#does that excuse his casual cruelty?

[sweetbitterjake]

i would die on a hill defending jake from sweetbitter. not a single person in his life actually cared about him. actual him, not an idea of him.

[shanastoryteller]

Star Trek please!! Happy Halloween

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6

Admiral Archer is unwilling to take his rescission at face value and demands a more complete explanation. To Spock's relief, and the gathered students' disappointment, he's willing to hear it in his private office.

Captain Pike slips in behind them, which gets him an irritated scowl but the admiral allows it. Spock is only marginally surprised by this. Admiral Archer and Captain Pike are known to be on good terms and James Kirk had entered the academy on Captain Pike's recommendation.

"Explain," Admiral Archer demands.

Spock hesitates.

Starfleet is of course aware of the events that took place on Tarsus IV and so they must be equally aware of James Kirk's role in it. While Admiral Archer certainly has the clearance to know the particulars, it does not mean that he does, and Spock is loathe to reveal these particulars, even to someone who could find them out himself. Additionally, Captain Pike does not have the necessary clearance, and while he does not think that James Kirk would allow his presence if he did not wish him to know, or had not already told him, Spock cannot be certain and there is no way for him to ask.

"Commander," Admiral Archer snaps. "Is this a joke to you?"

"No, sir," he answers. He doesn't find any of this funny at all.

James Kirk steps up next to him and rests a hand on his shoulder. Spock resists the urge to flinch and shoots him a disapproving look. The contact is not skin on skin, but any casual contact is discouraged. James Kirk is very well aware of Vulcan customs.

Then again, his point of contact for Vulcan culture is Sybok. His brother had been significantly more... affectionate after Tarsus IV. Spock wonders if that's something he picked up from his association with James Kirk.

"It's alright," James Kirk says warmly. "Spock, tell Admiral Archer whatever you want him to know."

He doesn't remove his hand. Human's run hot, their physiology not perfectly calibrated to survive in the deep heat of the desert, but even still James Kirk's hand feels unusually warm.

"I was unaware of Cadet Kirk's background with facing impossible odds when I made my accusation," he says. "Having been made aware of it, my perspective has shifted. Cadet Kirk does not allow rules or the constraints of logic prevent him from doing what he believes must be done. This was what he was demonstrating by bypassing and reprogramming my system."

He can feel James Kirk staring at him but he doesn't take his eyes of Admiral Archer.

Admiral Archer frowns. "You didn't know he was on Tarsus IV with your brother?"

That he already knows is a source of relief. The incredulity is less.

"Spock had exams the time I went to Vulcan," James Kirk says. "Sybok loves an excuse to go off-planet, so we usually meet up on Earth. Spock and I have never met before." He turns to him with a grin that Spock is distinctly uncomfortable having aimed in his direction. "I should have known the second I saw you. You look a lot like your mother."

Being compared to one's mother on Vulcan is a high compliment. Or it's supposed to be. Spock's had those same words hurled at him before, but it was with cruelty, as a way to demean him rather than honor the woman who bore him.

James Kirk say the words easily, exactly as they are intended to be spoken.

"You're driving me to drink," Admiral Archer says.

Spock has no idea how to appropriately respond to that.

"What about me? You're driving me to drink," James Kirk says, "which is driving Bones to as of yet unknown heights of nagging. The stress isn't good for him but he keeps threatening me with hypos when I tell him that. Can't I just be concerned for my friend?"

That is not an appropriate response on top of being incomprehensible.

Admiral Archer rubs his forehead. "Chris."

"Sir," Captain Pike returns, grabs the back of James Kirk's jacket, and hauls him out of there like grabbing a wayward kitten by the scruff of its neck.

Spock stands there, unsure, until Admiral Archer glances up and says, "You too, Commander. I'll consider this matter closed."

He nods, "Thank you, Sir," and steps outside to an empty hall. Captain Pike and James Kirk are nowhere to be seen.

Once he returns to his quarters, he video calls his brother.

He doesn't pick up.

Typical.

[spacecasehobbit]

Saltburn does have an important message that a lot of people seem to miss, which is that having sympathetic motivations or a sympathetic backstory doesn't actually negate cruelty or make it right to make other people bear the burden of your own insecurity and pain.

Oliver is a deeply sympathetic character, in that he's awkward and lonely and gets preyed on by a manipulative rich boy who likes to feel like a savior of friendless losers that he eventually gets bored of. Yet Oliver winds up dealing with this by climbing his way to the top of a pile of awful people, resorting to all their worst behaviors to get himself there, and the harm he causes is wrong regardless of the sympathy of his starting circumstances.

Similarly, Farleigh and Venetia are sympathetic characters who take out their own pain on other people (primarily on Oliver, during the movie).

Farleigh is the half black son of Sir James's wayward sister, both a part of the family and yet also treated like this definitely racist family's longest running charity project at the same time. He's constantly performing for his racist family, constantly feeling like an outsider in his own family, never quite as 'good' as them, never quite as 'worthy'. This does make him a deeply sympathetic character, but it doesn't make him any less of a bully towards Oliver (and, likely, other people we don't see on screen, since it's Oliver's story we're watching). He is deeply yet casually cruel towards total strangers, as a way of covering up for his own insecurities over the way he's treated by the Cattons. He's sympathetic, but he still causes harm in a way that isn't excused by being sympathetic.

Venetia, too, seems to have a very sympathetic background, from what little we see of her. She has a mother who gossips about her eating disorder and low self-esteem to relative strangers. Felix finds it completely believable that she would be wandering around drunk at night trying to kiss his friends, and he only thinks it makes her embarrassing, with no indication that this behavior should actually be worrying, if it had been true. She also doesn't seem to do anything with her life except hang out in her home developing drinking problems. She also hits on her brother's friends even while knowing that he will cut them off as friends if they sleep with her, and she responds to her own pain or rejection by lashing out with cruelty in return. Both times she feels hurt - whether by Oliver directly, when he picks Felix over her, or because she is grieving and Oliver is simply an easy target for her pain - she takes out her own hurt on Oliver by trying to make him feel small and hurt instead. It's sympathetic, sure, but it's not actually okay, either. It's sympathetic, but it's still cruelty for the sake of cruelty, and it's still wrong.

One moral of Saltburn is that returning cruelty with cruelty, whether it's revenge or cruelty turned on random strangers to assuage one's own pain, leads only to more hurt and pain and suffering.

One message of Saltburn that I'd argue is very important is that a person can be sympathetic and also still be wrong.

[ladyluscinia]

BLACKHANDS GIRLIES WE ARE REALLY IN IT NOW!!!

(aka Lady's OFMD 2x01 - 2x03 BlackHands rambling)

Link to the general non-BlackHands thoughts.

Screaming. Whooping. Cheering. *Singsong voice* My fucked up pirate husbands had mutual love confessions while the main fucked up pirate husbands are "on a break" after admitting they made each other happy! AAAAHHHHHH!!! Can't murder-suicide the other half of yourself! I am winning!!!

ADJSKLDFSKJFKDL

Ok. Deep breaths. This will be rambling but coherently (<- lying)

---

Breakup Boat - Izzy's Version

Fuck, I said in my general thoughts post that the extremities of Edward's cruelty & Edward's suicidal pursuit were working well, and nowhere is that more noticeable than in what Edward and Izzy have going on.

So in the timeskip between S1 and S2 we find out Edward has been raiding ships at a breakneck pace, uncaringly trauma bonding his crew (R.I.P. Ivan), going hard on murder & booze & drugs, and tormenting Izzy to the point my guy is literally having a breakdown in front of the crew. He lost the 1st toe for threatening to resign and accidentally setting off a Stede-hurt timebomb, and Edward goes to take a 4th because Izzy doesn't convince his whole crew to happily dump their pay in the ocean. "Threaten me again" has become "Give me any excuse" it seems, and Izzy has been complying. 😬 Edward (casually): "Take your boot off." 😬 Earlier Edward offers him rhino horn, too, and Izzy just says "No, not right now" leading Edward to call him a "lightweight", so I'm thinking Edward hasn't had exclusive rights to substance abuse as a means of coping, either. (Note: the rhino horn itself does nothing, so the substance abuse is booze and any actual drugs he's gotten his hands on.)

Oh, and they didn't include the shot where Edward throws a knife at Izzy? Did it just get cut, or are we getting flashbacks with more conversation later?

Going to rewatch the end of 1x10, Izzy's "smile" at declaring Blackbeard was back lasts a fraction of a second and looks just like his "everything is totally fine I swear" grimace-smiles from the beginning of the episode, so I think it's pretty safe to say Izzy did not ask for this and hasn't thought everything was fine for a single second since.

The Breakup Boat atmosphere is definitely fucked.

Now, personally, I'm still of the opinion we're not supposed to read this as a version of a domestic abuse arc (even with the intervention talk). (EDIT: clarifying thoughts and phrasing.) Because they still inject too much of it with humor and I can't imagine Edward comfortably coming out the other side at a happy ending if we frame it that way. Like there's black comedy and then there's "Wait, we're really just laughing this off?" I think horrific domestic abuse of your ex-situationship in a romance counts as the latter. But I do think it's revealed to be functioning as something adjacent - namely Edward's depression and suicidal tendencies have massively spiked post-Stede and he's actively seeking to a) confirm his own belief that he's unlovable, and b) get killed so everything stops hurting.

And Izzy? Izzy loves him and wants him alive. Worst thing Edward could hear right now.

Like oh my GOD IZZY LOVES HIM. As soon as Izzy hits his breaking point and realizes the crew have his back, he's emboldened to go stand up for them and himself to Edward. (He has been defending them already - the pre-intervention conversation open with him quietly alluding that they need a break - but this is more.) He ignores the boot order, ignores the threat, and finally asks the damn question:

"Who am I to you?"

This is where my linear coherency falls apart btw 🥴

---

Who KNOWS You?

"We've worked together for years. You know me better than anyone has ever known me, and I daresay the same is true for me about you. I have... love for you, Edward."

Oh fuck backstory implications oh FUCK.

Ok, I've already seen the posts doubling down on Izzy realizing he doesn't know Edward at all and I'm drawing my line in the sand. That's bullshit. That line there? That's straight truth.

To quote my own posts:

People will act like you are making bold and unsubstantiated claims if you say Izzy likes Edward as a person not just as Blackbeard, but I find the notion that “Blackbeard” as a human guy you live down the hall from is somehow substantially different / distant enough from the real Edward 24/7 that only liking Blackbeard is plausible to be a very bold claim.

(That conclusion comes from this post, but Izzy knowing Edward vs Stede knowing Edward was also a major point in my original overarching Edward Meta from Season 1.)

Of course Izzy knows Edward. He knows his talents and his weaknesses. He knows the shifts in his mood, his favorite foods to find in a hold, what tasks he used to pass off as often as possible. He talks about work with him because they live on a ship. Their state of dysfunction when we meet them doesn't negate that knowing.

Knowing each other so well actually made their dysfunction worse. Let them escalate more than two people less intimate could have managed, while also exacerbating their misjudgements into ruinous disasters. Izzy didn't know - probably in part didn't want to know - Edward was falling hard for Stede so fast. Edward didn't know or want to know that Izzy was reaching a breaking point for their relationship.

But still, crucially, Izzy did know Edward well enough to clock that something was fundamentally wrong in 1x10, and he knows what's wrong now. He knows Edward is hurting him and hurting the crew because Edward himself is hurting, and the whole point of this "I'm worried about you" talk is to try and fix it.

Unfortunately, Izzy has Stede so unspoken at the front of his mind that he accidentally quotes the man, and that sets Edward off on his interrogation / further terrorizing the crew Izzy is trying to stand up for. Which is why Izzy finally makes his choice to stop talking around the issue...

"The atmosphere on this ship is fucked. Everyone knows why." -> "Your feelings for Stede fucking Bonnet."

...and then Edward shoots his leg out. Not even looking at him.

Jump ahead. Edward says to Frenchie, "The new First Mate always kills the old First Mate. It's always been like that." - Has it though? Because that has some wild implications for Izzy murdering someone to secure his spot in Edward's circle of trust (...hot). And some interesting gaps for Edward if he was ever a first mate under Hornigold or anyone else. Or is this just him fucking with Frenchie because he knows "Trust is king. And queen. Trust is everything" is bullshit? Go, repression boy, go. Who am I talking about? Both. Both is good.

And then of course we get:

"Did you think I wouldn't know the smell of my rotting former First Mate?"

Knows him by the smell of blood and infection. By the avoidant look in his crew's eye. By the fact he doesn't know Izzy is dead. Their relationship is rot and ruin by his own hand but he would NEVER assume Izzy's dead until he knows.

"He was your friend," Jim spits in Edward's face.

Edward wakes up Izzy and even delirious, literal seconds after realizing he's down a leg, Izzy knows what Edward wants the moment he flips the gun. And he wants nothing to do with it.

He knows he can't. Won't. No matter how much Edward openly wants him to pull the trigger. (Edward knows him well enough to doubt, too. It's real convenient that his final staging has Izzy looking at the back of his head. No chance of his face giving anything away.)

Izzy's absolutely brutal in his assessment, trying to give some hurt back, but he's not wrong:

"Ohhhh. Oh, are you scared, Eddie? Too scared to do it yourself, eh? Go on, clean up your own fucking mess. I'm not doing it, I've been doing it all my fucking life. Fuck off."

All his fucking life.

I have to wonder... is this a conversation they've had before? Echoes of one? Izzy has a tactic here - dismissal. Refuse to play along with Edward's melodrama. Treat "I dreamt that you killed me" as though he's throwing a snit like a toddler. "Good for you" could have sounded like a question egging him on, but it comes out flat. A sarcastic sneer. Edward has always thought he'd go out with more of a bang. Loves a good fuckery. In his Purgatory he desperately wants Hornigold to recognize how unique and over the top his mutiny was. Not like those ordinary mutinies. Even his imagined death is being pitched over the highest bluff tied to a rock???

Izzy knows Edward is serious or he wouldn't be so fraught and sobbing as he laughs, but his words don't treat him as serious. Maybe a bit of derision has been effective at ruining the fantasy before? Suicide of a great leader is just so banal, you know? Quit daydreaming and pull off an impossible fix.

(Maybe "Fuck off" normally doesn't end the conversation, but starts the real one?)

Also "Eddie". First off of Izzy's lips at his cruelest, then Hornigold's. We heard it in S1 right before Edward committed to becoming the Kraken. At the time I thought he was bristling at the disrespect - "Eddie" is not "just Edward" - but maybe Frenchie stepped on a bigger landmine than we thought. Edward is so particular about names, and Izzy knows all the rules best, doesn't he?

Either way... This time the conversation ends with Edward leaving. "Farewell, old chum," he says without turning around. And when he hears the gunshot, he's not surprised.

Edward knows Izzy, too. Knows that the farewell may count as "closure" but Izzy is only going to take the ending one way. Izzy lifting the gun to his temple was the inevitable result of leaving that room. It takes seconds. Edward is still rising out of the stairwell when it happens.

We can't talk about knowing without touching on Purgatory, where Edward goes to know himself.

Lots of interesting stuff about Edward modeling his toxic spiral off of Hornigold as the fucked up example from his past. Probably where he picked up a lot of his piracy philosophy too. But the really juicy bit related to Izzy is the spectre of Hornigold confronting him about killing his dad and Edward's instinctive:

"I've never told anyone about that."

Hornigold calls him out for telling Stede, but it seems pretty likely that Stede is the only one he's ever had the conversation with.

