. Once again, he finds her philosophy charms him. He admires how she always perceives things in different point of views, never judges anything easily. Her silvery voice always calm him, as if it assure him that everything’s fine. His lips curve up into a subtle smile as he thanks her for her understanding. She just give him a playful wink in return.

“Let me guess then. Your brother’s name is…” she watches Vergil’s stoic expression attentively, searching for a clue. “… Dante?”

The half-devil says nothing.

“For real? Dante?!” Lyra laughs. “I was just having a thought about The Divine Comedy and guessed if you are Vergil—or Virgil, then your brother must be Dante!”

“It’s a common deduction,” Vergil’s eyes are soften. “My father fancied Dante Alighieri and my mother had an odd obsession of Virgil. She recited Aeneid for our bedtime story.”

“It’s better than those silly bedtime stories. My mother once read me Cinderella and I told her the prince was an idiot, because he searched for a girl based on her shoe size! He was supposed to be a king! He could have describe her face to a painter or distributing pamphlets, anything but running around the whole country and wasting resources only for searching a girl whose glass slipper was lost!”

Her cynic commentary amuses Vergil up to the point where he practically covers his mouth with his palm to hide his uncontrollable smile, “Since you said that, I guess you’re right about the prince.”

“Ugh—!”

“What’s wrong?”

“This shear machine is broken,” Lyra tries to operate the machine, but it fails to properly cut the papers. “I need to cut the extended part of pages to make the edges neat. But it looks like the shear wasn’t sharp anymore.”

“Let me handle this,” Vergil summons the Yamato and draws it. “Where is the part you want it to be removed?”

“Over here,” she points her mark on the page, then gazing to Vergil’s sword. “Please be careful. You don’t want the cut goes too far from the mark—“

— and a second later, the pages are already neat and free from the extended parts.

Vergil puts the Yamato back into its sheath, “Was that enough?”

The librarian blinks her eyes in disbelief, “That was… quick. Thank you.”

A smug grin curves on Vergil lips when he watches an awestruck Lyra, who’s still processing how fast Vergil’s slash was that her eyes alone can’t even follow its motion.

Lyra puts the pages into a book presser and draws lines across the spine of the book. Then she saws each lines carefully to make a groove of binding cord. Once she’s done, she reconnects the pages on a sewing frame. She sews a linen thread horizontally, looping it around the cords, linking each pages.

“Do you want to try sew it up?” Lyra offers, notice Vergil is silently observing her work. “It might seems complicated at first, but soon after you try it, it will get easier.”

Vergil doubtly glance at the sewing frame. His experience of sewing is zero, moreover to sew a book he just broke a moment ago. But again, guilt consumes him. He takes off his gloves and approaches Lyra as she immediately teach him how to sew and connect the pages. He feels something weird in his heart when his hands accidentally touches Lyra’s fingers. It’s getting weirder when his eyes meet Lyra’s. This kind of physical encounter always torture him since his body isn’t familiar with any physical contacts with humans for years except with Dante and Nero.

“You’re getting better, Vergil. Keep it up!” the librarian praises him, oblivious of Vergil’s reaction. “I’ll make the cover. Let’s hope we still have some leathers left here… ha! Here it is!”

As he sews, Vergil silently observes her measuring the cardboards and leather. She seems to enjoy her work, despite the fact that she should’ve leave for home at this time. I guess I owe her a little too much.

“By the way,” Lyra says all in sudden. “Speaking of Dante, I know a book that has the same theme as The Divine Comedy, but approximately 300 years older than it.”

“I thought The Divine Comedy was the first of… eschatological tourism in literature?”

“Well… according to the historians, this book was composed by an Arabic poet named Al-Ma’arri around 1033 while Dante’s The Divine Comedy begun circa 1308.”

“And what, pray tell, is the title of this book?”

“It’s called Risalat al-Ghufran in Arabic, but here we call it The Epistle of Forgiveness, or A Pardon to Enter the Garden. Some academics say that Dante was inspired from Al-Ma’arri, but there’s no evidence of it. The Epistle was completely unknown in Dante’s time, but those books have something in common; the journey of the protagonists through Heaven and Hell, as well as the encounter with the souls of illustrious people.”

“Curious… I’ve never heard about that book.”

“The book was banned for hundred years from its own country because many considered Al-Ma’arri as a heretic. He was famous for his skepticism and nihilism towards common beliefs and religions. Even his statue was beheaded by fanatics out of hatred!”

Vergil furrows his eyebrows, “Fascinating.”

“I can understand his bitter perspective. He was blind, bullied and underestimated by fellow poets. But in my opinion, he was one of the greatest freethinkers and his works are extraordinary!.”

The half-devil smirks, “Then prove your conversance. Recite one of his works for me.”

“Wha— no!” Lyra blurts. “Declamation isn’t my… thing.”

“Then I will take your explanations as nothing than a babbling chatter,” he grins smugly. He knows the librarian doesn’t like being considered as incompetent. His smirk grows wider as she stops her work and cross her arms.

“Fine. One poem it is.” Lyra clears her throat fitfully. She holds the urge to not slap the hybrid’s smug face as he pauses his sewing work. He leans himself on the chair in challenging demeaonour, ready to hear the librarian’s recitation.

The librarian takes a heavy sigh before she starts to recite :

“Had men followed me, confound them,

Well had I guided them to truth

Or to some plain track

By which they might arrive there soon.

For here I’ve lived until I’m tired

Of Time, and it of me;

And my heart has sipped

The cream of life’s experience

What choice has a man but solitude and loneliness,

When fate grants him nothing that he craves?

Do what you will, make peace or war

The days with arbitrary hand bestow

Their measure to warrior and man of peace.”

Lyra takes a slow exhales once she finishes reciting, her head turns over to Vergil to see his reaction. Poetry has never become her speciality, even though she is fond of it. That’s why she admires Vergil’s way of recitation. She pins it in her head, how remarkable he was when he recited poems on their last encounter. Her self-confidence drops to the lowest point when she notices Vergil isn’t even looking at her. His eyes focuses to nowhere in a weary manner, as if her recitation bores him.

“Ummm… Terra to Vergil?” she chuckles and waves her hand in front of Vergil’s face. “Am I that bad?”

“Interesting…” the hybrid mumbles. His voice is low and his brows are still drawn together in a frown, yet the blue eyes of his spark in enthusiasm.

“Pardon?”

“This poet Al-Maa’rri… he welcomed death and loneliness like old friend,” Vergil states. “He even craved for it. Even if he was blind—“

Lyra’s brown eyes widens as she continues Vergil’s statement, “—he saw things in the opposite perspective—“

“— and that lead him to see the true beauty of life itself. His bitter point of view wasn’t precisely tell people that everything is meaningless, in fact it was the other way around—“

“— he tried to correct human’s hypocrisy with his irony. Telling them that everything they do, it will measure—“

“— and create the person they are right now.”

There’s a quiet pause among them before the room surrounds by laughter.

“Blimey, Vergil! Did you just read my mind?” Lyra tries to hold her giggle.

“I thought you were the one who read mine,” the half-devil grins. “Now you are successfully making me want to read the book.”

“Oh, we have it! Have a look at it on the sale section!”

“Is this how your marketing technique works? Alluring your customer into deep discussion and out of nowhere, you mention a book you want to sell and trap them with your enthralling knowledges?”

Lyra’s giggle turn into louder burst, “That’s what all salesmen do!”

It’s strange for him. This small talk, the joke, the easiness of letting himself to interact with a human. Hell, he smiles and laughs even more than he ever did in his life! He watches Lyra laughs while she continues her cover-making work, wondering why he doesn’t even get annoyed of any jokes she throws at him. Maybe this is how friendship works—enjoying each other company by talking about anything and wisecracking. He thinks it’s good for his mental health, keep him sane and grounded.

Don’t ruin this, Vergil warns himself.

“I’ll give you The Epistle for free,” Lyra’s eyes twinkles in mischief. “Only if you agree with my terms.”

“I’m listening.”

“There will be syzygy tonight. Commonly known as ‘planetary alignment’. We can visibly see Jupiter, Mars, Saturn, Venus and Mercury at once. All the planets sit on a flat plane but have different yearly cycles, so for those planets to line up is something worth seeing! The trouble is, it isn’t visible from this town. Thus, if you still interested in obtaining The Epistle of Forgiveness, join me to see the syzygy as my bodyguard.”

“And why would you need a bodyguard?”

“Because I should see it from nearest city that has a clear landscape and it’s quite… dangerous.”

“Which city?”

“Red Grave.”

Speak of the devil and he doth appear.

“The city was abandoned since the tragedy of mysterious tree nearly two years ago. It’s basically a necropolis now, but I heard there are still some homeless people looking for shelter and fortune there. Not to mention demonic presence that still haunts the town. But since it will took only 30 minutes with train from here, I guess I have no option left but choose Red Grave.”

If anything in this world that Vergil wants to avoid the most, it will be returning to his hometown. Not because he hates his childhood memories, but mainly because Red Grave was his most abominable sin. He destroyed that city and killed hundred thousands of the citizen for the sake of the fruitless Qlipoth Fruit.

“Well… what say you?” Lyra asks. “I won’t be long. I promise.”

One must deal with his sin. It’s settled. He can’t run off forever from the past, “Alright then. I do believe we have a deal.”

“Great! You can go take The Epistle. It’s on the first line of left shelf. Here, I’ll continue the sewing. I’ve finished measuring the cardboard and the leather anyway.”

“It’s already done.”

Lyra examines Vergil’s work in awe, “Bee’s knees! This is the fastest book sewing I’ve ever seen! Thank you, Vergil. Now give me some space to work.”

The hybrid shrugs as he takes his step to open the door and goes to pick the book from the sale section. It takes him no time to find The Epistle. His knowledges about Middle-East literature isn’t much, although he did read Rumi in his youth at Red Grave library out of boredom. Luckily, the book has comprehensible footnotes and glossarium to help his lack of understanding about Middle-East references and vocabularies. He takes the book back into the office as he spots Lyra creates a headband and sew the threads in order to attach the headband to the spine of the book.

“Do you need help with that?” Vergil offers.

She shakes her head, “Thank you, but this pattern is a little bit complicated. I’d like to handle it myself. This won’t take long.”

“If you say so.”

