#The aim seems to be infantilizing kids | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fairyladyspring · 4 years

Text

Roxy’s Wasted Potential

I love Roxy and I wish she was on the main cast, so why isn’t she? In this essay, I will be talking about how I think Roxy’s potential is being wasted, why this might be and why the reasons are wrong, so let’s dive right into it.

How was Roxy’s potential wasted?

We all know, Roxy was intended to join the main cast after Season 4, yet it never happened. Instead of taking on a main role, Roxy was delegated into the back seat in Season 5 taking on a side character role instead of a main cast one. Maybe you could have seen it coming, after all, she was not the first one to receive a downgrade instead of upgrade (let me shamelessly plug my Moments in friendship drabble between Roxy and Mirta).

Roxy as a character was hyped up very much after all the forth season dealt with finding her and accepting her destiny to be a fairy when she first rejected it. By the end of the season she was starting to grow into her role as fairy with her journey starting after magic was brought back to earth.

As a kid, one of the key aspects I loved about Winx Club was the discovery of magic via Bloom as the proxy. Bloom finding out about her heritage however was essentially over after the movie, there should not have been much more to discover – and her role of discovering magic could have been taken over by Roxy.

But why did Roxy even get the shaft and was pushed back?

Unlike Mirta (who was pushed out due to similarities to another character of a similar show), Roxy had no such similarities to other shows and no between fandom discourse. The Roxy discourse was entirely within the Winx fandom and after three seasons and one movie, Winx fans had a hard time getting used to Roxy as a character, complaining about her addition to the cast.

Not only was Roxy called a whiny brat, fans saw no more than a Bloom clone in this character. Both characters from earth, suddenly the only fairy from a planet whose magic was forgotten – the similarities are there if you try to find them. But that is about where I believe the similarities end.

And still, fans discontent did seal Roxy’s fate and she got reduced to a background character. The questions arises though, was the critique of Roxy entirely reasonable?

Why are the reasons wrong?

Criticism: Roxy is a whiny brat

Hear me out, but I think every character received an infantilization – but Roxy stood out because we had nothing to compare her to. Season 4 has one main criticism even today and it is about the Winx behaving more immature and causing relationship drama the Season could have done without. Writing Roxy to be more mature would have stuck out like a sore thumb.

But even then, Roxy was only 16, an age where usually all things magic is not quite believable anymore unless proven wrong. It was a Moment of Awesome, when Roxy started to believe in fairies, giving the Winx the ability to turn into Believix fairies.

And still, Roxy is not quite there yet herself, magic may be real, but why her of all people? She had been living her life as an ordinary girl and its starting to turn upside down, and she doesn’t quite know what to expect. And truly, why would she be the last earth fairy and not someone else?

Roxy transforming was never about her own, it was always about one she loved, defending her dog, her best friend in life. Following her steps in becoming a true fairy, she would have to go to Alfea and leave everyone behind, her father and her dog. (We can’t say human friends as we never saw them, but I believe she may not have had many close friends outside of animals). Notice how she would have to leave behind her reason she reached for her powers?

Finding her mother finally does give Roxy an answer to why she is the last fairy – it's in the family. Moreover, her mother will live with her father and Roxy would feel less bad about leaving her father behind, he and Morgana will be together. And she had time to get used to her being a fairy, which is how she does accept going to Alfea.

Criticism: Roxy is Bloom 2.0 or a copy of Bloom

One other popular criticism is Roxy is essentially a copy of Bloom, last earth fairy, princess to a realm (Domino and Earth respectively) and their shared origin on earth. Both Roxy and Bloom can be hot headed as well and are loyal to a fault. Yet, neither personality trait is making Roxy a cloe, all the Winx are loyal and Musa and Aisha share the hot-headedness as well.

Not to say, both girls reacted very differently to magic, as I outlined in the above section. Bloom was very much onboard from the second Stella told her she was a fairy, immediately wanting to go to Alfea and persuaded her parents to let her go while Roxy was a lot more hesitant.

This does cause Roxy to know she is ready and not doubt herself, once she had made her decision and come to term with it, whereas Bloom constantly doubted herself even later (if the roles were reversed, the Trix would never have been able to steal the dragon flame because Roxy would not have been this insecure).

As @whitecirclepixie has put it when we talked, while Bloom is a strong leader, she also has a lot of insecurities that can get the better of her, while Roxy knows her worth and shows how powerful she is. This would lead to the two of them forging a deep friendship (relationship) given the chance at interaction and they could bond over their origin, while reacting differently, they could give each other different perspectives about magic.

Roxy would give Bloom more security about having been raised without magic and show Bloom, yes earth fairies belong to the magic world, while Bloom could give Roxy guidance in getting used to magic, having lived through it herself as well as give each other the tie to earth, they might otherwise loose (especially Bloom).

Final thoughts

To me, the portrayal of Roxy has a lot more realistic roots amidst a season of bad writing. Not only are Roxy’s reaction similar to how most people would react and be more suspicious of anything that’s basically out of the ordinary – that is not to invalidate Bloom who represents everyone who always wants to go on an adventure and be something more magical and special – but Roxy was also less representative for the audience and how they would react (or believe they would).

Roxy is a fresh of breath air with her more realistic suspicious portrayal and the rather cartoonlike trustingness of the Winx but it does make her seem out of place at times in a show aimed at a much younger audience who want to believe.

Quite so, this made Roxy a much more natural fit to World of Winx, where her portrayal fits the tone of the show a lot more – and having her question Bloom’s trust in Jim makes the viewer question Jim as well and speaks for some of the audience not wanting to trust Jim, myself included. It does make me wish Roxy would have faced Tinkerbell, as this would have given much more nuance to the ‘redemption’ Tinkerbell got.

I would insert a paragraph about Season 7 here, but I have not watched the season, so I cannot say much except from the looks of it, Roxy would have deserved to be part of the main cast at least for that story (but this may be yet another of the ‘focus on the wrong character’ curse Season 5 had to endure with Aisha). Season 7 would have been the perfect time for Roxy to shine and it was a huge opportunity misssed.

#winx club #fan salt #winx roxy #winx bloom #winx mirta #nickelodeon

83 notes · View notes

hollenka99 · 3 years

Text

Laying Foundations

Summary: The Blood God gets used to caring for a baby and small child who is getting livelier by the year. Chapter 1 of Blood and Feathers. <<Prologue

