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morsking · 4 years

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And so we have concluded Lostbelt 2! Now that I’ve experienced it for myself, I have a much clearer picture about how I feel about this chapter. As I progressed one thing became very clear to me, and that was that Hazuki Minase likely did NOT have any influence with this chapter, and its weakest points can be attributed to its main writer, Hikaru Sakurai, once we more closely scrutinize her work.

For starters, I would like to apologize to the people who kept trying to tell me Minase had nothing to do with the writing of Losbelt 2. You were correct, I simply acted stubbornly because I was terrified that one of the writers I loathe the most had returned to haunt and corrupt the franchise I hold very dear to me. I insisted on blaming him for any flaws because he was an easy scapegoat and a bogeyman, and while we all agree he is a pervert and a hack who should be fired, it is simply not fair to point fingers at imaginary criminals. A person should always be held accountable only for the misdeeds they have actually committed. Indeed, we may now explore Lostbelt 2 and the integrity of its writing with a more objective perspective, or rather as objective as I can manage to be.

The overall theme of the Lostbelt is “acknowledging one’s emotions as a vehicle for personal growth”. The issue persistent in the setting of Lostbelt Scandinavia was that it was a place where only young humans were allowed to survive. These humans would be oblivious to what real growth and prosperity were really like. They were innocent, and emotionally and intellectually stunted groups of people who only knew to live for the truth of their eventual demise. They lived short, rushed lives where they would stay ignorant of basic human experiences, such as love, grudges, aging, vice, hate, competition, and companionship because they devoted themselves to living how Scathach-Skadi ordered them to. They were unable to think or decide what to do for themselves, and were thus incapable of not just taking the reins to decide their own evolution as we do in Proper Human History, but also of fathoming doing such a thing in the first place.

This is a mirror to Ophelia Phamrsolone. Ophelia was conditioned to only listen to others for purpose and direction. Ophelia doesn’t actually know how to listen to her own feelings or even what those feelings even are because she was never allowed to connect not just with herself but with anyone. Ophelia, like Surtr points out, is still very much a little girl terrified by everything around her because she has no balance, no capacity for finding her center as a healthy and normal human being would. Unbeknownst to herself, all her interactions with others are a plea for help. Her very first interaction with Mash in 2017 was asking her if she’d like to have lunch with her and Pepe because Ophelia is terrified by male strangers and wishes to connect with other women as well. Ophelia’s conversations with Kirschtaria are also her not knowing how to proceed with challenges and therefore appealing to authority both for comfort and advice. Finally, her monologues with the Alien Priestess are Ophelia venting about how she feels, as if she were unaware of what to really think of herself as her helplessness and indecision drown her in a lake of self-loathing.

These cries for help extend to the way she summons her Servants. Ophelia is noted to be incredibly proficient at evocation. Some might even call her a genius. In fact, she is such a genius she unknowingly managed to contract not just with one, nor two, but three different Servants all at once. The first Servant to answer her summon was Sigurd, the King of Warriors from Nordic mythology. The second Servant was Surtr the King of Giants and Scourge of Ragnarok (titled by yours truly), who hijacked the summoning and took over Sigurd. The third, and most pivotal, was Napoleon Bonaparte, the French Emperor whose Spirit Origin was modified to embody the “ideal Good Fellow who could make dreams come true” rather than the actual historical Napoleon.

What these three Servants have in common is that Ophelia wished for all of them from the darkest depths of her heart. Ophelia desired capable Servants who could give her some form of direction and stability.

Sigurd, for example, is a hero renown for rescuing Brynhild and giving brand new meaning to her life by showering her with love and devotion. Love and devotion are things that Ophelia not just desires to be shown but actively struggles to adequately express to others because she has never known what it’s like to experience those things. To Ophelia, Sigurd represents “being given that which you have never known and finding fulfillment”.

Surtr, on the other hand, embodies a darker type of direction: the terror stagnation, conformity, monotony, inaction, and eternal suffering. Surtr exercises control over Ophelia by threatening to destroy the world if he is released, prompting Ophelia to flash to her childhood locked away by her abusive parents every dreaded Sunday. Surtr locks Ophelia into a state of helplessness and indecision where she has to carefully consider how she will proceed with dealing with Surtr. Ophelia has decided to lock herself in with him as a way to prevent him from breaking out of both Sigurd’s body and the physical prison inside the Lostbelt’s sun. This is a situation where Ophelia is in a constant state of stress and fear, since as a Crypter the last thing she could ever want to see is the destruction of yet another world by her hands. More personally, the death of the Lostbelt would also mean death for Ophelia, as she has failed her purpose once again and thus would have no worth as a person. However, what Ophelia cannot understand, because Surtr himself does not, is that Surtr’s destructive impulses are how he wants to show love and devotion towards her. Surtr has reasoned that since their worlds abandoned them after they failed to perform their ordained tasks, the only thing left is to annihilate them completely as retribution for their suffering. Surtr does not wish to hurt Ophelia, but because he is a being defined only by his overwhelming desire to burn everything, he cannot help her heal or grow in any way that matters. All he can offer is annihilation. To Ophelia, Surtr represents “self-destruction through a static state of being”.

Finally, there is Napoleon. Napoleon represents a pronounced antithesis to Ophelia’s entire personality. He is an upbeat, improvising, confident man who chooses to not stress over things because what he is seeing is only what lies ahead, not what lies in front of him.He also breaks her defenses by asking something so ridiculous and unexpected as her hand in marriage when they have only just met. Napoleon refuses to give in to any negative outcome regardless of how much the odds are stacked against him, as he demonstrated in Scathach-Skadi’s throne room where he refused to let Sigurd kill his Master despite being restrained by Skadi’s paralyzing rune. He demonstrates this once again when he blows his final shot at Surtr during the final battle, sacrificing his own life to give Chaldea the opportunity to regroup and bombard Surtr to bring him down. He is called the Man of Infinite Possibilities precisely because he faces the unknown head on and finds the best path to walk for his comrades to advance. He does not let fear take over his heart and judgement, he creates a rainbow as a bridge connecting the present to the bright, shining future. He is precisely the hero Ophelia needs, because he embodies “the bravery to grasp your own future and find your own direction”.

But analyzing these characters further is a post for another time. What I want to get into are the gripes I have with this Lostbelt.

Now, I could lead you on through a couple more paragraphs before I wham you with what this all means in a much higher metatextual level, but I don’t have the time nor the creativity to do that so I’m just gonna give it to you straight. This square between Ophelia, Sigurd, Surtr, and Napoleon is the storyline that matters most in Lostbelt 2. Scathach-Skadi matters little despite her own parallels with Ophelia and being the Lostbelt King, and the situation with the Lostbelt’s inhabitants matters even less. Why?

Because Lostbelt 2 is Sakurai coming full circle and writing an otome game like Fate/Prototype was meant to be before Fate/stay night became a thing.

SHOCKER!! SOUND EFFECTS OF SURPRISE!! DRAMATIC KAZOOS GALORE!!

Now, that’s exaggerating a little. Or maybe not that much, actually.

What Sakurai was doing was applying conventional otome game tropes into the setting not just what she’s familiar writing for, but because Lostbelt 2 is inherently an incredibly self-indulgent project.

There is a classic trademark otome fantasy at play here: the fantasy of multiple men being devoted to a female main character a player can relate to. There is no denying there is a certain appeal to the idea that there are several handsome men all willing to devore their entire lives to a person. Sigurd, Surtr, and Napoleon all embody certain otome game love interest archetypes. Sigurd is the cold, composed, intellectual man who is actually earnest, just, affectionate, and wise. Surtr is the dark-hearted troubled man with fiery disposition struggling with expressing love. Napoleon is the strong, confident, borderline pixie manic dream boy with almost zero brains but plenty of empathy and... *ahem*, physique to make up for his seeming lack of tact and intelligence (he’s a himbo is what I’m saying but that comes as no surprise). The problems arise with Napoleon himself, however. Napoleon hounds Ophelia with marriage proposals she refuses time and time and again. When he proposes to her in front of Chaldea for the first time, the narrative has Mash take Napoleon’s side and urges you to do the same because Sakurai believed the reader would’ve caught on to what’s actually going on between Ophelia and Napoleon.

The issue here is that Sakurai’s clues up to that point had been far too hidden for the player to make a proper connection, and it’s not until AFTER the proposal that the player discovers Napoleon is predisposed to fall in love with whoever summons him because that’s what Ophelia wanted out of an ideal Servant. Because of the poor execution in presenting all these factors that completely recontextualize the relationship between Napoleon and Ophelia, when Sakurai has Napoleon say “You did not reject me therefore you DID agree,” we jump to the conclusion that Napoleon is engaging in extremely reprehensible behavior and ideology reminiscent of dangerous and abusive men IRL rather than take it as harmless flirtation from a well-meaning oaf of a man as he tries to break the shell of his beloved. Sakurai invokes a very dangerous trope that does more to excuse misogynistic behavior when done incorrectly rather than successfully appear as a romantic gesture of attempting to liberate a loved one from the clutches of isolation and victimhood.

On a larger scale, the application of these tropes is where Lostbelt 2 starts to suffer, and that’s where Sakurai’s writing further begins to resemble Minase’s. Sakurai spent so much time building these interpersonal dynamics that she spent the least amount of effort actually building upon the situation of the Lostbelt and Scathach-Skadi’s character and motivations for keeping the Scandinavia the way it is.

Upon scrutiny, it’s not very difficult to pick apart the setting and make a mark out of the glaring logistical inconsistencies of maintaining a population of only 10,000 humans for a span of 3,000 years by having them reproduce at 15 years old at the latest to execute them at 25. Anyone with a passing understanding of biology would know that forcing children to carry babies to term can lead to terrible health and psychological complications that would certainly end up in a lot more miscarriages, stillbirths, and failed attempts at impregnation than actual successful births. The problem here then is rather evident. Sakurai wanted to use the fact that all these children are young, innocent, naive, gullible, and ignorant to draw a connection to Ophelia’s own psychological and emotional circumstance. However, she realized that because she was writing a setting that obligated her to work around a 3000-year gap between Ragnarok and the present day. She needed something that would compromise the need for a realistic system that would ensure the reproductive viability of a human population through such a long period of time and the thematic vehicle of childhood and repression of growth as a way to connect Ophelia to her environment. This compromise ended up working for the absolute worse because she chose the worst possible system she was aware was the worst possible system she could’ve come up with and therefore decided to forsake that part of the plot without going through the implications of it and leaving the specifics to the reader’s imagination so they could sort it out in her stead.

This unwillingness to properly explore the problematic implications of Scathach-Skadi’s system not only deprived the player of a possible engaging storyline where child endangerment, a common theme in the Nasuverse, is explored and criticized through a different angle, but also actively hurts Scathach-Skadi’s connection to the player because we never get the opportunity to debate with her about her ideology and the state of the Lostbelt. We never hold her accountable for enforcing such a brutally predatory and dehumanizing system that targets children, instead Sakurai opts to build her up as a flawed, self-absorbed mother figure desperately trying to combat the extinction of the remnant of her world who also never really learned how to deal with the revelation there is an entire life she did not get to have in this universe that we MUST sympathize because she occasionally sees through the characters and acts kind towards them until the time comes for us to fight her in earnest as a matter of principle completely divorced from the question of how she’s managed her Lostbelt. The fact Scathach-Skadi’s model of sustainability does not work is made obvious by the fact it takes place in a Lostbelt, what we are trying to get at here is that it does not work from a writing standpoint because of all the different holes you can poke on it before you’ve punched through the paper screen entirely and revealed the superfluousness of it all.

There is nothing inherently bad about self-indulgent storylines. If I’m being honest, if Sakurai wanted to use Ophelia and Musashi as self-inserts to fantasize about romancing the different kinds of characters she finds attractive, more power to her. But the problem surrounding Lostbelt 2, which is the same problem that plagued Septem and Fate/Extella, is a veritable lack of restraint from her part as a professional writer in charge of a multi-billion dollar mobile game. What the writing room over at Type-Moon has to realize is that they are no longer a small doujin writing circle that can get away with whatever they want because they operate under obscurity. They are visible to the entire world and will be held accountable and criticized as professionals by consumers and their peers in the industry. A little bit of self-fulfillment in a published work never hurt anyone, you can cater to yourself most of all with your professional work (I mean, just look at She-Ra), but you must be sure that in your pursuit of indulgence your work does not suffer for it and ends up alienating and disappointing your fanbase and giving them the wrong impression of what you stand for.

Anyway we’re popping the biggest bottles when GudaMoth becomes canon this December.

#fate series #fate grand order #fgo #fate/grand order #fate go #homecooked meta #WOW THIS WAS LONG #for some reason sakurai ends up bringing the best in me even at her worst #IF I MISSED SOME THINGS IT'S WHATEVER IT'S 4:20 AM

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berkmansimagines · 4 years

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Look What You Made Me Do pt. 2 (Barry Berkman Imagine)

A/N: Hey y’all! This is a part 2 for my Look What You Made Me Do imagine. A few people seemed interested in a follow up and after some fun brainstorming I decided to write it. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 is here if you’re interested!

Summary: You confront your father, Barry, after he has a violent encounter with someone from your past.

tw: Mentions physical abuse

You’re sitting on the couch, half watching Friends and anxiously waiting for your father to return home. When you stepped out of the shower and realized Barry was gone, you were terrified something bad happened. You knew that he was going after your old foster dad, Alan, and just hoped he didn’t do anything reckless. The entire time you’ve waited for your dad, you’ve just been mentally kicking yourself and wished you didn’t even mention Alan to him tonight.

The front door creaks open and Barry slowly walks in. You immediately spring to your feet and rush over to him.

“Dad! Are you okay? What happened? Did you see Alan?” you ask. You had a million questions for him, but wanted to get through the basics first.

Barry is quiet, unsure what to say. You study his face and look into his eyes, trying to find an answer, but he’s masking his emotions and just blankly staring at you.

“Dad?” your face drops a bit.

To you, Barry’s non-answer is very telling. He must’ve hurt Alan in some way. Barry can tell you’ve figured it out when he sees the expression on your face drop. You look so disappointed in him and it’s breaking his heart.

“Barry!” you try to get his attention again, “Did you hurt Alan?”

You know he did, but you’re waiting for him to confirm it. Barry looks down at his feet for a moment. When he looks back up at you, he has a very serious expression on his face.

“Did he really hit you with a belt?” Barry quietly asks in a cold tone.

You gasp, take a step backwards and protectively cross your arms across your chest. You had been very careful talking to your father about what Alan did to you. You know that you didn’t tell him that.

“I...How did you know that?” you stutter.

“He told me,” Barry replies, “And I wasn’t going to let that happen again…”

“How badly did you hurt Alan?” you keep pushing for answers.

Barry doesn’t respond. Your eyes widen in fear. Did Barry actually kill Alan?

“If I texted Alan right now, would he text me back? Be honest with me…” you raise your eyebrow.

After a beat, Barry shakes his head.

“I did what I had to do in order to protect you,” Barry tells you, “He’s never going to hurt you again.”

“No!” you shake your head, “Don’t say you did this to protect me! I never…. Why couldn’t you just stay here and watch a movie with me like we were supposed to? Whatever happened tonight between you and Alan, you did that for you…”

“Y/n,” Barry breathes.

“Why couldn��t you just ignore him? That’s what I wanted to do,” you try.

“Has that ever worked for you?” Barry says sternly, “He wasn’t going to stop. He wanted to hurt you.”

In Barry’s line of work, he’s met a lot violent pieces of shit in his life and he knew Alan’s type. Alan was definitely not going to stop until he found you. He would’ve hurt you worse than any of the previous times. Just the thought made Barry’s blood boil.

You’re feeling so many emotions right now that it’s almost too difficult to process. You’re upset, angry, disappointed and a little afraid. Tears are welling up in your eyes and you can’t even look at Barry right now.

“I need to get out of here. I’m going to take a walk and blow off some steam,” you say quietly, looking down at your feet.

You head towards the door.

“Y/n, wait!”

Barry steps closer to you. You impulsively flinch and put a protective arm above your head. Barry freezes. You look terrified right now and it was just killing him. He hadn’t seen you flinch like that since you found the gun hidden under his mattress and thought you were in trouble. When that happened, Barry promised that he’d never hurt you.

“Y/n, I’m not going to hurt you. You have to believe me,” Barry tries.

You wipe a tear away from your eye. When you first confronted Barry about his job, he told you that he only hurt people but didn’t kill anybody. You believed him then. You don’t anymore.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me. Because you don’t hurt people… you kill them.”

That comment knocks all the air out of Barry. He has no idea how to respond. You were right and Barry knew it. Without saying another word, you leave. Barry doesn’t stop you.

After Barry puts his gun away, he switches off between pacing around the apartment and waiting impatiently on the couch for you to return. He just wants to fix this but he doesn’t know how. An hour goes by and there’s no sign of you, Barry starts to get worried. He pulls out his phone and calls you. After the first ring, it goes straight to voicemail. You were ignoring him. Barry lets out a defeated sigh and leaves you a message:

“Hey, y/n. It’s me. Can you please come home? I’m really worried about you. I just want to know if you’re okay.”

A moment after Barry hangs up his phone, it starts to ring. He doesn’t even look at his screen to see who’s calling before he answers.

“Y/n!”

“Hey Bar, it’s Sally,” Barry hears his girlfriend on the other end of the phone.

“Hey. I’m sorry now is not really a good time-”

“She’s here,” Sally interrupts.

“Is she okay?” Barry lets out a sigh of relief.

“Well she’s pretty upset,” Sally answers, “I think she should stay here tonight. She needs some time to cool off.”

“Okay,” Barry says quietly. He wished you would come home, but at least you were safe - that’s all the matters to him.

“What did you guys fight about anyways? Y/n didn’t really say much…” Sally asks, just wanting to help.

About three different lies pop up in Barry’s head, but he doesn’t want to say a thing.

“Uh… it’s kind of a long story,” Barry shrugs, “But it’s my fault.”

“Well the first step is admitting it,” Sally tries.

“Thanks, Sally,” Barry says sincerely, “For everything. I feel a lot better knowing she’s with you.”

“Of course,” Sally replies.

While Sally is on the phone with Barry, you’re in the bathroom. You knew that Sally was going to call your father and you weren’t going to stop her, you just didn’t want to be part of that. To get out of speaking with your dad, you told Sally that you were going to change into the PJ shirt and sweatpants that she let you borrow.

You couldn’t stop thinking about what happened with Alan. You were just so disappointed in your dad. Alan was a violent man and now you were really seeing for the first time the type of violence Barry was capable of too. It scared you. What made Barry any different from Alan?

As you take off your t-shirt, you look at yourself in the mirror and spot an old scar on the side of your ribcage. You softly run your finger over the scar, shivering at the memory of how you got it. Alan gave you that scar when he lashed you with his belt, after one of the times that you ran away from his home. He found you at a teen shelter and basically dragged you out by the neck. When you got back to Alan’s house, you received one of the worst beatings of your life. After Alan was done, you couldn’t even get off the floor. You just laid there in pain and cried for hours.

You close your eyes and wipe away tears that are already forming. In this moment you realize that your father was right, Alan was never going to stop hurting you. No matter how much you tried to ignore him, he’d find a way. He always did.

“Oh God,” you mutter to yourself, resting your head in your hands.

You needed to make things right with Barry. You were still upset by his actions, but you understand now why he did it. He was trying to protect you. He didn’t kill Alan because he wanted to, he did it because he felt like he needed to in order to keep you safe.

Your mind is racing. You have no idea what you’re going to say and you’re really emotional right now. You decide it would be best if you cooled off and talked to him tomorrow when you get home.

Sally drives you home the next morning. She offers to come up with you, but you tell her that you need to have this conversation with your dad by yourself. Last night, you talked to Sally a bit about the fight but weren’t honest with her about how it started. You couldn’t tell her the truth. Instead you mostly talked about how overprotective your father could be and that it could be very overwhelming sometimes. Sally empathized and reminded you that Barry is so protective of you because he loves you.

You open the door to the apartment and immediately see Barry on the couch. He looks exhausted, like he hadn’t slept all night. Despite how tired he is, Barry jumps to his feet when he sees you.

“Y/n…”

“Dad,” you breathe, “I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have run off like that and make you worry.”

Barry cautiously walks towards you. The last time he came close to you, you flinched away. He didn’t want to make you nervous and scare you again.

“I’m sorry too,” Barry nods, “I’m a violent piece of shit and you deserve a better father than me.”

You rush up to your father and embrace him, “No I don’t…. I’ve had a lot of fake dads in my life and I’m so happy that you’re my real one.”

He’s genuinely taken aback for a moment, then he wraps his arms around you too.

“I love you, kid.”

“I love you too, dad.”

After a moment, you let go of your hug and take a small step back.

“Dad, after everything with that creepy Detective Loach guy you told me that you were out of that life for good,” you sigh, and then, “If you still do that type of stuff that’s fine...”

“Y/n-”

“Please let me finish!” you put your hand up, “I love you and I don’t think you’re a violent piece of shit. You’re not a bad guy, you take out the bad guys. I just want you to be honest with me and to be careful. If anything bad happens to you… I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me, I promise,” Barry says softly.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep!”

“I won’t anymore,” Barry tells you honestly, “I don’t know what is going to happen to me… but I can promise that nothing bad will ever happen to you again.”

You hug Barry again, fighting back tears. Barry hugs you back. Your father was protective of you, but you were protective of him too. If he was going to make sure you were safe, you were going to make sure nothing bad would happen to him either. You make a vow to yourself to look after your dad. He was the only real family you had and you were going to make damn sure that you were going to protect it.

“Do you want to finally watch that movie?” Barry suggests.

“Yeah,” you nod, “Let’s watch Die Hard. I’ve been in the mood since last night.”

“That sounds perfect.”

#barry berkman imagine #barry berkman x reader #barry hbo imagine #barry block x reader #barry berkman x teen!daughter #requests #bbtd

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ablogthatishenceforthmine · 4 years

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A Re-Evaluation of Laurel Lance: Season 6

Intro

This season Black Siren becomes a fully-fledged member of the cast, and has her own arc. But she it plagued by some of the same problems that Earth 1 Laurel ad, and some new character problems of her own. The biggest problem with Black Siren is that she is stuck with and in between creepy relationships with two men.

