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number5theboy · 2 years

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Why do you think five hates himself?

I think it's mostly because Five is pretty much a failure across the board.

I've said this before, but the fundamental difference between Five and the rest of his siblings is that his siblings can point squarely at Reginald as the reason why their lives are ruined. But Reginald didn't ruin Five's life. Five did.

Five had that one act of teenage rebellion/self-actualisation backfire on him and has been trying to do things right ever since, and all he's ever accomplished is making everything worse. He is very competent, he is very skilled, he is very clever, and it keeps getting him nowhere. Every time he manages to do something right, the consequences of his decisions come back to fuck him over.

So every time he comes face to face with a different version of himself, it's a reminder of his perpetual failure. Himself one week younger, about to jump forward to 2019 and try to save the world? Will fail, and will botch the jump while he's at it, condemning himself to Puberty 2: Corvette Stingray Boogaloo. Founder Five (ignoring, for the moment, that that plot point is a mess)? Literal representation of the fact that not only did Five fail for 45 years of his life, he will continue to do so for another 87 before dying alone and unfulfilled in the worst company - himself. And even discarding the other versions of himself that Five encounters, he does not care much for himself. He is willing to die if it means the world survives. He has accepted that there very well may not be any happiness in his future, but everything he's ever done is not about himself, not anymore. I don't think he attributes much value to his own life. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one. And all that jazz.

And yet.

I don't know if Five truly hates himself. Maybe he does. I think he definitely doesn't really like who he is, what he's become, what time has changed about him, but he has the tendency to cling to life, even if he says he is done with it. There's a drive for survival in him that shows that whatever disdain he may hold toward himself, it's not complete apathy. And if it is hatred, it's a very passionate, fiery hatred that somehow still fuels him. Sure, he has fucked up a million times before, but what if. Just this once. It might work out. What if the worst person you know (yourself) could get it right this time? Because Five is still alive despite. Not only despite everything the world has thrown at him, but also despite everything he has done wrong. Despite all that, he is still there.

And there is one last puzzle piece - Delores. I love her, especially in S1, because she is such a good plot device. In S1, she was used to offset Five's brash, rude nature in talking to other people and show that beneath it all, he could love, even if the literal object of his affections is a mannequin. And the thing with Delores is that she is him. She is a psychological manifestation of the decades-long trauma that Five suffered, a symptom of forty years of solitude and isolation. She exists in relation to him, an extension to him. The way I always interpreted her was as the best part of Five. When we see him talk to her in S1, she seemingly chides him for his alcoholism, she told him beforehand that his botched equation was off, she has an edge on him because she is meant to represent, I think, the best parts of himself, the last shreds of his humanity. When the Handler offers him a way out in exchange for years of service as a killing machine, he looks back at Delores (the best parts of himself), but turns away and takes the Handler's offer. When Luther threatens to toss her out the window and gives him the choice between her (the best parts of himself) and the gun, when push comes to shove, Five picks Delores. There's a part of himself, a very, very fucked up part that has been hurting for decades, that fiercely loves himself and is not ready to give up on himself. And that's painful, as indicated by her name, a botched version of a word that literally means pain (plural).

And then he lets her go at the end of S1, because, on some level, he is aware what he has been doing. Aidan Gallagher said in the virtual panel released after S2 that Five knew that being alone in the apocalypse would drive him to lose his mind, so he used Delores to lose his mind in as controlled a way possible (x). Obviously he clearly did not do that perfectly (weird wedding hallucination/distortion of events proves that, if nothing else), but there was an awareness somewhere that she was a coping mechanism, and so he let her go, a first step to healing. That's why his language changes from using 'we' when talking about his time in the apocalypse in S1 to 'I' in S2. That's why he knows how he botched the jump, and can correct it for the younger version of himself. That's why he manages to be more vulnerable in S2. He has finally allowed himself to be all of himself again, even the part he loves.

Then S3 came along and made Delores a punchline and nothing else and kind of trampled on my nice interpretation without even giving Five the grace of having him go back to an old coping mechanism mean something. But I still want to talk about Five and self-loathing in S3, because we do get his reaction to Klaus telling him he's a good brother. He is surprised, genuinely taken aback, and Klaus was even reluctant to tell him, almost fearful of Five's reaction. Five doesn't like himself and the fact that someone else perceives him as good family throws him for a moment. And then there's the way he remembered his wedding speech vs. what it actually was. He remembers drunkenly spouting genuinely mean things at Luther while his entire family looks on, apathetically (except for Klaus, who is mildly more enthusiastically, meaning that at some level, Five's subconscious has understood that Klaus genuinely cares for him). In reality, he was sappy and loving, but his mind does not remember that. In his mind, he is not good, and he is not kind, and he can't connect to the people he loves the most - he fails at something as small and insignificant as a wedding speech. So, despite everything Delores may or may not have meant or symbolised, Five still has a lot of issues about his own self-image, his self-worth, how he is perceived by others and what he thinks of himself, all stemming, in some way, from that one act of teenage rebellion/self-actualisation that he failed at.

#Replies #Anonymous #my meta #my god five is so fun to think about #this randomly became delores meta for reasons unknown whoops

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sapphire-weapon · 10 months

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I've never played Silent Hill so I don't understand the significance when you said Leon's would be empty. Would you mind explaining, if that's okay?

Laura is a little girl who goes through Silent Hill with no monsters chasing her and no grotesque distortions of reality. she just sees an empty town blanketed with fog, and the only thing she can really interact with are the other real people in the town like James, Eddie, and Angela.

there's a very dumb explanation of that being because she has a ~pure~ heart, so nothing dark can attach itself to her or manifest from her, but

that's very dumb.

Silent Hill as a supernatural entity forces a person to confront the one thing that they're most afraid to face. Laura's SH is empty because her biggest fear is her own loneliness. everyone in her life who has ever loved her is dead, and she's afraid that that will always be true forever -- that anyone who ever cares about her will just die, so it's better if no one loves her at all. so she's kind of a huge asshole brat for most of the game. she pushes people away and makes herself seem unlikeable/unlovable on purpose so that they don't get close to her and then die.

I think the parallels between her and Leon are kind of self-evident.

plus, there's also the fact that like. if you were to have monsters chasing Leon throughout SH -- even if they were born from his own unconscious guilt and fear -- he wouldn't really be fazed by them. fighting monsters is what he does professionally.

to be faced with silence, emptiness, and oppressive isolation? that would fuck him up more than literally anything else in the world, I think. because that's what the gov't forces on him, and it's what he perpetuates for himself, and to see it manifested outwardly and in a way that's inescapable will force him to confront the reality of the life he's embraced and the person he's become.

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drowned-debris · 1 year

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@dotflowweek Day 7: No Effect, Sabitsuki’s Room, Social Isolation, Rust, Rooftop, Mood Swings

(Note: this story is a direct sequel to what i wrote for my day 6 submission)

…

Is it too late now?

The question sticks in her mind, suffocating her other thoughts until only it remains. In the boredom of rusting away, she’s asked herself the same questions hundreds of times, but… this one is new, and try as she might, Sabitsuki can’t think of a suitable answer.

It’s not like anything is particularly keeping her in her room. Sure, it’s safer, but what’s the point if all she’s doing is just waiting to die? And Rust isn’t contagious, so there’s no real point in quarantining. Her main fear was always being found— but then again, it’s been years now. They likely will have given up searching for her by now.

Even so… can she just leave? Is it really that simple?

Sabitsuki reaches up and pinches her cheek. This would be better to think on in the real world, instead of the Flow’s dirty old sewers.

Her perception warps and reassembles into the familiar image of her room. Quiet, calm. Lonely.

She looks at her reflection in the empty black screen of the computer. Her face looks haggard, her hair unkempt and greasy from months without washing. The light in her eyes dims by the day, as the bags underneath them grow more pronounced. She can see some blotches and stains on her shirt, likely from the occasional spilt food during her bland, lifeless meals.

“Gross…” She mumbles to herself. But, despite that… she knows a lot of people around here go outside looking even worse than this. She’s lucky the Rust has barely manifested externally so far— most of the damage has been internal, so she won’t be causing any screams of terror, at least.

Hold on. What was that thought just now? That’s not right— she hasn’t decided she’s going to go outside yet, just that it’s a possibility.

And yet… she can’t deny that she wants to. It’s not like she has hope for herself, or anything; even if by some miracle a cure for Rust had been found, she wouldn’t hear about it. As far as Sabitsuki is aware, they intend on letting all knowledge that Rust ever existed die with the ones infected by it.

But maybe she can… at least do something before she dies. She still has some time left— the decaying process is a different length for everyone, but she should probably have at least a couple more months in her before she kicks the bucket. Who knows, maybe she’ll even reunite with one of her friends…?

…No, that thought is a little too optimistic for her tastes. She shouldn’t expect much from leaving her apartment— this town will be the same shithole it always has been, and nobody will care about her because she abandoned everyone who did.

Still, there’s no reason not to go and confirm that theory. The only thing there is to stop her is how much effort it feels like; after wasting away in her room for so long, she worries that it might be just too much work for her.

No point in putting it off, though. Her condition is only gonna get worse.

Slowly, Sabitsuki pushes away from her desk and stands up, surveying the room around her. Her gaze passes from her bed, to the rug, to the dusty old TV screen, and finally to the door. Is it really as simple as just… leaving?

Well, only one way to find out.

She steps towards it hesitantly, and extends her hand towards the doorknob. It moves at a snail’s pace, but it moves. After a few seconds of suspense, her fingers make contact. Next thing she knows, she’s wrenching it to the side and pulling with all her might, with a determination she hasn’t felt in years.

It reminds her of when she was fleeing the hospital; that feeling of breaking free from a prison, of doing something with herself. Before the Rust, before the hospital and Oreko and the Parade Ward and all of that, she took her freedom for granted.

Not anymore.

***

The faint tinkle of a music box echoes through the room. Occasionally, it stalls on a note, then skips over the next few to catch up. Seems like the fall it apparently endured harmed it quite a bit. Despite that, the melody remains mostly clear— consistent enough to not be annoying, at least. When he gave it to his sister for safekeeping, he impressed upon her the importance of making sure it didn’t sustain any more damage; when he gives it back to its rightful owner, he wants it to be as pristine as possible.

And he will give it back, Smile thinks to himself. He will. No matter how long it takes to find her.

He stares solemnly at the slightly beaten crank before looking back down at the map on his desk. The paper has a couple of old, faded stains on it from those long nights that he used to drink coffee to stay awake— he’s long since given up doing that ever since he ran out of leads. Some of the areas and buildings on the map have Xs on them; those are the places he can confidently say she isn’t in, but… even after all this time, there aren’t many he’s been able to cross off. If only this fucking town was smaller, he’s sure he’d have found her by now.

Smile has already found every single damn clue Sabitsuki left behind— he located the hospital, interrogated the doctors, solved her escape plan, questioned the witnesses at the Sugar Hole, and more. But it was ultimately useless. None of those led him to her; instead, he just made a lot of enemies he didn’t want to make. He tried to spend as little time as possible in that strange hospital— his gut was telling him that investigating that place, that disease all the patients there were suffering from, would’ve only led to trouble. Even so, he got everything he needed. His original intention by going there was to see if she left anything that would hint to her whereabouts after escaping, but… no such luck. What a waste of time.

The only thing of value he found was the music box. It’s handmade, by the looks of it; the drawings on the sides, though not exactly masterpieces, are definitely meant to resemble Sabitsuki and someone else. He tried to track down its creator or the person featured in the art, but hit a dead end and had to give up. He’s had to give up too many times in this damn search.

At first, he put up missing person posters. He wasn’t expecting there to be any results, and there weren’t— except for every single poster being taken down the next day. Whoever did it only took down the ones of Sabitsuki, leaving the myriad of other disappearance notices untouched. He could’ve reported a missing person to the police, but what little police force exists here is hopelessly corrupt and useless. Besides, he’d rather not risk himself or Sabitsuki by going anywhere near the law.

Smile employs a philosophy of “If you want something done right, do it yourself”. That’s why he decided to start personally investigating her disappearance. In doing so, he uncovered a lot of mysteries— but he doesn’t care about any of them. They won’t lead him to Sabitsuki, so they’re pointless to try to solve.

The music box reaches the end of its song, and he sighs. No use just sitting here. He’ll go take a walk, clear his head a bit. Maybe that’ll help him finally make a breakthrough.

***

Instinctively, she raises her arm to shield her face from the wind. It’s cold and harsh up here, whipping at her like it wants to push her back into her sad little room. But she stands firm against it, and keeps walking forward across the rooftop.

It’s daytime. The sun, though concealed by drab grey clouds, is in the sky. And Sabitsuki is alive.

She steps over to the railing and carefully peers over. The town unfolds below her. She tries to make out the place she used to stay, but it’s too far away to be seen from here. Same with the alleyway that the hospital was in.

Even if this place is ugly, seeing it again after so long makes her undeniably happy. She thinks that maybe she’d rather live the way she used to, uncertain but resilient, taking whatever life throws at her, than spend the rest of her days rotting in that apartment. Nostalgia is a strange thing, huh?

Before she heads back down from the rooftop, she tries to figure out what to do next. No way she’s going back to the hospital, that’s for sure— but she doesn’t remember these streets like she used to, and getting lost around these parts is not something she wants to experience.

…Who is she kidding? There’s only one place to go: Smile’s house. She has no idea what he thinks of her now; whether he hates her for leaving, misses her, or if he’s just gonna act like he didn’t care, the same way he always did back in the day. But she intends to find out. Unfortunately, she’s only been there once, so she can’t remember where exactly it is. That’s fine, though— Sabitsuki thinks that she’ll recognise it if she explores enough. Might take a few hours, but it’s not like she has anything better to do.

Her plan now solidified in her mind, she steps away from the railing and heads back inside the building. No time to lose. She isn’t sure what exactly the time is, but she definitely does not want to still be wandering around in town come nightfall.

Carefully, like she might slip and fall at any moment, she walks down the empty stairway of the apartment building she lives in. Sabitsuki hasn’t come back through here a single time since she arrived that day; but there’s a first time for everything, she thinks.

As she arrives in the lobby, her movement comes to a stop as her eyes meet another person’s.

This… is not what she was expecting.

***

He shivers. The frigid air is cutting deep today— maybe he should’ve worn an extra layer. Whatever, he’ll survive.

His feet carry him along a familiar path through town. He and Sabi used to visit this tiny place, tucked in a little nook a few streets from the school, when they wanted to grab a bite to eat. The food wasn’t the best, but it was warm, and cheap. The two were regulars there, so they got a decent discount, which helped.

Since Sabitsuki’s disappearance, he’s come there a few times, always alone. The first time he went was while he was putting up posters; the guy who runs the place was disturbed to see him go there without her, and jokingly asked whether they’d broken up. Smile chuckled sadly, and responded by asking him if he could put up some of the missing person posters around his shop.

The other times, he would visit if he was in the area and needed some sustenance; though he made sure not to spill any too important secrets, the guy working there was curious to know how the search was going, so Smile would occasionally give updates.

He hasn’t been in a while, though— mostly out of shame for not turning up anything after all this time. Caring for his sister and investigating Sabitsuki’s disappearance is basically his whole life now, but… he’s still managed to mess up. He tries not to be too hard on himself for things outside of his control, but… sometimes the feeling of guilt just gets the better of him. Even when he’s happy or relaxed, it doesn’t take much to flip into a state of constant regret. Maybe if he’d just…

No. He can’t think like that. If he thinks that way, thinks in what-ifs, it’ll consume him from the inside.

Coming to the end of his route, Smile looks at the entrance. He was feeling a bit hungry, anyway— may as well go somewhere familiar.

The little bell at the top of the door chimes as he steps in, enjoying the rush of warm air. Like usual, there’s no other customers; it’s not exactly the most popular place in town for food.

Quickly, the man comes hurrying out of the back room to greet him. His face lights up upon recognising Smile.

“Smile!? Haven’t seen you here in a while! How’ve you been, kid?” The man ushers him into a seat and sits down opposite him.

He shrugs. “Well… haven’t been able to find anything new since last time, unfortunately.”

The cook frowns. “Well, that’s a shame, but… you can’t give up yet! Keep your head held up high, that’s what my pa always told me!” He offers Smile an encouraging grin.

“Right. Don’t worry, I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. Anyway, uh, I’ll have my usual.”

He nods and stands up, heading back behind the counter. “Right away!”

As he cooks, Smile settles into his seat and turns to look out the window. He’s thankful for the positivity, even if he himself isn’t quite feeling it. But he was telling the truth when he said he doesn’t plan on stopping— he’ll find her. No matter what it takes.

Before he knows it, the food is being delivered to his table. As he digs in, he decides to chat with the cook a little.

“So… how’s business been?”

“Business? Business’s been great! Been getting some more customers as of late. Some odd fellows around here these days, but they pay well and don’t cause a fuss, so I’m fine with ‘em, hahaha!” He laughs heartily.

“That’s good to hear. You ever planning on expanding?”

“Expanding, son? No way! As long as I’m getting a good amount of customers, I’m happy to stay as just a cosy little joint.” “That makes sense.” He nods.

“Yeah… I like this part of town! It’s quiet, not as shady as the others. Good place to set up a little homemade business, y’know?” As he finishes speaking, his eyes dart to each side suspiciously and he leans closer to Smile. “Although… there was one weird-looking thing I saw earlier that I just couldn’t make heads or tails of.”

He finishes up his food, and responds. “Oh? What was it?”

The man gestures outside the window, to the street. “Well, I was in the middle of preparing an order earlier, and I happened to look outside… there was a truck driving along the street, normal stuff, but… I could’ve sworn that when I looked inside the window —not on purpose, mind you!— the driver was wearing… a gas mask? And their clothes were like… one of those old-timey maid outfits, you know the ones.”

Smile’s heart stops.

His gaze snaps upward to meet the other man’s, with unbridled intensity in his eyes. His expression is dead serious. “Where. Were they going.”

Shocked at the sudden transformation, the cook stumbles over his words. “Uh, well, I think, um… if I recall, it was… over that way.” He points in a direction. The moment he does so, Smile is gone.

He dashes out of the door without another word, and begins sprinting full speed down the street. If they are here, there must be something very important going on. Even if it isn’t her, it could very well be a new lead.

His muscles scream at him to stop running, but he continues. Even one second could make all the difference right now. He needs to keep going. His footsteps are loud and echo in the empty streets as he desperately sprints through.

It takes about a minute of non stop running, but Smile spots them. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a truck pulled up right outside an apartment building, with people in uniform scattered around facing inside— one of whom is wearing a familiar maid outfit and gas mask.

Carefully, keeping his breathing as steady as possible despite all the exertion he was forcing himself through moments ago, he approaches, trying not to be noticed. They all seem to be focused on whatever’s in the lobby of the building, paying no heed to anything behind them. Smile sneaks behind the truck for cover, then peers around it to take a look as he listens to them talk.

He’ll never forget what he sees there for the rest of his life.

It’s her. Sabitsuki.

He found her.

***

It feels like a sick joke. Like the universe itself is conspiring against her. She finally gathers enough courage to leave her room and face her regrets, and… this is what’s waiting for her. Ready to pull her back down into despair.

Pretty bold of them to do it in broad daylight, she’ll give them that. They must be pretty confident in how powerful they are. Sabitsuki doubts anyone around here is stupid enough to interfere with something like this.

“...What do you want?” She asks, bluntly. Her voice is croaky from disuse.

The Cleaner —she doesn’t know what the proper name for these intimating maids is, but that’s what the patients always called them— takes a step forward from the others and clears their throat. Despite coming from behind a gas mask, their voice is perfectly clear, though somewhat tinny.

“We have come… to collect you.”

She coughs a couple of times, staring down at the floor. “Well… there isn’t much left to collect.” Then she looks back up to meet the gaze behind that eerie mask. “...Why bother, anyway? It’s been… it’s been fucking years.” She isn’t massively confident in that estimate, but it sounds about right.

The maid shakes their head— a slow, deliberate motion. “You carry the Rust within you. It is our duty to contain you.”

