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jadelynlace · 3 years ago

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Ink Drinker / Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader], Chapter 5

catch up here!

synopsis: Ivar was only meant to be a friend with benefits, but he caught feelings for his older brother’s best friend, and co-worker: you.

pairing: Ivar x F!Reader

***content warning [PLEASE READ]: this chapter is quite gruesome, please read at your own risk. yes this is based off of a trauma call I actually went to, and yes I am sparing some of the sicker details because it truly was one of the worst calls I had ever walked in on. and yes, it actually happened this way and yes, this helps me heal from it. ok, that is all.

author’s note: I’m so sorry.

✎

A sinful noise comes from Ivar’s mouth in the exact moment you entered in through the threshold. Truthfully, the sound sent a shiver down your spine, worrisome as the twenty four hour shift ended and Ivar had chosen to go to your flat last night, not his own.

“Why are you in my house, Ivar?�� You say to him, eyes scanning over his half naked body as it tangled throughout the sheets, biceps set to curling around the rather feminine color of your duvet.

“Good morning to you too,” Ivar says back with a yawn that croaks from his mouth as he pulls the covers back. “Come lay with me,” Your mind rolls ideas between your ears, behind your eyes as you calculate why Ivar willingly came to your empty place the night prior, when he knew you were working yourself to death on the back of a never ending ambulance.

“That didn’t answer my question, Ivar,” Your voices teases him as you walk about the small space, pulling pins from your collar. He goes silent after your statement, moving the blankets to cover his face out of a twinge of embarrassment, not sure how you would take to learning that he felt better here. Felt happier, even when you weren’t home it gave him that sense that he wasn’t alone. You peek your head back to make out the large mound under the duvet, Ivar rolling under it and flopping on to his stomach. Tossing the discarded blues into your hamper, the tags, keys, pins and your tactical belt are all put away neatly in their homes as you pull on a shirt that no longer has a real shape to it. Ivar’s eyes peel open when you creep the covers off of his face, the cold air rushing against his skin and you’re in his vision—not as blurry to his glasses-less eyes as you make way to snuggle into him.

“Don’t want to creep you out,” Ivar says to you lowly, voice hoarse like sandpaper, scratching in its new use and you only turn your head to give him a sideways look. “It makes me feel better to be here,” He finally admits, fingers busying themselves with the loose hem on your shirt as he still won’t look at you. “Makes me feel less alone even if you’re not here,” You want to sigh, you want to cup his cheeks and push them together like he’s a toddler who’s being too damn adorable for your undertaking, but you can’t. These are words that took him a while to finally speak, progress for what darkness seems to leech in his mind at all hours, and now only a sliver of light comes through because he’s telling you how he feels. The reasoning behind it all, the baring of his soul on the bedsheets and stark naked with his emotions.

“You can come here whenever you want Ivar, you know that.” You say back, eyes searching his and they close briefly, sighing in a moment of relief because you’re not throwing him out on to the street for his choice. “Anything that makes you feel better, you should do,” You tell him, a peck to the corner of his mouth as you settle against him. “As long as it’s legal,” You add quickly, picking your head up in haste to move your point across and Ivar only chuckles as you do.

“You know what makes me feel better?” Ivar whispers and he’s climbs over you, pressing a weight to rein over you and you giggle. Sluggish as he moves with his hair tickling your face and he’s finally made the leeway with his figure, bending his forearms to catch his weight.

“What makes you feel better?” You ask him, looking up at this man who is so hopelessly in love with you he doesn’t even care to hide it on his face.

“You make me feel better,” Ivar tells you and the words hardly escape before his lips are against yours. Languid and soft, relishing in how your nails scratch up his back, humming as they press along his skin like keys on a piano and he finally drops his weight. Laying over you as his lips find their place on your pulse point, grazing the skin like thousands of little needles and you let a breathless moan pass from your tongue. Ivar only hums in response as his mouth stays busy, splotching you and navigating the skin to make sure more of the dots will stay hidden when you put your blues back on. His forehead rests on the length of your collarbone, his hand moving around the mattress to find yours. “I’ve never been in love until I met you,” Ivar whispers against you skin, sinking the praise into your pores and it shatters your heart but repairs it just as quickly. Resting his cheek he finally looks up at you, dragging his fingertips down your nose and there’s a low light that’s dancing off of his features, paling his blue eyes as he gazes at you.

“I love you, too Ivar,” You say softly and you mean the sentence with every single fiber in your body. You’d say it until you were blue in the face if it helped to heal every demon in his mind. He smiles as you say it, like he still can’t believe his luck.

“Want you—but I know you’re tired,” He mumbles and his lips take back to the game against your skin and you know he doesn’t mean to try to turn you in his favor. But you tell him about the coffee you had—more than you should have had if you planned to sleep some of the day away and he’s moving back over you again. Worshipping you with each press of his lips, each roll of his hips as he grinds down against your spread legs. He’s not rushed with how he feels you, how he only kicks his pants off and pulls your bottoms off as you undress fully for him, his eyes just watching your skin as he kisses each knee cap and then he’s back over you. Mouth against yours as the tip of his cock brushes against your opening, how that small notion is already so heavenly and when he’s finally pushing into you, you’re holding back on to him. Letting him know you’re there as he moves slowly in the morning light. Heavy breathing and soft mews between the both of you while Ivar brings you to your peek with the rolls of his hips and his tongue on yours. And he falls with you, panting and coating your walls and humming in pure contentment because this is a sensation he never wants to forget, never lose, as long as he lives, sleeping the morning away tangled between you and the sheets.

It had rolled into another slow morning left with nothing other to do than mop the bay’s floors and terrorize Hvitserk with unruly sprays from the soap gun. Laughing as he flinched, all but made inhuman noises whenever your aim got closer to his pristine blues. You two had gone on coffee runs, stopping to grab lunch and snacking away with boots up on the benches as another unrealistic drama show flashes from the screen. It was a bright change for the days that you two had spent together, but the quietness was never welcomed completely without the slow thoughts of what was to come lingering behind it. A car into a semi-truck. Hvitserk tipped his head back and groaned so loudly he nearly fell backwards from his chair. At least you were just able to blaze through the streets of town with loud horns and bright sirens and command the authority to have everyone bow to your right of way.

It was warm, growing increasingly so in the last few hours and the sun hung well above the road. Scattered with the remains of scrap metal, tangled mess of a car and the comically unbent eighteen wheeler. The fire engine met you on the scene, already blinking with two police cars and in your maneuvering to park the rig close, you caught more of the vehicle wreck. A tangled mess of a black mustang and you could feel the blood drain from your face as your heart stopped.

“Hvitserk,” You whine and that snaps his attention from the back the rig as he’s pulling gloves for both of you. “Oh my god Hvitserk it’s Ivar,” You all but yell and he bolts from the back of the double doors to round the ambulance. And then he sees it. And you see it. Your partner takes off, no protective gear as a shield and you grab him, locking an arm to pull him back as a look of panic crosses him like a field. “Focus,” You hiss at him. “Do your job and fucking focus—you’re the best medic on the god damn team and you need to prove that right now,” But you could say the speech until you’re blue in the face, gasping as the words fall with no meaning because Hvitserk is out of control for the first time ever on a call.

“He’s awake in there,” A voice calls from the other side of the car.

“Get the trauma bag.” You call to your partner and then you take off, steel toes rounding the car and there’s no door to open anymore. Just a blown out rear view window that’s already been cut by those jaws. You see Ivar blink and your mind shuts off completely.

“Hey baby,” His voice rasps when he sees you in his sight, picking his head up while the crushed front end of the car covers his legs like a blanket. Your heart is stabbed with a knife and you can’t worry about that right now, you can’t worry about how you feel because your uniform is telling you that you’re the only hope for the man you so deeply love.

“Ivar keep your head down please, I need you to stay as still as possible.” You tell him and Hvitserk makes his way behind you.

“We need the take this side off!” Hvitserk’s voice calls to the fire department. The noise of his voice floats behind you and he pulls another fire fighter to aid him in the collection of equipment he’s sending to you.

“What’s that?” Ivar asks you and you’re reaching behind you for the c-collar.

“This keeps your neck straight, Ivar, it’s very important that you don’t move. How else are you feeling?”

“My legs feel funny,” Ivar mumbles to you as you lock the device around his neck. At his words you peek down for the first time and your stomach rolls. Churning like a great open sea as you see the mess that is before the two of you. There is no clear cut determining factor of where his legs start and the car ends.

“Ivar can you feel my hand right here?” You ask him as you have it on his thigh.

“I like it when you touch me there baby,” Ivar slurs and it’s a twist of his words drooling from his mouth as he’s trying to stay awake. Even as his body shuts down. Even with the same bastard smirk. You back out slowly and Hvitserk replaces your spot as quickly as he’ll allow; tunneled vision as he asses Ivar’s closest vein and through a shake in his fingers, hooks him up to a line. “What are you doing brother?” He asks and his voice is smaller now, like a child and Hvitserk only sadly smiles.

“This is pain medicine Ivar, so we can get you out of the car. You’re going to get really tired and I don’t want you to fight it, alright? I’ll see you when you wake up.” Are the last words Ivar registers and his world becomes dark.

The hiss of the saw catches your attention as you watch the sparks sizzle on the heated asphalt. Linens down on the stretcher and reflective gear covering you but your body is so cold, chilled and down right hypothermic as the car groans lowly once it is peeled apart. Like bark from a tree as it curls into scrap metal and Hvitserk cranks two tourniquets on each of Ivar’s legs.

“Helicopter?” You call to him and he shakes his head.

“It’ll be faster if you drive him down to the trauma center. They won’t fly—it’s too cloudy today,” He calls back and you can’t help but think of the ever going joke about how the pilots don’t fly, even with only one cloud in the whole sky. There’s yelling, screams, the buzz of machines and too much noise but Ivar is still asleep, and you find comfort in the fact that he’s not seeing what you are. Your reflective vest catches the sunlight and it bounces into your face, mixes with your tear filled eyes and you wipe them along your sleeve to smear mascara and sweat. As soon as the command comes from around you that it’s safe, the car is stable and you can reach your patient, you waste no time.

It takes you, Hvitserk and two of the largest firemen on the team to pull Ivar from the wreck. Hooking around his arms and you can still smell his cologne over the burnt rubber that takes up home in your nostrils. His legs are crushed, obliterated and shattered and you’re queasy for the first time ever on a call. They drag behind him like dead limbs as he’s sliding up the back board. Hvitserk tears what was left of his jeans in adrenaline as he tries to wrap what he can to stay sterile but the injuries are far too extreme for you two alone to treat. The mess of mangled flesh and your heart breaks even farther as you see the art work on his skin now a waste because you know how Ivar loves his tattoos. They’re smashed and bent and somehow still there and if it were any other call there would be pictures being taken and you would be exchanging glances with your partner. Treating the rest of what he can and Hvitserk pales, because you both know Ivar may never walk again.

From above his belt, Ivar looks normal—he looks like the man you saw this morning—your Ivar. Obvious contusions from the seat belt and the airbag, torn shirt cut right up the middle as you attach the stickers to his chest. The Like Pak squeezes an already bulged bicep for his blood pressure and it’s dropping quickly. The non-rebreather mask’s reservoir fills with oxygen and you watch the plastic palpate, the fingers in his left hand twitch like they do when he’s asleep. It feels like a nightmare, loud noises and beating sun with clouds that pass and every time shade greats you, you find another injury on his body. The motions come so simply because your mind has gone, sucked out the window and on a vacation because you need to focus on what you’re doing, now more than ever.

Protruding tibia bones look back at you, knee caps that are now mere powder mock you. You see his bones, you see his muscles, you see every inner part of both of his legs stabbed with shrapnel and the glass, raw and cherry colored, and you think you’re going to pass out as you pull the gurney to the machine that grabs it, sucking into the back of the ambulance. Hvitserk jumps back there you slam the doors so quickly, trying to shut that world out to focus on this one. And then you pull the ambulance around and gun it, sandwiching the peddle between your blood covered boot and the ambulance’s floor. Even over the sirens, the blare of the horn you can hear your partner praying. Praying to a God he doesn’t believe in for his brother to live through this as the monitor sings a tune that Ivar is crashing.

“Come on brother—don’t do this to me,” He curses and pulls another vile, cranks the oxygen flow and sends more fluid into his body. “Don’t do this to me Ivar. Not today. Not today, Ivar,” And the tears finally start again in your eyes as you curse the vehicle for not going any faster. For its limit of one hundred and twenty miles per hour on the open lane of the freeway because cars have spread. They’ve parted as this creature screams for them to obey and you see the cop cars ahead of you, trying to pave the way and then the flight car. Your section chief right on your front bumper and you know he can tell its you driving the ambulance. You’re the fastest driver he’s ever employed and now is the time to remember that—and your job as you all carry Ivar’s body from this battle, into a much worse one.

Ink Drinker Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @walkxthexmoon @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @istorkyou @victoria-styles @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @ivarhoegh @a5hl3y5ibley @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @tgrrose @synnersaint

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

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sleepless-in-southlands · 2 years ago

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You don’t get everything back.

Ao3

Chapter two of This Predacious Song, my multidimensional big bang fic! It’s a Mumbo-centric Hermitcraft/Last Life fic heavily featuring violence, blood, trauma, and horror-like themes. It is hurt/comfort with a happy ending. Please follow the embedded title link or the ao3 link for a complete summary and list of warnings for the story as a whole

Chapter two’s title from Patricia Kirkpatrick’s “Survivor’s Guilt”

By the time Mumbo reached Boatem, the pain in his ankle had become dull, strained to the point Mumbo supposed it had given up on trying to accurately register how much it hurt. He was surprised it had taken that long to get to that point, all things considered- Hermitcraft’s pain threshold for players was capped fairly low. Most things hit the limit fairly fast.

Mumbo didn’t try to think on it too hard. Pain was hardly an exact science anyways. He’d apply some healing and it would be all right as rain again.

He waved at Pearl when he spotted her getting something out of her starter base, deciding on a second thought to alter his course for a moment and approach her. Pearl smiled as he did, looking cheerful as she navigated her impossible doors.

“Hello, Mumbo! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just thought I might pop by for a second.” Mumbo replied, doing his best to look like he was distributing weight between his feet equally as he stood still. “Where are you off to?”

“False’s place.” Pearl answered, gesturing in her direction as if Mumbo didn’t know where her base was. “Going to chat a bit. What about you? Finally back to populating your mountain?”

Mumbo resisted the urge to glance back at his mega-base, as if looking at it would somehow change its appearance. “Not quite yet I’m afraid, lots else to do. Though, if I might beg a favour-”

“I think I already owe you several.” Pearl interrupted, sounding amused. “Since someone’s suddenly uninterested in diamonds.”

Mumbo managed an awkward chuckle. “Yes, right, er, since you’re heading near there already, would you mind taking some deepslate to Jevin for me? Most is in a shulker, though I’ll need to grab a second for some of it.”

Pearl stopped him before he could walk off. “It’s alright, my inventory’s not too full. You can give me what you have.”

Mumbo did so, handing over the shulker and extra stacks. Pearl took a sneak peak inside the box, checking it was truly full, and shaking her head a bit when she realized it was. “You work too hard, Mumbo. Take a break before you get to your next task, would you?”

“I will.”

The slight crease that formed in Pearl’s brow suggested Mumbo’s response hadn’t sounded all that believable, but she didn’t say anything if so. Instead, she nodded, telling Mumbo goodbye as she activated her elytra and flew off. Mumbo watched her leave for a moment before sighing, finally turning back towards his mountain.

As a man-built mountain, it was still impressive. As a mega-base… well.

It was just a mountain.

Mumbo resumed his walk towards Treesa, now moving his gaze to the ground to avoid spotting the others’ mega-bases. At first, when they had all come back from Last Life, everything had been out of sync. Pearl and Grian had thrown themselves into their builds, making progress in record time, as if the sound of placing blocks would be enough to drown out screams. Impulse and Scar, on the other hand, built practically nothing for days, too caught up in the horrors they had only just escaped.

And Mumbo? Well, Mumbo had been fine. Busy forcing half of Boatem to take breaks and the other half to leave their rooms at least twice a day before the effect of the support groups really started to sink in, but fine.

It didn’t take that long for things to finally start going back to some sort of normal. Much faster than after Third Life, since they were actually prepared this time. Pearl and Grian took breaks. Impulse and Scar got back to their builds. Boatem went right back to growing as if nothing had happened.

Except for Mumbo’s mountain. It had remained just a mountain, the moss artificially clinging to it giving it the natural look Mumbo had strived for before he left. The start of a few buildings had at some point popped up as well, bright square outlines and stacked up scaffolding the only signs left of them when Mumbo had quickly given up on the venture.

People had asked him about it, of course. His fellow Boatem members and anyone who happened to see him while they were visiting. Why isn’t the mountain growing anymore? Did he want any help? Was he feeling alright? Was he doing alright?

But Mumbo was fine, and he had told them as much. He was just unsure how he wanted to proceed with the build. He didn’t want to rush anything. He had redstone projects to work on in the meanwhile. He was doing fine.

So far, everyone had accepted those responses. Mumbo wasn’t entirely sure if they truly believed them, or if they were just giving him extra time to recover since he had used up most of it thus far helping the rest of Boatem. Either way worked.

Arriving at the base of his pranked starter base, Mumbo made the short climb into Treesa with his thoughts still wandering. He had considered going back to building his mega-base a few times. He knew he’d have to at some point, lest Grian or someone else finish it for him.

Those thoughts always left his mind as soon as he went into Treesa for anything, however. The smaller his base was, the safer it was. No one could hide in Treesa. In a bigger base, they could.

Which wasn’t a real reason to not keep building his mega-base. This was Hermitcraft. No one was going to hide in dark corners to try and jump him, save perhaps a zombie. But as long as that was his thought process, his mega-base wasn’t going to get worked on. That’s just how it was.

No one else on the server- on any server- knew that was the real reason (or at least, one of the real reasons) Mumbo hadn’t gone on with his build. He knew if he told them, they’d fret about it, about him. Insist that he’d actually go to one of the Last Life support group meetings, that he needed help. Mumbo didn’t need any help.

As the thought crossed his mind, Mumbo took a step forward on his bad ankle, the pain momentarily too much. He slipped into one of Treesa’s walls, wincing as he shifted his weight off of the injured limb.

Clarification: he didn’t need help from anyone else. Some help from a potion he would accept.

Hobbling a bit, Mumbo made his way over to his potion chest, happy that it was one of the ones actually on the floor. He sat down in front of it, stretching out his hurt leg as he rifled through the various bottles stored within.

While he couldn’t find any drinkable healing potions, Mumbo did have a few splash potions on hand. Rubbing the potion into the area of injury was a bit more time consuming then drinking it down, but it was better than nothing. And it wasn’t like Mumbo really had anything going on anyways.

Mumbo pulled the stopper out with his teeth, pouring some of the potion onto his ankle before placing the bottle to the side. He used his clean hand to start massaging the potion into the skin, the pain starting to recede near immediately. He would use some of it for his redstone-caked hand later, but he would have to wash it off first. Redstone didn’t usually react to potions, but Mumbo wasn’t really in the mood to experiment with the concept right then.

The sound of his ladder creaking startled him from his work, the repetitive motions and soothing feel of the healing potion having begun to relax him. He looked in the direction of Treesa’s entrance, unable to see much from his vantage point on the floor.

“Hey, Mumbo? You up there?” Mumbo instantly identified the voice as Scar’s. “I’m coming up!”

Mumbo could hear his ladder creaking more as Scar began to climb, giving him no chance to protest the visit. Getting the potion put away and off the floor before he saw was out of the question, but Mumbo was able to use his limited time to grab some of his work gloves from another chest. He pulled one over his redstoned hand, hiding it, and left the other next to the potion bottle as if he had just taken it off.

By the time Scar was in Treesa, Mumbo was again applying the potion to his ankle, doing his best to look unbothered by the whole situation.

“Oh, hello.” Mumbo said as he glanced up at Scar, looking apologetic. “Sorry for the mess, didn’t think anyone would be coming over.”

Scar waved him off. “No need to apologize, my suited friend! What happened?”

“Just had a bad fall.” Mumbo answered easily. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, now that you ask, ah- no?”

Mumbo raised an eyebrow. “You came over for no reason?”

“That’s not… exactly right…” Scar looked away from Mumbo, going over to fiddle with one of his chests instead. “You know you have a lovely storage system here.”

“Not that much to sort in here.” Mumbo watched as Scar opened the chest a bit, both hands propping the lid open as he looked at its contents. “Do you need supplies?”

“No, I…” Scar pulled back from chest to look at Mumbo sheepishly. “I was hoping you wouldn’t be here, actually.”

“You were trying to rob me? That’s not very good times of you.”

“I can’t believe you would take me for a common conman!” Scar said as if he had been personally insulted. “I was, in fact, going to reverse rob you.”

Mumbo laughed. “You mean give me something? Why can’t you just give it to me directly?”

“Because the last time I tried that, you wouldn’t take it.” Scar answered. Mumbo frowned in confusion until Scar pulled a diamond out of his inventory, waving the gemstone around as if Mumbo might not see it without the motion. “So I was going to very nicely drop some off while you were out and unable to stop me.”

“Scar, I already told you I don’t-”

“-want anything, that you’re just bored, that really I’m helping you; I know.” Scar finished for him, his attempt at mimicking Mumbo’s voice weak at best. “But unpaid favours are a dangerous thing! They hold much more power than any measly diamonds ever could.”

