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jackassbroadcast · 3 years

Text

Hello im a Tommy enthusiast who watched that one stream where he monologued to foolish for like hafe an hour bc i heard it was a cool stream or wtv to realize how much amazing character moments it had that barly anyone in this damn fandom is talking about so ill fucking do it

(Only after finishing this i realized i wrote 1.7k words LOL OOPS)

If u dont know what in talking about its this stream (apologies for linking a clips channel the actual vod on foolish's channel is deleted by now)

Also heads up /rp /dsmp every time i refer to someone here by name is their character unless stated otherwise bc writing c! Before every name Is tiring LOL

Also // suicidal idealization , death mentions

The conversation starts off with foolish and tommy mining for Wilbur, and foolish questions how simply mining will solve the problem to which Tommy reponds with "they dont get solved, do they? It just ends uo with some madman screaming 'Hes solved it!' And now look at him." And how he wants to "prevent the problem before it goes outta hand" something that clearly references Wilbur and his destruction of lmanburg, which paired with him collecting stone for Wilbur as the way to stop said problems he believes if he does anything he can for Wilbur and support him by his side enough this time around, that he wont do anything like thay again, which as im writing this makes be realize by doing that we learn hes blaming himself for what happened to Wilbur in November 16th and pogtopia and a whole, by not being enough for Wilbur in his mind.

The conversation continues, foolish off hand asks why would tommy want to stop Wilbur? Weren't they friends at some point? To which tommy leads foolish to lmanburg and tells him the story of the nation (how it was him and Wilbur's nation, how they made it to espace dream's iron fist and how they held an election "which puts your life on the line, which is good- if you're confident but- perhaps we were too confident", how they lost)

Tommy: "You know the phrase: 'treat other how you wanna be treated', foolish? People dont ever listen to it. Wilbur- he decided he wanted to be treated poorly so he treated everyone around him poorly "

This Tommy quote, to me at least, so so amazingly strong in conveying how understanding he is? To the world around him. Like-

I have not seen one person bring this quote up, and yet its (at least to me) shows such growth and understanding in Tommy i saw little to nothing like it in other streams. It shows he understands, he knew Wilbur didnt change just because, he knows he was struggling, that he thought everyone around him were againt him, were going to abandon him the first chance theyll get- and he thought he deserved it. So he, as a last way to defend himself against that, hurt them first, abandoned them first, so theyll see how much of a 'bad' person he was and take him out- and tommy saw right through that, possibly understanding it more after exile.

This next qoute was talked about much more but i still wanna bring it up

Foolish: "Do you believe in second chances?"

Tommy: "Oh, no I don't really believe that its not really a thing for me foolish its just that-" *sigh* "- i believe everyone has a little bit of good in then and this is not about giving him a second chance or a third chance- its not about *chances* foolish. Its about not giving up on the poeple you care about. "

Which. I mean. I dont know how healthy that mindset is, but comign from Tommy it makes so much sense.

Techno, tubbo, eret, sapnap. These are all people Tommy used to be extremely close to, had either a war or had been betrayed by them, and yet still found it in his heart that he still cares for them, with all of these, they did horrendous things, that hurt tommy physically and mentally, while also not being once or twice, but a contentious thing, but while tommy is to this day still effected by their actions he still found it in himself to forgive, because he knows he fucked up too, a lot, and he knoes they learned from their mistakes just as he had (except c!techno FUCKKK c!techno mf doesnt learn SHITTT) and he knows, when the time comes he knows hed want the people he hurt to forgive him too. (And he wants Wilbur to do the same)

Next qoute i will cut to a couple parts because its really so good and full of character i had to bro

Foolish: "Do you consider yourself to be the good guy or the bad guy?"

Tommy: "It really depends who you ask, isn't it? Yknow? If you asked dream he'd say im *his little toy that he plays with* you know? It doesnt.."

This part really stunned me when i first heard it because, and correct me If im wrong, but i dont think tommy ever acknowledged how dream sees him, and how right he has his viewpoint too. Just the fact tommy is so *painfully* aware of how dream doesnt even see him as a person anymore but just a toy to mess around with for a while than just throw it away when it get too boring really hurt me. Someone give this kid a hug

(Continued) Tommy: "...foolish, honestly? I used to consider myself 'the good guy', you know? The fuckin'- second in command! But these past- these past like six months or so, foolish, everything got so much harder than it was before. Because before it was just us vs bad guys, it was all so clear! But- its not been 'clear' for so long, right? It wasn't; 'these are the bad guys! These are the good guys!' Now it's : 'he's doing this and it makes him a bit worse-' i mean, it all got so complicated, so- i don't know. Depends who you ask."

He says this, in response to foolish asking if hes a good guy- but its awfully similar to if Wilbur asked him if they were the bad guys. Because foolish just asked about him, and yet in his answer tommy made sure to keep using the words "us, he's, guys" as if hes not really talking about himself, as if hes explaining how Wilbur was wrong. Which he was. Also something interesting ive noticed, he says "the last 6 months or so", which indicated that with Wilbur he knew better to follow his word and leadership- with Wilbur he was always on the right side but when he lost him he felt much more lost alone, and couldn't trust himself enough to be on the "right side" .

Foolish: "I dont know, it all seems strange because just from, you know- hearing from others and, you know, learing a little bit, its seems like you've been the hero, you've been the villain, the conqueror, the savior, and, even now, i have no idea what you exactly are."

Tommy: "that's up to you to decide, isn't it? Im just- *uh* i dont know. These days, foolish, I'm a little weaker than i used to be"

Foolish couldn't be more right with what he said, another example of this we see where a character acknowledges tommy never sticks to one thing us Charlie when calling him "tommy fron nowhere" which shows more how he cant stick to one thing, during the course of him on the server he had been friends and enemy with nearly everyone, been on pretty much all sides, and while never really intentionally, being in the center of conflict. When foolish says he doesnt know who tommy is anymroe at this point and all Tommy says in return is that "hes a little weaker than he used to be" does to show he misses who he used to be, with lmanburg, with Wilbur, when he knew who he was, now he doesn't know who he is anymore, but still so desperately want to be more demonstrated by the lines coming rigth after that one:

(Continued) Tommy: "..I'm not- I'm now who i want to be, but-"

Foolish: "Being honest with you, Tommy, that's the same case for me as well."

Tommy: "...heres the thing, foolish, unlike you i dont really have a choice. I have to try and be who i want to be, because if i dont, very bad things are gonna happen in this server. And now that Wilbur's back i can't- quite frankly *no one* can risk that. So i dont really have a choice."

Tommy want's to change- he wants to be better than he is now, to be closer to who he used to be, no matter how impossible that might be, but he also sees it as an immediate thing, he wants to change now, or asap, which is why hes collecting stone for Wilbur in the first place- old him would've done that with ease just because Wilbur asked and he wants to have that back so badly, asap. The way he talked about this reminded me of when he tried getting over his trauma stream before he went in the prison to kill dream: he knew he wasnt the best but he tried getting over that asap to go kill dream asap. He didnt wanna take the long road of years of healing and instead thought he could get over it just like that, and that experience clearly didnt teach him anything because now hes trying to slide back to the relationship he and Wilbur used to have and ignoring the drastic changes they both had plus the bad moments that were the reason they feel out in the first place, or maybe he knows, but at this point, after everything that happened to him and the server, he doesnt care anymore? He knows hes not the same he was and he'll never be the same, because thats not how it works, but his mentor, president, big brother is back after so long tommy felt so lost and alone he thinks maybe, this time around, with Wilbur, he could try and be better again.

#mcyt #dream smp #dsmp #dreamsmp #tommyinnit #mcyt foolish #dsmp foolish #dsmp tommy #analysis #character analysis #tommyinnit analysis #dsmp analysis #analysis post #long post #long

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felikatze · 3 years

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Just wanted to say thank you so much for all the brainworms you have been giving me and my friends for the past few hours about Ayin and all the analyses you've been doing about him.

I have been losing my mind in the middle of the night thinking about all the things you've said, turning it over like crazy and trying to compare it with the gameplay I've had of Lobotomy Corporation and Library of Ruina.

Please do more analysis and share more of your ideas! Please? Please, with cherry on top? Please, I beg of you?

Especially if you have in-depth ideas of analyses for the Sephirah and how it relates to both their own characters and Ayin and Angela.

I thank you greatly in advance!

the implication that i've infected an entire friend group with my brainworms is power that will 100% go to my head i feel amazing. what else is analysis posting except trying to inflict people with the same thoughts bouncing around your skull on repeat

i DO have shit on the sephirah but mostly netzach, because i love netzach, and i in fact found my discord ramble about him (and chesed)

i dont have things on how they relate to A and Angela specifically because I mainly kept thinking abt Reverbaration Ensemble parallels... i have so many thoughs abt Netzach and Bremen.

(but if you want me to talk about, say, a specific core supression, or floor realization... i have a lot of thoughts on floor realizations.)

First off I am so sorry that you seem to think I'm smart because that means i have the perfect opportunity to inflict you with this

okay now we can get to the serious stuff

[transcript:

containment breach:

quick ramble abt lor again but i love the ensemble receptions so much. i'm at chesed's rn, and i know he's been chill the entire game, but him just refusing to comment on jae-hoon's tragedy seems, out of context, a dick move, but also is so important for chesed to do? he recognizes that another's suffering is not related to him, that he can't do anything about it, and that this is fine. The closest i'd describe chesed in lobcorp would be "activist burnout." Due to betraying the lab from garion's pressure, chesed was so consumed by guilt, he just blamed himself for everything and became more callous because it's already his fault, right? There's nothing he can do. But in lor, he knows what his responsibilities are, and allows himself joy where he can find it. I love the ensemble receptions bcuz they are just examplary of each patron libriarian's growth and i iqbfjc (sobs)

GOD this sure is a paragraph

also have to salute netzach for carrying his scene all by himself as the musicians of bremen just (animal noises) :pray:

ykno being online i realize that i'm not quiet at all i am a complete and utter chatterbox /end]

[transcript:

containment breach:

thinking abt netzach's scene where he doesn't talk to bremen, because he can't, but recognizes this who has not only lost themself in their own art but also their own suffering

i just i love netzach so much his entire character arc is abt learning to live with depression and learning to want to live again

so he becomes unable to understand, really, why someone would sacrifice themselves for their own art

when he started out just, similar yet different from bremen, completely submerged in his own misery

musicians of bremen reminds me i still have bremen bon bons at home i should eat those. they r tasty /end]

i wanna specifically dig into this scene more because i love that scene, a lot.

Art as we get to know it in the City is irrevocably tied to violence. Puppets are made of human bodies, music is played on bones and sinews. To the artists of the City, to create art is to make someone suffer. Rewatching Netzach's story bits, Roland describes it as doing nothing but seeking stimulation and being provocative.

Furthermore, there is a direct comparison between art and alcohol. To paraphrase more, the Pianist must've been one hell of a stimulant, like getting hit by a strong booze. A performance some are still hungover from.

Netzach's main struggle was addiction because of depression, and his growing appreciation for art is a continuation of that arc. He says himself that art and alcohol are linked.

However, alcohol is a step down from hard drugs. Netzach hasn't quit, but just that step down shows he learned moderation, which makes me very proud of him.

Moderation is what the other.. let's just call them artists, lack. I said in the screencaps above, initially, Netzach was lost in his own suffering, and the musicians of bremen are lost in their art. And if art is seen as equal to suffering, that just means Netzach and Bremen are more similar than expected. (Especially considering what we see of the musicians previously; they’re always trying to chase the same high they experienced listening to the Pianist by any means necessary. The addiction parallels are not suprising.)

I rewatched most of Netzach's lor scenes, and what rlly gets me is that in his first one, he seems almost the exact same as in lobcorp. He doesn't want to work, he got dragged into this against his will, he feels as if his accomplishments are futile.

But! He eventually invites Roland for drinks. He's not drinking to forget alone anymore, he's doing it as social activity. Furthermore, the more time he spends as Patron Librarian of Arts, the more he grows to appreciate art. Art is tied to suffering, still, but it is an expression of suffering. It does not produce any. Or should not, in any case. He sure wishes it wouldn’t.

So we arrive at his Ensemble Reception. This one makes a rather interesting comparison: art as the pursuit of the light. Let me elaborate.

To quote, “Honestly, I wanna tell people to stop doing the kind of art that requires ‘em to immolate themselves and others. Although, on the other hand... I can kinda see where they’re coming from. Art narrows your vision, after all.

You stop caring about the things around you. That’s how most artists seem to act, I think. And so, you indulge in the craft, not realizing that you’re throwing yourself and your surroundings into the fire you started.”

I pose this: Netzach speaks of his experience as Giovanni. Giovanni was a researcher who, when push came to shove, willingly sacrificed himself to advance the project, in hopes of seeing the light, seeing Carmen, again.

Though he dislikes Bremen’s actions, he does not judge them for it, because he recognized that it would be hypocritical. Even so, what shows that he’s grown is that he.. doesn’t want to see people harm themselves anymore. The focus here isn’t if Bremen hurt other people, which they have, but how much of themselves they’ve given up for their performance. He condemns the act, and not the people.

“If I can see that light once more... If I have to muster up the courage to reach it, I’ll gladly do it. It’s easier said than done, though; you need a lot of fearlessness for it.

And I guess you saw the same kind of light I was so desperate to see, yeah? Even if yours was a twisted creature... [...] Though, I don’t think I can tell you off like the others. At least I can see the reason behind it.”

He even explicitly mentions the light. The funny thing is, both Giovanni and Bremen tried to reach the Seed of Light, and Carmen. It’s tragically hilarious that we know Carmen is the voice the Distortions hear.

Hell, the more I think about it, the more you can just compare the Ensemble as a whole to the Outskirts Lab crew, down to Angelica’s puppet body and Carmen’s desecrated corpse.

“And I know pretty well that we have no right to devilishly pick apart each other’s way of art. I’m not very proud of mine, really...”

Netzach just.. gets it. I can’t remember atm, but I don’t think the other Patron Librarians really draw parallels like that. I’m seeing all the parallels now and I can’t unsee them ever. Bro.

His “art,” his way of protecting the light, is still violent. But he sees that perhaps it didn’t have to be, or rather shouldn’t be. I fucking love Netzach so much. His arc just means a lot to me personally, and I’d wager a lot of people who’ve struggled with mental illness would agree.

I’m not gonna get into Netzach’s floor realization here because this post is already long enough, but like, look at the specific flashback of Angela shown in Netzach’s story bits and contrast it to his arc of learning to want to live, and. Yeah.