“Contain…? You already know it isn’t infectious. What’s the point of doing all that?”

“It is not because of the Rust. It is because of what you know.” They pick up something from behind them; she quickly recognises it as a chainsaw. They must have been prepared to hurt her. “You… are evidence of something that should not be known.”

Sabitsuki carefully eyes the weapon, taking a step backwards. “...That doesn’t look much like a containment procedure to me.”

“Do not resist… and I will not have to use it. But if you’d like… I can grant you a swift death.”

Hell no. Not when the fire of life only just started to burn within her again. Not a chance.

“SABI!”

The yell explodes from behind them, and all of the people jolt in surprise. Sabitsuki feels like that voice is familiar, but she can’t quite place it…

Until the source of the shout comes barreling straight past the Cleaner and into the lobby with them.

Her eyes widen as she instantly recognises him. Standing there, covered in sweat, is the black-haired menace to society himself: Smile.

The maid quickly recovers from their surprise. “Perfect… you’ve saved us the trouble of hunting you down.”

As much as she wants to talk to him, the time for tearful reunions is later, so Sabitsuki focuses on the situation. She can’t fail, not now. “Him…? What the fuck could you possibly want with him?”

Smile can already guess what he’s done to attract their attention; he was too curious for his own good, and now they intend on punishing him. Tough luck. He’s not dying yet.

“His pointless search for you… became a nuisance… a thorn in our side. He must be disposed of… as must you.” She turns on the chainsaw. Smile inwardly curses himself for not bringing a weapon when he went outside; it’s common sense here, but it seems he got a bit too comfortable. Even so, he’ll find a way.

Sabitsuki gulps, and mentally readies herself. She hasn’t been in a fight since her escape from the hospital, and she’s grown even weaker since then. At least she has an ally this time.

A few seconds of fierce glares pass between them. Then the maid charges forward, and the desperate fight for their lives begins.

The two dive in opposite directions as the first attack comes their way. Sabitsuki jumps to the left, towards the corner of the room, where a long-abandoned receptionist desk sits. How familiar. Smile leaps the other way, towards the door to the stairwell.

The maid frees their chainsaw from the wall, and turns to the tattooed boy. She probably knows that, being healthy, he’s the bigger threat.

Sabitsuki’s eyes dart to the entrance of the lobby. The other people there in front of the truck all seem to be unarmed— if the Cleaner is defeated, they’ll have no choice but to scatter.

Easier said than done, though; first, she needs to get the attention of their attacker. Smile’s not getting killed on her watch.

She scrambles around the desk. She sees a telephone and reaches for it, but then notices it’s cordless. Fuck. There goes that idea. Next to it, though, is a mug— perfect.

She grabs the cup by the handle and, using every ounce of strength in her body, flings it full force at the back of the maid’s head. Should’ve worn a full helmet, dipshit.

“Gah!” The Cleaner hisses in pain as the mug shatters against the back of their skull, and whips around to face Sabitsuki. “...You first, then.”

Okay, mission accomplished. They’re not targeting him anymore… but now she has to deal with them instead.

…She may not have thought this entirely through.

Smile, on the other side of the lobby, sees his opportunity the moment they turn around. No way in hell he’s letting them get Sabi. Darting forward, he grabs at their braided hair and tugs with all his might, preventing them from moving forward.

They grunt in annoyance and swing their body around. Surprised, he doesn’t have time to react, and the braid tears off of the maid. Unable to regain his balance quickly enough, Smile tumbles backwards onto the floor, the disconnected length of hair falling out of reach, and frantically pushes himself away as fast as he can.

The Cleaner takes a couple of steps forward, raising their chainsaw before striking swiftly down towards him. He scrambles back just enough that the slash hits the floor in the space between his legs. This is bad.

Sabitsuki, witnessing this, races up behind them and picks up the braided hair from the floor. This might not work, but it should at least give Smile a moment to get away.

Sprinting towards the maid, she reaches forward and around with the braid, and tugs hard before they can react. Using hair as an improvised garrote was not something she ever expected to do, but neither is anything she’s done in the last few years. As the Cleaner coughs and splutters into their mask, Smile stands up and backs away.

Unfortunately, strangling someone to death takes more strength than she has in her rusted state. The maid’s elbow lunges backwards and strikes Sabitsuki hard in the stomach, forcing her to let go of the hair and stumble away.

Both sides of the battle turn to face each other from opposite sides of the lobby. If a gas mask could make expressions, the two imagine it would be contorted in anger right now.

As they carefully watch each other for movement, Sabitsuki’s eyes flick upwards. There’s exposed pipework running below the ceiling here— lazy on the part of whoever built this place, but useful for her. She nudges Smile, and he notices too.

As she backs away slowly to avoid arousing suspicion, he glares at the Cleaner, putting as much hatred and malice into it as possible.

“What, are you fucking scared?” He taunts. “If you wanna kill me, come and fucking kill me!” He follows it up by spitting at them from across the room.

They take the bait, lifting their black chainsaw and charging at him. As they begin to pick up speed, Sabitsuki makes her move.

She jumps onto the desk, sending various useless items scattering everywhere, then leaps off of it, heading for Smile. He braces himself and leans forward, allowing her to land on his shoulders and keep her momentum long enough to jump off.

The Cleaner sees all this, but can’t do anything to dodge the incoming attack; the weight of the chainsaw carries them forward even when they don’t want to.

After using Smile as a stepping stone, Sabitsuki catches herself on the exposed iron pipe and swings her legs forward. Though she is weak on her own, the momentum has enough force to cause considerable damage— and it does so.

Her feet connect. Gas masks aren’t made to protect from physical attack, so the impact is barely reduced.

“Urgh!” The maid stumbles backwards, clutching at their face. She has no way of knowing, but hopefully she broke something. Sabitsuki quickly rejoins Smile near the desk, not confident enough to go on a full offensive.

The Cleaner moves their arm from their face, and reaches down to rev their chainsaw. The two get ready to dodge, but as the injured maid moves forward, it becomes clear that they aren’t the targets of this attack; rather, the pipes are.

Smile tugs Sabitsuki behind the desk for cover as the Cleaner starts going berserk on the unfortunate piping. Worryingly, the chainsaw cuts through them easily, and nothing comes out of them once destroyed.

“Goddamn, that thing’s strong,” he mutters.

After they’ve gotten their destructive impulse out of the way, they turn their attention back to the two bastards who have caused them so much trouble. Sabitsuki, meanwhile, has thought of another plan— one that might be able to put an end to this fight.

The two split up to avoid an incoming attack; this one slices the desk clean in half. Smile stays near the fallen pieces of the pipe. The longest is around 2 feet in length— definitely a good size to kill with. Meanwhile, Sabitsuki advances on the spot where the braided hair fell. She’s killed a couple of times before, but this will definitely be the weirdest method she’s used.

Smile manages to keep the attention of the Cleaner mostly focused on him; as they engage in a terrifying game of cat & mouse around the room, she sneaks up behind the distracted maid.

In a split second, she stoops down and uses the braid as a sort of tripwire around their feet. They don’t notice until it’s too late, stumbling over it and falling face first onto the floor.

The moment they trip, Smile darts over to the long pipe and picks it up. The window here is only a few seconds— better make it count.

The Cleaner starts to pick themselves up.

They’re too slow.

He raises the pipe, and…

Crack.

***

All things considered, today could have gone worse.

It’s likely that that won’t be the end of it; the people trying to kill her and Smile aren’t the type to give up after just one defeat. They’ll be back, and they won’t pull any punches next time.

But as she sits here, huddled up beneath a blanket as she sips on warm tea, Sabitsuki finds it hard to care. She’s dying either way— the key, she thinks, is to live without thinking about the future. And besides… it was fun to watch those cowards all drive away in their truck.

“Talk about speaking truth to power, heh…” she mumbles to herself, before taking another sip of her drink. Smile and his sister went to get something for her from the basement; a present, apparently, though she has no clue what it could be.

What’s she going to do after this? Sabitsuki muses on that question while she waits. She already thought about this earlier, but… there’s nowhere for her to go back to. She supposes then, if Smile lets her, she’ll move in here, with him and his sister. It shouldn’t be a difficult transition— she only has a few possessions she’d need to bring over, then she’s all set.

…She’s getting ahead of herself, though. Hell, a few years ago, she’d try to ignore those thoughts entirely— fantasising about moving in with him would’ve been a ridiculous notion back then. But as it turns out, life has a funny way of flipping things around.

Even so, it’s not like he’s agreed to anything. Best not get her hopes up.

The sound of footsteps rouses her from her thoughts, and she looks up to see the pair of misfit siblings returning. Smile is holding something in his hands, but he shifts them to cover it when she tries to discern what it is. What an ass.

His sister eagerly plops down onto a beanbag in the corner of the room, intently watching her brother and Sabitsuki. Just what exactly is she about to be given…?

Smile sits down on the couch next to her, and she raises an eyebrow. “...You sure like to drag things out.”

He sticks his tongue out at her like a kid, and she can’t help but giggle.

“Well…” he says. “I might be wrong about this, but… is this yours, by any chance?” He uncovers the object, and Sabitsuki’s jaw drops.

Sitting there in his hands, slightly beaten but still easily recognisable, is the music box. The one she thought she’d never see again.

“Holy shit…” she says, slowly reaching for it. “I… where did you find this?”

He hands it to her with no resistance, and she cradles it close to her chest as he speaks. “When I was investigating your disappearance, I thought it might be useful to figure out how you escaped the hospital. So I went around collecting evidence, and… that’s when I found this.”

Sabitsuki places it down on the table beside her and admires it. The drawings of her and Oreko, while somewhat scratched, make her heart feel full just as much as they always did. She remembers the day the girl gave this to her like it was yesterday— she was heartbroken when she had to use it for her escape. But, by some miracle… it was recovered.

No. Not because of a miracle— because of Smile.

She looks back at him, bearing an expression of heartfelt gratitude on her face.

“Smile… thank you. You didn’t have to… you didn’t have to do any of this for me. You could’ve just ignored me going missing, but you… thank you. Just… thank you.”

Maybe her vision is getting poorer due to the Rust, but she swears she sees a blush on his face before he turns away. “Well… I did.”

Smile’s sister giggles from the corner of the room. “Hehe… now, kiss!” She puts her fingers together to make the shape of a rectangle, then peers through it with one eye like a camera.

Both of them turn to glare at her simultaneously, and she squeals with laughter. He turns back to Sabitsuki and rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile touching the corners of his lips.

Sabitsuki thinks that maybe… spending the rest of her life like this doesn’t sound too bad.

#.flow #dotflowweek23 #cw violence #this story kind of uh. gets away from the prompts but theyre all there at least a little bit #also uhhh check this out #https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ContrivedCoincidence

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yashashveeroy · 3 years

Text

I felt like pouring my heart out again today. Bear with me.✨.

Trigger warning: Body image issues, Past trauma from bullying.

Disclaimer: Know that this is written in a very vulnerable state of mind and it certainly doesn’t have to be read by you. But if you do read it and it resonates somehow, I’ll be comforted to know that. After all, this is something very personal but I decided to share it because I realised that many of you, just like me, have inner child wounds.

Placements: Pluto, Mars, Sun, Moon and Saturn Dominants. Check for these planets in the 1st/ 4th/ 5th/8th & 12th Houses. To be honest, this is literally for anyone who wants to heal. 🤍✨

Dearest Pluto,

It’s my Birthday today. Although I’m supposed to be happy, I guess I’m not. I should be right? Today I sit here questioning the type of people I have in my life. Turns out I really am invisible. I just saw 2:22 AM on the clock, confirms my feelings then… Regardless, I’m here to vent to you today, so I’m going to do exactly that! You know, I think, I’m not meant to have a person to myself. Everyone has their own “person”, someone they can go to, talk to and cry to when they face their low moments. Nothing romantic, just pure affection for each other because they care. They are pillars for each other. As much as I pride myself over this ‘Self-dependence’, I truly sit and wonder what it would feel like to have someone like that in my life.

I know I seem so stupid or even crazy to write a letter like this but I truly can’t help it. I’m a mess. I’m sitting behind this computer screen, writing this and just crying away while the song playing in the background just drowns everything. My friend from high school video called me and when she wished me, I thanked her, just not in an enthusiastic manner. She asked me “Roy, are you okay? You’ve changed so much, why aren’t you excited about your birthday like you were always before?” To that I said “I’m okay, I was just reading something serious and I kind of just lost the mood”. Obviously, I wasn’t reading anything. I was just trying to hide my emotions. She kept asking me if I really was fine and I put on my happy face and kept everything under control. So far, only three people really called. To be quite honest, I’ve never really had a ‘Happy’ birthday. Every year, I have had something to be sad about. Am I being ungrateful and bratty about everything?

You see that? I don’t even let myself feel things properly. Such a disappointment.

Pluto, I’ve isolated myself. I realised yet again that you gave me the ego death I asked for to better myself. Thanks to you, my manifestation came true because you really heard me. I am going through a transformation right now and I’m waiting for that brighter day. I learned to love you but I really don’t know how to love myself. All these years, not once did I look in the mirror and feel good. The bullies’ voices never really left my head I think. They used to make fun of me and my body on my birthday too, so I never truly had the chance to enjoy my Birthday in peace or happiness. Today I sit with all this weight on my body and wonder what is it that went wrong, why is ‘thin/skinny’ attractive…. but wait, even that is looked down upon. Who am I even kidding at this point?! This goes much deeper.

Every time, you put me through a transformation, I feel pain like no other but I still feel grateful for it because I know it’s all a part of learning and building myself. I won’t lie, this one, the one I manifested, really broke me. You really know how to switch it up Pluto! I’m so sensitive yet numb right now, don’t know how to explain that one really. I just know that I’m supposed to keep pushing myself no matter what. I’ll always make it. I got this.

I turn 20 today. Can you imagine? 20? ‘Little me’ never thought she’d make it. But I’m here and I hope she’s okay. Pluto, can you maybe go back in time and tell ‘Little Roy’ that she’s okay? Tell her that she has a long way to go and that she should be proud of the big heart she holds in that rib cage. Make her realise that singing and creating art isn’t bad but it’s a beautiful outlet for her emotions. Show her that there’s more to her than the heartless words that people spew at her every day for the way she looks and does things. Be there for her because I couldn’t.

Sometimes, I wish you’d shown me a Lotus sooner. Can’t change the past but I can now understand and appreciate the meaning of it properly. While I’m at the topic of appreciation, let me also tell you what I’m proud and grateful for. It certainly won’t include this body that I have, I’m learning still. So what if I don’t love it? I have other things!!

I’m grateful to have me by my side. For a voice that can sing and soothe my own heartache. For little hands and this infinite imagination that come together to create art. For my love of detail because of which I’ve achieved such finery in my work. For the ability to help others when they need emotional support. For the intuition that I’m still learning to trust every day. For the tough days, just like this one, that made me emotionally invincible yet vulnerable. For the Saturn influence in my life that teaches me what the fruit of patience is. For my Mother, who believes in me more than I do in myself. For my Father who never says “No” to anything I want to do in my life when it comes to my occult or spiritual studies despite him being an atheist. For my Romeo & Raven with whom I’ve learned lessons of sibling/family love. And of course Pluto, you. I can never forget you. You are the one who keeps reminding me how unshakable I am. Thank you.

Now I really don’t know how to end this letter but Thank you for letting me vent and giving me your time. I feel light but I have a terrible headache after all that crying and its 7:54 in the morning. I haven’t slept a bit. I need to get some rest and stop pulling all- nighters, even for reasons like these.

Happy Birthday to me?⚜️💖I’ll be waiting for the next opportunity to write a letter to you.

Love, Roy.

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fortunatelyfresco · 3 years

Text

A Holistic Integration of Type 1 Narcolepsy into the Reading of Moist von Lipwig

Literary Interpretation, Disability, and Finding Yourself Between the Lines

As it goes, "I wrote this for me, but you can read it if you want." It might be a fun ride for anyone who is very interested in Moist von Lipwig, or narcolepsy, or both, and/or anyone who enjoys collecting small details from within a body of work and arranging them into threads that are supportable by the text, without being actually suggested by it.

Personally, I find it very interesting to read the meta behind different headcanons, and see how creators can unintentionally write a character who fits certain criteria. There are only so many traits, after all, and some of them tend to travel in groups! Humans are pattern seekers, etc etc.

The first step of reading Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic is wanting to read Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic. Being narcoleptic myself and relating heavily to Moist, this step was very easy. I invite you to take my hand and come along, at least briefly, if you were interested enough to click the readmore.

Once you have taken that step, things start falling into place. At least they do if you're intimately familiar with narcolepsy, or if you first learn about it in detail through, for instance, a Tumblr post with an agenda :)

I'll break this down symptom by symptom, citing only the ones I both have personal experience with and see textual support for.

I'll be using OverDrive's search function to catalogue "evidence" in (the American editions of) Going Postal, Making Money, and Raising Steam, so I might miss passages that don't use certain keywords.

Please take any statements along the lines of "being narcoleptic means X" with a huge grain of salt. Sometimes it's just more succinct. Narcolepsy can manifest in many different ways, and is still being actively studied. Don't base your entire understanding of it on a fandom essay I wrote to cope with the crushing pressures of capitalism. I have not even fully read the scientific studies linked here as sources.

Here we go! Spoilers abound.

I. Excessive Daytime Sleepiness (EDS) and sleep attacks.

Being narcoleptic means (salt now, please) that your brain does not get adequate rest while you sleep, no matter how much you sleep. This is because of a disturbance in the order and length of REM and NREM sleep phases. This leads to constant exhaustion. Some sources describe narcoleptic EDS as "comparable to [the sleepiness] experienced by a healthy individual who has been sleep-deprived continuously for 48–72 hours."

(Source.)

Sleep attacks can come on gradually or suddenly. In my case, I become irritable and easily overwhelmed, and nothing matters except finding a place to lie down. A more severe attack, under the right circumstances, can put me to sleep while I'm actively trying to stay awake and engaged.

Moist refers to 6:45 am as "still nighttime." He is "allergic to the concept of two seven o'clocks in one day" and is "not good at early mornings," and the narration even cites this as "one of the advantages of a life of crime; you didn't have to get up until other people had got the streets aired."

In Going Postal, he repeatedly falls asleep at his desk. I can only find two instances, but the first one describes it as having happened "again," so it happens at least three times over the course of one week. Both of the times I found were after Mr. Pump cleared his apartment, giving him access to a bed, and I can't find any reference to the fire destroying it—just that his office is "missing the whole of one wall." His presumably wooden desk is still intact, even, just "charred."

There's also no build-up either time. No direct narration of the time right before he falls asleep, just retroactive accounting for it.

Which is primarily a function of stories not showing us every boring second, and secondarily one of the smaller ways we're shown Moist being overwhelmed and racing to keep up with himself, but tertiarily it's a great set dressing if you've already decided he's narcoleptic. Sometimes sleep is just a thing that happens, without any deliberate transition. Sometimes you sit down to catch your breath or get some paperwork done, and wake up several hours later.

I've found only one example in GP of Moist waking up in his actual bed at the post office: the morning after being possessed by all the undelivered letters. Presumably either they put him there, or Mr. Pump did.

There are two points in Making Money where Moist, in an effort to be a comforting and/or guiding hand, advises people to get some sleep. First Owlswick Jenkins, and then one of the clerks (Robert) who is worried about Mr. Bent.

I take the optimistic view that this is Moist genuinely caring about these people, not just trying to get them to do what he wants. He has always done some combination of those things (GP opens with him having befriended his jailers, after all), but there's definitely a thread of him learning to treat both himself and those around him more like real people. (See also.)

Looking at this thread through narcolepsy-colored lenses, you get Moist perhaps drawing from his own experiences in an effort to be helpful. In Owlswick or Robert's position, what is something he would want to hear from the man currently in charge of his fate, or at least his job? "Get some sleep."

If we accept this as a pattern, it culminates in Raising Steam, when Moist starts to worry about "Dick Simnel and his band of overworked engineers," fixating particularly on their lack of sleep.