However.

I still think Izzy knows. Hornigold even tells us how:

"A grown man covered in tattoos? Eh? With daddy issues?"

Edward didn't tell Izzy, and Izzy didn't ask for confirmation. But Edward will tell a whole crew of strangers about "the Kraken" killing his dad to win best ghost story. And that his dad was a dick. Izzy, who Edward loves and trusts and "outsources the big job" to, would not have much trouble connecting the dots between any version of that story / troubled childhood anecdotes / Edward's issues with killing / Edward's daddy issues.

I sincerely doubt "killed your abusive old man" is even an uncommon pirate backstory.

Izzy does know Edward - at his best and worst and everything in between. Knows him better than anyone. Suspects with certainty his darkest secret.

Izzy knows Edward, and Edward knows Izzy, and that's why everything fundamentally quakes for Edward in this self-destructive rampage when Izzy breaks their unspoken rule and tells him that he loves him.

---

Who LOVES You?

Jumping back to the (first!) literal, actual love confession we got, let's talk phrasing. Because yeah there's love there, but at the moment there's also a lot of other stuff.

"I have... love for you, Edward."

This is such a passive way of confessing, and there's the long pause as Izzy forces it out. People have attributed it to repression, or feeling ashamed of his love for Edward, or just not wanting to push it on him. I think "love" isn't a word they use out loud, so saying it is hard, but I also think Izzy's being passive because at the moment it does just feel like he "has" love. He doesn't want to actively feel it or offer it up right now, not with the complicated knot of anger and hurt and, tbh, probably some of his own depression. He "has" love because, despite everything, he still loves Edward.

And he does, is the thing! The whole goddamn reason Izzy is here, still trying to be a support for Edward is because he loves him. Literally anybody else would have left by now, or killed Edward, considering he's actively trying to push Izzy to the breaking point. And even at said point, when Izzy's finally standing up for himself, he offers Edward another chance to realize he's loved.

Edward starts dismissing him the moment he says the l-word, but Izzy continues:

"I'm worried about you - we all are. The atmosphere on this ship is completely poisoned. But if we could all just, maybe... talk it through?"

Izzy knows what's wrong and while he didn't originally think Stede was that important to Edward, he's put it together by now. And he's a huge fan of trying to talk through their problems, tries it multiple times even in the peak communication failure / stress powderkeg of S1, so of course he tries one last time to get Edward to accept he's not alone.

Instead, he accidentally invokes the ghost of Stede Bonnet and reminds Edward why he's doing all of this in the first place. Reminds him that he is unlovable while having the audacity to confess to loving him.

So Edward makes a big show of going out on deck, shoots Izzy in the leg, and tells Frenchie to get rid of him.

Frenchie doesn't, naturally.

And when Edward finds the crew saving the man who he just shot for daring to love him - because of course they are, he's their dick now - well... "He was your friend," Jim spits in his face, having just been thinking about their best friend (who they are more than a little bit in love with 👀).

How long do we think Edward stands there, looking at what he's wrought? How long does he sit at Izzy's bedside, looking at him "rather still" while he weighs if the missing leg proves his point where the toes didn't?

And you know Izzy's love is so bone deep and rooted in that it's unconditional by this point, because Edward did NOT prove his fucking point. Nothing he's done so far is enough to get the man who loves him to pull the fucking trigger. Down 3 toes and then a leg, asking first thing whether Edward was there for the other one, and STILL. STILL IZZY IS HEARTBROKEN AT THE REALIZATION THAT EDWARD IS READY TO END IT FOR REAL.

Still he won't pull the trigger himself. Not on Edward, at least.

And only after Izzy is gone can Edward return the words.

"I loved you. Best I could."

*screaming crying tearing at the walls*

He loved him.

HE LOVED HIM.

Edward's perspective of his relationships is fundamentally warped. Alongside his self-image. Probably has been for most of his life, going back to the self-hatred he ties to killing his dad. Stede leaving hurt him immensely (and predictably, Stede) in ways Stede will have to own up to, but it was Edward's own unaddressed issues - independent of Stede AND Izzy - that determined the appropriate response to that hurt was "realize that vulnerability and hope are lies and every dark voice in the back of your mind ever was telling the truth, actually."

Edward's conviction that nobody loves him and that he's not capable of successfully loving someone back is literally his depression talking. It is not rationally based in the reality of his life or relationships, Stede or otherwise. He may even have successfully beat back the sentiment for most of his life, with that getting harder and harder as time went on.

(He's expressed this kind of depressive-episode-driven warped view before, btw, and they explicitly parallel it in Purgatory just for me! The flashbacks of the bathtub scene while he attacks the spectre of Hornigold are my huge W in that episode. "It all boils down to this - you're afraid you're unlovable", said by the actual manifestation of Edward's suicidal self-hatred in Purgatory, is the new "That's why I don't have any friends." I think it's fair to question if he was a reliable narrator of his experiences back then, too. Jim and the crew certainly think he had at least one friend.)

Basically, "Best I could" now can mean a lot of things before. Young Izzy and Edward could have been much healthier than they are at present. Probably were, to be honest. It wasn't enough to save them from going sour, but it could explain why they've stuck together so long even as it has.

Izzy loves Edward. Edward loves Izzy.

LOVE LOSES. BUT LOVE WINS 😭😭😭

---

Kraken Era = Murder-Suicide, but Edward Wants to be the Murdered One

So, uh... *scrambling for notes* Where am I going with this? Fuck, I'm not even writing it linearly... OK!

Izzy KNOWS Edward - knows him going back ages, has seen his darkest and weakest moments - and even after 3 toes and a stress breakdown he still LOVES him enough to say it out loud (which I doubt these guys do, uh, ever). Which really throws a wrench in Edward's "Stede realized I'm inherently toxic and unlovable" theory, and prompts him to redouble his "prove to Izzy he doesn't love me" efforts by casually shooting him.

Afterward, he finally makes his passive suicidal intents explicit when talking (practically sobbing, in truth) to Frenchie:

"Never going back to land. We're gonna sail, rob, raise hell forever and ever, without end."

He's set on it, now. Izzy's potential last act was to finally rip down the illusion, give name to the hurt Edward had been running from since he first put on his Kraken makeup. So he pushes his little wedding toppers out the window, cleans himself up, and goes out to wave every single red flag imaginable for poor Frenchie's locked box.

Except it wasn't Izzy's last act, now was it?

But that's fine for Edward. That actually works better. He wants the hopeless situation to end, but he doesn't want to pull the trigger himself or he would have done it by now. After everything, surely Izzy should be ready to murder-suicide him??? He can't still love him, not after Edward so effectively proved he's exactly as toxic as his self-loathing depressive episodes say he is. It's poetic.

Edward underestimates Izzy. Knows him with his head, but the depression makes him underestimate his heart.

Edward doesn't get a bullet through the head, be hears the gun go off and - well - that's one way to spin "not even Izzy loves me any more" into a true statement.

Edward wants to live slightly more than he wants everything to end. It's the only reason he's alive. Before Izzy said Stede's name he was floating high on denial like that bird who never lands, keeping his depression and his destruction as a blast radius more than a dagger. He was lurching in the direction of dying by combat or by crew mutiny or by simple self-destructive behaviors, but he avoided thinking about anything long enough to have intent.

After Izzy's desperate attempt to intervene, Edward can't hide from his own reasoning anymore. Or his hurt. Or his self-enforced hopelessness. And with that comes aims. He has his rough night and then starts the massive red flag upswing. Cleans up. Gets ready for the big finale. He pushes Izzy with the "closure" conversation, trying to find a pressure point that will get him killed to close off the narrative with a artful bow.

Murder-suicide sounds like a fix to his problems, but he still wants to live slightly more. He still can't turn the gun on himself. He aims to be the murdered one.

After Izzy is gone, though, by Edward's own actions? That's the last straw he needs to commit in full. Thanking Frenchie? Just another final goodbye to get his affairs in order. "Take the day off, brother. Go live." The moment Izzy dies they all become dead men walking.

Thank FUCK that Edward a) still would prefer it if they snapped and murdered him / something out of his control killed him (he still wants to live), and b) still wants to die dramatically. A different man would have walked right back to his cabin and not missed.

Sidebar to appreciate the breakup boat crew some more because I love them:

Fang: "So... do we think he's better?" Jim: "Fuck no!"

Edward is ready to be the murderer with his cannon pointed at the mast, but he stalls on damning the whole crew to a watery grave (r.i.p. half of them), gives Izzy time to wake up and drag himself out to protect said crew, and then finally gets what he's been after.

Edward's motivations are already perfectly clear, but just to really hammer it in - he thinks he just drove a man he loved to suicide, and then he demands the couple he found kissing fight to the death with the reasoning:

"All love dies, I'm just hastening the process."

Jim literally just learned last season that was bullshit, my guy. It makes sense they are the one who finally puts a stop to him.

(Except the cannonball doesn't hit. There's no head wound. And Edward is alive when they take him back to the secret room, laying him out respectfully instead of letting the waves take him too. They don't even know if they'll survive. They certainly don't have anywhere to take the body, or a working ship to get there. Maybe they didn't notice because they didn't want to notice.)

(AND EDWARD STILL WANTS TO LIVE)

Both Izzy and Edward try to die. Both of them do - maybe, in the bottom of their hearts - want to live just a tiny bit more. They shoot each other. They say OUT LOUD they love each other (though Edward I swear to fuck you better say that to Izzy's face ohmygod). They are on this journey together.

BOTH OF THEM LIVE. AND NOW THEY HAVE TO DEAL WITH THAT.

(I feel like I wanted to add stuff about Stede & Izzy meeting again but like. I don't even know. Izzy doesn't even know. Is he protecting the crew? Deflecting? Edward's dignity (-ish)? Stede's good opinion of Edward? Dealing with his own massively fucked headspace? Ask me again on Friday. Fuck.)

My fucked up guys are in toxic fucked up LOVE!!!

[prouvaireafterdark]

So I've been thinking a lot about the ending to episode 5 and how it relates to what Louis says in the promo for episode 6 and I'd like to offer a possible explanation for the extreme violence we all witnessed.

Because while it's possible that Claudia's seemingly disjointed memory of that night may have some significance to how we're meant to interpret the scene, I think there might be a deeper point to be made here than just "trauma impacts memory."

In Louis' narration in the promo, he poses two important questions that seem central to the episode and which I think have been at the forefront of his guilt-ridden mind for a long, long time: "Are we the sum of our worst moments? Can we be forgiven if we do not forgive others?"

I'm now wondering if the purpose of showing Lestat's unhinged brutality was specifically to illustrate the very worst of what Lestat is capable of. This wasn't a scene of casual cruelty directed at an unimportant human we're not supposed to care about, after all. Lestat beat Louis--his husband and the protagonist of this season of the show--to within an inch of his life in a fit of anger. It was a shocking and nauseating display of domestic violence (which should have had a fucking TW but I digress...).

I think the writers want us to sit with this. I think we're meant to be disgusted and angry and horrified and wondering how the fuck anyone in this story is supposed to move forward from here.

Because isn't that what Louis must have been feeling as he nursed himself back to health in the aftermath? Like, how do you reconcile the fact that the man you've given the last 20-something years of your life (and also your immortal soul) to enacted such profound physical violence against you and your daughter? How can you ever forgive him for that?

I think the rest of the season is, in part, going to be about just that question and about how at some point Louis decided that he needed to forgive another person's worst actions--Lestat's, in this case--in order to begin the process of forgiving himself.

Because if Lestat is not the sum of his worst moments, then neither is Louis, and if he can find it within himself to forgive Lestat and love even the worst parts of him, he might also one day be able to extend that same grace and forgiveness to himself for the things he's done and regrets.

For a man like Louis who has been relentlessly haunted by his own mistakes his entire life, I think the idea that even he is not beyond redemption would be extremely powerful, whether or not he believes such a thing is actually achievable for him.

And I guess I just think that at this point it would be all too easy for us, like Daniel, to place Louis into a narrative box where he's an abused man returning to his abuser out of fear, but Louis said himself that he does NOT view himself that way.

And I think it would be more narratively interesting and complicated (and perhaps empowering?) for his decision to forgive Lestat and go back to him to come not from a place of appeasing Lestat's inner turmoil and giving in to what he wants but about what Louis feels he needs and wants for himself. I think he's earned that much agency at least, and perhaps it would give him the opportunity to redefine their relationship in a way that actually works for him.

And I think we as the viewers--who experience this story through Louis' (and Claudia's) eyes--are meant to go on this journey with him, which is why the writers wanted us in this state so we could more viscerally understand Louis' point of view and the struggle he will likely face in coming to terms with what happened and deciding how he can move forward.

I could be totally off base, and I'm not saying that this excuses how extreme the scene was without content/trigger warnings or that we should hand-wave Lestat's domestic violence away or even that I liked the scene, but if I AM right, I can kind of understand why the writers decided to go in the direction they did because the more extreme and dramatic Lestat's violence is, the more radical and difficult Louis' decision to forgive him is, which intensifies our understanding of how deeply Louis resents himself because he clearly still struggles with his guilt in the present day, presumably after forgiving Lestat.

And even if Louis is able to forgive Lestat in the years following the assault, Claudia certainly isn't, and this is what will create the tension needed to bring us to the inevitable, fiery end of this chapter in their lives.

[redinkofshame]

A small tidbit to tide me over as I plug away at my longfic. Takes place a while after Keria realizes she's in love.

Solas x Keria Lavellan, short, citrus-free

The Kinder Cruelty

Solas drew air past clenched teeth as he winced, and said, “I can do that myself, you know.”

Keria rolled her eyes as she finished setting the bandage over the poultice she’d just applied to the burns on his ribs; a parting gift from a demon of Rage. “So very sorry, does it hurt you pride to have someone help?” She stood from her spot beside the cot he was sitting on, dusted off her hands, and gestured vaguely to the burnt and bloody shirt she’d had to cut off of him to reach his wounds. “Sorry about that, too.”

He huffed a small laugh. “You always were looking for an excuse to undress me.”

She paused as she gathered the healing supplies back into the pack, then as she began to walk away, said, “Cruelty does not become you, Solas,”

She said it with a small upwards tick of her lips, said it so casually, like a self-depreciating joke, that he almost didn’t process the words in time to catch her elbow to stop her.

She turned back to him expectantly, and he searched her eyes, trying to figure out what he had said to warrant that response. True, there was, perhaps, some buried bitterness… She had told him to take all the time he needed to think over the considerations of being with her, only to suddenly pull away from him a few months later. As he reminded himself frequently, though, that while a month was a blink of an eye for him, it would feel much longer to her. And in any case, it was for the best, wasn’t it? He had no right to long for more.

His injury was screaming in protest so he released his grip on her in favor of slumping back. “I’m sorry. I… don’t know what I said to hurt you.”

“Let’s not pretend we don’t both know I'm in-- enamored with you. Doesn’t it seem unkind to tease me about it?”

Blood rushed in his ears. “I thought that had changed. Your behavior changed.”

“Yes, well, I felt I had my answer. I thought I should… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I stopped. My feelings did not.” Her eyes darted away, and she mumbled, “As much as I cringe to admit it, it doesn’t seem like they ever will, so just assume they’re still there in the future.”

I felt the whole world change.

I’m more interested in ‘felt’.