#Feli gets asked #lobotomy corporation #library of ruina #netzach #NETZACH MY MAN NETZACH.#long post #this took a while to make cuz i got distracted many times by playing video games #also i'm not sorry for the first bit. know it in your heart. i'm right.

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onecanonlife · 3 years

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careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 8,147

Chapter Warnings: swearing, referenced past suic.ide, referenced past character death, mentioned nausea, blood

Chapter Summary: In which things start coming to a head, and not everything is going according to plan, but they’re trying.

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Nineteen: wake the beast

His mind races.

If the enchantments are gone, someone must have destroyed them from within their bounds. Tubbo said as much, said that it was the only way. And now Ranboo stands by Dream’s side. Ranboo stands by Dream’s side, Dream’s hand on him, and he would not have thought it of Ranboo, of the awkward kid who so often sticks close to Techno or to Phil, of the person who they both obviously care for. He would not have thought it—and that was his mistake. He should have been more watchful, more vigilant, should not have dared to let his guard down in the slightest, because this is what it gets him, time and time again—

(all eyes on him and his people turn against him in a blink in a second and a sentence and he feels dead even before the arrow tears through his heart)

(and it was never meant to be, says a trusted friend and he is numb numb numb even as his comrades his friends his brothers his family die around him and he has been betrayed and he dies terrified and knowing that he has failed and the memory of that first death has never left him nor the pervasive thought that it could happen again that any valued companion could hide a traitor’s heart)

“Ranboo wouldn’t,” Phil says, as if reading his mind. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but Ranboo wouldn’t.”

“Just because you think someone wouldn’t doesn’t mean that you’re right,” he hisses back. “People stab each other in the backs, Phil. It’s what they do. You ought to know that.”

Phil looks at him, eyes wide and wounded, but he pays him little mind, creeping forward to peer further over the side of the roof. He stays low in an effort not to draw attention; the longer Dream doesn’t know where they all are, the better.

“How did you get in?” Eret is asking below, their voice steady, commanding. They are still a monarch in their own castle, though the wolves are inside the gate. Beside them, Sapnap takes on a battle-ready stance. There’s no sign of anyone else yet, and Wilbur is torn between hoping that the others will be out any moment and praying that some of them have the good sense to stay inside.

(because he closes his eyes and sees Dream shooting Tommy dead where he stands and he sees the blackstone walls of the final control room and he sees the vine pull Tommy away from him and Dream lunging for him with an axe and it is all too easy to imagine a sword at Tommy’s throat at Tubbo’s throat at Fundy’s throat and he won’t let that happen but he couldn’t prevent their deaths before but he has to now he has to)

Dream laughs.

“I’ve said before that I’ve got eyes everywhere,” he says. “It still counts if the eyes don’t know you’re watching through them. I have to say, that was a good trick, with those enchantments. But people go wandering sometimes. All I had to do was wait until Ranboo stepped back outside.” He tugs Ranboo closer to him. Ranboo moves with the pull, completely unresistant, like a rag doll. “Don’t worry, I’m taking good care of him. We’re great friends.”

Wait. That almost sounds like—

He turns to Phil again.

“Can he control other people?” he whispers.

Phil shrugs helplessly. “I’ve got no fucking clue,” he says. “But Ranboo sleepwalks. I dunno, maybe that would make it easier. But Ranboo would never betray us of his own free will.”

The cacophony of whispers in his mind, the storm that swirls and tosses and insists that he has been betrayed, that the world is out to get him and that this only confirms as much, quiets. Dies down at Phil’s insistence and at the scene before him,

(and you would not have allowed this months ago would not have allowed someone to talk you down did not allow anyone to talk you down so perhaps you do not quite know what better means but that is not to say that you have made no steps toward it toward that nebulous and far away goal even if you have difficulty in recognizing it you are different from how you were you are)

because Phil could be right.

(and it would make sense, perhaps, because even from here he can see the way that Ranboo’s eyes stare straight ahead, unseeing, and it is not like how he met him in the corridor last night but it is how he was in the Egg’s chamber, and he has wondered for quite some time now how Dream knew to break out of the prison when he did, how he knew to take advantage of their ill-fated attempt, and maybe there has not been a willing betrayal at all)

But if Ranboo is an unwitting accomplice, is somehow under Dream’s control, then that only complicates matters further. He’s not sure how many complications they can afford before all their planning falls apart at the seams.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re right, we need to move.” He glances back down at Dream. He’s still talking, though it doesn’t sound like anything too important anymore. Nothing they didn’t already know. “He likes to monologue. We can use that.”

Phil nods, and together, they inch back along the roof and toward the stairway. He breaks into a run as soon as he’s sure no one below will see or hear them, and Phil keeps pace with him. They careen through the hallways at breakneck speed, and the further they get back into the main corridors, the more people he can hear, moving about, their footsteps rushed, their voices frantic.

“Wilbur!”

The shout echoes, ping-pongs off the stone walls, loud and overwhelming all else. That is no surprise—Tommy has always known how to make himself heard, even when the moment does not call for it, and he trained himself a long time ago to respond to Tommy’s voice above all others.

(because even when they were younger, even when they were children, brothers by choice taken under Phil’s wings, Tommy always looked to him before anyone else, before Techno, before Phil, and that was even before the other two began leaving so often)

(for better or for worse, your little brother has always believed the sun shines through your eyes and you have him caught in your orbit just as surely as he has caught you in his and perhaps you are twin suns circling one another but then again perhaps not because you crashed and burned and you know better than to believe that it was anyone’s fault but your own and no one’s gravity was powerful enough to help you not when you denied them all)

(though your beliefs once rock solid are shaken and unsteady and the fault lies with you to be sure but you have always assigned yourself more blame than you ought so sure are you that you are at the center at it all that you are on a pedestal the spotlight shining down and some of the fault is yours but not all not all and it is growth to accept responsibility but also growth to let some of it go to let slip from your shoulders that which is not yours to carry)

Tommy all but barrels into him, panting, and he reaches out on instinct to steady him, placing his hands on both his shoulders. Tubbo follows shortly behind, but at a slower pace, his face pale and wan.

“You weren’t in your room,” Tommy gasps out, “you weren’t—where the fuck did you go? And the bell, we heard the bell, and Tubbo said he could feel the enchantments going down, what the fuck is—is he—?”

“Dream is here,” he answers, glancing back and forth between the two of them. “Inside the gates, and he’s not alone. The vines haven’t reached the castle proper yet, but they’re making an effort.”

Tommy draws in a sharp breath, and Wilbur hates this. Hates that this is happening, that any of them are being put in these positions at all. Hates that Tommy is confronted with this danger time and time again, that Tommy never seems to get a rest, never seems to have time to heal, that he and Tubbo both have never had the opportunity to escape the solder’s uniforms that he dressed them in, he in all his misguided hopes and dreams.

But he’s thought as much before. It never stops the hated thing from occurring.

“So is that it, then?” Tubbo asks quietly. “It’s all coming down to this?” His voice is bleak, and Wilbur wishes he could understand all the weight behind his words

(a weight that comes from being a soldier a spy a president an executioner a leader of so much rubble, that comes from exiling his best friend for the good of his nation, that comes from being trapped in a box with nowhere to run, that comes from no walls being strong enough and no weapons powerful enough to protect himself, that comes from seeing it all come crashing down again and again and being helpless to stop any of it, and it is easy to allow Tubbo to slip to the sidelines when Tommy is so much louder, so much more overt with his fears and his pains, but Tubbo has been hurt just as surely, and he needs to remember that, when all of this is over, needs to remember that Tubbo needs healing and safety just as Tommy does, and he needs to remember and so he will)

but now is not the time to over-analyze, to pick through tone and cadence until the true meaning is laid bare.

“What about our plan?” Tommy says. “What about—do we still try? Or do we just have to go down there and—”

He’s trying not to act panicked, is trying to disguise his quick breaths, his shaking hands. Is trying, and failing, and Wilbur continues to grip him by the shoulders, even if it doesn’t seem to do anything at all.

“We were too slow with it,” he says, blunt. “We’re being pushed into reacting rather than instigating ourselves. But we have to work with it. We don’t fall here. We fight—”

“We go through with it.” The voice is confident, steady, brooking no room for argument. He looks past Tommy’s shoulders to see Techno striding down the hallway, hair loose, armor already on, shining netherite sword in hand. He doesn’t know if this is his typical gear or spares—he doesn’t remember whether anyone thought to pick up his scattered inventory or not, when he died. But it doesn’t seem to matter.

“Do we?” Tubbo asks. “Seems like it’s gone a bit pear-shaped, Technoblade.”

“Yeah,” Techno says, “but we were plannin’ to lure some of them away from the Egg anyway. They’ve practically done our job for us. Sure, we’re on the defensive, which isn’t—I won’t lie, that isn’t fantastic. But we can still work with this, as long as we’re quick.” He draws up short next to everybody and levels a stare right at him. “Phil and I will go out there and help hold them off. Wilbur, can you do this?”

He knows what he’s asking.

“Hold on,” Phil says, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Maybe we get someone else to—”

Techno shakes his head, visibly frustrated. He doesn’t have the context that Phil now does, doesn’t know what the Egg whispers to him, doesn’t know that he nearly gave in, doesn’t know that he did.

Wilbur sort of regrets telling Phil any of that, now, in retrospect.

“Who?” Techno says. “Who else, Phil? The options are they go try and make that omelet, or they stay here and hope that we can hold off Dream and his goons. If the castle is breached, I’d feel a whole lot better knowin’ they’re not in here.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Tommy jumps in. “What do you mean, they? I’m not hiding in this fucking castle, Technoblade, what the fuck are you on?”

“You’re not fightin’ Dream,” Techno shoots back. “Don’t try to argue with me. You’re not. You’re not gettin’ anywhere near him. So your choices are, you go with Wilbur, or you stay right here, inside.”

Tommy gapes, mouth working. There is some kind of realization dawning behind his eyes,

(and there is only one realization to come to, really, and that is that Techno does care about him, that Techno is trying to protect him in his own clumsy way, and it doesn’t make up for everything or for anything, really, but they’ve already made a start already laid the foundations for forgiveness, and he can only hope that Tommy sees it that way)

but there’s no time. Even though this feels like it’s all happening far too quickly, there is no time. There is no time for any of this.

“I can do it,” he says, and prays he’s not lying. “I’ll take Tommy and Tubbo with me. They’ll be safe, Technoblade.”

He meets his brother’s eyes, and sees there

(determination and anger and hope and a thousand cuts crusted over and not stitched closed and perhaps a lingering flicker of gold from a death that is sure to have scarred him even though he hasn’t spoken on it and will likely refuse to do so but there is trust there against all the odds there is trust in Technoblade’s eyes trust in the eyes of the brother who he has called his twin who he has used and strung along and not apologized to nearly enough but despite it all there is trust)

an emotion too deep to interpret.

“Why are you talking like that?” Tommy demands. He shrugs off Wilbur’s hold. “Why are you talking like you might—”

Die is almost certainly the word he intends to finish that sentence with, but he cuts himself off.

“I know they will,” Techno says. To his side, Phil sighs, closing his eyes, and then, Techno looks to Tommy. “Technoblade never dies, Tommy. Don’t worry so much. Dream’ll get what’s comin’ to him.”

Tommy flinches. “I’m not worried, dickhead. Who’d worry about you?” His voice cracks.

(Dream’s axe buries itself in Technoblade’s throat, and the red blends with the rest of the room)

“If we’re going, we need to. Like, now,” Tubbo says. Ever practical. Ever responsible.

“We do,” he agrees.

(it’s not a farewell it’s a see you later but he hates that phrase because you never know when it is a farewell, no one ever does, and a see you later never gives the closure that people so sorely need)

(and he never said goodbye in any way that counted)

They’ll be heading for opposite stairwells then, from here. Phil and Techno will go for the front, he and Tubbo and Tommy for the back. This is a separation, even though so much of his mind is screaming not to let them out of his sight, to not allow them to split up, not when there’s every possibility that this will end poorly, will not go in their favor.

(this will not be the end the story will not end here and they will see each other again there is war and there is the other side and there is a new sunrise and they will live to see it)

“Wilbur,” Techno says, and then, he’s pressing something into his hand. He looks down, and it’s a totem. Golden and whole, eyes of emerald. He looks back up.

“I have another one,” Techno says. “For me or Phil. This one’s for you. Or Tommy, or Tubbo. Call it insurance. But dying at all would be pretty cringe. Y’know?”

“I know,” he says, and closes his fingers around the figurine. “So don’t you dare. Either of you.” He flicks his gaze to Phil. Phil nods at him, and the same message is reflected in his eyes.

“That’s the plan,” Phil says quietly. He’s been quiet, this whole time. Tommy makes a soft, choked noise, making an aborted movement as if to step forward. But then, Techno and Phil are turning, striding down the corridor, to where the sounds of battle outside are growing louder by the second, and they’ve lingered here for far too long. Somehow, he doesn’t regret it.

(it’s not a goodbye but just in case it is, just in case, just in case, he has braced himself for the worst)

“They’re going to be alright,” Tommy says, voice pitching higher. “They’re going to be alright, aren’t they?”

“Technoblade never dies,” Tubbo repeats quietly. “And Phil doesn’t either.”

“They’ll be fine,” Wilbur says, and tries to believe himself, tries not to think of Dream lying in wait for them, Dream who has already managed to kill Techno once, Dream who is making what he surely believes will be his final move, the checkmate of his game,

(but this is no game)

Dream who may no longer be a god but is surely something other than human, something stronger, something else. And it has been a long time since he was able to truly believe his family invincible. The events of the past few days have only compounded that.

But there is no time for these considerations. They are all in it now. In his heart of hearts, he knows that this, come what may, will be the end of the ordeal. Someone will come out victorious this morning. And if it is to be them, they have no time to delay. So he jerks his head in the direction of the back stairwell, and his walk becomes a sprint, Tommy and Tubbo following behind him, their footsteps pounding against the floor. He takes the last few stairs at a jump.

(a realization, sudden as he impacts: he forgot to tell Techno their suspicions about Ranboo, but it is too late to turn back and catch up, and surely Phil will, surely, and it’s probably for the best that he did not say it aloud in the presence of the other two, because Tubbo and Tommy both seem to be friends with the boy to some extent, at least, and it would be unwise to cause them more anxiety, unwise to present them with yet another problem that they can do nothing about, especially when they may already be running full-tilt into their deaths as much as he will attempt to prevent as much)

As far as he remembers, the swords were left in the throne room, on the table where they were dropped, where a god bent reality to place them. So that’s where they need to go. Get at least one sword, and then, it’s off to the Egg, and he can only hope that he will have the strength to do what needs to be done. It was not meant to be him in this role. Was meant to be someone else, someone more resistant to the Egg’s call, because even he can admit when someone else would truly be a better fit for the task. Someone like Techno, who discards the voice as just one among many, or someone like Puffy, perhaps, who, as it turns out, has fallen under its sway once and uses that to form her resolution to never allow it in again. But they left it too long, and their base is under attack, the assault happening on their enemy’s terms and not theirs, and Dream must be held at bay here. The best fighters are needed.