What sleep they got was in sleeping bags, curled up on carriage seats, eating but not eating well, just driven by their watches and their desire to keep the train going.

[...]

"People are going to die if we push them any further," he said to Dick. "You lot would rather work than sleep!"

[...]

The young man swayed in front of him and Moist's tone became gentle. "And I see now that part of my job is to tell you that you need some rest. You've run out of steam, Dick. Look, we're well on the way to Uberwald now, and while it's daylight and we're out of the mountains it's going to be the least risky time to run with minimum crew. We're all going to need our wits about us when we get near the pass. Surely you can take some rest?"

Simnel blinked as if he'd not seen Moist the first time, and said, "Yes, you're right."

And Moist could hear the slurring in the young man's speech, caught him before he fell and dragged him into a sleeping compartment, put him to bed, and noted that the engineer didn't so much fall asleep as somehow flow into it.

Moist then recruits Vimes to help him talk the rest of the engineers into getting some rest. The two of them briefly commiserate about people not realizing how important it is.

"I have to teach that to young coppers. Treasure a night's rest, I always say. Take a nap whenever you can."

"Very good."

II. Insomnia.

This is a lesser-known but very common symptom of narcolepsy. Or a comorbidity, depending on how you look at it. It seems counterintuitive if narcolepsy has been presented to you as "sleeping all the time," but it makes sense once you know it's really a matter of disruption in the brain's ability to regulate sleep cycles.

The case for this symptom is flimsier, and I fully admit I'm just reading my own experience into it. But here are two excerpts from Going Postal that I find quite suitable for my sleepy agenda:

1. "A man of affairs such as he had to learn to sleep in all kinds of situations, often while mobs were looking for him a wall's thickness away."

I latched hard onto this detail the first time I read GP.

At my worst, I could not get more than a couple hours of sleep in my bed. I kept taking naps in the bath because it was one of the few places I could sleep. It seemed to fulfill some of the criteria (isolation, temperature control, etc) that my brain demanded in exchange for playing nice.

We're told over and over again, throughout Moist's books, that he functions best under pressure.

(Brief aside: This is often cited as a reason to interpret Moist as having ADHD, which I'm also fully on board with. Not coincidentally, narcolepsy and ADHD share a few symptoms, have a notable comorbidity rate, and are treated with some of the same medications. Source.)

So again, if you're already inclined to read Moist as narcoleptic, the following is an easy jump:

"Moist thinks he's good at sleeping in strange places under strange circumstances. This is because A) his basis for comparison is a disordered attempt to sleep in normal places under normal circumstances, B) something about danger satisfies his brain into running more smoothly, and C) he's a resourceful person who is 'not given to introspection,' and so is less likely to wonder why his body demands sleep at strange times and more likely to focus on finding a place for that sleep to happen, and chalk this up later as a skill."

And returning briefly to EDS: Why would someone like Moist waste time finding a safe place to sleep while people are actively trying to kill him? At the beginning of GP, he leaves Vetinari's office and immediately goes on the run. In multiple books, when he feels threatened, his brain instinctively launches into complex escape plans. We see him successfully blend into an Ankh-Morpork crowd at least once after becoming a public figure.

So why bother? After all, a safe place to sleep is also a safe place to change clothes, or at least remove whatever distinguishing features he's given himself. Why wouldn't he just become someone else and leave town immediately?

The obvious answer is that sometimes things just happen, and an author doesn't need to know or explain every single detail of a character's past.

I would suggest, though, that one of those things might be Moist reaching a point where sleep is just not optional. A point where he not only doesn't, but can't, care about anything else. Where he is too tired to think straight, too tired to talk his way out of trouble, too tired to even contemplate the long journey from one town to the next.

2. "Moist knew he ought to get some sleep, but he had to be there, too, alive and sparkling."

Sometimes (especially in combination with underlying mental health issues) narcoleptic sleep deprivation can bypass everything I've described so far, and lead straight into a manic state. You won't necessarily find that on Google, but it's been my experience.

That's obviously not what the text is implying. "Alive and sparkling" is just a very relatable description. And we do often see Moist getting away from himself, speaking without thinking, making absurd promises that he justifies immediately afterwards as Just Part Of Being Him, always raising the stakes.

And here are a couple of excerpts from Raising Steam that could be interpreted as Moist being a light sleeper, AKA struggling to get deep sleep:

1. "And slowly Moist shut down, although a part of him was always listening to the rhythm of the rails, listening in his sleep, like a sailor listening to the sounds of the sea."

2. "All Moist's life he'd managed to find a way of sleeping in just about every circumstance and, besides, the guard's van was somehow the hub of the train; and although he didn't know how he did it, he always managed to sleep with half of one ear open."

Moist is exactly the kind of opportunist to see that as a useful tool, isn't he?

III. Hypnagogic and Hypnopompic Hallucinations.

These are hallucinations that come on as you're falling asleep or waking up. They can also happen during REM intrusions while you're awake. My most memorable ones include piano notes, someone calling my name, being trapped in the waves of a large body of water, and a huge truck going over a guard rail and tumbling down a hill. These are often, but not always, accompanied by sleep paralysis (and sleep paralysis is often, but not always, accompanied by hallucinations).

In GP, Moist casually cites his own hallucinations as proof that what is happening at the post office is not one.

"They're all alive! And angry! They talk! It was not a hallucination! I've had hallucinations and they don't hurt!"

Obviously that's not true for everyone, but it's true for Moist, and he has enough experience that he immediately recognizes the difference.

At one point while awake, Moist "[snaps] out of a dream of chandeliers" to realize someone has approached him to talk, while he was busy having visions of what the post office used to look like/could look like again.

Now, that's cheating, because we're probably supposed to assume it's a side effect of being possessed, but... I'm putting it here anyway.

There is also perhaps a case to be made for the tendency of Moist's internal monologue to lapse into extremely specific and prolonged hypotheticals. The lines between hallucinations, waking dreams, and "regular" daydreams have always been very blurry to me. I'm especially curious about the example at the end of Going Postal, which goes like this:

"Look, I know what I'm like," he said. "I'm not the person everyone thinks I am. I just wanted to prove to myself I'm not like Gilt. More than a hammer, you understand? But I'm still a fraud by trade. I thought you knew that. I can fake sincerity so well that even I can't tell. I mess with people's heads—"

"You're fooling no one but yourself," said Miss Dearheart, and reached for his hand.

Moist shook her off, and ran out of the building, out of the city, and back to his old life, or lives, always moving on, selling glass as diamond, but somehow it just didn't seem to work anymore, the flair wasn't there, the fun had dropped out of it, even the cards didn't seem to work for him, the money ran out, and one winter in some inn that was no more than a slum he turned his face to the wall—

And an angel appeared.

"What just happened?" said Miss Dearheart.

Perhaps you do get two...

"Only a passing thought," said Moist.

In-universe... what is Adora reacting to? What did just happen? The fact that these incidents are not isolated to Going Postal is a point against it being some sort of literal timeline divergence caused by The Spirit Of The Post.

So maybe Moist visibly zoned out. Maybe he had some kind of minor but noticeable cataplexy attack (more on those later) as part of a REM intrusion, brought on by the intense emotions he's currently struggling with.

IV. Vivid Dreams.

Again, at least some of this is probably supposed to be part of the possession, but I've been professionally projecting myself onto the surreal dreams of magically afflicted characters for years. Do try this at home.

1. "Moist dreamed of bottled wizards, all shouting his name. In the best tradition of awaking from a nightmare, the voices gradually became one voice, which turned out to be the voice of Mr. Pump, who was shaking him."

2. Moist is uneasy about the Smoking Gnu's plan, and then he has an extremely detailed dream about the Grand Trunk burning down.

This culminates in "Moist awoke, the Grand Trunk burning in his head," followed by a paragraph of him thinking things through and starting to form his own alternative plan, followed immediately by "Moist awoke. He was at his desk, and someone had put a pillow under his head."

So he fell asleep at his desk, woke up from a vivid nightmare, was awake just long enough for a coherent train of thought, and then passed back out. Which once again is not "proof" of anything, but fits the predetermined interpretation like a glove.

V. Cataplexy.

Cataplexy is a sudden loss of muscle control, usually triggered by strong emotions. This is thought to be a facet of REM intrusion—waking instances of the atonia that is meant to stop us from acting out our dreams.

The most well-known manifestation is laughter making your knees buckle, but it's not always that severe. My own attacks range from facial twitching, usually when I'm angry or otherwise extremely upset, to all-over weakness/immobilization and near-collapse when I laugh. My knees have fully buckled once or twice.

This is the biggest stretch. This is the one that is absolutely only there if you've already decided to read entire novels between the lines. It's also not even necessary for the broader headcanon; plenty of people have narcolepsy without cataplexy (or such mild cataplexy that it's never noticeable, or very delayed onset, etc).

However. I am doing this for fun. So I want him to have it. It's also become a major part of how I imagine Moist engaging with emotion, and I'd like to make a case for that.

There are a few scattered references to Moist's legs shaking, or being unsteady, or outright giving way, but there's usually an external physical reason, and/or enough psychological shock to justify it without a medical condition.

The most compelling example I've found so far comes from Moist and Adora's conversation about people expecting Moist to deliver letters to the gods.

"I never promised to—"

"You promised to when you sold them the stamps!"

Moist almost fell off his chair. She'd wielded the sentence like a fist.

"And it'll give them hope," she added, rather more quietly.

"False hope," said Moist, struggling upright.

"Almost fell off his chair" at first sounds like casual hyperbole, but then "struggling upright" implies it was a bit more literal. It's also an accurate description of me recovering from my more severe attacks, supporting myself on a wall or my spouse, or pushing myself up if I've fallen over in bed.

That happens to me multiple times per day, by the way. It doesn't bother me, and I didn't realize there was anything unusual about it for a long time. I barely think about it, except to fondly note that my spouse is good at making me laugh.

Which is to say, even severe cataplexy is not always noticeable or debilitating. Sometimes it absolutely is! It can be downright dangerous, depending on where you are, what you're doing, and whether you have any other conditions it might exacerbate. I don't want to undermine that.

I am just hell-bent on justifying the idea that this fictional character could have repeated attacks throughout the canonical narrative that are so routine they don't merit an explanation, or even a description. Especially for someone who is used to hiding his few distinguishing features behind false ones that are much more memorable. (See also.)

(That link goes to my own fanfic. Sorry.)

On the milder side, between Going Postal and Making Money, there are three instances of Moist's mouth "dropping open" when he's shocked, upset, confused, or some combination of the three. This is the kind of thing that shows up a lot in fiction, but rarely happens so literally in real life.

(There's technically a fourth instance, but I'm not counting it because it seems to be a deliberate choice on his part to convey surprise.)

And then there's laughter. Or rather, there isn't. I could be missing something, but I've searched all three books for instances of laughter and various synonyms (not counting spoken "Ha!"s), and what I've come up with is:

Moist laughs once in Going Postal, when he receives the assignment for the race to Genua.

Two packages were handed over. Moist undid his, and burst out laughing.

There's also an instance earlier in the book where Moist nearly "burst[s] out laughing."

I find the specifics here interesting, and, for our purposes, fortuitous. Cataplexy is complicated and presents differently for everyone. In my case, when laughter triggers an attack, one of the effects (which is sometimes also a cause) is that I laugh very hard, with little or no control. "Burst out laughing" is quite apt.

Let's move on to Making Money, and start with a quick tangent:

Mr. Bent explains that he has no sense of humor due to a medical condition, and that he isn't upset about this and doesn't understand why people feel sorry for him.

Moist immediately starts in with "Have you tried—" before getting cut off by the frustrated Bent.

Out-of-universe, "Have you tried" is such a well-known refrain to anyone with an incurable condition, I'm not at all surprised to find it in a book written by someone who had at least begun the process that would lead to a diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's. And Pratchett has certainly never shied away from portraying ignorance in his protagonists.

In-universe, it feels a little odd. Moist's tongue runs away from him all the time, but usually in the form of making ridiculous claims or impossible promises. Moist's entire stock-in-trade is People Skills, and it feels strange for him to make this kind of mistake immediately after being told Mr. Bent is not looking for solutions.

But if one were reading with, for instance, the idea in mind that Moist himself has an incurable condition related to laughter and is enthusiastic about, but still relatively new to, the practice of drawing on his own experiences to help people... it is easy to imagine the gears in his head turning the wrong way, superimposing those experiences over the tail end of Mr. Bent's explanation. Disabled people are not immune to these well-meaning pitfalls.

There is another Mr. Bent moment that I want to discuss, but we'll circle back around to it later.

I found two instances of Moist himself laughing in MM.

1. "He said it with a laugh, to lighten the mood a little."

This is deliberate laughter, employed as a social tactic. A polite chuckle, probably. Not the sort of thing that generally triggers cataplexy.

2. "Moist started to laugh, and stopped at the sight of her grave expression."

The first and only involuntary laugh in MM. It doesn't always trigger attacks...

Which brings us to Raising Steam. Compared to the first two books, Moist laughs a lot here. I count nine instances. Two of them are "burst out laughing"s, a couple include him as part of a group, some of it comes off as deliberate, and some of it doesn't.

I've always seen a lot of... rage in Raising Steam. Combing through it for laughter, I realized Moist's emotions in general are much closer to the surface here, and he's much less concerned about letting people see them. He laughs with friends and acquaintances, he cries in front of strangers, he shouts at Harry King, he has that entire conversation with Dick that boils down to "I'm very worried about you," etc.

Opinions vary wildly and sharply on Raising Steam. I have my own hangups with it, as I do with most books in the series. (Every time I make a new Discworld post, Tumblr passive-aggressively suggests the tag "my kingdom for a discworld character who is normal about women and other species.")

But I like this particular change in Moist, and I choose to see it as character development. He's trading in the professional detachment of a conman for the ability to grow into himself as a person and make meaningful connections.

So, what does that have to do with cataplexy? A lot.

I don't want to get too maudlin, so I'll just say I have plenty of personal experience with emotional repression masking cataplexy symptoms. And so, I believe, does the version of Moist we've put together over the course of this post.

Which brings us back to Making Money, and Mr. Bent. He says something about Moist that I find very interesting: "I do not trust those who laugh too easily."

Unless I've missed something, at that point in the book, Moist has never actually laughed in front of him. And Mr. Bent is a man who pays very close attention to details.

So, what is the in-universe explanation for this? I'd like to propose that Moist is very skilled at seeming to laugh, without actually laughing. He smiles, he's friendly, and he makes other people laugh, which is another thing Bent dislikes about him. He gives the impression of being someone who laughs a lot. (He certainly left that impression on me; I was very surprised by the lack of examples in the first two books.)

Even staying strictly within the bounds of canon, it's easy to imagine why this might have become part of Moist's camouflage in his previous life. He wasn't looking to get attached to anyone, and he didn't want anyone getting inside his head. Engaging with people genuinely enough to laugh at their jokes would run counter to both of those things, but some of his personas still needed to come off as friendly and sociable.

Still working within the canon, it makes sense to assume he's similarly distanced himself from emotion in general. He sits in a cell for several weeks without truly believing he's going to die. He's bewildered when Mr. Pump points out that his schemes have hurt innocent people. He has no idea what to do with his feelings for Adora. Etc.

Interpreting Moist as having cataplexy adds an extra element of danger. Moist thrives on danger, but there's a difference between the thrill of a con and the threat of sudden, uncontrollable displays of vulnerability. And so it becomes even easier to see him stifling his own emotional capacity.*

We meet Moist at a moment of great upheaval. He is forcibly removed from his cocoon of false identities, and pushed out into the world as himself. And we are shown and told throughout Going Postal that he does not know how to be himself. (See also.)

He is repeatedly stymied by his own emotions. He gets tongue-tied and confused around Adora, he snaps at Mr. Pump, he lashes out at Mr. Groat, he gets lost in school flashbacks when he meets Miss Maccalariat. This thread continues in Making Money, where the sudden reappearance of Cribbins immediately rattles him into making an uncharacteristic mistake.

I called him Cribbins! Just then! I called him Cribbins! Did he tell me his name? Did he notice? He must have noticed!

Later in the same book, Moist misses a crucial opportunity to run damage control on the bank's public image... because he's excited to see Adora.

The Moist of GP and MM is not used to feeling things so deeply. It throws him off his game. I'm not at all suggesting cataplexy is the only (or even primary) reason for that, but I do think there's room for it on both sides of the cause and effect equation.

With or without the cataplexy, I find Moist's relative emotional openness in Raising Steam... really nice. (It's a work in progress. He's still getting a handle on anger.)

Cataplexy just adds another dimension. A physical manifestation of emotional vulnerability, which would have been especially untenable for a teenager on the run. Just one more facet of the real, human, fallible Moist von Lipwig who spent years buried beneath Albert Spangler and all the rest.

Another piece of himself that Moist is growing to understand and accept, as he learns to more comfortably be himself.

The Moist of Going Postal runs into a burning building to save lives without fully understanding why he wants to, and justifies it on the fly as an essential part of the role he's trying to play.

The Moist of Raising Steam mindlessly throws himself under a train to save two children, and then blows up at Harry King about the lack of safety regulations. Freshly traumatized by the murder of several railway workers and his own violent, vengeful response to it, he still offers, in the face of Harry's own grief, to be the one to inform their families. On a long and dangerous journey with plenty of moving parts to think about, he worries about Dick Simnel and the other engineers, and pushes them to take better care of themselves.

He also meets a bunch of kids who nearly derailed a train as part of a childish scheme. His admonishment is startlingly vivid.

"Can you imagine a railway accident? The screaming of the rails and the people inside and the explosion that scythes the countryside around when the boiler bursts? And you, little girl, and your little friends, would have done all that. Killed a trainload of people."

[...]

"I'll square this with the engine driver, but if I was you I'd get my pencil and turn any clever ideas you have like this into a book or two. Those penny dreadfuls are all the rage in the railway bookshops."

Maybe what he is also saying, between the lines, is:

I left home at 14 and began a life of smoke and mirrors. I was empty inside, and I thought everyone else was, too. It was all fun and games, and then a man made of clay told me I was killing people. Nip it in the bud, child. Write books.

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

*There are studies suggesting that in addition to deliberately employed "tricks," people with cataplexy may experience physiological reactions in the brain meant to inhibit laughter. (Source 1, Source 2.)

Most of the information here is way over my head, but that second link also says "one region of the brain called the zona incerta (meaning 'zone of uncertainty') was only activated during laughter in people with narcolepsy, not in controls. Research on the zona incerta in animals suggests that it also helps to control fear-associated behavior."

The linked article about that (https://www.nature.com/articles/s41467-018-03581-6) is also over my head, but I would certainly describe Moist von Lipwig as having unusual fear responses.**

**Narcolepsy is a fun roller-coaster ride of constant scientific discoveries about exactly which parts of your brain are paying too much attention, not paying enough attention, or trying to eat each other.

#moist von lipwig #narcolepsy #discworld #disabled headcanons #oh my god this got so out of hand #earned itself a title AND a subtitle #mr. cybulskis i'm sorry i fell asleep in your class every day it was at the exact wrong time and temperature and lighting

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deadpcnned · 3 years

Text

the gamble of the heart | chapter 1 (r.l.)

chapter one: certain uncertainty

series masterlist

pairing: remus lupin x potter!reader

chapter summary: remus reflects on when he lost the person he held closest to his heart.

warnings: swearing

wordcount: 2.2k

a/n: hi! this is a new remus series i’m working on. WARNING it’s going to be slowburn. hope you enjoy <33

REMUS LUPIN was never one to rely on the idea of certainty. In his sixteen years of life, Remus had gathered that the way the world worked didn’t allow for anything to be certain. For example, he could have been certain that the only peculiar thing about him would have been that he was a wizard (and really this was only peculiar to unknowing muggles). However, at the age of four, his life went off track and he was suddenly a werewolf and had no understanding of what that meant. It wasn’t always bad, however. Sometimes life was uncertain in a good way. At one time Remus was certain that a life of isolation was a fate he would have to accept, but within his first day at Hogwarts, he was proven wrong.