Stupid, to feel any kind of elation. A surge of relief. Unforgivably selfish to relish undeserved devotion. He let out the breath he’d been holding in a rush. “You’ve never made me feel uncomfortable, Keria,” he assured her. Then he allowed himself to admit, “I miss it.”

She looked back at him, eyes bright, and he thought her eyes dropped to his lips. She started to take a step towards him before she stopped herself.

“False hope is even crueler,” she said, and his time he didn’t stop her as she walked away.

[the-consortium]

Excuse me, but how should we refer to you? Mister Bile? Doctor Bile? Grand Clonelord?

From somewhere behind Fabius, Saqqara whispers quite loudly, "He doesn't want to be called Pater Mutatis - or at least he claims not to. But in reality he loves the vain implication that he is a minor god!" "Don't you have some monsters to tend to, Word Bearer?" snaps Fabius, and Saqqara disappears through one of the crumbling archways with a smug smile. Arrian sighs and rolls his eyes. Shakes his head and the Nails rattle metallically. Fabius takes a deep breath, brushes imaginary dust from his lab coat. "I have quite a few titles - most of them are a nuisance to me. Of course, I use the military title to annoy the pompous 'Lords' of the Phoenix Conclave. That may be childish - but I haven't grown so old as to be sensible all the time. So every now and then I insist on Lieutenant Commander. I'm much more comfortable with "Chief Apothecary", even if that title now carries as little weight as anything else my Legion still lugs around as traditional ballast from its great days. As for my various nicknames … no. None of them will make your life more pleasant or longer. Well, longer perhaps, should it annoy me enough. Fulgrim thought he was being amusing and fatherly when he gave me "Bile". Well, empathy has never been his strong suit. I won't even get started on my brothers' caustic "Spider". It's as silly as it is unnecessary and the only funny thing about it is how quickly they stop using it when they want something from me. "Manflayer" and "Clonelord" are just leftovers. We all evolve - or should. Even if here in the Eye of Terror change is just a boring end in itself. What does that leave you with? Well, my students have moved on to " Master". I can live with that. Their self-imposed humiliation amuses me. Likewise, Doctor is a choice. In the end, my name remains. Don't wear it out, but use it without too much fear. I have outgrown my old sin, casual cruelty. And in the end, in a galaxy without order renouncing titles is no disrespect."

[hehicular-hanslaughter-lecter]

Okay.

So. I, personally, have read the original novel, translated by Alexander Teixeira De Mattos. I've seen the ALW musical live, I've seen the 2004 movie based on the musical, I've seen the Charles Dance miniseries, I've even read Phantom by Susan Kay. I say this only to preface that I sincerely love The Phantom of the Opera, and have invested a lot of time and energy into consuming and discussing it.

Now that all of that's out of the way, this is (in my opinion that no one else has to share) the worst adaptation of The Phantom of the Opera that I've ever seen.

I am disappointed, because MazM's Jekyll and Hyde was so good--it was book-accurate, it kept all of the same themes, and it was gorgeously designed and full of suspense and intrigue. The same cannot be said for this game. I have only three major complaints, the rest aren't nearly as important to me and could be excusable if not for the previously mentioned three.

1. Erik.

Erik, Erik, Erik, this character that we call Erik. He is by far the most important character and the one this game butchers the most horrendously.

In the original novel (which is my point of reference) Erik is a pitiable man who has suffered tremendously--and I say pitiable because the book itself tells the reader to pity him. His face inspires fear and hatred in all he met, even in Christine, and for this he was ostracized and hunted. There is no mistaking, in the original novel, that he has led a miserable life that is made miserable by the torment he is subjected to by others.

But this game makes a point of changing that.

Instead of the outcast we see in the novel, MazM deigns to assert (literally, through dialogue) that the terror and hatred of his face is a self-made construct, something only one person, the Shah, ever subjected him to. Gone is the man hated by the world, with a good reason to go underground and with an even better reason to fear showing his face; instead we are given a man tortured by one individual, who is understandably afraid of further torment, who's insecurities are denied and played as "paranoia". This bizarre choice seems to stem from the narrative choice, a baffling and all-together damning choice, to make Erik a full-on villain rather than the byronic hero he was written as.

(I will also point out that, if his insecurity was merely unfounded paranoia, why was he a circus attraction, again? Surely if the Shah was the only person to loathe Erik's face, then he wouldn't have been sold and used in this way--after all, what use could a circus have for a conventional man, even if he was ugly, other than as an errand boy? This is a paradox--a raging plothole.)

This leads into my next point: Erik, in this game, does not love Christine. He doesn't even seem to like her all that much. The point of the novel was that compassion is a strength, not a weakness, and that everyone is capable of and deserves compassion. The Erik of Leroux's work chose compassion, as was the point of the novel, and let her go--because he loved her. This is how he transcends villainy and becomes a byronic hero; because he lets her go, proving he really did love her after all, because to him, her happiness was more important than his.

This Erik calls Christine worthless, talentless, and by the end of the game refers to her solely as "the devil". He has no sympathy for her pain and is completely apathetic to her emotional and even physical state, only once showing concern for her health when she feigns illness to escape his lair. In every conversation he makes an effort to showcase his villainy and cruelty, with pointless threats and constant bullying that is simply not present in the novel. In the novel, Christine and Erik are never shown interacting casually; the only conversations we are privy to are when he abducts her the first time, and when Raoul and the Daroga are listening through the torture chamber wall. Never once do we see them in a music lesson, or even when they're inside of Erik's home. This has lead to speculation about the true nature of their relationship by fans, namely the question of how Christine viewed him--did she love him in any way, were they close, how did she feel about all of this, etc. The only confirmation about her feelings we get is that she is terrified of him and wishes to escape from him. The interpretation that MazM goes with is an incredibly dull one; that Christine's feelings aren't complicated, that they don't have a real relationship, and that all she feels is resentment and terror, nothing more.

To wrap up this section, MazM's Erik is a flat, Machiavellian, loveless creature who, despite his incredible trauma and stunted emotional/moral development (not my interpretation, this is told to us), is met with disdain and malice, who ultimately dies unloved and abandoned in a "karmic" move by the writers that is entirely upsetting and unfulfilling. He makes no move for change because he's a "monster" and "monsters" don't change, do they? Instead of loving Christine, he feels nothing but possessiveness towards her and wishes to marry her to own her like a prized jewel, not because he feels a kinship with her and hopes that he can be human with her. This Erik is not the Erik that Leroux wrote; this is a cheap cartoon-villain copy.

2. Christine and Melek

I will begin this section by stating that Melek is not a character. Melek is a tool, a reason why Erik cannot and should not be redeemed.

Melek doesn't exist in the novel, which would be fine were she not such an obvious puppy for Erik to kick, but it shows in her execution. She has no purpose; she has a paltry backstory and no diversity of characterization, making her flat, 2D, lifeless. In the last two chapters she ceases to exist altogether, barely speaking to Erik or Christine except to offer vague commentary about their arguments. I know exactly why--because the conflict is between Erik and Christine, and Melek has no part to play in their confrontation. (Why they didn't have Erik throw her in the torture chamber alongside Raoul and the Daroga, I'll never know.) Furthermore, she has the honor of saying one of the cruelest sentiments this game has to offer--that Erik, who in that moment is in the midst of a flashback to his time in Iran, "deserves" to be tormented in this manner, to have PTSD and flashbacks, which is a statement I didn't think MazM was low enough to make, but apparently they are. I could condemn this character on this act alone, but fortunately for us there is more to discuss, and one of those things is her relationship with Christine.

Christine in the novel was a woman with a good head on her shoulders and an even greater heart. She first and foremost acted with everyone's safety in mind, obeying Erik's demands to keep Raoul and herself safe, but she also defied him by speaking with Raoul and going out of her way to protect him in cases such as the Masquerade ball. Her agency is never in question as a reader: she is doing what she must to survive and also finding ways to defy her captor at the same time. Her ultimate act of defiance, however, is not against Erik, but for him--she chooses the scorpion instead of the grasshopper. This is important--in the novel, Raoul and the Daroga both believe that she will choose the grasshopper and they all will die, not because they doubt her courage, but because they don't think anyone could or would choose the scorpion. She however defies all expectations, chooses the scorpion, and promises to be Erik's living bride, meaning she won't commit suicide to escape him, before kissing him on the forehead. This is what compels Erik to free her; this compassion. Compassion is, again, the main theme of the novel.

According to the game, however, Christine is a naive and waifish character who, as the characters are so eager to tell us, lies to Raoul and submits to the Phantom not to protect both of them, but because she wants to "change" Erik, and is too forgiving to stand up for herself. Her clever lies and omissions aren't her means of protecting herself and the man she loves, but instead they are spineless, and indicative of her "flawed" worldview: that anyone can redeem themselves and that everyone deserves compassion. (To be clear, this isn't my opinion on her actions--I personally think her actions in the majority of the game make sense--this interpretation is asserted by the characters themselves.)

This ties into the other reason why Melek exists: to facilitate Christine's character arc by telling her that those who do bad things can never do better, that good people are good and bad people are bad, and that those who hurt them deserve to die. As you can imagine, this "arc" is a downward spiral, in my book. Novel Christine was defined by her compassion, her greatest strength. She cared for all in the opera house, from the ballet corp to the stagehands to the costumers. She extended this care towards the one man who probably needed it most, and ultimately it saved quite literally everyone, including herself. MazM Christine however is defined by weakness, by her inability to stand up for herself even when it could endanger her, and her "growth" as a character is a slide into cruelty and apathy, one that not only is disappointing to watch, but is antithetical to the original novel's themes. (It also makes Erik a weaker character--he doesn't let her go because he loves her and wants her to be happy, but instead lets her go because...they bully him, I suppose? It seems that all Christine needed to do to escape him was to tell him off; this isn't my grandfather's Phantom. What happened to the Angel of Death, assassin for the Sultana?)

Melek and Christine's relationship is one that only serves Christine's development; Melek isn't made better by knowing Christine, other than being freed by her. Melek is a victim first and a person second, serving as damnation for Erik and as a rallying cause for Christine. And she's one of only three WOC in the entire game--and on that note, every WOC, that being Meg, Carlotta, and Melek, serves as a hype-man for Christine, encouraging and uplifting her without any encouragement or support in return. Out of them, only Meg has a character arc, and all three fall into uncomfortable stereotypes; Carlotta, who is Romani in the game, falls into a common caricature of black and brown women--she is dominant, aggressive, sexual (via her curves and large breasts, which she is the only character to exhibit), and mature, all counterpoint to Christine, who is waifish, thin, and young--Meg falls into a literary stereotype for black and brown women--she is the best friend, the cheerleader on the sidelines, with only a paltry attempt at her own character arc that is still centered around Christine--and Melek falls into a white savior fantasy with some ableism mixed in--she is helpless to the abuse of her not-husband Erik, and she is completely dependent on Christine, white and seeing, to plan and enact her rescue as well as finally stand up to Erik. (If there was a legitimate reason as to why Melek was incapable of the multiple escapes that Christine was able to enact, then I wouldn't have as much of a problem. Christine is able to escape into Erik's room and Melek's room from the Louis-Phillipe room, and all within her first day of being trapped there. Melek was there for ten years. What gives?)

In summary, Melek doesn't have agency or depth as a character, serving only to facilitate Erik's and Christine's characterizations, and Christine is a hollow mockery of her novel self; her character arc is antithetical to the novel's themes in every way. Speaking of Christine, that leads me to my third and final major complaint:

3. Raoul

When I was perusing sites like Tumblr to see what the general consensus on this game was, I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was supposedly book-accurate and that Raoul was held accountable for his possessiveness, something never addressed in the novel.

These were lies.

I was promised a Raoul who realized his mistakes and made active strides to be a trusting, supportive partner to Christine. What I got was Erik 2.0 and a last minute "apology" that felt more like an ex-boyfriend swearing he'd changed, he went to therapy, he'd never do it again, than a legitimate recognition of his failings.

First of all, he is more novel-accurate than I'd like. By this I mean he is unbearable to watch. Raoul is the worst part of the original novel, and I don't say that lightly. In the game he is annoying, petulant, demanding, incompetent, and worst of all, all of these things while also being the endgame love interest. In the game these are inexcusable, while the novel at least has reasons for his awful characterization.

Let me clarify. The Phantom of the Opera is a mystery novel. Gaston Leroux was a prolific mystery author, and this novel is no different. Earlier I spoke of Erik and Christine's relationship being mostly undefined and hidden from the reader--this is because of the mystery surrounding who the Phantom was, the main mystery that needed to be solved by the end of the novel. Raoul is our main protagonist, though he is only one of several other narrators, those being Gaston Leroux himself, the two managers, and the Daroga. Because of his status as a mystery protagonist, he needed to be out of the loop as long as possible before discovering the truth, leading to a frustrating slog through Raoul's possessive internal monologue about Christine. The red herring that Leroux chooses to employ is simple: Raoul is absolutely certain that Christine is in a romantic affair with this "Erik" figure she speaks of, and he convinces himself that that is the reason why she won't accept his advances and is being so cryptic and distant with him. This is why he is so possessive over her to the point of jealous tantrums, because the plot needs him to not listen to Christine to stall his discovery of the Phantom's identity as long as possible. The Daroga comes in to expose the truth when they descend to the lair, and promptly his possessiveness goes away.

The game has no such need for this behavior. Not only do most people know that the Phantom and the Angel of Music are the same and are terrorizing Christine, but the game itself takes place partially from Christine's perspective, completely spoiling the mystery that necessitates Raoul's ridiculous behavior. The ALW musical had the right idea--to make him impulsive, but otherwise good-natured and completely trusting of Christine. This game however chooses to keep this jealousy for only god-knows why.

I, at first, assumed it was to make Erik a "dark mirror" for him--to make Raoul unlikable and to eventually have him see himself within Erik, and realize that he needs to either shape up or ship out. This would also explain the flattening of Erik's character, as a means to make Raoul a deeper character. But this didn't happen.

Instead I saw Raoul time and time again apologize to Christine, swear he'd changed, and then repeat those exact same mistakes again and again. Even after Erik had died and Raoul was offering Christine the train tickets at the literal end of the game, he was pressuring her, insisting on the course of action they "needed" to take, and offering no compromise, asking her to leave the country with him by the next Tuesday and leave behind everyone she'd ever known without any consideration to how she'd feel. He was still trying to control her, even after the supposed "character development" he'd had. The game tries to remedy this by having them recognize this failure and to have Raoul yet again make a promise to do better that the audience has no reason to believe. He has failed every other time to make improvements and to do better, but we're supposed to believe him this time? Why? Because she loves him and he loves her?

The concept of having Raoul be toxic at first and then learn from his mistakes is not a bad one, just one that was executed horribly here. He commits the same sins the antagonist does, the sins that earned that antagonist a death sentence, and he got to walk away with a hopefully-ever-after if you choose to leave him, and a happily-ever-after if you choose to go with him? All because of an apology we can't trust? He has none of the excuses the book Raoul does and all of the audacity. Christine's entire arc is about rejecting those who try to control her, but this sentiment is suspiciously absent whenever Raoul is involved. He is by far the most annoying and insufferable character in the game whose mere existence undermines the base themes of the game.

There are lots of little things too.