While waiting for Lyra to be done with her work, Vergil starts to read The Epistle in silence. He appreciates Lyra’s understanding for being always super quiet whenever he reads. For a moment there is only the sound of their breath and flipped pages. Occasionally, he will glance to Lyra just to see what’s she doing right now.

“It’s written in prose,” Vergil mutters. “I thought The Epistle was just for the title purpose.”

“Yes, it’s an epistle written for a grammarian named Ibn Al Qarih who mocked Al Ma’arri. He replied Al-Qarih’s hypocrisy by imagining he has died and arrived in Heaven but had difficulty to enter it, thus he must seek the answer from poets and philologists from the past, various heretics, and the Devil.”

“This book is rich of linguistic complexity and concentration in grammar rather than depends on precise language like Comedy.”

“That because in Al Ma’arri’s age, writing became complex in its methods and syntax. Most academics see the complexity of language was intentional to hide his irony,” Lyra answers while sticking the book on the cover she has just made. “In the Comedy, Dante used simple and direct language in the poetry, which is easy for common reader to grasp his ideas. The Epistle, however, depicts Al Ma’arri proficiency but prevent the readers from understanding his real beliefs and intentions.”

Vergil’s nod concludes his approval for the explanation. He continues to read until Lyra finishes her work.

“Behold, the new face of Almagest!” she announces proudly. She shows Vergil the entirely new leather bound hardcover with beautifully written typography on the front cover; Almagest by Claudius Ptolemy. “Since you are the tallest person in this room, would you mind to put it back on Rare Section? I’ll clean up here, then we can go to Red Grave.”

It’s not a secret anymore that Vergil is a man of proud. If Dante or someone else asked him to do something, he will absolutely grumble and mostly refuse to do the favour. Why should he do something for anyone? He should be the one who tell people to do. He is the master of himself! Yet, right now, he put the book to the shelf just like Lyra’s instruction without any hesitation although he mentally curses himself for obeying a human.

“Ready?” Lyra says as she prepares to head out from library.

“Where are you going?”

The librarian furrows her brows, “To lock the door, of course. Then we go to the station.”

The hybrid sighs, summoning the Yamato and open a portal, “Get in.”

On four seconds, Lyra fixes her gaze from the Yamato to the dark portal. Her face show a mixture of excitement and confusion, “Is that…?”

“A portal. The Yamato cuts anything, including the space. The portal will lead us directly to Red Grave. Now, do you want to stare at it for eternity or free yourself from wasting your time for running to the railway station?”

“No—no, wait! You made an Einstein-Rosen bridge only with your sword! It’s not something I could see everyday! How could you do that?!”

The hybrid rolls his eyes, “We can discuss about it later. Now get in. Don’t waste my time.”

He leads the way to reassure the still-in-awe librarian that he mean no harm and that the portal is really heading to Red Grave. He can senses Lyra’s creeping behind him until they’re arrived at the exit; a wide, flat horizon at Red Grave. A bit far from the city’s ruins.

The dark sky is clear and free from any light pollution. For a minute in silence, Vergil solemnly admires the night sky. He immediately catches the syzygy; the five planets almost align in a straight line with Jupiter being the pole of the alignment. They look brighter than the rest of the stars.

“In Roman mythology, the god Jupiter drew a veil of clouds around himself to hide his mischief,” he mutters. “It was only Jupiter’s wife, Juno, who could peer through the clouds and reveal Jupiter’s true nature.”

“Must be easy for her. The clouds on Jupiter are only 50 kilometers thick. Below those clouds, it’s just hydrogen and helium, all the way down.”

“And even though it’s rich of hydrogen and helium, Jupiter can’t become a star,” he adds, remembering some astronomy facts he read on the internet. “It doesn’t have nearly enough mass to trigger a fusion reaction in its core.”

“You did your homework,” Lyra affirms as Vergil observes her takes out a binocular from her backpack. It seems to him that even though he can clearly see the syzygy with his advanced eyes, it won’t be satisfying for human if they don’t use binocular or telescope to look at it even better. “And the Red Spot on Jupiter’s surface is a huge storm on Jupiter. It has raged for 350 years.”

“I wonder if my father witnessed the origin of Red Spot 350 years ago.”

“Surely he told you bits and bobs?”

“He never talked about himself and back then, I didn’t know he was a demon until one day I found a book of folklore about him. Here, at Red Grave Library.”

The fact hits Lyra immediately, “You should’ve tell me this city was your hometown. I should’ve realized it when I saw your hesitation at my office! Now I’m making you sad.”

“I’m not sad,” Vergil shrug off.

He really doesn’t feel sad about his family. The memories are always too far off like a shattered dream with a glimpse of familiar faces; Dante, Eva and Sparda. It’s getting worse after Mundus and his life in the Underworld, yet he cherishes it. He just can’t tell anyone his fear and guilt for going back to his hometown, Red Grave. The silent witness of his crime.

“Why didn’t the Dog Star laugh at the joke?” Lyra abruptly asks after a long silence.

Vergil narrows his eyes, “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a riddle.”

“Didn’t I tell you I don’t like riddles?”

“You did. So, what’s the answer?”

If you are not a person worth my time, I’d certainly eliminated you. “I give up.”

“I never thought you would give up this quick!”

“Because I refuse to play your game.”

“That explains why you look like the gloomiest person in the world. Anyway, why didn’t the Dog Star laugh at the joke? Because… it was too Sirius.”

The hybrid can’t help but try his best to swallow his laughter, “That was the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

“But it makes you smile!”

“I am most certainly not!”

“You are!”

After a minute of struggle, finally the half-demon has retained his stoic face, “You are an annoying little creature, Lyra.”

“I take that as a compliment.” Lyra snickers before she looks at Vergil’s icy eyes. “Pardon my terrible joke. You look terribly sad. I thought I should breaking the ice. I’ll think for better jokes later.”

That wasn’t your fault! Vergil screams in his head. Is his sadness too obvious that it reflected on his face? Whatever it is, Lyra clearly notices it. She turns to observe the syzygy with her binocular, but in truth, she actually waits for him to spill his burden. She’s just too polite to ask. Vergil almost could sense the flight or fight instinct around them.

You tell her, and it will be endgame.

Yet he says, “I was here when the mysterious tree appeared and destroy the city.”

Lyra puts down the binocular, her brown eyes fixates on Vergil.

“In fact,” he continues, sensing the change of atmosphere between them. “I was the one who summoned the tree.”

He tells her everything. His childhood, his resentment towards Dante, his regret for not being able to save Eva, Temen-ni-gru, his defeat from Dante, his years of torture in the Hell, the creation of V and Urizen, Nero, and his time in Hell again with Dante. All of his sins. Unfiltered.

If Lyra hates him after this, it will be perfectly normal. Vergil appreciates Lyra so much that he couldn’t bare to hurt her in any way, so if leaving him could spare her from the burden for being his friend, he will do it. His sins were too despicable, repugnant. He feels like he doesn’t deserve any form of kindness, moreover from her.

Much to his surprise, Lyra still stands beside him. Her head motions small nods as she lost in her own mind.

The hybrid waits for her to say something. Anything is better than a dreadful silence. At least he will know what to do rather than just standing there like a statue.

“You… just….”

Here it is.

“… described me the extreme effect of a whole new level of dissociative identity disorder.”

What in the seven hells— “Pardon?”

The librarian shrugs, “Dissociative identity disorder. Some people call it multiple personality disorder. In the case of human, it characterized by alternating between multiple identities. Often this identities may have names, characteristics, mannerisms, and voices. It usually develops as a way of dealing with trauma and long-term abuses. Of course your case was different, not an actual DID but similar… splitting yourself into your human part, your nightmares and demon part because trauma and abuses…”

She’s still describing the overview of DID in almost child-like manner, a contrast with Vergil’s perplexion. He just told her about his sins, and all she does just describing a mental illness? She doesn’t even react to his crimes! Is she always this oblivious whenever someone tell her their secrets?

“I’m afraid I have to interrupt your explanation,” he says. “But, with respect, didn’t you think—“

“Do you expect me to get angry and insult you for your horrendous crime?”

The hybrid can’t find any words to reply the question. He doesn’t want her to get furious and leave him, of course. But he deserves it, and it’s totally a normal thing to do if anyone knows his secret. Yet her reactions aren’t exactly what he expects from her. She’s unpredictable and Vergil should’ve hate it, for the uncertainity is dangerous thing. Yet with Lyra, he doesn’t know why he let her surprise him.

Realizing Vergil won’t answer, Lyra continues, “Alright then. You are obviously a nutter. All those massacres and efforts only for a power fruit. You slaughtered thousands of people who weren’t even responsible for your family drama.”

Dante had mocked him about that too, and it still stings Vergil— he caused the devastation of thousands people and he might never get away from his sins—

“But that’s a good thing,” the librarian adds in softer tone.

“How could you say that?” Vergil bristles, his tone is harsh. “What is the good thing of massacre?”

“None,” she replies. “But should you never do that, you wouldn’t have realized what a scroundrel you were once.”

Vergil sighs dismissively, “It justify nothing.”

“It justify nothing,” Lyra repeats. “Yet you helped those humans in that tragedy. Trying to atone your crimes. You realized, if I may quote, ‘the gravity of crime’ you made. Your selfish agenda of using your son to defeat your demon turns into compassion and a vow to protect him forever. You put down your pride and rekindled your relationship with your family.”

“That’s still nothing but a selfish action. The fact that I did the genocide won’t change anything.”

“It won’t. It’s unexcusable, but I can’t fully blame you. Sigmund Freud said, ‘unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways’. And here is why; you are the eldest child and supposed to be the protector of your family since the disappearance of your father. You were not in the condition to know that the death of your mother was not your fault and clearly not your brother’s fault. All of you were attacked abruptly and there was nothing you could do but survival. You hate yourself for not being strong enough, and that lead you to swore an oath to never be powerless again and you will gain more power, no matter what the cost. Now I understand why you hated humans, because you saw them as a powerless being—a reminder to you that your mother was a human. And you were all alone that time. No one guide you. No one to support you or correct your mistakes. You thought you were right all along.