Relationship with Lance

Black Siren and Lance’s relationship is supposed to be heartwarming...and it is at moments, but it is also creepy and deeply troubling. After Black Siren reveals her backstory to Lance (her father was killed by a drunk driver on her 13th birthday), and lets him go against Caden James’ orders, Lance starts to believe there is hope for her, setting him on a path of trying to unlock the goodness in her.

His plan to reach out to Black Siren is to get her to follow Lance into a warehouse filled with footage and images of Earth 1 Laurel. Lance talks about what a great person Laurel was, and says that Black Siren can too become good. After Black Siren leaves, Lance tells Thea that he saw his daughter in her eyes for the first time. Herein lies Lance’s problem, and the show’s: Lance is not trying to turn Black Siren good, he’s trying to turn her into his Laurel. If Black Siren does change for the better, she’s still going to be her own person, not Earth 1 Laurel. The show sometimes acknowledges this, and sometimes straight up says this. For example, Black Siren tells Lance that she is not gonna wake up and be his Laurel. Lance agrees, saying Black Siren will always be herself, but that she can be better. This is the better take on this dynamic! However, Lance doesn’t always act and talk in ways that back up what he says here. And the show doesn’t either. It will have scenes like this, and then go back to referring to Black Siren’s possible redemption as finding the Earth 1 Laurel in her. So... the show is sending very mixed messages on this. Sometimes it treats Black Siren like her own person separate from Earth 1 Laurel, and sometimes, it doesn’t. Significantly, it seems that only Felicity can see Black Siren as her own person separate from Earth 1 Laurel, providing a good foundation for their friendship that forms in Season 7.

After hearing that Black Siren killed Vince, Lance is devastated. However, after hearing from Caden James how she hesitated and didn’t want to do it, Lance believes she can become good after all... and so he takes the creepy action of kidnapping her. She wakes up handcuffed in his car. He tells her that there is a piece of his daughter (again, only viewing her in relation to Earth 1 Laurel) in her and he’s going to get it out whatever it takes, which sounds quite forceful. As AV Club states, “ the scene in which Quentin handcuffs a bleeding and unconscious Laurel in place in the back of his car can only be described as fucked-up. A man telling a woman he doesn’t really know that somewhere deep inside her is a piece of his dead daughter, then driving away with his bleeding prisoner, is dark and ugly.” It is dark and ugly, except the show doesn’t really see it that way. He keeps her locked up in a cabin. Lance holding her against her will is gross and a great violation of her agency. He’s not holding her to put her in jail or for other means… just to change her, which makes it very wrong.

While Black Siren is held against her will, Lance tells her that she does bad things and became a bad person because she grew up without a father. This idea is so insulting and patronizing--that she became a bad person because she didn’t have a daddy. That all she needed as a daddy to make her good? It also just doesn’t make sense to put all of Black Siren’s development on losing her father. Why couldn’t it be that she lost so many people close to her and that she had no love or external support? Why does it specifically have to be not having a father rather than not having love/support from anyone? Quentin can help her to do better without the show saying that he can only do so because he can be her father. It’s just such a sexist idea that all she needs is a daddy to fix her. As the AV Club said, “ It’s possible that there’s a way to do a redemption arc for Laurel that centers on Quentin without descending into the nightmarescape of the poor sad bad girl who just needs a father figure to make her feel special and loved before she can rise like an angelic, kind-hearted but probably winningly damaged phoenix, but whether or not it’s possible no longer matters. This is what they’re doing, so this is what we get.” One of the only female villains on the show is just a girl with Daddy Issues (come to think of it, this is prevalent in other female villains too: Helena, and Emiko). But, that is the main idea and thrust of her character this season.

Relationship with Diaz

Then, there is Laurel’s relationship with Diaz, which is also gross and creepy. The decision to have them be romantically involved was a big mistake, and it adds nothing to either of their characters or to the plot. Their romantic relationship really becomes a problem for the story when Laurel starts to fear and eventually turns away from Diaz. During their relationship, he threatens her and tells her what to do, and it’s clear that she has do obey. When she doesn’t tell the press that Oliver is the Green Arrow, he slams her up against a wall and chokes her. He threatens her if she doesn’t tell the world that Oliver is the Green Arrow in court.This is where the romantic part of the relationship comes in. Because its not just a villain threatening, ordering, and hurting an underling, it’s also a man threatening, ordering, and hurting a woman he is in a romantic relationship with. And those two things are just DIFFERENT. It just is. The picture is presents, the connotations, and the way it is perceived is different. Their romantic relationship changes the whole tone of these scenes and this storyline, but the show doesn’t seem to realize that, and just views it as a villain threatening his subordinate.

The unnecessary creepiness of their relationship is highlighted in the scene where Laurel ambushes Lance with a meeting with Diaz. During this meeting, Diaz continually touches Laurel in front of Lance, and even kisses her neck in a show of power. It is gross, and unnecessary.

Laurel’s redemption arc is also hurt because it is framed as a battle for her soul between two men: Lance and Diaz. And it just doesn’t work. It feels like Laurel is not pulled between two different impulses (good or bad). Rather, it feels like she is pulled between two different people, two different men who she has creepy relationships with. The two influence her, and its more like a struggle between them over Laurel’s soul than it is Laurel’s own struggle.

Will She Turn Good?

The main thrust of Laurel’s character this season is the possibility of her redemption. “Will she turn good?” is a question that is constantly teased throughout the season. However, the constant back and forth is tiring, with the show constantly pulling the rug from out under the audience in regards to Laurel’s redemption. There are multiple moments where it seems like Laurel has decided to join or help the good guys, only for it to be revealed that it was an act such as when she kills Vince, pretends to be Earth 1 Laurel, and works undercover for Diaz. It does this trick so many times that there is no power in it; it is just tiring, and, honestly, boring. As the AV Club writes, “None of her reversals are as surprising or enjoyably twisty as the show seems to think, because at this point she’s been nothing but reversals and twists; when the show seems to hint she’s lying, she will inevitably be telling the truth, and when the show suggest she’s being truthful, she’s sure to be lying.”

Her redemption arc is also unfortunately rooted in fear. This idea would work better if Diaz was a more terrifying villain. But as it is, despite Kirk Acevedo’s impressive performance, Diaz doesn’t seem to be as scary as the narrative wants as to think he is, especially to Laurel. After she sees him burn his childhood bully alive, she is absolutely terrified of him. And I get that it was a horrific and brutal thing, but Black Siren’s a villain and has done and seen some horrific things too. I don’t get why seeing this scares her sooo much. And as we’ve seen Black Siren is pretty capable of taking care of herself, plus she’s a meta. She shouldn’t really be scared of Diaz. At least Oliver and Team Arrow are also up against his complete control of the city’s institutions. So, her fear about Diaz rings false, and honestly, a little silly. Suddenly, she goes from a villain who needs a daddy to change her to a scared little girl who needs daddy to inspire her to stand up for herself and to face the monster. Despite being a villain, this show can’t stop infantilizing Laurel and turning her into a damsel in distress who is over her head and needs protection. Sound familiar?

However, at least, fear is not the final motivator for Laurel’s redemption arc, which continues into Season 7; that falls to Lance’s death. And fortunately Laurel’s redemption arc is not completed this season, and it is much better handled in season 7.

A Pawn & A Sidekick

Laurel, also, as a villain is only a sidekick, and more often that not, a pawn. This was the case in Season 5, but is even more prominent in this season. She is always a henchman; always working for someone else, following someone else’s orders, rather than having her own plan and desires. She is often kept in the dark about things from her bosses, much like Oliver often kept Earth 1 Laurel in the dark.

It’s just disappointing that even as a villain she is still held down, powerless, and mostly ineffectual.

Personality

What does work about Black Siren though is that she has a more distinct personality than Earth 1 Laurel. Despite her tiring plot line, this Laurel is more fun than Earth 1 Laurel. And it is clear that Katie Cassidy is having a lot more fun with this Laurel than she ever had with the previous Laurel. As the AV Club writes, “Watching Katie Cassidy play “Bad Laurel” is still a pleasure, if only because she seems to be having so much fun.” This becomes invaluable in seasons 7 and 8, where given better storylines, Earth 2 Laurel’s personality really shines.

#arrow #laurel lance #black siren #earth 2 laurel #quentin lance #ricardo diaz #arrow season 6 #my posts #ablogthatishenceforthmine

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sunsabered · 4 years

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𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 && 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 && 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒;;;

As with a lot of people, I also have taken the liberty to make some changes to the canon shown in The Rise of Skywalker. I have been thinking about various of these changes for quite a while now and I genuinely hope they make sense at the end of the day as I am far more comfortable with this than what’s been given to us in canon. I respect anyone and their choice and this shall be mine. Under the cut all those changes, alterations and added details as well as thoiughts can be found. Please take a moment to read them.

➤ First and foremost because this needs to be said: My Rey is 𝐍𝐎𝐓 a Palpatine!! There is no relation between her and Palpatine; not by blood or in any other way!! For plot details view further below but in terms of family, this is 𝐍𝐎𝐓 a thing and never will be. ➤ Furthermore, I have come to the decision that my Rey is going to be a 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐈. There will be a post further detailing why and how in the future because there are some details I’d like to work out about it. In the case that a Kenobi (be it Obi-Wan or someone else) is not okay with this, Rey will just be Rey from Nowhere/Rey of Jakku!! ➤ Since the movie has failed to highlight this: While Rey was training over the year in between TLJ and TROS, she has in fact come to see many of the Resistance as her friends. This includes Connix as well as Rose, while having also found to hold highest regards for some of the commanding staff such as Commander D’Acy. ➤ While speaking of time: I felt the time frame the movie worked in was rather short. I believe it was mentioned at some point that from the time they decode the message until the actual attacks it is about sixteen hours? That, to me personally, seems like a very, very short time frame to do all the things that were done in the movie and while I still think that they had to act and react in a limited time frame, I personally will see the time a bit more stretched than mere sixteen hours. ➤ Rey did 𝐍𝐎𝐓 let Beaumont Kin translate the Jedi texts. That was, in my eyes, a huge waste on C3PO and while I do not doubt that she’d have accepted outside help, her primary advisor on the Jedi texts was C3PO. I am more than willing to write out potential things in case someone makes a Beaumont but my primary idea will base on C3PO!! ➤ The Force bond is very much still a thing and has popped up every now and then over the year with Rey trying her best to avoid the whole thing but not quite capable of doing so all the time. There is a sliver of hope inside her that this can still turn toward the good but her focus lies with the resistance as she has come to see them as family. Part of her is disappointed to a degree; but she is very much unsure if her disappointment lies with Ben for choosing Kylo Ren and power or with herself for having gotten her hopes up so high with him. ➤ On the topic of calling Ben ‘Ren’ or ‘Kylo Ren’: Rey sees him and always will see him as Ben so when she talks with Leia or thinks about him, he is Ben to her. When talking to him, he is Ben. But with the fact that not everyone knows that Kylo Ren is Ben Solo, she has opted to call him Ren from time to time while talking with people from the resistance simply because she respects that in her eyes it is not her story to tell; Rey respects Leia’s choice of not going about sharing the origin story of Kylo Ren. I don’t know if this makes sense; I genuinely hope it does. In the end, Ben is Ben in her eyes. ➤ Because I don’t want to neglect the fact that at the end of TLJ Kylo Ren claimed that Rey had killed Snoke, I will have this be part of the reason as to why Rey was spending so much time at the restance base and with her training. The training was needed but being someone accused of the murder of the former Supreme leader sure has put a target on her back. Rey does go on smaller missions every now and then though. She 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍'𝐓 just sit around the base without ever helping!! This is important; Rey is someone who refuses to sit by idly and while training her is very much important, she would insist on coming along every now and then. ➤ The decoded message from the spy claims that it is Snoke that returned or rather, was never dead to begin with and has a whole fleet of star destroyers ready to set out and take the galaxy by force. Please read below for further information about this as I am not going with the Palpatine route at all unless discussed and even then, very unlikely to happen. ➤ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄: The villain in this story is 𝐍𝐎𝐓 Palpatine. While I absolutely adore the villain of Palpatine, he is dead and should have remained as such. The movie absolutely didn’t do any favors to that character and since I feel that it does an injustice to various things and I feel that Snoke was entirely underused, the villain in this case -- (UNLESS DISCUSSED) is Snoke who has been on Exegol all along. In this case Snoke was an apprentice of Palpatine (potentially). As a former apprentice as well as someone who spent the last decades studying the dark side, he is very much capable of creating a second shape for himself. Perhaps via projection or cloning and that is what Ben killed during the throne room fight. In this case Snoke reveals himself in a twist of things. (Note: If you do insist on Palpatine, I will respect that but note that Rey will under no circumstances be his granddaughter). ➤ The fact that Poe, Finn and the others are coming along with her on the mission of finding the sith wayfinder means the world to her. While she hates the idea of risking anyone’s life but her own, she also has come to cherish these people and respects that they have to make their own choices. ➤ The events leading up to Pasaana are very much the same. They arrived, shortly after Rey has a force bond moment in which their location is revealed through a necklace. They try to escape and end up finding the hints they’d been looking for. Rey does heal the creature, already giving a bit of her life force. Chewie gets captured and when she sees a transporter leaving for the star destroyer, she panics and tries to fight for it, desperately trying to bring it back down. There will 𝐍𝐎𝐓 be any force lightning. Rey may carry around darkness but she is not a proper dark side user!! In the end it is the mix of power and emotion as well as desperation to free Chewie from the First Order that brings Rey to the point where the transporter explodes. She truly believes that she is to blame for it and the assumed death of Chewie. ➤ After that incident, her emotions are heightened. There is fear and anger and sadness over what she’s done, or rather believes to have done to, Chewie. This only makes her partially pull back. She does confide in Poe and Finn that she is terrified and feels as though something inside of her is changing. She admits to the visions she’s had about the dark side and the throne and sitting upon it. ➤ On this note: Rey very much does have visions and dreams except they’ve been getting stronger and more vivid over the year that had passed. I consider this both her manifestation of fear as well as meddling from Snoke. ➤ They still make their way to Kijimi and meet up with people of Poe’s (I personally find the spice runner story absolutely horrible but this is up to Poe muns) past. They decode the contents, the events still happen and eventually Rey senses that Chewie is still alive. This much follows canon. On the ship itself, be it via Ben or via data she finds, Rey is lead to believe that she is a child from a bloodline of dark force users and that her parents ran to protect her, sold her to protect her. While the initial abondment still stings, partially fuelling her emotions, there is also a new found feeling of knowing that they did in fact care for her to the point where they chose to sacrifice themselves so that she may live. ➤ Rey runs to reunite with the others but is cornered. The offer to join the dark side is made once more but she turns it down and leaves to find the wayfinder with the others. ➤ Upon arrival on the planet, there is tension within Rey as she fears that time is running out. Being the impulsive, emotional kind but also not wanting to put her friends at risk within the ruins of the Death Star, she makes her way across the ocean but immensely struggles with the waves before finally making her way there. ➤ Upon the Death Star, after finding the second wayfinder, Rey’s emotions have come to hit a critical amount. The vision she sees of herself on the dark side, mixed in with more visions of what could be, are so intense that she is shaken to the core with anger, frustration and fear. It only makes her desire to find her way to Exegol that much stronger. When Ben crushes the wayfinder, her emotions bubble over and in a moment of anger she trikes at him. Rey is a very emotion based person and so the fight with Ben is a mess of her emotions coming to the surface in such a strong manner that it isn’t until she stabs him and feels Leia ( I am purposely leaving this vague) that she snaps out of it. Rey has a dark side as much as she has a light side and all though she identifies more with her light side, I will very much acknowledge that there is also darkness. I hope this makes some sense. If not, feel free to let me know. ➤ After stabbing him and healing him, Rey admits to having wanted to take that hand but points out that for her it was always about Ben and not Kylo Ren. While I see potential for them to talk more, with her remarking that she feels as though she doesn’t even know herself anymore - the potential for the ‘But I do’ line, she ends up leaving him there and making her way off the planet because in that moment her mind is filled with too many emotions for her to handle. ➤ As to how the healing happens; I personally had to think of a moment in Clone Wars in which The Daughter gave her life force to Ahsoka to bring her back from the dead. Somehow along with that and the fact that Ben and Rey are a dyad in the force, I could see either of them capable of such an act; a pure thing of giving and taking - balance combined with a very light force ability. I do truly hope that my thinking makes sense. However; I will never see this ability to just be used on everything all the time. I also definitely think that it takes a greater toll out of whoever uses it, when untrained, hence the energy drain shown. ➤ After leaving she goes to Ahch-To, searching for a moment to rest and figure out what to do. Ahch-To is a place that she considers calming to the mind. The same time it seems like the perfect place to hide away in exile. The idea crosses her mind and just as she is about to set fire to her way off the island, Luke turns up. It is through Luke that she finds out that the information about her heritage was false and that truly is a Kenobi and despite her wavering in the force between light and dark, her heart is in the right place. (In a thread with a Luke this of course up to the mun!!) She still receives Leia’s saber (or perhaps even Obi-Wan’s ? I would love to have a thread like that tbh ) and leaves for Exegol, intend on stopping Snoke with new found strength and knowledge. ➤ Rey arrives of Exegol and immediately storms in, knowing the resistance is on their way. Her movements are hurried as she is both nervous and driven by emotion but intend on killing Snoke and doing what she’d been accused of having done a year ago. There is a lot that goes into this and Snoke does still tempt her with belonging and of course the safety of all those she holds dear, showing her the resistance that has arrived and is struggling in the sky above them. It is then that she feels Ben’s presence (or perhaps they arrived together - at the same time, up to the mun) and eventually, through the force bond, hands him the second saber. ➤ They eventually join up together, ready to fight Snoke who is revealed to be far more powerful than previously assumed just based on the fact that his scheming is revealed. Their bond is a bond in the force itself, a dyad and not something created by him or any other living being. It is revealed that he knew and was just aiming to use them for his purposes. He begins zapping the life force they hold between them and begins to drain them to the point where they collapse. They lie defeated for a moment but call out to the Jedi of the past, both connecting with them. ‘Be with Us’ instead of ‘Be with me’. ➤ The voice of past Jedi come flooding to them, chanting them on, telling them they can do it as a thousand generations of Jedi live on in them now, granting them the strength to lift up and face Snoke once more, stopping his lightning. Ben eventually is thrown into the abyss, with Rey worried for a second before having to face Snoke again, this time eventually summoning Ben’s saber to aid her, claiming that while he may be all the Sith, they are all the Jedi (referring to herself and Ben) and ends up frying him with his own, reflected lightning. The temple begins to break down around them. ➤ There is a moment of peace after the fight in which the dust settles and Rey looks up to the sky, now no longer filled with lightning but the resistance that is getting ready to crush the First Order/Last Order. There is relief before she turns toward the pit that Ben got thrown into. The idea crosses her mind to move toward it and see if he is okay but before that she collapses from her injuries and exhaustion from overextended force usage; her last thoughts being of Ben, Finn, Poe and the resistance - hoping they will all be happy and fine from here on out. ➤ Rey 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 die after the fight! That is very much still a thing. I feel that if you combine everything she’s gone through -- from healing Ben and the creature in the desert, to the fact that her life force had been zapped and the fact that the temple around them is collapsing -- she is simply exhausted and hurt. With the knowledge that the resistance is safe, Rey considers this a sacrifice worth making. Exhaustion and having your life force zapped can take one hell of toll on you; in my eyes, anyway. Not to mention the fact that she did have a head wound at the end which I think is rather realistic considering the fact that the temple was quite literally falling down around them. ➤ Ben Solo does 𝐍𝐎𝐓 die or rather does 𝐍𝐎𝐓 remain dead!! I will of course leave it up to the Ben muns out there whether he gets help from his family’s force ghosts or if he never dies to begin with. There may be exception threads in which, after discussion, I will write Ben as having died 𝐁𝐔𝐓 those will be far and few in between. A very, very rare occurrence as I personally think Ben shouldn’t have died but gotten a chance to work on things. ➤ While I personally consider the kiss between them a canon thing, I will not assume that it happened unless the Ben mun is alright with it. It was a moment of relief and happiness so I very much think it is realistic to have happened. ➤ They leave Exegol together, both alive but weakened. There is a lot to rebuild and Rey intends to do her best to let the galaxy know that they are safe once more. Whether Ben comes along to the resistance or not is up to the Ben mun of course. Either way there is a lot to talk about between the two of them and all the others. ➤ Rey does indeed end up making her own lightsaber in the warmest orange; as happy and radiant as the sun itself because it reflects her inner values and ideas (I will make a proper post on that eventually; I just have a lot of thoughts on the matter). It ➤ Months pass in which Rey trains harder, with Ben (up to the mun) but eventually decides that it is time to lay the sabers (depending on what route to go with, this means either Leia’s, the legacy saber and Obi-Wan’s or just Luke and Leia’s) to rest. They travel to Tatooine, retrieving a flask of sand outside the Lars homestead before making their way to Naboo. Based on what they both know and learned, they bury the sabers along with the vial of sand (representing the beginning) and something representing Alderaan in a small grave with a memorial stone near the lake of Varykino. Rey does not take the name Skywalker but instead acknowledges that she is a Kenobi, intending to tell the tales of the legend of Skywalker, intending to let the name itself rise as something good across the galaxy once more. If any living soul is someone to rise as Skywalker it is Ben, as in Ben Solo rising as the heir to a Skywalker legacy. Thank you, to heartsabered!! For letting me read through hers for guidance.

#tros spoilers #a broadcast for the galaxy ✖ { psa }#the rise of skywalker spoilers #this got wordy #i apologize for that #i tried to keep this as rey focused as i can as this is not me trying to write for someone else's character #know that i love all the characters out there tho so #feel free to let me know your thoughts

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ruskapi · 6 years

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Sangwoo, Sex, and Sadism

Please note: This meta heavily references the theory I put forth in this other meta I wrote about Sangwoo (x). If you have not yet read it, I strongly recommend doing so before continuing, because a lot of my thoughts on what’s going on with Sangwoo here are built on that theory.

You know, I’m gonna be honest. I always just assumed one of the main reasons Sangwoo kept his victims alive for a while was because, in addition to torturing them, he was using them sexually. This is kind of a gold standard for the horror genera as well as R-18 BL stories that deal with control dynamics, and let’s face it: Sangwoo enjoys hurting people. It’s not a far leap to make. However, when I started to really look at things…believe it or not, it got harder and harder for me to build a case.