The managers are just as unbearable as Raoul, only they are minor characters and aren't literally deuteragonists. The choice to make them malicious is a strange one, as it is unnecessary and only serves to drag out the episode count. The novel's managers weren't like this, so there's no excuse. In ALW's musical, the managers were antagonistic alongside Carlotta to give the Phantom a reason to harass them, thus making him more heroic as well as making Christine more of an underdog. The choice here is completely unnecessary; it achieves nothing. They aren't more men telling Christine what to do, as she isn't part of the strike and never stands up against them, so they can't be serving the theme. They aren't making the Phantom look better, since he's a straight-up villain. Who's character arc do they serve? Raoul? He barely interacts with them after the initial complaints he tries to make against them. I suppose they're great if you like them--IF you like them. If you don't, then they are borderline painful to watch.

The Daroga's relationship with Erik is bad. The insistence by the narrative that they have a father-son dynamic instead of the friendly one they have in the novel is strange, especially because this is used to pass the blame for Erik's actions onto the Daroga. It's in conflict with what we've been told about Erik--is he responsible for his actions or not? Is the Daroga responsible or not? Is Erik a wayward child in a man's body with no understanding of right and wrong, or is he a sadistic torturer who delights in suffering and doesn't see value in morality? According to MazM, he's somehow both. He commits great sins and should be punished, but at the same time he doesn't know what sin is. How can he be condemned if he doesn't know what he's doing wrong? How can he be so delightfully cruel if he supposedly doesn't know what he's doing? How can the Daroga be blamed for "not teaching Erik properly" is he is only 6 years older than him and not responsible for another grown man? How can he be blamed for Erik's actions since they were not his own? How can he be blamed for not telling Erik that his relationship with the Shah was abusive when doing such a thing could get both of them killed--the Daroga for turning Erik against the Shah, and Erik for trying to leave? Is it not a little bit racist to make the Daroga, the only MOC, somehow responsible for Erik's bad behavior? These are all questions MazM happily ignores. The second most interesting relationship in the novel--the fraught, tense friendship between Erik and his peer, the Daroga--is spoiled in a way I really don't like. I personally loathe the removal of Erik's only equal, making all of his relationships have power imbalances.

I don't like the designs either. Erik's design is the best, and is my second-favorite Erik design ever under the musical design. Christine having magical-girl hair is just strange. I don't know why they introduced it. It makes no sense. Meg doesn't look like she's related to Madame Giry at all--no joke, I legitimately thought the game was going to reveal that she was actually Erik and Melek's child, and that that was why Erik foretold her rise to Empressdom, because it was favoritism. Before I played the game and had only seen the art, I thought that Melek was Madame Giry because of how similar they look. Moncharmin's design feels a bit...anti-semitic, with the hooked nose, and it irks me that Richard also has one; this wouldn't be an issue if Melek wasn't the only other character to have a hooked nose. Also, Moncharmin's design is just strangely unrealistic compared to the other designs. He's in a different art style to all the other characters and it throws me. The detective looks like a Black Butler character for no reason, and this would be fine if there were other characters that looked the same. But there aren't. He's the only one.

Jammes is airheaded in a bad way. She's charming to me, thankfully, but it's a bit much at times. Also, Jammes and Sorelli are their last names. Jammes' first name is Cecile.

The only character to have PTSD is the villain. Not Melek or the Daroga, not even Christine who was abused by her father. I mean, I knew that MazM's stance on PTSD was bad, but this is just icing on the cake.

This game is a drag. It really digs in its heels. The amount of time spent on every interaction is ridiculous. The fat desperately needed to be trimmed from this story; the novel wasn't even this long, and it's over 100 years old, archaic manuscripts loved purple prose. The parts that weren't explored in the novel that could have been explored to satisfaction--mainly Erik and Christine's relationship and their characters in general--weren't explored to satisfaction.

Okay, I'm done. I've gotten all the achievements, I've spent way too long thinking about this game, I'm calling it quits here. If you enjoyed this game, that's okay--you're allowed to enjoy things even if other people don't, or even if they're problematic or genuinely bad. I believe in the power of people to take in art critically and enjoy it while still understanding its problems.

Again, Jekyll and Hyde was very good, so I know that MazM is capable of producing good art. Part of me wonders if this wasn't an attempt to separate themselves from the other POTO adaptations, and it just went off the rails from there. I can't understand it. It's not like the Phantom won in the novel--he literally dies from possible heart failure (and maybe because of untreated wounds after Raoul shot him, but its never confirmed if it was Erik's eyes that Raoul saw in the night or just a street cat) and chooses not to seek medical attention or aid, probably because he sees himself as saved by Christine's compassion and has no desire to live any longer. This isn't a win by any means. This is a final act of goodness that he decides to die after committing. That doesn't scream victory lap to me.

Anyways. If anyone's reading this, go read the novel. It took way less time--about a third of the time, actually. Go watch the miniseries, its different in strange ways but is still enjoyable. The musical is the best adaptation; ALW was right when he said that Leroux didn't know what he had when he was writing POTO. The story is so much better as a gothic romance.

Alright. Thank you for reading.

[king-maven-calore]

Oh please, please, please share your headcanons for ptolemus and wren. They're my faves and I'm starved for content of any kind lol!

My time has come...

Ptolemus has a lot of tattoos. He's a relatively chill dude, not like hyper violent at all times. If his first reaction is to resort to aggression, it is because that's how he was raised. Not as much of a misanthropist as his sister in the beginning of the books, but since he doesn't gain any further alliances (other than those close to his heart) by the end of them, he does end up surpassing her. Grows restless when bored, but he's easily entertained by casual human cruelty. Lots of bro type buddies but the only one he can stand and respects is Cal. (Yes, I'll push my Cal/Tolly bros agenda to the grave bc it's ridiculous VA didn't give Cal friends wtf. Also bc of ~angst~ and ✨drama✨ purposes) Reformed manwhore. When they were children he would nick his finger or scrape his knees on purpose to have an excuse to talk to Wren.

"You know my mom/uncle/cousin could heal this way faster, right?" she would ask, struggling to perform the most basic things since her powers hadn't "bloomed" yet.

Tolly would just stare dumbly at her and try to act tough like. "You were the closest I could find 🙄. Work faster." And add a "Please 🥺" after she gives him a cut the bullshit look.

Enter Wren, deeply compassionate but bound by duty for better or for worse (at least at the beginning). Academic queen. Despite growing up in the silver court, she resents the excess of violence they indulge in. Good friends with Elane. If she wasn't naturally a healer she might have made a good spy because she's great at picking up details and reading people. Not a fan of Ptolemus whole macho act. Doesn't bat an eyelash when he aggressively flirts with her as they grow older, or at his finely crafted attempts at seduction. Like cornering her against a bookshelf and reaching a book for her while looking at her with the full force of his panty-dropper gaze.

"Anatomy, uh? Need help to study that? I may know a perfect specimen of the male sex 😏."

To which she replies without batting an eyelash. "I already have a corpse on the dissecting table, thanks." Ducks under his arm and goes away. But secretly she's having a heart attack.

(Only simp men allowed in this house btw) Ptolemus grows increasingly frustrated, angry, and infatuated with her; she's just so enthralling when her hands delicately restore that which has been wounded, when they make whole what's missing. And he gets this feeling, like when they were kids, that he needs her in his life. That, despite her solid character, she's the softness he can't even allow himself to crave. And she's way too beautiful. Wren is so gorgeous it actually hurts (quoting TS)

Wren sees too more of the boy, almost man, that's nothing but a perfectly sharpened knife for his father to use at will. She sees the tender love he has for his sister beneath a shallow cold exterior. She wants to dive in the depths of the emotions he's been so well taught to hide, to go under the metaphorical scar tissue (bc in reality they don't have those) and reach the soft flesh, the beating heart. Wren wonders what it would be like to accept the dagger inside her heart, to allow herself the possible wound of a fling with such a ruthless man. Also, undeniably, he is a perfect specimen, especially when he's covered in his rivals' blood, face twisted in a wicked smirk.

Things finally change between them when she has to restore his hand after the events of KC. As she works, all pretenses are gone. He's just glad to have an excuse to have her close, glad they are on the same side of the war, it would have been a nightmare to be parted from her. And Wren gets to see the side of him she always knew was there. With her abilities she may restore his hand, but by coming together they restore each other's souls 🥺. And they make such a hot couple.

...K I just realized this isn't exactly what you asked... so sorry anon. I got carried away. I love them 😬

[kumaradosha]

I’m seeing a whole lot of bad takes and ignorance of past/present content and lack of critical thinking or ability to understand character motives regarding this most recent Dream SMP lore. So please, allow me to lay down some facts, some sense, and also some speculation of my own. This’ll be really rambly, because I’m tired, and I want to say a lot. Rewatching ALL the streaming perspectives now, my thoughts start here:

Considering Sam doesn’t want to enter the cell to dirty his hands himself, he clearly has some aversion or moral qualms about torturing prisoners, but Quackity has convinced him to go along with it. Quackity spends a lot of time before he goes into the cell repeatedly making sure Sam won’t have a change of heart and intervene, which indicates Sam probably has some misgivings. Quackity feels he has to remind Sam that this is for the greater good and to stand back and let him do his thing and that this will probably be the last time. These are all reassurances and instructions that would not be necessary if Sam were known to be totally cool with it all already.

Sam believes the stringent measures Dream put in place for the prison are just desserts for him to suffer, but Techno doesn’t deserve the same cruelty, because Techno didn’t enact those rules. And that’s why Techno gets baked potatoes from Sam, and Dream doesn’t. Sam clearly believes this harsh treatment is justified, because Dream was going to do it to someone else. He thinks he’s being just. Of course, allowing the torture, though not his idea and not really comfortable to him, was still crossing a line, considering physical torture was not something Dream did to his victims (and besides, there’s the argument that not everything a criminal has done is morally correct to be done to the prisoner regardless). That, he was convinced, was for the greater good, to get the revive book. Quackity manipulated him; he thinks he’s doing what’s best, but no, of course that doesn’t make him right or his hands clean.

Sam wanted the dog dead because it’s a security risk, especially with Quackity entering the cell with two other people. He killed it later for the exact same reason. Y’all act like nobody else has ever killed an animal in Minecraft RP; get it together. Is Sapnap also evil? Tommy? He killed his own cat. Random animals are not treated with the gravity you guys are giving them; it makes no sense to call out this one time.

When Techno raised the point that he would be fine if Quackity killed him, because Dream could just bring him back, Dream countered with his warning that Techno doesn’t want to experience death, judging by how messed up it made Tommy. What motive would he have to argue that, aside from actually caring about Techno’s well-being? If Dream was only thinking of himself, he would benefit from Techno being willing to die and be brought back to life by him, giving him an easy reason not to give the resurrection knowledge to Quackity. I honestly can’t think of a reason he would argue other than the fact that he doesn’t want Techno to die even temporarily or experience death--that he cares. Interesting...

Dream hiding in the escape tunnel to make it look like he disappeared too was 5,000 IQ, but he didn’t do it just to be silly or smart. Quackity literally threatened to kill Dream when he came back. Dream HAD to pretend to disappear, because he was legitimately in fear for his life. You saw how terrified he was when Sam found him, how he just immediately begged him not to tell Quackity. He was afraid Quackity would come back and kill him before Techno managed to come back and break him out. He believed that would be his fate and had to make a last ditch attempt to avoid that outcome.

Phil confirmed on stream that the blueprints Techno was led to via coordinates are for the prison. Not Tubbo’s missing nuke, like I’ve seen speculated.

“Steve is your polar bear” was written on stream during the “Prison Podcast” Technoblade lore. This is not a mystery. Dream said he wrote it down when Techno started talking about Steve rescuing them.

If Sam doesn’t approve of Quackity killing Dream, why doesn’t he just tell Quackity Dream is still in the prison but not allow Quackity in anymore? Quackity needs Sam to lead him inside, to let him in. Since when did he have any power against Sam to force him to let him in? I don’t understand why Sam has to keep it a secret just to keep Dream alive. Just don’t let Quackity into the prison anymore. Clearly it was a bad idea, since all these security risks happened while Quackity was getting a free pass to not follow the rules of the prison.

Dream casually walking in the way of Sam’s pickaxe to disrupt his swing once Sam almost had the bell broken gets me every time.

The rapport between c!Dream and c!Sam in prison fascinates me. Clearly Dream is much bolder with Sam than Quackity and still seems to trust his sense of duty to a degree. Sam is also more malleable, convinceable, his fatal flaw being actually listening and talking to Dream, even after it clearly messes with him psychologically. He let Quackity manipulate him, too, and he compromises too much. That might seem weird to say, considering the harsh conditions he has Dream in, but. He does give in to a few things.

I’m wondering if Dream wanted to go to the courtyard hoping it was less secure and easier for Techno to break him out of.

Sam has no reason to lie and gaslight about Dream being the one to suggest raw potatoes and sealing up the courtyard. That’s not in his character to do. So clearly Dream suggested these things. In fact, we have proof. Search for the clip of Dream revealing a teaser for future lore, with him telling Sam the hole in the courtyard ceiling for the light is a security flaw. He straight up says that. Update yourselves. Furthermore, are the recordings we have of Dream suggesting nicer features for the prison even lore? Are they in-character, or was it cc!Dream and Sam making plans? I’m genuinely asking, because I don’t remember/am not sure. In any case, clearly the plans changed at some point, and they were Dream’s idea.

Dream said he didn’t realize how bad it was until after he experienced it. This could very well be a lie. However, it could also be a wake-up call. We just don’t know. Dream clearly possesses low empathy, and every person at some point doesn’t fully realize how poorly another being can feel in a bad situation. Sometimes it actually does take experiencing it yourself to realize how it feels. People can do cruel things to others before the empathy fully clicks. It is possible that Dream really does only now understand how harsh his plans were. Unfortunately, it’s just as likely he doesn’t care and is pretending to, because he has a history of acting, lying, and manipulating. We just do not know, and I think that’s part of the fun, the speculation. Note that none of this is excusing what he’s done; that bores me. I just like understanding characters and their psychology and motives.

Sam is ASKING if Dream had this prison built for Tommy. He is suspicious that that is the case. Dream did not TELL him this, because OBVIOUSLY Sam would have absolutely nothing to do with building a prison he knew Dream meant for Tommy. So no, Sam thought it was for something else. And guess what? It was. Back during the disc war finale stream, Dream told Tommy and Tubbo that the prison was originally intended for someone else (maybe multiple people, the number was not specified), but that he changed his mind and would now put Tommy in it (ha ha punny). Tubbo asked who it was originally intended for, and Dream wouldn’t tell him, preferred to keep it a mystery. Dream had zero reason to say this if it weren’t true. In fact, it would have been more impactful to pretend (or admit) he intended it for Tommy all along. Think of the horror, or even the betrayal finding out Sam, his friend, helped make it. So yes, there is every indication that it is the truth--Dream meant the prison for someone else at first.

And Dream didn’t argue with Sam’s accusations, because why WOULD he? If he didn’t tell Tubbo who it was for, he wouldn’t tell Sam now. Plus, he wouldn’t want to argue with Sam, make him more heated and less sympathetic, and risk him deciding to tell Quackity Dream was there after all. Dream has no reason to speak up. Let Sam think what he wants. Dream’s silence does not mean confirmation. This is not a new thing with him. He keeps things mysterious, and there is a lot about his planning and mindset he does not disclose.

Now, whether Dream made the prison harsher before or after he decided he wanted Tommy in it is up for speculation. We don’t know that timeline.

Anyway, Sam’s speech about Dream getting what he deserves is really delicious. All these people out here mocking Dream fans for Dream still being in prison (like Techno’s not imminently coming to break him out, hello?) and being told off by Sam, yet plenty of us are enjoying it, too, like?? Bruh, what kind of Mary-Sue-touting asshole likes characters who are flawless who never go through strife? Can’t be me. I love watching my favs through triumph AND despair, so this is all just a win for me, thanks.