When Dante defeated you, he also defeated your ideology, your path of life, your beliefs. I won’t judge your resentment towards him. It’s normal, because what are we without what we believe? Then you jumped to the Underworld to validated your beliefs, yet you lost and tortured in Hell like… 20 years? No human would survive for two seconds there, but you did and still wanted to prove that you are right. That Dante was wrong. That humanity part in you is unneeded. That your nightmares are just obstacles. See, your humanity part, V, was everything you wanted it to be wrong and perished, but then your son showed up, proving that you were wrong. That even Urizen, your demon part, can’t even defeat Dante and Nero’s beliefs and forced to re-emerged again with your human part. Because you are one and the same. That you wouldn’t become Vergil without each other.”

Vergil stands astonished. It’s not just that Lyra shows no sign of anger or disgust towards him, but she also depicts his subconsciousness and predicaments in simplest way. She admits his crime, yet she also sees the reason behind it.

“Now, you see,” she continues after taking a deep breath. “I can’t really blame you. You already wrote your epistle of forgiveness.”

Then she does something which Vergil never expects her to do—she smiles at him. A warm, genuine smile, not a polite or playful one like her usual habit. She turns to look at the sky again, “Do you know what I like about syzygy?”

He can’t bring himself to answer.

“I always believe in the concept of synchronicity rather than calling it ‘coincidence’. I know the existence of time itself is debatable, but it still doesn’t change the fact that everything will happen in time and in sync. No matter how far those planets are from each other, they will be always synchronized in alignment eventually,” she states. “What you did was just in time, Vergil. Should you never do that, you would never find yourself again.”

The irony bites him, all these years he wanted to get rid of his humanity yet humanity saved him over and over again. All this time, and you still don’t get it, Dante had said to him—as Urizen. Now he’s being psychoanalyzed by a human who barely knows him but capable to summarized his entire journey in five minutes. It bites him, how humanity always give him more point of view to see the world.

“Thank you,” he finally says it sincerely. “You see right through me.”

“Think nothing of it. I was just trying to give you some insight.”

“And you did. You never fail to surprise me with your wit and the use of apotelesma philosophy.”

“Apo- what?”

“It amazes me that you, an enthusiast of astronomy, have no information of what apotelesma is,” he remarks. “It means the influence of the stars on human destiny.”

“Aah! Apotelesma… that’s an exquisite word!” Lyra exclaims. “It’s magnificent, isn’t it? What stars could give to humanity? Whenever we look at the sky, we look at the past— the very relics of the universe.”

“They guide humanity by simply existing. We are stardust brought to life, then empowered by the universe to figure itself out—and we have only just begun.”

“We are stardust brought to life...” she repeats.

Vergil shrugs idly, “I read it somewhere.”

“Speaking of the stars, I have another riddle.”

The hybrid groans in frustration, “I don’t want to hear another of your terrible riddles.”

“Why did the star get arrested?” she completely ignores Vergil’s caution.

“I’m warning you—“

“Because it was a shooting star!”

“I’m leaving,” Vergil walks away without waiting for Lyra, but he’s just teasing her. He hears her following him, giggling and pleading to wait for her.

“Alright, no more riddles then. But I have this short story,” she offers, following Vergil’s steps. “Copernicus’ parents might deserve some credit for his discovery.”

“How so?”

“At his teenhood, his parents said to him; ‘Copernicus, one day you will realize that the world does not revolve around you!’”

“Your jokes have potential to cause severe headache.”

“But you laugh at it!”

“Because no one will laugh at your jokes except me.”

“Is that a compliment or sarcasm?”

“Go figure it out yourself.”

“A compliment, then.”

“Whatever.”

They walk on the dark footpath through the ruins of the city. Vergil spots some homeless people taking shelter inside a building. They watch him cautiously, but do nothing. Those people just want to survive and live in peace. This view stings him. Even though he embraces his human part, he is still indifferent about human life. He cares a little about them, except for his family and a few of his acquaintances. But these humans in this ruins are victims of his greed. It’s his responsibility. He looks away, thinking of how tremendous the effect of his destruction, before he quickly catches a group of children. Lyra notices this too—glancing to them sharing their food. One of them approaches and gives her a stargazer lily hairpin. She realizes the boy hopes for a trade.

“Here,” Lyra takes out some of her money and a packet of gummy bears from her backpack. “Share it with your friends.”

The boy timidly turns his sight to Vergil, hoping for some trade too. His innocent face reminds him of Nero and Kyrie’s adopted children whose cheerful behaviour isn’t compatible with Vergil’s cold nature, but he tolerates them because children do childish things. The hybrid’s hand reaches inside his coat, then he hands the boy an amount of money.

The boy smiles delightfully, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

As the boy takes his leave, Lyra turns her head over to Vergil and takes the palm of his hand, much to his surprise. Then she pours a little amount of gummy bears on his palm, “For you. It’s blueberry.”

The half-devil frowns and presses his lips, “This is the most childish thing someone had ever gave to me.”

“If you don’t want it then return it to me.”

He eats them all in one swallow, “Absolutely not.”

Lyra smiles smugly and eats her candy.

“It’s been almost two years after I escaped the Underworld and I still can’t get used to these taste of food…” Vergil contemplates, chewing the candy as his tongue tastes the strong mixture of sugar and blueberry extract.

“Do hybrids need to eat?”

“Physically hybrids don’t need to eat. But we can eat human’s food if we want. My foolish brother has an appetite for pizza and anything included strawberry.”

“I see…”

The two of them head out to the empty road as Vergil unsheaths the Yamato and open up a portal back to The Literarium. This time she allows him escort her to her house, which is quite far from the central of the town, located in a secluded suburban. He takes a note the distance between Devil May Cry office and Lyra’s house, calculate and store it inside his brain, just in case he needs a portal to her house someday. After almost forty minutes of walk, they arrive in front of a minimalist house, but seems comfortable with a small garden and pleasant fragrant of homemade foods. This house belongs in The Shire, Vergil ponders.

“Thank you for today,” Lyra smiles. “Next time maybe I’ll hire you as my bodyguard again.”

“I’ll think about that,” The hybrid says. “Besides… you are a pleasant person with whom to… spend time.”

Lyra chuckles, “I’m glad to hear you chose the word of ‘spend time’ rather than ‘waste time’.”

“Probably because you’re less infuriating than the rest of the people.”

“Well… thank you?”

“You are very welcome.” Vergil shrugs, silently happy to see a delightful smile on Lyra’s mouth. He notices the eyes of her twinkle in amusement. That suits her, he thinks. I’ve never imagined I have to do this ridiculous bodyguard roleplay to spark some joy in her eyes.

“Thank you,” the librarian cackles, tightens her grip on the strap of her backpack. “For being a great company.”

“The honour is mine.”

“See you tomorrow,” Lyra gives him a small wave before she turns around to get inside her house.

“What happened to your leg?”

The question sounds like a storm inside the librarian’s ears.

“Oh right, I forgot you’re a hybrid. You must’ve easily recognized my limp,” Lyra glances at her right leg. “I fell from a tree when I was seven. My landing position wasn’t exactly very comfortable. Then… voila,” she mimics her limping. “It was getting better time to time but somehow I could never get rid of this limp. Thankfully, it’s too subtle for human eyes, so people won’t notice.”

The hybrid has seen too many scars and injuries to know that her limp will be most likely permanent. The fall changes her bone and joint structure. Even if she was transfused by demon blood or planted demon cells, it won’t change anything because it was an old injury. Although magic or witchcraft might manipulate her leg to work properly, but it won’t cure the wound.

“I’ll get inside then,” her solemn voice shatters Vergil’s contemplation.

“Very well. Auf wiedersehen, Lyra.”

“Auf wiedersehen, Vergil.”

As the librarian closes the door, Vergil turns his back to the lonely road. The moonlight illuminates his way as he receives a call from Dante, who invites him for dinner with Trish and Lady. By dinner, he means more pizza and beer. Before Dante could finished his question about his twin brother’s whereabouts, Vergil quickly answers he’ll soon arrive at Devil May Cry. He draws his sword, staring to the dark portal. His face is somber.

Because when she told him the story behind her injury, he knows those eyes of her speak different thing. It’s not sadness nor joy. Not even a void one.

It’s the eyes of humans when they feel threatened. Or worse, when they tell lies.

“You didn’t finish your story,” his voices sounds like a whisper wind as he walks through the portal. “What are you not telling me, Lyra?”

We grow accustomed to the Dark

When light is put away

As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp

To witness her Goodbye.

List of mentioned poems and quotes:

A Poison Tree by William Blake

What Choice Has Man? by Al Maa’rri

Astrophysics for People in a Hurry by Neil deGrasse Tyson

We Grow Accustomed to the Dark by Emily Dickinson

In case you wonder Vergil’s expression when Lyra gave him gummy bears, @drusoona captured the perfect angle :

And thanks to @andieperrie18 for this extraordinary work of art!

Special tags : @queenmuzz @drusoona @harlot-of-oblivion @andieperrie18 @shiranyaaww @lovemadnessharleyquinn

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purplexflamingo · 5 years ago

Text

Creature of the night- Chapter one

I don’t know if I am going to write out a big thing for this, but it was something I felt inspired to write out. Though I have not really written out a thing in along time. This is just some AU. I really like vampires. They are a fun concept.

" Sir, if I could have a moment of your time." Toni rushed after her boss before he could finish locking up for the night. Swallowing her pride she hoped her efforts would help. Never being one to ask for hand outs at all, she was rather hard working. Once her boss halted in his tracks, he glanced back at the female. Almost as if he were annoyed just a tad, it had been a long day for them both. Taking it now as her opportunity- now or never. " You know I've been working here for two years now and I was wondering, is there anyway I could get a raise? I..I really could us it." Trailing off on her words as she noticed his expression, it was disheartening.

She bit her bottom lip and felt her stomach sink. Sensing the mistake she possibly made" It does not work that way sweetheart, sorry." Without batting an eye he shut her off without explanations. Causing her to use the small ounce of confidence to beg a little. Even though using her family felt disgusting to her. " B-but sir, my brother has been sick and we've been really struggling to make rent. He's missed so much work we--" It was no use, his demeanor gave off enough to make her feel sick to her stomach. " I am sorry, that is all I can say. Now good night Toni." Huffing she pressed forward, using her shoulder to push open the front door. So pissed off she didn't realize how quickly she marched off and how forceful she was with the door. Caring less if he were to claim she was giving him attitude.