And so, Remus decided that it was okay that virtually nothing was certain. He had even begun enjoying the uncertainty of life at times. He enjoyed not knowing what crazy adventure his mates and him would journey through next and he even liked the uncertainty of what subjects he would have to tackle next in his favorite classes. Which is why he couldn’t understand why he was surprised by the events unfolding now. His relationship with Y/N hadn’t even been official, yet he was stuck pondering over her recent actions instead of the notes laid out in front of him. He knew he hadn’t imagined the feelings that had been growing between the two of them and he had the image of intimate touches ingrained in his mind as proof of that. So, why? Why had she stopped looking at Remus like he held the stars in his hands? Why had she trained her sight on that lousy Ravenclaw instead? Why was she holding his hands in the halls, when the two of them had never even been so publicly affectionate? But most importantly, why was he so surprised by the uncertainty of it all?

A part of Remus - the part that resonated with his younger self most - knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew it was unlikely that any girl, especially a girl as captivating as Y/N, would have been interested in him for long. Not only was he singularly boring in his opinion, but he was a monster. The other part of Remus - the part he had spent years working on - couldn’t understand why she was suddenly acting like she forgot he existed. He knew they worked well together. He knew that he understood her in a way no one else had. He knew that he was perfect for her. Or at least he’d say he was.

“What did that poor piece of parchment ever do to you, Moony?” A voice behind him pulled him out of his thoughts and Remus’ eyes flickered down to the notes in front of him. He had been holding his inked up quill to the paper for so long it had created a hole that was getting bigger from the severity of his hold. Dropping the quill, Remus looked up to see Peter stood in the doorway.

“Uh, must’ve zoned out,” Remus muttered, sending Peter a lackadaisical smile. “What are you lot up to?”

“Headed to Hogsmeade. You sure you don’t wanna join, mate? I’m sure you’re not gonna do much good just tearing through your notes. Literally.” Remus ignored Peter’s poor attempt at a pun and considered his options. He really wasn’t doing much good sitting at his desk and he needed to get his mind off certain things. No better way to do that than with the three most troublesome boys.

“Alright, yah,” Remus nodded his head at Peter who was frowning. “You’re right, Pete. No point in tearing through my notes.” Content with Remus’ validation, Peter led the two out of their dorm and down to the common room.

“YES! Prongs, we’ve got Moony on board!”

—

Being at Hogsmeade during the start of the year always felt odd. Remus would argue that it was one of those things that only made sense during the holidays. He had gotten into many heated debates with James about whether Hogsmeade could be considered fun this early in the school year. James would start by explaining September was the holidays and Remus would remind him that Christmas wasn’t for another few months. But he didn’t feel like striking that kind of conversation today. Normally, he’d have Y/N to back him up.

Remus entered The Three Broomsticks with his spirits a lot higher than they had been a half-hour ago. As much as he renounced being too sure about anything, he was certain he could never be bored when he was with his friends. He prayed nothing would put a damper on his mood, but the world didn’t work the way he wanted. He had heard her before he saw her. The familiar laugh had him looking over his shoulder and following Y/N’s figure from the door.

The Y/H/C haired girl was walking hand in hand with Mason Tomlinson as they looked for a seat in the corner of the establishment. As though she felt eyes on her, she turned to the table the boys sat at and waved kindly. Remus wanted to roll his eyes at her gesture but thought better of it.

“I don’t understand when that even happened,” Sirius mumbled, his eyes still trained on Y/N.

“Apparently they were paired up for a project,” James shook his head slightly before turning to look back at his friends. “You’d think she’d tell her bloody cousin she was seeing someone, wouldn’t you?” Y/N hadn’t been seen by the group of boys as often as they usually did in the past few weeks and Remus could tell it was rubbing James the wrong way. Actually, all of them seemed annoyed by her absence.

“Two weeks… I swear that’s how long the two have known each other,” Peter commented. “Remus, did she ever say anything about him - OUCH!”

All three boys were now staring at Remus with guilty expressions on their faces (except Peter, who seemed to also be holding his leg in pain). Remus simply shook his head and gave him a shrug in response.

“I’m sorry, Remus,” Sirius started and this time Remus didn’t stop his eyes from rolling. “I really did think the two of you were going to get together.” Remus froze, halting the way he was nervously pulling at his napkin under the table. He had expected pitying looks or impetus questions, but he hadn’t expected that. Remus hadn’t expected to be confronted with the exact thought that had been haunting him. When would he learn he really couldn’t expect shit?

“No idea what you mean, mate,” Remus spoke, trying to appear much more nonchalant than he felt. “Haven’t even spoken to her in weeks. Why would we be together?” The three pairs of eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, before Sirius began to nod.

“Right… Well, boys, I think it's time for some more butterbeer.” Remus’ friends continued with their night, but all Remus could do was stare at the manifestation of his nightmares. Y/N had her elbow resting on the table in front of her and was running her hand up and down the length of Mason’s arm. From what Remus could see Mason's other arm was placed against her hip and he was leaning closer. Within moments Remus’ stomach was lurching forward as he watched Y/N’s lips meet with Mason’s to kiss him passionately. If it had been any other person he would’ve been gagging at the crude disregard of their surroundings, but at the current moment, it was as though he was stuck. He couldn’t look away and he couldn’t vomit the sight away. He was stuck watching Y/N crush his heart into pieces without even lifting a finger.

“Don’t stare, Remus,” James’ words could’ve been taken as a joke, but Remus knew why he was saying them. He didn’t want Remus hurting.

“Merlin, I don’t understand what has gotten into her,” Sirius, seemingly not learning from his prior mistake, was looking at Y/N again. “That’s not like her, she doesn’t mouth fuck people in public.”

“Sirius!” James and Remus had yelled at the same time.

“That’s so vulgar!”

“That’s my cousin!”

“Oh please, Moony. Like you don’t have the mouth of a sailor. James, I do apologize for talking about your very innocent cousin that way, but there is no other way to explain whatever that is.” James smacked Sirius on the back of his head and the two began to argue amongst themselves, but Remus was too distracted to care about what they were saying.

Sirius was right. It wasn’t like Y/N to get into a relationship so fast and even more unlike her to be so publicly affectionate. But then again, he wondered how much of that was dependent on who was sitting beside her. Maybe she was only affectionate when it wasn’t him crowding the seat next to her. Did they even know Y/N? Did he know her? Remus thought back to the first time he had ever felt a sense of mutual understanding between the two.

The Gryffindor common room was quieter than usual as a group of five 3rd years faced the welcoming fireplace. Remus, James, Sirius, Peter, and Y/N had opted to stay at Hogwarts instead of going to Hogsmeade that weekend and were glad they had. Other than his friend group, Remus noted that the common room was empty which meant they could do anything without prying eyes. They seized the opportunity by playing Wizard Chess and munching on some leftover candy Y/N had from a previous Hogsmeade trip.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius whined, as he pushed the table in front of him. “How? Again?” Remus just shrugged as he motioned for Peter to take Sirius’ spot across from him. They had all agreed they would have a tournament of sorts and whoever won would get to be the one who executed their next prank. This prank was especially exciting because it was going to be affecting anyone who was innocently spending time in the Slytherin common room next Thursday.

“No way,” Peter tutted, crossing his arms across his chest. “I’m not playing just to lose.”

“Peter, the rules were the winner plays the next contestant,” Remus argued. He knew he was undoubtedly the best at Wizarding Chess amongst the five of them and he took pride in any moments he could use that to his advantage.

“Moons, just let me play Peter,” Sirius started. At Remus’ look of dissent, he continued, “Come on, do you even care about actually being the one that says the incantation?” Remus considered this. He didn’t actually care, but he did want to win.

“No,” The voice came from the body next to him and Remus looked up to see Y/N shaking her head. “You can’t make the rules and then change them just because Remus is better than you.”

“Shut up, you Hufflepuff,” James taunted. The Marauders had often told Y/N she would’ve been suitable for Hufflepuff because of how highly she valued fairness. Even if it was something as small as a game, she wanted to see the right thing done. Remus admired that. He figured if more people did that, the world would be a hell of a better place.

“Eh, let ‘em play. They won’t let me hear the end of it once I win,” Remus uprooted from his spot on the floor and took a seat next to Y/N. The pair sat back as they watched their friends banter and laugh amongst themselves. Remus had only known the lot of them for three years, but he knew that moments like these would be life-altering for him. He had come a long way from the glum eleven-year-old who thought he deserved to be alone. He still battled with whether he deserved the love he received, but he was slowly learning he did. And the only reason he was ever able to get this far in that journey was because of the four smiling idiots around him.

When James began to chase Peter around the common room, Remus turned his face to the side just as Y/N did and the two of them just smiled at each other. It was like they were both thinking the same things, but Remus had no way of knowing. Y/N and he had always been friends, but they rarely spent time alone the way he did with Sirius and the way she did with James. It wasn’t weird, it was just the dynamic of their group. But at that moment, as they laughed with each other, he felt like he had known her for years. He felt like she was agreeing with him on how much these people meant to both of them. He was probably projecting, but it made him feel warm with comfort. At the time he didn’t know that she would soon grow to be one of the closest friends he’d ever have, but he found solace in that random second of certain uncertainty.

tiny little taglist: @kitkatkl

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin series #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin imagine #marauders x reader #marauders imagine #marauders fanfiction #potter!reader #remus lupin x potter!reader #remus lupin angst #andrew garfield #andrew garifield x reader

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yukisohmasmokesweed · 3 years

Text

I recently watched 1x10 for the pod and realized just how much of a peek-behind-the-curtain episode this is for Shigure. The episode does a great job breaking down Shigure’s motivations, agenda, and objective as well as exploring some of his morality and self-perception in a really subtle and nuanced way. I wanted to break down what exactly was said in the episode and what the subtext is showing us about who Shigure is and what he wants: an obsessive man who puts his selfish desires first, always, all while trapping himself deeply within the very curse that he is trying to break.

Motivation: The Dream

Each zodiac’s curse manifests in different ways. For example, Yuki experiences the curse through the lens of social isolation and self-blame, Kyo through familial rejection and projected blame, Hatori through resignation and grief, Ritsu through extreme guilt, etc. Shigure’s manifests as obsession.

This dream was something special to all of them, but it soured over time. The anime implies for Hatori that it was because of Kana,

but I believe that was the last straw in a haystack of crushing oppression for Hatori (see: having the ability to erase memories and being expected to carry out the task no matter who it hurts by the family as a whole, Akito, and his father, who also had this power). As for Ayame, he does not fit in with the Sohma’s traditionalism and conservatism and he never attempted to do so, and as an adult he has done everything he can to divorce himself from the Sohma image—going into a non-traditional and arguably taboo field of work, moving away from the estate, and keeping secrets from the family, even his own brother. Kureno is a special case and Ritsu was too young to remember this. For Shigure though, he became obsessed with this feeling, and because he didn’t have the bad experiences Hatori had growing up or chafe too hard against the family culture like Ayame, it became a life-long obsession that, over time, shifted from chasing that “feeling” to chasing Akito as an individual.

A note about the Dog: The Year of the Dog’s defining trait is loyalty, but they are also notably stubborn. This doesn’t speak to the authorial intent (Takaya added the zodiac aspect to the story late in the game, after their characters was set), but I also think that Shigure being the Dog is a great indicator as to why, out of everyone, Shigure’s curse manifests as obsession, and why he’s in love with Akito despite Akito’s treatment of him, the other zodiacs, and other people as a whole.

Agenda: Emotional manipulation

Shigure believes that the curse has weakened over time. The dragon was apparently not always a seahorse, which implies that the magic is weakening, and this is the first time in a long time where all of the zodiacs have been alive at the same time. Due to this as well as their closeness in age and the agitation present between Akito and the zodiacs, Shigure thinks that this is the curse’s last hurrah before breaking.

Shigure wants to speed up the process by exacerbating what he believes to be an already unraveling curse by turning the zodiacs against Akito, showing them that their lives have meaning and potential outside of the curse, and influencing them to start questioning the narrative around the curse as a whole as well as the ones around each of their individual zodiacs.

The curse’s most obvious effect is the physical one, but the emotional component is arguably much more significant. This is why Shigure is agitating the zodiac’s emotions. He often says things he knows will hurt them, but instead of hurling insults like Akito, what he says challenges the zodiac’s beliefs about themselves, one another, the curse, and Sohma family as a whole. He is aiming for their internal lives and beliefs in a way that makes his meddling seem almost invisible; he manipulates through influence instead of force, orchestrating it so that the zodiacs feel as if they have come to a new conclusion on their own. Here is how 1x10 shows us that tactic:

Shigure is trying to push Kyo into realizing that his feelings for Yuki are more influenced by the Sohmas than he thinks they are (implication of the word “duty,” that it’s not something Kyo chose for himself), and that if he takes a step back from the situation that he might see that him and Yuki have more in common than he thinks (”afraid of getting to know him”).

However, this doesn’t work, and it’s directly because Shigure has known who he is and what he wants since childhood. He has never had to struggle with his own personhood, identity, isolation, and blame the way that Kyo has—not to say that he hasn’t at all, but not to the extent of the Cat. Shigure logically knows why Kyo hates Yuki, but he can’t put himself in Kyo’s shoes because their experience with the curse are too different; Shigure fully embraced the curse, falling into obsession over it and making the choice to permanently attach himself to Akito, and that decision is rewarded for the most part. Kyo, on the other hand, has spent his entire life being rejected and ostracized by his family as well as being scapegoated for things he had no control over. Kyo’s issues with blame and isolation are not something that Shigure can empathize with, leading him to get frustrated with Kyo’s stubbornness and pushing Kyo too hard before he’s ready. All in all it’s not bad advice, but Kyo’s issues run extremely deep, and Shigure got impatient. This scene is Shigure messing up, indelicately going to the heart of the matter because his timeline of events is moving slower than he bargained for, and he accidentally shows his hand because of it.

Objective: Akito

Shigure’s objective is to be on equal terms with Akito and pursue a real relationship with them. The only way to do this is to break the curse, freeing Shigure from Akito’s power and taking Akito’s command over him away, as well as undermining the importance of the other zodiacs in Akito’s life.

The anime does a nice job portraying this to us subtextually by visually juxtaposing the relationships that are the main focus of this episode:

Tohru lowers herself to meet Kyo where he is, whereas Shigure positions himself physically above Akito. The former is a relationship built on equality and mutual trust, the latter one on an inherent and unavoidable power imbalance, resulting in jealousy, toxicity, and a constant struggle for power.

At first glance the shot of Shigure and Akito would imply that Shigure is the one with the power due to their positioning, but it is Akito who has the power. Akito doesn’t stand up to greet him, simply expecting Shigure to come to them and bend at the waist to accommodate their position. Shigure tries to assert his power here by being physically larger and looming, but Akito is so confident in theirs that they wordlessly watch as Shigure does the exact thing Akito wanted.

Morality: Always looking out for #1

Shigure’s goal is a selfish one, and he has leaned into that completely. He is gloatingly self-aware, which allows him to further his plans without any moral qualms in the way.

The inner circle of the Sohma family has a strong culture of pervasive cruelty. We see it over and over again—Kyo’s treatment by the people around him, Haru’s, Yuki’s, Hatori’s, Rin’s, etc etc. Cruelty is extremely normalized within the family, and you can see even in this fairly casual conversation that Shigure and Hatori take shots at one another (other scenes where this happens between them include 2x7, 2x25, off the top of my head). The line of what is deemed “acceptable” in a larger societal sense is much farther for the Sohma family, and this greatly influenced Shigure’s sense of morality and decency. He is intelligent enough to know that hurting others is wrong, but it’s what has been modeled for him his entire life and something he’s participated in before for various reasons. Hurting others is normal for him and of a small blip in his radar in the grand scheme of things.

Shigure’s morals are warped, but he is also extremely intelligent as well as in touch with his emotions. He is aware that if Tohru gets hurt that it will hurt him in turn, both because she is an outsider whose life he is playing with and because he can’t help but care about her (which is what makes her so good for his plans), but his end goal is overall more important to him than his or anyone else’s emotions in the moment.

Self-perception:

All the other zodiacs hold some level of resentment towards Akito and the curse, but Shigure doesn’t resent Akito. He resents the curse because it’s standing between him and a real relationship with Akito, but not Akito themselves. Since childhood, Shigure has been unapologetically obsessed with Akito, and the power of that obsession and the intensity of the bond has led Shigure to live a one-track life, disregarding the pain of people close to him to feed his own selfish desires, going so far as to willingly dirty Tohru, an outsider and a child, to enable his plans. The others live in misery that has been forced onto them; Shigure picked his poison and never plans on letting it go.

Conclusion: Shigure is a nasty little man

1x10 is an excellent look into Shigure’s inner life and ultimate goals. It very clearly shows us that he is motivated by a love that was initially the pure love of a child-turned-dark and desperate. His motivations are selfish, his actions hurtful and oftentimes callous, and his morality twisted by both the family culture and his own doing. This episode does an amazing job juxtaposing Shigure’s unique relationship with the curse against Kyo’s as two ends of the extreme: the former is trying to break the curse so he can have an individual, the latter desperate to be included in the curse so he can find acceptance from the group. Shigure is an underhanded character who very rarely says what he wants outright, but the subtext of this episode is full of great little moments to spell out what Shigure’s game is and how he plans on winning it.

#shigure sohma #fruits basket #fruits basket 2019 #fruits basket reboot #fruits basket meta #meta???#takes a huge bong rip

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bytheangell · 3 years

Note

May I please request a song fic for Kit with Into the Unknown as he starts coming into his faerie heritage pretty pretty please?

Into the Unknown (Read on AO3)

It’s strange, the way things seem to fall into place once Kit becomes aware of the Shadow World. At first, there was too much happening around him for Kit to focus on the more subtle aspects of the changes within himself - life immediately after his father’s death was a whirlwind of chaos and adventure alongside the Blackthorns. Though he often finds himself missing those times (and one of the Blackthorns in particular), his current living situation is much better suited for a proper adjustment into this new world. His new world.

The shift to the quiet and unassuming life he now has with Jem and Tessa is jarring, but not entirely unwelcome. It gives him time to figure out who he is, outside of Johnny Rook’s kid and outside of his involvement with the Blackthorns. It gives him time to start fresh, with no entanglements and no expectations: just a new Shadowhunter studying runes and angel names and Nephilim history. He feels almost normal, or at least as normal as being a Nephilim can feel.

Still… the desire to learn more about his past - about his heritage and the full story of The Lost Herondale and everything that comes with it - is strong. He’s curious, who wouldn’t be? A few talks with Jace leave Kit with the reassurance that family name identity crises are apparently a common Herondale past-time, which doesn’t make him feel any better over how detached he feels about all of these potential identities. Jem and Tessa are quick to reassure him that, despite taking him in, they certainly don’t expect him to consider himself a Carstairs or a Gray now… except he almost wishes they did. At least it’d take away the uncertainty he feels.

But it isn’t the Rook, Carstairs, Gray, or Herondale names that pique his curiosity - it’s his faerie lineage.

At first, he does his best to ignore it. He’s here now, with Jem and Tessa and Mina, and everything is fine. Fine, as far as Kit is concerned, is better than the alternative of not fine, which is what he’d be if he went sticking his nose into places it doesn’t belong. The burst of magic he used to vanish the steeds of the Riders of Mannan was as terrifying as it was impressive… and honestly, Kit isn’t sure he wants to do anything like that ever again. The fact that Jem and Tessa had to ensure no one saw, covering it up like a dirty secret, was proof enough that it wasn’t anything good. It’s certainly not something to be heralded or exalted like Clary and Jace’s special abilities.

Kit tells himself he’s fine as he is, that he’s content to be a Shadowhunter and that’s it. Everyone he knows, everyone he cares about, is right here (or a quick portal away, should he choose, to the LA Institute). He had plenty of danger and uncertainty in his life up to this point, and he doesn’t need to go inviting more now that things are finally settling down to something good. He’s happy here, and he doesn’t want to ruin that - not for him, or for Jem and Tessa.