Warnings: Very brief emeto reference

It is a rather long journey to his Overworld forest cabin from wherever he'd ended up that caused him to be near Phillip's birthplace. The baby, ever so respectfully quiet until now, bawls as soon as the heat of the Nether seems to register. That or he finds portal travel disagreeable. The Blood God is not yet ready to unveil his latest plan. It is half formed and to be honest, he is completely winging it. He wasn't even sure whether he wished to raise his little project here, in his domain where things have always felt a bit... clearer, or in the Overworld, where Phillip is meant to belong, until the Netherdamned child threatened to blow his cover. All he could do to lessen the risk of being spotted is cover Phillip with his cloak and ignore the tiny talons poking at his skin. Besides, if worse came to worst, he could always glare a piglin down into silence. There are very few who are bold enough to trifle with a violence-centric deity, after all. But they do eventually make it. It then hits him that yes, of course, nothing here was left in a suitable condition for raising a child. There is clutter all over the table for one thing. There is also the remains of some meal he must have had prior to leaving the last time. Forgive him for not caring about trivial things such as cleaning up after himself when he's done that thousands of times over his centuries long life. Cleaning is a futile endeavour anyway. You achieve your result, only for it to rapidly be reversed. It will be worse now that he has subjected himself to a child, a form of life unable to comprehend its surroundings required respect, therefore antagonising their environment in their ignorance. That said, he did have three wolves who were capable of causing a mess all on their own. Perhaps, he ponders, he should have asked Celandine to reserve Phillip for a few days as he prepared the place for another being. It will be fine. Phillip is too young to care as it is. After some strife, the house becomes tidier. A pillow and its removed case are placed in a box for lack of better furniture. It will be as good of a bed as Phillip will get while the god fully adjusts his living arrangements. Caring for an infant is... more work than he had been expecting. And he had been anticipating to be kept busy by the kid regardless. During the first night, everything appears to be a problem. He's been fed, changed, paid attention to in general... all of it pointing to the fact Phillip should be content with sleeping. Then ah, the sword swings. Phillip must finally realise he is not going to see his family anymore. Oh well, not much he can do to remedy that. Also, he must say that for such a small stomach, it certainly seems to need filling often. Celandine checks to see how he is faring and offers advice. One such recommendation is to heat the liquid so that it is served warm. However, this occasionally proves to be a disaster as his sense of 'too hot' has been skewed by Nether standards. Phillip never fails to let him know if he's miscalculated. He knows it's irresponsible but a short trip without the baby through the Nether to collect Krev, Valka and Mort won't do much damage. They leap up at him but he hasn't got time to waste with pleasantries. The trio follow him diligently as they pass the statue of the four of them, narrowly avoid a slip into lava because how many lives must I live before you listen when I say be careful and they still remain at his heels when he steps into the portal. The wolves certainly love Phillip at first sight since they barely allow the god to leave the infant's designated room. Easy, he tells them, get your noses away because he's not a plaything and you won't even get to see him if you crowd round like this. The longer they have to get used to each other, the less agitated Phillip tends to be when not in need of care. It is during these calmer moments that they can be found, for example, reading a book 'together'. More to the point, he reads aloud while Phillip tries to grab pages, wriggles in the crook of his arm or the little boy simply stares up at him. Phillip has also become fond of gripping his caregiver's tusks whenever he is carried. It's an odd habit but it isn't painful or particularly uncomfortable so eh, who cares. Being 7 months old when they meet, Phillip is already on the verge of crawling. This is an issue. He gains the ability to be mobile by the time the Blood God is satisfied the cabin is satisfactory for a baby. This soon devolves into a keen eye frequently being kept aimed at the floor. The god wasn't a stranger to watching his step (a trio of wolves seemingly determined to become safety hazards at times will do that to you) but this was even worse. Do you know how miniscule Phillip is compared to him?! And this is the shortest the god can make himself. He is going to accidentally tread on the infant one day if he doesn't remain vigilant, he is sure of it. Winter proves to be a troublesome time. The cold seeps in through the windows whenever there isn't a lit fire to combat it. He despises the season and most years, he is either residing in the Nether anyway or he stays in his large desert home. Well actually, that place of his in the desert tends to be his usual shelter. It's just that humans (and, by extension, avians he supposes) are so fickle when it comes to temperature. They can never be too hot or too cold, for fear of their bodies' ridiculous way of attempting to maintain thermal homeostasis leading to their demises. Babies... are likely the worst culprits of this, along with the elderly. That was why he chose somewhere milder like this forest when it came to Phillip. Celandine has some thoughts on the matter, given that she is unhappy upon her next visit. "You do realise avians are migratory, don't you? It is, after all, partially how you ended up meeting and adopting him. The cold does not suit him." "It does not suit me either. If he is simply cold, I will keep him by the fire." "Keep him warm." She sternly instructs. Perhaps she is right though. He isn't too fond of the lowering temperatures and Phillip's fussiness seems to agree with him. He drafts up rough blueprints for a house, larger than this lowly, isolated cottage but also nothing requiring the time and resources on par with his massive desert villa. Hopefully, with the builders he plans to hire to construct it on his behalf, it will be ready for them this time next year. Which leaves the more pressing issue of what is he going to do for this winter? Well, he supposes there's only one thing for it. Phillip does not find the heat favourable. He spends his days complaining in his own infantile way or being very quiet when struggling with the temperature. Between the age of 9 to 12 months, his style is very much in the minimalist category. Another dilemma the god has is the fact he never exactly need a reason to keep cool here. Therefore, a water source is relatively far away and the coldest spot on the property is the room used to keep food fresh for longer. Phillip shouldn't really be around raw meat but for the sake of lowering the risk of him overheating, he does become familiar with the storage area. However, it's not as if he lives in there. He does get placed outside in the shade with a blanket underneath him every now and again. Babies will taste test any old thing they can get their hands on and there is no better example of this than the way a crawling infant takes fistfuls of the most abundant resource around him to sample. It's the god's duty to supervise in order to prevent sand from becoming unintentionally integrated into Phillip's diet. He notices birds lingering in unusual numbers in the early weeks of the new year. Low enough that perhaps he hasn't cared to notice the true extent of the local bird population before. High enough that he's sure there weren't this many before now. It's February too which makes it even more perplexing. Disappearing to warmer lands is one thing but surely they don't migrate to barren wastelands such as these. Then March 1st arrives and suddenly it all begins to make sense. Celandine could honestly have been less subtle. Any longer and it would have been an infestation. The goddess lands to the cacophony of birds cheering her arrival. Phillip's absent-minded babbling ceases as soon as his brain registers that she has taken him in her arms. She kneels, a baby in one arm while the other is held out as an invitation. She calls out, asking where the subject of her intentions was and summoning it to come to her. A bird with dark feathers makes itself known. It swoops in, perching on the offered limb. It's not a remarkable creature in any way. It has wings, it has eyes, it... presumably breathes. Regardless, it sets its eyes on Phillip from the moment it comes forward. Phillip himself observes the bird with curiosity, even reaching out to it. "Given that you have completed a year of life now, I thought a lifelong friend to keep you company throughout all the other years you're going to see would be a nice gift. She was born last spring, just like you, and she'll stay with you until it's time for you to go. So take good care of each other." The two are left on the ground opposite each other. The crow (apparently that's what the species was called) appears inquisitive. Phillip, on the other hand, crawls back towards him within a minute. "What's their name?" The god asks when Celandine soon shows signs of leaving. A chuckle. "She hasn't told me." It doesn't take too long after his birthday for the baby to learn how to stand with support. In fact, once he manages the feat once, he seems to become obsessed with it. Soft clicking can soon be heard near various pieces of furniture multiple times a day. It would seem the Blood God had just started to get the hang of dealing with a child at one stage of development when Phillip inevitably progressed onto the next. He learns to walk unassisted out on the grass around their house in June. He'd been warned this part of the infant's development would be slower than a human's but given he wasn't aware of how Overworlder children grew, it didn't bother him in the first place. The 1 year old avian struggles to maintain his balance in the beginning but as the weeks and months go on, the clack of talons on wood grows ever more common. Phillip catches him speaking with his ambassadors one day. The conversation isn't anything serious and honestly, should have been had in the Nether. However, wouldn't you know it, raising a kid requires you to be present in case they need you. So they're here, risking their wellbeing just so Phillip can be entertaining himself in the corner of his eye. The toddler specifically notices them bow prior to taking their leave. When the god turns to head back home, he spots a small figure crouch and punch the earth in an imitation of what he witnessed moments before. "Not the time or place." Phillip looks at him expectantly. He repeats the action. "Oh no, I'm not going to lower myself for you. It's called me being at the top of a hierarchy that you're at the bottom of. ...But you probably won't understand that concept for a while." A brief nod of the head is all Phillip receives. He pouts in response, makes a third attempt, but follows him inside all the same when he doesn't get what he wanted. Learning to speak is a slow process for the child, made even slower by the inconsistency of languages spoken at him. The only one who is monolingual is the bird Phillip got for his birthday. As time goes on and the boy starts to get used to forming words, he frequently points to the animal to say things such as "Am" or "Mimi". It's not until November or so that Phillip begins to refer to her as 'Amica'. It takes the god longer than it should have to realise that this is the crow's name and not, as he initially assumed, the Common translation of the Avian word for 'bird'. Amica it is then. The name becomes one of Phillip's favourite Common words to say. Also around this time, the savannah house gets completed, or at least the bare minimum of it is ready. Any extra rooms can be commissioned to be done in upcoming springs and summers if he so desires. The exterior is acacia with a cobblestone frame. It looks nice, as do the rooms inside. The basement that spans the entire area underneath the building will make for good storage space. Like the forest, there are plenty of trees and open spaces for Phillip to play in one day. With some rope and a plank of wood, he could craft a swing once Phillip is able to use one. He comes to realise that this child has no concrete language. Phillip will attempt to copy his grunts and snorts but nothing his vocal chords can produce is quite as deep or guttural as they need to be. The Blood God has been speaking in a mix of Piglin and Common, very occasionally reverting to Ancient Piglin. It depends on his mood but he has been attempting to raise him bilingual with a subconscious bias towards Piglin. Whenever Celandine visits, she will talk to him exclusively in Common for some reason instead of her own natural tongue. As for Amica, they converse only in Avian. However, the reasoning behind that is obvious. One way or another, he can tell Phillip is getting confused with all the words he has to know at only 2 years old. He will speak in Piglin, pause then make some kind of tweety noise while frowning. The funnier moments are when Phillip forgets himself and speaks Avian to him before realising his mistake when the god doesn't understand him. His tiny brain has to fit a great deal of information inside it but they will get there. Defeating a toddler in battle is very easy. His ward lacks co-ordination, focus and sometimes attempts to procure 'weaponry' that is far beyond his weight limit. The Blood God has been whacked with a stick more times than he would like. As annoying as having his legs be attacked with an inefficient blunt object can be, the kid's giggling whenever he reacts to it in any way does make it more tolerable. The wolves enjoy the results of his pitiful attempts at throwing though so all is not lost. However, all this physical play has a habit of messing up Phillip's wings if they're not careful. It had taken practice for the god to care for the wings to a decent standard. Now it was Phillip's turn to start learning, given that he was growing old enough to gain the dexterity for it. The majority of it is still the Blood God's responsibility because gods know that toddler does not pay self-grooming as much attention as he should yet but his involvement increases all the same. And when he molts over the summer, Phillip makes it clear he doesn't want his feathers disposed of. So the god supposes there's going to be a chest full of old feathers in it now. Who knows, it might be interesting for Phillip to peruse through one day. Each early January, the god has been begrudgingly allowing himself to be called away. Ever since Phillip came along, he's been slacking with this specific duty. He'll be presented with a selection of potential warriors for him to act as sponsor for but he never cares much for choosing the one he actually believes in, as he used to do. Being the Blood God's candidate in the fight used to be an advantage but he wouldn't be surprised if it's becoming a hinderance recently. How can you win if your sponsor doesn't help with your preparations throughout the year? The god would say he needed to sit out on being a sponsor if he could. It's simply not possible. It likewise is impossible for him to safely and discreetly keep Phillip in the Nether for weeks. When the actual tournaments come, he now skips them. He can get away with being absent, after all. It's not like he hasn't sat quarter- or semi-finals out before. The final though and the celebrations after? Yeah... not exactly something he can consider missing, especially given it's him who has to have the winner presented to him then host the party. To solve his problem, he speaks to Celandine. She apparently can't care for him in her own home (something about it not being suitable for mortals) but she can arrange for a couple to temporarily babysit Phillip while the finals are being fought. This time, he returns to house with a sleeping child in his hold. The toddler never says a huge amount regarding his time there. However, that's more likely due to his young age than a comment on his experience away from home. When he's three years old, the god decides Phillip is old enough to start working on fighting basics such as footing and learning environmental awareness. It's nothing strenuous or particularly physical but developing the foundation blocks now will serve them both well in the future. Use of any form of proper weaponry can be left for when Phillip is a little older. As the weeks roll by, the boy begins to really take to it. It requires conscious effort for him to maintain a proper stance when moving around but they can work on it. They both have years to get it right and improve efficiency. As a treat to reward him for his efforts so far, the Blood God plans to make a delicacy he's been wanting to introduce Phillip to for a while. He temporarily leaves him under the supervision of the wolves while he sleeps so that certain ingredients could be collected in the Nether. The fungus (both types, he's going all out) is sliced while he creates a broth with an infusion of wither petals. Mushrooms get thrown in too for an Overworld spin on it. An addition of torn petals completes the dish. When he serves it to Phillip, the boy recoils at the taste which causes him to end up eating wet mushrooms and fungus for dinner as a compromise. Not even an hour later, he is pale, less attentive than usual and holding a bowl due to being violently ill. He wants to dismiss it as food poisoning of some sort, maybe he didn't prepare it properly (he knows he didn't mess it up, not with how experienced he is with the dish) or perhaps Phillip is simply suffering from an undiscovered allergy. He reckons the best course of action is to send Amica to Celandine, she'd likely have a better idea than him. And oh, does she. "You gave him soup laced with wither rose petals? Are you trying to kill him?!" "Of course not." He growls back. "It's just that nobody seems to be writing down 'hey don't feed anything wither related to kids'." "Don't feed wither roses to anyone! How have you been around for millennia but still don't know only piglins have a tolerance to wither poison? Gods above, it is the commonest of common knowledge." Regaining his health is an arduous task for the small child. His body fights it as best as it can but its methods risk leading to severe dehydration. It is for this reason the god is eternally grateful their savannah home is close to a body of water. If he's not checking in on Phillip, he's boiling water or preparing safe food so he can urge the kid to eat. The fever keeps Phillip in bed for days. It's slow, it's messy, it's far from a great time for anyone. But they gradually see it through. Phillip just about manages to get to the other side, albeit feeling temporarily weaker. "He's lucky I gave him longevity as part of being one of my Chosen. /You're/ lucky." Celandine comments when the disaster finally begins to see its end. "Trust me, Blood God, one more miscalculation on your part that's in even the vaguest vicinity of this one and I will not hesitate to deliver him to the caregivers he should be with. The only reason I'm allowing this experiment of yours to continue is my own curiosity. However, I value him seeing 30 years more than how he gets to that age. This is your only warning." It is duly noted. The god thinks it wise to let Phillip mingle with other children. Who knows how he'd turn out if all he had for company throughout his formative years was a couple of gods, three immortal wolves and Amica or whatever other bird is willing to listen to his ramblings. The two of them are fairly secluded but there is a human town not too far from where the house is. With repeated visits, Phillip begins to make friends of the human variety. Most of the young children think Phillip is cool for having wings. They are also of the opinion that having a giant pig-looking man as a caregiver is impressive. One day on the walk home, the kid in his arm, Phillip looks up at him and opens his mouth. "What's a daddy? Coz- coz I was playing with a girl. Then the man was shouting. She said it was um... it was her 'daddy'. What's that?" "A father." "What's that?" "A male parent. So if you grew up and met a woman then had a baby together, you would be a father. Humans use dad and daddy colloquially." "What's-" "Slang." "Okay." Phillip ponders a moment. "Are you a daddy?" Nether damn you, kid. The god groans. "Yes... I suppose I am something like that to you." "Did you meet a woman?" "Well, Celandine is female and she let me take you home with me after I met her so... in a way." "Celly is a lady daddy." He nods. "That's typically called a mother." After Phillip questions whether the two deities have had a baby other than himself (no, definitely not together and the Blood God has never personally seen the point in siring any brood himself), he descends into further enquiries. It gets to the point the god makes an offhand comment about how he wasn't expecting to deal with a questionnaire today. Phillip responds by asking what a questionnaire is. With all that their conversation entails, it should honestly be counted as a miracle they never touch on the dreaded topic of conception. He does not, however, escape Phillip's gradual shift to a more informal way of addressing him. At least he's not calling him 'Sir' as if it's his actual given name anymore. Over the last few years of parenting, he has learned the quietest moments are the most suspicious ones. If Phillip is not chattering away to himself as he plays in the main room, he is likely running around outside with the wolves or engaging in conversation with Amica. That is to say, he is making noise one way or another. So when the god comes to the realisation he hears nothing on a day in early summer, it is safe to say he is concerned. He discovers Phillip standing on a low branch of a tree. "What are you trying to achieve with this?" The boy glances up. "Oh hi, Daddy. Celly said I was gonna fly. I gotta be 4 or 5 or 6. I'm 4 now so I'm gonna fly now." "I'm not sure it works like that. It's more to do with how large your wings are. They have to be able to support you in the air." "I'm 4." He holds up the appropriate quantity of fingers as if they will emphasise his point. "Celly said my wings are getting super big." That would not be how he would describe the size of those limited things. "They are growing but really, Phillip, you should be careful. I highly doubt you are ready yet." "Watch this." "Don't." He warns. "Get down from there." Phillip grins as if he's thought of the perfect scheme. "Okay!" He leaps from the branch, wings spread out. A second later, an 'oof' of a body hitting the ground is heard. The drop was too short to particularly do any damage (or, in fact, provide enough time for the wings to accept the wind). However, the young boy breaks into a fit of bawling as if he's hurt himself. He's seen stupider injuries over the centuries so a part of the god does not dismiss the possibility Phillip really has caused himself harm as a result of this stunt. Luckily for both of them, it's simply the typical 'small child acting like the most minor inconvenience is the end of the world'. It becomes a long summer of keeping an eye out for Phillip potentially attempting to repeat his actions. Practice may make perfect but the child will never take the skies if he breaks all his bones first. The kid begrudgingly adheres to the rule that he will not perform any flying-related activities without supervision. He often complains that he can't practise flying if he can't jump from a high enough spot to try. The god has none of it. Instead, he suggests the boy flap his wings to imitate flying while standing firm on ground as a better alternative. Phillip becomes a self-declared 'expert' at this soon enough. "Savannah, savannah, savannah." Phillip chants, hopping with his arms raised in an attempt to grab the god's hand. A bag is abandoned by his feet and he continues to pay it no heed in favour of badgering his father. He doesn't know why the child sees the need to jump for it. His current height now has him being not quite the length of one of his legs. Phillip is capable of taking his hand if he so desires by simply lifting it up all the way. "Yes, we are going to the savannah, hold on a minute." They both know the drill by now. In the final week of October, they travel to the house in the midst of the savannah. They return to their forest home as March sees its close. Each time, Phillip must cover up to obscure himself from view as he is carried through the Nether. The Blood God himself has a cloak of his own to further shield the child. This is arguably the first year Phillip is able to walk beside him since he can now reach the god's hand but for the sake of making things easier for everyone, the boy will be held during the trip. Most piglins have no reason to bother him. Even those tasked with helping him manage things from the ground on his behalf seem to have developed an unspoken rule to let him pass undisturbed if the path he takes leads him away from his manor. The moment Phillip is allowed on his feet upon their arrival this year, he sprints to the door. During one afternoon in February, he notices Phillip busy with the swing outside. He doesn't entirely understand the entertainment value in winding it up then spinning but if it amuses the kid then whatever. Amica seems to be keeping him company so that served the god well. He thinks this would be a good time to start carving this acacia wood he has lying around into a blade and handle. Because what 5 year old boy wouldn't want a sword for his birthday? And what god of war and blood wouldn't eagerly anticipate the day he can begin training his protégé properly?