Stepping outside the night breeze caressed her face and right then she felt her eyes swell. The building of stress began to wear her down, the constant begging of extra shifts from coworkers due to the lack of gigs. Not having a temporarily drummer to fill in for her brother made it impossible to even perform. Causing the Vexes to be on hold and lack of income taking a large toll. Tired of living on the awful side of town with numerous stories of break ins and much worse. Walking home was a bit dangerous. Due to the fact she did not have a car and couldn't drive she walked to and from work. It was a small distance after all. But for her own safety she carried a pocket knife. Mostly because her brother Anthony insists.

Flinching when the street light burnt out. Placing a hand over her chest till her breathing died down, dread consumed her already. Mentally telling herself to just go, just walk, do not look back. Do not stop. Taking a deep breath, she already knew something felt off.

Exhaling she began her walk home, listening to her surroundings. Unfortunately her heels clicked rather loudly against the cement, making her regret wearing them. Hues wandering and mostly searching for shadows that have been thrown off by the constant flicking of street lamps. Passing by several closed businesses, that closed earlier than the bar. It made her feel more at risk with all these dark buildings. If she had to guess it was possibly late after midnight now. Hence why the streets were dead silent. Most people have gone home, but sometimes she'd see drunks stumbling about. Strange how none were in sight, though she was ever so grateful not having to deal with them. Drunks were intimidating and their eyes, they were hard to read. She dealt with numerous angry ones at her job and it always left her feeling shaken up. It was always unpleasant.

Lost in her thoughts she began to think and plan tomorrow. Counting her pay checks already and assuming how much she'd need left to reach her goal. Part of her was hoping to convince Marnie to pay a little more for rent, bracing herself for a possible fight over it. There was no way Anthony could pay all of his share. Marnie was hard to deal with in situations as such. Though now was not the time to lose her or else the band would crumble.

Out of the corner of her eye a shadowy figure slid out of an alley way, making her nervous causing her to pick up her speed a bit. Which could be a mistake. Recalling how in this area that she had to pass through a few 'accident’ locations of mysterious deaths that had happened. She did not want to be prey. " Wait--!" The voice called out after her, but she continued on not bothering to look back. But a flash flew by her stunning her, stumbling back on her heels, nearly falling back. Her eyes met with a glowing red pair, the color in her face began to drain. A monster? " Leave me alone..!" In a panic she barked at the other out of fear. " Toni- Toni it's me...!" Squinting through the darkness she could slowly make out the features and was in absolute disbelief. " P-paul? your eyes, are you ok?" Part of her also wanted to express how she felt about being startled like that.

It was mostly her fault as she failed to tune in with the world, she had a power that granted her the ability to hear ten times more than a mortal human. " I'll explain later, but I need to get you outta here!" His hand was cold to the touch, causing her to shiver as if the heat fled her body. Stumbling after him, she followed his lead, something pulling her in making her obey. As she tried to keep up with his speed she felt her calves tighten and strain. The after effects of being on your feel all day. Causing her to be thrown off and miss stepping. With a painful yelp, she sprang her ankle tumbling onto the ground. Losing her grip with Paul's hand in the process. It was hard to focus on anything else, the pain hurt so bad and her head pounded from the stress- and how tired she felt.

The hissing behind set her on alert and she realized the presenting danger now. A purple light shot over head, it was the black star beam. Knocking, whatever she heard, down. " We have to hurry..!" Returning to her Paul began to lift her into his arms with ease. Though he felt tense, it was strange. It was as if the contact sickened him or so she was picking up. Little did she know it was straining him and testing his resistance. He was able to disguise his feelings.

Before she knew it they stood outside her building. The creature she heard was no where in sight, she was thankful she didn’t even glance back to look at it. As long as it was no where near her home everything would be alright. Eyes scanning the windows, searching for hers, seeing the lights were still off. Anthony must have gone to bed, she thought. Ascending the stairs Paul remained cautious, he seemed on edge. With the fact they were being stalked anyone would feel this way. Toni was just all around in shock, she had a hard time processing the current events. Other than picking up on his auras. A mixture of fear and confusion- protection and defense.

" Do you have your key?" He softly asked as he stood at her apartment door. " Oh I do, I think...I hope I did not drop it." Fishing around in her jacket pocket she pulled out a key ring. Containing four different keys. Calmly he took them from her and picked the one she instructed him to. Unlocking the door he seemed hesitant. " You can come in you know, Anthony doesn't mind you visiting besides he might be asleep. And Marnie is gone." Hearing her he then proceeded to enter. The front door leading into the living room/kitchen area. Setting her on the love seat, crouching down to proceed to remove her heels. " How is your ankle?" For a moment she forgot about the accident and she shook her head. " It's numb now, the blood must have rushed to it." This prompted silence from him, it was weird, he seemed so off. Was it something she said? " Be straight with me, what is wrong? Don't sugar coat it, darling..."

Eyes attempting to meet with his, though he refused contact. " If you must know..I had a run in with some blokes. I thought they were tryin' to rob me after the show, but little did I know they weren't some mortals. They were a bunch of vampires. And well....one of them bite me. I got away before they could do worse..." Furrowing her brows she was really thrown off, vampires, they were fiction and Hollywood made up. Stories her brother would read or watch. They were real? Earth was a strange planet full of questionable creatures. " You're a vampire?"

" ‘Fraid so...and I don't know what to do about it. I was gonna do some research and ask the guys for some help, but then I knew you were their next target. You were in their path, they either destroy everything they touch or turn them." Paul kept his distance especially with how he noticed Toni was responding. Needless to say he did not want to risk anything. “ How did you know?” Parting her lips she curiously asked and he pointed to the star painted on his eye. It then connected with her. Not allowing her to say anything else he piped up. " Well shall we bandage up?" Rising to his feet he was more than willing to aid her. Heading towards her bathroom, he was familiar with her home. " Oh, wait, Paul please be quiet....Anthony is most likely sleeping, he is still sick." A part of her felt sick to her stomach remembering her rejection and her worry for him, it's been nearly a week with no signs of improvement. Negative thoughts followed as she imagined the worst in his situation. Because of how strong she felt she began to weep. She wanted to go check on him, but there was no way she could do it without causing herself more pain. Sniffling she wiped her eyes with her fingers, as her make up began to bleed.

Once he returned she forced herself to hide her emotions, for various reasons. He prepared the wrap inching close to her ankle, noticing how she flinched a little, he shifted his gaze towards her. " I promise I won't hurt you. I am not a monster." Those words alone were enough to get her to relax a little as he finished. " Oh I grabbed this ice pack to, it should help with swelling." Toni couldn't help, but stare in awe. Despite his transitioning he was the same old Paul. He behaved nothing like the creatures she heard of. " Thank you, really I.....Paul can you stay the night? I don't want you going back out there if they are roaming. What if they try to kill you?" Claiming the spot beside he, he didn't speak, it was as if he was looking for the right words. " Well, just for tonight. Because I have to get back with the guys...see if they can help me find a cure or something. I can't live like this." He did have a point, but Toni felt better in the agreement. “ I’ll call Angel in the morning and see if she can mend my ankle before work.” As the mood shifted Toni frantically tried to find something.

" Want to watch a movie?" To lighten the mood she suggested and Paul was delighted. Deeming it was safe to change the subject as he knew exactly what she was hiding from him, he accidentally gained access to her overwhelming thoughts. Normally resisting that, but he has a slip up every now and then. For a moment his eyes were on Anthony’s door before he glanced back at her. Wanting to help, but there was a limit to what he could do currently and he did not want to intrude too much. Unsure how she’d be if he offered any form of help. Paul did not want to watch them sink, it was upsetting and to see their flames burn out. Giving the benefit of doubt to Toni as she felt feeling hard than anyone else. Though when the positive happens she is a breath of fresh air and energy. Who chooses to suffer in silence.

An hour passes and Toni mindlessly inched her self over to Paul as an attempt to cozy up. But coming in contact with his skin reminded her, muttering. " You're so cold." Adjusting herself to share some of her blankets with him as if that’d help his case. " It's apart of the whole undead thing, babe. I can’t do anything about it." Admittedly after awhile the cold did not bother her especially as she was lost in the moment. Periodically glancing at him during the film and he of course noticed. Chuckling in response " What?". “ Nothing...I just want to look at you.” Lifting herself up, moving closer, she placed a kiss on his lips. Accepting it Paul watched her closely as he could pick up on her heart beat, so loudly, and scent of the living. Able to pin point the strongest tempting veings. Coiling her arms around his neck she gave him an embrace. Again he felt stiff and resistant, but he did not push her away. All that went through his mind were confliction and urges. Some part of darkness nagged at him to steal a bite, but his will power fought against it. He was not a blood sucker. Despite feeling his fangs grow an inch. Sooner than expect she fell asleep and he was able to detach her gently so, putting the blanket around her. Left sitting there for most of the night until he was able to rest.

The sound burning and smell of smoke woke Toni instantly in a panic. “ Oh god!” Paul’s hand was beginning to caught flame and it startled him awake too. “ CLOSE THE CURTAINS!” A burst of energy coursed through her as she tried to get up. Anthony opened his door in confusion at the chaos. Toni remembered her injury and struggled to climb to her feet. “ An-anthony! Anthony please- close the curtains!” Gesturing towards the large windows he did as asked without a second thought. Using a pillow she put out the flame. “ The sunlight-- we should’ve covered the windows last night.” Panting she felt awful and took his hand into her own. Examining it along with Paul. “ I hope it doesn’t scar.”

“ What the fuck is going on?” Anthony interrupted.

#my writting #oc x canon #ocs #vampire #au #primadonna #toni romero #anthony romero #ratman #starchild #chapter one #creatures of the night

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nocturna-starr · 5 years ago

Text

Losing Hope

Prompter: @idiot-cheesehead-archenemy

Prompt: Tucker is turned into a vampire

Length: 1718

Warnings: Implications

The motel room was cold and smelled like something had recently died in it. Yet this place was one of the few he could afford with his meagre savings and lack of ID. Here he could hang out until he could fix what was wrong with him.

It would be a while before anyone would even look for him. His parents believed he was sleeping over at Sam's while his friends believed he was at home sick. School had let out two weeks ago so there were going to be no nosy teachers questioning his whereabouts. He was home free.