Before Mumbo could say anything about how he still didn’t need the payment, or about how Scar’s impression of him was some sort of crime, Scar added, “Besides, you’re… you’re going between everything so fast I haven’t gotten any real chance to thank you. With diamonds or otherwise.”

“...thank me for what?” Mumbo asked after a second, feigning ignorance.

Feigning it poorly, anyways, if Scar’s expression was anything to go by. “You were the only thing keeping Boatem going for a good week there, I find it hard to believe you’ve forgotten that.”

“Oh, that- that was nothing.” Mumbo moved his attention back to his ankle, avoiding Scar’s gaze. “You don’t need to thank me for that.”

“It was not nothing.” Scar rebuked, tone firm but not upset. “Helping to take care of four lifers in the aftermath would have been a lot even for a hermit who stayed behind. You really went above and beyond for us, Mumbo, and that meant a lot to me. To all of us.”

For a moment, Mumbo pressed his fingers too hard against his leg, pain briefly sparking despite the healing potion. “It’s not like I’ve never done it before.”

“That was different. Third Life, me and Grian…”

Mumbo looked up when Scar trailed off. Caught up in his own words, the look in his eyes had become far-off. Despite his large hat and gaudy clothes, for a moment, he looked small, startlingly similar to how he had looked when he had just been back from Third Life, when Mumbo could barely get him to talk to anyone who wasn’t Grian, all while Grian would talk to anyone but Scar, both lacking their lively personalities, little more than shells of themselves for weeks.

Then Scar shook his head, resuming his original train of thought, and Mumbo let his own slide off the rails. “...we were a handful, but it was still only two of us, and you hadn’t just finished going through it all too. Even if it really isn’t a big deal to you, it is to the rest of Boatem.”

Part of Mumbo still wanted to argue the point. The only reason he had joined Last Life in the first place was to help everyone else- to ensure that what had happened with Scar and Grian wouldn’t happen again. How better to help than to have first-hand experience with whatever was causing the issue? He didn’t need to be thanked for it. It was the very least he could do for them.

But he could tell Scar wasn’t going to change his mind, and if Mumbo fought too hard on it, Scar would only become concerned, which wouldn’t help anyone. Mumbo was doing fine- grand, even! His fellow hermits were just too easily worried for their own good.

So Mumbo sighed as if he was giving in. “If I accept your appreciation, will you stop trying to reverse-steal diamonds to me?”

“Oh, I suppose I can.” Scar agreed, sounding very put out by the compromise. “But only because you’ve bartered so nicely.”

“Then you can consider it a deal.” Mumbo joked, standing up as he did so. He had applied more than enough healing potion at that point, and shifting his weight onto the previously injured ankle caused no negative reaction.

“Shake on it?” Scar asked, looking amused as he put out his hand. Mumbo rolled his eyes good-naturedly before putting his own out as well, only realizing it was his gloved redstone hand as Scar shook it.

He did his best to not let the spark of pain the motion caused as it jostled whatever scrape he had gotten show, keeping up his smile through the exchange instead. He didn’t immediately pull it back when Scar stopped either, letting it fall naturally to his side as if nothing was amiss.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Jumbo!” Scar said as he stepped back towards Treesa’s entrance-exit ladder, smiling as he tacked on more genuinely, “Thank you for all your recent support.”

Mumbo didn’t reply to that, only waving as Scar took his leave. He waited until he was sure Scar was truly gone before he took off his work glove, wincing as the drag of the material across his hand hurt. Ankle attended to and guest dismissed, the next thing he had to do was clean his hand and apply some healing to it.

He pulled a bottle of water out of his potion chest before taking both it and the health potion to the bus section of his base, taking a seat on one of the counters in the small space. He grimaced as he poured the water onto his injured hand, using the other to brush off the clumps of redstone the water alone couldn’t get off.

The process was going slower than Mumbo would have expected, a particularly stubborn bit of redstone right across his palm refusing to be cleaned off. It seemed stuck to his hand, in a way, mixing with his water in some spots to become a thick, sticky liquid.

Mumbo frowned. Redstone didn’t mix with water. And while adding a lot of it to water might make it look red, it wouldn’t change the water’s properties. He didn’t know what on Hermitcraft the substance on his hand could be. Unless-

Feeling as though there was suddenly not enough air in the room, Mumbo slowly wiped the edge of his suit sleeve over his hand, ignoring the sting as he finally got all the redstone off. For a brief second, his hand was clean, unmarred save for the red scratch diagonally crossing his palm.

But then that second ended, the red scratch seeming only to get redder, until what he had mistaken for redstone water was spilling out of it, dirtying his hand as it began to pool. Despite the sickening warmth the liquid brought, Mumbo felt only cold.

It was blood.

#hermitcraft #last life #mdbb fic #m.y funky words #mfw: this predacious song #chap2: mumbo is Not a guy who is doing fine

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sulkybbarnes · 4 years ago

Note

I just saw your post about misinterpreting characters. It was tagged with Adam and Bucky (two of my favorite fictional characters) and though I feel like that when I sometimes read fanfics, I can never just put my finger on it and I'd love to read your take on it!

Oh lord where do I even start... alright, this might get long so apologies in advance, but I have nearly a decade’s worth of thoughts on this. The short answer is: both characters often get severely over simplified, stripped away from essential characteristics, and their understandable reaction to their respective trauma gets overlooked in order to make them more “palatable” and to favor other characters in fics.

The long answer:

Let’s start with Adam Parrish. We meet Adam when he’s only 17 years old and we learn that he is an abuse survivor who comes from severe poverty, and along the way we witness trauma that leads to Adam having a disability, and later on learnt hat Adam is bisexual. Adam’s character is very realistic to someone in his position, so that he’s flawed and has issues to work through as the series goes along. These issues are presented at the start of the series through two unreliable narrators: Gansey who is proud and often self-victimizing, and Adam himself who is very introspective and lives in fear of turning into his father. Thus the characteristics the text gives us is that Adam is “cold and calculating” which is courtesy of Gansey, and that Adam is lonesome and prone to anger/arguing with his friends which is Adam’s own worries and insecurities manifesting in his chapters. And yes sure Adam at the start is -understandably- angry with the world at large and feels as if he’s ten steps behind everyone and playing catch-up, but he’s also visibly self-aware and constantly trying to curb any anger and moderate his reactions (even when they’re justified). The book also shows us through actions that Adam is sweet and thoughtful from how he acts around Blue, and shows that he develops as the books go on to be more aware of his actions, more confident in his own goodness, and more willing to show love and allow himself to be loved in return. The later books (BLLB, TRK, Opal story, CDTH) all show an Adam who is kind (his interactions with Opal), thoughtful (his constant thinking about Ronan’s feelings and not wanting to act before he knows he’s as serious/sure about them as Ronan is), a good friend (I’m just gonna.. gesture at the whole Blue/Gansey thing and how gracefully Adam handled it when they didn’t even deign to give him the benefit of the doubt), and a very loving person (which we see in his every interaction with Ronan from TRK onwards). So that’s Adam Parrish, complex and flawed but inherently a good person and a good character.

However, Fanon Adam Parrish is a different story all together because he is often stripped to whatever bare essentials would serve the fic he is in. SO, in fandom you see an Adam who is either cruel and cold, as to serve some infantilizing hurt angsty version of Ronan. You see an Adam who is angry and prone to lashing out, to serve posts about Gansey being an angel who’s faultless and constantly hurt by his friends. You see an Adam who is disrespectful and hurtful to serve posts about why it was okay for Blue and Gansey to behave the way they did to him. Or on the complete opposite end, you get an Adam who is demure, shy, and almost disgustingly helpless to serve in a fic where he needs saving or some misguided hurt/comfort thing. Adam also often gets stripped away in the latter fics from any rightful anger or sharpness that relates to his trauma. Said anger is treated as something that makes him an unlovable or annoying character (you can find these takes everywhere in trc fandom), and therefore people need to overlook it to make him more palatable to them. Adam’s anger, as we see in CDTH, is often turned inwards and is an on-going struggle for him because it still feels at times as him against the world. It’s one of the best things about his character if you ask me, because it is what he grows out of the most, and what he continues to face and develop against. This trait makes him human and shows his vulnerability. Adam in canon is touch starved and loves fiercely, but in fanon the anger he displays gets used to paint him as unfeeling or constantly angry. Even though Adam shows anger only as much as any other character in the series, and often in a way less explosive (Ronan) or hurtful (Gansey) or entitled (Blue) manner. And so the point is that fandom takes away the complexity that makes Adam Parrish who he is, and molds him into whatever is easiest to digest and shove into a box that works better for the other characters. Adam’s development and arc get completely overlooked most of the time. He is often misinterpreted as one shallow thing, when he is a beautiful mix of emotions that make him Adam Parrish, and make him endearingly and painfully human and real.

Bucky Barnes, my original fave guy, follows strongly along the same lines. All you have to do is change names and events from what I said before and you’ll get how fandom treats Bucky. What I adore about Buck’s character is that he was established instantly as fiercely loyal, loving, fun, a good friend, and someone who is so important to Steve that we see Steve take on a suicide mission to get to Bucky. The progression of the other movies deals with Buck’s trauma and shows all the new aspects to his character that stem from said trauma, while maintaining the undercurrent of goodness and humor that we saw from pre-war Bucky. But once again, the complexity of Bucky’s character and his storyline; the trauma, the PTSD, and the fact that m*rvel never lets him heal, all boils down to fandom only choosing what they find palatable about Bucky and leading with that. I have less to say about this only because I’ve been a fan for too long, and have learned to conduct myself so that I don’t run into upsetting posts anymore, and read fics with a tone and characterization that works for me, but there’s a lot of content out there that strips Buck of his characteristics so much that he might as well be an OC. I will say that you might get more leeway with content based on a movie, than you do with content based on a book (where everything is glaringly obvious in the text), but I still have to roll my eyes at most content I see for Bucky, where he’s either helpless and waiting for someone to save (did we watch the same movies??), innocent and naive in how he conducts himself (...did we watch the same movies?!), or he’s unflinchingly cool and cold and unfeeling (seriously, DID WE WATCH THE SAME MOVIES?!). So once again the endpoint is that Bucky’s misinterpretation comes from a shallow understanding of his character, or complete lack of care about how he’s portrayed so that only one trait -whatever is needed for a fic or a post- is central and amplified while everything else he is falls away. I’m not pretentious enough to say that people can’t just have fun with a character and write whatever they want about it, because they absolutely can.. I’m just saying that it’s not my cup of tea and I wouldn’t read it. In fact, I only made a couple of attempts years ago at writing Bucky myself and then decided that I would rather read well-written things about him, than try and get it right myself because I’d get all in my emotions about his character.

Tl;dr The theme of having your autonomy taken away and fighting like hell to get it back, and remaining good along the way is what makes both Adam and Bucky so close to my heart. Their respective trauma and complexity is what makes me love them both a lot, and I wish fandom didn’t often strip them away of their complexity to make them easier for fandom to digest.

#sorry.. I told you this will get long #adam parrish #bucky barnes #ravens-world #pynch #asks #mara talks for ts #trc #trc meta

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technospotatoes · 4 years ago

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C!SAM - Redeemable Qualities Analysis (Dream SMP)

Hallo! I’m back with another brain rot post for ya’ll instead of doing my schoolwork :]

Recently, I’ve been doing some thinking and theorizing with some friends on discord following Quackity’s huge lore stream (if you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend you watch it). I woke up this morning with a head full of many thoughts about C!Awesamdude and where his story could take us. Seeing as how there is going to be lots of change in the future with the server, there must be changes in these characters as well-- evil to good, good to evil, and the like. With these changes comes my thought: “can these characters be redeemed?” Here are my thoughts on how this applies to C!Sam.

Please let me know your thoughts and theories, I’d love to discuss with you! As always, strap in, it’s gonna be a long one :]

I hope you enjoy!

Author’s note: I want to start this off by saying that all of the contents being discussed are fictional, and are from the Dream SMP universe. I do not support the actions of these characters, but merely have interest in analyzing them through a lens of psychology and for entertainment purposes. Content of this post will contain spoilers up to 3/25/21 of the DSMP lore. I will also talk about ATLA a little bit ;)

Content warning: mentions of torture, manipulation, death, possible psychological trauma

(pls be safe ily)

What makes a redeemable character?

Redeemable characters are some of the most pleasing and favored characters in modern media. Their stories are rich with emotion, and they can even evoke some form of catharsis within the most skeptic consumers. Redeemable characters are memorable and inspiring, and without one, a story can feel empty. Before we apply this character trope to the Dream SMP and C!Sam, we need to answer a basic question in order to fully understand the complexity of redeemable characters and how they are so universally significant.

What is a redeemable character?

Simply put, a redeeming character or characteristic counteracts or corrects something negative. From a storytelling standpoint, a redeemable character is someone who has roots in good qualities, turns bad, and has the ability to revert their wrong choices to become a better person.

Examples of redeemed characters in popular media include:

Zuko - Avatar the Last Airbender

Boromir - Lord of the Rings

Kylo Ren - Star Wars

Severus Snape - Harry Potter

Zuko, for example, starts his story off as the villain. He tirelessly hunts down the protagonist, and will stop at nothing to achieve his goal to please his father. However, as the show progresses, we learn that Zuko wasn’t always bad. He was only driven to his path of villainy because of his fear of failure, of his father (the firelord and true antagonist of the show), and of a greater punishment than what he had already received. With the help of his uncle, Zuko learned to push through and accept his past, while also making amends with his wrongs and coming to the realization of who the true enemy was; ultimately choosing peace and unity over destruction and fear. Zuko’s story is so appealing because it was drawn out. It was raw, it was real, and it was a genuine telling of how damaged people can heal, change, and come to accept themselves. Because he went through the process of redemption, he was not only able to be loved by those around him, but also by his audience-- And I believe that this can be the same case with any redeemable character.

So how does this relate to C!Sam? How could he possibly be redeemable if he is not evil?

C!Sam has become increasingly interesting to me in the DSMP lore, and he has shown how complex his character is-- in contrast to many first impressions that people have of him. Based upon his actions from the past, and his willingness to remain neutral in times of conflict, we can conclude that he sustains both “neutral good” and “lawful neutral/good” qualities. This means that Sam is a reliable character, driven by his own personal values, and is devoted to helping others (when he sees fit). Evidence of these qualities emerge…

When he sided with Pogtopia during the Manberg War to maintain good relations with Tommy and Tubbo.

When he saved Hannah from the Egg

Created Sam Nook to assist Tommy in building his hotel

Built Pandora’s Vault for Dream

Showed concern for Ranboo after one of his denied prison visits

Sam’s moral code is deeply rooted with good intentions; he keeps an eye out for his friends, maintains his relationships, assists in builds/projects, and also serves as a “stable adult figure” for some of the younger members of the server. In contrast to his logical outward appearance, C!Sam lets his emotions drive his decision making-- which can lead to many severe consequences depending on how he acts. However, recently Sam’s actions indicate that he is experiencing a flip in morals.

Below are incidents that have led to C!Sam’s recent change in moral code.

Incident 1: Trapped with the Egg

Many weeks ago, during the height of character involvement with the Egg lore, C!Sam was lured into a trap by BBH and Antfrost. He spent about a day trapped in close contact with the Egg, and after he was saved by Puffy and Tommy, he was clearly changed. It is likely that the Egg is behind these sudden changes in character motivation for Sam… similarly to how it corrupted BBH, Ant, and Punz. Whether this is the case with Sam is unclear.

Incident 2: Tommy’s death

C!Sam and C!Tommy’s relationship within the DSMP lore is one of my favorite things to talk about. After his victory over the disk war and finally landing his nemesis in prison, Tommy was left empty, without much to do. He decided to take upon a new project to incite a new era of peace, and was able to enlist the help of Sam with building his hotel. Throughout this process (and under the watchful eye of Sam Nook), Tommy and Sam were able to develop a bond with each other through their work, along with their interactions at the Prison.

Sam has made it clear that he intends to defend Tommy no matter what-- but after his untimely death at the hands of C!Dream, Sam was deeply wounded. He felt as if he failed his promise to keep Tommy safe, and he made it clear that the blame for the “security issue” and C!Tommy’s death should be placed fully on him. No matter how selfless and responsible this makes his character appear, this event will only serve as the basis for severe consequences in moral change in the future.

Incident 3: Confrontation with Quackity

Following the large emotional impact of Tommy’s death, C!Sam is very vulnerable, because he is still within the stages of grief. C!Quackity came to Sam for a partnership, to take advantage of Sam while he was low to gain the upper hand. It’s no question that Q’s character is a talented manipulator, we can see that clearly in his interaction with Sam. Q restates again and again that Sam failed, further cementing Sam’s existing guilt and desire for revenge for his failure. Sam gives in to the manipulation, and somewhat reluctantly allows Quackity to torture Dream to get information and to get payback for what he did to Tommy... which completely goes against what his responsibility of Warden entails.

As Warden, C!Sam is supposed to uphold the law and rules of visitation, but because of his leniency with Quackity (in breaking the rules) and because he is still emotionally raw, he no longer defends good from evil, but is now biased against it. C!Sam probably wants Dream dead, but as Warden, his opinion shouldn’t matter. Because Sam fully blames himself for failing Tommy, he's lost the "lawful good" in his character, meaning Warden Sam (as a set of morals) truly doesn't exist anymore.

Incident 4: Ponk’s mistake

To recap a stream briefly, Ponk did a prank on Sam a couple days ago, and stole a few of the expired keycards to Pandora’s Vault. Rightfully, Sam was very angry, and not only took back the keycards, but also imprisoned Ponk. However, where this interaction should have ended, C!Sam only took it to the extreme. (TW!!!!) Out of anger and frustration, C!Sam tortured Ponk for his wrongdoing by setting him on fire, and amputating his arm (END TW!!!).

This only proves my point from Incident 3. Warden Sam is fading, only bits and pieces of his morally neutral character remain within him for basic tasks. His encounter with Quackity had a huge impact on his psyche, not only is he allowing the torture of the prison occupants, but he is doing it himself as well. C!Sam is now starting to believe that pain and torture are the only solutions for punishment, which is the complete opposite of what he believed before Dream was imprisoned.

In short...

C!Sam is losing his grip on moral and mental stability because of his emotional insecurity due to his psychological trauma. Because of this, I believe that it is entirely possible for Sam’s character to explore the route of evil and unlawful values-- which furthers the possibility for a redemption arc. Even currently, Sam is eligible for redemption as well.

If C!Sam is willing to acknowledge his wrongs from today and improve himself upon them, he will likely become a more memorable, lovable, and even more human character than we’ve seen in the SMP before.

SIDENOTE!

IRL Sam recently posted in his discord talking about his character. Here are a few key things to keep in mind as the story goes forward:

“There is a LOT of things in the plan for me as a character and a very big change is coming about for me as the story moves along.”

I believe this change could be a villain arc, or a turn towards evil that incites the possibility for redemption.

“My character is playing a role that I think is VITAL for the server and a role that I like to think was a good one for me to pick up and accept.”

You can read the reddit post I referenced for this here (ty to my friend on discord for providing me with the link <3)

TYSM FOR READING!! <3 <3 <3

#dreamsmp #awesamdude #ponk #tommyinnit #tubbo #mcyt #captainpuffy #dsmplore #dream smp lore #dream #dream smp analysis #QUACKITY #my work

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red-hood-vigilante · 4 years ago

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more hbo spn rambles, thoughts, drabbles etc. long long post.

part 1 here

there’s some things i’ve omitted here bc others have already posted about those things, certain headcanons and characterizations and stuff. those posts are in my likes somewhere (and i’ll reblog them someday), and there’s some posts i’ve read but not liked, which i now can only vaguely remember, which is why some ideas/thoughts are similar

ALSO most of these follow the model i talked about in part one: how s1-5 will stay more or less how they are but s6-10 is changed (some things are cut out entirely, some things are tweaked and some characters + arcs are more fleshed out. more focus on sam’s trauma and post-cage adaptation to the real world as well as dean letting his rage and control issues consume him and how he’d recover and redeem himself)

as i typed these paragraphs, i realized i really have 10 seasons mapped out and ready to go. hbo hire me!!

alright go:

sam and dean get wearier as the show progresses (second half), and eventually they stop putting so much care and thought in the people they save. like...hm how do i say this, like as long as a victim/victims are saved, they don’t care about how that happens or how those people suffer potential consequences, like if the victims lose a limb or have their homes burned down because of the monster, then sam and dean don’t really care. they saved your life, now they’ll leave you with your life in potential shambles and not care because all that matters is that they saved your life, not how it is afterwards. they still care about saving that one person, but eventually it pales a little in comparison to a war between heaven and hell, being the vessels etc. ---> saving people becomes less about making sure they’re actually alright and healing from horrific events and more about just making sure they have a pulse before they move on

when angels lose their wings they are either burned off in the actual fall or ripped off of them in their vessels, which leaves pretty nasty scars on the vessel

ed and harry are so young and bright eyed about the whole hunting thing; sam and dean as kids, idolizing it, finding it exciting and intriguing when they shouldn’t. sam and dean try to get them out of the business before they too are too traumatized and desensitized to do anything but hunt. neither sam or dean will say it but they are jealous of ed and harry and their freedom to leave, and hate them for choosing this voluntarily instead of being dragged into it by tragedy

hbo spn is a slow burn. there’s a lot more shots of sam and dean in silence just sitting together after a hunt, exhausted and too tired to move yet. they’re covered in blood and guts on the side of the road after killing or covered with dirt in a graveyard after burning bones, sitting next to the fire, just watching it. the times they park the car and watch the stars? we get to see it.

dean wears rings and the amulet all the time in the beginning, for the first five seasons. the rings vary; first they’re some of john’s old ones and stuff he finds in thrift stores. then later on he begins wearing rings from people they’ve saved/haven’t saved as a keepsakes etc. when he begins his descent to the holy murderer in s6-10 he wears less and less rings. they don’t matter anymore -> symbolically shedding who he was and what mattered to him

the only accessories sam has is a rosary/cross around his neck. he has jess’ engagement ring in his pocket/wallet. after the cage he vaguely remembers why the ring was there and who jessica was (more on this further down)

the four horsemen are manifestations of different aspects of human nature at its most grotesque and strongest, can’t be killed as long as humans live. war is conflict, famine is desire, pestilence is physical and mental illnesses.