#dream smp #technoblade #philza #kidza #my writing #blood and feathers

12 notes · View notes

end-of-reset · 3 years

Photo

Written Special 2: First Day of School

TWs: Misgendering (Though it is both confusing/both ways (both he and she, to be blunt,) and before Frisk is out) and Infantilization (Though Frisk IS only 5)

Click. Click, click, click.

Frisk's chest swelled.

The new pin was like a little finger magnet. It had a little metal piece that could move in a 180 direction and click whenever it landed, each and every time. Whoever made these things didn’t seem to think about making them silent or subtle, even though the design made it clear the pin was meant for a child.

Frisk flicked it again, watching the pin bounce to the other side and cover the two letters on that end. Back and forth...

"Try not to mess with that, okay, baby?" Lightly tanned hands eased Frisk's fingers from the shiny pin, giving their hand a tiny, warm squeeze. Frisk blinked, curling their fingers around Maman's hand. She'd been touchier than usual today, holding hands and insisting on watching Precious do their hair. It wasn't like Frisk minded her clinginess, but she acted like this whenever she was anxious, so that meant Frisk should pay close attention to whatever it was that was igniting her anxiety.

Which was....?

The little room they were in was bright and cheerful, warm and welcoming, yet Frisk's other mother stood in front of the desk with her legs tense and her expression forced.

Smile doesn't touch eyes. Curves = happy?

"Hopefully there won't be any problems with that?" Mama was saying. "I don't want this big day to go wrong..."

Repeating words: big day. Big = emotional.

Hopefully not as emotional as their fifth birthday. Everyone climbed in a car (Frisk got to hide in a cozy little back nook) and drove to see Maman's family. Too many tears and French people. There was so much happening, Frisk could barely grasp why everyone was so teary-eyed.

Something to do with getting so big and being so cute. Meaningless, really! All words people applied to what shaped Frisk's being. The adults should've turned their tears into hugs. Frisk liked hugs, and being carried, and climbing on the taller family members. Frisk knew people cried to get their emotions out, and sometimes Frisk felt things very Much and water built up in their eyes, but if a day is supposed to be celebrating Frisk, they should all try to do things Frisk liked. Perhaps going to the lake or beach. Or just the park. Somewhere big with things to do.

But none of that happened. Like today, the emotions shown likely had little to do with Frisk themself. That was okay, though, because Frisk knew their mothers still loved them. The two of them couldn't realize Frisk was eager, so they focused on what they knew. People were like that, sometimes. Well, at least some people. Frisk hadn't actually interacted with too many people before..

But today presented something new. Possibilities. People to see that Frisk didn't know. Voices to hear that weren't on TV.

Smiles to see, hands to squeeze.

New people. New faces.

Frisk's fingers twitched, tempted to fiddle again already. They reached for Mama's hand with their free one, but she didn't seem to notice. She was focused on her conversation about Frisk’s “situation.”

Instead of Mama, Maman leaned in and flicked the moveable part of their pin to the left, covering the word on that side. "There we go. It's important everybody see this each day!"

Important = necessary. Pin =... Necessary?

Just word. One word each side. Two.

The receptionist- Frisk hadn’t yet looked at them long enough to discern a solid image of them- smiled. "Ah, I see, so we should rely on whatever Frisk has set it to? That's simple enough!"

Frisk set it?

It... The pin.

Hm.

Frisk’s gaze traveled to the tall, tall faces of each one. Maman: uneasy, her dark eyes flicking to and from Frisk. Mama: focused, smiling at the receptionist. Frisk studied her face.

Worst lipstick color. Too pink.

Clothes blue. Lipstick needs: dark.

She just smiled. Terrible lipstick and all.

They had tried to tell her that it looked bad. Apparently shoving a GOOD lipstick tube in her face and pointing at her lips wasn't explanation enough. She assumed they were playing.

Frisk's gaze traveled up and up until they could see their mother's eyes. "That's right! We don't want to upset Frisk."

Her gaze was on the receptionist. The receptionist was looking right back. They prodded their computer screen with a computer pen.

"So, I'll just go ahead and put Frisk on the card, I'll leave a note on the back that it's a nickname, though." Frisk focused more on the receptionist the longer they spoke. They had light brown skin and green hair. Piercings lined their ears; shiny little spikes that seemed to stab through the shell of their ear and emerge. How did they sleep with those things in? Frisk wanted to stare for longer, but there was more to observe. The little name card pinned to the receptionist's shirt made little sense to Frisk, save for the little Venus symbol from those entwined earrings Mama would wear sometimes. And didn't Maman have a tattoo of those somewhere?

Venus pin. Earrings. Tattoo. Shared traits.

"That sounds good." Mama said.

"So this is what the card looks like," the receptionist swiveled the screen around to face Frisk's parents. They stood on their toes, looking up. "We like to leave a spot for stickers right here. Some kids like putting little SOUL stickers on their tags."

Frisk felt the hand holding theirs tense.

"It's not required, is it?" Maman asked. "Frisk wouldn't like that..."

Frisk just stared at her, brows creased. They actually liked stickers, but they also knew that whenever the SOUL subject arose, it was best to stay quiet (which wasn't hard.) Unlike most things, Frisk's moms didn't like to discuss that subject directly in front of Frisk. They got to learn what ovarian cysts were because "Frisk isn't listening" but SOULs were inappropriate subject matter.

Moms were weird. Hm...

Frisk blinked, and the people around them had moved, conversation skipping ahead.

"- it'll be printed any minute!" The receptionist- she?- said, hitting a button on her computer. A soft hum started up in the corner of the room, somewhere Frisk couldn't see. “I'll message the teachers for Frisk's class now," she moved to type on her computer. "And let them know. “

Frisk pursed their lips.

Eighth time today.

"So there's a few teachers?"

She nodded, tapping her nails against the glossy plastic of her computer mouse. Been a while since Frisk had seen any of those. "Yeah, we've got a few. Something like this isn't a problem at all, though! They're all very enthusiastic about our students. Frisk might like-" she stopped, leaning back in her seat and gazing at something out of Frisk's sight. After a moment, she smiled and leaned over the counter. "Oh, Frisk! Frisk, sweetie!"

They looked up at her. Her gaze flickered over their face, confirming they were paying attention. "Your card is done printing! Let's give you that first."

It was strange....Someone was looking directly at them and speaking directly to them. She didn't even try to mention the card thing to Mama and Maman. So that meant...

It belongs to [Frisk] alone?

Only?

Frisk stood on their toes and peered up at the receptionist while she bustled about. Their gaze shifted to the small white square in the employee's hand. As they watched, laser-focused, she attached a small metal clip to it. They preemptively reached a hand out, because that had to be the Thing that was for Them. It was probably just a card, but it was for Frisk and Frisk alone, and there were very few of those kinds of things. Mama also reached for it, but the receptionist's aim had been low (because it was for Frisk) so Frisk's hand reached it first (good, because it was for them.) They gripped it tight, feeling heat radiate off of the plastic. Few things were given to them so directly by people outside of family. Though, then again, most strange grown-ups they met were important business people who had grown-up things to talk about with Frisk's moms. So maybe it was just that those people were rude.

That made sense. If everyone here was so polite, then this would be fun.

The card was so fresh the fumes from the printer still lingered in the air surrounding it. Frisk squeezed it between two fingers, rubbing their fingertips all over the soft plastic.

Warm...

They could feel Mama's bewildered gaze. When they looked at her, she was focused on the receptionist, her hand carefully settled on the edge of the desk instead of staying in the air where it had been snubbed. The receptionist didn't seem to notice anything amiss, but Maman was fiddling with her bracelet.

Giveaway. Anxious.

The receptionist looked down at Frisk. "Are you fine with the clip or would you like a lanyard, Frisk?"

Frisk blinked. She said their name a lot, and looked directly at them a lot. It was kind of strange. Frisk's parents' eyes turned towards them, and suddenly, three pairs of eyes bore into them.

Time seemed to skip forward a few seconds. The next moment, Mama was bent down to their height, touching their face. The card felt a little too tight in their hands, digging into their skin. They unclenched, wondering when they had stiffened.

“Not again....” Mama whispered.

"Everything okay?" The receptionist asked.

Ninth.

Frisk looked up, about to nod, but Mama interrupted. "Oh, baby, are you okay? Do you feel all right? Is everything fine?”

"Ma'am, I think Frisk's fine," the receptionist blinked. "Absence epilepsy is relatively harmless. And you're trying a new medication, right?”

Mama pulled Frisk into her arms.

Smells: peach conditioner. Feels: Soft blouse. Warm...

Mama huffed, "Yes, but it's obviously not working!"

"Love, it's only been a week, don't worry too much," Maman leaned in, touching her wife's shoulder.

"I suppose..." she leaned back, rubbing her eyes. More dramatics, though these ones were from a good place. Everyone always had to act as though Frisk was in pain, even when they weren't.

It meant they cared. But still.

Frisk made a small grunt, forcing the noise out with some slight effort. All eyes returned to them. Frisk clipped it on their shirt for everyone to see: they could do it on their own!

The receptionist's eyes drifted, flicking back to the two women besides Frisk "See? Frisk is ready to start the day!"

"Ah...." Mama sighed. "I suppose..."

"Don't worry! There's nothing we can't accommodate, including gender identity and names." She smiled at the two of them. "Honestly, good on you for giving your child so much freedom!"

Same phrase. Over and over. Smile. Laugh. Humility.

Mama spoke first, bringing a hand to her face and chuckling. Now they were all just talking praise, mindless words that didn't really have anything to do with Frisk and instead had everything to do with their mothers.

While the adults went at it, Frisk unclipped and examined the ID tag. They knew that was their face looking back. The letters were their name. A gleaming little symbol stood beside Frisk's name: an outline of an open mouth with a tiny speech balloon extending from it. A large red X crossed out the image.

Indicating 'no" or "bad" or "do not."

"Do not talk."

Interesting.

There were tiny bumps underneath Frisk's name.

They ran their fingers over the odd little bumps under the letters. Their oldest sister read books using this. She sometimes told Frisk about the books. She called them Braille.

Braille. Name above = name below.

Braille, probably of their name. Frisk ran their fingers over the bumps again, counting each dot.

The rest of the card was just letters and numbers. Flat ones, so Frisk couldn't even feel them. Boring things that didn't have anything to do with Frisk. They tuned back in, still rubbing their fingertips on the pleasant little bumps.

"We"re just trying to do our best as parents. Frisk deserves that!"

Frisk gave the tag a flick. When the sensation proved satisfying, they did it again. Tap, tap, tap...

They smiled, wiggling their fingers on their left hand happily. Tap, tap-

"Aw!" Mama covered her smile with her hand.

Aw? Discomfort replaced the joyful motion. Frisk hated when she stared. They stopped and dropped their hands, letting their limbs swing by their side instead.

The receptionist continued. “And today, we should use “he?”

"Yes!” Mama smiled. She wanted today to be one of those days. She usually preferred the “she” days. Maman usually preferred the “he” days. But it depended on the day and whatever mood struck their mothers’ minds. Yesterday, Maman had said, "I want to say my youngest daughter is starting school tomorrow! Let’s go take pictures with her right now!" And then they did pictures. Frisk got to eat candy after the pictures were taken. Hmm....

Table? Table workers. Bowls on tables. Candy bowl? Where?

Frisk peered past the receptionist. A bowl of hard candy sat on the corner of her desk, multicolored squares and circles flourished with a bright piece of paper.

Scribbles. Blurry.

Frisk looked closer. Letters. Words.

Ugh...

Those letters all made sense individually. A was an A. But together, they were nonsense. Even worse, they were supposed to correspond to sounds. A was the same as an "ah" sound. Ridiculous! Sounds weren't pictures! The two things were completely different! .

And yet, everyone else took the weird little shapes and connected them to sounds. They could turn pictures into noise. And why? Shapes didn't equal sound. Everyone was so weird, acting like Frisk was odd. And maybe they were, but so what? Frisk would stick to pictures and everyone could use their picture sounds if they wanted to.

Or, so they wished. They couldn't figure out how to comfort their mothers and tell them than Frisk would be fine, that's why the two decided to bring Frisk here. As much as Frisk smiled and played and looked happy, the two couldn’t believe Frisk was going to be happy or “okay” unless they mastered this ability.

Happy now. + This = happy future....?

Maman said this place would "help." That Frisk could learn to do this weird thing that everyone wanted them to do. Even though it made their eye go funny. Too much work when Frisk could just as easily be told what the words meant.