Tucker Foley threw himself onto his bed. It creaked from all of his weight. He threw his bag against the wall, accidentally ripping part of the old floral wallpaper. The comforter smelled of mould. He was almost afraid to see the sheets beneath. At least it meant that maids don't come up here often. He wouldn't be noticed if he snuck back in...

He picked up the old remote on his bedside table. Half of the buttons were stuck, but it would have to do for now. He turned on the television.

The news was airing another ghost attack. Lance Thunder looked just as uncomfortable as ever.

“Well Amanda, the creep crate is attempting to rob the antique store once again. The Fentons are trying to subdue him. There is still no sign of Phantom.”

Behind the reporter, the Box Ghost was running as fast as he could. A box full of old clocks floated behind him while Jack Fenton chased him with a Fenton bazooka. Every time he shot at the blue ghost, he missed. It was laughable. Danny leaves them the weakest ghost and they still couldn't catch it!

Danny...

It wasn't fair! How come Danny managed to get the cool powers and keep his humanity? Danny got to be the world-famous hero, but Tucker would have to spend each and every day trying not to murder anyone. Why couldn't Sam had been bitten by her creepy friend instead of him? At least the style would have suited her! Why did Tucker always get the short end of the stick? Was this punishment for some awful crime he couldn't remember?

Tucker felt the bitterness creeping through his soul. That wasn't good! He needed to focus on something else before his powers went out of control. Who knew what horrible ability would make itself known? Besides, Jazz always told Danny that good things come to those with a positive attitude.

He changed the channel. A cartoon about a giant mouse and a cat was playing. They were going on some sort of adventure. It was the type of show his grandma used to put on when he was little. It was stupid and mindless, the perfect escape from his panicked mind.

He kicked his shoes off, leaving them to unceremoniously fall onto the floor. He thought about switching into his pyjamas, but what would be the point? He probably wasn't going to get much sleep at night anymore. His body needed to get used to his new needs.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the door. Tucker jolted upright, fear coursing through his body. Was it the police? How did they manage to find him?

“Room service!” The voice sounded like the high pitch Danny used to imitate Jazz.

“It's three in the morning lady!” Tucker yelled back, “Go away!”

The person who was most likely Danny, could not be deterred. Instead, the banging became louder and more frequent.

“Go away, Danny!” Tucker yelled. It was still dark out. He still may have those urges. The thought of accidentally killing his best friend only added to the rising panic attack.

And annoyed Danny Phantom phased through the wooden door. In his left hand was two paper bags with the Nasty Burger logo on them. In his right hand, he was balancing a tray of drinks.

“Really Tucker?” Danny rolled his eyes. The ghost boy summoned his transformation rings, “Why did you ru-“

“Stay in your ghost form!” Tucker yelled. The runaway wondered if he had woken up anyone. He hoped they would take him as a normal dude and not come down to investigate.

“Okay.” Danny placed the tray on the side table. He threw one of the greasy bags at Tucker before sitting down on the bed.

The runaway peeked inside the bag. Danny had bought him three burgers and filled the remaining bag full of fries. There was enough food to last him a day or two if he was careful. At Tucker's surprise, Danny smiled.

“Valerie was closing. When I told her I was ordering for you, she filled the bag. I think she may have developed a crush on you Tucker.”

Pain seared Tucker's heart. Why did he have to go on that stupid date?

Danny gracefully sat down on Tucker's bed. The two ate in silence, pretending to watch the inconsequential adventures of the cartoon rat and cat.

Inside his mind, Tucker was falling apart. He knew his best friend would try to convince him to go home, but Tucker could never go back again. Danny would try to find the positives, perhaps even suggest Tucker become his own superhero. Yet the ghost boy didn't understand the intense longing Tucker had every time he looked at a human.

Danny seemed to be deep in thought as well. He was frowning, and every so often he would narrow his eyes or cringe. It was like he was having a war within. Finally, Danny decided to speak.

“As much as I am enjoying watching whatever this is... We need to talk.”

We need to talk...

It sounded like something Sam would say. Her influence was rubbing off of Danny too much. Briefly, Tucker wondered if Danny would be embarrassed if he mentioned it.

“Why did you run away? Did one of the ghosts threaten you?”

“NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT GHOSTS!” Tucker shouted, “SOMETIMES YOU REALLY ARE A FENTON!”

His best friend took a deep breath. Tucker could almost hear Danny counting down from 10.

“Tucker,” Phantom said, barely keeping the hurt out of his voice, “What happened?”

Unearthly green eyes met emerald. Neither of them found themselves backing down. Minutes past before Danny finally seemed to yield. Tucker should have known better. Danny always had been the most determined of the trio.

“If you don't tell me, I'll just bring you back home,” The ghost boy stood up and crossed his arms. Tucker knew he would stick to the threat.

“I am a vampire.” Tucker was careful to keep emotion out of his voice. Admitting his problem had a calming effect. It was like accepting a punishment one didn't deserve. With the calm came a feeling of hopelessness.

“So, Sam was right…” Danny's stubbornness deflated. Now he looked lost and unsure. It was bizarre to see such emotions on the usually cocky ghost boys face.

“My life is over. No cheerleaders, no movie theatres, no graduation, and no future career in technology. Now, do you see why I can't go home?” Tucker brought his knees to his chest. Part of him wanted to feel something. He just felt so... Empty.

“We'll think of something. Maybe there's a way we can refocus those powers or-”

“No Danny, Tucker interrupted, “I'm not half-vampire! I bear the full curse! If you were in human form, I would have killed you! I barely stopped myself from killing the clerk. I’m a monster…”

“We will figure something out.” Danny had always been the optimist, almost to a fault. Tucker knew it was only a matter of time before the vampire overtook the human. Then Phantom would have to subdue him.

“You can't be the only vampire... Maybe Vlad can help! He kind of looks like one...” Danny had started to pace back and forth.

“Or Vlad will use me as a weapon against you?” Tucker suggested.

Danny paused and gave an unimpressed glare. Then he noticed the clock on the wall.

“I have to go. I'm sorry”

“Patrol?” Tucker felt anguish streak through his heart. He needed his best friend! Couldn’t Danny miss one stupid patrol? Memories of a grieving and guilty Phantom flickered in the back of his mind. Tucker was being selfish again. Bad things always happened when Danny missed his nightly rounds. There was a reason Amity Park was one of the safest places on earth.

“Trust me, Tuck. Sam and I will think of something. Remember to shut your blinds. (Sam said sunlight hurts you.) Sam has a book that you might find useful. See you tomorrow night!”

Within the next minute, Danny was gone. The vampire chuckled to himself as he cleaned the wrappers. If Danny thought he was going to stay put... Then he was way too trusting. Tucker would switch apartments for the rest of the night. Once the sunset, he would travel further away.

He couldn't burden his best friend with his mistakes. Danny already had the whole world on his shoulders with the ghosts. He didn't need any more difficulties. The hero couldn’t constantly watch him. If Tucker did massively screw up, which he undoubtedly would, the ghost boy would forever blame himself. The best thing to do would be for Tucker to leave.

After throwing away his and Danny’s wrappers, the teen grabbed his bag. He pulled out his cell phone and PDA. Tucker knew he should have left them at home, but he couldn't bear the part with his babies.

Here, Tucker needed to become a man. No one was going to solve his problems for him. Danny or the police will track him down (he cursed his stupidity for not getting rid of the find friends app). He turned the TV off and left.

He had to do this on his own. He would find a cure or learn to control his urges. He would go back to Amity Park. He would hug his parents, apologize to Danny and ask Valerie on a date. He would scream at Sam for setting him up with a vampire, and the two would be friends again. The trio would hunt ghosts like they used to. Everything would go back to normal.

He couldn’t lose hope.

#phic phight 2020 #Phic Phight #danny phantom #tucker foley #apparently I've been spelling mould wrong for years #vampire

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queen-of-the-avengers · 6 years ago

Text

Call Me James

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Tattoo Artist!Reader, Clint Barton, minor characters

Word Count: 2,093

Warnings: none

Summary: You have a very special talent, and the tattoos on your body are able to tell your story for you. When Nick Fury gets word of you, he thinks you could be a very valuable asset to the team.

Squared Filled: Tattoo Artist AU // Tattoos // Free Space

Author’s Note: I know you guys have requests and I promise to get to them. I have two bingos I need to finish before the deadline in Aug/Sept and by the rate I am going, I will be done before that so please bear with me. This is for @star-spangled-bingo and @clintbartonbingo and @buckybarnesbingo respectively and if you have any requests, please send them in! This is unbeta’d and any and all mistakes are all on me.

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

“How are you holding up, boss?” you asked your client that has been in your chair for the past six hours. Rubbing his skin to remove the excess ink, you cleared your view before going back in. The man who came in wanted a big ass tattoo on the back of his calf, and when you expressed you could easily do it, he brought up the money faster than you could say “damn”. He was doing considerably well for the area. He’s only flinched a few times, but that was to be expected in the area he wanted the tattoo.

“Good. Are you almost done?” he asked as he squinted his eyes shut.

“Yes. I have to do some more shading around this area,” you marked with your finger, “and then you’re all done.”

“Did yours hurt this bad?” he asked as he pointed to the tattoo of a deadly tiger that you had on the side of your right calf. Looking down at the tattoo, you remembered the time and energy you spent doing that on yourself. Most of your tattoos were done by yourself with only a few in the hard to reach spots being done by artists you trust. There was something special about your tattoos that no one else could replicate. If people knew the true power you possessed, then they would be too scared to come into your store.

“I have a really high pain intolerance,” you chuckled as you continued with your work. Before you could finish with the tattoo, you heard the bell on the front door meaning you had a customer. Looking at the clock, you realized you had enough time to fit one more person in depending on what they wanted. “Do you mind if I get that real quick?”

“No, go ahead,” he said. Taking off your black gloves once you set the tools down, you threw them away as you walked to the front of your store.

“Hi, can I help you?” you asked once you made eye contact with the middle-aged man. He looked oddly familiar. There might have been a time where you’ve seen this man on TV, but you couldn’t be sure.

“I have some questions I need to ask you if you have the time right now.”

“Regarding what?”

“Tattoos.”

“Are you looking to get one? I have some time after my client.”