(the seven sins are like the horsemen, tulpas of human nature instead of demons)

death isn’t a concentration of an existing aspect of humans as much as it is the end of life, the antithesis of life. death the oldest of the horsemen and has existed since the beginning of any life, organism, cell and atom. the opposite of life and light, the other half of god (as i��m typing this i’m confused as to why amara was the opposite of god instead of death). death isn’t evil or good, remains 100% objective. doesn’t care for sam or dean at all, but has a begrudging respect for their stubbornness and entertainment they provide due to their flat out refusal to do as they’re told by celestial bodies when anyone else would crumble

by including death i feel like it very naturally begs questions of who decides when someone dies, when someone lives, why would death follow these guides instead of reaping whomever whenever, what happens if a life isn’t reaped at the right time etc. the reader in me adore the idea of death having a library with books and records of everyone who has ever lived and died and how they died - but then, who writes these books and why? do they decide, and if in that case, how? these questions are above my paygrade but you know what i mean? like there has to be some sort of system right, god created everything, death executes to maintain order, some third party deity writes the laws and the books. the three branches of government. ok but it’s hbo so again, i think we shouldn’t dive this deep into things, like as much as these topics intrigue me i don’t want to stray too much from the dirt road trip aesthetic

shapeshifters are extremely rare because they don’t require any kind of human blood or organs/sacrifice to live

i want more exploration of how magic is like science, like it just needs the right ingredients and right conditions. sam thinks of magic as an obscure branch of science; it just requires research and knowledge and clear intentions because science can be controlled and do a lot of good when used responsibly. dean doesn’t like it. he doesn’t trust the unpredictable elements and he’s seen enough to know it never goes well. magic is a force that can’t be controlled by anyone.

sam and dean have full on fist fights regularly. to practice and keeping each other sharp, but also because they’re siblings. they’re feral, insane and unhinged with each other and they get on each other’s nerves A LOT. it’s petty and childish and sometimes it can get a lil ugly but it becomes their way of family therapy. after a fight the next scene cuts to sam and dean with ruffled clothes, nosebleeds and swollen lips at a diner eating silently after beating each other up. either they sit in silence because they’re tired or both are harping on the other’s openings and weaknesses

sometimes they’ll fight a little dirty but they do so in different ways; dean will pull the old ‘look!’ and point to something and then tackle sam when he turns to look while sam will just cry out in fake pain which makes dean stop dead in his tracks before sam headbutts him or kicks him in the groin

we, the audience get used to these fights, they’re sometimes funny and for comic relief, sometimes for narrative purposes (like tricking a monster they’re fighting each other when they’re really not) BUT. then comes the times when sam and dean are actually fighting without holding back and we see how much they are capable of hurting each other or how heartbreaking and difficult it can be to watch when of them are incapable of fighting back/doesn’t defend himself -> swan song when dean doesn’t fight back against possessed sam, or when dean beats soulless sam unconscious

sam and dean also just verbally bully each other constantly but they do have their odd ways of expressing affection and care. they get the other person their fave snack whenever they go grocery shopping without being asked to and are the only other one they truly trust to have their back in hunts. have a cup of coffee ready before the other asks for one. brothers and each other’s best friend. nightmare duo but in a sweet way. the cooperation of ‘the usual suspects’ when they’re in different interrogation rooms but still has the cover story down to a t. code words and code names and cover stories, they know it all

when sam and dean fight together against a common enemy they’re a damn nightmare - because they know each others weaknesses and habits, they cover each other perfectly and in complete silence. they’ve been at it together since they were kids and read each other’s nonverbal cues like a picture book

to build off of what i said in part 1; the winchesters are pretty hated in the hunter’s community. even the people sam and dean frequently work with (bobby, ellen, jo, ash, rufus, bela, kevin, charlie, castiel etc) roasts them all the time and don’t hesitate with calling them out on their self-pitying crap when it get’s too much (spn was just objectively better when characters weren’t afraid of dragging sam and dean through the mud for being selfish and stupid) and this WILL persist in hbo spn. the only reason people continue working with sam and dean is because they know deep down a lot of the things that happens aren’t sam and dean’s fault - but they still blame them for it. doesn’t make it easier how sam or dean sometimes start crap on purpose to save the other

the winchesters are terrifying and people for sure tell stories about them, but not like ‘they’re heroes’, more like ‘they’re insane and dangerous. stay the fuck away from them’. some stories are true, like how they’ve worked with demons, but some are just game of telephone. (dean has apparently a ghost he is frequently possessed by while sam is actually a mutant vampire). hunters hate and are scared of the winchesters. sam and dean are never invited to hunter stuff (burials, memorials etc) but crash them nonetheless even though the hunters do NOT want them there.

you know what drives me insane when i think about it? how some characters in spn already are their hbo spn counterparts; john. mary. adam. maybe kevin?

other things that already are their hbo spn counterparts: dean throwing away the amulet right in front of sam. eyes burning when angels are seen. how ghosts are just tragedies, stuck in a loop they can’t leave. how a lot of the monsters they meet are just victims or their circumstances or the first victim of a curse. the impala being sam and dean’s home. dean not knowing how to comfort sam when he’s upset other than trying to do things for sam that usually brings dean comfort (driving the impala, listening to rock music etc). the roadhouse. heaven being an eternal version of the memories that made you the happiest even though it’s not real. sam wanting independence and freedom but never fully having it. dean fearing being alone more than anything else and that’s where he always ends up. sam has an eating disorder after the demon blood and dean has an alcohol problem he refuses to see as a problem. dean saying “i’d do it again” without an ounce of regret and pouring himself a drink when sam tells him it was fucked up to lie to him about gadreel

the demon/angel hybrid: THIS could be sooo interesting to explore. an angel and demon hybrid are you kidding me?? not to toot my own horn too much but i’m so clever. i should write this story myself. SO. does this creature have parents who fucked in their vessels or was this an experiment by god (yes i love the ‘mad scientist’ idea, that really should’ve been played up way more) or did a pre-existing creature (human or otherwise) drink demon blood and angel grace at the same time so that it created itself? so much potential for some really intriguing storytelling and character exploration - not only the creature itself and what they would be like, but also for the people around; sam, dean, castiel, jack etc. how would they react to this thing that is the very definition of defying heaven and hell and all the natural laws? does it exist before the show starts or will we see its birth?

the powers of the demon/angel hybrid would be tricky; a mix of holy and defiant, grotesque and beautiful. unconsciously forces people to tell the truth when talking to them. poisons whatever they touch. eyes of a demon, wings of an angel. can smite but skin will burn when touching iron. can do deals but will require a sacrifice in return, not a soul, usually a body part taken then and there (the hybrid eats it. it favours eyeballs and the liver - angels like raw meat). lights always flicker. makes things explode when angry (esp people and cars). can manipulate feelings, thoughts and memories. can travel to both heaven and hell, not welcome in either places. + standard stuff like telekinesis, teleportation, mind reading, super strength etc.

sam and dean’s wardrobe are pretty much the same; whatever’s cheap and not covered in blood. however, they do have stylistic differences. sam thinks graphic tees are funny, dean uses whatever’s black combined with john’s leather jacket. their wardrobe melds as they stop thinking of themselves as individuals and more of “me and my brother,”. their clothes are tattered and torn to shreds all the time. hand me downs, hand me ups. when they stray off their “path” and do things that are the crux of a storyline/character arc, this would reflect in their clothes. when sam is with ruby and becomes more and more “evil” he wears more and more red, a colour he has stated in the past he doesn’t really like. when dean is dead, sam starts to wear his rings and john’s and dean’s leather jacket. when dean decides he’s going to say yes to michael he dresses in white, when sam is dead dean takes off every piece of jewelry except the amulet. he holds it clenched in his fists when he’s whispering what comes close to a prayer

logically the amulet should have a backstory but you know what? i love that it’s hinted to be just a piece of cheap jewelry sam found in a thrift store he decided to give to dean. but narratively it should be explained so... idk. what could be logical solution as to why it would react to GOD himself? maybe god wore it once cuz he thought it was neat but he sold it for three dollars because he wanted coffee and then sam found it a week later

i would prefer it if god didn’t show up at all (absent father number one) but if he DID he’s not all powerful just a true neutral (like death, 100% objective) who created a thing that just took a life of its own, much like a parent and a child - the parent helps the child but can’t control it. the times he did intervene or tried to do something it didn’t really have any real long lasting effect so he gave up on trying a while ago.

@spneveryseason talked about this, how the storyline of sam being possessed by gadreel would be horrifying if we saw everything from sam’s perspective instead of dean’s (her fic is wonderful). in the ‘dean slowly descends into a righteous murderer to become holy’ idea i have this tracks so damn well because again, if dean believes something is right, it is right, no questions about it. everyone around him is like “that’s really fucked up and you should make amends” but dean doesn’t see any reasons for why - sam is alive isn’t he? and seeing it from sam’s pov would really underline how horrifying, dehumanizing and belittling that experience was

john and mary are adam and eve. sam and dean are cain and abel are michael and lucifer. time is a flat circle. history never stops repeating itself.

sam is the villain of s4. he is manipulated and key information is withheld from him but in the end... would it made a difference? it crossed his mind, that he could be tricked because ruby is a demon after all, but maybe he likes the power, the feeling of freedom, that he wasn’t just the baby, the one who always needs permission to do things. if he has to drain possessed people to get that power... so be it. and it’s for a good purpose, until it isn’t. he’s hungry for more, to be feared and respected. he’s enticed by lucifer’s sweet words, the potential of all that power and the idea of ruling two out of three realms. dean manages to pull him back from the brink because sam decides he doesn’t want to be what john thought he was and fail dean and himself like that.

dean is the villain in s9. he is controlling, the mark of cain without the mark. what he says goes - it’s not a democracy, it’s a dictatorship. he doesn’t see how much pain, doubt and fear he causes the people around him. if some victims or civilians die on his watch that doesn’t matter - just some collateral damage. sam can’t make dean listen to him because dean is the older one, the one who’s always called the shots. dean is the angelic one, heaven’s chosen warrior, he is untouchable and unkillable. he’s is an excellent killer, filling the void with blood and rage which is better than the crippling fear of loneliness carved into his bones. 'i butcher for love, to protect,’ he tells himself. ‘why shouldn’t i exterminate, regardless of the cost? i’ve followed the rules, i’ve always sacrificed. now i call the shots. it’s my right.’

sam’s hell trauma is never magically removed. he’s stuck with the memories and the nightmares and the occasional hallucinations. castiel can’t do anything but offers to wipe his memory completely, but sam says no, he is still doing penance.

after dean comes back from hell he starts calling himself old man and jokes a lot about he’s 40 years older now (after he’s more comfortable about speaking about hell)

when sam comes back he feels ancient (he’s over 900 years old at least but he lost count), weary, tired and so so so out of place in this world. he’s forgotten how to put gas in a car, how to drive, how to use a credit card, all the song lyrics he and dean used to yell together, the faces of people he knew before he fell, the softness of a bed, the schools he went to, most of the hunts he and dean, how john died, who mary is, the initials carved into the impala, the taste of food that isn’t raw meat. it’s so much he’s forgotten that he has to relearn. he prefers figuring things out with castiel instead of dean because castiel doesn’t silently resent him for everything he’s forgotten

sam doesn’t laugh anymore. despite dean’s many and castiel’s few awkward attempts, it’s more like quick smile and a quiet “hmm”. on some days he recoils when he sees blood and guts, on other days he’s so apathetic it’s unnerving

sam sympathizes with the brought back mary and castiel more than ever. dean tries to get sam to remember things he’s forgotten from his childhood but sam can’t connect with it anymore. he stopped being that sam a long time ago. dean doesn’t know what else to do than try to force this connection to be revitalized and he fails. sam isn’t that person anymore and this wedge in their relationship becomes a central factor in dean’s s6-10 desperation and isolation. sam is here and safe but it’s not really sam, not the sam dean grew up with

while sam has forgotten how to make coffee, he now knows everything about angels, effective torture tricks, a bunch of lore + biblical history, how to navigate hell, the most powerful and influential demons, rare and powerful spells as well as perfect enochian (he will speak enochian without realizing and it feels more natural than english). lucifer and michael were surprisingly talkative (raging about the unfairness) when taking their anger and hatred out on sam and adam and each other. sam had access to all of lucifer’s memories and knowledge for the time he was the one in control. walking library and encyclopedia of biblical lore.

he still has some muscle memory from hunting and sparring, but sam is ghostly thin and very rusty. even though he’s an expert on lore, he’s not fit to go on hunts anymore and he knows it.

sam remembers adam and swears he’ll try to get him out, but he can’t. just thinking about the cage makes him vomit. he can’t talk about it, much less go near it. after a while sam thinks it might be better to let adam stay down there than let him come back up and feel this crushing emptiness and loss of direction

sam’s trials take place in s9 instead of 8; coinciding with dean’s villain arc. for sam the trials are a chance to redeem himself again, this time for good by closing hellgates forever. they’re scrubbing him clean of the demon blood and his sins and they give him a sense of purpose again now that he can’t join hunts anymore. it doesn’t matter if he dies because of it. it would be nice with a permanent and peaceful death that did something good. dean is taken aback by sam’s devotion to repent for something that happened years ago and for something sam has already paid for a thousand times over. dean realizes how messed up he himself has become and how he’s helped put sam here, on the cusp of self sacrifice again because of sickening guilt and self hatred. dean begs sam to not complete the trials at the cost of his own life and swears he’ll better himself, be a friend and a brother, not a jailer, dictator or a murderer. ‘if you won’t give yourself or life another chance, please give me one.’ ---> s10 pacifist dean learning to let go of the control, the violent tendencies and the rage

oh wait what if gadreel still possessed sam after the trials to heal him but sam is the one who invites the angel in? he’ll keep his promise to dean about staying alive, as well as heal from the inside and have breaks from the world when he doesn’t want to be present, like he and gadreel will alternate being the one in control. he keeps it a secret from dean and helps gadreel imitate him so dean won’t notice. it’s not so bad, being possessed by this angel - sam can say no anytime and gadreel is a nice guy. since they alternate on who’s present they can access each other’s memories, which is terrifying and embarrassing at first, but since gadreel and sam have been tricked and used by lucifer and been punished for it for far too long, they understand each other. now another creature knows their trauma and terrors without the need for verbal explanation. also having an angel residing in his body makes sam feel like he can hunt properly again because gadreel can heal him and take over in situations sam’s overpowered. this could show how messed up sam has come to view himself and his body.

dean is conflicted when he finds out; sam lied but gadreel does help sam heal, sam’s traumatized and his self-worth is fucked up and dean has contributed to that. dean convinces sam to push gadreel out, that sam is still valuable, loved and a good person who shouldn’t be in a place where he views his body and mind like a property to be occupied. sam’s faith begins to come back bit by bit, not in god, but in himself, his brother, in the good things in life. they build their little family; sam, dean, castiel, the hybrids, whomever of their allies that are alive at this point.

castiel can heal sam and dean’s wounds but they are never completely gone; they leave scars and phantom pains. the brothers have SO many scars over the years. dean flaunts them to impress people because he likes the questions and the fearful admiration, the attention and the nods of approval. sam hides them.

when dean is in a bad mood or needs to get his mind off of things, sam just drops something like ‘i don’t get the deal with led zeppelin. one of the most overrated bands of all time’ and dean will go OFF every single time about the entire led zeppelin history, their discography and how they’ve shaped rock music. this will go on for hours and sam will zone out after 1 minute. but dean rants nonsensically the entire drive and it does get him to think about something else for a little bit. they stop at a motel and dean is STILL ranting while brushing his teeth. stops when going to sleep but without fail picks up where he left off the morning after and is so into it he doesn’t notice sam not paying attention at all. we could see this once in s1 when they’re searching for john, another in s3 when dean is anxious about his deal coming to an end and then again in a later season, when sam doesn’t remember to ask/doesn’t have the patience or mental capability, so they’ll sit there in tense silence, showing how much they’ve changed.

---> i can see this SO clearly in my head, how they’ll get in the car and we, the audience, will recognize the camera angle, the same lines and dean’s grumpy mood, and we’ll anticipate what comes next. but sam isn’t that kid anymore and he’s not peeking at dean to gauge what his mood is and how much of a shit eating grin he should wear when being an annoying little brother to cheer dean up. now he’s looking out the window, leaned back, they’re not looking at each other. this shot is a minute or two long, uninterrupted. dean turns on music but neither are singing along or doing anything to lighten the mood.

s1-5: sam gets hooked on demon blood, dean has an alcohol problem. when sam goes through withdrawals, dean decides to quit drinking and joins him because he wants to be supportive, and he realizes that when he drinks two beers for breakfast there’s a problem

s6-10: sam takes painkillers, anti depressants and anti psyhosis meds to numb himself from the phantom pains and reduce post-cage effects. dean started drinking again after sam jumped and still does, but started smoking in addition because he still drives a lot and doesn’t want to die in something as pathetic as a car crash.

there a scene in an episode in the first half of s8, when sam has decided to stay with dean instead of amelia, and dean has rejected benny in favor of sam, and then the brothers sit in a couch watching tv while drinking beer and neither of them look particularly happy about it - that’s how their relationship is a lot of the time. they know they’re fucked up and neither of them will ever be truly happy when the other’s around, but they owe each other so much and they don’t have to explain themselves to each other the way they do to others. they know each other so well, each other’s traumas and the things they’ve done, it feels fake and exhausting to try to be something other than the veteran hunters they are. misery loves company; they are miserable together but would be far more miserable apart and living a normal life. they do love each other, but neither of them are particularly happy as the show progresses. family is hell and so is the lack of it.

OK OK i mentioned it in part one, how i had my own very specific idea about how jack should come to be and here it is. long winded but (might just write a damn fic):

after lucifer was cast back into the cage, he is stronger than he has been in a long time (being in his true vessel helped him stretched muscles he forgot he had. and fresh air.) sam is pulled out of the cage and it leaves a rift in the magic and chains - the binding is weaker and lucifer must act fast to get out before it heals. the cage is still strong enough to hold two archangels, so lucifer has to become weaker somehow to slip out through the cracks. he can’t get out of the cage, but souls can come in. demons bring themselves and human souls as tools for lucifer to use. there’s not much he can do here - consuming them, eating them, touching them, dissecting them doesn’t give him what he wants

eventually lucifer realizes he must do like azazel and create something new of two halves, like when he created demons. he begins melding his archangel grace with a human soul. he tries with demons, but his archangel grace automatically purifies them and leaves them too weak. he must try with a human soul who is good. he finds the soul of kelly kline, who sold her soul to save a loved one. with her, the merging, works.

he has another self, a twin, a son, who’s half human and half archangel. half lucifer. the old lucifer will die but that’s ok, his desires, presence and self will live on in his new creation. the new lucifer barely makes it out of the cage, only able to due to its human side. on earth it creates a body for itself and takes shape, no longer a form of pure power and energy akin to the sun itself but now a person, reminiscent of kelly kline on earth and lucifer in heaven. they name themselves jack. jack searches for familiarity and finds it in sam, their old self’s perfect tool and another hybrid. jack finds a mentor in castiel, a younger brother and fellow angel with human elements. they do not find anything in dean, the key to his former self’s doom.

jack’s powers: their powers are like and unlike the angels because he is half archangel. jack has wings but sometimes they don’t work, or they’ll end up somewhere else entirely. their body is their own, not a vessel, so jack can’t possess people. doesn’t talk but people “know” what they’re saying or want because jack emits their emotions and thoughts to people they’re talking to like a radio tower. jack can also have this empathic connection and communication with animals. his mood affects the weather. immortal. reads minds. can remove a soul from a body and send it to heaven/hell by touching it, with practice they don’t need to touch a body.

other stuff about jack: the human/archangel nature means jack only need sleep and food once a week or so. eats only nougat and raw meat. because jack is a kid they nap a lot. levitates when sleeping. never blinks, stares intensely at everything. their eye colour changes based on their mood. eyes glow in the dark. normal humans who look at jack for too long experience memory loss, fainting spells or migraines and eye contact for more than 10 seconds give vivid hallucinations of their worst nightmares. always barefoot, often floats like 10 cm off the ground because they find it more enjoyable than walking. wears the wildest clothes they can find, nothing matches and nothing is weather appropriate

i have a very specific image of jack in my mind; they look like delirium from the sandman comics with the hair that looks like it’s underwater and the fishes floating around their head, here and here are examples. in live action this would look not good or maybe even ridiculous for sure but in animation... endless potential for angels and monsters to have super interesting designs sigh

castiel’s arc should end with him going from blind soldier, to the unwilling ruler of heaven, finding a place on earth with sam and dean, becoming closer with humanity and eventually a father of three (the hybrids).