Except he can’t ignore the little voice in the back of his head reminding him that there’s more to him than just being a Shadowhunter, however scary that may be. He may not have the pointed ears and other features that Helen and Mark share, but he has a faerie heritage just the same. It feels almost disrespectful to everything Jem and Tessa have given him to want to explore that other side of him, especially after he learns of all the prejudices against the Fey. If that’s a life he can stay out of, why wouldn’t he?

He’s a Shadowhunter. These people are his people, and that’s enough. It has to be.

Kit almost convinces himself he can leave it alone that easily, but it doesn’t last for long. As often as he wishes the curiosities from his mind would go away, they don’t. The thoughts remain as stubborn as he is. Kit feels the draw, the desire to know more, the call of powers he doesn’t understand. He ignores it as long as he can… he ignores it until he can’t any longer.

The idea of what he might be capable of keeps him up at night. Finally he caves and starts doing some research on his own, both online and in the wealth of books Jem and Tessa have here. He can’t find any concrete answers, though - in fact, once he starts looking online every time he finds one bit of information he stumbles across a new one that directly contradicts the first.

He wants to ask for help. He wants to ask Jem to take him to the Shadow Market, or for Tessa to see if there are any answers in the Spiral Labyrinth, but he doesn’t. What if it’s a mistake? What if it isolates him from the only family he has right now, and for what? To jump into the unknown of an entire realm of beings who may want nothing to do with him?

It takes some time before the draw becomes greater than his fear and hesitation. He doesn’t notice it at first, but it manifests in small ways. He’s found outside more and more often. He tends to the plants on the property instinctively, and they flourish under his care. Once or twice he finds himself following the sound of small, soft voices that he swears are calling to him, only to end up at a curious patch of flowers or a small body of water, alone.

Sometimes it happens without thinking, such as when he’s running through the woods and thick roots shrink back so he doesn’t trip over them, or mounds of earth rise up in front of him to provide leverage to jump a fence or reach a low branch on a tree to climb when he’s certain it hadn’t been that way moments before. Other times it’s intentional, like when he’s out training one night, tracking a relatively harmless, low-level demon, and wills a nearby tree to shift so that its branches hang lower to provide him cover. He places his hand on the tree, connecting to it, asking for aid purposefully. And then one day, when he’s alone in the woods and hears a noise coming toward him, a large, pointed spear grows itself from the roots of the tree next to him, a weapon at the ready when he’d been previously unarmed. How?! Had he done that, or had the nature around him sensed his distress and come to his aid on its own?

He says nothing about it to anyone, not until Jem brings his powers up first. It happens while they’re walking through a local park, pushing Mina around in a carrier. Without realizing he’s even doing it, Kit wanders away from Jem and Mina and into a nearby treeline. He only notices he’s strayed when he comes across a circular clearing in a tight cluster of trees, one that feels powerful, one that feels natural to want to be near. In fact, Kit feels the overwhelming desire to reach out, but to what he isn’t certain.

Come with us. Come to us. You belong with us. To us.

Kit has no doubt that the words are whispered on the wind by one of the Fey. Or maybe several fey, because the pull he feels is strong, nearly overwhelming.

“Who are you?” he asks aloud. “Do you know who I am? Can you… can you…” but what does he want to ask them? Can they tell him who he is, in a way he hasn’t figured out for himself yet? Can they show him how to control the things that happen to him even when he doesn’t mean for them to? Can they actually take him into this world he’s suddenly so desperate to experience?

Kit takes a step forward, and then another, until the constant soft whisper of voices ends abruptly, as does the warmth of the energy around him. They’re gone. He knows that for certain, despite the fact that he hadn’t seen them there in the first place.

“This isn’t the first entry point to the Seelie Realm you’ve been drawn to, you know,” Jem says from behind him, holding Mina in his arms after following him through the small patch of trees.

Kit doesn’t know, but he isn’t surprised to hear it. Just another instinctive thing, like gardening, like the weapon in the woods.

“I was waiting for you to come to us about it,” Jem adds.

“I thought about it,” Kit admits. “But after everything you’ve done for me…”

Jem’s look of curiosity softens as Kit’s words trail off and his gaze lowers to the grass below.

“You always have a home with us, but you aren’t obligated to it,” Jem reassures him. “Just as you aren’t obligated to pursue knowledge of the Fair Folk, either. It’s up to you.”

Kit wonders if he should have any decisions left to him at this point because he can’t shake the feeling that every turn he takes is wrong. He feels the ache of missing Ty, and even Dru and the others, every day. And now he has to decide if he wants to follow a path that may take him away from the only other people who have shown him kindness since his father died?

But standing here, feeling the energy from the entrance to a realm that calls to him stronger and more frequently ever since he opened the floodgate of tapping into his fey abilities, he realizes a part of him already knows what his answer will be.

“Will they even let me in?” Kit asks, reaching a hand through the air in front of him, half-expecting a portal to open right then and there now that he’s willing to take the risk.

“Not on your own. There are too many rules you don’t know, too many ways they would trick you into getting stuck there forever. The land under the hill is dangerous for anyone who does not live there,” Jem explains.

Kit wonders how close he just came to that very fate, if he’d followed the voices without question, or if Jem hadn’t shown up when he did.

“So I shouldn’t go,” Kit says, unable to keep the disappointment from his tone.

“I’m not saying that,” Jem corrects. “I said you shouldn’t go on your own. I have a few connections I can reach out to, to find you a proper guide - someone who can answer more of your questions than I can.”

Kit considers the offer, fighting the temptation to immediately roll his eyes and insist he can take care of himself. Finally, he nods.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Thank you,” he adds, surprised to hear the relief behind the words.

“You’re welcome,” Jem smiles. “Now, let’s get back before poor Tessa starts to worry.”

Later that night Kit comes down from his room to find Jem fast asleep on top of a spread of handwritten notes and open books. Creeping closer, Kit finds that they’re all about Faerieland, or fey abilities, or accounts of half-faeries throughout history. Among some of the things Jem wrote are ‘Bring more plant life into the house?’, a list of Seelies he knows to reach out to on behalf of Kit, and tips on channeling and harnessing intuitive magic.

Jem is going out of his way to learn whatever he can to help Kit, and the realization that he isn’t going to be alone in this is all Kit needs to know that he’s making the right call. He isn’t abandoning one life for another just because he’s curious. He doesn’t have to, not with Jem and Tessa going out of their way to give him anything he needs, whatever that may be at the moment.

Kit doesn’t wake Jem up, and instead wanders over to the window, looking up at the stars. He hears the call, he feels the pull, but he stays put for now. Because it isn’t a secret to keep hidden any longer - he has support now, and soon he’ll have a path and people to help guide him. There’s a difference, he’s learning, between being able to take care of himself, and needing to take care of himself.

There’s a lot of uncertainty in his future, danger both known and unknown, but one glance back at Jem reminds him that he doesn’t have to run off and try to face it alone.

More importantly, for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to.

#kit herondale #jem carstairs #tessa gray #tsc #fanfic #I really hope you like this!#I wanted to explore him feeling a pull but also had a sudden bout of found family feels where I didn't want him to run off on his own #so i fused the two and I hope it turned out alright!#and thanks for sending this prompt in! it was really fun to explore!#also since they never explain a ton about fey magic I decided i wanted it to be very nature-based like a 'the land gives back' sort of vibe #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #long post #ask rune #anon glamour activated

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californiannostalgia · 4 years

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Tangled the Series Character Analysis: Childhood Trauma POV

I can't believe Tangled the Series really created two incredible antivillains and threw them in direct contrast with the pre-existing golden couple. I love what the showrunners did with the main quartet, so I made a very subjective analysis post about it from a Childhood Trauma POV. (Spoilers, obviously.)

The Boys

The series' focus is on Rapunzel, and by association her direct opposite, Cassandra, so the boys get comparatively less screen time. But it doesn't take long to figure out that Varian is meant to be a parallel for Eugene—these are two people dealing with the absence of parental guardians, struggling to reconcile the lives they previously had with their changing ideals in relation to a less-than-perfect Father Figure.

They both respond to the helpless state of being young, alone, and powerless by trying to take back power in any way they can. Eugene reinvented himself and buried his desires for a family. Varian throws in everything he has into recovering what he lost, because he's a child and the best solution he can think of is to return to the familiar safety of his father's presence. A significant portion of his desperation is fueled by fear of his father’s disapproval, because as much as Quirin loves Varian, he wasn’t the dependable voice of support. Varian needs approval from outside sources, which was also Flynn Rider’s purpose in life, once upon a time. (Again, parallels.)

Throughout the series, the boys' relationship with each other transforms from exasperated incomprehension to easy understanding. The process is hastened as Eugene lets himself realize he cares a lot about troubled kids who remind him of himself. He becomes aware that children should not be required to survive on their own like he and Lance had. Spurred on by his significant other's love and encouragement, Eugene is able to acknowledge the adverse affects of his childhood on his life and start moving on. His extending a ready hand to Varian is his process of healing. Though Eugene's first priority will always be Rapunzel, he truly wants to save Varian from the uncontrollable volatility of risky decisions because he knows that downward spiral intimately.

Of course, there is a difference between thieving from the rich and planning the destruction of a kingdom. We'll get to that later.

The Girls

Rapunzel and Cassandra are the biggest driving forces of narrative power in the show, and they are survivors of child abuse. Every one of the main quartet has Parent Issues, but Rapunzel takes the crown (figuratively speaking) with this one. She was kidnapped and groomed into a life-giving doll, and she was only able to escape her abusive adoptive mother through incredibly traumatizing means. For Cassandra, it was neglect, and even her loving adoptive father couldn't leviate the scars left on her childhood mind.

They're a classic case of Golden Child vs. Scapegoat, which is a common case seen in siblings raised by Narcissistic parents. When one child is "favored" more than the other, the kids experience vastly different childhoods, resulting in resentment that stems from their inability to understand each other. Rapunzel and Cassandra are both jealous of what the other had—Rapunzel wants Cassandra's casual, practiced ease with freedom and personal agency, while Cassandra wants the attention and respect that Rapunzel is given by the status of her birth. Because they're unwilling to speak candidly about the unique hardships of their childhood, what results is a series of miscommunications that put a strain on their friendship.

Cassandra and Rapunzel both want the other in their lives, but how they attempt to make that connection is very different. Cassandra wants to be a helpful, essential force in Rapunzel's life. Unfortunately, Rapunzel has been raised on the idea that when push comes to shove, no one will help her survive. Cassandra interprets Rapunzel's desire for independence as Rapunzel scorning the connection that Cassandra is attempting to create. Add in some manipulation from an ancient evil, and Cassandra decides she is done exhausting her emotions for Rapunzel.

Rapunzel, on the other hand, wants absolute honesty in her relationships. Gothel raised her on lies, so she spurns deception. But Cassandra knows the merits of protecting herself by holding her opinions in, which is where the misunderstandings occur. Rapunzel cannot trust someone who isn't completely forthright with her. She's tired of dealing with liars, and she grows afraid that Cassandra will cause her the same pain as Gothel did. But the thing is, Cassandra is not Gothel, and Rapunzel loved Gothel. She couldn't save Gothel, but maybe she can save Cassandra. It's not too late.

Rapunzel doesn't know when to give up on Cassandra because she is aware that she and Cassandra are similar people. Giving up on Cassandra would feel too much like giving up on her own hopes for a happy life. Rapunzel can't let Cassandra be unhappy. This princess cares too much, loves too hard. She never learned how to write people off because you can't survive a childhood like hers with that much cheer if you don't hang onto your optimism like a goddamn lifeline.

This is Rapunzel’s method of taking back power for herself: saving others. Rapunzel could have been Cassandra. Rapunzel is trying to believe she herself is worth saving—therefore, Cassandra must be worth saving as well. Rapunzel's significant other is giving her a stable source of love and support, but without a proper resolution to Cassandra's struggles—a final proof that despite Gothel's influence, they can both be happy—Rapunzel would feel incomplete.

The Golden Couple

At the end of the day, Rapunzel and Eugene are fundamentally good people. If it comes down to it, they would be unable to sacrifice the world for their own desires. (Eugene's thievery doesn't count as an expression of true desire because it was literally his method of survival. An expression of true, selfish desire for him might've been something like manipulation and abduction for the purposes of making people stay, but Eugene is not Gothel and he would never do that to anyone in a million years.) (On a side note, Rapunzel's selfish desire might've manifested in the abandonment of all duties and personal connections in favor of eternal exploration, or revenge towards a kingdom that failed to save her, or a thorough destruction of authority figures—but she loves people too much and would never be able to forsake her family.)

Life threw a lot of rocks at them, but these two came through it marginally well-adjusted. They affirmed their love for each other in a violent, unforgettable manner, which makes it easier for them to trust in each other's affection. Eugene would've been okay with never finding his biological father, just as Rapunzel had been okay with her biological parents' inability to protect her. They have no wish to punish the world for what they suffered. They’re content with who they are. They're just glad they made it, that they're finally allowed to love someone without being afraid. They're each other's saving grace.

The Antivillains

This is the difference between Hero and Antivillain: Cassandra and Varian are willing to punish the world for what happened to them. There’s a very faint line between justified retaliation and venting. In their desperation and anger, they cross the line, and they’re unable to stop themselves once they get going. Unlike the Golden Couple, Cassandra and Varian refuse to settle. They want what is owed.

Also, they really, really hate themselves. (This is important.)

Varian believes Quirin is the ultimate source of affirmation. The fact that he lost his father by way of his own dangerous experiment, coupled with the fact that no one prioritizes his call for help in the face of national disaster, is enough to make him feel isolated from the world. Though he is burdened with a growing sense of remorse for his deeds, he doesn’t stop resorting to drastic, harmful measures to get his father back until he is forcefully stopped by betrayal from his allies. He finally makes the full transition from “antagonist” to “protagonist” when Rapunzel risks herself to save Quirin from the rocks. If Quirin could not be saved, there’s a possibility Varian might have stayed an antagonist, unenthusiastic though he may have been in his villainous role. As long as Quirin is trapped in those rocks, Varian remains the villain who put him there.

With Quirin safe, Varian allows himself to take huge steps in healing. He slowly rediscovers his self-worth, one that is separate from Quirin’s approval. Rapunzel—and by extension, Eugene—play the friendly, supportive role to Varian’s ingenuity, helping him along in his quest for self-acceptance. Varian still has trouble working through the heavily ingrained self-hatred, but he recovers enough confidence in his own judgment that he takes Eugene’s warning to heart and is able to install a safety device in his father’s helmet, just in case.

This is the Varian who meets Cassandra in the Tower that once belonged to Gothel. At this point in time, Cassandra has been manipulated into thinking of herself as weak and unimportant in comparison to Rapunzel. Her adoptive father, much like Quirin, was too gruff to be vocal with approvals. Her efforts have not been met with successes. She feels like a failure, and she hates feeling like a failure. This is Cassandra’s method of taking back power: by turning herself into someone unforgettable. If she can make something of herself, she’ll finally be able to prove Gothel wrong. She can be just as special as Rapunzel, if she’s given the chance. She wants that chance.

Similar to Varian, Cassandra doesn’t stop her downward spiral until her supposed ally and mentor betrays her and forcefully takes her power away. Only when there are no options left does she allow herself to admit that she was wrong. She is then rewarded for her honesty with Rapunzel’s love and trust. Armed with a new confidence, the sisters vanquish the evil together in an epic showdown that will long be remembered. Cassandra finally gets her dramatic hero’s tale.

Rapunzel and Eugene have an internal compass that lets them make snap decisions. They don’t have the healthiest self-esteem, but they can at least stand by what they think is right. Comparatively speaking, Cassandra and Varian have terrible self-esteem. They don’t trust their own judgment and are heavily influenced by outside forces. Without the constant barrage of trust and affection from Rapunzel, who is akin to a blazing sun when it comes to personal loyalty, these antivillains might never have reached their redemptive ending. They wouldn’t have been able to let go of their twisted priorities without outside influence. Can’t blame them for it, though.

It’s no surprise that Cassandra and Varian are relatable to many people. Who wouldn’t want to reclaim what was taken from them during childhood? (Of course, the problem occurs when you start hurting others to reclaim what you lost.) Their journey is a different kind of vulnerable from Rapunzel and Eugene’s journey, and it’s extraordinary in its detail. This show is essentially a long exploration of the various ways a parent can mess you up and the coping methods of kids who want to become more than their past, which is totally up my alley of expertise. I’m grateful I got to watch them grow taller than their trauma.

Finally, here’s a parting gif of Lance, because I love him and he’s a well-adjusted ray of sunshine. We all wish we could be as mentally stable as Lance—the main quartet included.

#tangled the series #rapunzel #cassandra #varian #eugene fitzherbert #character analysis #my thoughts #child abuse #trauma recovery #when the villain origin story is self-hatred

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cassyapper · 3 years

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jotaro kujo song analysis: “eight” by sleeping at last

i could not figure out what the fuck to title this for a long time. please forgive me ik it’s awkward but it’s the best i got

anyway the song “eight” by sleeping at last made me mentally ill so let’s get into why <3

here’s a link to the song: https://youtu.be/obi4KCh6eHQ

here’s a link to the lyrics i referenced: https://genius.com/Sleeping-at-last-eight-lyrics

be warned there are part 3, part 4, part 5, and part 6 spoilers in this

with that let’s begin.

“I remember the minute;/it was like a switch was flipped --/i was just a kid who grew up strong enough/to pick this armor up,/and suddenly it fit” Lengthy first line to start this on i know but cutting it up didn’t make sense so please forgive me… Alright let’s get to the meat of this hm? This line is about when jotaro first manifested star platinum. “I remember the minute, it was like a switch was flipped” fits perfectly with how suddenly and obviously star platinum became known to its user, as jotaro first manifests it when he’s in the middle of a fight, a fight star platinum ends very quickly and brutally. The “i was just a kid who grew up strong enough to pick this armor up” is about jotaro having the willpower to control a stand such as star platinum and not get ill over it. He “grew up strong enough to pick this armor up”, this armor being star platinum (which, yes, star platinum is armor more than a weapon because its strength is used to protect. This is stated explicitly in the jin hashimoto song “star platinum” which was written specifically with jotaro/star platinum in mind, as the title suggests). It also shows how young jotaro was re the “kid” description; he was only 17, the youngest jojo up to that point. the “and suddenly it fit” also mixes with how suddenly star platinum manifested, particularly how jotaro gained passable control over it very quickly

“God, that was so long ago, long ago, long ago…/I was little, I was weak, I was perfectly naive,/and I grew up too quick.” Another long line im sorry it just doesnt make sense to cut it up 😭 Anyway this is part 6 jotaro reflecting on his past self, PARTICULARLY part 3 jotaro, which explains the “god, that was so long ago, long ago, long ago…” segment “I was little, i was weak, i was perfectly naive” is kinda gold coming from part 6 jotaro cause end of part 3 jotaro is canonically when he’s at his strongest but i dont think part 6 jotaro is talking about star platinum in this line. He’s talking about jotaro being tactless and rude and pushing away his loved aways in a disillusioned attempt to keep them safe. By part 6, jotaro has to have known his coping mechanism of self-imposed isolation wasnt fair to his loved ones/himself and it clearly didnt WORK as evidenced by jolyne’s situation, so he’s cursing his younger self for it here. Hence, the calling of part 3 jotaro “little, weak, perfectly naive.” part 3 jotaro starts making the bed that part 6 jotaro ends up having to lay in and he hates him for it. The “and I grew up too quick” part is jotaro acknowledging his trauma. Even before part 3 started jotaro clearly had issues and they just kept building and building and building from part 3 and on. Combined with his self-imposed isolation, jotaro had to grow up quick to survive, and this line is part 6 jotaro reflecting on that

“Now you won’t see all that i have to lose,/all i’ve lost in the fight to protect it.” Remember the self-imposed isolation i mentioned in the last line? This line is about why jotaro does that. He hates being vulnerable. He hates relying on others. We only see him comfortable trusting others to take care of things ONCE the entire series, during the steely dan arc, when he believes in kakyoin’s abilities to keep joseph safe and get the lovers out of him safely. ONCE out of the four parts he’s featured in, out of the three he’s prominent in. jotaro does this, as i previously mentioned, out of a disillusioned attempt to keep those he loves safe, hence the “now you won’t see all that i have to lose” line. This behavior is solidified in jotaro at the end of stardust crusaders, when the two final times he tried to trust that others would handle it resulted in the deaths of over of half those he cared the most about (he may have gotten joseph back, but don’t forget that joseph did actually die). Thus, this decisive night ties into the “all i’ve lost in the fight to protect it” line. He’s lost loved ones but he won’t lose them again, not in the same way at least. Ironically, the self-imposed isolation only puts his loved ones and himself in danger, but i can get into that later.