It is possible to sympathize with a bastard who is highly flawed and wrong AND to understand his motivations without justifying his actions AND to realize he deserves punishment (though to what degree I don’t care to argue). All the black and white morality and taking one extreme stance of “this character is perfect!” OR “this character is wholly evil and only ever does things to be sadistic!” and polarizing the community is cringe, yo. You need to calm down. Enjoy the ride or like...get off?

Anyway, Dream is my favorite, Techno is my second favorite, I adore Sam, I really enjoy Quackity, and the SMP wouldn’t be the same without Tommy. So much love for all of this creative work and its creators. I’m having a blast.

[ultranos]

Why is much of the fandom intent on making up offenses to paint Azula in a worse light? Even fans of her do it. Like, the popular fanon of her viciously punishing servants, casually burning Zuko & her friends, or even just straight up murdering people, even when canon contradicts it. Even at her most unstable, when she thought her servants were trying to kill her, she banished them. I hear the excuse, "it's a kid's show, so we just didn't see Azula's full viciousness, but it was implied." 1/2

This idea of "Azula would've been worse if it wasn't a kid's show" is such a ridiculous argument to make about a show that explicitly deals with war, genocide, & child abuse. A man burning his son's face off for no reason is fine to include, but they had to water down Big Scary Azula for kids? Sure, Jan. Let's definitely hold this character responsible for things she didn't do but that you have personally decided she would've done on a different show. 2/2 

I honestly really don’t understand it. And while it’s true that in other shows, maybe she would have been worse. But Avatar didn’t shy away from showing Zuko getting burned. It showed brainwashing. It showed other characters like Song with horrible burns, burns that did come from casual cruelty. It even showed Toph and Katara getting burned on screen! Sure, it was an accident, but that’s still an injury.

In Zuko’s flashbacks, when he’s remembering Azula in the worst light possible, if she burned servants, wouldn’t there be a mention of it? Wouldn’t he have mentioned it to Ursa about how terrible his sister is? (Zuko would absolutely narc on Azula given half a chance. He does it in canon!)

The thing is, when Azula actually injures someone, the show actually shows it. Aang and Zuko both have scars. No one else does.

You want to know what this implies? It implies that Azula pulls her punches. Azula only ever uses force as a last resort and even then only the minimum amount necessary. She sees torture as pointless, she knows it doesn’t work, because she intervenes to stop it. Azula is always in control and hates pointless vindictiveness and pettiness. (Petty retribution is Zuko’s schtick in s1) That’s why her breakdown is so shocking. She loses that control and starts making those absurd decisions in banishing people.

[strawbabysimp]

Adult Trio Soulmate Strings AU HCs

Chrollo

No one had told him what the string meant, what was on the other side waiting for him. Children in Meteor City knew how to fight and how to live and how to kill. Not how to love. Or maybe they did and the world simply told them they shouldn't. That they weren't deserving of it. As he got older Chrollo eventually sought out the meaning of this mysterious red string, finding his answer in one of the books he managed to get his hands on in that wretched and beloved place. A soulmate.

There was a person out there just for him, but more importantly, there was a destiny. A plan for him. He knew he had to find them, to secure this irrefutable connection to another. The leader had planned to meet them when he got out of Meteor City, it was part of the reason he formed the Troupe. Though, as the years went on and life took its toll on him, as it did anyone, the desire to find this person faded. By the time The Spiders had managed to become a notorious group, it was a dream within a dream. A soulmate? How tragically philosophical.

That's not to say he wasn't curious, but he lost that drive, running on autopilot as he searched for a passion without the motivation to even want one. Sometimes he did find himself especially enraptured by the red string secured around his finger though, toying with it during meetings or tying small knots that soon came undone while laying in bed.

Guilt wasn't something he felt often, taking lives and valuables without a second thought was a regular occurrence, but with you? He felt utterly in the wrong. To deny you of something even he found beautiful simply because he "didn't care?" That's when he felt like a monster. He found comfort in the title though, embracing the fact of what he was. He was selfish and greedy and somehow still found a way to prevent himself from gaining the one thing that could save him.

One day he had been twisting the string between his fingers, a mannerism that even the others around him had picked up on when there was a tug back. It became a regular occurrence, the two of you pulling on the string lightly back and forth. You tried to beg him through the string to come to find you, pulling him in your direction, but he never did come. You knew it was impossible to tell, but it seemed he had gotten even farther away.

The only connection you'd ever have with him was through those small motions and you'd go on to love someone else. Maybe not in the way you would have loved him, but there's not much to do when you're destined to love someone who was forced to learn how not to.

Hisoka

"I don't have one" he'd respond calmly. This was his and his alone, so what if people thought he was a freak? He wouldn't allow someone to interfere with this in even the most minuscule way. A person who relied on him and only him to fulfill the grandest idea of love? Nothing could hold more power than the blood-soaked string tied around his ring finger.

Heaven's Arena was a well-known spot, a tourist attraction of sorts, so you simply had to stop by when you happened to be near. As you made your way to the stands and gazed on at the stage you found him already looking at you, giving you a quick smirk as your gaze fell to his hand with a shocked expression. At the end of his "performance" he typically met with fans but this time he naturally went straight to you, a single blood-stained rose held out in a tender gesture. You didn't question how he had managed to obtain the flower, too busy processing the fact that this bizarre man was your soulmate.

Every moment with you is too much for him to endure. It's an adrenalin rush that he's become addicted to but whenever he looks at you he gets this urge to tear everything you are apart and cover himself in the pieces he could never think to reach from the outside. Being close to you is never close enough and the only way to satisfy this feeling of need would be to destroy you. He can't bear to do that but it's so tempting.

At rare times something in him seemed to break, going off on tangents about the cruelty of his thoughts and how he longed to turn you into yet another victim of his murderous desires. He had planned to take over your life, wishing to bask in the high your undying love was sure to give him. A man becoming weak through the pursuit of power is a pitiful sight even for one not tied to them by fate. "My love will never complete you. I take and I take and I offer up only the worst parts of myself because that's all I have to offer. That's the tragedy of loving me, my dear. I will not apologize because I do not feel bad, however, I will not allow myself to hurt such a lovely thing."

You always come back to each other, the string acting as a sort of magnet between you two. Eventually, you both come to accept the situation for what it is; deadly but far too tempting to not risk everything for. He was the most beautiful thing you'd ever laid eyes on and if the image of him was the last thing you ever saw you'd consider it a privilege.

Surprisingly enough, the magician never does end up taking your life, finding the unfamiliar task of restraining himself a new sort of challenge to prove his strength. Holding you close to him, pressing your body against his as he watches your auras merge, was a common occurrence. When his bloodlust rose and your fear spiked just a fraction he would plant a gentle kiss on your cheek before pulling away with some excuse, you both knew he did this to protect you but he'd never admit that.

Illumi

Soulmates were a weakness in the eyes of the Zoldycks, hypocritical to say the least as Silva and Kikyo were tied by fate, but that was typical. Despite the harsh words his parents had told him, his curiosity would eventually get the better of him and he would seek you out. Traveling in the direction the string took him without fail. It was an easy task when you had money and power. Locating you was not the issue, deciding what to do with you once found was. Simply approaching you wouldn't do.

He watched you for a long time, disappearing into a crowd or dark corner whenever you felt eyes on you. One day you found yourself doing trivial tasks, walking the streets on your way to pick up a snack, or do some light shopping when an unfamiliar feeling hit you. It wasn't unpleasant so much as it was surprising. You even describe it as lovely.

Despite his best efforts to keep himself hidden from your view, Illumi had never been trained to hide love. Pain, fear, anger, sadness, all these were painstakingly buried deep within him to the point that even he didn't know how to release them. But what he felt when looking at you grew greater with each small action and he didn't notice it slipping through until it was too late.

The second your eyes met he was a goner. It was like a drug to the emotionally-deprived man and while he knew it wouldn't do any good to engage you, the selfishness that was ripped out of him from a young age came flooding back full force. Both of you remained shocked as you approached one another but the small smile you gave him was enough to make him think that maybe this was the one time surrendering himself to feelings was okay.

Marrying you was a plan he wants to put into action as soon as possible, using the piece of paper as a form of protection. "Never kill a family member" read the Zoldyck rules that were engraved into the assassin's mind. This would be one of many forms of rebellion you had influenced Illumi in making, and while it wasn't necessarily against the rules, it was certainly not something he thought his parents would approve of.

When you're hanging out he remains a bit stiff, not sure of how to act around someone casually. You begin to feel off-put by the awkward composure of your soulmate though he picks up on it easily, his ability to read people far more advanced than the average person. Illumi allows a small bit of his aura to shine through the veil to reassure you of his contentment, and while he won't acknowledge it, you're grateful for his efforts. It's during one of these dates, hidden away in a hotel relaxing beside one another, that the usually warm and comforting aura changes. His arm comes to hold you just a bit tighter and the love he allowed to encompass you shut off. This had happened times before but your attempts at reassurance through small touches did no help to soothe the Zoldyck.

Later that night his hand would rest gently against your cheek as the light in your eyes dies, your face is wet with tears but a forgiving smile still rests kindly on your face. You're already gone. He can feel it. Despite this he holds you against him late into the night, only letting go when he can no longer bear to see you in such a state. His eyes stay downcast as he refuses to look up at the state the sky is in, not wanting to face the fact that the wetness of his cheeks could be from anything other than the weather. He sends one message before putting his phone away with shaking hands. Yet another job is done.

[seyaryminamoto]

I'm just thinking about what you've said in the past about Zuko's morals in The Southern Raiders and what bugs me the most is that Zuko could have easily been Yon Rha. Yon Rha's big sin, as far as Zuko knows when he makes his proposal (before Katara tells him the whole story), was raiding the Southern Water Tribe in a manner which lead to someone's death, and Zuko raided both Kyoshi Island and the Southern Water Tribe. Zuko would be an acceptable target for vengeance under his own standards.

:'D very fair point of view, Anon. I've always focused on another angle with this particular problem, namely the fact that Zuko's traumatic Agni Kai happens because he was trying to defend soldiers from being used as bait, slain in battle as though their lives were meaningless... and then he's offering Katara his assistance with killing a soldier if that's the only way to become her friend. There's such a profound incompatibility between both ideas, such a massive rift in reasoning, that I can't help but wonder if Ozai, intentionally or not, actually taught Zuko through their Agni Kai that the lives of their people aren't worth anything after all.

In general, that episode's plot is just... very questionable. I understand these kids are jaded, they've seen pleeenty of ugly stuff and even done some ugly stuff themselves, but the core of the problem with Zuko, back in the day, was that his violent pursuit of the Avatar caused lots of trouble and nobody liked him because he was being a selfish ass who wanted to fulfill the Fire Lord's orders at all costs :'D so... as blind as Katara may be over anything to do with Kya, it baffles me that neither Sokka nor Aang would step up to tell Zuko that this sort of ridiculous reasoning, impulsive behavior and willingness to resort to violence is EXACTLY what made him an asshole during the months he chased them, and that changing sides without changing those violent impulses doesn't amount to jackshit. I'd honestly prefer it if Katara were the one to tell him as much, because then she'd have the bonus of telling Zuko: "That's funny, because this sort of BS is precisely why I can't trust you!" and Zuko would be at an even bigger loss than before :'D but of course, when emotions are involved, Katara loses sight of reality and common sense, it's true...

Looking at it the way you do, just imagine if Yon Rha had told Katara "Oh. Sorry. Nice to see you again!" the way Zuko does with Suki :'D I'm pretty sure she would've actually killed the guy without even hesitating.

It's not to say that Zuko has objectively murdered anyone with the particular cruelty Yon Rha killed Kya: as far as we know, he didn't. We do know, however, that he's imprisoned people in nightmarish conditions (something even his sister cannot be said to have done), as he does in LOK, conditions bad enough that one of those prisoners (who, arguably, wasn't in the worst of conditions) said he'd rather die than return to that imprisonment. So, however "deserved" the Red Lotus's imprisonment might have been, dehydrating a waterbender and freezing a firebender for well over a decade sounds like one hell of an act of cruelty, which says he's perfectly capable of cruelty, all the same as Yon Rha was, and Zuko can't even say he's following someone's orders: he's the one who chooses to do this, plain and simple. So cruelty is NOT beyond Zuko. He can be harsh and nasty whenever it suits him. Despite what he'd have the audience believe, he isn't truly the poster child of peace and kindness :')

As you've said, Zuko caused lots of damage with his careless actions back in Book 1, actions that could have certainly cost lives if this show had been written to be grittier and darker than it was.

As a careless, casual example, here's the typical, boring old trope of "there's a kid in danger and the hero swoops in to save them!" (and there's poor Sokka on the background too ;_;). That ship just comes into shore, breaks all the ice it cares to, and it could have cost at least the two lives of those in the scene here (and who knows how many more that we aren't seeing). Is this not the same as attacking someone deliberately, with killer intent? Sure, it's not, but the ultimate outcome would be the same: someone's died, and it's your fault. And if you're a good person, you would feel bad about it. In fact, you might not even be able to think of yourself as a good person if anyone's death can be pinned on you.

Again, we don't know for sure that his actions cost any lives, but that they could have speaks for itself. That he was once part of the Fire Nation killer machine, that he was a tool to his father (even if not one he particularly cared for), should have made him all the more willing to understand that soldiers are as brainwashed as he was. No, this isn't to defend Yon Rha by any means, he was indeed a piece of shit... but Zuko doesn't even wait to meet him to confirm this. He's ready to help Katara kill a guy who, for all he knows, could have spent his whole life repenting for his actions (yes, we know that's not the case, but if the show had wanted to give us more nuance in the Fire Nation army, it could have been). Zuko doesn't even hesitate, and he even eggs on Katara until she finally decides she's not going to do it -- then he proceeds to badger Aang non-stop about how he MUST kill Ozai, funny how that goes. Which allows the interpretation that Zuko didn't learn anything at all from the Southern Raiders adventure.

In the end, if Zuko's actions cost any lives whatsoever (like, I don't know, maybe lives of the people whose food he stole in the Earth Kingdom (: what, me still being salty about this in the year of 2021? Noooo waaaaay...), you're quite right to say that it'd be fine, as far as his own philosophies are concerned, for Zuko to be executed by the injured party. It'd only be fair, right? Yet I guess that's the beauty of Zuko being Zuko: fairness isn't part of it. Justice? I don't think he's actually familiar with the concept. His sister made lots of mistakes, same as he did, but has he attempted to help her find her way, same as he was helped? Has he given her another chance? The answer is nope. Chit Sang is a convicted murderer who claims he didn't do the crime he was put in jail for: Zuko doesn't even bother asking any questions about who he is, or trying to get to the bottom of this problem. He's fine with getting the guy out of prison without first confirming whether his story checks out or not. Even back in The Blue Spirit, when he was "under" Ozai's thumb, and Ozai's priorities should have been his own, he decides that it's more important for him to capture Aang himself, and somehow the show spins that situation into "hey, Zuko's not that bad :>" when... everyone knows he's not setting him free out of any selflessness on his part, in fact, it's the entire opposite.