The talk was still going on. Frisk kept an ear tuned in.

"You know, there's three other children sort of like that in Frisk's new class! Of course, that's not quite the same, but maybe Frisk will be able to make friends with those children?"

Like that.

Like that could mean several things.

Alternating dates. Both at once. Parents chose words.

"That's interesting...!" Mama smiled.

Smile touching eyes? No. Awkward.

Why?

Her problem.

Will ignore.

Frisk had better things to do than listen to Mama get all stiff. Frisk stood on their toes and eyed the candy bowl. Nobody had noticed them yet. They could see the small hard jawbreaker brand of candies that Mama said were made of chalk in there.

Tall enough? Yes, yes-

Frisk reached up and grabbed a candy.

Then another one.

Maman tutted gently. "You need to ask first!"

She picked up the slip of paper and held it down to eye-level.

"See?"

Frisk looked at the paper. Their vision started to wobble, warp, and gargle the letters into incomprehension. It didn't help that these letters were handwritten- the little pen marks were far whirlier and confusing than the printed letters Frisk was used to.

"Oh, it's fine," the receptionist said. "Those are here for the kids, anyways! And not all of our kids can speak first. Typically, if a child can read the note and ask, we give them extra candy, but anyone can have some."

Mama smiled. "That's nice of you!"

Maman sighed just slightly and replaced the card. Frisk pulled the wrapper off the candy and stuffed it in their mouth. They glanced at their other mother, watching her movements closely.

Mama facing. Smiling. Looking at.

"It’s a good thing, since Frisk can’t read OR speak....” she sighed.

Frisk rolled the candy around, getting it into a good position in their mouth. Somewhere it wouldn't move too much and clack against their teeth.

Hard. No teeth. Waiting. Slow flavor.

The receptionist smiled. "You'll be surprised how quickly kids pick up on stuff!"

"I hope this will all be okay... It's such a big change for Frisk,” Maman sighed.

Smells like tears. Salt. That meant-

They stiffened, enveloped in a hug, and smiled, hugging back.

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

Frisk didn't want their moms to worry. They were fine, and would show it. They always worried, worried, worried! Worried about what was best! Parents.

This, class, though...

Faces. Colors. Movement.

Movement.

Where should they sit? So many choices... Not that it mattered in the end.

Chairs. Colors. Red, blue, green, yellow, purple, orange...

There were also words on the digital board. Frisk turned.

Same colors. Code? Rules?

Rules, huh....

Frisk blinked, and all the moving shapes and faces had moved. They shook their head and focused on the screen.

Words and a video of someone making gestures with their ends. The video was on repeat, the gestures playing over and over. Frisk stood still and watched for a moment.

Video with words. Video = words. Movements = words?

But Frisk didn't know those words. So they'd have to read. Or try to. So long as they tried, they did a great job! That's what Maman used to say, until....she realized Frisk trying didn't mean much. They tried and tried and failed and failed. Repetition didn't change a thing when the letters simply refused to do what they did for everyone else. It had felt nice to be praised for simply attempting, though... So this, too, was worth an attempt. Even though nobody would praise them.

Frisk stepped back. They squinted. They knew these letters. They knew them all. But the words wouldn't connect. Maybe if they tried something else. Frisk covered their squinty eye until the letters came into focus. The words floated there, just looking like a bunch of lines wiggling in space. People were supposed to take the letters and hear the sound each one made inside their head, but Frisk couldn't hear anything. Lines were meant to form pictures, drawings, cartoons- not angular little shapes that connected to specific noises!

Hate. Annoying. Letter, letters, noise. Instead of pictures?

Why?

A voice rang out, interrupting their concentration. "Hey, you!" Frisk turned, seeing a tall child with pale white skin and a big smile eyeing them. A big blurry smile against a big round face. Perched on the child's nose was a thick pair of complicated glasses, not like the glasses Frisk had seen at home. The arms of the spectacles gleamed just slightly and adjusted the lens as Frisk watched.

Quiet hum. Adjustable lens. Glowing arms. Helper glasses. Bionic. Computer?

Pale eyes. Pale smile.

"Your eye's funny, right? Cause you covering it?" The child said, pointing a blurred hand at Frisk. Frisk pulled their hand away. Their eye adjusted its position, focusing on the child before them.

"Oh, there it goes. Gone!" The other child giggled. Frisk puffed their cheeks out and looked around some more. "Freddy's eye goes out also. You guys... Got mirror eyes! Left against right!"

Freddy? Who? The child spoke like this information was clear to Frisk.

The other kid pointed to a child just now sitting down to the right...

Glasses. Brown skin, bright brown eyes. Nervous.

Frisk gave him a small smile. Sometimes that helped nervous people.

"Um, you could sit with us. But sometimes we got ages that make us sit other places..." he said. "I'm six." "I'm seven!" his friend said. Frisk held up their free hand, holding out five fingers.

"Oh, five? You're basically little!"

Frisk stared and puffed out their cheeks in frustration. They weren't LITTLE. They were small! There was a difference.

Little = young. Small = size.

"That's not nice!" Freddy said, his voice jumping in pitch.

"It’s the truth. Being five is like being four. Being four is little. My sister is three and she's even little-er," his friend nodded their head. "So that's little."

"Little ages can still be here..." he mumbled back. He looked at Frisk. "You can still sit with us. She's mean, though."

"Am NOT. I'm seven!" The other child- she?- glared. "Hey, hey, listen, okay? I saw something! Ages go in order..."

5, 6, 7...

Frisk pulled the chair out and sat down. The ages did go in order. So she could count, that was good. Frisk could count, too, three, four-

"You don’t say much, huh?" she observed, tilting her head and squinting pale blue eyes at them.

Say. Speak. Voice.

No.

Frisk shrugged, because she was right; they didn't. Yesterday they sort of said "Mama," but their mouth hated it. School was supposed to "help" with the talking, but would it really?

Help = fix?

Help =make easier?

Words =/= noise.

Easier?

Help = ..?

Freddy pointed at Frisk's card. "Yeah, that's why you got the talky mark. Kids who don't talk much got that. Like Tuesday."

She scoffed. "That's a day."

"So? It's also a name. Anything can be a name..."

"Wait. I have a name, and so do you." She said, intently. Suddenly, she whipped around to Frisk. "You!! You know my name, right?!"

Frisk stared at her little pointing finger and shook their head. That always meant "no." But if the question was a big one, Frisk couldn't shake their head. Annoying.

She kept going without waiting for their response. "I'm Ceecee, and, ummmm..."

Frisk blinked. Things had changed.

Ten?

Oh. Freddy was speaking now. Whatever Ceecee said, they’d missed it.

"The name." Freddy said, pointing at Frisk's tag. "Name." He looked at Frisk. "Right? Your name's on it."

Name?

Frisk looked down, then back up, confused. What did they want?

Ceecee turned and stared at Frisk's card for a long moment. Her glasses shifted a fraction, adjusting.

Frisk watched closely. Some people on their tablet computer used those same glasses, especially on Frisk’s shows. The exact sounds used to explain what the heck they did were gone from Frisk's memory, but Frisk was positive they had to do with eye issues. Though her eyes didn’t seem to have any issues. Unless being blue was an issue....Maybe it was. Their eldest sister had blue eyes and she had her fair share of eye issues.

After four seconds of focusing, she finally announced: "I knew that! I mean the other things!" Her hands flew to her hips.

Freddy sighed. "Auntie said use me. I'm he....and you're-"

"Sheeeee. Yes!" Ceecee said. She looked at Frisk for an answer.

Sometimes people asked for those words. Especially since the one incident on video. Some people did it before, but it really kicked into gear after the video incident with the new mayor. Frisk knew a mayor was the person who lead the town, but they didn’t really think too hard about what all that meant. Maman said the person "conducting the interview" did a "faux paus."

Mama had laughed and said, "Sure, but can you blame him for that kinda mistake?"

Frisk still didn't know what "that" is, but they did notice how everyone suddenly started asking for those WORDS... Like now. Which was weird. They had the pin since forever.

Actually, Frisk had never used any words but the same two.

Weird... Was there other options? Huh. Frisk just shrugged and pointed at their pin. "Oh, I don't read." She smiled. "Buuut... I like the pin even if the words are bad. Is it yellow? I like yellow. You should match me," she pulled on the straps of her bright yellow top until they stretched an inch away from her pale skin. Her gaze stayed on the tag. "Ooh! Wait... WAIT, I know this."

Frisk blinked.

"I know THAT," Ceecee leaned in until her finger touched the pin, "Is what people call a H!"

"That's an E next to it," Freddy said. "So H-E."

"Oh, so HE. Like you!" She smiled.

Freddy shrugged. "Yeah, but I don't gotta pin..."

"Yeah! That's weird. I wanna pin. Why's Frisk gotta pin?"

So pins were unusual. Frisk was "different.” They knew this, already, since they heard the word whispered between their mothers more than a few times. Also “special” and “sweet little angel.” Hm.

Frisk wanted to tell the two that the pin would probably say "she" tomorrow, but they couldn't think of how to communicate this. Would Ceecee be happy if they matched in that way? They liked her so far. She seemed friendly, and talkative, and reminded them of their sister.

Freddy glanced at Frisk, then shrugged. ”Um, I dunno, I guess to remind people?”

Frisk nodded a little.

Remind others.

Ceecee looked past them, then raised a hand, pointing. "He gotta button like them..."

Frisk looked around, not sure who she was talking about. Freddy pointed more clearly at a red-haired child a few seats down. "Ceecee means Gray." The child named “Gray” was cheerfully talking to the children around them, seeming for all the world like any other child.

"Noooo, I mean they," she insisted, frowning.

Freddy looked at her. "That still wrong. They isn't the name. It's-”

"I don’t talk, either. Talking is for...for....BABIES." Ceecee insisted, blinking watery blue eyes behind her glasses. She was talking now, but Frisk suspected she was just being blustery rather than legitimate about her words.

Tinted. Darker glasses. Talked about an eyes group.

Ceecee eyes bad.

"Grownups gotta talk, too." Freddy said.

He would've continued, but one of the aides moved over, almost as if summoned, and everyone’s attention quickly shifted to them. They were a friendly-looking short-haired blonde with a crooked smile and long lashes. Frisk took note of the pink in the persons outfit and nodded slightly in respect. Perfect shades.

The aide smiled at the squad. "Hi, Ceecee, hi, Freddy! How are you two?”

“Goooood.” Ceecee said.

The aide turned towards Frisk. “Hey, there! You’re Frisk, right? I’m Andy. You're gonna sit here, honey?"

Frisk nodded.

The aide nodded. "So you’ve met Freddy and Ceecee?”

They nodded again. They had the feeling they would be doing a lot of nodding.

Yes, yes, yes. No, no, no.

“That’s great!” The aide nodded. They looked closer at Frisk, eyeing Frisk’s button for a moment. But they didn’t comment. “So, you two, did you know....Frisk is extra special, because the words he uses for himself change sometimes,” they pointed at Frisk’s button.

The two children looked at each other, then back at the caretaker, their brows curved.

Twisted brows inwards.

Meant: Confusion.

Ceecee said, “S’that why he got the button? Cause there’s two words on their?”

“Exactly! Frisk, is it okay if I touch your pin?” The aide looked at Frisk.

Frisk looked up at them and smiled a little, nodding.

“So, yes! Okay!”

They gently flicked the pin to point in the other side, to the other word. “You see, this says “she.” Some days Frisk will go by she instead of he.”

Hmm. Frisk’s expression didn’t move, but they did feel something twitch in their gut. They heard these words all tjhe time from their mothers, but it was now being brought into a bigger world. They didn’t envision this situation ever happening, and now that it was, they couldn’t understand why something felt wrong.

“So, like me!” Ceecee said.

“Yes, and like me!” The aide smiled, tapping their-no, HER- employee card clip. Now that Frisk was looking, they could see the same organization of letters that made up the other half of their pin sitting on a sticker on her card. “But right now, Frisk is still using he. So be sure to ask what kind of day it is for Frisk, okay?”

"Huh? How're we supposed to know that? I don't READ," Ceecee said again. “And Frisk don’t talk! SO asking does NOTHING!” She put her hands on her hips, looking pleased with this announcement.

"Well..." Andy looked at Frisk. "Frisk, you could tell your friends in sign. If it's a he day, use the fingerspelling for H. It looks like this," the aide held up her hand in an odd shape. Frisk copied her.

Hand... Letter.

H = this shape.

Frisk blinked and did the movement again.

“Great!”

They did it again, and again. They'd never used their hands like this. It felt as fun as flapping did, but also contained a PURPOSE... A way to communicate behind yes or no.

More. More letters? Need more.

"Wow, great job!" She showed another symbol. “This is the one for S, which is what you'll use for she days, okay?" Frisk nodded, copying her precisely. They couldn't get these movements out of their head.

The images stuck there and burned. H and S, carried in Frisk's hands...

Except...wait! She and he had more letters, probably. More than one each, Frisk knew that.

