#idk how relevant that is but im thinking about like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bodyfrmabalcony · 8 months

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actually sorry to be back at this again but i did have slightly more to say about tim and jason (see last post i reblogged)

that post does a lot of analysis that i enjoyed re: their read on what tim is dream hallucinating jason saying re: his own death and i had a couple thoughts i wanted 2 add to that. tldr they r saying that this is wayy more about tim than it is about jason and i super agree. i said something about jason's line saying he killed himself in my tim post from last week, but it was kinda reductive, where i said basically yeah that sure sounds like like a way bruce might describe it!! but i don't really think that's the whole story - my more genuine nuanced take on that is a little more like: it sounds an awful lot like what a scared kid might imagine that bruce saying about what happened to a robin who fucks up, i.e., not something bruce said about jason but something tim is afraid bruce would say (or think) about tim if tim went the same way as jason

being a martyr and a cautionary tale and a failure - his own or bruce's - are all stacked up on top of each other w/ jason, and tim just kind of. has all that. to deal with. the linked post gets way into how tim is reacting to his mom's death, which is so so interesting to me, bc tim is clearly soo scared of his grief disqualifying him from everything else he wants and feels like he needs to do. he's scared he won't be able to be robin bc bruce sees him compromised by his grief, so he's got to grieve Just Right, at the same time that he's basically trying to take on bruce's grief for jason. the kid is in the poster house for Grief Alters Your Life In Ways You Can't Control and he's still trying to grieve correctly. oof.

and back to tim's relationship to jason post-jason's death, it's so interesting in every direction, but specifically a big thing to me is that on some level jason is not real. like he is, obviously, but tim didn't meet him and he's never going to. he's not dick, a man tim can remember as a child and whose apartment he can break into as a slightly older child. he's not bruce, a guy whose basement tim can end up standing in if he tries hard enough. he doesn't! exist! you don't get to meet dead men! jason doesn't need to be pinned down as tim's hero or tim's fear or tim's resentment, bc the most important thing is that he's just a story. he's just an idea.

and then, of course, what do u do when the idea puts a knife to your throat. or puts on bright yellow tights to beat u up in front of your friends. things get really silly!! quoting my own tags on the first linked post just to have them here as well:

#i think constantly constantly about the car crash disaster of #all the things ppl did in their grief after jason died and then #jason comes back. and sees things he was never meant to see #and it's specifically sooo interesting for the ppl who got caught up in the grief but never even met jason #tim looking at the memorial case #cass sitting at jason's grave on his birthday with bruce #like wtf is jason supposed to do w all that grief from ppl he doesnt know for a person he only sort of was #and on the flip side! wtf r the ppl who grieved a story supposed to do when the story walks up to them! #and in some cases. walks up to them holding a knife. #anyway just thinkin

#just saying things about tim and jason once again #i could probably write a whole post about cass at jason's grave too but that's. a whole other kettle of fish #talking tag #sorry for stream of consciousness typing up my thoughts #anyway #tim drake #jason todd #oh god also x3 there's the whole issue where batman fear gas hallucinates jason and almost kills tim #idk how relevant that is but im thinking about like #the times tim puts himself in jason's shoes on purpose #the times he tries his ass off to be in some other shoes entirely #and the times someone else hallucinates him into jason's shoes and almost beats him to death

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mirrortouchedsea · 6 months

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⬛⬛⬛ was seven years old when his mother died. He remembers being sad, mourning her sudden loss in the way children process death. He stayed by her bedside as she took her last breath, holding her hand and crying, begging her to stay. She loved him. She had spent her last moments making sure he knew that he wasn’t alone and never would be, as long as he could keep her in his memory.

He remembers crying out as her casket was closed for the final time, lowered into the ground. Something snapped in him and he was begging her to stay again, begging them to not take her away.

⬛⬛⬛ didn’t come out of his room for weeks afterwards. He sat in his room, cradling a photo of his mother in his hands. His father would leave food for him and he would eat it, never taking his eyes off the photo.

So when his father came home after only two months of his mother being dead, ⬛⬛⬛ was not what one would call happy. Even though he’d started going back to school a few weeks ago, he wasn’t ready for someone else to take her place. Nobody else could ever be his mother.

He got into an argument with his father that night. At seven years old, ⬛⬛⬛ decided that he couldn’t bear to live in a house with a man who could so easily replace the woman he claimed to love. He didn’t know where he was going but he took the clothes on his back, the photo of his mother, and some cash he’d been saving up and just walked out.

He made his way to the bus stop and got on, thinking about where he would even go. He wasn’t sure he could make his way to his mother’s family on his own, as they lived on the other side of the country, and he definitely didn’t want to see his father’s family. So he stayed on the bus as long as the driver would let him stay.