Let’s consider the first couple of scenes that set up our expectations for Sangwoo as a killer and a character:

The first thing we’re exposed to, regarding Sangwoo as a Serial Killer, is the woman Bum finds in his basement. She’s bound and gagged and broken legged, but she’s definitely wearing underwear. We know this is not because Koogi is shy about drawing nudity, and it’s sure as hell not because Sangwoo thinks his victims deserve dignity. As far as Sangwoo is concerned, she’s never going to see the light of day again, so if he’s using her in that way, why not just leave her fully undressed?

(That’s a no on dignity.)

Koogi’s pretty great when it comes to storytelling and showing us relevant details, like Sangwoo’s dashcam recording, or the fact that everyone who goes into the upstairs bedroom looks at that one section of the wall with concern.

In this scene she shows us the victim’s rope burns, a red-stained water pipe handle, and an open tool box containing dangerous objects and restraining tape, yet we really don’t see any evidence of Sangwoo having raped the woman. There’s no bruising or blood on her inner thighs, there’re no condoms or torn wrappers anywhere (and we know Sangwoo cares), and here’s the kicker: the opening of chapter three shows a series of images that lead the reader to believe Sangwoo is raping Bum…and then, low and behold, he isn’t.

Although Bum lives in constant fear of Sangwoo’s physical and emotional violence, I can’t remember a single time when he threatened Bum with sexual violence. In fact, the one time Bum offers him sex when he’s angry, rather than taking him up on it and incorporating sex into his punishment, he punches Bum in the face and acts insulted.

That is not the behavior of someone who’s into punishing his victims sexually. In fact, he seems almost disgusted that Bum would suggest blurring the two activities.

Initially, I thought Sangwoo got off on causing pain primarily because of two scenes: the one where he jerks off on Bum’s feet while he’s choking him, and the one when he’s thinking about killing Bum while choking the telephone poll, and gets a hard on. Add in the fact that his idea of consent is pretty dubious, and that he’s not exactly gentle when he fucks Bum—with the dildo or his dick—and it’s easy to simply apply the label of ‘sadist’ and move on. However, when I looked closer, all these cases had alternate explanations that actually made more sense given his character.

Though he doesn’t look like it on the surface due to his intense overcompensation, Sangwoo is actually very needy for praise and approval.

In the scene in which Sangwoo is punishing Bum for trying to run away, he’s angry and in full-on killer mode when he hangs Bum. Although at first he’s all, “A lot of things are gonna happen where you’re lying down,” while stripping, again Koogi is just messing with us. He immediately clarifies his intent: “In case you’re wondering, I took my clothes off because they’re wet,” a.k.a. “not because you and I are about to have sexy times.”

He doesn’t have a hard on in any of the shots of his pants until Bum is in the air. In fact, as previously mentioned, he just gets angrier when Bum offers him sex. While he’s clearly enjoying the power high of punishing him, there’s actually no evidence that he’s getting off sexually until Bum starts calling his name over and over.

Observe his scowl in the last panel. Sangwoo actually looks irritated that he has to switch gears. If he enjoyed pairing sex with violence, he’d expect to get hard—not seem surprised and inconvenienced by it. He’d also probably attempt to amp up Bum’s pain level the closer he got to climax, where he actually seems compelled to dissipate it. He hurriedly lifts Bum to kneel on his chest, so as to take the pressure off his throat until he’s finished.

Honestly, I think what we’re seeing here is that…though he clearly enjoys having power over Bum, that’s not what he’s getting off on. What turns him on is actually Bum’s appeal to him as a human being.

Compare it against the scene before it, where Bum treated him like the psycho he is, and Sangwoo got increasingly agitated:

Remember, there’s a reason why Stockholm Syndrome is a thing—it occurs when victims are forced to empathize with their captors in order to survive. And the reason it happens is because it does, in fact, up a victim’s chances of survival. This is because bad people don’t usually see themselves as bad—they see themselves as victims, forced to do “bad” things in order to survive, or to obtain justice for perceived mistreatment, or whatever their rationales are.

Like Sangwoo says:

While Sangwoo might have been angry at Bum for trying to run, he couldn’t change the fact that what he wants, more than anything else, is to be seen for who he is rather than the violent things he does. He’s desperate to be seen as a better person than he is (as someone who isn’t “like his father”), so when Bum begs Sangwoo for mercy by name, Sangwoo’s need for validation temporarily overrides his desire for vengeance.

I can only speculate, but I think Sangwoo’s response might have been something like, ‘He doesn’t view me as a psycho --> he likes me even more than my mom did --> holy shit that’s hot.’ Because it looks like even he’s caught off guard by the intensity of it.

Despite having almost zero self control, and always being at the mercy of his uncontrollable rage, I think a small part of him is aware enough to understand assault and love aren’t supposed to go together. And eeevery once in a while, he manages to keep his head above water long enough to make a rational decision.

Although he follows up by drowning and cutting Bum, he doesn’t kill him—which is a step forward from all his previous victims.

This statement reinforces that: he knows he’s dangerously close to killing Bum, but that he’ll regret it if he does--unlike with any of his previous victims (aside from his mother), whom he exhibits absolutely no remorse for.

I think that, rather than evidence of Sangwoo being a sadist, this scene tells us just how desperate he is for someone to emotionally validate him.

If you consider that Sangwoo might be looking for someone who won’t “betray him” like his mother did, each victim was probably an attempt to find someone who would love all of him, including the insane parts. Except they all resulted in failure until Bum, which is why he looked so astonished when he kept calling to him.

Moreover, I think this exchange is actually the one that ultimately differentiates Bum from all his previous victims, as the one capable of “loving” him despite knowing he’s a killer. And this is important because, I’m pretty sure, this is why Sangwoo started killing people in the first place.

Note that even after he started keeping Bum, Sangwoo continued sharking for victims prior to this event. In chapter 5, as soon as Bum was out of the basement someone else took his place:

And in chapter 8, Sangwoo was seeing yet another woman:

However, Koogi never showed him killing her.

After this event with Bum, with the exception of the victims Sangwoo brings in as part of his plan to entrap Bum, there’s no evidence that he continued killing. I think this is probably because the need that was driving his psychosis was finally met.

I think the same dynamic is also in play when he gets hard while punching the telephone poll:

If we look at the sequence of pictures in chapter 13, though he’s yelling about killing Bum, he’s thinking of the times Bum’s been sexually sweet and vulnerable with him—the times Sangwoo considers as “proof” that Bum loves him.

This scene is hard to pull apart because it throws a lot of information about Sangwoo’s state of mind at us, all at once. But ultimately, it shows us that he’s terrified Bum escaping--not because he could go to the police (because that’s never mentioned or even referenced), but because it would mean that Bum had lied about loving him.

And if Bum had lied about that, it would confirm that Bum viewed him as a violent monster (someone like his father), rather than someone genuinely lovable—which is exactly what his mother thought, hence that flash of her.

In his mind, she’s laughing at him from beyond the grave because she’s been proven right.

I don’t think he’s getting hard because he’s thinking of his mother here. If anything, he’s getting increasingly frightened and enraged at the prospect of her being right. That’s why he impulsively punches the pole—because he’s trying to stop her from laughing at him.

I’m pretty sure the thing that made him hard was, once again, Bum’s having been vulnerable with him.

How can we tell? Because of the choice of images: rather than Bum sliced open or nearly choking to death, Sangwoo’s remembering Bum saying he wants to be with him, and cooing his name while blowing him.

Rather than fantasizing about what Bum’s gonna look like when he strangles him, he’s angrily reviewing the evidence he thought proved Bum loved him. And the reason he starts laughing and makes such a weird expression is probably because even though he’s absolutely furious, he’s still turned on just thinking of the little fucker.

(Love is such an inconvenience.)

I think this is why, when he finds Bum sitting on the kitchen floor, he’s so relieved that he can’t even be angry at him for having scared him in the first place (which is what I expected honestly, since dealing with emotional discomfort is not Sangwoo’s strong suit). It’s why the beast of a man wraps his arms and legs around Bum and tells him, “Let’s stay together forever,” while shaking like a leaf.

Rather than him getting off on the idea of hurting Bum, or choking his mom or something weird, I think what we’re actually seeing here is the extent to which Sangwoo has fallen for Bum—hard enough that what little sanity he’s got now hinges on Bum staying with him.

This is a dangerously double-edged sword for Bum because on one hand it greatly reduces his chances of being killed, but on the other, Sangwoo will never let him leave.

Anyway.

Returning to the subject, as for his rough treatment of Bum when he’s using the dildo and fucking him on the porch I think, weak as it sounds, rather than any particular desire to hurt Bum, it comes down to Sangwoo not having any idea that anal sex needs to be handled differently from vaginal sex.

Judging from his passiveness, and the surprise on his face after coming in his initial encounter with Bum, as well as his confusion about Bum’s having to get dressed laying down, Sangwoo probably doesn’t have any prior experience of having sex with men.

Additionally, if we look at the hallmark symptoms of Antisocial Personality Disorder (x), it makes sense that Sangwoo wouldn’t have considered that he was hurting Bum while fucking him.

Though it’s never explicitly stated that he has APD, it’s pretty clear that Koogi writes him with these traits in mind because he exhibits every one of them at some point in the series. Accordingly, Sangwoo would not excel at predicting the painful consequences of his poor sexual treatment of Bum, nor would he excel at learning from them.

If you look at the scene leading up to it, it seems like the thing with the dildo was a weird, misguided way of trying to cheer Bum up. It’s the exact same thing he does later in the bath, after Bum slices his wrist open. “I can tell you’re upset and I want to make you feel better --> sex feels good --> sex will fix it.”

I think he really wants to make Bum happy, he just has no idea how to do so. It’s not like his parents gave him many emotional tools to work with in this area.

As a general overview, if we do a quick run-down of situations where Sangwoo’s behaving violently, there are very few instances where he seems to be enjoying it sexually:

He frequently beats the crap out of Bum at the start of the story, but there’s no evidence that he’s getting off on it. He snuggles with Bum after he uses him to stab the old guy, but he doesn’t have sex with him to our knowledge. Though he assaults Bum with the dildo after he kills Jieun, there’s no evidence that Sangwoo was turned on during the killing—in fact, he loses his erection as soon as she kicks him in the stomach. He definitely doesn’t get off after drowning Bum in the bath. And though he slaps Bum when they get back from the police station, he straight up tells Bum that he’s fucking him as a token of appreciation for his loyalty.

Again, in that situation, you see his arousal linked with Bum’s prioritizing his relationship with Person!Sangwoo over Killer!Sangwoo (this idea of there being two Sangwoos is highlighted by Bum’s line about him living with twins with completely different personalities). And although he’s definitely too rough, the fact is…the dudes a beast. He can one-handedly bench press the combined weight of Seungbae and himself. If he wanted to damage Bum, he could do much more than he does. Always.

Likewise, if you come at it from the other side and look for evidence of Sangwoo craving violence when already aroused, most of the time he’s actually downright uncharacteristic in his avoidance of it. When Bum first jerks him off, he’s passive and quiet throughout the whole experience, then ends making this expression:

The first time Bum sucks him off and isn’t very good at it, Sangwoo teaches him not by mocking or forcing him to do something uncomfortable, but by fuckin’ fellating Bum’s fingers. Then, the thing that pushes him over the edge is Bum saying his fucking name in an informal register. Seriously, if Sangwoo is a sexual sadist, this was a very embarrassing night for him.

When Bum’s blowing him in the bathroom after the concert, it would’ve been super easy for him to face fuck Bum until he finished. That would’ve have been awful for Bum, and a ton of fun for a sadist—but it’s like it didn’t even occur to him. He used a tissue, like some kind of fuckin’ gentleman. And I already mentioned above that he lost his erection when Jieun started fighting to leave.

In fact, the only time he ever seems to get off while Bum is in pain is at the end of chapter 35 where, I’m pretty sure, he was getting off anyway and Bum’s pain was just coincidental to his piss poor handling.

Now, you could definitely make a case for him enjoying the sexual degradation of his partners/victims, particularly emotionally. But he seems to draw the line at physically hurting them, for whatever reason.

So, this just leaves us with the inherent sadism involved in rape...

...except Sangwoo doesn’t think of himself as a rapist.

To us as readers, it’s never really up for debate. He makes this statement while continuing to assault Bum, despite being repeatedly asked to stop, which is the literal definition of rape. But this is by design. Koogi is using the dissonance between Sangwoo’s words and actions to make it clear just how un-self-aware Sangwoo really is, and how little we can trust his ability to make sound moral judgments or take care of his loved ones.

Going by his rape qualifier, “listening to a guy scream,” my guess is that his idea of rape is the exact thing he’s always avoiding—mixing sex with violence. Of course, he’s still a rapist even if you go by that standard, because he never stops to consider how his rough handling hurts his partners. But I think he figures so long as he’s not raging on them, it’s not the same. It’s a kind of, “I know how to hurt people and I’m not doing that to you, therefore I’m not hurting you and you’re overracting,” kind of logic. Idk, he’s not exactly a rational dude.

He also seems to rationalize not being a rapist with the mindset that, once he’s got consent up front, he’s got a permanent all-access pass to the person’s body.

This is not a view held by Koogi (we know because she uses imagery and subtext to highlight how much he hurts his partners by doing this), but by Sangwoo himself.

Bum showed interest in the past and therefore Sangwoo feels entitled to do whatever he wants forever, and my assumption is he would treat his female victims this same way.

In the two instances we see of him seducing women, they seem pretty into it. It’s likely that things were indeed consensual, at least initially.

Whether or not he continues to fuck them after he’s kidnapped them is not known to us, but based on the evidence we’ve seen to date, it seems unlikely.

If he were to do so, he’d likely mock them with something along the lines of, “You said you wanted me, why are you resisting now?” just as he did with Bum, then he would use their change of heart as more evidence that women are liars who deserve to be punished (see the other meta for more detail). However, as I said, we can only speculate on that.

But, all this said…can we really call Sangwoo a sexual sadist? The kind of person who would torture or kill his victims while fucking them?

My feeling is, not really.

Going on what we know from the series to date, there’s no clear evidence that he gets off sexually on the pain he inflicts, or that he’s ever attempted to hurt his victims while having sex with them. Because Sangwoo is not known for his ability to control himself, if he had any desire to mix the two, I’m sure we’d have seen him do so by now.

My conclusion is that while he clearly feels emotionally fulfilled, exhilarated, even intoxicated by punishing others...he doesn’t actually get sexually aroused by it.

Lucky you, right Bum?

#killing stalking #oh sangwoo

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booklover4816 · 6 years

Text

“Will You Come Home?”

Summary: After a huge family fight, a certain level headed duckling makes an impulsive decision and runs away from home. Inspired by a prompt from this post

“Will you just please come home?”

The air between them was heavy as Louie waited for an answer to the question. The only sound coming from the other end of the phone was static, leading him to believe that either the line was dead or that his brother had hung up on him.

Though he would never admit it aloud, Louie was worried about Huey. Of all things, the youngest triplet had never, ever expected his older, more responsible, studious brother to run away from home. Truthfully, none of them had.

But regardless of their expectations, they had all been blindsided when they had woken up and noticed that Huey’s bed was empty, meaning he had run away in the middle of the night. He had been gone for who knows how long before anyone realized he was missing. He could have gone anywhere, and they had no idea where to start searching.

But really, they should have seen it coming after everything that had happened: Dewey and Webby’s revelation, Uncle Donald’s admission, Scrooge’s anger and the fight that had followed between the old billionaire and the oldest triplet.

Out of all of them, Huey had taken the truth about their mother, Della, the hardest. He had accepted the fact that they were orphaned long ago, but he always had harbored resentment towards their mother for leaving. He never wanted to talk about her because he was afraid of what would happen when they found out the truth. And what had happened four days ago, was Huey’s worst fear realized: the revelations about Della from their uncles had shaken up the whole family dynamic, which had robbed the eldest triplet of the sense of security he craved so desperately.

“I-I d-don’t think I can,” Huey finally stammered after what felt like forever. Though Louie couldn’t see, he was sure that his brother was on the verge of tears, if he wasn’t crying already.

“What do you mean you don’t think you can?” the youngest demanded through gritted teeth. “You’re like ten, Hubert! You can’t live on your own! You need someone to take care of you! Besides, Uncle Donald and Uncle Scrooge are going crazy trying to find you. They’re worried sick!” He hesitated for a moment before mumbling softly as an afterthought, “We’re all worried sick…”

And that was the truth. Everyone in McDuck Manor was going out of their minds with worry. They had no idea where in the world Huey was. He had left with no note or explanation of some kind. As a matter of fact, had Louie not happened to be near the phone by pure chance when it rang, they wouldn’t know if he was even still alive or not.

The world was a dangerous place, and while Huey was the most capable out of the triplets (and second most capable out of all the kids in the manor), that didn’t mean that he was immune from all the dangers out there. Scrooge had a lot of enemies who would love to hurt a member of the old duck’s family. There was also the whole “stranger danger” thing they had been taught about for as long as they could remember. Their teachers and Uncle Donald loved nothing more than to scare them by telling them all about what the dangerous people out in the world loved to do to kids who were all on their own.

There was a guilty silence on the other end of the line. Louie knew deep down that Huey never meant to scare anyone. Truthfully, he knew for a fact that his normally level headed brother had acted on sheer impulse, and now he was in so deep that he didn’t know how to get out of the hole he dug himself into. Hurt didn’t allow for rational thinking.

Huey wasn’t impulsive like Dewey. He wasn’t bold like Webby. He wasn’t a smooth talker like Louie. He knew he was in deep trouble when he got home, but he was more afraid that his family, especially Uncle Donald, would hate him for terrifying them like that. And while Huey could handle any punishment Uncle Donald and/or Uncle Scrooge dished out (a necessary skill with Dewey and Louie as brothers), he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be able to handle it if his family hated him.

“I d-didn’t m-m-mean—“ Huey began tearfully, but he cut himself off with a broken, guilt-ridden sob, which caused Louie to wince. Any doubt about this being a stupidly impulsive decisions on the older triplet’s end was instantly erased at the sound of his distressed cries.

“It’s okay, Huey,” Louie said softly. “I know you didn’t mean to scare us. Just please, come home so we can talk about this as a family.” He hesitated for a moment. “I-I know what we found out about Mom a few days ago was really messed up and it pretty much shattered the trust between Uncle Donald, Uncle Scrooge, and all of us. A-And I know it really hurt you, but it hurt Dewey and me too. We know what you’re going through. Please, Huey, just come home and we’ll deal with this together. Please. We’re so worried about you. I… I can’t lose you too.”

Huey’s breath hitched. Louie held his. The silence between them was deafening as the youngest triplet waited for a response from the oldest. Louie began chewing his lip nervously, something that he had been doing so often over the past few days that he was just reopening the scabs over and over again. The familiar metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as he waited patiently for Huey to say something.

“Louie…” the oldest triplet said hesitantly. There were so many unspoken things between them. The green-clad brother could tell that his brother was trying to figure out a response, regretting acting on his impulsive decision more and more with each passing second. The hole Huey had dug himself into was so deep that Louie believed not even he would have been able to talk his way out of it.

“Louie,” Huey repeated, his voice full of steely resolve, indicating that he had finally figured out how to respond to his younger brother’s heartfelt pleading, “I love all of you — I really do, but I’m not coming home. At least, I’m not coming home right now. I just c-can’t. Not after everything that happened.”

Louie felt something inside him crack. His heart began pounding angrily and his blood seemed to begin to boil. The edge of his vision began to turn bright red.

After everything he just said… He just poured his heart out, and this was Huey’s response. Couldn’t Huey see how much pain he was causing? How could he be— How could he be so— so—

“Selfish,” Louie snarled through gritted teeth, before speaking louder. “You’re being so freaking selfish right now! How can you do this to us? Do you even care how much you’re hurting us? Uncle Donald cried himself to sleep last night! Uncle Scrooge won’t even meet any of our eyes! Dewey just sits around and stares at the wall all day because he feels like he could have, he should have stopped you! All Webby does is look at maps and study your room for clues as to where you could be! Don’t you see how much pain you’re causing right now?! You can fix all this by coming home, but you won’t because you think that you were the only one hurt by what Uncle Scrooge and Uncle Donald said about Mom! Well, news flash! You’re not!”

He was vaguely aware he was shouting, but he didn’t care. He was just so angry. Angry that his mom left them. Angry that Uncle Donald had lied to them their whole lives about her. Angry that Uncle Scrooge didn’t tell them what had happened. Angry that Dewey and Webby were sneaking around behind everyone’s back, doing what they did. Angry that Huey just ran away from it. And angry that he couldn’t do anything to change what had happened.

Huey let out a heartbroken sob, causing Louie to forget his anger. Guilt immediately washed over him as he remembered that his brother was trying to deal with his own hurt, and snapping at him the way Louie just did wasn’t helping anything. He had to remind himself that Huey — the most responsible, level-headed triplet of the three brothers — never, ever meant to cause the hurt he did.

“Huey,” Louie said in a shaky voice, tears beginning to well up in his own eyes, “I didn’t— I’m so— I’m sorry, Huey. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that.”

He heard Huey sniffle on the other end of the phone line. “N-No, you’re right. You have every right to hate me. I shouldn’t have called; this was a mistake. I-I’m sorry I hurt you even more. I promise I won’t cause you guys any more pain.”

“Huey, wait!” the green-clad duckling cried, but it was too late. His pleas were meant with silence, and this time, Huey had hung up the phone, cutting off their connection.

He felt his legs give out beneath him as he let out an anguished sob. He wanted so, so badly to go back and change all this. He would give anything, anything to have Huey back.

“And that’s why I would prefer to stay here with you. At least, until this all blows over.”

José Carioca took a long drag off his cigar as he mulled over the story the young duckling had just told him, considering the final statement very carefully. He had no idea how his American friend’s young nephew found him — or even how he knew who José was to begin with as the duckling was practically a baby the last time the parrot saw him — but if he knew Donald, then he knew the duck was going out of his mind, worrying himself sick about Huey. After all, the boy snuck out in the middle of the night, bought a plane ticket to Brazil, somehow managed to actually board an airplane as an unaccompanied minor, got himself past customs, and wandered around God only knows where for a day before finding his way to José’s apartment in Rio de Janeiro by himself, all without Donald’s knowledge.

The parrot just shook his head. “I’m not sure this plan was thought through, was it, menino?”