“I won’t let you in, i swore never again --/i can’t afford, no, i refuse to be rejected” This line kinda ties back with what i was mentioning in the last line, but it hones it a bit more on jotaro’s complete denial of being vulnerable rather than how he acts to ensure he isnt such. “I wont let you in, i swore never again” is a direct tie-in for how jotaro feels after stardust crusaders; he is never going to get as close to anyone or anything the way he was close to the crusaders ever again. Nothing is ever going to matter to him the same way and he is going to make sure of that, as the “swore never again” implies, because he is certain, at least at first, that this will keep others safe. The “i can’t afford, no, i refuse to be rejected” part goes into how selfish and arrogant jotaro’s mentality is. Don’t get me wrong, jotaro’s self-imposed isolation can be seen as selfless, especially because the main driving force behind it is to keep others safe -- but it’s not the only force driving it. Like i said, jotaro doesn’t want to be vulnerable, and to be sure he doesnt feel that way, he needs to ensure he won’t be hurt. Can’t be sad when people die if you were never close to them, right? So as much as it is to protect others, he also is protecting himself by closing off from others. It’s also arrogant of jotaro to assume he is the deciding factor of who lives and dies, that he gets to choose/manipulate the cycle of life and death by deciding on if he opens up to others. Jotaro had this mentality of being a “deciding factor” shoved into his head during the journey to egypt, and that kinda warps his worldview as a result; everything must be his fault. Things go bad surely because he let them somehow. And it’s not jotaro’s fault he’s ill in the head like this but it is still arrogant, and the “i can’t afford, no, i refuse to be rejected” line attests to this.

“I want to break these bones until theyre better/i want to break them right and feel alive” Oh jotaro you have the shittiest fuckign coping mechanisms Alright. “I want to break these bones until theyre better” ties into jotaro throwing himself into dangerous situations alone. He’s just so so damn convinced he can handle everything himself -- bc again, he is led to believe he is the deciding factor of life and death -- he just has to try. If things go wrong, it’s bc he didn’t try hard enough, hence the “break these bones until theyre better”; jotaro will hurt himself and will be convinced he deserved it until he “learns” how to be perfect like he’s “supposed” to be. But being perfect isnt something you can learn, you mentally ill motherfucker jotaro. anyway “I want to break them right and feel alive” ties into the fact jotaro would rather break his body over and over and over rather than tell his loved ones he cares. The only right way to be hurt to him is taking a hit that was meant for those he loves. Jotaro is very much a man of action rather than a man of word, and this line is about his rather unique way of acting (that is, getting beat the fuck up over and over) Basically jotaro can’t tell the people he loves that he, well, loves them, unless he is literally dying. Examples of what i mean: jotaro preferred going on a perilous, 50-day journey to just telling holly he loved her; jotaro preferred getting beat over the head with a rock in the lovers arc rather than risk hurting joseph; jotaro preferred to literally get blown up by sheer heart attack rather than tell koichi to his face he is a good kid; jotaro stepped knowingly into a trap for jolyne and had to literally believe he was in fact saying his last words before he uttered “i’ve always cherished you.”

“You were wrong, you were wrong, you were wrong --/my healing needed more than time” Oh my GODDDddDDDdcdd im sobbing as i type jotaro your head is so so damn ill Okay so i see him spitting this line towards joseph. Let me explain Joseph would no doubt pick up on jotaro’s ptsd and he’ll do his best to console jotaro over the deaths of their friends. But see joseph is ALSO an ill in the head idiot whose idea of therapy is electroshock and who calls ptsd “shell shock”. So all he can offer to jotaro is “youll feel better in time” because that was kinda true for him; he managed to move on in time. What joseph fails to realize is what made him feel better was not time, but the support of those remaining in his life (lisa lisa, suziq, erina, smokey). But jotaro listens and tries to give it time but the thing with jotaro is he just gets worse and worse as time wears on because he deliberately cut himself off from anyone who could console him (as well as got continually traumatized throughout his life), so time never helped but actually made things worse. Thus jotaro spitting “you were wrong, you were wrong, you were wrong, my healing needed more than time”. In terms of timeline, probably happens right after part 5 jotaro stares longingly at the crusaders picture

“When i see fragile things, helpless things, broken things/i see the familiar” Im sorry every new line i start to analyze i begin crying so im just letting you all know incase the coherency takes a dip (as if this was coherent in the first place lmfao) Anyway so this line in relation to Jotaro is about how he projects HARD on the new generation. We see this w his interactions w josuke and koichi, the “fragile things” (there is no way he didnt see koichi as a filler for kakyoin im sorry. Also he just wants josuke safe with his friends like how he wished he was safe with his own friends as a teenager), how he was wary of giorno, “the helpless things” (jotaro is scared he’ll be similar to his dad, just like jotaro is similar enough to dio to share the same stand power…), and his interactions w jolyne, “the broken things” (angry teen in a prison? Come now).

“I was little, i was weak, i was perfect too/now i’m a broken mirror” Throwback to the second line. Once again part 6 jotaro is reflecting but the difference here is that part 3 was when jotaro was last unashamedly happy, but more than that, part 3 jotaro was on his way to healing before everything went to shit. like i mentioned earlier, jotaro only relies on someone else completely once, and that happens in part 3. Jotaro is finally able to trust in someone else’s capabilities, which is what he needed to do before he could allow anyone to help him with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Hence, why part 6 jotaro would describe him as “perfect”; because he would’ve been perfect enough if he could just trust in others like that again But as the line suggests, that went wrong. Jotaro is now a “broken mirror,” which alludes to the fact that while he projects onto the kids, the kids (the ones that know him at least) project onto him as well, especially jolyne, because in part 6 she finally figures out her dad’s thought processes, as she is experiencing those patterns of thinking too. Jotaro is a role model for them in the sense of “see him? Do the opposite of what he did” KJ;DNJ;DN;SN

“But i can’t let you see all that i have to lose/all that i’ve lost in the fight to protect it” Same meaning as before mostly but the repetition is important me thinks because it mimics jotaro like frantically trying to remind himself why he must be distant when all he wanted to do was go home to jolyne and be her father

“I can’t let you in --/ i swore never again,/ i can’t afford to let myself be blindsided” This means roughly the same thing as the previous line that’s similar to this, but the “i can’t afford to let myself be blindsided” is less about jotaro’s selfishness/arrogance and more about how he believes enemies will use his loved ones against him and how goddamn, it would work, it would work so well because jotaro loves so, so damn much It’s a shame distancing himself didn’t work the way he wanted it to and ended up making his loved ones even more vulnerable than they would have been otherwise

“I’m standing guard,/i’m falling apart/and all i want to do is to trust you” (Begins screaming and doesn’t stop) okay so this line is about jotaro and jolyne during the beginning of stone ocean “Im standing guard” alludes to the fact that jotaro is still desperately trying to appear distant and uninterested even as he attempts to break his fucking daughter out of prison “I’m falling apart” ties into jotaro failing miserably at remaining cold towards jolyne, how he eventually caves in and tells her he loves her in addition to taking a literal bullet for her, using time stop to ensure he can make it to her to do so. and also this line ties into how he is literally physically shot and how his memories and stand are taken from him “And all i want to do is to trust you” is directed towards jolyne of course. God his whole “i’ve always cherished you” ties in with this line; like i mentioned earlier, jotaro by part 6 knows his self-imposed isolation is useless, but old habits die hard and also he was in very deep by the time he accepted there was no reason to go in the first place at all. So he doesn’t know how to change, he doesn’t know how to trust jolyne, it’d been 20ish years since he last trusted someone completely, but god he wants to. He wants to trust her. It’s all he wants to do hence this line

“Show me how to lay my sword down/for long enough to let you through” So continuing from the last line, jotaro just wants to let jolyne in. he wants to learn how to do that. I think this line is actually directed towards his younger self; 17 year old jotaro managed to let in a person once, after all (more than one person in fact, but all the crusaders). This would also make more sense w my interpretation of how part 6 jotaro calls part 3 jotaro “perfect” in this regard Essentially it’s jotaro thumbing through his memories to figure out how his past self gathered the security to trust in someone else wholeheartedly...which makes the fact that pucci steals his memories particularly fucked up in this context

“Here i am, pry me open/what do you want to know?” Another line directed toward jolyne. “Here i am, pry me open” refers to how after jotaro tells jolyne he cherishes her, all cards are on the table. He’s shown vulnerability, might as well go full throttle. So, he’s willing to talk to jolyne for the first time ever, especially because she’s a stand user now “What do you want to know?” ties into jotaro being willing to open up, but also the fact that jolyne doesnt really know her dad ):

“I’m just a kid who grew up scared enough/to hold the door shut/and bury my innocence” Hhnghg begins wailing this line is again about post-egypt jotaro. A lot of jotaro’s like...emotional maturation (and even some physical) occurred during the trip to egypt and immediately afterward. he’s in pain and desperately trying to rationalize a way he can be in control of never letting something like what happened in egypt happen again, hence the “im just a kid who grew up scared enough” “To hold the door shut” refers to how jotaro cut off other people, even the people who used to know him very well, like joseph and polnareff and holly “And bury my innocence” i mentioned this in another line but this bit also refers to how jotaro had to grow up quickly to survive, considering his self-imposed isolation and his life path of chasing down dio’s remnants

“But here’s a map, here’s a shovel/here’s my Achilles’ heel” This line is SUPPOSED to be directed toward jolyne but inadvertently it is also directed toward pucci. When jotaro says fuck it and gives up on his pretense of disinterest in jolyne, finally letting her know he loves her, he’s finally building the frame of a bridge to jolyne; he’s ready to do what he’s wanted to for so long, no matter how vulnerable it makes him, and that is to be jolyne’s father. However, pucci takes note of this; he knows to aim for jolyne in the final battle because of jotaro’s earlier actions when he tries breaking jolyne out of prison. It really is a shame how the narrative keeps fucking enforcing jotaro’s shitty self-imposed isolation

“I’m all in, palms out, i’m at your mercy now and i’m ready to begin/i am strong, i am strong, i am strong enough to let you in” Hmm i imagine this line being when jotaro meets back up with jolyne after he gets his memory disk back. The first thing he does is hug her and cradle her close to him, showing off to the world, right in front of pucci, how much his daughter means to him. But jotaro, at least for the moment, is not scared to be vulnerable anymore. Ever since he decided to give up his cold facade, he was ready to let jolyne in, and he finally has the chance to do that at least a little right before the final battle, which is what this line is about

“I’ll shake the ground with all my might/i will pull my whole heart up to the surface” Final battle in stone ocean,,, What the “i’ll shake the ground will all my might” line refers to is jotaro’s willingness to use star platinum the world during the battle. He’s ready to go all in to save the world, and most importantly, save jolyne, even if he has to use the source of his greatest trauma to do it. Jotaro’s a key player and he knows it, has known it for a long time, and this time he’s going to use that for his happy ending. And well, as i mentioned in the last line, jotaro’s done with the self-isolation and throws himself into the role of jolyne’s father, at least as much as he has the right to throw himself into. This is mostly what the “i will pull my whole heart up to the surface” line refers to

“For the innocent, for the vulnerable/i’ll show up to the frontlines with a purpose” More stone ocean final battle. The “innocent and vulnerable” jotaro is showing up for are jolyne, namely, but also hermes and emporio, and beyond that, the world. Jotaro understands how serious this is and he’s always been a force meant for protection, so he is here to do just that, which is what the “i’ll show up to the frontlines with a purpose” line refers to. Jotaro doesnt believe he’s a good person -- and he might not be, in the grand scheme of things -- but he does fight for what he believes is right, he always has, he mentions this way back in stardust crusaders during his fight with kakyoin. He’s never going to let injustice stand, especially not when he knows he’s such a key player

“And i’ll give all i have, i’ll give my blood, give my sweat --/an ocean of tears will spill for what is broken” This line actually applies to all the “final battles” jotaro has been involved in; part 3, part 4, and part 6. Jotaro, as i mentioned in the last line, has a strong sense of justice and is a force that first and foremost tries to protect, which the “i’ll give all i have, i’’l give my blood, give my sweat” part of this line refers to. Jotaro gives his all, has given his all, to rid the world of dio’s influence, he ruined his entire fucking life to do so, and this line gives credence to that. “An ocean of tears will spill for what is broken” refers to jotaro mourning all the what-ifs in his life, which are all tied with how the outcomes of these final battles go. If part 3 didnt end the way it did, jotaro would know how to trust still, he wouldve been happy even, maybe he wouldnt have had to sacrifice the rest of his life to dio; if part 4 didn’t end the way it did, maybe jotaro couldve gone home to his daughter, maybe he couldve been a bit of a better dad (this is because kids were involved in part 4 even if they didn’t try to because stand users attract stand users, and jotaro couldnt risk doing that to his daughter, so he ends up never coming home); and now for part 6, jotaro hopes that if it ends just a little better than the previous two, jotaro could at least died a satisfying death of sacrificing himself for jolyne, or maybe even got a chance to try mending his relationship with jolyne if they both survive

“I’m shattered porcelain, glued back together again” So this line speaks to both physical and emotional states Jotaro was physically “shattered porcelain” when he lost his stand and memory and also was shot, and he was “glued back together again” when he got medical attention and jolyne got back his disks Jotaro was emotionally “shattered porcelain” due to the fact he couldnt trust anyone completely since he was 17 goddamn years old but he’s “glued back together again” in the sense he’s ready to finally, finally try and be vulnerable in order to save his relationship with jolyne

“Invincible like i’ve never been” This line hurts so fucking much because i believe jotaro was optimistic, all things considered, at the beginning of the final fight in stone ocean. After all, he knows he’s an important figure in all this, he has his stand disk and memories back, he and jolyne and the others have a plan, and he has a future he wants to fight for in addition to the world’s continued functioning So he feels “invincible” like he’s never felt before because not even during the part 3 final battle with dio did he have the hope for the future he has now. But then. Then pucci brings out the knives. And the man who could control time never had enough in the end. He dies and cant even save jolyne with his death. The world ends. He failed. I think this is perfectly represented with how suddenly the song ends. It just perfectly encapsulates the tragedy that is jotaro kujo and i cant stop fucking thinking about it

thanks for reading all this if you did. jotaro kujo makes me feel mentally ill

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readerficsbyhyaku · 4 years

Text

Our hidden ways (DJSS x Reader SMUT)

summary

What is now considered a normal part of Vinyl City wasn't always there, and you were part of the generation that saw object heads come to life.

With every new thing comes the possibility of fear and rejection, and you were caught right into it.

You never had the guts to come out as an OH lover, complacently hiding under a facade, until he made a move. But still then... will you tell him ?

author’s note

Hi there ! There is dubious consent, slight OOC-ness for DJ (in my opinion), and a whole lot of feelings. Hope you enjoy ! Also double the smut because i'm a SIMP.

Art by me

Vinyl City wasn’t always the cosmopolitan metropolis of music you knew. When you were younger, there was a time where all the strange and stranger people you paid no mind to now were a novelty. And with difference came fear.

You were in high school when new faces started attending classes, and one of them struck you more than others. Well, because he didn’t have a face per se. A giant by human standards, he had wide shoulders, immense hands and a globe floating above his neck.

And that’s when you started noticing what was wrong with the world.

You were part of a group of friends, and the guy – nicknamed DJ – had no trouble making himself a place in it. He was passionate, quite a good talker and student, maybe a little “too much” sometimes but it wasn’t a big deal. What became a big deal was when your friends talked about it – what a lot of hormone-frenzied teenagers talk about – sex.

Pictures, videos… you’d seen a few here and there, and thought nothing special of them until then. See, the arrival of “OH” citizens, standing for “object head”, had led this particular market to span a new arm, leg, whatever you wanted to call it. Object heads were becoming a kink, something out of the norm, akin to interracial but on some bizarre, alien-esque level.

And when your friends started to talk about it in this very way, you realized maybe your attraction wasn’t as straightforward for everybody as you thought it would be, and thus it made it very difficult to admit it to anyone. In an effort to stick with the group, you laughed at your friends’ jokes and manifested interest in what they’d call “regular sex”.

Despite DJ being quite integrated in your little clique, it was when these conversations started that you felt him drift away, maybe isolating himself to not get hurt. And that’s also when it hurt the most to lie to your friends, the words and laughs tasting so bitter in your mouth you’d want to retch. Your heart was screaming to go for him, to tell your friends that you didn’t find OH weird, or repulsing, but then reason toned everything down with fear. Fear of rejection, of losing your friends, of being laughed at, of being different. It was a lonely road to walk, and you didn’t have the courage to take that path just yet.

As weeks and weeks went by, your conflicting feelings only grew in intensity as you kept them hidden. At last, it was the end of your last year and the start of something new, called adult life. Not that you or any of your friends knew what it really meant, and those concerns were pushed back for another day as they suggested you went to a karaoke to celebrate your graduation.

So you and your friends stuffed yourselves in the tiny karaoke room, ordering more drinks and food that could fit onto the table, and proceeded to sing until your voice cracked. At least, most of your friends did. You, on the other hand, drank your beer while chatting with the people next to you. And lucky you were, because DJ was right next to you, looking comically big in the small room.

You were starting to get a bit tipsy, not handling alcohol as well as you’d hoped… But then again, you were feeling more daring than usual. You had scooted over a bit more towards DJ, your knees touching and you almost didn’t care if your friends saw you getting all intimate with an OH.

You were lost into staring at his orb when you caught a glimpse of the conversation in front of you. Your friends were discussing the latest news – a music star that openly stated she went out with an OH – and that had caused quite a bit of ruckus. The guy didn’t have a face – that was the whole point of object heads – and had a big television screen instead. Couldn’t blame her for falling for his looks, right ?

“How can they even kiss ??? I wouldn’t consider dating someone I can’t kiss, y’know ?” you heard one of your friends slur from the other side of the table.

“Dude, what about going down on someone ? They’re missing out big time !” a girl continued, making some obscene gestures with her hands.

This made you more pissed off and bold you’d ever felt.

“Hey guys, watch me !” you shot at them.

As their gazes went towards you, you pushed DJ’s chest and made him fall onto the couch. You promptly climbed onto him, grabbed his face and kissed him.

You didn’t expect anything other than proving to your dumb friends how it could be done, but you were surprised to feel something.

A tingle on your lips, spreading from the contact point where they met the smooth sphere. A tugging feeling when you backed away, as if he didn’t want you to let go, yet. Things you didn’t get enough time to dwell on as you pulled away and looked at your friends quite triumphantly.

“See ? Easy peasy !”

“Girllll you’re crazy !!! Going and kissing DJ out of nowhere !!” they laughed, and started telling your adventure to the people who were singing and missed on the action.

You slipped a glance at DJ, who just sat back up and didn’t utter a thing, a big smooch mark visible on his orb and for some reason, this made need flare in your gut. Just play it cool, you’re drunk, a kiss is nothing – you kept saying that to yourself. And downed more beers to hide how embarrassed you were.

At the end of the night, the group disbanded and your drunk self was left to get back home alone. Until strong hands helped you walk straight, and as you raised your head you saw DJ next to you.

“What are you doinnng ?” you slurred, tongue feeling numb inside your mouth.

“You’re too drunk to walk all the way home” he simply stated.

“My home’s closer, I’ll bring you there for the night” he then said, maybe a little lower.

“Righhhht !” you said enthusiastically “Where is it ?”

“Cast Tech District” he muttered in a breath.