#hbo spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural #iben spoke #ok i'm tired of looking at this now #i just needed to get these thoughts out of my head to get some peace and quiet #more character centric than part 1 #and it turned into such a long post.... jesus #i should make a separate post for post cage sam headcanons #ana if you see this i'm so sorry to drag you into this mess but i wanted to give credit where credit is due

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aalapdavjekar · 3 years ago

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8 Lessons from Vipassana

2010 was a peculiar year. It was the year in which I found the great fortune of stumbling upon a book about the bizarre incidents and experiences of an Australian girl voyaging through the Indian subcontinent. The book — a 21st century rewrite of the lore of the hippie trail, offered little towards cerebral surprises, but made for a curious viewing of the life of someone who was brave (or foolish) enough to have gone through all the trouble that she did for the experiences she sought.

The author chronicled days spent discovering religion and spiritual heaven while avoiding hell — nosy neighbours, opportunistic rickshaw-wallas, and the odd would-be rapist. She portrays an all too familiar India — the world’s spiritual shopping mall serving food-poisoning on Tuesdays, vehicular accidents every Friday, and frightening latrines as a daily course. Not all of her pages carried so much drama, but they laid out a rough sketch of the trials and tribulations of the average foreigner in attempting to make sense of the country.

The smallest chapter in the book spoke to me the most. There was a tiny passage that depicted the joy and punishing solitude of the type rarely considered as thrill — monastic rituals, austere and rigorous routines, distress and hardship — it seemed a bit too much for anyone, let alone a solo adventurer. And yet, it seemed like just about the only thing she really enjoyed during her trip.

That was my introduction to Vipassana. That first memory is still fresh: the desire to confront this awkward specimen of a situation for myself, only because, at the time, it seemed so bizarre. To my ignorant mind, I could not have comprehended the result of ten long days (and nights), sitting around without the utterance of a single syllable. If nothing else, it would just be yet another substance: to taste, chew on, spit out, and rave about having conquered yet another mountain of sensory input; spin it all into a tall tale of profundity and wisdom.

Thankfully, the taste was sweet. To me, this became pretty important. It felt like a gigantic discovery and I often found myself proselytizing like a broken record for days after the first course. I eventually stopped for being seen as a bit of a nuisance, however, my fascination with the practice only grew with time. In those ten short days, I had experienced a deep, resounding change from within. As difficult as the journey had been, I only knew I had to keep going.

That was all ten years ago. 2010 was peculiar, but a dozen Vipassana courses later, life only became weirder.

It’s the stark contrast that gets you; the juxtaposition of life inside a course, and then witnessing the world outside. It is hard to illustrate and is not really the point of this post, but I mention it only because I’d like to warn you that many of the lessons I’ve learnt are all experiential truths. Simply engaging the intellect is not enough. You can’t describe the taste of salt to someone who has never experienced it before, and you can’t learn to swim simply by reading about it.

With that said, understand that even though I have been practicing for a while, it does not mean I have achieved any form of mastery over my practice. I still consider this as the just the first step in a very long path. I share these insights, all of which have broadened and enriched my understanding of not only myself, but of all-encompassing experience existence in itself. My only hope is to encourage you to sit down and focus on your breath.

1. Relaxing meditation is more like aggressive deconditioning…

The mind is a big ball of accumulated, tightly-knotted habits. Habits are not merely mundane proclivities like picking your nose, or a preference for K-pop. Habits are the set of all unconscious tendencies, picked up over the course of one’s life and through generations past, resulting in present thought, action, or both. Natural instincts such as the struggle to survive and the urge for sexual gratification are among the densest of elements residing within the mental landscape.

Mental forces are easiest to imagine when you think of them as analogous to Newton’s Third Law: each action has an equal and opposite reaction. As the mind sees, the mind does. Cause and effect. Through millions of years of evolution, the mind has been shaped to recognize and react to patterns. Certain emotions may result in specific thoughts. Certain thoughts may result in specific behaviours.

When you sit down to practice Vipassana, you essentially train yourself to observe the mind without reacting. The process may not seem like much but, with time, the simple act of observation decreases the rigidity and impulsiveness of the mind. Gradually, the simple act of watching it unravel before you, unveiling its knots until they loosen and eventually fade away, brings about a significant change. This does not mean that after ten days of meditation you will deprogram your mind and achieve liberation. It is a very gradual process. Believe me. Even after all these years, I’ve only scratched the surface and, so far, I’ve managed to adopt a slightly better diet. But I have better focus, more clarity of thought, less anxiety, and things that used to drive me crazy don’t annoy me as much anymore.

Meditation will change your brain. Thoughts included.

2. You are your mind’s weak, pathetic slave.

At any given time, you have very little conscious ability to overrule your genetic programming, emotional state, and natural surroundings (many have even argued that there is no such thing as conscious control and free will is an illusion, but that is a discussion for another time). The goal of meditation is to break free from the mind’s thrall: it’s patterns of thought. That’s the liberation that meditators keep referring to time and again.

If you find it hard to believe how little control you have over your mind, try to focus continuously on the breath just for a few minutes and notice the amount of thoughts that manage to pop up. You’ll quickly see how easily the mind is carried away. It’ll drift away, either to the future, or to the past. Bringing it back and keeping it in the present is a constant, seemingly endless struggle.

Our toxic addiction to our own thoughts creates the biggest hurdle. Over the course of our lives, we have been conditioned by our parents, school, society, even language, to think a certain way. Like the words we associate with objects to learn the alphabet in kindergarten, we continuously associate abstractions — words — to ideas; to the way things work. Our names for objects, people, places, feelings, situations, etc. are just names. They are concepts that are formed in the mind. In other words, our brain holds maps to reality which are drawn and redrawn over the course of our lives. But the map is not the territory, yet we are constantly under the delusion that the map is real.

Our fascination and attachment to our artificial concepts of what is real, important, and urgent is what hinders progress— the practice is essentially training the mind not to identify with one’s thoughts. In other words, to heal trauma, you need to learn to dissociate with the feeling which triggers the trauma. Trauma comes in many shapes. It may take the form of the stories that we forge for ourselves to make sense of who we are. The story we tell ourselves turns into the very bondage that keeps us in indefinite servitude to the mind.

The mind is a slippery serpent, as dangerous when untamed as it is powerful when mastered. Most beginners often find it frustrating how difficult it is to ‘control’ their minds. But therein lies the effort. It is a skill to be cultivated like any other. Exasperation and the desire to stop is a natural byproduct of the conditioning described earlier. There is an inertia to progress that needs to be continuously overcome. With time, it gets easier.

Meditation is simply a tool to harness and rein in the unruly mind.

3. Everything is connected. Every action has a consequence, and it matters.

This can be argued as a simple scientific principle. Richard Feynman in his lecture, “The Relation of Physics to Other Sciences,” describes the artificial divisions we create, forming a myriad of distinct models of understanding to comprehend and explain to ourselves aspects of the same reality. Brian Cox takes it even further.

My understanding leans towards the philosophical side, but bear with me. Most religions and spiritual traditions preach purity of mind, speech, and deed. Whether through scripture or ritual, they teach compassion, loving kindness, mercy and wisdom. I’ve realized that there’s more to this than mere morality.

To greatly simplify this, let’s imagine the world as a closed, finite system — something like a small swimming pool. Any kind of movement results in ripples that gradually extend across the body of water, affecting everything in their path. Eventually, given enough time, those ripples will bounce right back to whence they came. Sooner or later, your actions will meet their maker. But don’t mistake this as a need to be nice out of selfish necessity. The picture is bigger than this.

The world, much like our hypothetical swimming pool, is a melting pot of events resulting from simultaneous interactions causing countless, spontaneous consequences. It’s a chain reaction and an ocean of chaos, with the ebb and flow of individual currents that mingle, coalesce and form waves, crashing into one another to give us the great churning of the wheel that Buddhists speak of, and the agitation that we are almost too familiar with.

The turbulence, in essence, is the mind being washed away with the tide, engulfed and drowned in the vicissitudes of a constantly changing life. To remain steadfast and solid in such stormy waters would require nothing short of supreme mastery in the art of mindfulness. A cornerstone of such an endeavour requires the cultivation of a conscious effort to sustain complete awareness and acceptance for the present moment.

When one remains vigilant of thought, speech, and deed, and acquires a resolute and unwavering focus, then all the torment the ocean can muster will be but powerless against this tranquil state of mind. But even beyond that, tranquility will give way to reflection, understanding, and empathy. In other words, when you respond to anger with love, you cast water over the fire.

With practice, each action undertaken will arrive with more effort, more purpose and consideration. That is the delicate insight to be gained — that every action, every moment, every breath is sacred. Every bit of conscious presence is a gift to be treasured.

4. Nothing matters as much as you think it does…

Vipassana meditation is an exercise in cultivating insight through self-observation. You watch your breath and the sensations across your body as they arise and pass away, each time acknowledging their transient and impermanent nature. That, you come to realize, is the truth of all reality.

You realize that suffering is a form of mental attachment, not to any external object, but to the sensation that object has on your mind. This attachment is sometimes so subtle and imperceptible that it is impossible to witness it without a mind that is steady and calm. These attachments are what cause dukkha or suffering. Attachments are not limited to sensations that feel good. Any sensation that makes you feel like had more of it or less of it — desire and aversion — is attachment. The mind runs after pleasure, runs from fear and pain. These are attachments and they are a hindrance to the practice.

As you grow into your practice, you will gradually slip out of your old patterns of thought, replacing them with a more open, willing, and fluid presence of mind. What once bothered you may gradually dissolve into nothingness. What once seemed as part of you, possessed you, caused emotional havoc when you didn’t get what you wanted, might simply vanish from existence. No, you won’t turn into an emotionless robot. No it won’t make you give up everything in life, turn into a vagrant and move to the beach, unless you already desired those things. Meditation will only help sort out what you really want.

Practice will help you detach yourself from your thoughts until you realize that your thoughts are not you. Feelings come, feelings go. They are impermanent, and they don’t matter. All it requires is time and the simple act of observation.

5. You are not an experiential bubble.

For many beginners trying to embrace the many forms of mindfulness, one of the toughest obstacles to overcome is doubt. It may be doubt in oneself, doubt in the practice, doubt in one’s teacher, and so on. But it’s a natural response to something new, especially to those completely unfamiliar with these types of practices. Imparting trust is a transactional habit. Unless one is certain of attainable benefits and can measure their worth, they may find an unwillingness to take even the first step.

Couple a doubtful mind with the myriad of mental encounters one may face during meditation and the result might just kill the desire for practice. People have reported everything from swirling lights, out-of-body experiences, synesthesia, to demons. This is not unusual. Meditation is a gateway into the unconscious — a surgical procedure as S.N. Goenka, the person who brought the teaching of Vipassana back to India, describes. Through the process of Sankharupekkha (observing mental formations with equanimity), the practitioner encounters dormant impurities in the unconscious that rise to the surface of the mind, and manifest themselves as physical phenomenon.

Juxtaposed with modern-day culture, the meditative experience stands out like a sore thumb, often causing its students great confusion and mistrust in the very quality of what they are learning. It doesn’t help that the ideas and general philosophy presented by spiritual traditions are outright antithetical to “western” schools of thought.

Concepts such as avidya, anicca, dukkha, shunyata, samsara and nirvana are like salt. These are concepts that are almost impossible to understand through mere language—one must personally taste them. They are often horribly misconstrued and usually thrown out, replaced by a far shallower understanding that barely skims the surface of the teaching, conflating meditation with stress reduction and labour productivity. After all, these are the values our industrial societies can easily relate to.

We often make it harder on ourselves by letting our experiences fester. Remember to talk about them, discuss them, debate their true essence, and let them be out in the open. Let these ideas, however alien, achieve coherence and solidity. Give them a better chance to struggle and survive. There are many people out there experiencing the same reality, watching the same movie, feeling the same thing. The emotional outlet, especially when you are starting out in this practice is immensely valuable. It’s a small thing but it matters.

After my first ten-day Vipassana course came to a close, as the new students could finally open their mouths and start speaking with each other about their ten days spent in silence, we could all see the benefits this strange new thing had given us. I was in a room full of fifty-odd people that seemed to have had a similar experience in the course as I did. They all seemed calmer than on the first day, happier for having made it through; in the process, they had visibly changed. That’s what brought forth trust in the system; not only because it seemed to work across a diverse set of people, but because it made me realize that we are all in the same boat.

6. Compassion takes practice.

There is no absolute right or wrong. Understanding which is which requires not only context but patience. An impulsive and ignorant mind does not have the capacity to form correct judgement. An angry and intolerant person cannot be trusted to make rational and thoughtful decisions. Why do you need to develop proper judgement? The simplest possible answer: to progress in your practice. Hence, while Vipassana may bring insight, on the last day of each course, students are taught a slightly different type of meditation.

Metta, meaning ‘loving-kindness’, is a type of meditation that involves concentrating on directing love towards ourselves and others, even those (especially those) who may have hurt us. A daily practice of metta has its benefits, but most significant of all, is the way it complements insight meditation and brings out lasting, positive changes in mind and body.

The feeling is hard to describe, but all I can say is that (at the risk of sounding cliched), through the course of one’s life, pain is an inevitability, but suffering through the pain is a choice. With regular practice in metta, instead of being swept away by one’s emotions, one learns to consciously bring awareness to the suffering being experienced and replace it with compassionate and loving thoughts. Suffering is simply a negative reaction of the mind to any form of pain. With practice, mental aversion to pain gradually fades. Like mental ointment, compassion can heal the deepest of wounds.

But compassion takes practice. Think of it as learning a new language. Even if you have no prior experience reading the script or pronouncing the words, with time, you might just achieve fluency.

Compassion towards all beings, regardless of the situation, is an important goal for anyone serious about walking the path. When you emanate a constant stream of loving thoughts without ever missing a beat, then you might definitely consider yourself having changed for the better.

7. It’s all just glorified play.

By the time children reach the age of 3 or 4, their ego begins to form a cohesive identity — a map of themselves: I am this, I like that, I want to be so and so. Whether through nature or nurture, the child learns to take on a role for themselves depending on what the situation may bring: during interactions with their parents, with other children, and with society in general.

From an early age, children are engaged in play. Their games may be diverse, but are usually a form of role-playing: tea parties, dollhouses, make-believe — simulations of the adult world, to test its boundaries and see how things react. Fueled by curiosity and the joy of discovery, they rehearse and solidify their understanding of their surroundings, finding their place in the greater familial and societal picture, and simultaneously strengthen their masks of identity.

The masks we carry, birthed from the ego, may be necessary for our survival, but they are simply roles — the games we continue to play even as adults, with ourselves and with others. When the student of Vipassana comes to notice their own desires and attachments to the world, the identity of the self is often seen as the greatest attachment. It is the great epic; the story of ourselves that we’re so engrossed in writing and reciting— and madly in love with.

This story never ends. It lies permanently in the state of becoming: I am like this, I like that, I want to be so and so. The attachment to a false idea of oneself is the most difficult thing to witness and understand. It is the biggest delusion of the mind, and the greatest hindrance to one’s liberation from samsara — the endless cycle of birth and death. Whether you choose to believe that is unimportant, but recognising one’s tendencies to cling to one’s beliefs, one’s masks and identity, is a crucial process towards self-discovery and insight.

Recognising the mind for what it is — a constant stream of consciousness always in flux — will bring you a step closer to deciphering it.

8. You Know Nothing.

I know nothing. For knowing involves being certain, but if everything is impermanent and things are constantly in flux, then nothing can be certain.

To understand how truly inept we are at comprehending reality, consider the incredibly narrow spectrum of perception our brains provide. Our sensory organs: the eyes, ears, nose, tongue and skin offer only a slice of all the information that they come into contact with.

The eyes, for example, see only a thin slice of the electromagnetic spectrum, which we call visible light. Similarly, our hearing is restricted to frequencies of sound that fall between 20 Hz and 20 kHz. In the same way, we carry only a limited cognitive capability and intelligence.

It’s a humbling thought. At the very least, reminding oneself of the fragility of one’s understanding is a way to minimize cognitive bias. Further, since no one knows anything, knowing you know nothing will actually put you a step ahead of most people.

“I am wiser than this human being. For probably neither of us knows anything noble and good, but he supposes he knows something when he does not know, while I, just as I do not know, do not even suppose that I do. I am likely to be a little bit wiser than he in this very thing: that whatever I do not know, I do not even suppose I know.” — Plato’s Apology of Socrates

Similarly, from the Dhammapada:

“A fool who knows his foolishness is wise at least to that extent, but a fool who thinks himself wise is a fool indeed.”

Lastly, Shunryu Suzuki, a Japanese Zen Master calls the state of knowing nothing the “beginner’s mind,” the constant prerequisite for progressing in one’s practice:

“The goal of practice is always to keep our beginner’s mind. This does not mean a closed mind, but actually an empty mind and a ready mind. If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything; it is open to everything. In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities; in the expert’s mind there are few.” — from Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind

May all beings be happy.

#meditation #vipassana #insight #zen #buddhism #philosophy #wisdom

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inqorporeal · 4 years ago

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hi! i just read through your mandalore theory, and it's FASCINATING, i love it! any thoughts on Satine herself?

(The Mandalore Theory)

I have a LOT of thoughts about Satine, both meta and in-universe. If she were a real person, I can pretty much guarantee we would never be friends, but as a character she’s fascinatingly complex. I’mma put this under a cut, cus it’s going to be long.

Satine is a wealthy, privileged member of Kalevalan nobility, born and raised on Kalevala and educated on Coruscant. Her father, then-Duke of Mandalore, was likely rarely home when she and her siblings were younger, since he would have had to be resident in Sundari; the rest of the family remained on Kalevala for their safety, because the Mandalorian clan wars kicked off in 60 BBY when a number of Mandalorian clans rejected then-Mand’alor Jaster Mereel’s proposed social reformations and formed the Death Watch (the Wookieepedia says the clan wars started about 44 BBY, but if we examine the larger series of events, it’s pretty clear that things started much, much earlier). Satine hadn’t even been born at that time; due to the growing conflict, it’s understandable that the Duke’s family would have been housed elsewhere for their safety.

Satine’s mother and older sibling (the canonical parent of Korkie) are both unnamed but they’re also both presumed dead, likely victims of the Clan Wars. Eventually the Duke was also killed, prompting Satine’s involvement under the guard of Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

At this point, Satine is a complete outsider to Mandalore. Kalevala effectively owns Mandalore -- it has its own king/queen, and provides political support to the New Mandalorian faction (it can be debated as to whether Kalevala originated as a Mandalorian settlement which eventually severed ties, or if it began as its own sovereign world and later adopted some Mandalorian social structures such as the clan system). Satine is not from Mandalore, has never lived on Mandalore, was not educated on Mandalore, and has only the barest, most watered-down connection to Mandalorian culture. Canon and Legends offer slightly different stories, but the important part is that the Republic backed the New Mandalorian faction and helped them to win the Clan Wars. Satine then effectively outlawed traditional Mandalorian society within the parts of Mandalore controlled by the New Mandalorians.

There’s something to be said for the way people react to childhood trauma, the way they deal with healing, and how it affects their relationship with the world as adults. Satine was a child when she lost two members of her family, and a teenager when she lost her father to the same, seemingly unending conflict. Her family has been caught up in this war since before she was born, and it’s entirely understandable that she would have a vested interest in ending the conflict for good, preferably forever.

But as a result, her policies are authoritarian, albeit with the blessing of the people who consider her their leader. The people who stay in New Mandalorian-held territory approve of her work -- everyone is probably sick to death from nearly 20 years of fighting by that point. It’s notable that, during TCW, the only New Mandalorians who actively fight back against Death Watch are the Sundari guard: New Mandalorian civilians never give any indication of owning weapons, armour, or the means for self-defense, and without the Republic’s support -- which Satine refused! -- are utterly steam-rolled by Death Watch over the course of the Clone Wars. Traditional Mandalorian culture has been completely wiped out of their society, and whether this was the ultimate goal of the New Mandalorian faction or if Satine’s own policies led to this point, the fact of the matter is that she was the nominated leader of the movement and approved if not encouraged the sundering of Mandalorian martial tradition. The factions that wanted to continue the conflict -- who refused to surrender their culture -- were banished to what are effectively penal colonies: if they wouldn’t follow the New Mandalorian way of life, they would lose their ancestral homes.

These are not the policies of a leader who seeks reconciliation and social progress; these are the policies of a colonizing force. This is the quintessence of cultural genocide, and Satine is depicted at the forefront of the movement.

On the meta end of things, the fact that a kids’ TV show tries to prop this up as an ideal is more than a little shocking. There was so much space to have an exploration of morality and cultural preservation in TCW’s depiction of Mandalore and Satine as its controlling authority, but they completely dropped the ball and instead went with a very two-dimensional depiction with zero critical discussion. And then showed New Mandalorian pacifism failing Satine’s people repeatedly anyway; good job, Filoni.

Satine has her reasons for her policies and her treatment towards a significant population who should, in theory, also be her subjects. But it’s important to recognise the distinction between having a reason for one’s behaviour, and having a responsibility to address that behaviour when it’s hurting others (or oneself). When one is in a position of holding power over others -- whether in a management position, leadership role, parent or teacher -- it’s even more crucial.

My thoughts on Satine are that she’s a terrible person, secure in her perceived moral superiority, who never shows any indication of ever questioning whether her personal morality is actually what’s best for the hundreds of thousands -- if not millions -- of lives she’s responsible for. She places personal morals above necessary diplomatic compromise; and blames the resulting conflict on the people whose lives she effectively spearheaded the ruination of. If everyone would just do things her way, everything would be better! Whilst she deplores physical violence, her noncombative policies still enact violence against people who hold different values, and in this way she is as uncompromising as her opponent, Pre Vizsla; they both lead cults of personality by sheer force of will.