So yeah, more sketchy Zuko things that remain unresolved, unaddressed and go ignored all the time. Again, things that don't make much sense with the character he's supposed to be. And as usual, it's stuff we're supposed to shrug off or make a thousand excuses for in order to always find a way to see Zuko as a perfectly good person, when, as I've said before, being good takes efforts Zuko often didn't bother making, not before his "change of heart", not afterwards either.

[rrasado]

No Spider Lilies : I

|| Act 2 of The Snapping ||

A/N: Ara? What’s this? I never thought I’d find myself wanting to actually re-end this accidental series dksjsn but...I wasn’t satisfied and frankly I’m craving an even more sorrowful route. Who knows? After all...this all deviates from the main story line in game. As usual I shall provide any necessary trigger warnings to ensure a safe reading for you all 💙🌒💙. Pleas tell if you want to be part of a tag list for the next parts. I’ll be using my past tag list as basis but if you don’t wanna be tagged next time don’t hesitate to tell me ^ ^.

Tagging: @starshiningsirius @dittoqueeno @thatweirdomidas @bnhastakenover

__________________________________________

And when death do them part…

...would it really fulfill that cruelty?

Storm clouds formed high above, raindrop cascading down on everything on the face of the earth indiscriminately. The residents of that lamenting house deep in the Devildom never really cared for such details lest it concerned them and their doings directly. At least...that was when they didn’t know how to care, so what happened?

__________________________________________

The records...the way the aged parchment felt in the exchange student’s hand just signified the reality of the parchment’s contents. No excuse can dismiss such news, especially one of this degree… They could barely speak in the moment, a few deafeningly silent minutes passed before they peered up at the Devildom prince’s own butler.

“I...thank you Barbatos…”

Their gratitude was much more meaningful than at face value, the scale of the revelation they had just received isn’t something to be taken lightly and since it especially concerns them, well…

“I trust that you’re taking all of it in?... I can only imagine how you feel right after...certain prior events.”

They both knew what the time bonded demon was referring to, after all it was him who escorted them to their new place of residence for the rest of their stay here at the Devildom. Hah..that was already two months ago. Now that they thought of it...Barbatos have always been there for them huh? The reveal...the dorm transfer requesting...and now this. Whether it was due to his time related prowess or sheer coincidence which- they honestly dismissed after everything that has come to play- the human was grateful.

“Yeah...I think...I’m actually thankful for this”

Barbatos blinked for a good few good seconds before arching a brow at their proclamation. Thankful? Does the human not know what the contents make of them? His confusion was brought to a close when MC casually waved the parchment, it’s sounds accompanied by the night wind that whizzed past the two in front of Purgatory Hall.

“I feared the worst, humans tend to...be easily toppled by the unexpected per se...Then again you are the great exception”

“Eheh I’m honored you hold me in high regard. Because it’ll make my next proposal a bit easier”

And yet again, the butler’s confusion returned, proposal? Well after everything that has spiraled leading up to where they stand it honestly wasn’t that far fetched to him, so with an affirmative nod he gestured for them to continue.

“Hearing of it won’t hurt, what is it you wish then?”

He didn’t miss the way MC’s lips tugged upward in subtle relief. The human’s gaze quickly flickered back to the contents of the parchment and without looking up they spoke.

“Can I count on you if I need to make a wretched departure?”

De...parture? He had a hunch but he needs more context…

“In what sense does this departure fall on for you to need my assistance?”

“Hm...a departure that looks grimmer to those you choose to be grim to.”

The two turned their heads to thewhite haired sorcerer. An ever knowing smirk on his expression as he stood there arms crossed. How long has he been eavesdropping? Not that MC minded...after all they’ve grown to actually trust the shady sorcerer along with the other two angelic residents of Purgatory Hall.

“Truth be told, I've been conducting research of my own… and to a pleasant surprise it seems my lead was not entirely off!”

Childish tone aside, his gaze showed no sign of jest nor kid. In one flick of his finger the old parchment apparated within Solomon’s grasp. And if possible the smug aura on his features grew twofold along with an amused chuckled escaping his parted lips. My oh my did he always manage to come so close yet far..

“Would you believe me if I said I was prepared to act on my pact in the making of this negotiation?”

“Fufufu I do believe that we’re still in the phase of hearing this proposal... I have yet to bestow a verdict so you shouldn’t speak so mightily Solomon.”

“And if I may continue..”

..

…

…..

“...I see…”

The sheer collateral damage at stake is something of its own degree when not tended to with precise caution. He's only delivered the news tonight and yet it was as if they’ve been concucting such a proposition for a considerable amount of time. Then again...the sorcerer did mention doing his own antics regarding the subject.

“With all that said...Barbatos, will you lend us a hand or a place at blade point?”

His shoulders rose and fell with the seconds that passed before he gave a slow curt nod at the two humans.

“Hm… if it means something, the young Lord did vow behind closed doors that he shall keep all the exchange students safe no matter what it may cost...and seeing as it will technically align with my duties..”

A chorus of amused laughter spilled from the magicless human, lips curled into a grin whilst the sorcerer could only let out a chuckle or two.

“Barbatos, I thank you. I know you won’t state it as is but, your help is very much appreciated”

“It really is, and it puts me at ease knowing I have you on our side in this whole issue…”

“If I may...I’d like to evaluate this more into much prefaced details. Would it be alright if we were to properly prepare this? After all...this especially concerns you, MC”

Said human gave an affirmative nod as their hands clasped behind their back, fiddling with their own exposed fingers as the late night breeze passed the three of them yet again.

“It’s best we all retire...who knows what’ll happen if we idle out here any longer, an interesting sight to see this particular roster of residents out of premises at this hour noh?”

“Point taken...well we’ll see you next time Barb”

“Yes...I bid you two a good evening and a hopefully peaceful night.”

A wish so innocent yet truthfully hard to attain...especially with the cruel revelation that brought the three of them together in the first place. They should learn to tread carefully from here on out. At least...that’s what Solomon thought. That same night breeze had passed the gardens, among which were multiple blossoms yet to bloom, all but one crimson lily...

__________________________________________

And from a starry night it all flickers to that unforgiving herd of rain clouds, their own right of sorrow spiraling along with those that received their cold moist. If followed...those raindrops fall onto someone crouched form, in front of a chipped tombstone amidst any ordinary cemetery that lays barren with the weather.

A lone umbrella covered the crouched form, rendering any other incoming rain from soaking the tuft of white hair any further. Mammon didn’t need to look up and see who it was offering cover. Levi didn’t care whether he himself got wet and frankly not even the rain water on his skin put him at any ease whatsoever. No one could be comforted at this point… And whatever it was to put the usually bickering brothers in such hushed silence…

“We gotta get going y’know…”

“...five more mins…”

“Lucifer is getting restless the more you push your luck-“

“Then let him dammit”

Levi didn’t even bother questioning his brother's lack of fear for the first born. Normally he would’ve made fun of it but… when his orange hued gaze fell on to what was even engraved on the chipped tombstone. It didn’t sit right with him, heck it didn’t sit right with any of them. And who could blame them...the guilt crawling on their backs never left when they saw them leave the House of Lamentation. At some point they thought of...eventually getting closure, some of them even had plans.

But now they won’t be able to attain such desirable closure, not when...they aren’t there to listen to their pathetic pleas.

A good few distance away from them was the Avatar of Wrath, observing all of his brothers from the side as he always had. His eyes flickered to each of their situations, emerald orbs not letting a single twitch of an eye nor brow going unnoticed. If allowed to be honest, he found them all utterly pathetic… and he’s already filtered out most dark thoughts that have plagued his mind. Besides, they deserved this, this torment didn’t compare to what those on the opposite end of their mistakes felt. He had every right to speak of so. Thankful for the cover the rain provided he took a sharp step to the side, turning his whole body to the other direction that had garnered a scoff of attention from the the laxer twin.

“..where are you going?”

Hearing Belphie’s question had Satan stop monetarily in his tracks, and without looking back at him he muttered a quick ‘somewhere’ before resuming his strides towards the direction of the cemetery gates.

Belphegor watched the blonde's figure go farther from where he stood, turning his attention back to his twin with a numb look on his features.

“It’s odd…”

A brow was raised at the sudden statement, but at the same time he completely understood what the glutton meant.

Their eyes setting sight on the tombstone mammon and Levi were idling in front of… ‘ A beloved friend and family’ written on the very same tombstone. MC’s full name carved elegantly on its face that used to seem so unreal when they first arrived but, the longer the twins looked the more it actually sank into them.

The human is dead.

Lilith’s descendant is dead.

Beel couldn’t even manage to stomach his food, he knew there was something off when he felt a sudden snuff of energy in the atmosphere that day. Not only him but all of them did...and to think it was actually this.

The guilt kept stacking.

But hidden in their walls of guilt the fourth brother allowed himself to be led towards the cemetery gates, left to his own grim thoughts he couldn’t help but to wonder if..all this will be for the better or for the worse… and in a fraction of a second he was snapped out of his thoughts. The flicker of a shadow barely registering in his peripheral vision..

.hah...

...He wished them all goodluck

__________________________________________

Me, a few months ago:

I’m a clown I know-

As always y’all know the drill, just say if any of you wanna be tagged in the next part ^ ^.

[hennike]

lamen princess bride... as you wish 🥺 w laurent as buttercup and damen as westley

“Rest, your highness. We continue when night falls.”

The pirate’s grip was warm around Laurent’s wrist, unrelenting.

“Unhand me,” Laurent demanded, snatching his arm away from him. He cradled his wrist in his other hand, and was surprised to find it without a bruise.

“That’s hardly polite, your highness—especially to the man who saved you.”

“Saved me, only to hold me hostage,” Laurent shot back. “A man like you deserves no courtesy.”

“Like me?” The pirate’s tone was mild, curious, as if he was simply indulging Laurent’s need for conversation. “And what kind of man am I? If you would be so kind, your highness.”

“I know who you are,” Laurent spat out. “You’re the dread pirate Charls.”

Oddly, the pirate seemed pleased. “You’ve heard of me?”

“A cruel pirate, who pilfers poor villages, and leaves in his wake hoards of bastards and trails of blood. The court never tires of your crusades,” Laurent said, disgusted.

“I serve at the pleasure of the nobility,” drawled the pirate. His nonchalance infuriated Laurent.

“You are a murderer,” Laurent spat. “You have blood on your hands, and you expect me to relish in your presence.”

The pirate snorted, turning amused eyes on Laurent. “So does your brother.”

Laurent paused. “My brother? How could you possibly know about my brother?”

“That is no matter,” the pirate said. He waved a hand in the air in dismissal, but something about his demeanor had shifted. Secretive. Laurent watched him warily. “What matters is your woeful hypocrisy.”

The comment carried with it a sting, and Laurent, against his better judgement, found himself rising to the pirate’s bait.

“My brother fought for his country.”

The pirate clicked his tongue, tutting as if to mock Laurent. “For country, for sport—what difference does it make?”

“The difference is that my brother fought for honor.” Laurent glared at the pirate, disdain toiling within him. “You are a coward, who hides behind a mask as he takes the lives of innocent men, men with families, children, lovers. By your hands, lives are lost in vain.”

He thought of Damen. His sweet, sweet Damen, who had set off in the hopes to make for himself and Laurent a better life, only to meet with the dread pirate Charls’s cruelty. Laurent looked away and watched as the clouds crawled past.

“You killed my love.” Laurent’s voice was strained. The grief he thought had muted over the years came back with a vengeance, his body aching with the sadness of a life with his love, lost. “You killed my love, and you expect me to thank you.”

The pirate was silent.

“All too possible, I suppose,” he finally replied. He appeared casual as he plucked grass at his feet. “I’ve killed many men. Tell me about your lover, then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your love,” the pirate said. “Was he a noble? Ugly? Rich? Scabby? I would expect nothing less.”

“No,” Laurent said. “A farm boy. He was poor. Poor, but kind, and warm, and perfect.”

The pirate scoffed. Laurent turned to him, defensive.

“He left, promising to return to me as soon as he was able. And then you”––Laurent rounded on the pirate, propelled by the force of his heartbreak––“on the high seas, you and your men attacked, and left no man alive, not even the cabin boy.”

“Yes, well,” the pirate said cheerfully. “It wouldn’t do to make any exceptions. That would only cause trouble for me. Mutinies abound, of course, and the reputation I’ve spent so many careful years building would all be for naught.”

“You mock my pain—”

“Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”

Laurent stared at the pirate, struck by his sudden sobriety. Something in him wanted to yell, wanted to shout and hurt, because of course, Laurent knew life was pain. Life was difficult, but Damen always made the burden easier to bear—but then he was gone, and the pain became inescapable.

“Although,” the pirate began, calling Laurent’s attention. He hadn’t even noticed it had strayed. “I recall this farm boy of yours. Five years ago, yes?”

Laurent remained silent. What would it accomplish, to reveal that he knew to the day how long it had been since news of Damen’s death landed itself on his doorstep?

“He died well––that should please you.” The pirate began to pace mindlessly, staring off into the distance in his recall. “Barely an ounce of fear in him. All he said was, ‘Please. I need to live.’ Something about a man he loved waiting for him.”

Laurent shut his eyes, breathing steadily to quell the grief caught in his chest. Oh, Damen.

“I assume, then, that you were the man he was referring to. He spoke of your beauty, of your wit and your enduring faithfulness. Only”—the pirate turned, eyes deadly and frightful behind his mask—“I feel I did him a favor. Look at you. It seems he overestimated your faith.”

“How dare you,” Laurent gasped, grave and seething in his disbelief. “Do not presume to know anything about me.”

“I know enough, highness,” the pirate said. He was angry, too, for reasons Laurent could barely divine. “Tell me, how long did it take until you landed in the prince’s bed? Had you at least the decency to wait a week out of respect, or were you so eager—”

Unbidden, Laurent’s hand shot out and met the pirate’s cheek with a devastating smack. “Another word, and I swear to you on all that is holy that you will not live to see the next day. I died that day.”

They watched each other, fire on fire, and Laurent realized with a start that the proximity between them had grown nearly non-existent. Laurent staggered back, as if burnt.

“Highness,” the pirate began, quietly. “Laurent.”

There was something so distinctly familiar about how the pirate had said his name, but Laurent could barely afford to pinpoint it, preoccupied as he was with stifling the ache spreading through him. Damen, he thought, how did we get here?

Suddenly, the pirate’s attention diverted as the rumble of horses filled the air, and Laurent took his chance.

“Help,” he yelled, moving determinedly towards the horses. He hardly cared who it was he was calling out to, as long as he wouldn’t have to look at the pirate a moment longer. “Torveld!”

He began to ran when fingers closed around his wrist again, tugging him against a solid chest. The pirate.

The pirate crouched behind a boulder, taking Laurent with him. One gloved hand covered Laurent’s mouth, muffling Laurent’s yelling.

“Hush,” the pirate whispered into Laurent’s ear, breath hot. His other arm wound itself around Laurent’s waist, tightening. “They’ll find us.”

Inexplicably, Laurent listened, although his mind raced. There it was again, that familiarity, like a puzzle one step away from completion. “Let go of me,” Laurent said, thinking and thinking and thinking—

And then, the pirate said, “As you wish.”

The world stopped.

“What?”

Laurent turned, and watched as the pirate tore off his mask.

“Laurent,” said Damen.

“Damen,” said Laurent.

The sound of hooves landing heavy on earth grew louder and louder, and Damen stood, his hand back around Laurent’s wrist. “We need to run.”