That was the same district as the karaoke bar you were, so it would indeed be a closer walk than your place. Not that you had enough brainpower to process that at the moment.

As you stumbled inside his place, he helped you sit on his couch and closed the door.

You slumped down and closed your eyes, trying to get the dizziness out of your system, but to no avail.

“…’re …..y ..n. …”

“What ?” you mumbled, unable to make out words from what he said, cracking your eyes open again as if it would help you hear better.

“You’re really drunk, aren’t you ?”

DJ was sitting next to you and as soon as the words were out in the air, he dived in and kissed you.

His large hands on your cheeks, keeping your face steady as his orb pressed onto your lips, sending the tingling sensation all over them. You couldn’t figure out what was happening, so you just sat there. He broke the embrace time and time again, the feeling like he was sucking at your lips, only to kiss you again an instant later. There was a fog in your mind that you couldn’t hope to get rid of anytime soon.

“Wha—” you started

“Is this why you kissed me ? To feel what an OH would be like ?”

There was no way you could answer that. This whole time you had been lying to everybody, maintaining a facade… And in front of the person you wanted to tell the most, you just couldn’t.

“Hehe, it actually feels pretty good y’know ??” you said with a laugh as DJ hoisted you from the couch and walked towards his room. He was so tall you almost had vertigo when you looked down from where he was holding you.

“An OH isn’t too bad— oof!” you were dropped onto his huge bed into the soft, deep purple covers.

You rested your head on the plush material, eyes wanting to close, until you felt hands grabbing at your waistband.

“Hey, what are you doin’ ?” you mumbled while sitting up as best you could.

DJ’s thick fingers were nimbly unbuttoning your pants, he yanked them down and tossed them away. Sleep was promptly pushed to the back of your mind as you scrambled to try and cover yourself, but to no avail. Your body wasn’t responding correctly, and all he had to do was swat your weak hands away.

“Let me show you how we object head do things”

This cut into your heart more than anything else you’d heard. There was so much bitterness in his tone, barely hidden.

And that’s when your panties went off.

DJ grabbed your butt with his hands and pulled you to the edge of the bed where he was kneeling, and boy had you dreamed of seeing him like this under you. He was still towering over you and that made your gut twist in expectation.

He slowly pried your clamped thighs open and you hid your face behind your arm, unable to look at him while your core was fully exposed to his view. Maybe you felt a breath, maybe you felt a slight tingle, but it could have all been your imagination, your expectation of him.

When he touched you, down there, you couldn’t repress the moan that slipped through your lips.

It was like nothing you’d ever experienced, like a soft buzzing and tingling coming from the contact point between his orb and your clit, and the sucking… Each stroke of his, or whatever it was called, dragged a cry out of you as you writhed on the bed. It was just too intense, too good, the fire in your belly reaching higher and higher.

DJ kept your hips still with a bruising grip as he ate you out, your back arching desperately into his touch. At some point, you felt one of his huge fingers spread your lips apart and dip slightly into you. The stretch was almost too much, but it felt so good.

How many times had you fantasized about him doing all of this to you ? You wished you could tell him, but only venom came out of your mouth.

“Wow, I guess I can see a perk to having an OH partner now, hah” you were breathless, but you couldn’t help trying to keep that wall up, to have the lie go on just a bit longer.

Pathetic. You were pathetic and you wanted to cry as your words assuredly carved even deeper gouges into DJ’s heart.

But he didn’t stop and soon enough you cried out as you came around his finger, hand fisting the sheets and body tensing as you rode out your orgasm, until the stimulation from his orb became too much.

“Fuck…” you breathed out as he dropped you down onto the mattress, unable to move a limb.

That had been absolutely intense and you felt thoroughly spent.

When you opened your eyes again, you saw DJ looming over you, his cock in one hand and spreading your legs apart with the other. His shadow covered your naked, sweaty body and the light coming from behind him gave him an ethereal aspect, rays making his slick-covered orb glint in the darkness.

“If you don’t tell me to stop, you’re about to get fucked by an OH”

And there was no way you could tell him to stop.

He pushed the head of his cock inside of you and it was so much bigger than what you expected. His finger already felt like an average dick, so what did you think his actual cock would be like ? He was stretching you open, inch by inch, as you laid beneath him.

It hurt like hell, but it was also everything you wanted and you couldn’t push him away. Tears were spilling out from your eyes, under your arm you covered your face with, as you hid the sobs and spasms wrecking your body. When he was finally fully sheathed inside of you, you heard him say

“Are you okay ?”

…

“You should’ve told me to stop…”

…

“Or maybe are you pitying me ?”

You couldn’t say a thing as he drew his conclusions for himself.

“I’ll start to move, alright ?” his tone was soft, fragile even. You hated it, you wanted to tell him you liked this, that you liked him, but you lacked the resolve.

And he did move, slowly, gently, his huge cock pulling out of you and pushing back in again in a rhythmic manner. While it did hurt at first, heat was now coiling in your gut at each of his movements and obscene sounds were coming from where you were joined.

You still couldn’t look at him, even though he was buried deep inside of you, warmth flaring from the unique contact point between your bodies.

He continued going slowly for you, even as you could feel his arms tremble from the self-restraint and his discrete, contained moans.

You wanted to tell him to go all out, that you were enjoying this, but how could you after lying your way there ? Once again, your words turned sour on your tongue.

“You can go harder you know, I’m not gonna break” you said with a dopey smile, hoping he could cast that upon your drunkenness.

He paused for a bit, and you could feel his cock twitching inside of you. You could almost come from that alone, along with his shortness of breath and the weight of his arms digging into the mattress all around you. He was so fucking huge after all, and that was what you liked. Call it a kink or whatever, but you had no problem with object heads and that’s what got you into that situation.

And you came right when he pulled back and slammed into you. Your body arched and tensed under him as he continued plowing inside of you, riding out your orgasm, crossing the threshold of sensitivity and getting you ready for yet another high.

You wanted to hold him, to call his name, but you couldn’t. So you pressed your arm against your eyes harder and grabbed the sheets until your knuckles turned white, and came again before he even did once.

As you tightened around him, you heard him strangle a grunt and felt something hot spill inside of you, through the condom. You almost wished he didn’t wear one, so he could mark you as his and maybe, maybe then you’d have the courage of admitting your feelings to him.

You were coming down from you third climax when he pulled out and removed the rubber, tying it in a knot to prevent its content from going everywhere.

How beautiful you looked, spread out on his bed and looking absolutely worn and sated, he thought, something akin to melancholy reflecting into his orb.

“Hey, are you alright ?” he started, but you feigned being asleep to avoid the conversation. You weren’t brave enough, after all.

So you laid still and awkward as he gently cleaned you up, muttering excuses as he was doing so. He dressed you up carefully with a shirt of his, shimmied you inside some boxers and tucked you in his own bed.

And while you were waiting for true sleep to come, DJ’s sniffling and sobbing coming from the couch went on for what felt like an eternity.

The next morning, you woke up and dressed at best you could, trying to ignore all that had happened the previous night. Your legs felt weak and there was a dull ache in your core that reminded you of what had transpired a few hours ago.

“Oh, hi, you’re up” a deep voice resounded in your back, making you jump.

“Oh, DJ !! Hi !! Didn’t see you there !” you forced out with a smile, a laugh, anything to mask the dread and awkwardness lurking inside of you.

He began to say something, but you cut him off with an excuse and bolted out the door, making up something about having an important lunch with your mom.

“But, about last night…” he persisted

“Last night ? What happened ?? I don’t remember a thing, sorry haha ! Must’ve been too drunk !” you replied probably too quickly for it to seem sincere, but panic was getting to you.

“I’ll call you when I get home, ok ?” you said as you were getting farther away from him, the ache in your chest growing stronger as all you wanted was to hold him close and tell him that everything was a lie. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

And when the evening came, you wanted to send him a message, to tell him you were sorry, that you wanted to spend time with him… That was when you realized how cruel you had been. How pained he must have been when you pretended you didn’t remember a thing. How he muttered that he meant last night under his breath as you were busy fleeing. How he stood there, struck and hurt, uttering an ultimate “I’m sorry” just loud enough for you to hear.

A few years later, progress had been made concerning the acceptance of object heads, and you were finally making your coming-out as an OH-lover. If that’s what going to an OH bar for the first time meant, at least.

You were facing the door, still pondering if it was a good idea, and you were about to go back home when the bar opened and someone dragged you inside.

“Hiii sweetheart, don’t be shy !” a robot with a weird hairdo said as he brought you up to the bar.

A tall man with a screen for a face and a fur-collared coat was cleaning a glass.

“What would you like to drink, ma’am ?”

“Uhh… I can’t really hold my liquor, so something soft” you responded, feeling uneasy.

“You know this is a bar, right ?” another robot chimed in, with a different accent color and hairstyle.

“Stop bothering her, TenTen” this time, it was a girl with orange skin and a big grin that sat next to you.

“So, why are you here for ?”

“Uhh, well, I…” why was it so hard to say, still ?

“You’re here for the OH ?” a green robot interrupted.

“For the object heads ?” a red one continued.

“For the weirdos like us ?” a white robot perpetuated.

“TenTen, stop it” the barman grumbled out, exasperation palpable in his voice.

The five robots saluted immediately and went to bother other patrons.

“Wait, didn’t you call the yellow one TenTen too ?” you asked the girl next to you, a bit puzzled.

“Oh yeah, they’re all TenTen” she grinned.

“They’re… all… TenTen ???” you repeated dumbly.

“Yup, you get one, you get the five of them. Like a group discount or something. Definitely not a match for everyone” she sighed.

This comforted you a bit. If a group of five male robots could look for a partner, maybe you wouldn’t look so out of place either.

“So ya didn’t tell me, what’re you looking for here ?”

You told this girl your story, as well as the ever silent barman that lent an ear to it whenever he wasn’t preparing drinks. At the end, she was almost crying and you had to stop her from hugging you in a bone-crushing embrace.

“And you didn’t tell him ??? That’s so saaaaaaaaad” she bawled as you sipped on your drink.

“Yeah… that’s… what happened…” you felt awkward, but it was so liberating to tell it to someone. Even though you definitely were the one at fault there.

“So you’re looking for a big guy, right ?” a voice on your other side asked, and as you turned around you saw a huge figure bent over the bar, its head hidden by the hood of a sweater.

“Oh, yeah, I guess…” you said hesitantly.

“How about I make you forget about that guy from your story tonight ?” the deep voice continued, sending shivers through you. Why did it felt like you knew this voice, this way of speaking ?

“Thank you but… I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. I still have feeling for that guy and—” tears started welling up so you stopped talking and wiped them away. Why did you always want to cry when talking about him ? It was already a few years ago, so why was the pain still ever present…

“Hmm ? I didn’t hear that quite right” the man next to you said, and as you turned to look at him, he took off his hood and revealed his head – a smooth orb holding a galaxy inside of it.

“Could you repeat it ?”

You could hear the grin in his voice and your breath caught in your throat because, by the stars, that was DJ. Looming over you from his impossible height and resting his head on one of his huge hands, he was staring at you as you had inadvertently confessed to him after all those years.

Your face flushed red and you babbled an excuse as you hid your face and turned away from him, but he caught you in his embrace and next thing you knew, the whole bar was cheering for you, the orange girl being the loudest.

What a coincidence it was that, after being a closeted OH-lover for so many years, you found your high school crush in a bar and that he would still harbor some feelings for you.

He now went by the name “DJ Subatomic Supernova”, and that night you also went back to his place a bit drunk, a bit giddy, something hot twirling in your heart and burning in your gut.

You couldn’t keep your hands off from each other as soon as you passed the threshold to his apartment. It was dark and you kept stumbling onto things, but he held you, grabbed you, pressed you onto his chest, closer.

Your lips met his orb and after a few heated kisses, he went down your neck, leaving what felt like hickeys as his hands stroked your sides gently, slowly. You grabbed his jacket and ushered him out of it as he slipped his hands under your top, dancing around your belly and leaving embers in his wake. The garment was discarded on the floor and so was your shirt, revealing yet another undergarment.

It was promptly added to the mess on the floor and then you felt DJ’s hands fondling your breasts, that felt so, so tiny in comparison to his fingers. He could probably wrap his hands around your torso and lift you up like a doll if he wanted, and the thought only sparked more want inside of you.

Step after step, he guided you inside his place until the back of your knees hit his bed and you fell onto it, staring at the giant above you. If the fall hadn’t already knocked most of the air out of your lungs, you would have been breathless because of how good DJ looked. His ceiling was covered in dim stars, casting a timid light upon him and accentuating his height, the changing colors of his orb, the details of his hands.

You stared at him for a bit as he stood there, also drinking your half-naked sight splayed out onto his bed, then scooted back on the mattress to give him some space. As he didn’t seem to come, you held out your arms towards him, enticing him towards you, and he did.

The bed dipped as he laid a knee on it, his huge arms on each side of your head as he grew closer to you, then sat back up as he removed his shirt. He wrapped his arms around his waist and tugged the tight garment up, up, putting on a delicious show for you to watch.

You had never seen him shirtless, and boy was that a thing to look at. His skin was deep and dark, purple like the night skies with only a few tinges of stars here and there, like adorable moles. The dim light suggested more than showed his firm pecs and broad shoulders, and you could feel heat pooling between your legs already.

You scrambled to your feet and unfastened his pants, yanking them down to reveal a big bulge inside of his boxers.

“You’re okay with that ?” he asked softly, seemingly hesitant.

“I’ve always wanted to do this”

And that was the truth. Ever since your first encounter, you had wanted to reciprocate the attention, the affection.

While you were palming him through his briefs, you felt his nimble fingers work your own pants out of the way. You sensed his hesitation though, when he went about the waistband of your panties, circling his thumb around your hipbone.

“Let me show you something” you said as you stood up on the bed, not even being taller than him on his knees.

You bent and slowly pulled your panties off, strings of slick connected to the garment, as you showed him how much you wanted him in the dim, dark light of his apartment. The soft glow of the stars reflected off your thighs as you stood there, fully naked, in front of DJ. You felt like some sort of goddess with him kneeling reverently in front of you, his member straining the fabric of his underwear.

But soon the fleeting moment was over as passion took the reins again.

DJ all but ripped away his boxers and grabbed your hips, making you straddle him. From there, you could see closely how big his cock was, hard and throbbing and leaking a bit. It rested heavily onto your belly and you craned your neck to look at DJ.

His fingers dug into your soft thighs as he rested his orb against your forehead.

“You think you can do without foreplay ? I don’t think I can hold on much longer” he said breathlessly, his deep voice echoing through his chest.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting this too” you answered unceremoniously, all concerns out of the window as you lifted your hips to match his tip to your entrance.

He helped you position yourself, and as you were about to sink onto him, he held your hips still.

“Wait. Rubber.”

“Don’t care” you breathed out, grabbing his neck and pulling him in for a kiss as you finally, finally felt him push inside of you.

God he was big, even more so without any prep on your side, but feeling him slowly impale you on his cock was exhilarating. You lost yourself in his kisses as he pushed your body steadily down, down on him, until your hips met and you sucked in a much needed breath.

You rested for a bit, both panting and grabbing at each other like an anchor in the storm, craving more contact and friction than ever.

DJ wrapped his hands around you and began moving slowly, ever so slowly, turning your insides to hot mush with every stroke of his dick.

“DJ… DJ…” you moaned out, unable to form any coherent thought already.

“What is it, starshine ?” he rumbled out, still keeping at his torturing slow pace.

You could feel every detail of his shaft going through you, the way your walls grabbed onto him as he pulled out and gave in when he pushed back inside. How slick was pouring out of your stuffed hole and onto your thighs and his, how obscene sounds echoed in between pants and soft cries as your hips met again and again.

“Please, go harder” you begged.

The heat in your gut was unbearable, steadily rising but not enough for you. You would’ve loved to drag this out but you needed him, all of him, at once.

“How about you show me, then ?” he grinned as he laid down onto the bed, his hands resting on your thighs but his hips slowing down to a halt.

You repressed a whimper and started moving yourself, thighs trembling at each up and down, hands grabbing at the covers for purchase.

It wasn’t that fast at first, but soon you picked up speed as he helped lift you up from his cock. He hit you deep every time and your moans grew louder as the slap of skin on skin increased rhythmically. You could feel you were both getting close, your muscles tightening and trembling, his hands gripping you a bit harder, leaving dents in your flesh.

You were teetering on the edge, breath short and sweat making your bodies slick and sticky, when he grabbed you in a tight embrace, nuzzling his head into your neck and leaving a few kisses there.

“What—” you didn’t finish.

His hips rolled into yours and you felt him rock you on his cock, his pubes giving your engorged clit just the right amount of friction to send you over the edge. You tightened around him, nails raking down his back as he continued rocking through your climax, one time, two times, three times and it was his turn to spill.

He sucked on your neck harder, strangling a moan as you felt his hot cum pour inside of you, filling you up and dripping out of you. A shudder coursed through you as you saw the mess you were, white onto dark, fluids leaking all over and his girth still buried inside of you.

You felt him shift a bit after a while, still not separating your joint bodies.

“Again ?” you asked timidly, not sure how he would take it.

“The night is still young, I suppose I could do that” he said while slowly pushing your back into the mattress, spreading your numb thighs once more.

And while it was still dark out, you did it time and time again until the Milky Way was etched onto his purple bedsheets and your body was deliciously marked all over by DJ.

#dj subatomic supernova #dj ss nsr #no straight roads #fanfiction #smut #romance #object head #a bit of angst #reader insert #x reader

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gypsydanger01 · 4 years

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THE STORM - Part eight

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

A/N: So here’s part eight!! It’s the first of two parts I’m dedicating to the Origins of the OC character. It explains her ties to Vought and the reason why she’s plotting against them. There is no Black Noir in this chapter :( but it’s important for the story. The next chapter will explain her connection to Mallory, and then after that you’ll be seeing much more interaction with our boy Black Noir!!

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

Posting new chapters on Wednesday and Friday!

The Beginning

That night she found herself running in her dreams, just as she did every time she let herself sleep. It always revolved around the beginning of it all, the birth of what plagued her and would haunt her for the rest of her life. She always found herself back at square one, Vought Laboratories.

When she’d been diagnosed with a rare form of immune disease, her parents had been devastated at the lack of resources or therapies available. They’d do anything for her, and they scoured the country’s best hospitals and universities for medicines and potential therapies. Greg and Tara wanted their little girl cured, they wanted her to get a chance at life.

Finally, they found an experimental drug going through clinical trials that might’ve proved successful in correcting the genetic error that was triggering her immune system into attacking her own cells. A team of recruiters from Vought had approached them one day at a hospital, while she’d been getting ready for a check-up. They said they’d investigated her case and had spots available in their trials should she want to try it out. Since the medicine was still under observation, they could only assure an 85% rate of success, and at a lower price. They visited their home multiple times with fliers, power points and data. They assured her parents of the drug’s safety. While it worked in 85% of the patients it never demonstrated any kind of risk or dangerous counter effects. Her parents stayed skeptical for many months, asking questions, and raising concerns, but what ultimately pushed them was their daughter’s heart failure and hospitalization.

She was nine at the time. And as her time quickly diminished, Greg and Tara hurried and signed her up for the program. The experts and physicians at Vought visited her and gathered all of her information before quickly drafting the appropriate dosage for her. She’d have to stay at Vought Laboratories’ clinic far from the city, isolated from the outside world. They had explained this by pointing out the fragile state of her immune system, and the need for her to recover in a safe environment. Lies, so many lies.

The first months went by smoothly, and while she missed her parents, the little girl played with her new friends enjoying the renewed energy coursing through her body. She could run again, and dance and hop without needing to lie down. She could see her parents through a glass window during visitation day every week and they, too, felt relief when they saw her so lively, so different from the pale, skeletal figure she’d been after her hospitalization. Tara felt horrible over the first weeks of not having her at home, not being able to care for her and simply hold her daughter. But when she saw her on the other side of the glass pane, she couldn’t imagine stripping this opportunity away from her.

“Mommy, mommy, look,” the little girl would call while twirling and running around the room, jumping in excitement.