Huey looked away in shame, becoming suddenly interested in the ground beneath his feet. José could see the tears welling up in the duckling’s eyes, giving him his answer. He knelt down so that he was eye level with the young boy. Carefully, he gently nudged Huey’s chin up so that they were making eye contact.

“Huey,” José said softly, “your tio, Pato Donald, is one of my closest amigos. And I know for a fact that you and your brothers are the most important things in the world to him. Why, whenever he and Panchito and I were on adventures around the time you all were hatched, all he could talk about was how he was going to be a tio. He was so proud and excited. You weren’t even here yet, but he already loved you unconditionally. I am a tio myself. I know how he must worry over you, especially since he is your guardian. Can you imagine how worried he is knowing that you’re not at home right now?”

“B-But I can’t go home,” Huey mumbled tearfully in response, avoiding the question he already knew the answer to.

“Não? Why do you think that you can’t go home?”

The duckling’s beak quivered slightly. José had a feeling that it had been doing that a lot over the past few days. Huey was nothing more than a child — a child who had gotten himself into a situation that he didn’t think he could get out of. It was all the more proof that he desperately needed his Uncle Donald, which meant that José needed to convince him to go home.

Of course the parrot had no intention whatsoever of letting Huey just waltz out the door and trust that he would get on the first flight back to Duckburg. Right now, he could tell that the duckling was distressed over something that happened at home, and emotional distress never translated into rational thought. Besides, Donald would never forgive José if anything happened to one of the his beloved nephews. Rio de Janeiro, as much as the parrot loved it, was no place for a ten year old to be wandering around by himself, especially a ten year old in Huey’s current emotional state.

Either José himself would be personally escorting Huey home or Donald would have to fly down to Brazil and pick him up. But before that could happen, the duckling needed to be reassured that everything would be all right; otherwise, this running away incident would only repeat itself, and next time the boy may not be as fortunate.

“I can’t go home because I’ve messed everything up!” Huey bawled. “Uncle Donald’s never going to forgive me for running away! Louie already pretty much told me that he hates me, and the others probably do too! They’re better off without me!”

He collapsed to his knees and started to sob desperately. He wholeheartedly believed that he had lost his family’s love, which he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case after everything he put them through. He was full of absolute self-loathing for inflicting such a horrible pain on his family. He just wanted to get away from them after what had happened only days before, but after talking to Louie, he realized that they deserved so much better than him, so it would be for the best if he wasn’t in their lives anymore.

A look of sorrow appeared on José’s face. He knew what the young duck had just told him wasn’t true. He was absolutely sure that Huey’s family didn’t hate him, especially Donald. In fact, José knew it was one hundred percent impossible because there was absolutely nothing that any of his friend’s nephews could do that would make the duck hate them. Donald was just that kind of guy.

But he had his work cut out for him if he was going to convince Huey that his family still loved him. “You have not eaten all day, sim? Why don’t we go get some dinner, and you and I can talk.”

“Come on, pick up the phone.”

José leaned against his kitchen counter as he listened to the ringing on the other end of the line. It was well past midnight in Rio de Janeiro, and he had sent Huey to bed hours ago, which meant that it was probably past midnight in Duckburg. Perhaps they had all gone to bed? But knowing Donald, that was unlikely.

He had spent hours trying to figure out what he would say. It was no secret that Donald had a temper, so how did José break the news that the duck’s missing nephew was in Brazil without setting that temper off?

He was just about to hang up when he heard a click on the other end of the line. Somebody had picked up. “Hello?”

It wasn’t who José was expecting. Whoever answered the phone was a woman with a British accent. Obviously not Donald Duck.

“Olá. My name is José Carioca. I would like to speak with Pato Donald. I mean, Donald Duck. Is he there?”

The woman sighed. “Just a moment please.” There was a rustling coming from the other end of the line, and he heard the woman say, “It’s for you.”

“Hello?”

“Donald! It’s me! José! José Carioca!”

“José?! How did you get this number?” Donald demanded. He had given both Panchito and José his cell number and the number for the houseboat’s landline a long time ago, and perhaps José should have called one of those, so he was naturally confused as to how the parrot found the number for McDuck Manor. Scrooge didn’t exactly publicize it in Duckburg, let alone Brazil.

“It’s a long story, meu amigo. You may want to sit down.”

“Who’s José?” a young girl’s voice asked in the background on Donald’s end.

“Only Uncle Donald’s cool friend from Brazil!” a boy’s voice exclaimed eagerly in response. “Are you coming to visit, Uncle José? Is Uncle Panchito coming with you? How’s Brazil? Did you go to the Olympics last year? Do you still like soccer? Why don’t you call more often? How’s—”

“Settle down!” Donald barked, clearly annoyed at his young nephew’s questions, though José really didn’t mind. It was true he and Donald hadn’t spoken for a few years as the parrot was busy with his singing and the duck was busy raising his nephews. The last time he actually saw Donald was when the three boys were four or five; he and Panchito had flown up for Donald’s birthday that year. “You kids should be in bed anyway! Now, Joe, tell me exactly how you got this number.”

“Well…” he hesitated. He still wasn’t exactly sure how he should go about this. It might be better to just rip the bandage right off. “Your sobrinho, Huey, gave it to me this evening.”

“Um… Did he just say Huey gave him this number?” another boy asked. José realized Donald must have the speaker on.

“Be quiet, Louis,” the first boy scolded.

“Don’t call me ‘Louis,’ Dewford,” the second retorted. The two boys were Donald’s other nephews for sure

“Knock it off, guys,” the girl told them.

“I see,” Donald said softly, ignoring the three kids. It was the kind of softness that set off the alarms in José’s head. The duck was trying to rein in his anger. “And where exactly did you happen to cross paths with Huey?”

José gulped nervously. “Rio de Janeiro. He showed up on my doorstep this afternoon and is sleeping in my guest room right now.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dewey said in shock, “Huey, our Huey — the one who practically lives and breathes the Jr. Woodchuck Guidebook, that Huey — is in Rio de Janeiro? As in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil? That Rio de Janeiro?

“No, Dewey, he’s talking about Rio de Janeiro, Nebraska,” Louie replied sarcastically. “Of course he means Rio de Janeiro, Brazil! Where else do you think Uncle Donald’s Brazilian friend is talking about?”

Another voice, one laced with a heavy Scottish accent, cut off Dewey’s retort before a fight could break out between the two brothers. José figured that it was Donald’s Uncle Scrooge, the richest duck in the world. Even in Brazil, Scrooge was famous for his adventures and wealth. Of course, even when the Three Caballeros rode, back during Scrooge’s adventuring days, Donald didn’t like to bring up that the old billionaire was his uncle, despite the fact that the two ducks were adventuring together at the time.

José put two and two together, and figured out how Huey bought the plane ticket. He probably swiped Scrooge’s credit card, figuring with his billions, surely his great uncle would miss the few hundred bucks. And being as usually reliable and trustworthy as he is, Huey’s family would have never thought to check credit card statements. The thought that he would steal money from his wealthy great uncle and leave the country probably never crossed their minds, especially after he blind-sided them.

Donald still had said nothing, even during his other two nephews’ bickering. If José had to guess, either Donald was still trying to process the fact that his nephew was in Brazil or he was trying to prevent himself from exploding with rage. The parrot had to admit, parenthood had really changed his friend for the better. After all, three mischievous triplets plus Donald’s explosive temper would not be a pretty combination. He would have had to learn some anger management techniques, or at least be able to redirect his anger to something other than his beloved nephews.

“How long has Huey been in Brazil?” Donald finally asked.

José shrugged. “Eu não sei, meu amigo. He showed up on my doorstep around five o’clock in the afternoon, but I have a feeling he’s been here longer than that. But trust me, my friend, if had known he was here—”

Donald sighed. “I know, Joe. This isn’t your fault. Is Huey okay?”

“Sim, sim. He’s shaken up, but he’s fine. He and I, we had a nice, long conversation over dinner,” the parrot informed his friend. He hesitated for a moment before adding, “I don’t think he’s actually sleeping, so I can get him, if you want to speak with him.”

“I know he’s not sleeping,” Donald replied. “Put him on.”

“Okay, just let me go get him,” José said, nodding, before adding softly, “And Donald…don’t be too harsh on him. I don’t think he meant to cause the trouble he did. I think he created a problem that he didn’t know how to fix. He’s just a scared kid.”

He carefully set down the phone on the counter before Donald could reply and headed towards his guest room where the young duckling was. He had half a mind to turn around and tell his friend that the boy was asleep and to call back in the morning, but he knew that would only be delaying the inevitable. After all, Huey had to eventually face his family, and Donald and José had to make arrangements as to how he was getting home.

He knocked on the door. “Are you awake, Huey?”

There was no answer. Maybe he really was asleep, though he could simply be ignoring his uncle’s friend in hopes that he wouldn’t actually have to talk to his family. José was sympathetic, but he knew it was probably better for him to talk to Donald now when the older duck was tired, as opposed to the morning when he would be fully rested.

José knocked again. “I know you are awake, meu pequeno amigo. Your Tio Donald wants to speak with you. He’s very worried.”

There was silence for a moment before the parrot heard soft, hesitant steps on the creaky hardwood floor. Slowly, Huey opened the door. His eyes were rimmed red and he was sniffling, indicating that he had been crying again. José said nothing as he offered the duckling a small, reassuring smile and lead him to the kitchen.

“The phone is on the counter,” José informed him.

Huey walked over to the counter and reached for the phone, but he quickly stopped himself. He flinched and quickly withdrew his hand, contemplating on whether or not he should pick up and talk to his uncle. He turned around and looked a José, a helpless look in his glassy eyes. “W-What do I say?”

The parrot shrugged. “I can’t tell you what to say, but you should say something. Better to get it over with sooner rather than later.”

The duckling didn’t like this answer, but he grabbed the phone. Chewing his lip, he slowly brought it to his ear. “H-Hello? … I’m fine, Uncle Donald. Yes, it’s really me.”

He was silent for a few moments as he listened to whatever his uncle was telling him. Tears began to well up in his eyes again as Donald continued to talk. José could only imagine that his friend was lecturing his young nephew. Huey let out a choked sob. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Donald! I didn’t mean to scare you like that! I wasn’t thinking! A-And I just didn’t know what to do!”

He began to cry as he listened to whatever his Uncle Donald had to say in response. José knew that Donald wasn’t yelling — he’d be able to hear if he was. But perhaps, Huey would have rather been yelled at than had to listen to his uncle’s disappointment.

“Okay… Okay… I understand,” the duckling mumbled tearfully. “H-He’s still here… Okay, Uncle Donald… I will… I love you too…”

He handed the phone back to José before going to the table and sitting down. “Alô?”

“Listen, José,” Donald said wearily, “I don’t know what time I’ll be there, but I’m planning on catching the next flight to Rio. Can I trust you to take care of Huey until then?”

“É claro, meu amigo. I would be happy to,” José replied. “Just call and let me know when you get here.”

“Yeah, I will. I’ll see you tomorrow. And please make sure Huey gets some sleep.”

“Don’t worry about it, Donald. I’ll see you tomorrow. Boa noite.”

“Goodnight to you too, Joe,” Donald said before hesitantly adding, “and thank you. How can I ever repay you?”

“Ah, it was nothing, meu amigo. I know you would do the same for me if it was one of my sobrinhos. But regardless, de nada. I’ll see you tomorrow. Tchau!”

And with that, José hung up the phone. He turned to Huey, who had his face buried in his arms on the table. The poor kid looked so miserable. The parrot walked over and put a hand gently on his shoulder. “Come on, Huey. It is time for bed. You’re tio says to get some sleep, and he’ll see you tomorrow.”

He watched as the duckling wordlessly got up and trudged towards the guest room, fearing tomorrow. Really, José didn’t blame him. Who knew what kind of trouble he’d be in once Donald arrived?

The parrot pulled out one of his signature cigars, mentally reminding himself that he was supposed to be quitting, and that his dear friend would murder him if the duck ever found out that he had been smoking around his nephew. But after the day he had, he needed a smoke.

God forbid if he ever found himself in Donald’s position. He wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“Are you mad at me?”

The obvious answer was yes, Huey knew. He had stolen his great uncle’s credit card (something that he would have to sort out with Scrooge when they got home, Donald told him), ran away from home, gotten on a plane to Brazil without his legal guardian’s knowledge, wandered around a huge city in foreign country for a whole two days before letting anyone know he was alright, scared his family half to death, gotten someone who was a complete stranger to him involved in their family drama, and made his uncle fly all the way to Brazil to pick him up and take him home.

Donald had every right to be furious with him. In all honesty, the oldest triplet wouldn’t be upset if he ended up on the receiving end of his uncle’s infamous explosive temper. He would completely deserve it. He wouldn’t be surprised if his Uncle Donald even hated him for running away like that.

Donald acknowledged Huey out of the corner of his eye before returning to the paper he picked up in Rio. The older duck didn’t understand a word of Portuguese, but he was pretending he did in order to control his temper. He hadn’t said a word since José had left the airport. The oldest nephew wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Huey bit his lip and looked away in shame. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Donald. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I just wasn’t thinking. It was stupid of me to run away.”

There was a moment of silence before his uncle responded. “You’re right, it was a very stupid thing for you to do. You could have gotten hurt or worse. You could’ve been killed. You made us all worry. We had no idea where you were or even if you were still alive. I’m extremely disappointed with you.”

Somehow, Uncle Donald’s “disappointed dad lectures” (or at least what Huey assumed were the type of lectures that dads gave when their kids did something bad) were worse than facing Uncle Donald’s temper. When it came to anger, that was something that Huey shared with his uncle. Huey was the one who had inherited his uncle’s temper, though he was slower to anger and had a lot more control over it. In fact, Huey would rather his uncle be causing a scene, screaming incoherently at him because he could deal with that so much easier than the silent, bitter anger that usually accompanied these types of uncle-nephew talks.

“But,” Donald said as he continued, “you’re not completely at fault.”

Huey turned and faced his uncle, his eyes widened in shock. “B-But I chose to run away.”

“Yes,” Donald agreed, “but I know how hurt you were finding out those things about your mother.”

It was the first time since the argument five days ago that Della had been brought up. Huey knew his uncle didn’t like talking about her and he understood why. Della had been Donald’s twin sister. He had a lifetime of memories with her before she vanished. How did he talk about what happened with her children when she was a complete stranger to them? When they didn’t know her the way he did? When ten years later, it was still too painful look back on all those memories?

But now, Donald knew it was time to address the elephant in the room. He knew it was the only way to even start to fix the mess that Della Duck had created when she left ten years ago — whether or not she had ever intended to create the problems that resulted from her choice to take the Spear of Selene. “You kids always idolized her,” Donald continued. “I should have told you sooner, but I guess I just didn’t want to knock her off this pedestal you put her on. Besides, sometimes it’s better to just move on.”

Huey studied his hands to distract himself. He knew that Uncle Donald was referring directly to him with that last sentence. When Huey was little, he always tried to imagine what it would be like for his mother to waltz back into his life. It was his birthday wish every year for three whole years.

But when he was six, he decided that it was best to put Della to rest and stop wishing for her to come back. It was just too painful and too disappointing with every year that passed. So, Huey had accepted that he and his brothers were orphans, and all that they had in the world was each other and Uncle Donald.

For his seventh birthday, he told Uncle Donald that he wanted to have a little funeral for Della (and their father, whoever he was), so that he, his brothers, and his uncle all had some sort of closure. It was the only time he could ever remember his uncle actually addressing her absence to Dewey, Louie, and him.

“W-What did you put in that box? You know, the one we sent out to sea?” He could distinctly remember the old cardboard box, with “Mommy and Dad” scrawled sloppily on the top by three seven year-olds with a box of magic markers. Donald had taken it in the middle of the night and duct taped it shut; however it was heavier than an empty box when they cast it out to sea at the “funeral,” so the three boys always knew their uncle put something in it.

“Just a few of your mother’s clothes that I never got around to throwing out. I figured that wouldn’t be too damaging to the environment,” Donald replied. “Don’t change the subject. I know you weren’t thinking when you decided to run away. I know how hurt can make you make stupid decisions. That still doesn’t make what you did okay, though.”

“I know,” Huey replied solemnly. “I really am sorry, Uncle Donald.”

“Stop apologizing,” Donald scolded gently. “You’re in huge trouble when we get home. You have to pay Uncle Scrooge back for the plane ticket, so you’ll have to talk to him about that. As for your punishment for running away, you’re grounded until I say otherwise. You’re lucky I’m so understanding, otherwise it would be much, much worse than that.”

“I understand, Uncle Donald.”

“And Huey?” He looked at his uncle, who gave him a small, sad smile. “We’re not done talking about your mom. When we get home, we’re going to sit down with Dewey, Louie, and Uncle Scrooge and have the talk we should have had the day we moved into the mansion.”

He pulled Huey into his arms and started stroking the top of his head. The duckling wrapped his arms around Donald and buried his face in his uncle’s shirt, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of his parental figure.

“I was so worried about you, Huey,” Donald whispered in a shaky voice that told the oldest triplet that his uncle was on the verge of tears. “I love you so much. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you.”

“I love you too, Uncle Donald,” Huey replied softly.

The two of them sat like that for a while, uncle cradling his beloved nephew, never wanting to let him go again. While things were far from okay, they were starting to look up. It would be a long road to recovery after what had set these events in motion, but they would make it through together as a family

A/n: Disclaimer here, I don’t speak a word of Portuguese (very basic Spanish and German, a few words of Slovene, and intermediate Italian, yes; Portuguese, not at all). I used an online translator, so it might not be 100% accurate (especially since online translators don’t always show the different dialects, so the words might not be completely right for Brazilian Portuguese). Seriously, I can barely spell the word “Portuguese” half the time, so if I have butchered any part of the Portuguese language, whether it is a completely wrong word or a word not used in Brazilian Portuguese, please let me know right away and I will happily fix it.

Obviously, all these characters belong to Disney. I saw the Duck Family Fic Challenge on tumblr and got inspired (I modified the dialogue a little to fit, but at least three lines of dialogue came from that prompt post), so let me know what you think. Seriously, please leave a review and let me know what you think. This is only my second Ducktales fanfic (and my first time writing José) and I’m a little shaky on the characterization, so any feedback at all would be greatly appreciated.

I hope you all enjoyed!

~booklover

Translations: Menino- boy Tio- uncle (Meu) Amigo- (my) friend Não- no Sim- yes Olá- hello Sobrinho- nephew Eu não sei- I don’t know Pequeno- small Alô- hello (I read that it is used to answer the phone in Brazil) É claro- Of course (I’m not 100% sure about this because it doesn’t look right; it looks like “it is clear” but that could be my Italian leaking through) Boa noite- Goodnight De nada- You’re welcome Tchau- Goodbye (I believe this is a very informal way to say goodbye)

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seyaryminamoto · 6 years

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Ok I need you opinion on this, In Final Battle Sozin Comet book, I read through Azula's PoV when she rejected Ozai's decision. She deeply regretted the second these words left her mouth, and said lines like "I never raised my voice to my father before. Never." and "I'm shaking." and "Oh no.. What will he do to me now?". I mean she literally feared physical harm, but also was combinated with fear of rejection and abandonment. It's so fucked up. What does she feel this way toward him?

Why does she feel this way, you mean? Well, I think it’s not that hard to guess what’s going on behind the scenes.

Azula was there, watching and rejoicing as Ozai burned Zuko during the Agni Kai. She knew Zuko was being hurt, but she wasn’t appalled by it. Both because of how Ozai groomed her, and because of her building resentment towards her brother, she saw him being hurt and thought he deserved it.

All her life, Azula has been competing with her brother and had her father’s support in everything. This is something Zuko coveted, and it’s something Azula always took pride in having for herself.

When things get complicated, though, Azula tells Ozai that he can’t treat her like that: he can’t treat her like Zuko. This is when Ozai tells her to shut up, and that sequence you’re asking about happens.

Why would Azula be this terrified of what Ozai might do to her? Because she’s afraid of the worst case scenario. It may not be conscious on her part, but Azula knows what Ozai can do to the child who disappoints him, the child who fails him. And she doesn’t want to be that child, so she tries to stand up to him to demand the respect she believes she deserves. She achieves the entire opposite effect: Ozai tells her to shut up.

Her fears then seem to come true because Ozai would have never said those words to her before. She isn’t used to this, but she thinks she’s condemned herself to becoming the same thing Zuko is in their father’s eyes. He doesn’t trust her anymore, he doesn’t respect her anymore, he wants her to be quiet. As I said, she knows what he could do to Zuko. Her fear of being hurt by him, in my opinion, comes from that awareness.

I know there’s a lot of people who are convinced that Azula was physically abused by Ozai too. Personally, I don’t subscribe to that theory at all. I don’t believe Ozai ever abused Azula physically because he had a pretty great excuse to do that when Zuko revealed she had lied to him about Aang, and yet it seems he didn’t do anything to her. At the start of Boiling Rock, Azula is her usual self, no noticeable changes in her personality and behavior until the betrayal. If Ozai had given her the beating of a lifetime for having lied to him about the Avatar, she wouldn’t have been as calm and collected as she was before the betrayal. The markings of her breakdown would have started to show already.

There’s also that Ozai is shown using Azula to impress Azulon in the Zuko Alone flashback. He’s very satisfied with everything his daughter does, and he ushers her to show off her knowledge and firebending prowess. All along he smiles, and seems to be pleased to show his father what a capable girl he’s raised… and then Zuko steps in and Ozai’s smile disappears. The difference in treatment is blatant, it’s obvious, it’s there.

We saw he burned Zuko on ONE opportunity. Zuko never says that his father hurt him many times, he only talks about the Agni Kai. Ozai’s abuse towards Zuko was layered and multifaceted, but it only got physical ONE TIME. The rest of it was emotional, psychological. You can think that’s the worst kind of abuse, maybe, and it certainly can be very harmful, but I don’t believe Ozai resorted to burning Azula to teach her lessons when he wouldn’t even burn Zuko regularly, even though he despised his son as much as we know he did.

Another thing that I don’t think anyone takes into account other than myself, but… Ozai’s actually slightly attached to Azula, I believe. Not in an actual loving way, no, but I think it’s because Ozai’s father treated him the same way Ozai treats Zuko. I believe Ozai might have decided to groom Azula into the perfect heir while being his second child because that’s what he wished his father had done with him. He especially sees Azula’s talent in firebending, and he sees her academic and leadership aptitudes from early on too. He thinks that she’s everything he COULD HAVE BEEN, if Azulon had given him a chance.