"Okay, n-” the aide started.

Frisk waved and made an urgent noise from the back of their throat.

She blinked. "Hm? Is something wrong, sweetie?"

Frisk held up S and H, one in each hand. They frowned intently. Um, um...

Letters, two and three. H = 1 of 2. S= 1 of 3.

They held up S and two fingers.

"You want to see It again? Okay, but I think you can make an S just fine!"

Frisk shook their head. Their mind spun.

The shakes that made up SHE. They had an S. The next letter was also an H, right? The same as in he. Frisk tried to hold up their good hand, making the S, then the H, then waving their hands in confusion.

The aide looked even more confused..

"SH isn't a word!" Ceecee blurted. "You're missing other letters!"

Frisk pointed at her and nodded, hoping desperately that the aide would understand.

The aide blinked. "Oh, would you like to learn the rest of the letters in the and he? Don't worry, you'll get to learn those eventually!"

Not now?

Frisk deflated, staring at their hands and flexing the signs.

Andy turned away, focus quickly shifting to the other two children.

"Okay, Ceecee, Freddy." She looked at the other two. "Since Frisk is new here, you guys gotta be super helpful. Frisk doesn't talk, so I’m hoping you two could try and help the best you can. If you think you gotta yell so one of us hears, then be sure to do so."

Just them? Job? Nothing else? Frisk...Helpless, or ....

This is routine?

"Okaaaay, but you can just teach the hands talk today, can't you?" Ceecee shrugged. “Then we don’t gotta do this.

"Hopefully! That depends on if everyone knows the alphabet!"

Frisk was tested for that a few months ago. All sorts of strange tests, including an alphabet test. Frisk knew the alphabet. The letter A correlated to an “ah” sound when someone spoke. Letters were all symbols in place of a noise. The symbols themselves were easy enough, they were just pictures.

The tester had said, "We'll put Frisk in the B class for now. All the children there know their basic alphabet, but they may not be able to read as easily. Even still...Frisk is a little young to start kindergarten, are you sure she'll-” It was a she day-”-Be okay?"

And Mama had said, "Of course! We know exactly what's best for our child! She needs higher education!"

Of course, it was all because there was nothing else to learn at home.

To learn OR to be taught? Maman was a teacher. She taught French to people of all ages. But her teaching abilities weren't enough to save her from frustration. Things had grown gradually more and more tense the more the failures piled up. So many frowns, so many flashcards.

So Frisk was ready for public school. Because Maman wasn't ready to teach.

Everyone was tested. Results = what classroom they went into.

Learning something good. Useful. Future...

This was it.

Frisk unclenched their fist and stared at their hand.

This is useful. “Helpful.” “Good.”

This has to be what they came to school to learn. If these are just letters, then what about words? Could Frisk finally tell Mama she has bad lipstick? Could they say they wanted to wear purple instead of yellow?

Or maybe that they didn't really like the arrow pin...?

S, H, and....?

#writing #eor #not story

18 notes · View notes

whetstonefires · 4 years

Note

Do you think the DC fandom maybe, Infantilizes Tim a little too much? Like for a rich kid character who's main trauma for a long time was a getting left home alone too much there's an oddly amount of meta abt how much how much his parents hurt him~ compared to, y'know the two poor characters who grew up with physically abusive dad's+druggie mom's, or the two that were raised assassin cult's, etc

…well, yeah, I do kind of think that? His whole schtick for so long was being too old for his age in ways that didn’t sacrifice his jokey, relatable teenager energies. It’s weird how little of that we see anymore, sometimes.

And then DC broke him and discarded him and he’s sort of awkwardly hanging around getting reimagined as more woobie with every fan generation. It is weird!

But tbh I do get it. And I think the reason his parents’ failure of him and his vulnerability get played up so much, and Jason and Steph’s sufferings (while used a lot for things like motivation and context) not dwelt on quite so much in the same lugubrious style, are kind of the same reason.

Which is that canon didn’t commit to it. Jason and Steph’s experiences with bad parenting were foregrounded and retconned more dramatically awful several times. (There’s some definite classism in how that was approached imo, and I’m never budging on being mad about DC retconning out Catherine being sick and then ignoring her forever in all Jason characterization because a drug death invalidates a person ig, great message during the opioid crisis guys.)

They engaged and coped with it–Steph (and Cass, our #1 canon batfam parental abuse victim) pretty directly, Jason a little less so because of the dubious and fluctuating canon status of most of the content more specific than ‘poverty, homelessness, theft, parental drugs and crime in there somewhere,’ so most of his parent issues have been focused on Bruce. He sure has dug into them tho. 😂 Rarely well or productively, thanks DC, but it’s explicitly part of his character, is my point.

Whereas upper-middle-class Tim was always treated by the narrative as fortunate and unharmed by his experiences with his parents. Even though they were clearly behaving badly in several ways, and Tim showed signs of being harmed by it.

Tim outside of immediate moments of frustration always was of the opinion he was Fine, and Very Fortunate Actually.

Therefore a huge chunk of the numerous everyone who’s got parent-related mental and emotional harm, but has struggled to have that validated and hasn’t responded with a lot of anger toward the parent, identifies with Tim. The only one who’s never really lashed out at his parents for fucking up with him. The one who still needs it explored, because canon ultimately didn’t.

[editing post to put in a readmore because lol it’s long, post otherwise unchanged]

(Dick obviously didn’t ever have any Issues with the Graysons, but he Angry Teenagered at Bruce so hard it changed Bruce’s characterization permanently, rip.)

The things Jason, Steph, and Cass have been through are dramatic, obvious, and fit stereotypes because that’s what they’re based on.

That’s important content to have, but because it’s right out there in your face even people who identify with it quite a lot are less likely to feel the need to work all the way through it again in fanworks. That part’s there. It’s text.

(Well actually Jason having been physically abused kind of wasn’t? I think? It was mostly assumed on the basis of stereotyping and Jason’s not caring about the man much even as he felt possessive of information about his death, which is valid. I don’t actually know what’s up with Willis now, Lobdell did some weird shit that lacked emotional resonance or staying power because he’s Lobdell and has no soul.

Cass’ wandering years are also ludicrously underdeveloped. But very very few comics fans or writers can personally relate to being amazing child warriors with no grasp of language living feral under bridges. That part of her life is consistently represented in terms of absences, in terms of its deviation from the norm and the deficits of normality it left her with, which is typical but unfortunate.)

The interesting things to do with these characters are often informed by the bad stuff in their childhoods, but there’s relatively rarely that much more to say about the fact that those things were bad. They know they’re bad. They’ve had a lot of on-panel rage about it, as discussed above. Steph and Cass both beat the shit out of their dads.

Jason is, in fandom especially, a sort of Platonic ideal of a kid who’s mad about his bad childhood and really bad at figuring out where to point that rage.

(Damian is a whole other kettle of fish, because he’s been lumbered by so many detailed retcons coming so fast no two people can seem to construct compatible models of what his early childhood was like, and even more because he’s still ‘a child’ enough that he’s necessarily in a different stage of processing than someone who’s officially only a few years older than him at this point, but still functionally 8 and also 20 years older, and whose parents are no longer in the picture to continue screwing up.

Also there’s no question that if he brings up an abusive thing the League did, he will be validated by his current environment about his realization that it was in fact bad. There’s a lot of fic on that theme! But it doesn’t have the same tone precisely because it is usually understood that that support will be there if he wants it. Realizing that his previous context contained things that were wrong keeps being made the focus of his arc.)

The badness of Tim’s childhood, on the other hand, was mainly in subtext. Even when we were clearly meant to understand Jack was fucking up, like when he canceled plans with Tim at the last minute to go on a date with Tim’s stepmother, or that infamous time he came to apologize for not being a great parent and got mad Tim was distracted by a crisis on TV so he flew into a rage and took the TV and smashed it and was like ‘that’ll teach you,’ it wasn’t leaned into.

The story didn’t treat Jack as a minor villain to be overcome but like a sort of environmental hazard of childhood, like homework, to be endured and coped with. Tim said things like ‘it’s fine’ and ‘at least he left the computer.’

(And like. It’s not about having a TV and computer in his room. It’s about not letting a child have boundaries, pointedly not respecting a child’s possessions, creating an emotionally insecure environment, punishing minor infractions in proportion to their momentary impact on your own ego, physically lashing out at a proxy for the child…)

Rather like Tom King later didn’t understand about the punching from Bruce, whoever did that story (probably Dixon? I don’t care enough to check) did not understand how serious a case of bad parenting that scene was. That is most definitely textbook abusive behavior. (It’s a hell of a lot more common abusive behavior than being a lame supervillain or shooting you when you screw up, and a lot more specific than ‘was a thug, might have hit me, dead now.’)

And Tim was never allowed to be mad at his parents about it. It was fine. He needed to be ignored so he had the freedom to be Robin. He deserved his dad being mad at him because he was keeping secrets. He complained too much, although objectively he did not.

The universe punished him for ‘complaining,’ more than once. We cut straight from him shunting aside his disappointment that his postcard from his parents was just to say they weren’t coming home yet after all with ‘if it will stop all the fights they’ve been having lately it’s more than fine’ to them getting kidnapped.

He agreed not to come on the rescue mission. His mom never made it home, and his dad was in a coma for a while. And then ultimately Jack died as a result of Tim’s decision to be Robin, immediately after finally deciding to accept it.

So Tim walks around feeling a huge burden of responsibility for his parents’ deaths, and completely unable to process any hurt they did him as real or valid, especially in comparison with the far more blatant awfulness other people have been through, and canon is clearly never going to address it. Or even acknowledge it properly.

Let me repeat that because it’s kind of my main point:

People are fixated on getting Tim’s emotional abuse validated because that’s an incredibly important step in recovering from emotional abuse, and it’s one canon consistently denied him.

How ‘bad’ things are ‘in comparison to’ problems other people have is a bad and unhealthy way to engage with trauma. Okay? That’s just a really harmful framework to apply to pain.

It’s also a way that both Tim and people with experiences similar to Tim’s are encouraged to engage with their own experiences, compounding the existing problems.

So. Not a form of relatable DC was ever actually aiming for when they tried so hard (and pretty effectively) to make him a relatable character as Robin, but an enduring one for a lot of fans.

So Tim’s childhood is a natural target for fanworks in a different way than the traumas that have been made explicit and taken seriously by the text. And then a lot of that got compounded by the way the introduction of Damian as Robin was handled, and the lack of resolution that got. And his current status as not quite having a place in the family anymore.

So between the level of projection encouraged by that context and how relatively difficult to access Tim’s Robin run has become ten years after the fact, this has led to a lot of fanworks on these themes that are based mostly on other fanworks, and stray further and further from the original content.

So at this point there’s an entire wing of Tim’s fandom wherein this side of him has expanded enormously, and he primarily exists to suffer, frequently in ways that 1) escalate to a point that is inarguably ‘valid’ and hard to dismiss and 2) set him up to rebound from it in whatever way the writer finds emotionally satisfying or useful–being ultimately cared for and reassured by people who value him (the most infantilizing option but like, popular for obvious reasons), or unveiling his brilliant scheme that was causing him to pretend to be passive in the face of mistreatment, or turning around and using his genius ninja skills to wrest power back from his abusers, or just laying down some sick burns about being treated fairly.

But not that many of the last one, because that’s mostly done with other batfam members.

Tim’s become a vehicle for a lot of vicarious coping that Steph and Jason just aren’t appropriate for, because they get angry and they get even. And those are stories that exist already, so there’s less scope for telling your own.

And because Jason’s reaction pattern is ultimately so masculine (i’ll make them all sorry! with my guns! blam blam!) while Tim’s is pretty gender-neutral, the demographics of fanfic mean that the bulk of the people using Tim vicariously in this manner are female-aligned, which has over time feminized this archetype of him a lot. Sometimes in ways I find really uncomfortable, like there’s a lot of forced pregnancy stuff which activates my panic buttons. x.x

But, ultimately, it’s fandom. People are going to do what they’re going to do, DC in their perpetual fail has hung Tim out to dry in narrative terms, and I’d rather the people who are using Tim for victimization narratives over the people who can’t dismiss or discredit him fast enough now that his position has been filled. 🤷‍♀️ What we gonna do? Fave’s in an awkward spot. DC hates us. This is the life in this comic book pit. XD

Also if you’re the same anon who left me a callout about op of that weird Steph post in my inbox, or if you aren’t @ that person, 1) I refuse to get involved so I’m not answering that ask 2) those aren’t even particularly dramatic fandom crimes? That’s pretty normal? That’s just…Caring Too Much About Ships And Disagreeing With Me.

Do I also feel those opinions are kinda bad? Yeah. But I disagree with everyone about something. Chill.

339 notes · View notes

sepublic · 4 years

Text

Gus meeting the Blight Twins!