“No, I’m not. I just had a few questions. I’ll wait until you’re done if that works better,” he said politely. There was something in the way he spoke that was really familiar.

“Like I said, I’m with a client. Have a seat and I’ll be with you as soon as I can,” you said with a tight smile before returning to your client in the back. When he saw you returning, he put down his phone as you put on fresh black gloves.

“Everything okay?” he asked one he saw the distress on your face.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said as you took a seat. Quickly resuming your work, you finished within the next 30 minutes. A tattoo always needed to be cleaned, so when you did it, you grabbed the second skin that he requested to be put on after when he was done. “Okay, let this sit for about 24 hours, come in, I’ll replace it with a new skin, and then come back in a week to get it removed. Your tattoo should be healed by then.”

“This is awesome. You’re truly talented,” he praised as he looked at it in the mirror.

“Thank you, that means a lot,” you chuckled as you took a few pictures of it to add to your portfolio. Guiding him to the front desk, the transaction didn’t take long to process, and the man left your store in another five minutes. Looking at the stranger who waited patiently, you put the cash away in the register before speaking.

“I’m sorry for the wait, but if you could give me five more minutes to clean up, I’ll be right out.”

“Take your time,” he smiled. Quickly nodding, you escaped to your studio as you cleaned the station thoroughly. As you cleaned, you absentmindedly racked your brain as to why this man was here and what he wanted. Did he really want a tattoo? Did he want to rob you? Did he want to know for a friend? This whole situation was making you nervous that you bypassed the most important detail about this man. When he came in, you noticed he had a folder in his hand, but you didn’t pay any attention to it until you suddenly remembered the two words on that folder.

Avengers Initiative.

Shit, this man was either from SHIELD or he worked with Tony Stark which meant only one thing. They knew who you were and what you were truly capable of. The reasons why your tattoos were so special because you had the ability to make them come alive. Yes, that’s right. Whatever you tattooed on your body, you were able to manifest into a physical object and turn it back into a tattoo once you were finished with it. No, you don’t know exactly how you got these powers because you were born with it.

The first time you noticed something was off when you drew on yourself for the first time. Drawing was your passion ever since you were little, and when you used your skin as a canvas, you realized you had powers that none other possessed. For example, when you were about seven years old, you had drawn a detailed dragon on your thigh because you had been bored and there wasn’t any paper around.

“There,” you muttered to yourself as you put down the pen. The dragon you drew was colorful and big, expanding across the entire length of your upper right thigh. As you set the pen down, you could have sworn the dragon moved. Your suspicions were confirmed when the whole dragon shivered its body, flaring the feathers you drew so delicately. Then, out of nowhere, the dragon manifested itself off your skin and into a real-life dragon. There was a real-life fucking dragon in your room. The same colors, same design, only that it was fleshy and alive.

After that, you figured out that whatever you drew on your body would have the ability to come to life. Even inanimate objects would be able to manifest itself at a single thought. No one knew of your abilities because you would become the next science experiment for the government to toy with.

Instead, you used your tattoos for good and whenever you could without getting caught. However, with every good thing, there are bound to be bad things to follow. Yes, you could manifest your tattoos into real life, but there were consequences.

“Okay, Mr. Dragon, this is the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me. How did this even happen?” you started freaking out. The dragon roared, and you were glad you were home alone this time. Since your room was small even for you, it had a hard time maneuvering around. His tail was always bumping into things until it actually knocked over your first-grade trophy for the spelling bee that you were meaning to put away in storage. The trophy came crashing down on the dragon’s foot, and pain erupted from your own foot as if the two of you were linked. The dragon roared in pain before transforming back into your drawing on your leg.

“Son of a bitch!” you cursed as you caressed your throbbing foot.

If your tattoos felt pain, so did you. If they bled, so did you. When they felt enough pain, they turned back into drawings/tattoos so that you could focus on the injury on your own body. However, this isn’t like this for everyone. Tattoos given to you by other people don’t have any effect on you, it has to be by your hand, and your hand only. Any tattoo that you give others has no effect on them, it has to be your body. It was a weird power to possess, but you’ve learned to deal with it. That was the only thing you could think of as to why this man was waiting for you with a folder that said “Avengers Initiative” on it.

Nonetheless, when you were done cleaning, you walked into the lobby before sitting down on the couch.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“First, my name is Clint Barton. I was sent by Nick Fury to talk to you about something you might find interesting,” he said as he opened the file. That is where you knew him from. He was all over the news along with the other five Avengers. He was the one with a bow and arrow.

“Okay, and?” you asked as you played the dumb card.

“Is this you?” he asked as he handed you pictures of you with a grown tiger by your side. This was the time you saved a hunter from shooting a lion. The tiger was able to scare off the hunters bad enough to stop them from going out there ever again.

“Is that a crime to be near a tiger?” you asked calmly.

“Fine. Is this you?” he asked as he held up the phone that Tony provided him with. A holographic video began playing of you showing your tattoos manifesting itself and fighting before going back on your skin.

“Whatever you want, it won’t work on you,” you sighed.

“I already told you. I’m not here for a tattoo. Nick Fury thinks you’d be essential to the team.”

“The team? You want me to be an Avenger?” you scoffed.

“Something wrong with that?”

“If he wants me to be one, why didn’t he come down here and tell me this his damn self?”

“He’s preoccupied. I think you could be beneficial to the team and we could benefit you as well.”

“Can I at least think about it?”

“Of course. Here’s his number,” Clint said as he handed you Nick’s card. He got up and left the file for you to review as a sort of convincing factor to your decision. “Think long and hard about it.”

“Okay,” you sighed as he left your shop. What would you do in this situation?

“Everyone, this is Y/N. She will be joining us on further missions indefinitely,” Nick introduced you to the whole team. Everyone seemed to be staring at the many tattoos on your body, or at least, the ones they could see.

“Did you do all of those yourself?” Natasha asked.

“Most of them yes. I couldn’t do any on the hard to reach places, but I did what I could with what I had,” you chuckled.

“Those are amazing,” Bucky spoke up. He seemed too mesmerized by your tattoos. He has always loved them on other people, not himself. He especially loved it when a woman sported a lot because it made her look badass.

“Thank you, James,” you grinned. The whole team grew silent after you said his name. “What, did I miss something?”

“His name is Bucky. Well, James is his real name, but he goes by Bucky.”

“Oh, my apologies,” you chuckled.

“Can you show us what you can do?” Steve asked, curious as hell to see this. Smiling, you began the demonstration of your powers.

“I think what you did earlier was just amazing,” Bucky said when he found you in the common area all alone. Looking up from your file, you made room for him on the two-person sofa.

“Thank you. I love all my tattoos. Do you have any?”

“No, I don’t like them on me. On you, they look badass,” he grinned.

“You’re actually the first person to say that to me,” you said shyly.

“Really?”

“Yeah, people usually see my tattoos and immediately get disgusted. They think I’m a bad person doing bad shit, always getting into trouble. It makes me sad to hear those things because I’m far from that. I hate hurting anything, even flies. I try to trap them in cups and let them go back outside. It’s like no one wants to get to know me. They see the tattoos and they get turned off,” you confessed.

“Well, I don’t know you that well, but if you’ll let me, I’d like to,” he said with a smile.

“Thank you, Bucky. I’d like that.”

“Call me James.”

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sugarstarlights · 5 years ago

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100 Random Character Development Questions

Detail one secret shame your character feels.

Dozens of times, in varying situations, Madison’s upset his friends in the normal way, that friends do, when just by being themselves they rub the wrong way with someone who isn’t exactly like them. The problem is that he takes these mistakes extremely seriously, blames himself for not knowing exactly what they wanted and acting accordingly, and feels a need to fix himself in order to never upset the given person again in the future. Whether his friends are actually upset and about what is a grey area that he’s constantly drawing assumptions from, and said friends might disagree with his assessment, but in every instance, willing to do anything to keep them all from giving up on him or hurting him to make him go away, as he believes he deserves, Madison promises to do and be better in the future.In his own eyes, he’s broken this promise dozens of times over. All the things he promises to change or stop are neutral elements of his personality and mental illness twisted into unforgivable flaws inside his own head, or inherent urges written into his angel programming that he blames himself for not being good enough to bypass. The fact that he repeatedly makes these “horrible mistakes” and then is incapable of successfully changing or erasing the part of himself that “caused the problem” is seen as a huge flaw in its own right, inherently selfish that he “refuses” to alter his thought processes to make someone he cares about happier. His friends like him the way he is, of course, and rarely seem to take that promise seriously, but Madison knows that he lied to everyone at some point, and the self-hatred and shame from being built of flaws that he seemingly doesn’t care enough to get rid of, even when they hurt those he loves, has eaten him for a long time. The unkeepable promises just add to that; though he’d never remind anyone he made them.

What is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen?

Mads hasn’t seen a lot of things, and would call a few different unrelated events equally “the most beautiful thing”, including his first sunset, his wife, his ward’s birth, the storm he flew into, most of his friends and their neat abilities, he thinks lots of things are beautiful, stuff like that. But one thing always stuck with him, and though he wouldn’t admit it since it seems self-absorbed and arrogant, witnessing his soul’s healing ability activate for the first time, in the context it did, would rank at the top. He didn’t know it existed at all before the power was urgently needed to save Seculus, but the clouds of colorful buzzing light that surrounded them, combined with Sec’s visible improvement and the knowledge that Madison was the one doing this, that he was finally capable of helping his friend (and finally good for something); that stuck with him. Though, he would say that Sec’s look of joy and relief was the most beautiful thing in this situation.

What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person?

Oof! Oof!! In Madison’s professional opinion, robbing a person of their free will and ability to choose is bad enough, but the worst thing is going further, taking their memories, and identity, planting desired patterns of thought and mental blocks and traps to keep them from so much as thinking about specific inconvenient things without pain, conditioning them to have certain feelings toward certain things or maybe none at all, punishing them with temporary nonexistence and reinforcement of this programming for every hint of rebellion, pressing and shaping them into the preferred shape until they’re incapable of functioning whatsoever without being controlled and directed. Until they’re something completely different, empty but conscious, molded into a subhuman tool by whoever thought they had the right. Essentially, the worst thing he believes can be done to a person is to make them not a person anymore, without killing them. He gets very strong feelings whenever he sees a situation resembling this, and if it sounds familiar, it should; it’s a thorough description of brainwashing, and word for word what happened, and is still happening, to Madison himself. Of course, he doesn’t see this as ‘the worst thing’ in his own case; he’s not a person, after all! (The depressing irony is lost on him.)