(A side issue for me with regards to Satine -- which is a far more personal issue than anything objective -- is her treatment of Obi-Wan Kenobi. She displays an incredible lack of respect for his culture -- which is consistent for her established characterisation -- and the way she constantly negs him reminds me of the way my asshole ex could never say anything positive about me. They’re set up to be an ideal for how Jedi should handle attachments and love, as a contrast to Anakin and Padme’s relationship, but I can’t see anything romantic in it.)

But you know what? As a character in a piece of media, I like her. Media desperately needs more complex characters like Satine, particularly female-presenting characters, who are frequently given only two dimensions and one of them is “pretty”. She had a role in TCW that could have been very nuanced with the room to explore a very controversial topic, had the writing been up to the task.

And then the showrunners killed her off for the sake of another character’s manpain. The New Mandalorians -- her cult of personality -- doesn’t even fall apart without her in charge, the way cults of personality are wont to do in real life! The manner of her death serves no real purpose at all in the larger plotline; she could have been killed by anyone else at any other point and it would have had the same effect on Mandalore. Nothing changes there in the year -- a full year! -- between Satine’s death and the Siege of Mandalore at the end of the Clone Wars. Satine could have been kept alive in captivity; she could have gone into exile; the results would have been the same, or possibly even more interesting.

I think Satine is an awful person. I also think that -- as a complicated, contentious, controversial character -- she was underused and underdeveloped, and deserved a hell of a lot better from the storyline than how it treated her.

#star wars #satine critical #advcntura

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davids-cartoon-corkboard · 5 years ago

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Do you think that if Shredder!Raph will occur in rottmnt, the aftermath might result in Raph inheriting some of Shredder’s rage even after saved? Maybe that is how the crew is going to implement Raph’s trademark temper throughout previous generations and maybe even make him have to step down due to it, making Leo the new leader?

Short answer: “Inheriting the rage of a centuries-old demon" is a dope-ass idea, so if you’re a writer I would definitely encourage you to use that in your own stuff. But I think that if Raph’s temper worsens throughout the show, it should be because of his own character development and not a magical effect. However, a Shredder!Raph scenario could contribute to said worsening temper by inflicting emotional/psychological damage instead. :)

Long answer ahoy!

Looking at “Many Unhappy Returns” from the Shredder’s perspective makes it very clear why he does what he does. Like, he’s been dead for five hundred years, and then something went wrong with his resurrection. He’s waking up with no idea where he is or what’s going on and oh shit those guys are pointing weapons at him, that’s a threat!

Note that he doesn’t even bolt for them immediately, he does a warning stomp and screech (back off!) before starting to approach.

Those other guys are yelling, that’s also a threat,

and they’re closer so he’s gonna attack them first, actually. (None of the Foot wind up even comically injured, suggesting that flailing them around was an intimidation tactic rather than genuine Murderous Intent.)

And then the first group attacks, so of course he’s going to retaliate.

And then suddenly he’s somewhere else, with other threats (the animatronics), and then the first group that attacked him is back, so he’s gonna fight them again.

And these jerks just keep following him? He’s not going to ignore that. And WOW that’s a lot of bright lights and loud noises, which are also threats, what the fuck is going on?!

And then this tiny human girl chucks a giant metal box at him, holy SHIT?! Sure, the Shredder is a dangerous antagonist, but at this point I wouldn’t call him a “bad guy”, he’s literally just responding to what’s happening to him.

In summary, the Shredder was stressed tf out because he didn’t know where he was or what was happening, he retaliated against perceived threats, and quite possibly wouldn’t have attacked the turtles in the first place if they hadn’t just rushed in without understanding the situation.

Gosh, doesn’t that sound familiar?

So yeah, I’m waiting for Rise to give us that good good Shredder!Raph content.

As for the possibility of Leo taking over afterwards... no, but also yes, sort of? On the one hand, we know that Leo does have leadership capabilities, and it would be a waste for the narrative to not explore that. On the other hand, Rise has broken from the status quo in many ways, and it would also be a waste for the show to do a complete 180 and return to Leo Being The Leader™.

Consider how the “leader” role has influenced Leo in past iterations: his perfectionism wears on him and his brothers, any failure tanks his self-esteem, he feels isolated from the rest due to taking on such a large share of responsibility, being an authority figure grinds everyone’s gears, etc. It’s just bad for his mental health.

No doubt all this responsibility will also wear on Rise!Raph as the story progresses and the stakes get higher. It will be bad for him as well. But if Raph steps down, Leo will once again suffer from the weight of this role. So if neither option is quite correct, if neither brother can shoulder the burden of leadership alone, then the solution is just... for neither of them to shoulder the burden of leadership alone. Sure, Raph will probably remain leader in title and in spirit, but Leo taking on a sort of “deputy” role makes sense from a strategic standpoint, and would be good for his character development.

Here’s how I think it could go down:

The Shredder!Raph scenario will be different from the Shredder!Draxum scenario. The Shredder was starved for mystic energy the first time around, so he immediately chewed Draxum up and spit him out. But Raph could be compared more to a battery than a meal; it will take a while for the Shredder to drain him. And at this point the Shredder could be back in “evil samurai” mode, and thus will understand the value of holding Raph hostage.

Y’all who have followed my blog for a bit know about my “Raph is a system” theory; that when he was little, he got separated from his family and pursued by some cryptid hunter. This trauma formed Savage Raph, who is able to handle “being lost/alone/threatened” when Host Raph cannot. “Pizza Puffs” didn’t give us a lot of info about who I’m calling “Red Raph”, but he made his presence known when Host Raph was sort of... "emotionally alone”? In that his brothers were dying a little bit and too stoned to care.

So if Raph is trapped inside a living cage, scared and helpless and hurt and exhausted, his family unable to help him... he’s not going to be able to handle it.

Or, rather, Host Raph isn’t going to be able to handle it.

These two can, though.

I’m imagining a scene in the mindscape where the Shredder says something like “Your pathetic family cannot bear to strike you down, and so there is nothing that can stand in m- wait, why are there three of you OW FUCK-” Red and Savage will mentally kick his ass long enough for the other turtles to rip off a chunk of the armor so Leo can portal it into another dimension or something. Shredder gets K.O.’d since he’s not whole anymore, and the battle is won.

Since the armor didn’t drain Raph as severely as it did Draxum, he won’t become as weak as Draxum did. However, it will still take him some time to recover. Raph trusts Leo in serious moments as of “Many Unhappy Returns”, and he already took charge when Raph wasn’t available back in “Man vs. Sewer”. So Raph will be like, “Hey Leo, can you handle the Mad Dogs for a bit? Just long enough for me to get back on my feet.” And Leo will be like, “Sure bro, I’ve got this.”

He does not, in fact, “got this”. Leo’s ego has caused trouble before (”Shell in a Cell”, “Minotaur Maze”), and being in charge will no doubt go to his head. This has the potential for both comedy and seriousness, leading to wacky mishaps and genuine danger. Being the leader is hard work and it’s not always fun, but someone has to do it and Leo will have to put the others before himself for it to get done. Once Leo realizes this, he could bond with Raph by asking for his advice on leadership. Sometimes Leo will follow the advice and sometimes he won’t, sometimes that will work out and sometimes it won’t, laying the foundation for the idea that there are situations where it will be better for one or the other to lead, rather than having one lead all the time. But that will only happen for a few episodes, because Raph will heal quickly and he’ll be the leader again and everything will be fine!

Everything will not, in fact, be fine. Raph is the strongest in the family, the tank, the one who can take a hit so the smaller ones don’t have to... the idea of being hurt, of being weak, scares him because his family is also in danger if he’s unwell. So I don’t think he’ll acknowledge to anyone, not even himself, that getting possessed hurt him emotionally as well as physically. And when a wound isn’t acknowledged, it doesn’t get tended to, and when a wound isn’t tended to, it gets worse.

That he’s a system will add another layer of complexity to this. The Shredder!Raph incident would make all the alters aware of each other via mindscape shenanigans, but it would also leave them with the fear of not being in control, so I think they’ll come in conflict with each other for a bit. They’ll argue with themselves, switch, and lose time more often, enough that it impedes their ability to function and the other characters start to notice something is wrong.

Host Raph will convince himself that Everything Is Fine and try to get things “back to normal”, which probably means he’s just straight-up not going to acknowledge that he's a system. He’ll rationalize that he’s always “gotten weird” from time to time, so it’s nothing to think too hard about... right?

Savage Raph will be on high alert because they just survived a near-death (a near soul-destroying) experience. He’ll probably take the front and go overboard fighting some villains that Host Raph could have ordinarily fought on his own. It might also take a while to convince Savage Raph that these “sewer monsters” who keep following him around really don’t mean him any harm.

Red Raph will get snappy (pardon the pun) about the more social aspect of “not being in control”; that Host Raph asked Leo to be in charge and then Leo started being an egotistical dumbass. And when Leo does make the right decisions, Donnie and Mikey might side with him over Raph, and that will also grind his gears.

Mix all that together and you have a recipe for a capital b Breakdown.

So yeah, I can definitely see how the Shredder!Raph incident and its aftermath would worsen all three of their tempers, trauma will fuck up your emotions real bad. Perhaps Host Raph loses faith in himself and tries to step down and get Leo to replace him as leader... only for Leo to be like “Bro I cannot do this full time I will one hundred percent have my own Breakdown if that happens.”

The life lessons here are that Leo learns to offer support by sometimes taking the leader role; not to benefit his own ego, but because he wants to help Raph. And Raph learns to accept support by letting Leo be in charge sometimes; not because he’s weak or incapable, but because he can’t always be a Staunch Immovable Rock and he needs to let himself rest by trusting Leo.

And then the Raphs can work on communicating, cooperating, letting their allies know about them, digging into their trauma, etc. now that they have some breathing room.

(Do you think the Hidden City has therapists? Steven Universe and Mao Mao both have therapists can we BLEASE get one for Raph.)

#Anonymous #rottmnt #rottmnt theory #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #rottmnt shredder #shredder!raph #savage raph #red raph #there's like 1800 words here holy shit #if anyone wants to do fic for this u have my blessing to go hog wild #the 'raph is a system' theory

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hayleyb100 · 4 years ago

Text

Light My Way, Part 2

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 the end

⚠️ WARNING! ⚠️

-It is a twisted story of Pokemon Sun and Moon, and a crossover of Pokemon SM and SWSH. -It features Hau and Kabu as the main characters. -Extremely angsty. -Everything is headcanon. -It isn’t spoiler-free.

It suddenly felt warm as if the long grim winter passed and the spring came. Hau slowly opened his eyes. His last memory was that horrid, fearful scene of a blonde lady's smirk, but somehow, he woke up on a hospital bed.

"Oh my gosh! He's awake! Doctor! Nanu! He's up!"

Olivia, who was nursing Hau, quickly summoned the doctor and Nanu who were talking outside.

"Are you okay boy? You sure got us worried." Nanu asked scratching his back head.

Hau, still looking confused, nodded slowly. He only then realized that the respirator was attached to his nose along with other medical monitors.

"You were out cold for 8 months, kid." Nanu shook his head, as he told what was going on to puzzled Hau.

"Th... That's as far as he has to know, Nanu." Olivia stopped him.

Hau finally realized what was going on. The glass case, sheer cold, blackout, evil smirk, frost. He was in a cold sleep like the other pokemons for half a year. Everything felt like a dream. It didn't feel real that Hau slept for that long.

Hau tried to move his fingers and limbs, but they didn't cooperate well. Instead, the pain struck Hau that made him frown and twitch.

"Don't try to move so much yet... Your muscles are not healed completely from the cold sleep. And since it wasn't used for a long while, you need time for rehabilitation." Olivia explained.

Despite Olivia's explanation, Hau desperately moved his head around to search for people who he needed the most right now. Someone who can comfort him. He tried to call them but even his voice wasn't working.

"Are you looking for your mother and grandfather?" Nanu sighed.

"Nanu! Not now!" Olivia interrupted Nanu, flustered as heck.

"Hey. He has to know. The more we hide, the more he'll hurt." Nanu snapped.

"Listen. Your mother and grandfather... Passed away. 5 months ago."

That was as far as Hau could hear. Hau kept telling Nanu that it isn't real with his eyes. He wanted to deny it so badly, but Nanu's serious face was telling it was a rigid truth.

"After you have gone missing, your mother was looking for you everywhere. But she had a tragic accident near the coastline. She didn't rest enough for many days so she missed her step at the beach cliff in extreme fatigue. And..."

Nanu inhaled deeply before he continued.

"And your grandfather... His heart gave out when he heard the news about his daughter-in-law. He was already feeling way too guilty that his son left Alola and you have gone missing because of him, but that was the last straw."

Devastation came crashing down like a meteor.

Hau's world started caving in. The despicable fear of being left alone in the world engulfed an 11 years old boy in an instant. Olivia held Hau's hand saying Nanu and she would stay beside him and take care of him, but those words just scattered into the air.

Only one thought obsessed Hau.

It's my fault.

I lead my mom and Tutu to death.

Because I was stupid to follow that woman, I lead my whole family to death.

Hau's eyes lost the liveliness in a snap of a finger and his body froze yet again in despair.

"Don't worry! We are reaching out to your father in another region, so I'm sure he'll come to get you soon." Olivia told something to lay the hope on, but Hau kept trembling in fear.

Few days passed, but there was no sign of Hau's dad anywhere. Hau's dad lied low and refused to come back to Alola because he didn't want to take responsibility. Since Kahuna Hala was respected by many Alolans, it was obvious that when he goes back, everyone will flak him intensely. So he decided to abandon Hau YET again, and dump all his responsibilities on his son. He was sorry, but he had no choice. He had to live.

But to Hau who doesn't know his so-called father's dirty intentions, only thought that his dad isn't coming because he hates him. It was no surprise to him since he leads his whole family to grim death and his body isn't functioning as well as it used to. Hau thought he was well worth abandoning. And it was double the pain to think he is as worthless and forgettable as a scab. It wrecked his self-esteem to the rock bottom.

Few weeks passed as Hau went through the remedial exercise programs to get his mobility back, but it didn't make a lot of progress. Hau's will to get back on his feet was zero since he saw no point in it. He frequently refused to eat and take medication. The doctors were struggling too, as the patient wasn't cooperating. Nanu and Olivia took turns to take care of Hau, but Hau severely refused to see Kahunas since it is what pushed him to extreme pressure and ended up running away from home... Ultimately, to his family's downfall.

Nanu and Olivia discussed the matter on how to turn the table around. Olivia suggested that they should hurry and find a loving new home for Hau. If adopting is difficult, they should find at least a foster family to take care of him.

"Wouldn't he refuse to get into a new family?" Nanu questioned.

"Yes, but Hau needs a new home anyway... When he is discharged from the hospital, he doesn't have anywhere to go. So we need to arrange a home for Hau as soon as possible. It would have been the best if he followed you or me, but he is refusing it. Plus, Hapu and the other Captains are way too young to take care of a child. And there's no way we can leave that poor little boy all alone in an empty home at Melemele Island. So, he needs someone."

Nanu nodded since what Olivia said was true. Although they didn't know why Hau was pushing them away, he adamantly refused to stay with either one of the two Kahunas. Hau's trauma of losing his grandfather forced him to push them away. He was afraid that the same fate lies if he stayed with them. He insisted that he would rather stay home alone in Melemele Island than owning them.

After a few weeks, doctors seriously thought Hau settled with a new family first, since the treatment wasn't making any progress. They realized that he needs support and love to treat wounds at heart before anything else. So they discussed with the two Kahunas about Hau's foster family. Many foster parents volunteered to take Hau in. But one couple caught the Kahunas' eyes since their home is located in Akala Island. They thought it would be better for Hau to stay away from Melemele Island for now to avoid triggers. They arranged and bridged the foster couple with Hau. Hau was unwilling to go, but they didn't want to burden Nanu and Olivia anymore, so he followed the foster parents.

But that didn't end well. Not at all.

The foster parents were expecting a sweet and innocent child, but Hau was none of that according to them. He was gloomy and quiet and was even unwell. They got tired of Hau very quickly, who isn't the child they were hoping to get. Within only a few weeks, they gave up the fostering as if they are refunding the item they purchased.

Nanu and Olivia were extremely upset, so they were determined to get a proper home for Hau this time. The next foster parents seemed very kind and gentle, but Nanu and Olivia didn't let their guard down. But for a while they dedicated a lot to Hau, giving Kahunas the trust. But they gave up on fostering yet again. In reality, they were coveting over Hala's bequest. Since there was no love for Hau, to begin with, they easily got fed up of taking care of sick child. Hau was sent back to the hospital and they vanished to somewhere, away from Kahunas' rage.

Hau was now careless. He knew he wasn't worth loving, but the two times of rejection weighed heavily on him. At this point, Hau was feeling helpless and giving up on himself. He thought even if he was kicked out from the hospital and left alone on the street, it was fine. After all, everyone would be frustrated if they have to take care of a child that isn't worth their time and effort. It would be frustrating for them to care for a child that everyone hates. Hau understood. He took away Kahuna everyone loved when he wasn't even cut to replace Hala's place.

I am worth being hated, Hau thought.

It's a cruel tragedy how children are so innocent, that they cannot imagine how some adults can be so malicious. And since they can't imagine that fact, they always blame themselves when it is the adults who are irresponsible and selfish. It was the same with Hau. Everything felt like it was his fault. If I wasn't such a coward, if I wasn't stupid enough to follow that woman, if I have just listened to Tutu... All the regrets choked him and justified all the childish and selfish behaviors of adults around him. He just gave up. He didn't even want to know what would happen next. He even felt that it would have been better off if he remained in cold sleep, forgotten by everyone. Hau grew gaunt day by day.

Several weeks passed, and the season changed. Hau remained indifferent and emotionless. He blankly watched how sprouts grow and flowers bloomed day by day outside the hospital window. Everything changed except him. That made him even more miserable. Little did he know, the turn of his life was approaching him.

"Hey, kid."

It was Nanu. And he was with someone.

"...I know you're fed up with me for saying this, but someone who wants to foster you is here."

Hau didn't pay attention. He just looked back at Nanu as if he was saying whatever. He thought he would just stay for a few weeks and come back to the hospital again.

The person who was standing next to Nanu smiled gently and stroked Hau's hand.

"Hello, Hau. My name is Kabu, the one who will foster you."

#pokemon hau #rival hau #trainer hau #gym leader kabu #kabu #kahuna nanu #kahuna olivia #pokemon sun and moon #pokemon sm #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon gen 7 #pokemon generation 7 #pokemon gen 8 #pokemon generation 8

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p-artsypants · 4 years ago

Text

Longest Night (45) Adjusting

Ao3 | FF.net

The few days they had spent at the Dupain-Cheng bakery so far were like a vacation. Not that their routines were much different…a lot of naps, video games, TV, reading…sometimes, Adrien would sit at the keyboard with headphones and tap out a tune. Whenever Marinette asked what he was playing, he’d just give her a little shrug and admit, “it’s not ready yet.”

The dinners with just Tom and Sabine were a lot more relaxed and warm, and they were usually followed with board games or a movie. At night, Adrien and Marinette would sit out on her balcony under a blanket, just enjoying the view of Paris.

Just in general, the bakery felt more like a home than whatever the mansion was. Marinette’s loft bed was cozy, and provided privacy and comfort. Like a cradle or a cocoon. Many nights, Marinette and Adrien would sit up late, talking about anything and everything, or sometimes nothing at all. Allowing the soothing presence of the other to fill the silence. Yes, the move proved to be for the best. Marinette’s room provided an environment that aided healing, and allowed the two to indulge in old hobbies. Marinette had yet to touch her sewing machine, but she had sketched a little in a sketchbook. It was the start that counted.

“You remember when you asked me to get that constipation medication for you from England?” Adrien asked one night, late.

Marinette had almost been asleep, but she groaned. “Ugh, yeah? Why did you have to remind me?”

“What was that about? I just assumed it was something we couldn’t get in France…but I wanted to do the friendly thing. But honestly, it’s been on my mind for a while now.”

She pushed up, propping up on one arm so she could look down at him. “First of all, that medicine wasn’t for me. It was for Master Fu.”

“Wait what? Why?”

“So here’s the story: He got really sick and asked me to deliver a love letter to his sweetheart. He wanted to connect with her in case it was the end. The doctor gave me the prescription. And because Master Fu was taking the leap to confess, I thought I would too, so I wrote you a letter. So I delivered a piece of paper to Master Fu’s girl, the pharmacist, and to you.”

“Oh no…”

“I gave Fu’s letter to the pharmacist, the prescription to you, and my letter to Fu’s girlfriend, which was so bad that it got her akumatized!”

“Oh my lady…I’m sure it was lovely, just out of context.”

“That was probably my worst attempt.” She groaned, rolling away from him.

“Worse attempt? There were others?”

“Good night, Adrien.”

He snuggled up behind her, whispering into her ear. “Please tell me your failures, my precious lady.”

She groaned again, kicking the blankets off of her legs so that she could sit up and face him. “Fine, you know what? Because of Alya, all of Paris already knows how hopelessly in love with you I was. And because of Lila, you know how much of a stalker I was.”

“A cute stalker.”

“Gee thanks.” She rolled her eyes. “God, where do I even start? Oh…you know that blue scarf that you got for your birthday one year?”

“Yeah?”

“It was actually from me. I don’t know how the mix up happened, but you thought it was from your father. It made you happy, so I let it be.”