With regards to recent developments with characters and whatnot… I think it’d be interesting to see Gus interact with Emira and Edric. Gus is someone who is proudly a dweebus, like his father Perry before him, and so on and so forth; He mentions a ‘long’ line of dweebuses to Eda, after all! So there’s this shared concept of a family lineage that one ‘lives up to’, or at least carries out… Although given how well-adjusted Gus is compared to the Blight kids, obviously Perry was far more lenient about it than Odalia and Alador, and Gus’ interest in being a nerd was something genuine that came from a legitimate appreciation of his dad!

Meanwhile, Emira and Edric clearly make fun of the idea of being a nerd, although they don’t seem maliciously against it, nor do they seem like people who’d insist on bullying someone else… The exception of course is Amity, but they still DO care for her as their little sister. Plus, there may have been concerns about what Amity’s dedication to schoolwork was doing for her mental health, how a lot of that may have come from the expectations of their parents… And so it can make it difficult to discern where Amity legit enjoys learning, and where she’s doing this for Odalia and Alador.

That could lead to maybe the Blight Twins infantilizing Amity, believing they ‘know’ her better than others, and wanting Amity to get away from being a nerd and teasing her about it… When in reality, like Amity herself probably, they don’t realize the distinction between learning, and school itself as a system, particularly under Belos’ rule. Regardless, after seeing what when on with Mittens, and their concern for her amidst it (even if they didn’t handle this concern very productively despite likely meaning to)… I have to wonder how this could apply to Gus?

I can see the Blight Twins getting to know Gus, they think he’s a cute little kid, and like everybody else, they adopt him as a little brother! Gus eats it all up, he’s a kid who likes the attention of course. No doubt, Emira and Edric are inspired by Gus’ skill with illusions, likely seeing him as capable of being better than even them, and encourage it! Gus, of course, is flattered and feels better about himself.

It’d be cute to see Ed and Em give Gus a few pointers on Illusions… Maybe receiving a lesson or two from him, because even if they don’t like school or learning, they’d at least enjoy the pragmatic effects of illusions in pulling off pranks and their little rebellions! However, I can also see them maybe looking down on Gus as being even younger to them than Amity is… Without meaning to, they might accidentally contribute to Gus’ feelings of being overlooked. Especially since Emira and Edric might try to encourage Gus to join in on their mischief, or ‘misuse’ his lessons to pull off pranks…

Gus could feel a bit conflicted. But on the other hand, he HAS gone through growth, and Perry was clearly a much more supporting parent than Odalia and Alador. I can see Gus vouching for himself, refusing to participate in anything… And worst-case scenario, Emira and Edric wonder why he’s being so stuck-up, but otherwise they respect the kid’s decisions, and don’t try to force him in! They didn’t hold any grudges against Luz for going against their plan to post Amity’s diary entries, after all. Maybe Gus enjoys the role of being a teacher, but also feels obligated to do more than just provide academic lessons, but emotional ones as well…

Either through Luz, through his observations of Amity’s crippling self-loathing, and/or hearing down the grapevine… Gus realizes that Emira and Edric aren’t doing so well! Maybe he tries to ‘set them on the right track’, or at least try to provide some form of therapy… He probably feels bad because Odalia and Alador are utter trash, whilst current evidence points towards Perry being one of the best parents this show has to offer!

And while I can see Ed and Em being touched and flattered by the gesture, maybe they’re also put off by it as well, because Gus is WAY too young to be telling them what to do… But like with Luz, they hold no grudges and mostly just appreciate the sentiment, at least. Maybe this contributes to Gus feeling like he’s not listened to, and maybe some genuine concern for Ed and Em as yet another addition to his collection of surrogate older siblings… I can also see Gus getting in over his head, thinking he really DOES know best, and perhaps intruding on some boundaries!

Which, this could lead to Emira and Edric maybe getting a bit more hostile, if they see similarities to Amity because of this… And then they might realize that hey, Gus IS a lot like Mittens, in a sense! They’re both young, child prodigies who do incredibly well, they speak of a family lineage they’re proud of and apparently feel obligated to carry out… Amity is aiming for the Emperor’s Coven, but even SHE hasn’t ascended a few grades like Gus has! Which could lead to some concern for Gus, that maybe Perry is pressuring him, maybe imposing the ‘Porter’ legacy onto the kid…

And while Gus DOES have some insecurities here or there, of being younger than the rest in his grade- I’m pretty sure he’s ultimately happy with the decision, and it’s something he agreed to alongside Perry! I say this because he’s clearly more happy and confident in himself than most of the cast, really, and if he DID have an issue with being above his grade… Like with Willow, the kid probably would’ve had this addressed and changed. I think it’s more than likely that Gus actually enjoys learning a lot, and he DOES appreciate ascending a few grades- He really seems to enjoy Illusions! It’s just that as a kid, and because of his unusual situation, he’s entitled to some insecurity here or there, but in the end, he doesn’t regret his decision; Just as Eda may have suffered from loneliness as a Wild Witch, but she DID choose this, she’d never change her mind to become a covenscout, and maybe her sister Lilith needs to acknowledge this!

Which, if Emira and Edric also act as (surrogate) older siblings, like Lilith was to Eda… Then maybe they’ll have to learn to recognize Gus’ own decision and autonomy when it came to passing a few grades. Or at the very least, they first try to do things for Gus’ ‘own good’ like they did with Amity… Perhaps they misread the situation Gus has with Perry, maybe they project some of their own experiences, and accidentally try to vicariously live out another rebellion against parents through Gus…

Either way, they try to get Gus to rebel, to care less for his grades, to not listen to Perry, etc. And while Gus may at least learn to voice a thing or two with Perry (assuming he hasn’t already), it could lead to an artificial rift between father and son. Gus might feel uncomfortable, but he also recognizes that Ed, Em, and Amity WERE abused, so maybe they DO know better what his situation at home is actually like…

Spoiler alert, Emira and Edric have no idea! And while they mean well, this could lead to them trying the same tactics as they did with Amity, towards Gus… Again, encouraging him not to be a ‘rule-follower’, unintentionally belittling him and encouraging Gus to listen to them! Maybe not- Emira and Edric MAY have learned their lesson with Amity by now, but it’s not out of the question for them to occasionally, accidentally, relapse into old habits. Abuse and toxicity are hard to unlearn, man.

Maybe Emira and Edric even convince Gus to move back down to a lower grade! But in the end, Gus isn’t happy with this, he feels his intellectual needs aren’t being meant and his mind isn’t stimulated enough- He misses being back at his older grade level! Emira and Edric might try to dismiss this, that this is for his own good… But in the end, Gus has a lot of self-respect. He’s not Amity, nor Willow… He’s a lot more like Luz in that regard. He WILL eventually have to vouch for himself, and/or Emira and Edric will notice how uncomfortable he is before that has to happen.

In the end, Ed and Em realize that they’ve been mistakenly projecting their own insecurities onto Gus, and that they’ve screwed him over like they did Mittens, assuming they know the best; When in reality they don’t! This could lead to a crisis for the two, doubting their own judgment in anything… And Gus reassures the Twins that while they’re not perfect, they DID make progress against Odalia and Alador, and at least they’re trying! And then Gus says he’s proud of them, as a teacher, and as a ‘little brother’ to them in a sense… And Emira and Edric remember that even though Gus is a little kid, he knows a lot and has a lot of advice to offer- So they accept this, and they accept Gus’ autonomy and decision.

When Gus refers to being a part of a ‘long line of dweebuses’, he takes pride because his relationship with Perry is likely pretty good, and he genuinely looks up to his father and admires him because of this… And Gus WANTS to be a dweebus, because it’s something to be proud of; Knowing who you are and sticking with it! It’s Perry making Gus self-confident, that causes the kid to take pride in the Porter legacy, so to speak…

I can see some apologies being made, especially if Gus may have gone overboard himself, here or there- Maybe to the same extent as Ed and Em, maybe not. Either way, I can see Emira and Edric trying to leave Gus alone, for fear that they’ll just mess him up like they did Amity… And either Gus respectfully gives the two time to figure themselves out, and/or he once again reassures them! And Emira and Edric are baffled at how precocious this kid is, but are also impressed, while recognizing that Gus is still a kid by the end of the day and needs emotional support, just as much as anyone else, just as much as Mittens…!

And, I can see this leading to Emira and Edric better understanding Amity, and treating her with more love and respect; Especially now that they know that her situation is certifiably worse than Gus’. Obviously I can’t compare insecurities and act like Gus’ are lesser than Amity’s, his feelings are still valid… But let’s be real, Odalia and Alador are objectively worse than Perry! Either way, Gus DOES pass on a lot of wisdom to the twins, and ends up improving the Blight siblings’ relationship without even meaning to! Way to go, kid.

#the owl house #owl house #the owl house gus #gus porter #the owl house edric #edric blight #the owl house emira #emira blight #the owl house perry #perry porter #augustus porter #speculation

44 notes · View notes

hellyeahheroes · 4 years

Text

Orphan!Cass: The one we didn’t exactly want but are happy with because we wanted to see our girl again

Okay, when I speak fondly of my favorite Batfamily member, I harken back to her Batgirl days. You may have noticed that I ignore Black Bat and the aforementioned Orphan.

Let me just get the first out of the way. Black Bat was bullshit. Not because it wasn’t Cass but it was a cop out after DC turned Cass into a real Dragon Lady and subsequently decided to ruin her character. And then try to justify that Cass wasn’t worthy of Batgirl and handed the cowl to Stephanie Brown. Now misinterpret my loathing for this move as something against Stephanie. No. Stephanie should have been given a fair shake at Robin. She should have succeeded Tim because,I am sure no Tim fan would object, he has been Robin for far too long. I’ll give credit where it’s due and say that Tim personifies what we think the role of Robin should look like, but yeah, Stephanie should have succeeded him and not taken Cassandra’s place.

With Orphan, however, I have mixed feelings. The idea of Cass being the quiet stoic Asian Assassin characterization may have came from her. Not only that, her alias feels like a meta sleight because Cass was part of the Batfamily and in this depiction, there is this unspoken hesitation to accept her in the family. Like she is perceived as not one of them.

Orphan is a downgrade from Batgirl. I’m sorry but she is. But at least she exists and as a Cass fan, I can accept that. But again, the quiet stoic Asian Assassin stereotype doesn’t do this Cass justice because what is remarkable about her is her empathy and the comic’s attempt to humanize her seems genuine.

Her friendship with Harper Row, Duke Thomas, and Clayface have been the most defining for the character. She is stoic and hardly ever speaks. She is almost infantile sometimes but this could all be interpreted as she is this unrealized potential of what she was. Writers today refuse or aren’t allowed to expound on her character as Kelly Pluckett and Scott had. So we get these little nuggets of characterization instead.

This Cass is younger and more vulnerable than her original depiction. And it’s hard to not appreciate the moments of humanity afforded to the character.

I love the idea that Cass sneaks into ballet theaters and hangs out in the rafters to watch plays. I love that she is a thespian at heart. I love that she always hugs her comrades. And I love that she is so passionate about living up the symbol of Batman.

And dear lord, she is still badass.

But again, this reintroduction of Cassandra Cain should be appreciated for what she is. It was a compromise that kept Barbara out of a wheelchair and the constant undermining of everything that made the Batfamily what it was. Batman is the standard forebear of DC. The franchise sets the tone of what the universe is. And the reason why so many Batfamily fans just don’t like canon anymore is that it’s become so unbearably bleak. You have Batman striking his kids and being an abusive father. Alfred dying. Tom King’s refusal to take other members seriously. The Damian favoritism. And this bullshit grizzly shade of pretentious realism and appeal against happy progressive development. I mean Selina and Bruce getting married is like the bare fucking minimum and expectation and somehow you cocked that up.

If it were up to me, New 52 would have been undone. Not rebooted again. Just act like the whole thing was a wash because I’ll be honest, it mostly has been. It speaks volumes when the majority of DC fans literally create their own head canons and better characterizations of Batman than the writers do. But I know that this misplaced nostalgia is exactly the same bullshit that insisted Barbara was the best Batgirl and was ruined by Killing Joke. So instead of being reductive, DC writers, specifically of the Batman setting, should aim to have heart again. Actually love their characters again. Say what you want about Marvel, they mostly love their heroes except the X-office and Venom but we already know that.

Make DC heroic again.

Stop allowing characters like a nihilistic Joker define you. But again, maybe I’m just bitter than you ruined Cassandra Cain and basically did your damnest to screw Static Shock and Jaime over. Like DC can’t be mad that Miles exists when you literally had the golden goose delivered to him that was Virgil Hawkins and dropped the ball. Maybe I’m holding on to Dini’s Batman and my own childhood memories. Or maybe I just really fucking hate Damian Wayne.

But it’s whatever. Anyways, this Cass isn’t stoic but tortured. She is vulnerable and humane. She isn’t some stereotype but a character that has been mostly about peeling back the complicated layers of a sweet girl turned killer who still is this sweet girl. It’s not fair to apply this stereotype to her because those moments of humanity and compassion are so precious and endearing. It is not Batgirl but she is still our Cassandra and deserves better than being accused of being a stereotype.