How does your character feel about their own mortality?

Now this is an interesting one, because technically, Madison can’t die again; voices don’t age or get sick, and Madison’s healing ability prevents him from being killed violently unless every spark of his soul were destroyed at once. Even when voices do die, their soul lingers without form as a highly functional but extremely lonely ghost, for the eternity they would’ve had otherwise. However, a recent discovery revealed that if a voice goes for a little longer than a month without visiting the astral plane, they begin to disappear entirely, without the energy of their home plane to sustain them. Without intervention they’ll simply vanish like they were never there. Madison’s been thinking about this latter scenario a lot. The concept of forever, potentially spent alone, scares him, especially with the knowledge that his family is in an afterlife he’ll never have access to, and with each wave of overwhelming hopelessness, the idea of doing absolutely nothing until he completely disappears has tempted him more and more. The hateful growth taking up residence in his head until recently has made matters much worse. He used to have an intense fear of anyone choosing to kill him at any time, and though that was irrational in the first place for several reasons, that anxiety’s gone now. If Madison were mortal, he’d have probably left a long time ago; he’s died before, what does he have to fear from doing it again?

Has your character ever killed anyone?

No he hasn’t! Not even on accident. Madison’s had a pacifistic mindset since he was with his ward, it’s one of his core principles to never resort to violence when angered or upset, even in small amounts. That said, he’s not exactly capable of murder even if he wanted to, with his poor fighting abilities and anxiety around blood, not that he’s had a chance or desire in the past. Even now that he’s learning to use a proper weapon, he’s intent on only using it in defense of himself and others, and though he’s wished death on several people’s abusers at this point, there’s been no need for it yet. Mads believes that it’s his fault directly that the people in his place of work when he died were killed along with him, however, though there isn’t solid proof of that, and if there were, it would have been unintentional and impossible to predict the outcome when it happened.

How strong is your character’s sense of responsibility? What kinds of things trigger it?

Stronger than any other sense he has, that’s for sure; too strong, in fact. Between what he was built to do as an angel in supporting and helping a person with his whole being, his own intense instincts as a parent and friend, and the extremely high standards he holds himself to, Madison takes responsibility for everyone else’s problems and then some. It’s a consistent, unshakable mindset that when he sees someone struggling, he has to help in whatever way he can, or sometimes ways he can’t, which he then puts responsibility on himself for not being capable of.

Madison when first introduced to the world was wildly inconsiderate of anyone’s wants, feelings, or concerns outside of his ward; he learned how to care about people from Seculus, another angel with a really bad self-sacrifice problem, and he saw her as such a kind person that aer unhealthy tendencies were taken as law. It took so much effort to get to the level of decency Mads has reached now that any sort of dismissal of others’ pain is interpreted as a huge step backwards into the cruel person he was before, that he needs to immediately make up for. His feelings may differ, but whether it’s familial, romantic, ward-esque or empathetic, he offers up everything when someone has a problem of any sort, especially emotional, and if there’s no fixing it, takes responsibility for its very existence, taking on their pain like this makes anything better. This in itself is ironically self-absorbed, though at the same time the only responsibility he takes for his own issues is to claim that he doesn’t matter enough for them to be a concern to himself or others. It’s irresponsible to worry others with his own problems, when they can’t easily be solved and don’t directly impact those besides himself. Obviously this gets frustrating sometimes.

There is also a gripping need to protect others, especially those he cares about. Witnessing someone in danger sets off his angel dad instincts, the first of which is to throw himself between them and the threat, either figuratively or literally. When they won’t let him, he gets panicked, as it feels like he’s forced to stand there and just watch; there are only a couple of people he trusts enough to let them protect him in return. Putting others in harm’s way for his own sake seems irresponsible. (Also ironic!) This is most of the reason he’s learning swordplay, so that he’s more effective in defending others, as opposed to just being a fragile obstacle.

On a lighter note, he feels the same intense responsibility for most living things, and having a pet in his life has helped his own self-care routines somewhat. His dog is relying on him for food, care, and shelter, and if he allows himself to stop functioning entirely or disappear, Madison will be causing him to suffer; thus, he continues to exist, on his worst days, just so Bo won’t have to be in pain. Being told by people, as well, the pain this would cause them, also forces Madison to stick around, but it’s out of guilt, not reassurance at being cared for.

#ttthank you weasel this is LONG #long post /#death ment /#suicide ment /#Asks #Ask memes #ooc #champiowned #save

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nandalorian · 6 years ago

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Since I posted my thoughts about how Roswell has adequately represented queer men on the show and completely shit the bed on their representation of most everything else, I need to address the epically fucked-up treatment of female queerness and the queer female gaze in the context of Isobel and Rosa. This has been bugging me for a few weeks, and the reveal of Noah as the fourth alien pretty much cemented my feelings on the matter. I know there are people who feel the way I do about it, but if there’s another post on the subject I just haven’t seen, please link me. And if you disagree completely about this too, that’s cool. Let’s discuss.

While in my last post I applauded the show on its treatment of Michael’s bisexuality, I still don’t feel great about the introduction of a Michael/Alex/Maria love triangle. It’s one thing for Carina to double down on her defense of love triangles and insist they are not an overused and biphobic trope in popular media--news flash, it is, and in this case it’s also potentially damaging to the one black woman on the show, who will almost certainly bear the brunt of fans’ ire for “stealing Michael away” if they go through with a Maria/Michael relationship. I’m sorry if I don’t take a random straight white woman’s insistence to the contrary as gospel. Saying your formative years were shaped by straight love triangles doesn’t change the fact that it’s an insulting trope to women and an outright damaging one to queers, not even taking into consideration how the two intersect, or further when you consider POC characters, etc. You can’t compare straight relationships with queer ones, in the same way you can’t compare white experiences with nonwhite ones. To insist otherwise denies a whole system of privilege that drastically shapes and influences people’s lived experiences.

But that isn’t what I want to address, because it’s another thing altogether to come for female sexuality and queerness. If I was willing to maybe give Malex a pass on the good-intentions-written-badly front, this is a hill I’m ready to die on. Isobel’s arc in season 1 of RNM demonstrates a lack of understanding that these are identities equally vulnerable to attack, exploitation, and misrepresentation--maybe even more so--as male queerness. That the outrage about Malex drowns out this other but no less important conversation kind of reaffirms the point I’m trying to make.

More under the cut.

Female sexuality has always struggled to find positive representation in popular media, no matter the time period or culture. Compared to male sexuality, it is not taken seriously, always played against the male gaze, or disregarded altogether because it excludes men. Queer female desire challenges societal structures around male desire and sexuality because it just… doesn’t require men to function and in fact actively rejects them. This is obviously a problem because the patriarchy loves it when men are shown to be extraneous and irrelevant.

A lot of us know what it is to be invalidated as queer women, socially and sexually. Put your hand up if you’re a woman (in which I include cis and trans women, of course) or nonbinary individual who desires women and has been told, oh, you just haven’t met the right man yet, or oh, you’re just putting on a show for male attention. We have all been there and experienced this kind of erasure to various degrees of aggressiveness. This refrain is especially loud for bisexual women, who suffer erasure and ridicule from queer and straight communities alike, but the fact is, women’s sexuality has always been portrayed as less than or dependent upon that of a man’s. That isn’t to say bisexual men don’t also experience bi erasure. They do, and this is as much a product of homophobia as it is the primacy of the queer male gaze even within queer spaces and contexts. But in this case I’m addressing that of female and nonbinary bi-erasure and biphobia.

Furthermore, the role of queer women in society and popular media has always been underrepresented compared to that of gay men, or seen as more harmless or less significant, groundbreaking, or offensive for a couple of reasons: namely that a lot of people have played down or played off the existence of female sexuality and desire because they doubt its validity to begin with, or it’s “allowed” because it’s desirable to the male gaze. In some ways this has worked in our favour because subversive or queer female behaviour and desire in media have been able to fly beneath the radar, but it’s still a symptom of a greater problem.

I include this preamble because the writers of Roswell New Mexico have stunningly managed to ignore or remain ignorant to this context. The straight women on the show are shown to express their sexuality in upfront or positive ways, even opening up conversations about kink and reversing gender roles, but often in problematic ways too. The show sometimes fails the Bechdel Test or reduces characters, especially WOC like Maria, to having no purpose but to desire male characters and be desired by them, or portrays them as unable to want sex without quickly falling in love the way Maria seemingly has done with Michael. They’ve known each other for over a decade, and yet Maria only catches feelings after they’ve had sex, a night that, supposedly, meant nothing to her but quickly is revealed not to be the case. Interesting.

But beyond even that, my beef is with the whole Isobel-might-be-bisexual-and-in-love-with-Rosa-Ortecho storyline. I was excited about it at first; I couldn’t believe our luck that we had not one, but two bisexual characters on the show, and one of them was a bisexual woman married to a really awesome and seemingly caring South Asian man. But it was not to be, and this to me is ridiculously tone deaf and offensive in light of the fact that she was possessed by a male alien the whole goddamn time.

This tells us two equally disturbing things about the writers’ take on the queer female gaze and queer female sexuality: a) according to them, in this context, it literally doesn’t exist, and b) it is wholly a product of and subject to the male gaze.

From the promo for 1x12 it looks like they are going to delve a little bit into the mindfuck around consent due to Noah effectively brainwashing/tricking Isobel into marrying him, but one aspect of this I’d be surprised if they acknowledge is how he has also robbed Isobel of agency over her own sexuality. Not only has she been in a nonconsensual relationship with Noah this whole time, but he’s stripped her of the ability to discern whether her desires are her own, including the possibility that she is bisexual. As a woman, how can Isobel take her own sexuality seriously/see it as valid when she’s been forced to reconcile with the fact that, until now, it hasn’t been?

And that’s not even scratching the surface of the fact that a man used a woman, against her will and without her knowledge, to kill another woman. All over the simple fact that Rosa didn’t desire him/Isobel by extension. This stupid-as-fuck storyline is literally about weaponizing queer female sexuality in order to do violence against women.