So he’ll take up the sword himself, drive it into the Egg’s shell before it has the opportunity to tempt him. Hopefully the rest will fall into place.

(though when, when is it ever that simple?)

And then—

“Tubbo!” someone calls from down the hall. “Tommy!” And then, a beat of hesitation, and a slightly softer, more hesitant, “Wil!” And Fundy is running toward them, from the direction they’re heading toward, armor half on and half off, and he supposes he should be glad that he received any acknowledgment at all. “I was looking for you guys. I don’t know what’s going on! What’s going on? Are we under attack? Is that what’s happening?”

He’s frantic, panicky, his words falling out rapid-fire, and—Wilbur can’t leave him here. Separating from Techno and Phil was bad enough, and he knows that they’re capable warriors, have decimated armies between them, that their monikers are no empty threats. Fundy—Fundy can take care of himself. He has proved that much, even if the thought makes his heart wrench painfully, even if he blinks and still sees his darling boy interposed over the man he has become, even if his mind struggles to accept that his child has grown up without him,

(perhaps in spite of him but that hurts worse so he refuses to let the idea linger)

even if the feeling of failure is absolute, all-encompassing, chains wrapped around his chest and squeezing. Even despite all that, he knows that Fundy is strong. Is grown. Is far from the days where he needed a father’s protection. But he cannot leave him here, in a castle that might fall to the enemy. Cannot leave him where Dream might get his hands on him. Cannot abandon him again, even if it’s what’s expected, even if it might be what Fundy wants. He cannot, and perhaps bringing him to the Egg is a worse idea, but Fundy can defend himself from dreamons, knows all the same tricks as Tubbo. He could be of help, perhaps.

(though that is an excuse because the desire to bring him along to keep him in his sight is far from rational is born of fear and protectiveness because even if Fundy hates him even if Fundy wants nothing to do with him he wants to see him safe and some part of him still believes even after everything even after disowning each other even after the betrayal he felt in the ravine as Fundy licked the boots of a tyrant and even after the betrayal Fundy must have felt in turn after he refused to believe him and tossed his efforts aside even after all of that he still believes himself the most capable person to keep his son safe and he must see with his own eyes that he is well)

“Dream’s attacking,” he says, and does not slow to a stop, even as Fundy comes up to them. Instead, he grabs Fundy’s wrist, ignoring his startled noise, and changes his momentum, taking him along with them. “We’re enacting the plan as best we can. We’re going to the Egg. Will you help us?”

Fundy doesn’t reply for a moment, and the only sounds are their feet against the stones. They’re deep enough in the castle that the battle out front no longer reaches their ears.

“You want me?” Fundy asks. “Really?”

(the doubt in his voice is an arrow to the back is water rising around his ears is sinking and falling and hitting the ground too hard)

“Of course,” he says, and even though now is not for a conversation like this, he opens his mouth again, and starts, even as they keep running, “Fundy, I—”

But then, he stops abruptly, because suddenly Eret steps out in front of them, their shoulder bleeding heavily but their posture still erect, still lordly, still every inch a king. And Wilbur should despise them, but now is not for that, either, so the anger washes away, and he skids to a stop in front of them and feels only confusion for the fact that they are here and not outside, where he last saw them.

Eret steps forward, and proffers to him a sword, gleaming, electrified with an otherwordly aura, the presence of the universe contained in glowing runes and the sharpened point, and—ah. So Eret had the same idea.

“Good luck, all of you,” they say. Wilbur takes the sword, and for a moment, his fingers brush against theirs. He does not recoil from the contact.

“How is it looking?” he asks.

“Not amazing, but not terrible,” Eret answers. “I came to find you and to down a potion. It seems to be only the six of them at the moment, seven counting Ranboo, which I’m not sure whether we should or not—”

“What do you mean, counting Ranboo?” Tubbo demands. He shakes his head, trying to convey now is not the time without so many words, and Tubbo subsides, though reluctantly.

But Tubbo’s always been good at compartmentalization.

“—and they don’t seem to be trying to surround us,” Eret is continuing. “Not yet, at any rate, so if you go out ‘round the back, you should escape detection. Though I find it unlikely that they left the Egg completely unguarded. This has trap written all over it.”

He nods. It has occurred to him, of course, and Eret’s words only solidify his belief. If Dream wanted to take them all out here, now, he’d be smarter about it. He wouldn’t announce his presence, wouldn’t focus his attack in one spot. This maneuver is just asking for someone to escape, to head for the Egg, and he can only hope that they’re several more steps ahead of Dream than he believes them to be. If they are not, then Dream will be proven correct, and it truly will be checkmate.

Really, it all comes down to whether he knows they have these swords or not. Whether he knows that dreamons are not invincible. Whether he knows the universe has intervened.

(humming a tune)

“So, it’s a regular day, then,” he says. “I assume you’re taking the other?” He indicates the sword, and Eret’s lips twist wryly.

“That was the original plan, wasn’t it?” they say. “One for the Egg and one for Dream.” Their posture shifts a bit, almost imperceptibly, but suddenly they remind him far more of a soldier than a monarch. The soldier that they were, once, under his command. “We’ll handle things here, Wilbur. You all take it to the Egg. We’re finishing this today.”

He regards them. There is no sign of duplicity in their bearing. But then, there never was before, and perhaps it is not a good idea to allow them to take the second sword after all, because how sure can he truly be that—

No. No, he will not spiral down that road. Not now, not today. He is making a choice. And trust is not entirely built on choice, not really, because trust is a fragile thing, formed gradually, of shared experiences and opening up far more than he is comfortable with, but in an instant? In a singular moment? He can choose to trust. Can choose to have faith. And he doesn’t know whether Eret has earned it or not. But he doesn’t know that he has, either, and he will not be the one to deny them the opportunity to grow. To be better. He will not.

(and just maybe it truly is time for the old song to receive another revision)

“Yes,” he says. “We are.” And he meets Eret’s eyes, as best he can behind the glasses they perpetually wear. “Good luck, Eret.”

Eret smiles at him, small but genuine. And then they, too, turn on their heel and run off, back to the front, back to the chaos. He has stared at a lot of retreating backs today. He hopes that’s not an omen.

But then, he’s not one to believe in omens.

“Wait, we’re just going to let them go?” Fundy asks. “On their own?”

“They won’t be on their own,” he replies. “And neither are we.” He looks to the other three, to his son, visibly shaking, to Tubbo, face set in a hard expression, to Tommy, who is desperately trying to mask his fear. “You heard them. We go out the back and circle back around to the Egg’s chamber. Tubbo, Fundy, is there anything you can do to hide us on the way there?”

“We can try our best,” Tubbo says. “Right, Fundy?”

“Oh! Um, right, right, yeah, we can do that,” Fundy says.

“Then equip everything you need, and let’s go,” he says, the general’s orders coming easy in this moment. He still holds the sword in his hand; it weighs on him more heavily than it should, but he doesn’t know whether it’s the material it’s made out of or his mind playing tricks on him, something to do with a metaphor about the burden of responsibility. Heavy lies the head that wears the crown; heavy falls the hand that bears the sword.

He only hopes that the blow he strikes will land heavily enough.

--------------------

It is easy to leave the castle. Too easy, perhaps, and all of his nerves are a clamoring mess, insisting that this is wrong, wrong, wrong. In this, at least, he is inclined to listen to his instincts; nothing in war ever comes this easily, and Dream is too smart to leave them such a simple way out unless he wanted them to take it. Wanted someone to take it, at least. Perhaps not them specifically,

(but you have never been one to believe in coincidence)

but the danger of falling into a trap is very real and present. Because it is, undoubtedly, a trap. Of what kind, he doesn’t yet know.

They slip out the back entrance. Fundy and Tubbo have a muttered discussion

(and Fundy keeps shooting looks at him, looks that he has to force himself to ignore, because he doesn’t know what they mean doesn’t know what Fundy wants from him and if Fundy would tell him what he wants then he would burn the world to give it to him even if what Fundy wants is for him to leave him alone he will do it no matter the part of him that such a deed would crush because it is no one’s fault but his and it is about time he began to respect his son’s wishes)

and then begin chanting under their breaths, words in a language that he does not recognize, but soon after they start, the static recedes from his mind, the Egg held at a further distance—and it is probably concerning that he didn’t notice that it was there again in the first place. Tommy sticks close by his side, staring at the other two with an unsettled expression and every so often brushing his fingers against the sleeve of his coat, as if reassuring himself. At any other time, Wilbur would tease him for it. As it is, he rather likes the reassurance himself.

The vines are crowded, clustered, making their progress slow. They writhe on the ground like snakes, or like worms, wriggling and oozing, and though they don’t actually seem to be secreting any sort of substance, sometimes he blinks and sees them covered in blood. But at least, they don’t seem to be interested in them, all of them stretching and straining and growing toward the castle, even before Tubbo and Fundy begin their incantation. And after that, some of the vines part before them, rearing away from their approach.

Picking their way through them is still difficult. And whenever he looks at them for too long, nausea rises in his throat.

But they manage to arrive at the entrance to the spider spawner completely unimpeded, and he stares down into the familiar hole. He’s been here thrice now. Both visits before, it all went terribly, horribly wrong. The first time, he was dragged out screaming. The second time, he stumbled into the sunlight having just watched his brother die.

“Third time’s the charm?” Tubbo suggests.

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy returns, though there is little heart in it.

“Are we actually going down there?” Fundy asks.

“You don’t have to,” he says. “None of you three have to. You could all stay up here. It might be safer. I don’t know.”

He doesn’t want to force them to confront the Egg again. Doesn’t want to bring them back to that room. Or in Fundy’s case, doesn’t want to expose him at all. Doesn’t want him to have to confront the evil that lies down there. But he can’t guarantee that it would be any safer for them to remain above ground. Can’t guarantee that no enemy would come along.

He can’t guarantee anything. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Like hell,” Tommy says. “You are not going down there by yourself. What kind of idiots do you think we are?”

“Yeah, big man, you’re not going in without us,” Tubbo says. “Not after—literally everything that’s ever happened down there.”

“What did happen down there?” Fundy asks. “I mean, I know Techno died. You guys told me that. But like, what else? I guess it was bad?”

He closes his eyes.

He’s already told his father. Tommy and Tubbo have been there for all the worst of it. But does he really want to tell his son?

(he can look at you no worse than he already does though you’re not sure that’s true and you do not want to see his reaction to knowing just how much of a wreck you still are the wreck that the Egg appeals to and you do not want to see horror on his face and you do not want to see pity and you do not know which would be worse but you would take cold anger over either of those)

“It got the best of us, and of me, specifically. Multiple times,” he says. That will do. Not a lie, but not too specific. But Fundy’s ears twitch, his eyes narrowing, and he knows that he’s about to ask for more details. “Now’s not the time to get into it further. We need to move.”

“It’s never the time,” Fundy mutters, and it takes all of his self-control to prevent himself from flinching, because that—is not about this, surely. But Fundy subsides, and Tubbo has stepped up to the edge of the entrance, staring down in concentration, and Tommy has a sword in his hand. Not the sword, but a sword, netherite and clearly well-used.

He has the sword. And a bow. No armor, though the rest of them are all kitted out. Full netherite. They’re as safe as they can be

(though that didn’t save Technoblade)

and they have no more time to waste.

So down they go.

The room containing the spider spawner, enchantment table and anvil and all, is choked so completely with vines that it is difficult to see past them. But there is a clear path, leading right to the Egg’s chamber, possible for people to traverse, and it has so obviously been left open as a walkway that even his instincts fall quiet, because it doesn’t get more clear than that. No sense in his mind shouting trap! at him over and over again when the bait is plain as day.

“This sucks,” Fundy says. But he makes no move to retreat.

(he thinks he might want him to, actually, thinks he might want all of them to go back, to climb back out and into the morning sun, despite the danger that no doubt still exists above, because there is danger and then there is danger, and though he wants to keep them all safe keep them all close to him he does not know that this is a danger that he can protect them from and perhaps he should have admitted as much earlier and perhaps this was all a mistake the greatest mistake he has made since his return and perhaps they need to run they all need to run and perhaps he cannot do this at all perhaps it is only hubris that has led him here and perhaps Icarus would have learned his lesson had he been granted a second chance but it seems it seems that he has not that he is facing the red sun knowing full well that it will melt his wings and he is only pretending that there will be any other outcome and)

Tommy snorts. “You can say that again,” he says, but he just sort of sounds tired.

“Nowhere to go but forward,” Tubbo murmurs. “You taking point, Wilbur?”

He can delay no longer.

He nods, and strides forward, wincing every time he treads on a vine, which is about every other step. The air grows warmer, more humid, more stifling. Each breath requires more effort. The air becomes a red haze, shimmering and distorted like heat coming off metal or pavement on a sweltering day.

The Egg’s chamber is more cluttered than he remembers it. The red vines sway gently, and make no move to attack them, to strangle them as they

(Technoblade dangling a snap of his neck and then a moment later the brilliant gold the phoenix rising the god deathless until he was not)

step inside. The Egg itself is unchanged, sitting in its corner. Blood red. Almost innocuous.

Static presses in around him, just barely kept at bay by the enchantments that Tubbo and Fundy laid. And even those will give out within minutes. He’s not sure how he knows,

(you do not bring a sword to a duel of bow and arrow and you do not hope to lay down magic against a dark void thing in the thing’s own lair)

but he is sure of it.

And the Egg is not alone.

“Fuck,” Tubbo murmurs. He echoes the sentiment, but all his words are caught up in his throat and tangled in his chest, a web beyond saving, beyond saving him or anyone else, thread that is too coarse and too rough and too fragile to have any hope of mending this.

To one side, there is a boy, one that he vaguely recognizes as Purpled. He seems bored, watching them with sharpness, but also some degree of indifference. But Wilbur cannot focus on him, even though from what he knows, the kid is a dangerous mercenary.

Flanking the Egg itself, there is Jack Manifold. And there is Niki.