… Not true, though, because Ozai actually resembles Zuko, but the guy doesn’t have the most sound judgment ever.

So he projected on Azula, and he made efforts for her that he never made for Zuko. He gave her opportunities to actually fulfill important military missions, gave her a huge barge for her exclusive use, airships, left the defense of the city in her hands for Day of Black Sun… did you know Ozai never served as a military officer in any capacity, yet Iroh did? Do you think it’s chance that he provides Azula these military opportunities and resources while giving Zuko nothing comparable? I’m pretty sure it’s not. I’m really convinced he did it because he projected on her and wanted her to be successful from a young age as he would have wanted to be, despite she is clearly more similar to Iroh while Ozai is similar to Zuko.

He entrusts Azula with the mission of catching Zuko and Iroh, even though he could have sent other people, multiple squads, whatever he pleased. But he trusts Azula can do it, and in the end, his trust pays off because not only she delivers those two but she also delivers Ba Sing Se on a silver platter. He knows he can trust her… up until she lets him down. But even then, he doesn’t really raise a hand against her. He just doesn’t trust her anymore. His attitude and behavior are more akin to indifference than to actual displeasure towards her.

Only, Azula doesn’t know this. She has no idea if her father knows any limits, and she knows his approval can be withdrawn as quickly as it was given. She doesn’t know what’s going on inside Ozai’s mind, and she’s already falling apart: thus her fears are heightened, worsened, to the point where she thinks he might hurt her because he hurt Zuko for speaking out of turn before.

Further evidence is also that Azula’s body has no signs of burns, in a show that has even pulled off some crazy stuff like:

See that mark on Aang’s foot? It’s SO EASY to miss it, and yet it’s there. Where did that scar come from?

That’s right. Part of the damage Aang takes in Book 2‘s finale is still evident by the next season’s finale. The scar on his back is always there as well, goes without saying. Zuko’s scar is also never hidden, so scars, in this show, don’t fade away just like that.

If Azula had ever been harmed by Ozai, not only would her behavior likely be different (she might be a lot more insecure, less confident than she seems to be, kind of more similar to Zuko in that way, and she would have been WAY too scared to lie to Ozai about Aang’s alleged death), but she would have been shown with burn marks because unless Ozai only burned her lightly (which isn’t all that likely, since in these headcanons he’s supposed to have been even more abusive to Azula physically than he was to Zuko), the burn marks would show in episodes like The Beach:

She shows more skin here than at any other point in the show. If Ozai burned her anywhere, it would’ve shown here. It doesn’t.

So I don’t think Azula’s reaction comes from some sort of conditioned behavior, if that’s what you might have thought. I think it all stems from knowing that she could lose her standing, become an eyesore, a problem to get rid of, the same way Zuko was. For further context, Ozai is the last person she has left in her life. The only one she assumed would never leave her, who would always validate, encourage and approve of her worst impulses. And then even he discards her, which destroys her inside in every possible way. She’s already falling apart, and Ozai’s rage isn’t something she ever expected could be turned against her.

#anon #I'm all in for debating how much Azula's parents harmed her and shaped her into who she is #but I think the show was trying to say something pretty clear when it established Ozai's dynamics with both his children #saying Ozai abused Azula physically but we just didn't know it diminishes the physical harm he does to Zuko #Ozai definitely damaged Azula a lot #but I don't think it was on a physical level #the show wouldn't have kept it under such tight wraps if he had #even the comics would acknowledge it #seeing as they're determined to make Ozai a much worse person than he already was #I really don't think we need to believe Ozai hurt Azula physically for their relationship to be a complicated toxic mess

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the-happy-hellbrute · 7 years

Text

SUIT LOG 4

This is the writeup of the second-to-last part of the first ‘arc’ of the Black Crusade campaign I’m playing in. Other players are @imkelborhal, @metalboxes, and @screamingatthevoid. The campaign is run by @why-things-are-terrible. They have made a few odds and ends about the campaign as well, so check them out!

BEGIN SUIT LOG 4

For a split second after Dreadbringer ignited the pool of fuel, I was back on Icarus. I saw reaching figures in the flames as they washed over me, and heard their screams in the roar of the fire.

Then, as quickly as it began, it was over.

I looked over the scene as the remaining fires died out. The thralls that had been assaulting us had been driven off by the flames, some killed or wounded by the conflagration, but most scattered due to the purifying aspect of the flame, anathema to the simpler followers of the plague god. Dreadbringer and I were mostly unharmed, our armor being more than capable of weathering a simple fuel fire. Siodell was somewhat burned, but her respiratory implants negated any effect of smoke inhalation, and her Mechanicum robes protected her with their fire resistant properties, a product of the common hazards of Martian engineering.

My main concern was Ser Aifric. While his carapace armor would have protected him somewhat, he still had a large amount of his body that was only covered by his fatigues or was entirely exposed. This, combined with having been soaked in fuel, made it likely that he would have severe, perhaps life-threatening, burns. I also suspected that his throat and lungs could have potentially been damaged by inhaling smoke or superheated air from the fire. I quickly went to look him over. If I had been examining him for triage, I would have tagged him for lowest priority, as he would be unlikely to survive without expending supplies that could be used on those with a better chance of recovery. However, with allies currently in short supply, I decided that I would do my best to stabilize him. My initial examination showed that he had gotten very lucky. The fuel appeared to have burned off very quickly, and the way he fell smothered any of his clothing that had ignited. However, Aifric still suffered severe burns to his upper and lower arms, as well as some lesser but still worrying burns to his calfs and thighs. Most worryingly was the fact that his fatigues had bonded to his skin in some places, but as I did not have the proper tools or sterile environment to treat that properly, I focused on treating the most immediately dangerous symptoms.

I washed out his burns the best I could with my power armor’s internal water supply, and then wrapped them in all the sterile antiseptic bandages that I had. I was worried about the possibility of infection, not only due to the non-sterile conditions, but also the nature of combat with Nurgle-aligned warriors. Unfortunately, the only antiseptic I had on-hand was pure alcohol for tool sterilization, which would further aggravate his burns, so I had to hope the bandages would be good enough. I then checked his breathing with my auto-senses, to see if his respiratory system had been compromised. I observed a rasp to his breathing, though he still appeared to be getting oxygen, so it was not an immediate concern. It was likely that he had inhaled smoke from the fire, and that had resulted in irritation to the tissue of his throat and lungs. Moving on, I then injected him with a small dose of stimm, to get him moving, and a dose of pain suppressant, so he would be able to function for the immediate future. Normally I would not mix a stimulant and an analgesic, but conditions required he be able to move under his own power, so I judged it worth the potential danger. Soon after, he began to awaken. I preformed a quick examination to ascertain if he was coherent. While he was in pain, he was alert and capable of movement, albeit slowly.

With the most pressing concern out of the way, I moved to speak with Dreadbringer. I began by briefly berating him for endangering everyone by igniting the fuel, but only receiving a curt response of “It was the most effective course of action,” I decided to move on. We then discussed how to proceed. I was in favor of continuing on in the direction our guide had indicated, as he had said that the wreck of the Explorator was very nearby, and it was likely that the scanning systems aboard would be able to locate the exotic particle traces that would indicate a concentration of psychic individuals. It also would contain the valuable medical equipment and supplies that the merchant had indicated was there, which I would now need to provide adequate treatment to Aifric. Dreadbringer was less sure. He started to argue that we should go back to the market in the hanger and get a new guide, but slowly trailed off and said that he had a better plan, which he did not elaborate on. He walked to the lift platform, and then casually stated something that sent me sprinting after him.

“Warsmith, the thralls fled in the direction of the child. Is he able to protect himself?”

I was on the elevator in an instant. The grind up to the next floor was an agonizing wait, though my suit chrono marked it as only two minutes at most. While Dreadbringer was still and stoic as ever on the ride up, I found myself pacing up and down the platform until eventually, the bell chimed, and the doors opened to the landing above.

I quickly scanned the room. The guide was still where we had laid him, but Telemachus was nowhere to be seen. In that moment, I felt the closest that I have ever felt to true fear since I was uplifted to the Astartes. I ran through the passageways of the hulk, desperately bellowing out for Telemachus. The search felt like hours, calling out to him constantly. Thoughts of the dangers he could be facing, things that could have happened, and what I should have done instead raced through my mind. Eventually, I heard sounds of crying. Rounding into a small dead end corridor, I finally found the child.

Telemachus was huddled with his knees gripped to his chest at the end of the hallway. Though he appeared unharmed, he was obviously in distress. I can deal with a gunshot wound with ease, set a broken leg in a matter of seconds, attach an augmetic with such skill that it was like the limb was never gone, but this? Being presented with my son in tears, I feel more helpless than I can ever remember.

I did not know what else to do besides walk to him and sit by his side. We spent a long time like this, simply being seated next to each other. Eventually, Telemachus’ sobs quieted, and he spoke to me. He told me how he had been worried by the sounds of fighting coming from below, but then when he heard the explosion and the silence that followed, he thought that I had been killed. The thought of this terrified the child, and he ran back through he hulk, terrified and distraught.

I let the child speak, hoping that by talking it through that it would help him. When he finished, I said to him that he did not need to worry, that I was safe and at his side. This seemed to calm him somewhat, and he responded that he would learn to be stronger. He ended this by holding up his hand and stating the beginning of the immortal words of the Iron Warriors: “Iron Within.” I gently took his hand and guided him to his feet, responding “Iron Without.”

Telemachus seemed to recover from his momentary panic, and slowly began to stand straighter as we walked back to the freight platform. Though I was worried by the boy’s momentary lapse, his recovery showed he had strength. I knew he would continue to grow, and that he had the will to become the heir I am raising him to be. This was tested once again moments later.

As we approached the cargo lift, I began to hear a cracking sound, followed by low, wet squelching. I motioned for Telemachus to stay behind me, and drew my boltgun. I prepared for another engagement with the shambling thralls, and then entered the lift chamber. In the low light, I found a large figure hunched over the remains of our guide. The figure had cracked open the man’s skull into a bloody ruin. Hearing our approach, Dreadbringer looked over his shoulder from where he was crouched to face us. His helmet was on the deck to his side, allowing me to see the man’s face for the first time. It was a horrific ruin, part of his cheek missing, metal plating replacing part of his hairless skull. His skin was the color of ash, pulled tight and thin over his features. But the worst were his eyes. The irises were shattered, spreading out haphazardly into sclera the color of yellowed parchment, shot through with deep red veins. His face was caked in blood, and I could see pieces of half-chewed brain matter leaking through the rent in his cheek, making it grimly clear what his plan had been.

The Omophagea. One of the more bizarre organs implanted into an Astartes, it allows us to gain memories from eating the flesh of a sentient creature. Dreadbringer had decided that it was easier to devour the man’s brain than to wait and see if he would awaken.

I began to berate Dreadbringer for his impulsiveness, but quickly gave up. He quite clearly didn’t care about what I was saying, simply stating that he now had the necessary information and that was all that mattered. I felt it was pointless to press the issue further, so decided to just activate the elevator and rejoin the rest of the group.

It seemed as though Telemachus took the situation surprisingly well, possibly because he has assisted me with surgery in the past. He did now try to avoid looking at Dreadbringer when at all possible though. Having seen what lies beneath his helm, I don’t entirely blame him.

I did a quick check on Ser Aifric once we regrouped with the the others, and once I confirmed he would be able to walk, we set out. We walked for around a half an hour, before we came to an impasse.

Due to the way that the ships making up the hulk had smashed together, some did not tend to be oriented the way that their designs intended. This was shown rather obviously when we came to a breach leading to the ship connecting the Rad-Hulk and the Explorator vessel. It was situated nose down, making what was once a simple passageway into a hundred meter drop. We spent some time trying to figure out a way to safely make it down the shaft. I rather quickly tired of complaints about lack of rope and thoughts of reactivating the gray-plating, and decided to make my own way down. I securely grabbed Telemachus, and then stepped off into the inverted hallway.

Now, I am not a suicidal fool, so I had more of a plan than “jump and hope that I land softly”. A split second into my fall, I thrust my hand into the side of the passageway and ripped down through the plating until it slowed my decent to a stop. It was around that moment when my action registered with the rest of the group and the confused cries arose. I called up that we were fine, and I had possibly left a path for the others to climb down with. I repeated the process of falling and ripping down through the plating a few more times before I was safely at the bottom. Dreadbringer imitated my process and landed soon after. Siodell carried down Aifric on her back while she used her servo-arm to do a form of crack climbing down the rents Dreadbringer and I created. This took a bit longer, but got them both down safely.

Having made it past that obstacle, it was a short walk to the second breach leading to the Explorator vessel. We found ourselves in what appeared to be a research deck, filled with broken cogitators and dust shrouded laboratories. Dreadbringer continued to guide us through the vessel. Soon, signs on the walls began to point us towards the medical bay.

Eventually, we stumbled upon a large room filled with specimen tanks. There were several xenos species taking up residence in the stasis tanks, a half dissected ork in one, a Hormagaunt in another, and the strange long limbed form of a Hrud in another still.

But what stood out among the various aliens was the nude form of a human woman. She had dark skin, and the tell-tale scarring of neural implants ringing her bald head. They looked relatively recent, though that was potentially misleading given the nature of stasis containment. After all, if a person was asked to judge Telemachus’s age by look alone they would reasonably say that he would be in the range of 10 standard years. However, he has spent decades in a stasis pod as an infant while I looked for a place to safely raise him, making his chronological age something close to 121 years old.

Needless to say, this piqued our curiosity. Before we moved on to the medical bay, we decided to find a way to open the stasis chamber holding her and find out just what made her so special.

END SUIT LOG 4

#the saga of daedalus #black crusade #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #chaos space marines #iron warriors #fantasy flight games #chaos daemons #role playing game #role playing

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cancerinscorpio · 6 years

Text

I wrote to my favorite advice column and this is what I said and she said.

Dear Polly,

I feel like a strange amalgam of various others who have written to you, but nevertheless, here I am. I’m 28, single, and dying from a cancer that is breaking my body and spirit down at an alarming rate. Obviously, so many things about this situation scare and sadden me. But the thing that consumes me most, day in and day out, is the fear and heartbreak of not having a partner there with me through the two or so years I have left or holding my hand when it’s finally time to go. Having been confronted by mortality at a young age, I feel I know more about myself than many 28-year-olds do, and one thing I know is that I am a relationship person. I was in one relationship from age 20 to 25, and another from age 25 to 26, and while neither were perfect, I felt whole and truly like myself in both of them. And it’s not just because I love the feeling of being loved (though obviously I do), but I truly love giving my love to someone else. It feels like the thing I was meant to do, and the reality that I may never have that again is devastating.

Despite the fact that my days are mostly spent in doctor’s offices or lying in bed (or, frequently, both), I do the whole Tinder thing occasionally just for a sense of normalcy and, yes, male attention. I’m okay with most of these dates being one- or two-time things. It’s a salve, sure, but it’s fun, it gets me out of the house, and no one owes each other anything, which means I feel no need to disclose the fact that I’m a ticking, tumor-ridden time bomb. But when I do come across a guy where there’s some real potential (as is the case right now), I find myself both weaving an intricate web of lies to keep things cool in the present and steeling myself for the eventual parting of ways when I either tell them who I really am or break things off before that even happens.

So my dilemma is this: How do I square my desire for a loving partner with my reality as it is? I want to believe there’s someone out there who I could not only open up to about my health but who would accept and love me in spite of it. But that feels like a fairy tale (FUCK YOU, FAULT IN OUR STARS etc.). And even if it’s not a fairy tale, and that guy materialized, I would be wracked with guilt at the idea of even asking someone to get pulled into this terrifying, morbid mess. So, Polly, do I keep chasing the fairy tale? Do I give up entirely? Is there some other alternative I’m missing? Or is the salve the best I’m going to get until things are so bad that I no longer have the physical strength for any of it?

Sincerely,

Dying Girls Need Loving Too, Right?

______________________________________________________________________

Dear DGNLTR,

I’m sure you don’t want to hear how sorry I am, but I am sorry. It’s still dark out, and I feel too small and stupid to offer you anything of value. I always tell people to just show up and be honest when people are in crisis (as opposed to trying to fix anything or unloading their big barrel of forcedly optimistic clichés on top of someone’s head). But just showing up and being honest feels inadequate, too.

I’m sure having terminal cancer feels socially oppressive that way. Particularly in the middle of a sea of feeling shitty and confronting the breakdown of your body and spirit, it must be horrible to watch everyone you know flattened and emptied out and inadequate in your presence. I’ll bet that’s why Tinder feels like a giant reprieve from the heavy looks and the weighty silences of other people. Finally, a bubble of mundane chatter and raw attraction where you can encounter someone without the weight of this absurdly unfair diagnosis.

But I’ll bet there are also people who can show up without feeling inadequate. I’ll bet you know people who bring their best, who relish the chance to be there for you. I’ve been trying to trick one of my friends into hanging out on her chemo days or while she’s recovering. I just feel like I could play the role of a good partner, fun or quiet or barely there if necessary. She questions why I’d want to be there, and I guess I don’t really blame her. Even though I see it as a way of showing up and offering her something I’m good at giving, maybe there’s also a little of the ambulance-chaser, disaster-gawker in the mix for me. Even if that’s a side effect of being drawn to the ugly truth at all costs, it can still feel a little suspect. As with any other personality trait, there are good impulses and bad impulses dancing together there.

If you decided to embrace the fairy tale, this would be part of the beauty and the danger of locating potential partners who wouldn’t run away or be dismantled by the prospect of standing by you to the end. Whether you start to tell people your diagnosis very early or mention it to someone you like, there’s still this question in the room: What kind of person might be willing to be there for you? Would it be someone who’s real and true and recognizes something in you that feels vital to his continued existence? Or will it be someone who loves the idea of himself as some kind of a savior or merciful saint, like the Virgin Mary in Michelangelo’s Pieta?

My suspicions on that front are probably distinctly parental. As a parent, I would want to be there for you all the time. I would want you to have a partner if you wanted one, but I’d also want you to know that I would give you everything I had to give. And frankly, that kind of parental devotion and worry might be irrelevant here. What you’re talking about is sex and romance and devotion and someone who’s in love with you, holding your hand at the end. A parent isn’t a suitable substitute when romantic love is what you’re looking for. Moreover, getting hung up on the intricate web of motives that live in any potential partner’s personality is almost always a mistake. Why bother? Are your own motives pure? Can you distill just the love out of a mix of a million different human needs and preferences and urges? No way.

And should you feel guilty about wanting someone to be by your side, or putting someone through such a potentially difficult experience? Hell no, as long as you’re honest with them. In fact, you can balance your own guilt at putting a partner through this against his guilt for having a perfectly human blend of good and bad traits that make him capable of going through it with you.

Obviously, the bottom line is that you should do exactly what you want. No one is going to argue with that. But I think you’re also wondering if it’s a good idea to focus on this, and if it’s a good use of your time to look for love. Your timeline is condensed, after all. You’d have to tell potential partners and watch them react and maybe run away, and that might be harrowing. That said, posting an honest “I’m Dying” listing on Tinder would attract the ambulance chasers.

I think you should experiment with what makes you feel good. It sounds like you’re into someone and it might be time to tell him. So tell him. You don’t strike me as someone who’s going to be traumatized by the wrong reaction. But it also sounds like you want to keep looking if this doesn’t work out. That’s okay, too. If it feels good to look, look. If it doesn’t feel good, stop. I do think you’d want to watch out for control freaks, who immediately want to sign onto all of it and take over everything in your life. But you’re probably a decent judge of character, having lived the life you’ve lived.

The real question is whether the fantasy of love will be a salve or not. Personally, I’m a big fan of choosing your illusion. I think every big, overwhelming event in life — sickness, kids, marriage, death — demands some suspension of disbelief. Fantasies and fairy tales present themselves to us culturally as modes of escape, but sometimes they’re actually a way of savoring the present; it just depends on how we use them. When I was young, I used my fantasy of love to judge all of my moments alone as Not Good Enough. I’d see something beautiful and think, “If only I had someone here to share this with.” I don’t do that anymore. I savor my life in a pretty solitary way, for the most part. Even though I tell my husband a lot, I never feel my moments alone are less worthy than the moments I spend in his company.

But I’ve dramatically changed my view of how love should function in a person’s life. I value my private perceptions and adventures in ways I never did before. And I guess that even with a partner in my life, I didn’t really feel whole until I landed here, in a place where I could treat my solitary trajectory as a romantic one.

That’s what I want for you more than anything else. I think it could bring your life a lot of joy and warmth to have someone who loves you like crazy and is there for you in spite of all “terrifying, morbid messes” to come. You should pursue that if you believe in that, and you shouldn’t feel guilty or embarrassed about it. But I also think that you should cling fast to the fact that this is your life and yours alone, and it’s beautiful already in its own rough, ragged way. It already matters. It doesn’t matter more if someone is there with you. It matters now. I want to challenge you to dare to see yourself through that lens, whether you find someone worthy of your love or not. I would hate for your search for love to rob you of what you already have. I want you to be able to take every fucked up, scary, morbid moment and every glorious, divine, irreplaceable moment and every mundane setback and dreary wait and imperfect, faintly satisfying moment in between and add them up to something truly romantic.

I get that this might sound obnoxious. I sometimes talk like this to my friend who’s going through chemo, and even though she’s a skilled novelist capable of capturing the most heartbreaking moments with a few well-chosen words, she’s not into my pep talks. She’s like, “Fuck you, I’m bald and I feel like shit.” Flowery words of inspiration just make her feel worse. So I give her shit and make jokes now. That’s what she likes.

That would also be one of the toughest aspects of having a relatively new partner under your current circumstances. You need someone capable of major shifts in key and tone and tempo. A person like that is hard to find. And even WITH this very sensitive tonal shifter along for the ride, you will still want some space to savor and honor your private experiences. Understanding that your solitary experience of the world is important, it matters, it’s romantic: This lies at the heart of all happiness as far as I’m concerned. And it’s a challenge we all face no matter what our circumstances are. It’s not easy. But happiness, even within the comfort of a partnership, is impossible without it.

I’m not saying you should milk every last drop of nectar from life even when you’re going through hell. You don’t have to overachieve your way through the time you have left. Just try to view yourself and your life through the eyes of a devoted partner whether you find that person or not. Because the jagged edges of who you are, the sharp corners of what you’re going through, even when they’re sad or chaotic or lonely, are everything.