@ubernegro

#cassandra cain #orphan #birds of prey #harley quinn and the birds of prey

73 notes · View notes

zorilleerrant · 3 years

Text

look I'm not saying marginalized authors never get infantilized and have their books miscategorized. but the sheer number of books I have read that the authors claim are not YA but very clearly absolutely are YA is. ridiculous.

YA is absolutely synonymous with books appropriate for the average teenager to read. that's what YA is. it's books that appeal to the reading level, life concerns, hobbies, typical interests, etc. of teenagers in general.

YA has never been a category only about kids? and in fact many books about kids are very much not YA. there always have been some about kids and teens, but like. I used to read mostly YA before it blew up as a marketing category, and most protagonists were at least in their 20's and often much older.

if no one has sex in your book, or the people who do have sex are virgins/inexperienced, then it's YA. like, this is a huge social problem for sure! but the main thing people are concerned about kids reading is anything sex positive. number one concern of the censorship crowd is kids being exposed to slutty/kinky/casual sex.

if the main concerns are where someone is going in life, how to achieve their dreams, who are they as a person - that's coming of age fiction. that's always been the equivalent of YA. like yeah of course adults have those concerns too, but. it's what YA is for

if people refuse to swear in your books, or are didactic about morals, or are explaining details as if to a young child...I mean, then you've set it up as a kind of children's literature. and like. yes. most new SFF that comes out does at least one and usually all three of these things, so it makes sense to assume it's primarily aimed at children.

(also, if it's realism, then there are only two categories: award bait, and YA. unless it reads like some drivel from an MFA program, or some whiny midlife crisis, then it's YA.)

YA is anything a high school teacher would not get in trouble for handing to a student they just met. because YA is a category about censorship, and not like. a commentary on artistic validity? so some things are called YA and really should not be. but most things people are complaining about...really seem to be YA. like. almost everyone is writing YA these days. there's a huge cultural push against moral complexity, or alienating characters, or difficult to understand texts.

(there's also the fact that people are too busy or stressed to read books that are more than 80,000 words or at higher than a 5th grade reading level, which is capitalism's fault and not the individual readers', but it is why more people are turning to YA. that's about 150 pages and the same reading level as the average newspaper or popular magazine article.)

I mean, YA is so omnipresent people have decided to make a new category? called "new adult"? which seems to be literally identical to YA, except the characters are specifically older than 20? which they already could be in YA? and were usually, before Harry Potter sent YA into a tailspin? are you guys confusing YA and MG? because YA always use to be stuff that it would palatable for an adult to read, not something specifically for only kids

like if you're noticing this being systemic. then the answer is to categorize more SWM's fiction as YA. because most of that is Morality Play as hell too these days

1 note · View note

coffeedrivenfiction · 4 years

Text

Ba Sing Se Can Wait

"You know what the scary part of trying is?"

"Duh. Failing."

"I used to think that, I really did, but as we keep going… I've come to realize that the scary part about trying is actually succeeding."

"Succee—what? You're gonna have to explain that one to me. I was with you, for a good while, up until this point… I mean, I sorta get it—no, I get it… I do, I get it, I just wanna see where you're coming from with it. Just so we're on the same page. You and me. I. You and I…."

When Sokka glanced over at that the boy sitting next to him, the boy with the resplendently bald head adorned with a blue arrow tattoo, he could tell by the Avatar's quaint expression that his smooth talking had just bought him some time to figure out just what in the hell Aang was talking about.

The true fear of trying was... success?

How?

In what world?

The last he had heard, the last life had taught him, how he had been raised all throughout his short yet noble life, success was the manifestation of boundless trying, numerous attempts. The concept of being fearful of trying because it might—and should—lead to success was baffling.

More baffling than Katara still attempting to waterbend even at this late hour.

The sky was a twinkling landscape marked with stares and other wonders that seemed close enough to reach out for yet far enough to wish upon. Below that cosmic carpet, Toph had been the first to fall asleep, having crafted the most majestic castle along the shoreline, a castle with four bedrooms, one of which Appa occupied quite naturally, a built in jacuzzi, and this weird little effigy of Sokka that sat in the main hall that looked absolutely nothing like Sokka. The poor earthbender was knocked out, having been lulled into an early sleep by the sound of Katara relentlessly practicing a new waterbending maneuver.

Admittedly, the sight of Katara, free of her hair tie and bathed in the pale light of the moon on high, was an impressive one. Every one of her attempts at trying to combine twin ropes of water into one that would then split into four other tendrils was amazing, especially when she failed or lost focus and the water exploded into glistening sparkles so much like diamonds.

A few feet back, Sokka and Aang sat, previously in silence before the sound of Katara's enervated grunts and growls propelled them into subdued speech. Conversation that was by no means important or worth repeating, just something to break up the tension while occasionally yelling out an encouraging word or two.

An hour ago, Sokka had suggested calling it a night—"We're gonna need our strength for tomorrow, it's the biiiiig move, and we don't wanna take forever getting to Ba Sing Se and"—but after Katara whipped a lance of water at him, both he and Aang summarily decided that Ba Sing Se could probably wait another day or two.

It was part of the Earth Kingdom, after all; it wasn't going anywhere.

"Being taught by Master Pakku really lit a fire under her," Aang continued softly, observing the delicate yet fierce way Katara's arms flowed through every stance she stepped into. It was almost like witnessing a performance, one in its infantile stages to be sure, but the promise of something great was there, shining underneath all the sweat and failure.

Shifting somewhat on the boulder Aang had brought forth for them to use as a chair of sorts, Sokka scratched at his nose. To say Aang's words were an understatement would also, in itself, be an understatement; his sister might as well have turned into a firebender for all the flames he could see flickering just beyond those normally docile pupils of hers. There was unmistakable drive there, a hereto unforeseen degree of determination that was on full display tonight as they watched Katara step and shift and pivot, upsetting the ocean before them into a frothing, bubbling mass.

To tell her to stop now would be tantamount to ending his own life, he felt that much was certain.

Of course, Sokka knew he was stronger than his younger sister—everyone knew it, as a matter of fact—but even he knew better than to disturb her when she was focused.

"She wants to be better than the best waterbender," Sokka responded in a drone, legs drawn up and elbows to his knees. He swished a pine needle between his lips. "What's that got to do with what we were talking about, though?"

"How many times do you think she's gonna fail on the road to being a waterbending master?" For the first time in a long while, Aang adverted his gaze away from Katara's intricate dance and observed the sky. Despite the sparkling darkness above, it was a truly humid night, perfect for stargazing. "Becoming a master isn't something that comes in the span of days... or months... or even years. The title comes with decades of practice, combining wisdom and technique and power..." Something tight settled into his eyes, furrowing his brow. "How many failures is that?"

"How many...? Uhh..." Sokka glanced at his hands, flaring his fingers several times before his head started to hurt and he gave up with an exasperated shrug. "I... Aang, I don't know, probably a lot... a bunch of a lots, why?"

"Because..." Aang gripped himself by the shoulder, squeezing under his knuckles cracked. "Failing is... it's pretty easy."

"You're kidding." Sokka looked affronted and leaned in closer. "How is failing easier?"

"It really is, especially when it's something like this," and Aang indicated toward Katara, who was picking herself up off the sandy shore and brushing grit from her clothes for what seemed like the tenth time, "because nothing is for certain. When it comes to exploring new territory... learning something new... you don't know what you're doing, do you? There's no ingrained roadmap, it's not like you jump outta bed one day and you suddenly know every technique and every hand movement. It takes time."

On the verge of arguing, Sokka lowered the finger he had lifted and instead placed it on his temple. That... made sense. A little. After all, he was a bonafide master with his throwing hatchet—able to knock whatever food Momo had stolen from him right out of those greedy little paws—but as awe-inspiring as his talent was, Aang had a point. It took a lot of effort, many tosses, many fails, many lumps on the backs of the heads of the people from his village...

"Okay, I get that," Sokka started slowly, lifting that finger once more and prodding Aang in the cheek. "So... that's where success comes in! And there's no way that's a bad thing! It means you reached the goal you were striving f—GUH!"

A ball of concentrated water burst over Sokka's face and he flailed about, nearly toppling off the rock.

"Wh-what in the—"

Katara stood stock-still before them, leaning forward as though caught in a breeze and glaring out into the ocean just with one her arms aimed behind her, palm face-up and fingers joined together like that of a spear.

Scrunched up like he had been struck, too, Aang was wide-eyed, staring at the back of Katara's head.

"I need to concentrate," was all she ground out, through gritted teeth even, and neither Aang nor Sokka dared breathe until she had picked up her routine again, elegantly flicking her wrists and summoning great ribbons of water to her call.

"Your sister's pretty crazy, though," Aang whispered, lowly, behind his hand, and Sokka frantically nodded.

"You're telling me this like I wasn't raised with her," Sokka retorted under his breath, wringing out his sodden shirt. "Let's just keep it down, I don't wanna get lassoed into the sea..."

"Agreed."

The two waited for a few more tense moments, once more getting lost in the elegance that resonated from Katara's every move, before picking up their earlier conversation.

"When you fail, nothing really happens," Aang sighed, "except you get to learn. You get to learn from what caused you to fail... if you're lucky. You can take a misstep, a wrong chop, a mixed hand movement—you can take all of those things and smooth it out. Every fail is jagged until it's smoothed out with success."

"Exactly my point." Sokka spoke so lightly that his lips didn't move. "Success is easier because once you're there... you're there."

"Except... that's when everything changes, like when the fire nation attacked," Aang continued, almost as if Sokka hadn't spoken. "When you fail, okay, cool, you know what's going to come next. You're going to try again—"

Sokka nodded stoutly, wondering how much longer he would be able to take sitting on their borrowed boulder until his butt went completely numb.

"—but when you succeed, when you become that master? A whole list of new responsibilities open up like that"—Aang pantomimed snapping his fingers—"and nothing's the same."

Exhaling all the tension that came from anticipating Aang snapping his fingers out loud and suffering another strike from Katara, Sokka slouched forward, letting his arms dangle. "That's... but that's kinda how things go, isn't it?"

"I dunno. I think I'm figuring that out as we go," Aang admitted with a nervous grin. "I just know when you succeed, things can't be like how they were when you failed, can they? Like, look at Katara... she's failing pretty hard right now—"

"—please don't hear, please don't hear, please don't hear—"

"—but we know she's gonna make it. Course she is, she's Katara." It was barely noticeable, the soft smile that lifted the corners of Aangs mouth, but Sokka didn't miss it. "When she does, she's... there's gonna be expectations. With that knowledge and power, people are gonna wanna learn from you, they're gonna want you to teach, and lead, and—and help prosper. They're gonna come calling, near and far, everyday, looking for your services. That's... that's a lot to deal with, ain't it? More than just failing."

Beyond that smile, Sokka could see the trepidation settling into Aang's stare.

"It's just... when you fail, nobody expects nothing, you can keep on going like you were, semi-sorta free? The moment you succeed, though... you can't go back. You can't unlearn what you've mastered, you've got to... your road changes and you gotta walk it."

The night air was powerfully refreshing, and more than a little chilling while Sokka sat there in damp clothes. He stared out at his sister, silently observing... tracing her every step to memory. "I can see that," he said, pulling the pine needle from between his lips. "Yeah, I can see why that would be kinda..."

"Scary," Aang supplied hoarsely, bringing his own legs up and wrapping his arms around them. "I don't fear failure, Sokka. I fear success. I fear making it exactly where I need to be... and not being enough to stay there."

Of all the fears Sokka struggled with, known and unknown, a fear of success had never been one of them.

Until this very moment.

The grating splashes that signaled another failure on Katara's part were growing noticeably infrequent. If Sokka was developing a chill then Katara, weighed down by her waterlogged garments, had to be downright frozen, but she didn't drop her arms, she didn't relax her fingers or allow her aching legs to fold. Every breath she drew in was ragged and every exhale came out as a puff of visible air; she blinked like she had a tick, paying no mind to the streaks of sweat curving down her face, dripping off her chin; she paid no mind to the roaring fatigue settling into each of her limbs, invading her thought process, begging her to give in, to try again tomorrow—

"We're not a species meant to bask in failure," Sokka said, sporting a grin when Katara lifted her trembling arms up high, "that's not our style, it's not in our nature, Aang."

Growing wide-eyed, Aang watched as Katara flexed her fingers, once more drawing a great swell of water to her command before sharply shifting her body, bending it with her.

"Failure is... well, you're right. It is easy," Sokka admitted, feeling anticipation twist at his insides, knotting tighter and tighter as the rivulets of water under his sister's control shivered and twirled. "Which is why we can't settle there. We have to strive for success and all the terrifying new roads that it opens up for us... 'cause those roads will open up new roads for others who will go on to open even more roads. And yeah, success might lead to new opportunities to mess up, that's the cycle, ain't it? At least one thing's for certain..."

He suddenly threw an arm over Aang's shoulder the moment before Katara slammed a foot down, flexed her fingers, and made an intense tearing motion, one that caused the giant water whip overhead to lash apart into a flurry of thrashing tendrils.

"You won't be alone, Aang. We're gonna fail together and succeed together. A lot."