Jack Manifold seems unchanged, though the lenses of his glasses are both red, now, where he was sure that one was blue before, and his expression is set into something harsher than he ever recalls him being. But then, he never paid too much attention to Jack Manifold. Niki, though, Niki—the bags underneath her eyes are prominent, dark and deep, and he almost takes them for thick eyeliner at first. Her face is more lined than he remembers it, her hair a different color. And her eyes are red. Red like fire, red like blood, red like the shards of a shattered mirror, red like a thousand broken things.

Around her shoulders, she wears the hood of his coat. Slowly, his hand comes up to feel around his shoulder blades, and finds the hood missing. He’s not sure how he never noticed that before.

(he gave her one of his coats, didn’t he?)

They both grip swords. Purpled has one too.

(there is a creature living in his chest, wounded and desperate and howling, but for once it does not slam against his ribcage, seeking its freedom, but curls up in a corner, whining, pitiful)

“The Egg said you would be coming,” Niki says, and somehow, her voice is both flat and trembling with restrained emotion. “It said—you were back.”

His tongue lies like lead.

“Niki?” Fundy asks, and steps forward. He shoots out a hand to hold him back, to keep him from going too far, and Fundy glares but does not fight it. “You’re really with the Egg?” And at the same time, Tubbo starts on something: “C’mon, Jack, why’d you think joining up with the breakfast item would be a good idea?”

Tommy, conspicuously, remains silent.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Jack Manifold snaps. “Tell me, Tubbo, what other options did I have? Did you even think to come and tell me about literally anything that’s been going on? No? I don’t think so.”

“We’ve been overlooked,” Niki says, and her voice is quieter, but there is no softness in it. Only anger, and he does not know whether the emotion is the Egg’s or hers. Or both. But he would deserve it, if it was hers. He knows that. “Forgotten, cast aside time and time again. Abandoned by the people who were supposed to care about us.”

(the creature whines again at the word at abandoned at abandoned because he didn’t mean to he wasn’t thinking about abandoning anyone he just knew that they would be better off without him without him and his corrupted creation without him to drag them all down because he was the villain he was)

“But the Egg’s going to give us what we want,” she continues. “Joining it was the best choice for us. The best choice for me.” And she speaks it so defiantly, as if daring him to argue, and there’s a trap in that, a trap in trying to tell her that it’s not a good thing, that she should have chosen something different. Because he has no right to dictate Niki’s choices. Nobody does.

But that includes the demonic egg.

“What’s it going to give you, Niki?” he asks, finding his words at last. Jack scoffs, and Niki’s eyes flash.

“What’s it going to give me?” she parrots. “How can you think that you of all people have the right to ask me that? I mourned you, Wil. I mourned you for so long. It was hard to eat, hard to sleep. For the longest time I couldn’t even accept that you were gone, that that—that ghost took your place and forgot all about me. But that’s—I don’t need you. I don’t need your promises, and I don’t need your lies. I’ve got the Egg on my side.”

(that’s wrong wrong wrong because he never forgot about Niki not even once even when he willfully let the rest of his memories slip through his fingers like the blue that stained his skin even then he never forgot the scent of freshly baked bread never forgot her smile her steadfastness and never forgot missing her either missing her when it was too dangerous to come for her when one wrong move would mean getting her killed never forgot stepping up and offering his final life for hers because she was always worth so much more then he ever could be and even when he forgot everything else he never forgot a thing about her)

(and the irony of her statements is not lost on him, because perhaps he is a liar perhaps he is built of empty promises promises that scattered like ash in the wind over the cliff top but if he is that then what is the Egg)

“We’ve got the Egg on our side,” Jack says. “You want to know what we want? It’s simple. We want Tommy dead.”

The words land like a rockslide. Or too much TNT.

His fingers twitch, a second away from calling a weapon to his hand.

Tommy is still silent.

“You what?” Tubbo says. “Jack?”

He sounds like he’s hoping it’s a joke. But Jack just crosses his arms.

“We’re tired of him doing whatever he wants and not facing any consequences,” Jack declares. “He keeps on getting away with everything. He literally killed me and didn’t even apologize for it! And he was one of my best friends! I went to hell and had to claw my way back out, and that’s his fault.”

“Everywhere he goes, there’s conflict and suffering,” Niki says, and her voice is filled with less hatred than Jack’s, but that’s not saying much. “Until he’s gone, there will be no peace on this server.”

“We’ve tried before. We even tried to nuke him, and somehow we managed to fuck that up,” Jack says. “It never seems to work. But with the Egg’s help, it will. We’ve made sure of it.”

“You tried to—oh my god,” Tubbo says. “Oh my god, did you—did you actually—I trusted you!”

“And I trusted you,” Jack says. “You’re a good sort, Tubbo, really. I do like you. ‘S why I never wanted you to find out like this. But in the end, you still let me down. I don’t hold it against you, because everyone does it. The only one who ever looks out for me is me. Niki and I have that in common, see? But Tommy needs to go. And I’m sorry if that’s going to hurt you, but I’m not sorry for doing it.” He pauses. “And if you join the Egg anyway, it can make sure it doesn’t hurt, actually, so you should really consider it.”

Tubbo’s face is a mask of horror, tears glimmering in his eyes. There’s something here that he’s missing. But now hardly seems like the time to ask.

“He never takes any responsibility,” Niki says. “He needs to. For once.”

Beside him, he hears Tommy draw in a shaky breath, and—he’s not actually believing any of this, is he? But he’s not denying it, as he might expect, and looking to his face, to an expression that reads like sorrow and resignation but no shock at all, he realizes that Tommy knew, to some degree. Knew that Niki and Jack have been—have been trying to kill him, and he’s just accepted that, and that breaks Wilbur from his stupor, draws him from the sea of guilt that he’s been swimming in ever since he laid eyes on Niki’s face. Because he has wronged her. Has hurt her. And he needs to make it right, as best he can. But that doesn’t mean she gets to take it all out on his little brother.

“Never takes any responsibility?” he repeats sharply. “Never—do you know Tommy at all, Niki? Or did you forget the time he was exiled and abused for the high crime of—oh, let me see, griefing someone’s house? Or the time he was chased out of our nation for the fact that he was my running mate? Or the time—I mean, are you even hearing yourself? You think Tommy doesn’t take responsibility? You think Tommy’s never suffered? He’s a teenager, Niki! And he’s been through worse than any teenager ever should be. You can’t blame him for things that were never his fault in the first place.”

Tommy stiffens. And for a moment, she seems to waver, glancing at him, and then at Jack, frowning. For a moment, he thinks he might have broken through. But then, she hardens.

“I’m sick of everyone making excuses for him,” she says. “I won’t take it any more. And you—you have no right.” Her voice breaks. “I think we’re done talking.” Her fingers flex around the hilt of her sword, and that is all the warning he receives before she charges forward, weapon held high, Jack at her side, and he goes for his bow, goes to take a shot,

(though it might fly wide because he doesn’t know that he can bring himself to injure her even for Tommy’s sake and he thinks he will if he has to but whether the fortitude it will take is beyond him is difficult to say)

but then a weight hits him from the side, sending him flying, and he pulls his head back up, expecting to see the vines twisting, dancing, slamming into him, but instead, it is Purpled, now standing over him as he’s sprawled on the ground, sword in his hand. And he’s between him and Tommy, him and Tubbo, him and Fundy, and now Tubbo is yelling and there is the clash of metal on metal as Niki and Jack attack, as Niki and Jack go in for the kill that the Egg has promised them, and he is on the ground and Purpled blocks his path, blocks his way, blocks him from helping them.

“Sorry, Wilbur,” Purpled says. Cool, casual, perhaps vaguely apologetic. “Business is business.”

And then, just as he’s pushing himself to his feet, unsteady and desperate, the enchantments give out. The protection that Tubbo and Fundy attempted to give them, gone.

So, here you are, the Egg says, and here I am, as I ever am and always will be. Hello, void child, will you let me bring you home?

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #tubbo #technoblade #philza #eret #fundy #nihachu #jack manifold #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #yet again another cliffhanger lmao sorry bout that #next few chapters are gonna be. A Lot

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maariarogers · 3 years

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Thoughts on True Beauty and Why I’m On Team Suho

Ever since the tv show started, I’ve begin thinking and noticing for a while now that, more than anything, I’m more #TeamSuho than I am #TeamSeojun.

And the thought of “why do I think like that?” kept repeating in my head, because, if I’m honest, the casualness that Seojun and Jugyeong shared early in the series (I’m talking webtoon and, truth be told, a bit of the tv series) really struck me as them having a much easier and playful, therefore fun, relationship. Which makes for an interesting dynamic than what Jugyeong had with Suho.

So, here are my thoughts why I think I prefer Suho with Jugyeong towards the end.

To warn, this is, firstly, have nothing against any of the characters or the ships! I’m merely sharing an in-depth analysis of my thoughts on my own view why I prefer Suho with Jugyeong. Secondly, I’ll be referencing a lot of the webtoon rather than the tv series (although I feel like I’d like to spill my thoughts on that soon, so I don’t know if that long analysis of “why I surprisingly find myself enjoy the adaptation more than I thought I would” is coming soon, buuuut yeah, we’ll see) so, please be aware of spoilers.

As reference, I’m currently at Chapter 124 of the English-translated version of True Beauty as I’m writing this, but I am aware of spoilers ahead of the chapters.

Another Warning: This is so long. Oh my god. How did I manage to write it this long? So. There’s that.

Okay. So. What brought this on?

Honestly, it was just the excitement from knowing that True Beauty was airing soon and I was just so interested to see the dynamics the actors were going to play out rather than just seeing the characters across the a page screen in comic strips as I’ve been following them since I stumbled into the webtoon about, yikes, a year ago?

But – more than anything, I just really wanted to see how Suho played out.

1. So, What’s The Deal With Suho?

If I’m honest, I’ve always thought that Suho is laughably (yikes) boring. Not necessarily in a bad way, no! I actually think it’s one of the things that’s made him quite appealing — in ways that, in other settings, I would have actually found him uninteresting and easily passable as a main lead. But not in this particular world.

To add: the Author also referenced this many, many times throughout the webtoon. Quite brilliantly, in fact — specifically, from Sua’s point of view, as she points out quite a few times that, besides from Suho’s looks, “he’s really got nothing going on for him” or that “he’s boring”. (I frickin’ love Sua in both the webtoon and tv show!)

This was also a really important plot device during the Prince of Princes (Did I get this name right? Omg) competition TV show when the influencer (again, I really can’t be bothered with what’s-his-name) actually called Suho out for basically “not trying his best” when everybody else was clearly giving his all. This triggered Suho to actually act outside of his comfort zone and actually wanted to pose for a sexy photoshoot.

I do also honestly think he’s clinically depressed on top of just having had naturally adapted a much calmer composure to compare with an easily expressive Jugyeong and a very charismatic Seojun. But the thing is, the author really made Suho “boring” on purpose — and the best thing is? It works.

Because as much as Suho is “expressionless” — as in, he doesn’t really emote whatever his feelings as honest or as obvious as the other two leads — he can still carry his character well. Like Jugyeong has learned over time, we start to figure out that, oh, Suho has to put his act together because his father’s famous and he doesn’t want to tarnish that reputation. He’s ruthless to admirers because he’s logical about rejecting unwanted advances. He’s surprisingly rigid and slightly cold, but only because he’s used to only have himself as company.

In all honesty, I’m still trying to wrap my head around Suho. I still don’t quite understand why I’m so fascinated by his personality when, if those sort of “dark brooding” tropes were played in other medias, I would have rolled my eyes and rejected it instantly for how much it’s overplayed.

But I didn’t. Not with Suho.

Perhaps, an angst-lover at heart, his unrequited relationship with Jugyeong really struck with me. His patience when he’s obviously hurting as Jugyeong dismissed their almost-romance, or when Seojun and her were being lovey-dovey in front of him was really incredible. Suho rarely lost his composure, which was quite a feat considering as readers we know he still has lingering feelings towards Jugyeong, and I felt like that spoke volume about his character.

(Besides that, Suho was always so incredibly respectful — not only towards Jugyeong but also towards Seojun. Seojun obviously learned it much later on, but Suho never once carried any ill-intention when he learned Seojun and Jugyeong were together. In fact, again and again, he congratulated and cheered them on, even when we knew later that he feels awful for the lost chances. Still, Suho never acted violently or aggressively. Not once. It was only Seojun who had easily misunderstood him and thus, reacted badly.)

(Although again, that’s so brilliant on the author — because Seojun’s quick-temper is such a staple and big part of what made Seojun Seojun. I’m happy that he acted that way, because that meant his characteristics are consistent from when we first saw him in the webtoon. Of course, that doesn’t mean the temper in and of itself is always good, but — it’s realistic for him.)

2. So, Why Jugyeong and Suho?

Now, this is the part where it gets tricky.

A lot of the fans — some of which are my own friends, and people I knew — abandoned the webtoon because the drama has gotten “tacky” or Jugyeong’s growth has been “stunted” for a few chapters. I can’t say I totally disagree, because I do see there’s quite a lag in the plot, buuuuuuut.... I do feel like the author adds that in on purpose.

Of course! I might be wrong! But hear me out.

I think it’s on purpose because it wants to show the development of Seojun and Jugyeong’s relationship – and why it didn’t work. (Again, anything can happen; I’m only at Ch124, so things might still change for Team Seojun!) Of course, for all those who are aware of the spoilers, the answer was simple: they didn’t work because the agency asked Jugyeong to stop dating Seojun due to his rising status as an idol.

It’s more than that, though.

I’ve also been reading a few comments and some of them pointed out how they thought that Jugyeong has always seemed more relaxed and more playful when she’s with Suho than she is when she’s with Seojun. But... I do have to slightly disagree. Only slightly. Because, if we review the arc during their high school when Jugyeong liked Suho, she was obviously more comfortable and were able to tease and be more playful with Seojun — but she was a little guarded with Suho, which was understandable. She didn’t want to look bad in front of her crush.

I’ve always felt a little threatened at this point because, man, Seojun and Jugyeong’s chemistry was so, so good during this arc. I love Seojun, I really do. He is such a nice and considerate man in ways that I really didn’t think he could be when we saw him as a teenager — but the author really pulled him off well. And he’s so sweet, too? So loyal? Ugh.

The downside is, though — he doesn’t push Jugyeong.

More than that, their relationship (perhaps because they were each other’s first true, committed relationship) really caused each other massive anxiety. Jugyeong wasn’t really honest all the time due to this — not her feelings and not her concerns, and Seojun became an unnecessarily worry-wart even when he shouldn’t be. This had, several times, led him to become inconsiderably possessive i.e. during the time he fought with Suho when Suho had only wanted to help.