Adrien leaned closer to her, his mouth opening in awe. “My lady…”

“That beret that Ladybug hand delivered was also from me. That was my closest attempt, but I had to erase my name on it…”

“Whatever for? I would have cherished it more! It’s collecting dust in my closet somewhere now.”

Marinette looked away, trying to find the words to explain. The beret brought up so many sour memories, and even more trauma that she didn’t need right now.

“My lady?”

“I shouldn’t have mentioned that one. It’s stupid.”

“Don’t shut me out,” he begged. “Please. I can’t stand it when you shut me out. I want to know everything about you, Marinette. You’re my best friend…and my wife. For better or for worse, right?”

She nodded, swallowing the thickness in her throat. “The first time I dropped it off at your house, I was shortly after stopped by Bunnyx. She said she needed my help because something had gone wrong in the future. So she took me into her burrow and dropped me off in Paris…” She shut her eyes, exhaling harshly. She had never gotten to tell anyone about this, and it weighed on her heavily, even after all this time.

“In Paris…?” Adrien urged her on.

“It was flooded. The Eiffel tower was toppled, and I could see the moon in the distance, completely shattered. You were there, all alone, and…akumatized.”

“Into Grimalkin?”

She shook her head. “Chat Blanc. All white suit, hair, even your skin was pale. And your eyes were piercing blue.”

He frowned, imagining that image.

“You knew my name, and you said it was our love that destroyed the world. We fought, and I fell in the water, where I found myself and Hawkmoth frozen in stone. I touched my statue and it turned to dust. I don’t know how long you’d been like that. But you were desperate to get my earrings. You said…you said a lot of terrible things. It was horrible to see you like that…so deranged, so lost and unhinged. A little like Grimalkin, to be honest.”

“I assume you won.”

“Yes, but you still knew my name afterwards. I realized that in that timeline, learning my identity led to you becoming an Akuma. And I figured, you, Adrien-you, must have seen me leaving your room when I left that beret for you. And somehow that led to my identity. So, I erased my name.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of that earlier? That couldn’t have been fun to keep bottled up.”

“It wasn’t. But...I prevented it. So it never happened. It was just a bad dream.”

“But...it wasn’t. Your Miraculous Ladybug undoes all the damage akumas do. It’s like those never happened, but the memories remain. Why is it different if you’re the only one that remembers?”

Marinette shrugged. “I guess I just didn’t want to worry you. I’m sorry.”

Adrien leaned forward to bump his head with hers, affectionately. “As long as we’re being honest about erased timelines...there’s something I should have talked to you about too.”

“What’s that?”

“Aspik.”

“Oh…that’s right! You used the Snake and Second Chance for a while.”

“25,913 times.” He answered, his voice portraying the pain the number brought.

“How do you remember?”

“Every time I restarted, the number flashed in front of my eyes. It went up and up…every five minutes. Every time I lost you. Every time you turned to dust. Every time I failed.”

“You tried so hard…”

“You insisted that you needed the snake, and that you didn’t need Chat Noir. Several times.”

“But it was only when you passed the snake onto Luka that we won. I did need you. I always need you, and I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t.”

“Plagg warned me. Over and over, he said I was making a mistake. And I kept shutting him down. I was being selfish. Every time I restarted, I got five more minutes with you, as Adrien, not as Chat Noir. I wanted to do so good you’d fall in love with me. But I just ended up hurting myself, because I kept letting you down. It was so painful…”

“I’m sorry for putting that burden on you. That wasn’t fair.”

“You couldn’t have known.” He sighed, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. There was still plenty of trauma to work through, but getting this out of the way paved the road for clearing his head. “I’m sorry for traumatizing you in another timeline too. I know I’m not at fault for that, but I hate that any version of me hurt you.”

Marinette held his face gently, letting her thumb roll over his cheek bones. Her mother’s cooking had done well to fill in his face, but there was still a sunken look to him. His cheeks and his eyes especially.

“You’re wonderful to me, Adrien. Always have been, in and out of the suit. And even with all the pain, trauma, and sadness…I’d still rather be with you than anyone else.”

“I feel the same. I feel connected to you. It might sound corny, but I feel it right down into my soul. When I was in solitary, there were moments where I would just hold my breath and see if I could feel you. If maybe I could somehow sense if you were still alive or not.” He looked away from her. “That sounds insane. I’m sorry.”

“No. No it doesn’t.” She urged. “I did the same thing. Sometimes during akuma fights, I can tell when something bad happened to you. I’m sure it’s because of the bond of our Miraculous, but I had hoped it had extended beyond that.”

Tikki’s sleepy voice spoke from the bedside table. “You really felt that way?”

“Oh, sorry Tikki, did we wake you?”

“A little. But it’s okay. Are you really able to tell when Chat’s harmed?”

“I…think so? Yeah…even when I don’t see him, I can feel a little pain.”

“That does happen, but not usually so early into a partnership. but…you both have gone through a lot together. It would make sense.”

“So...we are bonded?” Asked Adrien.

“Loosely. It’ll grow stronger the longer you’re together. A pair of holders in their 80’s were able to read each other’s minds!”

“Oh wow! That’s...that’s a little daunting.”

“I’m not crazy then,” Adrien stated, with a hand over his heart. “Pretending like we were connected was just about the only thing that kept me going through solitary. I thought that maybe…maybe as long as my heart was beating, yours was too.”

Marinette fell forward into him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face into his chest.

That strong heartbeat beat for her in her ear. “I thought as long as I thought about how much I loved you, you’d feel it.”

“I did, My Lady. Every time you whispered it to yourself, I got a warm feeling inside. Even in my darkest moments, I knew you loved me. Thank you. Thank you for loving me.”

“It wasn’t hard.”

—

Interacting with Gabriel came sooner than they hoped.

Today was a ‘progress day’, as Dr. Zollar had noted. A day that would push boundaries, and challenge them emotionally and maybe physically.

They were going back to school. Just for the day, to find out graduation requirements, but even going on the property was going to hurt.

The last time they were here…well, Marinette was still a ‘perverted stalker’.

They were going in with their parents, while class was in session, so it wasn’t likely that they’d be cornered by anyone.

“You ready, kiddos?” Asked Sabine.

Marinette nodded and slipped her hand into Adrien’s. For the first time since capture, they were both wearing jeans. The wounds on the back of their legs had healed enough to allow it, though it still wasn’t very comfortable. Adrien wore a loose T-Shirt, since his skin graft on his shoulder blades was still healing.

Tom rested a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “It’s okay son. We’ll be right there with you.”

So, they slowly made their way over to the school.

The Agreste’s silver sedan waited at the curb, and the Gorilla greeted them as they approached, opening the door for Emilie and Gabriel to exit.

“So this is your school?” Said Emilie, ever cheerful.

Adrien nodded. He had yet to resolve the tantrum he had over her, now that Gabriel had come clean. But the sting of betrayal still lingered, even if Emilie couldn’t have helped it.

Everything was just tense and no one was willing to talk it out.

For now, they had time, and Emilie was willing to give him space.

“It’s a really nice facility,” Sabine saved. “Adrien was on the fencing team!”

“Oh they have fencing? That’s wonderful! Not many public schools do!”

As the mothers led the group, talking, Marinette squeezed Adrien’s hand. “You doing alright, kitty?”

He tilted his head, and gave her a look, silently asking the same question.

“I’m nervous. I know I should probably…you know, at least see the class.”

“Don’t do anything you don’t want to.” Tom encouraged, patting her back patiently.

They had only been gone for about four months now, only a little longer than summer vacation, but the school just felt so small. It’s like that, when your world isn’t revolving around just one building anymore. In all of the nightmares Marinette had in solitude, the school was just so much bigger, and her classmates were even more vile, nasty, and cruel. Such is the poison of isolation.

Thankfully, class was in session, and no one was loitering in the halls as they made their way upstairs to Mr. Damocles office.

“Good afternoon and welcome back!” He greeted, too loudly.

“Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Damocles,” Sabine shook his hand.

“Oh it’s a pleasure. I would like to do my part to make sure Adrien and Marinette are all set for whatever they have planned next in life. What are we thinking? College? Working with Mr. Agreste?”

Marinette hunched her shoulders while Adrien scuffed his shoe on the floor.

“Let’s just think about getting their GEDs for right now.” Said Gabriel. “This is my wife, Emilie. She’s recently returned from an extended sabbatical.”

Marinette held back a snort. That’s what they were going with?

Mr. Damocles looked skeptical, but managed to smile and shake her hand anyways. “Welcome back, madam.”

Adrien and Marinette found chairs in the back of the room, allowing the parents to lead the conversation.

“So, here we have Marinette and Adrien’s transcripts. Starting in College, they are basically identical, since they took the same classes together. Adrien’s fulfilled his foreign language credit, and Marinette’s completed her arts credit. It appears that this semester, Adrien was planning to take Visual Arts, Physics, Trigonometry, Written Rhetoric, and World History, then he had two free periods for studying, or taking college level courses. Marinette was planned to take Chinese, Anatomy, Economics, Written Rhetoric, World History, and Visual Arts.”

“Well,” began Sabine, “Adrien and I can certainly help Marinette complete her Chinese credit. You know, I’ve been trying to teach her forever, she’s just so stubborn.”

“I’m just not good at it.” Marinette defended. “I haven’t had the proper motivation.”

“I will sign off on Written Rhetoric for both of them. I think they’ve given plenty of speeches as superheroes to count. And I think Anatomy and Physics can be counted as well. So we will just need to get them homeschool work for World History, Trigonometry, and Economics. And Adrien will need a Visual Arts credit.”

“His modeling wouldn’t count?” Gabriel asked.

Mr. Damocles hummed and hawed over it, then finally asked. “Was he getting paid for it?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t think I can count it for a credit. However, if he was allowed to work behind the camera for a little while, learning how to use the camera and the lights and such, I could count that.”

Gabriel turned to look at Adrien. “That’s doable, right?”

Adrien nodded.

“Alright. Then I’ll get the paperwork ready. I will look through my contacts for tutors in those subjects.”

“I wouldn’t mind teaching Marinette Economics.” Gabriel volunteered. “It’s something I’m rather proficient in, as a businessman.”

“Can you handle that?” Sabine asked her daughter.

Marinette wanted to say no, but she didn’t really want to spit in Gabriel’s face. Especially since he was just volunteering for her, and not Adrien. “I think that would be fine.”

“You said you were still interested in fashion design right? Then I can tailor what I teach you based on the industry.”

That was a pretty sweet deal. And old Marinette would have leapt on the chance. But the new Marinette was frightened by change, by stress, by the threat of disappointment.

And with how high Gabriel’s expectations continued to be, failure almost seemed certain.

There must have been a big stamp on her forehead that said ‘I’m not sure’ because Emile came to her rescue. “Let’s just try it out for a little while. If you need something…less intense, we can switch to a tutor.”

“Excellent.” Mr. Damocles stated, not really paying that much attention to the conversation anyway. “Adrien, Marinette…the rest of this meeting is going to be boring for you. Why don’t you both go pop in and say hello to your classmates, hm?”

Neither of them replied right away, as Adrien waited for her lead, and Marinette debated the pros and cons.

“Alya and Nino will be there.” Sabine said calmly. “And your classmates were all very worried about you. It’ll be okay.”

Marinette wrapped an arm around her waist, squeezing the nausea away.

Adrien stood, holding his hand out to her. She took hold, and let him lead her out of the room.

After the door closed, he answered, “I thought I’d at least get you away from prying eyes. We don’t have to go.”

She gnawed at her lip, before finally deciding, “let’s go. Just for a little bit, to prove that we could.”

“We don’t need to prove anything to anyone. They’re the ones that failed us.”

“You’re right…but, I’m tired of being afraid of everything. I’m tired of being set off by every little thing. I shouldn’t let a bunch of stupid high school kids bother me anymore. We have Alya, Nino, and Chloe on our side.” She clenched her fist. “Do you want to say hi to everyone?”

“I don’t care about them.” He shrugged. “I know Alya and Nino said everyone changed their tune after we were revealed on TV, but they failed us when we needed them the most. They couldn’t save us from Salo, but they could have made the days before a lot less painful.”

Marinette clenched her eyes shut, feeling the sting of his words. It was as if he was a mind reader, since that was exactly how she was feeling. He didn’t even need to ask. “They could have made my time in isolation hurt less. I might have been optimistic. If only they had cared when it mattered. If only they trusted me when I was just Marinette.”

Adrien curled his fingers into her palm, brushing against the scar there that bore his name. “Do you think…we should say this to them? Would it help?”

“Dr. Zollar said we should let people apologize to us. That it’ll help more than we think.” She sighed. “But I’m afraid that they’ll sweep it under the rug, and pretend like it didn’t happen.”

“Then, we’ll sweep them under the rug. Cut our losses and forget them. We don’t need anyone anyway, right my lady?”

“You and me against the world,” she nodded. She took a shuddering breath. “Okay. I think…I think I can go. You’ll be right beside me?”

“Of course.”

He never let go of her hand as they made their way down the hall. The classroom appeared far too soon for Marinette’s liking, and they stood just outside, waiting. Adrien would let her take the initiative, whenever she was ready.

She had to prepare for every bad scenario, no matter how unlikely. If she had a plan for each one, she couldn’t be surprised. Right?

Finally, she nodded to Adrien and then knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Called Miss Bustier.

Marinette turned the knob, holding her breath, before pushing it open.

The class was silent, save for a few gasps.

“Well hello you two!” Miss Bustier greeted warmly, tears in her eyes. “I didn’t know you’d be coming back!”

“We’re not. We just…came to visit.” Marinette barely whispered, looking only at the teacher.

“That’s wonderful!”

“Are we interrupting anything? Do you want us to come back later?”

“No no, please come in, we’ll take a little break!”

And then she dared to cast her gaze to her old classmates, her old friends.

Every eye was on her, coupled with trembling lips, tense postures, and vainly restrained tears. It looked like everyone wanted to say something, but no one wanted to be first.

She didn’t know what to say either.

The front desk that her and Adrien had shared for one day was empty.

“What brings you both here?” Miss Bustier asked, rescuing them.

“We’re…we’re uh…looking at graduation requirements. We won’t be…coming back to class.”

“That’s understandable. Well, I’m sure any of your classmates would be willing to study with you anyways if you need help.”

“Alya and Nino have been coming around a lot…keeping us in the loop.”

“Oh that’s good! Well, don’t let me take all of your attention, I’m sure someone has a question for you--”

“Yeah, I have a question!” A voice called from the back of the classroom. She stood, crossing her arms. “How the hell are you allowed to be here?” Lila asked.

Marinette flinched at the sound of her voice.

“Lila, I think you better sit down and be quiet.” Miss Bustier warned. “You’re on probation, you should watch yourself.”

“I am! In fact, I have a restraining order on both of them. They are breaking the law by being here.”

“If them being here is a problem, then why don’t you just leave?” Asked Chloe, also standing.

“Because I belong here! I’m a student in this class and I have a right to be here! They, on the other hand, are monsters!”

Marinette clenched her fists as Adrien turned to hide his face in her shoulder.

“Lila, shut up!” Alya shouted, slamming her fist on the desk behind her. “Admit that you dug yourself into a hole and you’re too proud to apologize! I’m not buying this stupid restraining order fib, just like we haven’t bought a single story out of your mouth in the last three months!”

“I’m not lying about the restraining order!” Lila shouted right back, with real venom in her tone. Her sweet veneer was completely gone, and all that remained was the nasty, snarling beast that had been hiding the whole time. “They came to my house! They cut out my tongue! Ask my mother! Ask the hospital!”

“Oh yeah?” Asked Alix, “If they cut out your tongue, you seem to be talking really well without it.”

“Like they would bother with you…” Someone else muttered.

“It was when they were akumatized!”

“Just save your breath.” Chloe huffed. “You can’t tell the truth even if you wanted to.”

“She’s telling the truth this time.” Said Marinette, tone blank and devoid of emotion.

The class turned to look at her, seeing the look on her face. It spoke volumes of pure wrath, and Adrien’s matched.

“We cut out that bitch’s tongue.” She said, her voice calm, deep, and vacant of regret. “The last thing we did, we went to her house. I had a pair of clamps, and Grimalkin had his claws. We ripped it out. She cried the whole time. She cried and screamed…it was the happiest I felt in a long time. I’d do it again if I could. I’d rip out her tongue, I’d crush her throat…”

The body laid on the ground.

“I’d cut her in half…”

Organs spilling on the floor.

“Make her scream…”

Red hair sprawled across the bloody cement.

“Make her writhe…”

The screams of men and women echoing through the halls, their dying breaths capping them off into silence.

“Make her suffer…just as I suffered.”

“Go ahead, kill me. Let your God punish me.”

“He’ll get his turn…he’ll get his turn…burn in hell. Burn in hell!”

Salo’s body laid right in front of her, turning into dust from Grimalkin’s cataclysm. Marinette kicked in vain, trying to get it to disappear.

“Go away! Leave us alone!” She sobbed. “Die! Die! Die!”

By the time Marinette realized she wasn’t in the catacombs anymore, she was sitting on a bench in the school courtyard, head back with a wet washcloth on her face.

“That’s right, just breathe. You’re alright, Marinette.” Alya held her hand, rubbing comforting circles on the back of it.

A pair of strong hands gently massaged her shoulders, and opening her eyes, she found that they belonged to Kim.

“Hey girly. You back with us now?” He asked softly.

Marinette clenched her eyes shut. “Shit.”

“If I had known you were going to visit, I would have asked Miss Bustier to get rid of her for a while. I’m sorry, girl.”

Marinette sat up, glancing around. Alya, Kim, Alix, and Mylene were around her, just silently watching to make sure she was alright.

“Where is he? Where’s Adrien?” Was her next concern.

Alya simply pointed at the upstairs railing, where he was walking with Nino and Chloe. “He started crying when you started talking about...some violent stuff. We thought it best that we separate you until you calmed down.”

“I’m sorry...I don’t know what got into me...”

“Girl, you do not need to apologize. If Lila has a restraining order on you, she should have kept her mouth shut and left the room. She doesn’t deserve any rights.”

“Did I hear Miss Bustier say she was on Parole?”

“For ‘disrupting police activity’. She couldn’t get jail time just for Libel, but the judge slapped her with that, since what she did wasn’t just mean, it was dangerous.”

“So if she got jail time, why is she here at school?”

“She only got a week in jail,” responded Alix with an eye roll. “But her punishment isn’t over. She has to stay with our class until she graduates, and then she’ll be reevaluated based on performance.”

Alya continued, “The judge wanted her in an environment where everyone knew what she did, and no one would want to be her friend. He wants her to focus on school, and not have an audience. This is according to Miss Bustier, of course, who instructed us not to talk to her.”

“Wow. Go Miss Bustier.”

“Yeah.” Said Kim, “Except Lila makes sure we all know how awful we are and how this is as much our fault as hers. ’This never would have happened if you weren’t all so gullible! Marinette and Adrien wouldn’t be tortured if you weren’t so stupid!’”

“Oh my god, she said that?” Marinette sneered. “Our capture had nothing to do with her. Chat and I still would have fought against Edward Savauge and still made…her go out for revenge. Lila knows this. She was in that room. She saw my mouth—“ Marinette pressed her nails into her lip, feeling the sting of the needle.

Mylene grabbed her arm and pulled it away from her. “We’re not listening to Lila. She’s loud and demanding, but we know the facts. She’s just angry she’s not getting attention. Don’t think about her anymore.”

By this time, Adrien, Nino, and Chloe had reached the bottom of the stairs. He ran to her, scooping her up into a hug with a shudder.

“I’m sorry, Kitty. I’m sorry…”

“It’s all okay now,” Nino assured, patting Adrien on the back. “We calmed him down. I think he’s more concerned about you.”

“I’m…I think I’m okay. Just seeing her face and hearing her accusing me…I just snapped.”

“It was pretty badass,” Alix commented. “Yeah, it sucked, but it probably instilled the fear of Jesus in her for a little while. I think she needed that.”

“Oh my god, you didn’t hear the best part!” Said Chloe, “She got jail time! And now she’s on parole—“

“Yeah, we already told her all that.” Said Alix with a smirk.

“Well, did you mention the lawsuits? Gabriel and the city of Paris both sued her and her family for Libel. Her mother refused to pay it for her, so now as soon as Lila’s of age, she’ll be paying the city police department and both of you thousands of dollars. Most likely for the rest of her life!”

“I don’t want her money,” Marinette scoffed. “Especially if I have to interact with her.”

“You won’t.” Chloe assured her. “Gabriel will be taking care of it for you.”

“And you don’t have to accept her money,” suggested Alix. “You could put it in a fund or a grant. Give it to other people who have been slandered against! Or people that what’s-her-face hurt! The possibilities are endless!”

“I don’t know if I have the will to run a charity right now guys…” Marinette shrunk on herself.

“Then let someone else do it.”

“I volunteer!” Shouted Chloe. “After all, I’m the one with all the real contacts. You all can help, of course.”

Tom and Sabine hurried down from the Principal’s office. “There you are! Miss Bustier said you had an episode, Marinette. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine now, Maman. Just…had a run in with an old enemy.”

“Well, Gabriel’s wrapping everything up now. So let’s get you kiddos home, okay?”

“Can we come visit you?” Asked Mylene. “We, as a class, wanted to so many times, but we weren’t sure if you wanted to even see us. Alya, Nino, and Chloe said you’d might not be up to discuss it.”

Marinette breathed slowly, considering the question. She turned to Adrien, asking him silently. He gave a little nod.

“I suppose, that would be okay. Is that okay with you, maman?”