Just think about that for a second.

To make matters worse, Noah is a South Asian man and represents a community that is already marginalized in white media and society. Brown men have, in white culture, been relegated to two-dimensional stereotypes, rejected as love interests, and often portrayed as villains, and instead of positively developing an Indian character in a multiracial relationship and using that representation for good, he’s been made to violate his wife and use her to kill another woman. My girl @insidious-intent has written a really fantastic post to that end and I’d encourage you to read it. According to Carina, hiring Karan Oberoi to play Noah was colourblind casting. But viewers aren’t naive enough to buy that it’s ever that simple, or it shouldn’t be. I don’t see how you can write a nonwhite character the same as you would a white one and not expect it to have deeper or more damaging implications.

So my point, or at least one of them, is this: the failure of Roswell New Mexico to its queer viewers isn’t just that they’ve desecrated a ship as sacred as Malex or, at best, totally failed to do it justice. Roswell has failed us by invalidating and retconning female sexuality, and if this isn’t something we should all be angry about, straight and queer viewers alike, I don’t know what to tell you. While people are justified in expressing their anger to Carina about Malex, I think it’s also important to acknowledge and protest JUST AS LOUDLY the queer female angle. When you are thinking about how to represent, express, and phrase your disappointment to the production team, remember this goes far deeper than Malex. She has let us all down in ways that have nothing to do with our ship potentially not becoming a reality by the end of this season. She’s let POC viewers down just as resoundingly hard, both distinctly and factoring in the intersectionality of their writing choices.

All writers make mistakes. I want to put that out there. And I also want to put it out there that the issues around queer and POC representation are serious and disappointing, but not insurmountable if the writing team shows a willingness to learn, improve, and listen if the show is greenlit for season 2. But that isn’t what they’re doing. Carina has taken a stand, via Twitter, that they’ve done nothing wrong, and that is a big red flag that the writing team isn’t as woke as it likes to pretend and definitely not interested in listening to criticisms about their politics or how they try to convey them. So are her efforts of trying to silence bisexual viewers with legitimate criticism, or POC viewers doing the same thing. She and the writers would rather praise themselves for their token representation than acknowledge, listen to, and learn from real people expressing real concerns and sharing lived experiences.

#roswell new mexico #isobel evans #queer representation #female sexuality #meta

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goodvibesatpeace · 6 years ago

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Astrology: Mercury Goes Direct on March 28th 2019

When Mercury moves into retrograde everyone goes to great lengths to prepare themselves and adjust their actions in order to compensate, aware of the incredibly challenging times that it will bring, but have you ever considered just what the ‘Planet of Communication’ has in store for your life when it maintains its usual, direct movement?

Mercury may be small in relation to the other plants in the solar system, but don’t underestimate its power! Ruling over our ability to communicate and reason, this planet has the ability to open doors for our future, or to leave us in complete chaos.

Unlike retrograde movement, where this energy is altered and twisted, direct movement is the best time to leverage Mercury’s power in our life. It is during this time that it’s operating smoothly, encouraging us to express our thoughts and feelings, making our opinions known in the world.

This can give us the confidence to accomplish great things, propel ourselves forward to great success. At the same time, it provides us with the tools necessary to overcome obstacles and establish closer connections with the people in your life.

On March 28th, Mercury will move from retrograde movement back to direct, bringing the chaos and confusion to an end. The weeks leading up to this time were anything but easy, testing our patience even at the best of times. It will remain in direct movement until June 20, 2019. What are you doing to make the most of this time?

Here Is Everything You Need To Know About Mercury Direct In 2019, According To Your Zodiac Sign:

Aries

When faced with the need for change or restructuring in your life, your first instinct is to tackle the big, significant areas that demand your attention. While this may give you the impression that you are making things happen, you’ll always find yourself falling just short of where you want to be.

The truth is that you regularly overlook the small details, the little things you do on a day-to-day basis that are either moving you forward towards your goals and dreams or holding you back from everything you hope to accomplish. You need to take some time to reconsider your daily habits, making changes where necessary. They may seem small, but they will add up to great things.

Taurus

You’re determined that you are going to accomplish all that you have set your mind to make happen, a drive that motivates you and keeps you plugging forward. However, despite your best efforts, you find that you are often coming up against great obstacles.

The truth is that we each have strengths and weaknesses, and no one person is capable of taking on the world alone despite the fact you may have convinced yourself that you’re the exception. Mercury Direct is the perfect time for you to reach out to friends and family, relying on loved ones when you’re feeling overwhelmed. They truly want to be there for you, you just need to communicate your needs.

Gemini

If there is one planet that speaks directly to all that’s important in your life, it’s Mercury. You’ve got the gift of gab, a real chatterbox, and the communication power of this planet only encourages you to further embrace this aspect of your personality. Your biggest mistake, however, is that you often think first, thinking after which can lead to big regrets.

It’s not going to be something that comes to you easily or naturally, but you need to make the effort to take a step back and consider what you are feeling before you act upon it. The combination of your confidence and comfort in social settings combined with a more strategic, well-thought-out plan of action is the key to achieving all that you desire.

Cancer

As a highly sensitive person, you are often feeling an overwhelming level of emotion, more feelings than you can even begin to understand. While those around you may try to connect with you and grasp what it is you are experiencing at any given time, it’s nearly impossible for those that don’t share your big heart.

Mercury Direct is going to help you to put these thoughts and feelings into words in a way you didn’t believe to be possible before, a powerful tool in your life. Don’t underestimate this power. At the same time, however, it’s important to remember that not every feeling needs to be shared, and those that are may need a bit of a delicate touch.

Leo

Looking around, you feel as though you have genuinely accomplished great things in your life. This feeling of success is the driving point for your ego. Believing that you are doing great things already in your life, you may find yourself toying with the idea of a little ‘free time’, time to play, celebrate and enjoy all that you have earned. While I’m not saying this is wrong, you certainly should celebrate from time to time, you need to be careful not to go too far.

Completely forgetting your efforts to move forward, lost in the ‘fun’, may actually set you back. Remember, you’re always moving in life – if you’re not moving forward, then you’re falling back. Don’t let yourself slip back and lose the momentum you have established.

Virgo

Communication is important and necessary, but at the same time, it’s unpredictable which is something that you are far from comfortable with. After all, unpredictable means that you have lost some sense of control. In an effort to maintain your perfectionist lifestyle you likely go to great lengths to avoid the unknown, but true success will come, instead, in embracing it and stepping out of your comfort zone.

Sure, it’s not going to be easy and you may even have to accept that you are capable of mistakes and errors in life. However, at the end of the day, this will empower you to see life in a new light. This fresh perspective may be the key to overcoming the very obstacles that are preventing your success.

Libra

This specific Mercury Direct is going to focus on your current financial state, inspiring you to question and reassess the balance that you believe that you have established. Determined not to lose money, you have avoided taking any risks, however, this is also robbing you of the chance to experience great success.

Take some time to consider the idea of calculated risk-taking, assessing your options and making move that, sure, may still fall short, but are based on facts and knowledge. This isn’t going to be easy, but when done correctly it will still fill your need for balance while starting to pull you out of this ‘boring’ rut that you have found yourself trapped in.

Scorpio

Mercury Direct is both going to call on you to exercise your power of communication but also to exercise great caution. You’re often seen as the ‘mysterious’ one due to the fact you keep many of your thoughts hidden away from the rest of the world. However, when you start to share something you are passionate about, there is no filter. This is where you get yourself into trouble. One great technique to ‘get it all out’ without potentially creating rifts in your closest relationships or risking your current job is to take up journaling.

When you sit down, let your pen lead the way with no structure, no rules and no ‘plan’ for what you’re going to share. Instead, just let it all come pouring out onto the paper. This will then give you the ability to read it over and select what you strategically want to share with the rest of the world while recognizing which thoughts may cause more harm than good. At the same time, getting it out into a journal can have a feeling effect, working towards improved emotional and mental health.

Sagittarius

The world is an exciting place, and you’re always looking for new opportunities to experience it to the greatest extent. Your overly optimistic outlook, however, may have left you blind to the true intentions of those who you have welcomed into your life. You always try to see the best in people, but not everyone is going to hold up their end of the bargain.

During this time, take a step back and reassess your connections. Are they acting with integrity, or have you allowed someone into your life that is actually sneaking around in the shadows? While it may hurt to acknowledge, identifying these people and cutting them loose is the most empowering and healing action you have available to you. It’s time to find out who is really there for you.

Capricorn

The good news is that you thrive off logic and reason, and that is one of the main areas in our lives that Mercury draws upon. However, while you would like to deny it, there are some areas of your life where your use of the facts may fall short. You try to appear as someone who has ‘no emotions’, but deep down you’re highly sensitive. This is why you have such a soft spot for your friends and loved ones. However, for every ‘good heart’ out there in the world, there is going to be someone trying to take advantage of it.

It’s time to step back and take a look at the people in our lives, and the truth that the facts reveal. Do you really have a friendship established, or are they using you for personal gain? You don’t need to waste your time and energy on someone who is less than you deserve. You’re no one’s pawn.

Aquarius

You are rather articulate, sharing your thoughts and opinions freely and openly. It is for this reason that many consider you to be ‘unique’ or ‘one-of-a-kind’. While this can be a great power, helping you to accomplish great things in life, you need to be careful not to view life as merely a screenplay.

While you can put on an ‘act’ for most of the world, when you are communicating with friends and family it’s time to stop the act and allow them to see the real, vulnerable you. This isn’t easy as it means risking being hurt, but it’s the only way to establish the deep, meaningful connections that you crave. Your friends and family are in love with you for who you are, not who they think you ‘should be’.

Pisces

Living your life with your head in the clouds isn’t the most conducive to connecting with the real world, which is arguably your biggest downfall. Rather than communicating how you are feeling or what’s going on in your mind, you simply escape to your daydreams, imagining a world where everything is perfect.

Here’s a challenge for you during Mercury Direct – try to identify something real and tangible, something in this world, and fully embrace it. This could mean traveling with close friends and family or establishing a new skill. Whatever it is, be sure to do it with your feet firmly planted on the ground and your mind here and now. The world has great things to offer if you’ll allow yourself to experience it.

Much love to all... go in peace my beautiful friends 💕💕

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