Almost immediately after its birth, the wild creation lost its form and fell apart into a torrent of water that splashed back to the sea. "YEEEESSSS!" A prideful cry left Katara in the same instant feeling left her knees and she hit the ground. But she didn't fall over. She refused.

"I DID IT! I REALLY, REALLY DID IT!" Face smeared with sweat and grime, Katara whirled around on her knees to the boys behind her and somehow, despite having no energy left, managed to punch the air with a tightly coiled fist. "Did you guys see that? I DID IT!"

"She did it!" Sokka cried, latching onto Aang. "Oh thank God, she did it! Now we can finally go to sleep!"

"Congratulations, Katara!" Aang yelled, thoroughly impressed while trying to shove a weeping Sokka off, and he would have showered the beaming waterbender with more well-earned praise if the boulder the two of them sat on hadn't suddenly been violently snatched out from underneath them.

As Sokka and Aang collided with the unyielding sand, Toph poked her head out the front of her sand castle, groggily rubbing sleep from her eye. "HEY! It's way-too-late-for-this-mess o'clock! Shuddup and go to bed!"

"Th-that chick has some serious anger issues," Sokka groaned, trying to untangle his limbs from Aang.

Katara just giggled tiredly, "I'll agree with you there...," then she fell out.

The End

#avatar #aang #katara #sokka #toph #success #don't give up

3 notes · View notes

crystalelemental · 4 years

Note

Tbh the Hel outfit look cool without that weird jelly body thing, but knowing that we will eventually get a unit with the tinkerbell outfit fills me with dread, i just think theres just a few characters that could look nice, any of the OG tikis for example

The thing is, the fairy outfits would be nice if they were like Freyja’s. Her outfit’s gorgeous, fantastic even. It’s really just...why is Peony like that? She looks like a 30 year old trying to dress in an infantile “I’m still a young kid” manner and it’s super uncomfortable. I kinda like Mirabilis’ outfit, but the weird butterfly thing that’s covering her chest is just bizarre, especially since it seems like its too small to actually cover anything and it makes her proportions feel off. Plumeria’s is...yeah. Spring Loki lite. Triandra’s okay, but it’s still a bit too focused on trying to aim at sex appeal over functionality as an outfit. The Hel outfit does make me hopeful that any resplendent version from these areas would be adjusted to make more sense (ie, lack of jello parts). So maybe they’d go a bit more sensible. But it is the kind of outfit choice where it’s like...frankly, put the male characters in it. Because they’re clearly able to make good outfits, Freyr looks cool. They’re not gonna fuck up the male outfits by trying to make it more about sex than form or function, so like...just make fairy robes for some of the male characters and call it a day.

2 notes · View notes

nadziejastar · 5 years

Text

Xemnas: A heart is never lost for good. There may have been variances in our dispositions, but a number of us unquestionably showed signs of a burgeoning replacement. Once born, the heart can also be nurtured. Our experiments creating Heartless were attempts to control the mind, and convince it to renounce its sense of self. But understand, one can banish the heart from the body, but the body will try to replace it the first chance it gets, for as many times as it takes. And so I knew, even after we were divided into Heartless and Nobodies, it was just a temporary separation.

Sora: Why, then? Why did you lie to them and tell them they had no hearts?

Xigbar: Xemnas and Xehanort formed the Organization for a specific reason–round up a bunch of empty husks, hook them up to Kingdom Hearts, then fill them all with the exact same heart and mind. Translation–they were gonna turn all the members into Xehanort.

I suppose. But I’d still say it was more likely that they were being experimented on in the lab that day. That was the Heartless Manufactory. Xemnas said that the experiments creating Heartless were attempts to control the mind and get it to renounce its sense of self. And Xehanort formed the Organization in order to take the empty husks and fill them with Xehanort’s heart and mind.

“I can’t claim to know the outcome of this venture, either. We are dealing with hearts, after all—unpredictable at best.” Ansem aimed the end of the device at Kingdom Hearts. The one great heart—Kingdom Hearts. But what was a heart? For all that, I never did find the answer, Ansem thought.

When a person’s heart was taken from them, a Heartless was created, a thing with no sense of self, while the body and soul left behind would become the makings of a Nobody. But what if someone deliberately released their heart from their body through the strength of will alone? Sora and Xehanort had managed to retain their selfhood even after becoming Heartless.

In other words, it sounds like Xehanort thought that Nobodies would make the perfect vessels.

Ansem’s Report 13

Where does the body go when it separates from the heart? If the soul remains within the body, is it still considered to be deceased? When the heart returns to the Heartless, the physical form disappears. But that is merely true in this world. Perhaps the body exists in another form in another world. If that is the case, then it is possible for one to exist in two worlds. A being that is neither darkness nor light; belonging nowhere; abandoned by its heart; a mere shell of its former self. The relation between the heart and body is complex. However, I am certain that if your self exists here, then by definition, the other cannot truly “exist.” The other, the one which does not exist, shall be dubbed, “Nobody.”

Xehanort apparently is the one who discovered Nobodies during these experiments. He probably assumed that they would have no sense of self, like the Heartless.

The group called the Organization is a group of nobodies who gathered together. Nobodies–beings who don’t exist. Beings who lost their hearts to darkness, Heartless. And then, when strong-hearted beings become Heartless, the body and soul exist separately from the heart, and receive life in this land. That’s a Nobody. And then, Nobodies born from the owners of especially strong-hearted beings fall into birth still retaining their human shape. That means, the Nobodies gathered as Organisation members once held strong hearts. Really? Axel wondered to himself. Did that self in my memories really have a strong heart? Don’t really know. And then, Nobodies without hearts wish for only one thing. A heart. If I was asked if I wanted a heart, I guess I’d answer that I did. But, do I really want a heart? Can a heart really fill this hollowness I’ve carried since I fell into existence as a Nobody?

Most Nobodies that are born are like Dusks. Only a very strong-hearted person creates a Nobody that retains the same shape as its former self. That seemed to be the ultimate goal of the experiments, at least at the end. Xehanort wanted to find strong-hearted people, create humanoid Nobodies by turning them into Heartless and then he’d have perfect vessels. And he apparently tricked the apprentices (except Braig) into willingly becoming Nobodies. They’d be exactly the same, just without hearts. And of course, he’d use the test subjects from the experiments who didn’t become corrupted by darkness. They would obviously have strong hearts and if he forcibly extracted their hearts like he did with Braig, then they’d create special Nobodies.

“I am Lexaeus. You’ve done well thus far. But to possess your powers and yet fear darkness… What a waste.”

Riku scowled. “I do not…fear it!” he said as if to convince himself. “I’m—”

“I sense that you do,” Lexaeus interrupted, quite unperturbed. “You’re also capable of controlling the darkness. Cast away your useless fear. Open your heart and embrace the darkness.”

“And if I don’t?” Riku retorted, steadily closing in on Lexaeus.

If he embraced the darkness, he would become stronger—but he didn’t need that kind of strength. He only wanted to use his own strength.

Lexaeus absolutely talks like becoming a Nobody was a choice he made. He looks down on Riku for being afraid of darkness.

Lexaeus gave him the briefest of smiles and raised his heavy ax-like sword. “Then, you lose both light and darkness—and disappear!” Enormously powerful darkness radiated from him, fierce enough to make Riku think of Ansem. Riku grunted as the pressure of it slammed against him.

“I, Lexaeus, will not yield to the frail heart of an infantile coward! Now, stop resisting—and let the darkness in!”

“Never!” Riku brandished Soul Eater and rushed at Lexaeus. “I am not afraid of the darkness!”

“Ha! Nonsense! You can become stronger… But if you do not accept the darkness…you will be destroyed!” Lexaeus’s sword knocked Riku back and came down on the floor with enough force to cleave it, scattering chips of marble, which Lexaeus crumbled in his fist.

These bits from the CoM novels are sadly the most characterization Lexaeus gets.

“Rgh… To think…you had so much power…” Now Lexaeus dropped heavily to his knees.

Riku jumped back to put some distance between them, also out of breath. “What’s the matter, Lexaeus…?” he said between gasps.

Even without using the darkness…I can still defeat you.

“Darkness isn’t…all it’s cracked up to be, huh?” Riku told him. “This fight…is mine.”

But you can tell that he is really obsessed with strength.

Lexaeus gave him a cruel smile. “Hmph…so I must accept my defeat here. But do not make the mistake of underestimating the darkness in me! As I am destroyed, it will leave this ruined vessel and drown you!”

Then there was a terrible shock wave far greater than what Riku had felt from the darkness that Lexaeus radiated before the battle.

“Wh…what’s happening?!” A relentless swirl of darkness surrounded him, swallowing him up until he disappeared into it.

Lexaeus laughed madly. “This is my strength… I, number five in the organization… I who was once his favorite pupil!”

Those were Lexaeus’s final words before he vanished into the darkness.

We do get a particularly interesting bit of info. He was a favorite pupil. Given the way he talks about fearing the darkness, it sounds like he’s referring to Xehanort. Aeleus was lured in by the promise of greater power.

When Zexion thought back on their erstwhile research, the “plan” seemed to him like a contradiction in terms—trying to reclaim what they had lost through their own actions. He didn’t believe they had done anything wrong by studying and producing the Heartless. It just so happened that in that process, they had forfeited their own hearts.

Zexion said that they lost their hearts while studying and producing Heartless. Of course, he was a kid, so I don’t expect him to know everything that was going on with Xehanort. But he and Even lost their hearts around the same time. Ienzo doesn’t talk like Xehanort personally extracted his heart like he did with Braig. He speaks like it was the result of the experiment they were doing.

“I tell you, the project failed,” Marluxia repeated. “And I must report that failure to our leader.”

Their leader—a man who had once had another name with other memories… He was the actual fake. The one who had stolen the identity of Ansem.

“What— No, wait! Don’t tell him that!” Vexen sounded as if he might fall to his knees and beg.

Marluxia made a small cruel smirk and told him quietly, “Perhaps we can work something out.”

“How?” Vexen looked up.

And all I can really say about Even is that he doesn’t like going down into the basement where the experiments took place, because apparently he has bad memories of being there. And he is absolutely terrified of Xehanort. I don’t think he was ever a willing participant in what was going on. But he seems to have gone along with what the others were doing due to fear and probably a desire to protect Ienzo.

Day 119: Hearts and Emotion

Author: Xaldin

Watching that foolish beast flail about only deepens my disdain for humans and their incessant need to be pinned down by feelings. We became Nobodies precisely to avoid the shackles of emotion. It was only later that we realized the scale of that loss: that some things simply cannot be done without a heart. Nonetheless, I see nary a pleasant thing about it.

Xaldin flat-out states that he chose to become a Nobody to escape emotions. When they were recompleted, Even, Ienzo, Dilan, and Aeleus were inside of that transporter area. This is what let the MCP warp Sora into Space Paranoids. And Braig was already with Young Xehanort when he was recompleted.

“We’re Nobodies. We have no one to be—we just are. But now you don’t have to be at all. No more existence, no more memories.

You’re off the hook.”

Axel didn’t seem to be paying attention to Sora and the others. He only looked at Vexen.

“No one to be?” What could that even mean…?

But Lea and Isa were outside of that area, and they were the only two “apprentices” wearing the black robes. Lea looks like he was going towards the computer and Isa looks like he was going towards Lea. And Axel never talked at all like someone who ever planned to lose his heart like all the other apprentices. He clearly was not in on whatever plan they had. Axel treats the apprentices far differently than the other Organization members. He’ll happily play cards with Luxord, and he defends Demyx when Roxas makes fun of him for being useless. But he delights in taking out Vexen and Zexion. And those two seemed like they were the apprentices who were the least morally responsible for what happened.

“Nothing less from the great Ansem—that’s what I should say, isn’t it? Or maybe—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m protecting those islands!” Riku rushed into range, but this time the Claymore, Saïx’s sword, was there to block Soul Eater.

“How do you expect to protect anything when you’ve cloaked yourself in darkness? You sold your soul for power. Was it worth it?”

“Shut up.” Soul Eater pushed back the Claymore with a terrific clang.

When Saïx faces Riku in KH2, he acts absolutely disgusted with him for giving himself over to darkness in order to gain power. He was furious when Naminé told him he had a heart. He wanted one more than anything.

The human form of Xigbar, one of Organization XIII’s members. He became a Nobody during a certain experiment.

The journal in KH3D said that Braig became a Nobody during a certain experiment. And in KH3D, all of the Nobodies who have been recompleted have separate journal entries. Lea, Braig, Even, Ienzo, Aeleus, and Dilan all have journal entries for their regular selves. But Isa didn’t get one. Just Saïx. It implies that he wasn’t even recompleted as Isa at all. And when Braig and Young Xehanort retrieve him, he’s still unconscious. Young Xehanort calls him “Saïx” before he’s even retrieved. There was just nothing to ever indicate that they were apprentices before KH3. And it still feels implausible at best.

#kh meta #kh saix #kh axel #kh lea #kh isa #kh vexen #kh zexion #kh xaldin #KH Lexaeus

15 notes · View notes