Of course, they sort the issue out in the end and Seojun started to reform himself to be an even better partner. But... you can tell, in a lowkey sort of way, that the good-feeling they had when they were just friends, it isn’t really there anymore. They don’t really have fun together. (Although maybe that��s just because Seojun became busy and/or the author skip most of their dates along, so — I might be biased a bit regarding this!)

But with Suho, even as friends, Suho has always pushed Jugyeong — more than just about her bare face, he pushed her to pursue what she wants to do. Not only that, he encouraged it; he helped her.

Which is why I think the plot became slightly stagnant in the moment: because, like Jugyeong, we’re focusing too much on her relationship with Seojun and what would it mean when Seojun became an idol. We’re carried along with her anxiety, with their upside down, with Jugyeong’s worries. We’re stuck in Jugyeong’s first relationship — and that’s it.

But with Suho, the plot moves: Suho pushes Jugyeong to study, Suho talks to her about her ambitions, Suho makes her confronts her fears, and one of the best parts of the series so far — when Suho was consulting her after Selena scolded Jugyeong for messing up on set — Suho recognised what she wants to do, what she likes to do, and he encourages her for it. He comforts her, and tells her to not give up. So now, we see her wanting to try her best in wanting to help Selena.

With Suho, I feel as if... Jugyeong’s focus grows more than just her being upset about one single relationship. Suho’s calamity and logic straightforwardness probably helps — it doesn’t cause as much anxiety as Suho’s relatively honest, which Jugyeong can depend on and seems to explicitly trust — and Jugyeong’s story, once again, grows to be more than just another love story.

It’s become a story of her trying to find a place in the world again, of her trying to figure out what exactly she can do for herself despite all these obstacles and hurdles.

I’m not saying with Seojun, she doesn’t go through any character development at all, no — but her focus tends to single-handedly narrow towards Seojun directly and their relationship, and it leaves very little for Jugyeong to really consider anything else, specially her own growth, which is equally important.

With Suho, she’s just able to do that a bit better, and we can see she’s slightly more comfortable too.

(And, before anybody comes at me, yes, I do think Jugyeong pushes Suho too. She literally recommends Suho books that he doesn’t seem he was going to read anytime soon, or he could’ve overlooked it easily — but she does that. She pushes him out of his comfort zone and suggested a new author / series. And Suho reads it, and he learns that he likes it. It’s the same when she recommends the music app. Or the hairdo. She’s always been a giant force pushing Suho forward; Suho’s always trying to change and/or improve himself when Jugyeong comes in.)

3. Conclusion

This is sooo long so I thank you if you’ve made it this far! I’m just really, really happy with the TV series and these thoughts about why I adore Suho have been nagging at me.

I hope everyone likes the full analysis of my messy thoughts as much as I enjoyed writing it fully on a whim at 1am.

#True Beauty #Lee Suho #Team Suho #teamsuho #suho x jugyeong #meta #true beauty meta

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dabistits · 4 years

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To talk about Twice and villainy is to talk about class and criminality (IV)

(Masterlist)

cw: references the dehumanization of “terrorists,” like, irl

The trash of society

“Disposability” is a framework that interrogates the way human lives are valued. Arising from observations about material disposability in the rapid industrialization of post-’45 and the increasing hold of mass-production and consumerism, “disposability” eventually expanded to an investigation of the human cost of this modern landscape. Theorists raised the question of how the disposability of human lives could be understood in tandem with the disposability of material goods, linking together issues of class, poverty, migration, imperialism, race, production, and consumerism. In essence, disposability as a framework investigates how human lives come to be rendered as disposable—and thus, like waste, byproducts of a lifestyle of endless growth.

This concern is one that receives frequent exploration in fiction that delves into the framework of humans-as-waste; for example, the sci fi dystopian short story Folding Beijing follows a waste worker in his efforts to fund the education of his adoptive daughter, who he found abandoned outside his waste-processing station. Although the conditions in BNHA aren’t nearly as grim, there are nevertheless clear connections drawn between its villainous characters and the concept of humans-as-waste, to the point where villains refer to themselves or are referred to by others as “trash.” Quirks may have effected a massive social upheaval, but that didn’t do away with, only shifted, the specifics of the idea that there are people who are deserving and people who are not, innocent people and criminals.

Throughout the series, we see characters mistreated while a society of deserving innocents looks on. There was little concern from the public when Izuku was mocked and bullied for his Quirklessness, when Rei was sold into a marriage for the benefit of a wealthy and abusive pro hero, when five-year-old Tenko wandered the streets alone, and when Jin was left to fend for himself as a teenager. Under the framework of disposability, they might as well have been rendered “waste,” as Zygmunt Bauman writes: “[t]he story we grow in and with has no interest in waste[...],” instead

“[w]e dispose of leftovers in the most radical and effective way: we make them invisible by not looking and unthinkable by not thinking. They worry us only when the routine elementary defences are broken and the precautions fail—when the comfortable, soporific insularity of our Lebenswelt which they were supposed to protect is in danger.” [source]

It is, interestingly, a bigger-picture version of the charges Shigaraki Tomura directs against the world of BNHA: like Bauman says, the innocent civilians are oblivious, recognizing neither the fragility of their peace nor the artificiality of it as it is maintained by heroes, unwilling to acknowledge the "leftovers”—the people who weren’t saved—until they return as villains and that very peace is threatened.

As for the leftovers themselves, they feel their alienation acutely. According to Bauman, to be “redundant” in a productivity-driven economy is to “share semantic space with ‘rejects’, wastrels’, ‘garbage’, ‘refuse’—with waste.” He outlines the conditions of redundancy thusly, describing it as a kind of “social homelessness”:

“To be redundant means[... t]he others do not need you; they can do as well, and better, without you. There is no self-evident reason for your being around and no obvious justification for your claim to the right to stay around. To be redundant means to have been disposed of because of being disposable[...]”

The experience of this kind of disposability is evident in BNHA, as class and exploitation seem to be highly correlated with social isolation. The members of the Shie Hassaikai were used and abandoned, and bonded strongly to one another after joining Overhaul. Jin’s experience of “social homelessness” shows him walking alone through empty city streets, before he ends up talking to his own clone below an overpass. Jin, too, finds companionship in joining a group, the League of Villains, but fears of disposability and further isolation plague his thoughts. Whether or not he genuinely believes League of Villains would abandon him, Jin feels the need to continue justifying his place among them. The societal bleeds into the personal; Jin’s disposability to society, best represented by his interactions with law enforcement and with his employer, also becomes an anxiety in his interpersonal relationships. Horikoshi’s decision to characterize Jin in such a way makes it impossible to ignore the larger issues that created him; namely, class issues that reflect real-world concerns.

As Jin sits below the overpass, talking to his clone, he asks whether he went wrong somewhere. The other Jin responds that it must have been “being born without an ounce of luck.” Bauman comments on unluckiness thusly:

“In Samuel Butler’s Erewhon it was ‘ill luck of any kind, or even ill treatment at the hands of others’ that was ‘considered an offence against society, inasmuch as it [made] people uncomfortable to hear of it.’ ‘Loss of fortune, therefore’ was ‘punished hardly less severely than physical delinquency’.” [source]

These observations are perfectly applicable to the characters we’ve met. It’s often the “unlucky” who get treated the worst: Izuku was bullied relentlessly for his “unlucky” Quirklessness, and Rei wound up trading her “unlucky” marriage for an institutionalization of ten years. Jin was fired from his job after an “unlucky” accident, fell into a life of crime, and is finally killed by the same hero who offered him a second chance. When Dabi probes Tokoyami Fumikage in an attempt to make him contend with Jin’s “ill treatment” at Hawks’ hands, Tokoyami dismisses it and justifies Jin’s execution, undoubtedly because it would be uncomfortable, possibly even world-shattering, to acknowledge Dabi’s charge. The fact that these people have been unlucky, or have even been actively mistreated or failed by others, turns the public’s gaze away in an attempt to escape the discomfort elicited by these embodiments of society’s waste. For the “redundant” to remind society of its human cost—or even to remind the non-redundant of the small gap of bad luck that separates them—they become objects of revulsion, to be forgotten or discarded as quickly as possible. Rendered “invisible” and “unthinkable” as leftovers, they become “ontologically non-existent.” [source]

Some of the anxiety towards the “redundant” is precisely because the framework of “becoming waste” is permeable. This permeability accounts for the possibility of transforming from citizen to disposable human; perhaps, then, when “all it takes is one bad day,” the line which separates citizen from villain is just as permeable. In the framework of hero society, it may be argued that villains are not simply redundant waste, but the trash whose alienation hero society relies on in a highly visible way. "The disposable, the waste as objects and humans, inhabit a place of exclusion from society which provides not only an unrecognized space of reinforcement for society itself, but also the fuel and the labor for maintaining the status quo.” [source] In BNHA’s terms, not only are villains excluded from a deserving, innocent society, they are also the fuel for maintaining it by embodying its opposite—the guilty and undeserving—their exclusion constantly reinforced through the public spectacle of their arrests and the public idolization of heroes. Villains are no longer simply inert leftovers that can be easily ignored, as Bauman described; villains have broken past hero society’s elementary defenses, and threaten the Lebenswelt of deserving innocents. While their visibility transforms villains back into an acknowledgeable existence, the very act of breaching their invisibility renders them a kind of waste that must be permanently disposed of.

A livable life?

Heroes do not kill. This is stated in 251 by the death-seeking Ending, who, despite his best efforts, is spared an unceremonious execution at the hands of a hero, who the readers know is a domestic abuser. The deathless resolution to Ending’s conflict, then, further compounds the horror of chapter 266, when Jin is eliminated with extreme prejudice by Hawks, who admires the aforementioned hero. The irony is shocking and bitter as readers witness the violation of one of heroism’s fundamental tenets, broken no less for the elimination of one of the series’ most sympathetic villains, after Hawks himself concedes that Jin is “a good person.” It may be said that heroes do not have carte blanche to kill, but neither is it an inviolable principle, and of course a no-kill mandate says nothing about the ways villains have been injured or tortured at the hands of heroes. While arguments can be made about the imminent risk of certain occasions, the issue remains that it’s often the most vulnerable people who pay the highest price for maintaining a nebulous definition of societal “safety” (a “safety” which always seemed to exclude certain people), a concept that is primarily defined by the state and the policing class. Furthermore, the willingness of a hero to kill in defense of hero society begs the question: who may be killed without consequence, and under what circumstances?

In her collection of essays addressing responses to terrorism, Precarious Life, Judith Butler writes:

“Certain lives will be highly protected, and the abrogation of their claims to sanctity will be sufficient to mobilize the forces of war. Other lives will not find such fast and furious support and will not even qualify as "grievable."”

The notion of a “safe” society hinges on the protection of those sanctified lives, at the expense of vulnerable lives deemed “disposable” through poverty, homelessness, or criminality. A threat against the deserving innocents or the murder of a hero unites every other hero and every citizen in public mourning, and then in opposition against murderous villains—there is no such mobilization for the suffering of Quirkless kids, abused women, or orphaned, destitute teenagers. The threats against their well-beings are considered part-and-parcel to their world—normal, unavoidable, and indeed not violence at all. Certainly, a murdered villain will not find such unanimous grief nor anger mobilized in the wake his death, not even directed toward changing the isolated, impoverished conditions which made villainy an appealing choice in the first place. Jin’s death is privately witnessed and privately mourned, only by those who comprised his ibasho. It’s through these uneven displays of grief that Butler questions: “what counts as a livable life and a grievable death?”

Butler argues that certain lives are removed from the bounds of “normative” humanity, and thus “grievability.” Violence against vulnerable lives is dismissed or legitimized by the state through their dehumanization: in the world of BNHA, villains are “presented [...] as so many faces of evil” and treated as mere vessels of a killing instinct.

“Are they pure killing machines? If they are pure killing machines, then they are not humans [...]. They are something less than human, and yet somehow they assume a human form. They represent, as it were, an equivocation of the human, which forms the basis for some of the skepticism about the applicability of legal entitlements and protections.”

This kind of dehumanization is, of course, explained through the claim that certain people are “dangerous,” a designation which (as Butler points out) is determined by none other than the state itself.

“A certain level of dangerousness takes a human outside the bounds of law[... T]he state posits what is dangerous, and in so positing it, establishes the conditions for its own preemption and usurpation of the law[...]”

Perhaps, then, if villains are something other-than-human, something so dedicated to violence that they can be stopped only through death, no "sanctity,” and no law, is violated if they are killed.

The ability of the state to designate certain people as “dangerous” is linked to another political strategy: defining the difference between “legitimate” and “illegitimate” violence. Butler explains:

“The use of the term, "terrorism," thus works to delegitimate certain forms of violence committed by non-state-centered political entities at the same time that it sanctions a violent response by established states. [...] In this sense, the framework for conceptualizing global violence is such that "terrorism" becomes the name to describe the violence of the illegitimate, whereas legal war becomes the prerogative of those who can assume international recognition as legitimate states.” [source]

In the world of BNHA, clearly such a discernment exists between “legitimate” and “illegitimate” violence. Although certain readers have been quick to draw the “terrorism” analogy, the series itself tends to differentiate between “legitimate” and “illegitimate” violence not through charges of terrorism, but through the designation of “hero” and “villain.” Legitimate violence is wielded by heroes in defense of the state, in defense of property, and against villains, whereas illegitimate violence is wielded by villains against the state, against property, and against heroes. This difference between “hero” and “villain” is, in actuality, insubstantial as far as the question of morality, as even labeled villains such as Gentle Criminal behave within a palatable frame of ethics, while some career heroes are just as capable as villains of taking and ruining lives; nevertheless, the state has a vested interest in strongly promoting the idea of this divide—of legitimate, heroic violence as moral, justified, and legal, and illegitimate, villainous violence as immoral, unjustified, and unlawful. In this way, the state can engage in “legal war” with very little questioning or dissent from its populace, and it further delegitimizes the violence of its opponents. The violence of heroes is justified, and therefore they have an understandable human rationale; on the contrary, the violence of villains is unjustified, it is attributed to their innate violence, which is incomprehensible and inhuman.