“Of course, baby. I’m always happy when you’re willing to have guests.”

“Awesome!” Said Alya with a little clap. “We’ll come over after school! We won’t stay too long, just long enough to say hi and bye!”

Marinette stood, holding out her hand to Adrien. “Can’t wait.”

—

After they returned home and closed the trap door to her room, Adrien embraced her, squeezing her tightly. “You worried me,” he whispered. “What happened?”

“I…don’t know. I just vividly remembered the night we cut out her tongue…and then I got lost. Salo was there, the last time we saw her. What did I do?”

“Just a lot of screaming. Over and over, you just shouted ‘die’ and ‘burn in hell’. It was…really scary.”

“I’m sorry, Kitty. You were right, we shouldn’t have gone.”

“Well…I don’t know about that. Chloe and Nino seemed to be really proud of us for stopping by. I like it when they say they’re proud of our decisions. Makes the pain worth it.”

“I suppose.”

There was a knock at the trap door before Gabriel opened it. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you both know you’re all set to start homeschooling whenever you’re ready. Mr. Damocles said even if you don’t finish your credits in time, you can still walk with your class, if you’d like.”

“That’s nice,” Marinette said quietly.

“Are you alright? Your teacher said there was an…incident.”

She turned to look him right in the eye. “Why do we remember being akumatized? No one else ever has. Is it because we had Miraculous for so long?”

Gabriel shook his head. “I’m not completely sure, but I have a hunch. Since I made two akumas at the same time, I split the tether I had on you. That’s why you overpowered my control. Nooroo warned me it would happen, but I thought it would be worth the risk. I didn’t know you’d keep your memories of that, however. I never wanted to add to your trauma.”

“Well. If it wasn’t on purpose, I suppose we can’t be mad at you.”

Gabriel shrugged helplessly. “You can be as mad at me as you want. I’m expecting it.”

Adrien left Marinette’s arms and went over to lay down on the chaise.

“At any rate, thank you for the explanation.”

“Of course. Any answers you want, you deserve.” He swallowed. “Your outfits for the Mayor’s ball are coming around lovely. If it’s alright, let me know when I can bring them over for a fitting. It’s still several weeks away.”

“Thank you, Gabriel. Whenever my mother is free for her fitting should be fine.”

“Alright. I’ll leave you alone now.” He took a step down, partially closing the door. Then at the last second he added, “bye son, I love you.”

—

Only a few hours later, after Marinette and Adrien had changed into more comfortable clothes, there was another knock at the trap door.

“Come in,” said Marinette, as she spread cushions out on the floor.

“Um…” Said Rose from below. “Could you…open the door and then stand back?”

Curious, Marinette did as instructed.

A bunch of balloons floated up into the room, followed by a huge bouquet of flowers, and then a giant stuffed black cat.

Both Marinette and Adrien stared in shock.

“Too much or not enough?” Asked Rose, poking her head in.

“What is all this?” She asked, beckoning her classmates into the room.

“Offerings of apologies and gratitude, of course,” said Max. “Everyone in our class was akumatized at least once, and we all agreed we owed both of you a huge thank you for rescuing us. And of course, we all owe you an apology, Marinette.”

“O-oh…thank you.”

“We sort of thought you’d never want to see us again…but you took the initiative to come see us at school…the least we could do was follow up.” Said Nathaniel. He handed her a handmade card. “I hope you can forgive us for ever doubting you.”

Marinette took the card, admiring the artwork. The outside showed Ladybug and Chat Noir standing proudly over the city. Inside, a cartoon-ish Ladybug, bandaged up, was putting bandaids on an equally cartoony Chat Noir. The caption read, “you’re still Purr-Fect to us!”

It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. “I…I will forgive you. I have a lot of bad feelings, but my therapist is helping me work through them.”

“Do you do hugs?” Asked Kim.

“Gentle. Especially with Adrien, he still has some stitches on his shoulder blades.”

Getting hugged by each and every person who had doubted her did wonders. With each kiss to the cheek and pat on the head, she could feel some of the bitterness fading. It wouldn’t leave fully for a long time, but to see genuine remorse was like a soothing balm on an inflamed wound.

It felt nice to have friends again. Adrien had worked so hard to get them in the first place. Losing respect for everyone he had known had really solidified his decision to stop speaking.

But for them to come around and humble themselves and apologize really took the fight out of him. Maybe cutting them off wasn’t necessary. Maybe there was more to these traitors. Maybe people were capable of change.

Maybe it wasn’t just teenagers that changed either. Maybe adults too. Adults like his father and Salo.

“Oh Adrien,” asked Nino, sitting on the chaise lounge. “Is that the keyboard the Couffaine’s let you borrow?”

Adrien nodded.

“Are you practicing anything right now?”

“Adrien’s been working on something. A song he had in his head in the catacombs. It’s in the works.”

“Cool! Bro, you gotta let me hear!”

Adrien shook his head.

“Sorry Nino, I can’t get it out of him either. He says it’s not ready yet.”

“Aw bummer!” Nino groaned. “But let me hear it the moment it’s done, okay?”

Adrien gave a twitch of a smile.

The girls had already settled on the cushions on the floor, and beckoned the boys to join them.

“Now,” began Alya, as she took a binder out of her backpack, “we have some very important business to discuss.”

Marinette frowned at her. “Hey wait a minute…that’s my—“

“Your dream wedding planner? Yes, I held onto it when we hid all of your personal belongings when you were first captured.” She cracked it open and set it on the floor.

Adrien peered around, trying to get a look.

Marinette covered his eyes. “Alya, put that away! That’s private!”

“Is it not accurate anymore?”

“I mean…I still would like to use it…”

“Great! We’re going to start planning now! And don’t worry Sunshine, this book is tailored to you as the groom.”

Adrien smiled, despite Marinette’s hand over his eyes.

“Must you humiliate me this way?” Marinette asked, blushing.

The class shared giggles at that.

“Don’t even sweat it Marinette,” said Chloe, waving her hand around. “We’re going to make sure you and Adrikins have the bestest, most glamorous wedding since William and Kate!”

Still blushing, “well, I don’t want big and glamorous…I want small and intimate.”

“Small and glamorous it is!”

—

This chapter was fun because I had to recall the classes I took in my senior year of high school. I felt like I was leaving a subject out, but Adrien and Marinette have no reason to be taking Bible classes lol (I went to a pre-seminary Christian School)

A friend who wishes to stay anonymous wrote this for me. She said she was inspired, and in turn, she inspired me! This bonus scene is canon to the story:

A creaking moan gently woke him. His eyes opened—once, then twice. He took a moment to realize that the cloud caressing his body, which still stung with every pulse, was not a cloud, but a down-alternative comforter.

He was in Marinette’s—his bed, in their room, in their house. And there was sound coming from his left—warmth and sound. A whimper. A cry. And, again, a moan—quiet anguish. He rolled over to face the source.

“Marinette,” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”

The dark figure of his wife’s frail form didn’t stir. He asked again. “My lady? Are you awake?”

Still nothing.

He brought his face closer to hers. The light pollution filtering through the skylight served as the only source of illumination. As his eyes adjusted and focused on hers, his stomach churned. Her face was a scrunched display of pitiful agony, and her hands were at her throat. She whimpered once more—her lips pressed together in a hard line, unmoving as her sad cries escaped them. The light reflected from her cheeks in dribbles of tears.

He sat up, electrified. “My lady! My lady!” His voice cracked. He grabbed at the hold she had on her own neck.

Her eyes shot open as she gasped awake. She saw his silhouette and was instantly sitting up to meet his gaze.

“Adrien! Adrien! What’s wrong? Talk to me! It’s okay! I’m here! You’re not alone! You’re not locked in!” She was panting.

“Nothing is wrong. I’m okay. I am worried about you. You’re crying in your sleep.”

She wiped at her face with bony fingers. “Did I wake you? I am so sorry, mon chaton.”

“Don’t apologize. I was just worried. Are you alright?” He was whispering now.

“Yeah, I am okay. Just another nightmare. Happens all the time. Go back to sleep.”

“Nightmares?” It hit him as the words left his lips. She was back there. All the time. The burns at her neck, the blood and the thread at her lips. The sounds and the smells and the cold and the—he choked as he took a deep breath; there was seemingly no air to take in.

“Adrien, breathe,” Marinette pleaded. Everything is okay.

He tried again, more slowly, through his nose. It worked.

“Good kitty,” she praised.

Her sweet praise, like a narcotic through his veins, made his muscles relax and his pain momentarily vanish.

He reached out and brought her closer to him. They embraced in silence. He squinted his eyes tightly so that his tears would not betray his resolve to finally become strong once more.

Like a divine epiphany, the sight of her suffering in slumber awoke something in him that he thought was long dead. It growled past the shadows of his worst repressed instincts. It brought a burning feeling back to his core—his soul.

How could he continue to let himself drown in self pity, when she was so strong a life preserver to him? Was he so preoccupied with his own suffering that he didn’t think to ask if she, too, was drowning?

Why? Why did she swim so strongly when he was watching, only for her head to go under as soon as he turned away? The bravery she displayed for him was full of cracks he couldn’t see.

And she was dragged back to Hell, every night, alone.

Never again. He would get strong. No—he would become even stronger than he was before—his armor, bulletproof and fireproof; his claws, devastatingly destructive; his senses, heightened to an atmospheric level. He would grow powerful enough to protect her and capable enough to rescue her from any evil. His magic would evolve into a force strong enough to infiltrate her dreams and deliver her from suffering. Silent was this promise as he held his life preserver tighter to his chest.

He let out a low, menacing growl. “I’ve come back, My Lady.”

#ml #miraculous ladybug #longest night #ladybug #chat noir #fanfiction #adrinette #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #lila rossi is exposed #chat blanc

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gaynoctgar · 4 years ago

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Prompto’s Brotherhood Arc is Fatphobic 2, Electric Boogaloo: Haley’s Back and She is Pissed

This essay is going to be an even deeper dive into the fatphobia that permeates Prompto’s character arc, and is going to handle the issue with more grace and nuance than I did the first time. This is also going to explore the effects the arc had on me as a player, and on other players who share my experiences. It is going to be very organized, long, and methodical (word count: ~5300). It’s a bit of a doozy, but it is something I feel it is very important. I have been wanting to elaborate on my previous Prompto essay for a long time, and for reasons I will detail below, I feel that I am ready to do this now.

Consider this a sequel to my earlier essay, and I will be referencing it throughout.

Stand back everyone; Haley’s about to get mean and personal.

Under the cut for safety and length, please avoid if the subject is triggering to you! Take care of yourselves!

Thank you all so, so much for hearing what I have to say.

TW: fatphobia, eating disorders (both in terms of Prompto and of the author)

Intro

All right everyone, buckle in. Last time I think I was a little bit too nice about this. Last time I think I let a little too much go. But I’m a full three years older now and I’ve seen a few more things. And now I think it’s time that I really just let loose and criticize the fuck out of Square for something they have consistently done wrong, and that is the way they have handled issues with weight in regards to one Prompto Argentum.

Many of you may know that Prompto is one of my favorite characters in anything ever. This very sideblog, in fact, used to be named for him (old url was promptoisbi). It’s because of this that I hate that he’s so consistently shit on by the narrative, but right now we are talking about the out-of-universe insidiousness of the fatphobia that completely permeates this story.

The first essay is right here but the TL;DR version of that is essentially “the way that Prompto’s weight loss in Brotherhood is portrayed as a moral and positive good and in fact necessary for him to be a protagonist is immensely fatphobic. Because the game refuses to problematize this, I am going to, and I’m going to contextualize that with my own experiences to help explain why this is so fucked.” At that time, I was recovering from long-term anorexia, and I think that permeated a lot of what I wrote. I don’t regret this, and I still think the essay is pretty solid. But I’m not a woman who won’t admit her own limitations, and one of mine at the time was that a lot of my fatphobia was internalized. Now that I am healing, now that I have talked to other people with experiences that mirror my own (notably @chubbyargentum), I think I am in a better place to articulate what upsets me.

The rest of the essay will be divided into six parts, themed as follows:

A redux of my central criticism in the first essay, that the narrative treats Prompto’s weight loss as a positive, moral good. In fact, it’s necessary for him to be seen as a protagonist.

Detailing that Prompto’s weight loss was directly motivated by another character, and this other character does not apologize to Prompto at all for his previous behavior. We are in fact supposed to believe that him saying what he said was a good thing.

Evidence that Prompto still legitimately has an eating disorder from his trauma. This goes unexamined by the story, and in fact seems to be actively encouraged by other characters, notably Ignis and Noct. This isn’t to bash the characters, but the way they are written.

Points 1 and 3 combined produce a genuinely triggering experience for players like me; this is where I detail some of my own history with weight and eating problems.

Anticipating pushback, I propose two alternative scenarios that avoid the problems outlined in parts 1-4: one where Prompto doesn’t lose weight, and one where he does but it’s handled a lot more sensitively.

A personal look at what (and who) actually motivated me to do a Part 2 to my essay.

Followed by a TL;DR conclusion if you want to jump right to the heart of things. I know this is a long essay, and I don’t apologize, but I do want to make it accessible to those who might have a harder time reading something so long.

Time to knock down these points, one by one:

Part 1: Equating Weight Loss to Morality

Prompto’s episode in Brotherhood, “Dogged Runner,” serves as our introduction both to Prompto as a character, and pulls double-duty to show us how he becomes involved in the life of a prince. Gladio and Ignis’ episodes did not have to do this double work because they are in Noct’s life by occupation, but Prompto, being a commoner, needs this introduction. Unfortunately, this episode is not twice as long to handle the double workload it gave itself, and the plot clearly suffers for it. For those who don’t remember, Prompto seems to be a child who more or less raises himself--a shy boy who is in the same grade as Noctis. He is quite obviously overweight, and the episode in fact chooses to focus the bulk of its attention on that rather than how he met Noctis (this will be explored in Part 2, below). This is what I take issue with.

Due to....an encounter, we’ll call it, with his royal classmate, Prompto becomes motivated to “improve himself to become someone worthy of a prince,” as described in Episode Prompto. Right off the bat, this description is implying that in order to be worthy of Noctis’ companionship--even independently of Noctis’ own actions, which will be problematized in the next section--he must be different than the way he is.

This...doesn’t make sense. We already saw that Prompto was a kind and generous soul, if rather shy. He took in “Tiny” of his own accord; he fixed her up and fed her and made sure she was healthy, solely out of the goodness of his heart. What else could this literal child need to “improve” about himself to make friends with Noctis? Well...the episode focuses on this in a way I would almost argue is objectifying. We see in excruciating detail how this literal child (I feel the need to mention again that Prompto is 12 years old and doesn’t seem to have consistent parents) approaches the world with a black-and-white mentality….that is, he seems to focus exclusively on eating salads and running an excessive amount (we’ll get to this more in Part 3). Further objectification occurs when we are shown repeatedly that a minor is taking “progress shots” of himself in his underwear.

A bit of a tangent, but the way that last one is drawn...y’all did remember Prompto was 14/15 at that time, right? Extra H points for Square, right there.

So yeah, once all of this happens, Prompto is finally deemed by the narrative to be acceptable enough to enter the life of a prince. Basically, if you’re fat, get a goddamn eating disorder and you can be a protagonist!

And I’m actually gonna take a second right now to address the more common, and generous, interpretation/criticism I am anticipating. I know what SE was trying to do here. They were trying to show us that Prompto’s “self-esteem” was the problem. That he needed to gain more confidence, and losing the weight didn’t actually solve that problem. I know this is the intent because the hotel scene exists. But...answer me this. Why is losing weight treated as an analogue for Prompto’s internal character growth? Why is losing weight an analogue for literally anything? If the issue was Prompto’s insecurity and shyness, there are a dozen other ways to show that. I can think of one right now: maybe have Noctis try to make friends and Prompto runs away because he gets nervous and tongue-tied and that’s the source of their lingering awkwardness. There you go, much better episode.

Part 2: Noctis is a dick

And I say this as a Noct stan. Y’all know I love him. With all my heart, I do. But...I don’t think he starts the game as a good person, in this respect at least. I do think he becomes one. And I think that his growth and maturation over the course of the game is absolutely a treat to watch.

I’m gonna immediately qualify this by saying I do not think Noct is a dick on purpose. Noctis is, in fact, unfailingly kind in most situations and this is one of his greater strengths. I just think he is just as much a victim of internalized fatphobia as Prompto is, despite not having the experience of being fat. I think two things contribute to this: biases that went unchecked by any of his caretakers, and genuine social difficulty brought about by his upbringing.

But now it’s time to get to….the incident. The reason these two know each other. After Prompto takes care of Pryna, she runs to deliver her letter to Noctis and eventually returns to Luna, as was her original mission. Luna, noticing Prompto’s name on a bandana tied around Pryna’s leg, tasks Gentiana to help her find this kind soul so she can thank him. Luna does, and Prompto receives a letter that soon becomes his prized possession. The princess operated on the assumption that Prompto and Noctis were friends, seeing as Prompto encountered Pryna, and asked that he remain “ever at [Noctis’] side.” Prompto takes these words to heart, and resolves to introduce himself to his royal classmate.

Here’s where the problems begin. We know that Prompto is shy because we have seen him before. He kinda kept to himself, away from the other kids, content to take his pictures. To Square’s credit, I was really expecting Prompto to be a target of bullying because of his weight and he wasn’t….yet. This actually makes his interaction with Noctis a lot worse, however. We all know what happens next: Prompto does try to introduce himself to the loner prince (who, by his own admission later, was also kinda shy), and he happens to trip. Noct goes to help him out because he’s kind at heart, and a confused Prompto thinks that Noctis means that he wants to see the camera. Noct is baffled and says something along the lines of “I meant you, dummy!” and goes to help Prompto up.

Honestly, end the scene here. They become friends because Noct is unexpectedly kind to someone he didn’t even know, and that sticks with Prompto, and they’re childhood best friends. Right? RIGHT?

If Square had had a modicum of decency, yes, this would have been how the scene closed. But then Noct had to open his fucking mouth. When trying to help Prompto up, he remarks that the poor boy is “heavy,” something that quickly and immediately impacts Prompto. Noct, also being 12, seems none the wiser and jovially heads off to meet Ignis. But Prompto? Prompto is….affected by this. He decides then and there that he has to not be heavy anymore if he wants to be Noct’s friend.

“But Haley!” I can hear y’all saying, “Isn’t it Prompto’s fault for internalizing a harmless comment in such a way? Why are you so angry at Noct because Prompto took it too seriously?” Or alternatively “Noctis was also a child, he didn’t mean it!!”

Well, it’s all about how the narrative treats the situation. I mentioned this before in Part 1, but the reason I’m mad at both Noctis and Square is because the narrative treats him as though he is in the right at all times. If the issue really was with Prompto as a character, then we wouldn’t have been shown his journey in such excruciating detail. We wouldn’t have been subjected to the downright harmful avenues he goes down in pursuit of this goal (see Part 3 for elaboration). We would have just seen Prompto trying to work on becoming more outgoing--maybe talking to his neighbors more often, for example.

One small scene in particular gets me here: we do see Noct return to the place where they met and he seems to be baffled by the fact that Prompto will not talk to him. We in fact know this to be the case because in the hotel scene, Noct explicitly says Prompto “should have said something sooner” in terms of starting their friendship. Now, this pisses me off for two reasons:

That this wasn’t addressed in Brotherhood itself. We see that Noct kinda wants to approach Prom again but doesn’t seem to know how. If we are assuming he messed up on accident, this would have been a great time for Ignis to tell him so, maybe motivate Noct to apologize.

That Prompto doesn’t immediately call Noct out for this line, or say something along the lines of “Well you kinda straight up insulted me when we first met.”

So, because neither of these scenarios is the case, I have to assume that Square wants us to think that Noct was correct to insult Prompto, and that him losing the weight is a good thing, in a narrative sense.

Finally, it’s straight up out-of-character for Noct to be this way. Not the misspeaking part, that is perfectly in-character. It’s the fact that this bias of his goes unchecked by Ignis or Gladio, and he is never made to apologize for hurting another person’s feelings. Part of growing up is realizing that sometimes your actions can hurt other people, even if you don’t intend for them to. The fact that the intent wasn’t there doesn’t mean the hurt wasn’t real. Since Square is so convinced that Noct needed to “mature” in this story...I am immensely disappointed that the opportunity wasn’t taken here for him to learn. And even more disappointed because I am pretty sure this is intentional. Every single one of Square’s fat characters is used as a side character or comic relief. In order for Prompto to be a protagonist, he had to lose weight, and to have Noctis--the central protagonist--be the character to directly motivate that is a slap in the face.

Part 3: Don’t Recover, Buddy!/ It’s actually good that you have “obesophobia”

So I know I put the trigger warning at the top of this, but I’m doing it again, because now I’m gonna talk about eating disorders. So this is your last chance to back out if that stuff is legitimately triggering, which I understand.

I’m gonna say it right now: Prompto has anorexia

[several people are typing…. .jpg]

I don’t think this is subtle, and I do think this is intentional, so let me break it down. Prompto exhibits a lot of the symptoms, and yes I am speaking from personal experience. He’s exhibited all of these from the moment Noct made that comment when they were kids, and, notably, only from that point on (hence why I wrote Part 2 the way that I did):

Prompto has an obsession with fixing meals. He’ll be the one that helps Ignis the most often. In Prompto’s case, this is a sign that he loves preparing the food, not so much partaking: classic hiding of symptoms. There is also the fact that most of the salads are his favorite meals, which yes, is a deliberate callback, but I don’t think it’s a good one.