Tara pressed her hand against the glass, eyes brimmed with tears.

“Yes, honey, I see—you’re so strong now.”

The little girl just nodded enthusiastically.

A year later is when the trouble started. She had almost reached the end of therapy when she was moved to another section of the clinic with another small group of kids ranging from about ten to fourteen years old. They were shown a power point explaining their purpose in the project. She hadn’t understood at that time, but she now knew what they meant to say was “guinea pigs.” Basically, the drugs they had been taking had modified certain sequences in their genome in a way that diverged from other subjects. They wanted to understand why, as well as see how far they could go. They concluded by saying that they might end up with powers.

Now, superheroes already existed even though they weren’t yet such an important trademark. But people believed they were born that way. And here you had scientists telling young, impressionable children that they could develop powers even though they weren’t born with them. One can only imagine how they awaited with glee for the program to start.

The children saw their parents less and less, and this was explained by their busy schedule of medical visits, tests, activities, school, and sports which were all provided in this secluded, isolated section of the clinic. What they were actually doing was being subjected to insane amounts of physical and psychological stress. Now the drug had proceeded to cure and further improve their cell genes, but there was a need for an environmental stressor to induce the mutation’s manifestation. They had to wake these new, dormant genes, and for this reason they did atrocious things.

One kid, Norman, presented a gene that is found in organisms that can breathe underwater. They proceeded to force him underwater and keep him there until he was on the brink of drowning.

Another one, Chloe, was thought to be able to heal as her genome held a gene commonly found in animals capable of regrowing a limb, such as lizards. They cut, burned, and maimed her for results.

Some of the children ended up developing a reaction to the duress, awakening their evolved genes. Others died from the intensity of the physical torture. And of those who successfully became enhanced, only few ultimately survived due to the instability of their mutation.

A comment frequently noted by the physicians when taking the patients’ parameters was that the reaction, the gene’s manifestation tended to grow stronger and stronger ‘till it became unsuitable for life. In other words, it ended up killing the host.

Greg and Tara’s little girl too endured the process to achieve greatness, as they had called it. And at first, she’d been enthusiastic, dreaming of becoming a superhero. She stayed up late after-hours skimming through comic books brought in by the therapists. Only later would she understand they had preyed on their naivety and dreams. The children grew obsessed with becoming like the characters in the comic books. The little boys dreamed of becoming like Homelander, and the little girls dreamed of flying.

Greg and Tara couldn’t know that their little one, instead of learning in class, spent her morning being constantly electrocuted. The physicians had high hopes for her and projected that she’d be able to conduct great amounts of energy through her body without burning or dying from electrocution. Her feet in freezing cold water, she sat in a hard, metal chair with a wired contraption wrapped over her forehead.

Every day, she was subjected to shocks of increasing intensity. They talked of “jerking her awake,” hoping that the right shock would trigger her genes into working against the effects of the shock. Finally, one morning, the pain subsided, and she began to absorb the energy rather than try to escape it. It felt odd to her, a warmth pervading her completely. The physicians were beyond content, they were amazed by her abilities. She was a success. They quickly learned she was able to absorb different forms of energy and transfer it. She practiced sticking a finger in an electrical socket before touching the objects laid in front of her. Immediately, the object would fly away, scalding hot.

But the initial glee of having powers slowly faded away, and the girl who was turning twelve wanted it to be over. She just wanted to go home. She yearned to call her mommy and daddy to come and take her away, and every time she saw a cell phone laying around, she subconsciously moved towards it. Unfortunately, she didn’t know their numbers.

She talked about it with the clinic’s therapist.

“Why is this coming up now? Is something wrong?”

The girl fidgeted in her seat, “I just want to go home.”

The therapist gave her a stretched smile, cold and far too wide.

“I understand you miss your mommy and daddy, but you have to stay so we can make sure you’re okay.”

She whined, “But I’m doing better.”

“I know, honey, but—”

The little girl grew fussy and cut her off, “I want my mommy.” When the therapist began to comfort her with empty promises, that distinct feeling of total warmth spread throughout her body. Her eyes shined a light blue, like lasers ready to sizzle anything in front of her, and the therapist immediately stopped speaking.

“There’s no need for that, we’ll set up a visitation day,” she quickly granted, gathering her folder and leaving the room.

The girl grew increasingly aggressive and wouldn’t allow the physicians to touch her. She didn’t want anyone but her parents.

When the day finally came, her parents were ecstatic to see and spend some time with her after two weeks of not being able to contact her. The therapy had worked, and they were thankful to Vought, but what they saw that day haunted the last few minutes of their lives. Their daughter looked ghastly, caramel skin chalky and dry. Her eyes were tired and dark bags hung under her eyes. To her mother’s horror, she looked as sick as her days in and out of hospitals before Vought’s medications. Tara pressed her hand to the glass, tears running down her face. The little girl immediately ran up to the glass, speaking fast.

“Please, I wanna go home,” she pleaded over and over, like a mantra of desperate hope.

Her father grew agitated and turned on her therapist who was also in the room to smooth things over. Certain things couldn’t be said and leave the building. It would bring the world’s ethics community down on all of their heads. This was worse than pumping Compound V into newborns. This was altering children’s DNA and torturing the survivors into an enhanced state of being.

“What happened to her? She was doing so well,” he exclaimed.

“Mr. Stacker, please there is no need to yell,” his face twisted in anger as she continued, “She has been rejecting the medications, we believe she hasn’t been taking them regularly as she’s supposed to.”

“She’s almost twelve, you’re supposed to check that she does that.”

The little girl was crying at this point, banging her little fists soundlessly against the glass.

“Mommy, help me.”

The therapist tried to grab the distressed parents’ attention, “If you could follow me, we can talk about this in more detail.”

“We can do that here,” Greg countered, “we’ve been here for not even five minutes and our daughter is crying out to us—you think we’ll just leave her?”

“No, sir—I just assumed—”

The girls pleading voice cut through her parents’ hearts, “They’re hurting me.”

Her father stared at her. What had they done? The choice had been difficult and ultimately, they decided between the therapy and her disease, between life and death. But if they were hurting her for all this time, it wasn’t life. It was solitary pain.

Tara was crying as she too turned on the therapist who wasn’t sure how to save the situation. Her father firmly stated what they’d both already decided, “We’re taking her home.”

“But sir, you signed a contract—”

“I don’t give a damn, she’s coming home—we can bash this out in court if you care about this contract that much.” He leaned closer, “But I’m sure you don’t want this whole project leaked, do you? What are you actually doing here?”

The therapist plucked her com from her pocket and quickly spoke into it, “We need security in visitation room number nine, I repeat, visitation room number nine.”

Tara erupted, “What do you mean security? You can’t take us away from her.”

“Like I was trying to say, the contract—"

The distressed mother screamed, “We don’t give a fuck about the contract—fucking sue us.”

And then all mayhem erupted. Four security guards burst into the room and quickly grabbed a hold on the two parents, trying to cuff them. Tara looked back at the little girl as they resisted.

“We’ll get you baby, okay? Marianna, look at me, you’re coming home.”

Her father punched a guard before being hit in the ribs with a baton. He fell to the floor and they were all onto him, beating and beating, not giving him the chance to stand back up. Tara screamed and tried to pry them from her husband before one swung at her and pushed her into a corner. The therapist quickly fled the scene, her heels clicking away.

The little girl watched and watched, and when she saw her father stop moving, when she saw her mother being tossed away, something snapped. It was like her center shifted, and an all-consuming anger pervaded her senses, taking over.

It happened so fast, her eyes lighting up, the building shaking, then the shattering blast.

When the dust finally settled, there was nothing left but a crater and a little girl lying amid the smoke and ashes. Curled up in a ball, shivering, she was the bomb still intact. She was the eye of the storm.

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724 @proximio-5 @damiminator @omegahighendpro @rpgluvr95 @sweetrabbitteamx

#the boys #the boys amazon #black noir #the boys tv #the boys black noir #OC #oc story #black noir x oc #flashback #fanfiction

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misstrashchan · 4 years

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Since @im-the-king-of-the-ocean did a post about what TMA fear entities the RWBY characters are aligned/avatars of, I’ve been itching to do one myself because as a result of overlapping hyper fixations I think about this A LOT

The basic concept is that avatars in TMA become what they fear most or embrace a fear they have developed the most complex relationship with that plays into their motivations and drive as a character. What negative impulses they have to constantly fight themselves on, the shape of the monster that lives in their heart.

To quote the RWBY song Fear, “But our greatest fear will be realised, if we fall and lose ourselves to fear, we’ll become what we’ve feared all our lives” yeah that’s a very loose definition of what becoming an avatar is.

Since MAG s5 has proven that you can be an avatar of more than one fear, (Like Martin serving both the Eye and the Lonely) some of the RWBY characters might have more than one, but I’ll try to limit it to two to avoid getting complicated, but at the end of the day it’s all fear soup, we might categorise them according to Robert Smirke’s 14, but they all bleed into one another, like Gerard’s colour analogy in 111:

GERARD

I always think it helps to imagine them like colours. The edges bleed together, and you can talk about little differences: “oh, that’s indigo, that’s more lilac”, but they’re both purple. I mean, I guess there are technically infinite colours, but you group them together into a few big ones. A lot of it’s kind of arbitrary. I mean, why are navy blue and sky blue both called blue, when pink’s an entirely different colour from red? Y’know? I don’t know, that’s just how it works.

And like colours, some of these powers, they feed into or balance each other. Some really clash, and you just can’t put them together. I mean, you could see them all as just one thing, I guess, but it would be pretty much meaningless, y’know, like… like trying to describe a… shirt by talking about the concept of colour.

O-Of course, with these things it’s not a simple spectrum, y’know, it’s more like –

ARCHIVIST

An infinite amorphous blob of terror bleeding out in every direction at once.

GERARD

Now you’re getting it.

ARCHIVIST

Like colours, but if colours hated me. Got it.

Ruby Rose: The End. The fear of death itself, uncaring and unstoppable. Man this was hard to think about but I have a lot of Big Feelings about this one. Initially I really, really wanted to give Ruby the Eye simply because “can laser beam monsters with their eyeballs once they become powerful enough” and there is a fascinating overlap in how the Beholding powers and Silver Eyes function in the same way, (especially in how Cinder being exposed to the Silver Eyes fills her with an overpowering fear and reopens old wounds from trauma that have never properly healed; which is VERY similar in the psychological affect Jon’s has on his victims when he Beholds them) they’re both direct enemies/opposites to the Dark that expose their enemies/victims true nature and destroying them in the process at times. Only one feeds on fear and the trauma of others while the other feeds off of hope and love (Gerard says there’s no such thing as an avatar of hope and love, clearly he’s never heard of Ruby).

But nope! The fear and nature of the Beholding just doesn’t really match with Ruby at all. She isn’t driven by a need of knowledge, nor does she fear being watched, followed or having her secrets exposed. The End though? Death itself? Ruby outright states that’s her biggest fear in volume 5 to Oscar “It doesn’t matter if you’re standing in Salem’s way or not. She’ll kill anyone. And that, scares me most of all” to me Ruby’s fear of death itself is projected onto Salem here, I think. It’s uncaring, unstoppable, it doesn’t discriminate, and it could come for the people she cares about at any time. What matters though is the context she says this is in explaining her motives to Oscar. Her whole life has been shaped by her inability to process death, her relationship with grief, all starting with the tragic and abrupt death of her mother Summer as a child. She’s also surrounded by a lot of death motif too, the hooded cape, mostly wearing black, the giant grim reaper scythe. She’s the End.

Of course, her being an Avatar of the End means having to imagine the worst version of Ruby, one that is fully consumed by that fear. Avatars of the End are not malicious or destructive in nature but instead are… very apathetic. They don’t need to seek out victims to feed off of, nor do they have a ritual, because the End comes for all. And that fits with what Ruby would be like if that fear fully consumed her. It’s more or less established in vol6 during the apathy arc when she tries so hard to fight against their influence and how horrified she is when everyone around her falls prey to it. Giving up, not caring, accepting the inevitable demise of everyone and yourself? Ruby was terrified of that. And when looking at the vol8 opening where we see Ruby being dragged down by what looks like the arms of the apathy? She fights the hardest against it because it’s what she’s most afraid of, but because of her inability to process her grief properly is ultimately what will make her the most vulnerable to it when she’s pushed to her limit. All Salem needs to do to break Ruby is to remind her of Summer’s death. Not even what actually happened to her or how she died, just the death itself. Hell, the first time we see Ruby in the Red trailer, she’s at her mother’s grave, the first verse in Red like Roses that’s about Ruby “Red like Roses fills my dreams and brings me to the place you rest” in which we come to understand that the “Red like roses” lyrics in both part one and two of the song is referring to Summer’s abrupt death which Ruby apparently dreams about, which brings to mind Oliver Banks, our most prominent Avatar of the End, whose first statement to The Magnus Institute in 011 (underneath the fake alias of “Antonio Blake”) is concerning how he started dreaming about the deaths of others, which he didn’t begin to take seriously- until it was his father that he saw in his dream. Upon which Oliver realised how terrifying death really was and that fear began to consume him.

Okay I’ve probably gone off long enough about this but yeah. Ruby is the End. I mean, she also just got a song in the v7 soundtrack called Until the End

Weiss Schnee: The Lonely. The fear of isolation, of being completely cut off and alone or disconnected from the rest of society. I don’t really have to go too deeply into this one. It’s pretty cut and dry. “The loneliest of all”? And the Schnees basically are the Lukas family. Actually thinking about it the Lukas’ are actually somewhat better? They were the only ones in the whole of TMA that understood to raise a child to be an heir/avatar of their fear they needed room to reject it or actively choose it, even if that had an 80% success rate. Both are still awful though. (Damn, I can’t believe Jaques is an actively worse parent than an eldritch fear avatar)

When Weiss comes back to Atlas in v4 she’s more aware of her loneliness than ever, feels more aware of how she and atlas high society as a whole is disconnected from the rest of the world and its struggles. Whitley commenting on her being in her room for months implies she’s purposefully been isolating herself during this time as well, in order to avoid her family members “A pleasure to see you out of your room for a change” (sidenote; the fact that whenever Whitley shows up it always catches Weiss off guard, like she didn’t even notice his presence until he wanted her too. That’s. That’s a BIG Lonely thing. Given Peter’s siblings eventually ran away and he was the only heir I can imagine Peter being what Whitley would end up like if no one intervenes)

I’d say they might also be an possibility of the Stranger due to her struggling to find her own identity and inability to recognise oneself, but that can be an aspect of the Lonely too, as we see when Martin is in a house that is a domain of the Lonely in s5, and is unable to recognise himself in the mirror or recall who he is.

What I do have to say about this is it’s pretty interesting considering at this point in the show Weiss’ relationship with loneliness is actually somewhat healthy and something she can use to relate to and help others. She understands other people’s loneliness, that Blake in v5 needed space and in time she’d come back, and Weiss would be ready to be there for her when she did. And she also understands Yang’s loneliness in the same volume and that she needed someone there to support her.

“But you’re right. I don’t know loneliness like you do. I have my own version. And I bet Blake has her own version too.”

Speaking of Blake…

Blake Belladonna: The Stranger, I Do Not Know You. The fear that you cannot trust the perception of yourself or of others. The creeping sense that something isn’t right. I considered the Spiral, but the Stranger and the Spiral overlap more than any other two entities so I’m just gonna go with the Stranger. Especially with her semblance being a metaphor for disassociation, a coping mechanism for the abuse and gaslighting from her relationship with Adam being kind of the biggest thing here, since the Stranger and Spiral deal with that a lot. She literally creates false copies of herself, shadow clones which she uses to feint, distract and evade. As well as statues/mannequins when dust is involved, which the Stranger is known for manifesting. Her fighting style centres around misdirection, stealth and fooling people’s senses. She also used to be part of the White Fang, known within Sienna and Adam’s faction to wear the masks of monsters, appearing anonymous. And she literally disguises her identity as a Faunus in order to escape the White Fang and enroll at Beacon. Blake at first was hesitant to trust and rely on the others in the earlier volumes, to let her guard down, and when she finally did, the worst happened and her fears were proven right. In s2 Jonathan becomes more paranoid due to being marked and in close daily proximity to the Stranger (as Not-Sasha), much like how Blake in v2 becomes far more paranoid and less trusting of her team. She also does seek knowledge or answers even at the cost of her wellbeing, which is an Eye thing, but Blake’s desire for knowledge and answers isn’t really consistent or important enough with her character and motives beyond vol2 for me personally to consider her an Avatar of it, but I do think she is Eye aligned.

Yang Xiao Long- The Eye. The Ceaseless Watcher, It Knows You, as well as The Hunt. For the Eye, the first time we see Yang is her trying to find information on her mother, and we see Raven in bird form at the beginning too, as she has followed Yang her whole life, never actually interacting or doing anything for her, just… watching her. We learn in vol2 that her search for answers surrounding her mother has been a part of her entire life, almost overwhelmingly so to the point where in her childhood she and Ruby nearly lost their lives to the Grimm when she decided to journey to a shack in the woods she thought would lead to clues in finding her mother. She is adamant because of that experience to never let her need for the truth and answers control her, but it is a need that is always there. When she finally meets Raven, she’s encouraged to “start questioning everything she knows” which, she does. Questioning and knowledge is a big part of Yang’s character, even now. She’s the one who questions Ozpin the most, as well as Raven herself, and in the recent volumes is the one who challenges and questions Ruby’s leadership the most. There’s also a moment in vol7 of her drawing parallels between herself and Robyn and relating to her when she says “I won’t stop until I find out the truth” Her being the one to take the relic of knowledge is hugely significant in this too, especially given the context that she acquires it right after confronting her mother, getting the answers she’s searched for her whole life, holding an artefact possessing infinite knowledge, and she sinks to her knees and cries because there is no sense of closure, that anything is better because of her knowing who and what her mother is, and that her choosing this path might have cost her ever having a relationship with Raven (which is more Raven’s fault of course, and Yang knows that, but that’s not how she’s feeling at that exact moment).

For the Hunt, this one’s a bit simpler. The thrill seeker aspect to Yang’s character and motives in becoming a huntress and enjoying the chase and fighting in of itself. There’s another element in that as most Avatars of the Hunt start out as monster hunters who then develop the need to hunt and kill monsters, and gradually what qualifies as “monster” starts to blur more and more as they become consumed by the need and thrill of the chase and hunt itself. I bring this up because in vol3 Blake draws parallels between Yang and Adam after she is disqualified for attacking and injuring Mercury, worries with how familiar this all feels and that Yang might turn out the same as him (and just for the record Adam is a full blown Avatar of the Hunt, and the Slaughter too most like)

“I had someone very dear to me change. It wasn’t in an instant, it was gradual. Little choices that began to pile up. He told me not to worry. At first they were accidents, then it was self-defence. Before long, even I began to think he was right. This is all just… very familiar.” What Blake describes is… kind of similar to Basira’s relationship with Daisy with how Daisy, an Avatar of the Hunt, would justify to Basira and explain away how the violence and murders she committed as being for the greater good.

Also just one more, because I have to

Pyrrha Nikos: WebwebWEBWEB. Hoo boi Pyrrha is the Webbiest of Web Avatars as they come. Her whole character’s themes surrounding destiny, control and agency, feeling like her whole life had been decided for her, the fact she’d been blessed with incredible talents and opportunities meant she was supposed to be a huntress, the fact her talent as a world champion meant she was placed on a pedestal without her realising, becoming separate from the people who placed her there in the first place, that Ozpin and his inner circle tell her she has been chosen as the next Fall Maiden, but the method in which she must become so might result in the loss of her identity, that though they ultimately leave the choice to her do pressure and manipulate her into it. The idea of destiny being a predetermined fate you can’t escape is Pyrrha’s greatest fear, and rejects that idea in that she will not let her life be manipulated but will be the one to take control it instead, which is manifested in her having a semblance that she uses to subtly control and manipulate her surroundings. As Cinder puts it, “People assume she’s fated for victory when really she’s really taken fate into her own hands”.

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