“The fact that these prisoners are seen as pure vessels of violence [...] suggests that they do not become violent for the same kinds of reason that other politicized beings do, that their violence is somehow constitutive, groundless, and infinite, if not innate. If this violence is terrorism rather than violence, it is conceived as an action with no political goal, or cannot be read politically. It emerges, as they say, from fanatics, extremists, who do not espouse a point of view, but rather exist outside of "reason," and do not have a part in the human community.” [source]

No one personifies this better than Tomura himself. He is named the “Symbol of Terror” by AFO, and is undoubtedly viewed as such by the heroes and civilians of BNHA. It has been repeatedly emphasized that to everyone but the League of Villains, Tomura is not so much a human as he is the embodiment of thoughtless destruction. Tomura is referred to as a monster, as someone unshackled to humanity, as an “it,” as something that cannot be reasoned with. This is an idea that Horikoshi himself seems to play into somewhat, because although Tomura voices certain critiques of the hero system, he nevertheless seems to remain rather apolitical in who or what he decides to target. It’s Jin, then, who lends a political voice to the villains by criticizing pro heroes from his very first narrated chapter, but even a clear articulation of his grievances gets him no understanding reaction from the hero in front of whom he raises these charges.

While the fictional heroes may see villains as nothing more than vessels of violence, it can be argued that Horikoshi himself went through an extensive effort to depict the rationale and humanity of the villains. As I’ve stated before, Jin is very clearly connected to the real-world struggles of certain Japanese citizens, making him real and relatable in ways other characters may not be. At the same time, the rationale and humanity that Horikoshi recognizes are things that heroes like Hawks can’t grasp: as someone who idolized a hero as a child, and who was, for better or worse, enveloped by the hero system, he does not question the legitimacy of the hero system. Hawks understands only unluckiness in Jin’s circumstances, and shows little awareness of the fact that Jin was failed by the very society Hawks defends, that his suffering was both enforced by the legal system and by his boss, and ignored by institutions supposedly designed to help. Jin, of course, is not so obtuse—he reiterates his awareness that he is one of those disposable, ungrievable lives that heroes don’t save, and he is ultimately proven right—when Hawks’ offer of rehabilitation is rejected, he instead moves to kill. Jin, and other villains, are so thoroughly dehumanized, likened to killing machines, that it doesn’t occur to any hero that they can possibly be reasoned with.

Could there have been any other conclusion? I don’t believe so—not without a significant shift in thinking from heroes. For many of the villains, there’s very little to gain from rejoining the society that they were ejected from. Bauman writes that, for “disposable” humans:

“Unwelcome, tolerated at best, cast firmly on the receiving side of socially recommended or tolerated action, treated in the best of cases as an object of benevolence, charity and pity (challenged, to rub salt into the wound, as undeserved), but not of brotherly help, charged with indolence and suspected of iniquitous intentions and criminal intentions, [they have] few reasons to treat ‘society’ as a home to which one owes loyalty and concern.”

It should come as no surprise, then, that Jin rejects Hawks’ offer of a “socially tolerated” rehabilitation into the society that both caused and ignored his suffering, which he has no reason to believe wouldn’t outcast him again for another slip-up. Of course, he instead chose the place he was understood, where his mistakes were met with patience, where he wasn’t forced to justify his presence, where his sense of belonging felt stable. The people he called his ibasho were a home, a place he was allowed an ontological existence—the very inverse of that old, disposable life.

Conclusion

Bubaigawara Jin should be read as class commentary. The various obstacles in his story are all too reflective of the systemic issues of real-world Japan, concisely highlighting the shortcomings and common abuses of the alternative care system, the justice system, and the workplace. It’s also highly likely that Horikoshi himself is aware of economic inequalities on some level, which seems to reflect in the obvious and less-obvious ways he addresses class in BNHA. I think this probable intentionality is important, as it can lend itself to our speculation on the series’ messages and themes. Importantly, if Jin’s story is a commentary about the real-world trials of economic marginalization, then surely this also applies to the way he is treated by heroes and by wider society. Beyond simple evaluations of “X did this, which forced Y to respond,” certain narrative choices may be better understood as a pattern of illustrating disposability, of the way this fictional society creates “human waste,” and to relate them to real-world patterns of which lives are considered worth saving.

I somewhat downplayed the real-world inspirations for Bauman and Butler’s texts, because I believe those are true and serious topics about capitalism and war that should be discussed on their own merits, unrelated to a fictional series; however, they also perfectly show how certain beliefs in the real world are transferrable to BNHA’s world. Because these beliefs are transferrable, readers’ reactions to certain narratives in fiction are rooted in certain truths we believe about the real world as well. For example, it would pointless to call the League of Villains “terrorists” as a condemnation, unless someone believes that the charge of “terrorism” in itself tells us anything meaningful about morality. As Butler has explained, and as real life shows (e.g. through the designation of black radical groups like the Black Panthers or antifascist groups as terrorist organizations), the term “terrorism” alone holds no inherent moral implication. Imagining that the label of “terrorist” can meaningfully convey anything about morality, and that "being a terrorist” removes a person from the boundaries of “normative humanity” (and thus due legal process in-universe, and reader sympathy out-of-universe) reflects an ignorance about certain real-world political processes.

Injustice in the world doesn’t only take the form of obvious oppression and violence; manipulation is also involved. There is a vested interest by the ruling class in guiding the ways people think and perceive reality, teaching us what we deserve and don’t deserve, what prices are acceptable and unacceptable to pay for human life. These lessons must be rejected from the outset, leaving rules and definitions open for interpretation. What qualifies as violence? Is violence more than a physical act of harm? Is it violence to isolate “unproductive” members of society? Is it violence to deny them food and shelter? Is it then violence to cage and execute them when they do not non-violently accept their subjugation? What forms of violence are unacceptable and why? Where does violence really begin?

Dismantling oppression can only be achieved by questioning its very foundations and the language used to justify it; fiction, by enveloping us into a new reality—a new world with new rules—should make this questioning easier if we’re willing to divest ourselves of certain beliefs fed to us by those in power. BNHA, as imperfect as it is, certainly tries to raise some of these questions about the designations of “heroes” and “villains,” about the deserving and undeserving, about who is saved and who gets left behind. I would go further, and argue that to invest legitimacy into the hero system is to invest legitimacy into everything that perpetuates it: the poverty, the violence, the disposability of those judged “villainous,” and the idea that agents of the state are uniquely positioned to enact legitimate violence. Confronting crime means eliminating the need for it and the conditions that give rise to it, and only then, not a moment before, will the problem of villains largely cease to exist.

#jin bubaigawara #bubaigawara jin #bnha meta #the exhaustive meta about i love twice

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sapphicanarchist · 4 years

Text

I don't know if it seems like it, but I actually do really like Catra (or I did before s5 fucked up her character arc). She had so much potential, which is why I'm riding so hard on this.

Noelle knew from the very first episode that she wanted Catradora to be canon, she knew that she wanted to portray an abusive cycle, and add elements of trauma and toxicity.

But she could have done precisely that without throwing away Catra's arc, her development or making there nothing redeemable about her relationship with Adora.

There is so much toxicity shown from s1-s4, so much toxicity, so much gaslighting, they are bad for each other. Catra associates Adora with the feeling of not being good enough, with the memory of Shadow Weaver's abuse; Adora is routinely hurt by Catra.

But despite it all, I still shipped it. I still held out for Catra's redemption arc, still held out for the Catradora glimpses I saw in their memories.

But Season 5 ruined that hope for me. It completely destroyed it.

Firstly, all the Catradora fluffy development we're given is seen in flashbacks of them as children, and suddenly two episodes later she and Adora and Blow and Glimmer are the best of friends and she's allowed to make jokes about still hating princesses later? what??

s1-s4 was the most toxic shit but also a build-up for what I hoped was an epic redemption arc but they didn't even spend 5 episodes on Catra's redemption.

We all deserved better.

Also I understand they wanted more fluff for Catradora, but the whiplash from s1-4 Catra and s5e7 Catra was way too much.

Yes they needed more episodes (an entire season worth if we're being honest) but what was the point if the redemption arc Catra deserved was nothing?

I would have had Catra venture off on her own (way earlier in the series. Perhaps after she sends Glimmer off, she tries to send herself off as well but goes to Etheria instead of Space. Or maybe she hides behind a clone and gets sent off with him), maybe meet up with Lonnie, Rogelio, Kyle and Imp where she apologizes, we see her change, we see Lonnie be suspicious then soften towards her as they battle the Horde, time AWAY from Shadow Weaver.

Maybe a talk between Lonnie and Catra were Lonnie is like, "Shadow Weaver was a crazy ass bitch" and Catra is like yeah and then she Tells Lonnie all the shit SW put her through and acknowledges it as abuse.

All this while, we see clips of Adora yearning. Of her hearing news about taking down Prime and at first she's suspicious (because Catra hasn't apologized yet) but after a while, she's just looking for Catra and wondering why they aren't fighting together.

And Catra is also yearning.

After this time apart where Catra is doing her own redemption arc (she meets Scorpia, Mermista and Entrapta and apologizes as well, and Adora gets more frustrated cause everyone has met Catra apart from her), she eventually learns that SW is going to use Adora and she goes off to save her.

It makes the scenes where Adora runs after illusions of Catra much more jarring bc we know she has been looking for her. And when finally they reconnect, Catra feels she's too late and she's hugging Adora and is like, "I'm sorry. I meant to tell you (sorry I don't do fluff, fill in the blanks here" and A hand comes up to wipe her tears and Adora's like, "I forgave you a long time ago." and Catra's like, "How?" blah blah blah "I love You" Eyes wide with shock, they kiss, Adora does her whole shining thing. They save the World.

Look, idk you can rewrite that last part I don't really think anything could actually beat the kiss scene we got despite the absolute fucking horrible redemption arc leading up to it.

I just Wanted Catra's growth.

(bc I'm also Hordak trash, maybe the clone she escapes with is Hordak and it isn't an accident she does but more like Hordak helps her to excape. Like, Hordak visits her cell for idk??? and Catra tells him that Entrapta is alive and at first he doesn't believe her and there's a real threat he's about to just leave her there but she tells him to idk tap into horde mind and he'll see she's right and he does and he had that mini break down he does whenever Entrapta is involved and helps her.

And maybe he joins her on her redemption arc or he strikes off on his own, idk my brain hurts. He has a lot to apologize for but she also used his chronic illness against him so so does she -and really, Catra is horribly ableist now I think about it, invading Entrapta's space, using Hordak's Chronic illness against him, etc.- and I think they might actually make a slightly healthier friendship as their trauma is kinda similiar, and they are more or less on equal levels)

#hordak she ra #spop s5 #she ra rewrite #she ra catradora #catradora #she ra catra #catra redemption #spop critical #hordak redemption

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ash-rabbit · 3 years

Text

An Autopsy: Mag200 Last Words

I will preface this by saying that, one (1) this is my opinion, and that I am at best ambivalent towards Martin and Jmart. And that this influenced the emotional impact of the episode for me, and likely many other viewers.

Additionally, I don't have a transcript open so we're going off memory. And spoilers below, obviously.

I. Everything that I wanted to see

1. Jonah

I'm very glad he showed back up and was coherent. That was definitely a highlight since bastard he may be, but he's my favourite.

I would have liked to hear him monologue or give a statement, but I don't mind Jon cutting things short. It's deserved, and I'm sure Jon was sick to death of Magnus' voice anyway.

I really liked how his last words were so very scared and vulnerable. "I don't want to die." and then Jon's retort of "Neither did they" before going through with it was excellent.

Being the vessel for the eye being like a wonderful dream was also very good, because I can only imagine that it would be similar to Jon's nightmare walking for someone who actually enjoys the suffering of others.

Something that was odd was that I could swear that it contradicts 193, where Jonah was referred to as nothing but a husk when serving as the eyes conduit. I had thought that meant his sense of self had been eradicated and he was nothing but his eyes for all intents and purposes. Clearly not. So I suppose all those fics where Elias survives and is aware of everything after Jonah gets gouged out of his skull are still plausible, seeing as Jonah still remained, even after being crushed beneath the weight of his eldritch patron.

2. Jon doing his own thing

I said this after 198 and 199, but I though the Web's plan was dumb, and everyone completely misunderstood the Trolley Problem, because just like the average Tumblr user, the Archival assistants are illiterate. But I suppose that happens when you have two influencers, a cop, and a high school drop out debate ethics. I'm just saying Tim with his anthropology degree would have called bullshit on their moralizing, he might not have disagreed with that plan of action, but he wouldn't have tried to justify it.

3. Jon going through with the 193 plan

Technically a merger of point 1 and 2, but it had Jon having a completely decent plan for once. It worked for the most part, it was cathartic and wholly satisfying to watch for him as a character.

As stated in 193 the conduit position is meant for him, so he doesn't suffer any ill effects outside of becoming a bird in a gilded cage, but he already spent the series as that. And it wasn't as if Jon hadn't been acting as a conduit with the constant statement taking anyway.

3.b a late addition to this but why does Jon need to keep taking statements?? It feels entirely superfluous in a fear saturated landscape, unless it was the Eye really wanting that Archivist pupil.

II. What Didn't Hit, or the Deflated Souffle

1. Jon and Martin

Hinging the emotional weight of a finale on a couple doesn't work if you don't have any feelings invested in the couple. I didn't care for Martin from the moment we were introduced to him in Season 1, and my interest to become invested in Martin was ignited and subsequently extinguished within Season 4. I find Martin hypocritical and self righteous and it's a bad mix for me personally. I didn't like his character trajectory over Season 5, so Jmart did nothing for me across the Season.

The misquote of LotR also just doesn't do it for me. It's sort of romanticizing the whole Romeo + Juliet thing, which is always not good. I think being unable to live for Jon undercuts any growth Martin could have gone through since in season 4 he was running a suicide gambit, and I think if he had been able to live as a person at the end of it, he would have come out a stronger character.

2. The Knife in the Gut

So Jon went through with his actually good plan, and Martin acts like its the worst possible thing. Jon is mostly himself, more himself then across Season 5 for the most part actually. But it's treated like the worst betrayal, and then Martin has the gall to go "we expected this so we're burning the Archives at this very second"

Like okay?? You're mad he went behind his back, even though everything previously stated had your plan set up to fail from the get go. It just made me irritated at Martin for being short sighted.

Worse then that was how quickly Jon caved to Martin and saying fine kill me and go through with your plan. And then Martin did it. They condemned countless dimensions because when Martin show sup and say anything contrary to Jon, Jon's spine disappears. It defeated the purpose of Jon going behind their backs in the first place. Though I'm glad Martin wasn't there when Jon spoke to Jonah.

I think the damnation of countless realities should have been framed as a tragedy, and not as the heroic thing. So I guess it's just fridge horror now. The framing just, it really doesn't work for me here, I was horrified by the moral ramifications and how it's the one thing Jon didn't want to do, to have more people face the same horrors he had.

3. The Archives are Burning: One of the Best Paying Academic Institute's is in flames.

So Jon was called the Archive by Jonah, and it never felt like that meant anything. We don't know if the burning Archive affecting Jon was because he's the Archive or if it's because burning knowledge hurts him as burning Gerry's page did.