Prompto runs a genuinely stupid amount. I think that exercise is well and good--I’m something of an exercise buff myself--but it’s the way that Prompto does it, to the point of exhaustion, that is a problem.

Despite being borderline underweight, Prompto legitimately still seems to think that he is still fat. This is supported by his reactions to multiple dialogues, which I’ll get to in a second, and the “obesophobia” thing on his character profile which….yeah I shouldn’t even have to explain that one. Prompto is legitimately afraid that he will gain weight--specifically, that he will be fat again.

The fact that according to that same profile, Prompto’s photography habit started when he took progress photos of himself!! So he’s also got some legit body dysmorphia going on.

These are the ones that are most obvious to me, anyway.

“Now okay, Haley,” y’all are furiously typing, “so what that Prompto has anorexia? That’s a relatable character flaw!”

Well….one, no it isn’t. A disorder of any kind is not a character flaw. I’d be willing to let that slide if the following were not also true: other characters seem to reinforce these behaviors of Prompto’s, and I am looking directly at Ignis and Noct. Let’s start with Ignis. I’m sure we have all gotten the random dialogue of

Prompto: All right, let’s hit up the Crow’s Nest! Ignis, for no fucking reason: If you wish to put on weight? Certainly. Prompto, defeated: Yeah, I know…

Every time I get this dialogue I want to yell and also want the option to kick Ignis out of the party. Also the fact that no one steps up on Prompto’s behalf (notably, you know, his goddamn best friend!!) is a bit of an Issue too. Another one involves Ignis, but I have only gotten it once, so I can’t remember it exactly, but Ignis says something to the effect that he can make “whatever [Prompto] wants” for dinner and Prompto says “Yeah, it’s the wanting that’s the problem.” That’s...that’s horrifying and y’all should be concerned for your friend.

To turn my attention back to Noct, objectively the most important person to Prompto, we need go no further than “Why is your face so fat?” in selfies.

This one legitimately made me mad. Prompto panics and retaliates with “What?? I’m not fat!!” (notably, he said “I” and not “my face,” which is a bit of a slip), and Noctis is supposed to be his best friend. I was somewhat okay with Noct being passive in the earlier incidents, because maybe he wanted to spare Prompto the group drama that would ensue, but Noct directly engaging in it actively pissed me off. I also want to say this isn’t me bashing on the characters in the slightest, I am simply calling attention to the way they are written. Because they are not called out by anyone else, because this behavior is treated as acceptable, I have to assume the narrative wants me to agree with them.

The only conclusion I can gather from this is that not only are the bros aware of Prompto’s disorder, but they actively encourage it. Which would only further Prompto’s assumption that they only will love and accept him if he looks a certain way. No wonder the poor kid was so freaked out about his barcode!

Part 4: This shit is triggering to players

The subtitle for this section should be “Haley talks about how deeply “Dogged Runner” affected her in a PTSD kind of way” because that’s what I’m going to be doing. Second trigger warning for eating disorders and weight talk, because that’s what this is gonna be. This also is not going to be nice. I have strong language for Square:

Here’s where I come clean about why this issue matters so fucking much to me, and why I am now freely and openly saying “fuck you” to Square every chance I get. When I first saw Brotherhood, I was at a stage in my life where I was not coping well with my body image. I had my first brush with anorexia in high school, but it was coming back because I was in a new place, and I felt like that was the only thing in my life that I could control. So I had been eating less and falling back into the habit, except...this time I had my support system. So I thought. I went into the anime wanting to learn more about the characters I had come to love, and I walked out of it thoroughly triggered and horrified that Square would stoop to such shoddy, lazy, and harmful storytelling.

I had...a moment, here. I won’t detail the breakdown too much but I was genuinely not okay. To see behaviors that I had ferociously clawed my way out of, and was violently resisting once more, portrayed not only as not unhealthy, but as desirable for people like me...it genuinely felt personal. And, I imagine I wasn’t the only player who felt that way. In fact, because I have talked to other people like me, I know this is the case.

Let me take you on a trip, for a moment. Humor me. Imagine you’re in your early 20s, and you’ve put a lot of ugly, horrible coping methods behind you. Imagine your best friend in the entire world, @nonbinary-recipehs, recommends this game they are playing, and you play it together and start to consume its media. Imagine the horror and dread that settles on the both of you watching this episode, which rings so similarly to the times you passed out from lack of food, from over-exercising, from over-straining yourself to be this idealized version of thinness. Imagine seeing that the outcome of this episode isn’t Prompto getting the support he needs from his friends, but that the narrative legitimizes his suffering. In fact, this brutal suffering and rapid loss of weight was necessary to justify this character’s relevance to the narrative! Imagine how that must make you feel. Maybe those coping methods that were so horrible actually weren’t. It worked for Prompto, maybe it’ll work for you!!

Perhaps that little thought experiment will help you understand what this whole situation can feel like to players like me, to people who have struggled with internalized fatphobia and with eating disorders, who have been called heavy, who have been made to feel as though their worth is in their thinness. Fuck you, Square. Fuck you for not having an ounce of consideration for how this might possibly look. Fuck you for not considering people like me as complete people. Fuck you for making me watch a character I love suffer, not to tragedy, but to an illness that could have been avoided if anyone had shown him even an ounce of respect or care or decency or decorum--

…

I did warn y’all I was angry, this time.

Part 5: Two Alternative Scenarios that would Avoid All This

“So Haley,” you’re saying, somehow having read past the rant in the previous section, “if Square did it so horribly, how would you have done it?”

That, my dear reader, is an excellent question. In fact, I’ve got two solutions, which I will explain and elaborate upon below:

The first is rather simple: Prompto doesn’t actually lose the weight and becomes a canonical fat character. Absolutely nothing else would change about the story or Prompto’s character except for the following:

Noctis would become curious as to why this new friend of his was avoiding him. He then has the opportunity to open up to Ignis or Gladio and reflect on what he said, and realize that he actually hurt Prompto’s feelings. This motivates him to apologize, and the two become Actual Childhood Friends.

Prompto just Has This Body Type Now and nobody says dick about it, that’s just the Way He Looks

You could explore internalized fatphobia I suppose but I don’t actually trust Square to do this sensitively. You know who I do trust? Liam ( @chubbyargentum ), who writes the Nighttime Sunshine AU and fic.

All of the previously mentioned fatphobic comments are completely removed because all the bros love and support him.

Prompto isn’t the comic relief because of his size, he just happens to be both. Yes, there is a difference, and no, I am not going to derail the essay by explaining that.

Prompto would still absolutely kick ass, take names, shoot people, love chocobos...all the shit he does in canon. But now, you have a character who didn’t have to be completely humiliated to get to this point. Now you just...have a guy who happens to be friends with the prince, because he is kind and caring.

But okay, let’s take another approach. Let’s say Prompto does still lose weight. How, then, do we accomplish this without being fatphobic or debasing Prompto’s character like canon did?

That leads me to solution 2: Prompto does lose weight, but it’s incidental. Let me explain what I mean here:

Let’s have a situation in which the apology does still happen as I outlined in the first solution. Childhood friends is a thing.

As such, Prompto becomes...increasingly curious at all the cool training Noct does.

Noct is….embarrassed about this, I think. Because Prompto doesn’t like Understand What It All Means...and they’re still pretty young. Noct doesn’t want him to understand.

But Prompto? He wants to be able to Do Cool Shit, especially if it means defending his best bro who also happens to be the prince. And he doesn’t want Noct to do any of this alone. He asks to train with Noct, no special treatment (except for like the fact that he legit can’t do magic).

Gladio...allows this, begrudgingly. Then, permanently, when he notices Noct tries harder as a result of showing off.

Prompto starts to learn how to take care of himself from Gladio, and from Ignis, who has...gathered that Prompto doesn’t exactly have parents, and becomes invested in helping him learn how to cook healthy meals for himself. Who knows? Maybe the healthy eating will rub off on Noct!

The result is that, over time, Prompto does lose some weight...and starts to bulk up as Puberty Happens. However. This is all incidental. Prompto never set out to lose weight because he hated himself or felt unworthy, like in canon. He set out to become strong and train with his best bro. This is absolutely critical.

With this solution, Prompto does lose weight, but doesn’t become the borderline underweight young man with an eating disorder we all know and love. Instead, he’s been brought up around healthier traditions, which makes him immensely more suited for the role of Crownsguard when that time comes. In fact, he might have entered it at age 18 just like Gladio and Ignis did, despite Noct’s protests. Another thing I like about this solution is that it shows how Prompto is friends with Ignis and Gladio; how those relationships developed independently of Noctis, and why these four really are the family unit the game wants me to think they are.

And with these two solutions, I believe I have laid out some much stronger backstories for our beloved boy that avoid all of the...unfortunate implications of his canon backstory. I only wish that Square had thought about their implications just a little bit more, and done Prompto some true justice.

Part 6: What motivated this essay, and the power of shared experience

This isn’t really a proper conclusion, that’ll be in TL;DR, but I would be remiss to not include what actually motivated me to write this massive essay, and also share it with all of you. The sharing part, I think, is super critical. When you inhabit marginalized identities, and in this case I specifically mean having a fat body, it can be...difficult to share and discuss your experiences. Harder, still, to be public about them, and to criticize media that perpetuates these harmful ideas. But here I am, doing that. Here’s why that is.

About a month ago, I met @chubbyargentum, who is called Liam. I was cruising through the promptis tag, as you do, and found his Nighttime Sunshine AU, and his blog is filled with excellent art for it as well. The premise of this AU, on its face, is very simple: it’s a story where Prompto and Noctis did not actually become friends in high school, and two very important things are different: Prompto is still fat, and Noctis is a closeted trans man. While I can’t speak to the trans experience, I can indeed speak to the experience of inhabiting a fat body. And this AU….spoke to me. I don’t want to spoil too much but there is a rather emotional scene that just...confronts everything I wanted Square to confront about this that they never did. He approaches the topic with so much sensitivity and nuance, something that is so rarely seen in fandom.

I’ve talked with Liam every day since, and my brain has consistently been enlarged. A lot of things I let slide before...felt so egregious to me that I had to say them. I’ve been confronting my own internalized prejudices towards certain kinds of bodies all the time, and I am learning every day. He’s become a very dear friend of mine, and I care deeply about him.

This also came at I guess you could say the “first climax” of my journey with weight loss, which I had never had success with despite the trauma I described in Part 4. I’ve lost...a significant amount of weight since March, and I think the reason I’ve had so much success is 1) the support of my friends (notably @nonbinary-recipehs, @pocket-prompto, and @chubbyargentum), and 2) not feeling like I hated myself anymore. I approached it as a journey to become more strong, not less fat. As I outlined in Part 4...Prompto’s Brotherhood episode and character backstory were and are legitimately triggering to me, and, I imagine, to many others. Liam had the confidence to put the content in the world that he wished to see, and this essay is helping me do the same.

Having other people who share your marginalized experiences and validate them...well, I’m sure many of you know. It’s a feeling like no other. And I’ve never really had this feeling explicitly about the experience of being fat until now. Now, I understand that my anger is in fact, righteous. And I am not afraid to say so. The power of shared experience motivated this essay and, in fact, everything that I do on this blog. I have come away from this AU with the bravery to say aloud what I have always known to be true.

So thank you, Liam. Thank you, big brain group. And thank you, readers, for listening to an experience that may or may not mirror your own, and for opening up your heart enough to hear the roughly 5000 words before this point. Thank you for making the effort to understand, and the effort to learn and grow.

TL;DR

I did promise to provide an easily digestible version of the…(checks word count) ~5000 words before this point, so here we go. The central thesis of this essay is something like “the way Prompto’s weight loss arc was portrayed in Brotherhood is horrendously fatphobic for a number of reasons.” I then broke it down into six major pieces: the first four being the fact that weight loss is treated as moral by the narrative, the uncharacteristically dickish actions of Noctis, the fact that Prompto’s disorder is encouraged by other characters, and the out-of-universe triggering effects the story has. In the fifth piece, I outlined two alternative scenarios: one where Prompto doesn’t lose weight at all and remains fat, and one where he does lose weight but healthily so and fleshes out his character. In the final piece, I explained the motivation behind writing this essay, namely interacting with other fat fans like @chubbyargentum. I explained all of these points in great detail, being careful to stress that my issue with this isn’t any of the individual characters, but the bias that motivates the writing.

So...what now? Well, I’m not really sure. But this was something I really had to put into the world. I think it is important and necessary to speak up and criticize media that harms you. And you know what? Final Fantasy XV is still my favorite game. It is because I love it so much that I was motivated to write this, and by sharing it, I hope to contribute to a greater discussion about fatphobia in gaming, and in life.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #tw fatphobia #tw eating disorders #prompto argentum #please be respectful with this one #i feel like this is an unpopular opinion #but it is incredibly necessary that i say this #because it is something i believe #and because I don't want square to continue to get away with it #thank you for read #haley.exe #haley writes ffxv #haley has opinions #i'm preparing for so much hate

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auredosa · 3 years ago

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i NEED a one shot of malistaire having a ptsd nightmare about their escape from dragonspyre then sylvia is there to comfort him when he wakes up

thank you for the prompt again, anon! i hope this meets your expectations! enjoy!

wet hands

tw; destruction, war collateral, trauma

Malistaire was tailing his father home from the Command Academy the hour it began.

Whispers of a riot, a coup, an attack had been floating around the mage division as of late. No, not floating, more like crawling up the grape vine and becoming the subject of many late night meetings between the senior members of their branch.

High General Vladan Drake, naturally, was required to be in attendance. At first, Malistaire was worried that the other correspondents wouldn't let him attend-he had a fraction of his father's experience in service, but to his surprise, he was given a seat at the table and even asked for his opinion on occasion.

"Just in case one of us drops dead before this all blows over. You have a youth to tell our story," one of them, a blunt Diviner, had stated.

"We have the crystals for that, Agatha," his father snapped back. "Why shouldn't we use them to keep record of our rendezvous?"

"You saw what happened when those little gems get into the wrong hands." She took a long whiff of her cigar and leaned back into her chair. The smoke smelled to Malistaire of burnt parchment and sandalwood; not something that he'd remotely want wafting in his lungs. "Can't trust anybody these days. One leaked jewel and the upper echelons of society go to-"

"Enough," commanded a third voice. He was seated at the head of the round table, rings of every cut and metal adorning each of his thumbs. "We will not be holding any proof of our meetings on this topic. My superiors are suspicious of us as it is-"

He was about to elaborate further when the crystal goblet before him began to tremble. The drink within started to ripple, then splash onto the table. Malistaire gripped the edge of his chair and looked towards his father.

"What is this, now?" Vladan hissed, looking to the door of the room. "Another experiment of the lower division?"

Suddenly, a frantic knocking sounded at the double doors to the conference room, accompanied by a voice too young to be a late attendee, too old to be one of the servants.

A white haired woman who had yet to speak raised her hand to the deadlock, and the chains fell apart at her will. The doors flew open to reveal a gentleman in harlequin robes, red as a child in the snow. His breaths came out in wild pants, and his fingers gripped his wand as if he were still in battle.

"Mikaeil," the woman greeted stoically. "What is going on?"

"The Titan!” he gasped, struggling to stand up straight. "The Titan is-is here."

"I beg your pardon?" Vladan probed, brows knitting in disbelief. "Tell the full truth, boy!"

"It is the truth!" insisted Mikaeil, rising to full height in the presence of the General. "And you must evacuate at once! The insurgency-"

Another tremor rocked the underground chamber. This time, dust cascaded above their heads. A hairline crack appeared in the stone, before splintering across the ceiling.

“The insurgency has begun,” the woman finished. She finally opened her eyes, revealing glowing ivory pupils which had scried their doom.

"But-" Vladan began, just as a stone column shattered the stone ceiling and appeared like a giant rusty nail in the center of the room.

"I said we leave! Now!" The mage repeated.

They were running. It was difficult to keep pace when the ground wasn't meeting his feet. The thunder and rumble were deafening to his young ears. When they were outside, the sky was blanketed in thick fog. Not fog, Malistaire realized. Smoke and debris from the destruction that had only begun.

"To our airships, general?" The cigar-wielding woman shouted.

"If we can!" Vladan called back. "There's a cargo ship near the commerce district. Meet there!"

As was taught in all schools of battle, it was too dangerous to travel together. While they couldn't quite see their enemy, it was better to assume they had the entire command academy surrounded.

"If this is an attack, then where is-"

A hellish roar tore through the quarter. They all gazed up to the sky, where the crimson, leathery wings beat mercilessly through the smog.

"The Titan . . ." Malistaire muttered in awe. The stench of burnt flesh and ash wafted from above. From the cloud cover, he felt a drop of rain hit his cheek. Placing a finger to his face, he found that it was warm. Blood.

"General!"

Behind them, an ornate pillar gave way. But not just the shattered stone beam. Shards of crumbling white stone, all fashioned into jagged points, were hovering in the air, like knives pointed at a target. Pointed at them.

An unseen puppeteer gave the command, and the pillar came down in unforgiving gravity.

“Father!”

“Malistaire?” came a soft voice beside him.

He gripped the cotton bedsheets in clenched fists. There remained an unyielding tightness in his chest, and sweat gathered on his brow. But the air was different: tinged with morning dew and waxy smoke wafting from the nightside table. The warm glow of an oil lamp filled the room, illuminating their shared bedroom.

No fire. No chaos. No blood raining from the carnage-stained clouds.

Just his wife, staring at him with a familiar concern.

Ah.

It happened again, hadn’t it?

Another nightmare to inconvenience those around him. Some sorry part of him wished he could carve his memories out of his head. The aftermath of this was never pretty. He didn’t need comforting. He didn’t need to recount the days of horror and warfare. It wasn’t as if that would change anything. Those events were singed into his brain like a brand on skin. No theurgist could fix that.

“Apologies,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “I . . . I’m sorry for waking you.”

“No need to say sorry, silly,” assured Sylvia. “It’s really nobody’s fault, you know. The mind can be a horrible foe sometimes.” As if she hadn’t parroted that to his brother too.

She slid off her side of the bed and stretched her arms. Her hair was twisted into unruly tangles, brushed aside to show tired green eyes. Despite her best intentions, he could tell she was tired, too. Now she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep until she had to get up for the day’s work.

“I’m going to make tea,” she yawned. “Raspberry leaf or the stuff from Marleybone?”

“Your call,” Malistaire replied. He was still unnerved by what he’d seen in his subconscious, and anxious about the trouble he was causing her. His throat was too dry to let him offer another apology.

There was nothing to do but stare blankly at the other end of the wall with his racing thoughts. Before he knew it, Sylvia had returned with two teacups of floral refreshment. He made a mental note to thank Arthur for introducing them to this custom.

“Here. Be careful.”

He took his own cup and wrapped his palms around the base, smiling at its fleeting but welcome warmth. Sylvia took her place next to him and they both said nothing for but a moment, quietly partaking in their drinks.

“Same sequence?” She asked once they’d both had a sip.

“Not quite. It . . . this took place earlier, minutes before we arrived in Wizard City.” It was easier to talk about if he treated it like a historical text from a book, not the horrors of his own mind. “It’s as if I’m going through all the motions in reverse, back to the start of it all. The problem is that I don’t think there’s any further to go back to.”

“Well,” Sylvia began, “that’s a good thing, isn’t it? You’ve completely exhausted the entire story, so it can’t get any worse from here.”

“Not necessarily . . .” Malistaire grumbled.

“I know.” She sighed and took another sip of her tea. The conversation always progressed this way. There was little she could do to quell his self-destructive subconscious. As far as either of them knew, there were no spells that took away bad dreams, at least not ones that didn’t require the favor of a fairy or a monetary fee of some sort. Those were simply fiction[SH1] .

“. . . I’m sorry there isn’t more I can do, my heart,” she said sadly, setting her cup on the nightstand. “And I understand that I don’t really understand the things you see in your dreams.”

“Sylvia, don’t bother.” Malistaire grumbled, putting his down as well. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“Exactly,” his wife affirmed. “I’m not going to stop searching for something to make this easier. Dahlia might know something, or maybe a seraph on the Way could-“

“That isn’t what I meant.” He interrupted, more roughly than intended. “We would both know about that, wouldn’t we?”

He scowled at the floor, finally feeling better now that his anxiety was turning into frustration.

“My father and mother have been lost. My brother and I can’t return home because there isn’t one to return to, not even if we wanted. And for all we can do, between the both of us, we can’t bring them back.”

Cracks, shouts, fire, stone, shards.

"General!"

“Ever since then, every night, I am reminded of that, and I despise it.”

“Ah.”

Sylvia’s face was unreadable. It took her a moment to rationalize the horribly charged vent that’d spilled from his mouth. before her face gave way to kind understanding. The corners of her mouth turned up in a wistful smile, and he could only wish he could have her saintly patience.

“You are correct, love. Nothing you said was wrong,” she soothed. “However-“

She scooted closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. Her graceful hand clasped over his. The messy locks of her hair brushed against his face, daisies and rain under his nose.

“Your wounds are fresh, and they can still heal. Your parents may have passed, but their legacy is not entirely forgotten-thanks to you and your brother,” she added, smiling. “I promised you that I would save as many people as I could, and I know there are so many more, and that there is still so much work to do. So, so much work.”

Three tiny squeezes in the heart of his palm.

“I know it hurts, love. I know you’re tired. But I’m almost certain that one way or another . . .”

A tender kissed pressed to the stubble on his cheek.

“You can always find your way back home.”

#thank you for being so patient anon!#malistiare drake #sylvia drake #wizard101

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