Eventually though, he did have to get off. It was sprinkling out, not enough to make him uncomfortable, but it was a sign of heavier rains to come. ⬛⬛⬛ made his way from the bus stop to a restaurant that looked like it was about to close, but still had the lights on and maybe they could give him some shelter from the rain, at least for a while. He stepped inside and stared at the workers cleaning up the dining room. They looked…concerned that a child his age was alone at night, especially in this part of town, one would say.

They asked him what he was doing out, if he lost his parents, if he was from the area. It’s not safe out here for kids like you, they told him. He doesn’t remember responding, but he must have because they shuffled him to the back of the restaurant to their boss and asked what to do with him. None of them could really afford to take a child in but he hadn’t told him where he was from or where his parents were. They suggested calling the police, but ⬛⬛⬛ started crying at the suggestion, not wanting to get them involved. I can’t go home, he told them, my father is a bad person.

The restaurant manager agreed to allow him to stay for a bit, giving him a meal on the grounds that he’d leave by the end of the week. ⬛⬛⬛ agreed, scarfing down the food like it was the best thing he’d ever eaten.

Over the next few days, ⬛⬛⬛ bid his time by doing dishes, greeting customers, learning to read from the menu. The staff treated him kindly, but they felt distant, unsure of what to do with him, though by the time the weekend came, he hadn’t figured out where he wanted to go. A few of the staff pointed him towards an orphanage in town, but one of the cooks slipped him a one way train ticket to a few cities over, somewhere he could get out of that area, a note attached with directions on where to go to meet someone who would take him in.

He held the ticket in his hand, scanning it as he walked through the station to the loading area, the note clutched in his hand. ⬛⬛⬛ was practically shaking as he entered the train by himself. A few adults asked if he was okay, if he knew where he was going. Yes, he said, I’m just not used to traveling by myself, but my uncle is going to meet me at my stop. That was a lie he’d rehearsed on the way there but they let him be. He had to fight himself to keep from falling asleep and missing his stop, but he must have succumbed to it at some point, as one of the adults next to him gently shook him awake as they approached his destination. He thanked them and hopped off his seat, getting ready to depart the train car and start his new life.

He stepped onto the platform and was greeted by a bustling crowd. It was overwhelming to say the least, so many strange people just going about their day. ⬛⬛⬛ made his way to the staircase where someone came up from behind him, introduced himself as the person who would be taking care of the young boy. He could call him “Priest”, as his true name was of little importance. He asked if the young boy had a name, which the boy muttered under his breath. When asked to repeat it, he said he wished to give up his name, as he no longer wanted to be associated with the person who gave it to him. The Priest agreed with him and said they’d find a suitable name for him soon enough. There were many names in the world, but for now he’d be referred to as the Prodigal Son, or simply the Son for short. The Son found this amicable and agreed to the change. He remembers wondering what that meant, as he had never heard of the word “Prodigal” before, but he would come to understand it in due time.

The Priest taught the Son many things, reading, writing, the history of Japan, things that he remembered being taught in school before his mother passed, but he also taught the Son many other things one would never find in a normal school. The Son learned the art of disguise, impersonation, how to manipulate his voice. Some day, the Priest had told him, he’d be called upon to use his gifts for the greater good. The Son, not knowing any better, accepted this and that his skills would be useful in the future.

The Son went through many identities in his time studying under the Priest. His hair had been cut, extended, dyed and bleached, his eyes were a dozen different colors and none of them. He could mimic any voice after observing the speaker for ten minutes. He went by many different names, though he always came back to the Son. In due time, he forgot his father entirely, but he carried the last photo of his mother with him in his pocket wherever he went. It made him feel at ease, as if she were watching over him from the afterlife still, protecting him from the harsh realities of the world. The photo had faded with time, the wear and tear on it having almost removed her face entirely, but the Son could still picture it perfectly. It had been burned into his mind on the day he watched her take her last breath.

The Son started University at age 17, younger than many of his peers in Japan, and he graduated at age 20. It hadn’t been easy, but he had honed his skills and developed them on the stage, playing off his talents as being simply that, talent and skill, not something he had used to bring about political upheaval in the past and likely in the future.

The Son had kept his distance at University though, going by another fake name and only attending the bare minimum of classes and extracurriculars that were required of him by the Priest. He had begun proper vocal training to learn how to sing, something that he had been told would be useful soon, though he had not been given the details, and further developed his voice by participating in several musical performances, though he still remained rather distant from the rest of the cast and crew, exchanging only the bare necessities of pleasantries and making excuses to get out of bonding time outside of scheduled practice hours.