Also I'm just against the burning of centuries of knowledge in general, that was probably the part of the episode that hurt. Cursed or not, the Magnus Institute seems to have incredibly pay for a research institute of all things, I mean a flat in London and it can pay for a care home? I know biology researchers who make around minimum wage at best. I'm just saying, I would work there despite everything the series has laid out.

4. The Girls Started a Fire

I don't mind that they survived, but they blew up a gasline?? And survived, no Helen to save them, but they survived.

It's weird.

5. Back to Business as Usual

So they ejected all the fears into other universes and everything is back to normal. But I have questions!! How are people's state of mind?? Are some people catatonic from constantly experiencing constant fear? The Admiral is fine which is great but, there's so much mental scarring that even with a fix it band aid slapped on, the whole population is mentally fractured at best. I don't have the words to elucidate, but it bothers me.

In Sum

The finale didn't hurt me. Which in and of itself hurts. I signed up for a tragedy/horror, and it felt like the romance shift undercut a lot of character growth and impact. But that's because I don't like who Jon and Martin are when they're together, and that's a normal thing to fell around new/codependent couples.

I was hoping for something that was soul crushing for the characters, but death isn't really the worst fate, and I suppose it's grim if only because they made the selfish choice. Which is weird, for Jon at least, he stopped making selfish choices after Season 2 for the most part and was punished every time he did something that was necessary for his continued survival in Season 4. I have thoughts on the statement dependency being a food thing more then an addiction thing but I'm ending it here.

The series is good, but I'll probably just relisten to S1-4 only, I don't care for romance or apocalypse settings, and 160 is a good stopping point if you want a soft tragedy of sorts.

#Mag 200 #the magnus archives #tma #mag 200 last words

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caandlelit · 4 years

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omg werewolf matsukawa elaborate i want dem hcs

ok so ive got this horrible word doc with my jambled mess of a concept for this witch makki werewolf matsun fic im writing its like 3% done expect it within 2 business years

(edit. this post is too long but i cant stop typing this is good)

werewolf matsun is the SEXIEST idea ever anyone thats done it is doing gods work because that shit is hot . its fucking sexy okay

in my barely formed au he becomes a werewolf in third year

he hears about weird sounds in the forest at night ok

and he convinces witch hanamaki that they shld camp out and see what it is

because he’s been so interested in the witchy supernatural shit since even before he met him

and hanamaki is like okay fine But im wearing my warding pendent and matsukawa is like WHEN WILL U ADMIT YOU’RE A WITCH and hanamaki, mid-putting on his witch hat, ruffles his hair and says idk what ur talking about

they camp out and they’re just bantering and its cute and fun for 2 hours then

matsun hears growling and snapping noises and he’s like hanamaki stay in the fuckin tent

and obviously hanamaki is like on god that is the stupidest thing uve ever said issei no

and matsukawa steps outside and he holds a hand back to stop makki and he steps out and looks around, eyes narrows

and he’s like … straightening up and furrows his brows and ‘theres nothing here’

and he feels like everything is slow and odd and unreal and he turns and sees bright, yellow eyes and he hears the snarl and jerks back

and he’s being attacked and leaped upon and he shouts curses and screams and theres sharp teeth at his side and the smell of matted fur

and hanamaki sprints out and ?? magic spells it away (leave me alone)

what is the spell? what kindof witch is hanamaki? what does he say?

(begone thot!)

the wolf creature howls and thuds off, fast and loping and hanamaki turns and he’s panicked and is like ‘issei? oh FUCK’

matsukawa is like fuck fuck fuck

leaning against a tree and lightheaded and he collapses, head back against the trunk and sweat pouring down his temples, iron in his mouth where hes biting his tongue to keep from scremaing at the sharp pain

touches his side and his fingers come away bloody

his breath is heavy and hes like takahiro im dying

and hanamaki’s dropping down beside him and lifts his arm and says shut the fuck up you’re not dying you asshole and hes sniffling

and matsuns like im sorry i dragged u out here and hanamaki’s like shut up shut up. issei. shit . issei you were right

and hes like wh what was i right about and hes like you were right. im a witch . and youre not fucking dying here, asshole

issei mumbles fuck yeah and does like a little fist pump

and he whispers a spell to carry him over back to his house

and he bandages him up and matsun is tired and in pain and staring at him in the moonlight

MONDAY

go to school and matsun has white bandages wrapped around his side hidden under his shirt and hes a little scraped up even though hanamaki healed and cleaned up as much as he could

someones like oooh matsukawa your arm is scraped up wtf

and hes like yeah man i got in a fight to protect takahiros honor

makki’s like yeah…. :/// he lost

and matsuns like shut up asshole and theyre laughing and theyre good theyre okay

half way through the school day, long and tired and the bell seems louder and harsher and shriller and everything is too bright and loud and making his eyes and ears hurt

in the bathroom matsun takes off the tape bc hes feeling nauseous and everything feels a little too much for some reason hes assuming bc of the wound, maybe its infected

and he checks it while hes inside and the bandages come off and

its clean no bite no blood no mark

and he stares at it and says what the fuck and texts hanamaki

and hanamaki sees the text and its just ‘SOS BATHROOM NOW PLELASE’

asks his teacher to let him go to the bathroom and he steps into the bathroom and matsun spins around and gestures at his side and chest wordlessly

hanamaki like blinks at the sight of matsuns abs and then blinks again at the healed skin and hes like what the fuck

he has sharper vision and sense of smell and hearing

and hes like takahiro……..everything feels horrible and too much and hanamaki’s like ok so what do u want me to do knock u out so u don’t feel anything? and matsukawa’s like huh actually and hana’s like Shut up Dumbass

werewolf matsukawa suddenly stronger and hanamaki so so bitter about it ignoring his personal ‘im attracted to him’ feelings and pretending hes mad abt the super strength

matsukawa’s eyes glinting yellow on occasion and hanamaki trying not to scream bc god that’s sexy

the day they see the healed skin they like walk home silent and shell shocked

matsukawa staring hollowly at the sidewalk his posture lost

hanamaki squinting off into the distance

makki opening his mouth angrily at one point

only to close it defeatedly bc he cant even……

a conversation in hanamaki’s bedroom along the lines of

‘issei why is my life literally teen wolf why am I stiles from teen wolf’

matsun perks up ‘oh that’s dylan o briens character right? does that make me derek !!!’

and hanamaki turns from where hes muttering angrily and squints at him and says slowly

‘why the fu- dude? u r scott ??? because u are a FUCKING WEREWOLF ??????? why would u be derek ???? ur my best friend that turned into a GODDAMN WEREWOLF-‘

‘okok calm down hiro fine fine chill out‘

matsuns like slumping like ‘ugh, scott. i don’t wanna be scott hes painfully straight-‘

and hanamakis like throwing his hands up and shouting like ‘SO THEN !! why would u want to be derek!!!’

and issei’s like ‘…….nevermind we r not in the state to have a conversation about teen wolf, a show neither of us finished and obviously dont have any knowledge about’

im gonna have it properly set in 2013 itll be so cringey and fun

matsukawa also has insomnia and and gets migraines sometimes

and hanamaki’s witchy incense smelling house and bedroom having him nodding off so easily and he sleeps over a lot

especially after he gets bitten, because the migraines get worse

moreso near the full moon

and he comes in through the window and hanamaki is half asleep but always automatically pulls up his blanket and lets him in

big spoon matsun

he curls into his chest as best as he can, pressed tight between the wall and matsukawa

also i have this

italics: makki

bold: mattsun

list of signs pointing towards issei probably being a werewolf:

got bit by a giant dog-creature the bite mark disappeared next day (???? freaky shit)

sudden super healing and durability (useful for when oikawa serves the ball into your head – lmfao)

sudden heightened senses (my headaches r .. multiplying - :( )

sudden super strength (fuck u issei – i didn’t ask to be bitten takahiro – oh no u were bitten how sad for u and ur six pack – the werewolf actually decided i deserve super strength bc of how cool i am – and immeasurable pain every full moon too huh ???? – ...sacrifices were made)

90% sure he got stupider – sign of a dog brain ?? (FUCK OFF – do u want me to explain what a percentage is <3 – no </3)

hair growth (wtf does that mean ??? – it means i suddenly have more chest hair its very weird – ngl to u u were already pretty hairy - fucker)

eyes turn yellow sometimes (wait, really????? – yes its so fucking weird – that sounds fucking epic actually – no comment)

big dick energy went up the ROOF (ok that’s enough asshole – tell me im lying hiro.)

edit: ok the full moon happened we’re all traumatized and hes definitely a FUCKING werewolf.

ill finish this as a fic one day ill post when i do

might also make a useless porno oneshot with just werewolf matsukawa and ? possibly dancer makki im very into dancer makki atm

long post im very sorry but !!!! thanks for the ask

#ask #digimondestined #matsuhana #my writing #matsukawa issei #hanamaki takahiro #it is 2:30 am #goodnight guys #haikyuu #this is a fuckin mess and my word doc is even messier #hq

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myuntoldstory · 3 years

Text

Mystic Messenger | Wine

AO3 | FF.net

Fifth prompt of Jihyun Week: Rain | Bells

This is not an entry to Jihyun Week 2020. I'm basically just trying to finish the series I created in AO3.

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: V | Jihyun Kim/Main Character

Warning: N/A

Word Count: 1, 459

Summary: "This… is nothing like he ever imagined.

Nothing like those two years, when he kissed her every day."

Set after Jihyun Kim's Good Ending. On the night of their first date, Jihyun kisses her for the first time.

Wine

Their first kiss is in the rain.

Soft, warm, pliable… her lips glide so effortlessly against his. This is new territory—terrifying, life-changing… exhilarating. And he explores it with her. He tries to remember the colour of them before this moment, before the rain. Distinctly, he recalls the softest pink, alluring and inviting. With this, the colour will be more vivid, provocative. And the taste of her… rainwater and something else… sweet, yet bold at the edges…

Cherries.

Cherry wine. Jumin gave it to them.

The start of all this.

This… is nothing like he ever imagined.

Nothing like those two years, when he kissed her every day.

It all started that night. Amidst the dense darkness of the woods, she wrapped her arms tight around him. It was a vice-like hold that ignited an urge within him. It was the urge to return her embrace, to fall into the temptation to love again. Everything was not right. Every part of him still belonged to someone else, to his sins… to the guilt and shame that was his lifeblood. He could not return her feelings—he should not. Not like that. Not when she offered hers to him with all her heart and soul. Hurting her at her most vulnerable would have killed him. So his arms stayed at his sides. He didn’t move an inch.

It was the right decision.

Yet it also wasn’t.

So after he left, day after day, until he saw her again, he kissed her.

In that moment, inside that café, on the couch, on his bed, by the window, out the balcony, in the park, during the morning, in the middle of the night, the woods, the meadow, the river, the sea, sunshine, shadow, dawn, dusk, twilight… every day, wherever and whenever, he showed her the progress of his growth, the love he nurtured within him.

One that was worthy of her.

Of them.

Now, he is kissing her. In the downpour. At night. Rainwater and cherry wine tingling on his tongue. The palms of his hands cradling her warm cheeks.

This… is not the plan—not that he has any. All he wants, for now, is to know her and for her to know him. To reacquaint without threat, darkness, or despair. Two years they cherished their love for each other, but it is still young… unsure. Where will they take this? How far? It’s only the two of them now… how will it go? What will they do? These questions… he has no hope of answering it alone. It’s for them to explore together. Along the way, he wants to instil within her confidence in his newfound strength. He desires her trust, to believe him when he tells her that everything will be okay.

It was only meant to be dinner. To start. Nothing else. Perhaps a walk in the fountain park behind the restaurant. It was Jumin who helped choose the place, vouching for its ambience. Jihyun trusted his friend more than anything… so, a couple of hours before he picked her up he stopped by Jumin’s office. He needed to parse through the nervousness making a mess inside of him. As always, Jumin’s words comforted him. After talking, his friend decided then it was the best time to gift him two bottles of cherry wine. It’s best paired with dessert, Jumin said, but drink it with dinner anyway.

And it led to this.

The appetiser was awkward; their first glass of wine did not help. Yet the mood shifted with no difficulty. By the main course, with their third glass of wine, laughter and chatter surrounded them. He never talked so much in his life. Her stories compelled him, teasing emotions out of him that he had not felt in a long time. Earlier that evening he knew little about her, but in an hour it was as if they’d known each other for years. The second bottle of wine arrived with the dessert, which they all polished off within forty minutes. At that moment they started talking about things that bared their soul. Their secrets exposed the more their inhibitions lowered. She learned of his ordeal in those two years; he listened as she talked of her trials in her enduring wait for him.

When they decided to go and walk in the park, they were a little more than drunk.

And the rain, perhaps to sober them, decided then to pour.

Thinking of taking shelter, he took her hand, but she asked to dance. Underneath the sheet that drenched the whole city of Seoul, she asked him to hold her close and dance with her. It was the wine talking, he knew. As nice as it was to dance in the rain, he didn’t want her to risk illness… yet he couldn’t find it in himself to worry so much. The wine talked to him too, whispering things as sweet as the fruit it came from. This was his freedom—he could hug her and not have to feel guilty about it. Why was he stopping himself?

Pulling her to him was the best thing he did—probably ever. He moulded her to his body, discovering things about the shape of her. Now, he was the one… finally, he let himself fall into the temptation to love again. It was glorious, like returning home after a long time away. That was her—home. His home. The only place he ever wanted to return to.

And for her he danced, to the melody only both of them could hear.

As the rain calmed he came to a realisation.

They had stopped.

He didn’t know how or when. All he knew next was that they no longer swayed. He simply gazed at her. He took her in, memorising the way she looked in this ephemeral moment. She would look lovely on a canvas, in a fantasy of vivid colours tampered with neutrals. Gently, fingertips shaking, he brushed her wet hair aside.

In all his imagination, he never considered this. Her skin glowed underneath the streetlamps. Drops of rain glistened like crystals on the surface. There were dustings of pink across her cheeks; she could be blushing, it could be the wine. The colour was not as pink as her lips, but enough to make her look beguiling. Her eyes were a deep brown, but with the right light they would look like pools of honey. And what galaxy she held in them, the lights reflected on the glassy surface.

And those lips. Pink—so pink. So soft-looking. They were the very same that said his name, that encouraged him, that showed him a different way to live. They tried their best to absolve him of his sins, yet taught him all his mistakes. They held so much power and looking at them now… they tempted him, asking him to show what he had learned all these years.

To show his love.