It reminds me of the very first note of Beethoven’s First Symphony. I can’t get enough of that first note, hanging there like a question mark.

Imagine, sitting down to write your FIRST goddamn symphony at the age of 25, and thinking, “I’ll start with a sudden, jarring, unresolved chord in the wrong key! But then it will resolve quietly, and then I’ll add another jarring chord! And my third jarring chord will repeat and repeat, like a slightly sad, haunting question that hangs in the air a little too long!” I mean, what an arrogant, bold, brilliant choice. And even though it’s incredible how Beethoven manages to move so smoothly from that sweet, melancholy question to this lilting, graceful dance through the countryside, followed by a bouncy triumphant conquest, followed by a strange dark shadow where things get terrifyingly morbid and a little messy, he starts it all with this insistent, melancholy inquiry. And the battling themes, with their absurdly conflicted moods, combine to form a kind of rough, uneven attempt at an answer.

But no matter how much comfort it gives us to cling to the last, forceful note Beethoven offers, it’s clear that he doesn’t really have an answer. He wants us to stay close to the question, to hear the grace in those notes, to hear the anguish and the longing there. That’s what those first chords say to me: Even when your life feels incomplete, suspended, unresolved, your task is to relish that imperfect, unnervingly unfinished space as much as you possibly can.

Anguish and longing live at the heart of every life. We are all totally alone in some ways, but we can believe in love and love it like crazy even in our solitude. I might die alone. We all might. The Earth might stop spinning in the next second. Cultivating the belief that every sigh, every breeze, every melancholy, uncertain moment alone matters: This is my work and yours and everyone else’s. These things are tiny and stupid and inconsequential, yet they matter more than words can capture.

I’m still conflicted about your question. I want you to have the fairy tale and live inside a fantasy and live in reality and savor being alone, too. I want you to have everything.

Most of all, though, I want you to know that this world loves you more than you can possibly imagine. I want you to believe that. Even though the most terrifying and morbid evidence would seem to suggest otherwise, the truth is that this world adores you like the most devoted lover. I can’t prove it, but I know that it’s real. When you struggle, the leaves on the trees shudder, the sun weeps, Beethoven’s violins cry, and the spirits of the dead and the living are on your side. We are all living inside the same terrifying, sweet, sad question with you. Do you feel that? That part is not a fairy tale. That part is real.

Polly

https://www.thecut.com/2017/11/ask-polly-im-dying-but-i-want-to-be-in-love.html

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owl-eyed-woman · 7 years

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Attack on Titan Season 2 Episode 36 Analysis Part 2: Ymir and Christa

When this season began, I had no idea that Ymir and Christa would become such central characters or that I would learn to love them oh so much. They were such non-entities in the first season. They were, at best, two vaguely interesting side characters.

But now, in a mere 12 episodes, Ymir and Christa have been decisively moved from their once peripheral position to the very centre of this story and, in the process, have proven themselves to be two of the most well-written and relatable characters in the bunch.

In the scheme of this episode though, plot-wise and even theme-wise, they are almost disconnected, existing in their own little plot cul-de-sac. If they were less well-written, one might say that they distract from the episode as a whole. It’s the strength of the character writing and the emotional conflict between these two that ensures they remain one of the best parts of an already stellar episode and one of the most compelling parts of AOT as a show.

Essentially, there can be no satisfying resolution to this whole endeavour without first addressing Ymir’s disturbing decision to kidnap Christa and resolving its immediate impact on Christa and her relationship with Ymir.

Upon being removed from Ymir’s mouth (ew), Christa immediately demands an explanation for her unexpected abduction. It’s this process of explanation and justification that forms the foundation of this scene’s tension and stakes. How Ymir explains the situation to Christa will ultimately determine the fate of humanity, Christa and herself.

However, despite the fact that this conversation will have major repercussions for all of humankind, AOT keeps this scene intimate and personal, focusing on what’s at stake emotionally. AOT understands that what matters most in this moment is how this decision plays out between these two girls who love each other.

With this in mind, Ymir’s measly attempts to justify her current course of action are almost funny in a terrifying, messed-up sort of way. She’s deeply aware of the absolute indefensibility of her actions and finds herself struggling to explain herself to Christa. Though she seemed to reconcile herself to the moral reprehensibility of her actions last episode, in the face of Christa and the very real possibility that she just might despise her, Ymir is finding that she’s less able to handle this situation than she previously thought.

Christa, bless her heart, senses none of this emotional turmoil and instead assumes that Ymir is being threatened by Reiner or Bertholdt. I mean, why else would Ymir put her in harm’s way? Christa simply can’t, or perhaps, doesn’t want to believe that Ymir is capable of such a betrayal. She even offers Ymir an out, reaffirming her loyalty and promising to vouch for her no matter what.

It’s at once sad and strangely sweet that Ymir continues to be shocked by just how good Christa is. She understands so much of who Christa is as a person, but this essential aspect of Christa, her unwavering kindness, still remains unfathomable.

In a way, this scene serves as yet another example of how Christa and Ymir’s natures mirror one another’s in their own distorted way. While Ymir and Christa are starkly opposed morally, they both instinctively apply their personal moral beliefs onto the world around them, regardless of context. To put it simply, while Christa expects the best from people, Ymir always assumes the worst.

This remains true in this scene, as Ymir applies her own self-centred worldview to Christa, assuming she’ll react with anger, suspicion or even hate. When Ymir is instead met with unconditional trust and love, her guilt becomes even more potent and her choice even harder. Even after all that she’s done, Christa continues to offer Ymir a chance to turn back before she goes down this dark path.

But it’s all for naught; she’s already decided that she’ll do whatever it takes to both protect Christa and selfishly ensure Christa remains with her. Besides, Ymir’s too much of a realist to believe she can turn back after what she’s done. There is only one option left to her: do whatever she can to keep Christa on her side.

Using Christa’s assumption that she is in some kind of danger to her advantage, Ymir suddenly claims that she kidnapped Christa, not of her own volition, but out of fear for her life. She is blatantly lying about her own agency and painting herself as a passive victim, exploiting Christa’s innate impulse to defend the weak. There’s no point mincing words here, this is a selfish, underhanded, manipulative thing to do.

But even as she commits to this deceit, digging herself deeper and deeper into her lies, Ymir starts to mix in the truth about herself and her love for Christa. Though she claims that she is being threatened by Reiner and Bertholdt, Ymir also admits that she is acting out of an intense fear of dying and acknowledges the undeniable selfishness behind this act.

Ymir didn’t have to add this. She could have simply stuck to her story, and remained the passive and innocent victim. Instead, Ymir purposefully constructs her false confession in a way that acknowledges her own culpability and deficiencies as a human being. This complicates what might otherwise have been a straightforward ‘confession’.

In her own way, Ymir is being entirely honest. Though it may sound sappy, Ymir is indeed motivated by a fear of dying; for Ymir, life without Christa would be the same as dying. Whilst the specifics of her explanation are all fabrication, the emotions Ymir attributes to her actions, are, in a way, the complete and utter truth. As Christa hears this, she struggles to reconcile her belief in the fundamental goodness of people with the obvious selfishness and deceit evident in Ymir’s ‘confession’. Perhaps Ymir is just another person trying to use Christa for their own selfish means.

But even knowing all this, as the sun bursts through the clouds to shine gloriously over them, Christa openly and readily reasserts that she will always be Ymir’s ally. It’s a strangely triumphant moment, as the bright almost heavenly light underscores Christa’s inherent goodness and selflessness.

Ymir looks up in desperate awe at Christa, basking in this light, before lowering her head into shadows. In this subtle shift, AOT powerfully shows us the darkness underlying this moment of so-called triumph, corrupted by Ymir’s deceit and betrayal.

Ymir has got what she wanted. Christa has agreed to come with her, and against all odds, she doesn’t despise her. But there is no victory or joy for Ymir. Instead, this a sombre, deeply ambiguous moment of someone manipulating the one they love because of that same love. Ymir is hurting Christa and she knows it.

Christa, however, seems completely oblivious to this, and, in the wake of this (false) confession, seems to accept her fate with open arms. Christa is a genuinely honest person, so honest in fact, that she isn’t able to conceive of people as capable of dishonesty, especially those she trusts. She’s kind of like Eren in that sense; their loyalty, once gained, is unconditional.

AOT unfailingly portrays a brutal world filled with violence and cruelty, but characters like Christa serve as an essential reminder of humankind’s potential for goodness and beauty. Sadly though, in this case Christa’s greatest virtue, her kindness, becomes her greatest flaw, blinding her to Ymir’s treachery and leaving her vulnerable to manipulation by more cunning and callous people. AOT understands that kindness shouldn’t be applied unconditionally, lest it prop up the actions of those actively working to undermine humanity.

Thank god Christa has other friends to support her and offer her some much-needed perspective on this whole mess. Whilst fighting side by side with Ymir, Christa is suddenly whisked away by Connie and Sasha. When Christa tries to explain why they need to let her run away with Ymir, Connie and Sasha are immediately suspicious, stating outright that Ymir is almost certainly lying.

Connie and Sasha, as two neutral parties, force Christa to see the logical inconsistencies in Ymir’s story. If Ymir literally risked her life, not even 1 day ago, to save Christa, why would a fear of death motivate her to endanger Christa? It just doesn’t add up.

I really love Christa as a character, but she is making a terrible decision and acting irrationally. Ymir and Christa’s connection is undeniably electric and all-encompassing but, evidently, it’s become harmful if they’re willing to sacrifice everything and everyone for each other. I’m thankful that we have Connie and Sasha here to call Christa out and basically say she’s stupid to her face. In this way, they are acting as a type of realistic and pragmatic buffer for Christa’s seemingly limitless idealism.

Christa is a crossroads, and the decision she makes here will decide who she will be as a person and what path she will take in her life. I hope, in the end, that Christa is able to make the right choice and grow from this experience, learning not to let blind love and unconditional loyalty dictate her actions. Ymir also faced such a crossroads, but it seems as if she’s made her choice already. Still, l hope Ymir can learn true selflessness and do the right thing for the one she loves.

Whether this will come to pass, well, I guess I’ll just have to wait till the next episode.

In the next part, we’re going to look at another unhealthy relationship, and think about Mikasa’s love for Eren! Links to the full series will be posted below.

Links Part 1: Why I Love this Show Part 3: Mikasa’s Co-dependency and Morality Part 4: Armin and Sacrifice Part 5: An Ode to the Ensemble

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ficdirectory · 7 years

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The Fosters: Our Thoughts on Episode 5x02 “Exterminate Her”

We’re back for more of our thoughts on this week’s Fosters. As usual, check out @tarajean621‘s thoughts on Jesus and brain injury representation in italics below:

You Know What Could Have Happened, Callie?/Honey, She Was Terrified: I can totally understand Callie wanting to focus on the good side of things. I’m sure she is keenly aware of just how badly things could have gone. And Stef being short with her and Lena taking the time to explain how scared Stef was rings so true to Real Stuff Parents Do.

This Is Nothing to Celebrate!/Surprise! And, naturally, all the charges are dropped. But how awkward is this surprise party led by Robert? Especially Mariana leading her brothers in a rousing chant of “hip hip hooray” because “our sister’s a hero!” So cute, though.

How Long Are You Gonna Stop Speaking to Your Brother?/How Long Are You Gonna Stop Speaking to Mariana? I missed this part somehow when it first aired.

How’s The Treehouse Going? Has She Taken Over Yet?/No, She Just Found Us a Tree: Wow, everyone’s crabby today, aren’t they? Settle down, Emma. Only a few more days and you can be really far away from Mariana. (And Jesus. I wonder how that will go?)

Hey, Can I Talk to You for a Second?/Uh, Yeah, Sure: I hate that everyone is now actively fearing Jesus. It’s especially disheartening seeing Mariana react out of fear here. And the camera stays with Brandon as he jumps and then leaves the table. I’d love for the assumption that Jesus now resides at Intimidation Station to not be a thing.

I have been looking for statistics on how likely it is that people with TBIs assault their caregivers, since this seems to be the slant the writers are taking with 5A. I could not come up with one link.

I did, however, find pages of links (over 3 million results) about disabled abuse and victimization.

One source says that disabled people are 4-10 times more likely to be victims of violence, abuse or neglect than nondisabled people. It goes on to share why people living with TBIs are likely to encounter victimization - the list includes the use of undue force (which I covered last week when Gabe restrained Jesus), caregivers misperceptions about TBI leading to abuse or not believing us when we report abuse, or having to endure abuse “in return for” help with tasks of daily living.

Definitely. In just existing as a disabled person and talking to others who are, I can say that everybody I know who is disabled, has, at some point, been abused. (Usually, this is by a caregiver.) Another source I found on the maltreatment of children with disabilities states that:

“Children with disabilities may have increased vulnerability to abuse because...[they] may be perceived as less valuable than other children. Their reports may not be considered trustworthy. Discipline may be more punitive and accompanied by a lack of respect.”

So, I’ve Been Thinking and I Wanna Do My Senior Project By Myself/Well, You Can’t: Um. Wow, Mariana. Maybe you should have been honest with Jesus from the start about this.

Yes, this might have been a more timely conversation weeks ago. Although, it was really up to Moms and Drew to deliver this news to Jesus, so Mariana is not the only one to blame here.

I’m Gonna Talk to Drew Myself and See What He Says: You pretty much have to, Jesus. It’s the only way you’re guaranteed the truth.

But wait, if Jesus speaks to Drew all on his own, who will Drew look to if there is not a suitable nondisabled person present? <-- Sarcasm

Was This Emma’s Idea?/No. I Just Need to Prove That I Can Do Something on My Own: Of course, Jesus would feel strongly about this. His family doesn’t respect him as he is. It makes sense for him to feel like he has to prove his capability to get them to take him seriously. Nothing else is working.

Our society views productivity as the be-all and end-all. You go to school to produce meaningful work so that you can graduate and get a job, thus becoming a contributing member of society. You are useful and worthy then. Jesus feels like he needs to produce a meaningful senior project without help to be seen as useful and worthy again. And it doesn’t hurt that it might earn him points with Emma to distance himself from Mariana.

I Just Wanna Help/I Don’t Need Your Help/Well, We Do/So You Want Me To Go Live with Robert? Honestly, though, what else is Callie supposed to think? Moms are pretty much saying she is too much for them and they need backup to handle her.

Callie, We Love You But There is Only So Much That We Can Do For You: I guarantee you the only part of Lena’s sentence that Callie heard was “We love you, but...” which feels exactly like, “We don’t love you,” or “We used to love you, but don’t anymore.” (Please think about what you’re saying Moms, these words will stick.)

You Need to Decide Who You Want to Be Going Forward, Because This Girl is Not Acceptable: OMG talk about a back-to-back gut-punch! Jeez... What is Callie supposed to do with a statement like this? She is who she is. She can’t change who she is. She has had a ton of stuff happen to her before she ever came to Stef and Lena. That all impacts who she is and her decision making process.

This morning I read an article called 3 Reasons Traditional Parenting Doesn’t Work With Kids From Trauma. Callie has lived months as an adopted child, as opposed to 7 years in foster care. She is in survival mode all the time, and completely shut down during Moms’ and Robert’s lecture.

I’ve heard similar remarks as an adoptee myself and that is exactly how they resonate. Moms’ words must feel like such a rejection.

After This Last Thing With Callie, I Just Don’t Know What To Do/I Know That Was So Awful For You. I’m So Sorry. How Can I Help? What Can I Do? This is probably a bit of a raw wound for me personally, because Stef absolutely needs and deserves comfort. But it feels so jarring to see this scene after the previous two with Moms and Callie.

Lena excused Stef’s anger at Callie in the car when Stef talked about how Callie could have been beaten or raped (she has experienced both in foster care, Stef.) Then the lecture. But we just don’t see that level of love and support for Callie herself. Nobody is asking Callie “How can I help?” or “What can I do?”

I Need You to Say You Can’t Help Unless It’s Both Our Projects, Because You Can’t Choose Sides: Mariana, I get that you are always at least 25 billion steps ahead, seeing every possible bad eventuality but you need to try to reign in this impulse to manipulate the adults in your world. Maybe talk about that in therapy? (But speaking of Kids Who Came From Trauma...pretty textbook behavior.)

(On the positive side, give Brandon Quinn all the points for the physical comedy of trying to put those jeans on! So funny!)

He’s Lucky I Didn’t Suspend Him/And You’re Lucky I Don’t Sue You. And The School: Yes, Lena! (Also how gross is that pro-privatization piece in the ABCC school paper?)

Portfolio?/Your Body of Work: I find it hard to believe that Callie would have zero idea of what a portfolio is, but maybe she doesn’t hang around a lot of art students?

Mariana Just Told Me That This Treehouse Project is Approved for Her and Not Jesus Because He Might Not Be a Senior Next Year? It was news to me, too, Gabe! I’ve literally been thinking (for months) that Mariana went in to support Jesus for his senior project. That it was his meeting. And that when it was not approved for him that was the end of it, but Mariana couldn’t let it go, so she lied and said it had to be both of their projects.

But Jesus Has No Idea, Right?/We Don’t Want to Frighten Him with All the What-Ifs/Keeping Things From Him Blew Up in a Pretty Big Way: I mean, Gabe’s not wrong...

Dean Bayfield: Well, hello, new neighbor. Looks like Stef’s a little tongue-tied around you...

When Do They Send the Paper to the Printer?/They Already Did/What If It Caught an Error and Sent a New File? Mariana Adams Foster...put that big, beautiful brain of yours to good use and be careful. (I’m so proud! But I’m so conflicted about being proud!)

Pick Up Your Senior Project/Toss It: This Girl Is Not Acceptable.

The Art Professor...is Gonna Let Me Audit Her Class and Help Me Put Together My Portfolio/That’s Amazing: This Mama Sandwich for Callie is so bittersweet because she looks so relieved that they still love her.

Do Think I’d Be Better at Scooping Ice Cream or Flipping Burgers?/That Depends. You’d Be So Bad at Both: OMG Callie! Hahahaha!

Maybe This Could Be My Still Life. I’m Salty, Right? Why would she want to find an object that defines her if the girl she is is not acceptable? No wonder she is struggling so hard with this.

I Used to Blow Dry My Hair Straight, Too, Mariana. It’s Called Time-Management: These are the moments that I love. Because Mariana’s hair is not a lost issue, and Lena remains supportive about it, giving Mariana advice from her own experience.

We Have 5 Teenagers/Oh God Bless You! We Just Have the One: Hahaha! I love Theresa!

A Good Basic Case With All the Essentials: Can’t go to art school without supplies!

The Article Doesn’t Appear to Quote You or Anyone on the Administration. It’s Just One Kid’s Opinion, Right? OMG Lena, I love you! Also, check out the screencap Tara got of the article in the Sea Breeze! Love that it cites IDEA and points out what this article says, in part, which is “ If the private...school does not accept any federal funding, then the school is not required to provide accommodations” to students with disabilities.

What Did You Bring to Sketch?/I Think I’m Just Gonna Sketch My New Art Set: Because nothing says Callie like an art set you got 10 minutes ago... :(

Grace! Are You Okay? Are You Hurt? Why Are You Handcuffed to the Bed?! Brandon, your reaction to Grace here was, hands down, my favorite part of the episode. You give me hope for humanity in this moment.

Otherwise, Why Would You Be Here? I also love Ximena! There is such a shortage of positive female friendships depicted on TV that I would love to see Callie and Ximena develop one. But it looks like Ximena’s complimentary question to Callie isn’t sitting quite right...

It’s For This Foster Family That Has, Like 12 Kids. Some of Them Are Special Needs: First of all, it seems illegal that one family would have 12 foster kids at once? And secondly? Pretty much no one in the disability community likes the term ‘special needs.’

Since I Got This TBI, People Treat Me Like I’M Special Needs: So revealing there, Jesus. I always say, the hardest part about being disabled isn’t the disability, it’s the way we’re treated as inferior. I imagine that dealing with a sudden disability as Jesus is, that feeling is even stronger. (And I can’t shake the feeling that the ‘people’ Jesus is referring to is his family. And honestly, nobody should be treated like they’re less when they’re disabled, especially by family. It’s bad enough to experience it in general society.)

Having a brain injury is not a bad thing, but it does take some adjustment. The way Jesus says, “People treat me like I am special needs” is revealing, as Tonia pointed out. People treat him like a pile of unreasonable demands - like a list of symptoms - instead of as a human being who has a brain injury.

Talk to Your Moms/All They Do is Lie to Me and Keep Secrets. They Aren’t Going to Tell Me. So, What Is It? I can’t say I wouldn’t be making the same call Gabe ends up making here...and so far, Gabe is one person whose ableism is at a minimum, and Jesus feels that. He feels respected by Gabe. His experience with Moms post-TBI has been that they treat him as less now. They have lied to him and he doesn’t need anymore of that. He’s out of the woods, healthwise, he doesn’t need to be ‘protected’ in this manner.

No Longer Funding Any Junior Student’s Senior Projects: Of course you aren’t, Drew...

Did You Talk to My Father? Robert Quinn? Oh Lordy, this isn’t gonna end well, is it? How humiliating for Callie. Like she needs Robert calling in favors for her to get to audit art school class...

I’m Not Gonna Be a Senior Next Year?/We Don’t Know That, Jesus: Now Jesus knows, and Stef still won’t give him a straight answer? Really? At least tell him what you DO know...

Also, inquiring minds would like to know what IS happening with regard to Jesus and school? Stef and Lena are both back at work and Jesus is home all day, talking to Gabe as he builds the treehouse. Lena’s an educator. School is always on this family’s radar. Even if Jesus isn’t ready for full days, I’d think a teacher coming to the house for a bit wouldn’t be out of the question. But school hasn’t even been mentioned by Moms except to say that Jesus is missing a lot, and taking Drew of all people as the expert on post-brain-injury reentry to school.

Jesus, I Need You To Calm Down/No, I Am Not Going To Calm Down/Then You Can Go To Your Room Until You Are Willing To Listen To Me. Now:

In my opinion, Jesus is not out of bounds or out of control here. He has a right to be upset, but Stef sends him away. (Instead of sending Gabe and/or Mariana away so she can have a private conversation with Jesus.) She tells him to leave until he is willing to listen to her - but Stef is in no way willing to be around his feelings in this moment.

Too often, disabled people are expected to “be nice” in the face of ableism. And let’s be clear, not telling Jesus about what is going on with his schooling is ableism. Dismissing Jesus’s current upset? Also ableism.