Without another word, they ran. Laurent forced himself to pay attention to where they were going, to the landscapes passing by them, to the terrain their tired feet stepped on, if only because he could hardly focus on anything else. Every time he looked, there Damen was, leading the way.

Damen.

Breathing. Running. Alive. His Damen.

They stopped at a clearance far from where they had fled, Damen dropping to the ground as his chest heaved with the effort to catch his breath. Laurent, just as spent, moved to his side.

“You,” Laurent began, then stopped. What words were there for when the man you thought you’d lost forever was suddenly in front of you?

“I,” Damen said, turning bright eyes on Laurent.

“I must be dead,” Laurent whispered. He was careful, cautious, as if one wrong move might whisk him away from this moment. “There is no other explanation.”

“We’re quite alive,” said Damen. He brought a hand up to caress Laurent’s cheek. “A reunion would have been easier in the afterlife.”

Laurent barked out a laugh, but it came out sounding like a sob.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Damen said, bringing his other hand up so that we was cradling Laurent’s face in his palms. “Please, please, no. You know how it hurts me to see you cry.”

“Damen,” Laurent said, and relished in the warmth of Damen’s touch. He wrapped a hand around Damen’s wrist, feeling the warm give of skin and the hardness of muscle and bone. “This is real.”

“Yes.” Damen wrapped his arms around Laurent and pulled him closer, into his lap. Laurent could do nothing else but wrap his arms around Damen in return, holding him tightly. “I told you I’d return, didn’t I?” he murmured into Laurent’s hair.

“I waited, then you died.”

“Death cannot stop true love,” Damen said. “All it can do is delay it for a while.”

Laurent pulled back and looked at Damen, his heart throbbing painfully in his chest. “All these years, my memory served me well,” he said after a long moment. “You’re as handsome as I remember, on the day you said goodbye.”

“Laurent,” said Damen, pained.

“Tell me this is it,” Laurent said, desperate. “I waited a lifetime, and grieved for longer. You have returned to me. Tell me the waiting is over.”

“This is it,” Damen answered, his voice urgent. He rested his forehead against Laurent, and Laurent was dizzy with the warmth of him.

“Kiss me.” Laurent ran his hands through Damen’s curls, feeling the bare weight of them between his fingers. He repeated, firmer, “Kiss me.”

“As you wish,” Damen said, and kissed Laurent breathless.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 34)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 6k (I know I shouldn’t say sorry but...sorry 🥺)

Warnings: The usual, passing mentions of (past) sexual assault

A/N: This basically has no Ivar, for obvious reasons, so I know it is long but I didn’t want to leave you guys with two weeks before the story moves forward Ivar-wise. Sorry for the long chapter, and sorry if this isn’t very much to your liking, I tried lol.

Again with me and animals and references to deities: howling dogs are symbols of Melinöe, Greek Goddess of madness, nightmares, and ghosts; though there’s a duality to be associated with her, that for the sake of this story I took to her influence being both of nightmares and dreams, of madness and comfort; because she is represented in Freydis (or I attempt that) and she isn’t just a bitch, y’know? Melinöe is also considered a daughter of Persephone but in some stuff she is put together with her as one and referred to as a nymph and queen too.

You don’t think you’ve been able to lower your eyes from the skies since that day. Almost two weeks have gone by, and you start thinking maybe you imagined her voice behind you, imagined a ghost whispering somehow they had survived.

Sitting carefully on the ground, batting away the hand that Galla extends to try and help you, you start, “You know Lysander wants to make you his.”

She doesn’t miss a beat when she replies casually, “He has already.”

Galla only snorts at your scandalized expression.

“I mean make you his wife.” You explain with a shake of your head, returning your gaze ahead.

“I won’t leave you behind.”

“You would be the wife of the most powerful man in free Greece.”

“Or I could be the second in command of the most powerful woman in free Greece,” She retorts just as easily. After a moment, Galla sighs, “The Gods brought us together as children, my friend. Time couldn’t separate us, nor distance.

She lifts her hand to touch the side of your waist, where the bandages still press at the burnt skin.

“Not even death could separate us,” She vows, before offering a smile and turning back ahead, “Your Fate and mine are intertwined.”

And now here you sit, on a familiar clearing somewhere near Kattegat’s coast, watching the sun rise and not knowing how to decide between looking at the sea waiting for those ships to return or at the sky waiting for the falcon to guide you.

You hear soft footsteps behind you, but you do not turn to watch Freydis approach. The heavy winds blow at your hair, your gaze focused on the sea that accompanies the winds in their chaos.

“What are you doing here?”

“I want you to know I am sorry.” Freydis whispers from behind you, the pain that forces her voice to break making your eyes fall closed as if you can keep the compassion away by guarding back tears.

You offer her a nod and, as always, she understands your silent words, sitting beside you on the cold grass. Almost shoulder to shoulder but not quite.

Saying you forgive her would hurt your pride, saying there’s nothing to be sorry for would be a lie.

“You betrayed me.” Is what you state, a reminder both for her and you.

Freydis nods her head, not hesitating.

“I did.”

You smile, but it is watery and broken and weak.

“I should kill you.”

A few beats of silence, and…

“You should.”

“But I won’t,” You confess, angry at yourself, smiling at your own weakness, “Too soft a heart.”

“It isn’t a fault.”

“Isn’t it?” You quip bitterly.

Freydis sighs, “You are warm, and good, and soft. Don’t…don’t let this place change that, harden you more than it already has.”

“I have no reason to heed your advice now, Freydis.”

“Yet you do anyways.”

You consider her words in silence, accompanied only by the distant sound of a busy world at your backs and the waves breaking at the coast in front of you.

“I-…once you and I would have been one and the same,” Your arms wrap around your legs, bringing your knees closer to your chest, like you can keep the cold hand of regret from gripping your heart if you hold yourself tight enough. “Back in my city, in my kingdom…I did all you ask out of me now. I fooled a man into loving me, into believing everything I told him. I could have told him he was a God, and he would have walked this earth as if he were one. It is a terrible thing, what love can do to us,” Your last words fall from your lips in a breath that could be a sob, but with your lips pressed tightly into a line you breathe deeply and continue, “I did to him all I know I could do now. I laid with him, I held and kissed him, I whispered promises in his ear, I gave him my hand, I…I told him I loved him.”

Freydis says nothing for a few moments, but then her voice, rougher than usual, not so carefully feminine, not so mechanically dainty, asks, “What happened to him?”

You offer her a shrug, “He died. For his arrogance, for my hesitation, for…our mistakes,” Resting your chin on your knees, you keep your gaze on the horizon and explain, “He was my friend, I knew him since we were children and when I returned to Attica he was…”

She offers her strength when your words die, “In power.”

“I knew he wanted me. We women always do, don’t we?” A small chuckle, you don’t know from whose lips, “A-And I used it against him, I…hardened my heart and I pretended to want him too, to love him too.”

“In exchange for what?”

“His strength, his army. When the Byzantines sent their Christians to…convert us, he and his men fought for our frontiers, cut down their numbers.” You answer automatically, and past the pain there’s pride making your voice unwavering.

“Nothing, compared to what you could get now.”

“And yet I don’t want it, not like this. Not this time.” You vow, jaw set tight and eyes certain when they find her own. Freydis offers only a nod to signal she accepts your choice -or pretends to-, and silence reigns for a while between you.

It feels comfortable, familiar, even if you know it shouldn’t.

“Does Ivar know of that man?”

“Of course he does,” You reply instantly, turning to her with the beginning of a cruel smile on your lips, “Surely you don’t think I trust you more than I trust him.”

She returns the same kind of smile, “Once, you did.”

“And look where that trust has left me.”

She scoffs, “You speak as if trusting him was any better. After all he did to you.”

“Freydis…” You warn, and the blond shrugs, looking ahead with stubborn determination.

“Not a smart thing, I know.” She acquiesces anyways, remembering your words from the last time you talked.

She stays silent, reminding you starkly of that night where she found you pleading with Gods that didn’t answer to explain why your Fate had to be so, reminding you of how she sat next to you in silence, hesitant at how to be honest, true, soft.

But yet she remains at your side. A prisoner awaiting judgement, or a snake awaiting the chance to strike, you do not know.

“Why did you do it? Why tell him of that merchant?”

“I wanted to…understand. I wanted answers. To whether you’d leave if given the chance, to whether he’d believe you would.”

“That’s…”

“Cruel?” She finishes for you, before offering another shrug. “Maybe. He has done worse. You have done worse.”

She has a point.

“Why…why make him believe I see a monster when I look at him?”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t.” You reply, maybe more forcefully than you should have, but you’re frankly tired of games.

“Because it is what he already believed,” She answers simply, as if the answer is clear for everyone to see. “You know the man you married; he needs certainty. He held on to the certainty that you’d leave him, and I had no interest in seeing him believe otherwise.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know if the case is other,” Freydis shrugs, and turns to you, “Is it true? Do you love him?”

Your mouth curves into a half-smile, “You expect me to trust you with a secret now?”

Freydis falters, and loses a bit of her edge, a bit of her unwavering resolve.

You think Ivar isn’t the only one that needs certainty, but you keep your mouth shut.

She offers a sigh as she turns to face the horizon, “It isn’t a secret.”

You leave her behind on that hill overlooking the sea, hearing the faint sound of dogs howling in the distance, and it feels like you leave behind a part of you.

____

Days pass, and the dreams don’t cease, and you wake up still hearing hissing snakes and howling dogs and…Gods, you might lose your mind soon.

You could tell yourself it is the dreams, the messages from the Gods, what makes you sit down in front of her in the apothecary, a mortar in your hands. You could tell yourself it is morbid curiosity, the desire to hear how she has betrayed you once again, what makes your movements so alike hers that first time when she sat before you and offered you a smile.

You could tell yourself many things, but we don’t change the truth by spinning a different tale.

Freydis doesn’t lift her gaze, but you notice her take a deep breath as you start grinding the herbs across from her.

“You vowed once that I would regret it if I ever betrayed you,” She states, and her dainty voice wavers. Freydis closes her eyes, “Well, I regret it. I…you have no idea how much I regret what I did.”

“I don’t care about regret, Freydis.”

Her expression falters, and you could swear there’s tears shining in her blue eyes. Her lip trembles, and…Gods, this is the first time you have seen her without a mask on, isn’t it?

“I-I love you,” She offers. An excuse, a plea, an accusation. “I…I…”

“What you did, you did out of love?” You ask, spitting back the words she said when the bodies of those merchants were still fresh. When you were surrounded by the evidence of Ivar’s cruelty and the results of her games.

“I did.” She promises, voice frail and small.

You look into her eyes, and ponder on the weight of such a small word.

“Narses tried silencing me, pushed me to be meek and obedient. He called it love, I stayed quiet and pretended that was what love was,” You tell her, voice quiet, “My mother left me without any explanation, handed my freedom to a man I didn’t know. I’m sure she called it love, but she isn’t here for me to tell her it felt like…abandonment.

Your gaze lowers to your hands, and it is both to you and to her that you admit the truth as the words leave your lips,

“Ivar put chains on me and dragged me all the way to his kingdom, forced me to be his wife. If you were to have asked him then, he would have called it love, though now both of us would admit that it was something else.

She answers with silence, and it unsettles you, but you don’t loosen the straight line of your spine, you don’t lose the hardened edge in your eyes as you lift them back up to meet Freydis’.

“You played games with me as a pawn, you were responsible for the death of innocents, you hurt me,” You bite back the anger, but it still resonates in your voice as it raises, “You toyed with Ivar’s head, you caused him pain. And you called it love,” You spit out the last words, but Freydis holds her ground, not hesitating in holding your gaze, “That isn’t love, Freydis. Betrayal isn’t love.

A barely-there flinch, but you notice it. And a part of you that you shouldn’t allow to be is cruelly delighted in hurting her.

“Trusting someone, trusting them enough to fulfill their promises, trusting them enough to be honest, that I do call love.”

She lifts her chin, and insists, although there isn’t accusation in her tone when she speaks.

“You trusted me, once.”

“I did. Because I loved you, and I love you still,” And there it is where your resolve falters, at the admission of why it hurts the way it does, why it stings and tears and breaks. Your smile is hopeless and it trembles on your lips, “You were the first kind face I saw here, you were-…you are someone that makes me feel…safe.”

“You make me feel safe too,” She confesses, before frowning and lowering her gaze. “You make everything complicated. Everything stops making sense and I…I shouldn’t have done what I did. I…would you believe me if I told you I am jealous of him?”

And for a moment the smell of mint overpowers anything else. You shake your head, dispelling the scent and any other thoughts.

You watch carefully as Ivar extends curious fingers to one of the newer plants you brought in. He plucks a leaf without any consideration, but you hold your tongue and watch him bring it to his nose.

“Mint,” You tell him without prompting, “Mint was a nymph, once. Did I ever tell you of why Hiereiai don’t take their marriage vows lightly?”

His lips pull into a slow smile as his eyes turn to you, and he shakes his head.

“Well, the God and Goddess of the Underworld are, in their own way, symbols of loyalty, and fidelity. They never stray, they never betray one another.

You cross the distance between you and take a seat next to Ivar on the cushioned lounge, watching with a small smile as he continues to twirl the small leaf of mint between his fingers.

“Of course, there are those who try testing that. The tale goes that there was a nymph that used to stride through the fields of flowers with the maiden my Goddess once was. This nymph, a beautiful and alluring woman, was...fascinating enough that Lord Hades desired her, and made her his, long before he set eyes on who then would be his wife.

You settle better on your place as you recall the old story, a story you have known and cherished for so long that, like so many others, it feels like a part of your own story by now.

“But when he abducted my Goddess and made her Queen, the nymph was forgotten, discarded. Nothing in the eyes of the God of the Dead compared to his wife, you see,” You share a smile with your husband, a smile that makes your heart quicken its beat in your chest, and continue, “Still, the nymph boasted that the new Queen of the Underworld was no match to her beauty, to her wit. And so, it is said that in that field where Hades first saw his wife, Minthe would wait, trying to seduce the God back to her side.”

“Did she succeed?”

You shake your head with a slight chuckle, “Some say Hades was enraged at the mere thought of failing his promise to his wife, and witness to such poor mimicry of the Goddess he loved, he struck Minthe there, turned her into a pitiful plant,” Ivar discards the small leaf and bends down to reach for your legs, making you rest them across his lap. You settle better, grateful for the relief from the cold, and trying not to tremble like some foolish maiden at the rhythmic caress of rough hands up and down your calves, you continue, “Others say it was my Goddess, and not her husband, the one that answered the call, and that she punished Minthe for the offense of trying to take what is hers. And so mint is untoched by each passing spring not as a mercy, but as an act of cruelty by the Goddess that scorns her.”

“Maybe the nymph was after your Godess, though. Maybe it was Kore she wanted the love of, and she scorned Hades for taking her from her,” He offers, and you startle, leaning back. Still, you are unable to keep the smile that curves at your lips. Ivar shrugs, and his smile is a little darker when he continues, “Your Mistress turned a God into a thief, you think she couldn’t turn a nymph into something else too?”

Your chest feels tight, because you do have a soft heart, and a part of you never stopped being the foolish girl that used to whisper to the plants she kept with her in the Silk Roads that if they fought and grew she would protect them and keep them alive.

Voice soft and low, you promise, “You won’t ever lose me because of Ivar,” But because you cannot help it, because a part of you never stopped being the woman that prided herself in killing and dying to protect those she loved, you add, “The same way Ivar won’t ever lose me because of you.”