The Son was a lonely man, and he knew this. He knows this. He is a lonely man. He was about to turn 23 when the Priest finally told him about his newest mission. Do you remember your father, the Priest had asked over the phone. No, replied the Son, not more than I need to, anyway. So you remember you had a father, and he had another wife after you left, the Priest continued. The Son hummed in agreement, Yes I ran away because of her, you know this. Of course I do, but I just wanted to make sure, Anyway did you know he had another son with her? What do you mean by another son? I mean that you are an older brother, and your younger brother needs help. I do not want to speak to anyone else related to that man. Oh but you’ve been training to help your brother, haven’t you, he dreams of being an idol, someone who sings and dances on stage like you. Theater performances and being an idol are two different things. Yes, well it wouldn’t exactly be easy to get you to train to be an idol with no intentions on debuting, so we had to make do. Why should I help him? Out of the love in your heart for your own flesh and blood. I do not consider that old man my father, nor that boy my brother. He has a secret he needs to keep, something I’m sure you’re familiar with of course. What secret? All in due time, Son, will you help him or not?

The Son refused to meet his brother in person for the first few months, preferring to instead communicate only by phone. He had been studying at Reimei academy, he told him, as part of the idol course. His mother loved idols, loved them so very much and it was the only memory he had of her. The Son understood his brother on that level. During their phone calls, the Son learned about his brother’s rival at the school, a boy by the name of Tatsumi Kazehaya who happened to be in the year above him. Tatsumi Kazehaya was perfect in many ways, something that his brother found infuriating. Why couldn’t he be like that? He lamented in one phone call. The Son told him that some people are simply born with talent, and Kazehaya was one of them. His brother relented and continued to update the Son on his progress.

Despite the Son knowing his brother’s name, Kaname Tojou, his brother did not know his, instead choosing to refer to him only as “Onii-chan,” a word that grated on his ears. He was not a cute older brother to be looked up to and in fact he’d rather be doing anything else than be there, and yet. He stayed calm. Once Kaname debuted and got on his feet, the Son would fade back into the background as if he never existed. That was the plan, anyway. The Priest had told him that he would be free to do as he pleased away from his watchful eye if everything went according to plan.

After a year of guiding his brother in the ways of being an idol, the Son wanted to see how he was progressing. Kaname hadn’t said anything about a performance, but since the Son was very good at keeping an ear to the ground, he had found out about a performance between Kaname and Tatsumi to be put on for the entire school. He wasn’t entirely sure what the purpose of that was exactly, but it would be a good time to gauge Kaname’s progress and how well he had followed the Son’s instructions. The Son made his way through the crowd, finding a spot near the front but not where Kaname could see him and he watched the empty stage, waiting for any sign of life.

The projectors came on and a video began playing, a video about the exact secret that the Son had been safeguarding even from his brother. It was a video about Kaname’s mother and how she had ruined the career of one of the best idols that had ever existed in Japan. The energy in the crowd was agitated, vibrating with anger as they waited for the two aspiring idols to take the stage. The Son wanted to run backstage, warn his brother of the impending danger, but could only watch in horror as the curtains raised and the crowd rushed forward. The Son looked on as the two young idols were yanked from the stage, a scream lost to the noise of the crowd, unable to do anything.

When it was over, he had found himself in the hospital waiting room, pacing the length of it as he went over the potential outcome of the surgery. His brother had suffered greatly, that much was obvious to the Son as they loaded the two boys into the ambulance, but how much damage was done had yet to be seen.

Someone approached the Prodigal Son while he was pacing and placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Thank you for coming home.

#shay writes #enstars #ensemble stars #himeru #OKAY OKAY. IM JUST POSTING IT IDC I NEED TO GET THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM #HIMERU BACKSTORY BUT I HAD TO WRITE IT LIKE SARAMAGO IDK IT JUST KINDA HAPPENED #BUT I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING IN THIS STYLE YOU HAVE NOOOOOOOOO IDEA #i edited about 3 pages of this and then was like. fuck it i cant do this anymore #hate reading my own writing hate hate hate it but yeah. oremeru backstory #theres more that i want to maybe expand upon eventually but i need more time to rotate those ideas in my mind #so like. runaway meru and then with the priest. but only a little with the priest #also idk when priest died. i know it happened slightly before the current era but idk by how much so.#to me? he was the one who got oremeru in contact with kaname and then died some time between that phone call and the current era #ik they mentioned priest being dead in one of the 1.5 tours i think the mayoshino one but blegh #or maybe it was a scout story idr its not super relevant i'll read it eventually but yeah.#okay enjoy 2.3k words of me just throwing things at the wall

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