If any of the other kids found out Moms withheld information for weeks about them possibly not being promoted a grade, upset would be an expected reaction. In Jesus’s case, it is not justified in Mom’s eyes.

I’m Not Going Up There With Him! Did You See What He Did to Brandon’s Room? What If He Takes a Baseball Bat to My Head? Kids learn ableism from their parents...and Stef doesn’t refute Mariana here... So harmful. (And also - if Mariana isn’t comfortable going upstairs, the least Stef could do is tell her to go to the living room or something. Anything so she is not right there when Stef tells Gabe that if he can’t respect Stef and Lena’s authority as the twins’ parents, he’ll have to leave. Awkward. And not a conversation for one of the kids to overhear.)

Is This a Bad Time?/Jesus is Up in His Room and I’m Sure He Would Love to See You Right About Now: Um... If Jesus is supposed to be being punished or taking a break or whatever, why would you send Emma up there? (But I have a pretty good idea why. Disability as a Plot Device, anyone? Because up until now, Emma was the only person who wasn’t fearful of Jesus. The choice to send her up there just to witness Jesus throwing things is a conscious choice to continue his ostracization and isolation. To make sure he has no one to turn to or lean on.

Notice how this “outburst” comes immediately after being dismissed.

Also, here is another example of how traditional parenting does not work on kids with traumatic backgrounds. And a Traumatic Brain Injury is yet another trauma for Jesus to juggle, in addition to his unstable infancy and childhood (until age 8). Sending Jesus to his room just drives home the fact that he, like Callie, is seen as unacceptable now.

I Wish I Had Somewhere to Unleash My Beast/You Do. Your Art: Jesus, do you hear this? You and Callie could totally channel all your feelings into art. That’s what it’s there for, and you’re both good at it. (I’d actually really like to see this!)

How Did Your Job Interview Go?/I Was Late So I Probably Didn’t Make a Great First Impression: Yeah, like when your girlfriend calls you with fake emergencies when she KNOWS you have a job interview soon...

Pretty Sure She Was Trying to Have Sex With You/Oh, My God: I loved this! Rang so true to me that the adopted kid would totally get what Grace was trying to do with Brandon while Brandon remained innocently oblivious...

I Wanna Try to Be a Senior Next Year, Even If That Means I Have to Go to Summer School/Honey, That’s Really Great to Hear, But Your Senior Project Will Have to Wait Until Then: Okay but Jesus literally did not say anything about his senior project. He’s talking about his education right now. Why does no one take him seriously? (Oh wait, I know...)

“That’s really great to hear.” What does that even mean? “That’s really great to hear that you still desire and value an education even though you have a brain injury?”

It sounds as if that was Lena’s way of possibly skirting the education conversation.

Because I Got Mad? Are You Punishing Me? Of course, it feels like a punishment.

Drew’s Not Funding Any Senior Projects by Juniors/You’re Lying: Moms, remember Stef’s brilliant take on ‘trust has to be earned?’ I feel like it’s time to work on starting to earn Jesus’s. Because right now, he can’t trust anything you say, and why should he?

Also, I’m pretty sure Monte said last episode that Drew isn’t the principal because she hasn’t yet resigned. So...why is the vote invalid but his word about Jesus’s senior project like signed, sealed and notarized by a judge?)

I Could Probably Get Jesus’s Uncle to Donate/Birth Uncle: This is interesting, because we watched this episode with a friend who adopted her daughter. And she specifically commented on this scene. Said she never corrects her daughter when she wonders about her birth mother. And she felt it was out of place for Moms to correct Gabe here.

I Do Wanna Keep My Senior Project/We Took It to the Dumpster Already: Ouch, Callie :(

I Didn’t Give Her Any Money, I Just Asked Her to Give You a Chance, But Only If She Believes in You, Which, Obviously, She Does/You Don’t: Bam. It’s truth time, by Callie. And that really is what Robert’s actions communicated. Instead of helping with her or giving her advice on what to do next, he went behind her back and appealed to the teacher’s pity, and that never feels good.

I Know You All Think That I’m Unacceptable/That’s Not What We Meant/It’s What You Said: Right, Callie? And no matter how many other times she is affirmed, those words will be inside her, challenging the love she’s shown. It’s this thing: anger resonates as the “truest” feeling, while love feels forced. It’s hard to explain...

When You First Met Me You Told Me I Wasn’t Disposable and I’m Really Trying to Believe That: We keep track of every single word.

We Don’t Want You to Throw Away Your Past, We Just Want You to Stop Repeating It: But that might not be entirely in Callie’s control. How often do we rehash or recreate an aspect of our past in an effort to work through it, or because it feels familiar and that feels safe? Moms want Callie to feel safe, but safe is new. And it’s going to take some getting used to. (Also I’m really glad Lena rescued Callie’s senior project from gettting thrown away.)

So, I’m Not Going to See You Before You Go?/I’m Sorry/I Love--: Emma’s pulling away so hard and fast. This sucks.

I really hope that this whole Aggression Is A Symptom storyline does not end up Teaching Jesus A Lesson.

Did Mamas Talk to You About The Treehouse?/I’m Gonna Ask Emma to Do It With Me...If That’s Okay: Ugh, and the twins aren’t getting along still. And at this point it seems like working with Emma on the treehouse this year or next is gonna be a bust...

Not being able to connect after an injury is a thing, and I appreciate that it is being depicted. To add to Tonia’s comment about Emma, we don’t know what is going to happen with them. He is trying to make things work with his girlfriend while putting Mariana in her place. We will have to see what happens...

I Guess I Shouldn’t Have Read Fifty Shades of Grey: Oh, Grace, what a terrible book!

I Don’t Know Where The Keys Are. I Think They’re Over Here/Okay, I’m Coming: Hahaha! Don’t play with handcuffs, Brandon and Grace...or Stef will have to come unlock you...and wouldn’t that be embarrassing?

Fearless: I love Callie showing Ximena her necklace from her mom as her object for her Still Life and I love Ximena’s reaction to it!

Tess/Oh, My God! Stef! So, I was in the shower, the morning after this aired, and it occurred to me. The thing that everybody already knows about who Tess is. But in case someone hasn’t made the connection. I realized Tess was Stef’s high school friend who she was cuddling and got caught by Stef’s dad. Also the reason Stef was sent by her dad to see a priest, who told her being gay was a sin (episode 1x06, I believe.)

For more: Fosters Recaps

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survivinglifescurveballs · 7 years

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Real lessons of motherhood

I say things I never thought I would

“Take the plastic bag off of your head,” I said to my seven-year-old son.

“Why?”

“Because you can suffocate and die. How many times have I told you not to put plastic bags over your head?”

“A lot.”

Are my kids the reason for these ridiculous warning labels? Heavy sigh.

The weirdest things come out of their mouths too

Dominic-isms at ten-years-old

“What is shampoo?”

"Could you pass the Parmesan and ..." stops to read label "Roman cheese".

“I am going to get my Valentine a box of cigarettes.” He was thinking chocolates, but looking at a stop-smoking billboard.

Xander-isms at seven-years-old

"Three thousand, million, dillion dollars. That's how much money I want and I also want everything to be free...for our whole family. Then Papaw and Grandma Fran could get everything they want."

"I want a 16-hour delay, but I don't want to miss lunch".

"Cookies aren't protein?"

Grocery success depends on your entourage

When my children were small enough to be contained in the cart for our entire shopping trip I could read labels, compare pricing, succumb to my own impulse buys. But then as they grew they no longer stayed in the cart and grocery shopping turned into a sick game of “don’t touch that,” “please stop running and sliding on your knees down the aisles,” “watch behind you,” and “no, we are not getting chocolate peanut butter dip.”

Now, when I walk into the grocery store, I secretly think may the odds be forever in your favor to my fellow shoppers.

Self-checkout is the worst

If you have children old enough to be outside the cart, self-checkout becomes more of an intense game of simultaneously scanning groceries while keeping them away from the scale with a live audience of all the shoppers impatiently waiting behind you. Why yes, yes I am self-checking an entire cart of groceries because for whatever reason my grocery store has no cashier lanes open.

To add insult to injury, who is the sadistic jerk that thought advertising candy at children’s eye level in the self-checkout lane was smart? Newsflash, it’s not smart, it’s evil. Instead of succumbing to your marketing tactics I am leaving with a crying child and right temple that may very well explode at any moment.

Pick-up or delivered groceries are from heaven

Amazon pantry started it all for me with delivering shelf-stable pantry staples to my door, but then Kroger one-upped Amazon when they offered their click-list service. Now I can order everything I need online and pull up to the store where some wonderful human loads my car up for me. I don’t even need to get out to help or to pay. They bring the iPad to me to swipe and sign. Then I just drive away, can you believe it? It’s like something out of a fairytale. No more self-checkout, no more candy aisle, my kids stay strapped into their seatbelts and we accomplish what we set out to do easy breezy lemon squeezy.

Blissfully enjoy the baby bubble

When I brought Dominic, my first child, home from the hospital I collapsed into tears because I was terrified. The weight of the world, his world, was now on my shoulders and would remain there until he grew into an adult. The magnitude and depth of this responsibility were incredible and I did not think I was capable.

Coupled with the fear was also amazement. Each time I looked at his tiny bird-like legs, his soft blue eyes, his bald wrinkly head I felt pure awe. The movement of his breath was rhythmic, chest up, chest down. Here sat a being, a human that had grown within me, with a beating heart and blinking eyes. It was a miracle, he was (and still is) my miracle. How is this even possible? I would ask myself over and over.

Nothing mattered outside of Dominic. My world revolved around meeting his needs. Rocking him as the soft hairs from his head tickled my neck, breathing in his scent, filled with more love than I ever knew possible. This is the bubble, treasure these moments. You may have other children, but the baby bubble will never be the same.

Parties in the early afternoon suck

I am the oldest grandchild in my family and naturally, I was the first to purchase a house, get married, and to have a baby. My family came to all of these celebrations. As my cousins got older I was also invited to all of their celebrations and I wanted nothing more than to go. Every invitation I received was for one or two-o-clock in the afternoon.

This is right in the middle of nap time.

Naively I went to the first few parties, skipping my son’s nap. It was utter hell. He was whiny, mean, and wild throughout the entire party, but it did not stop there. His crap behavior carried over into the evening right up until bedtime.

That’s when I decided the price was too high. It was just not worth the horror of missing the nap. I was embarrassed and stressed, my hosts probably wondered what kind of demon I was raising and both of us wished I just would have stayed home. So know that I love you, am proud of you, and are with you in spirit.

If you hurt my child I will hunt you down

No one will ever love my child like I do. My love is deep, fierce, and unyielding. There is something incredibly special about a mother’s love for her child. This is impossible to understand until you become a mother.

This is not to dismiss the love of a father or future spouse. Those relationships are just as important however they are different.

William Congreve said, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” I say… nothing. Instead, I quietly stalk my prey like a mother tigress and pounce when the time is right because if you hurt my child you deserve no warning.

Facebook is full of lies

Helpful hint, no one has it all together, everyone has different struggles, some are just better at hiding it than others. We all see her, the beautiful mom who seems to have it all figured out. She posts pictures of outings with smiling, well dressed, clean children. We are happy for her, but begin to wonder if we are as good a mother.

STOP RIGHT THERE!

That photo took one second. ONE. SECOND!

Think back on today. Can you remember one second that was picture perfect? I know you can. The problem is not your mothering. The problem is the question, Am I as good as X?

Parenting is messy, full of self-doubt and we are all learning as we go. Some days I have it all together, but most days I don’t.

Dr.Seuss said it best.

Parent YOUR way, teach lessons to YOUR children that are important to YOU. We are all different, including each one of our children and our differences should be celebrated. It’s YOU your kids love, not that other mom. So go mom like only you can!

Pinterest is full of fairytales

Have you ever tried to recreate something you found on Pinterest? Yeah, did it turn out like the picture? No? Same for me, every time I try.

Comparing your first attempt to someone’s best is like comparing your karate moves to a black belt’s. Yours will probably not be as good, but with practice and patience, I’m willing to bet it could get better.

The moral of the story here is keep it all in perspective and maybe try that new Pinterest thing a few times before debuting it at your next holiday celebration.

Prevention is the key to toddlerhood survival

Put everything out of reach and be aware that everything is climbable. The world is basically a giant jungle gym playground and all things, literally, every single thing goes into their mouths.

Some of my mom friends were determined to teach their toddlers self-control.

Well, if my friends are doing it, maybe I should give it a go.

Every few minutes my toddler would grab something that posed a possible threat and shove it right into his mouth. Up, down, up down, like a little game every time I sat down he would get into something that I would need to take away.

I was way too tired for that.

Instead, I de-cluttered my house and got rid of anything that was not toddler-friendly. Basically, my house was decorated with baby gates, Disney themed plastic toys, and pictures of my kiddos hanging on the walls. All cleaners, self-care items, toxic or messy products were put on the top shelf of closets.

One time I left my shave gel out…

Another time I left the baby powder down…

Danger lurks everywhere

Before I had kids I thought I protected myself from danger pretty well, but now I see the possibility of death in just about every activity.

“Mom, can I help dad mow the lawn?” Sure, go ahead and flip the mower on yourself and lose a limb.

“Mom, can we go to the zoo today?” Will today be the day one of the tigers gets loose or my kid wanders into a bear enclosure?

People learn through experience, yes I know that. I also appreciate the significance of learning from cause and effect. As long as there is no emergent danger (life or limb) I release the boys from my cocoon of safety so that they may gain the necessary experience.

I am also the mom frantically waving my children and husband closer when they have floated too far from the beach thinking of sharks, jellyfish, muscle cramps, undertow, etc. It’s all about balance, right? I balance irrational fear with measured risk taking like any good mom.

You are all your kids need

Overthinking is one of my best and worst character traits. I love to think about everything not in any kind of skilled way but just meander through my own messy mind. It’s interesting what floats around in there, the imagined possible outcomes to different scenarios (see above, danger lurks everywhere), the fascination of the simplest joys (enjoy the baby bubble), the ease at which self-doubt creeps in (facebook is full of lies). Do you know what I have learned from all that analyzing?

All my boys really want and need is my undivided attention. Still, at seven and ten-years-old they want to be near me, to hug me, to wrap up in a blanket with me in the evenings while we watch Animal Planet or Nat Geo.

Toys, trips, trinkets are all just fluff. It’s me they want. And that works out pretty great because they are all I have ever wanted. So let’s go mom the only way we know how, in our own special, unique way.

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toseehowthestoryends · 7 years

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A Different Battle - Chapter 10

In which Morgan le Fae finds out that her long-abandoned son has become the Dark One and comes to make amends. Years later, when Belle makes a deal to become the Dark One’s maid, she never expected to find his mother living with him. Morgan, however, will understand exactly what lies between her son and his ‘maid’, and her influence will change everything.

Or, the one where Rumplestiltskin’s mother shows up at the Dark Castle shortly after Cora breaks his heart, changing the course of future events forever.

Read it on AO3 | FFN

Chapter 10—“Something That Wasn’t There Before”

Belle had long ago figured out that there really weren’t any books on the Dark One in the Dark Castle, or at least not any in places she was allowed to go. She suspected that what little literature there was to be found was locked up in Rumplestiltskin’s work tower, but there was no way he was letting her in there. So, she had to get creative. She also remembered what Morgan had said: “That hat only heralds disaster, much though Nimue would convince my son otherwise.” There were hundreds of magical hats in history, but the name “Nimue” was something Belle thought she could find. Particularly since she had a pretty good guess about what kind of person Nimue had to be based upon what Morgan had said.

So, she buried herself in the library and started doing research. It wasn’t like Rumplestiltskin actually expected her to clean, anyway, which meant she had plenty of hours to herself. Much to her surprise, Nimue wasn’t anyone recent; she’d wondered if perhaps she’d been some evil sorceress who’d created the Dark One or maybe Rumplestiltskin’s predecessor—although the latter thought only occurred to her after she realized that there had been other Dark Ones. Yet she found multiple references to the last Dark One having been male and under the control of or in an alliance with the Duke of the Frontlands, and she was fairly certain that Nimue was a feminine name. That made her dig deeper, and then deeper.

Finally, she found the name of Nimue, and much to her surprise, Nimue had been a Dark One. The very first, as a matter of fact. Unfortunately, Belle couldn’t find much beyond that, even though she dug for more references to early Dark Ones and Nimue in particular, but what she could find made her think.

If Nimue—who had lived at least five hundred years ago, but some legends say more than a thousand years had passed—could somehow influence Rumplestiltskin, did that explain some of what he was? Belle had started to realize that the darkness inside him ran far deeper than the power he apparently chose to have; sometimes, she could see a good man peeking out from the shadows, and she often wondered how a good man had turned into a monster. Even their current fight was over the fact that she’d naively blamed his mother for what he’d become, and if that didn’t show that Rumplestiltskin was capable of love, she didn’t know what did.

Can he love me? Belle had asked Morgan. She’d never answered the older woman’s question about if she had feelings for Rumplestiltskin, of course, but that wasn’t because Belle didn’t know the answer. She knew; the thought just terrified her, sometimes. She didn’t want to be drawn to that much darkness, didn’t want to have feelings for someone who could hurt others so easily. But if the darkness wasn’t him, if it was a force inside him driven by Nimue or something else…well, that changed things, didn’t it?

“I don’t understand you,” she said to the book in her hands, A Historie of Magic. “But I wish I could.”

“Wish you could understand what, dearie?”

Belle spun.

Even killing that annoying outlaw woman didn’t make Zelena feel any better. The knowledge that her obnoxious little stepdaughter—an odious, spoiled brat if there ever had been one!—had found shelter with Regina, of all people, was enough to drive a woman insane. And now she heard that James had abandoned Abigail for Snow White! There was absolutely no justice in the world, and Zelena just wanted to scream.

Yet she didn’t. Queens had more dignity than that, and she was the Queen. She was the most feared monarch in all of the Enchanted Forest, and the powerful didn’t complain to their underlings. No, powerful witches got revenge, and that was what she was going to do. To start with, Zelena was going to put a few strings on her own bow, too. She wasn’t going to wait for Rumplestiltskin to hand things to her—even if she was certain that her teacher was sweet on her and would give her all she wanted in good time. Rumplestiltskin was nothing if not stubborn and unpredictable, though, so she needed some leverage of her own.

Which was why she invited the pirate back, of course. The fact that he was easy on the eyes certainly didn’t hurt, either. But he was there for business; he’d already proposed to undertake one voyage on her behalf which had turned out quite profitably, although Zelena now had a new proposal for him.

“If I hear right, you’re the Crocodile’s student. So why is it that you’d be offering to help me get revenge?” Hook eyed her cautiously, and Zelena made a mental note that he had something of a brain to go with that pretty face.

“Because I’m not an idiot.” Zelena shrugged as casually as she could. “Rumplestiltskin uses everyone. And I’m not really in a mood to be used.”

She was in a mood to use this pirate, of course, but she wasn’t going to say that. Zelena had learned to temper her impulsiveness in her years as queen, and she knew exactly what she was doing. She also knew that Rumple saw her as different from everyone else, which probably meant she wouldn’t need the pirate—but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

“Aye, he does.” Hook sized her up, cocking his head. “So, what exactly is it that you want me to do, love? It seems to be that you’ve got magic in your corner already, so why come to a devilishly handsome pirate?”

“Well, the devilishly handsome part doesn’t exactly hurt.” She gave him a smile, meeting his eyes with her own. Hook didn’t seem to miss the unspoken invitation, but he didn’t jump for it, either. That’s annoying. Zelena bit back a sigh. “I thought we might ally, you and I. I’m sure a pirate such as yourself knows plenty of people who dislike the Dark One, and I’d like to become their patroness.”

Hook snorted. “Would you, now?”

“Yes, I would.” Not snapping the words took all of her self-control, and they still came out sharper than Zelena would have wanted. “I also want revenge of my own, and I thought you might be willing to help with that if…properly compensated.”

“Now you’re talking, love. What type of treasure do you have in mind to barter?”

Zelena blinked. She hadn’t meant to give the greedy man gold, but he seemed to want it. Was he so obtuse that he’d missed the not-so-subtle invitation to become the Queen’s lover? Surely even a pirate could guess how lucrative that position could be.

No matter. She’d give him gold for now, and seal his allegiance to her, later. Zelena was sure she could wrap him around her finger quickly enough, and that would serve her purposes, even if she did have to fork over cash in the meantime.

Belle hadn’t been expecting her employer to walk in on her in the library. Now that he had, however, she wasn’t going to miss her chance. Rumplestiltskin had stormed out on every other chance she’d had to talk to him, but Belle was determined to make this time different. So, she looked him right in the eye, squared her shoulders, and spoke her mind.

“I wish I understood you. One day you’re throwing teacups at me, and the next you’re running away. You’re not the monster you claim to be, but you won’t let me truly know you.”

His scowl was so deep that it was almost a pout. “That’s your doing, dearie.” Rumplestiltskin snapped the words as if he was expecting her to deny her own mistakes. “Apparently, trying to be kind to young noblewomen is an exercise in futility.”

“Being kind is never futile.” Taking a deep breath, Belle lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for accusing Morgan of something she didn’t deserve. I don’t—I just didn’t understand at all. And I really don’t understand the darkness that makes you what you are.”

“I am what I am. It’s best you don’t try to understand it.” Rumplestiltskin sneered, but Belle could tell his heart wasn’t really in it.

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t need to know the monster’s weaknesses!”

Belle rolled her eyes. “I just said that you’re not a monster. Stop being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” He reared back, looking offended. ‘I will have you know that—” The words sputtered out of him until Belle put a hand on his arm, which made Rumplestiltskin’s mouth snap shut with an audible click.

“I want to know you because you’re you. Your weaknesses are your own. I just want to know Rumplestiltskin, not just the Dark One.”

“Why—why would you want to know that?” His voice had gone soft and uncertain, and his reptilian eyes seemed softer and browner. Belle was sure that was just an illusion, and yet she could see how confusion smoothed away some of his rough edges, making him look more human than Belle had ever seen.

So, she smiled as gently as she could. “Because you’re worth knowing. Because you’re my friend.”

Last time, when they’d fought, he’d corrected her and called himself her employer. This time, Rumplestiltskin did nothing of the sort. His voice was a broken whisper. “Monsters do not have friends.”