Freydis focuses on her work, and for a while you remain in silence, for so long you start thinking she won’t speak again.

But she does, more than a bit of anger -though not at you- in her tone when she states,

“You don’t know what it is like, being alone. I have been at the hands of the worst of men, I have been beaten, starved, raped, humiliated,” And the woman that could be a nightmare to any man raises her chin, coldness in her eyes and strength in the straight line of her spine. You hide your pride and pain, both for her, and remain silent. Freydis smiles brokenly to herself, tears finally falling down her face, “I know fear, and I know pain, I have known them for a long time. And yet, the worst thing in this world is not being broken, defiled, or in chains,” A deep breath, some of the strength wavers, “The worst thing is, in such a wide world, being...alone.”

A small smile curves at your lips when you think that Freydis was the first person to treat you like…well, a person, aside from Ivar. She didn’t see a witch, a woman here to fool their King, a Saxon spy, a foreigner.

She saw you, more clearly than you would have thought then, you realize now; but she saw you, and she was friendly, and kind, and just honest enough.

She stands before you in the dark, in the whirlwind of chaos that Ivar and Fate have brought to your life. She sees your tears, and there’s rage in her blue eyes.

Still, she offers honesty, she offers relief, she offers a stretched hand, “You aren’t alone.”

She never left you alone.

“I…guess I have been fortunate. I have always had people at my side.” You whisper quietly, but you don’t think she hears the silent gratitude in your voice.

“More fortunate than you know, witch,” She agrees, nodding to herself. She turns her body to you, facing you directly and fiercely, even if regret swims in those blue eyes, “I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want you to be alone either. I am sorry, for what I did, for what I...do.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Freydis. It is done,” You interrupt, pressing your lips into a line and hoping this is not a mistake when you offer, “What matters is what you choose now.”

The blonde shrugs, a small, apologetic and broken smile on her lips, “I…love you. I want to be someone you can trust, I want…I want to deserve your trust.”

Stupidly, naively maybe, you believe her. So, you agree with a nod of your head, and return your gaze to the dried herbs you’re working on, “Alright, then it shall be so.”

“I…I, uh, I don’t-…”

“I love you, Freydis.” You whisper, stealing a glance to her wide eyes and when your gaze meets hers you hope she knows you are honest.

The girl’s lip trembles for a moment before she returns her gaze ahead, and she lifts her chin, proud and refusing to admit the weakness of emotion. You stifle a small pleased smile when you see her, and it is only the question that leaves her lips next that keeps you from embracing her.

“So, are you planning on staying?”

If Stithulf were to die today…

“That’s…not a question I want to answer.” You offer nervously, mouth suddenly dry and heart skipping a few beats.

“You feel you must return to Greece. Your home calls to you.”

Yoi shake your head, “I don’t know where my home is. But…I have a legacy to uphold. My mother and father died for my freedom, I cannot turn my back on their sacrifice for…”

“Love?” She supplies when you quieten, startling you both with her implication and her certainty when she continues, “You put your duty before love once, and you still shed tears for it. Do you want to do it again?”

No.

You shake your head, ridding yourself of useless and jumbled thoughts, and close your eyes against the torrent of emotions and fears and hopes. You reach for a batch of dried Feverfew and Chamomile, and offer her half so she starts working.

“We must now just…hope the winter is kind to us. And when spring comes…we will see.”

If your voice is ragged, if your eyes shine, she does not mention it, instead taking the herbs and lowering her gaze.

After a while of comfortable silence, the blonde asks,

“What does spring mean to you?”

“Change,” You reply easily, although it never is. “Whether we want it or not.”

“To us it means war. They go raiding again, they go kill and die again, when spring comes.

The day goes by, and you two sit there, shoulder to shoulder, Varangian to Greek, woman to woman, surrounded by the one place where you can feel warm while Ivar is gone.

A call of your name interrupts the easy nothingness of your mind, and you turn your attention to Freydis as she offers you her hand, stretched between you like who seals a deal.

“Wherever your Gods or mine take you, I shall be at your side,” She promises, her smile a little hungry and a little happy. “I swear it.”

Your eyes go to her outstretched hand, and for some reason it reminds you of the fists over the hearts of thousands of Attics, vowing loyalty to an Anassa you don’t know if you can be.

“I don’t need a slave, Freydis,” You say cautiously, lifting your gaze to her certain and unwavering blue eyes. “I need a friend.”

“I’ll learn,” She promises, fierce, a small smile on her lips that speaks of a woman that wants to swallow the world. You return it, even if guardedly, and grab tightly at her forearm as she does the same. “You have my word.”

____

You don’t know how long it has been, where you’ve stood there like who has seen a ghost, watching the falcon circling the longhouse.

Zephyr.

It is close to dusk, too close for any wild animal to be hunting. You know it is him, you know it like you know winter approaches fast.

You step out from the longhouse, your feet trailing after nothing, your eyes on the horizon, on the trees beyond the walls, where you know a ghost awaits.

Zephyr, loyal beast that he always was, lands on a nearby roof with a screech, as if finally content that you’ve heard his call.

You watch him take off again, go far past the walls, and try to think of a way out of Kattegat.

____

There’s a prayer being whispered past your lips, where you plead this isn’t the choice that dooms you.

You loom over Freydis’ sleeping form and reach a quiet hand to press over her mouth. Her blue eyes open, startled, but you shush her with a gesture. She relaxes soon enough, and you cautiously remove your hand from her mouth. The blonde girl sits up, a thousand questions written in her eyes that you promise you’ll answer once she comes outside with you.

She does, and the darkness of the city feels suffocating when you turn to her.

“You once told me a slave, better than anyone, knows of the ways out of a kingdom.” You whisper.

A few moments of silence, of baited breath, where you almost consider she will scream for the guards, sell your secrets to whoever will listen for a pat in the back. But she finally presses her lips together, and gives you a firm nod.

She guides you in the comfort of darkness to a path you did not know of, and with expertise she predicts the marching feet of the guards, motioning for you to move.

“You don’t have much time. If you don’t return before the sun rises…”

“I will return.” You promise, eyes already set on the path she pointed to.

You follow the impatient cries of a falcon through misty woods, catching your stumbling steps by grabbing into the branches and the trunks of trees. Night usually feels suffocating, but the promise of reunion and the hope beating in your chest keep you from feeling anything but anticipation.

A whisper of your name, and your eyes, already used mildly to the complete darkness, catch the slim figure waiting by one of the trees.

“Galla!” You exclaim, thinking too late of keeping your voice low. In no time you are embracing her and she you, hushed relieved laughs escaping your lips.

She’s real, and solid, and warm under your hands. She’s alive.

“I’ve missed you. I thought the worse, when we lost sight of you in Dublin.”

You shake your head, a watery laugh making its way past your lips.

“I was told you were all dead,” You shut your eyes tight, angry at your own foolishness, “I should have known better than to trust that Christian’s word.”

“We lost about a third of our people, seven hundred or so, those too weak to run or fight. And less than a hundred are either with Stithulf or elsewhere,” She whispers grimly, “But we are faring well, we scavenged and stole what we needed. We will set up, but far from here, lest we are seen as a threat while Kattegat’s King is away.”

A part of you wants to find a way to let Kattegat give them the support they need, but…but if you were planning on letting Ivar know the Greeks live, you wouldn’t have snuck out in the middle of the night.

You swallow thickly, and ask,

“Have you heard from Sieghild? Have they…found Narses?”

She shakes her head sadly, “Nothing but rumors about your mother. And Narses…he is probably buried in a Christian grave.”

With your eyes on hers, with trembling hands, with a hope you haven’t dared voice making the words that come out of your lips hoarse, you whisper, “Maybe h-…”

Galla interrupts you with another shake of her head, “I saw how the Varangians took him down. That he reached you before collapsing was a last mercy from Ares.”

You told Narses on the eve of the last battle he fought that if he insisted on holding against the onslaught of Ivar the Boneless’ forces, that if he sacrificed your people for a Christian’s dream of revenge; and dared survive, you would kill him yourself. But nor the vitriol of your last encounter or the resentment that grew in your last months together can keep you from sobbing his name when the reality of him not existing anymore settles in your chest.

There’s a finality to having someone that knew him, that saw the warmth in his eyes and heard his voice and his laugh, tell you he is gone.

“That fool.” You croak out, furrowing your brow as useless tears fall down your face.

“I’m sorry.” Galla whispers, but you shake your head. The dead don’t need your tears, they are in a better place. Or so you were told.

“Let’s pray the Mistress is merciful when she greets him,” You offer in response after a few minutes of silence, before resting your shoulder against a tree and asking, “How did you know I was in Kattegat?”

“Word of a Greek witch becoming wife to a famous Viking runs fast,” She offers, the word that the Norsemen have for their people still strange in her tongue. With a smile, Galla continues, “Wife and Queen. Only you would be stupidly brave enough to survive Ivar the Boneless.”

“I’m going to ignore the ‘stupid’ part.” You tease softly, still smiling at a ghost.

She chuckles, and continues, “I have been getting closer and closer to this place for weeks now.”

Your brow furrows, and you cannot keep yourself from asking, “And you deemed it safe? You somehow knew I was going to be able to cross the walls.”

“You are free here, freer than...than you have been in a long time, I think. I don’t know the King, but I’ve heard how his wife seems sent by the Gods, both for his sake and his home’s. And I do know you, and I know you wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes you made with Narses.”

You swallow past a knot in your throat, “What are you saying?”

“There’s no man in this world that could force a ring on your hand,” She states dryly, not an edge of hesitation in her voice. “Was your mother right, after all?”

“My mother?”

“That it would take a Viking man to tame a daughter of hers.”

She betrays a smile, and you let go of a tension you didn’t know you were holding. With a lift of your eyebrow, you say,

“Do I look tamed, Galla?”

Her smile widens, gleeful and a little devious, like all her smiles always have been; and Galla shakes her head, reaching for your left hand and lowering her gaze to your ring.

“You’ve heard of Laconia, have you not?” She asks casually, rough finger tracing the flowers engraved in the band on your fourth finger.

“I have.”

Dark eyes meet yours, “We have a place to fall back to. A safe haven to regroup, to gather our strength again.”

“And retake Attica,” You finish for her, straightening your back. “We’d have Sparta’s army, and Lysander’s victory instills fear in the Christians.”

Galla only looks at you in silence, considering you with the probing gaze of someone so used to shadows you sometimes believe she doesn’t see people and instead sees secrets.

“As an Attic, by heart if not by blood, I ought to ask my Anassa to lead us,” She sentences, making your heart drop. After a moment, she adverts her eyes from yours, licks her lips and breathes for a moment before continuing, “But I have seen you die, too many times for me to rest easy at night.”

“Galla?”

She takes a deep breath.

“As myself, as the woman that loves you, I’m asking my oldest and dearest friend not to return to fight a war she lost already,” She finishes, at the way you frown and step back only pushing forward, “Narses is dead, there’s no chains binding you to us.”

“I am one of you!”

Galla shakes her head, unmovable, “Not fully. You’re not fully theirs either, but-…”

“No,” You sentence, meeting her eyes and stepping forward again. Though your voice is hushed, you try summoning all your strength to the words you speak, “Circumstance doesn’t change my nature. I am Greek, I am Hiereia, I am your Anassa.”

It feels like heavy chains being put on your wrists, to admit that, to accept that. It feels like the same chains Ivar had men put on your wrists, before he took you from everything you loved.

“And you are his wife, you are their Queen.”

You will not hear anymore of this. It is pointless, it is something you could argue on for hours on end and never reach a solution. It is something that pulls tight at your chest with every passing breath where you have to be aware of how much Fate truly manages to tear you in two.

“Find our people a safe place to spend winter at. More than one town will grant you shelter until spring in exchange for labor in the last harvest of the year,” You order, eyes looking at the nothingness ahead of you as you try finding a way. “Don’t let them know you’re Greeks.”

“And your husband? You think anyone can keep a man like him from knowing about us? We are a threat, Greek or not.”

“He doesn’t have to know I know,” You sentence, even though you know it is a foolish choice. If you can just keep these two worlds apart for a while longer… “Galla, I just…need more time. Allow me this winter.”

“And when spring comes?”

You offer a shrug, “Change will come with it.”

“I won’t force you t-…”

“You should know by now forcing me to do something doesn’t work out particularly well,” You interrupt, trying to find resolve in all this madness. Eyeing the forest around you, you find yourself needing to say goodbye again. “I hope the winter is kind. If…if something happens, if you need me…send Zephyr to the skies, and I’ll be here.”

You embrace her, tightly and with a hint of anger at Fate for making you mourn her for so long, and she does the same, for so long the cold seeps into you when you step away.

“Stay safe, may the Gods watch over you.”

Galla smiles, “Our Gods and theirs, may they be with you.”

____

You have wondered, in the days that pass since you have last seen her, if this is selfish of you. Wanting to remain in this world in between worlds. Wanting more time.

Maybe it is selfish of you, maybe it is cruel, maybe it is hopeless. You still pray, as the nights grow longer and the days colder, that as Persephone returns to her husband, not only do they allow yours to return to you, but that they allow you more time.

Your life, your death, is in their hands; all you ask for is time.

This morning, when you walk out the door of the longhouse as the cold sun rises, you extend a hand, and feel the faintest of snowflakes falling on your skin, melting over the back of your hand like a kiss.

“My Queen!” Someone calls out, and you turn to the boy that comes running towards you, “The ships, we see them.”

Your heart leaps in your chest, restlessness taking a hold of you, impatient feet wishing to forget pretenses and run to those docks.

“T-Thank you.” You tell him, and he leaves with bow of his head back to where he came from. For a few moments too long, you linger in the idea of going to the docks to wait for them.

“It’s still a while for the ships to get here, you mad woman.” Hvitserk calls out from behind you, and you turn to him with a smile.

“They told you.”

“Mhm. I told you they’d return in time,” Hvitserk quips, putting his arm around you and hugging you to his side for a moment. “Now you’re stuck with my bother for the winter.”

He accompanies you to the healers, and helps you work on getting everything ready for the injured or sick that may need assistance when the warriors finally land.

Before long, able to distract yourself with your work, you find yourself watching with baited breath as the ships dock.

You meet familiar eyes and kiss familiar lips, and the world ceases to exist.

The cold of winter is biting over your exposed skin, and you were taught, all your life, that the dawning of winter meant the grief of a mother losing her child, meant a maiden was taken from the place she belonged and the world withered in her absence.

It doesn’t feel like death, winter. It doesn’t feel like absence, like grief. Like a departure.

It feels like warmth, winter. It feels like home, like love. Like a return.

____ ____ ____

Obvious references to the God Ivar storyline are obvious. But, as much as I vehemently hate that plot, it gave us Freydis as we know her, and I love writing her, so I had to reference it.

Is it absolutely fucking stupid to trust Freydis again? Yes. Is she doing it anyways? Also yes. Soft heart, what can I tell ya.

Oh, and yeah, Minthe is also a deity I related to Freydis. Many times during the story, especially in ‘key’ moments where Freydis is witness to something between the Reader and Ivar, the Reader mentions smelling mint. Surprise lol. Just a little nod to a nymph that wanted to fuck Hades and to Persephone’s jealousy, that’s about it. But Ivar’s take on it is my favorite bit of that flashback, even if mythology-wise it doesn’t make a lick of sense lol.

Anyhow, hope you liked this! Would love to hear your thoughts on it, and thank you so so much for reading!! I love ya!

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