The magic of the evening hummed throughout his body. The cherry wine sang in his veins, burning his cheeks. It made his heart pound with the rhythm of urgency. It beat against this frightening thought, this very real possibility that… if he didn’t do this now then he wouldn’t ever be able to. Now was the time. His sentence was over. The penance accomplished. It was beyond due… for him to pay her back.

And so he does.

Tenderly. Carefully. For this is a moment where everything converge. Everything that happened… was for this moment to manifest. This won’t break them, but it will make them. It’s up to him—and her—to decide what they will be. All he has to do now is offer the possibilities to her, with the gentle press of his lips. In cupping her face he assures her that if she does decide to accept him… that he will do his best. That’s all he can do, all he can offer her for now. All that’s left is the wait, one he’s willing to endure—two years or more if it comes to that.

But thank God, he doesn’t have to.

She accepts him. Quickly. Almost expectedly. His relief is like resurfacing from the water after submerging for too long. By wrapping her arms around him she tethers him to earth, to her, to himself. She opens herself to him, answering his question. It’s like receiving salvation he doesn’t even realise he’s been waiting for.

He thought about this, constantly. How would it be? What would it be like? But any of those dreams were incomparable to reality.

In those two years… he imagined kissing her. Every day.

Now… he no longer has to.

All thanks to that bottle of cherry wine.

#jihyun kim #mystic messenger #mysme v #mysme jihyun #mystic messenger v #fanfic #fanfiction #mystic messenger fanfic #fanfiction: mystic messenger #mysmefanfic: oneshot #mysmefanfic: mc #mysmefanfic: jihyun kim #mysmefanfic: love

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teatimewithbees · 3 years

Text

Fox/Reader

The reader caught a deadly disease and can’t seem to get better. Fox stays with them until the end.

(Reader doesn’t have a specific gender.)

The idea came from @/YourMindSpace on Wattpad. They also wrote the first few paragraphs and I only adjusted them to fit my style of writing. Credits goes out to them.

Tags: angst, angst without happy ending

cw: major character death, terminal illness, medicinal content

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You had no concept of how long you were already lying in the medbay, when Kix came in once again. He pushed a hypo into the crook of your neck, slowly injecting whatever it was into your muscle.

„Let's hope it works this time,“ he squeezed your hands reassuringly, though the only answer he got was a ragged breath and a pained look. Your head hadn't stopped hurting ever since you fell in and up until now, nothing had helped. At least, you thought, it wasn't contagious.

„Sleep well,“ you tried to tighten your grip on his hand, unwilling to be left alone again, but your fingers didn't even react. Kix pulled his hand fully away, leaving you behind on the small bed, with your thoughts racing in your head. You sucked in a large breath, closing your eyes in an attempt to sleep through this hell.

It didn't take long for you to pass out. It never did. But that only made waking up more and more painful. Every day you hoped this had just been a big, stupid dream, but it never was. But at least you had more motoric abilities in the morning. Sometimes you were even able to fully sit up.

Today, you woke up with the feeling of someone holding your hand. You slowly turned your head over, expecting Kix. A smile formed on your chapped lips when you noticed the familiar pattern of Fox's armor instead of the 501st medic. He looked worried. Admittedly, you had also started to get worried, when Kix first told you that you had to be confined to the medbay. Then again, you were over than by now.

„Hey... I'm not dying,“ but your throat sure felt like it. At least you could talk. It hurt. More so than breathing.

„It won't be long until you do,“ you didn't bother laughing. It would only result in more pain. Instead, you lifted his hand up to press a kiss to the painted red gauntlet.

„I know,“ you were resigned to the fact. All too aware that nothing was really helping. The medicine only worked for a few moments after you woke up and the rest of the day you spent in a constant pain since Kix weren't allowed the resources to keep you on constant pain medication. It left you more or less conscious for all the poking and prodding the special team were doing. Not to find a cure.

No.

To study. It was that, that made you the most angry. Being helpless against their ministrations while Kix was slowly giving up on finding something that would truly help.

„I don't want to lose you,“ the admission was quiet. Something you hadn't expected him to say. He wasn't big on feelings. It had taken ages for him to admit that he was interested in you and then another eternity for him to say „I love you.“ You weren't angry about it. It was just who he was.

But still. His sudden honesty about his feelings surprised you.

„I don't want to die,“ you replied, tightening your grip on his hand. He returned the squeeze. It was a sweet, short lie, made to make him feel better. You would give everything to have the pain end. To get out of this hellish cycle of pain.

But you didn't want to leave him.

„I love you. More than you know,“ he rested his head against the hard mattress. Your eyes widened when you noticed the way his shoulders were shaking.

„I can't lose you too,“ it took more energy than you hand to turn around enough to envelope him in something that could be called a hug. A sad, half-hearted excuse for one, but you couldn't manage more. The position made it even harder to breath, but you couldn't bear pulling away when Fox wrapped his arms around your mid. It was the most contact you had with anyone for ages.

He didn't have much time to come, after all. With Palpatine in his neck and the whole Coruscant Guard to run, free time was rare. Even more so than for troopers like Kix or Jesse.

„I know. I'm sorry,“ your voice sounded strained and it only took a moment for him to surge back, worry apparent on his feature.

„I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...“ you rolled back onto your back, breathing in and out as calmly as you could, your eyes closed.

„It's fine,“ you replied. However much it hurt, you would take this over all the other days here any time.

But it couldn't last.

Fox left half an hour later, saying that he had to get back to work. He pressed a kiss onto your cheek, tracing your too-prominent cheekbones with his thumb, before leaving. You were alone once more. Awake and starting to hurt. Unable to distract yourself with anything despite counting the screws on the ceiling.

Your days didn't vary much. The only apparent difference was the way you kept getting thinner, no matter how much you ate. Your ribs were showing and after a while of keeping up your regular eating schedule, it was apparent that this was another side-effect of the disease.

You slept even more, sometimes through the entire day. There was nothing much for you to do and there was nothing anyone else would be able to do for you. The only moments of joy were when Fox came to visit and sat by your bed, simply holding your hand when you were sleeping or calmly telling you stories about his brothers stunts. They would have made you laugh, but it was hard enough to manage a smile.

Still, he kept coming. Sitting with you, talking with you, stroking the back of your hand.

It were the small things that kept you alive. Kept you sane enough to not just give up, but in the end, not even that was enough.

The disease took you early in the morning. Fox had come by and was quietly talking to you, when your heart stopped for the first time.

Kix and his team managed to reanimate you. You were barely coherent anymore when you woke up once more. Disoriented, with your head thrumming with a dull pain in the back of it. The growth in your lungs felt as if it was trying to break out, crawling up your trachea and keeping you from replying to either Kix or Fox when they desperately tried to get a reaction.

You hadn't expected it to hurt so much. When you thought about your death, you thought it would be quiet. Passing away in your sleep, but Fox was almost crushing your hand while Kix continued his checkup on you. Your eyes switched between the two of them, until they settled on Fox.

„I love you,“ you tried to say, „I don't want to die.“

The only thing that came out was a whimper as tears were streaming down your face.

It hurt. So much.

„Please,“ he begged. And whatever it was, you wanted to do it. You wanted to stay with him. Until it was all over, when you were old and forgot the names of most of your friends, but not his because he was there. Because he was with you. Because he...

Because he was holding onto your hand, begging for you to not die, while you were desperately clinging onto your last breath.

„The medicine doesn't work. There's nothing I can do,“ Fox let out a choked sob at Kix' words. You felt your throat constrict even more. Your were gasping, trying to get at least some air, but nothing seemed to work.

„Please, you can't... ...love you,“ you didn't hear everything Fox was saying. There was a ringing in your ears that wouldn't go away. It didn't hurt. Even though everything else hurt. It just cut off Fox's words. The last thing you were holding onto and it took that away.

It took that away and you...

You were gone.

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #commander fox #clone trooper kix #xreader #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #fox/reader #clone wars fic #clone wars fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #angst with a sad ending

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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 4 years

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Hey!! I've been seeing a lot of posts about how the reason we're having a pandemic, wildfires, locust plagues, etc is because God sent it upon is to punish us. Do you think this is true? I keep telling myself that's not something that God would do, but do you think that's true or not?

cw discussions of punishment, abuse, trauma, illness, disaster, death

Hey there, anon. I do my best to make it clear that I may not be right in any of my opinions, my interpretations of scripture or my understanding of the Divine – but every sinew in my being urges me to give you a resounding “No.”

I’m gonna talk waaaaaay to long here, but the TL;DR is this: God is not a punishing God; these disasters are not inflicted upon humanity and all Creation by God. Bad things like disease often. just. happen – and are often exacerbated by human sin. Those in power could have done more to keep COVID-19 from spreading, and could be doing more right now to aid those in need – their failure to do so comes from their own free will and greed. Human beings are suffering right now both because suffering just happens and because of human injustice, but not because God brewed up this virus to punish us.

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When humans undergo catastrophe and trauma, we seek answers – and we favor answers that offer us some small sense of control over what is happening to us. In her book on Trauma and Recovery, Judith Herman notes how children experiencing abuse will often develop a sense of shame and self-blame as a coping mechanism – if it’s their fault that a loved one is hurting them, if it’s a punishment for their badness, maybe they can eventually stop the harm from happening by changing themselves. Obviously, what is happening is not at all their fault, and this kind of trauma response will be something they have to unlearn for future recovery, but it may help them survive in the meantime.

In Holy Resilience: The Bible’s Traumatic Origins, David M. Carr argues that many of the biblical authors concluded similarly: that a trauma happening to them or their people – such as the decimation of the Northern Kingdom Israel and the exile of Judah’s people – is their own fault. They have been bad, and God is punishing them for being bad. This understanding of their trauma gives the people some sense of control – if they amend their ways, they will be restored!

If the fault actually lies with the human beings who violently conquer and exploit, emperors in far-off lands who care nothing for the people of Israel and Judah, well…what hope do the people have of swaying their oppressors? And what hope do they who are so little and fragmented have of forcing those powerful kings to cease their violence?

But, if the person enabling their suffering is actually God, a Being who has expressed deep love for them and established covenant with them time and again? then, there may be something the people can do to end their own suffering.

I respect those who finding meaning and hope in such understandings of trauma. If seeing God’s hand in your suffering helps you get through it, I don’t think I have a right to tell you you’re wrong – unless such understandings lead you to point fingers at others, as when people interpret natural disasters as a divine punishment against LGBT persons and thus lash out against the LGBT community.

The Bible was written in large part by members of a traumatized people, who often interpreted their suffering as God-caused or God-sanctioned in one way or another. But there are other ways to understand why bad things happen to individuals, to whole communities, or even to the whole world.

There are a few biblical stories where suffering “just happens,” but I feel like that’s rarer – the one I can think of off the top of my head is from a book that Protestants don’t share with Catholics, the Book of Tobit: the titular character randomly becomes blind because some birds poop in his eyes, not because he did anything wrong or because another person wished him ill. Oh wait, another example is Ruth’s and Naomi’s story – chapter 1 tells us that their loved ones died in a famine, without any “reason” given for why that famine happened. Sometimes bad things…just happen.

Much more common in scripture are examples of bad things happening because sinful humans make them happen. Joseph of Genesis is beloved by God, yet Joseph’s brothers beat him and sell him into slavery. This trauma is not a punishment inflicted on Joseph by God, but by other people. Same goes for so many other stories of suffering in scripture – Hagar’s story, Tamar’s story, John the Baptist’s story, Jesus’s story……human beings suffer in so many biblical stories not because of their own sin, not because God is punishing or even “testing” them, but because other human beings use their free will to harm them.

For one of the biggest examples: the Israelite people experience the trauma of enslavement in Egypt – and the authors do not interpret it as a punishment from God! Indeed, Exodus 1 tells us that the people were being blessed with exponential growth of their numbers – and that fruitfulness is what leads to their enslavement, because of human sin and fear. Pharaoh fears their numbers, and hey, he needs people who can build his vast cities anyway, so he subjects the Israelites to slavery that leaves them too exhausted and scattered to fight back.

And, most poignantly in this Exodus story, in the midst of the enslaved people’s anguish, God is said to hear them, to see them, to know intimately what they are going through – to feel their pain with them! “I know their sorrows,” God says in Exodus 3:7 – the Hebrew word for “know” being a word about intimate understanding.

Thus we can understand God’s place in our suffering not as the place of the judge or punisher, but the place of the one who suffers alongside us. God chooses to know our pain intimately, to enter into our world that is so fraught with suffering, because God’s power is not the power to harm or dominate; God’s power is compassion.

“God, source of all reality, split the heavens to come to us in a cow shed so that God could be with us. And, as if the ridiculousness of being born in a manger weren’t enough, God dies on a cross – as loathsome, humiliating, cruel, and helpless a death as imaginable – just in case we didn’t get it. As Paul says, nothing can separate us from the love of God. To make sure that we can see that the most abject poverty and homelessness are not enough to separate us from God and that the most severe violence human beings can invent cannot separate us from God – God embodies Godself in precisely these places. These are the places we are most in need of God, and God does not tell us about the divine presence in these places; God enacts this presence as histrionically as possible. It is necessary to do this partly because human beings love gorgeous displays of power and are sorely tempted to imagine God to be just like a monarch or emperor or – best of all – the most powerful sorcerer and sultan in the world. It’s hard to imagine a clearer correction of this view than a birth in a stable and a death on a cross.”- Wendy Farley

All of this is not to say that God’s “okay” with what we are doing to one another and to the earth. God has gifted us with free will so that we cannot be compelled into relationship with Them or with each other; but that gift of free will also means we are free to hurt each other, to choose greed and violence over community and compassion. God does urge us to do better, to be better – and for whatever reason, God does let us face the collective consequences of our sin…for now. But not forever. And not alone.

I’ll close with one more anecdote from scripture, and then a list of further posts related to this topic.

My pastor Cathy preached on John 11 today, the story of the Raising of Lazarus. In the Gospels we see Jesus go through a lot of the same painful feelings we do – from frustration and anger, exhaustion and hunger, to fear and grief. But the most moving display of emotion for me is when he weeps over Lazarus’ death.

Lazarus died, not as a punishment for anything he or one of his loved ones did wrong, but just because…death happens. When Jesus finally arrives on the scene, he knows that he’s going to raise Lazarus up. He knows reunion is near. But still, when he sees his dear friends mourning, he joins in – he moans and weeps for the loss and pain they are undergoing. In her sermon, my pastor said of this grief:

“As we see Jesus’s sorrow, may we recognize the regret of God that Creation is in agony. See God seeing us and grieving that the curse still reigns – for now.”

We suffer, and God suffers with us.

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