“Then it’s a good thing you aren’t a monster.” Belle squeezed his arm again, and Rumplestiltskin flinched. The movement was almost invisible, but Belle felt it through her fingers, and it made her stare. How terrible had his life been that he flinched away from a gentle touch? What caused that haunted mixture of longing and terror in his eyes?

You asked if anyone had ever loved him unconditionally. The answer is that few enough people have, and he has always suffered for it, Morgan had said. Although Belle didn’t know the facts, she thought she was beginning to understand what Morgan had meant.

She wouldn’t ask for details, now, though. Rumplestiltskin clearly wasn’t ready to share, not so soon after their fight. But Belle could see why he’d been so angry when she blamed his mother for what he’d become, and she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t seen it before. He hated himself, hated what he was. He blamed himself for being a monster; that was clear from every iota of his body language. Morgan, on the other hand, dared to love him despite the darkness. She didn’t put up with any of Rumplestiltskin’s nonsense—Belle had seen Morgan call him out on a hundred different things—but she loved him despite it all.

Can I do that? Belle wondered to herself. She couldn’t lie; the depths of the darkness in Rumplestiltskin’s soul frightened her. Yet she also found herself drawn to the light he tried so very hard to hide, so she squeezed his arm again, a little harder this time.

“I’m your friend,” she repeated. “Assuming you will let me be.”

“I…I would like that.” Rumplestiltskin’s smile was as hesitant as his smile, but it still warmed Belle’s heart.

“So would I.”

“My sister is insane. I’m so sorry.” Regina squared her shoulders as she spoke the words, prepared for her friend to blame her for the most recent atrocity—but much to her surprise, Snow just reached out and put a hand on her arm.

“It’s not your fault. You never even knew her until she decided to kill us both.”

“And an entire town for sheltering us.” Gritting her teeth made a sharp, grinding noise in her ears, but Regina didn’t care. If Zelena had been in front of her right now, she probably would have done her damnedest to murder her sister.

Unfortunately, Zelena liked to hide behind her royal guards, so that was obviously not going to happen any time soon.

“She also murdered my wife.” A new voice made her and Snow turn, and Regina felt like she’d been hit between the eyes with a hammer.

The man facing them grimly wasn’t the most handsome fellow she’d ever seen—though he was quite close to it. But there was something about him, something about the pain in his blue eyes, or maybe in the way he held himself like someone who refused to fall apart no matter how broken his heart was, that made Regina’s heart ache. There was something else about him, too, something that stirred feelings deep within her like she hadn’t felt since Daniel. When Zelena had killed her longtime love, Regina had thought she would never feel anything like that ever again, but she felt her heart flutter helplessly.

Don’t be stupid, she told herself firmly, not sure where these alien feelings had come from. He’s mourning.

“Oh, my goodness.” Snow, of course, reached out to put a hand on the man’s arm. “I’m so sorry to hear that. But you and your people are certainly welcome here. Are you the man that Little John spoke of?”

“I am. Robin of Locksley.” A grimace. “People tend to call me Robin Hood.”

“I’m Snow, and this is Regina. Like you, we’re enemies of Zelena’s.” Snow’s smile was so gentle that even a grieving man had to answer it, and Regina was glad that Snow was doing the talking, because she didn’t know what to say. “John let us come to your camp after Zelena started hurting the people who were sheltering us.”

“And you’re very welcome here. Any enemies of the Wicked Queen are friends of mine.” His mouth set in determination, and Regina forced herself to focus.

“Thank you,” she said as calmly as she could. “But…you should know that Zelena is my half-sister. She’s no friend of mine, but…you should know.”

Most people didn’t react as well as Snow always did, but this Robin Hood just took it in stride. “Well, if she liked you, I expect you wouldn’t be here. Let’s find the two of you somewhere to sleep. I can’t promise luxuries, but I can promise you’ll be safe with us.”

Well, this certainly tore Rumplestiltskin’s backup plan for the curse into disarray. Morgan had followed Regina here, just to make sure that her student was safe—Zelena was determined to butcher anyone who hid Snow or Regina, and the last thing they needed was for Zelena to win. Morgan was still determined to stop her son from manipulating the world into the Dark Curse, but she had promised him to help if a better way did not present itself. And since a less terrible method of finding Baelfire had yet to present itself, she was obligated to keep their options open.

But she was a Seer, Morgan was, and she could See what had just happened. A woman with a True Love, or even just a potential one, was never going to be dark enough to cast the Dark Curse. Zelena’s murder of Daniel had sent Prince Henry into hiding (a small feat that Morgan had helped with, knowing how Regina loved her father and how that might be useful later), and had removed any worry that Regina would find True Love.

Until now.

“Well, I suppose we need a Plan C,” Morgan muttered to herself. Regina was not going to cast her son’s curse, so that left the uncontrollable Zelena. Who was also in love with Rumplestiltskin.

Yes, it was time to find Zelena a new lover. Fast.

His maid was…confusing.

Rumplestiltskin watched her all but dancing through the gardens (which he did not like, thank you very much, despite what said maid had said to him yesterday), absolutely unable to understand her. Almost a week had passed since Belle had apologized to him—to him!—for accusing his mother of having driven him to become the Dark One, and Rumplestiltskin still wasn’t sure what to do about her. Everything he felt for her was confusing. You’re the Dark One, Zoso’s voice objected inside him, sending a cold chill down Rumplestiltskin’s spine. You don’t feel for the help.

Shut up. He could do without Zoso’s incessant prattling, or Nimue’s pointed barbs, but wishing for them to go away was like wishing to be human again. It wasn’t going to happen, and if it had been possible, Rumplestiltskin would not have given up his power to be free. He loved his power as much as he hated the darkness, and Rumplestiltskin well knew that one was the price for the other. He was not lucky like Regina or Zelena; he had not been born with magic of his own. His mother had been, but it seemed that all of her magical ability had gone to his older-but-dead siblings. And he needed his power. He needed it to find Bae—and he liked it. Rumplestiltskin had been powerless for too long to ever relish the idea of treading that cowardly path again.

Soft singing jerked him out of his reverie, and he realized that Belle was actually twirling amongst the peach trees. And she was singing some ridiculously optimistic and happy song, too. The very sight of that should have made him smile, so why did Rumplestiltskin find a smile tugging at his lips?

“Do you see something you like?”

His mother’s voice made him spin around, and there was the scowl he should have been scowling. “Sneaking up on the Dark One is unbecoming, Mother. Not to mention dangerous.”

“Pfft.” Morgan waved her hand, clearly unconcerned. “Do answer the question, Rumple.”

Glaring at her did no good. “Of course I don’t. She’s my maid.”

“And friend, I thought?” Morgan gave him a knowing look. “Or do you give libraries to all of your maids?”

“The girl’s well-read. It’s nice to have intelligent conversation from time to time.” The insult, however, seemed fly right over her head, which only made Rumplestiltskin scowl deepen.

“Yes, I imagine that teaching Zelena does leave you with a dearth of that.”

Rumplestiltskin just rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help sneaking a quick glance at Belle as he turned away from the window. Just to see if she was safe, of course. But she was still dancing happily amongst the trees, picking pomegranates now. When did I let pomegranate trees grow in that damned garden? That thought made him twist to snarl at his mother. “This is your doing, isn’t it?”

“My dear boy, you’re the one who made the deal for Belle.” Morgan blinked innocently. “Are you having second thoughts this late in the game?”

“Mother! That’s not what I’m speaking of. I’m—I’m—”

She cut his irate frothing off with a hand on his arm. “Peace, Rumple. I know you care for her.”

“Of course I don’t! I’m the Dark One, and I don’t care.”

“And now you’re perilously close to whining in your denials.” She patted his arm. “I of all people know how capable of caring you are. Let’s not lie to one another. Please.”

Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth to argue, and then snapped it shut. Of course Morgan knew he was capable of caring. She knew that he cared for her, for Bae, and she knew that he’d loved Cora, too. Or loved her as best I was able, and look what a mess that got me into, he thought bitterly. Of course, Nimue had to chime in: Good. You’ve learned. Don’t allow yourself to be fooled. They only want you for your power.

All of them, Zoso added, and Rumplestiltskin shook his head, hoping to shake their voices off like buzzing flies.

“She cares for you, too, you know,” Morgan said softly.

“She can’t.” The words were automatic, but they were much quieter than Rumplestiltskin wanted them to be. “She said she wants to be my friend, but she can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s always about power.” Now he didn’t care if he sounded broken or bitter; at least he knew that Morgan would honestly not think less of him. “She’ll never care about me.”

“I think Belle might surprise you, you know. Didn’t she apologize to you already?”

Now he spun to glare at her again, trying to banish the image of his beautiful maid picking pomegranates from his mind. “You put her up to that.”

“Oh, no.” A soft laugh. “She came to me to ask why you were so angry, but I didn’t put Belle up to anything. Give the girl a chance, Rumple. She does truly care about you.”

He didn’t know what to say about that; really, he didn’t. Rumplestiltskin could only turn back to look at Belle, who was walking back towards the castle, her basket swinging easily in hands. She wasn’t singing, now, but she looked radiantly happy—but that had to be a lie. What kind of good person could be happy in this castle? With him? And even if she did care for him, it would all turn to ash soon enough. He always lost those he loved. Rumplestiltskin was constantly surprised that Morgan was still here, after all. His mother should have gotten fed up with him and left ages ago.

But the way his heart skipped a beat when he thought about Belle was unsettling. So was the way he wanted her to like him, the way he felt when she laughed at his jokes, and the way light was creeping into his life. She was beautiful and good, smart and strong, all things he never had been, and he wanted her desperately. But beautiful maidens did not fall for wretched monsters. That was simply the way of the world.

So, he teleported away before Morgan could say more, before Belle could come inside and he’d have to face the fact that he was falling in love with a woman he could never have.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who is following this story! I really do appreciate it, as well as the votes at the TEAs – Morgan le Fae won Best OC from this story!

Stay tuned for Chapter 11—“A Mystery to be Uncovered,” in which Belle dives to the heart of the matter, Zelena asks uncomfortable questions, and Rumplestiltskin is so very lost.

#a different battle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #ouat au #dark castle rumbelle #ouat fanfiction #hints of outlaw queen

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back-alley-magic · 6 years

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"Myro, a girl, letting fall a child’s tears,

raised this little tomb for the locust that sang in the seed-land,

And for the oak-dwelling cicada; implacable Hades holds their double song." --Anyte of Tegea

The Diviner

Like traditional water diviners, Anyte uses two forked wands to search for things. She rubs the wands together to create friction (earning her the nickname of Cricket), or taps them for bell-like chimes, much like a tuning fork. Her power truly lies in searching out emotion, and can be so specific as to find one person's grief in a sea of people. But she can also find anything with a deep emotional connection to it.

Is the closest thing Hedge Witches of this generation have come to Witches Proper. She is a witch in flux, half-caught between humanity and immortality, frozen with indecision between her deeply flawed human emotions and the promise of real power. She is stuck between a shadowy future and the burning present. This is tearing her apart, and she is letting it.

Faction: Hedge Witches

FC: Nathalie Emmanuel

Name: Anyte Vale (Human name: Amandine Porter. Unlike many witches, she is utterly transparent about her past and still fearless. From others, this might be seen as a taunt. But Anyte, like many who know their future, simply doesn't see the point of hiding her past)

Any other titles, nicknames, or epithets: The Diviner, Cricket (because of the rubbing of her wands and the bell-like humming they generate), The Mediator

Age: 26

Personality:

+honest

+open

+knowledgeable, though not very clear about how she got that knowledge and how she plans to use it. Usually her hints are fragmentary and lack any context

+light and airy, she gives off a flighty, inconsistent air in the way she moves and talks that is rather odd when mixed with her very blunt and inflexible nature. She seems deeply divided, but doesn't know how to reconcile these differences

+observant, and tends to focus on small details about a person. This can sometimes be unsettling when she jumps to conclusions based on little body language signals most people don't even realize they give off.

+moral

+poised

+kind but not coddling. She sees things on a larger scale, and knows sometimes the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few

+determined

+responsible. Duty is everything for her

+/-distant

+/-disconcertingly calm

+/-blunt

+/-not prone to strong emotions, or at least not prone to allowing herself the indulgence of expressing them

+/-wants desperately to be remembered, and often stretches herself too thin in order to make her mark

+/-never allows herself to question her path, even though she knows it's leading towards disaster. In her eyes, it's the only way. If she questions it, she is lost. If she falters, everything falls with her.

+/-guileless, but oftentimes very confusing. She's slowly descending into the rushing currents of time, and feels rushed. She has no time to explain, and her thoughts are often muddled (sometimes they don't even feel like her own. But she pushes /that/ terrifying thought far, far away. If she isn't herself anymore, then she's already lost, and she can't bear that thought)

-melancholic

-unsure, but wont give herself the time or leeway to gain any confidence. It's not a lack of power that worries her. It's a lack of fortitude, and flaws of character. She is immensely self-critical, and judges every action based on its thousand possible consequences

-stifled

-unwilling to take time and energy for herself. This is the inevitable self-destruction that accompanies knowing your fate. She can't see that it's only speeding up the inevitable, and the harder she tries to fight, the worse she's making things for herself (and everyone else)

-has a hero complex the size of Morrow. To some, this may seem vain and pretentious. To others it just seems stubborn and misguided. Most agree that her heart is in the right place though.

-macabre and morbid

-Sometimes all she wants to do is scream and smash things, to destroy something before she herself is shattered, and maybe leave behind a permanent scar. She's beginning to think that's the only way to be remembered. Everyone will forget what you fix, but scars are immortal.

-unwilling to accept the idea that some problems can't be fixed

-inflexible

-conflicted

-secretly terrified of her future and her powers

-never turns to others for help

Powers, weapons, and skills:

Has dual wands which she uses to focus energy into audible vibrations in order to locate things. She can strike or rub them together to create a bell-like humming similar to a tuning fork and they are precise enough for her to feel nuanced emotions and emotional connections. This is pretty useful in her job as a mediator.

Her major conduit is actually air, though she mostly uses sound waves. She prefers passive magic, such as finding things, because it's humbler magic and doesn't disturb the natural balance of the magical world as much as more active transformation magics for example. This does not mean she isn't capable of this kind of active magic, though. When cornered, she can switch her power from drawing on air to focus emotional energy to drawing on emotional energy to focus air. In this way she can call up storms and even draw the breath from a person's lungs if she is upset enough. This is also why she bears the name The Diviner, because of her ability to call fierce rainstorms when threatened. This is a very rare occurrence though, as she is careful to keep her emotions in check.

As she grows closer to transitioning to a Witch Proper, her connection to air dwindles and her connection to emotion grows. Part of her desperately fights this, and has broken free into unexpected storms, freak lightning, and even miniature tornadoes through the back alleys of Morrow. Anyte tries her best to pretend it isn't happening, or that this strange weather has nothing to do with her. But as she feels her humanity drift away, that last-ditch, desperate emotional part of her is fighting to survive against the inevitable pull of time.

She is gaining ever more insight into time, and gets flashes of deeply emotional moments from Morrow's rich past when she comes in contact with specific objects (this comes with a deafening bell-like sound only she can hear that virtually incapacitates her). She believes this is just a side-effect of her transition to a Witch Proper, but she hasn't quite made the connection that these visions may all be linked and have very, very important messages for her about what has come to pass and what will come to pass.

Beyond her magical affinity for searching out emotion, she has a natural (but not supernatural) knack for finding people who may need a little direction. She is firm but not coddling, and actually rather enjoys the company of wayward, lively, and uncontrolled souls. Though she doesn't feed off of that energy like Fae can, they just make her feel alive and remind her of the normal life that's slipping away from her.

She's also a natural mediator, and generally tries not to take sides. Because of this, people from various factions often come to her when issues need solving without bloodshed.

She has the temperament of a teacher, and acts as a mentor of sorts to a lot of hedge witches. She was the one to introduce the Renegade to magic, and he in turn passed on the favor to the New Initiate.

Actually has a beautiful, lilting singing voice. Some are convinced she can manipulate emotions with it, but she just thinks she sings a lot of sad songs and brings down the mood.

Weaknesses:

Very sensitive to loud sounds

When she uses the more active form of her air magic, she draws on her own emotional energy, which is incredibly draining. It is also quite unstable, as she represses most of her strong emotions. So, whenever she actually lets that energy free it can have very dramatic, unpredictable results.

Extremely fatalistic. Anyte has been "gifted" with a glimpse of her future. Though it is fragmented, she knows it isn't hopeful. It comes in flashes (Lysander's there with a red right hand writhing in coils of black flame, and then a column of purple fire reaching like grasping a hand into the clouds, a flurry of white feathers falling from an indigo sky like a snowstorm, fear choking her like black bile, and then everything, nothing, too much and too little, a deafening silence, and a name she almost forgot was hers), but whatever her future it, she's desperately trying to deny what it really means. Part of her believes she will cause something horrible, and part of her hopes she will avert catastrophe. But either way, she's living on borrowed time.

Her independence and almost boundless drive to fix the problems of Morrow is only speeding up her descent (wherever that descent is heading). She's burning herself dry, and is trying to ensure she doesn't drag anyone else down with her. Sadly though, she's too blinded by her own fear and determination to realize that she's only bringing her friends closer to disaster.

Is too focused on the nebulous and ominous future to pay attention to the details of the present, and she's missing a few very key points that might be able to change her fate.

Likes:

poetry

acoustic covers of famous songs

Morrow. She loves the city more than she can ever love another person. It's vibrant and alive, and she loves being part of something bigger than herself.

the city when it rains and the neon lights bleed onto the pavement

the smell of freshly-cleaned linen

billowing clothes

solving conflicts

coffee shops. They remind her of the small moments, that sometimes everything isn't life or death.

lively, impulsive, wild people. Though she'll never give herself that freedom, she can't help but be jealous of those who are free to indulge as they please and destroy as they'd like.

talking about small, insignificant things with people

seeing others' small successes

insects (especially crickets and cicadas). They're so impermanent, yet put every ounce of their being into their songs as if they have no other choice. She hopes she can have that bravery, to make something beautiful even in the face of death.

Lysander Crane (and is probably one of the few people who actually does, in spite of--or maybe because of--his many flaws) She actually has a lot of faith in him, even though she doesn't approve of 99% of his life choices

chai tea and snickerdoodles

street cats

art museums

wilted flowers. she keeps bouquets around her apartment for weeks on end, just watching them droop and turn brown. It's her own memento mori, and renews that sense of urgency

greasy chinese food. It's one of the few purely selfish comforts she gives herself. And she has a soft spot for ridiculous fortune cookie fortunes

beautiful acts of magic that remind her how awe-inspiring and incredible it is. She's lost that initial dumb-founded awe that comes to all new hedge witches, and sometimes she starts to hate magic. But every so often she sees something so incredibly beautiful it reminds her why she's still in Morrow.

Dislikes:

glamours and other illusions

the idea of becoming a Witch Proper. And more than that, she hates how much she fears becoming a Witch Proper. She know she shouldn't care about the world she's giving up, that it's more important what she could do with her newfound powers. She hates her selfishness more than she'll ever give in to fear, and that self-disgust is what drives her

people who tell her she works too hard

pretentiousness

petty squabbles. She simply doesn't have time to deal with everyone's selfish, childish, ultimately unimportant personal vendettas

extremely harsh sounds. She has sensitive hearing

the thought that everything about her that's /her/ is slowly draining away, and that some nebulous /something else/ is taking over.

failure

trying to explain herself

yappy little dogs

The business district, especially all the honking taxis. She much prefers the small walking streets of the bad part of town

watching others destroy themselves (even though she does it herself. She can't handle facing that hypocrisy)

Short bio: Unlike many Hedge Witches, Anyte is incredibly transparent about her past life. As Amandine Porter, she grew up in a comfortable middle-class family in the suburbs of Morrow, dreaming (as most children do) about grand adventures and magical powers. The middle of 5 children, she often felt overlooked, and wanted more than anything to be /special./ She looks back on that childhood with a mix of embarrassment and nostalgia. Everything was simpler then, back when she was one of many. But when she came to Morrow to study Medieval Literature, she finally got her wish (or at least, what she thought she wished for). She fell in love with the city almost instantly. It was alive, humming and singing with a thousand thousand untold stories. In its winding streets, she could be anyone. But bit by bit, the noise became overwhelming. She had always been sensitive to loud sounds, cringing with each car alarm and police siren. But this was different. This was the wailing shriek of fear, the relentless drumbeat of lust, the low droning howl of grief. It was ceaseless cacophony, almost drowning out her own faint voice in the chaotic symphony. But then, in a sleepless fit of desperation, she silenced the noise. A pounding rain beat through the city, and lightning split the sky. And for a few blessed moments, there was awed quiet as the whole city watched a drenching thunderstorm appear out of nowhere. Anyte turned her research from French Lais to more...controversial sources. She fashioned two forked wands from the weeping willow outside of her childhood home, and instead of hiding from the noise of the city, she began to listen.

Life in Morrow: Anyte spent a few years as a TA and research assistant in the Medieval Studies department before her supernatural duties began to overshadow her mundane life. She slowly withdrew from this life and drifted towards the darker, dirtier, and more powerful side of Morrow. She is still welcome at Morrow University, and can often be found hiding in alcoves in the library for a few blessed moments of peace and quiet. But now she spends most of her time wandering the grimy alleys of Morrow's slums and dockside, trying to keep a peace she is too stubborn to see is deteriorating and trying to avert a catastrophe that she doesn't even understand. She is a mediator of sorts to the supernatural community, and at least that part of her quest is marginally successful. She is also a mentor and guiding force for many of the Hedge Witches, trying to steer them towards resources to better understand their powers (heaven knows she had to suffer enough learning how to focus her magic, and she hopes to spare others that pain). This is also largely successful. But it's her nebulous broader quest where she truly seals her fate. In her eyes, she is a savior and a martyr, the sacrificial lamb to ward off the brewing storm. She doesn't quite realize that maybe everything she's doing to desperately avoid her fate is only hastening it, and that maybe she isn't the savior after all.

Why do they want the Stone? She is probably the one person in Morrow who doesn't want the Stone. She is about to find, though, that the Stone wants her.

Greatest wish? To do something that carries on after she is gone.

Greatest fear? Her destiny. She lives with all the abandon and grief of one who knows exactly how they'll end.

What 5 items would you put in a pentagram to summon them? A book of poetry, cicada wings, a stick of cinnamon, a wilted rose, a tuning fork

#Anyte #info #cast of characters

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